french and english: a story of the struggle in america by evelyn everett-green. contents book : border warfare. chapter : a western settler. chapter : friends in need. chapter : philadelphia. chapter : an exciting struggle. book : roger's rangers. chapter : a day of vengeance. chapter : robert rogers. chapter : the life of adventure. chapter : vengeance and disaster. book : disaster. chapter : a tale of woe. chapter : escape. chapter : albany. chapter : ticonderoga. book : wolfe. chapter : a soldier at home. chapter : louisbourg. chapter : victory. chapter : the fruits of victory. book : within quebec. chapter : the impregnable city. chapter : the defences of quebec. chapter : mariners of the deep. chapter : hostilities. book : without quebec. chapter : in sight of his goal. chapter : days of waiting. chapter : a daring design. chapter : in the hour of victory. book : english victors. chapter : a panic-stricken city. chapter : surrender. chapter : friendly foes. chapter : the last. book : border warfare chapter : a western settler. humphrey angell came swinging along through the silent aisles of the vast primeval forest, his gun in the hollow of his arm, a heavy bag of venison meat hanging from his shoulders. a strange, wild figure, in the midst of a strange, wild scene: his clothes, originally of some homespun cloth, now patched so freely with dressed deerskin as to leave little of the original material; moccasins on his feet, a beaver cap upon his head, his leather belt stuck round with hunting knives, and the pistol to be used at close quarters should any emergency arise. he was a stalwart fellow, as these sons of the forest had need to be--standing over six feet, and with a muscular development to match his stately height. his tawny hair had been darkened by exposure to hot suns, and his handsome face was deeply imbrowned from the influences of weather in all seasons. his blue eyes had that direct yet far-away look which comes to men who live face to face with nature, and learn to know her in all her moods, and to study her caprices in the earning of their daily bread. humphrey angell was not more than twenty years of age, and he had lived ten years in the forest. he had come there as a child with his father, who had emigrated in his young life from england to the settlement of pennsylvania, and had afterwards become one of the scattered settlers on the debatable ground between the french and english borders, establishing himself in the heart of the boundless forest, and setting to work with the utmost zeal and industry to gather round himself a little farmstead where he could pass his own later years in peace, and leave it for an inheritance to his two sons. humphrey could remember pennsylvania a little, although the life in the small democratic township seemed now like a dream to him. all his interests centred in the free forest, where he had grown to manhood. now and again a longing would come upon him to see something of the great, tumultuous, seething world of whose existence he was dimly aware. there were times in the long winter evenings when he and his brother, the old father, and the brother's wife would sit round the stove after the children had been put to bed, talking of the past and the future. then old angell would tell his sons of the life he had once led in far-away england, before the spirit of adventure drove him forth to seek his fortune in the new world; and at such times humphrey would listen with eager attention, feeling the stirrings of a like spirit within him, and wondering whether the vast walls of the giant forest would for ever shut him in, or whether it would be his lot some day to cross the heaving, mysterious, ever-moving ocean of which his father often spoke, and visit the country of which he was still proud to call himself a son. yet he loved his forest home and the free, wild life he led. nor was the element of peril lacking to the daily lot--peril which had not found them yet, but which might spring upon them unawares at any moment. for after years of peace and apparent goodwill on the part of the indians of the five nations, as this tract of debatable land had come to be called, a spirit of ill will and ferocity was arising again; and settlers who had for years lived in peace and quietness in their lonely homes had been swooped down upon, scalped, their houses burnt, their wives and children tomahawked--the raid being so swift and sudden that defence and resistance had alike been futile. what gave an added horror to this sudden change of policy on the part of the indians was the growing conviction throughout the settlement that it was due to the agency of white men. france, not content with the undisputed possession of canada, and of vast tracts of territory in the west and south which she had no means of populating, was bitterly jealous of the english colony in the east, and, above all; of any attempts which it might make to extend its western border. fighting there had been already. humphrey had heard rumours of disasters to the english arms farther away to the south. he had heard of braddock's army having been cut to pieces in its attempt to reach and capture the french fort duquesne, and a vague uneasiness was penetrating to these scattered settlers, who had hitherto lived in quietness and peace. perhaps had they known more of the spirit of parties beyond their limited horizon, they would have been more uneasy still. but habit is an enormous power in a man's life. humphrey had gone forth into the forest to kill meat for the family larder three or four days in the week, in all seasons when the farm work was not specially pressing. he came back day by day to the low-browed log house, with its patches of indian corn and other crops, its pleasant sounds of life, the welcome from the children, the approval of father and brother if the day had been successful, and the smiles of the housewife when he displayed the contents of his bag. it was almost impossible to remember from day to day that peril from the silent, mysterious forest threatened them. they had lived there for ten years unmolested and at peace; who would care to molest them now? and yet humphrey, who knew the forest so well--its mysterious, interminable depths, its trackless, boundless extent, rolling over hill and valley in endless billows--he knew well how silently, how suddenly an ambushed foe might approach, spring out from the thick, tangled shelter to do some murderous deed, and in the maze of giant timber be at once swallowed up beyond all danger of pursuit. in the open plains the indian raids were terrible enough, but the horrors of uncertainty and ignorance which enveloped the settlers in the forests might well cause the stoutest heart to quail when once it became known that the indians had become their enemies, and that there was another enemy stirring up the strife, and bribing the fierce and greedy savages to carry desolation and death into the settlements of the english colonists. whispers--rumours--had just begun to penetrate into these leafy solitudes; but communication with the outside world was so rare that the angell family, who had long been self-supporting, and able to live without the products of the mother colony away to the east, had scarcely realized the change that was creeping over the country. the old man had never seen anything of indian warfare, and his sons had had little more experience. they had been peaceful denizens of the woods, and bore arms for purposes of the chase rather than for self-preservation from human foes, as did the bulk of those dwellers in the woods that fringed the western border of the english-speaking colony. "we have no enemies; why should we fear?" asked charles, the elder brother, a man of placable temperament, a fine worker with the axe or plough, a man of indomitable industry, endurance, and patience, but one who had never shown any desire after adventure or the chances of warfare. he was ten years older than humphrey; and the brothers had two sisters now married and settled in the colony. the younger brother sometimes talked of visiting the sisters, and bringing back news of them to the father at home; but charles never desired to leave the homestead. he was a singularly affectionate husband and father, and had been an excellent son to the fine old man, who now had his time of ease by the hearth in the winter weather, though during a great part of the year he toiled in the fields with a right good will, and with much of his old fire and energy. humphrey was nearing home now, and started whistling a favourite air which generally heralded his approach, and brought the children tumbling out to meet him in a rush of merry welcome. but there was no answering hubbub to be heard from the direction of the house, no patter of little feet, no lowing of kine. humphrey stopped suddenly short in his whistling, and bent his ear forward as though to listen. a faint, muffled, strangled cry seemed to be borne to his ears. under his bronze his face suddenly grew white. he flung the heavy bag from off his back, and grasping his gun more firmly in his hands, he rushed through the narrow pathway; and came out upon the clearing around the little farmstead. in the morning he had left it, smiling in the autumn sunshine, a peaceful, prosperous-looking place, homely, quaint, and bright. now his eyes rested upon a heap of smoking ruins, trampled crops, empty sheds; and upon a still more horrible sight--the remains of mangled corpses tied to the group of trees which sheltered the porch. it was enough to curdle the blood of the stoutest hearted, and freeze with horror the bravest warrior. humphrey was no warrior, but a strong-limbed, tender-hearted youth; and as he looked at the awful scene before him, a blood-red mist seemed to swim before his eyes. he gasped, and clutched at the nearest tree trunk for support. surely, surely it was some fever dream which had come upon him. it could not, it should not be a terrible reality. "humphrey, humphrey! help, help!" it was the strangled, muffled cry again. the sound woke the young man from his trance of horror and amazement. he uttered a hoarse cry, which he scarcely knew for his own, and dashed blindly onwards. "here, here! this way. by the barn! quick!" no need to hasten humphrey's flying feet. he rushed through the trampled fields. he gained the clearing about the house and its buildings. he reached the spot indicated, and saw a sight he would never forget. his brother charles was tightly, cruelly bound to the stump of a tree which had been often used for tethering animals at milking time just outside the barn. his clothes were half torn from off his back, and several gaping, bleeding wounds told of the fight which had ended in his capture. most significant of all was the long semicircular red line round the brow, where the scalping knife had plainly passed. humphrey's stout knife was cutting through the cruel cords, even while his horrified eyes were taking in these details. when his brother was released, he seemed to collapse for a moment, and fell face downwards upon the ground, a quiver running through all his limbs, such as humphrey had seen many a time in some wild creature stricken with its death wound. he uttered a sharp cry of terror and anguish, and averting his eyes from the awful sights with which the place abounded, he dashed to the well, and bringing back a supply of pure cold water, flung it over his brother's prostrate form, laving his face and hands, and holding a small vessel to his parched and swollen lips so that the draught could trickle into his mouth. there was an effort to swallow, a quiver and a struggle, and the wounded man opened his eyes and sat up. "where am i--what is it?" he gasped, draining the cup again and again, like one who has been near to perish with thirst. "o humphrey, i have had such an awful dream!" humphrey had so placed his brother that he should not see on opening his eyes that ghastly sight which turned the younger man sick with horror each time his eyes wandered that way. charles saw the familiar outline of the forest, and his brother's face bending over him. he had for a moment a vague impression of something unspeakably awful and horrible, but at that moment he believed that some mischance had befallen himself alone, and that he had imagined some black, nameless horror in a fevered dream. a shiver ran through humphrey's frame. his blue eyes were dazed and dilated. what answer could he make? he busied himself with dressing the wounds upon his brother's chest and shoulders, from which the blood still oozed slowly. "what is it?" asked charles once again; "how did i come to be hurt?" humphrey made no reply, but a groan burst unawares from his lips. the sound seemed to startle charles from his momentary calm. he suddenly put up his hand to his brow, felt the smart of the significant red line left by the scalping knife, and the next moment he had sprung to his feet with a sharp, low cry of unspeakable anguish. he faced round then--and looked! humphrey stood beside him shoulder to shoulder, with his arm about his brother, lest physical weakness should again overpower him. but charles seemed like one turned to stone. for perhaps three long minutes he stood thus--speechless, motionless; then a wild cry burst from his lips, accompanied by a torrent of the wildest, fiercest invective--appeals to heaven for vengeance, threats of undying hatred, undying hostility to those savage murderers whose raid had made this fair spot into a desolation so awful. humphrey stood still and silent the while, like one spellbound. he scarcely knew his brother in this moment of passionate despair and fury. charles had been a silent, placable man all his life through. born and bred in the quaker settlement, till he had taken to the life of the forest he had been a man of quiet industry and toil rather than a fighter or a talker. a peaceful creed had been his, and he had perhaps never before raised a hand in anger against a fellow creature. this made the sudden wild and passionate outburst the more strange and awful to humphrey. it was almost as though charles was no longer the brother he had known all these years, but had been transformed into a different being by the swift and fearful calamity which had swept down upon them during these past few hours. "i will avenge--i swear it! as they have done, so shall it be done unto them. eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life--is not that written in the scriptures? the avenger of blood shall follow and overtake. his hand shall not spare, neither his eye pity. the evildoer shall be rooted out of the land. his place shall be no more found. even as they have done, so shall it be done unto them." he stopped, and suddenly raised his clasped hands to heaven. a torrent of words broke from his lips. "o god, thou hast seen, thine eyes have beheld. if it had been an open enemy that had done this thing, then could i perchance have borne it. if it had been the untutored savage, in his ignorant ferocity, then would i have left thee, o lord, to deal with him--to avenge! but the white brother has risen up against his own flesh and blood. the white man has stood by to see. he has hounded on the savages! he has disgraced his humanity! o lord god, give him into my hands! let me avenge me of mine adversary. let the ignorant indian escape if thou wilt, but grant unto me to slay and slay and slay amid the ranks of the white man, who has sold his soul for gain, and has become more treacherous and cruel than the indian ally whose aid he has invoked. judge thou betwixt us, o lord; look upon this scene! strengthen thou mine arm to the battle, for here i vow that i will henceforth give my life to this work. i will till the fields no more. i will beat my pruning hook into a sword. i will slay, and spare not, and thou, o god of battles, shalt be with me. thou shalt strengthen mine arm; thou shalt give unto me the victory. thou shalt deliver mine enemy into mine hand. i know it, i see it! for thou art god, and i am thy servant, and i will avenge upon him who has defied thee this hideous crime upon which thine eyes have looked!" humphrey stood by silent and awed. an answering thrill was in his own heart. he had averted his eyes from the ghastly spectacle of those charred and mangled corpses; but they turned upon them once more at this moment, and he could not marvel at his brother's words. he, too, had been trained to peaceable thoughts and ways. he had hoped that there would soon be an end of these rumours of wars. his immediate forefathers had been men of peace, and he had never known the craving after the excitement of battle. yet as his brother spoke there came upon him a new feeling. he felt his arm tingling; he felt the hot blood surging through his veins. he was conscious that were an enemy to show face at that moment between the trees of the forest, he would be ready to spring upon him like a wild beast, and rend him limb from limb without pity and without remorse. but the indians had made off as silently and as swiftly as they appeared. not a vestige of the band remained behind. and there was work for the brothers at that moment of a different sort, and work which left its lasting mark upon the memory and even upon the nature of humphrey angell. together the brothers dug a deep grave. reverently they deposited in it all that was left of the mortal remains of those whom they had loved so tenderly and well: the kindly house mother, to whose industry and thrift so much of their comfort had been due; the little, innocent, prattling children and brave little lads, who were already learning to be useful to father and mother. none of them spared--no pity shown to sex or age. all ruthlessly murdered; husband and father forced to watch the horrid spectacle, himself a helpless prisoner, waiting for his doom. humphrey had not hitherto dared to ask the question which had been exercising him all the while--how it was that his brother's life had been spared. he also wanted to know where the old man their father was; for the corpses they had laid in the grave were those of charles's wife and children. charles noted his questioning glance around when the grave had received its victims, and he pointed to the smoking ruins of the house. "he lies there. they bound him in his chair. they tied the babe down in his cradle. they set fire to the house. heaven send that the reek choked them before the fire touched them! they lie yonder beneath the funeral pyre--our venerable sire and my bonny, laughing babe!" he stopped short, choked by a sudden rush of tears; and humphrey, flinging down his spade, threw himself along the ground in a paroxysm of unspeakable anguish, choking sobs breaking from him, the unaccustomed tears raining down his cheeks. the brothers wept together. perhaps those tears saved charles from some severe fever of the brain. he wept till he was perfectly exhausted, and at last his condition of prostration so far aroused humphrey that he was forced into action. he half lifted, half dragged his brother into one of the empty barns, where he laid him down upon some straw. he rolled up his own coat for a pillow, and after hastily finishing the filling in of the grave, he went back into the forest for his game bag, and having kindled a fire, cooked some of the meat, and forced his brother to eat and drink. it was growing dark by that time, and the blackness of the forest seemed to be swallowing them up. a faint red glow still came from the direction of the burning homestead, where the fire still smouldered amid the smoking ruins. humphrey closed the door of the barn, to shut out the sight and also the chill freshness of the autumn night. he lay down upon the straw beside his brother, worn out in body and mind. but there could be no thought of sleep for either man that night; the horror was too pressing and ever present, and anguish lay like a physical load upon their hearts. the silence was full of horror for both; in self defence humphrey began to speak. "when was it, charles? i was in the forest all day, and i saw and heard nothing. the silence was never broken save by the accustomed sounds of the wild creatures of the wood. no war party came my way. when was it?" "at the noontide meal. we had all gathered within doors. there was none to give warning of danger. suddenly and silently as ghosts they must have filed from out the forest. we were already surrounded and helpless before the first wild war whoop broke upon our ears!" charles put up his hands as though to shut out that awful yell, the echoes of which rang so long in the ears of those who had heard it. humphrey shivered, and his hands clinched themselves nervously together. "why was i not here to fight and to die?" "better to live--and to avenge their blood!" answered charles, with a gleam lighting his sunken eyes. he was silent awhile, and then went on with his narrative. "it was not a fight; it was only a slaughter! the children rushed screaming from the house, escaping the first rush of the painted savages when they burst in upon us. but there were others outside, who hacked and slashed them as they passed. i had only my hunting knife in my belt. i stood before ellen, and i fought like ten demons! god is witness that i did all that one man could. but what avail against scores of such foes? three corpses were heaped at my threshold. i saw them carrying away many others dead or wounded, our father fought too; and ellen backed into the corner where the gun stood, and with her own hands she shot down two of the savages. "would to heaven she had shot at the white one, who was tenfold more of a fiend! but he shall not escape--he shall not escape! i shall know his face when i see it next. and i will not go down to the grave till he and i have stood face to face once more, when i am not bound and helpless, but a free man with weapons in my hand. that day will come; i read it in the book of fate. the lord god, unto whom vengeance belongeth, he will cause it to come to pass!" humphrey was afraid of these wild outbursts, as likely to bring on fever; and yet he could not but desire to know more. "a white man? nay, brother; that is scarce to be believed. a white man to league himself to such deeds as these!" "a white man--a frenchman. for i called upon him in our tongue, and he answered me in the same, but with that halting accent which i know belongs to the sons of france. moreover, he made no secret of it. he called us dogs of english, who were robbers of the soil where none had right to penetrate save the subjects of his royal master. he swore that they would make an end of us, root and branch; and he laughed when he saw the indians cutting down the little ones, and covering their tender bodies with cruel wounds; nor had he any pity upon the one white woman; and when i raved upon him and cursed him, he laughed back, and said he had no power to allay the fury of the savages. those who would preserve themselves safe should retire within the bounds of the colony to which they belong. france would have an end of encroachment, and the indians were her friends, and would help her to drive out the common foe!" humphrey set his teeth and clinched his hands. the old instinctive hatred of centuries between french and english, never really dead, now leaped into life in his breast. he had heard plenty of talk during his boyhood of france's boundless pretensions with regard to the great new world of the west, and how she sought, by the simple process of declaring territory to be hers, to extend her power over millions of miles of the untrodden plains and forests, which she could never hope to populate. he had laughed with others at these claims, and had thought little enough of them when with father and brother he set out for the western frontier. there was then peace between the nations. nor had it entered into the calculations of the settlers that their white brethren would stir up the friendly indians against them, and bring havoc and destruction to their scattered dwellings. that was a method of warfare undreamed of a few years back; but it was now becoming a terrible reality. "but your life was spared?" said humphrey at last; "and yet the scalping-knife came very close to doing its horrid work." "yes: they spared me--he spared me--when he had made me suffer what was tenfold worse than death; yet i wot well he only thought to leave me to a lingering death of anguish, more terrible than that of the scalping knife! they knew not that i had any to come to my succour. when he drew off the howling indians and left me bound to the stump, he thought he left me to perish of starvation and burning thirst. it was no mercy that he showed me--rather a refinement of cruelty. i begged him to make an end of my wretched life; but he smiled, and bid me a mocking farewell. "great god of heaven and earth, look down and avenge me of mine adversary! i trust there are not many such fiends in human shape even in the ranks of the jealous and all-grasping french. but if there be, may it be mine to carry death and desolation into their ranks! may they be driven forth from this fair land which they have helped to desolate! may death and destruction come swiftly upon them; and when they fall, let them rise up no more!" "amen!" said humphrey solemnly; and the brothers sat in silence for a great while, the gloom hiding them the one from the other, though they knew that their hearts were beating in sympathy. "the war has broken out," said humphrey at last. "we can perchance find our place in the ranks of those who go to drive out the oppressive race, whose claims are such as english subjects will not tolerate." "ay, there will be fighting, fighting, fighting now till they are driven forth, and till england's flag waves proudly over this great land!" cried charles, with a strange confidence and exultation in his tones. "england will fight, and i will fight with her. i will slay and slay, and spare not; and i will tell this tale to all wherever i go. i will hunt out mine enemy until i compass his death. they have despoiled me of home, of wife, of children. they have taken away all the joy of life. the light of my eyes is gone. henceforth i have but one thing to live for. i bare my sword against france. against her will i fight until the lord gives us the victory. the world shall know, and all ears shall tingle at the tale which i will tell. there shall be no quarter, no pity for those who use such means as those which have left me what i am tonight!" humphrey could not marvel at the intensity of the ferocity in charles's tones. it sounded strange in one of so gentle and placable a nature; but he had cause--he had cause! "think you that the man was other than one of those wild fellows who run from all law and order in the townships and become denizens of the wood, and little better than the wild indians themselves? we. have heard of these coureurs de bois, as they are called. there are laws passed against them, severe and restrictive, by their own people. perchance it were scarce just to the french to credit them with all that this man has done." "peace, humphrey," was the stern reply. "we know that the french are inciting the indians against our peaceful settlers, and that what has happened here today is happening in other places along our scattered frontier. the work is the work of france, and against france will i fight till she is overthrown. i have sworn it. seek not to turn me from my purpose. i will fight, and fight, and fight till i see her lying in the dust, and till i have met mine enemy face to face and have set my foot upon his neck. god has heard my vow; he will fight for me till it be fulfilled." chapter : friends in need. it was not to be surprised at that, after that terrible day and night, charles should awake from the restless sleep into which he had dropped towards dawn in a state of high fever. he lay raving in delirium for three days, whilst humphrey sat beside him, putting water to his parched lips, striving to soothe and quiet him; often shuddering with horror as he seemed to see again with his brother's eyes those horrid scenes upon which the fevered man's fancy ever dwelt; waking sometimes at night in a sweat of terror, thinking he heard the indian war whoop echoing through the forest. those were terrible days for humphrey--days of a loneliness that was beyond anything he had experienced before. his brother was near him in the flesh, but severed from him by a whole world of fevered imaginings. sometimes humphrey found it in his heart to wish that the indians would come back and make a final end of them both. all hope and zest and joy in life seemed to have been taken from him at one blow. he could neither think of the happy past without pangs of pain, nor yet face a future which seemed barren of hope and promise. he could only sit beside his brother, tend him, nurse him, pray for him. but the words of prayer too often died away upon his lips. had they not all prayed together, after the godly habit of the household, upon the very morning when this awful disaster fell upon them? were these vast solitudes too far away for god to hear the prayers that went up from them? humphrey had never known what awful loneliness could engulf the human spirit till he sat beside the fevered man in the vast solitude of the primeval forest, asking in his heart whether god himself had not forsaken them. it was the hour of sundown, and humphrey had gone outside for a breath of fresh air. he looked ten years older than he had done a few days back, when he had come whistling through the forest track, expecting to see the children bounding forth to meet him. his eyes were sunken, his face was pale and haggard, his dress was unkempt and ragged. there were no clever fingers now to patch tattered raiment, and keep things neat and trim. there was an unwonted sound in the forest! it was distant still. to some ears it would have been inaudible; but humphrey heard it, and his heart suddenly beat faster. the sound was that of approaching steps--the steps of men. a few minutes more and he heard the sound of voices, too. he had been about to dash into the shed for his gun, but the fresh sounds arrested his movement. he had ears as sharp as those of an ambushed indian, and he detected in a moment that the men who were approaching the clearing were of his own nationality. the words he could not hear, but he could distinguish the intonation. it was not the rapid, thin-sounding french tongue; it was english--he was certain of it! and a light leaped to his eyes at the bare thought of meeting a brother countryman in this desolate place. probably it was some other settler, one of that hardy race that fringed the colony on its western frontier. miles and miles of rolling forest lay between these scattered holdings, and since war was but lately begun, nothing had been done for the protection of the hapless people now becoming an easy prey of the indians stirred up to molest them. humphrey knew none of their neighbours. forest travelling was too difficult and dangerous to tempt the settler far away from his own holding. if it were one of these coming now, most likely he too had suffered from attack or fear of attack, and was seeking a friend in the nearest locality. he stood like one spellbound, watching and waiting. the sound of steps drew nearer to the fringe of obscuring forest trees; the sound of voices became plainer and more plain. in another minute humphrey saw them--two bronzed and stalwart men--advancing from the wood into the clearing. they came upon it unawares, as was plain from their sudden pause. but they were white men; they were brothers in this wild land. there was something like a sob in humphrey's throat, which he hastily swallowed down, as he advanced with great strides to meet them. "you are welcome," he said. "i had thought the indians had left no living beings behind them in all this forest save my brother and myself." no introductions were needed in this savage place; the face of every white man lit up at sight of a like countenance, and at the sound of the familiar tongue. the men shook hands with a hearty grip, and one said to humphrey: "you have had indians here?" humphrey made an expressive gesture with his hand. "this was a week ago as fair a holding as heart of man could wish to see in this grim forest. you see what is left today!" "your house is burnt down, as we plainly see. have you lost aught beside? has human blood been spilt?" "the corpse of my venerable father, and that of a bold baby boy, lie beneath yon heap of ruins which made their funeral pyre. in yonder grave lie the mingled corpses of my brother's wife and four fair children, hacked to death and half burnt by the savages. and yet this work is not the work of savages alone. with them we have dwelt at peace these many years. the shame, the horror, the disgrace of it is that we owe these horrors to the white sons of france, who hound on the savages to make these raids, and stand by to see them do their bloody work!" the two strangers exchanged glances--meaning glances--and one of them laid a hand upon humphrey's shoulder, looking earnestly into his eyes the while. "is it so in very truth? so have we heard in whispers, but it was a thing we could scarce believe. we have travelled far from the lands of the south to join our brethren of the english race. we heard rumours of wars cruel and bloody. yet it seemed to us too strange a thing to believe that here, amid the hostile, savage indians, white man could wage war with white man, and take the bloody heathen man as his ally, instead of the brother who bears the name of christ!" humphrey looked with some wonder and fascination into the face of the youth who spoke. it was a refined and beautiful face, notwithstanding the evidences of long exposure to sun and wind. the features were finely cut, sensitive and expressive, and the eyes were very luminous in their glance, and possessed strangely penetrating powers. in stature the young man was almost as tall as humphrey, but of a much slighter build; yet he was wiry and muscular, as could well be seen, and plainly well used to the life of the wild woodlands. his dress was that of the backwoods, dressed deerskin being the chief material used. both travellers wore moccasins on their feet, and carried the usual weapons of offence and defence. yet humphrey felt as though this man was in some sort different from those he had met in the woods at rare times when out hunting. his voice, his words, his phraseology seemed in some sort strange, and he asked him wonderingly: "from whence are you, friends?" "from the land of the far south--from the rolling plains of the giant mississippi, that vast river of which perchance you have heard?" "ay, verily," answered humphrey, with a touch of bitterness in his tone. "i have heard of that great river, which the french king claims to have discovered, and which they say he will guard with a chain of forts right away from canada, and will thus command all the new world of the west, pinning us english within the limits of that portion of land lying betwixt the ocean and the range of the allegheny mountains," and humphrey waved his hand in that direction, and looked questioningly at the men before him. he had an impression that all who came from the far south, from the colony of louisiana, as he had heard it called, must be in some sort french subjects. and yet these men spoke his own tongue, and seemed to be friends and brothers. "that was the chimera of the french monarch more than a century ago. methinks it is little nearer its accomplishment now than when our forefathers, acting as pioneers, made a small settlement in a green valley near to the mouth of the giant river, waiting for the king to send his priests and missionaries to convert the heathen from their evil ways, and found a fair christian realm in that fair land." "then were your forefathers french subjects?" asked humphrey, rather bewildered. "if so, how come you to speak mine own tongue as you do?" "i come of no french stock!" cried the companion stranger, who had remained silent until now, looking searchingly round the clearing, and examining humphrey himself with curiosity; "i have no drop of french blood in my veins, whatever julian may have. i am fritz neville. i come of an english family. but you shall hear all later on, as we sit by our fire at night. i would hear all your tale of desolation and woe. we, for our part, have no cause to love the french oppressors, whose ambition and greed seem to know no bounds. can you give us shelter by your hearth tonight? food we have of our own, since we find game in sufficient abundance in these forest tracks." as he spoke he unslung from his shoulders a fine young fawn which they had lately shot, and humphrey made eager answer to the request for hospitality. "would that we had better to offer! but the homestead is burnt. my brother lies sick of a fever in yon shed--a fever brought on by loss of blood and by anguish of mind. i have been alone in this place with him hard upon a week now, and to me it seems as though years instead of days had passed over my head since the calamity happened." "i can well believe that," said the first speaker, whom his companion had spoken of as julian. "there be times in a man's life when hours are as days and days as years. but let me see your brother if he be sick. i have some skill in the treatment of fevers, and i have brought in my wallet some simples which we find wonderfully helpful down in the south, from where i come. i doubt not i can bring him relief." humphrey's face brightened with a look of joyful relief, and fritz exclaimed heartily: "yes, yes, julian is a notable leech. we all come to him with our troubles both of body and mind. "lead on, comrade. i will cook the supper whilst you and he tend the sick man; and afterwards we will tell all our tale; and take counsel for the future." it was new life to humphrey to hear the sound of human voices, to feel the touch of friendly hands, to know himself not alone in the awful isolation of the vast forest. he led the way to the rough shed, which he had contrived during the past days to convert into a rude species of sleeping and living room. he had made a hearth and a chimney, so that he could cook food whilst still keeping an eye upon his sick brother. he had contrived a certain amount of rude comfort in charles's bed and surroundings. the place looked pleasant to the wearied, travellers, for it was spotlessly clean, and it afforded shelter from the keen night air. they had been finding the nights grow cold as they journeyed northward, and fritz rubbed his hands at sight of the glow of the fire, and set to work eagerly upon his culinary tasks; whilst julian and humphrey bent over charles, the former examining the condition of his pulse and skin with the air of one who knows how to combat the symptoms of illness. he administered a draught, and bathed the sick man's temples with some pungent decoction of herbs which he prepared with hot water; and after giving him a small quantity of soup, told humphrey that he would probably sleep quietly all night, and might very likely awake without any fever, though as weak as a child. and in effect only a short time elapsed before his eyes closed, and he sank into a peaceful slumber, such as he had not known throughout the past days. "thank god you came!" said humphrey with fervour; "i had thought to bury my brother here beside his wife, and the loneliness and horror had well nigh driven me mad. if he live, i shall have something left to live for; else i could have wished that we had all perished together!" "nay," cried fritz from the fire, "we can do better than that: we can join those who have the welfare of the country at heart. we can punish proud france for her ambition and encroachments, and perchance--who knows?--england's flag may ere long proudly wave where now only the banner of france has floated from her scattered forts." but just at this moment humphrey could not be roused to any patriotic fervour. the sense of personal loss and horror was strong upon him. his thoughts were turning vaguely towards the mother country from which his fathers had come. for the moment the wild west was hateful to him. he could not face the thought of taking up the old life again. he had been uprooted too suddenly and ruthlessly. the spell of the forest was gone. sometimes he felt that he never wished to look upon waving trees again. as they partook of the well-cooked supper which fritz had provided, and afterwards sat smoking their pipes beside the fire, whilst the wind moaned and sighed round the corners of the shed, and whispered through the trees around the clearing, he told these strangers the whole history of his life, and how it had seemed to be suddenly cut in half a week ago, whilst the last half already began to look and feel to him longer than the first. there was no lack of sympathy and interest in the faces of his hearers. when they heard how a frenchman had been with the indians upon their raid, fritz smote the ground heavily with his open hand, exclaiming: "that is what we heard as we journeyed onward; that is the rumour that reached us even in the far south. it was hard to believe that brother should turn against brother out here in these trackless wilds, amid hordes of savage indians. we said it must surely be false--that christian men could not be guilty of such wickedness! yet it has proved all too true. we have heard stories during our journey which have filled our hearts with loathing and scorn. france is playing a treacherous, a vile and unworthy game. england is no match for her yet--unprepared and taken at a disadvantage. but you will see, you will see! she will arise from sleep like a giant refreshed! and then let proud france tremble for her bloody laurels!" his eye flashed, and julian said thoughtfully: "ay, truly has she stained her laurels with blood; and she is even now staining her annals with dark crimes, when she stirs up the savage indian to bring death and desolation to those peaceful settlers with whom they have so long lived as friends. god will require their blood at the hands of france. let her beware! for the hour of her destruction will not be prolonged if she sells herself to sin." there was a long silence then between the three men; it was at length broken by humphrey, who looked from one to the other, and said: "you have not yet told me of yourselves. who are you, and whence do you come? i have heard of vast plains and mighty rivers in the south and west, but i know nothing beyond these forest tracks which lie about our desolated home." fritz signed to julian to be the speaker, and he leaned his back against the wall, clasping his hands behind his head. the firelight gleamed upon his earnest face and shone in his brilliant eyes. humphrey regarded him with a species of fascination. he had never seen a man quite of this type before. "have you ever heard," asked julian, "of that great explorer la salle, who first made the voyage of the great river mississippi, and founded the infant colony of louisiana, albeit he himself perished by the hand of an assassin in the wilderness, before he had half achieved the object to which he was pledged?" "i have heard the name," said humphrey; "i used to hear the men of philadelphia talk of such things when i was a boy. but he was a frenchman." "yes, and came with a commission from the king of france hard upon a century ago. my great-grandfather and his father were of the company of la salle, although they bore their part in a different expedition from that which is known to the world." "are you then french?" asked humphrey, half disappointed, though he could not tell why. julian smiled, reading the thought in his heart. "french in little beside name," he replied. "my great grandfather, gaspard dautray, was half english through his mother, an englishwoman; and he married mary neville, an english maiden, from whose family fritz there is descended. in brief, let me tell you the story. long before la salle had penetrated the fastnesses of the west, there had grown up in a green valley a little colony of english, outcasts from their own land by reason of their faith. they had lived at peace for long with the indian tribes; but when more white men began invading their country, jealousy and fury were awakened in the hearts of the indians, and this little settlement was in great danger. in their extremity this little colony sent to la salle, and though he himself was absent, his lieutenant sent them a band of men to aid them in defending their lives and property, and in routing the attacking indian force. "but it was no longer safe to remain in the green valley which had sheltered them so long. they heard of the lands of the south, down the great mysterious river, and they resolved to seek an asylum there. "with the company of la salle, and yet not attached to it, was a holy man whom all the world called father fritz; a priest, yet one who followed not the pope of rome, but loved each christian brother, and recognized only one church--the church of the baptized. he went with the little band, and they made themselves a new home in the land of the south. they were beloved of the indians about them. father fritz taught them, baptized such as were truly converted, and lived amongst them to a hoary old age, loving and beloved; seeking always to hold them back from greed and covetousness, and teaching them that the hope for which they must look was the coming of the lord jesus christ himself to reign upon the earth." julian paused, looking thoughtfully into the fire. humphrey heaved a great sigh, and said half bitterly: "but the lord delayeth his coming, and men wage war against their brethren." "yes, verily; yet i think that should make us long the more for the day which will surely come. however, let me tell my tale. the great enterprise of france in the south and west has come to but a very small thing. no chain of forts guards the great river. the highway from canada to the south has never been opened up. france is speaking of it to this day. these very hostile movements towards england are all part and parcel of the old plan. she still desires to hold the whole territory by this chain of forts, and shut england in between the sea and those mountains yonder. you have heard, i doubt not, how england is resolved not to be thus held in check. major george washington and general braddock have both made attacks upon fort duquesne, and though both have suffered defeat owing to untoward causes and bad generalship, the spirit within them is still unquenched. fort duquesne, fort niagara, fort ticonderoga--these are the three northern links of the chain, and i think that england will never rest until she has floated her flag over these three forts. "we have come from far to the heart of that great struggle which all men know must come. the day of rest for us seemed ended. we have been travelling all through the long, hot summer months, to find and to be with our countrymen when the hour of battle should come." humphrey looked from one to the other, and said: "there are only two of you. where are all the rest from your smiling valley of the south? were you the only twain that desired to join the fight?" "a dozen of us started, but two turned back quickly, discouraged by the hardness of the way, and a few died of fever in the great swamps and jungles: others turned aside when we neared the great lakes, thinking to find an easier way. but fritz and i had our own plan of making our way to new england, and after long toil and travel here we are at the end of our journey. for this indeed seems like the end, when we have found a comrade who will show us the way and lead us to the civilized world again!" "ay, i can do that," answered humphrey; "i know well the road back to the world. nor is it a matter of more than a few days' travel to reach the outlying townships. i have often said i would go and visit our sisters and friends, but i have never done so. alas that i should go at last with such heavy tidings!" "heavy tidings indeed," said fritz, with sympathy; "yet we will avenge these treacherous murders upon those who have brought them to pass." "that will not restore the dead to life," said humphrey mournfully. "no, but it will ease the burning heart of its load of rage and vengeance." humphrey's eyes turned for a moment towards his sleeping brother. he knew how welcome would be such words to him--that is, if he awoke from his fever dreams in the same mood as they had found him. "and yet," said julian thoughtfully, "we have been taught by our fathers that brothers should live at peace together, even as we in our valley lived long at peace with all and with one another. so long as the memory of our venerable father remained alive there was all harmony and concord, and every man sought his brother's well being as earnestly as his own." "can you remember the holy man?" asked humphrey, with interest. "no; but my father remembered him well. he was well grown towards manhood before the venerable old man died at a great age. my grandfather has told me story after story of him. i have been brought up to love and revere his memory, and to hold fast the things which he taught us. but after his death, alas! a new spirit gradually entered into the hearts of our people. they began to grow covetous of gain, to trade with the indians for their own benefit, to fall into careless and sometimes evil practices. before my father died he said to me that the home of peace was no longer the place it once had been, and that he should like to think that i might find a better place to live in, since i was young and had my life before me." "was that long ago?" "just a year. my mother had died six months earlier. the dissensions of the parent countries had begun to reach to us. we had been french and english from the beginning, but had dwelt in peace and brotherly goodwill for nigh upon eighty years. we had married amongst ourselves, so that some amongst us scarce knew whether to call themselves french or english. but for all that disunion grew and spread. stragglers of louisiana found their way to us. they brought new fashions of thought and teaching with them. some romish priests found us out, and took possession of the little chapel which father fritz had built with such loving care, and the mass was said instead of that simpler service which he had drawn up for us. many of us the priests dubbed as heretics, and because we would not change our views for them, they became angry, and we were excommunicated. it has been nothing but growing strife and disunion for the past two years. i was glad to turn my back upon it at last, and find my way to a freer land, and one where a man may worship god according to his conscience; albeit i have no desire to speak ill of the priests, who were good men, and sought to teach us what they deemed to be the truth." "i am a protestant," said humphrey; "i know little about romish devices. i was taught to hate and abhor them. we dwelt among the quaker folk of pennsylvania. but we are not quakers ourselves. out here in the wilds we must live as we can. we have the bible--and that is all." "people say of the quakers that they will not fight!" said fritz suddenly. "is that so?" "i know not," answered humphrey; "i think i have heard my father say something of that sort. but surely they will fight to avenge such things as that!" and he made a gesture with his hand as though indicating the burnt homestead and the graves of the murdered woman and children. "if they be men they surely will. you will go and tell them your story, humphrey?" "ay, that i will!" answered humphrey, between his shut teeth. fritz sat staring into the fire for some time, and then he too broke out with some heat. "yes, it is the same story all over. it was the french who came and spoiled our happy home. if they had let us alone, perchance we might have been there still, hunting, fishing, following the same kind of life as our fathers--at peace with ourselves and with the world. but they came amongst us. they sowed disunion and strife. they were resolved to get rid of the english party, as they called it. they were all softness and mildness to them. but those in whom the sturdy british spirit flourished they regarded with jealousy and dislike. they sowed the seeds of disunion. they spoiled our valley and our life. doubtless the germs were there before, but it was the emissaries of france who wrought the mischief. if they could have done it, i believe they would have taught the indians to distrust us english; but that was beyond their power. even they held in loving reverence the name of father fritz, and none of his children, as they called us all alike, could do wrong in their eyes. so then it was their policy to get rid of such as would not own the supremacy of france in all things. i was glad at the last to go. we became weary of the bickerings and strife. some of the elders remained behind, but the rest of us went forth to find ourselves a new home and a new country." humphrey listened to this tale with as much interest as it was possible for him to give to any concern other than his own. something of that indignant hatred which was springing into active life all through the western continent began to inflame his breast. it had been no effect of charles's inflamed imagination. the french were raising the indians against them, and striving to overthrow england's sons wherever they had a foothold, beyond their immediate colonies. it was time they should arise and assert themselves. humphrey's eyes kindled as he sat thinking upon these things. "i too will go forth and fight france," he said at last; and with that resolve the sense of numb lethargy and despair fell away from him like a worn-out garment, and his old fire and energy returned. chapter : philadelphia. "i will go and tell my tale in the ears of my countrymen," said charles, with steady voice but burning eyes, "and then i will go forth and fight the french, and slay and slay till they be driven from off the face of the western world!" the fever had left charles now. some of his former strength had come back to him. but his brother looked at him often with wondering eyes, for it seemed to him that this charles was a new being, with whom he had but scant acquaintance. he could not recognize in this stern faced, brooding man the quiet, homely farmer and settler whose home he had shared for so long. their new comrades were glad of the rest afforded them by the necessity of waiting till charles should be fit to move. they had been travelling for many months, and the shelter of a roof--even though it was only the roof of a shed--was grateful to them. fritz and charles took a strong mutual liking almost from the first. both were men of unwonted strength and endurance, and both were fired by a strong personal enmity towards the french and their aggressive policy. julian told humphrey, in their private conferences, something of the cause of this personal rancour. "there was a fair maid in our valley--renee we called her--and her parents were french. but we were all friends together; and fritz and she loved each other, and were about to be betrothed. then came these troubles, and the priest forbade renee to wed a heretic; and though she herself would have been faithful, her parents were afraid. it seemed to all then that the french were going to be masters of the land. there was another youth who loved her also, and to him they married her. that was just before we came away--a dozen of us english youths, who could not stand the new state of things and the strife of party. fritz has neither forgotten nor forgiven. the name of france us odious in his ears." "and in yours, too?" asked humphrey. julian's face was grave and thoughtful. "i have my moments of passionate anger. i hate everything that is vile and treacherous and aggressive. but i would seek to remember that after all we are brothers, and that we all bear the name of christ. that is what father fritz of old sought to make us remember. perhaps it comes the easier to me in that i have french blood in my veins, albeit i regard myself now as an english subject. i have cast in my lot with the english." humphrey and julian drew together, much as did charles and fritz. julian was a year or two older than humphrey, and charles was several years older than fritz; but all had led a free open-air life, and had tastes and feelings in common. they understood woodcraft and hunting; they were hardy, self reliant, courageous. it was of such men as these that the best soldiers were made in the days that were at hand; although the military leaders, especially if they came from the old world with its code of civilized warfare, were slow to recognize it. a heavy storm of wind and rain--the precursor of the coming winter--raged round the little settlement for several days, during which the party sat round their fire, talking of the past and the future, and learning to know each other more and more intimately. charles recovered rapidly from the loss of blood and the fever weakness. his constitution triumphed easily over his recent illness, and he was only longing to be on the road, that he might the sooner stand face to face with the foe. and now the storm was abating. the sun began to shine out through the driving wrack of clouds. the woodland tracks might be wet, but little reeked the travellers of that. they bound upon their backs as much provision as would suffice for their immediate needs. they looked well to their arms and ammunition. they had mended their clothes, and were strong and fresh and full of courage. the journey before them seemed as nothing to the pair who had traversed so many thousands of miles of wood and water. and the settlers had friends at the other end who would remember them, and have tears of sympathy to shed at hearing their terrible tale. the brothers stood looking their last upon the clearing which had for so long been their home. in humphrey's eyes there was an unwonted moisture; but charles's face was set and stern, and his lips twitched with the excess of restrained emotion. his eyes were fixed upon the mound which hid from his view the corpses of wife and children. suddenly he lifted his clinched hand towards heaven. "strengthen, o lord, this right hand of mine, that it may be strong against the nation whose crimes bring desolation upon thy children. be with us in the hour of vengeance and victory. help us to render unto them even as they have rendered to us." julian and fritz had withdrawn themselves a little, respecting the inevitable emotion which must come to men at such a moment. humphrey turned away, and took a few uncertain steps, half blinded by the unwonted smart of tears in his eyes. he had come almost to hate this place of terrible associations; and yet it wrung his heart for a moment to leave those nameless graves, and that little lonely spot where so many peaceful and happy hours had been spent. julian's hand was on his arm, and his voice spoke in his ear. "i know what it feels like; i have been through it. the smart is keen. but it helps us to remember that we are but strangers and pilgrims. it is perhaps those who have no abiding city here who most readily seek that which is theirs above." humphrey pressed julian's hand, feeling vaguely comforted by his words, although he could not enter fully into their significance. to charles julian said: "'we must remember, even in our righteous wrath, that god has said he is the avenger. we can trust our wrongs in his hands. he will use us as his instruments if he thinks good. but let us beware of private acts of vengeance of our own planning. we must not forget the reverse of the picture--the mercy as well as the anger of god. we must not take things out of his hands into our own, lest we stumble and fall. we have a commandment to love our enemies, and to do good to those that hate us." charles looked fixedly at him. "i have not forgotten," he said, in his strange, slow way; "i was brought up amongst those who refuse the sword, calling themselves servants of the prince of peace. we shall see which the lord will have--peace or war. do you think he desires to see a repetition of such scenes as that?" charles pointed sternly to the ruined homestead--the grave beside it, and his gloomy eyes looked straight into those of julian; but he did not even wait for an answer, but plunged along the forest track in an easterly direction. * * * * * in a wide street in philadelphia, not far from the assembly rooms where such hot debates were constantly going on, stood an old-fashioned house, quaintly gabled, above the door of which hung out a sign board intimating that travellers might find rest and refreshment within. the whole house was spotlessly clean, and its aspect was prim and sober, as was indeed that of the whole city. men in wide-brimmed hats and wide-skirted coats of sombre hue walked the streets, and talked earnestly together at the corners; whilst the women, for the most part, passed on their way with lowered eyes, and hoods drawn modestly over their heads, neither speaking nor being spoken to as they pursued their way. to be sure there were exceptions. in some quarters there were plenty of people of a different aspect and bearing; but in this wide and pleasant street, overlooked by the window of the hostelry, there were few gaily-dressed persons to be seen, but nearly all of them wore the dress and adopted the quaint speech of the quaker community. from this window a bright-faced girl was looking eagerly out into the street. she wore a plain enough dress of grey homespun cloth, and a little prim cap covered her pretty hair. yet for all that several little rebellious curls peeped forth, surrounding her face with a tiny nimbus; and there was something dainty in the fashion of her white frilled kerchief, arranged across her dress bodice and tied behind. she would dearly have loved to adorn herself with some knots of rose-coloured ribbon, but the rose tints in her cheek gave the touch of colour which brightened her sombre raiment, and her dancing blue eyes would have made sunshine in any place. she had opened the window lattice and craned her head to look down the street; but at the sound of a footstep within doors she quickly drew it in again, for her mother reproved her when she found her hanging out at the window. "what is all the stir about, mother?" she asked; "there be so many folks abroad, and they have been passing in and out of the assembly rooms for above an hour. what does it all mean? are they baiting the governor again? are they having another fight about the taxes?" "nay, child, i know not. i have been in the kitchen, looking to the supper. thy father came in awhile back, and said we had guests arrived, and that he desired the supper to be extra good. that is all i know." "something has happened, i am sure of that!" cried the girl again, "and i would father would come and tell us what it is all about. he always hears all the news. perhaps the travellers he is bringing here will know. i may sit with you at the supper table, may i not, mother?" "yes, child; so your father said. he came in with a smile upon his face. but he was in a great haste, and has been gone ever since. so what it all means i know not." susanna--for such was the name of the girl--became at once interested and excited. "o mother, what can it be? hark at that noise in the street below! people are crying out in a great rage. what can it be? it was so that day a week agone, when news was brought in that some poor settlers had been murdered by indians, and the assembly would do nothing but wrangle with the governor instead of sending out troops to defend our people. do you think something can have happened again?" the mother's face turned a little pale. "heaven send it be not so!" she exclaimed. "i am always in fear when i hear of such things--in fear for my old father, and for my brothers. you know they live away there on the border. i pray heaven no trouble will fall upon them." susanna's eyes dilated with interest, as they always did when her mother talked to her of these unknown relations, away beyond the region of safety and civilization. to be correct, it should be explained that susanna was not the real daughter of the woman whom she called mother; for benjamin ashley had been twice married, and susanna had been five years old before hannah angell had taken the mother's place. but she never thought of this herself. she remembered no other mother, and the tie between them was strong and tender, despite the fact that there was not more than thirteen years' difference in age between them, and some girls might have rebelled against the rule of one who might almost have been a sister. but susanna had no desire to rebel. hannah's rule was a mild and gentle one, although it was exercised with a certain amount of prim decorum. still the girl was shrewd enough to know that her father's leanings towards the quaker code had been greatly modified by the influence of his wife, and that she was kept less strictly than he would have kept her had he remained a widower. hannah bustled away to the kitchen, and susanna, after one more longing look out of the window towards the crowd assembled in the open space beyond, followed her, and gave active assistance in the setting of the supper table. a young man in quaker garb, and with a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, entered the outer room, engaged in hot dispute with another youth of different aspect, whose face was deeply flushed as if in anger. "your franklin may be a clever man--i have nothing against that!" he exclaimed hotly; "but if he backs up the stubborn assembly, and stands idle whilst our settlers are being massacred like sheep, then say i that he and they alike deserve hanging in a row from the gables of their own assembly house; and that if the indians break in upon us and scalp them all, they will but meet the deserts of their obstinacy and folly!" "friend," said the other of the sober raiment, "thee speaks as a heathen man and a vain fellow. the lord hath given us a commandment to love one another, and to live at peace with all men. we may not lightly set aside that commandment; we may not do evil that good may come." "tush, man! get your bible and look. i am no scholar, but i know that the lord calls himself a man of war--that he rides forth, sword in hand, conquering, and to conquer; that the armies in heaven itself fight under the archangel against the powers of darkness. and are we men to let our brothers be brutally murdered, whilst we sit with folded hands, or wrangle weeks and months away, as you quakers are wrangling over some petty question of taxation which a man of sense would settle in five minutes? i am ashamed of philadelphia! the whole world will be pointing the finger of scorn at us. we are acting like cowards--like fools--not like men! if there were but a man to lead us forth, i and a hundred stout fellows would start forth to the border country tomorrow to wage war with those villainous indians and their more villainous allies the crafty sons of france." "have patience, friend," said the quaker youth, with his solemn air; "i tell thee that the assembly is in the right. who are the penns these proprietaries--that their lands should be exempt from taxation? if the governor will yield that point, then will the assembly raise the needful aid for keeping in check the enemy, albeit it goes sorely against their righteous souls. but they will not give everything and gain nothing; it is not right they should." "and while they wrangle and snarl and bicker, like so many dogs over a bone, our countrywomen and their innocent children are to be scalped and burnt and massacred? that is scripture law, is it? that is your vaunted religion. you will give way--you will yield your principles for a petty victory on a point of law, but not to save the lives of the helpless brothers who are crying aloud on all hands to you to come and save them!" the quaker youth moved his large feet uneasily; he, in common with the seniors of his party, was beginning to find it a little difficult to maintain a logical position in face of the pressing urgency of the position. he had been brought up in the tenets which largely prevailed in pennsylvania at that day, and was primed with numerous arguments which up till now had been urged with confidence by the quaker community. but the peace-loving quakers were beginning to feel the ground shaking beneath their feet. the day was advancing with rapid strides when they would be forced either to take up arms in defence of their colony, or to sit still and see it pass bodily into the hands of the enemy. susanna was peeping in at the door of the next room. she knew both the speakers well. ebenezer jenkyns had indeed been paying her some attention of late, although she laughed him to scorn. much more to her liking was bold john stark, her father's kinsman; and as there was nobody in the room beside these two, she ventured to go a step within the doorway and ask: "what is the matter now, jack? what are you two fighting about so hotly?" "faith, 'tis ever the same old tale--more massacres and outrages upon our borders, more women and children slaughtered! settlers from the western border calling aloud to us to send them help, and these quaker fellows of the assembly doing nothing but wrangle, wrangle, wrangle with the governor, and standing idle whilst their brothers perish. save me from the faith of the peace makers!" again the other young man moved uneasily, the more so as he saw the look of disdain and scorn flitting over the pretty face of susanna. "thee does us an injustice, friend," he said. "was it not benjamin franklin who a few months back gave such notable help to general braddock that he called him the only man of honesty and vigour in all the western world? but the lord showed that he would not have us attack our brother men, and braddock's army was cut to pieces, and he himself slain. when the lord shows us his mind, it is not for us to persist in our evil courses; we must be patient beneath his chastenings." "tush, man! the whole campaign was grossly mismanaged; all the world knows that by now. but why hark back to the past? it is the present, the future that lie before us. are we to let our province become overrun and despoiled by hordes of savage indians, or are we to rise like men and sweep them back whence they came? there is the case in a nutshell. and instead of facing it like men, the assembly talks and squabbles and wrangles like a pack of silly women!" "oh no, cousin jack," quoth susanna saucily, "say not like women! women would make up their minds to action in an hour. say rather like men, like men such as ebenezer loves--men with the tongues of giants and the spirit of mice; men who speak great swelling words, and boast of their righteousness, but who are put to shame by the brute beasts themselves. even a timid hen will be brave when her brood is attacked; but a quaker cannot be anything but a coward, and will sit with folded hands whilst his own kinsmen perish miserably!" this was rather too much even for ebenezer's phlegmatic spirit. he seized his broad-brimmed hat and clapped it on his head. "thee will be sorry some day, susanna, for making game of the quakers, and of the godly ones of the earth," he spluttered. "go thee to the poultry yard, friend ebenezer," called susanna after him; "the old hen there will give thee a warm welcome. go and learn from her how to fight. i warrant thee will learn more from her than thee has ever known before--more than thine own people will ever teach thee. go to the old hen to learn; only i fear thee will soon flee from her with a text in thy mouth to aid thy legs to run!" "susanna, susanna!" cried a voice from within, whilst jack doubled himself up in a paroxysm of delight, "what are you saying so loud and free? come hither, child. you grow over bold, and i cannot have you in the public room. with whom are you talking there?" "there is only jack here now," answered susanna meekly, although the sparkle still gleamed in her eyes; "ebenezer has just gone out. i was saying farewell to him." "come back now, and finish setting the table; and if john will stay to supper, he will be welcome." john was only too glad, for he took keen pleasure in the society of susanna, and was fond of the quaint old house where his kinsman lived. he rose and went into the inner room, where hannah received him with a smile and a nod. susanna would have asked him what special news had reached the town that day, but the sound of approaching feet outside warned her of the return of her father with the friends he was bringing to supper. she flew to the kitchen for the first relay of dishes, and hannah left her to dish them up, whilst she went to meet the guests. jack and the maidservant assisted susanna at the stove, and a few minutes passed before they entered the supper room, where the company had assembled. when they did so, the girl was surprised to note that her mother was standing between two tall strangers, one of whom had his arm about her, and that she was weeping silently yet bitterly. susanna put down her dishes on the table and crept to her father's side. "what is the matter?" she asked timidly. "matter enough to bring tears to all our eyes--ay, tears of blood!" answered ashley sternly. "these two men are your mother's brothers, who arrived today--just a short while back--as i hoped with pleasant tidings. now have we learned a different tale. their old father and charles's wife and children have been brutally murdered by indians, and he himself escaped as by a miracle. we have been telling the tale to the assembly this very afternoon. ah, it would have moved hearts of stone to hear charles's words! i pray heaven that something may soon be done. it is fearful to think of the sufferings which our inaction is causing to our settlers in the west!" "it is a shame--a disgrace!" exclaimed jack hotly, and then he turned his glance upon the two other men who were seated at the table, taking in the whole scene in silence. both wore the look of travellers; both were tanned by exposure, and were clad in stained and curious garments, such as betokened the life of the wilderness. jack was instantly and keenly interested. he himself would willingly have been a backwoodsman had he been able to adopt that adventurous life. ashley saw the look he bent upon the travellers, and he made them known to one another. "these friends have travelled far from the lands of the south, and have been friends in need to our kinsmen yonder. fritz neville and julian dautray are their names. "susanna, set food before them. your mother will not be able to think of aught just now. we must let her have her cry out before we trouble her." the rest of the party seated themselves, whilst in the recess by the window hannah stood between the brothers she had parted from ten years ago, listening to their tale, and weeping as she listened. ashley turned to his two guests, who were eating with appetite from the well-filled platters placed before them, and he began to speak as though taking up a theme which had lately been dropped. "it is no wonder that you are perplexed by what you hear and see in this city. i will seek to make the point at issue as clear to you as it may be. you have doubtless heard of the penn family, from whom this colony takes its name. much we owe to our founder--his wisdom, liberality, and enlightenment; but his sons are hated here. they are absent in england, but they are the proprietaries of vast tracts of land, and it is with regard to these lands that the troubles in the assembly arise. the proprietaries are regarded as renegades from the faith; for the assembly here is quaker almost to a man. they hate the feudalism of the tenure of the proprietaries, and they are resolved to tax these lands, although they will not defend them, and although no income is at present derived from them." "have they the power to do so?" asked julian. "not without the consent of the governor. that is where the whole trouble lies. and the governor has no power to grant them leave to tax the proprietary lands. not only so, but he is expressly forbidden by the terms of his commission to permit this taxation. but the assembly will not yield the point, nor will they consent to furnish means for the defence of the colony until this point is conceded. that is where the deadlock comes in. the governor cannot yield; his powers do not permit it. the assembly will not yield. they hate the thought of war, and seem glad to shelter themselves behind this quibble. for a while many of us, their friends, although not exactly at one with them in all things, stood by them and upheld them; but we are fast losing patience now. when it comes to having our peaceful settlers barbarously murdered, and our western border desolated and encroached upon; when it becomes known that this is the doing of jealous france, not of the indians themselves, then it is time to take a wider outlook. let the question of the proprietary lands stand over till another time; the question may then be settled at a less price than is being paid for it now, when every month's delay costs us the lives of helpless women and children, and when humanity herself is crying aloud in our streets." ashley, although he had long been on most friendly terms with the quaker population of the town, was not by faith a quaker, and was growing impatient with the assembly and its stubborn policy of resistance. he felt that his old friend franklin should know better, and show a wider spirit. he had acted with promptness and patriotism earlier in the year, when braddock's luckless expedition had applied to him for help. but in this warfare he was sternly resolved on the victory over the governor, and at this moment it seemed as though all philadelphia was much more eager to achieve this than to defend the borders of the colony. hitherto the danger had not appeared pressing to the eastern part of the colony. they were in no danger from indian raids, and they had small pity for their brethren on the western frontier. between them and the encroaching indians lay a population, mostly german, that acted like a buffer state to them; and notwithstanding that every post brought in urgent appeals for help, they passed the time in wrangling with the governor, in drawing up bills professing to be framed to meet the emergency, but each one of them containing the clause through which the governor was forced to draw his pen. governor morris had written off to england stating the exceeding difficulty of his position. his appeals to the assembly to defend the colony were spirited and manly. he was anxious to join with the other colonies for an organized and united resistance, but this was at present extremely difficult. others before him had tried the same policy, but it had ended in failure. petty jealousies did more to hold the colonies apart than a common peril to bind them together. political and religious strife was always arising. there was nothing to bind them together save a common, though rather cold, allegiance to the english king. now and again, in moments of imminent peril, they had united for a common object; but they fell apart almost at once. each had its own pet quarrel with its governor, which was far more interesting to the people at the moment than anything else. julian and fritz listened in amaze as ashley, who was a well-informed man and a shrewd observer, put before them, as well as he was able, the state of affairs reigning in pennsylvania and the sister states. "i am often ashamed of our policy, of our bickerings, of our tardiness," concluded the good man; "yet for all that there is stuff of the right sort in our people. we have english blood in our veins, and i always maintain that england is bound to be the dominant power in these lands of the west. let them but send us good leaders and generals from the old country, and i will answer for it that the rising generation of new england will fight and will conquer, and drive the encroaching french back whence they came!" chapter : an exciting struggle. it was an exciting scene. susanna stood at the window, and gazed eagerly along the street, striving hard to obtain a sight of the seething crowd in the open square. she could see the tall, haggard form of her uncle charles, as she called him. he was standing upon a little platform that his friends had erected for him in front of the assembly rooms, and he was speaking aloud to the surging crowd in accents that rang far through the still air, and even reached the ears of the listeners at the open window. for once hannah made no protest when the girl thrust out her head. she herself seemed to be striving to catch the echoes of the clear, trumpet-like voice. her colour came and went in her cheeks; her breast heaved with the emotion which often found vent in those days in a fit of silent weeping. "mother dear, do not weep; they shall be avenged! nobody can listen to uncle charles and not be moved. hark how they are shouting now--hark! i can see them raising their arms to heaven. they are shaking their fists in the direction of the windows of the assembly house. surely those cowardly men must be roused to action; they cannot hear unmoved a tale such as uncle charles has to tell!" "yet even so the dead will not be restored to life; and war is a cruel, bitter thing." "yes, but victory is glorious. and we shall surely triumph, for our cause is righteous. i am sure of that. and julian dautray says the same. i think he is a very good man, mother; i think he is better than the quakers, though he does not talk as if he thought himself a saint. "o mother, there is uncle humphrey looking up at us! i pray you let me go down to him. i long so greatly to hear what uncle charles is saying. and i shall be safe in his care." "i think i will come, too," said hannah, whose interest and curiosity were keenly aroused; and after signalling as much to humphrey, they threw on their cloaks and hoods, and were soon out in the streets, where an excited crowd had gathered. "the posts have come in," said humphrey, as they made their way slowly along, "and there is news of fresh disasters, and nearer. in a few minutes we shall have more news. men have gone in who promise to come out and read us the letters. but the bearers themselves declare that things are terrible. the germans have been attacked. a moravian settlement has been burnt to the ground, and all its inhabitants butchered. families are flying from the border country, naked and destitute, to get clear of the savages and their tomahawks. every where the people are calling aloud upon the assembly to come to their succour." the crowd in the street was surging to and fro. some were quakers, with pale, determined countenances, still holding to their stubborn policy of non-resistance to the enemy, but of obstinate resistance to the governor and the proprietaries. the sight of these men seemed to inflame the rest of the populace, and they were hustled and hooted as they made their way into the assembly; whilst the governor was cheered as he went by with a grave and troubled face, and on the steps of his house he turned and addressed the people. "my friends," he said, "i am doing what i can. i have written to the proprietaries and to the government at home. i have told them that the conduct of the assembly is to me shocking beyond parallel. i am asking for fresh powers to deal with this horrible crisis. but i cannot look for an answer for long; and meantime are all our helpless settlers in the west to be butchered? you men of the city, rise you and make a solemn protest to these obstinate rulers of yours. i have spoken all that one man may, and they will not hear. try you now if you cannot make your voice heard." "we will, we will!" shouted a hundred voices; and forthwith knots of influential men began to gather together in corners, talking eagerly together, and gesticulating in their excitement. and all this while charles, wild-eyed and haggard, was keeping his place on the little platform, and telling his story again and again to the shifting groups who came and went. men and women hung upon his words in a sort of horrible fascination. others might talk of horrors guessed at, yet unseen; charles had witnessed the things of which he spoke, and his words sent thrills of horror through the frames of those who heard. women wept, and wrung their hands, and the faces of men grew white and stern. but upon the opposite side of the square another orator was haranguing the crowd. a young quaker woman had got up upon some steps, moved in spirit, as she declared, to denounce the wickedness of war, and to urge the townsmen to peaceful methods. her shrill voice rose high and piercing, and she invoked heaven to bless the work of those who would endure all things rather than spill human blood. but the people had heard something too much of this peaceful gospel. for long they had upheld the policy of non-resistance. they had their shops, their farms, their merchandise; they were prosperous and phlegmatic, more interested in local than in national issues. they had been content to be preached at by the quakers, and to give passive adhesion to their policy; but the hour of awakening had come. the agonized cries of those who looked to them for aid had pierced their ears too often to be ignored. humanity itself must rise in answer to such an appeal. they were beginning to see that their peace policy was costing untold human lives, amid scenes of unspeakable horror. they let the woman speak in peace; they did not try to stop her utterances. but when a brother quaker took her place and began a similar harangue, the young men round raised a howl, and a voice cried out: "duck him in the horse pond! roll him in a barrel! let him be tarred and feathered like an indian, since he loves the scalping savages so well. who's got a tomahawk? let's see how they use them. does anybody know how they scalp their prisoners? a quaker would never miss his scalp; he always has his hat on!" a roar of laughter greeted this sally; and a rush was made for the unlucky orator, who showed a bold front enough to the mob. but at that moment public attention was turned in a different direction by the appearing upon the steps of the assembly rooms of a well-known citizen of high repute, who had until latterly been one of the peace party, but who of late had made a resolute stand, insisting that something must be done for the protection of the western settlers, and for the curbing of the ambitious encroachments and preposterous claims of france. this grave-faced citizen came out with some papers in his hand, and the crowd was hushed into silence. overhead anxious faces could be seen looking out at the window. it was not by the wishes of the assembly that such letters were made public; but many of them had been addressed to james freeman himself, and they could not restrain him from doing as he would with his own. "my friends," he said, and his voice rose distinct in the clear air, "we have heavy tidings today. you shall hear what is written from some sufferers not far from fort cumberland, where forty white men, women, and children were barbarously murdered a few days back. "'we are in as bad circumstances as ever any poor christians were ever in; for the cries of the widowers, widows, fatherless and motherless children are enough to pierce the hardest of hearts. likewise it is a very sorrowful spectacle to see those that escaped with their lives with not a mouthful to eat, or bed to lie on, or clothes to cover their nakedness or keep them warm, but all they had consumed to ashes. these deplorable circumstances cry aloud to your honour's most wise consideration how steps may speedily be taken to deliver us out of the hand of our persecutors the cruel and murderous savages, and to bring the struggle to an end.'" the reader paused, and a low, deep murmur passed through the crowd, its note of rage and menace being clearly heard. the speaker took up another paper and recommenced. "this comes from john harris on the east bank of the susquehanna: "'the indians are cutting us off every day, and i had a certain account of about fifteen hundred indians, besides french, being on their march against us and virginia, and now close on our borders, their scouts scalping our families on our frontier daily.'" another pause, another murmur like a roar, and a voice from the crowd was raised to ask: "and what says the assembly to that?" "they say that if the indians are rising against us, who have been friendly so long, then we must surely have done something to wrong them; and they are about to search for the cause of such a possible wrong, and redress it, rather than impose upon the colony the calamities of a cruel indian war!" a yell and a groan went up from the crowd. for a moment it seemed almost as though some attack would be made upon the assembly house. the habits of law and obedience were, however, strong in the citizens of philadelphia, and in the end they dispersed quietly to their own homes; but a fire had been kindled in their hearts which would not easily be quenched. days were wasted by the quakers in an unsuccessful attempt to prove that there had been some fraud on the part of the governor in a recent land purchase from the indians. and they again laid before the governor one of their proposals, still containing the clause which he was unable to entertain, and which inevitably brought matters to a deadlock. the quakers drew up a declaration affirming that they had now taken every step in their power, "consistent with the just rights of the freemen of pennsylvania, for the relief of the poor distressed inhabitants," and further declared that "we have reason to believe that they themselves would not wish us to go further. those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary relief and safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." the governor, in a dignified reply, once more urged upon them the absolute necessity of waiving for the present the vexed question of the proprietary estates, and passing a bill for the relief of the present sufferers; but the quakers remained deaf and mute, and would not budge one inch from their position. all the city was roused. in houses like that of benjamin ashley, where people were coming and going the whole day long, and where travellers from these border lands were to be found who could give information at first hand, the discussion went on every day and all day long. ashley himself was keenly excited. he had quite broken away from a number of his old friends who supported the assembly in its blind obstinacy. nobody could sit by unmoved whilst charles and humphrey angell told their tale of horror and woe; and, moreover, both julian dautray and fritz neville had much to tell of the aggressive policy of france, and of her resolute determination to stifle and strangle the growing colonies of england, by giving them no room to expand, whilst she herself claimed boundless untrodden regions which she could never hope to populate or hold. fresh excitements came daily to the city. early one morning, as the tardy daylight broke, a rumble of wheels in the street below told of the arrival of travellers. the wheels stopped before ashley's door, and he hastily finished his toilet and went down. in a few moments all the house was in a stir and commotion. a terrible whisper was running from mouth to mouth. that cart standing grimly silent in the street below carried, it was said, a terrible load. beneath its heavy cover lay the bodies of about twenty victims of indian ferocity; and the guardians of the load were stern-faced men, bearing recent scars upon their own persons, who ate and drank in stony silence, and only waited till the assembly had met before completing their grim mission. the thing had got wind in the town by now, and the square space was thronged. the members of the assembly looked a little uneasy as they passed through the crowd, but not a sound was made till all had gathered in the upper room. then from out the yard of the inn was dragged the cart. no horses were fastened to it. the young men of the city dragged it out and pushed it along. the silent, grim-faced guardians walked in front. as it reached the square the crowd sent up a groaning cry, and opened right and left for the dreadful load to be set in position before the windows of the great room where the assembly had met. then the cover was thrown back, and yells and cries arose from all. shouts were raised for the assembly to come and look at their work. there was no resisting the mandate of the crowd. white and trembling, the members of the assembly were had out upon the steps, and forced to look at the bodies of their victims. the crowd hooted, groaned, yelled with maddened fury. the advocates of peace shrank into themselves, appalled at the evidences of barbarities they had sought to believe exaggerated. it was useless now to attempt to deny the truth of what had been reported. back they slunk into the assembly house, white and trembling, and for the moment cowed. the cart was moved on, and stopped in front of house after house where notable quakers dwelt who were not members of the assembly. they were called to come to their windows and look, and were greeted with hisses and curses. the very next day a paper, under preparation by a number of the leading citizens at the suggestion of the governor, was presented to the assembly under the title of a "representation." it contained a stern appeal for the organization of measures of defence, and ended by the dignified and significant words: "you will forgive us, gentlemen, if we assume characters somewhat higher than that of humble suitors praying for the defence of our lives and properties as a matter of grace or favour on your side. you will permit us to make a positive and immediate demand of it." the quakers were frightened, incensed, and perplexed. their preachers went about the streets urging upon the people the doctrine of non-resistance, and picturing the horrors of warfare. the assembly debated and debated, but invariably came to the conclusion that they must withstand the governor to the last upon the question of taxation. all the city was in a tumult and ferment; but when the news came that a settlement only sixty miles away, tulpehocken by name, had been destroyed and its inhabitants massacred, even the advocates of peace grew white with fear, and the house began to draw up a militia law--the most futile and foolish perhaps that had ever been suggested even by lovers of peace--in the vain hope of appeasing the people. but the people would not be appeased by a mere mockery. they clamoured for the raising of money for a systematic defence of their colony, and the ground was cut from beneath the feet of the assembly by a letter received from england by the governor--not indeed in response to his recent urgent appeals, but still written with some knowledge of the unsettled state of the country. in this letter the proprietaries promised a donation of five thousand pounds as a free gift for the defence of the provinces threatened in so formidable a manner, provided it was regarded as a gift and not as any part of a tax upon their estates, which were to remain free according to the old feudal tenure. the assembly upon hearing this could hold out no longer. they were forced by the clamour of public opinion to strike out the debated and debatable clause from the long-contested bill, and immediately it was passed into law by the governor. "ay, they have come to their senses at last--when it is well nigh too late!" spoke john stark, with a touch of bitterness in his tone. "they will furnish money now; but what can be done with the winter just upon us? for six months we must lie idle, whilst the snow and ice wrap us round. why was not this thing done before our settlements were destroyed, and when we could have pushed forth an army into the field to drive back the encroaching foe, so that they would never have dared to show their faces upon our border again?" charles looked up with burning eyes. "what say you? six months to wait? that will not do for me! my blood is boiling in my veins; i must needs cool it! if these laggard rulers, with their clumsy methods, cannot put an army in the field before the spring, surely there are men enough amongst us to go forth--a hardy band of woodsmen and huntsmen--and hunt and harry, and slay and destroy, even as they have done!" "that is what the rangers do!" cried stark, with kindling eyes; "i have heard of them before this. the rangers of new england have done good work before now. good thought, good thought! why not form ourselves into a band of rangers? are we not strong and full of courage, seasoned to hardship, expert in our way with gun or axe? why should we lie idle here all the long winter through? why not let us forth to the forest--find out where help is needed most, and make here a dash and there a raid, striking terror into the hearts of the foe, and bringing help and comfort to those desolate inhabitants of the wilderness who go in terror of their lives? why not be a party of bold rangers, scouring the forests, and doing whatever work comes to hand? men have banded themselves together for this work before now; why may not we do the like?" "why not, indeed?" cried fritz, leaping to his feet. "i pine in the restraint of this town; i long for the forest and the plain once more. my blood, too, is hot within me at the thought of what has been done and will be done again. let us band ourselves together as brothers in arms. there must be work and to spare for those who desire it." ashley thoughtfully stroked his chin, looking round the circle before him. he was a shrewd and thoughtful man, and there was nothing of cowardice in his nature, although he was cautious and careful. "it is not a bad thought, nephew john," he said; "and yet i had been thinking of something different for some of you intrepid and adventurous youths to do. i had thought of sending news of the state of parties here to our friends and kinsmen in england. when all is said and done, it is to england that we must look for help. she must send us generals to command us, and she must help us with her money. there are many families across the water who would open their purses on our behalf right generously were our sad case made known to them. letters are sent continually, but it is the spoken tale that moves the heart. i had thought to send across myself to such of our friends and families as still regard us as belonging to them. if they made a response such as i look for, we should soon have means at our disposal to augment what the tardy assembly may do by an auxiliary force, equipped and furnished with all that can be needed. but you cannot be in two places at once. "what think you, my young friends? will you serve your distressed brethren better as rangers of the forest, or as emissaries to england?" "why not divide our forces?" asked john stark; "there are enough of us for that. i have often heard humphrey speak of a wish to cross the sea, and to visit the land from which we have all come. why not let him choose a comrade, and go thither with letters and messages, and tell his tale in the ears of friends? and whilst they are thus absent, why should not the rest of us make up a party of bold spirits, and go forth into the wilderness, and there carry on such work of defence and aggression as we find for us to do?" "ay. i have no love for the unknown ocean," said charles; "i have other work to do than to visit new lands. i have a vow upon me, and i cannot rest till it be accomplished." humphrey and julian looked at each other. already they had spoken of a visit to england. both desired to see the lands of the eastern hemisphere from whence their fathers had come. hitherto they had not seen how this could be accomplished; but ashley's words opened out an unexpected way. if the citizens of philadelphia wanted to send messengers to their friends across the water, they would gladly volunteer for the service. "if julian will go with me, i will gladly go," said humphrey. "i will go, with all my heart," answered julian at once; "and we will seek and strive to do the pleasure of those who send us." ashley's face beamed upon the pair. he knew by this time that no better messenger than julian dautray could be found. he had a gift of eloquence and a singularly attractive personality. his nature was gentle and refined--curiously so considering his upbringing--and he had a largeness of heart and a gift of sympathy which was seldom to be met with amongst the more rugged sons of the north. he had made himself something of a power already in the circle into which he had been thrown; and when it was known amongst ashley's friends and acquaintance that his wife's brother, together with julian dautray, would go to england with their representations to friends and to those in authority, a liberal response was made as to their outfit and introductions, and the young men were surprised to find themselves suddenly raised to a place of such importance and distinction. it was an exciting time for susanna and for all in the house. john stark came to and fro, bringing news that he had found fresh volunteers to join the band of rangers, who were already making preparations for departure upon their perilous life of adventure. some of the older citizens looked doubtful, and spoke of the rigours of the winter; but john laughed, and charles smiled his strange, mirthless smile, and all declared themselves fearless and ready to face whatever might be in store. come what might, they would go to the help of the settlers, be the assembly ever so dilatory in sending help. "but you will not get killed?" susanna would plead, looking from one face to the other. she was fond of john, who had been like a brother to her all her life; she had a great admiration for handsome fritz, who often spent whole evenings telling her wonderful stories of the far south whilst she plied her needle over the rough garments the rangers were to take with them. it seemed to her a splendid thing these men were about to do, but she shrank from the thought that harm might come to them. she sometimes almost wished they had not thought of it, and that they had been content to remain in the city, drilling with the town militia, and thinking of the coming spring campaign. "we must take our chance," answered fritz, as he bent over her with a smile on one of those occasions. "you would not have us value our lives above the safety of our distressed brethren or the honour of our nation? the things which have happened here of late have tarnished england's fair name and fame. you would not have us hold back, if we can help to bring back the lustre of that name? i know you better than that." "i would have you do heroic deeds," answered susanna, with quickly-kindled enthusiasm, "only i would not have you lose your lives in doing it." "we must take our chance of that," answered fritz, with a smile, "as other soldiers take theirs. but we shall be a strong and wary company; and i have passed already unscathed through many perils. you will not forget us when we are gone, susanna? i shall think of you sitting beside this comfortable hearth, when we are lying out beneath the frosty stars, with the world lying white beneath us, wrapped in its winding sheet!" "ah, you will suffer such hardships! they all say that." there was a look of distress in the girl's eyes; but fritz laughed aloud. "hardship! what is hardship? i know not the name. we can track game in the forest, and fish the rivers for it. we can make ourselves fires of sparkling, crackling pine logs; we can slip along over ice and snow upon our snowshoes and skates, as i have heard them described, albeit i myself shall have to learn the trick of them--for we had none such methods in my country, where the cold could never get a grip of us. fear not for us, susanna; we shall fare well, and we shall do the work of men, i trow. i am weary already of the life of the city; i would go forth once more to my forest home." there was a sparkle almost like that of tears in the girl's eyes, and a little unconscious note as of reproach in her voice. "that is always the way with men; they would ever be doing and daring. would that i too were a man! there is naught in the world for a maid to do." "say not so," cried fritz, taking the little hand and holding it tenderly between his own. "life would be but a sorry thing for us men were it not for the gentle maidens left at home to think of us and pray for us and welcome us back again. say, susanna, what sort of a welcome will you have for me, when i come to claim it after my duty is done?" she raised her eyes to his, and the colour flooded her face. "i shall welcome you back with great gladness of heart, fritz, and i shall pray for you every day whilst you are away." "and not forget me, even if other fine fellows of officers, such as we begin to see in our streets now, come speaking fine words to you, and seeking to win smiles from your bright eyes? you will keep a place in your heart still for the rough ranger fritz?" susanna's eyes lighted with something of mischievous amusement, and then as she proceeded grew more grave and soft. "my good mother will take care that i have small converse with the gay young officers, fritz. but in truth, even were it not so, i should never care for them, or think of them as i do of you. you are facing perils they would not. you are brave with the bravery of a true hero. it is with the rangers of the forest that my heart will go. be sure you break it not, fritz, by too rashly exposing yourself to peril." "sweetheart!" was his softly-spoken answer; and susanna went to her bed that night with a heart that beat high with a strange sweet happiness, although the cloud of coming parting lay heavy upon her soul. a few days later, humphrey and julian, fully equipped with instructions, introductions, money and other necessaries, left the city, ready for their homeward voyage; and in another week the small but hardy band of rangers, with their plain and meagre outfit, but with stout hearts and brave resolves, said adieu to those they left behind, and started westward for that debatable ground upon which a bloody warfare had to be fought to the bitter end. book : roger's rangers. chapter : a day of vengeance. to the west! to the west! to the west! such was the watchword of the band of sturdy rangers who set forth from pennsylvania to the defence of the hapless settlers. they were but a handful of bold spirits. it was little they could hope to accomplish in attempting to stem the tide of war; but their presence brought comfort to many an aching heart, and nerved many a lonely settler to intrench and defend his house and family, instead of giving way to utter despair. there was work for the little band to do amongst these scattered holdings. john stark urged upon such settlers as had the courage to remain to build themselves block houses, to establish some sort of communication with one another, to collect arms and ammunition, and be ready to retire behind their defences and repel an attack. for the moment the indians seemed glutted with spoil and with blood, and were more quiet, although this tranquillity was not to be reckoned upon for a day. still, whilst it lasted it gave a breathing space to many harassed and desperate settlers; and fritz could give them many valuable hints as to the best method of intrenching themselves in block houses. he had seen so many of these upon his long journey, and understood their construction well. everywhere they found the people in a state of either deep despondency or intense exasperation. it seemed to them that they had been basely deserted and betrayed by their countrymen, who should have been prompt to send to their defence; and although the arrival of the rangers, and the news they brought of future help, did something to cheer and encourage them, it was easy to see that they were deeply hurt at the manner in which their appeals had been met, and were ready to curse the quakers and the assembly who had calmly let them be slaughtered like brute beasts, whilst they wrangled in peaceful security over some disputed point with the governor. "are you rogers' men?" was a question which the rangers met again and again as they pursued their way. "no," they would answer; "we know of no rogers. who is he, and why is his name in all men's mouths?" this question was not always easy to get answered. some said one thing and some another; but as they pursued their western way, they reached a settlement where more precise information was to be had. "have you not heard of robert rogers, the new hampshire ranger? well, you will hear his name many times before this war is closed. he has gathered about him a band of bold and daring spirits. he has lived in the forest from boyhood. he has been used to dealings with both english and french settlers. he speaks the language of both. but he is stanch to the heart's core. he is vowed to the service of his country. he moves through the forests, over the lakes, across the rivers. none can say where he will next appear. he seems everywhere--he spies upon the foe. he appears beneath the walls of their forts, snatches a sleepy sentry away from his post, and carries him to the english camp, where information is thus gleaned of the doings of the enemy. he and his band are here, there, and everywhere. we had hoped to have seen them here by this. colonel armstrong sent a message praying him to come and help him to attack a pestilent nest of savages which is the curse of his life. we had hoped you were the forerunners of his band when you appeared. but in these troublous times who can tell whether the messenger ever reached his destination?" "but if we are not rogers' men, we are rangers of the forest," cried stark, who was leader of the party. "we can fight; we are trained to the exercise of arms. we will push on to this colonel armstrong, and what aid so small a band can give him that we will give." "he will welcome any help from bold men willing to fight," was the answer they got. "pray heaven you be successful; for we all go in terror of our lives from the cruelty of captain jacobs. if he were slain, we might have rest awhile." "captain jacobs?" "so they call him. he is a notable indian chieftain. most likely the french baptized him by that name. they like to be called by some name and title which sounds like that of a white man. he lives at the indian town of kittanning, on the banks of the allegheny, and he is upheld by the french from fort duquesne and venango. they supply him with the munitions of war, and he makes of our lives a terror. colonel armstrong has been sent by the governor to try to fall upon him unawares, and oust him from his vantage ground. if the town were but destroyed and he slain, we might know a little ease of mind." the eyes of the rangers lighted with anticipation. this was the first they had heard of real warfare. if they could lend a hand to such an expedition as this, they would feel rewarded for all their pains and toil. "captain jacobs, captain jacobs!" repeated charles, with a gleam in his sombre eyes; "tell me what manner of man this captain jacobs is." "i have seen him once--a giant in height, painted in vermilion, and carrying always in his hand a mighty spear, which they say none but he can wield. his eyes roll terribly, and upon his brow is a strange scar shaped like a crescent--" "ay, ay, ay; and in his hair is one white tuft, which he has braided with scarlet thread," interposed charles, panting and twitching in his excitement. "that is the man--the most bloodthirsty fire eater of all the indian chiefs. could the country but be rid of him, we might sleep in our beds in peace once more, instead of lying shivering and shaking at every breath which passes over the forest at night." "let us be gone!" cried charles, shaking his knife in a meaning and menacing fashion; "i thirst to be there when that man's record is closed. let me see his end; let me plunge my knife into his black heart! there is another yet whom my vengeance must overtake; but let me fall upon this one first." "was he one of the attacking party that desolated your homestead?" asked stark, as they moved along in the given direction, after a brief pause for rest and refreshment. "ay, he was," answered charles grimly. "i could not forget that gigantic form, that mighty spear, that scar and the white tuft! he stood by, and laughed at my frantic struggles, at the screams of the children, at the agony of my gentle wife. a fiend from the pit could not have been more cruel. but the hour is at hand when it shall be done to him as he has done. his hand lighted the wood pile they had set against the door of the house. let him suffer a like fate at our hands in the day of vengeance!" spurred on by the hope of striking some well-planted blow at the heart of the enemy, the hardy band of rangers pushed their way through the forest tracks, scarcely pausing for rest or sleep, till the lights of a little camp and settlement twinkled before them in the dusk, and they were hailed by the voice of a watchful sentinel. "friends," cried stark, in clear tones--"rangers of the forest--come to the aid of colonel armstrong, hoping to be in time for the attack on kittanning." "now welcome, welcome!" cried the man, running joyfully forward; and the next minute the little band was borne into the camp by a joyful company of raw soldiers, who seemed to feel a great sense of support even from the arrival of a mere handful. "rogers' rangers are come! the rangers are come!" was the word eagerly passed from mouth to mouth; and before the newcomers could make any explanation, they found themselves pushed into a fair-sized building, some thing in the form of a temporary blockhouse, and confronted with the colonel himself, who received them with great goodwill. "you are from captain rogers?" he said; "is one of you that notable man himself?" stark stepped forward to act as spokesman, and was shaken warmly by the hand. "rangers we are, but not of rogers' company," he said. "indeed, when we started forth from philadelphia to the succour of the distressed districts, we had not even heard the name of rogers, though it is now familiar enough. "we heard, however, that you were in need of the help of rangers, and we have come with all haste to your camp. we wish for nothing better than to stand in the forefront of the battle against the treacherous and hostile indians. although not of rogers' training, you will not find us faint of heart or feeble of limb. there are a dozen of us, as you see, and we will fight with the best that we have." "and right welcome at such a moment," was the cordial answer, "for the men i have with me are little trained to warfare; and though they will follow when bravely led, they are somewhat like sheep, and are easily thrown into confusion or turned aside from the way. tonight you shall rest and be well fed after your march, and on the morrow we will make a rapid secret march, and seek to fall upon the foe unawares." the rangers were as hungry as hunters, and glad enough to sit down once more to a well-spread table. the rations were not luxurious as to quality, but there was sufficient quantity, which to hungry men is the great matter. the colonel sat with them at table, heard all they had to tell of the state of the country from philadelphia westward, and had many grim tales to tell himself of outrages and losses in this district. "we lost fort granville at harvest time, when the men were forced to garner their crops, and we had to send out soldiers to protect them. the french and indians set upon the fort, and though it was gallantly defended by the lieutenant in charge, it fell into their hands. since then their aggressions have been unbearable. captain jacobs has been making the lives of the settlers a terror to them. we have sent for help from the colony, with what success you know. we have sent to the rangers under rogers, and had hoped to be reinforced by them. "but if he cannot help us, it is much to have stout-hearted friends come unexpectedly to our aid. have you seen fighting, friends? or are you like the bulk of our men--inured to toil and hardship, full of zeal and courage, ready to wield any and every weapon in defence of property, or against the treacherous indian?" "something like that," answered stark; "but we can all claim to be good marksmen, and to have good weapons with us. our rifles carry far, and we seldom miss the quarry. i will answer for us that we stand firm, and that we come not behind your soldiers in steadiness, nor in the use of arms at close quarters." "that i can well believe," answered the colonel, with a smile; "i have but a score of men who have been trained in the school of arms. the rest were but raw recruits a few months ago, and many of them have little love of fighting, though they seek to do their duty. "well, well, we must not sit up all night talking. we have a hard day's march before us tomorrow, and we must needs make all the speed we can. indian scouts might discover our camp at any moment, and our only chance is to fall upon the indian town unawares. they do not look for attack in the winter months--that is our best protection from spies. and so far i think we have escaped notice. but it may not last, and we must be wary. we will sleep till dawn, but with the first of the daylight we must be moving. the way is long, but we have some good guides who know the best tracks. we ought to reach the town soon after nightfall; and when all are sleeping in fancied security, we will fall upon them." the rangers were glad enough of the few hours of sleep which they were able to obtain, and it was luxury to them to sleep beneath a roof, and to be served the next morning with breakfast which they had not had to kill and cook themselves. the men were in good spirits, too. the arrival of the little body of rangers had encouraged them; and as the company marched through the forest, generally in single file, the newcomers scattered themselves amongst the larger body, and talked to them of what was going forward in the eastern districts, and how, after long delay, reinforcements were being prepared to come to the aid of the hapless settlers. that was cheering news for all, and it put new heart into the band. they marched along cheerily, although cautiously, for they knew not what black scouts might be lurking in the thickets; and if the indians once got wind of their coming, there would be little hope of successful attack. on and on they marched all through the keen winter air, which gave them fine appetites for their meals when they paused to rest and refresh themselves, but made walking easier than when the sun beat down pitilessly upon them in the summer. there had been no heavy snow as yet, and the track was not hard to find. but the way was longer than had been anticipated, and night had long closed in before they caught a glimpse of any settlement, although they knew they must be drawing near. the guides became perplexed in the darkness of the forest. the moon was shining, but the light was dim and deceptive within the great glades. still they pushed on resolutely, and the rangers gradually drew to the front, goaded on by their own eagerness, and less disposed to feel fatigue than the soldiers, who were in reality less hardy than they. all in a moment a strange sound smote upon their ears. it was the roll of an indian drum. they paused suddenly, and looked each other in the face. the rolling sound continued, and then rose a sound of whooping and yelling such as some of their number had never heard before. "it is the war dance," whispered one of the guides; and a thrill ran through the whole company. had they been discovered, and were the indians coming out in a body against them? for a brief while they were halted just below the top of the ridge, whilst a few of the guides and rangers crept cautiously forward to inspect the hollow in which they knew the village lay. colonel armstrong was one of this party, and he, with stark and fritz, cautiously crept up over the ridge and looked down upon the indian town below. the moon lighted up the whole scene. there was no appearance of tumult or excitement. the sound of the drum and the whooping of the warriors were not accompanied by any demonstration of activity by those within the community. probably some war party or hunting party had returned with spoil, and they were celebrating the event by a banquet and a dance. the soldiers were bidden to move onward, but very cautiously. it was necessary that they should make the descent of the rugged path before the moon set, and it was abundantly evident that the indians had at present no idea of the presence of the enemy. slowly and cautiously the soldiers crept down the steep path, doing everything possible to avoid a noise; but suddenly the sound of a peculiar whistle sounded from somewhere below, and there were a movement and a thrill of dismay through all the ranks; for surely it was a signal of discovery! only fritz was undismayed, and gave vent to a silent laugh. "that is not an alarm," he whispered to the colonel; "it is but a young chief signalling to some squaw. but the place is not asleep yet; if we go much nearer we shall be seen. those bushes would give us cover till all is quiet. we could crouch there and rest, and when the time has come spring out upon the village unawares." the colonel approved the plan, and the weary men were glad enough of the rest before the battle should begin. all were full of hope and ardour; but in spite of that, most of them fell asleep crouched in the cover. the surrounding hills kept off the wind, and it was warm beneath the sheltering scrub. but charles sat up with his hands clasped round his knees, his eyes intently fixed upon the indian village. beside him were a few of his chosen comrades amongst the rangers--men older than the hardy youths who had organized the band--settlers like himself, who had suffered losses like his own, and in whose hearts there burned a steady fire of vengeful hate that could only be quenched in blood. to them crept one of the guides who knew the district and the town of kittanning. with him were his son and another hardy lad. he looked at charles and made a sign. the next moment some six or eight men were silently creeping through the sleeping soldiers, unnoticed even by the sharp eyes of the colonel, who was stationed at some little distance. like human snakes these men wriggled themselves down the tortuous path, keeping always under cover of the bushes; and even when the open ground below was reached, they slipped so silently along beneath the cover of the hedges that not an eye saw them, not even the sharp ears of the indians heard their insidious approach. "which is the house of captain jacobs?" asked charles in a whisper of the guide. "it lies yonder," he answered, "in the centre of the village. it is the strongest building in the place, and has loopholes from which a hot fire can be poured out upon an approaching foe. the indians here have great stores of gunpowder and arms--given them by the french to keep up the border war. unless we can take them by surprise, we be all dead men; for they are as ten to one, and are armed to the teeth." charles's face in the moonlight was set and stern. "here is a stack of wood," he said. "let every man take his fagot; but be silent as death." plainly these men knew what they had come to do. in perfect silence, yet with an exercise of considerable strength, they loaded themselves with the dry brushwood, and split logs which the indians had cut and piled up ready for use either to burn or for the building of their huts. then, thus loaded, they crept like ghosts or ghouls through the sleeping street of the indian town, and piled their burdens against the walls of the centre hut, which belonged to the chief. twice and thrice was this thing repeated; but charles remained posted beside the door of the house, working in a strange and mysterious fashion at the entrance. upon his face was a strange, set smile. now and again he shook his clinched hand towards the heavens, as though invoking the aid or the wrath of the deity. the bold little band were in imminent peril. one accidental slip or fall, an unguarded word, an involuntary cough, and the lives of the whole party might pay the forfeit. they were in the heart of an indian village, enemies and spies. but the good fortune which so often attends upon some rash enterprise was with them tonight. they completed their task, and drew away from the silent place as shadow-like as they had come. but they did not return to their comrades; they posted themselves at a short distance from the place. they looked well to the priming of their rifles, and to their other arms, and sat in silence to await the commencement of the battle. the moon set in golden radiance behind the wooded hills. in the eastern sky the first rose red showed that dawn would shortly break. looking towards the hill, the little band saw that movement had already begun there. they rose to their feet, and looked from the moving shapes amid the brushwood towards the still sleeping, silent town. "the lord of hosts is with us," spoke charles, in a solemn voice; "he will deliver the enemy into our hands. let us quit ourselves like men and be strong. let us do unto them even as they have done. let not the wicked escape us. the lord do so to me, and more also, if i reward not unto yon cruel chieftain his wickedness and his cruelties. if he leave this place alive, let my life pay the forfeit!" a murmur ran through the little group about him. each man grasped his weapon and stood still as a statue. this little company had posted themselves upon a knoll which commanded the house of the bloodthirsty chief. it was their business to see that he at least did not escape from the day of vengeance. the moments seemed hours to those men waiting and watching; but they did not wait in vain. a blaze of fire, a simultaneous crack of firearms, and a wild shout that was like one of already earned victory, and the assailants came charging down the hillside, and across the open fields, firing volley after volley upon the sleeping town, from which astonished and bewildered savages came pouring out in a dense mass, only to fall writhing beneath the hail of bullets from the foe who had surprised them thus unawares. but there were in that community men trained in the arts of war, who were not to be scared into non-resistance by a sudden onslaught, however unexpected. these men occupied log houses around that of their chieftain, and instead of rushing forth, they remained behind their walls, and fired steadily back at the enemy with a rapidity and steadiness which evoked the admiration of the colonel himself. fiercely rained the bullets from rank to rank. indians yelled and whooped; the squaws rushed screaming hither and thither; the fight waxed hotter and yet more hot. but all unknown to the indians, and unseen by them in the confusion and terror, a file of stern, determined men was stealing towards the very centre of their town, creeping along the ground so as to avoid notice, and be safe from the hail of shot, but ever drawing nearer and nearer to that centre, where the defence was so courageously maintained. charles was the first to reach the log house against which the brushwood had been piled. in the dim light of dawn his face could be seen wearing a look of concentrated purpose. he had lately passed an open hut from whence the inhabitants had fled, and he carried in his hand a smouldering firebrand. now crouching against the place from which the hottest fire belched forth, he blew upon this brand till a tongue of flame darted forth, and in a moment more the brushwood around the house had begun to crackle with a sound like that made by a hissing snake before it makes the fatal spring. five minutes later and the ring of flame round the doomed house was complete. the firing suddenly ceased, and there was a sound of blows and cries, turning to howls of fury as the inmates found that the door would not yield--that they were trapped. the rangers, rushing up, seized burning brands and commenced setting fire to house after house, whilst their comrades stood at a short distance shooting down the indians as they burst forth. a scene of the wildest terror and confusion was now illumined by the glare of the fire, and at short intervals came the sound of short, sharp explosions, as the flames reached the charged guns of the indians or the kegs of gunpowder lavishly stored in their houses. but charles stood like a statue in the midst of the turmoil. his face was white and terrible; his gun was in his hands. he did not attempt to fire it, although indians were scuttling past him like hunted hares; he stood stern and passive, biding his time. the ring of flame round the centre house rose higher and higher. cries and screams were heard issuing from within. some intrepid warrior was chanting his death song, dauntless to the last. a frightened squaw was shrieking aloud; but not even the sound of a woman's voice moved charles from his fell purpose. suddenly his, face changed; the light flashed into his eyes. he raised his head, and he laid his gun to his shoulder. out upon the roof of the cabin, ringed as it was with fire, there sprang a man of gigantic aspect, daubed and tattooed in vermilion, his hair braided in scarlet, and one white tuft conspicuous in the black. he stood upon the roof, glaring wildly round him as if meditating a spring. doubtless the smoke and fire shielded him in some sort from observation. had not there been one relentless foe vowed to his destruction, he might in all probability have leaped the ring of flame and escaped with his life. but charles had covered him with his gun. the chieftain saw the gleaming barrel, and paused irresolute. charles's voice rose clear above the surrounding din. "murderer, tyrant, tormentor of helpless women and babes, the white man's god doth war against thee. the hour of thy death has come. as thou hast done unto others, so shall it be done unto thee." then the sharp report of the rifle sounded, and the chief bounded into the air and fell back helpless. he was not dead--his yells of rage and fear told that--but he was helpless. his thigh was shattered. he lay upon the roof of the blazing cabin unable to move hand or foot, and charles stood by like a grim sentinel till the frail building collapsed into a burning mass; then with a fierce gesture he stirred the ashes with the butt of his rifle, saying beneath his breath: "that is one of them!" victory for the white man was complete, notwithstanding that bands of indians from the other side of the river came rushing to the succour of their allies. they came too late, and were scattered and dispersed by the resolute fire of the english. the whole village was destroyed. colonel armstrong took as many arms and as much ammunition as his men could carry, and devoted the rest to destruction. more satisfactory still, they released from captivity eleven prisoners, white men with women and children, who had been carried off at different times when others had been massacred. from these persons they learned that the indians of kittanning had often boasted that they had in the place a stock of ammunition sufficient to keep up a ten years' war with the english along the borders. to have taken and destroyed all these stores was no small matter, and the colonel and his men rejoiced not a little over the blow thus struck at the foe almost in his own land. but there was no chance of following up the victory. armstrong was not strong enough to carry the war into the enemy's country; moreover, the winter was already upon them, although up till the present the season had been especially mild and open. he must march his men back to quarters, and provide for the safety of his wounded, and for the restoration of the rescued prisoners to their friends. he would gladly have kept stark and his little valiant band with him, but the rangers had different aims in view. "we must be up and doing; we must find fighting somewhere. on lake george we shall surely find work for men to do. rangers of wood and forest care nothing for winter ice and snow. we will go northward and eastward, asking news of rogers and his rangers. it may be that we shall fall in with them, and that we can make common cause with them against the common foe." so said stark, speaking for all his band, for all were of one heart and one mind. therefore, after a few days for rest and refreshment, the little army retreated whence it had come; whilst the bold band of rangers started forth for the other scene of action, away towards the north, along the frozen lakes which formed one of the highways to canada. chapter : robert rogers. they met for the first time, face to face, amid a world of ice and snow, upon the frozen surface of lake george. stark and his little band had been through strange experiences, and had met with many adventures as they pursued their course towards the spot where they heard that the french and english were lying encamped and intrenched, awaiting the arrival of spring before commencing the campaign afresh; and they now began to have a clearer notion of the situation between the two nations than they had hitherto had. they had spent a week in the quaint dutch town of albany, and there they had heard many things with regard to the state of parties and the affairs between the two nations. england and france were nominally at peace, or had been, even whilst these murderous onslaughts had been going on in the west. but it was evident to all that war must be shortly declared between the countries, if it had not already been proclaimed. the scent of battle seemed in the very air. nothing was talked of but the great struggle for supremacy in the west, which must shortly be fought out to the bitter end. the aim of france was to connect canada with louisiana by a chain of forts, and keep the english penned up in their eastern provinces without room to expand. the northern links of this chain were fort ticonderoga, just where the waters of lake george join those of champlain; fort niagara, which commanded the lakes; and fort duquesne, at the head of the ohio, the key to the great mississippi. it was a gigantic scheme, and one full of ambition; there was one immense drawback. the french emigrants of the western world numbered only about one hundred and eighty thousand souls, whilst the english colonies had their two millions of inhabitants. the french could only accomplish their ends if the indians would become and remain their allies. the english, though equally anxious to keep on good terms with the dusky denizens of the woods, who could be such dangerous foes, had less need to use them in fight, as, if they chose to combine and act in concert, they could throw an army into the field which must overpower any the french could mass. but the weakness of the provinces hitherto had been this lack of harmony. they would not act in concert. they were forever disputing, one province with another, and each at home with its governor. the home ministry sent out men unfit for the work of command. military disasters followed one after the other. washington and braddock had both been overthrown in successive attempts upon fort duquesne; and now the english fort of oswego, their outpost at lake ontario, was lost through mismanagement and bad generalship. canada owned a centralized government. she could send out her men by the various routes to the points of vantage where the struggle lay. england had an enormous border to protect, and no one centre of operations to work from. she was hampered at every turn by internal jealousies, and by incompetent commanders. braddock had been a good soldier, but he could not understand forest fighting, and had raged against the virginian men, who were doing excellent work firing at the indians from behind trees, and meeting their tactics by like ones. braddock had driven them into rank by beating them with the flat of his sword, only to see them shot down like sheep. blunders such as this had marked the whole course of the war; and misfortune after misfortune had attended the english arms upon the mainland, although in acadia they had been more successful. these things stark and his little band heard from the dutch of albany; they also heard that the english were encamped at the southern end of lake george, at forts edward and william henry, their commander being john winslow, whose name was becoming known and respected as that of a brave and humane soldier, who had carried through a difficult piece of business in acadia with as much consideration and kindliness as possible. now he was in command of the english force watching the movements of the french at ticonderoga; here also were rogers and his rangers to be found. they had marched into winslow's camp, it was said, some few months earlier, proffering their services; and there they had since remained, scouting up and down the lake upon skates or snowshoes, snatching away prisoners from the indian allies, or from the very walls of the fort itself, and intercepting provisions sent down lake champlain for the use of the french. details of these escapades on the part of the rangers were not known in albany; but rumours of rogers' intrepidity reached them from time to time, and stark and his band were fired anew by the desire to join themselves to this bold leader, and to assist him in his task of harassing the enemy, and bringing assistance of all sorts into the english camp. bidding adieu to the dutch, who had received them kindly, and now sent them away with a sufficiency of provisions to last them several days, they skimmed away still to the northward on their snowshoes. they had taken directions as to what route to pursue in order to reach fort edward, and thence to pass on to fort william henry; but the heavy snowfall obliterated landmarks, and they presently came to the conclusion that they had missed the way, and had travelled too far north already. "then we must keep in a westerly direction," quoth stark, as they sat in council together over their fire at night; "we cannot fail thus to strike the lake at last, and that, if frozen hard, can be our highway. at the southern end is the fort william henry; at the northern outlet is the french fort with the name of ticonderoga." this deflection in direction being agreed to, the party lay down to sleep--charles angell offering to act as sentry, as he frequently did. since the tragedy which had wrecked his life, charles had seldom been able to sleep quietly at night. he was haunted by horrible dreams, and the thought of sleep was repugnant to him. he would often drop asleep at odd hours over the campfire whilst his comrades were discussing and planning, and they would let him sleep in peace at such times; but at night he was alert and wide awake, and they were glad enough to give him his request, and let him keep watch whilst they rested and slumbered. the silence of the snow-girt forest was profound; yet charles was restless tonight, and kept pausing to listen with an odd intensity of expression. his faculties, both of sight and hearing, had become preternaturally acute of late. more than once this gift of his had saved the party from falling amongst a nest of hostile indians; tonight it was to prove of service in another way. in the dead of night the rangers were awakened by a trumpet-like call. "to arms, friends, to arms! the indians are abroad; they are attacking our brothers! i hear the shouts of battle. we must to their rescue! let us not delay! to arms, and follow me; i will lead you thither!" in a second the camp was astir. the men lay down in their clothes, wrapping a buffalo robe about them for warmth. in a few seconds all were aroused, strapping their blankets upon their shoulders and seizing their weapons. "what have you heard, charles, and where?" asked stark and fritz in a breath as they ran up. "yonder, yonder!" cried charles, pointing in a northwesterly direction; "it is a fight on the ice. it is not far away. the indians are attacking white men--english men. i hear their cries and their shoutings. hark--there is shooting, too! come, follow me, and i will take you there. there is work for the rangers tonight!" yes, it was true. they could all hear the sound of shots. what had gone before had only reached the ears of charles; but the report of firearms carried far. in three minutes the bold little company had started at a brisk run through the snow-covered forest, getting quickly into the long swing of their snowshoes, and skimming over the ground at an inconceivably rapid pace, considering the nature of the ground traversed. all at once the forest opened before them. they came out upon its farthest fringe; and below them lay, white and bare, and sparkling in the moonlight, the frozen, snow-laden plateau of the lake. it was a weirdly beautiful scene which lay spread like a panorama before them in the winter moonlight; but they had no time to think of that now. all eyes were fixed upon the stirring scene enacted in the middle of the lake, or at least well out upon its frozen surface, where a band of resolute men, sheltering themselves behind a few sledges, which made them a sort of rampart, were firing steadily, volley after volley, at a band of leaping, yelling indians who had partially surrounded them, and who were slowly but steadily advancing, despite their heavy loss, returning the fire of the defendants, though by no means so steadily and regularly, and whooping and yelling with a fearful ferocity. it was easy to see, even by the moonlight alone, that the men behind the sledges were white men. a sudden enthusiasm and excitement possessed our little band of rangers as this sight burst upon them, and stark gave the instant word: "steady, men, but lose not a moment. form two lines, and rush them from behind. reserve your fire till i give the word. then let them have it hot, and close upon them from behind. when they find themselves between two fires, they will think themselves trapped. they will scatter like hunted hares. see, they have no notion of any foe save the one in front. keep beneath the shadow of the forest till the last moment, and then rush them and fire!" the men nodded, and unslung their guns. they made no noise gliding down the steep snow bank upon their long shoes, and then out upon the ice of the lake. "fire!" exclaimed stark at the right moment; and as one man the rangers halted, and each picked his man. crack-crack-crack! literally each bullet told. twelve dusky savages bounded into the air, and fell dead upon the blood-stained snow. crack-crack-crack! the affrighted indians had faced round only to meet another volley from the intrepid little band behind. that was enough. the prowess of the rangers was well known from one end of the lake to the other. to be hemmed in between two companies was more than indian bravery or indian stoicism could stand. with yells of terror they dropped their arms and fled to the forest, followed by a fierce firing from both parties, which made great havoc in their ranks. the rout was complete and instantaneous. had it not been for panic, they might have paused to note how few were those new foes in number, and how small even the united body was as compared with their own numbers; but they fled, as stark had foretold, like hunted hares, and the white men were left upon the lake face to face, with dead and dying indians around them. an enormously tall man leaped up from behind the rampart of sledges, and came forward with outstretched hand. he was a man of magnificent physique, with a mass of wild, tangled hair and beard, and black eyes which seemed to burn like live coals. his features were rugged and rather handsome, and his nose was of very large proportions. stark took a step forward and shook the outstretched hand. he knew this man, from descriptions received of him during their months of wandering. "you are captain rogers?" "robert rogers, of the rangers, at your service," replied the other, in a deep, sonorous voice, which seemed to match his size; "and this is my brother richard," as another fine-looking man approached and held out his hand to their deliverers. "and right glad are we to welcome such bold spirits amongst us, though who you are and whence you come we know not. you have saved us from peril of death tonight, and rogers never forgets a service like that." "we have come from far to seek you," answered stark; "we ourselves are rangers of the forest. we fear neither heat nor cold, peril, hardship, nor foe. we long to fight our country's battle against the indian savages and against the encroaching french. it has been told us again and again that rogers is the captain for us, and to rogers we have come." "and right welcome are all such bold spirits in rogers' camp!" was the quick reply. "that is the spirit of the true ranger. nor shall you be disappointed in your desire after peril and adventure. you can see by tonight's experience the sort of adventure into which we are constantly running. we scouts of the lake have to watch ourselves against whole hordes of wily, savage indian scouts and spies. some of our number are killed and cut off with each encounter; and yet we live and thrive and prosper. and if you ask honest john winslow who are those who help him most during this season of weary waiting, i trow he will tell you it is rogers and his bold rangers." by this time the whole band of rangers had gathered round stark's little company, and the men were all talking together. in those wild lands ceremony is unknown; friendships are quickly made, if quickly sundered by the chances and changes of a life of adventure and change; and soon the band felt as if one common spirit inspired them. there were three wounded men in rogers' company; they were put upon a sledge and well covered up. then the party moved along to a position at some distance from that where they had met the attack. "the indians will come back to find and remove their dead," explained rogers. "it is better to be gone. we will encamp and bivouac a little farther away. then we will hold a council as to our next move. they will not be in haste to molest us again." the plan was carried out. the hardy rangers hollowed out a sheltered nook in the snow, threw up a wall of protection against the wind, lighted a fire, and sat round it discussing the events of the night, and exchanging amenities with their new comrades. the two rogerses, together with stark, fritz, and the silent, watchful charles, gathered in a knot a little apart, and rogers laid before them, in a few brief speeches, the situation of affairs upon the lake. lake champlain, the more northern and the larger of the twin lakes, was altogether guarded by the french. st. john stood at its head, and crown point guarded it lower down--being a great fortified promontory, where the lake narrowed to a very small passage, widening out again below, till it reached the other strong fort and colony of ticonderoga, where lake george formed a junction with it, though the lake itself still ran an independent course to the south, parallel with lake george, being fed by the waters of wood creek, a narrow, river-like inlet, which was a second waterway into the larger lake. the position of ticonderoga was, therefore, very important, as it commanded both these waterways; and even if the english could succeed in avoiding the guns of that fort, there was still crown point, further to the north, to keep them from advancing. in addition to these advantages, the french had won the local indians to their side; and though they did much towards embarrassing their white allies, and were a perfect nuisance both to officers and men, they were too useful to risk offending or to be dispensed with, as they were always ready for a dash upon any english scouting parties, and formed a sort of balance to the tactics of the english rangers. "they are villainous foes!" said rogers, with a dark scowl. "it is their great joy to take prisoners; and when the french have extracted from them all the information they can as to the strength and prospects of the english, the indians will claim them again, to scalp and burn, and the french scarcely raise a protest. it is said that they speak with disgust of the barbarities of these savage allies, but they do little or nothing to check them. that is why my wrath often rises higher against the french than against the indians themselves. they know no better; but for white man to deliver white man into their hands--that is what makes my blood boil!" the fire leaped up in charles's eyes, and he had his tale to tell, at hearing of which the rogerses set their teeth and muttered curses not loud but deep. "now will i tell you what we started forth to do," said the leader of the band. "we have been busy all winter. last month we skated down the lake when it was clear of snow, passed ticonderoga all unseen, intercepted some sledges of provisions, and carried them and their drivers to our fort. now we are bent upon a longer journey. we want to reach crown point, and make a plan of the works for our brave commander winslow. we were a part of the way on our route, when we fell in with indians conveying provisions to the french on these sledges. we took them from them and dispersed the crew; but they must have scattered and got help, and they set upon us, as you have seen. now that we have three wounded and two somewhat bruised and shaken, i am thinking it would be better to send them back, with a few sound men as escort--for the provisions will be welcome at the fort, which is not too well victualled--whilst the rest of us push on, and see if we can accomplish our errand. now that we are thus reinforced, we shall be strong enough to do this." the eyes of stark and fritz sparkled at the prospect. "we will go with you," they cried. "we long for such work as this; it is what we have come for from our homes and friends." and then stark added modestly: "and if i am but little trained to arms, i can draw. i have been used to that work in my old life, which was too tame for me. i understand how to make plans and elevations. if i could but get a good view of the fortifications, i will undertake to make a good drawing of them for your general." rogers slapped him heartily upon the back. "a draughtsman is the very fellow we want," he cried; "and a draughtsman who can wield weapons as you can, john stark, is the very man for us. you and your band will be right welcome. you can all use snowshoes, i see, and doubtless skates also?" stark nodded. by that time all were proficient in these arts, even fritz, to whom they had been new at the commencement of the winter. charles fingered the knife at his belt, and his cavern-like eyes glowed in their sockets. "let me fight the french-the french!" he muttered. "i have avenged myself upon the indian foe. now let me know the joy of meeting the white foe face to face!" "is that poor fellow mad?" asked rogers of fritz, when next morning, all preparations being speedily made, the party had divided, and the larger contingent was sweeping down the lake towards the distant junction, which was guarded by the guns of ticonderoga. "i think his brain is touched. he has been like that ever since i have known him; but his brother and friends say that once he was the most gentle and peaceful of men, and never desired to raise hand against his fellow. it is the horror of one awful memory that has made him what he is. i thought perhaps that when he wreaked his vengeance upon the indian chieftain who had slain his wife and children, he would have been satisfied; but the fire in his heart seems unquenched and unquenchable. sometimes i have a fancy that when his wrath is satisfied the spring of life will cease within him. he grows more gaunt and thin each week; but he is borne along by the strong spirit within, and in battle his strength is as the strength of ten." "as is ofttimes the way with men whose minds are unhinged," said rogers. "truly we have small reason to love our white brothers the french, since at their door lies the sin of these ravages upon the hapless border settlers. we will requite them even as they deserve! we will smite them hip and thigh! though we must not, and will not, become like the savage indians. we will not suffer outrage; it shall be enough of shame and humiliation for them to see the flag of england flaunting proudly where their banners have been wont to fly." a few days of rather laborious travel--for the snow was soft--and crown point lay before them. they had left the lake some time before, skirting round roger's rock, and thus making a cut across country, and missing the perils of passing ticonderoga. "we will take that in returning," said rogers; "but we will not risk being seen on our way down, else they might be upon the alert for our return. we will arrange a pleasant surprise for them." the way was laborious now, for they had to climb hills which gave them a good view over the fortifications of crown point; but this elevation once safely attained, without any further molestation from indians, they were able to make a complete survey of the fortifications; and stark made some excellent plans and drawings, which gave a fine idea of the place. so far all had been peaceful; but the rangers were not wont to come and go and leave no trace. there were outlying farms around the fortifications, and comings and goings between the french soldiers and peasants. "we will stop these supplies," said rogers, with a sardonic smile; "the french shall learn to be as careful of their flour as we have to be!" and carefully laying an ambush in the early grey of a winter's morning, he sprang suddenly out upon a train of wagons wending their way to the fortifications. the drivers, scared and terrified, jumped from their places, and ran screaming into the defences, whence soldiers came rushing out, sword in hand, but only to find the wagons in flames, the horses driven off to the forest, and the barns and farmsteads behind burning. it was a savage sort of warfare, but it was the work of the rangers to repay ferocity in kind, and to leave behind them dread tokens of the visits they paid. whilst the terrified inhabitants and the angry soldiers were striving to extinguish the flames, and vituperating rogers and his company, these bold rangers themselves were fleeing down the lake as fast as snowshoes could take them, full of satisfaction at the havoc they had wrought, and intent upon leaving their mark at ticonderoga before they passed on to fort william henry. guarded as it was by fortifications and surrounded by indian spies, rogers and his men approached it cautiously, yet without fear; for they knew every inch of the ground, and they were so expert in all woodcraft and strategic arts that they could lie hidden in brushwood within speaking distance of the foe, yet not betray their presence by so much as the crackle of a twig. it was night when they neared the silent fort. a dying moon gave faint light. the advancing party glided like ghosts along the opposite bank. a sentry here and there tramped steadily. the rangers could hear the exchange of salute and the rattle of a grounded musket. but no sign did they make of their presence. they kept close in the black shadow, and halted in a cavern-like spot well known to them from intimate acquaintance. richard rogers had been sent scouting by his brother, and came in with news. "there will be marching on the morrow. some soldiers will leave the fort for the nearest camp; i could not gather how many, but there will be some marching through the forest. if we post ourselves near to the road by which they will pass, we may do some havoc ere they know our whereabouts." this was work entirely to the liking of the rangers. before dawn they were posted in their ambush, and allowed themselves a few hours of repose, but lighted no fire. they must not draw attention to themselves. they were awake and astir with the first light of the tardy dawn, eagerly listening whilst they looked to the priming of their arms, and exchanged whispered prognostications. then came the expected sound--the tramp, tramp, tramp of a number of men on the march. "hist!" whispered rogers, "lie low, and reserve your fire. these sound too many for us." the men kept watch, and saw the soldiers file by. there were close upon two hundred. it would have been madness to attack them, and the rangers looked at one another in disappointment. "cheer up! there may be more to come," suggested rogers; and before another hour had passed, their listening ears were rewarded by the sound of a bugle call, and in a few minutes more the trampling of feet was heard once again, and this time the sound was less and more irregular. "some stragglers kept behind for something, seeking to catch up the main body," spoke rogers in a whisper. "be ready, men; mark each his foe, and then out upon them, and take prisoners if you can." the taking of prisoners was most important. it was from them that each side learned what was being done by the various commanders. a prisoner was valuable booty to return with to the fort. rogers seldom went forth upon any important expedition without returning with one or more. the men swung by carelessly, laughing and talking. they had such faith in their indian scouts that they never thought of an ambushed foe. the ping of the rifles in their rear caused a strange panic amongst them. they faced round to see the redoubtable rogers spring out at the head of a compact body of men. but the strangest thing in that strange attack was a wild, unearthly yell which suddenly broke from one of the rangers. it was like nothing human; it was like the fierce roar of some terrible wild beast. even rogers himself was startled for the moment, and looked back to see from whence it had come. at that moment charles angell dashed forward in a frantic manner. he had flung his gun from him; his eyeballs were fixed and staring; there was foam upon his lips; his hair was streaming in the wind. he bore an aspect so strange and fearful that the french uttered yells of terror, and fled helter-skelter from the onslaught. but if any had had eyes to note it, there was one frenchman whose face became ashy white as he met the rolling gaze of those terrible, bloodshot eyes. he too flung away his gun, and uttered a frantic yell of terror, plunging headlong into the wood without a thought save flight. "it is he! it is he! it is he!" this was the shout which rang from the lips of charles as he dashed after the retreating figure. all was confusion now amid french and rangers alike; that awful yell, and something in the appearance of charles, had startled friend and foe alike. there were several of the french soldiers left dead in the wood, and one was captured and made prisoner; but the rest had fled like men demented, and the rangers could not come up with them. as for charles and his quarry, they had disappeared, and it was long before any trace could be found of them. stark and fritz, however, would not give up the search, and at last they came upon the prostrate form of charles. he lay face downwards on the frozen ground, which was deeply stained with blood. his wrist was fearfully gashed by some knife; yet in his fingers he held still a piece of cloth from the coat of the french fugitive. it had been literally torn out of his grasp before the man could get free, and he had nearly hacked off the left hand of the hapless charles. yet the man had made good his escape, leaving charles well nigh dead from loss of blood. but they carried him tenderly back to their cave, and making a rough sledge for him; then brought him safely with their prisoner into the camp at fort william henry. chapter : the life of adventure. "i have seen him once, and he has escaped me. but we shall meet again, and then the hour of vengeance will have come!" this was the burden of charles's words as he lay in his narrow quarters in the rangers' huts just without fort william henry, tended by his comrades till his wound healed. the fever which so often follows upon loss of blood had him in its grip for awhile, and he would lie and mutter for hours in a state of semi-delirium. the sympathy of his comrades for this strange man with the tragic story was deep and widespread. charles had become a favourite and an object of interest throughout the ranks of the rangers, and great excitement prevailed when it was understood that he had really seen the man--the frenchman--who had stood by to see his wife and family massacred, and had deliberately designed to leave him, cruelly pinioned, to die a lingering death of agony in the heart of the lonely forest. every day he had visitors to his sickbed, and again and again he told the tale, described his foe, and told how he knew that the man recognized him, first taking him--or so he believed--for a spectre from the tomb, afterwards filled with the most lively terror as he realized that he was pursued by one who had such dire cause for bitter vengeance. "we have met twice!" charles would say, between his shut teeth. "once i was at his mercy, and he showed none. the second time he fled before me as a man flees from death and hell. the third time we meet--and meet we shall--it will be that the lord has delivered him into my hand. i will strike, and spare not. it will be the hour appointed of heaven!" with the lengthening days and the approach of spring the life of the rangers became less full of hardship, though not less full of adventure. snowshoes and skates were laid aside, and the men started to construct boats and canoes in which they soon began to skim the surface of the lake; scouting here, there, and all over, and bringing back news of the enemy's movements and strength even when no capture of prisoners rewarded their efforts. rogers had taken a great liking to john stark and his followers. he dubbed stark his lieutenant, and fritz and stark were inseparable companions by this time. charles attached himself to no person in particular, but was the friend of all; pitied and respected for his misfortunes, allowed to come and go much as he would; regarded rather as one set aside by heaven for an instrument of vengeance; standing alone, as it were, not quite like any of his comrades; a dreamy, solitary creature, seldom talking much, often passing the whole day in silent brooding; yet when there was fighting to be done, waking up to a sort of berserker fury, dealing blows with an almost superhuman strength, and invariably filling the hearts of his adversaries with a species of superstitious fear and dread. for the tall, gaunt figure with the haggard face, flaming eyes, and wildly-floating locks bore so weird an aspect that a man might be pardoned for regarding it as an apparition. not a particle of colour remained in charles's face. the flesh had shrunk away till the bones stood out almost like skin stretched over a skull. the hair, too, was white as snow, whilst the brows were coal black, enhancing the effect of the luminous, fiery eyes beneath. it was small wonder that charles was regarded by rangers and soldiers alike as a thing apart. he came and went as he would, no man interfering or asking him questions. at the same time he seemed to regard fritz and stark as his chief friends; and if they started forth with any of the rangers, it was generally observed that charles would be of the company. the life of the forest was pleasant enough in the warmer weather; but the garrison at the fort were anxious to know what orders they would receive for the summer campaign, and so far nothing was heard but that they were to remain on the defensive. this might be prudent, seeing that ticonderoga was< strongly fortified and garrisoned; but it pleased neither soldiers nor officers, and the rangers went scouting more and more eagerly, hoping to learn news which might tempt those in authority to sanction some more overt movement. one day a strange adventure befell the rangers. rogers and his little flotilla of boats were here, there, and everywhere upon the lake. not only did they move up and down lake george, which was debatable ground, commanded at the different ends by a french and english fort, but they carried boats across a mountain gorge to the eastward, launched them again in south bay, and rowed down the narrow prolongation of lake champlain, and under cover of dark nights would glide with muffled oars beneath the very guns of ticonderoga, within hearing of the sentries' challenge to each other, and so on to crown point, whence they could watch the movements of the enemy, and see their transports passing to and fro with provisions for ticonderoga. many a small boat was seized, many a large one sunk by these hardy rangers of the forest. they were as wily as indians, and as sudden and secret in their movements. the french regarded them with a species of awe and fear. they would sometimes find an english boat or canoe in some spot perfectly inexplicable to them. they could not believe that anyone could pass the fortifications of ticonderoga unseen and unheard, and would start the wildest hypotheses to account for the phenomenon, even to believing that some waterway existed which was unknown alike to them and their indian scouts. but to return to the adventure to which allusion has been made. rogers with some thirty of his rangers was out upon one of those daring adventures. they were encamped within a mile of ticonderoga. their boats were lying in a little wooded creek which gave access to the lake. some of the party, headed by rogers, had gone on towards crown point by night. stark, with a handful of trusty men, lay in hiding, watching the movements from the fort, and keeping a wary eye upon those who came and went, ready to pounce out upon any straggler who should adventure himself unawares into the forest, and carry him off captive to the english camp. certain tidings as to the course the campaign was likely to take were urgently wanted by this time. the posts to the english fort brought in no news save that it was thought better for the army on the western frontier to remain upon the defensive, and no talk of sending large reinforcements came to cheer or encourage them. winslow was impatient and resentful. he thought there were mismanagement and lack of energy. he knew that the provinces had been roused at last out of their lethargy, and had pledged themselves to some active effort to check french aggression; yet weeks were slipping by, one after the other, and no help of any consequence came to the army on the outskirts. no command reached the eager soldiers for a blow to be struck there, as had been confidently expected. perhaps the french might be better informed as to what was going on in other parts of the great continent, and so prisoners were wanted more urgently than ever. at midday upon a steamy midsummer day, one of the young rangers who had been wandering about near to the camp in search of game came back with cautious haste to report that he had seen a small party of french leaving the fort by the water gate, cross the narrow waterway, and plunge into the forest. he had observed the direction taken, and thought they could easily surround and cut them off. he did not think there were more than six in the party; probably they were out hunting, unconscious of the proximity of any foe. stark was on his feet in a second. this was just the chance for the rangers. seizing their arms and hastily conferring together, they laid their plans, and then divided themselves into three companies of three, planning to fetch a circuit, keep under cover, and thus surround the little company, who would believe themselves entirely overmatched, and some of whom would surrender at discretion, if they did not all do so. stark, fritz, and charles remained together, taking a certain path as agreed upon. they crept like indians through the wood. hardly the breaking of a branch betrayed their movements. in charles's eyes the slumbering fire leaped into life. he always lived in the hope of again meeting his foe face to face. he knew that he was probably within the walls of ticonderoga. any day might bring them face to face once more. softly and cautiously they crept through the brushwood. stark had made a sign of extra caution, for some nameless instinct seemed to have told him that they were near the quarry now. he paused a moment, held up his hand as if in warning; and at that instant there suddenly arose from the heart of the wood the unwonted sound of a sweet, fresh girl's voice raised in a little french song! the men looked at one another in amaze. were their ears deceiving them? but no; the trilling notes came nearer. involuntarily they pressed forward a few paces, and then came to a dead stop. what was it they saw? a maiden, a young girl of perhaps seventeen summers, her hat suspended by a broad ribbon from her arm, and half filled with flowers, was wandering through the woodland tracks as quietly as though in her sheltered home across the water. as she moved she sang snatches of song in a clear, bird-like voice; and when her eyes suddenly fell upon the three strange figures in the path, there was no fear in their violet depths, only a sort of startled bewilderment, instantly followed by an eagerness that there was no mistaking. "oh," she exclaimed eagerly, in accents which denoted almost unmixed pleasure, and speaking english with only a very slight intonation denoting her mixed nationality, "i am sure that i have my wish at last! you are rogers' rangers!" stark and fritz had doffed their hats in a moment. they were more nonplussed a great deal than this fearless maiden, who looked like the goddess of the glade, secure in her right of possession. her eyes were dancing with glee; her mouth had curved to a delicious smile of triumph. "i have been longing to see the rangers ever since i arrived at ticonderoga; but they declared they were terrible fire-eating men, worse than the wild indians, and that they would kill me if i adventured myself near to them--kill me or carry me away captive. but i said 'no!'" (and the girl threw back her head in a gesture of pride and scorn); "i said that the rangers were englishmen--english gentlemen, many of them--and that they did not war with women! i was not afraid; i knew they would not lay a finger upon me. "i am not wrong, am i, sirs? you would not hurt a maiden who trusts your chivalry and honour?" "i would slay the first man who dared so much as to lay a finger upon you, lady," answered stark impetuously, "even though he were my own comrade or brother! we are rogers' rangers, as you have rightly guessed; and we are here scouting round fort ticonderoga, ready to intercept its inmates when we may catch them. but you are right: we war not with women; we fight with men who can fight us back. "but tell us, fair lady, how comes it that you are here alone in the forest? it is scarce safe in these troubled times of warfare, with indians all around, and rude soldiers prowling the woods and lurking in its fastnesses." "ah, but my escort is close at hand. i did but stray away a little in search of flowers. they said the forest was free from peril today. the indians have gone off yonder on some enterprise of their own, and the english are lying within their lines far enough away. i begged and prayed, and at last they gave way. my brother and the men are after a fine young deer they sighted. i bid them leave me. i was not afraid. i thought the worst that could happen would be that i came face to face with a party of rangers, and that was exactly what i have longed to do ever since i arrived." the girl looked up smiling into the faces of the bronzed, stalwart men standing before her; then she seated herself upon a fallen tree and motioned them to be seated likewise. "i want to talk," she said; "let us sit down and be sociable. i daresay they will be some time in killing their quarry. we will enjoy ourselves till they come back. they shall not hurt you; i will ensure that." stark smiled a little at the girl's assurance. "more likely they may suffer at our hands, lady. there are more of us scattered about the forest. but our aim is not to slay, but to obtain prisoners who shall give us news; so you need not fear that harm will befall your brother--least of all if he speaks the english tongue as you do. if i might make bold to ask you of yourself, how comes it that an english girl is in such a wild spot as this, and amid the soldiers of france?" "i am not english," answered the maiden, with a smile; "i am french upon my father's side, and my mother was a scotchwoman. i have lived in scotland, where i learned your tongue; and i always spoke it with my mother so long as she lived. it is as easy to me as my father's french." "and how come you to this wild spot in the heart of these forests, and with warfare all around?" "i will tell you that, too. my father has always been a man of action, who has loved travel and adventure. since the outbreak of this war in the west he has longed to be in the midst of it. he is something of a soldier, and something of a statesman, and he is the friend of many great ones at court, and has been entrusted before now with missions requiring skill and tact. he is also the kinsman of the marquis of montcalm, whose name no doubt you know by this time." "he is the new military commander sent out by the king of france, to take the lead in the war now commenced in canada and along the border between france and england," answered stark promptly. "yes; and my father and uncle came out with him, and my brother and i also. my uncle is the good abbe messonnier; but you will not have heard of him, though he is well known and well beloved in france. my father has certain work to do here the nature of which i do not fully know, nor could i divulge if i did. we arrived at quebec a short time ago, and thence we moved on to montreal. but it was needful for my father and uncle to visit some of these outposts, and we begged, colin and i, not to be left behind. we burned with curiosity to see the strange sights of which we had heard--the indians in their war paint, the great forests and lakes, the forts and their garrisons, and all the wonders of the west. "so they brought us in their company. my father takes me everywhere with him that he can. since my mother's death he seems unable to lose sight of me. we have been hard upon a month at the fort now. we are learning all we can of the condition of affairs, to report to the marquis when we return to montreal or to quebec. he himself talks of coming to command here when the time comes for the attack to be made upon your fort; but that will scarcely be yet, for there is so much he has to set in order in canada. oh, the way things are managed there--it is a disgrace!" "is canada weak then?" asked stark, burning with curiosity for information on the subject. the girl slowly shook her head. "perhaps i ought not to talk with you, since you are the enemies of my countrymen. and, in sooth, i know little enough to tell. i hear one say this and one the other, and i cannot know where the truth lies. but of one thing they are very certain and confident--that they will drive out the english from all these western outposts, and will keep them shut in between the mountains and the sea; and that france alone shall rule this mighty continent of giant forests and rivers, undisturbed by any foreign foe. of that all men are confident." the rangers exchanged glances, and the girl saw it. "you do not believe me," she said quickly; "but, indeed, i have heard so many strange things that i know not what to believe myself. strangest of all is that white men should call upon those terrible savage indians to war with them against their white brethren. that, as my good uncle says, is a disgrace to humanity. ah! i would you could have heard him speak to the officers at yonder fort since his arrival there. they brought in a few prisoners a few days after we came. they were going to cook and eat them--to treat them--oh, i cannot think of it! my uncle went to the officers, and bid them interfere; but they only shrugged their shoulders, and said they must not anger the indians, or they would desert, and become even more troublesome than they are already. he got them out of their hands himself, and sent them safely to montreal; and oh, how he spoke to the french soldiers and officers afterwards! he said that such wicked disregard of the bond betwixt christian and christian must inevitably draw down the wrath of heaven upon those who practised it, and that no cause could prosper where such things were permitted. "i have heard things since i have been here that have filled my heart with sorrow and anger. i have been ashamed of my countrymen! i have felt that our foes are nobler than ourselves, and that god must surely arise and fight for them if these abominations are suffered to continue." the rangers were silent; they well knew what she meant. the french were culpably weak where the indians were concerned, permitting them almost without remonstrance to burn their prisoners from the english lines, and even after engagements leaving the english dead and wounded to the indians and the wolves, though the english always buried the french dead with their own when they had been in like circumstances, and had showed kindness to their wounded. "the indians are the plague of the lives of men and officers alike," continued the girl, breaking forth in animated fashion. "they eat up a week's rations in three days, and come clamouring for more. they make rules for the english which they will not observe themselves. they are insolent and disgusting and treacherous. oh, i cannot think how our people bear it! i would sooner lose all than win through using such tools. i hate to think of victory obtained by such means. you rangers are brave men; though men dread you, yet they respect you, and would fain imitate your prowess. the indians are devils--i can find no other name for them. they are fiends, and i verily think that evil will befall us if we league ourselves with them. thus my uncle tries to teach; but they will not listen to his words." "time will show, lady," answered fritz; "and there are indians who are gentle and tamable, and are some of them even sincere believers in our christian faith. i have seen and lived among such in the lands of the south. but here they have been corrupted by the vices of those who should teach them better. it is a disgrace to england and france alike that this should be so." at this moment the sound of shouting and yelling arose from the forest, and some shots were fired in close succession. the girl started to her feet, looking white and scared; but fritz and stark stood close beside her, one on either hand, as if to assure her that no harm should befall her. the next moment a fair-haired youth, with a strong likeness to the girl, came dashing blindly through the forest, calling her name in accents of frantic fear. "corinne, corinne, corinne! where are you? hide yourself! have a care! the rangers are upon us!" "i am here, colin. i am safe!" she cried, in her flute-like accents--"i am here all safe. the rangers are taking care of me. see!" he pulled up short, blinded and breathless. he had come tearing back to his sister's aid, full of remorse at having been tempted to leave her for a moment in the pleasure of the chase. he stood panting, staring at the strange group, unable to get out a word. "call the men in," said stark, addressing charles, who had remained silent all the while; "tell them to hurt no one--to make no captures. this lady's escort is to remain unmolested. bring them here, and we will deliver them their charge safe and sound." with alacrity charles disappeared upon his errand. the old tender-heartedness of the man always returned when he saw anything young and helpless. there was no fierceness in his strange face today, and corinne, looking after him, said wonderingly: "who is he? he looks like one who has seen a ghost!" in a few terse phrases fritz told the outline of charles's story, and how he himself with his companion had found the hapless man and his brother. "oh, this war is a terrible thing!" cried corinne, pressing her hands together. "it makes men into devils, i think. ah, why can we not live at peace and concord with our brothers? surely out here, in these wild lands, french and english might join hands, and live as brothers instead of foes." "i fear me," said fritz, looking out before him with wide gaze, "that that time is far enough away--that it will never come until the kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our god and of his christ, when he shall reign for ever and ever." she looked at him in quick surprise. she had not expected to hear such words in the mouth of one of rogers' rangers. "i have heard my uncle speak so," she said slowly; "but the soldiers think of nothing but fighting and conquest." "we used to think much of that day down in my southern home. we were taught to look for the day of the lord and the coming of christ. but men were even there growing weary and impatient. the strife of parties was spoiling our home. that is why so many of us journeyed forth to see the world. but i do not forget what my forefathers taught and believed." there was a light of quick sympathy in the girl's eyes; but she had no time to reply, for the rangers were coming back, with the french soldiers in their company. they had surprised the whole band, and had practically made them prisoners when charles came up with his strange message, and they marched them along to see what it all meant. great was their astonishment when they saw the golden-haired girl with her fearless bearing, and the handsome lad standing beside her, still breathless and bewildered. "release these men," said stark briefly; "they have been told off for the service of this lady. let them resume their charge, and return in safety to the fort, or continue their chase in the forest at pleasure. we do not war with women. "if you wish to see some pretty hunting, mistress corinne, rogers' rangers are at your service, and the haunts of bird and beast are well known to us." the girl's eyes sparkled. she was as full of the love of adventure as any boy could be. she looked at her brother, but he shook his head in doubt. "i think our father would not wish it," he said. "i thank these gentlemen most gratefully for their courtesy and chivalry, but i think we must be returning to the fort. it may be that the shots will have been heard, and that soldiers may be coming in search of us already. "we shall not forget your kindness, sir. i trust the day will come when we may be able to requite you in kind;" and he held out his hand, first to stark and then to fritz. corinne had looked a little mutinous at first; but when her brother spoke of a possible sortie across the water from the fort, her face changed. perhaps she was not quite so confident of the chivalry of the french soldiers as she had been of that of the rangers. "perhaps it is best so; yet i should have loved to scour the forest with rogers' rangers. "are you the great rogers himself?" she asked, turning to stark, and then letting her glance wander to fritz's fine face. "no, mistress corinne; rogers himself is away farther afield," answered stark. "this is fritz neville, and i am john stark, whom he honours with the title of his lieutenant." "fritz neville--john stark," she repeated, looking from one to the other, a smile in her frank, sweet eyes. "i shall not forget those names. i shall say them over every day to myself, and pray that in times of warfare the saints will watch over and protect the brave english rangers, who had us as prisoners in their power, and let us go away safe and sound." she held out her hand as she spoke, first to one and then to the other of the men, both of whom took it reverently, pressed it, and bowed low with a sort of rude homage. the other rangers sent up a little cheer for the brave young lady who spoke their tongue so well; and the french soldiers, who looked a little ashamed of the predicament in which they had placed themselves, smiled, and became friendly and at ease, realizing that all was well. "we will escort you to your boat, lady," said stark; "you will suffer us that privilege." "ah yes, if it will be safe. but they will not dare fire from the fort when they see that our company is returning. i would i could take you back with me, and introduce you to my father and uncle; but perchance it would not be safe." "perhaps we shall make their acquaintance some other way!" said stark, with a touch of grim humour; and corinne, understanding him, exclaimed: "ah, do not let us think of that! let us only remember that we have met as friends in the wild forest." "a pleasant memory truly," answered stark gallantly, "and one so new to a ranger that he will never be like to forget it;" and as they pursued their way towards the lake, he held the youth and the girl spellbound and breathless by tales of the strange life of adventure which they led, and by detailing some of their hairbreadth escapes from the hands of indians and frenchmen as they scoured the forest, lay in ambush, and skulked beneath the very ramparts of the enemy's fortifications, hearing the talk of the sentries overhead. "nay, but you are brave men in sooth; you deserve success. the fortunes of war must surely be yours at last," cried corinne, with covert enthusiasm. "ah! here is the lake, and here is our boat. nay, come not further. i fear lest hurt should come to you. i thank you again with all my heart. perhaps the day will come when we shall see each other again. i would fain believe that i shall meet again with rogers' bold, chivalrous rangers." "it may be--it may be," answered stark, with a smile. "farewell, sweet mistress corinne; may you come safely through all perils by land and water. your brave spirit will carry you well through life's troubled sea, i think." she smiled, and stepped into the boat. then suddenly turning and waving her hand, she said: "i will tell you one thing which my uncle has said. whether he will be a true prophet or no i cannot tell. his words are these, and they were spoken to m. de montcalm: 'you are safe now, for england is governed by an imbecile--the duke of newcastle--a minister without parts, understanding, or courage. but there is another man in england of a different calibre. if ever you hear that pitt is at the head of the administration, then look to your laurels; for, if i be not greatly deceived, that man has brain and energy to turn the whole tide of battle. three years after he begins to rule england's policy, and france will have begun to lose her empire in the west!'" chapter : vengeance and disaster. the episode of corinne, and the prophecy she had quoted to them, formed one of the bright episodes in a year which brought little success or relief to the army encamped upon the waters of lake george. there was no campaign that year. the two armies lay inside their respective fortifications, each keeping on the defensive; and the bold rangers alone did active skirmishing service, as has been related, appearing at all sorts of apparently impossible points, swooping down upon an unwary hunting party or a sleeping sentinel, bringing in spoil to the fort, burning transports bound for ticonderoga, and doing gallant irregular service which kept the garrison and the rangers in spirits, but did little or nothing to effect any change in the condition of affairs. anxiously was news waited for from england. what was the parent country going to do for her western children in their hour of need and extremity? there were rumours afloat of a massing of indian tribes to be let loose upon the hapless settlers along the indian border; and although sir william johnson, that able agent of england's with the natives, was hard at work seeking to oppose and counteract french diplomacy amongst the savage tribes, there was yet so much disunion and misunderstanding and jealousy amongst english commanders and governors, that matters were constantly at a deadlock; whilst france, with her centralized authority, moved on towards her goal unimpeded and at ease (as it seemed to the harassed english officials), although not without her internal troubles also. november brought about the usual breaking up of the camps on both sides. the french soldiers were drafted back to canada in great companies, sorely beset and harassed at times by the action of the rangers; whilst winslow drew off the bulk of his men to winter quarters in the larger towns of new england and the adjacent colonies, leaving major eyre in charge of the fort, with sufficient men to hold it during the dead winter season. rogers' rangers were independent of weather. they pursued their hardy and adventurous calling as well through the ice-bound winter months as during the genial season of summer. but from time to time his followers liked to visit their homes and friends, and winslow was glad enough to have their company upon his march back upon civilization; for the rangers were masters of the art of woodcraft, and were the most able allies when difficulties arose through the rising of rivers or the intricacies of the forest paths. stark and his little band, now reduced from a dozen to nine, accompanied the army back to winter quarters; for john desired to see his friends, and also to raise recruits for next season's campaign, now that he had learned experience, and had inspiring tales to tell of adventure, victory, and quick retributive vengeance upon a treacherous and rapacious enemy. fritz and charles both accompanied him, though the latter with some reluctance. he would rather have remained in the neighbourhood of the french lines, behind which lay the foe he was bent on meeting once more face to face; but stark had represented to him that his sister would wish to see him once more, and rogers had appointed january as the time when he and his rangers would be back, when the ice would be firm and hard, and they could renew their wild winter warfare, whilst during the earlier months of the winter there was no certainty of carrying on any successful operations. heavy rain and soft snow were too much even for the hardy rangers to grapple with. they were practically useless now till the frost came and fastened its firm grip upon the sleeping world. there was joy in many a city throughout the english colony when the troops marched in; although there was mourning in many homes for the loss of some son or brother killed by the foe, or by the many forms of sickness which prevailed at the fort. there were troubles, too, with the citizens about the billeting of the english contingent, and many were the heart burnings which arose between stubborn townsmen and military rulers before these matters could be adjusted. but all this made little matter in houses like that of benjamin ashley, who was a true patriot at heart, and threw open his doors not only to his wife's brother, but to as many war-weary soldiers as he could accommodate, and was never tired of hearing all that they could tell as to their past experiences, or of discussing with them the probable result of the coming struggle. fritz would sit beside susanna's spinning wheel in the evening, telling her stories to which she listened in open-eyed amaze, and giving eager heed to the discussion of politics amongst the other men. charles would sit apart, absent and dreamy--a strange figure amongst the rest--very gentle and tender in his manner towards hannah and susanna, but taking little or no interest in the daily round of life, and only counting the days till he could return to the forest and his mission of vengeance. there was great discontent in the hearts of the colonists. they declared that nothing was done for them, and yet they were never prepared to bestir themselves actively. when fritz asked eagerly about the english statesman pitt, he was told that he and the duke of newcastle were now acting together in the ministry, and that some hoped for better things in consequence. but it was evident to all by this time that the first move made by the new minister would be directed against louisbourg in acadia, the only stronghold yet remaining to the french in cape breton island. after driving the enemy from thence, he might, and probably would, turn his attention to the western frontier; but meantime the colonists here would have mainly to hold back the enemy by their own united efforts, and unity of action was just the thing which appeared most difficult to them. it was not encouraging; but the hardy rangers were not to be disheartened, and true to their promise, they only stayed within winter quarters till after the festive christmas season; and then gathering together a compact little body of volunteers, stark set forward once again for the wild forest, where he was to meet rogers and his band. fritz was ready to go, despite his parting with pretty susanna, whose bright eyes sparkled with tears as she said goodbye. it was not a time for making new ties; yet the little maiden knew very well by this time that her life and his were bound together by a strong and tender bond, and that into her own something had entered which could never be taken away. they met in the heart of the forest, a few miles from fort william henry--rogers and his large company, and stark with his smaller contingent. but stark was now the leader of a band of five-and-twenty bold spirits; for so inspiring had been his stories of the ranger's life that volunteers had come crowding in, and he had had some ado to get rid of those who were manifestly unfit for the life. even ebenezer jenkyns, in his wild desire to win the approval of susanna, had begged to be permitted to join the ranger band, and stark had had some difficulty in ridding himself of the youthful quaker, suddenly possessed of martial ambitions and ardour. right glad were the garrison at the fort to see the rangers come marching in. they had been quite quiet, save for a few minor nocturnal raids from indians, which had not done much harm. their chief foe was smallpox, which kept breaking out amongst the men, as well as other forms of sickness. they did not understand sanitation, and the fort was dirty and unhealthy. rogers would not have his men lodged within it; but the rangers built themselves huts just outside, and when not otherwise occupied, spent their time in the construction of boats and sloops for use on the lake, in which work major eyre had kept his men employed during the previous months. but it was not for peaceful toil like this that the rangers had gathered together; in a little while, accordingly, a scouting party was formed, with crown point as its goal. snowshoes and skates were looked to, and the hardy rangers started off beneath the grey, leaden winter sky, gliding through the grim, ghost-like forest, silent as death, past ice-bound waterfalls, and forests of fir and larch bent and bowed by the load of snow, ever onwards and northwards, always on the alert, ready for instant action, fearless and undismayed in a white wilderness and in those trackless solitudes which would strike dismay into many a bold heart. they skirted round ticonderoga, not showing themselves to their foe, and encamped upon the edge of lake champlain, lighting fires, and making themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted. they had travelled hard for many days, and were glad of a little rest. but this rest was not of long duration. early the next morning, before it was well light, charles, the sleepless watcher, awoke the camp by his low whistle of warning. "i hear the sound of a sledge on the ice!" he said. in a moment every ranger was on the alert; every man had seized his weapons, the fires were stamped out, and preparations were made for an instant move. a few minutes more and they heard the sound also--the sharp ring of a sledge upon the ice, and the beat of horse hooves as it drew nearer. now horses were prizes greatly in demand at the english fort, and rogers was eager to obtain possession of this prize. he called out to stark to make a dash along the lake side with a dozen of his men, and try to head it off towards the spot where he and the rest of the rangers would wait. and hardly had the order left his lips before stark was off upon his mission. on and on dashed the sledge with its unsuspecting occupants. they had come forth from ticonderoga, and were heading for crown point. stark and his men flitted like shadows along the snowy banks. the horses paused. there was something amiss with the harness. stark looked at his men, gave a fine english cheer, and rushed forth upon the ice, with a dozen stout followers at his heels. in a moment the occupants of the sledge saw their peril. a yell arose from the throats of all the three. they turned like lightning, and the horses sprang forward at a gallop; but in a moment they were surrounded by stark and his men, who called upon them to surrender, and sprang at the horses to stay their headlong flight. but now a new terror was added to the scene. round the bend of the lake swept other sledges--quite an army of them; and whilst the french sent up shouts for help, stark looked round to see what rogers and his company were doing. "here they come! here they come! rogers' rangers! rogers' rangers!" yelled his men, as they saw the compact band of veteran woodsmen rushing forth to their aid. that cry was well known to the french. for a moment there was a pause, the sledges pulling up as though in doubt whether to rush forward and seek to fight their way through, or to turn and run back to ticonderoga. but the energy with which the rangers came on settled that point. every sledge wheeled round and fled, whilst rogers' men dashed helter skelter upon them, flinging themselves upon the horses, firing at the occupants, and in spite of all resistance securing three sledges, six horses, and seven french prisoners. the rest of the sledges escaped, and rogers and stark met each other with grave faces. "they will give notice at ticonderoga that we are here," said the former. "they will come out against us and cut off our retreat. we must examine the prisoners ourselves and learn all we can from them, and then make our way to the fort as fast as possible through the forest. the enemy may be upon us before nightfall." fritz, who spoke french as easily as english, had already been questioning the prisoners separately. "they all tell the same tale," he said gravely: "they have five hundred regular soldiers at the fort, and indians coming in daily. they were organizing parties to intercept communication between fort edward and fort william henry. they are pledged to the extermination of the rangers wherever they meet them. directly they know that we are lurking in their vicinity, they will come out in great numbers against us." rogers' face was set and stern. "we will give them a warm welcome when they do!" he said. "meantime we will lose no time. light up the fires and dry the ammunition which has become wet. the horses must be sacrificed and the sledges burned. as for the men, we must keep them till the last minute. when we go, they can go back to their fort. they will have nothing to tell there which is not known already. the rangers slay men in fair fight, but they do not butcher prisoners." the thing was done. rogers' commands were carried out, and in cautious single file the band of rangers crept through the forest by devious tracks known to themselves, keeping eyes and ears ever on the alert. "have a care!" came the warning cry of charles at last; "i hear the cocking of guns." the words had hardly passed his lips before a volley blazed out from the bushes, and many a bold ranger fell as he stood, shot through the heart. "steady, men--and fire!" cried rogers, speaking as coolly as though a hail storm and not one of hot lead was raining about them. blood was running down his cheek from a graze on the temple; and fritz felt for the first time the stinging sensation in his arm which he had heard described so many times before. in a moment they had spread themselves out in the best possible manner, retreating upon the hill they had just descended, and covering themselves with the trees, from behind which they fired with unerring accuracy. stark and some of his men were at the top of the hill, having been the rear guard of the company. they poured a steady, deadly fire into the bushes which concealed the foe; whilst their comrades, running from tree to tree, fell back upon them, and forming on the hilltop, repulsed again and again, with stubborn gallantry, the assault of a foe which they knew must outnumber them by four or five to one. but the face of rogers was still set and stern. "they will try to outflank us next, and get round to the rear," he said between his teeth to stark. "stark, you must pick some of our best men, and stop that movement if it occurs. if they get us between two fires, we are all dead men!" "fritz, you will be my lieutenant," said stark, as he looked about him and chose his company. fritz was at his side in a moment. "we are in as evil a chance as ever men were yet," he added, "but i think we shall live to tell the tale by the warm fireside at home. i have been in tight fixes before this, and have won through somehow. i trust our gallant rogers will not fall. that would carry confusion to our ranks." shoulder to shoulder stood fritz and stark, warily watching the movements of the foe. they saw them creeping round the base of the hill--saw it by the movement of the brushwood rather than by anything else; for their foes were used to bush craft, too. "if anything should go amiss with me today, friend john," said fritz, as he loaded his piece, looking sternly down into the hollow beneath, "give my love to susanna, and tell her that her name will be on my lips and my heart in the hour of death." "talk not of death, man, but of victory!" cried stark, whose indomitable cheerfulness never forsook him. "yet i will remember and give the message to my pretty cousin--for i know that women live on words like these--if the blow has to fall. but never think of that!" "i do not," answered fritz; "i hope to come forth safe and sound. but were it otherwise--" "fire!" cried stark, breaking suddenly into the commander; and a sharp, deadly volley blazed forth from the guns of his contingent. it was plain that the enemy had not expected this flank movement to be observed. cries of dismay and pain rang through the forest. they broke cover and ran back towards the main body, followed by another well-directed volley from the brave stark and his men. round the spot where rogers and the main body of the rangers stood the fight waxed fierce and hot. but stark held to his post on the spur of the hill, where he saw how the foe was trying to get round to their rear; and again and again his well-aimed volleys sent them flying back decimated to their companions. but how was it going with the others? the firing was incessant, and shouts and cries told of death and disaster on both sides. stark bid fritz make a dash for the main body and bring back word. the brief winter's day was beginning to draw to a close. there was something terrible in the brightness of the fire that was streaming from the thickets as the daylight failed. it seemed as though the very forest was in flames; and the crack of musketry was almost unceasing. "they are calling upon us to surrender," said fritz, hastening back with his tale. "the french are calling upon rogers by name, begging him to trust to their honour and clemency, and promising the best of treatment if he and his brave men will surrender. they are calling out that it is a pity so many bold men should perish like brute beasts. but rogers stands like a rock, and replies by volley after volley. he has been hit through the wrist, and his head is bound about by a cloth; but he looks like a lion at bay, and will not yield one inch." "let us back to his side, and make one great charge against the foe!" shouted stark, who saw that no further flank movement was to be anticipated now. his men answered by a cheer. they were ready for any display of gallantry and courage, and swore by stark, who was beloved of all for his happy temper and cheerful, dauntless bravery. up the shoulder of the hill and across the ridge they dashed. they shouted their cry of "rogers' rangers! rogers' rangers!" it was taken up by those upon the top, who gathered together and made a blind rush down towards their foe. the french, taken by surprise at this impetuosity, and afraid of the darkness of the forest, made off in haste for ticonderoga, having worked sad havoc amongst the bold rangers, who were left alone with their wounded and dead, the shades of night gathering fast round them, and the camp of the foe within a few miles. it was a situation of grave peril; but rogers was not to be daunted. he buried his dead; he gathered together the wounded, and afraid to allow even a night for rest, he marched his party all through the night, and by morning they were upon the shores of lake george. "i will fetch a sledge for the wounded," quoth stark, full of energy and enterprise as usual. "it will puzzle the enemy to find the route we have taken. lie you here close and keep watch and ward, and i will fetch succour from the fort before the french have time to seek us out." this was good counsel, and rogers followed it. stark, after a quick journey across the ice, brought sledges and soldiers from the fort, and in a few more days the rangers were brought back in triumph to their huts without fort william henry, where they were content to lie idle for a short while, recovering from their wounds and fatigues. hardly a man had escaped uninjured; and some were very dangerously wounded, and died from the effects of the injuries received. fritz himself had a slight attack of fever resulting from the wound which he had scarcely noticed in the heat of battle. stark was almost the only member of the company who had come forth quite unscathed, and he was the life of the party during the next spell of inaction, telling stories, setting the men to useful tasks, making drawings of the french forts for the guidance of the english, and amusing the whole place by his sudden escapades in different directions. the rangers were further cheered by a letter of thanks from general abercromby, lately sent out from england, recognizing their gallant service, and promising that it should be made known to the king. but the adventures of the winter were not over, although the days were lengthening out, and the blustering rains and winds of march had come. the snow was greatly lessened; but a spell of frost still held the lake bound, and the rigours of the season were little abated. it was st. patrick's day; and as some of the soldiers in fort william henry were irish, they had celebrated the anniversary by a revel which had left a large proportion more or less drunk and incapable. their english comrades had followed their lead with alacrity, and the fort was resounding with laughter and song. but the rangers in the huts outside were on the alert and as stark remarked with a smile, they must keep watch and ward that night, for nobody else seemed to have any disposition to do so. major eyre, in pity for the forlorn condition of his men, had not restrained them from amusing themselves in their own fashion upon this anniversary. it was well, however, that there were some sleepless watchers on the alert that night; for as the grey dawn began to break, a sound was heard over the ice as though of an approaching multitude. the rangers gave the alarm, and manned the guns. there was nothing to be seen through the murky mists of dawn; but the guns belched forth fire and round shot towards the lake, and the sounds suddenly ceased. an hour later charles came rushing in; there was blood upon his face, and his eyes were wild, but in his excitement he seemed to know nothing of any hurt. "they are coming! they are coming! i have seen them! there are hundreds upon hundreds of them, well armed, well equipped with everything that men can want. they are bound for the fort. they are going to take it, they have sworn it! and he is in their ranks. i saw him with these eyes. he is there. he is one of them. we shall meet again, and this time he shall not escape me!" in a moment all was excitement and bustle. the men, sobered by the near presence of danger, were at their posts in a moment. all knew that the fort was not strong, and that a resolute assault by a large force would he difficult to repel; but at least they had not been taken by surprise, and that was something. a yell from without told that something was going on there. the rangers were driving off a party of men who had crept up under cover of the mist wreaths, hoping to fire the huts outside, and so burn the fort. they were sent helter skelter over the ice to rejoin their comrades; and after a pause of some hours an officer was seen advancing from the french lines bearing a flag. he was blindfolded, that he might not see the weak parts of the fort, and was brought to major byre and the other officers. his message was to advise them to surrender the fort and obtain for themselves favourable terms, threatening a massacre if this was refused. "i shall defend myself to the last!" said major byre calmly. "englishmen do not give up their forts at the bidding of the foe. we can at least die like men, if we cannot defend ourselves, and that has yet to be proved." the news of this demand and the reply flew like wildfire through the ranks, and inspired the men with courage and ardour. the rangers were brought within the fort, and all was made ready for the assault. a storm of shot hailed upon the fort. through the gathering darkness of the night they could only distinguish the foe by the red glare from their guns. the english fort was dark and silent. it reserved its fire till the enemy came closer. the crisis was coming nearer and nearer. there was a tense feeling in the air, as though an electric cloud hovered over all. charles went about with a strange look upon his face. "he is there--he is coming. we shall meet!" he kept repeating; and all through that night there was no sleep for him--he wandered about like a restless spirit. no service was demanded of him. he was counted as one whose mind wanders. yet in the hour of battle none could fight with more obstinate bravery than charles angell. "fire! fire! fire!" it was charles's voice that raised the cry in the dead of the night. no attack had been made upon the fort; but under cover of darkness the enemy had crept nearer and nearer to the outlying buildings, and tongues of flame were shooting up. instantly the guns were turned in that direction, and a fusillade awoke the silence of the sleeping lake, whilst cries of agony told how the bullets and shots had gone home. "come, rangers," shouted rogers, "follow me out and fall upon them! drive them back! save the fort from fire!" rogers never called upon his men in vain. no service was too full of peril for them. ignorant as they were of the number or power of their assailants, they dashed in a compact body out of the side gate towards the place where the glare of the fire illumined the darkness of the night. dark forms were hurrying hither and thither; but the moment the rangers appeared with their battle cry, there was an instant rout and flight. "after them!" shouted rogers; and the men dashed over the rough ground, pursuers and pursued, shouting, yelling, firing--and they saw that some bolder spirits amongst the frenchmen had even set fire to the sloop on the stocks which rogers had been teaching the soldiers how to construct. but in the forefront of the pursuit might be seen one wild, strange figure with flying hair and fiery eyes. he turned neither to the right hand nor to the left, but ran on and on in a straight line, keeping one flying figure ever in view. the flying figure seemed to know that some deadly pursuit was meant; for he, too, never turned nor swerved, but dashed on and on. he gained the frozen lake; but the treacherous, slippery ice seemed to yield beneath his feet. he had struck the lake at the point where it was broken up to obtain water for the fort. a yell of horror escaped him. he flung up his arms and disappeared. but his pursuer dashed on and on, a wild laugh escaping him as he saw what had happened. the next minute he was bending down over the yawning hole, and had put his long, strong arm through it into the icy water beneath. he touched nothing. the hapless man had sunk to rise no more. once sucked beneath the deep waters of the frozen lake, exhausted as he was, there was no hope for him. charles cut and hacked at the ice blocks, regardless of his own personal safety; and after long labour he succeeded in moving some of them, and in dragging out the lifeless corpse, already frozen stiff, of the man he had sworn to slay. the french were flying over the frozen ice, the rangers in pursuit. they came upon the strange spectacle, and stopped short in amaze. a dead man lay upon the ice of the lake where it was broken and dangerous, his dead face turned up to the moonlight, his hands clinched and stiff and frozen. beside the corpse sat charles, his glassy eyes fixed upon the dead face, himself almost as stiff and stark. they came up and spoke to him; but he only pointed to the corpse. "that is he--that is he!" he cried hoarsely. "i saw him, and he saw me. we fought, and he fled. i have been running after him over ice and snow for years and years. he is dead now--dead, dead, dead! the lord has delivered him into my hand. my work is done!" he stood up suddenly, threw up his arms, and then fell heavily forward face downwards upon the ice. when they lifted him up and carried him within the fort, it was to find that charles angell the ranger was dead. book : disaster. chapter : a tale of woe. the intrepidity of the officer in command, and the alertness and courage of the rangers, had saved fort william henry from one threatened disaster. when the french had fairly retreated, after having been forced to content themselves with the burning of the boats and the unfinished sloop and certain of the surrounding huts and buildings, the english found out from their prisoners how great their peril had been. for the french force sent against them had been a strong one, well equipped, and hopeful of surprising the place and carrying it by a coup de main. failing in this, they had made a show of hostility, but had not really attempted anything very serious. the season was against anything like a settled siege, and they had retreated quickly to their own quarters. but this attack was only to be the prelude to one on a very different scale already being organized at headquarters. the english heard disquieting rumours from all quarters, and turned eager eyes towards england and their own colonies from whence help should come to them, for their numbers were terribly thinned by disease, and death in many forms had taken off pretty well a third of their number. rogers himself had been attacked by smallpox, and upon his recovery he and the large body of the rangers betook themselves to the woods and elsewhere, preferring the free life of the forest, with its manifold adventures and perils, to the monotonous life in an unhealthy fort. but fritz remained behind. when rogers left he was not fit to accompany him, having been suffering from fever, though he had escaped the scourge of smallpox. he had felt the death of charles a good deal. he had become attached to the strange, half-crazed man who had been his special comrade for so long. it seemed like something wanting in his life when his care was no longer required by any one person. indeed all the rangers missed their white-headed, wild-eyed, sharp-eared recruit; and as the saying is, many a better man could better have been spared. stark went with rogers, too much the true ranger now to be left behind. fritz intended to follow them as soon as he was well enough. meantime he had formed a warm friendship with two young officers lately come to the fort with the new commander, colonel monro--one of them being captain pringle, and the other a young lieutenant of the name of roche. colonel monro was a scotchman, a brave man and a fine soldier. those under his command spoke of him in terms of warm and loving admiration. fritz heard of some of his achievements from his new friends, and in his turn told them of his own adventures and of the life he had led during the past two years. "we have heard of the rangers many a time and oft," cried roche. "we had thought of offering ourselves to rogers as volunteers; but men are so sorely wanted for the regular army and the militia that our duty seemed to point that way. but i should like well to follow the fortunes of the hardy rogers." it was true indeed that men were sorely wanted at fort william henry. colonel monro looked grave and anxious as he examined its defences. it was an irregular bastioned square, built of gravel and earth, crowned by a rampart of heavy logs, and guarded by ditches on three sides, and by the lake on the north. but it was not strong enough to stand a very heavy assault, although it was provided with seventeen cannons, besides some mortars and swivels. the garrison numbered at this time something over two thousand; but there were many sick amongst these, and sickness was inclined to spread, to the grave anxiety of the commander. fourteen miles away to the south lay fort edward, and general webb was there with some fifteen hundred men. he had sent on as many men as he felt able to spare some short time before, in response to an appeal from colonel monro. disquieting rumours of an advance from ticonderoga were every day coming to their ears. summer was at its height, and if a blow were to be struck, it would certainly be soon. a scouting party was sent out under the command of a certain colonel parker, in order to learn the strength of the enemy and what they were about. three days passed in anxious suspense, and as nothing was heard of the scouting party, fritz begged leave to go forth with a handful of men to look for them, promising not to expose himself or them to danger. as he knew the forest so well, and was an experienced ranger, leave was quickly obtained, and pringle and roche were permitted to be of the company. they started with the first dawn of the summer's morning; but they had not gone far before they came upon traces of their companions. fritz's quick eyes saw tracks in the forest which bespoke the near neighbourhood of indians, and this made them all proceed with great caution. the tracks, however, were some days old, he thought, and led away to the westward. at one spot he pointed out to his companions certain indications which convinced him that a large number of indians had lately been lying there. "pray heaven it has not been an ambush sent to outwit and overpower our men!" he said. "what would those raw lads from new jersey do if suddenly confronted by a crew of yelling indians? i trust i am no coward myself, but the sound of that awful war whoop thrills me still with a kind of horror; it has been the forerunner of many a tragedy to the white man out in wildernesses such as this." "i have heard it once," said pringle, with an expressive gesture, "and i could well wish never to hear it again, did not duty to king and country drive me willingly forth to fight against these dusky savages, who make of these fair lands a veritable hell upon earth. "hark! what is that?" it was like the sound of a faint cry not so very far away. they listened, and it was presently repeated. fritz started forward at a run. "that is no indian voice," he exclaimed; "it is one of our men calling for aid. he has heard our voices." followed by the rest of the party, fritz ran forward, and soon came out into a more open glade, commanded by the ridge where he had observed the signs of indian occupation. as he did so he uttered a startled exclamation, which was repeated in all kinds of keys by those who came after. for in this glade lay the bodies of full fifty of their soldiers, for the most part stripped and scalped; and the place was so trodden and bloodstained as to show plainly that it had been the scene of a bloody conflict. crawling forth from a little sheltered gorge was a wan, dishevelled figure, bloodstained and ghastly. and fritz, springing forward, caught the lad in his strong arms, whilst he fell to feeble sobbing in the plenitude of his thankfulness and relief. when he was fed and heartened up he had a terrible tale to tell. it had been as fritz thought. a party of indians had been crouching in the forest, and had fallen upon the company unawares. colonel parker had not been wise. he had divided his men into two companies. one had gone by boats, and one had skirted through the forest. what had happened to the boats the lad could not tell. he had been one of the very few survivors of the land party, and he owed his escape to his having fallen wounded and breathless into the little cleft in the rocks hidden by the thick undergrowth, so that the indians did not find him when they made their search after scalps and accoutrements. crouching amongst the bushes, half fainting from terror, the lad had seen it all. "they scalped them one by one, yelling and shouting and dancing. they cared not whether they were dead or not. oh, it was horrible, horrible! they lighted a fire to burn some of the prisoners, and danced around it yelling and jeering as their victims died. oh, i can never forget the sight! every moment i thought they would find me. i thought of all the things i had heard that savages did to their prisoners. if i had had my sword, i would have run it through my heart. but i had nothing, and presently i suppose i fainted, for i can remember no more; and when i woke they had all gone, and only the bodies lay about beside me. they had taken off their own dead; but i durst not come out, lest they should come back and find me, and i did not know where i was. "there was water in the brook, or i should have died; and i used to crawl out and drink, and go and hide myself again. and last of all i heard english voices, and called out; and that is all i can tell you." they made a litter and carried the lad back to the fort, where he lay tossing in fever for many a long day to come. it was evil news that they had for their comrades; and it was not more cheering when stragglers from the scouting party came back by twos and threes, all with the same tale. the indians were overrunning all the forests and lakes. they had mustered around the french camp by hundreds and thousands, and were scouring the woods everywhere, under no sort of discipline, excited, rebellious, rapacious, yet too useful as allies not to be humoured by those who had summoned them to their aid. all had horrid tales to tell of cannibal feasts, and of the savage treatment of prisoners. some declared they had seen french officers and ecclesiastics striving to interfere, but that the indians paid no manner of heed to them. "there was a young priest who saw them eating human flesh at their fire, and he came up and rebuked them. i was sitting by. i had a cord round my neck. sweat was pouring from me, for i knew i should be the next victim. they looked at the priest, and one young indian cried out in french, 'you have french taste, i have indian; this is good meat for me. taste it yourself, and see if you cannot learn to like it too!' whereat all the rest laughed aloud. but the priest rebuked them again, and offered money if they would give me up; and presently they did, though rather against their will. they were sending some prisoners to montreal, and i was to have gone there, too; but in the night i escaped, and as i knew something of the forest, i have got back safe and sound." tales like these came pouring in as the survivors struggled back to the fort. all were agreed that the indians were very numerous and very fierce, and it was said by all that the muster of the french seemed to be very strong. anxiety and fear reigned throughout the fort. fritz almost lived upon the lake in his boat, watching for the first signs of the enemy's approach. that a great part of it would come by water he did not doubt. and sometimes he would leave his boat in a creek, and climb some adjacent height, from whence he could scan the surface of the lake, and see what was stirring there. roche was his companion on those excursions; and the two had climbed together to a commanding height, when upon the dawn of a glorious midsummer morning they saw the long-expected flotilla covering the lake and making headway up it. what a sight it was! the hearts of the onlookers seemed to stand still within them as they looked. and yet it was a magnificent spectacle. myriads and myriads of indian canoes like flocks of waterfowl seemed swarming everywhere, whilst from two to three hundred bateaux conveyed the french and canadian soldiers. then there were great platforms bearing the heavy guns, and rowed by huge sweeps, as well as being assisted by the bateaux; whilst the blaze of colour formed by the uniforms of the various battalions formed in itself a picture which had seldom been seen in these savage solitudes. "we shall have our work cut out to face such odds!" cried fritz, as he turned to dash down the hill and regain his canoe. but roche laid a hand upon his arm, and pointed significantly in another direction. fritz looked, and a smothered exclamation, almost like a groan, broke from him. far away through the mazes of the forest, skirting round towards the doomed fort by a road parallel with the lake, was a large body of troops--how large the spectators could not guess, but they saw enough to tell them that it was a very considerable detachment. such an army as the one now marching upon fort william henry had not been seen there before. to those who knew the weakness of the fort and of its garrison it seemed already as though the day were lost. moreover these men knew that the great marquis de montcalm himself was coming this time to take personal command, and his name inspired respect and a certain fear. he was known to be a general of considerable distinction; it was felt that there would be no blundering when he was at the head of the expedition. to fly back to the fort with these ominous tidings was but the work of a few short hours. in a moment all was stir and bustle. the soldiers were not to be disheartened. they were ready and almost eager for the battle, having become weary of inaction and suspense. but the face of colonel monro was grave and stern, and he called fritz aside presently and conferred with him apart. "i must send a messenger to fort edward to general webb, to report to him our sorry plight. he has said that he can spare no more men; but this extremity of ours should be told him. think you that you can take a letter safely to him? you rangers are the best of messengers; and you have seen this great armament, and can speak with authority concerning it. tell him how sore our need is. it may be that he can hurry up the reinforcements, or that they may be already on their way. even a few hundreds would be better than none. at least he should know our need." fritz was ready in a moment to take the message, but he had small hope of any result, and he saw that the brave colonel had little either. general webb was a man upon whose courage and generalship several aspersions had already been cast. if ever he was to regain confidence and show these aspersions to be untrue, this was the time to show himself in his true colours. but it was with no confidence that fritz set forth upon his errand. not long ago general webb had visited the fort, and had given certain orders and had spoken brave words about coming to command in person should need arise; but he had returned to fort edward the following day, and had then sent the reinforcements which were all he was able to spare. it remained to be seen whether he would fulfil his promise when he knew that the attack of the enemy might be expected every hour. fritz rode in hot haste to the fort and asked for the general. he brought news of urgency, he told them, and was instantly shown to the general's quarters. he stood in silence whilst the letter which fritz brought was opened and read; then he abruptly asked the tall young ranger what it was he had seen. fritz told his tale in simple, graphic words, the general marching up and down the room meantime, evidently in some perturbation of spirit; but all he said at the close was: "go back and tell colonel monro that i have no troops here which i can safely withdraw, but that i have sent, and will send, expresses to the provinces for help." fritz was too much the soldier to make reply. he bowed and retired, well knowing that no express sent to new england could be of the smallest service now. it was with a bitter sense of failure that he took the fresh horse provided for him and made all speed back to the camp. the road was still clear, but how long it would remain so there was no knowing. swarms of indians were drawing around them. if succour did not come quickly, it would arrive too late. monro received the message in silence, and continued to strengthen his own defences as best he might. the next day brought the enemy full in view, and the numbers of the hostile host astonished though they did not dismay the brave little garrison. once more monro sent forth fritz with a letter to the general. "the french are upon us," he wrote, "both by land and water. they are well supplied with artillery, which will make sad havoc of our defences, for these, you have seen for yourself, are none of the strongest. nevertheless the garrison are all in good spirits, and eager to do their duty. i make no doubt that you will send us a reinforcement, for we are very certain that a part of the enemy will soon get possession of the road, and in that case our condition would become very serious." again fritz was entrusted with this letter; again he made the rapid night journey over the familiar road. this time he was not admitted to the general's presence, and after he had remained at fort edward about an hour and had been refreshed, a message came to say that general webb had received the letter and considered it, but could make no other reply than he had done the previous day. "then god help us," said the scotch veteran when this message was brought him, "for vain is the help of man!" and although he went about the fort with as calm and cheerful a mien as before, he was certain in his own heart that fort william henry was now doomed. "they are surrounding us on all sides," cried roche, as soon as fritz appeared upon the ramparts with his disheartening message, which, however, he kept for the moment to himself. "see, they are working their way through the forest to the rear, just beyond our range. soon we shall be hemmed in, and they will bring up their guns. we have done what we can for these poor walls; but they will not long stand the cannonade of all those guns we see lying yonder on the platoons upon the lake." "we must hope that the militia from the provinces will come up before their preparations are complete," said fritz. "they should be on their way by now. but delay and procrastination have ever marked our methods through this war. nevertheless the men are in good spirits; they are eager for the fight to begin. i marvel at their courage, seeing how great are the odds. but even the sick seemed fired by martial ardour!" it was so. the long inaction of the winter and spring had been wearisome and disheartening. it was impossible for the soldiers to doubt that they would receive help from without now that it was known that the enemy was actually upon them. moreover, they all knew, and some remembered, how the assault of a few months back had been repulsed; and not realizing the different scale upon which this one was to be conducted, were full of hopeful confidence and emulation. before hostilities actually commenced, colonel monro summoned his officers about him. great excitement prevailed in the fort, for it was known that a messenger had been admitted under a flag of truce, and that he brought a letter from the marquis de montcalm. it was to the reading of this letter that monro invited his officers. "we have to deal with an honourable foe, gentlemen," said the veteran, looking at those about him, "as you will know when i read to you his words. 'i owe it to humanity,' so writes m. de montcalm, 'to summon you to surrender. at present i can restrain the savages, and make them observe the terms of a capitulation, as i might not have power to do under other circumstances; and the most obstinate defence on your part can only retard the capture of the place a few days, and endanger an unfortunate garrison which cannot be relieved, in consequence of the dispositions i have made. i demand a decisive answer within an hour.' that, gentlemen, is the message brought to us. what answer shall we return to our high-minded adversary?" there was only one word in the mouths of all. "no surrender! no surrender!" they called aloud, waving their swords in the air; and the cry was taken up by those without, and reached the soldiers upon the ramparts, and the welkin rang with the enthusiastic shout: "no surrender! no surrender!" by this time the indians were swarming about close outside the ramparts, and hearing this cry and knowing its meaning, they looked up and gesticulated fiercely. "you won't surrender, eh?" bawled in broken french an old indian chief. "fire away then and fight your best; for if we catch you after this, you shall get no quarter!" the response to this threat was the heavy boom of the cannon as fort william henry discharged its first round of artillery. for a moment it produced immense effect amongst the swarms of painted savages, who scuttled away yelling with fear; for though well used to the sound of musketry, and having considerable skill with firearms themselves, they had never heard the roar of big guns before, and the screaming of the shells as they whistled overhead filled them with terror and amaze. they were intensely eager for the french guns to be got into position, and were a perfect nuisance to the regular soldiers, as they worked with intrepid industry at their trenches and mounds. but before long even the indians were satisfied with the prolonged roar of artillery, which lasted day after day, day after day; whilst within their walls the brave but diminished garrison looked vainly for succour, and examined with a sinking heart their diminished store of ammunition and their cracked and overheated guns. "it cannot go on long like this," the officers said one to the other. "what is the general doing over yonder? he must hear by the heavy firing what straits we are in. he knows the condition of the fort. he should risk and dare everything to come to our aid. if this fort is lost, then our western frontier has lost its only point of defence against the inroads of indians and the encroachments of france." a few days later and a cry went up from the walls, "a white flag! a white flag!" and for a moment a wild hope surged up in the hearts of the soldiers that the enemy had grown tired of the game of war, and had some proposal to make. the messenger brought a letter. it was not from the french commander himself, though it was delivered with a courteous message from him. it had been found upon the body of a white man slain by the indians a few days before, and brought to the french camp. the marquis de montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for whom it was intended. "give my thanks," said monro, "to the marquis for his courtesy, and tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a foe." but the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless garrison. it came from general webb, and repeated that, until reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison of fort william henry; and advised colonel monro to make the best terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for him to withstand. it was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of surrender. men and officers stood in knots together gloomily surveying the scene. "we have done what men can do," said captain pringle to his friends fritz and roche; "but where are we now? a third of our men are sick and wounded. almost all our big guns are burst. the enemy's trenches are being pushed nearer and nearer, and there are still more of their guns to be brought to bear. our wall is breached; i marvel they have not already made an assault. there is nothing for it but surrender, if we can obtain honourable terms of capitulation." "nay, rather let us die sword in hand and face to foe!" cried roche, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "let us make a last desperate sortie, and see if we cannot drive the enemy from their position. anything is better than dying here like rats in a hole! a forlorn hope is better than none. why should we not at least cut our way out to the free forest, if we cannot rout the enemy and drive them back whence they came?" "the life of the free forest would mean death to those raw lads who have come out from england or from the provinces," said fritz gravely. "it would be hardly more than a choice of deaths; and yet i would sooner die sword in hand, hewing my way to freedom, than cooped up between walls where every shot begins to tell, and where the dead can scarce be buried for the peril to the living." and indeed the position of affairs was so deplorable that a council was held by monro; and it was agreed that if any desired to make this last sortie, either for life and liberty for themselves, or in the last forlorn hope of driving the enemy from their position, it might be attempted; but if it failed, there was nothing for it but capitulation, if honourable terms could be had, or if not to die at their posts, fighting to the very last. a cheer went up from the men when they heard these words. if they had well nigh lost hope, their courage was not quenched, and a large band volunteered for the sortie. fritz and roche were amongst these, but pringle remained behind in the fort. "i will stand by the colonel and the sinking ship," he said. "it is but a choice of evils. i doubt if any of us will see the light of many more days. i prefer the chances of war to the unknown horrors of the forest filled with savages." he laid a hand upon roche's arm and looked affectionately into the boyish brave young face. then he turned to fritz. "if you should get through, take care of the lad. you are a ranger; you know the forest well. if any can escape safely thither, it will be you and such as you. but don't forsake the boy--don't let him fall alive into the hands of the indians; kill him yourself sooner. and now fare well, and god bless you both: for i think that on this earth we shall meet no more." "nay, why think that?" cried roche eagerly; "stranger things have happened before now than that we should all live to tell the tale of these days." pringle shook his head; whilst fritz wrung his hand and said: "at least remember this: if you should wish to have news of us, ask it of rogers' rangers, who are always to be heard of in these parts. if we escape, it is to rogers we shall find our way. he will be glad enough to welcome us, and from any of his rangers you will hear news of us if we ever reach his ranks." there was no sleep for the fort that night. indeed the hot summer nights were all too short for any enterprise to be undertaken then. the glow in the western sky had scarcely paled before there might have been seen creeping forth through the battered gateway file after file of soldiers, as well equipped as their circumstances allowed--silent, stealthy, eager for the signal which should launch them against the intrenched foe so close at hand. but alas for them, they had foes wily, watchful, lynx-eyed, ever on the watch for some such movement. hardly had they got clear of their protecting walls and ditches, when, with a horrid yell, hundreds and thousands of dusky indians leaped up from the ground and rushed frantically towards them. the next moment the boom of guns overhead told that the french camp had been alarmed. the regular soldiers would be upon them in a few minutes, driving them back to the fort, killing and wounding, and leaving the indians to butcher and scalp at their leisure. the fearful war whoop was ringing in their ears. the line wavered--broke; the men made a frantic rush backwards towards their lines. "don't fly!" cried roche suddenly to fritz, at whose side he marched; "let us cut our way through, or die doing it. it is death whichever way we turn. let us die like men, with our faces and not our backs to the foe!" "come then!" cried fritz, upon whom had fallen one of those strange bursts of desperate fury which give a man whilst it lasts the strength of ten. with a wild bound he sprang forward, bursting through the ranks of indians like the track of a whirlwind, scattering them right and left, hewing, hacking, cutting! roche was just behind or at his side; the two seemed invulnerable, irresistible, possessed of some supernatural strength. the indians in amaze gave way right and left, and turned their attention to the flying men, who were easier to deal with than this strange couple. a shout went up that the devil was abroad, and the indian, ever superstitious, shrank away from these stalwart figures, believing them to be denizens from some other world; whilst the french soldiers, who might have felt very differently, had not yet so far equipped themselves as to be ready to come out from their lines. fritz had marked his line with care. only upon one small section between lake and forest was there any possible passage without peril from the french lines, and that was by skirting the head of the lake just where their own intrenched camp, now almost in ruins, gave them shelter. the woodsman's and the ranger's instinct kept true within him even in the confusion and darkness. he never deflected from his line. "this way! this way!" he called to roche in smothered tones, as they heard the sound of the fight growing fainter behind them. he took the lad's hand, and plunged into the marshy hollow. he knew that none would follow them there; the ground was too treacherous. but there was a path known to himself which he could find blindfold by day or night. he pulled his comrade along with a fierce, wild haste, till at a certain point he paused. there was a little cavernous shelter in the midst of the morass, and here the pair sank down breathless and exhausted. "we are saved!" gasped roche, clasping his comrade by the hand. "for the moment--yes," answered fritz; "but what of afterwards?" chapter : escape. young roche lay face downwards upon the rocky floor of the little cavern, great sobs breaking from him which he was unable to restrain. fritz, with a stern, set face, sat beside another prostrate figure--that of a man who looked more dead than alive, and whose head and arm were wrapped in linen bandages soaked through and through with blood. it was captain pringle, their friend and comrade in fort william henry, who had elected to remain with the garrison when the other two took part in a sortie and cut themselves a path to the forest. had he remained with them, he might have fared better; he would at least have been spared the horrors of a scene which would now be branded forever upon his memory in characters of fire. what had happened to that ill-fated fort fritz and roche knew little as yet. they had heard the tremendous firing which had followed whilst they remained in hiding during the day the dawn of which had seen the last desperate sortie. they had at night seen flames which spoke of indian campfires all round the place, and from the complete cessation of firing after two they concluded that terms of surrender had been made. they had meant to wander deeper and deeper into the forest, out of reach of possible peril from prowling indians; but they had been unable to tear themselves away without learning more of the fate of the hapless fort and its garrison. at daybreak--or rather with the, first grey of dawn--they had crept through the brushwood as stealthily as indians themselves, only to be made aware shortly that something horrible and terrible was going on. yells and war whoops and the screech of indian voices rose and clamoured through the silence of the forest, mingled with the shrieks of victims brutally massacred, and the shouts and entreaties of the french officers, who ran hither and thither seeking to restrain the brutal and savage treachery of their unworthy allies. roche had lost his head, and would have rushed madly upon the scene of bloodshed and confusion; and fritz must needs have followed, for he was not one to let a comrade go to his death alone: but before they had proceeded far, they met their comrade pringle dashing through the forest, covered with wounds, and pursued by half a dozen screeching indians, and in a moment they had sprung to his rescue. with a yell as fierce in its way as that of the indians themselves they sprang upon the painted savages, and taking them unawares, they killed every one before the dusky and drunken sons of the forest had recovered from their surprise at being thus met and opposed. but plainly there was no time to lose. the forest was ringing with the awful war whoop. their comrade was in no state for further fighting; he was almost too far gone even for flight. they seized him one by each arm; they dashed along through the tangled forest by an unfrequented track known to fritz, half leading, half carrying him the while. the din and the horrid clamour grew fainter in their ears. no pursuing footsteps gave them cause to pause to defend themselves. the centre of excitement round the fort drew the human wolves, as carrion draws vultures. the forest was dim and silent and deserted as the fugitives pursued their way through it. from time to time the wounded man dropped some words full of horror and despair. young roche, new to these fearful border wars, was almost overcome by this broken narrative, realizing the fearful fate which had overtaken so many of his brave comrades of the past weeks. when at last they reached the little cave for which fritz was heading, and where they felt that for the moment at least they were safe, he could only throw himself along the ground in an agony of grief and physical exhaustion: whilst the hardier fritz bathed the wounds of their unfortunate comrade, binding them up with no small skill, and refreshing him with draughts of water from the pool hard by, which was all the sick man desired at this moment. all three comrades were exhausted to the uttermost, and for a long while nothing broke the silence of the dim place save the long-drawn, gasping sobs of the lad. gradually these died away into silence, and fritz saw that both his companions slept--the fitful sleep of overwrought nature. yet he was thankful even for that. moving softly about he lighted a fire, and having captured one of the wild turkeys which were plentiful in the forest at that season, he proceeded to prepare a meal for them when they should awake. roche slept on and on, as the young will do when nature has been tried to her extreme limits; but pringle presently opened his eyes, and looked feebly about him. fritz had a little weak broth to offer him by that time, and after drinking it the captain looked a little less wan and ghastly. "where are we?" he asked, in a weak voice; "and how many are there of us?" "we have only roche with us. we have been in the forest since the sortie when we cut our way out. we met you the next day with half a dozen indians at your heels. we know nothing save what you have spoken of treachery and massacre. can it be true that the french permitted such abominations? the forest was ringing with the indian war whoops and the screams of their wretched victims!" a shudder ran through pringle's frame. "it is too true," he said; "it is horrible--unspeakably horrible! yet we must not blame the french too much. they did what they could to prevent it. indeed, i heard the marquis de montcalm himself bidding the indians kill him, but spare the english garrison, which had surrendered, and had been promised all the honours of war and a safe escort to fort edward." "if men will stoop to use fiends to do their work," said fritz sternly, "they must expect to be disgraced and defied by these fiends, over whom they have no sort of influence. if men will use unworthy instruments, they must take the consequences." "yes; but the consequences have been the massacre of our hapless sick and wounded, and scenes of horror at thought of which my blood curdles. they have fallen upon us, not upon them." "for the moment, yes," said fritz, still in the same stern tone; "but, pringle, there is a god above us who looks down upon these things, and who will not suffer such deeds to pass unavenged. we are his children; we bear his name. we look to him in the dark moments of despair and overthrow. i am sure that he will hear and answer. he will not suffer these crimes against humanity and civilization to go unpunished. he will provide the instrument for the overthrow of the power which can deal thus treacherously, even though the treachery may be that of their allies, and not their own. it is they who employ such unworthy tools. they must bear the responsibility when these things happen." there was a long silence between the two men then, after which pringle said: "if they had only sent us reinforcements! i know that we shall hear later on that the reserves were on their way. why do we do everything a month or more too late? it has been the ruin of our western frontier from first to last. we are never ready!" "no; that has been the mistake so far, but i think it will not always be so. there is an able man in england now whose hands are on the helm; and though full power is not his as yet, he can and will do much, they say. even the more astute of the french begin to dread the name of pitt. i think that the tide will turn presently, and we shall see our victorious foes flying before us like chaff before the wind." "you think that?" "i do. i have seen and heard much of the methods of france in the south--her ambition, her presumption, her weakness. here in the north she has a firmer grip, and canada is her stronghold. but if once we can shake her power there, all will be gone. they say that pitt knows this, and that his eyes are upon the western world. france has her hands full at home. a great war is raging in europe. a few well-planted blows, ably directed from beyond the sea by england herself, might do untold harm to her western provinces. i hope to live to see the day when those blows will be given." young roche began to stir in his sleep, and presently sat up, bewildered and perplexed; but soon recollection swept over him, and he stumbled to his feet, and joined the other two by the fire. "tell us all," he said, as they began to think of supper; for he and fritz had scarcely broken their fast all day, and nature was now asserting her needs. "i would learn all, horrible though it is. tell us--did fort william henry surrender?" "yes; there was nothing else for it. new batteries opened upon us, as well as the old ones. there was a great breach in the wall which could have been carried by assault at any moment, and our guns were all burst, save a few of the smaller ones. they gave us lenient terms. we were to march out with the honours of war, and keep one of our guns; they were to give us safe escort to fort edward; we were to take our baggage with us. the marquis showed himself a generous foe--of him we have reason to think well; but the indians, and even the canadians--well. i will come to that in its turn. thank heaven, i did not see too much; what i did see will haunt me to my dying day!" the lad's eyes dilated. it was terrible; but he wanted to hear all. "all was arranged. the french soldiers marched in and took possession. we marched out to the intrenched camp to join our comrades there, who, of course, had been included in the capitulation. in the charge of the french we left our sick, who could not march. hardly had we gone before the indians swarmed in in search of plunder, and finding little--for, as you know, there was little to find--they instantly began to murder the sick, rushing hither and thither, yelling wildly, waving scalps in their hands!" "and the french allowed it!" exclaimed roche, setting his teeth hard; for he had friends and comrades lying sick at the fort when he left it. "it was done so quickly they might not have known. one missionary was there, and rushed hither and thither seeking to stay them; but he might as well have spoken to the wild waves of the sea in a storm. but that was not all. in an hour or so they were clamouring and swarming all round the camp, and the french soldiers told off for our protection either could not or would not keep them out. montcalm, in great anxiety, came over himself seeking to restore order; but the indians were drunk with blood, and would not listen to him. he begged us to stave in our rum barrels, which was instantly done; but the act provoked the savages, and they pounced upon our baggage, which had been reserved to us by the terms of the treaty. we appealed to the marquis; but he advised us to give it up. "'i am doing all i can,' he said to colonel monro; 'but i shall be only too happy if i can prevent a massacre!'" "horrible!" ejaculated the young lieutenant. "oh, better, far better, to have held the fort and perished in open fight than to be set upon in cold blood by those fiends!" "yes," quoth pringle sternly; "that is what we felt and said. but it was too late then. the indians were all amongst us. they were here, there, and everywhere. they got hold of the long hair of the women and the terrified children, and drew their scalping knives and menaced them till they shrieked and cried aloud in abject terror--" pringle paused; a spasm of horror shook him. after a brief pause he recommenced in more rapid tones: "why prolong the tale? it has lasted already too long. no proper guard was provided for us. why i cannot tell, for the marquis was truly horrified at what was going on. perhaps he thought the steps he had taken were sufficient, or that the rage of the indians was appeased; but be that as it might, when we marched out towards fort edward, we had no efficient protection, and the indians were all round us, snatching at caps and coats, and forcing the soldiers to give them rum from their canteens, every drop of which seemed to add fuel to the fire." "and you had no escort?" "none of any efficacy. monro, our gallant colonel, went back to the french camp to protest and petition; but while he was gone the spark kindled. "it was the anenaki chief who first raised the war whoop, and the effect was instantaneous. they sprang upon us like fiends. they seized the shrieking women and children and bore them off to the woods, killing and scalping them as they ran. we had guns, but no ammunition, and were almost exhausted with what we had been through. "in a moment all was a scene of indescribable horror and confusion. i can only speak of what i saw myself. i was set upon by the savages; but i could give blow for blow. they sprang after others less able to defend themselves. i saw a little lad rush screaming through the wood. i at once ran after him, and knocked down his pursuer. he clung about me, begging me to save him. i took his hand, and we dashed into the forest together. "as we did so, i was aware that some french officers, with the marquis de montcalm, were rushing up to try to appease the tumult; but i doubt me if their words produced any effect. the boy and i ran on together. then out dashed a dozen or more warriors upon us, with scalps in their hands--a sight horrible to behold. i set the boy against a tree, and stood before him; but they were all round us. i felt his despairing, clutching hands torn from round my waist whilst i was hacking and hewing down the men in front. i heard the shriek of agony and the gurgling cry as the tomahawk descended upon his head. "i knew that he was dead, and the rage which filled me drove me on and on with the strength of madness. i had lost the sense of direction. i only knew that i had burst through the ring of my assailants, and that i was running my headlong course with the whole pack of them yelling at my heels. now and again a cry from right or left would divert one or another of my pursuers, but some of them held resolutely on, and i knew that my strength must eventually give out, and that only a horrible death awaited me. "then it was that i heard shouts in the english tongue, and knew that some person or persons had come to my rescue. but my eyes were full of blood, and my senses were well nigh failing. it was only by degrees i came to know who had saved my life. i shall never forget it, though i cannot say what is in my heart." he held out his hand first to one and then to the other of his comrades, and they grasped it warmly. roche lifted his right hand and shook it upwards. "may heaven give me the chance to revenge this day's work upon the foes of england! may the time come when france shall drink deep of that cup of suffering and humiliation which she has caused us to drink withal; and may i be there to see!" and yet, before many months had passed, roche and his companions had reason to know that their foes could be chivalrous and generous to an enemy in distress. the comrades lay in close hiding for many days, until the work of demolishing the hapless fort had been accomplished, and the french, together with their savage allies, had withdrawn back to their own lines at ticonderoga. there was no dash made upon fort edward, as might well have been the case. satisfied with what he had accomplished, and under orders to permit the canadian troops to return home in time to gather in the harvest, the marquis de montcalm withdrew his forces when his task was finished. possibly he felt that victory was too dearly purchased at the cost of such horrors as had followed the capture of fort william henry. pringle recovered from his wounds, which, though numerous, were none of them severe. the spell of rest was welcome to all after the fatigues and privations of the siege. fritz was an expert huntsman, and kept their larder well stocked; and when they were ready to travel, he was able to lead them safely through the forest, towards the haunts where rogers and his rangers were likely to be met with. it was upon a clear september afternoon that they first met white men, or indeed human beings of any kind; for they had sedulously avoided falling in with indians, and the loneliness of the forest had become a little oppressive to pringle and roche, although they were eager to learn the arts of woodcraft, and were proving apt pupils. they were both going to volunteer to join rogers' bold band of rangers, for they had grown almost disheartened at the regular army service, where one blunder and disaster was invariably capped by another; and the life of the rangers did at least give scope for personal daring and adventure, and might enable them to strike a blow now and again at the enemy who had wrought them such woe. they heard themselves hailed one day out of the heart of the forest by a cheery english voice. "what ho! who goes there?" "friend to rogers and his rangers!" called back fritz, in the formula of the forest, and the next minute a bronzed and bright-faced, handsome man had sprung lightly out of the thicket, and stood before them. he was a stranger to fritz, but something in his dress and general aspect proclaimed him to be a ranger, and he grasped fritz by the hand warmly. "you come in good time to give us news. we have been far afield--almost as far as niagara itself. we hear rumours of disaster and treachery; but hitherto we have had no certain tidings. is it true that fort william henry has fallen?" the tale was told once again, other rangers crowding round to hear. pringle was naturally the spokesman, and fritz, singling out from the group a man whom he had known before, asked him who the gallant-looking stranger was who seemed like the leader of a band. "that is lord howe," was the answer. "he came out from england to fight the french; but the expedition to louisbourg came to nothing through delay and mismanagement. he landed, and whilst waiting for further orders from home he has joined the rangers, in order to learn their methods of fighting. never was hardier or braver man, or one more cheerful and blithe. even the stern rogers himself unbends when he is near. he has been the very life of our party since he has joined us." fritz soon found that this was no exaggeration. howe was a splendid comrade and ranger, full of courage, the hardiest of the hardy, never failing in spirits whatever were the hardships of the life, and showing such aptitude for generalship and command that already he had made his mark amongst the hardy rangers, and was entrusted with enterprises of difficulty and danger. it was not much that could be done against the foe with the inclement winter season approaching. the snow fell early. the canadians and regulars had gone into winter quarters; but there was still a garrison in ticonderoga, and to harass and despoil that garrison was the pastime of the rangers. they stole beneath the walls upon the frozen lake. they carried off cattle, and made banquets off their carcasses. if they could not do with all the meat themselves, they would leave the carcasses at the foot of the walls, sometimes with mocking letters attached to the horns. thus, after a more than usually successful raid, when they had taken two prisoners and driven off a number of head of cattle, they tied to the horns of one of the slain beasts the following words, written large for all to read. "i am obliged to you, sir, for the rest you have allowed me to take, and for the fresh meat you have supplied me with. i shall take good care of my prisoners. my compliments to the marquis de montcalm. "--(signed) "rogers." but in spite of these successful raids, a misfortune was in store for the gallant rangers in the early spring which broke up and scattered their band for that season, and spread throughout the district the false report of rogers' death. captain hebecourt was commanding the french at ticonderoga, and in march he received large reinforcements of canadians and indians, and the latter instantly detected recent marks of snowshoes in the vicinity betraying the neighbourhood of white men. an attack was therefore organized to try to rid the place of the pestilent rangers, as the french called them; whilst, as it so happened, the rangers had no knowledge of the reinforcements which had come in to the fort. rogers' fault was ever a daring rashness, and when one day he and his little band saw the advance of a party of indians, he drew his men under cover and greeted them with a hot and fatal fire. but this was only the advance guard. unknown and unguessed at by rogers, the large body behind was approaching, and the next moment the whole place was echoing with triumphant yells, as the pursuing rangers were met by a compact force outnumbering them by four to one, who sprang furiously upon them, trying to hack them to pieces. rogers, gallantly backed by lord howe, who had all the instinct of the true general, recalled them hastily and formed them up on the slope of a hill, where they made a gallant stand, and drove back the enemy again and again. but outnumbered as they were, it was a terrible struggle, and ranger after ranger dropped at his post; whilst at last the cry was raised that the foe had surrounded them upon the rear, and nothing was left them but to take to the forest in flight. "to the woods, men, to the woods!" shouted rogers. "leave me, and every man for himself!" indeed it was soon impossible for any party to keep together. it was just one dash from tree to tree for bare life, seeking to evade the wily foe, and seeing brave comrades drop at every turn. rogers, howe, and about twenty fine fellows were making a running fight for it along the crest of the ridge. pringle, roche, and fritz were separated from these, but kept together, and by the use of all their strength and sagacity succeeded in eluding the indians and hiding themselves in the snow-covered forest. all was desolation around them. a heavy snowstorm gathered and burst. they were hopelessly separated from their comrades, and fritz, who was their guide in woodcraft, was wounded in the head, and in a strangely dazed condition. "i can take you to rogers' camp, nevertheless," he kept repeating. "we must not lie down, or we shall die. but i can find the road--i can find the road. i know the forest in all its aspects; i shall not lose the way." it was a terrible night. they had no food but a little ginger which pringle chanced to have in his pocket, and a bit of a sausage that roche had secreted about him. the snow drifted in their faces. they were wearied to death, yet dared not lie down; and though always hoping to reach the spot where fritz declared that rogers was certain to be found, they discovered, when the grey light of morning came, that they had only fetched a circle, and were at the place they had started from, in perilous proximity to the french fort. yet as they gazed at one another in mute despair a more terrible thing happened. the indian war whoop sounded loud in their ears, and a band of savages dashed out upon them. before they could attempt resistance in their numbed state, they were surrounded and carried off captive. "we can die like men; that is all that is left to us!" said pringle, pressing up to roche to whisper in his ear. "heaven grant they kill us quickly; it is the only grace we can hope for now." dizzy and faint and exhausted, they were hurried along by their captors they knew not whither. they had come out from the forest, and the sun was beginning to shine round them, when they suddenly heard a voice shouting out something the meaning of which they could not catch; and the next moment a body of white men came running up wearing the familiar uniform of french soldiers and officers. "uncle!" cried a lad's clear voice, speaking in french, a language perfectly intelligible to fritz, "that tall man there is the one who saved corinne and me in the forest that day when we were surrounded and nearly taken by the rangers. get him away from the indians; they shall not have him! he saved us from peril once; we must save him now." "assuredly, my son," came the response, in a full, sonorous voice; and fritz, rallying his failing powers, shook off for a moment the mists which seemed to enwrap him, and saw that a fine-looking man of benevolent aspect, wearing the habit of an ecclesiastic, was speaking earnestly to the indians who had them in their hands, whilst several french officers and soldiers had formed up round them. there was some quick and rather excited talk between the abbe and the dusky savages; but he appeared to prevail with them at length, and fritz heard the order given: "take these men into the fort, and give them every care and attention. i shall come later to see how my orders have been carried out." the men saluted. they cut the cords which bound the prisoners. they led them away kindly enough. the lad who had first spoken pressed up to the side of fritz. "i will take care of you, and my uncle will heal your wound. you remember how corinne promised some day to return the good favour that you did us. you are our guests; you are not prisoners. my uncle, the abbe, has said so, and no one will dare to dispute his word. he is the abbe de messonnier, whom all the world loves and reveres." chapter : albany. "you are not our prisoner," said colin; "you and your friends are our guests, welcome to stay or go as you will. only we hope and desire that you will not go forth into the forest again until the snow has melted, and you are sound and whole once more." the bright-faced boy was seated beside the bed whereon lay fritz, who felt like a man awakening from a long, strange, and rather frightful dream. he had become unconscious almost immediately after their rescue three days before, and had only now recovered the use of his faculties and the memory of recent events. "you had a bad wound on the side of your head when we found you," explained colin. "my uncle, the abbe, says that had it been left much longer untended you must have died. he is an excellent surgeon himself, having learned much as to the treatment of wounds and bruises and sicknesses of all kinds. he is well pleased with its appearance now, and with your state of health. he says that you rangers are marvellous tough customers, whether as soldiers or as patients. you take a great deal of killing!" fritz smiled in response to the boy's bright look, but there was anxiety in his face too. "can you tell me aught of the rangers?" he said. "you, doubtless, know how we were set upon and dispersed a few days back." "yes; and our captain of the fort is right glad at it," said the boy, "for rogers led him a dog's life with his raids and robberies. but all is fair in love and war, and it is not for us to complain of what we ourselves have provoked and should do in like circumstances. nevertheless there is rejoicing at ticonderoga that the rangers are dispersed and broken for the present. we were beginning to fear lest they should take away from us all our provision and cut off our supplies." "do you know how many were slain?" "no; but it must have been a considerable number. i am sorry myself. i delight in all brave deeds of daring, and it is the rangers who have shown themselves the heroes of this campaign. at first they said rogers himself had been killed, but that has since been contradicted. for myself i do not believe it. the dead were carefully examined by one who knew rogers well, and he declares there is no corpse that in any way resembles him; and others declare that he was seen escaping to the forest, fighting every inch of the way, with a resolute little band around him whom none cared to follow." "i myself saw something of that," answered fritz; "but it all seems like a dream of long ago. tell me now of those who were with me--captain pringle and the lad roche. are they here, and unhurt of the indians?" "they are sound and well, and though sorely exhausted by cold and hunger and fatigue when they were brought in, are fully recovered now. captain pringle is quite a hero with us, for he has told us all the story of that disgraceful and dishonourable day of august last when the laurels of france were sorely tarnished by the treacherous villainy of her indian allies! believe me, friend fritz, we men of france deplore that massacre, and cry shame upon ourselves and our countrymen for not taking sterner measures to repress it. for that reason alone, as mine uncle says, we owe to you and to your companions every honour and courtesy which we can show. if we have sometimes to blush for the conduct of our allies, we can show that we are capable of better things ourselves; and if we can make reparation ever so little, you will not find us backward in doing it." this indeed seemed to be the feeling of those within the fort. although these men were rangers, part of the band which had harassed them so sorely through the winter months, the garrison received them with open arms, ministered to their wants, and vied with one another in making them at home. the influence of the venerable abbe might have had something to do with this; but it was greatly due to the chivalry of the french nature, and to the eager desire to show kindness to those who had witnessed and suffered from that awful tragedy which had followed upon the surrender of fort william henry, which they felt to be a lasting disgrace to their cause. those of the officers who had been there averred that they could never forget the horror of those two days; and the french surgeon who had taken over the english sick and wounded, and yet saw them butchered before his eyes ere he could even call for help, had never been the same man since. so when fritz was able to rise from his bed and join his companions, he found himself in pleasant enough quarters, surrounded by friendly faces, and made much of by all in the fort. he, being able to speak french fluently, made himself a great favorite with the men, and he enjoyed many long conversations with the abbe, who was a man of much acumen and discernment, and saw more clearly the course which events were likely to take than did those amongst whom he lived. from him fritz learned that affairs in canada were looking very grave. there were constant difficulties arising between the various officials there, and the most gross corruption existed in financial affairs, so that there was a rottenness that was eating like a canker into the heart of the colony, despite its outward aspect of prosperity. france was burdened by foreign wars and could do little for her dependencies beyond the sea; whilst england was beginning to awake from her apathy, and she had at her helm now a man who understood as no statesman there had done before him the value to her of these lands beyond the sea. "i have always maintained," the abbe would say, "that in spite of all her blunders, which blunders and tardinesses are still continuing, there is a spirit in your english colonies which will one day rise triumphant, and make you a foe to be feared and dreaded. you move with the times; we stand still. you teach and learn independence and self government; we depend wholly upon a king who cares little for us and a country that is engrossed in other matters, and has little thought to spend upon our perils and our troubles. you are growing, and, like a young horse or bullock, you do not know yet how to use your strength. you are unbroken to yoke and halter; you waste your energy in plunging and butting when you should be utilizing it to some good end. yet mark my words, the day is coming when you will learn to answer to the rein; when you will use your strength reasonably and for a great end and then shall we have cause to tremble before you!" fritz listened and partly understood, and could admire the man who spoke so boldly even when he depreciated the power of his own people. he grew to love and revere the abbe not a little, and when the day came for them to say farewell, it was with real sorrow he spoke his adieu. "you have been very good to us, my father," he said. "i hope the day may come when we may be able to show our gratitude." "like enough it will, my son," answered the abbe gently; "i have little doubt that it will. if not to me, yet to my children and countrymen. for the moment the laurels of victory remain in our hands; but the tide may some day turn. if so, then remember to be merciful and gentle to those who will be in your power. i think that the english have ever shown themselves generous foes; i think they will continue to show themselves such in the hour of victory." it was with hearts much cheered and strengthened that the comrades went forth from ticonderoga. colin and a few french soldiers accompanied them for some distance. they did not propose to try to seek rogers or his scattered rangers; there was no knowing where they would now be found. fritz had decided to push back to fort edward, and so to albany, the quaint dutch settlement which had been the basis of recent operations, being the town nearest to the western frontier at this point. there they would be certain to get news of what was going on in the country, and for a short time it would be pleasant to dwell amid the haunts of men, instead of in these remote fastnesses of the forest. "i hope we shall meet again," said colin, as he held fritz's hand in a last clasp. "i am not altogether french. i find that i can love the english well. quebec will be my home before long. corinne is there already, and my uncle and i will return there shortly. it is a fine city, such as you have hardly seen in your wanderings so far. i would i could show it you. some say the english have an eye upon it, as the key to canada. in sooth i think they would find it a hard nut to crack. we of the city call it impregnable. but come you in peace there, and i will show it you with joy." they parted with a smile and a warm clasp, little guessing how they would meet next. the journey to albany was uneventful. the travellers met with no misadventures, and upon a sunny april evening drew near to the pleasant little town, smiling in the soft sunshine of a remarkably warm evening. it presented a singularly peaceful appearance. the fort was on the hill behind, and seemed to stand sentinel for the little township it was there to protect. the wide grassy road ran down towards the river, its row of quaint dutch houses broken by a group of finer and more imposing buildings, including the market, the guard house, the town hall, and two churches. the houses were not built in rows, but each stood in its own garden, possessing its well, its green paddock, and its own overshadowing tree or trees. they were quaintly built, with timbered fronts, and great projecting porches where the inhabitants gathered at the close of the day, to discuss the news and to gossip over local or provincial affairs. as the travellers entered the long, wide street, their eyes looked upon a pleasant, homely scene--the cows straying homeward, making music with their bells, stopping each at her own gate to be milked; the children hanging around, porringer in hand, waiting for the evening meal; matrons and the elder men gathered in groups round the doors and in the porches; young men wrestling or arguing in eager groups; and the girls gathered together chatting and laughing, throwing smiling glances towards their brothers and lovers as they strove for victory in some feat of skill or strength. it was difficult to believe that so peaceful a scene could exist in a country harassed by war, or that these settlers could carry on their lives in so serene and untroubled a fashion with the dread war cloud hovering in the sky above. there was one house which stood a little apart from the others, and wore a rather more imposing aspect, although, like all the rest, it was of a quaint and home-like appearance. it stood a little back from the main streets and its porch was wider and larger, whilst the garden in front was laid out with a taste and care which bespoke both skill and a love for nature's products. the travellers were slowly wending their way past this house, debating within themselves where to stop for the night, and just beginning to attract the attention of the inhabitants, when a voice hailed them eagerly from the wide porch. "fritz neville, or i'm a dutchman myself! and pringle and roche as well! why, man, we thought we had left you dead in the forest. we saw you cut off from us and surrounded. we never had a hope of seeing you alive again. this is a happy meeting, in truth!" fritz started at the sound of his name, and the next minute had made a quick forward hound, his face shining all over. it was lord howe who had hailed him--the bold, joyous young viscount beloved by all who knew him. the comrades shook hands again and again as they eagerly exchanged greetings. "oh, we got away to the forest, rogers and stark and i, and a score or more. other stragglers kept dropping in and joining us, and many more, as we found later, had made their way back to fort edward. but nowhere could we learn news of you. come in, come in; you will be welcomed warmly by my kind hostess, mrs. schuyler. she has been the friend and mother of all english fugitives in their destitution and need. i have a home with her here for the present, till the army from england and the levies from the provinces arrive. come in, good comrades, and do not fear; there will be a warm welcome here for you." they followed howe to the house, and found that he had not deceived them as to the welcome they would receive. colonel schuyler was a great man in albany, and his wife was deservedly respected and beloved. just now the colonel was absent on duties connected with the coming campaign, in which albany was becoming keenly interested. the neighbouring provinces, particularly that of massachusetts, had awakened at last from lethargy, and the inhabitants were bestirring themselves with zeal, if not always with discretion. the colonel, who had warmly embraced the english cause, was doing what he could there to raise arms and men, and his wife at home was playing her part in caring for the fugitives who kept passing through on their way from the forest, both after the massacre at fort william henry, and after the rout of the rangers. rogers himself was too restless a being to remain in the haunts of civilization. he and a few picked men were again off to the forest. but stark, who had been wounded, and lord howe, who was awaiting orders from england as to his position in command during the approaching campaign, remained as guests with mrs. schuyler; and she at once begged that fritz and his companions would do the same, since her house was roomy, and she desired to do all in her power for those who were about to risk their lives in the endeavour to suppress the terrible indian raids, and to crush the aggressions of those who used these raids as a means of obtaining their own aggrandizement. it was a pleasant house to stay in, and mrs. schuyler was like a mother to them all. for lord howe she entertained a warm affection, which he requited with a kindred feeling. all was excitement in albany now. general abercromby was on the way to take the command of the forces; but lord howe was to have a position of considerable importance, and it was whispered by those who knew what went on behind the scenes that it was to his skill and courage and military prowess that pitt really looked. he received private dispatches by special messengers, and his bright young face was full of purpose and lofty courage. the massachusetts levies began to assemble, and howe took the raw lads in hand, and began to drill them with a wonderful success. but it was no play work to be under such a commander. they had come for once rather well provided with clothing and baggage; but howe laughed aloud at the thought of soldiers encumbering themselves with more impedimenta than was actually needful. the long, heavy-skirted coats which the soldiers wore, both regulars and provincials, excited his ridicule, as did also the long hair plaited into a queue behind and tied with ribbons. his own hair he had long since cut short to his head--a fashion speedily imitated by officers and men alike, who all adored him. he suggested that skirtless coats would be more easy to march in than the heavy ones in vogue, and forthwith all the skirts were cut off, and the coats became short jackets, scarcely reaching the waist. the men laughed at their droll appearance, but felt the freedom and increased marching power; and as lord howe wore just such a coat himself, who could complain? he wore leggings of leather, such as were absolutely needful to forest journeys, and soon his men did the same. no women were to be allowed to follow his contingent; and as for washing of clothes, why, lord howe was seen going down to the river side to wash his own, and the fashion thus set was followed enthusiastically by his men. if their baggage was cut down to a minimum, they were each ordered to carry thirty pounds of meal in a bag; so that it was soon seen that lord rowe's contingent could not only walk further and faster in march than any other, but that it would be independent of the supply trains for pretty nearly a month. they carried their own bread material, and the forest would always supply meat. fritz was ever forward to carry out the wishes and act as the right hand of the hardy brigadier; for that was lord howe's military rank. pringle and roche served under him, too, and there was a warm bond growing up betwixt officers and men, and a feeling of enthusiasm which seemed to them like an augury of victory to come. "our business is to fight the foe--to do our duty whether we live or die," howe would say to his men. "we have failed before; we may fail again. never mind; we shall conquer at last. with results the soldier has nothing to do. remember that. he does his duty. he sticks to his post. he obeys his commands. do that, men; and whether we conquer or die, we shall have done our duty, and that is all our country asks of us." and now the long days of june had come, and all were eager for the opening campaign. ticonderoga was to be attacked. to wrest from the french some of their strong holds on the western english border--to break their power in the sight of the indians--was a thing that was absolutely necessary to the life of the new england colonies and the other provinces under english rule. fort edward still remained to her, though oswego and william henry had fallen and were demolished. the capture of ticonderoga would be a blow to france which would weaken her immensely, and lower her prestige with the indians, which was now a source of great danger to the english colonists. the story of the massacre after the surrender of fort william henry had made a profound impression throughout the english-speaking provinces, and had awakened a longing after vengeance which in itself had seemed almost like an earnest of victory. and now the regular troops began to muster and pour in, and albany was all excitement and enthusiasm; for the dutch had by that time come to have a thorough distrust of france, and to desire the victory of the english arms only less ardently than the english themselves. mrs. schuyler, as usual, opened her doors wide to receive as many of the officers as she was able whilst the final preparations were being made. and upon a soft midsummer evening lord howe appeared in the supper room, bringing with him two fine-looking officers--one grey headed, the other young and ardent--and introducing them to his hostess and those assembled round the table as major duncan campbell, the laird of inverawe, in scotland; with his son alexander, a lieutenant of the highland force. young alexander was seated next to fritz at table, and began an eager conversation with him. talk surged to and fro that night. excitement prevailed everywhere. but fritz observed that major campbell sat very grave and silent, and that even lord howe's efforts to draw him into conversation proved unavailing. mrs. schuyler also tried, but with little success, to make the veteran talk. he answered with grave courtesy all remarks made to him, but immediately lapsed into a sombre abstraction, from which it seemed difficult to rouse him. at the end of the supper lord howe rose to his feet, made a dashing little speech to the company, full of fire and enthusiasm, and proposed the toast: "success to the expedition against ticonderoga!" fritz happened to be looking at the grave, still face of major campbell, and as these words were spoken he saw a sudden spasm pass across it. the soldier rose suddenly to his feet, took up his glass for a moment, put it down untasted, and with a bow to his hostess pushed aside his chair, and strode from the room in an access of visible emotion. lord howe looked after him a moment, and draining his glass, seemed about to go after the guest; but young alexander, from the other side of the table, made him a sign, and he sat down again. the incident, however, seemed to act like the breaking up of the supper party, and the guests rose and left the table, dispersing quickly to look after bag or baggage or some last duty, till only mrs. schuyler, lord howe, fritz, and lieutenant campbell were left in the supper room. it was then that young alexander looked round and said, "it was the name you spoke which affected my father so strangely--the fatal name of ticonderoga!" "fatal! how fatal?" asked lord howe quickly. "you have not heard the strange story, then?" "no; what story?" "it concerns my father; it is the cause of his melancholy. when you have heard it you will not perhaps wonder, though to you the incident may seem incredible." "i have learned that there are many things in this world which are wonderful and mysterious, yet which it is folly to disbelieve," answered howe. "let us hear your story, campbell. i would not have spoken words to hurt your father could i have known." "i am sure you would not; but hear the tale, and you will know why that name sounds in his ears like a death knell. "long years ago it must have been when i was but a little child--my father was sitting alone over the fire in our home at inverawe; a wild, strange place that i love as i love no other spot on earth. he was in the great hall, and, suddenly there came a knocking at the door, loud and imperative. he opened, and there stood a man without, wild and dishevelled, who told how he had slain a man in a fray, and was flying from his pursuers. "'give me help and shelter!' he implored; and my father drew him in and closed the door, and promised to hide him. 'swear on your dirk not to give me up!' he implored; and my father swore, though with him his word was ever his bond. he hid the fugitive in a secret place, and hardly had he done so before there was another loud knocking at the door. "this time it was the pursuers, hot on the track of the murderer. 'he has slain your cousin donald,' they told him. 'he cannot be far away. we are hunting for him. can you help us?' my father was in a great strait; but he remembered his oath, and though he sent out servants to help in the search, he would not give up to justice the man who had trusted him." "and he was right," said lord howe quickly; "i honour and respect him for that." "it may be so, yet it is against the traditions of our house and race," answered alexander gravely; "and that night my father woke suddenly from a troubled dream to see the ghost of his murdered kinsman standing at his bedside. the spectre spoke to him in urgent tones: "'inverawe, inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!' "unable to sleep, my father rose, and went to the fugitive and told him he could not shelter him longer. 'you swore on your dirk!' replied the miserable man; and my father, admitting the oath not to betray him, led him away in the darkness and hid him in a mountain cave known to hardly any save himself. "that night once more the spectre came and spoke the same words, 'inverawe, inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!' the vision troubled my father greatly. at daybreak he went once more to the cave; but the man was gone--whither he never knew. he went home, and again upon the third night the ghostly figure stood beside him; but this time he was less stern of voice and aspect. "he spoke these words, 'farewell, inverawe; farewell, till we meet at ticonderoga.' then it vanished, and he has never seen it since." "ticonderoga!" repeated lord howe, and looked steadily at alexander, who proceeded: "that was the word. my father had never heard it before. the sound of it was so strange that he wrote it down; and when i was a youth of perhaps seventeen summers, and had become a companion to him, he told me the whole story, and we pondered together as to what and where ticonderoga could be. years had passed since he saw the vision, and he had never heard the name from that day. i had not heard it either--then." the faces of the listeners were full of grave interest. the strangeness of the coincidence struck them all. "and then?" queried howe, after a silence. "then came the news of this war, and some highland regiments were ordered off. my father and i were amongst those to go. we were long in hearing what our destination was to be. we had landed upon these shores before we heard that the expedition to which we were attached was bound for ticonderoga." again there was silence, which mrs. schuyler broke by asking gently: "and your father thinks that there is some doom connected with that name?" "he is convinced that be will meet his death there," replied alexander, "and i confess i fear the same myself." nobody spoke for a minute, and then mrs. schuyler said softly: "it is a strange, weird story; yet it cannot but be true. no man could guess at such a name. ticonderoga, ticonderoga. i wonder what will be the end of that day!" "and what matters the end if we do our duty to the last?" spoke lord howe, lifting his bright young face and throwing back his head with a gesture that his friends knew well. "a man can but die once. for my part, i only ask to die sword in hand and face to the foe, doing my duty to my country, my heart at peace with god. that is the spirit with which we soldiers must go into battle. we are sent there by our country; we fight for her. if need be we die for her. can we ask a nobler death? for myself i do not. let it come to me at ticonderoga, or wherever providence wills, i will not shrink or fear. give me only the power to die doing my duty, and i ask no more." there was a beautiful light in his great hazel eyes, a sweet smile hovered round his lips. fritz, looking at him, seemed to see something in his face which he had scarcely noted before--a depth, a serenity, a beauty quite apart from the dashing gallantry of look and bearing which was his most salient characteristic. into the eyes of mrs. schuyler there had sprung sudden tears. she went over to the young man and laid a hand upon his head. "thank god that our soldiers still go into battle in that spirit; that they make their peace with him before they draw sword upon their fellow men. a soldier's life is a strange paradox; yet god, who is the god of battles as well as prince of peace, knows and understands. he will bless the righteous cause, though he may call to rest many a gallant soldier, and still in death many an ardent young heart. but however mysteriously he works, we are instruments in his hands. let us strive to be worthy of that honour, and then we shall know that we are helping to bring nearer his kingdom upon earth, which, when once set up, shall bring in a reign of peace, where war shall be no more." "amen, with all my heart!" quoth lord howe, and there was a light in his eyes which bespoke that, soldier though he was to his fingertips, he was no stranger to the hope of the eternal peace which the lord alone can give. mrs. schuyler was not a demonstrative woman in daily life; but when her guest rose to say goodnight upon this last evening, she kissed him as a mother might, and he kissed her back with words of tender gratitude and affection. and so the night fell upon the town of albany--the night before the march to ticonderoga. chapter : ticonderoga. a joyous farewell to friends at albany, with anticipation of a speedy and victorious return thither; a rapid and well-arranged march to fort edward and lake george, where they were gladdened by the sight of the hardy rogers and the remnant of his gallant band, embarked in whaleboats, and ready to lead the van or perform any daring service asked of them; a cheerful embarking upon the lake in the great multitude of boats and bateaux; bright sunshine overhead, the sound of military music in their ears, flags waving, men cheering and shouting--what expedition could have started under happier and more joyous auspices? there were regulars from england--the foremost being the fifty-fifth, commanded by lord howe. there were american and highland regiments, and the provincials from numbers of the provinces, each in its own uniform and colours. the lake was alive with above one thousand craft for the transport of this great army with its heavy artillery, and rogers declared that ticonderoga was as good as their own: for it had only provision to last eight or nine days; and if not at once battered down by the enemy's guns, it could easily be starved out by a judicious disposition of the troops. one night was spent camped halfway down the lake. lord howe, with stark and rogers and fritz for companions, lay upon his bearskin overlooking fritz's diagrams of the fort, taken in past days, listening to what all the three men had to tell of the fortress, both inside and out, and making many plans for the attack upon the morrow. general abercromby was with the army; yet it was well known that lord howe was the leading spirit, and to him it was that all the men instinctively looked. it was he who upon the morrow, when they had reached and passed the narrows and were drawing near to the fort, reconnoitred the landing place in whaleboats, drove off a small party of french soldiers who were watching them, but were unable to oppose them, and superintended the landing of the whole army. the lake here had narrowed down to the dimensions of a river, and it made a considerable bend something like a horseshoe. if the bridge had not been broken down, they could have marched to a point much nearer to ticonderoga upon a well-trodden road; but the bridge being gone, it was necessary to march the army along the west bank of this river-like waterway which connected lake george with lake champlain, for there were too many dangerous rapids for navigation to be possible; and upon the tongue of land jutting out into lake champlain, and washed by the waters of this river on its other side, stood the fortress of ticonderoga, their goal. rogers was their leader. he knew the forest well; yet even he found it a somewhat difficult matter to pick his way through the dense summer foliage. the columns following found the forest tracks extraordinarily difficult to follow. they were many of them unused to such rough walking, and fell into inevitable confusion. rogers, together with lord howe and some of his hardier soldiers and the rangers, pushed boldly on. whilst they walked they talked of what lay before them. rogers told how montcalm himself was within the fort, and that his presence there inspired the soldiers with great courage and confidence; because he was a fine soldier, a very gallant gentleman, and had had considerable success in arms ever since he arrived in canada. as the forest tracks grew more densely overgrown, lord howe paused in his rapid walk beside rogers. "my men are growing puzzled by the forest," he said, "and indeed it is small wonder, seeing that we ourselves scarce know where we are. go you on with the rangers, rogers, and i will return a short distance and get my men into better order. i do not anticipate an ambush; but there may be enemies lurking in the woods. we must not be taken unawares. push you on, and i will follow with my company at a short distance." "i will take a handful of men with me," answered rogers, "and push on to reconnoitre. let the rest remain with you. they will encourage and hearten up the regulars, who are new to this sort of thing; and when i know more clearly our exact position, i will fall back and report." fritz remained with howe, whose men came marching up in a rather confused and straggling fashion, but were only perplexed, not in any wise disheartened, by the roughness of the road. when the column had regained something like marching order, the word was given to start, and lord howe with a bodyguard of rangers marched at the head. they had proceeded like this for perhaps a mile or more, when there was a quick stir in the thicket. next moment the challenge rang out: "qui vive?" "francais!" shouted back a ranger, who had learned rogers' trick of puzzling his opponents by the use of french words. but this time they were not deceived. a stern word of command was given. a crack of rifles sounded out from the bushes; puffs of smoke and flashes of fire were seen. "steady, men; load and fire!" the command was given by lord howe. it was the last he ever spoke. the wood rang with the crossfire of the foes who could not see each other. fritz had discharged his piece, and was loading again when he saw lord howe suddenly throw up his hands and fall helplessly forward. he sprang to his side with a cry of dismay. he strove to hold him up and support him to some place of safety, but could only lay him down beneath a tree hard by, where a ring of rangers instantly formed around him, whilst the skirmish in the forest was hotly maintained on both sides. "he is shot through the heart!" cried stark, in a lamentable voice, as he hastily examined the wound; and indeed the shadow of death had fallen upon the brave, bright, noble face of the young officer. just once the heavy lids lifted themselves. lord howe looked into the faces of the two men bending over him, and a faint smile curved his lips. "keep them steady," he just managed to whisper, and the next moment his head fell back against fritz's shoulder. he had passed into the unknown land where the clamour of battle is no more heard. it was a terrible blow, and consternation spread through the ranks as it became known. indeed, but for the rangers, a panic and flight would probably have followed. but rogers, stark, and fritz were of sterner stuff than the levies, and more seasoned than the bulk of regular soldiers. rogers had returned instantly upon hearing the firing, and had discharged a brisk volley upon the french as he dashed through their ranks to regain his companions. caught between two fires, they were in no small peril, and made a dash for the riverbed; the rangers standing steady and driving them to their destruction, whilst the ranks had time to recover themselves and maintain their ground. the rout of this body of french soldiers was complete, whilst the english loss was small numerically; but the loss of howe was irreparable, and all heart and hope seemed taken out of the gallant army which had started forth so full of hope. there was nothing now to be done but to fall back upon the main army, with the sorrowful tidings of their leader's death, and await the order of general abercromby as to the next move. this was done, and the men were kept under arms all night, waiting for orders which never came. indecision and procrastination again prevailed, and were again the undoing of the english enterprise. still there was no question but that the fort must be attacked, and as the rangers came in with the news that the french had broken up and deserted a camp they had hitherto held at some sawmills on the river, a little way from the fort, a detachment of soldiers was sent to take possession of this place. this having been done, and a bridge thrown over the river by an able officer of the name of bradstreet, the army was moved up, and encamped at this place prior to the assault of the fort. rogers and his rangers had reconnoitred the whole place, and were eager to tell their tale. fort ticonderoga occupied a triangular promontory, washed upon two sides by the waters of lake champlain and the river-like extremity of lake george. the landward approach was guarded by a strong rampart of felled trees, which the soldiers had formed into a breastwork and abattis which might almost be called musket-proof. so at least rogers and his men had judged. they had watched the french at their task, and had good reason to know the solid protection given to the men behind by a rampart of this sort. he was therefore all eagerness for the cannon to be brought up from the lake. "the artillery will make short work of it, general," he said, in his bluff, abrupt fashion. "it will come rattling about their heads, and they must take to the walls behind, and these will soon give way before a steady cannonade. or if we take the cannon up to yonder heights of rattlesnake hill, we can fling our round shot within their breastwork from end to end, and drive the men back like rabbits to their burrow; or we can plant a battery at the narrow mouth of lake champlain, and cut off their supplies. with the big guns we can beat them in half a dozen ways; but let our first act be to bring them up, for muskets and rifles are of little use against such a rampart as they have made, bristling with spikes and living twigs and branches, which baffle assault as you might scarce believe without a trial." rogers spoke with the assurance and freedom of a man used to command and certain of his subject. he and lord howe had been on terms of most friendly intimacy, and the young brigadier had learned much from the veteran ranger, whose services had been of so much value to the english. he would never have taken umbrage at advice given by a subordinate. but general abercromby was of a different order, and he little liked rogers' assured manner and brusque, independent tone. he heard him to the end, but gave an evasive reply, and sent out an engineer on his own account to survey the french position, and bring him word what was his opinion. this worthy made his survey, and came back full of confidence. "the rampart is but a hastily-constructed breastwork of felled trees; it should be easily carried by assault," he reported, full of careless confidence. "a good bayonet charge, resolutely conducted, is all that is needed, and we shall be in the fort before night." the soldiers cheered aloud when they heard the news. they were filled with valour and eagerness, in spite of the death of their beloved leader. it seemed as though his spirit inspired them with ardent desire to show what they could do; although generalship, alas! had perished with the young brigadier, who had fallen at such an untimely moment. the rangers looked at one another with grim faces. they would not speak a word to dishearten the troops; but they knew, far better than the raw levies or the english regulars could do, the nature of the obstruction to be encountered. "a bayonet charge by soldiers full of valour is no light thing," said pringle to the ranger, as they stood in the evening light talking together. "resolute men have done wonders before now in such a charge, and why not we tomorrow?" "have you seen the abattis?" asked rogers, in his grim and brusque fashion. "no," answered pringle; "i have only heard it described by those who have." "come, then, and look at it before it be dark," was rogers' reply; and he, together with stark, led fritz and pringle and roche along a narrow forest pathway which the rangers were engaged in widening and improving, ready for the morrow's march, until he was able to show them, from a knoll of rising ground, the nature of the fortification they were to attack upon the morrow. the french had shown no small skill in the building of this breastwork, which ran along a ridge of high ground behind the fort itself, and commanded the approach towards it from the land side. the whole forest in the immediate vicinity had been felled. it bore the appearance of a tract of ground through which a cyclone has whirled its way. great numbers of the trees had been dragged up to form the rampart, but there were hundreds of others, as well as innumerable roots and stumps, lugs and heads, lying in confusion all around; and rogers, pointing towards the encumbered tract just beneath and around the rampart, looked at pringle and said: "how do you think a bayonet charge is to be rushed over such ground as that? and what good will our musketry fire be against those tough wooden walls, directed upon a foe we cannot see, but who can pick us off in security from behind their breastwork? for let me tell you that there is great skill shown in its construction. on the inside, i doubt not, they can approach close to their loopholes, which you can detect all along, and take easy aim at us; but on this side it is bristling with pointed stakes, twisted boughs, and treetops so arranged as to baffle and hinder any attempt at assault. as i told your general, his cannon could shatter it in a few hours, if he would but bring them to bear. but a rampart like that is practically bayonet and musket proof. it will prove impregnable to assault." pringle and roche exchanged glances. they had seen something of fighting before this, but never warfare so strange. "would that lord howe were living!" exclaimed the younger officer. "he would have heard reason; he would have been advised. but the general--" he paused, and a meaning gesture concluded the sentence. it was not for them to speak against their commander; but he inspired no confidence in his men, and it was plainly seen that he was about to take a very ill-judged step. it is the soldier's fate that he must not rebel or remonstrate or argue; his duty is to obey orders and leave the rest. but that night, as the army slept in the camp round the deserted sawmills, there were many whose eyes never closed in slumber. fritz saw the veteran campbell sitting in the moonlight, looking straight before him with wide, unseeing eyes; and when the grey light of day broke over the forest, his face was shadowed, as it seemed, by the approach of death. "i shall never see another sunrise," he said to fritz, as the latter walked up to him; "my span of life will be cut through here at ticonderoga." fritz made no reply. it seemed to him that many lives would be cut short upon this fateful day. he wondered whether he should live to see the shades of evening fall. he had no thought of quailing or drawing back. he had cast in his lot with the army, and he meant to fight his very best that day; but he realized the hopelessness of the contest before them, and although, if the general could only be aroused in time to a sense of his own blunder, and would at the eleventh hour order up the cannon, and take those steps which might ensure success, the tide of battle might soon be turned. yet no man felt any confidence in him as a leader, and it was only the ignorant soldiers, unaware of what lay before them, who rose to greet the coming day with hope and confidence in their hearts. but it was something that they should start forth with so high a courage. even if they were going to their death, it was better they should believe that they were marching forth to victory. they cheered lustily as they received the order, which was to carry the breastwork by a bayonet charge; and only the rangers saw the grim smile which crossed the face of rogers as he heard that word given. yet he and his gallant band of rangers were in the van. they did not shrink from the task before them, although they knew better than others the perils and difficulties by which it was beset. they had widened the path; they led the way. there was no more confusion in the line of march. the general remained behind at the sawmills, to direct the operations of the whole army, as there were other slighter enterprises to be undertaken upon the same day, though the assault of the protecting rampart was the chief one. news was to be brought to him at short intervals of the course the fight was taking. it was rogers' great hope that he would soon be made aware of the impossibility of the task he had set his soldiers, and would send instant and urgent orders for the cannon to be brought up to the aid of his foot soldiers. full of hope and confidence the columns pressed forward, till shortly after midday they emerged from the shelter of the forest, and saw before them the broken space of open ground, with its encumbering mass of stumps and fallen timber, and behind that the grim rampart, where all looked still as death. they formed into line quickly and without confusion and then, with an enthusiastic cheer, made a dash for the barrier. the rangers and light infantry in front began to fire as they advanced; but the main body of soldiers held their bayonets in position, and strove after an orderly advance. but over such ground order was impossible. they had to clamber, to scramble, to cut their way as best they could. the twigs and branches blinded them; they fell over the knotted roots; they became disordered and scattered, though their confidence remained unshaken. then suddenly, when they were half across the open space, came the long crack and blaze from end to end of the rampart; smoke seemed to gush and flash out from one extremity to the other. sharp cries of agony and dismay, shouts and curses, filled the air. the english fell in dozens amid the fallen trees, and those behind rushed forward over the bodies of their doomed companions. it was in vain to try to carry the rampart by the bayonet. the soldiers drew up and fired all along their line; but of what avail was it to fire upon an enemy they could not see, whilst they themselves were a target for the grapeshot and musketballs which swept in a deadly cross fire through their ranks? but they would not fall back. headed by the rangers, who made rapid way over the rough and encumbered ground, they pressed on, undaunted by the hail of iron about them, and inflamed to fury by the fall of their comrades around them. it was an awful scene. it was branded upon the memory of the survivors in characters of fire. fritz kept in the foremost rank, unable to understand why he was not shot down. he reached the rampart, and was halfway up, when he was clutched by the hands of a man in front, who in his death agony knew not what he did, and the two rolled into the ditch together. for a moment all was suffocation and horror. unwounded, but buried and battered, with his musket torn from his grasp, fritz struggled out through the writhing heap of humanity, and saw that the head of the column had fallen back for a breathing space, though with the evident intention of re-forming and dashing again to the charge. the firing from the rampart still continued; but fritz made a successful dash back to the lines, and reached them in safety. he was known by this time as an experienced ranger, and was taken aside by bradstreet, the officer in command of the light infantry that with the rangers headed the charge. the gallant officer was wounded and breathless, and was seated upon a fallen trunk. "neville," he said, "i know that you are fleet of foot and stout of heart. i would have you return to the camp on the instant, with a message for the general. tell him how things are here, and that this rampart is to the utmost as impregnable as rogers warned us. our men are falling thick and fast, and although full of courage, cannot do the impossible. beg him to order the guns to be brought up, for without them we are helpless against the enemy." fritz knew this right well, and took the message. "we shall make another charge immediately," bradstreet said in conclusion. "we shall not fail to carry out our orders; but i have little hope of success. we can do almost nothing against the french, whilst they mow us down by hundreds. no men can hold on at such odds for long. go quickly, and bring us word again, for we are like to be cut to pieces. "you are not wounded yourself?" "no; i have escaped as by a miracle. i will run the whole distance and take the message. would that the general had listened to counsel before!" bradstreet made a gesture of assent, but said nothing. fritz sped through the forest, hot and breathless, yet straining every nerve to reach his goal. it was a blazing day where the shade of the forest was not found, and this made the fighting all the harder. fritz's heart was heavy within him for the lives thrown away so needlessly. when he reached the tent of the general, and was ushered into his presence, burning words rushed to his lips, and it was only with an effort that he commanded himself to speak calmly of the fight and deliver the message with which he was charged. general abercromby listened and frowned, and looked about him as though to take counsel with his officers. but the best of these were away at the fight, and those with him were few and insignificant and inexperienced. "surely a little resolution and vigour would suffice to carry an insignificant breastwork, hastily thrown up only a few days ago," he said, unwilling to confess himself in the wrong. "i will order up the highland regiments to your aid. with their assistance you can make another charge, and it will be strange if you cannot carry all before you." fritz compressed his lips, and his heart sank. "i will give you a line to colonel bradstreet. tell him that reinforcements are coming, and that another concerted attack must be made. it will be time enough to talk of sending for the artillery when we see the result of that." a few lines were penned by the general and entrusted to fritz, who dashed back with burning heart to where the fight still raged so fiercely. he heard the bagpipes of the highlanders skirling behind as he reached the opening in the forest. he knew that these brave men could fight like tigers; but to what avail, he thought, were so many gallant soldiers to be sent to their death? the fighting in his absence had been hot and furious, but nothing had been done to change the aspect of affairs. intrepid men had assaulted the rampart, and even leaped upon and over it, only to meet their death upon the other side. once a white flag had been seen waving over the rampart, and for a moment hope had sprung up that the enemy was about to surrender. the firing for that brief space had been suspended, the english raising their muskets over their heads and crying "quarter!"--meaning that they would show mercy to the foe; the french thinking that they were coming to give themselves up as prisoners of war. the signal had merely been waved by a young captain in defiance to the foe. he had tied his handkerchief to his musket in his excitement, without any intention to deceive. but the incident aroused a bitter feeling. the english shouted out that the french were seeking to betray them, and the fight was resumed with such fury that for a brief while the rampart was in real danger of being taken, and the french general was in considerable anxiety. but the odds were too great. the gallant assailants were driven back, and when fritz arrived with his news there was again a slight cessation in the vehemence of the attack. bradstreet eagerly snatched at the letter and opened it. fritz's face had told him something; the written words made assurance doubly sure. he tore the paper across, and set his foot upon it. "we can die but once," he said briefly; "but it goes to my heart to see these brave fellows led like sheep to the slaughter. england will want to know the reason why when this story is told at home." the highlanders were soon upon the scene of action filled to the brim with the stubborn fury with which they were wont to fight. at their head marched their major, the dark-faced inverawe, his son only a little behind. the arrival of reinforcements put new heart into the gallant but exhausted regiments which had led the attack; and now the highlanders were swarming about the foot of the rampart, seeking to scale its bristling sides, often gaining the top, by using the bodies of their slain countrymen as ladders, but only to be cut down upon the other side. the major cheered on his men. the shadow was gone from his face now. in the heat of the battle he had no thought left for himself. his kinsmen and clansmen were about him. he was ever in the van. one young chieftain with some twenty followers was on the top of the rampart, hacking and hewing at those behind, as if possessed of superhuman strength. the highlanders, with their strange cries and yells, pressed ever on and on. but the raking fire from behind the abattis swept their ranks, mowed them down, and strewed the ground with dying and dead. like a rock stood campbell of inverawe, his eyes everywhere, directing, encouraging, cheering on his men, who needed not his words to inspire them with unquenchable fury. suddenly his tall figure swayed forward. without so much as a cry he fell. there was a rush towards him of his own clansmen. they lifted him, and bore him from the scene of action. it was the end of the assault. the highlanders who had scaled the rampart had all been bayoneted within. nearly two thousand men, wounded or dead, lay in that terrible clearing. it was hopeless to fight longer. all that man could do had been done. the recall was sounded, and the brave troops, given over to death and disaster by the incompetence of one man, were led back to the camp exhausted and despairing; the rangers still doing good service in carrying off the wounded, and keeping up a steady fire whilst this task was being proceeded with. general abercromby's terror at the result of the day's work was as pitiful as his mismanagement had been. there was no talk now of retrieving past blunders; there was nothing but a general rout--a retreat upon fort edward as fast as boats could take them. one blunder was capped by another. ticonderoga was left to the french, when it might have been an easy prey to the english. the day of disaster was not yet ended, though away in the east the star of hope was rising. it was at fort edward that the wounded laird of inverawe breathed his last. his wound had been mortal, and he was barely living when they landed him on the banks of lake george. "donald, you are avenged!" he said once, a few minutes before his death. "we have met at ticonderoga!" book : wolfe. chapter : a soldier at home. he lay upon a couch beneath the shade of a drooping lime tree, where flickering lights and shadows played upon his tall, slight figure and pale, quaint face. there was nothing martial in the aspect of this young man, invalided home from active service on the continent, where the war was fiercely raging between the european powers. he had a very white skin, and his hair was fair, with a distinct shade of red in it. it was cut short in front, and lightly powdered when the young man was in full dress, and behind it was tied in the queue so universally worn. he was quite young still, barely thirty years old; yet he had seen years of active service in the army, and had achieved no small distinction for intrepidity and cool daring. he had won the notice already of the man now at the helm of state, whose eyes were anxiously fixed upon any rising soldier of promise, ready to avail himself of the services of such to sustain england's honour and prestige both on land and sea. james wolfe was the son of a soldier, and had been brought up to the profession of arms almost as a matter of course. yet he seemed a man little cut out for the life of the camp; for he suffered from almost chronic ill-health, and was often in sore pain of body even though the indomitable spirit was never quenched within him. his face bore the look of resolution and self mastery which is often to be seen in those who have been through keen physical suffering. there were lines there which told of weary days and nights of pain; but there was an unquenchable light in the eyes that invariably struck those who came into contact with the young officer. he had already learned the secret of imparting to his men the enthusiasm which was kindled in his own breast; and there was not a man in his company but would gladly have laid down his life in his service, if he had been called upon to do so. today, however, there was nothing of the soldier and leader of forlorn hope in his aspect. he lay back upon his couch with a dreamy abstraction in his gaze. the gambols of his canine favourites passed unnoticed by him. he had been reading news that stirred him deeply, and he had fallen into a meditation. the news sheet contained a brief and hasty account of the loss of fort william henry, with a hint respecting the massacre which had followed. no particulars were as yet forthcoming. this was but the voice of rumour. but the paragraph, vague as it was, had been sufficient to arouse strange feelings within the young officer. he had let the paper fall now, and was turning things over in his own mind. one of the articles had said how needful it was becoming for england to awake from her lethargy, and send substantial aid to her colonies, unless she desired to see them annihilated by the aggressions of france. national feeling against that proud foe was beginning to rise high. the continental war had quickened it, and wolfe, who had served against the armies of france in many a closely-contested battle, felt his pulses tingling at the recital of her successes against england's infant colonies. men were wanted for the service, the paper had said--men of courage and proved valour. we had had too many bunglers already out there; it was now time that men of a different stamp should be forthcoming. in his ears there seemed beaten the sound of a question and its reply. where had he heard those words, and when? "who will go up to battle against this proud foe?" "here am i; send me." the light leaped into his eyes; his long, thin hands clasped and unclasped themselves as stirring thoughts swept over him. he knew that there was a great struggle impending between england and her french rival upon the other side of the world. hitherto his battlefields had been in europe, but a voice from far away seemed to be calling to him in urgent accents. away in the west, english subjects were being harried and killed, driven like helpless sheep to slaughter. how long was it to continue? would the mother country be content that her provinces should be first contracted and then slowly strangled by the chains imposed by the boundless ambition of france? never, never, never! the young officer spoke the words aloud, half raising himself from his couch as he did so. there was a rising man now at the helm of the state; he had not the full powers that many desired to see. he had to work hand in hand with a colleague of known incapacity. yet the voice of the nation was beginning to make itself heard. england was growing enraged against a minister under whose rule so many grievous blunders had been committed. newcastle still retained his position of foremost of the king's advisers, but pitt now stood at his side; and it was understood that the younger statesman was to take the real command of the ship of state, whilst his elder associate confined himself to those matters in which he could not well do harm. "if only it had come three years earlier," breathed wolfe--"before we had suffered such loss and disgrace!" the young soldier knew that an expedition had been fitted out a few months ago for louisbourg in acadia--that french fortress of cape breton which alone had been able to resist the english arms. the capture of louisbourg had been the one thing determined upon by the tardy government for the relief of their colonies in the western world. it had been surmised that this action on their part would draw away the french troops from the frontier, and thus relieve the colonists from any pressing anxiety; but although there had been little definite news from the fleet so far, it began to be reared that the admirals had mismanaged matters, and that no blow would be struck this season. september had come--a hot, sunny, summer-like month in england. but wolfe had heard something of the rock-bound coasts of cape breton, and he was well aware that if the furious equinoctial gales should once threaten the english fleet, no admiral would be able to attempt an action by sea, or even the landing of the troops. young wolfe had one friend out with the expedition, and from him he had received a letter only a short time ago, telling him of all the delays and procrastinations which were already beginning to render abortive a well-planned scheme. it made his blood boil in his veins to think how the incapacity of those in command doomed the hopes of so many to such bitter disappointment, and lowered the prestige of england in the eyes of the whole civilized world. "if pitt could but have a free hand, things would be different!" exclaimed wolfe again, speaking aloud, as is the fashion of lonely men. "but the king is beginning to value and appreciate him, and the nation is learning confidence. the time will come--yes, the time will come! heaven send that i live to see the day, and have a hand in the glorious work!" as he spoke these words he observed a certain excitement amongst the dogs playing around him, and guessed that their quick ears had caught sounds of an arrival of some sort. in a few minutes' time his servant approached him, bearing a letter which he handed to his master, who opened it and cast his eyes over its contents. "are the two gentlemen here?" he asked. "yes, sir; they asked that the letter might be given to you, and that they might wait until you had read it." "then show them out to me here, and bring us coffee," said wolfe, whose face had put on a look of considerable eagerness and animation; and as the servant retired towards the house, the soldier remained looking after him, as though wistful to catch the first glimpse of the expected guests. in a few minutes they appeared in the wake of the servant. both were quietly dressed in sober riding suits; but there the resemblance ended. one of the pair was a very tall man, with fair hair cut short all round his head, and a pair of large blue-grey eyes that had a trick of seeming to look through and beyond the objects upon which they were bent, and a thoroughly english type of feature; whilst his companion was more slightly built, albeit a man of fine proportions, too, with a darker face, more chiselled features, and hair dressed according to the prevailing mode, lightly powdered in front, and tied in a queue behind. wolfe rose slowly to his feet, his brow slightly contracting with the effort. upon his face there was a very attractive smile, and he held out his hand in turn to the two newcomers. "you are very welcome, gentlemen--more welcome than i can say. i am grateful to my friend sir charles for giving me this opportunity of making your acquaintance. it has been my great wish to speak face to face with men who have lived in that great land whither all eyes are now turning. be seated, i pray you, gentlemen, and tell me which of you is mr. julia dautray, and which mr. humphrey angell." "my name is dautray," answered the dark-eyed man. "we have travelled to england together, my friend and i, but have also been in france, to visit some of those there still bearing my name, although my immediate forefathers have lived and died in the lands of the far west. we have met with much kindness in this country, and have some time since accomplished the mission on which we were dispatched. our thoughts are turning once more towards the land of our birth. had we not been in france at the time, we would gladly have accompanied the expedition which set sail for louisbourg not long since." "i cannot regret that you failed to do so," answered wolfe, in his winning way, "since it has brought me the pleasure of this visit. i trust, gentlemen, that you will honour me by being my guests for a few days at least. there is very much that i desire to learn about the lands from which you come. my friend sir charles speaks as though you were wanderers upon the face of the earth. if that be so, i may hope that you will stay your wanderings meantime, and make my home yours for a while." "you are very kind, captain wolfe," said julian gratefully; "if it be not trespassing too far upon your hospitality, we should be glad and grateful to accept it." "the honour will be mine," said wolfe; "i have long desired to know more of that world beyond the seas. hitherto i have seen nothing save my own country, and a few of those which lie nearest to it. but i have the feeling within me that the time is coming when i shall be sent farther afield. men will be needed for the strife which must soon be waged on the far side of the atlantic, and it may be that i shall be chosen as one of those who will go thither." "that is what sir charles said when he gave us this letter for you," said julian. "he said that mr. pitt had named you once or twice as a rising officer, likely to be chosen for service there. that is why sir charles thought that a visit from us would be welcome. i do not know whether we can give you any news which you have not heard already; but we can at least answer such questions as to the country and its life as may be interesting to you, though it is now two years since we sailed from its shores." into wolfe's eyes there had leaped a bright light. "spoke sir charles such words of me?" he said eagerly. "has mr. pitt named me as likely for this service?" "so it was told us," answered julian. "we came to england in the early spring of last year, with letters and urgent appeals to friends in england from their kinfolk beyond the sea. we went from place to place, as our directions were, and saw many men and heard much hot discussion; but it seemed hard to get a hearing in high places, and for a while we thought we had had our journey in vain. nevertheless they would not let us go. one and another would keep us, hoping to gain introduction to some influential man, in whose ears we could tell our tale. and so matters went on, and we were passed from place to place, always well treated and well cared for. in the spring we went to france, though we were warned of danger, because of the war. but we met with no hurt. humphrey passed as my servant, and i have french blood in my veins, and can speak the language as one born there. nor did we go to any large centres, but contented ourselves with the remote spots, where i found kinsfolk of mine own name living still. and we reached england again only two months ago." "and then?" "there was more excitement then. the fleet had sailed for louisbourg; men's hearts were stirred within them. tales of fresh atrocities along the border had reached home. anger against france was stirred up by the war. it was then we were brought before sir charles graham, and told our tale to him. he is the friend of mr. pitt, and he came back to us many times to learn more of what we had to tell of the difficulties of the provinces, and of the apathy that prevailed there, even though terrible things were passing daily close by. "it was he who at last bid us go to you. he said you were his friend, and would make us welcome for his sake and ours. and when he gave us this letter, he told us the words of mr. pitt respecting you." "and have you other news besides?" asked wolfe eagerly. "when left you london? and is it yet known there whether this rumour of fresh disaster is true? see, there is the western news sheet; it speaks of a disquieting rumour as to the fall of fort william henry, our outpost on lake george. have fresh tidings been received? for if that place fall, we are in evil case indeed." julian gravely shook his head. "the rumour is all too true. had you not heard? a fast-sailing vessel has brought it to southampton--the evil tidings of disaster and death. the fort held out bravely through a terrible cannonade; but no relief was sent, and the walls were battered down. there was nothing for it but surrender. the garrison obtained honourable terms; but the french either could not or would not restrain their indian allies. surrender was followed by a brutal massacre of the hapless soldiers and their wives and children. it is horrible to read the story of the atrocities committed. we have seen indians at their hideous work. we know, as you in this land never can do, what it is like." wolfe's eyes flashed fire. "a surrendered garrison massacred! and the french stood by and suffered it!" "the account is confused. some say they did try without avail; some that they were callous and indifferent; some that they did much to avert the horrors, and saved large numbers of victims out of their clutches. but they did not succeed in stopping an awful loss of life. the pages of history will be stained dark when the story of that day is written!" "ay, truly!" cried humphrey, in his deep, resonant voice, speaking for the first time; "the page of history should be written in characters of blood and fire. i have seen the work of those savage fiends. i have seen, and i shall remember to the last day of my life!" "tell me," said wolfe, looking straight at the stalwart youth, whose lips had slightly drawn themselves back, showing the firm line of the white teeth beneath. humphrey had told his tale many times during the past months. he told it to wolfe that day--told it with a curious graphic power, considering that his words were few, and that his manner was perfectly quiet. a red flush mounted into wolfe's face, and died away again. he drew his breath through, his teeth with a slightly whistling sound. with him this was a sign of keen emotion. "you saw all that?" "with my own eyes. i am telling no tale of hearsay. and men have tales yet more horrid to tell--tales to which a man may scarce listen for the horror and the shame. this is the way the indians serve the subjects of the english crown at the bidding of the servants of france!" wolfe raised his right hand, and let it slowly drop again. "may heaven give to me the grace," he said, in a voice that vibrated with tense feeling, "to go forth to the succour of my countrymen there--to fight and to avenge!" after that there was silence for a while, and the servant came and brought coffee, and took orders for the entertainment and lodging of the guests. when he had gone wolfe was calm again, and listened with keen interest to the story they had to tell of their arrival in pennsylvania, and of the extraordinary apathy of the colonists in the eastern towns, and the difficulty of arousing them to any concerted action with their own countrymen in the neighbouring provinces, even for the common defence. wolfe knew something of that, and of the causes at work to bring about such a result. he talked with more comprehension and insight as to the state of infant colonies, partially self-governed and self-dependent, struggling out of leading strings, and intent upon growing to man's estate, than anybody had hitherto done. "we shall never have a second canada out there such as france has won--a country wholly dependent upon the one at home, looking always to her for government, help, care, money. no, no; the spirit of those who went forth from england was utterly different. they are english subjects still, but they want to rule themselves after their own way. they will never be helpless and dependent; they will be more like to shake our yoke from off their necks when they arrive at man's estate. but what matter if they do? we shall be brothers, even though the sea roll between them. the parent country has sent them forth, and must protect them till they are able to protect themselves, even as the birds and the beasts of the fields defend their young. after that we shall see. but for my part i prefer that struggling spirit of independence and desire after self-government. it can be carried too far; but it shows life, energy, youth, and strength. if canada were not bound hand and foot to the throne of the french tyrant, she would be a more formidable foe to tackle than she can show herself now." "yet she has done us grievous hurt. we seem able to make no headway against her, in spite of our best efforts." "let us see what better efforts we can make then," cried wolfe, with eager eyes. "best! why, man, we have done nothing but procrastinate and blunder, till my ears tingle with shame as i read the story! but we are awakening at last, and we have a man to look to who is no blunderer. the tide will turn ere long, you will see; and when it does, may i be there to see and to bear my share!" julian looked at the gaunt, prostrate form of the soldier, and said gravely: "but you are surely in no fit state for military service?" wolfe threw back his head with a little gesture of impatience, and then smiled brightly. "this carcass of mine has been a source of trouble and pain to me from my boyhood, and there come moments when i must needs give it a little rest. but yet i have found that it can carry me through the necessary fatigues with a vigour i had scarcely expected of it. it is being patched up again after a hard campaign; and now that the summer has closed, nothing can be set afoot till the spring comes. by that time i shall be fit for service once more, you will see. i am taking the waters of bath with sedulous care. they have done much for me as it is. soon i trust to be hale and sound once more." "have you been wounded, sir?" "many times, but not seriously; only that everything tells when one is afflicted by such a rickety body as this," and the young officer smiled his peculiarly brilliant smile, which made the chief charm of his pale, unusual face. "i got both a wound and a severe strain in my last campaign, which has bothered me ever since, and still keeps me to my couch the greater part of the day. but rheumatism is my chronic foe; it follows me wherever i go, lying in wait to pounce upon me, and hold me a cripple in its red-hot iron hand. that is the trouble of my life on the march. it is so often all but impossible to get through the day's work, and yet it is wonderful how the foe can be held at bay when some task has to be done whether or not. "but a truce to such talk! a soldier has other things to think of than aching joints and weary bones. a man can but once die for his country, and that is all i ask to do. that mine will not he a long life i feel a certain assurance. all i ask is the power to serve my country as long as i am able, and to die for her, sword in hand, when the hour has come." the eyes kindled and the smile flashed forth. julian and humphrey looked into the face of the man whom they had heard described as one of the most promising and intrepid young officers of the english army, and felt a thrill of admiration run through them. the frame was so frail and weak and helpless; but the indomitable spirit seemed as though it would be able to bear its master through any and every peril which duty might bid him face. they had consented to be his guests for a few days; but it had not occurred to them that this visit would be prolonged to any great length, and yet thus it came about. colonel wolfe and his wife, the mother of whom the young soldier often spoke in tender and loving terms, were detained from rejoining their son, as they had purposed doing before the winter came. colonel wolfe had a property of his own in kent, and his presence was wanted there. the son was compelled to remain in the neighbourhood of bath for the sake of his shattered health. they had intended all spending the winter there together in the pleasant house they had taken; but this soon became impossible, and it was then that wolfe said to his new friends, with that quaint look of appeal in his eyes which they had come to know by this time: "could you two be persuaded to take pity upon a capricious and whimsical sick man, and be his companions through the winter months? then with the spring, when we know what is to be done for the succour of our comrades in the west, we will make shift to go forth to their assistance. if you will stay with me till then, i will promise you shall not lack fitting equipment to follow the army when it sails hence." there was nothing the two companions desired more by that time than to remain with wolfe, the charm of whose personality had by that time quite fascinated them. they felt almost like brothers already. it was upon humphrey's strong arm that wolfe would take his daily walk into the town for the needful baths or water drinkings. it was julian who read to him the news of the day, and they all discussed it eagerly together. moreover, he saw to the drilling and training of these two fine men with the keenest interest and enthusiasm. they had the making in them of excellent soldiers, and showed an aptitude which delighted him for all sorts of exercises and feats of arms. the war fever permeated the whole country by that time, and training and drilling were going on all around. it was easy for the travellers to pick up all that was needful to them of comprehension as to military terms and commands. hours were spent by themselves and wolfe over books and maps in the library, whilst he fought over again with them campaign after campaign--those where he had served, and those before his time with which he had close acquaintance; and they entered more and more into the spirit of martial exercise, learning to comprehend military tactics and the art of war as they had never done before. meantime the news from the western world was all bad. the attempt upon louisbourg had been abortive, owing to the tardiness of the english admiral, of london the governor out there, and the early storms which had obliged the fleet to retire even when it had mustered for the attack. "it is shameful!" cried wolfe with flashing eyes, as the news was made known; "england will become the laughingstock of the whole world! fort oswego lost, william henry lost, and its garrison massacred! louisbourg left to the french, without a blow being struck! shame upon us! shame upon us! we should blush for our tardy procrastination. but mark my word, this will be the last such blunder! pitt will take the reins in his own grasp. we shall see a change now." "i trust so," said humphrey grimly; "it is time indeed. i know what these attacks against louisbourg will mean for those along the frontier--death, disaster, more indian raids, less power of protection. the governor will draw off the levies which might come to their assistance for the work at louisbourg. the french will hound on the indians to ravage more and more. we shall hear fresh tales of horror there before the end comes." "which we will avenge!" spoke wolfe, between his shut teeth. "it shall not always be said of england that she slept whilst her subjects died!" with the turn of the year active preparations began to be discussed, and wolfe to receive letters from headquarters. all was now excitement in that household, for there was no doubt that england's great minister was going to take active measures, and that the day of tardy blundering was to be brought to an end. wolfe was found one day in a state of keen excitement. "i have heard from mr. pitt myself!" he cried, waving the paper over his head. "he has taken the great resolve, not only to check the aggressions of france upon the border, but to sweep her out from the western world, till she can find no place for herself there! that is the spirit i delight in; that is the task i long to aid in; that is the one and only thing to do. leave her neither root nor branch in the world of the west! if we do, she will be a thorn in our side, a upas tree poisoning the air. let canada be ours once for all, and we have no more to fear!" humphrey and julian exchanged glances of amaze. such a scheme as this seemed to smack of madness. "you think it cannot be done, my friends? england has done greater feats before." "but there is quebec," said julian gravely; "i have heard that it is a fortress absolutely impregnable. and quebec is the key of canada." "i know it," answered wolfe, with a light in his eyes, "i know it well. i have seen drawings; i have heard descriptions of it. that it will be a nut hard to crack i do not doubt. but yet--but yet--ah, well, we may not boast of what we will do in the future. let it suffice us first to take louisbourg from the foe. but that once done, i shall know no rest, day or night, till i stand as victor at the walls of quebec!" chapter : louisbourg. "do not leave gabarus bay until i have effected a landing!" so spoke admiral boscawen; and when the word was known, a cheer ran through the squadron from end to end. brigadier wolfe had struggled up upon deck, looking white and ghostlike, for he had suffered much during the voyage; but when that word reached him, the fire leaped into his eyes, and he turned an exultant look upon his friends, and exclaimed: "that is an excellent good word; that is the spirit which inspires victory!" yet it was no light thing which was to be attempted, as no one knew better than wolfe himself; for he had been out in a boat upon the previous day with major general amherst and his comrade brigadier lawrence, reconnoitring the shore all along the bay, and they had seen how strongly it was commanded by french batteries, and how difficult it would be to land any body of troops there. to their right, as they looked shorewards, stood the town and grim fortress of louisbourg, boldly and commandingly placed upon the rocky promontory which protects one side of the harbour, running out, as it were, to meet another promontory, the extremity of which is called lighthouse point. these two promontories almost enclose the harbour of louisbourg; and midway between them is goat island, upon which, in the days of warfare of which we are telling, a strong battery was placed, so that no enemy's ship could enter the harbour without being subjected to a murderous crossfire, enough to disable and sink it. within the harbour were a number of french ships, which, in spite of a feeble attempt at blockade earlier in the year by some english and american vessels, had succeeded in making their way thither with an ample supply of provisions for the garrison. to force an entrance into the harbour was manifestly impossible at the present juncture of affairs. the only hope lay in effecting a landing in the larger bay outside, where lay the english fleet; and the shore had been reconnoitred the previous day with a view of ascertaining the chances of this. the report had not been encouraging. the french batteries were well placed, and were well furnished with cannon. it would be difficult enough to land. it would be yet more difficult to approach the citadel itself; but the experienced eyes of wolfe and others saw that the only hope lay in an attack from the landward side. the dangerous craggy shore was its best protection. on land there were ridges of high ground from which it might be stormed, if only guns could be carried up. that would be a task of no small danger and difficulty; but courage and resolution might win the day; and amherst was a commander of a different stamp from the hesitating abercromby, who was at that very time mustering his troops with a view to the attack upon ticonderoga. "it is a fine fortress," said wolfe to julian, as they stood surveying the place from the raised deck of the vessel. "you cannot see much from here; the distance is too great. but they have batteries well posted on every height all along the bay; and as for the fortress and citadel, i have seldom seen such workmanship. its bastions, ramparts, and glacis are a marvel of engineering. it may well be called the dunkirk of the western world. it will be a hard nut to crack; but i never believe there is a fortress which english valour cannot suffice to take!" the resolution to land the troops once made, arrangements were speedily set in order. there were three places along the bay where it might he possible to effect a landing--white point, flat point, and freshwater cove--all on the west of the town. to the east there was an inlet where it might be possible to land troops, though perilously near the guns of the citadel. it was resolved to make a feint here, and to send parties to each of the three other points, so as to divide and distract the attention of the enemy. wolfe was to take command of the landing at freshwater cove, which was the spot where amherst most desired to make his first stand, and here the most determined attempt was to be made. the commander came and conferred with his brigadier as to the best method of procedure, and left him full powers of command when the moment should come. julian and humphrey were with wolfe, and had been his companions and best friends upon the voyage out. they had both obtained commissions, partly through the influence of the brigadier; and were eager to see warfare. julian had been wolfe's nurse and attendant during the voyage, and the bond which now united them was a strong and tender one. wolfe bad suffered both from seasickness and from a renewal of the former strain, and looked even now but little fit for the enterprise upon which he was bound; but no physical weakness had ever yet hindered him in the moment of peril from doing his duty, and his eyes flashed with the old fire, as he spoke of what was about to take place. "let us but once gain possession of that battery," he cried, pointing to the guns frowning grimly over freshwater cove, "and turn the guns against their present masters, and we shall have taken the first step. once let us get foot upon this shore, and it will take more than the cannonade of the frenchmen to get us off again." eagerly did the fleet await the moment of attack; but their patience was rather severely tried. gale first and then heavy fog, with a tremendous swell at sea, detained them long at their anchorage, and one good ship struck upon a rock, and was in considerable danger for a while. wolfe suffered much during those days; but his spirit was as unquenchable as ever, and as soon as the stormy sea had gone down a little, was eager for the enterprise. "let us but set foot ashore, and i shall be a new man!" he cried. "i weary of the everlasting heaving of the sea; but upon shore, with my sword in my hand, there i am at home!" the sea grew calm. there was still a heavy swell, and the waves broke in snowy surf upon the beach; but the attempt had become practicable, and the word was given overnight for a start at daybreak. the men were told off into light boats, such as could be taken close inshore; whilst the frigates were to approach the various points of real or feigned attack, and open a heavy cannonade upon the french batteries. julian and humphrey found themselves in boats alongside each other. humphrey was an ensign, whilst julian had been made a lieutenant. they belonged to the flotilla commanded by wolfe, and were directing some of the boats which were upon the right extremity of the little fleet. the hearts of the men were beating high with excitement and the anticipation of stern work before them. the guns looked grimly forth from the heights above the shore. all was yet silent as death; still it was impossible to think that the french were ignorant of the concerted movement about to be made against them. a roar from the shore, behind and to their right, told them that already the battle had begun in other quarters. the sailors set their teeth and rowed their hardest. the boats shot through the great green waves. suddenly the smoke puffed out from the batteries in front. there was a flash of fire, and in a few seconds a dull roar, with strange, screaming noises interspersed. the water became lashed by a storm of shot, and shrieks of human agony mingled with the noise of the battle. it was a deadly fire which fell hot around the devoted little fleet; but humphrey and julian, away to the right, were a little out of range, and slightly protected by a craggy ridge. no man of their company had been killed; but they saw that along the line of boats terrible havoc was being wrought. they saw wolfe's tall, thin figure standing up and making signs. he was waving his hand to them now, and humphrey exclaimed in his keen excitement: "we are to land behind the crag and rush the guns!" in a moment the half-dozen or more boats of this little detachment were making for the shore as hard as the rowers' arms could take them. it was hard work to land amongst the breakers, which were dashing into snowy surf along the beach; but perhaps the surf hid them from their enemies a little, for they were not hindered by any storm of shot or shell. they landed on the beach, formed into a compact body, and headed by major scott and some bold highland soldiers, they dashed up the slope towards the battery. but now they were in the midst of a hail of bullets. it seemed to humphrey as though hell's mouth had opened. but there was no thought of fear in his heart. the battle fury had come upon him. he sprang within the battery and flung himself upon the gunners. others followed his example. there was a tremendous hand-to-hand fight--french, indians, english, scotch, all in one struggling melee; and then above the tumult wolfe's clarion voice ringing out, cheering on his men, uttering concise words of command; and then a sense of release from the suffocating pressure, a consciousness that the enemy was giving way, was flying, was abandoning the position; a loud english cheer, and a yell from the highlanders, the sound of flying footsteps, pursuers and pursued; and humphrey found himself leaning against a gun, giddy and blind and bewildered, scarcely knowing whether he were alive or dead, till a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a familiar voice said in his ear: "well done, ensign angell. they tell me that we owe our victorious rush today to your blunder!" "my blunder?" "yes; you mistook my signal. i was ordering a retreat. it would not have been possible to land the men under that deadly fire. i could not see, from my position, the little shelter of the crag. i had signalled to draw out of the range of the guns. but your mistake has won us the day." humphrey, half ashamed, half exultant, was too breathless to reply; julian came hastening up; and wolfe hurried away to see to the landing of the guns and stores, now that the enemy had made a full retreat upon the fortress. "you are not wounded, humphrey?" "i think not. i have only had all the breath knocked out of me; and the guns seem to stun one. have they really left us in possession of the battery? and does not wolfe say that, when once we get a footing on the shore, we will not leave till louisbourg is ours?" triumph filled the hearts alike of soldiers and sailors. all day long they worked waist deep in the surf, getting ashore such things as were most needed, intrenching themselves behind the battery, clearing the ground, making a road up from the beach, and pitching their tents. at. night a cheer went up from their weary throats, for they saw red tongues of flame shooting up, and soon it was known beyond a doubt that the french had fired one of their batteries, which they had felt obliged to abandon; and this showed that they had no intention of attacking the bold storming party which had established itself at the cove. at sea the guns roared and flashed all day and all night. the air was full of sounds of battle. but the wearied soldiers slept in their tents, and by day worked might and main at the task of making good their position. they extended the line of their camp, they built redoubts and blockhouses, they routed skirmishing parties of indians and acadians hiding in the woods and spying upon them, and they strengthened their position day by day, till it became too strong a one for the enemy to dare to approach. every day the men toiled at their task, cheered by items of news from the shore. the battery on goat island was silenced, after many days of hot fire from the english frigates. a french vessel had fired in the harbour, and had been burned to the water's edge. the garrison had sent a frigate with dispatches pressing for aid to their governor in canada. the frigate and dispatches fell into the hands of the english, and much valuable information was gleaned therefrom. and day by day the camp stretched out in a semicircle behind the town. it was a difficult task to construct it; for a marsh lay before them, and the road could only be made at the cost of tremendous labour, and often the fire of the enemy disturbed the men at their work. wolfe was the life and soul of the camp all through this piece of arduous work. if he could not handle pick and shovel like some, his quick eye always saw the best course to pursue, and his keen insight was invaluable in the direction of operations. ill or well, he was with and amongst his men every day and all day long, the friend of each and every one, noticing each man's work, giving praise to industry and skill, cheering, encouraging, inspiring. not a soldier but felt that the young officer was his personal friend; not a man but would most willingly and gladly have borne for him some of that physical suffering which at times was written all too clearly in his wasted face. "nay, it is nothing," he would say to his companions, when they strove to make him spare himself; "i am happier amongst you all. i can always get through the day's work somehow. in my tent i brood and rebel against this crazy carcass of mine; but out here, in the stir and the strife, i can go nigh to forget it." but wolfe was soon to have a task set him quite to his liking. he came to his quarters one day with eager, shining eyes; and so soon as he saw him, julian knew that he had news to tell. "the batteries upon lighthouse point are next to be silenced. we must gain the command of the harbour for our ships. if we can once do that, the day will be ours. i am told off to this task, with twelve hundred men. you and humphrey are to go with me. we must march right round the town, under cover of night, taking our guns with us. by daybreak we will have them planted behind the french battery; by night, if all goes well, we shall have gained possession of it." the troops were all drawn up in order for the night march, full of hopeful anticipation. they had that kind of confidence in wolfe which the commander inspires who is not made but born. humphrey, whose skill in finding his way in the dark, and whose powers as a guide had been tested before now, was sent on in advance with a handful of men, to give warning of any impending peril to be passed or encountered. he had the untiring energy of a son of the forest, and the instinct which told him of the proximity of the foe before he saw him. but the march was uneventful in that way. the french had fallen back upon the town. their fears now were for the very fortress itself, that fortress which they had so proudly boasted was impregnable alike by land and sea! before the dawn of the morning humphrey came back to the main body, seeking speech with wolfe. "they have abandoned their battery on lighthouse point. it is ours without striking a blow. they have spiked their guns and gone! we have only to take possession, mount our guns, and the command of the harbour is ours!" a shout of triumph went up from the men as this fact became known. gaily did they push on over the broken country, doing what they could in passing to level the way for the transport of the cannon in the rear. by dawn of day, they were full in sight of their destination, and saw indeed that it was deserted, and only awaited their taking possession. with shouts and cheers they dragged up their guns and set them in position. they fired a salute to tell their friends that all was well, and sent a few shots flying amongst the french ships in the harbour, to the no small consternation of the town. but wolfe could not be idle. the task set him had been accomplished without his having to strike a blow. "we must unite our line, and silence some of those batteries that protect the town on the land side," he said to his men. "the guns and the gunners, with a sufficient force for their protection, will remain here. we have sterner work to do elsewhere; and whilst we are pushing our lines nearer and nearer, i would i knew how they are feeling within the walls of the town." "let me be the one to find that out and report," said julian eagerly. "you, man! and how?" "let me try to make my way within the lines. we have french prisoners; let me borrow the uniform of one. i can speak french as easily as though it were my mother tongue, which, in sooth, perhaps it is; for i might as well call myself french as english, although i have always loved the english and cast in my lot with them. no sentry can know the face of every soldier in the fortress. let me see if i cannot get within the walls, and bring you word again of what is passing there!" wolfe stroked his face thoughtfully. "it is a bold scheme, and i have a mind to take you at your word; but i would not have you run into too great peril." "i scarce think that i shall do so. i will have a care. in truth, i should well enough like to see within those solid walls. it is a wonderful fortress this. it might be good for us to know its strength or its weakness, if weakness it has. i would but remain a couple of nights, and then return and bring you word again." "i should like to hear the report right well," answered wolfe. "i only wish i could accompany you myself." "that would never do. yours is too valuable a life to risk; mine is worth but little to any man save myself." "i fear rather that i should be but a clog upon your movements," answered wolfe; "and no man would take me for a frenchman, even though i can speak the tongue indifferently well. nor would amherst suffer me to make the attempt. we are all under obedience to our superiors. but i will suffer you to go, if you think the risk not too great. but have a care of yourself, julian, have a care. you have become a friend to me that i could ill spare. if aught of harm befell you, the campaign would be clouded to me, even though crowned with victory." julian pressed the hand he held, and for a moment there was silence between the pair. wolfe looked out before him, and said musingly: "does it never seem strange to you, julian, the thought that our trade is one which makes us look upon the slaughter of our foes as the thing most to be desired, whilst we have that in our hearts which causes us to hate the very thought of suffering and death, either for ourselves or for others; and when we see our foes wounded and left upon the field of battle, we give them the care and tending that we give our own men, and seek in every way to allay their pain and bring them help and comfort?" "yes, truly; war is full of strange paradoxes," answered julian thoughtfully. "sometimes i think that war, like all other ills, comes to us as a part of the curse which sin has brought into the world. we cannot get away from it yet. there be times when it is right to fight--when to sit with folded hands would be a grievous and a cowardly action on the part of a nation. yet we know that it is god's will that we should love our brethren, and we know that he loves all. so when we see them helpless and suffering, we know that we are right to tend and care for them, and that to do otherwise would be a sin in his sight. and we know, too, that the day will come when wars will cease, when christ will come and take the power and rule, and when we shall see him in his glory, and the kingdoms of this world will become the kingdom of our god and of his christ." deep silence fell upon them both, and then wolfe spoke gently. "that would, indeed, be a glorious day! though i, a soldier trained to arms, say it. but i fear me i shall never live to see it." julian was silent awhile, and then said slowly: "we cannot tell. of that day and hour knoweth no man. all we know is that it will come, and will come suddenly. i have lived amongst those who looked to see it from day to day. they had been waiting and watching for the lord's coming through hard upon a century, they and their fathers before them. the hope was beginning to fade and die out. priests had come amongst them who bid them think of other things, and look no farther than the sacrifice of the mass, daily offered before their eyes. and yet i used to feel that the other was the fuller, more glorious hope. i think i shall cherish it always." "i would were i you," answered wolfe in a low voice. "i think it is that which has made you different from other men. i think that if i were to be dying, julian, i should like to hold your hand in mine and feel that you were near." then the two friends pressed each other by the hand, and walked back to the camp. as julian had said, there were many french prisoners there, brought in from time to time after skirmishes. they were treated exactly the same as the english wounded, and wolfe made a point of visiting them daily, talking to them in their own tongue, and promising them a speedy exchange when any negotiation should be opened with the town. julian, too, went much amongst them, able to win their confidence very easily, since he seemed to them almost like a brother. it was quite an easy thing for him to disguise himself in the white uniform of a french soldier, and to creep, under cover of the darkness, closer and closer to the wall of the town. it so chanced that he could not have chosen a better night for his enterprise. the booming of guns across the harbour and from the batteries behind had now become constant, and attracted little notice from sentries or soldiers beyond range. but just as darkness began to fall, a shell from wolfe's newly-planted battery fell upon one of the french ships in the harbour, and set her on fire. the glare rose in the sky, and suddenly there was the sound of an explosion, sparks rose in dense clouds into the air, and the ship plunged like a wild creature in terror, broke from her moorings, and drifted alongside a sister ship. the flames spread to her rigging, and in a few minutes both were ablaze; and before the affrighted and bewildered crews could do anything to prevent it, a third vessel had become involved in the conflagration, and the town was illumined by the pillars of flame which shot up from the still waters of the harbour. all was confusion and dismay, for the french had no ships to spare. four had been deliberately sunk in the harbour's mouth to prevent the entrance of the english, and here were three all in a blaze. the soldiers and inhabitants rushed madly down to the water's edge to seek to stay the conflagration, and julian, seizing his opportunity, rushed through the gateway with a small detachment of men from one of the outside batteries, and found himself within the town without having been so much as challenged. down to the water's edge with the rest he rushed, shouting and gesticulating with the best of them. his uniform prevented his being even so much as looked at. to all appearance he was a french soldier. he did not hesitate to mingle in the crowd, or avoid conversation with any. very soon he found he was working with the rest in the hopeless endeavour to save the doomed vessels; and he was helpful in getting off some of the half-stifled sailors, dashing upon deck quite a number of times, and bringing back in his strong arms the helpless men who had been overpowered by the flames before they could make their escape. it was work which julian loved; for saving life was more to his taste than killing. he toiled on, cheering up his comrades, till all that could be saved were placed upon shore; and when he stepped at last upon the quay after the last voyage to the burning ships, he found himself confronted by a fine soldierly man, whose dress and manner bespoke him a personage of some importance. "well done, my good fellow," he said approvingly; "i shall not forget your gallantry tonight. you doubtless belong to one of the vessels, since i have no knowledge of your face. you had better come up to the citadel, where you shall receive refreshment and a place to rest in. we want all the soldiers we can get for the defence of the town, since we are in evil case between foes on land and foes on the sea." julian saluted, and spoke a few words of thanks, and the crowd bore him towards the citadel. "who was it that spoke to me?" he asked of his next neighbour; and the man replied with a laugh: "why, governor drucour to be sure! are you blind with the smoke, my friend? a very gallant governor and soldier he is, as you should know. and as for madame, his wife--ah, well, you must see her to understand!" nor was julian long in understanding something of what was meant by this unfinished sentence; for he and his companions had not been long seated at table, with a good meal before them, when the door opened, and a tall, elegant lady entered the room, leaning on the arm of the governor, and instantly the whole company rose, whilst a shout went up: "long live the governor! long live madame his wife! long live the king!" the lady came in, and motioned to the company to be seated. she walked up and down amongst them, speaking brave words of thanks and cheer; and halting beside julian, she made him quite a little special speech, telling him how she had heard that he had been the foremost of all in seeking to save the lives of those who might otherwise have perished in the flames. no questions were asked of him, for the excitement was still strong, and it was taken for granted that he had come off one of the burning ships. the men were all talking together, with the volubility of their race, and julian took just enough share in the conversation to avoid suspicion. besides, why should he be suspected? he looked in every respect a frenchman. and had he not risked his life more than once that night to save those left on board the vessels? the next morning he was able to take an excellent view of the citadel and town. he was amazed at the strength of the place. in one sense of the word it was well nigh impregnable. from the water it could scarcely be touched; but the ridges above, now in the possession of the english, were a source of weakness and peril; and now that the enemy was pushing nearer and nearer, under cover of their own guns, it was plain that the position was becoming one of grave peril. a very little more and the english would be able to shell the whole town and fortress from the land side; and though the soldiers within the citadel were full of hope and confidence, the townsfolk were becoming more and more alarmed, and spoke openly together of the probable fall of the place. they told julian much that he desired to know, as did also the soldiers within the citadel. he was listening to them, when a sudden cry reached them, and a cheer went up, mingled with cries of "vive madame! vive madame le general!" julian looked round, and saw that madame drucour had come out upon the ramparts, and was preparing with her own hands to fire off one of the great guns. this she did amid the applause of the soldiers, and the man standing beside julian said with enthusiasm: "madame comes here every day, no matter the weather or the firing, and walks round the ramparts, and fires off one or more of the guns, to keep us in heart. she is a brave lady. if all soldiers and townsfolk had her spirit, there would be no talk of surrendering louisbourg." chapter : victory. "julian! is that you i see? truly i had begun to fear that some misfortune had befallen you. so you have been within the walls of the town, and have returned safe and sound? your face is a very welcome one, my friend!" wolfe stretched out his hand, which was eagerly grasped by julian. it was a still, close evening, and the sullen booming of the guns continued without abatement. so used had the ears of besiegers and besieged grown to that sound of menace, that it was hardly heeded more than the roar of the surf upon the shore. wolfe was lying in his tent, looking white and worn, as was generally the case after the labours of the day were ended. his indomitable spirit bore him gallantly through the working hours of the long, hot days; but night found him exhausted, and often too suffering to sleep. julian had been his best companion at such times as these, and he had missed him a good deal these past days. "i have been within the city and citadel, and have returned safe and sound," answered julian, throwing off the cloak he wore over his white french uniform. "it cannot be long before the place surrenders. our guns are doing fearful havoc. fires break out, as you must see, continually. the king's bastion was almost all consumed yesterday. the hearts of the townspeople are growing faint within them. the officers and soldiers are bold, and show a cheerful front; but they begin to know that sooner or later they will have to throw up the game." wolfe's eyes kindled with martial joy. "it is the turn of the tide, the turn of the tide!" he exclaimed, his whole face instinct with anticipation of triumph. "the english flag has been trailed in the dust, humiliated, vanquished; but she shall wave aloft over yon proud fortress, which men have called impregnable. and if there, why not over quebec itself?" then, whilst he made julian refresh himself with food and drink, he bid him tell all the story of his visit to louisbourg: how he had obtained entrance, what he had seen and heard, and what opinion he now held as to the position of the foe and the chances of the siege. wolfe was much delighted with the anecdotes related of the courage and kindness of madame drucour. "the commander shall hear of that. brave lady! i would not that she should suffer needless hurt. tell me, julian, are they in need of food or wine or any such thing within the walls? i would gladly send to the brave madame some token of goodwill and appreciation." "they are well victualled; but i heard madame say that the sick were suffering somewhat from scurvy, and that she wished she had fruit to distribute amongst them. some of them have come off the ships, where the illness is frequent. madame drucour visits the sick constantly, and dresses their wounds with her own hands when the surgeons are busy. and, indeed, they need all the help they can get, for the sick and wounded increase upon their hands daily." "they shall have fruit!" cried wolfe eagerly. "we had a ship arrive to help the squadron, and she came laden with pines from the west indies. we will send in a quantity to madame drucour under a flag of truce. we may be forced to fight our fellow men, but we need not forget that they are of the same flesh and blood as ourselves. an honourable foe is second only to a friend." "madame will be grateful for any such act of courtesy, i am sure," replied julian. "she is a noble lady--gracious, beautiful, and brave. she spoke good words to me, little knowing who i was. it made me feel something treacherous to accept her courtesies, knowing myself for a spy. but yet i have not hurt them by my spying; i can see that the defence cannot long be maintained by those within the walls. beyond that i have little to say. the fires by day and night tell of the destruction and havoc our guns are making. it needs no spy to report that." general amherst was keenly interested next day in hearing the story julian had to tell, and was ready and eager to send a present of fruit and other dainties for the sick to madame drucour. under cover of a flag of truce the convoy was dispatched, and for half a day the guns on both sides ceased firing. in addition to the fruit the general sent a very polite letter to the lady, expressing his regret for the annoyance and anxiety she must be experiencing, and sending a number of small billets and messages from wounded frenchmen in their hands to their friends in the city. the messengers returned bearing with them a basket and a note. the basket contained some bottles of choice wine for the general's table, and the letter, written by madame drucour herself, was couched in terms of courtesy and gratitude. she declared that the fruit for the sick was just the very thing she had been most desiring, and wondered what bird of the air had whispered the message into the ear of the noble english officer. as for the war itself, deplorable as it must always be, the knowledge that they were fighting against a generous and worthy foe could not but be a source of happiness; and, in conclusion, the lady added that they had within the walls of louisbourg a surgeon of uncommon skill with gunshot wounds, and that his services should always be at the command of any english officer who might desire them. "that is like her!" exclaimed julian to wolfe, when the terms of the letter were made known. "she is a very noble and gracious lady, and i trust and hope no hurt will come to her. but she exposes herself to many perils in the hope of cheering and heartening up the men. they all fight better for the knowledge that she is near them; and she goes her daily rounds of the ramparts, be the firing ever so hot!" the cannon were roaring again now from both lines of batteries. the doomed fortress was holding out gallantly, and had as yet given no sign of surrender. wolfe was hard at work, day after day, drawing his lines closer and closer. his military genius showed itself in every disposition of his lines and batteries. he saw at a glance exactly what should be done, and set to work to do it in the best possible way. "how many ships have they in the harbour?" he asked of julian, two days after his return from the town. "only two of any size--the bienfaisant and the prudent. the rest have been sunk or destroyed." "i think we had better make an end of those two," said wolfe thoughtfully. "it might not be a task of great difficulty, if it could be done secretly," said julian. "the soldiers are mostly on land. they need them more in the citadel than on board; and they think the ships are safe, lying as they do under their own batteries. if we could get a dull or foggy night, we might make a dash at them. we can enter the harbour now that the island battery is silenced and the frigate arethuse gone. they say the sailors on board the ships are longing for a task. they would rejoice to accomplish something of that sort." "get me ready a boat, and you and humphrey row me out to our fleet yonder," said wolfe, looking out over the wide expanse of blue beyond the harbour. "i will speak of this with the admiral, and see what he thinks of the undertaking." they rowed him out from flat point to the flagship, and put him on board. it was a fine sight to see the great battleships anchored in the bay, ready to take their part in the struggle at a word of command. but the french fleet had done little or nothing to harass them. they were complete masters of the deep. even the ships in the harbour had not ventured out, and now only two of them remained. "there will be none tomorrow, if this sea mist comes down," said wolfe, with a little grim smile, as he entered the boat again. "row me to the harbour's mouth; i would take a look for myself at the position of the vessels." the sun was shining brilliantly upon land, but over the sea there was a little haze, which seemed disposed to increase. it had been so for two or three days, the fog coming thicker at night. wolfe looked keenly about him as he reached the mouth of the harbour. he did not attempt to enter it, but sat looking before him with intent, critical gaze. "i see," he remarked, after a pause. "now row me once more to the flagship, and so back. the thing can be done." promptitude was one of wolfe's characteristics; he never let grass grow under his feet. if the thing was to be done, let it be done at once; and the british tar is never a laggard when there is fighting or adventure to be had! julian and humphrey volunteered for the service. humphrey was a favourite with the sailors, having been employed almost constantly in carrying messages to and from the fleet, or in helping to land transports. he was as expert now in the management of a boat as the best of the jack tars, and was eager to take part in the daring enterprise which was to be carried out that night. six hundred sailors, collected from different vessels, were to be told off for the task. they set to work with hearty goodwill, muffling their oars, and preparing for their noiseless advance into the harbour. the guns would roar ceaselessly overhead. that would do much to drown any sound from the water. still, care and caution would have to be exercised; for the batteries of the fortress commanded the harbour, and the ships lay beneath their protecting guns. if the little flotilla betrayed its approach by any unguarded sound, it might easily be annihilated before ever it could approach its goal. so that the task set the hardy sailors was not without its distinct element of peril, which was perhaps its chiefest attraction. the shades of night gathered slowly over land and sea. it seemed to humphrey and some of those waiting in the boats as though night had never fallen so slowly before. but their eyes were gladdened by the sight of the soft fog wreaths which crept over the water as the dusk fell, lying upon it like a soft blanket, and blotting out the distance as much as the darkness could do. it was not a heavy fog. the sailors were in no danger of losing their way as they rowed, first for the harbour mouth, and then for the two french warships at anchor beneath the batteries. but it was thick enough to hide their approach from those on land. it was not probable that even the crews of the vessels would be aware of their close proximity till the word to board was given. unless some accidental and unguarded sound betrayed their advance, they might in all likelihood carry all before them by a surprise movement. julian was in the same boat as the officer in command of the expedition. his intimate knowledge of the position of the war vessels would be of use in this murk and darkness. humphrey took an oar in the same boat; and the little fleet got together, and commenced its silent voyage just as the clocks of the fortress boomed out the midnight hour. it was a strange, ghostly voyage. there was a moon in the sky overhead, and the outlines of the hills and batteries, and even of the fortress itself, could be distinguished wherever the ground rose high enough; but wreaths of white vapour lay lazily along the water, or seemed to curl slowly upwards like smoke from some fire, and the boats rowed along in the encircling mist, only able to gain glimpses from time to time of the moonlit world as a puff of wind drove the vapour away from their path and gave them a transitory outlook upon their surroundings. the dull roar of the guns filled the air. sometimes the batteries were silent at night; but wolfe kept things alive on this occasion, in order to cover the approach of the boarding party. now the mouth of the harbour was reached, and the little fleet gathered itself more compactly together, and the muffling of the oars was carefully looked to. directions as to the order to be observed had been given before, and the boats fell into their appointed position with quickness and accuracy. julian took the helm of the leading boat, and steered it across the harbour towards the anchored vessels. he knew exactly where and how they lay. and soon the little flotilla was lying compactly together, its presence all unsuspected, within a cable's length of the two battleships. now the time for concealment was over. the men seized their arms in readiness. the boats dashed through the water at full speed. the next moment hundreds of hardy british sailors were swarming up the sides of the french vessels, uttering cheers and shouts of triumph the while. humphrey and julian were amongst the first to spring upon the deck of the bienfaisant. the startled crew were just rushing up from below, having been made aware of the peril only a few seconds earlier. some of them were but half dressed; few of them knew what it was that was happening. they found themselves confronted by english sailors with dirk and musket. sharp firing, shouts, curses, cries, made the night hideous for a few minutes, and then a ringing voice called out in french: "surrender the vessels, and your lives shall be spared." it was julian who cried these words at the command of the officer, and there was no resistance possible for the overpowered crew. the soldiers were on shore within the fort. they were but a handful of men in comparison with their english assailants. it was impossible to dispute possession. "take to your boats and go ashore, and you shall not be molested," was the next cry; and the men were forced to obey, the fighting having lasted only a very brief space: for it was evident from the first that the english were masters, and needless carnage was not desired by them. nevertheless the peril to the english sailors was by no means over yet. the guns in the battery now opened fire upon the fleet of boats, and a hailstorm of shot and shell raged round them; so that the french sailors dared not leave the vessel, but crowded below out of the hot fire, preferring to trust to the tender mercies of their captors rather than to the guns of their countrymen. "tow her away under one of our own batteries," was the order, given as coolly as though this leaden rain were nothing but a summer shower. humphrey sprang to the side, and cut the cable which anchored her to her moorings. just at that moment a glow of light through the fog fell across the deck, and looking up he saw a pillar of flame rising from the water close at hand, and casting strange lights and shadows upon the shifting mists which enwrapped them. "they have fired the prudent!" exclaimed julian. "now we shall have light for our task; but we shall be a better target for the enemy's fire. we must lose no time. cut loose the second cable; we should be moving. see that the boats are all ready to tow us along. what a grand sight that burning ship is! "ah, i see now. she is aground with the ebb tide. they could not move her, so they have fired her instead. there are her boats rowing for shore with her crew in them!" it was a strange, grand sight, watching the flames enwrap the doomed vessel from stem to stern, till she was one sheet of rosy light. even the guns from shore had ceased to fire for a brief space, as though the gunners were watching the weird spectacle of the illuminated fog, or were perhaps afraid lest their fire should hurt their own comrades in the boats. but the english sailors took advantage of the lull to set to their task of towing the bienfaisant with hearty goodwill. "she moves! she moves!" cried humphrey excitedly, standing at the wheel to direct her course. "well pulled, comrades--well pulled indeed! ah, their guns are going to speak again! they will not let us go without a parting salute." the batteries on shore opened their mouths, and belched forth flame and smoke. the ship staggered beneath the leaden hail; but the guns were too high to do mischief to the boats upon the water, and the sailors replied by a lusty cheer. julian wiped away a few drops of blood that trickled down his face from a slight cut on his temple; but for the most part the shot struck only the spars and rigging, whistling harmlessly over the heads of the men on deck, who laughed and cheered as they encouraged their comrades in the boats to row their hardest and get beyond reach of the enemy's fire. wolfe had planted a battery himself just lately which commanded a part of the harbour, and beneath this sheltering battery the bienfaisant was towed, whilst the sailors cheered might and main; and once out of reach of the enemy's fire, rested on their oars and watched the grand illumination of the flame-wrapped prudent. "if war is a horrible thing," said julian reflectively to humphrey, "it has at least its grand sights. look at the red glare upon the shifting fog banks! is it not like some wild diabolic carnival? one could fancy one saw the forms of demons flitting to and fro in all that reek and glare." humphrey's grave young face wore a rather stern look. "i have seen other fires than that, and heard of those i have not seen--fires the memory of which will live in my heart for years and years! if we burn the vessels of the french, is it not because they have hounded on the indians to burn our homesteads, ay, and with them our defenceless wives and children, mothers and sisters? shall not deeds like these bring about a stern retaliation? are we not here to take vengeance upon those who have been treacherous foes, and shamed the christian profession that they make? shall we pity or spare when we remember what they have done? the blood of our brothers cries out to us. we do but repay them in their own coin." "yes," returned julian thoughtfully; "there is a stern law of reaping and sowing ordained of god himself. we may well believe that we are instruments in his hands for the carrying out of his purpose. yet we must seek always to be led of him, and not to take matters into our own hands. 'vengeance is mine; i will repay, saith the lord.'" "i believe he will," said humphrey, with a flash in his eyes; "but give it to me to be there to see!" "as i think we shall," answered julian, "for i believe that the key of the war will lie next at quebec. whoever holds that, holds the power in canada, and from canada can command the western frontier. and the taking of quebec is the object upon which the mind of wolfe is firmly set. you know how often he has said to us, 'if i could achieve that, i could say my nunc dimittis with joy and thankfulness.' i believe in my heart that he will live to see that glorious victory for england's arms." wolfe was waiting upon the strand for the boat which brought julian and humphrey back with the details of the victorious enterprise. he grasped them both by the hand. "now i think that surrender cannot much longer be delayed, and, in truth, i hope it will not be. news has reached us from the west of some great disaster at ticonderoga. it is but the voice of rumour. a light fishing smack brought letters to the general this evening, dated from albany, and sent by special messenger. nothing definite is known; but they report a disastrous defeat, attributed to the untimely death of lord howe quite early in the expedition. i cannot say what truth there may be in this, but i fear some great disaster has recently taken place. it has made the general and his officers very stern and resolved. england's honour has been sorely tarnished by these many defeats. but i believe her star will rise again. louisbourg at least must fall ere long." julian and humphrey were both filled with sorrow and anxiety at this piece of news. charles and fritz were both likely, they thought, if living still, to be there with the army; and one was anxious for news of his brother, and the other of his comrade and friend. "when louisbourg is taken," said humphrey, "i shall ask leave of absence to go to seek my brother. my sister in philadelphia will give me tidings of him. i shall go thither, and come back when the attempt upon proud quebec is made." "if i had my way, we should sail from louisbourg straight for quebec," cried wolfe, with a flash in his eyes. "i would follow up one blow by another. yet i know not whether our instructions will carry us thus far. nevertheless, i hope to live to see the day when the english flag shall wave over the ramparts of that city and fortress which has been called the impregnable." the news, rumour though it was and unconfirmed, of fresh disaster to the english arms in the interior excited much feeling in the english ranks. had there been another massacre, such as had disgraced the struggle at fort william henry? what would be the next tidings which would reach them of their brethren in arms? there had been so many tales of horror told out in the wild west that strong men often shuddered at the bare thought of what they might have to bear. so the faces of men and officers were alike stern and dark; and when the white flag fluttered at last from the walls of louisbourg, and the news ran like wildfire through the camp that the fortress was about to surrender, there was a feeling in all hearts that the terms granted should not be too easy. france owed england a deep and mighty debt, which sooner or later she must pay. wolfe was sent for to be with general amherst when he received the deputation of the french, and he returned to his quarters looking grave and thoughtful. "we have told them that they must surrender as prisoners of war, and send their reply within an hour. if they refuse, we attack at once both by land and sea. we are all resolved that the siege shall be brought to an end. if we could have been here a month earlier, we might have effected a junction with our friends in the west, and have averted the calamity which has overtaken them there." "will they accept?" asked julian eagerly. "they are in a sore strait, but yet they are brave men. they might, perhaps, have looked to be permitted to march out with the honours of war after their bold defence." "yes; and this would have been granted them had it not been for what happened at fort william henry. but the memory of that day cannot be wiped out from the memory of our officers, the general was supported by the bulk of his officers. they will have no conditions. they will treat the sick and the wounded and the towns people with every consideration, but they will be absolute masters. the admiral was there, and he and the general signed the note. they are resolved to abide by its contents." excitement reigned everywhere. the firing had ceased, and the stillness of the air was like that which sometimes precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm, what reply would the fort return? and how quickly would it arrive? it was understood that, in the event of delay, a general assault would be made, and some of the soldiers would have eagerly welcomed the order for the advance. keen excitement prevailed when it became known that a messenger had come, not bringing the expected reply, but one asking for less rigorous terms. "the general would not see him," was the cry. "he was sent back to say that nothing would be changed from the last letter addressed to the governor. the admiral and general are alike agreed. there will be no wavering from that." it was plain that there was some variance in the city itself. in the ranks of the besieging force there was intense excitement and stir. every man was looking to his arms, save when he was asking news and gazing towards the walls of the city. that something decisive must soon be settled was apparent to all. the white flag again! a messenger was coming out towards the camp with the reply. he appeared in no haste, and paused again and again to look back. suddenly another man appeared running hastily after him. the first messenger paused, consulted with him, and then turned back towards the city. the second man ran on alone, making vehement signs, as though afraid there might yet be some misunderstanding. "we accept! we accept!" he shouted out, waving a paper above his head, beside himself with excitement. two men followed him; they were taken into the tent of the general, who, with the admiral, was awaiting the final answer. but the first messenger remained without, panting and exhausted, and julian instantly recognized him as an officer who had shown him some kindness during his short stay within the fortress. he came up to him now, and the recognition was mutual. "so you were a spy all the while, my friend!" said the frenchman, with something like a grim laugh. "had we known that, you would have received a different welcome. ah well, it matters little now. and it is a pity for brave men to die like dogs. we were in a sad pass before. you could not have told much that was not already known." "the fortress is ready to capitulate?" "not the fortress, but the town. bad as our condition is, we would not have surrendered on those terms. we had indeed dispatched a messenger to say as much. but the provost and the citizens were too many for us. they ran to the citadel, and made such work that the governor yielded, and i offered, being fleet of foot, to run after the messenger and stop him if it could be done. luckily his own heart misgave him, and he had not hurried. and close upon my heels were sent others with more definite instructions. and thus louisbourg passes into the hands of gallant foes. but i trust they will show every courtesy to our brave madame." "have no fear on that score," answered julian; "i have told in the english camp of the bravery and gracious kindness of madame le general. our commander will see that she is treated with every consideration; as also the sick and wounded, her special charge. it is well not to drive us to assault the weakened town. now we shall enter as friends rather than foes." "so said the provost, remembering that the english have much cause of complaint against us. we cannot deny that ourselves. ah me! it is the chance of war. we have had our triumphs, and now you have your turn. it is not here but at quebec that the real trial of strength will be. i think, my friends, you will find that you have a hard nut to crack there." "so they said of louisbourg, and yet that has been done," answered julian, with a smile. "but come in, and refresh yourself in my tent here whilst the messengers are conferring with our general. they will have to draw up terms of capitulation. there will be time to get a good meal whilst that is being done." at dawn the following morning the drums beat. the english soldiers got into order, and marched through the dauphin gate into the town. the french soldiers, drawn up in array, threw down their muskets, and with tears of mortification marched away, leaving the victors in possession. the english flag was run up, amid wild cheering, and floated over the grim and shattered ramparts. the turn of the tide had come at last, and louisbourg had fallen into the hands of the english. chapter : the fruits of victory. wolfe lay upon a couch in a comfortable apartment, such as he had not inhabited since he set sail from england months ago. it was in the citadel itself--in the heart of the king's bastion, where the governor had his quarters. wolfe had been the life and soul of the siege. to his genius and indomitable resolution the victory of the english arms had been largely due. he had forced himself to take the lead, and had toiled night and day in the crisis of the struggle and the final triumph; and even after the victors had marched in, his eyes seemed to be everywhere, enforcing discipline, preventing any sort of disorder or licence amongst the soldiers, and sternly repressing the smallest attempt on their part to plunder the townsfolk, or take the slightest advantage of their helpless condition. he had specially seen to the condition of the sick and wounded, insuring them the same care as was given to the english in like case. this had been one of the articles of the capitulation, but it was one which was in like cases too often carelessly carried out, sometimes almost ignored. wolfe with his own eyes saw that there was no shirking, no mismanagement here. he seemed to be everywhere at once during those busy days which followed the entrance into the town. but outraged nature would have her revenge at last, and for three days he had lain helpless and suffering in the room assigned to him in the governor's house, watched over and tended by julian, who had by this time come to have a very adequate idea as to the treatment most needed by him when those attacks came on. the cool of the evening had followed upon the heat of a very sultry day, which had greatly tried the sufferer. wolfe looked up, and saw his friend beside him, and smiled in recognition of his attentions. "you are always here, julian; you must surely want rest yourself. you have been here night and day. i know it even though i may not seem to do so. but i shall be on my legs again soon. i can feel that the access of pain is abating. how have things been going in the town since i was laid by the heels?" "oh well, several vessels with their load of prisoners have already sailed for england; many of the townsfolk and merchants have started, or are starting, for france; some regiments of our men are to be sent at once to reinforce general abercromby. i fear by all accounts that they will come too late to be of any real use for the campaign this season. it is quite true that he suffered a crushing defeat at ticonderoga, due, as many of the officers say, to bad generalship. still he will doubtless be glad of support in the wilderness, wherever he may be. humphrey is to start with the first detachment; he expects his orders for departure daily." wolfe raised himself upon his elbow and sat up, despite his weakness, fired by excitement and energy. "but quebec, quebec, quebec!" he exclaimed; "surely we are going forward to quebec?" julian shook his head doubtfully. "i fear me not at least this present season. i hear it said that general amherst was ready, but that the admiral was against it for the present. they say there is still much to do in subduing the adjacent possessions of france in these lands, and so paving the way for the greater enterprise. various officers are to be sent hither and thither upon expeditions to small settlements, to uproot or destroy them. when this has been done, perhaps the move to quebec will be made. but i fear me it will not be before next year." wolfe made a gesture of irritation and impatience. "have we not yet had enough of procrastination?" he questioned bitterly. "will england never learn the lesson which her reverses should have taught her? what boots the victory we have gained here, if it be not the stepping stone to lead us to quebec?" "who speaks of quebec?" asked a clear, musical voice at the half-open door; and julian sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did so: "it is madame drucour! she has come every day to see and inquire after you." hearing the sound of her name, the lady pushed open the door and entered--a graceful, stately figure clothed all in black; her beautiful face worn and pale, and trouble lurking in the depths of her hazel eyes; yet calm and serene and noble of aspect as she moved forward and held out a slim white hand to the patient. "you are better, monsieur?" she asked, in her full, rich tones. "i trust that the suffering is less than it was. the fever, i can see, has abated somewhat." wolfe carried the hand he held to his lips. in common with all the officers who had made her acquaintance, wolfe had come to have a very high opinion of madame drucour. "i thank you, gracious lady, for your condescension in asking. i trust soon to be restored to such measure of health and strength as i ever enjoy. at best i am but a cranky creature; but with quarters such as these i should be worse than ungrateful if i did not mend. i trust my presence here has caused you no inconvenience; for truly i believe that i am in your house, and that i owe to you the comforts i enjoy." she gave a strange little smile as she seated herself beside him. "in truth, monsieur, i know not what i may call my own today. this town and fortress are now no longer ours, and we are but here ourselves on sufferance--prisoners of war--" "nay, nay, not prisoners--not you, madame," answered wolfe hastily. "we war not against women--least of all such noble ladies as yourself!" she acknowledged this speech by a little motion of the head, and then continued, in a tone at once sorrowful and dignified: "i cannot separate myself from those amongst whom i have lived for so long. i acknowledge with gratitude the courtesy i have received from all. i know that my personal liberty is assured to me. but my heart will always be where there is need of help by my own countrymen. if not a prisoner to the english, i am held in other bonds." "ah yes," answered wolfe, with an answering sparkle in his eye; "that i understand well. we are all bound to our country in bonds that cannot be severed. and yet we are bound to the common cause of humanity, and there we meet on common ground. we need not remember anything else at such a time, madame. we serve in one army there. do not our wounded as well as your own bless the sight of your face and the sound of your voice amongst them?" "and have they not cause to bless the name of that brave officer who, in spite of his own weakness and suffering, would not rest until he had seen in person that all were cared for--foes as well as friends? yes, truly, monsieur, in one warfare we can stand upon the same side, and fight the same battle against disease and suffering and death. i would that this were the only kind of warfare that is known in the world!" "and i too--sometimes," replied wolfe, lying back again on his pillows and looking dreamily out before him. "there are moments, it is true, when the battle fever works in a man's blood, and war seems to him then a glorious game. but it has its terrible and hateful side, as every soldier knows well. and yet the day seems far away when wars shall be no more." "indeed yes," answered madame drucour, with a little sigh; "we have a sorrowful prospect before us yet. what was the word which i heard you speak as i entered? was it not of that projected march upon quebec?" "it was," answered wolfe frankly. "i may not deny, madame, that the longing of my heart at this moment is to try conclusions with your gallant countrymen beneath the walls of quebec." "you are bold, monsieur," said madame drucour, with a little smile. "you know quebec, madame?" "very well. it is there that i purpose going with my husband when the exchange is completed which gives him his liberty. i have relatives there, and i go to be with them when duty may call my husband elsewhere. if you come to quebec, monsieur, we may perchance meet again." "it will be something happy to look forward to." "there is always joy in feeling that the foe we fight is a noble and generous one. i shall tell in quebec how the english general, though stern in his terms of capitulation, refused to me nothing that i asked when once the town was given up, and how generously he and all his officers showed themselves, and in especial one--brigadier wolfe!" the young man bowed at the compliment. "and i, on my side, shall know that if madame drucour is within the walls of quebec, no garrison can fail to be gallant and devoted. such an example before their eyes would put heart and heroism into the most faint hearted." a very sincere liking grew up between madame drucour and her guests before wolfe was on his legs again, and able to return to his quarters amongst his men. indeed, his happiest hours were spent in the company of that lady, for there was much to vex and try him when in the camp. there was to be no move upon quebec that season and wolfe chafed rather bitterly at the decision, and wrote to general amherst in stronger terms than most subordinate officers would have ventured to do. he even spoke of throwing up the service, if nothing were to be done at such a critical time; but the general would not hear of losing so valuable an officer, and indeed, in spite of the irritability sometimes engendered by his ill-health, wolfe was too much the soldier at heart ever to abandon his calling. it was, however, rather hard to one of his ardent and chivalrous temperament, eager for the great blow to be struck against quebec, to be deputed to harry and destroy a number of little fishing settlements along the gulf of st. lawrence--which measure he considered a needless severity, and hated accordingly. it was a relief to him to know that pitt, having heard of his severe bout of illness after the taking of louisbourg, had summoned him back to england to recruit his health. "when we have finished our great exploit of robbing fishermen of their nets and burning their huts, we will to england again, julian; and you will come with me, my trusty comrade and friend. if we are spreading the terror of england's name here, we are not adding to her laurels. let me remain at home till there be real warfare to accomplish, and then let me come out again. this task is odious and sickening to me. were it not that another might show more harshness and barbarity over it, i would e'en decline the mission." humphrey had already left louisbourg for philadelphia and the western frontier; but julian had elected to remain with wolfe, who had come to depend upon him in no small measure. there was something in the temperaments of the two men which made them congenial one to the other. wolfe's restless irritability was soothed by julian's quiet calmness, and there was in both men a strain of ardent patriotism and self devotion which gave them sympathies in common. together they set sail for england when the soldier's work was done, and after a fairly prosperous voyage they landed in that country, and immediately started for bath, where wolfe hoped to find relief from his rheumatic troubles, and gain the strength which he had lost during this hard campaign. "i think my mother will be awaiting me there this time," he said, with a light in his eyes. "you have never seen my mother yet, julian. ah, how i long to see her again! she has been such a mother to me! there are times when i think if i have to give up this profession of arms, and take to a quiet life, i could have a very happy life at home with my mother. we suit each other so well, and we are like each other in our foibles and weaknesses. i think i have inherited my cranky health from her, but not her beauty. you will see for yourself how little like her i am in that respect when we get home." to julian, who had known nothing of the joys of home since he left his valley in the far south of the western world, and who had no home to call his own now, there was something touching in the eagerness of wolfe to reach his home and his mother. his father was not likely to be there. he would almost certainly be either in kent, or else abroad; for he still held a command in the army, and the war on the continent was still raging furiously. but the mother would be awaiting her son in the house he had written to ask her to secure for him again. it was within easy reach of the town, and yet it was quiet and secluded, and suited his tastes and habits. it was almost dark one murky autumn evening when the lumbering coach, which had conveyed the friends the last stages of their journey, drew up at the door of the house. lights shone in the windows, and from the open door there streamed out a glowing shaft of yellow light, bespeaking the warm welcome awaiting the tired traveller. wolfe had been weary to the verge of exhaustion when they had abandoned the attempt to ride the whole distance, and had secured the heavy coach; but now he seemed to revive to new life, and he sprang from it with some of the activity of youth and strength. "mother--there is my mother!" he exclaimed; and julian saw him take the steps two at a time, to meet the advancing greeting from the mother who had come to welcome home her son. mrs. wolfe was a distinctly beautiful woman, whose beauty had been but little dimmed by time. there was a sweet, matronly repose about her, and the brightness of her red-gold hair was dashed with streaks of soft grey beneath the laces with which it was crowned. but her complexion was clear and fair, and there was a look of soft fragility about her which made the son's protecting air of solicitude a natural and appropriate one. she folded him in her arms in a long, rapturous embrace; and julian stood silently by the while, reverent of that deep love which for the moment could find no expression save in the whispered words: "mother! mother! mother!" "my son--my dear boy! my son come back to me!" when the lady turned at length to greet the silent figure who stood silently watching this meeting, julian could see that the tears were standing upon her cheeks and sparkling in her eyes. "you will pardon me, sir, for this apparent neglect," she said sweetly, putting her thin jewelled fingers into julian's hand; "but when my boy goes forth to the fight, i never know whether it will be god's will to send him back to me safe and sound. a mother's heart cannot but be full upon a day like this. but second only to my joy in welcoming him back is this of making acquaintance with the trusty friend who has been so much to him during his perils and labours." "madam, it has been the joy and honour of my life to be able to serve so great a soldier and so noble a man!" the warm clasp upon his fingers gave the mother's answer to this; and then they all moved within the lighted hall, where a glowing fire and a number of candles gave bright illumination, and where quite a hubbub of welcome was going on. the servants were pressing forward to see and greet their young master, who had come home crowned with laurels. it was known by this time in england how much of the success at louisbourg had been due to wolfe's unfailing energy and intrepidity. he was a hero at home as well as abroad, though he had hardly realized it yet. moreover, he was vociferously welcomed by his dogs, all of whom had been brought by his mother to meet their master again; and he had much ado to return the manifold greetings bestowed upon him, and to free himself at last from the demonstrative affection of his canine friends. a plentiful supper was awaiting the wearied travellers; and it was when they had put in order their dress and entered the dining room that they were aware of the presence of another lady, a very handsome, dark-eyed girl, who stood beside the glowing fire regarding their entrance with looks of unaffected interest. "my dear," said mrs. wolfe, "let me present to you my son james, of whom you know much, although you have never met; and his friend and companion, lieutenant julian dautray, whose name is equally known to you. "this, james, is miss kate lowther, the daughter of an old friend of ours, who has left her in my charge whilst he takes a last voyage to barbados, where once he was governor, to be my daughter and companion till he comes back to claim her." the bright-eyed girl dropped a courtesy to the gentlemen, who bowed low before her; but then holding out her hand frankly to wolfe, she said in a clear, fresh voice. "i am so glad to see you, cousin james. i am going to call you that because i call your mother aunt, and she has given me leave to do so. i know so much about you from your letters. i have copied every one of them to send to your father, for aunt will not part with the originals even for him! i know all about louisbourg, and the batteries, and the ships, and the big guns. oh, i think if i were a man i could become an officer at once, and command a great campaign like that one! we had such rejoicings here when the news came! it was like new life to us. we had heard of that dreadful defeat at ticonderoga, and it seemed as though england was never to rise from the dust of humiliation. it was openly said that louisbourg would never fall; that it was as impregnable as quebec. oh, there was such lugubrious talk! and then came the news of the victory, and of brigadier wolfe's valiant and doughty deeds. you may guess how your mother's eyes shone at that! and all england echoed to the sound of your name!" "a name more formidable in sound than in reality," spoke wolfe, laughing, but cheered and pleased by the sincere and pretty enthusiasm of the winning girl. "when those who have kindly admired me from the distance come to inspect me in person, what a shock they will receive! we shall have to palm julian here off as the right man; he will play the part with much more dignity and grace." kate looked from one to the other laughing. "what do you expect me to say to that? lieutenant dautray looks every inch a soldier; but i think, cousin james, that you have the air of the man born to command." "in spite of my cropped red head and lanky limbs? i am proud of the compliment paid me." wolfe was certainly rather taken aback to find himself a man of so much mark when he showed himself in bath. he had quite an ovation when first he appeared at the pump room; and although he was in a measure accustomed to lead a public life, and to be the object of attention and even admiration, he shrank from having this carried into his private life, and was happiest at home with his mother and friend, and with bright kate lowther, with whom he soon became wonderfully intimate. the girl's sincere affection for his frail and delicate mother would in any case have won his heart; but there was something exceedingly attractive in her whole personality and in her eager interest in his past career and in the fortunes of the war. she would sit for hours beside him whilst he related to his mother the incidents of the campaign, and her questions and comments showed a quick intelligence and ready sympathy that were a never-failing source of interest to him. her strength and vitality were refreshing to one who was himself almost always weak and suffering. he would watch her at play with the dogs in the garden, or up and down the staircase, and delight in the grace and vigour of her movements. she would come in from her walks and rides with a glow upon her face and a light in her eyes, and sitting down beside him would relate all that had befallen her since her departure an hour or two before--telling everything in so racy and lively a fashion that it became the chiefest pleasure of wolfe's life to lie and look at her and listen to her conversation. christmas was close upon them. it would be a bright and happy season for mother and son, spent together after their long separation. upon the eve of that day kate came eagerly in with a large official letter in her hand, addressed to the soldier. it was a moment of excitement whilst he opened it, for it was known that he had been corresponding latterly with several ministers respecting the proposed expedition against quebec, and all knew how dear to his heart was the fulfilment of that daring scheme. as he read the document his cheek flushed. he sat up more erect in his chair, and there came into his face a look which his soldiers well knew. it was always to be seen there when he led them into battle. "mother," he said very quietly, "mr. pitt has chosen me to command the expedition now fitting out against quebec." mrs. wolfe gave a little gasp, the tears springing to her eyes; but over kate's face there spread a deep, beautiful flush, and she grasped the young man by the hand, exclaiming: "o cousin james, how glad i am! what a splendid victory it will be!" "if it be won!" he said, looking up at her with kindling eyes. "but there is always an 'if' in the case." "there will be none when you are in command," answered kate, with a ring of proud assurance in her voice. "had you been commander of the louisbourg expedition, quebec would have been ours by now." their eyes met. in hers he read unbounded admiration and faith. it thrilled him strangely. it brought a look of new purpose into his face. he held her hand, and she left it lying in his clasp. he was holding it still when he turned to his mother. "are you not glad, mother mine?" he asked gently. "oh yes, my son--glad and proud of the honour done you, of the appreciation shown of your worth and service. but how will you be able to undergo all that fatigue, and the perils and sufferings of another voyage? that is what goes to my heart. you are so little fit for it all!" "i have found that a man can always be fit for his duty," said wolfe gravely. "is not that so, kate?" "with you it is," she answered, with another of her wonderful glances; and the mother, watching the faces of the pair, rose from her seat and crept from the room. her heart was at once glad and sorrowful, proud and heavy; she felt that she must ease it with a little weeping before she could talk of this great thing with the spirit her son would look to find in her. wolfe and kate were left alone together. he got possession of her other hand. she was standing before him still, a beautiful bloom upon her face, her eyes shining like stars. "you are pleased with all this, my kate?" he asked; and he let the last words escape him unconsciously. "pleased that your country should do you this great honour? of course i am pleased. you have deserved it at her hands; yet men do not always get their deserts in this world." "no; and you must not think that there are not hundreds of better and braver men than myself in our army, or that i am a very wonderful person. i have got the wish of my heart--it has been granted to me more fully than i ever looked to see it; but how often do we see in the hour of triumph that there is something bitter in the cup, something we had not looked to find there. three months ago i was burning to sail for quebec, and now--" he paused for a moment, and she looked full at him. "surely you have not changed. you want to go; your heart is set upon it!" "yes," he answered gravely: "my wish and purpose have never wavered; but now my heart is divided. once it beat only for my country, and the clash of arms was music in my ears; now it has found a rival elsewhere. if i go to quebec, i must leave you behind, my kate!" suddenly into her bright eyes there sprang the smart of tears. she clasped the hands that held hers and pressed them closely. "it will not be for long," she said; "you will return covered with glory and renown!" "it may be so, it may be so; yet who can tell? think how many gallant soldiers have been left behind upon that great continent: braddock, howe--oh, i could name many others less known to fame, perhaps, but gallant soldiers all. we go out with our lives in our hand, and so many never return!" the tears began to fall slowly in sparkling drops. she could not release her hands to wipe them away. "do not speak so, james; it is not like you! why do you try to break my heart?" "would you care so much, so much, were i to find a soldier's grave?" a quick sob was her reply. she turned her head away. "kate, do you love me?" "i think you know that i do, james." "i have begun to hope, and yet i have scarcely dared. you so full of life and strength and beauty, and i such a broken crock!" "a hero, you mean!" she answered, with flashing eyes--"a soldier and a hero; tenfold more a hero in that you overcome pain and weakness, sickness and suffering, in the discharge of your duty, and do things that others would declare impossible! oh yes, i have heard of you; lieutenant dautray has told me. i know how you have done the impossible again and yet again. james, you will do this once again. you will storm that great fortress which men call impregnable--you will storm it and you will vanquish it; and you will come home crowned with glory and honour! and i shall be here waiting for you; i shall watch and wait till you come. it is written in the book of fate that your name is to go down to posterity as the hero of quebec. i am sure of it--oh, i am sure! do not say anything to damp my hope, for i will not believe you!" he looked into her face, and his own kindled strangely. "i will say nothing but that i love you--i love you--i love you! today that is enough between us, kate. let the rest go--the honour and glory of the world, the commission, and all besides. today we belong to each other; tomorrow we sing of peace on earth, goodwill toward men. let that suffice us; let us forget the rest. we will be happy together in our love, and in love to all mankind. after that we must think again of these things. afterwards thoughts of war and strife must have their place; but for once let love be lord of our lives. after that storm and strife--and quebec!" book : within quebec. chapter : the impregnable city. within a lofty chamber, with narrow windows and walls of massive thickness, stood a young, bright-haired girl, looking with dreamy eyes across the wide waters of the great st. lawrence, as it rolled its majestic course some hundreds of feet below. although that mighty waterway narrowed as it passed the rocky promontory upon which the city of quebec was built, it was even there a wonderful river; and looking westward, as the girl was doing, it seemed to spread out before her eyes like a veritable sea. it was dotted with ships of various dimensions bringing in supplies, or news of coming help or peril--news of that great armament from distant england, perhaps, whose approach was being awaited by all within the city with a sense of intense expectancy, not entirely unmixed with fear. true, the soldiers laughed to scorn the idea of any attack upon quebec. it stood upon its rocky tongue of land, frowning and unassailable, as it seemed to them. all along the north bank of the lower river the french were throwing up earthworks and intrenching their army, to hinder any attempt at landing troops there; and the guns of the town batteries would soon sink and destroy any vessel rash enough to try to pass the town, and gain a footing upon the shores above. indeed, so frowning and precipitous were these that nature herself seemed to be sufficient guard. "let the english come, and see what welcome we have got for them!" was a favourite exclamation from soldiers and townsfolk; yet all the same there was anxiety in the faces of those who watched daily for the first approach of the english sails. had not louisbourg said the same, and yet had fallen before english hardihood and resolution? those in the highest places in this canadian capital best knew the rotten condition into which her affairs had fallen. the corruption amongst officials, the jealousy between governor and general, the crafty self seeking of the intendant--these and a hundred other things were enough to cause much anxiety at headquarters. the grand schemes of the french for acquiring a whole vast continent were fast dwindling down to the anxious hope of being able to keep what they already possessed. the girl gazing forth from the narrow window was turning over in her mind the things that she had heard. her fair face was grave, yet it was bright, too, and as she threw out her hand towards the vista of the great river rolling its mighty volume of water towards the sea, she suddenly exclaimed: "and what if they do come? what if they do conquer? have we not deserved it? have we not brought ruin upon our own heads by the wickedness and cruelty we have made our allies? and if england's flag should one day wave over the fortress of quebec, as it now does over that of louisbourg, what is that to me? have i not english--or scotch--blood in my veins? am i not as much english as french? i sometimes think that, had i my choice, england would be the country where i should best love to dwell. it is the land of freedom--all say that, even my good uncle, who knows so well. i love freedom; i love what is noble and great. sometimes i feel in my heart that england will be the greatest country of the world." her eyes glowed; she stretched forth her hands in a speaking gesture. the waters of the great river seemed to flash back an answer. cooped up within frowning walls, amid the buildings of the fortress and upper town, corinne felt sometimes like a bird in a prison cage; and yet the life fascinated her, with its constant excitements, its military environment, its atmosphere of coming danger. she did not want to leave quebec till the struggle between the nations had been fought out. and yet she scarcely knew which side she wished to see win. french though her training had been of late years, yet her childhood had been spent in the stormy north, amid an english-speaking people. she had seen much that disgusted and saddened her here amongst the french of canada. she despised the aged libertine who still sat upon the french throne with all the scorn and disgust of an ardent nature full of noble impulses. "i hate to call myself his subject!" she had been known to say. "i will be free to choose to which nation i will belong. i have the right to call myself english if i choose." not that corinne very often gave way to such open demonstrations of her national independence, it was to her aunt, madame drucour, with whom she was now making a home, that she indulged these little rhapsodies, secure of a certain amount of indulgence and even sympathy from that lady, who had reason to think and speak well of english gallantry and chivalry. madame drucour occupied a small house wedged in amongst the numerous strongly-built houses and ecclesiastical buildings of the upper town of quebec. the house had been deserted by its original occupants upon the first news of the fall of louisbourg. many of the inhabitants of quebec had taken fright at that, and had sailed for france; and madame drucour had been placed here by her husband, who himself was wanted in other quarters to repel english advances. the lady had been glad to summon to her side her niece corinne, who, since the state of the country had become so disturbed, had been placed by her father and uncle in the convent of the ursulines, under the charge of the good nuns there. corinne had been fond of the nuns; but the life of the cloister was little to her taste. she was glad enough to escape from its monotony, and to make her home with her father's sister. madame drucour could tell her the most thrilling and delightful stories of the siege of louisbourg. already she felt to know a great deal about war in general and sieges in particular. she often experienced a thrill of pride and delight in the thought that she herself was about to be a witness of a siege of which all the world would be talking. as she stood at the window today, a footstep rang through the quiet house below, and suddenly the door of the little chamber was flung wide open. "corinne!" cried a ringing voice which she well knew. she turned round with a little cry of joy. "colin!" she cried, and the next minute brother and sister were locked in a fervent embrace. "o colin, colin, when did you come, and whence?" "just this last hour, and from montreal," he answered. "oh, what strange adventures i have seen since last we met! corinne, there have been times when i thought never to see you again! i have so much to say i know not where to begin. i have seen our triumphs, and i have seen our defeat. corinne, it is as our uncle said. there is a great man now at the helm in england, and we are feeling his power out here in the west." "do you think the tide has turned against the french arms?" asked corinne breathlessly. "what else can i think? has not fort frontenac fallen? has not fort duquesne been abandoned before the advancing foe? our realm in the west is cut away from canada in the north. if we cannot reunite them, our power is gone. and they say that ticonderoga and crown point will be the next to fall. the english are massing upon lake george. they have commanders of a different calibre now. poor ticonderoga! i grew to love it well. i spent many a happy month there. but what can we do to save it, threatened as we are now by the english fleet in the great st. lawrence itself?" "are they not brave, these english?" cried corinne, with an enthusiasm of admiration in her face and voice. "colin, i am glad, oh very glad, that you and i are not all french. we can admire our gallant foes without fear of disloyalty to our blood. we have cause to know how gallant and chivalrous they can be." colin's eyes lighted with eager pleasure. "you remember that day in the forest, corinne, and how we were protected by english rangers from hurt?" "ah, do i not! and i have heard, too, from our aunt drucour, of their kindness and generosity to a conquered army--" but she stopped, and waited for her brother to speak, as she saw that he had more to say. "you remember the big, tall ranger, whose name was fritz?" he said eagerly. "yes, i remember him well." "he is here--in quebec--in this house at this very minute! he and i have travelled from montreal with my uncle." corinne's eyes were bright with eager interest. ah, colin! is that truly so? and how came that about? you travelling with an english ranger!" "yes, truly, and we owe our lives to his valour and protection. it is strange how dame fortune has thrown us across each other's path times and again during these past few short years. first, he saved us from attack in the forest. you need not that i should tell you more of that, corinne. afterwards, some few of us from ticonderoga saved the lives of him and of a few other rangers who had fallen into the hands of the indians after that defeat at fort william henry, which had scattered them far and wide. we felt such shame at the way our indian allies had behaved, and at the little protection given to the prisoners of war by our canadian troops, that we were glad to show kindness and hospitality to the wanderers, rangers though they were; and when i recognized fritz, i was the more glad. he was wounded and ill, and we nursed him to health ere we sent him away. after that it was long before we met again, and then he came to our succour when we were in the same peril from indians as he had been himself the year before." "from indians? o brother!" and corinne shuddered, for she had that horror of the red-skinned race which comes to those who have seen and heard of their cruelties and treachery from those who have dwelt amongst them. "yes, you must know, corinne, that in the west, where our uncle goes with the word of life and truth, the indians are already wavering, and are disposed to return to their past friendship with the english. they are wonderfully cunning and far-seeing. they seem to have that same instinct as men say that rats possess, and are eager to leave the sinking ship, or to join themselves to the winning side, whichever way you like to put it. since we have seen misfortune they have begun to change towards us. we cannot trust them out in the west. they are becoming sullen, if not hostile. a very little and they will turn upon us with savage fury--at least if they are not withheld from it by the english themselves." corinne's cheek flushed; she flung back her head with an indescribable gesture. "and i believe the english will withhold them. to our shame be it spoken, the french have made use of them. they have stooped to a warfare which makes civilized man shudder with horror. england will not use such methods; i am sure of it, and she will prosper where we have failed; for god in the heavens rules the nations upon earth, and he will not suffer such wickedness to continue forever. if france in the west falls, she falls rather by her own act than by that of her foes." "that is what my uncle says," answered colin earnestly; "it is what he has striven all along to impress upon our leaders, but without avail. he has been seeking, too, to show to the indians themselves the evil of their wicked practices. he has never been afraid of them; he has always been their friend. but the day came when they would no longer listen to him; when they drove us forth with hatred and malice; when there came into their faces that which made me more afraid than anything i have ever faced in my life before, corinne. we dared not stay. the chief dismissed us and bid us be gone quickly, whilst he could still hold his people in check. he did not wish harm to come to us; but savage blood is hard to check. "we got away from the village, and hoped the danger was over. we made our way as well as we could towards montreal. but our uncle was weak; he had had several attacks of fever. one day he could not travel. that night we were set upon by a score of wandering indians. they would not listen to our words, we were white men, that was enough. all white men were their enemies, they said. they would roast us alive first and eat us afterwards, they declared," "o colin!" cried corinne, with widely-dilated eyes. "yes; i can see their eyes now, rolling and gleaming. they began collecting light brushwood around the upright stakes they drove into the ground. they laughed and yelled, and sprang about with frightful contortions. they were working themselves up as they do before they set to one of their frightful pieces of work. our uncle called me to him, and we prayed together. at least he prayed, and i tried to follow his words; but i could do nothing but watch those awful preparations. then suddenly a shout arose from the forest hard by, and the indians seized their weapons. we sent up a shout, caring little whether it was answered by english or french. we knew that what we had heard was no indian whoop; it came from the throats of white men. "next minute a body of rangers had dashed amongst us. the indians fled, scattering right and left like chaff before the wind. next minute i distinguished the friendly face of fritz. he was kneeling beside our uncle, and asking him tenderly if he were hurt." "the same fritz as saved us in the forest! oh, i am glad it was he!" "so was i; and doubly glad when i found that he knew more about the cure of these forest fevers than even our uncle himself. the rangers made a hut for us, and for three days fritz doctored our uncle, till he was almost well again. but they would not leave us in the forest, with the bands of treacherous indians prowling around. they escorted us to within a short distance of montreal itself, and fritz consented to come into the city as our guest; and since he speaks french almost as well as english, he was a welcome guest to all. he became so much attached to my uncle that he consented to come with us to quebec. for he is anxious to join the english squadron when it reaches these waters, and my uncle gave him his word of honour that no hindrance shall be placed in the way of his doing so. perhaps it may be even well for one who has seen the extreme strength of the town, and the preparations made for its defence by land and sea, to go to warn the bold invaders that the task they contemplate is one which is well nigh if not quite impossible." "o colin, it is good indeed to have you again, out of the very jaws of death! let me go myself and thank this noble fritz for his good offices. colin, i fear me i am half a traitor to the cause of france already; for there is that in my heart which bids me regard the english as friends rather than as foes. and when i hear men shake their heads and say that they may one day be the masters of these broad lands of the west, it raises within me no feeling of anger or grief. i cannot be a true daughter of france to feel so!" "and yet i share that feeling, corinne. i often feel that i am less than half a frenchman! my good uncle sometimes shakes his head over me; but then he smiles, and says that the mother's blood always runs strong in the firstborn son; and methinks, had our mother lived, she would have been on the side of those who speak her tongue and hail from the grey lands of the north." "ah, it is good that you feel the same, colin! i had almost chided myself for being half a traitor. and now take me to our good friend fritz, that i may thank him myself and see him again with mine own eyes." brother and sister descended the stone stairway which divided the various floors of that narrow house. as they reached the foot of the staircase, they heard the sound of voices from a half-open door, and corinne said with a smile: "it is our aunt drucour talking with the stranger. she is ever eager for news of the war. a soldier is always a friend to her, so as he brings her tidings." the room into which corinne and colin stepped softly, so as not to disturb the conversation of their elders, was a long and narrow apartment, with the same small windows which characterized the rest of the house. a table in the centre of the room took up the chief of the space, and at this table sat a bronzed and stalwart man, whom corinne instantly recognized as her protector in that forest adventure of long ago. he was seated with a trencher before him, and was doing an justice to the fare set out; but he was also in earnest conversation with madame drucour, who was seated opposite, her elbows lightly resting upon the table, and her chin upon her clasped hands. upon a couch beneath the window lay the abbe himself, with a cup of wine beside him. he looked like a man who has been through considerable fatigue and hardship, though his brow was serene and his eyes were bright as he followed the rapid conversation which passed be tween the pair at the tables. as the boy and girl entered it was fritz who was speaking, and he spoke eagerly. "you have seen julian dautray, my friend and comrade who sailed away to england several years since on an embassy from the town of philadelphia? now this is news indeed. for i have heard no word of him from that day to this; yet once we were like brothers, and we made that long, long journey together from the far south, till our souls were knit together even as the souls of david and jonathan. tell me of him! is he well? is he still in this new world beyond the dividing sea?" "after the capture of louisbourg," answered madame drucour, with the little touch of shrinking in her tone which such words always occasioned her, "he was to accompany the gallant brigadier wolfe (to whose untiring energy and zeal much of england's success was due) upon some mission of destruction on the coasts, little indeed to that soldier's liking. after that, i heard that they were to sail for england, since the brave officer's health stood in great need of recruiting. but it was known to all of us that monsieur wolfe would never rest content till he had seen whether he might not repeat at quebec what he had accomplished at louisbourg. and if not actually known, it is more than conjectured that the fleet from england which brings our foes into these waters will bring with it that gallant soldier wolfe; and if so, you may be sure that your good friend (and mine) monsieur julian dautray will be with him." "that is good hearing," cried fritz, whose face was beaming with satisfaction and pleasure; "it is like a feast to a hungry man to hear news of julian again!" and he listened with extreme interest whilst the lady told him all she knew of his friend--his daring dash into the fortress disguised as a french soldier, and his many acts of chivalrous generosity at the close of the siege. "we have reason to be grateful to you english," said madame drucour, with a gracious smile. "it is a happiness, when we have to fight, to find such generous and noble foes. it is hard to believe that this strong city of quebec will ever open its gates even to so brave a commander as the gallant wolfe; and yet, if such a thing were again to be here as was at louisbourg, i, for one, shall be able to welcome the victor with a smile as well as a sigh; for i have seen how generous he is to sick and wounded, and how gently chivalrous to women and children." "yet those were stern terms demanded from capitulating louisbourg," spoke the abbe thoughtfully. "they were," said the lady, with a sigh; "and yet can we wonder so greatly? england has suffered much from the methods we of france have pursued in our warfare. but let us not think of that tonight; let us remember only that english and french may be friends--individually--even though our nations are at war. let us entertain monsieur with the best at our command, and bid him godspeed when he shall choose to leave us. "ah! and there i see my nephew colin. "welcome, dear child; thou art child no longer. "what a fine youth he has grown with the flight of years! i should scarce have known him!" whilst aunt and nephew were exchanging amenities in one part of the room, corinne approached fritz, who had risen to his feet at sight of her, and putting out a hand said with a shy smile: "i am glad to welcome you again, monsieur." "and i to see you once again, mademoiselle," he replied. "i have often wondered whether i should ever have that pleasure. the chance of war has brought me and your brother face to face three times already. but i scarce thought i should see you again. i thought these troubled days would have sent you back to france. these are strange places for tender maidens to abide in--these walled cities, with guns without and within!" "ah, but i have no home in france," answered the girl, "and i would not be sent away. i have grown to love this strange western land and the struggle and stress of the life here. i would fain see the end of this mighty struggle. to which scale will victory incline, think you, monsieur? will the flag of england displace that of france over the town and fortress of this city of quebec?" "time alone can show that," answered fritz gravely; "and we must not boast of coming victory after all the ignominious defeats that we have suffered. but this i know--the spirit of england is yet unbroken. she has set herself to a task, and will not readily turn back from it. if the spirit of her sons is the same now as it was in the days of which our fathers have told us, i think that she will not quietly accept repulse." corinne's eyes flashed; she seemed to take a strange sort of pride in anticipations such as these. "i like that spirit," she cried; "it has not been the spirit of france. she has boasted, boasted, boasted of all the wonders she was to perform, and yet she has never made good her hold in the south. now the tide seems to have turned here in the north; and though men speak brave words of defiance, their hearts are failing them for fear. and have they not reason to fear--they who have done so ignobly?" "do you remember what you told us when we met in the forest long ago?" asked fritz. "do you remember the name you spoke--the name of pitt--and told us that when that man's hand was on the helm of england's statecraft the turn of the tide would come? and so we waited for news from home, and at last we heard the name of pitt. and, behold, since then the tide has turned indeed. those words of yours have upheld our hopes in many a dark hour. and now that the fulfilment seems so near, shall we not feel grateful to those who held out the torch of hope when all was darkness?" corinne smiled brightly, and held out her little hand again. "we will be friends, come what will," she said; "for i love the english as well as the french, and i have cause to know what generous foes they can make!" so fritz became the guest of madame drucour in the narrow little stone house; the abbe likewise remained as an inmate whilst he recruited the health that had been so sorely tried and shattered of late. fritz was in no haste to depart, if his hosts desired his presence there. he would join the english fleet when it appeared; but it mattered little to him how he passed the intervening time. he could pass as well for a frenchman as an englishman, and did so for the time he remained in the city; but he kept his eyes open, and took careful note of what he saw, and, in truth, it seemed to him that the english fleet had little or no chance of effecting any landing in or near quebec. the fortifications of the town were immensely strong; so was its position--so commandingly situated upon the little tongue of land. there was a small camp upon the opposite point of land, which might perhaps be strengthened with advantage; but the whole of the north bank of the river was being fortified and intrenched, and was manned by regulars and canadian troops, all well armed and munitioned. it was impossible to see how any attacking force could obtain a foothold upon that strand; and if fritz's hosts took care to let him see all this, it seemed to him a proof that they well understood the impregnable character of their position. but it was no part of fritz's plan to linger over long in quebec, although he was wishful to see the city for himself, and to judge of the strength of its position. he knew that the fleet from louisbourg would be hanging about nearer the mouth of the great estuary, and to a traveller of his experience the journey either by land or water was a mere trifle. any day the sails of the english vessels might be expected to appear. the seething excitement in the city, and the eager and laborious preparations upon land, showed how public feeling was being aroused. it might not be well for fritz to linger much longer. if his real connection with the english were discovered, he might find himself in difficulties. "i have arranged with a boatman to take you down the river tonight, monsieur," said madame drucour to him; when he had expressed a determination to leave. "he is scouting for information as to the english fleet, and we have heard that vessels have been seen in the region of the isle-aux-coudres. he will land you there, and you will then have no difficulty in rejoining your countrymen. if monsieur wolfe has arrived, pray give him my best compliments, and tell him that i hope his health is improved, and that if we should meet once again it will be as friends." "i will not forget to do so, madame," answered fritz. "i myself look forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of that great soldier. i should not have dared to think that i might approach him myself; but since julian is his friend, i shall not be denied his presence." corinne was listening to the talk with eager interest; now she broke in with a smile: "and tell monsieur julian that if he should repeat his strategy of louisbourg here at quebec, and steal into the city in disguise, i hope he will come to see us here. we are very well disposed towards the english, my aunt and i. we should have a welcome for him, and would see that he came to no harm." madame drucour laughed, and patted the cheek of her niece. "make no rash promises, little one. the game of war is a fiercer and more deadly and dangerous one than thou canst realize as yet. it may be our privilege to shelter and succour a hunted foe; but tempt not any man to what might be certain destruction. spies meet with scant mercy; and there are indians in this city who know not the meaning of mercy, and have eyes and ears quicker and keener than our own. monsieur and his friends had better now remain without the city walls, unless the day should come when they can enter them as conquerors and masters of all." she drew herself together and gave a little, quick, shuddering sigh, as though realizing as those never could do who had not seen war what must inevitably be ere such an end could be accomplished. fritz took her hand and carried it to his lips. "if such a day as that come, madame," he said, "be very sure that my first duty and privilege will be to protect you and yours from harm. adieu; and if i can ever repay your kindness to me, be sure the opportunity shall not be neglected." chapter : the defences of quebec. excitement reigned in the city. there had been a cry of fear earlier in the day. men had rushed through the streets, crying aloud in every tone of consternation: "the english fleet! the english fleet!" but this had proved a false alarm. the sails seen advancing up the great waterway were those of friendly vessels, laden with provisions for the city, and great rejoicings were held as the supplies were carried into the storehouses by the eager citizens and soldiers. colin, running hither and thither picking up news, came running back at short intervals with tidings for his sister and aunt. "they all say the english fleet has sailed from england, and may be here any day; but at least we shall not starve yet. we have a fine consignment of provisions brought in today." next time he came he had another item of information to give. "our general, monsieur de montcalm, met me in the street just now, and bid me say that he purposed to take his supper with us this evening, as there are certain matters he would discuss with my uncle, and with you, dear aunt, who have seen so much of warfare. he asked me if it would be convenient for you to receive him, and i said i was sure that it would." "quite right, my child," answered madame drucour; "i shall deem it an honour to entertain the brave marquis. i have a great respect for him, both as a man and a soldier." "yes: they all speak well of him, and they say that the governor, vaudreuil, treats him shamefully, or at least traduces him shamefully behind his back to the government in france. he is jealous because monsieur de montcalm is so much better a soldier than he. his jealousy is mean and pitiful. i hear things that make my blood boil!" "yes: monsieur de montcalm has had to exercise great patience and self restraint. we all honour him for it," said the abbe, looking up from his breviary. "his has been a difficult post from first to last, and he has filled it with marked ability. the governor seeks to take to himself all the credit of success throughout the colony and the war, and to heap upon montcalm all the blame wherever there has been discomfiture and defeat; but from what i can learn, the minister of france is not deceived. the powers of the campaign are vested mainly in the hands of the general of the forces, let the governor rage as he will." colin and corinne stood at the window watching the hubbub down in the lower town and along the quays. they could obtain a fair view from the upper window, where the girl spent so much of her time; and whilst the abbe and madame drucour talked of public matters and the political outlook, colin poured broadsides of information into the ears of his sister. "they say that the english ships can never navigate the waters of this great river!" he cried. "i was talking with the sailors on the vessels which have come in. they dare not bring their own ships up without a pilot on board. if the english try to sail their great battleships up through the shoals and other perils, they will assuredly, say the men, run them upon the jagged edges of the sunken reefs and wreck them hopelessly. i was telling them that the english are better sailors than ever the french will be; but they only laughed grimly, and bid them come and see what their sailor craft could do without pilots in the mouth of the st. lawrence. i should grieve if the noble vessels were wrecked and stranded in the traverse, which they say is the most dangerous part of all. but the sailors are very confident that that is what will happen." "i don't believe it!" cried corinne, with flashing eyes. "the english have always been masters of the sea; have they not won themselves the name of 'sea dogs' and 'sea rovers' even from their enemies? the walls and guns of quebec may prove too much for them, but not the navigation of the st. lawrence." "so i think," answered colin eagerly; "but that is what the men say. "the french are always something overconfident and boastful, i think," said corinne gravely. "they like to win their battles before they fight them, and beat back the foe before he appears. but we shall see--we shall see." colin and corinne were both much interested in the general of the forces, monsieur the marquis of montcalm. in addition to being a very excellent soldier--brave, capable, merciful, and modest--he was a very delightful and charming companion in any social gathering; and towards corinne he showed himself especially tender, telling her, with the tears standing in his eyes, how much she reminded him of the little daughter he had left at home, mirete; whom he feared he should never see again. "for my aide-de-camp, m. de bougainville, lately returned from france, has brought me sad news. one of my daughters has died--he could not ascertain which; but i feel sure it is my little mirete, who was always delicate and fragile. i loved her very much; she was such a clinging little thing, and had soft brown eyes like yours, my dear. i did not think, when i left my wife and children in our happy home at candiac, that i should be detained here so long, or that death would have visited my house ere i returned. we were so happy in that far away home in france; my thoughts are ever turning back thither. pray heaven i may soon bring this war to a successful termination, and may then return to end my days in peace in that fair spot, surrounded by those i love so well!" this little speech touched corinne's heart, and she lifted her face and gave the bereaved father a kiss of sympathy, the tears hanging upon her own long lashes. he squeezed her hand and returned the salute with warmth. yet the next minute he was the soldier and the general all over, as he seated himself at table and proceeded to discuss the situation of affairs with the abbe and his hostess. "my policy," he explained to them, "will be one of defence, not of attack. what we must set ourselves to do is to prevent any landing of english troops upon the north bank of this river anywhere near the city. i had thought at first of making the plains of abraham, behind the city, the basis of my encampment. but this, as you know, has been given up, and the north bank of the river, through beauport and right away to the river and falls of the montmorency, has been selected. "when you are sufficiently recovered, my friend, i should like to take you to see our position. our right rests upon the st. charles, our left upon the montmorency. quebec is thus secured from any advance by land. her own guns must protect her from any attempt by sea. no vessel should or ought to pass the rock without being instantly disabled, if not sunk. by disposing our forces in this way, and remaining upon the defensive, we shall have our foes in a vice, so to speak. the risk of disembarking and trying to fight us will be immense. they will lose ten men to our one in every encounter. and if we can play this waiting game long enough, the storms of winter will come down upon us, and the admirals will have to withdraw their fleet to some safe harbourage, and we shall have saved quebec!" "yes," said the abbe--"that sounds a wise and wary policy; but will the canadian militia be patient and obedient during the long period of inaction? they are accustomed to a sort of fierce, short forest warfare, quick marches, hand-to-hand fights, and the freedom to return to their homes. how will they like the long imprisonment in the camp, without being brought face to face with the foe? the canadian soldiers have always given trouble; i fear they will do so again." "if they become troublesome," said montcalm, with a tightening of the lips, "they will be told that the indians shall be loosed upon their lands and farms to harry and destroy! mutineers are accorded scant mercy. monsieur de vaudreuil has made up his mind how to deal with them in such case." the abbe stroked his chin thoughtfully. "if we alienate the canadians, and have only the regulars to fall back upon, we shall be very short handed." "true; but i do not anticipate such a contingency. the canadians are no more desirous of seeing england's flag waving over their lands than we are ourselves. they may be rebellious and discontented, but they will hardly go further than that." "it is ill work fighting with discontented soldiers," said madame drucour thoughtfully. "very true, madame. i often wish we had better material for our army. i abhor the indians, and distrust the canadians. but what can we do? france has sore need of all her soldiers for her european wars. what can she do for us here out in the western wilds? she has her hands full at home." "and yet," said the abbe, "if she loses her hold upon these same western wilds, she will lose that new kingdom upon which her eyes have been greedily fastened for two centuries or more. she has claimed half the world as her own; will she lose all for the sake of some petty quarrel with her neighbours?" montcalm smiled and slowly shook his head. "our royal master has his hands something too full at times," he said; "yet we will do our best for him out here." "and if general amherst with his great army should succeed in capturing ticonderoga and crown point, and should advance upon us by the interior, and steal upon us from behind, what then?" asked the abbe, who, having come from that part of the world, and knowing the apprehensions of the french along the western border, was not unmindful of this possible danger. montcalm's face was grave. "that will be our greatest danger," he said. "if that should take place, we shall have to weaken our camp along the river and send reinforcements to the small detachments now placed along the upper river. but the english were routed at ticonderoga once; let us hope it will happen so a second time." "general amherst is a very different commander from general abercromby," said the abbe gravely; and madame drucour added her testimony to the abilities of the general who had commanded at the siege of louisbourg, although the dash and energy of wolfe had been one of the main elements of strength to the besiegers. "yet i have confidence in our good boulamaque," answered montcalm. "he will do all that can he done to check the advance of the invaders and hold out fortresses against them. we have had our disasters--far be it from me to deny it--but ticonderoga is strong, and has long held her own; i think she will do so once again." "and will you remain within the walls of quebec yourself, my dear marquis? or is it true what i hear--that your headquarters will be with the camp at beauport?" "my place is here--there--everywhere!" answered montcalm, with a smile and a meaning gesture. "within the city the chevalier de ramesay will hold command with sixteen thousand men. for my part, i shall occupy myself chiefly with the army along the river banks. the first peril will certainly lie there. the town is unassailable, but a landing will probably be attempted somewhere along there. the enemy must be driven back with loss and confusion each time such an attempt is made. that will discourage them, and inspire our men with hope and courage. we have also prepared fire ships at no small cost, to be launched and fired at convenient seasons, and sent adrift amongst the enemy's ships. the sight of their burning vessels will do something to discourage the english. they put their trust in their ships. we will show them what a warm welcome we have waiting for them here!" "and our own vessels," asked the abbe--"what of them? will any naval battle he attempted?" "no. the governor has given orders that they shall disembark their men for the defence of the town, and the ships themselves will be sent some distance up the river out of harm's way. we have kept some of the best for fire ships; the rest will remain at a distance, beyond the river richelieu." "you think, then, that no british ship can pass the guns of the town?" montcalm's face was a study of calm confidence. "i only wish they might attempt it," he said. "we would sink them one by one, as a child's boats could be sunk by throwing stones upon them. the english have a task before them the magnitude of which they have little idea of. first they have the river itself to navigate; then they have the guns of quebec to settle with. let them take their choice between scylla and charybdis; for of a certainty they lie betwixt the two." indeed the guns of quebec were formidable enough. next day montcalm took madame drucour and her niece and nephew a tour of inspection about the town, and up to one of the heights which gave them a panoramic view of the city and its defences, both within and without. the batteries of the town bristled with formidable guns; the town itself swarmed with soldiers--regulars, militia, indians. from the adjacent country men of all ages had come flocking in, eager to bear arms against the foe. the bishop had issued a mandate to his flock, urging them to rally round their leaders, and never surrender the fair domain of canada to the heretic usurper. there was plenty of enthusiasm now amongst the canadians they came flocking into the camp in great numbers. all were hardy fellows, trained to a certain sort of rough fighting from their very childhood. they were invaluable in forest warfare, as had been proved again and again. but they lacked the stamina of the regular soldier. they were invariably unsteady when exposed to fire in the open, and they were impatient of discipline and control. vaudreuil was always loud in their praise, trying to give them the credit of every successful engagement. but montcalm reposed much more confidence in his regular soldiers; although he gave these others their due when they had proved of service to him. it was a wonderful sight to see the lines of defence stretching right away from the river st. charles, close to the promontory on which quebec was built, to that other invisible gorge where the wonderful cataract of the montmorency flung its waters into the greater st. lawrence below. opposite was the height of point levi, with its smaller batteries; and away on the left, in the middle of the vast, sea-like river, could be distinguished the western end of the isle of orleans. earthworks, batteries, redoubts seemed to bristle every where. squadrons of men, like brilliant-hued ants, moved to and fro upon the plains below. the tents of the camp stretched out in endless white spots; and the river was dotted with small craft of all sorts conveying provisions to the camp, and doing transport duty of all kinds. "he will be a bold man who faces the fire from our batteries, i think," said montcalm, looking with a calm complacency upon the animated scene; and then he turned and pointed backwards behind him to cape diamond, fringed with its palisades and capped by parapet and redoubt. a bold foe indeed to face the perils frowning from every height upon which the eye could rest. madame drucour's face slowly brightened as she took in, with eyes that were experienced in such matters, the full strength of the position occupied by the city of quebec. "in truth, i scarce see how the enemy could effect a landing anywhere--could even attempt it," she said. "and yet we said the same at louisbourg--till they landed where none of us thought they could do, and took us in the rear!" and her eyes sought the steep, precipitous banks of the river after the town had been passed, as though asking whether any landing could be effected there, if some ships should succeed in the daring attempt to pass the guns of the town, and find anchorage in the upper river. montcalm followed her glance with his, and seemed to read the thought in her heart. "all these heights will be watched," he said. "although i have no fear of any vessel being foolhardy enough to attempt the passage, or clever enough to succeed in passing the guns of the fortifications, i shall leave no point unwatched or unguarded. quebec shall not fall whilst i have life and breath! if the victor marches into the city, it will be across my dead body!" later upon that very day a fresh excitement occurred. madame drucour and her niece and nephew were in the pleasant upper room of their house, talking over the things they had seen and heard that day, when the clamour in the street below roused them to the consciousness that something unwonted was afoot; and colin ran below, eager to know what the matter could be. in a few minutes he returned, his face full of animation and eager interest. "they have taken three prisoners!" he exclaimed--"english midshipmen all of them. you know our boats are scouting all round the isle-aux-coudres, where durell and his contingent of ships from louisbourg are lying waiting for the english fleet." "yes, yes," cried corinne eagerly; "we know that! but where are the prisoners?" "they are below, in the house. they brought them to the abbe, our uncle. they profess not to speak french, these lads, but i think they understand it fast enough. "come down and hear their story, my aunt; and you also, corinne. they have been left in our care by the order of monsieur de montcalm, that we may win from them all that they know, respecting the strength of the english fleet. let us go and hear what they say." "how came they to be taken?" asked madame drucour, as she rose to accompany colin. "they were taken on shore. they had left their ship, perhaps without leave, and were amusing themselves upon the island. the men in our boat watched them, and presently landed cautiously and surrounded them. they made a gallant struggle, but were captured at length. and now they have been brought to us that we may get from them all the information we can. our uncle is talking to them even now. i want to hear, and i want corinne also to hear what they say." "and the poor lads will doubtless be hungry," said madame drucour, always thoughtful for the comfort of others; "we will set food before them as they talk. they shall see that we are not harsh captors." it was three bright-faced, bronzed english lads that they found in the lower room with the good abbe. he had induced the rest of the people to disperse, and was now alone with the captives. the lads seemed quite disposed to be talkative, and when the lady entered bearing food, their eyes brightened; they stood up and made their bows to all, and fell upon the victuals with a hearty goodwill. "strong! i should think it was strong," cried the eldest of the three, in response to a question from the abbe respecting the english squadron on the way: "why, there are more than thirty ships of the line, and with frigates, sloops-of-war, and transports they must number over fifty. then we have ten fine ships under admiral durell, waiting to join the main fleet when it comes; and there is another squadron under admiral holmes, which has gone to new york to take up the troops mustered in new england for the reduction of quebec. oh, it will be a grand sight, a grand sight, when it comes sailing up the waters of the st. lawrence! quebec, i dare wager, has never seen such a sight before!" the faces of all the lads were full of animation and pride. they appeared to have no fears for their personal safety. they were enthusiastic in their descriptions of the wonderful feats which the world would soon see, and when once started on the subject were ready to talk on and on. "they have fifteen or sixteen thousand men--picked troops--with the gallant wolfe in command," cried another. "you have seen something already of what wolfe can do when he is set upon a task!" madame drucour made a little sign of assent; she had learned that lesson herself very fully. the lad made her a courtly bow, for he knew her well, having been at the siege of louisbourg, and having seen her when he had entered the fortress to view it after the surrender. "madame drucour is herself a soldier; she can appreciate the talents of the soldiers," he said. "well, we have wolfe coming, and with him three gallant brigadiers--moncton and townshend and murray. they all say that each one of these is as valiant as the great wolfe himself, and as full of ardour." "and then our guns!" chimed in the third. "why, we have guns enough to batter down these old walls as children batter down their card houses! you know what english guns did at louisbourg, madame! well, we have bigger and heavier ones coming from england--such guns as have never been seen in this country before; and such shells--why, you can hear the scream of them for miles. you will hear them soon singing and screaming over quebec if you try to hold it against wolfe!" corinne and colin exchanged glances. it seemed indeed to bring the thought of war very near when this sort of talk went on. the abbe was thoughtfully stroking his chin, debating within himself whether all this was a bit of gasconade on the part of these middies, or whether it represented the actual facts of the case. madame drucour made quiet answer, saying: "but quebec has also its guns, my young friends; quebec can make fitting reply to english guns. and ships are more vulnerable than our thick walls. the game of war is one that both nations can play with skill and success. if you have a wolfe on your side, we have a montcalm on ours!" "oh yes; we have heard of the marquis of montcalm. he is a fine old fellow; i wish we could see him." "you have your wish, gentlemen!" spoke a new voice from the shadowy corner by the door, where the twilight was gathering. the company started to their feet and saluted the great man, who advanced smiling, motioning them to be seated. corinne kindled the lamp, and the general looked about him and sat down at the table opposite to the three youths. "i hear you are from the english squadron," he said; "i have come to ask you as to its strength. tell me frankly and candidly what you know, and i will undertake that your captivity shall not be a rigorous one." he spoke in french, and the abbe interpreted, although he suspected that the lads understood a good deal more of that language than they professed to do. they were willing enough to repeat what they had said before as to the overwhelming size and equipment of the fleet on its way from england--of the valour of men and officers, of wolfe's known intrepidity and military genius, and of the excellent, far-carrying guns and their equally excellent gunners. montcalm listened with bent brow and thoughtful mien. the lads appeared to speak with confidence and sincerity. they evidently believed that the fall of quebec was foreordained of heaven; but it was possible they might be misinformed as to the true strength of the fleet, and had perhaps, consciously or unconsciously, exaggerated that. at any rate they were not reticent: they told everything they knew and perhaps more. they gloried in the thought of the fighting to come, and seemed to take their own captivity very lightly, evidently thinking it only a matter of a few weeks before they could be exchanged or released--before their countrymen would be marching into quebec. "and as soon as general amherst has got ticonderoga, he will march here to help us, if we are not masters here first!" was the final shot of the senior midshipman. "not that wolfe will need his help in the taking of quebec, but he will want a share in the glory of it. and all new england, and all those provinces which have been asleep so long, are waking up, eager to take their share now that the moment of final triumph is near. there are so many fine troops waiting to embark that admiral holmes will probably have to leave the half behind. but they will follow somehow, you will see. they are thirsting to avenge themselves upon the indians, and upon those who set the indians on to harry and destroy their brothers along the borders!" the abbe translated this also into french, making a little gesture with his hand the while. "i knew that retribution must sooner or later follow upon that great sin," he said. "were it not for my feeling on that score, i should have firmer hopes for quebec. but god will not suffer iniquity to go long unpunished. we have drawn down retribution upon our own heads!" montcalm made a gesture similar to that of the abbe. "i have said so myself many a time," he replied. "i hated and abhorred the means we have too often used. it may be that what you say is right and just. and yet i know that i shall not live to see quebec in the hands of the english. i can die for my country, and i am willing to do so; but i cannot and i will not surrender!" "so they said at louisbourg," muttered one of the midshipmen to colin, showing how easily he understood what was passing; "but they sang to a different tune when they had heard the music of our guns long enough!" the marquis was talking aside with the abbe and madame drucour. when the colloquy was over, the abbe addressed the midshipmen. "monsieur de montcalm is willing to release you on parole, and my sister, madame drucour, will permit you to remain in this house during your stay in the city. you must give up your dirks, and pass your word not to try to escape; but after having done this, you will be free to come and go as you will. and if the english should take prisoners of our french subjects, you shall be exchanged upon the first opportunity. these are the terms offered you by monsieur de montcalm as the alternative to an imprisonment which would be sorely irksome to youths such as you." the lads looked at one another. it was a promise rather hard to give, since there would be so many excellent opportunities for escape; but the thought of imprisonment in some gloomy subterranean portion of the fortress, even with the faint chance of effecting an escape from thence, was too sombre and repelling. they accepted the lenient terms offered, passed their word with frank sincerity, and handed over their weapons with a stifled sigh. "we will show you the city tomorrow," said colin, when he took their guests up to the lofty where they were to sleep in company. "my sister and i are half english ourselves. i sometimes think that in her heart of hearts corinne would like to see the english flag floating over the towers of quebec." "hurrah for mademoiselle corinne!" cried the lad peter, throwing his cap into the air. "i thought you two looked little like the dark-skinned frenchies! we shall be friends then, and when the town falls we will take care that no harm comes to you. but we mean to have quebec; so you may make up your mind to that!" chapter : mariners of the deep. "i must go! i must go!" shouted colin, bursting into the house, mad with excitement and impetuosity. "my uncle, you will let me go! i must see this great and mighty fleet for myself. they say it is coming up the mighty river's mouth. some say it will be wrecked ere it reach the isle of orleans! let me go and see it, i pray, and i will return and tell you all." the whole city was in a ferment. for long weeks had the english fleet been watched and waited for--for so long, indeed, that provisions were already becoming a little scarce within the town, in spite of the convoy which had arrived earlier in the year. so many mouths were there to feed that the question of supply was causing anxiety already. still with care there was enough to last for a considerable time. only the delay of the english vessels had upset the calculations of the men in charge of the commissariat department, and the people had to be put upon rations, lest there should be a too quick consumption of the stores. this had caused a little murmuring and discontent, and the long waiting had tried the citizens more than active work would have done. it had given montcalm time to fortify his camp very strongly, and make his position all that he desired; but it had been a wearisome time to many, and the canadian troops were already discontented, and wearying to get away from the life of the camp, back to their own homes and fields and farms. but now hot midsummer had come, and with it the. english foe. a fast-sailing sloop had brought word that the junction of the squadrons was taking place just off cape tourmente, and colin was wild to take boat and go to see the great ships. "they are saying that they must all be wrecked in trying to navigate the traverse," cried the boy; "but peter and paul and arthur laugh to scorn the notion, and say that we do not know what sort of men the english mariners are. some say that admiral durell has already captured the pilots who live there, ready to take the french ships up and down. let me go and learn what is happening. let me take a boat, and take peter and paul and arthur with me. they know how to manage one as well as any sailor in the town. let us go, my uncle, and bring you word again." the boy was set on it; he could not be withheld. moreover, the abbe and madame drucour were keenly anxious for news. "be careful, my boy, be cautious," he said; "run not into danger. but i think thou art safe upon the river with those lads. you will take care of one another, and bring us word again what is happening." "oh, i will come back safe and sound, never fear for me!" answered the boy, in great delight. "we will bring you news, never fear! we will see all that is to be seen. oh, i am glad the day of waiting is over, and that the day for fighting has come!" "would that i were a boy like you, colin!" cried corinne, with sparkling eyes. "it is hard to be cooped up in the city when there are such stirring things going on outside. but i will up to the heights and watch for the sight of sails; and you will come back soon, colin, and tell us all the news." nevertheless it was a hard task for the eager girl to remain behind when her brother and their three merry friends went forth in search of news. by this time the english midshipmen were quite at home in their new home, and the blithest of companions for the brother and sister there. they did much to foster the sympathies of colin and corinne for the english cause. the boys told of england and the life there, and were so full of enthusiasm for their country that it was almost impossible not to catch something of the contagion of their mood. both colin and his sister had seen much to disgust and displease them amongst the french; whilst round their foes there seemed to be a sort of halo of romance and chivalry which appealed to the imaginative strain in both brother and sister. their british blood could not fail to be stirred within them. they saw and heard of corruption, chicanery, and petty jealousy all round them here. it was hardly to be wondered at that they inclined to the other side. england and scotland were uniting together for the conquest of this western world. their mother's countrymen were fighting the battle. they had the right to wish them success. corinne rehearsed all this to herself as she stood upon the lofty heights behind the town that afternoon with her uncle and aunt. they were looking with anxiety and grave misgivings at the clustering sails dimly seen in the distance upon the shining water of that vast estuary. montcalm himself had come up to see, and stood with his telescope at his eye, watchful and grave. "we have made a mistake," he said to the abbe in a low voice. "i did speak to the governor once; but he was against the measure, and we permitted it to drop. but i can see now it was a mistake. we should have planted a battery--a strong one--upon cape tourmente, and bombarded the ships as they passed by. we trusted to the dangerous navigation of the traverse, but we made a mistake: english sailors can go anywhere!" the abbe made a sign of assent. he remembered now how the general had made this suggestion to the governor, and pressed it with some ardour, but had been met with opposition at every point. vaudreuil had declared that it would weaken the town to bring out such a force to a distant point; that they must concentrate all their strength around the city; that they would give the enemy the chance of cutting their army in two. montcalm had yielded the point. there was so much friction between him and the governor that he had to give way where he could. vaudreuil was always full of grand, swelling words, and boasts of his great deeds and devotion; but men were beginning to note that when face to face with real peril he lost his nerve and self confidence, and had to depend upon others. it was thus that he opposed montcalm (of whose superior genius and popularity he was bitterly jealous) at every turn when danger was still distant, but turned to him in a fluster of dismay when the hour of immediate peril had come, and had been made more perilous by his own lack of perception and forethought whilst things were less imminent. "yet look at our lines of defence!" he exclaimed, after he had finished all the survey he could make of the distant sails crowded about the isle of orleans. "where could any army hope to land along this northern shore? let them fire as they like from their ships; that will not hurt us. and we can answer back in a fashion that must soon silence them. the heights are ours; the town is safely guarded. the summer is half spent already. let us but keep them at bay for two months, and the storms of the equinox will do the rest. when september comes, then come the gales--and indeed they may help us at any time in these treacherous waters. you mariners of england, you are full of confidence and skill--i am the last to deny it--but the elements have proved stronger than you before this, and may do so again." corinne listened to all this with a beating heart, and asked of her aunt: "what think you that they will first do--the english, i mean?" "probably land and make a camp upon the isle of orleans, which has been evacuated. a camp of some sort they must have, and can make it there without damage to us. it will make a sort of basis of operations for them; but i think they will be sorely puzzled what to do next. they cannot get near the city without exposing themselves to a deadly fire which they cannot return--for guns fired low from ships will not even touch our walls or ramparts--and any attempt along the shore by beauport will be repulsed with heavy loss." "yet they will do something, i am sure," spoke the girl, beneath her breath; and she was more sure still of this when upon the morrow colin returned, all aglow with excitement and admiration, whilst the three midshipmen had much ado to restrain their whoops of joy and triumph. "i never saw such a thing!" cried colin, his face full of delight and enthusiasm, as he and the midshipmen got corinne to themselves, and could talk unrestrainedly together; "i feel as though i could never take sides against the english again! if they are all such men as that old sailing master killick, methinks the french have little chance against them." "hurrah for old killick! hurrah for england's sailors!" cried the midshipmen, as wildly excited as colin himself; and corinne pressed her hands together, and looked from one to the other, crying: "oh tell me! what did he do?" "i'll tell you!" cried colin. "you have heard them speak of the traverse, and what a difficult place it is to navigate?" "yes: monsieur de montcalm was saying that no vessel ever ventured up or down without a pilot; but he said that a rumour had reached him that some pilots had been taken prisoners, and that the english ships would get up with their help." "with or without!" cried peter, tossing his cap into the air. "as though english sailors could not move without frenchmen to help them!" "some of them took pilots aboard; indeed they were sent to them, and had no choice. but i must not get confused, and confuse you, corinne. i'll just tell you what we did ourselves. "we heard a great talk going on on board one of the transport boats called the goodwill, which was almost in the van of the fleet, i suppose because the old sailing master, killick, was so good a seaman; and so they had sent a pilot out to her, and he was jabbering away at a great rate--" "just like all the frenchies!" cut in paul; "calling out that he would never have acted pilot to an english ship except under compulsion, and declaring that it was a dismal tale the survivors would take to their own country--that canada should be the grave of the whole army, and the st. lawrence should bury beneath its waves nine-tenths of the british ships, and that the walls of quebec should be lined with english scalps!" "the wretch!" cried corinne. "i wonder the sailors did not throw him overboard to find his own grave!" "i verily believe they would have done so, had it not been for strict orders from the admiral that the pilots were to be well treated," answered arthur. "our english admirals and officers are all like that: they will never have any advantage taken of helpless prisoners." "i know, i know!" answered corinne quickly; "that is where they teach the french such a lesson. but go on--tell me more. what about old killick? and where were you all the while?" "holding on to the side of the transport, where we could see and hear everything, and telling the sailors who were near about quebec and what was going on there. but soon we were too much interested in what was going on aboard to think of anything else. "old killick roared out after a bit, 'has that confounded french pilot done bragging yet?' and when somebody said he was ready to show them the passage of the traverse, he bawled out: "'what! d'ye think i'm going to take orders from a dog of a frenchman, and aboard my own vessel, too? get you to the helm, jim, and mind you take no orders from anybody but me. if that frenchman tries to speak, just rap him on the head with a rope's end to keep him quiet!' "and with that he rolled to the forecastle with his trumpet in his hand, and got the ship under way, bawling out his instructions to his mate at the wheel, just as though he had been through the place all his life!" "had he ever been there before?" asked corinne breathlessly. "no, never. i heard the commanding officer and some of the gentlemen on board asking him, and remonstrating; but it was no use. "'been through before! no, never,' he cried; 'but i'm going through now.' "then they told him that not even a french vessel with an experienced sailing master ever dared take the passage without a pilot, even though he might know it well. whereupon old killick patted the officer upon the back, and said, 'ay, ay, my dear, that's right enough for them; but hang me if i don't show you all that an englishman shall go at ease where a frenchman daren't show his nose! come along with me, my dear, and i'll show you this dangerous passage.' "and he led him forward to the best place, giving his orders as cool and unconcerned as though he had been in the thames itself. the vessel that followed, hearing what was going on, and being afraid of falling into some peril herself, called out to know who the rash sailing master was. 'i am old killick!" roared back the bold old fellow himself, hearing the question, 'and that should be enough for you!' "and he turned his back, and went on laughing and joking with the officer, and bawling out his orders with all the confidence of an experienced pilot." "o colin! and did he make no mistake? and what did the pilot say?" "oh, he rolled up his eyes, and kept asking if they were sure the old fellow had never been there before; and when we had got through the great zigzag with never so much as the ghost of a misadventure, and the signalling boats pointed to the deeper water beyond, the old fellow only laughed, and said, 'ay, ay, my dear, a terrible dangerous navigation! chalk it down, a terrible dangerous navigation! if you don't make a sputter about it, you'll get no credit in england!' "then lounging away to his mate at the helm, he bid him give it to somebody else; and walking off with him, he said, 'hang me if there are not a thousand places in the thames fifty times worse than that. i'm ashamed that englishmen should make such a rout about it!' and when his words were translated to the pilot, he raised his hands to heaven in mute protest, and evidently regarded old killick as something not quite human." "hurrah for the old sea dog! that's the kind of mariner we have, mademoiselle corinne; that's the way we rule the waves! hurrah for brave old killick! we'll make as little of getting into quebec as he did of navigating the traverse!" the story of the old captain's prowess ran through quebec like lightning, and produced there a sensation of wonder not unmixed with awe. if this was the spirit which animated the english fleet, what might not be the next move? it was quickly known that the redoubtable wolfe had landed upon the isle of orleans, and was marching in a westerly direction towards the point three or four miles distant from the city where he would be able to obtain a better view than heretofore of the nature of the task to which he was pledged. "let him come," said the marquis of montcalm grimly; "let him have from thence a good view of our brave town and its defences! perchance it will be a lesson to him, in his youthful pride. he thinks he is a second hannibal. it will cool his hot blood, perchance, to see the welcome we are prepared to accord to the invaders of our soil." in effect there was another sort of welcome awaiting the english fleet; for upon the next day one of those violent squalls for which these northern waters are famous swept over the great river st. lawrence, and in the town of quebec there were rejoicing and triumph. "now let the british mariners look to themselves!" cried the people, shaking fists in the direction of the invisible fleet, which they knew was anchored off the south shore of the great island. "we shall soon see what they can do against one of our canadian tempests! pray heaven and all the saints that it may sink every one of them to the bottom, or grind them to pieces upon the rocks!" "pooh! not a bit of it," cried the midshipmen in contempt, though they watched the storm with secret anxiety. "as though english-built vessels could not ride out a capful of wind like this! see, it is clearing off already! in an hour's time it will have subsided. as though our anchors would not hold and our sailors keep their heads in such a little mock tempest as this!" luckily for the english fleet, the squall was as brief as it was violent; nevertheless it did do considerable damage to the ships at their anchorage, and flying rumours were brought in as to the amount of harm inflicted. certainly some considerable damage had been done, but nothing beyond repair. it had not daunted one whit the hearts of the invading foe. montcalm came into the city that evening, and supped with the abbe and madame drucour. he was not without anxiety, and yet was calm and hopeful. "the tempest did not last long enough to serve our turn as we hoped. the governor trusted it would have destroyed the whole fleet; but from what i can learn, nothing was really lost except a few of the flat-bottomed landing boats used in the disembarkation of the troops. the english are certainly notable sailors; but it is with her soldiers that we shall have more directly to deal. still, i wish we could have sunk her ships; it would have placed her on the horns of a dilemma." "i have heard," said the abbe, "that the governor talks of destroying the fleet by fire. he has made considerable preparation for such an attempt." montcalm smiled slightly. "true; he has been busy with his fire ships for some while. for my own part, i have but limited faith in them. they have cost us a million, and i doubt whether they will prove of any service; yet vaudreuil is very confident." "the governor is wont to be confident--till the moment of actual peril arrives," said the abbe thoughtfully. "well, we shall see--we shall see. when are these notable fire ships to be sent forth?" "i think tomorrow night," answered montcalm, "but that is a matter which rests with the governor. i have no concern in it; and when such is the case, i offer no advice and take no part in the arrangements. doubtless i shall see what is going on from some vantage point; but monsieur de vaudreuil will not take counsel with me in the matter." "fire ships!" cried the midshipmen, when colin told them what he had heard; "do they think to frighten english mariners with fireworks and bonfires? good! let them try and see. and o colin, good colin, if they are going to send down fire ships upon the fleet, let us be there to see!" colin desired nothing better himself. he was all agog to see the thing through. and why should they not? it was not difficult to obtain a boat, and in the darkness and confusion the four lads would easily be able to follow the fire ships and see the whole thing through. the midshipmen could navigate a boat with anyone, and colin had learned much of their skill. all day they were often to be seen skimming about the basin of the st. lawrence, prospecting about for news, and watching the movements of the english soldiers on shore, or of the fleet anchored a few miles farther off. they had only to steal away unnoticed, and take to their boat before the excitement began, and they could follow the phantom ships upon their mysterious way, and watch the whole attempt against the english fleet. "ah, but take me," cried corinne, when she heard the discussion--"do take me! it is so hard to be a girl, and see nothing! i will not be in your way. i will not scream and cry, or do anything like that. i only want to watch and see. i shall not be afraid. and i want so much to see something! i know i could slip away without anyone's knowing or missing me. only say you will take me!" "of course we will take you, mademoiselle corinne," cried paul, with boyish gallantry; "why should you not see as well as we? i have a sister margery at home who would be as wild to go as you can be. she is as good as a boy any day. wrap yourself well up in a great cloak, so that you may keep warm, and so that nobody can guess we have a lady on board, and we will take care of you, never fear!" corinne clapped her hands gaily; although growing to maidenhood, she had the heart of a child, and was full of delight at the thought of anything that promised adventure and excitement. "how good you are! and pray call me not 'mademoiselle' any more; call me corinne--all of you. let me be an english girl, and your sister; for, in sooth, i feel more and more english every day of my life. sometimes i fear that i shall be hanged for a traitor to the cause; for i find myself on the side of our english rivals more and more every day!" the compact thus sealed was easily carried out. the abbe and his sister, madame drucour, were keenly interested in the attempt of the fire ships against the english fleet, and were to watch proceedings from the steeple of the recollet friars. the daylight lasted long now, and supper was over before the shadows began to fall; and the excited lads were able to wait till the seniors had started forth before they made their own escape down to the harbour. corinne wrapped herself in a long black cloak, drawing the hood over her head, and thus disguising herself and her sex completely from any prying eyes; but indeed they scarcely met anyone as they hurried along through the narrow streets to the unfrequented wharf, where the boys had brought up the boat earlier in the day. quickly they were all aboard, and were gliding through the darkening water, whilst the crowd gathered at quite a different part of the harbour showed where the launch of the fire ships was going on. colin described them as well as he could. "there are three or four big ones, and monsieur delouche is in command; and then there is a great fire raft, as they call it--a lot of schooners, shallops, and such like, all chained together--a formidable-looking thing, for i got one of the sailors to show it me. i suppose they are all pretty much alike, crammed with explosives and combustibles; old swivels and guns loaded up to the muzzle, grenades, and all sorts of things like that, some of them invented for the occasion. we must give these fellows a wide berth when once they are set alight; for they will burn mightily, and shower lead and fire upon everything within reach. i only trust they may not do fearful damage to the english ships!" "not they!" cried peter, with a fine contempt in his voice. "the frenchies are safe to make a muddle of it somewhere; and our bold jack tars won't be scared by noise and flame. you'll soon see the sort of welcome they will give these fiery messengers." the night darkened. there was no moon, and the faint wreaths of vapour lay lightly upon the wide waste of waters. corinne gazed about her with a sense of fascination. she had never before been so far out upon the river; and how strange and ghostlike it appeared in the silence of the night! ten o'clock struck from the clocks in the town behind them, and colin turned back to look towards the harbour. "they were to start at ten," he remarked. "let us lie to now and watch for them. we must give them a wide berth, but not be too far distant to see what they do." corinne gazed, breathless with excitement, along the darkening water. the silence and increasing darkness seemed to weigh upon them like a tangible oppression. they could hear their own excited breathing; and all started violently when arthur's voice suddenly broke the silence by exclaiming: "i see them! i see them--over yonder!" the boat in which the eager lads and equally eager girl were afloat was drifting about not very far distant from the point of orleans, where were an english outpost and some english shipping, although the main part of the fleet was some distance further on. the watchers expected that the ghostly ships, gliding upon their silent way, would pass this first shipping in silence and under cover of the darkness, and only begin to glow and fire when close to the larger part of the hostile fleet. yet as they watched the oncoming vessels through the murk of the night, they saw small tongues of flame beginning to flicker through the gloom, and run up the masts and sails like live things; and all in a moment came a smothered roar and a bright flashing flame which, for the few seconds it lasted, showed the whole fire fleet stealing onwards, and the boats by which the crews of them were making good their escape. "they have fired them too soon!" cried colin, in great excitement. "i know they were not to have done it till they had passed the point and got well into the south channel, where all the shipping lies." "hurrah!" cried peter, waving his cap; "did we not say that the frenchies would make a mess of it? they may be good for something on land; but at sea--" there was no hearing the end of the sentence; for with a roar like that of a volcano in eruption one of the ships burst into a mass of flames, whilst the rest became lighted up by the glare, and were soon adding to the conflagration--the fire racing up their masts and rigging, and showing them against the black waters like vessels of lambent flame. "how beautiful, yet how terrible!" cried corinne, as she gazed with fascinated eyes. "but look--look--look--look how the water is torn up with the shower of lead that falls from them! are they not like fiery dragons spouting out sheets of fire? oh, and listen how they hiss and roar! are they not like live things? oh, it is the most terrible thing i have ever seen. how glad i am that they are not running amongst the english ships! they are beautiful, terrible creatures; but i think they are doing no hurt to anything." "and look yonder!" cried peter, pointing landwards in great excitement; "see those long red lines drawn up on shore! those are our english soldiers, all ready to receive the foe should they seek to land under cover of this noise and smoke and confusion. as though our british grenadiers would be scared by false fire like yon fireworks!" "and see, see again!" yelled paul, still more excited--"see our sailors getting to their boats! they are going to row out and grapple those flaming monsters. see if it be not so. they are drifting down a little too near our few ships. you will see now for yourself, corinne, the stuff of which our mariners are made!" "oh surely, surely they will not go near those terrible vessels!" cried corinne. "yes, but they will," cried arthur, watching their movements keenly; "oh, would i were with them to help! see, see! they are getting their grappling irons into the boats. that means they are going to grapple these blazing ships, and tow them somewhere out of harm's way. hurrah for england and england's sailors! now you will see what our answer will be to these fiery messengers." corinne clasped her hands in mute wonder and amaze as the boats shot off from shore, bearing straight down upon the great fire raft--the most formidable of all the fleet--which was spouting flame and lead, and blazing like a live volcano, roaring the while like a veritable wild beast, as though animated by a demon of fury. "they never can go near it; they will be burned alive!" cried the girl, in affright. but the midshipmen watched the tactics of the boats with eyes full of eager comprehension. "they will tackle it somehow, you will see," cried peter. "see, they are getting round to the leeward of it, and they will lie off till it has finished its most deadly spouting. but it is drifting down upon the ships at anchor. they will never let it get amongst them. you will see--you will see! o brave jack tars, show the mettle you are made of in the eyes of all quebec this night!" corinne could scarcely bear to look, and yet she could not turn her eyes away. the english sailors, laughing and joking the while, swarmed round the fiery monster in their boats, singing out to one another, and at favourable moments flinging their grappling irons and sheering off again. "all's well! all's well!" they kept calling out, as one after another they fixed their hold; then with united and manful effort, and with a sing-song sound which came rolling over the water with strange effect, they commenced towing their blazing prize away from the ships she was nearing rather too threateningly, whilst great shouts and rounds of cheering went up from those afloat and ashore. "oh, well done, well done, brave men!" cried corinne, roused to a keen enthusiasm; and in one of the pauses of the cheering, when silence had fallen upon the spectators owing to a sudden vicious outrush of flame, which seemed for a moment as though it must overwhelm the gallant english tars, a voice came from one of the tow boats, calling out to a companion in another: "i say, jack, didst thou ever take hell in tow afore?" the monster raft, flaming and sputtering, together with the other fire ships beyond, was coolly towed ashore by the intrepid sailors, and all were left to burn away harmlessly upon the strand, where they could hurt nothing; whilst peals of laughter and cheering went up from the english camp. "poor monsieur de vaudreuil!" exclaimed colin, as he prepared to sail back to the dark city, "i wonder if he has seen the fate of his vaunted fire ships?" chapter : hostilities. "alas! alas!" wailed the townsfolk, when the news of the fiasco of the fire ships was made known, "those dogs of english are too much for us upon the water; but let them attempt to meet us on land, and we will show them what we can do!" "do they think french soldiers are the only ones who can fight?" asked arthur, with a note of wondering scorn in his voice, as the sense of these words came to him. "well, they will have their wish fast enough, i doubt not! wolfe is here; and if he cannot fight, write me down an ass! they have seen what the sailors can do; now we will show them what our soldiers are good for!" "don't boast, arthur," quoth peter, the eldest of the trio; "we can do without great swelling words. the french boast themselves into the belief that they hold this whole vast continent in possession. we must not be like them, and seek to boast ourselves into quebec! we will wait till our flag is flying from yon battlement, and then it will be time enough to talk." "all right," answered arthur gaily; "i'll wager it will not be long before we see it there!" "only don't let our townsfolk hear you saying that," said corinne, laughing, "else they may be disposed to set you hanging there instead!" and at that retort a laugh was raised against arthur, who was a little disposed to gasconade, and to an unmerited scorn of the valour of their french rivals. "nor will quebec be taken in a day, nor a week, nor a month," added corinne, "if all we hear be true. monsieur de montcalm has no intention, it is said, of meeting your wolfe in battle. he means to lie behind these strong walls, and yonder formidable earthworks which protect his camp, and wear out the patience of the foe till the autumn storms force them to leave these coasts for a safer harbourage. there will be no fighting in the open, they say; all will be done by the guns cannonading us, and by ours returning the fire. it may be grand and terrible to watch, but it will not bring things quickly to an issue." "yet wolfe will contrive something to keep the foe busy, or i am much mistaken," cried peter. "doubtless a pitched battle is what he would most desire; but if that is not to be, he will find a way of harassing his foes. never fear, corinne; you will see enough of war before long--trust my word for that!" "enough, and too much, perchance," said the girl, with a little, quick sigh; "my aunt tells me that war is a fearful game to behold. sometimes my heart sinks within me at what is about to befall. and yet i am glad to be here; i would not be elsewhere. i long to see this great struggle and watch it through. all say that quebec is the key of canada. whichever nation holds quebec will be master of the whole vast province." "ay, and wolfe knows that as well as the french themselves. his cry has always been, 'to quebec!' "and yonder he is, within a few miles of his goal! now we shall see what he can do." in truth they were very soon to see and feel for themselves in the city what wolfe could and would do. a day or two later sounds of excitement and alarm in the street proclaimed that something fresh was afoot, and colin with his comrades darted out to learn the news. the citizens were gathering together and running for places which commanded a view over the river, and those who had telescopes or spyglasses were adjusting them with trembling hands, pointing them all in one direction--namely, towards the heights of point levi opposite, where the river narrowed itself till it was less than a mile wide. "what is it?" cried colin to a man with a glass at his eye. "the english soldiers are there!" he answered; "i can see their red coats swarming up the heights. holy virgin protect us! they are making fascines and gabions. they are going to bring up their guns. they will be able to lay the houses of the lower town in ruins, even if they cannot touch the fortifications. why did not the governor leave a stronger force over yonder to protect us?" that question was being passed from mouth to mouth by the anxious and frightened townspeople. they had been full of confidence and courage up till now; but the news that wolfe had taken point levi, and was bringing up guns and intrenching himself upon the heights, filled them with apprehension. "what are our guns doing that they do not open fire and dislodge them?" cried one voice after the other. "where is the marquis of montcalm? why does he not take steps for our defence?" montcalm was indeed coming post haste to the city, seeing clearly the menace in this action of the english general. he bitterly regretted having left the defence of point levi to the canadian contingent there; for the canadians were very uncertain soldiers, and were easily discouraged, though if well led and generalled they could be of great service in certain kinds of warfare. but it was known that the canadians were already beginning to look upon the english as their possible new rulers; and some of them were disposed to regard a change of masters almost with indifference, so long as they were not interfered with in their own possessions. it was quite likely they had only made a very half-hearted resistance to the english foe; at least one thing was certain--wolfe had gained possession of these heights with singularly little difficulty. but montcalm was not going to let him remain there if he could by any means dislodge him. hardly had the general entered the fortress before corinne heard, almost for the first time, the strange screaming noise of a shell hurtling through the air, and the next moment there were gushes of smoke from a dozen places along the fortifications, as the great guns were pointed and fired and the balls and bombs went flying across the great river, to fall amongst the busy toilers on the opposite height, carrying death and destruction with them. eagerly was the result of the fire watched and waited for. the citizens cried out to those with glasses to tell them the result. "they take no notice," cried one man who was commandingly posted; "they toil on without so much as a pause. the fire has not touched them yet; the guns are pointed too low. they are bringing up their own guns now; they have one battery almost complete. in a few hours they will be ready to return our fire. can nothing be done to stop that? our houses and churches will be knocked to pieces, and our town destroyed! the general says that this will do them no good--they cannot touch the citadel and fortifications; but are we to have our homes destroyed about our ears? we men of quebec will not stand that!" fear and indignation were filling all hearts. why had point levi been so poorly defended? why had it been left such an easy prey to the foe? who was to blame? governor or general--vaudreuil or montcalm? the balance of opinion was in favour of the general, whose known ability and personal charm had rendered him popular with the citizens, whilst vaudreuil commanded but little respect or confidence. still, whoever was to blame, the fact remained. the town was in terrible danger of a ruinous bombardment, and the efforts now made to beat back and dislodge the enemy met with no sort of success. on and on they toiled. the shot and shell certainly fell amongst them after a while, but seemed in no whit to disconcert them. the canadian soldiers regarded with amaze this cool intrepidity. they themselves could be bold in forest warfare, with shelter all around them; but they were never steady in the open under fire, and could hardly credit how any soldiers could pursue their tasks unmoved by the leaden rain descending upon and about them. "the devil and his angels must be protecting them!" cried the women, crossing themselves in fear; but the english midshipmen laughed aloud. "what do they think soldiers are for, if not to do their duty in the teeth of danger and difficulty? they are a strange people, these canadians. surely the french troops would face peril as steadily if they were put to it?" "oh yes," answered colin; "the french regulars fight exceedingly well. has not that been proved a thousand times on european soil? but the plaint of our general is that france sends him so few men, and that the indians and canadians are not of the same value, save in certain classes of warfare and in their native forests. the governor is, however, so jealous for the honour of his canadians, that he seeks in his dispatches to give all the credit of victory to them. so it is natural that the french minister should be chary of sending out regulars, which are so urgently needed over there for the war. monsieur de montcalm has told my uncle many things on this very point. he is always urging the government to send us more men, but he can only get the half of what he needs. perhaps, in days to come, france may regret that she did not listen better to his representations. we shall have need of good men if this city is to be held for her against the english." when the lads reached their home, they found the abbe and his sister deep in talk. corinne had been listening with attention, but now she turned eagerly to the lads, to ask what news they brought. their tale was soon told, and all faces were grave. "it will be a disastrous thing for the city to be bombarded," said the abbe. "it may not bring the capitulation any nearer, but it will harass and dishearten the citizens. i am truly sorry for them; they will certainly suffer. it should have been better managed than that those opposite heights should fall so easy a prey to the foe. again that is the mismanagement of the governor." "several boats have come over from the opposite shore," whispered corinne to her brother, "bringing news of what happened there. there has been little enough resistance to the english soldiers. a party landed at beaumont, sending in front a band of rangers, who had a little scuffle with some canadians in the woods, and drove them off. the soldiers landed, and a placard was posted upon the door of the church. it was signed by wolfe. it told the canadians that if they would stand neutral in the coming struggle, they should have full protection both of their persons and property, and undisturbed liberty of religion; but warned them that if they presumed to take up arms against the english, their houses and goods should be destroyed and their churches despoiled. this placard the canadians removed when the soldiers had gone, and have brought it to quebec for the governor to see." "and what says he?" "nay, we know not, but it has caused a great commotion in the town. if the canadians do not stand by the french in this struggle, the english must needs be victors." "ay," spoke the abbe, whose face was very grave, "and the case is but an evil one for them, as they begin to see. already they are weary of the war. they love not the life of the camp or the waiting which is now imposed upon them. they are longing already to get back to their homes and their farms, and see after their crops and harvests. yet if they refuse service under their masters the french, they are threatened with indian raids; and if they fight the english, they are now threatened with their fury and vengeance. it is small wonder that they are perplexed and half-hearted. we shall have trouble with them, i fear me, ere the battle has been fought and won." trouble was certainly menacing the town. there was no immediate danger of its falling into the enemy's hands; but he was putting himself in a position from which he could inflict irritating and harassing injury to the town, and was making evident and active preparations to do so. the military authorities, who looked at the larger issues of affairs, regarded with perhaps a little too much coolness the prospect of the destruction of some churches and a large number of houses and other buildings, consoling themselves with the knowledge that the fortifications would not suffer greatly, and that wolfe would be no nearer taking quebec after he had laid in ruins the homes of the citizens. but the exasperation of these individuals was great, and their fear rose with every hour which passed. they saw that batteries were being erected, intrenchments thrown up; that their fire was no check to the activity of the foe; and that before very long the storm of shot and shell would be returned with interest, and would fall upon their city, making terrible havoc there. something must be done! that was the word on all lips. in warlike days even peaceful citizens are not altogether ignorant of the arts of war, and the burghers in the streets were mustering strong together, every man of them armed, their faces stern and full of determination as they moved all together to one of the open squares in the city, and the place soon presented a most animated appearance. not citizens alone, but pupils from the seminaries, canadians from the other shore, and a sprinkling of soldiers had joined the muster. every man carried arms, and when they had assembled to the number of between one and two thousand, a loud call was made for the governor. when vaudreuil appeared, looking harassed and anxious, it was explained to him that the burghers of the city demanded leave to make a determined effort to save their houses and property from destruction. would the governor grant them an experienced officer to lead them? they would then cross the river at night, make a compass round the english camp, and set upon them from behind at dawn, whilst the guns from the town opened fire in front. caught thus between two fires, and attacked front and rear, they must quickly be dislodged and annihilated; and the citizens would make themselves masters of these hostile batteries, which they would take good care should never fall into english hands again. their request was granted. an officer of considerable experience, dumas by name, was told off to head the expedition, and a good many regular soldiers, who volunteered for the service, were permitted to accompany them. dearly would the three midshipmen have loved to be of the party, to see all that went on, but they knew they must not make such a suggestion. they were known in the town as prisoners on parole. it would appear to all that they meditated escape. but they urged upon colin to try to see it all, and bring word again what had befallen. colin was nothing loth. he longed to be in the thick of the struggle. moreover, he was well known to the citizens, and was loved for his own sake as well as for that of his uncle the abbe, who went daily to and fro amongst the agitated people, seeking to calm their fears and to inspire them with courage and hope. "i will go!" he cried. "watch you from this side, and mark how the gunners do their work at dawn. if all goes well, our signal for attack will be the sound of the guns opening fire upon yonder batteries. and yet i shall scarcely wish to see the english dislodged. i do not want our town laid in ruins; yet i truly believe the english rule would be a benefit to this distracted realm. their own colonies, if report speaks truth, are far more flourishing and strong than any france has ever planted. you have the knack of it, you britons. sometimes i doubt whether we shall ever learn it." "don't say 'we,'" cried arthur. "you are more than half an englishman already, and we will teach you to be one of us before we have done. you neither look nor speak nor act like a frenchie. of course here in quebec, amongst your own acquaintances and friends, you will feel to belong in some sort to them; but once we get you into english ranks, you will soon forget that you ever were anything but an englishman at heart." colin was almost ready to believe this himself, though he scarcely liked to put it so broadly, lest it should seem like treachery to his own family and friends. he was possessed of a very keen admiration for british pluck and boldness and audacity. the things he had heard and seen had fired his enthusiasm, and he was quite of the opinion that were the free choice to be one day his, he would choose to throw in his lot with the english invaders of canadian soil. to watch how this game of skill and address was to be played out between the two powers was now his great aim and object, and he was eager to be a spectator in the next scene of the drama. his way was made quite easy; for the abbe himself resolved to accompany the expedition, and watch from a distance the effect of the combined attack upon the english batteries. he would have been better satisfied had montcalm been consulted; but he was away at beauport, and if the citizens were to achieve anything, it would be better for them to strike whilst the iron was hot. another day and the leaden storm might have opened upon the city, and the heart might be taken out of them. all was now hurry and confusion--too much confusion for the approval of the abbe, who, with the officer in command and the regular troops, sought to allay it, and to infuse more of discipline and organization into the arrangements. colin ran back to say farewell to corinne and madame drucour; and they bid him be careful of himself, and come back amongst the first to bring them news. after promising this colin departed, and the night fell upon the town--a restless night for those within its walls; for there was scarce a house but had contributed its one or more members for the expedition, and all knew that the salvation of their homes depended upon the success of the attack. it was a hot, dark night, and there was little sleep in the city. it would be impossible to hear at that distance, even if some hand-to-hand fighting were to take place on the opposite bank. the wind set the wrong way, and only if the big guns boomed out would they be likely to know that the english had been aroused. eagerly was the dawn waited for, when the city guns would give the expected signal; but the dawn came so wrapped in fog, and it was not quite as early as was expected that the boom and roar from the fortifications told that the gunners could sight the opposing batteries. the blanket of fog seemed then to roll up and away, leaving the glistening river lying like a sheet of silver at their feet. but what was the meaning of that crowd of boats all making for the city as fast as oars and sails could bring them? it was hardly six o'clock in the morning, and the attack could not well have been commenced before five. what, then, were they doing, hurrying back in their boats like hunted hares? those with telescopes, watching from the heights above, declared that the english were pursuing their occupations with the most perfect unconcern, that they were bringing up more guns, and that the batteries were now so well planted and defended that the city guns did no harm. shell away as they might from quebec, no effect was produced upon their solid earthworks; and it was abundantly evident that very soon they would he in a position to open fire upon the hapless city. down to the river level rushed the excited people, to meet the returning boats. such a clamour of inquiry, response, anger, and disappointment arose that at first nothing could be made out. the midshipmen cleared a path for the abbe and colin through the gathering crowd; and as soon as they were fairly within the walls of their home, they began to tell the dismal tale. "it was just a fiasco from first to last!" cried colin. "it was as our uncle said: there was no order or discipline or preparation. one might as well have sent out a pack of children to do the work!" "what happened?" cried corinne breathlessly. "why, nothing but a series of gross blunders. we got across all safe, and landed unopposed. the seminary scholars were over first, and marched off up the hill before the rest came. we got separated in that way, and almost at once one felt that a sort of panic had got hold of the people. the burghers who were so anxious to come now got frightened, and were most difficult to get into order. dumas and the regulars did their utmost; but it was plain that the people were scared out of their lives lest the english should suddenly appear and attack them. after a long time we got into a sort of order, and began the march, when all of a sudden there were a crash and a blaze, and everything was thrown into confusion. they yelled out that the english were upon them, and headed for the boats." "o colin--the men who were so keen to fight!" cried corinne; whilst the midshipmen doubled themselves up with laughter, exclaiming beneath their breath: "o gallant burghers of quebec!" "it was disgraceful!" cried colin hotly; "and more disgraceful still was it that the fire came from our own side--from the seminary scholars, who had gone in advance; a thing they had no business to do. but this was not the worst--at least it was not the end of the bungling; for if you will believe me, the same thing happened three distinct times. twice more after we had got the men formed up again, and were leading them up the hill behind the english guns, did those wretched seminary scholars mistake them for the enemy and fire into their ranks. the last time they killed a score or more, and wounded quite a large number of others. that was too much. the men turned tail and fled helter-skelter back to the boats, and there was no getting them back after that. the scholars, too, when they heard what they had done, were seized with panic, and joined the rout. "i never saw such a scene in my life as the opposite shore presented just as the dawn was breaking and the first gun boomed out, and we knew that we ought to have been marching in compact order along the crest of the hill to fall upon the gunners from behind. well, if this is how quebec manages her affairs, she deserves to have her houses battered in. we shall soon have the answer from the english batteries, and we shall deserve it, too!" colin was right. the iron storm began all too soon, and proved to the full as destructive as had been feared. churches and houses were laid in ruins, and disastrous fires broke out, consuming others. the unhappy occupants of the lower town fled from the smoking ruins, some to take refuge with friends in the upper town, which was considerably less exposed; others to fly into the open country beyond, where they trusted to be safe from the english invader. as the military authorities had proclaimed, this destruction did not materially affect the position of the belligerents--the english could not get much nearer their object by shelling the town--but it did much to dishearten the citizens, and produced a strong moral effect of depression, and murmurs even arose in isolated quarters that it would be better to surrender than to be destroyed. moreover, disquieting reports came from other places. the camp of montcalm extended, as has been said, from the river st. charles to the falls of montmorency. that great gorge was considered protection enough, and it was believed that no enemy would be rash enough to try to cross the river higher up; indeed, it was popularly supposed that there was no ford. nevertheless it soon became known that wolfe had effected a landing upon the farther shore of the montmorency; that he was fortifying a camp there, and had found and was now holding a ford in the river above, whence, if he chose, he could cross and fall upon the camp at beauport. there had been some argument at first as to the advisability of dislodging him before he had made himself strong enough to resist attack. the intendant had given his voice in favour of the attack; but for once the governor and the general had been of one mind, and had decided against it. "let him stay where he is," said montcalm, after he had surveyed the position; "he can do us little harm there. if we dislodge him, he may find a footing elsewhere, and prove much more dangerous and troublesome. if he tries to get across to us, we shall have a welcome ready!" so, though parties of canadians and indians harassed the english in their camp, and were met and routed by the gallant rangers, who always accompanied the english forces, the soldiers remained in their intrenchments, and took little notice of the rival camp. sometimes under flags of truce messages passed between the hostile camps. "you will no doubt batter and demolish a great part of the town," wrote montcalm on one occasion, "but you will never get inside it!" "i will have quebec," wrote back wolfe, "if i stay here till the winter. i have come from england to win it. i do not go back till my task is done." some smiled at that message; but madame drucour received it with a little shivering sigh. "ah," she exclaimed, "i have seen monsieur wolfe; i can hear him speak the words! somehow it seems to me that he is a man who will never go back from his resolve. if he has made up his mind to take quebec, quebec will be taken!" book : without quebec. chapter : in sight of his goal. wolfe stood rapt in thought beside the batteries upon point levi. from his own camp at the montmorency falls he had come over in a boat to visit brigadier moncton's camp, opposite the city of quebec; and now he stood surveying the town--and the havoc wrought upon its buildings by his cannon--with a glass at his eye, a look of great thoughtfulness and care stamped upon his thin face. near at hand, ready to answer if addressed, was brigadier moncton, a brave and capable officer; and a little farther off, also watching the general and the scene spread out before him, stood a little group of three, who had come across with wolfe in the boat, and who were, in fact, none other than our old friends, fritz neville, julian dautray, and humphrey angell. it had been an immense joy to these three men to meet together in the camp of wolfe round about quebec. julian had accompanied the expedition from england, fritz had joined admiral durell's contingent whilst it was waiting for junction with the fleet from england, and humphrey had come to join them in the transport ships from new york, bringing news of friends in philadelphia, where he had passed a portion of the time of waiting. now these three comrades, so long parted, and now brought together by the chances of war, were almost inseparable. wolfe had appointed them posts about his own person, having taken for fritz almost the same warm liking that he had from the first felt towards julian and humphrey, and which, in the case of julian, had ripened into a deep and ardent friendship. whilst the young general was making his survey, rapt in thoughts which as yet he kept to himself, the three comrades spoke together of the war and the outlook. "it will be a hard nut to crack, this city of quebec," said humphrey; "they were all saying that in philadelphia as i left. yet all men say that quebec is the key of canada. if that falls into our hands, we shall be masters of the country." "and if our general has set his mind upon it, he will accomplish it," said julian briefly. "he is a wonderful man," said fritz, with a look of admiration directed towards the tall, slim figure of the soldier; "would that his body were as strong as his spirit! sometimes when i look at him i fear that the blade is too keen for the scabbard. that ardent spirit will wear out the frail body." "that is the danger," said julian gravely; "but it is wonderful what he can compel that frail body to go through. he will rise from an almost sleepless night of pain and exhaustion, and do the work of a man in sound health, infusing life and energy and enthusiasm into everyone with whom he comes in contact! truly the king's words about him contained a great truth." "what words?" asked fritz. "why, you know that this wolfe of ours is but a young man, gallant enough, but far younger and less known than many another of half his capacity. you know, too, that the duke of newcastle, to whose blundering we owe half our misfortunes in the west, was never known to make a wise selection of men for posts of command, and was shocked and alarmed when he heard that pitt had appointed a comparatively young and untried man for the command of such an expedition as this. he once said testily to the king that pitt's new general was mad. "'mad is he?' quoth his majesty, with a laugh; 'then i hope he will bite some more of my generals!'" fritz laughed at the sally. "in truth we could have done with some more of that sort of madness amongst the leaders of those border wars which have ended so disastrously for us. but in very truth the tide did turn, as the abbe messonnier had foretold, when pitt's hand was placed upon the helm of england's government. so much has been accomplished already that i myself do not believe we shall turn our backs upon these scenes before quebec is ours." "that is what they say in philadelphia," cried humphrey--"that quebec must and shall fall. if general amherst can but capture ticonderoga and crown point, he will march to our assistance by land. then the french will be caught between two armies, and the nut will be cracked indeed! did i tell you that our kinsman benjamin ashley has declared that, directly quebec falls, he will come and visit the great city of which so much has been spoken, to see for himself the great work? if he does this, he will bring his wife and susanna with him. you cannot think how keenly alive the philadelphians are becoming to the glory it will be to rid canada of french rule, and found an english-speaking colony there. the quakers still stand aloof, and talk gloomily of the sin of warfare; but the rest of the people heed them no whit. they have furnished and equipped a gallant band to join general amherst, and they are kindling with a great enthusiasm in the cause. even our old friend ebenezer jenkyns has been talking great swelling words of warlike import. he would have joined the militia, he says, had not his father forbidden him." "it is well they have awoke at last," said fritz, a little grimly; "but it would have been better had they done so before their border was harried, and their brothers and countrymen done to death by the bands of indian marauders." at which saying humphrey's face grew dark; for there was stamped upon his brain one scene the memory of which would never be effaced, though it should be a thousandfold avenged. "i would that charles could have lived to see the day when the english should enter the city of quebec!" he spoke beneath his breath; but fritz heard him, and answered with thoughtful gravity: "perhaps it were not true kindness to wish him back. his death blow was struck when his wife and children perished. the days which remained to him were days of sorrow and pain. the light of his life, the desire of his eyes, had been taken away. he lived but for an act of vengeance, and when that was accomplished, i believe he would have faded out of life had it not been that his own life was extinguished at the same time as that of his foe." humphrey made a silent sign of assent. he could not speak much even yet of the tragic fate of his brother, or of the events which had led to it. fritz turned the subject by speaking of john stark and the rangers, asking humphrey what had been known of them since the breaking-up of the band after the disaster of ticonderoga. "i saw stark," answered humphrey eagerly. "have i not told you before? ah well, we have not much time for talking these busy days. yes, i saw stark; he came to visit his kinsfolk of the inn when i was in philadelphia. he has gone now with amherst's party. he will join rogers, i suppose; and, doubtless, the rangers will again do good service, as they do everywhere. he was in half a mind to come north with the expedition for quebec, but decided that he would be of more use in country every foot of which was familiar to him. but he declared that, if once ticonderoga were to fall, he would bring us the news faster than any other messenger. how he will come, and by what route, i know not; but this i know, that if there is a victory for english arms yonder in the west, and if john stark be not killed, the sight of his face amongst us here will be the sign to us that the victory has been won." "and right welcome will be the sight of his face," cried fritz, "be his news what it may. john stark is one of the best and bravest men i know. i have told our general many a tale of him and his prowess. wolfe will have a welcome for him if he ever appears here." wolfe seemed to have finished his survey. he took the glass from his eye and looked round him. moncton was at his side in a moment. he, in common with all who fought with and under him, had a great admiration for the gallant young general. "moncton," said wolfe, in a voice loud enough for the other three to hear plainly, "i want to get some ships past the city into the upper reach of the river. the french general will not fight. i give him chance after chance against me, but he does not take it. he thinks a waiting game will serve his turn best, and perhaps he is right. but we must leave no stone unturned to harass and perplex him. i want a footing in the upper reach of the river. i want to get some vessels past the town." moncton drew his lips together in a silent whistle. "will not the town batteries sink them like logs as they pass?" he asked. "they will, if they see them. they have left the river free of vessels; they trust entirely to their guns. but our sailors have done bolder deeds before this than the passing of some batteries upon a dark night. if you were to cover their advance by a furious cannonade upon the town, do you not think we could slip a few past those frowning batteries, and make a new basis of operations for ourselves in the upper reach of the river, above the town?" moncton's eyes glistened. it was a daring project, but it was not without promise of success. such things might be done, and yet there was serious risk. "it will weaken us in one way," pursued wolfe, speaking in his quiet, meditative fashion. "as it is, we are divided into three camps--one here, one at montmorency, and one on the isle of orleans. if we carry out this plan, we shall be divided into four; and should any pressing danger menace any one of those four camps, it might be some while before assistance could be sent. and yet i am more than half disposed to try. montcalm does not appear to have any intention of attacking us. and if we weaken ourselves, we shall also weaken him by this movement. at present he is concentrating his whole strength in and below the city. if we get a footing on the upper river, he will have to send a contingent there to watch us. whether we have any reasonable hope of getting at the city in that way, i cannot yet tell; i know too little of the character of the ground. but at least we shall have won a strategic victory in getting our ships past the guns of quebec; and we shall cause consternation and alarm there, even if nothing else." "i will cover the movement with all the power of my guns," cried moncton eagerly; "and if the thing can be done, our sailors will do it; they are in no whit afraid of the enemy's guns. and look--if the ships get through, why not let our red-coats and blue-jackets drag a fleet of boats across the base of this point levi, along the low ground yonder, and launch them in the river above, where they can join the ships and bring them reinforcements of men? then we shall have means of transporting men and provisions to these vessels, and the sight of them upon their upper river will further dishearten the citizens of quebec, who have been very well punished already by our guns." "yes," answered wolfe. "i would sooner have shattered the citadel than the houses and convents; but we must e'en do what we can in this game of war. but your idea is excellent, moncton. if the ships succeed in making the passage, the boats shall certainly be brought across, as you suggest. it will be a strategic triumph for us, even though we do not reap immediate fruit from it. and if once amherst can march to join us, it will be everything to have shipping in the upper river." "and you are hopeful that he will?" "if he can make good his position upon the lakes and in the west. i have information that things are going well for us there; but so far no definite news of the capture of ticonderoga has reached us. it is rumoured that niagara is attacked, and is likely to pass into our hands. there is no doubt that the french all along the western boundary are in extremity. if quebec goes, all will go; they will have no heart to hold out. but, on the other hand, if we are beaten here, and are forced to retreat unsuccessfully, it will have a great moral effect throughout canada." "canada is becoming very half-hearted towards its french masters," said moncton. "we hear a good deal from prisoners brought to the camp by our scouts. we had one brought in the other day--a cunning old rascal, but by no means reticent when we had plied him with port wine. he said that they were sick to death of the struggle, and only wished it over one way or the other. they would be glad enough to stand neutral, and serve either french or english according as the victory went; but their priests threaten them with spiritual terrors if they do not fight for the cause of holy church, as they term it, whilst the military authorities threaten them with the indians, and we, on the other side, with the destruction of their farms and houses if they interfere in any way with us. their case is certainly a hard one." "it is," answered wolfe; "but, all the same, i am not going to permit any infringement of the orders i have laid down. if the people will stand neutral or help us, they shall have protection and all reasonable help if the indians attack them; but if they prefer to obey their french masters or their priestly tyrants, and harry and worry us, i keep my word, and i send out harrying parties to drive off their cattle and bring themselves prisoners to our camps. no violence shall be done them; no church shall be violated; not a finger shall be laid upon any woman or child. if outrages are committed by my soldiers, the men shall instantly be hanged or shot. but i will have no infringement of my commands. what i say i mean. i have posted up my intentions. the people know what they have to expect. the free choice is theirs. if they will not take the offered protection, they must abide by the consequences." inflexible firmness was written upon the thin face of the young general. cruelty was abhorrent to him whatever form it took; but he could be stern and rigorous in the prosecution of any plan which had been adopted after careful consideration. he knew that the greatest blessing to the canadians would be the termination of this long and wearing war. from his heart he believed that transference from french to english rule would be the happiest possible change of fortune for them. therefore he did not shrink from any measures which should tend to bring about this consummation; and whilst giving them every opportunity to save themselves and their property by aiding or at least not interfering with or opposing his measures, he made it abundantly plain that, if they persisted in inimical courses, they would be treated as enemies. the idea of effecting a passage of the city and forming a camp, or at least a flotilla, above the town was a matter which afforded much discussion and excitement throughout the english ranks. the daring of it appealed to all hearts, and the sailors when they heard it were keen for the enterprise, confident of success were only a dark night to be chosen for the attempt. old killick, with his hands in his pockets, rolled up and down his deck, chewing a quid of tobacco, and giving his opinions on the subject. "pass quebec! bless you, my dears, i'll undertake to pass the town guns any hour of the day or night you like to send me. what a rout they did make, to be sure, about their old river! they make just such a rout about their precious guns! what english ship ever feared to pass a french battery yet? give me a capful of wind, and i'll undertake to get my boat past whilst the frenchies are trying to get their guns pointed low enough to sink me! the soldiers have been having their turn for a bit; it's time we had one now. we've had nothing to amuse us since those pretty fireworks the frenchies were kind enough to get up for us the other week! oh that they should think to scare us with such toys as that! oh my, what fools some men can be!" with wolfe resolution was speedily followed by action. no sooner had he made up his mind what he meant to do than preparations were instantly set on foot. he came down in person to inspect the fleet, and discuss with the admirals what ships should be chosen for the service. finally, the sutherland was selected as the ship to run the gauntlet, on account of her sailing capacities and the excellence of her sailing master and crew. a frigate was to accompany her, and several smaller vessels, one of which, to his great satisfaction, was killick's; and he was permitted to lead the way, as his shrewdness and skill in nautical matters were well known throughout the fleet. colonel carleton, a promising and experienced officer, was in charge of the troops. but wolfe himself could not be far away. he was to watch everything from point levi, and in the event of success to superintend the passage overland of the flotilla of boats; and in one of these he purposed himself to join the expedition in the upper river, and make a careful survey of the defences there. dearly would he have liked to make one of the daring party who were to run the gauntlet of the french batteries, but he knew his responsibilities as general of the forces too well to expose himself rashly where he could not take the lead. he must trust to the sailors for this thing; his turn would come later. all was in readiness. the selected vessels were lying at anchor, ready to loose from their moorings when the sun had sunk. wolfe in his light boat, managed by humphrey and fritz, had made a tour of inspection, and was now speeding across the water towards point levi, up the heights of which several additional powerful guns had been carried earlier in the day to assist in the cannonade planned for the night. little was spoken by the general or his subordinates. wolfe had been suffering much during the past days from acute rheumatism, and from the inward malady which gave him little rest night or day. his face looked very thin and drawn, but the fire in his eyes was unquenchable, and it was plain that his mind was not with himself, but with the enterprise, carefully thought out and courageously planned, which was to be attempted that night. "take me as near to the town batteries as is safe," he said; and the boat's head was directed towards the northern shore. "i believe it will be done," he said, after a keen inspection of the batteries through his glass. "the guns are almost all pointed towards point levi. if the ships make good way with wind and tide, as they should, they will glide so fast along that, even if sighted, they will almost have passed before the guns can be depressed sufficiently to be dangerous." then they made for point levi, and wolfe stepped ashore, to be received by moncton, who escorted him to the batteries to see their preparations. the three friends, released from attendance upon him, took up a position from which they could command a view of what passed, in so far as the darkness of night should permit them any view. a pall of cloud hung in the sky, and the shades of evening fell early. yet it seemed long to the anxious watchers before the darkness blotted out the view of the distant city, and of the panorama of dancing water beneath. generally the guns from point levi boomed all day, but were silent at night, leaving the camp to repose. but though they had ceased to fire at sundown, darkness had no sooner fallen than the iron mouths opened in a prolonged and terrific roar, a blaze of yellow light glowed along the batteries, and the watchers from the strand heard the huge shells screaming overhead as they hurtled through the air, carrying with them their terrible messages of death and destruction. the noise was terrific; the sight was terrible in its fierce grandeur. the three companions had seen many strange and fearful things during the past years, but perhaps they had never before been quite so near to a battery spouting out its leaden rain in great broad flashes of lambent flame. julian and fritz could not turn their eyes from the magnificent sight; but humphrey, after one glance, turned his upon the dark waterway, and it was his voice that spoke at last in accents of keen emotion. "here come the ships." the others could not see for a while--their eyes were dazzled; and in the roar and rattle of artillery overhead nothing could be heard of the silent advance of those darkened hulls as they slipped like ghosts through the water. they were as close to the south bank as it was safe to keep, and followed killick's sloop with as much precision as possible. the strong tide beneath them, and the light, favouring wind, bore them past at a rate that the spectators had scarcely expected. they could just descry the dark, looming objects gliding swiftly and silently along. but would the gunners in quebec see them? the onlookers held their breath as the phantom ships sailed upon their way. they were passing the blazing batteries now, and the cannonade was more furious than ever. the guns of quebec were blazing back. but was the fire directed only at the opposite heights? or had the flitting sails been seen, and would the iron rain pour upon the gallant vessels making the daring passage? fritz felt such an oppression upon his heart that he could scarce draw his breath; but moments came and moments went, and the ships glided unharmed upon their way. they had all passed the batteries now. they were in the very narrowest part of the channel, just where the town batteries commanded the passage. humphrey could stand it no longer. "to the boat," he cried, "to the boat! yonder she lies! let us follow and make sure, and bring the general word!" in a moment the three had rushed down, and were running their boat into the water. next minute the sail was up, and the light little craft was cutting through the black river at a gallant pace. now she had caught up the last of the silent string of daring cruisers; now she was gliding by the large warship. all was safe, all was silent on the water; only overhead the hurtling bombs and balls roared and boomed. the gunners of quebec had not sighted the stealthy ships. the town knew nothing of what was being done under cover of that furious cannonade. and now the batteries had been safely passed; the lights of the town upon the right were beginning to fade in the distance. a sudden rift in the clouds let through a glancing beam of moonlight, which fell full upon the figure of old killick as he stood upon the forecastle of his vessel, preparing to let down the anchor as arranged when a safe place had been found. the old sea-dog had convoyed the party as cleverly as he had navigated the dangerous channel of the traverse. he pulled out his battered sou'wester and waved it in the direction of quebec. "bless you, my dears! how well you do sleep! you ought to be sound and hearty, i'm sure. good luck to you, every man of you at the guns! bless my soul! if i were the markiss of montcalm, when i awoke in the morning to see the english ships in the basin above the town, i'd hang every mother's son of them each to his own gun! but poor fellows, it would be hard to blame them. they can't help being born frenchmen and fools after all!" a laugh and a cheer from those who heard greeted old killick's sally; and humphrey, quickly turning round the prow of the boat, sent her speeding back to point levi, to bring certain tidings of the success to wolfe. chapter : days of waiting. "i am sorry that you should have to be disturbed, dear ladies, but it is no longer safe for you to remain where you were. my soldiers require the ground. but tomorrow you shall be sent in safety to quebec, under a flag of truce. you will be safer there than at pointe-aux-trembles, now that my ships are in the upper river." wolfe spoke thus at the conclusion of a supper party, which he had hastily got up for the benefit of the prisoners brought to point levi by his fleet of boats. the soldiers had landed along the upper river, and in spite of a faint resistance from indians and canadians, had effected a landing. though they had not found much in the way of stores or cattle, they had taken what they could, and had brought a number of prisoners to wolfe's camp. these were mostly french--a great number being women and children and old men who had left quebec during the bombardment, and sought refuge in the outlying village. the idea of being sent back to town was not exactly palatable, but it was plain that there was now no safety along the upper river; the english troops seemed to be everywhere at once. "you are such dreadful people, you english!" sighed one lady, looking, not without admiration, towards the youthful general, who was entertaining them at his own table, and who had given the strictest orders that the humbler of the prisoners should be equally well treated elsewhere: "you seem to fly from point to point, to divide your army as you will, and conquer wherever you appear. it is wonderful, but it is terrible, too! and yet with all this, how are you to get into quebec? for it seems to me you are no nearer that than you were a month ago." wolfe smiled his slight, peculiar smile. "madame," he answered, "we have a proverb in en gland which says that 'where there's a will there's a way.' i have been sent out by the government of my country to take quebec, and here i stay till i have carried out that order. how and when it will be accomplished i do not yet know; what i say is that i am here to do it, and that i mean to do it. when you return to the city, present my respects to the marquis of montcalm, and tell him what i say." the ladies looked at one another, and lifted eyes and hands. in the aspect of the young general, despite his physical feebleness, there was an air of such calm, confident power that they were deeply impressed; and one of them, looking earnestly at him, cried: "you make us admire you as much as we fear you, monsieur wolfe. but if you are to have quebec, pray take it quickly; for this long, cruel war wears us out." "madame," he answered, "i would that i could; but monsieur de montcalm gives me no chance of fighting. if he were not so cautious, i should greatly rejoice. i give him all sorts of chances to attack me, but he will not avail himself of them. if caution could save quebec, assuredly it would never fall!" "if he take not care, his caution will be his undoing," said a canadian dame of sprightly turn. "as for us of the country, we are weary to death of uncertainty. they tell me that the canadian militia will not long remain loyal if kept in such inactivity. we canadians do not understand this sort of warfare. quick raids, sharp fighting, quick return home is what our men are used to. they can be brave enough in their native forests; but this sitting down in camps for weeks and months together, whilst their harvests are lying uncut in the fields, or left a prey to indian marauders--no, that they do not understand or appreciate. they are almost ready to welcome english rule sooner than go on like this. i doubt not you have heard as much from your prisoners before." "something like it," answered wolfe, with a slight curl of the lip. "i confess i have no great opinion of the militia of monsieur de montcalm. his regular troops are fine soldiers; but for the rest, they would give us little trouble, i take it. perhaps the marquis knows that, and therefore will not fight." "in the woods one canadian soldier is worth three regulars," remarked the lady, with a shrewd glance at wolfe, and a smile upon her face; "but in the open one regular is worth half a dozen canadians. we do not understand standing firm under fire. give us a tree to run behind, and we will be as valiant as you wish, and shoot down our foes with unerring aim; but we must have cover. we have been used to it, and we do not understand being without it. i am sure i well understand the feeling. i should make a good enough canadian militiaman, but i should never have the nerve to be a regular soldier." wolfe smiled and made a little bow to his guests. "i believe, mesdames, that ladies have a higher courage than men when the hour of peril really comes. i had the honour to become acquainted with madame drucour at the siege of louisbourg. i was told, and can well believe, that it was in great part her heroic example which inspired the men there to that courage which they showed, and which gave us such hard work. courage is by no means the prerogative of the soldier or of man. the women of the world have again and again set the loftiest examples of it to those who come after." the ladies returned his bow, and drank to his health before they retired to their tents for the night. "if we see you within quebec, monsieur wolfe, we shall know how generous a victor we have to deal with. madame drucour has told us the same; but now we have seen it with our own eyes." "pray give my best compliments to madame drucour," said wolfe earnestly, "and tell her that not the least pleasant element in the anticipation of getting into quebec is the thought that in so doing i shall have the honour and pleasure of renewing acquaintance with her." wolfe was on the strand upon the following morning to see his captives safely off to quebec, whilst a flag of truce was hoisted, and the batteries ceased to fire. "farewell, my dear ladies; i hope soon to meet you all again," said the young general, with playful geniality, as he handed them to their seats. "if monsieur de montcalm will but give me the chance of coming to conclusions with him, i will do my utmost to bring this uncomfortable state of affairs to a close." "ah, monsieur, you are very complaisant! but the only way that you want to take is the capture of our poor city." "very true, dear ladies; that is the only end i am willing to contemplate. and yet, believe me, in desiring this i desire nothing that shall be for your final discomfiture. i know what the rule of france is in these parts, and what that of england is also. believe me that beneath english government peace and prosperity such as she has never known before will come to canada. i believe that the day will speedily come when you will see this for yourselves." "i should not wonder," answered the canadian dame, with a light laugh; "i am half disposed to think the same myself. his majesty of france has not endeared himself to us these many years past. i should not be broken hearted to see a change of monarch." the boats pushed off, and wolfe stood watching them on their way across the river. his face was grave and thoughtful, and he turned presently to fritz with a sigh. "poor ladies! i am sorry to send them back to the horrors of the siege; but it is the only safe place for them. "and now we must think seriously of our next step. the time is flying, and we must not let the grass grow under our feet. it is true what they said last night: we are no nearer taking quebec than when we sailed from england months ago. we have frightened and harassed the foe, but we are not one step nearer the goal." "and yet we have one ship and several smaller vessels in the upper river," said julian; "and where one ship has passed others may do so." "yes; i shall try to bring up other vessels. one never knows what the chances of war will be. it is well to have the command of the river both above and below; and if amherst should form a junction with us, we may find the fleet above the town of great use. but we are now at the end of july, and ticonderoga, though threatened, has not yet fallen, so far as we know; and even were it to do so quickly, there will be much for amherst to do there and at crown point, and a long, long march before he could reach us. we must face the possibility of having to accomplish this matter with the forces now at command; and we are in the position now that our camp is split up into four, and we have no great muster of troops at any one point. if montcalm were to make a determined dash at any one of our camps, he could destroy it before the rest of the army could be mustered for its defence. why he does not avail himself of the chances given him i do not know. but his policy of inaction has its drawbacks too for us, since i would sooner face him in a pitched battle than be kept here inactive, waiting upon chances that never offer." the army was certainly getting rather weary of this inaction. it was not idle, for wolfe's manifesto to the canadians was now being enforced. supplies were wanted for the troops, and the inimical canadians were forced to supply them. indeed, great numbers of these harassed and undecided inhabitants of the disputed territory were glad enough to be made prisoners by the english and sent on board their transports for safety. their cattle, of course, fell a prey to the invaders; but they were in so much peril of robbery from the indians that this was a small matter. when once within wolfe's camp their lives were safe, and no ill treatment was permitted; and to some of the wretched canadians this had become a boon. it was small wonder they were growing sick and weary of the war, and would have welcomed either nation as conqueror, so that they could only know again the blessings of peace and safety. yet something more definite must be attempted; wolfe was more and more determined upon that. it was difficult to know how best to attack an enemy so strongly intrenched and so well able to repulse attack; yet his men were burning with ardour, and his own spirit was hot within him. he sometimes felt as though his feeble body would not much longer be able to endure the strain put upon it. the cracked pitcher may go once too often to the well. to die in the service of his country was what wolfe desired and expected for himself; but he wished that death might come to him in the din and excitement of the battle, and in the hour of victory; not by the hand of disease, whilst his aim and object was yet unaccomplished. "we must fight!" he said to julian, as he took his way back to his camp at the montmorency; "we must seek to bring the enemy to close quarters. we shall fight at terrible disadvantage, i well know; we shall suffer heavy loss. but i would back a hundred of our brave fellows against a battalion of canadian militia. we must try conclusions with them somehow, and by a concerted attack, both from montmorency and from the strand, seek to effect something, even if it be only to affright and dishearten them." the soldiers were ready and eager to be allowed a fling at the foe. they were full of ardour and enthusiasm, for so far every attempt made had been vigorously and successfully carried out, and they began to have an idea that wolfe could not be frustrated in any scheme of his. to attack the city itself was obviously impossible under present conditions, they could never get a footing near those solid walls and ramparts. but the camp along the beauport shore was more vulnerable. if they could effect a landing there, they might rush one or more of the batteries, and bring about a general engagement. it was impossible, as it happened, for wolfe to estimate the full strength of the french position; but he knew that the task would be no light one, even though he could not see that there were batteries upon the heights above. it was near to the montmorency that he designed to make the attack. the shores of the river were, for the most part, very steep here; but at one place there was at low water a strand of muddy ground about half a mile wide, protected at the edge by a french redoubt. from there the ground rose steep and slippery to the higher land above. if the men could land and take the redoubt, wolfe had hopes of bringing men over by the montmorency ford--the one above the cataract--and effecting a junction there, and by combining the actions of these two detachments, succeed in dislodging a portion of the french army, and effecting a firm foothold upon the north bank of the st. lawrence. it was a rather desperate scheme; but it was received with enthusiasm by the soldiers and sailors, both of whom would be needed for the attempt. the vessels and boats for the transport of the men were quickly made ready, whilst others were told off to hover about the basin in order to perplex the french, and keep them ignorant of the real point of attack. wolfe himself took up his position in the battleship centurion, which anchored near to the montmorency, and opened fire upon the redoubts just beyond the strand. julian was with him, watching intently, and noting every movement made by enemy or friend. but fritz and< humphrey could not be denied their share in the fight. they were upon an armed transport that was standing in shore to further harass and batter the redoubt, and to be left stranded by the ebb tide, as near to her as might be. it was at low water that the attack must be made. boats from point levi were hovering around the strand all the afternoon, sometimes making for one point, sometimes for another, keeping the french always on the alert, uncertain and wondering. but montcalm was too acute a general to be long deceived. he saw where the real attack must be made, and there he concentrated his chief force. had wolfe been able to see how his batteries could sweep with a crossfire the whole of the steep ascent from the redoubt to the heights above, where the men from the montmorency camp might be able to join with them, he might have withheld his men from the bold attack. and yet english soldiers have won the victory even against such odds as these! he stood in a commanding place upon the ship, and his eyes anxiously scanned the scene. the hot sun had gone in now beneath banks of heavy cloud. a few splashes of rain seemed to herald an approaching storm; there was a rumble as of thunder away to the right. the tide was out; the bank of mud lay bare. wolfe gave a long look round him and waved his hand. it was the signal waited for. the moment after, the centurion's guns opened their iron mouths, and a storm of shot rattled around the redoubt. the batteries from the montmorency blazed forth, and so did the more distant ones from point levi. the fire of all three was concentrated upon the redoubts and batteries and forces at this portion of the beauport camp; and the french gave answer back from their well-placed batteries. under cover of this heavy fire the boats rowed to shore, and the men in waiting upon the stranded transports leaped out and joined their comrades. the grenadiers were the first to land; and though moncton's brigade and fraser's highlanders were close behind, the eagerness of the men could not be restrained. they did not wait for their companions; they did not even wait to form up in very orderly fashion themselves. they made a gallant dash upon the redoubt, and so strong was the onrush that the french, after a very brief resistance, fled; and with a shout and cheer of triumph the english gained their prize. julian, standing beside wolfe on the vessel, could not refrain from a shout of triumph; but the face of the general was grave and stern. "they are wrong--they are wrong!" he said; "they are too impetuous. their rash gallantry will cost them dear. see, they are not even waiting now for their companions to join them; they are trying to rush the heights alone! folly--madness! they will lose everything by such rashness! there! did i not say so?" at that moment the batteries on the brink of the height opened their murderous crossfire. the men were mown down like grass before the scythe; but so full were they of fury and desire of victory that they heeded nothing, and pressed onward and upward, as though resolved to carry everything before them. had they been able to see the heights above, they would have noted that across the ford above the montmorency a compact body of men was passing in perfect order, to fall upon the french from behind, and effect a junction with them. but at that moment, whilst the fortunes of the day seemed hanging in the balance, the very floodgates of heaven seemed to open, and a deluge of rain descended, whilst the blackness of a terrific thunderstorm fell upon the combatants. the slippery grass no longer gave foothold, and the men rolled down the steep heights--dead, wounded, and unhurt in one medley. the ammunition grew soaked, and the guns refused their task. the glare of the lightning lit up a scene of utter confusion. wolfe saw all, standing with grave face and stern, watchful eyes. at last he spoke. "sound the retreat," he said, and then bit his lip; and julian, by a glance into his face, knew what it had cost him to speak those words. the retreat was made in good order, and was distinguished by a few acts of personal gallantry; for the indians swooped down, as they always did when they saw their chance, to scalp the wounded and the dead. soldiers risked their lives to save their fallen comrades from this fate, dragging the wounded with them, at risk of their own lives. the guns of the captured redoubt did some service in beating off the savages; and the boats were launched once more, though their load was a far lighter one than when they had brought up their eager crews an hour before. the strand and the height above were covered with the dead who had paid for their rash gallantry with their lives. it was a scene upon which wolfe's eyes dwelt with sadness and pain, as he ordered a boat to be got ready for him, that he might address the men on their return to quarters. it was with stern words that wolfe met his soldiers. he was not a man to condone a lack of discipline because it had been coupled with personal bravery. "do you grenadiers suppose that you can beat the french single-handed?" he asked, eying the thinned ranks with stern displeasure in his eyes. "such impetuous, irregular, and unsoldierlike proceedings as those witnessed today destroy all order, and make it impossible for a commander to form any disposition for an attack, and put it out of the general's power to execute his plans. the death of those five hundred brave men who lie on the strand yonder is due, in the main, to your rashness and insubordination." the men were shamefaced and contrite. they recognized their error, and were the more grieved inasmuch as they saw how the check had affected their brave young general. they heard, too, that the french were full of triumphant rejoicings; that they declared this repulse to be the end of the english attempt upon quebec. they looked upon the game as already in their hands; and although the english were fond of declaring that but for the storm they would yet have won the heights, and with the aid of their other contingent have routed the french gunners and got a footing there, they knew that, as facts were now, they had rather suffered than benefited by the action, for it had put fresh hope into the hearts of their foes; and it was possible that the disappointment had something to do with the access of violent illness and suffering which at this juncture prostrated their general. wolfe was indeed dangerously ill. he had long been putting the strongest pressure upon himself, and julian had been struck upon the day of the assault with the look of suffering upon his worn face. he kept up during the next few days, but looked so ghastly that his friends were deeply concerned; and julian, together with fritz and humphrey, scoured the neighbourhood in order to find a place of greater comfort where their commander could lie. presently they came upon a little farmhouse near to the camp at montmorency, sheltered from the wind, and pleasantly situated. it had been deserted by its occupants, who had, however, left behind furniture enough to enable them to get one room at least fit for the habitation of the sufferer. and none too soon. that very day wolfe, after trying to make a survey of the lines, was found in his tent half fainting with pain. he looked up at julian with heavy eyes, and stretching out his hand to him, he said: "i fear me i shall never live to enter quebec. i have fought till i can fight no more. take me somewhere that i can rest. i can do no more--yet." they took him to the little farmhouse, and laid him upon the bed they had prepared. the doctors came, and looked grave; for the fever was high, the suffering keen, and the wasted frame seemed little able to withstand the ravages of disease. yet never a murmur passed his lips; and when there came intervals of comparative ease, he would ask of those about him how affairs without were proceeding, giving orders from time to time with all his old acumen and force, and never forgetting to inquire for the wounded who had been brought off from the ill-starred assault, and had been given the best quarters which the camp afforded. he had never any pity for himself, but always plenty to spare for others. great gloom hung over the camp. not only were the soldiers depressed by their repulse, and by the apparent impossibility of getting into the city, but they were in fear and trembling lest they should also lose their brave general. "if wolfe goes, hope goes," was a common saying in the camp. they seemed to know by intuition that with him would expire all hope of achieving an almost impossible victory. fritz and julian nursed the sick man; and never were nurses more skilful and tender. humphrey constituted himself messenger and forager, bringing everything he could get that the invalid was likely to need, and keeping them informed of everything that went on at the different camps. other vessels had passed the guns of quebec. scouts from the interior reported disaffection toward the french cause all through canada. english soldiers were carrying the terror of the british arms through large tracts of country. the french were becoming anxious and dispirited. so much they learned during those days of waiting; but they could rejoice but little whilst wolfe lay low, racked with pain which no medicine could alleviate, and in danger of sinking through the wearing exhaustion which followed. "how will it end? how will it end?" spoke fritz to himself one day late in august, as he stepped outside the house to obtain a breath of air. the next moment he gave a great start, and held out his hands in a gesture of amazement, "what--who--how--is it a ghost i see?" a hearty laugh was the answer, and his hands were gripped in a clasp that was very certainly one of flesh and blood, to say nothing of bone and muscle. "ghost indeed! nay, fritz, you know better than that! it is john stark himself, come to fulfil his promise, and to bring to general wolfe the news that ticonderoga has fallen!" chapter : a daring design. ticonderoga fallen! the news was like new wine in the veins of wolfe. ill as he was, he insisted that stark should be brought to his bedside, and he eagerly entreated the bold ranger to tell him the whole story. "there is not so much to tell as there might be," said stark, "for the french made no fight, either at ticonderoga or at crown point. we came with a gallant array against their fortresses, only to find that the enemy had evacuated them. they tried to blow up ticonderoga before they left; but only one bastion was destroyed. crown point was deserted without a blow being struck. i waited for that, and then made good my word. i said i would be the first to take the news of the fall of ticonderoga to general wolfe at quebec." wolfe's eyes were shining with excitement. "then is general amherst on his way here with his army?" he asked eagerly. stark shook his head. "alas, no! there is still much work to be done. if the french have abandoned these two forts, it is only that they may concentrate all their strength at isle-aux-noix, where the general must now attack them. and to do this he must build a brigantine and other vessels; and though there is a sawmill at ticonderoga, the work will still take somewhat long to accomplish. i fear that many weeks will elapse before he can advance; and meantime--" he paused, for he scarce knew how to conclude the sentence. he had heard as he passed through the camp towards wolfe's quarters that the outlook was not altogether a bright one, despite the fact that success had crowned many of the enterprises hitherto undertaken. wolfe took up the unfinished sentence and spoke. "meantime the winter gales will be threatening us, and if the walls of quebec still shut us out, we may be forced to sail to england with our task yet uncompleted, or to take up our winter quarters in one of the islands, and wait for better things next spring. was that the thought in your mind, john stark?" "in truth, sir, as i came along and surveyed the position of the notable city of quebec, it seemed to me that it would be a hard task to bring it to surrender; but then we all know that general wolfe can accomplish the impossible if any man can." a slight smile crossed wolfe's worn face. "i look like a man to perform the impossible, don't i, good stark?" he said; and the ranger's eyes filled with pitiful sympathy as he made answer: "indeed, sir, i grieve to find you so; and yet men say that wolfe sick is better than half a dozen other generals in full health and strength. believe me, we have faith in you, and believe that you will win the day even single handed, though all the world should look on in scornful amaze, and say that you had set yourself the impossible." wolfe's eyes flashed. a flush rose for a moment in his pale cheek. julian saw that such words as these moved him and braced his spirit like a tonic. he was half afraid lest it should be too much excitement, and he signed to fritz to take stark away. "but i will see him again anon," said wolfe; "i must hear more of these things. let him be fed and well looked to, and presently i will ask him to come to me again." and when the two had left him, wolfe turned to julian and said: "i see now that i have nothing to hope for in a junction with amherst. he will have his hands full till the close of the season. if quebec is to be taken, we must take it ourselves, unaided from without. i think i would rather die out here, and leave this carcass of mine in a canadian grave, than return to england with the news that quebec still holds out against the english flag!" "nay, say not so," answered julian earnestly, "for the greatest general may be baffled at some point. and think of your mother--and--miss lowther!" a softer look came into wolfe's eyes. upon his lips there hovered a slight, strange smile. instinctively his hand sought for something beneath his pillow. julian well knew what it was: a case containing miniature portraits of the two beings he loved best in the world--his mother, and the fair girl who had promised to become his wife. he did not open it, but he held it in his hand, and spoke with a dreamy softness of intonation. "there be times when i think that men of war should have no mothers or sisters or lovers," he said. "we leave so sad a heritage behind for them so oft. and we are not worth the sacred tears that they shed over us when we fall." "and yet i think they would scarce be without those sacred memories to cherish," answered julian, thinking of mrs. wolfe's idolization of her son, and of kate lowther's bright eyes, overflowing with loving admiration. "but why speak you so, as though you would see them no more? your health is slowly mending now, and you have been through perils and dangers before now, and have come safe out of them." "that is true," answered wolfe thoughtfully; "and yet a voice in my heart seems to tell me that i shall see those loved faces no more. it may be but the fantasy of a troubled and fevered brain; but in dreams i have seen them, tears in their eyes, weeping for one unworthy of such grief, who lies in a far-off grave beneath the frowning battlements of yon great city. i wonder ofttimes whether we are given to know something of that which is about to befall; for in my heart a voice has spoken, and that voice has said that quebec shall be ours, but that these eyes shall never see what lies within the ramparts, for they will be sealed in death before that hour shall arrive." julian had no reply ready; he knew not what to say. it did indeed seem little likely that that frail form could survive the perils and hardships of this great siege, should it be prosecuted to the end, and should some daring assault be successfully made against the impregnable city. from the day upon which stark arrived in the camp at montmorency with the news from ticonderoga wolfe began to mend. it seemed as though the certainty that the english arms were prevailing in the west, though no help could be looked for this season from amherst, combined to put a sort of new vigour and resolution into the heart of the dauntless young general. if anything were to be accomplished, he must now do it by his own unaided efforts; and since august was well nigh past, if he were to act at all it must be soon, or the winter storms might come sweeping down, and render his position untenable. he had had plenty of time whilst lying helpless in bed to think out various plans of attack upon the city. each one seemed desperate and hopeless, whether, as before, the assault were made by means of boats along the beauport shore, or by crossing the upper ford above montmorency and fetching a compass behind the french position, or by storming the lower town, now almost in ruins, for it was commanded by the batteries in the citadel and upper town. in fact, the french position was so strong everywhere that it was difficult to see how any enterprise could possibly prove successful. in his hours of comparative ease wolfe had thought out, and julian had written out at his dictation, a sketch of one or two alternative plans for attack, which he sent in the form of a letter to the brigadiers commanding the various detachments of the army, asking them to take counsel together over them, and to meet at the farmhouse as soon as he was well enough to see them, and let them discuss the matter together. all wolfe's projects were for attack from the lower river; for lying ill and helpless as he was, he had hardly realized what had been going steadily on ever since that first successful attempt to get shipping past the town guns and into the upper reach of the st. lawrence. every time there was a suitable night, with a favouring wind, vessels had run the gauntlet of the batteries, always covered by a heavy fire from point levi; and now quite a fleet of warships, frigates, and transports lay in the reach above the town, whilst montcalm had had to weaken his camp at beauport to watch the heights there. for though these were steep and rugged and inaccessible, it would not do to leave them unguarded. when the brigadiers met in the old farmhouse, wolfe was up and dressed for almost the first time, looking gaunt and haggard, his face lined with pain and care, but full of calm and steadfast purpose, and with a mind as clear as ever. he was touched by the warm greetings of his officers, and by their tales as to the enthusiastic delight in the ranks at the news that their general was better. the army was animated by a spirit of great courage and confidence. the news from ticonderoga had done good. this had been followed by tidings of the capture of the niagara fort. even though amherst could not coalesce with them, they were feeling that english arms were everywhere invincible, and that even quebec would not long stand against them. it would be the greater glory to vanquish it single-handed; and had they not wolfe to lead them? wolfe could not but smile as he heard this, and then the discussion began. the brigadiers had read his alternative proposals; but they had another to lay before him which they thought more likely of success. this was to make the real attack above the town, transporting men and munitions by means of their ships now lying in the upper reach, and seeking to obtain a footing upon the heights, from whence they might bombard the upper city, or even carry it by an impetuous assault. "we can make a feint of attacking at beauport, to keep the marquis upon the alert there, and his troops from being detached to the defence of the heights. but let our real assault be on that side," advised moncton, whose position at point levi gave him considerable knowledge of affairs upon the upper river. "it is true that the heights are watched and guarded, but the force there is not large. they trust to the nature of the ground, which is inhospitable to the last degree, to hinder any attempt at landing. and our vessels in the river below are leading poor bougainville a fine dance up and down the banks. he has some twenty miles to protect with less than two thousand men--so far as we can learn--and admiral holmes, who commands the fleet, takes care that he shall have no rest night or day. the men begin to know the ground; they are full of desire for the attack. it sounds desperate, we are well aware; but then so do all the plans. yet if we are to make one great dash upon quebec before we give up the hope of taking it this season, we must attempt the apparently impossible!" into wolfe's eyes had sprung the battle light. desperate it might be to scale almost perpendicular cliffs and plant batteries on the top whilst exposed to the fire of a sleepless enemy there, who could send for reinforcements by thousands when once aware of the threatened peril. and yet now that he knew his strength in the upper river, and the wishes of his officers, he hesitated not one instant. "it shall be tried," he said, "and it shall be tried quickly. the issues of life and death, of battle and victory, are in higher hands than ours. it is for us to do our utmost to brave all. we can do no more, but we can do that!" the meeting broke up. the brigadiers went back to their respective stations to announce the decision and to make preparation. eager enthusiasm prevailed throughout the ranks of the army, and the question in all mouths was, would the general be fit to lead them in person. this was wolfe's own great anxiety. his physician shook his head, but received this characteristic admonition: "i know perfectly well you cannot cure me; but pray make me up so that i may be free from unbearable pain for a few days, able to do my duty by my brave soldiers, that is all i ask or want." as soon as ever he was able, wolfe visited the admirals on their ships and discussed his plan with them. they were all becoming rather anxious at the lateness of the season, and were thinking of moving away. but they consented to remain till this attempt should be made; wolfe, on his part, agreeing that if it failed he must abandon the hope of reducing quebec this season, and not expose his soldiers to the needless hardships of a winter in these inclement latitudes, as it was, there was a good deal of sickness amongst the men, and the number of able-bodied soldiers was considerably reduced. wolfe visited those in hospital, and spoke kind and cheering words to them. he knew what it was to be laid aside from active service, and how hard inactivity was when there was work to be done. the camp on the montmorency was broken up first. wolfe wanted his soldiers elsewhere, and he thought it no bad move to take this step, as the french would probably think it the first move in the evacuation of the whole position. montcalm, indeed, would have fallen upon them in the rear and inflicted heavy damage, if moncton at point levi had not seen the danger, and sent a number of men in boats to make a feint of attacking beauport; upon which the troops were hastily recalled. all was activity and secret industry in the english lines, a whole fleet of baggage boats was laden and smuggled past the town guns into the upper river; more craft followed, till quite an armament lay in that wider reach above; and yet the french were not permitted to have any exact notion as to what was to be done, nor that any serious attack was meditated in that direction. wolfe himself was taken up the river in one of the vessels. he was still weak and suffering, but he could no longer give any thought to his own condition. "i can rest when the battle is fought," he said to julian, who would fain have bidden him spare himself more; and it seemed to his friend as though there were more in those words than met the ear. news was daily brought in of the strength of the french position. montcalm, very uneasy at the action of the english fleet, sent as many reinforcements as he could spare to man the heights and gorges of the upper river. batteries were planted, and every step taken to guard against the danger of attack. rain and wind hindered the english from putting their plan into immediate execution, and the men suffered a good deal from close crowding on the transports, and from various brushes with the enemy which enlivened the monotony of those days of waiting. wolfe's eyes were everywhere. he was in the admiral's vessel, and although sometimes hardly able to drag himself upon deck, he would note with all his old keenness every nook and cranny in the precipitous shores, every movement of the enemy, every natural advantage which could possibly be made use of in his attempt. all this time the ships were drifting to and fro with the tide from the basin of the upper river, just above quebec itself, right away to cap rouge, where the french had their headquarters, and were always ready for an assault. this action on the part of the ships was a very politic one, for it kept the french troops ceaselessly upon the march and the watch, wearing them out with fatigue; whilst the english soldiers on board their vessels were at their ease, save that they were rather uncomfortably crowded. the long delay was over at last. the weather had improved; wolfe had made up his mind as to every detail of the attack; the troops at point levi and on the isle of orleans had been instructed as to the parts they were to play in drawing off the enemy's attention from the real point of attack. "i should like to address the men once more," said wolfe to julian, upon a still september morning. "i should like them to take one last charge from my own lips; perhaps it may be the last i shall ever give them!" for wolfe seemed to have upon his spirit the presentiment of coming doom. he looked round upon the eager, expectant faces, and his own kindled with a loving enthusiasm. he had loved these men, and they loved him. the sight of his tall, gaunt form and thin, white face evoked cheer after cheer from soldiers and sailors alike. he had to wait till the tumult subsided before he could speak, and then his voice rang out clear and trumpet-like as he briefly described to the listening host the position of affairs and what was expected of them. "the enemy's force is now divided, great scarcity prevails in their camp, and universal discontent among the canadians. our troops below are in readiness to join us, all the light artillery and tools are embarked at point levi, and the troops will land where the french seem least to expect it. the first body that gets on shore is to march directly to the enemy and drive them from any little post they may occupy; the officers must be careful that the succeeding bodies do not by any mistake fire on those who go before them. the battalions must form on the upper ground with expedition, and be ready to charge whatever presents itself. when the artillery and troops are landed, a corps will be left to secure the landing place while the rest march on and endeavour to bring the canadians and french to a battle. the officers and men will remember what their country expects of them, and what a determined body of soldiers, inured to war, is capable of doing against five weak french battalions mingled with a disorderly peasantry." cheer after cheer rent the air as these words were heard. the enthusiasm of the men had suffered no diminution during the days of waiting. they loved their general; they respected and admired their officers. they were full of eagerness to find themselves at last face to face with the foe. they knew that upon the issue of this enterprise hung the whole fate of the long campaign. if they failed in their design, they must return to england with a story of failure so far as quebec was concerned; and no one would understand the full difficulties of the situation, or appreciate all the solid work that had already been accomplished towards the attainment of that object. everything that could be done had been done. admiral saunders, in the basin of quebec, was deceiving montcalm by preparations which convinced that general that the real point of attack was to be along the beauport shore, where he therefore massed his troops in readiness; whilst admiral holmes, with his bateaux and flat-bottomed troop boats, was deluding bougainville with the notion that his camp at cap rouge was to be the immediate object of the english assault. but all the while wolfe and a few of his officers--only a few--were in the secret of the real basis of action; though the men knew that all was decided upon, and that they would be led with consummate skill and address. in the grey of the morning, julian, too excited to sleep, heard the soft plash of oars alongside the sutherland, and raising his head to look over the bulwarks, he heard his name pronounced in a familiar voice. "humphrey, is that you?" "yes," he answered. "i have gleaned some news. i want to impart it to the general." wolfe was lying on deck looking up at the quiet stars overhead, worn out with the long strain, yet free from acute pain, and thankful for the boon. he heard the words, and sat up. "bring him to me," he ordered; "i will hear his report." the next minute humphrey was on deck and beside him. humphrey was often employed to carry messages from ship to ship. he had built himself a light, strong canoe; and could shoot through the water almost like an indian. he stood beside wolfe's couch and told his tale. "i went up to the french camp as close as possible. i heard there that some boatloads of provisions were to be sent down tonight upon the ebb to montcalm's camp. they have done this before, and will do it again. later on i came upon two canadians, seeking to escape from the french camp. i took them across to our vessels for safety. they confirmed what i had overheard. boats laden with provision will be passing the french sentries along the coast tonight. if our boats go down in advance of these, they may do so almost unchallenged." wolfe's eyes brightened before he had heard the last word. he instantly perceived the advantage which might accrue to them from this piece of information luckily hit upon. he grasped humphrey's hand in a warm clasp, and said: "you bring good news, comrade. i think the star of england is about to rise upon this land. go now and rest yourself; but be near to me in the time of struggle. you are a swift and trusty messenger. it is such as you"--and his eyes sought julian and fritz, who were both alert and awake--"that i desire to have about me in the hour of final struggle." then, when humphrey had gone below with fritz, wolfe turned to julian and said, speaking slowly and dreamily: "there is something i would say to you, my friend. i have a strange feeling that the close of my life is at hand--that i shall not live to see the fruit of my toil; though to die in battle--in the hour, if it may be, of victory--has been ever the summit of my hopes and ambition. something tells me that i shall gain the object of my hope tomorrow, or today perchance. i have one charge to give you, julian, if that thing should come to pass." julian bit his lip; he could not speak. he was aware of the presentiment which hung upon wolfe's spirit, but he had fought against it might and main. the, soldier placed his hand within the breast of his coat, and detached and drew out that miniature case containing the likeness of his mother and his betrothed. he opened it once, looked long in the dim light at both loved faces, and pressed his lips to each in turn. "if i should fall," he said, "give it to kate; i think she will like to have it. tell her i wore it upon my heart till the last. i would not have it shattered by shot and shell. give it her with my dying blessing and love, and tell her that my last prayer will be for her happiness. she must not grieve too much for me, or let her life be shadowed. i am happy in having known her love. i desire that happiness shall be her portion in life. tell her that when you give her that case." he closed it and placed it in julian's hands, and spoke no more; though throughout that day of preparation and thought a gentle quietude of manner possessed him, and struck all with whom he came in contact. even when at last all was in readiness and the general in one of the foremost boats was drifting silently down the dark river, with the solemn stars overhead, it was not of battles or deeds of daring that he spoke with those about him. after the silence of deep tension his melodious voice was heard speaking words that fell strangely on the ears of the officers clustered about him. "the curlew tolls the knell of parting day" spoke that voice; and in the deep hush of night the whole of that "elegy" was softly rehearsed in a strangely impressive manner, a thrill running through many at the words: "the paths of glory lead but to the grave." when the recitation was over there was a long, deep silence, broken at last by wolfe himself, who said: "gentlemen, i would rather have written that poem than take quebec!" chapter : in the hour of victory. "qui vive?" it was the french sentry upon the shore, as the boats glided slowly by in the darkness. julian was waiting for the challenge, and was ready with the answer. "france!" "a quel regiment?" came the voice again. "de la reine," answered julian, who had not spoken in vain with the deserting canadians, and knew a good deal about bougainville's camp. then afraid of being asked the password, he hastily added, still speaking french, "have a care; the english will hear us! the provision boats from the camp!" that hint was enough. the sentry knew that provision boats were expected, and that english vessels were anchored not far off. he let the fleet of english boats pass by in the darkness. the strong current swept them along. now they had reached the appointed place--passed it, indeed before they could get out of the current; but there was a narrow strand, wide enough for disembarkation, and the band of picked men who had volunteered for the task were already out, preparing to scale the lofty heights and see what lay beyond. up they went in the close darkness of the autumn night, the four-and-twenty selected men leading the way, closely followed by a larger band of comrades. no word was spoken, no cry was raised. the tense excitement of the moment seemed to preclude any such demonstration. it was believed that at this point there would be little resistance. there was no sentry on the shore, and no appearance of any camp along the top. it was believed that the french officer vergor, with a small detachment of troops, was somewhere in the vicinity; but the renown of that worthy was not such as to check the ardour of the english troops. wolfe remained below, silent and motionless. his hands were locked together, and his pale face upturned towards the towering heights above. the gurgle and plash of the river was in his ears, mingled with those other sounds--the sounds of scrambling as his soldiers made their way up the rugged heights in the uncertain light of the waning stars. it was a moment never to be forgotten in his life. the presentiment of coming death was forgotten--everything was forgotten but the wild, strong hope of victory; and when from the top of the gorge there came at last the ring of a british cheer, the sound of brisk musket firing, and then another ringing shout as of triumph, the blood rushed into his white face, and he sprang from the boat on to the strand, exclaiming: "they have won the foothold. form up, men, and follow. we have england's honour in our keeping this day. never let her say we failed her at the moment of greatest need." it was a precipitous gorge up the sides of which the men had to climb. julian looked anxiously up it and then at wolfe, and said: "it is too steep; do not try it. let me find an easier path for you if i can." he smiled as he scanned the sides of the gorge. "i doubt if i shall get up," he answered; "but i mean to try." and so strong was the resolution which inspired him that he found strength to drag himself up the steep declivity, with only a little assistance from julian; and found himself, with the first breaking of the dawn, breathless, giddy, exhausted, upon the summit of those heights of abraham which today he was to make famous. instantly he took the command of the situation. cannon were heard opening fire close on the left. it was the battery of samos firing upon the english boats in the rear, now just visible in the broadening daylight. "silence that battery!" said wolfe to an officer whose men were just forming up. their response was a cheer, as they moved away in orderly array; and when the distant battery of sillary opened its mouth and uttered its menacing roar, there was another battalion ready to start off to capture and silence it. soon the great guns uttered their voices no more. the english were masters of the coveted heights, and still their troops continued to land and clamber up to join their comrades upon the top. the hearts of the soldiers beat high with pride and joy; but the face of wolfe was inscrutable as he stood surveying the plain which formed a sort of tableland on the western side of the city of quebec. the town itself he could not see, though he knew where it lay, and how beyond it extended the camp of beauport, from which montcalm could march battalion after battalion to meet him in battle. he knew, too, that behind him lay bougainville and his thousands, who, by joining in a concentrated action with montcalm, could hem him in between two fires, and cut his gallant little army to pieces. he realized all this right well, if others did not, and knew that victory or death--even annihilation--lay before them. and knowing this, he made his survey of the place with a concentrated attention, and issued his orders without hesitation or delay. the grassy plain was pretty level. quebec bounded it on the east, the precipices on the st. lawrence on the south, the declivities to the basin of the st. charles on the north. in one place the plain--called the plains of abraham, from the old settler who once made a home there--was little more than a mile wide. when wolfe reached it, he halted, and after a careful survey said: "this will be the place to make our stand. here we will meet our foe in battle. fight they must now; and if heaven will grant us the victory, let the praise and glory of the day be to god above. if he think well to withhold his countenance from us, let us sell our lives as dearly as may be, and die sword in hand, with our face to the foe!" then the orders were issued. the brigades and battalions were marshalled into position. the brigadiers received their orders from their young general, and took up the positions allotted to them. each of them grasped him by the hand before quitting his side. to each one he spoke a word of praise for his gallantry during the tedious campaign, and of thanks for the personal friendship shown to one who felt so unworthy of it, having been so often a care and a trouble instead of a source of strength to those about him. julian stood near, a strange mistiness before his eyes; and as fritz turned away to take up his position at the head of his men, he said in a husky voice to his friend: "you will stay beside him and guard him from ill. i know not why, but my heart is full of misgiving. quebec will be dearly won if it lose us the gallant wolfe!" "he will not think so," said julian. "and his life has been so full of trouble and pain. i think few know how he has suffered. perhaps there is some truth in the old heathen saying, 'those whom the gods love die young.' perhaps it has a better fulfilment and significance now that the light has come into the world, and that there is no sting now in death." they pressed each other by the hand, and fritz swung away. it was a moment of deep though suppressed emotion. both men knew that they might have looked their last upon the face of the other, and after many years of close and brother-like companionship such partings cannot be without their thrill of pain and wonder. "why must these things be?" spoke julian, beneath his breath. "why must men stand up to kill and be killed? how long will it be before the reign of the prince of peace, when all these things shall be done away?" light showers were scudding over the landscape, sometimes blotting out the view, sometimes illumined by shafts of golden sunlight, which gave a curious glory to the scene. the battle was set in array. every disposition which military genius could suggest had been made to avoid surprise or outflanking or any other peril. puffs of smoke from over the plains denoted the presence of ambushed indians or canadians, and skirmishers were scouring hither and thither to dislodge any parties who approached unpleasantly near. the soldiers were bidden to lie down, to be safer from accident, and to rest themselves in preparation for what was coming. the main body of the army was quiet, but to the left, where some woods and houses gave cover to the enemy, the fire be came galling, and some light infantry were sent out to make an end of the foes there, to take and burn the houses and scatter the marksmen. this was successfully done, and again there was quiet. wolfe, who seemed to be everywhere at once, went round the field once again, cheered lustily wherever he appeared; grave, watchful, with the air of a man who knows that the crisis of his life is at hand, and that upon the issue of the day hang results greater than he can reckon or comprehend. it was about ten in the morning before his quick eye saw signs that the enemy was at last advancing to take up the gage of battle so gallantly thrown down. hitherto the french had succeeded in avoiding a pitched encounter with their foe; now they must fight, or have their city hopelessly cut off from the basis of their supplies. wolfe knew that at last the hour had come, and his pale face flushed with a strange exultation as he saw the first white lines advancing towards him. "at last!" he exclaimed--"at last! we have waited many months for this moment; now that it has come, pray heaven we may strike a blow for england's honour which france shall never forget!" julian's attention was distracted by the sight of a little knot of men coming slowly towards the rear, where the surgeons were stationed to care for the wounded, who were to be carried there when possible. "it is fritz!" he exclaimed; "he has been wounded!" wolfe uttered an expression of concern, and stepped forward to inquire. it had been the regiment in command of fritz which had been sent to silence the sharpshooters in the farms and copses. john stark had gone with him, their former life as rangers having well qualified them for this species of warfare. fritz was now being led back, white and bloody, one ball having lodged in his shoulder, and another in his foot. he walked with difficulty, supported by two of his men. "i am grieved to see you so!" cried wolfe, with the ready concern he showed in any sufferings not his own. "it is naught," answered fritz, faintly but cheerfully; "i would care no whit but that it will keep me from the fight. "i have left john stark in command, sir," he added to the general; "the men are perfectly steady when he directs their movements." wolfe nodded. he knew the intrepidity and cool courage of the ranger. there would be no blundering where stark held the command. "care for your patient well," said the young general to a surgeon who came hurrying up at the moment; "captain neville is too good a soldier and officer for us to lose." then turning to humphrey, who was acting in the capacity of aide-de-camp, he said in a quick undertone: "if anything should happen to me in the battle, let brigadier moncton know that i recommend captain neville for promotion." then he turned his attention towards the oncoming tide of battle, knowing that the great crisis for which he had been waiting all these long months was now upon him. the french were forming up along the opposite ridge, which hid the city from view. wolfe took in their disposition at a glance, and a grim smile formed itself upon his lips. he saw that though the centre of the three bodies forming up into order was composed entirely of regular troops, both flanks were regulars intermixed with canadians; and for the canadian militia in the open he had an unbounded contempt. moreover, he noted that instead of waiting until they were in good and compact order, they began almost immediately to advance, and that without any of the method and precision so necessary in an attack upon a well-posted and stationary foe. he passed along the word of command to his own officers, instructing them how to act, and stood watching with the breathless intensity of a man who knows that the crisis of a mighty destiny is at hand. the moment the french soldiers got within range they commenced to fire; not as one man, in a crashing volley, but wildly, irregularly, excitedly, uttering cries and shouts the while--a trick caught from their indian allies, who used noise as one of their most effective weapons. "bah!" cried wolfe, with a sudden exclamation of mingled contempt and amusement; "look there! saw you ever such soldiers as these?" those about him looked, and a hoarse laugh broke from them, and seemed to run along the ranks of immovable red-coats drawn up like a wall, and coolly reserving their fire. the gust of laughter was called forth by the action of the canadian recruits, who, immediately upon discharging their pieces, flung themselves down upon the ground to reload, throwing their companions into the utmost confusion, as it was almost impossible to continue marching without trampling upon their prostrate figures. "i would sooner trust my whole fate to one company of regulars," exclaimed wolfe, "than attempt to fight with such soldiers as these! they are fit only for their native forests; and were i in command, back they should go there, quick march." yet still the oncoming mass of french approached, the dropping fire never ceasing. nearer and nearer they came, and now were not fifty paces distant from the english lines. "crash!" it was not like a volley of musketry; it was like a cannon shot. the absolute precision with which it was delivered showed the perfect steadiness and nerve of the men. upon wolfe's face might be seen a smile of approbation and pride. this was the way english soldiers met the foe; this was the spirit in which victory was won. another crash, almost as accurate as the first, and a few minutes of deafening clattering fire; a pause, in which nothing could be seen but rolling clouds of smoke; and then? the smoke rolled slowly away, and as the pall lifted, a wild, ringing cheer broke from the english ranks, mingled with the yell of the highlanders beyond. the ground was covered with dead and wounded; the ranks of the oncoming foe were shattered and broken. the canadians had turned, and were flying hither and thither, only caring to escape the terrible fire, which in open country they could never stand. in a few more seconds, as soon as the regulars saw that the red-coats were preparing to charge, they too flung down their muskets and joined the rout. "charge them, men, charge them!" wolfe's voice rang like a clarion note over the field. he placed himself at the head of one of the columns. julian and humphrey were on either side of him. the yell of the highlanders was in their ears, and the huzzah of the english soldiers, as they dashed upon the retreating foe. their line had been a little broken here by the fire of the foe, and still from ambushed sharpshooters hidden upon the plain a more or less deadly fire was kept up. wolfe led where the danger was greatest and the firing most galling and persistent. "dislodge those men!" was the order which had just passed his lips, when julian noticed that he seemed to pause and stagger for a moment. "you are hurt!" he exclaimed anxiously, springing to his side; but wolfe kept steadily on his way, wrapping his handkerchief round his wrist the while. the blood was welling from it. julian insisted upon tying the bandage, finding that the wrist was shattered. "you are wounded--you will surely go back!" he said anxiously; but wolfe seemed scarcely to hear. the next moment he was off again with his men, directing their movements with all his accustomed skill and acumen. once again he staggered. julian dashed to his side; but he spoke no word. if he would but think of himself! but no; his soul was in the battle. he had no care save for the issue of the day. a sudden volley seemed to open upon them from a little unseen dip in the ground, masked by thick underwood. julian felt a bullet whiz so near to his ear that the skin was grazed and the hair singed. for a moment he was dizzy with the deafening sound. then a low cry from humphrey reached him. "the general! the general!" he said. julian dashed his hand across his eyes and looked. wolfe was sitting upon the ground. he was still gazing earnestly at the battle rushing onward, but there had come into his eyes a strange dimness. "he is struck--he is wounded!" said humphrey in a low voice, bending over him. "help, julian; we must carry him to the rear." julian half expected resistance on the part of wolfe; but no word passed his lips. they were growing ashy white. with a groan of anguish--for he felt as though he knew what was coming--julian bent to the task, and the pair conveyed the light, frail form through the melee of the battlefield towards the place where the wounded had been carried, and where fritz still lay. a surgeon came hastily forward, and seeing who it was, uttered an exclamation of dismay. wolfe opened his dim eyes. he saw julian's face, but all the rest was blotted out in a haze. "lay me down," he said faintly; "i want nothing." "the surgeons are here," said julian anxiously as they put him out of the hot rays of the sun, which was now shining over heights and plains. "they can do nothing for me," said wolfe, in the same faint, dreamy way; "let them look to those whom they can help." a death-like faintness was creeping over him. the surgeon put a stimulating draught to his lips; and when a part had been swallowed, proceeded to make a partial examination of the injuries sustained. but when he had opened the breast of his coat and saw two orifices in the neighbourhood of the heart, he shook his head, and laid the wounded man down to rest. julian felt a spasm of pain shoot through his heart, like a thrust from a bayonet. "can you do nothing?" he asked in a whisper. "nothing," was the reply. "he has not an hour to live." "to be cut off in the very hour of victory!" exclaimed humphrey, with a burst of sorrow. "it is too hard--too hard!" "yet it is what he desired for himself," said julian, in a low voice. i think it is what he himself would have chosen." "he has suffered more than any of us can well imagine," said the surgeon gravely. "we can scarcely grudge to him the rest and peace of the long, last sleep." humphrey turned away to dash the tears from his eyes. in his silent, dog-like fashion, he had loved their young general with a great and ardent love, and it cut him to the heart to see him lying there white and pulseless, his life ebbing slowly away, without hope of a rally. a sign from somebody at a little distance attracted his attention. he crossed the open space of ground, and bent over fritz, who lay bandaged and partially helpless amongst the wounded, but with all his faculties clear. "what is it they are saying all around?" he asked anxiously. "how goes the battle? how is it with our general?" "the battle truly is won--or so i believe," answered humphrey, in a husky voice. "god grant that the gallant wolfe may live to know that success has crowned his efforts--that the laurel wreath will be his, even though it be only laid upon his tomb!" "is he then wounded?" "mortally, they say." a spasm of pain contracted fritz's face. "then quebec will be dearly purchased," he said. "humphrey, help me to move; i would look upon his face once again!" humphrey gave the desired assistance. they were bringing in the wounded, french and english both, to this place of shelter; but the spot where wolfe lay was regarded as sacred ground. it was still and quiet there, though in the distance the din of battle sounded, and the sharp rattle of musketry or the booming of artillery could be heard at this side and that. fritz limped slowly across the open space, and halted a dozen paces from where wolfe lay; half supported in the arms of julian, whose face was stern with repressed grief. the ashen shadow had deepened upon the face of the dying man. he seemed to be sinking away out of life. the long lashes lay upon the waxen cheek; the deep repose of the long, last sleep seemed to be falling upon the wasted features. fritz felt an unaccustomed mist rising before his eyes. he thought he had never before seen a nobler countenance. the few standing about the wounded general looked from him to the distant plain, where the battle tide was rolling farther away, and from which, from time to time, arose outbursts of sudden sound--the wild screech of the highlanders, the answering cheer of the english, the spattering, diminishing shots, and now and again a sharp volley that told of some more determined struggle in one place or another. "look how they run! look, look--they run like sheep!" cried humphrey, breaking into sudden excitement, as his trained sight, without the aid of glasses, took in the meaning of that confused mass of men. julian felt a thrill run through the prostrate form he was holding. the eyes he had never thought to look upon again opened wide. wolfe raised his head, and asked, with something of the old ring in his voice: "who run?" "the enemy, sir," eagerly replied those who stood by. "they are melting away like smoke. they give way everywhere. the day is ours!" the young general half raised himself, as though he would fain have seen the sight; but his dim eyes took in nothing. "tell colonel burton," he said, speaking with his old decision, "to march webb's regiment down to the st. charles, and cut off their retreat from the bridge." humphrey was off almost before the words had left his lips. he would be the one to carry the general's last message. wolfe heard him go, and smiled. he knew that humphrey was the trustiest of messengers. he looked up into julian's face. "now lay me down again," he said faintly. "farewell, my trusty friend and comrade. take my love to those at home; remember my last messages. god be thanked; he has given us the victory. i can die in peace." he drew a long sigh, and his eyes closed. a little thrill ran through the worn frame. julian laid it down, and reverently covered the peaceful face; whilst a stifled sob went up from those who saw the action. james wolfe had gone to his rest--had died the death of a hero upon the victorious battlefield. book : english victors. chapter : a panic-stricken city. it had come at last! the long delay and suspense were over. the english had stormed the heights of abraham. their long red lines had been seen by terrified citizens, who came rushing into the town at dawn of day. the supposed attack at beauport had been nothing but a blind. whilst montcalm and vaudreuil were massing the troops to repel the enemy here, the real assault had been made behind the city, and the english foe was almost upon them. colin had dashed out when the first grey of the dawn had stolen in at their windows. there had been no sleep for quebec that night. the whole city was in a state of tense excitement. confidently had the generals declared that the enemy were bent upon their own destruction; that they were about to tempt fate, and would be driven back with ignominy and loss. "let them come! let them taste of the welcome we have to offer them! let them see what quebec has to give them when they reach her strand!" these words, and many similar to them, were passed from mouth to mouth by the garrison and townsfolk of quebec. none would admit that disaster was possible to "the impregnable city;" and yet its shattered walls and ruined houses, the crowded hospital and the deserted buildings, all told a terrible tale. the upper town had suffered lately almost as severely as the lower had done at the commencement of the bombardment. it was a problem now where to find safe shelter for the citizens. great numbers of them had fled to the country beyond, or to other canadian settlements; for not only was this terrible bombardment destroying their homes, and inflicting fearful hurt upon those exposed to it, but provisions were becoming very scarce; and if the english once got foothold on the west side of the town, they would be able to cut off quebec from her source of supply. colin dashed out for tidings so soon as the dawn crept into the sky; and madame drucour and corinne sat very close together, so absorbed in listening that they could scarce find words in which to reassure each other. they were no longer in the little narrow house where once they had dwelt. that had been shattered at last by some of the heavier guns which the enemy had brought to point levi, and they had been forced to abandon it. they were in a house which so far had not been touched, sheltered as it was behind some of the fortifications. it belonged to surgeon arnoux, a clever and competent man, who was at present with the army of bourlemaque; but his younger brother, victor, also a surgeon, was still in the city, and he had generously opened his house to several of the unfortunate citizens who had been rendered homeless by the bombardment. at present the house contained as its residents madame drucour, with her brother the abbe, and colin and corinne. the bishop, pontbriand, who was dying himself of a mortal disease, but was still able to go about amongst the sick and wounded, was another inmate, beloved of all. the party was waited on sedulously by an old servant of the ursulines, bonnehomme michel, as she was called, who was the most faithful, hard-working, and devoted of creatures, and displayed the greatest ingenuity in contriving, out of the scantiest of materials, such dishes as should tempt the appetite of the sick bishop, and make the rest forget that they were in a beleaguered city. corinne had learned by this time what the horrors of war were like. her fair face was both thinner and graver than it had been in past days. she had known the terrible experience that leaves its mark upon the witnesses: she had been one of more than one company when a bursting shell in their midst had brought death to some amongst those with whom she was sitting. she had seen men--yes, and women too--struck down in the streets by shot or splinters. she had worked side by side with madame drucour amid the sick and wounded, and had seen sights of horror and suffering which had branded themselves deeply into her soul. she could never again be the careless, laughing corinne of old; and yet the soldier spirit in her burned stronger and ever more strong. if war was a fearful and terrible thing, it had its glorious side too. she heard, with a strange thrill of mingled pain and pride, of the gallant doings of the english troops. she regarded the cautious policy of the french with something like contempt. she and colin would sometimes steal down to the margin of the water, and look at the english vessels which had braved the guns of the town, and were riding safely at anchor in the upper basin; and would feel a thrill of admiration at the dauntless bravery of the british sailors and soldiers. after all, if quebec were to fall to such gallant foes, would she suffer much after the first shock was over? they had lost their three merry midshipmen. when general wolfe had sent over several boatloads of prisoners taken in the unguarded villages of the upper river, it had been agreed that any english prisoners in the town should be given in exchange; and the lads, cheering lustily the while, had been rowed away by the returning boats. colin and corinne had missed their companionship, but had been assured of a meeting before so very long. they knew what that had meant, yet they could not resent the suggestion. constant companionship with the english middies had intensified their interest in the english cause. they did not speak of it much except to one another, but in secret they had no fear of the unknown foe. they felt a certain exultation and triumph in the stories they were always hearing of english prowess and valour. and now it was known to all that the crucial moment had come. the english had made a great coup. they had landed; they had stormed the heights; they were said to be intrenching themselves and bringing up their guns; and although this was not true at the moment, the very thought struck terror into the hearts of the citizens and soldiers. unless they could be dislodged from their present commanding position, the town was lost. that was the word in the mouths of all. a mounted messenger, followed by others, had been sent flying to montcalm and vaudreuil. it was certain that the general would be quickly on the spot, and surely he and his army together would suffice to drive back or annihilate this audacious intruder! so said the people; yet none dared to make light of the peril. madame drucour's face was very grave as she sat looking out into the street, her arm about corinne. it was not even safe for them to try to go out to the hospital that morning--the hospital which had been moved out of the town and erected upon the plain of the st. charles, out of reach of the enemy's guns. hitherto the heights of abraham had been like a rampart of defence; now they were alive with the battalions of the foe. the plain might at any time become the scene of a battle or a rout. "here is colin back!" cried corinne, suddenly starting to her feet. "now he will tell us!" "it is all true!" cried the lad, bursting into the room. "it is wonderful to see them; it is marvellous what they have done. they must have scaled the cliffs at almost impossible places; and now they are forming up in a splendid way! the whole plateau is alive with them!" "the first rays of the sun striking across it were dyed red with the scarlet uniforms. it was magnificent to see them. i cannot tell whether they have any guns there. i saw none. but it is not easy to get a good view of the plain; the ridge above the town hides it." "but what is our general doing?" asked madame drucour, with clasped hands. "they say he is coming; they say he is on his way from the beauport camp with the whole army at his back. if he has also sent a message directing bougainville to advance at the same time from cap rouge and fall upon the english rear, it might well be that the invaders would be cut to pieces. but no one here knows what is ordered. some say one thing and some another. one thing alone is certain--the marquis is on his way." the abbe, who had been out to gather news, came back now with much the same tale that colin had to tell. there was no manner of doubt about it. the english army had, as by magic, appeared upon the heights of abraham, and had set themselves in battle array upon the best piece of ground for their purpose. the sight of the compact red lines filled the french with dismay and fear. if an enemy could do this in a single night, what might they not have the power of achieving? "we are in god's hands," said the abbe to his sister, as they hastily, and without much appetite, partook of the meal which bonnehomme michel spread for them; "but truly i fear me that disaster is in store for the arms of france. there seems no reason why we should lack power to drive back the english to their ships; yet i have that within me which speaks of calamity and disaster. canada has become helpless and corrupt. when that has befallen a country or a community, it has always fallen. i fear me that the days of french rule are numbered. i only pray that if the english reign here in our stead, they may prove themselves merciful masters, and keep their promise not to interfere with the exercise of the true faith in which the people have been brought up." "if the english have pledged their word to that, they will keep it," answered madame drucour; "and if canada must fall, we may rejoice that it should fall into hands as merciful as those of our english rivals." "that is true," said her brother: "they have set us many a noble example of clemency and honour. yet their hands are not altogether free from blood guiltiness. there have been acts of violence and cruelty committed even during these past weeks along the shores of the river." "yes," answered madame drucour: "houses have been burned and families turned adrift, and much suffering has resulted therefrom. war is ever cruel, and the track of it is marked with fire and blood. yet we must remember that the persons thus molested had fair warning given them. they might have remained in safety had they submitted to the conditions imposed by general wolfe. perhaps they showed more spirit by resistance; but they drew down their fate upon themselves. and no woman or child has been hurt; no cruelties have been inflicted upon prisoners. no indians have been suffered to molest them. would we have been as forbearing--as stern in the maintenance of order and discipline? the only acts of cruelty committed on the english side have been by rangers not belonging to the regular army, and those only upon indians or those degraded canadians who go about with them, painted and disguised to resemble their dusky allies. for my part, i think that men who thus degrade themselves deserve all that they get." "it is well to seek to find consolation in time of extremity," said the abbe, "and i do rejoice very heartily in the knowledge that we have a merciful foe to deal with. if this city is forced to open her gates to the english, i verily believe that no scenes of outrage will disgrace the page of history upon which this day's doings shall be recorded. there is help in that thought at least." but it was impossible for either colin or his uncle to remain within doors upon such a day. he insisted that madame drucour and corinne should not adventure themselves beyond the city walls, though he did not condemn them to remain within doors. but he, for his own part, must go forth and see what was befalling without; for the abbe, in spite of his vows, was half a soldier at heart, and had done some fighting in his young life, and knew the sound of the clash of arms. he was not going to adventure himself into the battle, or to suffer colin to do so either; that would be useless. indeed the boy had no desire to enter the lists against the english, being more than half on their side as it was, although the infection of the feelings of the townspeople rendered it difficult for him exactly to know his own mind. he and corinne were alike consumed with an overpowering sense of excitement. it was the thought of the battle about to be waged that filled the minds of both--the imminence of the coming struggle. as for the result, that was less a matter of concern to them. the crisis was the overwhelming consideration in their minds. the abbe and colin had gone. the streets were beginning to fill with excited people. the storm of shot and shell was not falling upon quebec today. the guns had been directed upon the beauport camp, to cover the real enterprise being carried on above. also the river had to be watched and guarded. everything spoke of a change in tactics. there was a tense feeling in the air as though an electric cloud hung low over the city. then came a burst of cheering. montcalm had been seen spurring on with only a small band of followers over the bridge of the st. charles towards the scene of danger; and now the army itself was in sight, making its way after him across the bridge and towards the city, through whose streets they must pass to gain unmolested those heights where the english were awaiting them, drawn up in close array. montcalm's face was full of anxiety, and yet full of courage, as he returned the plaudits of the citizens. he knew that affairs were serious, but he hoped and believed that he should find but a small detachment of the enemy waiting to receive him. he could not believe that very much had been accomplished in one night. a little resolution and courage and military address, and the foe would be dislodged and driven ignominiously down those precipitous heights which they had scaled with such boldness a few hours before. it was a fine sight to see the troops pouring in by the palace gate, and out again by the gates of st. louis and st. john--the white uniforms and gleaming bayonets of the battalions of old france, the canadian militia, and the troops of painted indians following, cheered by the citizens, reinforced by the garrison, their hearts animated by lust of conquest and an assurance of victory, which assurance was not altogether shared by the citizens themselves, whose scouts had brought in alarming tidings concerning the strength of the english position. and now the soldiers had all marched through; the last of the bands had disappeared from the streets; the garrison had taken themselves to their own quarters; the men of the town had flocked out of the city in the hope of seeing something of the fight; and the streets were chiefly thronged by anxious women and wondering, wide-eyed children--all crowding together in groups, their faces turned towards those heights above where they knew the struggle was to be fought out. "hark to the firing!" a deep silence fell upon the crowds in the streets--the hush of a breathless expectancy. the rattle of musketry fell upon their ears, and then a sound almost like a cannon shot. it was the volley of the english, delivered with such admirable precision. an involuntary scream arose from many as that sound was heard. had the english got their artillery up to those inaccessible heights? but no; there was no further sound of cannonading, only a fierce and continuous fusillade, which told of the battle raging so fiercely up yonder on the heights. some women crowded into the churches to offer prayers at the shrines of saint or virgin; but the majority could not tear themselves away from the streets, nor from the open space near to the gate of st. louis, by which gate news would most likely enter. and it did. how the time went none could say, but it seemed only a short time after the firing had commenced before white-faced scouts from the town, who had gone forth to see the battle, came running back with gestures of terror and despair. "the english are shooting us down like sheep. the french give way on every side. their terrible fire mows down our ranks like grass before the scythe! they are charging upon us now! we are scattered and fleeing every way! alas, alas! the day is lost. quebec will fall!" "lost! it cannot be lost in this time," cried pale-faced women, unable and unwilling to believe. "where is the governor? he will come up with the reserves. where is bougainville? surely he will fall upon the english rear! have we not twice the force of the english? we cannot be conquered in this time! it would be a shame to france forever." so cried the people--one calling one thing, and another another, whilst every fresh scout brought in fresh tidings of disaster. there could be no doubt about it. the french army had been routed at the first onset. where the fault lay none could tell, but they were flying like chaff before the wind. corinne stood close beside her aunt, silent, with dilated eyes, her heart beating almost to suffocation as she sought to hear what was said, and to make out the truth of the thousand wild rumours flying about. colin came dashing through the gate. his face was flushed; he had lost his hat; he was too breathless to speak. but he saw corinne's signal, and came dashing up to them. he flung himself down upon the ground, and struggled for breath. "o colin, what have you seen?" in a few moments more he was able to speak. "i have seen the battle!" he gasped; "i have seen it all. i could not have believed it would have been fought so soon. i have seen something that these people would rejoice to know, but i shall not tell them. i have seen the fall of general wolfe!" madame drucour uttered a short exclamation of dismay. "general wolfe killed! colin, art thou sure?" "not sure that he is dead, only that he fell, and was carried away by his men. he was heading the charge, as a brave general should. oh, had you seen how that battle was directed, you could not but have admired him, whether friend or foe! it teaches one what war can be to see such generalship as that." "he is a great man," said madame drucour softly; "i have always maintained that. pray heaven his life be spared, for he will be a merciful and gallant victor; and if he fall, we may not meet such generous, chivalrous kindness from others." "here come the soldiers!" cried corinne, who from a little vantage ground could see over the battlements. "ah, how they run! as though the enemy were at their heels. "are you men? are you soldiers? for shame! for shame! to run like sheep when none pursues! now indeed will i call myself french no longer; i will be a british subject like my mother. it is not willingly that i desert a losing cause; but i cannot bear such poltroonery. when have the english ever fled like this before us? oh, it is a shame! it is a disgrace!" "ah, if you could have seen the english soldiers!" cried colin, with eager enthusiasm; "i never heard a volley delivered as theirs was! they never wasted a shot. they stood like a rock whilst the french charged across to them, firing all the time. and when they did fire, it was like a cannon shot; and after that, our men seemed to have no spirit left in them. when the smoke of the second volley cleared off, i could scarce believe my eyes. the dead seemed to outnumber the living; and these were flying helter-skelter this way and that!" "but did not the general strive to rally them?" "doubtless he did. our marquis is a brave soldier and an able general; but what can one man do? panic had seized the troops; and if you had heard the sound of cheering from the ranks of the english, and that strange yell from those wild highlanders as they dashed in pursuit, you would have understood better what the soldiers felt like. they ran like sheep--they are running still. i saw that if i were to have a chance of bringing you the news, i must use all my powers, or i should be jammed in the mass of flying humanity making for the city; and since the english are not very far behind, i had need to make good my retreat." it was plain that colin was only a little in advance of a portion of the defeated army, whose soldiers were now flocking back to the city, spreading panic everywhere. suddenly there ran through the assembled crowd a murmur which gathered in volume and intensity, and changed to a strange sound as of wailing. corinne, who had the best view, leaned eagerly forward to see, and her face blanched instantly. a horseman was coming through the gate, supported on either side by a soldier; his face was deadly white, and blood was streaming from a wound in his breast. madame drucour looked also and uttered a cry: "monsieur le marquis est tue!" it was indeed montcalm, shot right through the body, but not absolutely unconscious, though dazed and helpless. instantly madame drucour had forced a passage through the crowd, and was at his side. "bring him this way," she said to those who supported him and led the horse; "he will have the best attention here." montcalm seemed to hear the words, and the wail of sorrow which went up from the bystanders. he roused himself, and spoke a few words, faintly and with difficulty. "it is nothing. you must not be troubled for me, my good friends. it is as it should be--as i would have it." then his head drooped forward, and madame drucour hurried the soldiers onward to the house where she now lived; colin running on in advance to give notice of their approach, and if possible to find victor arnoux, that the wounded man might receive immediate attention. the surgeon was luckily on the spot almost at once, and directed the carrying of the marquis into one of the lower rooms, where they laid him on a couch and brought some stimulant for him to swallow. he was now quite unconscious; and the young surgeon, after looking at the wound, bit his lip and stood in silent thought whilst the necessary things were brought to him. "is it dangerous?" asked madame drucour, in an anxious whisper, as she looked down at the well-known face. "it is mortal!" answered victor, in the same low tone. "he has not twelve hours of life left in him." chapter : surrender. "is the general yet living?" asked the abbe an hour or two later, entering the house to which he knew his friend had been carried, a look of concentrated anxiety upon his face. madame drucour had heard his step even before she heard his voice. she was already beside him, her face pale and her eyes red with weeping. "ah, my brother," she cried, "thou art come to tell us that all is lost!" "all would not be lost if the army had a head!" answered the abbe, with subdued energy. "we could outnumber the enemy yet if we had a soldier fit to take command. but the marquis--how goes it with him?" "he lives yet, but he is sinking fast. he will never see the light of another day!" and the tears which had gathered in madame drucour's eyes fell over her cheeks. "my poor friend!" sighed the abbe; and after a pause of musing he added, "is he conscious?" "yes; he came to himself a short while ago, and insisted upon knowing how it was with him." "he knows, then?" "yes--victor arnoux told him the truth: but i think he knew it before." "and what said he?" "that it was well; that he should not live to see the surrender of quebec; that his work was done on earth, and he ready to depart." "then he thinks the cause is lost?" "those are the words he used. perchance he knows that there is no one now to lead or direct them. you know, my brother, that the brave senezergues lies mortally wounded. he might have taken the command; but now we have none fit for it. you have seen what is passing without the city; tell me of it! what does the governor? they say that when the battle was fought he had not yet appeared upon the scene of action." "no," answered the abbe bitterly, "he had not. yet he had had notice four hours before the fighting commenced, and was nearer than the marquis, who brought the army up. he came too late to do anything. he is always late. he comes up at the end of everything--to claim credit if the day is won, to throw the blame upon others if fortune frowns. he is saying now that it was a deplorable mistake on montcalm's part to attack before he had joined issues with him; as though his raw canadians had ever done any good in the open field!" "you have seen him, then?" "yes; he and a part of the routed army have taken possession of the redoubt at the head of the bridge of boats across the st. charles, and so completely are they cowed and terrified that it was all that a few of the cooler-headed ones of us could do to prevent the men from cutting in pieces the bridge itself, and thus cutting off the retreat of half the army, who are still pouring back over it, pursued by the english." "then the fight is not yet over?" "the battle is, but not the rout. and yet there is a sort of fighting going on. the canadians, who in the open field show themselves so useless, are redeeming their character now. they have spread themselves over the low-lying lands by the river, hiding in bushes and coverts, and shooting down the english in a fashion which they little relish. those fierce highlanders suffer the most from this sort of warfare, for they always throw away their muskets before they charge, and so they have no weapon that is of any service against a hidden marksman in the bushes. but all this, though it may harass the english, does not affect the issue of the day. we have suffered a crushing defeat, although the number of the slain is not excessive. it remains now to be settled whether we accept this defeat as final, or whether we yet try to make a stand for the honour of our country and the salvation of canada." "ah, my brother, if quebec goes, canada goes!" "that is so; but there are many of us who say that quebec is not yet lost. it is not lost; it might well be saved. and yet what think you of this? they say that within the hornwork the governor and the intendant were closeted together drafting the terms of capitulation of the whole colony, ready to submit to the english general!" "so soon?" "so they say. i know not if it be altogether true, but all is confusion worse confounded yonder. the soldiers are pouring back to their camp at beauport in a perfect fever of panic. i heard that bigot would have tried to muster and lead them against the enemy once more, and that the governor gave his sanction, but that the officers would not second the suggestion. i think all feel that with only vaudreuil to lead fighting is hopeless. he knows not his own mind two minutes together; he agrees always with the last speaker. he is always terrified in the moment of real crisis and peril. his bluster and gasconade desert him, and leave him in pitiful case." "what, then, is to be done?" "that i cannot tell. i have come with a message from the governor to the marquis. he sent me to ascertain his condition, and if possible to ask counsel of him. his word would still carry weight. if he is sufficiently himself to listen for a few minutes to what i have to say, i would then put the case and ask his opinion upon it." madame drucour drew the abbe softly into the room where the dying man lay. montcalm's eyes opened as he heard them approach. at the sight of the abbe he seemed to try to rouse himself. "you have brought news! tell me, how goes it?" the abbe repeated in some detail the after events of the battle and rout, montcalm listening to every word with the keenest interest and attention. "where is the governor?" he asked at the conclusion of the narrative. "he was still at the hornwork when i left," answered the abbe; "but many were clamouring around him, declaring that the place would be carried by assault almost immediately, and all of them cut to pieces without quarter; and that they had better surrender the city and colony at once than lose all their lives in an unavailing struggle." montcalm's face, upon which death had already set its seal, remained immovably calm and tranquil. "what said the governor?" he asked. "he appeared to agree with this view of the case. he is much alarmed and disturbed. he is preparing to return to his own quarters upon the beauport road, and will there hold a council as to the next step to be taken. it was he who asked me to go back to the city and see you, my general, and ask what advice you have for us. we are in a sore strait, and there seems none to advise us; but any word that comes from you will have its weight with the army." montcalm lay silent a long while. physical weakness made speaking difficult, and his mind no longer worked with the lightning quickness of old days. he seemed to find some slight difficulty in bringing it down to the affairs of earthly battles and struggles. "tell the governor," he said at last, speaking faint and low, "that there is a threefold choice before him; and that though were i at the head of the army, i should say, fight, i do not offer him counsel to do so; i only tell him the alternatives. the first of these is to fight--to join forces with ramesay's garrison and the sailors from the batteries here, and to gather in all the outlying canadians and indians of the neighbourhood. with such an army as could be quickly gathered, and by acting in concert with bougainville from cap rouge, there is at least a very fair chance of vanquishing the foe in open fight. the next alternative is for him to retire upon jacques cartier, leaving quebec with an efficient garrison, and from there to harass the enemy, cut off supplies, and otherwise prolong the siege till the approach of winter forces them to take to their ships and go. the third is to give up the colony to english rule. let the governor and his council take their choice of these three plans, for there is no other." "i will take the message myself," said the abbe, pressing the hand of his friend, and stooping to imprint a kiss on the pale brow. "god be with you, my friend, in the hour of trial; and may he receive your soul when he shall have called it! i shall pray for the repose of your gallant spirit. peace be with you. farewell." montcalm was too much exhausted for further speech, but he made a slight gesture with his hand, and the abbe left him, madame drucour stealing after him for a last word. "you will not run into peril yourself, my brother?" "nay," he answered, with a touch of bitterness in his tone; "i shall be safe enough, since my errand is to the governor. monsieur de vaudreuil is never known to put himself into danger. oh that we had a governor who thought first of the honour of france and second of his own safety!" "but surely they will fight! they will not give up quebec without a struggle? look at the walls and ramparts, untouched and impregnable as ever! our town is shattered, it is true, but that has long been done. why should we give up the city because a few hundred soldiers have been slain upon the plains of abraham? we have still a great army to fight with." "we have; but where is the general to lead us? nevertheless, we may still show ourselves men. "colin, my boy, is that thou? what, dost thou want to come with me? so be it, then. thou shalt do so, and take back word to thy aunt here as to what the council decides. "i may find work over yonder with the sick and wounded. i may not return tonight. but colin shall come back with news, and you will know that all is well with me." they went together, and madame drucour returned to her watch beside the sick and dying man. the surgeon stole in and out as his other duties permitted him, and corinne shared the watch beside the couch where montcalm lay. the bishop, who in spite of his feebleness had been abroad in the city, seeking to console the dying and to cheer up the garrison, depressed by rumours of the flight of the army, came in at dusk, exhausted and depressed himself, to find another dying soldier in need of the last rites of the church. it was a solemn scene which that dim room witnessed as the night waned and the approach of dawn came on. without all was confusion, hurry, anxiety, and distress, none seeking sleep in their beds, all eagerly awaiting tidings from the army--the news which should tell them whether they were to be gallantly supported or left to their fate. within there was the deep hush which the approach of death seems ever to bring. the short, gasping confession had been made; the bishop stood over the dying man, making the sign and speaking the words of absolution. a young priest from the seminary and an acolyte had been found to assist at the solemn rite; and madame drucour, with corinne and the faithful old servant, knelt at the farther end of the room, striving to keep back their tears. it was over at last. the words of commendation had been spoken; the last labouring breath had been drawn. corinne, half choking with her emotion, and feeling as though she would be stifled if she were to remain longer in that chamber of death, silently glided away out of the room into the open air; and once there, she broke into wild weeping, the result of the long tension of her pent-up emotion. "mademoiselle, mademoiselle! corinne!" cried a familiar voice in a subdued tone from some place not far distant. "is it indeed you? nay, do not weep; there is not need. we shall not harm you; you and yours shall be safe whatever comes to pass in quebec." corinne gazed about her in astonishment. who was speaking to her? the next house to theirs was deserted, because the roof had been blown off, and a shell had fallen through, breaking almost every floor. yet the voice seemed to come from a window within that house, and in the dim and uncertain moonlight she saw a head--two heads--protruding from a first-floor window. next minute she was further astonished by the rapid descent of three figures, who seemed to clamber like monkeys down the shattered wall; and behold the three merry midshipmen were grouped around her, holding her hands and seeking to cheer her. "peter--paul--arthur! how came you here? surely quebec is not taken yet!" "no, but so nearly taken that we thought to steal a march. we have been working since evening in dragging up cannon upon the plain yonder, where the army is intrenching itself; and when our task was done, we felt a great wish to see what was passing in the city where we had many friends, and which we knew so well. in the confusion it was not difficult to get in under cover of the dusk; but we found we could not get out again--at least not when we tried. but we cared little for that. there are plenty of empty houses to hide in, and we had bread in our pockets. we heard of you and madame drucour, and have been watching and waiting in hopes of seeing you. but, corinne, are you weeping because the english are about to take quebec? we looked upon you as an ally and a compatriot." "i am weeping because our good general, the marquis of montcalm, is just dead," answered corinne, wiping her eyes. "he lies within those walls, sleeping the last sleep. he will never see his wife and his mother and his mill at candiac again. and he has talked so much to us of all those things, and of the children he loved so well. oh, war is a cruel thing! pray heaven it may come to a speedy end!" the sound of flying footsteps up the street caused the midshipmen to look at one another, and meditate a return to their hiding place; but corinne said: "that is colin's step; he comes back with news." and, in truth, the next moment colin stood amongst them, so full of excitement himself that the sudden appearance of the midshipmen, whom he instantly recognized, did not at once strike him with astonishment. "i will never call myself a frenchman again!" he panted, his eyes gleaming with wrath. "what think you, corinne? they are flying from the camp at beauport as sheep fly before wolves. it is no retreat, it is a rout--a disgraceful, abominable, causeless rout. there is no enemy near. the english are up on the heights, intrenching themselves no doubt, and resting after their gallant enterprise. our uncle has exhausted his powers of persuasion. he has shown them again and again how strong is their position still, how little it would even now take of courage and resolution to save quebec and the colony. they will not listen--they will not hear. they are flying like chaff before the wind. they are leaving everything behind in their mad haste to be gone! and the indians will swoop down directly the camp is empty, and take everything. oh, it is a disgrace, a disgrace! not even to take a night to think it over. if the english did but know, and sent out a few hundred soldiers upon them, they might cut the whole army to pieces in a few hours!" colin, colin! oh, is it so?" "it is indeed; and all that the men say when one speaks to them is that wolfe and his soldiers are too much for them. they will not stay to be hacked to pieces." "alas!" said paul gravely, "the gallant wolfe is no more. if you have lost your general, so have we. wolfe fell early in the battle, and moncton is dangerously wounded. we are robbed of our two first officers; but for all that we will have quebec and canada." "and you deserve it!" answered colin, fired with generous enthusiasm. "if our french soldiers and officers fling away their courage and their honour, let us welcome those who have both, and who are masters worthy to be served and loved." it was a strange, sad day. the confusion and despair in the town were pitiful to behold. with the first light of day it was seen that the camp at beauport was still standing, and hope sprang up in the hearts of the townsfolk. but when, shortly after, it was known that though standing it had been abandoned, and that the night had seen the indiscriminate flight of the whole army, the deepest despondency fell upon the town. this feeling was not lessened when it began to be whispered that the chevalier ramesay had received instructions from the governor not to attempt to hold the town in face of a threatened assault, but to wait till the scanty provisions had been exhausted, and then raise the white flag and obtain the best terms he could. the abbe had stayed to bring this last letter from the flying governor. his own soul was stirred to the depths by indignation and sorrow. it seemed to him the crowning disgrace in a disgraceful flight. ramesay had sought speech with the marquis a few hours before his death, but could obtain no advice from him. he had done with worldly things, and could only wish well to those who were left behind. it was a desperate state of affairs, and all the town knew it. so great was the confusion that no workman could be found to make a coffin for the body of the dead general. the old servant of the ursulines, faithful to the last, went hither and thither and collected a few planks and nails, and the midshipmen and colin assisted her to nail together a rude coffin in which the body was presently laid. it must be buried that same evening, for none knew from hour to hour what was in store for the city. but no pomp or circumstance could attend the funeral; and indeed no one could be found to dig a grave. yet a fitting grave was found in the chapel of the ursuline convent, now little more than a ruin. an exploding shell had made a deep cavity in the floor not far from the altar, and this hollow was soon shaped into the similitude of a grave. no bells tolled or cannon fired as the mournful procession filed through the streets; yet it did not lack a certain sombre dignity. the bishop and the abbe headed it, with a few priests from the cathedral in attendance. ramesay was there with his officers, and madame drucour, with colin and corinne, the three midshipmen (who no longer feared to show themselves), and the old servant, brought up the rear. as the cortege passed through the streets, numbers of citizens fell in behind, together with women and children, weeping for one whose name was dear, and who they all averred would have saved their city had he lived. torches were lit before the procession filed into the ruined church, and sobs mingled with the chants that were rehearsed over the grave. "alas, alas!" sobbed the women; "we have buried our hopes in that grave. we have lost our general; we shall lose our city, and all canada will follow." "it is no wonder they feel so," said the abbe to his sister that night; "we are abandoned by the army that might have saved us. we have scarce provision to last a week, even on half rations--so i heard today--and all the merchants and townspeople are for immediate capitulation. it is possible that when our army finds itself at jacques cartier, thirty miles from the scene of danger, and in an impregnable position, they may rally their courage and reconsider the situation; but unless i am greatly mistaken, that resolution will come too late--quebec will have already surrendered." things had come to a desperate pass. only one out of all the officers was in favour of resistance; the rest declared it impossible. the english on the heights were intrenched, and were pushing their trenches nearer and nearer. though wolfe was dead and moncton disabled, townshend, the third in command, was acting with the energy and resolve which had characterized the expedition all along. three days after montcalm's death matters reached a crisis. troops were seen approaching the palace gate from the st. charles meadows, and the ships of war were slowly nearing the town with evident intention of opening fire. all the city was in a state of uncontrollable fright and agitation. the officers crowded round ramesay's quarters declaring that they could do nothing with their men; that the men said they knew that orders had been given to avoid assault, and that they were threatening to carry their guns back to the arsenal, and desert bodily to the english. so disgusted and disheartened were they by the action of the governor and his army that they had no fight left in them. "raise the white flag then!" said the commander, in brief, stern tones. was it a cheer or a groan which arose from the town as the symbol of surrender was seen floating above the battlements? once it was torn down by some more ardent spirit; but again it floated high, and the people gazing up at it gesticulated and wept, though whether for sorrow or joy they could scarce have told themselves. it was known that a messenger had gone forth to confer with the english commander, and the negotiations were drawn out hour after hour, in the hope of some succour from without; till a stern message came back that if they were not signed within an hour, the assault would be ordered. then ramesay signed, having secured more favourable terms than he had dared to hope for. the capitulation of quebec was an accomplished fact! yet even whilst the people were still thronging the streets and open places by the gateway, a band of weary horsemen were seen spurring towards the city. as the foremost entered he cried: "courage, good friends, courage! help is at hand! the army is marching to your defence! quebec shall yet be saved!" alas! quebec had fallen. sobs and groans went up from the women, and curses from the men. there was a rush for ramesay's quarters to tell the news and ask what could be done; but the chevalier's face was stern and hard. "nothing can be done," he said. "you have had your own will. you have signed away your city. honour will not permit me to break my word. besides, how can we trust an army which has basely deserted us once? if they would not attack the foe before he had had time to intrench and fortify himself, how can we hope that they will have courage to brave the assault of a formidable intrenched camp defended by artillery? "go back whence you came, sirs, and tell the governor, if you will, that his cowardice and desertion have done their work. quebec is lost to france for ever, and canada will follow. he could have saved it four days ago had he had the heart of a soldier or the head of a statesman; now it is lost irrevocably!" chapter : friendly foes. quebec was taken; it had surrendered without a blow when once the battle upon the heights above had ended in the overthrow of the french army. julian and fritz exchanged glances of wonder when it was known beyond all doubt that the capitulation had been signed. it was marvellous to them, who knew the full peril of their own position, that the french should be so blind. a concerted attack from the two armies of the immediate locality could scarcely have failed to drive them from their vantage ground back to their ships; and once there, the admirals would have had no choice but to put to sea once more; for already the season was closing, and it would then have been madness to think of any further operations for that season. and yet sadness rather than joy was the main feeling in the hearts of these comrades as they prepared themselves to be of the number to march into the city. fritz was still somewhat lame from the effect of his wound; but his splendid physique had made light of the injury, and in other respects he was sound and strong. humphrey walked beside him, giving him a little assistance over rough ground, and julian was on his other side. they were full of curiosity to behold the city which it had cost them so much to take, and fritz was anxious to find again those friends who had shown him kindness in past days. julian, too, was very desirous to meet madame drucour once more, and renew with her those pleasant relations which had commenced within the fortress of louisbourg. townshend, the brigadier now in command, had granted easy terms to the place. he knew too well the peril of his position not to be thankful for having quebec almost at any price. the garrison and the sailors, who formed a considerable portion of the force in the city, were to march out with the honours of war, and were to be shipped to france with what speed they might. the promised protection offered by wolfe to all peaceable inhabitants was to be assured to all, together with the free exercise of their own religion. to townshend had been carried upon the very day of the capitulation a letter written by montcalm only a few hours before his death, the feeble penmanship of which showed well how difficult it had been to him to indite it. in effect it was the last thing he ever wrote, and the signature was nothing but a faint initial, as though the failing fingers refused the task before them. "monsieur," ran the missive, "the well-known humanity of the english sets my mind at peace concerning the fate of the french prisoners and the canadians. feel towards them as they have caused me to feel. do not let them perceive that they have changed masters. be their protector as i have been their father," it was probable that montcalm believed himself addressing wolfe when he wrote this last charge. it was not known with any certainty in quebec that the english general had fallen, some had heard he was wounded, but no certainty prevailed. indeed it was with no exultation that quebec heard of the death of the dreaded wolfe. if he were redoubtable in the field of battle, he was known to be a merciful and generous foe in the hour of victory. madame drucour had shed tears when told for certain of the hero's fall; the abbe had sorrowfully shaken his bead, and had told the citizens that they had nothing to rejoice over in that. so the garrison marched out with as much bravery and martial show as they could under the circumstances, and the citizens crowded the streets and ramparts to cheer them as they went, and watch with mingled feelings the entrance of the english troops into the town and the hoisting of the english flag. sobs broke from many, and a deep groan rose shudderingly upon the air; and yet there were very many in the city who cared little for the change of masters, if only they might be rid of the horrors of war. life had long been very difficult under the french rule. so much official corruption existed, especially in the matter of supplies of food and other necessaries, that the unhappy people were forced to pay double and treble value for almost everything, and were being slowly bled to death, that a few functionaries like bigot and cadet might fatten and grow enormously rich. they had begun to know that the english colonies were very differently governed; that they grew in strength and independence, and were encouraged, and not thwarted and hindered, in their internal development. although much smaller in extent than canada, their population was double that of the french colony. it was indeed the growing strength and prosperity of the english provinces which had excited the jealous animosity of the french, and had quickened their resolve to pen them in between mountain and sea, and hinder their development. and this resolve had been followed by the commencement of that border warfare to which this was the sequel. england knew better than let herself be penned within narrow limits. she had broken through the bonds which held her back. now she was mistress of the key and capital of canada. it could only be a matter of time before the whole colony fell to her. "it may be better for them in the end," said madame drucour, heaving a long sigh as she watched the departure of the garrison, and saw the scarlet uniforms of the english flooding the streets of quebec, "and yet it is hard to see it. i knew it must come, but my heart is heavy within me. if only we had made a more gallant fight, i should have felt it less." "there he is! there he is!" shouted colin suddenly; "there is fritz neville!" "ah," cried madame drucour, with a quick look of pleasure, "and there is monsieur julian dautray too! get speech with them if you can, colin, and bring them to supper at our house. there is much i should like to ask them; and if some of the officers are to be billeted amongst us townsfolk, i would gladly have those two to care for." "i'll go and see about it," cried colin. "take us with you," cried the midshipmen, who had viewed the procession with swelling hearts, uttering now and then a british cheer, which mingled oddly with the sighs of the people. however, since they had cheered the retiring troops as lustily as their own countrymen, no one took this amiss. indeed the young middies had made themselves popular in the town by this time, and had done something to promote a feeling of confidence in the goodwill and clemency of the victors. corinne and her aunt returned homeward. the girl was in a state of great excitement, sorrow for the regret of others mingling with her own secret triumph and joy in the victory of the english. it was no use trying to disguise from herself that she was glad the english had prevailed. she had come to have a contempt and distrust of the french and their ways and their rule. she admired the english, and believed in them. they had shown courage and resolution and heroism--had accomplished a feat which had hitherto been deemed impossible. she was proud of the british blood running in her veins, and was ready to welcome the victors with all her heart. so she decked the supper table with green leaves and grasses, and a few flowers culled from the convent garden, where it had not been torn to pieces by shot and shell. the viands were not very plentiful, it is true, since scarcity still prevailed in the city; but that would come to an end now, for the english were already making arrangements for throwing in ample supplies. then she ran upstairs to don her best holiday gown, feeling a wonderful rebound of spirit after the depression and anxiety and horror of the past days. she sang a little to herself as she flitted about her room, and was only just ready when she heard colin's voice from below summoning her to come. she ran down the staircase and glided into the supper room, to find it (as it seemed) quite full of company. it was too dusk to distinguish faces by that time, but bonnehomme michel appeared at the moment, bringing in two lamps, and the faces of the guests were instantly revealed to her. her face lighted as she met the friendly glance of fritz neville, and she extended her hand with a pretty welcoming grace. the next minute she found herself exchanging greetings with an officer in british uniform, a dark-eyed, dark-haired man, with a very clear-cut, handsome face. nor did it surprise her to hear that this was captain dautray, who had played a romantic part in the siege of louisbourg. "my aunt, madame drucour, has often spoken of you, sir," she said, "and told us how you disguised yourself and adventured yourself into the heart of the enemy's fortress. in sooth, i wonder you could ever dare such a deed. suppose you had been found out?" "then i should have been shot as a spy, i do not doubt," answered julian, "and should never have known the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the brave madame drucour--'madame le general,' as she was called in louisbourg--nor of being presented in quebec to mademoiselle her niece." and as he spoke he bowed over corinne's hand and raised it to his lips. the girl blushed and smiled. such a salute was not uncommon in those days, and there was nothing free in julian's manner; indeed there was a grave dignity about him which distinguished him in whatever company he found himself, and his recent military training had done much to increase the natural advantages which had always been his. the remaining guest, who was a stranger to her, was presented as humphrey angell, and she looked with quick interest at him, recollecting how fritz had told her the tale of that terrible indian raid, and how he had found the two brothers, almost distracted by anguish and despair, amid the blackened ruins of their once prosperous settlement. this was the brother of the strange, wild-looking man whom she and colin had seen in the forest long, long ago, and who had perished in the hour of vengeance. how interesting it was, she thought, to see all these men of whom she had heard and thought so much! she let her glance wander from one face to the other, and she was not ashamed of the feeling of keen admiration which awoke within her. the three midshipmen were also of the company. discipline had been somewhat relaxed in the hour of battle and victory, and they had obtained leave of absence from their ship for a while. colin had brought them back for a farewell repast. they seemed almost like sons of the house by this time; and they had brought with them, from one of the provision transports, a supply of good victuals which had made bonnehomme michel's eyes shine and her wrinkled visage beam. the scent of coffee pervaded the house, and soon a savoury mess such as had not been seen for long upon that table was set down, and the guests, in excellent spirits, took their places. corinne found herself seated next to julian, with arthur on her other side. the abbe took the foot of the table, and madame drucour the head. she looked pale and grave, but showed a gentle dignity and courtesy of bearing which was very impressive; and everyone showed her all possible deference. corinne spoke to julian in a low voice. "i want to ask of your general, the great wolfe. were you with him when he died?" "yes, mademoiselle; he died in my arms. i have had the honour of calling myself his friend for above a year." at that word madame drucour looked up and said: "ah, let me hear of monsieur wolfe! i had hoped to see him again myself. such a hero, such a sweet and courteous gentleman! frenchwoman though i be, i could have welcomed him as the victor of quebec!" all listened with deep attention as julian related in considerable detail the story of the last hours of wolfe, and madame drucour wiped her eyes many times during the recital. "ah! if he had but lived to see the city of his hopes, i would myself have been his nurse, and would have brought him back to health and strength. "you smile, sir; but yet i have seen much of sickness. you will hear that the doctors themselves give me the credit for saving many lives." "i can believe it, madame; indeed i have seen something of that skill with mine own eyes. but, alas! i fear that the case of our friend was beyond human skill. i think that, had he had the choice, he would have chosen to die as he did in the hour of victory. to wear out a life of suffering in uncongenial inactivity would have been sorely irksome to his unquenchable spirit; and yet, after the hardships through which he had passed, i misdoubt me if he could ever have taken the field again. he would have endured the peril and pain of another long voyage only to die upon shipboard, or at his home if he lived to reach it. the hand of death was surely upon him." "and to die in the hour of a glorious victory is surely a fitting close to a hero's life," said corinne softly to julian, when the tide of talk had recommenced to flow in other quarters. "but tell me, does he leave behind many to mourn him? has he parents living, or sisters and brothers, or one nearer and dearer still? has he a wife in england?" "not a wife, mademoiselle, but one who was to have been his wife had he lived to return, and a mother who loves him as the apple of the eye. i shall have a sad task before me when i return to tell them of him whom they have loved and lost." "are you then going back to england?" asked corinne; "are you not born in these lands of the west?" "yes; and i think that my home will be here when my duties to my friend are done. but first i must return to his home and his mother, and give to them there his last loving messages, and those things he wished them to possess of his. indeed, his body is to be taken back, embalmed; the officers have decided upon that. i must see his mother and miss lowther again; then i think i shall return to these western shores once again, and make my home upon canadian soil." "tell me more about mrs. wolfe and miss lowther," said corinne, with keen interest in her eyes and voice. so julian told her much of the events of those months which he spent in england by the side of wolfe, and at last he drew forth the double miniature containing the likeness of the two who loved the hero so well, and gave it to corinne to look at. the tears came into her eyes as she gazed at the two faces. he saw the sparkle on her long lashes as she returned him the case, and he loved her for them. "it is a beautiful face; both are beautiful faces," she said. "how sad for them--how very sad--that he should return to them no more! do you think miss lowther will ever love again? or will she go mourning all the days of her life for him whom she has lost?" julian shook his head doubtfully. "i cannot tell; yet time is a great healer, and wolfe himself sent her a message bidding her not mourn too long and deeply for him. she is still young, and the time they spent together was not very long. i trust and hope that comfort will come to her when her grief has abated and the wound has healed. life would become too sorrowful a thing if death were able to make such lasting havoc of its hopes and happiness." corinne drew a long sigh. she had seen much of death and disaster those last months of her young life. it would indeed be too cruel if the hand of time held no healing balm in its clasp. the next days were full of interest for corinne. julian took her and colin under his special protection and care. fritz was kept to the house and its vicinity by his lameness, which the march into the city had rather increased; and humphrey was busy in a thousand ways. but julian, though he had sundry duties to perform, had plenty of leisure on his hands, too; and he gave up a great portion of this leisure to taking corinne and her brother a regular tour of the various ships, and of the camps where the english had settled themselves whilst attacking quebec--showing them exactly how the heights of abraham had been scaled, how the plain had been reached and the battle set in array there; and the spot where wolfe had fallen, and that where he had died. the bright-faced girl, with her french name and english sympathies, was feted and welcomed everywhere. brigadier townshend gave a dinner to some of the residents, and the abbe and madame drucour, with their nephew and niece, were invited. corinne's health was proposed and drunk amid acclamation, greatly to her own astonishment; and wherever she went she met with nothing but kindness and respect. she was given a number of trophies of the recent war--a small dagger that had belonged to wolfe being the most prized of them all. she daily visited the hospital with her aunt, and cheered by her bright presence both the english and french who lay there. all was busy in and about the city. the garrison was being shipped off to france, according to the terms of the capitulation; and a number of residents whose homes had been destroyed, and who had no mind to remain in the place now that the english were the masters, were eager likewise to be gone. the french ships in the upper reaches of the river were permitted to come down, take up their crews again, and transport the fugitives to france. but the abbe and his sister remained on, uncertain of their future, madame drucour waited for news of her husband, and the abbe lingered to know if he could serve his countrymen any longer. they had friends in france, but were not much disposed to return to that land. colin and corinne were burning with desire to see england at least, even if they did not remain there; and madame drucour was disposed to wish the same thing for herself. one day humphrey brought them news. he had had news of the ex-governor of louisbourg. he had fallen into the hands of the indians, but had been rescued by the english, and had been sent, with a number of other prisoners, to england in one of their returning ships. the news had been brought by a sloop from new york. vessels were beginning to arrive in the harbour now from the enthusiastic english provinces. those in quebec heard how joy bells were ringing and bonfires blazing throughout new england and the provinces. far-seeing men saw in the fall of quebec an augury of a new and splendid empire in the west, over which england should rule. so far, at least, there was no thought of anything else, although the spirit of independence had taken deep root which another day would bring forth a different sort of fruit. "madame, your husband is safe," said humphrey when brought to her to tell his tale; "i have heard it from one who saw him. he has not suffered any severe hurt at the hands of the indians. they were of those who were wavering betwixt loyalty to france and loyalty to england, and who made captives of white men wherever they could, hoping to get a ransom for them. he was rescued by the english and brought to new york, put safely on board a home-sailing vessel, and doubtless he is safe on shore there by this time. he will be well treated; have no fears as to that. the brave governor of louisbourg will find many friends in england." "where i will join him!" cried madame drucour, clasping her hands. "yes, that settles my hesitation. if my husband is in england, i will go thither and join him; and these children shall go with us, and make acquaintance with their mother's kindred in scotland. "captain dautray, can you help us in this matter? can you secure for us a passage in one of your many noble ships so soon to return? you have been so true a friend to us that we appeal to you with confidence and courage." "it rejoices me that you should do so, madame. i will see to it at once. if possible, you shall sail in the same ship as i do myself. i think there will be little difficulty. each vessel will transport a certain number of those who desire to return to france or to be carried to english shores." corinne clapped her hands; her whole face lighted up. "oh, i shall see england! i shall realize the dream of my life! "colin, do you hear--do you understand? we are going to england--and in captain dautray's ship!" "hurrah!" cried the boy; "hurrah for old england! and if we go in captain dautray's ship, we shall have our middies for our companions, for they are to belong to the royal william, too. ah, that will be something to live for indeed! when do we sail? and where shall we go when we get there?" "the admirals want to leave as soon as possible," answered julian; "they have already stayed far beyond the time they intended. but there is much to arrange, and they will not go till they have sufficiently victualled the town, and settled the new garrison as comfortably and securely as may be. "still it will not be long now, and as for the rest, i can only beg of you to come first, upon landing, to the house of mrs. wolfe, where i myself am bound. madame drucour's name is known to her. "her son spoke much of you, madame, and of your kindness to him at louisbourg. and they know too how kindly others were treated--your humble servant being one. believe me, it will be the greatest pleasure to mrs. wolfe to welcome anyone who has known and loved her son, i have to visit her immediately; come at least with me so far. after that we will learn where monsieur drucour is to be found, and i will seek him out and bring him to you." so the matter was settled, and the abbe gave his approval. he himself would remain in quebec, the friend and counsellor of the victorious english, whom he could not but regard with affection and respect. of the brigadiers in command, moncton was too much shattered to do aught but go home to recover of his wounds; townshend was resolved to sail back, to receive the compliments and honours of the victory (since wolfe had passed beyond these things); and murray was left in command of quebec. there had been some talk of destroying it rather than facing the perils of keeping it in its shattered condition, and with a french army so near. but english pluck had scorned this policy, and already the men were hard at work repairing its defences, and storing away a sufficient supply of provisions for the long, inclement winter that lay before them. "we may have to fight for it yet," spoke some as they cheerfully worked at their fascines; "but we have got quebec, and we mean to keep it, let the french storm and rage as they will. if we could take it from them almost without a blow, surely we can keep it now we have it!" chapter : the last. "fritz, fritz! what do you think? who do you think has come to quebec? why, my brother-in-law, good benjamin ashley, together with his wife and daughter. they have come in charge of a trim little vessel, laden with provisions, sent as a gift from the citizens of philadelphia to the victors of quebec. he has charge of the cargo, i mean, not of the sloop; and he says he has come to stop, but i had no time to hear all his story. others were flocking about him, and he had letters for the commanding officer. i hastened away to find you and tell the news. let us go back together and learn more of this thing." into fritz's face there had leaped a look of quick and keen interest. "benjamin ashley," he repeated, "with his wife and daughter! is little susanna actually here in quebec?" "yes, and my sister," cried humphrey eagerly, "looking but little changed from the day i left her in philadelphia months ago. and their first inquiry after kissing me was for you, fritz. had you escaped the perils of the war? how were you? and were you here in the town also?" "let us go and see them," cried fritz, seizing his stick; "i would be one of the first to welcome them. it is true that you said benjamin ashley spoke of coming to quebec if it should fall to us, but i never thought to see him here so soon. he must have a stout heart, for the perils of the place are not ended yet, i fear." "he has a stout heart, in truth," answered humphrey; "and right glad am i to see him. quebec will be more of a home to us if benjamin ashley and his wife and daughter are dwelling within its walls." "indeed it will," answered fritz eagerly; and forthwith the pair started off together in search of their kinsfolk and friends. on the way they encountered john stark, who was the head of the band of rangers to be quartered in quebec during the winter as part of the garrison, and he was greatly excited by the news. "hurrah for brave benjamin ashley! it is like the stout-hearted fellow he always was to join his countrymen in times of peril rather than wait till all was smooth sailing. we shall want stout-hearted citizens of english blood within the city walls, to people the empty houses, and save us from being too much surrounded with half-hearted canadian residents. if we are beleaguered by a french army, as is likely enough, we shall want citizens as well as soldiers if we are to hold our prize against them." this was, indeed, very true, and therefore it was that any settlers from new england were warmly welcomed by the officers in charge of the fortress and city. they could depend upon their soldiers in the garrison well enough; but every commander knows how much harm can be done to a cause by discontent and half-heartedness in the city. at louisbourg it was the voice of the citizens that had turned the scale and forced the capitulation, and the same thing had, to a great extent, happened at quebec, the citizens had been discouraged and rendered desperate by the way in which the town had suffered, and this feeling had reacted upon the garrison, and had rendered them far less willing to try to hold out than they might otherwise have been. it was some little time before humphrey and his comrades could find ashley. he had been taken to the commander of the fortress to deliver up his papers and have a personal interview with him; and it was said that he was being entertained by him at table, and his wife and daughter also. presently the news came that mr. ashley from philadelphia was inspecting the premises of the fleur de lye, which was the most commodious and important inn in the lower town. it had been a good deal shattered by the bombardment, and the proprietor had been killed by a bursting shell. his family had been amongst the first of the inhabitants to take ship for france and now the place stood empty, its sign swinging mournfully from the door, waiting for some enterprising citizen to come and open business there again. "doubtless the commander has given him the offer of the house and business," said fritz when he heard. "ashley is just the man to restore prosperity to the old inn. let us go and seek him there, humphrey. a stout-hearted english-speaking host will be right welcome at the inn, and our fellows will bring him plenty of custom." the comrades hurried along the now familiar streets, and reached their destination in due course. the inn stood at no great distance from the harbour, and was in its palmy days a great resort both for the soldiers of the fortress and the sailors who navigated the great river. it was a solid building, and though its roof had been much damaged, and there was an ugly crack all down the front, its foundations were solid, and a little care and skill would soon repair the damage. fritz followed humphrey into the big public room close to the entrance, and there he came face to face with benjamin ashley, who was just saying farewell to brigadier murray, and whose honest face lighted with pleasure at the sight of the stalwart soldier. "it shall be seen to at once, mr. ashley," the commander was saying. "i will set the men to work tomorrow, and in a few days the place will be habitable. you shall have immediate possession, and the sooner you can start business the better for all. we want quebec to be a town again, and not a ruin. we want to make friends of the inhabitants, and show them that the conditions of life are not altogether altered. we want them to trust us and to think of us as friends. i am sure you will help us in this. nothing like good wine and a jovial host to set men's tongues wagging in a friendly fashion, and lighten their hearts of any load of fear and despondency." murray strode out, returning the salutes of his subordinates, and the next minute fritz and ashley were exchanging a warm greeting. "welcome to quebec, my friend; it does the heart good to see you here. humphrey declared you had promised to come soon; but i had not dared to think it would be this side of the winter season." "why, yes; i have been ready and waiting this long while. to tell the truth, i have had enough of philadelphia and its quaker-ridden assembly. why, when once the war had broken out and was raging in good earnest, i longed for nothing so much as my own youth back again, that i might fight with the best of them. and the peace palaver of the quakers sickened me. i came near to quarrelling with some of my old friends, and i grew eager to see fresh places, fresh faces. i turned it over in my mind, and i thought that if quebec fell into our hands, english-speaking citizens would surely be wanted to leaven the french and canadians who would remain. and if so, why should not i be one to take up my abode?" "why not, indeed?" cried fritz, whose eyes were eagerly straying round the room in search of somebody he had not seen as yet. "it was a happy thought, as our commander has just told you, i doubt not." "he has been a capital friend--he has put me in possession of this place; and i can see that there will be the making of a fine business here. and i have not come empty-handed. i sold the old tavern over yonder, and i have a fine store of wine and ale and salted provisions stored away on board, enough to set me up for the winter. "i must have that old sign down," added ashley, stepping into the street and looking up at the battered board crazily hanging from the beam above; "we must have another one up instead. i'll set up a wolf's head in its place, in memory of the gallant soldier who fell on the plains of abraham. and i will call my inn the wolfe of quebec." fritz laughed, still looking round him with quick glances. "and what said your wife and daughter to such a move?" "oh, the wife is a good wife, and follows her husband; though i won't say she did not feel the wrench of parting a good bit. as for the maid, she was wild to come! she has done nothing but think of the war ever since it began. she is half a soldier already, i tell her, and is making herself only fit to be a soldier's wife. she might have had the pick of all the young quakers in philadelphia; but you should have seen her turn up her pretty nose at them. "'a quaker indeed!' quoth the little puss; 'i'd as lief marry a broomstick with a turnip for a head! give me a man who is a man, not a puling woman in breeches!' "the sauciness of the little puss!" but ashley's jolly laugh showed that he encouraged the maid in her "sauciness," and fritz and humphrey laughed in sympathy. "where are mrs. ashley and susanna to be found?" asked fritz when the laugh had subsided. k "oh, somewhere in the house, poking and prying, and settling the things in woman's fashion. anything in the house is to be ours, and we may buy cheap a quantity of the furniture which is being taken out of the houses which are too much shattered to be rebuilt. we have brought things of our own, too. oh, we shall do well, we shall do well. it was a capital thought to come here. canada in english hands will have a great future before it." but fritz was off already, leaving humphrey to discuss the situation with his brother-in-law. he was off in search of susanna, and presently came upon her sitting upon a wide window ledge which commanded a view of the quay and harbour, and of the heights of point levi opposite. hannah was taking housewifely notes on the upper floor; but the view from this window had fascinated the girl, and she sat gazing out, lost in thought, a thousand pictures flitting through her imaginative brain. "susanna!" spoke a voice behind her. she started to her feet, quivering in every limb; and facing round, found herself confronted by him whose face and form had been the centre of each of her mental pictures, whose name had been on her lips and in her heart each time she had bent her knees in prayer for two long years, and who she knew had come at last to ask the fulfilment of that promise she had given him when last they had parted. her hands were in his; his face was bent over hers. he disengaged one hand, and put it round her shoulders, drawing her towards him gently. she did not resist; she gave a happy little sigh, and stood with her fair head close to his shoulder. "susanna, i have done what i hoped. i am a captain in the english king's army. i have won some small reputation as a soldier. i have a position sufficiently assured. you have come to live at quebec. i am quartered there for the winter. many of our officers and soldiers have wives who follow them wherever they go. i would not ask you to come to me to share hardship and privation; but i ask you to be my wife, here in this city, where your father's house will give you shelter if i should be forced by the chances of war to leave you for a while. "susanna, will you be brave enough for this? can you make up your mind to be a soldier's wife, even before the war has closed? i had not thought to ask you so soon; but year after year passes by, and though nearer and ever nearer to the goal of peace, the clouds still hang in the sky, and there is still stern work for the soldier to do. but we seem now to see the end of the long, long war, and that a happy end; and so i ask if you can marry me, even with the chances of one of those separations which wring the heart and entail so much anxiety and sorrow upon the wife left at home." she was clinging to him even before he had done, shedding tears, and yet half laughing as she looked with dewy eyes into his face. "o fritz, fritz, don't you understand yet what a woman's love is like? as though i would not rather a hundred thousand times be your wife, come what may in the future, than live the safest and most sheltered life without you! as though i should not glory and delight to share the perils and hardships you are called upon to endure! as though being together would not make up a hundredfold for everything else!" when benjamin ashley, together with humphrey and john stark, came in search of the others, they all saw at a glance what had taken place. susanna's blushing face and fritz's expression of proud, glad happiness told the tale all too plainly. but all had been prepared for it; and ashley laughed as he took his daughter's face between his hands and kissed it, though he heaved a quick sigh, too. "ah me! so all the birds leave the nest at last. and nothing but a red-coat would serve your turn, my maid! that i have known for long enough. well, well, i cannot blame you. we owe a debt of gratitude to our brave soldiers which we must all be willing to pay. "take her, fritz my boy; take her, and her father's blessing with her. she will not come to you empty handed; she has a snug little fortune from her mother ready for her dowry. but you have wooed her and won her like a man; and her love will be, if i mistake not, the crown of your manhood and of your life." "indeed it will, sir," answered fritz fervently, and possessed himself of susanna's hand once more. barely a week later, and the party stood upon the quay to say farewell to their friends and comrades who were sailing away for england. october was waning. the departure of the ships could no longer be delayed. many had already gone; but today the mortal remains of the gallant wolfe had been conveyed on board the royal william, and all the town had come forth to pay its last tribute of respect to one who was mourned by friends and foes alike. flags hung half-mast high, the guns had boomed a salute, and the bells of the city had tolled in solemn cadence as the coffin was borne to the quay and reverently carried to the place prepared for it upon the ship. now all was bustle and animated farewell as the sailors began to make preparations for unfurling the sails and hoisting up the anchor. julian and fritz stood together a little apart from the crowd; their hands were locked in a close clasp. the tie which bound them together was a very strong and tender one. "you will come back, julian? you will not forsake these western lands, which must always seem to me more like home than any country beyond the seas--even england, which we call our home. you will come back?" "yes, i shall come back; the lands of the great west ever seem to be calling me. i do but go to make good my promise to him that is gone; then i shall return, and cast in my lot with the english subjects of canada." "they say you are to receive promotion, julian. you will rise to be a man of place in this colony. i am certain of it. you have talents, address, courage; and you are always beloved of french and english alike. i have heard men talk of you, and point you out as a rising man. they will want such over here when canada has passed into english keeping." "they will find me ready to do my best if ever they should desire to use me. i want nothing better than to serve my country, and to heal the wound between the two nations who have struggled so long for supremacy in the west." "you will come back--i am sure of it--a man of place and importance. but you will be the same julian still, my brother and friend. and, julian (am i wrong in thinking it?), you will not come back alone?" a slight flush rose in julian's face; but he answered quietly: "i hope not; i believe not." "mademoiselle corinne--" began fritz, but paused there; for the girl was close beside them, having come up with her aunt, madame drucour, to say goodbye to the group of friends gathered to see them off. fritz saw the quick glance which flashed between her and julian as their eyes met, and he felt that he had got his answer. when julian came back to canada, he would not come alone. the last farewells were said; the deck was crowded by those who were to sail away; the musical call of the seamen rose and fell as the sails unfurled to the breeze, and the gallant vessel began to slip through the water. "a safe voyage and a joyous return. god be with you all!" cried those upon the quay. the abbe lifted his hands, and seemed to pronounce a benediction upon the departing ship, and those who saw the action bared their heads and bent the knee. then the sails swelled out, the pace increased; a salute boomed forth from the fortress behind, and was answered from the vessel now gliding so fast away; and the royal william moved with stately grace through the wide waters of the st. lawrence, and slowly disappeared in the hazy distance. the end. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) with frederick the great: a story of the seven years' war by g. a. henty. illustrated by wal paget contents preface. chapter : king and marshal. chapter : joining. chapter : the outbreak of war. chapter : promotion. chapter : lobositz. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : flight. chapter : prague. chapter : in disguise. chapter : rossbach. chapter : leuthen. chapter : another step. chapter : hochkirch. chapter : breaking prison. chapter : escaped. chapter : at minden. chapter : unexpected news. chapter : engaged. chapter : liegnitz. chapter : torgau. chapter : home. illustrations the king walked round fergus as if he were examining a lay figure two of the newcomers fired hastily--and both missed not a blow was struck, horse and rider went down before them as the man was placing his supper on the table, fergus sprang upon him fergus was received by the count, the countess and thirza with great pleasure as fergus was sallying out, a mounted officer dashed by at a gallop the roar of battle was so tremendous that his horse was well-nigh unmanageable before he could extricate himself, fergus was surrounded by austrians "why, karl!" fergus exclaimed, "where do you spring from--when did you arrive?" lord sackville stood without speaking, while the surgeon bandaged up his arm "take her, drummond, you have won your bride fairly and well" as fergus fell from his horse, karl, who was riding behind him, leapt from his saddle maps map showing battlefields of the seven years' war battle of lobositz battle of prague battle of leuthen battle of zorndorf battle of hochkirch battle of torgau preface. [map: map showing battlefields of the seven years' war] among the great wars of history there are few, if any, instances of so long and successfully sustained a struggle, against enormous odds, as that of the seven years' war, maintained by prussia--then a small and comparatively insignificant kingdom--against russia, austria, and france simultaneously, who were aided also by the forces of most of the minor principalities of germany. the population of prussia was not more than five millions, while that of the allies considerably exceeded a hundred millions. prussia could put, with the greatest efforts, but a hundred and fifty thousand men into the field, and as these were exhausted she had but small reserves to draw upon; while the allies could, with comparatively little difficulty, put five hundred thousand men into the field, and replenish them as there was occasion. that the struggle was successfully carried on, for seven years, was due chiefly to the military genius of the king; to his indomitable perseverance; and to a resolution that no disaster could shake, no situation, although apparently hopeless, appall. something was due also, at the commencement of the war, to the splendid discipline of the prussian army at that time; but as comparatively few of those who fought at lobositz could have stood in the ranks at torgau, the quickness of the prussian people to acquire military discipline must have been great; and this was aided by the perfect confidence they felt in their king, and the enthusiasm with which he inspired them. although it was not, nominally, a war for religion, the consequences were as great and important as those which arose from the thirty years' war. had prussia been crushed and divided, protestantism would have disappeared in germany, and the whole course of subsequent events would have been changed. the war was scarcely less important to britain than to prussia. our close connection with hanover brought us into the fray; and the weakening of france, by her efforts against prussia, enabled us to wrest canada from her, to crush her rising power in india, and to obtain that absolute supremacy at sea that we have never, since, lost. and yet, while every school boy knows of the battles of ancient greece, not one in a hundred has any knowledge whatever of the momentous struggle in germany, or has ever as much as heard the names of the memorable battles of rossbach, leuthen, prague, zorndorf, hochkirch, and torgau. carlyle's great work has done much to familiarize older readers with the story; but its bulk, its fullness of detail, and still more the peculiarity of carlyle's diction and style, place it altogether out of the category of books that can be read and enjoyed by boys. i have therefore endeavoured to give the outlines of the struggle, for their benefit; but regret that, in a story so full of great events, i have necessarily been obliged to devote a smaller share than usual to the doings of my hero. g. a. henty. chapter : king and marshal. it was early in that a scottish trader, from edinburgh, entered the port of stettin. among the few passengers was a tall young scotch lad, fergus drummond by name. though scarcely sixteen, he stood five feet ten in height; and it was evident, from his broad shoulders and sinewy appearance, that his strength was in full proportion to his height. his father had fallen at culloden, ten years before. the glens had been harried by cumberland's soldiers, and the estates confiscated. his mother had fled with him to the hills; and had lived there, for some years, in the cottage of a faithful clansman, whose wife had been her nurse. fortunately, they were sufficiently well off to be able to maintain their guests in comfort; and indeed the presents of game, fish, and other matters, frequently sent in by other members of the clan, had enabled her to feel that her maintenance was no great burden on her faithful friends. for some years, she devoted herself to her son's education; and then, through the influence of friends at court, she obtained the grant of a small portion of her late husband's estates; and was able to live in comfort, in a position more suited to her former rank. fergus' life had been passed almost entirely in the open air. accompanied by one or two companions, sons of the clansmen, he would start soon after daybreak and not return until sunset, when they would often bring back a deer from the forests, or a heavy creel of salmon or trout from the streams. his mother encouraged him in these excursions, and also in the practice of arms. she confined her lessons to the evening, and even after she settled on her recovered farm of kilgowrie, and obtained the services of a tutor for him, she arranged that he should still be permitted to pass the greater part of the day according to his own devices. she herself was a cousin of the two brothers keith; the one of whom, then lord marischal, had proclaimed the old pretender king at edinburgh; and both of whom had attained very high rank abroad, the younger keith having served with great distinction in the spanish and russian armies, and had then taken service under frederick the great, from whom he had received the rank of field marshal, and was the king's greatest counsellor and friend. his brother had joined him there, and stood equally high in the king's favour. although both were devoted jacobites, and had risked all, at the first rising in favour of the old pretender, neither had taken part in that of charles edward, seeing that it was doomed to failure. after culloden, james keith, the field marshal, had written to his cousin, mrs. drummond, as follows: "dear cousin, "i have heard with grief from alexander grahame, who has come over here to escape the troubles, of the grievous loss that has befallen you. he tells me that, when in hiding among the mountains, he learned that you had, with your boy, taken refuge with ian the forester, whom i well remember when i was last staying with your good husband, sir john. he also said that your estates had been confiscated, but that he was sure you would be well cared for by your clansmen. grahame told me that he stayed with you for a few hours, while he was flying from cumberland's bloodhounds; and that you told him you intended to remain there, and to devote yourself to the boy's education, until better times came. "i doubt not that ere long, when the hot blood that has been stirred up by this rising has cooled down somewhat, milder measures will be used, and some mercy be shown; but it may be long, for the hanoverian has been badly frightened, and the whigs throughout the country greatly scared, and this for the second time. i am no lover of the usurper, but i cannot agree with all that has been said about the severity of the punishment that has been dealt out. i have been fighting all over europe, and i know of no country where a heavy reckoning would not have been made, after so serious an insurrection. men who take up arms against a king know that they are staking their lives; but after vengeance comes pardon, and the desire to heal wounds, and i trust that you will get some portion of your estate again. "it is early yet to think of what you are going to make of the boy, but i am sure you will not want to see him fighting in the hanoverian uniform. so, if he has a taste for adventure let him, when the time comes, make his way out to me; or if i should be under the sod by that time, let him go to my brother. there will, methinks, be no difficulty in finding out where we are, for there are so many scotch abroad that news of us must often come home. however, from time to time i will write to you. do not expect to hear too often, for i spend far more time in the saddle than at my table, and my fingers are more accustomed to grasp a sword than a pen. however, be sure that wherever i may be, i shall be glad to see your son, and to do my best for him. "see that he is not brought up at your apron string, but is well trained in all exercises; for we scots have gained a great name for strength and muscle, and i would not that one of my kin should fall short of the mark." maggie drummond had been much pleased with her kinsman's letter. there were few scotchmen who stood higher in the regard of their countrymen, and the two keiths had also a european reputation. her husband, and many other fiery spirits, had expressed surprise and even indignation that the brothers, who had taken so prominent a part in the first rising, should not have hastened to join prince charlie; but the more thoughtful men felt it was a bad omen that they did not do so. it was certainly not from any want of adventurous spirit, or of courage, for wherever adventures were to be obtained, wherever blows were most plentiful, james keith and his brother were certain to be in the midst of them. but maggie drummond knew the reason for their holding aloof; for she had, shortly before the coming over of prince charlie, received a short note from the field marshal: "they say that prince charles edward is meditating a mad scheme of crossing to scotland, and raising his standard there. if so, do what you can to prevent your husband from joining him. we made but a poor hand of it, last time; and the chances of success are vastly smaller now. then it was but a comparatively short time since the stuarts had lost the throne of england, and there were great numbers who wished them back. now the hanoverian is very much more firmly seated on the throne. the present man has a considerable army, and the troops have had experience of war on the continent, and have shown themselves rare soldiers. were not my brother lord marischal of scotland, and my name somewhat widely known, i should not hang back from the adventure, however desperate; but our example might lead many who might otherwise stand aloof to take up arms, which would bring, i think, sure destruction upon them. therefore we shall restrain our own inclinations, and shall watch what i feel sure will be a terrible tragedy, from a distance; striking perhaps somewhat heavier blows than usual upon the heads of turks, moors, frenchmen, and others, to make up for our not being able to use our swords where our inclinations would lead us. "the king of france will assuredly give no efficient aid to the stuarts. he has all along used them as puppets, by whose means he can, when he chooses, annoy or coerce england. but i have no belief that he will render any useful aid, either now or hereafter. "use then, cousin, all your influence to keep drummond at home. knowing him as i do, i have no great hope that it will avail; for i know that he is jacobite to the backbone, and that, if the prince lands, he will be one of the first to join him." maggie had not carried out keith's injunction. she had indeed told her husband, when she received the letter, that keith believed the enterprise to be so hopeless a one that he should not join in it. but she was as ardent in the cause of the stuarts as was her husband, and said no single word to deter him when, an hour after he heard the news of the prince's landing, he mounted and rode off to meet him, and to assure him that he would bring every man of his following to the spot where his adherents were to assemble. from time to time his widow had continued to write to keith; though, owing to his being continually engaged on campaigns against the turks and tartars, he received but two or three of her letters, so long as he remained in the service of russia. when, however, he displeased the empress elizabeth, and at once left the service and entered that of prussia, her letters again reached him. the connection between france and scotland had always been close, and french was a language familiar to most of the upper class; and since the civil troubles began, such numbers of scottish gentlemen were forced either to shelter in france, or to take service in the french or other foreign armies, that a knowledge of the language became almost a matter of necessity. in one of his short letters keith had told her that, of all things, it was necessary that the lad should speak french with perfect fluency, and master as much german as possible. and it was to these points that his education had been almost entirely directed. as to french there was no difficulty and, when she recovered a portion of the estate, maggie drummond was lucky in hearing of a hanoverian trooper who, having been wounded and left behind in glasgow, his term of service having expired, had on his recovery married the daughter of the woman who had nursed him. he was earning a somewhat precarious living by giving lessons in the use of the rapier, and in teaching german; and gladly accepted the offer to move out to kilgowrie, where he was established in a cottage close to the house, where his wife aided in the housework. he became a companion of fergus in his walks and rambles and, being an honest and pleasant fellow, the lad took to him; and after a few months their conversation, at first somewhat disjointed, became easy and animated. he learned, too, much from him as to the use of his sword. the scotch clansmen used their claymores chiefly for striking; but under rudolph's tuition the lad came to be as apt with the point as he had before been with the edge, and fully recognized the great advantages of the former. by the time he reached the age of sixteen, his skill with the weapon was fully recognized by the young clansmen who, on occasions of festive gatherings, sometimes came up to try their skill with the young laird. from rudolph, too, he came to know a great deal of the affairs of europe, as to which he had hitherto been profoundly ignorant. he learned how, by the capture of the province of silesia from the empress of austria, the king of prussia had, from a minor principality, raised his country to a considerable power, and was regarded with hostility and jealousy by all his neighbours. "but it is only a small territory now, rudolph," fergus said. "'tis small, master fergus, but the position is a very strong one. silesia cannot well be invaded, save by an army forcing its way through very formidable defiles; while on the other hand, the prussian forces can suddenly pour out into saxony or hanover. prussia has perhaps the best-drilled army in europe, and though its numbers are small in proportion to those which austria can put in the field, they are a compact force; while the austrian army is made up of many peoples, and could not be gathered with the speed with which frederick could place his force in the field. "the king, too, is himself, above all things, a soldier. he has good generals, and his troops are devoted to him, though the discipline is terribly strict. it is a pity that he and the king of england are not good friends. they are natural allies, both countries being protestant; and to say the truth, we in hanover should be well pleased to see them make common cause together, and should feel much more comfortable with prussia as our friend than as a possible enemy. "however, 'tis not likely that, at present, prussia will turn her hand against us. i hear, by letters from home, that it is said that the empress of russia, as well as the empress of austria, both hate frederick; the latter because he has stolen silesia from her; the former because he has openly said things about her such as a woman never forgives. saxony and poland are jealous of him, and france none too well disposed. so at present the king of prussia is like to leave his neighbours alone; for he may need to draw his sword, at any time, in self defence." it was but a few days after this that maggie drummond received this short letter from her cousin, marshal james keith: "my dear cousin, "by your letter, received a few days since, i learned that fergus is now nearly sixteen years old; and is, you say, as well grown and strong as many lads two or three years older. therefore it is as well that you should send him off to me, at once. there are signs in the air that we shall shortly have stirring times, and the sooner he is here the better. i would send money for his outfit; but as your letter tells me that you have, by your economies, saved a sum ample for this purpose, i abstain from doing so. let him come straight to berlin, and inquire for me at the palace. i have a suite of apartments there; and he could not have a better time for entering upon military service; nor a better master than the king, who loves his scotchmen, and under whom he is like to find opportunity to distinguish himself." a week later, fergus started. it needed an heroic effort, on the part of his mother, to let him go from her; but she had, all along, recognized that it was for the best that he should leave her. that he should grow up as a petty laird, where his ancestors had been the owners of wide estates, and were powerful chiefs with a large following of clansmen and retainers, was not to be thought of. scotland offered few openings, especially to those belonging to jacobite families; and it was therefore deemed the natural course, for a young man of spirit, to seek his fortune abroad and, from the days of the union, there was scarcely a foreign army that did not contain a considerable contingent of scottish soldiers and officers. they formed nearly a third of the army of gustavus adolphus, and the service of the protestant princes of germany had always been popular among them. then, her own cousin being a marshal in the prussian army, it seemed to mrs. drummond almost a matter of course, when the time came, that fergus should go to him; and she had, for many years, devoted herself to preparing the lad for that service. nevertheless, now that the time had come, she felt the parting no less sorely; but she bore up well, and the sudden notice kept her fully occupied with preparations, till the hour came for his departure. two of the men rode with him as far as leith, and saw him on board ship. rudolph had volunteered to accompany him as servant, but his mother had said to the lad: "it would be better not, fergus. of course you will have a soldier servant, there, and there might be difficulties in having a civilian with you." it was, however, arranged that rudolph should become a member of the household. being a handy fellow, a fair carpenter, and ready to turn his hand to anything, there would be no difficulty in making him useful about the farm. fergus had learnt, from him, the price at which he ought to be able to buy a useful horse; and his first step, after landing at stettin and taking up his quarters at an inn, was to inquire the address of a horse dealer. the latter found, somewhat to his surprise, that the young scot was a fair judge of a horse, and a close hand at driving a bargain; and when he left, the lad had the satisfaction of knowing that he was the possessor of a serviceable animal, and one which, by its looks, would do him no discredit. three days later he rode into berlin. he dismounted at a quiet inn, changed his travelling dress for the new one that he carried in his valise, and then, after inquiring for the palace, made his way there. he was struck by the number of soldiers in the streets, and with the neatness, and indeed almost stiffness, of their uniform and bearing. each man walked as if on parade, and the eye of the strictest martinet could not have detected a speck of dust on their equipment, or an ill-adjusted strap or buckle. "i hope they do not brace and tie up their officers in that style," fergus said to himself. he himself had always been accustomed to a loose and easy attire, suitable for mountain work; and the high cravats and stiff collars, powdered heads and pigtails, and tight-fitting garments, seemed to him the acme of discomfort. it was not long, however, before he came upon a group of officers, and saw that the military etiquette was no less strict, in their case, than in that of the soldiers, save that their collars were less high, and their stocks more easy. their walk, too, was somewhat less automatic and machine-like, but they were certainly in strong contrast to the british officers he had seen, on the occasions of his one or two visits to perth. on reaching the palace, and saying that he wished to see marshal keith, he was conducted by a soldier to his apartment; and on the former taking in the youth's name, he was at once admitted. the marshal rose from his chair, came forward, and shook him heartily by the hand. "so you are fergus drummond," he said, "the son of my cousin maggie! truly she lost no time in sending you off, after she got my letter. i was afraid she might be long before she could bring herself to part from you." "she had made up her mind to it so long, sir, that she was prepared for it; and indeed, i think that she did her best to hurry me off as soon as possible, not only because your letter was somewhat urgent, but because it gave her less time to think." "that was right and sensible, lad, as indeed maggie always was, from a child. "she did not speak too strongly about you, for indeed i should have taken you for fully two years older than you are. you have lost no time in growing, lad, and if you lose no more in climbing, you will not be long before you are well up the tree. "now, sit you down, and let me first hear all about your mother, and how she fares." "in the first place, sir, she charged me to give you her love and affection, and to thank you for your good remembrance of her, and for writing to her so often, when you must have had so many other matters on your mind." "i was right glad when i heard that they had given her back kilgowrie. it is but a corner of your father's lands; but i remember the old house well, going over there once, when i was staying with your grandfather, to see his mother, who was then living there. how much land goes with it?" "about a thousand acres, but the greater part is moor and mountain. still, the land suffices for her to live on, seeing that she keeps up no show, and lives as quietly as if she had never known anything better." "aye, she was ever of a contented spirit. i mind her, when she was a tiny child; if no one would play with her, she would sit by the hour talking with her dolls, till someone could spare time to perch her on his shoulder, and take her out." marshal keith was a tall man, with a face thoughtful in repose, but having a pleasant smile, and an eye that lit up with quiet humour when he spoke. he enjoyed the king's confidence to the fullest extent, and was regarded by him not only as a general in whose sagacity and skill he could entirely rely, but as one on whose opinion he could trust upon all political questions. he was his favourite companion when, as happened not unfrequently, he donned a disguise and went about the town, listening to the talk of the citizens and learning their opinions upon public affairs. "i have spoken to the king about your coming, lad, and told him that you were a kinsman of mine. "'indeed, marshal,' the king said, 'from what i can see, it appears to me that all scotchmen are more or less kin to each other.' "'it is so to some extent, your majesty. we scotchmen pride ourselves on genealogy, and know every marriage that has taken place, for ages past, between the members of our family and those of others; and claim as kin, even though very distant, all those who have any of our blood running in their veins. but in this case the kinship is close, the lad's mother being a first cousin of mine. his father was killed at culloden, and i promised her, as soon as the news came to me, that when he had grown up strong and hearty he should join me, wherever i might be, and should have a chance of making his fortune by his sword.' "'you say that he speaks both french and german well? it is more than i can do,' the king said with a laugh. 'german born and german king as i am, i get on but badly when i try my native tongue, for from a child i have spoken nothing but french. still, it is well that he should know the language. in my case it matters but little, seeing that all my court and all my generals speak french. but one who has to give orders to soldiers should be understood by them. "'well, what do you want me to do for the lad?' "'i propose to make him one of my own aides-de-camp,' i replied, 'and therefore i care not so much to what regiment he is appointed; though i own that i would far rather see him in the uniform of the guards, than any other.' "'you are modest, marshal; but i observe that it is a common fault among your countrymen. well, which shall it be--infantry or cavalry?' "'cavalry, since you are good enough to give me the choice, sire. the uniform looks better, for an aide-de-camp, than that of the infantry.' "'very well, then, you may consider him gazetted as a cornet, in my third regiment of guards. you have no more kinsmen coming at present, keith?' "'no, sire; not at present.' "'if many more come, i shall form them into a separate regiment.' "'your majesty might do worse,' i said. "the king nodded. 'i wish i had half a dozen scotch regiments; aye, a score or two. they were the cream of the army of gustavus adolphus, and if matters turn out as i fear they will, it would be a welcome reinforcement.' "i will give you a note presently," continued the marshal, "to a man who makes my uniforms, so that i may present you to the king, as soon as you are enrolled. you must remember that your favour, or otherwise, with him will depend very largely upon the fit of your uniform, and the manner in which you carry yourself. there is nothing so unpardonable, in his eyes, as a slovenly and ill-fitting dress. everything must be correct, to a nicety, under all circumstances. even during hot campaigns, you must turn out in the morning as if you came from a band box. "i will get colonel grunow, who commands your regiment, to tell off an old trooper, one who is thoroughly up to his work, as your servant. i doubt not that he may be even able to find you a scotchman, for there are many in the ranks--gentlemen who came over after culloden, and hundreds of brave fellows who escaped cumberland's harryings by taking ship and coming over here, where, as they supposed, they would fight under a protestant king." "but the king is a protestant, is he not, sir?" "he is nominally a protestant, fergus. absolutely, his majesty has so many things to see about that he does not trouble himself greatly about religion. i should say that he was a disciple of voltaire, until voltaire came here; when, upon acquaintance, he saw through the vanity of the little frenchman, and has been much less enthusiastic about him since. "by the way, how did you come here?" "we heard of a ship sailing for stettin, and that hurried my departure by some days. i made a good voyage there, and on landing bought a horse and rode here." "well, i am afraid your horse won't do to carry one of my aides-de-camp, so you had best dispose of it, for what it will fetch. i will mount you myself. his majesty was pleased to give me two horses, the other day, and my stable is therefore over full. "now, fergus, we will drink a goblet of wine to your new appointment, and success to your career." "from what you said in your letter to my mother, sir, you think it likely that we shall see service, before long?" "aye, lad, and desperate service, too. we have--but mind, this must go no further--sure news that russia, austria, france, and saxony have formed a secret league against prussia, and that they intend to crush us first, and then partition the kingdom among themselves. the empress of austria has shamelessly denied that any such treaty exists, but tomorrow morning a messenger will start, with a demand from the king that the treaty shall be publicly acknowledged and then broken off, or that he will at once proclaim war. if we say nine days for the journey there, nine days to return, and three days waiting for the answer, you see that in three weeks from the present we may be on the move, for our only chance depends upon striking a heavy blow before they are ready. we have not wasted our time. the king has already made an alliance with england." "but england has no troops, or scarcely any," fergus said. "no, lad, but she has what is of quite as much importance in war--namely, money, and she can grant us a large subsidy. the king's interest in the matter is almost as great as ours. he is a hanoverian more than an englishman, and you may be sure that, if prussia were to be crushed, the allies would make but a single bite of hanover. you see, this will be a war of life and death to us, and the fighting will be hard and long." "but what grievance has france against the king?" "his majesty is open spoken, and no respecter of persons; and a woman may forgive an injury, but never a scornful gibe. it is this that has brought both france and russia on him. madame pompadour, who is all powerful, hates frederick for having made disrespectful remarks concerning her. the empress of russia detests him, for the same reason. she of austria has a better cause, for she has never forgiven the loss of silesia; and it is the enmity of these women, as much as the desire to partition prussia, that is about to plunge europe into a war to the full as terrible as that of the thirty years." keith now rung a bell, and a soldier entered. "tell lieutenant lindsay that i wish to speak to him." a minute later an officer entered the room, and saluted stiffly. "lindsay, this is a young cousin of mine, fergus drummond. the king has appointed him to a cornetcy in the rd royal dragoon guards, but he is going to be one of my aides-de-camp. now that things are beginning to move, you and gordon will need help. "take him first to tautz. i have written a note to the man, telling him that he must hurry everything on. there is still a spare room on your corridor, is there not? get your man to see his things bestowed there. i shall get his appointment this evening, i expect, but it will be a day or two before he will be able to get a soldier from his regiment. he has a horse to sell, and various other matters to see to. at any rate, look after him, till tomorrow. 'tis my hour to go to the king." lindsay was a young man of two or three and twenty. he had a merry, joyous face, a fine figure, and a good carriage; but until he and fergus were beyond the limits of the palace, he walked by the lad's side with scarce a word. when once past the entrance, however, he gave a sigh of relief. "now, drummond," he said, "we will shake hands, and begin to make each other's acquaintance. first, i am nigel lindsay, very much at your service. on duty i am another person altogether, scarcely recognizable even by myself--a sort of wooden machine, ready, when a button is touched, to bring my heels smartly together, and my hand to the salute. there is something in the air that stiffens one's backbone, and freezes one from the tip of one's toes to the end of one's pigtail. when one is with the marshal alone, one thaws; for there is no better fellow living, and he chats to us as if we were on a mountain side in scotland, instead of in frederick's palace. but one is always being interrupted; either a general, or a colonel, or possibly the king himself, comes in. "for the time, one becomes a military statue; and even when they go, it is difficult to take up the talk as it was left. oh, it is wearisome work, and heartily glad i shall be, when the trumpets blow and we march out of berlin. however, we are beginning to be pretty busy. i have been on horseback, twelve hours a day on an average, for the past week. gordon started yesterday for magdeburg, and macgregor has been two days absent, but i don't know where. everyone is busy, from the king himself--who is always busy about something--to the youngest drummer. nobody outside a small circle knows what it is all about. apparently we are in a state of profound peace, without a cloud in the sky, and yet the military preparations are going on actively, everywhere. "convoys of provisions are being sent to the frontier fortresses. troops are in movement from the northern provinces. drilling is going on--i was going to say night and day, for it is pretty nearly that--and no one can make out what it is all about. "there is one thing--no one asks questions. his majesty thinks for his subjects, and as he certainly is the cleverest man in his dominions, everyone is well content that it should be so. "and now, about yourself. i am running on and talking nonsense, when i have all sorts of questions to ask you. but that is always the way with me. i am like a bottle of champagne, corked down while i am in the palace, and directly i get away the cork flies out by itself, and for a minute or two it is all froth and emptiness. "now, when did you arrive, how did you arrive, what is the last news from scotland, which of the branches of the drummonds do you belong to, and how near of kin are you to the marshal? oh, by the way, i ought to know the last without asking; as you are a drummond, and a relation of keith, you can be no other than the son of the drummond of tarbet, who married margaret ogilvie, who was a first cousin of keith's." "that is right," fergus said. "my father fell at culloden, you know. as to all your other questions, they are answered easily enough. i know very little of the news in scotland, for my mother lived a very secluded life at kilgowrie, and little news came to us from without. i came from leith to stettin, and there i bought a horse and rode on here." his companion laughed. "and how about yourself? i suppose you know nothing of this beastly language?" "yes; i can speak it pretty fluently, and of course know french." "i congratulate you, though how you learnt it, up in the hills, i know not. i did not know a word of it, when i came out two years ago; and it is always on my mind, for of course i have a master who, when i am not otherwise engaged, comes to me for an hour a day, and well nigh maddens me with his crack-jaw words; but i don't seem to make much progress. if i am sent with an order, and the officer to whom i take it does not understand french, i am floored. of course i hand the order, if it is a written one, to him. if it is not, but just some verbal message, asking him to call on the marshal at such and such a time, i generally make a horrible mess of it. he gets in a rage with me, because he cannot understand me. i get in a rage with him, for his dulness; and were it not that he generally manages to find some other officer, who does understand french, the chances are very strongly against keith's message being attended to. "first of all, i will take you to our quarters. that is the house." "why, i thought you lodged in the palace?" "heaven forbid! macgregor has a room in the chief's suite of apartments. he is senior aide-de-camp, and if there is any message to be sent late, he takes it; but that is not often the case. gordon lodges here with me. the house is a sort of branch establishment to the palace. malcolm menzies and horace farquhar, two junior aides of the king, are in the same corridor with us. of course we make up a party by ourselves. then there are ten or twelve german officers--some of them aides-de-camp of the princes maurice and henry, the prince of bevern and general schwerin--besides a score or so of palace officials. "fortunately the scotch corridor, as we call it, has a separate entrance, so we can go in or out without disturbing anyone. it is a good thing, for in fact we and the prussians do not get on very well together. they have a sort of jealousy of us; which is, i suppose, natural enough. foreigners are never favourites, and george's hanoverian officers are not greatly loved in london. i expect a campaign will do good, that way. they will see, at any rate, that we don't take our pay for nothing, and are ready to do a full share and more of fighting; while we shall find that these stiff pipe-clayed figures are brave fellows, and good comrades, when they get a little of the starch washed out of them. "now, this is my room, and i see my man has got dinner ready." chapter : joining. in answer to the shout of "donald," a tall man in the pantaloons of a prussian regiment, but with his tunic laid aside, came out from a small room that served as a kitchen, and dormitory, for himself. "i am just ready, sir," he said. "hearing you talking as you came along, and not knowing who you might have with you, i just ran in to put on my coat; but as you passed, and i heard it was scottish you were speaking, i knew that it didna matter." "put another plate and goblet on the table, donald. i hope that you have meat enough for two of us." "plenty for four," the soldier said. "the market was full this morning, and the folk so ta'en up wi' this talk of war, and so puzzled because no one could mak' out what it was about, that they did more gossiping than marketing. so when the time came for the market to close, i got half a young pig at less than i should hae paid for a joint, as the woman did not want to carry it home again." "that is lucky. as you are from perth, donald, it is possible you may know this gentleman. he is mr. fergus drummond, of tarbet." "i kenned his father weel; aye, and was close beside him at culloden, for when our company was broken i joined one that was making a stand, close by, and it was drummond who was leading it. stoutly did we fight, and to the end stood back to back, hewing with our claymores at their muskets. "at last i fell, wounded, i couldna say where at the time. when i came to myself and, finding that all was quiet, sat up and felt myself over, i found that it was a musket bullet that had ploughed along the top of my head, and would ha' killed me had it not been that my skull was, as my father had often said when i was a boy, thicker than ordinary. there were dead men lying all about me; but it was a dark night, and as there was no time to be lost if i was to save my skin, i crawled away to some distance from the field; and then took to my heels, and did not stop till next morning, when i was far away among the hills." while he was talking, donald had been occupied in adding a second plate and knife and fork and glass, and the two officers sat down to their meal. fergus asked the soldier other questions as to the fight in which his father had lost his life; for beyond that he had fought to the last with his face to the foe, the lad had never learnt any particulars, for of the clansmen who had accompanied his father not one had ever returned. "mr. drummond will take the empty room next to mine, donald. i am going down now with him, to the inn where he has left his horse. as he has a few things there, you had best come with us and bring them here." the landlord of the inn, on hearing that fergus wished to sell his horse, said that there were two travellers in the house who had asked him about horses; as both had sold, to officers, fine animals they had brought in from the country, there being at present a great demand for horses of that class. one of these persons came in as they were speaking, and after a little bargaining fergus sold the horse to him, at a small advance on the price he had given for it at stettin. the landlord himself bought the saddle and bridle, for a few marks; saying that he could, at any time, find a customer for such matters. donald took the valises and cloak, and carried them back to the palace. "that matter is all comfortably settled," lindsay said. "now we are free men, but my liberty won't last long. i shall have to go on duty again, in half an hour. but at any rate, there is time to go first with you to the tailor's, and put your uniform in hand." "i wish to be measured for the uniform of the rd royal dragoon guards," fergus said, as he entered the shop and the proprietor came up to him. "yes, herr tautz; and his excellency, marshal keith," lindsay put in, "wishes you to know that the dress suit must be made instantly, or quicker if possible; for his majesty may, at any moment, order mr. drummond to attend upon him. mr. drummond is appointed one of the marshal's aides-de-camp; and as, therefore, he will often come under the king's eye, you may well believe that the fit must be of the best, or you are likely to hear of it, as well as mr. drummond." "i will put it in hand at once, lieutenant. it shall be cut out without delay; and in three hours, if mr. drummond will call here, it shall be tacked together in readiness for the first trying on. by eight o'clock tomorrow morning it shall be ready to be properly fitted, and unless my men have bungled, which they very seldom do, it shall be delivered by midday." "mr. drummond lodges in the next room to myself," the lieutenant said; "and my servant is looking after him, till he gets one of his own, so you can leave it with him." while the conversation was going on, two of the assistants were measuring fergus. "will you have the uniform complete, with belts, helmet, and all equipments?" "everything except the sword," fergus said. "at least i suppose, lindsay, we can carry our own swords." "yes, the king has made that concession, which is a wonderful one, for him, that scottish officers in his service may carry their own swords. you see, ours are longer and straighter than the german ones, and most of us have learnt our exercises with them, and certainly we would not fight so well with others; besides, the iron basket protects one's hand and wrist vastly better than the foreign guard. the concession was first made only to generals, field officers and aides-de-camp; but keith persuaded the king, at last, to grant it to all scottish officers, pointing out that they were able to do much better service with their own claymores, than with weapons to which they were altogether unaccustomed; and that scottish men were accustomed to fight with the edge, and to strike downright sweeping blows, whereas the swords here are fitted only for the point, which, although doubtless superior in a duel, is far less effective in a general melee." "i should certainly be sorry to give up my own sword," fergus said. "it was one of my father's, and since the days when i was big enough to begin to use it, i have always exercised myself with it; though i, too, have learned to use the point a great deal, as i had a german instructor, as well as several scottish ones." "except in a duel," lindsay said, "i should doubt if skill goes for very much. i have never tried it myself, for i have never had the luck to be in battle; but i fancy that in a cavalry charge strength goes for more than skill, and the man who can strike quickly and heavily will do more execution than one trained to all sorts of nice points and feints. i grant that these are useful, when two men are watching each other; but in the heat of a battle, when every one is cutting and thrusting for his life, i cannot think that there is any time for fooling about with your weapon." they had by this time left the shop, and were strolling down the streets. "is there much duelling here?" "it is strictly forbidden," lindsay said, with a laugh; "but i need hardly say that there is a good deal of it. of course, pains are taken that these affairs do not come to his majesty's ears. fever, or a fall from a horse, account satisfactorily enough for the absence of an officer from parade, and even his total disappearance from the scene can be similarly explained. should the affair come to the king's ears, 'tis best to keep out of his way until it has blown over. "of course, with us it does not matter quite so much as with prussian officers. frederick's is not the only service open to us. good swords are welcome either at the russian or austrian courts, to say nothing of those of half a dozen minor principalities. at all of these we are sure to find countrymen and friends, and if england really enters upon the struggle--and it seems to me that if there is a general row she can scarcely stand aloof--men who have learned their drill and seen some service might be welcomed, even if their fathers wielded their arms on the losing side, ten years ago. "of course, to a prussian officer it would be practical ruin to be dismissed from the army. this is so thoroughly well understood that, in cases of duels, there is a sort of general conspiracy on the part of all the officers and surgeons of a regiment to hush the matter up. still, if an officer is insulted--or thinks that he is insulted, which is about the same thing--he fights, and takes the consequences. "i am not altogether sorry that i am an aide-de-camp, and i think that you can congratulate yourself on the same fact; for we are not thrown, as is a regimental officer, into the company of prussians, and there is therefore far less risk of getting into a quarrel. "i have no doubt the marshal, himself, will give you a few lessons shortly. he is considered to be one of the finest swordsmen in europe, and in many respects he is as young as i am, and as fond of adventure. he gave me a few when i first came to him, but he said that it was time thrown away, for that i must put myself in the hands of some good maitre d'armes before he could teach me anything that would be useful. i have been working hard with one since, and know a good deal more about it than i did; but my teacher says that i am too hot and impetuous to make a good swordsman, and that though i should do well enough in a melee, i shall never be able to stand up against a cool man, in a duel. of course the marshal had no idea of teaching me arms, but merely, as he said, of showing me a few passes that might be useful to me, on occasion. in reality he loves to keep up his sword play, and once or twice a week van bruff, who is the best master in berlin, comes in for half an hour's practice with him, before breakfast." after lindsay had left him at the entrance to the palace, fergus wandered about the town for some hours, and then went to the tailor's and had his uniform tried on. merely run together though it was, the coat fitted admirably. "you are an easy figure to fit, herr drummond," the tailor said. "there is no credit in putting together a coat for you. your breeches are a little too tight--you have a much more powerful leg than is common--but that, however, is easily altered. "here are a dozen pairs of high boots. i noticed the size of your foot, and have no doubt that you will find some of these to fit you." this was indeed the case, and among a similar collection of helmets, fergus also had no difficulty in suiting himself. "i think that you will find everything ready for you by half-past eight," the tailor said, "and i trust that no further alteration will be required. six of my best journeymen will work all night at the clothes; and even should his majesty send for you by ten, i trust that you will be able to make a proper appearance before him, though at present i cannot guarantee that some trifling alteration will not be found necessary, when you try the uniforms on." fergus supped with the marshal, who had now time to ask him many more questions about his home life, and the state of things in scotland. "'tis a sore pity," he said, "that we scotchmen and irishmen, who are to be found in such numbers in every european army, are not all arrayed under the flag of our country. methinks that the time is not far distant when it will be so. i am, as you know, a jacobite; but there is no shutting one's eyes to the fact that the cause is a lost one. the expedition of james the third, and still more that of charles edward, have caused such widespread misery among the stuarts' friends that i cannot conceive that any further attempt of the same kind will be made. "in fact, there is no one to make it. the prince has lost almost all his friends, by his drunken habits and his quarrelsome and overbearing disposition. he has gone from court to court as a suppliant, but has everywhere alienated the sympathies of those most willing to befriend him. i may say that as a king of england and scotland he is now impossible, and his own habits have done more to ruin his cause than even the defeat of culloden. there are doubtless many, in both countries, who consider themselves jacobites, but it is a matter of sentiment and not of passion. "at any rate, there is no head to the cause now, and cannot possibly be unless the prince had a son; therefore, for at least five-and-twenty years, the cause is dead. even if the prince leaves an heir, it would be absurd to entertain the idea that, after the stuarts have been expelled from england a hundred years, any scotchman or englishman would be mad enough to risk life and property to restore them to the throne. "another generation and the hanoverians will have become englishmen, and the sentiment against them as foreigners will have died out. then there will be no reason why scotchmen and irishmen should any longer go abroad, and all who wish it will be able to find employment in the army of their own country. "this, indeed, might have happened long before this, had the georges forgotten that they were electors of hanover as well as kings of great britain; and had surrounded themselves with englishmen instead of filling their courts with germans, whose arrogance and greed made them hateful to englishmen, and kept before their eyes the fact that their kings were foreigners. hanover is a source of weakness instead of strength to great britain, and its loss would be an unmixed benefit to her; for as long as it remains under the british crown, so long must britain play a part in european politics--a part, too, sometimes absolutely opposed to the interests of the country at large." after supper was over, two general officers dropped in for a chat with the marshal. he introduced fergus to them, and the latter then retired and joined the little party of scottish officers at lindsay's quarters. lindsay introduced him to them, and he was very heartily received, and it was not until very late that they turned into bed. at half-past eight next morning fergus went to the tailor's, and found that he had kept his promise, to the letter. the uniforms fitted admirably, and were complete in every particular. as marshal keith had, the evening before, informed him that he had received his appointment to the rd royal dragoon guards, he had no hesitation in putting on a uniform when, a quarter of an hour later, it arrived at his quarters. donald went out and fetched a hairdresser, who combed, powdered, and tied up his hair in proper military fashion. when he left, donald took him in hand, attired him in his uniform, showed him the exact angle at which his belt should be worn, and the military salute that should be given. it was fortunate that he was in readiness, for at half-past ten lindsay came in with a message from the marshal that he was, at once, to repair to the palace, with or without a uniform; as the king had sent to say that he should visit keith at eleven, and that he could then present his cousin to him. it could not be said that fergus felt comfortable, as he started from his quarters. accustomed to a loose dress and light shoes, he felt stiff and awkward in his tight garments, closely buttoned up, and his heavy jack boots; and he found himself constrained to walk with the same stiffness and precision that had amused him in the prussian officers, on the previous day. "so you have got your uniform," the marshal said, as fergus entered and saluted, as donald had instructed him. "it becomes you well, lad, and the king will be pleased at seeing you in it. he could not have blamed you had it not been ready, for the time has been short, indeed; but he will like to see you in it, and will consider that it shows alacrity and zeal." presently the door opened and, as the marshal rose and saluted, fergus knew that it was the king. he had never had the king described to him, and had depicted to himself a stiff and somewhat austere figure; but the newcomer was somewhat below middle height, with a kindly face, and the air rather of a sober citizen than of a military martinet. the remarkable feature of his face were his eyes, which were very large and blue, with a quick piercing glance that seemed to read the mind of anyone to whom he addressed himself. so striking were they that the king, when he went about the town in disguise, was always obliged to keep his eyes somewhat downcast; as, however well made up, they would have betrayed him at once, had he looked fixedly at anyone who had once caught sight of his face. "good morning, marshal!" he said, in a friendly tone. "so this is my last recruit--a goodly young fellow, truly." [illustration: the king walked round fergus as if he were examining a lay figure] he walked round fergus as if he were examining a lay figure, closely scrutinizing every article of his appointment, and then gave a nod of approbation. "always keep yourself like that, young sir. an officer is unfit to take charge of men, unless he can set an example of exactness in dress. if a man is precise in little things, he will be careful in other matters. "although he is going to be your aide-de-camp, keith, he had better go to his regimental barracks, and drill for a few hours a day, if you can spare him." "he shall certainly do so, sire. i spoke to his colonel yesterday evening, and told him that i would myself take the lad down to him, this morning, and present him to his comrades of the regiment. it would be well if he could have six months' drilling, for an aide-de-camp should be well acquainted with the meaning of the orders he carries; as he is, in that case, far less likely to make mistakes than he would otherwise be. your majesty has nothing more to say to him?" "nothing. i hope he is not quarrelsome. but there, it is of no use my hoping that, keith; for your scotchman is a quarrelsome creature by nature, at least so it seems to me. of the duels that, in spite of my orders, take place--i know you all try to hide them from me, keith--i hear of a good many between these hot-headed countrymen of yours and my prussian officers." "with deference to your majesty, i don't think that that proves much. it would be as fair to say that these duels show how aggressive are your prussian officers towards my quiet and patient countrymen. "now you can retire, cornet." fergus gave the military salute, and retired to the anteroom. "have you passed muster?" lindsay asked with a laugh. "yes; at least the king found nothing wrong. he was not at all what i thought he would be." "no; i was astonished myself, the first time i saw him. he is a capital fellow, in spite of his severity in matters of military etiquette and discipline. he is very kind hearted, does not stand at all upon his dignity, bears no malice, and very soon remits punishment he has given in the heat of the moment. i think that he regards us scots as being a people for whom allowances must be made, on the ground of our inborn savagery and ignorance of civilized customs. he does not mind plain speaking on our part and, if in the humour, will talk with us much more familiarly than he would do to a prussian officer." in a few minutes the bell in the next room sounded. lindsay went in. "are the horses at the door?" "yes, marshal." "then we will mount at once. i told the colonel of the rd that i should be at the barracks by twelve o'clock, unless the king wanted me on his business." fergus had already put on his helmet, and he and lindsay followed keith downstairs. in the courtyard were the horses, which were held by orderlies. "that is yours, fergus," keith said. "it has plenty of bone and blood, and should carry you well for any distance." fergus warmly thanked the marshal for the gift. it was a very fine horse, and capable of carrying double his weight. it was fully caparisoned with military bridle and saddle and horse cloth. they mounted at once. the orderlies ran to their horses, which were held by a mounted trooper, and the four fell in behind the officers. lindsay and fergus rode half a length behind the marshal, but the latter had some difficulty in keeping his horse in that position. the marshal smiled. "it does not understand playing second fiddle, fergus. you see, it has been accustomed to head the procession." as they rode along through the street, all officers and soldiers stood as stiff as statues at the salute, the marshal returning it as punctiliously, though not as stiffly. in a quarter of an hour they arrived at the gate of a large barracks. the guard turned out as soon as the marshal was seen approaching, and a trumpet call was heard in the courtyard as they entered the gate. fergus was struck with the spectacle, the like of which he had never seen before. the whole regiment was drawn up in parade order. the colonel was some distance in the front, the officers ranged at intervals behind him. suddenly the colonel raised his sword above his head, a flash of steel ran along the line, eight trumpeters sounded the first note of a military air, and the regiment stood at the salute, men and horses immovable, as if carved in stone. a minute later the music stopped, the colonel raised his sword again, there was another flash of steel, and the salute was over. then the colonel rode forward to meet the marshal. "nothing could have been better, my dear colonel," the latter said. "as i told you yesterday, my inspection of your regiment is but a mere form, for i know well that nothing could be more perfect than its order; but i must report to the king that i have inspected all the regiments now in berlin and potsdam, and others that will form my command, should any untoward event disturb the peace of the country. "but before i begin, permit me to present to you this young officer, who was yesterday appointed to your regiment. i have already spoken to you of him. this is cornet fergus drummond, a cousin of my own, and whom i recommend strongly to you. as i informed you, he will for the present act as one of my aides-de-camp." "you have lost no time in getting your uniform, mr. drummond," the colonel said. "i am sure that you will be most cordially received, by all my officers as by myself, as a relation of the marshal, whom we all respect and love." "i will now proceed to the inspection," the marshal said, and he proceeded towards the end of the line. the colonel rode beside him, but a little behind. the two aides-de-camp followed, and the four troopers brought up the rear. they proceeded along the front rank, the officers having before this taken up their position in the line. the marshal looked closely at each man as he passed, horse as well as man being inspected. "i do not think, colonel, that the king himself could have discovered the slightest fault or blemish. the regiment is simply perfect. i hope that during the next few days you will have every shoe inspected by the farrier, and every one showing the least signs of wear taken off and replaced; and that you will also direct the captains of troops to see that the men's kits are in perfect order." "that shall be done, sir, though i own that i cannot see against whom we are likely to march; for though the air is full of rumours, all our neighbours seem to think of nothing so little as war." "it may be," keith said with a smile, "that it is merely his majesty's intention to see in how short a time we can place an army, complete in every particular and ready for a campaign, in the field. his majesty is fond of trying military experiments." "i hope, marshal, that you will do us the honour of drinking a goblet of champagne with us. some of my officers have not yet been presented to you, and i shall be glad to take the opportunity of doing so." "with pleasure, colonel. a good offer should never be refused." by this time they had moved to the front of the regiment. "officers and men of the rd royal dragoon guards," keith said in a loud voice, "i shall have great pleasure in reporting to the king the result of my inspection, that the regiment is in a state of perfect efficiency, and that i have been unable to detect the smallest irregularity or blemish. i am quite sure that, if you should at any time be called upon to fight the enemies of your country, you will show that your conduct and courage will be fully equal to the excellence of your appearance. i feel that whatever men can do you will do. "god save the king!" he lifted his plumed hat. the trumpet sounded, the men gave the royal salute, and then a loud cheer burst from the ranks; for the rumours current had raised a feeling of excitement throughout the regiment, and though no man could see from what point danger threatened, all felt that great events were at hand. the regiment was then dismissed, hoarse words of command were shouted, and each troop moved off to its stable; while the colonel and keith rode to the officers' anteroom, the trumpets at the same time sounding the officers' call. in a few minutes all were gathered there. the colonel first presented some of his young officers to the marshal, and then introduced fergus to his new comrades, among whom were two scotch officers. "mr. drummond will, for the present, serve with the marshal as one of his aides-de-camp; but i hope that he will soon join the regiment where, at any rate, he will at all times find a warm welcome." keith had already told the colonel that, for the present, fergus would be released from all duty as an aide-de-camp, and would spend his time in acquiring the rudiments of drill. champagne was now served round. the officers drank the health of the marshal, and he in return drank to the regiment; then all formality was laid aside for a time, and the marshal laughed and chatted with the officers, as if he had been one of themselves. fergus was surrounded by a group, who were all pleased at finding that he could already talk the language fluently; and in spite of the jealousy of the scottish officers, felt throughout the service, the impression that he made was a very favourable one; and the hostility of race was softened by the fact that he was a near relation of the marshal, who was universally popular. he won favour, too, by saying, when the colonel asked whether he would rather have a scottish or a prussian trooper assigned to him, as servant and orderly, that he would choose one of the latter. after speaking to the adjutant the colonel gave an order and, two minutes later, a tall and powerful trooper entered the room and saluted. the adjutant went up to him. "karl hoger," he said, "you are appointed orderly and servant to mr. fergus drummond. he is quartered at the officers' house, facing the palace. you will take your horse round there, and await his arrival. he will show you where it is to be stabled. you are released from all regimental duty until further orders." the man saluted and retired, without the slightest change of face to show whether the appointment was agreeable to him, or otherwise. half an hour later the marshal mounted and, with his party, rode back to the palace. after he had dismounted, lindsay and fergus rode across to their quarters. karl hoger was standing at the entrance, holding his horse. he saluted as the two officers came up. "i will go in and see if dinner is ready," lindsay said. "i told donald that we should be back at half-past one, and it is nearly two now, and i am as hungry as a hunter." fergus led the way to the stable, and pointed out to the trooper the two stalls that the horses were to occupy; for each room in the officers' quarters had two stalls attached to it, the one for the occupant, the other for his orderly. "i suppose you have not dined yet, karl?" "no, sir, but that does not matter." "i don't want you to begin by fasting. here are a couple of marks. when you have stabled the horses and finished here, you had better go out and get yourself dinner. i shall not be able to draw rations for you for today. "after you have done, come to the main entrance where i met you and take the first corridor to the left. mine is the fifth door on the right-hand side. if i am not in, knock at the next door to it on this side. you will see lieutenant lindsay's name on it. "you need not be in any hurry over your meal, for i am just going to have dinner, and certainly shall not want you for an hour." on reaching lindsay's quarters fergus found that dinner was waiting, and he and lindsay lost no time in attacking a fine fish that donald had bought in the market. "that is a fine regiment of yours, drummond," lindsay said. "magnificent. of course, i never saw anything like it before, but it was certainly splendid." "yes. they distinguished themselves in the campaigns of silesia very much. their colonel, grim, is a capital officer--very strict, but a really good fellow, and very much liked by his officers. however, if i were you, i should be in no hurry to join. i had two years and a half in an infantry regiment, before keith appointed me one of his aides-de-camp, and i can tell you it was hard work--drill from morning till night. we were stationed at a miserable country place, without any amusements or anything to do; and as at that time there did not seem the most remote chance of active service, it was a dog's life. everyone was surly and ill tempered, and i had to fight two duels." "what about?" "about nothing, as far as i could see. a man said something about scotch officers, in a tone i did not like. i was out of temper, and instead of turning it off with a laugh i took it up seriously, and threw a glass at his head. so of course we fought. we wounded each other twice, and then the others stopped it. the second affair was just as absurd, except that there i got the best of it, and sliced the man's sword arm so deeply that he was on the sick list for two months--the result of an accident, as the surgeon put it down. so although i don't say but that there is a much better class of men in the rd than there was in my regiment, i should not be in any hurry to join. "if there is a row, you will see ten times as much as an aide-de-camp as you would in your regiment, while during peacetime there is no comparison at all between our lives as aides-de-camp and that of regimental officers. "i fancy you have rather a treasure in the man they have told off to you. he was the colonel's servant at one time, but he got drunk one day, and of course the colonel had to send him back to the ranks. one of the officers told me about him when he came in, and said that he was one of the best riders and swordsmen in the regiment. the adjutant told me that he has specially chosen him for you, because he had a particularly good mount, and that as your orderly it would be of great importance that he should be able to keep up with you. of course, he got the horse when he was the colonel's orderly; and though he was sent back to the ranks six months ago, the colonel, who was really fond of the man, allowed him to keep it." "i thought it seemed an uncommonly good animal, when he led it into the stable," fergus said. "plenty of bone, and splendid quarters. i hope he was not unwilling to come to me. it is a great fall from being a colonel's servant to become a cornet's." "i don't suppose he will mind that; and at any rate, while he is here the berth will be such an easy one that i have no doubt he will be well content with it, and i daresay that he and donald will get on well together. "donald is a cuirassier. after keith appointed me as one of his aides, he got me transferred to the cuirassiers, who are stationed at potsdam. that was how i came to get hold of donald as a servant." a few minutes after they had done dinner, there was a knock at the door. the orderly entered and saluted. "you will find my man in there," lindsay said. "at present, mr. drummond and i are living together. i daresay you and he will get on very comfortably." for the next fortnight, fergus spent the whole day in barracks. he was not put through the usual preliminary work, but the colonel, understanding what would be most useful to him, had him instructed in the words of command necessary for carrying out simple movements, his place as cornet with a troop when in line or column; and being quick, intelligent, and anxious to learn, fergus soon began to feel himself at home. chapter : the outbreak of war. as lindsay had predicted, the marshal had, on the evening of the day fergus joined his regiment, said to him: "i generally have half an hour's fencing the first thing of a morning, fergus. it is good exercise, and keeps one's muscles lissome. come round to my room at six. i should like to see what the instructors at home have done for you, and i may be able to put you up to a few tricks of the sword that may be of use to you, if you are ever called upon to break his majesty's edicts against duelling." fergus, of course, kept the appointment. "very good. very good, indeed," the marshal said, after the first rally. "you have made the most of your opportunities. your wrist is strong and supple, your eye quick. you are a match, now, for most men who have not worked hard in a school of arms. like almost all our countrymen, you lack precision. now, let us try again." for a few minutes fergus exerted himself to the utmost, but failed to get his point past the marshal's guard. he had never seen fencing like this. keith's point seemed to be ever threatening him. the circles that were described were so small that the blade seemed scarcely to move; and yet every thrust was put aside by a slight movement of the wrist, and he felt that he was at his opponent's mercy the whole time. presently there was a slight jerk and, on the instant, his weapon was twisted from his hand and sent flying across the room. keith smiled at his look of bewilderment. "you see, you have much to learn, fergus." "i have indeed, sir. i thought that i knew something about fencing, but i see that i know nothing at all." "that is going too far the other way, lad. you know, for example, a vast deal more than lindsay did when he came to me, six months ago. i fancy you know more than he does now, or ever will know; for he still pins his faith on the utility of a slashing blow, as if the sabre had a chance against a rapier, in the hands of a skilful man. however, i will give you a lesson every morning, and i should advise you to go to van bruff every evening. "i will give you a note to him. he is by far the best master we have. indeed, he is the best in europe. i will tell him that the time at your disposal is too short for you to attempt to become a thorough swordsman; but that you wish to devote yourself to learning a few thrusts and parries, such as will be useful in a duel, thoroughly and perfectly. i myself will teach you that trick i played on you just now, and two others like it; and i think it possible that in a short time you will be able to hold your own, even against men who may know a good deal more of the principles and general practice of the art than yourself." armed with a note from the marshal, fergus went the next day to the famous professor. the latter read the letter through carefully, and then said: "i should be very glad to oblige the marshal, for whom i have the highest respect, and whom i regard as the best swordsman in europe. i often practise with him, and always come away having learned something. moreover, the terms he offers, for me to give you an hour and a half's instruction every evening, are more than liberal. but every moment of my time in the evening is occupied, from five to ten. could you come at that hour?" "certainly i could, professor." "then so be it. come at ten, punctually. my school is closed at that hour, but you will find me ready for you." accordingly, during the next three weeks fergus worked, from ten till half-past eleven, with herr van bruff; and from six till half past with the marshal. his mountain training was useful indeed to him now; for the day's work in the barrack was in itself hard and fatiguing and, tough as his muscles were, his wrist at first ached so at nights that he had to hold it, for some time, under a tap of cold water to allay the pain. at the end of a week, however, it hardened again; and he was sustained by the commendations of his two teachers, and the satisfaction he felt in the skill he was acquiring. "where is your new aide-de-camp, marshal?" the king asked, one evening. it was the close of one of his receptions. "as a rule, these young fellows are fond of showing off in their uniforms, at first." "he is better employed, sire. he has the makings of a very fine swordsman and, having some reputation myself that way, i should be glad that my young cousin should be able to hold his own well, when we get to blows with the enemy. so i and van bruff have taken him in hand, and for the last three weeks he has made such progress that this morning, when we had open play, it put me on my mettle to hold my own. so, what with that and his regimental work, his hands are more than full; and indeed, he could not get through it, had he to attend here in the evening; and i know that as soon as he has finished his supper he turns in for a sound sleep, till he is woke in time to dress and get to the fencing school, at ten. had there been a longer time to spare, i would not have suffered him to work so hard; but seeing that in a few days we may be on the march to the frontier, we have to make the most of the time." "he has done well, keith, and his zeal shows that he will make a good soldier. yes, another three days, and our messenger should return from vienna; and the next morning, unless the reply is satisfactory, the troops will be on the move. after that, who knows?" during the last few days, the vague rumours that had been circulating had gained strength and consistency. every day fresh regiments arrived and encamped near the city; and there were reports that a great concentration of troops was taking place, at halle, under the command of prince ferdinand of brunswick; and another, under the duke of bevern, at frankfort-on-the-oder. nevertheless, the public announcement that war was declared with austria, and that the army would march for the frontier, in three days' time, came as a sudden shock. the proclamation stated that, it having been discovered that austria had entered into a secret confederacy with other powers to attack prussia; and the king having, after long and fruitless negotiations, tried to obtain satisfaction from that power; no resource remained but to declare war, at once, before the confederates could combine their forces for the destruction of the kingdom. something like dismay was, at first, excited by the proclamation. a war with austria was, in itself, a serious undertaking; but if the latter had powerful allies, such as russia, france, and saxony--and it was well known that all three looked with jealousy on the growing power of the kingdom--the position seemed well-nigh desperate. among the troops, however, the news was received with enthusiasm. confident in their strength and discipline, the question of the odds that might be assembled against them in no way troubled them. the conquest of silesia had raised the prestige of the army, and the troops felt proud that they should have the opportunity of proving their valour in an even more serious struggle. never was there a more brilliant assembly than that at the palace, the evening before the troops marched. all the general officers and their staffs were assembled, together with the ladies of the court, and those of the nobility and army. the king was in high good humour, and moved about the rooms, chatting freely with all. "so you have come to see us at last, young sir," he said to fergus. "i should scold you, but i hear that you have been utilizing your time well. "remember that your sword is to be used against the enemies of the country, only," and nodding, he walked on. the princess amelia was the centre of a group of ladies. she was a charming princess, but at times her face bore an expression of deep melancholy; and all knew that she had never ceased to mourn the fate of the man she would have chosen, baron trench, who had been thrown into prison by her angry father, for his insolence in aspiring to his daughter's hand. "you must be glad that your hard work is over, drummond," lindsay said, as they stood together watching the scene. "i am glad that the drill is over," fergus replied, "but i should have liked my work with the professor to have gone on for another six months." "ah, well! you will have opportunities to take it up again, when we return, after thrashing the austrians." "how long will that be, lindsay?" the latter shrugged his shoulders. "six months or six years; who can tell?" he said. "if it be true that russia and france, to say nothing of saxony, are with her, it is more likely to be years than months, and we may both come out colonels by the time it is over." "that is, if we come out at all," fergus said, with a smile at the other's confidence. "oh! of course, there is that contingency, but it is one never worth reckoning with. at any rate, it is pretty certain that, if we do fall, it will be with odds against us; but of course, as aides-de-camp our chance is a good deal better than that of regimental officers. "at any rate, you have had good preparation for the campaign, for your work will be child's play in comparison to what you have been going through. how you stood it, i cannot make out. i worked pretty hard when i first arrived; but the drill for the first six months was tremendous, and i used to be glad to crawl into bed, as soon as i had had my supper. "well, you have been a poor companion so far, drummond." "i am afraid i have been, but will try and make up for it, in the future. "i suppose there is no doubt that we shall march, in the first place, on dresden." "i think that there is no doubt of that. there is no saxon army to speak of, certainly nothing that can offer any serious opposition. from there there are three or four passes by which we could pour into bohemia. saxony is a rich country, too, and will afford us a fine base for supplies, as we move on. i suppose the austrians will collect an army to oppose us, in bohemia. when we have thrashed them, i expect we shall go on straight to vienna." fergus laughed. "it all sounds easy enough, lindsay. i only hope that it will come off just as you prophesy." "that is one advantage of fighting in a foreign service, fergus. one fights just as stoutly for victory as if one were fighting for home, but if one is beaten it does not affect one so much. it is sad to see the country overrun, and pillaged; but the houses are not the houses of our own people, the people massacred are not one's own relations and friends. one's military vanity may be hurt by defeat; otherwise, one can bear it philosophically." "i never looked at it in that light before, lindsay, but no doubt there is a great deal in what you say. if my father had fallen on a german battlefield, instead of at culloden, our estates would not have been confiscated, our glens harried, and our clansmen hunted down and massacred. no, i see there is a great difference. i suppose i should fight just as hard, against the austrians, as i should have done against the english at culloden, had i been there; but defeat would have none of the same consequences. no, putting it as you do, i must own that there is a distinct advantage in foreign service, that i never appreciated before. "but i see people are leaving, and i am not sorry. as we are going to be up before daybreak, the sooner one turns in the better." karl had received the order to call his master at three, to have breakfast ready at half past, and the horses at the door at four, with somewhat less than his usual stolidity. "you will have harder work in the future, karl," fergus said. "i shall be glad of it, sir. never have i had such a lazy time as i have had for the last month. the first three or four days were very pleasant; then i began to think that i should like a little to do, so as to remind me that there was such a thing as work. but the last fortnight has been terrible. a man cannot sleep for twenty-four hours, and if it had not been that donald and i have had an occasional quarrel, as to our respective regiments and over the native land he is so fond of bragging about, i should have been ready to hang myself. "ah, sir, how often have i to thank my stars that i did not take my discharge!--which i could have asked for, as i have served my time. i had thought of it, many times; and had said to myself how delightful it would be to hear the morning call sound, at a barracks near, and to turn over in my bed and go to sleep again; to have no guard to keep, no sergeant to bully or provost guard to arrest one, if one has taken a cup too much. this fortnight has shown me the folly of such ideas. it has taught me when i am well off, and what misery it is to be one's own master, and to be always wondering how the day is to be got through." "well, you are not likely to have to complain that you have nothing to do, for some time now, karl." "no, cornet. i have felt a new man, since i heard the great news. there is always plenty to do, on a campaign. there are the horses to be cleaned, food to be cooked, forage and rations to be fetched. then, too, on a campaign every one is merry and good tempered, and one sings as one marches and sits round the campfire. one may be cold and wet and hungry, but who cares? one swears at the moment, but one laughs again, as soon as the sun shines." "well, karl, you had best turn in at once, for at three o'clock we shall want to be called." "you can rely upon my waking, sir. does my officer wish to take a full-dress suit with him?" "no; the order is that all are to start in marching order, and that all baggage is to be cut down to the smallest proportions. no officer is to take more than can be carried in his valises." it was the first week in august when the three columns, each twenty thousand strong, moved from their respective starting points. although the king was nominally in command of the central division, marshal keith was the real commander. he rode with the king at the head of the column, and his aides-de-camp, and those of frederick, were constantly on their way up and down the line, carrying orders and bringing in reports as to the manner in which the regiments maintained their respective positions, and especially how the artillery and baggage train kept up. there was no necessity, at present, for taking precautions. the march would for some days lead through prussia, and it was morally certain that the saxon army--which was small and scattered and, even if united, would not equal the strength of one of the prussian armies--would not attempt any serious resistance; for the country was flat, and there would be no defiles where a small force of men could successfully oppose a larger one. nevertheless, the daily marches were long for the infantry and the baggage, but by no means fatiguing for mounted men. the staff and aides-de-camp, with their orderlies, rode behind the leaders. the troopers were sometimes employed, instead of the officers, when a short written order had to be sent back to the rear of the column. the harvest having been gathered in, the cavalry rode across the open country, thus reducing the length of the column. the day was very hot, and the infantry opened their ranks, as much as possible, to allow the passage of what little air was moving. at nine o'clock the troops were halted. each man had been served with a breakfast, before starting; and the haversacks were now opened, and a meal made of the bread they contained, washed down with an allowance of rough wine, carried in each regimental waggon. then the men sat down, under the shade of greatcoats supported by ramrods and other contrivances, and either slept or talked until half-past two; when the bugle sounded. the greatcoats were rolled up and strapped on to the knapsacks, then there was a vigorous use of the brush, to remove the thick dust gathered on the march. at three the column got into motion again, and halted for the night at half-past six; when fires were lighted, coppers put on, and the main meal of the day presently served. the rations of the officers were the same as those of the men, but the greater part of them supplemented the food by that carried in their orderlies' saddlebags. lindsay, fergus, and the marshals other two aides-de-camp had arranged that, when possible, they should mess together; and their servants should prepare the meal by turns, while those not so engaged looked after the horses, saw that they were fed, watered, and groomed. the servants were all old campaigners, and though neither lindsay nor fergus had thought of giving them orders to that effect, both donald and karl had laid in a stock of provisions. donald had cooked a pair of fowls on the previous evening. karl had bought a sucking pig. one of the german officer's servants had a huge piece of salt beef, that had already been boiled, while the other had a hare. it was agreed at once that the fowls should be left for early breakfast; and the beef put aside for dinner, and for supper, also, if nothing else could be obtained. karl, as the servant of the junior officer, was cook for the evening, and he acquitted himself admirably. each officer carried in his saddlebag a tin plate, a drinking horn, and a knife, fork, and spoon. there was no dish, but the spit was handed round, and each cut off a portion. soup made from the ration of meat was first served, then the hare, and then the sucking pig, while the four orderlies had an ample meal from the ration of meat. a supply of spirits had been carried in the staff waggon. this they took, plentifully watered, with the meal; with a stronger cup afterwards. the night was so fine that all agreed that it was not worthwhile to erect the tent carried for them in the waggon. at eight o'clock the order for the next day's march came out, and two of the king's orderlies started on horseback with copies of it to the commanders of brigades, who in their turn communicated to the colonels of their respective regiments. the next evening the force encamped round torgau, a very strong fortress, where a great store of provisions had been collected. ample quarters were assigned to the marshal and his staff in the town. here they halted for a day to allow the other armies, which had both farther to march, to keep abreast of them on their respective lines of route. then, following the elbe, the army arrived after two marches in front of dresden. the court of saxony had, for years, been wasting the revenues of the country in extravagance and luxury; while intriguing incessantly with austria, and dreaming of obtaining an increase of territory at the expense of prussia. no effort had been made to prepare to carry out the engagements entered into with austria; and the army, utterly neglected, numbered but some fifteen thousand. these were scattered over the country, and but poorly provided with artillery. when, then, the news arrived that three prussian armies had crossed the frontier, there was no thought of resistance; but orders were despatched for the whole force to concentrate at pirna, a strongly fortified camp among the defiles of the mountains separating saxony from bohemia. the position was almost an impregnable one, and they could receive reinforcements from bohemia. on the arrival of the prussian army the king fled, and dresden threw open its gates. as frederick hoped to detach saxony from the alliance against him, the greater portion of the army were encamped outside the town; three or four regiments, only, marching in and quartering themselves in the empty saxon barracks. the aid saxony could render frederick would be insignificant, but it was most desirable for him that he should ensure its neutrality, in order to secure his communications with prussia when he marched forward into bohemia. finding the king had gone, his first step was to send a general officer, with a party of soldiers, to seize the archives in the palace. among these was discovered the prize he most desired to find; namely a signed copy of the secret treaty, between austria, russia, france, and saxony, for the invasion and partition of prussia. copies of this document were instantly sent off to the courts of europe, thus affording an ample justification for what would otherwise have appeared a wholly unprovoked attack by prussia upon her neighbours. had it not been for the discovery of this document, frederick would probably have always remained under the stigma of engaging in an unprovoked and ambitious war; for the court of austria had hitherto, positively and categorically, declared to frederick's ambassador and envoys the non-existence of any such treaty or agreement between the powers. as the queen had remained in the palace, frederick took up his abode in another royal building, marshal keith and a large number of officers being also quartered there. in order to prevent any broils with the citizens, orders were issued that certain places of refreshment were to be used only by officers, while the soldiers were only to frequent wine and beer shops selected in the neighbourhood of the barracks, and were strictly forbidden to enter any others. any soldier caught in an act of theft or pillage was to be hung, forthwith, and all were enjoined to observe a friendly demeanour to the people. one evening, fergus had been sent with a message to the camp, two miles from the town. it was nearly ten o'clock when he started to ride back. when within half a mile of the town he heard a pistol shot, in the direction of a large house, a quarter of a mile from the road. without hesitation he turned his horse's head in that direction. in a couple of minutes he arrived at a pair of large gates. they were closed, but he dismounted, fastened the bridle chain to them and, snatching the pistols from his holsters, ran along by the side of a high wall, until he came to a tree growing close to it. with some difficulty, for his high boots were ill adapted to such work, he climbed the tree, got on to the wall, and dropped down. he was in large park-like grounds. guided by a light in a window, he ran to the house. the door was closed. after hesitating for a moment he ran along and, soon coming, as he expected, to an open window, he at once climbed through it. a door was open and, passing on, he entered a large hall in which a light was burning. pausing to listen now, he heard voices upstairs and, holding a pistol in each hand and his drawn sword in his teeth, he lightly ascended the stairs. on the landing two men lay dead. light was issuing from a half-closed door and, noiselessly approaching it, he looked in. it was a small room. at the end stood eight or ten scared women, huddled together; while a soldier, with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, stood sentry over them. these were evidently the servants of the chateau, who had been unceremoniously hauled from their beds and gathered there, under a guard, to prevent them from screaming or giving any alarm. as fergus was equally anxious that no alarm should be given, at present, he retired quietly. a pair of double doors faced the top of the staircase. this was evidently the grand reception room and, listening intently, he could hear a murmur of voices inside. turning the handle and throwing them suddenly open, he entered. upon the floor lay the body of a gentleman. a lady, pale as death and in a half-fainting condition, leant back in a settee; while a girl of thirteen or fourteen lay on a couch, with bound hands and a handkerchief fastened across her mouth. three soldiers were engaged in examining the contents of a large coffer of jewels. as the door opened they turned round and, on seeing a solitary officer, sprang forward with terrible oaths. fergus shot one of them as they did so, dropped the pistol, and seized his sword. both men fired. fergus felt a stinging sensation in his left arm, and the pistol held in that hand dropped to the ground. confident in his swordsmanship, he awaited the onslaught of the two marauders. the swords clashed, and at the second pass one of them fell back, run through the body. the other, shouting for aid, stood on the defensive. fergus heard the rush of heavy steps coming down the staircase and, just as three other men rushed into the room, he almost clove his opponent's head in two, with a tremendous blow from his claymore. [illustration: two of the newcomers fired hastily--and both missed] two of the newcomers fired their pistols hastily--both missed--then rushed at him with their swords; and as he was hotly engaged with them the third, who was the sentry who had been placed over the women, advanced slowly, with his pistol pointed, with the intention of making sure of his aim. he paused close to the combatants, waiting for an opportunity to fire between the shifting figures of his comrades; when a white figure, after peering in at the door, ran swiftly forward and threw herself on his back, hurling him forward to the ground, his pistol exploding as he fell. one of the others started back at the sound, and as he did so fergus ran him through the body. he then attacked his remaining opponent, and after a few passes laid him dead beside his comrade. picking up his own fallen pistol, fergus blew out the brains of the soldier, who was struggling to free himself from the girl's weight, and then helped her to her feet. "well done, my brave girl!" he said. "you have saved my life. now run and tell those wenches to stop screaming, and to come and help their mistress. these scoundrels are all killed, and there is nothing more for them to be alarmed at." then he ran to the girl on the sofa, cut her cords with a dagger, and freed her from the gag. as he did so, she leapt up and ran to her mother's side; while fergus, kneeling by the gentleman who had fallen before he had entered, turned him over and, laying his ear over his heart, listened intently. "he is alive," he said. "his heart beats, but faintly. tell the maids to fetch some cordial." the women were coming in now, some crying hysterically, some shrieking afresh at the sight of the bodies that were strewn about the room. "silence!" fergus shouted sternly. "now, while one runs to fetch some cordial, do three others come here, and aid me to lift your master gently on to this couch." the maid who had overthrown the soldier at once came forward to his assistance. "now, truchen and lisa," the young girl said, stamping her foot, "come at once. "do you, caroline, run and fetch the stand of cordials from the dining room." the two women approached timidly. "now," fergus said, "get your arm under his shoulders, on your side, and i will do the same. one of you others support his head when we lift, the other take his feet." so, gently he was raised and laid on the couch. by the time this was done, the woman returned with a bottle of spirits. "now," he said, "water and a glass." the young girl ran and fetched a carafe of water and a tumbler, standing on a table by the wall. her hands shook as she handed it to fergus. "are you sure that he is not dead, sir?" she asked, in a hushed voice. "quite sure. i fear that he is grievously wounded, but he certainly lives. now, get another glass and put some spirits in and fill it up with water, and make your mother drink it, as soon as you have roused her from her faint." fergus now gave all his attention to the wounded man, poured two or three spoonfuls of strong spirits and water between his lips, and then proceeded to examine his wounds. he had three. one was a very severe cut upon the shoulder. his left arm had been broken by a pistol bullet, and he had a dangerous sword thrust in the body. under fergus' direction the servant had cut off the doublet and, after pouring some more spirits down the wounded man's throat, he bade one of the other women fetch him some soft linen, and a sheet. when these arrived he made a pad of the linen, and bound it over the wounded man's shoulder with some strips torn from the sheet. then he sent for some straight strips of wood, cut them to the right length, wrapped some linen round them and, straightening the arm, applied them to it and, with the assistance of the girl, bandaged it firmly. then he placed a pad of linen over the wound in the body, and passed bandages round and round. "well done!" he said to his assistant. "you are a stout girl, and a brave one." then he turned to the others, who were crowded round their mistress. "stand back," he said, "and throw open the window and let the air come to her. that will do. "the young lady and this girl will be enough, now. do the rest of you run off and get some clothes on." "she has opened her eyes once, sir." "she will come round directly, young lady. pour a spoonful or two from this glass between her lips. it is stronger than that you have in your hand. she has had a terrible shock, but as soon as she hears that your father is alive, it will do more for her than all our services." "will he live, sir?" "that i cannot say for certain, but i have great hopes that he will do so. however, i will send a surgeon out, as soon as i get to the city." the lady was longer in her swoon than fergus had expected, and the servants had returned before she opened her eyes. "now," he said, "do four of you lend me your assistance. it would be well to carry this sofa with your master into the next room; and then we will take your mistress in there, too, so that she will be spared seeing these ruffians scattered about, when she comes to herself." the doors leading to the adjoining apartment were opened, candles lighted there, and the wounded man carried in on his sofa. "and now for your mistress. it will be easier to lift her out of the chair, and carry her in bodily." this he did, with the assistance of two of the servants. "now," he said to the young girl, "do you stay by her, my brave maid. i think she will recover in a minute or two. her eyelids moved as i brought her in. i will look round and see about things. "were these the only two men in the house?" he asked the other women, as he joined them on the landing. "no, sir. there were six men. the other four have gone to bed, but the two outside always waited up till the count and countess retired." "where are their rooms?" he asked, taking a candle. one of the women led him upstairs. as he expected, he found the four men lying dead. one had apparently leapt up as the door was opened, and the other three had been killed in their beds. "where can i get help from?" "there are the men at the stables. it is at the back of the house, three or four hundred yards away." "well, take one of the other women with you, and go and rouse them. tell them to dress and come here, at once." he now went down to the gate, undid the fastening, and then led his horse up to the house. in a few minutes the stablemen arrived. he ordered them to carry the bodies of the six marauders out, and lay them in front of the house. when they had done so, they were to take those of the servants and place them in an outhouse. then he went upstairs again. "the countess has recovered, sir," one of the women said. "tell her that i will send one of the army surgeons down, at once. but first, bandage my arm. it is but a flesh wound, i know; but i am feeling faint, and am sure that it is keeping on bleeding. "here, my girl," he said to the one who had before assisted, "i can trust to you not to faint." with her assistance he took off his coat, the arm of which was saturated with blood. "you had better cut off the sleeve of the shirt," he said. this was done, and the nature of the wound was seen. a ball had ploughed through the flesh three inches below the shoulder, inflicting a gaping but not serious wound. "it is lucky that it was not the inside of the arm," he said to the girl, as she bandaged it up; "for had it been, i should have bled to death in a very few minutes. "has the count opened his eyes yet?" "no, sir. he is lying just as he was." "what is the gentleman's name?" "count eulenfurst." "you had better give me a draught of wine, before i start. i feel shaken, and it is possible that riding may set my wound bleeding again." having drunk a goblet of wine, fergus went down and mounted his horse. as he did so, he said to one of the men: "take a lantern, and go down to the spot where the road hither turns off from the main road. a surgeon will be here in half an hour, or perhaps in twenty minutes. he will be on the lookout for you and your lantern." events had passed quickly, and the church bell chimed a quarter to eleven as he rode through the streets of dresden. in three minutes he drew up at the entrance to the royal quarters. as he dismounted, karl came out. "keep the horse here, karl," he said. "it may be wanted in a minute or two again." "are you hurt, sir?" the man asked as he dismounted, for he saw his face by the light of the torches on each side of the gateway. "it is only a flesh wound, and of no consequence; but i have lost a good deal of blood." he made his way up the staircase to the marshal's quarters. he was feeling dizzy and faint, now. "is the marshal in his room?" he asked. "he is in, sir, but--" "i would speak to him immediately. 'tis a most urgent matter." the servant went in, a moment later held the door open, and said: "will you enter, sir?" fergus entered, and made the usual formal salute to the marshal. two or three other officers were in the room, but he did not heed who they were, nor hear the exclamations of surprise that broke out at his appearance. "i beg to report, sir, that the house of the count eulenfurst has been attacked by marauders, belonging to one of the pomeranian regiments. the count is desperately wounded, and i pray that a surgeon may be sent instantly to his aid. the house stands back from the road, about half a mile from the north gate. a man with a lantern will be standing in the road to guide him to it. my horse is at the door below, in readiness to take him. i pray you to allow me to retire." he swayed and would have fallen, had not the marshal and one of the others present caught him, and laid him down on a couch. "he is wounded, marshal," the other officer said. "this sleeve is saturated with blood." the marshal raised his voice, and called an attendant: "run to the quarters of staff surgeon schmidt, and ask him to come here immediately, and to bring another of his staff with him, if there is one in." in two minutes the king's chief surgeon entered, followed by another of his staff. "first look to the wound of cornet drummond," the marshal said. "it is in the arm, and i trust that he has only fainted from loss of blood." the surgeons examined the wound. "it is in no way serious, marshal. as you say, he has fainted from loss of blood. he must have neglected it for some time. had it been bandaged at once, it would only have had the consequence of disabling his arm for a fortnight or so." the assistant had already hurried away to get lint and bandages. another voice now spoke. "surgeon schmidt, you will please at once mount mr. drummond's horse, which is standing at the door. ride out through the north gate. when you have gone about half a mile you will see a man with a lantern. he will lead you to the house of count eulenfurst, who has been grievously wounded by some marauders. surgeon morfen will follow you, as soon as he has bandaged mr. drummond's wounds. there may be more wounded there who may need your care. "major armfeldt, will you order a horse to be brought round at once for the surgeon, then hurry to the barracks. order the colonel to turn out a troop of horse instantly, and let him scour the country between the north gate and the camp, and arrest every straggler he comes across." chapter : promotion. as soon as the bandage was applied and the flow of blood ceased, a few spoonfuls of wine were poured down the patient's throat. it was not long before he opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position. "i beg pardon, sir," he said faintly, as his eyes fell on the marshal, who was standing just in front of him. "i am sorry that i came into your apartments in this state, but it seemed to me--" "you did quite right, sir," said a sharp voice that he at once recognized, while the speaker put his hand upon his shoulder, to prevent him from trying to rise. "you were quite right to bring the news here at once of this outrage; which, by heavens, shall be punished as it deserves. now drink a cup of wine, and then perhaps you will be able to tell us a little more about it. now don't be in a hurry, but obey my orders." fergus drank off the wine; then, after waiting a minute or two, said: "count eulenfurst is sorely wounded, sire, but i cannot say whether mortally or not. when i came away, he was still lying insensible. his wife and daughter are, happily, uninjured." "was anyone else hurt?" "yes, sire, the six menservants who were sleeping in the house were all killed--four in their beds, two while hastening from below to assist their master." the king gave an exclamation of fury. "you said these men belonged to a pomeranian regiment. had they left before you got there? but i suppose not, or else you would not have been wounded. how was it that you heard of the attack?" "i had carried a despatch from the marshal to the camp, sire, and was on my way back when i heard a pistol shot. the sound was faint, for it came from a house a quarter of a mile away, and was fired indoors; but the night was still, and fortunately some of the windows were open. thinking that some evil work was being done, i rode straight for it, climbed the wall and, making my way on foot to the house, happily arrived in time." "you saw the fellows, then? how was it that they suffered you to escape with your life? they must have known that your evidence would hang them all." "there were but six of them, sire; and they will need no hanging, for they are all disposed of. though had it not been for the assistance of a brave servant maid, who threw herself upon the back of one of them, my career would certainly have been terminated." "but who had you with you to help you?" the king asked. "i had no one but the maid, sire." "do you mean to say, mr. drummond, that with your own hand you slew the whole of the six villains?" "that was so, sire; but in respect to the one thrown down by the girl, i had but to blow out his brains before he could gain his feet." "can you give us the particulars?" the king asked quietly. "if you do not feel equal to it, we will wait till morning." "i can tell you now, sire. i am feeling better and stronger." and he related the incidents of the fight. "one with his pistol, keith," the king said. "four with his sword, after his left hand was disabled, to say nothing of the sixth. "that is not a bad beginning for this aide-de-camp, gentlemen." "no, indeed, sire. it is a most gallant deed, though it was well for him that he was able to dispose of the first three before the others appeared on the scene." "it was a most gallant action, indeed," the king repeated; and a hearty assent was given by the general officers standing round. "i congratulate you on your aide-de-camp, keith," he went on. "a man capable of killing, single handed, six of my pomeranians is a treasure. do you see that his commission as lieutenant is given me tomorrow to sign. "no, sit still, young sir. it is i who have to thank you, for so promptly punishing these marauders, who would have brought disgrace upon my army; and not you who have to thank me. now, be off to your bed." two of the attendants were called in, and these assisted fergus, who was almost too weak to stand, to the apartment that he shared with lindsay. keith himself accompanied them. lindsay leapt out of bed as they entered. "don't ask any questions, lindsay," the marshal said. "drummond has performed a very gallant action, and has been wounded and, as you see, can scarce stand from loss of blood. he will be asleep as soon as he lies down. you will hear all about it, in the morning." the marshal then returned to his apartment. the king was on the point of leaving. "i have left orders," he said, "that as soon as either of the surgeons returns, i am to be wakened and informed of the state of count eulenfurst. he is a nobleman of distinction and character; though, i believe, in no great favour at the court here since he resigned his seat on the council, because he disapproved of the resources of the state being wasted in extravagance, instead of being spent in maintaining the army in proper condition. should he die, it will cause an extremely bad impression throughout saxony." at daybreak the next morning, finding that the surgeons had not returned, keith despatched an officer to request them to furnish him, at once, with a written report of the state of the count. he returned in three-quarters of an hour, saying that the count had just recovered consciousness; that two of his wounds were serious, and the other very grave; but that having probed it, they were of opinion that it might not prove fatal. the countess was completely prostrated, and had gone from one fainting fit into another, and required more attention than her husband. the rest of the household were uninjured. lindsay got up quietly and dressed without awaking fergus. he was disappointed at a despatch being at once handed to him to carry to the prince of brunswick's army, which was ten miles away; and was therefore obliged to mount and ride off, without obtaining any news whatever as to the nature of drummond's adventure. as he passed through the camp of the pomeranians, he saw the bodies of six soldiers swinging from the bough of a tree, close to the camp. he rode a little out of his way to discover the cause of this strange spectacle. in front of them was erected a large placard of canvas, with the words painted upon it: "marauders killed in the commission of crime, and their bodies hung by order of the king, as a lesson to anyone who ventures to break the law against plundering." then he rode on his way, and did not return until one o'clock. the marshal was occupied. he therefore simply handed in the reply to the despatch that he had carried, and immediately retired. "is mr. drummond up?" he asked one of the attendants. "he is still in his room, sir. his servant is with him, and he is taking food." he went straight to the room. fergus was sitting up in a chair, eating a basin of strong chicken broth. "this is a nice hour to be breakfasting, lindsay," he said with a smile. "i feel quite ashamed of myself, i can tell you; but i am under orders. the doctor came here half an hour ago. i had just woke and got out of bed, and was going to dress, when he told me that i was not to do so. i might sit up to take breakfast, but was to keep perfectly quiet for the rest of the day. he said i only needed feeding up, that he would send me some strong broth, and three hours later i was to have some soup and a pint of burgundy; and that if i obeyed his instructions, and ate and drank well, i should be able to leave my room tomorrow; though of course, i should not be fit for active service till my arm began to heal." "but what is it all about, drummond? i was sent off to brunswick's camp, as soon as i got up, and have heard nothing about it; and the marshal forbade me to speak to you, when you were brought in last night. he merely said that you had done a very gallant action." "there was nothing very gallant in it, lindsay; but it turned out very fortunate." then he gave a very brief account of the previous evening's events. "well i should call that a gallant action, drummond, if you don't. it is no joke for one man to tackle six, and those not ordinary marauders but pomeranian soldiers. of course, it was somewhat lucky that you had rid yourself of three of them, before the other three entered the room; and had it not been, as you say, for that girl, things might have turned out differently. still, that does not affect the matter. it was a gallant business. "what happened when you came in?" "i don't know much about what happened. at first i made some sort of report to the marshal, and then i believe i fainted. when i came to, i found that they had bandaged up my shoulder, and poured some wine down my throat. i felt very shaky at first, but i know that i drank some wine, and was then able to give some sort of account of what had happened. the king was there, then, and asked me questions; but whether or not he was there, at first, i cannot say. i have a vague idea that he told the marshal, too, that he promoted me; but i am not quite sure about that, nor do i know how i got here." "well, if you are not mistaken about your step, i congratulate you most heartily. it is seldom, indeed, that anyone gains one in six weeks after his first appointment. i thought myself lucky, indeed, in getting it after serving only two years and a half; but i got it simply on nomination as one of the marshal's aides-de-camp. it is customary to get promotion, on such appointment, if there has been two or three years' previous service. "well, you have drawn the first blood in this campaign, drummond; and have not been long in giving very striking proof that your month's hard work in the fencing school has not been thrown away." the conversation was broken off by the entry of the marshal, himself. "pooh, pooh, fergus!" he said, as the latter rose, "there is no occasion for saluting in a bedroom. i am glad to see you looking so much better. you could not have looked more ghastly, when you came in yesterday evening, if you had been your own wraith. "there, lad," he said, handing him a parchment. "it is not usual to have a new commission on promotion, but the king told me that he had had it done, in the present case, in order that you might have a record of the exploit for which you have been promoted. you will see it is set down inside that, although but six weeks in service, you were promoted to the rank of lieutenant for a deed of extraordinary gallantry. you had attacked and killed, with your own hand, six marauding soldiers; who had entered the chateau of count eulenfurst, well-nigh murdered the count, killed six of his servants, and were occupied in plundering the house. in token of his thankfulness, that the life of so distinguished and enlightened a nobleman had been saved by you; as well as of approbation for the gallantry of your conduct, his majesty promoted you to the rank of lieutenant. "you should keep that paper, fergus, and pass it down to your descendants, as an heirloom. i congratulate you, my boy, with all my heart; and feel some satisfaction on my own account, for such an action as this shows those who are inclined to grumble, at what they may consider the favour shown to scotchmen, that at any rate the favour is not misplaced. a general order to the army has been issued this morning saying that, some scoundrels, having disgraced their uniform and brought discredit upon the army, by a murderous and wicked attack upon the house of count eulenfurst, the king reiterates and confirms his previous order that any man caught when engaged in pillaging, or upon whose person any stolen goods are found, will be summarily hung by the provost marshal, or by any general officer before whom he may be brought. "the king himself has ridden to the count's chateau, this morning, to make personal inquiries into his state, and to express his deep regret at the outrage that has taken place. it is a politic action, as well as a kind one. of course, the event has occasioned great excitement in the city." "and may i ask how the count is going on, sir?" "the last report of the surgeons is a favourable one. he has partly recovered consciousness, and at any rate recognizes his daughter, who has divided her time between his bedside and her mother's. the latter has fallen into a deep sleep of exhaustion; but will, i doubt not, recover. the girl came down into the hall when the king called. she bore herself well, they tell me, and would have retained her composure, had it not been for the king himself. she came down the grand staircase, with four of her maids behind her--for a notice had been sent, half an hour before of his coming--prepared, no doubt, to meet a stiff and haughty king; but though frederick can be every inch a king, when he chooses, there is, as you know, no kinder-hearted man alive. "he went forward bare-headed to meet her and, as she stopped and curtsied low, he took her two hands and said: "'my poor child, i am sorry, more sorry than i can tell you, for what has happened; and hope with all my heart that your father, whom all respect and honour, will not be taken from you. no doubt you look upon me as an enemy; but although compelled to come here, because your king is leagued with those who intend to destroy me and my country, i bear no ill will to the people; and have given the strictest orders that my soldiers shall, in all respects, treat them as firm friends. but unfortunately, there are scoundrels everywhere. these men have been punished as they deserved, and the whole army will join with me in deep regret at what has happened, and in the fervent hope that your father's life will be spared. i grieve, too, to hear that the countess, your mother, has suffered so greatly from the shock; and hope soon to be able to express to her, in person, the regret i feel for what has taken place.' "the kindness of his tone, in saying all this, broke her down more than the words of the king. he saw that she was unable to speak. "'there, there, child,' he said. 'i know what you are feeling, and that you are longing to go upstairs again, so i will say goodbye. keep up a brave heart. the surgeons have every hope that your father will recover. and believe that you will always have a friend in frederick of prussia.' "he kissed her on the cheek, and then turned and left the hall, followed by his staff." three days later the doctors were able to say confidently that, unless some change occurred for the worse, they believed the count would recover. on the fourth day, fergus was sufficiently well to mount his horse. the countess and her daughter had repeatedly asked after him, and expressed their desire that he would come over, as soon as he was well enough to do so. one of the aides-de-camp had gone over, twice a day, to inquire as to the progress the count was making. a guard had been placed at the gate, and an officer stationed there to receive the names of the stream of visitors from the city, and to inform them that the count was making satisfactory progress. by the doctor's orders, even the count's most intimate friends were refused admission, as absolute quiet was needed. fergus dismounted at the gate, and walked up to the house. the maid who opened the door recognized him at once. "will you come in, sir?" she said, with a beaming face. "i will tell the young countess you are here; and she will, i am sure, see you." a minute later, the girl ran down the stairs. as she came forward she stopped, with sudden shyness. absorbed in her anxiety for her father and mother, she had taken but little heed of the appearance of the officer who had saved them. that he was kind as well as brave she was sure for, although he had scarce spoken to her, the gentleness with which he had moved her father and her mother from the bloodstained room, and the promptness and decision with which he had given his orders, had inspired her with absolute confidence in him. she had a vague idea that he was young, but his face, flecked here and there with blood, had left but a faint impression upon her memory; and when she saw the young officer, in his spotless and imposing uniform, she almost felt that there must be some mistake. "are you lieutenant drummond, sir?" she asked timidly. "i am, countess." "was it really you who saved us, the other night?" "i had that good fortune," he said with a smile. she took the hand he held out, wonderingly, and then suddenly burst into tears. "oh, sir," she said, "is it possible that you, who look so young, can be the one who came to our assistance, and killed those six evil men? it seems impossible. "i have been so unhappy, since. i did not know that you were wounded until the maids told me, afterwards. i had never even asked. i let you go, without one word of thanks for all that you have done for us. what must you have thought of me?" "i thought that you were a very courageous girl," fergus said earnestly; "and that, after what you had gone through, the sight of your father as you believed dying, and your mother in such a state, you were wonderfully calm and composed. it would have been strange, indeed, had you thought of anything else at such a time." "you are very good to say so, sir; but when i heard, from the surgeons you sent, that you had fainted from loss of blood after delivering your message, i felt that i should never forgive myself. you had thought so much of us, and not of yourself. you had gone about seeing to our comfort, and giving orders and arranging everything, and all the time you yourself needed aid." "the wound was a mere trifle," he said, "and i scarce gave it a thought, myself, until i began to feel faint from loss of blood. i can assure you that the thought that you were ungrateful has never once entered my head." "and now, will you please come up to see my mother, sir. she will be most anxiously expecting you." they went upstairs together and, turning to the right on the top of the stairs, entered a pretty apartment that was evidently the countess's boudoir. "this is our preserver, mother," the girl said, as she entered. the countess, who was advancing towards the door, stopped in surprise. she had been able, from her daughter, to gain no idea of the age of their rescuer; but the maids had all asserted that he was quite young. as he was, for so the surgeons had told her, one of marshal keith's aides-de-camp, she had pictured to herself a fierce soldier; and the sight of this youth, with his smooth pleasant face, surprised her, indeed. "yes, mother, it is himself," the girl said. "i was as surprised as you are." "i have no words to thank you, sir, for the most inestimable service which you have rendered us," the countess said warmly, as she held out her hand. "assuredly my husband would have died, had aid been delayed but a few minutes. as to my daughter and myself, they would probably have killed us, to prevent our ever recognizing or giving evidence against them. they only spared our lives, for a time, in order to learn where our jewels were kept. this was but a comparative trifle, though the jewels are precious, and there are none more valuable in saxony. i have no doubt that after stripping the house of its valuables they would have buried them, intending some day to recover them; and would then have fired the house, in order to conceal all evidence of the crime that had been committed. it seemed to me wonderful, before, that one man should, single handed, have attacked and slain them; but now that i see you, it seems almost a miracle that you performed in our favour." "it was no great feat, madam. i have the good fortune to be a fair swordsman; and soldiers, although they may know their military drill, have little chance with one who can use his weapon well. then, too, i had fortunately but three to deal with at a time; and even then, i should not have come off victorious had it not been for the courage of the maid, who ran boldly in, sprang on the back of one, and threw him to the ground, while he was waiting to get a steady aim at me with his pistol. i assuredly owe my life to her." "the king of prussia left twenty gold crowns for her, when he was here, saying that it was payment for saving the life of one of his officers; and you may be sure that we shall not be ungrateful to her. your death would have involved that of my husband, and us. the king also ordered that inquiry should be made as to whether our men who were killed had families dependent upon them; and that if so, pensions were to be given to these, as their loss had been occasioned by the evil deeds of some of his soldiers. it was very thoughtful and kind, and my daughter seems quite to have fallen in love with him. "i hope that in a few days my husband will be able to see you. he does not know that you are here. if he did, i am sure that he would wish to see you now; but the surgeons have insisted so strongly on absolute quiet, that i dare not let him hear of your coming." "i am delighted to learn that he is going on so well, madame. i sincerely trust that he will not long remain an invalid." "i suppose you would not have recognized me?" the countess asked. "i should not, indeed. of course, i could do nothing to aid you, and was chiefly occupied by the count. but indeed, you were then so pale that i might well be excused for not knowing you again." the countess was a very handsome woman, of some seven or eight and thirty, with a noble figure and a gracious air; and bore no resemblance to the almost distraught woman, with her hair falling over her face, whom he had seen before. "i am not a coward, mr. drummond," she said, "and when those villains first ran in and attacked my husband, i struggled desperately with the two who seized me; until i saw him drop, as i believed, dead. then my strength suddenly left me, and i should have fallen to the ground, had the men not thrown me back into the chair. i have a vague recollection of seeing thirza, who had retired for the night but a minute or two previously, carried in bound and gagged. they asked me several questions, but i could not reply; and i think they learned from the frightened servants where the family jewels were kept. the clashing of swords and the firing of pistols roused me a little, and after it was all over, and i heard you say that my husband was still living, my heart gave one bound, and i knew nothing more of what happened until next day." after chatting for a short time longer fergus took his leave, well pleased to have got through a visit he had somewhat dreaded. the king remained for nearly a month at dresden, engaged in carrying on negotiations with the elector. by this delay he lost most of the advantages that his sudden movement had given him; but he was most anxious to detach saxony and poland from the confederacy against him, as he would then be able to turn his attention wholly to austria, aided by the saxons, while the poles would aid his army in the east to keep the russians in check. the elector of saxony--who was also king of poland--however, was only negotiating in order to give time for austria to gather an army in bohemia; and so to relieve the saxons, who were watched by the eastern column, which had crossed the defiles into bohemia and taken post near koeniggraetz; while that of prince maurice of brunswick pushed forward farther, to threaten their line of retreat from the west. the king at last became convinced that the king of poland was but trifling with him, and in the last week of september started to take the command of the centre, which was facing the entrance to the defile, at pirna. marshal keith had been sent, a week after fergus was wounded, to assume the command of the western column, hitherto commanded by prince ferdinand of brunswick. fergus remained behind for ten days, at the end of which time he felt perfectly fit for service again. he still carried his arm in a sling, but a generous diet and good wine had filled his veins again, and upon the day the king left he rode with karl to rejoin the marshal. he had been several times over to the chateau, and had on the last occasion seen the count; who, although still terribly weak, was now out of danger, and able to sit on a couch, propped up by pillows. his thanks were as earnest as those of the countess had been and, having heard that fergus was to start on the following morning to join the army on the frontier, he said to him: "there is no saying how far your king may carry his arms, nor where you may find yourself. the countess will, therefore, write letters addressed to intimate friends at various large towns; telling them that you have placed us under a vast obligation, and praying them to do, for our sake, all in their power for you, under whatever circumstances you may arrive there. she will write them on small pieces of paper, each with its name and address on the back, so that they will make a small and compact packet, not much bigger than an ordinary letter. "i trust that when you return to dresden, lieutenant, i shall be able, myself, to do my best to prove my gratitude for your services." after taking leave of the count, his wife, and daughter, fergus rode back to the royal quarters. as karl took his horse, he said: "herr lieutenant, i know not how we are going to manage." "in what way, karl?" "two magnificent horses, complete with saddlery, holsters, and pistols, arrived here half an hour since. the man who brought them said they were from count eulenfurst, and handed me this note: "'pray accept the horses we send you, as a feeble token of our gratitude. may they, by their speed and staunchness, carry you unharmed through dangers well nigh as great as those you faced for us.'" fergus walked by the side of the soldier as he led the horse round to the stable. "there, sir," karl said, pointing to a pair of splendid animals; "they are fit for a king." "'tis a noble gift, and indeed, i doubt whether the king himself has such horses in his stables. the question is, what is to be done with them? my present charger is an excellent one and, as a gift of the marshal, i could not part with it. as to the others, it is out of the question that i can take both. it would be altogether contrary to rules. i am entitled to forage for two horses--that is, when forage is to be had. "ah! i see what had best be done. come to my room with me. i will give you a letter to the count." he wrote as follows: "dear count eulenfurst, "i cannot refuse the noble gift that you have made me, and thank you and the countess for it, with all my heart. at present, however, it places me in a difficulty. aides-de-camp are allowed to take only two horses; indeed, my orderly could not take with him more than one led horse. the animal i have was the gift of marshal keith. that being so, you will see that i could not part with it. the only solution, therefore, that occurs to me is to beg you to add to your kindness, by taking care of the one that i send back to you by the bearer, until i return to dresden; or find means to send for it, in the event of one of the others being killed. "the only fault with your gifts is that they ought to be kept for state reviews, or grand occasions; for it seems wrong to take such noble creatures into the midst of a heavy fire. i am sure that i shall feel more nervous, lest a ball should injure my horse, than i shall do for my own safety." when he had folded and sealed this, he handed it to karl, who had followed shortly after him. "i am sending back one of the horses, karl, and asking the count to take care of it for me, until i return or send for it. do you see any difference between them?" "it would be hard to pick the best, lieutenant. they both struck me as being perfect in all points--both are four years old." "well then, you must take one at random, karl. had one been better than the other, i should have left it behind. as it is, take whichever you choose." "the man who brought them told me, sir, that both were bred on the count's estates; and that he prided himself on having some of the best blood in europe, both for beauty and stamina. he thought this pair were the pick of the stables." "i almost wish i could leave them both behind, but i could not do so without hurting the feelings of the count and countess. but they are too good for an aide-de-camp's work." "i don't think anything can be too good for that, sir. an aide-de-camp wants a horse that will stop at nothing; and sometimes he has to ride for his life, pursued by the enemy's cavalry. you will be the envy of the division, on one of those horses." karl returned an hour later with a message from the countess, saying that she could not disturb her husband, who was then resting, but that she understood mr. drummond's difficulty, and they should be very glad to take care of the horse for him, until he wanted it. "you did not see the countess, i suppose, karl?" "yes, sir, i saw her. she had me taken upstairs to her room. she asked if i was your servant, and when i said yes, she told me that she hoped i would take great care of you. i said that was my duty. "'nevertheless, do more than your duty,' she said. 'his life is a very precious one to us. "'is it not, thirza?' "the young lady nodded. "'here are five gold crowns for yourself,' she went on, handing me the money. 'they may help to make your bivouac more comfortable. "'and now,' she said, 'there is something else, but i do not wish you to tell your master.' "what am i to do, your honour?" "you had better keep it to yourself, karl," fergus laughed. "i daresay i shall hear of it, someday." "very well, lieutenant, then that is all there is to report." the next morning fergus started early. two days previously, a prussian governor had been appointed to dresden, and three thousand men were left under his command. similar appointments were also made to all the fortified towns in saxony; for now that the negotiations were broken off, and the king of poland had declared finally for the confederates, saxony was to be treated as a conquered country. nevertheless, strict injunctions were given that all cattle, wheat, and other provisions taken for the use of the garrisons, or for storing up in fortresses whence it might be forwarded to the army, were to be paid for; and that any act of pillage or ill treatment was to be most severely punished, as the king was still most anxious to gain the goodwill of the mass of the population. chapter : lobositz. in dresden itself, the feeling was far from hostile to the invaders. the discontent with the vicious government had been extreme, and the imposts now levied were less onerous than those which had been wasted in profusion and extravagance. the conduct of the troops had been admirable; and in the case of count eulenfurst, the personal visit of the king to express his regrets, and his generosity to the families of the servants, had produced a most excellent effect. as fergus rode into the camp, mounted on his new acquisition, it at once caught the marshal's eye. "why, fergus," he exclaimed, "have you been robbing the king of poland's stables? that is a noble animal, indeed." "it was a present from count eulenfurst, marshal," fergus replied. "he sent me two, but one of them he is going to keep for me until i return; for i could not part with rollo, who is as good a horse as anyone can wish to ride; and i know his paces." "you are right, lad, for it is always well to accustom yourself to a horse, before you want to use it in action; but in faith, it will be a pity to ride such a horse as that through the heat of a battle." "i feel that, sir; but as the count, in his letter with the horses, said that he hoped they would carry me safely through dangers as grave as those i had encountered at his house, i feel that he would be hurt if, on my return, i admitted to him that i had saved it for show occasions." "you are right," keith said approvingly; "but that is the more reason that you should accustom yourself to it, before you use it for such work; as horse and rider should be as one on the field of battle and, unless the horse has absolute confidence in its rider, it is very difficult to keep it steady under fire." "i suppose we shall not see the king for some time, marshal," fergus said later, as keith was chatting with him. "on the contrary, he will be with us tomorrow. he rides today to have another look at the saxon position, and to give his orders there. he will, tomorrow morning, join us. it is we who are likely to have the first fighting; for the austrians must come to the relief of the saxons, who are shut up, as in a trap, by our divisions. they made a great mistake in not retiring, at once, into bohemia; which they could have done without difficulty, had they lost no time. "there is no greater mistake than shutting a large force up, either in a fortress or an intrenched camp, unless that fortress is an absolute obstacle to an enemy. this is not the case with pirna. the mountains can be crossed at many other points and, by leaving five or six thousand men in a strong position at the end of each defile, we could disregard them altogether, and march on southward. they have already been three weeks there, and we believe that they cannot hold out very much longer. however, it is probable that they may be able to do so until an austrian force comes up, and tries to relieve them. "from what we hear, two armies have already entered bohemia, and we may expect that our first battle will not be far distant." "do we block the only line of retreat, sir?" fergus asked. "no, indeed. we do not absolutely close the direct road, but our position, and that of marshal schwerin facing koeniggraetz, so menaces their line of retreat that they dare not venture from their shelter; and our cavalry render it impossible for any supplies to be thrown in, unless the convoy is supported by an army. there are, we know, paths across the hills by which infantry might effect a passage; but as there is nowhere a place for them to retire to, we should easily overtake them and force them to surrender. "no, their only hope is in the coming of relief." a few hours later, the king himself rode in. in the evening, orders were issued that a force of cavalry and infantry were to march at daylight, and that the rest of the army were to follow, two hours later. it was soon known that the king had received news that marshal browne--an irish officer of great distinction, who commanded the austrian force gathered at budin, on the eger--was expecting the arrival of artillery and pontoons from vienna, in the course of a day or two, and was preparing to cross the river. it was evident, then, that his intention was to relieve the saxon army, in the first place. the roads through the defiles were very heavy and difficult, but that afternoon the advance force reached termitz. late in the evening the rest of the army arrived there. a squadron of cavalry had been sent off, as soon as the vanguard arrived, to ascertain the movements of the enemy; and they returned, at ten at night, with information that the austrians had crossed the eger that day, and were to encamp at lobositz. the army at once moved on across the mountains and, after a very difficult and fatiguing march, arrived near lobositz; and lay down for some hours in the order in which they had marched, taking up their position as soon as it was light. [map: battle of lobositz] the infantry were in two lines. their left was posted on a steep hill known as the lobosch, part of whose lower slopes extended to the village of lobositz. a battery, with infantry supports, took post on a hill called homolka, which commanded the whole plain between the two armies. the centre stretched across the valley between those hills. on the low hill on which stood the little town, the austrians had thrown up intrenchments, and posted a very strong artillery force, whose fire would sweep a greater portion of the prussian position. except at this point, the ground between the two armies was low and swampy. the austrian force was greatly superior in numbers, consisting of squadrons of horse, battalions of infantry, and guns; while the prussians had squadrons, battalions, and guns. it was evident to both commanders that the village of lobositz was the decisive point; and indeed, the nature of the ground was such as to render operations almost impossible, in the marshy plain intersected by rivulets, which in many places formed large ponds. at seven in the morning the prussian action began by a heavy fire between the left, on the slopes of lobosch, and croats and several battalions of hungarians, scattered among the vineyards and the stone walls dividing them. a heavy fog covered the whole country and, until a full view could be obtained of the position of the enemy, neither of the commanders deemed it prudent to move. at twelve o'clock, however, the fog began to clear up. the main body of the austrians was still invisible; and the king, seeing but a comparatively small force in the plain near lobositz, thought that this must be the rear guard of the austrians; who, he imagined, having found the line by which they intended to succour the saxons occupied in force, had retired, having thrown up batteries and left a strong force at lobositz, to prevent the prussians from advancing. to ascertain this, twenty squadrons of cavalry were ordered to advance; but on doing so, they were received by so tremendous a fire from the batteries of the village, and from others at sulowitz, another village in the plain on their right, that they fell back with much loss, pursued by the austrian cavalry. by the time they had resumed their positions behind the infantry, the fog had entirely lifted; and the king and marshal keith obtained a full view of the austrian position, from the spot where they had stationed themselves on the hill. they agreed that no attack could be made against the enemy's centre or left, and that they could be assailed only on their right. the troops on the lobosch hill were, therefore, largely reinforced; and the whole army advanced, inclining towards the left so as to attack lobositz from the side of the plain, as well as from that of the mountain. a tremendous artillery fire, from the guns on the hills, heralded the advance. the troops on the lobosch hill made their way forward rapidly. the ground was so steep that they commanded a view down into the vineyard, and their fire was so heavy that the croats and hungarians fell, as fast as they raised their heads above the stone walls to fire; and although general browne reinforced them by some of the best austrian infantry, they were rapidly driven down towards lobositz. at the foot of the hill they were supported by several more battalions, brought from the austrian centre. general lacy, who commanded these, was wounded. the prussians halted at the foot of the slope and were reformed; having fallen into some disorder, from the irregular nature of the ground over which they had been fighting. the guns were brought forward, so as to cover their next advance; while a very strong force was sent to support the batteries on the homolka hill, so as to check the enemy's centre and left, should they attempt any movement across the plain. in the meantime, marshal browne was reinforcing the defenders of lobositz with the whole of his right wing. the village was defended with desperate bravery but, owing to the position, the king was able to reinforce the assailants very much more rapidly than the austrian commander could bring up his distant troops. the prussian artillery concentrated their fire upon the place, and set it in flames from end to end; when its defenders were forced to abandon it, and retreat with precipitation on their cavalry. in order to cover their withdrawal, the austrian left moved down to the village of sulowitz, and endeavoured to pass the dam over a marshy rivulet in front of it; but the fire from the battery on the homolka rendered it impossible for them to form, and also set that village on fire, and they were therefore called back. the austrian centre moved to its right, and occupied the ground behind lobositz as soon as the defenders of the village had fallen back, and then marshal browne formed up his whole force afresh. his position was now as strong as it had been when the battle first began, for the prussians could not advance except between the swampy ground and the river; and would have been exposed, while doing so, to the fire of batteries both in front and in flank. the austrians were still greatly superior in numbers, and all the advantages that had been gained might have been lost by a renewal of the action. the total loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners on the part of the austrians was . that of the prussians was about the same. although indecisive--and indeed, claimed as a victory by both parties--the consequences showed that the advantage lay with the prussians. marshal browne's object had been to relieve the saxons, frederick's to prevent this; and for the moment he had wholly succeeded. on the other hand was the fact that marshal browne had drawn off his army practically intact, and that it was impossible for the king to winter in bohemia, as he would have done had the austrian army been defeated and dispersed; and the latter were still in a position to make a fresh attempt to rescue the saxons. to prevent this, the king despatched the duke of bevern with a large force, as if to get between the austrians and the river eger. this movement had the desired effect. marshal browne at once fell back, recrossed the river, and took up his position at his former camp at budin. from there he opened communications with the saxons, and it was arranged that these should pass the elbe; and that he, with men, should also do so, and march to meet them. the saxons, however, were detained, owing to the terrible weather and the enormous difficulty of the defiles, and only crossed on the th. in the meantime the prussians had taken up positions to cut off the saxon retreat, and after crossing they found themselves hemmed in, and the roads so commanded by newly-erected batteries that, being utterly exhausted by fatigue and hardships, they had no resource but to surrender. the terms enforced were hard. the officers were allowed to depart, on giving their parole not to serve again, but the whole of the rank and file were incorporated in the prussian army. fergus drummond and lindsay stood by their horses, with the other members of the staff, some short distance behind the king and marshal keith, as they anxiously endeavoured to discover the whereabouts and intentions of the austrian army; while the crack of musketry, between the croats and the troops who were gradually pressing them down the hill, continued unabated. "this is slow work, drummond," lindsay said, as hour after hour passed. "i should not like to have anything to do with the king, just at present. it is easy to see how fidgety he is, and no wonder. for aught we know there may be only three or four thousand men facing us and, while we are waiting here, the whole austrian army may have crossed over again, and be marching up the river bank to form a junction with the saxons; or they may have gone by the defiles we traversed the last two days, and may come down into saxony and fall on the rear of our camp watching pirna, while the saxons are attacking in front. no wonder his majesty paces backwards and forwards like a wild beast in a cage." from time to time an aide-de-camp was sent off, with some order involving the movement of a battalion farther to the right or left, and the addition of a few guns to the battery on homolka hill. fergus had taken his turn in carrying the orders. he had, two days before, abandoned his sling; and scarcely felt any inconvenience from the wound, which indeed would have been of slight consequence, had it not been for the excessive loss of blood. "these movements mean nothing," lindsay said, as he returned from one of these rides. "the marshal makes the changes simply for the sake of doing something--partly, perhaps, to take the king's attention off this confounded delay; partly to interest the troops, who must be just as restless and impatient as we are." the messages were taken, alternately, by the king's aides-de-camp and the marshal's. at length, as the fog began to lift, the interest in the scene heightened. the king and keith talked long and earnestly together, as they watched the village of lobositz. "they have got some strong batteries there," lindsay said; "but as far as one can see, there does not appear to be any large body of troops. i suppose it is meant that the troops on the slopes shall retire there, and make a strong stand. i am bound to say that it looks very much as if browne had only left a strong guard here, to keep us from issuing from this defile; and that his whole army moved away last night, and may now be some thirty miles away, on their march towards saxony." as the fog lifted still more they could see the stream running right across the plain, and the little village of sulowitz on its bank, apparently still and deserted. presently keith wrote an order on a tablet, and lindsay was sent off with it, to the general commanding the cavalry. "something is going to be done at last, drummond," he said, as he mounted. "it is an order to the cavalry." an order was then despatched to the battery on homolka hill, and to the batteries on the left. two more battalions of infantry then moved up, to press the croats more quickly down the hill. fergus watched lindsay, and saw him ride up to the general. several officers at once galloped off. there was a movement among the cavalry, and then twenty squadrons passed out through the intervals between the brigades of infantry, and trotted out through the mouth of the valley. they went on without interruption, until abreast of lobositz; and then a great number of men ran suddenly up, from the houses of the village, to the batteries. a minute later some thirty guns poured their fire into the prussian cavalry; while at the same moment the guns of a heavy battery, hitherto unseen, poured in their fire from sulowitz on their left flank; while from rising ground, not visible behind it, came the roar of thirty more pieces. so rapidly had the aides-de-camp been sent off, that fergus was the only one remaining available. the king spoke a few words to the marshal, and then said to fergus: "ride, sir, with my orders to the officer commanding the cavalry out there, and tell him to retire at once." fergus ran back to where karl was holding his horse. "follow me, karl," he said, as he sprang into the saddle; and then rode rapidly down the steep hill and, as soon as he reached the valley, dashed off at a headlong gallop. "i have orders, karl, to recall the cavalry, who will be destroyed unless they return. should i fall, carry the order to their commander." the din was now prodigious. the whole of the prussian batteries had opened on lobositz and sulowitz, and between the thunder of the guns came the incessant crackling of musketry on the hill to his right. passing through the infantry, fergus dashed across the plain. he was mounted on the horse the marshal had given him, as the other was not yet accustomed to stand fire. the noble animal, as if delighted to be on level ground again, and excited by the roar of battle, carried him along at the top of its speed without any need of urging. fergus knew that on the heights behind the king and keith would be anxiously watching him, for the peril of the cavalry was great; and the concussion of the guns was now causing the fog to lift rapidly and, as he rode, he could dimly make out dark masses of men all along the rising ground behind sulowitz, and knew that the austrian cavalry might, at any moment, sweep down on the prussians. he was drawing abreast of lobositz, when suddenly a squadron of cavalry dashed out from the village. their object was evidently to cut him off, and prevent any message that he might bear reaching the prussian cavalry, which were now halted half a mile ahead. their officers were endeavouring to reform them from the confusion into which they had fallen, from the speed at which they had ridden and the heavy losses they had sustained. he saw, at once, that the austrians would cross his line, and reined in his horse to allow karl to come up to him. had not the trooper been exceptionally well mounted, he would have been left far behind. as it was, while pressing his charger to the utmost, he was still some fifty yards in rear of fergus. as soon as he came up, the latter said: "we must cut our way through the austrians. ride close to me. we will ease our horses a little, until we are within fifty yards, and then go at them at full speed. if i fall and you get through, carry the orders to retire to the general commanding the cavalry." the austrian cavalry had formed up in two troops, one twenty yards behind the other, and each in line two deep, extending across the road by which fergus was riding. seeing, by the speed at which he was travelling, that the prussian staff officer had no intention of surrendering, the austrian in command gave the order to charge, when they were some fifty yards away. "now, karl, boot to boot. go right at them!" and with pistols in their left hands, and their swords in their right, they sent their horses at full speed against the enemy. these had scarcely got into motion when, like a thunderbolt, fergus and his orderly burst down upon them. [illusgtration: not a blow was struck, horse and rider went down before them] the shock was irresistible. their horses were much heavier and more powerful than those of the austrians, and their weight and impetus carried all before them. not a blow was struck. horse and rider went down before them, or were swept aside. they were scarcely conscious that they were through, before they encountered the second line. here the fight was much more severe. fergus cut down two of his opponents and, with a pistol shot, rid karl of an antagonist who was pressing him hard; and after a minute of wild confusion they were through the line, and riding at headlong speed towards the prussians. pistols cracked out behind them, but before the austrians had time to turn and aim they were already fifty yards away, and going at a speed that soon left their pursuers behind. as soon as the latter saw this they drew off, and trotted back to lobositz. fergus rode up to the officer commanding the cavalry. "i bear the king's orders to you, general, to retire at once with your command." it was time, for a body of austrian cavalry, of much greater strength, could be seen galloping towards them from the high ground half a mile distant. in half a minute the prussians were in motion but, as they returned, the storm of fire from the two villages burst out again with redoubled violence. men and horses rolled over but, closing up quickly, the squadrons swept on. the general remained stationary until his last squadron thundered by, and then galloped forward again and took his place at their head. fergus had followed him, when there was a sudden crash, and he was thrown with tremendous force over his horse's head, and there lay stunned with the shock. when he recovered he staggered to his feet, and saw that he was surrounded by austrian cavalry; these having halted just where he fell, as pursuit of the prussians was hopeless, and the balls from the prussian batteries were falling thick. "you are our prisoner, sir," an officer said to him. "so i see," fergus said bitterly. "it is hard luck, just at the beginning of the campaign." "it is the fortune of war," the austrian said with a smile; "and indeed, i don't think that you have any reason to grumble for, had that shot struck a few inches farther back, it would have carried off both your legs." a sharp order was now given to retire. one of the troopers was ordered to give his horse to fergus, and to mount behind a comrade; and they rode back to the austrian main position, on the rising ground. fergus was at once taken to the marshal in command of the austrians. "what is your name, sir?" the latter asked. "fergus drummond. i have the honour to be an aide-de-camp on marshal keith's staff." "a scotchman, i suppose?" the marshal said, breaking into english. "yes, sir." "what force is there opposed to us?" "that i cannot say, sir. i only joined the army two days ago, and have been on the march ever since." "who is its commander?" "marshal keith, sir; but the king himself is with it." "i will see that you are made comfortable, presently, mr. drummond. "captain wingratz, will you conduct this officer to the rear, and place a couple of soldiers to see that he is not annoyed or interfered with, in any way?" fergus was led away. captain wingratz called up two troopers and, choosing an elevated spot of ground, told them to dismount and allow no one to speak to the officer. "from here," he said courteously to drummond, "you will get a view of the field of battle." fergus sat down on the grass, and remained a spectator of the fight to the end of the day. he marked at once that the combat had rolled down the hill, and that the prussians were making their way in force towards lobositz. then he saw heavy masses of infantry, from the austrian right, move forward to aid in its defence. for two hours the battle raged round the village, the whole of the guns on both sides aiding in the fight. then volumes of smoke and flame rose, and the austrians were seen retiring. sulowitz still kept up a heavy fire, and he saw a strong body from the austrian left move down there; while the centre advanced to cover the retreat of the defenders of lobositz, and to check the advancing masses of the prussians; and he thought, for a time, that a general engagement was about to take place. then he saw the prussian advance cease, the roar of cannon gradually died away, and the battle was at an end. for an hour he remained, apparently unnoticed, then captain wingratz rode up with another officer. "i am sorry to have neglected you so long, lieutenant drummond; but you see it was the fault of your own people, who have kept us so busy. this is lieutenant kerr, a compatriot of yours, who will take special charge of you." "i am sorry that our meeting cannot take place under more favourable circumstances," kerr said, holding out his hand. "it might well have been the other way. "now come with me to my tent. i have no doubt that you are hungry; i can assure you that i am." the two walked together for about a quarter of a mile, the austrian officer having left as soon as he had introduced them. "there were three of us here this morning," kerr said, as they entered the tent. "the other two are missing. one i know is killed; the other badly wounded, but whether he is dead or a prisoner i cannot say. "by the way, are you not the officer who cut his way through the squadron of our regiment, and went on and joined your cavalry, who at once fell back? i was in lobositz, myself. my squadron was not ordered out. as i hear that you were found by our cavalry as they followed the prussians, it struck me that it might be you; although from lobositz we could only see that it was a staff uniform that the officer wore." "yes, it was i. i was carrying an order for the cavalry to retire." "that was what we supposed, as soon as you were seen coming down the valley; and as it would have suited us much better for the prussian cavalry to have stayed where it was for a little longer, the general sent out a squadron to intercept you. it was a splendid thing to do, on your part. of course, there were a number of us watching from the earthworks, and i can assure you that there was a general inclination to cheer as you cut your way through our fellows. i am sure that if i had known that it was a countryman i should have done it, though the action was at the expense of my own regiment. "our squadron suffered heavily as they rode back again, for that battery from the homolka turned its attention to them, as soon as you had gone through. they had an officer and nearly thirty men killed and wounded before they got back into shelter. "how long have you been out here?" "only about two months." "really! you are lucky in getting onto keith's staff." "he is a cousin of my mother's," fergus said. "and he made you lieutenant, and aide-de-camp, at once." "no. i was first a cornet, but i was promoted at dresden. the king had given strict orders about plundering, and it happened that i came upon some marauders at their work, and had the good fortune to rescue a gentleman of some importance from their hands; and the king, who was furious at his orders being disobeyed, himself promoted me. "i had been lucky enough to get myself wounded in the affair. as i lost a good deal of blood, i looked no doubt a good deal worse than i was, and i expect that had a good deal to do with my getting the step." "well, you are a lucky fellow. i was eight years a cornet before i got promoted." "i think my bad luck, in getting captured, balances my good fortune in being promoted so soon." "to some extent perhaps it does, but you will get the benefit when you return. no doubt fritz was watching you, as you rode. he must have seen our cavalry coming down the slope, before the man in command of your squadrons could have done so; and must have felt that they were lost, unless his orders were received. he must have been relieved, indeed, when he saw you reach them." this had indeed been the case. the king and marshal had both been watching through their glasses the prussian cavalry, and marked how the ground behind them was dotted thickly with the bodies of horses and men. "will they never stop?" the king said impatiently. "these cavalry men are always getting into scrapes with their impetuosity. gorlitz must have known that he was only sent forward to ascertain the position of the austrians, and not to fight their whole army. he ought to have turned, as soon as that crossfire of their batteries opened upon them." "he knew that your majesty and the whole army would be watching him, sire," keith said quietly; "and i fancy that, under such circumstances, few cavalry men would draw rein till they had done something worthy of themselves." at this moment the fog wreath moved away. "see," the king exclaimed, "there is a great body of austrian cavalry moving along behind sulowitz. that rise behind the village must hide them from our men. "where is your messenger, keith?" "there he goes, sire. he is well out of the valley now and, by the pace he is riding at, he won't be long before he reaches them." "he won't reach them at all," the king said curtly, a minute later. "see, there is a squadron of horse riding out from lobositz, to cut him off. no doubt they guess what his errand is." "i see them, sire, and he must see them, too. he is checking his horse, for his orderly is coming up to him." "then the cavalry will be lost," the king said. "the enemy's batteries are playing havoc with them, and they will have the austrians down upon them in a few minutes. "ah! i expect gorlitz sees them now. our men are halting, and forming up. i suppose he means to charge the austrians when they come up, but there are three to one against him. he is lost." "there is hope yet, sire," keith said, as he again turned his glass on fergus. "my aide-de-camp is going to charge the austrian squadron." "so he is!" the king exclaimed, lowering his glass, for the distance was little more than half a mile from the spot where he stood. "he must be mad." "it is possible he may do it, sire. his orderly is riding boot to boot beside him. you know already that he is a good swordsman. he will have the advantage that the enemy won't dream of his attacking them, and the rate at which they are riding will help them through. "there he goes!" and he raised the glass again to his eye. "bravo! they are through the first troop, and still together. now they are at it. "there, sire, they are through the second troop. bravo, fergus!" the king made no remark until he saw the austrian squadron draw rein. then he said: "thank god, he has saved the cavalry! it was a glorious deed. marshal keith, make out his commission as a captain, today." "he is very young, sire," the marshal said hesitatingly. "by heaven, sir, i would promote him if he were an infant in arms!" the king replied. "why, keith, the loss of half our cavalry would have crippled us, and cavalry men are not made in a day. "there, he has reached them now. i see they are wheeling. well and quickly done! yes, they won't be overtaken; but three minutes later, and not a man would have come back. "colonel rogner," he said to one of the group of officers behind him, "you will please ride down and meet the cavalry, when they come in, and convey to lieutenant drummond my highest satisfaction at the gallant manner in which he has carried out my orders. you will also inform general gorlitz that, in my opinion, he pushed his reconnaissance much too far; but that i am well content with the bravery shown by the troops, and at the manner in which he drew them off on receipt of my order." in five-and-twenty minutes the colonel returned, and said: "i regret to say, your majesty, that lieutenant drummond is missing. i have inquired among the officers and find that, as he was following general gorlitz, he and his horse suddenly pitched forward and lay without movement. evidently the horse was killed by a cannon shot, but whether mr. drummond was also killed, they could not say." "we must hope not," the king said warmly. "i would not lose so gallant a young officer, for a great deal. "keith, if we take lobositz today, let a most careful search be made, over the ground the cavalry passed, for his body. if it is found, so much the worse. if not, it will be a proof that he is either wounded or unhurt, and that he has been carried off by the austrian cavalry; who passed over the same ground as ours, and who certainly would not trouble themselves to carry off his body." chapter : a prisoner. the next morning a horse was brought round for fergus, and he at once started, under the escort of a captain and lieutenant kerr and fifty troopers, with thirteen other officers taken prisoners at lobositz. seven hundred rank and file had also been captured. these, however, were to march under an infantry escort on the following day. fergus afterwards learned that sixteen officers, of whom eleven belonged to the cavalry, had been killed; and eighty-one officers and about eighteen hundred men wounded in the desperate fighting at lobositz. fergus found that among the austrians the battle of the previous day was considered a victory, although they had lost their advanced post at lobositz. "i cannot say it seemed so to me," he said to the lieutenant, as they rode away from the camp. "why, we have prevented the king from penetrating into bohemia." "but the king could have done that three days ago, without fighting a battle," fergus said; "just as schwerin did at koeniggraetz. there would have been no need to have marched night and day across the mountains, in order to give battle to an army nearly twice the strength of his own. his object was to prevent you from drawing off the saxons, and in that he perfectly succeeded." "oh, there are other ways of doing that! we had only to keep along the other side of the elbe until we faced pirna, then they could have joined us." "it sounds easy," fergus laughed, "but it would not be so easy to execute. these mountain defiles are terrible, and you may be sure that the king will not be idle while you and the saxons are marching to meet each other. "however, it was a hard-fought battle, and i should think that our loss must be quite as great as yours; for your artillery must have played terrible havoc among our infantry, as they marched to the assault of the village." "yes. i hear this morning that we have lost about a hundred and twenty officers killed and wounded, and about two thousand one hundred and fifty men, and nearly seven hundred missing or prisoners. what your loss is, of course, i can't say." "i cannot understand your taking so many prisoners," fergus said. "a great many of them belong to the cavalry. you see, all who were dismounted by the fire of our guns were captured when our horse swept down." "ah, yes! i did not think of that. i saw a good many men running across the plain when i galloped out." two of the officers belonged to the rd royal dragoon guards, half of which regiment had taken part in the reconnaissance; and both their horses, like his own, had been shot under them. as soon as they were brought up from the tents where they had been lodged, they exchanged a cordial greeting with fergus. he no longer belonged to the regiment, as on his promotion he had been gazetted from it on to the staff; but during the time he had drilled with them, in berlin, he had come to be well known to all of them. "i thought that it was you, lieutenant," one of them said. "i was not far from you, when you charged through those austrians. i was unhorsed as we went forward, and was running back when i saw them come out. there were a good many of us, and i thought their object was to capture us. it was no use running, and i threw myself down, in hopes they would think i had been knocked over. you passed within thirty yards of me. our guns opened so heavily on them, after you had got through, that i thought it prudent to keep quiet a little longer before i made a move; and the result was that the austrian cavalry, as it came along in the pursuit of our men, picked me up. "do you know where we are bound for?" "prague in the first instance, but beyond that i cannot say. i suppose it will depend a good deal on what takes place now. there is no doubt the saxons will have to surrender; and i suppose that, anyhow, they will send us farther away, unless indeed there is an exchange of prisoners." a long day's ride took them to prague. the news of the battle had been sent off the night before, and as it had been reported as a victory, the inhabitants were in a state of great delight. bonfires blazed in the streets, church bells rang in triumphant peals, and the whole population was abroad. the arrival of this party, with prisoners, afforded a welcome confirmation of the news. there were a few yells and hoots, as they rode along in charge of their escort; but as a rule the people stood silent, as if in respect for their misfortunes, for most of the captives were wounded. they were taken to the military prison, and comfortable quarters assigned to them; and the wounds of those who required it were redressed by a surgeon. there was a hearty parting between fergus and kerr, as the latter, after handing over his prisoners, turned to ride off with the escort to the barracks. "i start early tomorrow for the camp again," he said. "if you are kept here, i am sure to see you again before long." fergus shared a room with captain hindeman, an officer of the rd. "i don't think it at all likely we shall remain here," the latter said. "it is more probable that we shall be sent to olmuetz, or to one of the smaller fortresses in moravia. the war is, they will think, likely to be confined to bohemia until the spring; if indeed the king does not have to stand on the defensive. i cannot help thinking, myself, that we should have done better if we had let things go on quietly till the spring. it is not probable that russia and austria would have been more ready, then, than they are now; and we should have had the whole summer before us, and might have marched to vienna before the campaign was over. now they will all have the winter to make their preparations, and we shall have france, austria, and russia, to say nothing of poland, on our hands. it is a tremendous job even for frederick to tackle." they remained for three weeks at prague, and were then informed by the governor that he had orders for them to be removed to olmuetz. accordingly, the next day eight of the officers started on horseback, under an escort. when they reached bruenn they found that they were to be separated, and the next morning captain hindeman and fergus were taken to the fortress of spielberg. "an awkward place either to get in or out of, drummond," the captain said, as they approached the fortress. "very much so," fergus agreed. "but if i see a chance, i shall certainly do my best to escape before spring." "i don't think there is much chance of that," the other said gloomily. "if we had been left at prague, or even at bruenn, there might have been some chance; but in these fortresses, where everything is conducted on a very severe system, and they are veritable prisons, i don't think that anything without wings has a chance of getting away." as a rule, officers taken prisoners in war enjoyed a considerable amount of liberty; and were even allowed to reside in the houses of citizens, on giving their parole. the enforced embodiment of the saxons in the prussian army had, however, excited such a storm of indignation throughout europe that it greatly damaged frederick's cause. it was indeed an unheard-of proceeding, and a most mistaken one, for the greater part of the saxons seized opportunities to desert, as soon as the next campaign began. it was the more ill-advised, since saxony was a protestant country, and therefore the action alienated the other protestant princes in germany, whose sympathies would have otherwise been wholly with prussia; and it was to no small extent due to that high-handed action that, during the winter, the swedes joined the confederacy, and undertook to supply an army of , men; france paying a subsidy towards their maintenance, and the members of the confederacy agreeing that, upon the division of prussia, pomerania should fall to the share of sweden. thus it may be said that the whole of central and northern europe, with the exception only of hanover, was leagued against prussia. it was a result of this general outburst of indignation that, instead of being kept in a large town and allowed various privileges, the prisoners taken at the battle of lobositz were treated with exceptional severity, and confined in isolated fortresses. fergus and his companion were lodged in a small room in one of the towers. the window was strongly barred, the floor was of stone, the door massive and studded with iron. two truckle beds, a table, and two chairs formed the sole furniture. "not much chance of an escape here," captain hindeman said, as the door closed behind their guards. "the prospect does not look very bright, i admit," fergus said cheerfully; "but we have a proverb, 'where there is a will there is a way'. i have the will certainly and, as we have plenty of time before us, it will be hard if we do not find a way." he went to the window and looked out. "over a hundred feet," he said, "and i should say a precipice fully as deep at the foot of the wall. at any rate, we have the advantage of an extensive view. "i am glad to see that there is a fireplace, for the cold will be bitter here, when the winter sets in. i wonder whether the rooms above and below this are tenanted?" hindeman shrugged his shoulders. he was not, at present, in a mood to take interest in anything. it was now the end of october, and fergus was very glad when the door opened again, and a warder came in with two soldiers, who carried huge baskets of firewood; and it was not long before a large fire was blazing on the hearth. day after day passed. fergus turned over in his mind every possible method of escape, but the prospect looked very dark. even if the door were open, there would be difficulties of all sorts to encounter. in the middle of the day many people went in and out of the fortress, with provisions, wood, and other matters; but at sunset the gates were shut, and sentries placed on the walls; and on getting out he would have to cross an inner courtyard, and then pass through a gateway--at which a sentinel was posted night and day--into the outer court, which was surrounded by a strong wall over thirty feet high, with towers at the angles. escape from the window would be equally difficult. two long and very strong ropes would be required, and the bars of the window were so massive that, without tools of any kind, it would be impossible to remove them. a month later captain hindeman fell ill, and was removed to the infirmary. fergus was glad of his departure. he had been so depressed that he was useless as a companion and, so long as he remained there, he altogether prevented any plan of escape being attempted; for difficult as it might be for one person to get away, it would be next to impossible for two to do so. for an hour in the day, the prisoners had leave to walk on the wall. his fellow prisoner had never availed himself of this privilege; but fergus always took his daily exercise, partly to keep himself in health, partly in hopes that a plan of escape might present itself. a sentry, however, was always posted on the wall while the prisoners were at exercise; and on the side allotted for their walk, the rock sloped away steeply from the foot of the wall. the thought of escape, therefore, in broad daylight was out of the question; and fergus generally watched what was going on in the courtyard. in time he came to know which was the entrance to the apartments of the governor and his family, where the married officers were quartered, and where the soldiers lodged. he saw that on the ground floor of the tower he occupied were the quarters of a field officer belonging to the garrison. one day he saw a number of men employed in clearing out some unused quarters, on one side of the outer courtyard, and judged that an addition was about to be made to the garrison. this gave substance to a plan that he had been revolving in his mind. that evening, when the warder brought him his food, he said carelessly: "i see you have some more troops coming in." "yes," the man replied, "there are three hundred more men coming. they will march in tomorrow afternoon. they will be getting the room on the first floor, below here, cleared out tomorrow morning for the officer who commands them." fergus had, all along, considered that there would be no difficulty in suddenly attacking and overpowering the warder, when he came in or out of his room, for no special precautions were taken. the fact that the prisoners were all in their uniforms, and that on showing themselves below they would be instantly arrested, seemed to forbid all chance of their making any attempt to escape. it was the matter of clothes that had, more than anything else, puzzled fergus; for although he thought that he might possibly obtain a uniform from some officer's quarters, it was evident that the guard would at once perceive that he was not one of the officers of the garrison. the arrival of the fresh detachment relieved him of this difficulty, and it now seemed that a way of escape was open to him. much depended upon the hour at which the regiment would arrive. the later they did so the better, and as the weather had for some days been terribly rough, and the roads would be deep and heavy, it was likely that they would not arrive until some time past the hour fixed. the next afternoon he listened for the roll of drums that would greet the arrival of the newcomers. just as the door opened, and the sergeant entered with a lantern, he heard the sound that he had been listening for. [illustration: as the man was placing his supper on the table, fergus sprang upon him] nothing could have happened more fortunately. as the man was placing his supper on the table, fergus sprang suddenly upon him, hurled him down on to his face, and then fastened his hands behind him with a rope he had made from twisted strips of one of his rugs. he was not afraid of his calling out, as the window looked outside, and it was blowing half a gale. moreover, the sound of drums below would aid to prevent any noise being heard from the courtyard. "i don't want to hurt you, sergeant," he said, "but i do want my liberty. i must put a bandage round your mouth, to prevent you from calling; but you know as well as i do that there would be no chance of your being heard, however loud you might shout. "now, in the first place i am going to see if i can get a uniform. if i cannot, i must come back and take yours." binding the sergeant's legs as well as his arms, and putting a muffler over his mouth, fergus went out, leaving his own jacket and cap behind him. the key was in the door. he turned it and put it in his pocket, shot the heavy bolts, and ran downstairs. when he got to the bottom, he tried the door of the major's quarters. it was unbolted, and he felt absolutely certain that the major would be out as, with the other officers, he would have gone down to the gate to receive those of the incoming detachment. on opening the door, he saw the articles of which he was in search--a long cloak and a regimental cap. these he at once put on. after a further search, he found a pair of military pantaloons and a patrol jacket. throwing off the cloak, he rapidly changed his clothes. he wanted now only a regimental sword to complete the costume, but he trusted to the long cloak to hide the absence of this. throwing the things that he had taken off under the bed, he went out, closed the door behind him, locked it, and took the key. he had with him the short sword carried by the warder, and he relied upon this to silence the sentry, at the passage leading to the outer court, should he attempt to stop him. this, however, was most unlikely. the night was dark, and there was no light burning; and at this hour, with fresh troops arriving and a general movement in the fortress, there could be no question of a countersign being demanded by a sentry in the interior of the place. the man, indeed, only drew himself up and saluted, as he dimly made out an officer coming from the major's quarters. the courtyard beyond was half full of soldiers. the newcomers had just fallen out. some were being greeted by members of the garrison who had known them before, officers were chatting together; and fergus made his way, unnoticed in the darkness, to the gate. as he had hoped, the baggage waggons were making their way in. a sentry was placed on each side of the gate. "now then," he said sharply, "hurry on with these waggons. the commandant wants the gate shut, as soon as possible;" and passing the sentry, he went on as if to hurry up the rear of the train. taking him for one of the officers of the newly-arrived party, the sentry stepped back at once, and he passed out. there were six waggons still outside and, unnoticed, he passed these and went down the road. he had brought with him under his cloak the sergeant's lantern and, as soon as he was half a mile from the fortress, he took this out in order to be able to proceed the more rapidly. he had taken particular notice of the country from his prison window and, when he came down into a broad road running along the valley, he turned at once to the south. his plans had all been carefully thought out, while in prison. he knew perfectly well that, without money, it would be altogether impossible for him to traverse the many hundred miles that lay between him and saxony. there would be a hot pursuit when, in the morning, he was found to have gone; but it would hardly be suspected that he had taken the road for vienna, as this would be entirely out of his way. happily, he was not altogether penniless. he had always carried five or six gold pieces, sewn up in the lining of his jacket with the letters with which he had been furnished by count eulenfurst, as a resource in case of being taken prisoner. he wished now that he had brought more, but he thought that it might prove sufficient for his first needs. he walked all night. his candle burnt out, in two hours after starting; but at eleven the moon rose, and its light enabled him to keep the road without difficulty. as morning dawned, he approached a good-sized village some forty miles from his starting point and, waiting for an hour until he saw people stirring, fergus went to the posting house and shouted for the postmaster. the sight of a field officer, on foot at such an hour of the morning, greatly surprised the man when he came down. "my horse has fallen and broken its neck," fergus said, "and i have had to walk some miles on foot. i have important despatches to carry to vienna. bring round a horse, without a moment's delay." the postmaster, without the smallest hesitation, ordered his men to saddle and bring out a horse. "it will be sent back from the next stage," fergus said, as he mounted and rode on at full speed. he changed horses twice, not the slightest suspicion being entertained by any of the postmasters that he was not what he seemed; and, before noon, arrived at the last post house before reaching vienna. "a bottle of your best wine, landlord, and i want to speak a word with you in a private room. bring two glasses." the wine was poured out, and after he had drank a glass fergus said: "landlord, i am the bearer of important despatches, and it is imperative that i should not attract attention as i enter the city. if i were seen and recognized there, questions might be asked, and curiosity excited as to the news of which i am the bearer. "i see that you are a sensible man, and will readily understand the situation. to avoid attracting attention, it would be best for me to enter the city in a civilian dress. you are about my size, and i beg you to furnish me with a suit of your clothes, for which i will pay at once." "i will do that willingly, sir," the landlord answered, feeling much honoured by being let into what he deemed an important affair. "my best suit is at your service. you can send it me out from the town." "i would rather pay for it, landlord. i may be ordered in another direction, and may not have an opportunity of returning it. if you will say how much the suit cost you, i will hand you the money." the landlord went out, and returned in a minute with the clothes. "another glass of wine, landlord," fergus said, as he handed over the amount at which the landlord valued them--"another glass of wine; and then, while i am changing, get a light trap round to the door. i shall not want to take it into vienna, but will alight and send it back again, half a mile this side of the gates. mind--should any inquiries be made, it were best to say as little as possible." in another five minutes, fergus was on his way again. he had procured from the landlord a small trunk, in which he had packed the uniform, and directed him to keep it until he heard from him; but if in the course of a week he received no orders, he was to forward it to major steiner, at spielberg. when within half a mile of vienna, fergus got out, gave a present to the driver and told him to return, and then walked forward to the gate, which he entered without question. he thought it better not to put up in that quarter of the town, but walked a long distance through the city, purchased a travelling coat lined with sheepskin, and a small canvas trunk in which he put it; went some distance farther and hired a room at a quiet inn, and called for dinner, of which he felt much in need, for beyond eating a few mouthfuls of bread while a fresh horse was brought out for him, he had tasted nothing since the previous evening. after dining he went to his room and took his boots off and, feeling completely worn out from his long journey, after two months of confinement, threw himself on the bed and slept for three hours. then he went for an hour's stroll through the town. by this time it was getting dark, snowflakes were beginning to fall thickly, and he was very glad, after sitting for a time listening to the talk in the parlour of the inn, to turn in for the night. in the morning the ground was covered with snow. he was glad to put on his thick coat, for the cold outside was bitter. for some hours he walked about vienna, and the contrast between that city and berlin struck him greatly. the whole bearing and manner of the people was brighter, and gayer. the soldiers, of whom there were great numbers in the streets--austrians, croats, and hungarians--had none of the formal stiffness of the prussians, but laughed and joked as they went, and seemed as easy and light hearted as the civilians around them. they were, for the most part, inferior in size and physique to the prussians; but there was a springiness in their walk, and an alertness and intelligence which were wanting in the more solid soldier of the north. he spent the day in making himself acquainted with the town, the position of the gates, and other particulars which might be important to him; as he could not feel sure of the reception that he would meet with, when he presented his letter. in the afternoon the city was particularly gay. sledges made their appearance in the streets, and all seemed delighted that winter had set in, in earnest. the next morning, after breakfast, fergus went to the mansion of count platurn, whose position he had ascertained on the previous day. the name had been scored under, in his list, as one on whom he might confidently rely. "i am the bearer of a letter to count platurn," he said, to the somewhat gorgeously-dressed functionary who opened the door. "i have a message to deliver to him, personally." the doorkeeper closed the door behind him and spoke to a footman, who went away and returned, in a minute or two, and told fergus to follow him to a spacious and comfortable library, where the count was sitting alone. "you are the bearer of a letter to me, sir?" he said, in a pleasant tone of voice. "whence do you bring it?" "from count eulenfurst of dresden," fergus said, producing it. the count gave an exclamation of pleasure. "has he completely recovered?" he asked. "of course, we heard of the outrage of which he was a sufferer." "he was going on well when i saw him last, count." the count opened the letter and read it, with an air of growing surprise as he went on. when he had finished it, he rose from his seat and offered his hand to fergus. "you are the scottish officer who saved the lives of the count, his wife, and daughter," he said warmly. "how you come to be here i don't know, but it is enough for me that you rendered my dear friend and his wife, who is a cousin of mine, this great service. you are not here, i hope, on any mission which, as an austrian noble, i could feel it impossible to further." "no indeed, count. had it been so, i should assuredly not have presented this letter to you. in giving it to me, the countess said that possibly the fortune of war might be unfavourable, and that i might be taken prisoner. in that case, she said i might find a friend invaluable, and she gave me letters to eight gentlemen in various great towns, saying that she believed that any one of these would, for the sake of the count, do me any kindness in his power. "her prevision has turned out correct. my horse was shot under me at the battle of lobositz, and i was made prisoner and sent to the fortress of spielberg. three days since i effected my escape, and deemed it more prudent to make my way here, where no one would suspect me of coming, instead of striving to journey up through bohemia." "you effected your escape from spielberg!" the count repeated, in surprise. "that is indeed a notable feat, for it is one of our strongest prisons; but you shall tell me about that, presently. "now, about count eulenfurst. the affair created quite a sensation, partly from the rank and well-known position of the count, partly from the fact that the king of prussia, himself, called upon the count to express his sincere regret at what had occurred, and the vigorous steps that he took to put a stop to all acts of pillage and marauding. it was said at the time that, had it not been for the opportune arrival of a young scottish officer, an aide-de-camp to marshal keith, the lives of the count and his family would assuredly have been sacrificed; and that the king, in token of his approbation, had promoted the officer upon the spot. "but i pray you, take off that warm coat, and make yourself at home." he touched a bell. a servant entered immediately. "if anyone calls, say that i am engaged on business, and can see no one this morning. place two chairs by the fire, and bring in wine and glasses." two chairs were moved to the fire. wine was placed close at hand on a small table, and the count fetched a box of cigars from his cabinet. fergus had already adopted the all but universal custom, in the german army, of smoking. "now," the count said, when the cigars were lighted, "tell me all about this affair at dresden." fergus related the facts, as modestly as he could. "no wonder eulenfurst speaks of you in the highest terms," said the count. "truly it was nobly done. six pomeranian soldiers to a single sword! 'tis wonderful." "the chief credit should, as i have said, count, be given to the maid, but for whose aid matters might have gone quite otherwise." "doubtless great credit is due to her, lieutenant drummond; but you see, you had already defeated three, and i prefer to think that you would have got the better of the others, even if she had not come to your aid. "the countess had, i hope, quite recovered at the time you came away, since it is she who writes the letter in his name." "i think that she had quite recovered. for a few hours, the doctors were even more anxious as to her state than that of the count; but the news that he was doing well, and might recover, did wonders for her; and she was able herself to take part in nursing him, two days after he received the wound." "i saw, by the account, that my little cousin received the king." "she did, sir, and bore herself well. it was no doubt a great trial to her, so soon after the terrible scene she had passed through. in that she had showed great calmness and presence of mind, and was able to give assistance to her mother, as soon as she herself was released from her bonds." "you were not present, yourself?" "no, sir. my wound was, as i have said, but in the flesh; and was of so little consequence, that i did not think to have it bandaged until all other matters were arranged. but when i had made my report to the marshal, and begged that a surgeon should be sent instantly to aid the count, i fainted from loss of blood; and it was some days before i was able to ride out to pay my respects to the countess." "and now, tell me about your escape from spielberg." this fergus did. "it was well managed, indeed," laughed the count. "you seem to be as ready with your wits as with your sword, and to have provided against every emergency. it was fortunate that you had hidden away those gold pieces, with your letters; for otherwise you could hardly have got those clothes from the postmaster. it was a bold stroke, indeed, to use her majesty's uniform and the imperial post to further your escape. "now we must think in what way i can best aid you. you will require a stout horse, a disguise, and a well-filled purse. eulenfurst authorizes me to act as his banker, to advance any moneys that you may require. therefore you need offer me no thanks. "what disguise do you, yourself, fancy?" "i should think that the dress of a trader, travelling on business, would be as good as any i could choose." "yes, i should think it would." "i should give myself out as a saxon merchant," fergus went on. "in the first place my german, which i learned from a hanoverian, is near enough to the saxon to pass muster; and my hair and complexion are common enough, in saxony." "i will get an official paper from the city authorities, stating that you are one--shall we say paul muller, native of saxony, and draper by trade?--now returning to dresden. i shall have no difficulty in getting it through one of my own furnishers. i do not say that you could not make your way through without it; but should you be stopped and questioned, it would facilitate matters. i will see about it this afternoon. i have simply to say, to one of the tradesmen i employ, that i am sending an agent through bohemia to eulenfurst, and think that in the present disturbed state he had better travel as a trader; and ask him to fill up the official papers, and take them to the burgomaster's office to get them signed and stamped. he will do it as a matter of course, seeing that i am a sufficiently good customer of his. "a horse i can, of course, supply you with. it must not be too showy, but it should be a strong and serviceable animal, with a fair turn of speed. the clothes you had perhaps better buy for yourself, together with such things as you can carry in your valises. "i would gladly ask you to stay with me here, for a while; but having arrived in that dress, it might excite remark among the servants were you to appear in a different character. i regret that my wife and family are away, at one of my country seats, and will not be back for a week; and i suppose you will not care to linger so long here." "i thank you, count, but i should prefer to leave as soon as possible. i do not think that there is really any fear of my being recognized. if they search at all along the vienna road, it is not likely that they will do so as far as this; and certainly they could obtain no news of me, for the first forty miles, and would not be likely to push their inquiries as far, for a dismounted field officer could not but have attracted attention, at the first village through which he passed." "it would be best for you not to change your clothes at the place where you are stopping. i can have everything ready for you by tomorrow morning, if you wish to leave at once." "i should certainly prefer doing so." "very well, then. do you go out by the west gate, at nine o'clock, and walk for some four miles. when you find some quiet spot, change your clothes, and walk on until within sight of the village of gulnach, and there wait. i will send a confidential servant with the horse. he, on seeing you standing there, will ask who you are waiting for. you will give my name, and then he will hand over the horse and papers to you." he got up and went to his table and opened a drawer. "here are a hundred rix dollars, mr. drummond, which i hand you as count eulenfurst's banker. it is a matter of pure business." "i could do with much less than that, sir," fergus said. "no, 'tis better to be well supplied. besides, there are your clothes to buy; and be sure and provide yourself with a good fur-lined travelling cloak. you will need it, i can assure you. "your best course will be to travel through saint poelten and ips, cross the river at once, and go over the mountains by the road through freystadt to budweis. it is by far the most level road from here, though a good deal longer than the one through horn. but there is snow in the air, and i think that we shall have a heavy downfall, and you may well find the defiles by the horn road blocked by snow; whereas by freystadt you are not likely to find any difficulty, and most of the road is perfectly flat." chapter : flight. after leaving count platurn, with the most sincere thanks for his kindness, fergus went to a clothier's, where he bought clothes suitable for a trader, with warm undergarments, and an ample cloak lined with warm, though cheap, fur, and carried these to his inn. the rest of the day was spent in strolling about, and in examining the public buildings and art galleries. the next morning he paid his reckoning and, taking his small trunk in one hand and his fur cloak in the other, started; wearing the coat he had first purchased as he thought that, crossing the defiles into saxony, he might very well need that as well as his cloak. as the western gate was the one nearest to his inn, it was not long before he issued out and, walking briskly, came in three-quarters of an hour to a wood. as there was no one in sight along the road, he turned in here and changed his clothes. then, leaving those he had taken off behind him, he continued on his way, and in less than half an hour approached a village, which he learned from a man he met was gulnach. he waited by the roadside for a quarter of an hour, and then saw a man galloping towards him, leading a riderless horse. he drew rein as he came up. "what are you waiting here for?" he asked. "platurn," fergus replied. "that is right, sir. this is your horse. here is the letter the count bade me give you, and also this sword," and he unbuckled the one that he wore. "he bade me wish you god speed." "pray tell him that i am sincerely obliged to him for his kindness," fergus replied, as he buckled on the sword. the man at once rode off. the saddle was furnished with valises. these contained several articles he had not thought of buying, among them a warm fur cap with flaps for the ears, and a pair of fur-lined riding gloves. he transferred the remaining articles from the little trunk to the valises, and threw the former away; rolled up his cloak and strapped it behind the saddle; and then mounted. he was glad to find in the holsters a brace of double-barrelled pistols, a powder flask and a bag of bullets, and also a large flask full of spirits. as he gathered the reins in his hand, he had difficulty in restraining a shout of joy; for with an excellent horse, good arms, warm clothes and a purse sufficiently well lined, he felt he was prepared for all contingencies. as he moved on at a walk, he opened the count's letter. it contained only a few lines, wishing him a safe journey, and begging him to tell count eulenfurst that he regretted he could not do more for his messenger, to prove his goodwill and affection; and also the official document that he had promised to procure for him. tearing up the count's letter, and putting the official document carefully in his pocket, he pressed his heel against his horse's flank, and started at a canter. he stopped for the night at ips, and on the following day rode to linz. the snow had fallen almost incessantly, and he was glad, indeed, that he had brought the coat as well as the cloak with him. the next night he halted at freystadt. as this was a strongly fortified place, commanding the southern exit of the defile from the mountain, he was asked for his papers. the official merely glanced at them, and returned them. he was forced to stay here for several days, as he was assured that it would be all but certain death to endeavour to cross the pass, in such weather. on the third day the snow ceased falling and, early next morning, a force of men, comprising almost the whole of the garrison, started to beat down the snow, and cut a way through the deep drifts. for four days this work continued, the men being assisted by a regiment that was marched down from budweis, and opened the defile from the northern end. the pass was an important one, as in winter it was the one chiefly used for communication between bohemia and vienna; and it was therefore highly important that it should be maintained in a practicable state. fergus was in no hurry to proceed. he knew that there was not the smallest possibility of operations being commenced until the snow disappeared, which might not be until the end of march. he therefore took matters very quietly, keeping entirely indoors as long as the snow continued to fall, and going out as little as possible, afterwards. he was glad, indeed, when the news came that the pass was clear. as soon as the gates were unlocked he pressed on, in order to get ahead of a large convoy of carts, laden with warm clothing for the soldiers, that was also waiting for the pass to be opened. in spite of all that had been done, it was rough work passing through the defile, and he did not arrive at krumnau until nearly sunset. budweis lay but a few miles farther ahead, but he had made up his mind not to stop there, as it was a large garrisoned town, and the small places suited him better. passing through the town, next day, he continued his course along the road near the river moldau. he made but short journeys, for the snow had not yet hardened, and it was very heavy riding. he therefore took four days in getting to prague. he thought it probable that here a watch might be kept for him for, had he travelled straight from spielberg, this was the point for which, in all probability, he would have made; unless he had gone through silesia, and then travelled up through breslau. he therefore made a circuit of the picturesque old city, entered it by a western gate, and then rode straight for the bridge. he had slept at a place but four miles distant, and had started at daybreak, so that it was still early in the day when he proceeded on his way. he stopped at a small town, ten miles farther north. two or three squadrons of cavalry were quartered there. the landlord at the inn where he put up at once asked for his papers. these he took to the town offices, where they were stamped as being in due order. half an hour later, as fergus was at his meal, two officers entered. "your papers appear to be right, sir," one of them said courteously; "but in times like these, it is our duty to examine closely into these matters. you come from vienna?" "yes, sir." "which way did you travel?" "by way of linz and budweis," he said. "the snow began on the day before i left the capital, and i was advised to take that route, as the road would be more level, and less likely to be blocked with snow than that through horn. you will see that my paper was stamped at linz, and also at freystadt. "i was detained at the latter place seven days. for the first three it snowed, and for the next four days the garrison was occupied, with the aid of troops from budweis, in opening the defile." the officer nodded. "i happen to know that your story is correct, sir, and that it accounts fully for your movements since leaving vienna. which way do you intend to cross the passes into saxony?" "i must be guided by what i hear of their state. i had hoped to have got back before the snow began to fall in earnest, but i should think that the road by the river will now be the best." "i should think so," the officer said, "but even that will be bad enough. however, i will not detain you farther." they moved away to another table and, calling for a bottle of wine, sat down. "no, we are mistaken. i don't think the fellow would have the bare-faced impudence to come through prague," one said. the other laughed. "i should think that he would have impudence for anything, major. and in truth, i rather hope that they won't lay hands upon him--a fellow who devised and carried out such a scheme as he did deserves his liberty. of course, his overpowering the warder was nothing; but that he should have had the impudence to go down into the major's quarters, appropriate his clothes, leave his own uniform behind him; and then, taking advantage of the arrival of another regiment, march calmly out through them all, pass the sentries--who took him for one of the newly-arrived officers in charge of the waggons--was really splendid! "how it was that they did not overtake him the next morning, i cannot make out. he had no sword with him, and no horse; and the spectacle of a field officer on foot, without even a sword, should have attracted the attention of the very first person who met him. he had not been gone two hours when troops started in pursuit; for when the major, whose door he had locked, had it burst open and found that his uniform was gone, he suspected something was wrong, and had all the sergeants in charge of prisoners mustered. "one was missing, the man who had charge of this young scotchman. as he could not be found, the fellow's cell was broken open, and there was the warder, bound and gagged. the bird had flown, and parties of horse were sent off by all the roads leading to bohemia and silesia, but no signs of the man have, as far as we have heard, yet been discovered. "the only thing that i can imagine is that, when he heard the cavalry in pursuit, he left the road and hid up somewhere; and that afterwards he tried to make his way by unfrequented paths, and was starved in the snow. in that case his body is not likely to be found until the spring." "i cannot help thinking that a fellow who could plan and carry out that escape would hardly be likely to lose his life in a snowdrift. you see, it was not a sudden idea. on no other evening would he have found the gate open after sunset, nor would he have been certain to have found the major absent from his quarters. he must have been waiting patiently for his opportunity and, as soon as he heard that another battalion was coming into the garrison, he must have resolved to act. more than that, he must have calculated that instead of arriving at four o'clock, as they were timed to do, they would be detained and not get in until after dark. "they are clear-headed fellows, these scotchmen; whether they are in our army or frederick's. what makes the affair more wonderful is that this was quite a young fellow, and probably understood no german; but i think that he would have acted more wisely, had he waited until the spring." "i don't know," the other said. "when once the troops are all in movement north, he certainly could not have escaped in a military uniform without being questioned; and it scarcely seems possible that he could have procured any other. he must be in more of a hurry to fight again than i am." "there can hardly be much serious fighting," the other said. "with us, russia, and france, and with the , swedes who have been bought by france, we shall have , men under arms; while we know that , is the utmost frederick can muster, and these will have to be scattered in every direction round his frontier." "i am sorry that france has joined in," the other said. "it is unnatural enough that we and russia should combine to crush prussia, but when it comes to our old enemies the french helping us against a german power, i say frankly i don't like it. besides, though we may get silesia back again, that will be a small advantage in comparison to the disadvantage of france getting a firm foothold on this side of the rhine. even if her share of the partition doesn't extend beyond the river, this will be her frontier nearly down to the sea; and she will have the power of pouring her troops into germany, whenever she chooses." fergus had now finished his meal, and without caring to listen longer he betook himself to bed. to avoid all appearance of haste, he did not start so early the next morning, but mounted at ten and rode to the junction of the eger with the elbe. it was too late to cross the river that night, and he therefore put up at a village on the bank, and crossed in a ferry boat on the following morning to leitmeritz, a town of considerable size. he was now within a day's ride of the defile through which the elbe finds its way from bohemia into saxony. his papers were inspected, as usual, by the officer in command of a troop of cavalry there. "you will have a rough time of it, if you push on," he said. "there is no traffic through the passes now, so the snow will lie as it fell, and at any moment it may come down again. as far as the mouth of the pass you will find it easy enough, for we send half a troop as far as that every day; but beyond that i should say it would be all but, if not quite, impassable. i advise you to stay here quietly, until you hear of someone having crossed; or at any rate, if you do go on, you must take three or four peasants as guides, and to help you through difficult places." "would it not be possible, captain," fergus asked, "to hire a boat?" "i did not think of that. yes, there are flat boats that at ordinary times go down to dresden, with the rafts of timber; but whether you would find anyone willing, now, to make such a journey is more than i can say." "i am very anxious to be back to my business," fergus said; "and as i should have to pay handsomely for guides to take me over, and even then might lose my life, it would be better for me to pay higher and get through at once." on going down to the water side he saw several boats hauled up, and it was not long before some boatmen, seeing a stranger examining their craft, came down to him. "i want to go down to dresden," he said. "'tis a bad time of the year," one of the men replied. "it is a bad time of the year, as far as cold is concerned; but it is a good time of the year for going down the river," he said; "for now that the frost has set in the river is low and the current gentle, whereas in the spring, when the snow is melting, it must be a raging torrent in some of the narrow defiles." this evidence that the stranger, whoever he was, was no fool, silenced the boatmen for a minute. "now," fergus went on, "what is the lowest price that one of you will take me and my horse down to dresden for? i am disposed to pay a fair price and not more, and if you attempt to charge an exorbitant one, i shall take guides and follow the road." "you would never get through," one of the men said. "well, at any rate i would try; and if i could not succeed by the road by the river, i would cross by some other pass. i have no doubt, whatever, i could get through by graber and zittau." the stranger's acquaintance with the country again silenced the men. they talked for a while apart, and then one said: "we will take you for twenty rix dollars." "do you suppose that i am the emperor, in disguise?" fergus said indignantly. "'tis but three days' journey, at most, and perhaps six for coming back against the stream." "we shall need four men, master, and there is the food by the way." after much bargaining the price was settled at fifteen rix dollars, both parties being satisfied with the bargain; the men because it was more than twice the sum for which they would have been glad to do it, at ordinary times; fergus because he had still forty rix dollars in his pocket, and had only bargained as he did in order not to appear too anxious on the subject. the price was to include the erection, at one end of the boat, of a snug cover of rushes for his use. he found, on going down to the shore three hours later, that the boatmen were engaged in covering in the whole of the craft, with the exception of a few feet at each end, with a roof of rushes. the boat itself was some thirty-five feet in length and ten wide, with straight sides and a general resemblance to a canal barge, save that the beam was greater in comparison to the length. the roof was high, and sloped sharply. a tall man could walk along in the centre, while at the sides there was but three feet of height. hay and straw were extremely scarce, the whole supply of the country having been stripped by the foraging parties; but bundles of reeds had been thickly littered down, especially near the stern. shortly after his return, the landlord of the inn told him that, if he did not want to take the horse with him, he would himself gladly buy it. "i have frequently to send to prague for things for the inn; and besides, i have to get provisions for people in the town. i sold my best horse last autumn, to an officer whose charger had been killed. now that sledging has begun, i want one which can travel fast and do the journey there in a day; so if you don't want to take it, and will accept a reasonable price, i will buy it." the offer was a welcome one. with two splendid horses at his command--for he knew that good care would have been taken of the one left in camp--a third would only have been in the way; and this, although a good and useful beast, was scarce good-looking enough for an officer on the marshal's staff. therefore, after the usual amount of bargaining, he parted with it for a fair price. the next morning early he went on board, the servant of the inn following with a great hamper of wine and provisions. he was glad to see that a bright fire burned on an earthen hearth in the middle of the boat; the smoke finding its way out, partly through a hole cut in the thatch above it, partly by the opening at the fore end of the boat. he brought with him his horse cloth as well as his other belongings. the men, who were clearly in a hurry to be away, pushed the boat off from the shore as soon as he had taken his place. "we want to be back as soon as we can," the owner of the boat said, "for it will not be long before the ice begins to form, and we don't want to be frozen in." "it does not feel to me quite so cold this morning," fergus remarked. "no, sir; we are going to have more snow. that won't matter to us, and if it snows for the next week, all the better. it is not often that the river closes altogether until after christmas. in the mountains the river seldom freezes at all. there is too much current, and besides, in shelter of the hills the cold is not so great." two oars were got out, for the purpose of steering rather than of hastening the progress of the boat; and once well out in the current, she was allowed to drift quietly with the stream. fergus spread his horse cloth on the rushes by the fire, and found no need for his sheepskin coat; the cloak, loosely thrown over his shoulders and the collar turned up, to keep off the draughts that blew in under the bottom of the thatch, being sufficient to make him thoroughly comfortable. there was nothing to see outside, the shore being low and flat. he had brought a large supply of meat with him, and handed over a portion of this to the man who acted as the cook of the crew, and told him to make broth for them all. this was a welcome gift to the crew, who but seldom touched meat; and with the addition of barley, coarse flour, and herbs that they had brought for their own use, an excellent stew was provided. the pot was kept going through the journey, fresh meat and other ingredients being added, from time to time. in addition to this, slices of meat were grilled over the fire, and eaten with the bread they had brought. the gift of a bottle of wine between the crew, each day; and of a small ration of spirits, the last thing in the evening, added greatly to the satisfaction of the men. by nightfall they arrived at the entrance of the defile. the snow was falling heavily, and they tied up against the bank. fergus chatted with the men, and listened to their stories of the river, for some hours. all of them had, at various times, gone on timber rafts. they bewailed the war, which would do them much harm. it would not altogether interrupt trade, for timber would be required, as usual, in saxony and hanover. as a rule, neither of the contending armies interfered with the river traffic; though communications by land were greatly interrupted, owing to the peasants' carts being impressed for military service. this, and the anxiety of everyone for the safety of his home and belongings, brought the trade between the countries to a standstill. on the river, however, the difficulty consisted, not in any interference by the authorities, but from so large a number of the able-bodied men being called out for service that the amount of timber cut and brought down was greatly diminished, while the needs of the army brought the trade in cattle and other produce to an entire cessation. the dangers of the river were not great; although in spring, when the snow melted and the river was swollen, navigation was rendered, especially in the narrow reaches of the defile, difficult and dangerous; for the force of the stream was so great that it was well-nigh impossible to direct the course of the rafts, and indeed the poles used for that purpose were often found too short to reach the bottom. the men were up long before daylight; but it was two hours later before fergus roused himself and, shaking off the fine snow that had drifted in and lay thickly on his coat, went out to have a look at things. one of the men was already preparing breakfast. two of the others stood at the bow with long poles, with which they punted the boat along. the captain, also provided with a pole, stood in the stern. the snow had ceased, but the air felt sharp and cold as it came down from the hills, which were all thickly covered. "so there is an end of the snow, for the present, captain," he said, as he pushed aside the curtain of reeds that closed the stern of the covered portion, and joined him. "yes. i am not altogether sorry, for we can see where we are going. we shall keep on, now, until we are through the defile." "but there is no moon, captain." "no, but we can tell pretty well, by the depth of water, where we are; and can manage to keep in the middle of the current. there are no obstructions there to affect us, though in some places there are plenty of ugly rocks near the shore. however, if we have luck we shall be through before midnight, and shall pass all the worst points before sunset." the day passed, indeed, without adventure of any kind. the journey was highly interesting to fergus, for the scenery was very picturesque. sometimes the hills narrowed in, and the stream, straitened in its course, hastened its speed; at others the hills receded, and were covered far up with forests; above which bleak mountain tops, with their mantle of snow, rose high in the air. the captain pointed out the spot where the saxons had crossed; and where, pent in and surrounded with batteries commanding every means of exit, they were forced to surrender. "it is smooth work now," he said, as they were going through one of the narrows, "for the river is low and the current gentle; but in floods there are waves, here, that would swamp the boat did she keep out in the middle, as we are doing; and it would be impossible to pole her against it, even close to the shore. you see, the ice is forming already near the banks." "how do you manage coming back?" "in some places we can pole the boat. she will be light, and will only draw a few inches of water. then we hire a horse for a bit, at one of these little villages; or, where the road leaves the river, the other three will get out and tow from the edge, while i shall steer. we shall manage it easily enough, if the ice does not form too thickly. "if the worst comes to the worst, we should stop at one of the villages, get the people to help us to haul her well up, wait till the snows are quite over, and then make our way back on foot, and come and fetch the boat up when the spring floods are over." "then the pass is not so dangerous after all, captain," fergus said with a smile. "not when the snow has once hardened, and to men accustomed to it. as soon as the weather gets settled there will be a little traffic, and the snow will be beaten down. besides, where the hills come steep to the water's edge, a man on foot can always make his way along when the water is low; though a horseman might not be able to do so." "in fact, i suppose," fergus said, "you all combine, at leitmeritz, to represent the passes as being a great deal more dangerous than they are; in order to force those obliged to make the journey to take as many men as possible with him, or to pay two or three times the proper fare, by boat." "the passes over the hills would be terrible, now," the man said. "most of them would be absolutely impassable, until the snow hardens. "as for the rest," he added with a smile, "it may be that there is something in what you say; but you see, times are hard. there is little work to be done, and scarce any timber coming down; and if we did not get a good job, occasionally, it would go very hard with us." by nightfall they were nearly through the defile. lanterns were placed in the bow of the boat and, until long after fergus was asleep, the men continued to work at their poles. when he woke up in the morning the boat was floating down a quiet river, with the plains of saxony on either side, and the mountain range far astern. at noon they neared dresden, and an hour later fergus stepped ashore. he paid the men the sum arranged, and handed over to them the rest of his provisions, which would be sufficient to carry them far on their way back. he soon learnt that marshal keith was established in his old quarters, and made his way thither. he met two or three officers of his acquaintance, but no one recognized him in his present attire. he had hired a boy, when he landed, to carry his cloak and valises. the saddle and bridle he had sold with the horse. he was, as usual, passing the sentries at the gate without notice, when one of them stepped in front of him. "what is your business, sir?" "my business is with marshal keith," he said, "and it is particular." the sentry called a sergeant of the guard. "you can pass me up," fergus said sharply. "i am well known to marshal keith, and he will assuredly see me." a soldier took him up to the anteroom. lieutenant lindsay, who was on duty, came forward, looked at him doubtfully for a moment, and then shouted joyfully: "why, drummond, is it you? this is indeed a joyful meeting, old fellow. i had thought of you as immured in one of the enemy's fortresses, and as likely to remain there till the war was over, and now here you are! the marshal will be delighted." "he cannot be more pleased than i am to be back again, lindsay. is he alone?" "yes. come in at once. i won't announce you." he opened the door. "a gentleman to see you, marshal," he said, and fergus walked in. the marshal recognized him at once and, holding out both hands, shook those of fergus cordially. "i am indeed glad to see you," he said. "we knew that you were unhurt, for on the morning after the battle we sent in a parlementaire to browne with the list of prisoners taken, and received his list in return; and as your name was among them, and you were not put down as wounded, my anxiety about you was relieved. we tried a month later to get exchanges, but they would not hear of it. in the first place, there is no doubt that the king's action, in incorporating the saxons with our army, has caused a strong feeling against him; and in the second, they had plenty of fortresses in which to stow their prisoners, while they would calculate that the more prisoners we had to look after, the fewer men they would have to fight. "and now, tell me by what miracle you have got here. i have nothing particular to do. "lindsay, you may as well stop and hear the story. tell the sergeant to call you out if any one in particular comes; to everyone else, i am engaged. "or stay," he broke off, "they have just told me that luncheon is ready in the next room. a story is always better told over a bottle of wine, so tell the sergeant, lindsay, that for the next hour i can see no one, unless it is on very particular business. "now, in the first place, captain drummond. "oh, of course, you have not heard!" he broke off, in answer to fergus's look of surprise. "the king and i watched you charge through that austrian squadron, and when he saw you reach our cavalry in safety, and they turned to come back, he ordered me at once to make out your commission as captain. i ventured to object that you were very young. he said you had saved half his cavalry, and that he would promote you, if you were an infant in arms." "it is really absurd, marshal. i shall feel downright ashamed to be called captain by men still lieutenants, though a dozen years older than i am. i fear i have gone over lindsay's head." "you need not mind me, drummond," lindsay laughed. "i shall have a chance, one of these days; but not a soul will grudge you your promotion. there were many of us who saw your charge; and i can tell you that it was the talk of the whole army, next day, and it was thoroughly recognized that it saved the cavalry; for their commander would certainly have taken them against the austrians and, if he had, it is equally certain that none of them would have got back again; and when your name appeared in orders the next day, we all felt that no one ever better deserved promotion." "the king inquired especially, as soon as the list came, whether you were wounded, fergus," keith said; "and was very much pleased when he heard that you were not. "now, let us hear how you come to be here." the marshal laughed heartily, when fergus told of his escape in the disguise of an austrian field officer. "it was most admirably managed, fergus," he said, when the tale was finished; "and your making for vienna, instead of for the frontier, was a masterly stroke. of course your finding a friend there was most fortunate; but even had you not done so, i have no doubt you would have got through, somehow. i think the best idea of all was your taking the post horses, and then getting a fresh suit of clothes from the postmaster. "i am glad you ordered the major's suit of clothes to be sent back to him. i should have liked to have seen his face when he found that not only his uniform, but his prisoner, had disappeared. "it will be a good story to tell the king. he has sore troubles enough on his shoulders, for the difficulties are thickening round; and although frederick is a born general, he really loves peace, and quiet, and books, and the society of a few friends, far better than the turmoil into which we are plunged. "the french are going to open the campaign, in the spring, with an army of a hundred thousand men. russia will invade the east frontier with certainly as many more, perhaps a hundred and fifty thousand. they say these rascally swedes, who have not a shadow of quarrel against us, intend to land fifty thousand men in pomerania; and that austria will put two hundred and fifty thousand in the field. even tempered and self relying as the king is, all this is enough to drive him to despair; and anything that will interest him for an hour, and make him forget his difficulties, is very welcome." the marshal asked many questions for, as he said, the king would like to know all the ins and outs of the matter; and he knew that fergus would much rather that the story should be told the king by another, than that he should be called upon to do so. "i hope the horse came back safely, lindsay?" fergus asked, as they left the marshal's apartments. "oh, yes! he went back with the convoy of wounded, and he is now safe in keith's stable. the other is, of course, at the count's. i sent your things back at the same time, and when we returned here i packed everything up and sewed them in a sack. they are all in the storeroom." "what has become of karl? did he get safely back?" "yes; but he had a nasty sabre wound he got in the charge, and he was in hospital for six weeks. the king gave him a handsome present, on the day after he came in; and would have given him a commission, if he would have taken it, but he declined altogether, saying that he was very comfortable as he was. his colonel would have made him a sergeant at once, but he refused that also. "just at present he is still looking after your horse, and helping generally in keith's stable. his wound was on the head, and he is scarcely fit for duty with his regiment, so of course he will now fall in to his place with you again." fergus went down to the stable, where he was received with the greatest delight by karl; whose pride in his master was great, after his exploit at count eulenfurst's, and had been heightened by the feeling excited in the army at his having saved the cavalry from destruction. "i thought that you would be back by the spring, captain," he said. "donald and i have talked it over, many a time, and we were of one mind that, if any one could get away from an austrian prison, you would do it." chapter : prague. the next morning fergus rode over to see count eulenfurst, found him quite restored to health, and was received by him, the countess, and thirza with great pleasure. [illustration: fergus was received by the count, the countess and thirza with great pleasure] "my return in safety is in no small degree due to you, count. had it not been for the letter to count platurn, with which the countess furnished me, i doubt whether i should have been able to get through; or at any rate, if i had done so it could only have been with many hardships and dangers, and certainly great delay." "i have no doubt that the help you received from the count was of considerable assistance to you, and lessened your difficulties much, captain drummond; but i am sure you would have managed, without it. had you formed any plans as to what you would have done, had you found him absent?" "i had thought of several things, count, but i had settled on nothing. i should have remained but a day in vienna, and should have exchanged the suit i had got from the innkeeper for some other. my idea was that i had best join one of the convoys of provisions going up to bohemia. i calculated that i should have no difficulty in obtaining a place as a driver, for of course the service is not popular, and any of the men would have been glad enough for me to take his place. i might thus have got forward as far as prague. after that i must have taken my chance, and i think i could, in the same sort of way, have got as far as leitmeritz; but there i might have been detained for a very long time, until there was an opportunity of crossing the defiles. it would have been difficult, indeed, for me to have earned my living there; and what was left of the money i had, after paying for the landlord's suit, would scarce have lasted, with the closest pinching, till spring." "you would have managed it somehow, i am sure," thirza said confidently. "after getting out of that strong fortress, it would be nothing to get out of bohemia into saxony." "we have not congratulated you yet," the countess said, "upon your last promotion. lieutenant lindsay came over to tell us about it, and how you had gained it. of course we were greatly pleased, although grieved to hear that you had been made prisoner. we wondered whether, at the time you were captured, you had any of the letters i had written with you, and whether they would come in useful. "it did not even occur to me that you would have called upon count platurn, my cousin. i thought that you might be detained at prague, but vienna is the last place where we should have pictured you. had we known that you had been sent to spielberg, i think we should have given up all hope of seeing you again, until you were exchanged; for i have heard that it is one of the strongest of the austrian fortresses. "i do hope, captain drummond, we shall see a great deal of you this winter. there will not be many gaieties, though no doubt there will be some state balls; but there will be many little gatherings, as usual, among ourselves, and we shall count upon you to attend them always, unless you are detained on service. we learn that it is probable your king will pass the whole of the winter here." "we will send your horse down to you today," the count said. "you will find him in good condition. he has been regularly exercised." "thank you very much, count. i wrote to you before i started, but i have had no opportunity of thanking you, personally, for those splendid animals. sorry as i was to lose the horse i rode at lobositz, i congratulated myself that i was not riding one of yours." "i should have had no difficulty in replacing him, captain drummond," the count said with a smile. "the least we can do is to keep you in horse flesh while the war lasts; which i hope will not be very long, for surely your king can never hope to make head against the forces that will assail him in the spring, but will be glad to make peace on any terms." "no doubt he would be glad to, count; but as his enemies propose to divide his dominions among them, it is not very clear what terms he could make. but though i grant that, on paper, the odds against him is enormous, i think that you will see there will be some hard fighting yet, before prussia is partitioned." "perhaps so," the count replied; "but surely the end must be the same. you know i have been a strong opponent of the course taken by the court here. saxony and prussia, as protestant countries, should be natural allies; and i consider it is infamous that the court, or rather bruhl, who is all powerful, should have joined in a coalition against frederick, who had given us no cause of complaint, whatever. my sympathies, then, are wholly with him; but i can see no hope, whatever, of his successfully resisting this tremendous combination." "various things might happen, count. the empresses of russia or austria or the pompadour might die, or the allies might quarrel between themselves. england may find some capable statesman, who will once again get an army together and, joined perhaps by the netherlands, give france so much to do that she will not be able to give much help to her allies." "yes, all these things might happen; but frederick's first campaign has been, to a great extent, a failure. it is true that he has established saxony as his base, but the saxon troops will be of no advantage to him. he would have acted much more wisely had he, on their surrender, allowed them to disband and go to their homes.. many then might have enlisted voluntarily. the country would not have had a legitimate grievance, and the common religious tie would soon have turned the scale in favour of prussia; who, as all see, has been driven to this invasion by our court's intrigues with austria. had he done this he could have marched straight to prague, have overrun all bohemia, established his headquarters there, and menaced vienna itself in the spring." "looking at it coolly, that might have been the best way, count; but a man who finds that three or four of his neighbours have entered into a plot to attack his house, and seize all his goods, may be pardoned if he does not at first go the very wisest way to work." the count laughed. "i hope that the next campaign will turn out differently; but i own that i can scarce see a possibility of prussia, alone, making head against the dangers that surround her." the winter passed quietly. there were fetes, state balls, and many private entertainments; for while all europe was indignant, or pretended to be so, at the occupation of saxony, the people of that country were by no means so angry on their own account. they were no more heavily taxed by frederick than they were by their own court and, now that the published treaty between the confederates had made it evident that the country, without its own consent, had been deeply engaged in a conspiracy hostile to prussia, none could deny that frederick was amply justified in the step he had taken. at these parties, only prussian officers who were personal friends of the host were invited; but fergus, who had been introduced by count eulenfurst to all his acquaintances, was always asked, and was requested to bring with him a few of his personal friends. lindsay, therefore, was generally his companion, and was, indeed, in a short time invited for his own sake; for the scottish officers were regarded in a different light to the prussians, and their pleasant manners and frank gaiety made them general favourites. their duties as aides-de-camp were now light, indeed; although both were, two or three times, sent with despatches to berlin; and even to more distant parts of prussia, where preparations for the coming campaign were being made on a great scale. the whole prussian population were united. it was a war not for conquest but for existence, and all classes responded cheerfully to the royal demands. these were confined to orders for drafts of men, for no new tax of any kind was laid on the people; the expenses of the war being met entirely from the treasure that had, since the termination of the silesian war, been steadily accumulating, a fixed sum being laid by every year to meet any emergency that might arise. towards spring both parties were ready to take the field. the allies had , men ready for service. frederick had , well-trained soldiers, while , newly-raised troops were posted in fortresses, at points most open to invasion. the odds were indeed sufficient to appall even the steadfast heart of frederick of prussia; but no one would have judged, from the calm and tranquil manner in which the king made his arrangements to meet the storm, that he had any doubt as to the issue. man for man, the prussian soldier of the time was the finest in the world. he was splendidly drilled, absolutely obedient to orders, and filled with implicit confidence in his king and his comrades. he had been taught to march with extraordinary rapidity, and at the same time to manoeuvre with the regularity and perfection of a machine; and could be trusted, in all emergencies, to do everything that man was capable of. the french army, , strong, was the first to move. another , men were preparing to march, to join the army that had been got up by that mixed body, the german federation. the main force was to move through hanover. to oppose them was a mixed army, maintained by british money, comprising hanoverians, brunswickers, and hessians, some , strong, commanded by the duke of cumberland. with these were some prussians; who had, by frederick's orders, evacuated the frontier fortresses and joined what was called the british army of observation. frederick prepared, for the present, to deal with the austrians; intending, if successful against them, to send off , men to strengthen cumberland's army. the proposed swedish invasion was altogether disregarded; but thirty thousand men, principally militia, were posted to check the russian invasion. so quiet had been the preparations, that none of their enemies dreamt that the prussians would assume the offensive, but considered that they would confine their efforts to defending the defiles into saxony and silesia. but this was not frederick's idea. as spring approached, he had been busy redistributing his troops from their winter cantonment, and preparing three armies for the invasion of bohemia. april had been a busy month for the staff, and the aides-de-camp had passed their days, and even their nights, on horseback. at last all was in readiness for the delivery of the stroke, and on the th the king started from lockwitch, facing the old saxon camp at pirna; the duke of bevern from lousitz; and marshal schwerin from schlesien; and without the slightest warning, the three great columns poured down into bohemia. the movement took the austrians absolutely by surprise. not dreaming of such a step on frederick's part, they had prepared, near the frontier, vast magazines for the supply of their advancing army. these had to be abandoned in the greatest haste, and a sufficient amount of food to supply the entire army, for three months, fell into the hands of the prussians. marshal browne and general konigseck, who commanded the austrian armies in bohemia, fell back to prague with the greatest speed that they could make. the light irregular corps, that frederick had raised during the winter and placed under experienced and energetic officers, pervaded the whole country, capturing magazines and towns, putting some to ransom, dispersing small bodies of the enemy, and spreading terror far and wide. browne succeeded in reaching prague before the king could come up to him. bevern, however, overtook konigseck, and greatly hastened his retreat; killing a thousand men and taking five hundred prisoners, after which konigseck reached prague without further molestation, the duke of bevern joining schwerin's column. the austrians retired through prague and encamped on high ground on the south side of the city, prince karl being now in command of the whole. had this prince been possessed of military talents, or listened to marshal browne's advice, instead of taking up a defensive position he would have marched with his whole army against the king, whose force he would very greatly have outnumbered; but instead of doing so, he remained inactive. on the nd of may, twelve days after moving from saxony, frederick arrived within sight of prague. so closely had he followed the retreating austrians that he occupied, that evening, a monastery at which prince karl and marshal browne had slept the night before. thirty thousand men, who were under the command of marshal keith, were left to watch prague and its garrison; while frederick, on tuesday, searched for a spot where he could cross the river and effect a junction with schwerin. he knew his position, and had arranged that three cannon shots were to be the signal that the river had been crossed. a pontoon bridge was rapidly thrown over, the signal was given, and the prussians poured across it; and before the whole were over schwerin's light cavalry came up, and an arrangement was made that the two forces should meet, at six o'clock next morning, at a spot within two miles of the austrian camp on the lisca hills. [map: battle of prague] all this time the austrians stood inactive, and permitted the prussian columns to join hands without the slightest attempt to interfere with them. had browne been in command, very different steps would have been taken; but prince karl was indolent, self confident, and opinionated, and had set his army to work to strengthen its position in every possible manner. this was naturally extremely strong, its right flank being covered by swampy ground formed by a chain of ponds; from which the water was let off in the winter, and the ground sown with oats. these were now a brilliant green, and to the eyes of frederick and his generals, surveying them from the distance, had the aspect of ordinary meadows. the whole ground was commanded by redoubts and batteries on the hill, which rose precipitately seven or eight hundred feet behind the position. in the batteries were sixty heavy cannon; while there were, in addition, one hundred and fifty field guns. well might prince karl think his position altogether unassailable, and believe that, if the prussians were mad enough to attack, they would be destroyed. frederick and schwerin spent much time in surveying the position, and agreed that on two sides the austrian position was absolutely impregnable; but that on the right flank, attack was possible. schwerin would fain have waited until the next morning, since his troops were fatigued by their long marches, and had been on foot since midnight. the austrians, however, were expecting a reinforcement of thirty thousand men, under daun, to join them hourly; and the king therefore decided on an attack, the terrible obstacles presented by the swamps being altogether unnoticed. with incredible speed the prussians moved away to their left, and by eleven o'clock were in readiness to attack the right flank of the austrian position. browne, however, was in command here and, as soon as the intention of the prussians was perceived, he swung back the right wing of the army at right angles to its original position, so that he presented a front to the prussian attack; massing thickly at sterbold, a village at the edge of the swamps. rapidly the whole of the artillery and cavalry were formed up on this face and, quick as had been the advance of the prussians, the austrians were perfectly ready to meet them. led by general winterfeld, the prussians rushed forward; but as they advanced, a terrific artillery fire was opened upon them. winterfeld was wounded severely, and the troops fell back. the main body now advanced, under schwerin, and the whole again pressed forward. in spite of the incessant rain of grape and case shot, the prussians advanced until they reached the pleasant green meadows they had seen in the distance. then the real nature of the ground was at once disclosed. the troops sunk to the knee, and in many cases to the waist, in the treacherous mud. soldiers less valiant and less disciplined would have shrunk, appalled at the obstacle; but the prussians struggled on, dragging themselves forward with the greatest difficulty through mud, through slush, through a rain of grape from upwards of two hundred cannon, and through a storm of musketry fire from the infantry. regiment after regiment, as it reached the edge of the dismal swamp, plunged in unhesitatingly, crawling and struggling onward. never in the annals of warfare was there a more terrible fight. for three hours it continued, without a moment's interval. thousands of the assailants had fallen, and their bodies had been trodden deep into the swamp, as their comrades pressed after them. sometimes a regiment struggled back out of the mire, thinking it beyond mortal power to win victory under such terms; but the next moment they reformed and flung themselves into the fight again. schwerin, seeing the regiment named after him recoil, placed himself at their head; and shouting, "follow me, my sons!" led them till he fell dead, struck by five grape shot. the austrians fought as stoutly, marshal browne leading them till a cannonball took off his foot, and he was carried into prague, to die there six weeks later. while this terrible struggle was going on, the prussian cavalry had made a very wide circuit round the ponds and lakelets, and charged the austrian horse on browne's extreme right. the first lines were broken by it, but so many and strong were they that the prussians were brought to a standstill. then they drew back and charged a second, and a third time. the austrians gave way. prince karl himself, brave if incapable, did his best to rally them, but in vain; and at last they fled in headlong rout, pursued for many miles by ziethen's horsemen. still the infantry struggle was maintained. at last the prussian right wing, hitherto not engaged, though suffering from the artillery fire on the heights, had their turn. general mannstein discovered that, at the angle where browne threw back the right wing of the army to face the prussians, there was a gap. the troops there had gradually pressed more to their right, to take part in the tremendous conflict; and the elbow was, therefore, defended only by a half-moon battery. through the fish tanks he led the way, followed by princes henry and ferdinand. the whole division struggled through the mud, drove back the austrians hastily brought up to oppose them, captured the battery, and poured into the gap; thereby cutting the austrian army in two, and taking both halves in flank. this was the deciding point of the battle. the austrian right, already holding its own with difficulty, was crumpled up and forced to fall back hastily. the other half of the army, isolated by the irruption, threw itself back and endeavoured to make a fresh stand at spots defended by batteries and stockades. but all was in vain. the prussians pressed forward exultingly, the fresh troops leading the way. in spite of the confusion occasioned by the loss of their commanders, and of the surprise caused by the sudden breakup of their line by the inrush of mannstein and the princes, the austrians fought stoutly. four times they made a stand, but the prussians were not to be denied. the austrian guns that had been captured were turned against them and, at last giving way they fled for prague, where some , of them rushed for shelter, while , fled up the valley of the moldau. had it not been that an accident upset frederick's calculations, the greater portion of the austrians would have been obliged to lay down their arms. prince maurice of dessau had been ordered to move with the right wing of keith's army, , strong, to take up a position in the austrian rear. this position he should have reached hours before, but in his passage down a narrow lane, some of the pontoons for bridging the river were injured. when the bridge was put together, it proved too short to reach the opposite bank. the cavalry in vain endeavoured to swim the river. the stream was too strong, and frederick's masterly combination broke down; and the bulk of the austrians, instead of being forced to surrender, were simply shut up in prague with its garrison. the battle of prague was one of the fiercest ever fought. the austrian army had improved wonderfully, since the silesian war. their artillery were specially good, their infantry had adopted many of the prussian improvements and, had browne been in sole command, and had he escaped unwounded, the issue of the day might have been changed. the prussians lost , men, killed and wounded; the austrians, including prisoners, , . frederick himself put the losses higher, estimating that of the austrians at , , of whom were prisoners, that of the prussians at , , "without counting marshal schwerin, who alone was worth about , ." it is evident that the king's estimate of the loss of the austrians must have been excessive. they had the advantage of standing on the defensive. the prussian guns did but comparatively little service, while their own strong batteries played with tremendous effect upon the prussians, struggling waist deep in the mud. there can therefore be little doubt that the latter must have suffered, in killed and wounded, a much heavier loss than the austrians. impassive as he was, and accustomed to show his feelings but little, frederick was deeply affected at the loss of his trusted general, and of the splendid soldiers who had been so long and carefully trained; and even had prague fallen, the victory would have been a disastrous one for him; for, threatened as he was by overwhelming forces, the loss of men, to him, was quite as serious as that of , men to the confederates. in keith's army there had been considerable disappointment, when it became known that they were to remain impassive spectators of the struggle, and that while their comrades were fighting, they had simply to blockade the northern side of the city. "you will have plenty of opportunities," the marshal said quietly to his aides-de-camp, on seeing their downcast look. "this war is but beginning. it will be our turn, next time. for it is a great task the king has set himself, in attempting to carry the strong position that the austrians have taken up; and he will not do it without very heavy loss. tomorrow you may have reason to congratulate yourselves that we have had no share in the business." nevertheless, as the day went on, and the tremendous roar of battle rolled down upon them--terrible, continuous, and never ceasing, for three hours--even keith walked, in a state of feverish anxiety, backwards and forwards in front of his tent; while the troops stood in groups, talking in low tones, and trying to pierce with their eyes the dun-coloured cloud of smoke that hung over the combatants on the other side of prague. when at last the din of battle went rolling down towards that city, the feeling of joy was intense. in many, the relief from the tension and the long excitement was so great that they burst into tears. some shook hands with each other, others threw their caps into the air, and then a few voices burst into the well-known verse of the church hymn: nun danket alle gott, mit herzen, mund und haenden. of which our english translation runs: now thank we all our god, with hands and hearts and voices. and in a moment it was taken up by , deep voices, in a solemn chorus, the regimental bands at once joining in the jubilant thanksgiving. pious men were these honest, protestant, hard-fighting soldiers; and very frequently, on their long marches, they beguiled the way by the stirring hymns of the church. keith and those around him stood bare-headed, as the hymn was sung, and not a word was spoken for some time after the strains had subsided. "that is good to listen to," keith said, breaking the silence. "we have often heard the psalm singing of cromwell's ironsides spoken of, with something like contempt; but we can understand, now, how men who sing like that, with all their hearts, should be almost invincible." "it is the grandest thing that i have ever heard, marshal," fergus said. "of course, i have heard them when they were marching, but it did not sound like this." "no, fergus; it was the appropriateness of the occasion, and perhaps the depth of the feelings of the men, and our own sense of immense relief, that made it so striking. "listen! there is a fresh outburst of firing. the austrians have fallen back, but they are fighting stoutly." the chief effect of this great battle was of a moral, rather than material kind. prague was not a strong place, but with a garrison of , men it was too well defended to assault; and until it was taken frederick could not march on, as he had intended, and leave so great a force in the rear. the moral effect was, however, enormous. the allies had deemed that they had a ridiculously easy task before them, and that frederick would have to retreat before their advancing armies, and must at last see that there was nothing but surrender before him. that he should have emerged from behind the shelter of the saxon hills, and have shattered the most formidable army of those that threatened him, on ground of their own choosing, intrenched and fortified, caused a feeling of consternation and dismay. the french army, the russians, and the united force of the french with the german confederacy were all arrested on their march, and a month elapsed before they were again set in motion. marshal daun, who had arrived at erdwise, fell back at once when the news reached him and, taking post at the entrance of the defile, he made the greatest efforts to increase his army. reinforcements were sent to him from vienna and all the adjacent country. the duke of bevern was posted with , men to watch him; and frederick sat down, with all his force, to capture prague. the siege train was hurried up from dresden, and on the th of may his batteries on the south side of the city, and those of keith on the north, opened fire on the city. for a month missiles were poured into the town. magazines were blown up, and terrible destruction done, but the garrison held out firmly. at times they made sorties, but these were always driven in again, with much loss. but , men behind fortifications, however weak, were not to be attacked. every approach to the city was closely guarded, but it became at last evident that, as long as the provisions held out, prague was not to be taken. the cannonade became less incessant, and after a month almost died away; for daun had by this time gathered a large army, and it was evident that another great battle would have to be fought. if this was won by the prussians, prague would be forced to surrender. if not, the city was saved. it was not until the th of june that daun, a cautious and careful general, in accordance with urgent orders from vienna prepared to advance. his force had now grown to , ; , of the garrison of prague could be spared, to issue out to help him. frederick had under , , and of these a great portion must remain to guard their siege works. thus, then, all the advantages lay with the relieving army. several officers in disguise were despatched, by daun, to carry into prague the news of his advance; and to warn prince karl to sally out, with the whole of his force, and fall upon the prussians as soon as he attacked them in the rear. so vigilant, however, were the besiegers that none of these messengers succeeded in entering prague. on the th frederick set out, with , men--to be followed by more under prince maurice, two days later, these being all that could be spared from the siege works--to join bevern, who had fallen back as daun advanced. the junction effected, frederick joined bevern and approached daun, who was posted in a strong position near kolin, thirty-five miles from prague. on the th prince maurice arrived, and after several changes of position the armies faced each other on the th, within a short distance of kolin. daun's new position was also a strong one, and was, in fact, only to be assailed on its right; and the prussian army was moved in that direction, their order being to pay no attention to the austrian batteries or musketry fire, but to march steadily to the spot indicated. this was done. ziethen dashed with his hussars upon the austrian cavalry, drawn up to bar the way; defeated them, and drove them far from the field; while hulsen's division of infantry carried the village of preezer, on the austrian flank, in spite of the austrian batteries. so far frederick's combination had worked admirably. hulsen then attacked a wood behind it, strongly held by the austrians. here a struggle commenced which lasted the whole day, the wood being several times taken and lost. he was not supported, owing to a mistake that entirely upset frederick's plan of battle. while three miles away from the point where the attack was to be delivered, mannstein, whose quickness of inspiration had largely contributed to the victory of prague, now ruined frederick's plan by his impetuosity. the corn fields, through which his division was marching towards the assault of the austrian left, were full of croats; who kept up so galling a fire that, losing all patience, he turned and attacked them. the regiment to which he gave the order cleared the croats off; but these returned, strongly reinforced. the regiments coming behind, supposing that fresh orders had arrived, also turned off; and in a short time the whole division, whose support was so sorely needed by hulsen, were assaulting the almost impregnable austrian position in front. another mistake--this time arising from a misconception of a too brief and positive order, given by frederick himself--led prince maurice, who commanded the prussian centre, to hurl himself in like manner against the austrians. for four hours the battle raged. in spite of their disadvantages, the prussians fought so desperately that daun believed the day to be lost, and sent orders to the troops to retreat to suchdol; but the commander of the saxon cavalry considered the order premature and, gathering a large body of austrian infantry, charged with them and his own cavalry so furiously upon hulsen that the latter was forced to retreat. the movement spread, the attack slackened, and the other division moved down the hill. they had all but won. frederick in vain tried to rally and lead them afresh to the attack. they had done all that men could do, and the battle ceased. daun scarcely attempted to pursue, and the prussians marched away, unmolested even by cavalry; some of the regiments remaining firm in their position until nightfall, repulsing with great loss the one attempt of the austrians at pursuit; and ziethen's cavalry did not draw off until ten at night. the austrians had , men in the field, of whom they lost in killed and wounded . the prussians, who began the day , strong, lost , ; of whom the prisoners, including all the wounded, amounted to . the news of the disaster, and with it frederick's order to prepare to raise the siege of prague at once, came like a thunderclap upon the prussian camp. frederick himself, and the remnant of his army, arrived there in good order, with all their baggage train, a day later. the cannon were removed from the batteries, the magazines emptied; and in good order, and without any attempt on the part of the austrian garrison to molest them, the prussian army marched away and took up their post at leitmeritz. the news that an austrian army had at last beaten frederick, and that prague was saved, caused an exultation and joy, among the allies, equal to the dismay that had been aroused by the defeat at prague; although there was nothing remarkable, or worth much congratulation, in the fact that an army, in an almost impregnable position, had repulsed the attack of another of little over half its strength. chapter : in disguise. leitmeritz, lying as it did but a short distance beyond the mouth of the defiles leading into saxony, was an admirably chosen position. supplies for the army could be brought up by the elbe, and a retreat was assured, should an overwhelming force advance to the attack; while from this spot frederick could march, at once, either to the defence of silesia, or to check an enemy approaching from the west towards the defiles through the mountains. the news of the defeat at kolin set all the enemies of prussia in movement. the russian army entered east prussia, where there was no adequate force to oppose it; the swedes issued from stralsund; the french pressed hard upon the so-called british column of observation, and forced the duke of cumberland to retreat before them. another french army, in conjunction with that of the german confederacy, threatened the western passes into saxony. as yet, it was impossible to say where marshal daun and prince karl would deliver their blow, and great efforts were made to fill up the terrible gaps created at prague and kolin, in the regiments most hotly engaged, with fresh troops; who were speedily rendered, by incessant drills and discipline, fit to take their places in the ranks with the veterans. the king was lodged in the cathedral close of the city. keith with his division occupied the other side of the river, across which a bridge was at once thrown. prince maurice and bevern had gone to bunzlau, at the junction of the iser and elbe; but when, upon a crowd of light austrian horse approaching, the prince sent to the king to ask whether he should retreat, he was at once recalled, and the prince of prussia appointed in his stead. on the nd of july came news which, on the top of his other troubles, almost prostrated frederick. this was of the death of his mother, to whom he was most fondly attached. he retired from public view for some days; for although he was as iron in the hour of battle, he was a man of very sensitive disposition, and fondly attached to his family. his chief confidant during this sad time was the english ambassador, mitchell; a bluff, shrewd, hearty man, for whom the king had conceived a close friendship. he had accompanied frederick from the time he left berlin, and had even been near him on the battlefields; and it was in no small degree due to his despatches and correspondence that we have obtained so close a view of frederick, the man, as distinct from frederick the king and general. the prince of prussia, however, did no better than prince maurice. the main austrian army, after much hesitation, at last crossed the elbe and moved against him; thinking, doubtless, that he was a less formidable antagonist than the king. the prince fell back, but in such hesitating and blundering fashion that he allowed the austrians to get between him and his base, the town of zittau, where his magazines had been established. zittau stood at the foot of the mountain, and was a saxon town. the austrians had come to deliver saxony, and they began the work by firing red-hot balls into zittau, thereby laying the whole town in ashes, rendering , people homeless, and doing no injury whatever to the prussian garrison or magazines. the heat, however, from the ruins was so terrible that the five battalions in garrison there were unable to support it and, evacuating the town, joined the prince's army; which immediately retired to bautzen on the other side of the mountains, leaving the defiles to saxony and silesia both unguarded. as messenger after messenger arrived at leitmeritz, with reports of the movements of the troops, the astonishment and indignation of frederick rose higher and higher. the whole fruits of the campaign were lost, by this astounding succession of blunders; and on hearing that zittau had been destroyed, and that the army had arrived at bautzen in the condition of a beaten and disheartened force, he at once started, with the bulk of the army, by the elbe passes for that town; leaving maurice of dessau, with , men, to secure the passes; and keith to follow more slowly with the baggage train and magazines. on his arrival at bautzen frederick refused to speak to his brother, but sent him a message saying that he deserved to be brought before a court martial, which would sentence him and all his generals to death; but that he should not carry the matter so far, being unable to forget that the chief offender was his brother. the prince resigned his command, and the king, in answer to his letter to that effect, said that, in the situation created by him, nothing was left but to try the last extremity. "i must go and give battle," he wrote, "and if we cannot conquer, we must all of us get ourselves killed." frederick, indeed, as his letters show, had fully made up his mind that he would die in battle, rather than live beaten. the animosity of his enemies was, to a large extent, personal to himself; and he believed that they would, after his death, be inclined to give better terms to prussia than they would ever grant, while he lived. for three weeks the king vainly tried to get the austrians to give battle, but prince karl and daun remained on the hill from which they had bombarded zittau, and which they had now strongly fortified. their barbarous and most useless bombardment of zittau had done their cause harm; for it roused a fierce cry of indignation throughout europe, even among their allies; excited public feeling in england to the highest point in favour of frederick; and created a strong feeling of hostility to the austrians throughout saxony. as soon as keith and the waggon train arrived, bringing up the prussian strength to , , the king started, on the th august ( ), for bernstadt; and then, to the stupefaction of the austrians--who had believed that they had either saxony or silesia at their mercy, whenever they could make up their mind which ought first to be gobbled up--so rapidly did the prussian cavalry push forward that generals beck and nadasti were both so taken by surprise that they had to ride for their lives, leaving baggage coaches, horses, and all their belongings behind them. on the th, frederick with the army marched and offered battle to the austrians; but although so superior in numbers, they refused to be beguiled from their fortified hill. at last, after tempting them in vain, frederick was forced to abandon the attempt and return to saxony, bitterly disappointed. he had wanted, above all things, to finish with the austrians; so as to be able to move off to the other points threatened. he now arranged that bevern and winterfeld should take the command in his absence, watch the austrians, and guard silesia; while he, with , men, marched on the st of august from dresden, with the intention of attacking the combined french and german confederacy force, under soubise, that had already reached erfurt. keith accompanied the king on his harassing march. since the arrival of the army at leitmeritz, fergus had been incessantly engaged in carrying despatches between that town and dresden; and worked even harder while the king was trying, but in vain, to bring about an engagement with the austrians. for the first few days after starting for erfurt, he had a comparatively quiet time of it. the marshal was now constantly the king's companion, his cheerful and buoyant temper being invaluable to frederick, in this time of terrible anxiety. fergus would have found it dull work, had it not been for the companionship of lindsay, who was always light hearted, and ready to make the best of everything. "i would rather be an aide-de-camp than a general, at present, drummond," he said one day. "thank goodness, we get our orders and have to carry them out, and leave all the thinking to be done by others! never was there such a mess as this. here we are in october, and we are very much as we were when we began in march." "yes, except that all our enemies are drawing closer to us." "they are closer, certainly, but none of them would seem to know what he wants to do; and as for fighting, it is of all things that which they most avoid. we have been trying, for the last two months, for a fight with the austrians, and cannot get one. now we are off to erfurt, and i will wager a month's pay that the french will retire, as soon as we approach; and we shall have all this long tramp for nothing, and will have to hurry back again, as fast as we came." "it is unfortunate that we had to come, lindsay. things always seem to go badly, when the king himself is not present. the princes make blunder after blunder, and i have no faith in bevern." "no," lindsay agreed, "but he has winterfeld with him." "yes, he is a splendid fellow," drummond said; "but everyone knows that he and bevern do not get on well together, and that the duke would very much rather that winterfeld was not with him; and with two men like that, the one slow and cautious, the other quick and daring, there are sure to be disagreements. we are going to attack a force more than twice our own strength, but i am much more certain as to what will be the result, than i am that we shall find matters unchanged when we get back here." the foreboding was very quickly confirmed. a day or two later came the news that the austrians had suddenly attacked an advanced position called the jakelsberg; where winterfeld, who commanded the van of bevern's army, had posted two thousand grenadiers. prince karl undertook the operation by no means willingly; but the indignation, at vienna, at his long delays had resulted in imperative orders being sent to him, to fight. nadasti was to lead the attack, with fifteen thousand men; while the main army remained, a short distance behind, ready to move up should a general battle be brought on. the march was made at night, and at daybreak a thousand croats, and forty companies of regular infantry, rushed up the hill. although taken by surprise, the prussians promptly formed and drove them down again. winterfeld was some miles behind, having been escorting an important convoy; and rode at a gallop to the spot, as soon as he heard the sound of cannon; and brought up two regiments, at a run, just as the grenadiers were retiring from the hill, unable to withstand the masses hurled against them. sending urgent messages to bevern, to hurry up reinforcements, winterfeld led his two regiments forward, joined the grenadiers and, rushing eagerly up the hill, regained the position. but the austrians were not to be denied, and the fight was obstinately sustained on both sides. no reinforcements reached winterfeld and, after an hour's desperate fighting, he was struck in the breast by a musket ball and fell, mortally wounded. the prussians drew off, slowly and in good order, at two o'clock in the afternoon; and soon afterwards the austrians also retired, nothing having come of this useless battle save heavy loss to both sides, and the killing of one of frederick's best and most trusted generals. it was not, however, without result; for bevern, freed from the restraint of his energetic colleague, at once fell back to schlesien, where he was more comfortable, near his magazines. keith sent for fergus, on the evening when this bad news had arrived. "i want you, lad, to undertake a dangerous service. now that winterfeld has been killed, the king is more anxious than ever as to the situation. it is enough to madden anyone. it is imperative that he should get to erfurt, and fight the french. on the other hand, everything may go wrong with bevern while he is away, to say nothing of other troubles. cumberland is retreating to the sea; the russians are ever gaining ground in east prussia; there is nothing, now, to prevent the remaining french army from marching on berlin; and the swedes have issued from stralsund. it may be that by this time soubise has moved from erfurt; and this is what, above all things, we want to know. "you showed so much shrewdness, in your last adventure, that i believe you might get through this safely. doubtless there are cavalry parties, far in advance of erfurt, and these would have to be passed. the point is, will you undertake this mission, to go to erfurt to ascertain the force there, and if possible their intentions, and bring us back word?" "i shall be glad to try, marshal. there should be no difficulty about it. i shall, of course, go in disguise. i should not be likely to fall in with any of the enemy's cavalry patrols, till within a short distance of erfurt; but should i do so, there would be little chance of their catching me, mounted as i am. "i could leave my horse within a short distance of the town. two or three hours would be sufficient to gather news of the strength of the force there, and the movements of any bodies of detached troops." "yes, you should have no great difficulty about that. a large proportion of the population are favourable to us and, being so near the frontier of hanover, your accent and theirs must be so close that no one would suspect you of being aught but a townsman. "of course, the great thing is speed. we shall march from eighteen to twenty miles a day. you will be able to go fifty. that is to say, if you start at once you can be there in the morning; and on the following morning you can bring us back news." an hour later fergus, dressed as a small farmer, started. it was a main line of road, and therefore he was able to travel as fast, at night, as he would do in the day. there was the advantage, too, that the disparity between his attire and the appearance of the horse he rode would pass unnoticed, in the darkness. he had with him a map of the road, on a large scale; and beneath his cloak he carried a small lantern, so as to be able to make detours, to avoid towns where detachments of the enemy's cavalry might be lying. he had started two hours after the troops halted, and had four hours of daylight still before him, which he made the most of, and by sunset he was within fifteen miles of erfurt. so far, he had not left the main road; but he now learned, from some peasants, that there was a small party of french hussars at a place three miles ahead. he therefore struck off by a byroad and, travelling slowly along, turned off two hours later to a farmhouse, the lights from which had made him aware of its proximity. he dismounted a hundred yards from it, fastened his horse loosely to a fence, and then went forward on foot, and peeped in cautiously at the window. it was well that he had taken the precaution, for the kitchen into which he looked contained a dozen french hussars. he retired at once, led his horse until he reached the road again, and then mounted. presently he met a man driving a cart. "my friend," he said, "do you know of any place where a quiet man could put up, without running the risk of finding himself in the midst of these french and confederacy troops?" "'tis not easy," the man replied, "for they are all over the country, pillaging and plundering. we are heartily sick of them, and there are not a few of us who would be glad, if the king of prussia would come and turn them out, neck and crop." "i don't care what sort of a place it is, so that i could put my horse up. it is a good one and, like enough, some of these fellows would take a fancy to it." "i don't think that it would be safe in any farmhouse within ten miles of here; but if you like to come with me, my hut stands at the edge of a wood, and you could leave him there without much risk." "thank you, very much; that would suit me well. it is just what i had intended to do, but in the darkness i have no great chance of finding a wood. "how far are we from erfurt, now?" "about five miles." "that will do very well. i have some business to do there, and can go and come back by the afternoon." in a quarter of an hour they arrived at the man's house. it was but a small place. "not much to rob here," his host said grimly. "they have taken my two cows, and all my poultry. my horse only escaped because they did not think him fit for anything. "this is a stranger, wife," he went on, as a woman rose, in some alarm, from a stool upon which she was crouching by the fire. "he will stop here for the night and, though there is little enough to offer him, at least we can make him welcome." he took a torch from the corner of the room, lighted it at the fire, and went out. "you are right about your horse, my friend," he said; "and it is small chance you would have of taking him back with you, if any of these fellows set eyes on him. i see your saddlery hardly matches with your horse." fergus had indeed, before starting, taken off his saddle and other military equipments; and had replaced them with a common country saddle and bridle, adding a pair of rough wallets and the commonest of horse cloths, so as to disguise the animal as much as possible. "i am sorry that i cannot give you a feed for the animal," the man went on; "but i have none, and my horse has to make shift with what he can pick up." "i have one of my wallets full. i baited the horse at inns, as i came along. he may as well have a feed, before i take him out into the wood." he poured a good feed onto a flat stone. as he did so, the peasant's horse lifted up his head and snuffed the air. "you shall have some too, old boy," fergus said; and going across, was about to empty some on to the ground before it, when its owner, taking off his hat, held it out. "put it into this," he said. "it is seldom, indeed, that he gets such a treat; and i would not that he should lose a grain." fergus poured a bountiful feed into the hat. "now," he said, "i can supplement your supper, as well as your horse's;" and from the other wallet he produced a cold leg of pork, that karl had put in before he started; together with three loaves; and two bottles of wine, carefully done up in straw. the peasant looked astonished, as fergus took these out and placed them upon the table. "no, no, sir," he said, "we cannot take your food in that way." "you are heartily welcome to it," fergus said. "if you do not assist me to eat it, it will be wasted. tomorrow i shall breakfast at erfurt, and maybe dine, also. i will start as soon as i get back." "well, well, sir, it shall be as you please," the man said; "but it seems that we are reversing our parts, and that you have become the host, and we your guests." it was a pleasant meal by the torch light. many a month had passed since the peasants had tasted meat; and the bread, fresh from the prussian bakeries, was of a very different quality to the black oaten bread to which they were accustomed. a horn of good wine completed their enjoyment. when the meal was done, the man said: "now, master, i will guide you to the wood." there was no occasion to lead the horse; for it, as well as its companion, had been trained to follow their master like dogs, and to come to a whistle. the wood was but two or three hundred yards off, and the peasant led the way through the trees to a small open space in its centre. the saddle and bridle had been removed before they left the cottage; and fergus tethered the horse, by a foot rope, to a sapling growing on the edge of the clearing. then he patted it on the neck, and left it beginning to crop the short grass. "it won't get much," the peasant said, "for my animal keeps it pretty short. it is his best feeding place, now; and i generally turn it out here, at night, when the day's work is done." "what is its work, principally?" "there is only one sort, now," the man said. "i cut faggots in the forest, and take a cart load into erfurt, twice a week. i hope, by the spring, that all these troubles will be over, and then i cultivate two or three acres of ground; but so long as these french, and the confederacy troops, who are as bad, are about, it is no use to think of growing anything. "now, sir, is there anything that i can do for you?" he went on, after they returned to the cottage, and had both lit their pipes and seated themselves by the fire. "i can see that you are not what you look. a farmer does not ride about the country on a horse fit for a king, or put up at a cottage like this." "yes; you can help me by leading me by quiet paths to erfurt. i tell you frankly that my business, there, is to find out how strong the french and confederacy army is, in and around the town; also whether they are taking any precautions against an attack, and if there are any signs that they intend to enter hanover, or to move towards dresden." "i daresay i can learn all that for you, without difficulty; for i supply several of the inns with faggots. there are troops quartered in all of them, and the helpers and servants are sure to hear what is going on. not, of course, in the inns where the french are quartered, but where the german men are lodged. they speak plainly enough there, and indeed everyone knows that a great many of them are there against their will. the hesse and gotha and dessau men would all prefer fighting on the prussian side, but when they were called out they had to obey. "at what time will you start?" "i should like to get to erfurt as soon as the place is astir." "that is by five," the man said. "there is trumpeting and drumming enough by that time, and no one could sleep longer if they wanted to." "then we will start at dawn." the peasant would have given up his bed to fergus, but the latter would not hear of it, and said that he was quite accustomed to sleeping on the ground; whereupon the peasant went out, and returned with a large armful of rushes; which, as he told fergus, he had cut only the day before to mend a hole in the thatch. fergus was well content, for he knew well enough that he should sleep very much better, on fresh rushes, than he should in the peasant's bed place, where he would probably be assailed by an army of fleas. as soon as the man and his wife were astir in the morning, fergus got up; bathed his head and face in a tiny streamlet, that ran within a few yards of the house; then, after cutting a hunch of bread to eat on their way, the two started. they did not come down upon the main road until within a mile and a half of the town, and they then passed through a large village, where a troop of french cavalry were engaged in grooming their horses. they attracted no attention whatever, and entered erfurt at a quarter-past five. they separated when they got into the town, agreeing to meet in front of the cathedral, at eleven o'clock. fergus went to an eating house, where he saw a party of french non-commissioned officers and soldiers seated. they were talking freely, confident that neither the landlord, the man who was serving them, nor the two or three germans present could understand them. it was evident that they had very little confidence in soubise. "one would think," a sergeant said, "that we were going to change our nationality, and to settle down here for life. here we have some fifty thousand men, and there is nothing to stop our going to dresden, except some ten thousand or twelve thousand prussians. they say that daun has an army that could eat up frederick, and it is certain that he could not spare a sergeant's guard to help bar the way. "i cannot understand it, comrades. this leisurely way of making war may suit some people, but it is not our way." "and we must admit that it is not the prussians' way," another said. "they are our enemies; though why, i am sure i don't know. that is not our business. but the way that they dash out, and set the austrians dancing, is really splendid. i wish that our own generals had a little of fritz's energy and go." there was a general murmur of assent. "here we are, september beginning, and next to nothing done. now there would be enough to do, if fritz could get away from daun and dash off in this direction." "yes," another said, "there would be plenty to do, but i would not mind wagering that we should not wait for him; and after all, i am not sure if it would not be the best thing to do, for these germans with us are little better than a rabble." "that is so, francois; but, mixed up with us as they would be, they would have to fight whether they liked it or not. at any rate, if we don't mean to fight, what are we here for?" "that i cannot say," another laughed; "but i own i am not so eager to fight as you seem to be. we are very comfortable. we ride about the country, we take pretty well what we like. it is better than being in barracks, at home. "while, on the other hand, it is no joke fighting these prussians. the fights are not skirmishes, they are battles. it is not a question of a few hundred killed, it is a question of ding-dong fighting, and of fifteen or twenty thousand killed on each side--no joke, that. for my part, i am quite content to take it easy at erfurt, and to leave it to the austrians to settle matters with these obstinate fellows." so they continued talking, and fergus saw that, so far, no news whatever of frederick's march against erfurt had reached them. he learned, too, that although there were some outlying bodies to the north, the main bulk of the force lay in and around erfurt. the contempt with which the french soldiers spoke of the german portion of the army was very great. each little state had, by the order of the council of the confederacy, been compelled to furnish a contingent, even if its representatives in the council had opposed the proposal; therefore very many of the men had joined unwillingly, while in other cases the french declared that the levy had been made up by hiring idlers and ne'er-do-wells in the towns, so as to avoid having to put the conscription into force in the rural districts. the officers were declared to be as incapable as the men, and had it not been that an austrian contingent some five thousand strong had been joined with them, and the drilling largely undertaken by the non-commissioned officers of this force, nothing approaching order or discipline could have been maintained. all the frenchmen lamented their fortune in having to act with such allies, instead of being with the purely french army that was gradually pressing the duke of cumberland to the seaboard. fergus waited until the party had left the inn, when the landlord himself came across to hand him his reckoning. "bad times, master," he said. "bad times," shaking his head ruefully. "yes, they are bad enough, landlord; but i should say that you must be doing a good trade, with all these soldiers in the town." "a good trade!" the landlord repeated. "i am being ruined. do you not know that, in addition to levying a heavy contribution on the town, they issued a regulation settling the prices at which the troops were to be served, at beer shops and inns: breakfast--and you saw what those fellows ate-- pence; a tumbler of wine, pence; dinner, pence. why, each item costs me more than double that; and as nobody brings in cattle, for these might be seized on the way, and no compensation given, so meat gets dearer. we are waiting until there is none to be had, on any terms; and then we shall send representatives to the general, to point out to him that it is absolutely impossible for us to obey the regulations. "ah, these are terrible times! we could not have suffered more than this, had coburg joined frederick; though they say that richelieu's french army is plundering even worse, in hanover and the country beyond it, than soubise is doing here. "moreover, one would rather be plundered by an enemy than by fellows who pretend to come hither as friends. if frederick would march in here, i would open my house free to all comers, and would not grudge the last drop of wine in my cellar." "there is never any saying," fergus replied. "the king of prussia always appears when least expected, and more unlikely things have happened than that he should appear here, some fine morning." [illustration: as fergus was sallying out, a mounted officer dashed by at a gallop] having paid his reckoning, he went to the door. as he was sallying out, a mounted officer dashed by at a headlong gallop; his horse was flecked with foam, and it was evident that he had ridden far and fast, on an important errand. having nothing to do until he should meet the peasant, fergus followed the officer at a leisurely pace; and in five minutes came up with the horse, held by a soldier at the entrance gate of a very large house. sentries were pacing up and down in front of it, and officers going in and out. "is that the headquarters of the french general?" he asked a townsman. "yes," and the man walked on with a muttered malediction. a few minutes later several mounted officers rode out, and dashed off in haste in various directions. "there is evidently something up," fergus said to himself. "perhaps they have got news of the prussian approach." in a quarter of an hour several general officers arrived, and entered the house. it was evident that a council of war had been summoned. half an hour elapsed, and then a number of aides-de-camp and staff officers rode off in haste. a few minutes later, a trumpet sounded a regimental call, and then the assembly. before it had died away, similar calls echoed from all parts of the town. soldiers ran hastily through the streets, mounted officers dashed in every direction, and the citizens came to their doors, in surprise at this sudden movement. fergus had no longer any doubt about the cause of the stir. the great thing, now, was to ascertain whether the army would advance to take up some strong position outside the town and oppose the prussian advance, or whether they would march away. being fifty thousand in number, the former would appear to be the natural course for a general to adopt; as frederick had with him but twenty-three thousand men. of this fact, however, soubise would be ignorant, and might only have heard that the prussian army was marching to annihilate him. before long baggage waggons began to clatter through the streets. they were being driven westward, and it was in the same direction that the regiments made their way. fergus followed them to the plain outside the town. the tents had already been struck; the troops, as they arrived from the town and camp, were marshalled in order; a long train of baggage waggons were already making their way westward; and there was no longer any grounds for doubt that soubise was retreating. it was just eleven o'clock when fergus returned to the cathedral. the peasant was awaiting him. "they all seem on the move," the latter said. "i have heard much about them." "it does not matter, now," fergus replied. "i must get back to your place, as quickly as i can." not a word was spoken, until they had left the town. "they must be going up into hanover, to join the french army there," the peasant said. "they are running away. frederick will be here tomorrow night, or at any rate next day." "the news seems too good to be true, master. how have you learnt it?" "i have learnt it from no one here. i am one of the king's officers, and i came on here to find out whether the enemy would be likely to come out and fight, or would bolt when they heard of his advance." "the lord be praised!" the man said piously, taking off his hat as he spoke. "i thought, sir, that there was something curious in your having such a horse; and still more so, in your wanting to find out all about the force of the enemy here. but it was no business of mine; and i felt that you must be a friend for, had you been austrian or french, you would have ridden boldly into the town." as they went along the road they were met by several troops of cavalry, riding at full speed. "is the way we came this morning the shortest?" "yes, sir, by a good mile." "then we will return by it," said fergus. as soon as they left the main road they went at a run for some distance, and then broke into a fast walk. in an hour from the time of leaving erfurt, they arrived at the hut. "i will run along and fetch your horse, sir," the peasant said. "no, i will go myself. he does not know you, and might refuse to let you come near him." in a few minutes, fergus returned with his horse. the saddle, bridle, and wallets were quickly put on. fergus dropped his pistols into his saddlebags, and buckled on the sword he had brought with him. it was not his own, but one he had bought at starting--a good piece of steel, but with a battered and rusty sheath that showed that it had been lying for weeks, possibly for months, on some field of battle before being picked up. then, with a word of adieu and thanks to the peasant and his wife, and slipping a crown piece into the hand of the latter, he mounted and rode off. chapter : rossbach. fergus knew that there were several cavalry posts ahead, and thought it likely that some of these might be left to give warning of the prussian approach. he therefore rode across the country for some miles. he had begun to think that he must have gone beyond the limit of their outposts, when he saw a hussar pacing across the line in front of him, his beat evidently being between two small woods three or four hundred yards apart. he checked his horse, as he saw fergus approaching. he was a good-tempered looking fellow, and nodded to fergus as much as to say that, if he could speak his language, he should like a chat with him. the latter at once checked his horse, and said good day, in french. "ah, you speak our language!" the soldier said. "i am glad to exchange a word with someone. it is hot here, especially when one's time is up, and one ought to have been relieved, an hour ago." "yes, i can understand that. i expect you have been forgotten." "well, it does not make much difference. i shall get off my next guard, in consequence." "you will have to wait some time before you are relieved, if you stop here." "what do you mean?" the soldier asked. "i mean that when i left erfurt your army was all moving west, and as i rode along i met several troops of cavalry, galloping to join them." "that is strange news. nothing whatever was known, when i came out here." "no, the news only arrived at erfurt, this morning, that frederick's army is within a day's march; and i saw the troops march out, and the baggage waggons on their way before i started. i don't say that your troop may have gone. they may have stopped to form a post of observation." "well, at any rate i shall go into the village and see. i ought to have been relieved an hour ago; and if they had such news as that, and had remained there, they would have been sure to have sent, to order all videttes to use special vigilance. we have only been posted here as a sort of practice, for we did not think that there was an enemy within a hundred and fifty miles; and now, if the news is true, we may have the prussian cavalry coming along at any moment. "well, thank you for warning me," and turning his horse, he went off at a gallop. as the outposts would not have been set, except by the party most in advance, fergus knew that there was now no more risk of falling in with the enemy; unless a cavalry force had been sent forward, to endeavour to get an idea of the force of the prussians. but as the generals had so precipitately decided upon a retreat, it was not likely that they would have ordered any reconnaissance of this kind to be made. he therefore presently regained the main road and, riding fast, arrived at the place where the prussians had pitched their camp, thirty miles from erfurt, having made a twenty-miles march that day. he dismounted at the house where keith had established his quarters. "i have bad news for you, sir," he said. "word of your coming reached erfurt, at eight o'clock this morning; and by eleven the whole army were on their march westward, bag and baggage." "that is bad news, fergus. you could hardly have brought worse. the king had hoped to have struck a heavy blow, and then to be off again to face the austrians. what strength were they?" "about fifty thousand." "how did they get the news of our coming?" "that i cannot say, sir. i had gone into erfurt soon after five, and had already picked up a good deal of news, from the talk of a party of french non-commissioned officers who were taking breakfast at a small inn; and who, not imagining that i could understand them, talked very freely over affairs. they sat over their meal some time, and i did not go out until they had left. "just as i did so, a mounted officer galloped past, at a speed that showed he was the bearer of an important despatch. i followed him to soubise's headquarters. while there, i noticed several mounted officers rode out in great haste. a quarter of an hour later, several general officers arrived. there was a consultation for half an hour, and then officers rode off in all directions; and in a few minutes trumpets were sounding, and drums beating, all over the town. "in a very short time a movement began towards the western gate. by ten o'clock the tents were all struck round the town, the waggons loaded, and they were on their way west. an hour later, and the whole force was in movement in that direction; and as i issued from the town on this side, i met the cavalry that had been scattered among the villages, galloping in. i don't think that there is, at the present moment, an enemy within ten miles of erfurt." "you were in no danger, yourself?" "none at all, sir. i passed the night at a friendly peasant's hut, five miles this side of the town, inside their advanced posts. i left my horse in a wood, and my peasant guided me by bypaths to the town. i did not exchange a word with anyone, except the landlord of the hotel where i breakfasted. he was bitterly hostile to the enemy. "i also spoke to a solitary french vidette who had, in the hurry of their retreat, been left behind; and told him that he had best be off, as the whole army was in full march for the west." "well, if you breakfasted at six this morning, you must be hungry. my dinner will be ready in half an hour, and you had better share it with me. i must go now, and tell the king the news that you have brought. i said nothing to him about my having sent you." in twenty minutes the marshal returned. "the king wishes to see you, fergus. of course he is vexed, but he always takes bad news well, unless it is the result of the blunder of one of the officers. he does not say much, even then; but it is very bad for that officer when he sees him. frederick never forgives a blunder." "well, captain drummond, so you have been playing the spy for us?" "i have been doing my best, your majesty." "and the french are gone, bag and baggage?" "yes, sire, they have gone off west." "to perch themselves somewhere among the mountains, i suppose. perhaps they will get bolder, presently, when they hear that they are more than double my strength. did you learn anything more than what marshal keith has told me?" "i heard a great deal of talk among a party of french non-commissioned officers, sire. they expressed great dissatisfaction with their general, and at the long delays. they also spoke with absolute contempt of the confederacy army, both officers and men; and said that, if it had not been for the drilling by the austrian non-commissioned officers, they would be nothing better than a rabble." "i daresay soubise is of the same opinion," the king said, "and wants them to have a few weeks' more drill before he sets them in line of battle. however, i have no doubt we shall manage to bring him to book, before we return. "well, i am obliged to you for your zeal, captain drummond; and although keith tells me that you got in without being questioned, such business is always dangerous. mayhap next time you will have a better opportunity for distinguishing yourself. as you managed to pass so freely among them, after you made your escape from prison, you can clearly be trusted on work of this kind." fergus saluted, and retired. the next morning the troops started, as usual, at daybreak. they were to make but a short march, for they had no longer any occasion for speed, and they had made the hundred and fifty miles at a very rapid pace; but when they halted, frederick with the cavalry rode straight on into erfurt. "don't wait to put on your uniform now," keith said to fergus, on his return from the royal quarters; "dinner is waiting; and i am ready, if you are not. lindsay is going to dine with me, too." "well, lindsay," the marshal said, as the latter entered, "you see the advantages of this young fellow being able to speak german well. if you had been taken prisoner at lobositz, you would have been fast in spielberg at present; and you see he is now able to undertake perilous missions, and peril means promotion." "i quite see that, marshal," lindsay said with a smile; "but though i can get on with french fairly enough, my tongue doesn't seem to be able to form these crack-jaw german words; and you see, marshal, it is not the only one that does not. i think, sir, that bad as my german is, it is not much worse than your own, and you have been here much longer than i have." the marshal laughed. "you are right. i cannot say half a dozen german words; but you see i have not had your motive for acquiring it, and cannot very well get promotion. and again, it would not do for me to speak better german than the king of prussia; who, beyond a few words necessary for animating his troops on occasion, knows very little german himself. for general work here french is amply sufficient, because every officer speaks it; but as you see, german is very useful, too, to a young officer who wishes to push himself forward, and is willing to undertake special work of this kind." "but even then, marshal, he would have no advantage over a prussian officer who speaks french." "it depends a good deal upon the prussian officer. the greater portion of them are mere machines--splendid fighting machines, no doubt; but of no great use outside their own work. anyone could detect, with half an eye, nineteen out of twenty of them; dress them how you would, disguise them as you like. they step the regulation length, bring their foot down in the regulation way, are as stiff as if they had swallowed a ramrod. they have neither suppleness nor adaptability. they are so accustomed to obey that they have almost lost the power of originating, and would be taken and shot before they were in the enemy's lines ten minutes. now, fergus has the advantage of knowing both languages, and of being quick-witted and sharp." the next two months were passed in marches to and fro. seidlitz, with some cavalry, took possession of gotha, to the great satisfaction of the duke and duchess; and the king himself rode over and dined with them. while seidlitz remained there as governor, with a couple of regiments of horse, a strong body of french and austrian hussars, grenadiers, and artillery marched against gotha. seidlitz, having so few men to oppose them, evacuated the place, and the enemy marched into it in triumphant procession. the duke and duchess made the best of matters, and invited all the principal officers to a banquet. just as they were sitting down to this, seidlitz with his prussians reappeared; his men being so artfully scattered about that they appeared a great deal stronger than they were. the enemy were seized with panic. soubise and his generals mounted in great haste, and in a few minutes the whole were retreating at top speed; seidlitz pursuing for some distance, killing thirty and taking sixty prisoners, with a large amount of baggage and plunder, and then returning to gotha to eat the dinner prepared for the enemy. ferdinand of brunswick, with his division, had been sent off to check, if possible, the movements of the french army under richelieu, near magdeburg. in october came the startling news that berlin itself was threatened, and that a force, said to be fifteen thousand strong, under general haddick, was in rapid motion towards it. prince maurice was ordered to hasten to its defence, and the king also moved in that direction. the invading force was but four thousand strong. their numbers, however, were so magnified by rumour that the governor of berlin, who had but four thousand troops, did not venture to oppose them, but sent the royal family and archives away under a strong escort. haddick occupied a suburb of the city, but knowing that as soon as his real force was known he would be hotly opposed, and receiving news that prince maurice was rapidly approaching, demanded a ransom of , pounds; and finally accepted , pounds, and then hurried away. prince maurice arrived twenty-four hours later. the consequences of this little success--magnified by report into "berlin captured, prussian royal family in flight."--turned out very advantageous to frederick. the enthusiasm in paris and vienna was enormous, and orders were despatched to the armies to set to, without further delay, and finish the work. fifteen thousand men were sent from richelieu's army to reinforce soubise, who thereupon issued from his mountain stronghold and marched against leipzig. frederick, however, arrived there first, ferdinand and maurice joining him a day or two later; and while waiting there, frederick received the joyful news that england requested him to appoint duke ferdinand, of brunswick, commander-in-chief of the army until now commanded by the duke of cumberland, who had just sailed for england. pitt had now risen to almost absolute power in england, and was busied in reforming the abuses in the army and navy, dismissing incapable officials, and preparing to render some efficient aid to its hard-pressed ally. the proposal that prince ferdinand should assume the command of the army--whose efforts had hitherto been rendered nugatory by the utter incompetence of the duke of cumberland who, although personally as brave as a lion, was absolutely ignorant of war--afforded immense satisfaction to the king. no better choice could have been made. ferdinand was related to the royal families both of england and prussia. he was a capable general, prudent and at the same time enterprising, firm under difficulties, ready to seize opportunities; and under his command there was no doubt that the northern army, which had hitherto been useless, and had only been saved from absolute destruction by the incompetence of the french generals, would now play a useful part. on october th soubise, in spite of his orders to fight, and the fact that he had double the strength of the prussians, fell back before them. soubise himself felt no confidence in his troops, but upon the other hand his officers and those of the confederate army were puffed up with vanity, and remonstrated hotly against retreat. the next day frederick came in sight of soubise's army, which was camped on a height near the town of weissenfels. frederick had but one-half of his force with him, the other half, under keith, being still detached. five thousand men garrisoned weissenfels, but frederick made short work of the place. his cannon burst down the gates, and his troops rushed forward with all speed; but the garrison fled across the bridge over the saale, which had already been prepared for burning; and they set it on fire in such haste that four hundred were unable to cross, and were made prisoners. the fugitives joined their army on the other side of the elbe, and its guns opened upon the burning bridge, to prevent the prussians from trying to extinguish the flames. the prussians returned the fire, and the artillery duel was kept up until three o'clock, by which time the bridge was consumed. frederick had already fixed upon a spot suitable for the erection of another, and during the night, while the enemy were falling back to take up a fresh position upon higher ground, the engineers, working diligently, succeeded in throwing a bridge across. keith arrived at merseburg the next morning. a strong force lay opposite, ready to dispute the passage; but when soubise found that the king was crossing by his new bridge, he called in all his detachments and marched away, to a strong position, and there set himself in array ready to receive an attack. keith's bridges were finished on the rd of november, and that afternoon he crossed and joined frederick. on the th the army was on the move by two o'clock in the morning. a bright moon was shining and, by its light, it was discovered that the enemy had shifted his position for one much stronger, with approaches protected by patches of wood and bog. the prussian army therefore marched back to their camp, the king hoping that, being so far from their base of supplies, the enemy would be forced ere long to make some movement that would afford him a chance of attacking them under better circumstances. the ground from weissenfels rises, very gradually, to a height of a hundred and twenty feet or so; which in so flat a country is regarded as a hill. on this slight swelling are several small villages. of these rossbach is the principal, standing high up on its crest. here frederick's right wing was posted, while his left was at bedra. the king took up his quarters at a large house in rossbach; and from its roof, at eight o'clock on the morning of the th, he saw that the enemy were getting into motion and moving away towards their left. the movement had begun much earlier. half an hour later they had passed through the village of grost, and were apparently making their way to freiburg, where they had some magazines. hoping to have a chance of attacking their rear, frederick ordered the cavalry to saddle, and the whole army to be in readiness, and then sat down to dinner with his officers at noon. little did he dream, at the time, that the slow and clumsy movement that he was watching was intended, by the enemy, to end in a flank attack on himself. on the previous day soubise, with his generals, looking down on the prussian camp, had reckoned their force at ten thousand. in reality they had seen only a portion of their camp, the site being hidden by a dip of the ground. even soubise thought that, with the odds of over five to one in his favour, he could fight a battle with a certainty of success; and planned a masterly march, by which he would place himself on frederick's left and rear, drive him into the bend made by the saale, and annihilate his army. in his enthusiasm at this happy idea, he sent off a courier to carry the news, to versailles, that he was about to annihilate the prussian army, and take the king prisoner. frederick's dinner was prolonged. there was nothing to be done, and patience was one of the king's strong points. at two o'clock an officer, who had remained on watch on the housetop, hurried down with news that the enemy had suddenly turned to the left. the king went up to the roof with his officers, and at once divined the intention of his foes. it was a glorious moment for him. at last, after three weary months, he was to meet them in battle. instantly his orders were given, and in half an hour the prussian army was all in movement, with the exception of some irregular corps which were left to occupy the attention of the enemy's horse, which had been posted as if to threaten rossbach. by the line taken, the prussians were at once hidden behind the crest of the hill from the enemy; and so soubise thought that the prussians, being afraid of his attack, were marching away with all speed for keith's bridge at merseburg. he accordingly hurried on his cavalry, and ordered the infantry to go at a double, for the purpose of capturing the runaway prussians. in the meantime seidlitz, with four thousand horse, trotted briskly along until he reached, still concealed from the enemy's sight, the spot towards which they were hurrying, in two great columns headed by seven thousand cavalry. he allowed them to move forward until he was on their flank, and then dashed over the crest of the hill, and charged like a thunderbolt upon them. taken completely by surprise, the enemy's cavalry had scarce time to form. two austrian regiments and two french were alone able to do so. but there was no withstanding the impetus of the prussian charge. they rode right through the disordered cavalry; turned, formed, and recharged, and four times cut their way through them, until they broke away in headlong flight; and were pursued by seidlitz until out of sight from the hill, when he turned and waited, to see where he could find an opportunity of striking another blow. by this time frederick, with the infantry, was now pouring over the crest of the hill, their advance heralded by the fire of twenty-four guns. rapidly, in echelon, they approached the enemy. in vain soubise endeavoured to face round the column, thus taken in flank, to meet the coming storm. he was seconded by broglio and the commander of the confederate army, but the two columns were jammed together, and all were in confusion at this astounding and unexpected attack. orders were unheard or disobeyed, and everything was still in utter disorder, when six battalions of prussian infantry hurled themselves upon them. when forty paces distant, they poured in their first terrible volley, and then continued their fire as fast as they could load; creating great havoc among the french troops on whom they had fallen, while away on each flank the prussian artillery made deep gaps in the line. soon the mass, helpless under this storm of fire, wavered and shook; and then seidlitz, who had been concealed with his cavalry in a hollow a short distance away, hurled himself like a thunderbolt on their rear, and in a moment they broke up in headlong flight. in less than half an hour from the first appearance of the prussians on the hill, the struggle had ended, and an army of from fifty to sixty thousand men was a mob of fugitives; defeated by a force of but twenty-two thousand men, not above half of whom were engaged. the loss of the allies was three thousand killed and wounded, five thousand prisoners, and seventy-two guns; while the prussians lost but one hundred and sixty-five killed, and three hundred and seventy-six wounded. the victory was one of the most remarkable and surprising ever gained, for these figures by no means represent the full loss to the defeated. the german portion of the army, after being chased for many miles, scattered in all directions; and only one regiment reached erfurt in military order, and in two days the whole of the men were on their way to their homes, in the various states composing the confederation. the french were in no less disgraceful a condition. plundering as they went, a mere disorganized rabble, they continued their flight until fifty-five miles from the field of battle, and were long before they gathered again in fighting order. the joy caused in prussia and in england, by this astonishing victory, was shared largely by the inhabitants of the country through which the french army had marched. everywhere they had plundered and pillaged, as if they had been moving through an enemy's country instead of one they had professed to come to deliver. the protestant inhabitants had everywhere been most cruelly maltreated, the churches wrecked, and the pastors treated as criminals. the greater portion of germany therefore regarded the defeat of the french as a matter for gratification, rather than the reverse. in england the result was enormous. it had the effect of vastly strengthening pitt's position, and twenty thousand british troops were, ere long, despatched to join the army under the duke of brunswick, which was now called the allied army, and from this time the french force under richelieu ceased to be dangerous to frederick. france and england were old antagonists, and entered upon a duel of their own; a duel that was to cost france canada, and much besides; to establish england's naval preponderance; and to extinguish french influence in the netherlands. fergus drummond was not under fire, at the memorable battle of rossbach. keith's division was not, in fact, engaged; the affair having terminated before it arrived. keith, however, had ridden to the position on the brow of the hill where the king had stationed himself; and his staff, following him, had the satisfaction of seeing the enemy's heavy columns melt into a mass of fugitives, and spread in all directions over the country, like dust driven before a sudden whirlwind. "what next, i wonder?" fergus said to lindsay; who had, three days before, been promoted to the rank of captain, as much to the satisfaction of fergus as to his own. "i suppose some more marching," lindsay replied. "you may be sure that we shall be off east again, to try conclusions with prince karl. bevern seems to be making a sad mess of it there. of course he is tremendously outnumbered, thirty thousand men against eighty thousand; but he has fallen back into silesia without making a single stand, and suffered prince karl to plant himself between breslau and schweidnitz; and the prince is besieging the latter town with twenty thousand men, while with sixty thousand he is facing bevern." four days after the victory, indeed, frederick set out with thirteen thousand men; leaving prince henry to maintain the line of the saale, and guard saxony; while marshal keith was to go into bohemia, raise contributions there, and threaten as far as might be the austrian posts in that country. fergus, however, went with the king's army, the king having said to the marshal: "keith, lend me that young aide-de-camp of yours. i have seen how he can be trusted to carry a despatch, at whatever risk to his life. he is ingenious and full of devices; and he has luck, and luck goes for a great deal. "i like him, too. i have observed that he is always lively and cheery, even at the end of the longest day's work. i notice too that, even though your relation, he never becomes too familiar; and his talk will be refreshing, when i want something to distract my thoughts from weighty matters." so fergus went with the king, who could ill afford to lose keith from his side. with none was he more friendly and intimate and, now that schwerin had gone, he relied upon him more implicitly than upon any other of his officers. but keith had been, for some time, unwell. he was suffering from asthma and other ailments that rendered rapid travel painful to him; and he would obtain more rest and ease, in bohemia, than he could find in the rapid journey the king intended to make. on the fifth day of his march frederick heard, to his stupefaction, that schweidnitz had surrendered. the place was an extremely strong one, and the king had relied confidently upon its holding out for two or three months. its fortifications were constructed in the best manner; it was abundantly supplied with cannon, ammunition, and provisions; and its surrender was inexcusable. the fault was doubtless, to a large degree, that of its commandant, who was a man of no resolution or resources; but it was also partly due to the fact that a portion of the garrison were saxons, who had at pirna been obliged to enter the prussian service. great numbers of these deserted; a hundred and eighty of them, in one day, going over from an advanced post to the enemy. with troops like these, there could be no assurance that any post would be firmly held--a fact that might well shake the confidence of any commander in his power of resistance. the blow was none the less severe, to frederick, from being partly the result of his own mistaken step of enrolling men bitterly hostile in the ranks of the army. still, disastrous as the news was, it did not alter his resolution; and at even greater speed than before he continued his march. sometimes of an evening he sent for fergus, and chatted with him pleasantly for an hour or two, asking him many questions of his life in scotland, and discoursing familiarly on such matters, but never making any allusion to military affairs. on the tenth day of the march they arrived at gorlitz, where another piece of bad news reached frederick. prince karl, after taking schweidnitz, had fallen with sixty thousand men on bevern. he had crossed by five bridges across the loe, but each column was met by a prussian force strongly intrenched. for the space of fifteen hours the battles had raged, over seven or eight miles of country. five times the austrians had attacked, five times had they been rolled back again; but at nine o'clock at night they were successful, more or less, in four of their attacks, while the prussian left wing, under the command of ziethen, had driven its assailants across the river again. during the night bevern had drawn off, marched through breslau, and crossed the oder, leaving eighty cannon and eight thousand killed and wounded--a tremendous loss, indeed, when the army at daybreak had been thirty thousand strong. bevern himself rode out to reconnoitre, in the gray light of the morning, attended only by a groom, and fell in with an austrian outpost. he was carried to vienna, but being a distant relation of the emperor, was sent home again without ransom. it was the opinion of frederick that he had given himself up intentionally, and on his return he was ordered at once to take up his former official post at stettin; where he conducted himself so well, in the struggle against the russian armies, that two years later he was restored to frederick's favour. as if this misfortune was not great enough, two days later came the news that breslau had surrendered without firing a shot; and this when it was known that the king was within two days' march, and pressing forward to its relief. here ninety-eight guns and an immense store and magazine were lost to prussia. frederick straightway issued orders that the general who had succeeded bevern should be put under arrest, for not having at once thrown his army into breslau; appointed ziethen in his place, and ordered him to bring the army round to glogau and meet him at parchwitz on december nd, which ziethen punctually did. in spite of the terrible misfortunes that had befallen him, frederick was still undaunted. increased as it was by the arrival of ziethen, his force was but a third of the strength of the austrians. the latter were flushed with success; while ziethen's troops were discouraged by defeat, and his own portion of the force worn out by their long and rapid marches, and by the failure of the object for which they had come. calling his generals together on the rd, he recounted the misfortunes that had befallen them; and told them that his one trust, in this terrible position, was in their qualities and valour; and that he intended to engage the enemy, as soon as he found them, and that they must beat them or all of them perish in the battle. enthusiastically, the generals declared that they would conquer or die with him; and among the soldiers the spirit was equally strong, for they had implicit confidence in their king, and a well-justified trust in their own valour and determination. that evening frederick, eager as he was to bring the terrible situation to a final issue, cannot but have felt that it would have been too desperate an undertaking to have attacked the enemy; posted as they were with a river (known as schweidnitz water) and many other natural difficulties covering their front, and having their flanks strengthened, as was the austrian custom, with field works and batteries. fortunately the austrians settled the difficulty by moving out from their stronghold. daun had counselled their remaining there, but prince karl and the great majority of his military advisers agreed that it would be a shameful thing that ninety thousand men should shut themselves up, to avoid an attack by a force of but one-third their own strength; and that it was in all respects preferable to march out and give battle, in which case the prussians would be entirely destroyed; whereas, if merely repulsed in an attack on a strong position, a considerable proportion might escape and give trouble in the future. the austrians, indeed, having captured schweidnitz and breslau, defeated bevern, and in the space of three weeks made themselves masters of a considerable portion of silesia, were in no small degree puffed up, and had fallen anew to despising frederick. the blow dealt them at prague had been obliterated by their success at kolin; and frederick's later success over the french and federal army was not considered, by them, as a matter affecting themselves, although several austrian regiments had been among soubise's force. the officers were very scornful over the aggressive march of frederick's small army, which they derisively called the potsdam guards' parade; and many were the jokes cut, at the military messes, at its expense. the difference, then, with which the two armies regarded the coming battle was great, indeed. on the one side there was the easy confidence of victory, the satisfaction that at length this troublesome little king had put himself in their power; on the other a deep determination to conquer or to die, a feeling that, terrible as the struggle must be, great as were the odds against them, they might yet, did each man do his duty, come out the victors in the struggle. "and what think you of this matter, lad?" frederick said, laying his hand familiarly on the young captain's shoulder. "i know nothing about it, your majesty; but like the rest, i feel confident that somehow you will pull us through. of one thing i am sure, that all that is possible for the men to do, your soldiers will accomplish." "well, we shall see. it is well that i know all the country round here, for many a review have i held of the garrison of breslau, on the very ground where we are about to fight. their position is a very strong one, and i am afraid that crafty old fox daun will here, as he did at prague, persuade prince karl to hide behind his batteries. were it not for that, i should feel confident; whereas i now but feel hopeful. still, i doubt not that we shall find our way in, somehow." chapter : leuthen. at four in the morning on sunday, december th, frederick marched from parchwitz; intending to make neumarkt, a small town some fourteen miles off, his quarters. when within two or three miles of this town he learned, to his deep satisfaction, that the austrians had just established a great bakery there, and that a party of engineers were marking out the site for a camp; also that there were but a thousand croats in the town. the news was satisfactory, indeed, for two reasons: the first being that the bakery would be of great use for his own troops; the second, that it was clear that the austrians intended to advance across the schweidnitz water to give battle. it was evident that they could have had no idea that he was pressing on so rapidly, or they would never have established their bakery so far in advance, and protected by so small a force. he lost no time in taking advantage of their carelessness, but sent a regiment of cavalry to seize the hills on both sides of the town; then marched rapidly forward, burst in the gates, and hurled the croats in utter confusion from neumarkt, while the cavalry dashed down and cut off their retreat. one hundred and twenty of them were killed, and five hundred and seventy taken prisoners. in the town the austrian bakery was found to be in full work, and eighty thousand bread rations, still hot, were ready for delivery. this initial success, and the unexpected treat of hot bread, raised the spirits of the troops greatly, and was looked upon as a happy augury. two or three hours before neumarkt had been captured, the austrian army was crossing the river, and presently received the unpleasant news of what had happened. surprised at the news that the prussians were so near, their generals at once set to work to choose a good position. this was not a difficult task, for the country was swampy, with little wooded rises and many villages. they planted their right wing at the village of nypern, which was practically unapproachable on account of deep peat bogs. their centre was at a larger village named leuthen, their left at sagschuetz. the total length of its front was about six miles. the prussians started before daybreak next morning in four columns, frederick riding on ahead with the vanguard. when near borne, some eight miles from neumarkt, he caught sight in the dim light of a considerable body of horse, stretching across the road in front of him as far as he could make out the line. the prussian cavalry were at once ordered to charge down on their left flank. the enemy proved to be five regiments of cavalry, placed there to guard the army from surprise. they, however, were themselves surprised; and were at once overthrown, and driven in headlong flight to take shelter behind their right wing at nypern, five hundred and forty being taken prisoners, and a large number being killed or wounded. frederick rode on through borne, ascended a small hill called the scheuberg, to the right of the road, and as the light increased could, from that point, make out the austrian army drawn up in battle array, and stretching from nypern to sagschuetz. well was it for him that he had reviewed troops over the same ground, and knew all the bogs and morasses that guarded the austrian front. for a long time he sat there on horseback, studying the possibilities of the situation. the austrian right he regarded as absolutely impregnable. leuthen might be attacked with some chance of success, but sagschuetz offered by far the most favourable opening for attack. the formation of the ground offered special facilities for the movement being effected without the austrians being aware of what was taking place, for there was a depression behind the swells and broken ground in front of the austrian centre, by which the prussians could march from borne, unseen by the enemy, until they approached sagschuetz. it was three hours after frederick had taken up his place before the four columns had all reached borne. as soon as they were in readiness there, they were ordered to march with all speed as far as radaxford, thence to march in oblique order against the austrian left. the austrians, all this time, could observe a group of horsemen on the hill, moving sometimes this way sometimes that, but more than this they could not see. the conjectures were various, as hour passed after hour. daun believed that the prussians must have marched away south, with the intention of falling upon the magazines in bohemia, and that the cavalry seen moving along the hills were placed there to defend the prussians from being taken in flank, or in rear, while thus marching. general lucchesi, who commanded the austrian right wing, was convinced that the cavalry formed the prussian right wing, and that the whole army, concealed behind the slopes, was marching to fall upon him. in the belfry of the church at leuthen, on the tops of windmills, and on other points of vantage, austrian generals with their staffs were endeavouring to obtain a glimpse beyond those tiresome swells, and to discover what was going on behind them, but in vain. there were the cavalry, moving occasionally from crest to crest, but nothing beyond that. lucchesi got more and more uneasy, and sent message after message to headquarters that he was about to be attacked, and must have a large reinforcement of horse. the prince and daun at first scoffed at the idea, knowing that the bogs in front of nypern were impassable; but at last he sent a message to the effect that, if the cavalry did not come, he would not be responsible for the issue. it was thought, therefore, that he must have some good ground for his insistence; and daun sent off the reserve of horse, and several other regiments drawn from the left wing, and himself went off at a trot, at their head, to see what was the matter. it was just as he started that the prussians--with their music playing, and the men singing: gieb dass ich thu mit fleiss was mir zu thun gebuhret (grant that with zeal and strength this day i do) had passed radaxford and reached lobetintz, and were about to advance in an oblique line to the attack. the king saw with delight the removal of so large a body of horse from the very point against which his troops would, in half an hour, be hurling themselves. nothing could have suited his plans better. at a rapid pace, and with a precision and order as perfect as if upon level ground, suddenly the prussians poured over the swells on the flank of sagschuetz. nadasti, who commanded the austrians there, was struck with astonishment at the spectacle of the prussian army, which he believed to be far away, pouring down on his flank. the heads of the four columns, the artillery, and ziethen's cavalry appeared simultaneously, marching swiftly and making no pause. being a good general, he lost not a moment in endeavouring to meet the storm. his left was thrown back a little, a battery of fourteen guns at the angle so formed opened fire, and he launched his cavalry against that of ziethen. for the moment ziethen's men were pushed back, but the fire from an infantry battalion, close by, checked the austrian horse. they fell back out of range, and ziethen, making a counter charge, drove them away. in the meantime the prussian infantry, as they advanced, poured a storm of fire upon the austrian line, aided by a battery of ten heavy guns that prince maurice, who commanded here, had planted on a rise. a clump of fir trees, held by croats in advance of the austrian line, was speedily cleared; and then the prussians broke down the abattis that protected the enemy's front, charged furiously against the infantry, and drove these before them, capturing nadasti's battery. in ten minutes after the beginning of the fight, the position of the austrian left was already desperate. the whole prussian army was concentrated against it and, being on its flank, crumpled the line up as it advanced. prince karl's aides-de-camp galloped at the top of their speed to bring daun and the cavalry back again, and austrian battalions from the centre were hurried down to aid nadasti's, but were impeded by the retreating troops; and the confusion thickened, until it was brought to a climax by ziethen's horse, which had been unable to act until now. but fir wood, quagmire, and abattis had all been passed by the prussians, and they dashed into the mass, sabring and trampling down, and taking whole battalions prisoners. prince karl exerted himself to the utmost to check the prussian advance. batteries were brought up and advantageously posted at leuthen, heavy bodies of infantry occupied the village and its church, and took post so as to present a front to the advancing tide. another quarter of an hour and the battle might have been retrieved; but long before the dispositions were all effected, the prussians were at hand. [map: battle of leuthen] nevertheless, by great diligence the austrians had to some extent succeeded. leuthen was the centre of the new position. lucchesi was hastening up, while nadasti swung backwards and tried, as he arrived, to form the left flank of the new position. all this was being done under a storm of shot from the whole of the prussian artillery, which was so terrible that many battalions fell into confusion as fast as they arrived. leuthen, a straggling hamlet of over a mile in length, and with two or three streets of scattered houses, barns, farm buildings, and two churches, was crowded with troops; ready to fight but unable to do so, line being jammed upon line until sometimes a hundred deep, pressed constantly behind by freshly arriving battalions, and in front by the advancing prussians. some regiments were almost without officers. into this confused, straggling, helpless mass, prevented from opening out by the houses and inclosures, the prussians, ever keeping their formation, poured their volleys with terrible effect; in such fashion as drake's perfectly-handled ships poured their broadsides into the huge helpless spanish galleons at gravelines. with a like dogged courage as that shown by the spanish, the austrian masses suffered almost passively, while those occupying the houses and churches facing the prussians resisted valiantly and desperately. from every window, every wall, their musketry fire flashed out; the resistance round the churchyard being specially stubborn. the churchyard had a high and strong wall, and so terrible was the fire from the roof of the church, and other spots of advantage, that the tide of prussian victory was arrested for a time. at last they made a rush. the churchyard gate was burst in, and the austrians driven out. leuthen was not yet won, but frederick now brought up the left wing, which had till this time been held in reserve. these came on with levelled bayonets, and rushed into the fight. the king was, as always, in the thick of the battle; giving his orders as coolly as if at a review, sending fresh troops where required, changing the arrangements as opportunity offered, keeping the whole machine in due order; and by his presence animating all with the determination to win or die, and an almost equal readiness to accept either alternative. at last, after an hour's stubborn resistance, the austrians were hurled out of leuthen, still sternly resisting, still contesting every foot of the ground. lucchesi now saw an opportunity of retrieving, with his great cavalry force, the terrible consequences of his own blunder, and led them impetuously down upon the flank of the prussians. but frederick had prepared for such a stroke; and had placed draisen, with the left wing of the cavalry, in a hollow sheltered from the fire of the austrian batteries, and bade him do nothing, attempt nothing, but cover the right flank of the infantry from the austrian horse. he accordingly let lucchesi charge down with his cavalry, and then rushed out on his rear, and fell suddenly and furiously upon him. astounded at this sudden and unexpected attack, and with their ranks swept by a storm of prussian bullets, the austrian cavalry broke and fled in all directions, lucchesi having paid for his fault by dying, fighting to the last. his duty thus performed, draisen was free to act, and fell upon the flank and rear of the austrian infantry; and in a few minutes the battle was over, and the austrians in full retreat. they made, however, another attempt to stand at saara; but it was hopeless, and they were soon pushed backwards again and, hotly pressed, poured over the four bridges across the schweidnitz river, and for the most part continued their flight to breslau. until the austrians had crossed the river the prussian cavalry were on their rear, sabring and taking prisoners, while the infantry were halted at saara, the sun having now set. exhausted as they were by their work, which had begun at midnight and continued until now without pause or break, not yet was their task completely done. the king, riding up the line, asked if any battalion would volunteer to follow him to lissa, a village on the river bank. three battalions stepped out. the landlord of the little inn, carrying a lantern, walked by the king's side. as they approached the village, ten or twelve musket shots flashed out in the fields to the right. they were aimed at the lantern, but no one was hurt. there were other shots from lissa, and it was evident that the village was still not wholly evacuated. the infantry rushed forward, scattered through the fields, and drove out the lurking croats. the king rode quietly on into the village, and entered the principal house. to his astonishment, he found it full of austrian officers, who could easily have carried him off, his infantry being still beyond the village. they had but a small force remaining there and, believing that the prussians had halted for the night at saara, they were as much astonished as frederick at his entrance. the king had the presence of mind to hide his surprise. "good evening, gentlemen!" he said. "is there still room left for me, do you think?" the austrian officers, supposing, of course, that he had a large force outside, bowed deeply, escorted him to the best room in the house, and then slipped out at the back, collected what troops they could as they went, and hurried across the bridge. the prussians were not long in entering, and very speedily cleared out the rest of the austrians. they then crossed the bridge, and with a few guns followed in pursuit. the army at saara, on hearing the firing, betook itself again to arms and marched to the king's assistance, the twenty-five thousand men and their bands again joining in the triumphant hymn, "nun danket alle gott," as they tramped through the darkness. when they arrived at lissa they found that all was safe, and bivouacked in the fields. never was there a greater or more surprising victory, never one in which the military genius of the commander was more strikingly shown. the austrians were in good heart. they were excellent soldiers and brave, well provided with artillery, and strongly placed; and yet they were signally defeated by a force little over one-third their number. had there been two more hours of daylight, the austrians would have been not only routed but altogether crushed. their loss was ten thousand left on the field, of whom three thousand were killed. twelve thousand were taken prisoners, and one hundred and sixteen cannon captured. to this loss must be added that of seventeen thousand prisoners taken when breslau surrendered, twelve days later, together with a vast store of cannon and ammunition, including everything taken so shortly before from bevern. liegnitz surrendered, and the whole of silesia, with the exception only of schweidnitz, was again wrested from the austrians. thus in killed, wounded, and prisoners the loss of the austrians amounted to as much as the total force of the prussians. the latter lost in killed eleven hundred and forty one, and in wounded about five thousand. prince maurice, upon whose division the brunt of the battle had fallen, was promoted to the rank of field marshal. fergus drummond had been with the king throughout that terrible day. until the battle began his duties had been light, being confined to the carrying of orders to prince maurice; after which he took his place among the staff and, dismounting, chatted with his acquaintances while karl held his horse. when, however, the fir tree wood was carried, and the king rode forward and took his place there during the attack upon the austrian position at sagschuetz, matters became more lively. the balls from the austrian batteries sung overhead, and sent branches flying and trees crashing down. sagschuetz won, the king followed the advancing line, and the air was alive with bullets and case shot. [illustration: the roar of battle was so tremendous that his horse was well-nigh unmanageable] after that fergus knew little more of the battle, being incessantly employed in carrying orders through the thick of it to generals commanding brigades, and even to battalions. the roar of battle was so tremendous that his horse, maddened with the din and the sharp whiz of the bullets, at times was well-nigh unmanageable, and occupied his attention almost to the exclusion of other thoughts; especially after it had been struck by a bullet in the hind quarters, and had come to understand that those strange and maddening noises meant danger. not until after all was over was fergus aware of the escapes he had had. a bullet had cut away an ornament from his headdress, one of his reins had been severed at a distance of an inch or two from his hand, a bullet had pierced the tail of his coatee and buried itself in the cantle of his saddle, and the iron guard of his claymore had been pierced. however, on his return to the king after carrying a despatch, he was able to curb his own excitement and that of his horse, and to make the formal military salute as he reported, in a calm and quiet voice, that he had carried out the orders with which he had been charged. it was with great gratification that he heard the king say that evening, as he and his staff supped together at the inn at lissa: "you have done exceedingly well today, captain drummond. i am very pleased with you. you were always at my elbow when i wanted you, and i observed that you were never flurried or excited; though indeed, there would have been good excuse for a young soldier being so, in such a hurly burly. you are over young for further promotion, for a year or two; but i must find some other way of testifying my satisfaction at your conduct." and, indeed, when the list of promotions for bravery in the field was published, a few days later, fergus's name appeared among those who received the decoration of the prussian military order, an honour fully as much valued as promotion. for a time he lost the service of karl, who had been seriously although not dangerously wounded, just before the austrians were driven out of leuthen. the news of the battle filled the confederates with stupefaction and dismay. prince karl was at once recalled, and was relieved from military employment, daun being appointed to the supreme command. the prince withdrew to his government of the netherlands, and there passed the remainder of his days in peace and quiet. his army was hunted by ziethen's cavalry to koeniggraetz, losing two thousand prisoners and a large amount of baggage; and thirty-seven thousand men only, of the eighty thousand that stood in battle array at leuthen, reached the sheltering walls of the fortress, and those in so dilapidated and worn out a condition that, by the end of a week after arriving there, no less than twenty-two thousand were in hospital. thus, after eight months of constant and weary anxiety, frederick, by the two heavy blows he had dealt successfully at the confederates, stood in a far better position than he had occupied at the opening of the first campaign; when, as his enemies fondly believed, prussia would be captured and divided without the smallest difficulty. frederick wintered at breslau, whither came many visitors from prussia, and there was a constant round of gaieties and festivity. frederick himself desired nothing so much as peace. once or twice there had been some faint hope that this might be brought about by his favourite sister, wilhelmina, who had been ceaseless in her efforts to effect it; but the two empresses and the pompadour were alike bent on avenging themselves on the king, and the reverses that they had suffered but increased their determination to overwhelm him. great as frederick's success had been, it did not blind him to the fact that his position was almost hopeless. when the war began, he had an army of a hundred and fifty thousand of the finest soldiers in the world. the two campaigns had made frightful gaps in their ranks. at prague he had fought with eighty thousand men, at leuthen he had but thirty thousand. his little kingdom could scarcely supply men to fill the places of those who had fallen, while his enemies had teeming populations from which to gather ample materials for fresh armies. it seemed, even to his hopeful spirit, that all this could have but one ending; and that each success, however great, weakened him more than his adversaries. the winter's rest was, however, most welcome. for the moment there was nothing to plan, nothing to do, save to order that the drilling of the fresh levies should go on incessantly; in order that some, at least, of the terrible gaps in the army might be filled up before the campaign commenced in the spring. began badly, for early in january the russians were on the move. the empress had dismissed, and ordered to be tried by court martial, the general who had done so little the previous year; had appointed field marshal fermor to command in his place, and ordered him to advance instantly and to annex east prussia in her name. on the th of january he crossed the frontier, and six days later entered koenigsberg and issued a proclamation to the effect that his august sovereign had now become mistress of east prussia, and that all men of official or social position must at once take the oath of allegiance to her. east prussia had been devastated the year before by marauders, and its hatred of russia was intense; but the people were powerless to resist. some fled, leaving all behind them; but the majority were forced to take the required oath, and for a time east prussia became a russian province. nevertheless its young men constantly slipped away, when opportunity offered, to join the prussian army; and moneys were frequently collected by the impoverished people to despatch to frederick, to aid him in his necessities. a far greater assistance was the english subsidy of , pounds, which was paid punctually for four years, and was of supreme service to him. it was spent thriftily, and of all the enormous sums expended by this country in subsidizing foreign powers, none was ever laid out to a tenth of the advantage of the , , pounds given to frederick. in the north the campaign also opened early. ferdinand of brunswick bestirred himself, defeated the french signally at krefeld, and drove them headlong across the rhine. frederick, too, took the field early, and on the th of march moved from breslau upon schweidnitz. the siege began on the st of april, and on the th the place surrendered. four thousand nine hundred prisoners of war were taken, with fifty-one guns and pounds in money. three days later frederick, with forty thousand men, was off; deceived daun as to his intentions, entered moravia, and besieged olmuetz. keith was with him again, and fergus had returned to his staff. the march was conducted with the marvellous precision and accuracy that characterized all frederick's movements, but olmuetz was a strong place and stoutly defended. the prussian engineers, who did not shine at siege work, opened their trenches eight hundred yards too far away. the magazines were too far off, and daun, who as usual carefully abstained from giving battle, so cut up the convoys that, after five weeks of vain endeavours, the king was obliged to raise the siege; partly owing to the loss of the convoy that would have enabled him to take the town, which was now at its last extremity; and partly that he knew that the russians were marching against brandenburg. he made a masterly retreat, struck a heavy blow at daun by capturing and destroying his principal magazine, and then took up a very strong position near koeniggraetz. here he could have maintained himself against all daun's assaults, for his position was one that daun had himself held and strongly fortified; but the news from the north was of so terrible a nature that he was forced to hurry thither. the cossacks, as the russian army advanced, were committing most horrible atrocities; burning towns and villages, tossing men and women into the fire, plundering and murdering everywhere; and the very small prussian force that was watching them was powerless to check the swarming marauders. frederick therefore, evading daun's attempts to arrest his march, crossed the mountains into silesia again. at landshut he gave his army two days' rest; wrote and sent a paper to his brother prince henry, who was commander of the army defending saxony from invasion, telling him that he was on the point of marching against the russians and might well be killed; and giving him orders as to the course to be pursued, in such an event. he left keith, in command of forty thousand men, to hold daun in check should the latter advance against silesia; and he again took fergus with him, finding the young officer's talk a pleasant means of taking his mind off the troubles that beset him. in nine days the army, which was but fifteen thousand strong, marched from landshut to frankfort-on-oder. here the king learned that though kuestrin, which the russians were besieging, still held out, the town had been barbarously destroyed by the enemy. in fierce anger the army pressed forward. the russian army itself, officers and men, were indignant in the extreme at the brutalities committed by the cossacks, but were powerless to restrain them; for indeed these ruffians did not hesitate to attack and kill any officer who ventured to interfere between them and their victims. the next morning, early, frederick reached the camp of his general dohna; who had been watching, although unable to interfere with the russians' proceedings. the king had a profound contempt for the russians, in spite of the warning of keith, who had served with them, that they were far better soldiers than they appeared to be; and he anticipated a very easy victory over them. early on the nd of august the army from frankfort arrived. dohna's strength was numerically about the same as the king's, and with his thirty thousand men frederick had no doubt that he would make but short work of the eighty thousand russians, of whom some twenty-seven thousand were the cossack rabble, who were not worth being considered, in a pitched battle. deceiving the russians as to his intentions by opening a heavy cannonade on one of their redoubts, as if intending to ford the river there, he crossed that evening twelve miles lower down and, after some manoeuvring, faced the russians, who had at once broken up the siege on hearing of his passage. fermor sent away his baggage train to a small village called kleinkalmin, and planted himself on a moor, where his front was covered by quagmires and the zaborn stream. hearing, late at night on the evening of the th, that frederick was likely to be upon them the next morning, the russian general drew out into the open ground north of zorndorf, which stands on a bare rise surrounded by woods and quagmires, and formed his army into a great square, two miles long by one broad, with his baggage in the middle--a formation which had been found excellent by the russians in their turkish wars, but which was by no means well adapted to meet frederick's methods of impetuous attack. being ignorant as to the side upon which frederick was likely to attack, and having decided to stand on the defensive, he adopted the methods most familiar to him. frederick had cut all the bridges across the rivers warta and oder, and believed that he should, after defeating the russians, drive them into the angle formed by the junction of these two streams, and cause them to surrender at discretion. unfortunately, he had not heard that the great russian train had been sent to kleinkalmin. had he done so he could have seized it, and so have possessed himself of the russian stores and all their munitions of war, and have forced them to surrender without a blow; for the cossacks had wasted the country far and wide, and deprived it of all resources. but he and his army were so burning with indignation, and the desire to avenge the cossack cruelties, that they made no pause, and marched in all haste right round the russian position, so as to drive them back towards the junction of the two rivers. [map: battle of zorndorf] fermor's cossacks brought him in news of frederick's movements, which were hidden from him by the forests; and seeing that he was to be attacked on the zorndorf side, instead of from that on which he had expected it to come, he changed his front, and swung round the line containing his best troops to meet it. on arriving at zorndorf, frederick found that the cossacks had already set the village on fire. this was no disadvantage to him, for the smoke of the burning houses rolled down towards the russians, and so prevented them from making observation of the prussian movements. the king rode up to the edge of the zaborn hollow and, finding it too deep and boggy to be crossed, determined to attack at the southwest with his left and centre, placing his cavalry in rear, and throwing back his right wing. the first division marched forward to the attack, by the west end of the flaming village. the next division, which should have been its support, marched by the east end of zorndorf. its road was a longer one, and there was consequently a wide gap between the two divisions. heralded by the fire of two strong batteries--which swept the southwestern corner of the russian quadrilateral, their crossfire ploughing its ranks with terrible effect--the first division, under manteufel, fell upon the enemy. the fire of the prussian batteries had sorely shaken the russians, and had produced lively agitation among the horses of the light baggage train in the centre of the square; and, heralding their advance with a tremendous fire of musketry, the prussian infantry forced its way into the mass. had the second division been close at hand, as it should have been, the victory would already have been won; but although also engaged it was not near, and fermor poured out a torrent of horse and foot upon manteufel's flank and front. without support, and surrounded, the prussians could do nothing, and were swept back, losing twenty-four pieces of cannon; while the russians, with shouts of victory, pressed upon them. at this critical moment seidlitz, with five thousand horse, dashed down upon the disordered mass of russians, casting it into irretrievable confusion. at the same time the infantry rallied and pressed forward again. in fifteen minutes the whole russian army was a confused mass. fermor, with the russian horse, fled to kratsdorf and, had not the bridge there been burnt by frederick, he would have made off, leaving his infantry to their fate. these should now, according to all rules, have surrendered; but they proved unconquerable save by death. seidlitz's cavalry sabred them until fatigued by slaughter, the prussian infantry poured their volleys into them, but they stood immovable and passive, dying where they stood. at one o'clock in the day the battle ceased for a moment. the prussians had marched at three in the morning and, seeing that although half the russian army had been destroyed, the other half had gradually arranged itself into a fresh front of battle, frederick formed his forces again, and brought up his right wing for the attack on the side of the russian quadrilateral which still stood. forward they went, their batteries well in advance; but before the infantry came within musket range, the russian horse and foot rushed forward to the attack, and with such force that they captured one of the batteries, took a whole battalion prisoners, and broke the centre. here were the regiments of dohna, perfectly clean and well accoutred; but, being less accustomed to war than frederick's veterans, they gave way at once before the russian onslaught and, in spite of frederick's efforts to prevent them, fled from the field and could not be rallied until a mile distant from it. the veterans stood firm, however; until seidlitz, returning from pursuit, again hurled his horsemen upon the russian masses, broke them up, and drove their cavalry in headlong flight before him. chapter : another step. the russian infantry being involved in the turmoil and confusion caused by the charge of seidlitz, and the defeat of their cavalry, the prussian infantry again pressed forward, pouring in a heavy fire and charging with the bayonet. three battalions had been drawn from this very country and, maddened by the tales they had heard of cossack cruelty, were not to be denied. the russians, however, keeping their ranks, filling up the gaps as they were formed, and returning as best they could the fire of the prussians, held together with sullen obstinacy. by this time the ammunition on both sides was exhausted, and now the struggle became hand to hand, bayonet against bayonet, butt end of musket to butt end. seldom has so terrible a struggle ever been witnessed. nightfall was approaching. foot by foot the inert russian mass was pushed backwards. one of their generals, demikof, collected some two thousand foot and a thousand horse, and took possession of a knoll; and frederick ordered them to be dispersed again. forcade was ordered to attack them with two battalions, and general rutter to bring up the dohna men again and take them in flank; but the latter had not recovered from their state of demoralization, and at the first cannon shot turned and ran, continuing their flight even further than before, and taking refuge in the woods. frederick instantly dismissed rutter from the service. then, as night had completely fallen, the terrible conflict ceased. fermor by this time, finding that there was no crossing the rivers, had returned. no regiment or battalion of his army remained in order. there was but a confused crowd, which the officers did their best to form into some sort of order, regardless of regiment or battalion. the cossacks scoured the fields under the cover of night, plundering the dead and murdering the wounded, flames marking their path. four hundred of them were caught at their work by the prussian hussars, and every one killed. frederick sent for his tents, and the army pitched its camp, facing the russians; but during the night the latter, having got into a sort of order, moved away to the westward and bivouacked on drewitz heath, facing the battle ground. fermor had some twenty-eight thousand men still with him, while frederick had eighteen thousand. the former's loss had been twenty-one thousand, five hundred and twenty-nine killed, wounded, or missing; of whom eight thousand were killed. that of the prussians was eleven thousand, three hundred and ninety, of whom three thousand six hundred and eighty were killed. thus each side lost a third of its number in this terrible struggle. the next morning the russians got into better order, and drew up in order of battle. a cannonade was for some time kept up on both sides, but the armies were beyond range of artillery. neither party had any real thoughts of fighting. fermor, beaten on his own ground the day before, could not dream of attacking the prussians. the latter were worn out by the fatigues of the previous day. moreover, on each side the musketry ammunition was used up. the hussars, pursuing the cossacks, had in the night come upon the russian waggon train at kleim, and carried off a good deal of portable plunder. the next morning, under cover of a fog, the russians retreated, reached their baggage, and then moved slowly away; and, harassed by dohna, sullenly continued their retreat to the russian frontier. if frederick could have pressed them, he would probably have won another victory; but he had news which called him to hasten away west to join prince henry, as his presence there was urgently required for the defence of saxony. fergus had been with the king, when the dohna regiments gave way before the impetuous charge of the russians; the rest of the staff having been sent away, one after the other, either to bring up seidlitz or to order a fresh movement among the infantry; and as the king rode down to endeavour to restore order, he followed closely behind him. the confusion was terrible. the russian horse, mixed up with the infantry, were sabring and trampling them down. suddenly three of them dashed at the king. fergus, setting spurs to his horse, interposed between them and frederick. one of the russians was ridden over, horse and man, by the impetus of his rush. the other two attacked him furiously, and for a moment he was very hard pressed. he kept his horse prancing and curvetting, and managed to keep both his assailants on his right; until at last he cut one down and, half a minute later, ran the other through the body. "gallantly done, major drummond," the king said quietly as, wheeling his horse, fergus returned back to take his post behind him. "i shall not forget that you have saved my life." then, without further comment, frederick continued his work trying to rally the infantry; ordering, entreating, and even laying the cane he always carried across their shoulders. a minute later there was a thunder of hoofs, and seidlitz burst down upon the russian mass, changing in a moment the fate of the battle. excited by the late encounter, fergus's horse took its bit between its teeth, joined seidlitz's cavalry as they swept past and, in spite of the efforts of its rider, plunged with him into the midst of the fight. for the next few minutes fergus had but slight knowledge of what was going on, he being engaged in a series of hand-to-hand fights with both cavalry and infantry. three times he was wounded, and then the pressure ceased, and he was again galloping across the moors in pursuit of the russian horse. it was not until seidlitz's force drew rein that he recovered the control of his horse. its flank was bleeding from a bayonet gash, and a bullet had gone through its neck. the first wound was of comparatively small consequence, but he feared that the other was serious; but though the horse panted from its exertion and excitement, its breath came regularly; and it was evident that the ball had not hit the spine, for had it done so it would have fallen at once. he turned and rode back with the cavalry, who dismounted a short distance from the scene of action, in readiness to take their part again, should they be required; while he pursued his way to the spot where the king had stationed himself, surrounded by several of his staff. the king glanced at him, and then said: "you are relieved from duty, major drummond. let one of the surgeons see to you, at once." fergus rode but a short distance and then, turning suddenly faint, he slid from his horse to the ground. one of the staff, happening to look round, at once rode back to him. "you had best let me bandage up your wounds roughly," he said. "it will be difficult to find a surgeon, now that they are all up to their eyes in work, somewhere in the rear." fergus had received two severe wounds in the face, and a bayonet thrust through his leg. the officer did his best to stanch the bleeding, and was still occupied in doing so when karl rode up, jumped from his horse, and ran to his master's side. "where have you been, karl?" fergus asked, for the soldier had also received a severe wound in the head. "i followed you, master, as in duty bound; but i was some distance behind you, and in that melee i could not get near you; and being mixed up with one of the squadrons, i did not see you as you came back, and was in a great state about you until, on riding up to the staff, one of the officers pointed you out to me." "i think that you are in good hands now," the officer said. "i will join the king again." fergus thanked him warmly, but in a weak voice. "the first thing, master, is for you to get a drink," karl said; and he took, from the holster of fergus's saddle, a flask that he had placed there that morning. "take a good drink of this," he said, "then i will see to your wounds. it is plain enough to see that that officer knew nothing about them." fergus drank half of the contents of the flask, and then handed it to karl. "you finish it up," he said. "you want it as much as i do." "not so much, master; but i want it badly enough, i own." having drank, he proceeded to rebandage his master's wounds, first laying on them rolls of lint he took from his own saddlebag. "i never go on a campaign without lint and a bandage or two," he said. "many a life has been lost that might easily enough have been saved, had they been at hand." he laid the lint on the wounds, and then bound them firmly and evenly. he had a bandage left, when he had finished this. with the aid of a man who was limping to the rear, he used it for stanching his own wounds. "well, master," he said, "you cannot do better than lie here, for the present. i will look after the horses, and fasten them up to that bush. the battle is going on as fiercely as ever, and looks as if it would go on until dark. if so, there will be no collecting the wounded tonight; but as soon as i see where the king bivouacs, i will get you there somehow." "i shall do very well here--at any rate, for the present, karl. in the meantime, it would be a good thing if you would take the two horses down to the brook, and give them a good drink. you mayn't get a chance later on. as my horse turk is wounded in two places, i have no doubt the poor beast is as thirsty as i am." "the bayonet wound is of no consequence," karl said, after examining the horse's flanks; "except that it has taken a good bit off its value. i don't think this bullet wound through the neck is serious, either." in an hour karl returned, leading the horses. "i feel all the better for a wash, captain. i wish you could have one, too. i have filled my water bottle, but you will want that before morning." by means of the valises and cloaks, fergus was propped up into a half-sitting position; and he remained where he was until, after nightfall, the din of battle ceased. he had eaten a few mouthfuls of bread, and felt stronger; and by the time the tents were pitched, and the bivouac fires lighted, he was able to stand. with karl's assistance he mounted in side-saddle fashion and, karl leading the horses, made for the tents of the king's staff, five hundred yards away. captain diedrich, the officer who shared the tent with fergus, helped karl to lift him down and carry him in. "do you want a surgeon to see you?" "no, they must have thousands of serious cases on hand. i merely fainted from loss of blood. the two wounds in my head cannot be very serious, and karl has bandaged them up as well as a surgeon could do. the worst wound is in my leg. the bayonet went right through it, and for a moment pinned it to the saddle. however, it is but a flesh wound, behind the bone about six inches below the knee. it bled very freely at first, but karl stanched it, and it has not burst out since; so it is evident that no great harm is done." "i will bring you in some wine and water now," diedrich said. "they are getting supper, and i will send you a bowl of soup, as soon as it is ready." after karl had tethered the horses--that of fergus with the others belonging to the staff, and his own with those of the escort and staff orderlies--he sat down at one of the fires, ate his supper--for each man carried three days' provisions in his haversack--and, chatting with his comrades, heard that several of the orderlies had been killed in the fight; and that four of the officers of the royal staff had also fallen under the enemy's fire, as they carried messages through the storm of case shot and bullets. all agreed that never had they seen so terrible a fight, and that well-nigh a third, if not more, of the army had been killed or wounded. "we made a mistake about these russians," one of the troopers said. "they are dirty, and they don't even look like soldiers, but i never saw such obstinate beggars to fight. from the moment the cavalry made their first charge they were beaten, and ought to have given in; but they seemed to know nothing about it, and that second line of theirs charged as if it was but the beginning of a battle. i was never so surprised in my life as when they poured down on us, horse and foot; but all that was nothing to the way they stood, afterwards. if they had been bags of sawdust they could not have been more indifferent to our fire. "that was a bad business of dohna's men. i thought, when we joined them, they looked too spick and span to be any good; but that they should run, almost as fast and far as the men of the federal army at rossbach, is shameful. neither in the last war nor in this has a prussian soldier so disgraced himself. "i don't envy them. i don't suppose a man in the army will speak to them, and we may be sure that it will be a long time, indeed, before our fritz gets over it. it will need some hard fighting, and something desperate in the way of bravery, before he forgives them. "how is your master, karl?" "he will do. he has got three wounds, and lost a lot of blood; but in a fortnight he will be in the saddle again. perhaps less, for he is as hard as steel." "he saved the king's life, karl. i was twenty yards away, and was wedged in so that there was no moving, except backwards; for dohna's men were half mad with fright, and the russians were cutting and slashing in the middle of us." "i saw it," karl said. "i was close to you at the time. i put spurs to my horse and rode over three or four of our own men, and cut down one who grasped my reins; but i got there too late. i had no great fear of the result, though. why, you know, he killed six pomeranians who were looting count eulenfurst's place, close to dresden; and he made short work of those three russians. it was done beautifully, too. they tried to get one on each side of him, but he kept them on his right, and that made a safe thing of it. "he is a quiet, good-tempered officer. there is as much fun about him as a boy, but when his spirit is up, there are not many swordsmen in the army that could match him. why, when he first joined, nearly three years ago, he was in the rd royal dragoons, my own regiment; and i heard the sergeant who was in the fencing room say that there was not an officer in the regiment who was a match for him with the sword. "now i have finished my pipe, and must be going to look after him again." the king's surgeon examined fergus's wounds the next morning, and said that, although he would not be able to sit a horse until his leg had healed, he would otherwise soon be convalescent. soon after he had left him, sir john mitchell came in to see him. as the english ambassador had very often, during the last two winters, met fergus in the king's apartments, at which he himself was a regular visitor, they were by this time well known to each other. mitchell, indeed, regarded fergus as a valuable assistant in his work of interesting frederick, and turning his mind from his many troubles and anxieties. "the surgeon has just given a good account of you to the king, drummond," he said; "and his majesty expressed much satisfaction at hearing that your wounds are not serious. "'that youth is not like most of your compatriots, mitchell,' he said to me with a smile; 'ever ready to fight, but equally ready to join in a drinking bout, should opportunity offer. he is always on horseback, and as hardy and as healthy as can be. with one of the hard-drinking sort, fever might set in; but there is no risk of it with him. "'as i told you, he saved my life yesterday. i was nearly compelled to take to my sword, but that would have been of little avail against the three russians. save for the sake of prussia, my life is of no great value to me, for 'tis one full of care and trouble; but for my country's sake i would fain hold on to it, as long as there is hope for her deliverance from her enemies. "'you can congratulate him on his promotion, mitchell, for i made him a major on the spot. it was a brilliant feat, as brilliant as that which he performed at lobositz, or that at count eulenfurst's house at dresden, each of which got him a step. 'tis not often that an officer gets thrice promoted for distinguished bravery. each time the feat was the talk of the whole army; and it will not be less so at the present time, methinks, nor will any feel jealous at his rapid rise.'" "the king is too kind, your excellency." "i do not think so, drummond. i have marked you a good deal during the last two years, and you have borne yourself well; and as a scotchman i am proud of you. you have the knack of your kinsman keith of entering into the king's humours; of being a bright companion when he is in a good temper, and of holding your tongue when he is put out; of expressing your opinion frankly, and yet never familiarly; and your freshness and hopefulness often, i see, cheer the king, whose prussians cannot, for their lives, help being stiff and formal, or get to talk with him as if he were a human being like themselves. "next to keith and myself, i think that there is no one with whom the king can distract his mind so completely as with you. to him it is like getting a whiff of the fresh air from our scottish hills. he told the surgeon to see that you were sent down with the first batch of wounded officers." the next day, accordingly, while the two armies were watching each other and the cannon were growling, fergus was taken down to frankfort. zorndorf was fought on the th of august; and on the nd of september frederick started with the army for saxony, where prince maurice had been sorely pressed by daun and the newly-raised army of the confederates, and had had to take post on some heights a short distance from dresden. "a bad job, major," karl grumbled as he brought the news to fergus, who was quartered in a private house. "the king has gone to have a slap at daun; and here are we, left behind. if he would have waited another fortnight, we might have been with him." "perhaps we shall get there in time yet, karl. you may be sure that as soon as daun hears that the king is coming he will, as usual, begin to fortify himself; and it will need no small amount of marching and counter-marching to get him to come out and give battle. he was slow and cautious before, but after leuthen he is likely to be doubly so. "however, i will get a tailor here today to measure me for a new uniform. what with blood, and your cutting my breeches to get at my leg, i must certainly get a new outfit before i rejoin. "i hope i shall be with the marshal again. it is a good deal more lively with him than it is with the king's staff; who, although no doubt excellent soldiers, are certainly not lively companions. i do hope there will be no great battle until we get there. i should think i might start in a week." the surgeon, however, would not hear of this; and it was the end of the third week in september before fergus rode from frankfort. the news from the south was so far satisfactory that he had fidgeted less than he would otherwise have done. daun had, in fact, retired hastily from meissen, and had taken post in an almost impregnable position at stolpen. neisse was being besieged and must be relieved, but daun now blocked frederick's way at stolpen, both to that town and to bautzen--cut him off, indeed, from silesia, and for the moment the royal army and that of prince maurice were lying at dresden. fergus, therefore, was content to follow the doctor's orders, and to spend four days on the journey down to dresden. keith was there, and received him joyfully. lindsay greeted him vociferously. "so you have gone up another step above me," he laughed. "never was a fellow with such luck as you have. saved the king's life, i hear. tumbled over scores of russians. won the victory with your own sword." "not quite as much as that, lindsay," fergus laughed. "the scores of cossacks come down to three, of whom one my horse tumbled over, and i managed the other two. still, although the battle was only half finished when i was put out of all further part in it, i may be said in one way to have won it; for had the king fallen, there is no saying how matters might have gone. it is true that we could not have lost it, for the russians were past taking the offensive, but it might have been a drawn battle." "it was a terrible business," lindsay said seriously. "as bad in its way as prague, that is to say in proportion to the numbers engaged. everyone says they would rather fight three austrians than one russian. the marshal has rather scored off the king; for he warned him that, though slow, the russians were formidable foes, but the king scoffed at the idea. he has found out now that he greatly undervalued them, and has owned as much to keith. "i am sorry to say the marshal is not well. he suffers a good deal, and i fancy that, after this campaign is over, he will ask to be relieved from active duty in the field, and will take the command of the army covering dresden. he has led a hard life, you see, and has done as much as three ordinary men. "still, we shall see how he is next spring. it would almost break his heart to have to give up before this war is over." "it is difficult to say when that will be, lindsay. here we are, getting towards the third year, and the war is not one whit nearer to the end than it was when we left berlin. it is true that we have no longer to count france as formidable, but russia has turned out far more so than we expected; and having once taken the matter up, the empress, if she is half as obstinate as her soldiers, is likely to go on at it for a long time. and we are using up our army very fast, and cannot replace our losses as austria and russia can do." "i hope they are not going to make another twenty years' war of it," lindsay said. "if you go on in the way that you are doing, drummond, you will be a field marshal in a third of that time; but you must remember about the proverb of the pitcher and the well." "yes, lindsay, but you must remember that i am having a share of hard knocks. i have been wounded twice now, to say nothing of being stunned and taken prisoner; so you see i am having my share of bad luck, as well as good. now at present you have never had as much as a scratch, and when your bad luck comes, it may come all in a lump." "there is something in that, fergus, though i own that i had not thought of it. well, perhaps it is better to take it in small doses than have it come all at once. "so you have brought your man back safe, i see, though he has had an ugly slash across the cheek. "by the way, i hope that those two sword cuts are not going to leave bad scars, drummond. it would be hard to have your beauty spoilt for life, and you only nineteen; though, fortunately, everyone thinks you two or three years older. however, they will be honourable scars, and women don't mind any disfigurement in a man, if it is got in battle. it is a pity, though, that you did not get them when defending the king's life, instead of in the cavalry charge afterwards. "you brought your horse safe out of the battle, i hope?" "he has, like myself, honourable scars, lindsay. he got an ugly gash on the flank with a bayonet; and i am afraid, when it heals, white hair will grow on it. he had also a bullet through the neck. fortunately it missed both spine and windpipe, and is quite healed up now." "it is really a pity to take such a horse as that under fire," lindsay said regretfully. "well, when one risks one's own life, one ought not to mind risking that of a horse, however valuable." "no, i suppose not. still, it is a pity to ride so valuable an animal. you are paid so much for risking your own life, you see, drummond; but it is no part of the bargain that you should risk that of a horse worth any amount of money." fergus, on his arrival, called at once on count eulenfurst; who, with his wife and daughter, were delighted to see him, for he had now been absent from dresden since frederick had marched against soubise, thirteen months before. "we heard from captain lindsay," the count said, "when the army arrived here, some three weeks since, that you were wounded, but not gravely; also, that for valour shown in defending the king, when he was attacked by three russians, you had been promoted to the rank of major, upon which we congratulate you heartily. and now that you have come, i suppose your king will soon be dashing away with you again. "what a man he is, and what soldiers! i can assure you that sometimes, when i read the bulletins, i am inclined to regret that i was not born two days' journey farther north. and yet, in spite of his fierce blows at all these enemies, there is no sign of peace being any nearer than when you dropped down to our rescue, some twenty-seven months ago. 'tis a terrible war." "it is, indeed, count. certainly, when i crossed the seas to take service here, i little thought how terrible was the struggle that was approaching. if we had known it, i am sure that my mother would never have let me leave home." "she must be terribly uneasy about you," the countess said. "do you hear from her often?" "she writes once a month, and so do i. i get her letters in batches. i know that she must be very anxious, but she says nothing about it in her letters. she declares that she is proud that i am fighting for a protestant prince, so hemmed in by his enemies; and that the thoughts and hopes of all england are with him, and the bells ring as loudly at our victories, through england and scotland, as they do at berlin." "if we of saxony had understood the matter sooner," the count said, "we should be surely fighting now on your side; and indeed, had not frederick compelled his saxon prisoners to serve with him, had he sent them all to their homes, there would have been no animosity and, as protestants, the people would soon have come to see that your cause was their own. most of them do see it, now; for whenever the enemy have entered saxony, they have plundered and ill treated the people, especially the protestants. "are your horses still alive?" "yes, count, and well, save that one was wounded at zorndorf; but for that he cannot blame me, for it was his own doing. when seidlitz charged into the midst of the russians, he passed close to us; and turk, maddened by excitement, seized the bit in his teeth and joined him in the melee. i got three wounds and he had two, but happily he has been cured as rapidly as i have, though with no advantage to the appearance of either of us." "will the scars on your face always show as they do now?" thirza asked. "i am sure i hope not," he said. "at present they are barely healed; but in time, no doubt, the redness will fade out, and they will not show greatly, though i daresay the scars will be always visible." "i should be proud of them, major drummond," said thirza, "considering that you got them in so great a battle, and one in which you rendered such service to the king." "you see, i shall not be always able to explain when and how i got them," fergus laughed. "people who do not know me will say: "'there goes a young student, who has got his face slashed at the university.'" "they could not say that," she said indignantly. "even if you were not in uniform, anyone can see that you are a soldier." "whether or not, countess thirza, it is a matter that will certainly trouble me very little. however, i begin to think that i shall not always be a soldier. certainly, i should not leave the army as long as this war goes on; but i have seen such terrible fighting, such tremendous carnage, that i think that at the end of it, if i come out at the end, i shall be glad to take to a peaceful life. my cousin, marshal keith, has been fighting all his life. he is a great soldier, and has the honour of being regarded by the king as his friend; but he has no home, no peace and quiet, no children growing up to take his place. i should not like to look forward to such a life, and would rather go back and pass my days in the scottish glens where i was brought up." "i think that you are right," the count said seriously. "in ordinary times a soldier's life would be a pleasant one, and he could reckon upon the occasional excitement of war; but such a war as this is beyond all calculation. in these three campaigns, and the present one is not ended, nigh half of the army which marched through here has been killed or wounded. it is terrible to think of. one talks of the chances of war, but this is making death almost a certainty; for if the war continues another two or three years, how few will be left of those who began it! "even now a great battle will probably be fought, in a few days. two great armies are within as many marches of dresden. the smallest of them outnumbers frederick. the other is fully twice his strength, and so intrenched, as i hear, that the position is well-nigh impregnable." "i expect the king will find means to force him out of it, without fighting," fergus said with a smile. "daun is altogether over cautious, and leuthen is not likely to have rendered him more confident." fergus spent the greater part of his time at the count's, for marshal keith insisted upon his abstaining from all duty, until the march began. "we are off tomorrow morning," he said, when he went up on the evening of the th of september. "where, i know not. except the king, marshal keith, and prince maurice, i do not suppose that anyone knows; but wherever it is, we start at daybreak." "may you return, ere long, safe and sound!" the count said. "is there nothing that we can do for you? you know we regard you as one of the family, and there is nothing that would give us greater pleasure than to be able, in some way, to make you comfortable." "i thank you heartily, count, but i need nothing; and if i did i could purchase it, for it is but seldom that one has to put one's hand in one's pocket; and as a captain i have saved the greater part of my pay for the last two years, and shall pile up my hoard still faster, now that i am a major. "i have never had an opportunity, before, of thanking you for that purse which you handed to karl, to be laid out for my benefit in case of need. he holds it still, and i have never had occasion to draw upon it, and hope that i never may have to do so." the next morning the army, furnished with nine days' provisions, and leaving a force to face the army of the confederates, strode along the road at its usual pace. they took the road for bautzen, drove off loudon (who commanded daun's northern outposts) without difficulty, and so passed his flank. the advance guard pushed on to bautzen, drove away the small force there and, leaving there the magazines of the army, occupied hochkirch, a few miles away. the king with the main body arrived at bautzen on the following day, and halted there, to see what daun was going to do. the latter was, in fact, obliged to abandon his stronghold; for the prussians, at hochkirch, menaced the road by which he drew his provisions from his magazines at zittau. marching at night, he reached and occupied a line of hills between hochkirch and zittau, and within a couple of miles of the former place. frederick had been forced to wait, at bautzen, till another convoy of provisions arrived. when he joined the division at hochkirch, and saw daun's army on the opposite hills, busy as usual in intrenching itself, he ordered the army to encamp when they were within a mile of daun's position. marwitz, the staff officer to whom he gave the order, argued and remonstrated, and at length refused to be concerned in the marking out of such an encampment. he was at once put under arrest, and another officer did the work. frederick, in fact, entertained a sovereign contempt for daun, with his slow marches, his perpetual intrenchings, and his obstinate caution; and had no belief, whatever, that the austrian marshal would attempt to attack him. he was in a very bad humour, too, having discovered that retzow had failed to take possession of the stromberg, a detached hill which would have rendered the position a safe one. he put him under arrest, and ordered the stromberg to be occupied. the next morning the force proceeding to do so found, however, that the post was already occupied by austrians; who resisted stoutly and, being largely reinforced, maintained their position on the hill, on which several batteries were placed. it was now tuesday, and frederick determined to march away on the saturday. his obstinacy had placed the army in an altogether untenable and dangerous position. all his officers were extremely uneasy, and keith declared to the king that the austrians deserved to be hanged if they did not attack; to which frederick replied: "we must hope that they are more afraid of us than even of the gallows." chapter : hochkirch. the village of hochkirch stood on a hilltop, with an extensive view for miles round on all sides; save on the south, where hills rose one above another. among these hills was one called the devil's hill, where the primitive country people believed that the devil and his witches held high festival, once a year. frederick's right wing, which was commanded by keith, lay in hochkirch. beyond the village he had four battalions, and a battery of twenty guns on the next height to hochkirch. from this point to the devil's hill extended a thick wood, in which a strong body of croats were lurking. frederick, with the centre, extended four miles to the left of hochkirch. retzow, who had been restored to his command, had ten or twelve thousand men lying in or behind weissenberg, four miles away. frederick's force, with that of keith, amounted to twenty-eight thousand men, and retzow's command was too far away to be considered as available. daun's force, lying within a mile of hochkirch, amounted to ninety thousand men. well might keith say that the austrians deserved to be hanged, if they did not attack. frederick himself was somewhat uneasy, and would have moved away on the friday night, had he not been waiting for the arrival of a convoy of provisions from bautzen. still, he relied upon daun's inactivity. this time, however, his reliance was falsified. all daun's generals were of opinion that it would be disgraceful, were they to stand on the defensive against an army practically less than a third of their force; and their expostulations at length roused daun into activity. once decided, his dispositions were, as usual, excellent. [map: battle of hochkirch] his plan was an able one. he himself, with thirty thousand men, was to start as soon as it was dark on friday evening, sweep round to the south, follow the base of the devil's mountain, and then through the hollows and thick wood till he was close to the force on the right of hochkirch; and was to fall suddenly on them, at five o'clock on saturday morning. the orders were that, as soon as hochkirch was taken, the rest of the army, sixty thousand strong, were to march against frederick, both in front and on his left, and so completely smash and crumple him up. frederick had no premonition of the storm that was gathering. on thursday and friday the austrians were engaged, as usual, in felling trees, forming abattis, throwing up earthworks, and in all ways strengthening their position. everything seemed to show that daun was still bent upon standing upon the defensive only. as the lurking croats and pandoors had, every night, crept up through the brushwood and hollows, and skirmished with the prussian outposts away on the right, scattered firing was not heeded much in hochkirch. fergus had just got up, in the little room he shared with lindsay in the marshal's quarters, a mile north of hochkirch; and was putting on his boots when, a few minutes past five, the sound of firing was heard. "there are the croats, as usual," he said. "what a restless fellow you are, drummond! you have been up, at this unearthly hour, each morning since we got here. it won't be light for another two hours yet. i doubt whether it will be light then. it looks to me as if it were a thick fog." "you are right about my early hours, and i admit i have been restless. it is not a pleasant idea that, but a mile away, there is an army big enough to eat us up; and nothing whatever to prevent their pouncing upon us, at any moment, except two or three batteries. the marshal was saying, last night, he should regard it as the most fortunate escape he ever had, if we drew off safely tonight without being attacked. "that firing is heavier than usual. there go a couple of guns!" "those two advanced pieces are sending a round or two of case shot into the bushes, i suppose," lindsay said drowsily. fergus completed his dressing, and went downstairs and out into the night. here he could hear much better than in the room above; which had but one loophole for air and light, and that was almost stopped up, with a wisp of straw. he could now plainly hear volley firing, and a continued crackle of musketry. he ran upstairs again. "you had better get your things on at once, lindsay. it is a more serious affair than usual. i shall take it upon myself to wake the marshal." he went to keith's door, knocked, and opened it. "who is there? what is it?" the marshal asked. "it is i, drummond, sir. there is heavy firing going on to the right, much heavier than it has been any other night." "what o'clock is it?" "about ten minutes past five, sir. there is a thick mist, and it is pitch dark. shall i go over and inquire what is going on?" "yes, do. i expect that those rascally croats have been reinforced, and are trying to find out whether we are still in our positions." "i will be back as soon as i can, sir." fergus ran round to the low range of sheds in which their horses were stabled. "karl, are you there?" he shouted. "yes, major," a voice said, close at hand. "i am listening to all that firing." "saddle up at once. you may as well ride with me. i am going to see what it is all about." a lantern was burning in the shed, and by its light fergus and the orderly rapidly saddled the horses. "you had better light two more lanterns, karl. leave the one on the wall burning. we will take the others. we shall want them, for one cannot see a horse's length away; and if we had not the sound of firing to guide us, we should soon lose our way altogether." the light enabled them to go at a fairly fast trot, but they trusted rather to their horses' than to their own eyes. the roar and rattle of the firing increased in volume, every minute. "that is more than an affair with the croats, karl." "a good deal more, major. it looks as if the austrians were beating up our quarters in earnest." "it does indeed." when they reached hochkirch they found the troops there astir. the cavalry trumpets were sounding to horse, and the clamour round the village told that the troops encamped there were getting under arms. "do you know what is going on to the right, sir?" fergus asked a field officer, who was in the act of mounting. "marshal keith has sent me to inquire." "not in the least; but as far as i can tell by the sound, they must be attacking us in force, and they seem to be working round in rear of our battery there. the sound is certainly coming this way." "then i will go on to the battery," fergus said. he had ridden but a little way farther, when he was convinced that the officer was right. the crash of musketry volleys rose continuously, but although the boom of guns was mingled with it, there was nothing like the continuous fire that might have been expected from a twenty-gun battery. suddenly from his right a crackle of firing broke out, and then heavy volleys. the bullets sung overhead. "they are attacking us in the rear, sir, sure enough," karl said. "i am afraid they have captured our big battery, karl," fergus said, as he turned his horse. it was but a few hundred yards back to the village but, just as he reached it, a roar of fire broke out from its rear. they could make their way but slowly along the streets, so crowded were they now with infantry who, unable to see until a yard or two away, could not make room for them to pass, as they would otherwise have done for a staff officer. with feverish impatience fergus pushed on, until the road was clear; but even now he had to go comparatively slowly, for unless they kept to the track across the open ground that led to the farmhouse, they must miss it altogether. lights were moving about there as he rode up. keith himself was at the door, and the orderlies were bringing up the horses. "what is it, major drummond?" "it is an attack in force, sir, on the right flank and rear. the enemy have crept up between hochkirch and our battery, and as i came through the village they were attacking it in rear. i cannot say for certain, but i believe that the battery is taken, though there is a heavy infantry fire still going on there." "ride to ziethen, captain lindsay. give him the news, and tell him to fall upon the austrians. "captain cosser and captain gaudy, ride off to the infantry and bring them up at the double. "i will take on the kannaker battalion myself," and he rode down at once to the camp of this battalion, which was but a hundred yards away; despatching others of his staff to hasten up the regiments near. the kannaker battalion was already under arms, and marched off with him as soon as he arrived. "i am going to the left of the village, fergus, and shall make for the battery, which we must retake. do you go first into hochkirch, and see how matters go there. if badly, give my order to the colonel of the first battalion that comes along, and tell him to throw himself into the village and assist to hold it to the last. after that, you must be guided by circumstances. it is doubtful if you will ever find me again, in this black mist." fergus handed his lantern to keith's orderly, who took his place at the side of the marshal as the regiment went off at the double. fergus rode up to the village. it was scarce twenty minutes since he had left it, but it was evident that a furious fight was raging there, and that the austrians had already penetrated some distance into its streets. without hesitation he turned and rode back again and, in a few minutes, met a dark body of men coming along at a rapid run. "where is the colonel?" he asked, reining in his horse suddenly, for he had nearly ridden into the midst of them. "just ahead of us, to the right, sir." in a minute fergus was beside him. by the light that karl carried, he recognized him. "major lange," he said, "i have the marshal's orders that you should march into hochkirch, and hold it to the last. the austrians are already in partial possession of it." "which way is it, major drummond? for in this mist i have almost lost my direction, and there seems to be firing going on everywhere ahead." "i will direct you," fergus said. "i have just come from there;" and he trotted back to the village. as they approached hochkirch it was evident that, although the defenders were still clinging to its outskirts, the greater portion was lost; but with a cheer the battalion rushed forward, and was in a moment fiercely engaged. major lange's horse fell dead under him, struck by an austrian bullet. fergus rode into the first house he came to, dismounted, and left his horse there. "you may as well leave yours here too, karl. we can do no good with them, and should only be in the way. when it begins to get light, we will try and find the marshal. "you may as well get hold of the first musket and ammunition pouch that you can pick up. there will be enough for every man to do to hold this place until more reinforcements come up." a desperate struggle went on in the streets. the prussians who had been driven back joined the battalion just arrived. bayonets and the butt-end of the musket were used, rather than shot; for in the mist friend could not be distinguished from foe five yards away, and it was from their shouts rather than by their uniforms that men knew whether they had one or other in front of them. karl was not long in finding arms and, taking his place in the ranks, was soon at work with the others. the village was almost circular in shape, clustered as it were on the top of the hill. the struggle was not confined to one street, but raged in half a dozen, more or less parallel with each other. gradually the prussians pressed forward, and had more than half cleared the village when their advance was checked by the arrival of fresh battalions of the austrians. then lange threw his men into the church and churchyard, and there stubbornly maintained himself. soon flames burst out from various directions, giving a welcome light to the defenders, and enabling them to keep up so heavy a fire upon the now swarming enemy that they repulsed each attack made upon them. eight battalions of austrians in vain tried to capture the position, attacking it on every side; but the stubborn prussians held firmly to it. meanwhile beyond, as far as the battery, the fight raged. the plothow battalion, which had been stationed in advance of it, had been attacked and enveloped on all sides by the austrians; but had defended themselves splendidly and, though forced back by sheer weight of numbers, had maintained their order and done heavy execution by their fire. the battery had been lost, but those who had been driven out rallied and, with the plothow men, made so furious a rush forward that they hurled the austrians out again. it was but for a few minutes, for such masses of the enemy poured up through the mist that there was no withstanding them, and many of the prussians were taken prisoners. their captivity was of short duration, for through the mist ziethen's horse burst out suddenly into the raging tumult, scattered the austrians, released the prisoners, and were then off to fall upon fresh enemies, as soon as they discovered their position. everywhere isolated combats took place. battalion after battalion, and squadron after squadron, as it arrived, flung itself upon the first enemy it came upon in the darkness. keith, on reaching the battery, again retook it; but again the austrian masses obtained possession. in and around hochkirch, similar desperate struggles were going on. none fled but, falling back until meeting another battalion hastening up, reformed and charged again. ziethen's horse, together with the rest of the cavalry and gendarmes, mingled with staff officers and others who had lost their way, continued to make furious charges against the austrians pressing round the rear of the position, and holding them in check. until its cartridges were all spent, lange's battalion held the churchyard, though its numbers were terribly lessened by the austrian fire. then the major called upon his men to form in a mass, and cut their way through the enemy with the bayonet. this they most gallantly did, losing many; but the remnant emerged from the village, their gallant leader, wounded to death, among them. fergus and karl separated themselves from them, ran to the house where they had left their horses, mounted, and galloped off. by this time the centre was coming up, led by the king himself. as they neared hochkirch a cannonball took off the head of frank of brunswick, the king's youngest brother-in-law. prince maurice of dessau, riding in the dark till within twenty yards of the austrians, was badly hit; and the storm of case and musket bullets that swept the approaches to hochkirch was so terrible that frederick's battalion had to fall back. "the first thing is to find the marshal," fergus said, as he rode out of hochkirch. "he must be somewhere to the right." [illustration: before he could extricate himself, fergus was surrounded by austrians] he galloped on until a flash of fire burst out, a few yards in front. his horse fell dead under him and, before he could extricate himself from it, he was surrounded by austrians. an officer shouted to him to surrender and, seeing the hopelessness of resistance, he at once did so. he looked round and, to his satisfaction, saw nothing of karl. he was placed in the midst of the austrian regiment, under the charge of a sergeant, and told that he would be shot if he tried to escape. frederick, with more battalions that had come up, pushed on; thrusting the austrians back until he had left hochkirch on his left. but by this time it was past eight o'clock, the fog was dispersing, and he saw a great body of austrians on the heights to his right, from waditz to meschduitz, as well as on the whole line of heights on the left. his only line of retreat, therefore, was along at the foot of the dressau heights. these he ordered to be seized, at once. this was done before the austrians could reach the spot, they being hindered by furious charges by ziethen, from the open ground between kumschutz and canitz; and frederick rearranged his front of battle, and waited for retzow to come up with the left wing. the austrians tried several attacks, but with little success. they too had been hindered and confused by the mist, and the force that had been engaged in and round hochkirch had suffered terribly; and they pushed forward but feebly, now that the prussian guns on the heights were able to open fire upon them. retzow was long in coming, for he too had been attacked by twenty thousand men, who had been told off by daun for the purpose. the attack, however, was badly managed and feeble; but it delayed retzow from making a start, when frederick's urgent messages reached him. during this anxious delay the austrians captured frederick's main battery of thirty guns, north of rodewitz; and were beginning to press forward, when retzow came onto the ground and took up a position at belgern, covering frederick's left flank. had he been an hour sooner, he might have saved the heavy battery which lay beyond the range of the guns on the dressau heights, and which frederick could not have supported without bringing on a general battle. then, in a steady and leisurely manner, the king drew off his forces and took up a new position from krewitz to puswietz, carrying off the whole of his baggage; retzow and the troops on the dressau heights covering the movement, until all had passed; daun and his great army standing on their circle of hills, watching, but not interfering with the movement. frederick's rashness had cost him dear. he had lost eight thousand men; five thousand three hundred and eighty-one of them, and a hundred and nineteen officers, killed or prisoners; the rest wounded. he had also lost a hundred and one guns, and most of his tents. of the austrians, three hundred and twenty-five officers and five thousand six hundred and fourteen rank and file were killed or wounded, and a thousand prisoners lost. twenty thousand of their men deserted, during their passage through the dark and intricate woods. fergus remained with the regiment that had captured him until the battle ceased; after which he was taken, under a guard, to the spot where the prussian prisoners were gathered. of these there were fifty-eight officers, the greater part of whom were more or less severely wounded. two of the officers belonged to the kannaker battalion, and from them fergus asked for news of marshal keith. "we fear he is killed," one said. "he led us into the battery, and he was with us after we were driven out again; but after that neither of us saw him. everything was in confusion. we could not see twenty yards, any way. we know that the battalion had suffered terribly. just before we were captured, being with a score of men cut off from the rest by a rush of austrians, a rumour spread that the marshal had been killed; but more than this we cannot tell." two hours later an austrian officer rode up, with orders that the prisoners were to be marched some distance farther to the rear. fergus went up to him and said: "can you tell me, sir, if marshal keith is among the killed? i am one of his aides-de-camp and, moreover, a cousin of his." "yes," the officer said, "he has fallen. his body was recognized by general lacy, who commands here. i am on his staff. the general was greatly affected, for he and the marshal were at one time comrades in arms. the marshal was shot through the heart, and had previously received two other wounds. he was a most gallant soldier, and one highly esteemed by us. he will be buried with all military honours at hochkirch, where he has been carried." fergus was deeply moved. keith had been so uniformly kind that he had come to feel for him almost as a father. he could not speak for a minute, and then said: "would you ask general lacy, sir, to allow me to attend his funeral, both as one of the marshal's staff and as a relation, who loved him very dearly? my name is major drummond." "i will certainly ask him, sir, and have no doubt that he will grant the request." he thereupon gave orders that a young officer should remain with fergus, until an answer was received. he then rode off, and in a few minutes the rest of the prisoners were marched away. in half an hour the officer returned. "general lacy will be glad if you will accompany me to his quarters. he gladly accedes to your request." lacy occupied one of the houses at hochkirch which had been spared by the flames. the aide-de-camp conducted fergus to an empty room. "the general is away at present," he said, "but will see you, as soon as he returns." when alone, fergus burst into tears. it was indeed a heavy loss to him. even before he came out, he had come to regard keith with deep respect and admiration. he had heard so much of him, from his mother, that it seemed to him that their relationship was far closer than it really was, and that keith stood in the position of an uncle rather than of his mother's cousin. since he had been in germany he had been constantly with him, save when he was away with the king; and the genial kindness, the absence of all formality, and the affectionate interest he had shown in him had been almost of a fatherly nature. it was but a poor consolation to know that it was the death keith would, of all others, have chosen; and that, had he survived the campaign, he would probably have been obliged to retire from active service; or to take some quiet command, where his inactivity would speedily have chafed him beyond bearing, after so active and stirring a life. two hours later the officer entered the room, and said that general lacy had returned, and would see him. the general was alone when he was shown into his room, and his face evinced a momentary surprise when his eyes fell on fergus. promotion was not very rapid in the prussian army, and he had expected to see a man of between thirty and forty. the sight of this young officer, with the rank and insignia of major, and wearing on his breast the prussian order, surprised him. "i am sorry indeed for your loss, major drummond," he said in english. "sorry for my own, too; though it may well be that, in any case, keith and i should never have met again. but we were comrades once and, like everyone else, i loved him. what relation was he to you?" "he was my mother's first cousin, general; but they were always dear friends, and have for years written regularly to each other; and it was settled that i should come out to him, as soon as i was old enough. 'tis upwards of two years since i did so, and he has been more like a father than a cousin to me, during that time." "you have gone up the tree fast," general lacy said. "very fast, sir; but i owe it to good fortune, and not to his influence. i was, in each case, promoted by the king himself." "a good judge of men, and not accustomed to give promotion easily. will you tell me how it happened?" "there is not much to tell, sir. on the first occasion, i freed count eulenfurst of some rascals who were maltreating him and his family." "i remember the circumstance," lacy said warmly. "i heard it from a saxon officer, who joined us at the end of the first campaign, after the saxon army was disbanded and the officers were allowed to go free. he was at dresden for a time, and heard the story. it was a gallant business. i think you killed six of them. and what was the next occasion?" "the next followed very quickly, general; and was given for carrying an order to the prussian horse, which enabled them to get back to our lines before the austrian cavalry fell upon them." "i was there," lacy said. "so you were the officer who charged through a squadron of our cavalry, accompanied by a single orderly! you certainly won your promotion fairly there. and where did you get your last step?" "at zorndorf where, in the melee, when the russians broke our ranks, i was fortunate enough to intercept three russian dragoons who were making for the king, who was hemmed in among the infantry he was trying to rally." "a good reason, again, for promotion. well, if you go on, you are likely to rise as high as your cousin. but it is a poor life. as i looked down upon keith's face today, i thought how empty is any honour that adventurers like ourselves can gain. i myself have risen too; but what does it bring? responsibility, toil, the consciousness that a solitary mistake may bring you into disgrace; and that, in any case, the end may be like this: death on a battlefield, fighting in a quarrel in which you have no concern, and of which you may disapprove; a grave soon forgotten; a name scarce known to one's countrymen. it is not worth it." the general spoke in a tone of deep feeling. "i have made up my mind not to continue in the service, after the war is over," fergus said, after a short pause; "although the king has personally been very kind to me and, when the marshal remained in bohemia, he took me on his own staff." "that is right, and as you are young, a few years' further service will do you no harm. it will, indeed, do you good; that is, if you pass through it unharmed. a man who has fought under frederick, and gained no small honour in a service where brave men are common, will be respected when he returns to his home, no matter how small his patrimony may be; and you will be, in all respects, an abler man for these few years of fierce struggle and adventure. "and now, major drummond, i must say goodbye for the present, as i have to ride over to the marshal, and may not return until late this evening. a meal will be served to you shortly, in your room; and if your night has been as short as mine has, you will be ready to turn in early. the funeral will take place tomorrow morning." the next morning, lacy and fergus drummond walked side by side, as chief mourners, after the gun carriage on which the remains of marshal keith were carried to hochkirch church. there was a large military cortege, martial music, and infantry with reversed arms. the many wounded had been carried from the church, and some attempt made to clear away the signs of the strife that had, twenty-four hours before, raged around it. there keith was buried. twelve cannon three times pealed out a parting salute. three times the muskets of the regiment of colleredo fired their volleys. four months later, by the king's orders, the body was conveyed to berlin, and buried in the garrison church with full military pomp and honour. twenty years afterwards, when frederick erected four statues to the most deserving of his generals, keith had his place with schwerin, winterfeld, and seidlitz. "and now," lacy said, when they returned from the funeral to his quarters, "i must send you on after the others. i am sorry to do so, but i have no choice. still, i will write to friends at vienna, and get them to have you included in the first batch of exchanges." an officer was told off to accompany fergus, and a horse was found for him. on the second evening after starting he rejoined the convoy of prisoners; where a message, delivered from general lacy to the officer in charge, caused many small indulgences to be granted to him on the way south. day after day the convoy pursued its way, by short marches, for several of the officers were too severely wounded to travel far. several of these were left at prague. here the greater portion of the others were taken on by the southern road through budweis, the rest turning southeast towards moravia. on the evening before they separated, the commander of the convoy said to fergus: "have you any wish to choose as to which of the fortresses you would be sent to? i can put your name down with either party. some will go to iglau in moravia, the rest to the forts round linz." "i think i would rather go to linz, colonel, as you are good enough to give me the choice." accordingly, the next morning fergus, with twenty officers, continued his way south. the majority proceeded to iglau, to be distributed among the various fortresses of moravia. fergus was much pleased that he had not been sent with that party, for had he by chance been taken to his former place of imprisonment, he would certainly have been recognized, and the strictest precautions taken against his repeating the attempt. on their arrival at linz, the prisoners were formally handed over to the charge of the governor, and distributed among the various outlying forts round the city. ten others were told off to the same prison as fergus. the fort was the one nearest to the river, on the west side of the city; and stood but a hundred yards from the bank, its guns being intended to prevent any passage of the danube, as well as to guard the city against a land attack from that side. it was a strong place but, as it was situated in a flat country, it presented no natural obstacle to an escape. it was surrounded by a broad moat, fed by a cut from the river. on the other side of the moat were two small redoubts, facing west. the fort contained ample barracks for the garrison of three hundred men who occupied it, with bomb proofs in which they could take refuge, in the event of a siege. beyond the moat, a glacis sloped down to another ditch. the cannon were placed in casemates. some of them had been withdrawn, the casemates fitted with massive shutters, and converted into prisons for the use of officers. two captains were lodged in the same casemate with fergus. no light came from without, but there was a low semicircular window over the door. this was very strongly barred, but admitted sufficient light, in the daytime. "not such bad quarters," fergus said, as he looked round. "when the cold weather comes, we shall only have to stuff straw through those bars, leaving one square open for light, and manage to hang a thick curtain across it at night. i suppose they will give us a brazier of charcoal, when it gets a little colder; though indeed, it is cold enough now." "at any rate, we shall have a rest, major; and that will be a treat, after our long marches during the last campaign. i should think that we can sleep the best part of the winter away." "they fasten the shutters pretty securely," fergus went on. "they are three inches of solid oak, and you see these bars are all riveted at each end. i suppose they think that they would have plenty of time to cut the rivet heads off, before any army could approach." in a short time the officer in command of the force came round. he was very civil and courteous, and said that he had already ordered a stove to be sent in, and that they should have some straw laid over the floor. "you will be permitted to take exercise, when you like, upon the rampart overhead," he said. "any reasonable request you make shall be attended to. i regret that the misfortune of war should have placed you in my keeping; for we austrians can appreciate bravery, and we cannot but admit that no braver men are to be found than those in the king of prussia's army. "as to your rations, they must be plain. a certain sum is allowed by government for the cost of each prisoner. i make it go as far as i can, but i often wish that the sum were larger. i may say that you are permitted to order any additions to your food from without, upon payment; but i need hardly add that the orders must pass through the hands of the officer in charge of you, and that everything brought in is rigidly inspected." "have there been any exchanges of prisoners, of late?" one of fergus's companions asked. "no. it is a compliment to you, gentlemen, for our government apparently places a higher value on you than on us, and is very chary of swelling frederick's armies by the release of prisoners. somehow your king seems to make double use of his soldiers. he fights a battle here, then rushes away to meet another enemy, two or three hundred miles off; while when we get an advantage, we seem so satisfied with ourselves that we sit still until we have let its advantages slip from our hands." "may i ask if, by the last news, marshal daun is still near hochkirch?" "he was so, as far as the yesterday's courier brought news. at first we thought that he had won a tremendous victory, and had eaten up frederick's army; but the later news is that the king marched safely away, and so far from being demolished he is now perfectly master of his movements; and ready, no doubt, for another tussle, if we should advance. however, i should imagine that the snow will soon put a stop to active operations." then, bowing courteously, he left them, to pay a visit to the prisoners in the next casemate. chapter : breaking prison. "he seems to be a pleasant fellow," fergus said, "and disposed to do his best to make us comfortable; so if we don't see any chance of getting away, we shall be able to get through the winter very fairly." "you don't think there is any chance of escape, surely, major?" "pray, drop the major, captain stauffen, and let us call each other by our names, while we are here. the discipline of the prussian army is admirable, and must, as a rule, be most stringently maintained by all sorts of forms and observances; but here by our three selves, confined in this casemate for no one can say how long, it is ridiculous that we should be always stiff and ceremonious. you are both some years older than i am. i have had the good fortune to have better opportunities than you have had, and have been promoted accordingly; but while here, let us try and forget all about that, and make things as pleasant all round as possible." the two officers agreed, but not without grave doubts; for to them it was quite a serious matter to relax, even in a prison, the stringent rules that guided the relation of officers to each other in the prussian army. "it is a strong place," fergus went on, "but i don't know that it is as difficult to break out of as the last place i was in." "have you been a prisoner before?" the two officers asked together, for both belonged to a regiment that was not with frederick at lobositz, and had indeed only recently come down from berlin. "yes, i was taken at lobositz and marched to spielberg, and managed to get away from there. it is a long story, and will do to pass away the evening, when we have got the fire and can sit comfortably and talk round it. my cell there was so high in the castle that, with the wall and the rock below, there was a fall of a hundred and fifty feet, at least; so that the difficulties of escape were a good deal greater than they are here--or perhaps i should say seemed to be a good deal greater, for i don't know that they were. "there is the tramp of a sentry outside. i suppose he walks up and down the whole length of the six casemates. i counted them as we came in. we are at one end, which, of course, is an advantage." "why so?" one of the others asked with a puzzled expression of face. "well, you see, the sentry only passes us once to every twice he passes the casemate in the middle, and has his back to us twice as long at a time." "i should not have thought of that," stauffen said. "yes, i can see that if we were escaping through this door, which seems to me impossible, that it would be an advantage;" and he glanced at his companion, as if to say that there was more in this fortunate young officer than they had thought. among the officers who had served throughout with frederick, the manner in which fergus had gained his promotion was well known. his rescue of count eulenfurst and his family was the general subject of talk at dresden, and even putting aside the gallantry of the action, it was considered that the army in general were indebted to him, for having saved them from the disgrace that would have attached to them had this murderous outrage been carried out successfully. the manner in which he had saved half the prussian cavalry from destruction, by his charge through the austrian squadron, had similarly been talked over, in every regiment engaged at lobositz. those who had been at zorndorf were cognizant of the fact that he had gained his majority by saving the king's life, as this had been mentioned in the general orders of the day. the regiment, however, to which the two officers belonged had come down from berlin but six months before; and had formed a part of the command of prince maurice until frederick had returned from zorndorf, and had, with a portion of the force of prince maurice, marched out to compel daun to abandon his impregnable position at stolpen. they had not particularly observed fergus on their journey south; and when, during the last two or three days of the march, they had noticed him, they had regarded him as some fortunate young fellow who had, by royal favour, received extraordinary promotion, and had been pushed up over the heads of older men simply from favouritism. thus their manner towards him had been even more stiff and ceremonious than usual. "do you think, then," stauffen said, "that there is any chance of our making our escape?" "oh, i have not had time to think about it, yet!" fergus laughed. "there is generally a way, if one can but find it out; but i have no doubt that it will take a good deal of thinking before we hit upon it, and if it does nothing else for us, it will be an amusement through the long evenings to have to puzzle it out. there is no hurry, for it is not likely that there will be any more fighting before the army goes into winter quarters; and so that we are there when the campaign opens in the spring, it will be soon enough." the door opened now. two soldiers brought in a stove. it was placed nearly in the centre of the room. the flue went up to the top of the arch, and then turned at right angles, and passed out of the casemate through a hole just over the window. after lighting the stove, they brought in two bundles of rushes and spread them over the floor; and then carried in a tray with dinner, and placed it on the little table. there were three stools standing by the side of the three barrack beds, each placed in a corner of the room. these they carried to the table. the others waited to see upon which side fergus placed his. he put it down on one side. "excuse me, major," stauffen said, changing it--putting him facing the fire, and placing his own on one side, while his companion was opposite to him. then they stood, stiffly waiting, until fergus, with a shrug of his shoulders, took his place. the dinner consisted of a thin soup, followed by the meat of which it had been made, stewed up and served with a good gravy and two sorts of vegetables. the bread was white and good. a bottle of rough country wine was placed by the side of each. "the commandant feeds us better here than i was fed at spielberg," fergus said cheerfully. "if i got broth there i did not get meat; if i had meat i had no broth; and they only gave me half a bottle of wine. the commandant evidently does as he says, and makes the money he gets for our keep go far. let us drink his health, and a better employment to him. he evidently feels being kept here, instead of being with the army in the field. in fact, he is just as much a prisoner as we are, without even the satisfaction of being able to talk over plans for escape. "ah! i see he has sent a box of cigars, too. i finished my last as we rode here today, and was wondering when i should be able to get some more in; also tobacco for my pipe. i hope you both smoke." stauffen and his companion, whose name was ritzer, both did so. "i am glad of that," fergus said. "i think it is very cheery and sociable when everyone smokes, but certainly when only two out of three do, it looks somehow as if the one who does not is left out in the cold. i never smoked until i came out here, two years and a half ago; but there is no doubt that at the end of a day's hard work, or when you have got to do a long ride in the dark, it is very comforting." his efforts to keep the conversation going were not very successful. the two officers were evidently determined to maintain the distinction of rank and, saying to himself that they would probably soon get tired of it, he ceased to attempt to break down the barrier they insisted upon keeping up. after dinner was over they lighted their cigars, and then went out and mounted the steps from the yard to the ramparts. they were soon joined by the officers from the other casemates and, separating into groups, strolled up and down, making remarks on the country round and the town behind them. fergus had at once left his fellow prisoners and joined two or three others with whom he had been previously acquainted, one being a captain of the rd royal dragoons. "you are with stauffen and ritzer, are you not, major?" the latter said. "i have a brother in the same regiment, and so know them. how do you get on with them?" "at present they are rather stiff and distant, and insist upon treating me as the senior officer; which is absurd when we are prisoners, and they are both some fifteen years older than i am. i detest that sort of thing. of course in a great garrison town like berlin or dresden the strict rules of discipline must be observed. i think they are carried altogether too far, but as it is the custom of the service there is nothing to be said about it; but here, as we are all fellows in misfortune, it seems to me simply ridiculous." "it becomes a second nature after a time," the officer said. "the two with me are both lieutenants, and i should feel a little surprised if they did not pay me the usual respect." "yes, but then you are the older man, and would naturally take the lead, in any case. to me, i can assure you, it is most disagreeable to have men much older than myself insisting upon treating me as their superior officer; especially as, their regiment having only recently joined us, i suppose they set me down as some young favourite or other, who has got his promotion over the heads of deserving officers because he is related to someone in power." "they ought to know that there is not much promotion to be gained in that way in our army, major. the king is the last man who would promote anyone for that cause. why, schwerin's son has served for four years and is still a cornet in our regiment! no doubt the king would be glad to promote him if he specially distinguished himself, but as he has had no opportunity of doing so, he will probably work his way up in the regiment as everyone else does." two or three more officers came up and joined the party, and presently captain ronsfeldt strolled away and joined another group. it was not long before he engaged stauffen and ritzer in conversation. "you have major drummond in with you, have you not?" "yes," stauffen said shortly. "who is the young fellow, do you know him?" "yes, he first joined our regiment as junior cornet. it was less than two years and a half ago. i was senior lieutenant at the time, and now i am pretty well up on the list of captains, thanks to the work we have done and the vacancies that death has made." "and that boy has gone over your head, and is now walking about as a major, with the order on his breast. it is enough to make one sick of soldiering. who is he related to?" "he is related to marshal keith," ronsfeldt said quietly. "ah! that explains it." "i don't think you quite understand the case, stauffen. certainly you don't, if you think that there has been any favouritism. i don't think anyone ever heard of frederick promoting a man out of his turn, save for merit; and i suppose there is no one in the army who has won his rank more worthily, and who is more generally recognized as deserving it. i have never heard a single word raised against the honours he has received. "when he rides through the camp men nudge each other and say, 'that young fellow in staff uniform is major drummond;' and there is not a soldier but tries to put a little extra respect into his salute." "are you joking, ronsfeldt?" ritzer asked in astonishment. "i was never less so, ritzer;" and he then gave them an account of the manner in which fergus had obtained his promotion. the two officers were silent when ronsfeldt concluded. "we have made fools of ourselves," stauffen said at last, "and we must apologize, ritzer." "certainly we must," the other agreed heartily. "it seemed to us that his trying to make us put aside the respect due to his rank was a sort of affectation, and really impressed it more disagreeably upon us. we took him for an upstart favourite; though we might have known, had we thought of it, that the king never promotes unduly. who could possibly have believed that a young fellow, not yet twenty, i should say, could have so distinguished himself? it will be a lesson to us both not to judge by appearances." the day was cold and cheerless, and after an hour spent on the rampart most of the party were glad to return to the casemates. fergus was one of the last to go back. to his disgust the two officers rose and saluted formally, as he came in. "we wish," captain stauffen said, "to express to you our deep regret at the unworthy way in which we received your request, this morning, to lay aside the distinction of rank while we are prisoners here. we were both under an error. our regiments having only joined from berlin a short time before the king marched with us to hochkirch, we were altogether ignorant of the manner in which you had gained your rank, and had thought that it was the result of favouritism. we now know your highly distinguished services, and how worthily you have gained each step; and we both sincerely hope that you will overlook our boorish conduct, and will endeavour to forget the manner in which we received your kindly advances." "say no more about it, gentlemen," fergus replied heartily. "i have had luck, and availed myself of it, as assuredly you would have done had the same opportunities occurred to you. i can quite understand that it seemed to you monstrous that, at my age, i should be your senior officer. i feel it myself. i am often inclined to regret that i should thus have been unduly pushed up. "however, let us say no more about it. i do hope that we shall be as three good comrades together; and that, within this casemate at any rate, there will be no question whatever of rank, and that you will call me drummond, as i shall call you both by your names. "now, let us shake hands over the bargain. let us draw our stools round the stove and have a comfortable talk. "i have been speaking to major leiberkuhn about ordering things. he tells me that the commandant says that one list must be made. on this the orders of each of the casemates must be put down separately. a sergeant will go out every day with it. money must be given to him to cover the full extent of the orders. he will return the change, each day, when he hands in the articles required. "i have ordered some tobacco, some better cigars than these, and three bottles of good hungarian wine. the sergeant is going in half an hour, so we shall be able to enjoy our chat this evening. i always take the precaution of carrying twenty golden fredericks, sewn up in the lining of my tunic. it comes in very useful, in case of an emergency of this kind." "i am afraid that neither of us has imitated your forethought," ritzer said with a laugh. "i have only my last month's pay in my pocket, and stauffen is no better off." "ah, well! with thirty pounds among us, we shall do very well," fergus said. "we must be careful because, if we do make our escape, we shall want money to get disguises." "you are not really in earnest, drummond," stauffen said, "in what you say about escaping?" "i am quite in earnest about getting away, if i see a chance; though i admit that, at present, the matter seems a little difficult." "perhaps if you will tell us about your escape from spielberg, we shall be able to get a hint from it." they now drew up their seats round the stove, and fergus told them in detail the manner of his escape, omitting only the name of the noblemen at vienna who had assisted him. "it was excellently done," ritzer said warmly. "your making off in that austrian uniform, at the only moment when such a thing could be done, was certainly a masterly stroke." "so was the taking of the post horses," stauffen agreed, "and your getting a disguise from the postmaster. i should like to have seen the austrian's look of surprise, when he got his uniform back again. "i am afraid that your adventures do not afford us any hint for getting away from here. even you will admit that three austrian uniforms could not be secured, and the tale by which you procured the post horses would hardly hold good in the case of three." "no, if we get away at all it must be done in an entirely different manner. the place is not so difficult to get out of as spielberg was, for with patience we could certainly manage to cut off the rivet heads of the bars. but i don't see, at present, how we could cross this wide moat, with a sentry pacing up and down thirty feet above us; nor climb up the brick wall on the other side, without making a noise. that done, of course we could, on a dark night, cross the glacis and swim the outer moat. all that accomplished, the question of disguises will come in. just at present it is not very easy to see how that is to be managed. "can you swim?" both officers replied in the affirmative. "well, that is something gained. as to the rest, we need not bother about it, at present. we are not uncomfortable where we are, and if we get back in time for the next campaign, that is all that really matters." the others laughed at the confident tone in which he spoke, but after hearing the details of the prior attempt, it seemed to them that their companion was capable of accomplishing what almost seemed to be impossibilities. they had, they knew, very slight chance of being exchanged so long as the war lasted. a few general officers, or others whose families possessed great influence, were occasionally exchanged; but it was evidently the policy of austria to retain all prisoners. in the first place she desired to reduce frederick's fighting force, and in the second, the number of austrians taken had been very much larger than that of the prussians captured, and the support of some fifteen or twenty thousand prisoners of war added to the drain on frederick's resources. three campaigns had passed without materially altering the position of the combatants, and as many more might elapse before the war came to an end. indeed, there was no saying how long it might last, and the prospect was so unpleasant that the two officers were inclined to run a very considerable risk in attempting to obtain freedom. a week later the snow began to fall heavily, and the moat froze. "there is no getting across that without being seen, even on the darkest night," fergus said, as he walked up and down the rampart with his two companions, "unless the sentry was sound asleep; and in such weather as this, that is the last thing likely to happen. unless something altogether unexpected occurs, we shall have to postpone action till spring comes. "now that we have bought some books we can pass the time away comfortably. it was a happy thought of major leiberkuhn that each of us should buy one book, so that altogether we have got some forty between us; which, taking our reading quietly, will last us for a couple of months. they mayn't be all equally interesting; but as the sergeant bought them second-hand, at about half a franc a volume, we can lay in another stock without hurting ourselves, whenever we choose." a few days later they bought several sets of draughts, chessmen, and dominoes, and a dozen packs of cards. this had been arranged at a general meeting, held in the major's casemate. strict rules had been laid down that there should be no playing for money. several of the prisoners had had only a few marks in their pockets when captured. they agreed to meet at three o'clock, in two of the casemates by turn, as one would not hold the whole number. this made a great break in their day. it would have been better if the meeting had been held in the evening; but the regulation that, during the winter months, they were locked up at five, prevented this being adopted. so the cold weather passed not altogether unpleasantly. the strict rule that every case in which the slightest difference of opinion arose should, at once, be submitted to the adjudication of major leiberkuhn and the senior officer of the casemate in which it occurred, effectually prevented all disputes and quarrels over the cards and other games; and their good fellowship remained, therefore, unbroken. in march the sun gained power, the snow and ice began to melt, and fergus again began to think how an escape could be effected. "i can think of only one plan," he said to his two companions, one evening. "it is clear that it is altogether hopeless to think of getting out by the door but, as we agreed, it would be possible to chip off the heads of the rivets, unbar the shutters, and let ourselves down into the moat. if we were to make our way along at the foot of the wall, the chance of our being seen by the sentry above would be very slight; for of course we should choose a night when the wind was blowing hard, and the water ruffled. in that case any splash we might make would not be heard. "swimming along to the corner of this face of the fort, we would turn and keep along until we reached the spot where the cut runs to the river. crossing the moat to that would be the most dangerous part of the business, and we ought, if possible, to dive across. there is a low wall there, and a cheval-de-frise on the top of it. we should have to get out by the side of that, and then either swim along the cut, or crawl along the edge of it till we get to the river. "then we must crawl along under the shelter of its banks towards the town, till we get to a boat hauled up, or swim to one moored a little way out in the stream. then we must row up the river for some distance, and land." "that all seems possible enough, drummond," captain ritzer said; "but what about our uniforms?" "we must leave them behind, and swim in our underclothes. i should say we should take a couple of suits with us. we could make them up into bundles, and carry them on our heads while we swim. of course, if we take them we shall not be able to dive; but must swim across the moat to the cut, and trust to the darkness for the sentries not seeing us. then, once on board a boat, we could take off our wet things and put the dry ones on." "but we can hardly wander about the country in shirts and drawers, drummond," stauffen suggested. "certainly not. my idea is that, as soon as we are a mile or two away, we should either board some boat where we see a light, and overpower the boatmen and take their clothes, if they will not sell them to us; or else land at some quiet house, and rig ourselves out. there should be no great difficulty about that. once rigged out we must make south, for as soon as our escape is found out the next morning, cavalry will scour the country in every direction on this side of the river, and give notice of our escape at every town and village. "after lying up quiet for a time, we must journey at least fifty miles west. we might make for munich if we like; or strike the isar at landshut, and then work up through ratisbon, and then through the fichtel mountains to bayreuth, and so into saxony; or from landshut we can cross the bohmerwald mountains into bohemia; or, if we like, from munich we can keep west into wuertemberg, up through hesse-darmstadt and cassel into hanover; or, lastly, we can go on to mannheim and down the rhine, and then come round by sea to hamburg." the others laughed. "it looks a tremendous business, anyhow, drummond, and i should never think of attempting it by myself," ritzer said; "but if you assure me that you think it will be possible, i am ready to try it." "i think that there is every chance of success, ritzer. i really do not see why it should fail. of course there is risk in it, but once fairly on the other side of the moat, and on the river bank, it seems comparatively safe. we can see that there are always a lot of boats moored in the stream, this side of the bridge; and by taking a small boat, we might put off to one of them and get our change of clothes, at once bind and gag the crew--there are not likely to be above two or three of them--give them a piece of gold to pay for the clothes, and then row straight up the river and land a mile or two away. that would make it plain sailing. "of course we should push the boat off when we landed, and it would float down past the town before daylight. the chances are that the boatmen, finding that they are no losers by the affair, would make no complaint to the authorities; but even if they did, we should be far beyond their reach by that time. all we have got to do is to choose a really dark night, with wind and rain. "the first job to be done is to get the heads off these rivets. i have examined them carefully. they are roughly done, and i don't fancy that the iron is very hard; and our knives will, i think, make a comparatively short job of it." "we could not work at night," ritzer said. "the sentry in front would hear the noise." "i think of sawing the heads off," fergus said. "with the help of a little oil, i fancy the steel will cut through the iron. yesterday i tapped the edge of my knife against the edge of the stone parapet--it is good steel, but very brittle--and i managed to make a pretty fair saw of it. tomorrow i will do yours, if you like." all carried clasp knives for cutting their food with, when serving in the field. they had oil which they had bought for dressing salads with, and fergus at once attacked one of the rivets. "it cuts," he said, after three or four minutes' work. "of course it will be a long job, but we ought to do it in a week. there are three bars, and if we cut the rivets at one end of each, i have no doubt we shall be able to turn the bars on the rivets at the other end." they relieved each other at short intervals, and worked the greater part of the night. at the end of that time the head of one of the rivets was cut almost through. "we will leave it as it is now," fergus said. "a quarter of an hour's work will take it off. as it is, no one would notice what has been done, unless he inspected it closely." greatly encouraged by this success, the others now entered warmly into his plans. using his knife instead of a stone, he was able the next day to convert their knives into much better saws than his own had been; and the other two rivets were cut in a much shorter time than the first. they waited another week and then the wind began to rise, and by evening half a gale was blowing, and the rain falling heavily. there was no moon, and the night would be admirably suited for their purpose. their supper was brought in at six o'clock. knowing that they would not be visited again until the morning, they at once began work. as soon as they had finished cutting one rivet they tried the bar, and their united strength was quite sufficient to bend it far enough to allow it being withdrawn from the rivet; then, throwing their weight upon it, it turned upon the bolt at the other end, until it hung perpendicularly. in another half hour the other two bars were similarly removed, and the heavy shutters opened. they were closed again, until their preparations were complete. first they ate their supper, then sat and talked until nine. then they knotted their sheets together, and tied the underclothes into bundles. "the austrian government will be no losers," fergus laughed. "they will get three prussian uniforms, instead of six suits of prison underclothing. now, shall i go first, or will one of you?" "we will go according to rank," ritzer laughed. "very well. now mind, gentlemen, whatever you do, take the water quietly. i will wait until you are both down, then we will follow each other closely, so that we can help one another if necessary. i can hardly see the water from here; and the sentry, being twice as far off from it as we are, will see it less. besides, i think it likely that they will be standing in their sentry boxes, in such a rain as this; and i feel confident that we shall get across without being seen. the river is high, and the opposite wall of the moat is only a foot above the water, so we shall have no difficulty in getting out on the other side. "i have the money sewn in a small bag round my neck. we may as well take our knives with us. they will help us to tackle the boatmen. i think that is everything. now, we will be off." fastening the sheet firmly to one of the bars, he swung himself out, slid down the rope quietly and noiselessly, and entered the water, which was so cold that it almost took his breath away. he swam a stroke or two along the wall, and waited until joined by both his comrades. their casemate being the end one, they had but some ten or twelve yards to swim to the angle of the wall. another fifty took them to a point facing the cut. fergus had paced it on the rampart above, and calculated that each stroke would take them a yard. it was too dark to see more than the dim line of the wall on the other side. he waited until the others joined him. "are you all right?" he asked, in a low voice. "yes, but this cold is frightful." "we shall soon be out of it," he said. "wait till i have gone a few yards, and then follow, one after the other." the surface of the moat was so ruffled by the wind that fergus had little fear of being seen, even if the sentry above was out and watching; but he felt sure that he would be in his sentry box, and so swam boldly across. he at once climbed onto the lower wall, and helped his two companions out. they were completely numbed by the cold. "come along," he said. "we are on the lower side of the cut. crawl for a short distance, then we can get up and run, which will be the best thing for us." in three minutes they were up on the river bank. "now we can change our clothes," he said. "the others will soon get wet through, but they won't be as cold as these are." the things were soon stripped off. each gave himself a rub with one of the dry shirts, and they were soon dressed in the double suits and stockings. "that is better," fergus said cheerfully. "now for a run along the towing path." a quarter of a mile's run and circulation was restored, and all felt comparatively comfortable. they had, at the suggestion of fergus, wrung out the things they had taken off; and thrown them over their shoulders, so as to afford some protection against the rain. they now dropped into a slower pace and, after going for a mile, they neared the spot where the craft were lying moored in the river. several small boats were drawn up on the shore. one of these they launched, put out the oars, and rowed quietly to a large barge, fifty yards from the bank, on which a light was burning. taking pains to prevent the boat striking her side, they stepped on board, fastened the head rope, and proceeded aft. a light was burning in the cabin and, looking through a little round window in the door, they saw three boatmen sitting there, smoking and playing cards. they opened their knives, slid back the door, and stepped in. chapter : escaped. so astonishing was the spectacle of three lightly-clad men, appearing suddenly on board a craft moored out on the river, that the three boatmen sat immovable, in the attitudes in which they had been sitting at the entry of these strange visitors, without uttering a word. superstitious by nature, they doubted whether there was not something supernatural in the appearance of the three strangers. "if you cry out or make the slightest sound," fergus said, showing his knife, "you are all dead men. if you sit quiet and do as we order you, no harm will come to you. we want clothes. if you have spare ones you can hand them to us. if not, we must take those you have on. we are not robbers, and don't want to steal them. if you will fix a fair price on the things, we will pay for them. but you must in any case submit to be bound and gagged till morning; when, on going on deck, you will find no difficulty in attracting the attention of some of your comrades, who will at once release you. "keep your hands on the table while my friends take away your knives. if one of you moves a hand, he is as good as a dead man." his companions removed the knives from the belts of the two men sitting outside, and then fergus said to the third man: "now, hand over your knife. that will do. "now, which of you is the captain?" "i am," the man sitting farthest from the door said. "very well. now, have you spare clothes on board?" "yes, my lord," he replied, in a tone that showed that he had not yet recovered from his first stupefaction, "we have our sunday suits." "we don't want them," fergus said. "we want the three suits that you have on. what do you value them at?" "anything you like, my lord." "no, i want to know how much they cost when new." the man asked his two comrades, and then mentioned the total. "very well, we will give you that. then you will have no reason for grumbling, for you will get three new suits for three old ones. "now do you--" and he touched the man nearest to him "--take off your coat, waistcoat, breeches, neck handkerchief, and boots, and then get into that bunk." the man did as he was ordered, as did the other two, in succession. as they did so, captain ritzer had gone up on deck and returned with a coil of thin rope that he had cut off. with this they tied the men securely. "there is no occasion to gag them, i think," fergus said. "they might shout as loud as they liked and, with this wind blowing, no one would hear them; or if anyone did hear them, he would take it for the shouting of a drunken man. "now, look here, my men. here is the money to buy the new clothes. we have not ill treated you in any way, have we?" "no, sir, we are quite satisfied." "now, i should advise you, in the morning, to manage to untie each other. we shall fasten the door up as we go out, but you will have no difficulty in bursting that open, when you are once untied. "now i ask you, as you are satisfied, to say nothing about this affair to anyone. it would only make you a joke among your comrades, and could do you no good. the best thing that you can do, when you get free, will be to dress yourselves in your sunday clothes, take your boat ashore, and buy new things in the place of those we have taken." "that is what we shall do, sir. no one would believe us, if we told them that three men had come on board and taken our old clothes, and given us money to buy new ones in their place." the three boatmen were all tall and brawny bavarians, and their clothes fitted fergus and his companions well. fishermen's hats completed their costume. the little cabin had been almost oppressively warm, and they had completely got over their chill when they left it, closing the door behind them. they took their places in the boat, crossed to the opposite shore, which was to some extent sheltered from the wind, and rowed some three miles up. then they landed, pushed the boat off into the stream, kept along the bank until they came to a road branching off to the left, and followed it until it struck the main road, a few hundred yards away; and then walked west. there had been but few words spoken since they left the barge. it had been hard work rowing against wind and stream. the oars were clumsy, and it had needed all their efforts to keep the boat's head straight. now that they were in the main road, they were somewhat more sheltered. "well, drummond, we have accomplished what seemed to me, in spite of your confidence, well-nigh impossible. we have got out, we have obtained disguises, and we have eight or nine hours before our escape can be discovered. i shall believe anything you tell me, in future," ritzer said. "yes," his companion agreed, "i never believed that we should succeed; though, as you had set your heart on it, i did not like to hang back. but it really did seem to me a wild scheme, altogether. i thought possibly we might get out of the fort, but i believed that your plan of getting disguises would break down altogether. the rest seemed comparatively easy. "the rain has ceased, and the stars are coming out, which is a comfort indeed. one was often wet through, for days together, when campaigning; but after five months' coddling, an eight hours' tramp in a blinding rain would have been very unpleasant, especially as we have no change of clothes. "now, commanding officer, what is to be our next tale?" "that is simple enough," fergus said with a laugh. "we have been down with a raft of timber from the mountains, and are on our way back. that must be our story till we have passed ratisbon. there is but one objection, and that is a serious one. as raftsmen we should certainly speak the bavarian dialect, which none of us can do. for that reason i think it would be safer to leave the danube at passau, and make down through munich. we should be at passau tomorrow morning, and can put up at any little place by the riverside. two days' walking will take us to munich. "certainly no one would suspect us of being escaped prisoners. we can get some other clothes tomorrow morning, and finish the rest of our journey as countrymen. "the principal thing will be to get rid of these high boots. i think in other respects there is nothing very distinctive about our dress. it will be more difficult to concoct a story, but we must hope that we sha'n't be asked many questions, and i see no reason why we should be. we shall look like peasants going from a country village to a town, but if we could hit upon some story to account for our not speaking the dialect, it would of course be a great advantage." they walked along in silence for some time. then he went on: "i should say we might give out that we are three saxons who, having been forced at pirna to enter the prussian army, had been taken prisoners at hochkirch and had been marched down with the others to vienna; and that there, on stating who we were and how we had been forced against our will into frederick's army, we were at once released, and are now on our way back to saxony; and are tramping through bavaria, so as to avoid the risk of being seized and compelled to serve either in the austrian army or the prussian; and that we are working our way, doing a job wherever we can get a day or two's employment, but that at present, having worked for a time at vienna, we are able to go on for a bit without doing so. "i think with that story we could keep to the plan of going up through ratisbon. it would be immensely shorter, and the story would be more probable than that we should make such a big detour to get home." "yes, i should think that would do well," ritzer said, "and will shorten the way by two hundred miles. but after leaving passau, i should think that we had better not follow the direct road until we get to ratisbon. "i grant that as far as that town we ought to be quite safe, for there is no chance of their finding out that we have escaped until eight o'clock in the morning; then our colonel will have to report the matter to the commandant in the town. no doubt he will send off a small party of cavalry, by the freyberg road to budweis, to order the authorities there to keep a sharp lookout for three men passing north. but i doubt very much whether they will think of sending in this direction. the escape of three prussian officers is, after all, no very important matter. still, one cannot be too careful, for possibly the commandant may send to munich, ratisbon, and vienna. "it is more likely, however, that the search will be made principally in and round linz. they will feel quite sure that we cannot possibly have obtained any disguises, and must have gone off in our undergarments; and they will reckon that we should naturally have hidden up in some outhouse, or country loft, until we could find some opportunity for obtaining clothes. most likely the barge went on this morning, before the alarm had been given; but even if it didn't, boatmen would not be likely to hear of the escape of three prisoners. "no, i think beyond passau we shall be quite safe, as far as pursuit goes; but it will be best to halt there only long enough to take a good meal, and then to go on for a bit, and stop at some quiet riverside village." "i don't think i shall be able to go very far," ritzer said. "these boots are a great deal too large for me, and are chafing my feet horribly. the road is good and level; and i was thinking, just now, of taking them off and carrying them." "that would be the best way, by far," fergus said. "i should think at passau we are sure to find a boat going up to ratisbon, and that will settle the difficulty." the distance was some thirty miles and, making one or two halts for a rest, they reached passau just as morning was breaking. in a short time the little inns by the river opened their doors, and the riverside was astir. they went into one of the inns and ate a hearty meal, then they went down to the waterside, and found that there were several country boats going up the river. they soon bargained for a passage, and had just time to buy a basket of bread, sausage, and cheese, with half a dozen bottles of wine, before the boat started. there were no other passengers on board and, telling the story they had agreed upon, they were soon on good terms with the boatmen. including the windings of the river, it was some eighty miles to ratisbon. the boat was towed by two horses, and glided pleasantly along, taking three days on the passage. they bought food at the villages where the craft lay up for the night, and arrived at ratisbon at nine o'clock in the evening. there they found no difficulty in obtaining a lodging at a small inn, where no questions, whatever, were asked. a short day's journey took them to neumarkt, a tramp of upwards of twenty miles. it was a longer journey on to bamberg, and two days later, to their satisfaction, they entered coburg. they were now out of bavaria, and had escaped all difficulties as to the dialect far better than they had anticipated, never having been asked any questions since they left the boat at ratisbon. they had now only to say that they were on their way to join the confederate army that was again being gathered; but they preferred avoiding all questions, by walking by night and resting at little wayside inns during the day. avoiding all towns, for the troops were beginning to move, they crossed the saxon frontier three days after leaving coburg, and then travelled by easy stages to dresden. here they went straight to the headquarters of the commandant of the town, and reported themselves to him. fergus had personal acquaintances on his staff, and had no difficulty in obtaining, for himself and his companions, an advance of a portion of the pay due to them, in order that they might obtain new outfits. this took a couple of days, and the two captains then said goodbye to fergus, with many warm acknowledgments for the manner in which he had enabled them to regain their freedom--expressions all the more earnest since they heard that the austrians had decided that, in future, they would make no exchanges whatever of prisoners--and started to rejoin their regiments. fergus felt strangely lonely when they had left him. the king was at breslau. keith was lying dead in hochkirch. what had become of lindsay he knew not, nor did he know to whom he ought to report himself, or where karl might be with his remaining charger and belongings. hitherto at dresden he had felt at home. now, save for count eulenfurst and his family, he was a stranger in the place. naturally, therefore, he went out to their chateau. here he was received with the same warmth as usual. "of course we heard of your capture at hochkirch," the count said, "though not for many weeks afterwards. we were alarmed when the news came of the marshal's death, for as it was upon his division that the brunt of the battle had fallen, we feared greatly for you. at last came the list the austrians had sent in of the prisoners they had taken, and we were delighted to see your name in it; though, as the austrians have been so chary of late of exchanging prisoners, we feared that we might not see you for some time. however, remembering how you got out of spielberg, we did not despair of seeing you back in the spring. "thirza was especially confident. i believe she conceives you capable of achieving impossibilities. however, you have justified her faith in you. "supper will be served in a few minutes, and as no doubt your story is, as usual, a long one, we will not begin it until we have finished the meal. but tell us first, how were you captured?" "i was riding through the mist to find the marshal; whom i had not seen for two hours, as i was with the regiment that defended the church at hochkirch, and then cut its way out through the austrians. the mist was so thick that i could not see ten yards ahead, and rode plump into an austrian battalion. they fired a volley that killed poor turk, and before i could get on my feet i was surrounded and taken prisoner--not a very heroic way, i must admit." "a much pleasanter way, though, than that of being badly wounded, and so found on the field by the enemy," the countess said; "and you were fortunate, indeed, in getting through that terrible battle unhurt." "i was, indeed, countess; but i would far rather have lost a limb than my dear friend and relation, the marshal. i was allowed to attend his funeral the next day. the austrians paid him every honour and, though i have mourned for him most deeply, i cannot but feel that it was the death he would himself have chosen. he had been ailing for some months, and had twice been obliged to leave his command and rest. it would, in any case, probably have been his last campaign; and after such a wonderfully adventurous life as he had led, he would have felt being laid upon the shelf sorely." "his elder brother--earl marischal in scotland, is he not?--who has been governor for some years at neufchatel, is with the king at breslau, at present. they say the king was greatly affected at the loss of the marshal who, since schwerin's death, has been his most trusted general." "i have never seen the marshal's brother," fergus said, "though i know that they were greatly attached to each other. i hope that he will be at breslau when i get there. i shall go and report myself to the king, after i have had a few days' rest here. at present i seem altogether unattached. the marshal's staff is, of course, broken up; but as i served on the king's own staff twice, during the last campaign, i trust that he will put me on it again." "that he will do, of course," the count said. "after saving his life at zorndorf, he is sure to do so." supper was now announced, and after it had been removed and the party drew round the fire, fergus told them the story of his escape. "it was excellently managed," the count said, when he had finished. "i do not know that it was quite as dramatic as your escape from spielberg, but i should think that, of the two, the escape from linz must have seemed the most hopeless. the plan of getting the shutters open and of swimming the moat might have occurred to anyone; but the fact that you were in uniform, and that it would have been impossible to smuggle in a disguise, would have appeared to most men an insuperable obstacle to carrying out the plan. "you certainly are wonderfully full of resource. as a rule, i should think that it is much more difficult for two men to make their escape from a place than it is for one alone; but it did not seem to be so, in this case." "it certainly did not add to the difficulty of getting out of the fort, count. indeed, in one respect it rendered it more easy. there were three of us to work at the heads of the rivets, and it certainly facilitated our getting clothes from the boatmen, besides rendering the journey much more pleasant than it would have been for one of us alone. "on the other hand, it would have been impossible to carry out the escape from spielberg in the manner i did, if i had had two officers with me in the cell. we could not have hoped to obtain three uniforms, could hardly have expected all to slip by the sentry unnoticed. lastly, the three of us could not have got post horses. still, it is quite possible that we might have escaped in some other manner." "then you have not the most remote idea where you will find your servant and horse?" "not the slightest. if captain lindsay got safely through the battle of hochkirch, i should say that my man would stick by him. his servant, a tough scotchman, and karl are great chums; and i have no doubt that, unless he received positive orders to the contrary, karl has kept company with him." "of course you can find out, from the authorities here, who has taken command of marshal keith's division; and might possibly hear whether he took over the marshal's personal staff, or whether he brought his own officers with him." "yes, i should think i might do that, count. i think i shall in any case report myself to the king; but if lindsay were stationed at any place i could pass through, on my way to breslau, i would pick up karl and my horse." "i shall of course send you another horse tomorrow," the count said. "no, no, it is of no use your saying anything against it. it was settled that i should supply you with mounts, while the war lasted, and i intend to carry that out fully. i don't know that i have another in my stables here that is quite equal to the other pair, but there are two or three that approach them very nearly. if you can get a mounted orderly, well and good; if not, i will lend you one of my men. any of my grooms would be delighted to go with you, for all regard you as the saviour of our lives. "i am afraid, my friend, you will not be able to pay us many more visits. your king is a miracle of steadfastness, of energy, and rapidity; but even he cannot perform impossibilities. leave out the russians, and i believe that he would be more than a match for the austrians, who are hampered by the slowness of their generals; but russia cannot be ignored. in the first campaign she was non-existent, in the second she annexed east prussia. this year you have had a deadly tussle with her, next year she may be still more formidable; and i do not believe that frederick with all his skill, and with the splendid valour his troops show, can keep the russians from advancing still further into the country, and at the same time prevent the austrians and the federal army from snatching dresden from his grasp. "i myself should regret this deeply. prussia, although she taxes the population heavily, at least permits no disorders nor ill treatment of the people, no plundering of the villages; while the austrians, croats, and pandoors will spread like a swarm of hornets over the land, and the state of the saxons under their so-called rescuers will be infinitely worse than it has been under their conquerors." "it would be a heavy blow to the king to lose dresden," fergus agreed, "but i am by no means sure that he would not be better without it; except, of course, that it would bring the enemy so much nearer to berlin, otherwise the loss of saxony would be a benefit to him. during all his movements, and in all his combinations, he is forced to keep an eye on dresden. at one moment it is soubise, with his mixed army of french, austrians, and confederate troops, who have to be met and, leaving all else, frederick is forced to march away two or three hundred miles, and waste two or three precious months before he can get a blow at them. then he has to leave a considerable force to prevent them gathering again, while he hurries back to prevent daun from besieging dresden, or to wrest silesia again out of his hands. saxony lost, he could devote his whole mind and his whole power to the russian and austrian armies; who will no doubt, at the next campaign, endeavour to act together; and the nearer they are to each other, the more easily and rapidly can he strike blows at them alternately." "perhaps you are right," the count said, "and certainly the austrians would have to keep a considerable force to garrison dresden and hold saxony; for they would be sure that, at the very first opportunity, frederick would be among them raining his blows rapidly and heavily. as to any advance north, they would not dare attempt it; for frederick, who can move more than twice as fast as any austrian army, would fall on their flank or rear and annihilate them. "still, the blow would be undoubtedly a heavy one for the king, inasmuch as it would greatly raise the spirits of his enemies, and would seem to show them that the end was approaching." "i think the end is a good way off still, count. even if the russians and austrians marched across prussia, they would hold little more than the ground they stood on. frederick would be ever hovering round them, attacking them on every opportunity, and preventing them from sending off detached columns; while the cavalry of ziethen and seidlitz would effectually prevent cossacks and croats from going out to gather stores for the armies, and to plunder and massacre on their own account. i doubt whether anything short of the annihilation of his army would break the king's spirit and, so far as i can see, that is by no means likely to take place." "however, the point at present, my friend, is that if the austrians get dresden, it may be long before we see you again." "i fancy that when the army goes into winter quarters again, if i am able to get leave of absence, i shall do myself the pleasure of paying you a visit, whether the city has changed hands or not. if one can travel twice through austria without being detected, it is hard indeed if i cannot make my way into saxony." "but you must not run too great risks," the countess said. "you know how glad we should be to see you, and that we regard you as one of ourselves; but even a mother could hardly wish a son to run into such danger, in order that they might see each other for a short time." "what do you say, thirza?" her father asked. the girl, thus suddenly addressed, coloured hotly. "i should be glad to see him, father--he knows that very well--but i should not like him to run risks." "but he is always running risks, child; and that, so far as i can see, without so good a reason. at any rate, i shall not join your mother in protesting. what he says is very true. he has twice made his way many hundreds of miles in disguise, for the purpose of getting here in time for the first fighting; and i do not think that there will be anything like the same risk in his coming here to pay us a visit. "at the same time, i would not say a single word to induce him to do so. there is no saying where he may be when the next winter sets in, or what may take place during the coming campaign. in times like these it is folly to make plans of any sort, three months in advance. i only say therefore that, should everything else be favourable, i think that an austrian occupation of saxony would not be a very serious obstacle to his paying us a visit, next winter. "once here, he would be absolutely safe, and as the household know what he has done for us--and probably for them, for there is no saying whether some, at least, of them might not have been killed by those villains--their absolute discretion and silence can be relied upon. "however, it may be that we shall see him long before that. the king may have occasion to be here many times, during the summer." the count would not hear of fergus returning to the hotel where he had put up, and for a week he remained at the chateau, where the time passed very pleasantly. the luxurious appointments, the hospitable attentions of his host and hostesses, and the whole of his surroundings formed a strong contrast, indeed, both to his life when campaigning, and the five months he had spent in the casemate at linz. at the end of that time he felt he ought to be on the move again. he had learnt that the officers of the marshal's staff had been dispersed, some being attached to other divisions; and that lindsay was now upon the staff of prince henry. the prince was out erfurt way, and had already had some sharp fighting with the french and the confederate army. fergus had learned this on the day after his arrival at the chateau, and also that to the east there was no sign of any movement on the part of daun or of the king. he therefore suffered himself to be persuaded to stay on for the week. "nobody is expecting you, drummond," the count said. "no doubt they will be glad to see you, but they will be just as glad ten days later as ten days earlier. you are believed to be safe in some austrian prison, and you may be sure that no one will make any inquiries whether you spent a week, or a month, in recovering from your fatigues before taking up your duties again. at any rate, you must stay for at least a week." the visit was, indeed, extended two days beyond that time; for the count and countess so pressed him that he was glad to give way, especially as his own inclinations strongly seconded their entreaties. on the ninth morning he was astonished when his bedroom door opened and karl came in, and gave his morning's salute as impassively as if he had seen him the evening before. [illustration: "why, karl!" fergus exclaimed, "where do you spring from--when did you arrive?"] "why, karl!" he exclaimed, "where do you spring from--how did you know that i was here--when did you arrive?" "i arrived last night, major, but as it was late we went straight to the stable." "who is we, karl?" "the count's messenger, sir. he reached me at erfurt, where i was with captain lindsay, four days ago; and i started with him half an hour later. he had set out from here with a led horse, and had ridden through with but one night in bed; and we had changes of horses, coming back. and tartar is in good condition, major. i led him all the way down." "that is most kind and thoughtful of the count," fergus exclaimed, as he began to dress. "well, i am heartily glad to see you again, karl. i was by no means sure that you had got off safely at hochkirch. i looked round for you, directly i had been captured; but could see nothing of you, and knew not whether you had ridden off, or had been killed by that volley that finished poor turk, and brought about my capture." "it was a bad business, major, and i have never forgiven myself that i was not by your side; but the thing was so sudden that i was taken altogether by surprise. my horse was grazed with a bullet, and what with that and the sudden flash of fire, he bolted. i had just caught sight of you and turk, going down in a heap, as my horse spun round; and it had galloped a full hundred yards before i could check it. "then i did not know what was best to do. it seemed to me that you must certainly be killed. if i had been sure that you had been wounded and taken prisoner i should have gone back; but even then i might, more likely than not, have been shot by the austrians before i could explain matters. but i really thought that you were killed; and as, from the shouting and firing, it seemed to me that the enemy had it all their own way there, i rode back to the farmhouse. "luckily the austrians had not got there, so i took tartar and rode with him to the king's quarters, and left him with his grooms, who knew him well enough; and then later on, having nothing else to do, i joined seidlitz, and had the satisfaction of striking many a good blow in revenge for you. "late in the afternoon when the fighting was over i found captain lindsay, and told him about your loss. he comforted me a bit by saying that he did not think you were born to be shot, and said that i had better stay with donald till there was news about you. two days later he told me they had got the list of the prisoners the austrians had taken, and that you were with them, and unwounded. "then, major, i was furious with myself that i had not been taken prisoner, too. i should have been more troubled still if captain lindsay had not said that, in the first place, tartar would have been lost if i had not come back straight to fetch him; and that, in the second place, it was not likely you would have been able to keep me with you had i been a prisoner, and we might not even have been shut up in the same fortress. "i asked him what i had better do, and he said: "'i am going west to join prince henry. you had better come with me. you may be sure that there will be no questions asked about you, one way or the other. i have no doubt major drummond will be back in the spring. he is sure to get out, somehow.' "it seemed to me that that was the best plan too, major. if i had been sent back to my regiment, i don't know what i should have done with your horse; and then, if you did return, i might not have heard about it, and you would not have known what had become of me. once or twice during the last month captain lindsay has said to me: "'your master ought to have been here before this, karl. i quite reckoned on his arriving by the end of march.' "i said perhaps you had not been able to get out, but he would not hear of it. he said once: "'if you were to head up the major in a barrel, he could find a way out of it somehow. he will be back soon.' "he seemed so positive about it that i was not a bit surprised when the messenger came, and said that you were at the count's here, and that i was to ride with him post haste, so as to catch you before you started to join the king at breslau. "captain lindsay was as pleased as i was. he was just mounting when the messenger came in, but wrote a line on the leaf of his pocket book. here it is, sir." the slip of paper merely contained the words: "a thousand welcomes, my dear drummond! i have been expecting you for some time. i wish you had turned up here, instead of at dresden. hope to see you again soon." by this time fergus had dressed. "my dear count," he exclaimed, as he entered the room where the count and his wife and daughter were already assembled, "how can i thank you for your great kindness, in taking such pains to fetch karl and my horse down for me." "i had no great pains about the matter," the count replied, with a smile. "i simply wrote to my steward that a messenger must be sent to erfurt, at once; to order major drummond's soldier servant to come here, at all speed, with his master's horse and belongings. "'make what arrangements you like,' i said, 'for relays of horses; but anyhow, he must get to erfurt in three days, and i will give him four for coming back again with the man. he is to be found at the quarters of captain lindsay, who is on the staff of prince henry. if captain lindsay himself is away, you must find out his servant.' "that was all the trouble that i had in the matter. you have really to thank thirza, for it was her idea. directly you had left the room, after your telling us that lindsay was with prince henry and most likely at erfurt, she said: "'i should think, father, that there would be time to fetch major drummond's servant and horse. it is not so very far, and surely it might be done in a week.' "'well thought of!' i said. 'it is a hundred and seventy miles. a courier with relays of horses could do it in three days, without difficulty; and might be back here again, with drummond's servant, in another four days. i will give orders at once. we can manage to get drummond to delay his departure for a day or two.' "so the thing was done." chapter : at minden. on the following day fergus started, riding the new horse the count had given him, while karl led tartar. the journey to breslau was performed without adventure. he found on arrival that the king had, ten days before, gone to landshut, round which place a portion of his army was cantoned. at landshut he commanded the main pass into bohemia, was in a position to move rapidly towards any point where daun might endeavour to break through into silesia, and was yet but a few marches from dresden, should the tide of war flow in that direction. already several blows had been struck at the enemy. as early as the th of february, prince henry had attacked the confederate army which, strengthened by some austrian regiments, had intended to fortify itself in erfurt, and driven it far away; while the prince of brunswick had made a raid into the small federal states, and carried off two thousand prisoners. early in march a force from glogau had marched into poland, and destroyed many russian magazines; while on april th, the very day on which fergus arrived at breslau, duke ferdinand had fought a battle with the french army under broglio, near bergen. the french, however, were very strongly posted, and ferdinand was unable to capture their position, and lost twenty-five hundred men, while the french loss was but nineteen hundred. on the same day prince henry crossed the mountains, and destroyed all the austrian magazines through the country between eger and prague--containing food for an army of fifty thousand for five months--captured three thousand prisoners, and burnt two hundred boats collected on the elbe, near leitmeritz; and was back again after an absence of but nine days. a fortnight later he was off again, marching this time towards bamberg, burning magazines and carrying off supplies. he captured bayreuth and bamberg, took twenty-five hundred prisoners, and struck so heavy a blow at the little princelings of the confederacy that he was able to leave matters to themselves in the west, should the king require his aid against daun or the russians. on the th of april fergus arrived at landshut, and proceeded to the royal quarters. on sending his name to the king, he was at once ushered in. "so you have returned, major drummond," frederick said cordially, "and in plenty of time to see the play! though indeed, i should not be surprised if it is some time before the curtain draws up. i had some hopes that you might rejoin, for after your last escape i doubted whether any austrian prison would hold you long. i am glad to see you back again. "ah! it was a heavy loss, that of our good marshal. none but myself can say how i miss him. he was not only, as a general, one of the best and most trustworthy; but as a friend he was always cheery, always hopeful, one to whom i could tell all my thoughts. ah! if i had but taken his advice at hochkirch, i should not have had to mourn his loss. "it was a heavy blow to you also, major drummond." "a heavy blow indeed, your majesty. he was as kind to me as if he had been my father." "i will try to supply his place," the king said gravely. "he died in my service, and through my error. "for my own sake, i am glad that you are here. you have something of his temperament, and i can talk freely with you, too, whatever comes into my head." "i did not know whether i did rightly in coming to report myself direct to you, sire; but your kindness has always been so great to me that i thought it would be best to come straight to you, instead of reporting myself elsewhere, having indeed no fixed post or commander." "you did quite right. by the way, keith's brother, the scottish earl marischal, is here." he touched a bell, and said to the officer who came in: "will you give my compliments to earl marischal keith, and beg him to come to me for a few minutes." two minutes later keith entered--a tall man, less strongly built than his brother, but much resembling him. "excuse my sending for you, earl marischal," the king said, "but i wanted to introduce to you your young cousin, major drummond; a very brave young officer, as you may well imagine, since he has already gained that rank, and wears our military order of the black eagle. he tells me that he has not hitherto met you; but he came over here at your brother's invitation, was a very great favourite of his, and was deeply attached to him." "my brother mentioned you frequently, in his letters to me," keith said, holding out his hand to fergus. "i knew but little of your mother, first cousin as she is; for being ten years older than my brother, she was but a little child in my eyes when i last saw her. were it not that i am past military work, i would gladly try to fill my brother's place to you; but if i cannot aid you in your profession, i can at least give you a share of my affection." "as to his profession, keith, that is my business," the king said. "he saved my life at zorndorf, and has in so many ways distinguished himself that his success in his career is already assured. he is, by many years, the youngest major in the service; and if this war goes on, there is no saying to what height he may rise. "he has just returned from an austrian prison where, as i told you when you joined me, he was carried after hochkirch. i don't know yet how he escaped. he must dine with me this evening, and afterwards he shall tell us about it. mitchell dines with us, also. he, too, is a friend of this young soldier, and has a high opinion of him." that evening after dinner fergus related to the party, which consisted only of the king, keith, and the british ambassador, how he had escaped from prison. "the next time the austrians catch you, major drummond," the king said when he had finished, "if they want to keep you, they will have to chain you by the leg, as they used to do in the old times." for months the prussian and austrian armies lay inactive. daun had supposed that, as the king had begun the three previous campaigns by launching his forces into bohemia, he would be certain to follow the same policy; and he had therefore placed his army in an almost impregnable position, and waited for the king to assume the offensive. frederick, however, felt that with his diminished forces he could no longer afford to dash himself against the strong positions so carefully chosen and intrenched by the enemy; and must now confine himself to the defensive, and leave it to the austrians to attempt to cross the passes and give battle. the slowness with which they marched, in comparison with the speed at which the prussian troops could be taken from one point to another, gave him good ground for believing that he should find many opportunities for falling upon the enemy, when in movement. it was a long time before the austrian general recognized the change in frederick's strategy, still longer before he could bring himself to abandon his own tactics of waiting and fortifying, and determine to abandon his strongholds and assume the offensive. when july opened he had, by various slow and careful marches, planted himself in a very strong position at marklissa; while frederick, as usual, was watching him. daun was well aware that frederick, of all things, desired to bring on a battle; but knowing that the russians, one hundred thousand strong, under soltikoff, were steadily approaching, he determined to wait where he was, and to allow the brunt of the fighting, for once, to fall on them. fergus, by this time, was far away. the long weeks had passed as slowly to him as they had to the king, and he was very glad indeed when, on the nd of june, frederick said to him: "i know that you are impatient for action, major drummond. your blood is younger than mine, and i feel it hard enough to be patient, myself. however, i can find some employment for you. duke ferdinand has now, you know, twelve thousand english troops with him. he has written to me saying that, as neither of his aides-de-camp can speak english, he begs that i would send him an officer who can do so; for very few of the british are able to speak german, and serious consequences might arise from the misapprehension of orders on the day of battle. therefore i have resolved to send you to him, and you can start tomorrow, at daybreak. i will have a despatch prepared for you to carry to the duke; who of course, by the way, knows you, and will, i am sure, be glad to have you with him. later on i must send another of my scottish officers to take your place with him, for i like having you with me. however, at present you are wasting your time, and may as well go." "we are off again tomorrow morning, karl," fergus said, in high spirits, as he reached his quarters. "that is the best news that i have heard since the count's messenger brought me word, at erfurt, that you had returned, major. it has been the dullest six weeks we have had since we first marched from berlin; for while in winter one knows that nothing can be done, and so is content to rest quietly, in spring one is always expecting something, and if nothing comes of it one worries and grumbles." "it is a long ride we are going this time, karl." "i don't care how how long it is, major, so that one is moving." "i am going to join the duke of brunswick's staff." "that is something like a ride, major," karl said in surprise, "for it is right from one side of prussia to the other." "yes, it is over four hundred and fifty miles." "well, major, we have got good horses, and they have had an easy time of it, lately." "how long do you think that we shall take?" "well, major, the horses can do forty miles a day, if they have a day to rest, halfway. your horses could do more, riding them on alternate days; but it would be as much as mine could do to manage that." "we must take them by turns, karl. that will give each horse a partial rest--one day out of three." "like that they could do it, i should say, major, in about a fortnight." they rode first to breslau, and thence to magdeburg, passing through many towns on the long journey, but none of any great importance. at magdeburg they heard that they must make for hanover, where they would be able to ascertain the precise position of the duke's army, which was on the northern frontier of westphalia. while the french, under the duke of broglio, were advancing north from frankfort-on-maine; another french army, under contades, was moving against ferdinand from the west. as it was probable that there would, at least, be no great battle until the two french armies combined, fergus, who had already given his horses two days' complete rest, remained for three days at magdeburg; as it was likely that he would have to work them hard, when he joined the duke. five days later he rode into the duke of brunswick's principal camp, which was near osnabrueck, where was situated his central magazine. "i am glad to see you, major drummond," the duke said cordially, when fergus reported himself. "i thought perhaps the king would select you for the service, and i know how zealous and active you are. i am greatly in need of a staff officer who can speak english, for none of mine can do so. "i think that we shall have some hard fighting here, soon. you see that i am very much in the position of the king, menaced from two directions. if i move to attack contades, broglio will have hanover entirely open to him; while if i move against him, contades will capture muenster and osnabrueck and get all my magazines, and might even push on and occupy the town of hanover, before i could get back. so you see, i have nothing to do but to wait in this neighbourhood until i see their designs. "i have some twelve thousand of your countrymen here, and i rely upon them greatly. we know how they fought at fontenoy. splendid fellows they are. there is a scotch regiment with them, whose appearance in kilts and feathers in no slight degree astonishes both the people and my own soldiers. their cavalry are very fine, too. they have much heavier horses than ours, and should be terrible in a charge. "how long have you been on the road?" "i have been eighteen days, sir. i could have ridden faster myself, having a spare charger, but my orderly could hardly travel more rapidly; and indeed, when i got to magdeburg, and found that it was not likely that there would be any engagement for some time, i allowed the horses three days' rest, so that they should be fit for service as soon as they arrived here." a tent was at once erected in the staff lines for fergus. he found, upon inquiry, that the british division was at present at muenster. he was invited by the duke to dinner that evening, and was introduced to the officers of the staff; who received him courteously, but with some surprise that one so young should not only bear the rank of major, but the coveted insignia of the black eagle. the duke, however, when the introductions were over, gave them a short account of the newcomer's services, and after dinner begged fergus to tell them how he escaped from linz; and they had a hearty laugh over the manner in which he and his companions obtained their first disguise. "i have heard something of this," colonel zolwyn, the head of the staff, said. "captains stauffen and ritzer were both ordered here, on their arrival at berlin; and though i have not met them, i have heard from others of their escape from linz, which they ascribed entirely to a major of marshal keith's staff, who was a fellow prisoner of theirs." for the next three weeks fergus was on horseback from morning till night. the movements of the troops were incessant. the two french generals manoeuvred with great skill, giving no opportunity for the duke of brunswick to strike a blow at either. broglio, guided by a treacherous peasant, captured minden by surprise. contades, with thirty thousand men, had taken up an unassailable position: his right wing on the weser, and his left on impassable bogs and quagmires, and with his front covered by the bastau, a deep and unfordable brook. thirty thousand of his troops were occupied in besieging muenster and osnabrueck, and other places, and succeeded in capturing the latter, containing the duke's magazines of hay and cavalry forage. the duke's position became very grave, and the french believed that, in a very short time, they would be masters of all hanover. broglio's force of twenty thousand men was on the east side of the weser, and ferdinand was unable to move to strike a blow at the detached force of contades; for had he done so, broglio would have captured the city of hanover, which lay perfectly open to him within a day's march. fergus had been specially employed in carrying despatches to the british division, and had made many acquaintances among the officers. as the army gradually concentrated, when the french forces drew closer together, he often spent the evening in their tents when the day's work was done. in the scotch regiment he was soon quite at home. the fact that he was related to marshal keith, of whom every scotchman was proud, and had been one of his aides-de-camp, sufficed in itself to render him at once popular. the officers followed with eager interest the accounts of the various battles he had witnessed, and little by little extracted from him some account of the manner in which he had won his steps so rapidly in the prussian service. he found that they, and the british troops in general, had a profound dislike for lord sackville; who commanded them, but who was especially in command of their cavalry. all described him as a heavy, domineering fellow, personally indolent and slow, on ill terms with the duke of brunswick, whom in a quiet and obstinate way he seemed bent on thwarting. "he is an ill-conditioned brute," one of the officers remarked. "the only thing to be said for him is that he is not deficient in personal courage. he has fought several duels, into which he brought himself by his overbearing temper." although he had frequently carried despatches to sackville, fergus had not exchanged a word with him. the english general had taken the paper from his hand, barely acknowledging his salute; and not indeed glancing at him, but turning on his heel and walking off to read the contents of the despatch, which generally appeared to displease him, judging by the manner in which he spoke to his officers. then he would go into his tent, and one of his aides-de-camp would shortly come out with a letter containing his reply. fergus naturally came to regard the english commander with the same dislike that his own officers felt for him. one day, when handing him a despatch, he omitted the usual salute. sackville noticed it at once. "why do you not salute, sir?" he said, raising his head, and for the first time looking at the duke's aide-de-camp. "this is the twelfth time, sir, that i have brought despatches from the duke of brunswick. upon each occasion i have made the military salute. by the regulations of the army, i believe that the superior officer is as much bound to return a salute as the inferior officer is to render it. as you have not chosen, upon any one of those twelve occasions, to return my salute, i see no reason why i should continue to give it." sackville looked at him as he shouted in english, with astonishment and rage: "and who the devil are you?" "i am major fergus drummond, a companion of the order of the black eagle, and an aide-de-camp of the king of prussia." "the deuce you are!" sackville said insolently. "i did not know that the king of prussia promoted lads to be majors, chose them for his aides-de-camp, and made them companions of his order." "then, sir, you know it now," fergus said quietly; "and for an explanation of my rank, i beg to refer you to the duke of brunswick; who will, i doubt not, be not unwilling to explain the matter to you." "i shall report your insolence to the duke, at any rate, sir. were it not for my position here, i would myself condescend to give you the lesson of which you seem to me to be in want." "i should doubt, sir, whether i could receive any lesson at your hands; but after this affair has terminated, i shall be happy to afford you an opportunity of endeavouring to do so." lord sackville was on the point of replying, when the colonel of his staff, whom fergus had met at dinner at the duke's, and who spoke german fluently, came up and said: "pardon me, general. can i speak to you for a moment?" fergus reined back his horse a length or two, while the officer spoke rapidly to lord sackville. "i don't care a fig," the latter burst out passionately. the officer continued to speak. the general listened sullenly, then turning to fergus, he said: "well, sir, we shall leave the matter as it is. as soon as this battle is over, i shall waive my rank and meet you." "i shall be ready at any time," fergus said; and then, formally saluting, he rode away. "i suppose you have no answer, major drummond," the duke said, when he returned to his quarters; "but indeed, there is none needed." "i have no answer, sir, and indeed did not wait for one. lord sackville and i had a somewhat hot altercation;" and he related, word for word, what had passed. "it is a pity, but i cannot blame you," the duke said, when fergus had finished. "the man has given me a great deal of trouble, ever since he joined us with his force. he is always slow in obeying orders. sometimes he seems wilfully to misunderstand them, and altogether he is a thorn in my side. i am glad, indeed, that the british infantry division are entirely under my control. with them i have no difficulty whatever. he was entirely in the wrong in this matter; and i certainly should address a remonstrance to him, on the subject of his manner and language to one of my staff, but our relations are already unpleasantly strained, and any open breach between us might bring about a serious disaster." "i certainly should not wish that you should make any allusion to the matter, sir. possibly i may have an opportunity of teaching him to be more polite, after we have done with the french." by two sudden strokes the duke, in the third week of july, obtained possession of bremen, thereby obtaining a port by which stores and reinforcements from england could reach him; and also recaptured osnabrueck, and found to his great satisfaction that the french had also established a magazine there, so that the stores were even larger than when they had taken it from him. the great point was to induce contades to move from his impregnable position. he knew that both contades and broglio were as anxious as he was to bring about a battle, did they but see an advantageous opportunity; and he took a bold step to tempt them. on the th of july he sent the hereditary prince, with a force of ten thousand men, to make a circuit and fall upon gohfeld, ten miles up the weser; and so cut the line by which contades brought up the food for his army from cassel, seventy miles to the south. such a movement would compel the french either to fight or to fall back. it was a bold move and, had it not succeeded, would have been deemed a rash one; for it left him with but thirty-six thousand men to face the greatly superior force of the french. the bait proved too tempting for the french generals. it seemed to them that the duke had committed a fatal mistake. his left, leaning on the weser was, by the march of the force to gohfeld, left unsupported at a distance of three miles from the centre; and it seemed to them that they could now hurl themselves into the gap, destroy the duke's left, and then crush his centre and right, and cut off whatever remnant might escape from hanover. on tuesday evening, july st, the french got into motion as soon as it was dark. during the night contades crossed, by nineteen bridges that he had thrown across the bastau; while at the same time broglio crossed the weser, by the bridge of the town, and took up his position facing the prussian left wing, which rested on the village of todtenhausen, intending to attack him early in the morning, and to finish before the duke could bring the centre to his assistance. feeling sure that the french would fall into the trap, the duke ordered his cavalry to mount at one o'clock in the morning, and moved in with his troops from the villages around which they were encamped; closing in towards minden, whereby the centre gradually came into touch with the left, the whole forming a segment of a circle, of which minden was the centre. the french also formed a segment of a similar circle, nearer to minden. contades was a long time getting his troops into position, for great confusion was caused by their having crossed by so many bridges, and it took hours to range them in order of battle. broglio was in position, facing the duke's left, at five o'clock in the morning. he was strong in artillery and infantry; but as the ground on both flanks was unfavourable for the action of cavalry, these were all posted in the centre. the cavalry, indeed, was the strongest portion of the force. they numbered ten thousand, and were the flower of the french army. the duke placed six regiments of british infantry in his centre. they were the th, th, rd, th, th and st. some regiments of hanoverians were in line behind them. the british cavalry were on the duke's right. the morning was misty, and it was not until eight o'clock that both sides were ready, and indeed even then contades' infantry was not finally settled in its position. the battle began with an attack by some hessian regiments on the village of hahlen, and by a very heavy fire of artillery on both sides. the orders to the english regiments had been, "march to attack the enemy on sound of drum," meaning that they were to move when the drums gave the signal for the advance. the english, however, understood the order to be, "you are to advance to the sound of your drums." they waited for a time, while the attack on hahlen continued. it was repulsed three times before it succeeded, but before this happened the english regiments lost patience, and said, "we ought to be moving." the drums therefore struck up and, to the astonishment of the hanoverians, these english battalions strode away towards the enemy. however, the regiments of the second line followed. as the british stepped forward, a tremendous crossfire of artillery opened upon them, thirty guns on one side and as many on the other; but in spite of this the six regiments pressed on unfalteringly, with their drums beating lustily behind them. then there was a movement in their front, and a mighty mass of french cavalry poured down upon them. the english halted, closed up the gaps made by the artillery, held their fire until the leading squadrons of the french were within forty paces, and then opened a tremendous file fire. before it man and horse went down. at so short a distance every bullet found its billet and, for the first time in history, a line of infantry repulsed the attack of a vastly superior body of cavalry. astonished, and hampered by the fallen men and horses of their first line, the french cavalry reined up and trotted sullenly back to reform and repeat the charge. the british drums beat furiously as the french rode forward again, only to be repulsed as before. six times did the cavalry, with a bravery worthy of their reputation, renew the charge. six times did they draw back sullenly, as the leading squadrons withered up under the storm of shot. then they could do no more, but rode back in a broken and confused mass through the gaps between their infantry, throwing these also into partial confusion. "ride to lord sackville, and tell him to charge with his cavalry, at once," the duke said to fergus; and then checking himself said, "no, i had better send someone else," and repeated the order to another of his staff. sackville only replied that he did not see his way to doing so. a second and then a third officer were sent to him, with a like result, and at last he himself left his cavalry and rode to the duke and inquired: "how am i to go on?" the duke curbed his anger at seeing the fruits of victory lost. he replied quietly: "my lord, the opportunity is now past." harassed only by the fire of the british and hanoverian guns, and by that of the british infantry, contades drew off his army by the nineteen bridges into his stronghold. broglio, who had done nothing save keep up a cannonade, covered the retreat with his division. the total amount of loss on the duke's side was two thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, of which more than half belonged to the british infantry. the french loss was seven thousand and eighty-six, with their heavy guns and many flags; but had sackville done his duty, their army would have been annihilated, pent up as it was with the river on each flank, convergent to each other at minden; a perfect rat trap from which no army could have escaped, had it been hotly pressed by cavalry. the feat performed by the british infantry astonished europe, who were at first almost incredulous that six regiments in line could have repulsed, over and over again, and finally driven off the field, ten thousand of the best cavalry of france. while the battle was raging, the hereditary prince had done his share of the work, had fallen upon gohfeld, crushed the french division guarding it, cutting the french from their magazines and rendering their position untenable. they received the news that evening, and at once commenced their retreat, broglio towards frankfort and contades straight for the rhine. the latter was obliged to abandon all his baggage, and many of his guns; and his army, by the time it had reached the rhine, had become a mere rabble. the general was at once recalled in disgrace, and broglio appointed commander-in-chief; although by failing to carry out the orders he had received, to fall upon the allies left at five in the morning, he had largely contributed to the defeat that had befallen contades. chapter : unexpected news. the fury of the british cavalry, at the shameful inactivity in which they had been maintained, was unbounded; and their commander, if he moved from his tent, was saluted with hisses and jeers by the troopers. it was not for long, however; for as soon as the news was known at home, he was ordered to return. on the afternoon of the same day, an officer rode over to headquarters and asked for major drummond. "i am here, sir," he said courteously, "on behalf of lord sackville. he will be leaving for england tomorrow, and i am the bearer of a hostile message from him. i shall be obliged if you will put me in communication with some officer who will act on your behalf." "certainly," fergus replied. "i was expecting such a message." he had already heard of the order that sackville had received; and had requested major kurstad, a fellow aide-de-camp, to act for him should he send him a hostile message. going in he spoke to kurstad, who at once went out and introduced himself to the british officer. "this is a painful business," the latter said, "and i can assure you that i do not undertake it willingly. however, i overheard the altercation between lord sackville and major drummond, and the same night he asked me to act for him, when the time for it came. i consented, and cannot draw back from the undertaking; but i need hardly say that, after what happened at minden, no english officer, unless previously pledged, would have consented to act for him. i suppose, sir, there is no use in asking whether the matter cannot be arranged." "not in the slightest. major drummond told me that he had expressed his willingness to meet the general, and he is certainly not one to withdraw from his word. my friend chooses swords. in fact the use of pistols, on such occasions, is quite unknown in the continental army." "as lord sackville leaves tomorrow morning, we should be glad if you would name an early hour." "as early as you like. it is light at half-past four." "then shall we say five o'clock?" "certainly." "and the place?" "there is a small clump of trees on the heath, two miles west of our camp." "we will be there at that time, sir. would you object to each side being accompanied by a second friend? i ask it because, did anything happen to my principal, i should certainly wish that another witness was present at the duel." "we have no objection," major kurstad said. "we shall also bring a surgeon with us, and of course you can do the same, if you are disposed." the two officers saluted, and the major returned to fergus. "do you mean to kill him?" he asked, after he had told him of the arrangements that had been made. "certainly not. the man is an overbearing fool, and i merely wish to give him a lesson. personally, i should be glad if the whole of the officers of the british force could be present, in order that he might be as much humiliated as possible; but even if i hated the man--and i have no shadow of feeling of that kind--i would not kill him. he is going home to england to be tried by court martial, and its sentence is likely to be a far heavier blow, to a bully of that kind, than death would be. he has a taste of it already, for i hear that he is hooted whenever he leaves his tent." at the appointed time the two parties arrived, almost at the same moment, at a spot arranged. fergus was accompanied by major kurstad and another officer of the duke's staff, and by the duke's own surgeon. formal salutations were exchanged between the seconds. the duelling swords were examined, and found to be of the same length. there was no difficulty in choosing the ground, as there was an open space in the centre of the little wood, and the sun had not risen high enough to overtop the trees. as, therefore, the glade was in shade, there was no advantage, in point of light, to either combatant. lord sackville had the reputation of being a good fencer, but in point of physique there was no comparison between the combatants. sackville was a tall and powerfully-built man, but dissipation and good living had rendered his muscles flabby and sapped his strength, although he was still in what should have been his prime. fergus, on the other hand, had not a superfluous ounce of flesh. constant exercise had hardened every muscle. he was a picture of health and activity. the general viewed him with an expression of vindictive animosity; while his face, on the other hand, wore an expression of perfect indifference. the uniform coats were removed, and the dropping of a handkerchief gave the signal for them to commence. lord sackville at once lunged furiously. the thrust was parried, and the next moment his sword was sent flying through the air. his second did not move to recover it. "why do you not bring it here?" sackville exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest passion. "because, my lord," his second said coldly, "as you have been disarmed, the duel necessarily terminates; unless your antagonist is willing that the sword shall be restored to you." "i shall be obliged if you will give it him, major buck," fergus said quietly. "a little accident of this sort may occur occasionally, even to a noted swordsman, when fighting with a boy." the general was purple with passion, when he received the sword from his second. "mind this time," he said between his teeth as, after a preliminary feint or two, he again lunged. again the sword was wrenched from his hand, with a force that elicited an exclamation of pain from him. "pray, give the general his sword again, major buck," fergus said. "you hold your rapier too tightly, general sackville. you need a little more freedom of play, and less impetuosity. i don't want to hurt you seriously, but your blood is altogether too hot, and next time i will bleed you on the sword arm." steadying himself with a great effort, sackville played cautiously for a time; but after parrying several of his thrusts, without the slightest difficulty, fergus ran him through the right arm, halfway between the elbow and the shoulder, and the sword dropped from his hand. [illustration: lord sackville stood without speaking, while the surgeon bandaged up his arm] lord george sackville had borne himself well in several duels, and was accounted a gentleman, though arrogant and overbearing. he stood without speaking, while the surgeon bandaged up his arm. then he said quietly: "i ask your pardon, major drummond. this matter was altogether my fault. i said that i would give you a lesson, and you have given me one, which assuredly i shall never forget. i trust that you will accept my apology for the words i uttered." "certainly, general, the more so that i own i gave provocation by failing to salute you--my only excuse for which is that officers of the highest rank, in prussia, always return the salute of a junior officer, of whatever rank; and that i did not reflect that you, having many important matters in your mind, might have neglected to return mine from pure absent mindedness, and not with any intentional discourtesy. i can only say that i have not spoken of this matter to any but my three friends here, and i am sure that the matter will not be mentioned by them, when it is my earnest request that it shall go no further." the parties then mutually saluted, and rode off to their respective camps. the story of the duel did not leak out from fergus's friends; but sackville had openly spoken of the matter, the evening before, to several officers; and had added to their disgust at his conduct by declaring that he wished it had been the duke of brunswick, instead of this upstart aide-de-camp of his, with whom he had to reckon the next morning. he, on his part, exacted no pledge from the officers who had accompanied him, but rode back to camp without speaking a word, and an hour later left in a carriage for bremen. the news of the encounter, then, circulated rapidly, and excited intense amusement, and the most lively satisfaction, on the part of the british officers. on sackville's arrival in england he was tried by court martial, sentenced to be cashiered, and declared incapable of again serving his majesty in any military capacity. this the king proclaimed officially to be a sentence worse than death and, taking a pen, he himself struck out his name from the list of privy councillors. no satisfactory explanation has ever been given of sackville's conduct at minden. many say it is probable that he was disgusted and sulky at having to rise so early, but this would hardly be a sufficient explanation. the more probable conjecture is that, as he was on notoriously bad terms with the duke, he was willing that the latter should suffer a severe repulse at minden, in the hope that he would be deprived of his command, and he himself appointed commander-in-chief of the allied army. a few days after the battle, the exultation caused by the victory at minden was dashed by the news that a prussian army, twenty-six thousand strong, commanded by wedel, had been beaten by the russians at zuellichau; and ten days later by the still more crushing news that frederick himself, with fifty thousand men, had been completely defeated by a russian and austrian army, ninety thousand in number, at kunersdorf, on the th of august. at first the prussians had beaten back the russians with great loss. the latter had rallied, and, joined by loudon with the austrian divisions, had recovered the ground and beaten off the prussians with immense loss, the defeat being chiefly due to the fact that the prussian army had marched to the attack through woods intersected with many streams; and that, instead of arriving on the field of battle as a whole, they only came up at long intervals, so that the first success could not be followed up, and the regiments who made it were annihilated before help came. the news came from berlin. a letter had been received there from the king, written on the night after the battle. he said that he had but three thousand men collected round him, that the circumstances were desperate, that he appointed his brother prince henry general-in-chief, and that the army was to swear fidelity to his nephew. the letter was understood to mean that frederick intended to put an end to his life. he knew that the enmity of his foes was largely directed against him personally, and that far easier terms might be obtained for the country were he out of the way; and he was therefore determined not to survive irreparable defeat. indeed, he always carried a small tube of deadly poison on his person. universal consternation was felt at the news. however, three days later came the more cheering intelligence that twenty-three thousand men had now gathered round him, and that he had again taken the command. the loss in the battle, however, had been terrible--six thousand had been killed, thirteen thousand wounded. two thousand of the latter, too seriously wounded to escape, were made prisoners. the loss of the enemy had been little inferior, for eighteen thousand russians and austrians were killed or wounded. another letter sent off by the king that night had disastrous consequences, for he wrote to the governor of dresden that, should the austrians attempt anything on the town beyond his means of maintaining himself, he was to capitulate on the best terms he could obtain. happily for frederick, soltikoff was as slow in his movements as daun, and for two months made no attempt to take advantage of the victory of kunersdorf, and thus afforded time to frederick to repair his misfortunes. but during the two months dresden had been lost. its governor had received frederick's letter, and was unaware how things had mended after it was written, and that a force was pressing forward to aid him against an austrian besieging army. consequently, after little more than a nominal resistance, he surrendered when, unknown to him, relief was close at hand. the french being defeated, and in full flight for the rhine, it seemed to fergus that it was his duty to return to the king; as there was no probability whatever of any hard fighting on the western frontier, while the position of affairs in the east was most serious. he was still on the king's staff, and had but been lent to the duke of brunswick. he laid the matter before the latter, who at once agreed with him that he should rejoin the king. "frederick sorely needs active and intelligent officers, at present," he said. "it is not by force that he can hope to prevent the russians and austrians from marching to berlin, but by quickness and resource. his opponents are both slow and deliberate in their movements, and the king's quickness puzzles and confuses them. it is always difficult for two armies to act in perfect concert, well-nigh impossible when they are of different nationalities. daun will wait for soltikoff and soltikoff for daun. the king will harass both of them. daun has to keep one eye upon his magazines in bohemia, for prince henry in silesia still constantly menaces them, and not only the austrian but the russian army is fed from prague. "were it not that i am specially bound to defend hanover from the confederate army, i would march with the greater portion of my force to join the king; but my orders are imperative. 'tis for hanover that george of england is fighting, and the british subsidy and the british troops will be lost to the king, were hanover to be taken by the enemy. if prince henry could but join him, it would bring his army again to a strength with which he could fight either the russians or austrians; but their armies lie between henry and the king, and unless daun makes some grievous mistake--and slow as he is, daun seldom makes a mistake--it seems well-nigh impossible that the prince can get through. "however, major drummond, you are likely to see little fighting here; while with the king there will be incessant work for you. therefore, by all means go to him. he must have lost many of his staff at kunersdorf, and will, i doubt not, be glad to have you with him." the ride was a shorter one than it had been when going west, for the king lay little more than fifty miles to the east of berlin. although there was no absolute occasion for great speed, fergus rode fast; and on the tenth day after leaving minden arrived at the royal camp. the king was unaffectedly glad to see him. "you have been more fortunate than i have," he said. "you have been taking part in a victory, while i have been suffering a defeat. i should like to have seen minden. that charge of your countrymen was superb. nothing finer was ever done. rash, perhaps; but it is by rashness that victory is often won. had it not been done, one would have said that it was impossible for six battalions in line to hurl back, again and again, the charges of ten thousand fine cavalry. but the british division at fontenoy showed us, not many years ago, that the british infantry, now, are as good as they were under marlborough. i would give much if i had twenty thousand of them here with my prussians. it would be the saving of us. "did ferdinand send you back, or did you ask to come?" "i asked leave to come, sire. i thought that your staff must have suffered heavily, and that i might be more useful here than with the duke." "much more useful, major; and indeed, i am glad to have you with me. you have youth and good spirits, and good spirits are very scarce here. have you heard the last news?" "i have heard no news since i left berlin, sire." "dresden is lost. schmettau surrendered it, and that when relief was but within ten miles of him. the place should have held out for a month, at least. it is incredible. however, i will have it back again before long and, at any rate, it is one place less to guard. i should not have cared so much if the austrians had taken it, but that that wretched confederate army, even though they had ten austrian battalions with them, should have snatched it from me, is heart breaking. however, they have but the capital, and it will take them some time before they can do more." fink, who had been sent off, with six or seven thousand men, to aid wunsch to relieve dresden, on the day before the news of its fall came, did much. he and his fellow commander failed in their first object; but they were not idle, for they recaptured leipzig and other towns that the confederate army had taken, and snatched all saxony, save dresden, from its clutches. schmettau was relieved of his command, and never again employed. he had certainly failed in firmness, but frederick's own letter to him, which had never been cancelled, afforded him the strongest ground of believing that there was no chance of his being relieved. his record up to this time had been excellent, and he was esteemed as being one of frederick's best generals. frederick's harshness to him was, at the time, considered to have been excessive. the king, however, always expected from his generals as much as he himself would have accomplished, in the same circumstances, and failure to obtain success was always punished. after the dismissal of his brother and heir from his command, the king was not likely to forgive failure in others. the time was a most anxious one for him. he had nothing to do but to wait, and for once he was well content to do so; for every day brought winter nearer, every week would render the victualling of the hostile armies more difficult, and delay was therefore all in his favour. messenger after messenger was sent to prince henry, urging him to make every possible effort to make his way through or round the cordon of austrian and russian posts, eighty miles long and fifty or sixty broad, that intervened between them. in the evenings the king was accustomed to put aside resolutely his military troubles, and passed his time chiefly in the society of the british ambassador, earl marischal keith, and the young scottish aide-de-camp, with occasionally one or two prussian officers. one evening, when fergus had been sent with an order to a portion of the force lying some miles away, sir john mitchell said to the king: "i have been talking with the earl marischal over young drummond's affairs, your majesty. as you know, his father's estates were sequestrated after the battle of culloden, where he himself fell. i am writing a despatch to pitt, saying that drummond's son has been serving under your majesty through the war, and has greatly distinguished himself; and have asked him to annul the sequestration, upon the ground that this young officer has done very valiant service to your majesty, and so to the allied cause, giving a list of the battles at which he has been present, and saying that the duke of brunswick had, in his report of the battle of minden to you, spoken highly of the services he rendered him. if you would add a line in your own hand, endorsing my request, it would greatly add to its weight." "that i will readily do," the king said. "i will write a short letter, which you can inclose in your own despatch." and sitting down at once he wrote: "the king of prussia most warmly endorses the request of his excellency, sir john mitchell. not only has major fergus drummond shown exceptional bravery upon several occasions, which resulted in his promotion to the rank of major with unprecedented rapidity, but he saved the king's life at the battle of zorndorf, meeting and overthrowing three russian cavalrymen who attacked him. it would, therefore, give the king very great satisfaction if the english minister would grant the request made on major drummond's behalf by his excellency, the english ambassador." "thank you very much," the latter said, as he read the note frederick handed him. "i have no doubt that this will be effectual. culloden is now a thing of the past. there are many scottish regiments in the english king's service, and many acts of clemency have, of late, been shown to those who took part in the rebellion, and i cannot doubt that pitt will at once act upon your request. however, i shall say nothing to drummond on the subject until i hear that his father's estates have been restored to him." as day after day passed, the king became more anxious as to the position of prince henry. that energetic officer had indeed been busy and, by threatening an attack upon daun's magazines, had compelled the austrian commander to move to bautzen for their protection, and finally to make a decided effort to crush his active and annoying foe. gathering a great force in the neighbourhood of prince henry's camp, he prepared to attack him on the morning of september nd; but when morning came prince henry had disappeared. at eight o'clock on the previous evening he had marched twenty miles to rothenburg. the retreat was superbly conducted. it was necessary to move by several roads, but the whole of the baggage, artillery, and troops arrived punctually the next morning at rothenburg, just at the hour when daun's army moved down to the attack of the camp where he had been the evening before. austrian scouting parties were sent out in all directions, but no certain news could be obtained as to the direction of the prussian march. the baggage waggons had been seen, moving here and there, but it was four days before daun was able to learn for certain what had become of him, having until then believed that he must have made for glogau, to join frederick. henry had, however, gone in an entirely different direction. after ordering three hours' rest at rothenburg he marched west, and arrived at early morning at klitten, eighteen miles from his last halting place. starting again after another three hours' halt he marched twenty miles farther, still straight to the west, and fell upon general weyler who, with thirty-three thousand men, occupied the last austrian position to be passed. that officer had not the slightest idea of any possibility of attack from the east. the whole austrian army stood between him and frederick on the northeast, and prince henry on the southeast. he was therefore taken altogether by surprise. six hundred of his men were killed; and he himself, with twenty-eight field officers and seventeen hundred and eighty-five other officers and men, taken prisoners. this march of fifty hours, in which an army with the whole of its baggage traversed fifty-eight miles, through a country occupied by enemies, is one of the most remarkable on record, and completely changed the whole situation of the campaign. there was nothing for daun to do, if he would not lose dresden and the whole of saxony again, but to follow prince henry. this movement completed the dissatisfaction of his russian ally, soltikoff, who had been already sorely worried and harassed by frederick, ever since daun had moved away to defend his magazines and crush prince henry; and now, seeing that his own food supply was likely to fail him, he marched away with his army into poland. the king was at this time, to his disgust and indignation, laid up for six weeks with the gout; but as soon as he was better, he set off to join prince henry. daun was slowly falling back and, had he been let alone, dresden might have been recaptured and the campaign come to a triumphant ending. unfortunately frederick was not content to leave well alone, and sent fink with seventeen thousand men to maxim, to cut off daun's retreat into bohemia; intending himself to attack him in front. daun for once acted with decision, attacked fink with twenty-seven thousand men and, although the prussians fought with most obstinate bravery, they were surrounded; battered by the austrian artillery; while they themselves, having no guns with which to make reply, were forced to surrender. some had already made their way off, but in killed, wounded, and prisoners, the loss was fully twelve thousand men. frederick threw the blame upon fink, but most unjustly. that officer had followed out the orders given him, and had done all that man could do to hold the position that he was commanded to take up, and the disaster was wholly due to frederick's own rashness in placing so small a force, and that without artillery, where they could be attacked by the whole austrian army. fink, after his release at the conclusion of the peace three years later, was tried by court martial and sentenced to a year's imprisonment. this disaster entirely altered the situation. daun, instead of continuing his retreat to bavaria, advanced to occupy saxony; and drove general dierocke across the elbe, taking fifteen hundred of his men prisoners. frederick, however, barred the way farther, and six weeks later both armies went into winter quarters; daun still holding dresden and the strip of country between it and bohemia, but the rest of saxony being as far out of his reach as ever. the last six weeks of the campaign was a terrible time for all. frederick himself had lived in a little cottage in the small town of freyburg, and even after the armies had settled down in their cheerless quarters, he still made several attempts to drive the austrians out, having received a reinforcement of ten thousand men from duke ferdinand. these efforts were in vain. the ten thousand, however, on their way to join the king, had struck a heavy blow at one of his bitterest enemies, the duke of wuertemberg, who had twelve thousand of his own men, with one thousand cavalry, at fulda. the duke had ordered a grand ball to be held, and great celebrations of joy at the news of the austrian victory at maxim; but on the very day on which these things were to take place, ferdinand's men fell upon him suddenly, scattered his army in all directions, took twelve hundred prisoners, and sent the duke with such of his troops as had escaped back to wuertemberg again; his subjects, who were largely protestants, rejoicing hugely over his discomfiture. on the day on which maxim was fought admiral hawke, with a small squadron, utterly defeated the french fleet that was to convey an invading army to england. france herself was getting as short of cash as prussia, and in november it became necessary to declare a temporary bankruptcy and, the king setting the example, all nobles and others possessing silver plate sent them to the mint to be coined into money. so eager was the king to take advantage of any openings the austrians might give for attack that, although so near dresden, fergus was unable to carry out his promise to the count eulenfurst to pay him a visit; for he was kept constantly employed, and could not ask for leave. early in april the king sent for him. the english ambassador was present, but earl marischal keith had gone away on a mission. "i have two pieces of news for you, major," the king said pleasantly. "in the first place, it is now getting on for two years since you did me that little service at zorndorf, and since then you have ever been zealously at work. others have gone up in rank, and it is time that you had another step. therefore, from today you are colonel. no man in the army has better deserved promotion, and indeed you ought to have had it after you returned from brunswick's army where, as the duke's despatches told me, you had rendered excellent service. so many officers of rank have fallen since then that promotion has been rapid, and it is high time that you obtained the step that you so well deserve. "the other piece of news is for sir john mitchell to tell you, for it is to his good offices that it is due." "very partially so, your majesty," said the ambassador. "it is like enough that pitt would not have troubled to take action on my recommendation only, had it not been that you so strongly backed my request that, in fact, it became one from yourself. therefore it is for you to give him the news." "as you please," the king said. "well then, drummond, his excellency and your cousin the marischal put their heads together, and his excellency sent a warm letter to the english minister, saying that you had rendered such services to his sovereign's ally that he prayed that the sequestration of your father's estates should be annulled. i myself added a memorandum saying that, as you had saved my life at zorndorf, and rendered me other valuable services, i should view it as a personal favour if his request was granted. the thing would have been managed in a couple of days, in this country; but in england it seems that matters move more slowly, and his excellency has only today received an official intimation that the affair has been completed, and that your father's estates have been restored to you." fergus was, for the moment, completely overwhelmed. he had never thought for a moment that the estate would ever be restored, and the sudden news, following that of his promotion, completely overwhelmed him. it was of his mother rather than of himself that he thought. he himself had been too young to feel keenly the change in their life that followed culloden; but although his mother had borne her reverses bravely, and he had never heard a complaint or even a regret cross her lips, he knew that the thought that he would never be chief of their brave clansmen, and that these had no longer a natural leader and protector, was very bitter to her. "your majesty is too good. "your excellency--" and he stopped. "i know what you would say," the king said kindly, "and there is no occasion to say it. i have only paid some of the debt i owe you, and his excellency's thought gave me well-nigh as much pleasure as it does you. now, be off to your camp. "you see, sir john, between us we have done what the austrians and russians have never managed between them--i mean, we have shaken colonel drummond's presence of mind. "there, go along with you, we have matters to talk over together." fergus saluted almost mechanically, bowed gratefully to mitchell, and then left the room in a whirl of emotion. to be the head of his clan again was, to him, a vastly greater matter than to be a colonel in even the most renowned and valiant army in europe. of the estates he thought for the moment but little, except that his mother would now be able to give up her petty economies and her straitened life, and to take up the station that had been hers until his father's death. there was another thought, too--that of countess thirza eulenfurst. hitherto he had resolutely put that from him. it was not for him, a soldier of fortune, without a penny beyond his pay, to aspire to the hand of a rich heiress. it was true that many scottish adventurers in foreign services had so married, but this had seemed a thing altogether beyond him. he had rendered a service to her father, and they had, in consequence, been most kind to him; but he had thought that it would be only a poor return for their kindness for him to aspire to their daughter's hand. he had put the matter even more resolutely aside because, once or twice, the count had said things that might be construed as hints that he should not regard such an act as presumptuous. he had spoken not unapprovingly of the marriages of ladies of high rank to men who had rendered great services to the countries for which they had fought, and said that, with such ample means as thirza would possess, there would be no need for him to seek for a wealthy match for her. thirza herself had evinced lively pleasure, whenever he went to see them, and deep regret when he left them; while her colour rose, sometimes, when he came upon her suddenly. but these indications that he was not altogether indifferent to her had but determined him, more resolutely, to abstain from taking advantage of the gratitude she felt for the service he had rendered. now, it seemed to him that the news he had heard had somewhat changed the position. he was no longer a penniless soldier. it was true that the drummond estates were as nothing by the side of the broad lands owned by her father; but at least, now, he was in the position of a scottish gentleman of fair means and good standing, who could dispense with wealth on the part of a bride, and had a fair home and every comfort to offer to one in his native land. that he had, too, obtained the rank of colonel in the prussian army, by service in many a desperate battle, distinctly added to his position. thus, in every respect, the news that he had received was in the highest degree gratifying to him. chapter : engaged. on the following day, sir john mitchell handed to fergus the official documents respecting the restoration of the estates and, after taking copies of the same, fergus wrote a long letter to his mother, inclosing the official papers, mitchell having offered to send the packet home with his despatches. fergus was glad to get the documents sent off in this way--by which, indeed, he had sent the greater part of his letters to his mother--the post being so uncertain and insecure that there was no trusting it; and although his mother's replies were always sent to the care of the ambassador, a large number of them were lost in the transit. early in april fergus suddenly broke down. his work had been almost incessant. the cold in the tent had, at night, been extreme; and, having been wetted to the skin one day, when a sudden thaw came on, his clothes had been frozen stiff when, at nightfall, the frost returned with even greater severity than before. in spite of the cloaks and blankets that karl heaped upon his bed, he shivered all night, and in the morning hot fits came on. the king's surgeon, coming in to see him, pronounced that the chill had resulted in what was probably rheumatic fever. he was at once carried to a hospital, some miles in the rear. this was crowded with officers and men, suffering from the effects of their hardships; but a room was assigned to him in a house close by, that had been taken for the use of officers of distinction. here for two months he lay helpless, and at times delirious. karl sat up with him almost night and day, taking two or three hours' sleep occasionally on the floor, but starting up whenever his master moved or spoke. sir john mitchell rode over several times to see him, and the king's own surgeon went over twice a week. these visits, however, both ceased three weeks after he entered the hospital, the king's army having rapidly marched away. at the end of june he was out and able to sit in the sun in the garden. "how long shall i be before i am fit for duty again?" he asked the surgeon, two days later. "six weeks or two months. it will be fully that time before you can regain your strength. in a month, no doubt, you will be able to sit a horse; but i should say that it would be quite twice that time, before you will be fit to perform the work that falls to your lot on the king's staff. you want to have quiet, and at the same time you need pleasant company. the worst thing you can possibly do is to worry and fret yourself. instead of bringing things about sooner, it will only delay them. what you have to do is to bask in the sun, eat and drink as much as you can, and take life pleasantly. "there is one thing, you have nothing to grieve about that you are not with the king. he is marching hither and thither with wonderful celerity but, do what he will, he cannot induce either daun or lacy to give battle; though together they are three to one against him. whenever he approaches they simply shut themselves up in impregnable places, erect palisades and batteries, and hope that he will dash himself against them; which he is not likely to do." fergus found that frederick, when he marched, had left behind a force sufficient to check any attempt that the austrian garrison of dresden might make, towards the north; but that at present all was quiet, the enemy venturing on no aggressive movements, never knowing when the king might suddenly pounce down upon them. he found that there was no attempt made to blockade the town. no carts with provisions were allowed to pass in from the north side, but on the west there was free ingress and egress, there being no prussian troops in that direction. fergus therefore hired a peasant to carry a letter for him to count eulenfurst, explaining how it was that he had been unable to get leave during the winter; and that, for the last two months and a half, he had been laid up in the hospital. three days later a carriage drove up to the house. the count himself leapt out, and hurried across the garden to where fergus was sitting. "this is indeed kind of you, count," fergus said, as he rose. "by no means, drummond. i only wish that we had known your situation before. you should have got someone to write, if you could not do it yourself. we were not surprised at your not visiting us in the winter, for with both armies on the alert we knew that, in the first place, you were busy, and probably not able to get leave of absence; and in the next place, you could hardly have got in. "you can imagine the concern we felt when your letter reached us, yesterday evening. of course, i determined to start at once. you must indeed have had a hard time of it, for you have fallen away so much that i should hardly have known you." "i have picked up very much in the last fortnight, count; and i hope, in another month, to be something like myself again; though the doctor insists that i shall not be fit for campaigning work for double that time." "well, i have come to take you back with me. the countess asks me to tell you that if you do not come at once, she will drive hither with two or three of her maids, and establish herself as your nurse. it will not be a very long drive, for i am well known to the austrians, and have a pass from the governor to go through their lines when i please, and to visit a small estate i have, thirty miles to the north. and no doubt you can get a similar pass for us to leave your lines." "i should like nothing so much, count; but might i not get you into trouble, if it were known that you had one of the king's officers at your house?" "in the first place no one would know it, and in the second place i don't think that i should get into any trouble, were it found out. it is not a prussian officer that i shall be entertaining, still less a spy, but a dear friend who is an invalid and needs care. as everyone knows what you did for me, the excuse would be ample. "moreover, it happens that governor maguire is a personal friend of mine, and i shall call upon him and tell him that i have a sick friend staying with me and, without letting him know who you are, say that i give him my word of honour that you will, while with me, remain in the grounds, and will make no inquiries concerning his fortifications and plans of defence. he will understand what i mean, and if anyone should make a report to him it will, at any rate, cause no trouble; though i do not say that he might not feel obliged to give me notice that you had best go. "well, for today i will remain here and rest my horses; and tomorrow morning we will start, early. "ah! i see you have your henchman still with you. he, like yourself, has escaped both austrian and french bullets. "well, karl," he went on as the soldier came up, "you don't seem to have managed to keep your master out of mischief." "no, count; but it was not my fault. it was the fault of those horses you gave him." "why, how was that, karl?" "well, sir, the colonel was the best mounted man on the king's staff and, however hard he worked the horses, they always seemed to keep in good condition. so that whenever there was anything to be done, it was sure to be, 'colonel drummond, please go here or go there.' he was always on horseback, and so at last he broke down. anyone else would have broken down months before, but he never seemed to know what it was to be tired." "what, have you got another step, drummond?" the count said, smiling at the soldier's tone of discontent. "yes, count. it is not for anything particular this time, but for what i may call general services. "you are going to have an easy time of it now, karl. count eulenfurst is kindly going to take me off and nurse me for a bit; and you will have to stay here and look after the horses, until i return. it would not be safe for you to accompany me, and i think you want a rest as much as i want nursing. "why, for two months, count, this good fellow never took off his coat; and i don't think he ever slept an hour at a time. i have never once called when he was not there to answer." "i did what i could," karl growled, "but it was not much. the colonel has always looked well after me, and the least i could do was to look after him, when he wanted it. "i am very glad he is going with you, sir. it is dull enough for him here; and i am sure he will get on much faster, under your care and the ladies', than he would do moping about in this place." fergus wrote a note to the general of the division, and karl returned with a pass authorizing count eulenfurst's carriage to pass through the lines, at any time. "there is one difficulty i have not thought of, count. i have no civilian clothes. those i brought with me were left in the magazine at dresden, when i first marched away; and there they have been, ever since. but indeed, even if i had them, i do not think that they would fit me; seeing that i have grown some four inches in height since i came out, and at least as much more round my shoulders." "i thought of that," the count said, "and have brought with me a suit from dresden that will, i think, fit you as well as an invalid's clothes can be expected to fit." the next morning an early start was made. no difficulties were encountered on the way and, although sundry detours had to be made, they reached the count's house after a three-hours' drive. thirza ran down to meet them as the count drove up; and she gave a little cry of surprise, and pity, as the count helped fergus to alight. "i shall soon be better, countess," he said with a smile, as he held out his hand. "i am quite a giant in strength, compared with what i was a fortnight ago; but just at present i am a little tired, after the drive." "you look dreadfully bad," the girl said. "still, i hope we shall soon bring you round again. my father said you would be back with him about this time, and we shall begin by giving you some soup, at once." as they entered the hall, the countess herself came down. "welcome back again! i may say, i hope, welcome home again, major drummond!" "colonel drummond," the count corrected. "he is one of frederick's colonels now." "i congratulate you," she went on, "though just at present, you certainly do not look a very formidable colonel. however, we will soon build you up; but don't try to talk now. i see the journey has been almost too much for you. "in here, please. i thought you had better take something before you climbed the stairs." a meal was laid, in a room leading off the hall; and after a basin of soup and a couple of glasses of rhine wine, fergus felt much better. "that is right," the count said. "you have now got a tinge of colour in your cheeks. "come, thirza, you must not look so woebegone, because our knight is pulled down a bit. invalids want a cheerful face and, unless you brighten up, i shall not intrust any of the nursing duties to you." thirza tried to smile, but the attempt was a very forced one. "it has been a surprise," she said quietly, but with an evident effort. "you see, i have always seen colonel drummond looking so strong and bright. though i knew that he had been very ill, somehow i did not expect to see him like this." "but i can assure you i am better," fergus said, laughing. "i did feel done when we arrived, but i can assure you that is not my normal state; and being here among you all will very soon effect a transformation. in a very short time you will see that i shall refuse altogether to be treated as an invalid, and my nurse's post will be a sinecure." "now you had better go and lie down, and get a sleep for two or three hours," the countess said, decidedly. "you will have your old bedroom, and we have fitted up the next room as a sitting room. we know a good many of the austrian and confederate officers, and of an afternoon and evening they often drop in; and although we are not afraid of questions, it will be more pleasant for you to have a place of your own. "still, i hope you will be able to be out in the garden behind the house, the best part of the day, under the trees. you would be as safe from interruption, there, as if you were a hundred miles away from dresden. we have arranged that thirza shall have chief charge of you, out there; while the count and i will look after you while you are in the house." fergus obediently lay down and slept for some hours. as the countess had arranged, he rang his bell on waking and, hearing from the servant who answered it that there were no visitors downstairs, he went down. the count had gone out, but the countess and thirza went out into the grounds with him; and he found that, in a quiet and shady corner, a sofa had been placed for his use, with a table and two or three chairs. the countess remained chatting with him until a servant came out, to say that three austrian officers had called; and she went in, leaving him to the charge of thirza. for two or three hours they talked together, and were then joined by the count and countess; when fergus told them the piece of good fortune that had befallen him, by recovering his father's estates. they were greatly pleased and interested. "and are they extensive?" the count asked. "they are extensive," he said, "if taken by acreage; but if calculated by the revenue that they bring in, they would seem small to you. but at any rate, they suffice to make one wealthy in scotland. the large proportion of it is mountain and moorland; but as the head of my clan, i shall hold a position far above what is represented by the income. two hundred men were ready to draw sword, at my father's orders, and to follow him in battle. "i don't know that, here in germany, you can quite understand the ties that bind the members of a clan to their head. they do not regard him as tenants regard a lord; but rather as a protector, a friend, and even a relation. all disputes are carried to him for arbitration. the finest trout from the stream, the fattest buck from the hills, are sent to him as an offering. they draw their swords at his bidding, and will die for him in battle. to them he is a sort of king, and they would obey his orders, were he to tell them to rise in rebellion. "the feeling is to some extent dying out and, since culloden, the power of the clans has greatly abated. nevertheless, some of the highland regiments in our army were raised by chiefs wholly from their own clansmen. "in many respects this restoration of my inheritance changes my position altogether. as i told you the last time i was here, i shall stop until this terrible war is over. the king has been most kind and gracious to me, and to leave before the struggle is over i should feel to be an act of desertion. once the sword is sheathed, i intend to return to scotland; for i should not care to remain in the service, when there is nought but life in garrison to look forward to. moreover, the strength of the army would, of course, be largely diminished, at once. "what i should do afterwards, i know not. perhaps i might obtain a commission in our own army, for there are always opportunities of seeing service in america, india, or elsewhere, under the british flag. more likely i shall, at any rate for a time, remain at home. my mother has no other child, and it is a lonely life, indeed, for her." "do you not think of settling here?" "what is there for me to do, count, outside the army? i could not turn merchant, for i should assuredly be bankrupt, at the end of the first month; nor could i well turn cultivator, when i have no land to dig. now, however, my future is determined for me; and a point that has, i own, troubled me much, has been decided without an effort on my part." the conversation was continued for some little time, the count asking many questions about fergus's ancestral home, the scenery, and mode of life. fergus noticed that thirza took no part in the conversation, but sat still; and looked, he thought, pale. the days succeeded each other quietly and uneventfully, and fergus gained strength rapidly; so that, in the middle of july, he began to feel that he was again fit for service. one evening he was sitting alone in the garden with the count, when the latter said to him: "you remember our conversation on the first evening of our coming here, as to the impossibility of your doing anything, did you remain out here after leaving the army. there was one solution to which you did not allude. many scottish and irish soldiers, both in this country, in france, austria, and germany, have married well. why should you not do the same?" fergus was silent for a minute, and then he said: "yes, count; but they continued in the service, rose to the rank of generals and, as in the case of my cousin keith, to that of marshal." "but you might do the same, if you remained in the army," the count said. "you are assuredly, by far, the youngest colonel in it. you are a favourite of the king's, and might hope for anything." "i am afraid, count, i have too much of our scottish feeling of independence; and should not, therefore, like to owe everything to a wife." "the feeling is creditable, if not carried too far," the count said. "you have a position that is a most honourable one. you have made your name famous in the army, where brave men are common. you possess the qualities of youth, a splendid physique, and--i don't wish to flatter you--a face that might win any woman's fancy. there are none, however placed, who might not be proud of such a son-in-law." "you judge everyone by yourself, count," fergus said slowly. "you overrate my qualities, and forget the fact that i am, after all, but a soldier of fortune." "then you never thought of such a thing?" fergus was silent for a minute, and then said: "we may think of many things, count, that we know, in our hearts, are but fancies which will never be realized." "let us suppose a case," the count said. "let us take a case like mine. you did me an inestimable service. you certainly saved my life, and the lives of several others; including, perhaps, those of my wife and daughter. the latter has constantly heard your name associated with deeds of valour. would it be improbable that she should feel a depth of gratitude that would, as she grew, increase into a warmer feeling; while you, on your part, might entertain a liking for her? would it be such an out-of-the-way thing for you to come to me, and ask her hand? or an out-of-the-way thing that i should gladly give her to you?" "it may not seem so to you, count," fergus said quietly; "but it has seemed so to me. i understand what you are so generously saying but, even with such encouragement, i can scarce dare to ask what seems to me so presumptuous a question. for four years, now, this house has been as a home to me; and it was but natural that, as your daughter grew up, i should have grown to love her. i have told myself, hundreds of times, that it would be, indeed, a base return for your kindness, were i to try to steal her heart; and never have i said a single word to her that i would not have said, aloud, had you and her mother been present. during the month that i have been here, now, i have struggled hard with myself; thrown with her, as i have been, for hours every day. but i have made up my mind that no word should ever pass my lips; and if it has done so, now, it is because you have drawn it from me." "i am glad that i have done so," the count said, gravely. "for the last two years i have hoped that this might be so, for in no other way could i repay our debt of gratitude to you. i cannot tell what thirza's thoughts are; but there have been three suitors for her hand this year, any of whom might well, in point of means and character, have been considered suitable; but when i spoke to her she laughed at the idea and, though she said nothing, i gathered that her love was already given. "as my only child, her happiness is my first consideration. as to the question of means, it is absurd to mention them; for did she marry the wealthiest noble, she could desire no more than she will have. i told you, the first time you came to us after that terrible night, that we should always regard you as one of ourselves. we have done so; and i can assure you that her mother and i desire nothing better for her. "for your sake, i am glad that you have come into this scottish estate; but for my own i care nothing for it, and indeed, am in one respect sorry; for you will naturally wish that, for a part of the time each year, she should reside there with you. "now, that has not been so dreadful, has it?" "not in any way, count; and i thank you, with all my heart, for your kindness. my feeling for your daughter has grown up gradually, and it was not until i was last here that i recognized how much i cared for her. i then, when i went away, resolved it would be better for me not to return; at any rate, not to stay here again, until i heard that she was married. it is true that i talked of paying you a visit, even were dresden captured; but i knew that when the time came i should be able to find excuses for not doing so. during the time that i was laid up with fever, she was ever in my mind; but the necessity for my remaining away from here only impressed itself, more and more strongly, upon me. "then you appeared, and carried me off. i could not refuse to come, without giving my reason; but i fully determined that in no way, by look or word, would i allow her to see that i regarded her other than as the daughter of my kind host. i have had a hard fight to keep that resolution, for each day my feelings have grown stronger and stronger; and i had resolved that, before i left, i would own to you, not my presumption, for i have not presumed, but my weakness, and ask you to press me no more to come here, until your daughter was married." "you have acted just as i should have expected from you, drummond. the great hope of the countess and myself has been to see thirza happily married. fortune or position in a suitor have been altogether immaterial points, excepting that we would assure ourselves that it was not to obtain these that her hand was sought. from the first we have regarded you, not only with gratitude, but with deep interest. it seemed to us only natural that, after so strange and romantic a beginning to your acquaintance, thirza should regard you with more than ordinary interest. to her you would be a sort of hero of romance. we watched you closely then, and found that in addition to your bravery you possessed all the qualities that we could desire. you were modest, frank, and natural. so far from making much of the service you had rendered us, you were always unwilling to speak of it; and when that could not be avoided, you made as little of it as possible. "i spoke several times of you to marshal keith, and he said that he regarded you almost as a son, and spoke in the highest terms of you. we saw, or fancied we saw, in the pleasure which thirza betrayed when you returned after each of your absences; and in the anxiety which she evinced when battles had taken place, until i could ascertain that your name was not among the lists of killed and wounded; that what we had thought likely was taking place, and that she regarded you with an interest beyond that which would be excited by gratitude only. "as to yourself, and your thoughts on the subject, we knew nothing. we never saw anything in your manner to her that showed that your heart was affected. you chatted with her as freely and naturally as to us and, even since you have been here this time, we have observed no change in you. and yet, it seemed to us well-nigh impossible that a young soldier should be thrown so much with a girl who, though it is her father who says so, is exceptionally pretty and of charming manners, and continue to regard her with indifference; unless, indeed, he loved elsewhere, which we were sure in your case could hardly be. i had however, like yourself, determined to speak on the matter before you left us; as, had you not felt towards her as we hoped, the countess and i agreed that it would be better, for her sake, that we should not press you to come to stay with us again until she was married. "i am truly glad that the matter stands as we had hoped. i can only repeat that there is no one to whom we could intrust her happiness so confidently as to you." "i will do my best to justify your confidence, count," fergus said warmly. "now i will go into the house and tell my wife, and then we can acquaint thirza. it is the custom here, at least among people of rank, for the parents first to acquaint their daughter with a proposal that has been made for her hand, and of their wishes on the subject. parental control is not carried to the point, now, that it used to be; and maidens sometimes entertain different opinions to those of their parents. happily, in the present case, there is no reason to fear that thirza will exhibit any contumacy. "fortunately we are alone at dinner, today. therefore do you come down, a quarter of an hour before the usual hour, and we will get the matter formally settled." when fergus went into the drawing room, the count was already there. "thirza shows no unwillingness to carry out our commands in this matter," he said with a smile, as he held out his hand to fergus and shook it very heartily. "i pointed out to her that you would naturally expect her to accompany you every year to scotland, and to spend some months among your people there. she did not seem to consider that any insupportable objection. "in one respect, fergus, i think that it is well for you that i am comparatively a young man; being now but forty-four, while the countess is six years younger; thus it may be a good many years before you will be called upon to assume the control of my estates, and the position of one of the great landowners of saxony. one of these estates will, of course, be thirza's dowry at once; but that will not tie you so much, and you will be freer to come and go as it pleases you." two or three minutes later the door opened, and the countess entered, leading thirza by the hand. the girl advanced with downcast eyes, until her father stepped forward and took her left hand, while he held the right of fergus. "my daughter," he said, "your mother and i have chosen for your husband colonel fergus drummond. we consider the match to be in all ways a suitable one. we esteem him highly, and are convinced that he will make you happy; loving you, as he says, tenderly and truly. in this room where you first saw him, i need not recall to you the services he rendered to us; and i exhort you to obey this our order, and to be a true and loving spouse to him." the girl looked up now. "that will i, father and mother, and most willingly; and will always, to my life's end, be a true and loving wife to him." [illustration: "take her, drummond, you have won your bride fairly and well"] "take her, colonel," the count said, putting her hand into that of fergus. "you have won your bride fairly and well, and i know that you will be a worthy husband to her." "that i swear to be," fergus said, as he stooped and kissed her. "i feel how great is the boon that you have given me; and shall, to my life's end, be deeply thankful to you both for the confidence which you have placed in me, in thus intrusting her to my care. "and to you, thirza, do i swear to be a loving husband, to the end of my life." "and now," the count said, "we will leave these young people till the bell rings," and taking the countess's hand, he led her into the next room. the ten minutes that passed, before the signal for dinner was given, sufficed to do much to lessen the awkwardness of the occasion; and fergus was heartily grateful to the count for having left them to themselves for that short time. the dinner passed off as usual, the count chatting gaily; while fergus attempted, with indifferent success, to follow him. thirza was very silent, but her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes radiant with happiness. it did not escape the attention of the servants who waited that instead of, as usual, leading down the countess while the count brought down his daughter; this time the count and his wife had come down first, followed by fergus and the young countess. nor were they slow to notice thirza's flushed face. the count's household had been deeply interested in the visits of fergus. the women had always been unanimous in their opinion that they would all have been murdered by the marauders, had it not been for his interposition; and had also agreed that the most proper thing in the world, after what had happened, would be that the young countess should someday marry this brave young officer. each time that he had come, during the last four years, they had watched and hoped that they should hear that this was coming about; but hitherto they had been terribly disappointed, and had almost agreed that, if nothing came of this long visit, nothing would ever come of it. the news, therefore, brought down by the menservants excited a lively interest. "i said all along that it would be so some day," one of the women exclaimed. "the countess would never have allowed our young lady to be out in the garden, every afternoon, if she and the count had not been willing that there should be a match; and i am sure i don't see how he could help falling in love with the young countess." "nor she with him," another woman added. "he is the pleasantest-looking young gentleman i have ever seen, and we know that he is one of the bravest; and though he is a prussian officer, there is not a bit of stiffness about him. well, i only hope it is true." "i would not count on it too much," one of the older women said. "you never can take menfolks' opinions on such matters. i am sure any of us would know with half an eye, if we saw them together, how matters stood; but as for men, they are as blind as bats in such matters. still, the fact that he took the young countess down, instead of our lady, goes for something." the next morning, indeed, the news was confirmed. the countess told her tire woman, who had been thirza's nurse, what had happened; and in a few minutes it was known all over the house, and even the parties most concerned scarcely felt more pleasure than the women of the count's establishment. chapter : liegnitz. "i have news," the count said, when he came in to lunch, after he had been down into the town; "a messenger has come in with a despatch this morning, saying that the king, with his army, is marching hither with all speed." an exclamation of alarm broke from thirza, and one of surprise from fergus. they had been in the garden together all the morning. "it will be but a day or two earlier," fergus said in a low tone to her. "i told you that in three days, at the most, i must leave. the surgeon gave me six weeks, but i have so thoroughly recovered that i feel i ought to be with the king." then he raised his voice. "that is startling news indeed, count; but i can hardly believe that he intends to besiege dresden. he has no siege guns with him, and though, i suppose, he has as usual got a start of daun, he can hardly hope to capture the city before the austrians come up. at any rate, i must ride out and report myself, and join him as soon as he gets close. it is hard, indeed, at this moment. still, there is no question but that it is my duty." "i see that, and i am sure that thirza would not wish to keep you from it. as long as you are a soldier, duty is the first thing. however, as the king is coming hither, we shall doubtless see you sometimes. as we are half a mile outside the walls, we shall be within the besieging lines." "i hope that if the king besieges, count, it will not be on this side, for you might be exposed to shot from the town batteries." "if we are so, we must move beyond their range and go to our place at wirzow. that is but twelve miles away. it is a small house, but will do very well for a time." "i should hope, count, that there will be no occasion for that. the king cannot hope to lay siege in regular form, though he may try an assault. slow as daun is, he must be here within ten days or so of frederick's arrival; and it is probable that the march here is intended rather to draw daun away from his russian allies, than with any hope of taking dresden." "will you go this afternoon?" "i think that i ought to, count. if the news has come that frederick is marching to besiege dresden, he cannot be far away; for it is certain that he will march as fast as he can, and will himself follow closely on the news. 'tis plain that lacy feels himself unable to oppose him, and must be falling back with all speed before him. if i were to report myself this evening as convalescent, i can join him tomorrow, if i find that he is but a march away." "i will take you in my carriage, as before," the count said. "i can get back here before dark." two hours later they started, thirza consoled to some extent by the assurance that, in all probability, fergus would be back again in the course of two or three days. they found that the austrian advanced posts had already been withdrawn, and experienced no difficulty with the prussians; so that by five o'clock they arrived at the hospital, the count at once starting on his return journey. karl was delighted at seeing his master looking himself again. "i hardly thought that a month could do so much for you," he said, "especially as you were mending but slowly, before you went." "yes, i was a poor creature then, karl; and i did not think, myself, that i should be really fit for work for some time to come; but at any rate, in such weather as this, i have no fear of breaking down." putting on his uniform, he went to the principal medical officer, and reported his return and his fitness for duty. "you have certainly gained strength a great deal faster than i expected, colonel drummond. i don't know that you are fit for any really hard work, but i suppose that you will be at least a week before you join the king; and by that time you may be able to do a fair amount of work." "i fancy i shall join the king tomorrow, doctor." "tomorrow?" the surgeon repeated in surprise. "yes, sir. have you not heard the news? the king is marching with all speed this way. i do not know what his intention is--to force lacy to give battle single handed before daun can arrive, or to besiege dresden--but in the city they believe that they are going to be besieged." "this is news indeed," the surgeon said. "the scouts brought in word this morning that a considerable force was seen, coming along the road from bautzen. it must be lacy's army." "we may be sure that the king is pretty close at his heels," fergus said. "i have no doubt that by tomorrow morning we shall have news of him, and i fancy that i shall not have far to ride to join him." the opinion was justified. that evening lacy joined the confederate army, in their strong position behind the gap of plauen. he had been hotly chased, indeed. frederick had been manoeuvring to pass daun and carry on a campaign in silesia; but the austrian general had been too cautious, and it was impossible to pass him without fighting; so on the night of the th he left bautzen suddenly and silently, and marched all night, in hopes of catching lacy at godau. the latter's croats, however, brought him news in time, and he at once retreated. after a short halt the prussians pressed on for another eighteen miles, capturing some of lacy's hussars, but failing to come up with his main body; which, marching all that day and the next night, arrived near dresden on the morning of the th, lacy himself reaching the town the evening before. by thursday evening the whole of his army had crossed dresden bridge and got in safely behind plauen, leaving ten thousand men to aid the four thousand in the garrison. at noon fergus, hearing that, without doubt, the whole of the enemy had fallen back, started with karl; and that evening rode into the royal camp, and reported himself to the king. "i am glad to see you back, drummond," frederick said heartily. "i have sorely missed you; and indeed, when i rode away the accounts of you were so bad that i doubted whether you would ever be able to be with me again. you don't look quite yourself yet, but no doubt the air and exercise will soon bring you round. have you any news?" "lacy has left ten thousand men in dresden, sire, and with the rest of his force has joined the confederate army at plauen." "just what i wished," the king said. "it has saved me a long march, and we will now go straight to dresden." the next day the army marched forward, circled round the western and southern sides of dresden, and encamped at gruna, a mile to the southeast of the city; and throughout the night laboured at getting up batteries. the division under holstein was planted on an eminence on the other side of the river, across which a pontoon bridge was at once thrown. there was no fear of disturbance from lacy, the united force of the enemy having retreated to the old saxon camp at pirna. the king, after seeing the batteries marked out, retired to bed early; and fergus was able to ride round and pay a short visit to the count. on the th the batteries opened fire--maguire having refused the summons to surrender--and continued for four days without making much impression upon the walls, the heaviest guns being only twenty-five pounders. on the th some heavy guns arrived from magdeburg. the batteries were all ready for them, and as soon as they arrived they were set to work. maguire burnt the suburbs outside the town, and answered the cannonade hotly. finding that the guns on the walls did but little damage to the prussian batteries, maguire mounted two or three guns on to the leads of the protestant church, and from this commanding position he was able to throw shot right into them. the prussian fire was at once concentrated on the church, which was speedily set on fire. this spread through the surrounding streets, and a tremendous conflagration raged for the next forty-eight hours. but by this time daun, who had lost some days before setting out in pursuit of frederick, was within five miles of the town, had driven holstein across the river, and was in communication with maguire. on the night of the st- nd maguire's garrison, led by general nugent, sallied out from dresden; while four thousand of daun's men marched round from the north side. for a time the assault on the prussian intrenchments was successful, although nugent was, on his first attack, repulsed and taken prisoner. but when daun's people arrived the regiments defending the trenches were driven out. then fresh battalions came up and drove the austrians out, taking many prisoners. daun remained passive for some days after this, and frederick continued to cannonade the city until the th; making, however, his preparations for departure, and going off unmolested by the enemy towards meissen. the news reached him that glatz, one of the barrier fortresses of silesia, had been taken by loudon, and that the latter was besieging breslau. daun had guessed the way by which frederick would retire, and had broken up the roads and bridges, and felled trees in the forests so as to render them impassable; and as soon as frederick started he moved in the same direction, his position so serving him that, marching by a road parallel to that taken by the king, he was ahead of him. lacy had been warned to be prepared, and he too started with his army, so that the three forces moved eastward at a comparatively short distance apart. although hampered by the obstacles in their way, and by a train of two thousand wagons, the prussians moved rapidly and covered a hundred miles in five days. daun made what was, for him, prodigious efforts also, and kept the lead he had gained. on the th of august frederick was thirty miles west of liegnitz. here he halted for a day, and on the th marched to the katzbach valley, only to find that daun was securely posted on the other side of the river, and lacy on the hills a few miles off. the next morning frederick marched down the bank of the katzbach to liegnitz, daun keeping parallel with him on the other side of the river. knowing that daun had been joined during the night by loudon, and that they were vastly too strong to be attacked, frederick started at eleven at night, and at daybreak was back on his old camping ground. he crossed the river, hoping to be able to fall upon lacy; but the latter had moved off, and frederick, pressing on, would have got fairly ahead of his enemies if it had not been for the heavy baggage train, which delayed him for five hours; and by the time it came up he found that lacy, daun, and loudon were all round him again. the situation seemed desperate. the army had but four days' provisions left, and a scout sent out on the th reported that the roads over the hills were absolutely impassable for baggage. at eight o'clock the army set out again, recrossed the katzbach, and again made for liegnitz, which they reached after a sixteen hours' march. here the king halted for thirty hours, and his three enemies gathered round him again. they were ninety thousand strong, while he was but thirty. daun made elaborate reconnaissances, and frederick had no doubt that he would be attacked, that night or early the next morning. after dark the army marched quietly away, and took up its position on the heights of torberger, its fires being left burning brightly, with two drummers to beat occasionally. daun's and lacy's fires were clearly visible; but they, like his own, were deserted, both having marched to catch him, as they hoped, asleep at liegnitz; but it chanced that loudon had been ordered to take post just where frederick had halted, and his troops came suddenly upon the prussians in the dark. a battalion was despatched at once, with some cannon, to seize the crest of the wolfberg. loudon, whose work was to prevent frederick from flying eastward, had hurried forward; his scouts having informed him that a number of the prussian baggage waggons were passing, and hoped to effect a capture of them; and he was vastly surprised when, instead of finding the baggage guard before him, he was received with a tremendous musketry fire and volleys of case shot. he at once rallied his troops and, with five battalions in front, dashed forward. he was repulsed, but returned to the attack three times. he kept edging round towards the right, to take frederick in flank; but the prussians also shifted their ground, and met him. the austrian cavalry poured down again and again, and fresh battalions of infantry were continually brought up. at last loudon felt that the contest was hopeless, and fell back across the katzbach. the prussians captured six thousand of his men before they could get across the river, four thousand were killed and wounded, and eighty-two cannons captured. thus his army of thirty-five thousand strong had been wrecked by the prussian left wing, numbering fifteen thousand; the rest of the prussian forces, under ziethen, keeping guard lest daun and lacy should come on to aid him. daun, however, was miles away, intent upon catching frederick; and did not know until morning that his camp had been deserted, and loudon beaten. as soon as he was assured of this, he poured his cavalry across the river, but ziethen's cannon drove them back again; and he saw that, with ziethen standing in order of battle, in a commanding position, with his guns sweeping the bridges, he could do nothing. frederick remained four hours on the battlefield, collected five thousand muskets lying on the field and, with the six thousand prisoners, his wounded, and newly-captured cannon, marched away at nine o'clock in the morning. a russian force of twenty-four thousand still blocked the way; but, desirous above all things to effect a junction with prince henry, frederick got rid of them, by sending a peasant with instructions to let himself be taken by the russians. the slip of paper he carried contained the words: "austrians totally beaten this day. now for the russians, dear brother, and swift. do what we have agreed upon." the ruse had its effect. the russian general, believing that frederick and prince henry were both about to fall upon him, retreated at once, burning the bridge behind him; and the king pushed on to breslau, which he reached on the th; having, thanks to the wonderful marching of his troops, and his own talent, escaped as if by a miracle from what seemed certain destruction. for a fortnight frederick remained encamped, at a short distance from breslau, waiting to see what daun and soltikoff intended to do. daun was busy urging the russians to come on. soltikoff was sulky that daun had failed in all his endeavours, and that the brunt of the affair was likely, again, to fall on him and his russians. elsewhere things had gone more favourably for the king. ferdinand of brunswick had now twenty thousand british with him, and fifty thousand hanoverians and brunswickers; while the french army under broglio was one hundred and thirty thousand strong. a check was first inflicted on the french at korbach and, a few days later, an english cavalry regiment and a battalion of scotch infantry cut up or captured a brigade of french dragoons. on the th of july, as frederick was leaving dresden, a serious engagement took place at warburg. here broglio's rear guard of thirty thousand infantry and cavalry, under the chevalier du muy, were attacked; in the first place by a free corps called the british legion, composed of men of many nationalities, who turned du muy's right wing out of warburg. then the prince of brunswick fell upon the whole french line, and the fight was a stubborn one for two or three hours, maxwell's british brigade fighting most obstinately. they were greatly outnumbered, but were presently joined by lord granby, at the head of the english cavalry, and these decided the battle. the french lost fifteen hundred killed, over two thousand prisoners, and their guns; the allies twelve hundred killed and wounded, of whom eight hundred were british, showing how large a share they had taken in the fighting. another good bit of news for frederick was that hulsen, whom he had left to watch the enemy in saxony, had, with ten thousand men, defeated an army thirty thousand strong; who, as they thought, had caught him in a net. the russians had fallen back, but only to besiege colbert again. prince henry was ill, but frederick had made a junction with his army, bringing his force up to fifty thousand. during the whole of september there were marches and counter-marches, frederick pushing daun backwards, and preventing him from besieging any of his fortresses, and gradually cutting the austrians from their magazines. general werner on the th, with five thousand men, fell suddenly upon fifteen thousand russians covering the siege of colbert, defeated, and scattered them in all directions. the russian army at once marched away from colbert; not however, as frederick hoped, back to poland but, in agreement with daun, to make a rush on berlin. one force, twenty thousand strong, crossed the oder. the main body, under fermor, for soltikoff had fallen sick, moved to frankfort; while lacy, with fifteen thousand, marched from silesia. on the rd of october the russian vanguard reached the neighbourhood of berlin, and summoned it to surrender, and pay a ransom of four million thalers. the garrison of twelve hundred strong, joined by no small part of the male population, took post at the gates and threw up redoubts; and prince eugene of wuertemberg, after a tremendous march of forty miles, threw himself into the city. the russian vanguard drew off, until joined by lacy. hulsen, with nine thousand, had followed lacy with all speed; and managed to throw himself into berlin before the twenty thousand russians arrived. there were now fourteen thousand prussians in the city, thirty-five thousand russians and austrians outside. the odds were too great. negotiations were therefore begun with the russian general tottleben, and berlin agreed to pay one million and a half thalers, in the debased coin that now served as the medium of circulation. lacy was furious and, when he and the russians marched in, his men behaved so badly that the russians had, two or three times, to fire upon them. saxon and austrian parties sacked potsdam and other palaces in the neighbourhood, but the russians behaved admirably; and so things went on until, on october th, came the news that frederick was coming. lacy at once marched off with all speed towards torgau; while tottleben and the russians made for frankfort-on-oder, the cossacks committing terrible depredations on the march. the king halted when he heard that berlin had been evacuated. he was deeply grieved and mortified that his capital should have been in the hands of the invaders, even for three days; and his own loss, from the sacking of potsdam and other palaces, was very heavy. however, he paid the ransom from his own pocket, and bitterly determined to get even with the enemy, before winter came on. while hulsen was away, the confederate army had captured all the strongholds in saxony. daun had, as usual, advanced with his sixty thousand men, and intended to winter in saxony; but before he could get there, frederick had dashed south and recaptured wittenberg and leipzig, crossed the elbe, and driven the scattered corps of the confederate army before him. prince eugene had also hurried that way, and defeated his brother, the reigning duke of wuertemberg. daun moved with the intention of aiding the confederate army, but before he could reach them hulsen had driven them across the mountain range into bohemia, and fell back towards torgau. long before this fergus had received a reply, from his mother, to his letter announcing the glad news of the restoration of the estate: "it will be doubly dear to me," she said, "as having been won back by your own exertions and bravery. these four years have been an anxious time, indeed, for me, fergus; but the thought that you are restored to your own, as the result of what you have done, makes up for it all. i quite see that as long as the war continues you cannot, with honour, leave the king; but i cannot think that this war will go on very much longer, and i can wait patiently for the end. "and, fergus, i am not quite sure that the end will be that you will quietly settle down in the glens. a mother's eye is sharp, and it seems to me that that young countess near dresden is a very conspicuous figure in your letters. during the four years that you have been out, you have not mentioned the name of any lady but her and her mother; and you always speak of going back there, as if it were your german home. that is natural enough, after the service that you have rendered them. still, 'tis strange that you should apparently have made the acquaintance of no other ladies. i don't think that you have written a single letter, since you have been away, in which you have not said something about this saxon count and his family. "however, even if it should be so, fergus, i should not be discontented. it is only natural that you should sooner or later marry; and although i would rather that it had been into a scotch family, it is for you to choose, not me. i am grateful already, very grateful for the kindness the family have shown you; and am quite inclined to love this pretty young countess, if she, on her part, is inclined to love you. i don't think i could have said so quite as heartily, before i received your last letter; for i had a great fear that you might marry and settle down, altogether, in germany; but now that the estate is yours, and you are the head of your clan, i feel sure that you will, at any rate, spend a part of your time among your own people." a second letter reached fergus at the beginning of october; in answer to his from the camp in front of dresden, in the middle of july, which had been delayed much on its way, owing to the rapid marches of the army, until it had shaken itself free from its pursuers after the battle of liegnitz. it began: "i congratulate you, my dear fergus, congratulate you with all my heart; and if there is just a shadow of regret that you should not have married and settled here entirely, it is but a small regret, in proportion to the pleasure i feel. it is not even reasonable, for when i consented to your going abroad to take service in prussia, i knew that this would probably end in your settling down there altogether; for it was hardly likely that you could win a fortune that would admit of your coming back to live here. "of course, had your estate at that time been restored to you, you would probably not have gone at all; or if you had done so, it would have been but to stay for a few years, and see service under your cousin keith, and then return to live among your own people. as it was, there was no reason why you should greatly wish to return to scotland, where you were landless, with no avenues open to employment. however, what you tell me, that the count and countess are willing that you should spend some months here, every year, is far better than i could have expected or even hoped; and, as you may imagine, quite reconciles me to the thought of your marrying abroad. "in all other respects, nothing could be more satisfactory than what you tell me. your promised wife must be a charming young lady, and her father and mother the kindest of people. of course, your worldly prospects will be vastly beyond anything that even my wildest dreams have ever pictured for you, and in this respect all my cares for you are at an end. "it will be delightful, indeed, to look forward to your homecoming every year; and i consider myself in every way a fortunate woman. i am sure that i shall come to love your thirza very dearly. "the only question is, when is the first visit to take place? everyone says that it does not seem that the war can go on very much longer; and that, wonderful as the king's resistance to so many enemies has been, it cannot continue. however, from what you say of his determination, and the spirit of the people, i cannot think that the end can be so near as people think. they have been saying nearly the same thing for the last three years; and yet, though everything seemed as dark as possible, he always extricated himself somehow from his difficulties. "besides, his enemies must at last get tired of a war in which, so far, they have had more defeats than victories, and have lavished such enormous sums of money. france has already impoverished herself, and russia and austria must feel the strain, too. in every church here prayers are offered for the success of the champion of protestantism; and i am sure that if he had sent scottish officers, as gustavus adolphus did, to raise troops in scotland, he could have obtained forty or fifty thousand men in a very few weeks, so excited is everyone over the struggle. "you would be surprised what numbers of people have called upon me, to congratulate me upon your rising to be a colonel in frederick's army--people i have never seen before; and i can assure you that i never felt so important a person, even before the evil days of culloden. when you come back the whole countryside will flock to give you welcome." this letter was a great comfort to fergus. that his mother would rejoice at his good fortune, he knew; but he feared that his marriage with a german lady, whatever her rank, would be a sore disappointment to her, not so much perhaps for her own sake as for that of the clansmen. the english ambassador was no longer with the army. at the fierce fight of liegnitz he had been with frederick, but had passed the night in his carriage, which was jammed up among the baggage wagons, and had been unable to extricate himself or to discover how the battle was going on. several times the austrian cavalry had fallen upon the baggage, and had with great difficulty been beaten off by its guard; and the discomforts of the time, and the anxiety through which he had gone, so unhinged him that he was unable to follow frederick's rapid movements throughout the rest of the campaign. fergus had confided to earl marischal keith, later, his engagement to the count eulenfurst's daughter. "you are a lucky young dog, fergus," he said. "my brother and i came abroad too late for any young countess to fall in love with us. there is nothing like taking young to the business of soldiering abroad. bravery is excellent in its way; but youth and bravery, combined with good looks, are irresistible to the female mind. i am heartily glad that one of our kin should have won something more than six feet of earth by his sword. "count eulenfurst is one of the few men everyone speaks well of. there is no man in saxony who stands higher. in any other country he would have been the leading statesman of his time, but the wretched king, and his still more wretched minister, held in disfavour all who opposed their wanton extravagance and their dangerous plans. "it is an honour indeed to be connected with such a family, putting aside all question of money; but indeed, in this respect nothing could be more satisfactory. his daughter is the sole heiress of his wide estates, and as her husband you will have a splendid position. "i am very glad, lad, that the count has no objection to your passing a portion of your time in scotland. they say, you know, that much as scotchmen boast of their love of their country, they are always ready to leave it to better themselves; and that it is very seldom they ever return to it. such was, unhappily, the case with my brother; such will probably be the case with myself; but i am glad that you will be an exception, and that you will still keep up your connection with your old home. "i hope, lad, that you will have more than one son. the first, of course, will make saxony his home; but bring up the second as a scotchman, send him home to be educated, and let him succeed you in the glens. if he has the family instinct for fighting, let him go into the british army--he can go into no better--but let your people have some one who will be their own laird, and whose interests will be identified with their own." fergus smiled at the old man's earnestness. "that is rather looking ahead, sir," he said. "however, it is certainly what i should like to do, myself; and if, as you say, i have more than one son, i will certainly give the second the training you suggest, and make a scotchman of him. certainly, if he has fighting instincts, he will see that he will have more opportunities of active service, in the british army, than he could have in that of saxony; which has been proved unable to stand alone, and can only act as a small ally to either prussia or austria. even putting aside my nationality, i would rather be fighting under clive, in india, than in any service in the world--even in that of prussia." "you are right, lad. since the days of marlborough, people have begun to think that the british were no longer a fighting people; but the way in which they have wrested canada from the french, and achieved marvels in india, to say nothing of the conduct of their infantry at minden, shows that the qualities of the race are unchanged; and some day they will astonish the world again, as they have done several times in their history." the king soon heard the news from the earl, and one evening said to fergus: "so, as the earl marischal tells me, you have found time, colonel drummond, for love making. i thought, that day i went to express my regrets for the outrage that had been committed at count eulenfurst's, that it would make a pretty romance if the young lady who received me should take a fancy to you; which was not altogether unlikely, after the gallant manner in which you had saved them all from those rascals of mine; and when you told me, at dresden, that they had been nursing you, the idea again occurred to me. well, i am glad you have done so well for yourself. as a king, i rejoice that one who has fought so bravely should obtain a meet reward; and as one who dabbles in poetry, the romance of the thing is very pleasant to me. "but i am not to lose your services, i hope?" "no, sire. so long as the war goes on, i shall continue to serve your majesty to the best of my powers." the king nodded. "it is what i should have expected, from one of marshal keith's relations," he said; "but it is not everyone who would care to go on leading this dog's life, when a pretty and well-endowed bride is awaiting him. "however, it cannot last much longer. the crisis must come, ere long. if we can defeat daun, it may be put off for a time. if we are beaten, i do not see that i can struggle longer against fate. with berlin already in their hands, with the country denuded of men and almost exhausted in means, with the russian and austrian armies already planted on prussian soil, i can do no more, if i lose another great battle." "we must hope that it will not be so, sire. the spirit of the soldiers is as high as ever and, now that they will be fighting nearly within sight of their homes, they can be trusted to achieve almost impossibilities." "the men are good men," the king said, "and if i had keith and schwerin by my side, i should feel more hopeful; but they are gone, and there are none to fill their places. my brother henry is a good soldier, but he is over cautious. seidlitz has not recovered from his wounds. hulsen has done well of late, and has shown wonderful energy, considering that he is an old man. but there are none of them who are at once prudent when it behoved them to be prudent, and quick to strike when they see an opening, like schwerin and keith. "ziethen is a splendid cavalry officer, but he is fit to command cavalry only; and the whole burden falls upon my shoulders, which are getting too old to bear so heavy a weight." "i trust, sire, that they will not have to bear the burden much longer. just at present russia and austria are doubtless encouraged by success; but the strain must be heavy on them also, and another defeat might well cause them to doubt whether it is worthwhile to continue to make sacrifices that produce such small results." "heaven grant that it may be so!" the king said earnestly. "god knows that i never wanted this war, and that from the day it began i have eagerly grasped every chance that presented itself of making peace, short of the dismemberment of my kingdom. i would at this moment willingly accede to any terms, however onerous, in order to secure peace for my country." chapter : torgau. after many marches and quick blows at the confederate armies, and driving them beyond the borders of saxony, frederick moved towards torgau, where daun had established himself in a position that he deemed impregnable. it had been prince henry's camp during the previous autumn, and daun had in vain beleaguered it. hulsen had made it his headquarters during the summer. torgau was an old-fashioned town, surrounded by tracts of pine wood, with pleasant villages and much well-cultivated land. the town rose above the elbe, on the shoulder of a broad eminence called the siptitz. this height stands nearly a mile from the river. on the western and southern side of the town are a series of lakes and quagmires, the remains of an old course of the elbe. set on siptitz's heights was daun's camp, girt about by intrenchments. the hill was mostly covered with vineyards. its height was some two hundred feet above the general level of the country, and its area some five or six square miles. covered, as its flanks were, by heights, woods, ponds, and morasses, the position was an extremely strong one, so much so that daun had not ventured to attack prince henry, though in vastly superior force; and still more difficult was it for frederick to do so, when held by an army greatly superior to his own, for the austrian force numbered sixty-five thousand, while the king, after being joined by all his detachments, had but forty-four thousand. nothing, indeed, but the most urgent necessity could have driven the king to attempt so difficult an enterprise. [map: battle of torgau] his plan was to attack it simultaneously in front and rear; and to do this he decided that half the force, under ziethen, should attack the siptitz hill on the south side; while he himself, with the other half, was to make a long detour and assault it, at the same moment, on the north. frederick's march was some fifteen miles in length, while ziethen had but six to traverse; and as the route was through forests, the difficulties in the way of the two columns arriving at their point of attack, simultaneously, were great indeed; and were increased by the fact that the weather was wet, the ground heavy, and the streams swollen. the king's force marched in three columns, by roads through the forest. there were no villages here, no one to question as to the turns and branchings of roads, thus adding to the chances that even frederick's force would not arrive together at the point of attack. frederick's own column contained eight thousand grenadiers and foot guards, with a force of cavalry; and his line of march was by the road nearest to daun's position. two other columns--hulsen's, composed principally of infantry; and holstein's, chiefly of cavalry--marched on parallel roads on a wider circle; and the baggage, in a column by itself, outside all. daun had news of frederick's approach, and had strong detachments watching in the woods. the scouts of one of these parties brought in news of the king's march. a signal cannon was fired immediately, and daun learned thereby of the movement to attack him from the north. daun at once wheeled round a portion of his force to receive frederick's attack. lacy, with twenty thousand men, had been placed as an advanced guard; and now shifted his position westward, to guard what had become daun's rear; while two hundred fresh cannon were added, to the two hundred already placed, to defend the face threatened by frederick. for an hour before the king arrived at his point of attack, a heavy artillery fire had been heard from ziethen's side; and it was supposed that he had already delivered his attack. unfortunately, he had not done so. he had calculated his pace accurately, but had come upon a small austrian force, like those frederick had encountered. it had for a time held its ground, and had replied to his fire with cannon. ziethen, not knowing how small the force was, drew up in order of battle and drove it back on lacy, far to the east of his proper place of attack. here he became engaged with lacy, and a cannonade was kept up for some hours--precious time that should have been spent in ascending the hills, and giving aid to the king. when frederick's column emerged from the woods, there was no sign of either hulsen or holstein's divisions. the king sent out his staff to hurry them up, and himself reconnoitred the ground and questioned the peasants. the ground proved so boggy as to be impassable, and frederick withdrew into the wood again, in order to attack the austrian left. this had, in prince henry's time, been defended by a strong abattis; but since the cold weather set in, much of this had been used by the austrians as firewood, and it could therefore be penetrated. frederick waited impatiently. he could hear the heavy cannonade on ziethen, and feared that that general would be crushed before he could perform his part of the plan arranged. his staff were unable to find holstein's cavalry, which had taken the wrong turning at some point, and were completely lost. hulsen was still far away. nevertheless, in his desire to give support to ziethen, the king decided upon an attack with his own column, alone. the grenadiers were placed in the front line, the rest of the infantry in the centre. the cavalry, strong, followed to do any service that chance might afford them. it took some time to bring the troops into their new position and, while this was being done, daun opened fire, with his four hundred cannon, upon the forest through which they were marching, with a din that frederick declared exceeded anything that he ever heard before. the small force of artillery took its place outside the wood to cover the attack but, as soon as a few shots were fired, the austrian guns opened upon them and they were silenced. frederick's place was between the two lines of his grenadiers, and they issued from the wood within eight hundred yards of prince henry's abattis, and with marvellous bravery ran forward. mowed down in lines by the storm of cannon shot, they suffered terribly. one regiment was almost entirely destroyed, the other pressed forward as far as the abattis, fighting so desperately that daun was obliged to bring up large reinforcements before he could drive the survivors back. the austrians, believing that victory was won, charged down in pursuit; but the second line met them firmly, drove them back and, following hotly, again reached the abattis; and only retreated slowly before the overwhelming forces which the austrian then brought up. the battle had lasted only an hour, but half frederick's column were already killed or wounded. shortly after they had retired, hulsen's column came up. the four hundred guns had never ceased pouring their iron rain into the forest, but the newcomers arrived in splendid order. the remnant of frederick's column joined them, furious at defeat and burning to meet the enemy again. so stern and resolute was the attack that, for a time, it carried all before it. daun's line of defence was broken, most of his cannon silenced, and for a time the prussians advanced, carrying all before them. had ziethen been doing his part, instead of idly cannonading lacy, the battle would have been won; but his inactivity enabled daun to bring up all his forces against the king. these he hurled at the prussians and, foot by foot, drove them back and pushed them down the hill again. frederick himself had been struck from his horse by a piece of case shot, fortunately almost spent, and which failed to penetrate his thick pelisse. he was badly contused, and for a short time insensible; but he quickly sprung to his feet again, mounted his horse, and maintained his place in the fight as if nothing had happened. after this second repulse he again formed up his troops, and at that moment he was joined by holstein with his cavalry. the sun had already set, and the darkness favoured the attack. daun had not yet recovered from the terrible confusion into which his troops were thrown by the attack, and the prussians again mounted the hill, holstein attacking daun's right wing. the main body of the cavalry found the morasses and obstacles so impracticable that they were unable to attack as arranged, but two regiments succeeded in gaining the plateau. one of these dashed upon the austrian infantry. they met, broke into fragments, and took two whole regiments prisoners; and brought them and six guns triumphantly off. the other regiment charged four austrian battalions, broke them, and brought the greater portion off, prisoners. night fell upon a scene of general confusion. the two armies were completely mixed up. in some places austrians were in the rear of the prussians, in others prussians in the rear of austrians. nothing more could to be done. so far frederick had gained a success and, thanks to the extraordinary bravery and determination of his soldiers, had broken up daun's line and planted himself on the plateau; but he had suffered terribly in doing so, and could hardly hope, in the morning, to make head against the vastly superior forces of the austrians. daun himself had been wounded in the foot, and had gone down to the town to have it dressed. had he been able to remain on the field, late as it was, he might have been able to restore order and to continue the battle; as it was, gradually the firing ceased. exhausted by the long march and the desperate efforts they had made, the prussians wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and lay down to sleep where they stood--if sleep they could, on so bitterly cold a night. on the hilltop there was no wood to be had, but in the forest great fires were lighted. round these prussian and austrian stragglers alike gathered. in the morning they would be foes again, but for tonight they were content to lay their quarrel aside, none knowing who was victor and who vanquished; and which, in the morning, would be prisoners to the others. the king, now that the excitement was over, felt the pain of his wound. he descended the hill, and took up his quarters in the church at the little village of elsnig, where every house was full of wounded. he had left hulsen the charge of endeavouring to reform the scattered troops, but he could do but little that way. in vain did the generals and officers move about with orders, expostulations, and threats. for once the prussian soldier was deaf to the word of command. he had done all that he could do, and nature triumphed over long habits of obedience; even the sound of cannon and musketry, on the other side of the hill, fell dead upon his ears. ziethen had been cannonading all day. nothing had come of it, and nothing could come of it. still, hulsen did a good deal, and by six o'clock had got some of the cavalry and infantry battalions in fair order, on the extreme right; where, in the morning, daun's left flank stood. ziethen, ordinarily a brilliant and active man, had been a strange failure that day. not even the terrible din of the king's battle had roused him to take any measure to support him, or even to make a diversion in his favour. in vain mollendorf, an active and enterprising general, had implored him to attempt something, if only to draw off a portion of the austrian strength from the king. saldern, another general, had fruitlessly added his voice to that of mollendorf. a feeling of deep gloom spread through the army, a feeling that the king had been deserted, and must have been crushed; just as, on the other side, all felt certain that some serious misfortune must have happened to ziethen. at last, as darkness began to set in, at four o'clock, ziethen was persuaded to move. he marched towards the left, to the point where he should have attacked in the morning, but which he had passed in his hot pursuit of the small austrian force; but first sent saldern against the village of siptitz. burning with their repressed impatience, saldern's infantry went at the enemy with a rush, captured the battery there, and drove the austrians out; but the latter fired the bridge so that, for the present, farther advance was barred to the prussians. fortunately at this moment mollendorf, more to the west, came upon the road by which ziethen should have marched. it was carried firmly over the marsh ground, and by a bridge over a stream between two of the ponds. seizing this pass over the morasses, mollendorf sent to ziethen; who, roused at last, ordered all his force to hurry there. the austrians had now taken the alarm, and hurried to oppose the passage; but mollendorf had already many troops across the bridge, and maintained himself till he was sufficiently reinforced to push forward. for an hour and a half a desperate fight raged. the prussians gained but little ground, while the austrians were constantly being reinforced from lacy's command, on their left. hulsen, however, just as he had got a portion of his infantry and cavalry into some sort of order, had marked the sudden increase of the cannonade on the other side of the hill; and, presently seeing the glow of a great fire, guessed that it must come from the village of siptitz. then came a furious cannonade, and the continuous roar of musketry that spoke of a battle in earnest. ziethen, then, was coming at last, and the old general determined to help him. his own riding horses had all been killed, and he had been sorely bruised by the falls. sending for a cannon, he got astride of it, called up the infantry round him--the brigade of general lestwitz--begged the drummers to strike up the prussian march and, through the blackness of the night, started for the point where the din of battle was going on unceasingly. forgotten now were the fatigues of the day. the prussians pressed on with their quick strides, their excitement growing higher and higher as they neared the scene of action; and breaking out into a roar of cheering as, sweeping round on the side of the hill, they joined ziethen's hardly-pressed troops and rushed upon the enemy. but though the news of their coming cheered all the line to fresh exertions, not yet was the combat finished. the whole of lacy's command was opposed to them, swelled by reinforcements sent down from above by o'donnel who, in daun's absence, was in command. it was another hour before the foe gave way, and the prussians pressed steadily up the hill; until at nine o'clock they were planted on the top of the siptitz hill, on the highest point of the plateau, whence their cannon commanded the whole ground down to torgau. daun, conscious of the danger, had, as he heard of ziethen's advance, sent order after order that he must at all costs be driven back; and even when the prussians gained the position, they had still to struggle fiercely for another hour to hold it. daun knew that, with frederick established on one side of the position, and with ziethen well planted upon the other and commanding the whole of it with his guns, there was nothing for it but to retreat; and already he had sent orders that a strong force should form in order of battle to repel an attack, close to the suburbs of torgau. as soon as this disposition was effected, he ordered the retreat to commence. fortunately he had four bridges across the river; and he had, on the previous day, taken the precaution of sending the whole of his baggage wagons over. on occasions of this kind daun's dispositions were always admirable, and he drew off his army across the river in excellent order; half the prussian army knowing nothing of what was going on, and the other half being too exhausted to attempt to interfere, ignorant as they were of the position and state of frederick's division. had the king known earlier what was taking place, comparatively few of the austrian army would have got across the river. but it was not until long after the battle was done that frederick, sitting depressed and heavy hearted, dictating his despatches in the little church seven or eight miles away, learned that what had seemed likely to terminate in a terrible disaster, had ended with a decisive victory. daun lost in the battle twelve thousand killed and wounded, eight thousand prisoners, and forty-five cannon; while the prussians lost between thirteen and fourteen thousand, of whom four thousand were prisoners. it was not until nearly one o'clock in the morning that ziethen learned that the austrians were already across the river. then he pushed down into torgau, and crossed the town bridge in time to capture twenty-six pontoons. daun retreated by the right side of the river, lacy by the left; and the two forces rejoined at dresden, and took up their position, as usual, in the plauen stronghold; while frederick, after finishing the clearance of all saxony save the capital, took up his winter quarters at leipzig on the th of december. the result of the battle of torgau was not to be measured by the respective losses of the two armies. it had the effect of entirely undoing all the advantages that the austrians had gained, throughout the campaign; and left the king in a better position than when it opened in the spring. the russian army had been attacked and beaten, while the austrians were shut up in their natural stronghold, near dresden. the whole of saxony had been recovered; and silesia, with the exception of one or two fortresses, was still in frederick's hands. how light hearted the king felt, after the load of care that had lain upon him had been lifted, may be judged by an extract from a letter, written a fortnight after the battle to an elderly lady of the court at magdeburg. "i am exact in answering, and eager to satisfy you (in that matter of the porcelain). you shall have a breakfast set, my good mamma: six coffee-cups, very pretty, well diapered, and tricked out with all the little embellishments which increase their value. on account of some pieces which they are adding to the set, you will have to wait a few days; but i flatter myself this delay will contribute to your satisfaction, and produce for you a toy that will give you pleasure, and make you remember your old adorer. it is curious how old people's habits agree. for four years past i have given up suppers, as incompatible with the trade i am obliged to follow; and on marching days my dinners consist of a cup of chocolate. "we hurried off like fools, quite inflated with our victory, to try if we could not chase the austrians out of dresden. they made a mockery of us from the tops of their mountains. so i have withdrawn, like a bad little boy, to conceal myself, out of spite, in one of the wretchedest villages in saxony. and here the first thing will be to drive the circle gentlemen (reich's army) out of freyberg into chemnitz, and get ourselves soon to quarters, and something to live upon. "it is, i swear to you, a hideous life; the like of which nobody but don quixote ever led before me. all this tumbling and toiling, and bother and confusion that never ceases, has made me so old that you would scarcely know me again. on the right side of my head the hair is all gray. my teeth break and fall out. i have got my face wrinkled like the falbalas of a petticoat, my back bent like a fiddle bow, and spirit sad and cast down like a monk of la trappe. i forewarn you of all this lest, in case we should meet again in flesh and bone, you might feel yourself too violently shocked by my appearance. there remains to me nothing but the heart, which has undergone no change; and which will preserve, as long as i breathe, its feelings of esteem and of tender friendship for my good mamma. "adieu." fergus knew nothing of the concluding scenes of the battle of torgau until some little time afterwards. he was not with the king when the grenadiers first made their attack on the hill, having been despatched to find and bring up hulsen's column. having discovered it, he guided it through the forest to the point where frederick was so anxiously expecting its arrival; and when it advanced, with the survivors of the grenadiers, to the second attack, he took his place behind the king. they were halfway up the ascent when a cannon ball struck him on the left arm, carrying it away just above the elbow. [illustration: "as fergus fell from his horse, karl, who was riding behind him, leapt from his saddle"] as he fell from his horse, karl, who was riding behind him, leapt from his saddle with a hoarse cry of rage. then, seeing the nature of the wound, he lifted him in his arms, mounted fergus's horse, and rode down through an interval between the regiments of the second line; and then into the wood, to the spot where the surgeons were dressing the wounds of those hurt in the first charge. one who had just finished attending one of the grenadiers, seeing that the trooper was carrying a colonel of the king's staff, at once helped karl to lower him to the ground. "you have done well to bring him down at once, my man," he said. "it may be the saving of his life." as he spoke, he was cutting off the tunic. "there is not much flow of blood. you see, the contusion has closed the main artery. if we can keep it from bursting out, he will do." he took out from his case some stout tape, passed it round the arm, asked karl for a ramrod out of one his pistols and, with this, twisted the tape until it almost cut into the skin. then he gave a few more turns, to hold the ramrod securely in its place. then he called a young surgeon to him. "we had better make a good job of this, at once," he said. "this is colonel drummond, one of the king's favourite officers, and a most gallant young fellow. it will not take us five minutes." the artery was first found and tied up; for prussian surgery was, at that time, far ahead of our own. the bruised flesh was pressed up, the bone cut off neatly, above the point where it was splintered, the flesh brought down again over it and trimmed, then several thicknesses of lint put over it, and the whole carefully bandaged up. "there," he said to karl, as he rose from his work, "that is all that i can do for him; and unless it bursts out bleeding again, he is likely to do well. if it does, you must tighten that tape still more. all there is to do is to keep him as quiet as possible. "have you any spirits?" "yes, doctor, there is a flask in his holster." "mix some with as much water, and pour a little down his throat from time to time. fold his cloak, and put it under his head. he will probably recover consciousness in a short time. when he does so, impress upon him the necessity of lying perfectly quiet. as soon as the battle is over, we must get him moved into shelter." in half an hour fergus opened his eyes. karl, who was kneeling by him, placed one hand on his chest and the other on the wounded arm. "you must not move, colonel," he said. "you have been hit, but the doctor says you will get over it; but you must lie perfectly still." fergus looked round in bewilderment. then, as the roar of the battle came to his ears, he made an instinctive effort to rise. "it is going on still," karl said, repressing the movement. "we shall thrash them, presently; but you can do nothing more today, and you must do as the doctor bids you, sir." "where am i hit?" "it is on the left arm, colonel. an austrian cannonball did the business. if it had been three or four inches farther to the right, it would have finished you. as it is, i hope that you will soon get about again." "then it has taken off my arm," fergus said feebly. "better that than your head, sir. the left arm is of no great account, except for holding a bridle; and there is a good bit of it left. "drink a little more of this brandy and water. how do you feel now, sir?" "i feel cold," fergus replied. "my feet are like ice." karl wrapped fergus's fur-lined pelisse round his feet, undid his blanket and cloak from his saddle, and laid them over him. "that will be better, sir. now, if you will promise to lie quite quiet, i will fasten your horse up--i don't know what has become of mine--and will go and collect some firewood and get up a good blaze. i am afraid there is no chance of getting you into a shelter, tonight." "i am afraid we are being driven down the hill again, karl. the roll of musketry is coming nearer." "that is so, colonel; but we shall have the cavalry up soon, and that will make all the difference." just as karl came back with an armful of firewood, a staff officer rode up. "the king has sent me to inquire how colonel drummond is," he said. "his majesty has heard that he is badly wounded, and has been carried here." "this is the colonel, major," karl said, leading him to the side of fergus. "i am sorry to see you here," the officer said. "the king has sent me to inquire after you." "will you thank his majesty, major kaulbach; and tell him that it is nothing worse than the loss of a left arm, and that the surgeon's opinion is that i shall do well. how goes the battle?" "badly, badly; but holstein will be up in a quarter of an hour, and then we shall have another try. we broke their line badly, last time; and if we had had cavalry to launch at them, we should have managed the business." "the king is unhurt, i hope." "not altogether. he was struck from his horse by a piece of case shot, but his pelisse saved him. he was able to mount again in a few minutes, making very light of the affair; and was in the middle of the fight, as usual. i was next you when you were hit, and i saw your orderly lift you on to your horse before him and, as soon as we got down here, reported it to the king." "our loss must be terribly heavy." "terrible! there is no saying how severe it is, yet; but not half the grenadiers are on their feet. "there is nothing i can do for you?" "nothing at all. my orders are to lie still; and as i feel too weak to move, and there is no one to carry me away, and nowhere to take me to, i am not likely to disobey the order." the officer rode off again. karl soon had a fire lighted, sufficiently close to fergus for him to feel its warmth. wounded men, who had made their way down the hill, came and sat down on the other sides of it. many other fires were lighted, as it grew dusk. in front the battle had broken out again, as furiously as ever; and ere long wounded men began to come down again. they brought cheering news, however. the prussians were still pressing forward, the cavalry had thrown the austrian line into terrible confusion. no one knew exactly where any of the prussian battalions had got to, but all agreed that things were going on well. at five o'clock the roar gradually ceased, and soon all was quiet. the wounded now came in fast, but none could say whether the battle was won or lost; for the night was so dark that each could only speak of what had happened to his own corps. presently the number round the fires was swelled by the arrival of numerous austrians, wounded and unwounded. most of these laid their rifles by, saying: "it is a bitter night, comrades. will you let us have a share of the fire?" "come in, come in," the prussians answered. "we are all friends for tonight, for we are all in equally bad plight. can you tell us how matters have gone, up there?" but these knew no more than the prussians. they had got separated from their corps in the confusion and, losing their way altogether, had seen the glow of the fires in the forest, and had come down for warmth and shelter. presently major kaulbach rode up again. "how have things gone, major?" fergus asked eagerly. "no one knows," he said. "the austrians are broken up; and our battalions and theirs are so mixed that there is no saying where they are, or how matters will stand in the morning. the king has gone to elsnig, two or three miles away." "is there no news of ziethen?" "none. they have just begun to fire heavily again in that direction, but what he has been doing all day, no one has any idea." but little was said round the fires. a short distance away the surgeons were still at work with the more serious cases, while the soldiers roughly bandaged each other's wounds; but as, gradually, the distant firing increased in fury, and seemed to grow in distinctness, men who had lain down sat up to listen. there was no longer any talking, and a hush fell upon the forest. "it is certainly coming closer, colonel," karl said at last. "it seems that ziethen has woke up in earnest. may the good god grant that he win his way up on to the heights!" "if he does, we shall have the austrians, in the morning. if he doesn't, we shall have a poor chance with them." "i am afraid we sha'n't, colonel; but it certainly sounds as if ziethen was making way." at nine o'clock a cavalry officer came riding along. he drew rein at the fire. "can anyone tell me where i can find the king?" "he is at elsnig, captain," karl said, rising and saluting. "may i ask what is the news, sir?" "the news is good. ziethen has gained the heights. we can see the flash of fire round the siptitz hill." a cheer broke from all the prussians within hearing. there was not a man but knew that the fate of prussia hung on the result of this battle, and for the moment wounds were forgotten. men shook hands, with tears of joy streaming down their rugged cheeks; and as others came running up from the other fires, to know what was the news, and then hurried off again to tell their companions, the forest rang with their cheering. all was not over yet. for a time the firing was louder and heavier than before, but towards ten o'clock news came that ziethen was firmly established on the siptitz hill, and that the austrian battalions were drawing off. then all lay down to sleep, rejoiced and thankful; and even the austrians, disconcerted as they were, were not altogether sorry that they must now consider themselves prisoners; and free, for a long time to come, from further risk of battle. the news, in the morning, that the austrian army had already crossed the river and was in full retreat southwards, afforded the most intense satisfaction. there was now a hope of shelter and rest in torgau, instead of the prospect of remaining in the forest, drenched to the skin by the rain that had come down, without intermission, for the last twenty-four hours. an hour later major kaulbach again rode up, accompanied by four infantry men bearing a stretcher. "the king has already gone on to torgau, and he has given me orders to see that you are carried there, at once. there will be no more fighting, at present. daun has got a long start, and there will be enough to do here, for the next twelve hours, in collecting the wounded. lacy has retreated this side of the river, and ziethen's cavalry started in pursuit, some hours ago." fergus was carefully lifted onto the litter, and carried down to torgau; where several large houses had already been assigned for the use of wounded officers, while the soldiers were to be placed in the hospitals, public buildings, and churches, austrians and prussians being distributed indiscriminately; and by nightfall some twelve thousand wounded were housed in the town. a small body of troops was left there. the inhabitants undertook the charge of the wounded, and the next morning the king marched away south, with the army. soon after fergus was brought in, frederick paid a visit to the house where he had been carried, and said a few words to each of the wounded officers. "so you are down again, drummond. fortune is not treating you so favourably as she used to do." "it might have been a good deal worse, your majesty. i think that one who has got off with only the loss of his left arm has no reason to complain." "no, it might have been worse," the king replied. "i have lost many good friends, and thousands of brave soldiers. however, i too must not complain; for it has saved prussia. "don't hurry to rejoin too soon, drummond. another month, and we shall all be in winter quarters." chapter : home. fergus remained at torgau for six weeks. he had, two days after the battle, sent karl off to carry a letter to thirza; telling her that he had been wounded, but that she need have no uneasiness about him; the surgeon saying that the wound was going on well, and that, should it not break out bleeding in the course of another week, he would make a quick cure, and would be fit for service again, long before the spring. karl had not found his horse again, but had bought, for a trifle, an austrian officer's horse that was found riderless; and had become the prize of a trooper, who was glad to part with it at a quarter of its value. he took with him the disguise of a countryman, to put on when he approached the ground held by the austrians near dresden; and, leaving his horse fifteen miles away, had no difficulty in making his way in on foot. karl went round to the back of the house. the servants recognized him as soon as he entered. "will one of you ask the count to see me? let him have the message quietly, when he is alone." "your master is not killed?" one of the women exclaimed, in consternation. "killed! no, colonel drummond is not so easily killed," he replied scornfully. "i have a letter from him in my pocket. but he has been somewhat hurt, and it were best that i saw the count first, and that he should himself give the letter to the countess thirza." in two or three minutes the man returned, and led karl to a room where the count was awaiting him, with a look of great anxiety on his face. "all is well, your excellency," karl said, in answer to the look. "at least, if not altogether well, not so bad as it might be. the colonel was hit at torgau. a cannonball took off his left arm at the elbow. fortunately, there were surgeons at work a quarter of a mile away, and he was in their hands within a very few minutes of being hit; so they made a job of his wound, at once. they had not taken the bandages off, when i came away; but as there had been no bleeding, and no great pain or fever, they think it is going on well. they tell him that he will be fit for service, save for his half-empty sleeve, in the spring. "here is a letter for the countess thirza. it is not written by his own hand, except as to the signature; for the surgeons insist that he must lie perfectly quiet, for any exertion might cause the wound to break out afresh. he is quite cheerful, and in good spirits, as he always is. he bade me give this note into your hands, so that you might prepare the young countess a little, before giving it to her." "'tis bad news, karl, but it might have been much worse; and it will, indeed, be a relief to us all; for since we heard of that desperate fight at torgau, and how great was the slaughter on both sides, we have been anxious, indeed; and must have remained so, for we should have had little chance of seeing the list of the prussian killed and wounded. "now, do you go into the kitchen. they all know you there. make yourself comfortable. i will give orders that you shall be well served." he then proceeded to the room where thirza and her mother wore sitting. the former was pale, and had evidently been crying. "some news has come," he said. "not the very best, and yet by no means the worst. drummond is wounded--a severe wound, but not, it is confidently believed, a dangerous one." thirza ran to her father and threw her arms round his neck, and burst into a passion of tears. he did not attempt to check them for some little time. "now, my dear," he said at last, "you must be brave, or you won't be worthy of this lover of yours. there is one bad point about it." she looked up in his face anxiously, but his smile reassured her. "you must prepare yourself for his being somewhat disfigured." "oh, that is nothing, father; nothing whatever to me! but how is he disfigured?" "well, my dear, he has lost his left arm, at the elbow." thirza gave a little cry of grief and pity. "that is sad, father; but surely it is no disfigurement, any more than that sabre scar on his face. 'tis an honour, to a brave soldier, to have lost a limb in battle. still, i am glad that it is his left arm; though, had it been his right and both his legs, it would have made no difference in my love for him." "well, i am very glad, thirza, that your love has not been tested so severely; as i confess that, for my part, i would much prefer having a son-in-law who was able to walk about, and who would not have to be carried to the altar. here is a letter to you from him--that is to say, which has been written at his dictation, for of course the surgeons insist on his lying perfectly quiet, at present." thirza tore it open, and ran through its contents. "it is just as you say, father. he makes very light of it, and writes as if it were a mere nothing." she handed the letter to her mother, and then turned to the count. "is there anything we can do, father?" "nothing whatever. with such a wound as that, he will have to lie perfectly still for some time. you may be sure that, as one of frederick's personal staff, he will have every attention possible; and were we all in the town, we could do nothing. as soon as he is fit to be moved, it will be different; but we shall have plenty of time to talk over matters before that. "for some few months travelling will be dangerous. frederick's army is in the neighbourhood again and, as daun and lacy are both in their intrenchments behind the plauen, there is no chance of his again besieging dresden; but his flying columns will be all over the country, as doubtless will the croats, and the roads will be altogether unsafe for travelling. no doubt, as soon as he is able to be moved, he will be taken to frederick's headquarters, wherever they may be established. the king will assuredly have the hospitals at torgau cleared, as soon as he can; lest, when he has retired, the austrians might make another dash at the town." the next morning karl set out again, bearing a letter from the count; and one from thirza which was of a much less formal character than that which he had dictated to her, and which, as he told her afterwards, greatly assisted his cure. a month after the battle he was pronounced fit to travel, and with a large train of wagons filled with convalescents, and under a strong escort, he was taken to leipzig; where the king had just established his headquarters, and to which all the wounded were to be sent, as soon as they could safely be moved. here he was established in comfortable quarters, and karl again carried a letter to thirza. ten days later count eulenfurst entered his room. "you here, count!" he exclaimed. "how kind of you! what a journey to make through the snow!" "i have been dragged hither," the count said, with a smile. "dragged hither, count?" "yes. thirza insisted on coming to see you. her mother declared that she should accompany her, and of course there was nothing for me to do but to set out, also." "are they here, then, count?" fergus exclaimed incredulously. "certainly they are, and established at the black eagle hotel. i could not bring them here, to a house full of officers. you are well enough to walk to the hotel?" "yes, indeed. i walked a mile yesterday." as karl was helping fergus into his uniform, he asked: "how long were you in coming here, count?" "we did it in a day. i sent on relays of horses, two days before; and as the carriage is of course on runners, and the snow in good order, we made quick work of it. your man went on with the horses, and rode with us from the last place where we changed. i did most of the journey sitting by the coachman; which gave them more room inside, and was more pleasant for me, also." in a few minutes they reached the hotel, and the count led fergus to a door. "you will find thirza alone there. we thought that you had best see her so, at first." half an hour later, the count and countess entered the room. "he looks very pale and thin, mother," thirza said, after the countess had affectionately embraced fergus. "you would hardly have expected to find him fat and rosy," the count laughed. "a man does not lose his arm, and go about as if the matter was not worth thinking of, a few weeks afterwards. he is certainly looking better than i expected to find him. "that empty sleeve is a sad disfigurement, though," he added slyly. "how can you say so, father?" thirza exclaimed indignantly. "i think quite the contrary, and i feel quite proud of him with it." "well, there is no accounting for taste, thirza. if you are satisfied, i have no reason to be otherwise. "and now, drummond, we want to hear all about liegnitz and torgau; for we have only heard the austrian accounts. dresden illuminated over daun's first despatch from torgau, saying that the prussian attacks had been repulsed with tremendous slaughter, and a complete victory gained. the next morning there came, i believe, another despatch, but it was not published; and it was not until we heard that daun and lacy were both within a few miles of the town that we knew that, somehow or other, there had been a mistake about the matter, a mistake that has not yet been cleared up, at dresden." "the defeat part of the business i can tell you from my personal observation, the victory only from what i heard. certainly, when i came to my senses, after the surgeons had seen to my wounds, i had no thought of anything but a disastrous defeat. never did the prussians fight more bravely, or more hopelessly. they had to mount a steep ascent, with four hundred cannon playing upon them; and an army, more than three times their number, waiting at the top to receive them." he then proceeded to tell them the whole story of the battle. "ziethen seems to have blundered terribly," the count said. "i believe that that is the king's opinion, too; but ziethen himself defends his action stoutly, and maintains that he could never have succeeded in a direct attack, in broad daylight. anyhow, as the matter came out all right in the end, the king was too well satisfied to do no more than grumble at him. "the other was a hard-fought battle, too." "the news of that was a relief to us, indeed," the count said. "it seemed to everyone that frederick was so completely caught in the toils that he could not hope to extricate himself. as you know, in this war i have, all along, held myself to be a neutral. i considered that the plot to overthrow frederick and partition the kingdom was a scandalous one, and that the king disgraced himself and us by joining in it; but since that time, my sympathies have become more and more strongly with frederick. it is impossible not to admire the manner in which he has defended himself. moreover, the brutality with which the confederates and austrians, wherever their armies penetrated saxony, treated the protestants, made one regard him as the champion of protestantism. "he was wrong in forcing the saxons to take service with him in his army, after their surrender at pirna; and the taxes and exactions have, for the last three years, weighed heavily on saxony, but i cannot blame him for that. it was needful that he should have money to carry on the war, and as saxony had brought it on herself, i could not blame him that he bore heavily upon her. "then, too, thirza has, for the last two or three years, become a perfect enthusiast for the prussians. whether it was the king's gracious manner to herself, or from some other cause, i cannot say; but she has certainly become an ultra-prussian. "and now lunch must be ready, and you look as if you wanted it, drummond; and i am sure thirza does. she was too excited to eat supper, when we got here last night; and as for her breakfast, it was altogether untouched." "no doubt you think, drummond," count eulenfurst said, when he called the next morning, "that you have done your duty fairly to prussia." "how do you mean, count?" fergus replied, somewhat puzzled by the question. "i mean that you have served five campaigns, you have been twice made a prisoner, you were wounded at zorndorf, you nearly died of fever last winter, now you have lost your arm at torgau; so i think that you have fully done your duty to the king under whom you took service, and could now retire with a thoroughly clear conscience. "my own idea is that the war has quite spent its strength. france is practically bankrupt. austria and russia must be as tired of the war as prussia, and this last defeat of their hopes cannot but discourage the two empresses greatly. i hear, from my friends in vienna, that in the capital and all the large cities they are becoming absolutely disgusted with the war; and though it may go on for a while, i believe that its fury is spent. "at any rate, i think you have earned a right to think of yourself, as well as others. you certainly have nothing to gain by staying longer in the service." "i was thinking the same, last night, count. certainly one man, more or less, will make no difference to frederick; but i thought that, unless you spoke of it, i should let matters go on as they are, except that i thought of asking for three months' leave to go home." "that you should go home for a few months is an excellent plan, drummond; but i think it would be better that, when you were there, you should be able to stay five or six months, if so inclined. go to the king, tell him frankly that you feel that you want rest and quiet for a time, that you have no longer any occasion in the pecuniary way for remaining in the army, and that you want to get married--all good reasons for resigning a commission. you see, we have now some sort of right to have a voice in the matter. you had a narrow escape at torgau, and next time you might not be so fortunate; and, anxious as we are for thirza's happiness, we do think it is high time that you retired from the service." "that decides it, count. i myself have had quite enough of this terrible work. were i a prussian, i should owe my first duty to the country, and as long as the war continued should feel myself bound to set aside all private considerations to defend her to the last; but it is not so, and my first duty now is assuredly to thirza, to you, and to the countess. therefore i will, this morning, go to the king and ask him to allow me to resign my commission." "do so, drummond. i thought of saying as much to you, last year; but the anxiety of those terrible three or four days after torgau decided me. if i thought that your honour was concerned in remaining longer in the army, i should be the last to advise you to leave it, even for the sake of my daughter's happiness; but as it is not so, i have no hesitation in urging you to retire." "'tis a good time for me to leave, now. my cousin, the earl marischal keith, returned here three days ago, and i will get him to go with me to the king." "i shall say nothing to my wife and thirza about it, till i see you again, drummond. of course the king cannot refuse, but i should like him to take it in good part; as indeed, i doubt not that he will." "i have no doubt that he will, too, count. you may think it absurd, and perhaps vain of me; but indeed it is of the king that i am thinking, rather than of myself. during the past three years he has been good enough to treat me with singular kindness. he has had trouble and care which would have broken down most men, and i think that it has been some relief to him to put aside his cares and troubles, for an hour or two of an evening, and to talk to a young fellow like myself on all sorts of matters; just as he does to sir john mitchell, and my cousin, the earl marischal." "i have no doubt of it, drummond, and i quite understand your feeling in the matter. still, we are selfish enough to think of our feelings, too." as soon as the count left, fergus put on his full uniform and went to the king's quarters. he first saw the earl marischal, and told him his errand. "you are quite right," the old man said heartily. "you have done more than enough fighting, and there is no saying how long this war may drag on. i told you, when i first heard of your engagement to the young countess, that i was glad indeed that you were not always to remain a soldier of fortune; and i am sure that the king will consider that you have more than done your duty, by remaining in his service for a year, after having so splendid a prospect before you. frederick is disengaged at present, and i will go over with you to him, and will myself open the matter." fergus had not seen the king since his arrival at leipzig. "i am truly glad to see you on your feet again," the latter said, as fergus followed his cousin into the room. "i felt by no means sure that i should ever see you again, on that day after torgau; but you still look very thin and pulled down. you want rest, lad. we all want rest, but it is not all of us that can get it." "that is what he has come to speak to you about, your majesty," keith said. "i told you, a year ago, that he was engaged to be married to the daughter of count eulenfurst." the king nodded. "i remember her, the bright little lady who received me, when i went to her father's house." "the same, sire. he thinks that the warning he had at torgau was sufficient; and that, having done his best in your majesty's cause, he has now earned a right to think of himself and her; and so he would beg your majesty to allow him to resign his commission, and to retire from the service." "he has certainly well earned the right," the king said gravely. "he has done me right good and loyal service, even putting aside that business at zorndorf; and not the least of those services has been that he has often cheered me, by his talk, when i sorely needed cheering. that empty sleeve of his, that scar won at zorndorf, are all proofs how well he has done his duty; and his request, now that fortune has smiled upon him in other ways, is a fair and reasonable one. "i hope, colonel drummond," he went on in a lighter tone, "that as you will be settled in saxony--and this war cannot go on for ever--i shall someday see you and your bride at berlin. none will be more welcome." "he is going home to scotland for a few months, in the first place," keith said. "it is only right that he should visit his mother and people there, before he settles here. he will, like enough, be back again before the campaign opens in the spring." fergus, whose heart was very full, said a few words of thanks to the king for the kindness that he had always shown him, and for what he had now said; and assured him that he should not only come to berlin, as soon as peace was made; but that, as long as the war lasted, he would pay his respects to him every year, when he was in winter quarters. he then withdrew, and made his way to the hotel. "it is done," he said to the count as he entered. "i have resigned my commission, and the king has accepted it. he was most kind. i am glad that i have done it, and yet it was a very hard thing to do." thirza uttered an exclamation of joy. "i am glad, indeed, fergus, that you are not going to that terrible war again." "i can understand your feelings, drummond," the count said, putting his hand upon his shoulder. "i know that it must have been a wrench to you, but that will pass off in a short time. you have done your duty nobly, and have fairly earned a rest. "now, let us talk of other things. when do you think of starting for scotland?" "to that i must reply," fergus said with a smile, "'how long are you thinking of stopping here?' assuredly i shall not want to be going, as long as you are here. and in any case, i should like my mother to have a week's notice before i come home; and i think that, in another fortnight, my wound will be completely healed." "i was thinking," the count said, "that you will want to take a nurse with you." "do you mean, count," fergus exclaimed eagerly, "that thirza could go with me? that would be happiness, indeed." "i don't quite see why she should not, drummond. there are churches here, and clergymen. "what do you say, thirza?" "oh, father," the girl said, with a greatly heightened colour, "i could never be ready so soon as that! "could i, mother?" "i don't know, my dear. your father was talking to me an hour ago about it, and that was what i said; but he answered that, although you might not be able to get a great many clothes made, there will be plenty of time to get your things from home; and that, in some respects, it would be much more convenient for you to be married here than at dresden. your marriage, with one who had so lately left the service of prussia, would hardly be a popular one with the austrians in dresden. so that, altogether, the plan would be convenient. we can set the milliners to work at once and, in another fortnight, get your bridal dress ready, and such things as are absolutely necessary. "of course, if you would rather remain single for another three or four months, your father and i would not wish to press you unduly." "it is not that, mother," she said shyly; "but it does seem so very quick." "if a thing is good, the sooner it is done the better," the count said; and thirza offered no further objection. the next day an order appeared, that colonel fergus drummond had been advanced another step in the order of the black eagle, following which came: "colonel fergus drummond, having lost an arm at the battle of torgau, has resigned his commission; which has been accepted with great regret by the king, the services of colonel drummond having been, in the highest degree, meritorious and distinguished." the king, having heard from the earl marischal that fergus was to be married at leipzig before leaving for scotland, took great interest in the matter; and when the time came, was himself present in the cathedral, together with a brilliant gathering of generals and other officers of the army in the vicinity, and of many saxon families of distinction who were acquainted with count eulenfurst. fergus had obtained karl's discharge from the army--the latter, who had long since served his full time, having begged most earnestly to remain in his service. on the following day fergus started with his wife for scotland, drove to magdeburg and, four days later, reached hamburg; where they embarked on board a ship for edinburgh, karl of course accompanying them. it was a day to be long remembered, in the glen, when colonel drummond and his saxon wife came to take possession of his father's estates; where his mother had now been established for upwards of a year, in the old mansion. it was late when they arrived. a body of mounted men with torches met them, at the boundary of the estate; and accompanied them to the house, where all the tenants and clansmen were assembled. great bonfires blazed, and scores of torches added to the picturesque effect. a party of pipers struck up an air of welcome as they drove forward, and a roar of cheering, and shouts of welcome greeted them. "welcome to your scottish home!" fergus said to his wife. "'tis a poor place, in comparison with your father's, but nowhere in the world will you find truer hearts and a warmer greeting than here." his mother was standing on the steps as he leapt out, and she embraced him with tears of joy; while after him she gave a warm and affectionate greeting to thirza. then fergus turned to the clansmen, who stood thronging round the entrance, with waving torches and bonnets thrown wildly in the air; and said a few words of thanks for their welcome, and of the pleasure and pride he felt in coming again among them, as the head of the clan and master of his father's estates. then he presented thirza to them as their mistress. "she has brought me another home, across the sea," he said, "but she will soon come to love this, as well as her own; and though i shall be absent part of the time, she will come with me every summer to stay among you, and will regard you as her people, as well as mine." among the dependents ranged in the hall was wulf, with whom fergus shook hands warmly. "i should never have got on as well as i have, wulf," he said, "had it not been for your teaching, both in german and in arms. i commend to your special care my servant karl, who speaks no english, and will feel strange here at first. he has been my companion all this time, has given me most faithful service, and has saved my life more than once. he has now left the army to follow me." fergus remained three months at home. thirza was delighted with the country, and the affection shown by the people to fergus; and studied diligently to learn the language, that she might be able to communicate personally with them, and above all with mrs. drummond, to whom she speedily became much attached. at the end of april they returned to saxony, and took up their abode on the estate the count had settled on them, at their marriage. for two years longer the war continued, but with much diminished fury, and there was no great battle fought. the king planted himself in a camp, which he rendered impregnable, and there menacing the routes by which the saxon and russian armies brought their supplies from bohemia, paralysed their movements; while general platen made a raid into poland, and destroyed a great portion of the russian magazines in that direction, so that the campaign came to naught. ferdinand, with the aid of his english, defeated broglio and soubise at villingshausen; soubise remaining inactive during the battle, as broglio had done at minden. at the beginning of a happy event for the king took place. the empress of russia died; and peter, a great admirer of frederick, came to the throne. the prussian king at once released all the russian prisoners, and sent them back; and peter returned the compliment by sending home the prussian prisoners and, six weeks after his accession, issued a declaration that there ought to be peace with the king of prussia, and that the czar was resolved that the war should be ended. he at once gave up east prussia and other conquests, and recalled the russian army. he not only did this, but he ordered his general czernichef to march and join the king. the news caused absolute dismay in austria, and hastened the swedes to conclude a peace with frederick. they had throughout the war done little, but the peace set free the force that had been watching them; and which had regularly, every year, driven them back as fast as they endeavoured to invade prussia on that side. in july, however, the murder of peter threw all into confusion again; but catherine had no desire to renew the war, and it was evident that this was approaching its end. she therefore recalled her army, which had already joined that of the king. england and france, too, were negotiating terms of peace; and it was clear that austria, single handed, could not hope to win back silesia. the king gained several small but important successes, and recaptured the important fortress of schweidnitz. then came long negotiations and, on the following february, a general peace was signed by all the powers; prussia retaining her frontiers, as at the beginning of the war. from this time fergus drummond's life passed uneventfully. every year he went to his old home with his wife, and as time went on brought his children to scotland; and every winter he spent a fortnight at berlin. when his second son reached the age of twelve, he sent him to school in england, and there prepared him to succeed to the scottish estate. this he did not do for many years, entering the british army and winning the rank of colonel in the peninsular war; and it was not until some years after the battle of waterloo that, at the death of his father, he retired and settled down on the scottish estates that were now his. the rest of colonel drummond's family took their mother's nationality. fergus did not come in for the whole of the eulenfurst estates, until thirty years after his marriage. he then took up his abode, with his wife, at the mansion where they had first met, near dresden; and retaining a sufficient share of the estates to support his position, divided the remainder among his children, considering that the property was too large to be owned with advantage by any one person. his descendants are still large landowners in various parts of saxony. the king survived the signature of the peace for twenty-five years, during which he devoted himself to repairing the damage his country had suffered by the war; and by incessant care, and wise reforms, he succeeded in rendering prussia far wealthier and more prosperous than it had been when he succeeded to the throne. lindsay rose to the rank of general in the prussian service, and his friendship with fergus remained close and unbroken. the old earl marischal survived his younger brother for twenty years; and was, to the last, one of the king's dearest and most intimate friends. childrens library, william flis, and the online distributed proofreading team. francis & co.'s little library: for young persons of various ages. * * * * * turns of fortune: by mrs. s.c. hall. francis & co.'s little library. c.s. francis & co., new york, _have published a uniform series of choice volumes for young people, by some of the most distinguished writers for children. neatly bound in cloth, and illustrated by engravings._ l. maria child.--flowers for children: no. , for children eight or nine years old. ---- flowers for children: no. , for children three or four years old. ---- flowers for children: no. , for children eleven or twelve years old. mary howitt.--fireside tales. ---- the christmas tree: a book of stories. ---- the turtle dove of carmel; and other stories. ---- the favorite scholar; little chatterbox; perseverance, and other tales. by mary howitt, mrs. s.c. hall, and others. mrs. trimmer.--the robbins; or domestic life among the birds. designed for the instruction of children respecting their treatment of animals. miss leslie.--russel and sidney and chase loring: tales of the american revolution. mrs. caroline gilman.--the little wreath of stories and poems for children. ---- stories and poems for children. hans christian andersen.--a christmas greeting: thirteen new stories from the danish of hans christian andersen. ---- a picture book without pictures; and other stories: by hans christian andersen. translated by mary howitt, with a memoir of the author. ---- a danish story book. claudine; or humility the basis of all the virtues. a swiss tale. by a mother; author of "always happy," "true stories from history," &c. facts to correct fancies; or short narratives compiled from the memoirs of remarkable women. by a mother. holiday stories. containing five moral tales. mrs. hofland.--the history of an officer's widow, and her young family. ---- the clergyman's widow, and her young family. ---- the merchant's widow, and her young family. miss abbot.--kate and lizzie; or six months out of school. miss eliza robbins.--classic tales. designed for the instruction and amusement of young persons. by the author of "american popular lessons," &c. mrs. s.c. hall.--turns of fortune; all is not gold that glitters, &c. ---- the private purse; cleverness, and other tales. new volumes of francis & co.'s little library. _thirty volumes of this series have been published, including some of the choicest books for young people, by mary howitt; maria child; mrs. hofland; mrs. hall; mrs. gilman; miss leslie; hans andersen, and others_. the story teller; tales from the danish of hans christian andersen. _containing_ ole lucköie; the buckwheat: the wild swans; the angel; the fellow-traveler; the elfin mound; the flying trunk; the bundle of matches. the ugly duck; and other tales: by hans christian andersen. _containing_ the ugly duck; top and ball; the little mermaid; the storks; the nightingale: the rose of the elf; holger danske; the emperor frederick barbarossa; the dying child. little ellie; and other tales: by hans christian andersen. _containing_ little ellie; the tinder box; the wicked king; the resolute leaden soldier; the garden of paradise; the shepherdess and chimney-sweep; little ida's flowers; the daisy; new year's eve. the merchant's daughter; and other tales: by mrs. s.c. hall. how to win love; or, rhoda's lesson. a story for the young. "a delightful little book, which will not only attract the young, but minister instruction to the _instructors_ of youth."--_edin. witness_. turns of fortune; and other tales. by mrs. s.c. hall. new-york. c.s. francis & co., broadway. boston: j.h. francis, washington-street. . contents turns of fortune "all is not gold that glitters" "there is no hurry" turns of fortune chapter i. "hush, sarah!" exclaimed old jacob bond, as he sat up in his bed, while the wind clattered and whistled through the shivering window frames. "hush! is that brindle's bark?" "no, father; it is one of the farm dogs near the village. lie down, dearest father; it is a cold night, and you are trembling." "i don't know why i should feel cold, sarah," he replied, pointing his shadowy fingers towards the grate, where an abundant fire blazed; "i am sure you have put down as much wood as would roast an ox." "it is so very cold, father." "still, we must not be wasteful, sarah," he answered; "wilful waste makes woful want." sarah bond covered the old man carefully over, while he laid himself stiffly down upon his pallet, re-muttering his favourite proverb over and over again. she then drew the curtains more closely, and seated herself in an old-fashioned chair beside a little table in front of the fire. the room had been the drawing-room of the old house in which mr. bond and his daughter resided, but for the sake of saving both labour and expense, he had had his bed removed into it; and though anything but comfortable, a solitary, impoverished, and yet gorgeous appearance pervaded the whole, such as those who delineate interiors, loving small lights and deep shadows, would covet to convey to their canvass. the bed upon which the old man lay was canopied, and of heavy crimson damask. in the dim light of that spacious room, it looked to the worn-out eyes of sarah bond more like a hearse than a bed. near it was an old spinnet, upon which stood a labelled vial, a tea-cup, and a spoon. when sarah seated herself at the table, she placed her elbows upon it, and pressed her folded hands across her eyes; no sigh or moan escaped her, but her chest heaved convulsively; and when she removed her hands, she drew a bible toward her, trimmed the lamp, and began to read. the voice of an old french clock echoed painfully through the chamber. sarah longed to stop it, and yet it was a companion in her watchings. once, a shy, suspicious, bright-eyed mouse rattled among the cinders, and ran into the wainscot, and then came out again, and stared at sarah bond, who, accustomed to such visits, did not raise her eyes to inquire into the cause of the rustling which in a few more moments took place upon a tray containing the remnants of some bread and cheese, her frugal supper. "sarah," croaked mr. bond; "what noise is that?" "only the mice, father, as usual; do, father, try to sleep. i watch carefully; there is nothing to fear." "ay, ay, men and mice all the same; nothing but waste. when i am gone, sarah, keep what you will have; it won't be much, sarah, my poor girl, it won't be much; just enough to need care; but keep it; don't lend it, or give it, or spend it; you are fond of spending, my poor girl; see that huge fire, enough for three nights; early bad habits. when we lived in a small house and were poor, it was then you learned to be extravagant; i had no money then, so did not know its value." "but we were happier then, father," said sarah bond; "we were so cheerful and happy then, and so many poor people blessed my dear mother, and mary"-- "hiss--ss," uttered the dying miser; "don't dare mention your sister, who disgraced me by marrying a pauper; a pauper who threatened my life, because i would not give him my money to save him from starving; but he _did not_ get the old father-in-law's gold; no; he _starved, and_"-- the words thus uttered by her father, who she knew had not many hours to live--uttered, too, with such demoniac bitterness--forced the gentle, patient woman to start from her seal, and pass rapidly across the room to the side of his bed, where she sank upon her knees, and seized his shrunken hands in hers. "father!" she exclaimed, "i have been your child for forty years, and you have said, that during that period, by no act of my own, have i _ever_ angered you. is it not so?" the old man withdrew one hand gently, turned himself round, and looked in her face: "forty years! is it forty years?" he repeated; "but it must be; the fair brow is wrinkled, and the abundant hair grown thin and gray. you were a pretty baby, sarah, and a merry child; a cheerful girl, too, until that foolish fancy. well, dear, i'll say no more about it; good, dutiful girl. you gave it up to please your father full twenty years ago, and when he dies, you shall have _all_ his gold--there's a good father! you must _keep_ it, sarah, and not give it, nor lend it. i know you won't marry, as _he_ is dead; nor see your sister--mind that; if you see _her_, or serve her, the bitterest curse that ever rose from a father's grave will compass you in on every side." "my father!" she said, "oh! in mercy to yourself, revoke these words. she knew nothing of her husband's conduct; he used her even worse than he used you. oh! for my sake say you will forgive mary. it is all i ask. do what you please with your wealth, but forgive my sister." "you were always a fool, sarah," he replied faintly and peevishly. "if i could do as i please, i would take my property with me, for you will surely spend it. but there is another condition, another promise you must give me. now, don't interrupt me again. we will talk of _her_ by-and-bye, perhaps. as long as you live, sarah, _as you value my blessing_, you must not part with anything in this room. you will live on in the old house, or perhaps sell it, and have a smaller; yet don't spend money in new furnishing--don't; but never part with anything in _this room_; never so much as a stick." this promise was willingly given; for, independently of her love for her father, sarah bond had become attached to the inanimate objects which had so long been before her. again she endeavoured to lead her father away from that avarice which had corrupted his soul, and driven happiness and peace from their dwelling. she urged the duty of forgiveness, and pleaded hard for her sister; but, though the hours wore away, she made no impression upon him. utterly unmindful of her words, he did not either interrupt her or fall into his former violence. on the contrary, he seemed involved in some intricate calculation--counting on his fingers, or casting up lines of imaginary figures upon the coverlit. sarah, heart-broken, and silently weeping, retreated to the table, and again, after turning the fire, betook her to her solace--the precious volume that never fails to afford consolation to the afflicted. she read a few passages, and then, though she looked upon the book, her mind wandered. she recalled the happy days of her childhood, before her father, by the extraordinary and most unexpected bequest of a distant relative, became possessed of property to what extent she could form no idea. she knew that this relative had quarrelled with the heir-at-law, and left all to one he had never seen. this bequest had closed up her father's heart; instead of being a blessing, so perfectly avaricious had he grown, that it was a curse. previously, he had been an industrious farmer; and though a thrifty one, had evinced none of the bitterness of avarice, none of its hardness or tyranny. he could then sleep at nights, permit his wife and children to share their frugal stores with those who needed, troll "ere around the huge oak," while his wife accompanied him on the spinnet, and encourage his daughters to wed men in what was their then sphere of life, rather than those who might not consider the gentle blood they inherited, and their superior education, a sufficient set-off to their limited means and humble station. suddenly, riches poured in upon him: his eldest daughter, true to the faith she plighted, would marry her humble lover, and her father's subsequent harshness to her favourite child broke the mother's heart. sarah not only had less firmness of character than her sister, but loved her father more devotedly, and gave up the affection of her young heart to please him. his narrow nature could not understand the sacrifice: and when her cheek faded, and her really beautiful face contracted into the painful expression of that pining melancholy which has neither words nor tears--to lull his sympathy, he muttered to himself, "good girl, _she_ shall have _all_ i have." no human passion grows with so steady, so imperceptible, yet so rampant a growth as avarice. it takes as many shapes as proteus, and may be called, above all others, the vice of middle life, that soddens into the gangrene of old age; gaining strength by vanquishing all virtues and generous emotions, it is a creeping, sly, keen, persevering, insidious sin, assuming various forms, to cheat even itself; for it shames to name itself unto itself; a cowardly, darkness-loving sin, never daring to look human nature in the face; full of lean excuses for self-imposed starvation, only revelling in the impurity and duskiness of its own shut-up heart. at last the joy-bells ring its knell, while it crawls into eternity like a vile reptile, leaving a slimy track upon the world. the inmates of the mansion enclosed in its old court-yard had long ceased to attract the observation of their neighbours. sometimes sarah called at the butcher's, but she exchanged smiles or greetings with few; and the baker rang the rusty bell twice a-week, which was answered by their only servant. when mr. bond first took possession of the manor-house, he hired five domestics, and everybody said they could not do with so few; and there were two men to look after the gardens; but after his daughter's elopement and his wife's death, three were discharged, and he let the lands and gardens; and then another went, and sarah felt the loneliness so great, that she made the remaining one sleep in her own room. the house had been frequently attacked; once, in a fit of despair, her brother-in-law had forced his way in the night to the old man's side, and but for her prompt interference, murder would have been done. no wonder, then, that her shattered nerves trembled as she watched the shortening candle, and heard the raving of the wind, saw the spectral shadows the broken plumes that ornamented the canopy of the bed cast upon the fantastic walls, _felt_ that _his_ hour was at hand, and feared that "he would die and make no sign;" still, while those waving fantasies passing to and fro through her active but weakened mind, made her tremble in every limb, and ooze at every pore; and though unable to read on steadily, her eyes continued fixed upon the book which her hand grasped, with the same feeling that made those of old cling to the altar of their god for sanctuary. suddenly her father called--and she started as from a dream--"sarah!" she hastened to his side; "dear father, what do you want?" "child, the room is dark; and you had so much light just now. all is dark. where are you? but it was better, after all, to put out the light; wilful waste makes"-- before the miser had concluded his proverb, the light of _his_ existence was extinguished for ever! chapter ii. several weeks elapsed before sarah bond recovered sufficiently from the shock, ay, and genuine grief, occasioned by her father's death, so as to investigate her affairs; the hardness and the tyranny she had borne for so many years had become habitual, and her own will was absolutely paralysed by inaction. jacob bond had always treated his daughter as if she were a baby, and it was some time before she could collect herself sufficiently to calculate upon her future plans. she had no friends; and the sister to whom, despite her father's cruel words, her heart clung so fondly, was far from her, she knew not where. the mourning for herself and her servant was ordered from a neighbouring shop, with a carelessness as to expense which made people say that sarah was of habits different from her father. the rector and curate of the parish both called, but she shrunk from strangers. the very first act, however, of her liberty, was to take a pew at church, a whole pew, to herself, which she ordered to be curtained all round. some said this indicated pride, some said ostentation; but it was simply shyness. and soon after she placed in the aisle a white marble tablet, "to the memory of jacob bond, who died in the seventy-eighth year of his age, deeply lamented by his sorrowing daughter." some ladies connected with a society for clothing the poor, called upon and explained to her their object; she poked five old guineas into the hands of the spokeswoman, but forbade the insertion of her donation in the visitor's book. during the following week she had numerous applications from various charitable bodies, to whom she gave generously, they said, while she reproached herself with narrowness; to all, however, she positively refused to become a yearly subscriber; and when closely urged by the rector to be one of the patrons of his school, she answered, "sir, my father received his property suddenly, and i may be as suddenly deprived of it. i will give, but i will not promise." her impulse was to give, her habit to withhold. she added one more servant to her establishment; and as she did not send out cards returning thanks for the 'inquiries,' which increased daily, sarah bond was a very lonely woman; for though some, from curiosity, others from want of occupation, others, again, from the unfortunately universal desire to form acquaintance with the rich, would have been glad, now the solitary old miser was gone, to make fellowship with his gentle-looking and wealthy daughter, yet her reserve and quietness prevented the fulfilment of their wishes. weeks and months rolled on; the old house had been repaired and beautified. mr. cramp, sarah's law agent and 'man of business,' advised her to let the house, of which she occupied about as much as a wren could fill of the nest of an eagle; and, strangely enough, finding that the house of her childhood was to let, she took it, removing thither all the furniture which her father made her promise never to part with. the ceiling of the best bed-room was obliged to be raised to admit the lofty bed with its plumes, and the spinnet was assigned a very comfortable corner in a parlour, where the faded stately chairs and gorgeous furniture formed a curious contrast to the bright neatly-papered walls and drugget-covered floor; for in all matters connected with her own personal expenses, sarah bond was exceedingly frugal. _after_ her removal, though shy and strange as ever, still she _looked_ kind things to her rich, and _did_ kind things to her poor neighbours, only in a strange, unusual way; and her charity was given by fits mid starts--not continuously. she moved silently about her garden, and evinced much care for her plants and flowers. closely economical from long habit, rather than inclination, her domestic arrangements were strangely at variance with what could not be called public gifts, because she used every effort in her power to conceal her munificence. she did not, it is true, think and calculate, how the greatest good could be accomplished. she knew but one path to charity, and that was paved with gold. she did not know how to offer sympathy, or to enhance a gift by the manner of giving. her father had sacrificed everything to multiply and keep his wealth; all earthly happiness had been given up for it; and unsatisfying as it had been to her own heart, it had satisfied his. inclination prompted to give, habit to withhold; and certainly sarah bond felt far more enjoyment in obeying inclination than in following habit; though sometimes what she believed a duty triumphed over inclination. if sarah bond ministered to her sister's necessities, she did so secretly, hardly venturing to confess she did so, but shielding herself from her father's curse, by sending to her sister's child, and not her sister. receiving few letters, the village postman grumbled far more at having to walk out to greenfield, than if he was accustomed to do so every day; and one morning in particular; when he was obliged to do so while the rain poured, he exhibited a letter, sealed with a large black seal, to the parish-clerk, saying he wished with all his heart miss bond had remained at the old manor-house up street, instead of changing; and where was the good of taking her a mourning letter such a gloomy day? it would be very unkind, and he would keep it "till the rain stopped;" and so he did, until the next morning; then taking back word to the village postmaster that miss bond wanted a post-chaise and four horses instantly, which intelligence set not only the inn, but the whole village in commotion. she, who had never wanted a post-chaise before, to want four horses to it now, was really wonderful. "which road shall i take, miss?" inquired the post-boy, turning round in his saddle, and touching his cap. "on straight," was the answer. such a thrill of disappointment as ran through the little crowd, who stood at the door to witness her departure. "on straight!" why, they must wait the post-boy's return before they could possibly know which way she went. such provoking suspense was enough to drive the entire village demented. miss bond remained away a month, and then returned, bringing with her her niece, a girl of about eight years old--her deceased sister's only child, mabel graham. the following sunday sarah bond went to church, leading her young companion by the hand; both were in deep mourning, and yet the very least observant of the congregation remarked, that they had never seen miss bond look so happy as when, coming out after service, and finding that the wind had changed to the north-east, she took off her scarf in the church porch, and put it round the neck of the lovely girl, who strongly remonstrated against the act. it was evident that mabel had been accustomed to have her own way; for when she found her aunt was resolved her throat should be protected, she turned round, and in a moment tore the silk into halves. "now, dear aunt, neither of our throats will suffer," she exclaimed; while sarah bond did not know whether she ought to combat her wilfulness or applaud the tender care of herself. it was soon talked of throughout the village, how wonderfully sarah bond was changed; how cheerful and even gay she had become. instead of avoiding society, how willingly, yet how awkwardly, she entered into it; how eagerly she sought to learn and to make herself acquainted with every source and system of education. no traveller in the parchy desert ever thirsted more for water than she did for knowledge, and her desire seemed to increase with what it fed upon. the more she had the more she required; and all this was for the sake of imparting all she learned to mabel. she fancied that teachers might not be kind to this new-found idol; that she could transfer information more gently and continuously; that the relative was the best instructress; in short, the pent-up tenderness of her nature, the restrained torrent of affections that had so long lain dormant, were poured forth upon the little heiress, as she was already called; and captious and determined she was, as ever heiress could be; but withal of so loving a nature, and so guileless a heart, so confiding, so generous, and so playful, and overflowing with mirth and mischief, that it would have been impossible to fancy any living creature who had felt the sunshine of fourteen summers more charming or tormenting. "i wish, dear aunt," exclaimed mabel, one morning, as she sat at her embroidery, the sun shining through the open window upon the abundant glories of her hair, while her aunt sat, as she always did, opposite to her, that she might, when she raised her eyes from off the italian lesson she was conning for her especial edification, have the happiness of seeing her without an effort; "i wish, dear aunt, you would send that old spinnet out of the room; it looks so odd by the side of my beautiful piano." "my dear mabel," replied her aunt, "i have put as much _new_ furniture as you wished into this room, but i cannot part with the old"-- "rubbish!" added mabel, snapping her worsted with the impatience of the movement. "it may be rubbish in _your_ eyes, mabel, but i have told you before that my dear father desired i should never part with the furniture of the room he died in." mabel _looked_ the truth--"that she was not more inclined toward the old furniture on that account;" but she did not say so. "have you got the key of the old spinnet, aunt? i should like to hear its tone." "i have never found the key, my dear, though i have often looked for it; i suppose my father lost it. i have danced to its music before now to my mother's playing; but i am sure it has not a tone left." "i wish you would dance now, dear aunt," exclaimed mabel, jumping up at the idea; "you never told me you could dance; i never, somehow, fancied you could dance, and i have been obliged to practise my quadrilles with two high-backed chairs and my embroidery frame. do, dear aunt; put by that book, and dance." it would be impossible to fancy a greater contrast than aunt and niece. sarah bond's erect and perfectly flat figure was surmounted by a long head and face, round which an abundance of gray hair was folded; for by no other term can i describe its peculiar dress; her cap plain, but white as snow; and a black silk gown, that had seen its best days, was pinned and _primmed_ on, so as to sit as close as possible to a figure which would have been greatly improved by heavy and abundant drapery. mabel, lithe and restless, buoyant and energetic, unable even to wish for more luxury or more happiness than she possessed, so that her active mind was _forced_ to employ its longings on trifles, as it really had nothing else to desire; her face was round as those faces are which become oval in time; and her bright laughing eyes sparkled like sunbeams at the bare notion of making "aunt sarah" take either the place of a high-backed chair, or the embroidery frame in a quadrille. "do dance," she repeated. "my dear child, i know as little of your quadrilles as you do of my country dances and reels. no, mabel; i can neither open the spinnet nor dance quadrilles; so you have been twice refused this morning; a novelty, is it not, my dearest mabel?" "but why do you not break open the spinnet? do break it open, aunt; i want to see the inside of it so much." "no, mabel; the lock is a peculiar one, and could not be broken without defacing the marquetre on the cover, which i should not like to do. my poor mother was so proud of that cover, and used to dust and polish it with her own hands." "what! herself?" exclaimed the pretty mabel; "why did not her servants do it?" "because, my dear, she had but one." "but one! i remember when my poor mamma had none," sighed mabel, "and we were _so_ miserable." "but not from lack of attendants, i think," answered sarah bond. "if they _are_ comforts, they are careful ones, and sadly wasteful. we were never so happy as we were then. your mother and i used to set the milk, and mind the poultry, and make the butter, and cultivate the flower-garden, and help to do the house work; and then in the evening we would run in the meadows, come home laden with wild flowers, and tired as we were by alternate work and play, my dear mother would play on that old instrument, and my poor father sing, and we sisters wound up the evening by a merry dance, your mother and myself trying hard which could keep up the dance longest." mabel resumed her embroidery without once speaking. sarah bond laid down the book she had been reading, and moved restlessly about; her manner, when either thoughtful or excited, prevented her features from being disturbed; so her feelings were soothed by wandering from place to place, or table to table; but after a considerable pause, she said--"i wish you were a little older, mabel; i wish you to be older, that i might convince you, dear, that it is in vain to expect happiness from the possession of wealth, unless we circulate it, share it with others, and yet do so prudently and watchingly. yet, my poor dear father would be very angry if he heard me say that, mabel." "yes, i know," interrupted the thoughtless girl, "_for he was a miser_." "hush, mabel!" exclaimed her aunt; "how can you say anything so harsh of him from whom we inherit all we have. he was careful, peculiar, very peculiar; but he saved all for me; and may god judge mercifully between him and me if i cannot in all things do as he would have had me," and then she paused, as if reasoning and arguing with herself; apologising for the human throes in her own bosom that led her to act so frequently in direct opposition to her father's desires; so that to those who could not understand her motives and feelings, she appeared every day more inconsistent. "it is difficult to judge of motives in any case. i am sure, if he had only gone abroad into the world, and seen distress as i have seen it, he could not have shut his heart against his fellow-creatures: but his feelings were hardened against some, whom he considered types of all, and he shut himself up; and seeing no misery, at last believed, as many do, whom the world never dreams of calling as you called him, mabel--seeing no misery, believed that it only existed in the popular whine. i am sure, if he had seen, he would have relieved it. i always think _that_ when i am giving; it is a great blessing to be able to give; and i would give more, were i not fearful that it might injure you." "injure me, dear aunt, how?" "why, mabel, my heart is greatly fixed upon seeing you a rich heiress, and, in time, suitably established." "you have just been saying how much happier you were when you were all poor together, and yet you want to make me rich." "people may be very happy in poverty before they have known riches; but having once been rich, it would, i think, be absurd to suppose we could ever be happy again in poverty." "i saw," replied the girl, "two children pass the gate this morning while i was gathering flowers--bunches of the simple white jessamine you love so much, dear aunt--and they asked so hard for bread, that i sent them a shilling." "too much," interrupted sarah bond, habitually rather than from feeling; "too much, dear mabel, to give to common beggars." "there were two, you know, and they looked wan and hungry. about three hours after, i was cantering my pony down swanbrook lane--the grass there is so soft and green, that you cannot hear his feet, while i can hear every grasshopper that chirps--suddenly, i heard a child's voice singing a tune full of mirth, and i went softly, softly on; and there, under a tree, sat one of my morning acquaintances, making believe to sing through a stick, while the other danced with bare feet, and her very rags fluttered in time to the tune. they looked pale and hungry, though a thick crust of bread upon the grass proved that they were not the latter; but i never saw more joy in well-fed, well-clothed children, for they paused and laughed, and then began again. poverty was no pain to _them_, at all events." "my dear," said sarah bond, "you forget the crust of bread was their riches, for it was a superfluity." "and is it not very shocking that in england a crust of bread _should be_ a superfluity," inquired mabel. "very, dear; _but a shilling was a great deal to give at the gate_," observed her aunt, adding, after a pause, "and yet it shows how little will make the poor happy. i am sure, if my father had looked abroad, instead of staying at home to watch his--his--money, he would have thought it right to share what he had. it is an unnatural thing to shut one's self up from the duties of life; one gets no interest for any other outlay to do the heart service; but though those poor children danced their rags in the sunshine, and felt not the stones they danced on, yet my dear mabel could not dance with poverty as her companion--my blessed, blessed child!" "i'd rather dance a jig with mirth than a minuet with melancholy," laughed the girl; "and yet it would take a great deal to make me miserable if i were with you, and you loved me, my dear aunt. still, i own i like to be rich, so as to have everything i want, and give everybody what they want; and, aunt sarah, you know very well i cannot finish this rose without the pale floss silk, and my maid forgot both that and to order the seed pearl." mabel's complaint was interrupted by the entrance of the servant, who told miss bond that mr. cramp, her attorney, wished to see her. "show him in," said miss bond. "he wishes to see you alone, ma'am." "his wife is going to die, and he will want you to marry him!" exclaimed mabel, heedless of the servant's presence. "do, dear aunt, and let me be bride's-maid." sarah bond changed colour; and then, while stooping to kiss her wayward niece, she called her "a foolish child." chapter iii. mr. cramp, whom we introduced at the conclusion of the last chapter, as miss bond's man of business, was a plain little man, skilled in the turnings and windings of the law, beside which he could not be said to know distinctly any other code of morals. on this particular morning, after a few common-place observations, mr. cramp made a somewhat strange inquiry. "had miss bond heard that mr. alfred bond had come over to england?" no; she had not heard it. it was, mr. cramp _insinuated_ (for he never _said_ anything directly)--it was rather an awkward circumstance mr. alfred bond's coming to england. he thought--he believed--he _hoped_ it would make no difference to miss bond. miss bond opened her wide eyes still more widely. she knew that mr. alfred bond was the heir-at-law to the property bequeathed her father; but what of that? he had never, that she heard of, dreamed of disputing the will; and she had never felt one pang of insecurity as to the possessions which had of late grown so deeply into her heart. at this unexpected intimation she felt the blood rush through her veins in a wild untameable manner. in all her trials--and they had been many--in all her illnesses--not a few--she had never fainted, never fallen into that symptom of weak-mindedness, a fit of hysterics; but now she sat without power of speech, looking at mr. cramp's round face. "my dear miss bond, you are not ill, i hope?" exclaimed mr. cramp. "i pray you to bear up; what has been said is doubtless wrong--must be wrong; a threat of the opposite party--an undefined threat, which we must prepare ourselves to meet in a lawyer-like way. hope for the best, and prepare"-- "for what, sir?" inquired miss bond, gaspingly. "for any--anything--that is my plan. unfortunately, the only way to deal with the world, so as to meet it on equal terms, is to think every man a rogue. it is a deeply painful view to take of human nature, and it agonizes me to do so. let me, however, entreat you to bear up"-- "against what, sir?" said sarah bond abruptly, and almost fiercely, for now mr. cramp's face was reduced to its original size, and she had collected her ideas. "there are few things i could _not_ bear up against, but i must know what i have to sustain." "your father's will, my dear lady, is safe; the document, leaving everything to you, that is safe, and all other documents are safe enough except cornelius bond hobart's will--a will bequeathing the property to your uncle. _where_ is that will to be found? for if alfred bond proceeds, the veritable document must be produced." "why, so it can be, i suppose," said sarah bond, relapsing in some degree into agitation; "it was produced when my father inherited the property, as you know." "i beg your pardon, miss bond," he answered; "certainly not as i _know_, for i had not the honour of being your father's legal adviser at that time. it was my master and subsequent partner. i had not the privilege of your father's confidence until after my colleague's death." "no one," said miss bond, "ever had my father's _confidence_, properly so called; he was very close in all money transactions. the will, however, must be, i think, in doctors' commons! go there immediately, mr. cramp; and--stay--i will go with you; there it is, and there are the names of the witnesses." "my dear lady!" expostulated the attorney, in the softest tones of his soft voice, "i _have_ been there already. i wished to spare a lady of your sensibility as much pain as possible; and so i went there myself, with mr. alfred bond's man of business, whom i happened to know; and i was grieved--cut up, i may say, to the very heart's core, to hear what he said; and he examined the document very closely too--very closely; and, i assure you, spoke in the handsomest, i may say, the _very_ handsomest manner of you, of your character, and usefulness, and generosity, and christian qualities; he did indeed; but we have all our duties to perform in this world; paramount things are duties, miss bond, and his is a very painful one." "what need of all these words to state a simple matter. have you seen the will?" said sarah bond. "i have." "well, and what more is there to see, unless mr. alfred bond denies his relative's power to make a will?" "which, i believe he does not do. he says he never made a will; that is all." "but there _is_ the will," maintained sarah bond. "i am very sorry to wound you; but cannot you understand?" "speak plainly if you can, sir," said sarah bond sternly; "speak plainly if you can; i listen." "he maintains, on the part of his client, that the will is a forgery." "he maintains a falsehood, then," exclaimed miss bond, with a firm determination and dignity of manner that astonished mr. cramp. "if the will be forged, who is the forger? certainly not my father; for he inherited the property from his elder brother, who died insane. the will is in _his_ favour, and not in my father's. besides, neither of them held any correspondence with the testator for twenty years; he died abroad, and the will was sent to england after his death. would any one there do a gratuitous service to persons they had never seen? where could be the reason--the motive? how is it, that, till now, alfred bond urged no claim. there are reasons," she continued, "reasons to give the world. but i have within me, what passes all reason--a feeling, a conviction, a true positive knowledge, that my father was incapable of being a party to such a crime. he was a stern man, loving money--i grant that--but honest in heart and soul. the only creature he ever wronged was himself. he did _that_, i know. he despoiled himself of peace and comfort, of rest and repose. in _that_ he sinned against god's dispensation, who gives that we may give, not merely to others, but lawfully to ourselves. after all, it would have been but a small thing for him to have been without this property, for it gave him no one additional luxury. i wonder, mr. cramp, that you, as a man, have courage to stand before me, a poor unprotected woman, and dare to say, that will is forged." while she spoke, sarah bond stood forth a new creature in the astonished eyes of the sleek attorney. he absolutely quailed before the vehemence and fervour of the usually mild woman. he assured her she was mistaken; that _he_ had not yielded to the point that the will was a forgery; that he never would confess that such was the case; that it should be his business to disprove the charge; that he hoped she did not suppose he yielded to the plaintiff, who was resolved to bring the matter into a court of justice. he would only ask her one little question; had she ever seen her father counterfeit different hands? yes, she said, she had; he could counterfeit, copy, any hand he ever saw, so that the real writer could not tell the counterfeit from the original. mr. cramp made no direct observation on this, except to beg that she would not mention that "melancholy circumstance" to any one else. sarah bond told him she should not feel bound to make this talent of her father's a crime, by twisting into a _secret_ what he used to do as an amusement. mr. cramp urged mildly the folly of this, when she had a defence to make; but she stood all the more firmly upon what she fearlessly considered the dignity of right and truth; at the same time assuring him, she would to the last contest that _right_, not so much for her own sake, or the sake of one who was dear to her beyond all power of expression, but for the sake of _him_ in whose place she stood, and whose honour she would preserve with her life. mr. cramp was a good, shrewd man of business. he considered all miss bond's energy, on the subject of her father's honour, as romance, though he could not help believing _she_ was in earnest about it. he thought it was perfectly in accordance with the old miser's character, that he should procure or make such a document; though he considered it very extraordinary, for many reasons, that it should have imposed upon men more penetrating and learned than himself. sarah bond, after his departure, endeavoured to conceal her anxiety from her niece; but in vain. mabel was too clear-sighted; and it was a relief, as much as an astonishment to her aunt, to see how bravely she bore up against the evil news. miss bond did not remember that the knowledge of the _power_ of wealth does not belong to sixteen summers. mabel knew and thought so little of its artificial influence, that she believed her happiness sprang from birds and flowers, from music, and dancing, and books--those silent but immortal tongues that live through centuries, for our advantage; besides, her young heart welled forth so much hope, that she really did not understand, even if they lost their fortune, their "troublesome fortune," as she called it, that it would seriously affect their happiness. there was no philosophy, no heroism in this; it was simply the impulse of a bright, sunny, beautiful young mind. the course of events promised soon to strip mabel of all except her own bright conceptions. mr. alfred bond urged on his plea with all the energy and bitterness of one who had been for many years despoiled of his right. his solicitor, soon after his claim was first declared, made an offer to sarah bond to settle an annuity on her and her niece during the term of their natural lives; but this was indignantly spurned by sarah; from him she would accept no favour; she either had or had not a right to the whole of the property originally left to her uncle. various circumstances, too tedious to enumerate, combined to prove that the will deposited in doctors commons was not a true document; the signature of cornelius bond hobart was disproved by many; but second only to one incident in strangeness was the fact, that though sought in every direction, and widely advertised for in the newspapers of the day, the witnesses to the disputed document could not be found--they had vanished. the incident, so strange as to make more than one lawyer believe for a time that really such a quality as honesty was to be found in the world, was as follows:--sarah bond, be it remembered, had never seen the disputed will; she was very anxious to do so; and yet, afterwards, she did not like to visit doctors commons with any one. she feared, she knew not what; and yet, above all things, did she desire to see this will with her own eyes. mr. cramp was sitting in his office when a woman, muffled in a cloak, and veiled, entered and seated herself without speaking. after a moment she unclasped her cloak, loosened the wrapping from her throat, threw back her veil, and asked for a glass of water. "bless me, miss bond, is it you? i am sure i am much honoured--very much!" "no honour, sir," she replied, "but necessity. i have been to doctors commons; have seen the will--it is my father's writing!" "you confess this to me?" said mr. cramp, drawing back on his chair, and almost gasping for breath. "i do," she answered; "i proclaim it; it is my father's _copy_ of the original will. but how the copy could have been substituted for the real will, i can only conjecture." "surmise is something," replied the lawyer, a little relieved; "conjecture sometimes leads to proof." "my father and uncle lived together when the will came into their possession. they were in partnership as farmers. my father's habits were precise: he always copied every writing, and endorsed his copies with a large _c_; the very _c_ is marked upon the will i have just seen at doctors commons." "that is singular," remarked cramp; "but it does not show us the way out of the difficulty; on the contrary, that increases. _somebody_--i don't for an instant suppose mr. jacob bond--in proving the will must have sworn that, to the best of their knowledge and belief, those were the real, which are only copies of the signatures." "true--and such a mistake was extremely characteristic of my uncle, who performed many strange acts before he was known to be insane. this was doubtless one of them." "but _where_ is the original?" inquired the man of business. "heaven knows! i cannot find it; but i am not the less assured of its existence." "then we must persist in our plea of the truth of the document in doctors commons." "certainly not," said sarah; "you must not persist in a falsehood in my name. if you do, i shall rise up in court, and contradict you! i feel it my duty, having seen the will, to state my firm belief that it is a copy of the original will, and nothing more." poor mr. cramp was dreadfully annoyed. he could, he thought, manage all sorts of clients. he reasoned, he proved, he entreated, he got her counsel to call upon her, but all was in vain. she would go into court, she said, herself, if her counsel deserted her. she would _not_ give up the cause; she would plead for the sake of her father's honour. she was well assured that the real will was still in existence, and would be discovered--found--sooner or later--though not, perhaps, till she was in her grave. the senior counsel was so provoked at what he called his client's obstinacy, that he threw up his brief, and the junior took advantage of the circumstance to make a most eloquent speech, enlarging upon the singularity of no appeal having been previously made by the plaintiff--of the extraordinary disappearance of the witnesses--of the straight-forward, simple, and beautiful truthfulness of the defendant; in short, he moved the court to tears, and laid the foundation of his future fortune. but after that day, sarah bond and her niece, mabel, were homeless and houseless. yet i should not say that; for the gates of a jail gaped widely for the "miser's daughter," but only for a few days; after which society rang with praises, loud and repeated, of mr. alfred bond's liberality, who had discharged the defendant's costs as well as his own. in truth, people talked so much and so loudly about this, that they altogether forgot to inquire what had become of sarah and mabel. chapter iv. the clergyman of the parish was their first visiter. he assisted them to look into the future. it was, he who conveyed to sarah bond alfred's determination that she should be held scatheless. the good man delivered this information with the manner of a person who feels he comes with good news, and expects it will be so received; but sarah bond could only regard alfred as the calumniator of her father's memory, the despoiler of her rights. the wild expression of joy in mabel's face, as she threw herself on her aunt's bosom, gave her to understand that she ought to be thankful for what saved her from a prison. words struggled for utterance. she who had borne so much and so bravely, was overcome. again and again she tried to speak, but for some hours she fell from one fainting fit into another. she had borne up against all disasters, until the power of endurance was overwhelmed; and now, she was attacked by an illness so violent, that it threatened dissolution. at this very time, when she needed so much sympathy, a stern and severe man, in whom there was no pity, a man who had received large sums of money from miss bond as a tradesman, and whose account had stood over from a particular request of his own, believing that all was gone, and that he should lose, took advantage of her illness to levy an execution upon the goods, and to demand a sale. at this time her reason had quite deserted her, and poor mabel was incapable of thought beyond her duty to her aunt, which made her remove her to a cottage-lodging from the turmoil of the town. no one distinctly knew, except mabel, why sarah bond was so attached to the old furniture, and few cared. and yet more than one kind heart remembered how she had liked the "rubbishing things," and bought in several, resolved that, if she recovered, and ever had "a place of her own again," they would offer them for her acceptance. her illness was so tedious, that except the humble curate and the good rector, her inquirers had fallen off--for long sickness wears out friends. some would pause as they passed the cottage window, where the closely-pinned down curtain told of the caution and quiet of sickness; and then they would wonder how poor miss bond was; and if they entered the little passage to inquire, they could scarcely recognise in the plainly-dressed, jaded, bent girl, whose eyes knew no change but from weeping to watching, and watching to weeping, the buoyant and beautiful heiress whose words were law, and who once revelled in luxury. the produce of the sale--though everything, of course, went below its value--left a small surplus, after all debts and expenses were paid; which the clergyman husbanded judiciously, and gave in small portions to mabel. alfred bond himself called to offer any assistance that might be required, which mabel declined, coldly and at once. patiently and devotedly did she watch beside the couch of her poor aunt; one day suffering the most acute anxiety if the symptoms became worse than usual; the next full of hope as they abated. did i say that one day after another this was the case? i should have written it, one hour after another; for truly, at times she fluctuated so considerably, that no one less hopeful than mabel could have continued faithful to hope. as sarah bond gained strength, she began to question her as to the past. mabel spoke cautiously; but, unused to any species of dissimulation, could not conceal the fact, that the old furniture, so valued by her uncle, and bequeathed with a conditional blessing, was gone--sold! this had a most unhappy effect on the mind of sarah bond. she felt as if her father's curse was upon her. she dared not trust herself to speak upon the subject. when the good rector (mr. goulding) alluded to the sale, and attempted to enter into particulars, or give an account of the affairs he had so kindly and so ably managed, she adjured him in so solemn a manner never to speak of the past, if he wished her to retain her reason, that he, unconscious of the motive, and believing it arose entirely from regret at her changed fortunes, avoided it as much as she could desire; and thus she had no opportunity of knowing how much had been saved by the benevolence of a few kind persons. sarah bond fell into the very common error of imagining that persons ought to _know_ her thoughts and feelings, without her explaining them. but her mind and judgment had been so enfeebled by illness and mental suffering, that, even while she opposed her opinions, she absolutely leaned on mabel--as if the oak called to the woodbine to support its branches. what gave mabel the most uneasiness, was the determination she had formed to leave the cottage as soon as she was able to be removed; and she was seriously displeased because mabel mentioned this intention to mr. goulding. despite all poor mabel could urge to the contrary, they quitted the neighbourhood--the sphere of sarah bond's sudden elevation, and as sudden depression--alone, at night, and on foot. it was a clear, moonlight evening, in midsummer, when the twilight can hardly be said to give place to darkness; and when the moon shines out so very brightly, that the stars are reduced to pale lone sparks of _white_ rather than _light_, in the blue sky. it was a lovely evening; the widow with whom they had lodged was not aware of their intention until about an hour before their departure. she was very poor and ignorant, but her nature was kind; and when sarah bond pressed upon her, out of her own scanty store, a little present of money beyond her stipulated rent, she would not take it, but accompanied them to the little gate with many tears, receiving charge of a farewell letter to the rector. "and haven't you one to leave me for the curate?" she inquired. "deary me! but i'm sure for every once the old gentleman came when miss bond was so bad, the curate came three times; and no letter for him! deary, oh, deary me!" "why did you not put me in mind to write to mr. lycight, mabel?" inquired her aunt, after the gate, upon which the poor woman leaned, had closed. mabel made no reply; but sarah felt the hand she held tightly within hers tremble and throb. how did she then remember the days of her own youth, as she thought, "oh! in mercy _she_ might have escaped from what only so causes the pulses to beat or the hand to tremble!" neither spoke; but sarah had turned over the great page of mabel's heart, while mabel did not confess, even to herself, that mr. lycight's words, however slight, were more deeply cherished than mr. goulding's precepts. they had a long walk to take that night, and both wept at first; but however sad and oppressed the mind and spirits maybe, there is a soothing and balmy influence in nature that lulls, if it does not dispel, sorrow; every breeze was perfumed. as they passed the hedges, there was a rustling and murmuring of birds amongst the leaves; and mabel could not forbear an exclamation of delight when she saw a narrow river, now half-shadowed, then bright in the moonbeams, bounding in one place like a thing of life, then brawling around sundry large stones that impeded its progress, again subsiding into silence, and flowing onward to where a little foot-bridge, over which they had to pass, arched its course; beyond this was the church, and there mabel knew they were to await the coach which was to convey them to a village many miles from their old homes, and where sarah bond had accidentally heard there was a chance of establishing a little school. mabel paused for a moment to look at the venerable church standing by the highway, the clergyman's house crouching in the grove behind. the hooting and wheeling of the old owls in the ivied tower was a link of life. sarah bond passed the turn-stile that led into the church-yard, followed by mabel, who shuddered when she found herself surrounded by damp grass-green graves, and beneath the shadows of old yew-trees. she knew not where her aunt was going, but followed her silently. sarah bond led the way to a lowly grave, marked by a simple head-stone. she knelt down by its side, and while her bosom throbbed, she prayed earnestly, deeply, within her very soul--she prayed, now a faded, aged woman--she prayed above the ashes, the crumbling bones of him she had loved with a love that never changes--that is green when the head is gray--that mabel might never suffer as she had suffered. relieved by these devotional exercises, sarah rose, and the humble and stricken pair bade adieu to the melancholy scene, and betook themselves to their toilsome journey. fortunately the stage soon overtook them, and having, with some difficulty, obtained seats, they were in due time deposited in a village, where sarah felt there would be no eyes prying into their poverty, no ears to hear of it, no tongue to tell thereof, and point them out "as the poor ladies that once were rich." this was a great relief, though it came of pride, and she knew it; and she said within herself, when health strengthens my body, i will wrestle with this feeling, for it is unchristian. she never even to mabel alluded to what was heaviest on her mind--the loss of the old furniture; though she cheered her niece by the assurance that, after a few months, if the almighty blessed the exertions they must make for their own support, she would write to their friend mr. goulding, and say where they were; by "that time," she said, she hoped to be humble, as a christian should be. after this assurance was given, it was astonishing to see how mabel revived. her steps recovered their elasticity, her eyes their brightness. sarah bond had always great superiority in needlework, and this procured her employment; while mabel obtained at once, by her grace and correct speaking, two or three day pupils. her wild and wayward temper had been subdued by change of circumstances; but if she had not found occupation it would have become morose here was not only occupation, but success; success achieved by the most legitimate means--the exertion of her own faculties; there were occasionally bitter tears and many disappointments; and the young soft fingers, so slender and beautiful, were obliged to work in earnest; and she was forced by necessity to rise early and watch late; and then she had to think, not how pounds could be spent, but pennies could be earned. we need not, however, particularize their labours in this scene of tranquil usefulness. it is sufficient to say that mabel's little school increased; and both she and her aunt came at length to feel and speak thankfully of the uses of adversity, and bless god for taking as well as for giving. chapter v. though sarah bond had used every means within her power to conceal her place of retreat, yet she often felt bitterly pained that no one had sought her out. she said she wished to be forgotten, unless she had the power to clear away the imputation on her father's name. and yet, unknown to herself, she cherished the hope, that some one would have traced them, though only to say one cheering word of approbation regarding their attempt at self-dependence. sarah thanked the almighty greatly for one thing, that mabel's cheerfulness was continued and unfluctuating, and that her mind seemed to have gathered strength by wholesome exercise. she believed her affections, if not free, were not entangled, and that her pride had risen against her imagination; and it was beautiful to see how, watching to avoid giving each other pain, striving continually to show the bright side of every question, the one to the other, and extract sweets instead of bitters from every little incident, led to their actually enjoying even the privations which exercised their tenderness towards each other. time wore away many of their sorrows, which old father time always does; a kindness we forget to acknowledge, though we often arraign him for spoiling our pleasures. sarah and mabel had been taking an evening walk, wondering how little they existed upon, and feeling that it was a wide step towards independence to have few wants. "i can see good working in all things," said mabel; "for if i had obtained the companionship of books, which i so eagerly desired at first, i should not have had the same inducement to pursue my active duties, to read my own heart, and the great book of nature, which is opened alike to peer and peasant; i have found so much to learn, so much to think of by studying objects and persons--reading persons instead of books." "yes," added sarah bond; "and seeing how much there is to admire in every development of nature, and how much of god there is in every human being." as they passed along the village street, mabel observed that the cottagers looked after them, and several of her little pupils darted their heads in and out of their homes, and laughed; she thought that some village fun was afloat, that some rural present of flowers, or butter, or eggs, had been sent--a little mysterious offering for her to guess at; and when she turned to fasten the wicket gate, there were several of the peasants knotted together talking. a sudden exclamation from her aunt, who had entered the cottage, confirmed her suspicion; but it was soon dissipated. in their absence, their old friends mr. goulding and the curate had arrived by the coach, and entered their humble dwelling. from a wagon at the same time were lifted several articles of old furniture, which were taken into the cottage, and properly arranged. there were two old chairs, an embroidered stool, a china vase, a cabinet, a table, and the spinnet. strangely the furniture looked on the sanded floor, but never was the spiciest present from india more grateful to its receiver than these were to the eyes of sarah bond. she felt as if a ban was removed from her when she looked upon the old things so valued by her father. absorbed in the feelings of the moment, she did not even turn to inquire how they had so unexpectedly come there. nor did she note the cold and constrained greeting which mabel gave to mr. lycight. she herself, after the first self-engrossed thoughts were past, turned to give both gentlemen the cordial reception which their many former kindnesses, not to speak of their apparent connexion with the present gratifying occurrence, deserved. from mr. goulding she learnt that the furniture had been bought up by a few old friends, and committed to him to be sent to her as a mark of their goodwill; he had only delayed bringing it to her, till she should have proved, as he knew she would, superior to her misfortunes, by entering upon some industrious career. as the evening closed in, and the astonishment and feelings of their first meeting subsided, sarah bond and mr. goulding conversed apart, and then, indeed, she listened with a brimming heart and brimming eyes. he told of his young friend's deep attachment to mabel; how he had prevailed upon him to pause before he declared it; to observe how she endured her changed fortune; and to avoid engaging her affections until he had a prospect of placing her beyond the reach of the most harrowing of all poverties, that which keeps up an appearance above its means. "her cheerfulness, her industry, her goodness, have all been noted," he continued. "she has proved herself capable of accommodating herself to her circumstances; the most difficult of all things to a young girl enervated by luxury and indulgence. and if my friend can establish an interest in her affections, he has no higher views of earthly happiness, and i think he ought to have no other. you will, i am sure, forgive me for having counselled the trial. if deep adversity had followed your exertions--if you had failed instead of succeeded--i should have been at hand to succour and to aid." sarah bond had never forgotten the emotion of mabel, caused by the mention of the curate's name when they quitted their old neighbourhood, and the very reserve mabel showed proved to sarah's searching and clear judgment, that the feeling was unchanged. truly in that hour was her chastened heart joyful and grateful. "mabel must wait," she said, "until the prospect of advancement became a reality; for it would be an ill return of disinterested love for a penniless orphan to become a burden instead of a blessing. mabel would grow more worthy every day; they were doing well; ay, he might look round the white-washed walls and smile, but they _were_ prosperous, healthful, happy, and respected; and if she could only live to see the odium cast upon her father's memory removed, she would not exchange her present poverty for her past pride." she frequently afterwards thought of the clergyman's rejoinder--"that riches, like mercy, were as blessed to the giver as to the receiver, and that they only created evil when hoarded, or bestowed by a heedless hand." they certainly were a happy group in that lowly cottage room that evening. mabel's proud bearing had given place, as if by magic, to a blushing shyness; which she tried to shield from observation by every possible attempt at ease. she talked to mr. goulding, and found a thousand uses for the old furniture she had once so heartily despised. "she would sit in the great high chair at the end of that table, with her feet on the stool, and the china vase in the midst, filled with humble cottage flowers--meadow-sweet and wild roses, and sweet-williams, sea-pinks, woodbine, and wild convolvulus! did mr. goulding like cottage flowers best?" no; the clergyman said he did not, but he thought mr. lycight did, and the young man assured her that it was so; and then gazed on the only love his heart, his deep, unworn, earnest heart, had throbbed to, with an admiration which is always accompanied by fear, lest something should prevent the realization of the one great earthly hope. and mabel was more fitful than her aunt had ever seen her. fearful lest her secret, as she thought it, should be discovered, she made as many turns and windings as a hare; and yet, unskilled in disguising her feelings, after spending many words in arranging and re-arranging, she suddenly wished that the spinnet could be opened, "if," she exclaimed, "_that_ could be opened, i should be able to teach mary godwin music; and her mother seemed to wish it so much: surely we can open the instrument?" "it has not been opened for years," replied miss bond; "and i remember, once before, mabel wished it opened, and i refused, lest forcing the lock might harm the marquetre, of which my poor mother was so fond. it has never been opened since her death." but mabel's desire was of too much consequence, in her lover's eyes, to be passed over, although all seemed agreed that if it were opened it could not be played upon; so in a few minutes he procured a smith, who said he would remove the hinges, and then unscrew the lock from the inside, which would not injure the cover. this was done; but greatly to poor mabel's dismay, the cavity, where strings once had been, was filled with old papers. "now, is not this provoking?" said mabel, flinging out first one and then another bundle of letters. "is not this provoking?" "no, no," exclaimed sarah bond, grasping a lean, long, parchment, round which an abundance of tape was wound. "no. who knows what may be found here?" at once the idea was caught, mabel thought no more of the strings. "i cannot," said sarah bond to mr. goulding, "untie this; can you?" her fingers trembled, and she sank on her knees by the clergyman's side. the eyes of the little group were fixed upon him; not a word was spoken; every breath was hushed; slowly he unfastened knot after knot; at last the parchment was unfolded; still, neither sarah bond nor mabel spoke; the latter gasped for breath--her lips apart, her cheeks flushed; while sarah's hands were clasped together, locked upon her bosom, and every vestige of colour had deserted her face. "be calm, my dear friend," he said, after glancing his eyes over the parchment; "be calm. you have experienced enough of the changes and chances of this world not to build too quickly upon any foundation but the one--the goodness of god; i do believe this is an especial proof of his providence, for i do think this is cornelius bond hobart's original will in your uncle's favour." it would be useless to attempt a description of the scene that followed; but the joy at the _reality_ of the discovery was a heartful temperate joy--the joy of chastened hearts. sarah bond, blessing god, above all things, that, go the law as it would, her father's memory would now be held as the memory of an honest man; that he had, as she had said, copied, not forged the will. mr. goulding declared he should find it difficult to forgive himself for having so long prevented the old furniture from being sent, assuring her, the dread that mabel was unfit to contend with the privations to which the lives of humble men are doomed, made him tremble for the happiness of the young friend who had been consigned to his care by a dying mother; he feared to renew the intercourse, until her character was developed; while poor mabel had little thought how closely she was watched along the humble and thorny paths she had to traverse. sarah bond's spirit was so chastened, that she regretted nothing save the shadow cast upon her father's grave; and now that was removed, she was indeed happy. she assured the rector how useful adversity had been to them--how healthful it had rendered mabel's mind--and how much better, if they recovered what had been lost, they should know how to employ their means of usefulness. mr. lycight's congratulations were not so hearty as mr. goulding's; he felt that _now_ he was the curate and mabel the heiress; and he heard the kind good night which mabel spoke with a tingling ear. _he_, was proud in his own way; and pride, as well as his affection, had been gratified by the idea of elevating her he loved. mabel saw this, and she wept during the sleepless night, that he should believe her so unworthy and so ungrateful. there was much to think of and to do; the witnesses were to be found, and lawyers consulted, and proceedings taken, and much of the turmoil and bitterness of the law to be endured, which it pains every honest heart to think upon; and mr. cramp was seized with a sudden fit of virtuous indignation against mr. alfred bond, after sarah bond's new "man of business" had succeeded in producing the only one of the witnesses in existence, who, he also discovered, had been purposely kept out of the way, on a former occasion, by some one or other. the delays were vexatious, and the quirks and turns, and foldings, and doubles innumerable; but they came to an end at last, and mr. alfred bond was obliged in his turn to vacate the old mansion, in which he had revelled--a miser in selfish pleasures. i have dwelt longer than was perhaps necessary on the _minutiæ_ of this relation, the principal events of which are so strongly impressed upon my memory. but the more i have thought over the story, the more i have been struck with the phases and impulses of sarah bond's unobtrusive, but deep feeling mind; her self-sacrificing spirit, her devotion to her father's will, her dread, when first in possession of the property, that any _one_ act of liberality on her part might be considered a reproach to his memory; her habits struggling with her feelings, leading me to the conclusion that she would never have become, even with the expanding love of her niece to enlarge her views, thoroughly unmanacled from the parsimonious habits of her father, but for her lesson in adversity, which, instead of teaching as it does a worldly mind, the _value of money_, taught her higher nature _its proper uses_. it was beautiful to see how mabel grew into her aunt's virtues; and even mr. goulding was startled by the energy and thoughtfulness of her character. she soon convinced mr. lycight that her prospects grew brighter in his love; and for a time he was romantic enough to wish she had continued, penniless, and he had been born a peer, to prove his disinterested affection. this, however, wore away, as man's romance always does, and he absolutely became reconciled to his bride's riches. sarah bond was living a very few years ago, beloved and honoured, the fountain of prosperity and blessing to all who needed. there was no useless expenditure, no show, no extravagance in "the establishment" at the old manor house; but it was pleasant to perceive the prosperity of the poor in the immediate neighbourhood; there was evidence of good heads and kind hearts, superintending all moral and intellectual improvements; there were flourishing schools, and benevolent societies, and the constant exercise of individual charities; and many said that sarah bond, and niece, and nephew, did more good with hundreds than others did with thousands. from having had practical experience of poverty, they understood how to remedy its wants, and minister to its sorrows. and to the last hour of her prolonged life, sarah bond remembered the uses of adversity. * * * * * all is not gold that glitters. chapter i. "there they go!" exclaimed old mrs. myles, looking after two exceedingly beautiful children, as they passed hand in hand down the street of the small town of abbeyweld, to the only school, that had "seminary for young ladies," written in large hand, on a proportionably large card, and placed against the bow window of an ivied cottage. "there they go!" she repeated; "and though i'm their grandmother, i may say a sweeter pair of children than helen marsh and rose dillon never trod the main street of abbeyweld--god bless them!" she added earnestly, "god almighty bless them!" "amen!" responded a kind voice; and turning round, mrs. myles saw the curate of the parish, the reverend mr. stokes, standing just at the entry of her own house. to curtsey with the respect which in the "good old times" was customary towards those who "meekly taught, and led the way," and invite the minister in, was the work of a moment; the next beheld mrs. myles and her visiter tete-a-tete in the widow's small parlour. it was a cheerful, pleasant room, such as is often met with in the clean villages of england. there were two or three pieces of embroidery, in frames of faded gilding; an old-fashioned semicircular card-table stood opposite the window, and upon it rested a filagree tea-caddy, based by a mark-a-tree work-box, flanked on one side by the bible, on the other by a prayer-book; while on the space in front was placed "the whole art of cookery," by mrs. glasse. high-backed chairs of black mahogany were ranged along the white-washed walls; a corner cupboard displayed upon its door the magnificence of king solomon, and the liberality of the queen of sheba, while within glittered engraved glasses, and fairy-like cups and saucers, that would delight the hearts of the fashionables of the present day. indeed, mrs. myles knew their value, and prided herself thereon, for whenever the squire or any great lady paid her a visit, she was sure, before they entered, to throw the cupboard door slyly open, so as to display its treasures; and then a little bit of family pride would creep out--"yes, every one said they were pretty--and so she supposed they were--but they were nothing to her grandmother's, where she remembered the servants eating off real india _chaney_." the room also contained a high-backed sofa, covered with chintz; very stately, hard, and uncomfortable it was to sit upon; indeed, no one except visiters ever did sit upon it, save on sundays, when helen and rose were permitted so to do, "if they kept quiet," which in truth they seldom did for more than five minutes together. "moonlight"--mrs. myles's large cat--moonlight would take a nap there sometimes; but as mrs. myles, while she _hushed_ him off, declared he was a "clean creature," it may be said that moonlight was the only thing privileged to _enjoy_ the sofa to his heart's content. why he liked it, i could not understand. now she invited mr. stokes to sit upon it; but he knew better, and took the window seat in preference. "they are fine children--are they not, sir?" inquired the good old lady, reverting in the pride of her heart to her young charges. "rose, poor thing, will be obliged to shift for herself, for her father and mother left her almost without provision: but when helen's father returns, i do hope he will be able to introduce her in the way she seems born for. she has the heart of a princess--bless her!" added mrs. myles, triumphantly. "i hope, my good friend, she will have a christian's heart," said mr. stokes. "oh, certainly, sir, certainly, we all have that, i hope." "i hope so too; but i think you will act wisely in directing the proud spirit of helen into an humbler channel, while you rouse and strengthen the modest and retiring one of rose." "they are very, very different, sir," said the old lady, looking particularly sagacious; "i don't mean as to talent, for they are both very clever, nor as to goodness, for, thank god, they are both good; but helen has such a _noble_ spirit--such an uplooking way with her." "we should all look up to god." said the minister. "oh, of course we all do." mrs. myles paused. "she has such a lady-like, independent way with her, i'm sure she'll turn out something _great_, sir. well, there's no harm in a little ambition now and then; we all, you know" want to be a little bit better off than we are." "we are too apt to indulge in a desire for what is beyond our reach," said the minister, gravely; "if every one was to reside on the hills, who would cultivate the valleys? we should not forget that godliness, with contentment, is great gain. it would be far better, mrs. myles, if, instead of struggling to get _out _ of our sphere, we laboured to do the best we could in it." "ah, sir, and that's true," replied mrs. myles; "just what i say to mrs. jones, who _will_ give bad sherry at her little tea-parties; good gooseberry, i say, is better than bad sherry. will you taste mine, sir?" "no, thank you," said the good man, who at the very moment was pondering over the art of self-deception, as practised by ourselves _upon_ ourselves. "no, thank you; but do, my dear madam, imbue those children with a contented spirit; there is nothing that keeps us so truly at peace with the world as contentment--or with ourselves, for it teaches peace--or with a higher power, for it is insulting to his wisdom and love to go on repining through this beautiful world, instead of enjoying what as christians we can enjoy, and regarding without envy that which we have not." "exactly so, good sir. 'be content,' i said to helen only this very morning--'be content, my dear, with your pink gingham; _who knows but by and by you may have a silk dress for sundays_?'" "ah, my dear mrs. myles, you are sowing bad seed," said the clergyman. "what, sir, when i told her to be content with the little pink gingham?" "no; but when you told her she might have a silk one hereafter. don't you see, instead of uprooting you were fostering pride?--instead of directing her ambition to a noble object, and thereby elevating her mind, you were lowering it by drawing it down to an inferior one?" "i did not see it," observed mrs. myles, simply; "but you know, sir, there's no more harm in a silk than a cotton." "i must go now, my good lady," said the minister; "only observing that there _is_ no more harm in one than in the other, except when the desire to possess anything beyond our means leads to discontent, if not to more actively dangerous faults. i must come and lecture the little maids myself." "and welcome, sir, and thank you kindly besides; poor little dears, they have no one to look after them but me. i daresay i am wrong sometimes, but i do my best--i do my best." the curate thought she did according to her knowledge, but he lamented that two such exquisitely beautiful children, possessed of such natural gifts, should be left to the management of a vain old woman--most vain--though kindly and good-hearted--giving kindness with pleasure, and receiving it with gratitude--yet totally unfit to bring up a _pair of beauties_, who, of all the female sex, require the most discretion in the management. "i wonder," thought the reverend mr. stokes--"i wonder when our legislature will contrive to establish a school for mothers. if girls are sent to school, the chances are that the contamination over which the teacher can have no control--the contamination of evil girls--renders them vicious; if, on the contrary, they are kept at home, the folly of their mothers makes them fools--a pretty choice!" mr. stokes turned down a lane that ran parallel with the garden where the children went to school; and hearing helen's voice in loud dispute, he paused for a moment to ascertain the cause. "i tell you," said the little maid, "rose may be what she likes, but i'll be queen." "how unfit," quoth the curate to himself--"how utterly unfit is mrs. myles to manage helen!" the good man paused again; and to the no small confusion of the little group, who had been making holiday under the shadow of a spreading apple-tree, suddenly entered amongst them, and read her a lecture, gently, kindly, and judicious. having thus performed what he conceived his duty, he walked on; but his progress was arrested by a little hand being thrust into his; and when he looked down, the beaming, innocent face of rose dillon was up-turned towards him. "do please, sir," she said, "let helen marsh be queen of the game; if she is not, she won't play with a bit of heart--she won't, indeed, sir. she will play to be sure, but not with any heart." "i cannot unsay what i have said, little rose," he answered; "i cannot; it is better for her to play without heart, as you call it, than to have that heart too highly uplifted by play." happy would it have been for helen marsh if she had always had a judicious friend to correct her dangerous ambition. the good curate admonished the one, and brought forward the other, of the cousins; but what availed his occasional admonishing when counteracted by the weak flattery of mrs. myles? chapter ii. years passed; the lovely children, who tripped hand in hand down the street of abbeyweld, grew into ripe girlhood, and walked arm in arm--the pride and admiration of every villager. the curate became at last rector, and mrs. myles's absurdities increased with her years. the perfect beauty of the cousins, both of face and form, rendered them celebrated far and near. each had a separate character as from the first; and yet--but that rose dillon was a little shorter than her cousin helen marsh, and that the _expression_ of her eyes was so different that it was almost impossible to believe they were the same shape and colour, the cousins might have been mistaken for each other--i say _might_, because it is rather remarkable that they never were. helen's fine dark eyes had a lofty and forbidding aspect, while rose had not the power, if indeed she ever entertained the will, of looking either the one or the other. i thought rose the most graceful of the two in her carriage, but there could be no doubt as to helen's being the most dignified; both girls were almost rustic in their manners, but rusticity and vulgarity are very distinct in their feelings and attributes. they _could not_ do or say aught that was vulgar or at variance with the kindnesses of life--those tender nothings which make up so large a something in the account of every day's existence. similar, withal, as the cousins were in appearance, they grew up as dissimilar in feelings and opinions as it is possible to conceive, and yet loving each other dearly. still helen never for a moment fancied that any one in the village of abbeyweld could compete with her in any way. she had never questioned herself as to this being the case, but the idea had been nourished since her earliest infancy--had never been disputed, except perhaps when latterly a town belle, or even a more conceited specimen, a country belle, visited in the neighbourhood; but popular voice (and there _is_ a popular voice, be it loud or gentle, everywhere) soon discovered that blonde, and feathers, and flowers, had a good deal to do with this disturbing of popular opinion; and after a few days, the good people invariably returned to their allegiance. "ah! ah!" old mrs. myles would observe on these occasions--ah! ah!"--i told you they'd soon find the fair lady was shaded by her fine laces. i daresay now she's on the look-out for a good match, poor thing! not that helen is handsome--don't look in the glass, helen, child! my grandmother always said that old nick stood behind every young lady's shoulder when she looked in the glass, with a rouge-pot all ready to make her look handsomer in her own eyes than she really was; which shows how wicked it is to look much in a glass. only a little sometimes, nell, darling--we'll forgive her for looking _a little_; but certainly when i looked at the _new_ beauty in church the other day, and then looked, i know where, i thought--but no matter, helen, no matter--i don't want to make either of my girls _vain_." why mrs. myles so decidedly preferred helen to rose, appeared a mystery to all who did not know the secret sympathy, the silent unsatisfied ambition, that lurked in the bosoms of both the old and the young. mrs. myles had lived for a long time upon the reputation of her own beauty; and whenever she needed _sympathy_ (a food which the weak-minded devour rapidly,) she lamented to one or two intimates, while indulging in the luxury of _tea_, that she was an ill-used person, simply because she had not been a baronet's lady at the very least. helen's ambition echoed that of her grandmother; it was not the longing of a village lass for a new bonnet or a brilliant dress--it was an ambition of sufficient strength to have sprung up in a castle. she resolved to be something beyond what she was; and there are very few who have strength to give birth to, and cherish up a resolve, who will not achieve a purpose, be it for good or bad, for weal or for wo. rose was altogether and perfectly simple and single-hearted: conscious that she was an orphan, dependent upon her grandmother's slender annuity for support, and that helen's father could not provide both for his daughter and his niece, her life was one of patient industry and unregretted privation. before she was fifteen, she had persuaded her grandmother to part with her serving maiden, and with very little assistance from helen, she performed the labours of their cottage, aided twice a-week by an elderly woman, who often declared that such another girl as rose dillon was not to be found in the country. both were now verging on seventeen, and helen received the addresses of a young farmer in the neighbourhood--a youth of excellent yeoman family, and of superior education and manners. the cousins walked out one evening together, and rose turned into the lane where they used frequently to meet edward lynne. "no, rose," said helen, "not there; i am not in a humour to meet edward to-night." "but you said you would," said rose. "well, do not look so solemn about it. i daresay i did--but lover's promises--if indeed we are lovers. do you know, rose, i should be very much obliged to you to take edward off my hands--he is just the husband for you, so rustic and quiet." "edward to be taken off your hands, helen!--edward lynne!--the protector of our childhood--the pride of the village--the very companion of mr. stokes--why, he dined with him last sunday! edward lynne! you jest, cousin! and"-- rose dillon paused suddenly, for she was going to add, "you ought not to jest with me." she checked herself in time; stooped down to gather some flowers to hide her agitation; felt her cheeks flush, her heart beat, her head swim, and then a chill creep through her frame. helen had unconsciously awoke the hope which rose had never dared to confess unto herself. the waking was ecstatic; but she knew the depth of edward's love for helen. she had been his confidant--she believed it was a jest--how could her cousin do otherwise than love edward lynne? and with this belief, she recovered the self-possession which the necessity for subduing her feelings had taught her even at that early age. "and rose," said helen, in a quiet voice, "did you really think i ever intended to marry edward lynne?" "certainly, cousin. why, you love him, do you not! besides, he is rich--very rich in comparison to you--very, very rich. and if he were not--oh, helen!--is he not in himself--but i need not reason--you are in your usual high spirits, and say what you do not mean." "i do not, rose, now, at all events. last evening, edward was so earnest, so affectionate, so very earnest, it is pleasant to have a true and faithful lover; but i should not quite like to break his heart--it would not be friendly, knowing him so long; for indeed," she added, gaily, "though i don't like edward lynne well enough to marry him, i like him too well to break his heart in downright earnest." there are women cold and coquettish by nature. the disposition flourishes best in courtly scenes, but it will grow anywhere, ay, and flourish anywhere. it unfortunately requires but little culture; still helen was in her novitiate. if she had not been so, she would not have cared whether edward broke his heart or not. "but helen," stammered rose, "surely--you--you have been very wrong." "i know it--i know--there, don't you _hear me_ say i know it, and yet your lecturing face is as long as ever. surely," she continued pettishly, "i confess my crime; and even mr. stokes says, when confessed it is amended." "helen!" exclaimed rose suddenly; "helen!--if what you have now said is really true, you have only told me half the truth. helen marsh, you have seen some one you like better than edward lynne." "no!" was helen's prompt reply, for she would not condescend to a falsehood--her own pride was a sufficient barrier against that. "no, rose, i have not seen any one i like better than edward. but, rose"--she buried her face in her hands, and as suddenly withdrew them, and shaking back her luxuriant ringlets, while a bright triumphant colour mounted to her cheeks, added--"there is no reason _why_ i should be ashamed. i saw, last week, at mrs. howard's, one whom i would rather marry." "i always thought," murmured rose, weeping in the fulness of her generous nature, as the idea of edward's future misery came upon her--"i always thought no good would come of your visiting a lady so much above us." it would be impossible to describe the contemptuous expression of helen's finely moulded features, while she repeated, as if to herself, "above _us_!--above _me_!" and then she added aloud, and with what seemed to rose a forced expression of joy, "but good _will_ come of it, rose--good will surely come of it; never fear but it will--it _must_. and when i am a great lady, rosey, who but you, sweet cousin, will be next my heart?" "i am satisfied to be _near_, even without being _next_ it, helen," she replied mournfully; "but why have you kept this matter concealed from me so long? why have you"-- "found!" interrupted a well-known voice; and at the same moment edward lynne shook a shower of perfumed hawthorn blossoms from the scattered hedge which he struggled through; and repeating "found!" in his full echoing voice, stood panting before the startled girls. "i have had such a hunt!" he exclaimed joyfully--"such a hunt for you, helen! i have been over woodland brook, and up as far as fairmill, where you said you would be--oh, you truant! and i doubt if i should have caught you at last, but for poor dash"--and the sagacious dog sprung about, as if conscious that he deserved a large portion of the praise. rose was astonished at the perfect self-possession with which, after the first flush of surprise, helen received her lover. nor was poor rose unconscious that she herself occupied no portion of his attention beyond the glance of recognition which he cast while throwing himself on the sward at helen's feet. "we must go home," said the triumphant beauty, after hearing a few of those half-whispered nothings which are considered of such importance in a lover's calendar; "the dew is falling, and i may catch cold." "the dew falling!" repeated edward.--"why, look, the sky is still golden from the sun's rays; do not--do not, dearest helen, go home yet. besides," he added, "your grandmother has plenty of employment; there is mrs. howard's companion, and one or two strangers from the hall, at your cottage--so she is not at all lonesome." "who did you say?" inquired helen, eagerly, now really losing her self-command. "oh, some of mrs. howard's fine friends. i never," he continued, "see those sort of people in an humble village, without thinking of the story of the agitation of all the little hedgerow birds, when they first saw a paroquet amongst them, and began longing for his gay feathers. do not go, dear helen--they will soon be gone; and i do so want you to walk as far as fairmill lawn. i have planted with my own hands this morning the silver firs you said you admired, just where the bank juts over the stream. do come." "rose will go, and tell me all about it, but _i_ must get home. granny cannot do without me; besides, mrs. howard is so kind to me, that i cannot suffer _her_ friends to be neglected. nay, edward, you may look as you please, but i certainly _shall_ go." edward lynne remonstrated, implored, and, finally, flew into a passion. at any other time helen's proud spirit would have risen so as to meet this outburst of temper with one to the full as violent; but the knowledge of what had grown to maturity in her own mind, and the presence of rose, restrained her, and she continued to walk home without reply. "and i shall go also," he said, bitterly, "but not with you." even at that moment helen marsh exulted in her own mind to find his words and his steps at variance; he was still by her side. the most perilous of all triumphs is the knowledge of possessing power over the affections of our fellow creatures; it is so especially intoxicating to women as to be greatly dangerous, and those who do not abuse such power deserve much praise. rose walked timidly behind them, wondering how helen could have imagined any alliance in the world more brilliant--but no, that was not the idea--any alliance in the world so _happy_ as that with edward lynne must be. when they reached the commencement of the village, edward said, for the fifth or sixth time, "then you will go, helen?" "certainly." "very well, helen. good evening." "good evening, edward," was the cool reply. not one word of adieu did he bestow on rose as he dashed into another path; while his dog stood for a moment, uncertain as to whether his master would return or not, and then rapidly followed. "oh, helen! what have you done?" murmured rose. helen replied by one of those low murmuring laughs which sound like the very melody of love; and the two girls, in a few moments more, were in their own cottage, where rose saw that evening, for the first time, the gentleman whom helen had declared she did not prefer to edward, though she would rather marry him. chapter iii. i think i have said before that the most trying and dangerous position a young woman can occupy, is that where her station is not defined--where she considers herself above the industrious classes by whom she is surrounded--and where those with whom her tastes and habits assimilate, consider her greatly beneath them. superficial observers (and the great mass of human beings are nothing more) invariably look for happiness in the class one or two degrees above their own. they would consider themselves absurd if they _at once_ set their minds upon being dukes and princes; they only want to be a _little_ bit higher, only the _smallest bit_, and never for a moment look to what they call "_beneath_ them" for happiness. this was particularly the case with these young girls. their station was not defined, yet how different their practice! one was ambitious of the glittering tinsel of the world--the other, refined but not ambitious, sought her happiness in the proper exercise of the affections; neither could have described her particular feelings, but an accurate observer could not fail to do so for them. that night neither girl had courage to speak to the other on the occurrences of the past day, and yet each thought of nothing else. they knelt down, side by side, as they had done from infancy, repeating the usual prayers as they had been accustomed to do. helen's voice did not falter, but continued its unvaried tone to the end: rose (helen thought) delivered the petition of "lead us not into temptation" with deeper feeling than usual; and instead of rising when helen rose, and exchanging with her the kiss of sisterly affection, rose buried her face in her hands; while her cousin, seated opposite the small glass which stood on their little dressing-table, commenced curling her hair, as if that day, which had completed a revolution in her way of thinking, had been as smooth as all the other days of her short calendar. the candle was extinguished, and helen slept profoundly. the moon shone in brightly through the latticed window, whose leaden cross-bars chequered the sanded floor. rose looked earnestly upon the face of the sleeper, and so bright it was, that she saw, or fancied she saw, a smile of triumph curling on her lip. she crept quietly out of bed, and leaned her throbbing temples against the cool glass. how deserted the long street of abbeyweld appeared; the shadows of the opposite trees and houses lay prostrate across the road--the aspect of the village street was lonely, very lonely and sad--there was no hum from the school--no inquisitive eyes peeped from the casements--no echoing steps upon the neatly-gravelled footpath--the old elm-tree showed like a mighty giant, standing out against the clear calm sky--and there was one star, only one, sparkling amid its branches--a diamond of the heavens, shedding its brightness on the earth. the stillness was positively oppressive. rose felt as if every time she inhaled the air, she disturbed the death-like quiet of the scene. a huge shadow passed along the ledge of the opposite cottage; her nerves were so unstrung that she started back as it advanced. it was only their own gentle cat, whose quick eye recognised its mistress, and without waiting for invitation, crawled quickly from its eminence, and came rubbing itself against the glass, and then moved stealthily away, intent upon the destruction of some unsuspicious creature, who, taught by nature, believes that with night comes safety. almost at the end of the street, the darkness was as it were divided by a ray of light, that neither flickered nor wavered. what a picture it brought at once before her!--the pale, lame grandchild of old jenny oram, watching by the dying bed of the only creature that had ever loved her--her poor deaf grandmother. and the girl's great trouble was, that the old woman could neither see to read the word of god herself, nor hear her when she read it to her; but the lame girl had no time to waste with grief, so she plied her needle rapidly through the night-watches, not daring to shed a tear upon the work, or damp her needle with a sigh. rose was not as sorry for her as she would have been at any other time, for individual sorrow has few sympathies; but the more she thought of the lonely lame girl, the less became her own trouble, and she might have gone to bed with the consciousness which, strange to say, brings consolation, that there was one very near more wretched than herself, had she not seen the form of edward lynne glide like a spectre from beneath the old elm-tree, and stand before the window. rose retreated, but still observed him; the moon was shining on the window, so he must have seen the form, without, perhaps, being able to distinguish whose it was. rose watched him until his silent death-like presence oppressed her heart and brain, and she closed her eyes to shut out what had become too painful to look upon. when she looked again, all was sleeping in the moonlight as before; but he was gone. at the same moment helen turned restlessly on her pillow, and sobbed and muttered to herself. rose felt that pillow wet with tears. "helen!" she exclaimed; "helen, dear helen! awake! awake, helen!" her cousin, at length aroused, flung her arms around her neck; and the proud lip which she had left curled with the consciousness of beauty and power, quivered and paled, while she sank awake and weeping on rose's bosom. chapter iv. never had the bells of abbeyweld, within the memory of living man--within the memory of old mrs. myles herself, and _she_ was the oldest living woman in the parish--rung so merry a peal as on the morning that helen marsh was married to the handsome and honourable mr. ivers. he was young as well as handsome--honourable both by name and nature--rich in possession and expectancy. on his part it was purely and entirely what is called a "love match"--one of the strangest of all strange things perpetrated by a young man of rank and fashion. his wealth and position in society enabled him to select for himself; and he did so, of course, to the disappointment of as many, or perhaps a greater number of mothers than daughters, inasmuch as it is the former whose speculations are the deepest laid and most dangerous in arts matrimonial. every body was astonished. mrs. howard--helen's "kind friend"--mrs. howard, little short of distracted for three weeks at the very least, did nothing but exclaim, "who would have thought it!" "who, indeed!" was the reply, in various tones of sympathy, envy, and surprise. poor mrs. howard, to the day of her death, never suffered another portionless beauty to enter her doors while even the shadow of an eldest son rested on its threshold. mrs. myles was of course in an ecstacy of delight; her prophecy was fulfilled. helen, _her_ helen, was the honourable wife of a doubly honourable man. what triumphant glances did she cast over the railings of the communion-table at mr. stokes--with what an air she marched down the aisle--how patronising and condescending was her manner to those neighbours whom she considered her inferiors--how bitterly did she lament that the honourable mr. ivers would not have any one to breakfast with them but mr. stokes--and how surpassingly, though silently, angry was she with mr. stokes for not glorying with her when the bride and bridegroom drove off in their "own carriage," leaving her in a state of prideful excitement, and rose dillon in a flood of tears. "well, sir!" exclaimed the old lady--"well, sir, you see it _has_ turned out exactly as i said it would; there's station--there's happiness. why, sir, if his brother dies without children, his own valet told me, mr. ivers would be a lord and helen a lady. didn't she look beautiful! now, please, reverend sir, do speak, didn't she look beautiful?" "she did." "ah! it's a great gift that beauty; though," she added, resorting to the strain of morality which persons of her character are apt to consider a salve for sin--"though it's all vanity, all vanity. 'flesh is grass'--a beautiful text that was your reverence preached from last sunday--'all flesh is grass.' ah, well-a-day! so it is. we ought not to be puffed up or conceited--no, no. as i said to mrs. leicester, 'don't be puffed up, my good woman, because your niece has what folk call a pretty face, nor don't expect that she's to make a good market of it--it's but skin deep; remember our good rector's sermon, 'all flesh is grass.'' ah, deary me! people do need such putting in mind; and, if you believe me, sir, unless indeed it be rose, poor child, who never had a bit of love in her head yet, i'll be bound every girl is looking above her station--there's a pity, sir. all are not born with a coach and horses; no, no;" and so, stimulated a little, perhaps, by a glass of _real_, not gooseberry, champagne, poor mrs. myles would have galloped on with a strange commentary upon her own conduct (of the motives to which she was perfectly ignorant,) had not the rector suddenly exclaimed, "where is rose?" "crying in her own room, i'll be bound; i'm sure she is. why, rose--and i really must get your reverence to speak to her, she is a sad girl--rose dillon, i say--so silent and homely-like--ah, dear! why, granddaughter--now, is it not undutiful of her, good sir, when she knows how much i have suffered parting from my helen. rose dillon!" but rose dillon was not weeping in her room, nor did she hear her grandmother's voice when the carriage, that bore the bride to a new world, drove off. rose ran down the garden, intending to keep the equipage in sight as long as it could be distinguished from an eminence that was called the moat, and which commanded an extensive view of the high road. there was a good deal of brushwood creeping up the elevation, and at one side it was overshadowed by several tall trees; in itself it was a sweet, sequestered spot, a silent watching place. she could hardly hear the carriage wheels, though she saw it whirled along, just as it passed within sight of the tall trees. helen's arm, with its glittering bracelet, waved an adieu; this little act of remembrance touched rose, and, falling on her knees, she sobbed forth a prayer, earnest and heartfelt, for her cousin's happiness. "god bless you, rose!" exclaimed the trembling voice of the discarded lover, who, pale and wo-worn, had been unintentionally concealed among the trees--"god bless you, rose!--that prayer has done me good. amen to every word of it! she is quite, quite gone now--another's bride--the wife of a gentleman--and so best; the ambition which fits her for her present station unfitted her to be my wife. i say this, and think this--i know it! but though i do know it, her face--that face i loved from infancy, until it became a sin for me to love it longer--that face comes between me and reason, and its brightness destroys all that reason taught." rose could not trust herself to reply. she longed to speak to him, but she could not; she _dared_ not. he continued--"did she leave no message, speak no word, say nothing, to be said to me?" "she said," replied her cousin, "that she hoped you would be happy; that you deserved to be so"-- "deserved to be so!" he repeated bitterly; "and that was the reason why _she_ made me miserable. oh! the folly, the madness of the man who trusts to woman's love--to woman's faith! but the spell _once_ broken, the charm once dispelled, that is enough!" and yet it was not enough, for edward talked on, and more than once was interrupted by rose, who, whenever she could vindicate her cousin, did so bravely and generously--not in a half-consenting, frigid manner, but as a true woman does when she defends a woman, as, if she be either good or wise, she will always do. rose did not know enough of human nature to understand that the more edward complained of helen's conduct and desertion, the less he really felt it; and the generous portion of his own nature sympathised with the very generosity which he argued against. he had found one, who while she listened sweetly and patiently to his complaints, vindicated, precisely as he would have desired, the idol of his heart's first love. what we love appears so entirely our own, that we question the right of others to blame it, whatever we may do ourselves. if he had known the deep, the treasured secret that poor rose concealed within the sanctuary of her bosom, he would have wondered at the unostentatious generosity of her pure and simple nature. "it is evident," said rose dillon to herself, when she bade edward adieu; "it is quite evident he never will or can love another. such affection is everlasting." how blind she was! "poor fellow! he will either die in the flower of his age of a broken heart, or drag on a miserable existence! and if he does," questioned the maiden, "and if he does, _what is that to me_?" she did not, for a moment or two, trust herself to frame an answer, though the tell-tale blood, first mounting to and then receding from her cheek, replied; but then she began to calculate how long she had known edward, and thought how very natural it was she should feel interested, deeply interested, in him. he had no sister; why should she not be to him a sister? ah, rose, rose! that sisterly reasoning is of all others the most perilous. time passed on. the bride wrote a letter, which, in its tone and character, sounded pretty much like a long trumpet-note of exultation. mrs. myles declared it to be a dear letter, a charming letter, a most lady-like letter, and yet evidently she was not satisfied therewith. she read scraps of it to all the neighbours, and vaunted mrs. ivers, the honourable mrs. ivers, up to the skies. like all persons whose dignity and station are not the result of inheritance, in the next epistle she was even more anxious to impress her humble relatives with an idea of her consequence. mingled with a few epithets of love, were a great many eulogiums on her new station. she was too honest to regret, even in seeming, the rural delights of the country, (for helen could not stoop to deceit,) but she gave a list of titled visitors, and said she would write more at length, were it not that every spare moment was spent in qualifying herself to fill her station so as to do credit to her husband." this old mrs. myles could not understand; she considered helen fit to be a queen, and said so. chapter v. for more than two months, rose and edward did not meet again; for more than four after that, he never entered the cottage which had contained what he held most dear on earth; but one evening he called with mr. stokes. the good rector might have had his own reasons for bringing the young man to the cottage; but if he had he kept them to himself, the best way of rendering them effective. after that, edward often came, sometimes with a book from the rectory, sometimes with a newspaper for mrs. myles, sometimes to know if he could do anything for the old lady in the next town, where he was going, sometimes for one thing, sometimes for another, but always with some excuse, which rose was happy to accept as the true one; satisfied that she could see him, hear him, know that he was there. it so chanced that, calling one evening (evening calls are suspicious where young people are concerned,) edward was told that mrs. myles had gone over to lothery, the next post town, and that miss rose was out. the servant (ever since helen's marriage, mrs. myles had thought it due to her dignity to employ such a person) said this with an air of mystery, and edward inquired which way miss rose had walked. indeed, she did not know. edward therefore trusted to chance, and he had not gone very far down a lane leading to the common of abbeyweld, when he saw her seated under a tree (where heroines are surely found at some period or other of their life's eventful history) reading a letter. of course he interrupted her, and then apologised. "the letter," said rose, frankly, "is from poor helen." "why do you call her poor?" he inquired. "because she is very ill; and i am going to her to-morrow morning." "ill!--to-morrow!--so suddenly--so soon!" stammered edward. rose turned homewards with an air of cold constraint. she could not attribute edward's agitation to any other cause than his anxiety on helen's account, and the conviction gave her intense pain. "stay, rose," he said. rose walked steadily forward. "there is," he continued bitterly, "a curse, a spell upon this place. do you not remember that it was here--_here_, within five yards of where we stand--that _she_ first--. but where's the use of thinking of _that_, or any thing else," he exclaimed with a sudden burst of passion, "where a woman is concerned? they are all, _all_ alike, and i am a double fool! but go, rose, go--enjoy her splendour, and lie in wait, as she did, for some rich idiot!" it was now rose's turn to interrupt. turning upon edward, with an expression of deeply insulted feeling, "sir," she said; and before she proceeded the cold monosyllable had entered his heart; "sir, my cousin helen did _not_ lie in wait; a woman's beauty may be called a snare, if you please, but it is not one of her own making; she was sought and won, and not by an _idiot_; and it is ungenerous in you to speak thus now, when time, and her being another's wife"-- poor rose had entered on perilous ground, and she felt it, and the feeling prevented her proceeding. she trembled violently; and if edward could have seen her blanched cheek and quivering lip, he would have checked his impetuosity, and bitterly reproached himself for the rash words he had uttered. if he could but have known how devoutly the poor fond beating heart loved him at that moment, he would, rustic though he was, have fallen at her feet, and entreated her forgiveness. doubtless it was better as it was, for if men could see into women's hearts, i very much fear their reliance on their own power would increase, and _that_ would be neither pleasant nor profitable to themselves or others; the very existence of love often depends on its uncertainty. some evil star at that moment shed its influence over them, for edward lynne, catching at rose's words, answered, "you need not, i assure you, entertain your cousin with an account of how i grieve; and remember, believe me, i take good care to prevent any woman's caprice from having power over me a second time." "you do quite right," replied rose--"quite right." they walked on together until they arrived within sight of the cottage door, but neither spoke. "i have a great deal to do--much to prepare. i must wish you good-night. good-bye, and a kinder--temper." she faltered. "going," said edward--"going away in such haste; and to part thus. there must be some mistake. i have watched you narrowly, suspiciously, as men do who have been once deceived; and i have seen no trace of unwomanly ambition in you; i little thought you would, on the slightest hint, so willingly embrace the first opportunity of entering into the sphere i thought you dreaded--as i do." "i told you helen was ill." "a megrim--a whim--a"-- "you do her wrong; she has been a mother, and her child is dead." "a blow to her ambition," said edward, so coldly that rose (such is human nature) breathed more freely. was it possible, then--_could_ it be possible--that his feelings had been excited not by the remembrance of helen, but the thought of her own departure? yet still her simple sense of justice urged her to say, "again you do her wrong; helen has a great deal of feeling." "for herself," he answered tersely, "i dare say she has." "i did not think you could be so unjust and ungenerous," replied rose; "but you are out of sorts to-night, and will be sorry before morning. you were always hasty, edward. good-night--good-bye." "good-bye, then, rose--good-bye;" and without taking her hand, without one kind word, one sign of love, edward lynne rushed through the garden gate and disappeared. rose entered the little parlour, which of late had been well cared for. the old sofa, though as stiff and hard as ever, triumphed in green and yellow; and two cushions, with large yellow tassels, graced the ends, and a huge square ottoman, which every country visitor invariably tumbled over, stood exactly in front of the old seat. upon this rose flung herself, and, covering her face with her hands, bent down her head upon the stately seat. her sobs were not loud but deep; and as she was dealing with feelings, and not with time, she had no idea how long she had remained in that state, until aroused by a voice, whose every tone sent the blood throbbing and tingling through her veins. "rose--dear rose!" blushing--trembling--ashamed of an emotion she had not the power to control--rose could not move, did not at all events, until edward was on his knees beside her--until he had poured forth his affection--had assured her how completely she had possessed herself of his respect and admiration; that his feelings towards her not being of that passionate nature which distracted him with love for helen, he had not truly felt her value until the idea of losing her for ever came upon him; that then he indeed felt as though all hope of happiness was to be taken away for ever--felt that he should lose a friend, one on whose principles and truth he could rely--felt that in _her_ his all was concentrated. it is only those who, having loved long and hopelessly for years, find that love returned, and at the very moment when they were completely bowed down by the weight of disappointment, can understand what rose experienced. she did not violate any of the laws of maiden modesty, because she was pure in heart and single of purpose; but she was too truthful to withhold the confession of her love, and too sincere to conceal her happiness. "i will give you a promise; but receive none," said the generous lover. "i should be indeed miserable if i, for a moment, fancied you were controlled only by a _promise. i rely upon you solely and entirely_; no matter with what temptations you may be surrounded. if helen is so much admired, you must be admired also; but i do not fear you will forget me; for now my only astonishment is how i could have preferred the spirit and power of the one to the tender and womanly grace of the other." in the midst of these effusions, so dear to lovers' hearts, mrs. myles entered. many and many a time had she prayed that edward lynne might transfer his affections to rose dillon; it would be such "a capital match for her, poor thing." she would repeat to herself, "_yes_, quite the thing for _her_, though, of course, for helen i could not hear of it--yet quite the thing of all others for her." this frame of mind continued until the invitation arrived, and it was determined that rose should visit her cousin. "it is," argued the good woman in her own way, "it is only to nurse her strong and well again, i dare say; but yet, who knows, she may see some one, or some one may see her? she certainly is a very pretty, modest-looking girl; and i have heard say that modest-looking girls are sometimes greatly admired among the grandees in fashionable places, because of their rarity. i shall certainly show the cold shoulder to edward lynne the next time he comes, and give him a hint as to the expectations i have for rose. i must not suffer the poor child to throw herself away--oh no!--oh no! edward lynne is a very nice young man certainly; and if rose had not been going to london"-- she opened the parlour door as she so reasoned; and the peculiar expression which passed over the countenances of both, convinced her that every thing was proceeding in opposition to her "prudential motives." edward frankly expounded all, to her entire dissatisfaction. "she did not," she said, "at all approve of engagements; she would not sanction any engagement except at the altar; she thought _mr._ lynne (mr. lynne! she had never in her life before called him any thing but "ned") she thought he ought to have spoken to _her_ first as became _a gentleman_." and edward, provoked beyond bearing at what always upstirs a noble soul--mere worldly-mindedness--replied, "that he never professed to be a _gentleman_; he was, and ever would be, a farmer, and nothing more; and for all that, he thought a farmer--an honest, upright, english farmer--might have as correct ideas as to right and wrong as any gentleman." at this mrs. myles became very indignant; like the frog in the fable, she endeavoured to think herself an ox, and talked and looked magnificence itself, until at last she felt as if being _her_ grand-children was enough to entitle helen and rose to sit before a queen. she talked of edward,--his occupation, his barns, his cows, horses, and sheep--until rose, all gentle as she was, roused, and said, that for herself she had no ambition beyond that of being the useful wife of an honest man; that edward had honoured her, and, sorry as she should be to displease the only parent she had ever known, she had plighted her faith in the temple of her own heart to him--and as long as the plight was of value in his eyes, it could not be withdrawn. how truly did edward lynne feel that she indeed would be a crown of glory to his old age, as well as to his manhood's prime! the scene--for there are "scenes" wherever human passion runs wild--ended by mrs. myles working herself into the belief that she was the most ill-used old lady in the british dominions. she commanded edward from her presence; and though rose wept and knelt at her feet, she refused to be pacified, declaring that if it had not been for the rheumatism, she would herself act as nurse to helen, and not suffer so low-minded a creature as rose dillon to look on the splendour of her cousin's house. what she thought of that splendour, an extract from a letter--not the first or second--which replied to those she had received from edward, will best tell: "i have seen a great deal to astonish--every thing seems wonderful in london--only i wish the people seemed more really happy. i have been thinking that happiness is not a sudden thing like joy; it is more quiet--_it takes time to be happy_--and the people here have no time. in the midst of the gayest party, they do not suffer themselves to enjoy it, but keep hurrying on to the next. i remember when we were children, helen and i, we have sat an hour over a bunch of wildflowers, yet not discovered half their beauties; surely excitement and happiness are not twin-born. since helen has been better, numbers of ladies have called, so beautifully dressed, and so gentle-mannered and reserved, one so very like the other, that they might have all been brought up at the same school. they never appear to confide in each other, but make a talk, after their own calm fashion, about small things. still, when they talk, _they do not say much_, considering how highly bred they are. i have listened throughout an entire morning (a fashionable morning, edward, does not begin until three o'clock in the afternoon), and really could not remember a single observation made by a drawing-room full of ladies. _we_ could not talk ten minutes with dear mr. stokes, without hearing something that we could not help remembering all the days of our lives. it is wonderful how superior helen is (i am not afraid to tell you so) to every one around her; there is a natural loftiness of mind and manner visible in her every movement, that carries off her want of those pretty accomplishments which the ladies value so highly. and then she is _so_ beautiful, and her husband is so proud of having the handsomest woman in london for his wife; and one artist begs to model her ear, another her hand--you cannot think how fair and soft and 'do-nothing' it looks,--and as to her portraits, they are in all those pretty painted books which mr. stokes calls 'vanities.' there is a queer, quirky, little old gentleman who visits here, who said that helen owed her great success in society to her 'tact.' oh! edward, she owes her sorrow to her _ambition_. would you believe it possible that she, the beauty of abbeyweld, who for so long a time seemed to us satisfied with that distinction, is not satisfied now. why, there is not such an establishment, no, not at mrs. howard's, as that which she commands. oh! edward, to have once loved helen, is to be interested for her always; there is something great in her very faults; there is nothing poor or low about her. that little cranky old gentleman said the other evening while looking at her, 'miss rose, a woman, to be happy, should either have no ambition, or an ambition beyond this world.' do ask dr. stokes if that is true." chapter vi. after she had been a little longer in town, rose saw more clearly the workings of that ambition which had undermined her cousin's happiness. she saw where the canker ate and withered, but she did not know how it could be eradicated. something which women understand, prevented her laying open the secrets of the house to edward; and yet she desired counsel. possessing much observation as to the workings of the human heart, she had but little knowledge as to how those feelings might be moulded for the best; and she naturally turned for advice, and with the faith of a christian spirit, to the pastor who had instructed her youth. he had loved them both, and she longed for his counsel, in the--alas! vain--hope that she, a right-minded but simple girl--simple as regards the ambition of life's drama--might be able to turn her cousin from the unsatisfied, unsatisfying longings after place and station. the difference in their opinions was simply this--rose thought that helen possessed everything that helen could desire, while helen thought that helen wanted all things. it was morning--not the morning that rose had described to her lover, but not more than seven o'clock--when rose, who had been up late the previous night, was awoke by her cousin's maid. on entering helen's dressing-room she found her already dressed, but so pale and distressed in her appearance, that she could hardly recognise the brilliant lawgiver of the evening's festivities in the pale, languid, feverish beauty that was seated at her desk. "dear helen, you are weary; ill, perhaps," exclaimed her gentle cousin. "you have entered too soon into gay society, and you suffer for the public restraint in private." her cousin looked steadily in her face, and then smiled one of those bitter disdainful smiles which it is always painful to see upon a woman's lip. "sit down, rose," she said; "sit down, and copy this letter. i have been writing all night, and yet cannot get a sufficient number finished in time, without your assistance." rose did as she was desired, and, to her astonishment, found that the letters were to the inhabitants of a borough, which mr. ivers had expressed his desire to represent. rose wrote and wrote; but the longest task must have a termination. about one, the gentleman himself came into the room, and, as rose thought, somewhat indifferently, expressed his surprise, that what he came to commence, was already finished. still he chid his fair wife for an exertion which he feared might injure her health, and evinced the strongest desire to succeed in rescuing the people of l---- from the power of a party to which he was opposed; hinting, at the same time, that the contest would drain his purse and many of his resources. "and let it," exclaimed helen, when he left the room, "let it. i care not for _that_, but i will overturn every thing that interposes between me and the desire i have to humble the wife of the present representative. look, i would hold this hand in the fire, ay, and suffer it to smoulder into ashes, to punish the woman who called me a proud _parvenue_! she did so before i had been a week in london. her cold calm face has been a curse to me ever since. she has stood, the destroying angel, at the gate of my paradise, poisoning every enjoyment. let me but humble _her_," she continued, rising proudly from the sofa upon which she had been resting; "let me but humble _her_, and i shall feel a triumphant woman! for that i have watched and waited; _anxiety for that caused me the loss of my child_; but if ivers succeeds, i shall be repaid." rose shuddered. was it really true, that having achieved the wealth, the distinction she panted for, she was still anxious to mount higher? was it possible that wealth, station, general admiration, and the devoted affection of a tender husband did not satisfy the humbly-born beauty of an obscure english village? again helen spoke; she told how she had at last succeeded in rousing her husband to exertion--how, with an art worthy a better cause, she had persuaded him that his country demanded his assistance--how he had been led almost to believe that the safety of england was in the hands of the freeholders of l----; and then she pictured her own triumph, as the wife of the successful candidate, over the woman who had called her a _parvenue_. "and, after all," murmured poor rose, "and after all, dear helen, you are really unhappy." "miserable!" was the reply--"no creature was ever so perfectly miserable as i am! the one drop of poison has poisoned the whole cup. what to me was all this grandeur, when i felt that _that_ woman looked down upon me, and induced others to do the same; that though i was with them, i was not of them; and all through her means. ivers could not understand my feeling; and, besides, i dare not let him know what had been said by one of his own clique, lest _he should become inoculated by the same feeling_." "another fruit," thought rose dillon, "of the evil which attends unequal marriages." "but _my_ triumph will come!" she repeated; "ivers must carry all before him; and _who knows what may follow_?" "still unsatisfied!" thought rose, as she wandered through the splendid rooms and inhaled the perfume of the most expensive exotics, and gazed upon beautiful pictures, and listened to the roll of carriages, and heard the kind fond voice of helen's devoted husband urging the physician, who made his daily calls, to pay his wife the greatest attention. "still unsatisfied!" she repeated; and then she thought of one of edward's homely but wise proverbs--"all is not gold that glitters;" and she thought how quite as beautiful, and more varied by the rich variety of nature, was the prospect from the parlour-window of the farm-house, that was to be her own. "and woodbine, roses, and mignonette breathe as sweet odours as exotics, and belong of right to the cottages of england. ah!" continued the right-minded girl, "better is a little and content therewith, than all the riches of wealth and art without it. if her ambition had even a _great_ object i could forgive her; but all this for the littleness of society." this train of thought led her back to the days of their girlhood, and she remembered how the same desire to outshine manifested itself in helen's childhood. if mr. stokes had been there he could have told her of the pink gingham, with her grandmother's injudicious remark thereupon--"be content with the pink gingham _now_, helen--_the time will come when you shall have a better_;" instead of--"be always content, helen, with what befits your sphere of life." that day was an eventful one to rose. in the evening she was seated opposite the window, observing the lamplighter flying along with his ladder and his link through the increasing fog, and wondering why the dinner was delayed so much beyond the usual hour--when the little old cranky gentleman, whose keen and clever observations had given rose a very good idea of his _head_, and a very bad one of his heart, stood beside her. in a few brief words he explained, that seeing she was different to london ladies, he had come to the determination of making her his wife. he did not seem to apprehend any objection on her part to this arrangement; but having concluded the business in as few words as possible, stood, with his hands behind him, very much as if he expected the lady he addressed to express her gratitude, and suffer him to name the day. firmly and respectfully rose declined the honour, declaring "she had no heart to give," and adding a few civil words of thanks to the old gentleman, who would have evinced more sense had he proposed to adopt, not marry her. without a reply, the old gentleman left the room; but presently her cousin entered, and in terms of bitter scorn, inquired if she were mad enough to refuse such an offer--one that would immediately take her out of her humble sphere, and place her where she might be happy. rose replied, with more than usual firmness, that she had learned, since she had been with her, the total insufficiency of rank and power to produce happiness. "i am convinced," she continued, "that it is the most likely to dwell where there are the fewest cares, and that the straining after distinction is at variance with its existence. to be useful, and fulfil well the duties of our native sphere, is the surest way to be happy. oh! helen, you do not know what it is; you look too much to the future to enjoy the present; and i have observed it ever since you threw away the handful of jessamine we had gathered at the grey fountain of abbeyweld, because you could not have moss roses like the squire's daughter." "foolish girl!" she answered, "has not perseverance in the desire obtained the moss roses?" "yes," said her cousin, sadly, "but now you desire exotics. i should despise myself if it were possible that i could forget the affection of my heart in what appears to me the unsubstantial vanities of life. dear helen, in sickness or sorrow let me ever be your friend; but i must be free to keep on in my own humble sphere." it seemed as if poor rose was doomed to undergo all trials. helen was not one to yield to circumstances; and though her physician prescribed rest, she lived almost without it, avoiding repose, laying herself under the most painful obligations to obtain her end, and enduring the greatest mental anxiety. not only this; she taunted poor rose with her increased anxieties, affirming, that if she had not rendered the old gentleman her foe by the ill-timed refusal, he would have assisted, not thwarted, her cherished object; that his influence was great, and was now exerted against them. "if," she added, "you had only the common tact of any other girl, you might have played him a little until the election was over, and then acted as you pleased." this seemed very shocking to rose, and she would have gone to abbeyweld immediately, but that she thought it cruel to leave her cousin while she felt she was useful to her. "ah, rose!" she said, when poor rose hinted that in a short time she must return, "how can you think of it?--how can you leave me in an _enemy's country_? i dare not give even my husband my entire confidence, for he might fancy my sensitiveness a low-born feeling. i can trust you, and none other." surrounded, according to the phrase, "with troops of friends," and yet able to _trust_ "none other" than the simple companion of her childhood! "and yet," murmured the thoughtful rose, "amongst so many, the blame cannot be all with the crowd; helen herself is as incapable of warm, disinterested friendship as those of whom she complains." rose dillon's constancy was subjected to a still greater trial. amongst the "troops of friends" who crowded more than ever round mr. ivers while his election was pending, was a young man as superior to the rest in mind as in fortune, and rose dillon's ready appreciation of the good and beautiful led her to respect and admire him. "is it true, miss dillon," he said to her one morning, after a lagging conversation of some twenty minutes' duration--"is it true, miss dillon, that you have discarded altogether the attentions of mr. ----?" and he named the old gentleman whose offer had been so painful to rose, and who was now made painfully aware that the subject had been publicly talked of. this confused her. "nay," he continued, "i think you ought to be very proud of the fact, for he is worth two hundred thousand pounds." "if he were worth ten hundred thousand, it would make no difference to me," was the reply. "then, you admit the fact." rose could not tell a falsehood, though she confessed her pain that it should be known. "i intend," she added, "to remain in my own quiet sphere of life; i am suited for no other." the gentleman made no direct reply, but from that hour he observed rose narrowly. the day of the election came, with its bribery and its bustle. suffice it, that the honourable mr. ivers was declared duly elected--that the splendour of the late member's wife's entertainments and beauty, were perfectly eclipsed by the entertainments and beauty of the wife of the successful candidate--that every house, _except_ one, in the town was splendidly illuminated--and that the people broke every pane of glass in the windows of that house, to prove their attachment to the great principle of freedom of election. "god bless you, cousin!" said rose; "god bless you--your object is attained. i hope you will sleep well to-night." "sleep!" she exclaimed; "how can i sleep? did you not hear the wife of a mere city baronet inquire if late hours did not injure a country constitution; and see the air with which she said it?" "and why did you not answer that a country constitution gave you strength to sustain them? in the name of all that is right, dearest helen, why do you not assert your dignity as a woman, instead of standing upon your rank? why not, as a woman, boldly and bravely revert to your former position, and at the same time prove your determination to support your present? you were as far from shame as helen marsh of abbeyweld, as you are as the wife of an honourable member. be yourself. be simply, firmly yourself, my own helen, and you will at once, from being the scorned, become the scorner." "this from you, who love a lowly state?" "i love my own birthright, lowly though it be. no one will attempt to pull me down. i shall have no heartaches--suffer no affronts?" "oh!" said helen, "if i had but been born to what i possess." "mr. stokes said if you had been born an honourable, you would have grasped at a coronet." "and i _may_ have it yet," replied the discontented beauty, with a weary smile; "i _may_ have it yet; my husband's brother is still childless. if i could be but certain that the grave would receive him a childless man, how proudly i would take precedence of such a woman as lady g----" rose looked at her as she spoke. in the glorious meridian of her beauty--a creature so splendid--of such a fair outside--with energy, and grace, and power--married by a weak ambition--an ambition achieved by the accident of birth--an ambition having neither honour, nor virtue, nor patriotism, nor any one laudable aim, for its object. and she sorrowed in her inmost soul for her cousin helen. chapter vii. rose never, of course, made one at the brilliant assemblies which mrs. ivers gave and graced; she only saw those who breakfasted or lunched in the square, or who, like the little old gentleman, and one or two others, joined the family circle. the excitement of an election, and the (_pro tem._) equality which such an event creates, brought her more into contact with her cousin's acquaintances than she had yet been, and gave the gentleman, who evidently admired her, an opportunity of studying her character. there was something strange in a young woman, situated as was rose, preserving so entirely her self-respect, that it encircled her like a halo; and wherever it is so preserved, it invariably commands the respect of others. after the first week or two had passed, rose dillon was perfectly undazzled by the splendour with which she was surrounded, and was now engaged in watching for a moment when she could escape from what she knew was splendid misery. if helen had been simply content to keep her own position--if she had, as rose's wisdom advised, sufficient moral courage to resent a slight openly, not denying her humble birth, and yet resolved to be treated as became her husband's wife--all would have been happiness and peace. proud as mr. ivers was of her, her discontent and perpetual straining after rank and distinction, watching every body's every look and movement to discover if it concealed no _covert_ affront, rendered him, kind and careful though he was, occasionally dissatisfied; and she interpreted every manifestation of his displeasure, however slight, to contempt for her birth. rose suffered most acutely, for she saw how simple was the remedy, and yet could not prevail on helen to abate one jot of her restless ambition. the true spirit of a christian woman often moved her to secret earnest prayer, that god, of his mercy, would infuse an humbler and holier train of thought and feeling into helen's mind; and, above all, she prayed that it might not come too late. "you do not think with mrs. ivers in all things, i perceive," said the gentleman i have twice alluded to. "i am hardly, from my situation," replied rose, "privileged to think her thoughts, though perhaps i may think of them." "a nice distinction," he answered. "our lots in life are differently cast. in a week i return to abbeyweld; i only came to be her nurse in illness, and was induced to remain a little longer because i was useful to her. they will go to the continent now, and i shall return to my native village." "but," said the gentleman, in a tone of the deepest interest, "shall you really return without regret?" "without regret? oh yes!" "regret nothing?" "nothing." "suppose," he continued, in a suppressed tone of deep emotion--"suppose that a man, young, rich, and perfectly aware of the value of your pure and unsullied nature, was to lay his hand and heart"-- "i pray, i entreat you, say not another word," interrupted rose, breathlessly. "if there should be any such, which is hardly possible, sooner than he should deign to make a proposal to me, i would tell him that before i came to visit my cousin, only the very night before, i became the betrothed of another." "of some one, rose, who took advantage of your ignorance of the world--of your want of knowledge of society?" "oh no!" she replied, covering her face with her hand; "oh no! he is incapable of that. he would have suffered me to leave abbeyweld free of promise, but i would not." "and do you hold the same faith still rose? think, has not what you have seen, and shared in, made you ambitious of something beyond a country life? your refined mind and genuine feeling, your taste--do not, i implore you, deceive yourself." "i do not, sir; indeed, i do not. pardon me; i would not speak disrespectfully of those above me. of course, i have not been admitted into that familiarity which would lead me to comprehend what at present appears to me even more disturbed by the littleness of life than a country village. conventional forms have, i fear, little to do with elevation of mind; they seem to me the result of habit rather than of thought or feeling. i know this, at least, 'all is not gold that glitters.' i have seen a tree, fair to look at in the distance, and covered with green leaves, but when approached closely, the trunk was foul and hollowed by impurities, and when the blast came, it could not stand; even so with many, fair without and foul within, and the first adversity, the first great sorrow, over-throws them." "but this may be the case with the poor as well as the rich, in the country as well as the town." "i am sure of it, sir. no station can be altogether free from impurity; but in the country the incitements to evil seem to me less numerous, and the temptations fewer by far; the most dangerous of all, a desire to shine, to climb above our fellows, less continual. the middle class is there more healthy and independent." "and all this owing to the mere circumstance, think you, of situation?" interrupted the gentleman. "i am only country bred, sir, as you know," replied rose, earnestly but meekly; "and the only advantage i have had has been in the society of one you have heard me mention before now--our worthy rector--and he says it would make all that is wrong come right, if people would only fear god and love their neighbour." "i believe," said the gentleman, "he is right, quite right; for out of such religion springs contentment, and all the higher as well as the humbler virtues. yes, he is quite right." much more he urged rose, with all the persuasive eloquence of warm affection, to discover, if it were possible, she could change. he tried her on all points, but she replied with the clear straightforward truthfulness that has nothing to conceal. she wavered in nothing: firm to her love, steady to her principles, right-thinking and clear-sighted, he felt that rose dillon of abbeyweld would have added the dignity of virtue to the dignity of rank, but that her mind was of too high an order to bend to the common influences that lead women along the beaten track of life. they parted to meet no more; and rose shed tears at their parting. "i did not wish you to make a declaration that did me too much honour," she said; "but i entreat you to say nothing of it to mrs. ivers. my own course is taken, and god knows how earnestly i will pray that you may find one in every way worthy your high caste of mind and station." i wonder would edward lynne have quite approved of those tears; i wonder would he have been pleased to have observed the cheek of his affianced bride pressed against the drawing-room window, to catch a last glimpse of the cab which dashed from mr. ivers' door. perhaps not--for the generous nature of woman's love and woman's friendship, is often beyond man's comprehension--but he would have been pleased to see, after she had paced the room for half an hour, the eagerness with which she received and opened a letter from himself; to have witnessed the warm kiss impressed upon his name; to hear the murmured "dear, _dear_ edward!" her heart had never for a moment failed in its truth--never for an instant wavered. that day week the cousins separated. "you must come to me when i return, rose," said helen--"you must come and witness my triumphs. my husband's brother is very ill--cannot live long--but _that_ is a secret. i trust ivers will make a figure in the lower, before called to the upper house; if he does not, it will break my heart. there, god bless you, rose; you have been very affectionate, very sweet to me, but i do, i confess, envy you that cheerful countenance--cheerful and calm. i always think that contented people want mind and feeling; but you do not, rose. by the way, how strangely mr. ---- disappeared; i thought you had clipped his wings. well, next season, perhaps. of course, after this, you will think no more of edward." fortunately for rose, helen expected no replies, and after a few more words, as i have said, they parted. in little more than three months, rose dillon and edward lynne were married. chapter viii. "it's a decent match enough," said old mrs. myles to the rector when two years had elapsed, and she had become reconciled to it. "of course rose never could have taken the same stand as helen, who has been a lady now more than a year; though she's a good, grateful girl, and edward very attentive--very attentive indeed--and i must say more so than i expected. helen, i mean my lady, you know, has, as she says in her last letter, a great deal to do with her money--of course she must have; and so, sir, pray do not let any one in abbeyweld know that the little annuity is not continued--regularly, i mean," she added, while a certain twitching of her features evinced how much she felt, though she did not at the moment confess it, the neglect of one she so dearly loved. like most talkative people, she frequently talked away her sorrows; and, thinking she would be better if she opened her heart, she recommenced, after wiping away a few natural tears: "you see, sir, helen--i mean her ladyship--said she would make it up by-and-bye to me, and so she ought, poor dear thing; for i sacrificed both myself and her cousin rose for her advancement; and really i cannot tell how the money goes with those great folk. only think," proceeded the old lady, bringing her face close to mr. stokes, and whispering--"only think, she says she never has five pounds she can call her own. now, as i told rose, this is very odd, because my lord is so very rich since the death of his brother, ten times as rich as he was at first, and yet rose says they are poor now to what they used to be--is not that very strange? she says it is because of the increased expenditure, and that i don't understand; but it's very hard, very hard in my old days. if she can't live upon thirty thousand a-year, i wonder how she expects her poor old grandmother to live upon thirty pounds, for that's all my certainty; and the little farm, i must say, would have gone to destruction, but for edward lynne--he does every thing for it, poor fellow. she never sends me a paper now, with her presentations, and dresses, and fine parties, printed in it at full-length; she's ashamed of her birth, that's it; though sure you and your lady, sir, noticed them both like equals, and i never even asked to go near her, though his lordship invited me more than once--and he even came to see rose, as you know, ay, and a good ten mile out of his way it was to come--a good ten mile--and kissed her baby, and said he wished he had one like it, which they say helen never will have. oh, it was a pity that first one of her ladyship did not live! it is so cruel of her not to let me see the papers with an account of her fine doings, all in print--very cruel--i who loved her so, and took care of her--i never could find out from rose whether or no she thought her happy. ah, rose is a good girl! not, however," added the old lady, again wiping away her tears--"not, however, to be compared to her ladyship; and i would not say what i have done to any one in the world but you, sir, who have known them all their lives." so talked old mrs. myles, and so she continued to talk at intervals, during the next five years, growing weaker in mind and body, until at last she took to her bed. "i could die happy," said the old woman, "if i were to see helen once more; write to her, rose, and tell her so; she will not refuse to see me, her first friend--only once." communications between the cousins had ceased for a long time, but rose wrote. mrs. myles sent twice every day to the post-office--and her hopes, so constantly disappointed, increased her fever; at the end of a week, a letter came. "give it me, rose, give it me!" exclaimed mrs. myles, "it is from my own darling child, bless her!--my beauty! oh, deary me! i'm sure that's a beautiful seal, if i could only see it; prop me up--there. how the jessamine blinds the window--now my spectacles--so"--she tried hard to read, but the power of sight was gone. "she used to write the best hand in the school, but this fashionable writing is hard to make out," observed the old woman; "so do you read it, rosy." "here is ten pounds to begin with," said rose, placing the gossamer note before her.--mrs. myles mechanically took up the money, and played with it as a child plays with a toy, and rose read the few words that accompanied the gift:--"grieved to the heart to hear of the illness of her ever dear relative--would be miserable about her but from the knowledge of rose being the best nurse in the world--begs she will let her know how the dear invalid is by return of post, and also if there is any thing she could send to alleviate her sufferings." while rose was reading the letter, mrs. myles's long thin feeble fingers were playing with the note, her dim eyes fixed upon the window; large round tears coursed each other down her colourless cheeks. "no word about coming, rose--no word about coming," she muttered, after a pause; "send her back this trash," she added, bitterly--"send her back this trash, and tell her the last tears i shed were shed not for my sins, but for her cruelty." she continued to mutter much that they could not understand; but evening closed in, and rose told edward that she slept at last; she did certainly, and rose soon discovered that it was her last sleep. the money was returned; and again five years elapsed without rose hearing, directly or indirectly, from her rich and titled cousin. in the mean time, edward and rose prospered exceedingly; three handsome, happy children blessed their home. their industry perfected whatever providence bestowed; nothing was wasted, nothing neglected; the best farmers in the neighbourhood asked advice of edward lynne; and the "born ladies," as poor mrs. myles would have called them, would have forgotten that rose was only a farmer's wife, if wise rose had been herself disposed to forget it. but great as their worldly prosperity had been, it was nothing to the growth and continuance of that holy affection which cheered and hallowed their happy dwelling--the chief characteristic of which was a freedom from pretension of all kinds. rose suffered appearances to grow with their means, but never to precede them; and though this is not the world's practice, the duty is not on that account the less imperative. they were seated one evening round their table, edward reading, while his wife worked, when the master of the post-office brought them a letter. "it has lain two days, measter lynne," said the man, "for you never send but once a-week; only, as i thought by the seal it must be something grand, whoy i brought it down myself." it was from helen!--from the ambitious cousin--a few sad, mournful lines, every one of which seemed dictated by a breaking heart. she was ill and wretched, and the physician had suggested change of air; but above all her native air. would rose receive her for a little time, just to try what its effect might be?--she was sure she would, and she would be with her immediately. "strange," said edward, "how nature will assert and keep its power; when luxury, art, skill, knowledge, fail to restore health, they tell you of native air, trusting to the simple, pure restorative, which is the peasant's birthright, as infallible. i wonder, rose, how those fine people like to be thrown back upon the nature they so outrage." "poor helen!" exclaimed rose, "how dispirited she seems--how melancholy! i ought to feel afraid of your meeting her, i suppose, edward; but i do not--you have grown satisfied with your poor rose. we shall be able to make her very comfortable, shall we not?"--and then she smiled at the homeliness of the phrase, and wondered what helen would say if she heard her. it was not without sundry heartbeatings that rose heard the carriage stop, and assisted helen to alight; nor could she conceal her astonishment at the ravages which not past years but past emotions had wrought on her once beautiful face. the habit of suppressing thoughts, feelings, and emotions, had altogether destroyed the frank expression of her exquisitely chiselled mouth, which, when it smiled now, smiled alone; for the eyes, so finely formed, so exquisitely fringed, did not smile in unison; they had acquired a piercing and searching expression, altogether different from their former brilliancy. the elevated manners, the polished tone which high society alone bestows, only increased the distance between the two cousins, though rose was certainly gratified by the exclamation of pleasure which told how much better than she anticipated were the accommodations prepared by her humble relative. "such pretty rooms--such beautiful flowers! rose, you must have grown rich, and without growing unhappy. strange, you look ten years younger than i do!" "late hours, public life, and anxieties," said rose. "yes, that last appointment his lordship obtained, the very thing above all others i so desired for him, has completely divided him from his home. we hardly ever meet now, except at what i may call our own public dinners." "and he, who used to be so affectionate, so fond of domestic life!" involuntarily exclaimed rose. "and is so still; but the usages of society, the intrigues and bustle of public business, quite overthrow every thing of that kind. oh, it is a weary, wearying world!" "but to a mind like yours, the achieving an object must be so delightful!" "ay, rose, so it is; but that sort of thing soon passes away, and we have no sooner obtained possession of one, than another still more desirable presents itself. how peaceful and happy you seem. well, an idle mind must be a perpetual feast." "but i have not an idle mind, not an idle moment," replied rose, colouring a little; "my husband, my children, my humble household, the care of the parochial schools, now that poor mr. stokes has grown so infirm"-- "yes, yes!" interrupted helen; "and yet, rose, when i look at you, even now, i cannot but think you were fitted for better things." "better than learning how to occupy time profitably, and training souls for immortality!" she replied; "but you are worn and tired, let me wait upon you this one night, as i used long, long ago to do--let me wait upon my own dear cousin, instead of a menial, this one night, and to-morrow you shall see edward and the children." the worn-hearted woman of the great world laid her face upon her cousin's shoulder, and then fairly hid it in her bosom. why it was, he only, who knows the mysterious workings of the human heart, can tell; but she wept long and very bitterly, assigning no cause for her tears, but sobbing and weeping like a sorrowing child, while the arms she had flung round her cousin's neck prevented rose from moving. their tears once more mingled, as they had often done in childhood--once more--but not for long. "leave me alone for a little, and i will ring for my maid," she said at last; "i am too artificial to be waited upon by you, rose. it was otherwise when you used to twine gay poppies and bright flowers in my hair, telling me, at the same time, how much wiser it would have been to have chosen the less fading and more fragrant ones." "her husband--and her children!" thought helen; "if she had neither children nor husband, she would have been of such value to me now; noisy children, i dare say, troublesome and wearying. native air! native air, indeed, _ought_ to work wonders." it would be hardly credited that helen--the beauty--the admired--the woman of rank--bestowed quite as much trouble upon her morning toilette as if she had been in london. such was her aching passion for universal sway, that she could not bear to be thought faded by her old lover, though he was only a farmer; and this trouble was taken despite bodily pain that would have worn a strong man to a skeleton. it would be difficult to say whether helen was pleased or displeased at finding edward lynne what might, without any flattery, be termed a country gentleman, betraying no emotion whatever at the sight of one who had caused him so much suffering, and only anxious to gratify her because she was his wife's relative. she thought, and she was right, that she discovered pity, and not admiration, as he looked upon her. "you think me changed," she said. "your ladyship has been ill and harassed." "ah! we all change except rose." "ah!" replied the country bred husband, "she, indeed, is an exception; she could not even change for the better." and then the children, two such glorious boys, fine, manly fellows. "and what will you be?" inquired her ladyship of the eldest. "a farmer, my lady." "and you?" "a merchant, i hope." "your boys are as unambitious as yourself, rose." "i fear not," she answered; "this fellow wants to get into the middle class; but mr. stokes says the prosperity of a country depends more upon the middle class than upon either the high or the low." to this helen made no reply, for her attention was occupied by the loveliness of rose's little girl. the child inherited, in its perfection, the beauty of her family, and a grace and spirit peculiarly her own. rose could not find it in her heart to deprive her cousin of the child's society, which seemed to interest and amuse her, and the little creature performed so many acts of affection and attention from the impulse of her own kind nature, that helen, unaccustomed to that sort of devotion, found her twine around her sympathies in a novel and extraordinary manner; it was a new sensation, and she could not account for its influence. after a week had passed, she was able to walk out, and met by chance the old clergyman. he kissed the child, and passed on with a bow, which, perhaps, had more of bitterness in its civility than, strictly speaking, befitted a christian clergyman; but he thought of the neglect she had evinced towards old mrs. myles, and if he had spoken, it would have been to vent his displeasure, and reprove the woman whose rank could not shield her from his scorn. she proceeded towards the churchyard. "look, lady!" said little rose; "father put that stone over that grave to please mother. the relation who is buried there took care of my mother when she was a _littler_ girl than i am now, and he told me to strew flowers over the grave, which we do. see, i can read it--'sacred to the memory of mrs. margaret myles, who died the seventeenth of june, eighteen hundred'--and something--i can hardly read figures yet, lady. 'this stone was placed here by her grateful relatives, e. and r.s.,' meaning rose and edward lynne." the coldness of the clergyman was forgotten in the bitterness of self-reproach. "i was a fool," she thought, as she turned away, "to fancy that my native air could be untainted by the destiny which has mocked me from my cradle." "ah! lady dear," exclaimed a crone, rising from a grave where she had been sitting, "don't you remember old betty? they all said in the village you'd be too proud to look on your grandmother's grave; but you're not, i see. well, that's good--that's good. we had a funeral last week, and the vault of the old earl was broken in. the stupid sexton stuck his pick in amongst the old bricks, and so the great man's skull came tumbling out, and rolled beside the skull of job martin, the old cobbler; and the sexton laid them both on the edge of the grave, the earl's skull and the cobbler's skull, until he should fetch a mason to mend the vault, and--what do you think?--when the mason came, the sexton could not tell which was the earl's skull and which was the cobbler's! lady, you must understand how this is--it's all the same in a hundred years, according to the saying; and so it is. none of them could tell which was the earl's, and which the cobbler's. my skull may lie next a lady's yet, and no one tell the difference." the lady and child hastened from the churchyard, and the old woman muttered, "to see that! she's not half as well to look at now as the farmer's wife. ah! 'all is not gold that glitters!'" how happy it is for those who believe in the truth of this proverb, and from it learn to be content! it might be a week after this occurrence that helen sent for rose. the lady either was, or fancied herself better, and said so, adding, it was in her (rose's) power to make her happier than she had ever been. reverting to the period when her cousin visited her in london, she alluded to what she had suffered in becoming a mother, and yet having her hopes destroyed by the anxiety and impetuosity of her own nature. "at first," she said, "the trouble was anything but deep-rooted, for i fancied god would send many more, but it was not so; and now the title i so desired must go to the child of a woman--oh, rose, how i _do_ hate her!--a woman who publicly thanks god that no plebeian blood will disgrace _my_ husband's title and _her_ family. i would peril my soul to cause her the pain she has caused me." "you do so now," said rose, gently but solemnly. "oh! think that this violence and revenge sins your own soul, and is every way unworthy of you." helen did not heed the interruption. "to add to my agony," she continued, "my husband cherishes her son as if it were his own; the boy stands even now between his affections and me. he has reproached me for what he terms my insensibility to his perfections, and says i ought to rejoice that he is so easily rendered happy--only imagine this! rose, you must give me your daughter, to be to me as my own. her beauty and sweetness will at once wean my husband's love from this boy; and, moreover, children brought up together--do you not see?--that boy will become attached to one of the 'plebeian blood,' and wedding _her_ hereafter, scald to the core the proud heart of his mother, as she has scalded mine!" "i cannot, helen," replied rose, after a pause, during which her cousin's glittering inquiring eyes were fixed upon her face--"i cannot; i could not answer to my god at the last day for delivering the soul he gave to my care to be so tutored (forgive me) as to forget him in all things." "forget god!" repeated helen once or twice--"i forget god! do you think i am a heathen?" "no, cousin--no--for you have all knowledge of the truth; but knowledge, and profiting by our knowledge, are different. my little gentle-hearted girl will be happier far in her own sphere. i could not see her degraded to bait a trap for any purpose; she will be happy, happier in her own sphere." the lady bit her compressed lips; but during her whole life she never gave up a point, nor an object, proving how necessary it is that the strong mind should be well and highly directed. small feeble minds pass through the world doing little good and little harm, but to train a large mind is worth the difficulty--worth the trouble it occasions: its possession is either a great blessing or a great curse. to helen it was the latter, and curses never fall singly. "you have boys to provide for," she said, "and if i adopted that child, i would not suffer their station to disgrace their sister." "i am sure you mean us kindly and generously; nor am i blind to the advantages of such an offer for my boys. their father has prospered greatly, and could at this moment place them in any profession they chose--still influence would help them forward; but the advancement of one child must not be purchased by"--rose paused for a word--she did not wish to hurt her cousin's feelings--and yet none suggested itself but what she conceived to be the true one, and she repeated, lowly and gently, her opinion, prefacing it with, "you will forgive in this matter my plain speaking, but the advancement of one child must not be purchased by the sacrifice of another." "your prejudices have bewildered your understanding," exclaimed the lady. "whatever my ambition may be, my morality is unimpeached; a vestal would lose none of her purity beneath my roof." "granted, fully and truly; woman's first virtue is untainted, but that is not her only one; forgive me. i have no right to judge or dictate, nor to give an unasked opinion; i am grateful for your kindness; but my child, given to me as a blessing for time and a treasure for eternity, must remain beneath my roof until her mind and character are formed." "you are mad, rose; consider her future happiness"-- "oh, helen! are you more happy than your humble cousin?" "she would be brought up in the sphere i was thrust into, and have none of the contentions i have had to endure," said helen. "a sphere full of whirlpools and quicksands," replied the mother. "the fancy you have taken to her might pass away. she might be taught the bitterness of eating a dependant's bread, and the soft and luxurious habits of her early days would unfit her for bearing so heavy a burden; it would be in vain then to recall her to her humble home; she would have lost all relish for it. it might please god to take you after a few years, and my poor child would be returned to what she would then consider poverty. urge me no more, i entreat you." helen's face grew red and pale by turns. "you mock at and mar my purposes," she said. "my husband was struck by the beauty of that child, and i longed to see her; but i am doomed to disappointment. i never tried to grasp a substance that it did not fade into a shadow! what am i now?" her eyes rested upon the reflection, given by the glass, of the two cousins. "look! that tells the story--worn in heart and spirit, blighted and bitter. you, rose--even you, my own flesh and blood--will not yield to me--the only creature, perhaps, that could love me! oh! the void, the desert of life, without affection!--a childless mother--made so by"--she burst into tears, and rose was deeply affected. she felt far more inclined to yield her child to the desolate heart of helen marsh, than to the proud array of lady ----; but she also knew her duty. "will you grant me this favour," said helen at last; "will you let the child decide"-- "i would not yield to the child's decision, but you may, if you please, prove her," answered her mother. the little girl came softly into the room, having already learned that a bounding step was not meet for "my lady's chamber." "rosa, listen; will you come with me to london, to ride in a fine coach drawn by four horses--to wear a velvet frock--see beautiful sights, and become a great lady. will you, dear rosa, and be my own little girl?" "oh, yes!" exclaimed the child, gleefully; "that i will; _that_ would be so nice--a coach and four--a velvet frock--a great lady--oh! dear me!" the mother felt her limbs tremble, her heart sink. "oh! my own dear mother, will not _that_ be nice? and the beautiful sights you have told me of--st. paul's and westminster--oh! mother, we shall be so happy!" "not _me_, rosa," answered mrs. lynne, with as firm a voice as she could command. "now, listen to me: you might ride _in_ a coach and four, instead of _on_ your little pony--wear velvet instead of cotton--see st. paul's and westminster--but have no more races on the downs, no more peeping into birds' nests, no more seeing the old church, or hearing its sabbath bells. you _may_ become a great lady, but you must leave and forget your father and me." "leave you, and my father and brothers! you did not mean _that_ surely--you could not mean that, my lady--could they not go with me?" "that would be impossible!" "then i will stay here," said the little girl firmly; "i love them better than every thing else in the world. thank you, dear lady, but i cannot leave them." "leave _us_, then, rosa," said helen, proudly. the child obeyed with a frightened look, wondering how she had displeased the "grand lady." if helen had been steeped to the very lips in misery, she could not have upbraided the world more bitterly than she did, giving vent to long pent-up feelings, and reproaching rose, not only for her folly in not complying with her wish, but for her happiness and contentment, which, while she envied, she affected to despise. "you cannot make me believe that the high-born and wealthy are what you represent," said her cousin. "a class must not be condemned because of an individual; and though i never felt inclined to achieve rank, i honour many of its possessors. it is the unsatisfied longing of your own heart that has made you miserable, dear helen; and oh! let me entreat you, by the remembrance of our early years, to suffer yourself to enjoy what you possess." "what i possess!" she repeated; "the dread and dislike of my husband's relatives--the reputation of 'she _was_ very handsome'--a broken constitution--nothing to lean upon or love--a worn and weary heart!" "you have a mine of happiness in your husband's affection." "not now," she answered bitterly; "not now--not now." and she was right. the next day she left the farm, where peace and prosperity dwelt together; despite herself, it pained her to witness such happiness. it is possible that the practical and practised theories she had witnessed might have changed her, had she not foolishly thought it too late. her disappointment had been great; from the adoption of that child she had expected much of what, after all, is the creating and existing principle of woman's nature--natural affection; but this was refused by its mother's wisdom. her worldly prospects had been doomed to disappointment, because she hungered and thirsted after vanities and distinctions, which never can afford sustenance to an immortal spirit; and even when she desired to cultivate attachment, it did not proceed from the pure love of woman--the natural stream was corrupted by an unworthy motive. again years rolled on. in the records of fashionable life, the movements and fetes of lady ---- continued to be occasionally noted as the most brilliant of the season; then rumours became rife that lord and lady ---- did not live as affectionately as heretofore; then, after twenty years of union, separation ensued upon the public ground of "incompatibility of temper"--his friends expressing their astonishment how his lordship could have so long endured the pride and caprice of one so lowly born, while hers--but friends! she had no friends!--a few partizans of the "rights of women" there were, who, for the sake of "the cause," defended the woman. she had been all her life too restless for friendship, and when the sensation caused by her separation from her husband had passed away, none of the gay world seemed to remember her existence. rose and her husband lived, loved, and laboured together. it was astonishing how much good they did, and how much they were beloved by their neighbours. their names had never been noted in any fashionable register, but it was engraved upon every peasant heart in the district. "as happy as edward and rose lynne," became a proverb; and if any thing was needed to increase the love the one felt for the other, it was perfected by the affection of their children. "i think," said the old rector, as they sat round the evening tea-table, "that our school may now vie with any in the diocese--thanks to the two roses; twin roses they might almost be called, though rosa hardly equals rose. i wonder what mrs. myles would say if she were to look upon this happy group. ah dear!--well god is very good to permit such a foretaste of heaven as is met with here." and the benevolent countenance of the good pastor beamed upon the happy family. "i have brought you the weekly paper," he continued; "the saturday paper. i had not time to look at it myself, but here it is. now, edward, read us the news." the farther people are removed from the busy scenes of life, the more anxious they are to hear of their proceedings; and edward read leading articles, debates, reviews, until, under the head of "paris," he read as follows--"considerable sensation has been excited here by the sudden death of the beautiful lady ----." rose screamed, and the paper trembled in edward's hand. "this is too horrid," he said. "do let me hear it all!" exclaimed his wife. it was many minutes before edward lynne could tell her, that there was more than an insinuation, that, wearied of existence, she, the brilliant, the beautiful, the _fortunate_ lady ----, wearied of life, had abridged it herself. before they separated that evening, the holy word was read with more than usual feeling and solemnity by mr. stokes, and yet he could not read as much as usual. "all flesh is grass," brought tears into his eyes. his prayer that all might long enjoy the perpetual feast of a contented mind, was echoed by every heart; and the gratitude all felt for god's goodness to them was mingled with regret for helen; all intermediate time was forgotten, and the elders of that little party only remembered the bright and beautiful girl, the pride of abbeyweld. "god bless my beloved pupil!" said the venerable clergyman, as he departed; "without a holy grace all is indeed vanity. may rosa learn, as early as her mother did, that 'all is not gold that glitters.'" * * * * * there is no hurry. chapter i. i do not tell you whether the village of repton, where the two brothers, john and charles adams, originally resided, is near or far from london: it is a pretty village to this day; and when john adams, some five-and-thirty years ago, stood on the top of repton hill and looked down upon the houses--the little church, whose simple gate was flanked by two noble yew trees, beneath whose branches he had often sat--the murmuring river in which he had often fished--the cherry orchards, where the ripe fruit hung like balls of coral; when he looked down upon all these dear domestic sights--for so every native of repton considered them--john adams might have been supposed to question if he had acted wisely in selling to his brother charles the share of the well-cultivated farm, which had been equally divided at their father's death. it extended to the left of the spot on which he was standing, almost within a ring fence; the meadows, fresh shorn of their produce, and fragrant with the perfume of new hay--the crops full of promise, and the lazy cattle laving themselves in the standing pond of the abundant farmyard; in a paddock, set apart for his especial use, was the old blind horse his father had bestrode during the last fifteen years of his life; it leant its sightless head upon the gate, half up-turned, he fancied, to where he stood. it is wonderful what small things will sometimes stir up the hearts of strong men, ay, and what is still more difficult, even of ambitious men. yet he did not feel at that moment a regret for the fair acres he had parted with; he was full of the importance which the possession of a considerable sum of money gives a young man, who has been fagging almost unsuccessfully in an arduous profession, and one which requires a certain appearance of success to command success--for john adams even then placed m.d. after his plain name; yet still, despite the absence of sorrow, and the consciousness of increased power, he continued to look at poor old ball until his eyes swam in tears. with the presence of his father, which the sight of the old horse had conjured up, came the remembrance of his peculiarities, his habits, his expressions; and he wondered, as they passed in review before him, how he could ever have thought the dear old man testy or tedious; even his frequent quotations from "poor richard" appeared to him, for the first time, the results of common prudence; and his rude but wise rhyme, when, in the joy of his heart, he told his father he had absolutely received five guineas as one fee from an ancient dame who had three middle-aged daughters (he had not, however, acquainted his father with _that_ fact,) came more forcibly to his memory than it had ever done to his ear-- "for want and age save while you may, no morning sun shines all the day." he repeated the last line over and over again, as his father had done; but as his "morning sun" was at that moment shining, it is not matter of astonishment that the remembrance was evanescent, and that it did not make the impression upon him his father had desired _long_ before. a young, unmarried, handsome physician, with about three thousand pounds in his pocket, and "good expectations," might be excused for building "des chateaux en espagne." a very wise old lady said once to me--"those who have none on earth may be forgiven for building them in the air; but those who have them on earth should be content therewith." not so, however, was john adams; he built and built, and then by degrees descended to the realities of his position. what power would not that three thousand pounds give him! he wondered if dr. lee would turn his back upon him now when they met in consultation; and mr. chubb, the county apothecary, would he laugh and ask him if he could read his own prescriptions? then he recurred to a dream--for it was so vague at that time as to be little more--whether it would not be better to abandon altogether country practice, and establish himself in the metropolis--london. a thousand pounds, advantageously spent, with a few introductions, would do a great deal in london, and that was not a third of what he had. and this great idea banished all remembrance of the past, all sense of the present--the young aspirant thought only of the future. chapter ii. five years have passed. dr. john adams was "settled" in a small "showy" house in the vicinity of mayfair; he had, the world said, made an excellent match. he married a very pretty girl, "highly connected," and was considered to be possessed of personal property, because, for so young a physician, dr. adams lived in "a superior style." his brother charles was still residing in the old farm-house, to which, beyond the mere keeping it in repair, he had done but little, except, indeed, adding a wife to his establishment--a very gentle, loving, yet industrious girl, whose dower was too small to have been her only attraction. thus both brothers might be said to be fairly launched in life. it might be imagined that charles adams, having determined to reside in his native village, and remain, what his father and grandfather had been, a simple gentleman farmer, and that rather on a small than a large scale, was altogether without that feeling of ambition which stimulates exertion and elevates the mind. charles adams had quite enough of this--which may be said, like fire, to be "a good servant, but a bad master"--but he made it subservient to the dictates of prudence--and a forethought, the gift, perhaps, that, above all others, we should most earnestly covet for those whose prosperity we would secure. to save his brother's portion of the freehold from going into the hands of strangers, he incurred a debt; and wisely--while he gave to his land all that was necessary to make it yield its increase--he abridged all other expenses, and was ably seconded in this by his wife, who _resolved_, until principal and interest were discharged, to live quietly and carefully. charles contended that every appearance made beyond a man's means was an attempted fraud upon the public; while john shook his head, and answered that it might do very well for charles to say so, as no one expected the sack that brought the grain to market to be of fine holland, but that no man in a profession could get on in london without making "an appearance." at this charles shrugged his shoulders, and thanked god he lived at repton. the brothers, as years moved rapidly on--engaged as they were by their mutual industry and success in their several fields of action--met but seldom. it was impossible to say which of the two continued the most prosperous. dr. adams made several lucky hits; and having so obtained a position, was fortunate in having an abundance of patients in an intermediate sort of state--that is, neither very well nor very ill. of a really bland and courteous nature, he was kind and attentive to all, and it was certain that such of his patients as were only in moderate circumstances, got well long before those who were rich; his friends attributed this to his humanity as much as to his skill; his enemies said he did not like "poor patients." perhaps there was a mingling of truth in both statements. the money he had received for his portion of the land was spent, certainly, before his receipts equalled his expenditure; and strangely enough, by the time the farmer had paid off his debt, the doctor was involved, not to a large amount, but enough to render his "appearance" to a certain degree fictitious. this embarrassment, to do him justice, was not of long continuance; he became the fashion; and before prosperity had turned his head by an influx of wealth, so as to render him careless, he got rid of his debt, and then his wife agreed with him "that they might live as they pleased." it so happened that charles adams was present when this observation was made, and it spoke well for both the brothers that their different positions in society had not in the smallest degree cooled their boyhood's affection; not even the money transactions of former times, which so frequently create disunion, had changed them; they met less frequently, but they always met with pleasure, and separated with regret. "well!" exclaimed the doctor triumphantly, as he glanced around his splendid rooms, and threw himself into a _chaise longue_--then a new luxury--"well, it is certainly a charming feeling to be entirely out of debt." "and yet," said his wife, "it would not be wise to confess it in our circle." "why?" inquired charles. "because it would prove that we had been in it," answered the lady. "at all events," said john, "now i shall not have to reproach myself with every extra expense, and think i ought to pay my debts first; now i may live exactly as i please." "i do not think so," said charles. "not think so!" repeated mrs. adams in a tone of astonishment. "not think so!" exclaimed john; "do i not make the money myself?" "granted, my dear fellow; to be sure you do," said charles. "then why should i not spend it as pleases me best? is there any reason why i should not?" as if to give the strongest dramatic effect to charles's opinion, the nurse at that moment opened the drawing-room door, and four little laughing children rushed into the room. "there--are four reasons against your spending your income exactly as you please; unless, indeed, part of your plan be to provide for them," answered charles very seriously. "i am sure," observed mrs. adams, with the half-offended air of a weak woman when she hears the truth, "john need not be told his duty to his children; he has always been a most affectionate father." "a father may be fond and foolish," said charles, who was peculiarly english in his mode of giving an opinion. "for my part, i could not kiss my little mary and anne when i go to bed at night, if i did not feel i had already formed an accumulating fund for their future support--a support they will need all the more when their parents are taken from them, as they must be, in the course of time." "they must marry," said mrs. adams. "that is a chance," replied charles; "women hang on hands now-a-days. at all events, by god's blessing, i am resolved that, if they are beauties, they shall never be forced by poverty to accept unworthy matches; if they are plain, they shall have enough to live upon without husbands." "that is easy enough for you, charles," said the doctor, "who have had your broad acres to support you, and no necessity for expenditure or show of any kind; who might go from monday morning till saturday night in home-spun, and never give any thing beyond home-brewed and gooseberry wine, with a chance bottle of port to your visiters--while i, heaven help me! was obliged to dash in a well-appointed equipage, entertain, and appear to be doing a great deal in my profession, when a guinea would pine in solitude for a week together in my pocket." "i do not want to talk with you of the past, john," said charles; "our ideas are more likely to agree now than they were ten or twelve years ago; i will speak of the future and present. you are now out of debt, in the very prime of life, and in the receipt of a splendid income; but do not, let me entreat you, spend it as it comes; lay by something for those children; provide for them either by insurance, or some of the many means that are open to us all. do not, my dear brother, be betrayed by health, or the temptation for display, to live up to an income the nature of which is so essentially precarious." "really," murmured mrs. adams, "you put one into very low spirits." charles remained silent, waiting his brother's reply. "my dear charles," he said at last, "there is a great deal of truth in what you say--certainly a great deal; but i cannot change my style of living, strange as it may seem. if i did, i should lose my practice. and then i must educate my children; _that_ is an imperative duty, is it not?" "certainly it is; it is a _part_ of the provision i have spoken of, but not the whole--a portion only. if you have the means to do both, it is your duty to do both; and you _have_ the means. nay, my dear sister, do not seem angry or annoyed with me; it is for the sake of your children i speak; it is to prevent their ever knowing practically what we do know theoretically--that the world is a hard world; hard and unfeeling to those who need its aid. it is to prevent the possibility of their feeling _a reverse_." mrs. adams burst into tears, and walked out of the room. charles was convinced that _she_ would not uphold his opinion. "certainly," said john, "i intend to provide for my children; but _there is no hurry_, and"-- "there should be no hesitation in the case," interrupted charles; "every man _intends_ to provide for his children. god forbid that i should imagine any man to be sufficiently wicked to say--i have been the means of bringing this child into existence--i have brought it up in the indulgence of all the luxuries with which i indulged myself; and now i intend to withdraw them all from it, and leave it to fight its own way through the world. no man could look on the face of the innocent child nestling in your bosom and say _that_; but if you do not appropriate a portion of the means you possess to save that child from the 'hereafter,' you act as if you had resolved so to cast it on the wild waters of a turbulent world." "but, charles, i intend to do all that you counsel; no wonder poor lucy could not bear these words, when i, your own and only brother, find them stern and reproachful; no wonder that such should be the case; of course i _intend_ to provide for my children." "then do it," said charles. "why, so i will; but cannot in a moment. i have already said there is no hurry. you must give a little time." "the time may come, my dear john, when time will give you no time. you have been spending over and above your debt--more than, as the father of four children, you have any right to spend. the duty parents owe their children in this respect has preyed more strongly on my mind than usual, as i have been called on lately to witness its effects--to see its misery. one family at repton, a family of eight children, has been left entirely without provision, by a man who enjoyed a situation of five hundred a-year in quarterly payments." "that man is, however, guiltless. what could he save out of five hundred a-year? how could he live on less?" replied the doctor. "live upon four, and insure his life for the benefit of those children. nay," continued charles, in the vehemence of his feelings, "the man who does not provide means of existence for his helpless children, until they are able to provide for themselves, cannot be called a reasonable person; and the legislature ought to oblige such to contribute to a fund to prevent the spread of the worst sort of pauperism--that which comes upon well-born children from the carelessness or selfishness of their parents. god in his wisdom, and certainly in his mercy, removed the poor broken-hearted widow of the person i alluded to a month after his death; and the infant, whose nourishment from its birth had been mingled with bitterness, followed in a few days. i saw myself seven children crowd round the coffin that was provided by charity; i saw three taken to the workhouse, and the elder four distributed amongst kind-hearted hard-working people, who are trying to inure the young soft hands, accustomed to silken idleness, to the toils of homely industry. i ask you, john adams, how the husband of that woman, the father of those children, can meet his god, when it is required of him to give an account of his stewardship?" "it is very true--very shocking indeed," observed dr. adams. "i certainly will do something to secure my wife and children from the possibility of any thing like _that_, although, whatever were to happen to me, i am sure lucy's family would prevent"-- charles broke in upon the sentence his brother found it difficult to complete--"and can you expect distant or even near relatives to perform what you, whose duty it is, neglect? or would you leave those dear ones to the bitterness of dependence, when, by the sacrifice or curtailment of those luxurious habits which, if not closely watched, increase in number, and at last become necessaries, you could leave them in comfort and independence! we all hope for the leisure of a death-bed--awful enough, come as it may--awful, even when beyond its gloom we see the risen sun of righteousness in all his glory--awful, though our faith be strong in him who is our strength; but if the consciousness of having neglected those duties which we were sent on earth to perform be with us then, dark, indeed, will be the valley of the shadow of death. i do not want, however, to read a homily, my dear brother, but to impress a truth; and i do hope that you will prevent the possibility of these dear children feeling what they must feel, enduring what they must endure, if _you_ passed into another world without performing your duty towards them, and through them to society, in this." mrs. adams met her brother-in-law that day (people five-and-twenty years ago did dine by day) at dinner, with an air of offence. she was, of course, lady-like and quiet, but it was evident she was displeased. every thing at table was perfect according to its kind. there was no guest present who was not superior in wealth and position to the doctor himself, and each was quite aware of the fact. those who climb boldly sometimes take a false step, but at all times make dangerous ones. when charles looked round upon the splendid plate and stylish servants--when the children were ushered in after dinner, and every tongue was loud in praises of their beauty--an involuntary shudder passed through his heart, and he almost accused himself of selfishness, when he was comforted by the remembrance of the provision made for his own little ones, who were as pretty, as well educated, and as happy in their cheerful country home. chapter iii. the next morning he was on his return to repton, happy in the assurance his brother had given him before they parted, that he would really lay by a large sum for the regular insurance of his life. "my dear john," said the doctor's wife, "when does the new carriage come home? i thought we were to have had it this week. the old chariot looked so dull to-day, just as you were going out, when dr. fitzlane's new chocolate-colour passed; certainly that chocolate-coloured carriage picked out with blue and those blue liveries are very, very pretty." "well, lucy, i think them too gay--the liveries i mean--for an m.d.; quieter colours do best; and as to the new carriage, i had not absolutely ordered it. i don't see why i cannot go on with the jobs; and i almost think i shall do so, and appropriate the money i intended for _my own_ carriage to another purpose." "what purpose?" "why, to effect an insurance on my life. there was a great deal of truth in what charles said the other day, although he said it coarsely, which is not usual with him; but he felt the subject, and i feel it also; so i think of, as i said, going quietly on with the jobs--at all events till next year--and devoting this money to the insurance." it is difficult to believe how any woman, situated as mrs. adams was, could have objected to a plan so evidently for her advantage and the advantage of her family; but she was one of those who never like to think of the possibility of a reverse of fortune--who thrust care off as long as they can, and who feel more pleasure in being lavish as to the present than in saving for the future. "i am sure," she answered, in the half-petted half-peevish tone that evinces a weak mind--"i am sure if any thing was to happen to you, i would break my heart at once, and my family, of course, would provide for the children. i could not bear the idea of reaping any advantage by your death; and really the jobs are so very inferior to what they used to be--and dr. leeswor, next door but one, has purchased such a handsome chariot--you have at least twice his practice; and--why, dear john, you never were in such health; there will be no necessity for this painful insurance. and after you have set up your _own_ carriage, you can begin and lay by, and in a few years there will be plenty for the children; and i shall not have the galling feeling that any living thing would profit by your death. dear john, pray do not think of this painful insurance; it may do very well for a man like your brother--a man with out refinement; but just fancy the mental torture of such a provision." much more mrs. adams talked; and the doctor, who loved display, and had no desire to see dr. leeswor, his particular rival, or even dr. fitzlane, better appointed than himself, felt strongly inclined towards the new carriage, and thought it would certainly be pleasanter to save than to insure, and resolved to begin immediately _after_ the purchase of his new equipage. when persons are very prosperous, a few ten or twenty pounds do not much signify, but the principle of careless expenditure is hard to curb. various things occurred to put off the doctor's plan of laying by. mrs. adams had an illness, that rendered a residence abroad necessary for a winter or two. the eldest boy must go to eton. as their mamma was not at home, the little girls were sent to school. bad as mrs. adams's management was, it was better than no management at all. if the doctor had given up his entertainments, his "friends" would have said he was going down in the world, and his patients would have imagined him less skilful; besides, notwithstanding his increased expenditure, he found he had ample means, not to lay by, but to spend on without debt or difficulty. sometimes his promise to his brother would cross his mind, but it was soon dispelled by what he had led himself to believe was the impossibility of attending to it then. when mrs. adams returned, she complained that the children were too much for her nerves and strength, and her husband's tenderness induced him to yield his favourite plan of bringing up his girls under his own roof. in process of time two little ones were added to the four, and still his means kept pace with his expenses; in short, for ten years he was a favourite with the class of persons who render favouritism fortune. it is impossible, within the compass of a tale, to trace the minutiæ of the brothers' history; the children of both were handsome, intelligent, and in the world's opinion, well educated; john's eldest daughter was one amongst a thousand for beauty of mind and person; hers was no glaring display of figure or information. she was gentle, tender, and affectionate; of a disposition sensitive and attuned to all those rare virtues in her sphere, which form at once the treasures of domestic life and the ornaments of society. she it was who soothed the nervous irritability of her mother's sick chamber and perpetual peevishness, and graced her father's drawing-room by a presence that was attractive to both old and young, from its sweetness and unpretending modesty; her two younger sisters called forth all her tenderness, from the extreme delicacy of their health; but her brothers were even greater objects of solicitude--handsome spirited lads--the eldest waiting for a situation, promised, but not given; the second also waiting for a cadetship; while the youngest was still at eton. these three young men thought it incumbent on them to evince their belief in their father's prosperity by their expenditure, and accordingly they spent much more than the sons of a professional man ought to spend under any circumstances. of all waitings, the waiting upon patronage is the most tedious and the most enervating to the waiter. dr. adams felt it in all its bitterness when his sons' bills came to be paid; but he consoled himself, also, for his dilatoriness with regard to a provision for his daughters--it was impossible to lay by while his children were being educated; but the moment his eldest sons got the appointments they were promised, he would certainly save, or insure, or do something. people who only _talk_ about doing "something," generally end by doing "nothing." another year passed; mrs. adams was still an invalid, the younger girls more delicate than ever, the boys waiting, as before, their promised appointments, and more extravagant than ever; and miss adams had made a conquest which even her father thought worthy of her. the gentleman who had become really attached to this beautiful girl was of a high family, who were sufficiently charmed with the object of his affections to give their full sanction, as far as person and position were concerned; but the prudent father of the would-be bridegroom thought it right to take an early opportunity of waiting upon the doctor, stating his son's prospects, and frankly asking what sum dr. adams proposed settling on his daughter. great, indeed, was his astonishment at the reply--"he should not be able to give his daughter anything _immediately_, but at his death." the doctor, for the first time for many years, felt the bitterness of his _false position_. he hesitated, degraded by the knowledge that he must sink in the opinion of the man of the world by whom he was addressed; he was irritated at his want of available funds being known; and though well aware that the affections of his darling child were bound up in the son of the very gentlemanly but most prudent person who sat before him, he was so high and so irritable in his bearing, that the fathers parted, not in anger, but in any thing but good feeling. sir augustus barry was not slow to set before his son the disadvantages of a union where the extravagant habits of miss adams had no more stable support than her father's life; he argued that a want of forethought in the parents would be likely to produce a want of forethought in the children; and knowing well what could be done with such means as dr. adams had had at his command for years, he was not inclined to put a kind construction upon so total a want of the very quality which he considered the best a man could possess; after some delay, and much consideration of the matter, he told his son that he really could not consent to his marriage with a penniless bride. and dr. adams, finding that the old gentleman, with a total want of that delicacy which moneyed men do not frequently possess, had spoken of what he termed too truly and too strongly his "heartless" want of forethought, and characterised as a selfishness the indulgence of a love for display and extravagance, when children were to be placed in the world and portioned--insulted the son for the fault of the father, and forbade his daughter to receive him. mary adams endeavoured to bear this as meekly as she had borne the flattery and the tenderness which had been lavished on her since her birth. the bitter, bitter knowledge that she was considered by her lover's family as a girl who, with the chance of being penniless, lived like a princess, was inconceivably galling; and though she had dismissed her lover, and knew that her father had insulted him, still she wondered how he could so soon forget her, and never write even a line of farewell. from her mother she did not expect sympathy; she was too tender and too proud to seek it; and her father, more occupied than ever, was seldom in his own house. her uncle, who had not been in town for some years, at last arrived, and was not less struck by the extreme grace and beauty of his niece, than by the deep melancholy which saddened her voice and weighed down her spirits. he was evidently anxious to mention something which made him joyous and happy; and when the doctor entered the library with him, he said, "and may not mary come in also?" mary did come in; and her gentle presence subdued her uncle's spirits. "i had meant to tell the intended change in my family only to you, brother john; but it has occurred to me we were all wrong about my niece; they said at home, 'do not invite my cousin, she is too fine, too gay to come to a country wedding; she would not like it;' but i think, surrounded as she is by luxuries, that the fresh air of repton, the fresh flowers, fresh fields, and fresh smiles of her cousins would do my niece good, great good, and we shall be quite gay in our own homely way--the gaiety that upsprings from hearts grateful to the almighty for his goodness. the fact is, that in about three weeks _my_ mary is to be married to our rector's eldest son! in three weeks. as he is only his father's curate, they could not have afforded to marry for five or six years, if i had not been able to tell down a handsome sum for mary's fortune; it was a proud thing to be able to make a good child happy by care in time. 'care in time,' that's my stronghold! how glad we were to look back and think, that while we educated them properly, we denied ourselves to perform our duty to the children god had given to our care. we have not been as _gay_ as our neighbours, whose means were less than ours; we could not be so, seeing we had to provide for five children; but our pleasure has been to elevate and render those children happy and prosperous. mary will be so happy, dear child--so happy! only think, john, she will be six years the sooner happy from our _care in time_!" this was more than his niece could bear. the good father was so full of his daughter's happiness, and the doctor so overwhelmed with self-reproach--never felt so bitterly as at that moment--that neither perceived the death-like paleness that overspread the less fortunate mary's face. she got up to leave the room, staggered, and fell at her father's feet. "we have murdered her between us," muttered dr. adams, while he raised her up; "murdered her; but _i_ struck the first blow. god forgive me! god forgive me!" that night the brothers spent in deep and earnest converse. the certainty of his own prosperity, the self-gratulation that follows a just and careful discharge of duties imposed alike by reason and religion, had not raised charles above his brother in his own esteem. pained beyond description at the suffering he had so unconsciously inflicted on his niece--horror-struck at the fact, that thousands upon thousands had been lavished, yet nothing done for hereafter, the hereafter that _must_ come, he urged upon john the danger of delay, the uncertainty of life. circumstances increased his influence. dr. adams had been made painfully aware that gilding was not gold. the beauty, position, and talents of his beloved child, although fully acknowledged, had failed to establish her in life. "look, charles," he said, after imparting all to his brother, absolutely weeping over the state of uncomplaining but deep sorrow to which his child was reduced, "if i could command the necessary sum, i would to-morrow insure my life for a sum that would place them beyond the possible reach of necessity of any kind." "do not wait for that," was the generous reply of charles adams; "i have some unemployed hundreds at this moment. come with me to-morrow; do not delay a day, no, nor an hour; and take my word for it you will have reason to bless your resolve. only imagine what would be the case if god called you to give an account of your stewardship." but he checked himself; he saw that more was not necessary; and the brothers separated for a few hours, both anxious for the morning. it was impossible to say which of the two hurried over breakfast with the greatest rapidity. the carriage was at the door; and dr. adams left word with his butler that he was gone into the city on urgent business, and would be back in two hours. "i don't think," exclaimed charles, rubbing his hands gleefully, "i don't think, that if my dear niece were happy, i should ever have been so happy in all my life as i am at this moment." "i feel already," replied john, "as if a great weight were removed from my heart; and were it not for the debt which i have contracted to you--ah, charles, i little dreamt, when i looked down from the hill over repton, and thought my store inexhaustible, that i should be obliged to you thus late in life. and yet i protest i hardly know where i could have drawn in; one expense grows so out of another. these boys have been so very extravagant; but i shall soon have the two eldest off; they cannot keep them much longer waiting." "work is better than waiting; but let the lads fight their way; they have had, i suppose, a good education; they ought to have had professions. there is something to me awfully lazy in your 'appointments;' a young man of spirit will appoint himself; but it is the females of a family, brought up, as yours have been, who are to be considered. women's position in society is changed from what it was some years ago; it was expected that they must marry; and so they were left, before their marriage, dependent upon fathers and brothers, as creatures that could do nothing for themselves. now, poor things, i really don't know why, but girls do not marry off as they used. they become old, and frequently--owing to the expectation of their settling--without the provision necessary for a comfortable old age. this is the parent of those despicable tricks and arts which women resort to to get married, as they have no acknowledged position independent of matrimony. something ought to be done to prevent this. and when the country steadies a little from the great revolution of past years, i suppose something may be thought of by improved teaching--and systems to enable women to assist themselves, and be recompensed for the assistance they yield others. now, imagine your dear girls, those younger ones particularly, deprived of you"-- "here is the patient upon whom i must call, _en route_" interrupted the doctor. the carriage drew up. "i wish," said charles, "you had called here on your return. i wanted the insurance to have been your first business to-day." "i shall not be five minutes," was the reply. the servant let down the step, and the doctor bounded up towards the open door. in his progress, he trod upon a bit, a mere shred, of orange-peel; it was the mischief of a moment; he slipped, and his temple struck against the sharp column of an iron-scraper. within one hour, dr. john adams had ceased to exist. what the mental and bodily agony of that one hour was, you can better understand than i can describe. he was fully conscious that he was dying--and he knew all the misery that was to follow. chapter iv. "mary my dear niece," said charles adams, as he seated himself by her side; "my dear, dear niece, can you fix your thoughts, and give me your attention for half an hour, now that all is over, and the demands of the world press upon us. i want to speak about the future. your mother bursts into such fits of despair that i can do nothing with her; and your brother is so ungovernable--talks as if he could command the bank of england, and is so full of his mother's connexions and their influence, that i have left him to himself. can you, my dear mary, restrain your feelings, and give me your attention?" mary adams looked firmly in her uncle's face, and said, "i will try. i have been thinking and planning all the morning, but i do not know how to begin being useful. if i once began, i could go on. the sooner we are out of this huge expensive house the better; if i could get my mother to go with the little girls to the sea-side. take her away altogether from this home--take her"-- "where?" inquired mr. adams; "she will not accept shelter in my house." "i do not know," answered his niece, relapsing into all the helplessness of first grief; "indeed i do not know; her brother-in-law, sir james ashbroke, invited her to the pleasaunce, but my brother objects to her going there, his uncle has behaved so neglectfully about his appointment." "foolish boy!" muttered charles; "this is no time to quarrel about trifles. the fact is, mary, that the sooner you are all out of this house the better; there are one or two creditors, not for large sums certainly, but still men who will have their money; and if we do not quietly sell off, they will force us. the house might have been disposed of last week by private contract, but your mother would not hear of it, because the person who offered was a medical rival of my poor brother." mary did not hear the concluding observation; her eyes wandered from object to object in the room--the harp--the various things known from childhood. "any thing you and your mother wish, my dear niece," said her kind uncle, "shall be preserved--the family pictures--your harp--your piano--they are all hallowed memorials, and shall be kept sacred." mary burst into tears. "i do not," she said, "shrink from considering those instruments the means of my support; but although i know the necessity for so considering, i feel i cannot tell what at quitting the home of my childhood; people are all kind; you, my dear uncle, from whom we expected so little, the kindest of all; but i see, even in these early days of a first sorrow, indications of falling off. my aunt's husband has really behaved very badly about the appointment of my eldest brother; and as to the cadetship for the second--we had such a brief dry letter from our indian friend--so many first on the list, and the necessity for waiting, that i do not know how it will end." "i wish, my dear, you could prevail on your mother, and sister, and all, to come to repton," said mr. adams. "if your mother dislikes being in my house, i would find her a cottage near us; i will do all i can. my wife joins me in the determination to think that we have six additional children to look to. we differ from you in our habits; but our hearts and affections are no less true to you all. my mary and you will be as sisters." his niece could bear no more kindness. she had been far more bitterly disappointed than she had confessed even to her uncle; and yet the very bitterness of the disappointment had been the first thing that had driven her father's dying wail from her ears--that cry repeated so often and so bitterly in the brief moments left after his accident--"my children! my children!" he had not sufficient faith to commit them to god's mercy; he knew he had not been a faithful steward; and he could not bring himself from the depths of his spiritual blindness to call upon the fountain that is never dried up to those who would humbly and earnestly partake of its living waters. it was all a scene as of another world to the young, beautiful, petted, and feted girl; it had made her forget the disappointment of her love, at least for a time. while her brothers dared the thunder-cloud that burst above their heads, her mother and sisters wept beneath its influence. mary had looked forth, and if she did not hope, she thought, and tried to pray; now, she fell weeping upon her uncle's shoulder; when she could speak, she said, "forgive me; in a little time i shall be able to conquer this; at present, i am overwhelmed; i feel as if knowledge and sorrow came together; i seem to have read more of human nature within the last three days than in all my past life." "it all depends, mary, upon the person you meet," said mr. adams, "as upon the book you read; if you choose a foolish book or a bad book, you can expect nothing but vice or foolishness; if you choose a foolish companion, surely you cannot expect kindness or strength." the kind-hearted man repeated to her all he had before said. "i cannot," he added, "be guilty of injustice to my children; but i can merge all my own luxuries into the one of being a father to the fatherless." but to all the plans of charles adams, objections were raised by his eldest nephew and his mother; the youth could not brook the control of a simple straight-minded country man, whose only claim to be considered a gentleman, in his opinion, arose from his connexion with "his family." he was also indignant with his maternal uncle for his broken promise, and these feelings were strengthened by his mother's folly. two opportunities for disposing of the house and its magnificent furniture were missed; and when mrs. adams complained to her nearest and most influential connexions that her brother-in-law refused to make her any allowance unless she consented to live at repton--expecting that they would be loud in their indignation at his hardness--they advised her by all means to do what he wished, as he was really the only person she had to depend upon. others were lavish of their sympathy, but sympathy wears out quickly; others invited her to spend a month with them at their country-seat, for change of air; one hinted how valuable miss adams' exquisite musical talent would be _now_. mary coloured, and said, "yes," with the dignity of proper feeling; but her mother asked the lady what she meant, and a little scene followed, which caused the lady to visit all the families in town of her acquaintance, for the purpose of expressing her sympathy with "those poor dear adamses, who were so proud, poor things, that really there was nothing hut starvation and the workhouse before them!" another of those well-meaning persons--strong-minded and kind-hearted, but without a particle of delicacy--came to poor mary, with all _prestige_ of conferring a favour. "my dear young lady, it is the commonest thing in the world--very painful but very common; the families of professional men are frequently left without provision. such a pity!--because, if they cannot save, they can insure. we _all_ can do _that_, but they do _not_ do it, and consequently everywhere the families of professional men are found in distress; so, as i said, it is common; and i wanted you to suggest to your mother, that, if she would not feel hurt at it, the thing being so common--dear dr. adams having been so popular, so very popular--that while every one is talking about him and you all, a very handsome subscription could be got up. i would begin it with a sum large enough to invite still larger. i had a great regard for him--i had indeed." mary felt her heart sink and rise, and her throat swell, so that she could not speak. she had brought herself to the determination of employing her talents for her own support, but she was not prepared to come with her family before the world as paupers. "we have no claim upon the public," she said at last. "i am sure you mean us kindly, but we have no claim. my dear father forwarded no public work--no public object; he gave his advice, and received his payment. if we are not provided for, it is no public fault. besides, my father's children are able and willing to support themselves. i am sure you mean us kindly, but we have no claim upon public sympathy, and an appeal to it would crush us to the earth. i am very glad you did not speak first to my mother. my uncle charles would not suffer it, even suppose she wished it." this friend also departed to excite new speculations as to the pride and poverty of "poor dear dr. adams's family." in the world, however--the busy busy london world--it is idle to expect any thing to create even a nine days' wonder. when the house and furniture were at last offered for sale, the feeling was somewhat revived; and mary, whose beauty, exquisite as it was, had so unobtrusive a character as never to have created a foe, was remembered with tears by many: even the father of her old lover, when he was congratulated by one more worldly-minded than himself on the escape of his son in not marrying a portionless girl, reproved the unfeeling speaker with a wish that he only hoped his son might have as good a wife as mary adams would have been. chapter v. the bills were taken down, the house purified from the auction-mob--every thing changed; a new name occupied the doctor's place in the "court guide"--and in three months the family seemed as completely forgotten amongst those of whom they once formed a prominent part, as if they had never existed. when one sphere of life closes against a family, they find room in another. many kind-hearted persons in mrs. adams's first circle would have been rejoiced to be of service to her and hers, but they were exactly the people upon whom she had no claim. of a high but poor family, her relatives had little power. what family so situated ever had any influence beyond what they absolutely needed for themselves? with an ill grace she at last acceded to the kind offer made by mr. charles adams, and took possession of the cottage he fixed upon, until something could be done for his brother's children. in a fit of proud despair the eldest son enlisted into a regiment of dragoons; the second was fortunate enough to obtain a cadetship through a stranger's interference; and his uncle thought it might be possible to get the youngest forward in his father's profession. the expense of the necessary arrangements was severely felt by the prudent and careful country gentleman. the younger girls were too delicate for even the common occupations of daily life; and mary, instead of receiving the welcome she had been led to expect from her aunt and cousins, felt that every hour she spent at the grange was an intrusion. the sudden death of dr. adams had postponed the intended wedding of charles adams's eldest daughter; and although her mother agreed that it was their duty to forward the orphan children, she certainly felt, as most affectionate mothers whose hearts are not very much enlarged would feel, that much of their own savings--much of the produce of her husband's hard labour--labour during a series of years when her sister-in-law and her children were enjoying all the luxuries of life--would now be expended for their support; this to an all-sacrificing mother, despite _her sense of the duty of kindness_, was hard to bear. as long as they were not on the spot, she theorised continually, and derived much satisfaction from the sympathising observations of her neighbours, and was proud, _very_ proud, of the praise bestowed upon her husband's benevolence; but when her sister-in-law's expensive habits were in daily array before her (the cottage being close to the grange,) when she knew, to use her own expression, "that she never put her hand to a single thing;" that she could not live without port wine, when she herself never drank even gooseberry, except on sundays; never ironed a collar, never dusted the chimney-piece, or ate a shoulder of mutton--roast one day, cold the next, and hashed the third. while each day brought some fresh illustration of her thoughtlessness to the eyes of the wife of the wealthy tiller of the soil, the widow of the physician thought herself in the daily practice of the most rigid self-denial. "i am sure," was her constant observation to her all-patient daughter--"i am sure i never thought it would come to this. i had not an idea of going through so much. i wonder your uncle and his wife can permit me to live in the way i do--they ought to consider how i was brought up." it was in vain mary represented that they were existing upon charity; that they ought to be most grateful for what they received, coming as it did from those who, in their days of prosperity, professed nothing, while those who professed all things had done nothing. mary would so reason, and then retire to her own chamber to weep alone over things more hard to bear. it is painful to observe what bitterness will creep into the heart and manner of really kind girls where a lover is in the case, or even where a common-place dangling sort of flirtation is going forward; this depreciating ill nature, one of the other, is not confined by any means to the fair sex. young men pick each other to pieces with even more fierceness, but less ingenuity; they deal in a cut-and-hack sort of sarcasm, and do not hesitate to use terms and insinuations of the harshest kind, when a lady is in the case. mary (to distinguish her from her high-bred cousin, she was generally called mary charles) was certainly disappointed when her wedding was postponed in consequence of her uncle's death; but a much more painful feeling followed, when she saw the admiration her lover, edwin lechmere, bestowed upon her beautiful cousin. mary charles was herself a beauty--fair, open-eyed, warm-hearted--_the_ beauty of repton; but though feature by feature, inch by inch, she was as handsome as mary, yet in her cousin was the grace and spirit given only by good society; the manners elevated by a higher mind, and toned down by sorrow; a gentle softness, which a keen observer of human nature told me once no woman ever possessed unless she had deeply loved, and suffered from disappointed affection; in short, she was far more refined, far more fascinating, than her country cousin: besides, she was unfortunate, and that at once gave her a hold upon the sympathies of the young curate: it did no more: but mary charles did not understand these nice distinctions, and nothing could exceed the change of manner she evinced when her cousin and her betrothed were together. mary thought her cousin rude and petulant; but the true cause of the change never occurred to her. accustomed to the high-toned courtesy of well-bred men, which is so little practised in the middle class of english society, it never suggested itself, that placing her chair, or opening the door for her to go out, or rising courteously when she came into a room, was more than, as a lady, she had a right to expect; in truth, she did not notice it at all; but she did notice and feel deeply her cousin's alternate coldness and snappishness of manner. "i would not," thought mary, "have behaved so to her if she had been left desolate; but in a little time, when my mother is more content, i will leave repton, and become independent by my talents." never did she think of the power delegated to her by, the almighty without feeling herself raised--ay, higher than she had ever been in the days of her splendour--in the scale of moral usefulness; as every one must feel whose mind is rightly framed. she had not yet known what it was to have her abilities trampled on or insulted; she had never experienced the bitterness consequent upon having the acquirements--which in the days of her prosperity commanded silence and admiration--sneered at or openly ridiculed.--she had yet to learn that the solons, the law-givers of english society, lavish their attentions and praise upon those who learn, not upon those who teach. mary had not been six months fatherless, when she was astonished, first by a letter, and then by a visit, from her former lover; he came to renew his engagement, and to wed her even then if she would have him; but mary's high principle was stronger than he imagined. "no," she said, "you are not independent of your father, and whatever i feel, i have no right to draw _you_ down into poverty. you may fancy now that you could bear it; but a time would come--if not to you, to me--when the utter selfishness of such conduct would goad me to a death of early misery." the young man appealed to her uncle, who thought her feelings overstrained, but respected her for it nevertheless; and in the warmth of his admiration, he communicated the circumstance to his wife and daughter. "refuse her old lover under present circumstances," repeated her cousin to herself as she left the room; "there must be some other reason than that; she could not be so foolish as to reject such an offer at such a time." unfortunately, she saw edwin lechmere walking by mary's side, under the shadow of some trees. she watched them until the foliage screened them from her sight, and then she shut herself into her own room, and yielded to a long and violent burst of tears. "it is not enough," she exclaimed, in the bitterness of her feelings, "that the comforts of my parents' declining years should be abridged by the overwhelming burden to their exertions--another family added to their own; it is not enough that an uncomfortable feeling has grown between my father and mother on this account, and that cold looks and sharp words have come where they never came before, but my peace of mind must be destroyed. gladly would i have taken a smaller portion, if i could have kept the affections which i see but too plainly my cousin has stolen from me. and my thoughtless aunt to say, only yesterday, that 'at all events her husband was no man's enemy but his own.' has not his want of prudent forethought been the ruin of his own children? and will my parents ever recover the anxiety, the pain, the sacrifices, brought on by one man's culpable neglect? oh, uncle! if you could look from your grave upon the misery you have caused!"--and then, exhausted by her own emotion, the affectionate but jealous girl began to question herself as to what she should do. after what she considered mature deliberation, she made up her mind to upbraid her cousin with treachery, and she put her design into execution that same evening. it was no easy matter to oblige her cousin to understand what she meant; but at last the declaration that she had refused her old lover because she had placed her affections upon edwin lechmere, whom she was endeavouring to "entrap," was not to be mistaken; and the country girl was altogether unprepared for the burst of indignant feeling, mingled with much bitterness, which repelled the untruth. a strong fit of hysterics, into which mary charles worked herself, was terminated by a scene of the most painful kind, her father being upbraided by her mother with "loving other people's children better than his own," while the curate himself knelt by the side of his betrothed, assuring her of his unaltered affection. from such a scene miss adams hastened with a throbbing brow and a bursting heart. she had no one to counsel or console her; no one to whom she could apply for aid. for the first time since she had experienced her uncle's tenderness, she felt she had been the means of disturbing his domestic peace; the knowledge of the burden she and hers were considered, weighed her to the earth; and in a paroxysm of anguish she fell on her knees, exclaiming, "oh, why are the dependent born into the world! father, father, why did you leave us, whom you so loved, to such a fate!" and then she reproached herself for having uttered a word reflecting on his memory. one of the every-day occurrences of life--so common as to be hardly observed--is to find really kind, good-natured people not "weary of well-doing." "oh, really i was worn out with so-and-so; they are so decidedly unfortunate that it is impossible to help them," is a general excuse for deserting those whose continuing misfortunes ought to render them greater objects of sympathy. mr. charles adams was, as has been shown in our little narrative, a kind-hearted man. estranged as his brother and himself had been for a number of years, he had done much to forward, and still more to protect, his children. at first, this was a pleasure; but somehow his "benevolence," and "kindness," and "generosity," had been so talked about, so eulogised, and he had been so seriously inconvenienced by the waywardness of his nephews, the thoughtless pride of his sister-in-law, the helplessness of his younger nieces, as to feel seriously oppressed by his responsibility. and now the one who had never given him aught but pleasure, seemed, according to his daughter's representations, to be the cause of increased sorrow, the destroyer of his dear child's happiness. what to do he could not tell. his daughter, wrought upon by her own jealousy, had evinced, under its influence, so much temper she had never displayed before, that it seemed more than likely the cherished match would be broken off. his high-minded niece saved him any farther anxiety as far as she was concerned. she sent for and convinced him fully and entirely of her total freedom from the base design imputed to her. "was it likely," she said, "that i should reject the man i love lest i should drag him into poverty, and plunge at once with one i do not care for into the abyss i dread? this is the common sense view of the case; but there is yet another. is it to be borne that i would seek to rob _your_ child of her happiness? the supposition is an insult too gross to be endured. i will leave my mother to-morrow. an old school-fellow, older and more fortunate than myself, wished me to educate her little girl. i had one or two strong objections to living in her house; but the desire to be independent and away has overcome them." she then, with many tears, entreated her uncle still to protect her mother; urged how she had been sorely tried; and communicated fears, she had reason to believe were too well founded, that her eldest brother, feeling the reverse more than he could bear, had deserted from his regiment. charles adams was deeply moved by the nobleness of his niece, and reproved his daughter more harshly than he had ever done before, for the feebleness that created so strong and unjust a passion. this had the contrary effect to what he had hoped for: she did not hesitate to say that her cousin had endeavoured to rob her both of the affection of her lover and her father. the injured cousin left repton bowed beneath an accumulation of troubles, not one of which was of her own creating, not one of which she deserved; and all springing from the unproviding nature of him who, had he been asked the question, would have declared himself ready to sacrifice his own life for the advantage of that daughter, now compelled to work for her own bread. to trace the career of mary adams in her new calling, would be to repeat what i have said before. the more refined, the more informed the governess, the more she suffers. being with one whom she had known in better days, made it even more hard to bend; yet she did her duty, and _that_ is one of the highest privileges a woman can enjoy. chapter vi. leaving mary for a moment, let us return to repton. here discord, having once entered, was making sad ravages, and all were suffering from it. it was but too true that the eldest of the adamses had deserted; his mother clinging with a parent's fondness to her child, concealed him, and thus offended charles adams beyond all reconciliation. the third lad, who was walking the london hospitals, and exerting himself beyond his strength, was everything that a youth could be; but his declining health was represented to his uncle, by one of those whom his mother's pride had insulted, as a cloak for indolence. in short, before another year had quite passed, the family of the once rich and fashionable dr. adams had shared the fate of all dependents--worn out the benevolence, or patience, or whatever it really is, of their "best friends." nor was this the only consequence of the physician's neglect of a duty due alike to god and society; his brother had really done so much for the bereaved family, as to give what the world called "just grounds" to mrs. charles adams's repeated complaints, "that now her husband was ruining his industrious family to keep the lazy widow of his spend-thrift brother and her favourite children in idleness. why could she not live upon the 'fine folk' she was always throwing in her face?" the daughter, too, of whose approaching union the fond father had been so proud, was now, like her cousin whom she had wronged by her mean suspicions, deserted; the match broken off after much bickering; one quarrel having brought on another, until they separated by mutual consent. her temper and her health were both materially impaired; and her beauty was converted into hardness and acidity. oh! how utterly groundless is the idea, that in our social state, where one human being must so much depend upon another, any man, neglecting his positive duties, can be called only "his own enemy." what misery had not dr. adams's neglect entailed, not alone on his immediate family, but on that of his brother. besides, there were ramifications of distress; he died even more embarrassed than his brother had at first believed, and some trades-people were consequently embarrassed; but the deep misery fell upon his children. meanwhile, mrs. dr. adams had left repton with her younger children, to be the dependants of mary in london. it was not until a fatal disease had seized upon her mother, that mary ventured to appeal again to her uncle's generosity. "my second brother," she said, "has out of his small means remitted her five pounds. my eldest brother seems altogether to have disappeared from amongst us; finding that his unhappy presence had occasioned so fatal a separation between his mother and you--a disunion which i saw was the effect of many small causes, rather than one great one--he left us, and we cannot trace him. this has broken my poor mother's heart; he was the cherished one of all her children. my youngest brother has been for the last month an inmate of one of the hospitals which my poor father attended for so many years, and where his word was law. my sister rosa, she upon whom my poor father poured, if possible, more of his affection than he bestowed upon me--my lovely sister, of whom, even in our poverty, i was so proud--so young, only upon the verge of womanhood--has, you already know, left us. would to god it had been for her grave, rather than her destroyer!--a fellow-student of that poor youth, who, if he dreamt of her dishonour, would stagger like a spectre from what will be his death-bed to avenge her. poverty is one of the surest guides to dishonour; those who have not been tempted know nothing of it. it is one thing to see it, another to feel it. do not think her altogether base, because she had not the strength of a heroine. i have been obliged to resign my situation to attend my mother, and the only income we have is what i earn by giving lessons on the harp and piano. i give, for _two shillings_, the same instruction for which my father paid half a guinea a lesson; if i did not i should have no pupils. it is more than a month since my mother left her bed; and my youngest sister, bending beneath increased delicacy of health, is her only attendant. i know her mind to be so tortured, and her body so convulsed by pain, that i have prayed to god to render her fit for heaven, and take her from her sufferings. imagine the weight of sorrow that crushed me to my knees with such a petition as that. i know all you have done, and yet i ask you now, in remembrance of the boyish love that bound you and my father together, to lessen her bodily anguish by the sacrifice of a little more; that she, nursed in the lap of luxury, may not pass from life with starvation as her companion. my brother's gift is expended; and during the last three weeks i have earned but twelve shillings; my pupils are out of town. do, for a moment remember what i was, and think how humbled i must be to frame this supplication; but it is a child that petitions for a parent, and i know i have never forfeited your esteem. in a few weeks, perhaps in a few days, my brother and my mother will meet my poor father face to face. oh! that i could be assured that reproach and bitterness for the past do not pass the portals of the grave. forgive me this, as you have already forgiven me much. alas! i know too well that our misfortunes drew misfortunes upon others. i was the unhappy but innocent cause of much sorrow at the grange; but, oh! do not refuse the _last_ request that i will ever make." the letter was blotted by tears. charles adams was from home when it arrived, and his wife, knowing the handwriting, and having made a resolution never to open a letter "from that branch of the family," did not send it after her husband "lest it might tease him." ten days elapsed before he received it; and when he did, he could not be content with writing, but lost not a moment in hastening to the address. irritated and disappointed that what he really had done should have been so little appreciated, when every hour of his life he was smarting in one way or other from his exertions--broken-hearted at his daughter's blighted health and happiness--angered by the reckless wildness of one nephew, and what he believed was the idleness of another--and convinced that rosa's fearful step was owing to the pampering and mismanagement of her foolish mother--charles adams satisfied himself that, as he did not hear to the contrary from mary, all things were going on well, or at least not ill. he thought as little about them as he possibly could, no people in the world being so conveniently forgotten (when they are not importunate) as poor relations; but the letter of his favourite niece spoke strongly to his heart, and in two hours after his return home he set forth for the london suburb from whence the letter was dated. it so chanced, that to get to that particular end of the town, he was obliged to pass the house his brother had occupied so splendidly for a number of years; the servants had lit the lamps, and were drawing the curtains of the noble dining-room; and a party of ladies were descending from a carriage, which prevented two others from setting down. it looked like old times. "some one else," thought charles adams, "running the same career of wealth and extravagance. god grant it may not lead to the same results!" he paused, and looked up the front of the noble mansion; the drawing-room windows were open, and two beautiful children were standing on an ottoman placed between the windows, probably to keep them apart. he thought of mary's childhood, and how she was occupied at that moment, and hastened onward. there are times when life seems one mingled dream, and it is not easy to become dispossessed of the idea when some of its frightful changes are brought almost together under our view. "is miss adams at home?" inquired her uncle of a woman leaning against the door of a miserable house. "i don't know; she went to the hospital this morning; but i'm not sure she's in; it's the second pair back; it's easy known, for the sob has not ceased in that room these two nights; some people do take on so"-- charles adams did not hear the concluding sentence, but sought the room; the door would not close, and he heard a low sobbing sound from within; he paused, but his step had aroused the mourner--"come in, mary; come in; i know how it is," said a young voice; "he is dead; one grave for mother and son--one grave for mother and son! i see your shadow, dark as it is; have you brought a candle? it is very fearful to be alone with the dead--even one's own mother--in the dark." charles adams entered the room; but his sudden appearance in the twilight, and evidently not knowing him, overcame the girl, his youngest niece, so much, that she screamed, and fell on her knees by her mother's corpse. he called for lights, and was speedily obeyed, for he put a piece of gold in the woman's hand. she turned it over, and as she hastened from the room, muttered, "if this had come sooner, she'd not have died of starvation or burdened the parish for a shroud; it's hard the rich can't look to their own." when mary returned, she was fearfully calm. "no, her brother was not dead," she said; "the young were longer dying than those whom the world had worn out; the young knew so little of the world, they thought it hard to leave it;" and she took off her bonnet, and sat down; and while her uncle explained why he had not written, she looked at him with eyes so fixed and cold, that he paused, hoping she would speak, so painful was their stony expression; but she let him go on, without offering one word of assurance of any kind feeling or remembrance; and when she stooped to adjust a portion of the coarse plaiting of the shroud--that mockery of "the purple and fine linen of living days"--her uncle saw that her hair, her luxuriant hair, was striped with white. "there is no need for words now," she said at last; "no need. i thought you would have sent; she required but little--but very little; the dust rubbed from the gold she once had would have been riches: but the little she did require she had not, and so she died; but what weighs heaviest upon my mind was her calling so continually on my father, to know _why_ he had deserted her: she attached no blame latterly to any one, only called day and night upon him. oh! it was hard to bear--it was very hard to bear." "i will send a proper person in the morning to arrange that she may be placed with my brother," said charles. mary shrieked almost with the wildness of a maniac. "no, no; as far from him as possible! oh! not with him! she was to blame in our days of splendour as much as he was; but she could not see it; and i durst not reason with her. not with him! _she would disturb him in his grave!_" her uncle shuddered, while the young girl sobbed in the bitter wailing tone their landlady complained of. "no," resumed mary, "let the parish bury her; even its officers were kind; and if you bury her, or they, it is still a pauper's funeral. i see all these things clearly now; death, while it closes the eyes of some, opens the eyes of others; it has opened mine." but why should i prolong this sad story. it is not the tale of one, but of many. there are dozens, scores, hundreds of instances of the same kind, _arising from the same cause_, in our broad islands. in the lunatic asylum, where that poor girl, even mary adams, has found refuge during the past two years, there are many cases of insanity arising from change of circumstances, where a fifty pounds' insurance would have set such maddening distress at defiance. i know that her brother died in the hospital within a few days; and the pale, sunken-eyed girl, whose damp yellow hair and thin white hand are so eagerly kissed by the gentle maniac when she visits her, month by month, is the youngest, and, i believe, the _last_ of her family, at least the last in england. oh, that those who foolishly boast that their actions only affect themselves, would look carefully abroad, and if they doubt what i have faithfully told, examine into the causes which crowd the world with cases even worse than i have here recorded! through three campaigns: a story of chitral, tirah and ashanti by g. a. henty. illustrated by wal paget. contents preface. chapter : an expedition. chapter : the start. chapter : the first fight. chapter : in the passes chapter : promoted. chapter : unfair play. chapter : tales of war. chapter : the dargai pass. chapter : captured. chapter : through the mohmund country. chapter : an arduous march. chapter : a tribal fight. chapter : the v.c. chapter : forest fighting. chapter : a narrow escape. chapter : the relief of coomassie. chapter : stockades and war camps. chapter : a night surprise. chapter : lost in the forest. chapter : at home. illustrations map illustrating the chitral campaign. lisle gives the alarm. he carefully aimed and fired. they charged the attacking force from end to end. map illustrating the tirah campaign. a party of afridis rushed down upon him. it was the dead body of an afridi. "my horse must carry two, sir," lisle replied. map illustrating the ashanti campaign. two of them fell before lisle's revolver. they saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road. preface. our little wars attract far less attention among the people of this country than they deserve. they are frequently carried out in circumstances of the most adverse kind. our enemies, although ignorant of military discipline are, as a rule, extremely brave; and are thoroughly capable of using the natural advantages of their country. our men are called upon to bear enormous fatigue, and endure extremes in climate. the fighting is incessant, the peril constant. nevertheless, they show a magnificent contempt for danger and difficulty; and fight with a valour and determination worthy of the highest praise. i have chosen, as an illustration of this, three campaigns; namely, the relief of chitral, the tirah campaign, and the relief of coomassie. the first two were conducted in a mountainous country, affording every advantage to the enemy; where passes had to be scaled, torrents to be forded, and deep snow to be crossed. in the other, the country was a combination of morass and thick forest, frequently intersected by wide and deep rivers. the work, moreover, had to be done in a tropical climate, during the rainy season. the conditions, therefore, were much more trying than in the case of former expeditions which had crossed the same ground and, in addition, the enemy were vastly more numerous and more determined; and had, in recent years, mastered the art of building extremely formidable stockades. the country has a right to be proud, indeed, of the prowess both of our own troops and of our native regiments. boys who wish to obtain fuller details of these campaigns i would refer to sir george robertson's chitral; h. c. thomson's chitral campaign; lieutenant beynon's with kelly to chitral; colonel hutchison's campaign in tirah; viscount fincastle and p. c. eliott lockhart's a frontier campaign; and captain harold c. j. biss's the relief of kumasi, from which i have principally drawn the historical portion of my story. g. a. henty. chapter : an expedition. "well, lisle, my boy, the time is drawing very near when you will have to go home. my brother john will look after you, and choose some good crammer to push you on. you are nearly sixteen, now, and it is high time you buckled to." "but you have always taught me, father!" "yes, that is all very well, but i could not devote three hours a day to you. i think i may say that you are thoroughly well grounded--i hope as well as most public-school boys of your own age--but i can go no further with you. you have no idea what cramming is necessary, now, for a young fellow to pass into the army. still i think that, by hard work with some man who prepares students for the army, you may be able to rub through. i have always saved up money for this, for my brother is by no means a rich man, and crammers are very expensive; so the next time i see a chance of sending you down to calcutta, down you go. my agents there will see you on board a ship, and do everything that is necessary." "of course, father, if i must go, i must; but it will be beastly, after the jolly time i have spent in the regiment, to set to and do nothing but grind, for the next three years." "we all have to do a good many unpleasant things, lisle; and as we have decided that you shall enter the army, you must make up your mind to do the necessary work, even though it be disagreeable." "all right, father! i know what depends upon it, and i will set to." "i have no doubt you will, lisle, for you have plenty of common sense, though you are a little inclined to mischief--not that you are altogether to blame for that, for the officers encourage you in it." this conversation took place between captain bullen, of the nd pioneers, and his son. the regiment was in cantonments near the northern frontier of india. the captain had lost his wife some years before and, as their two youngest children had also died, he had not been able to bring himself to send the remaining boy home. the climate was excellent, and the boy enjoyed as good health as if he had been in england. captain bullen had taken a great deal of pains with his son's education but, as he said, he had now taught the boy all that he knew; and felt that he ought to go to england, and be regularly coached for the army. next day the captain entered his quarters, hurriedly. "i am off," he said. "those rascally afridis have come down and looted several villages; and i am to go up, in command of a couple of companies, to give them a lesson." "they are not very strong, are they, father?" "no, i don't suppose they can put a couple of hundred men in the field. we shall take the two mountain guns with us, and batter holes in their fortresses, and then attack and carry them easily. there is no sign of movement among the other tribes, so we need not expect any serious opposition." a week later, the little detachment entered the valley in which the afridi villages lay. the work had been fatiguing, for the country was very rough; and the mules that carried the guns met with such difficulties that the infantry had to turn to, and improve the paths--if paths they could be called, for they were often little better than undefined tracks. as the expedition moved up the valley, the tribesmen opened on them a distant fire; but scattered after a few shells from the mountain guns were thrown among them. the fortified houses, however, were stubbornly held; and indeed, were only carried after the guns had broken in the doors, or made a breach in the walls. during the attack on the last house, a shot struck captain bullen in the chest, and he instantly fell. when they saw this, the pioneers dashed forward with a howl of rage, carried the fort, and bayoneted its defenders. the doctor of the party at once examined the wound, and saw that it would probably be fatal. "patch me up, lloyd, so that i may get back to camp and see my boy again," the wounded man whispered. "i will do my best," the doctor said, "but i doubt whether you will be able to stand the journey." the pioneers, after setting fire to all the houses in the valley, started at once for home. captain bullen was placed on a stretcher, and four men at a time carried him down, taking the utmost pains not to jolt or shake him. his face was covered with light boughs, to keep off the flies; and everything that was possible was done to conduce to his comfort. the doctor watched him anxiously. his condition became more serious, every day. as they neared the camp, a messenger was sent down with a report from the native officer of what had happened; and the pioneers all came out to see their favourite officer brought in; and stood, mournful and silent, as he was carried to his bungalow. "don't come in yet, lad," the surgeon said, to lisle. "your father, at present, is incapable of speaking; and he must have a little rest before you see him, for the slightest excitement would probably cause a gush of blood to the wound, which would be fatal." lisle's grief was unbounded. he could not listen to the kind words with which the officers tried to soothe him, but wandered away out of camp and, throwing himself down, wept unrestrainedly for an hour. then he roused himself, and walked slowly back. by a mighty effort he had composed himself, for he knew that he must be calm when he saw his father. half an hour later, the doctor beckoned him in. "he is conscious now," he said, "and has whispered that he wishes to see you. he has been very calm, all the way down, and has spoken of you often." "i will do my best," lisle muttered, keeping down his tears with a tremendous effort; and then went into his father's room. he could not trust himself to speak a word but, walking up, took his father's hand and, kneeling down, pressed it to his lips, his whole form shaking with agitation. "i am glad i have held out until i got back," his father said, in a low voice. "it is all up with me, my boy, and i have only a few hours to live, at most. i am sorry, now, that you did not start for england before this happened; but i have no doubt that it is all for the best. i shall die, as i should wish to die, doing my duty and, except for leaving you, i shall feel small regret." "must you leave me, father?" lisle sobbed. "yes, my boy, i have known it from the first. it is only my intense desire to see you again that has kept me up. the doctor said he did not expect that i should last more than two or three days, at most. "you will bear in mind what i said to you, the day before we started. i have no fear about you, lisle; i am sure you will make an honest gentleman and a brave soldier, and will do credit to our name. i should stay here a few weeks longer, if i were you, until some others are going down. the officers are all fond of you, and it would be better for you to have company, than to make the long journey to the coast alone. "my voice is failing me, lad, and i can say no more, now; but you can sit here with me, till the end comes. it will not be long. when you have completed your training, the fact that i have died in this way will give you a good claim to a commission." lisle sat with his father for some hours. occasionally the dying man moved and, leaning over him, he could catch the words "god bless you!" before midnight the brave spirit had passed away, and lisle went out and cried like a child, till morning. the funeral took place next day. after it was over, the colonel sent for lisle; who had now, after a hard struggle, recovered his composure. "did your father give you any instructions, lisle? you may be sure that whatever he said we will carry out." "he said that he thought it would be best for me to stay here for a few weeks as, among so many kind friends, i should be able to bear it better than if i went down at once." "quite right, lad! we shall all be very glad to have you with us. you can remain in the bungalow as long as you like. it is not likely to be wanted, for some months. your father's butler and one or two servants will be enough to look after you; and you will, of course, remain a member of the mess. in this way, i hope you will have recovered some of your cheerfulness before you start." it was a hard time for lisle for the next week or two, for everything reminded him of his father. the risaldar major and the other native officers, with all of whom he was familiar, grasped him by the hand when they met, in token of their sympathy; and the sepoys stood at attention, with mournful faces, when he passed them. he spent the heat of the day with his books, and only stirred out in the early morning and evening, meals being considerately sent down to him from the mess. at the end of a fortnight he made a great effort and joined the mess, and the kindness with which the officers spoke to him gradually cheered him. then there came an excitement which cheered him further. there were rumours of disaffection among the hill tribes, and the chances of a campaign were discussed with animation, both among officers and soldiers. the regiment was a very fine one, composed of sturdy punjabis; and all agreed that, if there were an expedition, they would probably form part of it. lisle entered fully into the general feeling, and his eyes glistened as he listened to the sepoys talking of the expeditions in which they had taken part. "it would be splendid to go," he said to himself, "but i don't see how the colonel could take me. i shall certainly ask him, when the time comes; but i feel sure that he will refuse. of course, i ought to be starting before long for calcutta; but the expedition will probably not last many weeks and, if i were to go with it, the excitement would keep me from thinking, and do me a lot of good. besides, a few weeks could make no difference in my working up for the examination." the more he thought of it, the more he felt determined to go with the column. he felt sure that he could disguise himself so that no one would suspect who he was. he had been so long associated with the regiment that he talked punjabi as well as english. his father had now been dead two months and, as the rumours from across the frontier grew more and more serious, he was filled with fear lest an opportunity should occur to send him down country before the regiment marched; in which case all his plans would be upset. day after day passed, however, without his hearing anything about it, till one day the colonel sent for him. "the time has come, lad, when we must part. we shall all be very sorry to lose you, but it cannot be helped. i have received orders, this morning, to go up to chitral; and am sending down some sick, at once. you must start with them. when you reach the railway, you will be able to get a through ticket to calcutta. "as long as it was likely that we should be going down ourselves, i was glad to keep you here; but now that we have got orders to go off and have a talk with these tribes in the north, it is clearly impossible for us to keep you any longer. i am very sorry, my boy, for you know we all like you, for your own sake and for your good father's." "i am awfully obliged to you all, colonel. you have been very good to me, since my father was killed. i feel that i have had no right to stop here so long; but i quite understand that, now you are moving up into the hills, you cannot keep me. "i suppose i could not go as a volunteer, colonel?" he asked, wistfully. "quite impossible," the colonel said, decidedly. "even if you had been older, i could not have taken you. every mouth will have to be fed, and the difficulties of transport will be great. there is no possibility, whatever, of our smuggling a lad of your age up with us. "besides, you know that you ought to go to england, without further delay. you want to gain a commission, and to do that you must pass a very stiff examination, indeed. so for your own sake, it is advisable that you should get to work without any unnecessary delay. "a party of invalids will be going down tomorrow, and you can go with them as far as peshawar. there, of course, you will take train either to calcutta or bombay. i know that you have plenty of funds for your journey to england. i think you said that it was an uncle to whom you were going. mind you impress upon him the fact that it is absolutely necessary that you should go to a first-rate school or, better still, to a private crammer, if you are to have a chance of getting into the service by a competitive examination." "very well, colonel. i am sure that i am very grateful to you, and all the officers of the regiment, for the kindness you have shown me, especially since my father's death. i shall always remember it." "that is all right, lisle. it has been a pleasure to have you with us. i am sure we shall all be sorry to lose you, but i hope that some day we shall meet again, when you are an officer in one of our regiments." lisle returned to the bungalow and called the butler, the only servant he had retained. "look here, robah, the colonel says that i must go down with a sick party, tomorrow. as i have told you, i am determined to go up country with the troops. of course, i must be in disguise. how do you think that i had better go?" the man shook his head. "the young sahib had better join his friends in england." "it is useless to talk about that," lisle said. "i have told you i mean to go up, and go up i will. there ought to be no difficulty about it. i speak three or four of these frontier languages, as well as i speak english. i have at least learnt that. i have picked them up by talking to the natives, and partly from the moonshee i have had, for four years. my dear father always impressed upon me the utility of these to an officer; and said that, if i could take up native languages in my examinations, it would go a long way towards making up for other deficiencies. so i am all right, so far as language is concerned. "it seems to me that my best plan will be to go up as a mule driver." "it is as the sahib wills," the old man said. "his servant will do all he can to help him." "well, robah, i want you in the first place to get me a disguise. you may as well get two suits. i am sure to get wet, sometimes, and shall require a change. i shall take a couple of my own vests and drawers, to wear under them; for we shall probably experience very cold weather in the mountains." "they are serving out clothes to the carriers, sahib." "yes, i forgot that. well, i want you to go into their camp, and arrange with one of the headmen to let me take the place of one of the drivers. some of the men will be willing enough to get off the job, and a tip of forty rupees would completely settle the matter with him. of course, i shall start with the sick escort but, as there will be several waggons going down with them, they will not travel far; and at the first halting place i can slip away, and come back here. you will be waiting for me on the road outside the camp, early in the morning, and take me to the headman. "by the way, i shall want you to make up a bottle of stain for my hands and feet; for of course i shall go in the native sandals." "i will do these things, sahib. how about your luggage?" "before i leave the camp tonight i shall put fresh labels on them, directing them to be taken to the store of messieurs parfit, who were my father's agents; and to be left there until i send for them. i shall give the sergeant, who goes down with the sick, money to pay for their carriage to calcutta. "and about yourself, robah?" "i shall stay here at the bungalow till another regiment comes up to take your place. perhaps you will give me a chit, saying that i have been in your father's service fourteen years, and that you have found me faithful and useful. if i cannot find employment, i shall go home. i have saved enough money." an hour later, robah again entered the room. "i have been thinking, sahib, of a better plan. you wish to see fighting, do you not?" "certainly i do." "well, sahib, if you go in the baggage train you might be miles away, and see nothing of it. now, it seems to me that it would be almost as easy for you to go as a soldier in the regiment, as in the transport train." "do you think so, robah?" lisle exclaimed excitedly. "i think so, sahib. you see, you know all the native officers, and your father was a great favourite among them. if you were dressed in uniform, and took your place in the ranks, it is very unlikely that any of the english officers would notice you. these matters are left in the hands of the native officers. "yesterday a young private died, who had but just passed the recruit stage, and had been only once or twice on parade. you might take his name. it is most unlikely that any of the white officers will notice that your face is a fresh one and, if they did ask the question, the native officer would give that name. the english officer would not be at all likely to notice that this was the name of a man who had died. deaths are not uncommon and, as the regiment is just moving, the matter would receive no attention. the book of this man would be handed to you, and it would all seem regular." "that is a splendid idea, robah. which officer do you think i had better speak to?" "i should speak to risaldar gholam singh. he was the chief native officer in your father's wing of the regiment. if he consents, he would order all the native officers under him to hold their tongues and, as you are a favourite with them all, your secret would be kept." "it is a grand idea, and i certainly don't see why it should not work out properly." "i have no doubt that the risaldar major will do all he can for you." "do you think so, robah?" "i am sure he will. he was very much attached to your father, and felt his loss as much as anyone. indeed, i think that every one of the native officers will do all he can for you." "that would make it very easy for me," lisle said. "till you suggested it, the idea of going as a soldier never occurred to me but, with their assistance, it will not be difficult." "shall i go and fetch the risaldar here, sahib?" "do so. i shall be on thorns until i see him." in a few minutes the officer, a tall and stately punjabi, entered. "risaldar," lisle said, "i know you were very much attached to my father." "i was, sahib." "well, i want you to do something for me." "it would be a pleasure for me to do so, and you have only to ask for me to grant it, if it is in my power." "i think it is in your power," lisle said. "i will tell you what i want. i have made up my mind to go with this expedition. i thought of disguising myself, and going as a baggage coolie; but in that case i should be always in the rear and see none of the fighting, and i have made up my mind to go as a private in the ranks." "as a private, sahib?" the officer exclaimed, in astonishment. "surely that would be impossible. you would be detected at the first halt. besides, how could the son of our dear captain go as a private?" "i do not object to go as a private, risaldar. of course i should stain myself and, in uniform, it is not likely that any of the white officers would notice a strange face." "but you would have to eat with the others, to mix with them as one of themselves, to suffer all sorts of hardships." "all that is nothing," lisle said. "i have been with the regiment so long that i know all the ways of the men, and i don't think that i should be likely to make any mistake that would attract their attention. as to the language, i know it perfectly." "i hardly dare do such a thing, sahib. if you were discovered on the march, the colonel and officers would be very angry with me." "even if i were discovered, it need not be known that you had assisted me, risaldar. you may be sure that i should never tell. if you were questioned, you could declare that you had taken me for an ordinary recruit. if i deceived everyone else, i might very well deceive you." the risaldar stood thoughtful for some time. "it might possibly be managed," he said at last. "i would do much for captain bullen's son, even risk the anger of the colonel." "i understand that a sepoy died yesterday. he was quite a young recruit, and the white officers had not come to know his face. i might say that i am a relation of his, and am very anxious to take his place." "you could take his place in the ranks under his name." "that would certainly be a good plan, if it could be carried out. i should only be asked a few questions by the sepoys of my company. it would seem to them natural that i should take my cousin's place; and that, as the regiment was moving, and there was no time to teach me drill, i should be expected to pick up what i could on the way. but indeed, i have watched the regiment so often that i think i know all the commands and movements, and could go through them without hesitation. besides, there won't be much drilling on the march. there will probably be a good deal of skirmishing, and perhaps some rough fighting." "but if you were to be killed, sahib, what then?" "i don't mean to be killed if i can help it," lisle said; "but if i am, i shall be buried as one of the sepoys. the officers will all believe that i have gone home and, though they may wonder a little that i never write to them, they will think it is because i am too busy. it will be a long time, indeed, before any of my friends write to ask about me; and then it will be supposed that i have been accidentally killed or drowned. "at any rate, i should have the satisfaction of being killed in the queen's service. all the men are delighted at going, and they will run the same risk as i do." "well, sahib," the risaldar said, "i will do it. i would very much prefer that you had never asked me, but i cannot say 'no' to you. i will think it over; and tell you, tomorrow morning, what seems to me the best plan. i don't see, at present, how you are to disappear and join the regiment." "that is easy enough," lisle said. "i am going to start tomorrow with the sick convoy; but shall slip away from them, after i have gone a short distance. robah will meet me with my uniform and rifle; and i shall come into the camp again, in uniform, after it is dark." "you appear to have thought it all out," the officer said, "and if your scheme can be carried out, there should be no difficulty, after the first day or two. you are more likely to pass unnoticed, on a march, than you would be if you were staying here. the men will have other things to think about, and you will only have three men marching with you in the column to ask questions. indeed, there is very little talking on the line of march. "well, i will think it over, and see you in the morning." this was as good as consent, and lisle was highly delighted. in the morning, the risaldar called again. "i have spoken," the risaldar said, "to the three officers of the company to which the soldier mutteh ghar belonged; and they all agreed, willingly, to help you to carry out your scheme, and think that there is very little probability of the fact that you are a new recruit being noticed. the general discipline of the regiment is in our hands. the british officers direct, but we carry out their orders. as the man was only on parade twice and, on neither of these occasions, came under general inspection of the white officers, it is probable that they do not know his face. it is certainly best that you should take mutteh ghar's name, as the soldiers will see nothing strange in our placing a young recruit in the ranks, after his cousin had died in the regiment. we are all of opinion, therefore, that you can take your place without difficulty; and that the chance of the change being detected by the british officers is extremely slight. we think, however, that it will be next to impossible for you always to keep up your character, and believe that you will find it so hard to live under the same conditions as the others that you yourself will tire of it." "i can assure you that there is no fear of that," lisle said earnestly. "i want to take part in the expedition, and am quite prepared to share in the habits and hardships of the men, whatever they may be. you know, if i were discovered i should be sent off at once, even if a fight were imminent. i think i can say that, when i undertake a thing, i will carry it through. "i cannot tell you how grateful i feel to you all, for aiding me to carry out my wish. will you kindly convey my thanks to the officers of the company, and particularly urge upon them that they must show me no favour, and pay no more attention to me than to the other men? anything of that sort would certainly give rise to comment and suspicion." "i have already told them that," the officer said, "and i think they thoroughly understand how they must act. "the sick party are to start tomorrow morning. how do you wish the uniform of your supposed cousin to be sent to you?" "if you hand it over to robah, he will bring it out to me. the rifle, of course, should be handed quietly to me when i return to camp. i cannot march in with it. i shall not come in till after dark. then the havildar must take me to one of the sepoy tents, and mention to the men there that i am mutteh ghar's cousin; and that, as a great favour, i am to be allowed to accompany the regiment." "of course, you will take with you the usual underclothes to put on, when you lay aside your uniform; and especially the loincloth, and light linen jacket, which the men use in undress." "i will see to all that, risaldar. i can assure you that, so far from finding it a trouble to act as a native, i shall really enjoy it; and shall make very light of any hardships that i may have to undergo. when it comes to fighting i am, as you know, a very good shot; and should certainly be able to do my part, with credit." "i will tell the havildar to be on the lookout for you, when you come into camp, and to bring you straight to me. i will then see that your uniforms and belts are properly put on, before i send you off under his charge. i hope the matter may turn out well. if it does not, you must remember that i have done my part because you urged it upon me, and prayed me to assist you for your father's sake." "i shall never forget that, gholam singh, and shall always feel deeply indebted to you." when the risaldar had left, lisle called robah in. "all is arranged, robah; and now it remains only to carry out the details. in the first place, you must get me the stain; in the second, you must go into the bazaar and buy me a loincloth and light jacket, such as the soldiers wear when they lay aside their uniforms. as to the uniform, that is already arranged for; and i shall, of course, have one of the sheepskin greatcoats that have just been served out, and which i expect i shall find indispensable. put in my kit bag one pair of my thickest woollen vests and drawers. i cannot carry more, for i mean to take one suit of my own clothes to put on in case, by any accident, i should be discovered and sent back. i can get that carried on the baggage waggon. "tomorrow we shall start at five o'clock in the morning and, at the first halt, i shall leave the party quietly. i have no doubt that gholam singh will give orders, to the native officer in charge, that i am to be permitted to do so without remark. as soon as i leave the convoy you must join me with my uniform and, above all, with the stain. you can bring out a bag with some provisions for the day, for i shall not return to camp until after dark." when robah went away to make the necessary purchases, lisle packed up his baggage and labelled it. his father's effects had all been sold, a few days after his death; as it would not have paid to send them home. they had fetched good prices, and had been gladly bought up by the other officers; some as mementoes of their late comrade, and some because they were useful. several of the officers came in and chatted with him while he was packing, all expressing regret that he was leaving. at mess that evening they drank his health, and a pleasant journey; and he gravely returned thanks. when the mess broke up he returned to the bungalow, and packed a small canvas bag with the suit he was going to take with him. then he examined and tried on the uniform of the dead sepoy; which robah had, that evening, received from the risaldar. it fitted him fairly well. in addition to the regular uniform there was a posteen, or sheepskin coat; loose boots made of soft skin, so that the feet could be wrapped up in cloth before they were put on; and putties, or leggings, consisting of a very long strip of cloth terminating with a shorter strip of leather. these things had been served out that day to the troops, and were to be put on over the usual leg wrappings when they came to snow-covered country. they were to be carried with the men's kits till required. for ordinary wear there were the regular boots, which were strapped on like sandals. "well, i think i ought to be able to stand anything in the way of cold, with this sheepskin coat and the leggings, together with my own warm underclothing." "you are sure," robah said, "that you understand the proper folding of your turban?" "i think so, robah. i have seen them done up hundreds of times but, nevertheless, you shall give me a lesson when you join me tomorrow. we shall have plenty of time for it. "now, can you think of anything else that would be useful? if so, you can buy it tomorrow before you come out to meet me." "no, sahib. there are the warm mittens that have been served out for mountain work; and you might take a pair of your own gloves to wear under them for, from all i hear, you will want them when you are standing out all night on picket work, among the hills." "no, i won't take the gloves, robah. with two pairs on, my fingers would be so muffled that i should not be able to do good shooting." "well, it will be cold work, for it is very late in the season and, you know, goggles have been served out to all the men to save them from snow blindness, from which they would otherwise suffer severely. i have been on expeditions in which a third of the men were quite blind, when they returned to camp." "it must look very rum to see a whole regiment marching in goggles," lisle laughed; "still, anything is better than being blinded." "i shall see you sometimes, sahib; for the major engaged me, this morning, to go with him as his personal servant, as his own man is in feeble health and, though i am now getting on in years, i am still strong enough to travel with the regiment." "i am delighted, indeed, to hear that, robah. i shall be very glad to steal away sometimes, and have a chat with you. it will be a great pleasure to have someone i can talk to, who knows me. of course, the native officer in command of my company will not be able to show me any favour, nor should i wish him to do so. it seems like keeping one friend, while i am cut off from all others; though i dare say i shall make some new ones among the sepoys. i have no doubt you will be very comfortable with the major." "yes, sahib, i am sure that he is a kind master. i shall be able, i hope, sometimes to give you a small quantity of whisky, to mix with the water in your bottle." "no, no, robah, when the baggage is cut down there will be very little of that taken and, however much there might be, i could not accept any that you had taken from the major's store. i must fare just the same as the others." "well, sahib, i hope that, at any rate, you will carry a small flask of it under your uniform. you may not want it but, if you were wounded and lying in the snow, it would be very valuable to you for, mixed with the water in your bottle, and taken from time to time, it would sustain you until you could be carried down to camp." "that is a very good idea, robah, and i will certainly adopt it. i will carry half a pint about with me, for emergencies such as you describe. if i do not want it, myself, it may turn out useful to keep up some wounded comrade. it will not add much to the load that i shall have to carry, and which i expect i shall feel, when we first march. as i am now, i think i could keep up with the best marcher in the regiment but, with the weight of the clothes and pouches, a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition, and my rifle, it will be a very different thing; and i shall be desperately tired, by the time we get to the end of the day's march. "now it is twelve o'clock, and time to turn in, for we march at five." the next morning, when the sick convoy started, the white officers came up to say goodbye to lisle; and all expressed their regret that he could not accompany the regiment. the butler had gone on ahead and, as soon as lisle slipped away, he came up to him and assisted him to make his toilet. he stained him from head to foot, dyed his hair, and fastened in it some long bunches of black horse hair, which he would wear in the punjabi fashion on the top of his head. with the same dye he darkened his eyelashes and, when he had put on his uniform, he said: "as far as looks go, sahib, it is certain that no one would suspect that you were not a native. there is a large bottle of stain. you will only have to do yourself over, afresh, about once in ten days. a little of this mixed with three times the amount of water will be sufficient for, if you were to put it on by itself, it would make you a great deal too dark." they spent the day in a grove and, when evening approached, returned to camp. "and now, goodbye, sahib! the regiment will march tomorrow morning, at daybreak. i may not have an opportunity of seeing you again, before we start. i hope i have done right, in aiding you in your desire to accompany the expedition; but i have done it for the best, and you must not blame me if harm comes of it." "that you may be sure i will not, and i am greatly obliged to you. now, for the present, goodbye!" chapter : the start. the havildar was on the lookout for lisle when he entered the camp; but he did not know him, in his changed attire and stained face, until the lad spoke to him. "you are well disguised, indeed, sahib," he said. "i had no idea that it was you. now, my instructions are to take you to gholam singh's tent." here lisle found the risaldar and the other two native officers. he saluted as he entered. the risaldar examined him carefully, before speaking. "good!" he said; "i did not think that a white sahib could ever disguise himself to pass as a native, though i know that it has been done before now. certainly i have no fear of any of the white officers finding that you are not what you seem to be. i am more afraid, however, of the men. still, even if they guessed who you are, they would not, i am sure, betray you. "here are your rifle and bayonet. these complete your outfit. i see that you have brought your kit with you. it is rather more bulky than usual, but will pass with the rest. "the subadar will take you down to the men's lines. i have arranged that you shall be on the baggage guard, at first, so that you will gradually begin to know a few men of your company. they will report to the rest the story you tell them, and you will soon be received as one of themselves. "i will see that that sack of yours goes with the rest of the kits in the baggage waggon. these officers of your company all understand that you are to be treated like the rest of the men, and not to be shown any favour. at the same time, when in camp, if there is anything that you desire, or any complaint you have to make, you can talk quietly to one of them; and he will report it to me, in which case you may be sure that i shall set the matter right, if possible." "i don't think there is any fear of that, risaldar. i am pretty well able to take care of myself. my father gave me many lessons in boxing; and i fancy that, although most of the men are a great deal bigger and stronger than i am, i shall be able to hold my own." "i hope so, bullen," the havildar said gravely, "but i trust that there will be no occasion to show your skill. we punjabis are a quiet race of men; and though, of course, quarrels occasionally occur among us, they generally end in abuse, and very seldom come to blows. the greater portion of the regiment has been with us for some years. they know each other well, and are not given to quarrelling. they will scarcely even permit their juniors to go to extremes, and i need not say that the officers of the company would interfere, at once, if they saw any signs of a disturbance. "i have had a meal cooked, which i hope you will eat with us. it is the last you are likely to be able to enjoy, for some time. we shall feel honoured if you will sit down with us." an excellent repast was served, and lisle did it full justice. then the officers all shook him by the hand, and he started with the subadar for the men's lines, with hearty thanks to the others. when they arrived at the huts, the subadar led the way in. "here is a new comrade," he said, as some of the men roused themselves from the ground on his entrance. "he is a cousin of mutteh ghar, and bears the same name. it seems that he has served in another regiment, for a short time; but was discharged, owing to sickness. he has now perfectly recovered health, and has come to join his cousin; who, on his arrival, he finds to be dead. he is very anxious to accompany the regiment and, as he understands his work, the risaldar has consented to let him go, instead of remaining behind at the depot. "he is, of course, much affected by the loss of his cousin; and hopes that he will not be worried by questions. he will be on baggage guard tomorrow, and so will be left alone, until he recovers somewhat from his disappointment and grief." "i will see to it, subadar," one of the sergeants said. "mutteh ghar was a nice young fellow, and we shall all welcome his cousin among us, if he is at all like him." "thank you, sergeant! i am sure you will all like him, when you come to know him; for he is a well-spoken young fellow, and i hope that he will make as good a soldier. good night!" so saying, he turned and left the tent. half an hour later, lisle was on parade. there were but eight british officers; including the colonel, major, and adjutant, and one company officer to each two companies. the inspection was a brief one. the company officer walked along the line, paying but little attention to the men; but carefully scrutinizing their arms, to see that they were in perfect order. the regiment was put through a few simple manoeuvres; and then dismissed, as work in earnest would begin on the following morning. four men in each company were then told off to pack the baggage in the carts. lisle was one of those furnished by his company. there was little talk while they were at work. in two hours the carts were packed. then, as they returned to the lines, his three comrades entered into conversation with him. "you are lucky to be taken," one said, "being only a recruit. i suppose it was done so that you might fill the place of your cousin?" "yes, that was it. they said that i had a claim; so that, if i chose, i could send money home to his family." "they are good men, the white officers," another said. "they are like fathers to us, and we will follow them anywhere. we lately lost one of them, and miss him sorely. however, they are all good. "we are all glad to be going on service. it is dull work in cantonments." on arriving at the lines of the company, one of them said: "the risaldar said that you will take your cousin's place. he slept in the same hut as i. you will soon find yourself at home with us." he introduced lisle to the other occupants of the hut, eighteen in number. lisle then proceeded to follow the example of the others, by taking off his uniform and stripping to the loincloth, and a little calico jacket. he felt very strange at first, accustomed though he was to see the soldiers return to their native costume. "your rations are there, and those of our new comrade," one of the party said. several fires were burning, and lisle followed the example of his comrade, and took the lota which formed part of his equipment, filled it with water, and put it in the ashes; adding, as soon as it boiled, the handful of rice, some ghee, and a tiny portion of meat. in an hour the meal was cooked and, taking it from the fire, he sat down in a place apart; as is usual among the native troops, who generally have an objection to eat before others. "those who have money," his comrade said, "can buy herbs and condiments of the little traders, and greatly improve their mess." this lisle knew well. "i have a few pice," he said, "but must be careful till i get my pay." as soon as night fell all turned in, as they were to start at daylight. "here is room for you at my side, comrade," the sergeant said. "you had better get to sleep, as soon as you can. of course, you have your blanket with you?" "yes, sergeant." lisle rolled himself in his blanket and lay down, covering his face, as is the habit of all natives of india. it was some time before he went to sleep. the events of the day had been exciting, and he was overjoyed at finding that his plan had so far succeeded. he was now one of the regiment and, unless something altogether unexpected happened, he was certain to take part in a stirring campaign. while it was still dark, he was aroused by the sound of a bugle. "the men told off to the baggage guard will at once proceed to pack the waggons," the sergeant said. lisle at once got up and put on his uniform, as did three other men in the tent. the kits and baggage had already been packed, the night before; and the men of the guard, consisting of a half company, proceeded to the waggons. half an hour afterwards, another bugle roused the remainder of the regiment, and they soon fell in. it was broad daylight when they started, the baggage followed a little later. the havildar who was in charge of them was, fortunately, one of those of lisle's company. there was but little talk at the hurried start. two men accompanied each of the twelve company waggons. half the remainder marched in front, and the others behind. lisle had been told off to the first waggon. it was a long march, two ordinary stages being done in one. as the animals were fresh, the transport arrived at the camping ground within an hour of the main column. accustomed though he was to exercise, lisle found the weight of his rifle, pouches, and ammunition tell terribly upon him. he was not used to the boots and, before half the journey was completed, began to limp. the havildar, noticing this, ordered him to take his place on the top of the baggage on his waggon. "it is natural that you should feel it, at first, mutteh ghar," he said. "you will find it easy enough to keep up with them, after a few days' rest." lisle was thankful, indeed, for he had begun to feel that he should never be able to hold on to the end of the march. he remained on the baggage for a couple of hours, and then again took his place by the side of the waggon; receiving an approving nod from the havildar, as he did so. when the halt was called, the men at once crowded round the waggons. the kits were distributed and, in a few minutes, the regiment had the appearance of a concourse of peaceable peasants. no tents had been taken with them. waterproof sheets had been provided and, with these, little shelters had been erected, each accommodating three men. the sergeant told lisle off to share one of these shelters with two other men. a party meanwhile had gone to collect firewood and, in half an hour, the men were cooking their rice. "well, how did you like the march?" one of them said to lisle. "i found it very hard work," lisle said, "but the havildar let me ride on the top of one of the waggons for a couple of hours and, after that, i was able to march in with the rest." "it was a rough march for a recruit," the other said, "but you will soon get used to that. grease your feet well before you put on your bandages. you will find that that will ease them very much, and that you will not get sore feet, as you would if you marched without preparation." lisle took the advice, and devoted a portion of his rations for the purpose, the last thing at night; and found that it abated the heat in his feet, and he was able to get about in comfort. each soldier carried a little cooking pot. although the regiment was composed principally of punjabis, many of the men were of different nationalities and, although the punjabis are much less particular about caste than the people of southern india, every man prepared his meal separately. the rations consisted of rice, ghee, a little curry powder, and a portion of mutton. from these lisle managed to concoct a savoury mess, as he had often watched the men cooking their meals. the sergeant had evidently chosen two good men to share the tent with lisle. they were both old soldiers, not given to much talking; and were kind to their young comrade, giving him hints about cooking and making himself comfortable, and abstaining from asking many questions. they were easily satisfied with his answers and, after the meal was eaten, sat down with him and talked of the coming campaign. neither of them had ever been to chitral, but they knew by hearsay the nature of the road, and discussed the probability of the point at which serious opposition would begin; both agreeing that the difficulties of crossing the passes, now that these would be covered with snow, would be far greater than any stand the tribesmen might make. "they are tough fighters, no doubt," one of them said; "and we shall have more difficulty, with them, than we have ever had before; for they say that a great many of them are armed with good rifles, and will therefore be able to annoy us at a distance, when their old matchlocks would have been useless." "and they are good shots, too." "there is no doubt about that; quite as good as we are, i should say. there will be a tremendous lot of flanking work to keep them at a distance but, when it comes to anything like regular fighting, we shall sweep them before us. "from what i hear, however, we shall only have three or four guns with us. that is a pity for, though the tribesmen can stand against a heavy rifle fire, they have a profound respect for guns. i expect, therefore, that we shall have some stiff fighting. "how do you like the prospect, mutteh ghar?" "i don't suppose i shall mind it when i get accustomed to it," lisle said. "it was because i heard that the regiment was about to advance that i hurried up to join. i don't think i should have enlisted, had it been going to stay in the cantonment." "that is the right spirit," the other said approvingly. "it is the same with all of us. there is no difficulty in getting recruits, when there is fighting to be done. it is the dull life in camp that prevents men from joining. we have enlisted twice as many men, in the past three months, as in three years before." so they talked till night fell and then turned in; putting lisle between them, that being the warmest position. in the morning the march was resumed in the same order, lisle again taking his place with the baggage guard. the march this time was only a single one; but it was long, nevertheless. lisle was able to keep his place till the end, feeling great benefit from the ghee which he had rubbed on his feet. the havildar, at starting, said a few cheering words to him; and told him that, when he felt tired, he could put his rifle and pouch in the waggon, as there was no possibility of their being wanted. his two comrades, when they heard that he had accomplished the march without falling out, praised him highly. "you have showed good courage in holding on," one of them said. "the march was nothing to us seasoned men, but it must have been trying to you, especially as your feet cannot have recovered from yesterday. i see that you will make a good soldier, and one who will not shirk his work. another week, and you will march as well as the best of us." "i hope so," lisle said. "i have always been considered a good walker. as soon as i get accustomed to the weight of the rifle and pouch, i have no doubt that i shall get on well enough." "i am sure you will," the other said cordially, "and i think we are as good marchers as any in india. we certainly have that reputation and, no doubt, it was for that reason we were chosen for the expedition, although there are several other regiments nearer to the spot. "from what i hear, colonel kelly will be the commanding officer of the column, and we could not wish for a better. i hear that there is another column, and a much stronger one, going from peshawar. that will put us all on our mettle, and i will warrant that we shall be the first to arrive there; not only because we are good marchers, but because the larger the column, the more trouble it has with its baggage. "baggage is the curse of these expeditions. what has to be considered is not how far the troops can go, but how far the baggage animals can keep up with them. some of the animals are no doubt good, but many of them are altogether unfitted for the work. when these break down they block a whole line; and often, even if the march is a short one, it is very late at night before the last of the baggage comes in; which means that we get neither kit, blankets, nor food, and think ourselves lucky if we get them the next morning. "the government is, we all think, much to blame in these matters. instead of procuring strong animals, and paying a fair price for them; they buy animals that are not fit to do one good day's march. of course, in the end this stinginess costs them more in money, and lives, than if they had provided suitable animals at the outset." lisle had had a great deal of practice with the rifle, and had carried away several prizes shot for by the officers; but he was unaccustomed to carry one for so many hours, and he felt grateful, indeed, when a halt was sounded. fires were lighted, and food cooked; and then all lay down, or sat in groups in the shade of a grove. the sense of the strangeness of his condition had begun to wear off, and he laughed and talked with the others, without restraint. up to the time when he joined the regiment, lisle had heard a good deal of the state of affairs at chitral; and his impression of the natives was that they were as savage and treacherous a race as was to be found in afghanistan and kashmir. beyond that, he had not interested himself in the matter; but now, from the talk of his companions, he gained a pretty clear idea of the situation. illustration: map illustrating the chitral campaign. old aman-ul-mulk had died in august, . he had reigned long; and had, by various conquests and judicious marriages, raised chitral to a position of importance. the chitralis are an aryan race, and not pathans; and have a deep-rooted hatred of the afghans. in aman placed chitral under the nominal suzerainty of the maharajah of kashmir and, kashmir being one of the tributary states of the indian empire, this brought them into direct communication with the government of india; and aman received with great cordiality two missions sent to him. when he died, his eldest son nizam was away from chitral; and the government was seized by his second son, afzul; who, however, was murdered by his uncle, sher afzul. nizam at once hurried to chitral; and sher afzul fled to cabul, nizam becoming the head of the state or, as it was called, mehtar. being weak, he asked for a political officer to reside in his territory; and captain younghusband, with an escort of sikhs, was accordingly sent to mastuj, a fort in upper chitral. however, in november nizam was also murdered, by a younger brother, amir. amir hurried to chitral, and demanded recognition from lieutenant gurdon; who was, at the time, acting as assistant british agent. he replied that he had no power to grant recognition, until he was instructed by the government in india. amir thereupon stopped his letters, and for a long time he was in imminent danger, as he had only an escort of eight sikhs. on the th of january, fifty men of the th sikhs marched down from mastuj and, on the st of february, mr. robertson, the british agent, arrived from gilgit. he had with him an escort of two hundred and eighty men of the th kashmir rifles, and thirty-three sikhs; and was accompanied by three european officers. when he arrived he heard that umra khan had, at the invitation of amir, marched into chitral; but that his progress had been barred by the strong fort of drosh. as the chitralis hate the pathans, they were not inclined to yield to the orders of amir to surrender the fort, and were consequently attacked. the place, however, was surrendered by the treachery of the governor. amir then advanced, and was joined by sher afzul. mr. robertson wrote to amir khan, saying that he must leave the chitral territory. amir paid no attention to the order, and mr. robertson reported this to the government of india. they issued, in march, , a proclamation warning the chitralis to abstain from giving assistance to amir khan, and intimating that a force sufficient to overcome all resistance was being assembled; but that as soon as it had attained its object, it would be withdrawn. the chitralis, who now preferred sher afzul to amir, made common cause with the former. mr. robertson learned that men were already at work, breaking up the road between chitral and mastuj; and accordingly moved from the house he had occupied to the fort, which was large enough to receive the force with him. on the st of march, all communications between mr. robertson and mastuj had ceased; and troops were at once ordered to assemble, to march to his relief. it was clearly impossible for our agent to retire as, in order to do so, he would have to negotiate several terrible passes, where a mere handful of men could destroy a regiment. thus it was that the pioneers had been ordered to break up their cantonment, and advance with all speed to gilgit. hostilities had already begun. a native officer had started, with forty men and sixty boxes of ammunition, for chitral; and had reached buni, when he received information that his advance was likely to be opposed. he accordingly halted and wrote to lieutenant moberley, special duty officer with the kashmir troops in mastuj. the local men reported to moberley that no hostile attack upon the troops was at all likely but, as there was a spirit of unrest in the air, he wrote to captain ross, who was with lieutenant jones, and requested him to make a double march into mastuj. this captain ross did and, on the evening of the th of march, started to reinforce the little body of men that was blocked at buni. on the same day a party of sappers and miners, under lieutenants fowler and edwards, also marched forward to mastuj. when captain ross arrived at buni he found that all was quiet, and he therefore returned to mastuj, with news to that effect. the party of sappers were to march, the next morning, with the ammunition escort. on the evening of that day a note was received from lieutenant edwards, dated from a small village two miles beyond buni, saying that he heard that he was to be attacked in a defile, a short distance away. he started with a force of ninety-six men, in all. they carried with them nine days' rations, and one hundred and forty rounds of ammunition. captain ross at once marched for buni, and arrived there the same evening. here he left a young native officer and thirty-three rank and file while, with lieutenant jones and the rest of his little force, he marched for reshun, where lieutenant edwards' party were detained. they halted in the middle of the day; and arrived, at one o'clock, at a hamlet halfway to reshun. shortly after starting, they were attacked. lieutenant jones, one of the few survivors of the party, handed in the following report of this bad business. "half a mile after leaving koragh the road enters a narrow defile. the hills on the left bank consist of a succession of large stone shoots, with precipitous spurs in between. the road at the entrance to the defile, for about one hundred yards, runs quite close to the river; after that it lies along a narrow maidan, some thirty or forty yards in width, and is on the top of the river bank, which is here a cliff. this continues for about half a mile, then it ascends a steep spur. "when the advanced party reached about halfway up this spur, it was fired on from a sangar which had been built across the road and, at the same time, men appeared on all the mountain tops and ridges, and stones were rolled down all the shoots. captain ross, who was with the advanced guard, fell back on the main body. all the coolies dropped their loads and bolted, as soon as the first shot was fired. captain ross, after looking at the enemy's position, decided to fall back upon koragh; as it would have been useless to go on to reshun, leaving an enemy in such a position behind us." captain ross ordered lieutenant jones to fall back with ten men, seize the lower end of the defile, and cover the retreat. no fewer than eight of his men were wounded, as he fell back. captain ross, on hearing this, ordered him to return, and the whole party took refuge in two caves, it being the intention of their commander to wait there until the moon rose, and then try to force his way out. but when they started, they were assailed from above with such a torrent of rocks that they again retired to the caves. they then made an attempt to get to the top of the mountain, but their way was barred by a precipice; and they once more went back to the cave, where they remained all the next day. it was then decided to make an attempt to cut their way out. they started at two in the morning. the enemy at once opened fire, and many were killed, among them captain ross himself. lieutenant jones with seventeen men reached the little maidan, and there remained for some minutes, keeping up a heavy fire on the enemy on both banks of the river, in order to help more men to get through. twice the enemy attempted to charge, but each time retired with heavy loss. lieutenant jones then again fell back, two of his party having been killed and one mortally wounded, and the lieutenant and nine sepoys wounded. when they reached buni they prepared a house for defence, and remained there for seven days until reinforcements came up. in the meantime the th bengal sappers and miners, and the nd kashmir infantry had gone on, beyond the point where captain ross's detachment had been all but annihilated, and reached reshun; and lieutenants edwards and fowler, with the bengal sappers and ten kashmir infantry, went on to repair a break in the road, a few miles beyond that place. they took every precaution to guard against surprise. lieutenant fowler was sent to scale the heights on the left bank, so as to be able to look down into some sangars on the opposite side. with some difficulty, he found a way up the hillside. when he was examining the opposite cliff a shot was fired, and about two hundred men rushed out from the village and entered the sangars. as fowler was well above them, he kept up a heavy fire, and did great execution. the enemy, however, began to ascend the hills, and some appeared above him and began rolling down stones and firing into his party. fowler himself was wounded in the back, a corporal was killed, and two other men wounded. he managed, however, to effect his retreat, and joined the main body. as the enemy were now swarming on the hills, the party began to fall back to reshun, which was two miles distant. they had an open plain to cross and a spur, a thousand feet high, to climb. during this part of the retreat an officer and several men were wounded but, on reaching the crest, the party halted and opened a steady fire upon the enemy; whom they thus managed to keep at a distance till they reached reshun, which they did without further loss. the force here were occupying a sangar they had formed, but so heavy a fire was opened, from the surrounding hills, that it was found impossible to hold the position. they therefore retired to some houses, where firewood and other supplies were found. the only drawback to this place was that it was more than a hundred yards from the river, and there was consequently great danger of their being cut off from the water. as soon as they reached the houses they began to fortify them. the roofs were flat and, by piling stones along the edges, they converted them into sangars. the walls were loopholed, the entrances blocked up, and passages of communication opened between the houses. a party of kashmir volunteers then went down to the other sangar and brought the wounded in, under a heavy fire. at sunset the enemy's fire ceased, as it was the month of ramzam, during which mahomedans have to fast all day between sunrise and sunset. as night came on the little party took their places on the roofs, and remained there till daylight. by this time all were greatly exhausted for, during their terrible experiences of the previous day, they had had no food and little water. when day dawned half the men were withdrawn from their posts, and a meal was cooked from the flour that had been found in the houses. a small ration of meat was also served out. during the day the enemy kept up a continuous fire but, as they showed no intention of attacking, the men were allowed to sleep by turns. after dark lieutenant fowler and some volunteers started for the river, to bring in water. they made two trips, and filled up all the storage vessels at the disposal of the garrison. the night passed quietly but, just before dawn, the enemy charged down through the surrounding houses. lieutenant edwards and his party at once opened fire, at about twenty yards' range. tom-toms were beaten furiously, to encourage the assailants; but the tribesmen could not pluck up courage to make a charge and, at nine o'clock, they all retired. during the attack four of the sepoys were killed, and six wounded. next night another effort was made to obtain water. two sangars were stormed, and most of their occupants killed. the way to the water was now opened but, at this moment, heavy firing broke out at the fort; and lieutenant fowler, who was in command, recalled his men and returned to assist the garrison. on the following day a white flag was hoisted, and an emissary from sher afzul said that all fighting had ceased. an armistice was accordingly arranged. all this, however, was but a snare for, a few days later, when the two british officers went out to witness a polo match, they were seized, bound with ropes, and carried off. at the same moment a fierce attack was made on a party of sepoys who had also come out. these fought stoutly, but were overpowered, most of them being killed. the garrison of the post, however, under the command of lieutenant gurdon, continued to hold the little fort; and refused all invitation to come out to parley, after the treachery that had been shown to their comrades. the two officers were taken to chitral, where they were received with kindness by amir khan. the news of this disaster was carried to peshawar by a native mussulman officer, who had been liberated, where it created great excitement. as all communication with chitral had ceased, the assistant british agent at gilgit called up the pioneers; who marched into gilgit, four hundred strong, on the th of march. on the st news was received of the cutting up of ross's party, and it was naturally supposed that that of edwards was also destroyed. colonel kelly of the pioneers now commanded the troops, and all civil powers; and major borradale commanded the pioneers. the available force consisted of the four hundred pioneers, and the guides. lieutenant stewart joined them with two guns of the kashmir battery. two hundred pioneers and the guides started on the rd. the gazetteer states that it never rains in gilgit, but it rained when the detachment started, and continued to pour for two days. the men had marched without tents. colonel kelly, the doctor, leward, and a staff officer followed in the afternoon, and overtook the main body that evening. the troops had made up little tents with their waterproof sheets. colonel kelly had a small tent, and the other officers turned in to a cow shed. the force was so small that the pioneers asked the others to mess with them, each man providing himself with his own knife, fork, and spoon, and the pots being all collected for the cooking. the next march was long and, in some places, severe. they were well received by the natives, whose chiefs always came out to greet them and, on the third day, reached gupis, where a fort had been built by the kashmir troops. at this point the horses and mules were all left behind, as the passes were said to be impassable for animals; and native coolies were hired to carry the baggage. lisle had enjoyed the march, and the strange life that he was leading. he was now quite at home with his company and, by the time they reached gupis, had become a general favourite. at the end of the day, when a meal had been cooked and eaten, he would join in their songs round the fire and, as he had picked up several he had heard them sing, and had a fair voice, he was often called upon for a contribution. his vivacity and good spirits surprised the sepoys who, as a whole, were grave men, though they bore their hardships uncomplainingly. he had soon got over the feeling of discomfort of going about with naked legs, and was as glad as the soldiers, themselves, to lay aside his uniform and get into native attire. the sepoys had now regular rations of meat. it was always mutton, as beef was unobtainable; but it was much relished by the men, who cut it up into slices and broiled it over a fire. not for one moment did lisle regret the step he had taken. young and active, he thoroughly enjoyed the life; and looked forward eagerly to the time when they should meet the enemy, for no doubt whatever was now felt that they would meet with a desperate resistance on their march to chitral. fears were entertained, however, that when they got there, they would find that the garrison had been overpowered; for it was certain that against this force the chief attack of the enemy would be directed. the overthrow of ross and his party showed that the enemy were sturdy fighters; and they were known to be armed with breech-loading rifles, of as good a quality as those carried by the troops. in the open field all felt that, however numerous the tribesmen might be, they would stand no chance whatever; but the passes afforded them immense advantage, and rendered drill and discipline of little avail. chapter : the first fight. and yet, though he kept up a cheerful appearance, lisle's heart was often very heavy. the sight of the british officers continually recalled his father to his memory. but a short time back he had been with him, and now he was gone for ever. at times it seemed almost impossible that it could be so. he had been his constant companion when off duty; had devoted much time to helping him forward in his studies; had never, so far as he could remember, spoken a harsh word to him. it seemed like a dream, those last hours he had passed by his father's bedside. many times he lay awake in the night, his face wet with tears. but with reveille he would be up, laughing and joking with the soldiers, and raising a smile even on the face of the gravest. it had taken him but a very short time to make himself at home in the regiment. the men sometimes looked at him with surprise, he was so different from themselves. they bore their hardships well, but it was with stern faces and grim determination; while this young soldier made a joke of them. sometimes he was questioned closely, but he always turned the questions off with a laugh. he had learned the place where his supposed cousin came from and, while sticking to this, he said that a good fairy must have presided over his birth; information that was much more gravely received than given, for the natives have their superstitions, and believe, as firmly as the inhabitants of these british islands did, two or three hundred years ago, in the existence of supernatural beings, good and bad. "if you have been blessed by a fairy," one of the elder men suggested, "doubtless you will go through this campaign without harm. they are very powerful, some of these good people, and can bestow long life as well as other gifts." "i don't know whether she will do that. she certainly gave me high spirits. i used to believe that what my mother said happened to her, the night after i was born, was not true, but only a dream. she solemnly declared that it was not, but i have always been famous for good spirits; and she may have been right, after all." there was nothing lisle liked better than being on night picket duty. other men shirked it, but to him there was something delightful to stand there almost alone, rifle in hand, watching the expanse of snow for a moving figure. there was a charm in the dead silence. he liked to think quietly of the past and, somehow, he could do so far better, while engaged on this duty, than when lying awake in his little tent. the expanse and stillness calmed him, and agreed far more with his mood than the camp. his sight was keen, even when his thoughts were farthest away and, three times, he sent a bullet through a lurking pathan who was crawling up towards him, astonishing his comrades by the accuracy of his aim. "i suppose," he said, when congratulated upon the third occasion on which he had laid one of the enemy low, "that the good fairy must have given me a quick eye, as well as good spirits." "it is indeed extraordinary that you, a young recruit, should not only make out a man whom none of us saw; but that you should, each time, fetch him down at a distance of three or four hundred yards." "i used to practice with my father's rifle," he said. "he was very fond of shikari, and i often went out with him. it needs a keener sight to put a bullet between the eyes of a tiger, than to hit a lurking pathan." so noted did he become for the accuracy of his aim that one of the native officers asked him, privately, if he would like to be always put on night duty. "i should like it every other night," he said. "by resting every alternate night, and by snatching a couple of hours' sleep before going on duty, when we arrive at the end of a day's march in good time, i can manage very well." "i will arrange that for you," the officer said. "certainly, no one would grudge you the duty." one night, when there had been but little opposition during the day, lisle was posted on a hill where the picket consisted of ten men; five of whom were on the crest, while the other five lay down in the snow. the day had been a hard one, and lisle was less watchful than usual. it seemed to him that he had not closed his eyes for a minute, as he leant on his rifle; but it must have been much longer, for he suddenly started with a feeling that something was wrong, and saw a number of dark figures advancing along the crest towards him. he at once fired a shot, and fell back upon the next sentry. dropping behind rocks, they answered the fire which the enemy had already opened upon them. the whole picket quickly gathered and, for a time, checked the advance of the enemy; but these were too numerous to be kept at a distance, and parties of them pressed forward on each flank. "we must retire till we can find better shelter," the sub-officer in command said. "we shall soon have reinforcements up from the camp, when it is seen that we are seriously engaged. fall back, men, steadily. take advantage of every bit of cover, but keep as well together as possible, without risk." firing steadily, they made their way down the hill, and finally took up a position among a clump of rocks. two had been shot dead, and two others were wounded; and it was because these could not be left behind that the stand was made. the two wounded men, though partially disabled and unable to crawl, could still use their rifles; and the little party kept up so hot a fire that, though the enemy were massed from twenty to thirty yards away, they could not be brought to unite in a general attack; not even by the shouts and yells of their comrades behind, and a furious beating of tom-toms. illustration: lisle gives the alarm. the defenders were all lying down, each of them having chosen a position where he could see through a crevice between the rocks. lisle was lying next to the sergeant. presently the latter gave an exclamation, fired his rifle, and shifted his position behind the rock. "mutteh ghar," he said, "i have seen you bring down three of the skulking ruffians. do you see those two there close together, about forty yards away? there is a man behind them who has just carried off two of my fingers. "keep your eye on those rocks. just above where they touch each other there is an opening, through which you can see the snow behind. that is where he fired from. oblige me by putting a ball in his head, when he raises it." a couple of minutes passed. lisle was lying with his rifle on the spot. presently the opening was obscured, and he fired at once. "thank you!" the sergeant said. "you got him, sure enough. the head did not disappear to one side or to the other, but went straight back. i fancy that you must have hit him between the eyes." presently the enemy's fire became still more furious and, several times, some of them rose and ran two paces forward, but only to fall prone under the defenders' fire. "i expect they see help coming up," lisle said, "and are making a last effort to wipe us out before they arrive. "i think they will try a rush," he continued, in a louder voice; "see that your magazines are filled up, lads, and don't waste a shot if they come at us." a minute later there was a shrill and prolonged cry and, at once, twenty dark figures burst from their shelter and rushed forward. the defenders also sprang to their feet, and their rifles flashed out with a stream of fire. but the vacancies thus caused in the enemy's ranks were immediately filled. "now with your bayonets," the sergeant shouted. "keep in a close body, and do you two wounded men cover us with a constant fire." then, with a cheer, the six men and the sergeant rushed forward. much as the afridis feared the bayonet, confident in their strength they withstood the charge. they had, fortunately, emptied their rifles before rushing forward but, drawing their knives, they fought fiercely. these, however, were no match for the bayonets and, consequently, they suffered heavily. three of the pioneers received severe gashes. the group were brought to a standstill, and they stood in a little circle while the attack continued. one sepoy was stabbed to the heart by a fanatic, who rushed at his bayonet and, pushing himself along, fell dead as he struck his fatal blow. things were looking very bad. scarce one had escaped without a wound, and the sergeant had dropped, bleeding profusely; when, to their delight, a volley burst from within fifty yards of them and, in an instant, their assailants turned and bolted. after the sergeant had dropped, lisle had somehow taken his place, cheering the men on and lending his aid to those most severely pressed. once or twice he managed, after despatching an assailant, to slip a couple of cartridges into his rifle, and so added to the execution. indeed, it was in no small account due to his exertions, after the sergeant fell, that the resistance was maintained. a minute later, the active little ghoorkhas rushed forward; and those who first arrived passed the little knot of defenders with a cheer, and set off in pursuit of the enemy. presently, however, one of their officers came up. "you have had a stiff fight, lads," he said, "and by the look of the ground round about, you must have defended yourselves gallantly; for there are a dozen dead bodies lying near you, and i can see many more, a little way up the hill. what have been your losses?" the sergeant raised himself on his elbow. "we had two killed, as we came down," he said, "and two others wounded. i believe one has fallen here, and i think most of us are wounded with knife thrusts." "well, you have done splendidly, sergeant. i will detach men to help to carry you and the wounded men down to the camp. the others can accompany them. we shall take up the work, now; but i am afraid we sha'n't have any fighting, though we may shoot down a few as they make off. i fancy, however, that the lesson you have given the beggars has taken all fight out of them." when half down the hill, they met a party of the pioneers coming out. the ghoorkhas at once handed the wounded over to them, and started up the hill again. the sergeant had fainted from loss of blood, and no questions were asked till the injured men were all placed in little hospital tents, and their wounds attended to. two of them had bullet wounds, and three had received knife wounds on the shoulder or arm. only lisle and one other escaped unhurt. as soon as the wounds had been attended to all, except the sergeant, and two more seriously wounded than the others, were sent off to their tents. one of these was lisle's tent fellow. he said: "mutteh ghar, i don't know what to say to you. you seem but a lad, and a light-hearted one; but you have proved yourself the best of us all. i was lying next to you, and i will swear that you brought down eight of them with your rifle, before they charged. even while i was fighting i always heard your voice, like a trumpet; and after the sergeant had fallen you seemed to take command, as if it was your right. you saved my life when you bayoneted two of the three who were grappling with me, and you seemed to be everywhere." "i did what little i could," lisle said. "i certainly did not intend to take the command, when the sergeant fell; but somehow i could not help shouting and, as our circle had closed in so, i slipped out of my place and fought wherever the pressure was greatest." "there is no doubt," the soldier said seriously, "that your mother's statement was a true one, and that a fairy did promise her to look after you. out of the eleven of us, only one besides yourself has escaped without a wound; and yet none of us exposed himself more than you did. i shall not forget that i owe my life to you. we must find some other name for you. you can't be called 'the boy' any longer." in the morning, one of the colonel's orderlies was told to fetch lisle. "the colonel wishes to see you, mutteh ghar." lisle put on his uniform with some uneasiness. he was conscious that, in the excitement of the fight of the night before, he had frequently shouted in english; and he feared that the sergeant had reported this. however, he marched to the spot where the colonel and a group of officers were standing, and then stood at attention. "mutteh ghar," the colonel said, "the sergeant this morning made his report; and he states that, though all his men behaved admirably, you distinguished yourself in a singular manner. he says that before the final attack began you had killed eight or ten of the pathans, that you were fighting beside him when he was wounded, and that you then seemed to take the command. although lying on the ground, he was able to see what was going on; and he says that but for your cheers, and for the manner in which you went to the assistance of men hard pressed, he is convinced that the whole detachment would have been killed before the ghoorkhas arrived." "i had no idea of assuming the command, sir; but my tongue always runs fast, and i dare say i did shout, almost unconsciously. i think the sergeant has made more of my doings than i deserved." "i don't think it likely. it is no small thing for so young a soldier to so distinguish himself. the sergeant will not be able to resume his duties for some time, and i therefore appoint you a corporal; and shall put your name in orders, today, for very distinguished service. how long is it since you joined the regiment?" "a short time before we marched." "well, you have done honour to the corps and, in the name of myself and my officers, i thank you." lisle saluted, and returned to the lines. "the colonel has made me a corporal," he answered, as the others gathered round and questioned him. a cheer burst from them, for his tent companion, and the other men who had returned, had all spoken in the highest terms of his conduct. lisle was quite confused by the heartiness of their reception. "he is a wonderfully young fellow," the colonel said, as he left them. "the sergeant said that he was young, but really he looks little more than a boy. curiously, his face reminds me of someone, though i cannot say whom; and yet, if he only joined a short time before we marched, it is not likely that i should have noticed him before." "it was the same thing with me, colonel," the major said. "i have noticed him several times on the march and, while the rest of the regiment were plodding on in silence, he always seemed the centre of a merry group. i have often said, to myself, i wished we had a few more men in the regiment who could take the hardships they had to undergo as lightly and as merrily as he does. his face has also struck me as being somehow familiar. "i was speaking to the sergeant about him, and he said that he was the most popular man in his company, and a general favourite. his temperament is altogether different from that of the majority of our soldiers, which is earnest and quiet." two or three of the other officers also spoke of noticing the cheerful influence he seemed to have on the men. "i must have a talk with him," the colonel said, "after the campaign is over, and find out something about it. it is quite evident that his pluck is as great as his cheerfulness, and it is certainly very extraordinary that a young and recently-joined soldier should have such an influence with men many years older than himself. if i am not mistaken, we shall find him in the ranks of the native officers, before long. considering his age, and what he has already done, he may well hope some day, if he escapes being killed, to be risaldar major of the regiment. "i should almost fancy that he must be the son of some native of good family, but without influence to secure him a post as officer; and that he has run away to endeavour to fight his way up to a commission." henceforth lisle stood in high regard among his comrades, and was known as the 'fighting boy' in the regiment. he himself was always ready to answer to any name by which he was addressed. he had no desire to push himself forward to any prominence among them, or of thinking himself any way above his comrades; but naturally he was pleased at finding himself generally liked. he had come to see the fighting, and take part in it, and had no thought of distinguishing himself especially; as he intended to leave the regiment as soon as the campaign was over, and carry out the plan which his father had formed for him. he feared to excite the jealousy of his comrades and, though there were no signs of this, he felt that his promotion caused some difference in the manner of other men towards him. this was so marked, indeed, that he could not help thinking that the men by whose side he had fought had reported to their comrades that, in the heat of the fight, he had several times shouted in english; and that there were general suspicions as to his identity. as long as this was not communicated to the officers it did not matter; and indeed this was not likely for, if the feeling was noticed by the native officers, it would soon come to the ears of gholam singh, who would at once order the men to keep silence concerning it. gradually his nickname changed, and he became known among the sepoys of the regiment as the "young sahib." he protested against it, but in vain. it was not, however, without its advantages. at the end of a long march, the men who had brought in firewood always handed him some. men would offer to clean his rifle, cook his dinner, and do other little offices for him. he would, however, never accept these kind offers. "why do they call you sahib?" one of the english officers asked him, when he heard him so addressed. "i do not know," he answered. "it is a silly joke of the men. i have protested against it, without success. if they chose to call me 'colonel,' i could not help it. i suppose it is because they see that i am, like the white officers, always cheerful and good tempered. there is certainly no other reason that i know of." "the regiment have taken to call mutteh ghar 'the young sahib,'" the officer reported, at mess that day. "i asked him about it, and he says no doubt it is because he is, like us, always good tempered and cheerful." "he is certainly very unlike the others," the major said. "i have no doubt the men consider it a great compliment, to him, to call him so." "do you know, colonel," one of the subalterns said, "the idea has struck me that he may be young bullen, who may have joined the regiment surreptitiously, instead of going down to calcutta." there was silence among the others. "it can hardly be that, macdonald," the colonel said, "though it is certainly curious that we seemed to feel that we knew his face, when he came up before us. the young scamp could never have played such an audacious trick upon us." "i don't know, colonel," the major said, "he is just the sort of lad that would try such a scheme. i know i have twice seen him talking with my butler; who was, as you know, captain bullen's servant." "well, it may possibly be so," the colonel said, "but at any rate it is only suspicion, and we had better leave the matter as it stands. if it is young bullen, i don't know that he has done a bad thing for himself. if he goes on as he has begun, his experience will go a long way towards getting him a commission; and he will be a great deal better off than if he were grinding up for two years in england. such a strong recommendation as i could give him would be of great value to him and, moreover, he has a claim on the ground that his father was killed on service. "at any rate, we must take no action, whatever, at present. it is no slight thing he has done; that is, if it be he. few of us would care to go through this campaign as sepoys--their work is terribly hard, poor fellows--to say nothing of the unpleasantness of having to live among the natives. i certainly shall consider that he has well earned a commission, if he comes through the campaign." "but he is too young for one," the major said. "i should not think it necessary to mention his age, in recommending him," the colonel said. "we know that he is doing a man's work, manfully. he has earned, as you say, the general liking of the men; and is a deal better fitted for a commission than half the fellows they send out to us. "well, we may all be mistaken, and he may only be a brave young fellow of good ancestry; so we will think no more of it, at present, and we will wait to see how things turn out, before showing any signs of our suspicions." now, however, that the idea had been mooted, the officers, as they went up and down the line, looked closer at lisle than they had hitherto done; and all agreed that, in spite of his uniform and his colour, he was captain bullen's son. ignorant of their suspicions, lisle carried out his work, as usual, as a sub-officer. he shared the shelter tents of the men, and performed his duties regularly. he still carried a rifle; and indeed, if this had not been the rule he would not have accepted his promotion, as he preferred fighting with a weapon to which he was accustomed. his work during the day was but little changed. when the regiment was marching in a column, four abreast, he had his appointed place by the side of it and, when they arrived in camp, it was part of his duty to see that the little tents were all pitched, rations distributed, kits handed over, and the men made as comfortable as possible. no sub-officer was obeyed with greater alacrity and, when he returned from his picket in the early morning, he always found his ration ready cooked for him. it was impossible for him to help feeling pleased at these signs of the liking of the men, and he redoubled his efforts to cheer them on the line of march; and to aid any men who seemed unable to climb up through the snow, by carrying their rifles and ammunition pouches for them. he had long since grown accustomed to carrying weights, and was able to keep up with the most seasoned marchers. on two or three occasions gholam singh was able to report favourably of his conduct, in thus relieving men of their arms. the colonel always took these communications in the ordinary way. "there is no doubt," he said, when the conversation turned on the subject, "that gholam singh must have been an accessory to young bullen's plot. i have been looking up the list of the deceased sepoys, and i find that a recruit of the same name died, two days before we marched. in some way young bullen, if it is really the boy, contrived to take the dead man's place and name. this could have been very well done, without any of us knowing. none of us were familiar with the dead man's appearance, and gholam singh, and some of the other native officers, must have arranged that he should take his place. if this has been the case i shall, of course, be obliged to speak sharply to the risaldar major; but in reality i shall not be very angry with him, for he will certainly have done young bullen a good turn." "i am sure it is bullen," one of the officers said, "for when i came up suddenly behind him, today, i heard him whistling an english tune. of course, it may have been played by the band when we were in camp, but whistling is not a common punjabi accomplishment, and i don't know that i ever heard native boys whistle before. he stopped directly i came up, but i could make no mistake about the tune; for i hung behind a little, and was amused at seeing the men marching by him trying to keep step, while they were over their knees in snow. i caught a grin on their faces at their failure, though they looked as grave as usual when they saw me." "well, we must let things go on as they are," the colonel said, "until we get to chitral. then we will have him up, and get to the bottom of the affair. if it turns out to be bullen, he must at once leave the ranks and join us again. i shall then have to ask for a commission for him, and give him temporary rank as junior lieutenant, until an answer to my recommendation arrives. even if it is not bullen, it may be--unlikely as it seems--some other englishman; but in any case, we could not allow an englishman to be in the ranks." "i don't think there is any doubt about it, colonel," the major said. "i have had a good look at him, several times, and could almost swear to his identity, well as he is got up." lisle pursued the regular course of his work, in happy unconsciousness that any suspicion as to his identity entered the minds of his officers. his spirits were now not forced; the fatiguing marches, the night pickets, and the pressure of his duty so occupied his thoughts that he had little time to dwell upon his loss. it was now three months since his father had died, and yet it seemed to him in the far distance, so much had happened since. occasionally he thought with disgust that, when this was all over, he must return to england to the uncle he had never seen, and become a schoolboy, spending his days in study; and perhaps, in the end, fail to pass his examination. he would be a stranger amongst strangers. he could not expect that his uncle should feel any particular interest in a lad he had never before seen, and he drew pictures to himself of the long, friendless interval before, even at the best, he could again don a uniform. but upon such thoughts he did not allow himself to dwell. it had to be done, and he would, he supposed, get through it all right. he might find friends among the fellows at the same crammer's. at any rate, three years would soon pass, and he must make the best of it. "i suppose the crammer will be in london," he said. "everything there will be new to me and, no doubt, i shall find it very interesting. they say that it is an immense place, to which even the biggest indian city is but a mere trifle. it will be curious to see everyone in dark clothes, with none of the gay colouring of india. "father often said that the pleasantest time of his life was the years he spent in england, while he was cramming for his exam. there were theatres, and all sorts of other places of amusement. he had the best of companions and, after they had finished their work, they were at liberty to do pretty nearly whatever they liked. "i think i shall get my uncle to send me to the same crammer as father went to, if he is still alive. i put down his address once, in my pocketbook, and shall be able to find it again when i get down to calcutta, and recover my traps. "well, i need not worry myself by thinking of it, now. it will all come some day, and i dare say i shall find it pleasant enough, when i once get accustomed to it." such thoughts often passed through his mind at night for, during the day, he had not a minute to himself. he was almost sure, now, that the men had discovered his identity, by the many little marks of kindness they had shown him, and by the manner in which his fellow sub-officers always spoke to him with a certain air of respect. this, however, did not worry him. he felt certain that they would keep the secret; and at the end of the campaign he must, of course, disclose himself and obtain his discharge. until then, no one would have time to think much of the matter, still less find any opportunity of reporting it to colonel kelly. he wondered how the colonel would take it, when he went up to say who he was. he did not think he would be very seriously angry, though probably he would wig him sharply. at any rate he had not done badly, and had brought no discredit to the regiment. he had unconsciously adopted the regimental belief that he was a lucky man, and should get through the campaign unhurt. he was particularly anxious that he should do so as, were he confined in hospital for a few days, he would have no opportunity of renewing his stain; in which case he would undoubtedly be detected. they had advanced so far now, however, that even if he were discovered, they could hardly send him back before he got to chitral. he might, of course, be detained at reshun, which would be a horrible nuisance. one night his camp mate said to him: "you ought to be with the officers, bullen sahib. it is not right for you to be working as we do." "why do you call me bullen sahib, pertusal?" "everyone knows it, sahib. little by little we nave found you out. we had some suspicions from the first, but now we are sure of it. only your father's son would have fought as you did on the hill and, when we came to look very closely at you, we all recognized you, in spite of your dye." "then i wish i hadn't fought quite so hard, pertusal, for i had hoped that i had altogether escaped recognition. i thought that i could have gone through the campaign without anyone suspecting who i was." "we did not suspect at first, sahib. we quite took you for one of ourselves. no, the cheerfulness with which you bore your hardships, and your readiness to assist anyone, surprised us. you were so different from us all that we could not help wondering who you were; but i don't think any of us really suspected that you were captain bullen's son, till that fight. i know that when i was busy fighting, sorely pushed as we were, i wondered when i heard you shout in english; and i had heard you call out so often, when you were playing cricket with the officers, that i recognized your voice at once. "then the wonder that we felt about you ceased. it seemed for a moment impossible, for i had seen you go off with the sick convoy. then it seemed to me that it was just the thing that captain bullen's son might be expected to do. you would naturally want to see fighting, but i did wonder how you managed to come back and get enlisted into the regiment. i remember, now, that i wondered a little the first night you joined. you were in uniform and, as a rule, recruits don't go into uniform for some time after they have joined. it was therefore remarkable that you should turn up in uniform, rifle and all." "it was the uniform of the original mutteh ghar," lisle said. "my servant had managed to get it; and the story that i was the man's cousin, and was therefore permitted to take his place, was natural enough to pass." "but some of our officers must have helped you, sahib?" "well, i won't say anything about that. i did manage to join in the way i wanted, and you and your comrade were both very kind to me." "that was natural enough, sahib. you were a young recruit, and we understood that you were put with us two old soldiers in order that we might teach you your duty. it was not long, however, before we found that there was very little teaching necessary for, at the end of a week, you knew your work as well as any man in the regiment. we thought you a wonder, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves. "now that we know who you are, all the regiment is proud that your father's son has come among us, and shared our lot down to the smallest detail. i noticed that you were rather clumsy with your cooking, but even in that respect you soon learned how things should be done. "i suppose, sahib, we shall lose you at the end of the campaign?" "yes; i shall have to start for england, at once; for in order to gain a commission, i must study hard for two or three years. of course, i shall then have to declare myself to the officers, in order to get my discharge. i am afraid that the colonel will be very angry, but i cannot help that. i am quite sure, however, that he will let me go, as soon as he knows who i am. it will be rather fun to see the surprise of the officers." "i don't think the colonel will be angry, sahib. he might have been, if you had not done so well; but as it is, he cannot but be pleased that captain bullen's son should have so distinguished himself, even in the nd pioneers, who have the reputation of being one of the best fighting regiments in all india." "well, i hope so, pertusal. at any rate, i am extremely glad i came. i have seen what fighting is, and that under the most severe conditions. i have proved to myself that i can bear hardships without flinching; and i shall certainly be proud, all my life, that i have been one in the column for the relief of chitral--that is to say, if we are the first." "we shall be the first," the soldier said, positively. "it is hard work enough getting our baggage over the passes; but it will be harder still for the peshawar force, encumbered with such a train as they will have to take with them. "ah! sahib, if only our food were so condensed that we could carry a supply for twelve days about us, what would we not be able to do? we could rout the fiercest tribe on the frontier, without difficulty. we could march about fifteen or twenty miles a day, and more than that, if necessary. we could do wonders, indeed." "i am afraid we shall never discover that," lisle said. "the german soldiers do indeed carry condensed meat in sausages, and can take three or four days' supplies with them; but we have not yet discovered anything like food of which men could carry twelve days' supply. we may some day be able to do it but, even if it weighed but a pound a day, it would add heavily to the load to be carried." "no one would mind that," pertusal said. "think what a comfort it would be, if we could make our breakfast before starting, eat a little in the middle of the day, and be sure of supper directly we got into camp; instead of having to wait hours and hours, and perhaps till the next morning, before the baggage train arrived. i would willingly carry double my present load, if i felt sure that i would gain that advantage. i know that the officers have tins of condensed milk, one of which can make more than a gallon; and that they carry cocoa, and other things, of which a little goes a long way. now, if they could condense rice and ghee like that, we should be able to carry all that is necessary with us for twelve days. mutton we could always get on a campaign, for the enemy's flocks are at our disposal; and it must be a bare place, indeed, where we could not find enough meat to keep us going. it is against our religion to eat beef, but few of us would hesitate to do so, on a campaign; and oxen are even more common than sheep. "it is very little baggage we should have to take with us, then. twenty ponies would carry sufficient for the regiment; and if government did but buy us good mules, we could always rely upon getting them into camp before dark. see what an advantage that would be! ten men would do for the escort; whereas, at present, a hundred is not sufficient." "well, i wish it could be so," lisle said. "but although some articles of food might be compressed, i don't think we should ever be able to compress rice or ghee. a handful of rice, when it is boiled, makes enough for a meal; and i don't imagine that it could possibly be condensed more than that." "well, it is getting late, and we march at daylight. fortunately we have not to undress, but have only to turn in as we are." chapter : in the passes the march after leaving dahimol was a short one. here they were met by the governor of the upper parts of the valley, and he gave them very useful details of the state of parties in chitral, and of the roads they would have to follow. he accompanied the force on the next day's march, and billeted all the troops in the villages; for which they were thankful enough, for they were now getting pretty high up in the hills, and the nights were decidedly cold. they were now crossing a serious pass, and had reached the snow line; and the troops put on the goggles they had brought with them to protect their eyes from the dazzling glare of the snow. at two o'clock they reached the post at ghizr, which was held by a body of kashmir sappers and miners. the place had been fortified, and surrounded by a strong zereba. the troops were billeted in the neighbouring houses, and they halted for a day, in order to allow the second detachment of the pioneers and the guns to come up. here, also, they were joined by a hundred men of the native levies. when they prepared for the start, the next morning, they found that a hundred of the coolies had bolted during the night. two officers were despatched to find and fetch them back. fifty were fortunately discovered, in a village not far off, and with these and some country ponies the force started. they passed up the valley and came upon a narrow plain. here the snow was waist deep, and the men were forced to move in single file, the leaders changing places every hundred yards or so. at last they came to a stop. the gun mules sank to their girths in the snow and, even then, were unable to obtain a footing. men were sent out to try the depth of the snow on both sides of the valley, but they found no improvement. obviously it was absolutely impossible for the mules and ponies to get farther over the snow, in its present state. it was already three o'clock in the afternoon, and only eight miles had been covered. the force therefore retired to the last village in the valley. two hundred pioneers under borradaile, the sappers, and the hunza levies were left here, with all the coolie transport. borradaile's orders were to force his way across the pass, next day; and entrench himself at laspur, the first village on the other side. he was then to send back the coolies, in order that the remainder of the force might follow. with immense trouble and difficulty, the kits of the party that were to proceed were sorted out from the rest, the ammunition was divided and, at seven o'clock, the troops who were to return to ghizr started on their cold march. they reached their destination after having been on foot some fifteen hours. lisle was with the advance party. they were all told off to houses in the little village. fires were lighted and the weary men cooked their food and, huddling close together, and keeping the fires alight, slept in some sort of comfort. next morning at daybreak they turned out and found, to their disgust, that the snow was coming down heavily, and that the difficulties would be even greater than on the previous day. borradaile therefore sent back one of the levies, with a letter saying that it was impossible to advance; but that if the sky cleared, he would start on the following morning. the kashmir troops at ghizr volunteered to go forward, and make a rush through the snow; and stewart and his lieutenant, gough, set out with fifty of them, taking with them half a dozen sledges that had been made out of boxes. on arriving at tern, stewart found fodder enough for the mules, and begged that the guns might be sent up. borradaile had started early; and stewart with the fifty kashmir troops followed, staggering along dragging the guns and ammunition. the snow had ceased, but there was a bitter wind, and the glare from the newly-fallen snow was terrible. the guns, wheels, and ammunition had been told off to different squads, who were relieved every fifty yards. in spite of the cold, the men were pouring with perspiration. at one point in the march a stream had to be crossed. this was done only with great difficulty, and the rear guard did not reach the camping ground, at the mouth of the shandur pass, until eleven at night; and even then the guns had to be left a mile behind. then the weary men had to cut fuel to light fires. many of them were too exhausted to attempt to cook food, and at once went to sleep round the fires. early the next morning, the pioneers and levies started to cross the pass. the kashmir men brought up the guns into camp but, though the distance was short, the work took them the best part of the day. the march was not more than ten miles; but borradaile's party, though they left langar at daylight, did not reach laspur till seven o'clock at night. the slope over the pass was a gradual one, and it was the depth of the snow, alone, that caused so much delay. the men suffered greatly from thirst, but refused to eat the snow, having a fixed belief that, if they did so, it would bring on violent illness. on arriving at the top of the pass, the hunza levies skirmished ahead. so unexpected was their arrival that the inhabitants of the village were all caught and, naturally, they expressed their extreme delight at this visit, and said that they would be glad to help us in any way. they were taken at their word, and sent back to bring up the guns. their surprise was not feigned, for the chitralis were convinced that it would be impossible to cross the pass, and letters were found stating that the british force was lying at ghizr. the feat, indeed, was a splendid one. some two hundred and fifty men, hindoos and mussulmans had, at the worst time of the year, brought two mountain guns, with their carriages and ammunition, across a pass which was blocked for some twenty miles by deep, soft snow; at the same time carrying their own rifles, eighty rounds of ammunition, and heavy sheepskin coats. they had slept for two nights on the snow and, from dawn till dark, had been at work to the waist at every step, suffering acutely from the blinding glare and the bitter wind. stewart and gough had both taken their turns in carrying the guns, and both gave their snow glasses to sepoys who were without them. borradaile's first step was to put the place in a state of defence, and collect supplies and coolies. in the evening the guns were brought in by the kashmir troops, who were loudly cheered by the pioneers. lisle had borne his share in the hardships and had done so bravely, making light of the difficulties and cheering his comrades by his jokes. he had escaped the thirst which had been felt by so many, and was one of those who volunteered to assist in erecting defences, on the evening of their arrival at laspur. at two o'clock the next day, the rest of the force came into camp. a reconnoitring party went out and, three miles ahead, came upon the campfires of the enemy. they were seen, three miles farther down the valley, engaged in building sangars; but as the force consisted of only one hundred and fifty men, it was not thought advisable to attack, and the troops consequently returned to camp. the next day was spent in making all the arrangements for the advance. messengers were sent out to all the villages, calling on the men to come in and make their submission. this they did, at the same time bringing in supplies and, by night, a sufficient number of native coolies had been secured to carry all the baggage, including ammunition and guns. a native chief came in with a levy of ninety native coolies. these were found most valuable, both in the work and in obtaining information. from their knowledge of the habits of the people, they were able to discover where the natives had hidden their supplies; which was generally in the most unlikely places. the reconnoitring party had found that, some six miles on, the snow ceased; and all looked forward with delight to the change. a small garrison of about a hundred, principally levies, were left at laspur; with instructions to come on when the second party arrived. the main force started at nine o'clock. at rahman the snow was left behind. here they learned that the enemy would certainly fight, between the next village and mastuj. lieutenant beynon went on with a party of levies and gained a hill, from which he could view the whole of the enemy's position. here he could, with the aid of his glasses, count the men in each sangar, and make out the paths leading up the cliffs from the river. when he had concluded his observations, he returned and reported to colonel kelly; and orders were issued for the attack, the next day. the levies were expected to join the next morning. they were to advance with a guide, and turn out the enemy from the top of a dangerous shoot; from which they would be enabled to hurl down rocks upon the main body, as it advanced. beynon was to start, at six, to work through the hills to the right rear of the enemy's position. the main body were to move forward at nine o'clock. beynon encountered enormous difficulties and, in many places, he and his men had to go on all fours to get along. he succeeded, however, in driving off the enemy; who occupied a number of sangars on the hills, and who could have greatly harassed the main body by rolling down rocks upon them. the enemy's principal position consisted of sangars blocking the roads to the river, up to a fan-shaped alluvial piece of ground. the road led across this ground to the foot of a steep shoot, within five hundred yards of sangars on the opposite side of the river and, as it was totally devoid of any sort of shelter, it could be swept by avalanches of stones, by a few men placed on the heights for the purpose. when the troops arrived within eight hundred yards, volley firing was opened; and the guns threw shells on the sangar on the extreme right of the enemy's position. the enemy were soon seen leaving it, and the fire was then directed on the next place, with the same result. meanwhile beynon had driven down those of the enemy who were posted on the hill; and general panic set in, the guns pouring shrapnel into them until they were beyond range. the action was over in an hour after the firing of the first shot. the losses on our side were only one man severely, and three slightly wounded. after a short rest, the force again proceeded, and halted at a small village a mile and a half in advance. a ford was found, and the column again started. presently they met a portion of the garrison who, finding the besieging force moving away, came out to see the reason. in the meantime, the baggage column was being fiercely attacked; and an officer rode up, with the order that the th company were to go back to their assistance. the company was standing in reserve, eager to go forward to join in the fight and, without delay, they now went off at the double. they were badly wanted. the baggage was struggling up the last kotal that the troops had passed, and the rear guard were engaged in a fierce fight with a great number of the enemy; some of whom were posted on a rise, while others came down so boldly that the struggle was sometimes hand to hand. when the th company reached the scene, they were at once scattered along the line of baggage. for a time the enemy fell back but, seeing that the reinforcement was not a strong one, they were emboldened to attack again. their assaults were repulsed with loss, but the column suffered severely from the fire on the heights. "we must stop here," the officer in command said, "or we shall not get the baggage through before nightfall; and then they would have us pretty well at their mercy. the punjabis must go up and clear the enemy off the hill, till the baggage has got through." the punjabis were soon gathered and, led by an english officer, they advanced up the hill at a running pace, until they came to a point so precipitous that they were sheltered from the enemy's fire. here they were halted for a couple of minutes to gain breath, and then the order was given to climb the precipitous hill, which was some seventy feet high. it was desperate work, for there were points so steep that the men were obliged to help each other up. happily they were in shelter until they got to within twenty feet of its summit, the intervening distance being a steep slope. at this point they waited until the whole party had come up; and then, with a cheer, dashed up the slope. the effect was instantaneous. the enemy, though outnumbering them by five to one, could not for a moment withstand the line of glittering bayonets; and fled precipitately, receiving volley after volley from the pioneers. as the situation was commanded by still higher slopes, the men were at once ordered to form a breastwork, from the stones that were lying about thickly. after a quarter of an hour's severe work, this was raised to a height of three feet, which was sufficient to enable the men to lie down in safety. by the time the work was done, the enemy were again firing heavily, at a distance of four hundred yards, their bullets pattering against the stones. the punjabis, however, did not return the fire but, turning round, directed their attention to the enemy on the other side of the valley, who were also in considerable force. illustration: he carefully aimed and fired. "here!" the officer said to lisle, "do you think you can pick off that fellow in the white burnoose? he is evidently an important leader, and it is through his efforts that the enemy continues to make such fierce attacks." "i will try, sir," lisle replied in punjabi; "but i take it that the range must be from nine hundred to a thousand yards, which is a long distance for a shot at a single man." lying down at full length, he carefully aimed and fired. the officer was watching through his field glass. "that was a good shot," he said. "you missed the man, but you killed a fellow closely following him. lower your back sight a trifle, and try again." the next shot also missed, but the third was correctly aimed, and the pathan dropped to the ground. some of his men at once carried off his body. his fall created much dismay; and as, at that moment, the whole of the punjabis began to pepper his followers with volley firing, they lost heart and quickly retired up the hill. "put up your sights to twelve hundred yards," the officer said. "you must drive them higher up, if you can; for they do us as much harm, firing from there, as they would lower down. fire independently. don't hurry, but take good aim. "that was a fine shot of yours, mutteh ghar," he said to lisle, by whose side he was still standing; for they had gone so far down the slope that they were sheltered from the fire behind. "but for his fall, the baggage guard would have had to fight hard, for he was evidently inciting his men to make a combined rush. his fall, however, took the steam out of them altogether. how came you to be such a good shot?" "my father was fond of shooting," lisle said, "and i used often to go out with him." "well, you benefited by his teaching, anyhow," the officer said. "i doubt if there is any man in the regiment who could have picked off that fellow, at such a distance, in three shots. that has really been the turning point of the day. "see, the baggage is moving on again. in another hour they will be all through. "now, lads, turn your attention to those fellows on the hill behind. as we have not been firing at them for some time, they will probably think we are short of ammunition. let us show them that our pouches are still pretty full! we must drive them farther away for, if we do not, we shall get it hot when we go down to join the rear guard. begin with a volley, and then continue with independent firing, at four hundred yards." the tribesmen were standing up against the skyline. "now, be careful. at this distance, everyone ought to bring down his man." although that was not accomplished, a number of men were seen to fall, and the rest retired out of sight. presently heads appeared, as the more resolute crawled back to the edge of the crest; and a regular duel now ensued. four hundred yards is a short range with a martini rifle, and it was not long before the punjabis proved that they were at least as good shots as the tribesmen. they had the advantage, too, of the breastwork behind which to load, and had only to lift their heads to fire; whereas the pathans were obliged to load as they lay. presently the firing ceased, but the many black heads dotting the edge of the crest testified to the accurate aim of the troops. the tribesmen, seeing that their friends on the other side of the valley had withdrawn, and finding that their own fire did not avail to drive their assailants back, had at last moved off. for half an hour the pioneers lay, watching the progress of the baggage and, when the last animal was seen to pass, they retired, taking up their position behind the rear guard. the column arrived in camp just as night fell. "that young bullen can shoot," the officer who commanded the company said, that evening, as the officers gathered round their fire. "when, as i told you, we had driven off the fellows on the right of the valley, things were looking bad on the left, where a chief in a white burnoose was working up a strong force to make a rush. i put young bullen on to pick him off. the range was about nine hundred and fifty yards. his first shot went behind the chief. i did not see where the next shot struck, but i have no doubt it was close to him. anyhow, the third rolled him over. i call that splendid shooting, especially as it was from a height, which makes it much more difficult to judge distance. "the chief's fall took all the pluck out of the tribesmen and, as we opened upon them in volleys, they soon went to the right about. we peppered them all the way up the hill and, as i could see from my glasses, killed a good many of them. however, it took all the fight out of them, and they made no fresh attempt to harass the column." "the young fellow was a first-rate shot," the colonel said. "if you remember he carried off several prizes, and certainly shot better than most of us; though there were one or two of the men who were his match. you did not speak to him in english, i hope, villiers?" "no, no, colonel. you said that he was to go on as if we did not know him, till we reached chitral; and of course spoke to him in punjabi. "one thing is certain: if he had not brought down that chief, the enemy would have been among the baggage in a minute or two; so his shot was really the turning point of the fight." "i will make him a present of twenty rupees, in the morning," the colonel said. "that is what i should have given to any sepoy who made so useful a shot, and it will be rather fun to see how he takes it." "you will see he will take it without winking," the major said. "he will know very well that any hesitation would be noticed, and he will take it as calmly as if he were a native." accordingly the next morning, as the regiment fell in, the colonel called lisle out from the ranks. "mutteh ghar," he said, "lieutenant villiers reports that you did great service, yesterday, in picking off the leader of the pathans who were attacking the column from the left. here are twenty rupees, as a token of my satisfaction." lisle did not hesitate for a moment, but took off his turban, and held it out for the colonel to drop the money into it; murmuring his thanks as he did so. then he put on his turban again, saluted, and retired. "i told you he would not hesitate, colonel," the major laughed. "the young beggar was as cool as a cucumber, and i doubt if we should catch him napping, however much we tried." "he is a fine young fellow, major, and will make a splendid officer. i shall be disappointed, indeed, if i fail to get him a commission." "i don't think you are likely to fail, colonel. the young fellow has really distinguished himself greatly. even without that, the fact that he enlisted to go through the campaign, and took his share with the troops both in their fighting and their hardships, would show that he really deserved a commission; even putting aside the fact of his father's death. it would be a thousand pities if such a promising young fellow should have to waste the next three years of his life, cramming up classics and mathematics. it would be like putting a young thoroughbred into a cart." "that is so," the colonel said; "but there is no answering for the war office, or saying what view they may take of any given subject. however, if we get first to chitral, as i feel sure we shall do, i suppose i shall be in high favour; and they won't like to refuse so small a request, backed as it is by the facts of the case." at half-past five the force marched into mastuj, and found the garrison comfortably settled there, and well fed. the fort was a square building, with a tower at each corner and at the gateway. late in the evening the baggage came in. the enemy had made no serious attack upon the place; and moberley, who was in command, had even been able to send a force to buni, whence they brought off jones and the survivors of ross's force. the next day a fatigue party were sent out to destroy the enemy's sangars and, on the same day, the remaining half of the pioneers came up. the day was spent by those in the fort in examining the state of supplies; and despatching messengers to all the villages round ordering them to send in supplies, and coolies to carry the baggage. on the morning of the st of april, beynon was sent on to reconnoitre the enemy's position; and returned with the report that it was a strong one. they had got very close to it, and had a fair view of the position. next morning the force started, the levies being ahead. it was a fine, bright morning. they crossed the river on a bridge built by the sappers. when they reached the maidan, they found that it was a gentle, grassy slope. the levies were in advance, with two companies in the firing line, two in support, and the kashmir company in reserve, in this order they pushed on, until they came under the fire of the sangars. stewart brought his guns into action. after a time, the fire of the levies drove the enemy from the nearest sangar; while three of the pioneer companies paid attention to another sangar. beynon was sent on, to find some way down into the valley. he found no path leading to the nullah. the drop from the edge was sheer, for some seventy feet; then came a ledge from which he thought they could scramble down to the edge of the stream, and thence to the opposite side, where he noticed a track. with this information, he went back to report to colonel kelly. the sappers were brought up and, also, a reserve company of kashmir troops. when beynon got back to the nullah, he found the pioneers extended along the edge, and oldham's sappers already at work. these, aided by ropes and scaling ladders, got down to the ledge; and from this point they and oldham slung themselves down to the bed of the stream, by the same means. a few sappers had followed, when a box of dynamite exploded with a violent detonation, and the rest of the company were called back. lisle happened to be stationed at the point where the descent was made, and when the explosion took place he seized the rope and, sliding down, joined the two officers and the eleven sappers who had passed. they scrambled to the opposite side, and saw that the pioneers were moving down the nullah towards the river, while the levies were nearing the sangars. the enemy were seen bolting, and the little party opened fire upon them. the sappers were armed only with carbines, which were uncertain at so long a range; but lisle, with his rifle, brought down an enemy at every shot. "that is a good one," he muttered, as a mounted officer at whom he had aimed fell from his horse. he was startled when the man behind him said: "hillo, young fellow, who on earth are you? "i will tell you after it is done, sir," lisle said. "but i hope you will keep my secret." some of the levies and a few pioneers now came up, and they learned what had been the cause of the explosion. the kashmir company had not followed and, as the sappers were at work, they had laid down cakes of dynamite at the head of the pass. one of the enemy's bullets striking these had ignited them, and the troops there were called upon to retire. the enemy, seeing our men falling back, rushed out of their sangars and opened fire; but were speedily driven in again by volleys from the pioneers. just then the levies showed on the ridge, and the pioneers moved down the nullah, by a goat track they had found. the battle was now over, and a company of pioneers were sent ahead to the next village, while the rest of the force encamped. when all were settled down, lisle saw lieutenant moberley walking along the lines of the regiment, and evidently looking for someone. lisle hesitated a minute. if he remained quiet he might not be recognized by the officer, but in that case the latter might report what he had heard, and an investigation might be made. he therefore went forward to the officer. "ah!" the latter said, "you are the man i heard speak in english." "it was very foolish, sir, but i had no idea that i should be overheard." "well, who are you, and how in the world is it that you are a private in the pioneers?" "my father was captain bullen, who was killed in a native raid. i remained with the regiment for a time, because there was no opportunity of my being sent home. i wanted to see the campaign, so i took the place of a sepoy who had died and, as i speak the language perfectly, it has never been suspected that i was anything but what i seem." "well, lad, i will keep your secret for a time, but when we get to chitral i think it will be my duty to tell the colonel; especially as i shall report that you were with me, and behaved with the greatest coolness, accounting for at least eight of the enemy. the campaign will be over, then, for we know that the peshawar column are also near chitral, so that there will be no chance of further fighting. "i don't suppose you will be sent home. you have shown yourself a man, and i have no doubt that colonel kelly will make some mention in his report of your conduct, and strongly recommend you for a commission. in the circumstances, i should think it would be granted." "thank you indeed, sir! i am very comfortable as i am." "how old are you? "i am nearly sixteen, sir." "well, it won't be necessary to report that, for the people at home would consider you too young. i am sure you deserve a commission for the pluck you showed, in taking your place as a private among the natives. your knowledge of the language, too, will be an argument in your favour. "how was it that you joined our little party?" "i acted on the impulse of the moment. i happened to be at the spot when your party were going down, and i saw that you would soon be in the thick of it, while we were only firing. i was just thinking about it, when there was a great burst of flame behind me. i did not know what it was, but that decided me. i caught hold of the rope and slipped down. "thank you very much for your promise, sir," and, saluting, lisle drew back to his comrades. "what was he saying to you?" one asked. "he was asking how it was that i came to be among his party; and when i explained how it was that i left my place, he seemed perfectly satisfied; so i don't expect i shall hear anything more about it." on the first day's march they came upon a deserted fort, where enough grain was discovered to last the force for months. enough flour was also found to give a shovelful to each of the coolies; who were highly gratified, for most of them were altogether without food. the remainder of the flour was distributed among the sepoys, and as much grain was taken as carriage could be found for. the next day's march was through a cultivated country. six more marches took them to chitral. they met with no opposition whatever, and their greatest trouble was in crossing rivers, the bridges having been destroyed. when within a day's march from chitral, they met a man bearing letters from the town. it was from mr. robertson, saying that sher afzul had fled on the night of the th of april; and that on that night the siege was raised. it also contained a list of the casualties, to be forwarded to england; the number being a hundred and four killed and wounded, out of one thousand and seventy combatants. the force marched in at noon, the next day; and were received with great joy by the garrison. they bivouacked round the castle and, on the following day, the kashmir garrison came out and camped with them; rejoicing much at the change from the poisoned atmosphere of the fort. they were mere walking skeletons. some days later the rd brigade under general gatacre arrived, followed by general low and the headquarter staff. the day after their arrival at chitral, one of kelly's orderlies came into the line and enquired for mutteh ghar. a short time before, lisle had noticed gholam singh leave the colonel's tent; and guessed that he had been sharply questioned, by the colonel, as to the name he had gone under in the regiment. he at once followed the orderly to the tent. "this is a nice trick you have played us, lisle," the colonel said, as he entered. "to think that while we all thought you on your way down to calcutta, you were acting as a private in the regiment! it was very wrong of gholam singh to consent to your doing so; but i was so pleased to know that you were here that i could not bring it in my heart to blow him up as he deserved. unquestionably, he acted from the respect and affection that he felt for your father. "what put the idea into your head?" "i had quite made up my mind to go with the regiment, sir; and should have come as a mule driver or a coolie, if i had not got into the ranks." "well, it is done and cannot be undone. lieutenant moberley has reported most favourably of your conduct in the last fight, and gholam singh says that your conduct as a private has been excellent. you have become a great favourite with the men, by the cheerfulness with which you bore the hardships of the march; and kept up the spirits of the men by your jokes and example. "but of course, this cannot go on. you must again become one of us and, on the march down, do officer's duty. i shall not fail to report the matter, and shall recommend you for a commission. i feel sure that, as the son of captain bullen, and for the services you have rendered during the campaign, together with your knowledge of the language, my recommendation will be effective. "but i don't know what we can do about clothes. we are all practically in rags, and have only the things that we stand in." "i have brought a suit with me in my kit, sir; and as we have had no inspection of kits, since we marched, they have not been noticed." "very well, lad. put them on, and come back again in an hour. i will have the other officers of the regiment here. they will, i am sure, all be heartily glad to see you again. "i suppose that stain won't get off you, for some time?" "i don't think it will last over a week, sir; for i have had no chance of renewing it since our last fight. it is not so dark as it was, by a good bit; and i had intended to steal away, today, and renew it." "we are all so sun burnt, or rather so snow burnt, that you are not much darker than the rest of us. well, then, i shall expect you in an hour. you will, of course, hand over your uniform, rifle, and accoutrements to the quartermaster sergeant." "yes, sir." lisle went back to the lines and, taking his kit, went some little distance out of camp. here he took off his uniform and put on the clothes he had worn before starting. he folded the uniform up and placed it, with his rifle and accoutrements, in a little heap. then he went to the tent where robah's master lived. he had often spoken to robah during the march and, waiting till he could catch his eye, he beckoned to him to come to him. robah was immensely surprised at seeing him in his civilian dress, and hurried up to him. "i have been found out, robah, and am to join the officers on the march down. i am at present a young gentleman at large. you see that tree up there? at the foot you will find my uniform, rifle, and accoutrements. i want you to carry them to the quartermaster sergeant, and tell him to put them in store, as mutteh ghar has left the regiment. of course, the story will soon be known, but i don't wish it to get about till i have seen the colonel again. i am glad to say that he is not angry with me; and has not reprimanded gholam singh, very severely, for aiding me in the matter." robah at once started on his mission, and lisle then went into the camp, and strolled about until it was time to repair to the colonel's tent. he found the eight officers of the regiment gathered there. "we were not mistaken, gentlemen," the colonel said. "this young scamp, instead of going down to calcutta, left the convoy after it had marched a mile or two. gholam singh was in the secret, and had furnished him with the uniform and rifle of a man who had died, the day before. he put this on and marched boldly in. the other native officers of the company were in the secret, and gave out to the men that this was a new recruit, a cousin of the man we had just lost. "under that title he has passed through the campaign; living with the soldiers, sharing all their hardships; and being, for a time at least, altogether unsuspected of being aught but what he appeared. gholam singh said that his conduct was excellent; that he was a great favourite, with the men, for the good humour with which he bore the hardships. he was with beynon and moberley, and showed great pluck and steadiness in picking off several of the enemy, as they fled. "fortunately, moberley overheard him mutter to himself in english, and so the matter came out. moberley promised to keep silence till we got here and, this morning, he told the whole story. of course, we could not have poor bullen's son remaining a private in the pioneers, and he has joined us under the old conditions. i have given him the rank of lieutenant, and shall recommend him for a commission; which i have no doubt he will get, not only as the son of an officer who had done excellent service, but for the pluck and enterprise he has shown. his perfect knowledge of punjabi will also, of course, count in his favour." the officers all shook hands cordially with him, and congratulated him on the manner in which he had carried out his disguise; and he was at once made a member of the mess. afterwards, two or three of them walked with him down to the lines of his company. the men regarded them with interest, and then burst into a loud cheer. "that is good," the officer said. "it shows that you like him. henceforth he will rank as one of the officers; and i hope you will all like him, in that capacity, as well as you did when he was one of yourselves." they then walked off, leaving the company in a state of excitement. in the afternoon, at mess, lisle learned the whole details of the siege, which had been gathered from the officers of the garrison. on march nd, mr. robertson received information that sher afzul had arrived in the valley and, the next day, news came that he was, with a large following, at a small house in a ravine, about a mile and a quarter from the fort. captain campbell, with two hundred of the kashmir rifles, was sent out to make a reconnaissance. he was accompanied by captains townshend and baird, and by surgeon captain whitchurch and lieutenant gurdon. the rest were left in the bazaar, to hold the road. the enemy, one hundred and fifty strong, were seen on the bare spur which forms the right bank of the ravine. to test whether or not they were hostile, a single shot was fired over them. they at once opened a heavy fire on the party and, at the same time, captain townshend became engaged with some of the enemy who were in hiding among rocks--evidently in considerable strength. it was subsequently discovered that, very shortly after captain campbell's party left the fort, and before hostilities began, the enemy had opened fire on the fort, and had crossed the river. captain baird now advanced across the mouth of the ravine, and charged up the spur; the enemy retreating before them, firing as they went. captain baird fell, mortally wounded; and lieutenant gurdon, who had carried a message to him, was left in command. the enemy descended into the ravine and, crossing to the left bank, took gurdon in rear. in the meantime, affairs had not been going well with captain townshend's party. he had advanced within two hundred yards of the hamlet, keeping his men as well as he could under shelter, and firing in volleys. the enemy, however, kept on advancing, and overlapping his force on both flanks. they were well armed and skilful marksmen, and took shelter in such a marvellous way that there was nothing for our men to fire at, except a few puffs of smoke. captain campbell then ordered a charge with the bayonet, to clear the hamlet. it was gallantly led, by captain townshend and two native officers. the ground being perfectly open, and the fire of the enemy being steady and continuous, the two native officers and four sepoys were killed at once. when they got within forty yards of the village, which was concealed in a grove of trees, they found that it was a large place; with a wall, three hundred feet in length, behind which the enemy were posted in perfect cover. there was nothing for it but to retreat. captain campbell was, at this moment, shot in the knee; and captain townshend assumed the command. captain campbell was carried to the rear, and the force retired in alternate parties. the retreat, however, was conducted slowly and deliberately; though the enemy, who came running out, soon overlapped the little column--some even getting behind it, while groups of fanatic swordsmen, from time to time, charged furiously down upon it. from all the hamlets they passed through, a fire was opened upon them by the chitralis, those who were supposed to be friendly having gone over to the other side. so heavy was the fire that, at last, townshend ordered his men to double. this they did with great steadiness; and he was able to rally them, without difficulty, at a small hamlet, where he found mr. robertson encouraging the men he had brought out. a message was sent to the fort for reinforcements, and lieutenant harley led out fifty of the sikhs, and covered the retreat to the fort. in the meantime gurdon, with his detachment and captain baird, were still far away on the steep side of the ravine. dr. whitchurch, who had dressed baird's wound, was sent to take him to the rear; and it was then that townshend's party began to retreat and, after fierce fighting, arrived at the fort, where they found that whitchurch had not arrived. the doctor had with him a handful of sepoys and kashmir rifles, and some stretcher bearers, under the command of a native officer. matters had developed so rapidly that, in a very short time, they were behind townshend's retreating parties, round which the enemy were swarming; and when the retirement became a rapid retreat, they dropped farther behind. small detached parties soon became aware of their position, and attacked them. three men, who were carrying the stretcher, were killed by successive shots and, when the fourth was hit, the stretcher could be no longer carried; so captain baird was partly carried, and partly dragged along the ground. the enemy's fire became so hot that the party were compelled to make for the river bank. they had to charge, and carry, two or three stone walls. once they were completely surrounded, but the gallant kashmirs charged the enemy so furiously with rifle and bayonet that, at last, they made a way through them and reached the fort, where they had been given up for lost. thirteen men, in all, came in; but only seven of these had fought their way through with whitchurch; the other six being fugitives, who had joined him just before he had reached the fort. half of whitchurch's little party were killed, and baird had been, again, twice wounded. whitchurch, himself, marvellously escaped without a wound. no finer action was ever performed than that by this little body. the total casualties of the day were very heavy. of the hundred and fifty men actually engaged, twenty non-commissioned officers and men were killed, and twenty-eight wounded. of the officers, captain campbell was badly wounded, and captain baird died on the following morning. the two native officers were killed. the enemy's strength was computed to be from a thousand to twelve hundred men. of these, five hundred were umra khan's men, who were armed with martinis. many of the others carried sniders. the whole of the chitralis had now joined sher afzul, most of them doubtless being forced to do so, by fear of the consequences that would ensue should they refuse. the little fort thus stood isolated, in the midst of a powerful enemy and a hostile population. the villages stood on higher ground than the fort and, from all of them, a constant fusillade was kept up on the garrison, while they were engaged in the difficult work of putting the fort into a better condition of defence. the first thing to be done was, of course, to take stock of the stores; and the next to estimate how many days it would last. everyone was put upon half rations, and it was calculated that they could hold out two and a half months. it was found that they had two hundred and eighty rounds per man, besides snider ammunition for the kashmir rifles, and three hundred rounds of martini ammunition for the sikhs. when the fort was first occupied, it was found that there was an exposed approach to the river from the water tower, about thirty yards in width; and a covered way was at once built, going right down into the water. all through the siege this covered way was the main object of the enemy's attack; for they knew that, if they could cut off the water, they could easily reduce the garrison. an abutment in the south wall of the fort, overlooking the garden, had been converted into a little bastion. the worst feature of the fort, however, was the large number of little buildings immediately outside the walls. these and the walls of the garden were demolished by moonlight. the stables, which were on the river face near the water tower, were loopholed; and efforts were made to loophole the basement walls of the tower, but these had to be abandoned, as there was a danger of disturbing the foundations. among the various ingenious plans hit upon by the besieged, one proved particularly useful. loopholes were made in the gun tower; a wall was built up in the face of the water gate; and fireplaces were constructed by which the wood, being laid on a slab of stone, was pushed out some feet from the wall, and could be drawn into the fort when it was necessary to replenish the fire, without those attending it being exposed. these fires proved invaluable, when attacks were made upon dark nights. projecting, as they did, seven feet from the wall, they threw it into shadow, so that the enemy could not see what to fire at; and, at the same time, they lit up the ground in front brilliantly, so that the defenders could make out their assailants, and fire with accuracy. the fort was eighty yards in length. the walls were twenty-five feet in height, and the five towers fifty feet. it lay in a hollow in the lowest part of the valley, and was commanded on all sides by hills, on which the enemy erected numerous sangars. as, from these, the men moving about inside the fort were clearly visible to the enemy, barricades of stones had to be erected, along the sides of the yards, to afford cover to the men as they went to and from their posts. on march th a letter was received from umra khan, stating that the british troops must leave chitral at once, and that he would guarantee them a safe conduct. the offer was, naturally, refused. next night the enemy, about two hundred strong, made a determined effort to fire the water tower. they brought faggots with them and, in spite of the heavy volleys poured upon them managed, under cover of the darkness, to creep into the tunnel leading to the water, and to light a large fire underneath the tower. they were, however, driven out; and three water carriers went into the tunnel, and put out the fire. they were just in time, for the flames had taken a firm hold of the wooden beams. after this, twenty-five men were always stationed in the tower and, at night, another picket of twenty-five men were placed in the covered way leading to the water. the entrance to this, at the water side, was exposed to the enemy's fire; but a barricade of stones, with interstices to allow the water to go through, was built into the river, and formed an efficient screen to the water bearers. on the night of the th, the enemy again made an attack on the water bearers, but were repulsed with loss. the water way was, indeed, a source of constant anxiety. between it, and the trees at the northwest corner of the fort, there was a stretch of seventy yards of sandy beach; lying underneath an overhanging bank, which entirely covered it from the fire of the fort, so that the enemy were able to get right up to the water tunnel without exposing themselves. on the th, sher afzul sent in a messenger, to say that a party of sepoys had been defeated at reshun, and that an officer was captive in his camp. the next day a letter was received from lieutenant edwardes. a truce was made for three days and, afterwards, extended to six; but this came to an end on the rd of march, and hostilities again began. the prospect was gloomy. the men were beginning to suffer in health from their long confinement, the paucity of their rations, and the terribly insanitary condition of the fort; and they had not heard of the approach of either colonel kelly's force or that under sir robert low. during the truce, a union jack had been made, and this was now hoisted on the flag tower, as a symbol of defiance. this cheered the spirits of the men and depressed those of the enemy, who began to see that the task before them was far more serious than they had hitherto supposed. gradually the attacks of the enemy became more feeble and, although the firing was almost continuous, it seemed as if the assailants trusted rather to famine, to reduce the fort, than to any exertion on their part. on april th they were very active, making two large sangars close to the main gate. near these, and only fifty yards away from the gun tower, they were also hard at work, all day, in the summer house to the east of the fort. the garrison, however, now received the news that a relief force had already arrived at mastuj; in consequence of which they were saved from a further diminution of their scanty rations, which was already under discussion. the officers were comparatively well off, as they had plenty of horse flesh; but this the sepoys would not eat. the supply of ghee, which forms so prominent a part in the diet of the natives, had already given out; and the sepoys had nothing but a scanty allowance of flour to maintain life. the news that the relief party had arrived at mastuj greatly cheered the garrison. that relief would come, sooner or later, they had no doubt; but they had not even hoped that it could be so near. while, however, the news thus raised the spirits of the defenders, it at the same time showed their assailants that, unless they obtained a speedy success, the game would be altogether up. before daybreak on the morning of the th, a terrific fire was opened upon the walls. the enemy were evidently in great strength. in an instant everyone was at his post, and steady volleys were poured into the darkness, on the garden side of the fort, whence the chief attack seemed to be coming. suddenly a strong light was seen near the gun tower, and it was found that the enemy had heaped faggots against the walls. these, being constructed partly of wood, gradually caught fire. mr. robertson, with some of the levies, horse keepers, and servants, at once set to work to extinguish the flames; but the conflagration was too much for them. the troops in reserve were then sent to aid them. the work was dangerous and difficult, the flames raged fiercely, and the enemy kept up a tremendous fire from behind the walls of the summer house. nevertheless the men worked their hardest, throwing down earth and water on the fire. many were wounded at the work. the fire was so fierce that large holes had to be knocked through the lower stories of the tower, through which to attack the flames; and it was not until ten o'clock that the efforts of the besieged were crowned with success, and all was again quiet. nothing could have exceeded the bravery and devotion shown by the native levies, the non-combatants, officers' servants, water carriers, syces, and even the chitralis. great precautions were taken to prevent similar attempts to fire any of the towers. earth was brought up, and water stored. the water carriers slept with the great leathern bags which they carried, full; and a special fire picket was organized. when, on the evening of the th, the enemy again tried to fire the gun tower, they were repulsed without difficulty. on the following night a determined attack in force was made, on all sides of the fort; but was defeated with much loss. the enemy now began to make a great noise, with drums and pipes, in the summer house. this lasted continuously for several days, and one of the natives, who was aware that the enemy had started tunnelling, guessed that this stir might possibly be made to drown the noise of the mining. men were put on to listen and, at midnight, the sentry in the gun tower reported that he heard the noise and, next morning, the sound was distinctly audible within a few feet of the tower. it was evident that there was no time to be lost and, at four o'clock in the afternoon, lieutenant harley and a hundred men issued from the fort, at the garden gate, and rushed at the summer house. it was held by forty of the enemy, who fired a volley, and fled after some sharp hand-to-hand fighting. the head of the mine was found to be in the summer house, and the tunnel was full of chitralis. harley stationed his men in the summer house to repel any attack and, with five sepoys, jumped down into the mine. the chitralis, about thirty in number, came swarming out but, after a fierce fight, they were bayoneted. the mine was then cleared, and gunpowder placed in position. two chitralis, who had lain quiet at the other end of the tunnel, tried to make their escape in the turmoil. one of the sepoys fired, and must have hit a bag of gunpowder; for immediately there was a violent explosion, and the mine was blown up, from end to end. harley was knocked over, and the sikhs who were with him had their hair and clothes singed; but none of the party were otherwise hurt. all this time, the sepoys in the summer house had been subject to a heavy fusillade from a breastwork, close by, and from the loopholed walls in the garden; while from all the distant sangars and hills a continuous fire was opened, the natives evidently believing that the garrison were making a last and desperate sortie. the work done, harley and his men hurried back to the fort, having been out of it an hour and ten minutes. of the hundred that went out twenty-two were hit, nine mortally. in and around the summer house, thirty-five of the enemy were bayoneted, and a dozen more shot. that evening the garrison began to drive a couple of counter mines, to intercept any other mines that the enemy might attempt to make. on the th the enemy were very quiet and, in the middle of the night, a man approached the fort and called out that sher afzul had fled, and that the relieving force was near at hand. lieutenant gurdon was sent out to reconnoitre, and he found that the whole place was deserted. the next afternoon, colonel kelly's force arrived. chapter : promoted. as he was not now in uniform, lisle kept carefully out of sight when general gatacre's force marched in, which it did very shortly after colonel kelly's arrival. this was probably unnecessary caution for, in addition to mr. robertson, there were two or three other civilians in the garrison; but he was desirous of escaping observation until general low, who would arrive next day, should have heard of his escapade. at mess, however, several officers of general gatacre's force dined with the regiment; who had exerted themselves to the utmost to provide a banquet for their guests. most of these had, at one time or other, been cantoned with the pioneers. two or three of the junior officers were introduced to the newcomers, among them lisle. "this gentleman," the colonel said, "is mr. lisle bullen, son of the late captain bullen; who you have doubtless heard was killed, some little time ago, while storming a hill fort. he is at present acting as temporary lieutenant of my regiment." the officers looked with some surprise at lisle's still darkened face. "i see you are surprised, gentlemen," the colonel said, "but there is a tale that hangs to that colour. i will relate it to you after dinner; but i may say that bullen is not a half caste, as you might think, but of pure english blood." at this moment dinner was announced. a temporary mess tent had been erected. it was open at the sides, and composed of many-coloured cloths. the party sat down under this. there was no cloth, and the dinner was served on a miscellaneous variety of dishes, for the most part of tin. each guest brought his own knife, fork, and stool. it was a merry party and, after the table had been cleared, the colonel said: "in the first place, maneisty, you must give us the story of your doings; of which we have, at the present, heard only the barest outline." "it is rather a long story, colonel." "we have nothing else to talk about, here. we have seen no newspapers for a long time, and know nothing of what is going on outside; and therefore can't argue about it, or express opinions as to whether or not the government have, as usual, blundered. therefore, the more detail you tell us, the better pleased we shall be." "as you know, the first army corps, fourteen thousand strong, were ordered early in march to concentrate; so that when the news came that the garrison of chitral were in serious danger, the manoeuvres were being carried out, but it was not until late in the day that the troops were able to move forward. the brigade marched to jellala without tents, taking with them supplies sufficient for twenty days. the next morning the nd and rd brigade went on to dargai. the weather was cold and wet, and the roads soft. "it had been given out that the st brigade were to go by the shakot pass. this was only a ruse to deceive the enemy, and keep them from concentrating on the malakand. subsequently an officer rode up the shakot pass, and found it to be much more difficult than the malakand, and more strongly fortified. orders were sent, in the middle of the night, for the st brigade to proceed at once to dargai. early in the morning a reconnaissance was made by general blood, and a large body of the enemy were seen. it was evident that the passage of the pass was to be disputed. "starting from dargai, the pass went through a gradually narrowing valley for about two miles; then bending to the northeast for a mile and a half, the hills on the west rising precipitously to a great height. on reaching the bend, the pass was strongly held on the west side. "the th sikhs went out on the flank. the guides infantry were directed to ascend the highest point of the western hill and, from this, to enfilade the enemy. it was a most arduous task, as they had to ascend the highest peak of the range, some fifteen hundred feet. here several sangars had been erected by the enemy, who hurled down rocks and stones. "in the meantime the main force advanced, and could make out the general position of the enemy. they occupied the whole of the crest of the western hill, having constructed numerous sangars down its side, each commanding the one below it. the greater part of their force was more than halfway down the hill, at the point where it descended precipitously into the valley. it was only at this point that the western side of the pass was held. "three batteries were sent up on this side. these attacked position after position on the eastern slope, and their fire was so accurate that it effectually prevented the enemy on the eastern side from concentrating. "when the advance began, it was evident that little could be done until the guides had secured the position they had been ordered to take. it was soon seen that they were very seriously outnumbered. the gordon highlanders had moved up the crest of the western hill, at the point where it touched the valley. the scottish borderers had hastened up the centre spur; the th rifles were ordered up the slope, farther back in the line; while the bedfordshire and th dogras rounded the point on which the gordon highlanders began the ascent and, turning to the left, climbed the hill from the northern side. the th sikhs were held in reserve. "the brunt of the fighting fell upon the gordon highlanders and the borderers. making as they did a direct attack, they met with a sturdy resistance. several of the sangars were carried by hand-to-hand fighting; indeed, had the advance not been so well covered by the fire of our guns, it is doubtful whether the position could have been captured. "it was one of the finest scenes i ever saw. the hillside was literally covered with fire. we could see the two scotch regiments pushing on, and attacking the sangars by rushes; while above them the shells from the guns and fire from the maxims prevented the holders of the upper sangars from coming down to the assistance of those below. the moment the attacking troops reached the top, the enemy fled down the western slopes. the action began at : a.m., and concluded at p.m. the enemy's loss was admitted, by themselves, to be about five hundred; ours was only eleven killed, and eight officers and thirty-nine men wounded. "the st brigade remained at the top of the pass, while its baggage mules moved up. the path was so bad that only a few mules reached the top that night. it was afterwards found that, if we had taken the path, we should have suffered most severely; as it was discovered that the walls of the sangars had been perforated with lateral slits, commanding every turn. "on the following day the st brigade descended into the swat valley. its place on the pass was taken by the nd. as soon as the st brigade got free of the pass, they were fired upon by the enemy, who had taken up a position on the amandarra. "the mountain battery was at once brought into action, and began shelling the sangars. under its cover the bedfordshires moved forward, and drove the enemy from their position. here they fought with extreme obstinacy. the th dogras carried a spur to the left, and sent back news that a great body of the enemy were advancing. a squadron of the guides cavalry charged them, killing about thirty, and putting the rest to flight. "the transport was now being gradually pushed up, and the brigade encamped at khar, at half-past seven. as the enemy were in great force on the surrounding hills, a night attack was expected, and the troops lay down with fixed bayonets. "the capture of these passes spread great consternation through the swat valleys, as the tribes had always believed that they were impregnable, and boasted that an enemy had never entered their territory. they had fought with desperate bravery to defeat us; although we had no quarrel with them, and merely wished to get through their country to reach chitral. curiously enough, they had a strong belief in our magnanimity, and several of their wounded actually came into camp to be attended to by our surgeons. "on the th of april the st brigade remained all day in camp, the nd brigade going on seven or eight miles farther. early on the morning of the th, a party went down the river to make a bridge. a heavy fire was opened upon them, and the whole of the nd brigade and the th sikhs from the st brigade went out in support. "while the th bengal lancers were searching for a ford, they came under a heavy fire from a village at the foot of a knoll, yards from the river. a mountain battery quickly silenced this fire, and two squadrons of bengal lancers and one of the guides, crossing the ford, pursued the enemy five or six miles, and cut off about a hundred of them. opposite the village they discovered another ford, where two could pass at once and, the next day, the rest of the brigade followed them. the people of the swat valley speedily accommodated themselves to the situation, and brought in sheep, fowls, and other things for sale. "on the th, headquarters joined the nd brigade at chakdara, and the rd brigade encamped on the south side of the river. on the th the headquarters and the nd brigade arrived at the panjkora river. a bridge had to be built across this but, on the th, just as it was finished, a flood came down and washed it away. "a party were sent across at daybreak to burn the villages; which had, during the night, been firing on the advance guard of the nd brigade. they accomplished their work but, while engaged upon it, were attacked by a very large force. the carrying away of the bridge rendered the position extremely dangerous, and the force was ordered, by signal, to fall back upon the river; while the brigade covered their retreat from the opposite bank. the retreating column was sorely pressed, although the maxim guns and the mountain battery opened fire upon the enemy. colonel battye was mortally wounded, and so hotly did the afridis follow up their attack that a company of the guides fixed bayonets, and charged them. "as, however, the enemy still persisted in their attack, the force set to work to entrench themselves. this they managed to do, with the aid of a maxim gun of the th; which had crossed one of the branches of the river, and got into a position flanking the entrenchments. all night the enemy kept up a heavy fire. in the morning the force were still unable to pass. however, during the day the th sikhs came across on rafts, and passed the night with them. the force was much exhausted, for they had been more than forty-eight hours without a meal. "working day and night, in forty-eight hours another bridge was constructed, on the suspension system, with telegraph wires. until it was finished, communication was maintained with the other bank by means of a skin raft, handled by two active boatmen. "we had only one more fight, and that was a slight one. then the news reached us that the position of chitral was serious, and general gatacre was hurried forward with our force." "you had some tough fighting," the colonel said, "but the number of your casualties would seem to show that ours was the stiffer task. at the same time we must admit that, if you hadn't been detained for six or seven days at that river, you would have beaten us in the race." "yes, we were all mad, as you may well imagine, at being detained so long there. our only hope was that your small force would not be able to fight its way through, until our advance took the spirit out of the natives. certainly they fought very pluckily, in their attacks upon the force that had crossed; and that action came very close to being a serious disaster. "the flood that washed away our bridge upset all our calculations. i almost wonder that the natives, when they found that we could not cross the river, did not hurry up to the assistance of the force that was opposing you. if they had done so, it would have been very awkward." "it would have gone very hard with us, for they are splendid skirmishers and, if we had not had guns with us to effectually prevent them from concentrating anywhere, and had had to depend upon rifle fire alone, i have some doubts whether our little force would have been able to make its way through the defiles." "well, it has been a good undertaking, altogether; and i hope that the punishment that has been inflicted will keep the tribes quiet for some years." "they will probably be quiet," the officer said, "till trouble breaks out in some other quarter, and then they will be swarming out like bees." "it is their nature to be troublesome," the colonel said. "they are born fighters, and there is no doubt that the fact that most of them have got rifles has puffed them up with the idea that, while they could before hold their passes against all intruders, it would be now quite impossible for us to force our way in, when they could pick us off at twelve hundred paces. "i wish we could get hold of some of the rascally traders who supply them with rifles of this kind. i would hang them without mercy. of course, a few of the rifles have been stolen; but that would not account in any way for the numbers they have in their hands. a law ought to be passed, making it punishable by death for any trader to sell a musket to a native; not only on the frontier, but throughout india. the custom-house officers should be forced to search for them in every ship that arrives; the arms and ammunition should be confiscated; and the people to whom they are consigned should be fined ten pounds on every rifle, unless it could be proved that the consignment was made to some of the native princes, who had desired them for the troops raised as subsidiary forces to our own." the colonel then related lisle's story in the campaign, which created unbounded surprise among the guests. "it was a marvellous undertaking for a young fellow to plan and carry out," one of them said. "there are few men who could have kept up the character; fewer still who would have attempted it, even to take part in a campaign. i am sure, colonel, that we all hope your application for a commission for him will be granted; for he certainly deserves it, if ever a fellow did." there was a general murmur of assent and, shortly afterwards, the meeting broke up; for it was already a very late hour. the rest of the campaign was uneventful. lisle speedily fell back into the life he had led before the campaign began, except that he now acted as an officer. he already knew so much of the work that he had no difficulty, whatever, in picking up the rest of his duties. he was greatly pleased that the colonel said nothing more to gholam singh, and the native officers of his company and, by the time the regiment marched back to peshawar, he was as efficient as other officers of his rank. he had, after his father's death, written down to his agents at calcutta; and had received a thousand rupees of the sum standing to his account, in their hands. he was therefore able to pay his share of the mess expenses; which were indeed very small for, with the exception of fowls and milk, it was impossible to buy anything to add to the rations given to them. the march down was a pleasant one. there was no longer any occasion for speed. the snow had melted in the passes, the men were in high spirits at the success that had attended their advance, and the fact that they had been the first to arrive to the rescue of the garrison of chitral. a month after they reached peshawar, lisle was sent for by colonel kelly. "i am pleased, indeed, to be able to inform you that my urgent recommendation of you has received attention, and that you have been gazetted as lieutenant, dating from the day of our arrival at chitral. i congratulate you most heartily." "i am indeed most delighted, sir. i certainly owe my promotion entirely to your kindness." "certainly not, lisle; you well deserve it. i am sorry to say that you will have to leave us; for you are gazetted to the rd punjabi regiment, who are stationed at rawalpindi." "i am sorry indeed to hear that, sir; though of course, i could hardly have expected to remain with you. i shall be awfully sorry to leave. you have all been so kind to me, and i have known you all so long. still, it is splendid that i have got my commission. i might have waited three or four years, in england; and then been spun at the examination." lisle marched down with the regiment to peshawar. here he had his uniforms made, laid in a stock of requisites, and then, after a hearty farewell from his friends, proceeded to join his regiment, which was lying at rawalpindi. he took with him robah, whom the major relinquished in his favour. on his arrival at the station, he at once reported himself to the colonel. "ah! i saw your name in the gazette, a short time since. you must have lost no time in coming out from england." "i was in india when i was gazetted, sir." "well, i am glad that you have joined so speedily; for i am short of officers, at present. there is a spare tent, which my orderly will show you. we shall have tiffin in half an hour, when i can introduce you to the other officers." when lisle entered the mess tent, he was introduced to the other officers, one of whom asked him when he had arrived from england. "i have never been to england. i was born out here. my father was a captain in the nd punjabis, and was killed in an attack on a hill fort. that was some months ago, and i remained with the regiment, whose quarters had always been my home, until there should be an opportunity for my being sent down to calcutta." "well, it is very decent of the war office to give you a commission; though, of course, it is the right thing to do--but it is not often that they do the right thing. your regiment did some sharp fighting on their way up to chitral, but of course you saw nothing of that." "yes; i accompanied the regiment." "the deuce you did!" the colonel said. "i wonder you managed to get up with it, or that colonel kelly gave you leave. i certainly should not, myself, have dreamed of taking a civilian with me on such an expedition." lisle nodded. "the colonel did not give me leave, sir. with the aid of one of the native officers, with whom my father was a favourite, i obtained a native uniform; and went through the campaign as a private." the officers all looked upon him with astonishment. "do you mean to say that you cooked with them, fought with them, and lived with them, as one of themselves?" "that was so, sir; and it was only at the last fight that the truth came out, for then one of the officers heard me make a remark to myself, in english. fortunately, the native officers gave a very good account of my conduct. i was one of a small party that descended a cliff with ropes, and did a good deal towards driving the chitralis out of their position." "but how was it that you were not recognized by the soldiers?" "i speak the language as well as i speak my own," lisle said quietly. "having lived with the regiment all my life, i learned to speak it like a native." "well," the colonel said, "it was a plucky thing for you to do. the idea of disguising yourself in that way was a very happy one; but not many officers would like to go through such a campaign as a private in the pioneers, or any other indian regiment. "well, i congratulate myself in having acquired an officer who must, at any rate, understand a great deal of his work, and who can talk to the men in their own language; instead of, as i expected, a raw lad. "how old are you, mr. bullen? you look very young." "i am only a little past sixteen," lisle said, with a laugh; "but i don't suppose the war office knew that. colonel kelly was kind enough to send in a strong recommendation on my behalf; stating, i believe, the fact, that i had disguised myself as a private in order to go to chitral with the regiment, and that, as he was pleased to say, i distinguished myself. he at once appointed me, temporarily, as an officer; and as such i remained with the corps, until their return to peshawar. he also, of course, mentioned the fact that i am the son of captain bullen, who lost his life in bravely attacking a hill fort. i don't think he thought it necessary to mention my age." "well, you have certainly managed very cleverly, mr. bullen. i am sure you will be an acquisition to the regiment. i think we can say safely that you are the youngest officer in the service. "gentlemen, will you drink to the health of our new comrade, who has already shown that he is of the right sort, and of whom we may be proud?" the next day the colonel received a letter from colonel kelly. it ought to have arrived before lisle himself, but had been delayed by the post. it spoke in very high terms of his conduct, and then said that he was a general favourite in the regiment, and that he was sure that he would do credit to the corps he had joined. the next year and a half passed quietly. lisle was soon as much liked, in his new regiment, as he had been by the pioneers. the men would have done anything for him, for he was always ready to chat with them, to enter into their little grievances, and to do many a kind action. chapter : unfair play. five or six of the officers were married men, and had their wives with them. these, when they learned that the young subaltern had disguised himself, and enlisted in the pioneers in order to go up with them to the front, took a lively interest in him, and made quite a pet of him. two other regiments were at the station at the time and, consequently, there was a good deal of gaiety in the way of lawn tennis and croquet parties, small dinners and dances and, after mess, billiards and whist. lisle soon became an expert in the former games, but he never touched either a billiard cue or a card, though he was an interested spectator when others were playing. baccarat was very popular with the faster set. at this game play sometimes ran high, and there was a captain in one of the other regiments who scarcely ever sat down without winning. at the beginning of the evening, when play was low, he generally lost; but was certain to get back his losings, and sometimes a considerable sum over, as the stakes rose higher. one of the lieutenants who was a chum of lisle's was particularly unlucky. he was of an excitable disposition, and played high as the evening went on. lisle noticed that he often paid in chits, instead of money. this was not an unusual custom, as officers are often short of cash, and settle up when they receive their month's pay. lisle frequently remonstrated with his friend on the folly of his proceedings, and the young fellow declared that he would retire from the table, if luck went against him. but the mania was too strong for him. "it is extraordinary what bad luck i have," he said, one day. "i almost always win at the beginning of the evening; and then, when i get thoroughly set, my winnings are swept away." "why don't you get up when you are a winner?" "that would be very bad form, bullen; a fellow who did that would be considered a cad." "i should strongly advise you to give it up, altogether." lisle observed with regret that his friend's spirits fell, and that he became moody and irritable. one day, when he went into his quarters, he found him sitting with a look of misery upon his face. "what is it, gordon?" he asked. "i hope i am not in the way?" "well, it has come to this," the young officer said. "i am at the end of my tether. i shall have to leave the regiment." "nonsense!" lisle replied. "it is true. i owe a lot of money to that fellow sanders. he has bought up all my chits, and this is a note from him, saying that he has waited two or three months, but must now request me to pay up without further delay. besides my pay, i have only eighteen hundred pounds, that was left me by an old aunt; but that will barely cover what i owe. of course i can hold on on my pay; but the loss of so much money will make a lot of difference, and i fear i shall have to transfer. it is hard lines, because i am now pretty high on the list of lieutenants; and shall, of course, have to go to the bottom of the list. "the only alternative would be to enlist in some white regiment that has lately come out. there are plenty of gentlemen in the ranks. i certainly see no other way." "i had no idea it was so bad as that, gordon. surely there must be some other way out of the difficulty. i could lend you a couple of hundred pounds." "thank you, old fellow! but i am so deeply in debt that that would make no difference." "i am not sure that there is not something else to be done," said lisle. "while i sit watching the play, i can see more than the players can; and since i have noticed that sanders persistently wins, directly the stakes get high, i have watched him very closely, and am convinced that he does not play fair. it has struck me that he withdraws the money on his cards when he sees that the dealer has a strong hand, and adds to his stake when he considers that the dealer is weak. "now my testimony as a youngster would go a very little way, if unsupported against his; but if you will give me a solemn promise that you will never play baccarat again, i will get two or three fellows to watch him. then, if we can prove that he plays unfairly, of course you will be able to repudiate payment of the money he has won of you." "good heaven! it would be the saving of me, and i will willingly give you the promise you want. but you must surely be mistaken! sanders certainly has had wonderful luck, but i have never heard a suggestion that he does not play fair. i only know that there is a good deal of shyness about playing with him. you see, it is a frightful thing to accuse a man of cheating." "i admit that it is not pleasant; but if a man cheats, and is found out, it is the duty of every honest man to denounce him, if they detect him. "well, if you don't mind, i will take lindsay, holmes, and tritton into my confidence. they all play occasionally, and you must let me mention that you are altogether in his power; and that, unless he is detected, you will have to leave the regiment. mind, don't you watch him yourself. play even more recklessly than usual; that will make him a bit careless." "well, there is a possibility that you are right, bullen, and if you can but detect him, you will save me from frightful disgrace." "i will try, anyhow." bullen sent a note to the officers he had mentioned, asking them to come to his quarters, as he particularly wished to speak to them. in a quarter of an hour they joined him. "well, what is up, bullen?" tritton said. "what do you want with us?" "it is a serious business, tritton. that fellow sanders owns chits of gordon's to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds." an exclamation of dismay broke from his hearers. "good heavens!" tritton exclaimed, "how could he possibly have lost so much as that? i know that the play has been high; but still, even with the worst luck, a man could hardly lose so much as that." "i fancy that, after the party in the mess room has broken up, several of them used to adjourn to sanders' quarters; and it was there that the great bulk of the money was lost." "what a fool gordon has been!" lindsay said. "what a madman! such a good fellow, too! "well, of course, nothing can be done. if it were only a hundred or two, the money would be subscribed at once; but fifteen hundred is utterly beyond us. what is he thinking of doing?" "well, he has eighteen hundred pounds, and he talked of drawing out the amount and paying up, and then exchanging into some other regiment. the question, however, is, whether he ought to pay." the others looked up at him in surprise. "why, of course he must pay," tritton said; "at least he must pay, or quit the service, a disgraced man." "i think there is an alternative," lisle said, "and that is why i have sent for you." "what alternative can there be?" "well, you know i don't play; but i like sitting watching the game, and i am quite convinced that sanders doesn't play fair." "you don't say so!" tritton said. "that is a very serious accusation to make, you know, bullen!" "i am perfectly aware of that, and i feel that it would be mad for me to make an unsupported accusation against sanders. but i want you three fellows to join me in watching sanders play. my word, unsupported, would be of no avail; but if four of us swore that we saw him cheating, there could be no doubt about the result. "for one thing, sanders would have to leave the army. that would be no loss to the service, for he is an overbearing brute; to say nothing of the fact that several young officers have had to leave the service, owing to their losses at play with him." "i know of two cases," lindsay said. "there was a very strong feeling against him, but no one suspected him of unfair play. it was he who introduced baccarat here, when his regiment first came up. it had never been played here before, and you may notice that very few of his fellow officers ever take a hand. "well, there will be no harm in our watching. it is a thing that one doesn't like doing but, when it comes to a fellow officer being swindled, it is clearly our duty to expose the man who is doing it." "very well, then, this evening two of us will take our stand behind gordon, and the other two behind sanders." "but how did he cheat? it seems a fair game enough." "he does it in this way. he puts five sovereigns under his hand. that is the limit, you know. then he looks at his card, and pushes it out. with his hand still touching it, he watches the dealer and, if he can see by his face that his card is a good one--and you can generally tell that--he withdraws his hand with four of the sovereigns, leaving only one on the card. if, on the other hand, he thinks it is a bad one, he leaves the whole five there. he does the trick cleverly enough; but i am certain that i have, four or five times, seen him do it. "keep your eyes on his hand. you will see that he takes up five sovereigns from the heap before him, and that he has them in his hand when he pushes the card out. you will notice how he fixes his eye upon the dealer, and that he leaves either one or five, as i have said. he does it, at times, all through the evening, especially when gordon is dealing; for i can tell, myself, by gordon's face whether he has a good or a bad card. of course, he can see it, too. "i want you all to nod to me, when you see it done. we shall let him do it two or three times, so that we can all swear to it." all agreed to do so, and lisle then went to gordon's quarter's. "tritton, lindsay, and holmes are going to watch with me tonight. i think the best thing will be for you to answer sanders' note, and tell him that you will require time to draw your money from england to pay him; but that you will play again tonight, to see if luck turns." that evening the four young officers took their places, as arranged. now that their attention had been directed to it, they saw that several times sanders, although he took up five pounds, only left one on the card; and that he kept his hand upon it, up to the last moment. each in turn nodded to lisle. all noticed how intently sanders watched the dealer. generally he left two sovereigns on the card, apparently when the dealer had a moderate card; but when he had a very low or a very high one, the trick was played. after fully satisfying himself that he had good proofs, just as sanders was again withdrawing his hand with four sovereigns in it, lisle threw himself forward, jerked the hand upwards, and showed the four sovereigns lying under it. "i accuse captain sanders of cheating. i have seen him do this trick half a dozen times." sanders shook himself free, and aimed a heavy blow at lisle; who, however, stepped aside and, before he could repeat it, he was seized by the officers standing round. a tremendous hubbub arose, in the midst of which the colonel entered the room. "what is all this about?" he enquired. the din subsided at once, and two or three officers said: "bullen accused captain sanders of cheating." "this is a very serious accusation, bullen," the colonel said sternly, "and unless you can substantiate it, may be of very serious consequences to yourself. will you tell me what you saw?" lisle related the circumstances, and how the fraud was accomplished. "you mean to say that, by watching the dealer's eye, captain sanders leaves one pound or five on his card?" "that is what i said, sir. i have seen him do it on several nights. tonight i determined to expose him, and tritton, lindsay, and holmes have been watching him with me. i was induced to do so by the fact that the man has rooked lieutenant gordon of something like fifteen hundred pounds, for which he holds his chits." "mr. tritton, you hear what mr. bullen says. have you also observed the act of cheating of which he accuses captain sanders?" "yes, sir; i have seen him do it several times this evening. i believe he has done it more, but i am prepared to swear to seven times." the colonel looked at lindsay, who said: "i have seen suspicious movements eleven times, but i should not like to swear to more than four." "and you, mr. holmes?" "i can swear to five times, but i believe he did it much oftener than that." "what have you to say, captain sanders?" "i say it is a conspiracy on the part of these four young officers to ruin me. it is a lie from beginning to end." "i am afraid, captain sanders, that you will find it very difficult to persuade anyone that four officers, who as far as i know have no ill feeling against you, should conspire to bring such a charge. however, i shall report the matter to your colonel, tomorrow, with a written statement from these four officers of what they saw. he will, of course, take such steps in the matter as he thinks fit." without a word, sanders turned on his heel and left the room, followed by the angry glances of all who were present. "mr. bullen, you have behaved with great discretion," the colonel said, "in not making a charge on your first impression, but getting three other officers to watch that man's behaviour. tomorrow i shall hold a court of enquiry, at which the major, the adjutant, and two other officers will sit with me. you will all, of course, be called, and will have to repeat your story in full. "lieutenant gordon, i am shocked to hear that an officer of my regiment should gamble to such an extent as you have done. you will, of course, be called tomorrow. i think that, at the best, you will be advised to change into another regiment. i need not say that, after this exposure, the chits that you have given to captain sanders become null and void. "this room will be closed for the rest of the evening." the officers, however, gathered in the room below, and talked the matter over. there was not a whisper of regret at the disgrace that had fallen upon sanders. his reputation was a bad one. since his regiment had been in india one young officer had shot himself, and three had been obliged to leave the army, and in all cases it was known that these had lost large sums to him; but the matter had been hushed up, as such scandals generally are in the army. still, the truth had been whispered about, and it was because none of the officers in his regiment would play with him that he had come habitually to the mess of the pioneers; by which, his own regiment having been quartered in southern india until six months previously, nothing was known of his antecedents. "we shall all have to be very careful, when you are looking on at our play, bullen," one said, laughing. "i hadn't given you credit for having such sharp eyes; and certainly sanders did not, either, or he would never have tried his games on, while you were standing watching him." "i was not playing, you see," lisle said, "and the players do not trouble about onlookers, but keep their attention directed to the dealer. standing there evening after evening, it was really easy to see what he was doing; for he, too, kept his attention fixed on the dealer, and paid no heed to us who were looking on. he occasionally did look up at us, but evidently he concluded that we were only innocent spectators. when my suspicions were aroused, there was really no difficulty in detecting him." "how was it that you did not interfere before?" "because it was only my word against that of sanders, and it was only after gordon told me how much he was in debt to the man; and that the latter had, that morning, written to him calling upon him to pay up, that i saw that something must be done. so i asked tritton, lindsay, and holmes to watch him closely this evening, along with me." "well, i hope gordon won't have to go," the other said. "he is an awfully good fellow, though he has made an abject ass of himself." "don't you think, prosser, that if we were all to sign a petition to the colonel, to ask him to overlook the matter, as gordon has received a lesson that will certainly last his lifetime, he might do so." "it depends upon how much the matter becomes public. of course, there must be a court of enquiry in the other regiment; and if, as is certain, a report is sent to the commander-in-chief, sanders will be cashiered; and i should fancy that gordon would be called upon to resign. of course, you four and gordon will have to give evidence before the commission. it depends, of course, how his colonel takes it; but it is certain that sanders will have to go, and i fear gordon will, too. i expect our colonel will get a wigging for allowing high play; though, as you say, the greater part of the money was lost in private play, in sanders' room. "anyhow, it will be a somewhat ugly thing for the regiment in general, and we shall get the nickname of 'the gamblers' throughout the army." the next morning, at eight o'clock, the little committee met. the four young officers gave their evidence, which was put on paper in duplicate and signed by them, a copy being sent to the colonel of sanders' regiment. in a short time that officer was seen to go into the colonel's tent and, half an hour later, he came out again and went away. a few minutes after he had left, the four officers were summoned. "i hope," the colonel said, "that we have heard the last of this most unpleasant business. his colonel tells me that this morning, as soon as he turned out, sanders called upon him and said that he had to go to england, on urgent family business; and that, on his arrival there, he should send in his papers and retire. he gave him leave to go at once, and sanders disposed of his horse and traps, and started by the eight o'clock train for calcutta. in these circumstances we have decided, for the credit of both regiments, that the matter shall be held over. if, as is morally certain, he leaves the army, nothing more need be said about it. of course, if he should return, it will be brought up. "i should say, however, that there is no chance whatever of that. i beg of you to impress upon the officers of the regiment; which, indeed, i shall myself do at mess, to make no allusion whatever, outside the regiment, to what has occurred. the less said about it, the better. if it were at all known, and got to the ears of the commander-in-chief--and you know how gossip of this kind spreads--both his colonel and myself would get a severe wigging, for not sending in a report of it. in that case a committee would be appointed to go into the whole matter and, as a result, the regiment would probably be sent to the worst possible cantonment they could find for us, and gordon would be called upon to retire. i will therefore ask you to give me your word that the matter shall not be alluded to, outside the regiment. there is no fear of any of sanders' regiment hearing anything about it, as none of them were present last night. "upon further consideration, i think that it would be better to summon all the officers of the regiment, at once, and to impress upon them the necessity for keeping silence on the matter." five minutes later the officers' call sounded and, when all were assembled in the anteroom, the colonel repeated to them what he had said to lisle and his companions; and obtained an undertaking from them, individually, that they would maintain an absolute silence on the matter. the affair greatly added to the estimation in which lisle was held in the regiment. his quickness in detecting the swindle, and the steps he had taken to obtain proof of his suspicions, showed that he possessed other qualities besides pluck and determination. it is to be feared that some, at least, of the married officers either did not regard the promise of silence as affecting their wives, or had told them what had taken place before they were requested to abstain from alluding to it; for three or four of the ladies made sly allusions, when talking to lisle, which showed that they were cognizant of what had taken place. "well, mr. bullen," one of them said, "i have up till now regarded you as little more than a boy, in spite of your pluck in going up as a native soldier to chitral. now i shall hold you in much higher respect, and shall regard you as a young man with an exceptionally sharp eye, and exceptionally keen discernment." "i don't think i quite understand you, mrs. merritt," lisle said innocently. "it is all very well for you to put on that air of ignorance. you don't suppose that married men can keep matters like this from their wives? i can tell you we all admire, very much, the manner in which you saved lieutenant gordon from having to leave the service. he is a favourite with us all and, though he seems to have made a great fool of himself, we should all be sorry if he had had to leave us." "well, you see, mrs. merritt, i am not a married man--" "i should think not," the lady laughed. "and do not know how much married men feel themselves bound to keep secrets from their wives; and i can therefore neither confess nor deny that i took any part in the incident to which you are referring." "you silly boy! don't you see that i know all about it, and that it is ridiculous for you to pretend to misunderstand me?" "i do not pretend, mrs. merritt. i only know that i have given my promise that i will keep absolute silence on the matter, and that no exception was made as to the ladies of the regiment. that, of course, lies between them and their husbands." "well, whether that is so or not, mr. bullen, i can tell you that the affair has very greatly raised you in our esteem. we all liked you before; but we really did regard you only as a young officer who had proved that he possessed an uncommon amount of pluck and determination. in future, we shall regard you as a gentleman who was ready to take no inconsiderable risk on behalf of a fellow officer." "thank you, mrs. merritt! i can assure you that i do not feel a bit more of a man than i did before; but i feel happy in having gained the good opinion of the ladies of the regiment." after this, lisle came to be regarded as the special pet of the ladies of the regiment. among the officers he became a very general favourite, and his popularity was increased by the fact that he was not only one of the best shots, but one of their best cricketers; and several times did efficient service, by his bowling, in the matches between the regiment and the others cantoned with them. then came the news that the tribes had risen, that the malakand had been attacked, that chakdara, the fortified post on the swat river, was invested, and that the tribes on this side of the panjkora were in revolt. this, however, was soon followed by a report that the post had been relieved, that heavy losses had been inflicted upon the tribesmen, and that the trouble was over. for some time the frontier had been in a state of tension. the mullahs, or priests, had been inciting the tribesmen to insurrection; and one especially, who was called the mad mullah, had gone about from tribe to tribe, stirring the people up. he professed to be a successor of the great akhund of swat, and to have inherited his powers. he claimed to be able to work miracles. the heavenly host were, he said, on his side. his excited appeals, to the fanaticism which exists in every pathan, were responded to in a marvellous manner. the villagers flew to arms. still, it was thought and hoped that, when the first excitement caused by his appeals had died away, matters would calm down again. the hope, however, was short lived for, before long, the startling news came that the mohmunds, a tribe whose territory lay near peshawar, were in revolt; and that shabkadr, a village within our frontier, had been raided and destroyed. within the next few days the samana was invested, and the khyber pass was in the hands of the afridis. the peshawar movable column, of four guns, two squadrons of native horse, and the th punjabi regiment, with a few companies of the somersets, were sent out to shabkadr. on arriving there they found that the bazaar had been burnt, and that the enemy had taken up a position facing the fort, about a mile and a half distant. the cavalry skirted the cultivated ground between the force and the plateau, and pushed the enemy backward, with severe loss, into the low hills that skirt the border. next morning the enemy were seen in possession of the lower hill, and the force moved out to attack them. they were found to be in great strength, numbering nearly seven thousand. leaving a strong force to face the column, flanking parties came down concealed by the low hills. illustration: they charged the attacking force from end to end. the infantry retired in two sections, but the artillery came into action. the cavalry made their way up one of the ravines and, when they got within charging distance, they went at the enemy at a gallop. taking the entire length of the plateau, about a mile and a half, they charged the attacking force from end to end; and drove them, demoralized, into the hills. the severity of the morning's fighting may be judged from the fact that sixty percent of the force engaged suffered casualties. from that time, until it was determined to send an expedition into the mohmund country, the force remained as a corps of observation. a force drawn chiefly from the peshawar garrison was speedily got together and, on th september, had concentrated at or about shabkadr fort; a general advance having been arranged for, on the th of the month. in the meantime, more serious troubles had arisen with the zakka-khels. this tribe was the most powerful of the pathans. they were at all times troublesome, and frequently made raids across the frontier, carrying off large quantities of cattle; and living, indeed, entirely upon plunder. the zakhels and the kukukbels had joined them, as well as several other smaller tribes. they believed that they could do this with impunity, for no englishman had ever visited their wild country, with its tremendous gorges and passes. a large proportion of them were furnished with martini and lee-metford rifles, and many of the others carried sniders. to operate against such formidable enemies, possessing almost impregnable positions, a large force was needed; and time was required to collect the troops. still more, an enormous train of baggage animals would be required, and a vast amount of stores of all kinds. it was clear that the time that would be occupied in the preparations of the campaign would be very considerable; but, while these were being made, it was determined that the expedition from peshawar should move, at once, into the mohmund country, and finish with that tribe before the main operation began; and that the malakand division, and the mohmund field force should carry out the work of punishment, in the stretch of country lying between lalpura and the swat river. it was known that chakdara was holding out, but that it was hardly pressed, and the first step was to relieve the garrison. colonel meiklejohn pushed forward, with a comparatively small force, and arrived at the malakand on the st of august. the reinforcement that had reached that garrison had enabled them to take the offensive, and orders were issued for a strong cavalry reconnaissance to the amandara valley, five miles away. they found the enemy in such force that the cavalry were obliged to retire, and they effected their retreat with great difficulty, under a very heavy fire. as the path was narrow, cavalry could only proceed in single file, exposed the while to the fire of the enemy. sir bindon blood arrived, that evening, to take the command. the main body were to move down the road; while a force under colonel goldney advanced up the hill to the right, and turned the enemy's flank. colonel goldney's attack was perfectly successful. the enemy were taken completely unawares, and entirely routed. the march of the main column, therefore, met with no opposition for some distance; then the enemy opened fire, from among the rocks on the hills. a party of the guides and the th sikhs were ordered to take the position, at the point of the bayonet. the enemy, however, stuck to their position until they were bayoneted, or driven over the rocks. the th and th sikhs stormed some sangars on the left and, pushing their way pluckily up the steep slopes, slowly gained the heights, step by step and, in spite of the hot fire and the showers of rocks and stones, drove the enemy out of their strongholds. on this the tribesmen lost heart and fled, hotly pursued by the cavalry, who cut them up in great numbers. during the fighting at the malakand, previous to the arrival of the relief, our casualties were one hundred and seventy-three killed and wounded, including thirteen british officers and seven natives. the siege of the small fort of chakdara had been a severe one. the garrison consisted of two companies of the th sikhs, with cavalry. on the evening of the th they were attacked, but repulsed their assailants with loss. next morning captain wright, with a company of forty troopers, arrived from the malakand, having run the gauntlet of large parties of the enemy. the whole of the day was spent in repelling rushes of the enemy and, for the next few days, wright's garrison were unable to leave their posts. on the th the enemy attacked the tower and endeavoured to burn it down; but were again repulsed, with heavy loss. chapter : tales of war. as soon as it became evident that the afridis were up, and that there would be stern fighting, the conversation in the mess room naturally turned on past expeditions against the wild tribesmen. two or three of the officers had exchanged into the regiment, when their own went home. having been two or three years on the frontier, they had many tales of hill fighting to tell; and these were eagerly listened to by all the younger officers, as they felt certain that they too would, ere long, be taking part in such struggles. "a fine instance of defence," one of the junior captains said, "was that of thobal in . as you all know, i am a ranker, and i received my commission for that business. i was with a mere handful of men, thirty ghoorkhas and fifty rifles of the th burmah infantry. we were commanded by lieutenant grant. i was with him as quartermaster sergeant, and general assistant. the ghoorkhas had sixty rounds per man for their martini rifles, the burmah men one hundred and sixty rounds per man for their sniders. they were a pretty rough lot, only twenty of them being old soldiers, the rest recruits. "one morning we received news that mr. quintin with four civil officers, and an escort of seven british officers and four hundred and fifty-four ghoorkhas, who had gone up to manipur, had been massacred. happily the news was exaggerated, but a treacherous attack was made upon the party, and mr. quintin and many others killed. grant thought that this was probably the case, and determined to push on with his little force, in the hope of rescuing some survivors. "the distance from tamu to manipur is about fifty-five miles. we started at half-past five, on the morning of the th. the difficulties were so great that we only moved at the rate of a mile an hour. at two in the morning we started again, and marched about ten miles; in the course of which we were occasionally fired at by the enemy. the moon rose at eleven, and the advance was continued. "the resistance now became severe. the telegraph wires had been cut, taken down from the poles, and twisted about the road; and trees had also been felled across it. while we were endeavouring to clear away the obstacles, a heavy fire was poured into us. small parties were therefore sent out to disperse the enemy, and this they did most successfully, capturing three guns and a good deal of ammunition. "pushing on, we issued, at six in the morning, on the hills. before us was the village of palel, which was garrisoned by two hundred manipur soldiers. you must remember that manipur had been a sort of subsidiary state, and had a regular army, drilled by europeans. however, grant attacked them at once, and drove them out with loss. "after halting at palel for some hours a start was made, at eleven o'clock at night; and at daybreak we came upon some villages, each house in which was standing alone in a large enclosure, surrounded by a wall, ditch, and hedge. we went at them and carried them, one by one, without any great loss to ourselves. issuing on the other side, we came upon a plain about a thousand yards across. beyond this was a bridge, on fire. the enemy were strongly posted in trenches and behind hedges. "grant decided to attack, and to try and save the bridge. he advanced across the plain with two sections of ten men each, supported by another section of the same strength. the rest of his force, consisting of forty men, he kept in reserve. "i own that it seemed to me a desperately risky thing; for, from what we could see, we judged that the enemy were about a thousand strong. grant himself led the party, and he put me in charge of the reserve. a very heavy fire was opened by the enemy; but grant and his men steadily advanced, and succeeded in getting within a hundred yards of the enemy. here i came up with him; and we dashed into the river, carried the enemy's trenches at the point of the bayonet, and hunted them out, from enclosure to enclosure, till they all drew off. "by the side of the bridge was the village of thobal; and as, with so small a force, it was impossible to advance against the overwhelming numbers that would meet us before we got to manipur, fifteen miles away, grant determined to hold thobal; where he could, he thought, defend himself, and afford refuge to any who had escaped the massacre. as soon as the enemy had retired, we all set to work to prepare a defensive position; by setting fire to the crops, so as to prevent the enemy from creeping up unseen, and by making an abattis. "the night passed off quietly. at six in the morning the enemy were seen advancing in force, but lieutenant grant sent out thirty men to the farthest wall of the village, some four hundred yards in advance of the enclosure; and their fire checked the enemy, and forced them to retire. at three in the afternoon the enemy advanced in great force, their line being over a mile long. grant again occupied the front wall, and held his fire till the enemy reached a point which had been carefully marked as being six hundred yards away. fire was then opened, the muskets being sighted for this known range. the tribesmen fell in great numbers, and drew back under the protection of their artillery, who now opened fire at a range of about a thousand yards. in half an hour they were completely silenced. "they then withdrew to another hill, five hundred yards farther off but, even at this range, we got at them with our martinis, and they soon began firing wildly. the infantry advanced several times, but were always driven back as soon as they reached the six-hundred-yards limit. "it was now becoming dark, and the enemy were working round on our flank. we therefore fell back on the entrenched position and, though the enemy kept up a heavy fire till two in the morning, ammunition was too scanty to allow us to waste a cartridge, and no reply was made. at three we set to work to strengthen the defences, using baskets filled with earth and sacks filled with sand, as well as adding to the abattis. "in the course of the day the enemy sent in a flag of truce, offering to allow us to retreat. this grant refused to do, till all prisoners still in the hands of the manipuris were delivered over to him. in order to deceive the enemy as to his strength, grant put on a colonel's badge and uniform and, in his communications with the enemy, spoke and behaved as if he had the whole regiment under his command in the village. the enemy were undoubtedly misled, and wasted three days in negotiations. "then fighting recommenced and, at daybreak, the enemy made a determined attack upon the advance, with artillery. by eight o'clock they had pushed the attack home, and passed the line of walls and hedges a hundred yards from our position. the situation was growing serious when, leaving me in command, grant went out with ten ghoorkhas, crept along unobserved to the end of one of the walls and, turning this, made a sudden attack upon the enemy from behind. taken wholly by surprise they fled, leaving six or seven dead behind them. "at eleven o'clock they were again pressing hotly and, encouraged by the success of his first sortie, grant determined to make another. this time he took me with him. with six ghoorkhas he had driven the enemy from one hedge, when he discovered a party of about sixty men behind a wall, twenty yards distant. "'now, my lads,' he said, 'we have got to run the gauntlet, but you need not be afraid of their fire. seeing us so close to them, it is sure to be wild.' "then, with a cheer, we dashed across the open. the enemy blazed at us, but their fire was wild and confused; and we were among them before they could reload, killing a dozen, and sending the rest to the right about, many of them wounded. "on returning to the camp, we found that there were only fifty rounds left for the snider rifles, and thirty rounds each for the martinis. strict orders were therefore given that no one was to fire till the enemy were within close range. however, there was no doubt that the fight was all taken out of them, by the spirit with which those two little sorties had been made. they kept up a steady fire till nightfall, but took good care not to show themselves; and they retired, as soon as they could do so, in the darkness. "that was really the end of the fighting. three days passed, and then a letter arrived from the officer in command of the expedition, ordering him to fall back to tamu, whence a detachment had been despatched to meet him. this order had fallen into the hands of the enemy. they no doubt informed themselves of its contents, and were so utterly glad to get rid of us, without further loss, that they gladly sent it in to us. that night there was a heavy thunderstorm, with a tremendous downpour of rain, and under cover of it we withdrew quietly, and before long were met by the relieving force." "that was a splendid resistance." "magnificent! you certainly earned your commission well, towers. "now, major, let us hear the story of the battle of ahmed kheyl, where you met the fanatics in force. i doubt whether the afridis will fight in the same way; but they may and, at any rate, the story will be instructive." "well, it is seventeen years ago, now," the major said, "and i was a junior lieutenant. i was, as you all know, marching from kandahar to kabul under sir donald stewart; and at ahmed kheyl, twenty-three miles south of ghuzni, we met the afghans in force, estimated at fifteen thousand foot and a thousand horse. for several days we had known that they were in the neighbourhood. their cavalry scouts could be seen marching parallel to us, about eight miles away, on the right flank. "on the th of april we marched at daybreak. the advance guard consisted of seven hundred rifles, seven hundred and fifty cavalry, and six guns; the main body of somewhat over a thousand rifles, three hundred and forty-nine sabres, and ten guns; then came the trains and hospitals, guarded by strong detachments on each flank; while the rear guard was fourteen hundred infantry, three hundred and sixteen cavalry, and six mountain guns. the length of the column was about six miles. "its head had marched about seven miles, when the cavalry in advance caught sight of the enemy, in position, three miles ahead. preparations were made for receiving an attack and, at eight o'clock, the march was resumed. half a squadron of bengal lancers were sent to cover the left front of the infantry brigade, which was now close to a range of low hills that ran parallel to the line of march for some distance, then made a bend to the east. the enemy were seen in position, covering the point of passage through the hills, and also upon the hills flanking the road by which the division would advance. "when within a mile and a half of the enemy, two batteries moved out and took up positions to shell them in front; while the infantry deployed, the line on the left facing the enemy on the hills. the nd punjab cavalry were on the right of the guns, whose escort consisted of a squadron of th bengal lancers, and a company of punjab infantry. "it was the general's intention to advance to the attack but, at nine o'clock, before his dispositions were completed, the whole crest of the hills held by the enemy seemed to be swarming with men. scarcely had the guns opened fire, when the enemy swept down from the hills, in successive lines of swordsmen, stretching out far beyond either flank of our force. at the same time a large body of horse rode along the hills, threatening the left flank. "as the swordsmen swept down on the infantry and guns, the afghan horse came out of two ravines, and charged the bengal lancers before they could acquire sufficient speed to meet them fairly. the lancers were forced back, disorganizing the rd ghoorkhas, who composed the left battalion of the line. the colonel of the ghoorkhas threw his men into company squares, and they stood their ground; but the lancers could not be rallied until they had swept along almost the whole rear of the infantry. "in the meantime the swordsmen on foot swept down with fanatical fury, and it became necessary to bring up the whole reserve into the fighting line. the two batteries of artillery on the right were now firing grape shot, at close range, into the mass of afghans; but neither this, nor the fire of the infantry supporting them, could check the advance of the enemy. the batteries, having used up all their case shot, were compelled to retire two hundred yards; and the right of the infantry line was also forced back. "the situation at this moment was horribly critical: both our flanks were turned, and the troops were a good deal shaken by the suddenness and fierceness of the attack. the enemy's horsemen, however, pushing round to the left flank, were checked by the firmness of the rd ghoorkhas--who stood their ground bravely--and by the fire of the batteries on that flank. on the right the nd punjab cavalry charged and drove back the enemy, thus giving time for the two batteries to take up their fresh position, and again come into action. "the infantry on the right also recovered from the confusion into which they had been temporarily thrown, and poured a withering fire into the afghans. in the centre the nd sikhs maintained, through out the fight, a steady and unyielding front. the steady and well-directed fire of the whole line, aided by the batteries, was creating terrible havoc among the enemy and, after an hour's gallant and strenuous exertion on both our flanks, their efforts began to slacken and, before long, the whole of them were in flight, leaving a thousand dead and wounded on the ground. "it was calculated that they had at least two thousand casualties, while our own loss amounted to only one hundred and forty-one. they were not pursued, as the cavalry were required to guard the baggage." "it was a grand fight, major," the colonel said; "but you were at maiwand also, were you not?" "yes; and it would be hard to find a greater contrast to the fight i have just described. the two british forces were attacked under almost precisely similar circumstances. one was splendidly commanded; and the other, it must be confessed, was badly led. "there was a good deal against us. the day was in july, and terribly hot and, at every step the troops took, they found the power of the sun increasing, until the heat became intense. a solitary traveller, in such circumstances, would make but poor travelling; and of course it was vastly worse for troops, advancing heavily laden and formed in column. the th foot had had tea, and a light breakfast before starting; but the native troops had had nothing to eat since the night before. one regiment, indeed, had no water; but the others had managed to fill their canteens during the halt at half-past nine. "the brigade, at the end of the march, were again ordered to change front. the grenadiers, which was a pivot regiment, did not slacken their pace and, consequently, the centre were greatly exhausted in trying to keep up with it, and were certainly in no condition to take part in the battle at midday. "the whole thing was a hideous mistake. general burrows had brought his line into such a position that behind him lay a great nullah and, during the course of the battle, the enemy were enabled to bring guns up to within five hundred yards on front and flank. it was a ghastly day. both flanks were driven back, and the line became bent into the form of a horseshoe. the two cavalry regiments, whose support should have been invaluable, behaved badly and, early in the fight, left the field. "after the first line gave way, everything went badly. some of the troops stood and died on the ground they held, others soon became a mob of fugitives. the loss, as long as they held their positions, was comparatively slight; but the grand total mounted up, during the retreat. "it was a hideous business, and one that i do not like to recall. men staggered along, overpowered by heat and thirst; falling, in many cases without resistance, under the sabre of the pursuing enemy. had these fought properly, it is probable that not a single man, except the cowardly cavalry, would have reached kandahar to tell the tale." "thank you, major. you were also, i believe, in two or three dashing affairs before maiwand?" "yes, colonel. certainly one of the most successful was that which cavagnari, who was afterwards murdered at kabul, made. it was not much of an affair, but it shows what can be done with dash. "in we were making a canal, to tap the swat river at a point where it enters british territory. naturally, the swat villagers on the other side of the frontier considered that the operation was a deep-laid plot for injuring them; and it was at the village of sappri that the chief went down, with a number of desperate men, and murdered all the coolies engaged in the work. cavagnari issued orders that the chief must pay a heavy fine, in money and cattle; and that the actual murderers must be tried for their crime. the khan, however, took no notice of the demand. "forty miles southeast of sappri was the british cantonment of murdan, where the corps of guides is permanently quartered. the greater portion of these were, however, absent on another expedition; and there remained available a few squadrons of cavalry, and eleven companies of infantry. "cavagnari kept his plans a profound secret. he did not even give the slightest hint of his intentions to their commanding officer, captain wigram battye. so well, indeed, was the secret kept, that the officers were playing a game at racket when they were called upon to start. the first intimation that the men had of the movement was the serving out of ball cartridge, when the gates of the fort were closed in the evening. the old soldiers were well aware that this meant that fighting was at hand; and they gave a great shout, which was the first intimation to the officers that something was on foot. we were as glad as the men. "mules had been got in readiness, and the small detachment set off on its long night march. the mules were picked animals and in good condition, and were able to keep up with the men. after covering thirty-two miles in seven hours, we halted at the frontier fort of abazai, seven miles south of sappri. "beyond this point the country was impracticable for cavalry; and the force, now consisting of two hundred and twelve men, dismounted and marched forward on foot. after seven miles of severe toil, they arrived in the vicinity of the hostile village; and captain battye placed his men on the surrounding high ground, so as to completely command the place, and cut off all retreat. his disposition had been completed without arousing the enemy and, in a short time, day broke. "cavagnari immediately sent in a demand, to the khan, to surrender the outlaws and pay the fine. the khan refused to comply with the terms. there was a short but desperate fight, in which the guides were victorious, the khan and many of his leading men were killed, and the village captured. the fine was then exacted, and the troops marched back to fort abazai. "this was a fine example of a punitive expedition thoroughly well managed. the movements were made with secrecy and rapidity. horses, men, and mules were all in readiness. the cavalry were, on an emergency, prepared to perform the role of infantry; while the little party of infantry were ready to ride thirty miles, on mules, with the cavalry. in this raid the guides covered forty-eight miles, without a halt; but the perfect success that attended the expedition is not often attained, especially when, as in this case, the force is unprovided with guns. two or three little mountain guns make all the difference in expeditions of this kind for, though the afridis will stand musketry fire pluckily enough, they begin to flinch as soon as guns, however small, open upon them. "there is no more awkward business than an attack upon hill forts that are well held, for some of them are really formidable. i was present at the storming of nilt fort, and the fight near chillas--both of them awkward affairs--and in the fight at malandrai. there had, for some time, been a state of hostilities between malandrai, two miles across the border, and rustam on our side of it. information was received that several of the most important of the enemy's raiders, and a considerable number of cattle would, on a certain night, be at malandrai; and it was arranged that two companies of guides should start in the afternoon for rustam, twenty-five miles distant, which they would reach after dark. at this place they were to take a short rest, and were then to follow the difficult tracks through the hills, and appear on a commanding spur in the rear of the village, at dawn. the frontal attack was to be made by six companies, who were to arrive before the bridge in the small hours of the morning. a squadron of bengal cavalry were to move independently, and to cut off any of the enemy who might escape from the frontal attack. "the turning party arrived after a march of eighteen hours, through a terribly rough country. the main body, unfortunately, miscalculated their distance and, instead of halting in the gorge leading to the village, in which it was known that pickets had been placed, they came suddenly upon the enemy's outposts. these fired a volley, killing the colonel and some of the men. the surprise, therefore, as a surprise failed; but an attack was made in the morning, the village taken, and the turning party extricated from its dangerous position. that is a good example of the difficulty of attacking a hill fort. "another instance is the attack upon nilt fort. the place was one of great natural strength; the fort, which was a large one, faced the junction of three precipitous cliffs, several hundred feet high, where a great ravine runs into the hunza river. owing to the nature of the ground, the fort could not be seen till the force was within three hundred yards of it; and fire could not be properly opened upon it until within two hundred and fifty yards. "the walls of the fort were of solid stone, cemented by mud, and strengthened by strong timbers. they were fourteen feet in height, and eight feet in thickness; and were surmounted by flanking towers and battlements, which afforded the defenders a perfect cover. in front of the main gate was a loopholed wall, completely hiding the gateway; and in front of this again was a very deep ditch, filled with abattis; while a broad band of abattis filled the space between the ditch, and a precipitous spur from the adjacent mountain. this spur was, unfortunately, inaccessible for guns and, though our infantry mounted it, their fire had no effect upon the enemy, sheltered as they were behind their battlements. "it was therefore necessary to make a direct attack, and storm the fort on a front of only sixty yards. after a vain attempt to make some impression on the forts with mountain guns, the order was given to advance; and the ghoorkhas, two hundred strong, and a company of sappers dashed forward into the ravine facing the west wall. a few of them managed to force their way into a weak point of the abattis, under a heavy fire from the fort; and worked round to a gateway. this was soon hacked down, and then they burst into the courtyard. "captain aylmer, r.e., set to work to place a charge of gun cotton against the main entrenchment of the fort. after repeated failures, the fuse was lighted and the gate blown in. captain aylmer was severely wounded, in three places; and several of the men killed. "so far the attack had been so astonishingly bold and quick that the main body were unaware of the success; and colonel duran, thinking the explosion was caused by the bursting of one of the enemy's guns, continued steadily firing at the fort. the position of the twenty men and three officers was precarious, indeed, as they were thus exposed to a heavy fire from behind, as well as in front. with splendid heroism, however, they held on to the advantage they had gained till some reinforcements came up; and then, pressing on through the shattered gate, they captured the fort. "for a fortnight after this the force remained inactive, for no way of ascending the great ravine was known. at last, however, an enterprising sepoy discovered a way, and on the th of december a hundred men, under two lieutenants, were ordered to leave nilt fort under cover of darkness, drop silently down into the bed of the ravine, and there await daylight. "the portion of the enemy's position that had been selected for attack was on the extreme left, on the crest of a cliff which rose, without a break, fifteen hundred feet from the bed of the ravine. another force, a hundred and thirty-five men and six british officers, with two guns, was to cover the advance of the storming party. at eight o'clock in the morning, fire was opened upon the enemy, as it was anticipated that the storming party were well up the cliff by this time; but unfortunately, after ascending the precipice halfway, they reached a point where the cliff was absolutely impracticable, and were obliged to descend again into the ravine. "at two o'clock, having discovered a more practicable way, they ascended again, foot by foot; their commander working his way up with admirable judgment, moving from point to point, as opportunity offered, between the showers of stones. the enemy were now fully aware that the precipice was being scaled, and it was only the well-directed fire of the covering party that prevented them from issuing from their defences, and annihilating the party with rocks and boulders. "the summit was reached at half-past eleven, and the first of the enemy's works captured. they rushed sangar after sangar, taking them in rear and driving out the enemy pell mell, killing many and capturing a large number of prisoners. at last the passage of the great ravine was gained, and the british force enabled to move forward again. "the greatest credit was due to lieutenant manners-smith; whose conduct, in storming the height in broad daylight, was simply magnificent; and the result showed the manner in which even young officers can distinguish themselves, and how the native troops will follow them, unhesitatingly, through dangers which would well appal even the bravest. "it is possible, however, to demand too much from our troops; as was shown in the defence of chillas. the post was held, in ' , by three hundred men of the kashmir maharajah's bodyguard, under the command of two british officers, major daniels and lieutenant moberley. for some time, daniels had been warned that he might be attacked on the night of a mohammedan feast. it was understood that this was on the rd of march and, when the night passed quietly, it was considered that the alarm had been a false one. during the next night, however, a determined attack was made, by about a thousand men; but was repulsed by steady volleys. "major daniels then determined to take the offensive and attack the enemy, who were swarming in great numbers into a neighbouring village. at half-past three moberley, with thirty-five men, went out to attack the village. after severe fighting, and some loss, he effected a lodgment in an outer line of houses; but being himself badly wounded, and finding the village too strongly held for a small party to make any further progress, he retired with his detachment to the fort. "the enemy continued a heavy fire until half-past eight, when major daniels determined to attack them again; although their numbers were now swollen to between four thousand and five thousand men. he had with him only a hundred and forty available men, a number being required to garrison the fort. dividing his little force, however, he attacked the village on two sides. the fight went on for two hours, during which one of the two attacking parties gained a partial footing in the village; but wounded men began to struggle back to the fort, and reported that major daniels and many men had been killed; and the remnants of the attacking party were brought back, by a native officer, at half-past eleven. the casualties in killed and wounded were very heavy, including the two british officers, four native officers, and forty-six rank and file. fortunately the natives; believing, no doubt, that reinforcements would arrive, scattered to their homes without further action. "here was a case in which the native troops were ordered to perform what verged on the impossible. the houses in these native villages are almost always fortified; and to take a hundred and fifty men, to attack a place held by five thousand, was asking more than the best british soldiers could be expected to achieve. "at any rate, the stories i have told you will give you some idea of the work we have before us. we may quite assume that such a force as is now being collected can be trusted to defeat the afridis, if they venture to meet us in open fight; but if they resort solely to harassing tactics, we shall have our work cut out for us. it must be remembered, too, that the afridis are far better fighters, more warlike, and of far better physique than the men engaged in the fights that i have been speaking of. they are splendid shots, and are almost all armed with breech-loading rifles, sniders and martinis. their country is tremendously hilly and, although it is wholly unknown to us, we do know that there are ravines to be passed where a handful of men could keep an army at bay." "i was with the sikhim expedition, in ' ," one of the captains said. "at that time i was in the derbyshires. in this case it was the wildness of the country, rather than the stoutness of the defence of the thibetans, that caused our difficulty. the force consisted of a mountain battery of four guns, two hundred men of our regiment, four hundred of the bengal infantry, and seven hundred men of the nd pioneers. the men were all picked and of good physique, as it was known that the campaign would be a most arduous one. in addition to the usual entrenching tools, a hundred and twenty short swords were issued to each regiment, and fifty per cent of the followers were also supplied. these swords were to be used for clearing away jungle. the country was very rugged, and the work had to be done at the altitude of twelve thousand feet, where the mountains are mostly covered with forest trees and undergrowth. "the base from which we started was thirty miles northeast of darjeeling, and the first objective of the expedition was the fort of lingtu, forty miles distant. the advance was made in two columns; the first consisting of two mountain guns, a hundred men of the derbyshires, and three hundred of the nd pioneers, which were to make for lingtu; while the rest were to operate towards intchi, where the rajah of sikhim resided, and thus prevent reinforcements from being sent to lingtu. "the latter column met with no opposition and, after accomplishing their work, retired. the first column came across the enemy at jeluk, five miles short of lingtu. here the thibetans had erected a strong stockade, at the top of a very steep ascent; and had barricaded the road with stone breastworks. "the position was attacked, at seven in the morning, by a hundred men of the nd pioneers; supported by seventy-eight men of my regiment. the guns had had to be left behind. the advance was slow and, owing to the dense bamboo jungle through which we had to pass, and the steepness of the road, great caution was necessary. "when we had reached a spot within a few hundred yards of the stockade, fire was suddenly opened on the pioneers. these, however, moved on steadily, without replying till, having worked their way close up to the stockade, they fired a volley; and then, with a loud cheer, charged with bayonets fixed. the derbyshire detachment moved up into support, and the position was captured after a sharp struggle. "a small turning party, under captain lumsden, had been detached to the left but, after proceeding a short distance, they found that the road had been cleared to where it passed round a precipice; and that it was defended by a party of the enemy, behind a stone breastwork, at ten yards' range. captain lumsden and several of his men were knocked over, and the party were brought to a complete stand. so thick was the jungle that they did not know what was going on, on either side; and the first intimation they received, of the capture of the fort, was the descent of a party of derbyshires in the rear of the breastworks. "the stockade, when it was examined, turned out to be a most formidable one; about two hundred yards long, both flanks resting on impassable precipices. it was constructed of logs laid horizontally, with a thick abattis of twelve trees. "next morning the advance on lingtu was continued, in a dense mist. information was obtained, from a prisoner, that they would have to cross a spot where there was a stone shoot, down which an avalanche of rocks could be hurled by the defenders. they therefore advanced with great caution, while a party of the pioneers crept along the crest of the ridge, and attacked from the rear the party gathered at the head of the stone shoot. the road was steep and broken, and the partially-melted snow lay two feet deep on it. the pioneers captured the stone shoot without loss, and then pushed on over the hills and, without firing a shot, charged straight at the fort; and burst their way through the main gate, before the astonished thibetans had realized what was happening. "of course, as it was against an enemy of such poor fighting quality as the thibetans, this little affair affords no idea of the resistance that we can expect in the tirah; but it does show what can be accomplished by our men, in the face of immense natural difficulties." chapter : the dargai pass. there was the greatest joy among the pioneers, when they received instructions to prepare for an advance to khusalghar. officers and men alike were in the highest spirits, and not the least pleased was lisle, who had begun to tire of the monotony of camp life. the mention of the place at which they were to assemble put an end to the discussion, that had long taken place, as to route to be followed. six days' easy march along a good road would take them to shinawari and, in three or four days more, they would get into the heart of the tirah. illustration: map illustrating the tirah campaign. much would depend on the conduct of the orakzais, a powerful tribe whose country lay between kenmora and that of the zakka-khels. the latter had indeed declared against us, but they were known to be very half hearted; for they felt that, lying as they did close to the british frontier, they would be sure to suffer most if we obtained the upper hand. it was hoped therefore that, after making a show of resistance, they would try to come to terms with us. the regiment was told that it would have to provide its own carriage, and two or three days were spent in buying up all the ponies and mules in the neighbourhood. all the heavy baggage was packed up and left in store, and the regiment marched from the town in light order, with their drums and fifes playing a merry march, and the men in high spirits. "it is worth two years in a dull cantonment, bullen," one of the lieutenants remarked to lisle. "it is glorious," lisle said, "though i expect we shall have some hard fighting; for they say that the zakka-khels and their allies can place fifty thousand in the fighting line and, as our column is reported to be twenty thousand strong, we shall all have our work to do. in the open they would, of course, have no chance with us but, as the fighting will be done in guerrilla fashion, from hills and precipices, our task will be no easy one. the guarding of the tremendous convoy we must take with us will, in itself, be extremely difficult." "yes, i expect we shall get it hot. the loss is almost sure to be heavy, but that will not prevent us from turning them out of their fastnesses." "i wish they would let us all carry rifles, instead of swords," lisle said. "it will be beastly having nothing to do but wave one's sword, while they are potting at us. i don't think i should mind the heaviest fire, if i could reply to it; but to be compelled to stand by idly, while the men are blazing away, would be enough to drive me mad." "i dare say when the fighting begins, bullen, you will soon find that there are plenty of rifles disengaged; and i don't see any reason why an officer should not pick up one of them, and take his share in firing, till he has to lead the men on to an attack." lisle was now nearly eighteen, of medium height, with light active figure, and likely to be able to undergo any hardships. on their arrival at khusalghar, they found that several regiments were already there, with an enormous amount of stores and baggage. the officers lost no time in examining the fort, that had been so nobly held by a party of sikhs who, having for a long time held the enemy in check, had fought to the last when they burst in. one by one the noble fellows fell. one wounded man, lying on a pallet, shot three of the enemy before he was killed; and the last survivor of the little force shut himself up in a little chamber, and killed twenty of his assailants before he was overcome. not a single man escaped, and their defence of the little fort is a splendid example of the fidelity and bravery of our sikh soldiers. after a few days' stay at this place, the regiment marched on to shinawari; and here remained for some little time, until the column was made up. it was known that the zakka-khels and their allies had marched down and taken up their position near the dargai hill; and that the orakzais had, in spite of the pressure brought to bear upon them by the other tribes, determined to remain neutral. this dargai hill must not be confused with the hill, of the same name, at which fierce fighting took place in the expedition to chitral, two years before. at last the welcome news came that the advance was about to take place. general lockhart, with another column, was at fort lockhart, some thirty miles away; but the intermediate ground was so broken, and the force of the enemy watching him so strong, that no assistance could be obtained from him. the force assembled at shinawari was a strong one. the king's own scottish borderers, a battery of royal artillery, the st battalion of gordons, st dorsets with a mountain battery, the yorkshire regiment, the royal west surrey, and a company of the th ghoorkhas were all there. the rd sikhs, with two guns, moved to the left in the khuram valley. altogether, something like fifty thousand transport animals accompanied them, with sixty thousand camp followers. the transport presented an extraordinary appearance. it included every class of bullock vehicle, lines of ill-fed camels, mules, ponies, and even tiny donkeys. on october th orders were received, from general lockhart, that the division at shinawari was to make a reconnaissance in force towards the khanki valley, as the enemy had been seen moving about on the hills. a force consisting of the rd and th brigades moved forward. the object of the reconnaissance was the summit of the hill, directly overlooking shinawari, and over two thousand feet high. from the plain the ascent appeared to be simple but, when they started to climb, they found that it was rugged and almost impassable. there was no semblance of road, and the men had to toil up the goat paths and sheep tracks. the dargai ridge was from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet above the spot from which they started. on the near side it was almost a sheer precipice, and the only means of access to the top was up three steep waterways, which converged to the left of the position. it was only two hundred and fifty yards' range from the summit but, as soon as it was crossed, the steepness of the cliff afforded the assailants shelter from the enemy's fire. from this point the path zigzags up, until men in single file can reach the summit. the ridge then dips into the hollow plateau where the village lies, and then runs up two hundred feet to the cliff, making a descent of the better part of a mile. on the far side the hill slopes away to the khanki valley. "we are going to begin with a sharpish climb," lisle said to another officer. "if those fellows on the top of the cliff stick to their work, we shall have a very hot time of it." "i expect the guns will clear them off," the other said. "they may do that for a moment but, as we get up to the top, they will rush forward again; if they have the same pluck as the fellows i fought against, before." as soon as the advance began, the enemy came into action; but the two batteries opened upon them, and their fire slackened somewhat. the climb was a severe one, indeed; the road became worse and worse as they advanced and, at one place, a ridge between two spurs had to be crossed with barely a foot of purchase way, and a sheer drop on both sides. when they were within two hundred yards from the summit, they had to cross an open space. the borderers and ghoorkhas were in front; and the latter were ordered to carry the position, while the borderers covered their advance. the ghoorkhas advanced in a couple of rushes and, as they neared the summit, the enemy bolted. the goorkhas pursued; but they did not go far, as the general, who had been with the advance guard throughout, recalled them. it was found that a village lay in the hollow of the plateau, and that sangars had been built all along the summit, and high up on the hill which covered the crest. general westmacott waited for two hours on the summit and, supposing that general kempster could not make his way up, was about to withdraw his men; as large bodies of the enemy were seen, moving in a direction which threatened the left rear. as they did so, general kempster arrived. he had experienced considerable resistance, and had lost two officers. "that has been hard work, lisle," his companion said, as they returned to camp. "yes, but the hardness consisted more in the climbing than in the fighting. i wonder we are brought back again. we shall probably have a great deal harder work, next time; for all the enemy in the khanki valley will no doubt be up there, waiting for us." that evening, there was much discussion at the mess upon the expediency of evacuating the pass, when it had once been occupied. the general opinion, however, was that it was necessary. general lockhart was at the fort bearing his name, with a regiment of the th brigade. the nd battalion had remained in camp at shinawari, and the st division was still on the march to that place. it was general lockhart's intention to divide the great force known to be in the khanki valley. the reconnaissance had been ordered to ascertain if a road really existed, and if it was passable for baggage. the reasons for the retirement were that a complete brigade would have been required to take the place, that the picketing of the road would have taken half a brigade, and that no commissariat arrangements had been made for the supply of a force on the plateau. further, not a drop of water was available; and lastly, if dargai had been held, the enemy would have massed their whole force against it; whereas, when the force withdrew, the tribesmen would be compelled to divide their force in order to watch the other road. the conclusion arrived at, by the members of the mess, was that the retirement was probably necessary; but that the next advance would assuredly meet with much greater opposition than the first. three days passed; and then, at half-past four in the morning, the advance guard of general yeatman-biggs' column left the camp, under general kempster, and proceeded up the chagru pass. it was a long, weary pull up the hill. the sappers had been working hard on the road, for the past ten days; but it was still very narrow for a whole division, and three mountain batteries. at half-past eight the force reached the summit, and the advance guard sent back news that the crest of the dargai was held, by the enemy, in force. the enemy could be plainly made out. they had with them a black banner, which showed that they were kambar khels. on the far side of the opposite range could be seen great masses of tribesmen, with a dozen standards. the st and nd ghoorkhas, the dorsets, and the derbys were sent on; while the gordons took up a position to cover the advance, with long-range volleys. as the regiments climbed up, three mountain guns massed on the chagru kotal; and another one, which had come in with the northampton from fort lockhart, opened fire. the enemy replied, at long range, upon the advance guard of the ghoorkhas, as they went up the centre nullah. the little ghoorkhas came steadily on and, at six hundred yards, opened fire in volleys. this and the fire of the guns was too much for the tribesmen, who ceased to show themselves. the dorsets had now joined the ghoorkhas and, after a halt, again made a rush across the open to reach the cover, the derbys firing heavily to assist them. until our men showed in the open, they had no knowledge in what force the position was held. three companies of ghoorkhas managed to reach cover beneath the cliff, but the path was strewn with the dead and dying. captain robinson, after getting across with his men, tried to rejoin the main body, but fell. then the dorsets endeavoured to join the three gallant companies of ghoorkhas. rush after rush was made, but the head of each melted away, as soon as the fatal spot was reached. at last, after three fruitless attempts, the helio flashed back to the general that the position was impregnable, and that further attempts would be but a useless waste of life. matters were looking serious. it was twelve o'clock, and the enemy still held their position. general yeatman-biggs realized that a check would seriously alter the course of the campaign, and he told general kempster that the summit must be taken, at any cost. the latter started at once, taking with him the gordons and rd sikhs. it took the fresh troops the best part of an hour to climb up; and when the five regiments of infantry, the highlanders, english, sikhs, and ghoorkhas, stood massed in the nullah, general kempster helioed to the guns, asking three minutes' concentrated fire on the summit. there were two ways to reach the cover where the company of ghoorkhas had been lying, for three hours. the top ridge had been proved to be absolutely a death passage, but there was another path, by which general westmacott had forced his way up, three days before, and which was shorter across the open zone of fire. a fresh regiment was to take the lead. the colonel collected his men at the edge of the nullah, and said: "gordons, the general says that the position must be taken, at all costs. the gordons are to do it!" the signal was given, the batteries at once opened fire, and the cliff was crowned with a circle of bursting shrapnel. then the officers of the gordons dashed over the nullah, the pipes rolled out the charge and, with clenched teeth, the highlanders burst into the open. the length of the exposed zone was swept with the leaden stream. the head of the upper column melted away; but a few struggled on, and others took the places of the fallen. the sikhs, derbys, and ghoorkhas followed in rushes, as the firing slackened, and the cover halfway was won. a moment was allowed for breath, and then the men were up again; another terrible rush, another terrible slaughter, and the three companies of ghoorkhas were reached. when the enemy saw that the space was crossed, they left their sangars and streamed down the reverse slope of the hill. they could not face the men who had passed that terrible passage. forming at the bend of the perpendicular rock, they waited till they had recovered their breath, and then proceeded up the zigzag path leading to the summit of the hill. the fighting was over, but the loss had been great. four officers had been killed and ten wounded, one of them mortally. the total casualties were a hundred and ninety-four killed and wounded. of these thirty were gordons, and the majority of the remainder were dorsets and ghoorkhas. few of those who fell wounded escaped with their lives. their comrades made desperate efforts to carry them off; but the storm of bullets, fired at so short a range, rendered it impossible; while the wounded who attempted to rise and return were riddled with bullets, as soon as they moved. when the fight was over, the whole force encamped on the chagru kotal. the assailants were unable to make out why the enemy did not defend the zigzag path. only two men could climb it abreast, and the advancing files could have been destroyed by a dozen marksmen with breech loaders. the only reasonable supposition was that, having been engaged for five hours, their ammunition was practically exhausted. several acts of heroism were performed in the battle. one of the pipers, lance corporal milne, was shot through both legs; but still continued to play his pipes, in a sitting position. four other pipers played right across the fatal passage, three of them being wounded. lieutenant tillard was the first man across. he was a fast runner, but he stopped to encourage his men, midway. by the th, the whole of the two divisions were encamped on the two low hills at the mouth of the kapagh pass; while the stream of transport came gradually up. by that day six thousand four hundred british troops, eleven thousand two hundred and eighty native troops, seventeen thousand followers, and two thousand four hundred camels were gathered there. in the morning a foraging party went out and, when they were returning to camp with supplies, and also with a hundred head of cattle, the enemy lined the neighbouring heights. the mountain battery came into action, and the rearmost regiment covered the retreat by volleys; but the tribesmen had all the advantage of position and, with the utmost determination, they followed. they even opened fire on the camp, causing several casualties, the total losses being over thirty. by this time the troops were all convinced that the campaign would be a most serious one. before them lay a country of which they were absolutely ignorant, into which no englishman had ever penetrated; and defended by an enemy who were, for the most part, armed with first-class rifles, and were marvellous skirmishers. if the tribesmen kept to guerrilla warfare, there was no saying how long the campaign would last. lisle had passed through the fight unhurt. he had been almost bewildered as he crossed the fatal path, running at top speed, with men falling thickly around him. halfway across lieutenant blunt, who was one of his great chums, and had joined just before him, fell. lisle sheathed his sword and threw himself down beside him, pressing him to the ground to prevent him from moving; while he himself remained perfectly still. when the next rush of men came along, he lifted his wounded friend with great effort on to his back, and then ran on. blunt was again twice hit; but lisle escaped, almost by a miracle, and arrived at the foot of the precipice a minute after the last man got in. he was loudly cheered, by the men, as he did so. he had the satisfaction of knowing that blunt's wounds, although serious, were not considered mortal. when the regiment halted on the plateau, lisle was warmly congratulated by the colonel and officers on the feat he had performed; but he disclaimed any particular merit. "when blunt fell," he said, "it was the most natural thing in the world that i should go and pick him up; and i did so almost mechanically. luckily he was a light man but, even if he had been a heavy one, i don't think i should have felt his weight. i was scarcely conscious of the bullets whistling round me. when he fell, i knew that the tribesmen would shoot any wounded man who tried to rise, and that the only chance was to lie perfectly still, until another batch of men came along." "you showed no end of coolness," the colonel said, "and the idea of pressing him down, and yourself lying quietly beside him showed that, in spite of confusion, your brain was clear, and that you had all your senses about you. it was a gallant action, which i shall not forget to mention when i send in my report. you deserve the v.c., but i don't suppose you will get it; so many gallant deeds were done that only a few can get the cross." the two divisions marched on the morning of the th. the northamptons and th sikhs had been detached to an extremely high hill, to cover the advance. it had already been found that, although the afridis could fight well, so long as they had the advantage of position, they were nevertheless extremely careful of their skins. after the heavy firing into camp, on the night of the return of the reconnaissance, the place had been greatly strengthened; and the positions were changed every night, a fact which so entirely surprised the enemy that, for a time, night attacks ceased altogether. general westmacott's brigade advanced up the khanki nullah to the foot of the sampagha pass. general gazelee's division moved along the hills, and halted at the village of ghandaki. in the afternoon a reconnaissance pushed forward, and returned with the news that the pass appeared to be simple, and the road a good one. tribesmen were seen upon nearly every crest. they were apparently building sangars upon the roadway. general gazelee was to make his attack next morning. general westmacott, general kempster, and general hart, with the batteries of both divisions, were to occupy a knoll at the foot of the pass, to support the advance. the troops moved forward in the following order: the queens, the nd and th ghoorkhas, yorks, and rd sikhs were first; and they were followed by the th sikhs, the scottish borderers, and the northamptons. in the dim light of the early morning, the distant crests were marked by the fires of the enemy. some delay was caused by the batteries missing the tracks, but by daybreak they advanced. at half-past six the enemy fired the first shot, and then fell rapidly back. the regiments in the first line moved steadily on and, at half-past seven, the guns opened. a few shells were sufficient for the enemy's advance party, and they scuttled back. when the ghoorkhas and queens reached the first ridge in the pass, the enemy opened fire; but they could not stand the accurate fire of the six batteries. a mountain battery pushed up the pass, and came into action on the enemy's first position. the pass widened out from this point, and the two leading regiments moved forward to the sloping crest of the third position. the queens had advanced on the right, with the ghoorkhas on their flank. the pathway was covered by the fire of the enemy, hidden behind rocks; and this was so accurate that men could hardly show themselves on the path, without being immediately shot down. the sikhs and borderers, however, pushed up the hill and drove the enemy out. the defence of the pass was not so determined as had been expected, after the stand shown at dargai. the reason, no doubt, was that though they were good skirmishers, the enemy did not care to expose themselves, either to artillery fire or close-quarter fighting. when the last crest had been gained, the force proceeded down into the mastura valley. the tribesmen had deserted, and set fire to, their homesteads. the villages were only a few hundred yards apart, and were well built. the valley contained many beautiful groves. there was little food in the camp, and the ghoorkhas set to work to make chupatties, with coarse flour found in the villages. there had been very few casualties during the day, and the men began to hope that, after the lesson taught the enemy at dargai, no other resolute stand would be made. after a day of rest in the valley, orders were issued for the rd and th brigades to move, at daybreak. the nd brigade was to follow, the st being left to garrison the camp. the path was across a low ridge connecting higher ones, and offered no great facilities for resistance, and was overcome with the exchange of a few shots, only. from the top of the karanghur pass was seen the valley of maidan, the spot which the afridis were wont to boast no infidel had ever gazed upon. the view was magnificent. from the foot of the slope stretched a valley, broken here and there by ravines and nullahs. every inch of it seemed to be cultivated; and it was one wide expanse of terraced fields, sprinkled with groves and dotted with countless habitations. there was scarce an acre which had not a fortified block house, as each family built a homestead for itself, and fortified itself against all comers. as the column entered the valley, they found that their arrival had not been expected. the livestock had been removed, but every house in the valley was stocked with supplies. indian corn, wheat, barley, and other grain were found in abundance; and there was an ample stock of honey, potatoes, walnuts, and onions. bagh was the tribal centre, the afridi parliament ground. its mosque was situated about four miles farther up the valley. it was at this spot that orders were issued to make war upon the british. it was an insignificant building, with a mud roof supported by twenty-one pillars. the mosque was not interfered with. it was thought that, as such little opposition was offered in the last pass, the enemy had lost all heart; but a foraging party, the next day, found the tribesmen in great force at the other end of the valley, and were compelled to retire. another party of the enemy attempted to rush a picket of the th sikhs; and a strong force pounced upon the baggage train, and killed several of the drivers; then, retiring till the main guard had passed, dashed out again and killed three of the guards, and wounded several others. for the present, no damage was done to the homesteads; as it was hoped that the afridis would come in and surrender. next day a foraging party was hotly attacked and, at night, there was severe fighting round the camp. a party of elders came in, to ask what terms would be given; and were told that the tribesmen would have to deliver up their rifles, and pay a heavy fine. it was evident, from their manner, that although they would be ready to pay a fine, they would certainly not deliver up their rifles. the troops had now settled down comfortably. they had ten days' rations in camp, and the camel convoys were coming in daily. the weather was delightful, and the nightly firing into the camp, alone, disturbed them. a small party of foragers was, a few days later, fiercely attacked. captain rowcroft, who was in command, had with him only a subadar and half a dozen sepoys, when a heavy fire was opened upon him. the party could have retired, but one of the men was shot through the thigh, and it took three others to carry him. he was presently left behind, and rowcroft went back to the body, to assure himself that the man was dead. this pause gave the enemy time to close up, and the subadar was shot, as well as the man tending him. a mule was luckily found, and the subadar was sent to the rear. after this two men were hit, one for the second time and, as it was impossible for the four sound men to carry off their wounded, and face the enemy as well, rowcroft chose the best spot, and determined to halt and wait for help. the afridis could not bring themselves to rush the little party, but confined themselves to keeping up a heavy fire. another sikh was wounded; and the dust caused by the bullets almost blinded the others, who could scarcely see to reply. at last, just in the nick of time, a relieving party arrived and carried them off. on the th general westmacott started, with his brigade, to punish the zakka-khels for the continued night firing which, our commander had learned from prisoners, was kept up by that tribe. the brigade did its work thoroughly and, by evening, the whole of the eastern valley was in flames. that same evening, however, captain watson, a commissariat officer, was shot dead, as he stood at his own door. a curious fatality seemed to accompany this night firing. out of the many thousands in camp, four officers only had been hit. captain sullivan, of the th sikhs, was shot ten minutes after he had arrived in camp, having travelled post haste from england. on the th a reconnaissance was ordered to saransur, a lofty peak to the east of the maidan valley. across this is a pass, on one of the roads to peshawar. general westmacott, who was in command, took with him four regiments--two british and two sikhs--two batteries, and a company of madras sappers. the foot of the hill to be scaled was less than three miles from camp, but the intervening ground was extraordinarily broken. it was, in fact, a series of hummocks from seventy to a hundred feet high; which were covered with boulders, and intersected by a river. this main nullah was also broken, on both sides, by smaller nullahs almost every hundred yards. beyond this rugged ground there was a severe ascent. the hill had two spurs; one wooded, especially towards the summit, the other bare. the path wound up the latter, then crossed a ridge beyond, and yet another ridge behind that, with a sheer summit very like the dargai cliff. the force left camp at half-past seven. when they had gone about a mile, desultory shots were fired at them, from a series of well-built sangars facing the termination of the nullah. on reaching the foot of the hillside, general westmacott was much concerned about the dorsets on the left; who were engaged in desultory firing, and were making little progress up the nullah. staff officer after staff officer was despatched, to direct the dorsets to the intended line. a little before ten the northamptons, and sikhs covering them in the rear, began the ascent. it was a stiff climb of a thousand feet. when the first brow was reached general westmacott called a halt, in order that the men might get their breath and fix bayonets. then they climbed to the next top cover, and rushed forward. the enemy evidently knew its range, and advance companies found themselves under magazine fire. nevertheless they pushed on. an open kotal had to be passed. the men crossed it at the double and, although a heavy fire was kept up again, there was no casualty. the advance guard was now at the foot of the sheer cliff. no news had been received of the dorsets, who were in a very rough country, wooded almost to the summit; and the general could only hope that they were working up through this. the force pushed on and, a few minutes past eleven, the whole summit was in our possession, and the last of the visible enemy put to flight. the intelligence officers busied themselves sketching the country. it was evident that the saransur was the retreat of the maidan zakka-khels, for all round were evidences of encampments: fire-stained walls, caves, and bags of grain. it was deserted by the tribesmen, who had been taken by surprise, and had left hurriedly. general westmacott was anxious to be off, as it was probable that the fighting men of the enemy had merely hurried off to place their families under cover, and would return as soon as they had done so. at two o'clock the return march began. a company of the northamptons were placed within range of the wooded slope, which should have been covered by the dorsets, had they come up. they were suddenly fired upon, and the men fell fast. another company came up to help them. the enemy could not be seen, but volleys were fired into the wood. the th sikhs went back to reinforce them, and the whole force were withdrawn without further casualty. as the northamptons were retiring across the wooded zone, the first four companies were allowed to pass unmolested; but when the fifth reached the clear ground, they were greeted with a blaze of fire. the carriage of the wounded delayed the retirement, and it was not until dusk that the foot of the hill was reached. the enemy had taken every advantage that their knowledge of the country gave them. they had now begun to creep up the ravines, and their number increased every minute. men were falling fast. each man carrying a wounded comrade became a target. the dorsets also were severely engaged. the northamptons stuck to their work, and slowly withdrew their wounded; but the number of casualties increased alarmingly. then an unfortunate occurrence took place. a party of northamptons, under lieutenant macintyre and lieutenant sergeant luckin, turning a corner, were cut off. it appeared that they sacrificed themselves to their wounded comrades. one of the party was despatched for help, and evidently came across a small group of dorsets. the story was, that the party were surrounded at short range when he left; for, had they left their wounded and followed him, they might have saved themselves. next morning their bodies were found. in every case they had been wounded by bullets, before the pathans came up and gashed them; which showed that they had fought till the last man dropped. lisle was not one of those who returned to camp and, in the confusion that occurred as the result of the late arrival of the troops, his absence was not discovered until the next morning. on enquiries being made, it was found that he was last seen high up in the mountains. he had been sent down, with eight men, to request the guns to direct their fire against the enemy, who were pressing the regiment during the retreat; but as he had not arrived at the guns, a strong party was at once sent out, to search for his body and those of the men with him. lisle had, in fact, pushed down halfway to the spot where the guns were placed, and had dismounted at the top of a nullah; when a large party of the enemy opened fire upon him. one of the sepoys at once fell dead, and another was wounded. it was impossible for him to fight his way through this force. twilight was already falling and, owing to the rugged nature of the ground, he was by no means sure of his position. while the men returned the enemy's fire, he looked round for some vantage ground. fifty yards away there was a small blockhouse and, when he saw this, he at once determined to shelter in it. he and one of the men therefore lifted their wounded comrade, and lisle shouted to the others: "use your magazines, and then make a rush for the hut, keeping well together." the little party charged, meanwhile keeping up so heavy a fire, with their magazines, that the afridis who stood between them and the house cleared off, leaving a dozen of their dead on the ground. before they reached the block house, two more of the men were wounded but, fortunately, not severely enough to prevent them from keeping up with the others. the place was untenanted, and they rushed in and at once began to pile its contents against the door. lisle ordered the unwounded men to take their places at the loopholes, which served for windows in the afridi buildings, while he himself attended to the wounds of the others. he warned the men who were firing to withdraw quickly after every shot, for the afridis were such admirable marksmen that their bullets frequently entered the loopholes. chapter : captured. when he had completed the dressing of the wounds, lisle mounted to the upper story, which was a feature of every house in the valley. while the lower part was of stone; the upper one was built of wicker work, thickly plastered with mud, and quite useless as a protection against rifle bullets. he set to work to cut a dozen small loopholes, a few inches above the floor. from these he commanded a view all round. then he called up the two wounded men, who were still able to use their rifles, and ordered them to lie down, one at each of the side walls; while he himself took his place over the doorway, with the rifle of the disabled man. from here he picked off several of the enemy. his fire was returned but, as he took care to lie well back, the bullets all went over his head. when darkness fell, he went down and directed the sepoys to man only the loopholes in the front wall. this released three men, whom he brought upstairs and posted above the door. the afridis continued to riddle the upper wall and the door with bullets. several times they attempted a rush, but were unable to withstand the heavy magazine fire which met them, when within twenty yards of the house. twice they attempted to pile faggots at the side of the door, but the defence was so strong that many of the bearers were killed, and the survivors fled. knowing that the afridis were in the habit of hiding their store of grain, lisle prodded the floor in all directions with his bayonet and, at last, found a good supply in one corner of the room. unfortunately, however, there was only one vessel, half full of water. it would not have done to light a fire to cook the grain, as any illumination within the house would have shown the exact place of the loopholes to the enemy. lisle therefore served out some grain to each of the soldiers, to eat raw. he gave some of the water to the three wounded men, and served out a mouthful to each of the others; telling them that they might not be relieved for some time, and that the little supply must be made to last as long as possible. the enemy still kept up a heavy fire but, after the lessons they had received, there was but small chance that they would attempt another hand-to-hand attack. lisle therefore told all the men to lie down and sleep, while he himself took up his place at the loophole nearest the door, and kept watch. no attempt was made until daybreak was approaching; when, with wild yells, the afridis again rushed forward. the men were instantly on their feet, and eight rifles flashed out. "magazine firing!" lisle shouted, "but don't fire unless you see a man, and make sure of bringing him down. we must husband our ammunition." quietly and steadily, the men kept up their fire. this time the enemy reached the door, and lisle was compelled to call down the two men from above. the afridis gathered thickly round the door, tried to push it in with their heavy knives, and battered it with the butt ends of their rifles. gradually, in spite of the fire of the defenders, they splintered it; but the barricade behind still held and, from this, the besieged poured through the broken door so galling a fire--one half emptying their magazines, and then falling back to reload while the others took their places--till at last, after suffering a loss of some thirty men, the enemy retired again, and were soon hidden in the darkness. as soon as they had gone, the garrison brought down all available material from the upper floor to strengthen the barricade. "i don't think they will try again, lads," lisle said. the numbers of the besieged were, unfortunately, dwindling. one had been shot through the head, two others had been wounded, and lisle himself had received a bullet in his shoulder. there were now but two unwounded men; but the other four were all capable of using their rifles, at a pinch. it was a relief, indeed, when day fairly broke; for then they could see their foes at a distance and, by a steady fire, force them to take to shelter. when they got into cover, the tribesmen continued to fire upon the block house; but the besieged did not reply, for they had only twenty rounds per man left. another mouthful of water was now served to all and, the two unwounded men having been placed in the upper story to keep watch, the others sat down under the loopholes, in readiness to leap to their feet and fire, if an alarm was given. at length, about eleven o'clock, the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased and, a few minutes later, a relief party marched up. the men cheered lustily as the barricade was removed, and lisle and the six men came out. the officers ran forward and warmly greeted lisle, shaking hands with him and the men of his little party. "thank god we have found you alive, bullen! we hadn't even a hope that you had survived; for we found poor macintyre and his party, all killed and cut up. we started this morning, as soon as your absence was discovered, and have been searching ever since; but i doubt if we should ever have found you, had we not heard firing going on up here. i don't think men were ever so pleased as ours, when we heard it; for it showed that you, or some of your party, were still holding out. "you must have had desperate fighting, for there are some forty bodies lying near the door; and we know that the enemy always carry off their dead, when they can. you must have accounted for a good many more, who have been taken away in the darkness." "we have done our best, you may be sure," lisle said. "we have lost two men killed, and four out of the others are wounded. i myself have got a rifle ball in my shoulder; at least, it is not there now, for it went right through. fortunately it missed the bone, so i shall be all right again, in a day or two." "how many were you attacked by?" "i should say there must have been two hundred. that was about the number, when they first attacked." "you must have been exposed to a tremendous fire. the walls are everywhere pitted with bullet marks, and the upper story seems perfectly riddled with balls; but of course none of you were up there." "yes, we used it as a lookout. as you see, i made four loopholes in each side and, as we lay well back, their bullets passed over our heads. "what we want now is water. we drank the last drop, when we saw you coming. we had scarcely a mouthful each, and we have not had much more during the siege." flasks were instantly produced, and each man drank his fill. "and now we had better be off," the officer in command of the relief party said. "likely enough the afridis will be down upon us, as soon as we move." they were, indeed, several times fired at, as they made their way down to the camp, and at one time the resistance was formidable; but they were presently joined by another party from the camp, and the afridis therefore drew off. lisle received many hearty congratulations on his return, and many officers of other regiments came in to shake his hand. "i shall send in your name again, mr. bullen," his colonel said, after lisle had made his report. "it was a most gallant action, to defend yourself so long, with only seven men, against a couple of hundred of the enemy; and the loss you inflicted upon them has been very severe, for forty fell close to the house, so that their bodies could not be carried off. i certainly should reckon that you must have killed or wounded a good many more." "i don't think so, colonel. no doubt we killed some more but, as it was dark for the greater part of the time, we could only fire at the flashes of their rifles. certainly i saw twelve or fourteen fall, before it became quite dark and, as they several times tried to rush us, others might have fallen far enough from the house to be carried off by their friends." that day general lockhart placed, in the order of the day, the names of lisle and his little party as having shown conspicuous gallantry, in defending themselves against a vastly superior force. two days later general lockhart, himself, went out with a strong force to the top of saransur; but met with little resistance, and the force returned at a much earlier hour than on the previous occasion, and reached camp before nightfall. in warfare of this kind, it is the wounded who are the cause of disaster. a wounded man means six men out of the fighting line--four to carry him, and one to take charge of their rifles. a few casualties greatly reduce the fighting strength of the party. in european warfare this would not take place, as the wounded would be left behind, and would be cared for by the enemy. the next day representatives of all the orakzai tribes came in, and asked for terms. they were told that they must restore all stolen property, give up five hundred rifles, and pay a fine of thirty thousand rupees, and the cost of rebuilding the post they had destroyed. representatives of three other tribes also came in, and similar terms were imposed upon them. two of these, the kambar-khels and the malikdins, were in the habit of migrating to british territory in cold weather; but the kuki-khels sent their families and goods, in winter quarters, to the bara valley. the other maidan tribes would probably have come in at the same time, but for their fear of the zakka-khels. there was trouble the next day in the mastura valley, where two officers and four men were wounded. the following night the camp was fired into, by an enemy who had crept within a hundred and fifty yards of it. news came that general kempster, with his detached brigade, had met with little opposition; and his search over the hills showed that the zakka-khels, in that direction, were severely punished. on the th, the rd brigade left the camp to cross the kotal towards saransur. except for a few long-range shots, there was no opposition. next day a mullah's house was destroyed, documents found there showing that he had taken a vigorous part in the rising. two days later the brigade started on their return march. the st and rd ghoorkhas were to cover the retirement, and the th sikhs to hold the kotal. the baggage train reached the kotal by twelve o'clock, and the camp at three. the ghoorkhas, however, had to fight hard; and were so done up that, instead of continuing to cover the retirement they passed on, leaving the sikhs to cover. the enemy, thinking that only a small rear guard had been left, came down in great force; but the fire was so heavy that they fell back, leaving the ground strewn with their dead. the action, however, now became general, all along the hill. ammunition was running short, and captain abbott felt that, in the face of so large a force, and with fifteen or sixteen wounded, he could not retire down the ravine or valley without support. he therefore signalled for assistance; and the th, and two companies of the dorsets, were detached for that purpose. colonel houghton of the th, who was now in command, retiring steadily, found himself hampered with wounded in the rough country; while the enemy were surrounding him in increasing numbers. he was suffering heavily from the fire of the enemy posted in a small village; and he determined to seize it, and hold it for the night. three companies of the th and two of the th therefore rushed up the hill, and were into the buildings before the pathans were aware that they were moving against them. those that delayed were bayoneted, the rest fled precipitately into the darkness. their fire, however, had cost us an officer and five men killed. major des voeux on the right, having rushed a clump of buildings opposite to him, made for a second one on the far side of the nullah, in which was a small square building. the roof of the house had been burnt, and the charred beams were lying on the ground. the men rolled these, and what litter they could find into the gaps of the building; but the breastwork was barely two feet high. when the enemy returned to the attack they rushed right up to the house but, luckily, they fired high in their excitement, and the sikhs swept them back again. the breastwork was then completed, a sentry was placed at each side of the house, and the rest lay down. colonel houghton's post, which was a strong one, was not much troubled. a disaster, however, occurred to a half company, under two officers, who tried to push their way back to camp. their bodies were found in a nullah, in the morning. the next morning the parties were relieved by a force from camp. on the same day general westmacott, with the th brigade, marched out. for the past three days the malikdins and kambar-khels had shown a disposition to be friendly, and had made some attempt to open a grain traffic. major sullivan, with three other officers, pushed forward to prospect a site for a camp. some apparently friendly and unarmed tribesmen approached them; but major sullivan's suspicions were excited when he saw that, instead of coming down direct, they were making a sweep that would cut off his little party. he therefore whistled for the others to join him. when the tribesmen saw that the game was up, they poured in two volleys. luckily the shots went high, and the four officers gained the cover of a house, and were soon joined by a ghoorkha company. there was no doubt that the enemy had played the game of friendlies for the purpose of obtaining four officers, alive, to use as hostages. the force then retired, bringing in the baggage animals, loaded with forage. the return was now decided upon. it was considered by the authorities that it would be less expensive to organize another expedition in the spring, when the sowing had begun; than to maintain a large force in the tirah during the winter. the afridis would not come down, and orders were therefore issued for destroying all the villages. these were burned, and the axe laid to the roots of the beautiful groves. the tribal representatives of the kambar-khels, alla-khels, malikdin-khels, and kuki-khels came in. they were ordered to send in eight hundred serviceable rifles, fifty thousand rupees in cash, and all property that had been stolen. when the force arrived at bagh there was a sharp action, and the casualties amounted to twenty-two wounded and seven killed. the ghoorkhas reported that they had found the enemy in great force, in the valley. on the nd of november, sir william lockhart made a reconnaissance to dwatoi and the bara valley. he took with him a strong brigade, under general westmacott. every precaution was taken in entering this unknown country, as the road led down a defile commanded by high peaks. the yorkshire regiment was told off to hold the right of the advance, the st and nd ghoorkhas were to do the same work on the left. the column was headed by the rd ghoorkhas; followed by the th bombay volunteers, two companies of the sappers and miners, the borderers, and the baggage; the rear guard being furnished by the th sikhs. within a mile of camp, the ghoorkhas were engaged with stray riflemen. a mile farther they were met by the main body, and were unable to proceed farther without support. the flanking regiments, however, presently came up, and the advance continued. the road lay in the river bed, and the men were plodding, waist deep, in water. the passage became narrower and narrower, and so rapid was the decline that the river bed became impassable, and the men made their way along by its side. the road was almost dark, so high were the cliffs and so narrow the passage between them. here the resistance became very formidable. the ghoorkhas were all engaged in clearing the ridges, and the bombay pioneers pushed forward an advance guard, the borderers moving up to their support. the deepest gorge was enfiladed by a party of tribesmen, with martinis. one man fell with a broken leg. the man helping him was shot a moment later and, when a stretcher was brought back, two more of the borderers were hit. a section of the rd sikhs was detached to turn the enemy out, and then the ravine was rushed by all the rest. there was another gorge to be passed, and the enemy were pressing on both sides; but a battery was now brought into action, and soon drove them off. thus dwatoi was reached, where the force encamped. it was but a small open plain, some five hundred yards across. three miles away a gorge opened into the rajgul valley, and it appeared that, beyond this, lay wira valley. all the summits were strongly picketed. night fell, and there was no sign of the baggage. the troops were wet to the waist, there were seventeen degrees of frost, and the men had neither blankets nor food. when morning broke there were still no signs of baggage, but at eleven it began to appear. at noon fighting began again, and the rest of the train did not arrive till about five o'clock. fighting had been incessant the whole day. it was so severe that sir william lockhart determined to return to bagh, the following day. the arrangements were admirable. the baggage was loaded up before daybreak. the ghoorkhas were to ascend the hills flanking the village, three companies of the borderers were to form the advance guard, the wounded on stretchers were to follow, and the mountain battery was to take up a position to cover the retirement. by eight o'clock the last of the baggage was near the nullah. the helio then flashed to the pickets. they came in and joined the rear guard of the sikhs, and were well in the nullah before a shot was fired. when the afridis fairly took the offensive they attacked with fury, and the sikhs were obliged to signal for help. they were joined by a company of the borderers. a party of pathans dashed forward to seize the baggage; they had not, however, seen the few files that formed the rearmost guard, and were therefore caught between two bodies of troops, and almost annihilated. this sudden reversal of the situation seemed to paralyse the tribesmen, and the rest of the gorge was safely passed. though the natives followed up the rear guard to within two miles of the camp, they never made another determined attack. the force lost, in all, five officers wounded, and a hundred men killed and wounded, from the th. during the course of the reconnaissance lisle had been with the rear guard, and had fallen in the torrent with a rifle ball through his leg. as every man was engaged in fighting, the fall was unnoticed and, as he could not recover his footing, he was washed helplessly down to the mouth of the defile. as he managed to reach the shore, a party of afridis rushed down upon him with drawn tulwars; but a man who was evidently their leader stopped them, as they were about to fall upon him. illustration: a party of afridis rushed down upon him. "he is an officer," he said. "we must keep him for a hostage. it will be better, so, than killing him." accordingly he was carried back to a village which the troops had left that evening. here some women were told to attend to his wound, and the party who captured him went off to join in the attack on the british rear guard. in the evening, the man who had saved his life returned. he was, it seemed, the headman of the village; and had been with his force in the bara valley, where the natives of the village had retired on the approach of the british force. there lisle lay for ten days, by which time the inflammation from the wound had begun to subside. the bullet had luckily grazed, and not broken the bone. at the end of that time, some of the principal men came to him and, by signs, directed him to write a letter to the british commander, saying that he was a prisoner, that he was held as a hostage against any further attempt to penetrate into the valley; and that, in the event of another british force approaching, he would be at once put to death. four of the afridis always sat at the entrance to the house, which was one of the largest in the valley. he was served regularly with food; of which, as the valley had not been entered, there was, of course, abundance. the women in the house seldom came in to see him, except when they brought him his meals; and then it was evident, from their surly manner, that they strongly objected to his presence. as he lay on his rough pallet, he resolved to maintain the appearance of being unable to walk, as long as possible. he knew very well that, if general lockhart had to make another movement against the bara valley, he could not be averted from his purpose by the fact that the afridis held one officer prisoner, though he would assuredly revenge his murder, by destroying every house in the valley; and that he must accordingly trust only to himself to make his escape. to do this, it would be absolutely necessary to procure a disguise; and this, at present, he did not see his way to accomplish. the guards below were relieved every few hours, and kept up their watch every day. still, as they watched only the door, it might be possible for him to let himself down from the window at the back of the house. on the tenth day he found himself really able to walk, without very great difficulty. looking out of the window, one morning, he saw that the women of the house were all gathered round the guards, and talking excitedly. evidently some messenger had come in with news from the tirah valley. he knew, by this time, how many there were in the house, and was satisfied that they were all there. he at once made his way down to the floor below; feeling confident that, for the moment, he would not be disturbed. hanging against the wall were several men's dresses and clothes. he hastily took down sufficient for a disguise. they were summer clothes--for the afridis, when leaving to act against our troops in the mountains, wear sheepskin garments. at any rate, there was little fear that their loss would be discovered until the men returned from the front. he took the clothes up to his room, and hid them under the pallet. then, having ascertained that the women were still engaged in talking, he took off his boots and made his way down to the lowest story, which was principally used as a storehouse. here, among bags of corn and other stores, he saw a coil of rope. this he carried upstairs and, having hidden it, lay down again. the rest of the day passed quietly. it was apparent that the clothes had not been missed and, with a strong feeling of hopefulness, he awaited the night. when the house was quiet he looked out. four men were sitting, as usual, at the front of the door. then he took off his uniform and put on his disguise, fastened one end of the rope securely, and slid down noiselessly to the ground. keeping the house between him and the guard, he started. making a detour, he got free of the village, and then turned to the upper end of the valley. half an hour's walking took him to where the force had encamped, and he soon reached the mouth of the gorge. here he plunged into the river. his leg hurt him a good deal, but he waded on and, after great exertions, reached the head of the gorge. his leg was now hurting him so much that he could proceed no farther so, turning off, he mounted the hills and lay down among the rocks, where there was little chance of his being discovered. here he dozed till morning. when he took the rope, he had thrust several handfuls of grain into his pocket; and this he had tied up in the skirt of his garment, when he started. he now munched some of it, and lay, watching the mouth of the gorge below. two hours after daybreak, he saw a small party of tribesmen come hurrying up through the gorge. they did not stop, but kept on their course, evidently supposing that he had pushed on to join the british camp. all day he lay hidden and, before dark, he saw the men come back again. they had evidently given up the chase and, as he had seen no searchers upon the hills, the idea that he was hiding had evidently not occurred to them. he felt, however, that he must give his leg another day's rest before proceeding. on the following day he suffered a good deal from thirst, and dared not venture down to the river. when it was dark, however, he continued his way. illustration: it was the dead body of an afridi. presently he saw something white, huddled up behind a rock and, climbing up, he found that it was the dead body of an afridi, who had fallen in the fight. beside him lay his lee-metford rifle. this was indeed a find. in the scanty garments that he had alone dared to take, he would be known at once by anyone who happened to pass near him. he now set to work, and dressed himself in the dead warrior's garments; and took up his rifle and pouch of ammunition. "now," he said, "i only want something to stain my face and hands, and i shall be able to pass anywhere, if it does not come to talking." he kept his eyes about him, and presently saw the plant which he knew robah had used in preparing the dye for him. pulling all the leaves off, he pounded them with the stock of his rifle, and rubbed his face with juice from the leaves. there was sufficient to stain both his face and hands. by nightfall he entered the maidan. here he saw many natives gathered round the ruined houses. as he approached it, he saw that heavy firing was going on round the camp. it was greatly reduced in extent, and he guessed that a considerable proportion of the force had moved off on some punitive expedition. between him and it, he could see many of the afridis crouched among the rocks, ready to attack any small parties that might issue out. he saw at once that it would be impossible to reach the camp without being questioned, and he therefore determined to fall in with the column that had gone out. for this purpose, he made a wide detour until he came upon a track where there were innumerable signs that a column had recently passed. crushed shrubs would, in themselves, have been a sufficient guide; but there were many other tokens of the path of the army: grain dropped from a hole in a sack, scratches on the rock by the shod feet of the transport animals, an empty cartridge case, and a broken earthenware pot. he pushed on rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy. some of them, passing along the hill, shouted to him to join them; but with a wave of his rifle and a gesture, showing that he intended to keep to the track, he went on. late in the afternoon, on mounting a high pass, he could distinctly hear firing in the distance; and his heart beat at the thought that he was near his friends. still, between him and them the afridis might be swarming. the risk, however, must be run. ascending the slope of the hill, he obtained a view of the conflict. a body of british troops was firing steadily, and another regiment was coming up to their assistance. the afridis were swarming round in great numbers, and keeping up a continuous fire. waiting until he saw where the afridis were thickest, he made his way down to the firing line, and took up his position behind a rock; there being none of the natives within fifty yards of him. he now began to fire, taking pains to see that his bullets went far over the heads of the british. this he continued until nightfall, by which time the conflict had come to an end, and the british regiments, with the convoy which they were protecting, had reached camp. chapter : through the mohmund country. for a time the firing ceased entirely but, soon after nightfall, a scattered fire opened round the camp. lisle now made his way down fearlessly, until within four hundred yards of the camp. he was able to make out the white dresses of the afridis, lying crouched behind rocks. no one paid any attention to him and, as soon as he had passed them, he dropped on his hands and knees and began crawling forward; keeping himself carefully behind cover for, at any moment, the pickets might open fire. when he approached the british lines, he stopped behind a rock and shouted: "don't fire! i am a friend." "come on, friend, and let us have a look at you," the officer in charge of the picket answered. rising, he ran forward. "who on earth are you?" the officer asked when he came up. "you look like one of the afridis, but your tongue is english." "i am lieutenant bullen," he said; and a burst of cheering rose from the men, who belonged to his own regiment. "why, we all thought you were killed, in that fight in the torrent!" "no; i was hit, and my leg so disabled that i was washed down by the torrent; and the men were, i suppose, too much occupied in keeping the afridis at bay to notice me. on getting to the other side of the pass i crawled ashore, and was made prisoner. no doubt the afridis thought that, as i was an officer, they would hold me as a hostage, and so make better terms. "i was put into the upper story of one of their houses but, after ten days, my wounds healed sufficiently to allow me to walk; and i have got here without any serious adventure." "well, i must congratulate you heartily. i will send two of the men into camp with you, for otherwise you would have a good chance of being shot down." on arriving at the spot where the officers of the regiment were sitting round a campfire, his escort left him. as he came into the light of the fire, several of the officers jumped up, with their hands on their revolvers. "don't shoot! don't shoot!" lisle exclaimed, with a laugh. "i can assure you that i am perfectly harmless." "it is bullen's voice," one of them exclaimed, and all crowded round him, and wrung his hands and patted him on the back. "this is the second time, bullen, that you have come back to us from the dead; and this time, like hamlet's father, you have come back with very questionable disguise. now, sit down and take a cup of tea, which is all we have to offer you." "i will," lisle said, "and i shall be glad of some cold meat; for i have been living, for the past three days, on uncooked grain." the meat was brought, and lisle ate it ravenously, declining to answer any questions until he had finished. "now," he said, "i will tell you a plain, unvarnished tale;" and he gave them, in full detail, the adventure he had gone through. "upon my word, lisle, you are as full of resources as an egg is full of meat. your pluck, in going down to the lower story of that house while the women were chatting outside, was wonderful. it was, of course, sheer luck that you found that dead pathan, and so got suitable clothes; but how you dyed your face that colour, i cannot understand." lisle explained how he had found a plant which was, as he knew, used for that purpose; and how he had extracted the colouring matter from it. "you had wonderful luck in making your way through the pathans, without being questioned; but, as we know, fortune favours the brave. well, i shall have another yarn to tell general lockhart, in the morning; but how we are to rig you out, i don't know." several of the officers, however, had managed to carry one or two spare garments in their kits. these were produced; and lisle, with great satisfaction, threw off the dirt-stained pathan garments, and arrayed himself in uniform. pleased as all the others were at his return, no one was so delighted as robah, who fairly cried over his master, whom he had believed to be lost for ever. "we shall not be uneasy about you again, bullen," the colonel said, as they lay down for the night. "whenever we miss you we shall know that, sooner or later, you will turn up, like a bad penny. if you hadn't got that wound in the leg--which, by the way, the surgeon had better dress and examine in the morning--i should have said that you were invulnerable to afridi bullets. the next time there is some desperate service to be done, i shall certainly appoint you to undertake it; feeling convinced that, whatever it might be, and however great the risk, you will return unscathed. you don't carry a charm about with you, do you?" "no," lisle laughed, "i wish i did; but anything i carry would not be respected by a pathan bullet." next morning the colonel reported lisle's return, and sir william lockhart sent for him and obtained, from his lips, the story of the adventure. "you managed excellently, sir," the general said, when he had finished. "of course, i cannot report your adventure in full, but can merely say that lieutenant bullen, whom i had reported killed, was wounded and taken prisoner by the pathans; and has managed, with great resource, to make his escape and rejoin the force. your last adventure, sir, showed remarkable courage; and this time you have proved that you possess an equal amount of calmness and judgment. if you go on as you have begun, sir, you will make a very distinguished officer." during the day lisle had to repeat his story, again and again, to the officers of other regiments; who came in to congratulate him on making his escape, and to learn the particulars. "i shall have," he said, laughing, "to get the printing officer to strike off a number of copies of my statement, and to issue one to each regiment. there, i think i would rather go through the adventure again, than have to keep on repeating it." he had received a hearty cheer, from the regiment, when he appeared upon parade that morning; a reception that showed that he was a general favourite, and that sincere pleasure was felt at his return. lisle had been known among the men as 'the boy' when he first joined, but he was a boy no longer. he was now eighteen; and had, from the experiences he had gone through, a much older appearance. he learned, on the evening of his return, that he was now a full lieutenant; for there had been several changes in the regiment. when in cantonments other officers had joined, junior to himself; and four or five had been killed during the fighting. "if this goes on much longer, mr. bullen, you will be a captain before we get back to india," one of the officers said. "i am sure i hope not," he replied. "i don't wish to gain steps by the death of my friends. however, i hope that there is no chance of it coming to that." after the visit of the commander to the mohmund hill force, the troops under general lockhart learned the history of the operations of that force, of which they had hitherto been in complete ignorance. on the th of august the force was concentrated. it consisted of the troops which, under sir bindon blood, had just pacified the upper swat valley; with a brigade, under brigadier general jeffreys and general wodehouse, mobilized near malakand. on the th of september orders were issued to march to banjour, through the mohmund country to shabkadr, near peshawar, and operate with a force under major general ellis. a force had already been despatched, under general wodehouse, to seize the bridge over the panjkora. this was successfully accomplished, the force arriving just in time, as a large body of the enemy came up only a few hours later. general meiklejohn was in command of the line of communication, and the nd and rd brigades crossed the panjkora without opposition. on the th of september the rambuck pass was reconnoitred, and the two brigades arrived at nawagai. general jeffreys encamped near the foot of the ramjak pass; and part of his force was detached, to prepare the road for the passage of the expedition, and to bivouac there for the night. the road was partially made, and the brigade would have passed over but, about eight o'clock in the evening, the camp at the foot of the pass was suddenly attacked. all lights were at once extinguished, and the men fell in rapidly; the trenches opening fire on the unseen enemy, who moved gradually round to the other side of the camp. it was pitch dark, for the moon had not yet risen; and the enemy poured in a murderous fire, but did not attempt to rush the camp. the troops were firing almost at random for, in spite of star shells being fired, very few of the enemy could be made out. the fire was hottest from the side occupied by the th dogras, who determined to make a sortie, for the purpose of clearing the enemy away from that flank. in spite of the fact that the ground was swept by bullets, several volunteered for the sortie. the fire, however, was too hot. captain tomkins and lieutenant bailey fell, almost the instant they rose to their feet. lieutenant harrington received a mortal wound, and several men were also killed and wounded, and the sortie was given up. all night a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, but they moved off in the morning. the camp presented a sad sight, when day broke; dead horses and mules were lying about among the tents and shelters, which had been hurriedly thrown down at the first attack. when it was learned that the assailants belonged to the banjour tribes, living in the mohmund valley, a squadron of bengal lancers were sent off in pursuit and, overtaking them in a village at the entrance of their valley, killed many, pursuing them for four or five miles. when they returned to the village, they were joined by the guides infantry and a mountain battery. this was too small a force to follow the enemy into their hills, but they destroyed the fortifications of several small villages and, before night, general jeffreys, with the rest of the brigade, arrived. night passed without interruption and, in the morning, the force marched in three columns; the centre keeping straight up the valley, while the other two were to destroy the villages on each side. when the centre column had advanced six miles up the valley, they saw the enemy in a village on the hill; and a detachment of the buffs went out to dislodge them. the remainder of the column pushed on. two companies of the th sikhs, who were in advance, went too far; and were suddenly attacked by a great number of the enemy. fighting sturdily they fell back but, being hampered by their wounded, many of the men were unable to return the fire of the tribesmen; who formed round them, keeping up a heavy fire at close quarters. the ghazis, seeing their opportunity, came closer and closer; their swordsmen charging in and cutting down the sikhs in the ranks. seventeen were thus killed or wounded. presently, however, the buffs arrived in support, and a squadron of the th bengal lancers charged the ghazis, and speared many of them before they could reach the shelter of the hills; and the buffs soon drove them away, with heavy loss. while this was going on the third detachment, which had destroyed many of the numerous villages, was called in to join the main body. the guns had been doing good work among the flying tribesmen. a company and a half of the th sikhs were told to take post, on a high hill, to cover the guns. this force, when the troops returned, diverged somewhat from the line of march which the main body were following. it was hard pressed by the tribesmen, hampered by the wounded, and was running short of ammunition; and was obliged to send for help. the general ordered the guides to go to their assistance but, fortunately, a half company of that regiment with some ammunition had already reached them, and the party could be seen fighting their way up a steep rocky spur. the tribesmen, confident that they could cut off the small band from the main force, rushed at them with their swords. both the officers were severely wounded. when, however, the rest of the guides arrived on the hill, they poured several volleys into the enemy, and so checked their advance. a havildar then volunteered to mount the hill with ammunition. he reached the party with seventy cartridges, and carried back a wounded native officer. other guides followed his example, and all reached the valley as evening was closing in. the ghazis crept up the ravine, and maintained a hot fire upon them. it soon became pitch dark, and the difficulty of the march was increased by a heavy storm. the force lost the line of retreat and, but for the vivid lightning, would have found it impossible to make their way across the deep ravine. at ten o'clock they reached the camp. here they found that general jeffreys, with part of his brigade, had not yet returned. at dawn, however, the general appeared, with his mountain battery and a small escort. they had become separated from the remainder of the brigade, and the general decided to bivouac in a village. defences were at once formed. the trenching tools were with the main body, but the sappers used their bayonets to make a hasty shelter. the enemy took possession of the unoccupied part of the village, and opened fire on the trenches. this grew so hot that it became absolutely necessary to clear the village. three attempts were made, but failed; the handful of available men being altogether insufficient for the purpose. the enemy now tried to rush the troops, and a continuous fire was poured into a small enclosure, packed with men and mules. the casualties were frequent, but the men now threw up a fresh defensive work, with mule saddles and ammunition boxes. the fury of the storm, which came on at nine o'clock, somewhat checked the ardour of the assailants; and the water was invaluable to the wounded. at midnight four companies, who had gone out in search of the general, arrived and cleared the enemy out of the village. the casualties had been heavy, two officers and thirty-six men having been killed, and five officers and a hundred and two men wounded. next day the force started on their way up the valley. their object was to attack a strongly-fortified village on the eastern side of the valley, about six miles distant from the camp. when they were within two thousand yards of the enemy's position, the tribesmen could be seen, making their disposition for the attack. the sikhs, dogras, and buffs stormed the heights on either side; but the enemy made no attempt to stand. the guides advanced straight on the village, which was destroyed without loss. the grain found there was carried into camp. several other villages were captured and, though the enemy were several times gathered in force, the appearance of a squadron of bengal lancers, in every case, put them to flight. in the meantime, the rd brigade were encamped at nawagai. the news of the attack on general jeffreys' column had upset the arrangements. it was of the utmost importance to hold nawagai, which separated the country of the hadda mullah and the mamunds. as the whole country was hostile, and would rise at the first opportunity, the force was not strong enough to march against the hadda mullah, and leave a sufficient body to guard the camp. it was therefore decided to wait, until they were joined by general ellis' force. skirmishing went on daily. on the th, heliographic communication was opened with general ellis. on the following day an order was flashed to them, to join general jeffreys in the mamund valley. this was impracticable, however, until general ellis should arrive. next night a couple of hundred swordsmen crept up to a ravine, within fifty yards of the camp, and suddenly fell upon the west surrey regiment. they were met by such a hail of bullets that most of them dropped, and of the remainder not a man reached hallal. on the following day a messenger arrived, from general ellis, asking sir bindon blood to meet him ten miles away. that afternoon a reconnaissance was made, as news had been received that large reinforcements had been received by hadda mullah. the enemy showed themselves in great force, but kept out of range of the guns though, during the return march, they followed the troops and, when darkness set in, were but two miles from camp. at nine in the evening the enemy, who had crept silently up, attempted to rush the camp on three sides. the troops were well prepared, and maintained a steady fire; although the enemy's swordsmen hurled themselves against our entrenchments in great numbers. the star shells were fired by the mountain battery, and their reflection enabled the infantry to pour deadly volleys into the midst of the enemy, who were but a few yards distant. the tribesmen, however, completely surrounded the camp, their riflemen keeping up a heavy fire, and their swordsmen making repeated rushes. the tents had all been struck, and the troops lay flat on the ground while the enemy's bullets swept the camp. this was kept up till two o'clock in the morning, the fire never slackening for a minute; and the monotony of the struggle was only broken by an occasional mad, fanatical rush of the ghazis. the entrenchments were so well made that only thirty-two casualties occurred, but a hundred and fifteen horses and transport animals were killed. the effect of this decisive repulse, of an attack which the enemy thought would certainly be successful, was shown by the complete dispersal of the enemy. their losses had been terrible. it was ascertained that, in the surrounding villages alone, three hundred and thirty had been killed; while a great number of dead and wounded had been carried away over the passes. on the following day general ellis arrived. it was arranged that the rd brigade should join his command. thus reinforced, he could deal with the hadda mullah, and general blood would be at liberty to join the nd brigade in the mamund valley. general ellis took up a position, with the two brigades at his disposal, at the mouth of the bedmanai pass; and sniping went on all night. next morning the troops moved forward to the attack. covered by the rest of the force, the th punjabis, with the rd ghoorkhas in support, were ordered to make the assault, and to secure the hills commanding the pass. the enemy fought stubbornly, but were gradually driven back; their numbers being greatly reduced by deserters, after the attack on the camp. the hadda mullah had fled, directly the fight began; but the suffi mullah was seen constantly rallying his followers. on the following morning, general westmacott's brigade marched to a village situated at the mouth of the jarobi gorge--a terrible defile, with precipitous cliffs on either side, the crests of which were well wooded. the resistance, however, was slight, and the force pushed through and burned the houses, towers, and forts of the hadda mullah. they were harassed, however, on their return to camp. in the meantime, sir bindon blood had joined general jeffreys' brigade, which was still engaged in operations against the mamunds. several villages were burned, and large supplies of game and fodder carried off. the mamunds at last sent in a party to negotiate; but it soon appeared that they had no intention of surrendering, for they had been joined by a considerable number of afghans, and were ready for a fresh campaign. the afghan borderers were in a good position, and were able to bring their forces to the assistance of the mamunds with the assurance that, if they were repulsed, they could return to their homes. general jeffreys therefore recommenced operations, by an attack upon two fortified villages. these were situated on the lower slope of a steep and ragged hill, near enough to give support to each other, and protected by rocky spurs. the inhabitants sallied out to attack, but were checked by the appearance of our cavalry. the force then pressed forward to the high jungle. it was evident that the spurs on either side must be captured, before the village could be stormed. the guides were ordered to clear the spur to the left, the st punjab infantry and the dogras the centre ridge between the two hills, while the west kents advanced straight up the hill. the guides dashed up the hill with a wild yell. this so intimidated the tribesmen that, after firing a volley so wild that not a single man was wounded in the attacking column, they fled in a panic. the punjabis, on the other hill, were stubbornly fighting their way. the ground consisted, for the most part, of terraced fields, commanded by strongly-built sangars. colonel o'brien was killed, while gallantly leading his men on to the assault; but the punjabis persisted, under the covering fire of the mountain battery, and dropped shell after shell into the mamunds; who, however, although losing heavily, stuck manfully to their rocks and boulders, and finally were only driven out at the point of the bayonet. the st were now joined by the west kent, who came down from a spur on the west, and were able to drive the enemy out of several strong positions above the other village. on their way a half company, on reaching a sangar, were suddenly charged by a body of ghazis. from the melee which ensued, many of the west kents were killed and wounded, among them the officer in command. as it was now late, it was decided to return to camp for the night. this was done steadily and deliberately, although the enemy kept up a heavy fire. the casualties of the day were sixty-one, no fewer than eight british officers being killed or wounded. two days' rest was given the troops, and then they marched against badelai. the attack was almost unopposed. the tribesmen imagined that we were again going to attack their former position, and they were unable to return in time to defend the village. their loss, however, was severe, as they came down to the open ground, and were swept by the guns of the mountain battery. a few days afterwards the campaign was brought to an end, the enemy coming in and offering a general surrender. the expedition had been very successful, twenty-six villages having been destroyed, and all the hoards of grain having been carried off. on the th of october the mamund valley was evacuated, and the force moved into matassa. the inhabitants here were perfectly peaceable and, beyond the blowing up of the fort of a chief, who had continued hostile, there was no fighting. the force then returned to malakand, where it remained for two months. two tribes yet remained to be dealt with, namely the bulas and chamlas. both refused to comply with the reasonable terms imposed upon them, by the government, for their complicity in the rebellion. the force selected for their punishment consisted of two brigades, under general meiklejohn and general jeffreys. these advanced to the assault on the tangi pass. the guides, st punjabis, three squadrons of the bengal lancers, and two squadrons of the guide cavalry were sent to rustam, a place which threatened three passes leading into buner. the enemy, being thus compelled to watch all three routes, were prevented from assembling in any force. sir bindon blood encamped the two brigades on thursday, the th of january, at the mouth of the tangi pass. the detached column was to protect an entrance over the pirsai pass. the assault was made by the column under general meiklejohn, and so well was the force distributed--the hills on either side being captured, while three batteries opened fire on the hill with shrapnel--that the tribesmen were unable to maintain their position. the pass was captured with only one casualty, and the troops marched triumphantly down into buner, the first british troops who had ever entered the country. they halted at the first village. as this place was plentifully stocked with goats and chickens, they found abundance of food. the detached column were equally successful in their attack on the pirsai pass, for they met with scarcely any resistance. our success, in capturing the two passes hitherto deemed impregnable, brought about a complete collapse of the enemy. deputations came in from all the surrounding villages, and the tribesmen complied with the terms imposed upon them. chapter : an arduous march. lisle had heard of the operations that had been carried on by the brigade under general gazelee, under the general supervision of sir william lockhart. the object was to cross by the zolaznu pass, to punish two of the hostile tribes on the other side; to effect a meeting with the khuram column; and to concentrate and operate against the chamkannis, a tribe of inveterate robbers. on the th general gazelee started, and the newly-arrived wing of the scottish fusiliers, and two companies of the yorkshires was to follow, on the th. the approach to the pass, which was four miles to the left, was across a very rough country; and as, after advancing four and a half miles, a severe opposition was met with, most of the day was spent in dislodging the tribesmen from the villages, and turning them out of the spurs which covered the approach to the pass. finding it impossible to make the summit that night, they encamped and, although they were fired into heavily, but little damage was done. at dawn the expedition started again but, by accident, they ascended another pass parallel with the lozacca. at nine o'clock the ghoorkhas and sikhs arrived at the top of the pass. it was very difficult and, as the baggage animals gave great trouble on the ascent, and were unable to go farther, the party camped on the top of the pass. general lockhart left the camp early that morning, but was also opposed so vigorously that he was obliged to encamp, three miles from the top of the pass, after having burnt all the villages from which he had been fired upon. in the morning he joined the advance party, and went ten miles down the pass. on arriving there, he found that the queen's and the rd sikhs had pushed on farther to dargai. this was not the place previously visited of this name, which appears to be a common one in the tirah. plenty of hay and straw stores were found, and the troops were vastly more comfortable than on the previous night. it was here that lisle had overtaken the column. next day the whole force was encamped at dargai, where they were received in a friendly manner by the villagers; who expressed themselves willing to pay their share of the fines imposed, and also to picket the hills. the rear guard, of two companies of ghoorkhas and two companies of scottish fusiliers, arrived late in the day. they had met with great opposition. the tribesmen would, indeed, have succeeded in carrying off the guns, had not a company of the ghoorkhas come up and, fighting stubbornly, driven them off. next morning the headmen of the village were summoned, to explain why they had failed to pay the number of rifles they had promised; and fire was applied to one of their houses. this had an instantaneous effect and, in a quarter of an hour, the rifles were forthcoming and the fine paid. the force then moved on to esor, where helio communication with the khuram column had been effected and, that day, sir william lockhart and colonel hill--who commanded it--met. the country traversed was a beautiful one. it was admirably cultivated, and the houses were substantially built. that day two columns went out: one under general gazelee, to collect the fines from one of the tribes; the other commanded by colonel hill, to punish the chamkannis. this was a small, but extremely warlike and hardy tribe. a short time before, they had raided a thousand head of cattle from across our border, and got clear away with them. a portion of the force was told off, to work its way into the valley by the river gorge, while the main body ascended the path over the kotal. they reached this at a quarter-past ten and, while they were waiting for the head of the column that had gone up the gorge to appear, fire was opened upon them. this, however, was kept down by the guns. it was an hour before the column appeared, but the whole force was not through the defile until it was too late to carry out the destruction of the villages. the column therefore retired, severely harassed, the while, by the enemy. next day colonel hill was again sent forward, with the border scouts, the th and th ghoorkhas, part of the queen's, and the khoat battery. they were over the kotal at nine o'clock, and the th ghoorkhas and the scouts were sent to hold the hills on the left. the chamkannis had anticipated a sudden visit, and were in force on the left, where they had erected several sangars. the little body of scouts, eighty men strong, fought their way up the hill; and waited there for the leading company of the th. lieutenant lucas, who commanded them, told off half his company to sweep the sangar, and then the remainder dashed at it. the chamkannis stood more firmly than any of the tribesmen had hitherto done. they met the charge with a volley, and then drew their knives to receive it. the fire of the covering party destroyed their composure and, when the scouts were within thirty yards, they bolted for the next sangar. lucas carried three of these defences, one after another, and drove the enemy off the hill. the ghoorkhas scouts, who had been engaged thirty-six times during the campaign, had killed more than their own strength of the enemy, and had lost but one man killed and two wounded; and this without taking count of the many nights they had spent in driving off prowlers round the camp. the work of destruction now began. over sixty villages were destroyed in the valley and, on the following day, the expedition started to withdraw. the lesson had been so severe that no attempt was made, by the tribesmen, to harass the movement. the column marched down to the camp in the maidan--the adam khels, through whose country they passed, paying the fine, and so picketing many of the adjacent heights as to guard the camp from the attacks of hostile tribesmen. when they reached bara they decided to rejoin the peshawar column, without delay, as the outlook was not promising. the evacuation began on the th of december, but the rear guard did not leave till the th. it was divided into two divisions in order, as much as possible, to avoid the delay caused by the large baggage column. the st division was to march down on the mastura valley, while general lockhart's nd division would again face the dwatoi defile. both the forces were due to join the peshawar column, on or about the th. general symonds, with the st division, was unmolested by the way. it was very different, however, with lockhart. the movement was not made a day too soon. clouds were gathering, the wind was blowing from the north, and there was every prospect of a fall of snow, which would have rendered the passage of the bara pass impossible. the rd ghoorkhas led the way, followed by the borderers, with the half battalion of the scottish regiment and the dorsets. behind them came the baggage of the brigade and headquarters, the rear of the leading column being brought up by the th sikhs. general kempster's brigade followed, in as close order as possible; having detached portions of the st and nd ghoorkhas, and the nd punjab infantry, to flank the whole force. the malikdin khels were staunch to their word, and not a single shot was fired till the force had passed through the defile. the difficulties, however, were great, for the troops, baggage, and followers had to wade through the torrent, two-thirds of the way. the flanking had used up all the ghoorkhas, and the borderers now became the advance guard. everything seemed peaceful, and the regiment was halfway across the small valley, when a heavy fire was opened on the opposite hill. general westmacott was in command of the brigade. the borderers were to take and hold the opposite hill, supported by a company of dorsets and of scottish fusiliers. the battery opened fire, while a party turned the nearest sangars on the right flank. by three o'clock the whole of the crests were held, and the baggage streamed into camp. fighting continued, however, on the peaks, far into the night. no explanations were forthcoming why the enemy should have allowed the force to pass through the defile, without obstruction, when a determined body of riflemen could have kept the whole of them at bay; for the artillery could not have been brought into position, as the defile was the most difficult, of its kind, that a british division had ever crossed. the day following the withdrawal of the rear guard, it rained in the bara valley, which meant snow in the maidan. the pickets on the heights had a bad time of it that night, as some of them were constantly attacked; and it was not till three in the morning that the baggage came in, the rear guard arriving in camp about ten. the camp presented a wonderful sight that day, crowded as it was with men and animals. the weather was bitterly cold, and the men were busy gathering wood to make fires. on the hills all round, the sikhs could be seen engaged with the enemy, the guns aiding them with their work. the th sikhs, as soon as they arrived, were sent off to occupy a peak, two miles distant, which covered the advance into the rajgul defile. the enemy mustered strong, but were turned out of the position. the next morning the villages were white with snow. a party was sent on into the rajgul valley, where they destroyed a big village. immediately after leaving dwatoi, the valley broadened out till it was nearly a mile wide. on the right it was commanded by steep hills; on the left it was, to some extent, cultivated. the th brigade this time led the way, the rd bringing up the rear. from the moment when the troops fell in on the th, till they reached barkai on the th, there was a general action from front to rear. the advance guard marched at half-past seven. at eight o'clock flanking parties were engaged with the enemy in the hills and spurs. serious opposition, however, did not take place until five and a half miles of the valley had been passed. here the river turned to the right, and the front of the advance was exposed to the fire of a strongly-fortified village, nestling on the lower slope of a hill, on a terrace plateau. the village was furnished with no fewer than ten towers, and from these a very heavy fire was kept up. the battery shelled the spur; while the sikhs, in open order, skirmished up the terraces to the plateau and, after a brisk fusillade, took the village and burnt it. a mile farther, the head of the column reached the camping place, which was a strong village built into the river cleft. on the left the th sikhs and part of the ghoorkhas cleared the way; while the bombay pioneers, and the rest of the ghoorkhas, became heavily engaged with the enemy in some villages on the right. all along the line a brisk engagement went on. the camp pickets took up their positions early in the afternoon, and a foraging party went out and brought in supplies, after some fighting. kempster's brigade had not been able to reach the camp, and settled itself for the night three miles farther up the valley. it, too, had its share of fighting. all night it rained heavily, and the morning of the th broke cold and miserable. it was freezing hard; the hilltops, a hundred feet above the camp, were wrapped in snow; and the river had swollen greatly. the advance guard waded out into the river bed, and the whole of the brigade followed, the ghoorkhas clearing the sides of the valley. in a short time they passed into the zakka-khel section of the bara valley. curiously enough, the opposition ceased here. it may be that the enemy feared to show themselves on the snow on the hilltops; or that, being short of ammunition, they decided to reserve themselves for an attack upon the other brigade. scarcely a shot was fired until the valley broadened out into the akerkhel, where some small opposition was offered by villagers on either bank. this, however, was easily brushed aside. the advance guard of the rd brigade almost caught up the rear guard of the th and, by four in the afternoon, its baggage was coming along nicely, so that all would be in before nightfall. the rear guard of the brigade, consisting of the gordons, ghoorkhas, and nd punjab infantry, had been harassed as soon as they started and, as the day wore on, the enemy increased greatly in numbers. as the flanking parties fell back to join the rear guard, they were so pressed that it was as much as they could do to keep them at bay. when about three miles from camp, the baggage took a wrong road. in trying a piece of level ground, they became helplessly mixed up in swampy rice fields. the enemy, seeing the opportunity they had waited for, outflanked the rear guard, and began pouring a heavy fire into the baggage. the flanking parties were weak, for the strain had been so severe that many men from the hospital escort and baggage guard had been withdrawn, to dislodge the enemy from the surrounding spurs. the pathans were almost among the baggage, when a panic seized the followers. as night began to fall, the officer commanding the gordons, with two weak companies of his regiment, two companies of the ghoorkhas, and a company of the nd punjab infantry and some ghoorkhas, found himself in a most serious position. the guns had limbered up and pushed on, and the rear guard remained, surrounded by the enemy, hampered with its wounded, and stranded with doolies. as the native bearers had fled these doolies were, in many cases, being carried by the native officers. the enemy grew more and more daring, and a few yards, only, divided the combatants. captain uniacke, retiring with a few of the gordons, saw that there was only one course left: they must entrench for the night. he was in advance of the actual rear guard, attempting to hold a house against the fire of quite a hundred tribesmen. collecting four men of his regiment, and shouting wildly, he rushed at the doorway. in the dusk the enemy were uncertain of the number of their assailants and, in their horror of the bayonet, they fired one wild volley and fled. to continue the ruse, captain uniacke climbed to the roof, shouting words of command, as if he had a company behind him. then he blew his whistle, to attract the rear guard as it passed, in the dark. the whistle was heard and, in little groups, they fell back with the wounded to the house. it was a poor place, but capable of defence; and the pathans drew off, knowing that there was loot in abundance to be gained down by the river. as night wore on the greatest anxiety prevailed, when transport officers and small parties straggled in, and reported that tribesmen were looting and cutting up followers, within a mile of camp; and that they had no news to give of the men who composed the rear guard. so anxious were the headquarter staff that a company of the borderers were sent out, to do what they could. lieutenant macalister took them out and, going a mile up the river, was able to collect many followers and baggage animals, but could find no signs of the rear guard. early in the morning a company of the nd punjab infantry went out, as a search party, and got into communication with the rear guard. they were safe in the house; but could not move, as they were hampered with the wounded, and were surrounded by the enemy. two regiments and a mountain battery therefore went out and rescued them from their awkward predicament, bringing them into camp, with as much baggage as could be found. the casualties of the day amounted to a hundred and fifty animals, and a hundred followers killed. of the combatants two officers were wounded, and fourteen gordons were wounded, and four killed. owing to the necessity of sending out part of the th brigade, to support the cut-off rear of the rd brigade, it was impossible to continue the march that day. next morning, the order of the brigade was changed. the rd was to lead, handing over a battery of artillery to the th, for service in the rear guard. it was also ordered that flanking parties were to remain in position, until the baggage had passed. the advance guard consisted of the nd punjab infantry, and the st and nd ghoorkhas. the others were told off to burn and destroy all villages on either side of the nullah. the baggage of the whole division followed the main guard. directly the camp was left, the sides of the nullah enlarged and, for half a mile, the road lay through a narrow ravine. the drop was rapid; for the river, swollen by the fallen snow, had become literally a torrent; and the scene with the baggage was one of extreme confusion. the recent disaster had given a frenzied impulse to the generally calm followers, and all felt anxiety to press forward, with an impetus almost impossible to control. the mass of baggage became mixed in the ravine, but at last was cleared off and, when the valley opened, they moved forward at their greatest speed, but now under perfect control. after this the opposition became less, and the village of gulikhel was reached by the rd brigade. the village stands on the left bank of the bara. immediately below it a nullah becomes a narrow gorge, almost impassable in the present state of the river. it is several miles long. there was, however, a road over a neighbouring saddle. the path up from the river was narrow, but sufficient to allow two loaded mules to pass abreast. it wound for some seven miles, over a low hill, until the river bed was again reached. the next ford was barkhe. the advance guard was well up in the hills by midday, when it met the oxfordshire regiment, which had come out seven miles to meet the force; but the baggage of a division, filing out of the river bed in pairs, is a serious matter, and there was necessarily a block in the rear. general westmacott moved as soon as the baggage was off but, long before it was through the first defile, his pickets were engaged, and a general action followed. the enemy, fighting with extraordinary boldness, kept within a few yards of the pickets. followers with baggage animals were constantly hit, as they came up but, at half-past ten, the rear guard regiments marched out of camp, under cover of artillery fire. the fighting was so severe that, within an hour, the ammunition of the rd ghoorkhas was expended and, shortly afterwards, the two regiments of the rear guard were forced to call up their first reserve ammunition mules. the march was continued at a rapid pace, until they reached the block caused by the narrowness of the path. here the whole river reach became choked with animals and doolies. the wounded were coming in fast, when the pathans, taking advantage of the block, attacked in great force, hoping to compel the retreating force to make their way down the long river defile. general westmacott, however, defended his right with energy; the rear-guard regiments supporting each other, while the batteries were in continual action. the borderers, sikhs, and ghoorkhas stood well to their task, till the last of the baggage animals were got out of the river bed. the country now had become a rolling plateau, intersected by ravines and thickly covered with low jungle, in which the enemy could creep up to within three or four yards of the fighting line. progress was, consequently, very slow. to be benighted in such a country would have meant disaster, so general westmacott selected a ridge, which he determined to hold for the night. the wearied men were just filing up, when a tremendous rush was made by the afridis. for a moment, it seemed as if they would all be enveloped and swept away; but the officers threw themselves into the ranks, magazines were worked freely, and the very bushes seemed to melt away before the hail of shot. the tribesmen were swept back in the darkness, and they never tried a second rush. their firing also slackened very much, and this permitted the men to form a camp, and see to the wounded. that day the rear guard lost one officer killed and three wounded, eighteen men killed, eighty-three wounded, and six missing. the night in camp was a terrible experience. the troops had been fighting since early morning, the frost was bitter, and they had neither water, food, nor blankets. general westmacott passed the night with the sentry line. early in the morning the action recommenced and, stubbornly contesting each foot, at times almost in hand-to-hand conflict with tribesmen in the bushes, the rear guard fell back. the summit of the kotal was passed; but the enemy continued to harass their retirement down to the river, where the picket post of the th ghoorkhas was reached. the retirement from the tirah had cost a hundred and sixty-four killed and wounded. as a military achievement, this march of lockhart's nd division should have a prominent place in the history of the british army. after a quiet day, the force marched into swaikot. next morning the troops in camp there gathered on each side of the road, cheering their battle-grimed comrades, and bringing down hot cakes to them. it was a depressing sight. the men were all pinched and dishevelled, and bore on their faces marks of the terrible ordeal through which they had just passed. the advance guard were followed by the wounded. the th brigade followed. they were even more marked by hardship and strife than those who had preceded them. then the rear guard marched in, and the first phase of the tirah expedition was at an end. the expedition had carried out its object successfully. the afridis had been severely punished, and had been taught what they had hitherto believed impossible, that their defiles were not impregnable, and that the long arm of the british government could reach them in their recesses. the lesson had been a very severe one, but it had been attained at a terrible cost. it is to be hoped that it will never have to be repeated. but while the regiment were resting quietly in their cantonment, there had been serious fighting on the road to chitral. after some hesitation, the government had decided that this post should remain in our hands, and a strong force was therefore stationed at the malakand. this, after clearing the country, remained quietly at the station; until news was received of the attack on our fort at shabkadr, near peshawar, by the mohmunds and, two days later, news came that a large council had been held by the fanatics of various tribes, at which they decided to join the tribes in the upper valley of swat. on the th of august the force set out from thana, under sir bindon blood, on their march for the upper swat. the th bengal lancers were sent forward in order to reconnoitre the country. the enemy were found in force near jelala, at the entrance to the upper swat river, their advance post being established in some buddhist ruins on a ridge. the royal west kent, however, advanced and drove them off. then news came that several thousand of the enemy occupied a front, of some two miles, along the height; their right flank resting on the steep cliffs, and their left reaching to the top of the higher hills. the battery opened fire upon them; and the infantry, coming into action at nine o'clock in the morning, did much execution among the crowded ghazis. the st and th punjab infantry, under general meiklejohn, had a long and arduous march on the enemy's left. the movement was successfully carried out; and the enemy, knowing that their line of retreat towards the morah pass was threatened, broke up, a large portion streaming away to their left. the remainder soon lost heart and, although a desperate charge by a handful of ghazis took place, these only sacrificed their lives, without altering the course of events. the enemy gathered on a ridge in the rear but, by eleven, the heights commanding the road were in the hands of our troops, and the guides cavalry began to file past. when they got into the pass behind the ridge, the enemy were more than a mile away; and could be seen in great numbers, separated by several ravines. captain palmer, who had pushed forward in pursuit, soon found himself ahead of his men. near him were lieutenant greaves and, thirty yards behind, colonel adams and lieutenant norman. seeing that the enemy were in considerable force, colonel adams directed the troop of cavalry who were coming up to hold a graveyard, through which they had passed, until the infantry could arrive. owing, however, to the noise of the firing, palmer and greaves did not hear him; and charged up to the foot of the hill, hoping to cut off the tribesmen who were hurrying towards them. palmer's horse was at once killed, and greaves fell among the pathans. adams and fincastle, and two soldiers, galloped forward to their assistance, and were able to help palmer back to the shelter of the graveyard. meanwhile fincastle, who had had his horse killed, tried to help greaves on to adams' horse. while doing so, greaves was again shot through the body, and adams' horse wounded. the two troopers came to their assistance; and maclean, having first dismounted his squadron in the graveyard, pluckily rode out with four of his men. in this way the wounded were successfully brought in; but maclean was shot through both thighs, and died almost instantly. the loss of the two officers, who were both extremely popular, was greatly felt by the force. the infantry and guns now having arrived, the enemy retired to a village, two miles in the rear. here they were attacked by a squadron of the guides, who dispersed them and drove them up into the hills. in the meantime our camp had been attacked, but the guard repulsed the assailants, with some loss. the enemy had lost so heavily that they scattered to the villages, and sent in to make their submission. this fight effectually cooled the courage of the natives, and the column marched through their country unopposed, and the tribesmen remained comparatively quiet during the after events. chapter : a tribal fight. two days after lisle's return he was sent for by general lockhart, who requested him to give him a full account of his capture and escape. "this is the second time, mr. bullen, that your conduct has been brought before me. your defence of that hut, when you were unable to make your retirement to the camp, with a handful of men, was a singularly gallant affair. i lost one of my aides-de-camp in the last fight, and i am pleased to offer you the vacancy. you may take possession of his horse until we return; when it will, of course, be sold. i shall be glad to have a young officer of so much courage and resource on my staff." "thank you, sir! i am extremely obliged to you for the offer, which i gladly accept; and feel it a very high honour, indeed, to be attached to your staff." "very well, mr. bullen, i will put you in orders, tomorrow morning." on his return to the regiment, lisle was warmly congratulated when they heard the honour that had been bestowed on him; but there were many expressions of regret at his leaving them. "it will not be for long," he said, "for i suppose that, in another fortnight, we shall be across the frontier. if it had been at the beginning of the campaign, i should certainly have refused to accept the general's offer; for i should much rather have remained with the regiment. as it was, however, i could hardly refuse." "certainly not," said one. "it is always a pull having been on the staff, even for a short time. the staff always get their names in orders, and that gives a fellow much better chances in the future. besides, in a campaign like this, where the division gets often broken up, there is plenty of work to do. "well, i hope you will soon be back with us again." next morning lisle took up his new duties, and was soon fully occupied in carrying messages from and to headquarters. one day he received orders to accompany one of the senior members of the staff, to reconnoitre a pass two miles from camp. it was a level ride to the mouth of the gorge. they had scarcely entered it when, from behind a rock a hundred yards away, a heavy volley was fired. the colonel's horse was shot dead and he, himself, was shot through the leg. lisle was unwounded, and leapt from his horse. "ride for your life, bullen!" the colonel said. "i am shot through the leg." illustration: 'my horse must carry two, sir,' lisle replied. "my horse must carry two, sir," lisle replied, lifting the officer, who was not wholly disabled, and placing him in the saddle. "jump up!" the officer said. but the tribesmen were now within twenty yards, and lisle drew his sword and gave the animal a sharp prick. it was already frightened with the shouting of the tribesmen, and went off like an arrow. lisle, seeing that resistance was absolutely useless, threw down his sword; and stood with his arms folded, facing the natives. an order was shouted by a man who was evidently their leader and, pausing, those who were armed with breech loaders fired after the flying horseman; totally disregarding lisle, who had the satisfaction of finding that his sacrifice had been effectual, for the horse pursued its way without faltering. when it was out of range, the chief turned to lisle. the afridis value courage above all things, and were filled with admiration at the manner in which this young officer sacrificed himself for his superior. he signalled to lisle to accompany him and, surrounded by the tribesmen, he was taken back to the rock from which they had first fired. then, guarded by four armed men, he was conducted to a little village standing high among the hills. "this is just my luck," he said to himself, when he was taken to a room in the principal house. "here i am a prisoner again, just as the troops are going to march away. it is awfully bad luck. still, if i ever do get back, i suppose the fact that i have saved colonel houghton's life will count for something in my favour. it was unlucky that there was not time for me to jump up behind him, but my horse was in bad condition, and we should have been a good deal longer under fire. "however, i ought not to grumble at my luck. i believe i am the only officer who has been taken prisoner and, as it looks as if i am to be kept as a hostage, my life would seem to be safe. i certainly expected nothing but instant death when they rushed down upon me. i have no doubt that, by this time, a messenger has reached camp saying that they have got me; and that, if there is any farther advance, they will put me to death. as i know that the general did not intend to go any farther, and that every day is of importance in getting the troops down before winter sets in in earnest, i have no doubt that he will send back a message saying that, if any harm comes to me, they will, in the spring, return and destroy every house belonging to the tribe. "i think i may consider myself safe, and shall find plenty of employment in learning their language, which may be useful to me at some time or other. i expect that, as soon as we leave, the people here will go down into one of their valleys. the cold up here must be getting frightful and, as there is not a tree anywhere near, they would not be able even to keep up fires. "as to escape, i fear that will be impossible. the passes will all be closed by snow, and i have no doubt that, until they are sure of that, they will keep a sharp lookout after me." later in the day the tribesmen returned. the chief came into the room and, by means of signs and the few words that lisle had picked up, when he was before a prisoner, he signified to him that if he attempted to make his escape he would at once be killed; but otherwise he would be well treated. for four or five days a vigilant watch was kept over him. then it was relaxed, and he felt sure that the army had marched away. then preparations for a move began. lisle volunteered to assist, and aided to pack up the scanty belongings, and filled bags with corn. the chief was evidently pleased with his willingness and, several times, gave him a friendly nod. at last all was in readiness; and the occupants of the village, together with their animals--all heavily laden, even the women carrying heavy burdens--started on their way. it was five days' journey, and they halted at last at a small village--which was evidently private property--down in the plains at the foot of the mountains and, as lisle judged, at no very great distance from the frontier line. lisle now mixed a good deal with the natives, and thus he began to pick up a good many words of their language. now that they were down on the plains, two men with rifles were always on guard over him, but he was allowed to move freely about, as he liked. a fortnight after they were established in their new quarters another party of natives arrived, and there was a long and angry talk. as far as lisle could understand, these were the permanent occupants of that portion of the plain, and had been accustomed to receive a small tribute from the hill people who came down to them. it seemed that, on the present occasion, they demanded a largely increased sum in cattle and sheep; on the ground that so many of the hill tribesmen had come down that their land was eaten up by them. the amount now demanded was larger than the hill people could pay. they, therefore, flatly rejected the terms offered them; and the newcomers retired, with threats of exterminating them. for the next few days, the tribesmen were busy in putting the village in a state of defence. a deep ditch was dug round it, and this was surmounted by an abattis of bushes. fresh loopholes were pierced in the tower, and stones were gathered in the upper story, in readiness to throw down on any assailants. as soon as the work was begun, lisle signified to the chief that he was ready to take part in it, and to aid in the defence. the chief was pleased with his offer, and gladly accepted it. lisle worked hard among them. he needed to give them no advice. accustomed to tribal war, the men were perfectly competent to carry out the work. there were but three towers capable of defence, and in these the whole of the villagers were now gathered. men and women alike worked at the defences. their sheep and cattle were driven into the exterior line, and were only allowed to go out to graze under a strong guard. a fortnight passed before there were any signs of the enemy, and then a dark mass was seen approaching. the cattle were hastily driven in, and the men gathered behind the hedge. lisle asked the chief for a rifle, but the latter shook his head. "we have not enough for ourselves," he said. "here is a pistol we took from you, and a sword. you must do the best you can with them. it is probable that, before the fight goes on long, there will be rifles without masters, and you will be able to find one. are you a good shot?" "yes, a very good one." "very well, the first that becomes free you shall have." the assailants halted five hundred yards from the village. then one rode forward. when he came within a hundred yards he halted, and shouted: "are you ready to pay the tribute fixed upon?" "we are not," the chief said. "if you took all we have it would not be sufficient and, without our animals, we should starve when we got back to the hills; but i will pay twice the amount previously demanded." "then we will come and take them all," the messenger said. "come and take them," the chief shouted, and the messenger retired to the main body; who at once broke up, when they learned the answer, and proceeded to surround the village. "do you think," the chief said to lisle, "that you could hit that man who is directing them?" "i don't know the exact distance," lisle said, "but i think that, if i had two or three shots, i could certainly knock him over." "give me your rifle," the chief said, to one of the tribesmen standing near him. "now, sahib, let us see what you can do." lisle took the rifle, and examined it to see that it was all right; and then, leaning down on a small rise of ground that permitted him to see over the hedge, he took steady aim and fired. the man he aimed at fell, at once. "well done, indeed!" the chief exclaimed, "you are a good shot. i will lend you my rifle. it is one of the best; but i only got it a short time since, and am not accustomed to it." "thank you, chief! i will do my best." then, waving his arm round, he said, "you will do more good by looking after your men." the chief went up to his house, and returned with an old smooth-bore gun and a bag of slugs. "i shall do better with this," he said, "when they get close." a heavy fire was opened on both sides; but the defenders, lying behind the hedge, had a considerable advantage; which almost neutralized the great superiority in numbers of the assailants, who were in the open. lisle, lying down behind the bank from which he had fired, and only lifting his head above the crest to take aim, occupied himself exclusively with the men who appeared to be the leaders of the attack, and brought down several of them. the assailants presently drew off, and gathered together. it was evident to lisle, from his lookout, that there was a considerable difference of opinion among them; but at last they scattered again round the village and, lying down and taking advantage of every tuft of grass, they began to crawl forward on their stomachs. although, as the line closed in, several were killed, it was evident that they would soon get near enough to make a rush. the chief was evidently of the same opinion, for he shouted an order, and the defenders all leapt to their feet and ran to the three fortified houses. there were only three-and-twenty of them, in all. lisle saw with satisfaction that they had evidently received orders, beforehand, from the chief; for seven were running to the chief's house, making up its garrison, altogether, to nine men; and seven were running to each of the others. as the enemy burst through the bushes, which were but some twenty-five yards from the houses, the defenders opened fire from every loophole. at so short a distance every shot told; and the assailants recoiled, leaving more than a dozen dead behind them, while several of the others were wounded. they now took up their places in the ditch, and fired through the hedge. lisle at once signed to the chief to order his men to cease firing, and to withdraw from the loopholes. "it is no good to fire now," he said. "let them waste their ammunition." the chief at once shouted orders to his men to cease firing, and to take their place on the lower story; the walls of which, being strongly built of stone, were impenetrable by bullets; while these passed freely through the lightly-built story above. the enemy continued to fire rapidly for some time; and then, finding that no reply was made, gradually stopped. there was a long pause. "i think they are waiting till it is dark," lisle said. "tell the men to make torches, and thrust them out through the loopholes when the enemy come." the chief nodded, after lisle had repeated the sentence in a dozen different ways. he at once ordered the men to bring up ropes, and to soak them with oil; and then in a low voice, so that the assailants should not hear, repeated the order to the men in the other houses. the ropes were cut up into lengths of three feet, and then there was nothing to do but to wait. the attack had begun at three in the afternoon, and by six it was quite dark. a loud yell gave the signal, and the enemy rushed through the hedge and surrounded the three houses. all had walls round them and, while the assailants battered at the doors, which had been backed up with earth and stones, the defenders lighted their torches and thrust them out, through loopholes in the upper stories, and then retired again to the ground floor. the doors soon gave way to the attacks upon them, and the assailants rushed in, in a crowd. as they did so, the defenders poured in a terrible fire from their magazine rifles. the heads of the columns melted away, and the assailants fell back, hastily. "i do not think they will try again," lisle said. "if they have lost as heavily, in the other two houses, as they have here, their loss must have been heavy, indeed." the torches were kept burning all night, but there was no repetition of the attack and, in the morning, the assailants were seen gathered half a mile away. presently a man was observed approaching, waving a green bough. he was met at the hedge by the chief. he brought an offer that, if the afridis were allowed to carry off their dead and wounded, they would be content that the same tribute as of old should be paid; and to take oath that it should not, in the future, be increased. the chief agreed to the terms, on condition that only twenty men should be allowed to pass the hedge, and that they should there hand over the dead to their companions. on returning to his house, he made lisle understand that, after the heavy loss they had inflicted on their assailants, there would forever be a blood feud between them; and that, in future, they would have to retire for the winter to some valley far away, and keep a constant watch until spring came again. when lisle had, with great difficulty, understood what the chief said, he nodded. "i can understand that, chief," he said, "and i think you should keep a very strong guard, every night, till we move away." "good man," the chief said, "you have fought by our side, and are no longer a prisoner but a friend. when spring comes, you shall go back to your own people." it took some hours to remove the dead, of whom there were forty-three; and the badly wounded, who numbered twenty-two--but there was no doubt that many more had managed to crawl away. lisle now set to work to learn the language, in earnest. a boy was told off by the chief to be his companion and, at the end of two months, lisle was able to converse without difficulty. the chief had already told him that he could leave when he liked, but that it would be very dangerous for him to endeavour to make his way to the frontier, especially as the tribe they had fought against occupied the intervening country. "when we get among the hills, i will give you four men to act as your escort down the passes; but you will have to go in disguise for, after the fighting that has taken place, and the destruction of the villages, even if peace is made it would not be safe for a white man to travel among the mountains. he would certainly be killed." every precaution was taken against attack, and six men were stationed at the hedge, all night. two or three times noises were heard, which seemed to proceed from a considerable body of men. the guard fired, but nothing more was heard. evidently a surprise had been intended but, directly it was found that the garrison were on watch, and prepared, the idea was abandoned; for the lesson had been so severe that even the hope of revenge was not sufficient to induce them to run the risk of its repetition. lisle did not fret at his enforced stay. he was very popular in the little village, and was quite at home with the chief's family. the choicest bits of meat were always sent to him; and he was treated as an honoured guest, in every way. "when you return to your people," the chief said, one day, "please tell them that, henceforth, we shall regard them as friends; and that, if they choose to march through our country, we will do all we can to aid them, by every means in our power." "i will certainly tell them so," lisle replied, "and the kindness you have shown me will assuredly be rewarded." "i regret that we fought against you," the chief said, "but we were misled. they will not take away our rifles from us, i hope; for without them we should be at the mercy of the other tribes. these may give up many rifles, but they are sure to retain some and, though there are other villages of our clan, we should be an easy prey, if it were known that we were unarmed." "i think i can promise that, after your friendly conduct to me, you will not be required to make any payment, whatever; and indeed, for so small a matter as twenty rifles, your assurances, that these would never again be used against us, would be taken into consideration." when lisle had been in the village about three months, one of the men came up to him and spoke in punjabi. "why, how did you learn punjabi?" he said, in surprise; "and why did you not speak to me in it, before? it would have saved me an immense deal of trouble, when i first came." "i am sorry," the man said, "but the thought that you could speak punjabi did not enter my mind. i thought that you were a young white officer who had just come out from england. i learnt it because i served, for fifteen years, in the nd punjabis." "you did?" lisle said; "why, the nd punjabis was my father's regiment! how long have you left it?" "six years ago, sahib." "then you must remember my father, captain bullen." "truly i remember him," the man said. "he was one of our best and kindest officers. and he was your father?" "yes. you might remember me too, i must have been eleven or twelve years old." the man looked hard at him. "i think, sir, that i remember your face; but of course you have changed a good deal, since then. i remember you well, for you often came down our lines; and you could speak the language fluently, and were fond of talking to us. "and your father, is he well?" "he was killed, three years ago," lisle said, "in an attack on a hill fort." "i am sorry, very sorry. he was a good man. and so you are an officer in his regiment?" "no," lisle said, "i left the regiment in the march to the relief of chitral. they wanted to send me home, so i darkened my skin and enlisted in the regiment, by the aid of gholam singh; and went through the campaign without even being suspected, till just at the end." "you went as a soldier?" the man said, in surprise; "never before have i heard of a white sahib passing as a native, and enlisting in the ranks. you lived and fought with the men, without being discovered! truly, it is wonderful." "i did not manage quite so well as i ought to have done; for i found, afterwards, that i had been suspected before we got to chitral. then colonel kelly took me out of the ranks and made me a temporary officer, and afterwards got a commission for me." "it is truly wonderful," the man repeated. from that time the native took every pains to show him respect and liking for the son of his old officer; and the account he gave, to the others, of the affection with which the young sahib's father was regarded by the regiment, much increased the cordiality with which he was generally treated. spring came at last, and the snow line gradually rose among the distant hills and, at last, the chief announced that they could now start for their summer home. the news was received with general satisfaction, for the night watches and the constant expectation of attack weighed heavily upon them all. the decision was announced at dawn and, three hours afterwards, the animals were packed and they set out on the march. they had started a fortnight earlier than usual for, if they had waited till the usual time, their old enemies would probably have placed an ambush. they travelled without a halt, until they were well among the hills. then the wearied beasts were unladen, fires were lighted, and a meal cooked. but even yet they were not altogether safe from attack; and sentries were posted, some distance down the hill, to give notice of the approach of an enemy. the night, however, passed quietly; and the next evening they were high among the hills, and camped, for the first time for three months, with a sense of security. it was determined to rest here for a few days, for they had almost reached the snow line. this was receding fast, under the hot rays of the sun, but it was certain that the gorges would be full of fierce torrents; and that, until these abated somewhat, they would be absolutely impassable. a week was extended into a fortnight. as the snow melted the grass grew, as if by magic; and the animals rapidly regained condition and strength. then they started again and, after encountering no little difficulty and hardship, arrived at their mountain home. "now, sahib," the chief said the next morning, "i will keep my promise to you, and will send four of my men with you to peshawar. the sun and the glare from the snow have browned you almost to our colour, so there will be no occasion for you to stain your face and, in afghan costume, you could pass anywhere. besides, you speak our language so well that, even if you were questioned, no one would suspect that you are not one of ourselves." "how many days will it take, chief?" "in five days you will be at peshawar. i know not whether you will find an army assembled there, to march again into our country; but i hope that peace has been settled. it will take the tribes all the year to rebuild their houses. it will be years before their flocks and herds increase to what they were before and, now they have found that british troops can force their way through their strongest passes, that they can no longer defy white men to enter their lands, they will be very careful not to draw down the anger of the white man upon themselves. they will have a hard year of it to repair, in any way, the damages they have incurred; to say nothing of the loss of life that they have suffered. they have also had to give up great numbers of their rifles; and this, alone, will render them careful, at any rate until they replace them; so i do not think that there will be any chance of fighting this year, or for some years to come. i am sure i hope not." "i hope not, also," lisle said. "we too have lost heavily, and the expense has been immense. we shall be as glad as your people to live at peace. i think i may safely say that, if the country is quiet, a messenger will be sent up from peshawar with the general's thanks for the way in which i have been treated; and with assurances that, whatever may happen, your village will be respected by any force that may march into the country. probably such an assurance will be sent by the men who go with me." another fortnight was spent in the village, for the rivers were still filled to the brim; but as soon as the chief thought that the passes were practicable, lisle, in afridi costume, started with four of the men. all the village turned out to bid him goodbye; several of the women, and many of the children, crying at his departure. the journey down was accomplished without adventure; the men giving out, at the villages at which they stopped, that they were on their way to peshawar, to give assurances to the british there that they were ready to submit to terms. on nearing peshawar, lisle abandoned his afridi costume and resumed his khaki uniform. when he arrived at the town, he went at once to headquarters. the sentry at the door belonged to his own regiment; and he started, and his rifle almost fell from his hand, as his eye fell upon lisle. "i am not a ghost," lisle laughed, "but am very much alive. "i am glad to see you again, wilkins," and he passed in at the door. "is the general engaged?" he asked the orderly who, like the soldier at the door, stood gazing at him stupidly. "no, sir," the man gasped. "then i will go in unannounced." general lockhart looked up from the papers he was reading, and gave a sudden start. "i have come to report myself ready for duty, sir," lisle said, with a smile. "good heavens! mr. bullen, you have given me quite a turn! we had all regarded your death as certain; and your name appeared in the list of casualties, five months ago. "i am truly glad to see you again," and he heartily shook lisle's hand. "there is another in here who will be glad to see you." he opened the door, and said: "colonel houghton, will you step in here, for a moment?" as the colonel entered the room, and his eye fell upon lisle, he stood as if suddenly paralysed. the blood rushed from his cheeks. "i am glad to see that you have recovered from your wound, sir," lisle said. the blood surged back into the colonel's face. he strode forward and, grasping both lisle's hands in his own, said in broken accents: "so it is really you, alive and well! this is indeed a load off my mind. i have always blamed myself for saving my life at the expense of your own. it would have embittered my life to the end of my days. "and you are really alive! i thank god for it. i tried in vain to check my horse, but it got the bit between its teeth and, with my wounded leg, i had no power to turn him. as i rode, i pictured to myself your last defence; how you died fighting. "how has this all come about?" and he looked at the general, as if expecting an answer. "i know no more than yourself, houghton. he had but just entered when i called you in." "now, mr. bullen, let us hear how it happened." "it was very simple, sir. the afridis were but twenty paces away, when i started the colonel's horse. i saw that fighting would be hopeless, so threw down my sword and pistol. i should have been cut up at once, had not their chief shouted to them to leave me alone, and to fire after colonel houghton. this they did and, i was happy to see, without success." "then the chief sent me off, under the guard of four men, to his village; with the intention, as i afterwards heard, of holding me as a hostage. a week later we moved down to the plain. when we had been settled in our winter quarters for about two months, we were attacked by a neighbouring tribe. "by this time i had begun to pick up enough of the language to make myself understood. i volunteered to aid in the defence. the chief gave me his rifle, and i picked off a few of the leading assailants, and aided in the defence of the village. the enemy were beaten off with very heavy loss, and the chief was pleased to attribute their defeat to my advice. "he at once declared that i was to regard myself no longer as a prisoner, but as a guest. i spent the next three months in getting up their language, which i can now speak fluently enough for all purposes. "all this time, a vigilant watch had been kept against another attack and, as soon as the snow began to melt, we returned to the mountains. there we remained until the passes were open; and then the chief sent me down, with an escort of four, and i arrived here a quarter of an hour before i reported myself. "i believe that i owe my life, in the first place, to the afridi's surprise at my sending off colonel houghton on my horse." "no wonder he was surprised, mr. bullen. it was a splendid action; and in reporting your death, i spoke of it in the warmest terms; and said that, had you returned alive, i should have recommended you for the v.c. "i shall, of course renew the recommendation, now that you have returned." turning to colonel houghton, he said: "you no doubt wish to have a further chat with lieutenant bullen and, as there is no special work here today, pray consider yourself at liberty to take him down to your quarters." "thank you, sir! i shall certainly be glad to learn further about the affair." "if you please, general," lisle said, "i have a message to give you, from the chief. he says that, henceforth, he will be friends with the british; and that if you ever enter his country again, he will do all in his power to aid you. he hopes that you will allow them to retain their rifles and, as they only amount to some three or four and twenty fighting men, i was tempted to promise him that you would." "you were quite right, mr. bullen. i suppose the men who accompanied you are still here?" "yes." "tell them not to go away. i will myself send a message to their chief." "we will write him a letter, colonel houghton, thanking him for his kindness to his prisoner; sending him a permit to retain his arms, and a present which will enable his tribe to increase their flocks and herds." "thank you very much, sir! i shall myself, of course, send a present of some sort, in return for his kindness." "you talk the pathan language with facility?" "yes, sir. i was five months with them, and devoted the chief part of my time to picking it up." "you shall be examined at the first opportunity, mr. bullen; and the acquisition of their language, as well as your proficiency in punjabi will, of course, greatly add to your claim to be placed on staff appointments; and will add somewhat to your income. "i hope you will dine with me, this evening; when you can give me a full account of your life in the village, and of that fight you spoke of. it will be highly interesting to learn the details of one of these tribal fights." lisle accompanied colonel houghton to his quarters with a little reluctance, for he was anxious to rejoin his comrades in the regiment. "now, bullen, tell me all about it," the colonel said. "i know that you lifted me on to your horse. i called to you to jump up behind, as the afridis were close upon us; and i have never been able to make out why the horse should have gone off at a mad gallop, with me; but no doubt it was scared by the yells of the afridis." "when i lifted you up, sir, i certainly intended to get up behind you; but the afridis were so close that i felt that it was impossible to do so, and that we should both be shot down before we got out of range; so i gave the horse a prod with my sword and, as i saw him go off at a gallop, i threw down my arms, as i told you." "as it has turned out," the colonel said, "there is no doubt that the tribesmen, valiant fighters themselves, admire courage. if you had resisted, no doubt you would have been cut down; but your action must have appeared so extraordinary, to them, that they spared you. "i have often bitterly reproached myself that i was unable to share your fate. you are still young, and i am old enough to be your father. i am unmarried, with no particular ties in the world. you have given me new interest in life. it will be a great pleasure for me to watch your career. "if you have no objection i shall formally adopt you; and shall, tomorrow, draw out a will appointing you heir to all i possess--which i may tell you is something like fifteen thousand pounds--and shall make it my business to push you forward." "it is too much altogether, colonel." "not at all, bullen; you saved my life, when certain death seemed to be staring you in the face; and it is a small thing, when i have no longer need of it, that you should inherit what i leave behind. "in the meantime, i shall make you an allowance of a couple of hundred a year, as my adopted son. say no more about it; you are not stepping into anyone else's shoes, for i have no near relation, no one who has a right to expect a penny at my death; and i have hitherto not even taken the trouble to make a will. you will, i hope, consider me, in the future, as standing in the place of the brave father you lost, some years ago." lisle remained chatting with the officer for an hour, and then the latter said: "i won't keep you any longer, now. i am sure you must be wanting to see your friends in the camp." as soon as lisle neared the lines of the regiment, he saw the soldiers waiting about in groups. these closed up as he approached. the sentry to whom he had spoken had been relieved, and had told the news of his return to his comrades and, as he came along, the whole regiment gathered round lisle, and cheer after cheer went up. he had gone but a few paces when he was seized and placed upon the shoulders of two of the men; and carried in triumph, surrounded by the other men, still cheering, to the front of the mess room. he was so affected, by the warmth of the greeting, that the tears were running down his cheeks when he was allowed to alight. the officers, who had, of course, received the news, gathered at the mess room when he was seen approaching. before going up to them lisle turned and, raising his hand for silence, said: "i thank you with all my heart, men, for the welcome you have given me; and the proof that you have afforded me of your liking for me. i thank you again and again, and shall never forget this reception." there was a fresh outburst of cheering, and lisle then turned, and ascended the four steps leading up to the mess room. chapter : the v.c. the colonel was standing, surrounded by his officers. "i welcome you back, mr. bullen," he said, as he shook the lad's hand heartily, "in the name of the officers of the regiment, and my own. we are proud of you, sir. how you escaped death, we know not; it is enough for us that you are back, and are safe and sound. "your deed, in saving colonel houghton's life at what seemed the sacrifice of your own, had been a sore trial and a grief to all of us. no doubt existed in our minds that you had been cut to pieces, and you seem to have almost come back from the dead." the other officers then crowded round him, shaking his hand and congratulating him on his escape. "now, come in and tell us how this miracle has come about. we can understand that you have been held as a hostage, but how is it that you are here? "now, do you get up on a chair, and give us a true and faithful account of all that happened to you, and how it is that you effected your escape." "i did not effect my escape at all," lisle said, as he mounted the chair; "i was released without any terms being made and, for the past three months, have been treated as an honoured guest by the afridi chief into whose hands i fell." "well, tell the story from the beginning," the colonel said; "what you have said only adds to our wonder." lisle modestly told the story, amid frequent cross questioning. "well, there is no doubt that you were lucky, lisle," the colonel said, when he had brought his story to a conclusion. "the pluck of your action, in getting colonel houghton off and staying yourself, appealed strongly to the afridis; and caused their chief to decide to retain you as a hostage, instead of killing you at once. i do not suppose that he really thought that he would gain much, by saving you; for he must have known that we are in a hurry to get down through the passes, and must consider it very doubtful whether we should ever return. still, no doubt he would have detained you and, in the spring, sent down to say that you were in his hands; and in that way would have endeavoured to make terms for your release. but your assistance when he was attacked, and your readiness to take part with his people, entirely changed his attitude towards you. "however, i don't suppose he will lose by it. the general is sure to send back a handsome present to him, for his conduct towards you. "have you seen houghton yet?" "yes, sir; i have been with him for the past hour. he has been more than kind to me and, as he has no near relations, has been good enough to say that he will adopt me as his heir. so i have indeed been amply rewarded for the service i did him." "i congratulate you most heartily," the colonel said; "you have well earned it, and i am sure that there is not a man in the army who will envy your good fortune. there is only one thing wanting to complete it, and that is the v.c.; which i have not the least doubt in the world will be awarded to you, and all my fellow officers will agree with me that never was it more nobly earned. you courted what seemed certain death. "the greater portion of the crosses have been earned by men for carrying in wounded comrades, under a heavy fire; but that is nothing to your case. those actions were done on the spur of the moment, and there was every probability that the men would get back unhurt. yours was the facing of a certain death. i can assure you that it will be the occasion of rejoicings, on the part of the whole regiment, when you appear for the first time with a cross on your breast." he rang the bell and, when one of the mess waiters appeared, told him to bring half a dozen bottles of champagne. lisle's health was then drunk, with three hearty cheers. lunch was on the table, and lisle was heartily glad when the subject of his own deeds was dropped, and they started to discuss the meal. "now, mr. bullen," the colonel said, when the meal was finished, "i must carry you off to the ladies. they have all rejoined, and will be as anxious as we were to hear of your return." "must i go, colonel?" lisle asked shyly. "of course you must, bullen. when a man performs brave deeds, he must be expected to be patted on the back--metaphorically, at any rate--by the ladies. so you have got to go through it all and, as i have sent word round that i shall bring you to my bungalow, you will be able to get it all over at once." "well, sir, i suppose i must do it, though i would much rather not. still, as you say, it were best to get it all over at once." six ladies were gathered at the bungalow, as lisle entered with the colonel. all rose as they entered, and pressed round him, shaking his hand. "i have come to tell you how pleased we all were," the colonel's wife said, "to hear that you had returned, and how eager we have all been to learn how it has come about. we think it very unkind of you to stay so long in the mess room, when you must have known that we are all on thorns to hear about it. i can assure you that we have missed you terribly, since the regiment returned, and we are awfully glad to have you back again. "now, please tell us all about it. we know, of course, how you got colonel houghton off, and remained to die; and how proud all the regiment has been of your exploit; so you can start and tell us how it was that you escaped from being cut to mince-meat." lisle again went through the story. "why did you not return at once, when the chief who captured you said that you were his guest? was there not some fair young afridi, who held you in her chains?" lisle laughed. "i can assure you that it was no feminine attractions that kept me. there were some fifteen or twenty girls and, like everyone else, they were very kind to me but, so far as i was able to judge, not one of them was prettier, or i should rather say less ugly, than the rest; although several of them had very good features, and were doubtless considered lovely by the men. certainly there was none whom an englishman would look at twice. "poor things, most of the work of the village is left to them. they went out to cut grass, fed the cattle, gathered firewood, and ground the corn; and i have no doubt that they are now all occupied with the work of tilling the little patches of fertile ground beyond the village. "besides, ladies, you must remember that i have a vivid recollection of you all; which would, alone, have guarded me against falling in love with any dusky maiden." "i rather doubt your word, mr. bullen," the colonel's wife said; "you were always very ready to make yourself pleasant, and do our errands, and to make yourself generally useful and agreeable; but i do not remember that you ever ventured upon making a compliment before. you must have learnt the art somehow." the lady laughed. "i could hardly help comparing you with the women round me, but i really had a vivid remembrance of your kindness to me." "in future, mr. bullen, we shall consider you as discharged from all duty. we have heard of other gallant deeds that you have done; and henceforth shall regard you, with a real respect, as an officer who has brought great credit upon the regiment. i am sure that, henceforth, you will lose your old nickname of 'the boy,' and be regarded as a hero." "i hope not," lisle said; "it has been very pleasant to be regarded as a boy, and therefore to act as a sort of general fag to you. i hope you will continue to regard me as so. i have always considered it a privilege to be able to make myself useful to you, and i should be very sorry to lose it. "i can assure you that i still feel as a boy. i know nothing of the world; have passed my whole time, as far back as i can remember, in camp; and have thoroughly enjoyed my life. i suppose some day i shall lose the feeling that i am still a boy, but i shall certainly hold to it as long as i can." "i suppose you had some difficulty in speaking with the natives?" the doctor's wife said. "at first i had but, from continually talking with them, i got to know their language--i won't say as well as punjabi, but certainly very well--and i shall pass in it at the next examination." "i wish all subalterns were like you," the colonel's wife said. "most of those who come out from england are puffed up with a sense of their own importance, and i often wish that i could take them by the shoulders, and shake them well. and what are you going to do now?" "i am going off to find the four men who came down with me, see if they are comfortable, and tell them that the general will give them the message to their chief, tomorrow." "what will be the next thing, mr. bullen?" "the next thing will be to go to the bazaar, and choose some presents for the chief and his family." "what do you mean to get?" "i think a brace of revolvers, and a good store of ammunition for the chief. as to the women i must, i suppose, get something in the way of dress. for the other men i shall get commoner things. everyone has been most kind to me, and i should certainly like them to have some remembrance of my stay. "i suppose that there is five months' pay waiting for me in the paymaster's chest." "i should doubt it extremely," the colonel said. "you will get it in time, but you will have to wait. you have been struck off the regimental pay list, ever since you were put down as dead; and i expect the paymaster will have to get a special authorization, before you can draw your back pay." "i was only joking, colonel. my agent at calcutta has my money in his hands, and i have only to draw on him." "so much the better, bullen. it is always a nuisance getting into debt, even when you are certain that funds will be forthcoming which will enable you to repay what you owe. but have you enough to carry you on till you hear from your agent?" "plenty, sir; i left all the money i did not care to carry about with me in the regimental till." "then i expect you will find it there still. i know that nothing has been done with it. a short time since, the paymaster was speaking to me about it, and asking me if i knew the address of any of your relations, or who was your agent at calcutta. he said to me: "'i shall wait a bit longer. mr. bullen turned up quite unexpectedly, once before and, though i fear there is not a shadow of chance that he will do so again, i will hold the money for a time. it is just possible that he is held as a hostage, in which case we shall probably hear of him, when the passes are open.'" lisle went to the paymaster's at once and, finding that he had not parted with the money, drew fifty pounds. he had no difficulty in buying the revolvers and cartridges; but was so completely at a loss as to the female garments, and the price he ought to pay, that he went back to the cantonment and asked two of the ladies to accompany him shopping. this they at once consented to do and, with their aid, he laid in a stock of female garments: silk for the chief's wife; and simpler, but good and useful materials--for the most part of bright colour--for the other women. these were all parcelled up in various bundles, and a looking glass inserted in each parcel. for the men he bought bright waistbands and long knives; and gave, in addition, a present in money to the men who had come down with him. it was evening before the work was finished, and he then returned to mess with the regiment. "i suppose you don't know yet whether you are coming back to us, bullen?" the major said. "no, sir, the general did not say; but for myself, i would very much rather join the regiment. staff appointment sounds tempting, but i must say that i should greatly prefer regimental work; especially as i should be very much junior to the other officers of the staff, and should feel myself out of place among them." "i have no doubt that you are right, in that respect; but staff appointments lead to promotion." "i have no ambition for promotion, for the present, major. i am already five or six up among the senior lieutenants, which is quite high enough for one of my age." "well, perhaps you are right. it is not a good thing for a young officer to be pushed on too fast, and another two or three years of regimental work will certainly do you no harm." "i have not yet asked, major, whether we are going up into the tirah again, this spring?" "i fancy not. already several deputations have come in from the tribesmen, some of them bringing in the fines imposed upon them; and all seem to say that there is a general desire among the afridis for peace, and that deputations from other tribes will shortly follow them." "i am glad to hear it, sir," lisle said. "i think i have had quite enough of hill fighting." "i think we are all of the same opinion, bullen. it is no joke fighting an enemy hidden behind rocks, armed with lee-metford rifles, and trained to shoot as well as a british marksman. "the marching was even worse than the fighting. passing a night on the snow, any number of thousand feet above the sea, is worse than either of them. no, i would rather go through a campaign against the russians, than have anything more to do with the tirah; though i must admit that, if we were to begin at once, we should not have snow to contend with. "i have been through several campaigns, but the last was infinitely the hardest, and i have not the least desire to repeat it. whether all the tribes choose to send in and accept our terms, or not, makes no very great difference; they have had such a sharp lesson that it will certainly be some time before they rise again in revolt. there may be an occasional cattle-lifting raid across the frontier, but one can put up with that; and it would be infinitely cheaper for government to compensate the victims, than for us to get an army in motion again, to punish the thieves. "moreover, having once taught them that we are stronger than they, it would be a pity to weaken them still further for, if a russian army were to try and force its way into india, these fellows would make it very hot for them. they are full of fight and, although they are independent of afghanistan, and have no particular patriotic feeling, the thirst for plunder would bring them like bees round an invading army. "no, the thing has been well done, but the expense has been enormous and the losses serious; and i trust that, at any rate as long as we are stationed in northern india, things will be quiet." next morning lisle went, early, to headquarters. he had to wait a little time before he could see the general. when he went in, general lockhart said: "now about yourself, mr. bullen. your place has, of course, been filled up; but i shall be glad to appoint you as extra aide-de-camp, if you wish. would you rather be on staff duty, or rejoin your regiment?" "if you give me the choice, sir, i would rather rejoin the regiment. staff duty in war time is extremely interesting; but in peace time, i would rather be at work with the regiment. "you see, sir, i am very young, and much younger than any of the staff; and i am sure that i should feel very much out of place." "i agree with you," the general said, with a smile. "i think that you are wise to prefer regimental duty. i have written home, giving my account of your gallant action; telling how you were not, as reported, killed; and recommending you, in the strongest possible terms, for the v.c." "i am greatly indebted to you, sir. i do not feel that i have done anything at all out of the way, and acted only on the impulse of the moment." "you could not have done better, had you thought of it for an hour," the general said; "but as i also reported your defence of that hut, i have little doubt that you will get the well-earned v.c." there was great satisfaction among the officers and the regiment, when lisle told them of his interview with the general. it was soon evident, from the sale of the transport animals, that the war was over; and the regiment shortly afterwards returned to their old quarters, at rawal pindi, and fell into the old routine of drill. in the middle of the following summer lisle, while fielding at cricket in a match with another regiment, suddenly staggered and fell. the surgeon, running up from the pavilion, pronounced it as a case of sunstroke. it was some time before he was conscious again. "what has happened?" he asked. "you have had a bad sunstroke," the surgeon said, "and i am going to send you home, as soon as you are able to travel. i shall apply for at least a year's leave for you, and i hope that, by the end of that time, you will be perfectly fit for work again; but certainly a period of rest, and the return to a temperate climate, is absolutely necessary for you." long before this, a despatch had been received from england bestowing the victoria cross upon lisle. general lockhart himself came down from peshawar and fixed it to his breast, in presence of the whole regiment, drawn up in parade order. the outburst of cheering from the men told unmistakably how popular he was with them, and how they approved of the honour bestowed upon him. the general dined at mess, and was pleased to see how popular the young officer was with his men. he himself proposed lisle's health, and the latter was obliged to return thanks. when he sat down, the general said: "it is clear, mr. bullen, that you have more presence of mind, when engaged with the enemy, than you have when surrounded with friends. it can hardly be said that eloquence is your forte." "no, sir," lisle said, wiping the perspiration from his face, "i would rather go through eleven battles, than have to make another speech." the application for sick leave was granted at once and, a fortnight later, lisle took his place in the train for calcutta. all the officers and their wives assembled to see him off. "i hope," said the colonel, "you will come back in the course of a year, thoroughly restored to health. it is all in your favour that you have not been a drinking man; and the surgeon told me that he is convinced that the brain has suffered no serious injury, and that you will be on your feet again, and fit for any work, after the twelve months' leave. but, moderate as you always are, i should advise you to eschew altogether alcoholic liquids. men who have never had a touch of sunstroke can drink them with impunity but, to a man who has had sunstroke, they are worse than poison." "all right, colonel! nothing stronger than lemonade shall pass my lips." and so, with the good wishes of his friends, lisle started for calcutta. here he drew from his agents a sum which, he calculated, would last him for a year at home. to his great pleasure, on entering the train he met his friend colonel houghton. "i have been thinking for some time, lad," he said, "of applying for a year's leave; which i have earned by twelve years' service out here. i was with the general when your application for leave arrived, and made up my mind to go home with you. i therefore telegraphed to simla, and got leave at once; so i shall be able to look after you, on the voyage." "it is very kind of you," lisle said. "it will be a comfort, indeed, having a friend on board. my brain seems to be all right now, but my memory is very shaky. however, i hope that will be all right, too, by the time we arrive in england." the presence of the colonel was indeed a great comfort to lisle. the latter looked after him as a father might have done, placed his chair in the coolest spot to be found and, by relating to the other passengers the service by which lisle had won the v.c., ensured their sympathy and kindness. by the time the voyage was over, lisle felt himself again. his brain had gradually cleared, and he could again remember the events of his life. he stayed three or four days at the hotel in london where the colonel put up; and then went down into the country, in response to an invitation from his aunt, which had been sent off as soon as she received a letter from him, announcing his arrival in england. his uncle's place was a quiet parsonage in somersetshire, and the rest and quiet did him an immense deal of good. at the end of three months' stay there, he left to see something of london and england, and travelled about for some months. when the year was nearly up, and he was making his preparations to return to india, he received a summons to attend at the war office. wondering greatly what its purport could be, he called upon the adjutant general. "how are you feeling, mr. bullen?" the latter asked. "perfectly well, sir, as well as i ever felt in my life." "we are sending a few officers to aid colonel willcocks in effecting the relief of the party now besieged in coomassie. your record is an excellent one and, if you are willing and able to go, we shall be glad to include you in the number." "i should like it very much. there is no chance, whatever, of active service in india; and i should be glad, indeed, to be at the front again, in different circumstances." "very well, mr. bullen, then you will sail on tuesday next, in the steamer that leaves liverpool on that day. you will have the local rank of captain, and will be in command of a company of hausas." lisle had but a few preparations to make. he ordered, at once, a khaki uniform and pith helmet, and a supply of light shirts and underclothing. then he ran down to somersetshire to say goodbye to his uncle and aunt, and arrived in liverpool on the monday evening. sleeping at the hotel at the station, he went on board the next morning. here he found half a dozen other officers, also bound for the west coast of africa, and soon got on friendly terms with them. he was, of course, obliged to tell how he had won the victoria cross; a recital which greatly raised him in their estimation. they had fine weather throughout the voyage; and were glad, indeed, when the steamer anchored off cape coast. although looking forward to their arrival at cape coast, the officers were not in their highest spirits. all of them had applied for service in south africa, where the war was now raging but, to their disappointment, had been sent on this minor expedition. at any other time, they would have been delighted at the opportunity of taking part in it; but now, with a great war going on, it seemed to them a very petty affair, indeed. they cheered themselves, however, by the assumption that there was sure to be hard fighting; and opportunities for distinguishing themselves at least as great as they would meet with at the cape, where so vast a number of men were engaged that it would be difficult for one officer to distinguish himself beyond others. until he started, lisle had scarcely more than heard the name of ashanti; though he knew, of course, that two expeditions, those under sir garnet wolseley and sir francis scott, had reached the capital, the latter dethroning the king and carrying him away into captivity. now, however, he gathered full details of the situation, from two officers belonging to the native troops, who had been hurriedly ordered to cut short their leave, and go back to take their places with the corps to which they were attached. there was no doubt that the ashantis were one of the most formidable tribes in africa. their territory extended from the river prah to sixty miles north of cape coast. they were feared by all their neighbours, with whom they were frequently at war--not so much for the sake of extending their territory, as for the purpose of obtaining great numbers of men and women for their hideous sacrifices, at coomassie. they were in close alliance with the tribes at elmina, which place we had taken over from the portuguese, some years before sir garnet wolseley's expedition. this occupation was bitterly opposed by the ashantis, who felt that it cut them off from free trade with the coast. in return, they intercepted all trade with the coast from the tribes behind them; and finally seized some white missionaries at their capital, and sent a defiant message down to cape coast. the result was that sir garnet wolseley was sent out to take command of an expedition and, with three white regiments, a small naval brigade, and the west african regiment, completely defeated the ashantis in two pitched battles, reached the capital, and burnt it. unfortunately, owing to the want of carriers, and the small amount of supplies that were sent up, he was obliged to fall back again to the coast, after occupying the capital for only three days. had it been possible to leave a sufficient force there, the spirit of the ashantis would have been broken. this, however, could not be done; and they gradually regained their arrogant spirit, carried out none of their obligations and, twenty-two years later, having quite forgotten their reverses, they resumed their raids across the prah. sir francis scott's expedition was therefore organized, and marched to the capital. this time the former mistake was not committed. a small garrison was left to overawe its inhabitants, and the king was carried away a prisoner. the expedition had encountered no opposition. the reason for this was never satisfactorily ascertained, but it is probable that the ashantis were taken by surprise, and thought it better to wait until they had obtained better arms. in this they were successful, for there are always rascally traders, ready to supply the enemies of their country with arms, on terms of immense profit. the ashantis were evidently kept well informed, by some of their tribesmen settled in the coast towns, of the state of affairs in europe and, in the belief that england was fully occupied at the cape, and that no white soldiers would be sent, they again rose in rebellion. they were ready to admit that the white soldiers were superior to themselves, but they entertained a profound contempt for our black troops, whom they were convinced they could defeat without difficulty. certainly, the force available at cape coast was altogether insufficient for the purpose; for it consisted only of a battalion of hausa constabulary, and two seven-pounder guns. sierra leone had a permanent garrison of one battalion of the west indian regiment, and a west african regiment recruited on the spot; but few of these could be spared, for sierra leone had its own native troubles. the garrison of lagos was similar to that of cape coast; but here, also, troubles were dreaded with their neighbours at abeokuta. southern nigeria had their own regiment; while northern nigeria had the constabulary of the royal niger company, and they had, at the time, just raised two battalions and three batteries. fortunately, the recent dispute between the people and ourselves as to their respective boundaries had been temporarily arranged, and a portion of these troops could be utilized. the two regiments were both numerically strong, each company amounting to a hundred and fifty men. they were armed with martini-metford carbines, and each company had a vickers-maxim gun. the batteries were provided with powerful guns, capable of throwing twelve-pound shells. the men were all hausas and yorubas, with the exception of one company of neupas. this contingent were supplied with khaki, before starting; and the rest were in blue uniform, similar to that worn by the west indian regiments. there was, in addition, a small battalion of the central african regiment; with a detachment of sikhs, who also supplied non-commissioned officers. that the men would fight well, all believed; but the forces had been but recently organized, and it was questionable how they would behave without a backbone of white troops. the experiment was quite a novel one, as never before had a war been carried on, by us, with purely native troops. the collection of the troops was a difficult matter, and cost no small time; especially from northern nigeria, which was to supply a much larger contingent than the others. these troops were scattered in small bodies over a large extent of country, for the most part hundreds of miles from the coast. there was a great paucity of officers, too; and of these, many were about to take their year's leave home, worn out and weakened by the unhealthy climate. by prodigious exertions, however, all were at last collected, and in readiness to proceed to the scene of operations. picking up troops at several points, the steamer at last arrived off cape coast; but not yet were they to land. a strong wind was blowing, and the surf beat with such violence, on the shore, that it was impossible even for the surf boat to come out. the officers had nothing to do but to watch the shore. even this was only done under difficult circumstances, for the steamer was rolling rail under. the prospect, however, was not unpleasing. from a projecting point stood the old dutch castle, a massive-looking building. on its left was the town, on rising ground, with whitewashed buildings; and behind all, and in the town itself, rose palm trees, which made a dark fringe along the coast on either hand. "it doesn't look such a bad sort of place," one of the officers said, "and certainly it ought to be healthy, if it were properly drained down to the sea. yet it is a home of fever; one night ashore, in the bad season, is almost certain death for a white man. i believe that not half a dozen of the white inhabitants are hardened by repeated attacks of fever, to which at least three out of four newcomers succumb before they have been here many months. if this is the case, here, what must it be in the forest and swamps behind?" all were greatly relieved when the wind abated, on the third day, and the surf boats were seen making their way out. the landing was exciting work. the surf was still very heavy, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that any boat could live through it. the native paddlers, however, were thoroughly used to the work. they ceased paddling when they reached the edge of the breakers, until a wave larger than usual came up behind them. then, with a yell, they struck their paddles into the water, and worked for dear life. higher and higher rose the wave behind them, till it seemed that they must be submerged by it. for a moment the boat stood almost upright. then, when it rose to the crest of the wave, the boatmen paddled harder than ever, and they were swept forward with the swiftness of an arrow. another wave overtook them and, carrying them on, dashed them high up on the beach. the paddlers at once sprang out, and prevented the boat from being carried out by the receding wave. then the officers, mounting the men's backs, were carried out; for the most part high and dry, although in some cases they were wet to the skin. a few yards away was the entrance to the castle. here everything was bustle. troops were filing out, laden with casks and cases. others were squatting in the paved court, ready to receive their burdens. all were laughing and chatting merrily. there were even troops of young girls, of from ten to fifteen years old, who were to carry parcels of less weight than their brothers. two officers were moving about, seeing that all went on regularly; and a number of men were bringing the burdens out from the storehouse, and ranging them in lines, ready for the women to take up. the district commissioner, who was in charge of the old castle, received lisle and his companions cordially; and invited them, when the day's work was over, to dine with him. rooms were placed at their disposal. as soon as this was done they went down to the beach, and superintended the landing of the men and stores, which was carried on until nightfall. then, when the last boat load was landed, they came up to dinner. after a hearty meal, one of them said: "we shall be glad, sir, if you will tell us what has been happening here. all we know is that the fort of coomassie is surrounded, and that we have come up to relieve it." "it is difficult to give you anything like an accurate account," the officer said, "for so many lying rumours have come down, that one hardly knows what to believe. one day we hear that the place has been carried by storm, and that the garrison have been massacred. then we are told that sir frederick hodgson, with the survivors of the garrison, has burst his way through. "it is certain that most of our forces are unable to push their way up, and that their posts are practically surrounded. further, on the th of april the first news that the fort was being besieged reached cambarga, three hundred and forty miles from coomassie. three days later three british officers, and a hundred and seventy men, with a maxim and seven-pounder, marched under the command of major morris to the station of kintanpo. after thirteen days' marching the force was increased to seven british officers, three hundred and thirty soldiers, and eighty-three native levies. "near n'quanta they met with opposition and, two hours later, had a successful engagement, with only three casualties. on the th they fell into an ambush, and incurred twelve casualties. for two days after this they had more or less continuous fighting and, in charging a stockade, major morris was severely wounded. captain maguire then headed the charge, and succeeded in capturing the stockade. "no further resistance was met with, though two more stockades were passed. this want of enterprise, on the part of the enemy, was due to a short armistice that had been arranged with the beleaguered garrison. "major morris's force was the third reinforcement which had reached the garrison. the first to come up was a party of gold coasters from the south. this was the only contingent permitted by the ashantis to enter coomassie unopposed. the next was a detachment from lagos, composed of two hundred and fifty men of that colony's hausa force, with four british officers and a doctor, under the command of captain alpin. the adansis, who occupy the country between the prah and the recognized ashanti boundary, had revolted; so that for part of the way they were unopposed but, as soon as they reached the first village in the ashanti country, they were heavily attacked. after a couple of hours' fighting, however, the advance guard took the village, at the point of the bayonet. "next day they reached the ordah river. here the enemy made a determined stand, entrenched behind a stockade. the fight lasted for four hours, and then the situation became critical. the maxim had jammed, the ammunition of the seven-pounder was exhausted, and a great proportion of the small-arm ammunition had been expended. captain cox and thirty men went into the bush, to turn the enemy's position. when they reached a point where they took the enemy in rear, they charged the stockade. the enemy fled, and were kept at a run until coomassie was reached, before dark. "the list of casualties showed how hard had been the fighting. all the white officers had been wounded, and there were a hundred and thirty casualties among the two hundred and fifty british soldiers. the garrison now consisted of seven hundred rank and file, and about a dozen british officers; two hundred and fifty native levies, and nearly four thousand fanti and hausa refugees. "the next force to move forward was the first contingent from northern nigeria, consisting of two companies under the command of captain hall, with one gun. in traversing the adansi country captain hall drew up a treaty, and got the adansi king to sign it. then he marched on to bekwai, the chief town of a friendly tribe; and took up his quarters at esumeja, a day's march from coomassie. the border of bekwai lay a short distance on one side, that of kokofu was half a mile to the east. "these were an ashanti tribe, very fierce and warlike; and the occupation of esumeja both kept them in check, and inspired the loyal bekwais with confidence. here captain hall was joined by a second contingent from lagos, a hundred strong; and fifty men of the sierra leone frontier police. the force has got no farther, but its position on the main line of march is of vital service; as it overawes the kokofu, and facilitates the advance of further relief. "that, gentlemen, is the situation, at present. so far as i know, the garrison of coomassie is amply sufficient to defend the fort; but we know that they are short of ammunition, and also of supplies to maintain the large number of people shut up there. "i am expecting the vessel with the main nigerian contingent tomorrow, or next day; and i hope that this reinforcement will enable an advance to be made." "thank you, sir! it is evident that we are in for some tough fighting, and shall have all our work cut out for us." "there can be no doubt of that," the commissioner said, gravely. "the difficulties have been greatly increased by the erection of these stockades, a new feature in these ashanti wars. when the bekwais put themselves under our protection, instructions were given them in stockading, so that they might resist any force that the ashantis might send against them and, doubtless, the latter inspected these defences and adopted the idea. the worst of it is that they are generally so covered, by the bush, that they are not seen by our troops till they arrive in front of them." chapter : forest fighting. early the next morning the transport with the nigerian troops anchored off the town. the work of disembarkation began at once. five of the newly-arrived officers were appointed to the commissariat transport service. the three others--of whom lisle, to his great satisfaction, was one--were appointed to the command of companies in the nigerian force. this distinction, the commissioner frankly informed him, was due to his being the possessor of the v.c. having nothing to do that day, lisle strolled about the town. there were a few european houses, the property of the natives who formed the elite of the place; men for the most part possessing white blood in their veins, being the descendants of british merchants who, knowing that white women could not live in the place, had taken negro wives. these men were distinguished by their hair, rather than by their more european features. their colour was as dark as that of other natives. lisle learned that such light-coloured children as were born of these mixed marriages uniformly died, but that the dark offspring generally lived. all the small shops in the town were kept by this class. with the exception of the buildings belonging to them, the houses of the town were merely mud erections, with a door and a window or two. the roofs were flat, and composed of bamboos and other branches; overlaid by a thick mud which, lisle learned, not unfrequently collapsed in the rainy season. nothing could be done at that time to repair them, and their inhabitants took refuge in the houses of their friends, until the dry season permitted them to renew their own roofs. the women were of very superior physique to the men. the latter considered that their only duty was to stroll about with a gun or a spear; and the whole work of cultivating the ground, and of carrying burdens, fell to the lot of the women. many of these had splendid figures, which might have been the envy of an english belle. their great defect is that their heels, instead of going straight to the leg, project an inch or more behind it. from their custom of always carrying their burdens on their heads, their carriage is as upright as a dart. whether the load was a heavy barrel, or two or three bananas, lisle noticed that they placed it on the head; and even tiny girls carried any small article of which they might become possessed in this manner. curiously enough, the men had no excuse for posing as warriors; for the fantis were the only cowardly race on the coast, and had several times shown themselves worthless as fighters, when the ashantis made their expeditions against them. a narrow valley ran up from the sea, in one part of the town, and terminated in a swamp behind it. here the refuse of the place was thrown, and the stench in itself was sufficient to account for the prevalence of fever. here were the accumulations of centuries; for the dutch governors, who were frequently relieved, had made no effort whatever towards draining the marsh, nor improving the sanitary condition of the place; nor had the british governors who followed them shown any more energy in that direction. doubtless the means were wanting, for the revenue of the place was insufficient to pay for the expenses of the garrison; and so the town which, at a very moderate expenditure, might have been rendered comparatively healthy, remained a death trap. as soon as the nigerian troops had landed, lisle reported himself to their commander. he was at once put in charge of a company, and began his duties. when, two days later, they marched up the country, he felt well pleased with his command; for the men were for the most part lithe, active fellows; very obedient to orders and ready for any work, and evidently very proud of their position as british soldiers. they had for the most part had very little practice in shooting; but this was of comparatively little consequence, as what fighting they would have to do would be in the forests, against a hidden enemy, where individual shooting would be next to impossible. the adansi had risen, three days after signing the treaty. two englishmen, going from bekwai to kwisa, on their way were fired upon, and the terror-stricken carriers fled. their loads were lost, and they themselves just succeeded in escaping to kwisa. captain slater, who was in command there, was much surprised to hear of such hostility, so soon after the signing of the treaty; and he started with twenty-six men to investigate the cause. he was attacked at the same place--one soldier being killed and ten wounded, while two were missing--and he was obliged to retire to kwisa. sixty englishmen of the obuasi gold mines, on the western frontier of the adansi, sent down for arms, and were supplied without any mishap. illustration: map illustrating the ashanti campaign. colonel wilkinson telegraphed orders to a force, which had started two days before, to halt at fumsu until he joined them with the newly-arrived contingents. colonel willcocks now had four hundred and fifty men, under captain hall, at kwisa and bekwai; captain slater a handful of men at kwisa; colonel wilkinson a company at fumsu; colonel carter the two hundred soldiers just landed on the line of march, and three hundred men from northern nigeria. nine hundred reinforcements were known to be on their way. the force was scattered over a hundred and forty miles, and numerically only equal to the garrison they were going to relieve. the carriers were utterly insufficient for the transport. the newly-arrived troops, with colonel willcocks and his staff in front, rode out of the town on the morning of the th of june. a drizzling rain was falling, but this soon ceased and the sun broke out. the road lay over low scrub-covered sand hills. it was a fair one, with the exception of bad bits, at intervals. the first day's march was a short one, as much time had been lost in getting the carriers together, and loading them up. they halted that evening at akroful. the place afforded but little accommodation. five white officers slept together in one small room. there was a storm during the night, but the sky had cleared by the time the troops started in the morning. they now entered a very different country. it was the belt of forest, three hundred miles wide, which ran across the whole country. great as had been the heat, the day before, the gloom of the forest was more trying to the nerves. except where the road had been cleared, the advance was impeded by the thick undergrowth of bush and small trees, through which it was impossible to pass without cutting a path with a sword. above the bush towered the giants of the forest--great cotton trees, thirty or forty feet in circumference, and rising to the height of from two to three hundred feet. round the tops of these many birds were flitting, but in the underbrush there was no sign or sound of life. thorny creepers bound the trees together. in the small clearings, where deserted and ruined villages stood, a few flowers were to be found. here, also, great butterflies flew about. the moist air, tainted with decaying vegetation; the entire absence of wind, or of movement among the leaves; the profound silence, broken only by the occasional dropping of water, weighed heavily on the spirits of the troops. under foot the soil was converted into mire by the recent rains; and glad, indeed, were all, when they reached mansu. from this village, as had been the case at the previous halt, numbers of the carriers deserted. in order to get on, therefore, it was necessary to send out to the surrounding villages, to gather in men to take their places; and at the same time a telegram was sent down to cape coast, requesting the commandant there to arrest all the men who came in, and try to punish them as deserters. it was some satisfaction to know that they would be flogged, though this did not obviate the inconvenience caused by their desertion. mansu was a pleasanter halting place than the two preceding ones. it was surrounded by a clearing of considerable size; and contained two bungalows, which served as quarters for the officers. the soldiers got abundance of firewood from the forest, and the place presented a picturesque appearance, after nightfall, with its blazing fires and their reflection on the deep circle of foliage. the march had been a depressing one, to the officers; but the native troops did not seem to find it so, and chattered, sang, and danced by their fires. three of the officers found it difficult to swallow their food; but lisle and another young officer, named hallett, with whom he had been a special chum on board ship, made a hearty meal and, after it was finished, set out together for a tour round the camp, to assure themselves that everything was going on satisfactorily. "this must be very different from your experience in the tirah," hallett said. "yes; to begin with, it was generally so cold at night, even in the valley, that we were glad of both our blankets and cloaks; while among the passes it was bitter, indeed. then, too, the greater portion of the troops were white and, though they were cheerful enough, their spirits were nothing to the merriment of these natives. then the camps were crowded with animals, while here there are only these wretched carriers; and almost every night we were saluted with bullets from the heights, and lay down in readiness to oppose any sudden attack. "i suppose we shall have to do the same, when we get into the enemy's country, here. that is really the only similarity between the two expeditions. the country, too, was mountainous and, except in the valleys, there were few trees; while here we tramp along in single file, through what is little better than a swamp, and only get an occasional glimpse of the sky through the overhanging foliage. of course it is hot in northern india, very hot sometimes; but it is generally dry heat, quite different from the close, muggy heat of the forest. however, they say that when we have once ascended the adansi hills, matters will be better." "i hope so, bullen. i found it so close today that i would gladly have got rid of all my clothes, which were so drenched with perspiration that i could have wrung them. we shall have other things to think about, however, when we get across the river; for you don't think of minor inconveniences when, at any moment, a volley may be poured into you from the bushes." "yes, the idea is rather creepy; but they say that the ashantis always shoot high--the effect of the enormous charges they put into their muskets--so that the harm done bears no proportion, whatever, to the noise. i expect our maxims will come in very useful for clearing out the bush; and i doubt if the ashantis will be able to stand for a moment, against our bayonets, as they have no weapons of the sort." "no, but a good many of them are armed with spears, which are a deal longer than our muskets and bayonets. they are not accustomed, however, to work together. each man fights for himself, and i feel convinced that they would not stand a determined charge," hallett said. "it is all very well to talk about a charge; but how are you going to charge through the bush, where every step has to be cut? however, i suppose our fellows can get through as well as they can." "it would be horrid work, bullen, for some of these creepers are a mass of spikes, which would pretty nearly tear a man to pieces, as he was forcing his way past them in a hurry." "yes, that is not a pleasant idea; but i own that, if what they say about the stockades they have formed is true, they will be even more formidable than the bush; for our little guns will make no impression upon them. they say that these are constructed with two rows of timber, eight feet apart; the intervening space being filled up with earth and stones so that, if they are well defended, they ought to cost us a lot of men before we carry them." "well, tomorrow we shall be at prahsu. they say it is a fine open camp, as it was completely cleared by wolseley's expedition. of course, bushes will have sprung up again but, fast as things grow in this climate, they can hardly have attained any great height; and we shall have no difficulty in clearing the place again. there is a good rest house at the place, i hear, and we sha'n't be pigged in, as we were at akroful." "why should they build a better house there than at the other stations?" "because, when the river is full, there is no way of getting across; and one may have to wait there for a fortnight, before it falls." on the afternoon of the next day prahsu was reached, after a march of twenty miles. the greater part of the house was found to be occupied by offices and stores. fortunately, however, two or three tents had been brought along. the troops soon ran up huts of bamboos and palm leaves and, as there was a small native village close by, all were soon able to sleep in shelter. the prah was found to be full of water. it was here about a hundred and fifty yards wide, and circled round three sides of the position. there was no bridge, but two old wooden pontoons were found, relics of the last expedition; and these, with the aid of two old native canoes, were the only means of crossing. on the morning after their arrival a despatch, dated may , was received from captain hall. it gave the details of his attack on kokofu. some thousands of the enemy were round that place and, in his opinion, no advance could be made to coomassie till this force was destroyed. an hour or two later another runner came in, this time from kwisa. the despatch he brought gave details of the fighting the force at this place had had, in trying to effect a junction with captain hall. the column advanced rapidly. in any place where the bush was particularly thick, volleys were fired into the undergrowth by a few men of the advance guard; for it had been found by experience in nigeria that, if fired upon, natives generally disclosed their presence by replying. they went on, unmolested, until they neared the village of dompoasi. the natives of this town had sworn a solemn oath, to prevent any reinforcements from going up to coomassie; and they had erected a stockade, six feet high. this was built in zigzag shape, so that a flanking fire could be kept up from it. it was about four hundred yards long, with both ends doubled backwards, to prevent an enemy from turning the position. in the rear was a trench, in which they could load in perfect shelter. seats had been prepared on the neighbouring trees, for riflemen; and the undergrowth was left untouched, so that there should be nothing to excite suspicion. the stockade did not run across the road, but parallel to it, the distance varying from twenty to thirty yards. thus, anybody coming along the path would notice nothing unusual, though he himself would be easily seen by the defenders. a road had been cut, at the back of the entrenchments, so as to give a line of retreat to the defenders. on the northern side of the village, a similar stockade had been constructed. captain roupell--who commanded the advance--became aware, from the numerous tracks and footprints, that the enemy must be in force in the neighbourhood, and advanced cautiously. he did not observe the stockade, however, so well was it hidden among the bushes. just as they reached the farther end of it, a tremendous fire was opened. captain roupell was wounded, and many of the men also killed or wounded. for a moment the troops were paralysed by the hail of lead. then they replied with their rifles, and two maxims and an eleven pounder were got to work. captain roupell, in spite of his wound, worked one of the maxims, lieutenant o'malley the other, and lieutenant edwardes the gun. captain roupell was again dangerously wounded, and lieutenant o'malley so severely wounded that he was forced to discontinue fire. lieutenant edwardes, although he was hit early in the action, stuck to his gun. the gun team were all lying round, either killed or wounded, and he ran home the shells with a stick. he was, shortly afterwards, shot in the left arm. this incapacitated him from serving his gun; but he went and worked a maxim, with his right arm, till a shot in the face compelled him to have his wounds dressed. colonel carter was wounded in the head, and handed over the command to colonel wilkinson, who was himself slightly wounded at the back of the head. the men fell fast. the seven pounder and the other maxim were completely isolated, some distance up the path. the existence of the stockade was only discovered as the undergrowth was cut away by the rain of bullets. the officer commanding d company--which had been the rear guard all this time and, consequently, had not suffered--was in hammock with fever, and colour sergeant mackenzie was in command. at this moment mackenzie came up, and asked leave to charge the enemy. his proposal was at once sanctioned, and when half of his company had arrived they charged the stockade, other soldiers and officers near joining them. the enemy could not stand this determined attack, evacuated their position, and took to flight. the force now prepared to retire, and this operation they performed in an orderly manner. seven european officers had been wounded, and there were ninety casualties. indeed, if the enemy had not fired too high, the column might have been annihilated. orders were sent, to colonel carter, telling him to remain where he was till reinforcements should arrive. a telegram was also sent to captain hall, instructing him to despatch a company to increase the garrison at kwisa. in the meantime two companies of the troops on the prah were ordered to proceed, instantly, to the relief of kwisa, under the command of captain melliss and, to lisle's satisfaction, some of his company were to form part of the force. they started at two in the afternoon, but it was four before they got across the prah; and they could only march ten miles that evening, which they did through a pouring rain. an early start was made, next morning. by eight o'clock they reached fumsu, which was held by a company of soldiers under quartermaster sergeant thomas; who informed them that all the troops ahead were perilously situated, short of food and ammunition, and crippled with casualties. he tried to dissuade them from going farther, saying: "you are simply walking into a death trap. it is not fighting, it is murder. i am sure you will never get there, with only a hundred men and all these carriers." however, orders had to be obeyed. the carriers were so limited in number that only a few days' food could be taken to the kwisa garrison, if all the cartridges were to go on. a hundred extra rounds were served out to each man, in addition to the hundred he already had; so that there was no risk of running short, and the carriers would be relieved of much of the weight of the reserve, and could therefore carry up a larger amount of provisions. a hasty meal was eaten, and then they stepped forward for the twenty miles' march before them. during the halt, they found out how the natives signalled. a gun was fired from the forest, the signal was repeated farther on, and continued to the next war camp. an estimate was given of the number and composition of an enemy by the number of guns fired. the force learned, afterwards, that their departure from prahsu had been signalled in this way to the adansis; and only the darkness and pouring rain, which delayed the enemy's movements, had saved the column from attack. when the march was continued, therefore, the greatest precautions were taken against an ambush. a small party of twelve men marched ahead of the advance guard, and fired occasional volleys. where the undergrowth was unusually thick, scouts moved abreast of them, cutting a way with their sword bayonets. the difficulties were so great that the column moved only three-quarters of a mile an hour. the carriers struggled on, carrying their burdens with surprising cheerfulness, staggering over the slippery mud, and frequently falling. the gun carriers had the worst time of all, for the parts into which these weapons divide are too heavy for single loads; and have to be carried, swung on bamboo poles, by four men--but often, at the acute bends in the path, the whole burden had to be supported by two. nevertheless, the column managed to advance. the river fum was rising, but was still fordable, and they crossed it, with difficulty. it was now necessary to give up scouting, and depend entirely on the volleys of the men in front to discover ambuscades. one or two deserted or thinly populated villages were passed. then, after two hours of this trying tramp, the advance guard came upon the fum again; but at this point its volume and width were more than doubled. the river was rising rapidly, and there were no trees that could be cut down, with the sword bayonets, long enough to throw across. at last, by good luck, at some distance farther down a native canoe was found, caught in the branches of a fallen tree. it was a clumsy craft, but it was better than nothing. two native hammock boys and two soldiers took their places in it, and set out for the other side. when it reached the centre of the stream, however, an eddy caught it and, in an instant, it capsized. captain melliss at once plunged into the river. he was a strong swimmer, and had gained the royal humane society's medal for saving life at sea. his strength, however, had been taxed by the climate, and he had to call for aid. luckily, no one was drowned. the intense chill, caused by the sudden immersion in almost ice-cold water; and the bites of the ants that swarmed over them, as they made their way back through the undergrowth from the spot where the canoe had been washed ashore, threatened an attack of fever; but this was averted by a change of clothing, a glass of neat spirits, and a dose of quinine. it was now agreed that nothing could be done, and the force marched back to fumsu. they recrossed the river, by means of a rope stretched from bank to bank, and arrived long after dark. next day it was determined to make another trial but, for a long time, no one was able to suggest where a crossing of the swollen river might be effected. it was clearly impossible to build a bridge but, after much discussion, it was agreed to make a raft. it consisted of a platform of planks, built across empty barrels; and was lashed together by the only rope at the station. a couple of natives took their places upon it, with long poles; but their efforts to push against the strong currents were quite unavailing. then something went wrong with the rope and the raft gradually sank, the men swimming ashore. on examination it was found that, not only were the leaking casks gone, but the rope that tied them together. the situation now appeared more hopeless than before. it was lisle who suggested a possible way out of the difficulty. he was wandering about the deserted native huts, when it struck him to see what the mud walls were composed of, and how the roofs were supported. drawing his sword, he cut a large hole in one of the walls and, to his surprise, discovered that they were strengthened by lines of bamboos, which were afterwards plastered over. it seemed to him that these bamboos, which were extremely light as well as strong, would be very useful material for a raft, and he communicated the idea to captain melliss. "you have solved the difficulty, captain bullen; there is no doubt that these will do admirably." in a few minutes the whole of the little force, and carriers, were occupied in pulling down the huts. the question arose, how were the stakes to be tied together? while this matter was being discussed, lisle said: "surely we can use some of the creepers. the natives tie up bundles with them." the suggestion was at once adopted. creepers were cut in the forest, and four bundles of bamboos were tied up, with cross pieces of the same material; so that they could be carried by four men, like a hammock. four of the loads were similarly tied up. the telegraph wire was torn down from the trees, on the bank on which they were arrested; and the nearest insulator on the opposite side was broken by a shot, so that the wire hung down to the water in a gentle curve, the next insulator being fastened to a tree at a considerable distance. one end of the raft was then attached to this wire, by a noose that worked along it; and this contrivance enabled the swiftest streams to be triumphantly crossed, the loads of rice, meanwhile, being kept dry. the success of the experiment created a general feeling of relief. on that day, an escort of fifty soldiers and some more ammunition came in, to reinforce the little garrison at fumsu. the full number asked for could not be spared, as a rumour had arrived that the enemy would endeavour to cut off the carriers, who were making their way up from the coast. next morning a start was made at an early hour. four rivers had been crossed, and five miles of the advance had been accomplished, without an enemy being seen; and the troops began to hope that they would reach kwisa without further molestation. however, in mounting a steep rise, after crossing a river, a heavy fire was suddenly opened on them; and they had their first experience of the nature of the ground chosen by the enemy for an ambuscade. the path zigzagged up the hill and, while the movements of the troops could be seen by the natives on its crest, dense foliage prevented the men toiling up it from obtaining even a glimpse of the enemy. volleys were fired both to right and left. the enemy replied by firing volley after volley, and the shower of leaves showed that the bullets were flying high. it was difficult for the officers to control the extended line, and the scattered soldiers marching among the carriers were altogether out of hand, and fired recklessly. at last, however, this was checked. the advance guard had suffered, but their fire had quelled that of the enemy. a rush was therefore made, the ambuscade carried, and the enemy put to flight. captain wilson was, unfortunately, killed in the engagement. his body was put into a hammock and taken to fumsu, a march of thirty-three miles. the force then returned to the prah with the wounded, leaving only a small garrison of fifty men, under a british corporal. it was a terrible march. the river had swollen, and the crossing took hours, many of the troops and carriers not arriving until the following day. "well, bullen, how does this campaign compare with that in the tirah?" "it is infinitely worse," lisle said. "we were only once or twice bothered by rivers, the country was open and, when the enemy crowning the hills were turned out, we were able to go through the passes without much opposition. we certainly often went to bed supperless, but on the whole we did not fare badly. at least we were generally dry and, though the cold was severe, it was not unbearable. at any rate, it was better than marching through these forests, in single file, with the mud often up to one's knees. above all, the air was fresh and dry, and we had not this close atmosphere and this wet to struggle against. "these fellows fight as well as the afridis do, but are nothing like such good shots. if they had been, we should have been annihilated. i would rather go half a dozen times, through the tirah, than once through this country. "i think it is the darkness in the woods that is most trying. we are all bleached almost white; my uniform hangs about me loosely. i must have lost any amount of weight." both of the young officers had received wounds, but these were of so slight a nature that they had been able to keep their places. "i wonder what the next move will be. at any rate, we shall be in clover at prahsu, and be able to get into condition again by the time we make another move. plenty of stores are sure to be lying there, while i expect that hall and wilkinson will be on pretty short commons." "well, i suppose it is all for the best." one day they came upon a swollen river, which was so deep as to be unfordable, and the column were brought to a halt. the pioneers, on being questioned, were of accord that it would take at least two days to build a bridge. there was a long consultation, and it was agreed that, unless something could be done, the column must retire for, by the time the bridge was built, the supply of food would be exhausted. "if we could get a wire across," the engineer officer said, "we certainly could build the bridge in less time than i stated." "i will try to carry it across, sir," lisle said. "i am a strong swimmer, and i think i could do it." "yes, but the ashantis are all on the opposite bank. you would be picked off before you got halfway across." "i would try after dark. once i got the wire across and fixed, enough men could cross, with its assistance, to clear the other bank of the enemy." "you would find it very hard work tugging the wire across, bullen. the stream would catch it and, as it is as much as you can do to swim the current without any drawback, it would certainly carry you down." "yes, sir; but if i asked for a volunteer, i should find one without difficulty." "well, mr. bullen, if you volunteer to try, i shall, of course, be very glad to accept the offer; especially as, if you keep tight hold of the wire, the stream will only send you back to this bank." as soon as it was known that lisle was about to attempt to swim the river, several volunteers came forward; and from these he selected one of the sikh soldiers, not only because he was a tall and powerful man, but because he could give him orders in punjabi. as soon as night came on, the preparations were completed. a length of wire, that would be sufficient to cross the river, was laid out on the bank from the spot that seemed to offer most advantages for a bridge. in this way, as they swam out the line would go with them, and they would be swept across the river by its pull, until they touched the bank opposite to where the other end of the line was secured. lisle took off his tunic, putties, and boots; and the sikh also stripped himself to his loincloth, in which he placed his bayonet. lisle unloaded his revolver and put it into his waistband, at the same time placing in his pocket a packet of twenty cartridges, in a waterproof box. "you would swim better without those things, bullen." "no doubt, sir; but i want to have some means of defence, when i get across the stream. some of the enemy may be lurking there, now." "before you start i will get the maxim to work, and sweep the opposite bank. when you get ashore fasten the end of the wire to a tree, and then give a shout; we will stretch it tight on this side, and i will send a half company over, without delay. that ought to be enough to enable you to retain your footing, until we join you." when all was ready, lisle fastened the end of the wire round his body. the sikh was to take hold a yard or two below him, and aid him as he swam. then they stepped into the water, and struck out. they had swum only twenty yards, when the sikh cried out, "i have cramp, sahib! i can swim no longer!" and he let go his hold of the wire. rapidly, lisle thought over the position. it was very important to get the wire across. now that the sikh had gone, he felt that it would pull him under; on the other hand, the brave fellow had volunteered to go with him, and he could not see him drown before his eyes. he accordingly slipped the loop of the wire over his head, and struck out with the stream. so rapid had been the course of his thoughts that the man was still within some fifteen yards of him. he could see him faintly struggling and, swimming with long, steady strokes, soon overtook him. "put your arm on my shoulder," he said; "i will soon get you ashore." the sikh did as he was told, and lisle turned to make for the shore they had left. to his dismay, however, he found that the centre current was carrying him to the opposite side. as soon as he found this to be the case, he ceased his efforts and allowed himself to float down. doubtless the ashantis would be on the watch, and any movement in the water would catch their eyes. he could hear their voices on the bank and, occasionally, a shot was fired over his head. he felt sure, however, that he was still unseen; and determined to float quietly, till the course of the current changed, and brought him back to the side from which he started. he felt the sikh's grasp relaxing, and threw his arms round the man's neck. a quarter of an hour passed and then, to his dismay, he saw that he was close to the bush, on the wrong side of the river. he himself was getting rapidly weaker, and he felt that he could not support the weight of the soldier much farther. accordingly he grasped a branch that overhung the river, pulled himself in to the shore, and there lay at the edge of the mud. when he recovered his breath, he began to calculate his chances. the bush overhead seemed very thick, and he resolved to shelter there for a time. occasionally he could hear the sound of voices close by, and was sure that the ashantis were in force there. his companions would, he was sure, regard him as dead when, on pulling on the wire, they found that it was loose; and after the failure of this attempt to establish a bridge, would probably start on their return march, without delay. he had, therefore, only himself to rely upon, beyond what assistance he could get from the sikh, when the latter regained consciousness. he poured a little spirits into the man's mouth, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing him move. waiting until the movement became more decided, he said: "you must lie still; we are across on the ashanti side. they don't know we are here and, when you are able to move, we will crawl down some little distance and hide in the bushes. we must hide in the morning, for i am sure that i could not swim back to the other side, and certainly you could not do so. we are in a tight place, but i trust that we shall be able to get out of it." "do not encumber yourself with me," the sikh said. "i know you have risked your life to save me, but you must not do so again. what is the life of a soldier to that of an officer?" "i could not get across, even if i were alone. at any rate, i am not going to desert you, now. let us keep quiet for an hour, then we shall be able to move on." an hour passed silently, and then lisle asked: "how are you feeling, now?" "i feel strong again, sahib." "very well then, let us crawl on." chapter : a narrow escape. keeping in the mud close to the bank, and feeling their way in the dense growth produced by the overhanging bushes, they crawled forward. sometimes the water came up to the bank, and they had to swim; but as a rule they were able to keep on the mud, which was so deep that they sank far into it, their heads alone showing above it. in two hours they had gone a mile, and both were thoroughly exhausted. "we will lie here till day breaks," lisle said; "as soon as it is dawn, we will choose some spot where the bushes are thickest, and shelter there. i am in hopes, now, that we are beyond the ashantis. i dare say that we shall be able to get a peep through the bushes and, if we find the coast clear, we will make our way into the forest. there we may be able to gather something to eat, which we shall want, tomorrow; and it will certainly be more comfortable than this bed of mud. we must get rid of some of that before we leave." "it would be better to allow it to dry on you, sahib. our white undergarments would betray us at once, if any ashantis came upon us. for my part, my colour is not so very different from theirs." "yes, perhaps that would be better. i must rub some over my face, as well." "i do not care, for myself, sahib; we sikhs are not afraid to die; but after your goodness to me, i would do anything to save you." "what is your name?" "pertab, sahib." "well, pertab, i think that as we have proceeded so far, we shall pull through, somehow. you have your bayonet, and i have my revolver, which i will wash and load before we get out of this. we shall be a match, then, for any three or four men we may come across. at any rate, i shall shoot myself if i see that there is no other way of escape. it would be a thousand times better to die, than be taken captive and tortured to death." "good, sahib! i will use my bayonet, myself; but i don't think there will be any occasion for that." "i shall certainly die fighting. i would rather not be taken alive, pertab; and shall certainly fight till i am killed, or can take my own life." "do you think that the troops will be marched away, sahib?" "i feel sure that they will. they have only got provisions enough to take them back to camp; and as, when they pull the wire in, they will find that we have gone, they will feel quite sure that we have been drowned. "no; we must quite make up our minds that we have got to look after ourselves. fortunately, the ashantis will not be able to cross the river to harass them in their retreat; unless, indeed, they know of some ford by which they can get over." as soon as daylight began, the sikh went down into the water and washed the mud from himself, and lisle cleaned and loaded his pistol. then they waited until it was broad daylight and, as they heard no sounds to indicate that any ashantis were near, lisle climbed up as noiselessly as he could to the bushes, and looked cautiously round. there were none of the enemy in sight. he therefore called to the sikh to join him and, together, they made their way into the forest behind. "the first thing to ascertain," lisle said, "is whether the enemy are still here, and to find out for certain whether our friends have left. if they stay where they were, we can swim the river and join them; if they have retreated, and the ashantis are still here, we shall know that there is no ford. if, however, we find that the ashantis have gone, we shall be sure that they crossed at some ford, and will be swarming round our men; in which case it will be impossible for us to join them, and we must make our way as best we can." they kept close to the edge of the forest, the soldier occasionally using his bayonet to cut away the thorny creepers that blocked their course. after an hour's walking, lisle said: "that is the spot where the troops were, last night. i can see no signs of them now. "now for the ashantis." they took the greatest pains to avoid making a noise, until they stepped out opposite the point from which they had started, the evening before. they saw no signs of the enemy. "this is bad," lisle said. "i can have no doubt that they have crossed the river, somewhere, and are swarming in the forest opposite. however, now that we know that they have gone, we can look out for something to eat." for three hours they wandered about, and were fortunate enough to find a deserted village, where they gathered some bananas and pineapples. of these they made a hearty meal; and then, each carrying a few bananas, they returned to the river and swam across, finding no difficulty in doing so now that they were unencumbered by the wire. they had not been long across before they heard the sound of heavy firing, some two or three miles away. "it is as i thought," lisle said. "the ashantis have crossed the river, somewhere, and are now attacking the convoy. they will not, of course, overpower it; but they will continue to follow it up till they get near camp, and there is little chance of our being able to rejoin them before that." travelling on, they more than once heard the sound of parties of the enemy, running forward at the top of their speed. evidently news had been sent round, and the inhabitants of many villages now poured in, to share in the attack upon the white men. "it is useless for us to think of going farther, at present," lisle said. "they will be mustering thickly all round our force, and i expect we shall have some stiff fighting to do, before we get back to camp--i mean the column, of course; as for ourselves, the matter is quite uncertain. we may be sure, however, that they won't be making any search in the bush and, as even in the ashanti country you cannot go through the bush, unless you cut a path, it will be sheer accident if they come across us. at any rate, we may as well move slowly on, doing a little cutting only when the path seems deserted. if we keep some forty or fifty yards from it, so as to be able to hear any parties going along, and to make sure that they are moving in our direction, that is all we can do. "of course, everything will depend upon the result of the fight with the column. there is no doubt that they are going to be attacked in great force; which, as far as it goes, is all the better for us. if it were only a question of sniping by a small body of men, the colonel would no doubt push steadily on, contenting himself with firing occasional volleys into the bush; but if he is attacked by so strong a body as there appears to be round him, he will halt and give them battle. if so, we may be pretty sure that he will send them flying into the bush; and they won't stop running till they get back to the river. in that case, when we have allowed them all to pass we can go boldly on, and overtake the column at their halting place, this evening. "if, on the other hand, our fellows make a running fight of it, the enemy will follow them till they get near coomassie, and we shall have to make a big detour to get in. that we shall be able to do so i have no doubt, but the serious part of the business is the question of food. however, we know that the natives can find food, and it is hard if we do not manage to get some. "making the necessary detour, and cutting our way a good deal through the bush, we can calculate upon getting there in less than four days' march. we have food enough for today, and a very little will enable us to hold on for the next four days." they moved slowly on. the firing increased in violence, and it was evident that a very heavy engagement was going on. two hours later they heard a sound of hurrying feet in the path and, peering through the bush, saw a crowd of the ashantis running along, in single file, at the top of their speed. "hooray! it is evident that they have got a thorough licking," lisle said. "they will soon be all past. our greatest fear will then be that a few of the most plucky of them will rally in the bush, when they see that none of our troops come along. our troops are not likely to follow them up, as they will be well content with the victory they have evidently gained, and resume their march." they waited for an hour and, when they were on the point of getting up and making for the path, the sikh said: "someone is coming in the bush." in another minute, four natives came suddenly upon them; whether they came from the force that had been routed, or were newly arriving from some village behind, the two fugitives knew not; nor, indeed, had they any time to consider. they threw themselves, at once, into one of the divisions at the base of a giant cotton tree. these divisions, of which there may be five or six round the tree, form solid buttresses four or five inches thick, projecting twenty or thirty feet from the front, and rising as many feet high; thus affording the tree an immense support, when assailed by tropical storms. illustration: two of them fell before lisle's revolver. the natives, seeing that the two men were apparently unarmed, rushed forward, firing their guns as they did so. two of them fell before lisle's revolver. one of the natives rushed with clubbed musket at him but, as he delivered the blow, the butt end of the musket struck a bough overhead and flew out of the man's hand; and lisle, putting his revolver to his head, shot him. the other man ran off. lisle had now time to look round and, to his dismay, the sikh was leaning against the branch of a tree. "are you hit?" he asked. "yes, sahib, a ball has broken my right leg." "that is a bad business, indeed," lisle said, kneeling beside him. "it cannot be helped, sahib. our fate is meted out to us all, and it has come to me now. you could not drag me from here, or carry me; it would be impossible, for i weigh far more than you do." lisle was silent for a moment. "i see," he said, "that the only thing i can do is to push on to camp, and bring out assistance. i will leave you my pistol, when i have recharged it; so that if the native who has run away should bring others down, you will be able to defend yourself. as, however, you remained on your feet, he will not know that you were wounded; and will probably suppose that we would at once push on to join our companions. still, it will be well for you to have the weapon. "now, let me lower you down to the ground, and seat you as comfortably as i can. i will leave these bananas by you, and my flask of water. it is lucky, now, that i did not drink it all when i started to cross the river. "i suppose they will have halted at the same camp as before. it was a long march, and we must still be ten or twelve miles away from it, so i fear it will be dark long before i get there." "you are very good, sahib, but i think it will be of no use." "oh, i hope it will! so now, give me your turban. i will wrap it tightly round your leg, for the bleeding must be stopped. i see you have lost a great deal of blood, already." he bandaged the wound as well as he could, and then he said: "i will take your sword bayonet with me. it can be of no use to you and, if i do happen to meet a native upon the road, it may come in very handy." "the blessing of the great one be upon you, sahib, and take you safely to camp. as for myself, i think that my race is run." "you must not think that," lisle said, cheerily; "you must lie very quiet, and make up your mind that, as soon as it is possible, we shall be back here for you;" and then, without any more talk, he made his way to the edge of the path. there he made a long gash on the bark of a tree and, fifty yards farther, he made two similar gashes. then, certain that he could find the place on his return, he went off at a trot along the path. it was eight o'clock in the evening before he reached camp. on the way, he had met with nothing that betokened danger; there had been no voices in the woods. when about halfway to camp, he came across a number of dead bodies on the path and, looking into the bush, found many more scattered about. it was evident that the little british force had turned upon their assailants, and had effected a crushing defeat upon them. he was hailed by a sentry as he approached the camp but, upon his reply, was allowed to pass. as he came to the light of a fire, round which the white officers were sitting, there was a general shout of surprise and pleasure. "is it you or your ghost, bullen?" the commanding officer exclaimed, as all leapt to their feet. "i am a very solid person, colonel; as you will see, if you offer me anything to eat or drink. i am pretty well exhausted now and, as i have got another twenty-mile tramp before i sleep, you may guess that i shall be glad of solid and liquid refreshment." "you shall have both, my dear boy. we had all given you up for dead. when we saw you washed down, we were afraid that you were lost. the only hope was that the current might bring you over to our side again, and we went two or three miles down the stream to look for you. we hunted again still more carefully the next morning, and it was not until the afternoon that we moved. "we encamped only three miles from the river, hoping still that you might come up before the morning. we started at daybreak this morning. we were harassed from the first, but the affair became so serious that we halted and faced about, left a handful of men to protect the coolies and carriers; and then sent two companies out into the bush on each side, and went at them. fortunately they fought pluckily, and when at last they gave way they left, i should say, at least a third of their number behind them. "we did not stop to count. i sent a small party at full speed along the path, so as to keep them on the run, and then marched on here without further molestation. "and now, about yourself; how on earth have you managed to get in?" "well, sir, i can tell it in a few words. the current took us to the opposite shore. we lay concealed under the bushes overhanging the bank, and could hear the enemy talking behind the screen. on the following day the voices ceased, and we made our way up to the camp; and found, as we expected, that you had gone and, as we guessed, the ashantis had set off in pursuit. we went on through the forest and, of course, heard the firing in the distance; and saw the enemy coming along the path, terror stricken. we were waiting for a bit, and felt sure that they had all passed; when a party of four men came from behind upon us. i don't think they belonged to the force you defeated. they were within twenty yards when they saw us. "we jumped into one of the hollows at the foot of a cotton tree. the whole four fired at us and then, as they supposed that we were unarmed, made a rush. i shot two of them as they came on. one of the others aimed a blow at me, with the butt end of his gun. fortunately the weapon caught one of the creepers, and flew out of his hand. my revolver had in some way stuck, but it all came right just at the moment, and i shot him. the fourth man bolted. "when i looked round to see what the sikh was doing, he was leaning against the tree, with the blood streaming from his leg; the bone having been broken by one of their balls. well, sir, i bandaged it up as well as i could, and left him my revolver; so that he might shoot himself, if there was a likelihood of his being captured. i then set off, as hard as i could go, to fetch assistance for him." "the troops have had a very heavy day, bullen," the colonel said, gravely. "how far away is it that you left the man?" "about ten miles, i should say." "well, they are all willing fellows, but it is a serious thing to ask them to start on another twenty miles' journey, within an hour or two of getting into camp." "i think, sir, if you will allow me to go down to where the sikhs are bivouacked, and i ask for volunteers to bring in their comrade, they will stand up, to a man." lisle's confidence in the sikhs was not misplaced. as soon as they heard that a comrade, who they believed had been drowned while trying to get the wire across the river, was lying alone and wounded in the forest, all declared their willingness to start, at once. "i will take twenty," lisle said; "that will be ample. i have just come down the path myself, and i saw no signs, whatever, of the enemy; still, some of them may be making their way down, to carry off their dead. if they are, however, their astonishment at seeing us will be so great that they will bolt at the first volley." "are you going back with us, sahib?" "yes, i must do so, or you would never find the place where he is lying." "we will take two stretchers," the sergeant--a splendid man; standing, like most of his companions, well over six feet--said, "and you shall walk as far as you are able, and then we will carry you. when will you march, sahib?" "i am going to get something to eat and drink first and, if you will fall in, in half an hour i will be with you again." "where is pertab wounded, sahib?" "he is shot through the leg, three or four inches above the knee, and the bone is broken." "did the man get off, sahib?" "i can't say for certain," lisle said, with a smile. "four men attacked us. they all four fired. i shot three of them with my revolver, and the fourth bolted. whether he was the man who really shot your comrade, or not, i cannot say; but you see, the chances are that he was not." the grim faces of the sikhs lit up with a smile. "you paid them out, anyhow," the sergeant said. "i don't think we are very deeply in their debt." lisle went back to the campfire. the best that could be found in camp was given to him, and the colonel handed him his own whisky flask. while he ate, he related the story in full. "well, it is a fine thing for you to have done," said the colonel; "a most creditable affair. i know that you are a pretty good marcher; but i hardly think that, after a long day's work, you can set out for a march of nearly double the length." "i have no fear of the march, colonel. the sikhs have volunteered to carry a stretcher for me. i shall, of course, not get into it, unless i feel that i cannot go another foot farther; but the mere fact that it is there, and in readiness for me, will help me to keep on. the sikhs have done just as long a march as i have, and i hope that i shall be able to hold on as long as they can. i should hate to be beaten by a native." "ah! but these sikhs are wonderful fellows; they seem to be made of iron, and march along as erect and freely as they start, when even the hausas and yorubas are showing signs that they are almost at the end of their powers. i must say that i consider the sikhs to be, all round, the best soldiers in the world. they cannot beat tommy atkins, when it comes to a charge; but in the matter of marching, and endurance, tommy has to take a back seat. he will hold on till he fairly breaks down, rather than give in; but he himself, if he has ever campaigned with the sikhs, would be the first to allow that they can march him off his feet. "have you got a spare pair of shoes in your kit, bullen?" "yes." "then i should advise you to take those you have on, off; and put on a fresh pair." "i will take your advice, sir; but i really think that it would be best to follow the custom of the native troops, and march barefooted." "it would not do," the colonel said, decidedly. "the soles of their feet are like leather. you would get half a dozen thorns in your foot, before you had gone half a mile; and would stub your toes against every root that projected across the path. no, no; stick to your shoes." lisle changed his boots, and then went across to the sikhs; who fell in as they saw him coming. "you have got everything, sergeant?" he asked. "yes; a hundred and thirty rounds of ball cartridge, the two stretchers, and some food and drink for our comrade." "you have got a good supply of torches, i hope. there may be some small risk in carrying them, but i am convinced that the ashantis will not venture to return, tonight, whatever they may do tomorrow. with three torches--one at the head, one in the middle of the line, and one in the rear--we should be able to travel through the paths better than if we had to grope our way in the dark." the little party at once moved off, many of the officers and men gathering round, to wish them good luck and a safe return. four hours took them to the spot where lisle had turned into the path. for the last mile he had had three torches burning in front, so that he should not overlook the signs he had made on the trees. "there it is, sergeant," he said, at last, "two slashes; the other one is on the left, fifty yards on." they turned off when they came to this. "here we are, all right, pertab!" lisle said, as they came to the tree. "allah be praised!" the man said, faintly. "i seem to have been hearing noises in the wood, for a long time; and when i heard you coming, i was by no means sure that it was not an illusion, like the others." "here are twenty of your comrades with me, pertab, and we shall soon get you into camp." "i didn't expect you till morning," the wounded man said. "i thought that you would be far too tired to come out and, without you, they could not have found me." "they would have carried me, had it been necessary; but i managed to hold on pretty well. "now, my men, get him upon the stretcher, and let us be off. pour the contents of that bottle down his throat; that will keep him up, till we get back." for another four or five miles, lisle kept along but, to his mortification, he was obliged at last to take to the stretcher. the four sikhs who carried it made light of his weight. once or twice, on the way, some dropping shots were fired at the party; but these were speedily silenced by a volley or two from the rifles. it was four o'clock in the morning when they re-entered camp. the fires were already lighted and, as the party entered, the troops received them with loud cheering; which called all the white officers out from their shelters. "you have done well, my fine fellows," the colonel said to the sikhs. "now, get some food at once, and then lie down for three or four hours' sleep. i shall leave two companies with you; i don't think that, after the thrashing we gave them yesterday, the enemy are likely to trouble us--at any rate, not before the afternoon, and by that time you will have rejoined us." "we can march on now, sahib." "no, no," the colonel said; "a thirty-six-mile march, through this bush, is a great deal more than a fair day's march for anyone; and i am not going to see such good men knocked up, by asking too much of them. so just go, and do as i order you. you may be sure that i shall put the deed you have accomplished in my orders of today. "well, mr. bullen," he said, as he came to the spot where lisle was sitting, with his shoes and stockings off, rubbing his aching feet, "so you could not outmarch the sikhs?" "no, sir, and i did not expect to do so. i went at their head all the way there, and four or five miles back; but should have had to give up, even if i had been told that a big fortune awaited me, if i got in on foot. i should have had to say: "'well, then, somebody else may have it; i can go no farther.'" "well, you have done uncommonly well, anyhow; uncommonly well. i don't suppose there are five white men in camp who could have done so much. after this you may be sure that, if you have need of an expedition, the sikhs would follow you through fire and water, if they were allowed to volunteer for the service. "i should have been glad to recommend you for the victoria cross, for your conduct right through the affair; but you have got it. but i fear that, although you would get every credit for your doings, the authorities would consider that it did not come under the head of deeds for which the victoria cross is given." "i am sure i have no desire for another v.c., even if two could be given." no attack was made on the following day, and it was evident that the ashantis had taken to heart the lesson that had been given them. two days later the column marched into the fort, and colonel willcocks went out to meet it. the colonel's reports had been sent in by a runner. as the sikhs came along, the colonel ordered them to halt and, as lisle marched up at the head of his company, he made a sign to him to come up. "captain bullen," he said, "i have much pleasure in congratulating you on the manner in which you saved the life of the sikh soldier, who volunteered to swim that river in flood in order to carry a wire across; and still more for the manner in which you made what i should say was a record march, in this country, to bring in a man who had been wounded, in a fight with a small party of the enemy." then he turned to the sikhs. "soldiers," he said, "i cannot praise you too heartily for having volunteered, at the end of a long and exhausting march, to undertake another still longer and more fatiguing, in order to bring in a wounded comrade. it is an act of which you may be proud; but not altogether a surprising one, for we know well that we can depend upon the sikhs, on all and every occasion." lisle had been carried into the fort. his feet were so tender and swollen that he could not possibly walk farther, and he was consequently taken down by the carriers, during the last two days' march. hallett sauntered up, as soon as he was put into a hospital hut. "hillo, bullen, so you have broken down! a nice example to set to your hausas, isn't it?" "i suppose it is," lisle laughed; "but the hausas did not march as far as i did." "no? what were you doing? scouting half a mile ahead of them, on your own account?" "not exactly; i only went the width of a river, and yet, the result of that was that i had to do an extra march of some twenty miles." "now you are speaking in riddles, lisle; and if there is one thing i hate, it is riddles. when a fellow begins to talk in that way, i always change the subject. why a man should try to puzzle his brain, with such rigmarole things, is more than i can imagine." "well, hallett, i really feel too tired to tell you about the matter. i can assure you that it is no joke, being carried down fifteen miles on a stretcher; so please go and ask somebody else, that's a good fellow." in a quarter of an hour hallett returned again, put his eyeglass in his eye, and stood for a couple of minutes without speaking, regarding lisle furtively. "oh, don't be a duffer," the latter said, "and drop that eyeglass. you know perfectly well that you see better, without it, than with it." "well, you are a rum chap, bullen. you are always doing something unexpected. i have been hearing how you and a sikh started to swim the ordah, when it was in flood, with a wire; how you were washed away; how you were given up for lost; how, two days later, you returned to camp and went straight out again, with a party of twenty sikhs, took a little stroll for ten miles into the bush--and of course, as much back--to carry in the sikh soldier you had had with you, but who had been wounded, and was unable to come with you. i don't know why such luck as this is always falling to your lot, while not a bit of it comes to me." "it is pure accident, hallett. you will get a chance, some day. i don't know that you would be good for a thirty-mile tramp, but it must be a consolation to you that, for the last five miles, i had to be carried." "it is a mercy it is so," hallett said, in an expression of deep thankfulness, "for there would have been no holding you, if you had come in on your feet." chapter : the relief of coomassie. "i certainly should not have volunteered for this work, bullen, if i had known what it was like. i was mad at not being able to go out to the cape, and as my regiment was, like yours, stationed in india, there was no chance of getting away from there, if i had once returned. of course, i knew all about the expeditions of wolseley and scott; but i forgot that these were carried on in the dry season, and that we should have to campaign in the wet season, which makes all the difference in the world. we are wet through, from morning till night--and all night, too--and at our camping places there is no shelter. the low-lying land is turned into deep swamps, the little streams become great unfordable torrents, and the ground under our feet turns into liquid mud. it is really horrible work, especially as we get very little food and less drink. it is not work for dogs." "it is all very well for you to grumble, hallett, but you know just as well as i do that, if the offer were made to you to go home, at once, you would treat it with scorn." "oh, of course i should! still, one may be allowed to have one's grumble and, after all, i think we are pretty sure of some stiff fighting, which makes up for everything. i am not afraid of the enemy a bit, but i do funk fever." "i don't think we are likely to get fever, so long as we are on the move; though i dare say a good many of us will go down with it, after the work is done. we have only to think of the starving soldiers and people, in coomassie, to make us feel that, whatever the difficulties and dangers may be, we must get there in time. the great nuisance is, that we can get no news of what is doing there. we constantly hear that the governor, with a portion if not all of the force, has broken out, some days since; and we begin to look out for them; and then, after a time, comes the news that there has been no sortie whatever. it is really most annoying, and i am often kept awake at night, even after a day's fight, thinking of the position of the garrison." "i don't think, if there were a hundred garrisons in danger," hallett laughed, "it would affect my sleep in the slightest. i lie down as soon as i have eaten what there is to eat, which certainly is not likely to affect my digestion; and however rough the ground, i am dead asleep as soon as my head touches it, and i do not open an eye until the bugle sounds in the morning. even then i have not had enough sleep, and i always indulge in bad language as i put on my belts, at the unearthly hour at which we are always called. i don't begin to feel half awake till we have gone some miles." "you would wake up sharp enough, hallett, at the sound of the first gun." "yes, that is all right enough; but unless that comes, there is nothing to wake one. the close air of the forest takes out what little starch you have in you, and i verily believe that i am very often asleep, as we march." "it is monotonous, hallett, but there is always something to see to; to keep the men from straggling, to give a little help, sometimes, to the wretched carriers." "you are such a desperate enthusiast, bullen. i cannot make out how you keep it up so well. i really envy you your good spirits." "they are indeed a great blessing; i had plenty of occasion to make the most of them, when i was marching in the ranks of the nd pioneers, on the way up to chitral. still, they came naturally enough, there; and i am bound to acknowledge that it is hard work, sometimes, to keep them up here." "i think that it would really be a mercy, bullen, if you were to pour a bucket of water over my head, when the bugle sounds. i have no doubt i should be furious with you, and should use the strongest of strong language; but still, that would not hurt you." "except when the carriers bring up our bundles of dry clothes, we lie down so soaked that you would scarcely feel the water poured over you. at any rate, if you really think that it would do you good, you had better order your servant to do it; that is to say, if you don't think you would slay him, the first morning." "no, i suppose i must put up with it, as best i can; but really, sometimes i do envy the colonel's little terrier, which frisks along all day, making excursions occasionally into the bush, to look for rats or mongooses. he seems to be absolutely tireless, and always ready for anything. "well, i shall turn in, now, and try to dream that i am on a feather bed, and have had supper of all sorts of dainties." "i would not do that, if i were you. it would be such a disappointment, when you woke up." "well, perhaps it might be," hallett said, despondently. "i will try to dream that i am with you on that chitral expedition, and am nearly frozen to death; then possibly, on waking, i might feel grateful that things are not so bad as i thought they were." they spent a few pleasant days at prahsu and, while there, received the news that a column had started, from tientsin, for the relief of the europeans collected in the various legations at pekin, news which created general satisfaction. "i have no doubt they will have some stiff fighting," hallett said, as he and lisle sat down to breakfast, after hearing the news. "one thing, however, is in their favour. as they will keep by the river all the way, they will never be short of water. the last news was that they were collecting a large flotilla of junks, for carrying up their provisions. lucky beggars! wouldn't i like to change places with one of them! i hope all the different troops will pull well together for, with a force of half a dozen nationalities, it is almost certain that there will be some squabbling." "i should hardly think that there would be any trouble, hallett. of course, it was reported in the last mail that the russians, french, and germans were all behaving somewhat nastily; but as the japs have the strongest force of all, and the americans stick to us, i should think that things will go on well. it would be a disgraceful thing, indeed, if troops marching to the relief of their countrymen could not keep the peace among themselves. of course, there may be fighting; but it is morally certain that the chinese cannot stand against us, and i imagine that, in proportion to the numbers, their casualties will enormously exceed ours. "britain has her hands pretty full, at present, what with the big war in the transvaal, and the little one here, and another in china. it is a good thing we thrashed the afridis, two years ago. if we had not, you may be sure that there would be an even more formidable rising on our northern frontier than that we quelled. news travels marvellously fast, in india; the afridis always seem to know what is going on elsewhere, and i am pretty sure that they would be up, all over the country, if they had not had to give up the greater portion of their rifles, and had not more than enough to do to rebuild their houses. so we have something to be thankful for." "i am glad that marchand business did not come off just at the present time," hallett said. "you may be sure that we should have had a war with france; it was a mighty near thing, as it was." "yes; i think they would not have backed down, if we had been busy with boers, chinese, and black men. they were at fever heat as it was; and we could have done nothing, if we had had two hundred and fifty thousand men engaged at the cape." "it would have made no difference," lisle said, scornfully, "we have plenty of soldiers at home. every barrack was crowded with men, as we came away; and there were a great number of the militia and volunteers, to back them up. above all there was our fleet which, however much the frenchmen value their warships, would have knocked them into a cocked hat in no time. "well, i suppose it is time to go out and inspect our men." "i suppose it is, bullen," hallett said despondently, as he stretched himself. "if there were no inspections and no parade, an officer's life would be really a pleasant one." lisle laughed. "and if there were no inspections and parades there would be no soldiers, and if there were no soldiers there would be no need for officers." "well, i suppose that is so," hallett said, as he buckled on his sword. "now, just look at me; do i look like an officer and a gentleman? nobody could tell what was the original colour of my khaki; it is simply one mass of mud stains." "well, i do think you hardly look like an officer and a gentleman--that is to say, you would hardly be taken for one at aldershot. fortunately, however, there are no english ladies here to look at you and, as the blacks don't know what an officer and a gentleman should be, it doesn't matter in the slightest." while at prahsu, there was nothing to do but to speculate as to what would be the next move. colonel willcocks kept his plan to himself, for information as to our movements reached the enemy in a most extraordinary manner. it was a busy camp. bamboo grass-covered sheds, for stores, were in course of construction. the engineers were employed in making a road, to take the stores and troops across the prah. three of the wounded officers--captain roupell, lieutenants edwardes and o'malley--were invalided, and left for home in a convoy with over a hundred wounded. this was necessary, owing to the fact that there was no roentgen apparatus in the colony, and it was found impossible to discover and extract the slugs with which the great proportion were wounded. it was unknown that four hundred men of the west african regiment, with nearly twenty officers, and a company from jebba were on their way to reinforce them. three officers were away to raise native levies in denkera and akim, and there were rumours about more troops from other parts of the world. but the one thing certain was that some more troops were coming down from northern nigeria. colonel burroughs arrived with a strong party, and lisle and hallett prepared to go up again. no resistance was met with, as far as fumsu; but it was found that a foot bridge that had been thrown across the river was washed away, and communication with the other bank was thus cut off. to the disgust of the officers and men, they were called out to a false alarm and, when dismissed, went back to bed grumbling. when they rose again, the men cleaned their arms and received their pay and rations. the latter amounted to but a pound of rice a day, but this was subsequently increased. the officers were little better off, for there was, of course, nothing to buy. two companies had gone on in advance to open the main road, find out the ambushes and stockades, and to join colonel wilkinson at bekwai. those who remained in camp had little to do, and were therefore glad to spend their time on fatigue duty; the officers building shelters for themselves, while the men erected conical huts, until the station was covered with them. a day or two after their arrival a letter, written in french on a scrap of paper, was brought down. it stated that the garrison could hold out until the th, a date that was already past. supplies were urgently wanted. it also warned the relief column that there was a big stockade within an hour of the fort. colonel willcocks sent out a messenger at once, asking that every available man should join him; but the man never reached the coast, and no help came from there. sir frederick hodgson had then been out of coomassie four days, and was making his way down to the coast through a friendly country; with an escort of six hundred soldiers, and all his officers but one, who had remained in the fort with a hundred men. on the morning of the th colonel burroughs, with five hundred men, started on his journey north. scouts flanked the advance guard, thereby preventing the chance of an ambuscade; but greatly delaying the column, as they had to cut their way through the bushes. they halted that night at sheramasi. a detachment was left at a village at the foot of the hills. just as the head of the troops arrived at the top, they were fired into from behind a fallen tree. a sharp fight took place for nearly an hour, until the enemy were turned out of their position, and pursued through the bush, by a company which had moved round their flank. kwisa was reached after dark, when it was found that the place had been entirely destroyed by the enemy. next morning they moved forward with the greatest caution, fully expecting that there would be another terrific fight at dompoasi. this place, though only four miles from kwisa, was not reached till nightfall. darkness set in with heavy rain, and the officers commanding the two leading companies held a council of war, and decided to call in the scouts--who were useless in the dusk--to make a dash for the village, and try to rush it before preparations could be made for its defence. the terrible downpour of rain was all in their favour. the enemy's scouts, who had reported the advance upon kwisa, had given up the idea of watching, that night; and they and the whole war camp were at their evening meal. the noise of the rain drowned the sounds of feet, and the troops were in the village before the enemy entertained a suspicion of their approach. a scene of wild confusion then ensued. the enemy rushed wildly to and fro, while our men poured volley after volley into them. savages have no idea of rallying, when thus taken by surprise. many fell; some fled into the forest; others ran down the prepared pathway and manned the big stockade, but the troops rushed forward, and soon compelled them to quit it. half a company were sent into the bush, to follow up the flying foe. they remained out all night, and did much execution among the adansis. this was the first real success gained over them. pickets and sentries were thrown out in a circle round the village. at midnight, the troops got a scratch meal under the protection of the huts. many guns were captured, some sniders, many cakes of powder, and much food which was cooking over the fires when the troops entered the village. some of the rifles that had belonged to the men who had fallen in the unsuccessful attack were found, together with three thousand rounds of ammunition to fit them. all this was accomplished without any casualties to our troops. the next day was spent in destroying the two great stockades, cutting down the bush round them, and blowing up the fetish tree; as well as burying the enemy's dead, thirty in number. on the evening of the next day, bekwai was gained. colonel burroughs determined, after this success, to get rid of the next danger by making another attack on the entrenchments and war camp at kokofu and, with five hundred men and four maxims, he started out for that place. but the task was too heavy for him, and the enemy were quite ready to receive our troops. they were in great force, and fought bravely for some hours. the turning movement which was attempted failed; and the colonel decided, at last, to retire to bekwai. this the troops accomplished safely, although the enemy followed them till they reached the town. lieutenant brumlie was killed, six other officers were hit slightly; and one british non-commissioned officer and three soldiers were killed, and seventy-two men wounded. after this, no fighting took place until colonel willcocks arrived to carry out the main object of the expedition. convoys of stores, however, kept pouring in incessantly and, to lisle's delight, a large box of provisions, which he had bought before starting from cape coast, arrived. then colonel neal arrived, with the sappers. he and his men built a bridge across the fum. it was twelve feet above the water, but within thirty-six hours it was swept away. while the troops were waiting, a runner came in and reported that heavy firing had been heard round coomassie. on the evening of the th of june, news came that colonel willcocks would start the next morning. he would have but a small escort of fighting men, but a very large number of carriers, to bring in the stores intended for coomassie. colonel willcocks reached fum on the night after leaving the prah. as the supplies were failing at kwisa, and another post, captain melliss took down a convoy to them, with twenty days' rations, and succeeded in doing so without opposition. colonel willcocks pressed on, leaving all baggage behind. the defeat of the dompoasis had its effect, and the little column joined colonel burroughs's men unopposed. the combined force then pushed on, until they arrived at a town under the sway of the king of bekwai. next morning they marched to bekwai. here it was decided to evacuate kwisa, for a time, and bring up the garrison that had been left there. the next march was laborious, and wet, as usual. the troops marched into the little village of amoaful, where sir garnet wolseley had fought the decisive battle of his campaign, and saw many relics of the fight. signal guns were heard, at various times, acquainting the enemy of our advance. the column stayed here for three days, which both soldiers and carriers enjoyed greatly, for the fatigues of the march had fairly worn out even the sturdy and long-enduring british troops. colonel willcocks went forward with his staff to esumeja, where the three companies, of which the garrison was composed, had already suffered sixty casualties. the pioneers, some carriers with hatchets, and some of the esumeja were sent out, a hundred yards down the road to kokofu, to cut the bush on each side and build two stockades. this was done to deceive the garrison, there, into the belief that we were about to advance on the place by that road. the ruse succeeded admirably. the general there sent information to the commander-in-chief of the ashanti army, and the latter at once despatched a considerable number of men to reinforce the garrison. thus the resistance along the main road was greatly reduced; and the kokofu, standing on the defensive, did not harass the force upon its march. on the evening of the th, a starving soldier made his way down from the fort with this message: "governor broke out, seventeen days ago. garrison rapidly diminishing by disease, can only last a few more days, on very reduced rations." six star shells were fired, that night, to let the garrison know that help was coming, but they never saw them. at midnight, the last contingent from northern nigeria, the kwisa garrison, and an escort of two companies of the west african contingent arrived. this brought the force up to the regulation strength of one battalion, on its war footing. at sunset the officers were called, and orders were given for the next day's work. the direction of the march was, even at that moment, a profound secret. the column was to be kept as short as possible, and only two carriers allowed to each officer. only half rations were to be issued. at daybreak the advance sounded, and the force moved out. it consisted of a thousand rank and file, sixty white men, seventeen hundred carriers, six guns, and six maxims. the rain fell in ceaseless torrents. the road was practically an unbroken swamp, and the fatigue and discomfort of the journey were consequently terrible. the ordah river was in flood, and had to be crossed on a felled tree. the distance to pekki, the last bekwai village, was fifteen miles. it did not lie upon the main road, but that route had been chosen because a shorter extent of hostile country would have to be traversed, and the march thence to coomassie would be only eleven miles; but it took the relief force nineteen and a half hours to get in, and the rear guard some two hours longer. darkness fell some hours before they reached their destination and, thence forward, the force struggled on, each holding a man in front of him. nothing broke the silence save the trickling of water from the trees overhead, and the squelch of the mud churned up by marching columns. at times they had to wade waist deep in water. the exhausted carriers fell out by dozens, but their loads were picked up and shouldered by soldiers, and not a single one was lost. the men got what shelter they could in the huts of the village and, in spite of wet and sleeplessness, all turned out cheerfully in the morning. the start was made at eight o'clock, in order that the men might recover a little from the previous day's fatigue. the enemy's scouts were encountered almost on the outskirts of the village and, in a short time, the advance guard neared the village of treda. it was a large place, with a very holy fetish tree. it stood on the top of a slope and, long before the rear guard had fallen out at pekki, it was carried by a brilliant bayonet charge, by the yorubas and the sierra leone frontier police. the enemy fought stubbornly, in the village; but were driven out with only some half-dozen casualties on our part. thirty sheep were found in the village, and they were a godsend, indeed, to the troops. as in every other place, too, numbers of lee-metfords, martinis, and sniders were found. treda was burnt by the rear guard. the ju-ju house, which was the scene of the native incantations, was pulled down, and the sacred trees felled. the enemy, however, were not discouraged; but hung upon the rear, keeping up a constant fire. some of them proceeded to attack the pekki people. fighting went on at intervals throughout the day, and it was decided to spend the night in a village that had been taken, after some resistance. this place was less than halfway on the road from pekki to coomassie. during the night a tropical deluge fell, and the troops and carriers were, all the time, without shelter. late that evening colonel willcocks called the white officers together and, for the first time, told them of the plan formed for the advance. he said that, after marching for an hour and a half, they would reach a strong fetish stronghold, where a fierce resistance might be looked for; but the final battle would be fought at the stockades, two hundred yards from the fort. he intended to attack these without encumbrance. a halt would therefore be called, at a spot some distance from the stockades; which would be hastily fortified, with a zereba and a portion of the troops. here all the carriers and stores would be placed. then the fighting force would take the stockades, return for the transport, and enter coomassie. by this means there would be no risk of losing the precious stores and ammunition. so determined was colonel willcocks to reach the forts, at all costs, that he gave orders that, if necessary, all soldiers killed should be left where they fell. at four o'clock next morning the bugle sounded and, at the first streak of dawn, the column moved off. the march was maintained under a heavy skirmishing fire but, to the general surprise, the fetish town of which colonel willcocks had spoken was found deserted. night was approaching, so that the plan proposed overnight could not be carried out. the troops, therefore, went forward hampered by the whole of the carriers and baggage of the column. at four o'clock action began, at the point where the cape coast and pekki roads converged towards coomassie. the ashantis had taken up a position on slightly rising ground--a position which was favourable to the assailants, as it tended to increase the enemy's inclination to fire high. each of the roads was barred with massive entrenchments, which stretched across them into the bush, and flanked with breastworks of timber. these obstacles had been originally intended to envelop the garrison. consequently, the war camps were on the british side of the stockades. the battle began by a heavy fire, from the bush, upon both flanks of the rear guard. the attack on the left was soon successfully repulsed. on the other side, however, the roar of musketry never ceased, the enemy moving along abreast of the column, protected by a stockade expressly prepared; until they approached the main stockade, where they joined their companions. about fifty yards from the stockades, which were still invisible, a fresh path diverged towards the left; and the officers commanding the scouts were discussing what had best be done, when the enemy poured in a terrific volley from their fortified position in front, slightly wounding one officer and four soldiers. the rest immediately took shelter behind a fallen tree, which was lying across the path. colonel wilkinson, commanding the advance guard, ordered up the guns. these were massed in a semicircle behind the fallen trees, and opened fire on the unseen foe; while the maxims poured their bullets into the adjacent bush. the reply of the enemy was unceasing and, for an hour and a half, the battle raged, the distance between the combatants being only forty yards. then colonel willcocks gave the order to cease firing and, in a minute, a strange silence succeeded the terrible din. the ashantis, too, stopped firing, in sheer surprise at the cessation of attack; but soon redoubled their fusillade. the leading companies moved up and formed in line, to the front and rear flank. then came the inspiring notes of the charge and, with a cheer, the whole of the advance guard sprang forward into the bush. the dense undergrowth checked the impetus, as the soldiers had to cut their way with their knives but, as they did so, they maintained their deep-toned war song. as they got more into the open, they rushed round and clambered over the stockade; and the enemy, unable to stand the fury of their charge, fled in panic. as a prolonged pursuit was impossible in the bush, and as daylight was fading, the troops were recalled at once. the first thing to be done was to pull down the stockade along the fetish road, to enable the transport to pass. when this was done, colonel willcocks collected the troops nearest to him and moved forward, at their head, along the broad road. their delight, when they emerged into the open and saw coomassie ahead of them, was unbounded. keeping regular step, though each man was yearning to press forward, they advanced steadily. the silence weighed upon them; and a dread, lest they had arrived too late, chilled the sense of triumph with which they had marched off. at last, the faint notes of a distant bugle sounded the general salute, and a wild burst of cheering greeted the sound. the bugles returned the call with joyous notes. then the gate opened, and captain bishop, mr. ralph, and dr. hay came out, followed by such few of the brave little garrison as still had strength to walk. just at this moment, a great glow was seen in the distance. the flying enemy had fired the basel mission. a company therefore started at once, at the double, to drive them off. the relieving force had, indeed, arrived only just in time. the means of resistance had all been exhausted, and another day would have seen the end. the garrison had held out desperately, in the hope that colonel willcocks would be able to fulfil the promise he had sent in, that he would arrive to relieve them on the th of july; and he had nobly kept his word to an hour, at the cost of an amount of hard work, privation, hardship, and suffering such as has fallen to the lot of but few expeditions of the kind. the ashanti rising was the result of long premeditation and preparation. on the th of march, the governor of the gold coast, accompanied by lady hodgson, left accra to make a tour of inspection. on his way up country he was received with great friendliness at all the villages and, when he arrived at coomassie on the th, he found a large number of ashanti kings, who turned out in state to meet him. a triumphal arch had been erected, and a gorgeous procession of kings and chiefs marched past. there was no sign of a cloud in the horizon. several days passed quietly, and sir frederick hodgson had several meetings with the chiefs about state matters. gradually the eyes of the governor's followers, accustomed as they were to savage ways, saw that all was not right; and a wire was despatched, asking for reinforcements of two hundred men. these arrived on the th of april. captains armitage and leggatt, with a small party of soldiers, went out to the neighbouring village to bring in the golden stool. this was regarded by the natives with considerable veneration, and was always used as the throne of the king, as the sign of supreme authority. when they reached the village the party were fired upon, the two officers being wounded; and had to retire without having accomplished their purpose. it was clear now that rebellion was intended. the native kings were all sounded, and several of them decided to side with us, among them five important leaders. on the th the basel mission servants were set upon, and several of them killed. the ashantis then attacked and captured the villages in which the friendly natives and traders lived, and set fire to these and to the cantonment. the refugees, to the number of three thousand five hundred, with two hundred children, crowded round the fort, imploring the mission to allow them to enter. it was wholly beyond the capacity of the fort to accommodate a tenth of their number. troops were therefore ordered down from the barracks, and formed a cordon round the fugitives. the fort gate was closed, and a rope ladder led down one of the bastions. in this way, only one individual could enter at a time, and the danger of a rush was obviated. close round the walls, huts were erected to shelter the fugitives, who were exposed to all the inclemency of the weather. thus passed some wretched days and worse nights, sleep being constantly interrupted by alarms, due to the fact that the rebels were in possession of all the buildings in the place, except the fort, many of which they loopholed. on the th a determined attack was made, the enemy advancing boldly across the open, and fighting long and obstinately. captain marshall, however, with his two hundred and fifty native troops and friendly levies, taught them such a lesson that they never again tried fighting in the open. a hundred and thirty corpses were found and buried, and many more were carried off, while the fighting was going on. that evening captain apling came in with his little column, but without food and with little ammunition. aided by these troops, the outlying official buildings were occupied; and the friendly natives lodged in huts a little farther from the fort. things remained quiet until the th of may, when major morris arrived with his force. he too was short of food and ammunition, and famine already began to stare the beleaguered garrison in the face. meanwhile the enemy had been busy erecting stockades, to bar every outlet from coomassie. many attempts were made to take these entrenchments; but they always failed, as they could not be pushed home, owing to want of ammunition; and the troops became, to some extent, demoralized by want of success. although the food had been carefully husbanded, it was running perilously low. rations consisted of one and a half biscuits, and five ounces of preserved meat, per day. five ponies, brought up by major morris, and a few cows kept at the residency were killed and eaten. a few luxuries could still be bought from the native traders, but at prodigious prices. a spoonful of whisky cost shillings, a seven-pound tin of flour shillings, a box of matches shillings, and a small tin of beef pounds, shillings. the refugees fared much worse. they had no reserve of food, and foraging was next to impossible. as a result, they died at the rate of thirty and forty a day. when only three and a half days' rations were left, it was decided that something must be done, and a council of war was called. it was then agreed that those who could walk should make a dash for it; and that a garrison of three europeans, and a hundred rank and file, should be left behind. for these twenty-three days' rations could be left. major morris, as senior officer, was to command the sortie. the direct road down to the cape was barred by a great force of the rebels, and he therefore chose the road that would lead to the denkera country. if that could be reached, they would be in a friendly country. the line to be taken was kept a profound secret, and was not revealed until ten o'clock on the evening before starting. the force consisted of six hundred soldiers, with a hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition a man, seven hundred carriers, and about a thousand refugees. there was a mist in the morning, and the garrison who were to remain made a feint, to direct the enemy's attention to the main road. the column was not engaged until it reached a strong breastwork, at potasi. this was taken after a severe fight; and captain leggatt, who commanded the vanguard, was mortally wounded. four men were also killed, and there were nine other casualties. a part of the stockade was pulled away, and the force moved forward. it was constantly attacked on the way and, on one occasion, captain marshall was seriously wounded in the head. numbers of soldiers, refugees, and carriers fell out from exhaustion, and had to be left behind. nearly all the carriers threw away their loads, and the men who carried the hammocks of the two ladies found themselves unable to support the weight. the night was spent at terrabum, eighteen miles from coomassie; some two thousand human beings being crowded into the village, in a deluge. the soldiers were posted round the camp, in the form of a square. the second day was a repetition of the first--heavy rain, muddy roads; dying soldiers, carriers, and refugees; attacks by the enemy. twelve miles farther were made that day. thus seven days were passed. captains marshall and leggatt both died. the ladies bore their trials wonderfully, as they had to tramp with the rest, along the miry track. at last ekwanter, in the friendly denkera country, was reached, and the force rested for two days. they then set out again and, after a terrible march, in the course of which they had to cross many swollen rivers, they arrived, two weeks after they had left coomassie, half starved and worn out, on the coast. in the meantime the three white officers, captain bishop of the gold coast constabulary, assistant inspector ralph, lagos constabulary, and doctor hay, medical officer, remained behind, with a hundred and fifteen hausas, few of whom were fit for the task of holding the fort. after the departure of the column, the ashantis swarmed down on the fort, thinking that it was entirely evacuated. they were met, however, with a heavy fire from the maxims, and soon withdrew. the first duty of captain bishop was to tell off the men to their posts. the soldiers who were to man the guns were ordered to sleep beside them. the ammunition was examined, and found to amount to a hundred and seventy rounds a man. the rations were calculated, and divided up for the twenty-three days that they were intended to last. attempts were then made to burn the native shanties, for sanitary reasons. they were so soaked, however, with water, that all attempts to burn them failed; till june th, when a short break in the rain enabled them to be fired. when they were all burned down, the residency windows on the windward side were opened, for the first time. sickness, unfortunately, broke out very soon; and three of the little band died on the first day. this rate mounted higher and higher, and at last smallpox broke out. so dismal was the prospect that the men sank into a dull despair. a few women traders hawked their wares outside the fort. a little cocoa, worth a farthing, cost shillings; plantains were pound, shillings each; and a small pineapple fetched shillings. the men received shillings daily, in place of half a biscuit, when biscuits ran short; and this ready cash was willingly bartered for anything eatable. three heart-breaking weeks passed thus. two-thirds of the troops had been buried outside the fort, the remainder were almost too weak to stand. when the food was all gone, it was arranged that they should go out to forage in the darkness, each man for himself. the three white men, each with a dose of poison, always stuck together and, come what might, agreed not to fall alive into the hands of the enemy. however, on th july reports were brought in that firing had been heard. the news seemed too good to be true, but an old native officer declared that he had heard distant volleys. it was not until four o'clock on the next day, however, that a continuous and tremendous roar of guns convinced them that a relief column was at hand. the three imprisoned officers opened their last comfort, a half bottle of champagne, and drank success to their comrades. several of the troops died while the fighting was going on, the excitement being too much for their weakened frames. at last the ashantis were seen flying in terror. then the two buglers blew out the general salute, time after time till, at six o'clock, the head of the relief column came in view. the gate was thrown open, and those of the little garrison who were able to stand went out, to welcome their rescuers. five star shells were fired, to tell those left behind at ekwanter that the relief was accomplished. then the outlying quarters were occupied, and all slept with the satisfaction that their struggles and efforts had not been in vain, and that they had succeeded in relieving coomassie. chapter : stockades and war camps. "well, hallett, here we are," lisle said the next morning, "and thank god neither of us is touched, except perhaps by a few slugs. of these, however, i dare say the surgeon will rid us this morning. it has been a big affair and, if we live to a hundred years, we are not likely to go through such another." "i wish you would not be so confoundedly cheerful," hallett said, gloomily; "we have got to go down again, and the kokofu are to be dealt with. we shall probably have half a dozen more battles. the rain, too, shows no signs of giving up, and we shall have to tramp through swamps innumerable, ford countless rivers and, i dare say, be short of food again before we have done. as to going through such work again, my papers will be sent in at the first hint that i am likely to have to take part in it." "all of which means, hallett, that just at the present moment a reaction has set in; and i will guarantee that, if you had a thoroughly good breakfast, and finished it off with a pint of champagne, you would see matters in a different light, altogether." "don't talk of such things," hallett said, feebly; "it is a dream, a mere fantasy. it doesn't seem to me, at present, a possibility that such a meal could fall to my lot. "look at me, look at my wasted figure! i weighed nearly fourteen stone, when we started; i doubt whether i weigh ten, now." "all the better, hallett. when i first saw you, on shore at liverpool, i said to myself that you were as fat as a pig. "'he would be a fine-looking young fellow,' i said, 'if he could get some of it off. i suppose it is good living and idleness that has done it.'" hallett laughed. "well, perhaps i need not grumble at that; but the worst of it is that i have always heard that, when a fellow loses on active service, he is sure to make it up again, and perhaps a stone more, after it is over." "yes, it is clear that you will have to diet, when you get home. no more savoury dishes, no more champagne suppers; just a cut of a joint, a few vegetables, and a ten-mile walk after." "don't talk of such things," hallett said, impatiently; "rather than live as you say, i would put up with carrying sixteen stone about with me. what is the use of living, if you are to have no satisfaction out of life?" "well, hallett, my advice to you in that case is, make love to some young lady, directly you reach england; and marry her in a month, before you have begun to assume elephantine proportions. once hooked, you know, she cannot sue for divorce, on the ground that you have taken her in; and she will have to put up with you, whatever size you may attain." "look here, bullen," hallett said seriously, "i know you mean well, but the subject is a very sore one with me. however, seriously, i will try to keep my fat down. if i fail i fail, and shall of course send in my papers; for i don't care to be made a butt of, by young subalterns like yourself. the subaltern has no sense of what is decent and what is not, and he spares no one with his attempts at wit." "why, you are a subaltern yourself, hallett!" "i am within two of the top of the list, please to remember, and you have still four above you, and i am therefore your superior officer. i have put aside youthful folly, and have prepared myself for the position of captain of a company. i make great allowances for you. you will please to remember that you are five years my junior, and owe me a certain share of respect." "which i am afraid you will never get," lisle said, laughingly. "i should as soon think of acting respectfully towards a buddhist image, simply because it is two thousand years old. however, since the subject is so painful to you, i will try not to allude to it again. "is there anything you would wish me to do, sir? i have no doubt i shall have plenty of work to do, but i dare say i shall be able to find time to do anything my senior officer may require." "get out, you young scamp," hallett growled, "or i shall throw--" and he looked round "--i don't see what there is to throw." "hallett, i am afraid that this rest is going to do you harm. i have found you a very companionable fellow, up to now; but it is clear that a night's rest and high living have done you more harm than good." so saying, with a laugh, lisle put on his helmet and went out. there was, as he said, much to do. everywhere there were proofs of the rigidness of the siege. even in the houses in which they were quartered, which had been occupied by the enemy, the walls were pitted with bullets. at eight o'clock a party of men went out, to destroy the stockades and burn the enemy's camps. in the one in which the ashanti commander in chief had his headquarters were found over a thousand huts and bamboo camp beds. the troops now saw the method of investment for the first time. it consisted in making large entrenchments, to barricade all the roads and tracks. in the bush between these were similar stockades, to complete the circle of fortifications and afford flank defences. all these were joined by a wide path; so that, as soon as one position was attacked, it was reinforced by those to right and left. the remainder of the troops and carriers were engaged in trying to remedy the shockingly insanitary condition of the place. the staff were employed in examining the matter of stores and provisions, ammunition, and medical comforts; which were to be left behind for the relieving garrison. the labourers worked in relays, as did the rest of the soldiers. high grass had grown almost up to the fort walls, and had to be cut down. while this was being done, skeletons and corpses in all states of decomposition were met with. almost all had died of starvation. at first the bodies of those who died had been buried, but latterly their friends had become too weak to perform this office; and the poor wretches had crawled a few yards into the jungle, to die quietly. such numbers of bodies were found that they had, at last, to be burned in heaps. few, indeed, of the four thousand fugitives who had gathered round the fort, reached the coast with the force that had fought their way out. the doctors were busy all day with the refugees, the old garrison, the thirty casualties from the fight of the day before, and several white men down with fever. the ashantis had burnt all the cantonments of friendly natives, but had left the old palace of prempeh uninjured. this structure was burnt during the day. the order for officers to assemble was sounded in the evening, and it was arranged that the return march was to start at four on the following morning. the coveted post of leading the column was given to a company of the west african frontier force. they were a little sorry that they were so soon to leave the place. the fort itself was a handsome, square stone building, with towers at the four corners. the resident's quarters had a balcony, and excellent rooms. there was also, of course, barrack accommodation, store rooms, and a well. quick-firing guns were mounted on the circular bastions. the surrounding buildings were bungalows, with broad verandahs; and the force would have been well pleased to remain for a few days, and enjoy the comforts provided for them. the force to be left was under the command of major eden; and consisted of three officers, one doctor, three british non-commissioned officers, a hundred and fifty men of the west african frontier force, and a few gold coast constabulary gunners; with fifty-four days' rations, and a plentiful supply of ammunition. the column was a terribly long one, owing to the enormous number of invalids, wounded, women, and children. they halted for the night at the village halfway to pekki. the villages on the road were all burnt down, to prevent opposition next time we passed; and all crops were destroyed. this work the soldiers quite enjoyed. continued explosions occurred during the burning of the huts, showing how large an amount of ammunition the natives possessed. next night they arrived at pekki. the king had prepared a market, so that the starving force got a more substantial supper than usual. here the column was to divide. colonel willcocks was to go straight through to bekwai; while the second portion, with the wounded and cripples, was to take two days. they halted at bekwai for two or three days, to give rest to the soldiers; a large proportion of whom were suffering from coughs, sore throats, and fever, the result of their hardships. two thousand carriers were sent to fetch up more stores. preparations were then made for an attack on kokofu, which was a serious menace to the troops going up or down. the column for this purpose, which was under general moreland, consisted of six companies, which were to be brought up to eight. with three of the larger guns and two seven-pounders, they started for esumeja on the nd. the force was a compact one, the only carriers allowed being one to each white man, to take up some food and a blanket. major melliss commanded the advance. they marched rapidly, as it was all important to take the enemy by surprise. some distance short of kokofu, they stopped for breakfast. then the officers were assembled and, when the plan of attack had been formed, the column moved cautiously on. the place was only a mile away, so that an attack was momentarily expected. the troops entered a deserted village, and there halted. a few sentries were thrown out, and the colonel held a short council of war with major melliss and two of his other officers. after some discussion, it was decided that a hausa company should go on, and rush the stockade with the bayonet, without firing. if they carried it, they were to proceed along the river bank beyond, and so place themselves as to cover the advance of the guns. the scouts were called in; and the hausa company set off, in fours, along the path. when they had marched a hundred yards, the little band that formed the advance signalled that they made out something ahead and, when they rounded the next sharp turn of the road they saw, not thirty yards away, a great six-foot stockade, extending far into the bush on either side. it lay halfway down a gentle slope, a situation which favoured the assailants for, naturally, the hill would increase the impetus of the charge. the order was sent down in a whisper, "stockade ahead, prepare to charge." the men kept together as closely as possible. the buglers rang out the charge and, with a shout, the hausas rushed at the stockade. in an instant the white leaders scaled the timbers, and the men followed at their heels. to their astonishment, the place was empty. the surprise was complete. it was clear that the enemy had no information, whatever, of their approach; and the guard from the stockade had gone to feed, with their companions, in the war camp. the bugle had told them what was coming and, with a roar, thousands of black figures dashed up towards the stockade. there was nothing for it but to charge and, with fixed bayonets, the hausas dashed forward, regardless of the heavy fire with which they were met. enormously as they outnumbered their assailants, the sight of the glittering bayonets and the cheers of the hausas were too much for the enemy. those in front, after a few more shots, turned and fled; the hausas following in hot pursuit. the river turned out to be of no depth; and it had not, as reported, a parapet for defending the passage. hard as the hausas tried to overtake the enemy, the ashantis, being fleeter of foot, kept ahead but, though the shouting and running were beginning to tell on the pursuers, still they held on. the path gradually became firmer; and suddenly, when they turned a corner, there was kokofu in front of them. from almost every house, running for their lives, were naked ashantis. the sight restored the men's strength; and they redoubled their efforts, with the result that they killed some thirty of the enemy. the pursuit was maintained until they reached the other end of the town. then the company was halted. the officers had difficulty in restraining their men, who implored them to press on in pursuit; but a general permission to do so could not be given. no one knew whether the main column had followed them; and it was possible, too, that the ashantis might rally and return. half the company, however, were permitted to continue the pursuit, and to keep the ashantis on the run. with shouts of delight, the men darted off in the darkness. in a short time they were recalled, and the company then marched back to the centre of the town. here they found that the main body had come in. two companies had been sent out, right and left into the bush, to keep down sniping fire, and hurry the enemy's retreat. pickets and sentries had been thrown out round the town. soldiers were eating the food that the enemy had cooked. piles of loot were being dragged out of the houses; among which were quantities of loaded guns, rifles, and powder barrels. the native soldiers were almost mad with delight; and were dancing, singing, and carrying each other shoulder high, shouting songs of triumph. but short time could be allowed for rejoicing. the various company calls were sounded and, when the men were gathered, the town was methodically razed, and a collection of over two hundred guns were burnt. the troops, however, had reason for their joy. the kokofu army of some six thousand men, who had repulsed two previous attacks, were a mass of fugitives. in the course of one week, the ashantis had suffered two crushing defeats in their strongest positions. as soon as the work was done, the force set out on their return march. their appearance differed widely from that of the men who had silently, and in good order, advanced. scarcely a man, white or black, was not loaded with some token of the victory. all were laughing, or talking, or singing victorious songs. a halt was made, to destroy the stockade and the war camp. the former was found to be extremely strong and, had it been manned by the enemy, the work of capturing it would have been very serious, indeed. when they arrived at esumeja, the garrison there could scarcely believe that the success had been so complete, and so sudden. bekwai was reached as twilight was beginning, and here the whole of the garrison, with colonel willcocks at its head, was drawn up to receive them. the men were heartily cheered; and the hausa company, which had done such splendid service, were halted and congratulated by colonel willcocks. then after three cheers the force, which had been on foot for sixteen hours, was dismissed, and returned to its quarters. "well, hallett, how do you feel?" "better," hallett said. "i felt tired enough, after the march there but, somehow, i forgot all about it directly the fight began. everyone was so delighted and cheery that, really, i came in quite fresh." "i knew it would be so," lisle said. "it has been a glorious day and, if you had come in moping, i should have given you up as hopeless." "and i give you up as hopeless, the other way," hallett replied. "you always seem brimming over with fun; even when, as far as i can see, there is nothing to be funny about." "well, it really has been a glorious victory; and i only wish we had both been with the hausa company who first attacked. they really won the game off their own bat, for we had nothing to do but to pick up the spoil. "there was not much worth carrying away, but i am glad of some little memento of the fight. i got the chief's stool. i don't quite know what i am going to do with it, yet; but i shall try to get my servant to carry it along; and it will come in handy, to sit down upon, when we encamp in a swamp. "what did you manage to get?" "i picked up a small rifle, a very pretty weapon. do you know, i quite approve of the regulation, in south africa, that officers should carry rifles instead of swords. i have never been able to understand why we should drag about swords, which are of no use whatever while, with rifles, we could at least pot some of the enemy; instead of standing, looking like fools, while the men are doing all the work." "i agree with you, there. in the tirah campaign i, several times, got hold of the rifles of fallen men, and did a little shooting on my own account. officers would all make themselves good shots, if they knew that shooting would be of some value; and even three officers, with a weak company, could do really valuable service. i certainly found it so, when i was with the punjabis. of course, i was not an officer; but i was a really good shot with a rifle, and succeeded in potting several pathan chiefs." "i suppose," hallett said, mournfully, "that about the time when i leave the army as a general, common sense will prevail; and the sword will be done away with, except on state occasions." "it is very good of you to look so far ahead, hallett. it shows that you have abandoned the idea of leaving the army, even if you again put on flesh. "i rather wonder that you should modestly confine yourself to retiring as a general. why not strive for the position of a field marshal, who has the possibility of becoming commander in chief? it may be, old fellow that, if you shake yourself together, you may yet attain these dignities. you were always very jovial, on board ship; and i trust that, when we get out of this horrible country, you will regain your normal spirits." "i am not so sure that i shall get out of the country; for i often feel disposed to brain you, when you won't let me alone; and i fear that, one of these days, i may give way to the impulse." "you would have to catch me, first," lisle laughed; "and as i believe that i could run three feet to your one, your chance of carrying out so diabolical an impulse would be very small. "but here is the boy with our supper, which we have fairly earned, and to which i shall certainly do justice. "what have you got, boy?" "half a tin of preserved meat, sah, done up with curry." "let us eat, with thankfulness. "how much more curry have we got, boy?" "three bottles, sah." "thank goodness!" said hallett, "that will last for some time; for really, tinned beef by itself, when a man is exhausted, is difficult to get down. i really think that we should address a round robin to the p.m.o., begging him to order additional medical comforts, every night." "you are belying yourself, hallett. you have taken things very well as they came, whatever they might be; save for a little grumbling, which does no harm to anyone and, i acknowledge, amuses me very much." "i have no expectation or design," hallett grumbled, "but it seems to amuse you. however, i suppose i must put up with it, till the end." "i am afraid you will have to do so, hallett. it is good for you, and stirs you up; and i shall risk that onslaught you spoke of, as we go down to the coast again." "when will that be, lisle?" "i have not the smallest idea. i should imagine that we shall stay, and give these fellows thrashing after thrashing, until we have completely knocked the fight out of them. that won't be done in a day or two. probably those we have defeated will gather again, in the course of a day or two; and we shall have to give them several lickings, before we dispose of them altogether." the news of the victory at kokofu spread fast, and the denkeras poured in to join the native levies. there was now a pause, while preparations were made for a systematic punitive campaign. captain wright was sent down to euarsi, where three thousand denkera levies had been collected; and superintended the cutting down of the crops in the adansi country, to the south and west. the akim levies were to act similarly, in flank, under the command of captains willcocks and benson; while a third body of levies, under major cramer, guarded the upper district. a company was sent to kwisa to guard the main road, which was now reopened for traffic. convoys went up and down along the entire route, bringing up supplies of all sorts; but those going north of fumsu still required strong escorts. large parties went out foraging, almost daily, to villages and farms for miles round. these bodies were compact fighting forces, and took out considerable numbers of unladen carriers. when a village was found the troops surrounded it, while the carriers searched it for hidden stores. then they would march away to other villages, until every carrier had a load; when the force would return, and store the results of the raid. the remnants of the reconcentrating ashanti army were reported to be somewhere in the bush, east of dompoasi. it was necessary to clear them out before the adansi country could be subdued, and the line of communication be at all safe. consequently a flying column--of four hundred of the west african field force, one large and one small gun of the west indian rifles, to be joined by the kwisa company--was despatched, under the command of major beddoes, against the enemy. they had to strike out into the bush by almost unknown roads, and great difficulties were encountered. fortunately, however, they captured a prisoner, who consented to lead them to the enemy's camp, on condition that his life would be spared. three days later, an advance was made on the camp. the column had hardly started when they were attacked. the enemy held a strong series of fortified positions; but these were captured, one after another. a couple of miles farther, they again met with opposition. the enemy, this time, occupied the bank of a stream. the maxims at once opened fire on them, and did such great execution that the ashantis rapidly became demoralized, and fled. close to the rear of this spot was found a newly-constructed stockade, some three hundred yards in length; but the fugitives continued their flight without stopping to man it. when they advanced a little farther, the force was severely attacked on all sides. the enemy pushed up to within a few yards of our men. once they even attempted to rush the seven pounder; but were repulsed by the heavy volleys of the west indian rifles, who were serving it. lieutenant phillips and lieutenant swabey were severely wounded, and two other officers slightly so. the adansis made another desperate attempt to cover their camp, and they were not finally driven back until nearly dusk. it was found that the rebels had discovered the advance of major cramer's levies while they were still a day's journey away. they were, therefore, not only anxious to repulse our force, so that they could fall upon the other one; but were fighting a splendid rear action, so as to cover the retreat of their women, children, and property, which had been gathered there under the belief that the existence of the camp was unknown to us. meanwhile, at bekwai, the list of sick and invalids steadily increased; and every convoy that went down to the coast was accompanied by a number of white and black victims to the climate. the kits of the men who died realized enormous prices. a box that contained three cakes of soap fetched shillings, and a box of twenty-five cheroots pounds, shillings. on the st of july a runner arrived, from pekki, stating that the town was going to be attacked in force, the next evening, as a punishment for the assistance it had rendered the white men. major melliss was accordingly ordered to proceed thither the following morning with two guns, a hausa company with a maxim, and a column of carriers. they were to remain there a day, and put the place in a state of defence; and then they would be joined by a force under colonel burroughs, which was to complete the relief of coomassie, by doubling its garrison and supply of stores. the little party started, and tramped along the intervening fifteen miles much more comfortably than usual; as the rains had temporarily ceased, and the track had been greatly improved by the kings of bekwai and pekki. there was great difficulty in crossing the bridge over the ordah river, but the guns were at last taken over safely, and they arrived at pekki at half-past four in the afternoon. they were received with delight by the villagers, who had been in a state of terrible fear. the war chief put his house at the disposal of the officers. fortunately, no attack was made by the ashantis. hasty fortifications were erected, and a rough bamboo barracks built for the force. here, for the first time since the beginning of the campaign, the hausas received a small issue of meat, and their delight was unbounded. some scouts, who had been sent out in the neighbourhood of the town, brought in a wounded hausa who had been left behind in the governor's retreat and, for six weeks, had managed to hide himself in the bush, and live upon roots that he found at night. on the afternoon of the th of august, colonel burroughs and his force arrived; bringing with him a fresh half battalion of the central african regiment, with two large guns and two seven-pounders. this raised the total strength to seven hundred and fifty. it was decided that it would be necessary to proceed without delay to coomassie; for no signals had been received from the fort, for two successive sundays, and there was a rumour that the ashantis had again attacked it. the column therefore moved forward, next day. the garrison, when they arrived, was to be brought up to three hundred soldiers and ten white men; the stockades round coomassie were to be destroyed; and then the relief column were to fight their way down the main road, which had been hitherto closed for all traffic. at first the column met with no opposition but, when they reached treda, the people of that place fired heavily upon them. after driving these off the force proceeded, but were soon met by an ashanti force. they attacked only the transport and hospital, and their tactics were clever. they had formed a series of ambushes, connected by a broad path. the head of the column was allowed to pass, unattacked; then the carriers were fired into heavily and, when the tail of the column passed, they ran along the path to the next ambush and renewed their tactics. their plan, however, was soon discovered and, in order to checkmate it, a gun was placed in the path, crammed with case shot, the infantry were got ready to fire in volleys, and a maxim ranged for rapid fire. presently the enemy were seen, hurrying along to occupy the next ambush; and the big gun poured its contents into their midst, while the troops fired well-directed volleys at them and, when they fled in confusion down the path, the maxim swept numbers of them away. the attacks immediately ceased, and the column proceeded on its way; rejoicing that, for once, they had beaten the ashantis at their own game. they arrived at the fort at six o'clock in the evening; and found that, although the garrison had been harassed by sniping, no serious attack had been made upon them. it was known that there were still four stockades occupied by the ashantis; and it was decided that two columns, each three hundred strong, should sally out the next morning, and each carry two of the fortifications. the companies under lisle and hallett formed part of the force under major melliss, which was to destroy the stockade on the bantama road; while the other, under major cobbe, was to attack that near the kimtampo road. after this had been done, arrangements were to be made for the attack on the other two stockades. the start was made at ten o'clock. at first everything went well. the basel mission house was passed and, as they marched on without seeing any signs of life, it was believed that no opposition would be met with. they advanced, however, with great caution. suddenly, news was sent back from the advance guard that the village of bantama had been sighted, just ahead; and that the enemy were running out from it. the force advanced, and found the fires in the village still burning. at the other end the track through it divided; but the defiance signal, a large vulture lying spread-eagle fashion, showed the line the fugitives had pursued. this was followed and, in a short time, a stockade was seen at the foot of a slope, some eighty yards away. how far it extended into the bush on either side, there was no means of knowing; nor could it be ascertained whether it was defended, for no signs of life were visible. the carriers were ordered to bring up the maxim but, before they could get the parts of the gun off their heads, a deafening volley flashed out from the stockade. several of the carriers fell, wounded by the slugs, and the rest fled. the little weapon, however, was soon put together, and opened fire. but rifle bullets were useless against a six-foot tree trunk. the enemy, moreover, were firing on our flank, and it was thought that they might be working round to attack the rear. an effort was therefore made to cut a path through the bush, under the impression that it was not so thick inside. the jungle grass, however, prevented this from being carried out, and the heavy gun was therefore ordered up. when it began to play upon the fort, as far as could be determined, the enemy's fire grew momentarily heavier. then it was seen that a number of men were firing from a high tree, in the rear of the stockade. colour sergeant foster turned a maxim upon it. he was severely wounded on the left shoulder, but he said nothing about it, and poured such a shower of lead into the tree that it was, at once, deserted by the enemy. the din was deafening. every white man belonging to the leading company had been hit, and the ground near the gun and maxim was strewn with the dead and dying. major melliss gave the word: "mass the buglers, form up left company, and both charge!" the buglers stood up, waiting for the word to blow. one of them was instantly wounded but, though the blood was streaming down his face, he stuck to his work. the word "sound the way!" was given, and the hausas sprang wildly forward and dashed down the slope, major melliss at their head. contrary to custom, the ashantis were not terrified at the sight of the bayonets and, through their loopholes, kept up a heavy fire. the assailants, however, soon reached the stockade. two white men scrambled up the timbers, which were slippery with blood; and jumped down, eight feet, on the other side, where they were soon joined by numbers of their men. the enemy, however, stood their ground bravely, and there was a fierce hand-to-hand fight. but the bayonet did its work; and the enemy, who were getting more and more outnumbered, at last turned and fled, hotly pursued by the victors. a turn in the path revealed the war camp. it was an enormous one, but already the last of its garrison were disappearing in the forest, taking any path that afforded a chance of safety. the assembly sounded, and the pursuit was abandoned; as another company came forward, at a steady double, with orders to proceed up the road to the next village. this they were to burn, and then return to the war camp. the work of destroying the war camp at once began. the troops lined its outskirts, while the carriers cut down and burnt the huts. then a party set to work to pull down the stockades, which turned out to be nearly three hundred yards long, and crescent shaped--a fact that explained why we had suffered so severely from crossfire. at last, sheets of flame showed that the work was accomplished, and the company that had gone on in advance returned, and reported the destruction of the village behind. the little force then gathered, and proceeded to bantama, a sacred village at which human sacrifices had been perpetrated, for centuries. this place was razed to the ground. on the left, the sound of continuous firing told that major cobbe was still heavily engaged. there was, however, no means of moving through the bush to his assistance. the force therefore returned to the fort. it was late before the firing ceased, and major cobbe's column came in, with the wounded on hammocks and stretchers. the first two signal shots had slightly wounded major cobbe and a white colour sergeant. after a prolonged fight, the former had finally turned the right of the enemy's position, with two companies of the central african regiment; but lost heavily, owing to the thick grass and slow progress. meanwhile the west african company had engaged a stockade similar to the one we had rushed, but horseshoe in form. thus our men had been almost completely surrounded by a circle of fire. when, however, the flanking movement had at last been completed, the enemy were charged simultaneously from the front and flank, whereupon they broke and fled. the large war camp behind had been looted and burnt, and the stockade pulled down. the guns had failed to penetrate this, and the defenders were only driven out at the point of the bayonet, after a fight of two hours' duration. the loss had been heavy. half a dozen white officers were wounded, and seventeen sikhs had been killed or wounded, out of a total of fifty who had gone into action. the total casualties mounted up to seventy. chapter : a night surprise. with the exception of replenishing the supplies of ammunition, cleaning rifles, and burying the dead, nothing further was done that afternoon. in the evening a consultation was held, in the fort, among the principal officers. the situation was a difficult one. an immense amount of ammunition had been expended, and it was decided that it was out of the question to draw upon the supplies that had been sent up for the garrison. there were still two strongly-entrenched positions, and strong opposition was anticipated to the clearing of the main road. every round would, therefore, be required for this work. this seemed to preclude the idea of taking the other two stockades. the choice therefore remained of making the assault upon these, and then returning through pekki; or of leaving them and going back by the main road, the route laid down in their instructions. neither of these plans was satisfactory, for each left half the programme undone. it was suggested that a night attack might be attempted. in that case, not a shot must be fired, and the attack must be made by the bayonet alone. the moon rose early, and it was almost high at eight o'clock. of course, it was extremely risky to venture upon such a plan, with superstitious black troops. the object of assault, however, could be located the next day, and the danger of losing their way would thereby be reduced to a minimum. further, it was decided that no dependence, whatever, be placed on any native guide. finally, it would be eminently undesirable to leave coomassie again in a state of siege. it was clear that only one of the stockades could be carried in this manner, as the other would be placed on its guard. it was therefore decided that the one on the accra-coomassie road was the most suitable; first because it joined the main road to cape coast, and secondly because the capture of the stockade would isolate the remaining one on the ejesu road, which the ashantis would probably abandon, as both the adjacent camps had fallen into our hands. as the result of this decision captain loch was sent out, at twelve o'clock on the following day, to reconnoitre the position. his men, by creeping through the tall grass and clambering among the tall trees, succeeded in reaching a large cotton tree within seventy yards of the enemy's entrenchment. climbing this, they obtained a good view of the enemy's stockade and camp behind it. at that moment a roar of voices was heard, and hostile scouts poured out from the camp. the object of the expedition, however, had been attained; and the soldiers retired rapidly, without casualties. at five in the afternoon the officers assembled at colonel burroughs's quarters. here the details of the work were explained to them. they were to fall in at eight o'clock, and deliver the attack between nine and ten. the maxims were to follow in rear of the infantry, and no other guns were to be taken. only five hundred men were selected to go. captain loch's company were to take the lead, as a reward for the scouting they had done in the morning. major melliss' company was to follow. the companies in the rear were to move to the flanks, when the stockade had been taken, so as to guard against an attack from the other war camp. an early meal was taken, and then the officers sallied out for a last inspection of the company; which was, by this time, assembling outside the fort gate. silently the troops fell into their allotted position. then the word was passed down the line that all was ready. the officers gave their final orders to the men--no smoking, no talking, no noise, no firing, bayonet only. as if nothing unusual was occurring, the bugle from the fort sounded the last post. at the start the pace was for some time good but, after passing prempeh's palace, the road became a tortuous track and, at every yard, the tall grass became thicker and, here and there, a fallen tree lay across the path. the dead silence that prevailed rendered every one nervous. at last they came in sight of the great cotton tree. here all halted, and crouched down. two leading companies formed up and were awaiting orders when, suddenly, two signal guns were fired and, instantly, the line of timbers was lit up by a glare of fire, and a crashing volley of slugs was poured in. lieutenant greer, who was in front of the column, fell, seriously wounded. then, with a shout of rage that almost drowned the order, "charge!" they leapt to their feet and dashed forward. nothing could stop the impetuous charge and, when they reached the stockade, they scaled it and poured headlong over it. in front of them was the war camp, through which ran a road, now crowded with the panic-stricken defenders. as the enemy ran from their huts, they were cut down in numbers with swords and bayonets. the din was tremendous; yells, shouts, and groans rent the air. the path was strewn with corpses. the headlong race continued. three villages had been passed, but there was a fort behind. this also was carried. then there was a halt, on account of the exhaustion caused by the speed with which all had run. there was no fear that the panic-stricken foe would rally; but there was the possibility of a counter attack, by the ashantis from the war camp to the left; for it was not known that the panic had spread to these, also, and that they too had fled in disorder, never to return. the four camps were burnt, one after another; the stockades pulled down; and the force, still half mad with the excitement of the fight, marched back to the fort. the number of casualties was very small. hardly one, indeed, had taken place, except those caused by the first volley of the enemy. in one of the houses they entered, a child was found asleep. it had been left behind, and had not been aroused by the noise. terrified as it awoke, it clung to a white man for protection, and was taken by him to a place of safety. the force reached camp at eleven o'clock, having accomplished their work with a success altogether beyond expectation. at eight o'clock next morning, the column paraded for its march down. all the wounded who were unfit for duty were left in the fort. not long after the start, the scouts sighted another stockade. the troops formed up for the attack; but they found, to their surprise, that it was deserted. both the stockade and the war camp behind were destroyed, without opposition. pressing forward they passed entrenchment after entrenchment, but all were deserted. river after river was forded, breast high, but no enemy was met with; although some of the entrenchments were exceedingly formidable, and could not have been carried without very heavy loss. the scouts captured a young girl, from whom valuable information was obtained. she had been sent out, like many of the other women, to get supplies for the army at ejesu, where the queen mother was. it appeared that the queen had been greatly upset by the night attack, and the capture of all the entrenchments; and had collected all her chiefs to decide what had best be done, now that the siege of coomassie had been raised. then it was understood why the advance had not been opposed. but for this council, we should have found every stockade occupied in force. the expedition pushed on, and arrived at bekwai without having to fire a shot. the garrison there was formed up to receive and cheer them and, what was still more appreciated, a ration of fresh meat and another round of medical comforts were served out. "well, bullen," hallett said, the next morning, "here we are again. i wonder how long we shall get to rest our wearied bodies." "for my part," said lisle, "i sha'n't be sorry when we are afoot again. it has been hard work, and there has been some tough fighting; but anything is better than being stuck in one of these dreary towns. fortunately we have both escaped bullets, and have merely had a slight peppering of slugs and, as we have both been put down in the reports as slightly wounded, on three occasions, we may feel grateful, as it always does a fellow good to be mentioned in the casualty list; and it should help you to attain that position we spoke of, the other day, of commander-in-chief." "i renounce that dream utterly, and aspire to nothing higher than colonel. it must really be an awful bore to be commander-in-chief. fancy having to go down to your office every morning, and go into all sorts of questions, and settle all sorts of business. no, i think that, when i get to be a colonel, my aspirations will be satisfied." "i don't know that i should care even about being a colonel, hallett. long before i get to that rank, i am sure that i should have had quite enough of fighting to last for a lifetime, and would be quite content to settle down in some little place at home." "and marry, of course. a fellow like you would be sure to be able to pick up a wife with money. my thoughts don't incline that way. i look forward to the rag as the conclusion of my career. there you meet fellows you know, lie against each other about past campaigns, eat capital dinners, and have your rub of whist, regularly, of an evening." "but, my dear hallett, think how you would fatten out under such a regime!" "oh, hang the fat, bullen; it would not matter one way or another, when you haven't got to do yourself up in uniform, and make tremendous marches, and so on. i should not want to walk, at all; i should have chambers somewhere close to the club, and could always charter a hansom, when i wanted to go anywhere. besides, fat is eminently respectable, in an elderly man." lisle laughed merrily. "my dear hallett, it is useless to look forward so far into the future. let us content ourselves with the evils of today. in spite of your grumbling, you know that you like the life and, if the bullets do but spare you, i have no doubt that you will be just as energetic a soldier as you have shown yourself in this campaign; although i must admit that you have sometimes taken it out in grumbling." "well, it is very difficult to be energetic in this country. i think i could be enthusiastic, in anything like a decent climate, but this takes all the spirit out of one. "i think i could have struggled over the snow in the tirah, as you did. i can conceive myself wearing the d.s.o. in european war. but how can a man keep his pecker up when he is wet through all day, continually fording rivers, and exposed all the time to a pelting rain and, worse than all, seeing his friends going down one after another with this beastly fever, and feeling sure that his own turn will come next? "i should not mind so much if we always had a dry hut to sleep in, but as often as not we have to sleep on the drenched ground in the open and, consequently, get up in the morning more tired than when we lie down. i have no doubt that, after all this is over, i shall become a cripple from rheumatism, or be laid up with some other disorder." "i don't suppose you will do anything of the sort, hallett. of course this fever is very trying but, although men are being constantly sent down to the coast, the number who die from it is not great. only some six or seven have succumbed. i expect myself that we shall both return to our regiments in the pink of condition, with our medals on our breasts, and proud of the fact that we have gone through one of the most perilous expeditions ever achieved by british troops; and the more wonderful that, except for a handful of english officers and non-commissioned officers, it has been carried through successfully by a purely native army. "i don't think we quite recognize, at present, what a big affair it has been. we have marched through almost impenetrable bush; we have suppressed a rebellion over a great extent of country, admirably adapted for the mode of warfare of our enemies; and we have smashed up an army of well-armed natives, in numbers ranging from six, to ten to one against us." "yes, yes, i know all that; and i don't say that it has not been a well-managed business; and i dare say i shall look back on it with pleasure, some day, when i have forgotten all the miseries we have suffered. besides, though i do grumble, i hope we are not going to stick here long. i could do with a week of eating and drinking--that would be the outside. it is wretched enough tramping through swamps, but i think i should prefer that to a prolonged stay in this hole." "for once i agree with you thoroughly, hallett. it is bad enough to march in west africa, but it is worse to sit still. it is only when you try to do that, that you find how much you are pulled down; and the longer you sit still, the less disposed you are to get up; whereas, on the march, you are so full of the idea that you may be ambushed, at any moment, that you have no time to think of your fatigues." "yes, there is no doubt of that, bullen; so i mean to spend all the time i have to spare here on my back; and sleep, if i can, continuously." "don't flatter yourself that you will be allowed to do that. you may be sure that they will find ample work for lazy hands to do. now it is time to buckle on our swords, and go out and inspect our fellows. i can see that they are mustering already." "i wish those white non-commissioned officers would not be so disgustingly punctual," hallett grumbled. "they are splendid when it comes to fighting, but they never seem to know that there is a time for work and a time for play--or, at any rate, they never let others play." "they are splendid fellows," lisle said. "i really do not know what we should have done without them. there would be no talking of lying down and going to sleep, if they were not there to look after the men." "i don't think it would make any difference to you," hallett said, "for it seems to me that you are always looking after your men." "so are you, hallett. you are just as keen about getting your company into order as i am, only you always try to look bored over it. it is a stupid plan, old man, for i don't think that you get the kudos that you deserve." "my dear bullen, you may argue forever, but if you think that you can transform me into a bustling, hustling fellow like yourself, i can tell you that you are mistaken. i know that i do what i have to do, and perhaps may not do it badly, but i don't go beyond that. "when they say 'do this,' i do it; when they don't say so, i don't do it; and i fancy it comes to about the same thing, in the end." "i suppose it does," lisle laughed, as they issued from their hut. "these poor fellows look as if they wanted a rest more than we do, don't they?" "they look horribly thin," hallett said. "yes, it is well that the blacks have such good spirits, and are always ready to chatter and laugh when the day's work is over--that is, if it has not been an exceptionally hard one. "well, though i don't care about staying long here, myself, i do hope they will give the poor fellows time to get into condition again, before starting. i fear, however, that there is very little chance of that." this, indeed, turned out to be the case. two days later, reinforcements arrived from the coast, to increase the total strength available for punitive expeditions. two strong parties then started, under colonel haverstock and colonel wilkinson. they were to travel by different routes, and to join hands in the neighbourhood of the sacred fetish lake, where large numbers of ashantis and kokofu were reported to have assembled. the hausa companies did not accompany them, the columns being largely composed of the newly-arrived troops--who were, of course, eager to take their share of the fighting. lisle and hallett did a little grumbling, but they really felt that they required a longer period of rest, and they could not help congratulating themselves when the columns returned, ten days after, without having exchanged more than a shot or two with the enemy. they found that the country round the lake was thickly inhabited. many of the villages had been burnt and, in all cases, the sacred trees had been cut down. it was quite clear that the spirit of the enemy was greatly broken, and that the end was approaching. "we must certainly congratulate ourselves upon having a comfortable time of it, here," lisle said, "instead of a ten days' tramp, without any great result. we can manage to keep ourselves dry in this hut, now that our men have covered it thickly with palm leaves; whereas they have had to sleep in the open, pretty nearly every night." "it was good for them," hallett said; "the fellows looked altogether too spick and span, when they marched in. it is just as well that they should get a little experience of the work we have been doing, for months. i saw them, as they marched in, look with astonishment at the state of our men's garments--or rather, i may say, their rags. they would have grown haughty, if they had not had a sample of the work; and their uniforms looked very different, when they came back, from what they were when they marched away. there is nothing like a fortnight's roughing it in the bush to take a man, whether white or black, a peg or two down in his own estimation. "i was amused, the first day they arrived, when i saw their faces at the sight of their rations. it was quite a picture. thank goodness we have had nothing to grumble about, in that way, since we got our box from the coast. chocolate for breakfast, brandy and water at dinner, preserved meat, are quite a different thing from the stuff they manage to give us--two or three ounces of meat, about once a week. those boxes of biscuits, too, have been invaluable. the ration biscuits were for the most part wet through, and there wasn't a wholesome crunch in a dozen of them. we have certainly improved a lot in appearance, during the last fortnight; and i believe that it is due to the feeding, more than the rest." "it is due, no doubt, to both," lisle said; "but certainly the feeding has had a good deal to do with it." "those tins of soup," said hallett, "have been really splendid. i believe i have gained seven or eight pounds in weight, in spite of this sweltering heat." "you have certainly filled out a bit. i was rather thinking of asking you to hand over all the soups to me, so that you should not gain weight so fast." "that would have been a modest request, indeed, bullen!" "it was a case of true friendship," lisle laughed. "i know how you have appreciated your loss of flesh." "you be blowed!" hallett said. "if they would run to half a dozen tins a day, i can tell you i would take them, whatever the consequences." "well, really, i do think, hallett, those few cases have saved us from fever. i felt so utterly washed out, when we arrived here, that i began to think i was in for a bad attack." "same here, bullen. i fought against the feeling because i dreaded that hospital tent and, still more, being carried down country." "yes; we certainly did a clever thing, when we bought up everything we could, that day we were in cape coast. our servants, too, have turned out most satisfactory. poor beggars! though the weather has been so bad, there has scarcely been a night when they have not managed to make a little fire, and boil water either to mix with our tot of rum, or to make a cup of tea." "yes, they have turned out uncommonly well. we must certainly make them a handsome present, when this is all over. it was awfully lucky we brought up a good supply of tea with us, and condensed milk. i am certain that the hot drink, at night, did wonders in the way of keeping off fevers." "that is so, lisle; there is nothing that will keep the wet out, or at least prevent it from doing harm, like a cup of hot tea with the allowance of rum in it. i am sure i don't know what we should have done, without it. that tea and milk were all that we could bring, especially as our carriers were cut down to one man, each." "that was your idea, lisle, and i agree that it has been the saving of us. i was rather in favour of bringing spirits, myself; but i quite admit, now, that it would have been a great mistake. besides, half a dozen pounds of tea does not weigh more than a couple of bottles of spirits; which would have been gone in four or five days, while the tea has held out for months. i never was much of a tea drinker before. it is all very well to take a cup at an afternoon tea fight, but that was about the extent of my indulgence in the beverage. in future i shall become what is called a votary, and shall cut down my spirits to the narrowest limit." "that would be running to the opposite extreme, hallett. too much tea is just as bad as too much spirits." "ah! well, i can breakfast with coffee or cocoa. the next time i go on the march, i shall take two or three pounds of cocoa in my box. many a time i have longed for a cup, when we have started at three o'clock in the morning, and have felt that it would be well worth a guinea a cup. now i shall have the satisfaction of always starting with a good warm drink, which is as good for hunger as thirst. i have often wondered how i could have been fool enough not to bring a supply with me." "yes, it would have been very comforting," lisle agreed; "we shall know better, another time." "i trust that there will never be another time like this for me. i shall be ready to volunteer for service in any part of the world, bar western africa. they say that the troops at the cape are going through a hard time, but i am convinced that it is child's play in comparison with our work here. why, they have hours, and indeed days, sometimes, without rain. just think of that, my dear fellow! just think of it! and when the rain does fall, it soon sinks into the sandy soil and, if they lie down at night, they only get wet on one side, and have waterproof sheets to lie on. just think of that! and yet, they actually consider that they are going through hardships! "they say, too, that the commissariat arrangements are splendid. they get meat rations every day--every day, mind you--and i hear they even get jam. it is enough to fill one with envy. i remember i was always fond of jam, as a boy. i can tell you that, when i get back to civilization, one of my first cries will be for jam. fancy jam spread thickly on new bread! "and men who have all these luxuries think that they are roughing it! certainly human ingratitude is appalling!" lisle laughed. "but you must remember that there are compensations. we get a fight every two or three days, while they have often to tramp two or three hundred miles, without catching sight of an enemy at all." "there is certainly something in that," hallett said. "i must admit that that is a great consolation; and it is satisfactory, too, that when we do fight we are fired at principally with slugs; which we both know from experience are not pleasant customers, but at any rate are a great improvement upon rifle bullets, pom poms, and shells of all sizes. "yes, i don't even grudge them the jam, when i think how awful it must be to be kept, for months, at some miserable little station on the railway, guarding the roads. we get restless here at the end of three or four days, but fancy spending months at it!" "besides, hallett, in such places they get their rations regularly, and have nothing to do but to eat and get fat. if you were living under such conditions, you would be something awful at the end of six months of it." "there is a great deal in that," hallett said, thoughtfully. "yes; i don't know that, after all, the gains and advantages are not with us; and indeed, if we had our time to go over again, we could make ourselves fairly comfortable. "in the first place, i should purchase a large ground sheet, which i might use as a tent. i would have a smaller one to lie upon, and the biggest mackintosh that money could buy. then, as you say, with a good supply of tea and chocolate, i could make myself extremely happy. "i cannot think why the authorities did not point out the necessity for these things, before we started. they must have known it was going to rain like old boots, all the time. i don't mean, of course, the authorities at cape coast, because i don't suppose any of these things could have been picked up there; but we should have been told, when we got our orders, that such things were essential. really, the stupidity and thoughtlessness of the war office are beyond belief." "i should advise you to draw up a memorial to them, pointing out their want of thought and care; and suggesting that, in every room, there should be a printed reminder that mackintoshes and ground sheets are essential, in a campaign in western africa in the wet season." "yes, and cocoa and tea," hallett said, with a laugh. "i should like to hear the remarks of the war office, when my communication was read. it would flutter the dove cot, and the very next steamer would bring out an intimation that lieutenant john hallett's services were no longer required." "no doubt that would be the case, hallett; but think what an inestimable service you would have done, in campaigning out here!" "that is all very well, bullen, but i should recommend you to try your eloquence upon someone else. perhaps you might find someone of a more self-sacrificing nature who would take the matter in hand." "perhaps i might, but i rather fancy that i should not. the only man who could do it is willcocks. after the victories he has won, even the war office could hardly have the face to retire him from the service for making such a suggestion. besides, the public would never stand it; and he is just the sort of fellow to carry out the idea, if he took to it." "i agree with you, bullen, as in the end i almost always do, and should suggest most strongly that you lay the matter before him. no doubt, if he applied, the war office would send out a hundred waterproofs and two hundred ground sheets, for the use of the officers, by the next ship sailing from england." "i might do it," lisle laughed, "if it were not that the rainy season will be at an end before the things arrive here." "that is a very good excuse, bullen; but i hope that, at any rate, you will carry out your idea before the next wet season begins--that is, if we are kept on here, as a punishment for our sins." at this moment one of the non-commissioned officers came in with a letter, and hallett opened it. "oh dear," he said, in a tone of deepest disgust, "we are off again!" "thank goodness!" lisle said. "you know we were just agreeing that we have had enough of this place." "i often say foolish things," hallett said, "and must not be taken too literally. here is an end to our meat rations, and to all our other little luxuries. besides, i have been getting my tunic washed, and it will certainly take three or four days to dry in this steaming atmosphere." "well, my dear fellow, you can put it on wet, for it is certain to be wet before we have gone a quarter of an hour. my tunic has gone, too, but at any rate they will both look more respectable for the washing. "well, i suppose we had better go across to headquarters and find out what the route is, and who are going." as they went out, they saw the return of the central african regiment. they had been more fortunate than the other regiments, having captured and razed djarchi. they had taken the enemy by surprise, and run them right through the town, with only a single casualty. they had ascertained that the enemy had been commanded by the brother of the ashanti commander-in-chief, and that he had been killed in the fight. a very large amount of spoil had been captured, the first haul of any importance that had been made during the campaign. among the loot were the king of the kokofu's iron boxes, containing much official correspondence; union jacks, elephant tails, and other symbols of royalty, together with gold ornaments, gold dust, and two hundred pounds of english money; numbers of brass-nailed, vellum-backed chairs, part of the ashanti chief's regalia; robes, guns, ammunition, drums, and horns, and also sheep and poultry. a company was at once despatched to the sacred lake, to join major cramer's levies, which had been told off to act as locusts and eat up the country. colonel wilson was ordered to go to accra, to reorganize and recruit the remnant of the gold coast force; so that, when the campaign was over, they could again take over the military control of the colony. it was also decided that bekwai could no longer be occupied, and that all the stores there should be removed to esumeja, as the whole main road up to coomassie would shortly be open. at last all was in readiness for the general and final advance. all the adansi country to the south, and kokofu to the east had been conquered, and the roads cleared. the next step was to clear northern ashanti; neglecting altogether, for the present, the parties of the enemy between the southern boundaries of ashanti territory and their capital. it was therefore decided to move the whole of the headquarters staff and the advance base to coomassie, esumeja being selected as the point, between it and kwisa, to be held in force. the general plan was to send up all the stores, carriers, and troops via pekki, as had been done on both previous occasions. this would reduce the chance of attack and loss to a minimum while, simultaneously, a fighting column with the smallest possible transport would follow the road through kokofu and take ejesu, which was the residence of the queen mother, and the headquarters of the remnant of the ashanti army. the general opinion was that it would be the last fight of the year. colonel brake, who was the last arrival, having had no chance of a fight hitherto, was selected for the command. the whole force was to advance, and five thousand carriers were required to effect the movement. there was general joy when it was known that bekwai was to be evacuated. it was a dull, dirty place, surrounded by dense, dark forests, and was in a terribly insanitary state. europeans were rapidly losing their strength, and an epidemic of smallpox was raging among the natives, of whom a dozen or more died daily. on the th of august colonel burroughs left bekwai, with seven hundred and fifty men, and three thousand carriers taking ammunition and baggage. the column was fully two miles long. they had an extremely heavy march, and did not arrive at their destination till night. the carriers returned to bekwai the next day, so as to be ready to march out at daylight, on the th, with the second column. the troops at pekki being in enforced idleness, half of them marched out to attack the enemy's war camp, which had for so long threatened pekki. the place was found to be evacuated, and it and the bush camps on the way were all burnt. the second column had now well started. the downfall of rain continued without intermission, and the roads became worse than ever. the day after the first column left pekki, colonel brake started with eight hundred men and two guns. the news came in that the king of akim had been asked, by a number of the kokofu, to intercede on their behalf for peace; and a messenger with a flag of truce came in from the djarchi district. the appearance of the messenger was singular. he was completely clad in white, even his skin being painted that colour, and he carried an enormous white flag. he was well received, but was sent back with a message that the chiefs must come in themselves. on the th colonel willcocks arrived and, the next day, the whole force started in fighting formation for coomassie, where they arrived after twelve hours' march. the distance was only twelve miles, so the condition of the roads may be well imagined by the time the column took to traverse them. chapter : lost in the forest. on the way up, lisle met with a very unpleasant adventure. he and hallett had been sent out, with a small party of men, to enter the bush and drive out any of the enemy who might be lurking, for the purpose of attacking the carriers and rear guard. they went some distance into the bush but, though they came upon tracks that had recently been cut, they saw none of the enemy. some men were planted on each of these paths; and the two officers, who had followed one a little distance farther into the bush, were on the point of turning, when they heard men cutting their way through the undergrowth behind them. "hide, hallett!" lisle exclaimed, "they must be enemies." illustration: they saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road. as noiselessly as they could they took refuge in the thick bush and, a minute later, saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road that they had just passed along. there were several hundred of them. some thirty or forty halted on the path. the others continued to cut a track through and, in five minutes, a scattered fire was opened, showing that they had come in contact with the troops. the fire was kept up for some time, and then died away; whether because the troops had retired, or because the natives had turned off and taken some other line, they could not be sure. later they heard very heavy firing abreast of them, and guessed that the ashantis had followed some other path, and come down on the convoy. peering through the bushes, from time to time, they found that those who had halted on the path were still there, probably in waiting for some chief or other who was to take command of them. "we are in a nice mess, bullen," said hallett. "by the sound the convoy is still moving on, so how we are to rejoin them, i don't know." "yes, we are certainly in a hole and, if these fellows stop here till night, i see no chance of our being able to move. the slightest rustle in the bushes would bring them down upon us, in no time. the firing is getting more and more distant every moment and, no doubt, a big body of the enemy have engaged our fellows. "i have been in a good many tight places, but i think this is the worst of them. our only course, so far as i can see, is to wait till nightfall; and then, if these fellows still stick here, get into the path again, and follow it up till we come to some path going the other way. then it will be a pure question of luck whether we hit upon the enemy, or not. if we do, of course we must fight till the last, keeping the last shot in our revolvers for ourselves. i have no intention of falling into their hands alive, and going through terrible tortures before i am put to death." "that really seems to be the only thing to be done, bullen. however, we must hope for the best." when night fell, a fire was lit by the party on the path. "the beggars evidently mean to stay here," lisle said, "and even if they moved away we should be no better off for, as the column will be ten miles away by now, we should really have no chance of regaining it." when night fell they crept out of the bush, taking the greatest care not to make any noise, for the natives were but thirty yards away. they crawled along for forty or fifty yards and then, a turn in the path hiding them from sight, they rose to their feet and pushed on. they found, however, that it was no easy matter to make headway. it was pitch dark, owing to the canopy of leaves, and they had to feel their way at every step. the path, moreover, was constantly turning and twisting. after travelling for upwards of two hours, they came to a point where two paths met and, without knowing, they took the one that led off to the left. this they followed for some hours, and then lay down to rest. they awoke at daybreak. "i wonder where we have got to," hallett said. "i am afraid somehow we have gone wrong," lisle exclaimed, after looking round, "and the light seems to be coming from the wrong quarter, altogether. we must have turned off from the main path without knowing it, and tramped a long distance in the wrong direction." "i believe you are right, bullen. what on earth are we to do now? retrace our steps, or push on and chance it?" "we have the choice of two evils, hallett, but i think it would be better to go on than to turn back. in the first place, however, we must search for something to eat. we crossed several little streams on our way, so i don't think we are likely to be hard up for water; but food we must have. the natives are always able to find food in the forest and, if we cannot do that, we may come upon some deserted village, and get some bananas. we might even steal some, at night, from a village that is not deserted. at any rate, it is useless to stay here." they set out at once, moving cautiously, and stopping frequently to listen for the soft trail of naked feet. they came at last to the spot where they had left the other track. here they held another council, and decided that there was too much risk in turning on to the main path again; as that was sure to be occupied by the enemy, who would be burying their dead, or examining any loot that they had captured from the carriers. after proceeding two or three miles, they came upon another path on the right. "this path," said lisle, "will take us in the proper direction." "i doubt if we shall ever get there," hallett said. "i am feeling as hungry as a rat, already; and we have seen nothing to put between our lips since we started out, yesterday morning." "it is a little rough," lisle said cheerfully, "but we must hit upon a village, presently." "i should not mind, if the path went on straight," hallett said, "but it zigzags so much that we can never feel certain that we are going in the right direction." "well, you see," said lisle, "we have passed two tracks to the left, since we struck into this road. i cannot help thinking that these must lead to villages, and that the one we are following is a sort of connecting link between them. i vote that we stop at the next one we come to." "all right, old man! it seems to me that it will make no great difference which way we go. indeed, so far as i can make out, by the glimpses we get of the sun, the path has turned a great deal, and is now going right back to that from which it started." "i am afraid you are right, hallett. however, there is one thing certain. the ashantis don't cut paths through their forests without some reason, and i should not be surprised if we come to some large village, not far ahead." after walking for another half hour, they found the bush getting thinner, and they could soon see light ahead. they went very cautiously now and, at last, stood at the end of a large clearing, in which stood an ashanti village. "thank god there is something to eat ahead!" said hallett. "there are lots of bananas growing round the village and, when it gets dark, we will get two big bunches. that should last us some time." utterly exhausted, they both lay down just inside the bush. many villagers were moving about and, twice, native runners came in. the afternoon passed very slowly; but at length the sun set, and darkness fell quickly. they waited a couple of hours, to allow the village to get comparatively quiet; then they crept forward, and cut two great bunches of bananas from the first tree they came to and, returning to the forest, sat down and ate a hearty meal. "i feel very much better," hallett said, when he had finished. "now, let us talk over what we had better do next." "i should say we had better keep along by the edge of the bush, and see if we can strike some other path. it would be useless to go back by this one, as it would simply take us to the place we started from." hallett readily agreed to this suggestion, and the two officers started and gradually worked round the village. presently they struck another path. turning up this they again pushed forward, each carrying his bunch of bananas. after walking two hours, they lay down. the darkness was so dense that their rate of progress was extremely slow. in the morning they went on again but, after walking for some hours, they came suddenly upon four of the enemy. as soon as these saw them, they rushed on them with a yell, firing their guns as they did so. both were struck with slugs; and lisle was knocked down, but quickly jumped to his feet again, revolver in hand. the ashantis charged with their spears, but the revolver bullets were too much for them and, one by one, they dropped, the last man being shot just as he reached them. two were only wounded, but lisle shot them both. "it would never do," he said, "for any of them to get to a village, and bring all its occupants upon us. we are neither of us fit to do much running, and the beggars would be sure to overtake us." "it is horrid," hallett said, "though i admit that it is necessary." for four days they wandered on. the path never seemed to run straight. though they found a plentiful supply of bananas, their strength was gradually failing. on the fourth day they came upon a sheet, doubtless a portion of some officer's baggage that had been looted. hallett, who was walking fast, passed it contemptuously. lisle, however, picked it up and wound it round his body. "we can lay it over us, hallett, at night. it will at least help to keep the damp off us." "we sha'n't want it long," hallett said; "i think the game is almost up." "not a bit of it," lisle said, cheerfully. "in spite of the turns and twistings we have made, i think we cannot be far from coomassie, now. i thought i heard the sound of guns this morning, and it could have been from nowhere else." late that afternoon they came suddenly upon a great war camp and, at once, sat down in the bushes. "what is to be done now?" hallett said. "we cannot go back again. we are neither of us fit to walk a couple of miles." lisle sat for some minutes without answering him, and then said suddenly: "i have an idea. i will cut down a sapling, seven or eight feet long; and fasten the sheet to it, so as to make a flag of truce. then we will walk boldly into the village, and summon it to surrender. it is a bold stroke, but it may succeed. we know that most of them are getting tired of the war. we can give out that we have lost our way in the bush and, if the fellows take it kindly, well and good; but if not, we shall have our revolvers, and shall, of course, use them on ourselves." "i am game to carry it out, bullen. your idea is a splendid one. anyhow, it is our last chance. i really don't think i could go a mile farther. we know enough of their language to make ourselves understood." "yes. what with our servants, the hausas, and the carriers, we have both picked up a good deal of the language." with renewed spirits they cut down a sapling, stripped it of all its leaves and branches and, fastening the sheet to it, walked straight down towards the camp. there was an immediate stir in the camp. many of the ashantis ran for their arms but, when they saw that the two officers were alone, they calmed down. presently two chiefs advanced, followed by some twenty warriors. "now, bullen, muster up your knowledge of the language, and address them. lay it on pretty thick." "chiefs," lisle said, "we are come to you from the governor of coomassie. he says that it must be clear to you, now, that you cannot stand against the white man; and that you will only bring ruin upon yourselves, and your country, by further resistance. they have therefore sent us to say that, if you will surrender, a small fine only shall be imposed upon you; and that your soldiers may retire to their villages, after having laid down their arms. while you are talking about this, we shall be glad if you will give us some provisions; for we have lost our way in the bush, coming here, and need food." "if you follow me into the village," one of the chiefs said, "provisions shall be served to you, while we talk over what you say. we shall be glad of peace; for we see that, however strongly we make our stockades, your soldiers always take them. our men are beginning to long to return to their people, for they have fought many times, and already have begun to complain. do you guarantee our safety, if we return with you to your fort?" "i can promise that," lisle said. "we respect brave men, and are anxious that there should be an end to this fighting. when it is over, you will again live under the protection of our government, and the past will be forgotten. you attacked us without reason, and have suffered heavily for it. this is the third time that we have had to come up, and we hope that it will never be necessary to do so, again. we recognize each other's valour; we have each made sacrifices; and we hope that, when this war is over, we shall live together in peace. had we only been armed as you are, the fortunes of war might have gone differently; but we have rifles and guns, and these must always give us victory, in the long run." "we will talk it over," the chief said. "while we do so, you shall have food." so saying, he turned and led the way to a house in the village, where food and native spirit were set before them. "your dodge has succeeded admirably," hallett said, as they were waiting for the meal. "i think they will surrender." "i hope they will," lisle said; "but at any rate, i think they will treat us as coming in under a flag of truce; and will perhaps send an escort with us back to the camp. however, they are preparing a meal for us and, if the worst comes to the worst, it is much better to die full than fasting." in a quarter of an hour two women entered; one carrying a bowl with four chickens, and a quantity of rice; the other a large jug of water, and a smaller one of native spirit. not a word was spoken, while the meal was being eaten. at the end, nothing but bones remained of the four chickens. "thank god for a good dinner!" hallett said, after the meal was over. "i feel, at present, at peace with all men; and i can safely recommend the chiefs, when they arrive at coomassie, as being first-rate fellows; while i am sure that the chief will be greatly pleased that we have secured the submission of their tribe. it will be a big feather in our caps. when i came in here, i thought i could not go another mile to save my life; now i feel perfectly game for a seven or eight mile march to coomassie." at this moment, they noticed that there was a great hubbub in the camp. half an hour later, the chiefs entered. "we accept the terms you bring," one of them said, "and will go with you on condition that, if the terms are not as you say, we shall be allowed to return here, unmolested." "that i can promise you," lisle said. "we have not come here without reason, and the terms we offer are those that you can accept without dishonour. i can assure you of as good treatment as you have given us; and permission to leave the fort, and return to your people, if you are dissatisfied with the terms." a quarter of an hour later the party--consisting of the two chiefs, ten armed followers, and the two officers--set out. the camp was, they learned, about six miles from coomassie. after a march of three hours, they emerged from the forest into the cleared space round the fort. when they reached the outlying sentries they were challenged, but a word from lisle sufficed to pass them on. as they approached the fort a number of soldiers gathered round them and, when they neared the entrance, colonel willcocks himself came out. "you remain here with the chiefs, bullen. i will go on, and explain matters to the chief." lisle nodded, and hallett hurried forward, while the others halted. "why, mr. hallett," colonel willcocks said, "we had given you up for dead; you and mr. bullen, whom i see over there. whatever have you been doing now?" hallett gave a brief account of their adventure. "you will probably be annoyed at us for acting as your messengers but, as we have induced the two leaders of the large war camp to come in, i trust that we shall be forgiven. we have promised them permission for their force to return, unmolested, to their villages; and i may say, from the formidable stockades they have made there, this result could not have been achieved, otherwise, without very heavy loss. "i wish to say that the idea was entirely bullen's. it seemed to be the only chance of getting through; for we were both utterly exhausted, when we reached the village." "i think you have done extremely well, hallett. i was about to send a force to capture that camp; and i am glad, indeed, of being relieved of the necessity of doing so. it means, perhaps, the saving of a couple of hundred lives. besides, we should probably not have caught quarter of them; and the rest would have taken to the bush, and continued to give us trouble. "tell me exactly what the terms are, upon which they are willing to surrender." "simply the lives and freedom of the chiefs; and permission to their men to retire, unmolested, to their villages." "those are exactly the terms i have offered to some of their chiefs, who had sent in to ask for terms. now, i will speak to them myself." he accordingly walked forward, with hallett, to where the chiefs were standing. "i am glad, indeed, chiefs," he said, "that you have decided to take no further part in the war. you will stay here with us, until i hear that your camp is broken up; and you will then be at liberty to return to your own grounds. i thank you for receiving my messengers so kindly; as a reward for which i shall, when you leave, present you each with five hundred dollars. henceforth, i trust that you will always remain on good terms with us, do all you can to aid us by sending in carriers, and will accept our rule frankly and truly. "now, i will ask you to come into the fort; where you will be treated as guests, until i hear of the dispersal of your camps." the chiefs were much gratified by their reception; and sent off the escort, at once, to order the camp to be abandoned and burnt, and the stockades to be pulled down. then they followed colonel willcocks into the fort, where a room was assigned to them, and everything done for their comfort. as soon as the governor had retired with them, the other officers flocked down round hallett and lisle, to learn their adventures. both were warmly congratulated upon their safe return; and lisle came in for a large share of their congratulations when, in spite of his protestations, hallett insisted on giving him the largest share of credit for the manner in which he had suggested the scheme, and had unquestionably been the means of saving their lives. "hallett had everything to do with it, except that," he said; "and that was only an accidental idea. we mutually helped each other, during those long days of tramping; and it was most fortunate for me that he was with me for, had i been alone, i don't think i should have had the strength of mind or body to hold on, when the prospect seemed altogether hopeless." as they went down to the lines of their company, they were surrounded by the delighted blacks; who continued to cheer so heartily that it was some time before they could get an opportunity to tell what had taken place. cheers again broke out, when the stories were finished. the men insisted on shaking their hands, and then started a war dance to show their satisfaction. then both retired to a shelter erected for them and, lying down, slept for some hours. when they awoke they ate a hearty meal; after which they agreed that, in a day or two, they would be fit for duty again. "i shall mention your conduct in my despatches," the colonel said, next day. "you have not only saved your own lives; but have rendered very important service, in inducing those two chiefs and their followers to submit. from the information that we have been able to get, their camp was very strongly fortified, and could only have been taken after hard fighting; and even then, as has happened on all previous occasions, the main body would have escaped, rallied again a short distance away, and given us all the trouble of dispersing them, once more. as it is, i have no doubt that the influence of their chiefs will keep them quiet and, indeed, scattered as they will be among their villages, it will be difficult to persuade them to take up arms again. "on second thoughts, i allowed them to leave this morning, with a column that was starting to collect the arms of the garrison. they seemed quite in earnest; and will, i have no doubt, succeed in inducing their men to part with their arms, without a squabble." the detachment, indeed, returned in the evening. the success of their mission had been complete; and the natives had handed over their arms, and started off with their chiefs into the forests, after burning the camp and razing the stockades. they all seemed highly pleased that they should not be called upon for more fighting, and had individually taken an oath that they would never again fight the white men. several other flags of truce came in, and many chiefs surrendered. the queen mother, the most important of the leaders, tendered her submission. colonel willcocks gave her four days in which to prove the truth of her submission by coming in, in person. shortly, however, before the truce expired, she sent in an impudent message that she would fight till the end. some of the chiefs who had been foremost in their opposition, and who had personally taken part in the torture and death of those who fell into their hands, were tried by court martial; and either shot or hanged, it being necessary to prove to the natives that even their greatest chiefs were not spared, and that certain punishment would be dealt out to those who had taken part in the murder of soldiers, or carriers, who had fallen into their hands. the greatest tragedy of this campaign became known, on the th of september, through a letter from a native clerk who was with the akim levies, which were commanded by captains willcox and benson. these levies had worked up on our right flank, as we advanced from the south, in the same way as the denkeras had done on the west. they were as cowardly, and as terrified of the ashantis, as all the other neighbouring races. in fact, the only work they were fit for was living in deserted villages, or cutting crops and eating up the produce. three thousand of these levies were ordered to cooperate with colonel brake's column. they were met by the ashantis, and bolted as soon as the latter opened fire; and captain benson, deserted by his cowardly followers, fell. in a letter he had sent home, a few days before his death, he expressed in the strongest terms his opinion of the men under his command, saying: "if it comes to a real show, after all, heaven help us! three-quarters of my protective army are arrant cowards, all undisciplined, and quite impossible to hold." the native levies cannot be compared with the disciplined troops. they were simply a motley mob, armed with stray guns, arms, and powder, and their pay is what they can loot; whereas the african private's drill and duties are identical with those of the british private. his orders are given to him in english, and his knowledge of our language is probably superior to that of most indian or egyptian soldiers; while the british soldiers in west africa are rarely able to understand the language of their men. a column had started, at once, to captain willcox's assistance. they returned, however, in ten days, having been unable to come up to him, as he had retired fifty miles farther to the east. they had no fighting, the enemy having gone north; but they ascertained that all the country immediately to the south was free from rebels and desirous of peace. the spot where captain benson's action had been fought was strewn with dead bodies, baggage, and rifles; evidence of the disordered flight. it seemed that the levies bolted, as soon as they were fired on. then, with a few trained volunteers, the white men hastily entrenched themselves; and held out till late in the afternoon when, their ammunition having run short, they were compelled to retire, which they did fighting. it was during the retreat that captain benson was shot. another column came in on the following day, after five days' reconnaissance. it had gone by the same road by which the governor had broken out, on the rd of june. the road was entirely deserted, the villages destroyed, and the crops burnt. they made no attempt to search the bush but, on the path, they found ninety-eight headless skeletons; a painful testimony of the number of soldiers and carriers who had died of privation, and hardship, during the retreat. information now came in that, to the north, the most reckless of the ashantis had again concentrated, and were determined to make another stand. on the th there was a big review of the seventeen hundred troops and the nine guns of the garrison. the heavy guns were exercised on a stockade, similar to those of the enemy. hitherto they had not been altogether successful; as it was found that, owing to the large bursting charge, the range had to be estimated at double its real distance. six shots smashed a barricade which was six feet high by six feet thick. friendly chiefs, who were invited to witness the experiment, were profoundly impressed; and there can be no doubt that the feat was reported to the enemy in the field, for they raised no stockade in the future, and reverted to their old plan of bush fighting. the heavy and continuous rains were now rapidly bringing on sickness, and the officers were attacked in forms that were quite novel to them. "i don't know what is the matter with me," lisle said, one morning, "but i am swollen all round the neck. i once had mumps, when i was a little boy and, if it were not so ridiculous, i should declare that i had got them again." hallett burst into a fit of laughter. "i expect you are going to have all your old illnesses again--scarlet fever, measles, whooping cough, and the rest. we must see that the hut is fitted up for you, with something as much like a bed as possible, and a fire for making a posset, or whatever they give you." "it is all very well for you to laugh, hallett, but look at my neck." "well, it is swollen," hallett agreed; "and i expect that you have caught a cold, when we were wandering about in the bush. seriously, i should advise you to put a piece of warm flannel round your neck, or else go across and consult the doctor." "i think i will do so, hallett. it hurts a good deal, i can tell you and, as you see, i can hardly drink my tea." after breakfast was over, he went to the tent of the principal doctor. "i have come, sir," he said, "to ask you about my neck." "you don't say so, bullen! why, yours is the third case i have seen this morning! let me look at it. "yes, the symptoms are just the same as in the others. if this were england, i should say that an epidemic of mumps has broken out; but of course it cannot be that. "well, i have sent the other two into hospital, and you had better go there, too. is it painful?" "it is rather painful, and i can hardly swallow at all." "well, when i come across to the hospital, i will put you in with the others. i certainly cannot make out what it is, nor why it came on so suddenly. the only thing i can put it down to is the constant rains that we have been having, though i really don't see why wet weather should have that effect. i should advise you to keep on hot poultices." in the evening another patient came in, and lisle burst out laughing, when he saw that it was hallett. "oh, you have come to the nursery, have you? i hope you have made up your mind to go through scarlet fever, or measles, hallett?" "don't chaff. it is no laughing matter." "no? i thought you took it quite in that light, this morning. well, you see we have all got poultices on; and the orderly will make one for you, at once. my face is bigger than it was this morning, and what it is going to come to, i cannot imagine. although the doctor said, frankly, that he did not understand it; he seemed to think that there was nothing very serious about it." the next day the swelling had abated and, two days later, both of them were discharged from the hospital; to their great delight, for they heard that a column was just going to start, and that their companies were included in it. on the following day the column started. it was nearly a thousand strong, with guns, and rations for twenty-eight days. this force was to penetrate into the northwestern country. the enemy here had sent an impudent message that they would not surrender; and that, if they were attacked, they intended to revert to their former tactics, and direct all their efforts to shooting down the officers and, when these were disposed of, they would have little difficulty in dealing with the native troops. on the second day, when twenty-five miles from coomassie, the enemy were met with in force; and it was found that the message they had sent was true, for there was no stockade, and the enemy resorted entirely to sniping. they were commanded by kofia, one of the most turbulent and determined of their chiefs. the attack did not come as a surprise for, the day before, a number of ashantis had been found in a village which was rushed. the active allies now searched the woods thoroughly, and succeeded in ascertaining the spot where the enemy had their war camp. they had been careful that the ashantis had no notion of our approach, and a number of them were shot down by the maxims and rifles. the enemy, who held a strong position on the hilltop, rushed down and attacked our front and flank. their number was estimated at four thousand. three companies on each side entered the bush, and soon succeeded in pressing the enemy into a path; where they were fiercely charged by the west african field force, under major melliss. that officer was wounded; and captain stevenson, who was close to him, was shot in the chest. for a moment the soldiers wavered but, almost immediately, dashed on again to avenge the loss of their officers. the charge was very effective. those of the enemy who gradually assembled were bayoneted, and the rest fled. captain stevenson's death was greatly regretted. he and captain wright, of another company, had asked for leave to accompany the force. as the one had no better claim than the other, colonel willcocks suggested that they should toss for it. they did so, and captain stevenson won; but what he deemed his good fortune cost him his life. after the fight was over, there was a short pause to reorganize the force; and an advance was made to a village, three miles ahead, the intention being to attack the next morning. that evening, however, a flag came in, with an offer to surrender. word was sent back that the offer would be accepted, if made unconditionally; and at seven o'clock in the evening a chief, a large number of men, four hundred guns, and some sheep arrived. they said that kofia was holding a village, farther on; and would again give fight there. the force returned with them to coomassie. the next day, some scouts brought in the news that the enemy had again concentrated, and their numbers had been raised to four thousand by their junction with another fighting tribe. kofia was in command, and a big war camp had been established some twelve miles away on the berekum road. berekum itself, which was a hundred and forty miles to the north, was reported to be invested, and had asked for help but, as so large an ashanti force was near at hand, no men could be spared for the purpose. a column twelve hundred strong, with five guns, and every available man in the garrison who could carry a gun, moved out early on the th, to give battle. it was followed by a supply column, and the bulk of the carriers. nine miles were accomplished without any opposition. then a small adansi outpost retired on their approach. the commandant decided to halt, for the night, at a deserted village. it was a miserable place. the huts had all been burnt by the rebels; so that the troops had to sleep in the open, in a steady downpour of rain. the europeans tried to get rest in some hastily-constructed shelters, but a perfect tornado of wind was blowing, and swept the ground on which they were built. next day the troops marched, in their drenched clothes, through a heavy rain. between seven and eight, however, this ceased and, almost at the same moment, a tremendous fire burst out upon them. the advance guard and support at once became engaged, but the enemy clung with such determination to their position, and contested every foot of the ground so stoutly, that two companies of reinforcements had to be called up. two companies were sent out into the bush, and eventually succeeded in getting partly behind the enemy, and forcing them to retreat. more troops were sent out on the left; and a company was instructed to move through the bush, on an extended line. in this way the enemy were driven out of the jungle, and forced to retire slowly up the hill. then the main column started, led by major melliss and headed by the sikhs. the enemy, however, did not fly; and major melliss dashed into the thick of them, with the few men he could collect. an ashanti fired at him, at close quarters; but a native soldier ran the man through. as they struggled on the ground, another ashanti fired at major melliss, hitting him in the foot. he was practically unarmed, as he could use neither his sword nor his revolver; and would have been killed, had not another officer come up and shot the wounded ashanti. as the head of the column reached the spot, a heavy fire was directed upon the enemy, who were soon in headlong flight. the village in the rear of the position was taken, at the point of the bayonet. one hundred and fifty of their dead were found, lying on the battlefield; and it was learned, from prisoners, that over five hundred had been wounded. the defeat was a crushing one. several of their most determined chiefs were found among the dead. so hopelessly demoralized were the enemy that they never rallied again. the victory had been achieved with very small loss, owing to the excellence of colonel willcocks' force. the casualties consisted only of two officers severely, and two slightly wounded; and twenty-six rank and file killed and wounded. when the wounded had been dressed, and the scattered units collected, an advance was made to the next village; where the wearied troops slept, as it was still doubtful whether the rebels might not rally. major cobbe was sent on, next morning, with eight hundred men. he was to go as far as he could, but to return the next evening. the march was a very trying one, the weather terrible. after going four miles they reached the bank of an unfordable river, some forty yards wide. the pioneers, although they had no technical equipment, succeeded in making a rough bridge by the afternoon; and major cobbe decided to push on to kofia. at ten o'clock they reached this place and, to the general relief, it was found to be deserted. the troops, therefore, marched in and turned into the huts, amid a howling tornado. the return journey, next day, was even worse. the tracks, in many parts, were now covered with between two and three feet of water. the bridge, though submerged, had fortunately not been carried away; and the troops were able to cross, and march into camp the same evening, having carried out their orders without encountering the smallest opposition. chapter : at home. it was now found necessary to give the worn-out troops a long rest. they had been on constant service, for months; the stream of invalids that had been sent down to the coast daily increased, and the sick list had already reached an appalling length. the want of fresh rations was very much felt, and any large combination of troops not only caused great discomfort, but engendered various diseases, smallpox among them. in addition to this, as the black soldiers always go barefooted, their feet had got into a deplorable state. the halt, however, had a good effect; and there was general satisfaction that it was unlikely that they would be called upon to make further efforts, as no news came of fresh gatherings of the enemy. colonel willcocks now saw that the time was come to issue a proclamation promising, henceforward, to spare the lives of all rebels that surrendered. this was done, with the result that large numbers of the enemy came in. almost all of them declared that they would have surrendered, long ago, had they not feared to do so. on october th, the commandant and british resident held a state levee. it was attended by all the friendly and submitted kings. these vied with each other in their pomp; they were dressed in gorgeous robes and carried their state umbrellas, while their attendants danced round them, beating drums and blowing horns. after the palaver was over, target practice took place, with the guns. canvas dummies were riddled with bullets by the maxims; and stockades, specially constructed for the purpose, were demolished by the big guns. the natives retired, greatly impressed. two days later, colonel willcocks got up a rifle meeting for a cup; and he himself took his place among the competitors. five days later, news came that a fresh force of the enemy had gathered. two columns were sent out--one of seven hundred and the other of five hundred men--but, though they traversed a wide stretch of country, they had no fighting. they received, however, the submission of a number of chiefs and villages. the new commander of the ashanti force was captured, tried, and hanged. the queen also was caught and, on the th of april, a telegram was sent home with the words: "the campaign is at an end." there can be no doubt that this expedition will lead to great results. the natives of ashanti and the surrounding tribes have received a lesson that will not be forgotten for a great number of years and, long before that time, it may be hoped that civilization will have made such strides there that there will be no more chance of trouble. they have been taught that they are absolutely unable to stand against the white man; that neither distance, the thickness of their forests, stockades, nor weather can check the progress of british troops; and that resistance can only draw down upon them terrible loss, and the destruction of their villages and crops. they had received no such lessons in the previous expeditions. that of governor sir charles m'carthy had been entirely defeated, and the governor himself killed. another expedition, in , met with a total failure. sir garnet wolseley, in , marched to coomassie but, though he burnt the place, he had at once to fall back to the coast. in sir francis scott led an expedition which, for some reason or other, met with no resistance. now ashanti had been swept from end to end, and fire and sword had destroyed the major part of the villages. garrisons were to be left, at coomassie, strong enough to put down any local risings; and the natives had been taught that, small as our army might be in their country, it could at any time be largely augmented, at very short notice. most of all, they had learned that, even without the assistance of white soldiers, the native troops--whom they had hitherto despised--were their superiors in every respect. the completion of the railway to coomassie has enabled troops to be sent up from the coast, in a few hours, to the heart of the country; and the numerous companies formed to work the gold mines will, in themselves, prove a great check to trouble as, no doubt, the miners will, in future, be well armed. colonel willcocks left the headquarters staff a few days after the despatch of his telegram. he rode through a two-mile avenue of troops and friendly natives and, on arriving at cape coast, had a magnificent reception. major c. burroughs remained in command of coomassie, with a strong garrison. a few days later, the rest of the force moved down to the coast. lisle and hallett were carried down in hammocks, for both were completely worn out by the hardships of the campaign and, as there was no limit to the numbers of carriers that could be obtained, they gladly acquiesced in the decision of the medical officer that they ought to be carried. both, indeed, had the seeds of fever in their system and, when they arrived at cape coast, were laid up with a sharp attack. as a result they were, like the great portion of the officers who had gone through the campaign, invalided home. a day after his arrival in london, lisle was visited by his friend colonel houghton, at whose house he had spent most of his leave when he was last in england. "i saw your name in the paper, yesterday, as among the returned invalids; and thought that i should find you in the hotel where you stayed before." "i wrote yesterday afternoon to you, sir." "ah! of course, i have not got that letter. and now, how are you?" "i am a little shaky, sir, but the voyage has done wonders for me. i have no doubt that i shall soon be myself, again." "you have not seen the last gazette, i suppose?" "no, sir." "well, there was a list of promotions, and i am happy to say that you have got the d.s.o. for your services. i dare say you know that you succeeded to your company, just six months ago?" "no, i did not know that. i knew that i stood high among the lieutenants, and expected to get it before long; but i am proud, indeed, of the d.s.o." "to have won the v.c. and the d.s.o. is to attain the two greatest distinctions a soldier can wear. "now, you had better come down with me to my place in the country; the air of london is not the best, for a man who has been suffering from african fever." "i certainly want bracing air, and i shall be only too glad to go home with you; for i feel it is more my home than any other in england." as soon as lisle began to recover a little, colonel houghton introduced him to his neighbours, who made a good deal of the young soldier. five years had elapsed, since he had started with the pioneers for chitral, and he was twenty-one. soon after he went to the colonel's, he was speaking to him of his friend and constant companion in the late campaign; and the colonel at once invited hallett down. hallett accepted the invitation, and soon joined them. he had pretty well recovered, and the campaign had knocked all his little laziness and selfishness out of him. he also had received the d.s.o. "i am sure, colonel houghton," he said one day, "that i owe a tremendous lot to lisle. he was always cheerful, and his unmerciful chaffing kept me alive. i am quite sure i should never have got through that time, when we were lost in the forest, if it hadn't been for him. i was a confirmed grumbler, too; but he never let me indulge my discontent. altogether you have no idea, colonel houghton, how much he did for me." "well, you know, captain hallett, how much he did for me." "no, sir," hallett said, in surprise; "he has often spoken to me of you, and of your kindness to him; but he did not tell me about anything he had done for you." "well, he saved my life at the risk of his own. if he has not told you the story, i will." and he related the manner in which lisle had won his v.c. "why did you not tell me about it, bullen? it was a splendid thing to do. you did tell me, i remember, how you got the v.c. by helping to get an officer out of the grasp of the afridis, but you gave no details." "there was nothing to tell about it, hallett. i only did what i am sure you would have done, in my case." "i am by no means sure of that," hallett said. "i am always slow in making up my mind about anything; and should never have thought of putting a wounded officer on my horse, and sending him off, while i remained to be cut to pieces. i hope i should have stood by him, and been cut down with him; but i am certain that i should not have thought of the other thing, with the afridis rushing down upon me, only thirty yards away. "you ought to have let me know about it. you did bully me a great deal, you know; and though it was all for my good, still i think i should have put up with it better, if i had known that you had done such a thing as that." "i think you put up with it very well, hallett. chaffing you, and getting you sometimes into a rage--which was pretended, rather than real--did me a lot of good. i am sure i should have given in, several times, had you not acted as a sort of tonic; and had i not been sure that it did you as much good as it did me." a month after hallett's arrival, the colonel said, one morning: "good morning, lisle! i am going out with the hounds, tomorrow. they meet near here. as you are not great riders, i won't press you to go with me but, at least, you will ride with me to the meet. it is sure to be a good gathering, and you will probably meet some nice girls; who will, no doubt, have much greater attractions, for young fellows like you, than a gallop round the country." "they have no particular attraction for me, sir," lisle laughed. "it will be time enough for that, in another eight or ten years. it is more in hallett's line." "but we shall be chaffed, if we don't ride after the hounds, colonel," hallett said. "not at all," the colonel replied, "you have a first-rate excuse. you are only just recovering from fever. that would get you no end of commiseration and pity." "in that case," lisle said, "i think i should prefer staying at home. i don't feel that i need the least pity, and don't want to get it on false pretences." "it won't be false pretences," the colonel said. "i have taken care that all the ladies i shall introduce you to should know what you did for me, and how you did it." "i am sorry to hear it, colonel. it is really hateful, being regarded as a man who has done something, especially at my age. however, i shall leave hallett to bear the brunt of it. i know that he is on the lookout for a wife." "i don't think you know anything of the sort, lisle. it will be time for that when i get my majority." "ah! that is all very well, hallett; i know you took a good half-hour dressing your hair, previous to that dinner party last week." "it has to be brushed. it was nearly all cut off, when we were in cape coast, and one doesn't want to go out looking like a fretful porcupine." so, laughing and joking, they started the next morning. there was, as the colonel had predicted, a large meet. many ladies came on horseback, and others in carriages. the two young officers were soon engaged, chatting and laughing, with the latter. "do you mean to say that you are not going to ride, captain bullen?" one of the ladies on horseback said. "in the first place, miss merton, i am an infantry officer and, except for a few weeks when i was on the staff of colonel lockhart, i have never done any riding. in the second place, i am forbidden to take horse exercise, at present. moreover, although no doubt you will despise me for the confession, i dislike altogether the idea of a hundred men on horseback, and forty or fifty dogs, all chasing one unfortunate animal." "but the unfortunate animal is a poacher of the worst kind." "very well, then, i should shoot him, as a poacher. why should a hundred horsemen engage in hunting the poor brute down? bad horseman as i am, i should not mind taking part in a cavalry charge; but hunting is not at all to my taste." "you like shooting, captain bullen?" "i like shooting, when there is something to be shot; in the first place, a dangerous animal, and in the second, an animal that is able to show fight. i have several times taken part in tiger hunts, and felt myself justified in doing so, because the animals had made themselves a scourge to unarmed villagers." "i am afraid that you are a sort of don quixote," the girl laughed. "not quite that, miss merton; though i own i admire the good knight, greatly. we are going to move off, now, to the covert that has to be drawn; and i know i shall shock you, when i say that i sincerely hope that nothing will be found there." the whole party then moved off, and the hounds were put into a covert. five minutes later, a whimper was heard. it soon spread into a chorus, and then a fox dashed out from the opposite side; followed, in a couple of minutes, by the whole pack. "well, that is fun, is it not, captain bullen?" said a girl, to whom he was talking, in one of the carriages. "it is a pretty sight," he said, "and if the fox always got away, i should like it. as it is, i say honestly that i don't." the meet now broke up, and the carriages dispersed. hallett and lisle accepted an invitation to lunch with the ladies to whom they were talking. two hours later, lisle was on the point of leaving, when a groom rode up at full speed. "is captain bullen here?" he asked. with a presentiment of evil, lisle went out. "the colonel has had a bad accident, sir. he was brought in, half an hour ago, by the servants. i understand that he asked for you; and three of us at once rode off, in different directions, to find you." lisle called hallett and, in five minutes, they were mounted and dashed off. as they entered the house, they were met by the surgeon. "is he badly hurt'?" lisle asked, anxiously. "i fear that he is hurt to death, captain bullen. his horse slipped as it was taking a fence, and fell on the top of him. he has suffered severe internal injuries, and i greatly fear that there is not the least hope for him." "is he conscious?" lisle asked, with deep emotion. "yes, he is conscious, and i believe he understands that his case is hopeless. he has asked for you, several times, since he was brought in; so you had better go to him, at once." with a sinking heart, lisle went upstairs. the colonel was lying on his bed. "i am glad you have come in time, my dear boy," he said faintly, as lisle entered. "i am afraid that i am done for, and it is a consolation for me to know that i have no near relatives who will regret my loss. i have had a good time of it, altogether; and would rather that, as i was not to die on the battlefield, death should come as it has. it is far better than if it came gradually. "sit by me, lad, till the end comes. i am sure it will not be long. i am suffering terribly, and the sooner it comes, the better." the ashy gray of the colonel's face sufficed to tell lisle that the end was, indeed, near at hand. the colonel only spoke two or three times and, at ten o'clock at night, passed away painlessly. upon lisle devolved the sad work of arranging his funeral. he wrote to the colonel's lawyer, asking him to come down. hallett had left the house at once, though lisle earnestly begged him to stay till the funeral was over. the lawyer arrived on the morning of the funeral. "i have taken upon myself, sir," lisle said, "to make all the arrangements for the funeral, seeing that there was no one else to do it." "you were the most proper person to do so," the lawyer said, gravely, "as you will see when the will is read, on our return from the grave." when all was over, lisle asked two or three of the colonel's most intimate friends to be present at the reading of the will. it was a very short one. the colonel made bequests to several military charities; and then appointed his adopted son, lisle bullen, lieutenant in his majesty's rutlandshire regiment, the sole heir to all his property. this came almost as a surprise to lisle. the colonel had indeed told him that he had adopted him, and he was prepared to learn that he had left him a legacy; but he had no idea that he would be left sole heir. "i congratulate you, sir," the lawyer said, when he folded up the paper. "colonel houghton stated to me, fully, his reasons for making such a disposition of his property and, as he had no near relations, i was able to approve of it heartily. i may say that he has left nearly sixteen thousand pounds. the other small legacies will take about a thousand, and you will therefore have some fifteen thousand pounds, which is all invested in first-rate securities." "i feel my good fortune, sir," lisle said quietly, "but i would that it had not come to me for many years, and not in such a manner." the meeting soon after broke up, and lisle went up to town and joined hallett at the hotel they both used. "well, i congratulate you heartily," hallett said, when he heard the contents of the will. "it is a good windfall, but not a bit more than you deserve." "i would rather not have had it," lisle said, sorrowfully. "i owe much to the colonel, who has for the past three years given me an allowance of two hundred pounds a year; and i would far rather have gone on with that, than come into a fortune in this manner." "i can understand that," hallett said; "the colonel was a first-rate old fellow, and his death will be an immense loss to you. still, but for you it would have come three years ago and, after all, it is better to be killed hunting than to be shot to pieces by savages. "well, it will bring you in six or seven hundred pounds a year, a sum not to be despised. it will enable you to leave the army, if you like; though i should advise you to stick to it. here are you a captain at twenty-one, a v. c. and d. s. o. man, with a big career before you and, no doubt, you will get a brevet majority before long." "i have certainly not the least idea of leaving the army. i was born in it, and hope to remain in it as long as i can do good work." "what are you going to do now?" "i shall go down there again, in a fortnight or so." "would you be disposed to take me with you?" "certainly i shall, if you will go. i had not thought of asking you, because everything must go on quietly there, for a time; but really i should prize your company very much." "well, the fact is," hallett said, rather shamefacedly, "i am rather smitten with miss merton, and i have some hopes that she is a little taken with me. i heard that she has money but, although that is satisfactory, i would take her, if she would have me, without a penny. you know i have three hundred pounds a year of my own; which is quite enough, with my pay, to enable us to get on comfortably. still, i won't say that, if she has as much more, we could not do things better." lisle laughed. "i thought you were not a marrying man, hallett! in fact, you have more than once told me so." "well, i didn't think i was," hallett admitted, "but you see, circumstances alter cases." "they do, hallett, and your case seems to be a bad one. however, old man, i wish you luck. she is an exceedingly nice girl and, if i were ten years older, i might have been smitten myself; and then, you know, your chance would have been nowhere." "i quite feel that," hallett said; "a v.c. is a thing no girl can stand against. "if you will take me, i will go down with you and stay a little time, and then try my luck." "that you certainly shall do. i can hardly do anything in the way of festivities, at present; but there is no reason why you should not enter into anything that is going on." so they went down together. ten days later, all the families round came to pay visits of condolence; and to each lisle said that, although he himself could not think of going out, at present, his friend hallett, who had come to stay with him for a month, would be glad to join in any quiet festivity. so hallett was frequently invited out, lisle accompanying him only to the very quietest of dinners. one evening hallett returned in the highest glee. "congratulate me, my dear fellow," he said. "miss merton has accepted me and, after she had done so, i had the inevitable talk with her father. he told me, frankly, that he had hoped that his daughter would make a better match. i of course agreed with him, heartily; but he went on to say that, after all, our happiness was the first consideration, and that he felt sure that it would be secured by her marriage with me. he said that he should allow her four hundred pounds a year, during his and her mother's lifetime. at their death there would be a small addition to her allowance, but naturally the bulk of his property would go to her brother. of course, i expressed myself as infinitely grateful. i said that he had not enquired about my income, but that i had three hundred pounds a year, in addition to my pay; and should probably, some day, come into more. he expressed himself as content and, as i had expected, asked me whether i intended to leave the army. i said that that was a matter for his daughter to decide; but that, for my part, i should certainly prefer to remain in the service, for i really did not see what i should do with myself, if i left it. i said that i had been very fortunate in having, to some small extent, distinguished myself; but that if, after some experience of india, she did not care for the life, i would promise to retire." "'i think you are right,' he said. 'it is a bad thing for a young man of seven or eight and twenty to be without employment. your income would be insufficient to enable you to live, with comfort, as a country gentleman; and you would naturally find time lie heavy upon your hands, if you had nothing to do.' "he was good enough to say that he thought his daughter's happiness would be safe in my hands and, as she would be able to have every luxury in india, he thought that the arrangement would be a very satisfactory one. it is awfully good of him, of course, for she could have made an infinitely better match." "you have, of course, not settled anything about the date, hallett?" "no; i expect we shall settle about that when i see her, tomorrow. of course, it must be pretty early, as we had letters, yesterday, to go up to town to be examined by the board; and we have both picked up so much that, i fancy, we shall be ordered back to our regiments pretty sharply. you see, every man is wanted at present and, as we both had a year's leave before we went out to west africa, it is not unnatural that they should send us off again, as soon as they can. i dare say, however, they will give us a couple of months; and i suppose we shall want a month for our honeymoon, in which case we ought to be spliced in a month's time; if she can get ready in that time, which of course she can do, if she hurries up the milliners and other people." "i have no doubt she could, in the circumstances," lisle laughed. "well, old man, i do congratulate you most heartily. she certainly is a very charming young woman. i expect i shall not get leave again, till the regiment comes back; which will be another five years yet, and perhaps two or three years longer, if there is any action going on anywhere. i can tell you i am not so hot about fighting as i used to be. the tirah was sharp, but it was nothing to west africa, which was enough to cure one of any desire to take part in fighting. "if we are going to have a fight with russia, i certainly should like to take part in that. that would be a tremendous affair, and i fancy that our indian soldiers will give a good account of themselves. if it is to be, i do hope it will come before i leave the army. i am certainly in no hurry to do so." "you would be a fool, if you were," hallett said. "thanks to your luck in getting a commission at sixteen, and to the loss of so many officers in the tirah, you are now a captain at twenty-one, certainly the youngest captain in the service. of course, if there is no war, you can't expect to continue going up at that pace; but you certainly ought to be a major at thirty, if not before. you may command a regiment within five or six years later, and be a brigadier soon after that, for you will have that by seniority. of course, if you marry you will have to consider your wife's wishes; but she is not likely to object to your staying on, if you get to be a major, for a major's wife is by no means an unimportant item in a regiment." "ah! well, we needn't think about that," lisle laughed, "especially as, if there is war with russia before we come home, a good many of us will certainly stay out permanently. well, old man, i do congratulate you, most heartily." miss merton, after some demur, agreed that it would be just possible for her to be ready at the end of a month. three days later the two friends went up to town and, after undergoing a medical examination, were told that they must rejoin their regiments in a couple of months. as both regiments were in india, they decided to return in the same ship. "i am not sorry that we are off," lisle said, when they met on the deck of the p. and o. steamer. "i was getting desperately tired of doing nothing and, after you had gone off with your wife, on the afternoon of the marriage, i began to feel desperately lonely. of course, i have always been accustomed to have a lot of friends round me; and i began to feel a longing to be with the regiment again and, if we had not agreed to go out together, i think i should have taken the next steamer." six weeks later lisle rejoined his regiment, where he was heartily welcomed. "now you are a brevet major, mr. bullen, i am afraid that you will cease to be useful to us all; for of course we cannot be sending an officer of that exalted rank about to do our messages. however, several nice boys have joined, while you have been away." "i shall always be happy to be employed," lisle laughed, "and i dare say i am no older than many of the subalterns." "i suppose you have had hard times?" "very hard. i thought that the tirah business was about as hard as one would have to go through, in the course of one's soldiering; but i was greatly deceived. when i say that for six months i hardly ever had dry clothes on, and that i waded something like a hundred rivers, you may guess what it was like. "and we had our full share of fighting, too. i was very fortunate in only getting hit three or four times, with slugs; but as we were for the most part fighting against men hidden in the bush, it was unsatisfactory work, though we always did lick them in the end. i can assure you that i do not wish for any more service of that kind. "have the tribes been quiet since i went away?" "quiet, as far as we were concerned. of course, there have been a few trifling risings along the frontier but, as a whole, even the zakka-khels have been quiet. i don't think there will be any trouble, on a large scale, for some time to come." "then there is a prospect of a quiet time; that is to say, if the russians will keep quiet." "that is a very strong 'if,' major bullen; but i think that, if there is trouble, it will be in china." "in that case, no doubt a good many regiments will be sent from here. i hope that it will be our good fortune to be among them." "well, in that case," the colonel said, with a laugh, "you will have to restrain your ardour, and give a chance to other men. you have got the v.c. and the d.s.o., which ought to satisfy you; to say nothing of having got your company, and brevet majority, at the age of twenty-one. you must be content with that, otherwise the regiment will rise against you." "that would be very unpleasant," lisle said, with a laugh. "i will try to suppress my zeal. i can assure you that i am perfectly conscious of the incongruity of being in such a position, at my age." at present lisle is with his regiment, and the prospect of a war with russia is no nearer than it was. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) with kitchener in the soudan: a story of atbara and omdurman by g. a. henty. contents preface. chapter : disinherited. chapter : the rising in alexandria. chapter : a terrible disaster. chapter : an appointment. chapter : southward. chapter : gregory volunteers. chapter : to metemmeh. chapter : among the dervishes. chapter : safely back. chapter : afloat. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : the battle of atbara. chapter : the final advance. chapter : omdurman. chapter : khartoum. chapter : a voice from the dead. chapter : a fugitive. chapter : a hakim. chapter : the last page. chapter : a momentous communication. chapter : gedareh. chapter : the crowning victory. chapter : an unexpected discovery. preface. the reconquest of the soudan will ever be mentioned as one of the most difficult, and at the same time the most successful, enterprises ever undertaken. the task of carrying an army hundreds of miles across a waterless desert; conveying it up a great river, bristling with obstacles; defeating an enormously superior force, unsurpassed in the world for courage; and, finally, killing the leader of the enemy and crushing out the last spark of opposition; was a stupendous one. after the death of gordon, and the retirement of the british troops, there was no force in existence that could have barred the advance of the fanatical hordes of the mahdi, had they poured down into egypt. the native egyptian army was, as yet, in the earliest stage of organization; and could not be relied upon to stand firm against the wild rush of the dervishes. fortunately, time was given for that organization to be completed; and when, at last, the dervish forces marched north, they were repulsed. assouan was saved, and wady halfa became the egyptian outpost. gradually, preparations were made for taking the offensive. a railway was constructed along the banks of the nile, and a mixed force of british and egyptians drove the enemy beyond dongola; then, by splendidly organized labour, a railroad was made from wady halfa, across the desert, towards the elbow of the great bend from dongola to abu hamed. the latter place was captured, by an egyptian brigade moving up from the former place; and from that moment, the movement was carried on with irresistible energy. the railway was pushed forward to abu hamed; and then southward, past berber, up to the atbara river. an army of twenty thousand men, under one of the khalifa's sons, was attacked in a strong position and defeated with immense loss. fresh british troops were then brought up; and, escorted by gunboats and steamers carrying provisions, the army marched up the nile, crushed the khalifa's great host before omdurman, and recovered possession of khartoum. then, the moving spirit of this enterprise, the man whose marvellous power of organization had secured its success, was called to other work. fortunately, he had a worthy successor in colonel wingate; who, with a native force, encountered that which the khalifa had again gathered, near el obeid, the scene of the total destruction of the army under hicks pasha; routed it with ease, killing the khalifa and all his principal emirs. thus a land that had been turned into a desert, by the terrible tyranny of the mahdi and his successor, was wrested from barbarism and restored to civilization; and the stain upon british honour, caused by the desertion of gordon by the british ministry of the day, was wiped out. it was a marvellous campaign--marvellous in the perfection of its organization, marvellous in the completeness of its success. g. a. henty. chapter : disinherited. "wanted, an active and intelligent young man, for general work, in a commercial house having a branch at alexandria. it is desirable that he should be able to write a good hand; and, if necessary, to assist in office work. wages, pounds per week. personal application to be made at messieurs partridge and company, leadenhall street." this advertisement was read by a man of five or six and twenty, in a small room in the upper story of a house in lupus street, pimlico. he was not the only inmate of the room, for a young woman, apparently not more than eighteen, was sitting there sewing; her work interrupted, occasionally, by a short, hacking cough. her husband, for this was the relation in which he stood to her, put down the paper carelessly, and then got up. "i am going out, dear, on my usual search. you know, we have agreed that it is of no use my trying to live by my pen. i get an article accepted, occasionally, but it's not enough to provide more than bread and cheese. i must look for something else." "but you must succeed, presently, gregory." "yes, dear; but while the grass grows, the horse starves. at any rate, i will try for something else. if i get anything, it won't prevent my writing; and when my genius is recognized, i can drop the other thing, and take to literature regularly, again. "well, i won't be away longer than i can help. anyhow, i will be back to our midday banquet. i will bring a couple of rashers of bacon in with me. we have potatoes enough, i think." so saying, he kissed his wife tenderly, and went out. gregory hartley belonged to a good family. he was the second son of the honorable james hartley, brother of the marquis of langdale. he had been educated at harrow and cambridge; and, after leaving the university, had gone out to egypt with a friend of his father's, who was an enthusiast in the exploration of the antiquities of that country. gregory had originally intended to stay there a few months, at most, but he was infected by the enthusiasm of his companion, and remained in egypt for two years; when the professor was taken ill and died, and he returned home. a year later, he fell in love with the governess in a neighbouring family. his feeling was reciprocated, and they became engaged. his father was furious, when his son told him what had taken place. "it is monstrous," he said, "after the education that you have had, and the place that i, if i survive him; or, if not, your brother, will take at the death of your uncle; that you should dream of throwing yourself away, in this manner. i have looked to your making a good marriage; for, as you know, i am not what may be called a rich man. your brother's tastes are expensive; and what with his education, and yours, and the allowances i have made you both, it is as much as i have been able to do to keep up our position. and there are your sisters to be provided for. the idea of your falling in love with this young woman is monstrous." "young lady, father. she is a clergyman's daughter." "i won't hear of such a thing--i will not hear of it for a moment; and if you persist in this mad folly, i tell you, fairly, that from this moment i shall have nothing more to say to you! you have to choose between me, and this penniless beggar." "i am sorry you put it in that way, sir. my choice is made. i am engaged to this young lady, and shall certainly marry her. i trust that, when your present anger has subsided, you will recognize that my honour was involved in the matter; and that even if i wished it, i could not, without showing myself to be a downright cad, draw back." and so, gregory hartley married the girl of his choice. she had, for some time, refused to allow him to sacrifice himself; but when she found that he was as determined as his father, and absolutely refused to release her from the engagement, she had given way; and had, after a quiet marriage, accompanied him to london. there he had endeavoured to get literary work, but had found it much harder than he had expected. the market was overcrowded, and they had moved from comfortable lodgings into small rooms; and so, step by step, had come to the attic in lupus street. he was doing a little better now, and had hopes that, ere long, he would begin to make his way steadily up. but the anxiety had told on his wife. never very strong, she had developed a short, hard cough; and he had drawn upon his scanty reserves, to consult a specialist. "there is undoubtedly lung trouble," the latter said. "if you can manage it, i should say that she ought certainly to be taken to a warm climate. the damage is not extensive, as yet; and it is probable that, under favourable circumstances, she might shake it off; but i fear that, if she continues to live in london, her chances are not great." this, gregory felt, was almost equivalent to a death sentence; and he had begun to consult the advertisements in the papers, for some post abroad. he had, unknown to her, applied for several situations, but without success. when he first read the advertisement that morning, he had hardly thought of applying for the situation. his pride revolted at the idea of becoming a mere messenger; but his wife's cough had decided him. what did it matter, so that he could save her life? "i may not get it," he said to himself, as he went out; "but my knowledge of arabic, and the native dialect, is all in my favour. and at least, in a year or two, she may have thoroughly shaken off the cough, and that is everything. "at any rate, i have a better chance of getting this than i had of the other places that i applied for. there can hardly be a rush of applicants. when i am out there, i may hear of something better. "however, i will take another name. fortunately i have a second one, which will do very well. hilliard will do as well as hartley; and as i never write it in full as my signature, no one would recognize it as my name. there is nothing to be ashamed of, in accepting such a post. "as for the marquis, as he has never been friendly with us, it does not matter. he is, i have heard, a very tough sort of man; and my father is not likely to survive him. but i do not think it would be fair to geoffrey, when he comes into his peerage, that anyone should be able to say that he has a brother who is porter, in a mercantile house at alexandria. we have never got on very well together. the fact that he was heir to a title spoilt him. i think he would have been a very good fellow, if it hadn't been for that." on arriving at the office in leadenhall street, he was, on saying he wished to speak to mr. partridge, at once shown in. a good many of his personal belongings had been long since pledged; but he had retained one or two suits, so that he could make as good an appearance as possible, when he went out. the clerk had merely said, "a gentleman wishes to speak to you, sir," and the merchant looked up enquiringly at him, as he entered. "i have come to see you, sir, with reference to that advertisement, for a man at your establishment at alexandria." a look of surprise came over the merchant's face, and he said: "have you called on your own account?" "yes; i am anxious to go abroad, for the sake of my wife's health, and i am not particular as to what i do, so that i can take her to a warm climate. i may say that i have been two years in egypt, and speak arabic and koptic fluently. i am strong and active, and am ready to make myself useful, in any way." mr. partridge did not answer, for a minute. certainly this applicant was not at all the sort of man he had expected to apply for the place, in answer to his advertisement. that he was evidently a gentleman was far from an advantage, but the fact that he could speak the languages would add much to his value. "can you give me references?" he said, at last. "i cannot, sir. i should not like to apply to any of my friends, in such a matter. i must ask you to take me on trust. frankly, i have quarrelled with my family, and have to strike out for myself. were it not for my wife's health, i could earn my living; but i am told it is essential that she should go to a warm climate, and as i see no other way of accomplishing this, i have applied for this situation, hoping that my knowledge of the language, and my readiness to perform whatever duties i may be required to do, might induce you to give me a trial." "and you would, if necessary--say, in the case of illness of one of my clerks--be ready to help in the office?" "certainly, sir." "will you call again, in half an hour? i will give you an answer, then." by the time gregory returned, the merchant's mind was made up. he had come to the conclusion that the story he had heard was a true one. the way it had been told was convincing. the man was undoubtedly a gentleman. there was no mistake in his manner and talk. he had quarrelled with his family, probably over his marriage; and, as so many had done, found it difficult to keep his head above water. his wife had been ordered to a warm climate, and he was ready to do anything that would enable him to keep her there. it would assuredly be a great advantage to have one who could act, in an emergency, as a clerk; of course, his knowledge of language would greatly add to his utility. it certainly was not business to take a man without a reference, but the advantages more than counterbalanced the disadvantages. it was not likely that he would stay with him long; but at any rate, the fact that he was taking his wife with him would ensure his staying, until he saw something a great deal better elsewhere. when gregory returned, therefore, he said: "i have been thinking this matter over. what is your name?" "gregory hilliard, sir." "well, i have been thinking it over, and i have decided to engage you. i quite believe the story that you have told me, and your appearance fully carries it out. you may consider the matter settled. i am willing to pay for a second-class passage for your wife, as well as yourself; and will give such instructions, to my agents there, as will render your position as easy for you as possible. in the natural course of things, your duties would have included the sweeping out of the offices, and work of that description; but i will instruct him to engage a native to do this, under your supervision. you will be in charge of the warehouse, under the chief storekeeper; and, as you say, you will, in case of pressure of work in the office, take a desk there. "in consideration of your knowledge of the language, which will render you, at once, more useful than a green hand would be, i shall add ten shillings a week to the wages named in the advertisement, which will enable you to obtain comfortable lodgings." "i am heartily obliged to you, sir," gregory said, "and will do my best to show that your confidence in me has not been misplaced. when do you wish me to sail? i shall only require a few hours to make my preparations." "then in that case i will take a passage, for you and your wife, in the p. and o. that sails, next thursday, from southampton. i may say that it is our custom to allow fifteen pounds, for outfit. if you will call again in half an hour, i will hand you the ticket and a cheque for that amount; and you can call, the day before you go, for a letter to our agents there." gregory ascended the stairs to his lodging with a far more elastic step than usual. his wife saw at once, as he entered, that he had good news of some sort. "what is it, gregory?" "thank god, darling, that i have good news to give you, at last! i have obtained a situation, at about a hundred and thirty pounds a year, in alexandria." "alexandria?" she repeated, in surprise. "yes. it is the place of all others that i wanted to go to. you see, i understand the language. that is one thing; and what is of infinitely more consequence, it is a place that will suit your health; and you will, i hope, very soon get rid of that nasty cough. i did not tell you at the time, but the doctor i took you to said that this london air did not suit you, but that a warm climate would soon set you up again." "you are going out there for my sake, gregory! as if i hadn't brought trouble enough on you, already!" "i would bear a good deal more trouble for your sake, dear. you need not worry about that." "and what are you going to do?" she asked. "i am going to be a sort of useful man--extra clerk, assistant storekeeper, et cetera, et cetera. i like egypt very much. it will suit me to a t. at any rate, it will be a vast improvement upon this. "talking of that, i have forgotten the rashers. i will go and get them, at once. we sha'n't have to depend upon them as our main staple, in future; for fruit is dirt cheap, out there, and one does not want much meat. we shall be able to live like princes, on two pounds ten a week; and besides, this appointment may lead to something better, and we may consider that there is a future before us. "we are to sail on thursday. look! here are fifteen golden sovereigns. that is for my outfit, and we can begin with luxuries, at once. we shall not want much outfit: half a dozen suits of white drill for myself, and some gowns for you." "nonsense, gregory! i sha'n't want anything. you would not let me sell any of my dresses, and i have half a dozen light ones. i shall not want a penny spent on me." "very well; then i will begin to be extravagant, at once. in the first place, i will go down to that confectioner's, round the corner; and we will celebrate my appointment with a cold chicken, and a bottle of port. i shall be back in five minutes." "will it be very hot, gregory?" she asked, as they ate their meal. "not that i am afraid of heat, you know. i always like summer." "no. at any rate, not at present. we are going out at the best time of the year, and it will be a comfort, indeed, to change these november fogs for the sunshine of egypt. you will have four or five months to get strong again, before it begins to be hot. even in summer, there are cool breezes morning and evening; and of course, no one thinks of going out in the middle of the day. i feel as happy as a schoolboy, at the thought of getting out of this den and this miserable climate, and of basking in the sunshine. we have had a bad beginning, dear, but we have better days before us." "thank god, gregory! i have not cared about myself. but it has been a trial, when your manuscripts have come back, to see you sitting here slaving away; and to know that it is i who have brought you to this." "i brought myself to it, you obstinate girl! i have pleased myself, haven't i? if a man chooses a path for himself, he must not grumble because he finds it rather rougher than he expected. i have never, for a single moment, regretted what i have done; at any rate, as far as i, myself, am concerned." "nor i, for my own sake, dear. the life of a governess is not so cheerful as to cause one regret, at leaving it." and so, gregory hartley and his wife went out to alexandria, and established themselves in three bright rooms, in the upper part of a house that commanded a view of the port, and the sea beyond it. the outlay required for furniture was small, indeed: some matting for the floors, a few cushions for the divans which ran round the rooms, a bed, a few simple cooking utensils, and a small stock of crockery sufficed. mr. ferguson, the manager of the branch, had at first read the letter that gregory had brought him with some doubt in his mind, as to the wisdom of his principal, in sending out a man who was evidently a gentleman. this feeling, however, soon wore away; and he found him perfectly ready to undertake any work to which he was set. there was, indeed, nothing absolutely unpleasant about this. he was at the office early, and saw that the native swept and dusted the offices. the rest of the day he was either in the warehouse, or carried messages, and generally did such odd jobs as were required. a fortnight after his arrival, one of the clerks was kept away by a sharp attack of fever; and as work was pressing, the agent asked gregory to take his place. "i will do my best, sir, but i know nothing of mercantile accounts." "the work will be in no way difficult. mr. hardman will take mr. parrot's ledgers; and, as you will only have to copy the storekeeper's issues into the books, five minutes will show you the form in which they are entered." gregory gave such satisfaction that he was afterwards employed at office work, whenever there was any pressure. a year and a half passed comfortably. at the end of twelve months, his pay was raised another ten shillings a week. he had, before leaving england, signed a contract to remain with the firm for two years. he regretted having to do this, as it prevented his accepting any better position, should an opening occur; but he recognized that the condition was a fair one, after the firm paying for his outfit and for two passages. at the end of eighteen months, gregory began to look about for something better. "i don't mind my work a bit," he said to his wife, "but, if only for the sake of the boy" (a son had been born, a few months after their arrival), "i must try to raise myself in the scale, a bit. i have nothing to complain about at the office; far from it. from what the manager said to me the other day, if a vacancy occurred in the office, i should have the offer of the berth. of course, it would be a step; for i know, from the books, that hardman gets two hundred a year, which is forty more than i do." "i should like you to get something else, gregory. it troubles me, to think that half your time is spent packing up goods in the warehouse, and work of that sort; and even if we got less i would much rather, even if we had to stint ourselves, that your work was more suitable to your past; and such that you could associate again with gentlemen, on even terms." "that does not trouble me, dear, except that i wish you had some society among ladies. however, both for your sake and the boy's, and i own i should like it myself, i will certainly keep on the lookout for some better position. i have often regretted, now, that i did not go in for a commission in the army. i did want to, but my father would not hear of it. by this time, with luck, i might have got my company; and though the pay would not have been more than i get here, it would, with quarters and so on, have been as much, and we should be in a very different social position. "however, it is of no use talking about that now; and indeed, it is difficult to make plans at all. things are in such an unsettled condition, here, that there is no saying what will happen. "you see, arabi and the military party are practically masters here. tewfik has been obliged to make concession after concession to them, to dismiss ministers at their orders, and to submit to a series of humiliations. at any moment, arabi could dethrone him, as he has the whole army at his back, and certainly the larger portion of the population. the revolution could be completed without trouble or bloodshed; but you see, it is complicated by the fact that tewfik has the support of the english and french governments; and there can be little doubt that the populace regard the movement as a national one, and directed as much against foreign control and interference as against tewfik, against whom they have no ground of complaint, whatever. on the part of the army and its generals, the trouble has arisen solely on account of the favouritism shown to circassian officers. "but once a revolution has commenced, it is certain to widen out. the peasantry are, everywhere, fanatically hostile to foreigners. attacks have been made upon these in various country districts; and, should arabi be triumphant, the position of christians will become very precarious. matters are evidently seen in that light in england; for i heard today, at the office, that the british and french squadrons are expected here, in a day or two. "if there should be a row, our position here will be very unpleasant. but i should hardly think that arabi would venture to try his strength against that of the fleets, and i fancy that trouble will, in the first place, begin in cairo; both as being the capital of the country, and beyond the reach of armed interference by the powers. arabi's natural course would be to consolidate his power throughout the whole of egypt, leaving alexandria severely alone, until he had obtained absolute authority elsewhere. "anyhow, it will be a satisfaction to have the fleet up; as, at the first rumour of an outbreak, i can get you and baby on board one of the ships lying in harbour. as a simple measure of precaution, i would suggest that you should go out with me, this evening, and buy one of the costumes worn by the native women. it is only a long blue robe, enveloping you from head to foot; and one of those hideous white cotton veils, falling from below the eyes. i will get a bottle of iodine, and you will then only have to darken your forehead and eyelids, and you could pass, unsuspected, through any crowd." "but what are you going to do, gregory?" "i will get a native dress, too; but you must remember that though, if possible, i will come to you, i may not be able to do so; and in case you hear of any tumult going on, you must take baby, and go down at once to the port. you know enough of the language, now, to be able to tell a boatman to take you off to one of the steamers in the port. as soon as i get away i shall go round the port, and shall find you without difficulty. still, i do not anticipate any trouble arising without our having sufficient warning to allow me to come and see you settled on board ship; and i can then keep on in the office until it closes, when i can join you again. "of course, all this is very remote, and i trust that the occasion will never arise. still, there is no doubt that the situation is critical, and there is no harm in making our preparations for the worst. "at any rate, dear, i beg that you will not go out alone, till matters have settled down. we will do the shopping together, when i come back from the office. "there is one thing that i have reason to be grateful for. even if the worst comes to the worst, and all christians have to leave the country, the object for which i came out here has been attained. i have not heard you cough, for months; we have laid by fifty pounds; and i have written some forty stories, long and short, and if we go back i have a fair hope of making my way, for i am sure that i write better than i used to do; and as a good many of the stories are laid in egypt, the local colouring will give them a distinctive character, and they are more likely to be accepted than those i wrote before. editors of magazines like a succession of tales of that kind. "for the present, there is no doubt that the arrival of the fleet will render our position here more comfortable than it is, at present. the mere mob of the town would hesitate to attack europeans, when they know that three or four thousand sailors could land in half an hour. but on the other hand, arabi and his generals might see that alexandria was, after all, the most important position, and that it was here foreign interference must be arrested. "i should not be surprised if, on the arrival of the ships, tewfik, arabi, and all the leaders of the movement come here at once. tewfik will come to get the support of the fleet. arabi will come to oppose a landing of troops. the war in the beginning of the century was decided at alexandria, and it may be so, again. if i were sure that you would come to no harm, and i think the chances of that are very small, i own that all this would be immensely interesting, and a break to the monotony of one's life here. "one thing is fairly certain. if there is anything like a regular row, all commercial work will come to an end until matters are settled; in which case, even if the offices are not altogether closed, and the whole staff recalled to england, they would be glad enough to allow me to leave, instead of keeping me to the two years' agreement that i signed, before starting." "i should hardly think that there would be a tumult here, gregory. the natives all seem very gentle and peaceable, and the army is composed of the same sort of men." "they have been kept down for centuries, annie; but there is a deep, fanatical feeling in every mussulman's nature; and, at any rate, the great proportion of the officers of the army are mussulmans. as for the kopts, there would be no danger of trouble from them; but the cry of 'death to the christians' would excite every mahomedan in the land, almost to madness. "unfortunately, too, there is a general belief, whether truly founded or not, that although the french representative here is apparently acting in concert with ours, he and all the french officials are secretly encouraging arabi, and will take no active steps, whatever. in that case, it is doubtful whether england would act alone. the jealousy between the two peoples here is intense. for years, the french have been thwarting us at every turn; and they may very well think that, however matters might finally go, our interference would make us so unpopular, in egypt, that their influence would become completely paramount. "supremacy in egypt has always been the dream of the french. had it not been for our command of the sea, they would have obtained possession of the country in napoleon's time. their intrigues here have, for years, been incessant. their newspapers in egypt have continually maligned us, and they believe that the time has come when they will be the real, if not the nominal, rulers of egypt. the making of the suez canal was quite as much a political as a commercial move, and it has certainly added largely to their influence here; though, in this respect, a check was given to them by the purchase of the khedive's shares in the canal by lord beaconsfield; a stroke which, however, greatly increased the enmity of the french here, and heightened their efforts to excite the animosity of the people against us. "well, i hope that whatever comes of all this, the question as to whose influence is to be paramount in egypt will be finally settled. even french domination would be better than the constant intrigues and trouble, that keep the land in a state of agitation. however, i fancy that it will be the other way, if an english fleet comes here and there is trouble. i don't think we shall back down; and if we begin in earnest, we are sure to win in the long run. france must see that, and if she refuses to act, at the last moment, it can only be because arabi has it in his power to produce documents showing that he was, all along, acting in accordance with her secret advice." a week later, on the th of may, the squadrons of england and france anchored off alexandria. the british fleet consisted of eight ironclads and five gunboats, carrying three thousand five hundred and thirty-nine men and one hundred and two guns, commanded by sir frederick seymour. two days before the approach of the fleet was known at cairo, the french and english consuls proposed that the khedive should issue a decree, declaring a general amnesty, and that the president of the council, the minister of war, and the three military pashas should quit the country for a year. this request was complied with. the ministry resigned, in a body, on the day the fleet arrived; on the ground that the khedive acquiesced in foreign interference. a great meeting was held of the chief personages of state, and the officers and the representatives of the army at once told the khedive that they refused to obey his orders, and only recognized the authority of the porte. at alexandria all trade ceased at once, when it became known that the troops were busy strengthening the forts, mounting cannon, and preparing for a resistance. that this was done by the orders of arabi, who was now practically dictator, there could be no question. the native population became more and more excited, being firmly of belief that no vessels could resist the fire of the heavy guns; and that any attempt on the part of the men-of-war to reduce the place would end in their being sunk, as soon as fighting began. the office and stores were still kept open, but gregory's duties were almost nominal; and he and mr. parrot, who was also married, were told by the manager that they could spend the greater portion of their time at their homes. part of gregory's duties consisted in going off to vessels that came into the port with goods for the firm, and seeing to their being brought on shore; and he had no difficulty in making arrangements, with the captain of one of these ships, for his wife and child to go on board at once, should there be any trouble in the town. "if you hear any sounds of tumult, annie, you must disguise yourself at once, and go down to the wharf. i have arranged with our boatman, allen, whom you know well, as we have often gone out with him for a sail in the evening, that if he hears of an outbreak, he shall bring the boat to the steps at the end of this street, and take you off to the simoon. of course, i shall come if i can, but our house is one of those which have been marked off as being most suitable for defence. the men from half a dozen other establishments are to gather there and, as belonging to the house, i must aid in the defence. of course, if i get sufficient warning, i shall slip on my disguise, and hurry here, and see you down to the boat; and then make my way back to our place. but do not wait for me. if i come here and find that you have gone, i shall know that you have taken the alarm in time, and shall return at once to the office. "of course, if the outbreak commences near here, and you find that your way down to the water is blocked, you will simply put on your disguise, stain your face, and wait till i come to you, or till you see that the way to the water is clear. do not attempt to go out into a mob. there are not likely to be any women among them. however, i do not anticipate a serious riot. they may attack europeans in the street, but with some fourteen or fifteen men-of-war in the port, they are not likely to make any organized assault. arabi's agents will hardly precipitate matters in that way. hard as they may work, it will take a month to get the defences into proper order, and any rising will be merely a spasmodic outbreak of fanaticism. i don't think the danger is likely to be pressing until, finding that all remonstrances are vain, the admiral begins to bombard the port." "i will do exactly as you tell me, gregory. if i were alone, i could not bring myself to leave without you, but i must think of the child." "quite so, dear. that is the first consideration. certainly, if it comes to a fight, i should be much more comfortable with the knowledge that you and baby were in safety." the egyptian soldiers were quartered, for the most part, outside the town; and for some days there was danger that they would enter, and attack the european inhabitants; but arabi's orders were strict that, until he gave the command, they were to remain quiet. the british admiral sent messages to tewfik, insisting that the work upon the fortifications should cease, and the latter again issued orders to that effect, but these were wholly disobeyed. he had, indeed, no shadow of authority remaining; and the work continued, night and day. it was, however, as much as possible concealed from observation; but, search lights being suddenly turned upon the forts, at night, showed them to be swarming with men. things went on with comparative quiet till the th of june, although the attitude of the natives was so threatening that no europeans left their houses, except on urgent business. on that day, a sudden uproar was heard. pistols were fired, and the merchants closed their stores and barricaded their doors. gregory was in the harbour at the time and, jumping into his boat, rowed to the stairs and hurried home. he found that his wife had already disguised herself, and was in readiness to leave. the street was full of excited people. he slipped on his own disguise, darkened his face, and then, seizing a moment when the crowd had rushed up the street at the sound of firearms at the other end, hurried down to the boat, and rowed off to the simoon. "i must return now, dear," he said. "i can get in at the back gate--i have the key, as the stores are brought in through that way. i do not think that you need feel any uneasiness. the row is evidently still going on, but only a few guns are being fired now. certainly the rascals cannot be attacking the stores, or you would hear a steady musketry fire. by the sound, the riot is principally in the foreign quarter, where the maltese, greeks, and italians congregate. no doubt the police will soon put it down." the police, however, made no attempt to do so, and permitted the work of massacre to take place under their eyes. nearly two hundred europeans were killed. the majority of these dwelt in the foreign quarter, but several merchants and others were set upon, while making their way to their offices, and some seamen from the fleet were also among the victims. the british consul was dragged out of his carriage, and severely injured. the consulate was attacked, and several frenchmen were killed in the streets. the khedive hurried from cairo, on hearing the news. arabi was now sending some of his best regiments to alexandria, while pretending to be preparing for a raid upon the suez canal. he was receiving the assistance of dervish pasha, the sultan's representative; and had been recognized by the sultan, who conferred upon him the highest order of medjidie. in the meantime a conference had been held by the powers, and it was decided that the sultan should be entrusted with the work of putting down the insurrection, he being nominally lord paramount of egypt. but conditions were laid down, as to his army leaving the country afterwards. the sultan sent an evasive reply. the khedive was too overwhelmed at the situation to take any decisive course. france hesitated, and england determined that, with or without allies, she would take the matter in hand. chapter : the rising in alexandria. the harbour was full of merchant ships, as there were, at present, no means of getting their cargoes unloaded. the native boatmen had, for the most part, struck work; and had they been willing to man their boats, they must have remained idle as, in view of the situation, the merchants felt that their goods were much safer on board ship than they would be in their magazines. it was settled, therefore that, for the present, annie and the child should remain on board the simoon, while gregory should take up his residence at the office. the fleet in the harbour was now an imposing one. not only were the english and french squadrons there, but some italian ships of war had arrived, and a united states cruiser; and on the th of july, sir beauchamp seymour sent in a decisive message, that he should commence a bombardment of the fort unless the strengthening of the fortifications was, at once, abandoned. no heed was taken of the intimation and, three days later, he sent an ultimatum demanding the cessation of work, and the immediate surrender of the forts nearest to the entrance to the harbour; stating that, if these terms were not complied with in twenty-four hours, the bombardment would commence. already the greater part of the european inhabitants had left the town, and taken up their quarters in the merchant ships that had been engaged for the purpose. a few, however, of the bankers and merchants determined to remain. these gathered in the bank, and in mr. ferguson's house, to which the most valuable goods in other establishments were removed. they had an ample supply of firearms, and believed that they could hold out for a considerable time. they were convinced that the egyptian troops would not, for an hour, resist the fire that would be opened upon them, but would speedily evacuate the town; and that, therefore, there would only be the mob to be encountered, and this but for a short time, as the sailors would land as soon as the egyptian troops fled. the egyptians, on the other hand, believed absolutely in their ability to destroy the fleet. both parties were wrong. the europeans greatly undervalued the fighting powers of the egyptians, animated as they were by confidence in the strength of the defences, by their number, and by their fanaticism; while the egyptians similarly undervalued the tremendous power of our ships. that evening, and the next morning, the port presented an animated appearance. boats were putting off with those inhabitants who had waited on, hoping that the egyptians would at the last moment give in. many of the merchantmen had already cleared out. others were getting up sail. smoke was rising from the funnels of all the men of war. an express boat had brought, from france, orders that the french fleet were to take no part in the proceedings, but were to proceed at once to port said. this order excited the bitterest feeling of anger and humiliation among the french officers and sailors, who had relied confidently in taking their part in the bombardment; and silently their ships, one by one, left the port. the italian and american vessels remained for a time; and as the british ships followed, in stately order, their crews manned the rigging and vociferously cheered our sailors, who replied as heartily. all, save the british men of war, took up their stations well out at sea, in a direction where they would be out of the fire of the egyptian batteries. it was not until nine o'clock in the evening that the two last british ships, the invincible and monarch, steamed out of port. at half-past four in the morning the ships got under weigh again, and moved to the positions marked out for them. fort mex, and the batteries on the sand hills were faced by the penelope, the monarch, and the invincible; the alexandra, the superb, and the sultan faced the harbour forts, ada, pharos, and ras-el-teen; the temeraire and inflexible prepared to aid the invincible in her attack on fort mex, or to support the three battleships engaged off the port, as might be required; and the five gunboats moved away towards fort marabout, which lay some distance to the west of the town. at seven o'clock, the alexandra began the engagement by firing a single gun. then the whole fleet opened fire, the egyptian artillerymen replying with great steadiness and resolution. there was scarcely a breath of wind, and the ships were, in a few instants, shrouded in their own smoke; and were frequently obliged to cease firing until this drifted slowly away, to enable them to aim their guns. the rattle of the machine guns added to the din. midshipmen were sent aloft, and these signalled down to the deck the result of each shot, so that the gunners were enabled to direct their fire, even when they could not see ten yards beyond the muzzle of the guns. in a short time, the forts and batteries showed how terrible was the effect of the great shells. the embrasures were torn and widened, there were great gaps in the masonry of the buildings, and the hail of missiles from the machine guns swept every spot near the egyptian guns; and yet, arabi's soldiers did not flinch but, in spite of the number that fell, worked their guns as fast as ever. had they been accustomed to the huge krupp guns in their batteries, the combat would have been more equal; and although the end would have been the same, the ships must have suffered terribly. fortunately, the egyptian artillerymen had little experience in the working of these heavy pieces, and their shot in almost every case flew high--sometimes above the masts, sometimes between them, but in only a few instances striking the hull. with their smaller guns they made good practice, but though the shot from these pieces frequently struck, they dropped harmlessly from the iron sides, and only those that entered through the portholes effected any damage. the condor, under lord charles beresford, was the first to engage fort marabout; and, for a time, the little gunboat was the mark of all the guns of the fort. but the other four gunboats speedily came to her assistance, and effectually diverted the fire of the fort from the ships that were engaging fort mex. at eight o'clock the monarch, having silenced the fort opposite to her, and dismounted the guns, joined the inflexible and penelope in their duel with fort mex; and by nine o'clock all the guns were silenced except four, two of which were heavy rifled guns, well sheltered. in spite of the heavy fire from the three great ships, the egyptian soldiers maintained their fire, the officers frequently exposing themselves to the bullets of the machine guns by leaping upon the parapet, to ascertain the effect of their own shot. the harbour forts were, by this time, crumbling under the shot of four warships opposed to them. the pharos suffered most heavily, and its guns were absolutely silenced; while the fire from the other two forts slackened, considerably. at half-past ten, it was seen that the ras-el-teen palace, which lay behind the fort, was on fire; and, half an hour later, the fire from that fort and fort ada almost died out. the british admiral now gave the signal to cease firing, and as the smoke cleared away, the effects of the five hours' bombardment were visible. the forts and batteries were mere heaps of ruins. the guns could be made out, lying dismounted, or standing with their muzzles pointing upwards. the ships had not come out scatheless, but their injuries were, for the most part, immaterial; although rigging had been cut away, bulwarks smashed, and sides dinted. one gun of the penelope had been disabled, and two of the alexandra. only five men had been killed, altogether, and twenty-seven wounded. no sign was made of surrender, and an occasional fire was kept up on the forts, to prevent the egyptians from repairing damages. at one o'clock, twelve volunteers from the invincible started to destroy the guns of fort mex. their fire had ceased, and no men were to be seen in the fort; but they might have been lying in wait to attack any landing party. on nearing the shore, the surf was found to be too heavy for the boat to pass through it, and major tulloch and six men swam ashore and entered the fort. it was found to be deserted, and all the guns but two ten-inch pieces dismounted. the charges of gun cotton, that the swimmers brought ashore with them, were placed in the cannon; and their muzzles blown off. after performing this very gallant service, the little party swam back to their boat. the british admiral's position was now a difficult one. there were no signs of surrender; for aught he could tell, fifteen thousand egyptian troops might be lying round the ruined forts, or in the town hard by, in readiness to oppose a landing. that these troops were not to be despised was evident, by the gallantry with which they had fought their guns. this force would be aided by the mass of the population; and it would be hazardous, indeed, to risk the loss of fifteen hundred men, and the reversal of the success already gained. at the same time, it was painful to think that the europeans on shore might be massacred, and the whole city destroyed, by the exasperated troops and fanatical population. it was known that the number of englishmen there was not large, two or three hundred at most; but there was a much larger number of the lower class of europeans--port labourers, fishermen, petty shopkeepers, and others--who had preferred taking their chance to the certainty of losing all their little possessions, if they left them. anxiously the glasses of those on board the ships were directed towards the shore, in hopes of seeing the white flag hoisted, or a boat come out with it flying; but there were no signs of the intentions of the defenders, and the fleet prepared to resume the action in the morning. fort marabout, and several of the batteries on the shore, were still unsilenced; and two heavy guns, mounted on the moncrieff system (by which the gun rose to a level of the parapet, fired, and instantly sank again), had continued to fire all day, in spite of the efforts of the fleet to silence them. next morning, however, there was a long heavy swell, and the ironclads were rolling too heavily for anything like accuracy of aim; but as parties of men could be seen, at work in the moncrieff battery, fire was opened upon them, and they speedily evacuated it. all night, the palace of ras-el-teen burned fiercely. another great fire was raging in the heart of the town, and anxiety for those on shore, for the time, overpowered the feeling of exultation at the victory that had been gained. at half-past ten a white flag was hoisted at the pharos battery, and all on board watched, with deep anxiety, what was to follow. lieutenant lambton at once steamed into the fort, in the bittern, to enquire if the government were ready to surrender. it was three o'clock before he steamed out again, with the news that his mission was fruitless; and that the white flag had only been hoisted, by the officer in command of the fort, to enable himself and his men to get away unmolested. lieutenant lambton had obtained an interview with the military governor, on behalf of the government, and told him that we were not at war with egypt, and had simply destroyed the forts because they threatened the fleet; that we had no conditions to impose upon the government, but were ready to discuss any proposal; and that the troops would be allowed to evacuate the forts, with the honour of war. it was most unfortunate that the fleet had not brought with them two or three thousand troops. had they done so they could have landed at once, and saved a great portion of the town from destruction; but as he had no soldiers, the admiral could not land a portion of the sailors, as the large egyptian force in the town, which was still protected by a number of land batteries, might fall upon them. at five o'clock the helicon was sent in to say that white flags would not be noticed, unless hoisted by authority; and if they were again shown, the british admiral would consider them the signs of a general surrender. it was a long time before the helicon returned, with news that no communication had been received from the enemy, that the barracks and arsenals seemed to be deserted and, as far as could be seen, the whole town was evacuated. as evening wore on, fresh fires broke out in all parts of the town, and a steam pinnace was sent ashore to ascertain, if possible, the state of affairs. mr. ross, a contractor for the supply of meat to the fleet, volunteered to accompany it. the harbour was dark and deserted. not a light was to be seen in the houses near the water. the crackling of the flames could be heard, with an occasional crash of falling walls and roofs. on nearing the landing place the pinnace paused, for two or three minutes, for those on board to listen; and as all was quiet, steamed alongside. mr. ross jumped ashore, and the boat backed off a few yards. a quarter of an hour later, he returned. that quarter of the town was entirely deserted, and he had pushed on until arrested by a barrier of flames. the great square was on fire, from end to end; the european quarter generally was in flames; and he could see, by the litter that strewed the streets, that the houses had been plundered before being fired. when daylight broke, a number of europeans could be seen, at the edge of the water, in the harbour. boats were at once lowered; and the crews, armed to the teeth, rowed ashore. here they found about a hundred europeans, many of them wounded. when rioting had broken out they had, as arranged, assembled at the anglo-egyptian bank. they were taken off to the merchant steamers, lying behind the fleet, and their information confirmed the worst forebodings of the fugitives there. when the first gun of the bombardment was fired, gregory had gone up, with the other employees, to the top of the house; where they commanded a view over the whole scene of action. after the first few minutes' firing they could see but little, for batteries and ships were, alike, shrouded in smoke. at first, there had been some feeling of insecurity, and a doubt whether a shot too highly aimed might not come into the town; but the orders to abstain carefully from injuring the city had been well observed, and, except to the palace and a few houses close to the water's edge, no damage was done. towards evening, all those who had resolved to remain behind gathered at the anglo-egyptian bank, or at mr. ferguson's. but a consultation was held later, and it was agreed that next morning all should go to the bank, which was a far more massive building, with fewer entrances, and greater facilities for defence. when the town was quiet, therefore, all were employed in transferring valuable goods there, and the house was then locked up and left to its fate. against a mere rising of the rabble the latter might have been successfully defended; but there was little doubt that, before leaving the town, the troops would join the fanatics; and in that case, a house not built with a special eye for defence could hardly hope to hold out, against persistent attack. the bank, however, might hope to make a stout defence. it was built of massive stone, the lower windows were barred, and a strong barricade was built against the massive doors. a hundred and twenty resolute men, all well armed, could hold it against even a persistent attack, if unsupported by artillery. early in the afternoon, all felt that the critical moment had approached. throughout the night a fire had raged, from the opposite side of the great square; where several deserted houses had been broken into, and plundered, by the mob; but the soldiers stationed in the square had prevented any further disorder. now, however, parties of troops from the forts began to pour in. it was already known that their losses had been very heavy, and that many of the forts had been destroyed. soon they broke up and, joining the mob, commenced the work of pillage. doors were blown in, shutters torn off and, with wild yells and shouts, the native population poured in. the work of destruction had begun. the garrison of the bank saw many europeans, hurrying, too late, to reach that shelter, murdered before their eyes. in the levantine quarter, the cracking of pistols and the shouts of men showed that the work of massacre was proceeding there. soon every door of the houses in the great square was forced in, and ere long great numbers of men, loaded with spoil of all kinds, staggered out. so far the bank had been left alone; but it was now its turn, and the mob poured down upon it. as they came up, a sharp fire broke out from every window, answered by a discharge of muskets and pistols from the crowd. here men fell fast, but they had been worked up to such a pitch of excitement, and fanaticism, that the gaps were more than filled by fresh comers. all the afternoon and evening the fight continued. in vain the mob endeavoured to break down the massive iron bars of the windows, and batter in the doors. although many of the defenders were wounded, and several killed; by the fire from the windows of the neighbouring houses, and from the road; their steady fire, at the points most hotly attacked, drove their assailants back again and again. at twelve o'clock the assault slackened. the soldiers had long left and, so far as could be seen from the roof of the house, had entirely evacuated the town; and as this fact became known to the mob, the thought of the consequences of their action cooled their fury; for they knew that, probably, the troops would land from the british ships next day. each man had his plunder to secure, and gradually the crowd melted away. by two o'clock all was quiet; and although, occasionally, fresh fires burst out in various quarters of the town, there could be little doubt that the great bulk of the population had followed the example of the army, and had left the city. then the besieged gathered in the great office on the ground floor; and, as it was agreed that there would be probably no renewal of the attack, they quietly left the house, locking the doors after them, and made their way down to the shore. they believed that they were the only survivors, but when they reached the end of the town, they found that the building of the credit lyonnais had also been successfully defended, though the ottoman bank had been overpowered, and all within it, upwards of a hundred in number, killed. gregory had done his full share in the defence, and received a musket ball in the shoulder. his wife had passed a terrible time, while the conflagration was raging, and it was evident that the populace had risen, and were undoubtedly murdering as well as burning and plundering; and her delight was indeed great when she saw her husband, with others, approaching in a man-of-war's boat. the fact that one arm was in a sling was scarcely noticed, in her joy at his return, alive. "thank god, you are safe!" she said, as he came up the gangway. "it has been an awful time, and i had almost given up hope of ever seeing you alive, again." "i told you, dear, that i felt confident we could beat off the scum of the town. of course it was a sharp fight, but there was never any real danger of their breaking in. we only lost about half a dozen, out of nearly a hundred and twenty, and some twenty of us were wounded. my injury is not at all serious, and i shall soon be all right again. it is only a broken collarbone. "however, it has been a terrible time. the great square, and almost all the european quarter, have been entirely destroyed. the destruction of property is something frightful, and most of the merchants will be absolutely ruined. fortunately, our firm were insured, pretty well up to the full value." "but i thought that they could not break in there?" "we all moved out, the evening before, to the anglo-egyptian bank. the town was full of troops, and we doubted whether we could hold the place. as the bank was much stronger, we agreed that it was better to join the two garrisons and fight it out there; and i am very glad we did so, for i doubt whether we could have defended our place, successfully." mr. ferguson and the clerks had all come off with gregory to the simoon, on board which there was plenty of accommodation for them, as it was not one of the ships that had been taken up for the accommodation of the fugitives. among the party who came on board was a doctor, who had taken part in the defence of the bank, and had attended to the wounded as the fight went on. he did so again that evening, and told gregory that in a month he would, if he took care of himself, be able to use his arm again. the next morning there was a consultation in the cabin. mr. ferguson had gone on shore, late the previous afternoon; as five hundred sailors had been landed, and had returned in the evening. "it is certain," he said, "that nothing can be done until the place is rebuilt. the sailors are busy at work, fighting the fire, but there are continued fresh outbreaks. the bulk of the natives have left; but arabi, before marching out, opened the prisons and released the convicts; and these and the scum of the town are still there, and continue the destruction whenever they get a chance. a score or two have been caught red handed and shot down, and a number of others have been flogged. "another batch of sailors will land this morning, and order will soon be restored; unless arabi, who is encamped, with some ten thousand men, two miles outside the town, makes an effort to recover the place. i don't think he is likely to do so, for now that the european houses have all been destroyed, there would be no longer any reluctance to bombard the town itself; and even if arabi did recover it, he would very soon be shelled out. "by the way, a larger number of people have been saved than was imagined. several of the streets in the poor european quarters have escaped. the people barricaded the ends, and fought so desperately that their assailants drew off, finding it easier to plunder the better quarters. even if the mob had overcome the resistance of the defenders of the lanes, they would have found little worth taking there; so some five hundred europeans have escaped, and these will be very useful. "charley beresford has charge of the police arrangements on shore, and he has gangs of them at work fighting the fire, and all the natives are forced to assist. the wires will be restored in a day or two, when i shall, of course, telegraph for instructions; and have no doubt that mr. partridge will send out orders to rebuild as soon as order is completely restored. "i imagine that most of us will be recalled home, until that is done. even if the place were intact, no business would be done, as our goods would be of little use to the navy or army; for no doubt an army will be sent. arabi is as powerful as ever, but now that we have taken the matter in hand, it must be carried through. "at any rate, there will be no clerks' work to be done here. the plans for a new building will naturally be prepared at home, and a foreman of works sent out. it is a bad job for us all, but as it is we must not complain; for we have escaped with our lives, and i hope that, in six months, we may open again. however, we can form no plans, until i receive instructions from home." gregory did not go ashore for the next week, by which time order had been completely restored, the fires extinguished, and the streets made, at least, passable. the sailors had been aided by a battalion of marines, which had been telegraphed for from malta by the admiral, before the bombardment began. the khedive had returned to has-el-teen, which had only been partly destroyed, as soon as the blue-jackets entered. his arrival put an end to all difficulties, as henceforward our operations were carried on, nominally, by his orders. the american ships entered the harbour the next day and the naval officer in command landed one hundred and twenty-five men, to assist our blue-jackets; and, two days later, the th regiment and a battalion of the th rifles arrived. the shops in the streets that escaped destruction gradually reopened, and country people began to bring in supplies. many of the refugees on board the ships sailed for home, while those who found their houses still standing, although everything in them was smashed and destroyed, set to work to make them habitable. soon temporary sheds were erected, and such portions of the cargoes on board the merchantmen as would be likely to find a sale, were landed. before the end of the week, mr. ferguson had received an answer to his telegram. three days previously he had received a wire: "have written fully." the letter came via marseilles. after congratulations at the escape of himself and the staff, mr. partridge wrote: "as you say that the house and warehouse are entirely destroyed, with all contents, there can be nothing for you and the clerks to do; and you had best return, at once, to england. i will make the best arrangements that i can for you all. "as i have a plan of the ground, i have already instructed an architect to prepare a sketch for rebuilding, on a larger scale than before. the insurance companies are sending out agents to verify claims. looking at your last report, it seems to me that the loss of goods, as well as that of buildings, will be fully covered. should any of the staff determine to remain in alexandria, and to take their chance of finding something to do, you are authorized to pay them three months' salary, and to promise to reinstate them, as soon as we reopen. "i anticipate no further disturbances, whatever. a strong force is being sent out, and there can be no doubt that arabi will be crushed, as soon as it is ready to take the field." other directions followed, but these were only amplifications of those mentioned. "what do you think, annie?" gregory said, when ferguson had read to his staff that portion of the letter that concerned them. "shall we take the three months' pay and remain here, or shall we go back to england?" "what do you think, yourself?" "there are two lights in which to look at it, annie. first, which would be best for us? and secondly, which shall we like best? of course, the first is the more difficult point to decide. you see, partridge doesn't say that we shall be kept on; he only says that he will do his best for us. i don't think that there is any chance of his keeping us on at full pay. if he intended to do so, it would have been cheaper for him to give us our pay here, in which case he would save our passages back to england and out again. i think we could not reckon on getting anything like full pay, while we were in england, and you know i have lost faith in my literary powers. i think i have improved, but i certainly should not like, after our last experience, to trust to that for keeping us, in england. "the question is, what should i do here? there will be plenty of openings, for men who can speak the native language, as labour overseers. the contractors for food for the army will want men of that sort; and as i know several of them, through my work in the port and being in partridge's house, i have no doubt i could get employment that way, and carry on very well till trade is open again, and obtain then a good deal better berth than they would offer me. no doubt, one could get employment in the transport or commissariat of the army, when it comes out. that will be a thing to think seriously of. "my objections to that are personal ones. in the first place, it would lead to nothing when the affair is over. in the second place, i should be certain to meet men i knew at harrow, or at the university, or since then; and i own that i should shrink from that. as gregory hilliard, i don't mind carrying a parcel or helping to load a dray; but i should not like, as gregory hartley, to be known to be doing that sort of thing. personally i feel not the smallest humiliation in doing so, but i don't think it would be fair to geoffrey. i should not like it myself, if i were an earl, for fellows who knew him to be able to say that my brother was knocking about in egypt as an interpreter, or mule driver, or something of that sort. that certainly has to be taken into consideration. "it is not likely that i should get any sort of berth that an officer would be appointed to, for every officer in the army, whose regiment is not coming out here, will be rushing to the war office to apply for any sort of appointment that would enable him to come out to the war. "again, it is almost certain that, when this business is over--and i don't suppose it will last long, after we get an army out here--a fresh egyptian force will be raised. you may be sure that the greater portion of our troops will be hurried back, as soon as it is over; and that, as the present egyptian army will be altogether smashed up, it will be absolutely necessary that there should be a force, of some kind or other, that can put a stop to this mahdi fellow's doings. he has overrun half the soudan, and inflicted serious defeats on the egyptian troops there. he has captured a considerable portion of kordofan; and, of course, it is owing to his insurrection that those rows have occurred down at the red sea, where our men have been fighting. "it is likely enough that they may appoint some british officers to the new force, and i might get a fair position on it. they will want interpreters there. promotion will be sure to be rapid, and i might have opportunities of distinguishing myself, and get an appointment where i could, without discrediting it, take my own name again. "these are only among the things that might be; but at the worst, i am certain to get some sort of post, at alexandria, which would enable us to live without trenching upon the three months' pay that is offered me; and then, if i could see nothing better, i could return to partridge's employment when they reopen here, and i have no doubt that they would improve my position. "i don't think that parrott is likely to come back again. the climate did not suit him, and he is always having attacks of fever. ferguson has, i know, for he told me so, reported very favourably about my work to headquarters; and, as i have been wounded in defence of the house, i have an additional claim. the others will, of course, be moved up, and i should get the junior clerkship--no advance in the way of remuneration, but a great improvement in position. "so i think we had better accept the three months' pay, and take our chances. at any rate, there will be no fear of another disturbance at alexandria. the mob have had a lesson here that they are not likely to forget, and i should fancy that, although we may withdraw the army, two or three regiments will be left here, and at cairo, for a long time to come. we should be fools, indeed, if we threw away the money that this business will cost, before it is over, and let egypt slip altogether out of our fingers again. france has forfeited her right to have anything to say in the matter. in our hands it will be a very valuable possession, and certainly our stay here would be of inestimable advantage to the natives, as we should govern egypt as we govern india, and do away with the tyranny, oppression, and extortion of the native officials." mrs. hilliard quite agreed with her husband; and accordingly, the next day, gregory informed mr. ferguson that he would accept the three months' pay, and his discharge; and should, at any rate for a time, remain in alexandria. "i think you are right, hilliard. there will be lots of opportunities here for a man who knows the language as you do. if you like, i will speak to mr. ross. i saw him yesterday, in the town, and he said that two of his assistants had been killed. he has already obtained a fresh contract, and a very heavy one, for the supply of meat for the troops as they arrive; and i have no doubt he would be very glad to engage you, on good terms, though the engagement could only be made during the stay of the army here." "thank you, sir. i shall be much obliged to you if you will do so; and i would rather that the engagement should be a temporary one, on both sides, so that i should be free to leave, at a few days' notice." the contractor, after a chat with gregory hilliard, was glad to secure his services. he saw the advantage that it would be to have a gentleman to represent him, with the army, instead of an agent of a very different kind. other men would do to purchase animals from the arabs, or to receive them at the ports when they were brought over from spain and italy; but it required a variety of qualities, difficult to obtain in the same person, to act as agent with the army. gregory was exactly the man required, and he was soon on excellent terms, both with the officers of the quartermaster's department, and the contractors who brought in the cargoes of cattle. as soon as the bulk of the army sailed from alexandria to ismailia, he made the latter town his headquarters; and by his power of work, his tact and good temper, he smoothed away all the difficulties that so often arise between contractors and army officials, and won the goodwill of all with whom he came in contact. when the army removed to cairo, after the defeat and dispersal of arabi's force at tel-el-kebir, gregory established himself there, and was joined by his wife and child. as soon as matters settled down, and a considerable portion of the troops had left egypt, mr. ross said to him: "of course, our operations in the future will be comparatively small, mr. hilliard, and i must reduce my staff." "i quite understand that," gregory replied, "and i knew that i should have to look out for something else." "i shall be very sorry to lose your services, which have indeed been invaluable, and i am sure have been appreciated, by the army men as much as by myself. i certainly should not think of your leaving me, until you get another berth; and it is only because i see an opening, if you like to take it, that might lead to something better, in the future, than anything i can offer you. "you know that colonel hicks arrived here, a fortnight since, and is to take command of the egyptian army, and to have the rank of pasha. several officers have received appointments on his staff. he will shortly be going up to khartoum. i was speaking to him yesterday, and as i was doing so, two of the officers of wolseley's staff came in. a question of supplies came up, and i mentioned your name, and said that i thought that you were the very man for him, that you were master of arabic, and an excellent organizer; and, a very important matter where there were so few english officers together, a gentleman. "one of the officers, who knew the work that you had done, at once confirmed what i had said, and declared that wolseley's quartermaster general would speak as warmly in your favour. hicks told me that, until he got up to khartoum, he could not say what arrangements would be made for the supplies; but that he would, at any rate, be very glad to have you with him, in the capacity of a first-class interpreter, and for general service with the staff, with the temporary rank of captain; with the special view of your services in organizing a supply train, when he moved forward. i said that i should speak to you, and ascertain your views." "i am very much obliged to you, indeed. i must take twenty-four hours to think it over. of course i shall be guided, to some extent, by the question whether the appointment would be likely to be a permanent one." "that i have no doubt. indeed, hicks said as much. i asked him the question, and he replied, 'i can hardly make a permanent appointment now, as i am not quite in the saddle; but i have no doubt, from what you say, that mr. hilliard will make a valuable officer; and after our first campaign i shall, without difficulty, be able to obtain him a permanent appointment in the egyptian army.'" "i thank you, most heartily, mr. ross. it seems to me a grand opening. there is no doubt that, as our troops leave, the egyptian army will be thoroughly reorganized; and there will be many openings for a man who knows the language, and is ready to work hard; and, no doubt, the regiments will be largely officered by englishmen." that evening, gregory had a long talk with his wife. "i don't like the thought of leaving you, even for a time; but no doubt, when the mahdi is settled with, you will be able to join me at khartoum; which, i believe, is by no means an unpleasant place to live in. of course, i shall come down and take you up. it is a splendid chance, and will really be my reinstatement. once holding a commission in the egyptian army, i should resume my own name, and have the future to look forward to. entering the service as the army is being reorganized, i should have a great pull, and should be sure to get on, and be able to write to my father and brother, without its appearing that i wanted help of any kind." there were tears in mrs. hilliard's eyes, but she said bravely: "i quite agree with you, gregory. of course, i shall be sorry that you should leave me, even for a time; but it seems to me, too, that it is a grand opportunity. you know what a pain it was to me, all the time that we were at alexandria, that you should be working in such a subordinate position. now there is an opening by which you will be in a position, ere long, more worthy of your birth and education. i have no doubt i shall get on very well, here. i believe that hicks pasha has brought his wife out with him here; and some of his officers will, no doubt, be married men also; and as the wife of one of his officers i shall, of course, get to know them. i should be selfish, indeed, to say a word to keep you back, and shall be delighted to think of you associating with other english gentlemen, as one of themselves." and so it was settled. the next day, gregory called on hicks pasha. the latter had made some more enquiries respecting him, and was well pleased with his appearance. "i have already a gentleman named as staff interpreter, mr. hilliard, but i can appoint you, at once, interpreter to the quartermaster's department, attached to my personal staff for the present. i can tell you that the egyptian army will be largely increased, and i shall be able, after a time, to procure you a better appointment. when we have once defeated the mahdi, and restored order, there will be many appointments open for the reorganization of the soudan. there are a good many preparations to be made, before i leave, which i expect to do in the course of three or four weeks; and i shall be glad of your assistance, as soon as you can join us." "i shall be glad to do so, at once. mr. ross has kindly told me that i am at liberty to resign my post, under him, as soon as i like." "very well, then. you may consider yourself appointed, today. my intention is to go first to suakim, and thence up to berber, and so by water to khartoum." the next three weeks passed rapidly. gregory was, on the following day, introduced to the various officers of hicks pasha's staff; and, on learning that he was married, the general asked him and his wife to dinner, to make the acquaintance of lady hicks, and the wives of three of his fellow officers. at last, the time came for parting. annie bore up well; and although, when alone, she had many a cry, she was always cheerful, and went with her husband and saw him off, at the station of the railway for ismailia, without breaking down badly. chapter : a terrible disaster. it was an anxious time for his wife, after gregory started. he, and those with him, had left with a feeling of confidence that the insurrection would speedily be put down. the garrison of khartoum had inflicted several severe defeats upon the mahdi, but had also suffered some reverses. this, however, was only to be expected, when the troops under him were scarcely more disciplined than those of the dervishes, who had always been greatly superior in numbers, and inspired with a fanatical belief in their prophet. but with british officers to command, and british officers to drill and discipline the troops, there could be no fear of a recurrence of these disasters. before they started, mrs. hilliard had become intimate with the wife of hicks pasha, and those of the other married officers, and had paid visits with them to the harems of high turkish officials. visits were frequently exchanged, and what with these, and the care of the boy, her time was constantly occupied. she received letters from gregory, as frequently as possible, after his arrival at omdurman, and until he set out with the main body, under the general, on the way to el obeid. before starting, he said he hoped that, in another two months, the campaign would be over, el obeid recovered, and the mahdi smashed up; and that, as soon as they returned to khartoum, hicks pasha would send for his wife and daughters, and the other married officers for their wives; and, of course, she would accompany them. "i cannot say much for omdurman," he wrote; "but khartoum is a nice place. many of the houses there have shady gardens. hicks has promised to recommend me for a majority, in one of the turkish regiments. in the intervals of my own work, i have got up drill. i shall, of course, tell him then what my real name is, so that i can be gazetted in it. it is likely enough that, even after we defeat the mahdi, this war may go on for some time before it is stamped out; and in another year i may be a full-blown colonel, if only an egyptian one; and as the pay of the english officers is good, i shall be able to have a very comfortable home for you. "i need not repeat my instructions, darling, as to what you must do in the event, improbable as it is, of disaster. when absolutely assured of my death, but not until then, you will go back to england with the boy, and see my father. he is not a man to change his mind, unless i were to humble myself before him; but i think he would do the right thing for you. if he will not, there is the letter for geoffrey. he has no settled income at present, but when he comes into the title he will, i feel quite certain, make you an allowance. i know that you would, for yourself, shrink from doing this; but, for the boy's sake, you will not hesitate to carry out my instructions. i should say you had better write to my father, for the interview might be an unpleasant one; but if you have to appeal to geoffrey, you had better call upon him and show him this letter. i feel sure that he will do what he can. "gregory." a month later, a messenger came up from suakim with a despatch, dated october rd. the force was then within a few days' march of el obeid. the news was not altogether cheering. hordes of the enemy hovered about their rear. communication was already difficult, and they had to depend upon the stores they carried, and cut themselves off altogether from the base. he brought some private letters from the officers, and among them one for mrs. hilliard. it was short, and written in pencil: "in a few days, dear, the decisive battle will take place; and although it will be a tough fight, none of us have any fear of the result. in the very improbable event of a defeat, i shall, if i have time, slip on the arab dress i have with me, and may hope to escape. however, i have little fear that it will come to that. god bless and protect you, and the boy! "gregory." a month passed away. no news came from hicks pasha, or any of his officers. then there were rumours current in the bazaars, of disaster; and one morning, when annie called upon lady hicks, she found several of the ladies there with pale and anxious faces. she paused at the door. "do not be alarmed, mrs. hilliard," lady hicks said. "nizim pasha has been here this morning. he thought that i might have heard the rumours that are current in the bazaar, that there has been a disaster, but he says there is no confirmation whatever of these reports. he does not deny, however, that they have caused anxiety among the authorities; for sometimes these rumours, whose origin no one knows, do turn out to be correct. he said that enquiries have been made, but no foundation for the stories can be got at. i questioned him closely, and he says that he can only account for them on the ground that, if a victory had been won, an official account from government should have been here before this; and that it is solely on this account that these rumours have got about. he said there was no reason for supposing that this silence meant disaster. a complete victory might have been won; and yet the messenger with the despatches might have been captured, and killed, by the parties of tribesmen hanging behind the army, or wandering about the country between the army and khartoum. still, of course, this is making us all very anxious." the party soon broke up, none having any reassuring suggestions to offer; and annie returned to her lodging, to weep over her boy, and pray for the safety of his father. days and weeks passed, and still no word came to cairo. at khartoum there was a ferment among the native population. no secret was made of the fact that the tribesmen who came and went all declared that hicks pasha's army was utterly destroyed. at length, the egyptian government announced to the wives of the officers that pensions would be given to them, according to the rank of their husbands. as captain and interpreter, gregory's wife had but a small one, but it was sufficient for her to live upon. one by one, the other ladies gave up hope and returned to england, but annie stayed on. misfortune might have befallen the army, but gregory might have escaped in disguise. she had, like the other ladies, put on mourning for him; for had she declared her belief that he might still be alive, she could not have applied for the pension, and this was necessary for the child's sake. of one thing she was determined. she would not go with him, as beggars, to the father who had cast gregory off; until, as he had said, she received absolute news of his death. she was not in want; but as her pension was a small one, and she felt that it would be well for her to be employed, she asked lady hicks, before she left, to mention at the houses of the egyptian ladies to whom she went to say goodbye, that mrs. hilliard would be glad to give lessons in english, french, or music. the idea pleased them, and she obtained several pupils. some of these were the ladies themselves, and the lessons generally consisted in sitting for an hour with them, two or three times a week, and talking to them; the conversation being in short sentences, of which she gave them the english translation, which they repeated over and over again, until they knew them by heart. this caused great amusement, and was accompanied by much laughter, on the part of the ladies and their attendants. several of her pupils, however, were young boys and girls, and the teaching here was of a more serious kind. the lessons to the boys were given the first thing in the morning, and the pupils were brought to her house by attendants. at eleven o'clock she taught the girls, and returned at one, and had two hours more teaching in the afternoon. she could have obtained more pupils, had she wished to; but the pay she received, added to her income, enabled her to live very comfortably, and to save up money. she had a negro servant, who was very fond of the boy, and she could leave him in her charge with perfect confidence, while she was teaching. in the latter part of , she ventured to hope that some news might yet come to her, for a british expedition had started for the relief of general gordon, who had gone up early in the year to khartoum; where it was hoped that the influence he had gained among the natives, at the time he was in command of the egyptian forces in the soudan, would enable him to make head against the insurrection. his arrival had been hailed by the population, but it was soon evident to him that, unless aided by england with something more than words, khartoum must finally fall. but his requests for aid were slighted. he had asked that two regiments should be sent from suakim, to keep open the route to berber, but mr. gladstone's government refused even this slight assistance to the man they had sent out, and it was not until may that public indignation, at this base desertion of one of the noblest spirits that britain ever produced, caused preparations for his rescue to be made; and it was december before the leading regiment arrived at korti, far up the nile. after fighting two hard battles, a force that had marched across the loop of the nile came down upon it above metemmeh. a party started up the river at once, in two steamers which gordon had sent down to meet them, but only arrived near the town to hear that they were too late, that khartoum had fallen, and that gordon had been murdered. the army was at once hurried back to the coast, leaving it to the mahdists--more triumphant than ever--to occupy dongola; and to push down, and possibly, as they were confident they should do, to capture egypt itself. the news of the failure was a terrible blow to mrs. hilliard. she had hoped that, when khartoum was relieved, some information at least might be obtained, from prisoners, as to the fate of the british officers at el obeid. that most of them had been killed was certain, but she still clung to the hope that her husband might have escaped from the general massacre, thanks to his knowledge of the language, and the disguise he had with him; and even that if captured later on he might be a prisoner; or that he might have escaped detection altogether, and be still living among friendly tribesmen. it was a heavy blow to her, therefore, when she heard that the troops were being hurried down to the coast, and that the mahdi would be uncontested master of egypt, as far as assouan. she did, however, receive news when the force returned to cairo, which, although depressing, did not extinguish all hope. lieutenant colonel colborne, by good luck, had ascertained that a native boy in the service of general buller claimed to have been at el obeid. upon questioning him closely, he found out that he had unquestionably been there, for he described accurately the position colonel colborne--who had started with hicks pasha, but had been forced by illness to return--had occupied in one of the engagements. the boy was then the slave of an egyptian officer of the expedition. the army had suffered much from want of water, but they had obtained plenty from a lake within three days' march from el obeid. from this point they were incessantly fired at, by the enemy. on the second day they were attacked, but beat off the enemy, though with heavy loss to themselves. the next day they pressed forward, as it was necessary to get to water; but they were misled by their guide, and at noon the arabs burst down upon them, the square in which the force was marching was broken, and a terrible slaughter took place. then hicks pasha, with his officers, seeing that all was lost, gathered together and kept the enemy at bay with their revolvers, till their ammunition was exhausted. after that they fought with their swords till all were killed, hicks pasha being the last to fall. the lad himself hid among the dead and was not discovered until the next morning, when he was made a slave by the man who found him. this was terrible! but there was still hope. if this boy had concealed himself among the dead, her husband might have done the same. not being a combatant officer, he might not have been near the others when the affair took place; and moreover, the lad had said that the black regiment in the rear of the square had kept together and marched away; he believed all had been afterwards killed, but this he did not know. if gregory had been there when the square was broken, he might well have kept with them, and at nightfall slipped on his disguise and made his escape. it was at least possible--she would not give up all hope. so years went on. things were quiet in egypt. a native army had been raised there, under the command of british officers, and these had checked the northern progress of the mahdists and restored confidence in egypt. gregory--for the boy had been named after his father--grew up strong and hearty. his mother devoted her evenings to his education. from the negress, who was his nurse and the general servant of the house, he had learnt to talk her native language. she had been carried off, when ten years old, by a slave-raiding party, and sold to an egyptian trader at khartoum; been given by him to an atbara chief, with whom he had dealings; and, five years later, had been captured in a tribal war by the jaalin. two or three times she had changed masters, and finally had been purchased by an egyptian officer, and brought down by him to cairo. at his death, four years afterwards, she had been given her freedom, being now past fifty, and had taken service with gregory hilliard and his wife. her vocabulary was a large one, and she was acquainted with most of the dialects of the soudan tribes. from the time when her husband was first missing, mrs. hilliard cherished the idea that, some day, the child might grow up and search for his father; and, perhaps, ascertain his fate beyond all doubt. she was a very conscientious woman, and was resolved that, at whatever pain to herself, she would, when once certain of her husband's death, go to england and obtain recognition of his boy by his family. but it was pleasant to think that the day was far distant when she could give up hope. she saw, too, that if the soudan was ever reconquered, the knowledge of the tribal languages must be of immense benefit to her son; and she therefore insisted, from the first, that the woman should always talk to him in one or other of the languages that she knew. thus gregory, almost unconsciously, acquired several of the dialects used in the soudan. arabic formed the basis of them all, except the negro tongue. at first he mixed them up, but as he grew, mrs. hilliard insisted that his nurse should speak one for a month, and then use another; so that, by the time he was twelve years old, the boy could speak in the negro tongue, and half a dozen dialects, with equal facility. his mother had, years before, engaged a teacher of arabic for him. this he learned readily, as it was the root of the egyptian and the other languages he had picked up. of a morning, he sat in the school and learned pure arabic and turkish, while the boys learned english; and therefore, without an effort, when he was twelve years old he talked these languages as well as english; and had, moreover, a smattering of italian and french, picked up from boys of his own age, for his mother had now many acquaintances among the european community. while she was occupied in the afternoon, with her pupils, the boy had liberty to go about as he pleased; and indeed she encouraged him to take long walks, to swim, and to join in all games and exercises. "english boys at home," she said, "have many games, and it is owing to these that they grow up so strong and active. they have more opportunities than you, but you must make the most of those that you have. we may go back to england some day, and i should not at all like you to be less strong than others." as, however, such opportunities were very small, she had an apparatus of poles, horizontal bars, and ropes set up, such as those she had seen, in england, in use by the boys of one of the families where she had taught, before her marriage; and insisted upon gregory's exercising himself upon it for an hour every morning, soon after sunrise. as she had heard her husband once say that fencing was a splendid exercise, not only for developing the figure, but for giving a good carriage as well as activity and alertness, she arranged with a frenchman who had served in the army, and had gained a prize as a swordsman in the regiment, to give the boy lessons two mornings in the week. thus, at fifteen, gregory was well grown and athletic, and had much of the bearing and appearance of an english public-school boy. his mother had been very particular in seeing that his manners were those of an englishman. "i hope the time will come when you will associate with english gentlemen, and i should wish you, in all respects, to be like them. you belong to a good family; and should you, by any chance, some day go home, you must do credit to your dear father." the boy had, for some years, been acquainted with the family story, except that he did not know the name he bore was his father's christian name, and not that of his family. "my grandfather must have been a very bad man, mother, to have quarreled with my father for marrying you." "well, my boy, you hardly understand the extent of the exclusiveness of some englishmen. of course, it is not always so, but to some people, the idea of their sons or daughters marrying into a family of less rank than themselves appears to be an almost terrible thing. as i have told you, although the daughter of a clergyman, i was, when i became an orphan, obliged to go out as a governess." "but there was no harm in that, mother?" "no harm, dear; but a certain loss of position. had my father been alive, and had i been living with him in a country rectory, your grandfather might not have been pleased at your father's falling in love with me, because he would probably have considered that, being, as you know by his photograph, a fine, tall, handsome man, and having the best education money could give him, he might have married very much better; that is to say, the heiress of a property, or into a family of influence, through which he might have been pushed on; but he would not have thought of opposing the marriage on the ground of my family. but a governess is a different thing. she is, in many cases, a lady in every respect, but her position is a doubtful one. "in some families she is treated as one of themselves. in others, her position is very little different from that of an upper servant. your grandfather was a passionate man, and a very proud man. your father's elder brother was well provided for, but there were two sisters, and these and your father he hoped would make good marriages. he lived in very good style, but your uncle was extravagant, and your grandfather was over indulgent, and crippled himself a good deal in paying the debts that he incurred. it was natural, therefore, that he should have objected to your father's engagement to what he called a penniless governess. it was only what was to be expected. if he had stated his objections to the marriage calmly, there need have been no quarrel. your father would assuredly have married me, in any case; and your grandfather might have refused to assist him, if he did so, but there need have been no breakup in the family, such as took place. "however, as it was, your father resented his tone, and what had been merely a difference of opinion became a serious quarrel, and they never saw each other, afterwards. it was a great grief to me, and it was owing to that, and his being unable to earn his living in england, that your father brought me out here. i believe he would have done well at home, though it would have been a hard struggle. at that time i was very delicate, and was ordered by the doctors to go to a warm climate, and therefore your father accepted a position of a kind which, at least, enabled us to live, and obtained for me the benefit of a warm climate. "then the chance came of his going up to the soudan, and there was a certainty that, if the expedition succeeded, as everyone believed it would, he would have obtained permanent rank in the egyptian army, and so recovered the position in life that he had voluntarily given up, for my sake." "and what was the illness you had, mother?" "it was an affection of the lungs, dear. it was a constant cough, that threatened to turn to consumption, which is one of the most fatal diseases we have in england." "but it hasn't cured you, mother, for i often hear you coughing, at night." "yes, my cough has been a little troublesome of late, gregory." indeed, from the time of the disaster to the expedition of hicks pasha, annie hilliard had lost ground. she herself was conscious of it; but, except for the sake of the boy, she had not troubled over it. she had not altogether given up hope, but the hope grew fainter and fainter, as the years went on. had it not been for the promise to her husband, not to mention his real name or to make any application to his father unless absolutely assured of his death, she would, for gregory's sake, have written to mr. hartley, and asked for help that would have enabled her to take the boy home to england, and have him properly educated there. but she had an implicit faith in the binding of a promise so made, and as long as she was not driven, by absolute want, to apply to mr. hartley, was determined to keep to it. a year after this conversation, gregory was sixteen. now tall and strong, he had, for some time past, been anxious to obtain some employment that would enable his mother to give up her teaching. some of this, indeed, she had been obliged to relinquish. during the past few months her cheeks had become hollow, and her cough was now frequent by day, as well as by night. she had consulted an english doctor, who, she saw by the paper, was staying at shepherd's hotel. he had hesitated before giving a direct opinion, but on her imploring him to tell her the exact state of her health, said gently: "i am afraid, madam, that i can give you no hope of recovery. one lung has already gone, the other is very seriously diseased. were you living in england, i should say that your life might be prolonged by taking you to a warm climate; but as it is, no change could be made for the better." "thank you, doctor. i wanted to know the exact truth, and be able to make my arrangements accordingly. i was quite convinced that my condition was hopeless, but i thought it right to consult a physician, and to know how much time i could reckon on. can you tell me that?" "that is always difficult, mrs. hilliard. it may be three months hence. it might be more speedily--a vessel might give way in the lungs, suddenly. on the other hand, you might live six months. of course, i cannot say how rapid the progress of the disease has been." "it may not be a week, doctor. i am not at all afraid of hearing your sentence--indeed, i can see it in your eyes." "it may be within a week"--the doctor bowed his head gravely--"it may be at any time." "thank you!" she said, quietly. "i was sure it could not be long. i have been teaching, but three weeks ago i had to give up my last pupil. my breath is so short that the slightest exertion brings on a fit of coughing." on her return home she said to gregory: "my dear boy, you must have seen--you cannot have helped seeing--that my time is not long here. i have seen an english doctor today, and he says the end may come at any moment." "oh, mother, mother!" the lad cried, throwing himself on his knees, and burying his face in her lap, "don't say so!" the news, indeed, did not come as a surprise to him. he had, for months, noticed the steady change in her: how her face had fallen away, how her hands seemed nerveless, her flesh transparent, and her eyes grew larger and larger. many times he had walked far up among the hills and, when beyond the reach of human eye, thrown himself down and cried unrestrainedly, until his strength seemed utterly exhausted, and yet the verdict now given seemed to come as a sudden blow. "you must not break down, dear," she said quietly. "for months i have felt that it was so; and, but for your sake, i did not care to live. i thank god that i have been spared to see you growing up all that i could wish; and though i should have liked to see you fairly started in life, i feel that you may now make your way, unaided. "now i want, before it is too late, to give you instructions. in my desk you will find a sealed envelope. it contains a copy of the registers of my marriage, and of your birth. these will prove that your father married, and had a son. you can get plenty of witnesses who can prove that you were the child mentioned. i promised your father that i would not mention our real name to anyone, until it was necessary for me to write to your grandfather. i have kept that promise. his name was gregory hilliard, so we have not taken false names. they were his christian names. the third name, his family name, you will find when you open that envelope. "i have been thinking, for months past, what you had best do; and this is my advice, but do not look upon it as an order. you are old enough to think for yourself. you know that sir herbert kitchener, the sirdar, is pushing his way up the nile. i have no doubt that, with your knowledge of arabic, and of the language used by the black race in the soudan, you will be able to obtain some sort of post in the army, perhaps as an interpreter to one of the officers commanding a brigade--the same position, in fact, as your father had, except that the army is now virtually british, whereas that he went with was egyptian. "i have two reasons for desiring this. i do not wish you to go home, until you are in a position to dispense with all aid from your family. i have done without it, and i trust that you will be able to do the same. i should like you to be able to go home at one-and-twenty, and to say to your grandfather, 'i have not come home to ask for money or assistance of any kind. i am earning my living honourably. i only ask recognition, by my family, as my father's son.' "it is probable that this expedition will last fully two years. it must be a gradual advance, and even then, if the khalifa is beaten, it must be a considerable time before matters are thoroughly settled. there will be many civil posts open to those who, like yourself, are well acquainted with the language of the country; and if you can obtain one of these, you may well remain there until you come of age. you can then obtain a few months' leave of absence and go to england. "my second reason is that, although my hope that your father is still alive has almost died out, it is just possible that he is, like neufeld and some others, a prisoner in the khalifa's hands; or possibly living as an arab cultivator near el obeid. many prisoners will be taken, and from some of these we may learn such details, of the battle, as may clear us of the darkness that hangs over your father's fate. "when you do go home, gregory, you had best go first to your father's brother. his address is on a paper in the envelope. he was heir to a peerage, and has, perhaps, now come into it. i have no reasons for supposing that he sided with his father against yours. the brothers were not bad friends, although they saw little of each other; for your father, after he left oxford, was for the most part away from england, until a year before his marriage; and at that time your uncle was in america, having gone out with two or three others on a hunting expedition among the rocky mountains. there is, therefore, no reason for supposing that he will receive you otherwise than kindly, when once he is sure that you are his nephew. he may, indeed, for aught i know, have made efforts to discover your father, after he returned from abroad." "i would rather leave them alone altogether, mother," gregory said passionately. "that you cannot do, my boy. your father was anxious that you should be at least recognized, and afterwards bear your proper name. you will not be going as a beggar, and there will be nothing humiliating. as to your grandfather, he may not even be alive. it is seldom that i see an english newspaper, and even had his death been advertised in one of the papers, i should hardly have noticed it, as i never did more than just glance at the principal items of news. "in my desk you will also see my bank book. it is in your name. i have thought it better that it should stand so, as it will save a great deal of trouble, should anything happen to me. happily, i have never had any reasons to draw upon it, and there are now about five hundred and fifty pounds standing to your credit. of late you have generally paid in the money, and you are personally known to the manager. should there be any difficulty, i have made a will leaving everything to you. that sum will keep you, if you cannot obtain the employment we speak of, until you come of age; and will, at any rate, facilitate your getting employment with the army, as you will not be obliged to demand much pay, and can take anything that offers. "another reason for your going to england is that your grandfather may, if he is dead, have relented at last towards your father, and may have left him some share in his fortune; and although you might well refuse to accept any help from him, if he is alive, you can have no hesitation in taking that which should be yours by right. i think sometimes now, my boy, that i have been wrong in not accepting the fact of your father's death as proved, and taking you home to england; but you will believe that i acted for the best, and i shrank from the thought of going home as a beggar, while i could maintain you and myself comfortably, here." "you were quite right, mother dear. we have been very happy, and i have been looking forward to the time when i might work for you, as you have worked for me. it has been a thousand times better, so, than living on the charity of a man who looked down upon you, and who cast off my father." "well, you will believe at least that i acted for the best, dear, and i am not sure that it has not been for the best. at any rate i, too, have been far happier than i could have been, if living in england on an allowance begrudged to me." a week later, gregory was awakened by the cries of the negro servant; and, running to mrs. hilliard's bedroom, found that his mother had passed away during the night. burial speedily follows death in egypt; and on the following day gregory returned, heartbroken, to his lonely house, after seeing her laid in her grave. for a week, he did nothing but wander about the house, listlessly. then, with a great effort, he roused himself. he had his work before him--had his mother's wishes to carry out. his first step was to go to the bank, and ask to see the manager. "you may have heard of my mother's death, mr. murray?" he said. "yes, my lad, and sorry, indeed, i was to hear of it. she was greatly liked and respected, by all who knew her." "she told me," gregory went on, trying to steady his voice, "a week before her death, that she had money here deposited in my name." "that is so." "is there anything to be done about it, sir?" "not unless you wish to draw it out. she told me, some time ago, why she placed it in your name; and i told her that there would be no difficulty." "i do not want to draw any of it out, sir, as there were fifty pounds in the house. she was aware that she had not long to live, and no doubt kept it by her, on purpose." "then all you have to do is to write your signature on this piece of paper. i will hand you a cheque book, and you will only have to fill up a cheque and sign it, and draw out any amount you please." "i have never seen a cheque book, sir. will you kindly tell me what i should have to do?" mr. murray took out a cheque book, and explained its use. then he asked what gregory thought of doing. "i wish to go up with the nile expedition, sir. it was my mother's wish, also, that i should do so. my main object is to endeavour to obtain particulars of my father's death, and to assure myself that he was one of those who fell at el obeid. i do not care in what capacity i go up; but as i speak arabic and soudanese, as well as english, my mother thought that i might get employment as interpreter, either under an officer engaged on making the railway, or in some capacity under an officer in one of the egyptian regiments." "i have no doubt that i can help you there, lad. i know the sirdar, and a good many of the british officers, for whom i act as agent. of course, i don't know in what capacity they could employ you, but surely some post or other could be found for you, where your knowledge of the language would render you very useful. naturally, the officers in the egyptian service all understand enough of the language to get on with, but few of the officers in the british regiments do. "it is fortunate that you came today. i have an appointment with lord cromer tomorrow morning, so i will take the opportunity of speaking to him. as it is an army affair, and as your father was in the egyptian service, and your mother had a pension from it, i may get him to interest himself in the matter. kitchener is down here at present, and if cromer would speak to him, i should think you would certainly be able to get up, though i cannot say in what position. the fact that you are familiar with the negro language, which differs very widely from that of the arab soudan tribes, who all speak arabic, is strongly in your favour; and may give you an advantage over applicants who can only speak arabic. "i shall see lord cromer at ten, and shall probably be with him for an hour. you may as well be outside his house, at half-past ten; possibly he may like to see you. at any rate, when i come down, i can tell you what he says." with grateful thanks, gregory returned home. chapter : an appointment. soon after ten, next morning, gregory took up his place near the entrance to lord cromer's house. it was just eleven when mr. murray came down. "come in with me," he said. "lord cromer will see you. he acknowledged at once, when i told him your story, that you had a strong claim for employment. the only point was as to your age. i told him that you were past sixteen, and a strong, active fellow, and that you had had a good physical training." they had now entered the house. "don't be nervous, hilliard; just talk to him as you would to me. many a good man has lost an appointment, from being nervous and embarrassed when he applied for it." "you want to go up to the soudan?" lord cromer said. "mr. murray has told me your reasons for wanting to go. though i fear it is hardly likely that any new light can be thrown upon the fate of hicks pasha, and his officers, i feel that it is a natural desire on your part." "it was my mother's last wish, sir, and she took particular pains in my training, and education, to fit me for the work." "you speak arabic, and the tongue of the negro blacks, almost as well as english?" "yes, sir. arabic quite as well, and the other nearly as well, i think." "what sort of post did you hope to get, mr. hilliard?" "any post for which i may be thought fit, sir. i do not care at all about pay. my mother saved sufficient to keep me for two or three years. i would rather enlist than not go up at all, though i fear i am too young to be accepted; but i am quite ready to turn my hand to anything." "if it concerned the egyptian government, or a civil appointment, i would certainly exert my influence in your favour; but this expedition is in the hands of the military. however, if you will take a seat in the anteroom, and do not mind waiting there for an hour or two, i will see what can be done." "thank you very much indeed, sir." mr. murray, as they went out together, said: "i think that you have made a good impression. he told me, before, that it was a matter for sir herbert kitchener, and that he was expecting him in a quarter of an hour. come and tell me the result, when you leave." ten minutes later, a tall man, whom gregory recognized at once as sir herbert kitchener, whose figure was well known in cairo, passed through the room; all who were sitting there rising to their feet, as he did so. he acknowledged the salute mechanically, as if scarcely conscious of it. an hour later a bell was rung, and an attendant went into the room. he returned directly. "mr. hilliard," he said. gregory rose, and passed through the door held open. kitchener was sitting at the table with lord cromer. his keen glance seemed, to gregory, to take him in from head to foot, and then to look at something far beyond him. "this is mr. hilliard," lord cromer said, "the young gentleman i have spoken of." "you want to go up?" the general said shortly, in arabic. "yes, sir." "you do not mind in what capacity you go?" "no, sir; i am ready to do anything." "to work on the railway, or in the transport?" "yes, sir. though i would rather not be on the railway, for the railway cannot get on as fast as the troops; but i would enlist in one of the english regiments, if they would take me." "and you speak the language of the nubian blacks?" the question was put in that language. "yes; i do not think i speak it quite as well as arabic, but i speak it fairly." "do you think that you could stand the fatigue?--no child's play, you know." "i can only say that i hope i can, sir. i have been accustomed to take long walks, and spend an hour a day in gymnastic exercises, and i have had lessons in fencing." "can you use a pistol?" "yes, fairly; i have practised a good deal with it." "you are most fitted for an interpreter," the general said, speaking this time in english. "now the north staffordshire have come down, there are no british regiments up there, and of course the british officers in the egyptian army all speak arabic, to some extent. however, i will send you up to dongola. either general hunter, or colonel wingate, of the intelligence department, may be able to find some use for you; and when the british troops go up, you can be attached to one of their regiments as their interpreter. you will have temporary rank of lieutenant, with, of course, the pay of that rank. "captain ewart came with me, lord cromer. i left him in the anteroom. if you will allow me, i will call him in. "captain ewart," he said, as that officer entered, "mr. hilliard here has just received the temporary rank of lieutenant, in the egyptian army, and is going up to join general hunter, at dongola. you are starting in three days, are you not? "i shall be glad if you will take him under your wing, as far as you go. he speaks the languages, negro as well as arabic. you can tell him what kit he had better take, and generally mother him. "that is all, mr. hilliard. call at my quarters, the day after tomorrow, for the letters for general hunter and colonel wingate." "i thank you most deeply, sir," gregory began, but the sirdar gave a little impatient wave with his hand. "thank you most deeply also, lord cromer!" gregory said with a bow, and then left the room. captain ewart remained there for another ten minutes. when he came out, he nodded to gregory. "will you come with me?" he said. "i am going to the bank. i shall not be there many minutes, and we can then have a talk together." "thank you, sir! i am going to the bank too. it was mr. murray who first spoke to lord cromer about me." "you could not have had a better introduction. well, you won't have very long to get ready for the start--that is, if you have not begun to prepare for it. however, there is no rush at present, therefore i have no doubt you will be able to get your khaki uniforms in time. as for other things, there will be no difficulty about them." "you have been up at the front before, sir?" "yes, my work is on the railway. i had a touch of fever, and got leave to come down and recruit, before the hot weather came in. i dare say you think it hot here, sometimes, but this is an ice house in comparison with the desert." they talked until they arrived at the bank. "you may as well go in first, and see murray. i suppose you won't be above two or three minutes. i shall be longer, perhaps a quarter of an hour; so if you wait for me, we will go to shepherd's, and talk your business over in some sort of comfort." "i am pleased, indeed," mr. murray said, when gregory told him of his appointment. "it is better than i even hoped. it is bad enough there, in the position of an officer, but it would be infinitely worse in any other capacity. do you want to draw any money?" "no, sir; i have fifty pounds by me, and that will be enough, i should think, for everything." "more than ample. of course, you have plenty of light underclothing of all sorts, and a couple of suits of khaki will not cost you anything like so much as they would, if you got them at a military tailor's in london. however, if you want more, you will be able to draw it." "thank you very much, sir! i will not detain you any longer, now; but will, if you will allow me, come in to say goodbye before i start. captain ewart is waiting to speak to you. he came with me from lord cromer's." captain ewart then went in, and after settling the business on which he had come, asked mr. murray questions about gregory, and received a sketch of his story. "he seems to be a fine young fellow," he said, "well grown and active, not at all what one would expect from a product of cairo." "no, indeed. of course, you have not seen him to advantage, in that black suit, but in his ordinary clothes i should certainly take him, if i had not seen him before, to be a young lieutenant freshly come out to join." "did you know the father?" "no, i was not here at that time; but the mother was a lady, every inch. it is strange that neither of them should have friends in england. it may be that she preferred to earn her living here, and be altogether independent." "she had a pension, hadn't she?" "a small one, but she really earned her living by teaching. she gave lessons to the ladies in english, french, and music, and had classes for young boys and girls. i once asked her if she did not intend to go back and settle in england, and she said 'possibly, some day.' "i fancy that there must have been some mystery about the affair--what, i can't say; but at any rate, we may take it that such a woman would not have married a man who was not a gentleman." "certainly the boy looks a well-bred one," captain ewart said, "and i am sure that the sirdar must have been taken with him. you don't know any more about his father than you have told me?" "very little. once, in talking with his wife, she told me that her husband had been in a commercial house, in alexandria, for a year; but the place was burned down at the time of the bombardment. being thus out of harness, he became an assistant to one of the army contractors and, when things settled down at cairo, obtained a berth as interpreter, with the temporary rank of captain, on hicks pasha's staff, as he also spoke arabic fluently. i can tell you no more about him than that, as i never saw him; though no doubt he came here with his wife, when her account was opened. "i was interested in her. i looked up the old books, and found that two hundred pounds was paid into her account, before he left. i may say that she steadily increased that amount, ever since; but a few years ago she had the sum then standing transferred to the boy's name, telling me frankly, at the time, that she did so to save trouble, in case anything happened to her. i fancy, from what she said, that for the last year or two she had been going downhill. i had a chat with her, the last time she came in. she told me that she had been consumptive, and that it was for the sake of her health they came out here." "that accounts for it, murray. by the date, they were probably only married a year or so before they came out; and a man who loved a young wife, and saw no other way of saving her, would throw up any berth at home, in order to give her the benefit of a warm climate. still, it is a little curious that, if he had only been out here a year or so before hicks started, he should have learned arabic sufficiently well to get a post as interpreter. i have been in the country about three years, and can get on fairly well with the natives, in matters concerning my own work; but i certainly could not act as general interpreter. "well, i am glad to have heard this, for you know the sort of men interpreters generally are. from the lad's appearance and manner, there is no shadow of doubt that his mother was a lady. i thought it more than probable that she had married beneath her, and that her husband was of the ordinary interpreter class. now, from what you have said, i see that it is probable he came of a much better family. well, you may be sure that i shall do what i can for the lad." gregory joined him, as he left the bank. "i think, hilliard, we had best go to the tailor, first. his shop is not far from here. as you want to get your things in three days, it is as well to have that matter settled, at once." the two suits, each consisting of khaki tunic, breeches, and putties, were ordered. "you had better have breeches," he said. "it is likely you will have to ride, and knickerbockers look baggy." this done, they went to shepherd's hotel. "sit down in the verandah," captain ewart said, "until i get rid of my regimentals. even a khaki tunic is not an admirable garment, when one wants to be cool and comfortable." in a few minutes he came down again, in a light tweed suit; and, seating himself in another lounging chair, two cooling drinks were brought in; then he said: "now we will talk about your outfit, and what you had best take up. of course, you have got light underclothing, so you need not bother about that. you want ankle boots--and high ones--to keep out the sand. you had better take a couple of pairs of slippers, they are of immense comfort at the end of the day; also a light cap, to slip on when you are going from one tent to another, after dark. a helmet is a good thing in many ways, but it is cumbrous; and if there are four or five men in a tent, and they all take off their helmets, it is difficult to know where to stow them away. "most likely you will get a tent at dongola, but you can't always reckon upon that, and you may find it very useful to have a light tente d'abri made. it should have a fly, which is useful in two ways. in the first place, it adds to the height and so enlarges the space inside; and in the next place, you can tie it up in the daytime, and allow whatever air there is to pass through. then, with a blanket thrown over the top, you will find it cooler than a regimental tent. "of course, you will want a sword and a revolver, with a case and belt. get the regulation size, and a hundred rounds of cartridges; you are not likely ever to use a quarter of that number, but they will come in for practice. "now, as to food. of course you get beef, biscuit, or bread, and there is a certain amount of tea, but nothing like enough for a thirsty climate, especially when--which is sometimes the case--the water is so bad that it is not safe to drink, unless it has been boiled; so you had better take up four or five pounds of tea." "i don't take sugar, sir." "all the better. there is no better drink than tea, poured out and left to cool, and drunk without sugar. you might take a dozen tins of preserved milk, as many of condensed cocoa and milk, and a couple of dozen pots of jam. of course, you could not take all these things on if you were likely to move, but you may be at dongola some time, before there is another advance, and you may as well make yourself as comfortable as you can; and if, as is probable, you cannot take the pots up with you, you can hand them over to those who are left behind. you will have no trouble in getting a fair-sized case taken up, as there will be water carriage nearly all the way. "a good many fellows have aerated waters sent up, but hot soda water is by no means a desirable drink--not to be compared with tea kept in porous jars; so i should not advise you to bother about it. you will want a water bottle. get the largest you can find. it is astonishing how much water a fellow can get down, in a long day's march. "oh! as to your boots, get the uppers as light as you can--the lighter the better; but you must have strong soles--there are rocks in some places, and they cut the soles to pieces, in no time. the sand is bad enough. your foot sinks in it, and it seems to have a sort of sucking action, and very often takes the sole right off in a very short time. "i suppose you smoke?" "cigarettes, sir." "i should advise you to get a pipe, in addition, or rather two or three of them. if they get broken, or lost in the sand, there is no replacing them; and if you don't take to them, yourself, you will find them the most welcome present you can give, to a man who has lost his. "i should advise you to get a lens. you don't want a valuable one, but the larger the better, and the cheapest that you can buy; it will be quite as good as the best, to use as a burning glass. matches are precious things out there and, with a burning glass, you will only have to draw upon your stock in the evening. "now, do you ride? because all the white officers with the egyptian troops do so." "i am sorry to say that i don't, sir. i have ridden donkeys, but anyone can sit upon a donkey." "yes; that won't help you much. then i should advise you to use all the time that you can spare, after ordering your outfit, in riding. no doubt you could hire a horse." "yes; there is no difficulty about that." "well, if you will hire one, and come round here at six o'clock tomorrow morning, i will ride out for a couple of hours with you, and give you your first lesson. i can borrow a horse from one of the staff. if you once get to sit your horse, in a workman-like fashion, and to carry yourself well, you will soon pick up the rest; and if you go out, morning and evening, for three hours each time, you won't be quite abroad, when you start to keep up with a column of men on foot. "as to a horse, it would be hardly worth your while to bother about taking one with you. you will be able to pick one up at dongola. i hear that fugitives are constantly coming in there, and some of them are sure to be mounted. however, you had better take up a saddle and bridle with you. you might as well get an egyptian one; in the first place because it is a good deal cheaper, and in the second because our english saddles are made for bigger horses. you need not mind much about the appearance of your animal. anything will do for riding about at dongola, and learning to keep your seat. in the first fight you have with dervish horsemen, there are sure to be some riderless horses, and you may then get a good one, for a pound or two, from some tommy who has captured one." "i am sure i am immensely obliged to you, captain ewart. that will indeed be an advantage to me." on leaving the hotel gregory at once made all his purchases, so as to get them off his mind; and then arranged for the horse in the morning. then he went home, and told the old servant the change that had taken place in his position. "and now, what about yourself, what would you like to do?" "i am too old to go up with you, and cook for you." "yes, indeed," he laughed; "we shall be doing long marches. but it is not your age, so much. as an officer, it would be impossible for me to have a female servant. besides, you want quiet and rest. i have been round to the landlord, to tell him that i am going away, and to pay him a month's rent, instead of notice. i should think the best way would be for you to take a large room for yourself, or two rooms not so large--one of them for you to live in, and the other to store everything there is here. i know that you will look after them, and keep them well. of course, you will pick out all the things that you can use in your room. it will be very lonely for you, living all by yourself, but you know numbers of people here; and you might engage a girl to stay with you, for some small wages and her food. now, you must think over what your food and hers will cost, and the rent. of course, i want you to live comfortably; you have always been a friend rather than a servant, and my mother had the greatest trust in you." "you are very good, master gregory. while you have been away, today, i have been thinking over what i should do, when you went away. i have a friend who comes in, once a week, with fruit and vegetables. last year, you know, i went out with her and stayed a day. she has two boys who work in the garden, and a girl. she came in today, and i said to her: "'my young master is going away to the soudan. what do you say to my coming and living with you, when he has gone? i can cook, and do all about the house, and help a little in the garden; and i have saved enough money to pay for my share of food.' "she said, 'i should like that, very well. you could help the boys, in the field.' "so we agreed that, if you were willing, i should go. i thought of the furniture; but if you do not come back here to live, it would be no use to keep the chairs, and tables, and beds, and things. we can put all missy's things, and everything you like to keep, into a great box, and i could take them with me; or you could have them placed with some honest man, who would only charge very little, for storage." "well, i do think that would be a good plan, if you like these people. it would be far better than living by yourself. however, of course i shall pay for your board, and i shall leave money with you; so that, if you are not comfortable there, you can do as i said, take a room here. "i think you are right about the furniture. how would you sell it?" "there are plenty of greek shops. they would buy it all. they would not give as much as you gave for it. most of them are great rascals." "we cannot help that," he said. "i should have to sell them when i come back and, at any rate, we save the rent for housing them. they are not worth much. you may take anything you like, a comfortable chair and a bed, some cooking things, and so on, and sell the rest for anything you can get, after i have gone. i will pack my dear mother's things, this evening." for the next two days, gregory almost lived on horseback; arranging, with the man from whom he hired the animals, that he should change them three times a day. he laid aside his black clothes, and took to a white flannel suit, with a black ribbon round his straw hat; as deep mourning would be terribly hot, and altogether unsuited for riding. "you will do, lad," captain ewart said to him, after giving him his first lesson. "your fencing has done much for you, and has given you an easy poise of body and head. always remember that it is upon balancing the body that you should depend for your seat; although, of course, the grip of the knees does a good deal. also remember, always, to keep your feet straight; nothing is so awkward as turned-out toes. besides, in that position, if the horse starts you are very likely to dig your spurs into him. "hold the reins firmly, but don't pull at his head. give him enough scope to toss his head if he wants to, but be in readiness to tighten the reins in an instant, if necessary." each day, gregory returned home so stiff, and tired, that he could scarcely crawl along. still, he felt that he had made a good deal of progress; and that, when he got up to dongola, he would be able to mount and ride out without exciting derision. on the morning of the day on which he was to start, he went to say goodbye to mr. murray. "have you everything ready, hilliard?" the banker asked. "yes, sir. the uniform and the tent are both ready. i have a cork bed, and waterproof sheet to lay under it; and, i think, everything that i can possibly require. i am to meet captain ewart at the railway, this afternoon at five o'clock. the train starts at half past. "i will draw another twenty-five pounds, sir. i have not spent more than half what i had, but i must leave some money with our old servant. i shall have to buy a horse, too, when i get up to dongola, and i may have other expenses, that i cannot foresee." "i think that is a wise plan," the banker said. "it is always well to have money with you, for no one can say what may happen. your horse may get shot or founder, and you may have to buy another. well, i wish you every luck, lad, and a safe return." "thank you very much, mr. murray! all this good fortune has come to me, entirely through your kindness. i cannot say how grateful i feel to you." chapter : southward. at the hour named, gregory met captain ewart at the station. he was now dressed in uniform, and carried a revolver in his waist belt, and a sword in its case. his luggage was not extensive. he had one large bundle; it contained a roll-up cork bed, in a waterproof casing. at one end was a loose bag; which contained a spare suit of clothes, three flannel shirts, and his underclothing. this formed the pillow. a blanket and a waterproof sheet were rolled up with it. in a small sack was the tente d'abri, made of waterproof sheeting, with its two little poles. it only weighed some fifteen pounds. his only other luggage consisted of a large case, with six bottles of brandy, and the provisions he had been recommended to take. "is that all your kit?" captain ewart said, as he joined him. "yes, sir. i hope you don't think it is too much." "no; i think it is very moderate, though if you move forward, you will not be able to take the case with you, the others are light enough, and you can always get a native boy to carry them. of course, you have your pass?" "yes, sir. i received it yesterday, when i went to headquarters for the letter to general hunter." "then we may as well take our places, at once. we have nearly an hour before the train starts; but it is worth waiting, in order to get two seats next the window, on the river side. we need not sit there till the train starts, if we put our traps in to keep our places. i know four or five other officers coming up, so we will spread our things about, and keep the whole carriage to ourselves, if we can." in an hour, the train started. every place was occupied. ewart had spoken to his friends, as they arrived, and they had all taken places in the same compartment. the journey lasted forty hours, and gregory admitted that the description captain ewart had given him, of the dust, was by no means exaggerated. he had brought, as had been suggested, a water skin and a porous earthenware bottle; together with a roll of cotton-wool to serve as a stopper to the latter, to keep out the dust. in a tightly fitting handbag he had an ample supply of food for three days. along the opening of this he had pasted a strip of paper. "that will do very well for your first meal, hilliard, but it will be of no good afterwards." "i have prepared for that," gregory said. "i have bought a gum bottle, and as i have a newspaper in my pocket, i can seal it up after each meal." "by jove, that is a good idea, one i never thought of!" "the gum will be quite sufficient for us all, up to assouan. i have two more bottles in my box. that should be sufficient to last me for a long time, when i am in the desert; and as it won't take half a minute to put a fresh paper on, after each meal, i shall have the satisfaction of eating my food without its being mixed with the dust." there was a general chorus of approval, and all declared that they would search every shop in assouan, and endeavour to find gum. "paste will do as well," ewart said, "and as we can always get flour, we shall be able to defy the dust fiend as far as our food goes. "i certainly did not expect that old campaigners would learn a lesson from you, hilliard, as soon as you started." "it was just an idea that occurred to me," gregory said. the gum bottle was handed round, and although nothing could be done for those who had brought their provisions in hampers, three of them who had, like gregory, put their food in bags, were able to seal them up tightly. it was now may, and the heat was becoming intolerable, especially as the windows were closed to keep out the dust. in spite of this, however, it found its way in. it settled everywhere. clothes and hair became white with it. it worked its way down the neck, where the perspiration changed it into mud. it covered the face, as if with a cake of flour. at first gregory attempted to brush it off his clothes, as it settled upon them, but he soon found that there was no advantage in this. so he sat quietly in his corner and, like the rest, looked like a dirty white statue. there were occasional stops, when they all got out, shook themselves, and took a few mouthfuls of fresh air. gregory's plan, for keeping out the dust from the food, turned out a great success; and the meals were eaten in the open air, during the stoppages. on arriving at assouan, they all went to the transport department, to get their passes for the journey up the nile, as far as wady halfa. the next step was to go down to the river for a swim and, by dint of shaking and beating, to get rid of the accumulated dust. assouan was not a pleasant place to linger in and, as soon as they had completed their purchases, captain ewart and gregory climbed on to the loaded railway train, and were carried by the short line to the spot where, above the cataract, the steamer that was to carry them was lying. she was to tow up a large barge, and two native craft. they took their places in the steamer, with a number of other officers--some newcomers from england, others men who had been down to cairo, to recruit. they belonged to all branches of the service, and included half a dozen of the medical staff, three of the transport corps, gunners, engineers, cavalry, and infantry. the barges were deep in the water, with their cargoes of stores of all kinds, and rails and sleepers for the railway, and the steamer was also deeply loaded. the passage was a delightful one, to gregory. everything was new to him. the cheery talk and jokes of the officers, the graver discussion of the work before them, the calculations as to time and distance, the stories told of what had taken place during the previous campaign, by those who shared in it, were all so different from anything he had ever before experienced, that the hours passed almost unnoticed. it was glorious to think that, in whatever humble capacity, he was yet one of the band who were on their way up to meet the hordes of the khalifa, to rescue the soudan from the tyranny under which it had groaned, to avenge gordon and hicks and the gallant men who had died with them! occasionally, captain ewart came up and talked to him, but he was well content to sit on one of the bales, and listen to the conversation without joining in it. in another couple of years he, too, would have had his experiences, and would be able to take his part. at present, he preferred to be a listener. the distance to wady halfa was some three hundred miles; but the current was strong, and the steamer could not tow the boats more than five miles an hour, against it. it was sixty hours, from the start, before they arrived. gregory was astonished at the stir and life in the place. great numbers of native labourers were at work, unloading barges and native craft; and a line of railway ran down to the wharves, where the work of loading the trucks went on briskly. smoke pouring out from many chimneys, and the clang of hammers, told that the railway engineering work was in full swing. vast piles of boxes, cases, and bales were accumulated on the wharf, and showed that there would be no loss of time in pushing forward supplies to abu hamed, as soon as the railway was completed to that point. wady halfa had been the starting point of a railway, commenced years before. a few miles have been constructed, and several buildings erected for the functionaries, military and civil; but gordon, when governor of the soudan, had refused to allow the province to be saddled with the expenses of the construction, or to undertake the responsibility of carrying it out. in there was some renewal of work and, had gordon been rescued, and khartoum permanently occupied, the line would no doubt have been carried on; but with the retirement of the british troops, work ceased, and the great stores of material that had been gathered there remained, for years, half covered with the sand. in any other climate this would have been destructive, but in the dry air of upper egypt they remained almost uninjured, and proved very useful, when the work was again taken up. it was a wonderful undertaking, for along the two hundred and thirty-four miles of desert, food, water, and every necessary had to be carried, together with all materials for its construction. not only had an army of workmen to be fed, but a body of troops to guard them; for abu hamed, at the other end of the line, for which they were making, was occupied by a large body of dervishes; who might, at any moment, swoop down across the plain. had the sirdar had the resources of england at his back, the work would have been easier, for he could have ordered from home new engines, and plant of every description; but it was an egyptian work, and had to be done in the cheapest possible way. old engines had to be patched up, and makeshifts of all kinds employed. fortunately he had, in the chief engineer of the line, a man whose energy, determination, and resource were equal to his own. major girouard was a young officer of the royal engineers and, like all white officers in the egyptian service, held the rank of major. he was a canadian by birth, and proved, in every respect, equal to the onerous and responsible work to which he was appointed. however, labour was cheap, and railway battalions were raised among the egyptian peasants, their pay being the same as that of the soldiers. strong, hearty, and accustomed to labour and a scanty diet, no men could have been more fitted for the work. they preferred it to soldiering; for although, as they had already shown, and were still further to prove, the egyptian can fight, and fight bravely; he is, by nature, peaceable, and prefers work, however hard. in addition to these battalions, natives of the country and of the soudan, fugitives from ruined villages and desolated plains, were largely employed. the line had now been carried three-quarters of the distance to abu hamed, which was still in the hands of the dervishes. it had been constructed with extraordinary rapidity, for the ground was so level that only occasional cuttings were needed. the organization of labour was perfect. the men were divided into gangs, each under a head man, and each having its own special work to do. there were the men who unloaded the trucks, the labourers who did the earth work, and the more skilled hands who levelled it. as fast as the trucks were emptied, gangs of men carried the sleepers forward, and laid them down roughly in position; others followed, and corrected the distance between each. the rails were then brought along and laid down, with the fish plates, in the proper places; men put these on, and boys screwed up the nuts. then plate layers followed and lined the rails accurately; and, when this was done, sand was thrown in and packed down between the sleepers. by this division of labour, the line was pushed on from one to two miles a day, the camp moving forward with the line. six tank trucks brought up the water for the use of the labourers, daily, and everything worked with as much regularity as in a great factory at home. troops of friendly tribesmen, in our pay, scoured the country and watched the wells along the road, farther to the east, so as to prevent any bands of dervishes from dashing suddenly down upon the workers. at wady halfa, captain ewart and two or three other officers left the steamer, to proceed up the line. gregory was very sorry to lose him. "i cannot tell you, captain ewart," he said, "how deeply grateful i feel to you, for the immense kindness you have shown me. i don't know what i should have done, had i been left without your advice and assistance in getting my outfit, and making my arrangements to come up here." "my dear lad," the latter said, "don't say anything more. in any case, i should naturally be glad to do what i could, for the son of a man who died fighting in the same cause as we are now engaged in. but in your case it has been a pleasure, for i am sure you will do credit to yourself, and to the mother who has taken such pains in preparing you for the work you are going to do, and in fitting you for the position that you now occupy." as the officers who had come up with them in the train from cairo were all going on, and had been told by ewart something of gregory's story, they had aided that officer in making gregory feel at home in his new circumstances; and in the two days they had been on board the boat, he had made the acquaintance of several others. the river railway had now been carried from wady halfa to kerma, above the third cataract. the heavy stores were towed up by steamers and native craft. most of the engines and trucks had been transferred to the desert line; but a few were still retained, to carry up troops if necessary, and aid the craft in accumulating stores. one of these trains started a few hours after the arrival of the steamer at wady halfa. gregory, with the officers going up, occupied two horse boxes. several of them had been engaged in the last campaign, and pointed out the places of interest. at sarras, some thirty miles up the road, there had been a fight on the th of april, ; when the dervish host, advancing strong in the belief that they could carry all before them down to the sea, were defeated by the egyptian force under the sirdar and general chermside. the next stop of the train was at akasheh. this had been a very important station, before the last advance, as all the stores had been accumulated here when the army advanced. here had been a strongly entrenched camp, for the dervishes were in force, fifteen miles away, at ferket. "it was a busy time we had here," said one of the officers, who had taken a part in the expedition. "a fortnight before, we had no idea that an early move was contemplated; and indeed, it was only on the th of march that the excitement began. that day, kitchener received a telegram ordering an immediate advance on dongola. we had expected it would take place soon; but there is no doubt that the sudden order was the result of an arrangement, on the part of our government with italy, that we should relieve her from the pressure of the dervishes round kassala by effecting a diversion, and obliging the enemy to send a large force down to dongola to resist our advance. "it was a busy time. the sirdar came up to wady halfa, and the egyptian troops were divided between that place, sarras, and akasheh. the th soudanese were marched up from suakim, and they did the distance to the nile (one hundred and twenty miles) in four days. that was something like marching. "well, you saw wady halfa. for a month, this place was quite as busy. now, its glories are gone. two or three huts for the railway men, and the shelters for a company of egyptians, represent the whole camp." as they neared ferket the officer said: "there was a sharp fight out there on the desert. a large body of dervishes advanced, from ferket. they were seen to leave by a cavalry patrol. as soon as the patrol reached camp, all the available horse, two hundred and forty in number, started under major murdoch. four miles out, they came in sight of three hundred mounted dervishes, with a thousand spearmen on foot. "the ground was rough, and unfavourable for a cavalry charge; so the cavalry retired to a valley, between two hills, in order to get better ground. while they were doing so, however, the dervishes charged down upon them. murdoch rode at them at once, and there was a hand-to-hand fight that lasted for twenty minutes. then the enemy turned, and galloped off to the shelter of the spearmen. the troopers dismounted and opened fire; and, on a regiment of soudanese coming up, the enemy drew off. "eighteen of the dervishes were killed, and eighty wounded. our loss was very slight; but the fight was a most satisfactory one, for it showed that the egyptian cavalry had, now, sufficient confidence in themselves to face the baggara. "headquarters came up to akasheh on the st of june. the spies had kept the intelligence department well informed as to the state of things at ferket. it was known that three thousand troops were there, led by fifty-seven emirs. the ground was carefully reconnoitred, and all preparation made for an attack. it was certain that the dervishes also had spies, among the camel drivers and camp followers, but the sirdar kept his intentions secret, and on the evening of june th it was not known to any, save three or four of the principal officers, that he intended to attack on the following morning. it was because he was anxious to effect a complete surprise that he did not even bring up the north staffordshires. "there were two roads to ferket--one by the river, the other through the desert. the river column was the strongest, and consisted of an infantry division, with two field batteries and two maxims. the total strength of the desert column, consisting of the cavalry brigade, camel corps, a regiment of infantry, a battery of horse artillery, and two maxims--in all, two thousand one hundred men--were to make a detour, and come down upon the nile to the south of ferket, thereby cutting off the retreat of the enemy. "carrying two days' rations, the troops started late in the afternoon of the th, and halted at nine in the evening, three miles from ferket. at half-past two they moved forward again, marching quietly and silently; and, at half-past four, deployed into line close to the enemy's position. a few minutes later the alarm was given; and the dervishes, leaping to arms, discovered this formidable force in front of them; and at the same time found that their retreat was cut off, by another large body of troops in their rear; while, on the opposite bank of the river, was a force of our arab allies. "though they must have seen that their position was hopeless, the dervishes showed no signs of fear. they fought with the desperation of rats in a trap. the egyptians advanced with steady volleys. the baggara horsemen attacked them furiously, but were repulsed with heavy loss. there was hand-to-hand fighting among their huts; and the second brigade carried, with the bayonet, that rough hill that you see over there. "it was all over, by seven o'clock. our loss was only twenty killed, and eighty wounded. about one thousand of the dervishes were killed, including their chief emir and some forty of the others, while five hundred were taken prisoners. it was a great victory, and a very important one; but it can hardly be said that it was glorious, as we outnumbered them by three to one. still, it was a heavy blow to the dervishes, and the fact that the khalifa was obliged to send troops down to the nile, to check an advance that had proved so formidable, must have greatly relieved the pressure on the italians at kassala. "there was a pause, here. it was certain that we should have to meet a much stronger force before we got to dongola. well as the egyptian troops had fought, it was thought advisable to give them a stronger backing. "the heat was now tremendous, and cholera had broken out. we moved to koshyeh, and there encamped. the only change we had was a terrific storm, which almost washed us away. in the middle of august, we managed to get the gunboats up through the cataract, and were in hopes of advancing, when another storm carried away twenty miles of the railway, which by this time had come up as far as the cataract." at ginnis, twenty miles from ferket, they passed the ground where, on the st of december, , on the retirement of general wolseley's expedition, generals grenfel and stevenson, with a force of egyptian troops and three british regiments, encountered the dervish army which the khalifa had despatched under the emir nejumi, and defeated it. it was notable as being the first battle in which the newly raised egyptian army met the mahdists, and showed that, trained and disciplined by british officers, the egyptian fellah was capable of standing against the dervish of the desert. from this point the railway left the nile and, for thirty miles, crossed the desert. another twenty miles, and they reached fareeg. "it was here," the officer said, "that the north staffordshires came up and joined the egyptians. the dervishes had fallen back before we advanced, after a halt at sadeah, which we sha'n't see, as the railway cuts across, to abu fetmeh. we bivouacked five miles from their camp, and turned out at three next morning. the orders were passed by mouth, and we got off as silently as an army of ghosts. "i shall never forget our disgust when a small cavalry force, sent on ahead to reconnoitre, reported that the dervishes had abandoned the place during the night, and had crossed the river in native boats. it was a very clever move, at any rate, on the part of fellows who did not want to fight. there were we facing them, with our whole infantry and cavalry useless, and we had nothing available to damage the enemy except our artillery and the gunboats. "these opened fire, and the dervishes replied heavily. they had earthworks, but the boats kept on, pluckily, till they got to a narrow point in the stream; when a couple of guns, which had hitherto been hidden, opened upon them at close range; while a strong force of dervish infantry poured in such a hot fire that the boats had to fall back. "after our field guns had peppered the enemy for a bit, the gunboats tried again, but the fire was too hot for them, and the leading boat had to retire. "things did not look very bright, till nine o'clock; when we found that, at one point, the river was fordable to a small island, opposite the enemy's lines. four batteries, and the maxims, at once moved over, with two companies of soudanese, and opened fire. the distance across was but six hundred yards, and the fire was tremendous--shell, shrapnel, and rockets--while the soudanese fired volleys, and the maxims maintained a shower of bullets. "it seemed that nothing could stand against it, but the dervishes stuck to their guns with great pluck. however, their fire was so far kept down, that the three gunboats succeeded in forcing their way up; and, passing the dervish works, sank a steamer and a number of native boats. "the dervishes now began to give way, and the gunboats steamed up the river, making for dongola. the dervishes, as soon as they had gone, reopened fire, and the duel continued all day; but the great mass of the enemy soon left, and also made their way towards dongola. "it was awfully annoying being obliged to remain inactive, on our side, and it was especially hard for the cavalry; who, if they could have got over, would have been able to cut up and disperse the enemy. "the next morning the dervishes were all gone, and that was practically the end of the fighting. the gunboats went up and shelled dongola; and when we got there, two days later, the dervishes had had enough of it. of course, there was a little fighting, but it was the effort of a party of fanatics, rather than of an enemy who considered resistance possible. "we were greeted with enthusiasm by the unfortunate inhabitants, who had been subject to the dervish tyranny. as a whole, however, they had not been badly treated here, and had been allowed to continue to cultivate their land, subject only to about the same taxation as they had paid to egypt. of course, from what they have done elsewhere, the comparative mildness of the conduct of the dervishes was not due to any feeling of mercy, but to policy. as the most advanced position, with the exception of scattered and temporary posts lower down the river, it was necessary that there should be food for the considerable body of tribesmen encamped at dongola; especially as an army invading egypt would provide itself, there, with stores for the journey. it was therefore good policy to encourage the cultivators of land to stay there." "thank you very much!" gregory said, when the officer had concluded his sketch of the previous campaign. "of course, i heard that we had beaten the khalifa's men, and had taken dongola, but the papers at cairo gave no details. the staffordshire regiment went down, directly the place was taken, did they not?" "yes. they had suffered heavily from cholera; and as there was now no fear that the egyptians and soudanese would prove unequal to withstanding a dervish rush, there was no necessity for keeping them here." at abu fetmeh they left the train, and embarked in a steamer. of the party that had left assouan, only four or five remained. the rest had been dropped at other stations on the road. the boat stopped but a few hours at dongola, which had for a time been the headquarters of the advanced force. great changes had been made, since the place was captured from the dervishes. at that time the population had been reduced to a handful, and the natives who remained tilled but enough ground for their own necessities; for they knew that, at any time, a dervish force might come along and sweep everything clear. but with the advent of the british, the fugitives who had scattered among the villages along the river soon poured in. numbers of greek traders arrived, with camels and goods, and the town assumed an aspect of life and business. the general established a court of justice, and appointed authorities for the proper regulation of affairs; and by the time gregory came up, the town was showing signs of renewed prosperity. but the steamer stopped at dongola only to land stores needed for the regiment stationed there. the headquarters had, months before, been moved to merawi, some eighty miles higher up, situated at the foot of the fourth cataract. although he had enjoyed the journey, gregory was glad when the steamer drew up against a newly constructed wharf at merawi. now he was to begin his duties, whatever they might be. at the wharf were a large number of soudanese soldiers. a telegram, from the last station they touched at, had given notice of the hour at which the boat would arrive; and a battalion of native troops had marched down, to assist in unloading the stores. a white officer had come down with them, to superintend the operation, and the other officers at once went on shore to speak to him. gregory had got all his traps together and, as the soudanese poured on board, he thought it better to remain with them; as, if his belongings once got scattered, there would be little chance of his being able to collect them again. after a short time, he went up to one of the native officers. "this is my first visit here," he said in arabic, "and as i have not brought up a servant with me, i do not like to leave my baggage here, while i go and report myself to general hunter. will you kindly tell me what i had better do?" "certainly. i will place one of my corporals in charge of your things. it would be as well to get them ashore at once, as we shall want the decks clear, in order that the men may work freely in getting the stores up from below. the corporal will see that your baggage is carried to the bank, to a spot where it will be out of the way, and will remain with it until you know where it is to be taken." thanking him for his civility, gregory went on shore. the officer who had told him the story of the campaign was still talking, to the major who had come down with the blacks. as gregory came up, he said: "i wondered what had become of you, hilliard. i have been telling major sidney that a young lieutenant had come up, to report himself to the general for service." "i am glad to see you, sir," the major said, holding out his hand. "every additional white officer is a material gain, and i have no doubt that general hunter will find plenty for you to do. i hear you can speak the negro language, as well as arabic. that will be specially useful here, for the natives are principally negro, and speak very little arabic. "how about your baggage?" "one of the native officers has undertaken to get it ashore, and to put a corporal in charge of it, until i know where it is to go." "well, fladgate, as you are going to the general's, perhaps you will take mr. hilliard with you, and introduce him." "with pleasure. "now, mr. hilliard, let us be off, at once. the sun is getting hot, and the sooner we are under shelter, the better." ten minutes' walk took them to the house formerly occupied by the egyptian governor of the town, where general hunter now had his headquarters. the general, who was a brevet colonel in the british army, had joined the egyptian army in . he had, as a captain in the lancashire regiment, taken part in the nile expedition, - ; had been severely wounded at the battle of ginnis; and again at toski, where he commanded a brigade. he was still a comparatively young man. he had a broad forehead, and an intellectual face, that might have betokened a student rather than a soldier; but he was celebrated, in the army, for his personal courage and disregard of danger, and was adored by his black soldiers. he rose from the table at which he was sitting, as captain fladgate came in. "i am glad to see you back again," he said. "i hope you have quite shaken off the fever?" "quite, general. i feel thoroughly fit for work again. allow me to present to you mr. hilliard, who has just received a commission as lieutenant in the egyptian army. he has a letter from the sirdar, to you." "well, i will not detain you now, captain fladgate. you will find your former quarters in readiness for you. dinner at the usual time; then you shall tell me the news of cairo. "now, mr. hilliard," and he turned to gregory, "pray take a seat. this is your first experience in soldiering, i suppose?" "yes, sir." "i think you are the first white officer who has been appointed, who has not had experience in our own army first. you have not been appointed to any particular battalion, have you?" "no, sir. i think i have come out to make myself generally useful. these are the letters that i was to hand to you--one is from the sirdar himself, the other is from his chief of the staff, and this letter is from captain ewart." the general read the sirdar's letter first. he then opened that from the chief of the staff. this was the more bulky of the two, and contained several enclosures. "ah! this relates to you," the general said as, after glancing over the two official despatches, he read through the letter of captain ewart, who was a personal friend of his. the latter had given a full account of gregory's history, and said that the sirdar had especially asked him to put him in the way of things; that he had seen a great deal of him on the journey up, and was very greatly pleased with him. "the lad is a perfect gentleman," he said, "which is certainly astonishing, he being a product of cairo. i consider him in all respects--except, of course, a classical education--fully equal to the average young officer, on first joining. he is very modest and unassuming; and will, i feel sure, perform with credit any work that you may give him to do." "i see," he said, laying it down, "you have only joined the army temporarily, and with a special purpose, and i am told to utilize your services as i think best. you have a perfect knowledge of arabic, and of the negro dialect. that will be very useful, for though we all speak arabic, few speak the negro language, which is more commonly used here. "your father fell with hicks pasha, i am told, and you have joined us with the object of obtaining news as to the manner in which he met his death?" "that is so, sir. it was always my mother's wish that i should, when i was old enough, come up to the soudan to make enquiries. as my father was a good arabic scholar, my mother always entertained a faint hope that he might have escaped; especially as we know that a good many of the egyptian soldiers were not killed, but were taken prisoners, and made to serve in the mahdi's army." "yes, there are several of them among the khalifa's artillerymen, but i am very much afraid that none of the officers were spared. you see, they kept together in a body, and died fighting to the last." "i have hardly any hopes myself, sir. still, as my father was interpreter, he might not have been with the others, but in some other part of the square that was attacked." "that is possible; but he was a white man, and in the heat of the battle i don't think that the dervishes would have made any exception. you see, there were two correspondents with hicks, and neither of them has ever been heard of; and they must, i should think, have joined in that last desperate charge of his. "well, for the present i must make you a sort of extra aide-de-camp, and what with one thing and another, i have no doubt that i shall find plenty for you to do. as such, you will of course be a member of headquarters mess, and therefore escape the trouble of providing for yourself. you have not brought a servant up with you, i suppose?" "no, sir. captain ewart, who most kindly advised me as to my outfit, said that, if i could find an intelligent native here, it would be better than taking a man from cairo." "quite right; and the fellows one picks up at cairo are generally lazy, and almost always dishonest. the men you get here may not know much, but are ready enough to learn; and, if well treated, will go through fire and water for their master. "go down to the stores, and tell the officer in charge there that i shall be glad if he will pick out two or three fellows, from whom you may choose a servant." when gregory had given his message, the officer said: "you had better pick out one for yourself, mr. hilliard. strength and willingness to work are the points i keep my eye upon; and, except for the foremen of the gangs, their intelligence does not interest me. you had better take a turn among the parties at work, and pick out a man for yourself." gregory was not long in making his choice. he selected a young fellow who, although evidently exerting himself to the utmost, was clearly incapable of doing his share in carrying the heavy bales and boxes, that were easily handled by older men. he had a pleasant face, and looked more intelligent than most of the others. "to what tribe do you belong?" gregory asked him. "the jaalin. i come from near metemmeh." "i want a servant. you do not seem to be strong enough for this work, but if you will be faithful, and do what i tell you, i will try you." the young fellow's face lit up. "i will be faithful, bey. it would be kind of you to take me. i am not at my full strength yet and, although i try my hardest, i cannot do as much as strong men, and then i am abused. i will be very faithful, and if you do not find me willing to do all that you tell me, you can send me back to work here." "well, come along with me, then." he took him to the officer. "i have chosen this man, sir. can i take him away at once?" "certainly. he has been paid up to last night." "thank you very much! i will settle with him for today." and, followed by the young tribesman, he went to the headquarters camp, near which an empty hut was assigned to him. chapter : gregory volunteers. the hut of which gregory took possession was constructed of dry mud. the roof was of poles, on which were thickly laid boughs and palm leaves; and on these a layer of clay, a foot thick. an opening in the wall, eighteen inches square, served as a window. near the door the floor was littered with rubbish of all kinds. "what is your name?" "zaki." "well, zaki, the first thing is to clear out all this rubbish, and sweep the floor as clean as you can. i am going down to the river to get my baggage up. can you borrow a shovel, or something of that sort, from one of the natives here? or, if he will sell it, buy one. i will pay when i return. it will always come in useful. if you cannot get a shovel, a hoe will do. ah! i had better give you a dollar, the man might not trust you." he then walked down to the river, and found the black corporal sitting tranquilly by the side of his baggage. the man stood up and saluted, and on gregory saying that he had now a house, at once told off two soldiers to carry the things. arriving at the hut, he found zaki hard at work, shovelling the rubbish through the doorway. just as he came up, the boy brought down his tool, with a crash, upon a little brown creature that was scuttling away. "what is that, zaki?" "that is a scorpion, bey; i have killed four of them." "that is not at all pleasant," gregory said. "there may be plenty of them, up among the boughs overhead." zaki nodded. "plenty of creatures," he said, "some snakes." "then we will smoke them out, before i go in. when you have got the rubbish out, make a fire in the middle, wet some leaves and things and put them on, and we will hang a blanket over the window and shut the door. i will moisten some powder and scatter it among the leaves, and the sulphur will help the smoke to bring them down." this was done, the door closed and, as it did not fit at all tightly, the cracks were filled with some damp earth from the watercourse. "what did you pay for the shovel, zaki?" "half a dollar, bey. here is the other half." "well, you had better go and buy some things for yourself. tomorrow i will make other arrangements. get a fire going out here. there is a sauce pan and a kettle, so you can boil some rice or fry some meat." gregory then went again to the officer who was acting as quartermaster. "i have been speaking to the general," the latter said. "you will mess with the staff. the dinner hour is seven o'clock. i am sure you will soon feel at home." gregory now strolled through the camp. the troops were in little mud huts, of their own construction; as these, in the heat of the day, were much cooler than tents. the sun was getting low, and the soudanese troops were all occupied in cooking, mending their clothes, sweeping the streets between the rows of huts, and other light duties. they seemed, to gregory, as full of fun and life as a party of schoolboys--laughing, joking, and playing practical tricks on each other. the physique of some of the regiments was splendid, the men averaging over six feet in height, and being splendidly built. other regiments, recruited among different tribes, were not so tall, but their sturdy figures showed them to be capable of any effort they might be called upon to make. one of the officers came out of his tent, as he passed. "you are a new arrival, i think, sir?" he said. "we have so few white officers, here, that one spots a fresh face at once." "yes, i only arrived two or three hours ago. my name is hilliard. i am not attached to any regiment; but, as i speak the languages well, general hunter is going, so he said, to make me generally useful. i only received my commission a few days before leaving cairo." "well, come in and have a soda and whisky. the heat out here is frightful. you can tell me the last news from cairo, and when we are going to move." "i shall be happy to come in and have a chat," gregory said, "but i do not drink anything. i have been brought up in cairo, and am accustomed to heat, and i find that drinking only makes one more thirsty." "i believe it does," the other said, "especially when the liquid is almost as hot as one is, one's self. will you sit down on that box? chairs are luxuries that we do not indulge in here. well, have you heard anything about a move?" "nothing; but the officers i have spoken to all seem to think that it will soon begin. a good many came up with me, to wady halfa and the stations on the river; and i heard that all who had sufficiently recovered were under orders to rejoin, very shortly." "yes, i suppose it won't be long. of course we know nothing here, and i don't expect we shall, till the order comes for us to start. this is not the time of year when one expects to be on the move; and if we do go, it is pretty certain that it is because kitchener has made up his mind for a dash forward. you see, if we take abu hamed and drive the dervishes away, we can, at once, push the railway on to that place; and, as soon as it is done, the troops can be brought up and an advance made to berber, if not farther, during the cool season--if you can ever call it a cool season, here." "is there any great force at abu hamed?" "no; nothing that could stand against this for a moment. their chief force, outside omdurman, is at metemmeh under mahmud, the khalifa's favourite son. you see, the jaalin made fools of themselves. instead of waiting until we could lend them a hand, they revolted as soon as we took dongola, and the result was that mahmud came down and pretty well wiped them out. they defended themselves stoutly, at metemmeh, but had no chance against such a host as he brought with him. the town was taken, and its defenders, between two and three thousand fighting men, were all massacred, together with most of the women and children. "by the accounts brought down to us, by men who got away, it must have been an even more horrible business than usual; and the dervishes are past masters in the art of massacre. however, i think that their course is nearly up. of late, a good many fugitives from kordofan have arrived here, and they say that there will be a general revolt there, when they hear that we have given the dervishes a heavy thrashing." "and where do you think the great fight is likely to take place?" gregory asked. "not this side of metemmeh. except at abu hamed, we hear of no other strong dervish force between this and omdurman. if mahmud thinks himself strong enough, no doubt he will fight; but if he and the khalifa know their business, he will fall back and, with the forces at omdurman, fight one big battle. the two armies together will, from what we hear, amount to sixty or seventy thousand; and there is no doubt whatever that, with all their faults, the beggars can fight. it will be a tough affair, but i believe we shall have some british troops here to help, before the final advance. we can depend now on both the soudanese and the egyptians to fight hard, but there are not enough of them. the odds would be too heavy, and the sirdar is not a man to risk failure. but with a couple of brigades of british infantry, there can be no doubt what the result will be; and i fancy that, if we beat them in one big fight, it will be all up with mahdism. "it is only because the poor beggars of tribesmen regard the dervishes as invincible, that they have put up so long with their tyranny. but the rising of the jaalin, and the news we get from kordofan, show that the moment they hear the dervishes are beaten, and khartoum is in our hands, there will be a general rising, and the dervishes will be pretty well exterminated. we all hope that mahmud won't fight, for if he does, and we beat him, the khalifa and his lot may lose heart and retire before we get to omdurman; and, once away, the tremendous business of trying to follow him will confront us. here we have got the river and the railway, but we have no land carriage for an army, and he might keep on falling back to the great lakes, for anything that we could do to overtake him. so we all hope that mahmud will retire to omdurman without fighting, and with such a host as the khalifa would then have, he would be certain to give battle before abandoning his capital." "they are fine-looking fellows, these blacks," gregory said. "they are splendid fellows--they love fighting for fighting's sake. it is, in their opinion, the only worthy occupation for a man, and they have shown themselves worthy to fight by the side of our men. they have a perfect confidence in us, and would, i believe, go anywhere we led them. they say themselves, 'we are never afraid--just like english.'" "there seem to be a good many women about the camps." "yes, their women follow them wherever they go. they cook for them, and generally look after them. they are as warlike as their husbands, and encourage them, when they go out to battle, with their applause and curious quavering cries. the men get very little pay; but as they are provided with rations, and draw a certain amount for the women, it costs next to nothing, and i fancy that having the wives with them pays well. i believe they would rather be killed than come back and face their reproaches. "i could not wish to have more cheery or better fellows with me. they never grumble, they are always merry, and really they seem to be tireless. they practically give no trouble whatever, and it is good to see how they brighten up, when there is a chance of a fight." "i hope i shall see them at it, before long," gregory said. "now i must be going, for i have to change, and put on my mess uniform before dinner. i am rather nervous about that, for i am not accustomed to dine with generals." "you will find it all very pleasant," the other said. "hunter is a splendid fellow, and is adored by his men. his staff are all comparatively young men, with none of the stiffness of the british staff officer about them. we are all young--there is scarcely a man with the rank of captain in the british army out here. we are all majors or colonels in the egyptian army, but most of us are subalterns in our own regiments. it is good training for us. at home a subaltern is merely a machine to carry out orders; he is told to do this, and he does it; for him to think for himself would be a heinous offence. he is altogether without responsibility, and without initiative and, by the time he becomes a field officer, he is hidebound. he has never thought for himself, and he can't be expected to begin to do so, after working for twenty years like a machine. "you will see, if we ever have a big war, that will be our weak point. if it wasn't for wars like this, and our little wars in india, where men do learn to think and take responsibility, i don't know where our general officers would get their training. "well, you must be going. goodbye! we shall often meet. there are so few of us here, that we are always running against each other. i won't ask you to dine with us, for a few days. no doubt you would like to get accustomed to headquarters mess first. of course, hunter and the brigade staff dine together; while we have little regimental messes among ourselves, which i prefer. when there are only three or four of us, one can sit down in one's shirt sleeves, whereas at the brigade mess one must, of course, turn up in uniform, which in this climate is stifling." the meal was a more pleasant one than gregory had anticipated. on board the steamer he had, of course, dined with the other officers; and he found little difference here. ten sat down, including the principal medical officer and a captain--the head of the station intelligence department, major wingate, being at present at wady halfa. except for the roughness of the surroundings, it was like a regimental mess, and the presence of the general commanding in no way acted as a damper to the conversation. general hunter had, before sitting down, introduced him to all the members with a few pleasant words, which had put him at his ease. gregory had, on his way up, learned a good deal as to the officers who were down at cairo for their health; and he was able to say who were convalescent, and who had sailed, or were on the point of sailing, for england. the table was formed of two long benches, and had been constructed by the engineers. it was laid under a large tent, of which the walls had been removed to give a free passage of air. although scarcely up to the standard of a mess dinner at home, it was by no means a bad one; consisting of soup, fish from the river, a joint of beef at one end and of mutton at the other, curried kidneys, sweet omelettes and cheese, whisky with water or soda to drink at dinner; and, after the meal, four bottles of claret were placed on the table, and cigars or pipes lit. half an hour later four of the party sat down to whist, and the rest, going outside the tent, sat or threw themselves down on the sand, and smoked or chatted till it was time to turn in. gregory's first step, next morning, was to buy a horse. this he purchased from some fugitives, who had come down from kordofan. it was a good animal, though in poor condition, and would soon pick up flesh, when well attended and fed. to accustom himself to riding, gregory went out on it for a couple of hours every morning; getting up before daybreak, so as to take exercise before the work of the day began. he also followed the example of the officers of the egyptian regiments, and purchased a camel for the conveyance of his own baggage. "you will find it a great advantage," one of them said to him. "of course, times may arrive when you will have to leave it behind; but, as a rule, there is no trouble about it at all. you hire a native driver, who costs practically nothing, and he keeps with the baggage. no one asks any questions, and when you halt for a day or two, you have comforts. of course, with a british regiment you are cut down to the last ounce, but with us it is altogether different. there being only three or four white officers to each regiment, the few extra camels in the train make no appreciable difference. besides, these black fellows consider it quite natural and proper that their white officers should fare in a very different way from themselves; whereas a british tommy would be inclined to grumble if he saw his officers enjoying luxuries, while he himself had to rough it." as the horse only cost three pounds, and the camel only five, gregory's store of money was not seriously affected by the purchases. for both animals, although in poor condition from their journey from kordofan, a fortnight's rest and good feeding did wonders. zaki had not much to do, but gregory was well satisfied with the selection he had made. he looked after and groomed the horse, saw that the native with the camel took care of it, and went down regularly to the river to water it every evening, while he himself did the same with the horse. he always had a jug of cold tea ready for gregory, whenever he came in, and the floor of the tent was kept scrupulously clean. zaki's only regret was that he could not do more for his master, but he was consoled by being told that the time would soon come when he would be more actively engaged. from the first day of his arrival, gregory was kept fully employed. sometimes he assisted the officer of the intelligence department, in interviewing fugitives who had arrived from berber and other points on the river, from kordofan, or from villages on the white nile. sometimes he carried messages from the general to the officers in command of the two egyptian brigades. he had to listen to disputes between natives returning to their homes, from which they had been driven by the dervishes, and those they found in possession of their land. he took notes of the arguments on both sides, and submitted them to the general for his decision. the work would have been trifling in any other climate, but was exhausting in the sweltering heat of the day, and he was not sorry when the sun sank, and he could take off his khaki tunic and go down to the river for a swim. one evening, as they were sitting after dinner, general hunter said: "it is very annoying that, while these natives making their way down the country are able to tell us a good deal of what is taking place on the nile, from omdurman down to metemmeh; and while we also get news of the state of things at berber and abu hamed; we know nothing whatever of mahmud's intentions, nor indeed anything of what is doing at metemmeh, itself, since it was captured by the dervishes and, as we heard, the whole population destroyed. "of course, mahmud has the choice of three courses. he can stay where he is, he can march his whole force to berber, or he can advance against us here. i don't suppose that he has any idea of the progress the railway is making from wady halfa. he may have heard, and no doubt he has heard, that we are making a road of some sort across the desert in the direction of abu hamed; but of the capabilities of the railway he can form no idea, and may well believe that the march of an army, across what is practically a waterless desert, is a matter of impossibility. "on the other hand, he knows that we are gathering a considerable force here; and, with his limited knowledge, doubtless supposes that we are going to cross the bayuda desert, to metemmeh, as the gordon relief column did; or that, if we are not coming that way, we intend to follow the river bank up to berber. unquestionably his best course, if he considers, as we may be sure he does, that the force under his command is strong enough to crush us here, would be to push across the desert, and fall upon us before reinforcements arrive. but it is reported, and i believe truly, that the khalifa, his father, has positively refused to let him do so; still, sons have disobeyed their fathers before now. "there is, it is true, the difficulty of water; but that is not so serious, in the case of a dervish force, as it is with us. in the first place, they can march twice as far as we can. in the second place, they are accustomed to go a long time without water, and are but little affected by the heat. lastly, they have nothing to carry except their weapons, a few handfuls of dates, and their water gourds. still, we know that the forces that have, one after another, arrived here have been greatly weakened by the journey. however, mahmud may attempt it, for he must know, from his spies here, that we have at present no such land transport as would be required, were we intending to advance across the desert. he may, therefore, move at least a portion of his force to berber; trusting to the fact that, even did we make an advance south from here, with the intention of cutting off his retreat to khartoum, he would be able to reach metemmeh before we could get there. "undoubtedly, a british general, if commanding a force constituted as mahmud's is, would make a dash across the desert and fall upon us; unless, indeed, he felt certain that, after the difficulties we encountered last time we attempted to take the desert route, we should be certain to advance by the river, step by step, continuing the policy that we have followed since we began to push forward from assouan. "mahmud is in a very difficult position. he is controlled by his father at khartoum. among those with him are many important emirs, men of almost equal rank with himself; and he could hardly hope that whatever decision he might personally arrive at would be generally accepted by all; and those who opposed him would do so with all the more force, as they could declare that, in making any movement, he was acting in opposition to his father's orders. "however, our total ignorance as to mahmud's plans and intentions is most unfortunate; but it can hardly be helped, for naturally the natives coming down from kordofan give metemmeh a very wide berth. as to sending up any of the natives here, to find out what is going on, it is out of the question, for they would be detected at once, as their language is so different from that of the baggara." later on, the general retired to his quarters. gregory went there. "can i speak to you for a few minutes, sir?" he asked. "certainly, mr. hilliard. what can i do for you?" "i have been thinking over what you were saying, regarding information as to mahmud's intentions. with your permission, i am ready to undertake to go into his camp, and to find out what the general opinion is as to his plans." "impossible, mr. hilliard! i admire your courage in making the offer, but it would be going to certain death." "i do not think so, sir. i talk baggara better than the negro dialect that passes here. it is among the baggara that i am likely to learn something of my father's fate; and, as the old nurse from whom i learnt these languages had been for a long time among that tribe, she devoted, at my mother's request, more time to teaching me their arab dialect than any other, and i am convinced that i could pass unsuspected among them, as far as language is concerned. there is no great difference between arab features and european, and i think that, when i am stained brown and have my head partly shaved, according to their fashion, there will be little fear of my being detected. "as to costume, that is easy enough. i have not seen any of the dervishes yet, but the natives who have come in from el obeid, or any other neighbourhood where they are masters, could give me an account of their dress, and the way in which they wear the patches on their clothes, which are the distinguishing mark of the mahdists." "i could tell you that. so could any of the officers. their dress differs very little from the ordinary arab costume. nearly all wear loose white trousers, coming down to the ankles. in some cases these are the usual baggy eastern articles, in others the legs are separate. they almost all wear the white garment coming down to the knee, with of course a sash round the waist, and sleeves reaching down to the elbow or an inch or two below it. some wear turbans, but the majority simply skullcaps. i could get the dress made up in three or four hours. but the risk is altogether too great, and i do not think that i should be justified in allowing you to undertake it." "i really do not think that there will be any great danger, sir. if there were no great object to be gained, it would be different; but in view of the great importance, as you said this evening, of learning mahmud's intentions, the risk of one life being lost, even were it great, is nothing. as you say, the sirdar's plans might be greatly affected by the course mahmud adopts; and in such a case, the life of a subaltern like myself is a matter scarcely to be considered. "from childhood i have been preparing to go among the dervishes, and this is what i propose doing, as soon as khartoum is recaptured. therefore sir if, by anticipating my work by a few months, or possibly a year, i can render a service to the army, i would gladly undertake it, if you will give me permission to do so." the general was, for a minute or two, silent. "well, hilliard," he said at last, "on thinking it over as you put it, i do not know that i should be justified in refusing your offer. it is a very gallant one, and may possibly meet with success." "thank you, sir! i shall be really glad to enter upon the work i have looked forward to. although it may have no direct bearing upon the discovery of my father's fate, it will be a start in that direction. do you think that i had better go mounted, or on foot?" "i should say certainly on horseback, but there is no occasion for any hasty determination. every step should be carefully considered, and we should, as far as possible, foresee and provide for every emergency that may arise. think it over well, yourself. some time tomorrow i will discuss it again with you." gregory went straight back to his hut. "come in, zaki, i want to speak to you. "light the lamp, and shut the door. now sit down there. do you know the country between this and metemmeh?" "yes, master; i travelled there with my father, six years ago." "is it difficult to find the way?" "it is not difficult. there are many signs of the passage of caravans. there are skeletons of the camels of the english expedition; there are very many of them. it would not be difficult, even for one who has never passed them, to find the way." "and there are wells?" "there are wells at howeyat and abu halfa, at gakdul and abu klea, also at gubat." "that is to say, water will be found nearly every day?" "quite every day, to one on horseback. the longest distance is from gakdul to abu klea, but that would not be too long for mounted men, and could even be done by a native on foot, in a long day's march." "do you know whether mahmud's army is in metemmeh, or outside the town?" "from what i have heard, most of the dervish force is on the hills behind the town. they say metemmeh is full of dead, and that even the dervishes do not care to live there." "the baggara are mostly mounted, are they not?" "most of them are so, though there are some on foot. the leaders of the tribesmen who fight for the khalifa are all on horseback, but most of the army are on foot." "you do not speak the baggara language, i suppose?" zaki shook his head. "i know a little arabic, but not much." "i suppose most of the arab tribes in the soudan speak a dialect very much like the baggara?" "yes; it is everywhere arabic, and there is but little difference. they can all understand each other, and talk together. may your servant ask why you put these questions?" "yes, zaki, but you must not mention what i tell you to a soul." "zaki will be as silent as the grave." "well, i am going up dressed as a mahdist. i can speak the baggara tongue well. i am going to try and find out what they are going to do: whether they will march to berber, or come here, or remain at metemmeh." zaki stared at his master, in speechless amazement. gregory could not help smiling at the expression of his face. "there does not seem much difficulty in it," he said. "i can speak with you in the dialect of dongola, but the baggara language is much easier to me, because i have been accustomed to speak arabic since i was a child. of course my skin will be dyed, and i shall wear the dervish dress. there is no difficulty in this matter." "but they would cut you in pieces, my lord, if they found out that you were a white." "no doubt they would, but there is no reason why they should find that out. it would be much more dangerous for you to go into their camp than it would be for me. in the first place, you can scarcely speak any arabic; and in the second, they would see by your features that you are one of the jaalin. whereas my features, when stained, would be much more like those of the arabs than yours would. "where should i be most likely to meet the dervishes first?" "i do not think any of them are much this side of metemmeh, at present. sometimes parties ride down to gakdul, and they have even passed on till they are within sight of this camp; but when they have found out that the wells are still unoccupied, and the army here quiet, they go back again." "if i go on horseback, zaki, i shall want someone with me who will act as a guide; and who will look after his horse and mine at some place near the river, where he can find a hiding place while i am away in the dervish camp." "would you take me, my lord?" zaki said quickly. "i would much rather take you than anyone else, if you are willing to go, zaki." "surely i will go with my lord," the native said. "no one has ever been so good to me as he has. if my lord is killed, i am ready to die with him. he may count on me to do anything that he requires, even to go with him into the dervish camp. i might go as a slave, my lord." "that would not do, zaki. i do not wish to travel as a person who could ride attended by a slave. people might say, 'who is this man? where does he come from? how is it that no one knows a man who rides with a slave?' "my great object will be to enter the camp quietly, as one who has but left half an hour before. when i have once entered it, and they ask whence i came, i must tell them some likely story that i have made up: as, for example, that i have come from el obeid, and that i am an officer of the governor there; that, finding he could not get away himself, he yielded to my request that i might come, and help to drive the infidels into the sea." zaki nodded. "that would be a good tale, my lord, for men who have escaped from el obeid, and have come here, have said that the khalifa's troops there have not been called to join him at omdurman; for it is necessary to keep a strong force there, as many of the tribes of the province would rise in rebellion, if they had the chance. therefore you would not be likely to meet anyone from el obeid in mahmud's camp." "how is it, zaki, that when so many in the soudan have suffered at the hands of the dervishes, they not only remain quiet, but supply the largest part of the khalifa's army?" "because, my lord, none of them can trust the others. it is madness for one tribe to rise, as the jaalin did at metemmeh. the dervishes wiped them out from the face of the earth. many follow him because they see that allah has always given victory to the mahdists; therefore the mahdi must be his prophet. others join his army because their villages have been destroyed, and their fields wasted, and they see no other way of saving themselves from starvation. "there are many who fight because they are fond of fighting. you see how gladly they take service with you, and fight against their own countrymen, although you are christians. suppose you were to conquer the khalifa tomorrow, half his army would enlist in your service, if you would take them. a man who would be contented to till his fields, if he could do so in peace and quiet, fears that he may see his produce eaten by others and his house set on fire; and would rather leave his home and fight--he cares not against whom. "the mahdist army are badly fed and badly paid. they can scarce keep life together. but in the egyptian army the men are well taken care of. they have their rations, and their pay. they say that if they are wounded, or lose a limb, and are no more able to fight, they receive a pension. is it wonderful that they should come to you and be faithful?" "well, zaki, we won't talk any longer, now. it is agreed, then, that if i go on this expedition, you will accompany me?" "certainly, master. wherever you go i am ready to go. whatever happens to you will, i hope, happen to me." on the following afternoon, gregory was sent for. "i have given the matter a good deal of thought, mr. hilliard," the general said, "and have decided to accept your offer. i suppose that you have been thinking the matter over. do you decide to go on foot, or mounted?" "on horseback, sir. my boy is perfectly willing to go with me. he knows the way, and the position of the wells on the road. my plan is that, when we get near metemmeh, he shall remain with the horses somewhere near the river; and i shall enter the camp on foot. i am less likely to be noticed that way. if questioned, my story will be that my father was at el obeid, and that the governor there is, by the khalifa's orders, holding his force in hand to put down any outbreaks there may be in the province; and that, wishing to fight against the infidel, i have come on my own account. if i am asked why i had not come on horseback, i shall say that i had ridden to within the last two or three miles, and that the horse had then died. "but i do not expect to be questioned at all, as one man on foot is as nothing, in an army of twenty or thirty thousand, gathered from all over the soudan." "you quite understand, mr. hilliard, that you are taking your life in your hands? and that there is no possibility, whatever, of our doing anything for you, if you get into trouble?" "quite, sir. if i am detected, i shall probably be killed at once. i do not think that there is more risk in it than in going into battle. as i have told you, i have, so far as i know, no relatives in the world; and there will be no one to grieve, if i never come back again. "as to the clothes, i can easily buy them from one of the natives here. many of them are dressed in the garments of the dervishes who were killed when we came up here; except, of course, that the patches were taken off. i will get my man to buy a suit for himself, and one for me. it would be better than having new clothes made; for, even if these were dirtied, they would not look old. when he has bought the clothes, he can give them a good washing, and then get a piece of stuff to sew on as patches. "i am afraid, sir, that there will be little chance of my being able to obtain any absolute news of mahmud's intentions; but only to glean general opinion, in the camp. it is not likely that the news of any intended departure would be kept a secret up till the last moment, among the dervishes, as it would be here." "quite so," the general agreed. "we may take it as certain that the matter would be one of common talk. of course, mahmud and his principal advisers might change their minds, at any moment. still i think that, were it intended to make a move against us, or to berber, it would be generally known. "i may tell you that we do not intend to cross the bayuda desert. we shall go up the river, but this is a secret that will be kept till the last moment. and before we start, we shall do all in our power to spread a belief that we are going to advance to metemmeh. we know that they are well informed, by their spies here, of our movements. we shall send a strong force to make a reconnaissance, as far as gakdul. this will appear to be a preliminary step to our advance, and should keep mahmud inactive, till too late. he will not dare advance to berber, because he will be afraid of our cutting him off from omdurman. "you are satisfied with your horse? it is advisable that you should have a good one, and yet not so good as to attract attention." "yes; i could not want a better horse, general. he is not handsome, but i have ridden him a great deal, and he is certainly fast; and, being desert bred, i have no doubt has plenty of endurance. i shall, of course, get one for my boy." "there are plenty in the transport yard. they have been bought up from fugitives who have come in here. i will write you an order to select any one you choose; and if you see one you think better than your own, you can take it also; and hand yours over to the transport, to keep until you return. "you should take a martini-henri with you. i will give you an order for one, on one of the native regiments. they are, as you know, armed with them; and have, of course, a few cases of spare rifles. a good many have fallen into the hands of the dervishes, at one time or another, so that your carrying such a weapon will not excite any remark. it would not do to take a revolver, but no doubt you will be able to buy pistols that have been brought down by the fugitives. you will certainly be able to get them at some of those greek shops. they buy up all that kind of thing. of course, you will carry one of the dervish long knives. "is there anything else that you can think of?" "nothing, sir." "when will you be ready, do you suppose?" "by the day after tomorrow, sir. i shall start after dark, so that no one will notice my going. with your permission, i will come round before i set off, so that you can see whether the disguise is good enough to pass." chapter : to metemmeh. zaki at once set to work to collect the articles needed for the journey; and gregory obtained, from the transport, another horse and two native saddles. he was well satisfied with his own animal; and, even had he found in the transport yard a better horse, he would still have preferred his own, as they were accustomed to each other. he bought pistols for himself and zaki, and a matchlock for the latter. everything was ready by the time gregory went to the mess to lunch, on the day fixed for his departure. nothing whatever had been said as to his leaving, as it was possible that some of the native servants, who waited upon them, might have picked up sufficient english to gather that something important was about to take place. when, however, the meal was over and he said carelessly, "i shall not be at mess this evening;" he saw, by the expression of the officers' faces, that they all were aware of the reason for his absence. one after another they either shook hands with him, or gave him a quiet pat on the shoulder, with the words "take care of yourself, lad," or "a safe journey and a speedy return," or some other kind wish. going to his hut, he was shaved by zaki at the back of the neck, up to his ears; so that the white, closely-fitting cap would completely cover the hair. outside the tent a sauce pan was boiling with herbs and berries, which the lad had procured from an old woman who was considered to have a great knowledge of simples. at four in the afternoon, gregory was stained from head to foot, two coats of the dye being applied. this used but a small quantity of the liquor, and the rest was poured into a gourd, for future use. the dresses were ready, with the exception of the mahdi patches, which were to be sewn on at their first halting place. before it was dark, gregory went across to the general's quarters. the black sentry stopped him. "the general wants to speak to me," gregory said, in arabic. the man called up the native sergeant from the guard tent, who asked what he wanted. "i am here by the orders of the general." the sergeant looked doubtful, but went in. he returned in a minute, and motioned to gregory to follow him in. the general looked at him, from head to foot. "i suppose it is you, hilliard," he said, "but i certainly should not have recognized you. with that yellowish-brown skin, you could pass anywhere as a soudan arab. will the colour last?" "i am assured that it will last for some days, but i am taking enough with me to renew it, four or five times." "well, unless some unexpected obstacle occurs, i think you are safe from detection. mind you avoid men from el obeid; if you do not fall in with them, you should be safe. of course, when you have sewn on those patches, your disguise will be complete. "i suppose you have no idea how long you will be away?" "it will take me five days to go there, and five days to come back. i should think that if i am three days in the camp, i ought to get all the information required. in a fortnight i should be here; though, of course, i may be longer. if i am not back within a few days of that time, you will know that it is because i have stayed there, in the hopes of getting more certain news. if i don't return in three weeks, it will be because something has gone wrong." "i hope it will not be so, lad. as regards appearance and language, i have no fear of your being detected; but you must always bear in mind that there are other points. you have had the advantage of seeing the camps of the native regiments, when the men are out of uniform--how they walk, laugh uproariously, play tricks with each other, and generally behave. these are all natives of the soudan, and no small proportion of them have been followers of the mahdi, and have fought against us, so they may be taken as typical of the men you are going among. it is in all these little matters that you will have to be careful. "now, i will not detain you longer. i suppose your horses are on board?" it had been arranged that gregory should be taken down to korti, in a native craft that was carrying some stores required at that camp. "yes, sir. my boy put them on board, two hours ago." "here is the pass by which you can enter or leave the british lines, at any time. the boat will be there before daylight, but the landing of the stores will not, of course, take place until later. show this pass to the first officer who comes down. it contains an order for you to be allowed to start on your journey, at once. "this other pass is for your return. you had better, at your first halt, sew it under one of your patches. it is, as you see, written on a piece of linen, so that however closely you may be examined, there will be no stiffness or crackling, as would be the case with paper. "now goodbye, hilliard! it is a satisfaction to me that you have undertaken this journey on your own initiative, and on your own request. i believe that you have a fair chance of carrying it through--more so than men with wider shoulders and bigger limbs would have. if you come to grief, i shall blame myself for having accepted your offer; but i shall at least know that i thought it over seriously, and that, seeing the importance of the object in view, i did not feel myself justified in refusing." with a cordial shake of the hand, he said goodbye to gregory. the latter went off to his hut. he did not leave it until dusk, and then went down to the boat, where zaki had remained with the horses. as soon as it started they lay down alongside some bales, on the deck of the native craft, and were soon asleep. they did not wake until a slight bump told them they were alongside the wharf, at korti. day was just breaking, so no move was made until an hour later. an officer came down, with the fatigue party, to unload the stores that she had brought down. when the horses were ashore, gregory handed the pass to the officer, who was standing on the bank. he looked at it, with some surprise. "going to do some scouting," he muttered, and then called to a native officer, "pass these two men beyond the outposts. they have an order from general hunter." "will you be away long?" he asked gregory, in arabic. "a week or more, my lord," the latter replied. "ah! i suppose you are going to gakdul. as far as we have heard, there are no dervishes there. well, you must keep a sharp lookout. they may be in hiding anywhere about there, and your heads won't be worth much, if they lay hands on you." "we intend to do so, sir;" and then, mounting, they rode on, the native officer walking beside them. "you know the country, i suppose?" he said. "the dervishes are bad, but i would rather fall into their hands than lose my way in the desert. the one is a musket ball or a quick chop with a knife, the other an agony for two or three days." "i have been along the road before," zaki said. "there is no fear of my losing my way; and, even if i did so, i could travel by the stars." "i wish we were all moving," the native said. "it is dull work staying here, month after month." as soon as they were beyond the lines, they thanked the officer and went off, at a pace native horses are capable of keeping up for hours. "korti is a much pleasanter camp to stay in than merawi," gregory said. "it really looks a delightful place. it is quite evident that the mahdists have never made a raid here." the camp stood on a high bank above the river. there were spreading groves of trees, and the broad avenues, that had been constructed when the gordon relief expedition was encamped there, could still be seen. beyond it was a stretch of land which had been partly cultivated. sevas grass grew plentifully, and acacia and mimosa shrubs in patches. they rode to the wells of hambok, a distance of some five-and-thirty miles, which they covered in five hours. there they halted, watered their horses and, after giving them a good feed, turned them out to munch the shrubs or graze on the grass, as they chose. they then had a meal from the food they had brought with them, made a shelter of bushes, for the heat was intense, and afterwards sewed the mahdi patches upon their clothes. when the sun went down they fetched the horses in, gave them a small feed, and then fastened them to some bushes near. as there was plenty of water in the wells, they took an empty gourd down and, stripping, poured water over their heads and bodies; then, feeling greatly refreshed, dressed and lay down to sleep. the moon rose between twelve and one; and, after giving the horses a drink, they mounted and rode to gakdul, which they reached soon after daybreak. they had stopped a mile away, and zaki went forward on foot, hiding himself as much as possible from observation. on his return he reported that no one was at the wells, and they therefore rode on, taking every precaution against surprise. the character of the scenery had completely changed; and they had, for some miles, been winding along at the foot of the jebel-el-jilif hills. these were steep and precipitous, with spurs and intermediate valleys. the wells differed entirely from those at hambok, which were merely holes dug in the sand, the water being brought up in one of the skin bags they had brought with them, and poured into shallow cisterns made in the surface. at gakdul the wells were large pools in the rock, at the foot of one of the spurs of the hill, two miles from the line of the caravan route. here the water was beautifully clear, and abundant enough for the wants of a large force. "it is lucky i had you with me, zaki, for i should certainly have gone straight on past the wells, without knowing where they were; and as there are no others this side of abu klea, i should have had rather a bad day." the three forts which the guards had built, when they came on in advance of general stewart's column, were still standing; as well as a number of smaller ones, which had been afterwards added. "it is rather a bad place for being caught, zaki, for the ground is so broken, and rocky, that the dervishes might creep up without being seen." "yes, sir, it is a bad place," zaki agreed. "i am glad that none of the dervishes were here, for we should not have seen them, until we were quite close." zaki had, on the road, cut a large faggot of dried sticks, and a fire was soon lighted. "you must give the horses a good allowance of grain," gregory said, "for they will be able to pick up nothing here, and it is a long ride to abu klea." "we shall have to be very careful there, my lord. it is not so very far from metemmeh, and we are very likely to find baggaras at the wells. it was there they met the english force that went through to metemmeh. "i think it would be better for us to halt early, this evening, and camp at the foot of jebel sergain. the english halted there, before advancing to abu klea. we can take plenty of water in the two skins, to give the horses a drink and leave enough for tomorrow. there is grass in abundance there. "when the moon rises, we can make our way round to avoid abu klea, and halt in the middle of the day for some hours. we could then ride on as soon as the sun is low, halt when it becomes too dark to ride, and then start again when the moon rises. in that way we shall reach the river, before it is light." "i think that would be a very good plan, zaki. we should find it very difficult to explain who we were, if we met any dervishes at abu klea. i will have a look at my sketch map; we have found it very good and accurate, so far; and with that, and the compass the general gave me before starting, we ought to have no difficulty in striking the river, as the direction is only a little to the east of south." he opened a tin of preserved meat, of which he had four with him, and placed it to warm near the fire. "we should have had to throw the other tins away, if we had gone on to abu klea," he said. "it would never have done for them to be found upon us, if we were searched." when the meat was hot they ate it, using some biscuits as plates. afterwards they feasted on a melon they had brought with them, and were glad to hear their horses munching the leaves of some shrubs near. when the moon rose, they started. it was slow work at first, as they had some difficulty in passing the rough country lying behind the hill. once past it, they came upon a level plain, and rode fast for some hours. at ten o'clock they halted, and lay down under the shelter of the shrubs; mounting again at four, and riding for another three hours. "how far do you think we are from the river now? by the map, i should think we cannot be much more than twenty miles from it." "i don't know, my lord. i have never been along here before; but it certainly ought not to be farther than that." "we have ridden nine hours. we travelled slowly for the first four or five, but we have come fast, since then. we must give the horses a good rest, so we will not move on till the moon rises, which will be about a quarter to two. it does not give a great deal of light, now, and we shall have to make our way through the scrub; but, at any rate, we ought to be close to the river, before morning." when the sun was low they again lit a fire, and had another good meal, giving the greater portion of their stock of biscuits to the horses, and a good drink of water. "we must use up all we can eat before tomorrow, zaki, and betake ourselves to a diet of dried dates. there is enough water left to give the horses a drink before we start, then we shall start as genuine dervishes." they found that the calculation they had made as to distance was correct and, before daybreak, arrived on the bank of the nile, and at once encamped in a grove. in the morning they could see the houses of metemmeh, rising from the line of sandy soil, some five miles away. "there seems to be plenty of bush and cover, all along the bank, zaki. we will stay here till the evening, and then move three miles farther down; so that you may be handy, if i have to leave the dervishes in a hurry." "could we not go into the camp, my lord?" "it would be much better, in some respects, if we could; but, you see, you do not speak arabic." "no, master; but you could say i was carried off as a slave, when i was a boy. you see, i do speak a little arabic, and could understand simple orders; just as any slave boy would, if he had been eight or ten years among the arabs." "it would certainly be a great advantage to have you and the horses handy. however, at first i will go in and join the dervishes, and see how they encamp. they are, no doubt, a good deal scattered; and if we could find a quiet spot, where a few mounted men have taken up their station, we would join them. but before we did that, it would be necessary to find out whether they came from kordofan, or from some of the villages on the white nile. it would never do to stumble into a party from el obeid." they remained quiet all day. the wood extended a hundred and fifty yards back from the river, and there was little fear that anyone coming down from omdurman would enter it, when within sight of metemmeh. at dusk they rode on again, until they judged that they were within two miles of the town; and then, entering a clump of high bushes by the river, halted for the night. chapter : among the dervishes. in the morning gregory started alone, as soon as it was light. as he neared the town, he saw that there were several native craft on the river; and that boats were passing to and fro between the town and shendy, on the opposite bank. from the water side a number of men were carrying what appeared to be bags of grain towards the hills behind the town, while others were straggling down towards the river. without being questioned, gregory entered metemmeh, but stopped there for a very few minutes. everywhere were the bodies of men, women, and children, of donkeys and other animals. all were now shrivelled and dried by the sun, but the stench was almost unbearable, and he was glad to hurry away. once beyond the walls he made for the hill. many tents could be seen there, and great numbers of men moving about. he felt sure that, among so many, no one would notice that he was a newcomer; and after moving among the throng, he soon sat down among a number of dervishes who were eating their morning meal. taking some dates out of his bag, he munched them quietly. from the talk going on, he soon perceived that there was a considerable amount of discontent at the long delay. some of the men were in favour of moving to berber, on the ground that they would at least fare better there; but the majority were eager to march north, to drive the infidels from merawi and dongola. "mahmud would do that, i am sure," one of them said, "if he had but his will; but how could we march without provisions? it is said that mahmud has asked for a sufficient supply to cross the bayuda, and has promised to drive the infidels before him to assouan; but the khalifa says no, it would be better to wait till they come in a strong body, and then to exterminate them. if we are not to fight, why were we sent here? it would have been better to stay at omdurman, because there we had plenty of food; or, if it ran short, could march to the villages and take what we wanted. of course the khalifa knows best, but to us it seems strange, indeed." there was a general chorus of assent. after listening for some time gregory rose and, passing over the ridge, came upon the main camp. here were a number of emirs and sheiks, with their banners flying before the entrance of their tents. the whole ground was thickly dotted with little shelters, formed of bushes, over which dark blankets were thrown to keep out the rays of the sun. everywhere women were seated or standing--some talking to each other, others engaged in cooking. children played about; boys came in loaded with faggots, which they had gone long distances to cut. in some places numbers of horses were picketed, showing where the baggara cavalry were stationed. in the neighbourhood of the emirs' tents there was some sort of attempt at order, in the arrangement of the little shelters, showing where the men of their tribes were encamped. beyond, straggling out for some distance, were small encampments, in some of which the men were still erecting shelters, with the bushes the women and boys brought in. most of these were evidently fresh arrivals, who had squatted down as soon as they came up; either from ignorance as to where their friends had encamped, or from a preference for a quiet situation. this fringe of new arrivals extended along the whole semicircle of the camp; and as several small parties came up while gregory wandered about, and he saw that no notice was taken of them by those already established, he thought that he could bring zaki, and the horses up without any fear of close questioning. he therefore walked down again to the spot where he had left them; and, mounting, they rode to the camp, making a wide sweep so as to avoid the front facing metemmeh. "we could camp equally well, anywhere here, zaki, but we may as well go round to the extreme left; as, if we have to ride off suddenly, we shall at least start from the nearest point to the line by which we came." there was a small clump of bushes, a hundred yards or so from the nearest of the little shelters. here they dismounted, and at once began, with their knives, to cut down some of the bushes to form a screen from the sun. they had watered the horses before they left the river, and had also filled their water skins. "i don't think we could find a better place, zaki," gregory said, when, having completed their shelter and thrown their blankets over it, they lay down in the shade. "no doubt we shall soon be joined by others; but as we are the first comers on this spot, it will be for us to ask questions of them, and, after, for them to make enquiries of us. "i shall go into the camp as soon as the heat abates, and people begin to move about again. remember our story--you were carried off from a jaalin village, in a raid. your master was a small sheik, and is now with the force at el obeid. you had been the companion of his son, and when the latter made up his mind to come and fight here your master gave you your freedom, so that you might fight by his son's side. you might say that i have not yet settled under whose banner i shall fight. all i wish is to be in the front of the battle, when we meet the infidels. that will be quite sufficient. there are men here from almost every village in the soudan, and no one will care much where his neighbours come from. "mention that we intend to fight as matchlock men, not on horseback, as the animals are greatly fatigued from their long journey, and will require rest for some time; and, being so far from home, i fear that we might lose them if we went into the fight with them; and in that case might have to journey on foot, for a long time, before we could get others. "i don't at all suppose that it will be necessary for you to say all this. people will be too much occupied with their own affairs to care much about others; still, it is well not to hesitate, if questioned." talk and laughter in the great camp ceased now, and it was not until the sun lost its power that it again began. gregory did not move, till it began to get dusk. "i shall be away some time," he said, "so don't be at all uneasy about me. i shall take my black blanket, so that i can cover myself with it and lie down, as if asleep, close to any of the emirs' tents where i hear talk going on; and so may be able to gather some idea as to their views. i have already learned that the tribesmen have not heard of any immediate move, and are discontented at being kept inactive so long. the leaders, however, may have their plans, but will not make them known to the men, until it is time for action." the camp was thoroughly alive when he entered it. men were sitting about in groups; the women, as before, keeping near their little shelters, laughing and chatting together, and sometimes quarrelling. from the manner of the men, who either sat or walked about, it was not difficult for gregory to distinguish between the villagers, who had been dragged away from their homes and forced to enter the service of the khalifa, and the baggara and kindred tribes, who had so long held the soudan in subjection. the former were quiet in their demeanour, and sometimes sullen in their looks. he had no doubt that, when the fighting came, these would face death at the hands of the infidels as bravely as their oppressors, for the belief in mahdism was now universal. his followers had proved themselves invincible; they had no doubt that they would destroy the armies of egypt, but they resented being dragged away from their quiet homes, their families, and their fields. among these the baggara strode haughtily. splendid men, for the most part, tall, lithe, and muscular; men with the supreme belief in themselves, and in their cause, carrying themselves as the norman barons might have done among a crowd of saxons; the conquerors of the land, the most trusted followers of the successor of the mahdi, men who felt themselves invincible. it was true that they had, so far, failed to overrun egypt, and had even suffered reverses, but these the khalifa had taught them to consider were due to disobedience of his orders, or the result of their fighting upon unlucky days. all this was soon to be reversed. the prophecies had told that the infidels were about to be annihilated, and that then they would sweep down without opposition, and possess themselves of the plunder of egypt. gregory passed wholly unnoticed among the crowd. there was nothing to distinguish him from others, and the thought that an egyptian spy, still less one of the infidels, should venture into their camp had never occurred to one of that multitude. occasionally, he sat down near a group of the baggara, listening to their talk. they were impatient, too, but they were convinced that all was for the best; and that, when it was the will of allah, they would destroy their enemy. still, there were expressions of impatience that mahmud was not allowed to advance. "we know," one said, "that it is at kirkeban that the last great destruction of the infidel is to take place, and that these madmen are coming to their fate; still, we might move down and destroy those at dongola and along the river, and possess ourselves of their arms and stores. why should we come thus far from omdurman, if we are to go no farther?" "why ask questions?" another said contemptuously. "enough that it is the command of the khalifa, to whom power and knowledge has been given by the mahdi, until he himself returns to earth. to the khalifa will be revealed the day and the hour on which we are to smite the infidel. if mahmud and the great emirs are all content to wait, why should we be impatient?" everywhere gregory went, he heard the same feelings expressed. the men were impatient to be up and doing, but they must wait the appointed hour. it was late before he ventured to approach the tents of the leaders. he knew that it was impossible to get near mahmud himself, for he had his own bodyguard of picked men. the night, however, was dark and, enveloping himself from head to foot in his black blanket, he crawled out until well beyond the line of tents, and then very cautiously made his way towards them again. he knew that he should see the white figures of the dervishes before they could make him out; and he managed, unnoticed, to crawl up to one of the largest tents, and lie down against it. he heard the chatter of the women in an adjoining tent, but there was no sound in that against which he lay. for an hour all was quiet. then he saw two white figures coming from mahmud's camp, which lay some fifty yards away. to his delight, they stopped at the entrance of the tent by which he was concealed, and one said: "i can well understand, ibrahim khalim, that your brother mahmud is sorely vexed that your father will not let him advance against the egyptians, at merawi. i fully share his feelings; for could i not, with my cavalry, sweep them before me into the river, even though no footmen came with me? according to accounts they are but two or three thousand strong, and i have as many horsemen under my command." "that is so, osman azrakyet. but methinks my father is right. if we were to march across the desert, we would lose very many men and great numbers of animals, and we should arrive weakened and dispirited. if we remain here, it is the egyptians who will have to bear the hardships of the march across the desert. great numbers of the animals that carry the baggage and food, without which the poor infidels are unable to march, would die, and the weakened force would be an easy prey for us." "that is true," the other said, "but they may come now, as they came to dongola, in their boats." "they have the cataracts to ascend, and the rapid currents of the nile at its full to struggle against. there is a strong force at abu hamed, and our governor at berber will move down there, with all his force, when he hears that the egyptians are coming up the cataracts. should it be the will of allah that they should pass them, and reach berber, we shall know how to meet them. mahmud has settled this evening that many strong forts are to be built on the river bank here, and if the infidels try to advance farther by water, they will be all sunk. "i agree with you and mahmud, and wish that it had been otherwise, and that we could hurl ourselves at once upon the egyptians and prevent their coming farther--but that would be but a partial success. if we wait, they will gather all their forces before they come, and we shall destroy them at one blow. then we shall seize all their stores and animals, cross the desert to dongola, march forward to assouan, and there wait till the khalifa brings his own army; and then who is to oppose us? we will conquer the land of the infidel. i am as eager for the day of battle as you are, but it seems to me that it is best to wait here, until the infidels come; and i feel that it is wise of the khalifa thus to order. now i will to my tent." as soon as ibrahim khalim had entered his tent, gregory crawled away, well satisfied that he had gained exactly the information he had come to gather. he had gone but a few paces when he saw a white figure striding along, in front of the tents. he stopped, and threw himself down. unfortunately, the path taken by the sheik was directly towards him. he heard the footsteps advancing, in hopes that the man would pass either in front or behind him. then he felt a sudden kick, an exclamation, and a heavy fall. he leapt to his feet, but the arab sheik was as quick and, springing up, also seized him, at the same time drawing his knife and uttering a loud shout. gregory grasped the arab's wrist, and without hesitation snatched his own knife from the sash, and drove it deep into his assailant's body. the latter uttered another loud cry for help, and a score of men rushed from behind the tents. gregory set off at the top of his speed, dashed over the brow of the bridge, and then, without entering the camp there, he kept along close to the crest, running at the top of his speed and wrapping his blanket as much as possible round him. he heard an outburst of yells behind, and felt sure that the sheik he had wounded had told those who had rushed up which way he had fled. with loud shouts they poured over the crest, and there were joined by others running up from the camp. when gregory paused for a moment, after running for three or four hundred yards, he could hear no sound of footsteps behind him. glancing round, he could not see white dresses in the darkness. turning sharply off, he recrossed the crest of the hill and, keeping close to it, continued his flight until well past the end of the camp. the alarm had by this time spread everywhere, and a wild medley of shouts rose throughout the whole area of the encampment. he turned now, and made for the spot where he had left zaki and the horses. in five minutes he reached it. "is that you, my lord?" zaki asked, as he came up. "yes, we must fly at once! i was discovered, and had to kill--or at least badly wound--a sheik, and they are searching for me everywhere." "i have saddled the horses, and put the water skins on them." "that is well done, zaki. let us mount and be off, at once. we will lead the horses. it is too dark to gallop among these bushes, and the sound of the hoofs might be heard. we will go quietly, till we are well away." not another word was spoken, till they had gone half a mile. "we will mount now, zaki. the horses can see better than we. we will go at a walk. i dare not strike a light to look at the compass, but there are the stars. i do not see the north star, it must be hidden by the mist, lower down; but the others give us the direction, quite near enough to go by. "it is most unfortunate that the fellow who rushed against me was a sheik. i could see that, by the outline of his robe. if it had been a common man, there would not have been any fuss over it. as it is, they will search for us high and low. i know he wasn't killed on the spot, for he shouted after i had left him; and they are likely to guess, from his account, that i had been down at one of the emirs' tents, and was probably a spy. "i know that i ought to have paused a moment, and given him another stab, but i could not bring myself to do it. it is one thing to stab a man who is trying to take one's life, but it is quite another when he has fallen, and is helpless." zaki had made no reply. he could scarcely understand his master's repugnance to making matters safe, when another blow would have done so, but it was not for him to blame. they travelled all night and, when the moon rose, were able to get along somewhat faster; but its light was now feeble and uncertain. as soon as day broke, they rode fast, and at ten o'clock had left behind the range of hills, stretching between the wells of abu klea and jebel sergain. "we ought to be safe now," gregory said, as they dismounted. "at any rate, the horses must have a rest. we have done over forty miles." "we are safe for the present, my lord. it all depends whether or not they think you are a spy. if they come to that conclusion, they will send at once to abu klea; and if a strong body is stationed there, they may have sent a party on to gakdul, or even to el howeyat, for they will feel sure that we shall make for one of the wells." "how much water have you got in the bags?" zaki examined them. "enough for ourselves for five or six days; but only enough for two drinks each, for the horses and for ourselves, for a couple of days." "that is bad. if we had had any idea of coming away so soon, we would have filled the large bags yesterday. i had intended to send down the horses in the morning, therefore left them only half full, and they must have leaked a good deal to get so low. see if one leaks more than the other." it was found that one held the water well, but from the other there was a steady drip. they transferred the water from this to the sound bag. "we must drink as little as we can, zaki, and give the horses only a mouthful, now and then, and let them munch the shrubs and get a little moisture from them. do you think there is any fear of the dervishes following our tracks?" "no, my lord. in the first place, they do not know that there are two of us, or that we are mounted. when those who camped near us notice, when they get up this morning, that we have moved; they will only think that we have shifted our camp, as there was no talk of horsemen being concerned in this affair. no, i do not think they will attempt to follow us, except along the caravan road, but i feel sure they will pursue us on that line." they rested for some hours, in the shade of a high rock, leaving the horses to pick what herbage they could find. at four o'clock they started again. they had ridden two hours, when zaki said: "see, my lord, there are two men on the top of jebel sergain!" gregory gazed in that direction. "yes, i can notice them now, but i should not have done so, if you had not seen them." "they are on watch, my lord." "well, they can hardly see us, at this distance." "you may be sure that they see us," zaki said; "the eyes of an arab are very keen, and could not fail to catch two moving objects--especially horsemen." "if they are looking for us, and have seen us, zaki, they would not be standing stationary there." "not if they were alone. but others may have been with them. when they first caught sight of us, which may have been half an hour ago, the others may have gone down to abu klea, while those two remained to watch which course we took. the arabs can signal with their lances, or with their horses, and from there they would be able to direct any party in pursuit of us." "well, we must keep on as hard as we can, till dark; after that, we can take it quietly. you see, the difficulty with us will be water. now that they have once made out two horsemen riding north, they must know that we have some special object in avoiding them; and will, no doubt, send a party to gakdul, if not farther." they crossed the rough country as quickly as they could, and then again broke into a canter. an hour later, as they crossed a slight rise, zaki looked back. "there are some horsemen in pursuit, my lord. they have evidently come from abu klea." gregory looked round. "there are about fifteen of them," he said. "however, they are a good three miles behind, and it will be dark in another half hour. as soon as it is so, we will turn off to the right or left, and so throw them off our track. don't hurry your horse. the animals have made a very long journey, since we started, and we shall want them badly tomorrow." in another half hour the sun went down. darkness comes on quickly in the soudan, and in another quarter of an hour they had lost sight of their pursuers, who had gained about a mile upon them. "another five minutes, zaki, to allow for their eyes being better than ours. which way do you think we had better turn?" "i should say to the left, my lord. there is another caravan route from metemmeh to ambukol. it cannot be more than fifteen miles to the west." "do you know anything about it?" "i have never been along there. it is a shorter route than the one to korti, but not so much used, i believe, because the wells cannot be relied upon." "well, i feel sure we shall not be able to get at the wells on the other line, so we had better take that. as we shall be fairly safe from pursuit, we may as well bear towards the northwest. by doing so we shall be longer in striking the track, but the journey will be a good bit shorter than if we were to ride due west. "now we can safely dismount. it is getting pitch dark, and we will lead our horses. i can feel that mine is nearly dead beat. in a few minutes we will halt, and give them half a gourd full of water, each. after that, we had better go on for another six or seven miles, so as to be well out of sight of anyone on the hills." ten minutes later they heard the dull sound of horses' hoofs on the sand. they waited five minutes, until it died away in the distance, and then continued their course. it was slow work, as they had to avoid every bush carefully; lest, if their pursuers halted, they should hear the crackling of a dry stick in the still air. zaki, who could see much better in the dark than his master, went on ahead; while gregory led the two horses. a good hour passed before they stopped. they gave the horses a scanty drink, and took a mouthful or two each; and then, throwing themselves down, allowed the horses to crop the scanty herbage. after four hours' halt they pursued their way on foot for three hours, laying their course by the stars. they calculated that they must have gone a good fifteen miles from the point where they turned off, and feared that they might miss the caravan track, if they went on before daybreak. chapter : safely back. as soon as the sun was up they pursued their journey, gregory's compass being now available. in half an hour, zaki said, "there is a sign of the track, my lord," and he pointed to the skeleton of a camel. "how many more miles do you think we have to go, zaki?" "we must be a good half way, my lord." "yes, quite that, i should think. looking at the map, i should say that we must be about abreast of the line of gakdul. this route is only just indicated, and there are no halting places marked upon it. still, there must be water, otherwise caravans could not use it. we have about sixty miles farther to go, so that if the horses were fresh we might be there this evening; but as it is, we have still two, if not three days' journey before us. "well, we must hope that we shall find some water. just let the horses wet their mouths; we can keep on for a bit, before we have a drink. "how much more is there left?" he asked, after the lad had given a little water to each horse. "not above two gourdfuls." "well, we must ride as far as we can and, at any rate, must keep one gourdful for tomorrow. if we cover twenty-five miles today--and i don't think the horses can do more--we can manage, if they are entirely done up, to walk the other thirty-five miles. however, as i said, there must be wells, and even if they are dry, we may be able to scratch the sand out and find a little water. what food have we got?" "only about two pounds of dates." "that is a poor supply for two days, zaki, but we must make the best of them. we will only eat a few today, so as to have a fair meal in the morning. we shall want it, if we have to walk thirty-five miles over the sand." "it will not be all sand," zaki said; "there is grass for the last fifteen miles, near the river; and there were cultivated fields about ten miles out, before the dervishes came." "that is better. now we will be moving." the herbage the horses had cropped during the halt had served, to a certain degree, to supply the place of water; and they proceeded at a brisker pace than gregory had expected. "keep a sharp lookout for water. even if the wells are dry, you will see a difference in the growth of the bushes round them; and as it is certain that this route has not been used for some time, there may even be grass." they rode on at an easy canter, and avoided pressing the horses in the slightest degree, allowing them to walk whenever they chose. the heat was very great, and after four hours' riding gregory called a halt. "we must have done twenty miles," he said. "the bushes look green about here, and the horses have got something of a feed." "i think this must be one of the old halting places," zaki said, looking round as they dismounted. "see, my lord, there are some broken gourds, and some rags scattered about." "so there are," gregory said. "we will take the bridles out of the horses' mouths, so that they can chew the leaves up better; and then we will see if we can find where the wells were." twenty yards farther away they found a deep hole. "this was one of them," the lad said, "but it is quite dry. see, there is an old bucket lying at the bottom. i will look about; there may be some more of them." two others were discovered, and the sand at the bottom of one of them looked a somewhat darker colour than the others. "well, we will dig here," gregory said. "bring down those two half gourds; they will help us to shovel the sand aside." the bottom of the hole was some six feet across, and they set to work in the middle of it. by the time they had got down two feet, the sand was soft and clammy. "we will get to water, zaki, if we have to stay here all day!" said gregory. it was hard work, and it was not until after four hours' toil that, to their delight, they found the sand wet under their feet. they had taken it by turns to use the scoop, for the labour of making the hole large enough for them both to work at once would have been excessive. in another hour there was half an inch of water in the hole. gregory took a gourd, and buried it in the soft soil until the water flowed in over the brim. "give me the other one down, zaki. i will fill that, too, and then we will both start drinking together." five minutes later, the two took a long draught. the scoops were then refilled and carried to the horses, who drank with an eagerness that showed how great was their thirst. three times the gourds were filled, and emptied. "now hand me down that water bag." this was half filled, and then, exhausted with their work, they threw themselves down and slept for some hours. when they awoke, the sun was setting. "bring up the horses, zaki. let them drink as much as they like." the gourds had each to be filled six times, before the animals were satisfied. the riders then took another deep drink, ate a handful of dates, and mounted. "we are safe now, and only have to fear a band of marauding arabs; and it would be hard luck, were we to fall in with them. we had better ride slowly for the first hour or so. we must not press the horses, after they have had such a drink." "very well, master." "there is no particular reason for hurry, and even if we miss the trail we know that, by keeping straight on, we shall strike the river somewhere near korti or ambukol." for an hour they went at a walk, and then the horses broke into their usual pace, of their own accord. it was getting dark, now, and soon even zaki could not make out the track. "the horses will keep to it, my lord," he said; "their sight is a great deal better than ours, and i dare say their smell may have something to do with it. besides, the track is clear of bushes, so we should know at once, if they strayed from it." they rode for five hours, and then felt that the horses were beginning to fag. "we will halt here," gregory said. "we certainly cannot be more than five-and-twenty miles from the river; and, if we start at dawn, shall be there before the heat of the day begins. we can have another handful of dates, and give the horses a handful each, and that will leave us a few for the morning." the horses, after being given the dates, were again turned loose; and it was not long before they were heard pulling the leaves off bushes. "our case is a good deal better this evening than it was yesterday," gregory said. "then it looked as if it would be rather a close thing, for i am sure the horses could not have gone much farther, if we had not found the water. i wish we had a good feed to give them." "they will do very well on the bushes, my lord. they get little else, when they are with the arabs; a handful of durra, occasionally, when they are at work; but at other times they only get what they can pick up. if their master is a good one, they may get a few dates. they will carry us briskly enough to the river, tomorrow." they did not talk long, and were soon sound asleep. zaki was the first to wake. "day is just breaking, master." "you don't say so!" gregory grumbled, sleepily. "it seems to me that we have only just lain down." they ate the remainder of their dates, took a drink of water, and gave two gourdfuls to the horses; and, in a quarter of an hour, were on their way again. they had ridden but two or three miles, when zaki exclaimed: "there are some horsemen!" "eight of them, zaki, and they are evidently riding to cut us off! as far as i can see, only four of them have guns; the others have spears. "i think we can manage them. with my breech-loader i can fire two shots to their one, and we have pistols, as well." the arabs drew up ahead of them, and remained quiet there until the others came to within fifty yards, and checked their horses. a man who appeared to be the leader of the party shouted the usual salutation, to which gregory replied. the leader said, "where are my friends going and why do they halt?" "we are on a mission. we wish to see if the infidels are still at ambukol." "for that you will not want guns," the man said, "and we need them badly. i beg of you to give them to us." "they may be of use to us. we may come upon infidel scouts." "nevertheless, my friends, you must hand them over to us. we are, as you see, eight, and you are only two. the law of the desert is that the stronger take, and the weaker lose." "it may be so, sometimes," gregory said quietly, "but not in this case. i advise you to ride your way, and we will ride ours." then he said to zaki, "dismount and stand behind your horse, and fire over the saddle; but don't fire the first shot now." he threw himself from his saddle. scarcely had he done so when four shots were fired, and gregory took a steady aim at the chief. the latter threw up his arms, and fell. with a yell of fury, the others dashed forward. zaki did not fire until they were within twenty yards, and directly afterwards gregory fired again. there were now but five assailants. "now for your pistols, zaki!" he cried, glancing round for the first time. he then saw why zaki had not fired when he first did so--his horse was lying dead in front of him, shot through the head. "stand by me! don't throw away a shot! you take the man on the other side of the horse. i will take the others." steadily the four pistols were fired. as the arabs rode up, two of them fell, and another was wounded. dismayed at the loss of so many of their number, the three survivors rode off at full speed. "are you hurt, zaki?" "a spear grazed my cheek, my lord; that is all. it was my own fault. i kept my last barrel too long. however, it tumbled him over. "are you hurt, master?" "i have got a ball in the shoulder. that fellow without a spear has got pistols, and fired just as i did; or rather, an instant before. that shook my aim, but he has a ball in him, somewhere. "just see if they have got some dates on their saddles," for the horses of the fallen men had remained by the side of their masters' bodies. "yes, my lord," zaki said, examining them. "two bags, nearly full." "that is satisfactory. pick out the best horse for yourself, and then we will ride on. but before we go, we will break the stocks of these four guns, and carry the barrels off, and throw them into the bushes, a mile or two away." as soon as this was done, they mounted and rode on. they halted in a quarter of an hour and, after gregory's arm had been bound tightly to his side with his sash, both they and their horses had a good meal of dates. then they rode on again, and in three hours saw some white tents ahead. there was a slight stir as they were seen coming, and a dozen black soldiers sprang up and ran forward, fixing bayonets as they did so. "we are friends!" gregory shouted, in arabic; and zaki repeated the shout in his own language. the soldiers looked doubtful, and stood together in a group. they knew that the dervishes were sometimes ready to throw away their own lives, if they could but kill some of their enemy. one of them shouted back, "stay where you are until i call an officer!" he went back to the tents, and returned with a white officer, whom gregory at once recognized as one of those who had come up with him from wady halfa. "leslie," he shouted in english, "will you kindly call off your soldiers? one of their muskets might go off, accidentally. i suppose you don't remember me. i am hilliard, who came up with you in the steamer." the officer had stopped in astonishment, at hearing this seeming dervish address him, by name, in english. he then advanced, giving an order to his men to fall back. "is it really you, hilliard?" he said, as he approached the horsemen, who were coming forward at a walk. "which of you is it? for i don't see any resemblance, in either of you." "it is i, leslie. i am not surprised that you don't know me." "but what are you masquerading for, in this dress; and where have you come from?" "perhaps i had better not say, leslie. i have been doing some scouting across the desert, with my boy here. we have had a long ride. in the first place, my arm wants attending to. i have a bullet in the shoulder. the next thing we need is something to eat; for the last three days we have had nothing but dates, and not too many of them. "is there any chance of getting taken up to merawi? we came down from there to korti, in a native vessel." "yes; a gunboat with some native craft will be going up this afternoon. i will give orders, at once, that your horses shall be put on board." when the ball had been extracted from his shoulder, and the wound dressed and bandaged by the surgeon in charge, gregory went up to the tents again, where he was warmly received by the three white officers of the negro regiment. breakfast already had been prepared, zaki being handed over to the native officers. after having made a hearty meal, gregory related the adventure with the arabs in the desert, merely saying that they had found there were no dervishes at gakdul. "but why didn't you go straight back, instead of coming down here?" "i wanted to see whether this line was open, and whether there were any wells on it. we only found one, and it took us four or five hours' hard work to get at the water. it is lucky, indeed, that we did so; for our horses were getting very done up, and i had begun to think that they would not reach our destination alive." in the afternoon, the adventurers started with the boats going up to merawi and, the next morning, arrived at the camp. the dervish patches had been removed from their clothes, as soon as they arrived at ambukol. gregory could have borrowed a white suit there; but as the stain on his skin, although somewhat lighter than when first put on, was too dark, he declined the offer. "no one may notice me as i land, now," he said, "but everyone would stare at a man with a brown face and white uniform." leaving zaki to get the horses on shore, gregory went straight to the general's quarters. he told the sentry that he wished to see the general, on business. "you cannot go in," the man said. "the general is engaged." "if you send in word to him that his messenger has returned, i am sure he will see me." "you can sit down here, then," the sentry said. "when the officer with him comes out, i will give your message to his orderly." gregory, however, was in no humour to be stopped; and in an authoritative voice called, "orderly!" a soldier came down directly from the guard room. "tell the general, at once, that mr. hilliard has returned." with a look of wonder, the orderly went into the tent. half a minute later, he returned. "you are to come in," he said. as the general had seen gregory in his disguise, before starting, he of course recognized him. "my dear hilliard," he said, getting up and shaking him cordially by the hand, "i am heartily glad to see you back. you have been frequently in my thoughts; and though i had every confidence in your sharpness, i have regretted, more than once, that i allowed you to go. "i suppose you failed to get there. it is hardly possible that you should have done so, in the time. i suppose, when you got to gakdul, you learned that the dervishes were at abu klea." "they were at abu klea, general; but i made a detour, and got into their camp at metemmeh." "you did, and have returned safely! i congratulate you, most warmly. "i told you, macdonald," he said, turning to the officer with whom he had been engaged, "that i had the greatest hope that mr. hilliard would get through. he felt so confident in himself that i could scarce help feeling confidence in him, too." "he has done well, indeed!" colonel macdonald said. "i should not have liked to send any of my officers on such an adventure, though they have been here for years." "well, will you sit down, mr. hilliard," the general said, "and give us a full account? in the first place, what you have learned? and in the second, how you have learned it?" gregory related the conversations he had heard among the soldiers; and then that of mahmud's brother and the commander of the dervish cavalry. then he described the events of his journey there, his narrow escape from capture, and the pursuit by the dervishes at abu klea; how he gave them the slip, struck the ambukol caravan road, had a fight with a band of robber arabs, and finally reached the egyptian camp. "an excellently managed business!" the general said, warmly. "you have certainly had some narrow escapes, and seem to have adopted the only course by which you could have got off safely. the information you have brought is of the highest importance. i shall telegraph, at once, to the sirdar that there will assuredly be no advance on the part of mahmud from metemmeh; which will leave him free to carry out the plans he has formed. i shall of course, in my written despatch, give him full particulars of the manner in which i have obtained that information." "it was a very fine action," macdonald agreed. "the lad has shown that he has a good head, as well as great courage. "you will make your way, mr. hilliard--that is, if you don't try this sort of thing again. a man may get through it once, but it would be just tempting providence to try it a second time." "now, mr. hilliard," the general said, "you had best go to your quarters. i will ask the surgeon to attend to you, at once. you must keep quiet, and do no more duty until you are discharged from the sick list." ten days later, orders were issued that the brigade under macdonald; consisting of the rd egyptians, and the th, th, and th soudanese, together with a mule battery; were to move forward the next day to kassinger, the advanced post some ten miles higher up the river. this seemed only a preliminary step, and the general opinion was that another fortnight would elapse before there would be a general movement. a reconnaissance with friendly arabs had, however, been made ahead towards abu hamed, and had obtained certain information that the garrison at that place was by no means a strong one. the information gregory had gathered had shown that mahmud had no intention of advancing against merawi; and that no reinforcements had, as yet, started to join the force at abu hamed; the dervish leader being convinced that the nile was not yet high enough to admit of boats going up the cataract. thus, everything favoured the sirdar's plan to capture abu hamed, and enable the railway to be constructed to that place before mahmud could receive the news that the troops were in motion. he therefore directed general hunter to push forward, with only one brigade, leaving the rest to hold merawi; and ordered the camel corps, and the friendly arabs, to advance across the desert as far as the gakdul wells, where their appearance would lead mahmud to believe that they were the advance guard of the coming army. two days later gregory, on going to the headquarters tent, was told that general hunter and his staff would start, in an hour's time, to inspect the camp at kassinger. "do you think you are fit to ride?" the chief of the staff asked him. "perfectly, sir. the doctor discharged me yesterday as fit for duty, but advised me to keep my arm in a sling, for a time." "in that case, you may accompany us. "it is a little uncertain when we shall return," the officer said, with a smile; "therefore i advise you to take all your belongings with you. have them packed up quietly. we do not wish any suspicions to arise that we are not returning this evening." "thank you, sir!" gregory said, gratefully. "i shall be ready to start in an hour." he returned in high glee to his hut, for he felt certain that an immediate advance was about to take place. "zaki," he said, "i am going to ride with the general; and, as it is possible i may be stationed at kassinger for a short time, you had better get the camel brought up, and start as soon as you have packed the things on it. i am going to ride over with the staff, in an hour, and shall overtake you by the way. how long will you be?" "half an hour, bey." "i will be there by that time, and will take my horse; then you can go on with the camel." behind the headquarter camp the work of packing up was also going on; the camels being sent off in threes and fours, as they were laden, so as to attract no attention. half an hour later the general came out, and without delay started with the staff, captain fitton remaining behind to see that the rest of the stores were sent off, and a small tent for the use of the general. all heavy packages were to be taken up by water. the arrival of the general at kassinger excited no surprise, as he had ridden over the day before; but when, in the afternoon, orders were issued that the camels should all be laden, in preparation for a march that evening; the soudanese could with difficulty be restrained from giving vent to their exuberant joy that, at length, their long halt was at an end, and they were to have another chance of getting at the enemy. a large train of camels had been quietly collected at kassinger, sufficient to carry the necessary supplies for the use of the column, for some three weeks' time; and it was hoped that, before long, the gunboats and many of the native craft, with stores, would join them at abu hamed. the force started at sunset. the distance to be travelled was a hundred and eighteen miles, and the road was a very difficult one. the ground rose steeply, almost from the edge of the river; and at times had to be traversed in single file. as night came on, the scene was a weird one. on one side the rocky ascent rose, black and threatening. on the other, the river rushed foaming, only broken by the rocks and little islands of the cataract. gregory had been ordered to remain with the camel train; to keep them, as much as possible, together, and prevent wide gaps from occurring in the ranks. it was tedious work; and the end of the train did not arrive, until broad daylight, at the spot where the infantry halted. he at once told zaki to pitch his little tent, which he had already shown him how to do, while he went to see if there were any orders at headquarters. he found the staff were just sitting down to a rough breakfast. being told, after the meal, that he would not be wanted during the day; but that at night he was to continue his work with the camels; he went back to his tent, and threw himself on his bed. but, in spite of the fly being fastened up, and a blanket thrown over the tent, the heat was so great that he was only able to doze off occasionally. he observed that even the black troops suffered from the heat. they had erected screens, with their blankets placed end to end, supported by their guns; and lay there, getting what air there was, and sheltered from the direct rays of the sun. few slept. most of them talked, or smoked. there was some argument, among the officers, as to the relative advantages of night and day marches. all agreed that, if only one march had to be done, it was better to do it at night; but when, as in the present case, it would last for seven or eight days, many thought that, terrible as would be the heat, it would be better to march in the day, and permit the troops to sleep at night. this opinion certainly seemed to be justified; for, at the end of the third day, the men were so completely worn out from want of sleep that they stumbled as they marched; and were with difficulty restrained from throwing themselves down, to get the much-needed rest. gregory always went down, as soon as the column arrived at its halting place, as he did before starting in the evening, to bathe in some quiet pool or backwater; and, much as he had set himself against taking spirits, he found that he was unable to eat his meals, unless he took a spoonful or two with his water, or cold tea. on the evening of the third day, they passed the battlefield of kirkeban, where general earle fell when the river expedition was attacked by the dervishes. next day they halted at hebbeh, where colonel stewart, on his way down with a number of refugees from khartoum, was treacherously murdered. a portion of the steamer was still visible in the river. day after day the column plodded on, for the most part strung out in single file, the line extending over many miles; and, late on the evening of the th of august, they reached a spot within a mile and a half of abu hamed, the hundred and eighteen miles having been accomplished in seven days and a half. so far as they knew, the enemy had, as yet, received no news of their approach. three hours' rest was given the troops, and then they marched out, in order of battle. a fair idea of the position had been obtained from the friendly natives. abu hamed lay on the river. the desert sloped gradually down to it, on all sides; with a sharp, deep descent within two hundred yards of the town. the houses were all loopholed, for defence. when within a mile of the town, they must have been sighted by the dervish sentries on a lofty watchtower. no movement, however, was visible, and there was a general feeling of disappointment, as the impression gained ground that the enemy had retreated. the th and th soudanese made a sweep round, to attack from the desert side. the th, and half of the egyptian battalion--the other half having been left to guard the baggage--followed the course of the river. major kincaid rode forward, to the edge of the steep slope that looked down to the town. he could see no one moving about. the dervish trenches, about eighty yards away, appeared empty; and he was about to write a message to the general, saying that the place was deserted, when a sharp fire suddenly opened upon him. he turned to ride back to warn the general, but he was too late; for, at the same moment, hunter with his staff galloped up to the edge of the slope, and was immediately saluted by a heavy volley; which, however, was fired so wildly that none of the party was hit. the artillery were now ordered to bombard the place. at first, they could only fire at the tops of the houses; but, changing their position, they found a spot where they could command the town. for half an hour this continued. the infantry were drawn up just beyond the brow, where they could not be seen by the defenders. the dervishes gave no signs of life, and as the artillery could not depress their guns sufficiently to enable them to rake the trenches, the infantry were ordered to charge. as soon as they reached the edge of the dip, a storm of musketry broke out from the dervish trenches, but, fortunately, the greater portion of the bullets flew overhead. macdonald had intended to carry the place at the point of the bayonet, without firing; but the troops, suddenly exposed to such a storm of musketry, halted and opened fire without orders; the result being that they suffered a great deal more than they would have done, had they crossed the eighty yards, which divided them from the trench, by a rush. standing, as they did, against the skyline, the dervishes were able to pick them off; they themselves showing only their heads above the trenches. two of the mounted officers of the th were killed, and two had their horses shot under them. macdonald and his officers rushed along in front of the line, knocking up the men's muskets; and abusing them, in the strongest terms, for their disobedience to orders. the moment the fire ceased, the troops rushed forward; and the dervishes at once abandoned their trenches, and ran back to the line of houses. these were crowded together, divided by narrow winding lanes, and here a desperate struggle took place. the dervishes defended themselves with the greatest tenacity, sometimes rushing out and hurling themselves upon their assailants, and defending the houses to the last, making a stand when the doors were burst open, until the last of the inmates were either shot or bayoneted. so determined was the defense of some of the larger houses, that it was necessary to bring up the guns and batter an entrance. many of the houses were found, when the troops burst in, to be tenanted only by dead; for the soudanese always heralded their attack by firing several volleys, and the bullets made their way through and through the mud walls, as if they had been paper. about seventy or eighty horsemen and a hundred dervish infantry escaped, but the rest were either killed or made prisoners, together with mahomed zein, the governor. a quantity of arms, camels, and horses were also captured. the loss on our side was two british officers killed, and twenty-one of the black troops; and three egyptian officers, and sixty-one men wounded. when the convoy halted, previous to the troops marching to the attack, gregory, whose duties with the baggage had now ended, joined the general's staff and rode forward with them. hunter had glanced round, as he rode up, and answered with a nod when he saluted, and asked if he could come. he felt rather scared on the dervishes opening fire so suddenly, when the general's impatience had led him to ride forward, without waiting for major kincaid's report. after the troops rushed into the town, the general maintained his position at the edge of the dip, for the narrow streets were so crowded with men that a group of horsemen could hardly have forced their way in, and it would be impossible to see what was going on, and to issue orders. mahomed zein had not followed the example of some of his followers, and died fighting to the last. he was found hiding under a bed, and was brought before general hunter; who asked him why he fought, when he must have known that it was useless; to which he replied: "i knew that you had only three times as many as i had, and every one of my men is worth four of yours. you could not fire till you were quite close up, and at that range our rifles are as good as yours." the general asked what he thought mahmud would do, to which he replied: "he will be down here in five days, and wipe you out!" it was necessary to halt at abu hamed, until stores came up. captain keppel, royal navy, and the officers commanding the gunboats were toiling at the cataracts to bring them up. nevertheless one of these was capsized, and only three got through safely. major pink, with a large number of troops from merawi, succeeded in hauling the sailing boats through. a large column of laden camels was, at the same time, being pushed forward by the caravan route from korosko. it was a time of much anxiety, till stores began to arrive; for, had mahmud advanced at once, the passage up the river would have been arrested, and the land column cut off; in which case the little force would have been reduced to sore straits, as they must have stood on the defensive until reinforcements reached them. there was, too, some anxiety as to the safety of the forces at ambukol and korti; for mahmud, on learning that the garrisons had been weakened by the despatch of troops to abu hamed, might have crossed the desert with all his force and fallen upon them. mahmud had indeed, as it turned out, believed that the expedition to abu hamed was only undertaken to cover the flank of the egyptian army from attack, from that quarter; and still believed that it was from merawi that the main british force would advance against him. before the supplies had all arrived, the position changed; as news came that berber was being evacuated by the dervishes. the information was telegraphed to the sirdar, who at once ordered that a force of the friendly arabs, escorted by a gunboat, should go up to berber to find if the news was true. one gunboat had already arrived, and general hunter decided on going up in her himself. two hundred of the arabs, under ahmed bey, were to ride along the bank. they were to be mounted on the fastest camels that could be picked out; so that, if they encountered the dervishes, they would have a fair chance of escaping, and getting under cover of the gunboat's fire. "mr. hilliard," the general said, "i shall be obliged if you will accompany ahmed bey. the arabs are always more steady, if they have an english officer with them. they will be ready to start in an hour. a signaller from the th soudanese shall go with you; and you can notify, to us, the approach of any strong party of the enemy, and their direction; so that the gunboat can send a shell or two among them, as a hint that they had better keep out of range." as his baggage camel was by no means a fast one, gregory at first decided to leave it behind in charge of zaki; but on going across to the arab camp, ahmed bey at once offered to place a fast one at his disposal. he accordingly sent his own animal into the transport yard, committed the heavy wooden case, with the greater portion of his remaining stores, to the charge of the sergeant of the mess, retaining only three or four tins of preserved milk, some tea, four or five tins of meat, a bottle of brandy, and a few other necessaries. to these were added half a sheep and a few pounds of rice. these, with his tent and other belongings, were packed on the arab camel; and zaki rode beside it with great satisfaction, for he had been greatly cast down when his master first told him that he would have to remain behind. all the preparations were made in great haste, but they were completed just as ahmed bey moved out of his camp, with his two hundred picked men and camels. five minutes later, a whistle from the steamer told them that general hunter, and the party with him, were also on the point of starting. the distance to be traversed to berber was a hundred and thirty miles, and the expedition was undoubtedly a hazardous one. even if the news was true, that the five thousand dervishes who had been holding berber had evacuated the town, it was quite possible that a part of the force had been sent down the river, to oppose any advance that might be made; or, if unable to do this, to carry the news of the advance to mahmud. the arabs were to keep abreast of the gunboat; and would, where the shores were flat, be covered by its guns. but at spots where the ground was high and precipitous, this assistance could scarcely avail them in case of an attack, unless the hundred soldiers on board the steamer could be landed. as they rode along, ahmed bey explained to gregory the plan that he should adopt, if they were attacked in such a position, and found their retreat cut off. "the camels will all be made to lie down, and we shall fight behind them, as in an entrenchment. my men are all armed with rifles the government has given them, and we could beat off an attack by a great number; while, if we were on our camels and pursued, we should soon lose all order, and our shooting would be bad." "i think that would be by far the best plan, sheik. your two hundred men, and the hundred the gunboat could land, ought to be able to make a tough fight of it, against any number of the enemy. "how long do you think we shall be, on the way?" "about four days. the camels can easily travel thirty-five miles a day. we have six days' provisions with us, in case the gunboat cannot make its way up. fortunately we have not to carry water, so that each camel only takes twenty pounds of food, for its rider; and forty pounds of grain, for itself. if we were pursued, we could throw that away, as we should only have to ride to some point where the gunboat could protect us. we could not hope to escape by speed, for the dervishes could ride and run quite as fast as the camels could go." chapter : afloat. the first three days' journey passed without any adventure. from the natives who still remained in the little villages they passed, they learned that the report that the dervishes had left berber was generally believed; but whether they had marched for metemmeh, or for some other point, was unknown. the people were delighted to see the gunboat; as, until its arrival, they had been in hourly fear of raiding parties. they had heard of the capture of abu hamed, by the british, from horsemen who had escaped; but all these had said, confidently, that mahmud would speedily drive them out again; and they had been in hourly fear that the dervishes would swoop down upon them, and carry off the few possessions still remaining to them. when within thirty miles of berber the arabs had halted on the bank, watching the gunboat as, with great difficulty, it made its way up a cataract. suddenly it was seen to stop, and a great bustle was observed on board. an exclamation of grief burst from the arabs. "she has struck on a rock!" ahmed bey exclaimed. "i am afraid she has," said gregory; who had, all along, ridden by his side at the head of the party. "i am afraid so. i hope she is not injured." unfortunately, the damage was serious. a hole had been knocked through her side, under water, and the water poured in, in volumes. a rush was made by those on board; and beds, pillows, and blankets were stuffed into the hole. this succeeded, to some extent, and she was brought alongside the bank. the sheik and gregory went down to meet her. general hunter came to the side. "a large hole has been knocked in her," he said, to the sheik. "we shall have to get the guns and stores on shore, to lighten her; and then heel her over, to get at the hole. it will certainly take two or three days; by that time, i hope, the other gunboat will be up. "in the meantime, you must go on to berber. i think there can be no doubt that the dervishes have all left, but it is most important that we should know it, for certain. you must push straight on, and as soon as you arrive there, send word on to me by the fastest camel you have. if you are attacked, you will, of course, defend yourselves. take up a position close to the river, and hold it until you are relieved. if you can send off news to me by a camel, do so; if not, seize a boat--there are some at every village--and send the news down by water. i will come on at once, with everyone here, to assist you." "i will do as you order," the sheik said; "and if you see us no more, you will know that we died as brave men." "i hope there is no fear of that," the general said, cheerfully. "you will defend yourselves as brave men if you are attacked, i am sure; but as i am convinced that the dervishes have left berber, i think there is little fear of your falling in with them." then he went on, in english, to gregory. "keep them moving, mr. hilliard. let them go as fast as they can. they are less likely to get nervous, if they are riding hard, than they would be if they dawdled along. if they press their camels, they will be in berber this afternoon. see that a man starts at once, to bring me the news." "very well, sir. i will keep them at it, if i can." the sheik rejoined his band, which gathered round to hear the result of his interview with the white general. "the steamer is injured," he said, "but she will soon be made right, and will follow us. we are to have the honour of going on and occupying berber, and will show ourselves worthy of it. there is little chance of our meeting the dervishes. had they been in berber, we should have heard of them before this. if we meet them we will fight; and you, abu, who have the fastest camel among us, will ride back here at all speed, and the general and his soldiers will come up to help us. "now, let us not waste a moment, but push forward. in five hours we shall be at berber; and throughout your lives, you will be proud to say that you were the first to enter the town that the dervishes have so long held." a few of the men waved their guns, and shouted. the rest looked grave. however, they obeyed their chief's orders, and the cavalcade at once started. as they did so, gregory drew his horse up alongside zaki. "look here," he said, "if we see the dervishes coming in force, i shall come to you, at once. you shall take my horse, it is faster than yours. i shall give you a note for the general, and you will ride back at full gallop, and give it to him. the horse is fast, and there will be no fear of their catching you, even if they chase; which they will not be likely to do, as they will be thinking of attacking us." "very well, master. i will do as you order me, but i would rather stop and fight, by your side." "that you may be able to do some other time, zaki. this time, you have got to fetch aid." then he rode on to join the chief. there was no talking along the line, every man had his rifle unslung and in his hand, every eye scanned the country. hitherto, they had had unlimited faith in the power of the gunboat to protect them; now that they might have to face the dervishes unaided, they felt the danger a serious one. they had come to fight the dervishes, and were ready to do so, in anything like equal numbers; but the force they might meet would possibly be greatly stronger than their own--so strong that, although they might sell their lives dearly; they would, in the end, be overpowered. for the first three hours, the camels were kept going at the top of their speed; but as they neared berber, there was a perceptible slackness. ahmed bey and gregory rode backwards and forwards along the line, keeping them together, and encouraging them. "we shall get in without fighting," the bey said. "we should have heard before this, had they been there. do you think that they would have remained so long in the town, if they had learned that there are but two hundred of us, and one steamer? mahmud would never have forgiven them, had they not fallen upon us and annihilated us. i only hope that two hundred will have been left there. it will add to our glory, to have won a battle, as well as taken the town. your children will talk of it in their tents. your women will be proud of you, and the men of the black regiments will say that we have shown ourselves to be as brave as they are. "we will halt for half an hour, rest the camels, and then push on at full speed again; but mind, you have my orders: if you should see the enemy coming in force, you are to ride at once to the river bank, dismount, and make the camels lie down in a semicircle; then we have but to keep calm, and shoot straight, and we need not fear the dervishes, however many of them there may be." after the halt they again pushed forward. gregory saw, with pleasure, that the arabs were now thoroughly wound up to fighting point. the same vigilant watch was kept up as before; but the air of gloom that had hung over them, when they first started, had now disappeared; each man was ready to fight to the last. as the town was seen, the tension was at its highest; but the pace quickened, rather than relaxed. "now is the moment!" the bey shouted. "if they are there, they will come out to fight us. if, in five minutes, they do not appear; it will be because they have all gone." but there were no signs of the enemy, no clouds of dust rising in the town, that would tell of a hasty gathering. at last, they entered a straggling street. the women looked timidly from the windows; and then, on seeing that their robes did not bear the black patches worn by the dervishes, they broke into loud cries of welcome. "are the dervishes all gone?" ahmed bey asked, reining in his camel. "they are all gone. the last left four days ago." the sheik waved his rifle over his head; and his followers burst into loud shouts of triumph, and pressed on, firing their muskets in the air. as they proceeded, the natives poured out from their houses in wild delight. the arabs kept on, till they reached the house formerly occupied by the egyptian governor. "i should say that you had better take possession of this, bey. there seems to be a large courtyard, where you can put your camels. it is not likely that the dervishes will return, but it is as well to be prepared. the house is strong, and we could hold out here against a host, unless they were provided with cannon. "i have money, and you had better buy up as much food as possible, so that we could stand a siege for some time. i shall give my horse a good feed and an hour's rest, and then send my man down to the general, telling him that the dervishes have deserted the town, and that we have taken possession of the place, and can defend it for a long time should they return." an hour later, zaki started with gregory's report. the inhabitants, finding that they would be paid, brought out their hidden stores; and by evening, enough was collected to last the garrison ten days. zaki returned at noon next day, with a letter from general hunter to the sheik, praising him highly for the energy and courage of his men and himself. he also brought a note for gregory, saying that he hoped to get the repairs finished the next day; and that he expected, by that time, the other two steamers would be up, when he should at once advance to berber. on the third day the smoke of the steamers was seen in the distance; and an hour later the gunboats arrived, and were greeted with cries of welcome by the natives, who thronged the bank. the three boats carried between three and four hundred men. these were disembarked on an island, opposite the town, and the gunboats moored alongside. general hunter at once landed, with those of his staff who had accompanied him. he shook hands, very cordially, with the sheik. "you have done well, indeed!" he said. "it was a dangerous enterprise and, had i not known your courage, and that of your men, i should not have ventured to send you forward. you have fully justified my confidence in you. "in the first place, i will go and see the house you have occupied. i shall leave you still in possession of it, but i do not intend that you should hold it. in case mahmud comes down upon you, at once embark in boats, and cross to the islands. it will be some time before i can gather, here, a force strong enough to hold the town against attack. indeed, it will probably be some weeks; for, until the railway is finished to abu hamed, i can only get up stores sufficient for the men here; certainly we have no transport that could keep up the supply for the whole force. however, all this will be settled by the sirdar, who will very shortly be with us." it was now the th of september and, the same afternoon, two gunboats were sent up to ed damer, an important position lying a mile or two beyond the junction of atbara river with the nile. on the opposite bank of the nile, they found encamped the dervishes who had retired from berber. the guns opened fire upon them, and they retired inland; leaving behind them fourteen large boats, laden with grain. these were at once sent down to berber, where they were most welcome; and a portion of the grain was distributed among the almost starving population, nearly five thousand in number, principally women and children. supplies soon began to arrive from below, being brought up in native craft, from abu hamed, as far as the cataract; then unloaded and carried up past the rapids on camels; then again placed in boats, and so brought to berber. macdonald's brigade started a fortnight after the occupation, their place at abu hamed having been taken by a brigade from kassinger, each battalion having towed up boats carrying two months' supply of provisions. a fort was now erected at the junction of the two rivers, and occupied by a small force, under an english officer. two small steamers were employed in towing the native craft from abu hamed to berber. still, it was evident that it would be impossible to accumulate the necessary stores for the whole force that would take the field; accordingly, as soon as the railway reached abu hamed, the sirdar ordered it to be carried on as far as berber. he himself came up with colonel wingate, the head of the intelligence department; and, diligently as all had worked before, their exertions were now redoubled. on the morning after the sirdar's arrival, an orderly came across to general hunter's quarters, with a request that mr. hilliard should at once be sent to headquarters. gregory had to wait nearly half an hour, until the officers who had been there before him had had their audience, and received their orders. he was then shown in. "you have done very valuable service, mr. hilliard," the sirdar said. "exceptionally valuable, and obtained at extraordinary risk. i certainly did not expect, when i saw you a few months ago in cairo, that you would so speedily distinguish yourself. i was then struck with your manner, and thought that you would do well, and you have much more than fulfilled my expectations. i shall keep my eye upon you, and shall see that you have every opportunity of continuing as you have begun." that evening, general hunter suggested to colonel wingate that gregory should be handed over to him. "there will be nothing for him to do with me, at present," he said; "and i am sure that you will find him very useful. putting aside the expedition he undertook to metemmeh, he is a most zealous young officer. although his wound was scarcely healed, he took charge of the baggage animals on the way up from merawi to abu hamed, and came forward here with ahmed bey and his followers, and in both cases he was most useful. but at the present, i cannot find any employment for him." "i will have a talk with him," colonel wingate said. "i think i can make good use of him. captain keppel asked me, this morning, if i could furnish him with a good interpreter. he is going up the river in a day or two, and as neither he nor the other naval officers know much arabic, mr. hilliard would be of considerable service to them, in questioning any prisoners who may be captured as to hidden guns, or other matters. i should think, from what you tell me, mr. hilliard will be very suitable for the post." "the very man for it. he is a very pleasant lad--for he is not more than that--quiet and gentlemanly, and yet full of life and go, and will be certain to get on well with a naval man." on returning to his quarters, general hunter sent for gregory. "you will please go to colonel wingate, mr. hilliard. i have been speaking to him about you; and, as it may be months before things are ready for the final advance, and i am sure you would prefer to be actively employed, i proposed to him that he should utilize your services; and it happens, fortunately, that he is able to do so. the gunboats will be running up and down the river, stirring up the dervishes at metemmeh and other places; and as neither keppel, nor the commanders of the other two boats can speak arabic with anything like fluency, it is important that he should have an interpreter. "i think you will find the berth a pleasant one. of course, i don't know what arrangements will be made, or whether you would permanently live on board one of the boats. if so, i think you would be envied by all of us, as you would get away from the dust, and all the discomforts of the encampment." "thank you very much, sir! it would indeed be pleasant, and i was beginning to feel that i was very useless here." "you have not been useless at all, mr. hilliard. the sirdar asked me about you, and i was able to give him a very favourable report of your readiness to be of service, for whatever work i have found for you to do. i have told him that i had great doubts whether ahmed bey would have pushed forward to this place, after he had lost the protection of the gunboats, if you had not been with him." gregory at once went to the quarters of colonel wingate, and sent in his name. in two or three minutes he was shown in. a naval officer was in the room with the colonel. "you have come at the right time, mr. hilliard. i was just speaking of you to captain keppel. i suppose general hunter has told you how i proposed utilizing your services?" "yes, sir, he was good enough to tell me." "you speak both arabic and the negro dialect perfectly, i am told?" "i speak them very fluently, almost as well as english." "just at present, you could not be of much use to me, mr. hilliard. of course, i get all my intelligence from natives, and have no occasion to send white officers out as scouts. otherwise, from the very favourable report that i have received from general hunter, i should have been glad to have you with me; but i have no doubt that you would prefer to be in one of the gunboats. they are certain to have a more stirring time of it, for the next few weeks, than we shall have here." "i should like it greatly, sir, if captain keppel thinks i shall do." "i have no doubt about that," the officer said, with a smile. "i shall rate you as a first lieutenant and midshipman, all in one; and i may say that i shall be very glad to have a white officer with me. there are one or two spare cabins, aft, and you had better have your traps moved in, at once. i may be starting tomorrow." "shall i take my servant with me, sir?" "yes, you may take him if you like. i suppose you have a horse?" "yes, sir, a horse and a camel; but i shall have no difficulty in managing about them. excuse my asking, sir, but i have a few stores. shall i bring them on board?" "no, there is no occasion for that. you will mess with me. thank goodness, we left naval etiquette behind us when we came up the nile, and it is not imperative that i should dine in solitary state. besides, you have been on hunter's staff, have you not?" "yes." "i know his staff all mess together. i shall be very glad to have you with me. it is lonely work, always messing alone. "my boat is the zafir, you know. you had better come on board before eight o'clock, tomorrow morning. that is my breakfast hour." gregory needed but little time to make his arrangements. the transport department took over zaki's horse and camel, and gave him a receipt for them; so that, when he returned, those or others could be handed over to him. one of the staff, who wanted a second horse, was glad to take charge of his mount. the tent, and the big case, and his other belongings were handed over to the stores. zaki was delighted, when he heard that he was going up in a gunboat that would probably shell metemmeh, and knock some of the dervish fortifications to pieces. "what shall i have to do, master?" he asked. "not much, zaki. you will brush my clothes, and make my bed, and do anything that i want done; but beyond that i cannot tell you. i am really taking you, not because i think you will be of much use, but because i like to have you with me. besides, i sha'n't have much to do, and the english officer who commands will have plenty to look after, so that i shall be glad to talk, occasionally, with you. "however, as i know the gunboats carry maxim guns, and each have two sergeants of the marine artillery, i will hand you over to them, and ask them to put you in the maxim crew. then you will have the satisfaction of helping to fire at your old enemies." zaki's eyes glistened at the prospect. "they killed my mother," he said, "and carried off my sisters, and burned our house. it will be good to fire at them. much better this, bey, than to load stores at merawi." gregory was much gratified, that evening after mess, at the kindly manner in which the members of the staff all shook hands with him, and said that they were sorry that he was going to leave them. general hunter was dining with the sirdar. the next morning, when gregory went to say "goodbye" to him, he said: "i was telling sir herbert kitchener, yesterday evening, that you were transferred to the naval branch. he said: "'the gunboats will all take up troops, and there will be native officers on board. it is a rule in our army, you know, that all white officers have the honorary rank of major, so as to make them senior to all egyptian officers. will you tell mr. hilliard that i authorize him to call himself bimbashi? there is no occasion to put it in orders. my authorization is sufficient. as long as he was on your staff it did not matter; but as, presently, he may be attached to an egyptian regiment, it is as well that he should bear the usual rank, and it may save misunderstanding in communicating with the natives. he will be much more respected, as bimbashi, than he would be as lieutenant, a title that they would not understand.' "a good many lieutenants in the british army are bimbashis, here, so that there is nothing unusual in your holding that honorary rank." "i would just as soon be lieutenant, sir, so far as i am concerned myself; but of course, i feel honoured at receiving the title. no doubt it would be much more pleasant, if i were attached to an egyptian regiment. i do not know whether it is the proper thing to thank the sirdar. if it is, i shall be greatly obliged if you will convey my thanks to him." "i will tell him that you are greatly gratified, hilliard. i have no doubt you owe it, not only to your ride to metemmeh, but to my report that i did not think ahmed bey would have ventured to ride on into berber, had you not been with him; and that you advised him as to the defensive position he took up here, and prepared for a stout defence, until the boats could come up to his assistance. he said as much to me." at the hour named, gregory went on board the zafir; zaki accompanying him, with his small portmanteau and blanket. "i see you are punctual, mr. hilliard," the commander said, cheerily; "a great virtue everywhere, but especially on board ship, where everything goes by clockwork. eight bells will sound in two minutes, and as they do so, my black fellow will come up and announce the meal. it is your breakfast, as much as mine; for i have shipped you on the books this morning, and of course you will be rationed. happily, we are not confined to that fare. i knew what it was going to be, and laid in a good stock of stores. fortunately, we have the advantage over the military, that we are not limited as to baggage." the breakfast was an excellent one. after it was over, commander keppel asked gregory how it was that he had--while still so young--obtained a commission, and expressed much interest when he had heard his story. "then you do not intend to remain in the egyptian army?" he said. "if you have not any fixed career before you, i should have thought that you could not do better. the sirdar and general hunter have both taken a great interest in you. it might be necessary, perhaps, for you to enter the british army and serve for two or three years, so as to get a knowledge of drill and discipline; then, from your acquaintance with the languages here you could, of course, get transferred to the egyptian army, where you would rank as a major, at once." "i have hardly thought of the future yet, sir; but of course, i shall have to do so, as soon as i am absolutely convinced of my father's death. really, i have no hope now; but i promised my mother to do everything in my power to ascertain it, for a certainty. she placed a packet in my hands, which was not to be opened until i had so satisfied myself. i do not know what it contains, but i believe it relates to my father's family. "i do not see that that can make any difference to me, for i certainly should not care to go home to see relations to whom my coming might be unwelcome. i should greatly prefer to stay out here, for a few years, until i had obtained such a position as would make me absolutely independent of them." "i can quite understand that," captain keppel said. "poor relations seldom get a warm welcome, and as you were born in alexandria, they may be altogether unaware of your existence. you have certainly been extremely fortunate, so far; and if you preferred a civil appointment, you would be pretty certain of getting one when the war is over. "there will be a big job in organizing this country, after the dervishes are smashed up; and a biggish staff of officials will be wanted. no doubt most of these will be egyptians, but egyptian officials want looking after, so that a good many berths must be filled by englishmen; and englishmen with a knowledge of arabic and the negro dialect are not very easily found. i should say that there will be excellent openings, for young men of capacity." "i have no doubt there will," gregory said. "i have really never thought much about the future. my attention, from childhood, has been fixed upon this journey to the soudan; and i never looked beyond it, nor did my mother discuss the future with me. doubtless she would have done so, had she lived; and these papers i have may give me her advice and opinion about it." "well, i must be going on deck," captain keppel said. "we shall start in half an hour." the three gunboats were all of the same design. they were flat bottomed, so as to draw as little water as possible; and had been built and sent out, in sections, from england. they were constructed entirely of steel, and had three decks, the lower one having loophole shutters for infantry fire. on the upper deck, which was extended over the whole length of the boat, was a conning tower. in the after portion of the boat, and beneath the upper deck, were cabins for officers. each boat carried a twelve-pounder quick-firing gun forward, a howitzer, and four maxims. the craft were a hundred and thirty-five feet long, with a beam of twenty-four feet, and drew only three feet and a half of water. they were propelled by a stern wheel. at half-past nine the zafir's whistle gave the signal, and she and her consorts--the nazie and fatteh--cast off their warps, and steamed out into the river. each boat had on board two european engineers, fifty men of the th soudanese, two sergeants of royal marine artillery, and a small native crew. "i expect that we shall not make many more trips down to berber," the commander said, when they were once fairly off. "the camp at atbara will be our headquarters, unless indeed mahmud advances; in which case, of course, we shall be recalled. until then we shall be patrolling the river up to metemmeh; and making, i hope, an occasional rush as far as the next cataract." when evening came on, the steamer tied up to an island, a few miles north of shendy. so far they had seen no hostile parties--indeed, the country was wholly deserted. next morning they started before daybreak. shendy seemed to be in ruins. two arabs, only, were seen on the bank. a few shots were fired into the town, but there was no reply. half an hour later, metemmeh was seen. it stood half a mile from the river. along the bank were seven mud forts, with extremely thick and solid walls. keeping near the opposite bank, the gunboats, led by the zafir, made their way up the river. dervish horsemen could be seen, riding from fort to fort, doubtless carrying orders. the river was some four thousand yards wide and, at this distance, the gunboats opened fire at the two nearest forts. the range was soon obtained to a nicety, and the white sergeants and native gunners made splendid practice, every shell bursting upon the forts, while the maxims speedily sent the dervish horsemen galloping off to the distant hills, on which could be made out a large camp. the dervish gunners replied promptly, but the range was too great for their old brass guns. most of the shot fell short, though a few, fired at a great elevation, fell beyond the boats. one shell, however, struck the zafir, passing through the deck and killing a soudanese; and a shrapnel shell burst over the fatteh. after an hour's fire, at this range, the gunboats moved up opposite the position; and again opened fire with shell and shrapnel, committing terrible havoc on the forts, whose fire presently slackened suddenly. this was explained by the fact that, as the gunboats passed up, they saw that the embrasures of the forts only commanded the approach from the north; and that, once past them, the enemy were unable to bring a gun to bear upon the boats. doubtless the dervishes had considered it was impossible for any steamer to pass up, under their fire; and that it was therefore unnecessary to widen the embrasures, so that the guns could fire upon them when facing the forts, or going beyond them. suddenly, as all on board were watching the effect of their fire, an outburst of musketry broke out from the bushes that lined the eastern bank, a hundred yards away. fortunately, the greater part of the bullets flew overhead, but many rattled against the side. the maxims were instantly turned upon the unseen enemy, the soudanese fired volleys, and their rash assailants went at once into the thicker bush, many dropping before they gained it. the gunboats now steamed slowly up the river; and then, turning, retired downstream again, shelling the enemy's position as they passed. as they were going down they came upon a number of dervishes, who were busy unloading half a dozen native craft. the maxim soon sent them flying; and the boats, which contained horses, donkeys, grain, and other goods, were taken in tow by the gunboats, which anchored at the same island as on the previous night. "well, bimbashi," captain keppel said, when the work for the day was over, "so you have had your first brush with the enemy. what do you think of it?" "i would rather that you did not call me bimbashi, captain keppel. the title is ridiculous for me, and it was only given me that it might be useful when with egyptian or soudanese soldiers. i should feel really obliged, if you would simply call me hilliard. "i felt all right, sir, during the fight; except that i envied the gunners, who were doing something, while i had nothing to do but look on. it certainly made me jump, when that shell struck the boat, because i had quite made up my mind that their guns would not carry so far, and so it was a complete surprise to me." "yes, it was a very harmless affair. still, it was good as a preparation for something more severe. you have got accustomed to the noise, now, and that is always as great a trial to the nerves as actual danger." "i wish i could be doing something, sir. everyone else had some duty, from yourself down to the black firemen--even my servant made himself useful, in carrying up shot." "i tell you what i will do, mr. hilliard. i will get those marine sergeants to instruct you in the working of the maxim, and in the duties of the men attending on it. then next time we come up, i will put you in command of one of them. your duties will not be severe, as you would simply direct the men as to the object at which they are to aim, watch the effect and direction of the bullets, and see that they change their aim, as circumstances may direct. the black gunners are well trained, and know their work; still, if by any chance the gun jams, it will be useful for you to be able to show them what to do; even though they know it as well as, or better than, you do yourself. the blacks like being commanded by a white officer, and will feel pleased, rather than otherwise, at your being appointed to command their gun. your lessons cannot begin for a day or two, for i have not done with metemmeh, yet." "i am very much obliged to you, indeed," gregory said warmly. "i will take care not to interfere with the men's working of the gun." "no, you will not have to do that; but a word or two of commendation, when they make good practice, pleases them immensely; and they will work all the better, and faster, for your standing by them." at daybreak next morning the gunboats went up again, and engaged the forts, as before. the dervishes had placed more guns in position, but again the shells fell short, while those of the boats played havoc with the enemy's defences. some ten thousand of the dervish horse and foot came down near the town, in readiness to repel any attempt at a landing. after some hours' bombardment, the gunboats retired. as they steamed away, the dervish host were shouting and waving their banners, evidently considering that they had won a great victory. having fulfilled their object, which was to retain mahmud at metemmeh by showing him that, if he advanced against merawi and dongola, we had it in our power to occupy the town; and so cut off his retreat, and prevent reinforcements or stores from reaching him from omdurman, the gunboats returned to berber. so far, gregory had had no duties to perform in his capacity of interpreter, for no prisoners had been taken. on the way down the river, one of the artillery sergeants explained the working of the maxim to him, taking the weapon to pieces, and explaining to him how each part acted, and then showing him how to put it together again. the sergeant having done this several times, gregory was then told to perform the operation himself, and the lessons continued after their arrival at berber. in the course of a week he was able to do this smartly; and had learned, in case of a breakdown, which parts of the mechanism would most probably have given way, and how to replace broken parts by spare ones, carried up for the purpose. there was no long rest at berber, and on the st of november the gunboats again went up the river, reinforced by the metemmeh, which had now arrived. each boat, as before, carried fifty soldiers; and major stuart-wortley went up, as staff officer. the evening before starting, they received the welcome news that the railway line had, that day, reached abu hamed. this time there was but a short pause made opposite metemmeh, and after shelling the forts, which had been added to since the last visit, they proceeded up the river. shortly after passing the town, a large dervish camp was seen in a valley, and this, they afterwards found, was occupied by the force that had returned from berber. a heavy fire of shell and shrapnel was opened upon it, and it was speedily destroyed. the gunboats then went up as high as the sixth cataract. the country was found to be absolutely deserted, neither a peasant nor a dervish being visible. having thus accomplished the object of their reconnaissance, the flotilla returned, exchanged fire with the metemmeh batteries, and then kept on their way down to berber. chapter : a prisoner. rather than remain unoccupied on board the gunboat, gregory went to colonel wingate's headquarters and said that he should be very glad if he would allow him, while the flotilla remained at berber, to assist in interrogating the fugitives who arrived from the south, and the spies employed to gain early information of the intentions and movements of the enemy. the position of the dervishes at metemmeh was becoming critical. the khalifa was desirous that mahmud should return with his force to omdurman, there to take part in the battle in which, as he was convinced, the invaders would be annihilated. mahmud, who was of an eager and impetuous disposition, was anxious to take the offensive at once, and either to march upon merawi and dongola, or to drive the british out of berber. there could be no doubt that his view was a more sagacious one than that of his father; and that the best tactics to be adopted were to harass the british advance, fall upon their convoys, cut their communications, and so oblige them to fall back for want of supplies. the khalifa's mistake was similar to that made by theodore in abyssinia, and koffee kalkalli in ashanti. had either of these leaders adopted the system of harassing the invaders, from the moment they left the coast, it would have been next to impossible for the latter to arrive at their destination. but each allowed them to march on, unmolested, until within striking distance; then hazarded everything on the fortune of a single battle, and lost. mahmud made no movement in obedience to the khalifa's orders to retire to omdurman, and the latter thereupon refused to send any further supplies to him, and mahmud's army was therefore obliged to rely upon raids and plunder for subsistence. these raids were carried out with great boldness, and villages situated within a few miles of berber were attacked. the dervishes, however, met with a much warmer reception than they had expected, for rifles and ammunition had been served out freely to the villagers; and these, knowing the fate that awaited them were the dervishes victorious, offered so obstinate a resistance that the latter fell back, discomfited. early in january, the sirdar learned that the khalifa had changed his mind, and had sent peremptory orders to mahmud to advance and drive the british out of berber, and destroy the railway. mahmud had now been joined by osman digna, with five thousand men; and as the egyptian troops, well as they had fought, had never yet been opposed to so formidable a force as that which mahmud commanded, the sirdar telegraphed to england for white troops. his request was at once complied with. the warwickshires, lincolnshires, and cameron highlanders were ordered to proceed from cairo and alexandria to the front; and the seaforth highlanders at malta, and the northumberland fusiliers at gibraltar were also despatched, without delay. major general gatacre was appointed to the command of the brigade. at the end of the third week in january, the three regiments from lower egypt had arrived at wady halfa, and the seaforths at assouan. at the beginning of february the british brigade was carried, by railway, to abu dis. here they remained until the th, when they marched to berber, and then to a camp ten miles north of the atbara, where they arrived on the th of march, having covered a hundred and forty-four miles in six days and a half, a great feat in such a climate. mahmud had made no movement until the th of february, when he began to cross the nile to shendy. this movement had not been expected by the sirdar, and was hailed by him with satisfaction. had mahmud remained at metemmeh he could, aided by the forts, his artillery, and the walled town, have offered a very formidable resistance. had he marched along the banks of the nile, he would have been exposed to the fire of the gunboats, but these could not have arrested his course. the country round berber was favourable to the action of his cavalry, and if defeated he could have fallen back, unmolested, through metemmeh on omdurman; but by crossing the river he practically cut himself off from the dervish base, and now had only a desert behind him; for we had taken over kassala from the italians, and the egyptian battalion there, and a large force of friendly arabs, would prevent him from retiring up the banks of the atbara. mahmud's plan was to march along the nile to ahab, then to cross the desert to hudi, at an angle of the river; whence a direct march, of twenty-five miles, would take him to berber, and in this way he would avoid our strong position at the junction of the atbara and the nile. it would have been easy for the gunboats to prevent mahmud from crossing the nile, but the sirdar was glad to allow him to do so. the movement afforded him time to concentrate his force, and to get up large supplies. for, each day, the distance that these could be transported by the railway had increased; and he saw that, when the time for fighting came, the victory would be a decisive one; and that few, indeed, of mahmud's men would ever be able to make their way to omdurman, and swell the khalifa's force there. on one occasion, however, the gunboats went up to watch what was going on, and take advantage of any opportunity that might offer to destroy some of mahmud's boats, and thus render the work of his getting his force over slower and more difficult. an entrenchment had been thrown up at the point where the dervishes crossed, and this had been manned by two hundred and fifty riflemen. the zafir steamed up close to the bank and opened fire with her maxims. another gunboat sank one large craft and captured two others, and the troops landed and, covered by the fire of the guns, captured a fourth which had grounded in shallow water. a smaller boat was halfway across the river when the gunboats arrived. it was seen that there were several women on board, and as the capture would have been of no value, no regard was paid to it. as it would have been as dangerous to return as to keep on, the boatmen plied their hardest to get across, but the stream carried them down near the zafir. the boat was quite unnoticed, all eyes being intent upon the shore. she was passing about thirty yards astern of the gunboat, when a badly aimed shell from a dervish battery struck her, and she sank almost instantly. gregory, who was superintending the working of the maxim nearest the stern, looked round at the sound of the explosion. several of the occupants had evidently been killed, but two or three of the boatmen started to swim to shore. only two of the women came to the surface, struggling wildly and screaming for help. with scarcely a thought of what he was doing, gregory unclasped his sword belt, dropped his pistol, and sprang overboard. one of the women had sunk before he reached them, the other was on the point of doing so, when he caught her by the arm. she at once clung to him, and he had hard work to disengage her arm from his neck; then, after turning her so that her face was above water, he looked round. the gunboat was already a hundred yards away. her wheel was revolving, so as to keep her in her place facing the redoubt, and the stream was driving him fast away from her. within ten yards of him was a black head, and a moment later zaki was beside him. he had been working at gregory's maxim, and had suddenly missed his master. looking round, he had seen him struggling with the woman in the stream, and without hesitation had leapt overboard. "i am sorry you came," gregory said, "for it is only throwing away your life. it is of no use shouting, for they could not hear us in that din; and if they happened to catch sight of us, would take us for two of the black boatmen. i see the stream is taking us nearer to the bank." zaki had taken hold of the woman while he was speaking. "we might swim a long way down, master, if we let go of her." "i won't do that, zaki. i know now that i was a fool to jump overboard; but now that i have done so, i will save her life. besides, i could not swim very far even without her. i am feeling the weight of my boots and clothes. "will you swim with us till i can touch the ground, and then leave us? strike right into the river again--i know that you are a good swimmer--and drop down the stream until you reach one of the islands, and then you can land and hail the gunboats as they come down. tell captain keppel why i jumped over." "i am not going to leave you, master. no doubt the dervishes will shoot me, but my life is of no consequence, and i shall be glad to die by the side of so good a master." the woman, who had ceased to struggle when gregory shook off her grasp, was now conscious; as, with one of them supporting her on each side, her head was above water. "they will not kill you," she said. "you have saved me, and they will be grateful." gregory had no faith whatever in dervish gratitude. "well, zaki," he said, "if you will not leave us, we will strike at once for the shore. the gunboats are nearly half a mile away now. there is just a chance that we may not have been noticed by the dervishes, and may be able to hide in the bushes till the gunboats return. when they see me, they will at once send a boat ashore, under cover of their fire, and take us off." "there is a good chance of that, master," zaki said cheerfully, "and the dervishes are busy up there fighting, and will not think much of a little boat." three or four minutes later they were in shallow water. as soon as they landed, gregory threw himself down, utterly exhausted; and the woman sank down beside him, but not before hastily rearranging her veil. in a couple of minutes, gregory roused himself. "i can climb the bank, now," he said, "and the sooner we are hidden among the bushes, the better." but as he spoke he heard the sound of galloping horsemen, and almost immediately an emir, on a magnificent animal, followed by a dozen dervishes, dashed up. "mahmud!" the woman cried, as she rose to her feet; "it is i, fatma!" mahmud gave a cry of joy, and waved his hand to his followers, who had already pointed their rifles at gregory. "these have saved me, my lord," the woman went on. "they jumped from their boat, and reached me just as i was sinking, and have borne me up. for my sake you must spare their lives." mahmud frowned. he dismounted and went up to his wife. "have i not sworn, fatma," he said, "that i would slay every unbeliever who falls into my hands? how, then, can i spare even one who has saved your life?" "others have been spared who have been of service, my lord," she said. "there are greeks and egyptians who work your guns, and they were spared because they were useful. there is neufeld, who lives under the protection of the khalifa. surely these men have done far more to deserve, not only life, but honour at your hands. they risked their lives to save mine. what follower of the prophet could do more? they could not have known who i was, a woman they saw drowning. are there any among the bravest of the tribes who would have done the same?" "i have sworn an oath," mahmud said, gloomily. "but you have not sworn to slay instantly. you can keep them, at least, until you can take them before the khalifa, and say to him: "'father, i have sworn to kill unbelievers, but these men have saved fatma's life; and i pray you to absolve me from the oath, or order them to be taken from me, and then do you yourself pardon them and set them free for the service that they have rendered me.' "if he refuses, if these men are killed, i also swear that, as my life is due to them, i myself will perish by my own hands, if they die for saving it!" "it needs not that, fatma. you think that i am ungrateful, that i do not feel that these men have acted nobly, thus to risk their lives to save a strange woman whose face they have never seen. it is my oath that lies heavily upon me. i have never been false to an oath." "nor need you be now," fatma said earnestly. "you swore to slay any unbeliever that fell into your hands. this man has not fallen into your hands. i have a previous claim to him. he is under my protection. i cover him with my robe"--and she swept a portion of her garment round gregory--"and as long as he is under it he is, according to tribal laws, safe even from the vengeance of my husband! "as to the other, he is not an unbeliever. your oath concerns him not. him you can honour and reward, according to the value you place upon my life." the arab's face cleared. "truly you have discovered a way out of it, fatma, at any rate for the present." he turned to gregory for the first time. "do you speak our tongue?" he asked. "yes, emir, as well as my own." "then you understand what we have said. had i not been bound by my oath, i would have embraced you as a brother. we arabs can appreciate a brave deed, even when it is done by an enemy. when one of the boatmen ran into the battery where i was directing the guns against your boat, and said that the boat in which my wife, with other women, were crossing had been sunk, by a shell from our batteries on the other side, i felt that my blood was turned to water. he said he believed that all had been killed or drowned, but that he looked back as he swam, and saw a white man jump overboard, and a short time after another followed him; and that, when he reached the shore, they were supporting a woman in the water. "i rode hither, having but small hope indeed that it was my wife, but marvelling much that a white officer should thus risk his life to save a drowning woman. my oath pressed heavily upon me, as i rode. even had it been but a slave girl whom you rescued, i should no less have admired your courage. i myself am said to be brave, but it would never have entered my mind thus to risk my life for a stranger. when i found that it was my wife who was saved, i still more bitterly regretted the oath that stood between me and her preserver, and truly glad am i that she has herself shown me how i can escape from its consequences. "now i see you, i wonder even more than before at what you have done; for indeed, in years, you are little more than a boy." "what i did, emir, i believe any white officer who was a good swimmer would have done. no englishman would see a woman drowning without making an effort to save her, if he had it in his power. as to the fact that she was not of the same race or religion, he would never give it a thought. it would be quite enough for him that she was a woman." "and you," mahmud said, turning to zaki, "you are a jaalin, are you not?" "i am." "jaalin or baggara, you are my friend," mahmud said, placing his hand on zaki's shoulders. "and so you, too, leapt overboard to save a woman?" "no, emir," he replied, "i jumped over because my master jumped over. i had not thought about the woman. i jumped over to aid him, and it was to give him my help that i took my share in supporting the woman. the bimbashi is a good master, and i would die for him." mahmud smiled at this frank answer. "nevertheless, whatever may have been your motive, you were enabled to save the life of my wife, and henceforth you are my friend." then he turned to the horsemen, who were still grouped on the bank above. "you have heard what has been said? the white man is under the protection of my harem; the jaalin is henceforth my friend." mahmud was a fine specimen of the tribesmen of the soudan--tall, well built, and with pure arab features. he was the khalifa's favourite son; and was generous, with kindly impulses, but impatient of control. of late, he had given way to outbursts of passion, feeling acutely the position in which he was placed. he had advanced from omdurman confident that he should be able to drive the infidels before him, and carry his arms far into egypt. his aspirations had been thwarted by the khalifa. his requests for stores and camels that would have enabled him to advance had been refused, and he had been ordered to fall back. his troops had been rendered almost mutinous, from the want of supplies. he had seen the invaders growing stronger and stronger, and accomplishing what had seemed an impossibility--the bringing up of stores sufficient for their sustenance--by pushing the railroad forward towards berber. now that their forces had been very greatly increased, and the issue of the struggle had become doubtful, he had received the order for which he had been craving for months; and had been directed to march down and attack the egyptian army, drive them across the nile, and destroy the railway. by means of spies he had heard that, ere long, a large force of british soldiers would come up to reinforce the egyptians; so that what might have been easy work, two months before, had now become a difficult and dangerous enterprise. the manner in which the dervishes had been defeated in their attacks upon wolseley's desert column, and in the engagements that had since taken place, showed how formidable was the fighting power, not only of the british troops, but of the native army they had organized; and his confidence in the power of the tribesmen to sweep all before them had been shaken. the dervishes scowled, when they heard that they were not to have the satisfaction of massacring this englishman, whose countrymen were still keeping up a terrible fire on their redoubt. it was not one of their wives who had been rescued, and gregory's act of jumping overboard seemed to them to savour of madness; and if that plea had been advanced, they would have recognized it as rendering the person of the man who had performed it inviolable. however, as he was under the protection of their leader's harem, there was nothing more to be said; and at an order from mahmud all but four of them rode off, while the others fell in behind him. mahmud did not mount again, but walked with his wife to a deserted mud hut, two hundred yards away. there he left her, telling gregory and zaki to sit down outside, and placing the four men on guard. "i must rejoin my men," he said, as he mounted. "when your vessels have gone, i will return." half an hour later, the fire ceased. soon afterwards mahmud rode up with a score of men, followed by some dozen women, and a slave leading a donkey. on this fatma took her seat, and the women surrounded her. gregory and zaki walked close behind them. mahmud, with his horsemen, rode in front. after proceeding for a mile, they came upon a group of tents. mahmud's banner was flying on a pole in front of the largest of these. behind, and touching it, was another almost as large. this was the abode of the ladies of mahmud's harem. the other tents were occupied by his principal emirs. a hundred yards away was the encampment of the army, which was sheltered in hastily constructed huts, or arbours, made of bushes. by mahmud's order, a small tent was erected, with blankets, close to the after entrance into the harem tent, for gregory's use; so that, should he be attacked by fanatics, he could at once take refuge in the harem, whose sanctity not even the most daring would dare to violate. a handsome robe was brought for zaki; and as mahmud presented it to him, he said: "you are my friend, but you must now go back to your vessels, or to berber. my orders were to kill all the jaalin, and we have spared none who fell into our hands, at metemmeh or since. i cannot keep you here. as long as you stay by my side, you will be safe; but you could not leave me for a moment. it is as much as i can do to save the life of this infidel officer, and it is to him that i owe most, for it was he who first leapt into the river. "the white men's boats have already fastened up, behind the island where they before stationed themselves. make your way down there, at daybreak, and wave a white cloth. doubtless they will send a boat ashore, thinking that you bear a message from me; or if you see they do not do this, you can swim out to them." "i would rather stay with my master. cannot you let him go, too?" "that is impossible," mahmud said shortly. "it is known throughout the camp that i have a white man here. the news will travel fast to the khalifa. my actions have already been misrepresented to him, and were i to let this officer go, my father might recall me to omdurman and send another to command here. "he must stay, but you may go without harm. you can scarcely have been noticed yet, and i can well declare, should the khalifa hear of you, that you have escaped." "may i speak with my master?" zaki said. "if he says stay, i shall stay, though it might cost me my life. if he says go, i must go." "you may speak to him," mahmud said. zaki went round to gregory's tent, and told him what mahmud had said. "go, certainly, zaki. you can do me no good by remaining here, and might even do me harm; for if you were killed i also might be murdered. moreover, i wish to send the news of my capture, and how it occurred. i do not think any, save yourself, noticed that i was missing; and when the fight was over, and they found that i was absent, they might suppose that i had been shot and had fallen overboard. "i will write a note for you to carry. it is, in all respects, better that you should go. were we to be seen talking together, it might be supposed that we were planning some way of escape, and i should be more closely watched. as it is, i see that mahmud will have difficulty in protecting me. were you to ride about with him, as he says, your presence would remind his followers that he has a white man a captive here; whereas, if i remain almost in concealment near the harem, the fact that there is a white man here will pass out of the minds of those who know it, and will not become the common talk of the camp. "mahmud is running some risk in having spared my life, and i do not wish to make it harder for him. go, therefore, and tell him that you will leave tonight. i cannot write now; my pocketbook is soaked through. but i will tear out some leaves and dry them in the sun; and write what i have to say, before you start. i shall speak highly of you in my letter, and recommend you to colonel wingate; who will, i have no doubt, give you employment. "i hope i shall see you again, before long. i am very sorry that we must part, but it is best for us both." very reluctantly, zaki returned to mahmud. "my master says i must go, emir; and i must obey his orders, though i would rather stay with him. tonight, i will leave." "it is well. i would that i could let him go, also, but my oath prevents me from giving him his freedom. i trust, however, that when the khalifa hears of his noble action, and how he has made me his debtor, he will say that allah himself would not blame me for that. gratitude is even more binding than an oath. "still, until i hear from him, i can do nothing. we have not seen matters in the same light, for some time. when i wanted to strike, he was unwilling that i should do so. now, when it seems to me that the time for that has passed, and that i had best retire on omdurman, he says go forward and fight. it is not for me to question his commands, or his wisdom. but i may not give him cause for anger. "my advice to you is, when you get to berber, do not stay there. we shall assuredly be there before long, and as none would know that you were under my protection, you would be slain. go straight to abu hamed; and when you hear that we have defeated the infidels, and have entered berber, leave by this road they have made, upon which, as they tell me, carriages run without horses, and stay not until you reach cairo. "there you can live quietly, until you hear that the khalifa's army is approaching. after that, fly. i cannot say whither, but seek a shelter until the black flag waves over the whole of the land. when there is no more fighting, then come to me and i will give you a post of honour." "i will do so, emir. when the time comes, i will remind you of your promise." "i have neither silver nor gold with which i can reward you, now; but we shall gather these things in egypt, and i will make you wealthy." zaki thought that it would be unwise to wander from mahmud's encampment, and he accordingly sat down by his tent. presently, one of the slaves came out, with a large dish of food that mahmud had sent him. as evening approached, he went round to gregory's little tent, with the intention of trying to persuade him to attempt to escape with him; but two of the tribesmen, with rifles in their hands, were stationed there. they offered no opposition to his entry, but their presence showed that mahmud was determined that his master should appear to be a close prisoner; as, indeed, his escape might well jeopardize the emir's position, even among his followers. gregory had a letter ready for him to carry to captain keppel. it ran as follows: "dear captain keppel, "i am a prisoner in mahmud's hands. this is the result of my own impetuosity--i will not say folly, for i cannot regret that i yielded to the sudden impulse that seized me. a boat containing some women was sunk by a shell, when but a few yards astern of the gunboat. most of its occupants were killed, but i saw a woman struggling in the water and, without thinking of the consequences, jumped overboard to save her, my servant following me. when we reached her, we found that the current was too strong to regain the gunboat, and so landed about half a mile down, hoping to find shelter in the bushes until the boat came down the stream. what i did, however, had been observed by the dervishes; and as soon as i landed a party rode up, headed by mahmud himself, who was aware that his favourite wife was in the boat that had sunk. "most fortunately, it turned out that she was the woman i had saved. upon her appeal mahmud spared our lives. he has released my man, who will carry this to you; but, having sworn that he would spare no white man, he retains me in his hands as a prisoner, until he can lay the facts before the khalifa and obtain his permission to let me go. i trust that all will be well, and that some day i may rejoin the army. however, there is no saying how matters may turn out. "i am happy in knowing that there is no one who, if the worst comes to the worst, will grieve over my loss. i recommend my faithful servant to you. i should wish the balance of pay coming to me to be handed to him, as well as my camel and horse, and all other belongings. by the sale of these he would be able, at the end of the war, to buy a piece of land and settle down among his own people. "will you kindly report my capture to colonel wingate or general hunter? thanking you for your kindness to me, i remain, "yours faithfully, "gregory hilliard. "p. s. in my cabin is a tin box containing documents of importance to me. i shall be greatly obliged if you will take charge of these, until--as i hope will be the case--i rejoin you." he handed the paper to zaki, who took his hand and raised it to his forehead, with tears in his eyes. "i go because you order me, master," he said, in a broken voice; "but i would a thousand times rather remain, and share your fate, whatever it might be." then he turned, and abruptly left the tent. twice that day, gregory had received food from a female slave of the harem. although he knew that he should miss zaki greatly, he was very glad that he had been sent away; for he felt that, although for the time he had been reprieved, his position was very precarious, and that his servant's would have been still more so. a white prisoner was a personage of some consequence, but the death of a jaalin was a matter that would disturb no one. thousands of them had been massacred; and one, more or less, could not matter at all. but, however much the dervishes might hate a white infidel, it would be a serious matter for even the most powerful emir to harm a prisoner under the protection of the harem of the khalifa's son. mahmud had been very popular among them, but his position had been gravely shaken by the events of the last six months. having unlimited confidence in themselves; the baggara had seen, with increasing fury, the unopposed advance of the egyptians. they could not understand why they should not have been allowed, after the capture of metemmeh, to march across the desert to merawi, and annihilate the infidels assembled there. it was true that these had repulsed the force defending dongola, but this was a comparatively small body; and it was the gunboats, and not the egyptian troops, who had forced them to evacuate the town. the fall of abu hamed had added to their discontent, and they were eager to march with all speed to berber, to join the five thousand men comprising its garrison, and to drive the invaders back across the nile. but they had been kept inactive, by the orders of the khalifa and by the want of stores. they had, for months, been suffering great privations; and while remaining in enforced inactivity, they had known that their enemy's strength was daily increasing; and that what could have been accomplished with the greatest of ease, in august, had now become a very serious business. mahmud had chafed at the situation in which he found himself placed, by his father's refusal to support him or to allow him to take any action. this had soured his temper, and he had taken to drinking heavily. he had become more harsh with his men, more severe in the punishment inflicted for any trifling disobedience of orders. although no thought that the rule of the khalifa could be seriously threatened entered their minds, fanatical as they were, they could not but feel some uneasiness at the prospect. a great army was gathering at berber. kassala was in the hands of the british, and the forces that had been beleaguering it had been defeated, with heavy loss. abyssinia had leagued itself against them. the insurrection of the jaalin had been crushed, but there were signs of unrest in kordofan, and other parts. of course, all this would be put right. an army of sixty thousand men was at omdurman; and this, with mahmud's command, would suffice to sweep away all their enemies. their enthusiasm would never have wavered, had they been called upon for action; but these months of weary waiting, and of semi-starvation, without the acquisition of any booty or plunder--for little, indeed, had been obtained at the capture of metemmeh--sapped their energy; and the force that crossed the nile for an advance upon berber was far less formidable than it would have been, had it been led forward against merawi and dongola directly after the capture of metemmeh. still, it needed only the prospect of a battle to restore its spirits. a fortnight after gregory's capture, the dervish army was set in motion. a few thousand men had already been sent forward, along the banks of the river, to check any advance that might be made from fort atbara. had it not been for this, gregory might have attempted to escape. it would not have been very difficult for him to creep out at the back of his little tent, unperceived by his guards; but the dangers to be encountered in making his way to the british fort would have been immense. it would have been necessary for him to keep by the river, for from this source alone could water be obtained. the country had been stripped of its crops, of all kinds, by the dervishes; the villages had been razed to the ground; and the last head of maize, and other grain, gleaned by the starving people who had taken refuge in the bush and jungle. therefore, although by keeping near the river he could quench his thirst at will, he would assuredly have to face starvation. moreover, he would have no chance of searching for any ears of corn which might have escaped the eyes of the searchers, for he must travel only by night and lie up by day, to avoid capture by one or other of the bands that had gone on; in which case he would at once be killed, being beyond the influence of mahmud, and the protection of the harem. on the other hand, he had nothing to complain of, except the monotony and uncertainty of his position. fatma kept him well supplied with food; and, from the gossip of the slaves who brought this to him, he learnt how matters were progressing. he was longing for the dervish army to make a move, for he felt that when they neared the british position, the greater would be the chance of escape; and none among the followers of mahmud rejoiced more than he did, when he knew that the long-expected advance was about to take place. once in motion, the spirits of the dervishes revived. at last they were going to meet these insolent invaders, and none doubted that they would easily defeat them. the greater portion of the harem and attendants were left behind, at shendy, for but few camels were available. fatma and another of mahmud's wives rode on one. a tent was carried by another. half a dozen slaves followed, and gregory walked with these. he could not help admiring the attitude of the tribesmen--tall, powerful men, inured to hardship, and walking or riding with an air of fierce independence, which showed their pride in themselves, and their confidence in their prowess. the party always started early in the morning, so as to get the tents erected at the halting place before the main body of the dervishes came up. on the march, they kept some distance from the river and, being but a small group, the gunboats did not waste their shot upon them; but each day there was a sharp exchange of fire between them and mahmud's force. gregory supposed that mahmud's plan was to cross the atbara, which was fordable at several points, and to attack the fort there; in which case, he had no doubt the arabs would be driven off, with much loss. the sirdar was of the same opinion, and in order to tempt them to do so, he maintained only one egyptian brigade in the fort, the remainder of the force being concentrated at kennur, four miles away. from this point they would be able to advance and take the dervishes in flank, while they were engaged in the attack of the fort. mahmud, however, was kept well informed of the movements of the troops, and instead of continuing his course down the river bank when he reached gabati, he struck across the desert; and, after two days' march, crossed the atbara at nakheila. from this point, owing to the bend in the river, he would be able to march direct to berber, avoiding the atbara fort and the force gathered round it. altogether the desert march, although only lasting two days, was a trying one. the heat was overpowering, and even the ladies of the harem had the scantiest supply of water. they had, at starting, given gregory a gourd of water for his own use. this he had taken sparingly, and it lasted him until they reached the atbara. it was now dead low water, and the river offered no obstacle to crossing, as the bed was for the most part dry, with pools here and there. the arab encampment was formed in a thick grove of trees, which afforded some shelter from the sun. day after day passed. mahmud was now informed as to the strength of the force he should have to encounter, and for the first time felt some doubt as to the issue of the fight. he determined, therefore, to stand on the defensive. this decision, however, he kept to himself. the dervishes were burning to be led to the assault, and became almost mutinous, on account of the delay. mahmud was obliged to take the strongest measures, and several of those who were loudest in their dissatisfaction were summarily executed. the rest were pacified with the assurance that he was only waiting for a fortunate day. in the meantime, the men were employed in fortifying the position. deep holes were dug along the edge of the wood, and behind these were trenches and pitfalls. mahmud's own temper grew daily more sullen and fierce. his own fighting instinct was in favour of the attack his followers longed to deliver, but in his heart he was afraid that the result might be fatal. it was not the rifles of the infantry that he feared--of these he had no experience--but the artillery, which he had learned, already, could be used with terrible effect. as mahmud was drinking heavily, and as the fact that the white soldiers were near at hand added to the fanatical hatred of the emirs and tribesmen, fatma sent a message by a slave to gregory, warning him not to show himself outside the little shelter tent, composed of a single blanket, in which he now lived. at length it became known that the english host was approaching. as soon as the gunboats brought down news that the dervishes were no longer following the river bank, but were disappearing into the desert, the sirdar guessed their intentions. nothing could have suited him better. a battle now must be a decisive one. there was no way of retreat open to the dervishes, except to cross the waterless desert; or to fly south, keeping to the course of the atbara, which would take them farther and farther from the nile with every mile they marched. bringing up all his force, therefore, from kennur and the atbara fort, which one battalion was left to guard, the sirdar took up his post at hudi. the position was well chosen. it lay halfway between mahmud's camp at nakheila and the atbara fort, and left mahmud only the option of attacking him; or of making a long detour, through the desert to the east, in order to reach berber. the british, on the other hand, could receive their supplies by camels from the atbara fort. the cavalry went out to reconnoitre, and had constant skirmishes with the enemy's horse; but when day after day passed, and mahmud did not come, as the sirdar had expected, to attack him, it was determined to take the offensive. general hunter was ordered to move forward, with the whole of the cavalry and a maxim-gun battery, to discover the exact position of the enemy. the camp had been well chosen; for, like abu hamed, it lay in a depression, and could not be seen until an enemy came within six hundred yards of it. thus the superiority of range of the british rifles was neutralized, and their guns could not be brought into play until within reach of the dervish muskets. the wood was surrounded by a high zareba, behind which a crowd of dervishes were assembled. they had anticipated an attack, and held their fire until the cavalry should come nearer. this, however, general hunter had no intention of doing, and he retired with the information he had gained. his account of the strength of the position showed the difficulty of taking it by assault. next day he again went out with the same force, but this time the dervishes were prepared. their mounted men dashed out from the wood, and galloped round to cut off the cavalry; while the footmen crowded out to attack them in front. the cavalry fell back in perfect order, and one squadron charged forty of the dervish cavalry, who barred the line of retreat. these they drove off, but the main body still pressed forward, and the maxims opened upon them. the hail of bullets was too much for the horsemen, and they drew off. several times they gathered again for a charge, but on each occasion the maxims dispersed them. the unmounted dervishes were soon left behind, but the horsemen, in spite of the lesson they had received, followed almost to the camp. on the afternoon of the th of april, the anglo-egyptian force marched out. they started at five in the afternoon, and halted at seven. the horses were first taken down to water, the infantry by half battalions; all then lay down to sleep. at one o'clock the word to advance was passed round quietly. the moon was full and high overhead, so there was no difficulty in avoiding obstacles. each brigade marched in square, accompanied by the guns and the maxims, and the camels with provisions and spare ammunition. at four o'clock they halted again. they had been well guided, and were now but a short distance from the enemy's position. at sunrise the men were again on their feet, and advanced to within two hundred yards of the position from which they were to deliver their attack. the british brigade--the camerons, warwicks, seaforths, and lincolns--were on the left. next to them came macdonald's brigade--the three soudanese regiments in front, the nd egyptian in support. farther still to the right, and touching the river, was maxwell's brigade, comprising also three soudanese regiments and an egyptian one. two of the three egyptian battalions of lewis's brigade were placed on the left rear of the british brigade, the third battalion was in square round the camels. two field batteries were in front of the infantry, and two to the right of maxwell's brigade. half a mile from the zareba the infantry halted, and the artillery and maxims opened fire. for an hour a tremendous fire was poured into the enemy's position, but not a shot was fired in reply, although the dervishes could be seen moving among the trees, apparently unconcerned at the storm of shell and bullets. gregory's position had been growing more critical every day. food was extremely short; the scanty supplies that the force had brought with them had been long since exhausted, and they were now subsisting upon palm nuts. of these, two were served out daily to each man, a quantity barely sufficient to keep life together. in spite of the vigilant watch kept by the more fanatical of mahmud's followers, desertions had become frequent, notwithstanding the certain death that awaited those who were overtaken. the evening after the cavalry made their first reconnaissance, the slave who brought gregory's food told him that fatma wished to speak to him. it was but three paces to the entrance of the tent, and his guards made no objection. the entrance was closed as the slave entered, but half a minute later it was opened an inch or two, and, without showing herself, fatma said: "listen to me." "i am listening," gregory replied. "i am in great fear for you. you are in much danger. the emirs say to mahmud that you ought to be killed; their followers are well-nigh starving--why should an infidel prisoner be eating? his friends are now close to us, and there will be a battle. none will be spared on either side--why should this man be spared? "mahmud has many cares. the men are furious because he will not lead them out to fight. even the emirs are sullen; and osman digna, who was on bad terms with him a short time ago, and who, mahmud suspects, is intriguing with them against him, is foremost in urging that an attack should take place; though everyone knows he is a coward, and never shows himself in battle, always running away directly he sees that things are going against him. still, he has five thousand followers of his own. "mahmud told me today that he had done all in his power but, placed as he was, he could not withstand the words of the emirs, and the complaints of the tribesmen. when the battle comes--as it must come in a day or two--it will need all his influence and the faith of the men with him to win; and with so much at stake, how can he risk everything for the sake of a single life, and that the life of an infidel? if you would agree to aid in working his guns, as the greeks and egyptians do, it would content the emirs." "that i cannot do," gregory said. "if i am to be killed, it is the will of god; but better that, a thousand times, than turn traitor!" "i knew that it would be so," fatma said sorrowfully. "what can we do? at other times, the protection of the harem would cover even one who had slain a chief; but now that the baggara are half starving, and mad with anger and disappointment, even that no longer avails. if they would brave the anger of the son of the khalifa, they would not regard the sanctity of the harem. i wish now that i had advised you to try and escape when we left shendy, or even when we first came here. it would have been difficult, but not impossible; but now i can see no chance. there is the thorn hedge round the wood, with few openings, and with men on watch all round to prevent desertion. several tried to escape last night--all were caught and killed this morning. even if it were possible to pass through, there are bands of horsemen everywhere out on the plain, keeping watch alike against the approach of the enemy and the desertion of cowards. "i have been in despair, all day, that i cannot save the life of one who saved mine. i have told mahmud that my honour is concerned, and that i would give my life for yours. months ago, he would have braved the anger of all his army for me, but he has changed much of late. it is not that he loves me less, but that he has been worried beyond bearing, and in his troubles he drinks until he forgets them. "my only hope is that your people will attack tomorrow. mahmud says that they will assuredly be beaten; they will be shot down as they approach, and none will ever be able to get through the hedge. then, when they fall back, the baggara will pour out, horse and foot, and destroy them. they will then see how right he has been in not letting them go out into the plain to fight. his influence will be restored, and your life will be safe. "we are to be removed to the farther side of the wood, when the fighting begins; and there all the women are to be gathered, and wait, till the infidels are utterly destroyed. "if your people come tomorrow morning, you may be saved. otherwise i fear the worst." "i thank you for what you have done for me," replied gregory, "and whatever comes of it, be sure that i shall feel grateful to you, and shall not blame you for not having been able to do what was impossible. i hope my friends may come tomorrow, for, whatever my fate may be, anything is better than uncertainty." "may allah protect you!" the woman said, with a sob; "and go now. i hear mahmud calling me." chapter : the battle of atbara. gregory had little sleep that night. it was clear to him that there was absolutely no chance of making his escape. even were his two guards withdrawn, it would not improve his position. he had no means of disguise, and even if he had an arab dress and could stain his face, he could not hope to make his way through the crowds of sleeping men, the pitfalls and trenches, and pass out through the jealously guarded zareba. there was nothing, for him, but to wait till the end. he could not blame mahmud. a leader on the eve of a great battle could not, for the sake of a single captive, risk his influence and oppose the wishes of his followers. it was much that he had, for his wife's sake, postponed the fulfilment of his oath; and had so long withstood the wishes of his most influential emirs. more could not be expected. at any rate, he was better off than others who had been in the same position. he had not, so far as he knew, a relation in the world--no one who would be anywise affected by his death; and at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing that it was a kind action which had brought him to his end. he prayed earnestly, not that his life might be spared, but that his death might be a painless one; and that he might meet it as an english officer should, without showing signs of fear. the next day he heard orders given, and a great stir in camp; and he gathered, from those who passed near the tent, that the enemy's cavalry were again approaching; and that the mounted men were to ride out and cut them off from retreating, while the dismounted men were to pour out and annihilate them. then, for a time, all was silence in the camp. suddenly an outburst of shouts and cries broke out and, almost simultaneously, he heard the rattle of maxim guns--the fight had begun. would the egyptian horsemen stand firm, or would they give way to panic? if they broke and fled, none whatever would return to their camp through the host of baggara horsemen. for a time, the roll of the fire from the machine guns was incessant. then there was a pause. two or three minutes later it broke out again, but it was evidently somewhat farther off; and so it went on, with intervals of silence, but ever getting farther away. it was clear that the horsemen had not been able to bring the cavalry to a standstill, and that these were steadily falling back, covered by the fire of the maxims. at last the sound grew faint in the distance and, soon afterwards, the noise in the camp showed that the infantry were returning. it was not till two hours later that he heard the mounted men ride in; and gathered, from the talk outside, that they had lost nearly two hundred men, and had been unable to prevent the egyptian cavalry from returning to camp. towards evening he heard angry talking, and could distinguish mahmud's voice. then the blanket was pulled off its supports, and two men ordered him to follow them. this was doubtless the end, and he nerved himself for what was to come; and, with head erect and a steady face, he accompanied the men to the front of mahmud's tent. the chief was standing, with frowning face; and several emirs were gathered in front of him, while a number of tribesmen stood a short distance away. "now," mahmud said, "let one of you speak." one of the emirs stepped forward. "i, osman digna, demand that this infidel be put to death. his countrymen have slain many of my men, and yours." feeling now that mahmud, after doing his best, had ceased to struggle for him, and that his death was certain, gregory took a step forward towards the speaker, and said scornfully: "so you are osman digna! i am one of the first of my countrymen to see your face, though many have seen your back, at a distance." instead of provoking a pistol shot, as he had intended, his remark was followed by a roar of laughter from the emirs; for osman's cowardice was a byword among them, and his nickname was "one who always runs." osman, indeed, had put his hand on the stock of one of the pistols in his belt, but mahmud said imperiously: "the man's life is mine, not yours, osman digna. if you shoot him, i shoot you!" the fearlessness of the lad had pleased the other emirs; for, recklessly brave themselves, the baggara appreciated and esteemed courage and honour. one of the others said: "this is a brave young fellow and, infidels as his people are, we admit that they are brave. were it for ourselves only, we would say let him live, until we see what comes of it. but our people complain. they say his folk, with whom we had no quarrel, come here and aid the egyptians against us. they slew many yesterday. it is not right that this man should be living among us, when his countrymen are fighting against us." there was a murmur of assent among the others, then mahmud spoke. "i have promised that he should not be killed, unless by order of the khalifa. but this i will do: he shall be placed in the front rank. if allah wills it, he will be killed by the bullets of his countrymen. if, when the fight is over, he is unharmed, you shall all agree that the matter be left for the khalifa to decide. but, mind, i wash my hands of his death. on the eve of a battle, it is not for me to set my wishes above those of my emirs and my tribesmen; and i yield to your demands, because it is necessary that all be of one mind. if he is killed, which surely he will be, unless allah protects him, his blood be upon your heads!" he waved his hand, and the men came forward and again took gregory to his tent. the latter was well contented with the decision that he should be killed. he had no doubt that, at least, his death would be swift and sudden; he would not be speared, or cut to pieces with knives. he would see his countrymen advancing. he would know that he would be speedily avenged. two days passed, when the news came that the egyptians had advanced to umdabieh, seven miles nearer; and, on the following morning, the dervish camp was disturbed early. there was joy in every face, and renewed vigour in the bearing of the men. scouting dervishes had brought in word that the infidels had marched, during the night, and were now halting but a mile and a half away. the hour had come, at last. they were confident in themselves, and their trust in their leader was renewed. the fight, two days before, had shown them that the guns of the white men were terrible on the plain; and that it was, after all, wise to await them in the position which had been made impregnable, and against which the foe would hurl themselves in vain; then they were to pour out, and annihilate them. the slave came to gregory's tent, at daybreak. "fatma is praying to allah for your safety," he said. there was no time for more, for already the tents were being pulled down, and soon the women were hurried away to the rear. four men surrounded gregory, and led him to the edge of the camp, and there fastened him to the stump of a tree that had been cut off six feet from the ground, the upper portion being used in the construction of the zareba. ten or twelve men were similarly fastened, in a line with him. these had been detected in trying to sneak away. gregory had not seen anything of the camp before and, as he was taken along, he was astounded at the amount of work that had been done. everywhere the ground was pitted with deep holes, capable of sheltering from fifteen to twenty men. the hedge was a high one, and was formed for the most part of prickly bushes. the position was, indeed, a formidable one; manned, as it was, by nearly twenty thousand desperate fighters. at six o'clock the first gun was fired; and, for an hour and a half, the camp was swept with shell, shrapnel, and maxim bullets. most of the baggara were lying in the pits. many, however, walked about calmly, as if in contempt of the fire. more than half of the wretched men bound to the trees were killed. at last the fire of the guns slackened and, on the crest of the position, in a semicircle round the wood, a long line of steadily marching men appeared. the assault was about to begin. the dervishes sprang from their hiding places, and lined the trenches behind the zareba. the troops halted, and waited. the maxims moved in front of the british brigade, and then opened fire. a bugle sounded, and the whole line, black and white, advanced like a wall. when within three hundred yards, the men knelt down and opened fire, in volleys of sections. at the same instant the dervishes, with difficulty restrained until now, opened fire in return. the maxims, and the storm of british bullets swept the wood, filling the air with a shower of falling leaves. gregory murmured a prayer, shut his eyes, and awaited death. suddenly he felt his ropes slacken and fall from him, and a voice said, "drop on your face, master!" almost mechanically he obeyed, too astonished even to think what was happening; then a body fell across him. "lie still and don't move, master. they must think you are dead." "is it you, zaki?" gregory said, scarcely able, even now, to believe that it was his faithful follower. "it is i, master. i have been in the camp three days, and have never had a chance of getting near you, before." "brave fellow! good friend!" gregory said, and then was silent. speech was almost inaudible, amid the roar of battle. the pipes of the camerons could, however, be heard above the din. the men advanced steadily, in line, maintaining their excellent volley firing. the three other regiments, in close order, followed; bearing away farther to the right, so as to be able to open fire and advance. on that side the black regiments were advancing no less steadily, and the half brigade of egyptians were as eager as any. steadily and well under control, all pushed forward at a run; firing occasionally, but thirsting to get hand to hand with those who had desolated their land, destroyed their villages, and slain their friends. the british were suffering, but the blacks suffered more; for the volleys of the camerons kept down the fire of those opposed to them, better than the irregular fire of the soudanese. the latter, however, first reached the zareba; and, regardless of thorns or of fire, dashed through it with triumphant shouts, and fell upon the defenders. it was but a minute or two later that the camerons reached the hedge. formidable as it looked, it took them but a short time to tear down gaps, through which they rushed; while close behind them the seaforths, the lincolns, and the warwicks were all in, bursting through the low stockade and trenches behind it, and cheering madly. now, from their holes and shelters, the dervishes started up. brave though they were, the storm that had burst upon them with such suddenness scared them, and none attempted to arrest the course of the highlanders and red coats. firing as they ran, the dervishes made for the river. many remained in their pits till the last, firing at the soldiers as they rushed past, and meeting their death at the point of the bayonet. hotly the troops pursued, often falling into the pits, which were half hidden by thorns and long grass. there was no attempt at regularity in these holes--nothing to show where they were. it was a wild and confused combat. the officers kept their men as well together as it was possible, on such ground; but it was sharp work, for from flank and rear, as well as in front, the shots rang out from their hidden foes, and these had to be despatched as they pushed forward. as the troops burst through, gregory sprang to his feet, seized a rifle that had dropped from the hands of a dervish who had fallen close by and--shouting to zaki "lie still as if dead!"--joined the first line of troops. no questions were asked. every man's attention was fixed on the work before him, and no thought was given to this white officer, who sprang from they knew not where. he had no cartridges, and the dervishes did not carry bayonets; but, holding the rifle club-wise, he kept in the front line, falling into pits and climbing out again, engaged more than once with desperate foemen. striking and shouting, he fought on until the troops reached the river bank; and, having cleared all before them, poured volleys into the mass of fugitives crossing its dry bed. other hordes were seen away to the left, similarly driven out by lewis's egyptians, by whom a terrible fire was kept up until the last of the fugitives disappeared in the scrub on the opposite bank, leaving the river bed thickly dotted with dead bodies; while, on the right, macdonald's and maxwell's blacks similarly cleared the wood. then the soudanese and whites alike burst into cheers. men shook each other by the hand, while they waved their helmets over their heads. the soudanese leapt and danced like delighted children. presently an officer left a group of others, who had been congratulating each other on their glorious victory, and came up to gregory. "may i ask who you are, sir?" he said, courteously but coldly. "certainly, sir. my name is hilliard. i have been a captive in the hands of the dervishes; who, when you attacked, tied me to the stump of a tree as a target for your bullets; and i should certainly have been killed, had not a faithful servant of mine, a black, taken the opportunity, when the dervishes rushed into the trenches and opened fire upon you, to cut my ropes. "i have no doubt, sir," he went on, as he saw the officer look somewhat doubtful, "that general hunter is here. i am known personally to him, and served for a time on his staff." "that is quite sufficient," the officer said, more cordially. "i congratulate you on your escape. i confess it astonished us all, when a strange white officer, whom none of us knew, suddenly joined us. you will find general hunter somewhere over on the left. he is certain to have led the charge of the soudanese." "thank you! i will go and find him; but first, i must return to where i left my man. he had, of course, the mahdist's patch on his clothes; and i told him to lie still, as if dead, till i came for him; as, in the melee, it would have been impossible for me to have protected him." gregory found zaki still lying where he left him, head downward and arms thrown forward; in so good an imitation of death that he feared, for a moment, the lad had been shot after he left him. at the sound of his master's voice, however, the native sprang to his feet. "you have saved my life, zaki," gregory said, taking his hand. "i must have fallen--every man tied to a tree is, as you see, dead; but before we say anything else, cut that patch off your clothes, or you might be shot as a dervish by the first man you come across. "keep close to me. i am going to general hunter. at present, i know none of the officers of the white regiments. when i get among the soudanese, i shall be more at home." in ten minutes, he came to where general hunter was speaking to the sirdar. gregory stopped at a short distance, before the general's eyes fell upon him, and he gave an exclamation of pleasure. "that is hilliard, general; the young fellow who jumped from one of the gunboats, off metemmeh, to rescue the woman. the act was unnoticed at the time, but a black he had with him was released, and brought word that his master was a prisoner in their camp." "i heard of it, at the time," the sirdar said, and motioned to gregory to come up. "i am glad to find that you have escaped the fate we feared had befallen you, but your action was altogether wrong. an officer's life is no longer his own, but belongs to the country he serves; and you had no right whatever to risk it when on duty, even in an action which, at any other time, would do you great credit." he spoke sharply and sternly. gregory again saluted. "i knew afterwards that i had done wrong, sir; but i did not stop to think, and acted on the impulse of the moment." "that may be," the sirdar said; "but officers should think, and not act on the impulse of the moment." gregory again saluted, and fell back. three or four minutes later, the two generals separated. general hunter came up to him, and shook him warmly by the hand. "you must not mind what the sirdar said, hilliard. it was a very noble action, and did you credit, and i can assure you that that was the opinion of all who knew you; but to the sirdar, you know, duty is everything, and i think you are lucky in not being sent down, at once, to the base. however, he said to me, after you had left him: "'i shall be too busy this evening, but bring the young fellow with you, tomorrow evening. i must hear how it was that mahmud spared him.' "i told him that i understood, from your black, that the woman was mahmud's favourite wife, and that she took you under her care. "by the way, have you heard that mahmud is captured? yes, he is caught, which is a great satisfaction to us; for his being sent down, a prisoner, will convince the tribesmen that we have gained a victory, as to which they would otherwise be incredulous. i hear that the egyptian brigade, which was to the extreme left, has captured mahmud's wife, and a great number of women." "with your permission, sir, i will go over there at once, and ask colonel lewis that she may receive specially good treatment. she has been extremely kind to me, and it is to her influence over mahmud that i owe my life. up to this morning mahmud would have spared me, but osman digna insisted that i should be killed, and he was obliged to give way. they fastened me to a tree behind the trench, just inside the zareba, and i should certainly have been killed by our own musketry fire, had not my boy, who had come into the camp in disguise, cut my cords. i fell as if shot, and he threw himself down on me; until the camerons burst in, when i at once joined them, and did what little i could in the fight." "i will give you a line to colonel lewis, to tell him that mahmud's wife, whom you will point out, is to be treated with respect; and that her people may be allowed to make her an arbour of some sort, until the sirdar decides what is to be done with her. probably she will be sent down to berber. no doubt we shall all fall back." "then you will not pursue, sir?" "no. the cavalry have already gone off in pursuit of their horsemen, but they are not likely to catch them; for we hear that osman digna is with them, and he seems to enjoy a special immunity from capture. as for the other poor beggars, we could not do it if we wanted to. i expect the campaign is over, for the present. certainly, nothing can be done till the railway is completed; then the gunboats can tow the native craft, abreast of us, as we march along the river bank. "shendy has been captured, and we found twelve thousand jaalin prisoners there, women and children, and a large quantity of stores. that is what makes the position of the dervish fugitives so hopeless. there is nothing before them but to find their way across the desert to omdurman, and i fancy that few of them will get there alive. "no doubt some will keep along by the atbara, and others by the nile. the latter will have the best chance, for the friendlies at kassala will be on the lookout for fugitives. i am sorry for the poor wretches, though they richly deserve the worst that can befall them. they have never shown mercy. for twenty years they have murdered, plundered, and desolated the whole land, and have shown themselves more ferocious and merciless than wild beasts." he took out his pocketbook, wrote the order to colonel lewis; and then, tearing the leaf out, handed it to gregory, who at once made his way, followed closely by zaki, to the spot where two egyptian battalions had halted. they had no difficulty in finding colonel lewis, who was receiving a report, from the officers of the two battalions, of the casualties they had sustained. gregory had met the colonel several times, at berber, and the latter recognized him at once. "ah! major hilliard," that officer said, as he came up; "i am glad to see you. i heard that you had been captured by the dervishes, and killed; but i suppose, as i see you here, that it was only the usual canard." "no, sir. i was captured; but, as you see, not killed, though it has been a pretty close thing. this is a note, sir, that general hunter requested me to give you." colonel lewis read the order. "the women are down over there, a couple of hundred yards away," he said. "i will send a sergeant and four men with you. if you will point out mahmud's wife, i will see that she is made as comfortable as possible." "thank you, sir! it is to her i owe my life, and i am most anxious to do all i can to repay the debt." "you came along through the other brigades. do you know what their losses have been?" "the british losses are not heavy, sir, considering the fire they have been exposed to. macdonald's brigade suffered most, i believe." "yes; i saw one of the officers just now. it seems they came down upon mahmud's picked bodyguard, and these fought desperately. they found mahmud in the usual attitude in which the dervish emirs await death, when they are conquered. he was sitting quietly on his mat, with his arms laid down beside him; and was, i should imagine, somewhat surprised at finding that he was not cut to pieces, at once." "i am glad he was not, sir, for he certainly behaved well to me. it was through the influence of his wife, i admit; but in sparing me he really risked serious disaffection among his followers, and at last gave way only to coercion." the sergeant and men had now come up, and gregory went off with them. three or four hundred women were seated on the ground together, with half a dozen egyptian soldiers standing as sentry over them. more or less closely veiled as they were, gregory could not distinguish fatma among them; and indeed, except when he first reached her in the water, he had not got a glimpse of her features. the question, however, was speedily settled when a woman rose, in the middle of the group, with a cry of gladness. "so you are saved!" she exclaimed, "i have feared so that you were killed. have you news of mahmud?" "yes, lady. he is a prisoner, but well and unharmed. i have obtained an order, from the general, that you are to be treated with honours, as his wife. we cannot do much for you, at present, but all that is possible will be done. i have represented your kindness to me, and these soldiers will at once erect an arbour for you, and food will be brought for you all, as soon as matters have settled down a little." the egyptian soldiers had already begun to cut down saplings. accustomed as they were to the work, in half an hour they had erected an arbour. fatma was then assisted into it, with the other women of the harem. the sergeant gave orders, to the sentries, that no one was to be allowed to interfere in any way with them; and then gregory took his leave, saying that he would return, later on. he again joined general hunter, who seemed to be his natural chief, now that his service in the gunboat was over. the list of casualties was now being brought in. the camerons, who had led the attack in line, had lost most heavily. they had fifteen killed and forty-six wounded, among them being two officers killed, and one mortally wounded. the seaforths had one officer killed and one mortally wounded, and four others less severely; in all, six killed and twenty-seven wounded. the lincolns had one killed and eighteen wounded; the warwicks two killed and eighteen wounded. many of the wounded afterwards died. the egyptians had lost more heavily. the casualties among them were fifty-seven killed; and four british and sixteen native officers, and three hundred and sixty-seven non-commissioned officers and men, wounded. the dervish loss was terrible. three thousand men were killed, among whom were nearly all the emirs; and two thousand were taken prisoners. the rest were hopeless fugitives, and a vast number of these must have been wounded. there was but a short rest for the troops. when the wounded had been collected, and carried to a neighbouring palm grove, where the surgeons did all that could then be done for them; and the trophies of the fight--banners and spears, guns of all sorts, swords and knives--had been gathered, principally by the exultant soudanese and egyptians, the force prepared for a start. "may i ask, general, what is to be done with the women?" gregory said. "i have been speaking to the sirdar about them, and i was just going to ask you to go with me to them. they are, of course, not to be considered as prisoners. they cannot stay here, for they would die of hunger. therefore they had best follow the troops, at any rate as far as the atbara camp. they will have food given them, and must then decide for themselves what they are to do. it is a difficult question, altogether. the only thing that can, at present, be settled is that they mustn't be allowed to die of hunger, and they must be protected against molestation. "the troops will march at four o'clock. the egyptian brigade have volunteered to carry the wounded. they will start later. the women had better follow them. no doubt, some of them will find their husbands among the prisoners, so that there will be no trouble about them." "what will be done with the men, sir?" the general smiled. "tomorrow they will probably enlist in our service, to a man, and will fight just as sturdily as the other soudanese battalions, against their brethren in khartoum. all the prisoners we have hitherto taken who are fit for the work have done so; and, as has been shown today, are just as ready to fight on our side as they were against us. they are a fighting people, and it is curious how they become attached to their white officers, whom formerly they hated as infidels." when the matter was explained to them, the women accepted the situation with the resignation that is natural to the mahometan woman. gregory was able to assure fatma that, in a short time, she would undoubtedly be allowed to join mahmud, and accompany him wherever he was sent. "but will they not kill him?" she said. "we never kill prisoners. even the bitterest enemy that may fall into our hands is well treated. mahmud will doubtless be sent down to cairo, and it will then be settled where he is to be taken to; but you may be sure that, wherever it may be, he will be well treated and cared for." "in that case, i shall be happy," she said. "when you saved me, i saw that the ways of you christians were better than our ways. now i see it still more. to be always raiding, and plundering, and killing cannot be good. it used to seem to me natural and right, but i have come to think differently." at four o'clock the troops marched. at gregory's request, he was allowed to remain behind and accompany the egyptians. he had bought for a few shillings, from the soldiers, a dozen donkeys that had been found alive in some of the pits. these he handed over to fatma, for her conveyance and that of the wives of some of the emirs, who were of the party. the egyptians started at half-past eight, carrying their own wounded and those of the british. by the route by which the army had marched, the night before, the distance was but nine miles; but there had been some rough places to pass, and to avoid these, where the wounded might have suffered from jolting, they made a circuit, thereby adding three miles to the length of the march; and did not reach umdabieh camp until two o'clock in the morning. general hunter, who never spared himself, rode with them and acted as guide. during the fight he, colonel macdonald, and colonel maxwell had ridden at the head of their brigades, the white regimental officers being on foot with the men, as was their custom; and it was surprising that the three conspicuous figures had all come through the storm of fire unscathed. the next morning was a quiet one, and in the afternoon all marched off to the old camp, at abadar. on sunday they rested, and on monday the british brigade marched to hudi, and then across the desert to hermali, where they were to spend the summer. the sirdar rode, with the egyptian brigades, to fort atbara. macdonald's brigade was to go on to garrison berber, maxwell's to assillem, and that of lewis to remain at atbara. the question of the prisoners was already half solved. almost all of them willingly embraced the offer to enlist in the egyptian army. many of the women found their husbands among the prisoners. others agreed, at once, to marry men of the soudanese battalion. the rest, pending such offers as they might receive in the future, decided to remain at atbara. at berber their lot would have been a hard one, for they would have been exposed to the hatred and spite of the jaalin women there, whose husbands had been massacred at metemmeh. fatma, with two attendants only, accompanied macdonald's brigade to berber. on arriving outside the town, the force encamped. next day the sirdar, with his staff and general hunter, came up; and, on the following morning, made a triumphant entry into the town, followed by the soudanese brigade. berber was prepared to do honour to the occasion. flags waved, coloured cloths and women's garments hung from the windows, and the whole population lined the streets, and received the conquerors with cries of welcome and triumph. they had anticipated a very different result, and had fully expected that the army would have been well-nigh annihilated; and that, again, the triumphant dervishes would become their masters. but the sight of mahmud walking, a prisoner, with two guards on each side of him, convinced them that the reports that had reached them were true, that the dervishes had been signally defeated, and that there was no fear of their ever again becoming lords of berber. the sirdar, by whose side general hunter rode, headed the procession, followed by his staff. then, leading his brigade, came macdonald--stern and hard of face, burnt almost black with years of campaigning in the desert--and his staff, followed by the black battalions, erect and proud, maintaining their soldierly bearing amid the loud quavering cries of welcome from the women. gregory had, on his arrival with the brigade the day before, gone into the town; and engaged a small house, in its outskirts, as the abode of fatma and her two attendants, purchased suitable provisions, and made what arrangements he could for her comfort. late in the evening he had escorted her there, and left zaki to sleep in an outhouse attached to it, to secure them from all intrusion. then he went down to the river and, finding the zafir lying there, went on board. he was received as one returned from the dead by captain keppel, lieutenant beatty, and lieutenant hood--the commanders of the other gunboats--who had been dining on board. he had become a general favourite, during the time he had spent with them, and their congratulations on his safe return were warm and hearty. "you may imagine our surprise when, after the fight was over," said captain keppel, "it was discovered that you were missing. no one could imagine what had become of you. one of the blacks who had been working your maxim said they had not noticed your leaving them; and that, when they found you were not there, they supposed you had come to confer with me. then i sent for your man; but he, too, was missing. we searched everywhere, but no signs of you, dead or alive, and no marks of blood were to be found. so it seemed that the matter must remain a mystery. early the next morning, however, we saw a white rag waving on the bank, and then a black entered the water and swam out towards us. i sent the boat to meet him, and when he came on board i found that he was your man, and the mystery was explained. i fancy i used some strong language; for i never before heard of a man being so hare-brained as to spring overboard, in the middle of a battle, and pick up a woman, without saying a word to anyone of what he was doing, and that with the boat still steaming ahead. of course, your man told us that it was mahmud's wife you had saved, and that she had taken you under her protection; but i did not expect that, among those fanatics, your life would be spared. "now, tell us all about your adventures, and how you got down here just in time to see our fellows enter, in triumph. i suppose you managed to give them the slip, somehow?" gregory then told his story. when he had concluded, captain keppel said: "well, you have the luck of the old one! first, you have got hold of as faithful a fellow as is to be found in all egypt, or anywhere else; and, in the second place, you have been in the battle of atbara, while we have been kicking our heels here, and fuming at being out of it altogether, except for our bloodless capture of shendy. "so you say the sirdar blew you up? i am not surprised at that. you know the story of the man who fell overboard, in the old flogging days, and the captain sentenced him to two dozen lashes, for leaving the ship without orders." "i don't think he was really angry; for when i went to him, the next evening, he was a good deal milder. of course, he did say again that i had done wrong, but not in the same tone as before; and he seemed a good deal interested in what i told him about mahmud, and how my boy had risked his life to rescue me, and had succeeded almost by a miracle. he said there is a lot of good in these black fellows, if one could but get at it. they have never had a chance yet; but, given good administration, and the suppression of all tribal feuds with a stern hand, they might be moulded into anything." "and are you coming back to us now, mr. hilliard?" "i have no idea. i don't suppose anything will be settled, for a time. there is not likely to be much doing, anyway, except on the railway; and even your gunboats will have an easy time of it, as there is not an enemy left on this side of the sixth cataract. "the dervishes who escaped are pretty sure to cross the atbara. there are enough of them still, when they rally, to beat off any attacks that might be made by our tribesmen from kassala." chapter : the final advance. a few days after the return of headquarters to berber, mahmud was sent down country, and fatma was permitted to accompany him. she expressed to gregory, in touching terms, her gratitude for what he had done for her. "we have been of mutual assistance," said gregory. "i have the same reason to be grateful to you, as you have to thank me. i saved your life, and you saved mine. you were very kind to me, when i was a captive--i have done as much as i could for you, since you have been with us. so we are quits. i hope you will be happy with mahmud. we do not treat our prisoners badly, and except that he will be away from the soudan, he will probably be more comfortable than he has ever been in his life." gregory was now employed in the transport department, and journeyed backwards and forwards, with large convoys of camels, to the head of the railway. the line was completed to berber, but the officers charged with its construction were indefatigable; and, as fast as the materials came up, it was pushed on towards the atbara. complete as had been the victory on that river, the sirdar saw that the force which had been sufficient to defeat the twenty thousand men, under mahmud, was not sufficiently strong for the more onerous task of coping with three times that number, fighting under the eye of the khalifa, and certain to consist of his best and bravest troops. he therefore telegraphed home for another british brigade, and additional artillery, with at least one regiment of cavalry--an arm in which the egyptian army was weak. preparations were at once made for complying with the request. the st lancers, st battalion of grenadier guards, nd battalion of the rifle brigade, nd battalion of the th lancashire fusiliers, a field battery, a howitzer battery, and two forty-pounders, to batter the defences of omdurman, should the khalifa take his stand, were sent. a strong detachment of the army service corps and the royal army medical corps was to accompany them, but they had yet some months to wait, for the advance would not be made until the nile was full, and the gunboats could ascend the cataract. however, there was much to be done, and the troops did not pass the time in idleness. atbara fort was to be the base, and here the egyptian battalions built huts and storehouses. the soudanese brigades returned to berber, and the transport of provisions and stores for them was thus saved. the british at darmali were made as comfortable as possible, and no effort was spared to keep them in good health, during the ensuing hot weather. a small theatre was constructed, and here smoking concerts were held. there was also a race meeting, and one of the steamers took parties, of the men who were most affected by the heat, for a trip down the nile. they were practised in long marches early in the morning, and although, of course, there was some illness, the troops on the whole bore the heat well. had there been a prospect of an indefinitely long stay, the result might have been otherwise; but they knew that, in a few months, they would be engaged in even sterner work than the last battle, that khartoum was their goal, and with its capture the power of the khalifa would be broken for ever, and gordon avenged. early in april the railway reached abadia, a few miles from berber, and in a short time a wonderful transformation took place here. from a sandy desert, with scarce a human being in sight, it became the scene of a busy industry. stores were sorted and piled as they came up by rail. three gunboats arrived in sections, and these were put together. they were stronger, and much better defended by steel plates than the first gunboats; and each of them carried two six-pounder quick-firing guns, a small howitzer, four maxims, and a searchlight. they were, however, much slower than the old boats, and could do very little in the way of towing. besides these, eight steel double-deck troop barges were brought up, in sections, and put together. three egyptian battalions came up from merawi to aid in the work, which not only included building the gunboats and barges, but executing the repairs to all the native craft, and putting them in a thoroughly serviceable state. in june the railway reached the atbara, and for the first time for two years and a half, the officers who had superintended its construction had a temporary rest. the stores were now transferred from abadia to the atbara, and two trains ran every day, each bringing up something like two hundred tons of stores. in the middle of july two egyptian battalions left atbara and proceeded up the nile, one on each bank, cutting down trees and piling them for fuel for the steamers. as the river rose, four steamers came up from dongola, together with a number of sailing boats; and in the beginning of august the whole flotilla, consisting of ten gunboats, five unarmed steamers, eight troop barges, and three or four hundred sailing boats, were all assembled. by this time the reinforcements from home were all at cairo, and their stores had already been sent up. it was arranged that they were to come by half battalions, by squadrons, and by batteries, each one day behind the other. to make room for them, two egyptian battalions were sent up to the foot of the shabluka cataract. the six black battalions left berber on july th, and arrived at atbara the next day. there were now four brigades in the infantry divisions instead of three, two battalions having been raised from the dervishes taken at the battle of atbara. these were as eager as any to join in the fight against their late comrades. this was scarcely surprising. the baggara, the tyrants of the desert, are horsemen. the infantry were, for the most part, drawn from the conquered tribes. they had enlisted in the khalifa's force partly because they had no other means of subsistence, partly from their innate love of fighting. they had, in fact, been little better than slaves; and their condition, as soldiers in the egyptian army, was immeasurably superior to that which they had before occupied. broadwood, with nine squadrons of egyptian cavalry, was already on the western bank of the river opposite atbara; and was to be joined at metemmeh by the camel corps, and another squadron of horse from merawi. on the rd of august the six soudanese battalions left fort atbara for the point of concentration, a few miles below the cataract. to the sides of each gunboat were attached two of the steel barges; behind each were two native craft. all were filled as tightly as they could be crammed with troops. they were packed as in slavers, squatting by the side of each other as closely as sardines in a box. the seven steamers and the craft they took with them contained six thousand men, so crowded that a spectator remarked that planks might have been laid on their heads, and that you could have walked about on them; while another testified that he could not have shoved a walking stick between them anywhere. white men could not have supported it for an hour, but these blacks and egyptians had a hundred miles to go, and the steamers could not make more than a knot an hour against the rapid stream, now swollen to its fullest. while they were leaving, the first four companies of the rifle brigade arrived. every day boats laden with stores went forward, every day white troops came up. vast as was the quantity of stores sent off, the piles at atbara did not seem to diminish. ninety days' provisions, forage, and necessaries for the whole force had been accumulated there, and as fast as these were taken away they were replaced by others from berber. like everyone connected with the transport or store department, gregory had to work from daybreak till dark. accustomed to a warm climate, light in figure, without an ounce of spare flesh, he was able to support the heat, dust, and fatigue better than most; and, as he himself said, it was less trying to be at work, even in the blazing sun, than to lie listless and sweating under the shade of a blanket. there was no necessity, now, to go down the line to make enquiries as to the progress of the stores, or of the laden craft on their way up. the telegraph was established, and the sirdar, at atbara, knew the exact position of every one of the units between cairo and himself; and from every station he received messages constantly, and despatched his orders as frequently. there was no hitch, whatever. the arrangements were all so perfect that the vast machine, with its numerous parts, moved with the precision of clockwork. everything was up to time. for a train or steamer, or even a native boat, to arrive half an hour after the time calculated for it, was almost unheard of. the sirdar's force of will seemed to communicate itself to every officer under him, and it is safe to say that never before was an expedition so perfectly organized, and so marvellously carried out. at atbara the sirdar saw to everything himself. a brief word of commendation, to those working under him, cheered them through long days of toil--an equally curt reproof depressed them to the depths. twice, when gregory was directing some of the blacks piling large cases, as they were emptied from the train; anathematizing the stupid, urging on the willing, and himself occasionally lending a hand in order to show how it should be done; the sirdar, who, unknown to him, had been looking on, rode up and said shortly, "you are doing well, mr. hilliard!"--and he felt that his offence of jumping overboard had been condoned. general hunter, himself indefatigable, had more occasion to notice gregory's work; and his commendations were frequent, and warm. the lad had not forgotten the object with which he had come to the front. after atbara, he had questioned many of the prisoners who, from their age, might have fought at el obeid; but none of these had done so. the forces of the khalifa came and went, as there was occasion for them. the baggara were always under arms, but only when danger threatened were the great levies of foot assembled; for it would have been impossible, in the now desolate state of the soudan, to find food for an army of a hundred thousand men. all agreed, however, that, with the exception of the egyptian artillerymen, they heard that no single white man had escaped. numbers of the black soldiers had been made slaves. the whites had perished--all save one had fallen on the field. that one had accompanied a black battalion, who had held together and, repulsing all attacks, had marched away. they had been followed, however, and after repeated attacks had dwindled away, until they had finally been broken and massacred. with the khalifa's army were several emirs who had fought at el obeid; and these would, no doubt, be able to tell him more; but none of those who were taken prisoners, at the atbara, had heard of any white man having escaped the slaughter of hicks's army. just as the general movement began, the force was joined by three companies of soudanese. these had marched from suakim to berber, two hundred and eighty-eight miles, in fifteen days, an average of nineteen miles a day--a record for such a march, and one that no european force could have performed. one day, after marching thirty miles, they came to a well and found it dry, and had to march thirty miles farther to another water hole, a feat probably altogether without precedent. "you had better fall back upon your old work, hilliard," the general said, the day before they started. "as my aide i shall find plenty for you to do, now that i command the whole division." "thank you very much, sir! i don't think that i shall find any work hard, after what i have been doing for the past four months." "you have got your horse?" "yes; he is in good condition, for i have had no riding to do, for some time." "well, you had better get him on board one of the gyasses we shall tow up, tomorrow. all our horses will embark this evening. we shall be on board at daybreak. our private camels are going with the marching column; you had better put yours with them. no doubt they will join us somewhere. of course, your kit will be carried with us." it was a delight to gregory to be on the water again. there was generally a cool breeze on the river, and always an absence of dust. he was now halfway between seventeen and eighteen, but the sun had tanned him to a deep brown, and had parched his face; thus adding some years to his appearance, so that the subalterns of the newly-arrived regiments looked boyish beside him. the responsibilities of his work had steadied him, and though he retained his good spirits, his laugh had lost the old boyish ring. the title of bimbashi, which had seemed absurd to him seven months before, was now nothing out of the way, for he looked as old as many of the british subalterns serving with that rank in the egyptian army. returning to the little hut that zaki, with the aid of some of the blacks, had built for him; he gave his orders, and in a short time the camel--a very good one, which he had obtained in exchange for that which he had handed over to the transport--started, with its driver, to join those that were to carry up the baggage and stores of general hunter, and his staff. these were in charge of a sergeant and three privates, of one of the soudanese battalions. gregory had got up a case of whisky, one of bottled fruit, and a stock of tea and sugar from berber. no tents could be carried, and he left his tente d'abri at the stores with his canteen; taking on board, in his own luggage, a plate, knife, fork, and spoon, and a couple of tumblers. when the camels had started, he saw his horse put on board, and then took a final stroll round the encampment. the change that had occurred there, during the past fortnight, was striking. then none but black faces could be seen. now it was the encampment of a british force, with its white tents and all their belongings. the contrast between the newly-arrived brigade, and the hardy veterans who had fought at the atbara, was striking. bronzed and hearty, inured to heat and fatigue, the latter looked fit to go anywhere and do anything, and there was hardly a sick man in the four regiments. on the other hand, the newcomers looked white and exhausted with the heat. numbers had already broken down, and the doctors at the hospital had their hands full of fever patients. they had scarcely marched a mile since they landed in egypt, and were so palpably unfit for hard work that they were, if possible, to proceed the whole way in boats, in order to be in fighting condition when the hour of battle arrived. the voyage up the river was an uneventful one. it seemed all too short to gregory, who enjoyed immensely the rest, quiet, and comparative coolness. the sirdar had gone up a week before they landed at wady hamed. here the whole egyptian portion of the army, with the exception of the brigade that was to arrive the next day, was assembled. the blacks had constructed straw huts; the egyptians erected shelters, extemporized from their blankets; while the british were to be installed in tents, which had been brought up in sailing boats. the camp was two miles in length and half a mile wide, surrounded by a strong zareba. the egyptian cavalry and the camel corps had arrived. on the opposite side of the river was a strong body of friendly arabs, nominally under the abadar sheik, but in reality commanded by major montague stuart-wortley. by the rd of august the whole force had arrived; and the sirdar reviewed them, drawn up in battle array, and put them through a few manoeuvres, as if in action. general gatacre commanded the british division--colonel wauchope the first brigade, and lyttleton the second. as before, macdonald, maxwell, and lewis commanded the first three egyptian brigades, and collinson that newly raised, general hunter being in command of the division. the force numbered, in all, about twenty thousand; and although destitute of the glitter and colour of a british army, under ordinary circumstances, were as fine a body of men as a british general could wish to command; and all, alike, eager to meet the foe. the british division had with them two batteries and ten maxims, and the egyptian division five batteries and ten maxims. as gregory was strolling through the camp, he passed where the officers of one of the british regiments were seated on boxes, round a rough table, over which a sort of awning had been erected. "come and join us, hilliard. we are having our last feast on our last stores, which we got smuggled up in one of the gunboats," the major called out. "with pleasure, sir." the officer who was sitting at the head of the table made room beside him. "you men of the egyptian army fare a good deal better than we do, i think," the major went on. "that institution of private camels is an excellent one. we did not know that they would be allowed. but, after all, it is not a bad thing that we did not have them, for there is no doubt it is as well that the soldiers should not see us faring better than they. there is bother enough with the baggage, as it is. of course, it is different in your case. there are only two or three white officers with each battalion, and it would not strike your black troops as a hardship that you should have different food from themselves. they are living as well as, or better than, they ever did in their lives. three camels make no material addition to your baggage train, while, as there are thirty or forty of us, it would make a serious item in ours, and the general's keen eyes would spot them at once." "our camels are no burden to the army," gregory said. "they only have a few pounds of grain a day, and get their living principally on what they can pick up. when they go on now, they will each carry fifty pounds of private grain. they get five pounds when there are no bushes or grass, so that the grain will last them for a fortnight." "i suppose you think that the dervishes mean fighting?" "i think there is no doubt about it. all the fugitives that come in say that the khalifa will fight, but whether it will be in the defence of omdurman, or whether he will come out and attack us at kerreri, none can say. the khalifa keeps his intentions to himself." "by the bye, hilliard, i don't think you know my right-hand neighbour; he only joined us an hour before we started, having been left behind at cairo, sick. "mr. hartley, let me introduce you to mr. hilliard--i should say bimbashi hilliard. he is on general hunter's staff." the young lieutenant placed an eyeglass in his eye, and bowed to gregory. "have you been in this beastly country long?" he asked. "if you include lower egypt, i have been here eighteen years." "dear me!" the other drawled; "the climate seems to have agreed with you." "fairly well," gregory replied. "i don't mind the heat much, and one doesn't feel it, while one is at work." "hartley has not tried that, yet," one of the others laughed. "work is not in his line. this most unfortunate illness of his kept him back at cairo, and he brought such a supply of ice with him, when he came up, that he was able to hand over a hundredweight of it to us when he arrived. i don't think, major, that in introducing him you should have omitted to mention that, but for a temporary misfortune, he would be the marquis of langdale; but in another two years he will blossom out into his full title, and then i suppose we shall lose him." gregory, whose knowledge of the english peerage was extremely limited, looked puzzled. "may i ask how that is?" he said. "i always thought that the next heir to a title succeeded to it, as soon as his father died." "as a rule that is the case," the major said, "but the present is an exceptional one. at the death of the late marquis, the heir to the title was missing. i may say that the late marquis only enjoyed the title for two years. the next of kin, a brother of his, had disappeared, and up to the present no news has been obtained of him. of course he has been advertised for, and so on, but without success. it is known that he married, but as he did so against the wish of his father, he broke off all communication with his family; and it is generally supposed that he emigrated. pending any news of him, the title is held in abeyance. "he may have died. it is probable that he has done so, for he could hardly have escaped seeing the advertisements that were inserted in every paper. of course, if he has left children, they inherit the title. "after a lapse of five years mr. hartley's father, who was the next heir, and who died five years ago, applied to be declared the inheritor of the title; but the peers, or judges, or someone decided that twenty-one years must elapse before such an application could be even considered. the income has been accumulating ever since, so that at the end of that time, it is probable that mr. hartley will be allowed to assume the title. "will the estates go with the title, hartley?" "oh, i should say so, of course!" the other drawled. "the title would not be of much use, without them." "nonsense, my dear fellow!" another said. "why, a fellow with your personal advantage, and a title, would be able to command the american market, and to pick up an heiress with millions." the general laugh that followed showed that hartley was, by no means, a popular character in the regiment. "the fellow is a consummate ass," the man on gregory's left whispered. "he only got into the service as a queen's cadet. he could no more have got in, by marks, than he could have flown. no one believes that he had anything the matter with him, at cairo; but he preferred stopping behind and coming up by himself, without any duties, to taking any share in the work. he is always talking about his earldom--that is why the major mentioned it, so as to draw him out." "but i suppose he is really heir to it?" "yes, if no one else claims it. for aught that is known, there may be half a dozen children of the man that is missing, knocking about somewhere in canada or australia. if so, they are safe to turn up, sooner or later. you see, as the man had an elder brother, he would not have counted at all upon coming to the title. he may be in some out-of-the-way place, where even a colonial newspaper would never reach him; but, sooner or later, he or some of his sons will be coming home, and will hear of the last earl's death, and then this fellow's nose will be put out of joint. "i am sure everyone in the regiment would be glad, for he is an insufferable ass. i suppose, when he comes into the title, he will either cut the army altogether, or exchange into the guards." the party presently broke up, having finished the last bottle of wine they had brought up. gregory remained seated by the major, discussing the chances of the campaign, and the points where resistance might be expected. the other officers stood talking, a short distance off. presently gregory caught the words: "how is it that this young fellow calls himself bimbashi, which, i believe, means major?" "he does not call himself that, although that is his rank. all the white officers in the egyptian army have that rank, though they may only be lieutenants, in ours." "i call it a monstrous thing," the drawling voice then said, "that a young fellow like this, who seems to be an egyptian by birth, should have a higher rank than men here, who have served fifteen or twenty years." the major got up, and walked across to the group. "i will tell you why, mr. hartley," he said, in a loud voice. "it is because, for the purpose of the war in this country, they know infinitely more than the officers of our army. they talk the languages, they know the men. these blacks will follow them anywhere, to the death. as for mr. hilliard, he has performed feats that any officer in the army, whatever his rank, would be proud to have done. he went in disguise into the dervish camp at metemmeh, before hunter's advance began, and obtained invaluable information. he jumped overboard from a gunboat to save a drowning dervish woman, although to do so involved almost certain capture and death at the hands of the dervishes. in point of fact, his escape was a remarkable one, for he was tied to a tree in the first line of the dervish defences at atbara, and was only saved by what was almost a miracle. he may not be heir to an earldom, mr. hartley, but he would do more credit to the title than many i could name. i hear him well spoken of, by everyone, as an indefatigable worker, and as having performed the most valuable services. captain keppel, on whose gunboat he served for two or three months, spoke to me of him in the highest terms; and general hunter has done the same. "i fancy, sir, that it will be some years before you are likely to distinguish yourself so highly. his father was an officer, who fell in battle; and if he happened to be born in egypt, as you sneeringly said just now, all i can say is that, in my opinion, had you been born in egypt, you would not occupy the position which he now does." gregory had walked away when the major rose, and he did not return to the party. it was the first time that he had run across a bad specimen of the british officer, and his words had stung him. but, as he said to himself, he need not mind them, as the fellow's own comrades regarded him, as one of them said, as "an insufferable ass." still, he could not help wishing, to himself, that the missing heir might turn up in time to disappoint him. general hunter started next day, at noon, with two of his brigades and the mounted troops; the other two brigades following, at nightfall. the previous night had been one of the most unpleasant gregory had ever spent. the long-expected rain had come at last. it began suddenly; there was a flash of lightning, and then came a violent burst of wind, which tore down the tents and the flimsy shelters of the egyptians and soudanese. before this had ceased, the rain poured down in a torrent; lightning, wind, and rain kept on till morning, and when the start was made, everyone was soaked to the skin. the egyptian baggage left at the same time, in native craft. that evening they arrived at the mouth of the shabluka cataract. here it had been expected that the advance would be opposed, as strong forts had been erected by the enemy, the river narrowed greatly, and precipitous rocks rose on either side. through these the course was winding, and the current ran with great strength, the eddies and sharp bends making it extremely difficult for the gunboats to keep their course. indeed, it would have been impossible for them to get up, had the forts been manned; as they would have had to pass within two hundred yards of the guns. but although the forts could hardly have been attacked by the gunboats, they were commanded by a lofty hill behind them; and the scouts had discovered, some weeks before, that the dervishes had retired from the position, and that the passage would be unopposed. maxwell's and colville's brigades started at four that afternoon, and the next day the whole division was established at el hejir, above the cataracts. lyttleton's brigade started, at five o'clock a.m. on the th, the gunboats and other steamers moving parallel with them along the river. at five in the afternoon the first brigade followed and, two days afterwards, the camp was entirely evacuated, and the whole of the stores well on their way towards el hejir. on the previous day, two regiments of wortley's column of friendly natives also marched south. the sirdar and headquarters, after having seen everything off, went up in a gunboat, starting at nine in the morning. as usual, the soudanese troops had been accompanied by a considerable number of their wives, who were heavily laden with their little household goods, and in many cases babies. they trudged patiently along in the rear of the columns, and formed an encampment of their own, half a mile away from the men's, generally selecting a piece of ground surrounded by thick bush, into which they could escape, should dervish raiders come down upon them. the stores arrived in due course. one of the gunboats, however, was missing--the zafir, with three gyasses in tow, having suddenly sunk, ten miles north of shendy, owing to being so deeply loaded that the water got into the hold. those on board had just time to scramble into the boats, or swim to shore. no lives were lost, though there were many narrow escapes. among these were commander keppel and prince christian victor, who were on board. fortunately, another steamer soon came along and took the gyasses, with the ship-wrecked officers and crew on board, and towed them up to el hejir. it had been intended to stay here some little time, but the nile continued to rise to an altogether exceptional height, and part of the camp was flooded. at five o'clock, therefore, the egyptian brigades started, with the guns on their right and the steamers covering their left, while the cavalry and camel corps were spread widely out, in advance to give notice of any approaching dervish force. as usual the soldiers' wives turned out, and as the battalions marched past, shouted encouragement to their husbands; calling upon them to behave like men, and not to turn back in battle. the presence of the women had an excellent effect on the soldiers, and in addition to their assistance in carrying their effects, they cooked their rations, and looked after them generally. the sirdar, therefore, did not discourage their presence in the field, and even supplied them with rations, when it was impossible for them to obtain them elsewhere. in the afternoon the two white brigades also moved forward. at nine o'clock they arrived at their camping ground, and the whole army was again collected together. next morning the four squadrons of egyptian horse, with a portion of the cavalry, went forward to reconnoitre, and one of the gunboats proceeded a few miles up the river. neither saw anything of the enemy. there had been heavy rain during the night. this had ceased at daybreak, and a strong wind speedily dried the sands, raising such clouds of dust that it was difficult to see above a few yards. the storm had also the effect of hindering the flotilla. on the other side of the river, stuart-wortley's friendlies had a sharp brush with some dervishes, whom they had come upon raiding a village, whose inhabitants had not obeyed the khalifa's orders to move into omdurman. as the rainstorms continued, it was decided, by a council of war, that the health of the troops would suffer by a longer stay. on the th, therefore, the army set out in order of battle, ready to encounter the khalifa's attack, but arrived without molestation at um teref, a short distance from kerreri, where it was expected the enemy would give battle. the camp was smaller than those hitherto made, and was protected by a strong zareba. the sentries were doubled, and patrols thrown out. heavy rain set in after sunset, and almost a deluge poured down. the tents had been left behind, and as the little blanket shelters were soon soaked through, their occupants were speedily wet to the skin. it was still raining when, at half-past five, the force again started. as before, the army was marching in fighting order. the day was cool and cloudy, and at one o'clock they halted at a village called merreh, or seg. the cavalry had come into touch with the dervish patrols, but the latter, although numerous, avoided combat. in one of the deserted villages was found one of wingate's spies, in dervish attire. he had left omdurman thirty hours before, and brought the news that the khalifa intended to attack at kerreri. this place had been chosen because there was current an old prophecy, by a persian sheik, to the effect that english soldiers would one day fight at kerreri, and be destroyed there. it had, therefore, become an almost holy place to the mahdists, and was called the death place of all the infidels; and, once a year, the khalifa and his followers made a pilgrimage to it. a few shots were fired during the night, and fires blazed on the hills to notify, to omdurman, our precise position. the troops started again soon after daylight, facing now to the right and marching westward, to leave the bush and broken ground, and get out in the open desert, stretching away to omdurman. the cavalry were widely spread out, and the lancers ascended to the top of the hill of el teb, from which a view of the dervish camp was obtained. it lay some ten miles due south. the dervishes were disposed in three long lines, stretching from within two thousand yards of the nile out into the desert, being careful to get, as they believed, beyond the range of the four gunboats that steamed quietly up. after a short march the force halted near the river, two miles north of kerreri. the place was convenient for camping, but the banks of the river were steep, and there was much difficulty in watering the horses and transport animals. "we are in for another bad night," one of the general's staff said to gregory, as the evening approached. "it looks like it. clouds are banking up fast. if the rain would but come in the daytime, instead of at night, one would not object to it much. it would lay the dust and cool the air. besides, on the march we have other things to think of; and though, of course, we should be drenched to the skin, we should not mind it. but it is very unpleasant lying in a pool of water, with streams running in at one's neck." "as to one's blanket, it is like a sponge, five minutes after the rain begins," the officer said. "i am better off in that respect," gregory remarked; "for, when i left my little tent behind, i kept a waterproof sheet instead of my second blanket. i had intended to use it tent fashion, but it was blown down in a minute, after the first storm burst. now i stand up, wrap my blanket tightly round me, while my boy does the same with the waterproof sheet; and i keep moderately dry, except that the water will trickle in at the end, near my neck. but, on the other hand, the wrapping keeps me so hot that i might almost as well lie uncovered in the rain." the staff had intended taking a few tents with them, but these were practically of no use at all, as all canvas had to be lowered by the time that "lights out" sounded, and after that hour no loud talking was permitted in the camp. this might have been a privation, had the weather been fine, but even the most joyous spirit had little desire for conversation, when the rain was falling in bucketfuls over him. the officers of the white division lay down by their men, in the position they would occupy if an attack by the enemy took place. the officers of the egyptian regiments lay together, just in rear of their men. as soon as the "last post" sounded, absolute silence reigned. the sentries, placed a very short distance out, kept their senses of sight and hearing on the alert; and with eye and ear strove to detect the approach of a lurking foe. jaalin scouts were stationed outside the zareba, so as to give an early warning of the approach of the enemy; but no reliance could be placed upon them; for, altogether without discipline, they would probably creep under bushes, and endeavour to find some shelter from the pitiless downpour. had the khalifa known his business, he would have taken advantage of the tempestuous night, and launched his warriors at the camp. confident as the officers of the expedition were, in the ability of their men to repulse any assault that might be made in the daylight, it was felt that such an attack would cause terrible loss, and possibly grave disaster, if delivered at night. the enemy might not be discovered until within a few yards of the camp. the swish of the rain, and the almost incessant crash of thunder, would deaden the sound of their approach; and, long before the troops could leap to their feet and prepare to receive them calmly, the dervishes would be upon them. as the latter were enormously stronger in numbers, the advantage of superior weapons would be lost in a hand-to-hand fight, and in the inevitable confusion, as the troops in reserve would be unable to open fire, while ignorant of the precise position of friends and foes. the khalifa, however, was relying upon prophecy. it was at kerreri that the infidel army was to be utterly destroyed, and he may have thought that it would be tempting fate, were he to precipitate an action before the invaders reached the spot where their doom had been pronounced. even more miserable than night was the hour before dawn. lying still, drenched to the skin as they were, nature prevailed, and the men obtained some sleep; but when they rose to their feet, and threw off the sodden blankets, they felt the full misery of eight hours' drenching. they were cold now, as well as wet, and as they endeavoured to squeeze the water from their clothes, and to restore circulation by swinging their arms, but few words were spoken; and the rising of the sun, which was regarded as a terrible infliction during the day, was eagerly looked for. no sooner did it appear above the horizon than the spirits of the men rose rapidly, and they laughed, joked, and made light of the inconveniences of the situation. an hour later, their clothes were nearly dry. by that time they were all well on their way, the brigades, as before, marching in echelon--wauchope's brigade on the left, lyttleton's farther to the right but more to the rear, the three egyptian brigades farther out on the plain, the st lancers scouting the ground in front of the british division, and the native cavalry and camel corps out beyond the right of the egyptians. all expected that, at least, they should have a skirmish before they reached kerreri, where they were to encamp; but, as they advanced, it was found that the dervishes had fallen back from that line, and had joined the khalifa's main force near omdurman. by ten in the morning the army had arrived at its camping place, which was in the southern part of the ground occupied by the straggling village. as usual, both extremities of the line rested on the nile, forming a semicircle, in which the baggage animals and stores were placed, in charge of collinson's brigade. the gunboats took up their position, to cover the ground over which an enemy must approach to the attack. while the infantry were settling down, the cavalry and camel corps went out scouting. signallers soon mounted a rugged hill, named surgham, and from here a fine view was obtained of omdurman, and the khalifa's army. omdurman was six miles away, covering a wide tract of ground, with but few buildings rising above the general level, the one conspicuous object being the great tomb of the mahdi, with its white dome. in the outskirts of the town were the white tents of the dervish army. for the present these were unoccupied, the whole force being drawn up, in regular line, out on the plain; about halfway between the town and surgham hill. it was formed in five divisions, each of which was bright with banners of all colours, sizes, and shapes. the khalifa's own division was in the centre, where his great black banner, waving from a lofty flagstaff, could be plainly made out. the lancers, egyptian cavalry, and camel corps continued to advance, capturing several parties of footmen, principally jaalins, who probably lagged purposely behind the retiring dervishes, in order to be taken. at times the cavalry attempted to charge the dervish horsemen, when these approached, but in no case did the latter await the attack. presently, above the occasional musketry fire, came the boom of a heavy gun. there was a thrill of excitement in the camp. the gunboats had arrived opposite omdurman, and had opened fire upon the dervish riverside forts. these were strongly constructed; but, as in the forts at metemmeh and shabluka, the embrasures were so faultily constructed that the guns could only be brought to bear upon the portion of the river directly facing them, and the four gunboats passed them without receiving any material damage, and were so able to maintain the bombardment without receiving any fire in return. at the same time, they landed the forty-pounder guns on an island but a short distance from the town, and thence opened fire with lyddite shells upon it. the howitzers were trained upon the mahdi's tomb, and soon great holes were knocked in the dome. it could be seen, from the top of the hill, that this caused great excitement in the dervish lines, and a number of their horsemen rode out against the lancers, and drove in their advance scouts; but, on the main body of the regiment moving forward, they fell back to their line; and almost immediately a heavy body of infantry moved out, their intention evidently being to surround and cut off the regiment, while at the same time a general advance took place. the colonel of the lancers dismounted a portion of his men, and these checked the advance of the enemy, until the rest fell back. the news of the advance was signalled to general kitchener, and the whole force at once took their position, in fighting order. believing that a general attack on the camp would now be made, the cavalry fell back on either flank, so as to clear the way for the fire of the artillery and infantry. the dervishes had a good view of our camp from the top of surgham, but the khalifa apparently considered that it was too late in the day for a general attack, and drew off his men to their former position, and the rest of the afternoon and evening passed quietly. as the men ate their meal, of tinned meat and biscuit, they were in higher spirits than they had been since the advance began. hitherto, they had been in constant apprehension lest the dervishes should shun a battle, and would retire across the desert to el obeid, or elsewhere; and that they would have to perform interminable desert marches, only to find, on arriving at the goal, that the enemy had again moved off. the events of the day, however, seemed to show that this fear was groundless, and that the khalifa had determined to fight a decisive battle for the defence of his capital. the british soldier is ready to support any fatigue, and any hardship, with a prospect of a fight at the end; and, during the advance, he is always haunted by the fear that the enemy will retire, or give in on his approach. this fear was stronger than usual on this expedition, for there was no question as to the greatly superior mobility of the dervishes; and it was evident that, if they chose to avoid fighting, they had it in their power to do so. chapter : omdurman. the night passed quietly, except that shots were occasionally fired by dervishes who crept up within range; and that, once, a mounted man, who had apparently lost his way, rode fearlessly into camp; and then, finding himself close to the troops, turned his horse and galloped off again. no shot followed him, as the orders were strict that the camp was not to be alarmed, unless in the case of a serious attack. at half past three the bugle sounded, and the troops were soon astir. the animals were watered and fed, and the men had a breakfast of cocoa or tea, with biscuits and tinned meat. at half past four colonel broadwood, commanding the egyptian cavalry, sent out a squadron to the hills on the west, and another to surgham hill. the latter arrived at their destination at two minutes past five, when daylight had just broken. the officer in command saw at once that the dervish army had been reinforced in the night, and were marching to attack us. news was at once sent back to the camp, where all was in readiness for an advance. no news could have been more welcome. it was one thing to attack the dervishes in their chosen position, and to carry the narrow streets of omdurman at the point of the bayonet--the dervishes had shown, at abu hamed, how desperately they could fight under such circumstances--and another to meet them while attacking our position, in the open. this was protected, along the line occupied by the white troops, by a hedge; while the three egyptian brigades had constructed shelter trenches. these afforded a vastly better defence against a foe advancing by daylight, although they would not be so effective in checking a sudden and determined rush, in the darkness. preparations were at once made to oppose the enemy. the sirdar and his staff were already mounting, when the news arrived. the horses were now taken to the rear, the reserve ammunition boxes lifted from the mules' backs, and the animals led to a sheltered position, behind some huts. the guns were wheeled up into positions between the infantry brigades. the troops were disposed in line, two deep; two companies of each battalion, with the stretchers and bearers, taking post at a short distance farther back, to reinforce the front line if hardly pressed, and to supply it from the reserve store of ammunition. already the gunboats had recommenced the bombardment of omdurman, and the mosque of the mahdi, but as soon as news came that the dervishes were advancing to the attack, they were signalled to return to cover the flank of the zareba. on their arrival, they took up a position whence they could shell the line by which the dervishes were advancing, and which would bring them apparently five or six hundred yards west of surgham hill. the lancers at once started forward to cover the left flank of the position. in a few minutes they reached surgham hill, and joined the egyptian squadron there. the sight from the crest of surgham hill was grand. the enemy's front extended over three miles. the lines were deep and compact, and the banners floated above them. they were advancing steadily and in good order, and their battle cries rose and fell in measured cadence. their numbers were variously estimated at from fifty to seventy thousand--a superb force, consisting of men as brave as any in the world, and animated by religious fanaticism, and an intense hatred of those they were marching to assail. in the centre were the khalifa's own corps, twenty thousand strong. on their right was the banner of yacoub, his brother, and beyond, two divisions led by well-known emirs; while on his left was the division led by his son, osman, known as sheik ed din, the nominal commander-in-chief of the whole force. the st lancers, out in skirmishing order, were speedily driven back by the dervishes, and retired into the zareba. when the latter came near enough to see the small british force, a shout of exultation rose from their ranks, for they felt certain now of surrounding and annihilating the infidels, according to the prophecy. on our side the satisfaction was no less marked. the front line moved forward to the thorny hedge, and prepared to open fire above it. the black troops uttered a joyful shout of defiance, as they took their places in their trenches. when the enemy were two thousand eight hundred yards away, the three batteries on the left of the zareba opened fire; and two batteries on the right, and a number of maxims, joined in pouring shell and bullets into the thickest of the dervish mass round the khalifa's banner. the effect was terrible. for a moment the dervish lines halted, astonished at the storm to which they were exposed. but it was only for a moment. the wide gaps were filled up, and at a quicker pace than before, the great line swept on; the banner bearers and baggara horsemen pushing forward to the front, to encourage the infantry. seeing how persistently they were coming on, the sirdar ordered the men of lyttleton's brigade to open fire at long range. the grenadiers were the first to begin, firing volleys in sections. the other regiments of the brigade were soon hard at it, but neither they nor the maxims appeared to be doing serious execution, while the terrible effect of the shell fire could really be seen. but, although great numbers of the enemy were killed or wounded by the bursting shells, there was no halt in the forward movement. suddenly, over the crest and sides of the surgham hill, the division of the dervish right, reinforced by a portion of yacoub's division, appeared; and over fifteen thousand men came streaming down the hill, waving banners and shouting their war cries. they were led by their emirs, on horseback; but the infantry kept pace with these, occasionally discharging their rifles at random. the guns of the three batteries, and one of the maxims, were swung round and opened upon them. they were less than a mile away, and the whole of gatacre's division opened a terrific fire. still the dervishes held on, leaving the ground they passed over white with fallen men. from seventeen hundred yards the sights had to be lowered rapidly, but at a thousand yards they held their foe. no man could cross the ground swept by the hail of balls. so rapid and sustained was the fire, that men had to retire to refill their pouches from the reserve ammunition, and the rifles were so heated that they could no longer be held. in some cases the men changed their weapons for those of the companies in reserve, in others these companies closed up and took the places of the front line. not for a moment was there any cessation in the fire. unable to do more, yacoub's men moved towards the front and joined the main body, whose advance had been checked by the fire of maxwell's egyptian brigade. a few rounds had been fired by the three cannon that the khalifa had brought out with him, but they all fell short. on our side the casualties had been few. in their desperate attempt to get at close quarters, the dervish riflemen had not stopped to reload the weapons they had discharged, and there was practically no return to the awful fire to which they had been exposed. but while yacoub's force had been terribly punished, and the main body, brought to a standstill at a distance of fourteen hundred yards, had suffered almost as heavily, the battle had not gone so well to the right of our position, towards which the khalifa was now moving. broadwood's horse, and the camel corps, had been driven off the hill they occupied; and so fierce was the attack that three of the guns of the horse battery had to be left behind. the camel corps were ordered to retire rapidly, and make for shelter to the right rear of the camp. the force made two or three stands, and the egyptian cavalry more than once charged the pursuing horsemen. the gunboats opened fire, and covered the final retirement of the camel corps, which had lost eighty men. the cavalry did not retire to the zareba, but continued to fall back, occasionally turning and facing the enemy, until they were five miles away; when the dervishes gave up the pursuit, and sat down to rest after their tremendous exertions. although forced to retire, the cavalry had done good service, for they had drawn off a great body of the enemy at a critical moment, and these were unable to return and take part in the battle still raging. at length, the khalifa moved off with all his force behind the western hills, and for a short time there was a lull in the battle. many of the wounded tribesmen crawled up to within seven or eight hundred yards of the zareba, and there opened fire. their aim was good, and men began to drop fast, in spite of the volleys fired to clear off the troublesome foe. but their fire was soon disregarded for, from the ravines in the range of low hills, behind which the khalifa's force had disappeared, a mass of men burst out at a hard run. from their shelter behind surgham hill, a portion of the force who were there also swept down to join the khalifa, while yacoub advanced from the southwest, and another body from the west. instantly the infantry and artillery fire broke out again. on the previous day, the distance had been measured and marked on several conspicuous objects; and the storm of shells tore the ranks of the enemy, and the rifles swept them with a rain of bullets. but, in face of all this, the dervishes continued to advance at a run, their numbers thinning every minute. two or three hundred horsemen, with their emirs, dashed at the zareba at full gallop. shrapnel, maxim and rifle bullets swept their ranks, but nearer and nearer they came, with lessening numbers every yard, until the last of them fell within about two hundred yards of maxwell's line. animated by the example, the infantry rushed forward. the black flag was planted within nine hundred yards of maxwell's left; but, in addition to the egyptian fire, the crossfire of the british divisions poured upon those around it. the main body began to waver, but the khalifa and his emirs did their best to encourage and rally them. the flag was riddled with balls, and the men who held it were shot down; but others seized the post of honour, until a pile of bodies accumulated round it. at last, but one man remained standing there. for a minute he stood quietly immovable, then fell forward dead. then the dervishes lost heart, and began to fall back in ones and twos, then in dozens, until the last had disappeared behind the hills. the troops then turned their attention to the men who, lying in shelter, were still maintaining their fire. there were fully a thousand of these, and the greater portion of our casualties took place from their fire, while the troops were occupied in repelling the main attack. it was not long, however, before bullets and shell proved too much for them; and those who survived crawled away, to join their kinsmen behind the hills. it was eight o'clock now, and the victory had apparently been won. some ten thousand of the khalifa's best troops had been killed or wounded. in the british division, one officer and one man had been killed, and three officers and sixty-five men wounded. the latter were at once placed on board the hospital barges. fresh ammunition was served out and, half an hour after the last shot was fired, the army prepared to march on omdurman. it was most important that they should arrive at the town before ed din's dervishes should reach it; for unless they could do so, the loss that would be incurred in capturing it would be vastly greater than that which had been suffered in the battle. at nine o'clock the start was made. the troops advanced in brigades. lyttleton led on the left, wauchope was on his right, maxwell somewhat in the rear, while still more to the right came lewis, and farther out on the plain macdonald. they formed roughly half a semicircle. lyttleton, followed by wauchope, was to march between the river and surgham hill. maxwell was to cross over the hill, while lewis and macdonald were to keep farther out to the right. collinson's egyptian brigade was to guard the stores and materials left behind. the st lancers scouted ahead of the british brigades, to discover if any foe were lurking behind surgham hill. when about half a mile south of the hill, they saw a small party of dervish cavalry and some infantry, who were hiding in what looked like a shallow water course. the four squadrons rode forward at a gallop. a sharp musketry fire opened upon them, but without hesitation they dashed headlong at the dervishes, when they found that, instead of a hundred and fifty foemen as they had supposed, some fifteen hundred dervishes were lying concealed in the water course. it was too late to draw rein, and with a cheer the cavalry rode down into the midst of the foe. there was a wild, fierce fight, lance against spear, sabre against sword, the butt-end of a rifle or the deadly knife. some cut their way through unscathed. others were surrounded and cut off. splendid feats of heroism were performed. many of those who got over returned to rescue officers or comrades, until at last all the survivors climbed the bank. the brunt of the fighting fell upon the two central squadrons. not only were the enemy thickest where they charged, but the opposite bank of the deep nullah was composed of rough boulders, almost impassable by horses. these squadrons lost sixteen killed and nineteen wounded. altogether, twenty-two officers and men were killed, and fifty wounded; and there were one hundred and nineteen casualties among the horses. once across, the survivors gathered at a point where their fire commanded the water course; and, dismounting, speedily drove the dervishes from it. on examining it afterwards, it was found that sixty dead dervishes lay where the central squadrons had cut their way through. the charge, in its daring and heroism, resembled that of the rd light dragoons at talavera. the fall into the ravine, on that occasion, was much deeper than that into which the lancers dashed; but it was not occupied by a desperate force, and although many were injured by the fall, it was in their subsequent charge, against a whole french division, that they were almost annihilated. both incidents were, like the balaclava charge, magnificent; but they were not war. a desperate charge, to cover the retreat of a defeated army, is legitimate and worthy of all praise, even if the gallant men who make it are annihilated; but this was not the case at talavera, nor at omdurman. it was a brilliant but a costly mistake. the bravery shown was superb, and the manner in which officers and men rode back into the struggling mass, to rescue comrades, beyond all praise; but the charge should never have been made, and the lives were uselessly sacrificed. as yet, all was quiet at other points. bodies of the enemy could be seen, making their way towards omdurman. the battery opposite the town had, from early morning, been keeping up a fire from its heavy guns upon it; but, save for the occasional shot of a lurking dervish, all was quiet elsewhere. while the cavalry charge was in progress, gregory had moved along the line of the egyptian brigades with general hunter. suddenly, from behind the hills where the khalifa had fallen back with his defeated army, a column of fully twelve thousand men, led by the banner bearers and emirs, poured out again. a strong body sprang forward from another valley, and made for the southeastern corner of macdonald's brigade, which had moved almost due west from the position it had occupied in the zareba; while the large force that had chased away the egyptian cavalry were seen, returning to attack him in the rear. general hunter, who was riding between macdonald's and lewis's brigades, which were now a good mile apart, exclaimed to gregory, who happened to be the nearest officer to him: "ride to macdonald, and tell him to fall back, if possible!" then he turned, and galloped off to fetch up reinforcements. but the need was already seen. the sudden uproar had attracted the attention of the whole army, and the sirdar instantly grasped the situation. the moment was indeed critical. if macdonald's brigade were overwhelmed, it might have meant a general disaster; and the sirdar at once sent orders to wauchope's brigade, to go, at the double, to macdonald's aid. fortunately colonel long, who commanded the artillery, had sent three batteries with macdonald's brigade. collinson's brigade were far away near the river, lewis's were themselves threatened. it was evident, at once, that no assistance could reach macdonald in time. when gregory reached him, the dervishes were already approaching. "it cannot be done," macdonald said sternly, when gregory delivered the message. "we must fight!" indeed, to retreat would have meant destruction. the fire would have been ineffective, and the thirty thousand fierce foes would have been among them. there was nothing to do but to fight. macdonald had marched out with the th soudanese on his left, the nd egyptians in the centre, and the th soudanese on the right--all in line. behind, in column, were the th soudanese. the last were at once brought up into line, to face the advancing enemy. fortunately, the sheik ed din's force was still some little distance away. the batteries took their place in the openings between the battalions, and the maxim-nordenfeldts were soon carrying death into the advancing foe; while the martini-henry, with which the black and egyptian troops were armed, mowed them down as by a scythe. the soudanese battalions fired, as was their custom, individually, as fast as they could load; the egyptian battalion by steady volleys. still the enemy pressed on, until they were within two hundred yards of the line. the emirs and other leaders, baggara horse and many spearmen, still held on; until they fell, a few feet only from the steady infantry. the rear ranks of the dervishes now began to fall back, and the desperate charges of their leaders grew feebler; but ed din's division was now within a thousand yards. macdonald, confident that the main attack was broken, threw back the th soudanese to face it, and wheeled a couple of his batteries to support them. the already retreating dervishes, encouraged by the arrival of ed din's division, returned to the attack. the th soudanese swung round, to aid the th in their struggle with ed din's troops. the charges of the dervishes were impetuous in the extreme. regardless of the storm of shell and bullets they rushed on, and would have thrust themselves between the th and th, had not the nd egyptians, wheeling at the double, thrown themselves into the gap. the dervishes pressed right up to them, and bayonet and spear frequently crossed; but in a fight of this kind, discipline tells its tale. the blacks and egyptians maintained their lines, steadily and firmly; and against these, individual effort and courage, even of the highest quality, were in vain. the ground being now cleared, the gunboats opened with maxim and cannon upon the rear of the dervishes. the camel corps coming up, each man dismounted and added his fire to the turmoil; and, finally, three of wauchope's battalions arrived, and the lincolns, doubling to the right, opened a terrible flank fire. the dervishes broke and fled; not, as usual, sullenly and reluctantly, but at full speed, stooping low to escape the storm of bullets that pursued them. zaki had, throughout the day, kept close to gregory, ready to hold his horse when he dismounted; but, quick-footed as he was, he was left behind when his master galloped across to macdonald. he was up, however, in the course of a minute or two, and gregory was glad to see him, for the horse was kicking and plunging at the roar of the approaching enemy; and was almost maddened when to this was added the crash of the batteries and musketry. "put my blanket round his head, zaki," gregory said, when the black ran up. "wrap it round so that he cannot see. hold the bridle with one hand, and stroke him with the other, and keep on talking to him; he knows your voice. i don't want to dismount if i can help it, for with my field glasses i see everything that is taking place, and i will tell you how matters are going." for the moment, it seemed as if the surging crowd streaming down must carry all before it; but the steadiness with which the th soudanese moved into their place on the flank of the line, and the other regiments remained, as if on parade, soon reassured him. the terrible slaughter that was taking place in the ranks of the dervishes soon showed that, in that quarter at least, there was no fear of things going wrong; but he could not but look anxiously towards the great mass of men approaching from the north. it was a matter of minutes. would the present attack be repulsed in time for the position to be changed, to meet the coming storm? occasionally, gregory looked back to see if reinforcements were coming. wauchope's brigade was visible over the tops of the scattered bushes. the movements of the line showed that they were coming on at the double, but they were farther away than ed din's host, and the latter were running like deer. he felt a deep sense of relief when the th soudanese were thrown back, performing the movement as quietly and steadily as if on a drill ground; and two batteries of artillery galloped across to their support. he had hardly expected such calm courage from the black battalion. as to the bravery of the soudanese troops, there was no question. they were of the same blood and race as their foes, and had shown how bravely they could fight in many a previous battle; but he was not prepared for the steady way in which they worked, under such novel circumstances; and although they, too, must have known that every moment was of consequence, they moved without haste or hurry into the new position, scarcely glancing at the torrent which was rushing on towards them. not less steadily and quietly did the th, considered to be the crack regiment of the brigade, swing round; and as calmly and firmly did the egyptian battalion--composed of the peasants who, but twenty years before, had been considered among the most cowardly of people, a host of whom would have fled before a dozen of the dreaded dervishes--march into the gap between the two black regiments, and manfully hold their own. and yet, he could not but feel sorry for the valiant savages who, under so awful a fire, still pressed forward to certain death; their numbers withering away at every step, until they dwindled to nothing, only to be replaced by a fresh band, which darted forward to meet a similar fate; and yet, when he remembered the wholesale slaughter at metemmeh, the annihilation of countless villages and of their inhabitants, and, above all, the absolute destruction of the army of hicks pasha, the capture of khartoum, the murder of gordon, and the reduction to a state of slavery of all the peaceful tribes of the soudan, he could not but feel that the annihilation of these human tigers, and the wiping out of their false creed, was a necessity. when the last shot was fired, he dismounted and leant against his horse, completely unnerved by the tremendous excitement that had been compressed into the space of half an hour. zaki was in ecstasy at the victory. the ruthless massacre of so many of his tribesmen, the ruin of his native village, and the murder of his relations was avenged, at last. the reign of the dervishes was over. henceforth men could till their fields in peace. it was possible that, even yet, he might find his mother and sisters still alive, in the city but a few miles away, living in wretched existence as slaves of their captors. tears of joy streamed down his cheeks. he would have liked to help to revenge the wrongs of his tribe, but his master needed him; and moreover, there was no place for an untrained man in the ranks of the soudanese regiments. they were doing their work better than he could. still, it was the one bitter drop in his intense joy, that he had not been able to aid in the conflict. he expressed this to gregory. "you have had your share in the fight, zaki, just as i have had. i have not fired a shot, but i have been in the battle, and run its risks, and so have you. each of us has done his duty, and we can say, for the rest of our lives, that we have borne our share in the great battle that has smashed up the power of the khalifa, and the rule of the dervishes." chapter : khartoum. there was no pause or rest for the troops who had been fighting, for so many hours, in the heat of the african sun. it was all important to occupy omdurman before the remnants of the khalifa's army reached it; and as it was known that the khalifa himself had returned there, it was hoped that he might be captured. it was ten o'clock when macdonald's brigade fired their last shot. in half an hour, the troops went forward again. the field presented a terrible appearance, being thickly dotted with dead, from the surgham hill across the plain; and round, by the kerreri hills, to the spot where macdonald's brigade had made their stand. there were comparatively few wounded; for, wiry and hardy as they were, the wounded dervishes, unless mortally hit, were for the most part able to crawl or walk away; which they had done unmolested, for on each occasion after the bugle sounded cease firing, not a shot was fired at them. but of dead there were fully ten thousand, scattered more or less thickly over the plain. from the position in which they were placed, the egyptian troops, as they marched south, passed the spot where the khalifa's flag was still flying, as it had been left after its last defenders had fallen. slatin, who was with the army, rode over the plain at the sirdar's request, to ascertain if any of the dervish leaders were among the fallen. he recognized many, but the khalifa, his son ed din, and osman digna were not among them. the last-named had ever been chary of exposing himself, and had probably, as was his custom, viewed the battle from a safe distance. but round the flag were the khalifa's brother, yacoub, and ten or twelve of the leading emirs. on our side, the loss had been comparatively light. our total number of casualties, including the wounded, was five hundred and twenty-four; towards which macdonald's brigade contributed one hundred and twenty-eight. marching steadily on, the force halted in the outlying suburb of omdurman, at midday, to obtain much needed food and water. as soon as the cavalry had watered their horses, they were sent round to the south of the town to cut off fugitives, and some of the gunboats moved up to their support. deputations of the townsfolk, greeks and natives, came out and offered to surrender. they said that the khalifa was in his house, and that he had about a thousand of his bodyguard with him, but that they could not offer any successful resistance. the town was full of fugitive dervishes; many thousands of them were there--among them a great number of wounded. at half past four the sirdar, with his staff, entered the town; accompanied by maxwell's egyptian brigade. only a few shots were fired. the dervish courage was broken. it was to the followers of the prophet, and not to the infidels, that the plains of kerreri had proved fatal. it was their bodies, and not those of the white soldiers, that were strewn there so thickly. the promise of the khalifa had been falsified, the tomb of the mahdi was crumbling into ruins, the bravest of their troops had fallen--what more was there to be done? as slatin pasha rode in at the head of the troops, he was instantly recognized by the people, among whom, for years, he had been a prisoner; and on his assurances that mercy would be shown to all, if there was no resistance, numbers of the dervishes came out from their houses and huts, and laid down their arms. the women flocked out into the streets, uttering their long and quavering cries of welcome. to them the entry of the british was a relief from a living death, as almost all were captives taken in war, or in the dervish raids upon quiet villages. they could scarce even yet believe that they were free--that their tyrants were slain or fugitives. intense was the surprise and relief of the population, when they were told that there would be no looting--no harm done to any by the conquerors; that all would be free, if they chose, to depart to their homes, and to take their few belongings with them. the scene in the town was awful--the stench overpowering! the dervishes were absolutely ignorant of all sanitary methods--pools of the foulest slush abounded, and thousands of dead animals, in all stages of decomposition, lay about the streets. among them were numerous dead bodies, principally of girls and women, who had been killed by their brutal husbands or masters, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the british. there were also many dead dervishes, and others desperately wounded. strangely enough, the latter did not seem to regard their victorious enemy with the hate that had been exhibited by many of the wounded in the field; and some of them half raised themselves, and saluted the sirdar and his staff as they passed along. presently, there was a commotion in the crowd. the wall of the great granary had been breached, by some of the lyddite shells, and the grain had poured out into the street. the natives near ran up to gather it; and, finding that they were not molested by the british, the news spread rapidly. the crowds in the streets melted away; and the inhabitants, for the most part half starved, made a mad rush to the spot, where in a short time many thousands of men, women, and children were hard at work, gathering and carrying off the grain. in the meantime the sirdar, with a party of maxwell's brigade, passed along by the side of the great wall enclosing the buildings, and square mile of ground, in which were the khalifa's house, the tomb of the mahdi, the arsenal, storehouses, and the homes of the principal emirs. as soon as they had turned the corner of the wall, in view of the tomb and the khalifa's house, a brisk fire was opened by the garrison. fortunately, the wall was not loopholed, and they had to get on the top of it, or on to the flat roofs of the houses, to fire. maxwell's men soon silenced them, and on the troops passing in through the breaches, and along the wall, most of the dervishes at once surrendered. for a time, further advance was barred by an inner wall, that still intervened between them and the khalifa's house. after the gunboats' fire had cleared away a number of the dervishes clustered outside the south wall, the sirdar and his staff entered by a gateway, and moved towards the khalifa's house. this was searched by slatin pasha, and several officers and soldiers; but, to the general disappointment, it was found that the khalifa had escaped but a short time before, carrying with him his treasure; his wives having been sent off, as soon as he returned from the field of battle. the mahdi's tomb was a ruin. a large portion of the dome had been knocked away, and the falling fragments had smashed the iron railings that surrounded the tomb, itself. there was nothing more to be done. the pursuit of the khalifa, mounted, as he would be, on fresh horses, was out of the question. it was already almost dark, and men and horses had been at work since before daybreak. the town was in a very disturbed state--large numbers of the dervishes were still possessed of their arms, and the greater portion of the troops were withdrawn from the pestilential town. next morning a larger force was marched in, and the work of disarmament completed. the cavalry went out and scouted the country, and brought in large numbers of prisoners. the men belonging to the tribes that had renounced mahdism--jaalin and others--were at once allowed to leave for their homes; and numbers of others, whose appearance was peaceful, and who had at once given up their arms, were also released; but there were still no fewer than eleven thousand prisoners, among them some of the khalifa's emirs. many of the townspeople had started, the previous evening, for the field of battle; to bury the bodies of their friends who had fallen, and to bring in the wounded. of the latter, after our own men had been attended to, fully nine thousand received aid and attention from the british doctors. on the morning after the occupation, the work of purification began. great numbers of the unwounded prisoners, and of the townspeople, were set to work to clean the streets; and, in a couple of days, the wider thoroughfares and avenues had been thoroughly cleansed. having but little to do, gregory went into the khalifa's arsenal. this building was full of war material of all kinds; including a perfectly appointed battery of krupp guns, numbers of old cannon, modern machine-guns, rifles and pistols; mixed up with musical instruments, suits of chain armour, steel helmets, hundreds of battle flags, and thousands of native spears, swords, and shields. besides these the collection comprised ivory, percussion caps, lead, copper, and bronze, looms, pianos, sewing machines, boilers, steam engines, agricultural implements, ostrich feathers, wooden and iron bedsteads, paints, india rubber, leather water bottles, clothes, three state coaches, and an american buggy. there were also a modern smithy, where gunpowder, shell, bullets, and cartridge cases were made and stored; and a well-appointed engineers' shop and foundry, with several steam engines, turning lathes, and other tools. the machinery had been brought from gordon's arsenal at khartoum, where the foreman had been employed; and the workmen were, for the most part, greeks. the battle was fought on friday, the nd of september. on sunday a flotilla of boats, containing detachments from all the british and egyptian regiments, and every officer who could be spared from duty, proceeded up the river to khartoum. the ruined and deserted city looked delightful, after the sand, dirt, and wretchedness of omdurman. the gardens of the governor's house, and other principal buildings, had run wild; and the green foliage was restful indeed, to the eye, after the waste of sand, rock, and scrub that had been traversed by the army on its way from wady halfa. the vessels drew up opposite a grove of tall palms. beyond them appeared what had been the government house. the upper story was gone, the windows were filled up with bricks, and a large acacia stood in front of the building. the troops formed up before the palace, in three sides of a square--the egyptians were to the left, looking from the river, and the british to the right--the sirdar, and the generals of the divisions and brigades, facing the centre. two flagstaffs had been raised on the upper story. the sirdar gave the signal, and the british and egyptian flags were run up. as they flew out, one of the gunboats fired a salute, the guards' band struck up "god save the queen!" and the band of the th soudanese then played the khedive's hymn, while the generals and all present stood in salute, with their hands to the peak of their helmets. the sirdar's call for three cheers for the queen was enthusiastically responded to, every helmet being raised. similar cheers were then given for the khedive, the bands again struck up, and twenty-one guns were fired. as the last gun echoed out, the guards played the dead march, in saul; and the black band the march called toll for the brave, the latter in memory of the khedive's subjects, who had died with gordon. then minute guns were fired, and four chaplains--anglican, presbyterian, methodist, and catholic--by turns read a psalm or a prayer. the pipers then wailed a dirge, and finally the soudanese bands played gordon's favourite hymn, abide with me. at the conclusion, general hunter and the other officers shook hands with the sirdar, one by one. kitchener himself was deeply moved, and well he might be! fourteen years of his life had been spent in preparing for, and carrying out, this campaign; and now the great task was done. gordon was avenged. of the dervish host, the remnant were scattered fugitives. the mahdi's cause, the foulest and most bloodstained tyranny that had ever existed, transforming as it did a flourishing province into an almost uninhabited desert, was crushed forever; and it was his patient and unsparing labour, his wonderful organization, that had been the main factor in the work. no wonder that even the iron sirdar almost broke down, at such a moment. the bugles sounded, and the troops broke up their formation; and, for half an hour, wandered through the empty chambers of the palace, and the wild and beautiful garden. another bugle call, and they streamed down to the water's edge, took to the boats, and returned to omdurman. the long-delayed duty, which england owed to one of her noblest sons, had been done. gordon had had his burial. none knew where his bones reposed, but that mattered little. in the place where he was slain, all honour had been done to him; and the british flag waved over the spot where he disappeared, forever, from the sight of his countrymen. on gregory's return, he found zaki in a state of the highest excitement. "why, what is the matter with you, zaki?" "oh, master, i have found my two sisters!" "that is good news, indeed. i am very glad to hear it, zaki. how did you find them?" "while you were away, master, i had been walking through the town; and when i was passing near the outskirts, a woman came to a door, and looked very hard at me. then she suddenly drew aside the cloth from her face and cried, 'surely it is zaki!' "then i knew her--she was my elder sister. then another woman came to the door--it was my younger sister, and you can imagine my joy. both had been married to baggaras, who had carried them off. their husbands had gone to the battle, and had not returned; and some neighbours who had gone to the battlefield, next day, brought back news that they had found both bodies; so one sister came to stay with the other. people had told them that it was safe to go out, and that no one was injured who did so; but they had a store of grain in the house, and they decided to wait and see what happened. "one of them, seeing me come along, and observing that i belonged to the jaalin, came out to ask me the news; and they were as delighted as i was, at our meeting." "and your mother, do they know anything of her?" "she was killed, master," zaki said sorrowfully. "i thought possibly it would be so. the dervishes did not carry off old women. they killed them, and the little children. i had never hoped to see her again; but i did think, when we entered omdurman, that my sisters might be here." "what are they going to do?" "they will go down to berber. i have told them that many of the people here are going down, and that they will find no difficulty in joining a party. they are sure to find people they know, at berber, for most of the jaalin who have escaped have gone there, since we occupied the place. i told them that i would give them what money i had; for, since i have been in my lord's service, i have had no occasion to spend aught that he has paid me." "i have no doubt, zaki, that i can arrange for them to go down in one of the empty store boats. i believe that many of the captives who have been released will be sent down that way; and, of course, i shall be glad to give your sisters enough to keep them, for some time, at berber." "my lord is too good," zaki said gratefully. "nonsense, zaki! you saved my life, and i owe you a great deal. i will go down, at once, to the river--that is, if your sisters are ready to start tomorrow--and i have no doubt the transport officer will give me an order, for them, to go in one of the boats." as he had expected, he had no difficulty in making arrangements. several of the native boats, that had already landed their stores, would leave on the following day; and gregory obtained an order for the passage of the two women. he then drew some money from the paymaster and, on his return to headquarters, gave zaki a hundred dollars for his sisters. the black was overpowered with joy and, going off, returned with the two girls--for they were little more. each took one of gregory's hands, and pressed it to her forehead and heart, and murmured her thanks. "do not thank me," he said. "it is but a small part of the debt that i owe your brother. i do not know whether he has told you that he saved my life, at the risk of his own." "i have been thinking, my lord," zaki said, "that it would be well for them to go down in the boat as far as dongola. our village is not many miles from that place, and many of our people fled there; and doubtless they will return to their villages, and plant their fields, now that they have no longer any fear of the dervishes. at any rate, they are certain to meet friends, at dongola." "very well, i will get the order altered. there will be no difficulty about that. i shall be very glad to know that you will have a home to go to, when this war is quite over." "i shall never go, as long as my lord will keep me," zaki said, fervently. "i certainly shall not part with you, zaki, as long as i remain in this country, which will probably be for a long time." the next day, zaki aided in carrying his sisters' goods down to the river bank, and saw them on board one of the native craft, which carried also fifteen or twenty other fugitives. "now, mr. hilliard," general hunter said, that morning, "you can devote yourself to the object for which you came here. unquestionably, there must be many among the prisoners who fought at el obeid. you may gather all particulars of the battle, from their lips. "the greater portion of the white troops will march down the country, at once. of course, i don't know what your plans may be; but unless you have a very good reason to the contrary, i should certainly advise you to retain your position in the egyptian army. a great deal of work will have to be done, before matters are quite settled down; and then civil administration of some sort will, of course, be formed, under which you would certainly obtain a far better post than you could hope to get, at home." "i have quite made up my mind to do so, sir. certainly, when i left cairo, i had no idea of remaining permanently in the service; but i have been so exceptionally fortunate, owing largely to your kindness, that i have been seriously thinking the matter over; and am quite determined that, if i can obtain an appointment, i will remain here. i have no ties, whatever, either in lower egypt or in england; no way of earning my living there; and possibly, as i have begun so early, i may rest, in time, in what will no doubt become an important branch of the egyptian administration." "i am glad to hear that you take that view. we all grumble at the soudan, and yet there are few of us but would be sorry to leave it; and there can be no doubt whatever that, under our administration, it will, in time, become a magnificently rich and fertile province." being relieved from other duty, at present, gregory went to the great yard near the mosque, called the praying square, where the majority of the dervish prisoners were confined. addressing a man of some five-and-forty years, he asked him, in arabic, whether many among the prisoners had fought against hicks, at el obeid. the man hesitated. "i am not asking on the part of the sirdar," gregory said; "and you may be sure that, if no punishment is inflicted against those who have fought against us now, there can be no thought of punishment, for a thing that happened so many years ago. my father was, i believe, one of the english officers killed there; but as he spoke arabic well, it is just possible he was not killed; but, like slatin and neufeld, was kept as a slave, in case he might be useful." "there are many here who fought against hicks," the native said. "i myself fought there, and nearly all the baggara who are as old as i am were there, also. i have never heard of a white man who escaped death. when we broke into the square, the english general and his officers charged into the middle of us, and all fell. i was not close at the time, but i saw their bodies, an hour afterwards." "my father was not a fighting officer. he was the interpreter, and may not have been near the others. when the attack by your people was made, i have heard that one of the soudanese regiments held together, and marched away, and that there was a white officer with them." "that was so. two days afterwards, we surrounded them. they fought hard; and at last, when we had lost many men, we offered that, if they would surrender and become the mahdi's men, they would be spared. most of them did so, just as some of our tribesmen, taken by you at atbara, have now taken service with you." "but the white officer--what became of him?" "i cannot say," the native said. "i have no memory of him. he may have fallen before they surrendered--who can say? certainly, i do not remember a white man being killed, after they did so. i will ask others who were there, and tomorrow will tell you what they say." it was a busy day, in omdurman. the army that had made such efforts, and achieved so great a triumph, marched in military order, with bands playing, through the town. the sirdar had a double motive, in ordering them to do so. in the first place, it was a legitimate triumph of the troops, thus to march as conquerors through the town. in the second place the sight would impress, not only the inhabitants, but the dervish prisoners, with a sense of the power of those who, henceforth, would be their masters; and, undoubtedly, the show had the desired effect. the orderly ranks, as they swept along, the proud demeanour of the men, their physique and equipment, created a profound impression among the natives. half of them were their own kinsmen, many of whom had fought for the khalifa, and had now aided in defeating him. this was what had been accomplished by drill and discipline, and the influence of white officers. the soudanese were evidently well fed and cared for; not even the haughty baggara held their heads so high. especially admired were the artillery, battery following battery, in perfect order. these were the guns that had carried death into the ranks of the dervishes, against whose fire even the fanatical bravery of the followers of the khalifa was unable to stand. when the march past was concluded, there was scarce one of the prisoners who would not gladly have enlisted. on the following day, gregory again went to the praying square. the man he had the morning before seen, at once came up to him. "i have enquired of many who were at el obeid, my lord," he said. "all say that there was no white man in the camp, when the black battalion surrendered, though one had been seen while the fighting was going on. nor was the body of one found, where the fight had taken place on the previous day. it was a matter of talk among the dervishes, at the time; for they had lain in a circle round the enemy, and were convinced that no one passed through their lines. those who surrendered said that he had taken the command, and had exposed himself to the hottest fire, and encouraged them; telling them that the more bravely they defended themselves, the more likely they were to obtain favourable terms. the night before, he had advised them to accept any offer the dervishes might make, but on the following morning he was missing, and none could give any account of what had become of him. the same tale is told by all to whom i have spoken." the story made a profound impression upon gregory. it seemed possible that the father, of whom he had no remembrance, might have been the sole white survivor of hicks's army. true, there was nothing to prove that he was the white man who had joined the black battalion that escaped the first day's massacre. there were other non-combatants: vizitelly, the artist of the illustrated london news, and o'donovan, the correspondent of the daily news. either of these might also have been at any other portion of the square, when the attack commenced, and unable to join hicks and his officers, in their final charge into the midst of the enemy. still, it was at least possible that his father was the man who had retired from the field, with the black battalion; and who had, afterwards, so strangely disappeared. if so, what had become of him, all these years? had he made off in disguise, only to be murdered by wandering bands? had he been concealed, for months, in the hut of a friendly tribesman? what had he been doing, since? had he been killed, in trying to make his way down? had he been enslaved, and was he still lingering on, in a wretched existence? he could hardly hope that he had fallen into friendly hands; for, had he been alive, he would surely have managed, with his knowledge of the country, to make his way down; or to reach khartoum, when it was still held by the egyptians. at any rate, gregory concluded that he might find out whether any european had arrived there, during the siege. he went down to the river, and took a native boat across to khartoum. at the ceremony, on sunday, many natives watched the arrival of the flotilla; and some of these might have been there, in gordon's time. he had no great hopes of it, but there was just a chance. the flags were still flying over the governor's house, when he landed, and a detachment of egyptian troops was stationed there. a native officer came down, when he landed. "i have come across to question some of the natives," he said. "i believe some are still living here." "oh, yes, bimbashi! there are a good many, scattered about among the ruins. they come in, bringing fruit and fish for sale. i think they mostly live down by the riverside." gregory kept on, till he came to the huts occupied by the fishermen, and men who cultivated small plots of ground. he found several who had lived at khartoum, when it was captured; and who had escaped the general massacre, by hiding till nightfall, and then making their way up the river, in boats. none of them could give him the information he sought, but one suggested that he was more likely to hear from the greeks and turks, who worked in the khalifa's arsenal and foundries; as they had been spared, for the services they would be able to render to the mahdi. returning to omdurman, he went to the machine shop. here work had already been resumed, as repairs were needed by several of the gunboats. he went up to the foreman, a man of some sixty years of age. "you were engaged in the city during the siege, were you not?" he said, in arabic, with which he knew the foreman must be thoroughly acquainted. "yes, sir, i had been here ten years before that." "i am very anxious to learn whether any white man, who had survived the battle of el obeid, ever reached this town before its capture." the man thought for some time. "yes," he said, "a white man certainly came here, towards the end of the siege. i know, because i happened to meet him, when i was going home from work; and he asked me the way to the governor's. i should not have known him to be a white man, for he had a native attire; and was as black, from exposure to the sun, as any of the arabs. i gave him directions, and did not ask him any questions; but it was said, afterwards, that he was one of hicks's officers. later, i heard that he went down in the steamer with colonel stewart." "you did not hear his name?" gregory asked, anxiously. "no, sir." "did he talk arabic well?" "extremely well. much better than i did, at the time." "do you remember how long he arrived before the steamer started?" "not very long, sir, though i really cannot tell you how long it was." "after you were cut off, i suppose?" "certainly it was, but i cannot say how long." "no one else, here, would know more about it than you do?" "no, sir; i should think not. but you can ask them." he called up some of the other workmen. all knew that a white officer, of hicks pasha's army, was said to have returned. one of them remembered that he had come down once, with gordon, to see about some repairs required to the engines of a steamer; but he had never heard his name, nor could he recall his personal appearance, except that he seemed to be a man about thirty. but he remembered once seeing him, again, on board stewart's steamer; as they had been working at her engines, just before she started. after thanking the foreman, gregory returned to the hut, where he and two other officers of hunter's staff had taken up their quarters. he was profoundly depressed. this white man might well have been his father; but if so, it was even more certain than before that he had fallen. he knew what had been the fate of stewart's steamer, the remains of which he had seen at hebbeh. the colonel, and all with him, had accepted the invitation of the treacherous sheik of that village, and had been massacred. he would at least go there, and endeavour to learn, from some of the natives, the particulars of the fate of those on board; and whether it was possible that any of the whites could have escaped. after sitting for some time, in thought, he went to general hunter's quarters, and asked to see him. the general listened, sympathetically, to his story. "i never, for a moment, thought that your father could have escaped," he said; "but from what you tell me, it is possible that he did so, only to perish afterwards. but i can well understand how, having learnt so much, you should be anxious to hear more. certainly, i will grant your request for leave to go down to hebbeh. as you know, that place was taken and destroyed, by the river column under earle; or rather under brackenbury, for earle had been killed in the fight at kirkeban. numerous relics were found of the massacre, but the journal stewart was known to have kept was not among them. had it been there it would, no doubt, have mentioned the survivor of hicks's army, who was coming down the river with him. "the place was deserted when brackenbury arrived. it certainly was so, when we came up. since then, some of the inhabitants have probably returned; and may know of places where plunder was hidden away, on the approach of brackenbury's column. no doubt the offer of a reward would lead to their production. "you may not have to be absent long. the british regiments are to go down at once, and several steamers will start tomorrow. i will give you an order to go with them. you will have no difficulty in getting back, for the sirdar has already decided that the railway is to be carried on, at once, from atbara to khartoum; and has, i believe, telegraphed this morning that material and stores are to be sent up, at once. most of these will, no doubt, be brought on by rail; but grain, of which large quantities will be required, for the use of our troops and of the population of the town, will come on by water. "but, no doubt, your quickest way back will be to ride to abu hamed, and take the train up to atbara." "i will be back as soon as i can, general. i am much obliged to you, for letting me go." "i will tell the sirdar that i have given you leave, and why. it is not absolutely necessary, but it is always well that one's name should be kept to the front." the next day, gregory saw the general again. "i mentioned, to the sirdar, that you wanted a fortnight's leave, and told him why. he simply nodded, and said, 'let him have a month, if he wants it.' "he had other things to think of; for, this morning, a small dervish steamer came down the white nile. they had the khalifa's flag flying, and had not heard of what had taken place, till one of the gunboats ran alongside her. of course she surrendered, at once. "it is a curious story they told. they left omdurman a month ago with the sapphire, which carried five hundred men. the object of the voyage was to collect grain. when they reached the old station of fashoda, they had been fired upon by black troops, with some white men among them, who had a strange flag flying. the firing was pretty accurate, for they had forty men killed and wounded; and the emir in command had disembarked, and encamped his troops from the sapphire on the opposite bank, and had sent the small steamer back, to ask the khalifa for orders. "the story seemed so strange, and improbable, that i went down with the sirdar to the boat, which had been brought alongside. there was no doubt that it had been peppered with balls. some of the general's staff cut one of the bullets out of the woodwork, and these fully confirmed the story. they were not leaden balls, or bits of old iron, but conical nickel bullets. they could only have been fired from small-bore rifles, so there were certainly white men at fashoda. of course, no one can form any opinion as to who they are, or where they come from. they may be belgians from the congo. they may--but that is most improbable--be an expeditionary party of italians. but italy is withdrawing, and not pushing forward, so i think it is out of the question that they are concerned in the matter. "the question seems to lie between belgians and french, unless an expedition has been sent up from our possessions on the great lakes. the dervishes in the steamer can only say that the flag is not at all like ours; but as their ignorance of colour is profound, they give all sorts of contradictory statements. anyhow, it is a serious matter. certainly, no foreign power has any right to send an expedition to the nile; and as certainly, if one of them did so, our government would not allow them to remain there; for, beyond all question, fashoda is an egyptian station, and within egyptian territory; which is, at present, as much as to say that a foreign power, established there, would be occupying our country." "it seems an extraordinary proceeding, sir." "very extraordinary. if it were not that it seems the thing has absolutely been done, it would seem improbable that any foreign power could take such an extraordinary, and unjustifiable, course. it is lucky for them, whoever they are, that we have smashed up the dervishes; for they would have made very short work of them, and the nation that sent them would probably never have known their fate." chapter : a voice from the dead. that afternoon, gregory heard that orders had been issued for five of the gunboats to start up the river, the first thing in the morning; that the sirdar himself was going, and was to take up five hundred men of the th soudanese. an order was also issued that all correspondents were to leave, the next day, for cairo. gregory had met one of them, that evening. "so you are all off, i hear, mr. pearson?" "yes; we did have a sort of option given us, but it was really no choice at all. we might go down instantly, or we must stay till the last of the white troops had gone down. that may be a very long time, as there is no saying what may come of this fashoda business. besides, the khalifa has fairly escaped; and if, out of the sixty thousand men with him, some thirty thousand got off, they may yet rally round him: and, in another two or three months, he may be at the head of as large a force as ever. i don't think, after the way the egyptians fought the other day, there will be any need for white troops to back them. still, it is likely that a battalion or two may be left. however, we had practically to choose between going at once, or waiting at least a month; and you may be sure that the censorship would be put on, with a round turn, and that we should not be allowed to say a word of the fashoda business, which would be the only thing worth telegraphing about. so we have all voted for going. "of course, we understand that this pressure has been put upon us, on account of this curious affair at fashoda. fortunately, none of us are sorry to be off. there is certain to be a pause, now, for some time; and one does not want to be kicking one's heels about, in this ghastly town; and though it is rather sharp and peremptory work, i cannot say that i think the sirdar is wrong. whoever these men may be, they must go, that is certain; but of course it will be a somewhat delicate business, and france--that is, if they are frenchmen who are there--is sure to be immensely sore over the business; and it is certainly very desirable that nothing should be written, from here, that could increase that feeling. i have no doubt the sirdar telegraphed home, for instructions, as soon as he got the news of the affair; and i imagine that his going up in the morning, with five gunboats, is proof that he has already received instructions of some sort. "i hope this force is not french. the feeling against us is tremendously strong, in france, and they certainly will not like backing down; but they will have to do that or fight and, with all their big talk, i don't think they are ready to risk a war with us; especially as, though their occupation of fashoda would be an immense annoyance to us, it would be of no possible utility to them. "by the way, we have all got to sell our horses. there is no possibility of taking them down, and it is a question of giving them away, rather than of selling; for, of course, the officers of the british regiments do not want to buy. i have a horse for which i gave twenty-five pounds, at cairo. you are welcome to him. you can give me a couple of pounds, for the saddle and things." "i am very much obliged to you, but it would be robbery." "not at all. if you won't take him, i shall have him shot, tonight. a horse could not possibly pick up food here, and would die of starvation without a master; and it would be still more cruel to give him to a native, for they are brutal horse masters." "well, in that case i shall be glad, indeed, to have him; and i am extremely obliged to you." "that is right. if you will send your man round, i will hand it over to him." "as you are going tomorrow, it is likely that i shall go with you; for i am going down, also, as far as abu hamed, for ten days." "that will be pleasant, though i do not know that it will be so for you; for i own the majority of us are rather sour-tempered, at present. though we may be glad enough to go, one does not care to be sent off at a moment's notice, just as fractious children are turned out of a room, when their elders want a private chat. however, for myself, i am not inclined to grumble. i want to go, and therefore i do not stand on the order of going." later, general hunter gave gregory an order, for a passage in a steamer on which the correspondents of the various newspapers were going down. "what shall we take, master?" zaki asked. "just the clothes we stand in, zaki. i have got a couple of the dervish remingtons, and several packets of ammunition. i will take them, and i can get four more. we will take them all down, as we know the people about hebbeh are not disposed to be friendly. i don't suppose, for a minute, that they are likely to show any hostile feeling; for you may be sure that the fall of omdurman has spread, by this time, over the whole land, and they will be on their best behaviour. still, it is just as well to be able to defend ourselves, and i shall engage four men at abu hamed to go with us. i shall leave all my kit here." it was a pleasant run down the river, to atbara. the correspondents were all heartily glad to be on their way home; and the irritation they had at first felt, at being so suddenly ordered away, at the moment when so unexpected and interesting a development occurred, had subsided. they had witnessed one of the most interesting battles ever fought, had seen the overthrow of the mahdi, and were looking forward to european comforts and luxuries again. at atbara all left the steamer, which was to take in stores, and go up again at once; and proceeded, by a military train, with the first of the returned european regiments. at abu hamed, gregory left them. his first enquiry was whether any boats were going down the river. he learned that several native craft were leaving, and at once engaged a passage in one of them to hebbeh. he had no difficulty, whatever, in engaging four sturdy arabs from among those who were listlessly hanging round the little station. while he was doing this, zaki bought food for six men, for a week; and in less than two hours from his arrival at abu hamed, gregory was on board. the boat at once dropped down the river and, as the current was running strongly, they were off hebbeh next morning, at eight o'clock. a boat put off, and took gregory and his party ashore. as they were seen to land, the village sheik at once came down to them. "is there anything i can do for my lord?" he asked. "yes; i have come here to ascertain whether any of those, who were present at the attack upon the party who landed from the steamer over there, are still living here. there is no question of punishment. on the contrary, i have come here to obtain information as to some private matters, and anyone who can give me that information will be well rewarded." "there are but three men alive who were here at the time, my lord. there were more, but they fled when the boats with the white troops came up, from merawi. i believe they went to the dervish camp at metemmeh. "the three here are quiet and respectable men. they were asked many questions, and guided the white officers to the place where wad etman stood--it was there that those who landed from the steamer first rested--and to the place where the great house of suleiman wad gamr, emir of salamat, stood. "it was there that the much to be regretted attack on the white men was made. when the white army came up, six months afterwards, they blew up the house, and cut down all the palm trees in the village." "i was with the force that came up from merawi, last year. will you bring me the three men you speak of? i would question them, one by one. assure them that they need not be afraid of answering truthfully, even if they themselves were concerned in the attack upon the white officers, and the crew of the steamer, for no steps will be taken against them. it is eighteen years since then; and, no doubt, their houses were destroyed and their groves cut down, when the british column came here and found the place deserted. i am ready to reward them, if i obtain the information i require from them." the three men were presently brought to the spot where gregory had seated himself, in the shade of one of the huts. zaki stood beside him, and the four armed men took post, a short distance away. the first called up was a very old man. in reply to gregory's questions, he said: "i was already old when the steamboat ran ashore. i took no hand in the business; the white men had done me no harm, while the followers of the mahdi had killed many of my family and friends. i heard what was going to be done, and i stayed in my house. i call upon allah to witness that what i say is true!" "do you know if any remains of that expedition are still in existence?" "no, my lord. when the white troops came here, some months afterwards, i fled, as all here did; but i know that, before they destroyed wad gamr's house, they took away some boxes of papers that had been brought ashore from the ship, and were still in the house. i know of nothing else. the clothes of the men on board the steamboat were divided among those who took part in the attack, but there was little booty." gregory knew that, at wad gamr's house, but few signs of the tragedy had been found when general brackenbury's troops entered. bloodstained visiting cards of stewart's, a few scraps of paper, and a field glass had, alone, been discovered, besides the boxes of papers. the next man who came up said that he had been with the party who fell upon the engineers and crew of the boat, by the riverside. "i was ordered to kill them," he said. "had i not done so, i should have been killed, myself." "do you know whether any booty was hidden away, before the english came?" "no, my lord, there was no booty taken. no money was found on board the steamer. we stripped her of the brass work, and took the wood ashore, to burn. the sheik gave us a dollar and a half a man, for what we had done. there may have been some money found on the ship, but as his own men were on board first, and took all that they thought of value, i have naught to say about it." "and you never heard of anything being hidden, before the british troops arrived?" the arab shook his head. "no, my lord, but there may have been, though i never heard of it. i went and fought at kirkeban; and when we were beaten, i fled at once to berber, and remained there until the white troops had all gone down the country." "i may want to question you again tomorrow," gregory said. "here are two dollars. i shall give you as much more, if i want you again." the third man was then called up. he was evidently in fear. "do not be afraid to answer me truly," gregory said. "if you do so, no harm will come to you, whatever share you may have had in the affair. but if you answer falsely, and the truth is afterwards discovered, you will be punished. now, where were you when this business took place?" "we were all ordered, by wad gamr, to gather near his house; and, when the signal was given, we were to run in and kill the white men. we saw them go up to the house. they had been told to leave their arms behind them. one of the sheik's servants came out and waved his arms, and we ran in and killed them." "what happened then?" "we carried the bodies outside the house. then we took what money was found in their pockets, with watches and other things, in to the sheik; and he paid us a dollar and a half a head, and said that we could have their clothes. for my share, i had a jacket belonging to one of them. when i got it home, i found that there was a pocket inside, and in it was a book partly written on, and many other bits of paper." "and what became of that?" gregory asked, eagerly. "i threw it into a corner. it was of no use to me. but when the white troops came up in the boats, and beat us at kirkeban, i came straight home and, seeing the pocketbook, took it and hid it under a rock; for i thought that when the white troops got here, they would find it, and that they might then destroy the house, and cut down my trees. then i went away, and did not come back until they had all gone." "and where is the pocketbook, now?" "it may be under the rock where i hid it, my lord. i have never thought of it, since. it was rubbish." "can you take me to the place?" "i think so. it was not far from my house. i pushed it under the first great rock i came to, for i was in haste; and wanted to be away before the white soldiers, on camels, could get here." "did you hear of any other things being hidden?" "no. i think everything was given up. if this thing had been of value i should, perhaps, have told the sheik; but as it was only written papers, and of no use to anyone, i did not trouble to do so." "well, let us go at once," gregory said, rising to his feet. "although of no use to you, these papers may be of importance." followed by zaki and the four men, gregory went to the peasant's house, which stood a quarter of a mile away. "this is not the house i lived in, then," the man said. "the white troops destroyed every house in the village; but, when they had gone, i built another on the same spot." the hill rose steeply, behind it. the peasant went on, till he stopped at a large boulder. "this was the rock," he said, "where i thrust it under, as far as my arm would reach. i pushed it in on the upper side." the man lay down. "it was just about here," he said. "it is here, my lord. i can just feel it, but i cannot get it out. i pushed it in as far as the tips of my fingers could reach it." "well, go down and cut a couple of sticks, three or four feet long." in ten minutes, the man returned with them. "now take one of them and, when you feel the book, push the stick along its side, until it is well beyond it. then you ought to be able to scrape it out. if you cannot do so, we shall have to roll the stone over. it is a big rock, but with two or three poles, one ought to be able to turn it over." after several attempts, however, the man produced the packet. gregory opened it, with trembling hands. it contained, as the man had said, a large number of loose sheets, evidently torn from a pocketbook, and all covered with close writing. he opened the book that accompanied them. it was written in ink, and the first few words sufficed to tell him that his search was over. it began: "khartoum. thank god, after two years of suffering and misery, since the fatal day at el obeid, i am once again amongst friends. it is true that i am still in peril, for the position here is desperate. still, the army that is coming up to our help may be here in time; and even if they should not do so, this may be found when they come, and will be given to my dear wife at cairo, if she is still there. her name is mrs. hilliard, and her address will surely be known, at the bank." "these are the papers i was looking for," he said to zaki. "i will tell you about them, afterwards." he handed ten dollars to the native, thrust the packet into his breast pocket, and walked slowly down to the river. he had never entertained any hope of finding his father, but this evidence of his death gave him a shock. his mother was right, then. she had always insisted there was a possibility that he might have escaped the massacre at el obeid. he had done so. he had reached khartoum. he had started, full of hope of seeing his wife and child, but had been treacherously massacred, here. he would not, now, read this message from the grave. that must be reserved for some time when he was alone. he knew enough to be able to guess the details--they could not be otherwise than painful. he felt almost glad that his mother was not alive. to him, the loss was scarcely a real one. his father had left him, when an infant. although his mother had so often spoken of him, he had scarcely been a reality to gregory; for when he became old enough to comprehend the matter, it seemed to him certain that his father must have been killed. he could, then, hardly understand how his mother could cling to hope. his father had been more a real character to him, since he started from cairo, than ever before. he knew the desert, now, and its fierce inhabitants. he could picture the battle and since the fight at omdurman he had been able to see, before him, the wild rush on the egyptian square, the mad confusion, the charge of a handful of white officers, and the one white man going off, with the black battalion that held together. if, then, it was a shock to him to know how his father had died, how vastly greater would it have been, to his mother! she had pictured him as dying suddenly, fighting to the last, and scarce conscious of pain till he received a fatal wound. she had said, to gregory, that it was better to think of his father as having died thus, than lingering in hopeless slavery, like neufeld; but it would have been agony to her to know that he did suffer for two years, that he had then struggled on through all dangers to khartoum, and was on his way back, full of hope and love for her, when he was treacherously murdered. the village sheik met him, as he went down. "you have found nothing, my lord?" "nothing but a few old papers," he said. "you will report well of us, i hope, to the great english commander?" "i shall certainly tell him that you did all in your power to aid me." he walked down towards the river. one of the men, who had gone on while he had been speaking to the sheik, ran back to meet him. "there is a steamer coming up the river, my lord." "that is fortunate, indeed," gregory exclaimed. "i had intended to sleep here, tonight, and to bargain with the sheik for donkeys or camels to take us back. this will save two days." two or three native craft were fastened up to the shore, waiting for a breeze to set in, strong enough to take them up. gregory at once arranged, with one of them, to put his party on board the steamer, in their boat. in a quarter of an hour the gunboat approached, and they rowed out to meet her. as she came up, gregory stood up, and shouted to them to throw him a rope. this was done, and an officer came to the side. "i want a passage for myself and five men, to abu hamed. i am an officer on general hunter's staff." "with pleasure. "have you come down from the front?" he asked, as gregory stepped on board, with the five blacks. "yes." "then you can tell me about the great fight. we heard of it, at dongola, but beyond the fact that we had thrashed the khalifa, and taken omdurman, we received no particulars. "but before you begin, have a drink. "it is horribly annoying to me," he went on, as they sat down under the awning, and the steward brought tumblers, soda water, some whisky, and two lemons. gregory refused the whisky, but took a lemon with his cold water. "a horrible nuisance," the officer went on. "this is one of gordon's old steamers; she has broken down twice. still, i console myself by thinking that, even if i had been in time, very likely she would not have been taken up. "i hope, however, there will be work to do, yet. as you see, i have got three of these native craft in tow, and it is as much as i can do to get them up this cataract. "now, please tell me about the battle." gregory gave him an outline of the struggle, of the occupation of omdurman, and of what might be called the funeral service of gordon, at khartoum. it was dark before the story was finished. "by the way," the officer said, as they were about to sit down to dinner, "while we were on deck, i did not ask about your men. i must order food to be given them." "they have plenty," gregory said. "i brought enough for a week with me. i thought that i might be detained two or three days, here, and be obliged to make the journey by land to abu hamed." "i have not asked you what you were doing at this out of the way place, and how long you have been here." "i only landed this morning. i came down to search for some relics. my father was on board stewart's steamer, and as there would be nothing doing at omdurman, for a few days, i got leave to run down. i was fortunate in securing a boat at abu hamed, on my arrival there; and i have been equally so, now, in having been picked up by you; so that i shall not be away from omdurman more than seven days, if i have equal luck in getting a steamer at atbara. i do not think i shall be disappointed, for the white troops are coming down, and stores are going up for the egyptian brigade, so that i am certain not to be kept there many hours. the sirdar has gone up to fashoda, or i don't suppose i should have got leave." "yes. i heard at merawi, from the officer in command, that some foreign troops had arrived there. i suppose nothing more is known about it?" "no; no news will probably come down for another fortnight, perhaps longer than that." "who can they be?" "the general idea is that they are french. they can only be french, or a party from the congo states." "they had tremendous cheek, whoever they are," the officer said. "it is precious lucky, for them, that we have given the khalifa something else to think about, or you may be sure he would have wiped them out pretty quickly; unless they are a very strong force, which doesn't seem probable. i hear the sirdar has taken a regiment up with him." "yes, but i don't suppose any actual move will be made, at present." "no, i suppose it will be a diplomatic business. still, i should think they would have to go." "no one has any doubt about that, at omdurman," gregory said. "after all the expense and trouble we have had to retake the soudan, it is not likely that we should let anyone else plant themselves on the road to the great lakes. "when will you be at abu hamed, sir?" "we shall be there about five o'clock--at any rate, i think you may safely reckon on catching the morning train. it goes, i think, at eight." "i am sure to catch a train, soon, for orders have been sent down that railway materials shall be sent up, as quickly as possible; as it has been decided that the railway shall be carried on, at once, to khartoum. i expect that, as soon as the nile falls, they will make a temporary bridge across the atbara." it was six in the morning, when the steamer arrived at abu hamed. gregory at once landed, paid his four men, went up to the little station; and, an hour later, was on his way to atbara fort. he had but two hours to wait there, and reached omdurman at three o'clock, on the following afternoon. as he landed, he met an officer he knew. "is there any news?" he asked. "nothing but fashoda is talked about. it has been ascertained that the force there is undoubtedly french. the betting is about even as to whether france will back down, or not. they have made it difficult for themselves, by an outburst of enthusiasm at what they considered the defeat of england. well, of course, that does not go for much, except that it makes it harder for their government to give in." "and has any news been received of the whereabouts of the khalifa?" "no. broadwood, with two regiments of egyptian cavalry and the camel corps, started in pursuit of the khalifa and osman, an hour after it was found that they had got away. slatin pasha went with them. but as the horses had been at work all day, they had to stop at half past eight. they could not then get down to the water, and bivouacked where they had halted. at four in the morning they started again, and at half past eight found a spot where they could get down to the river; then they rode fifteen miles farther. "they were now thirty-five miles from omdurman. one of the gunboats had gone up with supplies, but owing to the nile having overflowed, could not get near enough to land them. next morning they got news that the khalifa was twenty-five miles ahead, and had just obtained fresh camels, so they were ordered to return to the town. they had picked up a good many of the fugitives, among them the khalifa's favourite wife; who, doubtless with other women, had slipped away at one of his halting places, feeling unable to bear the constant fatigues and hardships of the flight in the desert. "the cavalry have since been out again, but beyond the fact that the khalifa had been joined by many of the fugitives from the battle, and was making for kordofan, no certain news has been obtained. at present, nothing can be done in that direction. "that horse you bought is all right." "i really did not like taking him, for i already had one; and it looked almost like robbery, giving him two pounds for it, and the saddle." "others have done as well," the officer laughed. "one of the brigade staff bought a horse for a pound from burleigh, who had given forty for it at cairo. there was no help for it. they could not take horses down. besides, it is not their loss, after all. the newspapers can afford to pay for them. they must have been coining money, of late." "that reconciles me," gregory laughed. "i did not think of the correspondents' expenses being paid by the papers." "i don't know anything about their arrangements, but it stands to reason that it must be so, in a campaign like this. in an ordinary war, a man can calculate what his outlay might be; but on an expedition of this kind, no one could foretell what expenses he might have to incur. "besides, the sirdar has saved the newspapers an enormous expenditure. the correspondents have been rigidly kept down to messages of a few hundred words; whereas, if they had had their own way, they would have sent down columns. of course, the correspondents grumbled, but i have no doubt their employers were very well pleased, and the newspapers must have saved thousands of pounds, by this restriction." "you are back sooner than i expected," general hunter said, when gregory went in and reported his arrival. "it is scarce a week since you left." "just a week, sir. everything went smoothly, and i was but three or four hours at hebbeh." "and did you succeed in your search?" "yes, sir. i most fortunately found a man who had hidden a pocketbook he had taken from the body of one of the white men who were murdered there. there was nothing in it but old papers and, when brackenbury's expedition approached, he had hidden it away; and did not give it a thought, until i enquired if he knew of any papers, and other things, connected with those on board the steamer. he at once took me to the place where he had hidden it, under a great stone, and it turned out to be the notebook and journals of my father; who was, as i thought possible, the white man who had arrived at khartoum, a short time before the place was captured by the dervishes, and who had gone down in the steamer that carried colonel stewart." "well, hilliard," the general said, kindly, "even the certain knowledge of his death is better than the fear that he might be in slavery. you told me you had no remembrance of him?" "none, sir; but of course, my mother had talked of him so often, and had several photographs of him--the last taken at cairo, before he left--so that i almost seem to have known him. however, i do feel it as a relief to know that he is not, as i feared was remotely possible, a slave among the baggara. but i think it is hard that, after having gone through two years of trials and sufferings, he should have been murdered on his way home." "no doubt that is so. have you read your father's diary, yet?" "no, sir; i have not had the heart to do so, and shall put it off, until the shock that this has given me has passed away. i feel that a little hard work will be the best thing for me. is there any chance of it?" "you have just returned in time. i am going up the blue nile, tomorrow morning, to clear out the villages; which, no doubt, are all full of fugitives. i am glad that you have come back. i was speaking of you today to general rundle, who is in command. "one of the objects of the expedition is to prevent fadil from crossing the river. he was advancing from gedareh, at the head of ten thousand troops, to join the khalifa; and was but forty miles away, on the day after we took this place; but when he received the news of our victory, he fell back. if he can cross, he will bring a very formidable reinforcement to the khalifa. "we know that colonel parsons started from kassala, on the th, his object being to capture gedareh, during the absence of fadil. he is to cross the atbara at el fasher, and will then march up this bank of the river, till he is at the nearest point to gedareh. it is probable that he will not strike across before the th, or the th. his force is comparatively small, and we do not know how large a garrison fadil will have left there. "altogether, we are uneasy about the expedition. it is very desirable that parsons should know that fadil is retiring, and that, so far as we can learn from the natives, he has not yet crossed the blue nile. gedareh is said to be a strong place, and once there, parsons might hold it against fadil until we can send him reinforcements. "in order to convey this information to him, we require someone on whom we can absolutely rely. i said that, if you were here, i felt sure that you would volunteer for the service. of course it is, to a certain extent, a dangerous one; but i think that, speaking the language as you do, and as you have already been among the dervishes, you might, even if taken prisoner, make out a good story for yourself." "i would undertake the commission, with pleasure," gregory said. "i shall, of course, go in native dress." "i propose that we carry you a hundred miles up the river, with us, and there land you. from that point, it would not be more than sixty or seventy miles across the desert to the atbara, which you would strike forty or fifty miles above el fasher. of course you would be able to learn, there, whether parsons had crossed. if he had, you would ride up the bank till you overtake him. if he had not, you would probably meet him at mugatta. he must cross below that, as it is there he leaves the river." "that seems simple enough, sir. my story would be that i was one of the dervishes, who had escaped from the battle here; and had stopped at a village, thinking that i was safe from pursuit, until your boats came along; and that i then crossed the desert to go to gedareh, where i thought i should be safe. that would surely carry me through. i shall want two fast camels--one for myself, and one for my boy." "these we can get for you, from abdul azil, the abadah sheik. of course, you will put on dervish robes and badges?" "yes, sir." "i will go across and tell general rundle, and obtain written instructions for you to carry despatches to parsons. i will give them to you when you go up on the boat, in the morning. i will see at once about the camels, and ask the intelligence people to get you two of the dervish suits. you will also want rifles." "thank you, sir! i have a couple of remingtons, and plenty of ammunition for them. i have two spears, also, which i picked up when we came in here." "we are off again, zaki," he said, when he returned to his hut; where the black was engaged in sweeping up the dust, and arranging everything as usual. "yes, master." zaki suspended his work. "when do we go?" "tomorrow morning." "do we take everything with us?" "no. i start in uniform. we shall both want dervish dresses, but you need not trouble about them--they will be got for us." "then we are going among the dervishes, again?" "well, i hope we are not; but we may meet some of them. we are going with the expedition up the blue nile, and will then land and strike across the desert, to the atbara. that is enough for you to know, at present. we shall take our guns and spears with us." zaki had no curiosity. if his master was going, it was of course all right--his confidence in him was absolute. in about an hour, a native from the intelligence department brought down two dervish dresses, complete. they had still three hours before mess, and gregory sat down on his bed, and opened his father's pocketbook, which he had had no opportunity to do, since it came into his possession. chapter : a fugitive. "i do not suppose," the diary began, "that what i write here will ever be read. it seems to me that the chances are immeasurably against it. still, there is a possibility that it may fall into the hands of some of my countrymen when, as will surely be the case, the mahdi's rebellion is crushed and order restored; and i intend, so long as i live, to jot down from time to time what happens to me, in order that the only person living interested in me, my wife, may possibly, someday, get to know what my fate has been. therefore, should this scrap of paper, and other scraps that may follow it, be ever handed to one of my countrymen, i pray him to send it to mrs. hilliard, care of the manager of the bank at cairo. "it may be that this, the first time i write, may be the last; and i therefore, before all things, wish to send her my heart's love, to tell her that my last thoughts and my prayers will be for her, and that i leave it entirely to her whether to return to england, in accordance with the instructions i left her before leaving, or to remain in cairo. "it is now five days since the battle. it cannot be called a battle. it was not fighting; it was a massacre. the men, after three days' incessant fighting, were exhausted and worn out, half mad with thirst, half mutinous at being brought into the desert, as they said, to die. thus, when the dervishes rushed down in a mass, the defence was feeble. almost before we knew what had happened, the enemy had burst in on one side of the square. then all was wild confusion--camels and dervishes, flying egyptians, screaming camp followers, were all mixed in confusion. "the other sides of the square were also attacked. some of our men were firing at those in their front, others turning round and shooting into the crowded mass in the square. i was with a black regiment, on the side opposite to where they burst in. the white officer who had been in command had fallen ill, and had been sent back, a few days after we left khartoum; and as i had been, for weeks before that, aiding him to the best of my powers, and there were no other officers to spare, hicks asked me to take his place. as i had done everything i could for the poor fellows' comfort, on the march; they had come to like me, and to obey my orders as promptly as those of their former commander. "as long as the other two sides of the square stood firm, i did so; but they soon gave way. i saw hicks, with his staff, charge into the midst of the dervishes, and then lost sight of them. seeing that all was lost, i called to my men to keep together, to march off in regular order, and repel all assaults, as this was the only hope there was of getting free. "they obeyed my orders splendidly. two or three times the dervishes charged upon them, but the blacks were as steady as rocks, and their volleys were so fatal that the enemy finally left us alone, preferring to aid in the slaughter of the panic-stricken egyptians, and to share the spoil. "we made for the wells. each man drank his fill. those who had water bottles filled them. we then marched on towards el obeid, but before nightfall the dervish horse had closed up round us. at daylight their infantry had also arrived, and fighting began. "all day we held our position, killing great numbers, but losing many men ourselves. by night, our water was exhausted. then the soldiers offered to attack the enemy, but they were twenty to one against us, and i said to them, 'no, fight one day longer, if we can hold on. the dervishes may retire, or they may offer us terms.' "so we stood. by the next evening, we had lost half our number. after they had drawn off, one of the dervish emirs came in with a white flag, and offered life to all who would surrender, and would wear the badge of the mahdi, and be his soldiers. i replied that an answer should be given in the morning. when he had left, i gathered the men together. "'you have fought nobly,' i said, 'but you have scarce a round of ammunition left. if we fight again tomorrow, we shall all be slaughtered. i thank you, in the name of the khedive, for all that you have done; but i do not urge you to reject the terms offered. your deaths would not benefit the khedive. as far as i am concerned, you are free to accept the terms offered.' "they talked for some time together, and then the three native officers who were still alive came forward. "'bimbashi,' they said, 'what will be done about you? we are mahometans and their countrymen, but you are a white man and a christian. you would not fight for the mahdi?' "'no,' i said, 'i would not fight for him, nor would i gain my life, at the price of being his slave. i wish you to settle the matter, without any reference to me. i will take my chance. i may not be here, in the morning. one man might escape, where many could not. all i ask is that i may not be watched. if in the morning i am not here, you can all say that i disappeared, and you do not know how. i do not, myself, know what i am going to do yet.' "they went away, and in a quarter of an hour returned, and said that the men would surrender. if they had water and ammunition, they would go on fighting till the end; but as they had neither, they would surrender. "i felt that this was best. the soudanese love battle, and would as readily fight on one side as on the other. they have done their duty well to the khedive, and will doubtless fight as bravely for the mahdi. "the men lay in a square, as they had fought, with sentries placed to warn them, should the dervishes make a night attack. british troops would have been well-nigh maddened with thirst, after being twenty-four hours without water, and fighting all day in the blazing sun, but they felt it little. they were thirsty, but in their desert marches they are accustomed to thirst, and to hold on for a long time without water. "i was better off, for i had drunk sparingly, the day before, from my water bottle; and had still a draught left in it. i waited until i thought that the men were all asleep; then i stripped, and stained myself from head to foot. i had carried stain with me, in case i might have to go out as a native, to obtain information. in my valise i had a native dress, and a native cloth, in which i could have passed as a peasant, but not as one of the baggara. however, i put it on, passed through the sleeping men, and went up to a sentry. "'you know me,' i said. 'i am your bimbashi. i am going to try and get through their lines; but if it is known how i have escaped, i shall be pursued and slain. will you swear to me that, if you are questioned, you will say you know nothing of my flight?' "'i swear by the beard of the prophet,' the man said. 'may allah protect you, my lord!' "then i went on. the night was fairly dark and, as the dervishes were nearly half a mile away, i had no fear of being seen by them. there were many of their dead scattered about, seventy or eighty yards from our square. i had, all along, felt convinced that it would be impossible to pass through their lines; therefore i went to a spot where i had noticed that a number had fallen, close together, and went about examining them carefully. it would not have done to have chosen the dress of an emir, as his body might have been examined, but the ordinary dead would pass unnoticed. "i first exchanged the robe for one marked with the mahdi's patches. it was already smeared with blood. i then carried the body of the man whose robe i had taken off, for some distance. i laid him down on his face, thinking that the absence of the patches would not be seen. then i crawled some thirty or forty yards nearer to the dervishes, so that it would seem that i had strength to get that far, before dying. then i lay down, partly on my side, so that the patches would show, but with my face downwards on my arm. "i had, before dyeing my skin, cut my hair close to my head, on which i placed the dervish's turban. the only property that i brought out with me was a revolver, and this pocketbook. both of these i buried in the sand; the pocketbook a short distance away, the pistol lightly covered, and within reach of my hand, so that i could grasp it and sell my life dearly, if discovered. "soon after daylight i heard the triumphant yells of the dervishes, and knew that my men had surrendered. then there was a rush of horse and foot, and much shouting and talking. i lifted my head slightly, and looked across. not a dervish was to be seen in front of me. "i felt that i had better move, so, taking up my pistol and hiding it, i crawled on my hands and knees to the spot where i had hidden this book; and then got up on to my feet, and staggered across the plain, as if sorely wounded, and scarcely able to drag my feet along. as i had hoped, no one seemed to notice me, and i saw three or four other figures, also making their way painfully towards where the dervishes had encamped. "here were a few camels, standing untended. everyone had joined in the rush for booty--a rush to be met with bitter disappointment, for, with the exception of the arms of the fallen, and what few valuables they might have about their person, there was nothing to be gained. i diverged from the line i had been following, kept on until there was a dip in the ground, that would hide me from the sight of those behind; then i started to run, and at last threw myself down in the scrub, four or five miles away from the point from which i had started. "i was perfectly safe, for the present. the dervishes were not likely to search over miles of the desert, dotted as it was with thick bushes. the question was as to the future. my position was almost as bad as could be. i was without food or water, and there were hundreds of miles of desert between me and khartoum. at every water hole i should, almost certainly, find parties of dervishes. "from time to time i lifted my head, and saw several large parties of the enemy, moving in the distance. they were evidently bound on a journey, and were not thinking of looking for me. i chewed the sour leaves of the camel bush; and this, to some extent, alleviated my thirst. "i determined at last that i would, in the first place, march to the wells towards which we had been pressing, when the dervishes came up to us. they were nearly three miles south of the spot where the square had stood. no doubt, dervishes would be there; but, if discovered by them, it was better to die so than of thirst. "half an hour before the sun sank, i started. no horsemen were in sight, and if any were to come along, i could see them long before they could notice me. knowing the general direction, i was fortunate enough to get sight of the palm grove which surrounded the wells, before darkness set in. "it lay about two miles away, and there were certainly moving objects round it. i lay down until twilight had passed, and then went forward. when within two or three hundred yards of the grove, i lay down again, and waited. that the dervishes would all go to sleep, however long i might wait, was too much to hope for. they would be sure to sit and talk, far into the night, of the events of the last three or four days. "shielding myself as well as i could, by the bushes, i crawled up until i was in the midst of some camels, which were browsing. here i stood up, and then walked boldly into the grove. as i had expected, two or three score of dervishes were sitting in groups, talking gravely. they had destroyed the turks (as they always called the egyptians, and their infidel white leaders), but had suffered heavily themselves. the three hundred soudanese who had surrendered, and who had taken service with the mahdi, were but poor compensation for the losses they had suffered. "'a year ago,' one old sheik said, 'i was the father of eight brave sons. now they have all gone before me. four of them fell in the assaults at el obeid, two at baria, and the last two have now been killed. i shall meet them all again, in the abode of the blessed; and the sooner the better, for i have no one left to care for.' "others had tales of the loss of relations and friends, but i did not wait to listen further. taking up a large water gourd, that stood empty at the foot of one of the trees, i boldly walked to the well, descended the rough steps at the water's edge, and drank till i could drink no longer; and then, filling the gourd, went up again. "no one noticed me. had they looked at me they would have seen, even in the darkness, the great patches down the front of the robe; but i don't think anyone did notice me. other figures were moving about, from group to group, and i kept on through the grove, until beyond the trees. i came out on the side opposite to that which i had entered, and, as i expected, found some of the dervish horses grazing among the bushes. "no guard was placed over them, as they were too well trained to wander far. i went out to them and chose the poorest, which happened to be farther among the bushes than the others. i had thought the matter well over. if a good horse were taken, there would be furious pursuit, as soon as it was missed; and this might be soon, for the arabs are passionately fond of their favourite horses--more so than they are of their families. while i had been waiting at the edge of the wood, more than one had come out to pat and fondle his horse, and give it a handful of dates. but a poor animal would meet with no such attention, and the fact that he was missing was not likely to be discovered till daylight. probably, no great search would be made for it. the others would ride on, and its owner might spend some hours in looking about, thinking it had strayed away, and was lying somewhere among the bushes. "i had no thought of trying to return to khartoum. the wells were far apart, and dervish bands were certain to be moving along the line. it seemed to me that el obeid was the safest place to go to. true, it was in the hands of the mahdists, but doubtless many wounded would be making their way there. some, doubtless, would have wives and children. others might have come from distant villages, but these would all make for the town, as the only place where they could find food, water, and shelter. "riding till morning, i let the horse graze, and threw myself down among the bushes, intending to remain there until nightfall. in the afternoon, on waking from a long sleep, i sat up and saw, a quarter of a mile away, a dervish making his way along on foot, slowly and painfully. this was the very chance i had hoped might occur. i got up at once, and walked towards him. "'my friend is sorely wounded,' i said. "'my journey is well-nigh ended,' he said. 'i had hoped to reach el obeid, but i know that i shall not arrive at the well, which lies three miles away. i have already fallen three times. the next will be the last. would that the bullet of the infidel had slain me, on the spot!' "the poor fellow spoke with difficulty, so parched were his lips and swollen his tongue. i went to the bush, where i had left the gourd, half full of water. the man was still standing where i had left him, but when he saw the gourd in my hand he gave a little cry, and tottered feebly towards me. "'let my friend drink,' i said. i held the gourd to his lips. 'sip a little, first,' i said. 'you can drink your fill, afterwards.' "'allah has sent you to save me,' he said; and after two or three gulps of water, he drew back his head. 'now i can rest till the sun has set, and then go forward as far as the well, and die there.' "'let me see your wound,' i said. 'it may be that i can relieve the pain, a little.' "he had been shot through the body, and it was a marvel to me how he could have walked so far; but the arabs, like other wild creatures, have a wonderful tenacity of life. i aided him to the shelter of the thick bush, then i let him have another and longer drink, and bathed his wound with water. tearing off a strip from the bottom of his robe, i bound it round him, soaking it with water over the wound. he had been suffering more from thirst than from pain, and he seemed stronger, already. "'now,' i said, 'you had better sleep.' "'i have not slept since the last battle,' he said. 'i started as soon as it was dark enough for me to get up, without being seen by the turks. i have been walking ever since, and dared not lie down. at first, i hoped that i might get to the town where my wife lived, and die in my own house. but that hope left me, as i grew weaker and weaker, and i have only prayed for strength enough to reach the well, to drink, and to die there.' "'sleep now,' i said. 'be sure that i will not leave you. is it not our duty to help one another? when the heat is over, we may go on. i have a horse, here, which you shall ride. how far is it from the well to el obeid?' "'it is four hours' journey, on foot.' "'good! then you shall see your wife before morning. we will stop at the well to give my horse a good drink; and then, if you feel well enough to go on, we will not wait above an hour.' "'may allah bless you!' the man said, and he then closed his eyes, and at once went to sleep. "i lay down beside him, but not to sleep. i was overjoyed with my good fortune. now i could enter el obeid boldly and, the wounded man being a native there, no questions would be asked me. i had a house to go to, and shelter, for the present. "as to what might happen afterwards, i did not care to think. some way of escape would surely occur, in time. once my position as a mahdist was fully established, i should be able to join any party going towards khartoum, and should avoid all questioning; whereas, if i were to journey alone, i should be asked by every band i met where i came from; and might, at any moment, be detected, if there happened to be any from the village i should name as my abode. it was all important that this poor fellow should live; until, at least, i had been with him two days, in the town. "from time to time, i dipped a piece of rag in the gourd, squeezed a few drops of water between his lips, and then laid it on his forehead. when the sun began to get low, i went out and caught the horse. as i came up, the dervish opened his eyes. "'i am better,' he said. 'you have restored me to life. my head is cool, and my lips no longer parched.' "'now,' i said, 'i will lift you into the saddle. you had better ride with both legs on the same side. it will be better for your wound. there is a mound of earth, a few yards away. if you will stand up on that, i can lift you into the saddle, easily. now put your arms round my neck, and i will lift you in the standing position. if you try to get up, yourself, your wound might easily break out again.' "i managed better than i had expected and, taking the bridle, led the horse towards the well. "'you must tell me the way,' i said, 'for i am a stranger in this part, having come from the blue nile.' "'i know it perfectly,' he said, 'having been born in el obeid. i fought against the mahdists, till we were starved out; and then, as we all saw that the power of the mahdi was great, and that allah was with him, we did not hesitate to accept his terms, and to put on his badges.' "in less than an hour, we saw the trees that marked the position of the well; and, in another half hour, reached it. at least a score of wounded men were there, many of them so sorely hurt that they would get no farther. they paid little attention to us. one of them was known to saleh--for the wounded man told me that that was his name--he also was from el obeid. he was suffering from a terrible cut in the shoulder, which had almost severed the arm. he told my man that it was given by one of the infidel officers, before he fell. "i thought it was as well to have two friends, instead of one; and did what i could to bind his wound up, and fasten his arm firmly to his side. then i said to him: "'my horse, after three hours' rest, will be able to carry you both. you can sit behind saleh, and hold him on with your unwounded arm.' "'truly, stranger, you are a merciful man, and a good one. wonderful is it that you should give up your horse, to men who are strangers to you; and walk on foot, yourself.' "'allah commands us to be compassionate to each other. what is a walk of a few miles? it is nothing, it is not worth speaking of. say no more about it, i beseech you. i am a stranger in el obeid, and you may be able to befriend me, there.' "three hours later abdullah, which was the name of the second man, mounted, and assisted me to lift saleh in front of him, and we set out for el obeid. we got into the town at daybreak. there were few people about, and these paid no attention to us. wounded men had been coming in, in hundreds. turning into the street where both the men lived, we went first to the house of saleh, which was at the farther end, and was, indeed, quite in the outskirts of the place. it stood in a walled enclosure, and was of better appearance than i had expected. "i went to the door, and struck my hand against it. a voice within asked what was wanted, and i said, 'i bring home the master of the house. he is sorely wounded.' "there was a loud cry, and the door opened and a woman ran out. "'do not touch him,' abdullah exclaimed. 'we will get him down from the horse, but first bring out an angareb. we will lower him down onto that.' "the woman went in, and returned with an angareb. it was the usual soudan bed, of wooden framework, with a hide lashed across it. i directed them how to lift one end against the horse, so that saleh could slide down onto it. "'wife,' the arab said, when this was done, 'by the will of allah, who sent this stranger to my aid, i have returned alive. his name is mudil. i cannot tell you, now, what he has done for me. this house is his. he is more than guest, he is master. he has promised to remain with me, till i die, or am given back to life again. do as he bids you, in all things.' "abdullah would have assisted to carry the bed in, but i told him that it might hurt his arm, and i and the woman could do it. "'you had better go off, at once, to your own people, abdullah. there must be many here who understand the treatment of wounds. you had better get one, at once, to attend to your arm." "'i will come again, this evening,' the man replied. 'i consider that i also owe my life to you; and when you have stayed a while here, you must come to me. my wives and children will desire to thank you, when i tell them how you brought me in here.' "'is there any place where i can put my horse?' i asked. "'yes,' the woman replied; 'take it to that door in the wall. i will go and unfasten it.' "there was a shed in the garden. into this i put my horse, and then entered the house. "most of the arab women know something of the dressing of wounds. saleh's wife sent out the slave, to buy various drugs. then she got a melon from the garden, cut off the rind, and, mincing the fruit in small pieces, squeezed out the juice and gave it to her husband to drink. when she had done this, she set before me a plate of pounded maize, which was boiling over a little fire of sticks, when we went in. "'it is your breakfast,' i said. "she waved her hand. "'i can cook more,' she said. 'it matters not if we do not eat till sunset.' "i sat down at once, for indeed, i was famishing. the food had all been exhausted, at the end of the first day's fighting. i had been more than two days without eating a morsel. i have no doubt i ate ravenously, for the woman, without a word, emptied the contents of the pot into my bowl, and then went out and cut another melon for me. "when the slave woman returned, she boiled some of the herbs, made a sort of poultice of them, and placed it on the wound. saleh had fallen asleep, the moment he had drunk the melon juice, and did not move while the poultice was being applied. "the house contained three rooms--the one which served as kitchen and living room; one leading from it on the right, with the curtains hanging before the door (this was saleh's room); and on the opposite side, the guest chamber. i have not mentioned that there were four or five children, all of whom had been turned out, as soon as we entered; and threatened with terrible punishments, by their mother, if they made any noise. "when i finished my meal i went into the guest chamber, threw myself down on the angareb there, and slept till sunset. when i awoke, i found that a native doctor had come, and examined saleh. he had approved of what the woman had done, told told her to continue to poultice the wound, and had given her a small phial, from which she was to pour two drops into the wound, morning and evening. he said, what i could have told her, that her husband was in the hands of allah, if he willed it, her husband would live. "of course, i had seen something of wounds, for in the old times--it seems a lifetime back--when i was, for two years, searching tombs and monuments with the professor, there had been frays between our workmen and bands of robbers; and there were also many cases of injuries, incurred in the work of moving heavy fragments of masonry. moreover, although i had no actual practice, i had seen a good deal of surgical work; for, when i was at the university, i had some idea of becoming a surgeon, and attended the courses there, and saw a good many operations. i had therefore, of course, a general knowledge of the structure of the human frame, and the position of the arteries. "so far the wound, which i examined when the woman poured in what i suppose was a styptic, looked healthy and but little inflamed. of course, a skilled surgeon would have probed it and endeavoured to extract the ball, which had not gone through. the soudanese were armed only with old muskets, and it was possible that the ball had not penetrated far; for if, as he had told me, he was some distance from the square when he was hit, the bullet was probably spent. "i told the woman so, and asked her if she had any objection to my endeavouring to find it. she looked surprised. "'are you, then, a hakim?' "'no, but i have been at khartoum, and have seen how the white hakims find which way a bullet has gone. they are sometimes able to get it out. at any rate, i should not hurt him; and if, as is likely, the ball has not gone in very far--for had it done so, he would probably have died before he got home--i might draw it out.' "'you can try,' she said. 'you have saved his life, and it is yours.' "'bring me the pistol that your husband had, in his belt.' "she brought it to me. i took out the ramrod. "'now,' i said, 'it is most important that this should be clean; therefore, heat it in the fire so that it is red hot, and then drop it into cold water.' "when this had been done, i took a handful of sand, and polished the rod till it shone, and afterwards wiped it carefully with a cloth. then i inserted it in the wound, very gently. it had entered but an inch and a half when it struck something hard, which could only be the bullet. it was as i had hoped, the ball had been almost spent, when it struck him. "saleh was awake now, and had at once consented to my suggestion, having come to have implicit faith in me. "'it is, you see, saleh, just as i had hoped. i felt sure that it could not have gone in far; as, in that case, you could never have walked twenty miles, from the battlefield, to the point where you met me. now, if i had a proper instrument, i might be able to extract the bullet. i might hurt you in doing so, but if i could get it out, you would recover speedily; while if it remains where it is, the wound may inflame, and you will die.' "'i am not afraid of pain, mudil.' "i could touch the ball with my finger, but beyond feeling that the flesh in which it was embedded was not solid to the touch, i could do nothing towards getting the ball out. i dared not try to enlarge the wound, so as to get two fingers in. after thinking the matter over in every way, i decided that the only chance was to make a tool from the ramrod. i heated this again and again, flattening it with the pistol barrel, till it was not more than a tenth of an inch thick; then i cut, from the centre, a strip about a quarter of an inch wide. i then rubbed down the edges of the strip on a stone, till they were perfectly smooth, and bent the end into a curve. i again heated it to a dull red, and plunged it into water to harden it, and finally rubbed it with a little oil. it was late in the evening before i was satisfied with my work. "'now, saleh,' i said, 'i am going to try if this will do. if i had one of the tools i have seen the white hakims use, i am sure i could get the ball out easily enough; but i think i can succeed with this. if i cannot, i must make another like it, so as to put one down each side of the bullet. you see, this curve makes a sort of hook. the difficulty is to get it under the bullet.' "'i understand,' he said. 'do not mind hurting me. i have seen men die of bullets, even after the wound seemed to heal. i know it is better to try and get it out.' "it was a difficult job. pressing back the flesh with my finger, i succeeded, at last, in getting the hook under the bullet. this i held firmly against it, and to my delight felt, as i raised finger and hook together, that the bullet was coming. a few seconds later, i held it triumphantly between my fingers. "'there, saleh, there is your enemy. i think, now, that if there is no inflammation, it will not be long before you are well and strong again.' "'truly, it is wonderful!' the man said, gratefully. 'i have heard of hakims who are able to draw bullets from wounds, but i have never seen it done before.' "if saleh had been a white man, i should still have felt doubtful as to his recovery; but i was perfectly confident that a wound of that sort would heal well, in an arab, especially as it would be kept cool and clean. hard exercise, life in the open air, entire absence of stimulating liquors, and only very occasionally, if ever, meat diet, render them almost insensible to wounds that would paralyse a white. our surgeons had been astonished at the rapidity with which the wounded prisoners recovered. "saleh's wife had stood by, as if carved in stone, while i performed the operation; but when i produced the bullet, she burst into tears, and poured blessings on my head. "i am writing this on the following morning. saleh has slept quietly all night. his hand is cool this morning, and i think i may fairly say that he is convalescent. abdullah's wife came in yesterday evening, and told the women here that her husband was asleep, but that he would come round in the morning. i warned her not to let him stir out of doors, and said i would come and see him. "it has taken me five hours to write this, which seems a very long time to spend on details of things not worth recording; but the act of writing has taken my thoughts off myself, and i intend always to note down anything special. it will be interesting to me to read it, if i ever get away; should i be unable to escape, i shall charge saleh to carry it to khartoum, if he ever has the chance, and hand it over to the governor there, to send down to cairo. "a week later. i am already losing count of days, but days matter nothing. i have been busy, so busy that i have not even had time to write. after i had finished my story so far, saleh's slave woman took me to abdullah's house. i found that he was in a state of high fever, but all i could do was to recommend that a wet rag should be applied, and freshly wetted every quarter of an hour; that his head should be kept similarly enveloped, in wet bandages; and that his hands should be dipped in water very frequently. "when i got back, i found several women waiting outside saleh's house. his wife had gossiped with a neighbour, and told them that i had got the bullet out of his wound. the news spread rapidly, and these women were all there to beg that i would see their husbands. "this was awkward. i certainly could not calculate upon being successful, in cases where a bullet had penetrated more deeply; and even if i could do so, i should at once excite the hostility of the native hakims, and draw very much more attention upon myself than i desired. in vain i protested that i was not a hakim, and had done only what i had seen a white hakim do. finding that this did not avail, i said that i would not go to see any man, except with one of the native doctors. "'there are two here,' one of the women said. 'i will go and fetch them.' "'no,' i said; 'who am i, that they should come to me? i will go and see them, if you will show me where they live.' "'ah, here they come!' she said, as two dervishes approached. "i went up to them, and they said: 'we hear that you are a hakim, who has done great things.' "'i am no hakim,' i said. 'i was just coming to you, to tell you so. the man i aided was a friend, and was not deeply wounded. having seen a white hakim take bullets from wounded men, i tried my best; and as the bullet was but a short way in, i succeeded. if i had had the instruments i saw the infidel use, it would have been easy; but i had to make an instrument, which sufficed for the purpose, although it would have been of no use, had the bullet gone in deeper.' "they came in and examined saleh's wound, the bullet, and the tool i had made. "'it is well,' they said. 'you have profited by what you saw. whence do you come?' "i told the same story that i had told saleh. "'you have been some time at khartoum?' "'not very long,' i said; 'but i went down once to cairo, and was there some years. it was there i came to know something of the ways of the infidels. i am a poor man, and very ignorant; but if you will allow me i will act as your assistant, as i know that there are many wounded here. if you will tell me what to do, i will follow your instructions carefully.' "the two hakims looked more satisfied, at finding that i was not a dangerous rival. one said: "'among the things that have been brought in here is a box. those who brought it did not know what it contained, and it was too strong for them to open, though of course they were able to hammer it, and break it open. it contained nothing but many shining instruments, but the only one that we knew the purport of was a saw. there were two boxes of the same shape, and the other contained a number of little bottles of drugs; and we thought that maybe, as the boxes were alike, these shining instruments were used by the white hakim.' "'i can tell you that, if i see them,' i said, and went with them. "in a house where booty of all sorts was stored, i saw the chests which i knew were those carried by hicks's medical officer. the one contained drugs, the other a variety of surgical instruments--probes, forceps, amputating knives, and many other instruments of whose use i was ignorant. i picked out three or four probes, and forceps of different shapes. "'these are the instruments,' i said, 'with which they take out bullets. with one of these thin instruments, they search the wound until they find the ball. sometimes they cannot find it, and even when they have found it, they sometimes cannot get hold of it with any of these tools, which, as you see, open and shut.' "'what are the knives for?' "'they use the knives for cutting off limbs. twice have i seen this done, for i was travelling with a learned hakim, who was searching the tombs for relics. in one case a great stone fell on a man's foot, and smashed it, and the hakim took it off at the ankle. in another case a man had been badly wounded, by a bullet in the arm. he was not one of our party but, hearing of the hakim's skill, he had made a journey of three days to him. the wound was very bad, and they said it was too late to save the arm, so they cut it off above the elbow.' "'and they lived?' "'yes, they both lived.' "'could you do that?' "i shook my head. 'it requires much skill,' i said. 'i saw how it was done, but to do it one's self is very different. if there was a man who must die, if an arm or a leg were not taken off, i would try to save his life; but i would not try, unless it was clear that the man must die if it were not done. "but you are learned men, hakims, and if you will take me as your assistant, i will show you how the white doctors take out balls, and, if there is no other way, cut off limbs; and when i have once shown you, you will do it far better than i.' "the two men seemed much pleased. it was evident to them that, if they could do these things, it would widely add to their reputation. "'it is good,' they said. 'you shall go round with us, and see the wounded, and we will see for ourselves what you can do. will you want this chest carried?' "'no,' i said. 'i will take these instruments with me. should it be necessary to cut off a limb, to try and save life, i shall need the knives, the saw, and this instrument, which i heard the white hakim call a tourniquet, and which they use for stopping the flow of blood, while they are cutting. there are other instruments, too, that will be required.'" chapter : a hakim. "i succeeded in getting out two more bullets, and then handed the instruments to the hakims, saying that i had shown them all i knew, and would now leave the matter in their hands altogether; or would act as their assistant, if they wished it. i had no fear that harm would come of it; for, being so frequently engaged in war, i knew that they had, in a rough way, considerable skill in the treatment of wounds. i had impressed upon them, while probing the wounds, that no force must be used, and that the sole object was to find the exact course the ball had taken. "as to the amputations, they would probably not be attempted. a fighting dervish would rather die than lose a limb; and, were he to die under an operation, his relatives would accuse the operator of having killed him. "i remained at work with them, for two or three days. in nearly half the cases, they failed to find the course of the ball; but when they did so, and the wound was not too deep, they generally succeeded in extracting it. they were highly pleased, and i took great pains to remain well in the background. "they were very friendly with me. their fees were mostly horses, or carpets, or other articles, in accordance with the means of the patients; and of these they gave me a portion, together with some money, which had been looted from the chests carrying silver, for the purchase of provisions and the payment of troops. although they made a pretence of begging me to remain always with them, i refused, saying that i saw i could no longer be of assistance to them. i could see they were inwardly pleased. they gave me some more money, and i left them, saying that i did not, for a moment, suppose that i could tell them anything further; but that if, at any time, they should send for me, i would try and recall what i had seen the white hakims do, in such a case as they were dealing with. "in the meantime, saleh was progressing very favourably; and, indeed, would have been up and about, had i not peremptorily ordered him to remain quiet. "'you are doing well,' i said. 'why should you risk bringing on inflammation, merely for the sake of getting about a few days earlier?' "abdullah was also better, but still extremely weak, and i had to order that meat should be boiled for some hours, and that he should drink small quantities of the broth, three or four times a day. many times a day women came to me, to ask me to see to their husbands' wounds; and sometimes the wounded men came to me, themselves. all the serious cases i referred to the hakims, and confined myself simply to dressing and bandaging wounds, which had grown angry for want of attention. i always refused to accept fees, insisting that i was not a hakim, and simply afforded my help as a friend. "i had the satisfaction, however, of doing a great deal of good, for in the medicine chest i found a large supply of plaster and bandages. frequently mothers brought children to me. these i could have treated with some of the simple drugs in the chest, but i refused to do so; for i could not have explained, in any satisfactory way, how i knew one drug from another, or was acquainted with their qualities. still, although i refused fees, i had many little presents of fowls, fruit, pumpkins, and other things. these prevented my feeling that i was a burden upon saleh, for of course i put them into the general stock. "so far, i cannot but look back with deep gratitude for the strange manner in which i have been enabled to avert all suspicion, and even to make myself quite a popular character among the people of el obeid. "one bottle i found in the medicine chest was a great prize to me. it contained iodine and, with a weak solution of this, i was able to maintain my colour. i did not care so much for my face and hands, for i was so darkened by the sun that my complexion was little fairer than that of many of the arabs. but i feared that an accidental display, of a portion of my body usually covered by my garments, would at once prove that i was a white man. i had used up the stuff that i had brought with me, when i escaped from the square; and having no means of procuring fresh stain, was getting uneasy; but this discovery of the iodine put it within my power to renew my colouring, whenever it was necessary. "about a month later. i have been living here quietly, since i last wrote in this journal. the day after i had done so, the emir sent for me, and said he had heard that i had taken bullets out of wounds, and had shown the two doctors of the town how to do so, by means of instruments found in a chest that was among the loot brought in from the battlefield. i repeated my story to him, as to how i had acquired the knowledge from being in the service of a white hakim, from cairo, who was travelling in the desert; and that i had no other medical knowledge, except that i had seen, in the chest, a bottle which contained stuff like that the white doctors used in order to put a patient to sleep, so that they could take off a limb without his feeling pain. "'i have heard of such things being done by the turkish hakims at khartoum, but i did not believe them. it is against all reason.' "'i have seen it done, my lord,' i said. 'i do not say that i could take off a limb, as they did, but i am sure that the stuff would put anyone to sleep.' "'i wish you to put it to the trial,' the emir said. 'one of my sons came back, from the battle, with a bullet hole through his hand. the hakim said that two of the bones were broken. he put bandages round, and my son said no more about it. he is a man who does not complain of slight troubles, but yesterday evening the pain became so great that he was forced to mention it; and when i examined his arm, i found that it was greatly swelled. slaves have been bathing it with cold water, ever since, but the pain has increased rather than diminished.' "'i will look at it, my lord, but i greatly fear that it is beyond my poor skill to deal with it.' "the young man was brought in and, on removing the bandage, i saw that the wound was in a terrible state, and the arm greatly inflamed, some distance up the wrist. it was a bad case, and it seemed to me that, unless something was done, mortification would speedily set in. "'the two doctors saw it an hour ago,' the emir went on, 'and they greatly fear for his life. they told me that they could do nothing, but that, as you had seen the white hakim do wonderful things, you might be able to do something.' "'my lord,' i said, 'it is one thing to watch an operation, but quite another to perform it yourself. i think, as the doctors have told you, your son's life is in great danger; and i do believe that, if there were white doctors here to take off his arm, he might be saved. but i could not undertake it. the skill to do so is only acquired by long years of study. how can i, a poor man, know how to do such things? were i to attempt and fail, what would you say?--that i had killed your son; and that, but for me, he might have recovered.' "'he will not recover,' the emir said, moodily. "'what say you, abu? you have heard what this man says; what do you think?' "'i think, father, that it were well to try. this man has used his eyes, so well, that he has taken the white man's instruments, and drawn out bullets from wounds. i feel as if this wound will kill me; therefore, if the man fails, i shall be none the worse. indeed, it would be better to die at once, than to feel this fire burning, till it burns me up.' "'you hear what my son says? i am of the same opinion. do your best. should you fail, i swear, by the head of the prophet, that no harm shall come to you.' "the wounded man was a fine young fellow, of three or four and twenty. "'if it is my lord's will, i will try,' i said; 'but i pray you to bear in mind that i do so at your command, and without much hope of accomplishing it successfully. it would, i think, be advisable that the limb should be taken off above the elbow, so that it will be above the spot to which the inflammation has extended.' "the emir looked at his son, who said: "'it matters not, father. 'tis but my left arm, and i shall still have my right, to hurl a spear or wield a sword.' "i need not tell how i got through the operation. everything required for it--the inhaler, sponges, straight and crooked needles, and thread--was in the chest. the young arab objected to be sent to sleep. he said it might be well for cowards, but not for a fighting man. i had to assure him that it was not for his sake, but for my own, that i wished him to go to sleep; and that if i knew he was not suffering pain, i might be able to do the thing without my hand trembling; but that if i knew he was suffering, i should be flurried. "i insisted that the hakims should be sent for. when they came i called them to witness that, at the emir's command, i was going to try to do the operation i had seen the white doctor perform, although i was but an ignorant man, and feared greatly that i might fail. i really was desperately nervous, though at the same time i did feel that, having seen the operation performed two or three times, and as it was a simple one, i ought to be able to do it. of course, i had everything laid handy. the tourniquet was first put on the arm, and screwed tightly. then i administered the chloroform, which took its effect speedily. my nerves were braced up now, and i do think i made a fair job of it--finding and tying up the arteries, cutting and sawing the bone off, and making a flap. a few stitches to keep this together, and it was done, and to my relief the arab, who had lain as rigid as a statue, winced a little when the last stitch was put in. "this was the point on which i had been most anxious. i was not sure whether the amount of chloroform he had inhaled might not have been too strong for him. "'do not try to move,' i said, as he opened his eyes and looked round, as if trying to remember where he was. "as his eyes fell upon me, he said, 'when are you going to begin?' "'i have finished,' i said, 'but you must lie quiet, for some time. the slightest movement now might cause the flow of blood to burst out.' "the emir had stood staring at his son's quiet face, as if amazed beyond the power of speech. four dervishes had held the patient's limbs, so as to prevent any accidental movement. a female slave had held a large basin of warm water, and another handed me the things i pointed to. i had begged the hakims to keep their attention fixed on what i was doing, in order that these also might see how the white doctor did such things. "when his son spoke, the emir gave a gasp of relief. 'he lives,' he murmured, as if even now he could scarcely believe that this was possible; and as he put his hand upon my shoulder it trembled with emotion. "'truly the ways of the white infidels are marvellous. abu, my son, allah has been merciful! he must have meant that you should not die, and thus have sent this man, who has seen the white hakims at work, to save your life! "what is to be done now?' he went on, turning to me. "'he should be raised very gently, and clothes put under his shoulder and head. then he should be carried, on the angareb, to the coolest place in the house. he may drink a little juice of fruit, but he had best eat nothing. the great thing is to prevent fever coming on. with your permission i will stay with him, for if one of the threads you saw me tie, round these little white tubes in the arm, should slip or give way, he would be dead in five minutes; unless this machine round the arm is tightened at once, and the tube that carries the blood is tied up. it would be well that he should have a slave to fan him. i hope he will sleep.' "the emir gave orders for the bed to be carried to the room adjoining his harem. "'his mother and his young wife will want to see him,' he said to me, 'and when the danger that you speak of is past, the women will care for him. you will be master in the room, and will give such orders as you please.' "then he turned off, and walked hastily away. i could see that he had spoken with difficulty, and that, in spite of his efforts to appear composed and tranquil, his mouth was twitching, and his eyes moist. "as soon as the bed had been placed, by my directions, near the open window, the four dervishes left the room. the hakims were on the point of doing so, when i said: "'i will stay here for a few minutes, and will then come out and talk this matter over with you. i have been fortunate, indeed, in remembering so well what i saw. i heard a white hakim explain how he did each thing, and why, to the sheik of the wounded man's party; and i will tell you what i remember of it, and you, with your wisdom in these matters, will be able to do it far better than i.' "when they had retired, the door leading into the harem opened, and a woman, slightly veiled, followed by a younger woman and two slave girls, came in. i stopped her, as she was hurrying towards her son. "'lady,' i said, 'i pray you to speak very quietly, and in few words. it is most important that he should not be excited, in any way, but should be kept perfectly quiet, for the next two or three days.' "'i will do so,' she said. 'may i touch him?' "'you may take his hand in yours, but do not let him move. i will leave you with him for a few minutes. please remember that everything depends upon his not being agitated.' "i went out and joined the hakims. "'truly, mudil, allah has given you strange gifts,' one of them said. 'wonderful is it that you should have remembered so well what you saw; and more wonderful still is it, that you should have the firmness to cut and saw flesh and bone, as if they were those of a dead sheep, with the emir standing by to look at you!' "'i knew that his life, and perhaps mine, depended upon it. the emir would have kept his oath, i doubt not; but when it became known in the town that abu, who is known to all for his bravery and goodness, died in my hands, it would not have been safe for me to leave this house.' "i then explained the reason for each step that i took. they listened most attentively, and asked several questions, showing that they were intensely interested, and most anxious to be able to perform so wonderful an operation themselves. they were greatly surprised at the fact that so little blood flowed. "'it seems,' i said, 'from what i heard the white hakim say, that the blood flowed through those little white tubes. by twisting the tourniquet very tight, that flow of blood is stopped. the great thing is to find those little tubes, and tie them up. as you would notice, the large ones in the inside of the arm could be seen quite plainly. when they cannot be seen, the screw is unloosed so as to allow a small quantity of blood to flow, which shows you where the tubes are. you will remember that i took hold of each, with the bent point of a small wire or a pair of these nippers; and, while you held it, tied the thread tightly round it. when that is done, one is ready to cut the bone. you saw me push the flesh back, so as to cut the bone as high up as possible; that is because the white doctor said the flesh would shrink up, and the bone would project. i cut the flesh straight on one side, and on the other with a flap that will, when it is stitched, cover over the bone and the rest of the flesh, and make what the hakim called a pad. he said all cutting off of limbs was done in this way, but of course the tubes would not lie in the same place, and the cutting would have to be made differently; but it was all the same system. he called these simple operations, and said that anyone with a firm hand, and a knowledge of where these tubes lie, ought to be able to do it, after seeing it done once or twice. he said, of course, it would not be so neatly done as by men who had been trained to it; but that, in cases of extreme necessity, anyone who had seen it done once or twice, and had sufficient nerve, could do it; especially if they had, ready at hand, this stuff that makes the wounded man sleep and feel no pain. "'i listened very attentively, because all seemed to me almost like magic, but i certainly did not think that i should ever have to do such a thing, myself.' "'but what would be done if they had not that sleep medicine?' "'the hakim said that, in that case, the wounded man would have to be fastened down by bandages to the bed, and held by six strong men, so that he could not move in the slightest. however, there is enough of that stuff to last a hundred times or more; for, as you see, only a good-sized spoonful was used.' "the emir, who had passed through the harem rooms, now opened the door. "'come in,' he said. 'my son is quiet, and has not moved. he has spoken to his mother, and seems quite sensible. is there anything more for you to do to him?' "'i will put a bandage loosely round his arm, and bind it to his body so that he cannot move it in his sleep, or on first waking. it will not be necessary for me to stay with him, as the ladies of the harem can look after him; but i must remain in the next room, so as to be ready to run in, at once, should they see that the wound is bleeding again. i have asked the hakims to make a soothing potion, to aid him to sleep long and soundly.' "as i went up to the side of the bed, abu smiled. i bent down to him, and he said in a low voice: "'all the pain has gone. may allah bless you!' "'i am afraid that you will feel more pain, tomorrow, but i do not think it will be so bad as it was before. now, i hope you will try to go to sleep. you will be well looked after, and i shall be in the next room, if you want me. the hakims will give you a soothing draught soon, and you can have cool drinks when you want them.' "things went on as well as i could have wished. in four or five days the threads came away, and i loosened the tourniquet slightly, and strapped up the edges of the wound, which were already showing signs of healing. for the first twenty-four hours i had remained always on watch; after that the hakims took their turns, i remaining in readiness to tighten up the tourniquet, should there be any rush of blood. i did not leave the emir's house, but slept in a room close by that of the patient. "there was now, however, no longer need for my doing so. the splendid constitution of the young baggara had, indeed, from the first rendered any attendance unnecessary. there was no fever, and very little local inflammation; and i was able to gladden his heart by telling him that, in another fortnight, he would be able to be up. "the day i was intending to leave, the emir sent for me. he was alone. "'the more i think over this matter,' he said, 'the more strange it is that you should be able to do all these wonderful things, after having seen it done once by the white hakim. the more i think of it, the more certain i feel that you are not what you seem. i have sent for saleh and abdullah. they have told me what you did for them, and that you gave up your horse to them, and dressed their wounds, and brought them in here. they are full of praise of your goodness, and but few of my people would have thus acted, for strangers. they would have given them a drink of water, and ridden on. "now, tell me frankly and without fear. i have thought it over, and i feel sure that you, yourself, are a white hakim, who escaped from the battle in which hicks's army was destroyed.' "'i am not a hakim. all that i said was true--that although i have seen operations performed, i have never performed them myself. as to the rest, i answer you frankly, i am an englishman. i did escape when the black soudanese battalion surrendered, three days after the battle. i was not a fighting officer. i was with them as interpreter. i may say that, though i am not a hakim, i did for some time study with the intention of becoming one, and so saw many operations performed.' "'i am glad that you told me,' the emir said gravely. 'your people are brave and very wise, though they cannot stand against the power of the mahdi. but were you sheitan himself, it would be nothing to me. you have saved my son's life. you are the honoured guest of my house. your religion is different from mine, but as you showed that you were willing to aid followers of the prophet and the mahdi, although they were your enemies, surely i, for whom you have done so much, may well forget that difference.' "'i thank you, emir. from what i had seen of you, i felt sure that my secret would be safe with you. we christians feel no enmity against followers of mahomet--the hatred is all on your side. and yet, 'tis strange, the allah that you worship, and the god of the christians, is one and the same. mahomet himself had no enmity against the christians, and regarded our christ as a great prophet, like himself. "our queen reigns, in india, over many more mohamedans than are ruled by the sultan of turkey. they are loyal to her, and know that under her sway no difference is made between them and her christian subjects, and have fought as bravely for her as her own white troops.' "'i had never thought,' the emir said, 'that the time would come when i should call an infidel my friend; but now that i can do so, i feel that there is much in what you say. however, your secret must be kept. were it known that you are a white man, you would be torn to pieces in the streets; and even were you to remain here, where assuredly none would dare touch you, the news would speedily travel to my lord the mahdi, and he would send a troop of horse to bring you to him. therefore, though i would fain honour you, i see that it is best that you should, to all save myself, continue to be mudil. i will not even, as i would otherwise have done, assign you a house, and slaves, and horses in token of my gratitude to you for having saved the life of my son. "'something i must do, or i should seem utterly ungrateful. i can, at any rate, give you rooms here, and treat you as an honoured guest. this would excite no remark, as it would be naturally expected that you would stay here until my son is perfectly cured. i shall tell no one, not even my wife; but abu i will tell, when he is cured, and the secret will be as safe with him as with me. i think it would please him to know. although a baggara like myself, and as brave as any, he is strangely gentle in disposition; and though ready and eager to fight, when attacked by other tribes, he does not care to go on expeditions against villages which have not acknowledged the power of the mahdi, and makes every excuse to avoid doing so. it will please him to know that the man who has saved his life is one who, although of a different race and religion, is willing to do kindness to an enemy; and will love and honour you more, for knowing it.' "'i thank you deeply, emir, and anything that i can do for members of your family, i shall be glad to do. i have a knowledge of the usages of many of the drugs in the chest that was brought here. i have not dared to say so before, because i could not have accounted for knowing such things.' "so at present i am installed in the emir's palace, and my prospects grow brighter and brighter. after the great victory the mahdi has won, it is likely that he will be emboldened to advance against khartoum. in that case he will, no doubt, summon his followers from all parts, and i shall be able to ride with the emir or his son; and it will be hard if, when we get near the city, i cannot find some opportunity of slipping off and making my way there. whether it will be prudent to do so is another question, for i doubt whether the egyptian troops there will offer any resolute resistance to the dervish hosts; and in that case, i should have to endeavour to make my way down to dongola, and from there either by boat or by the river bank to assouan. "a month later. i have not written for some time, because there has been nothing special to put down. all the little details of the life here can be told to my dear wife, if i should ever see her again; but they are not of sufficient interest to write down. i have been living at the emir's house, ever since. i do not know what special office i am supposed to occupy in his household--that is, what office the people in general think that i hold. in fact, i am his guest, and an honoured one. when he goes out i ride beside him and abu, who has now sufficiently recovered to sit his horse. i consider myself as medical attendant, in ordinary, to him and his family. i have given up all practice in the town--in the first place because i do not wish to make enemies of the two doctors, who really seem very good fellows, and i am glad to find that they have performed two or three operations successfully; and in the second place, were i to go about trying to cure the sick, people would get so interested in me that i should be continually questioned as to how i attained my marvellous skill. happily, though no doubt they must have felt somewhat jealous at my success with abu, i have been able to do the hakims some service, put fees into their pockets, and at the same time benefited poor people here. i have told them that, just as i recognized the bottle of chloroform, so i have recognized some of the bottles from which the white hakims used to give powder to sick people. "'for instance,' i said, 'you see this bottle, which is of a different shape from the others. it is full of a white, feathery-looking powder. they used to give this to people suffering from fever--about as much as you could put on your nail for men and women, and half as much for children. they used to put it in a little water, and stir it up, and give it to them night and morning. they call it kena, or something like that. it did a great deal of good, and generally drove away the fever. "'this other bottle they also used a good deal. they put a little of its contents in water, and it made a lotion for weak and sore eyes. they called it zing. they saw i was a careful man, and i often made the eye wash, and put the other white powder up into little packets when they were busy, as fever and ophthalmia are the two most common complaints among the natives.' "the hakims were immensely pleased, and both told me, afterwards, that both these medicines had done wonders. i told them that i thought there were some more bottles of these medicines in the chest, and that when they had finished those i had now given them, i would look out for the others. i had, in fact, carried off a bottle both of quinine and zinc powder for my own use, and with the latter i greatly benefited several of the emir's children and grandchildren, all of whom were suffering from ophthalmia; or from sore eyes, that would speedily have developed that disease, if they had not been attended to. "i had only performed one operation, which was essentially a minor one. abu told me that his wife, of whom he was very fond, was suffering very great pain from a tooth--could i cure her? "i said that, without seeing the tooth, i could not do anything, and he at once said: "'as it is for her good, mudil, i will bring her into this room, and she shall unveil so that you can examine the tooth.' "she was quite a girl, and for an arab very good looking. she and the emir's wife were continually sending me out choice bits from their dinner, but i had not before seen her face. she was evidently a good deal confused, at thus unveiling before a man, but abu said: "'it is with my permission that you unveil, therefore there can be no harm in it. besides, has not mudil saved my life, and so become my brother?' "he opened her mouth. the tooth was far back and broken, and the gum was greatly swelled. "'it is very bad,' i said to abu. 'it would hurt her terribly, if i were to try and take it out; but if she will take the sleeping medicine i gave you, i think that i could do it.' "'then she shall take it,' he said at once. 'it is not unpleasant. on the contrary, i dreamt a pleasant dream while you were taking off my arm. please do it, at once.' "i at once fetched the chloroform, the inhaler, and a pair of forceps which looked well suited for the purpose, and probably were intended for it. i then told her to lie down on the angareb, which i placed close to the window. "'now, abu,' i said, 'directly she has gone off to sleep, you must force her mouth open, and put the handle of your dagger between her teeth. it will not hurt her at all. but i cannot get at the tooth unless the mouth is open, and we cannot open it until she is asleep, for the whole side of her face is swollen, and the jaw almost stiff.' "the chloroform took effect very quickly. her husband had some difficulty in forcing the mouth open. when he had once done so, i took a firm hold of the tooth, and wrenched it out. "'you can withdraw the dagger,' i said, 'and then lift her up, and let her rinse her mouth well with the warm water i brought in. she will have little pain afterwards, though of course it will take some little time, before the swelling goes down.' "then i went out, and left them together. in a few minutes, abu came out. "'she has no pain,' he said. 'she could hardly believe, when she came round, that the tooth was out. it is a relief, indeed. she has cried, day and night, for the past three days.' "'tell her that, for the rest of the day, she had better keep quiet; and go to sleep if possible, which i have no doubt she will do, as she must be worn out with the pain she has been suffering.' "'i begin to see, mudil, that we are very ignorant. we can fight, but that is all we are good for. how much better it would be if, instead of regarding you white men as enemies, we could get some of you to live here, and teach us the wonderful things that you know!' "'truly it would be better,' i said. 'it all depends upon yourselves. you have a great country. if you would but treat the poor people here well, and live in peace with other tribes; and send word down to cairo that you desire, above all things, white hakims and others who would teach you, to come up and settle among you, assuredly they would come. there are thousands of white men and women working in india, and china, and other countries, content to do good, not looking for high pay, but content to live poorly. the difficulty is not in getting men willing to heal and to teach, but to persuade those whom they would benefit to allow them to do the work.' "abu shook his head. "'that is it,' he said. 'i would rather be able to do such things as you do, than be one of the most famous soldiers of the mahdi; but i could never persuade others. they say that the mahdi himself, although he is hostile to the turks, and would conquer egypt, would willingly befriend white men. but even he, powerful as he is, cannot go against the feelings of his emirs. must we always be ignorant? must we always be fighting? i can see no way out of it. can you, mudil?' "'i can see but one way,' i said, 'and that may seem to you impossible, because you know nothing of the strength of england. we have, as you know, easily beaten the egyptian army; and we are now protectors of egypt. if you invade that country, as the mahdi has already threatened to do, it is we who will defend it; and if there is no other way of obtaining peace, we shall some day send an army to recover the soudan. you will fight, and you will fight desperately, but you have no idea of the force that will advance against you. you know how osman digna's tribes on the red sea have been defeated, not by the superior courage of our men, but by our superior arms. and so it will be here. it may be many years before it comes about, but if you insist on war, that is what will come. "'then, when we have taken the soudan, there will come peace, and the peasant will till his soil in safety. those who desire to be taught will be taught; great canals from the nile will irrigate the soil, and the desert will become fruitful.' "'you really think that would come of it?' abu asked, earnestly. "'i do indeed, abu. we have conquered many brave peoples, far more numerous than yours; and those who were our bitterest enemies now see how they have benefited by it. certainly, england would not undertake the cost of such an expedition lightly; but if she is driven to it by your advance against egypt, she will assuredly do so. your people--i mean the baggaras and their allies--would suffer terribly; but the people whom you have conquered, whose villages you have burned, whose women you have carried off, would rejoice.' "'we would fight,' abu said passionately. "'certainly you would fight, and fight gallantly, but it would not avail you. besides, abu, you would be fighting for that ignorance you have just regretted, and against the teaching and progress you have wished for.' "'it is hard,' abu said, quietly. "'it is hard, but it has been the fate of all people who have resisted the advance of knowledge and civilization. those who accept civilization, as the people of india--of whom there are many more than in all africa--have accepted it, are prosperous. in america and other great countries, far beyond the seas, the native indians opposed it, but in vain; and now a great white race inhabit the land, and there is but a handful left of those who opposed them.' "'these things are hard to understand. if, as you say, your people come here some day to fight against us, i shall fight. if my people are defeated, and i am still alive, i shall say it is the will of allah; let us make the best of it, and try to learn to be like those who have conquered us. i own to you that i am sick of bloodshed--not of blood shed in battle, but the blood of peaceful villagers; and though i grieve for my own people, i should feel that it was for the good of the land that the white men had become the masters.'" chapter : the last page. "khartoum, september rd, . "it is a long time since i made my last entry. i could put no date to it then, and till yesterday could hardly even have named the month. i am back again among friends, but i can hardly say that i am safer here than i was at el obeid. i have not written, because there was nothing to write. one day was like another, and as my paper was finished, and there were no incidents in my life, i let the matter slide. "again and again i contemplated attempting to make my way to this town, but the difficulties would be enormous. there were the dangers of the desert, the absence of wells, the enormous probability of losing my way, and, most of all, the chance that, before i reached khartoum, it would have been captured. the emir had been expecting news of its fall, for months. "there had been several fights, in some of which they had been victorious. in others, even according to their own accounts, they had been worsted. traitors in the town kept them well informed of the state of supplies. they declared that these were almost exhausted, and that the garrison must surrender. indeed, several of the commanders of bodies of troops had offered to surrender posts held by them. "so i had put aside all hope of escape, and decided not to make any attempt until after khartoum fell, when the dervishes boasted they would march down and conquer egypt, to the sea. "they had already taken berber. dongola was at their mercy. i thought the best chance would be to go down with them, as far as they went, and then to slip away. in this way i should shorten the journey i should have to traverse alone; and, being on the river bank, could at least always obtain water. besides, i might possibly secure some small native boat, and with the help of the current get down to assouan before the dervishes could arrive there. this i should have attempted; but, three weeks ago, an order came from the mahdi to el khatim, ordering him to send to omdurman five hundred well-armed men, who were to be commanded by his son abu. khatim was to remain at el obeid, with the main body of his force, until further orders. "abu came to me at once, with the news. "'you will take me with you, abu,' i exclaimed. 'this is the chance i have been hoping for. once within a day's journey of khartoum, i could slip away at night, and it would be very hard if i could not manage to cross the nile into khartoum.' "'i will take you, if you wish it,' he said. 'the danger will be very great, not in going with me, but in making your way into khartoum.' "'it does not seem to me that it would be so,' i said. 'i should strike the river four or five miles above the town, cut a bundle of rushes, swim out to the middle of the river, drift down till i was close to the town, and then swim across.' "'so be it,' he said. 'it is your will, not mine.' "khatim came to me afterwards, and advised me to stay, but i said that it might be years before i had another chance to escape; and that, whatever risk there was, i would prefer running it. "'then we shall see you no more,' he said, 'for khartoum will assuredly fall, and you will be killed.' "'if you were a prisoner in the hands of the white soldiers, emir,' i said, 'i am sure that you would run any risk, if there was a chance of getting home again. so it is with me. i have a wife and child, in cairo. her heart must be sick with pain, at the thought of my death. i will risk anything to get back as soon as possible. if i reach khartoum, and it is afterwards captured, i can disguise myself and appear as i now am, hide for a while, and then find out where abu is and join him again. but perhaps, when he sees that no further resistance can be made, general gordon will embark on one of his steamers and go down the river, knowing that it would be better for the people of the town that the mahdi should enter without opposition; in which case you would scarcely do harm to the peaceful portion of the population, or to the troops who had laid down their arms.' "'very well,' the emir said. 'abu has told me that he has tried to dissuade you, but that you will go. we owe you a great debt of gratitude, for all that you have done for us, and therefore i will not try to dissuade you. i trust allah will protect you.' "and so we started the next morning. i rode by the side of abu, and as all knew that i was the hakim who had taken off his arm, none wondered. the journey was made without any incident worth recording. abu did not hurry. we made a long march between each of the wells, and then halted for a day. so we journeyed, until we made our last halt before arriving at omdurman. "'you are still determined to go?' abu said to me. "'i shall leave tonight, my friend.' "'i shall not forget all that you have told me about your people, hakim. should any white man fall into my hands, i will spare him for your sake. these are evil times, and i regret all that has passed. i believe that the mahdi is a prophet; but i fear that, in many things, he has misunderstood the visions and orders he received. i see that evil rather than good has fallen upon the land, and that though we loved not the rule of the egyptians, we were all better off under it than we are now. we pass through ruined villages, and see the skeletons of many people. we know that where the waterwheels formerly spread the water from the rivers over the fields, is now a desert; and that, except the fighting men, the people perish from hunger. "'all this is bad. i see that, if we enter egypt, we shall be like a flight of locusts. we shall eat up the country and leave a desert behind us. surely this cannot be according to the wishes of allah, who is all merciful. you have taught me much in your talks with me, and i do not see things as i used to. so much do i feel it, that in my heart i could almost wish that your countrymen should come here, and establish peace and order. "'the mohamedans of india, you tell me, are well content with their rulers. men may exercise their religion and their customs, without hindrance. they know that the strong cannot prey upon the weak, and each man reaps what he has sown, in peace. you tell me that india was like the soudan before you went there--that there were great conquerors, constant wars, and the peasants starved while the robbers grew rich; and that, under your rule, peace and contentment were restored. i would that it could be so here. but it seems, to me, impossible that we should be conquered by people so far away.' "'i hope that it will be so, abu; and i think that if the great and good white general, governor gordon, is murdered at khartoum, the people of my country will never rest until his death has been avenged.' "'you had better take your horse,' he said. 'if you were to go on foot, it would be seen that there was a horse without a rider, and there would be a search for you; but if you and your horse are missing, it will be supposed that you have ridden on to omdurman to give notice of our coming, and none will think more of the matter.' "as soon as the camp was asleep, i said goodbye to abu; and took my horse by the reins and led him into the desert, half a mile away. then i mounted, and rode fast. the stars were guide enough, and in three hours i reached the nile. i took off the horse's saddle and bridle, and left him to himself. then i crept out and cut a bundle of rushes, and swam into the stream with them. "after floating down the river for an hour, i saw the light of a few fires on the right bank, and guessed that this was a dervish force, beleaguering khartoum from that side. i drifted on for another hour, drawing closer and closer to the shore, until i could see walls and forts; then i stripped off my dervish frock, and swam ashore. "i had, during the time we had been on the journey, abstained from staining my skin under my garments, in order that i might be recognized as a white man, as soon as i bared my arms. "i lay down till it was broad daylight, and then walked up to the foot of a redoubt. there were shouts of surprise from the black soldiers there, as i approached. i shouted to them, in arabic, that i was an englishman; and two or three of them at once ran down the slope, and aided me to climb it. i was taken, at my request, to general gordon, who was surprised, indeed, when i told him that i was a survivor of hicks's force, and had been living nine months at el obeid. "'you are heartily welcome, sir,' he said; 'but i fear that you have come into an even greater danger than you have left, for our position here is well-nigh desperate. for months i have been praying for aid from england, and my last news was that it was just setting out, so i fear there is no hope that it will reach me in time. the government of england will have to answer, before god, for their desertion of me, and of the poor people here, whom they sent me to protect from the mahdi. "'for myself, i am content. i have done my duty as far as lay in my power, but i had a right to rely upon receiving support from those who sent me. i am in the hands of god. but for the many thousands who trusted in me, and remained here, i feel very deeply. "'now the first thing is to provide you with clothes. i am expecting colonel stewart here, every minute, and he will see that you are made comfortable.' "'i shall be glad to place myself at your disposal, sir,' i said. 'i speak arabic fluently, and shall be ready to perform any service of which i may be capable.' "'i thank you,' he said, 'and will avail myself of your offer, if i see any occasion; but at present, we have rather to suffer than to do. we have occasional fights, but of late the attacks have been feeble, and i think that the mahdi depends upon hunger rather than force to obtain possession of this town. "this evening, i will ask you to tell me your story. colonel stewart will show you a room. there is only one other white man--mr. power--here. we live together as one family, of which you will now be a member.' "i felt strange when i came to put on my european clothes. mr. power, who tells me he has been here for some years, as correspondent of the times, has this afternoon taken me round the defences, and into the workshops. i think the place can resist any attacks, if the troops remain faithful; but of this there is a doubt. a good many of the soudanese have already been sent away. as gordon said at dinner this evening, if he had but a score of english officers, he would be perfectly confident that he could resist any enemy save starvation. "september th: "it has been settled that colonel stewart and mr. power are to go down the river in the abbas, and i am to go with them. the general proposed it to me. i said that i could not think of leaving him here by himself, so he said kindly: "'i thank you, mr. hilliard, but you could do no good here, and would only be throwing away your life. we can hold on to the end of the year, though the pinch will be very severe; but i think we can make the stores last, till then. but by the end of december our last crust will have been eaten, and the end will have come. it will be a satisfaction to me to know that i have done my best, and fail only because of the miserable delays and hesitation of government.' "so it is settled that i am going. the gunboats are to escort us for some distance. were it not for gordon, i should feel delighted at the prospect. it is horrible to leave him--one of the noblest englishmen!--alone to his fate. my only consolation is that if i remained i could not avert it, but should only be a sharer in it. "september th: "we left khartoum on the th, and came down without any serious trouble until this morning, when the boat struck on a rock in the cataract, opposite a village called hebbeh. a hole has been knocked in her bottom, and there is not a shadow of hope of getting her off. numbers of the natives have gathered on the shore. i have advised that we should disregard their invitations to land, but that, as there would be no animosity against the black crew, they would be safe; and that we three whites should take the ship's boat, and four of the crew, put provisions for a week on board, and make our way down the river. colonel stewart, however, feels convinced that the people can be trusted, and that we had better land and place ourselves under the protection of the sheik. he does not know the arabs as well as i do. "however, as he has determined to go ashore, i can do nothing. i consider it unlikely, in the extreme, that there will be any additions to this journal. if, at any time in the future, this should fall into the hands of any of my countrymen, i pray that they will send it down to my dear wife, mrs. hilliard, whom, i pray, god may bless and comfort, care of the manager of the bank, cairo." chapter : a momentous communication. gregory had, after finishing the record, sat without moving until the dinner hour. it was a relief to him to know that his father had not spent the last years of his life as he had feared, as a miserable slave--ill treated, reviled, insulted, perhaps chained and beaten by some brutal taskmaster; but had been in a position where, save that he was an exile, kept from his home and wife, his lot had not been unbearable. he knew more of him than he had ever known before. it was as a husband that his mother had always spoken of him; but here he saw that he was daring, full of resource, quick to grasp any opportunity, hopeful and yet patient, longing eagerly to rejoin his wife, and yet content to wait until the chances should be all in his favour. he was unaffectedly glad thus to know him; to be able, in future, to think of him as one of whom he would have been proud; who would assuredly have won his way to distinction. it was not so that he had before thought of him. his mother had said that he was of good family, and that it was on account of his marriage with her that he had quarrelled with his relations. it had always seemed strange to him that he should have been content to take, as she had told him, an altogether subordinate position in a mercantile house in alexandria. she had accounted for his knowledge of arabic by the fact that he had been, for two years, exploring the temples and tombs of egypt with a learned professor; but surely, as a man of good family, he could have found something to do in england, instead of coming out to take so humble a post in egypt. gregory knew nothing of the difficulty that a young man in england has, in obtaining an appointment of any kind, or of fighting his way single handed. influence went for much in egypt, and it seemed to him that, even if his father had quarrelled with his own people, there must have been many ways open to him of maintaining himself honourably. therefore he had always thought that, although he might have been all that his mother described him--the tenderest and most loving of husbands, a gentleman, and estimable in all respects--his father must have been wanting in energy and ambition, deficient in the qualities that would fit him to fight his own battle, and content to gain a mere competence, instead of struggling hard to make his way up the ladder. he had accounted for his going up as interpreter, with hicks pasha, by the fact that his work with the contractor was at an end, and that he saw no other opening for himself. he now understood how mistaken he had been, in his estimate of his father's character; and wondered, even more than before, why he should have taken that humble post at alexandria. his mother had certainly told him, again and again, that he had done so simply because the doctors had said that she could not live in england; but surely, in all the wide empire of england, there must be innumerable posts that a gentleman could obtain. perhaps he should understand it better, some day. at present, it seemed unaccountable to him. he felt sure that, had he lived, his father would have made a name for himself; and that it was in that hope, and not of the pay that he would receive as an interpreter, that he had gone up with hicks; and that, had he not died at that little village by the nile, he would assuredly have done so, for the narrative he had left behind him would in itself, if published, have shown what stuff there was in him. it was hard that fate should have snatched him away, just when it had seemed that his trials were over, that he was on the point of being reunited to his wife. still, it was a consolation to know he had died suddenly, as one falls in battle; not as a slave, worn out by grief and suffering. as he left his hut, he said to zaki: "i shall not want you again this evening; but mind, we must be on the move at daylight." "you did not say whether we were to take the horses, master; but i suppose you will do so?" "oh, i forgot to tell you that we are going to have camels. they are to be put on board for us, tonight. they are fast camels and, as the distance from the point where we shall land to the atbara will not be more than seventy or eighty miles, we shall be able to do it in a day." "that will be very good, master. camels are much better than horses, for the desert. i have got everything else ready." after dinner was over, the party broke up quickly, as many of the officers had preparations to make. gregory went off to the tent of the officer with whom he was best acquainted in the soudanese regiment. "i thought that i would come and have a chat with you, if you happened to be in." "i shall be very glad, but i bar fashoda. one is quite sick of the name." "no, it was not fashoda that i was going to talk to you about. i want to ask you something about england. i know really nothing about it, for i was born in alexandria, shortly after my parents came out from england. "is it easy for anyone who has been well educated, and who is a gentleman, to get employment there? i mean some sort of appointment, say, in india or the west indies." "easy! my dear hilliard, the camel in the eye of a needle is a joke to it. if a fellow is eighteen, and has had a first-rate education and a good private coach, that is, a tutor, he may pass through his examination either for the army, or the civil service, or the indian service. there are about five hundred go up to each examination, and seventy or eighty at the outside get in. the other four hundred or so are chucked. some examinations are for fellows under nineteen, others are open for a year or two longer. suppose, finally, you don't get in; that is to say, when you are two-and-twenty, your chance of getting any appointment, whatever, in the public service is at an end." "then interest has nothing to do with it?" "well, yes. there are a few berths in the foreign office, for example, in which a man has to get a nomination before going in for the exam; but of course the age limit tells there, as well as in any other." "and if a man fails altogether, what is there open to him?" the other shrugged his shoulders. "well, as far as i know, if he hasn't capital he can emigrate. that is what numbers of fellows do. if he has interest, he can get a commission in the militia, and from that possibly into the line; or he can enlist as a private, for the same object. there is a third alternative, he can hang himself. of course, if he happens to have a relation in the city he can get a clerkship; but that alternative, i should say, is worse than the third." "but i suppose he might be a doctor, a clergyman, or a lawyer?" "i don't know much about those matters, but i do know that it takes about five years' grinding, and what is called 'walking the hospitals,' that is, going round the wards with the surgeons, before one is licensed to kill. i think, but i am not sure, that three years at the bar would admit you to practice, and usually another seven or eight years are spent, before you earn a penny. as for the church, you have to go through the university, or one of the places we call training colleges; and when, at last, you are ordained, you may reckon, unless you have great family interest, on remaining a curate, with perhaps one hundred or one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, for eighteen or twenty years." "and no amount of energy will enable a man of, say, four-and-twenty, without a profession, to obtain a post on which he could live with some degree of comfort?" "i don't think energy would have anything to do with it. you cannot drop into a merchant's office and say, 'i want a snug berth, out in china;' or 'i should like an agency, in mesopotamia.' if you have luck, anything is possible. if you haven't luck, you ought to fall back on my three alternatives--emigrate, enlist, or hang yourself. of course, you can sponge on your friends for a year or two, if you are mean enough to do so; but there is an end to that sort of thing, in time. "may i ask why you put the question, hilliard? you have really a splendid opening, here. you are surely not going to be foolish enough to chuck it, with the idea of returning to england, and taking anything that may turn up?" "no, i am not so foolish as that. i have had, as you say, luck--extraordinary luck--and i have quite made up my mind to stay in the service. no, i am really asking you because i know so little of england that i wondered how men who had a fair education, but no family interest, did get on." "they very rarely do get on," the other said. "of course, if they are inventive geniuses they may discover something--an engine, for example, that will do twice the work with half the consumption of fuel that any other engine will do; or, if chemically inclined, they may discover something that will revolutionize dyeing, for example: but not one man in a thousand is a genius; and, as a rule, the man you are speaking of--the ordinary public school and 'varsity man--if he has no interest, and is not bent upon entering the army, even as a private, emigrates if he hasn't sufficient income to live upon at home." "thank you! i had no idea it was so difficult to make a living in england, or to obtain employment, for a well-educated man of two or three and twenty." "my dear hilliard, that is the problem that is exercising the minds of the whole of the middle class of england, with sons growing up. of course, men of business can take their sons into their own offices, and train them to their own profession; but after all, if a man has four or five sons, he cannot take them all into his office with a view to partnership. he may take one, but the others have to make their own way, somehow." they chatted now upon the war, the dates upon which the various regiments would go down, and the chance of the khalifa collecting another army, and trying conclusions with the invaders again. at last, gregory got up and went back to his hut. he could now understand why his father, having quarrelled with his family, might have found himself obliged to take the first post that was offered, however humble, in order to obtain the advantage of a warm climate for his wife. "he must have felt it awfully," he mused. "if he had been the sort of man i had always thought him, he could have settled down to the life. but now i know him better, i can understand that it must have been terrible for him, and he would be glad to exchange it for the interpretership, where he would have some chance of distinguishing himself; or, at any rate, of taking part in exciting events. "i will open that packet, but from what my mother said, i do not think it will be of any interest to me, now. i fancy, by what she said, that it contained simply my father's instructions as to what she was to do, in the event of his death during the campaign. i don't see what else it can be." he drew the curtains he had rigged up, at the doorway and window, to keep out insects; lighted his lantern; and then, sitting down on the ground by his bed, opened the packet his mother had given him. the outer cover was in her handwriting. "my dearest boy: "i have, as i told you, kept the enclosed packet, which is not to be opened until i have certain news of your father's death. this news, i trust, you will some day obtain. as you see, the enclosed packet is directed to me. i do not think that you will find in it anything of importance, to yourself. it probably contains only directions and advice for my guidance, in case i should determine to return to england. i have been the less anxious to open it, because i have been convinced that it is so; for of course, i know the circumstances of his family, and there could be nothing new that he could write to me on that score. "i have told you that he quarrelled with his father, because he chose to marry me. as you have heard from me, i was the daughter of a clergyman, and at his death took a post as governess. your father fell in love with me. he was the son of the honorable james hartley, who was brother to the earl of langdale. your father had an elder brother. mr. hartley was a man of the type now, happily, less common than it was twenty years ago. he had but a younger brother's portion, and a small estate that had belonged to his mother; but he was as proud as if he had been a peer of the realm, and owner of a county. i do not know exactly what the law of england is--whether, at the death of his brother, your grandfather would have inherited the title, or not. i never talked on this subject with your father, who very seldom alluded to matters at home. he had, also, two sisters. "as he was clever, and had already gained some reputation by his explorations in egypt; and was, moreover, an exceptionally handsome man--at least, i thought so--your grandfather made up his mind that he would make a very good marriage. when he learned of your father's affection for me, he was absolutely furious, told his son that he never wished to see him again, and spoke of me in a manner that gregory resented; and as a result, they quarrelled. "your father left the house, never to enter it again. i would have released him from his promise, but he would not hear of it, and we were married. he had written for magazines and newspapers, on egyptian subjects, and thought that he could make a living for us both, with his pen; but unhappily, he found that great numbers of men were trying to do the same; and that, although his papers on egyptian discoveries had always been accepted, it was quite another thing when he came to write on general subjects. "we had a hard time of it, but we were very happy, nevertheless. then came the time when my health began to give way. i had a terrible cough, and the doctor said that i must have a change to a warmer climate. we were very poor then--so poor that we had only a few shillings left, and lived in one room. your father saw an advertisement for a man to go out to the branch of a london firm, at alexandria. without saying a word to me, he went and obtained it, thanks to his knowledge of arabic. "he was getting on well in the firm, when the bombardment of alexandria took place. the offices and stores of his employers were burned; and, as it would take many months before they could be rebuilt, the employees were ordered home; but any who chose to stay were permitted to do so, and received three months' pay. your father saw that there would be many chances, when the country settled down, and so took a post under a contractor of meat for the army. "we moved to cairo. shortly after our arrival there he was, as he thought, fortunate in obtaining the appointment of an interpreter with hicks pasha. i did not try to dissuade him. everyone supposed that the egyptian troops would easily defeat the dervishes. there was some danger, of course; but it seemed to me, as it did to him, that this opening would lead to better things; and that, when the rebellion was put down, he would be able to obtain some good civil appointment, in the soudan. it was not the thought of his pay, as interpreter, that weighed in the slightest with either of us. i was anxious, above all things, that he should be restored to a position where he could associate with gentlemen, as one of themselves, and could again take his real name." gregory started, as he read this. he had never had an idea that the name he bore was not rightly his own, and even the statement of his grandfather's name had not struck him as affecting himself. "your father had an honourable pride in his name, which was an old one; and when he took the post at alexandria, which was little above that of an ordinary office messenger, he did not care that he should be recognized, or that one of his name should be known to be occupying such a station. he did not change his name, he simply dropped the surname. his full name was gregory hilliard hartley. he had always intended, when he had made a position for himself, to recur to it; and, of course, it will be open to you to do so, also. but i know that it would have been his wish that you, like him, should not do so, unless you had made such a position for yourself that you would be a credit to it. "on starting, your father left me to decide whether i should go home. i imagine that the packet merely contains his views on that subject. he knew what mine were. i would rather have begged my bread, than have gone back to ask for alms of the man who treated his son so cruelly. it is probable that, by this time, the old man is dead; but i should object as much to have to appeal to my husband's brother, a character i disliked. although he knew that his father's means were small, he was extravagant to the last degree, and the old man was weak enough to keep himself in perpetual difficulties, to satisfy his son. your father looked for no pecuniary assistance from his brother; but the latter might, at least, have come to see him; or written kindly to him, when he was in london. as your father was writing in his own name for magazines, his address could be easily found out, by anyone who wanted to know it. he never sent one single word to him, and i should object quite as much to appeal to him, as to the old man. "as to the sisters, who were younger than my husband, they were nice girls; but even if your grandfather is dead, and has, as no doubt would be the case, left what he had between them, it certainly would not amount to much. your father has told me that the old man had mortgaged the estate, up to the hilt, to pay his brother's debts; and that when it came to be sold, as it probably would be at his death, there would be very little left for the girls. therefore, certainly i could not go and ask them to support us. "my hope is, my dear boy, that you may be able to make your way, here, in the same manner as your father was doing, when he fell; and that, someday, you may attain to an honourable position, in which you will be able, if you visit england, to call upon your aunts, not as one who has anything to ask of them, but as a relative of whom they need not feel in any way ashamed. "i feel that my end is very near, gregory. i hope to say all that i have to say to you, before it comes, but i may not have an opportunity; and in that case, some time may elapse before you read this, and it will come to you as a voice from the grave. i am not, in any way, wishing to bind you to any course of action, but only to explain fully your position to you, and to tell you my thoughts. "god bless you, my dear boy, prosper and keep you! i know enough of you to be sure that, whatever your course may be, you will bear yourself as a true gentleman, worthy of your father and of the name you bear. "your loving mother." gregory sat for some time before opening the other enclosure. it contained an open envelope, on which was written "to my wife;" and three others, also unfastened, addressed respectively, "the hon. james hartley, king's lawn, tavistock, devon"; the second, "g. hilliard hartley, esquire, the albany, piccadilly, london;" the third, "miss hartley," the address being the same as that of her father. he first opened the one to his mother. "my dearest wife, "i hope that you will never read these lines, but that i shall return to you safe and sound--i am writing this, in case it should be otherwise--and that you will never have occasion to read these instructions, or rather i should say this advice, for it is no more than that. we did talk the matter over, but you were so wholly averse from any idea of ever appealing to my father, or family, however sore the straits to which you might be reduced, that i could not urge the matter upon you; and yet, although i sympathize most thoroughly with your feelings, i think that in case of dire necessity you should do so, and at least afford my father the opportunity of making up for his treatment of myself. the small sum that i left in your hands must soon be exhausted. if i am killed, you will, perhaps, obtain a small pension; but this, assuredly, would not be sufficient to maintain you and the boy in comfort. i know that you said, at the time, that possibly you could add to it by teaching. should this be so, you may be able to remain in egypt; and when the boy grows up, he will obtain employment of some sort, here. "but should you be unsuccessful in this direction, i do not see what you could do. were you to go to england, with the child, what chance would you have of obtaining employment there, without friends or references? i am frightened at the prospect. i know that, were you alone, you would do anything rather than apply to my people; but you have the child to think of, and, painful as it would be to you, it yet seems to me the best thing that could be done. at any rate, i enclose you three letters to my brother, father, and sisters. i have no legal claim on any of them, but i certainly have a moral claim on my brother. it is he who has impoverished the estate, so that, even had i not quarrelled with my father, there could never, after provision had been made for my sisters, have been anything to come to me. "i do not ask you to humiliate yourself, by delivering these letters personally. i would advise you to post them from cairo, enclosing in each a note saying how i fell, and that you are fulfilling my instructions, by sending the letter i wrote before leaving you. it may be that you will receive no reply. in that case, whatever happens to you and the child, you will have nothing to reproach yourself for. possibly my father may have succeeded to the title and, if for no other reason, he may then be willing to grant you an allowance, on condition that you do not return to england; as he would know that it would be nothing short of a scandal, that the wife of one of his sons was trying to earn her bread in this country. "above all, dear, i ask you not to destroy these letters. you may, at first, scorn the idea of appealing for help; but the time might come, as it came to us in london, when you feel that fate is too strong for you, and that you can struggle no longer. then you might regret, for the sake of the child, that you had not sent these letters. "it is a terrible responsibility that i am leaving you. i well know that you will do all, dear, that it is possible for you to do, to avoid the necessity for sending these letters. that i quite approve, if you can struggle on. god strengthen you to do it! it is only if you fail that i say, send them. my father may, by this time, regret that he drove me from home. he may be really anxious to find me, and at least it is right that he should have the opportunity of making what amends he can. from my sisters, i know that you can have little but sympathy; but that, i feel sure, they will give you, and even sympathy is a great deal, to one who has no friends. i feel it sorely that i should have naught to leave you but my name, and this counsel. earnestly i hope and pray that it may never be needed. "yours till death, "gregory hilliard hartley." gregory then opened the letter to his grandfather. "dear father, "you will not receive this letter till after my death. i leave it behind me, while i go up with general hicks to the soudan. it will not be sent to you, unless i die there. i hope that, long ere this, you may have felt, as i have done, that we were both somewhat in the wrong, in the quarrel that separated us. you, i think, were hard. i, no doubt, was hasty. you, i think, assumed more than was your right, in demanding that i should break a promise that i had given, to a lady against whom nothing could be said, save that she was undowered. had i, like geoffrey, been drawing large sums of money from you, you would necessarily have felt yourself in a position to have a very strong voice in so important a matter. but the very moderate allowance i received, while at the university, was never increased. i do not think it is too much to say that, for every penny i have got from you, geoffrey has received a guinea. "however, that is past and gone. i have been fighting my own battle, and was on my way to obtaining a good position. until i did so, i dropped our surname. i did not wish that it should be known that one of our family was working, in an almost menial position, in egypt. i have now obtained the post of interpreter, on the staff of general hicks; and, if he is successful in crushing the rebellion, i shall be certain of good, permanent employment, when i can resume my name. the fact that you receive this letter will be a proof that i have fallen in battle, or by disease. "i now, as a dying prayer, beg you to receive my wife and boy; or, if that cannot be, to grant her some small annuity, to assist her in her struggle with the world. except for her sake, i do not regret my marriage. she has borne the hardships, through which we have passed, nobly and without a murmur. she has been the best of wives to me, and has proved herself a noble woman, in every respect. "i leave the matter in your hands, father, feeling assured that, from your sense of justice alone, if not for the affection you once bore me, you will befriend my wife. as i know that the earl was in feeble health, when i left england; you may, by this time, have come into the title, in which case you will be able, without in any way inconveniencing yourself, to settle an annuity upon my wife, sufficient to keep her in comfort. i can promise, in her name, that in that case you will never be troubled in any way by her; and she will probably take up her residence, permanently, in egypt, as she is not strong, and the warm climate is essential to her." the letter to his brother was shorter. "my dear geoffrey, "i am going up, with general hicks, to the soudan. if you receive this letter, it will be because i have died there. i leave behind me my wife, and a boy. i know that, at present, you are scarcely likely to be able to do much for them, pecuniarily; but as you will someday--possibly not a very distant one--inherit the title and estate, you will then be able to do so, without hurting yourself. "we have never seen much of each other. you left school before i began it, and you left oxford two years before i went up to cambridge. you have never been at home much, since; and i was two years in egypt, and have now been about the same time, here. i charge my wife to send you this, and i trust that, for my sake, you will help her. she does not think of returning to england. life is not expensive, in this country. even an allowance of a hundred a year would enable her to remain here. if you can afford double that, do so for my sake; but, at any rate, i feel that i can rely upon you to do at least that much, when you come into the title. had i lived, i should never have troubled anyone at home; but as i shall be no longer able to earn a living for her and the boy, i trust that you will not think it out of the way for me to ask for what would have been a very small younger brother's allowance, had i remained at home." the letter to his sisters was in a different strain. "my dear flossie and janet, "i am quite sure that you, like myself, felt deeply grieved over our separation; and i can guess that you will have done what you could, with our father, to bring about a reconciliation. when you receive this, dears, i shall have gone. i am about to start on an expedition that is certain to be dangerous, and which may be fatal; and i have left this with my wife, to send you if she has sure news of my death. i have had hard times. i see my way now, and i hope that i shall, ere long, receive a good official appointment, out here. still, it is as well to prepare for the worst; and if you receive this letter, the worst has come. as i have only just begun to rise again in the world, i have been able to make no provision for my wife. i know that you liked her, and that you would by no means have disapproved of the step i took. if our father has not come into the title, when you receive this, your pocket money will be only sufficient for your own wants; therefore i am not asking for help in that way, but only that you will write to her an affectionate letter. she is without friends, and will fight her battle as best she can. she is a woman in a thousand, and worthy of the affection and esteem of any man on earth. "there is a boy, too--another gregory hilliard hartley. she will be alone in the world with him, and a letter from you would be very precious to her. probably, by the same post as you receive this, our father will also get one requesting more substantial assistance, but with that you have nothing to do. i am only asking that you will let her know there are, at least, two people in the world who take an interest in her, and my boy. "your affectionate brother." there was yet another envelope, with no address upon it. it contained two documents. one was a copy of the certificate of marriage, between gregory hilliard hartley and anne forsyth, at saint paul's church, plymouth; with the names of two witnesses, and the signature of the officiating minister. the other was a copy of the register of the birth, at alexandria, of gregory hilliard, son of gregory hilliard hartley and anne, his wife. a third was a copy of the register of baptism of gregory hilliard hartley, the son of gregory hilliard and anne hartley, at the protestant church, alexandria. "i will write, someday, to my aunts," gregory said, as he replaced the letters in the envelopes. "the others will never go. still, i may as well keep them. "so i am either grandson or nephew of an earl. i can't say that i am dazzled by the honour. i should like to know my aunts, but as for the other two, i would not go across the street to make their acquaintance." he carefully stowed the letters away in his portmanteau, and then lay down for a few hours' sleep. "the day is breaking, master," zaki said, laying his hand upon gregory's shoulder. "all right, zaki! while you get the water boiling, i shall run down to the river and have a bathe, and shall be ready for my cocoa, in twenty minutes." "are we going to put on those dervish dresses at once, master? they came yesterday evening." "no; i sha'n't change till we get to the place where we land." as soon as he had breakfasted, he told zaki to carry his portmanteau, bed, and other belongings to the house that served as a store for general hunter's staff. he waited until his return, and then told him to take the two rifles, the packets of ammunition, the spears, and the dervish dresses down to the steamer. then he joined the general, who was just starting, with his staff, to superintend the embarkation. three steamers were going up, and each towed a barge, in which the greater part of the troops was to be stowed, and in the stern of one of these knelt two camels. "there are your nags, mr. hilliard," the general said. "there is an attendant with each. they will manage them better than strangers, and without them we might have a job in getting the animals ashore. of course, i shall take the drivers on with us. the sheik told me the camels are two of the fastest he has ever had. he has sent saddles with them, and water skins. the latter you will probably not want, if all goes well. still, it is better to take them." "i shall assuredly do so, sir. they may be useful to us, on the ride, and though i suppose the camels would do well enough without them, it is always well to be provided, when one goes on an expedition, for any emergency that may occur." an hour later, the steamer started. the river was still full, and the current rapid, and they did not move more than five miles an hour against it. at the villages they passed, the people flocked down to the banks, with cries of welcome and the waving of flags. they felt, now, that their deliverance was accomplished, and that they were free from the tyranny that had, for so many years, oppressed them. the banks were for the most part low; and, save at these villages, the journey was a monotonous one. the steamers kept on their way till nightfall, and then anchored. they started again, at daybreak. at breakfast, general hunter said: "i think that in another two hours we shall be pretty well due west of el fasher, so you had better, presently, get into your dervish dress. you have got some iodine from the doctor, have you not?" "yes." "you had better stain yourself all over, and take a good supply, in case you have to do it again." gregory went below, and had his head shaved by one of the soudanese; then re-stained himself, from head to foot, and put on the dervish attire--loose trousers and a long smock, with six large square patches, arranged in two lines, in front. a white turban and a pair of shoes completed the costume. the officers laughed, as he came on deck again. "you look an out-and-out dervish, hilliard," one of them said. "it is lucky that there are none of the lancers scouting about. they would hardly give you time to explain, especially with that rifle and spear." presently they came to a spot where the water was deep up to the bank, which was some six feet above its level. the barge with the camels was brought up alongside. it had no bulwark, and as the deck was level with the land, the camels were, with a good deal of pressing on the part of their drivers, and pushing by as many soudanese as could come near enough to them, got ashore. none of the soudanese recognized gregory, and looked greatly surprised at the sudden appearance of two dervishes among them. as soon as the camels were landed, gregory and zaki mounted them. "you had better keep, if anything, to the south of east," general hunter's last instructions had been. "unless parsons has been greatly delayed, they should be two or three days' march farther up the river, and every mile you strike the stream, behind him, is so much time lost." he waved his hand to them and wished them farewell, as they started, and his staff shouted their wishes for a safe journey. the black soldiers, seeing that, whoever these dervishes might be, they were well known to the general and his officers, raised a cheer; to which zaki, who had hitherto kept in the background, waved his rifle in reply. as his face was familiar to numbers of the soudanese, they now recognized him, and cheered more heartily than before, laughing like schoolboys at the transformation. chapter : gedareh. "abdul azim was right about the camels," gregory said, as soon as they were fairly off. "i have never ridden on one like this, before. what a difference there is between them and the ordinary camel! it is not only that they go twice as fast, but the motion is so pleasant, and easy." "yes, master, these are riding camels of good breed. they cost twenty times as much as the others. they think nothing of keeping up this rate for twelve hours, without a stop." "if they do that, we shall be near the atbara before it is dark. it is ten o'clock now, and if general hunter's map is right, we have only about eighty miles to go, and i should think they are trotting seven miles an hour." they carried their rifles slung behind them and across the shoulders, rather than upright, as was the arab fashion. the spears were held in their right hands. "we must see if we can't fasten the spears in some other way, zaki. we should find them a nuisance, if we held them in our hands all the way. i should say it would be easy to fasten them across the saddle in front of us. if we see horsemen in the distance, we can take them into our hands." "i think, master, it would be easier to fasten them behind the saddles, where there is more width, and rings on the saddle on both sides." a short halt was made, and the spears fixed. gregory then looked at his compass. "we must make for that rise, two or three miles away. i see exactly the point we must aim for. when we get there, we must look at the compass again." they kept steadily on for six hours. they had seen no human figure, since they started. "we will stop here for half an hour," gregory said. "give the animals a drink of water, and a handful or two of grain." "i don't think they will want water, master. they had as much as they could drink, before starting, and they are accustomed to drink when their work is over." "very well. at any rate, we will take something." they opened one of the water skins, and poured some of the contents into a gourd. then, sitting down in the shadow of the camels, they ate some dates and bread. they had only brought native food with them so that, if captured and examined, there should be nothing to show that they had been in contact with europeans. gregory had even left his revolver behind him as, being armed with so good a weapon as a remington, it was hardly likely that it would be needed; and if found upon them, it would be accepted as a proof that he was in the employment of the infidels. it was dusk when they arrived at the bank of the river. no incident had marked the journey, nor had they seen any sign that dervishes were in the neighbourhood. the atbara was in full flood, and was rushing down at six or seven miles an hour. "colonel parsons must have had great difficulty in crossing, zaki. he is hardly likely to have brought any boats across, from kassala. i don't know whether he has any guns with him, but if he has, i don't think he can have crossed, even if they made rafts enough to carry them." they kept along the bank, until they reached a spot where the river had overflowed. here the camels drank their fill. a little grain was given to them, and then they were turned loose, to browse on the bushes. "there is no fear of their straying, i suppose, zaki?" "no, master. they are always turned loose at night. as there are plenty of bushes here, they will not go far." after another meal, they both lay down to sleep; and, as soon as it was light, zaki fetched in the camels and they continued their journey. in an hour, they arrived at a village. the people were already astir, and looked with evident apprehension at the seeming dervishes. "has a party of infidels passed along here?" gregory asked the village sheik, who came out and salaamed humbly. "yes, my lord, a party of soldiers, with some white officers, came through here three days ago." "how many were there of them?" "there must have been more than a thousand of them." "many more?" "not many; perhaps a hundred more. your servant did not count them." "had they any cannon with them?" "no, my lord. they were all on foot. they all carried guns, but there were no mounted men, or cannon." "where is fadil and his army, that they thus allowed so small a force to march along, unmolested?" "they say that he is still near the nile. two of his scouts were here, the day before the turks came along. they stayed here for some hours, but as they said nothing about the turks coming from kassala, i suppose they did not know they had crossed the river." "well, we must go on, and see where they are. they must be mad to come with so small a force, when they must have known that fadil has a large army. they will never go back again." without further talk, gregory rode farther on. at each village through which they passed, they had some news of the passage of colonel parsons' command. the camels had been resting, from the time when omdurman was taken; and, having been well fed that morning, gregory did not hesitate to press them. the troops would not march above twenty-five miles a day, and two days would take them to mugatta, so that if they halted there but for a day, he should be able to overtake them that night. the character of the country was now greatly changed. the bush was thick and high, and a passage through it would be very difficult for mounted men. there was no fear, therefore, that they would turn off before arriving at mugatta; from which place there would probably be a track, of some sort, to gedareh. it was but a thirty-mile ride and, on arriving near the village, gregory saw that a considerable number of men were assembled there. he checked his camel. "what do you make them out to be, zaki? your eyes are better than mine. they may be colonel parsons' force, and on the other hand they may be dervishes, who have closed in behind him to cut off his retreat." "they are not dervishes, master," zaki said, after a long, steady look. "they have not white turbans. some of their clothes are light, and some dark; but all have dark caps, like those the soudanese troops wear." "that is good enough, zaki. we will turn our robes inside out, so as to hide the patches, as otherwise we might have a hot reception." when they were a quarter of a mile from the village, several men started out from the bushes, rifle in hand. they were all in egyptian uniform. "we are friends!" gregory shouted in arabic. "i am an officer of the khedive, and have come from omdurman, with a message to your commander." a native officer, one of the party, at once saluted. "you will find the bey in the village, bimbashi." "how long have you been here?" "we came in yesterday, and i hear that we shall start tomorrow, but i know not whether that is so." "are there any dervishes about?" "yes; forty of them yesterday afternoon, coming from gedareh, and ignorant that we were here, rode in among our outposts on that hill to the west. three of them were killed, and three made prisoners. the rest rode away." with a word of thanks, gregory rode on. he dismounted when he reached the village, and was directed to a neighbouring hut. here colonel parsons and the six white officers with him were assembled. a native soldier was on sentry, at the door. "i want to speak to parsons bey." the colonel, hearing the words, came to the door. "colonel parsons," gregory said in english, "i am major hilliard of the egyptian army, and have the honour to be the bearer of a message to you, from general rundle, now in command at omdurman." "you are well disguised, indeed, sir," the colonel said with a smile, as he held out his hand. "i should never have taken you for anything but a native. where did you spring from? you can never have ridden, much less walked, across the desert from omdurman?" "no, sir. i was landed from one of the gunboats in which general hunter, with fifteen hundred soudanese troops, is ascending the blue nile, to prevent fadil from crossing and joining the khalifa." "have you a written despatch?" "it was thought better that i should carry nothing, so that even the strictest search would not show that i was a messenger." "is your message of a private character?" "no, sir, i think not." "then will you come in?" gregory followed colonel parsons into the hut, which contained but one room. "gentlemen," the former said with a smile, "allow me to introduce bimbashi hilliard, who is the bearer of a message to me from general rundle, now in command at omdurman. "major hilliard, these are captain mackerrel, commanding four hundred and fifty men of the th egyptians; captain wilkinson, an equal number of the arab battalion; major lawson, who has under his command three hundred and seventy arab irregulars; captain the honorable h. ruthven, who has under him eighty camel men; also captain fleming of the royal army medical corps, who is at once our medical officer, and in command of the baggage column; and captain dwyer. they are all, like yourself, officers in the egyptian army; and rank, like yourself, as bimbashis. "now, sir, will you deliver your message to me?" "it is of a somewhat grave character, sir, but general rundle thought it very important that you should be acquainted with the last news. the sirdar has gone up the white nile, with some of the gunboats and the th soudanese. he deemed it necessary to go himself, because a body of foreign troops--believed to be french--have established themselves at fashoda." an exclamation of surprise broke from all the officers. "in the next place, sir, fadil, who had arrived with his force within forty miles of khartoum, has retired up the banks of the blue nile, on hearing of the defeat of the khalifa. major general hunter has therefore gone up that river, with three gunboats and another soudanese battalion, to prevent him, if possible, from crossing it and joining the khalifa, who is reported to be collecting the remains of his defeated army. "it is possible--indeed the general thinks it is probable--that fadil, if unable to cross, may return with his army to gedareh. it is to warn you of this possibility that he sent me here. gedareh is reported to be a defensible position, and therefore he thinks that, if you capture it, it would be advisable to maintain yourself there until reinforcements can be sent to you, either from the blue nile or the atbara. the place, it seems, is well supplied with provisions and stores; and in the event of fadil opposing you, it would be far safer for you to defend it than to be attacked in the open, or during a retreat." "it is certainly important news, mr. hilliard. hitherto we have supposed that fadil had joined the khalifa before the fight at omdurman, and there was therefore no fear of his reappearing here. we know very little of the force at gedareh. we took some prisoners yesterday, but their accounts are very conflicting. still, there is every reason to believe that the garrison is not strong. certainly, as general rundle says, we should be in a much better position there than if we were attacked in the open. no doubt the arabs who got off in the skirmish, yesterday, carried the news there; and probably some of them would go direct to fadil, and if he came down upon us here, with his eight thousand men, our position would be a desperate one. it cost us four days to cross the river at el fasher, and would take us as much to build boats and recross here; and before that time, he might be upon us. "it is evident, gentlemen, that we have only the choice of these alternatives--either to march, at once, against gedareh; or to retreat immediately, crossing the river here, or at el fasher. as to remaining here, of course, it is out of the question." the consultation was a short one. all the officers were in favour of pushing forward, pointing out that, as only the th egyptians could be considered as fairly disciplined, the troops would lose heart if they retired; and could not be relied upon to keep steady, if attacked by a largely superior force; while, at present, they would probably fight bravely. the arab battalion had been raised by the italians, and were at present full of confidence, as they had defeated the mahdists who had been besieging kassala. the arab irregulars had, of course, the fighting instincts of their race, and would assault an enemy bravely; but in a defensive battle, against greatly superior numbers, could scarcely be expected to stand well. as for the eighty camel men, they were all soudanese soldiers, discharged from the army for old age and physical unfitness. they could be relied upon to fight but, small in number as they were, could but have little effect on the issue of a battle. all therefore agreed that, having come thus far, the safest, as well as the most honourable course, would be to endeavour to fight the enemy in a strong position. although it may be said that success justified it, no wilder enterprise was ever undertaken than that of sending thirteen hundred only partly disciplined men into the heart of the enemy's country. omdurman and atbara, to say nothing of previous campaigns, had shown how desperately the dervishes fought; and the order, for the garrison of kassala to undertake it, can only have been given under an entire misconception of the circumstances, and of the strength of the army under fadil, that they would almost certainly be called upon to encounter. this was the more probable, as all the women and the property of his soldiers had been left at gedareh, when he marched away; and his men would, therefore, naturally wish to go there, before they made any endeavour to join the khalifa. such, indeed, was the fact. fadil concealed from them the news of the disaster at omdurman, for some days; and, when it became known, he had difficulty in restraining his troops from marching straight for gedareh. "do you go on with us, mr. hilliard?" colonel parsons asked, when they had decided to start for gedareh. "yes, sir. my instructions are to go on with you and, if the town is besieged, to endeavour to get through their lines, and carry the news to general hunter, if i can ascertain his whereabouts. if not, to make straight for omdurman. i have two fast camels, which i shall leave here, and return for them with my black boy, when we start." "we shall be glad to have you with us," the colonel said. "every white officer is worth a couple of hundred men." as they sat and chatted, gregory asked how the force had crossed the atbara. "it was a big job," colonel parsons said. "the river was wider than the thames, below london bridge; and running something like seven miles an hour. we brought with us some barrels to construct a raft. when this was built, it supported the ten men who started on it; but they were, in spite of their efforts, carried ten miles down the stream, and it was not until five hours after they embarked that they managed to land. the raft did not get back from its journey till the next afternoon, being towed along the opposite bank by the men. "it was evident that this would not do. the egyptian soldiers then took the matter in hand. they made frameworks with the wood of the mimosa scrub, and covered these with tarpaulins, which we had fortunately brought with us. they turned out one boat a day, capable of carrying two tons; and, six days after we reached the river, we all got across. "the delay was a terrible nuisance at the time, but it has enabled you to come up here and warn us about fadil. fortunately no dervishes came along while we were crossing, and indeed we learned, from the prisoners we took yesterday, that the fact that a force from kassala had crossed the river was entirely unknown, so no harm was done." the sheik of the little village took charge of gregory's camels. some stores were also left there, under a small guard, as it was advisable to reduce the transport to the smallest possible amount. the next morning the start was made. the bush was so thick that it was necessary to march in single file. in the evening, the force halted in a comparatively open country. the camel men reconnoitred the ground, for some little distance round, and saw no signs of the enemy. they camped, however, in the form of a square; and lay with their arms beside them, in readiness to resist an attack. the night passed quietly, and at early dawn they moved forward again. at six o'clock the camel men exchanged a few shots with the dervish scouts, who fell back at once. at eight a village was sighted, and the force advanced upon it, in fighting order. it was found, however, to have been deserted, except by a few old people. these, on being questioned, said that the emir saadalla, who commanded, had but two hundred rifles and six hundred spearmen, and had received orders from fadil to surrender. subsequent events showed that they had been carefully tutored as to the reply to be given. the force halted here, as gedareh was still twelve miles away; and it was thought better that, if there was fighting, they should be fresh. at midnight, a deserter from the dervishes came in, with the grave news that the emir had three thousand five hundred men, and was awaiting them two miles outside the town. there was another informal council of war, but all agreed that a retreat, through this difficult country, would bring about the total annihilation of the force; and that there was nothing to do but to fight. early in the morning, they started again. for the first two hours, the road led through grass so high that even the men on camels could not see above it. they pushed on till eight o'clock, when they reached a small knoll. at the foot of this they halted, and colonel parsons and the officers ascended it, to reconnoitre. they saw, at once, that the deserter's news was true. a mile away four lines of dervishes, marching in excellent order, were making their way towards them. colonel parsons considered that their numbers could not be less than four thousand, and at once decided to occupy a saddle-back hill, half a mile away; and the troops were hurried across. the dervishes also quickened their movements, but were too late to prevent the hill from being seized. the arab battalion had been leading, followed by the egyptians; while the irregulars, divided into two bodies under arab chiefs, guarded the hospital and baggage. the dervishes at once advanced to the attack of the hill, and the column wheeled into line, to meet it. even on the crest of the hill, the grass was breast high, but it did not impede the view of the advancing lines of the dervishes. into these a heavy and destructive fire was at once poured. the enemy, however, pushed on, firing in return; but being somewhat out of breath, from the rapidity with which they had marched; and seeing nothing of the defenders of the hill, save their heads, they inflicted far less loss than they were themselves suffering. the fight was continuing, when colonel parsons saw that a force of about three hundred dervishes had worked round the back of the hill, with the intention of falling upon the baggage. he at once sent one of the arab sheiks to warn captain fleming; who, from his position, was unable to see the approaching foe. colonel parsons had asked gregory to take up his position with the baggage, as he foresaw that, with their vastly greater numbers, it was likely that the dervishes might sweep round and attack it. scarcely had the messenger arrived with the news, when the dervishes came rushing on through the high grass. in spite of the shouts of doctor fleming and gregory, the escort of one hundred and twenty irregular arabs, stationed at this point, at once broke and fled. happily, a portion of the camel corps, with its commander, captain ruthven, a militia officer, was close at hand. though he had but thirty-four of these old soldiers with him, he rushed forward to meet the enemy. doctor fleming and gregory joined him and, all cheering to encourage the soudanese, made a determined stand. gregory and zaki kept up a steady fire with their remingtons, and picked off several of the most determined of their assailants. the fight, however, was too unequal; the dervishes got in behind them, and cut off the rear portion of the transport; and the little band, fighting obstinately, fell back, with their faces to the foe, towards the main body. one of the native officers of the soudanese fell. captain ruthven, a very powerful man, ran back and lifted the wounded soldier, and made his way towards his friends. so closely pressed was he, by the dervishes, that three times he had to lay his burden down and defend himself with his revolver; while gregory and zaki aided his retreat, by turning their fire upon his assailants. for this splendid act of bravery, captain ruthven afterwards received the victoria cross. flushed by their success, the dervishes pushed on. fortunately, at this time the main force of the dervishes was beginning to waver, unable to withstand the steady fire of the defenders of the hill; and as they drew back a little, the egyptian and arab battalions rushed forward. shaken as they were, the dervishes were unable to resist the attack; and broke and fled, pursued by the arab battalion. the egyptians, however, obeyed the orders of captain mackerrel and, halting, faced about to encounter the attack from the rear. their volleys caused the dervishes to hesitate, and captain ruthven and his party reached the summit of the hill in safety. the enemy, however, maintained a heavy fire for a few minutes; but the volleys of the egyptians, at a distance of only a hundred yards, were so deadly that they soon took to flight. the first shot had been fired at half-past eight. at ten, the whole dervish force was scattered in headlong rout. had colonel parsons possessed a cavalry force, the enemy would have been completely cut up. as it was, pursuit was out of the question. the force therefore advanced, in good order, to gedareh. here a dervish emir, who had been left in charge when the rest of the garrison moved out, surrendered at once, with the two hundred black riflemen under him. he had long been suspected of disloyalty by the khalifa, and at once declared his hatred of mahdism; declaring that, though he had not dared to declare himself openly, he had always been friendly to egyptian rule. the men with him at once fraternized with the arabs of colonel parsons' force, and were formally received into their ranks. the emir showed his sincerity by giving them all the information in his power, as to fadil's position and movements, and by pointing out the most defensible positions. none of the british officers had been wounded, but fifty-one of the men had been killed, and eighty wounded. five hundred of the dervishes were left dead upon the field, including four emirs. not a moment was lost in preparing for defence, for it was certain that fadil, on hearing the news, would at once march to retake the town. the position was naturally a strong one. standing on rising ground was fadil's house, surrounded by a brick wall, twelve feet high. here the egyptian battalion and camel corps were placed, with the hospital, and two brass guns which had been found there. a hundred yards away was another enclosure, with a five-foot wall, and two hundred yards away a smaller one. the arab battalion was stationed to the rear of this, in a square enclosure with a brick wall, twelve feet high, in which was situated a well. these four buildings were so placed, that the fire from each covered the approaches to the other. two hundred yards from the well enclosure was a fortified house, surrounded by a high wall. as the latter would need too many men for its defence, the wall was pulled down, and a detachment placed in the house. no time was lost. the whole force was at once employed in pulling down huts, clearing the ground of the high grass, and forming a zareba round the town. the greatest cause for anxiety was ammunition. a large proportion of that carried in the pouches had been expended during the battle, and the next morning colonel parsons, with a small force, hurried back to mugatta to fetch up the reserve ammunition, which had been left there under a guard. he returned with it, three days later. an abundant supply of provisions had been found in gedareh, for here were the magazines, not only of the four thousand men of the garrison and the women who had been left there, but sufficient for fadil's army, on their return. there were three or four wells, and a good supply of water. the ammunition arrived just in time; for, on the following morning, captain ruthven's camel men brought in news that fadil was close at hand. at half-past eight the dervishes began the attack, on three sides of the defences. sheltered by the long grass, they were able to make their way to within three hundred yards of the dwellings occupied by the troops. but the intervening ground had all been cleared, and though time after time they made rushes forward, they were unable to withstand the withering fire to which they were exposed. after an hour's vain efforts their musketry fire ceased; but, half an hour later, strong reinforcements came up, and the attack recommenced. this was accompanied with no greater success than the first attack, and fadil retired to a palm grove, two miles away. of the defenders five men were killed, and captain dwyer and thirteen men wounded. for two days, fadil endeavoured to persuade his troops to make another attack; but although they surrounded the town, and maintained a scattered fire, they could not be brought to attempt another assault, having lost over five hundred men in the two attacks the first day. he then fell back, eight miles. three days later, colonel parsons said to gregory: "i think the time has come, mr. hilliard, when i must apply for reinforcements. i am convinced that we can repel all attacks, but we are virtually prisoners here. were we to endeavour to retreat, fadil would probably annihilate us. our men have behaved admirably; but it is one thing to fight well, when you are advancing; and another to be firm in retreat. "but our most serious enemy, at present, is fever. already, the stink of the unburied bodies of the dervishes is overpowering, and every day it will become worse. doctor fleming reports to me that he has a great many sick on his hands, and that he fears the conditions that surround us will bring about an epidemic. therefore i have decided to send to general rundle, for a reinforcement that will enable us to move out to attack fadil." "very well, sir, i will start at once." "i will write my despatch. it will be ready for you to carry in an hour's time. you had better pick out a couple of good donkeys, from those we captured here. as it is only nine o'clock, you will be able to get to mugatta this evening. i don't think there is any fear of your being interfered with, by the dervishes. we may be sure that fadil is not allowing his men to roam over the country, for there can be little doubt that a good many of them would desert, as soon as they got fairly beyond his camp." "i don't think there is any fear of that, sir; and as my camels will have had ten days' rest, i should have very little fear of being overtaken, even if they did sight us." "we are off again, zaki," gregory said. "we will go down to the yard where the animals we captured are kept, and choose a couple of good donkeys. i am to carry a despatch to omdurman, and as time is precious, we will make a straight line across the desert; it will save us fifty or sixty miles." "i am glad to be gone, master. the smells here are as bad as they were at omdurman, when we went in there." "yes, i am very glad to be off, too." an hour later they started, and arrived at mugatta at eight o'clock in the evening. the native with whom the camels had been left had taken good care of them; and, after rewarding him and taking a meal, gregory determined to start at once. the stars were bright, and there was quite light enough for the camels to travel. the water was emptied from the skins, and filled again. they had brought with them sufficient food for four days' travel, and a sack of grain for the camels. an hour after arriving at the village they again started. "we will follow the river bank, till we get past the country where the bushes are so thick, and then strike west by north. i saw, by colonel parsons' map, that that is about the line we should take." they left the river before they reached el fasher, and continued their journey all night, and onward till the sun was well up. then they watered the camels (they had, this time, brought with them a large half gourd for the purpose), ate a good meal themselves; and, after placing two piles of grain before the camels, lay down and slept until five o'clock in the afternoon. "we ought to be opposite omdurman, tomorrow morning. i expect we shall strike the river, tonight. i have kept our course rather to the west of the direct line, on purpose. it would be very awkward if we were to miss it. i believe the compass is right, and i have struck a match every hour to look at it; but a very slight deviation would make a big difference, at the end of a hundred and fifty miles." it was just midnight when they saw the river before them. "we can't go wrong now, zaki." "that is a comfort. how many miles are we above its junction with the white nile?" "i don't know." they rode steadily on, and day was just breaking when he exclaimed: "there are some buildings opposite. that must be khartoum. we shall be opposite omdurman in another hour." soon after six o'clock, they rode down to the river bank opposite the town; and, in answer to their signals, a large native boat was rowed across to them. after some trouble the camels were got on board, and in a quarter of an hour they landed. "take the camels up to my house, zaki. i must go and report myself, at headquarters." general rundle had not yet gone out, and on gregory sending in his name, he was at once admitted. "so you are back, mr. hilliard!" the general said. "i am heartily glad to see you, for it was a very hazardous mission that you undertook. what news have you?" "this is colonel parsons' report." before reading the long report, the general said, "tell me, in a few words, what happened." "i overtook colonel parsons at mugatta, on the third morning after leaving. we were attacked by nearly four thousand dervishes, five miles from gedareh. after a sharp fight they were defeated, and we occupied the town without resistance. four days later, fadil came up with his army and attacked the town; but was driven off, with a loss of five hundred men. he is now eight miles from the town. the place is unhealthy and, although it can be defended, colonel parsons has asked for reinforcements, to enable him to attack fadil." "that is good news, indeed. we have all been extremely anxious, for there was no doubt that colonel parsons' force was wholly inadequate for the purpose. how long is it since you left?" "about forty-six hours, sir." "indeed! that seems almost impossible, mr. hilliard." "we started at eleven o'clock in the morning, sir, and rode on donkeys to mugatta, where i had left my camels; arrived there at eight, and started an hour later on the camels. we rode till nine o'clock the next day, halted till five, and have just arrived here. the camels were excellent beasts, and travelled a good six miles an hour. i did not press them, as i knew that, if we arrived opposite the town at night, we should have difficulty in getting across the river." "it was a great ride, a great achievement! you must be hungry, as well as tired. i will tell my man to get you some breakfast, at once. you can eat it, while i read this despatch. then i may have a few questions to ask you. after that, you had better turn in till evening." gregory enjoyed his breakfast, with the luxuries of tinned fruit, after his rough fare for the past fortnight. when he went to the general's room again, the latter said: "colonel parsons' despatches are very full, and i think i quite understand the situation. no praise is too high for the conduct of his officers and troops. all seemed to have behaved equally well, and he mentions the gallant part you took in the defence of the baggage, with captain ruthven and the doctor, and only some thirty-four soldiers of the camel corps. "now, i will not detain you longer. i hope you will dine with me this evening. i should like to hear more of the affair." returning to his hut, gregory found that zaki had already got his bed, and other things, from the store; and he was just about to boil the kettle. "i have breakfasted, zaki. here is a dollar. go to one of those big shops, and buy anything you like, and have a good meal. then you had better take the camels across to azim's camp. i shall not want you then, till evening." no time was lost. three battalions and a half of soudanese were sent up the blue nile, in steamers, and the garrisons stationed at several points on the river were also taken on board. three companies of camel corps marched along the bank, and arrived at abu haraz, a hundred and thirty miles up the river, in fifty-six hours after starting. five hundred baggage camels were also sent up. as the distance from gedareh to this point was a hundred miles, and as water was only to be found at one point, it was necessary to carry up a supply for the troops. colonel collinson, who was in command, pushed forward at once with the th soudanese and the camel corps. when fadil heard of their approach, he made a night attack on gedareh. this, however, was easily repulsed by the garrison. he then broke up his camp and marched away, intending to cross the blue nile, and join the khalifa. his troops were greatly demoralized by their failures, and in spite of the precautions he took, the darfur sheik, with five hundred of his men, succeeded in effecting his escape; and at once joined us, actively, in the further operations against fadil. as there was no further danger, the soudanese marched back again and joined the other battalions, the garrisons on the river were re-established, and part of the force returned to omdurman. the sirdar had returned from fashoda before gregory came back, and had left almost immediately for cairo. on the day after gregory's return, he had a sharp attack of fever; the result partly of the evil smells at gedareh, heightened by the fact that the present was the fever season, in the blue nile country. chapter : the crowning victory. it was eight weeks before he recovered, and even then the doctor said that he was not fit for any exertion. he learned that on the nd of october, colonel lewis, with two companies of the camel corps and three squadrons of lancers, had started from omdurman to visit the various villages between the white and blue niles; to restore order, and proclaim that the authority of the khedive was established there. on the th of november, following the blue nile up, he reached karkoj, but a short distance below the point at which the navigation of the river ceased. he had come in contact with a portion of fadil's force, but nothing could be done, in the thick undergrowth in which the latter was lurking; and he therefore remained, waiting for the next move on the part of the dervish commander, while the gunboats patrolled the blue river up to rosaires. six weeks passed. his force, and all the garrisons on the river, suffered severely from heat, thirty percent of the troops being down together. the cavalry had suffered particularly heavily. of the four hundred and sixty men, ten had died and four hundred and twenty were reported unfit for duty, a month after their arrival at karkoj; while of the thirty white officers on the blue nile, only two escaped an attack of fever. at the end of the month, colonel lewis was joined by the darfur sheik and three hundred and fifty of his men. he had had many skirmishes with dervish parties, scouring the country for food, and his arrival was very welcome. gregory was recommended to take a river trip, to recover his health; and left on a steamer going up with stores, and some small reinforcements, to colonel lewis. they arrived at karkoj on the th of december, and learned that the little garrison at rosaires had been attacked by the dervishes. the fifty fever-stricken men who formed the garrison would have had no chance of resisting the attack, but fortunately they had, that very morning, been reinforced by two hundred men of the th soudanese, and two maxims; and the dervishes were repulsed, with considerable loss. two companies of the same battalion had reinforced colonel lewis, who marched, on the day after receiving the news, to rosaires. the gunboat went up to that point, and remained there for some days. gregory went ashore, as soon as the boat arrived, and saw colonel lewis, to whom he was well known. "i am supposed to be on sick leave, sir; but i feel quite strong now, and shall be glad to join you, if you will have me." "i can have no possible objection, mr. hilliard. i know that you did good service with colonel parsons, and it is quite possible that we shall find ourselves in as tight a place as he was. so many of our white officers have been sent down, with fever, that i am very short-handed, and shall be glad if you will temporarily serve as my assistant." on the th, the news came that fadil was crossing the river at dakhila, twenty miles farther to the south. he himself had crossed, and the women and children had been taken over on a raft. on the nd, the darfur sheik was sent off up the west bank, to harass the dervishes who had already crossed. on the th two gunboats arrived, with two hundred more men of the th soudanese, and a small detachment of the th. on the following day the little force started, at five in the afternoon; and, at eleven at night, halted at a little village. at three in the morning they again advanced, and at eight o'clock came in contact with the dervish outposts. colonel lewis had already learned that, instead of half the dervish force having crossed, only one division had done so, and that he had by far the greater part of fadil's army opposed to him. it was a serious matter to attack some four or five thousand men, with so small a force at his disposal; for he had but half the th soudanese, a handful of the th, and two maxim guns. as to the darfur irregulars, no great reliance could be placed upon them. as the force issued from the wood through which they had been marching, they saw the river in front of them. in its midst rose a large island, a mile and a quarter long, and more than three-quarters of a mile wide. there were clumps of sand hills upon it. they had learned that the intervening stream was rapid, but not deep; while that on the other side of the island was very deep, with a precipitous bank. it was upon this island that fadil's force was established. the position was a strong one--the sand hills rose from an almost flat plain, a thousand yards away; and this would have to be crossed by the assailants, without any shelter whatever. the dervishes were bound to fight their hardest, as there was no possibility of escape, if defeated. at nine o'clock the soudanese and irregulars lined the bank and opened fire, while the two maxims came into action. the dervishes replied briskly, and it was soon evident that, at so long a range, they could not be driven from their position. several fords were found, and the irregulars, supported by a company of the th, crossed the river, and took up a position two hundred yards in advance, to cover the passage of the rest. these crossed with some difficulty, for the water was three and a half feet deep, and the current very strong; and they were, moreover, exposed to the fire of fadil's riflemen, from the high cliff on the opposite bank. colonel lewis, determined to turn the left flank of the dervishes, kept along the river's edge until he reached the required position; then wheeled the battalion into line, and advanced across the bare shingle against the sand hills. major ferguson, with one company, was detached to attack a knoll on the right, held by two hundred dervishes. the remaining four companies, under colonel mason, kept straight on towards the main position. a very heavy fire was concentrated upon them, not only from the sand hills, but from fadil's riflemen. the soudanese fell fast, but held on, increasing their pace to a run; until they reached the foot of the first sandhill, where they lay down in shelter to take breath. a quarter of the force had already fallen, and their doctor, captain jennings, remained out in the open, binding up their wounds, although exposed to a continuous fire. this halt was mistaken by the dervishes, who thought that the courage of the soudanese was exhausted; and fadil, from the opposite bank, sounded the charge on drum and bugle; and the whole dervish force, with banners waving and exultant shouts, poured down to annihilate their assailants. but the soudanese, led by colonels lewis and mason, who were accompanied by gregory, leapt to their feet, ran up the low bank behind which they were sheltering, and opened a terrible fire. the dervishes were already close at hand, and every shot told among them. astonished at so unlooked-for a reception, and doubtless remembering the heavy loss they had suffered at gedareh, they speedily broke. like dogs slipped from their leash, the black troops dashed on with triumphant shouts, driving the dervishes from sandhill to sandhill, until the latter reached the southern end of the island. here the soudanese were joined by the irregulars who had first crossed, and a terrible fire was maintained, from the sand hills, upon the crowded mass on the bare sand, cut off from all retreat by the deep river. some tried to swim across, to join their friends on the west bank. a few succeeded in doing so, among them the emir who had given battle to colonel parsons' force, near gedareh. many took refuge from the fire by standing in the river, up to their necks. some four hundred succeeded in escaping, by a ford, to a small island lower down; but they found no cover there, and after suffering heavily from the musketry fire, the survivors, three hundred strong, surrendered. major ferguson's company, however, was still exposed to a heavy fire, turned upon them by the force on the other side of the river. he himself was severely wounded, and a third of his men hit. the maxims were accordingly carried over the river to the island, and placed so as to command the west bank, which they soon cleared of the riflemen. over five hundred arabs lay dead on the two islands. two thousand one hundred and seventy-five fighting men surrendered, and several hundred women and children. fadil, with the force that had escaped, crossed the desert to rung, on the white nile, where on the nd of january they surrendered to the english gunboats; their leader, with ten or twelve of his followers only, escaping to join the khalifa. our casualties were heavy. twenty-five non-commissioned officers and men were killed; one british officer, six native officers, and one hundred and seventeen non-commissioned officers and men wounded of the th soudanese, out of a total strength of five hundred and eleven. the remaining casualties were among the irregulars. never was there a better proof of the gallantry of the black regiments of egypt; for, including the commander and medical officer, there were but five british officers, and two british sergeants, to direct and lead them. after the battle of rosaires, there was a lull in the fighting on the east of the white nile. the whole country had been cleared of the dervishes, and it was now time for the sirdar, who had just returned from england, to turn his attention to the khalifa. the latter was known to be near el obeid, where he had now collected a force, of whose strength very different reports were received. gregory, whose exertions in the fight, and the march through the scrub from karkoj, had brought on a slight return of fever, went down in the gunboat, with the wounded, to omdurman. zaki was with him, but as a patient. he had been hit through the leg, while charging forward with the soudanese. at omdurman, gregory fell into regular work again. so many of the officers of the egyptian battalions had fallen in battle, or were down with fever, that colonel wingate took him as his assistant, and his time was now spent in listening to the stories of tribesmen; who, as soon as the khalifa's force had passed, had brought in very varying accounts of his strength. then there were villagers who had complaints to make of robbery, of ill usage--for this the arab irregulars, who had been disbanded after the capture of omdurman, were largely responsible. besides these, there were many petitions by fugitives, who had returned to find their houses occupied, and their land seized by others. gregory was constantly sent off to investigate and decide in these disputes, and was sometimes away for a week at a time. zaki had recovered rapidly and, as soon as he was able to rise, accompanied his master; who obtained valuable assistance from him as, while gregory was hearing the stories of witnesses, zaki went quietly about the villages, talking to the old men and women, and frequently obtained evidence that showed that many of the witnesses were perjured; and so enabled his master to give decisions which astonished the people by their justness. indeed, the reports of the extraordinary manner in which he seemed able to pick out truth from falsehood, and to decide in favour of the rightful claimant, spread so rapidly from village to village, that claimants who came in to colonel wingate often requested, urgently, that the young bimbashi should be sent out to investigate the matter. "you seem to be attaining the position of a modern solomon, hilliard," the colonel said one day, with a smile. "how do you do it?" gregory laughed, and told him the manner in which he got at the truth. "an excellent plan," he said, "and one which it would be well to adopt, generally, by sending men beforehand to a village. the only objection is, that you could not rely much more upon the reports of your spies than on those of the villagers. the chances are that the claimant who could bid highest would receive their support." matters were quiet until the sirdar returned from england, and determined to make an attempt to capture the khalifa, whose force was reported not to exceed one thousand men. two squadrons of egyptian cavalry and a soudanese brigade, two maxims, two mule guns, and a company of camel corps were placed under the command of colonel kitchener. the great difficulty was the lack of water along the route to be traversed. camels were brought from the atbara and the blue nile; and the whole were collected at kawa, on the white nile. they started from that point, but the wells were found to be dry; and the force had to retrace its steps, and to start afresh from koli, some forty miles farther up the river. they endured great hardships, for everything was left behind save the clothes the men and officers stood in, and one hundred rounds of ammunition each; only one pint of water being allowed per head. the country was a desert, covered with interlacing thorn bushes. an eight days' march brought the force to a village which was considered sacred, as it contained the grave of the khalifa's father, and the house where the khalifa himself had been born. three days later they reached the abandoned camp of the khalifa, a wide tract that had been cleared of bush. a great multitude of dwellings, constructed of spear grass, stretched away for miles; and at the very lowest compilation it had contained twenty thousand people, of which it was calculated that from eight thousand to ten thousand must have been fighting men, ten times as many as had before been reported to be with the khalifa. a reconnaissance showed that a large army was waiting to give battle, on a hill which was of great strength, surrounded by deep ravines and pools of water. the position was an anxious one. the total force was about fourteen hundred strong, and a defeat would mean annihilation; while even a victory would scarcely secure the capture of the khalifa; who, with his principal emirs, osman digna, el khatim the sheik of el obeid, the sheik ed din, and fadil, would be able to gallop off if they saw the battle going against them. colonel kitchener had the wisdom to decide against risking the destruction of his followers by an assault against so great a force, posted in so strong a position. it was a deep mortification to him to have to retreat, and the soldiers were bitterly disappointed; but their commander felt that, brave as the egyptians and soudanese had shown themselves, the odds against victory were too great. after a terrible march, and great sufferings from thirst and scanty food, the force reached koli on the th of february, and were conveyed in steamers down to omdurman. after this somewhat unfortunate affair, which naturally added to the prestige of the khalifa, the months passed uneventfully; but, late in october, preparations were made for an attack upon a large scale against the khalifa's camp, and eight thousand men were concentrated at karla, on the white nile. it was known that the khalifa was at gedir, eighty miles away; but after proceeding half the distance, it was found that he had marched away, and the column returned, as pursuit through a densely-wooded country would have been impracticable. the gunboats had gone up the river with a flying column, under colonel lewis, to check any of the khalifa's forces that attempted to establish themselves on the banks. mounted troops and transport were at once concentrated, and colonel wingate was sent up to take command. the force consisted of a brigade of infantry, under colonel lewis, with the th and th soudanese, an irregular soudanese battalion, a company of the nd egyptians, six companies of camel corps, a squadron of cavalry, a field battery, six maxims, and detachments of medical and supply departments, with a camel transport train to carry rations and three days' water--in all, three thousand seven hundred men. on the afternoon of the st of november, the column moved forward and, favoured by a bright moonlight, made a march of fifteen miles; the cavalry scouting two miles in front, the flanks and rear being covered by the camel corps. native reports had brought in information that fadil, who had been raiding the country, was now in the neighbourhood, on his way to rejoin the main dervish army, which was lying near gadi. the cavalry pushed forward at dawn, and found that fadil had retreated, leaving a quantity of grain behind. a sick dervish who had remained there said that the dervishes had moved to a point seven miles away. the cavalry, camel corps, and some of the guns advanced, and seized a position within three hundred yards of the dervish encampment, on which they immediately opened fire. the rest of the guns were at once pushed forward, to reinforce them, and arrived in time to assist them in repulsing a fierce attack of the dervishes. owing to the nature of the ground, these were able to approach to within sixty yards of the guns, before coming under their fire. they were then mowed down by the guns and maxims, and the musketry fire of the camel corps; to which was added that of the infantry brigade, when they arrived. this was too much even for dervish valour to withstand, and they fled back to their camp. the british force then advanced. they met with but little opposition and, as they entered the camp, they saw the enemy in full flight. the infantry followed them for a mile and a half, while the cavalry and camel corps kept up the pursuit for five miles. fadil's camp, containing a large amount of grain and other stores, fell into the hands of the captors; with a number of prisoners, including women and children, and animals. four hundred dervishes had fallen, great numbers had been wounded, while the british casualties amounted to a native officer of the camel corps dangerously wounded, one man killed, and three wounded. gregory had accompanied colonel wingate, and acted as one of his staff officers. he had, of course, brought his horse with him. it was an excellent animal, and had been used by him in all his excursions from omdurman. "that is rather a different affair from the fight on the atbara, zaki," he said, when the force gathered in fadil's camp, after the pursuit was relinquished; "the dervishes fought just as bravely, but in one case they had a strong position to defend, while today they took the offensive. it makes all the difference." "i am glad to have seen some fighting again, master, for it has been dull work stopping ten months in omdurman, with nothing to do but ride about the country, and decide upon the villagers' quarrels." "it has been useful work, zaki, and i consider myself very fortunate in being so constantly employed. i was desperately afraid that colonel wingate would leave me there, and i was greatly relieved when he told me that i was to come with him. it is a fortunate thing that we have beaten our old enemy, fadil, here. in the first place because, if the three or four thousand men he had with him had joined the khalifa, it would have given us harder work in tomorrow's fight; and in the next place his arrival, with his followers who have escaped, at the khalifa's camp, is not likely to inspirit the dervishes there." gregory was occupied, all the afternoon, in examining the prisoners. they affirmed that they had left the former camp, three days before, with the intention of proceeding to gedid; where fadil was to join the khalifa with captured grain, when the whole dervish force was to march north. the troops slept during the afternoon, and in the evening set out for gedid, which they reached at ten o'clock the next morning. a dervish deserter reported that the khalifa was encamped seven miles to the southeast. fortunately, a pool with sufficient water for the whole force was found at gedid; which was a matter of great importance, for otherwise the expedition must have fallen back. it was hoped that the khalifa would now stand at bay, as our occupation of gedid barred his advance north. behind him was a waterless, and densely wooded district. the capture of the grain on which he had relied would render it impossible for him to remain long in his present position, and his only chance of extricating himself was to stand and fight. after twelve hours' rest the troops were roused, and started a few minutes after midnight. the transport was left, under a strong guard, near the water; with orders to follow, four hours later. the cavalry, with two maxims, moved in advance; and the camel corps on the flanks. the ground was thickly wooded. in many places, a way had to be cut for the guns. at three o'clock news was received, from the cavalry, that the enemy's camp was but three miles distant from the point which the infantry had reached; and that they and the maxims had halted two miles ahead, at the foot of some slightly rising ground; beyond which the scouts had, on the previous day, discovered the main force of the enemy to be stationed. the infantry continued to advance, slowly and cautiously, making as little noise as possible. it was soon evident, however, that in spite of their caution, the enemy were aware of their approach, as there was an outburst of the beating of drums, and the blowing of war horns. this did not last long, but it was enough to show that the dervishes were not to be taken by surprise. when the infantry reached the spot where the cavalry were halted, the latter's scouts were withdrawn and the infantry pickets thrown out, and the troops then lay down to await daybreak. the officers chatted together in low tones. there were but two hours till dawn, and with the prospect of heavy fighting before them, none were inclined to sleep. the question was whether the dervishes would defend their camp, or attack. the result of the battle of omdurman should have taught them that it was impossible to come to close quarters, in the face of the terrible fire of our rifles. fadil could give his experience at gedareh, which would teach the same lesson. on the other hand, the storming of the dervish camp on the atbara, and the fight at rosaires, would both seem to show them that the assault of the egyptian force was irresistible. as gregory had been present at all four of these battles, he was asked to give his opinion. "i think that they will attack," he said. "the dervish leaders rely upon the enthusiasm of their followers; and, in almost all the battles we have fought here, they have rushed forward to the assault. it was so in all the fights down by the red sea. it was so in the attacks on lord wolseley's desert column. it succeeded against hicks's and baker's forces; and even now they do not seem to have recognized that the egyptians, whom they once despised, have quite got over their dread of them, and are able to face them steadily." there was only the faintest light in the sky, when firing broke out in front. everyone leapt to his feet, and stood listening intently. was it merely some dervish scouts, who had come in contact with our pickets, or was it an attacking force? the firing increased in volume, and was evidently approaching. the pickets, then, were being driven in, and the dervishes were going to attack. the men were ordered to lie down, in the position in which they were to fight. in five minutes after the first shot all were ready for action, the pickets had run in; and, in the dim light, numbers of dark figures could be made out. the guns and maxims at once spoke out, while the infantry fired volleys. it was still too dark to make out the movements of the enemy, but their reply to our fire came louder and louder on our left, and it was apparent that the intention of the dervishes was to turn that flank of our position. colonel wingate sent gregory, to order the guns to turn their fire more in that direction; and other officers ordered our right to advance somewhat, while the left were slightly thrown back, and pushed farther out. the light was now getting brighter, and heavy bodies of dervishes, shouting and firing, rushed forward; but they were mown down by grape from our guns, a storm of maxim bullets, and the steady volleys of the infantry. they wavered for a moment, and then gradually fell back. the bugles sounded the advance and, with a cheer, our whole line moved forward down the gentle slope; quickening their pace as the enemy retired before them, and still keeping up a heavy fire towards the clump of trees that concealed the dervish camp from sight. the enemy's fire had now died out. at twenty-five minutes past six the "cease fire" was sounded and, as the troops advanced, it was evident that resistance was at an end. as they issued through the trees, many dervishes ran forward and surrendered, and thousands of women and children were found in the camp. happily, none of these had been injured, as a slight swell in the ground had prevented our bullets from falling among them. numbers of dervishes who had passed through now turned and surrendered, and the cavalry and camel corps started in pursuit. gregory had learned, from the women, that the emir el khatim, with a number of his trained men from el obeid, had passed through the camp in good order, but that none of the other emirs had been seen; and the th soudanese stated that, as they advanced, they had come upon a number of chiefs lying together, a few hundred yards in advance of our first position. one of the arab sheiks of the irregulars was sent to examine the spot, and reported that the khalifa himself, and almost all his great emirs, lay there dead. with the khalifa were ali wad, helu, fadil, two of his brothers, the mahdi's son, and many other leaders. behind them lay their dead horses, and one of the men still alive said that the khalifa, having failed in his attempt to advance over the crest, had endeavoured to turn our position; but, seeing his followers crushed by our fire and retiring, and after making an ineffectual attempt to rally them, he recognized that the day was lost; and, calling on his emirs to dismount, seated himself on his sheepskin, as is the custom of arab chiefs who disdain to surrender. the emirs seated themselves round him, and all met their death unflinchingly, the greater part being mowed down by the volleys fired by our troops, as they advanced. gregory went up to colonel wingate. "i beg your pardon, sir, but i find that khatim, and probably his son, who were so kind to my father at el obeid, have retired with a fighting force. have i your permission to ride forward, and call upon them to surrender?" "certainly, mr. hilliard, there has been bloodshed enough." being well mounted, gregory overtook the cavalry and camel corps, before they had gone two miles; as they were delayed by disarming the dervishes, who were coming in in large numbers. half a mile away, a small body of men were to be seen keeping together, firing occasionally. their leader's flag was flying, and gregory learned, from a native, that it was khatim's. the cavalry were on the point of gathering for a charge, as he rode up to the officer in command. "i have colonel wingate's orders, sir, to ride forward and try to persuade the emir to surrender. he does not wish any further loss of life." "very well, sir. i am sure we have killed enough of the poor beggars. i hope he will give in." as gregory neared the party, which was some five hundred strong, several shots were fired at him. he waved a white handkerchief, and the firing ceased. two emirs rode forward to meet him. "i have come, sir, from the english general, to ask you to surrender. your cause is lost. the khalifa is dead, and most of his principal emirs. he is anxious that there should be no further loss of blood." "we can die, sir, as the others have done," the elder emir, a man of some sixty years old, said sternly. "but that would not avail your cause, sir. i solicited this mission, as i owe much to you." "how can that be?" the chief asked. "i am the son of that white man whom you so kindly treated, at el obeid, where he saved the life of your son abu;" and he bowed to the younger emir. "then he escaped?" the latter exclaimed. "no, sir. he was killed at hebbeh, when the steamer in which he was going down from khartoum was wrecked there; but i found his journal, in which he told the story of your kindness to him. i can assure you that you shall be well treated, if you surrender; and those of your men who wish to do so will be allowed to return to el obeid. i feel sure that when i tell our general how kindly you acted, to the sole white officer who escaped from the battle, you and your son will be treated with the greatest consideration." "i owe more to your father than he did to me," abu exclaimed. "he saved my life, and did many great services to us. "what say you, father? i am ready to die if you will it; but as the khalifa is dead, and the cause of mahdism lost, i see no reason, and assuredly no disgrace, in submitting to the will of allah." "so be it," khatim said. "i have never thought of surrendering to the turks, but as it is the will of allah, i will do so." he turned to his men. "it is useless to fight further," he said. "the khalifa is dead. it were better to return to your wives and families than to throw away your lives. lay down your arms. none will be injured." it was with evident satisfaction that the arabs laid musket and spear on the ground. they would have fought to the death, had he ordered them, for they greatly loved their old chief; but as it was his order, they gladly complied with it, as they saw that they had no chance of resisting the array of cavalry and camel corps, gathered less than half a mile away. "if you will ride back with me," gregory said to the emir, "i will present you to the general. the men had better follow. i will ride forward, and tell the officer commanding the cavalry that you have surrendered, and that the men approaching are unarmed." he cantered back to the cavalry. "they have all surrendered, sir," he said. "they have laid down their arms at the place where they stood, and are going back to camp, to surrender to colonel wingate." "i am glad of it. my orders are to push on another three miles. on our return the camel corps shall collect the arms, and bring them in." gregory rode back to the emirs, who were slowly crossing the plain, but who halted as the cavalry dashed on. "now, emirs," he said, "we can ride quietly back to camp." "you have not taken our arms," khatim said. "no, emir, it is not for me to ask for them. it is the general to whom you surrender, not me." "i mourn to hear of the death of your father," abu said, as they rode in. "he was a good man, and a skilful hakim." "he speaks always in the highest terms of you, emir, in his journal, and tells how he performed that operation on your left arm, which was necessary to save your life; but did so with great doubt, fearing that, never having performed one before, he might fail to save your life." "i have often wondered what became of him," abu said. "i believed that he had got safely into khartoum, and i enquired about him when we entered. when i found that he was not among the killed, i trusted that he might have escaped. i grieve much to hear that he was killed while on his way down." "such was the will of allah," khatim said. "he preserved him at the battle, he preserved him in the town, he enabled him to reach khartoum; but it was not his will that he should return to his countrymen. i say, with abu, that he was a good man; and while he remained with us, was ever ready to use his skill for our benefit. it was allah's will that his son should, after all these years, come to us; for assuredly, if any other white officer had asked us to surrender, i would have refused." "many strange things happen by the will of god," gregory said. "it was wonderful that, sixteen years after his death, i should find my father's journal at hebbeh, and learn the story of his escape after the battle, and of his stay with you at el obeid." gregory rode into camp between the two emirs. he paused for a minute, and handed over their followers to the officer in charge of the prisoners; and then went to the hut formerly occupied by the khalifa, where colonel wingate had now established himself. colonel wingate came to the entrance. "these are el khatim and his son abu, sir. they surrendered on learning that i was the son of the british officer whom they had protected, and sheltered, for a year after the battle of el obeid." the two emirs had withdrawn their swords and pistols from their sashes; and, advancing, offered them to the colonel. the latter did not offer to receive them. "keep them," he said. "we can honour brave foes; and you and your followers were ready to fight and die, when all seemed lost. still more do i refuse to receive the weapons of the men who defended an english officer, when he was helpless and a fugitive; such an act would, alone, ensure good treatment at our hands. your followers have surrendered?" "they have all laid down their arms," khatim said. "do you give me your promise that you will no more fight against us?" "we do," khatim replied. "we have received our weapons back from you, and would assuredly not use them against our conquerors." "in that case, emir, you and your son are at liberty to depart, and your men can return with you. there will, i trust, be no more fighting in the land. the mahdi is dead. his successor proved a false prophet and is dead also. mahdism is at an end, and now our object will be to restore peace and prosperity to the land. "in a short time, all the prisoners will be released. those who choose will be allowed to enter our service. the rest can return to their homes. we bear no enmity against them. they fought under the orders of their chiefs, and fought bravely and well. when they return, i hope they will settle down and cultivate the land; and undo, as far as may be, the injuries they have inflicted upon it. "i will write an order, mr. hilliard, to release at once the men you have brought in. then i will ask you to ride, with these emirs, to a point where there will be no fear of their falling in with our cavalry." "you are a generous enemy," khatim said, "and we thank you. we give in our allegiance to the egyptian government, and henceforth regard ourselves as its servants." "see, mr. hilliard, that the party takes sufficient food with it for their journey to el obeid." colonel wingate stepped forward, and shook hands with the two emirs. "you are no longer enemies," he said, "and i know that, henceforth, i shall be able to rely upon your loyalty." "we are beaten," khatim said, as they walked away, each leading his horse. "you can fight like men, and we who thought ourselves brave have been driven before you, like dust before the wind. and now, when you are masters, you can forgive as we should never have done. you can treat us as friends. you do not even take our arms, and we can ride into el obeid with our heads high." "it will be good for the soudan," abu said. "your father told me, often, how peace and prosperity would return, were you ever to become our masters; and i felt that his words were true. two hours ago i regretted that allah had not let me die, so that i should not have lived to see our people conquered. now, i am glad. i believe all that he said, and that the soudan will some day become, again, a happy country." khatim's men were separated from the rest of the prisoners. six days' supply of grain, from the stores found in the camp, were handed over to them; together with ten camels with water skins, and they started at once on their long march. gregory rode out for a couple of miles with them, and then took leave of the two emirs. "come to el obeid," khatim said, "and you shall be treated as a king. farewell! and may allah preserve you!" so they parted; and gregory rode back to the camp, with a feeling of much happiness that he had been enabled, in some way, to repay the kindness shown to his dead father. chapter : an unexpected discovery. the victory had been a decisive one, indeed. three thousand prisoners, great quantities of rifles, swords, grain, and cattle had been captured; together with six thousand women and children. a thousand dervishes had been killed or wounded. all the most important emirs had been killed, and the sheik ed din, the khalifa's eldest son and intended successor, was, with twenty-nine other emirs, among the prisoners. our total loss was four men killed, and two officers and twenty-seven men wounded in the action. "i am much obliged to you, mr. hilliard," colonel wingate said to him, that evening, "for the valuable services you have rendered, and shall have the pleasure of including your name among the officers who have specially distinguished themselves. as it was mentioned by general rundle and colonel parsons--by the former for undertaking the hazardous service of carrying despatches to the latter, and by colonel parsons for gallant conduct in the field--you ought to be sure of promotion, when matters are arranged here." "thank you very much, sir! may i ask a favour? "you know the outline of my story. i have learned, by the papers i obtained at hebbeh, and others which i was charged not to open until i had certain proof of my father's death, that the name under which he was known was an assumed one. he had had a quarrel with his family; and as, when he came out to egypt, he for a time took a subordinate position, he dropped a portion of his name, intending to resume it when he had done something that even his family could not consider was any discredit to it. i was myself unaware of the fact until, on returning to omdurman from hebbeh, i opened those papers. i continued to bear the name by which i am known, but as you are good enough to say that you will mention me in despatches, i feel that i can now say that my real name is gregory hilliard hartley." "i quite appreciate your motives in adhering to your former name, mr. hartley; and in mentioning your services under your new name, i will add a note saying that your name mentioned in former despatches, for distinguished services, had been erroneously given as gregory hilliard only." "thank you very much, sir!" that evening, when several of the officers were gathered in colonel wingate's hut, the latter said, when one of them addressed gregory as hilliard: "that is not his full name, colonel hickman. for various family reasons, with which he has acquainted me, he has borne it hitherto; but he will, in future, be known by his entire name, which is gregory hilliard hartley. i may say that the reasons he has given me for not having hitherto used the family name are, in my opinion, amply sufficient; involving, as they do, no discredit to himself; or his father, a brave gentleman who escaped from the massacre of hicks's force at el obeid; and finally died, with colonel stewart, at hebbeh." "i seem to know the name," colonel lewis said. "gregory hilliard hartley! i have certainly either heard or seen it, somewhere. may i ask if your father bore the same christian names?" "yes, sir." "i have it now!" colonel lewis exclaimed, a minute or two later. "i have seen it in an advertisement. ever since i was a boy, that name has occasionally been advertised for. every two or three months, it appeared in the times. i can see it plainly, now. "'five hundred pounds reward will be given for any information concerning the present abode, or death, of gregory hilliard hartley; or the whereabouts of his issue, if any. he left england about the year . it is supposed that he went to the united states, or to one of the british colonies. apply to messieurs tufton and sons, solicitors, lincoln's inn fields.' "do you know when your father left england?" "he certainly left about that time. i am nineteen now, and i know that i was born a few weeks after he came out to alexandria." "then there ought to be something good in store for you," colonel wingate said. "people don't offer a reward of five hundred pounds, unless something important hangs to it. of course, there may be another of the same name, but it is hardly likely that anyone would bear the two same christian names, as well as surname. is it indiscreet to ask you if you know anything about your father's family?" "not at all, sir. now that i have taken his name, i need have no hesitation in relating what i know of him. previous to his leaving england, he married without his father's consent; and, failing to make a living in england, he accepted a situation in alexandria; which he gained, i may say, because he was an excellent arabic scholar, as he had spent two years in exploring tombs and monuments in egypt. he was the second son of the honourable james hartley; who was brother, and i believe heir, of the marquis of langdale, and i should think by this time has succeeded to the title. at his death, my father's eldest brother would, of course, succeed him." "then, my dear fellow," colonel mahon said, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder, "allow me to congratulate you. i can tell you that the title has been in abeyance, for the past fourteen years. everyone knows the facts. your grandfather died before the marquis. your uncle succeeded him, lived only three years and, being unmarried, your father became the next earl; and has been advertised for, in vain, ever since. as, unhappily, your father is dead also, you are unquestionably the marquis of langdale." gregory looked round with a bewildered air. the news was so absolutely unexpected that he could hardly take it in. "it seems impossible," he said at last. "it is not only impossible, but a fact," the colonel said. "there is nothing very surprising in it. there were only two lives between your father and the peerage; and as one was that of an old man, the second of a man certainly in the prime of life, but unmarried, why, the jews would have lent money on the chance. "i fancy your uncle was a somewhat extravagant man. i remember he kept a lot of race horses and so on, but he could not have dipped very seriously into the property. at any rate, there will be fourteen years' accumulations, which will put matters straight. "i hope you have got papers that will prove you are your father's son, and that he was brother of the late earl." "i think there can be no difficulty about that," gregory said. "i have letters from both my parents, a copy of their marriage certificate, and of the registers of my birth and baptism. there are some persons in cairo who knew my father, and a good many who knew my mother." "then i should say that it would be quite safe sailing. "i don't know, lewis, whether you are not entitled to that five hundred pounds." "i am afraid not," the other laughed. "mr. hartley; or rather, i should say, the earl; would have discovered it, himself. i only recognized the name, which plenty of people would have done, as soon as they saw it in despatches." "it will be a great disappointment to someone," gregory said; "if they have been, for fourteen years, expecting to come in for this." "you need not fret about that," another officer said. "the next heir is a distant cousin. he has been trying, over and over again, to get himself acknowledged; but the courts would not hear of it, and told him that it was no use applying, until they had proof of the death of your father. i know all about it, because there was a howling young ass in the regiment from which i exchanged. he was always giving himself airs, on the strength of the title he expected to get; and if he is still in the regiment, there will be general rejoicings at his downfall." "then i have met him," gregory said. "on the way up, he made himself very unpleasant, and i heard from the other officers that he was extremely unpopular. the major spoke very sharply to him, for the offensive tone in which he addressed me; and an officer sitting next to me said that he was terribly puffed, by his expectations of obtaining a title shortly, owing to the disappearance of those who stood before him in succession. some of the officers chaffed him about it, then. i remember now that his name was hartley; but as i had no idea, at that time, that that was also mine, i never thought anything more about it, until now. as he was the only officer who has been in any way offensive to me, since i left cairo nearly three years ago, certainly i would rather that he should be the sufferer, if i succeed in proving my right to the title, than anyone else." "i don't think he will suffer, except in pride," the officer said. "his father, who was a very distant cousin of the earl's, had gone into trade and made a considerable fortune; so that the young fellow was a great deal better off than the vast majority of men in the army. it was the airs he gave himself, on the strength of being able to indulge in an expenditure such as no one else in the regiment could attempt--by keeping three or four race horses in training, and other follies--that had more to do with his unpopularity, than his constant talk about the peerage he was so confident of getting." "of course you will go home to england, at once," colonel wingate said. "the war is over now, and it would be rank folly for you to stay here. you have got the address of the lawyers who advertised for you; and have only to go straight to them, with your proofs in your hand, and they will take all the necessary steps. "i should say that it would facilitate matters if, as you go through cairo, you were to obtain statements or affidavits from some of the people who knew your mother; stating that you are, as you claim to be, her son; and that she was the wife of the gentleman known as gregory hilliard, who went up as an interpreter with hicks. i don't say that this would be necessary at all, for the letters you have would, in themselves, go far to prove your case. still, the more proofs you accumulate, the less likely there is of any opposition being offered to your claim. any papers or letters of your mother might contain something that would strengthen the case. "it is really a pity, you know, when you have done so well out here, and would be certain to rise to a high post under the administration of the province; (which will be taken in hand, in earnest, now), that you should have to give it all up." "i scarcely know whether to be pleased or sorry, myself, sir. at present, i can hardly take in the change that this will make, or appreciate its advantages." "you will appreciate them, soon enough," one of the others laughed. "as long as this war has been going on, one could put up with the heat, and the dust, and the horrible thirst one gets, and the absence of anything decent to drink; but now that it is all over, the idea of settling down here, permanently, would be horrible; except to men--and there are such fellows--who are never happy, unless they are at work; to whom work is everything--meat, and drink, and pleasure. it would have to be everything, out here; for no one could ever think of marrying, and bringing a wife, to such a country as this. women can hardly live in parts of india, but the worst station in india would be a paradise, in comparison with the soudan; though possibly, in time, khartoum will be rebuilt and, being situated between two rivers, might become a possible place--which is more than any other station in the soudan can be--for ladies." "i am not old enough to take those matters into consideration," gregory laughed. "i am not twenty, yet. still, i do think that anyone permanently stationed, in the soudan, would have to make up his mind to remain a bachelor." the next morning, the greater portion of the prisoners were allowed to return to their homes. all the grain and other stores, found in the camp, were divided among the women, who were advised to return to their native villages; but those who had lost their husbands were told that they might accompany the force to the river, and would be taken down to omdurman, and given assistance for a time, until they could find some means of obtaining a subsistence. on returning to khartoum, colonel wingate, at gregory's request, told lord kitchener of the discovery that had been made; and said that he wished to return to england, at once. the next day, the sirdar sent for gregory. "colonel wingate has been speaking to me about you," he said, "and i congratulate you on your good fortune. in one respect, i am sorry; for you have done so surprisingly well, that i had intended to appoint you to a responsible position in the soudan civil service, which is now being formed. colonel wingate says that you naturally wish to resign your present post, but i should advise you not to do so. the operation of the law in england is very uncertain. i trust that, in your case, you will meet with but small difficulty in proving your birth; but there may be some hitch in the matter, some missing link. "i will, therefore, grant you six months' leave of absence. at the end of that time, you will see how you stand. if things have gone on well with you, you can then send in your resignation. if, on the other hand, you find yourself unable to prove your claim, it will still be open to you to return here, and continue the career in which you have begun so well." "i am greatly obliged to you, sir, for your kindness; and should i fail in proving my claim, i shall gladly avail myself of your offer, at the end of the six months." "now, zaki," he said, on returning to the hut, of which he had again taken possession, "we must have one more talk. i have told you about the possible change in my position, and that i was shortly leaving for england. you begged me to take you with me, and i told you that if you decided to go, i would do so. i shall be put in orders, tomorrow, for six months' leave. if i succeed in proving my claim to a title, which is what you would call here an emirship, i shall not return. if i fail, i shall be back again, in six months. now, i want you to think it over seriously, before you decide. "everything will be different there from what you are accustomed to. you will have to dress differently, live differently, and be among strangers. it is very cold there, in winter; and it is never what you would call hot, in summer. "it is not that i should not like to have you with me; we have been together, now, for three years. you saved my life at atbara, and have always been faithfully devoted to me. it is for your sake, not my own, that i now speak." "i will go with you, master, if you will take me. i hope never to leave you, till i die." "very well, zaki, i am more than willing to take you. if i remain in england, you shall always be with me, if you choose to remain. but i shall then be able to give you a sum that will enable you to buy much land, and to hire men to work your sakies, to till your land, and to make you what you would call a rich man here, should you wish to return at the end of the six months. if i return, you will, of course, come back with me." on the following day, after having said goodbye to all his friends, disposed of his horse and belongings, and drawn the arrears of his pay, gregory took his place in the train; for the railway had now been carried to khartoum. four days later, he arrived at cairo. his first step was to order european clothes for zaki, and a warm and heavily-lined greatcoat; for it was now the first week in december, and although delightful at cairo, it would be, to the native, bitterly cold in england. then he went to the bank, and mr. murray, on hearing the story, made an affidavit at the british resident's; affirming that he had, for fifteen years, known mrs. gregory hilliard, and was aware that she was the widow of mr. gregory hilliard, who joined hicks pasha; and that mr. gregory hilliard, now claiming to be mr. gregory hilliard hartley, was her son. mr. gregory hilliard, senior, had kept an account at the bank for eighteen months; and had, on leaving, given instructions for mrs. hilliard's cheques to be honoured. mrs. hilliard had received a pension from the egyptian government, up to the date of her death, as his widow; he having fallen in the service of the khedive. gregory looked up his old nurse, whom he found comfortable and happy. she also made an affidavit, to the effect that she had entered the service of mrs. hilliard more than eighteen years before, as nurse to gregory hilliard, then a child of a year old. she had been in her service until her death, and she could testify that gregory hilliard hartley was the child she had nursed. after a stay of four days at cairo, gregory started for england. even he, who had heard of london from his mother, was astonished at its noise, extent, and bustle; while zaki was almost stupefied. he took two rooms at cannon street hotel, for himself and servant, and next morning went to the offices of messieurs tufton and sons, the solicitors. he sent in his name as mr. gregory hilliard hartley. even in the outer office, he heard an exclamation of surprise, as the piece of paper on which he had written his name was read. he was at once shown in. mr. tufton looked at him, with a little surprise. "i am the son of the gentleman for whom, i understand, you have advertised for a long time." "if you can prove that you are so, sir," mr. tufton said, wearily, "you are the marquis of langdale--that is to say, if your father is deceased. "may i ask, to begin with, how it is that the advertisement has, for so many years, remained unanswered?" "that is easily accounted for, sir. my father, being unable to obtain a situation in england, accepted a very minor appointment in the house of messieurs partridge and company, at alexandria. this he obtained owing to his knowledge of arabic. he had been engaged, as you doubtless know, for two years in explorations there. he did not wish it to be known that he had been obliged to accept such a position, so he dropped his surname, and went out as gregory hilliard. as the firm's establishment at alexandria was burned, during the insurrection there, he went to cairo and obtained an appointment as interpreter to general hicks. he escaped when the army of that officer was destroyed, at el obeid; was a prisoner, for many months, at that town; and then escaped to khartoum. he came down in the steamer with colonel stewart. that steamer was wrecked at hebbeh, and all on board, with one exception, were massacred. "my mother always retained some hope that he might have escaped, from his knowledge of arabic. she received a small pension from the egyptian government, for the loss of my father, and added to this by teaching in the families of several turkish functionaries. three years ago she died, and i obtained, through the kindness of lord kitchener, an appointment as interpreter in the egyptian army. i was present at the fights of abu hamed, the atbara, omdurman, and the late victory by colonel wingate. my name, as gregory hilliard, was mentioned in despatches; and will be mentioned, again, in that sent by colonel wingate, but this time with the addition of hartley. "it was only accidentally, on the night after that battle, that i learned that my father was the heir to the marquis of langdale, and i thereupon obtained six months' leave, to come here." "it is a singular story," the lawyer said, "and if supported by proofs, there can be no question that you are the marquis, for whom we have been advertising, for many years." "i think that i have ample proof, sir. here is the certificate of my father's marriage, and the copies of the registers of my birth and baptism. here is the journal of my father, from the time he was taken prisoner till his death. here are his letter to my mother, and letters to his father, brother, and sisters, which were to be forwarded by her should she choose to return to england. here are two affidavits--the one from a gentleman who has known me from childhood, the other from the woman who nursed me, and who remained with our family till i reached the soudan. here also is a letter that i found among my mother's papers, written from khartoum, in which my father speaks of resuming the name of hartley, if things went well there." "then, sir," mr. tufton said, "i think i can congratulate you upon obtaining the title; but at the same time, i will ask you to leave these papers with me, for an hour. i will put everything else aside, and go through them. you understand, i am not doubting your word; but of course, it is necessary to ascertain the exact purport of these letters, and documents. if they are as you say, the evidence in favour of your claim would be overwhelming. "of course, it is necessary that we should be most cautious. we have, for upwards of a hundred years, been solicitors to the family; and as such have contested all applications, from the junior branch of the family, that the title should be declared vacant by the death of the last marquis, who would be your uncle. we have been the more anxious to do so, as we understand the next claimant is a young man of extravagant habits, and in no way worthy to succeed to the title." "i will return in an hour and a half, sir," gregory said, rising. "i may say that the contents of this pocketbook, although intensely interesting to myself, as a record of my father, do not bear upon the title. they are a simple record of his life, from the time when the army of hicks pasha was destroyed, to the date of his own murder at hebbeh. the last entry was made before he landed. i mention this, as it may save you time in going through the papers." gregory went out, and spent the time in watching the wonderful flow of traffic, and gazing into the shops; and when he returned to the office, he was at once shown in. mr. tufton rose, and shook him warmly by the hand. "i consider these documents to be absolutely conclusive, my lord," he said. "the letters to your grandfather, uncle, and aunts are conclusive as to his identity; and that of your mother, strengthened by the two affidavits, is equally conclusive as to your being his son. i will take the necessary measures to lay these papers before the court, which has several times had the matter in hand, and to obtain a declaration that you have indisputably proved yourself to be the son of the late gregory hilliard hartley, and therefore entitled to the title and estates, with all accumulations, of the marquis of langdale." "thank you very much, sir! i will leave the matter entirely in your hands. can you tell me the address of my aunts? as you will have seen, by my father's letter, he believed implicitly in their affection for him." "their address is, the manor house, wimperton, tavistock, devon. they retired there at the accession of their brother to the title. it has been used as a dower house in the family for many years; and, pending the search for your father, i obtained permission for them to continue to reside there. i was not obliged to ask for an allowance for them, as they had an income, under their mother's marriage settlement, sufficient for them to live there in comfort. "i will not give you the letter addressed to them, as i wish to show the original in court; but i will have a copy made for you, at once, and i will attest it. "now, may i ask how you are situated, with regard to money? i have sufficient confidence in the justice of your claim to advance any sum, for your immediate wants." "thank you, sir! i am in no need of any advance. my mother's savings amounted to five hundred pounds, of which i only drew fifty to buy my outfit, when i went up to the soudan. my pay sufficed for my wants there, and i drew out the remaining four hundred and fifty pounds when i left cairo; so i am amply provided." gregory remained four days in london, obtaining suitable clothes. then, attended by zaki, he took his place in the great western for tavistock. zaki had already picked up a good deal of english, and gregory talked to him only in that language, on their way down from the battlefield; so that he could now express himself in simple phrases. mr. tufton had on the previous day written, at gregory's request, to his aunts; saying that the son of their brother had called upon him, and given him proofs, which he considered incontestable, of his identity and of the death of his father. he was the bearer of a letter from his father to them, and proposed delivering it the next day, in person. he agreed with gregory that it was advisable to send down this letter, as otherwise the ladies might doubt whether he was really what he claimed to be, as his father's letter might very well have come into the hands of a third person. he went down by the night mail to tavistock, put up at an hotel; and, after breakfast, drove over to the manor house, and sent in a card which he had had printed in town. he was shown into a room where the two ladies were waiting for him. they had been some four or five years younger than his father, a fact of which he was not aware; and instead of being elderly women, as he expected, he found, by their appearance, they were scarcely entering middle age. they were evidently much agitated. "i have come down without waiting for an invitation," he said. "i was anxious to deliver my father's letter to you, or at least a copy of it, as soon as possible. it was written before his death, some eighteen years ago, and was intended for my mother to give to you, should she return to england. its interest to you consists chiefly in the proof of my father's affection for you, and that he felt he could rely on yours for him. i may say that this is a copy, signed as correct by mr. tufton. he could not give me the original, as it would be required as an evidence of my father's identity, in the application he is about to make for me to be declared heir to the title." "then gregory has been dead eighteen years!" the elder of the ladies said. "we have always hoped that he would be alive, in one of the colonies, and that sooner or later he would see the advertisement that had been put in the papers." "no, madam. he went out to alexandria with my mother, shortly before i was born. he died some three or four years before his brother. it was seldom my mother saw an english paper. unfortunately, as it turned out, my father had dropped his surname when he accepted a situation, which was a subordinate one, at alexandria; and his reason for taking it was that my mother was in weak health, and the doctor said it was necessary she should go to a warm climate; therefore, had any of her friends seen the advertisement, they would not have known that it applied to her. i, myself, did not know that my proper name was hartley until a year back, when i discovered my father's journal at hebbeh, the place where he was murdered; and then opened the documents that my mother had entrusted to me, before her death, with an injunction not to open them until i had ascertained, for certain, that my father was no longer alive." one of the ladies took the letter, and opened it. they read it together. "poor gregory!" one said, wiping her eyes, "we were both fond of him, and certainly would have done all in our power to assist his widow. he was nearer our age than geoffrey. it was a terrible grief to us, when he quarrelled with our father. of course our sympathies were with gregory, but we never ventured to say so; and our father never mentioned his name, from the day he left the house. why did not your mother send his letter to us?" "because she did not need assistance. she was maintaining herself and me in comfort by teaching music, french, and english to the wives and children of several of the high egyptian officials." "how long is it since you lost her?" "more than three years ago. at her death, i was fortunate enough to obtain an appointment similar to that my father had, and at the same time a commission in the egyptian service; and have been fortunate in being, two or three times, mentioned in despatches." "yes; curiously enough, after receiving mr. tufton's letter, we saw colonel wingate's despatch in the paper, in which your name is mentioned. we should have been astonished, indeed, had we not opened the letter before we looked at the paper. "well, gregory, we are very glad to see you, and to find that you have done honour to the name. the despatch said that you have been previously mentioned, under the name of gregory hilliard. we always file our papers, and we spent an hour after breakfast in going through them. i suppose you threw up your appointment, as soon as you discovered that geoffrey died, years ago, and that you had come into the title?" "i should have thrown it up, but lord kitchener was good enough to give me six months' leave; so that, if i should fail to prove my right to the title, i could return there and take up my work again. he was so kind as to say that i should be given a responsible position, in the civil administration of the soudan." "well, we both feel very proud of you; and it does sound wonderful that, being under twenty, you should have got on so well, without friends or influence. i hope you intend to stay with us, until you have to go up to london about these affairs." "i shall be very happy to stay a few days, aunt; but it is better that i should be on the spot, as there may be questions that have to be answered, and signatures, and all sorts of things. "i have brought my arab servant down with me. he has been with me for three years, and is most faithful and devoted; and moreover, he once saved my life, at tremendous risk to himself." "oh, of course we can put him up! can he speak english?" "he speaks a little english, and is improving fast." "does he dress as a native?" "no, aunt. he would soon freeze to death, in his native garb. as soon as i got down to cairo with him, i put him into good european clothes. he is a fine specimen of a soudan arab, but when he came to me he was somewhat weakly; however, he soon got over that." "where is he, now?" "he is with the trap, outside. i told him that he had better not come in until i had seen you, for i thought that your domestics would not know what to do with him, till they had your orders." "you brought your portmanteau with you, i hope?" "i have brought it, but not knowing whether it would be wanted; for i did not know whether you would take sufficiently to me, to ask me to stay." "the idea of such a thing! you must have had a bad opinion of us." "no, aunt. i had the best of opinions. i am sure that my father would not have written as he did to you, unless he had been very fond of you. still, as at present i am not proved to be your nephew, i thought that you might not be disposed to ask me to stay. "now, with your permission, i will go and tell zaki--that is the man's name--to bring in my portmanteau. i can then send the trap back." "do you know, gregory," one of his aunts said that evening; "even putting aside the fact that you are our nephew, we are delighted that the title and estates are not to go to the next heir. he came down here about a year ago. his regiment had just returned from the soudan. he drove straight to the hall, and requested to be shown over it, saying that in a short time he was going to take possession. the housekeeper came across here, quite in distress, and said that he talked as if he were already master; said he should make alterations in one place, enlarge the drawing room, build a conservatory against it, do away with some of the pictures on the walls; and, in fact, he made himself very objectionable. he came on here, and behaved in a most offensive and ungentlemanly way. he actually enquired of us whether we were tenants by right, or merely on sufferance. i told him that, if he wanted to know, he had better enquire of mr. tufton; and flossie, who is more outspoken than i am, said at once that whether we were tenants for life, or not, we should certainly not continue to reside here, if so objectionable a person were master at the hall. he was very angry, but i cut him short by saying: "'this is our house at present, sir; and, unless you leave it at once, i shall call the gardener in and order him to eject you.'" "i am not surprised at what you say, aunt, for i met the fellow myself, on the way up to omdurman; and found him an offensive cad. it has been a great satisfaction to me to know that he was so; for if he had been a nice fellow, i could not have helped being sorry to deprive him of the title and estates which he has, for years, considered to be his." after remaining four days at the manor house, gregory went back to town. a notice had already been served, upon the former claimant to the title, that an application would be made to the court to hear the claim of gregory hilliard hartley, nephew of the late marquis, to be acknowledged as his successor to the title and estates; and that if he wished to appear by counsel, he could do so. the matter was not heard of, for another three months. lieutenant hartley was in court, and was represented by a queen's counsel of eminence; who, however, when gregory's narrative had been told, and the various documents put in, at once stated that after the evidence he had heard, he felt that it would be vain to contest the case at this point; but that he reserved the right of appealing, should anything come to light which would alter the complexion of the affair. the judgment was that gregory hilliard hartley had proved himself to be the son of the late gregory hilliard hartley, brother of and heir to the late marquis of langdale, and was therefore seized of the title and estates. as soon as the case was decided, gregory went down again to devonshire, and asked his aunts to take charge for him. this they at first said was impossible; but he urged that, if they refused to do so, he should be driven to go back to the soudan again. "my dear aunts," he said, "what in the world am i to do? i know no one. i know nothing of english customs, or society. i should, indeed, be the most forlorn person in existence, with a large country estate and a mansion in london. i want someone to introduce me into society, and set me on my legs; manage me and my house, and preside at my table. i am not yet twenty, and have not as much knowledge of english ways as a boy of ten. i should be taken in and duped in every way, and be at the mercy of every adventurer. i feel that it would be a sacrifice for you to leave your pretty home here, but i am sure, for the sake of my father, you will not refuse to do so." his aunts admitted that there was great justice in what he said, and finally submitted to his request to preside over his house; until, as they said, the time came when he would introduce a younger mistress. zaki, when his six months' trial was over, scorned the idea of returning to the soudan; declaring that, if gregory would not keep him, he would rather beg in the streets than go back there. "it is all wonderful here," he said; "we poor arabs could not dream of such things. no, master, as long as you live, i shall stay here." "very well, zaki, so be it; and i can promise you that if i die before you, you will be so provided for that you will be able to live in as much comfort as you now enjoy, and in addition you will be your own master." zaki shook his head. "i should be a fool to wish to be my own master," he said, "after having such a good one, at present." gregory is learning the duties of a large land owner, and is already very popular in his part of devonshire. the mansion in london has not yet been reopened, as gregory says he must learn his lessons perfectly, before he ventures to take his place in society. file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) transcriber's notes: ) table of contents added. ) a 'tn' is noted within the text where mortimer was incorrectly referred to as randolph. * * * * * [illustration] the boy broker or among the kings of wall street by frank a munsey illustrated [illustration: herbert randolph emerges from the cellar in which he has been kept a prisoner.] the boy broker; or, among the kings of wall street. by frank a. munsey. new york: frank a. munsey & co., publishers, warren street. . copyright, , by frank a. munsey. [_all rights reserved._] press of ferris brothers. pearl street, n. y. to my dear father, whose rigid new england discipline seemed to me as a boy severe and unnecessary, this volume is affectionately dedicated with the grateful acknowledgment that he was right and that i was wrong. for this training and for all else i owe him i can pay the debt best by living the life that will please him most. preface. the best story for boys is the one that will help them most and give them the greatest pleasure--the story that will make them more manly, more self reliant, more generous, more noble and sweeter in disposition. such a story i have aimed to make the boy broker. the moral or lesson it contains could be put into a very short lecture, but as a lecture i am confident that it would prove valueless. boys are benefited little by advice. they seldom listen to it and less frequently make any practical application of it. imitative by nature, they are easily influenced by those with whom they associate, and no associate, in my opinion, has so strong a grasp upon them as the hero of some much prized book. he becomes a real being to their young, healthy imagination--their ideal of manliness, bravery, generosity, and nobility. he enters into their lives, their sports, their adventures, their kind acts, a companion, a model so much idealized and admired that unconsciously they grow to be like him in so far as their surroundings will permit. in a good story plot and action are but the setting to the gem--the means of conveying a lesson in disguise in such a way that the reader will not suspect he is being taught. let it once occur to him that he is reading a lecture and the book will at once be quietly but most effectually packed away. many authors, it seems to me, fail in their purpose by devoting too much time to the gem and too little to the setting. others go too far the other way and write stories that give young readers a wrong idea of life--stories whose heroes do improbable and unnatural acts. while my purpose has been to make the boy broker interesting i have aimed to give a true idea of life in a great city. so much nonsense of a misleading character has been written about benevolent old gentlemen who help poor boys from the country that i have sought to turn the light of fact on the subject and picture a little real life--about such life as a boy may expect to find if he comes to new york friendless and alone. he might find it much worse; he could not wisely hope to find it better. frank a. munsey. new york, _september, _. contents page i an introduction to the great city ii an effort to obtain employment iii an evening with bob hunter iv at mr. goldwin's office v the contest between herbert and felix vi a ray of sunshine vii bob hunter thoroughly aroused viii felix mortimer at the bank ix bob assumes a disguise x something about herbert randolph xi imprisoned at the fence xii bob's brilliant move xiii a terrible fear xiv bob outwits the old fence xv bob and herbert meet xvi the old fence in a trap xvii bob goes for an officer xviii tom flannery is hungry xix the rivals at the bank xx felix mortimer discomfited xxi two young capitalists xxii the great banquet xxiii bob hunter's ambition xxiv a visit to the banker's house xxv tom flannery's sickness xxvi a crash in wall street xxvii dark days xxviii in business for himself xxix tom flannery's funeral xxx in a new home xxxi the boy broker xxxii the conspirators' fate xxxiii a glimpse at the future list of illustrations. _herbert randolph emerges from the cellar in which he has been kept a prisoner_, _frontispiece_. _the great city_, _page_ _"you evidently know all about propriety, so here is my hand," said herbert_, " _herbert randolph in the post office_, " _memories of country life--the greeting by the way_, " _the benevolent old gentleman presses money on the country boy_, " _the country boy finds a well filled pocket book_, " _the country boy to the rescue_, " _at the boss tweed restaurant_, " _a glimpse of wall street_, " _herbert randolph finds himself among a mob of rival applicants_, " _gunwagner and felix agree upon a plan_, " _young randolph handed ray into the carriage with just enough embarrassment in his manner to interest her_, " _bob hunter, alone in his room, wonders what has become of his new friend_, " _tom flannery_, " _bob hunter speaks up for herbert_, " _bob hunter plays the detective_, " _a surprise for felix mortimer_, " _young randolph at last falls asleep exhausted_, " _suddenly realizing his horrible situation, herbert sprang upon the bench with a pitiful cry of terror_, " _gunwagner pursuing the boys_, " _gunwagner bursts into the room in a furious mood_, " _gunwagner in the hands of the police_, " _young randolph and bob hunter confront felix mortimer and charge him with his villainy_, " _"tom," said bob, "here's a five for you."_ " _the great banquet_, " _bob and tom coming out of the bank_, " _herbert's first visit to the banker's house_, " _"you embarrass me," said herbert, blushing_, " _tom flannery in delirium_, " _young randolph again in the ranks of the unemployed_, " _herbert randolph shoveling snow_, " _herbert randolph working on the hoist_, " _tom flannery's deathbed_, " _tom flannery's funeral_, " _ray reading to mrs. flannery_, " _mrs. flannery and the two boys in their new home_, " _gunwagner in prison_, " _bob hunter, the student and young business man_, " * * * * * [illustration: the great city.] the boy broker. chapter i. an introduction to the great city. "give me the best morning paper you have, please." "the _tribune_ costs the most, if that is the one you want." "the price will be no objection providing the paper contains what i wish to find." "you want work, i s'pose." "yes, i am looking for employment." "i knew it--just in from the country too," said the newsboy, comically. "well, what you want is the _herald_ or _world_. they are just loaded with wants." "thank you, you may give me both." "both! whew, you must be well fixed!" replied the young metropolitan, handing over the papers, as he regarded his new customer curiously. "what does that mean?" asked the latter, seriously. "you don't know what well fixed means? you must have come from way back! why it means--it means that you're solid, that you've got the stuff, don't you see?" "i'm solid enough for a boy of my age, if that is the idea," replied the lad from the country, rather sharply, as a tinge of color rose to his cheeks. "shucks! that ain't the idea at all," said the street boy, in a tone that seemed apologetic. "what i mean is that you're a kind of boodle alderman--you're rich. do you see now?" "oh! that's it. well, you see, i didn't know what you meant. i never heard those terms up in vermont. no; i'm not rich, but on the contrary have so little money that i must commence work at once." "and that is why you bought two papers, so you can take in the whole business. you've got a big head, vermont, any way, and would do stunnin' on mornin' papers." "thank you. do you mean at selling them?" "yes, of course. you wouldn't give 'em away, would you?" "well, no, i should not be inclined to do so." "that sounds more like it. perhaps i'll give you a job, if you can't find anything else." "thank you, i may be very glad to get a chance to sell papers even." "'tain't a bad business anyhow. me and lots of fellers makes plenty of money at it. but i s'pose you're hungry, hain't you? if you be i'll take you round to a boss place and it won't cost nothin' hardly." "i am very much obliged to you, but i had my breakfast soon after leaving the boat." "and i bet they done you up on the price. i tell you what it is, it takes a fellow a good while to learn to live in this city. you don't know nothin' about what it costs. why i know a plenty of boys that spend more--yes, i'd say so, twice as much as what i do, and they don't throw no style into their livin' either. you see they don't know how and hain't got no taste, any way. but i like your looks, vermont, and ef you want any points--and you're liable to want 'em in this city, i'll bet you--why you just call on me and i'll fix you out in big shape." [illustration: "you evidently know all about propriety, so here is my hand," said herbert.] "thank you, sincerely," said the green mountain lad, a broad smile playing over his fine face, as he regarded the drollery of his new acquaintance. "i shall need many suggestions, no doubt, for i feel almost lost in this great city. i had no idea it was so large. i was never here before, and do not know where to go for a room or meals." "so i thought, and that's why i offered to put you into the right track. my name is bob hunter--i hain't got no business cards yet, but all the boys knows me, and my place of business is right round here in city hall park. you'll find me here 'most any time durin' business hours." "bob hunter! well, you may be sure i shall remember your name and place of business, for i want to see you again. but what are your business hours?" "oh, yes; i forgot that. everybody must have business hours, of course. well, say from five to ten in the mornin', and three to eight in the afternoon, you can find me in." "in! you mean _out_, don't you--out here?" "shucks! don't be so schoolmastery. everybody in business says _in_. i guess i know what's proper!" "all right, bob hunter, i'll give it up. you know all about propriety in new york, and i know nothing of it, so here is my hand. i'll say good by till tonight, when i will call upon you again. i must look over these papers now, and hunt for a situation." "i hope you'll have luck, and get a bang up place. i'll be _in_ when you call tonight; and if you hain't no objections, i'd like to know your name. it would be more handy to do business, you see. how could my clerks announce you so i'd know you, if i don't know your name? you see, i might think it was some one that wanted to collect a bill," continued bob, dryly, "and i'd be _out_. don't you see how it's done? i'd just tell my clerks to say 'mr. hunter is not in;' so, you see, you would get left. why, business men do it every day!" "my name is herbert randolph," replied the other, laughing heartily at his comical friend--i say friend, for he already felt convinced that he had found one in bob hunter. "herbert randolph! that's a tony name--some old fellow i read about in school was called randolph; most likely he was some of your relations." the day was too cold for him to remain out in the park and read; so herbert, acting on the advice of bob hunter, hurried to the great granite post office, and there, in the rotunda, ran his eye over the "wants" in his two papers. many columns of closely printed matter in each paper offering every conceivable position were spread out before him--a bewildering display of flattering prospects. young randolph soon learned that if he stopped to read every advertisement in both journals it would be very late in the day before he could apply for any position. but should he only read a few of the wants he might fail to notice the best openings. this was a misfortune, for he was ambitious to get the right position--the position that would enable him to advance the fastest; and like all inexperienced boys, he hoped and even expected he might get it the very first time trying. he had already marked a dozen or two advertised situations which, it seemed to him, would do very well, in fact were quite desirable, but of course they were the high priced positions which would naturally be most sought after by thousands of other applicants--rivals whom the young vermonter did not take into consideration. he saw before him a demand for four or five thousand people to help move the wheels of commerce. he knew of course that he could only _accept_ one position, so he was desirous that that one should be the best. any smart boy would feel as he did in this respect. some boys would even be so thoughtful of the interest of others as to feel sad that the four thousand nine hundred and ninety nine employers should be deprived of their services. but young randolph was more selfish. he had come here from the country with buoyant hopes and splendid courage. he proposed to make his way in new york--to become what is known as a successful man, to make a name for himself--a name that would extend to his native state and make his parents proud of their brilliant son. feeling thus, how natural it was that he should linger over the attractive columns much longer than was wise. yet he did not think of this, or at least he did not give it any serious consideration, for were there not a vast number of positions to be filled? the question then was not whether he could get anything to do, but rather which one he should accept. when talking with young bob hunter, the newsboy, he had intimated that he might be glad even to get a chance to sell papers; but it must be remembered that he had not at that time seen a new york paper, and knew nothing of the tremendous demand for help. such a proposition from bob now, however, would doubtless have been scorned, notwithstanding herbert's usual good sense. and such scorn would have been very natural under the circumstances. selling papers is an employment vastly inferior to clerking, to book keeping, to banking, to writing insurance policies, all of which positions were now open to him, as he supposed, else why should they be advertised? and why could not he fill them--any one of them? he was honest, ambitious, willing to work hard, wrote a splendid hand, had had some experience in clerking in a country store, and, best of all, he knew he would be faithful to his employer--all excellent qualifications in a general way--qualifications that probably seemed to him irresistible. then, too, might he not lend a degree of intelligence, of thought to the business that would be helpful? this was a point that did not occur to him at first--not till his mind became inspired with the subject; but now the idea seemed to him a good one, and he wondered that he had not thought of it before. at any rate, he decided not to lose sight of it again, for he knew--his common sense told him, and he had read also, that the men who move things in this world are men of brains--men who _think_, who lend ideas to business, to inventions, to anything and everything with which they have to deal. [illustration: herbert randolph in the post office.] thus another complication was added, for now he must consider in determining if the position he accepted would give him the widest scope for thought, and the broadest play for genius, ideas, originality and enterprise. his imagination ran fast. he was dead to the busy scenes about him. great questions pressed home upon him for decision, and he did not decide quickly and without thought, as a light headed boy would have done. no, he pondered long and hard over the subject which meant so much to him, and perhaps to the entire commerce of the city and even the finances of the nation. what might not grow out of his start in life--the start of a thoughtful, industrious, original man? how important, then, that it should be a right start! what might not come of a false venture? how the possibilities of the future might be dwarfed by such a move! these were momentous questions for this young ambitious boy to solve. he grappled with them bravely, and with flushed cheeks and dilated eyes knitted his brows and thought. he thought hard, thought as one with the responsibilities of a nation resting upon him--this young untried, untrained boy from old vermont. "no, i will not take it," he broke out suddenly and with striking determination in his face. "simply because i write a good hand they would keep me writing policies all the time, and then i believe the insurance business is run like a big machine. no, i do not want it and will not take it, for i am not going to make a mistake this time. i want to show the folks down home who said i would make a failure here that they didn't _know me_--they counted on the wrong man. no, insurance is good enough for any one without ambition or ideas, who always wants to be a clerk, but i'm not that kind of a man." he was actually calling himself a man now. "but i think mercantile business or manufacturing or banking would do for me and would be suited to me. i wonder which is the best! mercantile business gives one a good chance to show what he is made of. a man with ideas ought to succeed in it; that is, if he is pushing and has plenty of originality. a. t. stewart, what a fortune he made! he was original, he did things in a new way, advertised differently, got up new ideas, and pushed his business with close attention. he started without any money. i have no money. he was a hard worker, a thinker, an originator, a pusher. why shouldn't i be a hard worker, a thinker, an originator and a pusher? i think i will. but these qualifications will win just as well in the manufacturing and banking business as in mercantile pursuits, and if i have them i shall succeed anywhere. i wonder why those people in vermont thought i would not succeed here. i wish they could see the chances i have. "well, i do not think i'll take to manufacturing, though here are a dozen or so first class situations in that line. i might like it well enough, but i believe banking would suit me better--that is, banking or the mercantile business, and i don't care much which. of course banking will be easier at first than clerking, so i should have more time for thought and study--time to get right down to the science of the business. yes, i believe i'll try banking. here are four banks that want a young man. i'll take a look at each, for i want the best one." thus young randolph reasoned, feeling no uneasiness about procuring a situation, though he had wasted in building foolish air castles so much valuable time that he had really almost no chance of obtaining a situation of any kind that day. this he learned to his sorrow a little later, when he commenced in earnest the very difficult undertaking of getting employment in a great city. chapter ii. an effort to obtain employment. what a common occurrence it is for people to do foolish things. how often we see a man of education and broad influence--a hard headed man of sense, who has made his own way against stubborn opposition, and accumulated great wealth--how often, i say, we see such a man exhibit a degree of simplicity in money making or some other matter that would seem weak in an untutored boy. when he already has more money than he knows what to do with, he will perhaps hazard all on some wild cat speculation, and in a very little while find himself penniless and unable to furnish support for his family. again he becomes the victim of a confidence game, and only learns how he has been played with when he has lost perhaps fifty thousand dollars by the unscrupulous sharpers with whom he has been dealing. such exhibitions of weakness in men to whom the community looks for an example are always surprising, always painful; but they teach us the important fact that human nature is easily influenced, easily molded, easily led this way or that when the proper influences are brought to bear upon it. it is not so strange, then, that young herbert randolph, fresh from the country and as ignorant of the city as a native african, should have become dazzled by the flattering prospects spread out before him. what a busy city new york seemed to him when he landed from the boat in the early morning! everything was bustle and activity. people were hurrying along the streets as he had never seen them move in his quiet country town. no idlers were about. men and boys alike were full of business--they showed it in their faces, their every movement. these facts impressed the young country lad far more than the tall buildings and fine streets. his own active nature bounded with admiration at the life and dash on every hand. he had been reared among sleepy people--people in a rut, whose blood flowed as slowly as the sluggish current upon which they floated towards their final destiny. but young randolph was not of their class. he had inherited an active mind, and an ambition that made him chafe at his inharmonious surroundings at home. the very atmosphere, therefore, of this great city, laden with the hum of activity, was stimulating and even intoxicating to his boundless ambition. he had been a great reader. biography had been his favorite pastime. he knew the struggles and triumphs of many of our most conspicuous merchant princes. not a few familiar names, displayed on great buildings which towered over the tops of their smaller neighbors, greeted his eyes as he approached the city by boat, and passed through the streets after landing. these sights were food for his imagination. he compared himself, his qualifications, his poverty, and his opportunities for advancement in this world of activity with the advent into new york of the men he had taken as models for his own career. there was in a general way a striking likeness between the two pictures as he viewed them. their struggles had been so long and fierce that it seemed to him they must have been made of iron to finally win the fight. yet these very difficulties lent attractiveness to the picture. they made heroes of his models, whose example he burned with enthusiasm to follow. thus it will be seen that in the early morning he expected to meet bitter discouragements, to encounter poverty in its most depressing form, and to meet rebuffs on the right hand and on the left. he expected all this. he rather craved it from the sentimental, heroic standpoint, because the men he had chosen to follow had been compelled to force their way through a similar opposition. from this view of the boy it is plain that he was sincere in thanking young bob hunter, a little later, for the newsboy's generous offer to take him into the paper trade. but a little later still, when he enters the post office and becomes intoxicated with the sudden, the unexpected, the overwhelming opportunities displayed before him--the urgent demands, even, for his services in helping to push forward the commerce of this vast city, he presents himself in an entirely new light. his head has been turned. he has lost sight of the early struggles of his heroes, and now revels in the brilliant pictures drawn by his imagination. how flattering to himself are these airy, short lived fabrics, and how sweet to his young ambition! had young randolph been an ordinary boy of slow intellect, he would never have indulged in these beautiful dreams, which to the stupid mind would seem silly and absurd, but to him were living realities--creations to beckon him on, to encourage him in the hours of danger and to sustain him in the stern battle before him. did he then waste his time in what would seem wild imagination, when a more practically minded boy would have been applying for work? yes, in the smaller sense, he idled his time away; but in the broader, he builded better than he knew. to be sure, he had lost the opportunity of securing a situation on that day--and he needed work urgently--but he had fixed upon _an ideal_--a standard of his own, to be the goal of all his efforts and struggles. and such an ideal was priceless to him. it would prove priceless to any boy, for without lofty aims no young man can ever hope to occupy a high position in life. [illustration: memories of country life--the greeting by the way.] of course he appears foolish in forgetting what he had anticipated, namely the difficulties he would in all probability experience in finding a situation, but the fact that five thousand positions were offered to him who knew nothing of the tremendous demand for such situations entirely deluded him. once forgetting this important point, his mind ran on and on, growing bolder and bolder as thought sped forward unrestrained in wild, hilarious delight. what pleasure in that half hour's thought--sweet, pure, intoxicating pleasure, finer and more delicate than any real scene in life can ever afford. but everything has a price, and that price must many times be paid in advance. those delightful moments passed in thinking out for himself a grand career cost young randolph far more than he felt he could afford to pay. they cost him the opportunity of securing a position on that day, and made him sick at his own ignorance and folly. he felt ashamed of himself and disgusted at his stupidity, as he walked block after block with tired feet and heavy heart, after being coldly turned away from dozens of business houses with no encouragement whatever. he went from banking to mercantile pursuits, then to insurance, to manufacturing, and so on down, grade after grade, till he would have been glad to get any sort of position at honest labor. but none was offered to him and he found no opening of any sort. night was coming on. he was tired and hungry. his spirits ran low. in the post office in the early part of the day they soared to unusual height, and now they were correspondingly depressed. what should he do next? where should he spend the night? these questions pressed him for an answer. he thought of bob hunter, and his cheeks flushed with shame. he would not have the newsboy know how foolish he had been to waste his time in silly speculation. he knew the young new yorker would question him, and he would have to hide the real cause of his failure, should he join his friend. he was fast nearing bob's place of business, and he decided to stop for a few moments' reflection, and to rest his weary limbs as well. accordingly he stepped to the inner side of the flagging and rested against the massive stone base of the astor house. looking to his right broadway extended down to the battery, and to his left it stretched far away northward. up this famous thoroughfare a mighty stream of humanity flowed homeward. young randolph watched the scene with much interest, forgetting for a time his own heavy heart. soon, however, the question what to do with himself pressed him again for an answer. how entirely alone he felt! of all the thousands of people passing by him, not one with a familiar face. every one seemed absorbed in himself, and took no more notice of our country lad than if he had been a portion of the cold inanimate granite against which he stood. herbert felt this keenly, for in the country it was so different. there every one had a kind look or a pleasant word for a fellow man to cheer him on his way. chapter iii. an evening with bob hunter. chilly from approaching night and strengthening wind, and depressed by a disheartening sense of loneliness and a keen realization of failure on the first day of his new career, herbert felt homesick and almost discouraged. at length he joined the passers by, and walked quickly until opposite city hall park. he crossed broadway and soon found himself at young bob hunter's "place of business." the latter was "in," and very glad he seemed to see his new friend again. his kindly grasp of the hand and hearty welcome acted like magic upon herbert randolph; but his wretchedly disheartened look did not change in time to escape the keen young newsboy's notice. "didn't strike it rich today, did you?" said he, with a smile. "no," replied herbert sadly. "didn't find no benevolent old gentleman--them as is always looking for poor boys to help along and give 'em money and a bang up time?" "i did not see any such philanthropist looking for me," answered herbert, slightly puzzled, for the newsboy's face was seriousness itself. "well, that is all fired strange. i don't see how he missed you, for they takes right to country boys." "i did not start out very early," remarked herbert doubtfully, and with heightened color. "then that's how it happened, i guess," said bob, with a very thoughtful air. "but you must have found somebody's pocket book----" "what do you mean?" interrupted herbert suspiciously. "mean--why what could i mean? wasn't it plain what i said? wasn't i speaking good english, i'd like to know?" said bob, apparently injured. "your language was plain, to be sure, and your english was good enough," apologized herbert; "but i can't see why i should find anybody's pocket book." [illustration: the benevolent old gentleman presses money on the country boy.] "jest what i thought, but you see you don't know the ways of new york. you will learn, though, and you will be surprised to see how easy it is to pick up a pocket book full of greenbacks and bonds--perhaps a hundred thousand dollars in any one of 'em--and then you will take it to the man what lost it, and he will give you a lots of money, maby a thousand dollars or so--'twouldn't be much of a man as would do less than a thousand. what do you think?" "i don't know what to think. i cannot understand you, bob hunter." "that's 'cause you don't know me, and ain't posted on what i'm saying. maby i am springin' it on you kinder fresh for the first day, though i guess you will stand it. but tell me, vermont, about the runaway horse that you stopped." "the runaway horse that i stopped!" exclaimed herbert. "you must be mad to talk in this way." "mad! well, that's good; that's the best thing i've heard of yet! do i look like a fellow that's mad?" and he laughed convulsively, much to the country lad's annoyance. "no, you do not look as if you were mad, but you certainly act as if you were," replied the latter sharply. "now look a here, vermont, this won't do," said bob, very serious again. "you are jest tryin' to fool me, but you can't do it, vermont, i'll tell you that straight. of course i don't blame you for wantin' to be kinder modest about it, for i s'pose it seems to you like puttin' on airs to admit you saved their lives. but then 'tain't puttin' on no airs at all. ef i was you i'd be proud to own it; other boys always owns it, and they don't show no modesty about it the same as what you do, either. and i don't know why they should, for it's something to be proud of; and you know, vermont, the funniest thing about it is that them runaways is always stopped by boys from the country jest like you. don't ask me why it happens so, for i don't know myself; but all the books will tell you that it is so. and jest think, vermont, how many lives they save! you know the coachman gets paralyzed, and the horses runs away and he tumbles off his box, and a rich lady and her daughter--they are always rich, and the daughter is always in the carriage, too--funny, ain't it, but it's as true as i'm alive; and the boy rushes at the horses when they are going like a cyclone, and stops 'em jest as the carriage is going to be dashed to pieces. and then the lady cries and throws her arms round the boy, and kisses him, and puts a hundred dollars in his hands, and he refuses it. then the lady and her daughter ask him to come up to their house, and the next day her husband gets a bang up position for him, where he can make any amount of money. "now i call that somethin' to be proud of, as i said before, and i don't see no sense in your tryin' to seem ignorant about it. why, i wouldn't be surprised a bit ef you would try to make out that you wasn't anear any fire today. but that wouldn't do, vermont--i'll give you a pointer on that now, so you won't attempt no such tomfoolery with me, for no boy like you ever comes into a town like new york is and don't save somebody from burning up--rescue 'em from a tall building when nobody else can get to 'em. and of course for doing this they get pushed right ahead into something fine, while us city fellows have to shin around lively for a livin'. [illustration: the country boy finds a well filled pocket book.] "i don't know ef you saved anybody from drowning or not; i won't say that you did, but ef you didn't you ain't in luck, that's all i've got to say about it. so you see 'tain't much use for you to try to deceive me, vermont, for i know jest what's a fair day's work for a boy from the country--jest what's expected of him on his first day here. why, ef you don't believe me (and i know you don't by the way you look), jest get all the books that tells about country boys coming to new york, and read what they say, that's all i ask of you, vermont. now come, own up and tell it straight." "bob, you are altogether too funny," laughed herbert, now that the drift of his friend's seemingly crazy remarks was plain to him. "how can you manage to joke so seriously, and why do you make fun of me? because i am from the country, i suppose." "i hope i didn't hurt your feelings, vermont," replied bob, enjoying greatly his own good natured satire. "no, not at all, bob hunter, but until i saw your joke i thought surely you were insane." "well, you see, i thought you needed something to kinder knock the blues that you brought back with you tonight--'tain't much fun to have 'em, is it? sometimes i get 'em myself, so i know what they're like. but now to be honest, and not fool no more, didn't you get no show today?" "no, not the least bit of encouragement," replied herbert. "and you kept up the hunt all day?" "yes." "i ought ter told you that that warn't no use." "how is that?" "why, don't you see, it's the first fellers what gets the jobs--them as gets round early." "and are there so many applicants for every position?" "are there? well, you jest bet there are. i've seen more'n two hundred boys after a place, and 'twan't nothin' extra of a place, either." "but then there are thousands of places to be filled. why, the papers were full of them." "yes, and there is a good many more thousands what wants them same jobs. you never thought of that, i guess." herbert admitted with flushed cheeks that he had not given that fact proper consideration. "well, you done well, any way, to hang on so long," said bob, in his off hand, comical manner. "i expected you'd get sick before this time, and steer straight for vermont." "why did you think that?" [illustration: the country boy to the rescue.] "well, most of the country boys think they can pick up money on the streets in new york; but when they get here, and begin to hunt for it, they tumble rather spry--i mean they find they've been took in, and that a fellow has got to work harder, yes, i'd say so, ten times harder, here'n he does on a farm. there he can just sleep and laze round in the sun, and go in swimmin', and all the time the stuff is just growin' and whoopin' her right along, like as if i was boss of a dozen boys, and they was all sellin' papers and i was makin' a profit on 'em all, and wasn't doin' nothin' myself. so when these fellers find out they've got to knuckle down and shine shoes, why they just light out kinder lively, and make up their minds that new york ain't much of a town no how." "and so you thought i would 'light out' too," laughed herbert. "well, i didn't know. i told you i liked your looks, but i hain't much faith in nobody till i know what kind of stuff a feller is made of. but if he's got any sand in him, then i'll bet on his winning right here in new york, and he won't have to go back home for his bread. well, speakin' of bread reminds me that it's about time to eat something and i'm all fired hungry, and you look es ef 'twould do you good to get a little somethin' warm in your stomach. funny, ain't it, we can't do nothin' without eatin'? but we can't, so let's eat. business is about over, and i don't mind leavin' a little early, any way." herbert assented gladly to this proposition, and presently bob took him up chatham street to an eating house known as the "boss tweed restaurant"--a restaurant the cheapness of which recommended it, five cents being the established price for a meal. "i s'pose you hain't made no plans for a place to sleep yet?" said the newsboy, while eating their frugal fare. "no," replied herbert. "i thought i would wait and see you before making any move in that direction. you are the only one i know in the city." "and 'tain't much you know about me." "very true; but from your appearance i'm satisfied to trust myself with you." "you're takin' big chances ef you do," replied bob, happily; "but ef you want to take the resk, why we will jest look up a room and occupy it together. i kinder think i'd like the scheme. i've been sleepin' at the newsboys' lodging house, but i'm tired of it. what do you say?" "i say yes," replied herbert. he was only too glad of the chance, and liked the idea of having bob hunter for a room mate. he thought there would be something fascinating about living with a newsboy, and learning this phase of life in a great city, especially when the newsboy was so droll as bob hunter had already shown himself to be. [illustration: at the boss tweed restaurant.] "all right, then, it's a go," replied bob, greatly pleased. when the meal had been finished they continued up chatham street into the bowery, and then turned into a side street where inexpensive rooms were offered for rent. after a little hunting they found one at a cost of one dollar a week which proved satisfactory. they immediately took possession, and went to bed very early, as herbert was practically worn out. chapter iv. at mr. goldwin's office. on the following morning both boys rose early and breakfasted together. then bob hurried away to his paper trade, and herbert applied himself diligently to reading the "wants." the following advertisement especially attracted his attention: wanted, a bright, smart american boy of about sixteen years of age; must have good education, good character, and be willing to work. salary small, but faithful services will be rewarded with advancement. richard goldwin, banker and broker, wall street. "i think i can fill those requirements," said young randolph to himself, thoughtfully. "for all i can see, i am as likely to be accepted by a banker as a baker or any one else in want of help. there will doubtless be a lot of applicants for the position, and so there would if the demand was for street cleaning, therefore i think i may as well take my chances with the bank as at anything else." having come to this conclusion, he talked the matter over with bob hunter, upon whose practical sense herbert was beginning to place a high value. the shrewd young newsboy approved of the plan, so our country lad started early for wall street, where the great money kings are popularly supposed to hold high carnival, and do all sorts of extraordinary things. when he arrived, however, at richard goldwin's banking house, his hopes sank very low, for before him was a long line of perhaps forty or fifty boys, each of whom had come there hoping to secure the advertised position. this crowd of young americans comprised various grades of boys. some were stupid, others intelligent; a few were quiet and orderly, but the majority were boisterous and rough. squabbling was active, and taunts and jeers were so numerous, that a strange boy from a quiet country home would have hardly dared to join this motley crowd, unless he was possessed of rare courage and determination. [illustration: a glimpse of wall street.] herbert randolph paused for a moment when he had passed through the outer door, and beheld the spectacle before him. he wondered if he had made a mistake and entered the wrong place; but before he had time to settle this question in his own mind, one of the boys before him, who was taller and more uncivil than those about him, and seemed to be a leader among them, shouted, derisively: "here's a new candidate--right from the barnyard too!" all turned their attention at once to the object of the speaker's ridicule, and joined him in such remarks as "potato bug," "country," "corn fed," "greeny," "boots," and all the time they howled and jeered at the boy from the farm most unmercifully. "you think you'll carry off this position, maybe," said the leader, sarcastically. "you'd better go home and raise cabbage or punkins!" again the crowd exploded with laughter, and as many mean things as could be thought of were said. herbert made no reply, but instead of turning back and running away from such a crowd, as most boys would have done, he stepped forward boldly, and took his place in the line with others to await the arrival of the banker. his face was flushed, and he showed plainly his indignation at the insolent remarks made to him. nevertheless, this very abuse stimulated his determination to such a degree, that he was now the last boy in the world to be driven away by the insults and bullying of those about him. his defiance was so bold, and his manner was so firm and independent, that he at once commanded the respect of the majority of the long line of applicants, though all wished he were out of the way; for they saw in him a dangerous rival for the position they sought. a notable exception, however, to those who shared this better feeling, was the boy whom i have spoken of as the "leader," for such he seemed to be. he was no ordinary boy, this bright, keen, new york lad, with a form of rare build, tall and straight as a young indian. he showed in every movement, and in the manner of his speech, that his character was a positive one, and that nature had endowed him with the qualities of a leader. [illustration: herbert randolph finds himself among a mob of rival applicants.] these gifts he now exercised with remarkable effect upon the raw material about him, if by such a term i may characterize the peculiarly mixed crowd of boys in line. when, however, herbert randolph advanced to his position with such unmistakable determination in his manner, and with firmness so distinctly showing in every muscle of his face, our young leader trembled visibly for an instant, and then the hot blood mantling his cheeks betrayed his anger. he had endeavored to drive away the young vermonter by jeers and bullying, but he failed in this attempt. in him he found his match--a boy quite equal to himself in determination, in the elegance of his figure and the superiority of his intellect. the country boy lacked, however, the polish and grace of the city, and that ease and assurance that comes from association with people in large towns. but the purity of his character, a character as solid as the granite hills of his native state, was of infinitely more value to him than was all the freedom of city manner to the new york lad. these two boys were no ordinary youths. each of them possessed a positive and determined character. the one was bold as the other, and in intellect and the commanding qualities of their minds they were giants among boys. the others felt this now in the case of both, as they had but a few moments before felt it regarding the one. they realized their own inferiority. the jeering and bullying ceased, and all was quiet, save the slam of the door, as new applicants now and then dropped in and joined the line. the silence became painful as the two prominent figures eyed each other. herbert knew better than to make the first move. he waited the action of his rival, ready to defend his position. the strange and sudden quiet of all the boys, who had but a few moments before been so noisy and insulting, gave him renewed courage. he saw, to his great relief, that he had but one mind to contend with--but one enemy to overcome. in this one's face, however, was pictured a degree of cunning and anger that he had never seen before in all his simple life. the evil designs in the face of the city boy momentarily became more noticeable. why had he so suddenly stopped his derisive remarks? and why should he show his evident hatred toward our hero? is it possible that he dare not attack him, and that he is afraid to continue the bullying further? that he feels that herbert is his equal, and perhaps more than a match for him, seems evident; and yet he will not acknowledge himself inferior to any one, much less to this country lad. "no, he _shall not_ get this situation away from me," he said determinedly to himself; and then his mind seemed bent upon some deep plot or wicked scheme. chapter v. the contest between herbert and felix. presently the inner doors of the banking house were thrown open, and a gentleman of perhaps a little more than middle age stepped lightly into the corridor, where the boys awaited his arrival. he had a kindly face, and a sharp but pleasant blue eye. all seemed to know intuitively that he was richard goldwin, the banker, and consequently each one made a dashing, but somewhat comical effort to appear to good advantage. "good morning, boys," said the banker, pleasantly, "i am glad to see so many of you here, and i wish i was able to give each one of you a position. i see, however, that many of you are too young for my purpose; therefore it would be useless to waste your time and mine by further examination." in a little time the contest had narrowed down to but two, and they were herbert randolph, and the boy who had so ineffectually attempted to drive him away. "what is your name?" asked the banker of the city lad. "my name is felix mortimer." "felix mortimer?" "yes, sir." "mortimer, mortimer," repeated mr. goldwin. "the name sounds familiar, but i can't place it. do you live in new york?" "yes, sir." "in what part of the city?" "in eleventh street, sir--on the east side." "well, you appear like a bright boy. are you ambitious to work your way up in a solid, reliable business?" "yes, sir, i am; and banking is just what i would like." "and you are willing to work hard?" "yes, sir, i think i could satisfy you that i am." "what is your age?" "i am seventeen years old." "have you ever worked in any business house?" "yes, i have had two years' experience in business." "you commenced rather young--so young that i am afraid your education was neglected." "well, i was a good scholar in school; here is a recommendation from my teacher." richard goldwin read the letter, which purported to be signed by the principal of a well known school. "this speaks well of you," said the banker. felix looked pleased, and cast a triumphant glance at herbert, who sat at a little distance off, anxiously awaiting his turn to be examined. he was afraid the banker might settle upon young mortimer without even investigating his own fitness for the position. "for what firm did you work?" asked richard goldwin. "for wormley & jollup," replied felix, firmly. "the large trunk manufacturers up broadway?" "yes, sir." "why didn't you remain with them?" this question would have confused some boys, had they been in the place of felix; but it did not affect him in the slightest degree, though the keen and practiced eye of the banker watched him closely. "why, don't you remember that wormley & jollup had a big strike in their factory?" "yes, the papers printed a great deal about it." "well, you see, they couldn't get any trunks made; so business got dull in the store." "they wouldn't give in to the strikers, i believe?" "no; and the result was they had to let a lot of us go." "it was an unfortunate affair. but i suppose you got a recommendation from wormley & jollup?" "yes, sir," said felix, with all the assurance of one who was telling the truth; "there it is--signed by mr. jollup himself." the letter was highly complimentary to felix mortimer. "no one could ask for a better recommendation than this," said the banker, looking as if he thought he had found a prize in the boy before him. had he suspected that this very recommendation was forged, he would have been angry. now, however, he felt quite the reverse; and decided to give herbert a hearing more as a matter of courtesy than otherwise, for he had practically settled upon young mortimer for the position in his banking house. felix saw this and could hardly restrain his happiness, as he saw pictured on the young vermonter's face unmistakable discomfiture. "well, you may be seated," said mr. goldwin; "i wish to see what this young man has to say for himself before engaging any one." "so you came from vermont, right from the farm?" said the banker to herbert, after a few minutes' conversation. "yes, sir," returned young randolph. "and i suppose you expect to make your fortune in this city?" "i have not got so far along as that yet, sir. i hope, however, that i shall do well here." "you look like a plucky lad, and those red cheeks of yours are worth a fortune. i remember well when mine were as full of rich young blood as yours are now. i was a country lad myself." "then your career shows that a boy from the country may make a success." "yes, that is very true. many of our most successful men came from the farm; but i assure you, my boy, that success is not an easy thing to pick up in a big city. the chances are a hundred to one against any boy who comes here from the country. if, however, he does not succumb to temptation, and has sufficient pluck and perseverance, he can do well in this city." "i am quite ready to take that hundredth chance," said herbert, in a way that pleased the banker. "well, i admire your courage, young man, but now to return to business. suppose i were to give you a situation, how could you live on three dollars a week? you say you have no means, and must earn your own living. i cannot pay a larger salary at first." "i am sure i can manage that all right, sir; one can do what he must do." "that is true; your ideas are sound there, surely. what is your age?" "i am nearly seventeen, sir." "you are so strongly built, perhaps you could get a place where more money could be paid for your services; some place where heavy work is to be done." "i am not afraid of hard work, for i have always been accustomed to it; but i would much rather have a chance where there are good prospects ahead." "again you are right," said the banker, now becoming interested in the young vermonter. "what is your education?" "i passed through our district school, and went for several terms to the green mountain academy. i have taught three terms of school." "three terms! you certainly must have commenced young." "yes; i was not very old. i got my first school when i was fifteen." "do you write a good hand? please come to this desk, and show me what you can do." herbert complied readily with the request, and was most happy to do so, for he had spent many hours in practicing penmanship, and now wrote a beautiful hand. richard goldwin was surprised when he took up the sheet of paper and ran his eye over the well formed letters. "mr. mortimer, will you please show me what you can do with the pen?" said the banker. felix rose to his feet, and the color rose to his face. he wasn't very powerful with the pen, and he knew it; but another matter disconcerted him. he feared, and well he might, that his writing would resemble, only too closely, that in the recommendation which he had shown to mr. goldwin. but he was equal to the emergency, and, to make the disguise perfect, he gave to his writing the left hand or backhand stroke. this was done at the expense of his penmanship, which, however, would not have been considered absolutely bad, had it not been compared with the gracefully and perfectly cut letters of herbert randolph. the banker looked at both critically for a moment, and then, after a pause, said: "mr. mortimer, i would like to speak with you alone." the latter followed him to the outer office. "your manner pleases me, young man," said mr. goldwin, pleasantly, "and with one exception i see but little choice between you two boys, but that little is in your competitor's favor." the color left felix mortimer's face. "i refer," continued the banker, "to his penmanship, which you must acknowledge is far superior to your own; and a good handwriting adds much to one's value in an office of this sort. i see you are disappointed, and i knew you would be. do not, however, feel discouraged, as it is possible i may do something for you yet. if mr. randolph should prove unsatisfactory in any respect, he will not be retained permanently. you may, therefore, if you choose, run in here again in a day or two." young mortimer was greatly disappointed and even deeply chagrined, for he had supposed himself more than capable of holding his own against this unsophisticated country lad. had he not attempted to bully him while waiting for the banker and failed, thus arousing a spirit of rivalry and hostility between young randolph and himself, he would of course have felt differently, but now an intense hatred was kindled within him, and with burning passion he determined upon revenge. felix mortimer went direct from richard goldwin's banking house to the bowery, and from there he soon found his way to a side street, which contained many old buildings of unattractive appearance. the neighborhood was a disreputable one. squalor was on every hand, and many individuals of unsavory reputations made this locality their headquarters. one of these was christopher gunwagner, a repulsive specimen of humanity, who had been in business here for several years as a "fence," or receiver of stolen goods. to this fence felix directed his steps. "good morning, mr. gunwagner," said young mortimer, briskly. the former eyed him sharply for a moment. "what do you want now?" growled the fence by way of reply. "why don't you bring me something, as you ought to?" felix cut him short, and at once proceeded to business. "i came," said he, "to get you to help me and thereby help yourself. i've got a chance to get into a bank----" "into a bank?" interrupted gunwagner, now interested. "yes." "where?" "on wall street, in richard goldwin's banking house." "if you don't take it, you're a fool. goldwin's, hey?" he went on; "we can make it pay us; yes, yes, we are in luck." and he rubbed his thin hands together greedily. "i expect to take it as soon as i can get it," said felix; and then he described the competitive examination between himself and the young vermonter. "so you want to get him out of the way, eh?" "you have struck it right this time. that's just what i want, and propose to do." "and you expect me to help you?" "certainly i do. to whom else should i go?" "what do you want me to do?" "i haven't quite got the plan yet, and want your advice. you see if i can get him out of the way for a few days, so he won't show up, why old goldwin will take me in his place. if i can once get in there, and remain till i get the run of things, we can have it our own way." [illustration: gunwagner and felix agree upon a plan.] gunwagner's face grew more and more avaricious. the plan looked well to him, and he felt it would be a great thing to have mortimer in a rich banking house. the possibilities of bold pilferings from the heaps of gold were most tempting to him, and he was now quite ready to commit himself to any feasible scheme to carry out mortimer's evil design. the old fence was an unscrupulous man, and he was ready to go to almost any length in crime to avail himself of an opportunity so tempting to his greed of gain. the two confederates discussed the matter for some time, and at length they agreed upon a plan of action, which boded ill for our hero. chapter vi. a ray of sunshine. young randolph entered upon his duties at once, but of course did little more during the day than familiarize himself with the work that had been assigned to him. toward evening a ray of sunshine burst joyously into the bank, and threw a bright cheerful glow over the office. ray goldwin, the light hearted, merry daughter of the senior partner, with her sunny face and winning manners, was like a clear june morning. little acts go far, many times, to make one happy or quite miserable. it so happened that our hero had been doing some writing for mr. goldwin's own personal use. it lay upon his desk and was admirably done. it was, in fact, like copper plate. the whole arrangement of the work was artistic and in the best of taste. "oh, papa, who did this beautiful writing for you?" said ray, enthusiastically. "our new clerk, mr. randolph," responded her father, nodding his head in the direction of herbert. the latter felt his cheeks grow rosy at this compliment. "mr. randolph," continued the banker, "will you kindly help me take these parcels out to my carriage?" "certainly, sir, with pleasure," replied herbert, politely. [illustration: young randolph handed ray into the carriage with just enough embarrassment in his manner to interest her.] ray goldwin looked at him with surprise; and his handsome face and fine form attracted even more than a passing glance from her. "i want to run up to the corner of broadway," said mr. goldwin, when they had reached the door. "john, you may call for me," he continued, addressing the coachman; "i will be ready by the time you get there." young randolph handed ray into the carriage, with just enough embarrassment in his manner to interest her. then he placed the parcels on the seat beside her, receiving meanwhile a smile and a look that fully rewarded him. raising his hat, he turned away, and as the coachman drove off he made a hasty retreat for the bank, from which the sunshine now seemed to have departed. when he started for home at the close of business hours, two figures stood on the opposite side of the street, a little nearer broadway. as herbert opened the outer door, preparatory to passing out, he took a position that brought his eyes directly upon them. one of them, uneasily, but perhaps quite naturally, placed a hand on the shoulder of his companion, while with the other he pointed directly at herbert. then, as if realizing that possibly he had been detected in this act, he nervously pointed to something on the top of the building, and all the while talked rapidly. this was sufficient to arrest our hero's attention. he watched the two sharply for a few minutes while standing upon the steps of the banking house. under his direct gaze they appeared somewhat nervous, and finally moved off in the direction of broadway. herbert followed them, or rather followed out his purpose to go up to city hall park, and find, if possible, bob hunter. before reaching broadway, however, the two young fellows who had pointed at him stopped and peered into a show window, thus bringing their backs full upon herbert as he passed them. he knew so little of city life that he was slow to form an opinion, thinking that what seemed odd and suspicious to him would perhaps be all right in new york. he therefore dismissed the matter from his mind, and watched with amazement the crowds of men who at that hour of the day were pouring up broadway, on their way home from business. "what a great city this is!" he thought; "and it is american, too. i wonder if any of the cities of the old world can turn out such a lot of business men as these!" the boy was right in asking himself this question. the wonder he felt was natural, for a finer body of men can rarely be found than the business men of new york. and now he joined the stream that flowed northward. the massive buildings, tall and stately, on either side of broadway, captured his admiration, and he gazed upon them with open mouthed amazement. stone buildings with gigantic pillars and massive walls; buildings ten or a dozen stories high, and mighty spires raising their tops afar up in mid air--all these added to the country lad's wonder and astonishment. he passed by the western union building, the evening post building, and now paused in front of the herald office to read the "headings" on the bulletin board. after being thus engaged for a few moments, he turned suddenly around, and, to his surprise, saw the two young fellows who had attracted his attention on wall street. one of them had a look about him that seemed familiar, and yet he could not tell where he had seen him. his figure, his eyes, and the shape of his face were not unlike felix mortimer; and yet he looked older than the latter by two or three years, for he wore a small mustache and tiny side whiskers. seeing these same fellows the second time, and noticing that they were apparently watching him, made herbert feel a trifle uneasy. but he was not easily worried or frightened. bob hunter was in, as on the previous night, and very glad he seemed at his friend's good success in getting so desirable a position. he listened to herbert's story of the contest with much interest, and then added thoughtfully: "it might be a good idea to look out for that feller that seemed to get down on you so. he probably knows you are a stranger in the city, and----" "do you think there is any danger?" interrupted herbert. "no, i can't say as there is; but he might think, if he could get you out of the way, he would get the place with the banker. you said he was disappointed." "yes, he showed his disappointment very much." "well, nothing may come of it. you keep your eye on me, and i'll steer you through all right, i reckon." herbert was upon the point of telling bob his suspicions about the two fellows that seemed to be shadowing him, and then it occurred to him that he might magnify the matter, and work himself into a state of uneasiness when it would be better to give it no thought whatever. therefore he said nothing to the newsboy about them. when they had finished dinner a little later, bob asked him if he could manage to pass away an hour or so alone. "certainly, if you have an engagement," replied herbert. "i go to an evening school; but if you'll be lonesome alone, why, i'll stay with you till you learn a thing or two about the city." "oh, i shall be all right," said our hero, confidently. "don't think of remaining away from school on my account. i can enjoy looking at the sights here in the bowery for a while; then i will go to the room, and read till you come." "all right. i'll do as you say; but now you look out, vermont, and don't get lost." bob seemed to have a fondness for calling his friend by this name, and the latter indulged him in the peculiarity without objection. after a while, young randolph drifted up to one of the bowery dime museums, and stood there for some time reading the announcements, looking at the pictures, and watching the crowd that ebbed and flowed up and down that thoroughfare. presently a young fellow of about his own age, who had for some time been standing near him, made a casual remark about a comical looking person who had just passed by. our hero looked up, and seeing that the remark had been addressed to him, he replied promptly. a conversation between him and the stranger followed. herein herbert showed the trustfulness characteristic of a country boy. he knew he was honest himself, and did not once suspect that the agreeable young man was playing the confidence game upon him. chapter vii. bob hunter thoroughly aroused. when bob hunter returned from the evening school to his room, he expected to find young randolph there. "he promised to be here," said bob to himself; "i hope nothing has happened to him." the newsboy's manner showed some alarm. he felt anxious about his friend. "something has gone wrong, i believe, or he would surely come," continued bob, after waiting for a full half hour; "but i can't imagine what has steered him on to the wrong track." another half hour went by, and herbert did not put in an appearance. "i might's well stay here, i s'pose, as to go 'n' prowl round this town huntin' for vermont," said bob, thoughtfully. "but i guess i'll see if i can strike his trail. any way i'll feel better, 'cause i'll know i've done something. it's no use to let a feller like him be run into these dens, if the game can be stopped." an hour's fruitless hunt, in and about the bowery, failed to reveal herbert's whereabouts to the anxious searcher. he was unable to find any one who remembered to have seen him. after giving up all hope of learning what he wished to find out, bob hurried back to his room, with a feeling of anxiety quite new to him. he had taken a great liking to our hero, and now felt thoroughly alarmed, fearing that foul play had been brought to bear upon him. the next morning he was up bright and early, looking sharply after his paper business, but he was not the bob hunter of the past. from the drollest and funniest boy in the trade he had suddenly become the most serious and thoughtful. "what's hit you this mornin', bob?" said tom flannery, a companion newsboy. "why do you ask that?" returned bob. "why, you look like you'd had a fit o' sickness." "you're 'bout right, for i don't feel much like myself, no how. i didn't get no sleep hardly at all, and i've worried myself thin--just see here," and he pulled the waistband of his trousers out till there was nearly enough unoccupied space in the body of them to put in another boy of his size. he couldn't resist the opportunity for a joke, this comical lad, not even now. the trousers had been given to him by one of his customers, a man of good size. bob had simply shortened up the legs, so naturally there was quite a quantity of superfluous cloth about his slim body. "gewhittaker!" exclaimed tom, "i should think you have fell off! but say, bob, what's gone bad? what's done it?" continued tom, disposed to be serious. "well, you know the boy i told you about, what's chummin' with me?" "yes, the one i saw you with last night, i s'pose?" "yes, the same one. well, he is lost." "lost!" repeated tom, incredulously. [illustration: bob hunter, alone in his room, wonders what has become of his new friend.] "yes;" and bob acquainted him with the facts of herbert's disappearance. "now, what do you think of it?" he asked. "looks bad," said young flannery, gravely. "so it does to me." "foul play," suggested tom. "that's what i think." "perhaps he has got tired of new york and has lit out." "no, not much. vermont ain't no such boy." "well, you know him best. did he have any grip or anything?" "yes, he had a good suit and lots of other truck." "and they're in the room now?" "yes." "you're in luck, bob. i'd like a chum as would slope and leave me a good suit." "well, i wouldn't. no more would you, tom flannery," said bob, slightly indignant. "i didn't mean nothin'," said tom, apologizing for the offense which he saw he had given. "of course, i wouldn't want nobody to slope and leave his truck with me." "that's all right then, tom," said bob, forgivingly. "but now, what do you s'pose has become of him?" "well, it looks like he didn't go of his own free will, when he left everything behind him." "of course it does, and i know he didn't." bob related the story of herbert's experience at the bank, on the morning when he secured the position. "i don't like that duffer--what d'ye call him?" "felix mortimer," repeated bob. "i'm sure that's the name herbert give me." "well, i'll bet that he's put up the job." "i think so myself. you see he knew randolph wasn't no city chap." "that's so, and he knew he'd have the drop on him. but i don't just see, after all, how he could get away with him." "well, he might have run him into some den or other." "and drugged him?" "well, perhaps so. there are piles of ways them fellers have of doin' such jobs." "i know they're kinder slick about it sometimes. but, say, bob," continued tom, earnestly, "what do you propose to do about it? he may be a prisoner." "so he may, and probably is, if he is alive." "why, bob, they wouldn't kill him, would they?" "no, i don't suppose so, not if they didn't have to." "why would they have to do that?" asked tom, with his eyes bulging out with excitement. "well, sometimes folks has to do so--them hard tickets will do 'most anything. you see, if they start in to make way with a feller, and they are 'fraid he'll blow on 'em, and they can't make no other arrangement, why then they just fix him so he won't never blow on nobody." "bob, it's awful, ain't it?" said tom, with a shudder. "yes, it is. there are a pile of tough gangs in this city that don't care what they do to a feller." "what do you s'pose they've done with your chum?" asked young flannery, returning to the subject. "well, that's just what i want to know," said bob, seriously. "i am going to try to find out, too. there are tough dens in them cross streets running out of the bowery." "they won't do worse nor keep him a prisoner, will they, bob?" "probably they won't, not 'less they think he will blow on 'em. you see they've got to look out for themselves." "that's so, bob, but why couldn't they send him off somewhere so he couldn't blow on 'em?" "they might do that, too." "but they would get him so far away he couldn't get back to new york never, i suppose?" "yes, that's the idea. they might run him off to sea, and put him on an island, or somethin' like that. i can't say just what they might do if they have their own way. but the idea is this, tom flannery, _we must stop 'em_," said bob, emphatically, "you and me. we've got to find out where he is, and rescue him." "that's the boss idea, bob," replied tom, with emphasis. "but i don't see just how we're goin' to do it, do you?" "well, no, i can't see the whole game, not now. but we must commence, and when we get a few points, we can slide ahead faster." "i wouldn't know how to commence." "well, i do; i thought that all out last night, and i'm only waiting till ten o'clock. then i'll steer for the bank where herbert worked." "bob, you beat all the boys i know of," said tom, eying him with admiration. "none of 'em would ever think of doin' the things you do, and they couldn't do 'em if they did, that's all. and now you're goin' to do the detective act!" tom stopped short here with a jerk, as if he had got to the end of his rope, and took a long breath. to "do the detective act" seemed to him the greatest possible triumph for a boy like himself. he looked upon his companion, therefore, with wonder and admiration. bob's plans for penetrating the mystery had, indeed, been carefully formed. he fearlessly undertook an enterprise from which most boys would have shrunk. this keen, bright street lad, however, was not of the shrinking kind. he did not turn away from encountering dangers, even the dangers of some dreadful den in which he feared our hero was now a prisoner. [illustration: tom flannery.] during the forenoon he visited the banking house of richard goldwin and there found felix mortimer already installed in herbert's place. this discovery confirmed his worst fears and intensified his alarm for the safety of his friend. chapter viii. felix mortimer at the bank. "can i see the proprietor?" said a boy addressing a clerk at the counter of richard goldwin's bank. it was the morning after herbert's mysterious disappearance. "what is your name?" asked the clerk. "felix mortimer," answered the boy. "mr. goldwin is very busy," replied the man at the counter. "very well, i will wait," said felix; and he seated himself in a chair in the outer office. in a little while mr. goldwin came out of his private room, and, seeing young mortimer there, recognized him. "good morning, young man," said he, kindly. "good morning," returned felix, deferentially. "have you come to tell us what has become of young randolph?" asked the banker. "i don't understand you," said felix, innocently. "i came because you asked me to do so." "yes, yes, i remember; but i referred to the disappearance of the boy i engaged at the time you applied for the position." "why, isn't he here?" asked mortimer, feigning surprise. "no, he hasn't been here today." "what do you imagine is the trouble?" "i do not know, unless, like so many other boys, he has got tired of the work, and has left it for some other position." "that may be, and now you speak of it, i remember he said, the morning we were all waiting to see you, that if he failed to get this place he had another position in view that he could get, and that it would pay him five dollars a week." young mortimer told this falsehood with the ease of a veteran. his manner could not have been more impressive had he been telling the truth. "five dollars a week!" exclaimed mr. goldwin. "and he came here for three. i don't see what his motive was." "perhaps he had a motive," suggested mortimer. "i don't understand you," replied the banker. felix shrugged his shoulders. "what do you mean? do you know anything about him?" pursued mr. goldwin, his suspicions aroused. "no, sir--er--not much." "speak up, young man. tell me what you know about this young vermonter." "vermonter?" repeated felix, with a rising inflection; and he smiled suggestively. "yes, vermonter. do you know anything to the contrary?" "you know i was an applicant for this position, mr. goldwin, so i do not like to answer your question. i hope you will excuse me." "i appreciate your sense of honor, young man," said mr. goldwin; "but it is to my interest to know the facts. if there is anything against him, i should be informed of it. tell me what you know, and you will lose nothing by doing so." with apparent reluctance, felix yielded to the persuasion, and said: "i was on broadway with a friend of mine, at the close of business hours, the day that you hired this young fellow. we were walking along by the herald building when he came up broadway and stopped to read the news on the _telegram_ bulletin board. i said to my friend, with surprise, 'there is the fellow i told you about--the one that beat me this morning in getting the position at goldwin's.' he looked at me incredulously and said: 'why, you told me he was a country boy--from vermont.' "'so he is,' i replied. 'stuff,' said he. 'i know him well. that was a clever dodge to play the country act.' i protested, but he convinced me that he was right. he is in a lawyer's office, so he has to be in court more or less, and he said he saw him up before judge duffy only a few days ago, charged with stealing a pocket book. the suspicion was strong against him, but there wasn't proof enough to fix the theft upon him. the court came near sending him to the island, though, for he had been arrested twice before, so my friend said." "the young villain!" said the banker, when felix had finished this black falsehood, which he told so glibly, and with such seeming reluctance, that mr. goldwin accepted it as all truth. "i am sorry i ever took him into my office," he continued. "i must have the bank carefully looked over, to see if he misappropriated anything, as he very likely did." felix said nothing, but seemed to look sorry for herbert. "well," said mr. goldwin, after a pause, "is it too late to get you?" "i don't know," answered mortimer, hesitatingly. "i would like to work for you, but would not feel right to take the position away from this vermonter." felix laid a special stress upon the word "vermonter." "take it away from him!" replied the banker, scornfully. "he cannot enter this bank again." "but you see i would feel that i am the means of keeping him out of the position. you wouldn't have known about his deception if i hadn't told you." felix now used the word "deception" flippantly, and with no further apparent apology for applying it to our hero. "that is all right," replied mr. goldwin; "i am glad to see you sensitive about injuring another. it is much to your credit that you feel as you do about it." "thank you," was the modest reply. "then if you think it would look right, and you really want me, i will take the position." "of course we can get hundreds and thousands of boys, but i have taken a liking to you. when can you commence?" "i can commence this morning, if you wish me to," said felix. "very well, i wish you would--er, that is if you feel able. i notice your face is swollen, and perhaps you are not feeling well." "oh, that will not bother me," replied mortimer, coolly. "i had a tooth filled yesterday, and have got cold in my jaw." "you must suffer with it. it is swollen badly and looks red and angry," said the banker sympathetically. "it does hurt a good deal, but will not trouble me about my work." "it looks as if the skin had been injured--more like a bruise, as if you had received a heavy blow on your jaw," said mr. goldwin, examining the swelling more closely. felix colored perceptibly, but immediately rallied, and said the poulticing had given it that appearance. could mr. goldwin have known the truth about this injured jaw, he would have been paralyzed at the bold falsehood of the young villain before him. he had succeeded admirably in blackening our young hero's reputation. mr. goldwin now looked upon herbert with ill favor, and even disgust. and this change was all caused by the cunning and falsehoods of young mortimer. he had poisoned mr. goldwin's mind, and thus succeeded in establishing himself in the banker's good opinion and securing the coveted position. "another boy wants to see you, mr. goldwin," said the clerk, shortly after the man of finance had engaged young mortimer. "you may show him in," said the banker. the door opened, and bob hunter stepped into mr. goldwin's presence. if he had only had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, he would have felt quite at home; but, as he had nothing of the kind, he was a trifle embarrassed. "what do you want here?" asked mr. goldwin, more sharply than was his wont. "i come down, sir, to see if you can tell me anything about herbert randolph." "what do you want to know about him?" "i want to know where he is. he hain't shown up not sence last night." "was he a friend of yours?" "yes, sir, me and him roomed together." "you and he roomed together?" repeated the banker, as if he doubted bob's word. "that's what i said, sir," answered the newsboy, showing his dislike of the insinuation against his truthfulness. "i am afraid you are inclined to be stuffy, young man," replied mr. goldwin. "i am unable, however, to give you the information you seek." "you don't know where he is, then?" "no, i have not seen him since he left here last night." "do you know why he is stayin' away?" "certainly i do not." "done nothin' wrong. i s'pose?" queried bob. "i have not fixed any wrong upon him yet." "then, if he hain't done no wrong, somethin's keepin' him." "he may have a motive in staying away," said the banker, becoming interested in bob's keen manner. "what do you s'pose his motive is?" "that i cannot tell." "foul play, that's what i think." "nonsense, boy." "i don't think there's no nonsense about it. i know he wouldn't light out jest for fun, not much. herbert randolph wasn't no such a feller. he didn't have no money, n' he had to work. me an' him had a room together, as i said, an' his things are in the room now." "when did you see him last?" said mr. goldwin. bob explained all about herbert's disappearance, but was careful to say nothing about his suspicions pointing to felix mortimer. he saw the latter in the outer office as he entered, and he thought policy bade him keep his suspicions to himself for the present. "you tell a straightforward story, my boy," said mr. goldwin, "but i cannot think there has been any foul play. in fact, i have heard something against this young randolph that makes me distrust him. were it not for this, i should feel more interest in your story, and would do all in my power to try and find him." "i don't believe there's nothing against him. he's an honest boy, if i know one when i see him. he liked you and his work, and them that speaks against him is dishonest themselves. that's what i think about it." [illustration: bob hunter speaks up for herbert.] "but that is only your opinion. certainly he does not appear in a favorable light at the present time." presently bob departed from the bank. he had learned all he expected, and even more. he knew now that felix mortimer was in herbert's place, that mr. goldwin had been influenced against his friend by what he believed to be falsehoods, and that herbert's whereabouts was as much a mystery at the bank as to himself. these facts pointed suspiciously to felix mortimer. who else could want to get herbert out of the way? bob argued. having thus settled the matter in his own mind, he was ready to commence testing his theories. "tom flannery," said bob, when he had returned from wall street, "i've struck the trail." "no, you hain't, bob, not so quick as this?" said tom, with surprise. bob explained what he had learned at the bank. "now," said he, "i want you, tom, to look out for my business tonight. get some kid to help you, and mind you see he does his work right." "what you goin' to do, bob?" "i'm going to lay round wall street till that mortimer feller comes outer the bank." "what do you mean? you hain't goin' to knock him out, are you, bob?" "shucks, tom, you wouldn't make no kind of a detective. of course i wouldn't do that. why, that would spoil the whole game." "well, then, what are you goin' to do?" "why, i'll do just as any detective would--follow him, of course." "is that the way they do it, bob?" "some of 'em do, when they have a case like this one." "this is a gosh fired hard one, ain't it, bob?" "well, 'tain't no boy's play--not a case like this one." "so you're goin' to foller him? i wish i could go with you, bob." "but, you see, you must sell papers. i'll want you to help me later, when i get the case well worked up." "it'll be too big for one detective then, i s'pose?" "that's the idea, tom. then i'll call you in," said bob, with the swell of a professional. "i wish 'twas all worked up, bob, so you'd want to call me in now, as you call it. it'll be exciting, won't it?" "well, i should think it would, before we get through with it." "say, bob, will there be any fightin'?" asked tom, eagerly. he was already excited over the prospects. "can't say that now--hain't got the case worked up enough to tell. 'tain't professional to say too much about a case. none of the detectives does it, and why should i? that's what i want to know, tom flannery." "well, you shouldn't, bob, if the rest doesn't do it." "of course not. it's no use to be a detective, unless the job is done right and professional. i believe in throwin' some style into anything like this. 'tain't often, you know, tom, when a feller gets a real genuine case like this one. why, plenty er boys might make believe they had cases, but they'd be baby cases--only baby cases, tom flannery, when you'd compare 'em with this one--a real professional case." "i don't blame you for bein' proud, bob," said tom, admiringly. "i only wish i had such a case." "why, you've got it now; you're on it with me, hain't you? don't you be silly now, tom. you'll get all you want before you get through with this case; an', when it's all published in the papers, your name will be printed with mine." "gewhittaker!" exclaimed tom; "i didn't think of that before. will our names really be printed, bob?" "why, of course they will. detectives' names are always printed, hain't they? you make me tired, tom flannery. i should think you'd know better. don't make yourself so redickerlous by askin' any more questions like that. but just you tend to business, and you'll get all the glory you want--professional glory, too." "it'll beat jumpin' off the brooklyn bridge, won't it?" said tom. "well, if you ain't an idiot, tom flannery, i never saw one. to think of comparin' a detective with some fool that wants cheap notoriety like that! you just wait till you see your name in big letters in the papers along with mine. it'll be bob hunter and tom flannery." tom's eyes bulged out with pride at the prospect. he had never before realized so fully his own importance. chapter ix. bob assumes a disguise. at the close of business hours, felix mortimer sauntered up broadway with something of an air of triumph about him. his jaw was still swollen, and doubtless pained him not a little. another boy passed up broadway at the same time, and only a little way behind mortimer. it was bob hunter, and he managed to keep the same distance between himself and young mortimer, whom, in fact, he was "shadowing." of course, mortimer knew nothing of this. in fact, he did not know such a boy as bob hunter existed. at the post office felix mortimer turned into park row. he stopped and read the bulletins at the _mail and express_ office. then he bought an evening paper, and, standing on the steps of the _world_ office, looked it over hastily. now he moved on up publishers' row, passing the _times_, the _tribune_, and the _sun_ buildings, and walked along chatham street. presently he emerged into the bowery. now he walked more rapidly than he had been doing, so that bob had to quicken his pace to keep him in sight. at the corner of pell street and the bowery he met a young man who seemed to be waiting for him. "i've been hanging round here for 'most half an hour," said he, as if displeased. "i'm here on time," replied felix; "just half past five. come, let's have a glass of beer." peter smartweed was the name of this young fellow, as bob afterwards found out. when felix and his friend passed into the drinking saloon, bob followed them as far as the door; then he turned back, and sought the disguise of a bootblack. a young knight of the brush stood near by, with his blacking box slung over his shoulder. bob arranged with him for the use of it for a few moments, promising to pay over to him all the proceeds he made thereby. he also exchanged his own hat for the cap the boy had on, and, with this head gear pulled down over the left side of his face, the appearance of bob hunter was much changed. his accustomed step, quick, firm, and expressive, was changed to that of the nerveless, aimless boy--a sort of shuffle. thus disguised, he approached felix mortimer and his companion, who were sitting at a table with a partially filled schooner of beer before each of them. "shine? shine, boss?" said bob, in a strange voice. no response was made by the convivial youths. "two for five!" continued bob, persistently. "two reg'lar patent leathers for only five cents!" peter looked at his boots. they were muddy. then he argued with himself that felix had paid for the beer, so it seemed to him that he could not even up the score in any less expensive way than by paying for the shines. "do you mean you will give us both a shine for five cents?" said peter. "yes," drawled bob, lazily. "well, see that they are good ones, now, or i'll not pay you a cent." bob commenced work on the shoes very leisurely. he seemed the embodiment of stupidity, and blundered along in every way possible to prolong the time. "how would you like to climb down, mort, and shine shoes for a living?" said peter smartweed, jokingly. "perhaps i wouldn't mind it if i was stupid as the kid fumbling around your shoes seems to be," replied felix, in a more serious mood than his companion. [illustration: bob hunter plays the detective.] "well, i think you looked even more stupid than this young arab last night, when you lay upon the floor." "well, i guess you would have felt stupid, too, if you had got such a clip as i did," retorted felix, as he nursed his swollen jaw with his hand. "it was a stunning blow, for a fact. john l. sullivan couldn't have done it neater. i didn't think, mort, that that young countryman could hit such a clip, did you?" "no, i didn't; and i'm mighty sure you don't realize now what a stinging blow he hit me. you talk about it as if it didn't amount to much. well, all i've got to say is, i don't want to see you mauled so, but i wish you knew how good it felt to be floored the way i was." "no, thank you," said peter; "i don't want any of it. but you looked so comical, as you fell sprawling, that i couldn't help laughing. i believe i would have laughed if you had been killed." bob hunter's ears were now wide open. "i couldn't see anything to laugh about," said felix, bitterly. "that isn't very strange, either. you naturally wouldn't, under the circumstances," laughed young smartweed. "come, now, let up," said felix. "your turn may come." "i expect it will, if this young farmer ever gets after me." "but you don't expect him to get out, do you?" "i hadn't thought much about it. my part of the programme was to get him into old gunwagner's den, and i did it without any accident." felix looked hard at his companion. he knew the last part of this sentence was a sarcastic thrust at him. bob grew excited, and found it difficult to restrain himself. he felt certain now that these two young villains were talking about his friend herbert randolph. "no accident would have happened to me, either, if he hadn't hit me unawares," protested young mortimer, with a bit of sourness about his manner. "i allow i could get away with him in a fair fight." "oh, no, you couldn't, mort; he is too much for you. i could see that in a minute, by the way he handled himself." young mortimer's face flushed. he didn't like the comparison. "well, he won't bother me again very soon," said he, vindictively. "didn't they tumble to anything crooked at the bank?" asked peter, after a few moments' serious thought. "no." "i don't see why. the circumstances look suspicious." "well, they didn't suspect the truth." "you're in luck, then, that is all i have to say." "i shall be, you mean, when we get him out of the way." "he seems to be pretty well out of your way now." "but that won't last forever. he must be got out of new york, that's all. old gunwagner will not keep him round very long, you may be sure of that." "you don't know how to shine a shoe," growled smartweed to our young detective. "see the blacking you have put on the upper! wipe it off, i say; at once, too." bob's blood boiled with indignation, and he was about to reply sharply, when he remembered that he was now acting the detective, and so he said: "all right, boss; i'll fix it fer yer;" and he removed the superfluous blacking with great care. there was no longer any doubt in his mind about herbert being a prisoner. he was satisfied that his friend was in the clutches of old gunwagner, and he knew from the conversation that he was in danger of being lost forever to new york and to his friends. the situation was an alarming one. bob pictured vividly the worst possibilities of our hero's fate. presently, after young smartweed had lighted a cigarette and taken a few puffs, he said, absentmindedly: "so you are going to send him away from new york?" "of course, you don't s'pose we would be very safe with him here, do you?" replied mortimer. "safe enough, so long as he is in old gunwagner's cell. but what is to be done with him? send him back to vermont?" "not much; he won't go there unless he escapes." "it's rough on the fellow, mort, to run him off to sea, or to make him a prisoner in the bottom of a coal barge or canal boat. but that is what he is likely to get from that old shark," said peter smartweed, meaning gunwagner. "don't you get soft hearted now," replied felix, in a hard voice. "i'm not soft hearted, mort, and you know it, but i don't like this business, any way." "what did you go into it for, then?" "what do we do anything for? i thought, from what you said, that he was a coarse young countryman. but he don't seem like it. in fact i believe he is too nice a fellow to be ruined for life." "perhaps you'd better get him out then," said mortimer, sarcastically. "you talk like a fool," replied smartweed, testily. "so do you," retorted his companion, firing up; and he nursed his aching jaw as if to lend emphasis to his remarks. these explosions suddenly ended the discussion, and as soon as their shoes were polished, the two young villains left the saloon. mortimer turned up the bowery, and smartweed passed into a side street leading towards broadway. bob readily dropped his assumed character of bootblack, and quickly started in pursuit of felix mortimer. the latter went directly home, where he remained for nearly an hour. at the end of this time, he emerged from the house, much to the young detective's relief. he had waited outside all this time, patiently watching for felix's reappearance. though cold and hungry, bob could not afford to give up the chase long enough even to get a bit of lunch. he had made wonderful progress so far in his detective work, and he felt, as he had a right to feel, highly elated over his discoveries. now he was shadowing young mortimer again. down the bowery they went till they came to a side street in a disreputable locality. here they turned towards the east river, and presently felix mortimer left the sidewalk and disappeared within the door of an old building. "so this is gunwagner's, is it?" said bob to himself. "at least i s'pose 'tis, from what them fellers said--gunwagner--yes, that's the name. well, this may not be it, but i'm pretty sure it is," he continued, reasoning over the problem. after fixing the house and its locality securely in his mind, and after having waited till he satisfied himself that mortimer intended remaining there for a time, he made a lively trip to city hall park, where he joined young flannery. "well, bob, have you struck anything?" said tom, instantly, and with much more than a passing interest. "yes; i've struck it rich--reg'lar detective style, i tell you, tom," said bob, with pride and enthusiasm. and then he briefly related all his discoveries. "nobody could er worked the business like you, bob," said tom, admiringly. "well, i did throw a little style into it, i think myself," replied bob. "but," he continued, "there's no time now for talking the matter over. we've got some work to do. i've got the place located, and i want you to go with me now, and see what we can do." within five minutes the two boys were on their way to christopher gunwagner's, and as they passed hurriedly along the streets they formed a hasty plan for immediate action--a plan cunningly devised for outwitting this miserable old fence and his villainous companions. chapter x. something about herbert randolph. had our young hero been more wary, he would not have so easily fallen a victim to the deceit of the genial stranger whom he met on the bowery. he should have been more cautious, and less ready to assume friendly relations with a stranger. his lack of prudence in this respect was almost inexcusable, inasmuch as he had been warned by bob hunter to look out for himself. moreover, his suspicions should have been excited by the two young fellows he saw on wall street, who appeared to be shadowing him. but none of these prudential thoughts seemed to occur to young randolph. in vermont, he spoke to every one with a frank, open confidence. he had always done so from his earliest recollections. others in his locality did the same. unrestrained social intercourse was the universal custom of the people. habit is a great power in one's life. it guided our hero on this fatal night, and he talked freely and confidentially with his new acquaintance. "have you ever been in one of these bowery museums?" asked the genial young man, after they had chatted for a little time. "no, i have not," replied herbert, in a hesitating manner that implied his desire to enter. this young man was the same one whose boots bob hunter blackened when he was acting the detective, otherwise peter smartweed. the latter smiled at the readiness with which young randolph caught at the bait. "well, you have missed a treat," said he, with assumed surprise. "i suppose so," replied herbert, feeling that his education had been neglected. "they have some wonderful curiosities in some of these museums," continued the young confidence scamp. "so i should think, from the looks of these pictures." "but this is the poorest museum on the bowery. there are some great curiosities in some of them, and a regular show." "have you been in all of them?" asked herbert. "oh, yes, dozens of times. why, i can go into one of the museums whenever i like, without paying a cent, and it is the best one in new york." "can you?" said herbert, with surprise. "i wish i could go in free." "i can fix that for you all right," said peter, magnanimously. "i often take a friend in with me." "and it doesn't cost you anything?" "no, not a cent. if you like, we will stroll down the bowery, and drop in for a little while. by the way, i remember now that a new curiosity, a three headed woman, is on exhibition there." "a three headed woman!" exclaimed herbert; "she must be a wonderful sight!" "so she is. come on, let's go and see her. it is not down very far. you have nothing to do, i suppose?" "no, only to pass the time away for an hour or so." "very well, then, you can't pass it in any more agreeable way than this, i am sure." "you are very kind," replied herbert, as they moved off in the direction of the supposed museum. he had no thought of danger, as he walked along with his new friend, happy in anticipation of the pleasure before him. could he, however, have realized that he was the victim of a shrewd confidence game, that every step he now took was bringing him nearer to the trap that had been set for him by cruel, unscrupulous villains, how his whole being would have revolted against the presence of the unprincipled fellow beside him, who was now coolly leading him on to his ruin. presently they turned up a side street, and soon stopped before a low, ugly building. [illustration: a surprise for felix mortimer.] "the museum is on the next street," remarked young smartweed, as he rang the bell three times. "we have to walk through this court, to reach it by the back passage." still herbert's suspicions slumbered. and now the catch to the door was pulled back, and our unfortunate hero and his companion passed in. the hallway was ominously dark. they groped their way forward till a second door was reached, and here the leader knocked three times, then paused for a moment and knocked once more. after a brief interval three more knocks precisely like the first were given, and then the door opened. the two stepped quickly into the room, and herbert's arms were instantly seized by some one from behind the door, and drawn backward by an effort to fasten the wrists together behind him. quicker than thought, young randolph wrested his arms from the grip that was upon them, and, turning like a flash, planted a solid blow upon the jaw of his assailant--a blow which sent him, with a terrified yell, sprawling to the floor. then it was that he recognized, in the prostrate figure, felix mortimer, and a sickening sense of the awful truth dawned upon him. he was trapped! the genial friend whom he had met on the bowery now showed his real character, and before herbert could further defend himself, he was pounced upon by him and a villainous looking man with a scraggy red beard and most repulsive features. they threw a thick black cloth over his head, and, after binding his hands firmly together, thrust him into a dark vault, or pen, in the cellar. our hero realized now most fully his helpless and defenseless position--a position that placed him entirely at the mercy of his enemies; if mercy in any degree dwelt in the breasts of the cruel band of outlaws in whose den he was now a prisoner. chapter xi. imprisoned at the fence. "this is a fine beginning to a city career--short but brilliant," said young randolph to himself, bitterly, as he mused upon his deplorable situation. "fool that i was! it's all plain enough to me now," he continued, after a half hour's deep thought, in which he traced back, step by step, his experiences since landing in the big city. "i ought to have recognized him at once--the villain! he is the very fellow i saw across the street with his pal, as i left the bank. i thought he looked familiar, but i've seen so many people in this great town that i'm not surprised at my miss. mighty bad miss, though; one that has placed me in a box trap, and under ground at that." herbert was right in his conclusions. the fellow who had so cleverly played the confidence game upon him was the same one who awaited his appearance in wall street, and afterwards shadowed him up broadway. "this must all be the work of that young villain mortimer," continued herbert, still reasoning on the subject. "i ought to have been sharper; bob told me to look out for him. if i had had any sense, i could have seen that he meant to be revenged upon me. i knew it, and yet i didn't want to admit, even to myself, that i was at all uneasy. he must have been the same one that pointed me out to this confidence fellow on wall street. he was probably made up with false side whiskers and mustache, so that i wouldn't recognize him. "well," said he, starting up suddenly from his reverie, "how is all this reasoning about how i came to get into this trap going to help me to get out of it? that is what i want to know;" and he commenced exploring his dark, damp cell, in search of some clew that would aid him in solving the problem. he was not alarmed about his personal safety. up to this time, happily, no such thought had entered his mind. he sanguinely looked upon his imprisonment as merely temporary. in this opinion, however, he erred greatly. the same rural credulity that made him the victim of peter smartweed, now led him to suppose that the unscrupulous rascals who held him a prisoner would soon release him. he looked upon the matter as simply one of revenge on the part of mortimer. he little realized his true situation, and did not even dream of the actual significance of his imprisonment. he therefore felt a sense of genuine consolation when he thought of the well deserved blow he had delivered upon his enemy's jaw; and several times, as he prowled around the cell, he laughed heartily, thinking of mortimer's ridiculous appearance as he lay stretched upon the floor. herbert randolph was full of human nature, and human nature of the best sort--warm blooded, natural, sensible. there was nothing pale and attenuated about him. he was full of spirits, was manly, kind and generous, and yet he could appreciate heartily a point honorably gained on the enemy. thus instead of giving himself up to despair and grief, he tried to derive all the comfort possible out of his situation. his cell was dark as night. he could not see his own hands, and the dampness and musty odor, often noticeable in old cellars, added much to his discomfort. he found that the cell was made of strong three inch slats, securely bolted to thick timbers. these strips, or slats, were about three inches apart. the door was made in the same manner, and was fastened with a padlock. altogether his cell was more like a cage than anything else; however, it seemed designed to hold him securely against all efforts to escape from his captors. the door, as previously stated, was fastened by a padlock. herbert learned this by putting his hands through the slats, and carefully going over every part of the fastening arrangement. this discovery gave him slight hopes. the lock he judged to be one of the ordinary cheap ones such as his father always used on his cornhouse and barn doors. now he had on several occasions opened these locks by means of a stiff wire, properly bent. therefore, should this lock prove to be one of the same kind, and should fortune place within his reach a suitable piece of wire, or even a nail of the right sort, he felt that he could make good his escape from this cell. "but should i succeed in this," he very prudently reasoned, "would i be any better off? that heavy trap door is undoubtedly fastened down, and, so far as i know, that is the only means of exit; but---- what is that?" he suddenly said to himself, as he felt the cold shivers creep over him. the sound continues. it seems like rasping or grating. louder and more distinct it grows, as herbert's imagination becomes more active. every sound to one in his situation, in that dark, lonesome cellar, could easily be interpreted to mean many forms of danger to him. but at length he reasons, from the irregular rasping, and from other slight evidences, that this noise is the gnawing of hungry rats. what a frightful and alarming discovery this is to him! it strikes terror to his brave young heart, and makes cold beads of perspiration stand out upon his brow. and as these silent drops--the evidence of suffering--trickle down his face one by one, chilly and dispiriting, he grows sick to the very core. alone in a dark, damp cellar, with no means of defense--not even a stick, a knife, or any sort of implement to protect himself from the hordes of rats that now surround him. this indeed is a night of terror to our young hero. he does not dare to throw himself upon the bench, lest he should sleep, and, sleeping, be attacked by these dreadful rats. accordingly, he commenced walking back and forth in his cell, as a caged tiger walks hour after hour from one end to the other of his narrow confines. "this will keep me awake," said he to himself, with an attempt to rouse his spirits; "and it will also keep the rats away." after he had paced thus for a time, he heard steps above him, and instantly he called out for aid. he called again and again, but the inhuman ear of old gunwagner was deaf to his imploring cries. the sound of footsteps was soon lost, and all was still save the gnawing of the rats. herbert listened quietly for a time, to study their movements. soon he heard them scampering about in all parts of the cellar. from the noise they made he judged them to be very large; and they were certainly bold, for now they were running about in contemptuous disregard of young randolph's presence. occasionally he would yell at them, and kick vigorously upon the framework of his cell. by this means he kept them at a somewhat respectful distance. and now his mind reverted again to the cause of his imprisonment. as the long, weary hours dragged by, he studied the matter with the utmost care, giving painstaking thought to the slightest details and the most trivial acts. his points were, consequently, well made. they were reasonable, logical, probable. the scheme broadened as he progressed. what he had supposed to be a mere matter of revenge now loomed up clearly and distinctly before him as a bold plot against himself--a piece of outrageous villainy that fairly appalled him. he saw felix mortimer in his place in the bank; saw himself looked upon by mr. goldwin with suspicion and disgust. and this feeling, he knew, would extend to his daughter--bright, winsome ray. it was odd that herbert should think of her in this connection, while in such mental agony. he had seen her but once, and then only for a minute. true, she was wonderfully pretty, and her manner was irresistibly attractive, but young randolph was of a serious turn of mind. no, he was not one to become infatuated with any girl, however charming; he never had been, and, to use his own language, he did not propose to become so. but he could not help thinking of ray in connection with this matter. he recalled how her sunny presence lighted up the bank that very afternoon, and in imagination he saw her bright, mischievous blue eyes, brimful of fun and merriment, as he handed her into her carriage. "she did look sweet, confounded if she didn't," said herbert to himself, forgetting for the time his sorrow; "sweet and pretty as a peach, and her cheeks had the same rich, delicate tint. her hair---- great scott!" ejaculated young randolph, suddenly awaking to what he had been saying. "another evidence of my being a fool. i'd better have stayed on the farm," he continued, more or less severely. [illustration: young randolph at last falls asleep exhausted.] "well, i'm a prisoner," he said, sadly, after a thoughtful pause. "it doesn't matter much what i think or say. but, somehow or other, i wish i had never seen her," he continued, meditatively. "now she will think of me only with contempt, just as her father will. of course she will; it would be only natural." exhausted, weary, and even overburdened with oppressive thought, he sat down on the wooden bench in his cell. the rats still gnawed and frolicked, and prowled at will. herbert listened to them for a moment; then he thought of his dear mother and father, of his home, his own comfortable bed. a stray tear now stole down his cheeks, and then another. the poor boy was overcome, and he gave way to a sudden outburst of grief. then he rested his head in his hand, and tried to think again. but his mind was wearied to exhaustion. "my mother, my mother and father! oh, how i wish i could see them! what would they do if they only knew where i am?" he paused after this utterance; and now his thoughts suddenly ceased their weary wanderings. all was quiet, and the long measured breathing gave evidence that our young hero slept. chapter xii. bob's brilliant move. "but i say, bob, i don't jest see how we are goin' to get into that den," said tom flannery, thoughtfully, as he and his companion hurried along towards old gunwagner's. "don't you?" replied bob, carelessly, as if the matter was of trivial importance. "no, i don't. do you, bob?" "do you think, tom flannery, that a detective is goin' to tell all he knows--is goin' to give away the game before it's played?" said bob, with feigned displeasure. he asked this question to evade the one put to him. "i thought they always told them as was in the secret, don't they?" "well, i must say you have some of the ignorantest ideas of any boy i ever see," said bob, with assumed surprise. young flannery looked sad, and made no reply. "the trouble with you, tom, is that you worry too much," continued the juvenile detective. "i ain't worryin', bob. what made you think that? i only wanted to know what's the racket, an' what i've got to do." "well, you s'pose i bro't you up here to do somethin', don't you?" "of course you did, bob. but what is it? that's what i want to know." "you ask more questions than any feller i ever see, tom flannery. now you jest tell me what any detective would do, on a case like this one is, and tell me what he'd want you to do, an' then i'll tell you what i want you to do." tom looked grave, and tried hard to think. the fact of the matter is that bob himself hardly knew what step to take next, in order to carry out the plan he had formed. but his reputation was at stake. he thought he must make a good showing before tom, though the matter of gaining an entrance to gunwagner's was far from clear to him. he therefore wanted tom's opinion, but it would not do to ask him for it, so he adopted this rather sharp device. "blamed if i can tell, bob, what a detective would do," replied tom. "you see i ain't no natural detective like you. but i should think he'd swoop down on the den and scoop it." "and that's what you think a reg'lar detective would do?" "yes. i don't see nothin' else for him to do." "well, how would he do it?" "i ain't no detective, bob, so i don't know." "i didn't s'pose you did know, tom flannery, so now i'll tell you," said bob, who had seized upon his companion's suggestion. "a regular detective, if he was in my place, and had you to help him, would do jest what i'm going to do, and that is to send you into the den first, to see what you can find out." "send me in?" exclaimed tom, incredulously. "yes, that's what i said, wasn't it?" "and that's what a reg'lar detective would do?" "yes." "and that's what you're goin' to do?" "yes, of course it is. why wouldn't i do the same as any other detective? that's what i want to know." "of course you would, bob, but i couldn't do nothin' if i should go in," said tom, gently protesting against the proposed plan of action. "you can do what i tell you to, can't you?" "i don't know nothin' about it, any way, i tell you," replied tom, showing more plainly his disinclination to obedience. "tom flannery, i wouldn't er believed that you would back out this way," said bob, with surprise. "well, i don't want to be a detective no way. i don't care nothin' about my name bein' in the paper." "you hain't got no ambition. if you had, you'd show some spunk now. 'tain't often a feller has a chance to get into a case like this one is." "well, i don't care if it ain't, that's what i say." "i thought you wanted to be a detective, and couldn't wait, hardly, for me to work up the case." "well, i didn't think i'd have to climb into places like this old gunwagner's. 'tain't what i call bein' a detective no way." "you make me tired, tom flannery. you get the foolishest notions into your head of any boy i ever see." "well, i don't care if i do. i know plenty detectives don't do nothin' like this. they jest dress up and play the gentleman, that's what they do." "and that's the kind of a detective you want to be, is it?" "yes, it is; there ain't no danger about that kind of bein' a detective." "tom, you'd look great tryin' to be a gentleman, wouldn't you? i'd like to see you, tom flannery, a gentleman!" said bob, derisively. "it makes me sick, such talk." tom was silent for a time. evidently he thought there was some ground for bob's remarks. but an idea occurred to him now. "bob," said he, "if you like bein' this kind of a detective, why don't you go in yourself, instead of sendin' me? now, answer me that, will you?" "it wouldn't be reg'lar professional like, and then there wouldn't be no style about it." tom made no reply. in fact there seemed nothing further for him to say; bob's answer left no chance for argument. the two boys now stood opposite gunwagner's. presently a boy with a package in his hand approached the house, and, looking nervously about him, as if he feared he was watched, walked up the stoop and rang the bell three times. he did not see the two young detectives, as they were partially hidden by a big telegraph pole. after a time the door opened, and he passed in. bob noticed that it was very dark inside, and wondered why no light shone. "i couldn't get in, nohow, if i wanted to," said tom, trying to justify himself for his seeming cowardice. "does look so," assented bob, absentmindedly. "i wouldn't like to be a prisoner in there; would you, bob?" "no, of course i wouldn't." "i wish we could get your chum out." "i wish so, too; but you don't s'pose we can do it by standing here, do you?" "no, but i don't know nothin' to do; do you, bob?" "if i told you what to do, you wouldn't do it." "well, i didn't see no sense in my goin' in there alone, nohow." "i did, if you didn't. i wanted you to look round and see what you could find out, and post me, so when i went in i could do the grand act." "i wouldn't a' got out to post you, bob. they'd a' kept me--that's what they'd done." the door now opened, and out came the same boy who but a few minutes before had entered the gunwagner den. he looked cautiously about him, and then started down the street toward the east river. he was a small boy, of about twelve years of age, while our two detectives were several years his senior. from remarks dropped by felix mortimer and peter smartweed, bob surmised that gunwagner might keep a fence, and the suspicious manner of this small boy confirmed his belief. "here's our chance," whispered bob, nervously. "you follow this boy up, and don't let him get away from you. i'll rush ahead and cut him off. keep close to him, so we can corner him when i whistle three times." "all right," said tom, with his old show of enthusiasm, and each commenced the pursuit. between allen and orchard streets the detectives closed in on the small boy. bob had put himself fairly in front of him, and tom followed close behind. the chief detective slackened his pace very perceptibly, and seemed to be trying to make out the number on the house before which he now halted. "can you tell me where old gunwagner lives?" said he, addressing the small boy, who was now about to pass by. the boy stopped suddenly, and the color as suddenly left his face. bob had purposely chosen this locality, close to a gaslight, so that he might note the effect of his question upon the boy. now he gave the signal as agreed upon, and tom instantly came up and took a position that made retreat for the lad impossible. the latter saw this, and burst into tears. conscious of his own guilt, he needed no further accuser to condemn him. "don't take it so hard," said bob; "you do the square thing, and we won't blow on you--will we, tom?" "no, we won't," replied the latter. "we saw you when you went into gunwagner's--saw the package in your hand, and know the whole game," continued bob. "now, if you will help us put up a job, why, we will let you off; but if you don't come down square and do the right thing, why, we will jest run you in, and you'll get a couple of years or more on the island. now what do you say?" "what do you want me to do?" sobbed the small boy, trembling with fear. "i want you to go back with us, and take me into gunwagner's." tom was an interested listener, for he knew nothing about bob's plans or purposes. from further questionings, and many threats, our detectives found that a number of boys were in the habit of taking stolen goods to this miserable old fence. the number mixed up in the affair bob did not learn, but he ascertained the fact that felix mortimer had often been seen there by this lad. "now me and tom are doin' the detective business," said the chief; "and if you want to be a detective with us, you can join right in." "i want to go home," sobbed the boy. "well, you can't, not now," said bob, emphatically. "we hain't got no time for nonsense. you've either got to go along with me and tom, and help us, or we will run you in. now which will you do?" the boy yielded to the eloquence of the chief detective, and accompanied him and tom back to old gunwagner's. the boldness of this move captured young flannery's admiration. "now this is what i call bein' detectives, bob," whispered he. "gewhittaker, i didn't think, though, you could do it so grand. i don't believe nobody could beat you." bob nodded his approval of the compliment, and then addressed himself to the young lad. "i want you," said he, "to take me in and say i'm a friend of yours who wants to sell somethin'. you needn't do nothin' more. every detective puts up jobs like this, so 'tain't tellin' nothin' wrong." then, turning to his companion, he added: "now, tom, if this boy ain't square, and he does anything so i get into gunwagner's clutches, and can't get out, why i want you to go for an officer, and come and arrest this boy and the whole gang." the lad trembled. "i won't do nothin'," he protested. "i'll do just what you want me to." "all right; you do so, and you'll save yourself a visit to the island. now, when i am talking with old gunwagner, if i tell you to come outside and get the package i left at the door, why, you come jest as if i did have it there, and you come right straight for tom, and he will tell you what to do. and mind you be sure and don't close the outside door, for i want you to leave it so you and tom can get in without ringing the bell, for that's the secret of the whole job." the boy readily assented to bob's conditions and commands, and then the chief gave his companion secret instructions, to be acted upon after he himself had gone into the very den of the old fence. chapter xiii. a terrible fear. it was towards morning when herbert randolph fell asleep on the night of his imprisonment. he had fought manfully to keep awake, dreading the consequences of slumber, but tired nature gave way at last, and our young hero slept, unconscious now of danger. the rats that he so much feared still frolicked, and prowled, and gnawed, as they had done for hours. they climbed upon boxes and barrels, and made their way into every corner and crevice. everything was inspected by them. more inquisitive rats than these never infested the metropolis. now they went in droves, and scampered from place to place like a flock of frightened sheep. then they strayed apart and prowled for a time alone. an occasional fight came off by way of variety, and in these battles the vanquished, and perhaps their supporters, often squealed like so many young pigs. thus the carousal continued hour after hour, and that old gunwagner cellar was for the time a diminutive bedlam. our young hero, nevertheless, slept on and on, unconscious of this racket. after a while the rats grew bolder. their curiosity became greater, and then they began to investigate more carefully the state of things within the prison cell, and at length their attention was turned to the quiet sleeper. well bred rats are always cautious, and therefore are somewhat respectful, but the drove at old gunwagner's did not show this desirable trait. in fact they were not unlike the old fence himself--daring, avaricious and discourteous. no better proof of this could be instanced than their disreputable treatment of our young hero. rats, as a rule, show a special fondness for leather. undoubtedly it is palatable to them. but this fact would not justify them in the attempt they made to appropriate to themselves herbert's boots. the propriety of such an act was most questionable, and no well mannered rats would have allowed themselves to become a party to such a raid. but as a matter of fact, and as herbert learned to his sorrow, there were no well mannered rats at old gunwagner's--none but a thieving, quarrelsome lot. after a council of war had been held, and a great amount of reconnoitering had been done, it was decided that these rural boots could not be removed from their rightful owner in their present shape; therefore they fell vigorously to work to reduce them to a more movable condition. when herbert fell asleep, he was sitting on a bench with his feet upon the floor. he was still in this position, with his head resting in his hand, and his elbow supported by the side of his prison cell, when the rats made war on his boots. they gnawed and chipped away at them at a lively rate, and in a little time the uppers were entirely destroyed. the cotton linings, to be sure, were still intact, as these they did not trouble. evidently cotton cloth was not a tempting diet for them. up to this time herbert had not moved a muscle since he fell asleep, but now a troubled dream or something else, i know not what, disturbed him. possibly it was the continued gnawing on his already shattered boots. it might, however, have been the fear of these dreadful rats, or the repulsive image of old gunwagner, that haunted him and broke the soundness of his slumbers. presently he opened his eyes, drowsily, and his first half waking impression was the peculiar sensation at his feet. in another instant a full realization of the cause of this feeling darted into his mind, and with a pitiful cry of terror he bounded into the air like a frightened deer. and to add to the horror of his situation, in descending his right foot came down squarely upon one of the rats, which emitted a strange cry, a sort of squeal, that sent a thrill throughout every nerve of our hero's body. a second leap brought him standing upon the bench upon which he had been sitting. if ever a boy had good reason to be frightened, it was herbert randolph. his situation was one to drive men mad--in that dark, damp cellar, thus surrounded and beset by this countless horde of rats. the cold perspiration stood out upon him, and he trembled with an uncontrollable fear. something was wrong with his feet. he knew that, for his shoes now barely hung upon them. to what extent the rats had gone he dreaded to know. already he could feel his feet smart and burn in a peculiar manner. had they received poisonous bites, he asked himself? the mere suggestion of such a condition to one in his frightened state of mind was quite as bad, for the time, as actual wounds would have been. a rat isn't very good company at any time. under the most favorable conditions his presence has a tendency to send people upon chairs or the nearest table, and not infrequently they do this little act with a whoop that would do credit to a genuine frontier indian. when, therefore, we consider this fact, it is not difficult to realize the alarming situation in which our young hero was, and but for the timely sound of footsteps overhead it is impossible to predict what might have been the result of this terrible mental strain on him. [illustration: suddenly realizing his horrible situation, herbert sprang upon the bench with a pitiful cry of terror.] the night had worn away, the old fence was again on the move, and herbert's piercing cry brought him to the room over the cell. no sooner had our young friend heard this sound above his head than he appealed for help. so alarming were his cries that even old gunwagner was at length moved to go to his assistance. he retraced his steps to the front of the house, and, taking a lighted lamp with him, passed down through the trap door, and then made his way into the rear cellar to herbert's cell. never before in his life had the presence of a human being been so welcome as was that of gunwagner to our frightened hero. what a relief to this oppressive darkness was that small lamp light, and how quickly it drove all the rats into their hiding places. "what's all this row about?" growled the old fence. "these rats," gasped herbert, with a strange, wild look; "see, they have bitten me," pointing to his boots, or what remained of them. gunwagner's heart softened a trifle as he beheld the boy's sufferings, and saw how he had been assailed. "are you sure they have bit you?" said he, uneasily. "look! see!" replied herbert, holding out the worst mutilated boot. he fully believed he had been bitten, though, as a matter of fact, he had not. the old fence became alarmed, fearing the annoyance and possible danger that might follow; but when he had satisfied himself by a careful examination that young randolph had sustained no injuries, he speedily changed back to his old hard manner again--a cold, cruel manner that showed no mercy. herbert begged to be released from his prison pen, but his pleadings were of no avail. "why are you treating me in this inhuman way?" asked he. "what have i done that i should be shut up here by you?" old gunwagner looked hard at him, but made no reply. "i know why it is," continued our hero, growing bold and defiant when he saw it was useless to plead for kindness; "i can see through the whole scheme now; but you mark my words, old man, you will suffer for this cruelty, and so will your friend felix mortimer." these words came from the lips of the young prisoner with such terrible emphasis that old gunwagner, hardened as he was in sin, grew pale, and trembled visibly for his own safety. chapter xiv. bob outwits the old fence. bob easily gained admittance to the den by the aid of his confederate. he found there old gunwagner, felix mortimer, and another boy, who passed out just after the young detective entered. the old fence eyed bob sharply, and perhaps somewhat suspiciously. the manner of the small boy was excited. he did not appear natural, and this alone was sufficient to attract the old man's attention. it was a critical moment for bob. he did not know that the boy would not turn against him. in fact, he half suspected he would, but nevertheless he was willing to take the chance in the interest of herbert, and that he might do a skillful piece of detective work. moreover, there was the danger of being recognized by felix mortimer, who had seen him twice that very day; once at the bank in the morning, and again in the afternoon when bob played the role of bootblack. old gunwagner questioned him sharply. the small boy, however, told the story precisely in accordance with bob's instructions. the young detective meanwhile hastily surveyed the room and its furnishings, and when he had discovered what he thought would serve his purpose, he turned to his confederate, and said: "well, i believe i'll let this man have the things i brought with me. you may go out and get them, and bring them in here." "why didn't you bring them in with you?" asked the fence, suavely. "i didn't know as we could trade, so i thought i'd better leave 'em outside," answered bob, carelessly. when tom saw the boy come out alone, he knew the part he was to act, and following out the directions of his chief, he and the confederate rushed into the dark passageway leading to the fence, and yelled "fire" with all the power they could command. before giving the alarm, however, they lighted a newspaper, and placed it near the outer door. bob had purposely made his way to a far corner of the room, so that, as a matter of fact, he was farther from the place of exit than either mortimer or gunwagner. this was part of his scheme. when the cry of fire reached the old fence, he bounded to the door like a frightened deer. throwing it open, his eyes instantly fell upon the great flames that shot up from the burning paper. the sight struck terror to him, and, with an agonized cry, he rushed down the hallway to the immediate scene of the conflagration, with felix mortimer not far behind him. a gust of wind now blew in through the partially open door, and scattered the charred remains of the newspaper all about the feet of the fence. in a few seconds all traces of the fire were lost, and then the trick dawned upon the old man. he was furious with rage, and ran out into the street, to try and discover the perpetrators of the deed. tom and the confederate remained on the opposite side of the street till gunwagner and mortimer appeared at the door. bob had instructed tom to do this. both gunwagner and felix tumbled into this trap, which, by the way, was a skillful one for our detective to set. as soon as they caught sight of the two boys, they started after them in hot pursuit, but tom and the young lad were excellent runners, and, having a good start of their pursuers, they kept well ahead of them. seeing, therefore, that the chase was a hopeless one, the old fence and mortimer returned to the den. the former was almost desperately ugly. he growled and raved in a frightful manner, that quite alarmed our young detective. "what has become of that new boy?" asked felix, who was the first to think about him. gunwagner was so thoroughly agitated that up to this time he had not thought about bob. at young mortimer's reminder, however, he stopped suddenly in his ravings, and the color as quickly left his face. then he hurried to where a box containing silver and other valuables were kept. "it's here," he gasped, almost paralyzed with the fear that it had been stolen by the strange boy. "is anything else missing?" asked felix. our young detective was at this minute doubled up in a large box that was stowed away under a sort of makeshift counter. he had hurriedly concealed himself in this manner during the absence of the fence and felix. "i'll look things over and see," said old gunwagner, replying to mortimer's question. bob thought the game was all up with him now. he felt much as tom flannery did. he, too, "didn't want to be a detective, no how." "there's no show for me if this old tyrant gets his hands on to me," said bob to himself, as he lay cramped up in that dirty box, hardly daring to breathe. "i didn't think about it comin' out this way; if i had, i would a' fixed things with tom different. now i suppose he's gone home, as i told him to, and i can't look for no help from him or nobody else." the situation was a depressing one, and it grew more so as the mousing old fence came nearer and nearer to where our young detective lay. he searched high and low for traces of theft, and examined everything with careful scrutiny. he was now close to bob's hiding place. "he must be hid away here somewhere," said felix, with a very anxious look upon his face. "what makes you think so?" asked the old man, as he noticed young mortimer's anxiety. [illustration: gunwagner pursuing the boys.] no boy ever tried harder to suppress his breath than bob hunter did at this instant. "it's all up with me now," said he to himself. "they'll get me sure; but i'll die game." "it looks suspicious to me, and that's why i think so," replied felix, showing no little alarm. "i don't see nothing suspicious about it, as long as nothing is missing." "to be sure, but i believe he is the same boy that was in the bank today looking for this randolph." "and he is the boy that the old banker told you about?" "yes; the newsboy who said some foul play had overtaken randolph." the old fence looked exceedingly troubled. "we must capture this young arab," said he, emphatically, after a few moments' careful thought. bob's ears missed nothing. this conversation interested him through and through. "arab!" said he to himself. "if i don't get caught i'll show you whether i'm an arab or not." "perhaps he is already in there," suggested mortimer again. "we will go down cellar and see," said the old man. "he might have gone down through that trap door while we was out." "that's what i thought; and he and randolph may already be hatching up some plan for escaping," said felix. why old gunwagner neglected to search the big box under the counter is inexplicable. possibly the hand of destiny shielded the young detective, for he was on an errand of mercy. the old man and felix now descended the stairs into the cellar, and commenced their search for the strange boy who had so thoroughly alarmed them. chapter xv. bob and herbert meet. "well, i can't understand it," said felix, as he and the old fence came up from the cellar. "he certainly isn't down there." "no, he ain't here, that's sure," replied gunwagner; "but if it was the newsboy, you can be sure he will show up again in a way not very good for us." "so i think," assented mortimer. "then we must capture him, that's all." "i wish we could. you see he might go to old goldwin again, and tell him he saw me here." "yes, or go to the police headquarters and raise a row," suggested gunwagner, gloomily. "i didn't think of that. well, as you say, the only thing for us to do is to capture him and get him where he won't make trouble for us." "the whole game will be lost, and we will be pulled by the police unless we do so." "you might's well count your game lost, then," said bob to himself, for he had now renewed hope of carrying through his scheme. but he was nearly paralyzed with pain, from the cramped and uncomfortable position in which he had remained so long. he felt, however, that he was doing a great detective act, so he bore up under his sufferings with heroic fortitude. "suppose the police should drop on us, and find randolph in the cellar?" suggested young mortimer. the thought evidently alarmed old gunwagner. his face and whole manner showed that it did. "if they should do that, we would go to sing sing," returned he, grimly. felix mortimer possessed an extremely cool nerve, but the words "sing sing" did not fall upon his ears like sweet music. "i wish we could get him out of the way," said he, with manifest anxiety. "it must be done tomorrow." "there's no time to lose, i feel sure. but what shall be done with him?" "he must be put where he will never blow on us." "of course he must." "it's a bad job--a dirty, bad job--that's what i call it. i only wish you'd kept away from me with your devilish scheme," said the old villain, petulantly. "it's no time to talk about that now," returned mortimer, coolly. "you are in for it as well as i, so we must work together." "we must, must we?" hissed the old man, wickedly. "yes," said mortimer, with a determined manner, that made the old outlaw cower and cringe. felix mortimer possessed the stronger character of the two, and, now he was aroused, gunwagner was subservient to his will. "unless you show yourself a man now, i will leave you to fight it out alone," continued felix. "i can take care of myself. randolph is on your hands, and here the police will find him." low, profane mutterings from the old culprit's mouth now filled the air. he was cornered, and mortimer had him at his mercy. gunwagner saw this now, and commenced planning to get our young hero out of the way. an exceedingly interesting conversation this proved to the young detective, who carefully gathered in every word. "something is liable to drop with you fellers before long," said he to himself. "this detective business is mighty excitin', if it's all like this is. i wonder what tom flannery would say now, if he could take this all in the same way i'm doin' it!" "i s'pose we can run him off to sea," said gunwagner, at length. "that's the only way i know of to get him out of the way." "then why not do that?" replied mortimer. "it will cost a lot of money." "better pay out the money than go to sing sing." the old fence looked daggers at the author of this remark, but evidently thought it best to make no direct reply. "i wish we could get him away tonight," continued young mortimer, in a way that exasperated gunwagner. "well, you're mighty liable to be accommodated," thought bob, as a broad grin played over his face, despite the suffering he was enduring. "i'm goin' to take a hand in this business myself, and i'll try my best to help you fellers through with this job." "no, it can't be done tonight," said the old fence, gruffly; "but i'll see what can be done tomorrow." "fix it so he will never get back here to new york again," said mortimer, heartlessly. "of course; that's the only thing to do." "remember, there is no time to lose, for if we get tripped up here, the whole game will be up at the bank, and all our trouble will come to nothing." "i understand that; but you have said nothing about the outlook at the bank." "i have had no chance. some one has been here all the evening." "you have the chance now." "so i have; but there is nothing to say yet. you don't expect me to rob a bank in one day, do you?" "no, of course not; but what are the chances for carrying out the scheme?" "ah, ha!" said the young detective to himself; "bank robbing, is it? that's the scheme. well, this detective business beats me. i guess nobody don't often get a more excitin' case than this one is--that's what i think." after a little further discussion between the two crooks, mortimer left the den and started for home. bob suspected that he felt very happy to get away from there; and bob was quite right, for, as a matter of fact, the young scoundrel had become so alarmed over the prospect, that he felt very uneasy about remaining a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. when he had gone, the old fence closed and bolted the doors, and then passed into a rear room, where he retired to his bed. when all had been quiet for perhaps the space of fifteen or twenty minutes, the young detective crawled out of his box and straightened himself out. he had, however, been cramped up so long that this was not so easily done. but matters of so great moment were before him now, that he could not think of aches and pains. he learned about the location of the trap door, when the old fence and young mortimer went into the cellar to look for him. on his hands and knees bob cautiously proceeded, searching on either side of him for the door. it was so dark that he could see nothing, and as the room was filled with chairs, old boxes, and so on, he found it no easy matter to navigate under such circumstances, especially as he knew that the slightest noise would prove fatal to his scheme. at length his hand rested upon the fastening of the trap door, and to his horror he found it locked. if the room had seemed dark before to the young detective, it was now most oppressively black. what to do, which way to turn, he did not know. the doors leading to the street were locked, he had no keys about him, and no means of producing a light. "this is the worst go i've struck yet," said bob to himself, as he meditated over his situation. "jest as i thought everything was all fixed, this blamed old lock knocks me out. well, i've pulled through pretty good so far, and i won't give it up yet. i may strike an idea," he continued, undismayed, and then commenced prowling stealthily about the room, in search of something--anything that would serve his purpose. he thought if he could find the key to the hall door he would try to make his escape from the building; and, once out, he could get matches, and whatever else he needed to aid him in carrying out his scheme to a grand success. but he was no more fortunate in this effort than he had been in hunting for the key to the trap door. he searched, too, every nook and corner for a match, but failed utterly to find one, or anything to keep his courage good. the situation began to look alarming to him. he was now as much a prisoner as herbert randolph. "i wonder what tom flannery would do if he was in my place?" mused the young detective, as he sat upon the floor, somewhat depressed in spirits. "i think he'd just lay down and bawl and throw up the whole game, that's what tom flannery would do. but i ain't goin' to throw up no game till it's lost, not ef bob hunter knows himself. there ain't but one thing to do now, and that's to go into old gunwagner's bedroom, and take them keys outer his pocket, that's what i think. ef he was to wake up, tho', and catch me at it--well, i guess i wouldn't be in the detective business no more. but--what's that noise?" said he to himself, suddenly becoming aware of a strange sound. our young detective felt a cold chill creep over him. his first thought was that the old fence was coming into his presence, and would of course capture him and punish him most inhumanly. but as the slight noise continued, and gunwagner did not appear, bob took courage, and listened keenly for developments. presently the sound came nearer, and now a gleam of light shone up through a crack in the floor. "can it be vermont?" said bob to himself, hardly believing his own eyes. still nearer came the light. "he is climbing the stairs, as sure's i'm alive," said bob, almost overcome with joy. in the trap door was a small knot hole, about an inch and a half in diameter. through this opening the light now shone distinctly, and it was most welcome to the eyes of our young detective. a pressure was now brought to bear upon the door from the under side, but it only yielded so far as the fastening would allow. "is that you, vermont?" whispered bob through the knot hole. no answer was given. herbert randolph had never considered himself in any degree superstitious. but what could this be but bob hunter's spirit? "don't be afraid," said the young detective, who imagined herbert would find it difficult to realize that he was there. "it's bob hunter. i ain't got no card with me, or i'd send it down to you." this remark sounded so much like bob that young randolph no longer doubted his own senses. "bob hunter!" exclaimed he. "how in the world came you here, and what are you doing?" "yes, it's me, vermont. but don't stop to ask no questions now. i'm here to help you get out, but this blamed old door is locked, and i hain't got no key, nor no light, nor nothin'." after exchanging a few words, herbert took from his pocket a piece of paper. this he made into a taper, which he lighted and passed up through the knot hole to bob. with this the latter lighted the gas; and now he felt that he was in a position to be of some service to his friend. a careful search failed to reveal any keys. then the two boys discussed the situation, and presently herbert passed a bent nail to the young detective, and instructed him how to operate on the lock, which speedily yielded to the boy's efforts. in another instant the trap door was thrown up, and, by a most unfortunate blunder, it fell back with a tremendous crash. herbert, however, emerged quickly from his cold, damp prison, with a look of consternation pictured upon his face. both he and bob knew that old gunwagner would be upon them in less than a minute, and they hastily prepared to defend themselves. chapter xvi. the old fence in a trap. "what shall we do?" said bob, with no little alarm, as herbert randolph climbed up through the old trap door. "we must defend ourselves," replied the young vermonter, with characteristic firmness. "there ain't no way to escape, is there?" "no, i suppose not, if the hall door is locked." "it is, and i can't find no key." "have you looked since the gas was lighted?" "yes, and 'tain't there nowhere." "where do you imagine it is?" "i guess the old duffer has it in his pocket, the same as he has the key to the trap door." "well, there is no time to lose. old gunwagner will be down upon us in an instant." "do you think he will bring a revolver with him?" asked bob, somewhat nervously. "very likely he will." "i guess we'd better climb down cellar, then, and pretty lively, too." "no, we won't," replied herbert, decidedly. "i have had all of that prison i want. we will fight it out here." "all right, then, i'll shut this door down, or we might get thrown down cellar in the fight." "so we might, and---- ah, here he comes!" said young randolph, detecting the sound of footsteps, as old gunwagner approached. [illustration: gunwagner bursts into the room in a furious mood.] "stand in front of the counter, so that he will see you when he opens the door, and----" "but the revolver!" interrupted bob. he had now entirely relinquished the leadership, for in herbert randolph he recognized his superior. "i was going to tell you about that," replied our hero. "if you see a revolver in his hand, you must drop behind the counter as quickly as possible." "yes, and i won't waste no time about it, either." "no, you'd better not," said the young vermonter; and he had barely time to dart behind the door, when old gunwagner placed his hand upon the latch, and burst into the room. his eye fell upon bob hunter, who stood directly in front of him, but about two thirds of the way across the room. the old fence recognized him instantly, and with a fiendish shout made for the lad, as if he meant annihilation. he had not proceeded far, however, when young randolph bounded from behind the door, and fell upon his shoulders, bearing him to the floor. a yell of terror escaped from the old villain, that told clearly of his alarm. he had not thought of herbert until now. he was at a loss to know what caused the noise, when the trap door slipped back with such a resounding crash. but when his eyes fell upon bob hunter, he readily jumped at the conclusion that he alone had caused the rumpus. now, however, he was stunned at this unexpected assault from the rear. when herbert and the old man fell to the floor, bob hunter was quickly at his friend's side, ready to take a hand in the struggle, if needed. while old gunwagner was a cruel, heartless man, he nevertheless lacked genuine courage. like the majority of men of his class, he was a coward at heart. he therefore readily gave up the struggle, when surprised by herbert randolph. "it's your turn now, old man," said our young hero, triumphantly. "last night you pounced upon me, and seemed to like it. now perhaps you will enjoy this!" a coarse oath, characteristic of the old villain, was the reply. "you may as well submit decently. you are in our power now, and if you behave yourself, you will save us the necessity of compelling you to obey." the old fence grated his teeth, and looked the very incarnation of all that was evil. the wicked spirit that shone in his face would have afforded a rare study for a painter. he made a movement of his right hand, as if to reach back to his hip pocket. a movement of this sort, under such circumstances, is considered suggestive of firearms. bob did not wait to see whether he was reaching for a revolver or some other ugly weapon, but instantly fell upon this hand, and secured it. the other hand was in herbert's firm grasp, so it was useless for the old fence to struggle further. "my turn has come now to get square with you, you cruel old sinner," said herbert. "i begged of you to take me out of that foul cellar and away from those dreadful rats, but you showed no mercy." gunwagner made no reply. "yes, and he was goin' to send you off on some kind of a ship tomorrow, so you would never get back to new york no more," said bob. "send me off on a ship!" exclaimed our hero, with a shudder. he had not until now even imagined the full purpose of his enemies. "yes, that's what they said tonight, him and that mortimer feller." "and you heard this?" "yes, when i was in that box under the counter there," replied bob, with enthusiasm; "and they talked about bank robbin', too." at this revelation old gunwagner seemed to give up all hope. the hardness of his face melted into an expression of pain, and he trembled with fear, like the frightened thing that he was. he had been outwitted by the young detective. "richard goldwin's bank, i suppose," replied young randolph, almost dazed at the audacity of the villains. "yes, that was their game in getting you out of the way." "i didn't think of that before." "well, you hain't been in new york very long, and so you don't know the way they do things here--them that is bad, like this gang." "how did you find out where i was, and how in the world did you manage to get in here without being seen?" "well, you see, i was a detective," said bob, with a show of pride. "a detective!" exclaimed the young vermonter, looking at his friend with the innocent wonder of a country boy. "yes, but i hain't got no time to tell you about it now. we must be movin', you see." "so we must," replied herbert. doubtless old gunwagner, too, would have liked much to hear bob relate how he discovered his friend's prison. but even this small satisfaction was denied him. "what's the first move?" said bob. "i have been thinking about that," replied our hero. "of course, we must have him arrested." "certainly we must." "oh, no, don't, don't!" pleaded the old man, speaking for the first time. "it is too late to plead now," said young randolph. "you should have thought of this before committing the evil that you have done." "but i am an old man, and he led me into it." "who?" "mortimer, felix mortimer. if it hadn't been for him, i wouldn't er done it." "oh, that don't go with us," said bob. "i heard the whole story tonight. you was into the game with him, and now you're trapped you wanter squeal, that's what you do. but it won't do you no good. you are a bad lot from way back--gettin' boys to steal things for you!" this was a revelation to young randolph, as he did not know until now that old gunwagner kept a fence. "don't have me arrested, boys," whined the old villain, now trying to work on their sympathy. "it would kill me. i am so old." "do you expect sympathy from me, after your heartless treatment?" said herbert. "he made me do it," was the reply, referring to mortimer. "nonsense, you could have taken me out of that old cellar if you had wanted to do so." "yes, and do you think you would er showed me any sympathy, if you'd got me into your clutches alone?" put in bob. "i wouldn't have been hard on you." "no, you wouldn't," said the young detective, sarcastically. "your talk tonight, when i was hid away, sounded as if you wouldn't er been hard on me--oh, no, you wouldn't. i could tell that from the way you plunged at me just now, when you came through that door with your war paint on." chapter xvii. bob goes for an officer. old gunwagner saw quite clearly that any further effort to play upon the boys' sympathy was useless. the first shock of his surprise was over, and now the subtle cunning of his nature began to reassert itself. "boys, you have the advantage of me at present," said he, softly. "but i can't see how it will pay you to act foolish." "what do you mean?" asked herbert. "i mean that it will pay you a good deal better to make terms with me." "how so?" "would you like to be rich?" was the reply. "i suppose every american wants to be rich, and i guess we are no exception, are we, bob?" "i should think we ain't," replied the latter. "so i thought," said the old fence, "and it's in my power to make you rich." the boys were listening to subtle, dangerous words. "how can you do that?" said bob, growing interested. "there are a number of ways that i might do it. in the first place, i could give both of you all the money you will ever need, and still be rich myself." "but a man isn't likely to give away so much," said herbert. "you must have a payin' business," observed the young detective. "of course i must, and that is the point i am coming at. you boys have shown yourselves keen lads, and i always like to help such boys along, for i was poor once myself. now my proposition is this: i'll give you both a show in the business here with me." "no, sir, thank you, we do not care to go into a dishonest business like this," said herbert, emphatically, speaking for both bob and himself. "not if you could each make ten thousand a year, clean money?" "no; not if we could make ten times that," replied our hero. "you could have a good time on ten thousand a year--boys of your age." "not on stolen money." "it wouldn't be on stolen money." "it looks very much like it, when you buy stolen goods." "yes, and fix up a job for bank robbin'," added bob. "well, suppose it does look so, why couldn't you enjoy the money just as much?" "because it wouldn't be right for us to have it," returned our hero. "boys, you are not so old as i am. i've seen a good deal of life. money is money, and it don't matter where it comes from, it will buy just as much." "it will not always buy one his liberty," replied young randolph, coolly. this remark came close home to the old fence, and disconcerted him for a minute. presently, however, he rallied, and said: "do you think one has his liberty, as you call it, when he is poor--so poor that he can have no luxuries?" "to be sure he does. why not?" "you will change your mind some day, and perhaps it will be too late." "i hope i shall never change my mind in favor of dishonesty and crime." "do you know that a boy's chance to get rich hardly ever comes to him but once in his life?" continued old gunwagner, undaunted. "no, and i don't believe it is so, either." "another evidence of your inexperience. when you get older, you will look back and see what i tell you is true; and if you miss this chance you will never get another one like it." "we don't want another one like it, so it's no use to talk about it any more." "that's so," said bob; "he hain't got no interest in us; i can see through his trick." "you are mistaken, young man. if you don't want to go into the business here yourselves, i'll give you an interest in it, if you will do nothing to injure it. you see, you know about the business here now, and if you should give it away to the police, why it would hurt it, don't you understand?" "yes, we understand it too well, but do not want an interest in it," said herbert. "it would pay you well," persisted the old fence; "say about seven to ten thousand dollars each every year, and you needn't come anear it--just take your dividends every week, and that's all." "well, we don't want no such dividends," said bob; "nor we couldn't get 'em if we did want 'em, that's all." "you are mistaken again, for if you think the business don't pay as well as i say, why i can show you the money." "got it with you?" said bob. this question pleased the old fence, and gave him renewed courage. he thought now that perhaps there was yet hope for him. "i have it in the house," said he. "in cash?" "yes, and i can get it if you want to see it." "don't see how you're goin' to get it, the way you are fixed now," continued bob. "well, if you will not let me go for it, i can tell you where to find it." "can you? well, where is it?" "it is in my bedroom, in the further end of the house. you will find it in the thick wallet, under my pillow." "well, we will take your word for it, seein' we don't need the money for anything, and wouldn't take it nohow," said the young detective, who divined the purpose of the old fence. "but if you don't get it, how can i make you boys a present? you will not allow me to go for it," said the fence, fearing his scheme had failed him. "we don't want no present, so don't worry yourself about that." "we prefer taking you with us, rather than the present," said herbert. "old man," continued bob, "your game didn't work. all you wanted was to get me out of the way so you could er layed vermont out. but it warn't no go. you was too anxious to give away money. i could see all the time what you was aimin' at." the old fence protested against this interpretation of his motives, but the boys were too keen for him. young bob hunter had been knocking about the streets of new york too long to be very easily taken in by this old gunwagner. his wits had been sharpened to a high degree in his long struggle for bread, and his knowledge of human nature was as superior to that of herbert randolph as the latter's general education was superior to bob's. [illustration: gunwagner in the hands of the police.] finding it impossible to work upon the sympathy of the boys, that buying them off was out of the question, and that the scheme to outwit them had proved a flat failure, gunwagner now turned to the last weapon which he could hope to use with any possible effect. "so you have made up your mind to take me with you?" said he, looking hard at herbert. "yes," replied the latter, firmly. "you will make the biggest mistake of your life, if you attempt such an outrage." "an outrage! is that what you call it, when a detective takes a bird like you in?" said bob hunter, in his characteristic manner. the old fence looked fiercely at him. "my friends are all around here, and i can raise a dozen of them before you could get me half a block away." "we do not feel uneasy about your so called friends," said young randolph. "but if you prefer it, we will send for an officer, and let him take you." "if your friends go back on you the way mortimer done tonight, when he told you he would look out for himself, and let you fight it out alone, why, then i guess me and vermont needn't bother much about your gang." further intimidation was tried by gunwagner, but all to no purpose, for now the boys were in the act of fastening together the wrists of the old fence, and binding them securely to a chair. when this had been done, so that they no longer felt any insecurity, they took from his pocket the keys to both doors leading to the street, and bob hunter started for an officer. young randolph remained with the prisoner, because he was stronger than bob, and therefore would be the better able to handle him, should he by any means get his hands loose. now every hope had failed the old man. he saw nothing but sing sing before him. his evil purpose had at last recoiled upon him, and he was a prisoner in the hands of one who but a few hours before had begged of him for mercy. while waiting for the return of bob with the officer, herbert asked gunwagner if the money he had made in crooked and unlawful ways had brought him happiness. he made no audible reply, but sat with his head bent low. an answer, however, was conveyed to our young hero by a silent tear that made its way slowly down the wrinkled and aged face of the old man, whose life had been worse than wasted, for it had been an evil one. chapter xviii. tom flannery is hungry. it was past midnight when herbert randolph and bob hunter reached their room. the old fence had meanwhile been taken to the station house by an officer. both boys were sleepy and well nigh exhausted, so they immediately sought rest. bob, however, was up at his usual hour in the morning, and off to look after his paper trade. business proved good with him on this occasion--unusually good--so that his profits amounted to quite a nice little sum. he therefore planned to give herbert a good warm breakfast, something better than it had been their custom to eat. presently tom flannery appeared. "you here, bob?" said the latter, with surprise. "i thought you was done for, sure." "what made you think that, tom?" "why, because you didn't show up." "you didn't wait for me, did you?" "didn't i? well, i should think i did, till near twelve o'clock, too, when i was so near froze i couldn't stay no longer; and bob, i thought it was all up with you." "why, tom, you hadn't oughter staid. i told you to go home after you lit the fire." "i know you did, bob, but i didn't feel like goin' home and leavin' you alone in that den. you see i thought you might need me." "tom, you've got more sand than i thought you had. i wish i coulder fixed it so you coulder been on the inside too." "i wish you could, bob. was it excitin'?" "excitin'! well, wasn't it, though! i never saw anything like it. but i say, tom, that was a great go. you done it splendid." "what's that, bob?" "why, the fire act. i don't believe nobody could beat that." tom enjoyed this praise hugely. "i wouldn't like to a' been in your place, bob," said he, "when you was in that dark room, nor when old gunwagner and that other feller was huntin' for you." "no, i thought you wouldn't, tom, and i didn't want to be there neither." "'twas a big detective job, wasn't it, bob?" "well, 'twas a pretty fair one, i guess." "and you got it all up yourself," continued tom, admiringly. "i wish i could do things the way you do, bob." "well, you see, tom, you hain't had so much experience as what i have, but you'll come out all right, and make a big detective, i know you will." bob stopped talking to sell a paper, and after making change and pocketing his profit, he continued: "now, tom, i tell you what 'tis: you and me and herbert will eat breakfast together, when he comes down." "when will he be down?" asked tom, his hand dropping instinctively upon his empty stomach. tom flannery was known among his crowd of street lads as the hungry boy. he was always ready to eat, and never seemed to get enough food to satisfy the cravings of his appetite. this invitation, therefore, was very welcome to him. "it's 'bout time for him now," replied bob, in answer to tom's question. "i wish he would come," said tom, looking hungrier than usual. "he is probably making up sleep," said the young detective. "how much sleep has he got to make up, bob?" asked tom, seriously. "i don't know exactly, but i guess pretty near a whole night." "a whole night!" exclaimed tom, dubiously. "he ain't goin' to make it all up this morning, is he, bob?" tom's hand rested suggestively upon his stomach again. "shucks! tom flannery, if you ain't a idiot, i never saw one! to think herbert randolph would sleep all day! didn't i tell you he would be right down?" "so you did, bob. i forgot that; but you see i wanted to be sure, cause i haven't had nothin' to eat yet today." bob looked at his companion with an air of disdain, and made no reply. tom, however, was not over sensitive, so he kept on talking about bob's adventure at the fence. in the course of half an hour he got the whole story from the young detective. bob not only told him his own adventures, but gave him all of herbert's experience, which he had himself learned from our hero. it was now about a quarter to nine. tom looked suggestively at the big hands on the city hall clock, but said nothing about young randolph's non-appearance. "i don't see what keeps him," said bob, knowing full well what tom was thinking about. "nor i don't either, bob. i guess he won't be down very early." "well, there wasn't nothin' to bring him down early." "but you expected him, didn't you, bob?" "of course i did, tom flannery. didn't i ask you to eat breakfast with me and him?" "yes, you did, bob, and that was what i was thinking about." "well, what did you think about it?" "i was wonderin' if you meant this mornin', or some other mornin'." tom had hardly finished this remark, when herbert randolph approached from the broadway entrance and spoke to bob. "this is tom flannery, what helped me do the detective act," said the latter, by way of introduction. "you know i told you about him." "oh, yes, i remember, and i am glad to meet you, tom flannery," replied young randolph, extending his hand to tom. "so am i glad to see you," said young flannery; "me and bob here have been waitin' for you more'n two hours." "oh, tom flannery!" exclaimed bob. "what are you talkin' that way for? 'tain't a quarter so much that we've been waitin', and you know it." "seems like 'twas a half a day to me, any way," protested tom, with his hand again moving towards the seat of his digestion. "the trouble is with tom flannery that he is always starvin'. i never see such a hungry boy," explained the young detective. "i can't help it," answered tom; "i like to eat." bob explained to herbert that they had been waiting for him to join them for breakfast. "i am sorry," said young randolph, "but i ate my breakfast on the way down." tom flannery was disheartened. "never mind, tom," said bob; "we will have the breakfast some other mornin'--you and me and vermont." when it was time for mr. goldwin to get down to business, our hero and the young detective started for the banking house. a surprise awaited felix mortimer. chapter xix. the rivals at the bank. "do you s'pose we will find that mortimer feller at the bank?" asked bob, as he and young randolph passed down broadway towards wall street. "very likely we shall," responded our hero, absentmindedly. "if he has heard of old gunwagner's arrest, you bet he won't be there." "the papers contained nothing about the arrest, did they?" "no, not as i seen." "then the chances are that he is there." "so i think. but what will you do, vermont, if he is?" "i don't know yet." "you won't lick him, will you?" "oh, no, that wouldn't be a wise policy to pursue." "but he deserves it." "so he does, but i can't afford to lower myself by fighting." "that's so, vermont; but, all the same, i'd like to see you lay him out once--the way you did at gunwagner's--he deserves it." "he deserves to be punished, but i think the law will do that." "'tain't quick enough," said bob, petulantly. "a feller gets all over his mad before he gets any satisfaction out of law." "you are a comical chap, bob," said herbert; "but you have been one of the best friends i ever knew. if you had not come to my rescue, i should probably never have walked down this street again." "oh, that's all right," replied the young detective. "don't say nothing about it." the two boys had now reached the banking house of richard goldwin. their conversation, therefore, terminated as they entered the bank. just as the door was opened to them, mr. goldwin came out of his private office, and his eyes fell upon herbert and bob. "what do you mean, sir, by appearing in this bank again?" he asked, with a stern glance at young randolph. it must be remembered that he believed the story told to him by felix mortimer, and therefore looked upon herbert with grave suspicions, or even contempt. the banker's manner and implied insinuation wounded young randolph's pride, and his cheeks became crimson. "if you are not already prejudiced, i think, sir, i can explain to your entire satisfaction," said our young hero, with a native dignity well becoming his manliness. "it's jest what i told you yesterday mornin'," put in bob. "foul play--that's what it was." "i think i am not prejudiced to such an extent that i am incapable of dealing justly with you," replied mr. goldwin, giving no heed to bob's remark. "thank you," said herbert. "i am sure you are not, and if you will listen to me, i will explain everything." "a mere explanation from you, however, will not convince me." "it should do so," replied herbert, still further wounded by this cold remark. "not at all, since you have deceived me once." "i have never deceived you, sir," answered young randolph, with spirit. "of course you would say so," returned the banker, coolly. "most certainly i would, sir, when i am telling you the truth." "have you any evidence to sustain your position?" asked mr. goldwin. "yes, sir," replied herbert; "my friend here can testify that i have not deceived you. he knows the whole story--the plot from first to last." herbert randolph's bold, straightforward manner impressed the banker favorably, and he now became less frigid towards him. "there has evidently been deception somewhere," said mr. goldwin. "why any one should plot against you, with a view to getting you out of this bank, i cannot understand." "i think bob hunter here can make it plain to you. he knows the whole scheme." "and it warn't no small scheme, neither," responded bob. "it's lucky for you that we got on to it before it was too late." "what do you mean by this insinuation, young man?" "well, if you want to know, i'll tell you. perhaps you remember i was down here yesterday to see you, and i told you somethin' was wrong then--didn't i?" "yes." "and you didn't believe it, but just talked against herbert randolph here." "but i had good cause for doing so." "yes, if you think that stuff that felix mortimer give you was any cause, then you did have some; but he was jest lyin' to you, that's what he was doin', and i know it; and what's more, i can prove it," said bob, boldly and bluntly. "you are making a strong statement," replied the banker, somewhat bewildered. "i know i am, but i couldn't say nothin' too strong about that mortimer feller." "felix mortimer is in my private office. dare you come in and face him with these remarks?" "you bet i dare--that's jest what i want to do." "you shall do so, then," said the banker. herbert randolph and bob hunter followed him, at his invitation, into his private room. chapter xx. felix mortimer discomfited. felix mortimer sat at a desk facing the door, and was writing when the banker and the two boys entered the room. he did not look up till herbert and bob had advanced several steps toward him, and stopped. but his eyes now met theirs, and he sprang to his feet like one suddenly surprised by a lurking enemy. herbert and bob stood there for a moment, boldly facing him. not a word was spoken on either side. the banker took a position where he could watch the effect of this strange meeting upon both parties. he saw the color fade from young mortimer's face, and a look of unmistakable fear spread over it. in fact, his whole manner betrayed the alarm that now possessed him. in strong contrast to the appearance of this young villain was herbert randolph's frank, truthful look. he had no cause for fear. the peculiar fire that shone in his eyes revealed a meaning that was at once impressive and determined. before him stood one who had wronged him outrageously, stolen his position away from him, and blackened his character with ingenious falsehood. our hero thought of all this, and his blood boiled with manly indignation. had he been alone with mortimer, i fear the latter would have suffered then and there the penalty for his villainy. but discretion was now the sensible course for herbert, and he wisely restrained himself from an unbecoming demonstration of hostility. "do you know these young men?" asked the banker, sharply, addressing young mortimer. "i know one of them, sir--that is, i saw him here the morning you advertised for a boy," replied felix, commencing to rally. "i recollect the fact. you refer to herbert randolph, i presume?" "yes, sir." "i think you told me something about his getting another position, and this, you said, was probably the reason why he failed to continue working at this bank." "yes, sir," replied mortimer, with bold effrontery. "what have you to say to this young man's statement, mr. randolph?" said the banker. felix mortimer's manner had already raised mr. goldwin's suspicions, but he wished to be doubly sure, and thus he proceeded carefully with the investigation. "his statement is wholly false," was our hero's reply. "it was his miserable villainy that deprived me of my liberty, and kept me away from my work." mr. goldwin looked puzzled. "the plot thickens," said he. "give me your story." herbert related how he had been victimized, telling the facts much as i have given them in the preceding chapters of this narrative. "tell him about the knock out," put in bob, who evidently thought this one of the best parts of the story. "what was that?" asked the banker. herbert explained. "so that was what gave you the swollen jaw, was it?" said mr. goldwin, addressing felix mortimer in a severe tone. "no, it was not," said he. "i told you what did it, and i don't propose to hear any more lies from street fellows like these," added mortimer, contemptuously, and at the same time moving towards the door. "stop!" said the banker, firmly. "you will not leave this room till this matter is cleared up." young mortimer winced, and bob hunter looked up at herbert, and smiled suggestively. "mr. randolph, this fellow stated to me yesterday that you were not from vermont, that you are an impostor. what have you to say to this?" "i can only say that i told you the truth." "have you any way of proving your statement?" "here is a letter that i received this morning from my mother," said herbert, handing it to the banker. "this, i think, will sustain my word." "the envelope is postmarked fairbury, vermont," replied mr. goldwin, scrutinizing it closely. "you may read the letter," said our hero. "it will doubtless convince you of my truthfulness." it ran as follows: fairbury, vt., thursday, november th. my dear son: your letter reached us this evening, and it lifted a great load of anxiety from our hearts, for we could not help fearing some ill luck might have overtaken you--a stranger and an inexperienced boy in so great a city as new york. your father and i rejoice at your good fortune, and feel proud that our boy should be chosen by the banker from among so large a number of applicants for the same position. your excellent start gives us fresh courage to fight the battle of life over again, and to try and regain our property, or so much of it as will be necessary to support us comfortably in our old age. your father's eyes filled with tears of joy when i read your letter to him, and he said i might tell you that he feels rich in the possession of a son who has health, energy, and good principles, and who has shown himself able to make his way in the world unaided. he thinks you now have an excellent opportunity for commencing a prosperous career. from what you wrote of mr. goldwin, the banker, we think he must be a very nice man, and we are heartily glad that you can have his influence thrown about you to strengthen you against the evils you should shun. we were greatly amused at the picture you gave of bob hunter the newsboy. you must find him very entertaining. write us some more about him. his droll talk reads like a novel. your father laughed heartily at it. be sure and write us two or three times a week, for you know we are entirely alone now you are away. with love from your father and myself, i will say good by for today. your mother. mr. goldwin commenced to read this letter aloud, but before he had finished it his voice choked, and he reached for his handkerchief with which to dry his moist eyes. the picture it presented of the vermont father and mother, so deeply interested in their only boy, brought fresh to the banker's mind his own parental home, and he saw himself once more bidding good by to his father and mother, as he left them and the old farm, a mere boy, to seek a livelihood in the great metropolis. presently he overcame this emotion, and turning to young randolph[tn: should be mortimer], said, sternly: "this letter, which i hold in my hand, not only proves mr. randolph's truthfulness, but it convicts you of a base falsehood. you deceived me by your artful lying, and now you have the effrontery to stand up before me and before this young man, whom you have so cruelly wronged, and boldly deny everything. you are the most polished young villain i ever knew. "young man," continued the banker, addressing bob, and without waiting for mortimer to reply, "what do you know about this matter?" "i guess i know 'bout everything," said the young detective, glad of a chance to have his say. "you remarked that it was lucky that you found out something before it was too late for us here at the bank, i believe?" "yes, sir, you are right." "will you please tell us the facts?" bob related the conversation he had heard between old gunwagner and felix mortimer, relative to bank robbing. "so that was your scheme in getting in here, was it? you young villain!" said mr. goldwin, angrily addressing felix mortimer. "i refuse to answer the charges made by these confederates. they are telling what has no truth in it, and are deceiving you, as you will learn to your sorrow," replied felix, still maintaining a good degree of boldness. richard goldwin, however, was too good a judge of human nature to be further imposed upon by the tricks of young mortimer. "but you will be forced to answer to the charges sooner or later, sir," said the banker. "the court will compel you to do so." the court! these words made young mortimer wince, and his nerve palpably weakened. he muttered some unintelligible reply--whether a threat or not none present knew. "how came you to overhear this conversation between the old fence and this fellow?" asked mr. goldwin of bob hunter. [illustration: young randolph and bob hunter confront felix mortimer and charge him with his villainy.] the young detective here related the whole story, telling why he suspected mortimer, how he saw him at the bank in herbert's place, how he shadowed him up broadway--told of the bootblacking scene, in which he got the essential facts from peter smartweed and mortimer; related his manner of gaining admittance to the fence, and told of the trick he played upon the old man and felix--the trick that enabled him to carry out to success his scheme for liberating herbert randolph. "and you did all of this alone?" asked the banker, with genuine astonishment. "yes, sir," replied bob, carelessly, as if it didn't amount to much. "i cannot realize it," said mr. goldwin, admiringly. "a professional detective could not have done better, and probably would have fallen far short of doing as well." "i didn't think nothin' of it," returned bob. "'twas easy enough, and 'twas kinder of excitin', too." "and you liked the excitement?" bob admitted that he did, but was very modest about his triumph, and was not disposed to look upon it as any great feat now it was all over. but mr. goldwin assured him, in most complimentary terms, that great credit was due to him for the skill and bravery he had displayed. meanwhile felix mortimer had been slyly inching towards a door that was a little to his left; and now that mr. goldwin's attention was centered upon young bob hunter, he seized the opportunity, and made a mad plunge for liberty. his movements, however, had been detected by herbert randolph, and he no sooner reached the door than the young vermonter grasped him firmly by the collar, and jerked him back. mortimer's effort to escape prompted mr. goldwin to sound the alarm for a policeman. an officer responded promptly, and immediately arrested the young criminal, and took him to the station house, where he was locked into a cell. "i was never so deceived in a boy in my life," remarked the banker, with a troubled look, when the officer had gone with his prisoner. "he has a remarkably strong character, and had he taken the right course in life, would have made an able man. it always makes me sad to see a bright boy, just entering upon his career, start in a way that is sure to result in disgrace and ruin." "his associates have doubtless had a bad influence over him," said herbert, as if trying to soften the boy's offense. "it is certainly praiseworthy in you, mr. randolph, to speak so kindly of one who caused you so much suffering as that boy did," returned mr. goldwin. "well, since his evil purpose has recoiled upon himself, he is now the chief sufferer; and besides, i do not think he wanted to injure me farther than to get me out of his way. and he knew no other plan, i suppose, than to keep me a prisoner." "i am glad to see you view the matter so charitably," said the banker, warmly, for he appreciated highly this glimpse of herbert's character. "but what do you say to old gunwagner?" put in bob. "i think he is a heartless old wretch," answered young randolph, with fire in his eyes. "it is he who abused me so cruelly." "you say he, too, is locked up now?" asked mr. goldwin. "yes." "do you think he has any property?" "i should judge so. in fact, he tried to buy us off when he found we had him cornered." "it is possible that you may be able to get damages for false imprisonment," said the banker, thoughtfully. "i had not thought of that," returned herbert. "mind you, i said it was possible only, so do not have too great hopes of such a result." "no, i will not, and the damage was not much, unless i lost my situation with you," replied herbert, somewhat anxiously. "no, you have not lost that, for i shall reinstate you at once. you have proved yourself to be the sort of young man i desire in my business." "thank you, sir, for your compliment, and especially for reinstating me. i should be very sorry to lose this position, and i know my father and mother would feel badly, too." "do not worry about that, my boy. employers are as anxious to get desirable clerks as clerks are eager to be employed. but to return to the matter of false imprisonment, i will state the case to my lawyer, and see what there is in it. of course it would be no use to fight him if he is worth nothing." "he said he had plenty of money--enough to make us all rich," put in bob, with some enthusiasm. "it would be a great act to make him come down handsome. i'd like to see it done." "those fellows usually have a lot of money," said mr. goldwin, "and i agree with bob--i will call you by that name hereafter--that it would be gratifying to recover damages." "that's right, i like to be called bob--everybody calls me that." "well, bob, you are a character. i shall take a great interest in your development, for i think you have done the smartest thing, in getting your friend out of old gunwagner's clutches, that i ever knew a boy of your age to do." bob's cheeks became highly colored. he had not been accustomed to praise, and such compliments as these from a rich banker were unwieldy for him. "tom flannery helped me," said the young detective, generously trying to throw some of the glory upon tom. "tom flannery! who is he?" "he is a fellow what sells papers too. me and him worked this case up together." "what sort of a boy is he--sharp, like yourself, i suppose?" "well, he done some good work helpin' me," replied bob, evading the question as to tom's keenness. the fact is that young flannery was not wonderfully sharp; but bob liked him for his honest, good natured self, and, therefore, would only speak in praise of him. the banker drew bob out, and learned of the fire act that tom performed so satisfactorily. but his keen sense detected the truth of the matter, and he was satisfied as to where the real merit lay. "bob," said he, "your modesty and your efforts to throw much of the credit on tom flannery are certainly becoming to you. i like you for the spirit you show in the matter. but, nevertheless, i recognize in you the chief of the undertaking--the one who planned and carried out the entire scheme. now, here is a little present for you; i want you to take it and buy you a good suit of clothes, so that you will be as well dressed as herbert. i believe you room together?" "yes, we do," said bob. "but i don't want no present. i can earn some money to buy clothes with." "but i want you to take it," replied mr. goldwin. "you have done a great act of kindness to herbert, and to me as well, for sooner or later we would doubtless have suffered a loss by felix mortimer." bob took the crisp new bills reluctantly--four of them, five dollars each--twenty dollars--he had never held so much money in his hands at any one time before, and this was all his own. he felt bewildered. after a moment's pause, however, he said, "mayn't i give some of this to tom flannery?" "i expected you would say that," replied the banker, enjoying bob's surprise, "so i retained a five dollar bill for tom. here it is; give it to him with my regards. he, too, did us a service in aiding you as he did." bob's joy was now beyond expression. he looked, however, the thankfulness that he could not find words to express. "you may go now," said mr. goldwin, kindly. "i will keep you in mind, and see what i can do for you. come and see me within a few days." bob thanked mr. goldwin heartily, and left the bank, overflowing with happiness. when the young detective had gone, mr. goldwin asked herbert many questions about him. "i think he is a promising lad," said the banker. "i have taken a great liking to him. he has a droll, comical way that is very pleasing." chapter xxi. two young capitalists. "is that you, bob hunter?" said tom flannery, his eyes opened wide with surprise. "i should think it is," laughed the young detective. "say, bob, where did you get 'em?" continued tom, somewhat in doubt of his own senses. "why, i bought 'em, of course. how does anybody get new clothes?" "they are slick, though, ain't they, bob?" said young flannery, admiringly, "and they fit stunnin', too. you must er struck a snap somewhere, bob." "i should think i did," replied the latter; "the best snap any er the boys ever struck." "bob, you was always lucky. i wish i was as lucky as what you are. i never strike no snaps, bob." "don't you?" said young hunter, meditatively. "no, they don't never come my way," responded tom, dolefully. bob turned the lapels of his coat back and threw out his chest ponderously. "tom," said he, with the air of a wall street banker, "here's a five for you," taking a new, crisp bill from his vest pocket. "for me, bob!" exclaimed tom, incredulously. "why, yes, of course it's for you. why not?" "i don't understand it, bob," said young flannery, completely upset. "why, it's one of them snaps. you said you never had any luck like me, so i thought i'd just give you some." "bob, you're a dandy. i never see any feller do things the way you do." "well, i do try to throw a little style into 'em, when it's handy to do it." "i should think you do." "you see, tom, it don't cost no more to do things as they ought to be. i believe in doing 'em right, that's what i say." [illustration: "tom," said bob, "here's a five for you."] "but, you see, bob, believing in 'em and knowing how to do 'em is two different things. now i believe in 'em just the same as what you do, but i can't do 'em the same way." "well, you ain't so old, tom." "i know i ain't, but that don't make no difference, for when you was no older than what i am, why you done things in a awful grand way." bob here explained to tom that the five dollar bill was a present to him from richard goldwin, the banker, and told him also about his own good luck. "and he gave you all that money to buy these new clothes with! he is a bully old fellow, ain't he, bob?" said tom flannery, greatly astonished. "i should say so," responded bob. "but i didn't spend it all, though." "how much did you put up for 'em, bob?" "fifteen dollars, that's all." "they are swell, though, i tell you, bob, and you look like kind of a masher," said tom, criticising them carefully. "well, i ain't no masher, but i think myself they do look kinder slick." "and you got five dollars left, too?" "yes, jest the same as what you have, tom." "what you goin' to do with it, bob?" "i hain't thought about that yet. what you goin' to do with yourn?" "i guess i'll keep it, bob, till next summer, and put it up on the races." "what do you want to do that for, tom flannery?" returned bob, with disgust. "why, to make some money, of course." "are you sure you will make it?" "of course i am, bob. nobody what knows anything at all can't lose when he has so much as five dollars to back him. it's them that don't have nothin' what gets broke on racin'." "you know all about it, i suppose?" "why, of course i do, bob; i've made a stake lots of times." "and lost lots of times, too, i s'pose." "well, that's because i didn't have enough capital." "but answer me this, tom flannery," said bob, pointedly: "you admit you did get wiped out at bettin', do you?" "well, yes, i s'pose i did, bob." "and you'll get broke again, if you go at it. i tell you, tom, they all get left, them that bets on horse racing." "but don't some of them make slats of money? answer me that." "they don't make no money what sticks to 'em." "what do you mean by that, bob? i don't understand." "i mean that they lose it the same way they make it, so it don't stick to 'em. do you see?" "yes, i see. but how's a feller like me goin' to make any money, bob, if he don't bet any?" "now, tom, you're gettin' to somethin' i've been thinkin' about, and i'll let you into the secret. you see, tom, i don't believe in horse bettin' the way you do, but i ain't afraid to take chances all the same." "what is it, bob?" interrupted tom, eager to get into the secret. "wall street," replied bob, striking the attitude of a money king. "do you mean it, bob?" asked young flannery, incredulously. "of course i mean it, tom. there's piles of money down there." "i know there is, bob, but how are fellers like you 'n' me going to get it?" "why, by speculatin', of course. how does any of 'em make it?" "them fellers are all rich, bob. they didn't go down there the same as what we would go, with only five dollars," replied tom. "they didn't, did they? well, tell me if jay gould, and the old man sage, and half a dozen more of them big fellers, didn't go into wall street without a cent?" "i can't tell you, bob; i never heard anybody say," answered tom, humbly. "well, tom flannery, i should think you would find out such things. don't you never want to know anything?" "i ain't been thinkin' about wall street, and them fellers you speak about, bob," apologized tom. "but i wish you'd tell me about 'em, for i'd like to know how they made their money." "well, i'll tell you some other time," said bob, with assumed ease. as a matter of fact, however, he did not know himself, but was not willing to admit so much to tom. he therefore decided to change the subject at once before getting cornered. "now, tom," he continued, "i'll tell you what it is. i've jest thought what we'll do, you 'n' me and herbert." "what is it, bob?" "well, you see we got knocked out of our breakfast this morning, tom, so i think the best thing we can do is to have a big dinner tonight." "i think so too, bob," said tom, eagerly. "you see, 'twould be a celebration of the way we worked the detective business." "so 'twould, bob. that's a good idea, i think." "i think so, too, tom, and we'll have a regular first class lay out." "it will be immense, bob, i know 'twill," said tom, with enthusiasm. "i never had a big dinner, bob." "no, i should think you never did, but you won't be hungry, tom, when you get done with the one we will have tonight." "i hope i won't, bob." "so do i," answered bob, comically. "when will herbert be here?" asked tom, looking at the large _tribune_ clock. "it's time for him to show up now." "i should think so, too," replied tom, with an expression of doubt. he was thinking about that morning's experience when herbert failed to appear till after he had breakfasted. in a little time young randolph joined them. he was as much surprised as tom had been at the change made in bob's personal appearance by his handsome new suit. "you must go down and let mr. goldwin see you with it on," said he. "when shall we start, bob?" put in tom flannery, who couldn't see the propriety in delaying dinner simply to discuss new clothes. "are you so very hungry?" laughed bob, good naturedly. "i should think i am, for i haven't had no dinner." "it don't make no difference, tom, whether you did or not. you'd be starvin' all the same." "well, i can't help it; i think it's time to eat, don't you, herbert?" "yes, it is about time for dinner," replied our hero. "are you ready to go, bob?" "yes, but we won't go up to the boss tweed tonight," replied the young detective, somewhat pompously. "bob is goin' to ask us up town for a big lay out," said tom. herbert looked doubtful. "that's so," said bob. "we will have kind of a blow out all by ourselves." "and shall we do the town afterwards, as the bloods say?" asked tom. "what does 'doing the town' mean?" asked herbert. the expression was new to him. "it's goin' round and seeing the sights," replied bob. "but come, let's be movin'. we can talk about doin' the town while we are at dinner." "so i say," said tom, with characteristic hunger. chapter xxii. the great banquet. "gewhittaker! this is splendid, bob. i didn't think we was coming to no such tony place as what this is," said tom flannery. "didn't i tell you it wa'n't no jim fisk or boss tweed ranch?" replied bob. "so you did, bob; but you see i didn't know about them big glass--what do you call 'em?" "chandeliers," suggested herbert. "chandeliers, that's it; but ain't they stunnin', though?" "well, there ain't nothin' mean about 'em, i should think," answered bob. "no, nor 'bout anything here," said tom. "i never see so much style slung round before, did you, herbert?" "i don't know," answered young randolph, carelessly. "say, tom, don't make so much fuss about this place. 'tain't nothin'; no, 'tain't nothin', tom, beside some er the tony places further up town." a waiter now came along and handed a bill of fare to bob, and took away the glasses to fill them with ice. "do them fellers always dress up so with a swallow tail on, bob?" asked tom. "yes, at a swell place, like this is, they do," answered bob. "now that waiter he will be right back and want our orders. the first thing is soup, and there's three kinds--_potage julienne_, _suprême_, and _consommé à la royale_. which will you have, herbert?" "you may give me the _potage julienne_," replied the young vermonter. "say 'em again, bob; i didn't quite catch 'em before," said tom. bob smiled, and obeyed the request. "why not have 'em all, bob?" said tom, eagerly. "'cause 'tain't regular to do that way." "well, they are all on there for us, ain't they?" "they are on for us to take whichever one we want." "and i can't have but one?" "no." "well, i thought at these er--what do you call 'em?--dinners a feller had everything in the old bill, if he wanted it." "_table d'hôte_, you mean, tom flannery, but you're way off, you are; nobody ever has everything." tom looked disappointed, even sad. "well," continued bob, "i'm waiting for your order. which soup will you have?" "which you goin' to have, bob?" "i'm goin' to have the _consommé_." "then i'll take the other one," said tom. "the _suprême_?" "that's him," replied tom. "why do you prefer that?" laughed herbert. "well, you see, it sounds better. that one that bob has took i can't make no sense out of it nohow, and i don't believe it's good to eat, either--anything with a name like that." [illustration: the great banquet.] "but the name of your soup is not much better." "that's so, herbert. blamed if i know what they wants to put such stuff on fer a feller to eat fer," said tom, with an air of disgust. "well, tom, you may as well get used to these names, for you'll get a lot of 'em before you get through this bill," said bob, laughing. "them names don't go all the way through, do they, bob?" asked tom, alarmed. "yes, plumb through to the end." "well, that will spoil my dinner, then, for i don't know nothing about such words." "no, i guess it won't spoil your dinner, tom; i'll bet you will eat like a hungry tramp before we get through." "maybe i will, bob hunter, but i'd like to know what i'm eatin' all the same," replied tom, somewhat indignant. he did not like to be compared to a hungry tramp. "that's all right, tom flannery; now don't you get off your base so sudden like. you will think you never struck a lay out like this before you get half way down the bill," said bob, trying to restore good feeling. "well, i hope i will, that's what i say. a feller ought to get something good when he has to wade through such blamed old names as these, that don't mean nothin'." "but they do mean somethin', jest as much as what our words mean to us." "do you mean to tell me, bob hunter, that anybody uses these words?" "of course they do, tom. they are french words, and french folks know what they mean." tom thought for a moment; then he said: "i was way off, bob. i thought it was some words jest made up for this bill, 'cause you see i don't know nothin' about french." the waiter now reappeared, bringing with him two long rolls of french bread, a supply of butter, and three glasses of ice water. presently the soup was brought on. "sail right in now, herbert, you and tom," said bob. "the next course will be right along." tom took a few drops, timidly, then a larger portion--less timidly--and now he put on a full head of steam and worked the spoon like a trip hammer. when his plate was empty he said: "i think i struck it right, bob; i knew i hit the best name." "why, was yours good, tom?" replied bob. "i should think it was, bob. it was way up, that's what it was. you see 'tain't always, bob, that a feller can pick a winner the first time." "now you're givin' us some more of your horse racin' expressions, tom. can't you never let 'em alone, 'specially at a tony dinner like this is?" said bob. "well, i didn't think about that, bob. i didn't mean to do nothin' wrong. but you see, bob, i didn't know of no other way to get at it. this orderin' stuff by these blamed words is takin' chances--what i call bigger chances than bettin' on a horse race." young randolph and bob laughed heartily at tom's remarks. the next course was now put on the table. it came in a large platter. three plates were placed before bob, and he served the fish and potatoes in a very creditable manner. "now comes the _entrées_," said bob. "what are them things, bob?" said tom, while ravenously devouring the portion before him. "well, i was jest goin' to give 'em to you when you busted in on me," replied bob. "here they are: "_fillet piqué._ "_fricandeau de veau._ "_pâtés aux huitres._" "can't a fellow get more'n one go at 'em, bob?" said tom, comically. "that's all, only one go, tom; which will you have?" "i'll take the first one, bob." "the _fillet piqué_?" "yes, if that's the first one." "well, 'tis; but, tom, you're way off. you didn't pick no winner this time, as you say, for that dish ain't no good." "where did you get on to them blamed names, bob? you're slingin' jest as much style here, too, as you did in the detective business." "well, why wouldn't i know 'bout 'em, tom? didn't i work in one of these places for a good while, and didn't i pay some attention to the way things was done?" "so you did, bob; i didn't think about that." "i, too, have been surprised, bob, to see how familiar you seemed with the various dishes," said herbert. "well, that's how it come. you see i picked it up." "but you are as much at ease serving the dinner as i am at eating it." "how much?" said bob, feeling in his pocket for loose change. "what do you mean?" asked herbert, seriously. bob smiled, and tom burst into a characteristic laugh. it was the first time since the dinner commenced that he had seen the funny side of anything. tom flannery was not given to looking upon the comical side. he was too credulous for that; but when anything did strike him as funny, and he made up his mind to treat it as such, the outburst of laughter that followed--laughter that was rich and childlike--was something to do one good. now, there was nothing especially bright or funny about bob's remark that should have caused tom to become so hilarious. in fact, it was more herbert's serious manner, than what bob said, that set him off. "'twas an old chestnut, any way, bob," as tom said the next day; "but herbert looked so honest about it, jest as if you wasn't talkin' jokes, that it jest made me lay myself out and shout. i couldn't er stopped, bob, ef it had killed me." when the laughter had subsided, bob explained his joke to herbert, and then said: "you have not told me what you will have. here comes the waiter for our orders." "you order 'em, bob," said tom. "you know what's good." "that is a good suggestion, tom, and meets with my approval," remarked herbert. bob accordingly ordered for all three, and his selection gave excellent satisfaction to his guests. the next course was simply maccaroni, cooked in the italian style, with tomato dressing. "this is bang up, bob," said tom flannery, smacking his lips. "them eyetalians are some good after all, ain't they?" roast duck followed the maccaroni, with jelly, and fine cut celery with dressing. then came ice cream, followed by cheese--_fromage de brie_. "bob, there's somethin' wrong about this," said tom, seriously, referring to the last course. "jest get on to that piece, will you?" and tom passed his portion to bob. "don't be a fool, now, tom flannery," said bob, with assumed displeasure, while he struggled hard to keep from giggling. "well, i ain't no fool, bob; i guess i know when i know a thing," said tom, indignantly. "i tell you that piece is all spoilt," and, to make sure of his statement, he took it in his fingers, and without regard to good manners placed it close to his nose, and gave it a genuine test. bob threw himself back in the chair, and exploded with laughter. herbert did likewise. but tom was mad. he thought bob had played a trick on him, and he said: "i don't intend to be imposed upon in any such way as what this is, bob hunter. i'll show you that i can put up jobs, too, ef you think it is so much fun." now brie cheese is somewhat soft, so much so that it many times adheres slightly to whatever it touches. tom had rashly taken it up in his fingers, and now, while breathing forth malice and threats against bob, he chanced to put his fingers up to his mouth. this brought them again in close proximity to his nose. "gewhopper!" yelled tom, as he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket with a view to better protecting his nose. "i wouldn't er thought this of you, bob hunter!" both bob and herbert were convulsed with laughter, and were holding their sides from pain. from the fact that they laughed so uncontrollably, and that they did not deny his charge, tom felt sure that he had been made the butt of a foul joke, and he resented it spunkily. this of course only made the situation more ridiculous, and the more tom said, the harder bob and herbert laughed. at length, however, bob quieted down sufficiently to remark: "tom, listen to me. you're the biggest fool i ever see." "yes, you think you've made a fool of me, don't you, bob hunter? but you hain't, for i got on to your game before i got any er that durned stuff into my mouth." "oh, don't you be so ignorant, tom flannery. the trouble is with you, you're a chump, you don't know nothin' about livin' at high toned places like this is." "no, nor i don't want to nuther, bob hunter. ef that stuff is what you call high toned livin', why i don't want no more of it in mine. i'll----" in the excitement of the conversation, tom forgot to keep his hand housed up longer in his pocket, and now the tips of his fingers unconsciously found their way close to his nose again. this was what caused tom to break off his sentence so abruptly. he didn't say anything for a minute, but he looked a whole volume of epithets. herbert and bob started in on another round of laughter that still further irritated tom. "i'm goin'," said he, slinging his napkin savagely upon the table; "i won't stand this business no more, bob hunter." "sit down, tom," commanded bob; "there's more to come yet. you hain't had no coffee yet, nor nuts and raisins." tom immediately replaced the napkin in his lap, and pulled up to the table again. coffee, nuts and raisins! oh, no, tom flannery couldn't allow his grievance to deprive him of these luxuries! "now, tom," said bob, "i jest want to show you that you've made a fool of yourself, and that we hain't made no fool of you. of course we couldn't help laughin' to see you actin' so redickerlous, tom, and all about a little piece of cheese, too. a feller would er thought, tom, that you'd been dumped in a sewer, to see you carry on; but when you get one er them crazy notions in your head, why, there's no doin' anything with you, but to let you sail in and enjoy yourself." bob then ate his choice bit of brie with a keen relish, much to the surprise of tom, and i may say herbert as well, for the latter's taste had not been educated up to the point where he could eat such food. at length reconciliation was reached, and tom was once more happy. when the coffee had been drunk, the three boys, while eating nuts and raisins, discussed the problem of money making. "how about the wall street racket?" remarked tom. "you refer to speculating, i suppose?" replied herbert. "yes. you see my capital ain't earnin' me nothin'." "well, i have had very little time to think about that since we first spoke of it. in fact, i am not in favor of the idea." "what! not in favor of spekerlatin'?" said bob, with astonishment. "nuther am i," put in tom, wisely; "i don't think it's safe." "but you think it's safe to bet on horse racin', don't you, tom flannery?" "well, it's safer'n what spekerlatin' is, that's what i think, bob hunter." "humph! you know a lot, don't you, tom flannery?" "no, i don't know a lot about them wall street schemes, ef that's what you mean; but i guess i can pick a winner at racin'." "well, ef you don't know nothin' about spekerlatin', how are you goin' to use any judgment? tell me that now, tom flannery." "you kinder want to bulldoze me, don't you, bob hunter? you've got your head sot on spekerlatin', and you want to make me think jest like you do." "you tire me, tom flannery," said bob, with a great show of disgust. "i'd try and have some sense, ef i was you." "all right, bob, then i'll try 'n' have some sense--i'll do jest as you say, and spekerlate till my five dollars is all blowed in. now, does that satisfy you, bob?" tom flannery had almost always yielded readily to bob's judgment. this sudden independence of opinion, therefore, was a surprise to young hunter. "why, that's all right, tom," said he, instantly changing his attitude. "i don't care nothin' about your spekerlatin' ef you don't want to; but i want to make some money, that's what i do, and i thought you did too, tom." "so i do, bob, so i do; but you see so many folks loses money down there in wall street, and some of them big fellers, too, with heaps of money, just dead loads of it, to back 'em." "well, that's so, tom, i know they loses sometimes, but don't lots of 'em make money? now answer me that." "yes, you are right, bob, they do some of 'em strike it rich, but as you said about the racin' i guess the money ain't good money, fer it don't stick to 'em." "well, i should think it stuck to jay gould, didn't it?" "yes, he is one of the few successful ones," said herbert, answering the question for tom. "yes, but there are lots and lots of them kings of wall street," persisted bob, who had a strong desire to become a speculator. "so there are, bob," replied herbert, "but they do not hold their rank throughout their lives. a man that is called a king in wall street one day, may be a beggar the next day." "think of that, bob," put in tom flannery, exultantly. "well, i know, but then them kings don't all go up like that." "but the majority of them do. if you will get a book that gives the history of wall street, you will be surprised to see how thousands, hundreds of thousands, and even millions, are swept away almost without warning." "whew! just think of it! a whole million dollars!" exclaimed tom. "say, herbert, how much is a million dollars? it must be a whoppin' big pile, that's what i think." "a million dollars--let me see, tom, how i can explain it so that you will comprehend its----" "so i will what?" interrupted tom, doubtful of the meaning of the word "comprehend." herbert made this clear, and then said: "now, tom, you have a five dollar bill, and----" "yes, and it's a new one, too, crisp as a ginger snap," interrupted young flannery. "all right, then, a new five dollar bill. now, suppose you had altogether twenty bills just like this one, you would have how much money?" "can you tell, bob?" said tom, grinning. "why, of course i can!" replied bob, throwing his head back, proudly. "well, let's see ef you can." "one hundred dollars," answered bob. "i guess that's right, herbert, a hundred dollars; but i never see so much money all at one time, did you, bob?" herbert proceeded with the illustration by saying: "then, tom, you understand how many five dollar bills it takes to make one hundred dollars. now, it would require ten one hundred dollar bills to make one one thousand dollar bill." "gewhopple! that's climbin' up, ain't it, bob?" exclaimed tom, incredulously. "oh, but that's nothing," said herbert. "just listen: it would take a hundred one thousand dollar bills to make one hundred thousand dollars, and it would require ten times one hundred thousand dollars to make one million." "well, that's fur enough," said tom, scratching his head. "don't give me no more tonight, for i can't take it in no way. a million dollars; and you say some er them kings loses so much money as all this in almost no time?" "why, yes; perhaps in a single day," answered herbert. "and you think, bob hunter, that we could go down there with only five dollars apiece and lay out them kings and scoop the boodle, do you? now, answer me that." "well, it does seem kinder like takin' chances, ef them fellers loses money like that." "of course it does, bob, fer you see we wouldn't have but one go at the game with only five dollars; would we, herbert?" "five dollars wouldn't go very far, for a fact," replied herbert, "and in my opinion it would be lost very quickly." "but i've heard of fellers that went down there without no money, and they made loads of it." "very true," said herbert; "but did you ever hear of the thousands that went down there and came away without a cent?" "no, i never did," admitted bob, frankly. tom smiled quietly, for he felt that bob would have to acknowledge himself mistaken, and at last come over to his side. "well, now, there is the very point," said herbert, "and it is the one that nobody stops to think about. a report is circulated that some one makes a big haul in wall street, and, without thinking about the thousands of people that lose money there, a thousand or two more people try their luck at speculating, thinking, each one of them, to make a great haul too. but the result is the same as it was with the other thousand speculators--the money is swallowed up, and gone forever." "what becomes of it all?" asked bob, much impressed by herbert's well founded argument. "well, the most of it goes into the pockets of the kings." "then i shouldn't think them kings would get busted, as you say they do," said bob, always keen at making a point. "they would not if they had to deal only with the small speculators, such as you would like to be. if that were the case they would win nearly every time. but kings are the ones who break kings." "oh, i see now," said bob. "there are a lot of 'em, and they jest go for each other. is that it?" "yes, that is the way they do it." "well, i guess you are right, then, herbert--you and tom." "i feel sure i am. mr. goldwin talked with me about it today, and told me never to speculate." "but he speculates," said bob, "and he is worth a lot of money." "oh, no, never." "what's he call himself a broker for, then?" "why, a broker is not necessarily a speculator. a broker is one who buys and sells stocks or bonds for some one else--for a speculator, and he gets his commission or pay for doing the business." "well, i guess i was way off, herbert. i thought all of them brokers was speculators, and i knew lots of 'em was solid with money." "yes, that is the way of it," replied herbert. "the broker makes the money and the speculator loses it, usually." "don't brokers never lose nothin', herbert?" asked tom. "no, not unless they trust some one who fails to pay them." "well, i thought you would get sick er spekerlatin', bob, and i'm glad you've done it before you're broke," said tom flannery. "i don't want no spekerlatin' for me." "no, but you'd like a go at horse racin' all the same, tom flannery," said bob. "no, i wouldn't nuther, bob, fer you talked me out er bettin' and into spekerlatin', and now herbert here has jest upset the spekerlatin' idea, so i'm out of it all, bob." "good," said herbert; "i am glad you have come to so wise a decision." "so am i," said bob, heartily. "so am i," echoed tom, with equal fervor. "but now," said bob, "what are we goin' to do with our money? it ain't earnin' us nothin', you see." "i think the best plan, bob," said herbert, thoughtfully, "would be for you and tom to put your money in the savings bank. there it will be safe, and will be earning a little interest all the time. let it remain there until we see a chance to invest it to good advantage, and in the meantime add as much to it as possible." "i never thought of that before," said bob. "nuther did i," added tom. "strikes me 'tain't a bad scheme," continued bob. "what do you say, tom?" "well, i don't see no great money in it, anyhow," answered young flannery. "but if herbert says it's the best thing, why i s'pose 'tis." "it is the best plan, i am sure," said young randolph. "very few speculators ever come out rich. the men who gain wealth are those who invest their money carefully, and put it where it will be safe." chapter xxiii. bob hunter's ambition. on the following day, after the paper trade of the morning was over, bob and tom, acting upon young randolph's advice, went to the emigrants' industrial savings bank, and deposited each five dollars. they felt very proud as they came out into chambers street with their bank books. "it's a starter any way," said bob. "i've been thinking over what herbert said, and i guess between you'n me, tom, he is 'bout right." "that's what i think too, bob," replied young flannery, for aside from the matter of betting on horse racing and speculating, he always agreed with bob. "i think we was in big luck, tom, when we run on to herbert randolph." "i think so, too, bob; but why do you think so?" "why do i think so! well, ef that ain't a queer question, tom flannery. would you a' had that bank book now, with your name, thomas flannery, in plain writin' writ across it, i'd like to know, ef it hadn't been for vermont?" "no, i wouldn't. that's so, bob, i wouldn't, fer to be honest with you, bob, i think i'd put it on racin'." "so you would, tom, ef you'd had it, but you wouldn't er had it." "well, i never thought of that, bob, but it's so, ain't it?" "i should say it is, and i wouldn't er had my bank book or these new clothes either." "and the big supper, bob?" "that's so, tom, and the big supper too. i tell you, tom flannery, 'twas great luck when we struck vermont." [illustration: bob and tom coming out of the bank.] "that's so, bob, so it was. but say, bob, don't you think 'twas kinder lucky for herbert when he fell in with you?" "i don't know 'bout that, tom. how do you figure it?" "why, i figures it in this way, bob; ef it hadn't been fer you he would be down in that old gunwagner's cellar now." "well, that's so, tom, but he has more than paid me up, though." "how did he do it, bob?" asked tom eagerly. "ain't he helping me right along, i'd like to know?" "i hain't heard much about it, bob. what has he done for you?" "yes, you have heard about it, too, tom flannery. didn't i tell you how he teaches me every night?" "oh, yes, you told me about that, bob, but that ain't much--'tain't like doin' the detective business, is it?" "well, no, of course it hain't, but it's just as good, tom, and a good deal more so, i think." "well, i don't think no such thing, bob." "well, ef i do, that's all right, ain't it? i tell you, tom, 'tain't every feller that can do the teachin' act." "nuther can every fellow do the detective business. ef you want to know what i think, bob hunter, i'll tell you." "all right, tom, sail in." "well, i think, ef i was you, i'd jest let this learnin' business go, and i'd make myself a detective. no feller could put more style into it than what you could, bob." "tom, you're way off again. a feller can't make no kind of a detective, nor nothin' else, neither, unless he knows somethin'. i guess i know, and herbert says so too." "well, i hain't got no learnin'," replied tom, somewhat pompously, as if to prove by himself that bob's statement was untrue. "i know it," said bob, and stopped short. tom looked at him doubtfully. "then you might's well say right out that i won't make nothin', bob hunter," said he, his manner resembling that of one not a little indignant. "well, i said what i said, tom, and if it fits you, why then am i to blame?" tom made no reply. "it's no use for you to get mad, tom. anybody would tell you jest the same as what i did. now, the thing for you to do, tom, is ter get some learnin'--you can do it." "do you think i could, bob?" replied tom, coming round to bob's views, as he almost always did. "why, of course you could, tom; ain't i doin' it?" "well, yes, i s'pose you are, bob, but then you can do 'most anything." "that ain't so, tom. you can do it jest as well as what i can, ef you only try." "i never thought about that before, bob," said tom, thoughtfully. "who could i get to learn me?" "you mustn't say 'learn you,' tom. herbert says that hain't right." "what is it, then, bob?" "he says i must say 'teach me,' because i've got to do the learning myself." "well, that's too much for me, bob; i want to start in on somethin' easier." at length this discussion ended by tom falling in with bob's opinion as usual, and by his agreeing to commence at once attending an evening school. chapter xxiv. a visit to the banker's house. the disturbing elements that had produced the somewhat dramatic and extraordinary scenes of the last week were now apparently quiet. but were they actually so? this is the question that herbert randolph and bob hunter asked themselves--a question that caused them much anxiety. felix mortimer, to be sure, was in the tombs awaiting his trial. but the granite wall and the great iron doors were alike powerless to imprison his mind. he was as free as ever to think and to plot. what schemes of revenge might not then be planned by this boy whose hatred for herbert randolph now undoubtedly burned more fiercely than ever? and gunwagner, his companion in crime, was free to carry out any plan that might be agreed upon between them. he had given bonds to appear when wanted by the court, something that felix mortimer was unable to do. this is why the latter was still locked up, while the old fence was allowed his temporary freedom. except for the constant anxiety that herbert and bob felt over this matter, everything went smoothly with them. papers sold briskly, work at the bank was congenial, and they had already become much interested in each other. the days flew by quickly, and they looked forward to the evenings, which they spent together as a time for enjoyment and improvement. as often as tom flannery could leave his evening school he joined them, and he was always welcome. no one could help liking him, he was so simple and honest. how keenly he enjoyed an evening with herbert and bob in their room, or strolling about the great city, as they not infrequently did! their slender means would not warrant them in attending the theater often. occasionally, however, they managed to get inexpensive admission tickets to a really good play. bob hunter usually procured them as a reward for some service he had given during the day, when his paper trade did not demand his attention. many very good free lectures, too, were open to them, and they seldom failed to improve this opportunity. the young men's christian association building, with its fine library and gymnasium, proved a very attractive resort to these three boys, whose happiness, though they lived in the most humble way, was doubtless equalled by few boys in the great metropolis, however luxurious their home and surroundings. one evening in particular young randolph found especially enjoyable. it came about in this way. mr. goldwin had a slight attack of rheumatism that caused him to remain at home. he sent a note to his office saying he should not be at the bank on that day, and requesting herbert to come to his house late in the afternoon, and to bring with him a report of the day's business, and whatever mail it would be desirable for the banker to see. the young vermonter read the note eagerly, and then immediately did the same thing over again. a peculiar pleasure shone in his eyes as he looked doubtingly at the little piece of paper. and now he saw a very attractive picture--a rich family carriage into which a charmingly pretty girl was being helped by a blushing boy. he wondered why she had never been at the bank since that time, and speculated dreamily upon his chance of seeing her at her father's house. thus the day wore away, and at the close of business hours young randolph hurried from the bank, taking with him what he had been requested to bring. at city hall park he stopped and informed bob hunter of his mission, and then went quickly to his room to put himself into the most presentable appearance possible with the somewhat scanty resources of his wardrobe. his heart beat fast with expectations and fears as he ascended the brown stone steps of mr. goldwin's house. "good evening, mr. randolph," said the banker, greeting herbert very cordially. "i hope you have a good report of today's transactions for me." "yes, i think this statement of the transactions will please you," replied young randolph politely. "excellent," exclaimed the banker with a smile of satisfaction, as he read the report. "you have done a splendid day's work. the market must have been unusually active. why, here is a transaction of twenty thousand shares by one house alone--great customers, breakwell & co., great customers, bold men--not afraid of anything." "they certainly seem to be very enterprising," remarked herbert, feeling the necessity of saying something, and that that something should concur with his employer's views. "most assuredly they are," answered the banker, warming to the subject. "why, if we had more houses like breakwell & co., wall street would see no dull days--no, sir, none at all. on the contrary, it would just hum with activity." "i suppose they are perfectly good, mr. goldwin," remarked herbert, not knowing what better reply to make. "good? why, they are rated a , and are reported to be very rich," replied the banker. "did they make their money by speculating?" "yes, i understand so." "are they sure of keeping it if they continue to speculate?" "well, now, you are asking me a difficult question. nothing, you know, is certain in wall street." [illustration: herbert's first visit to the banker's house.] before herbert had time to reply, dinner was announced. the question touching the reliability of breakwell & co. was immediately dropped, and in its place arose the unexpected problem whether or not he should accept the banker's invitation to dine with him and his family. he would have quite as soon thought of receiving an invitation to dinner from the mayor himself. it was quite natural, therefore, that he should offer some ridiculous reason why he should be excused, when, as a matter of fact, he would have much rather served another term of imprisonment at old gunwagner's than lose this opportunity. "come right along" commanded mr. goldwin, himself leading the way. herbert followed the banker into the parlor, where he was introduced to his employer's wife and daughter. he found himself blushing even more profusely than when he had handed ray goldwin into her carriage, at the close of his first day's service for her father. this heightened color, too, seemed to be reflected upon her cheeks, and her manner indicated a slight but not unnatural embarrassment. herbert had thought that the dinner given by bob hunter was about as good as could well be served, but this one proved in every respect much the better; and notwithstanding his nervousness and lack of ease, under circumstances so unfamiliar, he enjoyed the meal greatly. while herbert randolph could laugh at the drollery and peculiar street language of bob hunter and tom flannery, he nevertheless found a higher degree of pleasure in the conversation of this intelligent and refined family. "papa told us about your imprisonment, mr. randolph," said ray, looking wonderfully pretty, as herbert thought. "it must have been dreadful." "it was an unpleasant experience," replied young randolph, lightly; "but i came out all right." "ah, that reminds me," said mr. goldwin, "that one of the letters you brought me was from my attorney. in it he expressed the opinion that you can recover damages from the old fence for false imprisonment. i would therefore advise you to place the matter in his hands at once, and have him push it." "you mean put it into the hands of your lawyer?" [illustration: "you embarrass me," said herbert, blushing.] "yes." "i appreciate very highly your interest in my behalf, mr. goldwin, and i will do as you say," replied herbert. "wouldn't it be splendid if you could get damages from that dreadful old man?" said ray, with enthusiasm. thus the conversation ran on, and before the dinner had been finished, herbert felt himself quite well acquainted with both mrs. goldwin and ray. he had tried to convince himself that he did not care for girls, and he thought he had succeeded well in doing so. but for some inexplicable reason, his imaginary objections to the sex in general did not stand long against ray goldwin in particular. her bright blue eyes, brimful of spirit and laughter, seemed to detect his aversion, and she aimed, he thought, to show him that he had deceived himself. after the meal had been finished all repaired to the library, where, after a half hour of social converse, herbert wrote several letters for mr. goldwin at his dictation. ray sat opposite him with the purpose of reading, but as a matter of fact she did not progress very fast with the story. "would you be willing to write in my autograph album, mr. randolph?" said she, somewhat timidly, when he had finished her father's letters. "yes, i will do so with pleasure," he answered. "i shall be proud of such pretty writing," returned ray, handing him the book. "you embarrass me," said he, blushing. "i don't see why," laughed ray, enjoying young randolph's modesty. "well, i am not accustomed to compliments, especially from--er----" "from young girls," suggested mrs. goldwin, smiling. "thank you," returned herbert; "i was hesitating whether to say 'girls' or 'young ladies.'" "oh, say girls, by all means," replied mrs. goldwin. "we don't want ray to become a young lady too soon." "i don't blame you," responded our hero, half seriously. "why, mr. randolph," said ray, shaking her dainty finger at him, "i believe i would not have asked you to write in my album if i had supposed you would say that." "well, it is not too late yet, for you see i have not touched the book with the pen," laughed herbert. "oh, but i would not want to disappoint you. you know you said it would give you pleasure to do so." "so it would, but i would rather sacrifice this pleasure than feel that you would be sorry you had given me the invitation." without further parley herbert wrote in the album--wrote so prettily that he was roundly complimented by all. mrs. goldwin and ray were now summoned into the drawing room to receive a caller, and presently young randolph took his leave, and started for his room with a very light and happy heart. chapter xxv. tom flannery's sickness. bob hunter was too much surprised by the fact that herbert was going to mr. goldwin's house to tell him of his own anxiety about tom flannery. the latter had not, as bob learned, been seen for two days at his accustomed place. that he should be away one day was not particularly strange, for he not infrequently got odd jobs to do that took him to another part of the city, or possibly to some of the near by suburbs. two days' absence, however, was so unusual for him that bob hunter became anxious, fearing that possibly the vengeance of old gunwagner and his companion in crime had fallen upon poor, unsuspecting tom. this thought having suggested itself to him, his previous anxiety speedily turned to a feeling of alarm. he therefore left his place of business as early as possible, and after a hurried supper went quickly to tom flannery's home, which was in a large office building on broadway, very near bowling green. the latter's mother was janitress of the building. her duties were to keep it clean, and to look after the interests of the owner. for these services she received a trifling money reward, and was allowed to occupy two small rooms at the top of the building. here mrs. flannery and tom made their home, which, though humble, was very neat. bob knocked softly at the door, out of breath from climbing so many flights of stairs, and with sore misgivings for the safety of his young companion. the door was opened presently by a woman of middle age, who, as bob saw at a glance from her extraordinary resemblance to tom, was the newsboy's mother. he had never seen her before, but the honest, trustful look so characteristic of his young friend shone prominently in mrs. flannery's face. "they have got him, poor tom," said bob to himself with beating heart, as he saw mrs. flannery's grief. "are you not master bob hunter?" said the woman, speaking first--after an awkward pause; for the visitor, who had been so bold a detective, was now so distressed that he knew not what to say. "yes, i am bob hunter," was the soft reply. "and you are come to see my boy--my poor tom?" said the woman, pressing bob's hand warmly, and struggling vainly to keep back the tears. "is he here?" asked bob, dumfounded by the contradictory state of things; for it was apparent from the woman's question that tom was at home, and, he being at home, why such grief? "i'm so glad you came to see him, for he thought so much of you, master bob," said mrs. flannery, now giving way entirely to her feelings. "i would have come before if i had known----" "i know you would, i know you would," interrupted the woman between sobs, "and he asked so many times for you, and now to think that you are here and he won't know you. oh, my poor tom!" "i don't blame you for being proud, bob. i wish i had such a case too, but then i couldn't handle it not the way you could, bob. none of the fellers could, not one of 'em, bob, for you do everything in such a grand way, you know." these words, so familiar yet so ominously strange, fell upon bob hunter like a messenger of death. "oh, what is it, mrs. flannery? what has happened to tom?" cried he, pale with fright. "it's his head, master bob--gone since morning--rambling on just like this--detectives, and i don't know what all." "have you had a doctor to see him?" asked bob, his mind turning quickly to practical measures. "yes, and he says it's pneumonia, and a very bad case," answered the mother, with almost a hopeless expression. bob learned that tom came home two days before thoroughly wet from a cold northeast rain; that he had a chill soon after going to bed; that he grew rapidly worse throughout the night, and that in the morning he had a high fever. mrs. flannery called in a doctor, who, after a careful examination, pronounced the case pneumonia. he left medicine which seemed to afford temporary relief. in the night, however, tom grew worse, and during the following forenoon became delirious. "don't you know me, tom?" said bob feelingly, as he stood by the bedside, and held the sufferer's hand in his own. "all the evening papers--_sun_, _mail and express_, _telegram_--big accident--tremendous loss of life! which will you have, sir?" and this was tom's wild reply, poor boy. now that his companion, whom he wanted to see so much, and for whom he had such admiration, had at last come to him, the sick boy did not know him; but supposing he had a customer for his papers, he rattled on in true newsboy fashion. bob tried again and again to rouse his mind by referring to herbert randolph, and to scenes familiar and interesting, but his efforts were unsuccessful. at length his stout young heart gave way, and with an expression of the keenest grief he dropped into a chair beside the bed, burying his face in the pure white spread that covered his young companion, and wept tears of sincere sorrow. [illustration: tom flannery in delirium.] presently he withdrew from the sick room, and after a brief discussion with mrs. flannery hurried away to the doctor whom she had previously called in to see tom. the physician promised to visit the sick boy again within an hour. having this assurance from the doctor, bob then turned his steps towards his own room to acquaint herbert randolph with tom's illness. but to bob's surprise he found on arriving there that the young vermonter had not yet reached home. "'twas nine o'clock when i passed the _tribune_ building," said bob to himself rather anxiously, "and he hain't come yet. i hope nothing's gone bad with him, though, for we've got trouble enough on our hands already, with tom sick, and goin' to die, i'm afraid. i wish i could do something for him; he would do anything in the world for me, tom would." but bob's fears regarding herbert proved groundless, for in a little time the latter joined him with a light heart, made happy by the very kind reception given him at mr. goldwin's. on his way home his mind was filled with the vision of a sweet young face, which to him was an inspiration. and as he hurried along the avenue, thinking faster and faster, what charming pictures his imagination brought before him--pictures that for him possessed a strange and peculiar attraction. but these beautiful creations of his mind were quickly lost to him when he saw the troubled look on young bob hunter's face. "why, bob," said he, "what makes you look so wretched? what has happened?" the latter quickly related the story of tom's sickness, and stated his own fears. "i cannot realize it, bob," said herbert, deeply touched. "poor tom! let us go at once and do whatever we can for him." "that's right, herbert; that's what i think we ought to do, and i shouldn't come home at all only i knew you would not know what had become of me," replied bob, as they put on their overcoats and started for mrs. flannery's humble home. chapter xxvi. a crash in wall street. at the end of two weeks tom was again up and dressed. his struggle with the pneumonia had been a frightful one. it was turned in his favor largely by the aid of the best medical skill, and the untiring care given him by his mother and his two faithful friends, herbert and bob. the latter took turns in watching with him at night, while mrs. flannery slept, that she might renew her strength for the day watch. but the disease, as is not infrequently the case, left tom with a hard, dry cough, which threatened serious results. his lungs were weak, and his body was much emaciated. he was not the tom flannery of old, the tom so full of boyish spirits and desire to push his paper trade. this change in their young companion caused herbert and bob keen anxiety. they had watched beside his bed through delirium and helplessness, when there seemed no hope of his recovery. how glad their young hearts were when he began to rally, and they could see him in imagination back with them again in their old pleasures and pastimes! his failure, therefore, to throw off the racking cough and regain his strength was a sore disappointment to them, but this was not their only source of apprehension. how full these two weeks had been of bitter trouble--trouble that drew deeply upon their sympathy; that destroyed splendid prospects and forced one of them from a position of independence to one little better than beggary. disturbing elements had been gathering for days in wall street, which to a few wise old heads seemed ominous. they predicted danger, but their warnings were laughed at by the less cautious speculators, who operated with a reckless daring. at length, however, the storm struck almost without a moment's notice. wild reports filled the air, and men, strong, bold men, crushed by the tremendous force of the panic, fell prostrate here and there, and everywhere. terror spread to all, and painted its sickly hue upon their faces. when the storm had subsided the street was full of wrecks. among them was the daring firm of breakwell & co., who had failed for a million and a quarter of dollars. young randolph was stunned at the exhibition he witnessed on that fatal day. house after house with whom his firm had done business, and who were supposed to be almost beyond the possibility of failure, had closed their doors. breakwell & co. were among the last to go under. they had been kept up by the splendid loyalty of richard goldwin, who put his bank account at their command, relying upon their assurance that they were all right, and would come out of the storm stronger than ever, if they could only receive temporary help. mr. goldwin, anxious to save them, stood heroically by them, and went down with them--a victim of noble generosity, of misplaced confidence. yes, he had failed--richard goldwin, the banker and broker, yesterday a millionaire, today perhaps a pauper. herbert randolph could not at first realize the awful fact, but the pain he saw in mr. goldwin's face appealed so strongly to his sympathy that the tears forced themselves from his eyes, try however bravely he would to restrain them. the doors were closed, and all business with the house of richard goldwin was at an end. mr. goldwin bore the misfortune like a hero. his face was white and firm as marble. certain lines, however, told his distress, but never a word of complaint at the miserable treachery of breakwell & co. escaped his lips. herbert could not help thinking how severe the shock would be to mrs. goldwin and ray, who could not bridle their emotions with an iron will like that of the ruined banker. the latter was accustomed, in his long career in wall street, to seeing others meet the disaster that had now overtaken him; but his wife and daughter--ah, how little they were prepared for such a shock. the panic that ruined so many men added quite largely to the fortunes of young bob hunter. he had never before had such a trade. papers sold beyond all imagination, and at double their usual price. the result was a profit of seven dollars and forty seven cents for his day's work. he felt richer than ever before in his life, and so happy that he could hardly wait till the usual time for herbert to join him, he wanted so much to make known his grand success. but when young randolph came to him with the sad story of that day in wall street, his happiness gave place to a feeling of unusual sadness, and the sadness deepened on learning that his friend was now out of a position. "but you can get another place, herbert," said he, reassuringly; "perhaps a better one than you have lost." "i hope so," was all the reply the young bank clerk made, but there was a world of expression in the way he said it. his face, too, looked the disappointment and sorrow he felt, and bob rightly divined that the sorrow was more for mr. goldwin and his family than for himself. it is safe to presume that herbert thought long and regretfully of the probability of mr. goldwin being reduced to a state of poverty--of his being turned out of his luxurious home--of ray, his daughter, being obliged to work for her living--of her young, sweet life being embittered by want and miserable surroundings, so out of keeping with her beauty and genial, sunny nature. and if he did think in this wise, what resolutions he formed for relieving her of such a life, and of restoring her to her proper place we can only imagine, for on this matter he said never a word, not even to bob hunter. on the following morning, bob hunter handed herbert a small roll of bills. "what is this for?" said the latter. "it's for you," replied bob. "there's only eight dollars in it, but you'll perhaps need it, and then you'll feel better with it in your pocket while looking for work." "but i cannot accept your money, bob," protested herbert, with feelings of deep gratitude. "yes, you must, for you are out in the cold, and my business is good; and then, you know, i made most all of it yesterday out of the failures in wall street--out of your firm's failure as much as any, probably, and that meant your failure to keep your place; so in a way i kinder made it out of you, and now i want you to have it again." herbert's eyes were now moist. "bob, you are very good and generous," said he, rather huskily; "but you are not logical. i have no claim on your money, neither has any one. you made it in legitimate trade, and should not feel that it does not belong to you." "well, i know i did; but i feel in a kind of way that it was made off of the misfortunes of others, you see." [illustration: young randolph again in the ranks of the unemployed.] "but the misfortunes were not caused by you. they had occurred, and people wanted to know about them, and were willing and glad to pay for their information. this gave you an opportunity to make some money, and you made it." "well, of course you will beat me at arguing, herbert, for you always do; but all the same i wish you would take the money, for i think you will need it." "if i do need any money, when mine is gone, i will then borrow this of you, but until then you must keep it." after this discussion, and after a very frugal breakfast, herbert once more joined the ranks of the vast army who go from place to place, hungry and thinly clothed many times, in search of employment--anything to keep the wolf from the door. chapter xxvii. dark days. it was now midwinter. the streets were filled with snow and ice, and the cold, frost-laden air was chilling alike to the body and spirits of one in the unfortunate position in which young randolph suddenly found himself. if one has never been out of a position in a great city at this season of the year, he can have but little conception of the almost utterly hopeless prospects before him. after the holiday trade is over, a vast number of clerks are discharged from our stores, and thousands in the manufacturing line are thrown out of employment. these are added to the very large number that at all seasons of the year are hunting for work. thousands, too, from the country, thinking to escape the dreary frost-bound months of rural life, flock to the city and join the enormous army of the unemployed. all want work, and there is little or no work to be had. it is the season of the year when few changes are made by employers other than to dispense with the services of those not actually needed. to be sure, a few employees die, and leave vacancies to be filled. others prove unfaithful, and are discharged. a new business, too, is started here and there, but all the available positions combined are as nothing when compared to the tremendous demand for them by the thousands of applicants. when herbert randolph came to new york in the fall, he was fortunate in arriving at the time when employers usually carry a larger force of help than at any other season of the year. there was consequently less demand for positions, and a greater demand for help. thus he had a possible chance of securing employment, and he happened to be fortunate enough to do so. i say he had a _possible chance_, for surely he had no more than that even at the most favorable season of the year. he was extremely fortunate, coming from the country as he did, to find employment at all. in view of these facts it will not be surprising that young randolph, brave boy as he was, looked upon the dreary prospect before him with a heavy heart. bob hunter realized fully the gravity of his friend's situation, and this is why he urged the money upon him, wishing to keep up his courage, and delicately refraining from touching upon the dark outlook ahead. i wish i had the space to picture carefully all the rebuffs, the cold treatment, and the discouragement that met our young hero on his daily wanderings, seeking for some honest labor--anything that would furnish him with the means to buy bread. but as i should not feel justified in extending this story to such a length, i must content myself with a few glimpses that will show the heroic struggle he made to sustain himself during these dark, chilly, and cheerless days of winter. "it's pretty tough, ain't it, herbert?" said bob, one night when they were alone together in their room. he sought to lift the burden from his friend's mind by drawing him into conversation. "yes," answered herbert, mechanically. this reply, so short, and given with so little expression, gave bob a feeling of uneasiness. "i hope you ain't getting discouraged," he ventured next. "no, nothing will discourage me now," replied young randolph doggedly. "but you hain't got no encouragement yet?" "no, none whatever," was the gloomy answer. "and you've been trying for three weeks to strike something?" "yes; it's nearer four weeks, and my shoes are worn out with walking." "but you know i have some money for you, and you better take it and buy you a new pair." [illustration: herbert randolph shoveling snow.] "no, bob, i will never take that except as a last resort. while i have my health i shall not allow myself to accept charity. i am not afraid to do any sort of work, and sooner or later i am confident that i shall find employment. this morning i earned seventy five cents shoveling snow from the stoops of houses. this sort of employment, however, is very uncertain, as so little snow falls here; but there are other odd jobs to be done, and i shall try and get my share of them." "i didn't know you was doing that kind of work, herbert," said bob, with a deep drawn sigh. "it ain't right for a boy with your learnin' to come down to that." "it's right for me to do anything temporarily to earn an honest penny. one who is above work cannot hope to succeed. i am here, and i am going to stay, and the best i can do is to do always the best i can, and the best i can do just at present is to be a porter, an errand boy, a boy of all work--ready for anything, and willing to do anything, always keeping my eyes open for a chance to go a step higher. "the trouble with me now, bob, is that i started in too elegantly at first. i commenced in a broker's office, when i should have started at the bottom, in order to know anything about the first round of the ladder. i'm at the bottom now, and it looks as if i would have to remain there long enough to learn a good deal about that position." "i'm glad you feel that way, herbert, for i thought you was getting discouraged," replied bob, his face brightening up. "i did feel utterly discouraged for the first two or three weeks; but you know, bob, one can get used to anything, and i have become sufficiently accustomed to this miserable kind of work, and to the beggarly pennies i earn from time to time, so that it is less cutting to me than at first. i try to content myself with the belief that it will be better by and by, though i get heartsick sometimes. it seems almost useless to try farther for work in any well established business." the foregoing will give a very slight idea of the struggle young randolph made to keep his head above water, and it presents a pretty true picture of the difficulties a boy will ordinarily encounter in attempting to make his way unaided in a great city like new york. of course difficulties vary in character and severity; but it would not be safe for the average boy to expect to find less than those that surrounded our hero. some would be more fortunate, while others would be less favored. herbert randolph was especially fortunate in meeting bob hunter, whose friendship proved as true as steel. what would have become of him while in the hands of old gunwagner, but for bob's effort to rescue him? and, again, how could he have fought away despondency during his enforced idleness had he lived by himself in a cold and cheerless room? brave and manly as he was, he owed much to his warm hearted companion, whose presence and sympathy revived his drooping and almost crushed spirits. as the days passed by, herbert randolph turned his attention to the most practical purposes. he almost entirely gave up looking for a steady situation, and devoted his time to doing whatever odd jobs he could hit upon that would bring him in a little money. among the many kinds of humble employment to which he bent his energies was that of working the hoist. in new york the tall warehouses, those not supplied with an elevator, have a windlass at the top, to which is attached a heavy rope, that passes down through a wide opening to the ground floor. this rope, with a large iron hook at the end, is attached to heavy cases, or whatever is to be taken to any of the upper lofts. another rope, passing over a big wheel, when pulled turns the windlass. this winds the main rope around it, and thus draws it up, taking with it its load, whatever that may be. perhaps no harder or less poetic work to an educated boy could be found than this; yet herbert randolph did not hesitate to throw off his coat, and work with an aching back and smarting hands as few porters would do. he worked faithfully and honestly, with no hope of reward other than the money he would earn by his labor. and yet this very employment--this humble porter work--opened up to him an opportunity of which he had never dreamed--suggested to him an idea that he never before thought of. it came about in this way. one day, after he had toiled for two hours or so on the hoist, and had finished his work, he went up to the cashier to get his money, as he had done many times before. a man with a satchel strapped to his shoulder was just ahead of him. "good morning, mr. smith," said the man with the satchel, addressing the cashier. [illustration: herbert randolph working on the hoist.] "good morning," responded the latter. "i am glad you came today, mr. woodman, for we have an unusually large supply of stamps on hand." "the market is very much overstocked at present," replied woodman, unslinging his satchel, and resting it on the desk. "i bought a thousand dollars' worth of stamps yesterday from one party at five per cent off." "five per cent," repeated the cashier, arching his eyebrows. "yes, five per cent." "and you expect to buy from us at that rate?" "i wish i could pay you more, but my money is all tied up now--the market is glutted, fairly glutted." "i should think it would be, when you buy them in thousand dollar lots." "well, that does seem like a large amount of stamps, but i know of one lot--a ten thousand dollar lot--that i could buy within an hour, if i had the money to put into them." "you could never get rid of so many, woodman," said the cashier, surprised at the broker's statement. "oh, yes, i could work them off sooner or later, and would get par for most of them too." "how do you do it?" "i put them up in small lots of fifty cents and a dollar, and upwards, and sell them to my customers. of course, when i buy big lots i do a little wholesaling, but i put away all i cannot sell at the time." "they are sure to go sooner or later, i suppose," said the cashier. "oh, yes, sure to sell. during the summer months very few stamps come into the market." "and this gives you an opportunity to work off your surplus stock?" "yes." "i presume you sell as a rule to stores and business offices." "yes; i have a regular line of customers who buy all of their stamps off me--customers that i worked up myself." "and they prefer buying of you to going to the post office for their supply?" "certainly; for i give them just as good stamps, and by buying of me they save themselves the trouble of going to the post office for them." herbert randolph was waiting for his money, and overheard this conversation between the cashier and the stamp broker. he made no effort to hear it, for it did not relate to him. they spoke so loud, however, that he caught every word distinctly, and before they had finished talking the idea flashed across his mind that he would try his hand at that business. mr. woodman, as good fortune willed it for young randolph, could take only a portion of the stamps the cashier wished to dispose of. when the broker had completed his purchase and gone, herbert stepped up to the cashier for the money due him for working on the hoist. mr. smith handed it to him cheerfully, with a pleasant remark, which gave young randolph an opportunity to talk with him about the stamp brokerage idea that had set his brain on fire. "how much capital have you?" asked the cashier, with growing interest. "with the money you just paid me i have three dollars and seventy five cents," answered herbert, his face coloring. the cashier smiled. "and you think you could become a broker on that capital?" said he, with mingled surprise and amusement. "i think i could try it on that capital if you would sell me the stamps," replied herbert, with such intelligent assurance that he interested the cashier. "you can certainly have the stamps," answered the latter, "and i will aid you in every way possible, but----" and there was an ominous pause, as if thinking how he could best discourage the boy from such an undertaking. herbert divined his thoughts, and said, "i know such an idea must seem foolish to you, who handle so much money; but to me----" "yes, you may be right, young man," interrupted the cashier. "you certainly interest me. i like ambition and pluck, and you evidently have both. when would you like the stamps?" "thank you," said herbert, in a tone that lent strength to his words. "you may give them to me now, if you please--three dollars' worth. i may need the seventy five cents before i succeed in selling any stamps." "it is a wise precaution to avoid tying up all your capital in one thing," laughed the cashier, while counting out the stamps. "they will cost you two dollars and eighty five cents, at five per cent discount, the same as i gave mr. woodman." when the transaction had been completed, young randolph left the office hurriedly, anxious to learn what the possibilities of his new undertaking were. ten times during that first day did he return to mr. smith for stamps, and ten times was his supply exhausted by customers to whom he sold at par--resulting in a profit of a dollar and fifty cents--an income that to him was a small fortune. that night herbert randolph joined bob hunter with brighter eyes and more buoyant spirits than he had known since mr. goldwin's failure, now nearly three months ago. chapter xxviii. in business for himself. only strong characters are able to lift themselves out of poverty and adversity by sheer force of will, unaided by any one. such a character herbert randolph proved himself to be. for nearly three months he had faced the most discouraging prospects. with education, with a knowledge of accounts, with splendid intelligence, with manly pride and noble ambition, he went from luxurious banking apartments to the cold wintry streets, down, down the cheerless and grim descent, till he reached the bottom, where he found himself in competition with the dregs of humanity--one of them, as far as his employment went. imagine this proud spirited boy humbled to the degree of bidding side by side for work with a ragged italian, a broken down and blear eyed drunkard, a cruel faced refugee from the penitentiary, or a wretched, unkempt tramp. how his young, brave heart must have ached as he found himself working on the hoist or in the street with loathsome characters of this sort--characters that purity and self respect could only shun as a pestilence. but this he was forced to do--either this, or to acknowledge his city career a failure, and return home with crushed spirits and shattered pride, a disappointment to his father and mother and the butt of rude rural jokes for his more or less envious neighbors. the latter is just what most boys would have done, but not so young randolph. his eyes were closed to any such escape from his present wretched condition. herein he showed his superior strength. but how little he realized, as he worked with dogged determination at these cheerless tasks, that this very employment would lead him into the light, as it ultimately did. boys see nothing but drudgery in such employment, or in any humble position. they want to commence work at something genteel. an easy clerical position like the one young randolph had with mr. goldwin appeals strongly to their taste. fine clothes, white hands, little work and short hours--these are in great demand among boys. young randolph, indeed, was no exception to the rule. he sought a position in a bank and got it. fortunately for him, however, the bank failed, and he was thrown into the streets. but for this he would have been a clerk still--a little three dollar machine, which bears no patent, and possesses no especial value over the ten thousand other machines capable of performing similar work. his dream of wealth and position would in all probability never have materialized. he would doubtless have in time become a head clerk at a respectable salary. but how little this would have satisfied his ambition! his desire to be at the head of the firm could never have been realized, for he would not have had the money to place himself there. the result would have been clerking, clerking, miserable, aimless clerking, and nothing more. but now, through what seemed to him his misfortune had come good fortune--through the drudgery of the hoist had come a business of his own--a growing, paying, business--_a business of great possibilities_. the suffering he had undergone did him no permanent harm. on the contrary it enabled him to appreciate more keenly the opportunity he now had for making money and supplying himself with the necessaries, and some of the luxuries, of life. young randolph's brokerage business grew day by day as he added new customers and learned how to manage it more successfully. in a little time he saw the necessity of having a place where his customers could reach him by mail or messenger. he therefore arranged with a party on nassau street to allow him desk room. then followed this card: +------------------------------------------------+ | herbert randolph, | | | | nassau street, | | | | buys and sells new york. | | all kinds of foreign coin and paper. | | | | united states silver and postage | | stamps a specialty. | +------------------------------------------------+ it was with much pleasure that he studied these neatly printed cards. the first thing he did after receiving them from the printer was to inclose one in a letter to his mother. he had already written her glowing accounts of his growing business, and he felt that this card would give a realism to his pen pictures that he had been unable to impart. he thought long and with pride how sacredly that little bit of pasteboard would be treasured by his parents--how proudly they would show it to their neighbors, and the comments that it would bring forth. then he took one over to bob hunter, who exhibited no little surprise as he read it admiringly. later in the evening he and the newsboy went as usual to visit tom flannery, who now, poor boy, seemed to be yielding to that dread disease--consumption. how his face brightened up as he looked at the card with scarcely less pride than if it had been his own! "i wish i could get into that business, herbert, when i get well," said he, turning the card languidly in his thin, emaciated fingers; "you'n' me'n' bob. yes, i would like that, for we always had such good times together, didn't we, bob?" "yes, we did, tom," answered bob, tenderly. "i guess as good times as anybody ever had, even if we didn't have much money." "so i think, bob. i've thought of it a good many times while i've been sick here--of the detective business and all, and how grand you managed the whole thing. but then you always done everything grand, bob. none er the boys could do it like you." "you do some things much better than i could, tom," said bob. "no, bob. i never could do nothing like you." "you bear your sickness more patiently than i could, and that is harder to do than anything i ever did," replied bob. "well, i have to do it, you know, bob. there ain't no other way, is there, herb----" the last part of the word was lost in violent coughing that racked the boy's feeble frame terribly. "i am afraid you are talking too much, tom," said herbert. "we must not allow you to say any more at present." ten days later, and tom had grown too weak to be dressed. part of the time he lay bolstered up in bed, but even this taxed his strength too heavily. he had become very much wasted, and was little more than a skeleton. all hope of his recovery had been given up, and it was now simply a question of how long he could be kept alive. bob and herbert brought him choice fruits, and drew liberally from their slender purses, to buy for him whatever would tend to make him more comfortable or would gratify his fancy. poor mrs. flannery was almost overcome with sorrow as she saw her boy wasting away and sinking lower and lower as each day passed by. he was her only child, and she loved him with all the force of her great mother's heart. at length the end came. bob and herbert were present with the grief-stricken mother, trying to comfort her and struggling to repress the sorrow each felt at the close approach of death. for several hours the sick boy had been in a sort of stupor from which it seemed probable that he would never rally. he lay like one dead, scarcely breathing. towards midnight, however, he opened his eyes and looked upon the three tear stained faces beside his bed. an expression of deepest pity settled upon his countenance, and he spoke with much effort, saying: "don't cry, mother; don't feel so bad for me. you have bob and herbert left. they will look out for you when i am gone," whispered the dying boy faintly, and he turned his eyes for confirmation to the friend who had never failed him. "yes," answered bob, pressing the sufferer's hand warmly. "we will do everything you could wish us to for your mother--you would have done it for either of us, tom." the latter's eyes moistened and grew bright with a feeling of joy at this assurance from bob--this last proof of his true friendship. "i knew it before, mother," he said, nerving himself for the effort, "but it makes me happy to hear him say it before you--to hear him say it before i go." "and you may rely upon me also, tom, to join bob in doing for your mother whatever would please you most," said herbert, unable to keep back the hot tears. "yes, i am sure of that, herbert. you and bob are just alike, and can do more than i could if i had lived. i am so glad i knew you, herbert," continued the dying boy, his face flushing with momentary animation as he recalled the past. "what good times we have had, you and me and bob! i thought they would last always, but--but--well i wish i might have lived to go into business with you. i would have tried my best to please you, and----" "what is it?" asked herbert, noticing the sufferer's hesitation. "i was going to ask you if the business, your new business, wouldn't get big enough to take bob in with you--to make him a partner, so he can make a lot of money, too. i was almost afraid to ask you, but----" "that is already fixed," said bob hoarsely, almost overcome by the solicitude of his dying friend. "herbert gave me an interest in the business today, and i shall commence working with him as soon as i am needed." "i am so glad, so glad," responded the sufferer faintly, and with a smile that told plainly the joy this knowledge gave him. "it's all right now," he continued slowly, and with greater effort, for the little strength he had left was fast leaving him. "you will be taken care of, mother, and bob will be taken care of by herbert," he went on, sinking into a half unconscious state. "i know they will do well and will make rich men and have everything in the world that they want. i wish i could see them then with a big banking house and clerks and private offices and errand boys and electric bells and fine carriages and horses and a brown stone house in the avenue, may be." [illustration: tom flannery's deathbed.] in a little while he regained full consciousness as if by a powerful effort, and said in a faint whisper: "there is one thing more, mother--my knife, my little brass knife." mrs. flannery brought it and placed it in his thin hands. he looked at it with such a strange expression of affection--a little well worn knife of inexpensive make. how long he had carried it in his pocket, how many times he had held it in his hand, and now--yes, now, he held it for the last time--only this little knife, yet his all, his only legacy. "you won't want it, will you, mother?" said he, with moist eyes and struggling with emotion. "no, no, tommy," sobbed the broken hearted mother. "i knew you wouldn't," said he, "for i want to give it to bob. it ain't much, i know, bob," he continued, addressing the latter; "but it's all i have. you will keep it, won't you, to remember me by? when you get to be a man--a rich business man with fine offices and a house of your own, look at this knife sometimes--my knife, and think of me, and how we used to work together. yes, you will do so, won't you, bob?" "i will, tom, i will," answered bob, as he took the little knife into his own hands. "i will keep it always to remind me of you," and he bowed his head upon the bed beside his dying friend and cried with sincere grief. "it's all right now," responded the sufferer. "all right," he repeated, as his mother pressed her lips to his forehead. "all right," again, so feebly that the last word fainted half spoken by his dying lips. in a few moments the last death struggle was over. he was gone, poor tom, the honest, trustful boy with a pure heart and noble friendship--cut off in the morning of his life by a sickness brought on by exposure, and an exposure made necessary that he might earn the means to supply his humble wants. a cruel world this seems sometimes, when one reflects how unevenly the joys and sorrows, and luxuries and misery are distributed among brothers and sisters, neighbors and countrymen. chapter xxix. tom flannery's funeral. the grief of the broken hearted mother and the two faithful friends can better be imagined than described. words, however ably chosen, fail utterly to picture the sufferings of the human heart. in imagination we can see the three bending over the still form of him to whose heart each was attached so firmly. one, a well aged woman, still clinging passionately to the cold hands and moaning with almost frantic grief. now she presses the lifeless figure to her breast, appealing wildly to it to speak to her, to call her "mother" just once more. again she falls upon her knees and prays as only one prays with bursting heart, that her boy, her tom, her only child, her very life, may be restored to her. with her tears are mingled those of herbert and bob, whose young spirits overflow with sorrow, not alone for their own loss at the hands of death but at the wild, tumultuous grief of the bereaved mother. a little later we see the undertaker arrive with all his dread paraphernalia, then the casket, a plain, neat one purchased by herbert and bob, in due time receives the dead body. the funeral follows speedily, and is held in mrs. flannery's rooms. in one of them she lies in bed helplessly ill from grief and utter prostration. all preparations for the burial have been made by herbert and bob. the minister arrives, and after a hurried talk with herbert devotes himself to mrs. flannery, trying to lessen her sorrow by such words of consolation and assurance as his calling enables him to speak with something like holy authority. a tall, fine looking man with a young, sweet faced girl now knocks at the door. they are mr. goldwin and his daughter, and the latter brings a cross of flowers for a burial offering. how strangely out of place they seem in these small, barely furnished attic rooms, yet they have come with honest purpose to pay honor to the humble dead. mr. goldwin had known of tom's brave part in rescuing herbert from the villains by whom he had been imprisoned. he had at that time sent him a reward, and now he came sorrowfully to mingle his tears with those of the lowly friends of the dead. ray had begged to come with him, and he was glad to grant her the request, for he felt that she would receive a lesson from this simple funeral such as could not be learned elsewhere. a delegation of newsboys about the age of the dead now arrived. they had known him well as a rival trader, as a true friend and agreeable companion. they had often asked after him during his illness, and now they came, their bright young faces heavy with sorrow, to follow his remains to the tomb. they brought with them a handsome wreath of flowers bearing the simple word "tom." the casket was carried into the sick room and placed on a table not far from the bed on which mrs. flannery lay sobbing. when all had been seated, the minister rose and prayed, such a prayer as is seldom offered. the occasion was an inspiration to the holy man. in all his years of ministry he had never been called upon to attend such a funeral as this--so simple, so strange, and yet so genuinely sad. it was a boy's funeral, and the audience was composed almost wholly of boys. the casket had been bought by boys, the details of the funeral had been arranged by boys, and boys--nearly a score of them--were there to mourn the loss of their friend. and they were no ordinary boys, with careless, thoughtless manners, but sturdy lads who were almost men in thought, for long, long months had they, like the deceased, had to think and act for themselves. mr. goldwin and ray, aided to some extent by a few of the boys, sang a hymn, and then the minister, after reading the bible, gave a feeling and impressive talk that went home to the hearts of every one present. bob and herbert could not have felt greater sorrow had the dead been their own brother. they tried, however, to restrain their grief, as everything depended upon them, since mrs. flannery was now helpless. at the close of the service all except mrs. flannery passed by the casket, looking for the last time upon the features of the dead boy before the lid was closed. the mother was bolstered up in bed, and the casket was lowered beside her, where she too could view the remains. the pall bearers were selected from the delegation of newsboys, as i think tom would have wished had he expressed himself upon this point. in a little time the casket had been placed within the hearse, and this strange funeral party started on its solemn journey to the tomb. mr. goldwin and ray and herbert and bob occupied the carriage of chief mourners--not that the two former could strictly be called mourners, but their object in going to the tomb was to comfort the two boys, for whose conduct mr. goldwin had the greatest admiration. the newsboys followed in other carriages, which had been secured by bob hunter without cost, when it was known for what purpose they were wanted. the remains of the dead boy were buried beside those of his father and sister in greenwood cemetery, where his mother had bought a plot at the death of her husband. [illustration: tom flannery's funeral.] "we must buy a stone, herbert, for tom's grave when we can get the money," said bob, as they came slowly away from the cemetery. "yes, we will do that some time, bob," answered herbert, with swollen eyes. "but our first duty is to take care of his mother." "yes, we promised him that we would look after her, and we must do it--he would have done it for either of us," answered bob, choking with emotion as his mind went back to the death scene. "i wish i could help do something for mrs. flannery, poor woman," said ray, addressing her father. "i shall be very glad to have you do anything in reason, my dear," replied mr. goldwin with pleasure. "nothing would make me more proud of my daughter than to see her helping others who need encouragement and assistance." "you shall be proud of me then, father," replied ray with enthusiasm. "i am so glad you took me with you today. it has given me a new idea of life. now i feel as if i could be of some use in the world." "you certainly can if you wish to do good, for the competition in that line is not so great as it should be," answered mr. goldwin thoughtfully. [illustration: ray reading to mrs. flannery.] "it looks so in mrs. flannery's case surely," remarked herbert; "there were few to help her in her terrible trouble." "did she have no friends but you and mr. hunter?" asked ray. "no, i think not," answered young randolph, "at least none that i know of." "what would she have done, poor woman, but for your kindness?" "i do not like to think about it," replied herbert with a shudder. "i think i know of a good woman who would go down and take care of mrs. flannery while she is sick," said mr. goldwin. "she certainly needs good nursing for the present." "i wish such a woman could be had," said herbert, "for both bob and myself are anxious to get to work." chapter xxx. in a new home. three weeks after the funeral mrs. flannery had sufficiently recovered her strength so that she could safely be moved from the rooms she had occupied so long. ray goldwin had done much towards bringing about this satisfactory result by her frequent visits and cheerful manner--always saying and doing the right thing with admirable tact. she became much interested in the childless woman whose heart still bled unceasingly for her "poor tom, poor tom," as she murmured often to herself. at the funeral ray had contrasted her own life with that of herbert and bob. as she pondered over what these two humble boys, with so slender means, had done for the dying lad and his grief-stricken mother, she felt how much she suffered by the comparison. the solemnity of the occasion and the glowing words of praise for the two friends of the dead, spoken with such peculiar force by the minister, led her, as was natural, to overestimate their worth and to undervalue her own. with the same spirit, therefore, with which she admired herbert and bob for their acts, she condemned her own inactivity, and there in that little room beside the remains of the humble newsboy she resolved that she would be something more than a society girl as her life had hitherto been tending. she had learned a valuable lesson and given place to a purpose as noble as it was humane. [illustration: mrs. flannery and the two boys in their new home.] that she was carrying out this purpose her kind acts and words of comfort to mrs. flannery amply attested. she, however, was not alone the source of comfort while on these missions of noble charity, for the sick woman gave her, unconsciously, to be sure, as she talked of herbert randolph, a taste of happiness of a finer and sweeter character than she herself, poor woman, could ever hope again to feel. it was born of hero worship--a worship ripening into simple, childlike sentiment. i say hero worship, for such her thoughts of young randolph and bob hunter were when she first realized how kind and generous they had been to him who now lay dead, and to his helpless and heart broken mother. such thoughts, however, to a young girl just verging upon the age of woman, and when the hero is a noble, manly boy like randolph, are but the buds of the more beautiful and fragrant flower which time is sure to bring forth. and this is the way that ray came to find such pleasure in the simple talk of mrs. flannery--talk that but for this magnetic interest must have been unbearably dull to her young ears. herbert and bob, feeling that it would be better for the bereaved mother to get away from her present rooms where she was constantly reminded of the dead, leased a neat little flat in harlem, to which she was moved, together with her furniture. here they designed making a home for themselves, inaugurating mrs. flannery as housekeeper. it seemed to them that they could in no other way carry out so fully the wishes of their dead friend. the housework would occupy her mind and keep her busy, and by their living thus together she would have with her the two friends in whose care the deceased had placed her. moreover each desired a better home than their cheerless attic room had been to them, and they felt that they could now afford to spend more upon themselves. thus the flat was taken and with mrs. flannery's furniture, a few new things from the store and little fancy articles made and contributed by ray and her mother, the boys found themselves very happily situated in their new home. mrs. flannery, too, while at her new duties, recovered more quickly than would seem possible from the terrible shock she had sustained. in young randolph and bob hunter she found all she could have desired in sons of her own--found, as her poor dying boy had said, that they would look out for her, and could do more for her than he. and she proved a good mother to them, studying their every want with gratitude and affection. to bob especially the comforts of his present life gave great happiness, and as the weeks rolled by he became more and more attached to his new home, and spent all the spare time possible in study, being taught by herbert. chapter xxxi. the boy broker. while young randolph was away from his business during the few days of the death and burial of his friend, the proprietor of a house from whom herbert bought a great many stamps complained to his bookkeeper about the large supply on hand. "but we cannot get rid of them if no one calls for them," replied the latter. "hasn't littlewood been in for any?" "no, he has not been here for ten days." "ten days," repeated the merchant thoughtfully. "what has become of the boy broker? i have not seen him here lately." "the boy broker," said the bookkeeper, taking herbert's card from a drawer to find his address. "he is at nassau street. shall i send for him?" "yes, do so," said the proprietor as he walked away. "the boy broker," repeated the bookkeeper to himself, catching at his employer's words. "that has a good ring to it and would sound well on young randolph's cards." having a pen in his hand he dipped it in red ink and printed diagonally across herbert's card the words the boy broker. "that looks well," said he to himself, holding it off and eying it critically. "it is catchy. i will suggest to young randolph that he adds it to his cards and prints it in red ink as i have done. there's nothing like advertising," he went on, talking to himself. "it pays, and this will pay randolph--i know it will." the suggestion was accordingly made to herbert and he adopted it, having his cards printed precisely as the one the bookkeeper had shown him. and this is the way he became known as the boy broker. the name proved "catchy," as the bookkeeper had predicted, and after adopting it herbert found his business growing more rapidly than ever. but just now a most unexpected bit of good luck came to the young vermonter and at a time too when he felt sorely the need of money. the cause brought by mr. goldwin's lawyer against christopher gunwagner for false imprisonment of herbert randolph had come up for trial. herbert and bob were summoned to court to testify against the old fence. the trial was ably conducted on both sides, but the fact that young randolph had been restrained from his liberty by one christopher gunwagner, a notorious fence, was quickly established. it only remained then for the jury to find the damages. herbert had sued for one thousand dollars, and his lawyer made an able argument to recover the full amount. he dwelt at length upon our hero's sufferings in that damp, musty cellar, infested as it was by rats to such a degree as to threaten his reason; all of which was only too true. graphically did the lawyer picture this scene, so graphically that the hearts of the jurymen were noticeably touched. then the lawyer argued that outside and beyond the actual injury suffered, there should be an exemplary damage awarded. the worst traits of the old fence were shown up, and contrasted with the spotless character of herbert randolph. the judge in his charge sustained the idea of exemplary damage, and then the case went to the jury. they had remained out about three quarters of an hour, when they came in and announced a verdict in favor of herbert randolph of _five hundred and seventy five dollars_! young randolph was never more surprised in his life, or only once; and that was when he found bob hunter at old gunwagner's on the night of his escape. "five hundred and seventy five dollars!" said he to himself, unable to realize that he had been awarded such a sum of money. bob hunter congratulated him, his lawyer congratulated him, and the court even did likewise. but none were more hearty and genuine in their congratulations than mr. goldwin and his pretty daughter ray. "i owe it all to you, mr. goldwin," said herbert, gratefully. "i should never have thought to commence action against old gunwagner but for your advice." the odd seventy five dollars paid the lawyer and all the court expenses. this left a clear five hundred dollars for young randolph--what a lot of money, five hundred dollars in new, crisp bank notes! "and it shall all go into our business, bob," said he, proudly, "and as you are now an equal partner with me half of the money will be yours." "oh, no, herbert, that would not be right," protested bob. "yes, i am sure it would," replied the boy broker. "my being imprisoned was due to no effort of my own, but rather to my simplicity, my lack of keenness. my release, on the other hand, was due to your brave efforts to rescue me. i walked into the trap unconsciously, you walked into it with your eyes open, risking your very life to save me. to you therefore the greater reward is due--you earned your portion, i helplessly endured the misery that has brought me mine." "but i did not suffer any and you did," returned bob, feeling keenly his helplessness when in an argument with young randolph. "you, however, took the chances of suffering, and those who take great chances in business, in war and in dangerous enterprises, of whatever character, if successful are well rewarded for the part they have borne. no, bob, i would not think of keeping all this money," continued herbert, impressively. "we are partners in business together. let us start with equal interest, then we should feel no jealousy toward each other. this five hundred dollars will enable us to do five times the business we are now doing, and if we save the profits we make we can still further increase it month by month." "do you remember, herbert," said bob, with grateful expression, "that when mr. goldwin failed and you were thrown out of work i urged you to take some money--only eight dollars--and you refused it?" "yes, i remember it well, bob," replied young randolph. "and now you ask me to take two hundred and fifty dollars from you. why should i not refuse your offer as you refused mine?" "bob," said herbert, taking him by the hand, "that eight dollars was a reserve fund, it was all that stood between you and me and starvation or what is almost as bad--public charity. i appreciated as you little knew your generous offer, and it cut me to see how hurt you felt at my refusal to take the money. but i thought of the possibility of sickness or accident, and realized how much help those few dollars would prove in such a time. again i felt that the money would do me no good. i know now that it would not have, for i should simply have used it up and would then have been no nearer, if so near, solving the problem that pressed me for an answer--namely, how to earn sufficient means with which to buy bread and procure a shelter for myself." "i think you were right, herbert," replied bob, thoughtfully. "i couldn't think so then, however, but it is plain to me now." "i know i was right. it was the suffering i went through in those dreary winter months and the miserable drudgery i was forced to perform that at last gave me a knowledge of this business. it was an education to me, bob, of a most practical character, and now that it is all over i can only feel glad that i was forced out of my comfortable clerkship into the cold wintry street that had so sunny an ending." chapter xxxii. the conspirators' fate. a few weeks after the trial of gunwagner for false imprisonment he was again brought before the bar of justice to answer with felix mortimer to the charge of conspiring to kidnap herbert randolph. able counsel were employed by the old villain, and a hard fight was made for liberty. but the charges were so well sustained by the evidence of herbert and bob, and that of the small boy who aided the latter in gaining admittance to the fence's den, that the jury brought in a verdict of guilty. gunwagner was, accordingly, sentenced to serve a long term of imprisonment at sing sing as a penalty for his villainous acts. he had accumulated much money by crooked means, and now towards the end of his life his own freedom was the price paid for the gold which now was valueless to him. then came felix mortimer's turn. but for him herbert randolph would never have fallen into the trouble that seemed to await him on his arrival in new york. young mortimer, however, overreached himself. he was not a match for herbert randolph and bob hunter together--neither he nor all of his disreputable cronies. his plans miscarried wofully, and now, after many long weary days of confinement in the tombs, he found himself sentenced to the house of correction for nearly four years, or until he reached the age of his majority. felix mortimer was splendidly endowed by nature for a brilliant man. he had great ability, and was unusually bright and prepossessing. but unfortunately for him, and for the community in which he lived, he commenced life in the wrong way. he failed to recognize the fact that no true success can be attained except by operating on the solid principles of truth and honesty. his envy of herbert randolph had at last brought him disgrace and humiliation, while the young vermonter now had a well paying and fast growing business of his own. how bitterly he must have regretted his own foolish and evil acts, when he realized fully to what they had brought him! [illustration: gunwagner in prison.] he could look now upon herbert randolph and say to himself, truthfully, "i had the ability to succeed as well as you have and to be as much respected as you now are. my advantages, too, were superior to yours, and yet here am i a prisoner in the house of correction, deprived of my liberty and in disgrace, while you have already entered upon a splendid business career. and all this difference comes from my having made a wrong start." alas! how many human wrecks scattered all along the pathway of life could say the same thing, as they compare their present wretched condition with that of the prosperous and honored citizens--the solid men of the community--who were once their schoolfellows, and whose early career was perhaps less promising than their own. and all this difference, or nearly all, has grown naturally out of the right or wrong start they took in life. peter smartweed alone among the conspirators remains to be accounted for, and this is something that the police could not do. they made a careful search throughout the city for him, but his presence could not be discovered. it was believed that, fearing arrest, he had suddenly left his home and the city in which he had spent his life, when he learned of the fate of felix mortimer, his companion in crime. chapter xxxiii. a glimpse at the future. it has not seemed to me desirable to dwell upon mr. goldwin's business affairs--to show the legal squabbles that followed his failure, or to picture in detail the trickery of breakwell & co. my aim has been to introduce only what bore directly upon the career of herbert randolph. i will say, however, that the banker's failure did not leave him penniless, as young randolph feared it might. he was badly crippled at first, but certain securities turned over to him by breakwell & co., which at the time of the failure possessed but little market value, began at the end of a few months to advance rapidly. when they had reached a point at which it seemed to him advisable to sell he closed them out at a price that enabled him to pay off all his obligations without drawing upon his personal property for a penny. he was, therefore, still a wealthy man, and was not forced to reduce his style of living in the slightest degree. with this simple statement i leave the past to record a conversation in which the reader will catch a glimpse of the future, in so far as it relates to some of those who have been most conspicuous in this story. young randolph had now become a frequent visitor at mr. goldwin's home, where, notwithstanding the many attractions of a great city, he spent the happiest hours of his life. bob hunter, moreover, was not an entire stranger at this handsome residence. his visits, though, were few in comparison to those of his partner, and this was due to two causes--first, a decided reluctance to leave his books, for he had become a most industrious student, and second, the lack of so delightful an attraction as that which turned the steps of the young vermonter so often towards the goldwin home. it was now midwinter. herbert and bob had been in business together nearly nine months, in which time they had by hard work and splendid ability lifted themselves from poverty and drudgery to a position of prosperity. in an up town savings bank a snug sum of money was deposited to their credit, and this was in excess of the amount used in their business, which had become so large that a good working capital was necessary. one day they received a letter from mr. goldwin inviting them to dine with him and his family on the following evening. the letter stated, moreover, that he wished to talk with them about a matter in which he thought they would feel an interest. "what can he wish to talk over with us?" said bob. "i have been speculating on that same point," replied herbert. "and you came to no conclusion?" "no, i really cannot imagine his purpose." "it may be about business," suggested the junior partner. "you may be right, bob, but it hardly seems probable that he would want to talk with us about business." "but you say he has often talked with you about it when you have been at his house." "so he has, in a general way," replied herbert, "but i supposed that was just to fill in conversation." "a mere matter of curiosity to know how we were doing?" "yes." "it's possible, though, that he had other objects in view." "possible, well, yes; but not probable." thus the boys speculated upon mr. goldwin's purpose, as they went about their work--speculated and wondered till they found themselves at his table, where all thought of this character was driven from their minds by the pleasant conversation that followed. it was only fifteen months before this that two boys met as if by chance in city hall park one brisk october morning--one a country lad fresh from the rocky hills of old vermont, the other a keen eyed, bright faced newsboy of new york. look at the group around this table, and tell me if you can see these chance acquaintances--the boy whose every act proclaimed him a farmer's son, or the other--the shabbily dressed product of a metropolitan street. and if perchance by voice or feature you recognize the boy of education and ambition, look again, i urge you, that you may find his friend. "there is but one boy present beside him of the farm," i hear you say, "and surely it cannot be he, so well dressed and grown so tall, whose language bespeaks a well bred lad." but look yet once more, i pray you, and behold the sparkle of his eyes, the old time humor playing over his features, and--ah! now he laughs and shows his dimples once again--the same on either cheek reflecting the merriment he feels. you yield at last, puzzled though i know you are, and the question you would put to me--"how came it so, this marvelous change in these two boys?" i will answer--they worked and studied. [illustration: bob hunter, the student and young business man.] when dinner was over mr. goldwin and the two boys repaired to the library. after a little preliminary talk the former said, "i am contemplating going into business again." "your old business?" asked herbert. "yes," replied mr. goldwin, rather deliberately, resting comfortably in his easy chair and toying with his eye glasses. "i am better fitted for that than any other. but my object is not wholly to make money, though of course there is always pleasure in doing so. my purpose is rather to provide myself with some light employment that would interest me, but which would not be too severe a tax upon my strength. i have also a secondary object in this connection," he continued, addressing herbert, "and that is a desire to put you and bob in the way of entering a first class brokerage business much sooner than you could hope to if left to your own efforts. i have watched both of you carefully and with the keenest interest. the ability you have each shown in conducting your stamp brokerage convinces me that you are capable of moving up higher, and therefore it gives me pleasure to offer you an interest in the business that i am about to start." "but the money!" exclaimed both boys, speaking at once and almost doubting their own senses, yet expressing in their looks thanks more eloquent than words could have conveyed. "the money question can be arranged all right," replied mr. goldwin. "i can supply the necessary sum in excess of your capital." "i can hardly realize such an opportunity as open to us," said herbert, adding words of warmest thanks. "neither can i," remarked bob, no less expressive in his gratitude to mr. goldwin. "doubtless it is a surprise to you," replied the latter; "but the idea has been growing with me for several months, and now i am ready to make you this proposition. you of course know that you are not old enough to become legal partners. it will therefore be necessary to conduct the business under my own name, and as this was my old business name it will be better than a new one." "we certainly shall not object to that," said herbert; "but how can we become members of the firm if not legal partners?" "you can become practically members, though not real members," returned mr. goldwin. "that is to say you can draw a certain percentage of the profits in return for your capital and services. my proposition then is this: i will open an office and take both of you boys in with me, allowing you one half of the profits until you become of age; then we will organize a partnership, and each own a third of the business. by that time your profits, if you do not spend too much money, will enable you to own your interests clear of all incumbrance. your present brokerage business can be done from our office, and that i shall want bob to attend to at first, while you, herbert, i shall expect to bear the brunt of the burden in our regular business. your experience with me before my failure taught you what is to be done. we will commence in a small way at first, and i shall not do very much work myself. i will of course keep an eye on everything, and may bring many of my old customers back to us. now you have heard my proposition," continued mr. goldwin, "how do you like it?" "i could not possibly like anything better," replied herbert, "but it seems too good to be true--more like an air castle than a fact." "so it seems to me," added bob. "but it is a fact," laughed mr. goldwin, enjoying the surprise of the two young partners, "and i am ready to start the ball rolling at once." "we will certainly accept the proposition, then," said herbert, speaking for himself and bob; "which is, as i understand, that you are to draw one half of the profits, and that bob and i will each get one quarter?" "yes, that is correct, up to the time you both become of age," replied mr. goldwin. "after that we are to become equal partners?" said bob. "yes, and of course each draw one third of the profits," returned mr. goldwin. "whenever our new business," he continued, "becomes large enough to demand bob's full time, i should advise selling the stamp department. until then, however, we will hold it, as it pays a handsome little income which will swell our first year's profits considerably." "are you not ready for our game of chess, mr. randolph?" said ray goldwin, appearing in the library door. "that depends upon your father's wishes," answered herbert, all too anxious to join her. "what say you, papa?" appealed ray. "your wishes are law with me, my dear," said the father, with a happy smile. "go, herbert, and win if you can." "but the business," suggested young randolph, as he quickly joined ray in the doorway. "ah, never mind that now; the game will suit you better, and besides bob and i can arrange the few details yet to be talked over." the end. _those who have enjoyed reading_ the boy broker _would probably find_ mr. munsey's "afloat in a great city" _equally interesting. it covers pages--large, clear type, and is handsomely printed and bound. it can be had from your book store or from the publishers, by mail. price $ . ._ frank a. munsey & co., publishers, _ warren street, new york._ * * * _from the new york daily sun._ "afloat in a great city" recounts the strange adventures on land and sea of a kidnaped boy. the moral of the story is sound. _from the boston daily advertiser._ "afloat in a great city" is an excellent book for boys. * * * it is well and simply told, and cannot fail to interest those for whom it was written. _from the brooklyn standard-union._ "afloat in a great city" is a stirring story of the life of a boy cast upon his own resources in new york. his adventures are told with much spirit, and are worth the telling. _from the boston beacon._ "afloat in a great city" seems healthy and pleasant reading for a boy who does not care particularly about being a pirate or a cowboy, but likes to have his blood gently stirred. _from the chicago times._ the material is cleverly worked up, and, although the general drift of the tale is obvious to the experienced novel reader before he has gone very far, the author still has in store for him some interesting surprises of detail. _from the new york daily graphic._ "afloat in a great city" recites the history and thrilling adventures of a brave lad whose earliest recollections of life find him an orphaned waif in the streets of new york. he has the right sort of blood and grit in him. * * * * it is a strong, wholesome and dramatic bit of fiction. there are no wearisome homilies in it, yet everywhere it incites to truthfulness and manliness. it is well and copiously illustrated. _from the evening telegram, new york._ it is not specifically stated upon the title page that this is a book for boys, but it is evident from subject and treatment that it is intended to be so. there has been a great variety in the stories published for a _clientele_ of this nature, and the space left for evolution between "sandford and merton" and "tom brown's school days" is very wide indeed. it has been well traversed and greatly improved upon. mr. munsey, author of "afloat in a great city," understands that boys like to read of adventure, whether it takes place upon the high seas or in the heart of africa, or whether it is limited by the boundaries of the american metropolis. he has chosen to condense a good many strange and unusual incidents as happening to a good and stout hearted though poor boy within the circumference of new york city. mr. munsey is a healthy expert at this sort of business. he does not work upon morbid sympathies, or seek to become interesting by appealing to emotions which had better be left in the background so far as the class for whom he writes is concerned. [illustration: (cover)] [illustration: (frontispiece)] "some say" neighbours in cyrus by laura e. richards author of "captain january," "melody," "queen hildegarde," "five-minute stories," "when i was your age," "narcissa," "marie," "nautilus," etc. twelfth thousand [illustration] boston dana estes & company publishers _copyright, _, by estes & lauriat _all rights reserved_ colonial press: c. h. simonds & co., boston, mass., u.s.a. electrotyped by geo. c. scott & sons "some say" to my dear sister, florence howe hall, this volume is affectionately dedicated * * * * * "some say." part i. "and some say, she expects to get him married to rose ellen before the year's out!" "i want to know if she does!" "her sister married a minister, and her father was a deacon, so mebbe she thinks she's got a master-key to the kingdom. but i don't feel so sure of her gettin' this minister for rose ellen. some say he's so wropped up in his garden truck that he don't know a gal from a gooseberry bush. he! he!" the shrill cackle was answered by a slow, unctuous chuckle, as of a fat and wheezy person; then a door was closed, and silence fell. the minister looked up apprehensively; his fair face was flushed, and his mild, blue eyes looked troubled. he gazed at the broad back of his landlady, as she stood dusting, with minute care, the china ornaments on the mantelpiece; but her back gave no sign. he coughed once or twice; he said, "mrs. mellen!" tentatively, first low, then in his ordinary voice, but there was no reply. was mrs. mellen deaf? he had not noticed it before. he pondered distressfully for a few moments; then dropped his eyes, and the book swallowed him again. yet the sting remained, for when presently the figure at the mantelpiece turned round, he looked up hastily, and flushed again as he met his hostess' gaze, calm and untroubled as a summer pool. "there, sir!" said mrs. mellen, cheerfully. "i guess that's done to suit. is there anything more i can do for you before i go?" the minister's mind hovered between two perplexities; a glance at the book before him decided their relative importance. "have you ever noticed, mrs. mellen, whether woodcocks are more apt to fly on moonshiny nights, as white assures us?" "woodbox?" said mrs. mellen. "why, yes, sir, it's handy by; and when there's no moon, the lantern always hangs in the porch. but i'll see that si jones keeps it full up, after this." decidedly, the good woman was deaf, and she had not heard. could those harpies be right? if any such idea as they suggested were actually in his hostess' mind, he must go away, for his work must not be interfered with, and he must not encourage hopes,--the minister blushed again, and glanced around to see if any one could see him. but he was so comfortable here, and miss mellen was so intelligent, so helpful; and this seemed the ideal spot on which to compile his new england "selborne." he sighed, and thought of the woodcock again. why should the bird prefer a moonshiny night? was it likely that the creature had any appreciation of the beauties of nature? shakespeare uses the woodcock as a simile of folly, to express a person without brains. ha! the door opened, and rose ellen came in, her eyes shining with pleasure, her hands full of gold and green. "i've found the 'squarrosa,' mr. lindsay!" she announced. "see, this is it, surely!" the minister rose, and inspected the flowers delightedly. "this is it, surely!" he repeated. "stem stout, hairy above; leaves large, oblong, or the lower spatulate-oval, and tapering into a marginal petiole, serrate veiny; heads numerous; seeds obtuse or acute; disk-flowers, x . this is, indeed, a treasure, for gray calls it 'rare in new england.' i congratulate you, miss mellen." "late, sir?" said mrs. mellen, calmly. "oh, no, 'tisn't hardly five o'clock yet. still, 'tis time for me to be thinkin' of gettin' supper." "don't you want i should make some biscuit for supper, mother?" asked rose ellen, coming out of her rapt contemplation of the goldenrod that gray condescended to call rare, he to whom all things were common. her mother made no answer. "don't you want i should make a pan of biscuit?" rose ellen repeated. still there was no reply, and the girl turned to look at her mother in some alarm. "why, mother, what is the matter? why don't you answer me?" "your mother's deafness," the minister put in, hurriedly, "seems suddenly increased: probably a cold,--" "was you speakin' to me, rose ellen?" said mrs. mellen. "why, yes!" said the girl, in distress. "why, mother, how did you get this cold? you seemed all right when i went out." "gettin' old!" cried mrs. mellen. "'tis nothin' of the sort, rose ellen! i've took a cold, i shouldn't wonder. i went out without my shawl just for a minute. i expect 'twas careless, but there! life is too short to be thinkin' all the time about the flesh, 'specially when there's as much of it as i have. i've ben expectin' i should grow hard of hearin', though, these two years past. the bowlers do, you know, rose ellen, 'long about middle life. there was your uncle lihu. i can hear him snort now, sittin' in his chair, like a pig for all the world, and with no idea he was makin' a sound." "but it's come on so sudden!" cried rose ellen, in distress. "that's bowler!" said her mother. "bowler for all the world! they take things suddin, whether it's hoarsin' up, or breakin' out, or what it is. there! you've heard me tell how my aunt phoebe 'lizabeth come out with spots all over her face, when she was standin' up to be married. chicken-pox it was, and they never knew where she got it; but my grand'ther said 'twas pure bowler, wherever it come from." she gazed placidly at her daughter's troubled face; then, patting her with her broad hand, pushed her gently out of the room before her. "mr. lindsay's heard enough of my bein' hard of hearin', i expect," she said, cheerfully, as they passed into the kitchen. "don't you fret, rose ellen! you won't have to get a fog-horn yet awhile. i don't know but it would be a good plan for you to mix up a mess o' biscuit, if you felt to: mr. lindsay likes your biscuit real well, i heard him say so." "that's what i was going to do," said rose ellen, still depressed. "i wish't you'd see the doctor, mother. i don't believe but he could help your hearing, if you take it before it's got settled on you." "well, i won't, certain!" said mrs. mellen. "the idea, strong and well as i be! bowler blood's comin' out, that's all; and the only wonder is it hasn't come out before." all that day, and the next, the minister did not seem like himself. he was no more absent-minded than usual, perhaps,--that could hardly be. but he was grave and troubled, and the usual happy laugh did not come when rose ellen checked him gently as he was about to put pepper into his tea. several times he seemed about to speak: his eye dwelt anxiously on the cream-jug, in which he seemed to be seeking inspiration; but each time his heart failed him, and he relapsed with a sigh into his melancholy reverie. rose ellen was silent, too, and the burden of the talk fell on her mother. at supper on the second day, midway between the ham and the griddle-cakes, mrs. mellen announced: "rose ellen, i expect you'd better go down to tupham to-morrow, and stay a spell with your grandm'ther. she seems to be right poorly, and i expect it'd be a comfort to her to have you with her. i guess you'd better get ready to-night, and calvin parks can take you up as he goes along." rose ellen and the minister both looked up with a start, and both flushed, and both opened wide eyes of astonishment. "why, mother!" said the girl. "i can't go away and leave you now, with this cold on you." her mother did not hear her, so rose ellen repeated the words in a clear, high-pitched voice, with a note of anxiety which brought a momentary shade to mrs. mellen's smooth brow. the next moment, however, the brow cleared again. "i guess you'd better go!" she said again. "it'd be a pity if mr. lindsay and i couldn't get along for a month or six weeks; and i wrote mother yesterday that you would be up along to-morrow, so she'll be looking for you. i don't like to have mother disappointed of a thing at her age, it gives her the palpitations." "you--wrote--that i was coming!" repeated rose ellen. "and you never told me you was writing, mother? i--i should have liked to have known before you wrote." "coat?" said mrs. mellen. "oh, your coat'll do well enough, rose ellen. why, you've only just had it bound new, and new buttons put on. i should take my figured muslin, if i was you, and have miss turner look at it and see how you could do it over: she has good ideas, sometimes, and it'd be a little different from what the girls here was doin', maybe. anyway, i'd take it, and your light sack, too. 'twon't do no harm to have 'em gone over a little." rose ellen looked ready to cry, but she kept the tears back resolutely. "i--don't--want to leave you, with this deafness coming on!" she shouted, her usually soft voice ringing like a bugle across the tea-table. "there! there! don't you grow foolish," her mother replied, with absolute calm. "why, i can hear ye as well as ever, when you raise your voice a mite, like that. i should admire to know why you should stay at home on my account. i suppose i know my way about the house, if i be losin' my hearing just a dite. it isn't going to spoil my cooking, that i can see; and i guess mr. lindsay won't make no opposition to your going, for any difference it'll make to him." mr. lindsay, thus appealed to, stammered, and blushed up to his eyes, and stammered again; but finally managed to say, with more or less distinctness, that of course whatever was agreeable to mrs. and miss mellen was agreeable to him, and that he begged not to be considered in any way in the formation of their plans. "that's just what i was thinking!" said his hostess. "a man don't want no botheration of plans. so that's settled, rose ellen." rose ellen knew it was settled. she was a girl of character and resolution, but she had never resisted her mother's will, nor had any one else, so far as she knew. she cried a good deal over her packing, and dropped a tear on her silk waist, the pride of her heart, and was surprised to find that she did not care. "there's no one there to care whether i look nice or not!" she said aloud; and then blushed furiously, and looked around the room, fearfully, to be sure that she was alone. early next morning the crack of a whip was heard, and calvin parks's voice, shouting cheerfully for his passenger. the minister, razor in hand, peeped between his shutters, and saw rose ellen come from the house, wiping her eyes, and looking back, with anxious eyes. a wave of feeling swept through him, and he felt, for the moment, that he hated mrs. mellen. he had never hated any one before in his innocent life; while he was pondering on this new and awful sensation, the pale, pretty face had sunk back in the depths of the old red-lined stage, the whip cracked, and calvin drove away with his prey. mrs. mellen came out on the steps, and looked after the stage. then, with a movement singularly swift for so stout a person, she made a few paces down the walk, and, turning, looked up at the windows of the houses on either side of her own. in both houses a figure was leaning from a window, thrown half out over the sill, in an attitude of eager inquiry. at sight of mrs. mellen they dodged back, and only a slight waving of curtains betrayed their presence. the good woman folded her arms deliberately, and stood for five minutes, absorbed in the distant landscape; then she turned, and went slowly back to the house. "there!" she said, as she closed the door behind her. "that'll keep 'em occupied for one while!" and there was infinite content in her tone. mr. lindsay, coming in to breakfast, found his hostess beaming behind the teakettle, placid and cheerful as usual. he still hated her, and found difficulty in replying with alacrity to her remarks on the beauty of the morning. "i expect you and me'll have a right cozy time together!" she announced. "you no need to put yourself out to talk to me, 'cause i reelly don't seem to be hearing very good; and i won't talk to you, save and except when you feel inclined. i know an elder does love to have a quiet house about him. my sister married a minister, and my father was a deacon himself, so i'm accustomed to the ways of the ministry." mr. lindsay stirred his tea, gloomily. the words recalled to his mind those which had so disturbed him a day or two ago, just when all this queer business of the deafness had come on. he remembered the spiteful tones of the two neighbours, and recalled how the words had hissed in his ears. he had thought of going away himself, lest he should encourage false hopes in the breast of his gentle young friend--or her mother; surely rose ellen,--as he said the name to himself, he felt his ears growing pink, and knew that he had not said the name before, even to himself; straightway said it again, to prove the absurdity of something, he was not sure what, and felt his throat dry and hot. now rose ellen herself was gone, and for an indefinite time. she had not gone willingly, of that he was sure; but it was equally evident that her mother had no such thoughts as those two harridans had suggested. he glanced up furtively, to meet a broad, beaming glance, and the question whether he felt feverish any. "you seem to flush up easy!" said mrs. mellen. "i should be careful, if i was you, mr. lindsay, and not go messing round ponds and such at this season of the year. it's just this time we commonly look for sickness rising in the air." mr. lindsay stirred his tea again, and sighed. his mind seemed singularly distracted; and that, too, when the most precious moments of the year were passing. he must put all other matters out of his head, and think only of his great work. had the blackburnian warbler been seen in this neighbourhood, as he had been told? he could hardly believe in such good fortune. the shy, mistrustful bird, hunting the thickest foliage of the tallest forest trees,--how should his landlady's daughter have seen it when she was seeking for ferns? yet her description had been exactly that of the books: "upper parts nearly uniform black, with a whitish scapular stripe and a large white patch in the middle of the wing coverts; an oblong patch--" but she had not been positive about the head. no, but she _was_ positive as to the bright orange-red on chin, throat, and forepart of the breast, and the three white tail-feathers. ah! why was she gone? why was she not here to show him the way, as she promised, to the place where she had seen the rare visitor? he might possibly have found the nest, that rare nest which samuels never saw, which only audubon had described: "composed externally of different textures, and lined with silky fibres and thin, delicate strips of bark, over which lies a thick bed of feathers and horsehair." it should be found in a small fork of a tree, should it? five or six feet from the ground, near a brook? well, he might still search, the next time he went out; meanwhile, there were the ferns to analyze, and that curious moss to determine, if might be. "but mosses are almost hopeless!" he said aloud, with an appealing glance across the table, where he was wont to look for sympathy and encouragement. "soap dish?" said mrs. mellen, with alacrity. "well, i don't wonder you ask, mr. lindsay. why, i found it full of frogs' eggs this very morning, and i hove 'em away and scalt it out. it's drying in the sun this minute, and i'll bring it right up to your room directly." she beamed on him, and left the room. mr. lindsay groaned; looked about him for help, but found none, and retired, groaning, to his study. part ii. the minister had had a delightful but exhausting afternoon. he had gone to look for the nest of a marsh-hen, which he had some reason to think might be in a certain swamp, about five miles from the village. he did not find the nest, but he found plenty of other things: his pockets bulged with mosses and roots, his hat was wound with a curious vine that might possibly be clematis verticillaris, and both hands were filled with specimens of every conceivable kind. incidentally the mosquitoes and black flies had found him: his face was purple, and, like that of the lady at the brick lane branch tea-party, "swellin' wisibly;" and blood was trickling down his well-shaped nose from a bramble-scratch. he had fallen down once or twice in the bog, with results to his clothes; and altogether he presented a singular figure to the view of his parishioners as he strode hastily through the street. heads were thrust out of windows, staid eyes rolled in horror, but the minister saw nothing. he was tired, and absorbed in his new possessions. it was good to sit down in his study, and spread his treasures out on the broad table, and gloat over them. a clump of damp moss rested quietly on his new sermon, "the slough of despond," but he took no note. he was looking for a place to put this curious little lizard in, and after anxious thought selected the gilt celluloid box, lined with pink satin, which the mission circle had given him on christmas for his collars and cuffs. he felt, vaguely, that it was not the right place for the lizard, but there seemed to be nothing else in reach,--except the flitter-work pen-box, and rose ellen had made that for him. ah! if rose ellen were here now, how much she could help him! it was so much easier for two to analyze than one. he at the microscope, and rose ellen corroborating, correcting from the textbook,--it was a perfect arrangement. the minister sighed heavily. mrs. mellen brought in his tea, for it was wednesday evening, and he preferred an early cup of tea, and a modest supper after the meeting. food distracted his mind, he was apt to say, from thought, a statement which his landlady treated with indulgent contempt, as she had never known him to remark the difference between "riz" bread and the soda article. she set the cup down before him, and he promptly dipped a fern root into it; then started back with a cry of dismay. "well indeed, sir!" said mrs. mellen, "i should think so, truly! what did you do that for, and spoil your tea?" "the--tea--a--that is, it is of no consequence about the tea!" said mr. lindsay, hastily. "i fear i have injured the root. i thought it was water. dear! dear! miss mellen was in the habit of bringing me a glass of water when i brought plants home." mrs. mellen said nothing, but brought the water, and a fresh cup of tea; but mr. lindsay had fallen into the depths of the moss, and took no notice of either. she left the room, but presently returned, knitting in hand, and stood, unnoticed, in the doorway, glancing from time to time at the minister. he certainly was "a sight to behold," as she said to herself. she may have thought other things beside, but her face gave no sign. presently the bell began to ring for wednesday evening meeting. mrs. mellen glanced again at the minister, but he heard nothing. the botany was open before him, and he was muttering strange words that sounded like witch-talk. "stamens six, hypogenous! anthers introrse! capsule cartilaginous, loculicidally three-valved, scurfy-leaved epiphytic!" what did it all mean? a slow flush crept over the woman's broad, placid face; her eyelids quivered, her eye roamed restlessly about the room. she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and breathed heavily, as if in distress; and still her eyes came back to the slender figure in the great chair, bent in absorbed interest over the table. ding! dong! ding! the notes came dropping through the air, clear and resonant. even a deaf person might hear them, perhaps. mrs. mellen was evidently struggling with herself. once she opened her lips as if to speak; once she stepped forward with outstretched hand, as if to shake the man into wakefulness and attention; but she did not speak, and her hand dropped again; and presently the bell stopped, and sophronia mellen went away to her sitting-room, hanging her head. half an hour later there was knocking at the door, and the sound of many voices, anxious voices, pitched high and loud, on account of mrs. mellen's deafness. "how's mr. lindsay? when was he took sick? have ye had the doctor?" "do you think it's ketchin', mis' mellen? think of all the young children in this parish, if anythin' should get the rounds! my! it's awful!" "how does he look? some say he was pupple in the face when they see him coming home through the street. most everybody did see him, and he was a sight! apoplexy, most likely!" "has he ever had fits, think? he don't look fitty, but you never can tell." "have ye sent for his folks? you'd feel better to, i sh'd think, if he's taken; some say he has a mother rollin' in wealth, down brunswick way." "well, some say he ain't nothin' of the sort. christiana bean saw an aunt of his once, and she hadn't flesh enough on her to bait a mouse-trap with, christiana said so." "does he know you, mis' mellen? it's awful to see folks out of their heads; i don't know how any one kin bear to see it; you'd better let me come in and spell you a bit; you look clean tuckered out with the fright you've had." mrs. mellen stood and looked quietly at the crowd of "members" that surged and cackled about her. "i could hear better if one'd speak at a time!" she said, mildly. "did you want to see elder lindsay? it--it must be gettin' near meetin'-time, isn't it?" "meetin'-time! meetin's over, and mr. lindsay never come nigh. do you mean to say he ain't sick? do you mean to say--" "what _do_ you mean to say, mis' mellen?" mrs. mellen held the door in her hand, and still gazed quietly at the excited throng. at length,-- "whatever's the matter with mr. lindsay," she said, in clear incisive tones, "i ain't going to let in no lunatic asylum to drive him clean out of his mind. deacon strong and deacon todd, if you'll step this way, i presume mr. lindsay'll be pleased to see you. and if the rest of you 'ud go home quiet, mebbe it might seem more consistent. there has been a meetin', you say? the baptists will be just about comin' out now." an hour later, the two deacons were taking their leave of mr. lindsay. they stood, hat in hand, and were looking at the young man with pitying eyes. they were elderly men, of kind disposition. "well, mr. lindsay," mr. todd was saying; "i guess we've said about all there is to say. of course 'twas a pity, and such things make talk; but 'twon't occur again, i dare say. some say--" "it _may_ occur again," cried the young minister. he was sitting with his head in his hand, and despair in his face. "it may occur again! i seem to have no mind, no memory! i am unfit to be a minister of the christian church. my brethren, what shall i do?" the elder men exchanged glances: then deacon strong stepped forward and laid his hands on the young man's shoulder, for he loved him. "mr. lindsay," he said, kindly, "so far as i can see, there's only one thing the matter with you; you want a wife!" "a wife!" repeated charles lindsay. his tone suggested that he had never heard of the article. "a wife!" the deacon said again, with emphasis; and his fellow deacon nodded assent. "a sensible, clever young woman, who will help you in parish matters, and be a comfort to you in every way,--a--hem! yes, in every way." the deacon reddened through his beard, and glanced at deacon todd; but the latter was a kind man, and knew mrs. strong, and gazed out of the window. "and--and tell you when it was time for meeting. i don't know as you'd have to look more'n a hundred miles for the very young woman that would make the right kind of helpmeet for you, but you know best about that. anyway, mr. lindsay, it is not good for man to be alone, we have scripture for that: and it's quite evident that it's particularly bad for you to be alone, with your--a--your love of nature" (the deacon caught sight of the lizard, peering disconsolately out of the gilt celluloid box, and brought his remarks to a hasty conclusion). "and so we'll be going, mr. lindsay, and don't you fret about to-night's meeting, for we'll make it all right." mr. lindsay bowed them out, with vague thanks, and muttered expressions of regret. he hardly heard their adieux; the words that were saying themselves over and over in his head were,-- "you want a wife!" did he want a wife? was that what was the matter with him? was that why he went about all day and every day, these last weeks, feeling as if half of him were asleep? he had always been a strong advocate of the celibacy of the clergy, as far as his own case went. nothing, he had always assured himself, should ever come between him and his work. a wife would be a perpetual distraction: she would want money, and amusement, and a thousand things that he never thought about; and she would interfere with his sermons, and with his collections, and--and altogether, he would never marry. but now,-- and what was it that happened only the other day, here in the village? a man and his wife had been quarrelling, to the scandal of the whole congregation. they were an elderly couple, and when it came to smashing crockery and emptying pails of water over each other, the minister felt it his duty to interfere. so he called on the wife, intending to reason with her first alone, and then, when she was softened and convinced, to call in the husband and reconcile them, and perhaps pray with them, since both were "members." but before he had spoken a dozen of his well-arranged and logical sentences, he was interrupted by loud and tearful outcries. the lady never thought it would come to this, no, never! some thought she had enough to bear without this, but she knew how to submit to the will of providence, and no one should say she struv nor hollered. she knew what was due to a minister, even if he was only just in pants; she only hoped mr. lindsay wouldn't see fit to say anything to her husband. take reuben meecher when he was roused, and tigers was tame by him: and if he should know that his wife was spoke to so, by them as wasn't born or thought of when they was married, and nobody couldn't say but they had lived respectable for forty years, and now to come to this! the lady was well used to ministers, and some of the most aged in the country, and she knew what was due to them; but for her part, she thought 'twas well for ministers, as well as others, to speak of what they'd had exper'ence in, and then there would be no feeling! the visit was not a success, nor did it cheer the minister to hear the old couple chuckling to each other as he went sadly away, and to feel that they were laughing at him. but he was very humble, and he laid the spiteful words to heart. what did he know? what had he to say to his people, when it came to the real, terrible things of life? what had he had in his whole life, save kindness and a sheltered home, and then study, and a little divinity, and a little science? he sat and gazed at the image of himself in his mind's glass, and found it a gibbering phantom, with emptiness where should be eyes, and dry dust where should be living waters. as he sat thus sadly pondering, the sound of voices struck upon his ear. the window was open, and now that his mind was awake, there was no question of his hearing, when the two next-door neighbours leaned out of their back windows, across mrs. mellen's back yard. he had grown to loathe the sound of those two voices, the shrill cackling one, and the fat chuckle that was even more hateful. what were they saying now? "you don't tell me she wants to git him for herself? speak jest a dite louder! she can't hear ye, and he's so muddled up he never heard the bell for meetin', some say; but there's others think he'd ben drinkin', and deacon strong and deacon todd jest leagued together with sophrony mellen to hide it. he was black in the face when he came home, and reelin' in his walk, for i see him with these eyes." charles lindsay started as if stung by a venomous snake. he put out his hand to the window, but now the sharp voice broke in, anxious to have its turn. "well, i shouldn't be a mite surprised if 'twas so, mis' bean, and you've had experience, i'm sure, in such matters, after what you suffered with mr. bean. but what i was sayin', some do say phrony mellen's bound to have the minister for herself, and that's why she sent rose ellen off, traipsin' way down to tupham, when her grandma'am don't need her no more'n a toad needs a tail." "i want to know if they say that!" replied mrs. bean. "but you know, some say rose ellen's got a beau down to tupham, and that's why she went off without askin' leave or license, and her ma deef and all. i see her go myself, and she went off early in the mornin', and if ever i see a person what you may call slink away secret, like she'd done somethin' to be 'shamed of, 'twas that girl. _she_ knew what she was goin' for, well enough. rose ellen ain't no fool, for all she's as smooth as baked custard. now you mark my words, mis' peake,--" at this moment, the back door opened with a loud clang. mrs. mellen stood on the doorstep, and her eyes were very bright. she said nothing, but gazed calmly up and down the yard, as if considering the beauty of the night. then, after a few minutes, she turned and scrutinized her neighbours' windows. nothing was to be seen, only a white muslin curtain waved gently in the moonlight: nothing was to be heard, only a faint rustle, probably of the same curtain. "it's an elegant night!" said mrs. mellen, aloud. "i thought i heard voices, but my hearin' does play me such tricks, these days." her calm, sensible voice fell like balm on the distracted ears of the minister. he was soothed, he knew not why. the horrors that those harpies suggested,--could there be truth in them? rose ellen with a--his mind refused to frame the detestable word! was there anything true in the world? was it all scandal and hatefulness and untruth? he rose and paced his study in anguish of mind, but his ears were still awake,--he thought he never should regain the joy of losing himself,--and now another sound came to them, the sound of wheels. why did his heart stop, and then beat violently? what was there in the sound of wheels? it was the late stage, of course, and calvin parks was driving fast, as usual, to get to his home, five miles away, before ten o'clock at night. but that stage came from tupham, and tupham meant rose ellen. rose ellen, who was as smooth as baked custard, and who had a--the wheels were slacking; the steady beat of the horses' feet stopped; the stage had paused at the widow mellen's door. "here we be!" said calvin parks. "take my hand, rosy! so, thar she goes! hope ye'll find yer ma right smart! give her my respects and tell her,--wal, i swan!" for the door flew open, and out ran the minister, torn and stained and covered with dust, and caught rose ellen by both hands and drew her almost forcibly into the house. "mother!" cried the girl. "how is she? i--i got so scared, not hearing from her, i couldn't stay another day, mr. lindsay!" "oh,--your mother?" said mr. lindsay, incoherently. "she--a--she seems to be in excellent health, except for her deafness. it is i who am ill, rose ellen: very ill, and wanting you more than i could bear!" "wanting me?" faltered rose ellen, with lips wide, with blue eyes brimming over. "you, mr. lindsay, wanting me?" "yes, rose ellen!" cried the minister. they were still standing in the passage, and he was still holding her hands, and it was quite absurd, only neither of them seemed to realize it. "i have always wanted you, but i have only just found it out. i cannot live at all without you: i have been only half alive since you went away. i want you for my own, for always." "oh, you can have me!" cried rose ellen, and the blue eyes brimmed over altogether with happy shining tears. "oh, i was yours all the time, only i didn't know you--i didn't know--" she faltered, and then hurried on. "it--it wasn't only that i was scared about mother, mr. lindsay. i couldn't stay away from--oh, some said--some said you were going to be married, and i couldn't bear it, no, i couldn't!" but when charles lindsay heard that, he drew rose ellen by both hands into the study, and shut the door. and only the lizard knew what happened next. * * * * * it was a month later. there had been a wedding, the prettiest wedding that the village had ever seen. the whole world seemed turned to roses, and the sweetest rose of all, rose ellen lindsay, had gone away on her husband's arm, and deacon strong and deacon todd were shaking hands very hard, and blowing peals of joy with their pocket-handkerchiefs. mrs. mellen had preserved her usual calm aspect at the wedding, and looked young enough to be her own daughter, "some said," in her gray silk and white straw bonnet. but when it was all over, the wedding party gone, and the neighbours scattered to their homes again, sophronia mellen did a strange thing. she went round deliberately, and opened every window of her house. the house stood quite apart, with only the two houses close beside it on either hand, and no others till you came quite into the street itself. she opened every window to its utmost. then she took a tin pan, and a pair of tongs, and leaned out of the front parlour window, and screamed three times, at the top of her lungs, beating meanwhile with all her might upon the pan. then she went to the next window, and screamed and banged again, and so on all over the house. there were twenty windows in her house, and by the time she had gone the round, she was crimson and breathless. nevertheless, she managed to put her last breath into a shriek of such astounding volume that the windows fairly rang. one last defiant clang of the tongs on the tin pan and then she sat down quietly by the back parlour window, and settled herself well behind the curtain, and prepared to enjoy herself thoroughly. "they shall have their fill this time!" she murmured to herself; "and i shall get all the good of it." for some minutes there was dead silence: the event had been too awful to be treated lightly. at length a rustling was heard, and very cautiously a sharp nose, generously touched with colour, was protruded from the window of the left-hand house. "mis' bean," said the owner of the nose. "be you there?" "well, i should say i was!" was the reply; and mrs. bean's fat curls shook nervously out of her window. "maria peake, what do you s'pose this means? ain't it awful? why, i've got palpitations to that degree,--don't s'pose there's a robber in the house, do ye? with all them weddin' presents about, 'twould be a dreadful thing! 'tain't likely he would spare her life, and she tryin' to give the alarm like that! most likely she's layin' dead this minute, and welterin' in her--" "sssssssh!" hissed mrs. peake, in a deadly whisper. "melissa bean, you won't let a person hear herself think. 'tain't no robber, i tell ye! she's gone out of her mind, phrony mellen has, as sure as you're a breathin' woman!" "you don't tell me she has!" mrs. bean leaned further out, her eyes distended with awful curiosity, her fat lips dropping apart. she was not a pleasant object, the hidden observer thought; but she was no worse than the skinny cabbage-stalk which now stretched itself far out from the opposite window. "i tell ye," mrs. peake hissed, still in that serpent-whisper, the most penetrating sound that ever broke stillness, "she's as crazy as a clo'esline in a gale o' wind. some say she's wore an onsettled eye for six weeks past, and she glared at me yesterday, when i run in to borry an egg, same as if i was one wild animal and she was another. ssssh! 'tis bowler, i tell ye! they go that way, jest as often as they git a chance! i call it an awful jedgment on elder lindsay, bein' married into that family. some say his mother besought him on her bended knees, but he was clean infatooated. i declare to you, mis' bean, i'm terrified most to death, to think of you and me alone here, so near to a ravin' lunatic. i don't think nothin' of robbers, alongside o' madness. she might creep in while you're standin' there,--your house is more handy by than mine, 'count of there bein' no fence, and--" "yah! bah! ha! ha! ha! hurrah!" sounded in sharp, clear tones from mrs. mellen's window. two ghastly faces, white with actual terror, gazed at each other for an instant, then disappeared; and immediately after was heard a sound of bolts being driven home, and of heavy furniture being dragged about. but mrs. mellen sat and fanned herself, being somewhat heated, and gazed calmly at the beauty of the prospect. "i've enjoyed myself real well!" she said. "i couldn't free my mind, not while rosy and mr. lindsay was round; i've had a real good time." she fanned herself placidly, and then added, addressing the universe in general, with an air of ineffable good will: "i shouldn't wonder if my hearin' improved, too, kind o' suddin, same as it came on. that's bowler, too! it's real convenient, bein' a bowler!" * * * * * neighbours in cyrus neighbours in cyrus. "hi-hi!" said miss peace, looking out of the window. "it is really raining. isn't that providential, now?" "anne peace, you are enough to provoke a saint!" replied a peevish voice from the furthest corner of the room. "you and your providences are more than i can stand. what do you mean this time, i _should_ like to know? the picnic set for to-day, and every soul in the village lottin' on goin', 'xcept those who _would_ like best to go and can't. i've been longin' for these two years to go to a picnic and it's never ben so's i could. and now, jest when i _could_ ha' gone, this affliction must needs come to me. and then to have you rejoicin' 'cause it rains!" the speaker paused for breath, and miss peace answered mildly: "i'm real sorry for you, delia, you know i am; and if the' was any way of getting you to the grove,--but what i was thinking of, you know i couldn't finish jenny miller's dress last night, do what i could; and seeing it raining now, thinks i, they'll have to put off the picnic till to-morrow or next day, and then jennie can go as nice as the rest. she does need a new dress, more than most of the girls who has them. and she's so sweet and pretty, it's a privilege to do for her. that's all i was thinking, delia." mrs. delia means sniffed audibly, then she groaned. "your leg hurting you?" cried miss peace, with ready sympathy. "well, i guess you'd think so," was the reply. "if _you_ had red-hot needles run into your leg. not that it's any matter to anybody." "hi-hi," said miss peace, cheerily. "it's time the bandages was changed, delia. you rest easy just a minute, and i'll run and fetch the liniment and give you a rub before i put on the new ones." mrs. means remaining alone, it is proper to introduce her to the reader. she and miss peace were the rival seamstresses of cyrus village; that is, they would have been rivals, if mrs. means had had her way; but rivalry was impossible where anne peace was one of the parties. she had always maintained stoutly that delia means needed work a sight more than she did, having a family, and her husband so weakly and likely to go off with consumption 'most any time. many and many a customer had anne turned from her door, with her pleasant smile, and "i don't hardly know as i could, though i should be pleased to accommodate you; but i presume likely mis' means could do it for you. she doos real nice work, and i don't know as she's so much drove just now as i am." delia case had been a schoolmate of anne peace's. she was a pretty girl, with a lively sense of her own importance and a chronic taste for a grievance. she had married well, as every one thought, but in these days her husband had lost his health and delia was obliged to put her shoulder to the wheel. she sewed well, but there was a sigh every time her needle went into the cloth, and a groan when it came out. "a husband and four children, and have to sew for a living!"--this was the burden of her song; and it had become familiar to her neighbours since david means had begun to "fail up," as they say in cyrus. anne peace had always been the faithful friend of "delia dumps." (it was uncle asy green who had given her the name which stuck to her through thick and thin--uncle asy believed in giving people their due, and thought "anne made a dreffle fool of herself, foolin' round with that woman at all.") anne had been her faithful friend, and never allowed people to make fun of her if she were present. a week before my story opens, when mrs. means fell down and broke her leg, just as she was passing miss peace's house, the latter lady declared it to be a special privilege. "i can take care of her," she explained to the doctor, when he expressed regret at being obliged to forbid the sufferer's being moved for some weeks, "just as well as not and better. david isn't fit to have the care of her, and--well, doctor, i can say to you, who know it as well as i do, that delia mightn't be the best person for david to have round him just now, when he needs cheering up. then, too, i can do her sewing along with my own, as easy as think; work's slack now, and there's nothing i'm specially drove with. i've been wishing right along that i could do something to help, now that david is so poorly. i'm kin to david, you know, so take it by and large, doctor, it doos seem like a privilege, doesn't it?" the doctor growled. he was not fond of mrs. means. "if you can get her moved out of grumble street and into thanksgiving alley," he said, "it'll be a privilege for this village; but you can't do it, anne. however, there's no use talking to you, you incorrigible optimist. you're the worst case i ever saw, anne peace, and i haven't the smallest hope of curing you. put the liniment on her leg as i told you, and i'll call in the morning. good day!" "my goodness me, what was he saying to you?" mrs. means asked as anne went back into the bedroom. "you've got something that you'll never get well of? well, anne peace, that does seem the cap sheaf on the hull. heart complaint, i s'pose it is; and what would become of me, if you was to be struck down, as you might be any minute of time, and me helpless here, and a husband and four children at home and he failin' up. you did look dretful gashly round the mouth yisterday, i noticed it at the time, but of course i didn't speak of it. why, here i should lay, and might starve to death, and you cold on the floor, for all the help i should get." mrs. means shed tears, and anne peace answered with as near an approach to asperity as her soft voice could command. "don't talk foolishness, delia. i'm not cold yet, nor likely to be. here, let me 'tend to your leg; it's time i was getting dinner on this minute." it continued to rain on the picnic day; no uncertain showers, to keep up a chill and fever of fear and hope among the young people, but a good, honest downpour, which everybody past twenty must recognize as being just the thing the country needed. jenny miller came in, smiling all over, though she professed herself "real sorry for them as was disappointed." "tudie peaslee sat down and cried, when she saw 'twas rainin'," she said, as she prepared to give her dress the final trying-on. "there, miss peace. i did try to feel for her, but i just couldn't, seems though. oh, ain't that handsome? that little puff is too cute for anything! i do think you've been smart, miss peace. not that you ever was anything else." "you've a real easy figure to fit, jenny," miss peace replied, modestly. "i guess that's half the smartness of it. it doos set good, though, i'm free to think. the styles is real pretty this summer, anyhow. don't that set good, delia?" she turned to mrs. means, who was lying on the sofa (they call it a l'unge in cyrus), watching the trying-on with keenly critical eyes. "ye-es," she said. "the back sets good enough, but 'pears to me there's a wrinkle about the neck that i shouldn't like to see in any work of mine. i've always ben too particklar, though; it's time thrown away, but i can't bear to send a thing out 'cept jest as it should be." "it _don't_ wrinkle, mis' means!" cried jenny, indignantly. "not a mite. i was turning round to look at the back of the skirt, and that pulled it; there ain't a sign of a wrinkle, miss peace, so don't you think there is." mrs. means sniffed, and said something about the change in young folks' manners since she was a girl. "if i'd ha' spoke so to my elders--i won't say betters, for folks ain't thought much of when they have to sew for a livin', with a husband and four children to keer for--i guess i should ha' found it out in pretty quick time." "hi-hi!" said miss peace, soothingly. "there, delia, jenny didn't mean anything. jenny, i guess i'll have to take you into the bedroom, so's i can pull this skirt out a little further. this room doos get so cluttered with all my things round." she hustled jenny, swelling like an angry partridge, into the next room, and closed the door carefully. "you don't want to anger mis' means, dear," she said gently, taking the pins out of her mouth for freer speech. "she may be jest a scrap pudgicky now and again, but she's seen trouble, you know, and she doos feel it hard to be laid up, and so many looking to her at home. turn round, dear, jest a dite--there!" "i can't help it, miss peace," said jenny. "there's no reason why mis' means should speak up and say the neck wrinkled, when anybody can see it sets like a duck's foot in the mud. i don't mind what she says to me, but i ain't goin' to see you put upon, nor yet other folks ain't. i should like to know! and that wrapper she cut for tudie peaslee set so bad, you'd think she'd fitted it on the pump in the back yard, mis' peaslee said so herself." "hi-hi!" cried anne peace, softly, with an apprehensive glance toward the door; "don't speak so loud, jennie. tudie ain't so easy a form to fit as you, not near. and you say she was real put about, do ye, at the picnic being put off?" "she was so!" jenny assented, seeing that the subject was to be changed. "she'd got her basket all packed last night, she made so sure 'twas goin' to be fine to-day. chicken sandwiches, she had, and baked a whole pan of sponge-drops, jest because some one--you know who--is fond of 'em." miss peace nodded sagely, with her mouth full of pins, and would have smiled if she could; "and now they've put it off till saturday, 'cause the minister can't go before then, and every livin' thing will be spoiled." "dear, dear!" cried miss anne, her kind face clouding over; "that does seem too bad, don't it? all those nice things! and tudie makes the best sponge-cakes i ever eat, pretty nigh." jenny smiled, and stretched her hand toward a basket she had brought. "they won't really be wasted, miss peace," she said. "tudie thought you liked 'em, and i've got some of 'em here for you, this very minute. you was to eat 'em for your own supper, tudie told me to tell you so." "well, i do declare, if that isn't thoughtful!" exclaimed miss peace, looking much gratified. "tudie is a sweet girl, i must say. delia is real fond of cake, and she's been longing for some, but it doos seem as if i couldn't find time to make it, these days." "i should think not!" cried jenny (who was something of a pepper-pot, it must be confessed), "i should think not, when you have her to take care of, and her work and yours to do, and all. and, miss peace,--tudie meant the sponge-drops for _you_, every one. she told me so." "yes, dear, to be sure she did, and that's why i feel so pleased, just as much as if i had eaten them. but bread _is_ better for me, and--why! if she hasn't sent a whole dozen. one, two, three--yes, a dozen, and one over, sure as i stand here. now, that i call generous. and, i'll tell you what, dearie! don't say a word, for i wouldn't for worlds have tudie feel to think i was slighting her, or didn't appreciate her kindness; but--well, i _have_ wanted to send some little thing round to that little girl of josiah pincher's, that has the measles, and i do suppose she'd be pleased to death with some of these sponge-drops. hush! don't say a word, jenny! it would be a real privilege to me, now it would. and you know it isn't that i don't think the world of tudie, and you, too; now, don't you?" jenny protested, half-laughing, and half-crying; for tudie peaslee had declared herself ready to bet that miss peace would not eat a single one of the sponge-drops, and jenny had vowed she should. but would she or would she not, before ten minutes were over she had promised to leave the sponge-drops at the pinchers' door as she went by, for little geneva. there was no resisting miss peace, tudie was right; but suddenly a bright idea struck jenny, just as she was putting on her hat and preparing to depart. seizing one of the sponge-drops, she broke off a bit, and fairly popped it into miss peace's mouth, as the good lady was going to speak. "it's broke, now," she cried, in high glee, "it's broke in two, and you can't give it to nobody. set right down, miss peace, and let me feed you, same as i do my canary bird." she pushed the little dressmaker into a chair, and the bits followed each other in such quick succession that miss peace could make no protest beyond a smothered, "oh, don't ye, dear; now don't! that's enough!--my stars, jenny, what do you think my mouth's made of?" (crunch!) "there, dear, there! it is real good--oh, dear! not so fast. i _shall_ choke! tell tudie--no, dearie, not another morsel!" (crunch.) "well, jenny miller, i didn't think you would act so, now i didn't." the sponge-cake was eaten, and jenny, with a triumphant kiss on the little rosy, withered-apple cheek, popped her head in at the parlour door to cry, "good day, mis' means!" and flew laughing away with her victory and her cakes. "well, anne peace," was mrs. means's greeting, as her hostess came back, looking flushed and guilty, and wiping her lips on her apron, "how you can stand havin' that miller girl round here passes me. she'd be the death of me, i know that; but it's lucky other folks ain't so feelin' as i am, i always say. of all the forward, up-standin' tykes ever i see--but there! it ain't to be supposed anybody cares whether i'm sassed or whether i ain't." saturday was bright and fair, and anne peace stood at the window with a beaming smile, watching the girls troop by on their way to the picnic. she had moved mrs. means's sofa out of the corner, so that she could see, too, and there was a face at each window. miss peace was a little plump, partridge-like woman, with lovely waving brown hair, and twinkling brown eyes. she had never been a beauty, but people always liked to look at her, and the young people declared she grew prettier every year. mrs. means was tall and weedy, with a figure that used to be called willowy, and was now admitted to be lank; her once fair complexion had faded into sallowness, and her light hair had been frizzed till there was little left of it. her eyebrows had gone up, and the corners of her mouth had gone down, so that her general effect was depressing in the extreme. "there go tudie and jenny!" cried miss peace, in delight. "if they ain't a pretty pair, then i never saw one, that's all. jenny's dress doos set pretty, if i do say it; and after all, it's her in it that makes it look so well. there comes the minister, delia. now i'm glad the roses are out so early. he doos so love roses, mr. goodnow does. and the honeysuckle is really a sight. why, this is the first time you have fairly seen the garden, delia, since you came. isn't it looking pretty?" "i never did see how you could have your garden right close 't onto the street that way, anne," was the reply. "everybody 't comes by stoppin' and starin', and pokin' their noses through the fence. look at them boys, now! why, if they ain't smellin' at the roses, the boldfaced brats. knock at the winder, anne, and tell 'em to git out. shoo! be off with you!" she shook her fist at the window, but, fortunately, could not reach it. "hi-hi!" said anne peace. "you don't mean that, delia. what's roses for but to smell? i do count it a privilege, to have folks take pleasure in my garden." she threw up the window, and nodded pleasantly to the children. "take a rose, sonny, if you like 'em," she said. "take two or three, there's enough for all. whose little boys are you?" she added, as the children, in wondering delight, timidly broke off a blossom or two. "mis' green's, over to the corners! now i want to know! have you grown so 't i didn't know you? and how's your mother? jest wait half a minute, and i'll send her a little posy. there's some other things besides roses, perhaps she'd like to have a few of." she darted out, and filled the boys' hands with pinks and mignonette, pansies and geraniums. it was not a large garden, this of anne peace's, but every inch of space was made the most of. the little square and oblong beds lay close to the fence, and from tulip-time to the coming of frost they were ablaze with flowers. nothing was allowed to straggle, or to take up more than its share of room. the roses were tied firmly to their neat green stakes; the crown-imperials nodded over a spot of ground barely large enough to hold their magnificence; while the phlox and sweet-william actually had to fight for their standing-room. it was a pleasant sight, at all odd times of the day, to see miss peace bending over her flowers, snipping off dead leaves, pruning, and tending, all with loving care. many flower-lovers are shy of plucking their favourites, and i recall one rose-fancier, whose gifts, like those of the greeks, were dreaded by his neighbours, as the petals were always ready to drop before he could make up his mind to cut one of the precious blossoms; but this was not the case with anne peace. dozens of shallow baskets hung in her neat back entry, and they were filled and sent, filled and sent, all summer long, till one would have thought they might almost find their way about alone. it is a positive fact that her baskets were always brought back, "a thing imagination boggles at;" but perhaps this was because the neighbours liked them better full than empty. "makin' flowers so cheap," mrs. means would say, "seems to take the wuth of 'em away, to my mind; but i'm too feelin', i know that well enough. anne, she's kind o' callous, and she don't think of things that make me squinch, seem's though." weeks passed on, the broken leg was healed, and mrs. means departed to her own house. "i s'pose you'll miss me, anne," she said, at parting, "i shall you; and you have ben good to me, if 't _has_ ben kind o' dull here, so few comin' and goin'." (miss peace's was generally the favourite resort of all the young people of the village, and half the old ones, but the "neighbouring" had dropped off, since mrs. means had been there.) "good-by, anne, and thank you for all you've done. i feel to be glad i've been company for you, livin' alone as you do, with no husband nor nothin' belongin' to you." "good-by, delia," replied anne peace, cheerfully. "don't you fret about me. i'm used to being alone, you know; and it's been a privilege, i'm sure, to do what i could for you, so long as we've been acquainted. my love to david, and don't forget to give him the syrup i put in the bottom of your trunk for him." "'twon't do him any good!" cried mrs. means, as the wagon drove away, turning her head to shout back at her hostess. "he's bound to die, david is. he'll never see another spring, i tell him, and then i shall be left a widder, with four children and--" "oh, gerlang! gerlang, _up_!" shouted calvin parks, the stage-driver, whose stock of patience was small; the horse started, and mrs. means's wails died away in the distance. in this instance the predictions of the doleful lady seemed likely to be verified; for david means continued to "fail up." always a slight man, he was now mere skin and bone, and his cheerful smile grew pathetic to see. he was a distant cousin of anne peace's, and had something of her placid disposition; a mild, serene man, bearing his troubles in silence, finding his happiness in the children whom he loved almost passionately. he had married delia case because she was pretty, and because she wanted to marry him; had never known, and would never know, that he might have had a very different kind of wife. perhaps anne peace hardly knew herself that david had been the romance of her life, so quickly had the thought been put away, so earnestly had she hoped for his happiness; but she admitted frankly that she "set by him," and she was devoted to his children. "can nothing be done?" she asked the good doctor one day, as they came away together from david's house, leaving delia shaking her head from the doorsteps. "can nothing be done, doctor? it doos seem as if i couldn't bear to see david fade away so, and not try anything to stop it." doctor brown shook his head thoughtfully. "i doubt if there's much chance for him, anne," he said kindly. "david is a good fellow, and if i saw any way--it might be possible, if he could be got off to florida before cold weather comes on--there is a chance; but i don't suppose it could be managed. he has no means, poor fellow, save what he carries in his name." "florida?" said anne peace, thoughtfully; and then she straightway forgot the doctor's existence, and hurried off along the street, with head bent and eyes which saw nothing they rested on. reaching her home, where all the flowers smiled a bright welcome, unnoticed for once, her first action was to take out of a drawer a little blue book, full of figures, which she studied with ardour. then she took a clean sheet of paper, and wrote certain words at the top of it; then she got out her best bonnet. something very serious was on hand when miss peace put on her best bonnet. she had only had it four years, and regarded it still as a sacred object, to be taken out on sundays and reverently looked at, then put back in its box, and thought about while she tied the strings of the ten-year-old velvet structure, which was quite as good as new. two weddings had seen the best bonnet in its grandeur, and three funerals; but no bells, either solemn or joyous, summoned her to-day, as she gravely placed the precious bonnet on her head, and surveyed her image with awestruck approval in the small mirror over the mantelpiece. "it's _dreadful_ handsome!" said miss peace, softly. "it's too handsome for me, a great sight, but i want to look my best now, if ever i did." it was at judge ransom's door that she rang first; a timid, apologetic ring, as if she knew in advance how busy the judge would be, and how wrong it was of her to intrude on his precious time. but the judge himself opened the door, and was not at all busy, but delighted to have a chance to chat with his old friend, whom he had not seen for a month of sundays. he made her come in, and put her in the biggest armchair (which swallowed her up so that hardly more than the bonnet was visible), and drew a footstool before her little feet, which dangled helplessly above it; then he took his seat opposite, in another big chair, and said it was a fine day, and then waited, seeing that she had something of importance to say. miss peace's breath came short and quick, and she fingered her reticule nervously. she had not thought it would be quite so dreadful as this. "judge," she said--and paused, frightened at the sound of her voice, which seemed to echo in a ghostly manner through the big room. "well, miss peace!" said the judge, kindly. "well, anne, what is it? how can i serve you? speak up, like a good girl. make believe we are back in the little red schoolhouse again, and you are prompting me in my arithmetic lesson." anne peace laughed and coloured. "you're real kind, judge," she said. "i wanted--'twas only a little matter"--she stopped to clear her throat, feeling the painful red creep up her cheeks, and over her brow, and into her very eyes, it seemed; then she thought of david, and straightway she found courage, and lifted her eyes and spoke out bravely. "david means, you know, judge; he is failing right along, and it doos seem as if he couldn't last the winter. but doctor brown thinks that if he should go to florida, it might be so 't he could be spared. so--david hasn't means himself, of course, what with his poor health and his large family, and some thought that if we could raise a subscription right here, among the folks that has always known david, it might be so 't he could go. what do you think, judge?" the judge nodded his head, thoughtfully. "i don't see why it couldn't be done, miss peace," he said, kindly. "david is a good fellow, and has friends wherever he is known; i should think it might very well be done, if the right person takes it up." "i--i've had no great experience," faltered anne peace, looking down, "but i'm kin to david, you know, and as he has no one nearer living, i took it upon myself to carry round a paper and see what i could raise. i came to you first, judge, as you've always been a good friend to david. i've got twenty-five dollars already--" "i thought you said you came to me first," said the judge, holding out his hand for the paper. "what's this? a friend, twenty-five dollars?" "yes," said anne peace, breathlessly. "they--they didn't wish their name mentioned--" "oh, they didn't, didn't they?" muttered the judge, looking at her over his spectacles. such a helpless look met his--the look of hopeless innocence trying to deceive and knowing that it was not succeeding--that a sudden dimness came into his own eyes, and he was fain to take off his spectacles and wipe them, just as if he had been looking through them. and through the mist he seemed to see--not miss anne peace, in her best bonnet and her cashmere shawl, but another anne peace, a little, brown-eyed, slender maiden, sitting on a brown bench, looking on with rapture while david means ate her luncheon. it was the judge's turn to clear his throat. "well, anne," he said, keeping his eyes on the paper, "this--this unknown friend has set a good example, and i don't see that i can do less than follow it. you may put my name down for twenty-five, too." "oh, judge," cried miss peace, with shining eyes. "you are too good. i didn't expect, i'm sure--well, you _are_ kind!" "not at all! not at all!" said the judge, gruffly (and indeed, twenty-five dollars was not so much to him as it was to "them," who had made the first contribution). "you know i owe david means something, for licking him when he--" "oh, don't, dan'el--judge, i should say," cried anne peace, in confusion. "don't you be raking up old times. i'm sure i thank you a thousand times, and so will delia, when she--" "no, she won't," said the judge. "tell the truth, anne peace! delia will say i might have given fifty and never missed it. there! i won't distress you, my dear. good day, and all good luck to you!" and so ended miss peace's first call. with such a beginning, there was no doubt of the success of the subscription. generally, in cyrus, people waited to see what judge ransom and lawyer peters gave to any charity, before making their own contribution. "jedge ransom has put down five dollars, has he? well he's wuth so much, and i'm wuth so much. guess fifty cents will be about the right figger for me:" this is the course of reasoning in cyrus. but with an unknown friend starting off with twenty-five dollars and judge ransom following suit, it became apparent to every one that david means must go to florida, whatever happened. the dollar and five-dollar subscriptions poured in rapidly, till, one happy day, anne peace stood in her little room and counted the full amount out on the table, and then sat down (it was not her habit to kneel, and she would have thought it too familiar, if not actually popish) and thanked god as she had never found it necessary to thank him for any of the good things of her own life. so david means went to florida, and his wife and two children went with him. this had been no part of the original plan, but at the bare idea of his going without her, mrs. means had raised a shrill cry of protest. "what? david go down there, and she and the children stay perishing at home? she guessed not. if florida was good for david, it was good for her, too, and she laid up ever sence spring, as she might say, and with no more outing than a woodchuck in january. besides, who was to take care of david, she'd like to know? mis' porter's folks, who had a place there? she'd like to know if she was to be beholden to jane porter's folks for taking care of her lawful husband, and like enough laying him out, for she wasn't one to blind herself, nor yet to set herself against the will of providence." doctor brown stormed and fumed, but anne peace begged him to be quiet, and "presumed likely" she could raise enough to cover the expenses for delia and the two older children. 'twas right and proper, of course, that his wife should go with him, and david wouldn't have any pleasure in the trip if he hadn't little janey and willy along. he did set so by those children, it was a privilege to see them together; he was always one to make of children, david was. she did raise the extra money, this sweet saint, but she ate no meat for a month, finding it better for her health. joey and georgie means, however, never wanted for their bit of steak at noon, and grew fat and rosy under miss peace's kindly roof. it was a pathetic sight when the sick man took leave of the little group of friends and neighbours that gathered on the platform at the station to bid him farewell. he had lost courage, poor david; perhaps he had not very much to start with, and things had gone hard with him for a long time. he knew he should never see these faces again, this homely, friendly place. he gazed about with wistful eyes, noting every spot in the bare little station. he had known it all by heart, ever since he was a child, for his father had been station-master. he could have built the whole thing over, with his eyes shut, he thought, and now he should never see it again. yet he was glad to go, in a way, glad to think, at least, that he should die warm, as his wife expressed it, and that his tired eyes were going to look on green and blossoming things, instead of the cold, white beauty which meant winter to him. he had scarcely ever left cyrus for more than a day or two; he had a vague idea that it was not creditable to go to the other world, and be able to give so little account of this one. now, at least, he should be able to look his seafaring grandfather and his roving uncle in the face, if so be he should happen to meet them "over yender." he stood on the platform with his youngest child clasped close in his arms. this was the hardest part of all, to leave the children. his wife and the two older children had already taken their places in the car, and the good-natured conductor stood with his watch in his hand, willing to give david every second he conscientiously could. he came from east cyrus himself, and was a family man. anne peace stood close by, holding fast the hand of little joey. strange sounds were in her ears, which she did not recognize as the beating of her own heart; she kept looking over her shoulder, to see what was coming. her eyes never left david's face, but they were hopeful, even cheerful eyes. she thought he would come back much better, perhaps quite well. doctor had said there was a chance, and she did hear great things of florida. and now the conductor put up his watch and hardened his heart. "come, david, better step inside now. all aboard!" "good-by, david!" cried doctor brown, waving a friendly hand. "good-by, david!" cried anne peace, lifting little joey in her arms, though he was far too heavy for her. "look at father, joey dear, throw a kiss to father; good-by, good-by, david!" the train moved out of the station, but david means, his eyes fixed on the faces of his children, had forgotten to look at anne peace. winter came, and a bitter winter it was. no one in cyrus could remember such steady cold, since the great winter of sixty years ago, when the doctor's grandfather was frozen to death, driving across the plains to visit a poor woman. the horse went straight to the place, his head being turned that way and his understanding being good; but when the farmer came out with his lantern, there sat the old doctor stiff and dead in his sleigh. those were the days when people, even doctors, had not learned how to wrap up, and would drive about all winter with high, stiff hats and one buffalo robe, not tucked in, as we have them nowadays, but dropping down at their feet. there was small chance of our doctor brown's freezing to death, in his well-lined sleigh, with his fur cap pulled down over his nose and his fur coat buttoned up to his chin and the great robes tucked round him in a scientific manner. still, for all that, it was a bitter winter, and a good many people in cyrus and elsewhere, who had no fur coats, went cold by day and lay cold by night, as one good lady pathetically expressed it. there was little snow, and what there was fell in wonderful crystals, fairy studies in geometry, which delighted the eyes of joey and georgie means, as they trotted to school, with miss peace's "nuby" over one little head and her shawl over the other. every morning the sun rose in a clear sky, shining like steel; every evening the same sky glowed with wonderful tints of amethyst and tender rose, fading gradually, till all was blue once more, and the stars had it all their own way, throbbing with fierce, cold light. it was a great winter for joey and georgie! they never thought of its being too cold, for every morning their toes were toasted over the fire before schooltime, as if they had been muffins, and they were sent off nice and hot, with a baked potato in each pocket, in case their hands should be cold through the two pairs of thick mittens which aunt peace had provided. then, when they came home, dinner was waiting, such a dinner as they were not in the habit of having; a little mutton pie, or a smoking irish stew, with all the dumplings and gravy they wanted (and they wanted a great deal), and then pancakes, tossed before their very eyes, with a spoonful of jam in the middle of each, or blanc-mange made in the shape of a cow, which tasted quite different from any other blanc-mange that ever was. also, they had the freedom of the corn-popper, and might roast apples every evening till bedtime. doctor brown shook his head occasionally, and told anne peace she would unfit those children for anything else in life than eating good things; but it was very likely that was jealousy, he added, for certainly his medicines had never given the children these rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. and when bedtime came, and the two little brown heads were nestled down in the pillows of the big four-poster in the warm room, anne peace would humbly give thanks that they had been well and happy through another day, and then creep off to the cold, little room which she had chosen this winter, "because it was more handy." often, when awakened in the middle of the night by the sharp, cracking frost noises, which tell of intensest cold, she would creep in to feel of the children, and make sure that they were as warm as two little dormice, which they always were. i do not know how many times she took a blanket or comforter off her own bed to add to their store; but i do know that she would not let jenny miller go into her room to see. she almost rejoiced in the excessive cold, saying to herself with exultation, "fifteen below! well, there! and i s'pose it's like summer in florida, this minute of time!" and then she fancied david sitting under an orange-tree, fanning himself, and smiled, and went meekly to work to break the ice in her water-butt. every week letters came from david means to his children, telling them of the beauty all around him and wishing they were there. he said little of his health, but always assured them that janey and willy were real smart, and sent his love to anne peace and his remembrance to all friends at home. the letters were short, and each time they grew a little shorter, till by and by it was only a postal card, written in a faint and trembling hand, but saying that the weather was fine, and father was so glad to get their little letter, and he would write more next time, but was very busy just now. when she read one of these, anne peace would go away into her little cold room for a while, and then would come back smiling and say that now they must write a real _good_ letter to father, and tell him how well they were doing at school. at last came a week when there was no postal card; another week, and there came a letter edged with black and written in mrs. means's hand. the children were at school when it came, and jenny miller, coming in by chance to bring a pot of head-cheese of her mother's making, found miss peace crouching in the corner of the sofa, weeping quietly, with the letter lying on her lap. "why, miss peace," cried jenny, frightened at the sight of tears in those steadfast eyes, "what is the matter? do tell me, dear! why, you're real cold in here. i do believe the fire has gone out. you've had bad news, miss peace, have you? do tell me, that's a dear soul, and don't cry." "yes," said anne peace. "the fire is out, jenny, and david is dead." she held out the letter, saying something about "privilege--think--rest;" but jenny miller was already on her knees, putting kindlings into the stove at a reckless rate. then, when the fire was crackling merrily, she ran to fetch a shawl and wrapped it round the poor trembling shoulders, and chafed the cold hands in her own warm, young fingers. but soon miss peace grew uneasy; she was not used to being "done for," having only the habit of doing for others. she pointed eagerly to the letter. "read it, jenny," she said, anxiously. "i--i am all right, dear. it's come rather sudden, that's all, and those poor little children--but read the letter." the words died away, and jenny, sitting down beside her, took the paper and read. it began "friend anne," and went on to say that the writer's poor husband died yesterday, and she was left, as she always knew she should be, a widow with four children. it did seem to her as if he might have been let die to home, instead of being carted all the way down there and then have to send the remains back. she had to promise him she would send them back, though it did seem a pity with the beautiful "semetary" they had there, and full of northern folks as it would hold and the undertaker a perfect gentleman, if she ever saw one. but the widow hoped she knew her duty, and she would not wish to be thought wanting in anything. now she supposed they would want to know how david passed away, though she had no "strenth" to write, not having had her clothes off for days or, you might say, weeks, nor slep' one consektive hour the last ten nights. well, he had seemed to gain a little when they first came, but it wasn't no real gain, for he lost it all again and more too. the pounds just fell off from that man, it seemed as if you could see them go. the last month he fairly pined away, and she thought right to let the folks at home know that he was called to depart, but he wouldn't hear to it. "he said, delia, he said, if you want me to die easy, he said, don't let on to no one at home but what i'm doing all right." so she set by and held her peace, though it went against her conscience. last monday he couldn't leave his bed, and she said, "david, she said, you never will leave it till you're carried," and he said, p'raps 'twas so, but yet he wouldn't allow it, for fear of scaring the children. so that night he sat up in bed and his arms went out and he said "home!" just that word, two or three times over, and dropped back and was gone. there she was, a widow with four small children, and what she should do she didn't know. away there in a strange land as you might say, if it _was_ all one country, it did seem as if them as sent them might have thought of that and let them stay at home among their own folks. not but what there was elegant folks there. everybody hed been as kind as could be; one lady who was in "morning" herself had lent her a bonnet to wear to the funeral (for she wasn't one to send the remains off without anything being said over them); it was a real handsome bonnet, and she had taken a pattern of it, to have one made for herself. the lady was from new york way, and real stylish. mrs. means intended to stay on a spell, as the money was not all gone, and her strength needed setting up, after all she had been through. mr. tombs, the undertaker, said he never saw any one bear afflicktion so; she told him she was used to it. he was a perfect gentleman, and a widower himself, so he could feel for her. miss peace might be thankful that she was never called on to bear afflicktion, with no one but herself to look out for; not but what 'twas lonesome for her, and mrs. means supposed she'd be glad enough to keep georgie and joey on a spell longer for company. tell them they are poor orphans now, with no father to earn their bread. the writer wished her husband's remains to be buried in his father's lot, as she had no money to buy one. miss peace might see if any one felt to put up a moniment for david; he hadn't an enemy in the world, and he never begredged a dollar when he had it to give, for anything there was going. if he had thought a little more about her, and less about everybody's cat and dog, she might have something now to put bread in her children's mouths, let alone her own. not that she had any appetite, a flea wouldn't fatten on what she ate. lawyer peters was his mother's third cousin if she was living. he spent more on those girls of his than would clothe the writer and her children for a year. the remains went by the same boat with this letter, so miss peace would know when to expect them. mrs. means looked to her to see that david had a decent funeral; a handsome one she couldn't expect, folks in cyrus were close enough about all that didn't go on their own backs, though she shouldn't wish it said. so now there was no more, from miss peace's unfortunate friend, "the widow means." after reading this precious epistle, jenny miller found herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, with nothing to say. she could only sit and press her friend's hand, and thrill, as a girl will, at the touch of a sorrow which she only now began dimly to guess. it was miss peace who broke the silence, speaking in her usual quiet tone. "thank you, jenny, dear! i'm sure it was a privilege, having you come in just now. david means was kin to me, you know, and i always set by him a great deal; and then the poor little children!" she faltered again for an instant, but steadied her voice and went on: "you'd better go home now, dear, for the fire is going beautiful, and i don't need anything. i--i shall have to see to things for the funeral, you know. and don't forget to thank your mother for the cheese. it looks real good, and georgie doos like it the best of anything for breakfast. i guess i'll get on my bonnet, and go to see abel mound, the sexton." but here jenny found her voice, and protested. miss peace should not have anything at all to do with all that. 'twasn't fitting she should, as the nearest kin poor mr. means had in cyrus. her father would see to it all, jenny knew he would, and doctor brown would help him. she would go herself and speak to the doctor this minute. miss peace would have to be here to tell the children when they came home from school, poor little things! and that was all she should do about it. anne peace hesitated; and then jenny had an inspiration, or, as she put it in telling tudie peaslee afterwards, "a voice spoke to her." "miss peace," she said timidly, "i--i don't suppose you would feel to pick those flowers you were going to send over to tupham for the sunday-school festival? i know they kind o' lot on the flowers you send, 'cause they're always so fresh, and you do them up so pretty. but if you don't feel to do it, i can send them word, or ask some one else"-- "the idea!" cried anne peace, brightening up. "i forgot the flowers, jenny, i did so! i should be pleased to pick them, and i'll do it this minute. there--there isn't anything i should like so well. and i do thank you, dear, and if you really think your father wouldn't mind seeing--i am sure it is a privilege to have such neighbours, i always say. there couldn't anybody be more blessed in neighbours than i have always been." in ten minutes miss peace was at work in her garden, cutting, trimming, tying up posies, and finding balm for her inward wound in the touch of the rose-leaves, and in the smell of mignonette, david's favourite flower. no one in cyrus had such mignonette as miss peace, and people thought she had some special receipt for making it grow and blossom luxuriantly; but she always said no, it was only because she set by it. folks could most always grow the things they set most store by, she thought. so the sunday-school festival at tupham corner was a perfect blaze of flowers, and the minister in his speech made allusion to generous friends in other parishes, who sent of their wealth to swell our rejoicings, and of their garden produce to gladden our eyes; but while the eyes of tupham were being gladdened, anne peace was brushing joey's and georgie's hair, and tying black ribbons under their little chins, smiling at them through her tears, and bidding them be brave for dear father's sake, who was gone to the best home now, and would never be sick any more, or tired, or--or sad. it was a quiet funeral: almost a cheerful one, the neighbours said, as they saw the little room filled with bright flowers (they all seemed to smell of mignonette, there was so much of it hidden among the roses), and the serene face of the chief mourner, who stood at the head of the coffin, with a child in either hand. it was an unusual thing, people felt. generally, at cyrus funerals, the mourners stayed up-stairs, leaving the neighbours to gather round the coffin in the flower-scented room below; but it did not seem strange in anne peace, somehow, and, after the first glance, no one could fancy any one else standing there. the old minister, who had christened both david and anne on the same day, said a few gentle, cheering words, and the choir sang "lead, kindly light;" then the procession went its quiet way to the churchyard, and all was over. jenny miller and the doctor followed miss peace home from the churchyard, but made no attempt to speak to her. she seemed unconscious of any one save the children, to whom she was talking in low, cheerful tones. the doctor caught the words "rest," "home," "happiness;" and as she passed into the house he heard her say distinctly: "blessed privilege! my children now, my own! my own!" "so they are!" said doctor brown, taking off his glasses to clear them. "so they are, and so they will remain. i don't imagine delia will ever come back, do you, jenny?" "no," said jenny, "i don't. she'll marry the undertaker before the year is out." and she did. the end. * * * * * transcriber's notes original spelling and punctuation have been preserved except for the joining of common contractions. page : added closing quotes: (you seemed all right when i went out.") page : phoebe had oe ligature in original book. (you've heard me tell how my aunt phoebe 'lizabeth) page : removed extra quotation mark before i: ("you are too good. i didn't expect, i'm sure--well, you are kind!") [illustration: bulldog finds a friend.] facing death or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty, author of "with clive in india;" "in freedom's cause;" "by sheer pluck;" "under drake's flag;" &c. _with eight full-page illustrations by gordon browne._ london: blackie & son, limited; new york: charles scribner's sons, and broadway contents. chap. page i. evil tidings, ii. bull-dog, iii. the resolution, iv. the vaughan pit, v. setting to work, vi. "the old shaft," vii. friendship, viii. progress, ix. the great strike, x. hard times, xi. the attack on the engine-house, xii. after the strike, xiii. a heavy loss, xiv. the night-school, xv. the sewing-class, xvi. a new life, xvii. the dog fight, xviii. stokebridge feast, xix. the great riot, xx. the arm of the law, xxi. a knotty question, xxii. the solution, xxiii. the explosion at the vaughan, xxiv. in deadly peril, xxv. the imprisoned miners, xxvi. a critical moment, xxvii. rescued, xxviii. changes, xxix. the new manager, xxx. risen, xxxi. conclusion, illustrations. page bulldog finds a friend, _frontispiece_. in the old shaft--can he be saved? nelly's first lesson, a life or death struggle, jack is victorious, the new schoolmistress, after the first explosion--the search party, saved! facing death: or, how stokebridge was civilized. chapter i. evil tidings. a row of brick-built houses with slate roofs, at the edge of a large mining village in staffordshire. the houses are dingy and colourless, and without relief of any kind. so are those in the next row, so in the street beyond, and throughout the whole village. there is a dreary monotony about the place; and if some giant could come and pick up all the rows of houses, and change their places one with another, it is a question whether the men, now away at work, would notice any difference whatever until they entered the houses standing in the place of those which they had left in the morning. there is a church, and a vicarage half hidden away in the trees in its pretty old-fashioned garden; there are two or three small red-bricked dissenting chapels, and the doctor's house, with a bright brass knocker and plate on the door. there are no other buildings above the common average of mining villages; and it needs not the high chimneys, and engine-houses with winding gear, dotting the surrounding country, to notify the fact that stokebridge is a mining village. it is a little past noon, and many of the women come to their doors and look curiously after a miner, who, in his working clothes, and black with coal-dust, walks rapidly towards his house, with his head bent down, and his thick felt hat slouched over his eyes. "it's bill haden; he works at the 'vaughan.'" "what brings he up at this hour?" "summat wrong, i'll be bound." bill haden stopped at the door of his house in the row first spoken of, lifted the latch, and went in. he walked along a narrow passage into the back-room. his wife, who was standing at the washing-tub, turned round with a surprised exclamation, and a bull-dog with half-a-dozen round tumbling puppies scrambled out of a basket by the fire, and rushed to greet him. "what is it, bill? what's brought thee home before time?" for a moment bill haden did not answer, but stooped, and, as it were mechanically, lifted the dog and stroked its head. "there's blood on thy hands, bill. what be wrong with 'ee?" "it bain't none of mine, lass," the man said in an unsteady voice. "it be jack's. he be gone." "not jack simpson?" "ay, jack simpson; the mate i ha' worked with ever since we were butties together. a fall just came as we worked side by side in the stall, and it broke his neck, and he's dead." the woman dropped into a chair, threw her apron over her head, and cried aloud, partly at the loss of her husband's mate, partly at the thought of the narrow escape he had himself had. "now, lass," her husband said, "there be no time to lose. it be for thee to go and break it to his wife. i ha' come straight on, a purpose. i thawt to do it, but i feel like a gal myself, and it had best be told her by another woman." jane haden took her apron from her face. "oh, bill, how can i do it, and she ill, and with a two-month baby? i misdoubt me it will kill her." "thou'st got to do it," bill said doggedly, "and thou'd best be quick about it; it won't be many minutes afore they bring him in." when bill spoke in that way his wife knew, as he said, that she'd got to do it, and without a word she rose and went out, while her husband stood staring into the fire, and still patting the bull-dog in his arms. a tear falling on his hand startled him. he dropped the dog and gave it a kick, passed his sleeve across his eyes, and said angrily: "blest if i bain't a crying like a gal. who'd a thawt it? well, well, poor old jack! he was a good mate too"--and bill haden proceeded to light his pipe. slowly and reluctantly mrs. haden passed along the row. the sad errand on which she was going was one that has often to be discharged in a large colliery village. the women who had seen bill go in were still at their doors, and had been joined by others. the news that he had come in at this unusual hour had passed about quickly, and there was a general feeling of uneasiness among the women, all of whom had husbands or relatives below ground. when, therefore, jane haden came out with signs of tears on her cheeks, her neighbours on either side at once assailed her with questions. "jack simpson's killed by a fall," she said, "and i ha' got to break it to his wife." rapidly the news spread along the row, from door to door, and from group to group. the first feeling was everywhere one of relief that it was not their turn this time; then there was a chorus of pity for the widow. "it will go hard with her," was the general verdict. then the little groups broke up, and went back to their work of getting ready for the return of their husbands from the pit at two o'clock. one or two only, of those most intimate with the simpsons, followed jane haden slowly down the street to the door of their house, and took up a position a short distance off, talking quietly together, in case they might be wanted, and with the intention of going in after the news was broken, to help comfort the widow, and to make what preparations were needed for the last incoming of the late master of the house. it was but a minute or two that they had to pause, for the door opened again, and jane haden beckoned them to come in. it had, as the gossips had predicted, gone hard with the young widow. she was sitting before the fire when jane entered, working, and rocking the cradle beside with her foot. at the sight of her visitor's pale face, and tear-stained cheeks, and quivering lips, she had dropped her work and stood up, with a terrible presentiment of evil--with that dread which is never altogether absent from the mind of a collier's wife. she did not speak, but stood with wide-open eyes staring at her visitor. "mary, my poor girl," mrs. haden began. that was enough, the whole truth burst upon her. "he is killed?" she gasped. mrs. haden gave no answer in words, but her face was sufficient as she made a step forward towards the slight figure which swayed unsteadily before her. mary simpson made no sound save a gasping sob, her hand went to her heart, and then she fell in a heap on the ground, before mrs. haden, prepared as she was, had time to clasp her. "thank god," jane haden said, as she went to the front door and beckoned the others in, "she has fainted." "ay, i thawt as much," one of the women said, "and a good job too. it's always best so till he is brought home, and things are straightened up." between them mary simpson was tenderly lifted, and carried upstairs and laid on the bed of a lodger's room there. the cradle was brought up and put beside it, and then jane haden took her seat by the bed, one woman went for the doctor, while the others prepared the room below. in a short time all that remained of jack simpson was borne home on a stretcher, on the shoulders of six of his fellow-workmen, and laid in the darkened room. the doctor came and went for the next two days, and then his visits ceased. it had gone hard with mary simpson. she had passed from one long fainting fit into another, until at last she lay as quiet as did jack below; and the doctor, murmuring "a weak heart, poor little woman; the shock was too much for her," took his departure for the last time from the house. then jane haden, who had not left her friend's side ever since she was carried upstairs, wrapped the baby in a shawl and went home, a neighbour carrying the cradle. when bill haden returned from work he found the room done up, the table laid for tea, and the kettle on the fire. his wife was sitting by it with the baby on her lap. "well, lass," he said, as he entered the room, "so the poor gal's gone. i heard it as i came along. thou'st's had a hard two days on't. hulloa! what's that?" "it's the baby, bill," his wife said. "what hast brought un here for?" he asked roughly. jane haden did not answer directly, but standing in front of her husband, removed the handkerchief which covered the baby's face as he lay on her arm. "look at him, bill; he's something like jack, don't thou see it?" "not a bit of it," he said gruffly. "kids don't take after their father, as pups do." "i can see the likeness quite plain, bill. now," she went on, laying her hand on his shoulder, "i want to keep him. we ain't got none of our own, bill, and i can't abear the thought of his going to the house." bill haden stood irresolute. "i shouldn't like to think of jack's kid in the house; still he'll be a heap of trouble--worse nor a dozen pups, and no chance of winning a prize with him nohow, or of selling him, or swopping him if his points don't turn out right. still, lass, the trouble will be thine, and by the time he's ten he'll begin to earn his grub in the pit; so if thy mind be set on't, there's 'n end o' the matter. now let's have tea; i ain't had a meal fit for a dog for the last two days, and juno ain't got her milk regular." so little jack simpson became a member of the haden family, and his father and mother were laid to rest in the burying-ground on the hillside above the village. chapter ii. bull-dog. a curious group as they sit staring into the fire. juno and juno's daughter bess, brindles both, with their underhanging lower jaws, and their black noses and wrinkled faces, and jack simpson, now six years old, sitting between them, as grave and as immovable as his supporters. one dog is on either side of him and his arms are thrown round their broad backs. mrs. haden is laying the table for her husband's return; she glances occasionally at the quiet group in front of the fire, and mutters to herself: "i never did see such a child in all my born days." presently a sudden and simultaneous pricking of the closely-cropped ears of juno and bess proclaim that among the many footsteps outside they have detected the tread of their master. jack accepts the intimation and struggles up to his feet just as bill haden lifts the latch and enters. "it's a fine day, bill," his wife said. "be it?" the collier replied in return. "i took no note o't. however it doant rain, and that's all i cares for. and how's the dogs? did you give juno that physic ball i got for her?" "it's no manner of use, bill, leaving they messes wi' me. i ha' tould you so scores o' times. she woant take it from me. she sets her jaws that fast that horses could na pull 'em apart, and all the while i'm trying she keeps oop a growl like t' organ at the church. she's a' right wi'out the physic, and well nigh pinned mrs. brice when she came in to-day to borrow a flatiron. she was that frighted she skirled out and well nigh fainted off. i had to send jack round to the "chequers" for two o' gin before she came round." "mrs. brice is a fool and you're another," bill said. "now, ooman, just take off my boots for oim main tired. what be you staring at, jack? were you nearly pinning mother brice too?" "i doant pin folk, i doant," jack said sturdily. "i kicks 'em, i do, but i caught hold o' juno's tail, and held on. and look 'ee here, dad, i've been a thinking, doant 'ee lift i oop by my ears no more, not yet. they are boath main sore. i doant believe neither juno nor bess would stand bein lifted oop by their ears, not if they were sore. i be game enough, i be, but till my ears be well you must try some other part. i expect the cheek would hurt just as bad, so you can try that." "i do wish, bill, you would not try these tricks on the boy. he's game enough, and if you'd ha' seen him fighting to-day with mrs. jackson's bill, nigh twice as big as himself, you'd ha' said so too; but it ain't christian-like to try children the same way as pups, and really his ears are sore, awful sore. i chanced t' notice 'em when i washed his face afore he went to school, and they be main bad, i tell 'ee." "coom here," the miner said to jack. "aye, they be sore surely; why didn't 'ee speak afore, jack? i doant want to hurt 'ee, lad." "i wa'n't going to speak," jack said. "mother found it out, and said she'd tell 'ee o't; but the last two nights i were well nigh yelping when 'ee took me up." "you're a good plucked 'un, jack," bill haden said, "and i owt not t' ha done it, but i didn't think it hurt 'ee, leastways not more nor a boy owt to be hurt, to try if 'ee be game!" "and what's you and t' dogs been doing to-day, jack?" the miner asked, as he began at his dinner. "we went for a walk, dad, after school, out in the lanes; we saw a big black cat, and t' dogs chased her into a tree, then we got 't a pond, and d'ye know, dad, bess went in and swam about, she did!" "she did?" the miner said sharply. "coom here, bess;" and leaving his meal, he began anxiously to examine the bull-dog's eyes and listened attentively to her breathing. "that were a rum start for a bull too, jack. she doant seem to ha' taken no harm, but maybe it ain't showed itself. mother, you give her some hot grub t' night. doant you let her go in t' water again, jack. what on airth made her tak it into her head to go into t' water noo, i wonder?" "i can't help it if she wants to," jack said; "she doant mind i, not when she doant want to mind. i welted her t'other day when she wanted to go a't parson's coo, but she got hold o' t' stick and pulled it out o' my hand." "and quite raight too," bill haden said; "don't 'ee try to welt they dogs, or i'll welt thee!" "i doant care," the child said sturdily; "if i goes out in charge o' they dogs, theys got to mind me, and how can i make 'em mind me if i doant welt 'em? what would 'ee say to i if bess got had up afore the court for pinning t' parson's coo?" as no ready reply occurred to bill haden to this question he returned to his meal. juno and bess watched him gravely till he had finished, and then, having each received a lump of meat put carefully aside for them, returned to the fire. jack, curling himself up beside them, lay with his head on juno's body and slept till mrs. haden, having cleared the table and washed up the things, sent him out to play, her husband having at the conclusion of his meal lighted his pipe and strolled over to the "chequers." bill haden had, according to his lights, been a good father to the child of his old mate simpson. he treated him just as if he had been his own. he spent twopence a day less in beer than before, and gave his wife fourteen pence in addition to her weekly money for household expenses, for milk for the kid, just as he allowed twopence a day each for bones for juno and bess. he also when requested by his wife handed over what sum was required for clothing and shoes, not without grumbling, however, and comparisons as to the wants of dorgs and boys, eminently unfavourable to the latter. the weekly twopence for schooling mrs. haden had, during the year that jack had been at school, paid out of her housekeeping money, knowing that the expenses of the dogs afforded no precedent whatever for such a charge. bill haden was, however, liberal to the boy in many ways, and when in a good temper would often bestow such halfpence as he might have in his pocket upon him, and now and then taking him with him into town, returned with such clothes and shoes that "mother" held up her hands at the extravagance. among his young companions jack was liked but feared. when he had money he would purchase bull's-eyes, and collecting all his acquaintances, distribute them among them; but he was somewhat sedate and old-fashioned in his ways, from his close friendships with such thoughtful and meditative animals as juno and bess, and when his wrath was excited he was terrible. never uttering a cry, however much hurt, he would fight with an obstinacy and determination which generally ended by giving him the victory, for if he once got hold of an antagonist's hair--pinning coming to him naturally--no amount of blows or ill-treatment could force him to leave go until his agonized opponent confessed himself vanquished. it was not often, however, that jack came in contact with the children of his own age. his duties as guardian of the "dorgs" absorbed the greater part of his time, and as one or both of these animals generally accompanied him when he went beyond the door, few cared about having anything to say to him when so attended; for the guardianship was by no means entirely on his side, and however excellent their qualities and pure their breed, neither juno nor bess were animals with whom strangers would have ventured upon familiarity. jack's reports to his "dad" of bess's inclination to attack t' parson's coo was not without effect, although bill haden had made no remark at the time. that night, however, he observed to his wife: "i've been a thinking it over, jane, and i be come to the opinion that it's better t' boy should not go out any more wi' t' dorgs. let 'em bide at home, i'll take 'em oot when they need it. if bess takes it into her head to pin a coo there might be trouble, an i doan't want trouble. her last litter o' pups brought me a ten pun note, and if they had her oop at 'a court and swore her life away as a savage brute, which she ain't no way, it would pretty nigh break my heart." the execution of this, as of many other good intentions, however, was postponed until an event happened which led to jack's being definitely relieved of the care of his canine friends. two years had passed, when one morning jack was calmly strolling along the road accompanied by juno and bess. a gig came rapidly along containing two young bagmen, as commercial travellers were still called in stokebridge. the driver, seeing a child with two dogs, conceived that this was a favourable opportunity for a display of that sense of playful humour whose point lies in the infliction of pain on others, without any danger of personal consequences to the inflictor. with a sharp sweep he brought down his whip across jack's back, managing to include bess in the stroke. jack set up a shout of mingled pain and indignation, and stooping for a stone, hurled it after the man who had struck him. bess's response to the assault upon her was silent, but as prompt and far more effectual. with two springs she was beside the horse, and leaping up caught it by the nostrils and dragged it to the ground. juno at once joined in the fray, and made desperate attempts to climb into the gig and seize its inmates, who had nearly been thrown out as the horse fell. recovering himself, the driver, pale with terror, clubbed his whip, and struck at juno with the butt-end. "don't 'ee hit her," jack cried as he arrived on the spot; "if thou dost she'll tear 'ee limb from limb." "call the brute off, you little rascal," cried the other, "it's killing the horse." "thou'd best keep a civil tongue in thy head," the child said coolly, "or it will be bad for 'ee. what did 'ee hit i and bess for? it would serve 'ee roight if she had pinned 'ee instead o' t' horse." "call them off," the fellow shouted as juno's teeth met in close proximity to his leg. "it be all very well to say call 'em orf," jack said, "but they doan't moind i much. have 'ee got a strap?" the man hastily threw down a strap, and this jack passed through juno's collar, she being too absorbed in her efforts to climb into the gig to heed what the child was doing; then he buckled it to the wheel. "noo," he said, "ye can light down t' other side. she caan't reach 'ee there." the young men leapt down, and ran to the head of the horse; the poor brute was making frantic efforts to rise, but the bull-dog held him down with her whole might. jack shouted and pulled, but in vain; bess paid no attention to his voice. "can you bite his tail?" one of the frightened men said; "i've heard that is good." "boite her tail!" jack said in contempt; "doan't yer see she's a full-bred un; ye moight boite her tail off, and she would care nowt about 't. i've got summat here that may do." he drew out a twisted paper from his pocket. "this is snuff," he said; "if owt will make her loose, this will. now one o' yer take holt by her collar on each side, and hoult tight, yer know, or she'll pin ye when she leaves go o' the horse. then when she sneezes you pull her orf, and hoult fast." the fear of the men that the horse would be killed overpowered their dread of the dog, and each took a firm grip upon its collar. then jack placed a large pinch of snuff to its nostrils. a minute later it took effect, the iron jaws unclosed with a snap, and in an instant bess was snatched away from the horse, which, delivered from its terrible foe, sank back groaning on the road. bess made the most furious attempts to free herself from her captors, but in vain, and juno strained desperately at the strap to come to the assistance of her offspring. "ha' ye got another strap?" jack asked. "there's a chain in the box under the seat." jack with some difficulty and an amount of deliberation for which the men could gladly have slain him, climbed up into the gig, and presently came back with the chain. "noo tak' her round to t' other side o' gig," he said; "we'll fasten her just as juno is." when bess was securely chained to the wheel the men ran to raise the horse, who lay with its head in a pool of blood. "there's a pond in yon field," jack said, "if 'ee wants water." after bess was secured jack had slipped round to juno, and kept his hand upon the buckle in readiness to loose her should any attempt be made upon his personal safety. the men, however, were for the moment too scared to think of him. it was some time before the horse was got on to its legs, with a wet cloth wrapped round its bleeding wound. fortunately bess's grip had included the bit-strap as well as the nostrils, and this had somewhat lessened the serious nature of the hurt. jack had by this time pacified the dogs, and when the men looked round, after getting the horse on to its legs, they were alarmed to see him standing by quietly holding the dogs by a strap passing through their collar. "doan't 'ee try to get into that ere cart," he said; "you've got to go wi' me back to stokebridge to t' lock-oop for hitting i and bess. now do you walk quietly back and lead t' horse, and oi'll walk beside 'ee, and if thou mov'st, or tries to get away, oi'll slip t' dogs, you see if i doan't." "you little villain," began one of the men furiously, but a deep growl from bess in reply to the angry tone at once silenced him; and burning with rage they turned the horse's head back towards the village and walked on, accompanied by jack and his dogs on guard. the arrival of this procession created much excitement, and a crowd of women and children soon gathered. jack, however, serenely indifferent to questions and shouts, proceeded coolly on his way until he arrived at the residence of the local constable, who, hearing the din, appeared at his door. "maister johnson," the child says, "i give them chaps in charge for saulting i and bess." "and we give this little ruffian in charge," shouted the men, secure that, in face of the constable and crowd, jack could not loose his terrible bull-dogs, "for setting his dogs at us, to the risk of our lives and the injury of our horse, which is so much hurt that we believe it will have to be killed." just at this moment bill haden--who had returned from work at the moment that a boy running in reported that there was a row, that a horse was covered wi' blood, and two chaps all bluidy over t' hands and clothes, were agoing along wi' jack and t' dorgs oop street to lock-oop--arrived upon the spot. "what's oop, lad?" he asked as he came up. "they chaps hit i and bess, dad, and bess pinned t' horse, and juno would ha' pinned 'em boath hadn't i strapped she oop, and then we got bess orf, and i brought 'em back to t' lock-oop." "how dar 'ee hit my lad?" bill haden said angrily, stepping forward threateningly. "look oot, dad, or t' dogs will be at 'em again," jack shouted. bill seized the strap from the child's hand, and with a stern word silenced the dogs. "well," the constable said, "i can't do nowt but bring both parties afore mr. brook i' the morning. i suppose i needn't lock 'ee all oop. bill, will you bind yourself to produce jack simpson t'morrow?" "ay," said bill, "oi'll produce him, and he'll produce hisself, i'm thinking; seems to me as jack be able to take 's own part." this sally was received with laughter and applause, for local feeling was very strong in stokebridge, and a storm of jeers and rough chaff were poured upon the bagmen for having been brought in prisoners by a child. "thee'd best get away to th' inn," the constable said, "else they'll be a stoaning thee next. there be only two on us here, and if they takes to 't we sha'n't be able to do much." so the men, leading their horse, went off to the inn, groaned and hooted at by the crowd on the way. on their arrival a messenger was at once sent off for a veterinary surgeon who resided some four miles away. on the following morning the parties to the quarrel, the two bagmen and the injured horse on the one hand, and jack simpson with the two bull-dogs under charge of bill haden on the other, appeared before mr. brook, owner of the vaughan pit and a county magistrate. jack first gave his account of the transaction, clearly and with much decision. "i war a walking along quiet wi' t' dogs," he said, "when i hears a cart a coming from stokebridge. i looks round and seed they two chaps, but didn't mind no further about it till as they came oop that sandy-haired chap as was a driving lets me and bess ha' one which made me joomp, i can tell 'ee. bess she pinned the horse, and juno she tried to get into t' cart at 'em. they were joost frighted, they hollers, and yawps, and looks as white as may be. i fastens juno oop wi' a strap and they houlds bess while i poot some snoof t' her nose." "put what?" mr. brook asked. "joost a pinch of snoof, sir. i heard feyther say as snoof would make dogs loose, and so i bought a haporth and carried it in my pocket, for th' dogs don't moind oi when they are put oot. and then they gets horse oop and i makes 'em come back to t' lock-oop, but maister johnson," he said, looking reproachfully at the constable, "wouldn't lock 'em oop as i wanted him." there was some laughter among the audience, and even the magistrate smiled. the young men then gave their story. they denied point blank that either of them had struck jack, and described him as having set his dog purposely on the horse. jack had loudly contradicted them, shouting, 'that's a lee;' but had been ordered to silence. then drawing back he slipped off his jacket and shirt, and when the evidence was closed he marched forward up to the magistrate bare to the waist. "look at moi back," he said; "that 'ull speak for itself." it did; there was a red weal across the shoulder, and an angry hiss ran through the court at the prisoners, which was with difficulty suppressed. "after what i have seen," mr. brook said, "there is no doubt whatever in my mind that the version given by this child is the correct one, and that you committed a cowardly and unprovoked assault upon him. for this you," he said to the man who had driven the horse, "are fined £ or a month's imprisonment. it is a good thing that cowardly fellows like you should be punished occasionally, and had it not been that your horse had been severely injured i should have committed you to prison without option of a fine. against you," he said to the other, "there is no evidence of assault. the charge against the child is dismissed, but it is for the father to consider whether he will prosecute you for perjury. at the same time i think that dogs of this powerful and ferocious kind ought not to be allowed to go out under the charge of a child like this." the man paid the fine; but so great was the indignation of the crowd that the constable had to escort them to the railway-station; in spite of this they were so pelted and hustled on the way that they were miserable figures indeed when they arrived there. and so jack was released from all charge of the "dorgs," and benefited by the change. new friendships for children of his own age took the place of that for the dogs, and he soon took part in their games, and, from the energy and violence with which, when once excited, he threw himself into them, became quite a popular leader. mrs. haden rejoiced over the change; for he was now far more lively and more like other children than he had been, although still generally silent except when addressed by her and drawn into talk. he was as fond as ever of the dogs, but that fondness was now a part only instead of the dominating passion of his existence. and so months after months went on and no event of importance occurred to alter the current of jack simpson's life. chapter iii. the resolution. an artist sitting in the shade under a tree, painting a bit of rustic gate and a lane bright with many honeysuckles. presently he is conscious of a movement behind him, and looking round, sees a sturdily built boy of some ten years of age, with an old bull-dog lying at his feet, and another standing by his side, watching him. "well, lad, what are you doing?" "nowt!" said the boy promptly. "i mean," the artist said with a smile, "have you anything to do? if not, i will give you sixpence to sit still on that gate for a quarter of an hour. i want a figure." the boy nodded, took his seat without a word, and remained perfectly quiet while the artist sketched him in. "that will do for the present," the artist said. "you can come and sit down here and look at me at work if you like; but if you have nothing to do for an hour, don't go away, as i shall want you again presently. here is the sixpence; you will have another if you'll wait. what's your name?" he went on, as the boy threw himself down on the grass, with his head propped up on his elbows. "bull-dog," the lad said promptly; and then colouring up, added "at least they call me bull-dog, but my right name be jack simpson." "and why do they call you bull-dog, jack?" the artist had a sympathetic voice and spoke in tones of interest, and the lad answered frankly: "mother--that is, my real mother--she died when i were a little kid, and juno here, she had pups at the time--not that one, she's flora, three years old she be--and they used to pretend she suckled me. it bain't likely, be it?" he asked, as if after all he was not quite sure about it himself. "schoolmaster says as how it's writ that there was once two little rum'uns, suckled by a wolf, but he can't say for sure that it's true. mother says it's all a lie, she fed me from a bottle. but they called me bull-dog from that, and because juno and me always went about together; and now they call me so because," and he laughed, "i take a good lot of licking before i gives in." "you've been to school, i suppose, jack?" "yes, i've had five years schooling," the boy said carelessly. "and do you like it?" "i liked it well enough; i learnt pretty easy, and so 'scaped many hidings. dad says it was cos my mother were a schoolmaster's daughter afore she married my father, and so learning's in the blood, and comes natural. but i'm done with school now, and am going down the pit next week." "what are you going to do there? you are too young for work." "oh, i sha'n't have no work to do int' pit, not hard work--just to open and shut a door when the tubs go through." "you mean the coal-waggons?" "ay, the tubs," the boy said. "then in a year or two i shall get to be a butty, that ull be better pay; then i shall help dad in his stall, and at last i shall be on full wages." "and after that?" the artist asked. the lad looked puzzled. "what will you look forward to after that?" "i don't know that there's nowt else," the boy said, "except perhaps some day i might, perhaps--but it ain't likely--but i might get to be a viewer." "but why don't you make up your mind to be something better still, jack--a manager?" "what!" exclaimed the boy incredulously; "a manager, like fenton, who lives in that big house on the hill! why, he's a gentleman." "jack," the artist said, stopping in his work now, and speaking very earnestly, "there is not a lad of your age in the land, brought up as a miner, or a mechanic, or an artisan, who may not, if he sets it before him, and gives his whole mind to it, end by being a rich man and a gentleman. if a lad from the first makes up his mind to three things--to work, to save, and to learn--he can rise in the world. you won't be able to save out of what you get at first, but you can learn when your work is done. you can read and study of an evening. then when you get better wages, save something; when, at twenty-one or so, you get man's wages, live on less than half, and lay by the rest. don't marry till you're thirty; keep away from the public-house; work, study steadily and intelligently; and by the time you are thirty you will have a thousand pounds laid by, and be fit to take a manager's place." "do'st mean that, sir?" the boy asked quickly. "i do, jack. my case is something like it. my father was a village schoolmaster. i went when about twelve years old to a pottery at burslem. my father told me pretty well what i have told you. i determined to try hard at any rate. i worked in every spare hour to improve myself generally, and i went three evenings a week to the art school. i liked it, and the master told me if i stuck to it i might be a painter some day. i did stick to it, and at twenty could paint well enough to go into that branch of pottery. i stuck to it, and at five-and-twenty was getting as high pay as any one in burslem, except one or two foreign artists. i am thirty now. i still paint at times on china, but i am now getting well known as an artist, and am, i hope, a gentleman." "i'll do it," the boy said, rising slowly to his feet and coming close to the artist. "i'll do it, sir. they call me bull-dog, and i'll stick to it." "very well," the artist said, holding out his hand; "that's a bargain, jack. now, give me your name and address; here are mine. it's the st of june to-day. now perhaps it will help you a little if i write to you on the st of june every year; and you shall answer me, telling me how you are getting on, and whether i can in any way give you help or advice. if i don't get an answer from you, i shall suppose that you have got tired of it and have given it up." "don't you never go to suppose that, sir," the boy said earnestly. "if thou doesn't get an answer thou'llt know that i've been killed, as father was, in a fall or an explosion. thank you, sir." and the boy walked quietly off, with the old bull-dog lazily waddling behind him. "there are the makings of a man in that boy," the artist said to himself. "i wish though i had finished his figure before we began to talk about his plans for the future. i shall be very proud of that boy if he ever makes a name for himself." that evening jack sat on a low stool and gazed into the fire so steadily and silently that bill haden, albeit not given to observe his moods, asked: "what ail'st, lad? what be'st thinkin' o'?" jack's thoughts were so deep that it took him some time to shake them off and to turn upon his stool. "oi'm thinking o' getting larning." "thinking o' getting larning!" the miner repeated in astonishment, "why, 'ee be just a dun o' getting larning. 'ee ha' been at it for the last foive year, lad, and noo thou'st going to be done wi' it and to work in the pit." "oi'm a going to work in the pit, dad, and oi'm a gwine to get larning too. oi've made oop my mind, and oi'm gwine to do it." "but bain't 'ee got larning?" the miner said. "thou canst read and write foine, which is more nor i can do and what dost want more?" "oi'm a going to get larning," jack said again, steadily repeating the formula, "and oi'm gwine soom day to be a manager." bill haden stared at the boy and then burst into a fit of laughter. "well, this bangs a'." mrs. haden was as surprised but more sympathetic. "bless the boy, what hast got in your head now?" jack showed not the slightest sign of discomfiture at his father's laughter. "i met a chap to-day," he said in answer to mrs. haden, "as told i that if i made up my moind to work and joost stuck to 't, i could surely make a man o' myself, and might even roise soom day to be a manager; and i'm a going to do it." "doant 'ee say a word to check the boy, bill," mrs. haden said to her husband, as he was about to burst out into jeering remarks. "i tell 'ee, what jack says he sticks to, and you oughter know that by this time. what the man, whos'ever he might be, said, was right, jack," she went on, turning to the boy. "larning is a great thing. so far you ain't showed any turn for larning, jack, as i ever see'd, but if you get it you may raise yourself to be an overman or a viewer, though i doan't say a manager; that seems too far away altogether. if you stick to what you say you may do it, jack. i can't help you in larning, for i ain't got none myself, but if i can help you in any other way i 'ull, and so 'ull feyther, though he does laugh a bit." "he be roight enough to laugh," jack said, "for i hain't had any turn that way, i doant know as i ha' now, but i'm a going to try, and if trying can do it," he said in his steady tones, "oi'll do it. i think i ha' got some o' the bull-dog strain in me, and i'll hoult on to it as bess would hoult on to a man's throat if she pinned him." "i know you will, my lad," mrs. haden said, while her husband, lighting his pipe and turning to go out, said: "it matters nowt to me one way or t'other, but moind, lad, larning or no larning, thou'st got to go into the pit next week and arn your living." "jack," mrs. haden said presently, "dost know, i wouldn't do nowt wi' this new fancy o' thine, not till arter thou'st a been to work i' the pit for a while; a week or two will make no differ to 'ee, and thou doan't know yet how tired ye'll be when ye coom oop nor how thou'lt long for the air and play wi' lads o' thy own age. i believe, jack, quite believe that thou be'st in arnest on it, and i know well that when thou dost begin thou'lt stick to 't. but it were better to wait till thou know'st what 'tis thou art undertaking." jack felt that there was a good deal in what his mother said. "very well, mother. 'twant make no differ to me, but oi'll do as th' asks me." chapter iv. the vaughan pit. among the group of men and boys assembled round the mouth of the vaughan pit on the th of june were two little lads, jack simpson and harry shepherd, who were to make the descent for the first time. the boys were fast friends. harry was the taller but was slighter than jack, and far less sturdy and strong. both were glad that they were to go into the pit, for although the life of a gate-boy is dull and monotonous, yet in the pit villages the boys look forward to it as marking the first step in a man's life, as putting school and lessons behind, and as raising them to a position far in advance of their former associates. nowadays the law has stepped in, and the employment of such mere children in the mines is forbidden, but at that time it had not been changed, and if a boy was big enough to shut a door he was big enough to go into a mine. "dost feel skeary, jack?" harry asked. "noa," jack said; "what be there to be skeary aboot? i bean't afeard of the dark, and they say in time 'ee get used to it, and can see pretty nigh loike a cat. there be dad a calling. good-bye, harry, i'll see thee to-night." the yard of the vaughan resembled that of other large collieries. it was a large space, black and grimy, on which lines of rails were laid down in all directions; on these stood trains of waggons, while here and there were great piles of coal. in the centre rose up a lofty scaffolding of massive beams. at the top of this was the wheel over which a strong wire rope or band ran to the winding engine close by, while from the other end hung the cage, a wooden box some six feet square. at the corner of this box were clips or runners which fitted on to the guides in the shaft and so prevented any motion of swinging or swaying. so smoothly do these cages work that, standing in one as it is lowered or drawn up, only a very slight vibration or tremor tells that you are in motion. near the square house in which stood the winding engine was another precisely similar occupied by the pumping engine. the vaughan was worked by a single shaft divided by a strong wooden partition into two, one of these known as the downcast shaft, that is, the shaft through which the air descends into the mine, the other the upcast, through which the current, having made its way through all the windings and turnings of the roadways below, again ascends to the surface. this system of working by a single shaft, however, is very dangerous, as, in the event of an explosion, both shafts may become involved in the disaster and there will be no means of getting at the imprisoned miners. nowadays all well-regulated mines have two shafts, one at a distance from the other, but this was less common thirty years back, and the vaughan, like most of its neighbours, was worked with a single shaft. each miner before descending went to the lamp-room and received a lighted "davy." as almost every one is aware, the principle of this lamp, and indeed of all that have since been invented, is that flame will not pass through a close wire-gauze. the lamp is surrounded with this gauze, and although, should the air be filled with gas to an explosive point, it will ignite if it comes in contact with flame, the gauze prevents the light of the lamp from exploding the gas-charged air outside. when the air is of a very explosive character even the davy-lamps have to be extinguished, as the heat caused by the frequent ignitions within the lamp raises the gauze to a red heat, and the gas beyond will take fire. jack took his place in the cage with bill haden and as many others as it could contain. he gave a little start as he felt a sudden sinking; the sides of the shaft seemed to shoot up all round him, wet, shining, and black. a few seconds and the light of day had vanished, and they were in darkness, save that overhead was a square blue patch of sky every moment diminishing in size. "be'st afeard, jack?" bill haden asked, raising his lamp so as to get a sight of the boy's face. "noa, why should i?" jack said; "i heard 'ee say that the ropes were new last month, so there ain't nothin to be afeard on!" "that is the young un they call bull-dog, ain't it, bill?" "ay!" bill haden answered; "he's game, he is; you can't make him yelp. i've licked him till i was tired, but he never whimpered. now then, out you go;" and as the cage stopped the men all stepped out and started for the places in which they were working. "coom along, jack; the viewer told me to put you at no. gate." it was ten minutes fast--and as jack thought very unpleasant--walking. the sleepers on which the rails for the corves, or little waggons, were laid, were very slippery. pools of water stood between them and often covered them, and blocks of coal of all sizes, which had shaken from the corves, lay in the road. when it was not water it was black mud. sometimes a line of waggons full or empty stood on the rails, and to pass these they had to squeeze against the damp walls. before he reached his post the gloss of jack's new mining clothes had departed for ever. the white jumper was covered with black smears, and two or three falls on the slippery wooden sleepers had effectively blackened his canvas trousers. "there, lad," bill haden said at length, holding his lamp high to afford a general view of the situation; "that's your place." "the place" was a hollow like a cupboard, some five feet high, two deep, and a little wider. there was a wooden seat in it, a peg or two had been driven into the rock to hang things from, and a handful or so of hay upon the ground showed that jack's predecessor had an idea of comfort. "there you are, and not a bad place either, jack. you see this cord? now when thou hearst a team of corves coming along, pull yon end and open the door. when they have passed let go the cord and the door shuts o' 'tself, for it's got a weight and pulley. it's thy business to see that it has shut, for if a chunk of coal has happened to fall and stops the door from shutting, the ventilation goes wrong and we all goes to kingdom come in no time. that's all thou'st got to do 'cept to keep awake. of course you woan't do that; no boy does. so that you larn to wake up when the corves come along, that ull do foine." "but if i doan't?" jack asked. "well, if thou doan't thou'lt get waked with a cuff o' th' ear by the driver, and it depends on what sort o' chap he be how hard the cuff thou'lt get. i doan't think thou'lt feel lonely here, for along that side road they bring down other corves and the horse comes and takes 'em on. on this main road the horses go through to the upper end of the mine, half a mile farther." "how do it make a differ whether this door be open or shut, father?" "well, lad, the air comes up the road we ha come by. now it's wanted to go round about by the workings on that side road. this door be put to stop it from going by the straight road, so there's nothing for it but for to go round by the workings, maybe for a mile, maybe three miles, till it gets back into the main road again. so when the door is open the ventilation is checked right round the workings; so mind doan't 'ee open the door till the horse is close to it, and shut it directly it's past." when the door closed behind his foster-father, and jack simpson remained alone in the dense darkness, a feeling of utter loneliness and desertion stole over him. the blackness was intense and absolute; a low confused murmur, the reverberation of far-off noises in the pit, sounded in his ears. he spoke, and his voice sounded muffled and dull. "this be worse nor i looked for," the boy said to himself; "i suppose i'll get used to it, but i doan't wonder that some young uns who ain't strong as i be are badly frighted at first." presently the confused noise seemed to get louder, then a distinct rumble was heard, and jack felt with delight that a train of waggons was approaching. then he saw far along the gallery a light swinging, as the man who bore it walked ahead of the horse. the water in the little pools between the sleepers reflected it in a score of little lines of light. now he could hear the hollow splashing sound of the horses' hoofs, and prepared to answer to the shout of "door" by pulling at the string beside him. when the light came within twenty yards it changed its direction; he heard the grating of the wheels against the points, and saw that the waggons were going up the other road. there upon a siding they came to a stop, and a minute or two later a number of full waggons were brought down by another horse. a few words were exchanged by the drivers, but jack's ear, unaccustomed to the echoes of a mine, could not catch what they said; then the first man hitched his horse on to the full waggons, and started for the shaft, while the other with the empties went up the road to the workings. the incident, slight as it had been, had altogether dissipated the feeling of uneasiness of which jack had been conscious. before, he had seemed shut out from the world, as if within a living tomb, but the sight of men engaged at their ordinary work close by him completely restored the balance of his mind, and henceforth he never felt the slightest discomfort at being alone in the dark. a few minutes after the rumbling of the departing train of "tubs" had died in his ear, he again heard it. again he watched the slowly approaching light, and when it came within a few yards of him he heard the expected shout of "gate!" he replied by a shout of "all right!" and as the driver came level with him pulled the cord and the door opened. "g'long, smiler," the driver said, and the horse went forward. the man leaned forward and raised his lamp to jack's face. "i thawt 'twasn't jim brown's voice. who be'st thou?" "jack simpson; i live along wi' bill haden." "ay, ay, i know'st, i knew thy father, a good sort he was too. be'st thy first day doon the pit?" "ay," jack said. "foind it dark and lonesome, eh? thou'lt get used to it soon." "how often do the corves come along?" jack asked as the man prepared to run on after the waggons, the last of which had just passed. "there be a set goes out every ten minutes, maybe, on this road, and every twenty minutes on the other, two o' ours to one o' theirs;" and he moved forward. jack let the door slam after him, went out and felt that it had shut firmly, and then resumed his seat in his niche. he whistled for a bit, and then his thoughts turned to the learning which he had determined firmly to acquire. "i wish i'd ha' took to it afore," he said to himself. "what a sight o' time i ha' lost! i'll go over in my head all the lessons i can remember; and them as i doant know, and that's the best part, i reckon i'll look up when i get hoame. every day what i learns fresh i'll go over down here. i shall get it perfect then, and it will pass the time away finely. i'll begin at oncet. twice two is four;" and so jack passed the hours of his first day in the pit, recalling his lessons, reproaching himself continually and bitterly with the time he had wasted, breaking off every ten minutes from his rehearsals to open the door for the train of corves going in empty and going out full, exchanging a few words each time with the drivers, all of whom were good-naturedly anxious to cheer up the new boy, who must, as they supposed, be feeling the loneliness of his first day in the pit keenly. such was by no means the case with jack, and he was quite taken by surprise when a driver said to him, "this be the last train this shift." "why, it bean't nigh two o'clock, surely?" he said. "it be," the driver said; "wants ten minutes, that's all." soon the miners began to come along. "hullo, jack!" bill haden's voice said. "be'st still here. come along of me. why didst stop, lad? thou canst always quit thy post when the first man comes through on his way out. hast felt it lonely, lad?" "not a bit, dad." "that's strange too," bill said. "most young boys finds it awful lonely o' first. i know i thowt that first day were never coming to an end. weren't frighted at t' dark?" "i thought it was onnatural dark and still the first ten minutes," jack admitted honestly; "but arter the first set o' corves came along i never thawt no more about the dark." "here we are at the shaft, joomp in, there's just room for you and me." chapter v. setting to work. a week after jack simpson had gone to work in the "vaughan" there was a knock one evening at the door of the schoolmaster of the stokebridge national school. "please, mr. merton, can i speak to 'ee?" "what, is that you, jack simpson!" the schoolmaster said, holding the candle so that its light fell upon the boy before him. "yes, come in, my boy." the lad followed him into the parlour. "sit down, jack. now what is it? nothing the matter at home, i hope?" "noa, sir. i wanted to ask 'ee what books i orter read, so that i may grow up a clever man?" "bless me, jack," mr. merton said, "why, i never expected this from you." "noa, sir, but i ha' made up my mind to get on, and i means to work hard. i ha' been told, sir, that if i studies at books in all my spare time, and saves my money, and works well, i may get up high some day;" and the boy looked wistfully up in the master's face for a confirmation of what had been told him. "that's quite right, jack, whoever told you. hard work, study, thrift, and intelligence will take any lad from the bottom of the tree to the top. and you are quite in earnest, jack?" "quite, sir." the schoolmaster sat in silence for a little time. "well, my boy, for a bit you must work at ordinary school-books, and get a fair general knowledge, and be careful to observe the way things are expressed--the grammar, i mean; read aloud when you are alone, and try in speaking to get rid of "thees" and "thous," and other mistakes of speech. i can lend you ordinary school-books, fit for you for the next four or five years, and will always explain any difficulties you may meet with. the books you will want afterwards you can buy second-hand at wolverhampton or birmingham. but there will be time to talk about that hereafter. what time have you to study? you have gone into the vaughan pit, have you not?" "yes, sir. i ha' time enough all day, for i ha' nowt to do but just to open and shut a door when the tubs come along; but i ha' no light." "the time must seem very long in the dark all day." "it do seem long, sir; and it will be wuss when i want to read, and know i am just wasting time. but i can read at home after work, when dad goes out. it's light now, and i could read out o' doors till nine o'clock. mother would give me a candle now and again; and i should get on first rate in the pit, but the vaughan is a fiery vein, and they ha' nowt but daveys." "well, my boy, here are a few books, which will suit you for a time. let me know how you are getting on; and when you have mastered the books, let me know. remember you want to learn them thoroughly, and not just well enough to rub through without getting the strap. but don't overdo it. you are a very small boy yet, and it is of as much importance for your future life that you should grow strong in body as well as in brain. so you must not give up play. if you were to do nothing but sit in the dark, and to study at all other times, you would soon become a fool. so you must give time to play as well as to work. remember, do not be cast down with difficulties; they will pass by if you face them. there is an old saying, 'god helps those who help themselves.' and look here, jack, i can tell you the best way to make the time pass quickly while you are in the dark. set yourself sums to do in your head. you will find it difficult at first, but it will come easier with practice, and as you get on i will give you a book on 'mental arithmetic,' and you will find that there is nothing more useful than being able to make complicated calculations in your head." the next six months passed quickly with jack simpson. he started early with his father for the pit, and the hours there, which at first had seemed so long, slipped by rapidly as he multiplied, and added, and subtracted, finding that he could daily master longer lines of figures. of an afternoon he played with the other pit boys, and after that worked steadily at his books till eleven o'clock, two hours after bill haden and his wife had gone to bed. once a week he went in the evening to mr. merton, who was astonished at the progress that the boy was making, and willingly devoted an hour to explaining difficulties and helping him on with his work. satisfied now that the boy was in earnest, mr. merton a few days afterwards took occasion, when mr. brook, the owner of the vaughan mine, called in on school business, to tell him how one of the pit boys was striving to educate himself. "he is really in earnest, merton; it is not a mere freak?" "no, mr. brook, the lad will stick to it, i'm sure. he goes by the nickname of bull-dog, and i don't think he is badly named; he has both the pluck and the tenacity of one." "very well, merton; i am glad you spoke to me about it. i wish a few more boys would try and educate themselves for viewers and underground managers; it is difficult indeed to get men who are anything but working miners. i'll make a note of his name." a few days afterwards mr. brook, after going through the books, went over the mine with the underground manager. "do the waggons often get off the metals along this road, evans?" he asked, stopping at one of the doors which regulate the ventilation. "pretty often, sir; the rails are not very true, and the sleepers want renewing." "it would be as well if there were an extra light somewhere here; it would be handy. this is number ten door, is it not?" "yes sir." "who is this? a new hand, is he not?" raising his lamp so as to have a full look at the lad, who was standing respectfully in the niche in the rock cut for him. "yes, sir; he is the son of a hand who was killed in the pit some ten years ago--simpson." "ah! i remember," mr. brooks said. "well, serve the boy a lamp out when he goes down of a day. you'll be careful with it, lad, and not let it fall?" "oh yes, sir," jack said, in a tone of delight; "and, please, sir, may i read when i am not wanted?" "certainly you may," his master said; "only you must not neglect your work;" and then mr. brook went on, leaving jack so overjoyed that for that afternoon at least his attempts at mental arithmetic were egregious failures. chapter vi. "the old shaft." in the corner of a rough piece of ground near the "vaughan" was situated what was known as the old shaft. it had been made many years before, with a view to working coal there. the owners of the vaughan, which at the time was just commencing work, had, however, bought up the ground, and as it adjoined their own and could be worked in connection with it, they stopped the sinking here. this was so long ago that the rubbish which had formed a mound round the mouth of the shaft had been long covered with vegetation, and a fence placed round the pit had fallen into decay. the shaft had been sunk some fifty fathoms, but was now full of water, to within forty feet of the surface. some boards covered the top, and the adventurous spirits among the boys would drop stones through the openings between them, and listen to the splash as they struck the water below, or would light pieces of paper and watch them falling into the darkness, until they disappeared suddenly as they touched the water. the winch used in the process of excavation remained, and round it was a portion of the chain so old and rusty as to be worthless for any purpose whatever. lengths had from time to time been broken off by boys, who would unwind a portion, and then, three or four pull together until the rust-eaten links gave way; and the boys came to the ground with a crash. it was a dirty game, however, dirty even for pit boys, for the yellow rust would stick to hands and clothes and be very difficult to remove. one saturday afternoon a group of boys and girls of from ten to fourteen were playing in the field. presently it was proposed to play king of the castle, or a game akin thereto, half a dozen holding the circular mound round the old pit, while the rest attacked them and endeavoured to storm the position. for some time the game went on with much shouting on the part of the boys and shrill shrieks from the girls, as they were pulled or pushed down the steep bank. "let us make a charge a' together," said jack simpson, who although not thirteen was the leader of the attacking party. then heading the rush he went at full speed at the castle. harry shepherd, who was one of the defenders, was at the top, but jack had so much impetus that he gained his footing and thrust harry violently backwards. the top of the bank was but three feet wide, and within sloped down to the mouth of the old pit shaft, fifteen feet below. harry tottered, and to avoid falling backwards turned and with great strides ran down the bank. he was unable to arrest his course, but went through the rotten fence and on to the boarding of the shaft. there was a crash, a wild cry, and harry disappeared from the sight of his horror-stricken companions. the rotten wood-work had given way and the boy had fallen into the old shaft. a panic seized the players, some rushed away at the top of their speed shouting, "harry shepherd has fallen down the old shaft!" others stood paralysed on the top of the mound; girls screamed and cried. two only appeared to have possession of their wits. the one was jack simpson, the other was a girl of about twelve, nelly hardy. jack did not hesitate an instant, but quickly ran down to the shaft, nelly more quietly, but with an earnest set face, followed him. jack threw himself down by the edge and peered down the shaft. "harry, harry," he shouted, "bee'st killed?" a sort of low cry came up. "he be alive, he be drowning," jack exclaimed, "quick, get off them boords." nelly at once attempted to aid jack to lift the boards aside. "coom," jack shouted to the boys on the top, "what bee'st feared of? thou art shamed by this lass here. coom along and help us." several of the boys hurried down, stung by jack's taunt, and half the boards were soon pulled off. "what bee'st goin' to do, jack?" "go down, to be sure," jack said. "catch hold o' th' windlass." "the chain woan't hold you, jack." "it maun hold me," jack said. "it woan't hold two, jack." "lower away and hold thee jaw," jack said; "i am going to send him up first if he be alive; lower away, i say." jack caught hold of the end of the rusty chain, and the boys lowered away as rapidly as they could. jack held on stoutly, and continued to shout, "hold on, harry, i be a-coming; another minute and i'll be with 'ee." the chain held firmly, and jack swung downward safely. the shaft was of considerable size, and the openings in the planks had enabled the air to circulate freely, consequently there was no bad air. as jack reached the water he looked eagerly round, and then gave a cry of joy. above the water he saw a hand grasping a projecting piece of rock. harry could not swim, but he had grasped the edge of a projecting stone near which he had fallen, and when his strength had failed, and he had sunk below the surface, his hand still retained its grasp. "lower away," jack shouted, and the chain was slackened. jack could swim a little, just enough to cross the stokebridge canal where the water was only out of his depth for some fifteen feet in the middle. first he took off his handkerchief from his neck, a strong cotton birdseye, and keeping hold of the chain before him swam to the spot where the hand was above water. he had a terrible fear of its slipping and disappearing below the dark pool, and was careful to make a firm grasp at it. he was surprised to find the body was of no weight. without a moment's delay he managed to bind the wrist fast to the chain with his handkerchief. "above there," he shouted. "ay," came down. "wind up very steadily, don't jerk it now." slowly the winch revolved and the body began to rise from the water. jack clung to the stone which harry had grasped and looked upwards. he wondered vaguely whether it would ever reach the top; he wondered whether the arm would pull out of the socket, and the body plump down into the water; he wondered how long he could hold on, and why his clothes seemed so heavy. he wondered whether, if his strength went before the chain came down again, his hand would hold on as harry's had done, or whether he should go down to the bottom of the shaft. how far was it! fifty fathoms, three hundred feet; he was fifty below the mouth, two hundred and fifty to sink; how long would his body be getting to the bottom? what would his mother and bill haden say? would they ever try to get his body up? [illustration: in the old shaft--will he be saved?] he was growing very weak. as from another world he had heard the shout from above when the body of harry shepherd reached the brink, and afterwards some vague murmurs. presently his fingers slipped and he went down in the black pool. the chill of the water to his face, the sudden choking sensation, brought his senses back for a moment and he struck to the surface. there, touching the water, he saw the chain, and as he grasped it, heard the shouts of his comrades above calling to him. he was himself again now. the chain being some feet below the surface he managed to pass it round him, and to twist it in front. he was too exhausted to shout. he saw a great piece of paper on fire fluttering down, and heard a shout as its light showed him on the end of the chain; then he felt a jar and felt himself rising from the water; after that he knew nothing more until he opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bank. nelly hardy was kneeling by him and his head was in her lap. he felt various hands rubbing him and slapping the palms of his hands; his animation was quickly restored. he had swallowed but little water, and it was the close air of the shaft which had overpowered him. "hallo!" he said, shaking himself, "let me up, i be all right; how's harry?" harry had not yet come round, though some of them, trying to restore him to consciousness, said that they had heard him breathe once. jack as usual took the command, ordered all but two or three to stand back, told nelly hardy to lift harry's head and undo his shirt, stripped him to the waist, and then set the boys to work to rub vigorously on his chest. whether the efforts would have been successful is doubtful, but at this moment there was a sound of hurrying feet and of rapid wheels. those who had started at the first alarm had reached the village and told the news, and most fortunately had met the doctor as he drove in from his rounds. a man with a rope had leaped into the gig, and the doctor as he drove off had shouted that hot blankets were to be prepared. when he reached the spot and heard that harry had been brought to bank, he leapt out, climbed the mound, wrapped him in his coat, carried him down to his gig, and then drove back at full speed to stokebridge, where with the aid of hot blankets and stimulants the lad was brought back to consciousness. jack simpson was the hero of the hour, and the pitmen, accustomed to face death as they were, yet marvelled at a boy trusting himself to a chain which looked unfit to bear its own weight only, and into the depth of a well where the air might have been unfit to breathe. jack strenuously, and indeed angrily, disclaimed all credit whatever. "i didn't think nowt about the chain, nor the air, nor the water neither. i thought only o' harry. it was me as had pushed him down, and i'd got to bring him oop. if i hadn't a gone down nelly hardy would ha' gone, though she be a lass and doan't know how to swim or to hold on by a chain, or nowt; but she'd ha' gone, i tell e'e, if i hadn't; i saw it in her face. she didn't say nowt, but she was ready to go. if she hadn't gone down to th' shaft none of them would ha gone. she's a rare plucked 'un, she is, i tell e'e." but in spite of jack's indignant repudiation of any credit, the brave action was the talk of stokebridge and of the neighbouring pit villages for some time. there are no men appreciate bravery more keenly than pitmen, for they themselves are ever ready to risk their lives to save those of others. consequently a subscription, the limit of which was sixpence and the minimum a penny, was set on foot, and a fortnight later jack was presented with a gold watch with an inscription. this was presented in the school-room, and mr. brook, who presided at the meeting, added on his own account a chain to match. it needed almost force on the part of bill haden to compel jack to be present on this occasion. when he was led up, flushed with confusion, to mr. brook, amid the cheers of the crowd of those in the room, he listened with head hung down to the remarks of his employer. when that gentleman finished and held out the watch and chain, jack drew back and held up his head. "i doan't loike it, sir; i pushed harry in, and in course i went down to pick him out; besides, harry's my chum, he be; was it loikely i should stand by and he drowning? i tell 'ee, sir, that you ain't said a word about the lass nelly hardy; she had pluck, she had. the boys ran away or stood and stared, but she came down as quiet as may be. i tell 'ee, sir, her face was pale, but she was as steady and as still as a man could ha' been, and did as i told her wi'out stopping for a moment and wi'out as much as saying a word. she'd ha' gone down if i'd told her to. where be ye, nelly hardy? coom oot and let me show ye to mr. brook." but nelly, who was indeed in the building, had shrunk away when jack began to speak, and having gained the door, was on the point of flying, when she was seized and brought forward, looking shamefaced and sullen. "that be her, sir," jack said triumphantly, "and i say this watch and chain ought to be hers, for she did much more for a lass than i did for a boy, and had no call to do't as i had." "i cannot give them to her, jack," mr. brook said, "for the watch has been subscribed for you; but as a token of my appreciation of the bravery and presence of mind she has shown, i will myself present her with a silver watch and chain, with an inscription saying why it was given to her, and this she will, i am sure, value all her life." perhaps she would, but at present her only thought was to get away. her hair was all rough, she had on a tattered dress, and had only slipped in when those in charge of the door were intent upon hearing mr. brook's address. without a word of thanks, the instant the hands restraining her were loosed she dived into the crowd and escaped like a bird from a snare. satisfied that justice had been done, jack now said a few words of thanks to his employer and the subscribers to his present, and the meeting then broke up, jack returning with bill haden and his mother, both beaming with delight. "i be roight down glad, lad, i doan't know as i've been so glad since juno's dam won the first prize for pure-bred bull-dogs at the birmingham show. it seems joost the same sort o' thing, doan't it, jane?" chapter vii. friendship. nelly hardy had been unfortunate in her parents, for both drank, and she had grown up without care or supervision. she had neither brother nor sister. at school she was always either at the top or bottom of her class according as a fit of diligence or idleness seized her. she was a wild passionate child, feeling bitterly the neglect with which she was treated, her ragged clothes, her unkempt appearance. she was feared and yet liked by the girls of her own age, for she was generous, always ready to do a service, and good-tempered except when excited to passion. she was fonder of joining with the boys, when they would let her, in their games, and, when angered, was ready to hold her own against them with tooth and nail. so wild were her bursts of passion that they were sources of amusement to some of the boys, until jack upon one occasion took her part, and fought and conquered the boy who had excited her. this was on the saturday before the accident had taken place. for some days after the presentation no one saw her; she kept herself shut up in the house or wandered far away. then she appeared suddenly before jack simpson and harry shepherd as they were out together. "i hate you, jack simpson," she said, "i hate you, i hate you;" and then dashed through the gap in the hedge by which she had come. "well," harry exclaimed in astonishment, "only to think!" "it be nat'ral enough," jack said, "and i bain't surprised one bit. i orter ha' known better. i had only to ha' joodged her by myself and i should ha' seen it. i hated being dragged forward and talked at; it was bad enough though i had been made decent and clean scrubbed all over, and got my soonday clothes on, but of course it would be worse for a lass anyway, and she was all anyhow, not expecting it. i ought to ha' known better; i thawt only o' my own feelings and not o' hers, and i'd beg her pardon a hundred times, but 'taint likely she'd forgive me. what is she a doing now?" the lads peered through the hedge. far across the field, on the bank, the other side, lay what looked like a bundle of clothes. "she be a crying, i expect," jack said remorsefully. "i do wish some big chap would a come along and give i a hiding; i wouldn't fight, or kick, or do nowt, i would just take it, it would serve me roight. i wonder whether it would do her any good to let her thrash me. if it would she'd be welcome. look here, harry, she bain't angry wi' you. do thou go across to her and tell her how main sorry i be, and that i know i am a selfish brute and thought o' myself and not o' her, and say that if she likes i will cut her a stick any size she likes and let her welt me just as long as she likes wi'out saying a word." harry was rather loath to go on such an errand, but being imperatively ordered by jack he, as usual, did as his comrade wished. when he approached nelly hardy he saw that the girl was crying bitterly, her sobs shaking her whole body. "i be coom wi' a message," he began in a tone of apprehension, for he regarded nelly as resembling a wild cat in her dangerous and unexpected attacks. the girl leapt to her feet and turned her flushed tear-stained cheeks and eyes, flashing with anger through the tears, upon him. "what dost want, harry shepherd? get thee gone, or i'll tear the eyes from thy head." "i doan't coom o' my own accord," harry said steadily, though he recoiled a little before her fierce outburst. "i came on the part o' jack simpson, and i've got to gi' you his message even if you do fly at me. i've got to tell you that he be main sorry, and that he feels he were a selfish brute in a thinking o' his own feelings instead o' thine. he says he be so sorry that if 'ee like he'll cut a stick o' any size you choose and ull let you welt him as long as you like wi'out saying a word. and when jack says a thing he means it, so if you wants to wop him, come on." to harry's intense surprise the girl's mood changed. she dropped on the ground again, and again began to cry. after standing still for some time and seeing no abatement in her sobs, or any sign of her carrying out the invitation of which he had been the bearer, jack's emissary returned to him. "i guv her your message, jack, and she said nowt, but there she be a crying still." "perhaps she didn't believe you," jack said; "i'd best go myself." first, with great deliberation, jack chose a hazel stick from the hedge and tried it critically. when fully assured that it was at once lissom and tough, and admirably adapted for his purpose, he told harry to go on home. "maybe," jack said, "she mayn't loike to use it and you a looking on. doan't 'ee say a word to no un. if she likes to boast as she ha' welted me she ha' a roight to do so, but doan't you say nowt." jack walked slowly across the field till he was close to the figure on the ground. then he quietly removed his jacket and waistcoat and laid them down. then he said: "now, nelly, i be ready for a welting, i ha' deserved it if ever a chap did, and i'll take it. here's the stick, and he's a good un and will sting rare, i warrant." the girl sat up and looked at him through her tears. "oh, jack, and didst really think i wanted to welt thee?" "i didn't know whether thou didst or no, nelly, but thou said thou hate'st me, and wi' good reason, so if thou likest to welt me here's the stick." the girl laughed through her tears. "ah! jack, thou must think that i am a wild cat, as john dobson called me t'other day. throw away that stick, jack. i would rather a thousand times that thou laidst it on my shoulders than i on thine." jack threw away the stick, put on his coat and waistcoat, and sat down on the bank. "what is it then, lass? i know i were cruel to have thee called forward, but i didn't think o't; but i had rather that thou beat me as i orter be beaten, than that thou should go on hating me." "i doan't hate thee, jack, though i said so; i hate myself; but i like thee better nor all, thou art so brave and good." "no braver than thou, nelly," jack said earnestly; "i doan't understand why thou should first say thou hates me and then that thou doan't; but if thou are in earnest, that thou likest me, we'll be friends. i don't mean that we go for walks together, and such like, as some boys and girls do, for i ha' no time for such things, and i shouldn't like it even if i had; but i'll take thy part if anyone says owt to thee, and thou shalt tell me when thou art very bad at hoam"--for the failings of nelly's parents were public property. "thou shalt be a friend to me, not as a lass would be, but as harry is, and thou woan't mind if i blow thee up, and tells 'ee of things. thou stook to me by the side o' the shaft, and i'll stick to thee." "i'll do that," the girl said, laying her hand in his. "i'll be thy friend if thou'lt let me, not as lasses are, but as lads." and so the friendship was ratified, and they walked back together to the village. when he came to think it over, jack was inclined to repent his bargain, for he feared that she would attach herself to him, and that he would have much laughter to endure, and many battles to fight. to his surprise nelly did nothing of the sort. she would be at her door every morning as he went by to the pit and give him a nod, and again as he returned. whenever other girls and boys were playing or sitting together, nelly would make one of the group. if he said, as he often did say, "you, nell hardy come and sit by me," she came gladly, but she never claimed the place. she was ready to come or to go, to run messages and to do him good in any way. jack had promised she should be his friend as harry was, and as he got to like her more he would ask her or tell her to accompany them in their walks, or to sit on a low wall in some quiet corner and talk. harry, stirred by his friend's example, had begun to spend half an hour a day over his old school-books. "why dost like larning so much, jack?" nelly asked, as jack was severely reproaching his friend with not having looked at a book for some days; "what good do it do?" "it raises folk in the world, nell, helps 'em make their way up." "and dost thou mean to get oop i' the world?" "ay, lass," jack said, "if hard work can do it, i will; but it does more nor that. if a man knows things and loves reading it makes him different like, he's got summat to think about and talk about and care for beside public-houses and dorgs. canst read, nell?" "no, jack," she said, colouring. "it bain't my fault; mother never had the pence to spare for schooling, and i was kept at hoam to help." jack sat thoughtful for some time. "wouldst like to learn?" "ay." "well, i'll teach thee." "oh, jack!" and she leapt up with flashing eyes; "how good thou be'est!" "doan't," jack said crossly; "what be there good in teaching a lass to spell? there's twopence, run down to the corner shop and buy a spelling-book; we'll begin at once." and so nelly had her first lesson. [illustration: nelly's first lesson.] after that, every afternoon, as jack came home from work, the girl would meet him in a quiet corner off the general line, and for five minutes he would teach her, not hearing her say what she had learned, but telling her fresh sounds and combinations of letters. five or six times he would go over them, and expected--for jack was tyrannical in his ways--that she would carry them away with her and learn them by heart, and go through them again and again, so that when he questioned her during their longer talks she would be perfect. then, the five minutes over, jack would run on to make up for lost time, and be in as soon as bill haden. but however accurately jack expected his pupil to learn, his expectations were surpassed. the girl beyond clearing up the room had nothing to do, and she devoted herself with enthusiasm to this work. once she had mastered simple words and felt her own progress, her shyness as to her ignorance left her. she always carried her book in her pocket, and took to asking girls the pronunciation of larger words, and begging them to read a few lines to her; and sitting on the door-step poring over her book, she would salute any passer-by with: "please tell us what is that word." when she could read easily, which she learned to do in two or three months, she borrowed left-off school-books from the girls, and worked slowly on, and two years later had made up for all her early deficiencies, and knew as much as any of those who had passed through the school. from the day of her compact of friendship with jack her appearance and demeanour had been gradually changing. from the first her wild unkempt hair had been smoothly combed and braided, though none but herself knew what hours of pain and trouble it took her with a bit of a comb with three teeth alone remaining, to reduce the tangled mass of hair to order. her companions stared indeed with wonder on the first afternoon, when, thus transformed and with clean face, she came among them, with a new feeling of shyness. "why, it be nelly hardy!" "why, nell, what ha' done to t'yself? i shouldn't ha' known ye." "well, ye be cleaned up surely." the girl was half inclined to flame out at their greetings, but she knew that the surprise was natural, and laughed good-humouredly. she was rewarded for her pains when jack and some other boys, passing on their way to play, jack stopped a moment and said to her quietly, "well done, lass, thou lookst rarely, who'd ha' thought thou wert so comely!" as time went on nelly hardy grew altogether out of her old self. sometimes, indeed, bursts of temper, such as those which had gained her the name of the "wild cat," would flare out, but these were very rare now. she was still very poorly dressed, for her house was as wretched as of old, but there was an attempt at tidiness. her manner, too, was softer, and it became more and more quiet as things went on, and her playmates wondered again and again what had come over nell hardy; she had got to be as quiet as a mouse. the boys at first were disposed to joke jack upon this strange friendship, but jack soon let it be understood that upon that subject joking was unacceptable. "she stood by me," he said, "and i'm a-going to stand by her. she ain't got no friends, and i'm going to be her friend. she's quiet enough and doan't bother, no more nor if she were a dorg. she doan't get in no one's way, she doan't want to play, and sits quiet and looks on, so if any of you doan't like her near ye, you can go away to t' other side o' field. i wish she'd been a boy, 'twould ha' been fitter all ways, but she can't help that. she's got the sense o' one. and the pluck, and i like her. there!" chapter viii. progress. "bless me, lad, another poond o' candles! i never did hear o' sich waste," mrs. haden exclaimed as jack entered the cottage on a winter's afternoon, two years and a half after he had gone into the pit. "another poond o' candles, and it was only last monday as you bought the last--nigh two candles a night. thou wilt kill thyself sitting up reading o' nights, and thy eyes will sink i' thy head, and thou'lt be as blind as a bat afore thou'rt forty." "i only read up to eleven, mother, that gives me six hours abed, and as thou know, six for a man, seven for a woman, is all that is needful; and as to the expense, as dad lets me keep all my earnings save five bob a week--and very good o' him it is; i doan't know no man in the pit as does as much--why, i ha' plenty o' money for my candles and books, and to lay by summat for a rainy day." "aye, aye, lad, i know thou be'st not wasteful save in candles; it's thy health i thinks o'." "health!" jack laughed; "why, there ain't a lad in the pit as strong as i am of my age, and i ha' never ailed a day yet, and doan't mean to." "what ha' ye been doing all the arternoon, jack?" "i ha' been sliding in the big pond wi' harry shepherd and a lot o' others. then dick somers, he knocked down harry's little sister fan, as she came running across th' ice, and larfed out when she cried--a great brute--so i licked he till he couldn't see out o' his eyes." "he's bigger nor thee, too," mrs. haden said admiringly. "aye, he's bigger," jack said carelessly, "but he ain't game, dick ain't; loses his temper, he does, and a chap as does that when he's fighting ain't o' no account. but i must not stand a clappeting here; it's past six, and six is my time." "have your tea first, jack, it's a' ready; but i do believe thou'dst go wi'out eating wi'out noticing it, when thou'st got thy books in thy head." jack sat down and drank the tea his mother poured out for him, and devoured bread and butter with a zest that showed that his appetite was unimpaired by study. as soon as he had finished he caught up his candle, and with a nod to mrs. haden ran upstairs to his room. jack simpson's craze for learning, as it was regarded by the other lads of stokebridge, was the subject of much joking and chaff among them. had he been a shy and retiring boy, holding himself aloof from the sports of his mates, ridicule would have taken the place of joking, and persecution of chaff. but jack was so much one of themselves, a leader in their games, a good fellow all round, equally ready to play or to fight, that the fact that after six o'clock he shut himself up in his room and studied, was regarded as something in the nature of a humorous joke. when he had first begun, his comrades all predicted that the fit would not last, and that a few weeks would see the end of it; but weeks and months and years had gone by, and jack kept on steadily at the work he had set himself to do. amusement had long died away, and there grew up an unspoken respect for their comrade. "he be a rum 'un, be jack," they would say; "he looves games, and can lick any chap his age anywhere round, and yet he shoots himself oop and reads and reads hours and hours every day, and he knows a heap, bull-dog does." not that jack was in the habit of parading his acquirements; indeed he took the greatest pains to conceal them and to show that in no respect did he differ from his playfellows. the two hours which he now spent twice a week with mr. merton, and his extensive reading, had modified his rough staffordshire dialect, and when with his master he spoke correct english almost free of provincialisms, although with his comrades of the pit he spoke as they spoke, and never introduced any allusion to his studies. all questions as to his object in spending his evenings with his books were turned aside with joking answers, but his comrades had accidentally discovered that he possessed extraordinary powers of calculation. one of the lads had vaguely said that he wondered how many buckets of water there were in the canal between stokebridge and birmingham, a distance of eighteen miles, and jack, without seeming to think of what he was doing, almost instantaneously gave the answer to the question. for a moment all were silent with surprise. "i suppose that be a guess, jack, eh?" fred orme asked. "noa," jack said, "that's aboot roight, though i be sorry i said it; i joost reckoned it in my head." "but how didst do that, jack?" his questioner asked, astonished, while the boys standing round stared in silent wonder. "oh! in my head," jack said carelessly; "it be easy enough to reckon in your head if you practise a little." "and canst do any sum in thy head, jack, as quick as that?" "not any sum, but anything easy, say up to the multiplication or division by eight figures." "let's try him," one boy said. "all right, try away," jack said. "do it first on a bit of paper, and then ask me." the boys drew off in a body, and a sum was fixed upon and worked out with a great deal of discussion. at last, after a quarter of an hour's work, when all had gone through it and agreed that it was correct, they returned and said to him, "multiply , by , ." jack thought for a few seconds and then taking the pencil and paper wrote down the answer: , , , . "why, jack, thou be'est a conjurer," one exclaimed, while the others broke out into a shout of astonishment. from that time it became an acknowledged fact that jack simpson was a wonder, and that there was some use in studying after all; and after their games were over they would sit round and ask him questions which they had laboriously prepared, and the speed and accuracy of his answers were a never-failing source of wonder to them. as to his other studies they never inquired; it was enough for them that he could do this, and the fact that he could do it made them proud of him in a way, and when put upon by the pitmen it became a common retort among them, "don't thou talk, there's jack simpson, he knows as much as thee and thy mates put together. why, he can do a soom as long as a slaate as quick as thou'd ask it." jack himself laughed at his calculating powers, and told the boys that they could do the same if they would practise, believing what he said; but in point of fact this was not so, for the lad had an extraordinary natural faculty for calculation, and his schoolmaster was often astonished by the rapidity with which he could prepare in his brain long and complex calculations, and that in a space of time little beyond that which it would take to write the question upon paper. so abnormal altogether was his power in this respect that mr. merton begged him to discontinue the practice of difficult calculation when at work. "it is a bad thing, jack, to give undue prominence to one description of mental labour, and i fear that you will injure your brain if you are always exercising it in one direction. therefore when in the pit think over other subjects, history, geography, what you will, but leave calculations alone except when you have your books before you." chapter ix. the great strike. it was saturday afternoon, a time at which stokebridge was generally lively. the men, (dinner over, and the great weekly wash done,) usually crowded the public-houses, or played bowls and quoits on a piece of waste land known as "the common," or set off upon a spree to birmingham or wolverhampton, or sat on low walls or other handy seats, and smoked and talked. but upon this special saturday afternoon no one settled down to his ordinary pursuits, for the men stood talking in groups in the street, until, as the hour of four approached, there was a general move towards the common. hither, too, came numbers of men from the colliery villages round, until some four or five thousand were gathered in front of an old "waste tip" at one corner of the common. presently a group of some five or six men came up together, made their way through the throng, and took their stand on the edge of the tip, some twenty feet above the crowd. these were the delegates, the men sent by the union to persuade the colliers of stokebridge and its neighbourhood to join in a general strike for a rise of wages. the women of the village stand at their doors, and watch the men go off to the meeting, and then comment to each other concerning it. "i ain't no patience wi' 'em, mrs. haden," said one of a group of neighbours who had gathered in front of her house; "i don't hold by strikes. i have gone through three of 'em, bad un's, besides a score of small un's, and i never knowed good come on 'em. i lost my little peg in the last--low fever, the doctor called it, but it was starvation and nothing more." "if i had my way," said mrs. haden, "i'd just wring the heads off they delegates. they come here and 'suades our men to go out and clem rather than take a shilling a week less, just a glass o' beer a day, and they gets their pay and lives in comfort, and dunna care nowt if us and th' childer all dies off together." "talk o' woman's rights, as one hears about, and woman's having a vote; we ought to have a vote as to strikes. it's us as bears the worse o't, and we ought to have a say on't; if we did there wouldn't be another strike in the country." "it's a burning shame," another chimed in; "here us and the childer will have to starve for weeks, months may be, and all the homes will be broke up, and the furniture, which has took so long to get together, put away, just because the men won't do with one glass of beer less a day." "the union's the curse of us a'," mrs. haden said. "i know what it'll be--fifteen bob a week for the first fortnight, and then twelve for a week, and then ten, and then eight, and then six, and then after we've clemmed on that for a month or two, the union'll say as the funds is dry, and the men had best go to work on the reduction. i knows their ways, and they're a cuss to us women." "here be'st thy jack. he grows a proper lad that." "ay," jane haden agreed, "he's a good lad, none better; and as for learning, the books that boy knows is awesome; there's shelves upon shelves on 'em upstairs, and i do believe he's read 'em all a dozen times. well, jack, have ee cum from meeting?" "ay, mother; i heard them talk nonsense till i was nigh sick, and then i comed away." "and will they go for the strike, jack?" "ay, they'll go, like sheep through a gate. there's half a dozen or so would go t'other way, but the rest won't listen to them. so for the sake of a shilling a week we're going to lose thirty shillings a week for perhaps twenty weeks; so if we win we sha'n't get the money we've throw'd away for twenty times thirty weeks, mother, and that makes eleven years and twenty-eight weeks." jack simpson was now sixteen years old, not very tall for his age, but square and set. his face was a pleasant one, in spite of his closely cropped hair. he had a bright fearless eye and a pleasant smile; but the square chin, and the firm determined lines of the mouth when in rest, showed that his old appellation of bull-dog still suited him well. after working for four years as a gate-boy and two years with the waggons, he had just gone in to work with his adopted father in the stall, filling the coal in the waggon as it was got down, helping to drive the wedges, and at times to use the pick. as the getters--as the colliers working at bringing down the coal are called--are paid by the ton, many of the men have a strong lad working with them as assistant. "is t' dad like to be at home soon, jack?" mrs. haden asked, as she followed him into the house. "not he, mother. they pretty well all will be getting themselves in order for earning nothing by getting drunk to-night, and dad's not slack at that. have you got tea ready, mother?" "ay, lad." "i've made up my mind, mother," the boy said, as he ate his slice of bacon and bread, "that i shall go over to birmingham to-morrow, and try to get work there. john ratcliffe, the engineman, is going to write a letter for me to some mates of his there. the last two years, when i've been on the night-shift, i have gone in and helped him a bit pretty often in the day, so as to get to know something about an engine, and to be able to do a job of smith's work; anyhow, he thinks i can get a berth as a striker or something of that sort. i'd rather go at once, for there will be plenty of hands looking out for a job before long, when the pinch begins, and i don't want to be idle here at home." "they've promised to give some sort o' allowance to non-unionists, jack." "yes, mother, but i'd rather earn it honestly. i'm too young to join the union yet, but i have made up my mind long ago never to do it. i mean to be my own master, and i ain't going to be told by a pack of fellows at stafford or birmingham whether i am to work or not, and how much i am to do, and how many tubs i am to fill. no, mother, i wasn't born a slave that i know of, and certainly don't mean to become one voluntarily." "lor, how thou dost talk, jack! who'd take 'ee to be a pitman?" "i don't want to be taken for anything that i am not, mother. what with reading and with going two hours twice a week of an evening for six years, to talk and work with mr. merton, i hope i can express myself properly when i choose. as you know, when i'm away from you i talk as others do, for i hate any one to make remarks. if the time ever comes when i am to take a step up, it will be time enough for them to talk; at present, all that the other lads think of me is, that i am fond of reading, and that i can lick any fellow of my own age in the mine," and he laughed lightly. "and now, mother, i shall go in and tell mr. merton what i have made up my mind to do." mr. merton listened to jack's report of his plans in silence, and then after a long pause said: "i have been for some time intending to talk seriously to you, jack, about your future, and the present is a good time for broaching the subject. you see, my boy, you have worked very hard, and have thrown your whole strength into it for six years. you have given no time to the classics or modern languages, but have put your whole heart into mathematics; you have a natural talent for it, and you have had the advantage of a good teacher. i may say so," he said, "for i was third wrangler at cambridge." "you, sir!" jack exclaimed in astonishment. "yes, lad, you may well be surprised at seeing a third wrangler a village schoolmaster, but you might find, if you searched, many men who took as high a degree, in even more humble positions. i took a fellowship, and lived for many years quietly upon it; then i married, and forfeited my fellowship. i thought, like many other men, that because i had taken a good degree i could earn my living. there is no greater mistake. i had absolutely no knowledge that was useful that way. i tried to write; i tried to get pupils: i failed all round. thirteen years ago, after two years of marriage, my wife died; and in despair of otherwise earning my bread, and sick of the struggle i had gone through, i applied for this little mastership, obtained it, and came down with alice, then a baby of a year old. i chafed at first, but i am contented now, and no one knows that mr. merton is an ex-fellow of st. john's. i had still a little property remaining, just enough to have kept alice always at a good school. i do not think i shall stay here much longer. i shall try to get a larger school, in some town where i may find a few young men to teach of an evening. i am content for myself; but alice is growing up, and i should wish, for her sake, to get a step up in the world again. i need not say, my lad, that i don't want this mentioned. alice and you alone know my story. so you see," he went on more lightly, "i may say you have had a good teacher. now, jack, you are very high up in mathematics. far higher than i was at your age; and i have not the slightest doubt that you will in a couple of years be able to take the best open scholarship of the year at cambridge, if you try for it. that would keep you at college, and you might hope confidently to come out at least as high as i did, and to secure a fellowship, which means three or four hundred a year, till you marry. but to go through the university you must have a certain amount of latin and greek. you have a good two years, before you have to go up, and if you devote yourself as steadily to classics as you have to mathematics, you could get up enough to scrape through with. don't give me any answer now, jack. the idea is, of course, new to you. think it very quietly over, and we can talk about it next time you come over from birmingham." "yes, sir, thank you very much," jack said, quietly; "only, please tell me, do you yourself recommend it?" the schoolmaster was silent for a while. "i do not recommend one way or the other, jack. i would rather leave it entirely to you. you would be certain to do well in one way there. you are, i believe, equally certain to do well here, but your advance may be very much slower. and now, jack, let us lay it aside for to-night. i am just going to have tea, i hope you will take a cup with us." jack coloured with pleasure. it was the first time that such an invitation had been given to him, and he felt it as the first recognition yet made that he was something more than an ordinary pit-boy; but for all that he felt, when he followed his master into the next room, that he would have rather been anywhere else. it was a tiny room, but daintily furnished--a room such as jack had never seen before; and by the fire sat a girl reading. she put down her book as her father entered with a bright smile; but her eyes opened a little wider in surprise as jack followed him in. "my dear alice, this is my pupil, jack simpson, who is going to do me great credit, and make a figure in the world some day. jack, this is my daughter, miss merton." alice held out her hand. "i have heard papa speak of you so often," she said, "and of course i have seen you come in and out sometimes when i have been home for the holidays." "i have seen you in church," jack said, making a tremendous effort to shake off his awkwardness. jack simpson will to the end of his life look back upon that hour as the most uncomfortable he ever spent. then for the first time he discovered that his boots were very heavy and thick; then for the first time did his hands and feet seem to get in his way, and to require thought as to what was to be done with them; and at the time he concluded that white lace curtains, and a pretty carpet, and tea poured out by a chatty and decidedly pretty young lady, were by no means such comfortable institutions as might have been expected. it was two months from the commencement of the strike before jack simpson returned from birmingham, coming home to stay from saturday till monday. nothing can be more discouraging than the appearance of a colliery village where the hands are on strike. for the first week or two there is much bravado, and anticipation of early victory; and as money is still plentiful, the public-houses do a great trade. but as the stern reality of the struggle becomes felt, a gloom falls over the place. the men hang about listlessly, and from time to time straggle down to the committee-room, to hear the last news from the other places to which the strike extends, and to try to gather a little confidence therefrom. at first things always look well. meetings are held in other centres, and promises of support flow in. for a time money arrives freely, and the union committee make an allowance to each member, which, far below his regular pay as it is, is still amply sufficient for his absolute wants. but by the end of two months the enthusiasm which the strike excited elsewhere dies out, the levies fall off, and the weekly money scarce enables life to be kept together. it is distinctive of almost all strikes, that the women, beforehand averse to the movement, when it has once begun, throw themselves heartily into the struggle. from the time it is fairly entered upon until its termination it is rare indeed to hear a collier's wife speak a word against it. when the hardest pinch comes, and the children's faces grow thin and white, and the rooms are stripped of furniture, much as the women may long for an end of it, they never grumble, never pray their husbands to give in. this patient submission to their husbands' wills--this silent bearing of the greatest of suffering, namely, to see children suffer and to be unable to relieve them--is one of the most marked features of all great strikes in the coal districts. "well, mother, and how goes it?" jack asked cheerfully after the first greetings. "we be all right, jack; if we ain't we ought to be, when we've got no children to keep, and get nigh as much as them as has." "eight shillings a week now, ain't it?" mrs. haden nodded. jack looked round. "holloa!" he said, "the clock's gone, and the new carpet!" "well, you see, my boy," mrs. haden said, hesitatingly, "bill is down-hearted sometimes, and he wants a drop of comfort." "i understand," jack said significantly. "jack,"--and she again spoke hesitatingly--"i wish ee'd carry off all they books out o' thy little room. there's scores of 'em, and the smallest would fetch a glass o' beer. i've kept the door locked, but it might tempt him, my boy--not when he's in his right senses, you know, he'd scorn to do such a thing; but when he gets half on, and has no more money, and credit stopped, the craving's too much for him, and he'd sell the bed from under him--anything he's got, i do believe, except his pups;" and she pointed to some of juno's great grandchildren, which were, as usual, lying before the fire, a mere handful of coal now, in comparison with past times. "i'll pick out a parcel of them that will be useful to me," jack said, "and take them away. the rest may go. and now look here, mother. after paying you for my board, i have had for a long time now some eight shillings a week over. i have spent some in books, but second-hand books are very cheap--as dad will find when he tries to sell them. so i've got some money put by. it don't matter how much, but plenty to keep the wolf away while the strike lasts. but i don't mean, mother, to have my savings drunk away. i'm getting sixteen bob a week, and i can live on ten or eleven, so i'll send you five shillings a week. but dad mustn't know it. i'll be home in a month again, and i'll leave you a pound, so that you can get food in. if he thinks about it at all, which ain't likely, you can make out you get it on tick. well, dad, how are you?" he asked, as bill haden entered the cottage. "ah, jack, lad, how be it with 'ee?" "all right, dad; getting on well. and how are things here?" "bad, jack. those scoundrels, the masters, they won't give in; but we're bound to beat 'em--bound to. if they don't come to our terms we mean to call the engine-men, and the hands they've got to keep the ways clear, out of the pits. that'll bring 'em to their senses quick enough. i've been for it all along." "call off the engine-hands!" jack said, in tones of alarm; "you ain't going to do such a mad thing as that! why, if the water gains, and the mines get flooded, it'll be weeks, and maybe months, before the mines can be cleared and put in working order; and what will you all be doing while that's being done?" "it'll bring 'em to their senses, lad," bill haden said, bringing his hand down on the table with a thump. "they mean to starve us; we'll ruin them. there, let's have the price of a quart, jack; i'm dry." jack saw that argument against this mad scheme would be of no use, for his foster-father was already half-drunk, so he handed him a shilling, and with a shrug of his shoulders walked off to mr. merton's. he had long since written to his master, saying that he preferred working his way up slowly in mining, to entering upon a new life, in which, however successful he might be at college, the after course was not clear to him; and his teacher had answered in a tone of approval of his choice. on his way he stopped at the houses of many of his boy friends, and was shocked at the misery which already prevailed in some of them. harry shepherd's home was no better than the others. "why, harry, i should scarce have known you," he said, as the lad came to the door when he opened it and called him. "you look bad, surely." "we're a big family, jack; and the extra children's allowance was dropped last week. there's eight of us, and food's scarce. little annie's going fast, i think. the doctor came this morning, and said she wanted strengthening food. he might as well ha' ordered her a coach-and-four. baby died last week, and mother's ailing. you were right, jack; what fools we were to strike! i've been miles round looking for a job, but it's no use; there's fifty asking for every place open." the tears came into jack's eyes as he looked at the pinched face of his friend. "why did you not write to me?" he asked, almost angrily. "i told you where a letter would find me; and here are you all clemming, and me know nought of it. it's too bad. now look here, harry, i must lend you some money--you know i've got some put by, and you and your father can pay me when good times come again. your dad gets his eight shillings from the union, i suppose?" "yes," the lad answered. "well, with fifteen shillings a week you could make a shift to get on. so i'll send you ten shillings a week for a bit; that'll be seven shillings to add to the eight, and the other three will get meat to make broth for annie. the strike can't last much over another month, and that won't hurt me one way or the other. here's the first ten shillings; put it in your pocket, and then come round with me to the butcher and i'll get a few pounds of meat just to start you all. there, don't cry, and don't say anything, else i'll lick you." but when jack himself entered the schoolmaster's house, and was alone with mr. merton, he threw himself in a chair and burst into tears. "it is awful, sir, awful. to see those little children, who were so noisy and bright when i went away, so pale, and thin, and quiet now. poor little things! poor little things! as to the men, they are starving because they don't choose to work, and if they like it, let them; even the women i don't pity so much, for if they did right they would take broomsticks and drive the men to work; but the children, it's dreadful!" "it is dreadful, jack, and it makes me feel sick and ill when i go into the infant-school. the clergyman's wife has opened a sort of soup-kitchen, and a hundred children get a bowl of soup and a piece of bread at dinner-time every day, and they sell soup under cost price to the women. mr. brook has given fifty pounds towards it." "look here, sir," jack said; "you know i've over fifty pounds laid by--and money can't be better spent than for the children. the strike can't last over a month, or six weeks at the outside, and maybe not that. i'll give you three pounds a week, if you will kindly hand it over to mrs. street, and say it's been sent you. but it's to go to feeding children. let me see; the soup don't cost above a penny a bowl, and say a halfpenny for a hunch of bread. so that will give a good many of 'em a dinner every day. will you do that for me, sir?" "i will, my boy," mr. merton said heartily. "you may save many a young life." "well, sir, and what do you think of things?" "i fear we shall have trouble, jack. last night there was rioting over at crawfurd; a manager's house was burnt down, and some policemen badly hurt. there is angry talk all over the district, and i fear we shall have it here." when jack started on sunday evening for birmingham, his last words to his mother were: "mind, mother, the very first word you hear about violence or assault, you post this envelope i have directed, to me. i will come straight back. i'll keep father out of it somehow; and i'll do all i can to save mr. brook's property. he's a good master, and he's been specially kind to me, and i won't have him or his property injured." "why, lauk a' mercy, jack, you ain't going to fight the whole place all by yourself, are you?" "i don't know what i am going to do yet," jack said; "but you may be quite sure i shall do something." and as his mother looked at the set bull-dog expression of his mouth and jaw, she felt that jack was thoroughly in earnest. chapter x. hard times. it was when the pinch came, the subscriptions fell off, and the weekly payments by the union dwindled to a few shillings for the support of a whole family, that the rough virtues of the people of the mining districts came strongly into prominence. starvation was doing its work, and told first upon the women and children. little faces, awhile since so rosy and bright, grew thin and pinched, chubby arms shrank until the bone could almost be seen through the skin, and low fever, a sure accompaniment of want, made its appearance. no more tender and devoted nurses could be found than the rough women, who hushed their voices, and stole with quiet feet around the little beds, letting fall many a silent tear when the sufferer asked for little things, for tea or lemonade, which there were no means to purchase, or when the doctor shook his head and said that good food and not medicine was needed. the pitmen themselves would saunter aimlessly in and out of the houses, so changed from the cottages well stocked with furniture, with gay-coloured pictures on the wall, an eight-day clock, and many another little valuable, and all gone one after another. very many of them lived upon the scantiest allowance of dry bread which would keep life together, in order that the allowance might all go for the children, retaining as their sole luxury a penny or two a week for the purchase of a pipe or two of tobacco daily. had it not been for the soup-kitchen scores of children would have died, but the pint of soup and the slice of bread enabled them to live. there was no talk of surrender yet, although compromises, which would at first have been indignantly rejected, were now discussed, and a deputation had waited upon mr. brook, but the owner refused to enter into any compromise. "no, never," he said; "you have chosen to join the hands of the other pits in an endeavour to force your employers into giving you a higher rate of wages than they can afford to pay. i, therefore, have joined the other employers. we know, what you cannot know, what are our expenses, and what we can afford to pay, and we will accept no dictation whatever from the men as to their rate of wages. if i prefer, as i do prefer, that the colliery should stand idle, to raising your rate of wages, it is a clear proof that i should lose money if i agreed to your demand. if needs be i would rather that the pit was closed for a year, or for ten years. we have bound ourselves together to make no advance, just as you have bound yourselves not to go to work at the old rate. when you choose to go in at that rate there are your places ready for you, but i will give way in no single point, i will not pay a halfpenny a ton more than before. you best know how long you can hold out. don't let it be too long, lads, for the sake of your wives and children; remember that the time may come, when, thinking over some empty chair, recalling some little face you will never see again, you will curse your folly and obstinacy in ruining your homes, and destroying those dependent upon you in a struggle in which it was from the first certain that you could not win, and in which, even if you won, the amount at stake is not worth one day of the suffering which you are inflicting upon those you love." left to themselves the men would have much sooner given in, would indeed never have embarked on the strike, but the influence of the union being over them, they feared to be called "black sheep," and to be taunted with deserting the general cause, and so the strike went on. the tale of the suffering over the wide district affected by the strike was told through the land, and the subscriptions of the benevolent flowed in. public opinion was, however, strongly opposed to the strike, and for the most part the money was subscribed wholly for soup-kitchen, for children, and for relief of the sick. but the area was wide, there were scores of villages as badly off as stokebridge, and the share of each of the general fund was very small. a local committee was formed, of which the vicar was at the head, for the management of the funds, and for organizing a body of nurses. all the women who had no children of their own were enrolled upon its lists, and many of the girls of the sewing-class volunteered their services. no one during this sad time devoted herself more untiringly and devotedly than nelly hardy. the quiet manner, the steady and resolute face, rendered her an excellent nurse, and as her father and mother were, perforce, sober, she could devote her whole time to the work. a portion of the funds was devoted to the preparation of the articles of food and drink necessary for the sick, and the kitchen of the schoolroom was freely employed in making milk-puddings, barley-water, and other things which brought pleasure and alleviation to the parched little lips for which they were intended. the distress grew daily more intense. the small traders could no longer give credit; the pawnbrokers were so overburdened with household goods that they were obliged absolutely to decline to receive more; the doctors were worn out with work; the guardians of the poor were nearly beside themselves in their efforts to face the frightful distress prevailing; and the charitable committee, aided as they were by subscriptions from without, could still do but little in comparison to the great need. jane haden and the other women without families, did their best to help nurse in the houses where sickness was rife. the children were mere shadows, and the men and women, although far less reduced, were yet worn and wasted by want of food. and still the strike went on, still the men held out against the reduction. some of the masters had brought men from other parts, and these had to be guarded to and from their work by strong bodies of police, and several serious encounters had taken place. some of the hands were wavering now, but the party of resistance grew more and more violent, and the waverers dared not raise their voices. the delegates of the union went about holding meetings, and assuring their hearers that the masters were on the point of being beaten, and must give way; but they were listened to in sullen and gloomy silence by the men. then came muttered threats and secret gatherings; and then jane haden, obedient to her promise, but very doubtful as to its wisdom, posted the letter jack had left with her. it was three o'clock next day before he arrived, for he had not received the letter until he went out for his breakfast, and he had to go back to his work and ask to be allowed to go away for the afternoon on particular business, for which he was wanted at home. "well, mother, what is it?" was his first question on entering. "i oughtn't to tell 'ee, jack; and i do believe bill would kill me if he knew." "he won't know, mother, and you must tell me," jack said quietly. "well, my boy, yesterday afternoon bill came in here with eight or ten others. i were upstairs, but i suppose they thought i were out, and as i did not want to disturb 'em, and was pretty nigh worn out--i had been up three nights with betsy mullin's girl--i sat down and nigh dozed off. the door was open, and i could hear what they said downstairs when they spoke loud. at first they talked low, and i didn't heed what they were saying; then i heard a word or two which frighted me, and then i got up and went quiet to my door and listened. jack, they are going to wreck the engines, so as to stop the pumping and drown the mines. they are going to do for the 'vaughan,' and the 'hill side,' and 'thorns,' and the 'little shaft,' and 'vale.' it's to be done to-night, and they begin with the 'vaughan' at ten o'clock, 'cause it's closest, i suppose." "they are mad," jack said sternly. "how are they to earn bread if they flood the mines? and it will end by a lot of them being sent to jail for years. but i'll stop it if it costs me my life." "oh, jack! don't 'ee do anything rash," mrs. haden said piteously. "what can one lad do against two or three hundred men?" "now, mother," jack said promptly, not heeding her appeal, "what police are there within reach?" "the police were all sent away yesterday to bampton. there were riots there, i heard say. that's why they chose to-night." "now the first thing, mother, is to prevent dad from going out to-night. he must be kept out of it, whatever others do. i've brought a bottle of gin from birmingham. tell him i've come over for an hour or two to see schoolmaster, and i'm going back again afterwards, but i've brought him this as a present. get the cork out; he's sure to drink a glass or two anyhow, perhaps more, but it will send him off to sleep, sure enough. it's the strongest i could get, and he's out of the way of drink now. i don't suppose they'll miss him when they start; but if any one comes round for him, you tell 'em i brought him some old tom over, and that he's so dead sleepy he can't move. later on, if you can, get some woman or child to come in, and let them see him, so that there'll be a witness he was at home when the thing came off, that'll make him safe. i've thought it all over." "but what be'est thou going to do, jack?" "don't mind me, mother. i'm going to save the vaughan colliery. don't you fret about me; all you've got to do is to make dad drink, which ain't a difficult job, and to stick to the story that i have been over for an hour to see schoolmaster. good-bye, mother. don't fret; it will all come out right." as jack went down the street he tapped at the door of his friend's house. "is harry in?" harry was in, and came out at once. "how's annie?" was jack's first question. "better, much better, jack; the doctor thinks she'll do now. the broth put fresh life into her; we're all better, jack, thanks to you." "that's all right, harry. put on your cap and walk with me to the schoolroom. now," he went on, as his friend rejoined him, and they turned up the street, "will you do a job for me?" "anything in the world, jack--leastways, anything i can." "you may risk your life, harry." "all right, jack, i'll risk it willing for you. you risked yours for me at the old shaft." "dost know what's going to be done to-night harry?" "i've heard summat about it." "it must be stopped, harry, if it costs you and me our lives. what's that when the whole district depends upon it? if they wreck the engines and flood the mines there will be no work for months; and what's to become of the women and children then? i'm going to mr. merton to tell him, and to get him to write a letter to sir john butler--brook's place would be watched--he's the nearest magistrate, and the most active about here, and won't let the grass grow under his feet by all accounts. the letter must tell him of the attack that is to be made to-night, and ask him to send for the soldiers, if no police can be had. i want you to take the letter, harry. go out the other side of the village and make a long sweep round. don't get into the road till you get a full mile out of the place. then go as hard as you can till you get to butler's. insist on seeing him yourself; say it's a question of life and death. if he's out, you must go on to hooper--he's the next magistrate. when you have delivered the letter, slip off home and go to bed, and never let out all your life that you took that letter." "all right, jack; but what be'est thou going to do?" "i'm going another way, lad; i've got my work too. you'd best stop here, harry; i will bring the letter to you. it may get out some day that merton wrote it, and it's as well you shouldn't be seen near his place." chapter xi. the attack on the engine-house. no sooner did mr. merton hear of the resolution of the miners to destroy the engines, than he sat down and wrote an urgent letter to sir john butler. "is there anything else, jack?" "i don't know, sir. if the masters could be warned of the attack they might get a few viewers and firemen and make a sort of defence; but if the men's blood's up it might go hard with them; and it would go hard with you if you were known to have taken the news of it." "i will take the risk of that," mr. merton said. "directly it is dark i will set out. what are you going to do, jack?" "i've got my work marked out," jack said. "i'd rather not tell you till it's all over. good-bye, sir; harry is waiting for the letter." mr. merton did not carry out his plans. as soon as it was dark he left the village, but a hundred yards out he came upon a party of men, evidently posted as sentries. these roughly told him that if he didn't want to be chucked into the canal he'd best go home to bed; and this, after trying another road with the same result, he did. jack walked with harry as far as the railway-station, mentioning to several friends he met that he was off again. the lads crossed the line, went out of the opposite booking-office, and set off--for it was now past five, and already dark--at the top of their speed in different directions. jack did not stop till he reached the engine-house of the vaughan mine. the pumps were still clanking inside, and the water streaming down the shoot. peeping carefully in, to see that his friend, john ratcliffe, was alone, jack entered. "well, john," he said, "the engine's still going." "ay, jack; but if what's more nor one has told me to-day be true, it be for the last time." "look here, john; mr. brook has been a good master, will you do him a good turn?" "ay, lad, if i can; i've held on here, though they've threatened to chuck me down the shaft; but i'm a married man, and can't throw away my life." "i don't ask you to, john. i want you to work hard here with me till six o'clock strikes, and then go home as usual." "what dost want done, lad?" "what steam is there in the boiler?" "only about fifteen pounds. i'm just knocking off, and have banked the fire up." "all right, john. i want you to help me fix the fire hose, the short length, to that blow-off cock at the bottom of the boiler. we can unscrew the pipe down to the drain, and can fasten the hose to it with a union, i expect. you've got some unions, haven't you?" "yes, lad; and what then?" "that's my business, john. i'm going to hold this place till the soldiers come; and i think that with twenty pounds of steam in the boiler, and the hose, i can keep all the miners of stokebridge out. at any rate, i'll try. now, john, set to work. i want thee to go straight home, and then no one will suspect thee of having a hand in the matter. i'll go out when thou dost, and thou canst swear, if thou art asked, that there was not a soul in the house when thou camest away." "thou wilt lose thy life, jack." "that be my business," jack said. "i think not. now set to work, john; give me a spanner, and let's get the pipe off the cock at once." john ratcliffe set to work with a will, and in twenty minutes the unions were screwed on and the hose attached, a length of thirty feet, which was quite sufficient to reach to the window, some eight feet above the ground. along by this window ran a platform. there was another, and a smaller window, on the other side. while they were working, john ratcliffe tried to dissuade jack from carrying out his plan. "it's no use, john. i mean to save the engines, and so the pit. they'll never get in; and no one knows i am here, and no one will suspect me. none of 'em will know my voice, for they won't bring boys with them, and dad won't be here. there, it's striking six. let me just drop a rope out of the window to climb in again with. now we'll go out together; do thou lock the door, take the key, and go off home. like enough they'll ask thee for the key, or they may bring their sledges to break it in. anyhow it will make no difference, for there are a couple of bolts inside, and i shall make it fast with bars. there, that's right. good-night, john. remember, whatever comes of it, thou knowest nought of it. thou camest away and left the place empty, as usual, and no one there." "good-bye, lad, i'd stop with 'ee and share thy risk, but they'd know i was here, and my life wouldn't be worth the price of a pot o' beer. don't forget, lad, if thou lowerst the water, to damp down the fire, and open the valves." jack, left to himself, clambered up to the window and entered the engine-house again, threw some fresh coal on the fire, heaped a quantity of coal against the door, and jammed several long iron bars against it. then he lighted his pipe and sat listening, occasionally getting up to hold a lantern to the steam-gauge, as it crept gradually up. "twenty-five pounds," he said; "that will be enough to throw the water fifty or sixty yards on a level, and the door of the winding-engine's not more than thirty, so i can hold them both if they try to break in there." he again banked up the fires, and sat thinking. harry would be at the magistrate's by a quarter to six. by six o'clock sir john could be on his way to birmingham for troops; fifteen miles to drive--say an hour and a half. another hour for the soldiers to start, and three hours to do the nineteen miles to the vaughan, half-past eleven--perhaps half an hour earlier, perhaps half an hour later. there was no fear but there was plenty of water. the boiler was a large one, and was built partly into, partly out of the engine-house. that is to say, while the furnace-door, the gauges, and the safety-valve were inside, the main portion of the boiler was outside the walls. the blow-off cock was two inches in diameter, and the nozzle of the hose an inch and a half. it would take some minutes then, even with the steam at a pressure of twenty-five pounds to the inch, to blow the water out, and a minute would, he was certain, do all that was needed. not even when, upon the first day of his life in the pit, jack sat hour after hour alone in the darkness, did the time seem to go so slowly as it did that evening. once or twice he thought he heard footsteps, and crept cautiously up to the window to listen; but each time, convinced of his error, he returned to his place on a bench near the furnace. he heard the hours strike, one after another, on the stokebridge church clock--eight, nine, ten--and then he took his post by the window and listened. a quarter of an hour passed, and then there was a faint, confused sound. nearer it came, and nearer, until it swelled into the trampling of a crowd of many hundreds of men. they came along with laughter and rough jests, for they had no thought of opposition--no thought that anyone was near them. the crowd moved forward until they were within a few yards of the engine-house, and then one, who seemed to be in command, said, "smash the door in with your sledges, lads." jack had, as they approached, gone down to the boiler, and had turned the blow-off cock, and the boiling water swelled the strong leathern hose almost to bursting. then he went back to the window, threw it open, and stood with the nozzle in his hand. "hold!" he shouted out in loud, clear tones. "let no man move a step nearer for his life." the mob stood silent, paralyzed with surprise. jack had spoken without a tinge of the local accent, and as none of the boys were there, his voice was quite unrecognized. "who be he?" "it's a stranger!" and other sentences, were muttered through the throng. "who be you?" the leader asked, recovering from his surprise. "never mind who i am," jack said, standing well back from the window, lest the light from the lanterns which some of the men carried might fall on his face. "i am here in the name of the law. i warn you to desist from your evil design. go to your homes; the soldiers are on their way, and may be here any minute. moreover, i have means here of destroying any man who attempts to enter." there was a movement in the crowd. "the soldiers be coming" ran from mouth to mouth, and the more timid began to move towards the outside of the crowd. "stand firm, lads, it be a lie," shouted the leader. "thee baint to be frighted by one man, be'est 'ee? what! five hundred staffordshire miners afeard o' one? why, ye'll be the laughing-stock of the country! now, lads, break in the door; we'll soon see who be yon chap that talks so big." there was a rush to the door, and a thundering clatter as the heavy blows of the sledge-hammers fell on the wood; while another party began an assault upon the door of the winding-engine house. then jack, with closely pressed lips and set face, turned the cock of the nozzle. with a hiss the scalding water leaped out in a stream. jack stood well forward now and with the hose swept the crowd, as a fireman might sweep a burning building. driven by the tremendous force of the internal steam, the boiling water knocked the men in front headlong over; then, as he raised the nozzle and scattered the water broadcast over the crowd, wild yells, screams, and curses broke on the night air. another move, and the column of boiling fluid fell on those engaged on the other engine-house door, and smote them down. then jack turned the cock again, and the stream of water ceased. it was but a minute since he had turned it on, but it had done its terrible work. a score of men lay on the ground, rolling in agony; others danced, screamed, and yelled in pain; others, less severely scalded, filled the air with curses; while all able to move made a wild rush back from the terrible building. when the wild cries had a little subsided, jack called out,-- "now, lads, you can come back safely. i have plenty more hot water, and i could have scalded the whole of you as badly as those in front had i wanted to. now i promise, on my oath, not to turn it on again if you will come and carry off your mates who are here. take them off home as quick as you can, before the soldiers come. i don't want to do you harm. you'd all best be in bed as soon as you can." the men hesitated, but it was clear to them all that it had been in the power of their unknown foe to have inflicted a far heavier punishment upon them than he had done, and there was a ring of truth and honesty in his voice which they could not doubt. so after a little hesitation a number of them came forward, and lifting the men who had fallen near the engine-house, carried them off; and in a few minutes there was a deep silence where, just before, a very pandemonium had seemed let loose. then jack, the strain over, sat down, and cried like a child. half an hour later, listening intently, he heard a deep sound in the distance. "here come the soldiers," he muttered, "it is time for me to be off." he glanced at the steam-gauge, and saw that the steam was falling, while the water-gauge showed that there was still sufficient water for safety, and he then opened the window at the back of the building, and dropped to the ground. in an instant he was seized in a powerful grasp. "i thought ye'd be coming out here, and now i've got ye," growled a deep voice, which jack recognized as that of roger hawking, the terror of stokebridge. for an instant his heart seemed to stand still at the extent of his peril; then, with a sudden wrench, he swung round and faced his captor, twisted his hands in his handkerchief, and drove his knuckles into his throat. then came a crashing blow in his face--another, and another. with head bent down, jack held on his grip with the gameness and tenacity of a bull-dog, while the blows rained on his head, and his assailant, in his desperate effort to free himself, swung his body hither and thither in the air, as a bull might swing a dog which had pinned him. jack felt his senses going--a dull dazed feeling came over him. then he felt a crash, as his adversary reeled and fell--and then all was dark. [illustration: a life or death struggle.] it could have been but a few minutes that he lay thus, for he awoke with the sound of a thunder of horses' hoofs, and a clatter of swords in the yard on the other side of the engine-house. rousing himself, he found that he still grasped the throat of the man beneath him. with a vague sense of wonder whether his foe was dead, he rose to his feet and staggered off, the desire to avoid the troops dispersing all other ideas in his brain. for a few hundred yards he staggered along, swaying like a drunken man, and knowing nothing of where he was going; then he stumbled, and fell again, and lay for hours insensible. it was just the faint break of day when he came to, the cold air of the morning having brought him to himself. it took him a few minutes to recall what had happened and his whereabouts. then he made his way to the canal, which was close by, washed the blood from his face, and set out to walk to birmingham. he was too shaken and bruised to make much progress, and after walking for a while crept into the shelter of a haystack, and went off to sleep for many hours. after it was dusk in the evening he started again, and made his way to his lodgings at ten o'clock that night. it was a fortnight before he could leave his room, so bruised and cut was his face, and a month before the last sign of the struggle was obliterated, and he felt that he could return to stokebridge without his appearance being noticed. there, great changes had taken place. the military had found the splintered door, the hose, and the still steaming water in the yard, and the particulars of the occurrence which had taken place had been pretty accurately judged. they were indeed soon made public by the stories of the scalded men, a great number of whom were forced to place themselves in the hands of the doctor, many of them having had very narrow escapes of their lives, but none of them had actually succumbed. in searching round the engine-house the soldiers had found a man, apparently dead, his tongue projecting from his mouth. a surgeon had accompanied them, and a vein having been opened and water dashed in his face, he gave signs of recovery. he had been taken off to jail as being concerned in the attack on the engine-house; but no evidence could be obtained against him, and he would have been released had he not been recognized as a man who had, five years before, effected a daring escape from portland, where he was undergoing a life sentence for a brutal manslaughter. the defeat of the attempt to destroy the vaughan engines was the death-blow of the strike. among the foremost in the attack, and therefore so terribly scalded that they were disabled for weeks, were most of the leaders of the strike in the pits of the district, and their voices silenced, and their counsel discredited, the men two days after the attack had a great meeting, at which it was resolved almost unanimously to go to work on the masters' terms. great excitement was caused throughout the district by the publication of the details of the defence of the engine-house, and the most strenuous efforts were made by mr. brook to discover the person to whom he was so indebted. the miners were unanimous in describing him as a stranger, and as speaking like a gentleman; and there was great wonder why any one who had done so great a service to the mine-owners should conceal his identity. jack's secret was, however, well kept by the three or four who alone knew it, and who knew too that his life would not be safe for a day did the colliers, groaning and smarting over their terrible injuries, discover to whom they were indebted for them. chapter xii. after the strike. "well, jack, so you're back again," nelly hardy said as she met jack simpson on his way home from work on the first day after his return. "ay, nelly, and glad to see you. how have things gone on?" and he nodded towards her home. "better than i ever knew them," the girl said. "when father could not afford to buy drink we had better times than i have ever known. it was a thousand times better to starve than as 'twas before. he's laid up still; you nigh scalded him to death, jack, and i doubt he'll never be fit for work again." "i," jack exclaimed, astounded, for he believed that the secret was known only to his mother, harry, john ratcliffe, mr. merton and perhaps the schoolmaster's daughter. "has harry--" "no, harry has not said a word. oh, jack, i didn't think it of you. you call me a friend and keep this a secret, you let harry know it and say nowt to me. i did not think it of you," and the dark eyes filled with tears. "but if harry did not tell you, how--" "as if i wanted telling," she said indignantly. "who would have dared do it but you? didn't i know you were here an hour or two before, and you think i needed telling who it was as faced all the pitmen? and to think you hid it from me! didn't you think i could be trusted? couldn't i have gone to fetch the redcoats for you? couldn't i have sat by you in the engine-house, and waited and held your hand when you stood against them all? oh, jack!" and for the first time since their friendship had been pledged, nearly four years before, jack saw nelly burst into tears. "i didn't mean unkind, nell, i didn't, indeed, and if i had wanted another messenger i would have come to you. don't i know you are as true as steel? come, lass, don't take on. i would have sent thee instead o' harry only i thought he could run fastest. girls' wind ain't as good as lads'." "and you didn't doubt i'd do it, jack?" "not for a moment," jack said. "i would have trusted thee as much as harry." "well then, i forgive you, jack, but if ever you get in danger again, and doant let me know, i'll never speak a word to you again." in the years which had passed since this friendship began nelly hardy had greatly changed. the companionship of two quiet lads like jack and harry had tamed her down, and her love of reading and her study of all the books on history and travel on jack's book-shelves had softened her speech. when alone the three spoke with but little of the dialect of the place, jack having insisted on improvement in this respect. with nelly his task had been easy, for she was an apt pupil, but harry still retained some of his roughness of speech. nelly was fifteen now, and was nearly as tall as jack, who was square and somewhat stout for his age. with these two friends jack would talk sometimes of his hopes of rising and making a way for himself. harry, who believed devoutly in his friend, entered most warmly into his hopes, but nelly on this subject alone was not sympathetic. "you don't say anything," jack remarked one day; "do you think my castles in the air will never come true?" "i know they will come true, jack," she said earnestly; "but don't ask me to be glad. i can't; i try to but i can't. it's selfish, but, but--" and her voice quivered. "every step thou takest will carry you farther up from me, and i can't be glad on it, jack!" "nonsense, nelly," jack said angrily, "dos't think so little of me as to think that i shall not be as true to my two friends, harry and you, as i am now?" the girl shook her head. "you will try, jack, you will try. don't think i doubt you, but--" and turning round she fled away at full speed. "i believe she ran away because she was going to cry," harry said. "lasses are strange things, and though in some things nell's half a lad, yet she's soft you see on some points. curious, isn't it, jack?" "very curious," jack said; "i thought i understood nell as well as i did you or myself, but i begin to think i doant understand her as much as i thought. it comes of her being a lass, of course, but it's queer too," and jack shook his head over the mysterious nature of lasses. "you can't understand 'em," he went on again, thoughtfully. "now, if you wanted some clothes, harry, and you were out of work, i should just buy you a set as a matter of course, and you'd take 'em the same. it would be only natural like friends, wouldn't it?" harry assented. "now, i've been wanting to give nelly a gown, and a jacket, and hat for the last two years. i want her to look nice, and hold her own with the other lasses of the place--she's as good looking as any--but i daren't do it. no, i daren't, downright. i know, as well as if i see it, how she'd flash up, and how angry she'd be." "why should she?" harry asked. "that's what i doan't know, lad, but i know she would be. i suppose it comes of her being a lass, but it beats me altogether. why shouldn't she take it? other lasses take presents from their lads, why shouldn't nell take one from her friend? but she wouldn't, i'd bet my life she wouldn't, and she wouldn't say, 'no, and thank you,' but she'd treat it as if i'd insulted her. no, it can't be done, lad; but it's a pity, for i should ha' liked to see her look nice for once." not satisfied with his inability to solve the question jack took his mother into his confidence. jane haden smiled. "noa, jack, i don't think as how thou canst give nell hardy a dress. she is a good quiet girl and keeps herself respectable, which, taking into account them she comes from, is a credit to her, but i don't think thou could'st gi' her a gown." "but why not, mother?" jack persisted. "i might gi' her a pair o' earrings or a brooch, i suppose, which would cost as much as the gown." "yes, thou might'st do that, jack." "then if she could take the thing which would be no manner o' use to her, why couldn't she take the thing that would?" "i doant know as i can rightly tell you, jack, but there's a difference." "but can't you tell me what is the difference?" jack insisted. "noa, jack, i can't, but there be a difference." jack seized his candle with a cry of despair, and ran upstairs. he had solved many a tough problem, but this was beyond him altogether. he was not, however, accustomed to be baffled, and the next day he renewed the subject, this time to nelly herself. "look here, nell," he said, "i want to ask you a question. it is a supposition, you know, only a supposition, but it bothers me." "what is it, jack?" she said, looking up from the ground, upon which as was her custom she was sitting with a book while jack sat on a gate. "if i was to offer you a pair of gold earrings." "i wouldn't take 'em," the girl said rising, "you know i wouldn't, jack; you know i never take presents from you." "i know, lass, i know. we'll suppose you wouldn't take it, but you wouldn't be angered, would you?" "i should be angered that you had spent money foolishly," the girl said after a pause, "when you knew i shouldn't take it, but i couldn't be angered any other way." "well, but if i were to buy you a hat and a jacket and a gown." "you dare not," the girl said passionately, her face flushed scarlet; "you dare not, jack." "no," jack said consciously, "i know i dare not, though i should like to; but why don't i dare?" "because it would be an insult, a gross insult, jack, and you dare not insult me." "no lass, i darena; but why should it be an insult? that's what i canna make out; why wouldn't it be an insult to offer you a gold brooch worth three or four pounds, and yet be an insult to offer you the other things? what's the difference?" nelly had calmed down now when she saw that the question was a hypothetical one, and that jack had not, as she at first supposed, bought clothes for her. she thought for some time. "i suppose, jack, the difference is this. it's the duty of a girl's father and mother to buy fit clothes for her, and if they don't it's either their fault, or it's because they are too poor. so to give clothes is an interference and a sort of reproach. a brooch is not necessary; it's a pretty ornament, and so a lad may give it to his lass wi'out shame." "yes, i suppose it must be that," jack said thoughtfully. "i'm glad i've got some sort of answer." chapter xiii. a heavy loss. "i thought, sir, that you promised to say nothing about that soup-kitchen money," jack said rather indignantly one evening a fortnight after he had gone to work again. "here all the women of the place seem to know about it, and as i was coming home from work to-day, there was mrs. thompson run out and shook me by the hand and would ha' kissed me if i'd let her, and said i'd saved her children's lives. i ha' been thinking of going away; i can't stand this; and i thought you promised to say nowt about it." "'nothing,' jack," corrected mr. merton. "it is a long time since i heard you say 'nowt.' no, jack, i did not promise; you told me to say nothing about it, but i was careful not to promise. sit down, lad, you're a little hot now, and i am not surprised, but i am sure that you will credit me for having acted for the best." jack sat down with a little grunt, and with the expression of dissatisfaction on his face in no way mollified. "in the first place, jack, you will, i know, be sorry to hear that i am going away." "going away!" jack exclaimed, leaping to his feet, all thought of his grievance gone at once. "oh! mr. merton." "i told you, you will remember, jack, when the strike first began, that for the sake of my daughter i should make an effort to obtain a superior position, and i am glad to say that i have done so. i have obtained the post of mathematical master at the foundation school at birmingham, with a salary of three hundred a year, and this, jack, i partly owe to you." "to me!" jack exclaimed in astonishment; "how could that be, sir?" "well, jack, you got me to write that letter to sir john butler, that was the means of bringing the troops over from birmingham. as we know, they arrived too late, for in point of fact the hot water from the vaughan boiler put an end to the riot and the strike together. however, sir john butler mentioned to mr. brook, and the other owners whose mines were threatened, that it was i who at some risk to myself sent the message which brought down the troops. i can assure you that i disclaimed any merit in the affair; however, they chose to consider themselves under an obligation, and when i applied for the vacant mastership, sending in, of course, my college testimonials, they were good enough to exert all their influence with the governors in my favour, and i was elected unanimously. the salary is an increasing one, and i am to be allowed to coach private pupils for the university. so, jack, you may congratulate me." "i do, sir, most heartily, most heartily," jack said as he grasped the hand which mr. merton held out, but his voice quivered a little and tears stood in his eyes. "i am glad, indeed, although i shall miss you so terribly, you have been so good to me," and jack fairly broke down now, and cried silently. mr. merton put his hand on his shoulder: "jack, my work is nearly done, so far as you are concerned. you have worked nearly as far as can be of any use to you in pure mathematics. for the next few months you may go on; but then you had better turn your attention to the useful application of what you have learned. you want to fit yourself to be an engineer, especially, of course, a mining engineer; still the more general your knowledge the better. you will have, therefore, to devote yourself to the various strains and stresses in iron bridges, and the calculation of the strength of the various forms of these structures. then all calculations as to the expenditure of heat and force in steam engines will be quite material for you to master. in fact, there is work before you for another four or five years. but for much of this you will not require a master. you will find the practical part easy to you when you have a thorough knowledge of mathematics. at the same time if you will once a week send me your papers, noting all difficulties that you may meet with, i will go through them and answer you, and will also give you papers to work out." "you are very, very kind, sir," jack said; "but it will not be the same thing as you being here." "no, not quite the same, jack; still we can hardly help that." "oh, no, sir!" jack said eagerly, "and please do not think that i am not glad to hear that you have got a place more worthy of you. it was a blow to me just at first, and i was selfish to think of myself even for a moment." "well, jack, and now about this question of the soup dinner?" "oh! it does not matter, sir. i had forgot all about it." "it matters a little, jack, because, although i did not promise to keep silence, i should certainly have respected your wish, had it not been that it seemed to be a far more important matter that the truth should be known." "more important, sir?" jack repeated in a puzzled tone. "more important, jack. my successor has been chosen. he is just the man for this place--earnest, well trained, a good disciplinarian. he will be no help to you, jack. he is simply taught and trained as the master of a national school, but he is thoroughly in earnest. i have told him that his most efficient assistant here will be yourself." "i?" jack exclaimed in extreme astonishment. "you, jack, not as a teacher, but as an example. you have immense power of doing good, jack, if you do but choose to exert it." jack was altogether too surprised to speak for some time. "a power of good," he said at last. "the only good i can do, sir, and that is not much, is to thrash chaps i see bullying smaller boys, but that's nothing." "well, that's something, jack; and indeed i fear you are fond of fighting." "i am not fond of it," jack said. "i don't care about it, one way or the other. it doesn't hurt me; i am as hard as nails, you see, so i don't think more about fighting than i do about eating my dinner." "i don't like fighting, jack, when it can be avoided, and i don't think that you are quarrelsome though you do get into so many fights." "indeed i am not quarrelsome, mr. merton; i never quarrel with anyone. if any of the big chaps interfere with us and want to fight, of course i am ready, or if chaps from the other pits think that they can knock our chaps about, of course i show them that the vaughans can fight, or if i see any fellow pitching in to a young one--" "or, in fact, jack, on any pretext whatever. well, if it were anyone else but yourself i should speak very strongly against it; but in your case i avow that i am glad that you have fought, and fought until, as i know, no one anywhere near your age will fight with you, because it now makes you more useful for my purpose." jack looked astonished again. "you don't want me to thrash anyone, mr. merton?" he said; "because if you do--" "no, no, jack, nothing is further from my thoughts. i want you to get the lads of your own age to join a night-school, and to become a more decent christian set of young fellows than they are now. it is just because you can fight well, and are looked up to by the lads as their natural leader, that you can do this. were anyone else to try it he would fail. he would be regarded as a milksop, and be called a girl, and a molly, and all sorts of names, and no one would join him. now with you they can't say this, and boys joining would say to those who made fun of them, 'there's jack simpson, he's one of us; you go and call him molly and see what you'll get.' now you can talk to your comrades, and point out to them the advantages of learning and decent manners. show that not only will they become happier men, but that in a worldly point of view they will benefit, for that the mine-owners have difficulty in getting men with sufficient education to act as overmen and viewers. get them to agree to keep from drink and from the foul language which makes the streets horrible to a decent person. you can work a revolution in the place. you won't get them to do all this at present, but the first step is to get them to attend a night-school. i have for the last year been thinking over the matter, and was intending to speak to you about it when the strike began, and everything else was put aside. now, i have spoken to my successor, and he is willing, and indeed anxious, to open such a school if the young fellows can be induced to come." jack sat for some time in silence. he was always slow at coming to a conclusion, and liked to think over every side of a question. "how often would it be held, sir?" he asked presently. "two or three nights a week, jack. those who are anxious to get on can do as you did, and work between times." "two nights would be enough at first," jack said; "but i think, yes, i think i could get some of them to give that. harry shepherd would, i'm sure, and bill cummings, and fred wood, and i think five or six others. yes, sir, i think we could start it, and all i can do i will. it would do a sight--i mean a great deal of good. i'll come myself at first, sir, and then if any of them make a noise or play games with the schoolmaster i'll lick 'em next day." "no, jack, i don't think that would do, but your presence would no doubt aid the master at first. and you'll think of the other things, jack, the drinking, and the bad language, and so on." "i'll do what i can, mr. merton," jack said, simply, "but it must be bit by bit." "that's right, jack, i knew that i could rely upon you; and now come in to tea, and there was one thing i wanted to say, i want you once a month to come over to me at birmingham on saturday afternoon and stay till sunday evening. it will be a great pleasure to me; i shall see how you are getting on, and shall hear all the news of stokebridge." "i am very very much obliged to you, sir," jack said, colouring with pleasure, "but i am afraid i am not, not fit--" "you are fit to associate with anyone, jack, and it is good for you that you should occasionally have other association than that of your comrades of the pit. you will associate with people of higher rank than mine, if you live, and it is well that you should become accustomed to it. and now, jack, i know you will not take it amiss, but clothes do go for something, and i should advise you to go to a good tailor's at birmingham the first time you come over--i will obtain the address of such a one--and order yourself a suit of well made clothes. as you get on in life you will learn that first impressions go a long way, and that the cut of the clothes have not a little to do with first impressions. i shall introduce you to my friends there, simply as a friend; not that either you or i are ashamed of your working in a pit--indeed, that is your highest credit--but it would spare you the comments and silly questions which would be put to you. now let us go into the next room, alice will be expecting us." jack had taken tea with mr. merton more than once since that first evening before the strike, and was now much more at his ease with miss merton, who, having heard from her father that it was he who saved the vaughan pit, viewed him with a constant feeling of astonishment. it seemed so strange to her that this quiet lad, who certainly stood in awe of her, although he was a year her senior, should have done such a daring action; equally wonderful to think that in spite of his well chosen words and the attainments her father thought so highly of, he was yet a pit boy, like the rough noisy lads of the village. a week later mr. merton and his daughter left stokebridge, and upon the following day his successor arrived, and jack, at mr. merton's request, called upon him the same evening. he was a tall man of some forty years old, with a face expressive of quiet power. jack felt at once that he should like him. he received the lad very kindly. "i have heard so much of you from mr. merton," he said, "and i am sure that you will be a great help to me. harriet," he said to his wife, a bright-looking woman of about thirty-five years old, who came into the room, "this is mr. simpson, of whom mr. merton spoke so highly to me. my wife is going to have the girls' school, have you heard?" "no, indeed," jack said; "mr. merton did not mention it." "it was only settled yesterday; the managers heard that my wife was a trained mistress, and as they were going to pension off the present mistress they offered it to her." "i am very glad," jack said, "for mrs. white has long been past her work, and the girls did pretty well as they liked." "i expect to have some trouble with them at first," mrs. dodgson said cheerfully. "i often tell my husband girls are ever so much more troublesome than boys, but i daresay i shall manage; and now, mr. simpson, we are just going to have supper, will you join us? it will be our first regular meal in the house." "thank you very much," jack said, colouring and hesitating, "but i think, perhaps, you don't know that i am only a lad in the pit." "stuff and nonsense," mrs. dodgson said, "what has that to do with it? why, mr. merton says that you will be john's right hand. besides, you will be able to tell us all about the people we shall have to do with." in another moment jack was seated at table, and really enjoyed the meal, lightened, as it was, by the pleasant talk of his hostess, and the grave but not less kindly conversation of her husband. chapter xiv. the night-school. jack found that, as he expected, his friends harry shepherd, bill cummings, and fred wood, would be glad to attend a night-school, and to work in earnest; for the example of what jack had done for himself, even so far as they knew, had excited a strong desire for improvement among them. they, however, were doubtful as to others, and agreed that it would not do to propose it in a straightforward manner, but that a good deal of careful management would be necessary. jack, it was arranged, should open the subject after leading up to it carefully. harry should be the first to consent, bill cummings was to give in his adhesion when he saw signs of wavering among the others, and fred wood to delay his until a moment when his coming forward would be useful. the following saturday, when many of them were always together, should be the occasion, and fred wood was to lead up to the matter by asking jack some questions as to the relative bigness of the earth and the sun. saturday came, the lads gathered in a field which belonged to the vaughan, and upon which a great tip of rubbish and shale was gradually encroaching. here choosing sides they played at rounders for a couple of hours, and then flung themselves down on the grass. some of them lighted pipes, and all enjoyed the quiet of the fine autumn evening. presently fred wood artfully fired off the questions he had prepared, which jack answered. "what a sight o' things thou know'st, jack!" bill cummings said. "i don't know much yet, bill, but i hopes to know a goodish deal some day." "and thou really lik'st reading, jack? i hate it," john jordan said. "i didn't like it ower much at first," jack answered, "but as i got on i liked it more and more. i wish you chaps had the chances i had. it isn't every one who would take the pains wi' a fellow as merton took wi' me." "what ud be t' good o't?" john jordan asked. "i doan't see no good in knowing that t' sun be a hundred thousand times as big as t' world." "there's use in a great deal o' what one gets to know, though," jack said; "not so much now as some day, maybe. a chap as has some sort o' edication has chances over another o' being chosen as a viewer or an oversman." "oh! that's what thou be'est looking forward to, jack, eh? well there's summat in that, and i shouldna' wonder if we see thee that some day; but we can't all be oversmen." "not in the vaughan," jack said; "but there's plenty o' other pits, and a chap as has got his head screwed on straight, and can write well and figure a bit, and have read up his work, may always look forward to getting a step up wherever he goes. besides, look at the difference it makes to the pleasures o' life. what has a man got to do who ain't learnt to be fond o' reading? nowt but to go to t' public to spend his evenings and drink away his earnings. so 'ee goes on, and his woife doan't care about taking pains about a house when t' maister ain't never at home but to his meals, and his children get to look for him coming home drunk and smashing the things, and when he gets old he's just a broken-down drunkard, wi'out a penny saved, and nowt but the poorhouse before him. now, that's the sort o' life o' a man who can't read, or can't read well enough to take pleasure in it, has before him. that is so, bean't it?" there was a long silence; all the lads knew that the picture was a true one. "now look at t'other side," jack went on; "look at merton. he didn't get moore pay a week than a pitman does; look how he lived, how comfortable everything was! what a home that ud be for a man to go back to after his work was done! noice furniture, a wife looking forward neat and tidy to your coming hoam for the evening. your food all comfortable, the kids clean and neat, and delighted to see feyther home." there was again a long silence. "where be the girls to make the tidy wife a' cooming from, i wonder?" john jordan said; "not in stokebridge, i reckon!" "the lasses take mostly after the lads," jack said. "if we became better they'd be ashamed to lag behind. mrs. dodgson, the new schoolmaister's wife, told me t'other day she thought o' opening a sort o' night class for big girls, to teach 'em sewing, and making their own clothes, and summat about cooking, and such like." "that would be summat like," said harry shepherd, who saw that his opportunity had come. "i wonder whether t' maister would open a night-school for us; i'd go for one, quick enough. i doan't know as i've rightly thought it over before, but now ye puts it in that way, jack, there be no doubt i' my moind that i should; it would be a heap better to get some larning, and to live like a decent kind o' chap." "i doan't know," john jordan said; "it moight be better, but look what a lot o' work one ud have to do." "well, john, i always finds plenty o' time for play," jack said. "you could give an hour a day to it, and now the winter's coming on you'd be main glad sometimes as you'd got summat to do. i should ha' to talk to the schoolmaister a bit. i doan't know as he'd be willing to give up his time of an evening two or three evenings a week, say two, when he's been at work all day. it be a good deal to ask a man, that is." "it be, surely," harry said; "but what a sight o' good it would do, and if his woife be willing to give oop her time to the girls, maybe he would do as much for us." there was a pause again. several of the lads looked irresolute. "well," bill cummings said, "i be ready for another if some more of 'ee will join't." the example was contagious. four others agreed to join. "come," harry shepherd said, "it bean't no use if jack can't tell schoolmaister that a dozen o' us will come in ef he will open a school two nights a week. you'll join, woan't you, fred wood?" "oi allers hated my books," fred said, "and used to be bottom o' class. it ain't as i doan't believe what jack simpson says; there be no doubt as it would be a sight better look-out if one got to be fond o' books, and such loike. i doan't believe as ever i shall be, but i doan't mind giving it a trial for six months, and if at the end o' that time i doan't like it, why i jacks it oop." the adhesion of this seemingly reluctant recruit settled the matter. even john jordan yielded upon the same terms, and the whole party, fifteen in number, put down their names, and jack simpson undertook to speak to mr dodgson. "see how we shall get laughed at," john jordan said. "why, we shall get made fun o' by the whole place." "let 'em laugh," jack said, "they won't laugh long. i never was laughed at, and why should you be? they canna call us jennies, for we sixteen will play any sixteen wi'in five miles round, at any game they like, or fight 'em if it comes to that. we has only got to stick together. i sha'n't be one of the night-school, but i am one wi' you, and we'll just stick together. don't let us mind if they do laugh; if they go on at it, and i doubt they will, just offer to fight anyone your own size, and if he be bigger than you like i'll take him in hand." "that's it," harry shepherd said enthusiastically; "we'll stick together, and you see how we'll get on; and look here, i vote we each pay threepence a week, that will get us a room at two bob, and candles. then we can work a' night wi'out being disturbed." "this be a good idea o' thine, harry. i'll give my threepence a week as well as the rest, and i'll come in on the nights when you don't go to school and help any that wants it." "yes," bill cummings said, "and we'll send round challenges to the other pits to play football and rounders. i vote we call ourselves the 'bull-dogs,' and jack shall be our captain." the proposition was carried with unanimity, and the "bull-dogs" became a body from that time. harry was appointed treasurer, and the first week's subscriptions were paid forthwith, and an hour later a room was hired. "hullo!" fred wood said, as they poured in and took possession; "we forgot furniture. we must have a table and some benches." "it is the captain's duty to provide furniture," jack said. "i will get a big table and some benches on monday, and then we'll draw up rules and get 'em framed and hung over the fireplace, then we shall be all in order." nothing could have been more happy than this plan of starting a club; it gave all the members a lively interest in the matter, and united them by a bond which would keep the lazy and careless from hanging back, and it was quite with a sense of excitement that they met on the monday evening. jack had got a large table and some benches. inkstands, slates, paper, and pencils were on the table, and four candles were burning. he took the place of honour at the head of the table, and the others, much pleased with the appearance of the room, took their seats round the table. "in the first place," jack said, striking the table with his fist to call for order, "i have to report to you that i ha' seen the schoolmaister, and he says that he will willingly give two hours two nights a week to teaching the 'bull-dogs.'" this announcement was received with great applause, for the lads had all become deeply interested in the matter. "he says tuesdays and fridays will suit him, from seven till nine; and i have, in your name, accepted with very many thanks his offer; for, lads, it be no light thing that a man who has been all day teaching, should give up two evenings a week to help us on, and that wi'out charge or payment." "that's so, jack!" fred wood said. "i voate we pass a vote o' thanks to mr. dodgson." there was a chorus of approval. "someone ha' got to second that proposal," jack said; "we must do things in the proper form." "i second it," john jordan said. "very well," jack said, "are you all agreed?" "all." "very well, then, i'll write that out neatly in this book i ha' bought to keep the records o' the club, and i'll send a copy to mr. dodgson; i'm sure he will be pleased. i had best act as secretary as well as captain at present, till one o' you gets on wi' his writing and can take it off my hands. now we must draw out our rules. first, we must put down that the following are the original members of the bull-dog club. then, that the objects of the club are to improve ourselves, and to make decent men o' ourselves. next, to stick together in a body and to play all sorts o' games against any other set. all that's been agreed, ain't it?" there were cries of "ay, ay," and jack wrote down the items on the sheet o' paper before him. "now about new members. do we mean to keep it to ourselves, or to let in other chaps?" "keep it to ourselves," shouted several. "well, i dunno," harry shepherd said; "if this is going to do us as much good as we hopes, and think it is, would it be right to keep the chaps o' the place out? o' course we wouldn't go beyond stokebridge, but we might keep it to that." the point was hotly debated, the majority being in favour of confining the club to its present members; some saying that if it were opened the original members would be swamped by numbers, and that their bond of union would be broken. when all had spoken jack simpson said: "i think we might go between both opinions. if we were to limit the club to twenty-four members, this room would just about hold 'em. we would only elect one each week, so as to have time to make a good choice. any member who broke the rules or made himself unpleasant would be expelled, and so we should see in a while all the young chaps o' t' village wanting to join, and it would get to be looked upon as a feather in a chap's cap to belong to it." this proposal was agreed to unanimously. "now the next rule i propose," jack said, "is that this room is to be used from seven to nine for work. no talking to be allowed. arter nine, books to be put away and pipes to be lit by them as smoke, and to talk till ten. i ha' been talking to the woman o' the house, and she will supply cups o' coffee or tea at a penny a piece between nine and ten." this rule was agreed to without a dissentient voice. "now," jack said, "i doan't know as you'll all like the next rule i ha' to propose, but i do think it is a needful one. that is that no swearing or bad language be used in this room. a fine of a penny being inflicted for each time the rule be broken." there was a dead silence. "you see," jack said, "you will all be fined a few times at first, but this money will go to the club fund, and will help up to get fires i' winter. you'll soon break yourselves of it, it be only a trick. i did. mr. merton told me that it was a bad habit and horrible to decent people. i said i could never break myself o't. he said if i fined myself a penny every time i did it, and put it in the poor box o' sunday, i should soon get out o' t'way. well, the first day cost me thirteen pence, the next fourpence, and afterwards it was only a penny now and then. first and last it didn't cost me half a crown, and you never hear me swear or use bad language now. come, bull-dogs, this will be the first step toward improving yourselves, and when you find how easy it be to do wi'out it here, you will soon do wi'out it outside." the rule was finally agreed to, but during the first week it carried a good deal of heart-burning in the club. one of the members left altogether, but the rest soon found that the fines, which had been so alarming for the first day or two, dwindled down. it cost the bull-dogs collectively over three pounds to cure themselves of using bad language, and the fines kept them in firing, paper, pens, and ink all the winter. on the evening after the opening of the club-room the whole party accompanied by jack went to the night-school. they looked rather shamefaced as they tramped in, but jack introduced them one by one to the master, who with a few cordial words put them at their ease. for the first night he contented himself by finding out how much each knew, how much he remembered of what he had formerly heard. for the last half hour he gave them a short lecture on geography, drawing a map on the black-board, taking a traveller from place to place, and telling them what he saw there. then he set them each a task to be learned and a few sums to be done by the following friday, and they returned to the club-room greatly pleased with the first night's lessons. it was not always so light, but the lads were in earnest and really worked hard. jack visited the room on the off nights, explained questions they did not understand, and after nine o'clock generally read aloud for half an hour while they smoked; that is to say, he read short sentences and then one or other read them after him, jack correcting mistakes in dialect and pronunciation. mr. merton had indeed been a friend to jack simpson, but there was another friend to whom, according to his promise, jack reported his doings, not telling everything, perhaps, for jack was not very apt to talk or write about himself; but once a year he sent a letter in reply to a long and wise one which he received from his friend the artist, according to their agreement, for jack had not "given up." before the end of a month mr. dodgson wrote to mr. merton, saying that, thanks to jack, the night-school was a great success, that the lads all behaved extremely well, and were making really surprising efforts to improve themselves. he augured great things for the village from the movement. chapter xv. the sewing class. stokebridge contained altogether a population of some three thousand souls, of whom more than half consisted of the men and boys of the vaughan mine, and the families dependent upon them. it was a place where, except as to accidents at one or other of the pits, news was scarce, and a small thing therefore created much interest. thus the news that the new schoolmaster had opened a night school, and that some sixteen or eighteen of the lads belonging to the vaughan had joined it, created quite an excitement. at first the statement was received with positive disbelief. there was no precedent for such a thing, and in its ways at least stokebridge was strictly conservative. when the tale was confirmed wonder took the place of unbelief. the women were unanimous in the opinion that if the school only kept the lads from drink it would be a blessing to the place. drink was indeed the grand test by which they viewed all things. to anything which led lads to avoid this curse of their homes their approval was certain and complete. whether the acquisition of learning was likely to improve their prospects in life, or to make them better men, was not considered, the great point about the new organization was that it would keep them from the public-houses, the curses of the working men, and still more of the working men's wives and families, of this country. among the men, who were, however, disposed to view the matter as a boys' fancy which would soon die away, the movement met with slight approval. newfangled notions were held in but low estimation among the miners of stokebridge. they had got on wi'out larning, and saw no reason why t' lads could not do as they had done. "they'll be a cocking they noses oop aboove their feythers, joost acause they know moore reading and writing, but what good ul it do they i wonder?" an elderly pitman asked a circle of workmen at the "chequers;" and a general affirmatory grunt betokened assent with the spirit of his words. among the young men, those of from eighteen to three or four and twenty, the opposition was still stronger, for here a strong feeling of jealousy was aroused at the thought that their juniors were, as they considered, stealing a march upon them. gibes and jeers were showered upon the "bull-dogs," and two of them were ducked in the canal by a party of five or six of their elders. on scrambling out, however, they ran back to the village, and the rest of the party, headed by jack, at once started on the war-path. coming up to the band who had assaulted their comrades they fell upon them with fury, and in spite of the latter's superior individual strength, thrashed them soundly, and then gave them a ducking in the canal, similar to that which they had inflicted. after that it came to be understood in stokebridge that it was best to leave the bull-dogs alone, or at least to be content with verbal assaults, at which indeed the lads were able to hold their own. but it was among the girls of stokebridge, those of from fourteen to seventeen years old, that this movement upon the part of the boys excited the greatest discussion and the widest divergence of opinion. up to the time of the strike jack simpson had been by no means popular among their class. it was an anomaly in stokebridge that a lad should have no avowed favourite of his own age among the lasses. these adhesions were not often of a permanent character, although later on sometimes marriages came of them, but for a time, and until the almost inevitable quarrel came, they were regarded as binding. the lad would sometimes buy a ribbon or neckerchief for the lass, and she and two or three others would accompany him as with some of his comrades he strolled in the lanes on sunday, or would sit by him on a wall or a balk of timber as he smoked and talked with his friends. jack's rigid seclusion after his hour of play was over, his apparent indifference to the lasses of the place, was felt as a general slight, and resented accordingly; although the girls were not insensible to his prowess in battle and in sports, to his quiet steadiness of character, or to the frankness and good temper of his face. the general opinion, therefore, among the young girls of stokebridge was that he was "stuck up," although in fact few boys in the place had less of conceit and self-glorification than he had. "did 'ee ever hear of such a tale," asked one of a group of girls sitting together on a bank, while the little ones, of whom they were supposed to be in charge, played and rolled on the grass, "as for a lot o' boys to go to school again o' their own free-will." "i don't see no good in it," another said, "not for the schooling they'll get. but if it teaches them to keep out o' the publics, it will be good for their wives some day." "it will that," put in another earnestly; "my! how feyther did beat mother last night; he were as drunk as could be, and he went on awful." "i think sometimes men are worse nor beasts," another said. "do 'ee know i've heard," sarah shepherd said, "that the new schoolmistress be a-going to open a night-school for girls, to teach sewing, and cutting out, and summat o' cooking." there was a general exclamation of astonishment, and so strange was the news that it was some time before any one ventured a comment on it. "what dost think o't?" sarah questioned at last. "only sewing and cutting out and cooking and such like, and not lessons?" bess thompson asked doubtfully. "not reg'lar lessons i mean. she'll read out while the girls work, and perhaps they will read out by turns; not lessons, you know, but stories and tales, and travels, and that kind o' book. what dost think o't?" "'twould be a good thing to know how to make dresses," fanny jones, who was fond of finery, remarked. "and other things too," put in peggy martin, "and to cook too. mother ain't a good hand at cooking and it puts feyther in such tempers, and sometimes i hardly wonder. i shall go if some others go. but be'est sure it be true, sally?" "harry told me," she said, "and i think jack simpson told him as the schoolmaster said so." the news was too important to be kept to themselves, and there was soon a general move homewards. there sally shepherd's story received confirmation. the schoolmistress had been going from house to house, asking all the women who had daughters between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, to let them attend a working class in the schoolroom two evenings a week, and the answer she almost always received was, "well, i ha' no objection to my lass going if she be willing; and i think it would be very good for her to know how to make her clothes; i can hardly do a stitch myself." mrs. dodgson had also informed the women that any of them who liked to supply the material for undergarments or for children's dresses, could have them for the present made up without charge by the class. "but suppose they spiles 'em?" "they wont spoil them. the work may not be very neat at first, but the things will be well cut out and strongly put together. i will see to that." in a short time the class was opened, and forty girls at once attended. so pleased were these with their teacher, and with the pleasant books that mr. dodgson read to them--for his wife was far too much occupied to read, and too wise to give the girls a distaste for the class by asking them to do so--that the number of applicants for admission soon far exceeded the number who could be received. mr. brook heard shortly afterwards from mr. dodgson of the success of the scheme and the great benefit which was likely to accrue from it, and at once offered to contribute twenty pounds a year to secure the services of a young woman capable of assisting in the girls' school by day and of teaching needlework. thenceforth the number of class evenings was raised to three a week, and sixty girls in all were admitted. the books chosen for reading were not always tales, but for a portion of each evening books treating on domestic matters, the care of a house, the management of illness, cottage gardening, &c., were read; and these were found greatly to interest the hearers. the book on gardening was a special favourite, and soon the pitmen were astonished to see changes in the tiny plots of ground behind their houses. the men in charge of the pit horses were coaxed for baskets of manure, pennies were saved and devoted to the purchase of seed, and the boys found that the most acceptable present was no longer a gay handkerchief or ribbon, but a pot of flowers. revolutions are not made in a day, but as month passed after month the change in stokebridge became marked. the place assumed a smarter and brighter aspect; it was rare to hear bad language from lads or girls in the streets, for the young ones naturally followed the fashion set by their elder brothers and sisters, and as a foul expression not unfrequently cost its utterer a cuff on the head, they soon became rare. the girls became more quiet in demeanour, neater in dress, the boys less noisy and aggressive. the boys' night-school had increased greatly in number. the bull-dogs, after much deliberation, had declined to increase their numbers, but at jack simpson's suggestion it had been agreed that any of them might join other similar associations, in order that these might be conducted on the same lines as their own, and the benefits of which they were conscious be thus distributed more widely. four other "clubs" were in consequence established, all looking upon the bull-dogs as their central association. the vicar of the parish aided the efforts of the school master and mistress for the improvement of the rising generation of stokebridge. hitherto all efforts that way had failed, but he now got over a magic lantern from birmingham, hiring sets of slides of scenery in foreign countries, astronomical subjects, &c., and gave lectures once a fortnight. these were well attended, and the quiet attention with which he was listened to by the younger portion of his audience, contrasted so strongly with the indifference or uproar with which a similar attempt had been met some two years before, that he told mr. brook something like a miracle was being wrought in the parish. mr. brook warmly congratulated mr. and mrs. dodgson on the change, but these frankly said that although they had done their best, the change was in no slight degree due to the influence of one of the pit lads, with whom mr. merton had taken great pains, and who was certainly a remarkable lad. "ah, indeed," mr. brook said. "i have a faint recollection of his speaking to me some years ago of one of the boys; and, now i think of it, he is the same boy who behaved so bravely in going down that old shaft to save another boy's life. the men gave him a gold watch; of course, i remember all about it now. i am glad to hear that he is turning out so well. in a few years i must see what i can do for him." mr. dodgson would have said much more, but mr. merton had impressed upon him that jack would object, above all things, to be brought forward, and that it was better to let him work his way steadily and bide his time. it was not for some months after the sewing classes had been instituted that those for cooking were established. the difficulty was not as to the necessary outlay for stoves and utensils, for these mr. brook at once offered to provide, but as to the food to be cooked. the experiments began on a small scale. at first mrs. dodgson sent round to say that in all cases of illness, she would have broths, puddings, and cooling drinks prepared at the schools free of charge, upon the necessary materials being sent to her. this was followed by the plan of buying the materials for food for invalids, which was to be supplied at a price that just paid the cost. then little steak puddings and pies were made, and these commanded a ready sale; excellent soups from cheap materials were also provided, and for this in winter the demand was greater than they could supply; and so the work was extended until the two stoves were fully occupied for three days a week. eight girls at a time were instructed in cookery, doing the whole work under the supervision of the mistress. two fresh hands came as two left each week; thus each received a month's teaching. on the first week the new-comers simply cleaned and washed the utensils, stoves, &c., during the remaining three weeks they learned to make simple soups, puddings, and pies, to cook meat and vegetables. the time was short for the purpose, but the girls were delighted with their lessons, and took the greatest pride in keeping up the reputation of the school kitchens, and learned at any rate sufficient to enable them to assist their mothers at home with such effect, that the pitmen of stokebridge were astonished at the variety and improvement of their fare. chapter xvi. a new life. jack simpson did not forget the advice mr. merton had given him about clothes, and a fortnight after his master had gone to birmingham jack went over on saturday afternoon, and his kind friend accompanied him to one of the leading tailors there, and he was measured for two suits of clothes. he went to other shops and bought such articles as mr. merton recommended--hats, gloves, boots, &c. mr. merton smiled to himself at the grave attention which jack paid to all he said upon the subject; but jack was always earnest in all he undertook, and he had quite appreciated what his friend had told him as to the advantage of being dressed so as to excite no attention upon the part of those whom he would meet at mr. merton's. the following saturday he went over again, and went again to the tailor's to try his things on. "do you want a dress suit, sir?" the foreman asked with suppressed merriment. "what is a dress suit?" jack said simply. "i am ignorant about these matters." "a dress suit," the foreman said, struck with the young fellow's freedom from all sort of pretence or assumption, "is the dress gentlemen wear of an evening at dinner parties or other gatherings. this is it," and he showed jack an engraving. jack looked at it--he had never seen anyone so attired. "he looks very affected," he said. "oh, that is the fault of the artist," the foreman answered. "gentlemen look just as natural in these clothes as in any other. they are quite simple, you see--all black, with open vest, white shirt, white tie and gloves, and patent leather boots." a quiet smile stole over jack's face. humour was by no means a strong point in his character, but he was not altogether deficient in it. "i had better have them," he said; "it would look strange, i suppose, not to be dressed so when others are?" "it would be a little marked in the event of a dinner or evening party," the foreman answered, and so jack gave the order. it was two weeks later before he paid his first visit to mr. merton; for the pretty little house which the latter had taken a mile out of the town had been in the hands of the workmen and furnishers, mr. merton having drawn on his little capital to decorate and fit up the house, so as to be a pretty home for his daughter. it was, indeed, a larger house than, from the mere salary attached to his post, he could be able to afford, but he reckoned upon considerably increasing this by preparing young men for the university, and he was wise enough to know that a good establishment and a liberal table go very far in establishing and widening a connection, and in rendering people sensible to a man's merits, either in business or otherwise. as mr. merton, m.a., late of st. john's, cambridge, and third wrangler of his year, he had already been received with great cordiality by his colleagues, and at their houses had made the acquaintance of many of the best, if not the wealthiest men in birmingham, for at birmingham the terms were by no means more synonymous than they are elsewhere. jack had ordered his clothes to be sent to a small hotel near the railway station, and had arranged with the landlord that his portmanteau should be kept there, and a room be placed at his service on saturday afternoon and monday morning once a month for him to change his things. he had walked with mr. merton and seen the house, and had determined that he would always change before going there on a saturday, in order to avoid comments by servants and others who might be visiting them. in thus acting jack had no personal thoughts in the matter; much as he always shrank from being put forward as being in any way different from others, he had otherwise no self-consciousness whatever. no lad on the pits thought less of his personal appearance or attire, and his friend nelly had many times taken him to task for his indifference in this respect. mr. merton perceived advantages in jack's position in life not being generally known, and jack at once fell into the arrangement, and carried it out, as described, to the best of his ability. but even he could not help seeing, when he had attired himself for his first visit to mr. merton's house, how complete had been the change in his appearance. "who would have thought that just a little difference in the make of a coat would have made such an alteration in one's look?" he said to himself. "i feel different altogether; but that is nonsense, except that these boots are so much lighter than mine, that it seems as if i were in my stockings. well, i suppose i shall soon be accustomed to it." packing a black coat and a few other articles in a hand-bag, and locking up the clothes he had taken off in his portmanteau, jack started for mr. merton's. he was dressed in a well-fitting suit of dark tweed, with a claret-coloured neckerchief with plain gold scarf-ring. jack's life of exercise had given him the free use of his limbs--he walked erect, and his head was well set back on his shoulders; altogether, with his crisp short waving hair, his good-humoured but resolute face, and his steadfast look, he was, although not handsome, yet a very pleasant-looking young fellow. he soon forgot the fact of his new clothes, except that he was conscious of walking with a lightness and elasticity strange to him, and in half an hour rang at the visitors' bell of mr. merton's villa. "a visitor, papa," said alice, who was sitting near the window of the drawing-room. "how tiresome, just as we were expecting jack simpson. it is a gentleman. why, papa!" and she clapped her hands, "it is jack himself. i did not know him at first, he looks like a gentleman." "he is a gentleman," mr. merton said; "a true gentleman in thought, feeling, and speech, and will soon adapt himself to the society he will meet here. do not remark upon his dress unless he says something about it himself." "oh, papa, i should not think of such a thing. i am not so thoughtless as that." the door was opened and jack was shown in. "how are you, jack? i am glad to see you." "thank you, sir, i am always well," jack said. then turning to miss merton he asked her how she liked birmingham. he had seen her often since the time when he first met her at the commencement of the strike, as he had helped them in their preparations for removing from stokebridge, and had entirely got over the embarrassment which he had felt on the first evening spent there. after talking for a few minutes, jack said gravely to mr. merton, "i hope that these clothes will do, mr. merton?" "excellently well, jack," he answered smiling; "they have made just the difference i expected; my daughter hardly knew you when you rang at the bell." "i hardly knew myself when i saw myself in a glass," jack said. "now, on what principle do you explain the fact that a slight alteration in the cutting and sewing together of pieces of cloth should make such a difference?" "i do not know that i ever gave the philosophy of the question a moment's thought, jack," said mr. merton smiling. "i can only explain it by the remark that the better cut clothes set off the natural curve of the neck, shoulders, and figure generally, and in the second place, being associated in our minds with the peculiar garb worn by gentlemen, they give what, for want of a better word, i may call style. a high black hat is the ugliest, most shapeless, and most unnatural article ever invented, but still a high hat, good and of the shape in vogue, certainly has a more gentlemanly effect, to use a word i hate, than any other. and now, my boy, you i know dined early, so did we. we shall have tea at seven, so we have three hours for work, and there are nearly six weeks' arrears, so do not let us waste any more time." after this first visit jack went out regularly once every four weeks. he fell very naturally into the ways of the house, and although his manner often amused alice merton greatly, and caused even her father to smile, he was never awkward or boorish. as alice came to know him more thoroughly, and their conversations ceased to be of a formal character, she surprised and sometimes quite puzzled him. the girl was full of fun and had a keen sense of humour, and her playful attacks upon his earnestness, her light way of parrying the problems which jack, ever on the alert for information, was constantly putting, and the cheerful tone which her talk imparted to the general conversation when she was present, were all wholly new to the lad. often he did not know whether she was in earnest or not, and was sometimes so overwhelmed by her light attacks as to be unable to answer. mr. merton looked on, amused at their wordy conflicts; he knew that nothing does a boy so much good and so softens his manner as friendly intercourse with a well-read girl of about his own age, and undoubtedly alice did almost as much towards preparing jack's manner for his future career as her father had done towards preparing his mind. as time went on jack often met mr. merton's colleagues, and other gentlemen who came in in the evening. he was always introduced as "my young friend simpson," with the aside, "a remarkably clever young fellow," and most of those who met him supposed him to be a pupil of the professor's. mr. merton had, within a few months of his arrival at birmingham, five or six young men to prepare for cambridge. none of them resided in the house, but after jack had become thoroughly accustomed to the position, mr. merton invited them, as well as a party of ladies and gentlemen, to the house on one of jack's saturday evenings. jack, upon hearing that a number of friends were coming in the evening, made an excuse to go into the town, and took his black bag with him. alice had already wondered over the matter. "they will all be in dress, papa. jack will feel awkward among them." "he is only eighteen, my dear, and it will not matter his not being in evening dress. jack will not feel awkward." alice, was, however, very pleased as well as surprised when, upon coming down dressed into the drawing-room, she found him in full evening dress chatting quietly with her father and two newly arrived guests. jack would not have been awkward, but he would certainly have been uncomfortable had he not been dressed as were the others, for of all things he hated being different to other people. he looked at alice in a pretty pink muslin dress of fashionable make with a surprise as great as that with which she had glanced at him, for he had never before seen a lady in full evening dress. presently he said to her quietly, "i know i never say the right thing, miss merton, and i daresay it is quite wrong for me to express any personal opinions, but you do look--" "no, jack; that is quite the wrong thing to say. you may say, miss merton, your dress is a most becoming one, although even that you could not be allowed to say except to some one with whom you are very intimate. there are as many various shades of compliment as there are of intimacy. a brother may say to a sister, you look stunning to-night--that is a very slang word, jack--and she will like it. a stranger or a new acquaintance may not say a word which would show that he observes a lady is not attired in a black walking dress." "and what is the exact degree of intimacy in which one may say as you denoted, 'miss merton, your dress is a most becoming one?'" "i should say," the girl said gravely, "it might be used by a cousin or by an old gentleman, a friend of the family." then with a laugh she went off to receive the guests, now beginning to arrive in earnest. after this mr. merton made a point of having an "at home" every fourth saturday, and these soon became known as among the most pleasant and sociable gatherings in the literary and scientific world of birmingham. so young jack simpson led a dual life, spending twenty-six days of each month as a pit lad, speaking a dialect nearly as broad as that of his fellows, and two as a quiet and unobtrusive young student in the pleasant home of mr. merton. before a year had passed the one life seemed as natural to him as the other. even with his friends he kept them separate, seldom speaking of stokebridge when at birmingham, save to answer mr. merton's questions as to old pupils; and giving accounts, which to nelly hardy appeared ridiculously meagre, of his birmingham experience to his friends at home. this was not from any desire to be reticent, but simply because the details appeared to him to be altogether uninteresting to his friends. "you need not trouble to tell me any more, jack," nelly hardy said indignantly. "i know it all by heart. you worked three hours with mr. merton; dinner at six; some people came at eight, no one in particular; they talked, and there was some playing on the piano; they went away at twelve. next morning after breakfast you went to church, had dinner at two, took a walk afterwards, had tea at half-past six, supper at nine, then to bed. i won't ask you any more questions, jack; if anything out of the way takes place you will tell me, no doubt." chapter xvii. the dog fight. saturday afternoon walks, when there were no special games on hand, became an institution among what may be called jack simpson's set at stokebridge. the young fellows had followed his lead with all seriousness, and a stranger passing would have been astonished at the talk, so grave and serious was it. in colliery villages, as at school, the lad who is alike the head of the school and the champion at all games, is looked up to and admired and imitated, and his power for good or for evil is almost unlimited among his fellows. thus the saturday afternoon walks became supplements to the evening classes, and questions of all kinds were propounded to jack, whose attainments they regarded as prodigious. on such an afternoon, as jack was giving his friends a brief sketch of the sun and its satellites, and of the wonders of the telescope, they heard bursts of applause by many voices, and a low, deep growling of dogs. "it is a dog fight," one of the lads exclaimed. "it is a brutal sport," jack said. "let us go another way." one of the young fellows had, however, climbed a gate to see what was going on beyond the hedge. "jack," he exclaimed, "there is bill haden fighting his old bitch flora against tom walker's jess, and i think the pup is a-killing the old dorg." with a bound jack simpson sprang into the field, where some twenty or thirty men were standing looking at a dog fight. one dog had got the other down and was evidently killing it. "throw up the sponge, bill," the miners shouted. "the old dorg's no good agin the purp." jack dashed into the ring, with a kick he sent the young dog flying across the ring, and picked up flora, who, game to the last, struggled to get at her foe. a burst of indignation and anger broke from the men. "let un be." "put her down." "dang thee, how dare'st meddle here?" "i'll knock thee head off," and other shouts sounded loudly and threateningly. "for shame!" jack said indignantly. "be ye men! for shame, bill haden, to match thy old dog, twelve year old, wi' a young un. she's been a good dorg, and hast brought thee many a ten-pun note. if be'est tired of her, gi' her poison, but i woant stand by and see her mangled." "how dare 'ee kick my dorg?" a miner said coming angrily forward; "how dare 'ee come here and hinder sport?" "sport!" jack said indignantly, "there be no sport in it. it is brutal cruelty." "the match be got to be fought out," another said, "unless bill haden throws up the sponge for his dog." "come," tom walker said putting his hand on jack's shoulder, "get out o' this; if it warn't for bill haden i'd knock thee head off. we be coom to see spoort, and we mean to see it." "spoort!" jack said passionately. "if it's spoort thee want'st i'll give it thee. flora sha'n't go into the ring agin, but oi ull. i'll fight the best man among ye, be he which he will." a chorus of wonder broke from the colliers. "then thou'st get to fight me," tom walker said. "i b'liev'," he went on looking round, "there bean't no man here ull question that. thou'st wanted a leathering for soom time, jack simpson, wi' thy larning and thy ways, and i'm not sorry to be the man to gi' it thee." "no, no," bill haden said, and the men round for the most part echoed his words. "'taint fair for thee to take t' lad at his word. he be roight. i hadn't ought to ha' matched flora no more. she ha' been a good bitch in her time, but she be past it, and i'll own up that thy pup ha' beaten her, and pay thee the two pounds i lay on her, if ee'll let this matter be." "noa," tom walker said, "the young 'un ha' challenged the best man here, and i be a-goaing to lick him if he doant draw back." "i shall not draw back," jack said divesting himself of his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. "flora got licked a'cause she was too old, maybe i'll be licked a'cause i be too young; but she made a good foight, and so'll oi. no, dad, i won't ha' you to back me. harry here shall do that." the ring was formed again. the lads stood on one side, the men on the other. it was understood now that there was to be a fight, and no one had another word to say. "i'll lay a fi'-pound note to a shilling on the old un," a miner said. "i'll take 'ee," bill haden answered. "it hain't a great risk to run, and jack is as game as flora." several other bets were made at similar odds, the lads, although they deemed the conflict hopeless, yet supporting their champion. tom walker stood but little taller than jack, who was about five feet six, and would probably grow two inches more; but he was three stone heavier, jack being a pound or two only over ten while the pitman reached thirteen. the latter was the acknowledged champion of the vaughan pits, as jack was incontestably the leader among the lads. the disproportion in weight and muscle was enormous; but jack had not a spare ounce of flesh on his bones, while the pitman was fleshy and out of condition. it is not necessary to give the details of the fight, which lasted over an hour. in the earlier portion jack was knocked down again and again, and was several times barely able to come up to the call of time; but his bull-dog strain, as he called it, gradually told, while intemperate habits and want of condition did so as surely upon his opponent. the derisive shouts with which the men had hailed every knock-down blow early in the fight soon subsided, and exclamations of admiration at the pluck with which jack, reeling and confused, came up time after time took their place. "it be a foight arter all," one of them said at the end of the first ten minutes. "i wouldn't lay more nor ten to one now." "i'll take as many tens to one as any o' ye like to lay," bill haden said, but no one cared to lay even these odds. at the end of half an hour the betting was only two to one. jack, who had always "given his head," that is, had always ducked so as to receive the blows on the top of his head, where they were supposed to do less harm, was as strong as he was after the first five minutes. tom walker was panting with fatigue, wild and furious at his want of success over an adversary he had despised. the cheers of the lads, silent at first, rose louder with each round, and culminated in a yell of triumph when, at the end of fifty-five minutes, tom walker, having for the third time in succession been knocked down, was absolutely unable to rise at the call of "time" to renew the fight. [illustration: jack is victorious.] never had an event created such a sensation in stokebridge. at first the news was received with absolute incredulity, but when it became thoroughly understood that bill haden's boy, jack simpson, had licked tom walker, the wonder knew no bounds. so struck were some of the men with jack's courage and endurance, that the offer was made to him that, if he liked to go to birmingham and put himself under that noted pugilist the "chicken," his expenses would be paid, and £ be forthcoming for his first match. jack, knowing that this offer was made in good faith and with good intentions, and was in accordance with the custom of mining villages, declined it courteously and thankfully, but firmly, to the surprise and disappointment of his would-be backers, who had flattered themselves that stokebridge was going to produce a champion middle-weight. he had not come unscathed from the fight, for it proved that one of his ribs had been broken by a heavy body hit; and he was for some weeks in the hands of the doctor, and was longer still before he could again take his place in the pit. bill haden's pride in him was unbounded, and during his illness poor old flora, who seemed to recognize in him her champion, lay on his bed with her black muzzle in the hand not occupied with a book. the victory which jack had won gave the finishing stroke to his popularity and influence among his companions, and silenced definitely and for ever the sneers of the minority who had held out against the change which he had brought about. he himself felt no elation at his victory, and objected to the subject even being alluded to. "it was just a question of wind and last," he said. "i was nigh being done for at the end o' the first three rounds. i just managed to hold on, and then it was a certainty. if tom walker had been in condition he would have finished me in ten minutes. if he had come on working as a getter, i should ha' been nowhere; he's a weigher now and makes fat, and his muscles are flabby. the best dorg can't fight when he's out o' condition." but in spite of that, the lads knew that it was only bull-dog courage that had enabled jack to hold out over these bad ten minutes. as for jane haden, her reproaches to her husband for in the first place matching flora against a young dog, and in the second for allowing jack to fight so noted a man as tom walker, were so fierce and vehement, that until jack was able to leave his bed and take his place by the fire, bill was but little at home; spending all his time, even at meals, in that place of refuge from his wife's tongue,--"the chequers." chapter xviii. stokebridge feast. even among the mining villages of the black country stokebridge had a reputation for roughness; and hardened topers of the place would boast that in no village in the county was there so much beer drunk per head. stokebridge feast was frequented by the dwellers of the mining villages for miles round, and the place was for the day a scene of disgraceful drunkenness and riot. crowds of young men and women came in, the public-houses were crowded, there was a shouting of songs and a scraping of fiddles from each tap-room, and dancing went on in temporary booths. one of these feasts had taken place just after the establishment of the night classes, and had been marked by even greater drunkenness and more riotous scenes than usual. for years the vicar in the church and the dissenting ministers in their meeting-houses had preached in vain against the evil. their congregations were small, and in this respect their words fell upon ears closed to exhortation. during the year which had elapsed, however, there was a perceptible change in stokebridge, a change from which those interested in it hoped for great results. the bull-dogs and their kindred societies had set the fashion, and the demeanour and bearing of the young men and boys was quiet and orderly. in every match which they had played at rounders, football, and quoits, with the surrounding villages stokebridge had won easily, and never were the games entered into with more zest than now. the absence of bad language in the streets was surprising. the habit of restraint upon the tongue acquired in the club-rooms had spread, and two months after jack's first proposal had been so coldly received, the proposition to extend the fines to swearing outside the walls as well as in was unanimously agreed to. the change in the demeanour of the girls was even greater. besides the influence of mrs. dodgson and her assistant, aided perhaps by the desire to stand well in the eyes of lads of the place, their boisterous habits had been toned down, dark neatly made dresses took the place of bright-coloured and flimsy ones; hair, faces, and hands showed more care and self-respect. the example of the young people had not been without its influence upon the elders. not indeed upon the regular drinking set, but upon those who only occasionally gave way. the tidier and more comfortable homes, the better cooked meals, all had their effect; and all but brutalized men shrank from becoming objects of shame to their children. as to the women of stokebridge they were for the most part delighted with the change. some indeed grumbled at the new-fangled ways, and complained that their daughters were getting above them, but as the lesson taught in the night-classes was that the first duty of a girl or woman was to make her home bright and happy, to bear patiently the tempers of others, to be a peacemaker and a help, to bear with children, and to respect elders, even the grumblers gave way at last. the very appearance of the village was changing. pots of bright flowers stood in the windows, creepers and roses climbed over the walls, patches full of straggling weeds were now well-kept gardens; in fact, as mr. brook said one day to the vicar, one would hardly know the place. "there has indeed been a strange movement for good," the clergyman said, "and i cannot take any share of it to myself. it has been going on for some time invisibly, and the night schools and classes for girls have given it an extraordinary impulse. it is a changed place altogether. i am sorry that the feast is at hand. it always does an immense deal of mischief, and is a time of quarrel, drunkenness, and license. i wish that something could be done to counteract its influence." "so do i," mr. brook said. "can you advise anything?" "i cannot," the vicar said; "but i will put on my hat and walk with you down to the schoolhouse. to dodgson and his wife is due the real credit of the change; they are indefatigable, and their influence is very great. let us put the question to them." the schoolmaster had his evening class in; mrs. dodgson had ten girls working and reading in her parlour, as she invited that number of the neatest and most quiet of her pupils to tea on each evening that her husband was engaged with his night-school. these evenings were greatly enjoyed by the girls, and the hope of being included among the list of invited had done much towards producing a change of manners. it was a fine evening, and the schoolmaster and his wife joined mr. brook out of doors, and apologizing for the room being full asked them to sit down in the rose-covered arbour at the end of the garden. the vicar explained the object of the visit. "my wife and i have been talking the matter over, mr. brook," the schoolmaster said, "and we deplore these feasts, which are the bane of the place. they demoralize the village; all sorts of good resolutions give way under temptation, and then those who have given way are ashamed to rejoin their better companions. it cannot be put down, i suppose?" "no," mr. brook said. "it is held in a field belonging to "the chequers," and even did i succeed in getting it closed--which of course would be out of the question--they would find some other site for the booths." "would you be prepared to go to some expense to neutralize the bad effects of this feast, mr. brook?" "certainly; any expense in reason." "what i was thinking, sir, is that if upon the afternoon of the feast you could give a fête in your grounds, beginning with say a cricket-match, followed by a tea, with conjuring or some such amusement afterwards--for i do not think that they would care for dancing--winding up with sandwiches and cakes, and would invite the girls of my wife's sewing-classes with any other girls they may choose to bring with them, and the lads of my evening class, with similar permission to bring friends, we should keep all those who are really the moving spirits of the improvement which has taken place here out of reach of temptation." "your idea is excellent," mr. brook said. "i will get the band of the regiment at birmingham over, and we will wind up with a display of fireworks, and any other attraction which, after thinking the matter over, you can suggest, shall be adopted. i have greatly at heart the interests of my pitmen, and the fact that last year they were led away to play me a scurvy trick is all forgotten now. a good work has been set on foot here, and if we can foster it and keep it going, stokebridge will in future years be a very different place to what it has been." mr. dodgson consulted jack simpson the next day as to the amusements likely to be most popular; but jack suggested that fred wood and bill cummings should be called into consultation, for, as he said, he knew nothing of girls' ways, and his opinions were worth nothing. his two friends were sent for and soon arrived. they agreed that a cricket-match would be the greatest attraction, and that the band of the soldiers would delight the girls. it was arranged that a challenge should be sent to batterbury, which lay thirteen miles off, and would therefore know nothing of the feast. the stokebridge team had visited them the summer before and beaten them, therefore they would no doubt come to stokebridge. they thought that a good conjuror would be an immense attraction, as such a thing had never been seen in stokebridge, and that the fireworks would be a splendid wind up. mr. brook had proposed that a dinner for the contending cricket teams should be served in a marquee, but to this the lads objected, as not only would the girls be left out, but also the lads not engaged in the match. it would be better, they thought, for there to be a table with sandwiches, buns, lemonade, and tea, from which all could help themselves. the arrangements were all made privately, as it was possible that the publicans might, were they aware of the intended counter attraction, change the day of the feast, although this was unlikely, seeing that it had from time immemorial taken place on the rd of september except only when that day fell on a sunday; still it was better to run no risk. a meeting of the "bull-dogs" was called for the th of august, and at this jack announced the invitation which had been received from mr. brook. a few were inclined to demur at giving up the jollity of the feast, but by this time the majority of the lads had gone heart and soul into the movement for improvement. the progress made had already been so great, the difficulties at first met had been so easily overcome, that they were eager to carry on the work. one or two of those most doubtful as to their own resolution were the most ready to accept the invitation of their employer, for it was morally certain that everyone would be drunk on the night of the feast, and it was an inexorable law of the "bull-dogs" that any of the members getting drunk were expelled from that body. the invitation was at last accepted without a dissenting voice, the challenge to batterbury written, and then the members went off to the associated clubs of which they were members to obtain the adhesion of these also to the fête at mr. brook's. mrs. dodgson had harder work with the sewing-class. the attraction of the dancing and display of finery at the feast was greater to many of the girls than to the boys. many eagerly accepted the invitation; but it was not until mr. dodgson came in late in the evening and announced in an audible tone to his wife that he was glad to say that the whole of the young fellows of the night-school had accepted the invitation, that the girls all gave way and agreed to go to the fête. accordingly on the rd of september, just as the people from the pit villages round were flocking in to stokebridge, a hundred and fifty of the young people of that place, with a score or two of young married couples and steady men and women, set out in their sunday suits for mr. brook's. it was a glorious day. the cricket-match was a great success, the military band was delightful, and mr. brook had placed it on the lawn, so that those of the young people who chose could dance to the inspiring strains. piles of sandwiches disappeared during the afternoon, and the tea, coffee, and lemonade were pronounced excellent. there was, too, a plentiful supply of beer for such of the lads as preferred it; as mr. brook thought that it would look like a want of confidence in his visitors did he not provide them with beer. batterbury was beaten soundly; and when it was dark the party assembled in a large marquee. there a conjuror first performed, and after giving all the usual wonders, produced from an inexhaustible box such pretty presents in the way of well-furnished work-bags and other useful articles for the girls that these were delighted. but the surprise of the evening was yet to come. it was not nine o'clock when the conjuror finished, and mr. dodgson was thinking anxiously that the party would be back in stokebridge long before the feast was over. suddenly a great pair of curtains across the end of the tent drew aside and a regular stage was seen. mr. brook had obtained the services of five or six actors and actresses from the birmingham theatre, together with scenery and all accessories; and for two hours and a half the audience was kept in a roar of laughter by some well-acted farces. when the curtain fell at last, mr. brook himself came in front of it. so long and hearty was the cheering that it was a long time before he could obtain a hearing. at last silence was restored. "i am very glad, my friends," he said, "that you have had a happy afternoon and evening, and i hope that another year i shall see you all here again. i should like to say a few words before we separate. you young men, lads and lasses, will in a few years have a paramount influence in stokebridge; upon you it depends whether that place is to be, as it used to be, like other colliery villages in staffordshire, or to be a place inhabited by decent and civilized people. i am delighted to observe that a great change has lately come over it, due in a great measure to your good and kind friends mr. and mrs. dodgson, who have devoted their whole time and efforts to your welfare." the cheering at this point was as great as that which had greeted mr. brook himself, but was even surpassed by that which burst out when a young fellow shouted out, "and jack simpson." during this jack simpson savagely made his way out of the tent, and remained outside, muttering threats about punching heads, till the proceedings were over. "and jack simpson," mr. brook went on, smiling, after the cheering had subsided. "i feel sure that the improvement will be maintained. when you see the comfort of homes in which the wives are cleanly, tidy, and intelligent, able to make the dresses of themselves and their children, and to serve their husbands with decently cooked food; and in which the husbands spend their evenings and their wages at home, treating their wives as rational beings, reading aloud, or engaged in cheerful conversation, and compare their homes with those of the drunkard and the slattern, it would seem impossible for any reasonable human being to hesitate in his or her choice between them. it is in your power, my friends, each and all, which of these homes shall be yours. i have thought that some active amusement is necessary, and have arranged, after consultation with your vicar and with mr. and mrs. dodgson, that a choir-master from birmingham shall come over twice a week, to train such of you as may wish and may have voices, in choir-singing. as the lads of stokebridge can beat those of any of the surrounding villages at cricket, so i hope in time the choir of the lads and lasses of this place will be able to hold its own against any other." again the speaker had to pause, for the cheering was enthusiastic. "and now, good-night; and may i say that i hope and trust that when the fireworks, which will now be displayed, are over, you will all go home and straight to bed, without being tempted to join in the doings at the feast. if so, it will be a satisfaction to me to think that for the first time since the feast was first inaugurated, neither lad nor lass of stokebridge will have cause to look back upon the feast-day with regret or shame." chapter xix. the great riot. stokebridge feast had not gone off with its usual spirit. the number of young pitmen and lads from the surrounding villages were as large as ever, and there was no lack of lasses in gay bonnets and bright dresses. the fact, however, that almost the whole of the lads and girls of stokebridge between the ages of fifteen and eighteen had left the village and gone to a rival fête elsewhere, cast a damper on the proceedings. there were plenty of young women and young men in stokebridge who were as ready as ever to dance and to drink, and who were, perhaps, even gaudier in attire and more boisterous in manner than usual, as a protest against the recession of their juniors; for stokebridge was divided into two very hostile camps, and, as was perhaps not unnatural, those over the age of the girls and lads at the night-schools resented the changes which had been made, and rebelled against the, as they asserted, airs of superiority of younger sisters and brothers. in some cases no doubt there was ground for the feeling. the girls and lads, eager to introduce the new lessons of order and neatness which they had learned, may have gone too fast and acted with too much zeal, although their teacher had specially warned them against so doing. hence the feeling of hostility to the movement was strong among a small section of stokebridge, and the feeling was heightened by the secession in a body of the young people from the feast. as the day went on the public-houses were as full as ever, indeed it was said that never before had so much liquor been consumed; the fiddles played and the dancing and boisterous romping went on as usual, but there was less real fun and enjoyment. as evening came on the young fellows talked together in angry groups. whether the proposal emanated from some of the stokebridge men or from the visitors from other villages was afterwards a matter of much dispute, but it gradually became whispered about among the dancing booths and public-houses that there was an intention to give the party from brook's a warm reception when they arrived. volleys of mud and earth were prepared, and some of the overdressed young women tossed their heads, and said that a spattering with mud would do the stuck-up girls no harm. the older pitmen, who would have certainly opposed any such design being carried out, were kept in ignorance of what was intended; the greater portion were indeed drunk long before the time came when the party would be returning from the fête. at a quarter before twelve jane haden, who had been sitting quietly at home, went up to the "chequers" to look after her husband, and to see about his being brought home should he be incapable of walking. the music was still playing in the dancing booths, but the dancing was kept up without spirit, for a number of young men and lads were gathered outside. as she passed she caught a few words which were sufficient to inform her of what was going on. "get some sticks oot o' hedges." "fill your pockets oop wi' stones." "we'll larn 'em to spoil the feast." jane saw that an attack was going to be made upon the party, and hesitated for a moment what to do. the rockets were going up in mr. brook's grounds, and she knew she had a few minutes yet. first she ran to the house of james shepherd. the pitman, who was a sturdy man, had been asleep for the last three hours. she knocked at the door, unlocked it, and went in. "jim," she called in a loud voice. "aye, what be't?" said a sleepy voice upstairs; "be't thou, harry and sally?" "no, it be i, jane haden; get up quickly, jim; quick, man, there be bad doings, and thy lad and lass are like to have their heads broke if no worse." alarmed by the words and the urgent manner of his neighbour, jim and his wife slipped on a few clothes and came down. jane at once told them what she had heard. "there be between two and three hundred of 'em," she said, "as far as i could see the wust lot out o' stokebridge, and a lot o' roughs from t' other villages. quick, jim, do you and ann go round quick to the houses o' all the old hands who ha' kept away from the feast or who went home drunk early, they may ha' slept 't off by this, and get 'un together. let 'em take pick-helves, and if there's only twenty of ye and ye fall upon this crowd ye'll drive 'em. if ye doan't it will go bad wi' all our lads and lasses. i'll go an' warn 'em, and tell 'em to stop a few minutes on t' road to give 'ee time to coom up. my jack and the lads will foight, no fear o' that, but they can't make head agin so many armed wi' sticks and stones too; but if ye come up behind and fall on 'em when it begins ye'll do, even though they be stronger." fully awake now to the danger which threatened the young people, for the pitman and his wife knew that when blows were exchanged and blood heated things would go much further than was at first intended, they hurried off to get a few men together, while jane haden started for the hall. already the riotous crowd had gone on and she had to make a detour, but she regained the road, and burst breathless and panting into the midst of the throng of young people coming along the lane chatting gaily of the scenes of the evening. "stop, stop!" she cried; "don't go a foot further--where be my jack?" "it's mrs. haden," nelly hardy said. "jack, it's your mother." "what is it?" jack said in astonishment. "anything wrong wi' dad?" "stop!" mrs. haden gasped again; "there's three hundred and more young chaps and boys wi' sticks and stones joost awaiting on this side t'village, awaiting to pay you all oot." ejaculations of alarm were heard all round, and several of the girls began to whimper. "hush!" mr. dodgson said, coming forward. "let all keep silence, there may be no occasion for alarm; let us hear all about it, mrs. haden." mrs. haden repeated her story, and said that harry's father and mother were getting a body of pitmen to help them. "i think, mr. dodgson," said jack, "the girls had best go back to mr. brook's as quickly as possible; we will come and fetch them when it's all over." "i think so too," said mr. dodgson, "they might be injured by stones. my dear, do you lead the girls back to mr. brook's. the house will hardly be shut up yet, and even if it is, mr. brook will gladly receive you. there is no chance of any of the ruffians pursuing them, do you think, jack, when they find they have only us to deal with?" "i don't know, sir. if three or four of us were to put on their cloaks, something light to show in the dark, they will think the girls are among us." "quick! here they come," mr. dodgson said, "go back silently, girls, not a word." two or three cloaks and shawls were hastily borrowed and the lads then turned up the road, where the sound of suppressed laughter and coarse oaths could be heard, while the young women went off at a rapid pace towards the hall. "there are four of the clubs, nigh twenty in each," jack said; "let each club keep together and go right at 'em. stick together whatever ye do." "i'll take my place by you, jack," mr. dodgson said; "you are our captain now." talking in a careless voice the party went forward. the road here was only divided from the fields on either side by a newly planted hedge of a foot or so in height. jack had arranged that he, with the few married pitmen, mr. dodgson, and the eight bull-dogs who did not belong to the other associations, should hold the road; that two of the other clubs should go on each side, fight their way as far as they could, and then close in on the road to take the assailants there on both flanks. the spirit of association did wonders; many of the lads were but fourteen or fifteen, yet all gathered under their respective leaders and prepared for what they felt would be a desperate struggle. presently they saw a dark mass gathered in the road. as soon as the light shawls were seen there was a cry of "here they be, give it 'em well, lads;" and a volley of what were, in the majority of cases, clods of earth, but among which were many stones, was poured in. without an instant's pause the party attacked separated, two bands leapt into the field on either side, and then the whole rushed at the assailants. no such charge as this had been anticipated. the cowardly ruffians had expected to give a complete surprise, to hear the shrieks of the girls, and perhaps some slight resistance from a few of the older lads; the suddenness of this attack astonished them. in an instant jack and his supporters were in their midst, and the fury which animated them at this cowardly attack, and the unity of their action, bore all before them; and in spite of their sticks the leaders of the assailants were beaten to the ground. then the sheer weight of the mass behind stopped the advance and the conflict became a general one. in the crowd and confusion it was difficult to distinguish friend from foe, and this prevented the assailants from making full use of their stakes, rails, and other implements with which they were armed. they were, however, getting the best of it, mr. dodgson had been knocked down with a heavy stake and several others were badly hurt, when the strong bands in the field who had driven back the scattered assailants there, fell upon the flanks of the main body in the road. for five minutes the fight was a desperate one, and then, just as numbers and weapons were telling, there was a shout in the rear, and fifteen pitmen, headed by jim shepherd and armed with pick handles, as formidable weapons as could be desired in the hands of strong men, fell upon the rear of the assailants. yells, shouts, and heavy crashing blows told the tale to those engaged in front; and at once the assailants broke and scattered in flight. "catch 'em and bring 'em down," jack shouted; "they shall pay for this night's work." such of the lads as were not disabled started off, and being fleet of foot, those of the assailants nearest to them had little chance of escape. two or three lads together sprung upon one and pulled him down, and so when the pursuit ended twenty-nine of the assailants had fallen into their hands. in addition to this a score of them lay or sat by the road with broken heads and bones, the work of the pitmen's weapons. of the lads the greater part had been badly knocked about, and some lay insensible in the road. the prisoners were brought together, five of the pitmen with twenty of the lads marched with those able to walk, to the village, where they shut them up in the school-room. the other pitmen remained in charge of the wounded of both sides, and the rest of the party were sent back to mr. brook's to fetch the women and girls. near the house they met mr. brook, accompanied by his two men-servants and gardener, armed with spades, hurrying forward; and he expressed his delight at the issue of the conflict, but shook his head at the number of serious injuries on both sides. in a shed near the house were a number of hurdles, and twenty of these were at once sent forward with the men to carry those unable to walk into the village. mrs. dodgson turned pale as her husband, his face covered with blood, entered the dining-room, where, huddled together, the frightened girls were standing; mrs. dodgson, aided by nelly hardy, having done her utmost to allay their fears. "i am not hurt," mr. dodgson said heartily, "at least not seriously; but i fear that some are. it is all over now, and those ruffians have fled. jack simpson and a party are outside to escort you home. we don't know who are hurt yet, but they will be carried to the girls' school-room and attended there. harry shepherd has gone on to get the doctor up, and mr. brook is sending off a man on horseback to birmingham for some more medical aid and a body of police to take charge of the fellows we have captured; they will be in by the early train." everything was quiet in stokebridge when the party with the prisoners arrived. the pitmen, before starting, had gone into the public-house to get any sober enough to walk to join them; and the few who had kept up the dancing, alarmed at the serious nature of the affair, of which they had tacitly approved, scattered to their homes. the news of the conflict, however, quickly circulated, lights appeared in windows, and the women who had sons or daughters at the fête flocked out into the streets to hear the news. many other pitmen, whom there had not been time enough to summon, soon joined them, and deep indeed was the wrath with which the news of the assault was received. most of the men at once hurried away to the scene of conflict to see who were hurt, and to assist to carry them in; and the sole ground for satisfaction was that the women and girls had all escaped injury. chapter xx. the arm of the law. that was a sad night at stokebridge. seven of the lads were terribly injured, and in two cases the doctors gave no hope of recovery. thirteen of the other party were also grievously hurt by the blows of the pitmen's helves, some had limbs broken, and three lay unconscious all night. most of the boys had scalp wounds, inflicted by stones or sticks, which required dressing. worst of all was the news that among the twenty-five uninjured prisoners were eight who belonged to stokebridge, besides five among the wounded. very few in the village closed an eye that night. mothers went down and implored the pitmen on guard to release their sons, but the pitmen were firm; moreover mr. brook as a magistrate had placed the two constables of the place at the door, with the strictest order to allow none of the prisoners to escape. the six o'clock train brought twenty policemen from birmingham, and these at once took charge of the schoolhouse, and relieved the pitmen of their charge. the working of the mine was suspended for the day, and large numbers of visitors poured into the place. so desperate a riot had never occurred in that neighbourhood before, for even the attack upon the machinery of the mine was considered a less serious affair than this. not only did curiosity to learn the facts of the case attract a crowd of visitors, but there were many people who came from the pit villages near to inquire after missing husbands and sons, and loud were the wailings of women when it was found that these were either prisoners or were lying injured in the temporary hospital. strangers entering the village would have supposed that a great explosion had taken place in some neighbouring pit. blinds were down, women stood at the doors with their aprons to their eyes, children went about in an awed and silent way, as if afraid of the sound of their own voice, many of the young men and lads had their heads enveloped in surgical bandages, and a strange and unnatural calm pervaded the village. the "chequers" and other public-houses, however, did a roaring trade, for the sight-seer in the black country is the thirstiest of men. it was soon known that the magistrates would sit at mr. brook's at one o'clock, and a policeman went round the village with a list of names given him by mr. dodgson, to summon witnesses to attend. jack simpson had strongly urged that his name might not be included, in the first place because above all things he hated being put forward, and in the second, as he pointed out to the schoolmaster, it might excite a feeling against him, and hinder his power for good, if he, the leader of the young men, was to appear as a witness against the elders, especially as among the prisoners was tom walker, with whom he had fought. as jack could give no more testimony than his companions, and as generally it was considered an important and responsible privilege to appear as witness, mr. dodgson omitted jack's name from the list. there was some groaning in the crowd when the uninjured prisoners were marched out under escort of the police, for the attack upon young women was so contrary to all the traditions of the country that the liveliest indignation prevailed against all concerned in it. the marquee used the night before for the theatricals had been hastily converted into a justice room. at a table sat mr. brook with four other magistrates, with a clerk to take notes; the prisoners were ranged in a space railed off for the purpose, and the general public filled the rest of the space. jane haden was the first witness called. she gave her evidence clearly, but with an evident wish to screen some of the accused, and was once or twice sharply reproved by the bench. she could not say who were among the men she saw gathered, nor recognize any of those who had used the threatening expressions which had so alarmed her that she went round to arouse the elder men, and then ran off to warn the returning party. "mrs. haden," sir john butler, who was the chairman of the magistrates, said, "very great praise is due to you for your quickness and decision; had it not been for this there can be no doubt that the riot would have led to results even more disastrous than those which have taken place. at the same time it is the feeling of the court that you are now trying to screen the accused, for it can hardly be, that passing so close you could fail to recognize some of those whom you heard speak." mr. dodgson then gave his evidence, as did several of the lads, who proved the share that the accused had taken in the fray, and that they were captured on the spot; while two of the pitmen proved that when they arrived upon the spot a desperate riot was going on, and that they joined in the fray to assist the party attacked. the examination lasted for four hours, at the end of which the whole of the prisoners were remanded to prison, the case being adjourned for two days. before these were passed, both the lads whose cases had been thought hopeless from the first, died, and the matter assumed even a more serious appearance. before the next hearing several of the prisoners offered to turn king's evidence, and stated that they had been incited by the young women at the feast. great excitement was caused in the village when ten or twelve young women were served with warrants to appear on the following day. they were placed in the dock with the other prisoners, but no direct evidence was taken against them. the number of the accused were further swelled by two men belonging to other villages, who had been arrested on the sworn evidence of some of the lads that they had been active in the fray. at the conclusion of the case the whole of the male prisoners were committed for trial on the charges of manslaughter and riot. after these had been removed in custody, sir john butler addressed a severe admonition to the women. it had, he said, been decided not to press the charge against them of inciting to riot, but that they had used expressions calculated to stir the men up to their foul and dastardly attack upon a number of young women and girls there could be no doubt. the magistrates, however, had decided to discharge them, and hoped that the inward reproach which they could not but feel at having a hand in this disgraceful and fatal outrage would be a lesson to them through life. trembling and abashed, the women made their way home, many of the crowd hissing them as they passed along. when, six weeks later, the assizes were held, four of the prisoners, including tom walker, who was proved to be the leader, were sentenced to seven years penal servitude. ten men had terms of imprisonment varying from two to five years, and the rest were let off with sentences of from six to eighteen months. very long did the remembrance of "the black feast," as it came to be called, linger in the memories of the people of stokebridge and the surrounding district. great as was the grief and suffering caused alike to the friends of those injured and of those upon whom fell punishment and disgrace, the ultimate effect of the riot was, however, most beneficial to stokebridge. many of the young men who had most strongly opposed and derided the efforts of their juniors to improve themselves, were now removed, for in addition to those captured and sentenced, several of those who had taken part in the riot hastily left the place upon the following day, fearing arrest and punishment for their share in the night's proceedings. few of them returned after the conclusion of the trial, nor did the prisoners after the termination of their sentences, for the feeling against them in the district was so strong that they preferred obtaining work in distant parts of the country. a similar effect was produced upon the young women. the narrow escape which they had had of being sent to prison, the disgrace of being arrested and publicly censured, the averted looks of their neighbours, and the removal from the place of the young men with whom they had been used to associate, combined to produce a great effect upon them. some profited by the lesson and adapted themselves to the altered ways of the place; others, after trying to brave it out, left stokebridge and obtained employment in the factories of birmingham; while others again, previously engaged to some of the young men who had left the village, were sooner or later married to them, and were heard of no more in stokebridge. this removal by one means or another of some forty or fifty of the young men and women of the place most opposed to the spirit of improvement, produced an excellent effect. other miners came of course to the village to take the places of those who had left, but as mr. brook instructed his manager to fill up the vacant stalls as far as possible with middle-aged men with families, and not with young men, the new-comers were not an element of disturbance. the price of coal was at this time high, and mr. brook informed the clergyman that, as he was drawing a larger income than usual from the mines, he was willing to give a sum for any purpose which he might recommend as generally useful to the families of his work-people. the vicar as usual consulted his valued assistants the dodgsons, and after much deliberation it was agreed that if a building were to be erected the lower story of which should be fitted up as a laundry and wash-house upon the plan which was then being introduced in some large towns, it would be an immense boon to the place. the upper story was to be furnished as a reading-room with a few papers and a small library of useful and entertaining books for reading upon the spot or lending. plans were obtained and estimates given, and mr. brook expressed his willingness to contribute the sum of eighteen hundred pounds for which a contractor offered to complete the work. chapter xxi. a knotty question. it has not been mentioned that at the fête at mr. brook's on the memorable occasion of the black feast, mr. merton and his daughter were staying as guests with mr. brook. mr. merton was much struck with the extraordinary improvement which had taken place in the bearing and appearance of the young people. "yes," mr. dodgson, whom he congratulated upon the change, said; "it is entirely due to the suggestion which you made upon my arrival here. the night-schools for lads and the sewing and cooking classes for the girls have done wonders, and i have found in the lad you recommended to my attention, jack simpson, an invaluable ally. without him, indeed, i think that our plan would have been a failure. he is a singular young fellow, so quiet yet so determined; the influence he has over the lads of his own age is immense." "he is more than singular," mr. merton said warmly; "he is extraordinary. you only see one side of his character, i see both. as a scholar he is altogether remarkable. he could carry off any open scholarship at cambridge, and could take away the highest honours; he could pass high up among the wranglers even now, and has a broad and solid knowledge of other subjects." "indeed!" mr. dodgson said, surprised; "this is quite new to me. i know that he studies hard privately, and that he went over to see you once a month, but i had no idea that his acquirements were anything exceptional, and, indeed, although his speech is often superior to that of the other young fellows, he often makes mistakes in grammar and pronunciation." mr. merton laughed. "that is one of his peculiarities; he does not wish to be thought above his fellows: look at his dress, now! but if you saw him with me, and heard him talking with the first men of education and science in birmingham you would share the astonishment they often express to me, and would take him not only for a young gentleman, but for one of singular and exceptionally cultured mind." jack's attire, indeed--it was after the conclusion of the cricket-match, and he had changed his clothes--was that of the ordinary pitman in his sunday suit. a black cutaway coat, badly fitting, and made by the village tailor, a black waistcoat and trousers, with thick high-low shoes. his appearance had attracted the attention of miss merton, who, as he approached her, held out her hand. "how are you, jack? what on earth have you been doing to yourself? you look a complete guy in these clothes. i was half tempted to cut you downright." jack laughed. "this is my sunday suit, miss merton, it is just the same as other people's." "perhaps it is," the girl said, laughing, and looking round with just a little curl of her lip; "but you know better, jack: why should you make such a figure of yourself?" "i dress here like what i am," jack said simply, "a pitman. at your house i dress as one of your father's guests." "i suppose you please yourself, and that you always do, mr. jack simpson; you are the most obstinate, incorrigible--" "ruffian," jack put in laughing. "well, i don't know about ruffian," the girl said, laughing too; "but, jack, who is that girl watching us, the quiet-looking girl in a dark brown dress and straw bonnet?" "that is my friend nelly hardy," jack said seriously. "yes, you have often spoken to me about her and i have wanted to see her; what a nice face she has, and handsome too, with her great dark eyes! jack, you must introduce me to her, i should like to know her." "certainly," jack said with a pleased look; and accompanied by alice he walked across the lawn towards her. nelly turned the instant that they moved, and walking away joined some other girls. jack, however, followed. "nelly," he said, when he reached her, "this is miss merton, who wants to know you. miss merton, this is my friend nelly hardy." nelly bent her head silently, but alice held out her hand frankly. "jack has told me so much about you," she said, "that i wanted, above all things, to see you." nelly looked steadily up into her face. it was a face any one might look at with pleasure, frank, joyous, and kindly. it was an earnest face too, less marked and earnest than that now looking at her, but with lines of character and firmness. nelly's expression softened as she gazed. "you are very good, miss merton; i have often heard of you too, and wanted to see you as much as you could have done to see me." "i hope you like me now you do see me," miss merton laughed; "you won't be angry when i say that i like you, though you did turn away when you saw us coming. "you are accustomed to meet people and be introduced," nelly said quietly; "i am not, you see." "i don't think you are shy," miss merton said smiling, "but you had a reason; perhaps some day when we know each other better you will tell me. i have been scolding jack for making such a figure of himself. you are his friend and should not let him do it." jack laughed, while nelly looked in surprise at him. "what is the matter with him?" she asked; "i don't see that there is anything wrong." "not wrong," miss merton said, "only singular to me. he has got on clothes just like all the rest, which don't fit him at all, and look as if they had been made to put on to a wooden figure in a shop window, while when we see him he is always properly dressed." nelly flashed a quiet look of inquiry at jack. "you never told me, jack," she said, with an aggrieved ring in her voice, "that you dressed differently at birmingham to what you do here." "there was nothing to tell really," he said quietly. "i told you that i had had some clothes made there, and always wore them at mr. merton's; but i don't know," and he smiled, "that i did enter into any particulars about their cut, indeed i never thought of this myself." "i don't suppose you did, jack," the girl said gently, for she knew how absolutely truthful he was; "but you ought to have told me. but see, they are getting ready to go into the tent, and i must help look after the young ones." "what a fine face she has!" alice said; "but i don't think she quite likes me, jack." "not like you!" jack said astonished, "what makes you think that? she was sure to like you; why, even if nobody else liked you nelly would, because you have been so kind to me." * * * * * for the next few days the serious events of the night absorbed all thought; indeed, it was not until the following sunday afternoon that jack and nelly hardy met. harry shepherd, who generally accompanied them in their walks upon this day, was still suffering from the effects of the injuries he had received in the riot. jack and his companion talked over that event until they turned to come back. then after a pause the girl asked suddenly, "how do you like alice merton, jack?" jack was in no way taken by surprise, but, ignorant that the black eyes were keenly watching him, he replied: "oh, i like her very much, i have often told you so, nelly." "do you like her better than me, jack?" jack looked surprised this time. "what should put such a thought in your head, lass? you know i like you and harry better than any one in the world. we are like three brothers. it is not likely i should like alice merton, whom i only see once a month, better than you. she is very kind, very pleasant, very bright. she treats me as an equal and i would do anything for her, but she couldn't be the same as you are, no one can. perhaps," he said, "years on--for you know that i have always said that i should not marry till i'm thirty, that's what my good friend told me more than ten years ago--i shall find some one i shall like as well as you, but that will be in a different way, and you will be married years and years before that. let me think, you are nearly seventeen, nelly?" the girl nodded, her face was turned the other way. "yes, you are above a year younger than i am. some girls marry by seventeen; i wonder no one has been after you already, nelly; there is no girl in the village to compare with you." but nelly, without a word, darted away at full speed up the lane towards home, leaving jack speechless with astonishment. "she hasn't done that for years," he said; "it's just the way she used to do when we were first friends. if she got in a temper about anything she would rush away and hide herself and cry for hours. what could i have said to vex her, about her marrying, or having some one courting her; there couldn't be anything in that to vex her." jack thought for some time, sitting upon a stile the better to give his mind to it. finally he gave up the problem in despair, grumbling to himself, "one never gets to understand girls; here i've known nelly for the last seven years like a sister, and there she flies away crying--i am sure she was crying, because she always used to cry when she ran away--and what it is about i have not the least idea. now i mustn't say anything about it when i meet her next, i know that of old, unless she does first, but as likely as not she will never allude to it." in fact no allusion ever was made to the circumstance, for before the following sunday came round john hardy had died. he had been sinking for months, and his death had been looked for for some time. it was not a blow to his daughter, and could hardly be a great grief, for he had been a drunken, worthless man, caring nothing for his child, and frequently brutally assaulting her in his drunken fits. she had attended him patiently and assiduously for months, but no word of thanks had ever issued from his lip. his character was so well known that no one regarded his death as an event for which his daughter should be pitied. it would, however, effect a change in her circumstances. hardy had, ever since the attack upon the vaughan, received an allowance from the union, as well as from the sick club to which he belonged, but this would now cease; and it was conjectured by the neighbours that "th' old ooman would have to go into the house, and nelly would go into a factory at birmingham or wolverhampton, or would go into service." nelly's mother was a broken woman; years of intemperance had prematurely aged her, and her enforced temperance during the last few months had apparently broken her spirit altogether, and the coarse, violent woman had almost sunk into quiet imbecility. chapter xxii. the solution. among others who talked over nelly hardy's future were mr. and mrs. dodgson. they were very fond of her, for from the first she had been the steadiest and most industrious of the young girls of the place, and by diligent study had raised herself far in advance of the rest. she had too been always so willing and ready to oblige and help that she was a great favourite with both. "i have been thinking," mrs. dodgson said to her husband on the evening of the day of john hardy's death, "whether, as miss bolton, the assistant mistress, is going to leave at the end of the month, to be married, nelly hardy would not make an excellent successor for her. there is no doubt she is fully capable of filling the situation; her manners are all that could be wished, and she has great influence with the younger children. the only drawback was her disreputable old father. it would hardly have done for my assistant to appear in school in the morning with a black eye, and for all the children to know that her drunken father had been beating her. now he is gone that objection is at an end. she and her mother, who has been as bad as the father, but is now, i believe, almost imbecile, could live in the little cottage miss bolton occupies." "i think it would be an excellent plan, my dear, excellent; we could have no one we should like better, or who could be a more trustworthy and helpful assistant to you. by all means let it be nelly hardy. i will go up and speak to mr. brook to-morrow. as he is our patron i must consult him, but he will agree to anything we propose. let us say nothing about it until you tell her yourself after the funeral." mrs. dodgson saw nelly hardy several times in the next few days, and went in and sat with her as she worked at her mourning; but it was not until john hardy was laid in the churchyard that she opened the subject. "come up in the morning, my dear," she had said that day; "i want to have a talk with you." on the following morning nelly, in her neatly-fitting black mourning dress, made her appearance at the school-house, after breakfast, a quarter of an hour before school began. "sit down, my dear," mrs. dodgson said, "i have some news to give you which will, i think, please you. of course you have been thinking what to do?" "yes, 'm; i have made up my mind to try and get work in a factory." "indeed! nelly," mrs. dodgson said, surprised; "i should have thought that was the last thing that you would like." "it is not what i like," nelly said quietly, "but what is best. i would rather go into service, and as i am fond of children and used to them, i might, with your kind recommendation, get a comfortable situation; but in that case mother must go to the house, and i could not bear to think of her there. she is very helpless, and of late she has come to look to me, and would be miserable among strangers. i could earn enough at a factory to keep us both, living very closely." "well, nelly, your decision does you honour, but i think my plan is better. have you heard that miss bolton is going to leave us?" "i have heard she was engaged to be married some day, 'm, but i did not know the time was fixed." "she leaves at the end of this month, that is in a fortnight, and her place has already been filled up. upon the recommendation of myself and mr. dodgson, mr. brook has appointed miss nelly hardy as her successor." "me!" exclaimed nelly, rising with a bewildered air. "oh, mrs. dodgson, you cannot mean it?" "i do, indeed, nelly. your conduct here has been most satisfactory in every way, you have a great influence with the children, and your attainments and knowledge are amply sufficient for the post of my assistant. you will, of course, have miss bolton's cottage, and can watch over your mother. you will have opportunities for studying to fit yourself to take another step upwards, and become a head-mistress some day." mrs. dodgson had continued talking, for she saw that nelly was too much agitated and overcome to speak. "oh, mrs. dodgson," she sobbed, "how can i thank you enough?" "there are no thanks due, my dear. of course i want the best assistant i can get, and i know of no one upon whom i can rely more thoroughly than yourself. you have no one but yourself to thank, for it is your good conduct and industry alone which have made you what you are, and that under circumstances of the most unfavourable kind. but there is the bell ringing for school. i suppose i may tell mr. brook that you accept the situation; the pay, thirty pounds a year and the cottage, is not larger, perhaps, than you might earn at a factory, but i think--" "oh, mrs. dodgson," nelly said, smiling through her tears, "i accept, i accept. i would rather live on a crust of bread here than work in a factory, and if i had had the choice of everything i should prefer this." mr. dodgson here came in, shook nelly's hand and congratulated her, and with a happy heart the girl took her way home. jack, upon his return from the pit, found nelly awaiting him at the corner where for years she had stood. he had seen her once since her father's death, and had pressed her hand warmly to express his sympathy, but he was too honest to condole with her on a loss which was, he knew, a relief. he and harry had in the intervening time talked much of nelly's prospects. jack was averse in the extreme to her going into service, still more averse to her going into a factory, but could suggest no alternative plan. "if she were a boy," he said, "it would be easy enough. i am getting eighteen shillings a week now, and could let her have five easily, and she might take in dressmaking. there are plenty of people in the villages round would be glad to get their dresses made; but she would have to live till she got known a bit, and you know she wouldn't take my five shillings. i wouldn't dare offer it to her. now if it was you there would be no trouble at all; you would take it, of course, just as i should take it of you, but she wouldn't, because she's a lass--it beats me altogether. i might get mother to offer her the money, but nelly would know it was me sharp enough, and it would be all the same." "i really think that nelly might do well wi' dressmaking," harry said after a pause. "here all the lasses ha' learnt to work, but, as you say, in the other villages they know no more than we did here three years back; if we got some bills printed and sent 'em round, i should say she might do. there are other things you don't seem to ha' thought on, jack," he said hesitatingly. "you're only eighteen yet, but you are earning near a pound a week, and in another two or three years will be getting man's pay, and you are sure to rise. have you never thought of marrying nelly?" jack jumped as if he had trodden on a snake. "i marry nelly!" he said in astonishment. "what! i marry nelly! are you mad, harry? you know i have made up my mind not to marry for years, not till i'm thirty and have made my way; and as to nelly, why i never thought of her, nor of any other lass in that way; her least of all; why, she is like my sister. what ever put such a ridiculous idea in your head? why, at eighteen boys haven't left school and are looking forward to going to college; those boy and girl marriages among our class are the cause of half our troubles. thirty is quite time enough to marry. how nelly would laugh if she knew what you'd said!" "i should advise you not to tell her," harry said dryly; "i greatly mistake if she would regard it as a laughing matter at all." "no, lasses are strange things," jack meditated again. "but, harry, you are as old as i am, and are earning the same wage; why don't you marry her?" "i would," harry said earnestly, "to-morrow if she'd have me." "you would!" jack exclaimed, as much astonished as by his friend's first proposition. "to think of that now! why, you have always been with her just as i have. you have never shown that you cared for her, never given her presents, nor walked with her, nor anything. and do you really care for her, harry?" "aye," harry said shortly, "i have cared for her for years." "and to think that i have never seen that!" jack said. "why didn't you tell me? why, you are as difficult to understand as she is, and i thought i knew you so well!" "what would have been the use?" harry said. "nelly likes me as a friend, that's all." "that's it," jack said. "of course when people are friends they don't think of each other in any other way. still, harry, she may get to in time. nelly's pretty well a woman, she's seventeen now, but she has no one else after her that i know of." "well, jack, i fancy she could have plenty after her, for she's the prettiest and best girl o' the place; but you see, you are always about wi' her, and i think that most people think it will be a match some day." "people are fools," jack burst out wrathfully. "who says so? just tell me who says so?" "people say so, jack. when a young chap and a lass walk together people suppose there is something in it, and you and nelly ha' been walking together for the last five years." "walking together!" jack repeated angrily; "we have been going about together of course, and you have generally been with us, and often enough half-a-dozen others; that is not like walking together. nelly knew, and every one knew, that we agreed to be friends from the day we stood on the edge of the old shaft when you were in the water below, and we have never changed since." "i know you have never changed, jack, never thought of nelly but as a true friend. i did not know whether now you might think differently. i wanted to hear from your own lips. now i know you don't, that you have no thought of ever being more than a true friend to her, i shall try if i cannot win her." "do," jack said, shaking his friend's hand. "i am sure i wish you success. nothing in the world would please me so much as to see my two friends marry, and though i do think, yes, i really do, harry, that young marriages are bad, yet i am quite sure that you and nelly would be happy together anyhow. and when do you mean to ask her?" "what an impatient fellow you are, jack!" harry said smiling. "nelly has no more idea that i care for her than you had, and i am not going to tell her so all at once. i don't think," he said gravely, "mark me, jack, i don't think nelly will ever have me, but if patience and love can win her i shall succeed in the end." jack looked greatly surprised again. "don't say any more about it, jack," harry went on. "it 'ull be a long job o' work, but i can bide my time; but above all, if you wish me well, do not even breathe a word to nelly of what i have said." from this interview jack departed much mystified. "it seems to me," he muttered to himself, "lads when they're in love get to be like lasses, there's no understanding them. i know nowt of love myself, and what i've read in books didn't seem natural, but i suppose it must be true, for even harry, who i thought i knew as well as myself, turned as mysterious as--well as a ghost. what does he mean by he's got to be patient, and to wait, and it will be a long job. if he likes nelly and nelly likes him--and why shouldn't she?--i don't know why they shouldn't marry in a year or two, though i do hate young marriages. anyhow i'll talk to her about the dressmaking idea. if harry's got to make love to her, it will be far better for him to do it here than to have to go walking her out o' sundays at birmingham. if she would but let me help her a bit till she's got into business it would be as easy as possible." jack, however, soon had the opportunity of laying his scheme fully before nelly hardy, and when she had turned off from the road with him she broke out: "oh, jack, i have such a piece of news; but perhaps you know it, do you?" she asked jealously. "no, i don't know any particular piece of news." "not anything likely to interest me, jack?" "no," jack said puzzled. "honour, you haven't the least idea what it is?" "honour, i haven't," jack said. "i'm going to be a schoolmistress in place of miss bolton." [illustration: the new schoolmistress.] "no!" jack shouted delightedly; "i am glad, nelly, i am glad. why, it is just the thing for you; harry and i have been puzzling our heads all the week as to what you should do!" "and what did your united wisdom arrive at?" nelly laughed. "we thought you might do here at dressmaking," jack said, "after a bit, you know." "the thought was not a bad one," she said; "it never occurred to me, and had this great good fortune not have come to me i might perhaps have tried. it was good of you to think of it. and so you never heard a whisper about the schoolmistress? i thought you might perhaps have suggested it somehow, you know you always do suggest things here." "no, indeed, nelly, i did not hear miss bolton was going." "i am glad," the girl said. "are you?" jack replied in surprise. "why, nelly, wouldn't you have liked me to have helped you?" "yes and no, jack; but no more than yes. i do owe everything to you. it was you who made me your friend, you who taught me, you who urged me on, you who have made me what i am. no, jack, dear," she said, seeing that jack looked pained at her thanks; "i have never thanked you before, and i must do it now. i owe everything to you, and in one way i should have been pleased to owe this to you also, but in another way i am pleased not to do so because my gaining it by, if i may say so, my own merits, show that i have done my best to prove worthy of your kindness and friendship." tears of earnestness stood in her eyes, and jack felt that disclaimer would be ungracious. "i am glad," he said again after a pause. "and now, miss hardy," and he touched his hat laughing, "that you have risen in the world, i hope you are not going to take airs upon yourself." nelly laughed. "it is strange," she said, "that i should be the first to take a step upwards, for mrs. dodgson is going to help me to go in and qualify for a head-schoolmistress-ship some day; but, jack, it is only for a little time. you laugh and call me miss hardy to-day, but the time will come when i shall say 'sir' to you; you are longer beginning, but you will rise far higher; but we shall always be friends; shall we not, jack?" "always, nelly," jack said earnestly. "wherever or whatever jack simpson may be, he will ever be your true and faithful friend, and nothing which may ever happen to me, no rise i may ever make, will give me the pleasure which this good fortune which has befallen you has done. if i ever rise it will make me happy to help harry, but i know you would never have let me help you, and this thought would have marred my life. now that i see you in a position in which i am sure you will be successful, and which is an honourable and pleasant one, i shall the more enjoy my rise when it comes.--does any one else know of it?" he asked as they went on their way. "no one," she said. "who should know it before you?" "harry will be as glad as i am," he said, remembering his friend's late assertion. "yes, harry will be very glad too," nelly said; but jack felt that harry's opinion was of comparatively little importance in her eyes. "he is a good honest fellow is harry, and i am sure he will be pleased, and so i hope will everyone." jack felt that the present moment was not a propitious one for putting in a word for his friend. * * * * * harry shepherd carried out his purpose. for two years he waited, and then told his love to nelly hardy, one bright sunday afternoon when they were walking in the lane. "no, harry, no," she said humbly and sadly; "it can never be, do not ask me, i am so, so sorry." "can it never be?" harry asked. "never," the girl said; "you know yourself, harry, it can never be. i have seen this coming on for two years now, and it has grieved me so; but you know, i am sure you know, why it cannot be." "i know," the young fellow said. "i have always known that you cared for jack a thousand times more than for me, and it's quite natural, for he is worth a thousand of me; but then, then--" and he hesitated. "but then," she went on. "jack does not love me, and you do. that is so, harry; but since i was a child i have loved him. i know, none better, that he never thought of me except as a friend, that he scarcely considered me as a girl. i have never thought that it would be otherwise. i could hardly wish that it were. jack will rise to be a great man, and must marry a lady, but," she said steadfastly, "i can go on loving him till i die." "i have not hoped much, nelly, but remember always, that i have always cared for you. since you first became jack's friend i have cared for you. if he had loved you i could even stand aside and be glad to see you both happy, but i have known always that this could never be. jack's mind was ever so much given up to study, he is not like us, and does not dream of a house and love till he has made his mark in the world. remember only that i love you as you love jack, and shall love as faithfully. some day, perhaps, long hence," he added as nelly shook her head, "you may not think differently, but may come to see that it is better to make one man's life happy than to cling for ever to the remembrance of another. at any rate you will always think of me as your true friend, nelly, always trust me?" "always, harry, in the future more than lately, for i have seen this coming. now that we understand each other we can be quite friends again." chapter xxiii. the explosion at the vaughan. at twelve o'clock on a bright summer day mr. brook drove up in his dog-cart, with two gentlemen, to the vaughan mine. one was the government inspector of the district; the other, a newly-appointed deputy inspector, whom he was taking his rounds with him, to instruct in his duties. "i am very sorry that thompson, my manager, is away to-day," mr. brook said as they alighted. "had i known you were coming i would of course have had him in readiness to go round with you. is williams, the underground manager, in the pit?" he asked the bankman, whose duty it was to look after the ascending and descending cage. "no, sir; he came up about half an hour ago. watkins, the viewer, is below." "he must do, then," mr. brook said, "but i wish mr. thompson had been here. perhaps you would like to look at the plan of the pit before you go down? is williams's office open?" "yes, sir," the bankman answered. mr. brook led the way into the office. "hullo!" he said, seeing a young man at work making a copy of a mining plan; "who are you?" the young man rose-- "jack simpson, sir. i work below, but when it's my night-shift mr. williams allows me to help him here by day." "ah! i remember you now," mr. brook said. "let me see what you are doing. that's a creditable piece of work for a working collier, is it not?" he said, holding up a beautifully executed plan. mr. hardinge looked with surprise at the draughtsman, a young man of some one or two-and-twenty, with a frank, open, pleasant face. "why, you don't look or talk like a miner," he said. "mr. merton, the schoolmaster here, was kind enough to take a great deal of pains with me, sir." "have you been doing this sort of work long?" mr. hardinge asked, pointing to the plan. "about three or four years," mr. brook said promptly. jack looked immensely surprised. mr. brook smiled. "i noticed an extraordinary change in williams's reports, both in the handwriting and expression. now i understand it. you work the same stall as haden, do you not?" "yes, sir, but not the same shift; he had a mate he has worked with ever since my father was killed, so i work the other shift with harvey." "now let us look at the plans of the pit," mr. hardinge said. the two inspectors bent over the table and examined the plans, asking a question of mr. brook now and then. jack had turned to leave when his employer ceased to speak to him, but mr. brook made a motion to him to stay. "what is the size of your furnace, mr. brook?" asked mr. hardinge. "it's an eight-foot furnace," mr. brook replied. "do you know how many thousand cubic feet of air a minute you pass?" mr. brook shook his head: he left the management of the mine entirely in the hands of his manager. mr. hardinge had happened to look at jack as he spoke; and the latter, thinking the question was addressed to him, answered: "about eight thousand feet a minute, sir." "how do you know?" mr. hardinge asked. "by taking the velocity of the air, sir, and the area of the downcast shaft." "how would you measure the velocity, theoretically?" mr. hardinge asked, curious to see how much the young collier knew. "i should require to know the temperature of the shafts respectively, and the height of the upcast shaft." "how could you do it then?" "the formula, sir, is m = h(t'-t)/ +x, h being the height of the upcast, t' its temperature, t the temperature of the exterior air, and x = t'- degrees." "you are a strange young fellow," mr. hardinge said. "may i ask you a question or two?" "certainly, sir." "could you work out the cube-root of say , , ?" jack closed his eyes for a minute and then gave the correct answer to five places of decimals. the three gentlemen gave an exclamation of surprise. "how on earth did you do that?" mr. hardinge exclaimed. "it would take me ten minutes to work it out on paper." "i accustomed myself to calculate while i was in the dark, or working," jack said quietly. "why, you would rival bidder himself," mr. hardinge said; "and how far have you worked up in figures?" "i did the differential calculus, sir, and then mr. merton said that i had better stick to the mechanical application of mathematics instead of going on any farther; that was two years ago." the surprise of the three gentlemen at this simple avowal from a young pitman was unbounded. then mr. hardinge said: "we must talk of this again later on. now let us go down the pit; this young man will do excellently well for a guide. but i am afraid, mr. brook, that i shall have to trouble you a good deal. as far as i can see from the plan the mine is very badly laid out, and the ventilation altogether defective. what is your opinion?" he asked, turning abruptly to jack, and wishing to see whether his practical knowledge at all corresponded with his theoretical acquirements. "i would rather not say, sir," jack said. "it is not for me to express an opinion as to mr. thompson's plan." "let us have your ideas," mr. brook said. "just tell us frankly what you would do if you were manager of the vaughan?" jack turned to the plan. "i should widen the airways, and split the current; that would raise the number of cubic feet of air to about twelve thousand a minute. it is too far for a single current to travel, especially as the airways are not wide; the friction is altogether too great. i should put a split in here, take a current round through the old workings to keep them clear, widen these passages, split the current again here, and then make a cut through this new ground so as to take a strong current to sweep the face of the main workings, and carry it off straight to the upcast. but that current ought not to pass through the furnace, but be let in above, for the gas comes off very thick sometimes, and might not be diluted enough with air, going straight to the furnaces." "your ideas are very good," mr. hardinge said quietly. "now we will get into our clothes and go below." so saying, he opened a bag and took out two mining suits of clothes, which, first taking off their coats, he and his companion proceeded to put on over their other garments. mr. brook went into his office, and similarly prepared himself; while jack, who was not dressed for mining, went to the closet where a few suits were hung up for the use of visitors and others, and prepared to go down. then he went to the lamp-room and fetched four davy-lamps. while he was away mr. brook joined the inspectors. "that young pitman is as steady as he is clever," he said; "he has come several times under my attention. in the first place, the schoolmaster has spoken to me of the lad's efforts to educate himself. then he saved another boy's life at the risk of his own, and of late years his steadiness and good conduct have given him a great influence over his comrades of the same age, and have effected great things for the place. the vicar and schoolmaster now are never tired of praising him." "he is clearly an extraordinary young fellow," mr hardinge said. "do you know his suggestions are exactly what i had intended to offer to you myself? you will have some terrible explosion here unless you make some radical changes." that evening the inspectors stayed for the night at mr. brook's, and the next day that gentleman went over with them to birmingham, where he had some business. his principal object, however, was to take them to see mr. merton, to question him farther with regard to jack simpson. mr. merton related to his visitors the history of jack's efforts to educate himself, and gave them the opinion he had given the lad himself, that he might, had he chosen, have taken a scholarship and then the highest mathematical honours. "he has been working lately at engineering, and calculating the strains and stresses of iron bridges," he said. "and now, mr. brook, i will tell you--and i am sure that you and these gentlemen will give me your promise of secrecy upon the subject--what i have never yet told to a soul. it was that lad who brought me word of the intended attack on the engines, and got me to write the letter to sir john butler. but that is not all, sir. it was that boy--for he was but seventeen then--who defended your engine-house against the mob of five hundred men!" "bless my heart, merton, why did you not tell me before? why, i've puzzled over that ever since. and to think that it was one of my own pit-boys who did that gallant action, and i have done nothing for him!" "he would not have it told, sir. he wanted to go on as a working miner, and learn his business from the bottom. besides, his life wouldn't have been safe in this district for a day if it had been known. but i think you ought to be told of it now. the lad is as modest as he is brave and clever, and would go to his grave without ever letting out that he saved the vaughan, and indeed all the pits in the district. but now that he is a man, it is right you should know; but pray do not let him imagine that you are aware of it. he is very young yet, and will rise on his own merits, and would dislike nothing so much as thinking that he owed anything to what he did that night. i may tell you too that he is able to mix as a gentleman with gentlemen. ever since i have been over here he has come over once a month to stay with me from saturday to monday, he has mixed with what i may call the best society in the town here, and has won the liking and esteem of all my friends, not one of whom has so much as a suspicion that he is not of the same rank of life as themselves." "what am i to do, mr. hardinge?" mr. brook asked in perplexity. "what would you advise?" "i should give him his first lift at once," mr. hardinge said decidedly. "it will be many months before you have carried out the new scheme for the ventilation of the mine; and, believe me, it will not be safe, if there come a sudden influx of gas, till the alterations are made. make this young fellow deputy viewer, with special charge to look after the ventilation. in that way he will not have to give instruction to the men as to their work, but will confine his attention to the ventilation, the state of the air, the doors, and so on. even then his position will for a time be difficult; but the lad has plenty of self-control, and will be able to tide over it, and the men will get to see that he really understands his business. you will of course order the underground manager and viewers to give him every support. the underground manager, at any rate, must be perfectly aware of his capabilities, as he seems to have done all his paper work for some time." never were a body of men more astonished than were the pitmen of the vaughan when they heard that young jack simpson was appointed a deputy viewer, with the special charge of the ventilation of the mine. a deputy viewer is not a position of great honour; the pay is scarcely more than that which a getter will earn, and the rank is scarcely higher. this kind of post, indeed, is generally given to a miner of experience, getting past his work--as care, attention, and knowledge are required, rather than hard work. that a young man should be appointed was an anomaly which simply astonished the colliers of the vaughan. the affair was first known on the surface, and as the men came up in the cages the news was told them, and the majority, instead of at once hurrying home, stopped to talk it over. "it be the rummest start i ever heard on," one said. "ah! here comes bill haden. hast heard t' news, bill?" "what news?" "why, your jack's made a deputy. what dost think o' that, right over heads o' us all? did'st e'er hear tell o' such a thing?" "no, i didn't," bill haden said emphatically. "it's t' first time as e'er i heard o' t' right man being picked out wi'out a question o' age. i know him, and i tell 'ee, he mayn't know t' best place for putting in a prop, or of timbering in loose ground, as well as us as is old enough to be his fathers; but he knows as much about t' book learning of a mine as one of the government inspector chaps. you mightn't think it pleasant for me, as has stood in t' place o' his father, to see him put over my head, but i know how t' boy has worked, and i know what he is, and i tell 'ee i'll work under him willing. jack simpson will go far; you as live will see it." bill haden was an authority in the vaughan pit, and his dictum reconciled many who might otherwise have resented the appointment of such a lad. the enthusiastic approval of harry shepherd and of the rest of the other young hands in the mine who had grown up with jack simpson, and knew something of how hard he had worked, and who had acknowledged his leadership in all things, also had its effect; and the new deputy entered upon his duties without anything like the discontent which might have been looked for, being excited. the most important part of jack's duties consisted in going round the pit before the men went down in the morning, to see that there was no accumulation of gas in the night, and that the ventilation was going on properly. the deputy usually takes a helper with him, and jack had chosen his friend harry for the post--as in the event of finding gas, it has to be dispersed by beating it with an empty sack, so as to cause a disturbance of the air, or, if the accumulation be important, by putting up a temporary bratticing, or partition, formed of cotton cloth stretched on a framework, in such a way as to turn a strong current of air across the spot where the gas is accumulating, or from which it is issuing. the gas is visible to the eye as a sort of dull fog or smoke. if the accumulation is serious, the main body of miners are not allowed to descend into the mine until the viewer has, with assistance, succeeded in completely dispersing it. "it's a lonesome feeling," harry said the first morning that he entered upon his duties with jack simpson, "to think that we be the only two down here." "it's no more lonesome than sitting in the dark waiting for the tubs to come along, harry, and it's far safer. there is not the slightest risk of an explosion now, for there are only our safety-lamps down here, while in the day the men will open their lamps to light their pipes; make what regulations the master may, the men will break them to get a smoke." upon the receipt of mr. hardinge's official report, strongly condemning the arrangements in the vaughan, mr. brook at once appointed a new manager in the place of mr. thompson, and upon his arrival he made him acquainted with the extent of jack's knowledge and ability, and requested him to keep his eye specially upon him, and to employ him, as far as possible, as his right-hand man in carrying out his orders. "i wish that main wind drift were through," jack said one day, six months after his appointment, as he was sitting over his tea with bill haden. "the gas is coming in very bad in the new workings." "wuss nor i ever knew't, jack. it's a main good job that the furnace was made bigger, and some o' th' airways widened, for it does come out sharp surely. in th' old part where i be, a' don't notice it; but when i went down yesterday where peter jones be working, the gas were just whistling out of a blower close by." "another fortnight, and the airway will be through, dad; and that will make a great change. i shall be very glad, for the pit's in a bad state now." "ah! thou think'st a good deal of it, jack, because thou'st got part of the 'sponsibility of it. it don't fret me." "i wish the men wouldn't smoke, dad; i don't want to get a bad name for reporting them, but it's just playing with their lives." bill haden was silent; he was given to indulge in a quiet smoke himself, as jack, working with him for five years, well knew. "well, jack, thou know'st there's a craving for a draw or two of bacca." "so there is for a great many other things that we have to do without," jack said. "if it were only a question of a man blowing himself to pieces i should say nought about it; but it is whether he is willing to make five hundred widows and two thousand orphans rather than go for a few hours without smoking. what is the use of davy-lamps? what is the use of all our care as to the ventilation, if at any moment the gas may be fired at a lamp opened for lighting a pipe? i like my pipe, but if i thought there was ever any chance of its becoming my master i would never touch tobacco again." three days later, when jack came up from his rounds at ten o'clock, to eat his breakfast and write up his journal of the state of the mine, he saw mr. brook and the manager draw up to the pit mouth. jack shrank back from the little window of the office where he was writing, and did not look out again until he knew that they had descended the mine, as he did not wish to have any appearance of thrusting himself forward. for another hour he wrote; and then the window of the office flew in pieces, the chairs danced, and the walls rocked, while a dull heavy roar, like distant thunder, burst upon his ears. he leaped to his feet and rushed to the door. black smoke was pouring up from the pit's mouth, sticks and pieces of wood and coal were falling in a shower in the yard; and jack saw that his worst anticipation had been realized, and that a terrible explosion had taken place in the vaughan pit. chapter xxiv. in deadly peril. for a moment jack stood stunned by the calamity. there were, he knew, over three hundred men and boys in the pit, and he turned faint and sick as the thought of their fate came across him. then he ran towards the top of the shaft. the bankman lay insensible at a distance of some yards from the pit, where he had been thrown by the force of the explosion. two or three men came running up with white scared faces. the smoke had nearly ceased already; the damage was done, and a deadly stillness seemed to reign. jack ran into the engine-house. the engine-man was leaning against a wall, scared and almost fainting. "are you hurt, john?" "no!" "pull yourself round, man. the first thing is to see if the lift is all right. i see one of the cages is at bank, and the force of the explosion is in the upcast shaft. just give a turn or two to the engine and see if the winding gear's all right. slowly." the engineman turned on the steam; there was a slight movement, and then the engine stopped. "a little more steam," jack said. "the cage has caught, but it may come." there was a jerk, and then the engine began to work. "that is all right," jack said, "whether the lower cage is on or not. stop now, and wind it back, and get the cage up again. does the bell act, i wonder?" jack pulled the wire which, when in order, struck a bell at the bottom of the shaft, and then looked at a bell hanging over his head for the answer. none came. "i expect the wire's broke," jack said, and went out to the pit's mouth again. the surface-men were all gathered round now, the tip-men, and the yard-men, and those from the coke-ovens, all looking wild and pale. "i am going down," jack said; "we may find some poor fellows near the bottom, and can't wait till some headman comes on the ground. who will go with me? i don't want any married men, for you know, lads, there may be another blow at any moment." "i will go with you," one of the yard-men said, stepping forward; "there's no one dependent on me." "i, too," said another; "it's no odds to any one but myself whether i come up again or not. here's with you, whatever comes of it." [illustration: after the first explosion--the search party.] jack brought three safety-lamps from the lamp-room, and took his place in the cage with the two volunteers. "lower away," he shouted, "but go very slow when we get near the bottom, and look out for our signal." it was but three minutes from the moment that the cage began to sink to that when it touched the bottom of the shaft, but it seemed an age to those in it. they knew that at any moment a second explosion might come, and that they might be driven far up into the air above the top of the shaft, mere scorched fragments of flesh. not a word was spoken during the descent, and there was a general exclamation of "thank god!" when they felt the cage touch the bottom. jack, as an official of the mine, and by virtue of superior energy, at once took the lead. "now," he said, "let us push straight up the main road." just as they stepped out they came across the bodies of two men, and stooped over them with their lamps. "both dead," jack said; "we can do nought for them." a little way on, and in a heap, were some waggons, thrown together and broken up, the body of a pony, and that of the lad, his driver. then they came to the first door--a door no longer, not a fragment of it remaining. in the door-boy's niche the lad lay in a heap. they bent over him. "he is alive," jack said. "will you two carry him to the cage? i will look round and see if there is any one else about here; beyond, this way, there is no hope. make haste! look how the gas is catching inside the lamps, the place is full of fire-damp." the men took up the lad, and turned to go to the bottom of the shaft. jack looked a few yards down a cross-road, and then followed them. he was in the act of turning into the next road to glance at that also, when he felt a suck of air. "down on your faces!" he shouted, and, springing a couple of paces farther up the cross-road, threw himself on his face. chapter xxv. the imprisoned miners. there was a mighty roar--a thundering sound, as of an express train--a blinding light, and a scorching heat. jack felt himself lifted from the ground by the force of the blast, and dashed down again. then he knew it was over, and staggered to his feet. the force of the explosion had passed along the main road, and so up the shaft, and he owed his life to the fact that he had been in the road off the course. he returned into the main road, but near the bottom of the shaft he was brought to a standstill. the roof had fallen, and the passage was blocked with fragments of rock and broken waggons. he knew that the bottom of the shaft must be partly filled up, that his comrades were killed, and that there was no hope of escape in that direction. for a moment he paused to consider; then, turning up the side road to the left, he ran at full speed from the shaft. he knew that the danger now was not so much from the fire-damp--the explosive gas--as from the even more dreaded choke-damp, which surely follows after an explosion and the cessation of ventilation. many more miners are killed by this choke-damp, as they hasten to the bottom of the shaft after an explosion, than by the fire itself. choke-damp, which is carbonic acid gas, is heavier than ordinary air, and thus the lowest parts of a colliery become first filled with it, as they would with water. in all coal-mines there is a slight, sometimes a considerable, inclination, or "dip" as it is called, of the otherwise flat bed of coal. the shaft is almost always sunk at the lower end of the area owned by the proprietors of the mine, as by this means the whole pit naturally drains to the "sump," or well, at the bottom of the shaft, whence it is pumped up by the engine above; the loaded waggons, too, are run down from the workings to the bottom of the shaft with comparative ease. the explosion had, as jack well knew, destroyed all the doors which direct the currents of the air, and the ventilation had entirely ceased. the lower part of the mine, where the explosion had been strongest, would soon be filled with choke-damp, the product of the explosion, and jack was making for the old workings, near the upper boundary line of the pit. there the air would remain pure long after it had been vitiated elsewhere. it was in this quarter of the mine that bill haden and some twenty other colliers worked. presently jack saw lights ahead, and heard a clattering of steps. it was clear that, as he had hoped, the miners working there had escaped the force of the explosion, which had, without doubt, played awful havoc in the parts of the mine where the greater part of the men were at work. "stop! stop!" jack shouted, as they came up to him. "is it fire, jack?" bill haden, who was one of the first, asked. "yes, bill; didn't you feel it?" "some of us thought we felt a suck of air a quarter hour since, but we weren't sure; and then came another, which blew out the lights. come along, lad; there is no time for talking." "it's of no use going on," jack said; "the shaft's choked up. i came down after the first blow, and i fear there's no living soul in the new workings. by this time they must be full of the choke-damp." the men looked at each other with blank faces. "hast seen brook?" jack asked eagerly. "ay, he passed our stall with johnstone ten minutes ago, just before the blast came." "we may catch him in time to stop him yet," jack said, "if he has gone round to look at the walling of the old goafs. there are three men at work there." "i'll go with you, jack," bill haden said. "our best place is my stall, lads," he went on, turning to the others; "that is pretty well the highest ground in the pit, and the air will keep good there as long as anywhere--may be till help comes. you come along of us, mate," he said, turning to the man who worked with him in his stall. as they hurried along, jack, in a few words, told what had taken place, as far as he knew it. five minutes' run brought them to the place where the masons were at work walling up the entrance to some old workings. they looked astonished at the new-comers. "have you seen the gaffers?" "ay, they ha' just gone on. there, don't you see their lights down the heading? no; well i saw 'em a moment since." "come along," jack said. "quick! i expect they've met it." at full speed they hurried along. presently they all stopped short; the lights burnt low, and a choking sensation came on them. "back, jack, for your life!" gasped bill haden; but at that moment jack's feet struck something, which he knew was a body. "down at my feet; help!" he cried. he stooped and tried to raise the body. then the last gleam of his light went out--his lungs seemed to cease acting, and he saw no more. when he came to himself again he was being carried on bill haden's shoulder. "all right, dad," he said. "i am coming round now; put me down." "that's a good job, jack. i thought thou'd'st scarce come round again." "have you got either of the others?" "we've got brook; you'd your arm round him so tight that ned and i lifted you together. he's on ahead; the masons are carrying him, and ned's showing the way. canst walk now?" "yes, i'm better now. how did you manage to breathe, dad?" "we didn't breathe, jack; we're too old hands for that. when we saw you fall we just drew back, took a breath, and then shut our mouths, and went down for you just the same as if we'd been a groping for you under water. we got hold of you both, lifted you up, and carried you along as far as we could before we drew a breath again. you're sharp, jack, but you don't know everything yet." and bill haden chuckled to find that for once his practical experience taught him something that jack had not learned from his books. jack now hurried along after bill haden, and in a few minutes reached the place fixed upon. here the miners were engaged in restoring consciousness to mr. brook, who, under the influence of water dashed on his face and artificial respiration set up by alternately pressing upon the chest and allowing it to rise again, was just beginning to show signs of life. their interest in their employment was so great that it was not until mr. brook was able to sit up that they began to talk about the future. jack's account of the state of things near the shaft was listened to gravely. the fact that the whole of the system of ventilation had been deranged, and the proof given by the second explosion that the mine was somewhere on fire, needed no comment to these experienced men. it sounded their death-knell. gallant and unceasing as would be the efforts made under any other circumstance to rescue them, the fact that the pit was on fire, and that fresh explosions might at any moment take place, would render it an act of simple madness for their friends above to endeavour to clear the shaft and headings, and to restore the ventilation. the fact was further impressed upon them by a sudden and simultaneous flicker of the lamps, and a faint shake, followed by a distant rumble. "another blast," bill haden said. "that settles us, lads. we may as well turn out all the lamps but two, so as to have light as long as we last out." "is there no hope?" mr. brook asked presently, coming forward after he had heard from haden's mate the manner in which he had been so far saved. "not a scrap, master," said bill haden. "we are like rats in a trap; and it would ha' been kinder of us if we'd a let you lay as you was." "your intention was equally kind," mr. brook said. "but is there nothing that we can do?" "nowt," bill haden said. "we have got our dinners wi' us, and might make 'em last, a mouthful at a time, to keep life in us for a week or more. but what 'ud be th' use of it? it may be weeks--ay, or months--before they can stifle the fire and make their way here." "can you suggest nothing, jack?" mr. brook asked. "you are the only officer of the pit left now," he added with a faint smile. jack had not spoken since he reached the stall, but had sat down on a block of coal, with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands--a favourite attitude of his when thinking deeply. the other colliers had thrown themselves down on the ground; some sobbed occasionally as they thought of their loved ones above, some lay in silence. jack answered the appeal by rising to his feet. "yes, sir, i think we may do something." the men raised themselves in surprise. "in the first place, sir, i should send men in each direction to see how near the choke-damp has got. there are four roads by which it could come up. i would shut the doors on this side of the place it has got to, roll blocks of coal and rubbish to keep 'em tight, and stop up the chinks with wet mud. that will keep the gas from coming up, and there is air enough in the stalls and headings to last us a long time." "but that would only prolong our lives for a few hours, jack, and i don't know that that would be any advantage. better to be choked by the gas than to die of starvation," mr. brook said, and a murmur from the men showed that they agreed with him. "i vote for lighting our pipes," one of the miners said. "if there is fiery gas here, it would be better to finish with it at once." there was a general expression of approval. "wait!" jack said authoritatively; "wait till i have done. you know, mr. brook, we are close to our north boundary here, in some places within a very few yards. now the 'logan,' which lies next to us, has been worked out years ago. of course it is full of water, and it was from fear of tapping that water that the works were stopped here. a good deal comes in through the crevices in no. stall, which i expect is nearest to it. now if we could work into the 'logan,' the water would rush down into our workings, and as our pit is a good deal bigger than the 'logan' ever was it will fill the lower workings and put out the fire, but won't reach here. then we can get up through the 'logan,' where the air is sure to be all right, as the water will bring good air down with it. we may not do it in time, but it is a chance. what do you say, sir?" "it is worth trying, at any rate," mr. brook said. "bravo, my lad! your clear head may save us yet." "by gum, jack! but you're a good un!" bill haden said, bringing down his hand upon jack's shoulder with a force that almost knocked him down; while the men, with revived hope, leaped to their feet, and crowding round, shook jack's hands with exclamations of approval and delight. "now, lads," mr. brook said, "jack simpson is master now, and we will all work under his orders. but before we begin, boys, let us say a prayer. we are in god's hands; let us ask his protection." every head was bared, and the men stood reverently while, in a few words, mr. brook prayed for strength and protection, and rescue from their danger. "now, jack," he said, when he had finished, "give your orders." jack at once sent off two men along each of the roads to find how near the choke-damp had approached, and to block up and seal the doors. it was necessary to strike a light to relight some of the lamps, but this was a danger that could not be avoided. the rest of the men were sent round to all the places where work had been going on to bring in the tools and dinners to no. stall, to which jack himself, bill haden, and mr. brook proceeded at once. no work had been done there for years. the floor was covered with a black mud, and a close examination of the face showed tiny streamlets of water trickling down in several places. an examination of the stalls, or working places, on either side, showed similar appearances, but in a less marked degree. it was therefore determined to begin work in no. . "you don't mean to use powder, jack?" bill haden asked. "no, dad; without any ventilation we should be choked with the smoke, and there would be the danger from the gas. when we think we are getting near the water we will put in a big shot, so as to blow in the face." when the men returned with the tools and the dinners, the latter done up in handkerchiefs, jack asked mr. brook to take charge of the food. "there are just twenty of us, sir, without you, and nineteen dinners. so if you divide among us four dinners a day, it will last for five days, and by that time i hope we shall be free." four men only could work at the face of the stall together, and jack divided the twenty into five sets. "we will work in quarter-of-an-hour shifts at first," he said; "that will give an hour's rest to a quarter of an hour's work, and a man can work well, we know, for a quarter of an hour. when we get done up, we will have half-hour shifts, which will give two hours for a sleep in between." the men of the first shift, stripped as usual to the waist, set to work without an instant's delay; and the vigour and swiftness with which the blows fell upon the face of the rock would have told experienced miners that the men who struck them were working for life or death. those unemployed, jack took into the adjacent stalls and set them to work to clear a narrow strip of the floor next to the upper wall, then to cut a little groove in the rocky floor to intercept the water as it slowly trickled in, and lead it to small hollows which they were to make in the solid rock. the water coming through the two stalls would, thus collected, be ample for their wants. jack then started to see how the men at work at the doors were getting on. these had already nearly finished their tasks. on the road leading to the main workings choke-damp had been met with at a distance of fifty yards from the stall; but upon the upper road it was several hundred yards before it was found. on the other two roads it was over a hundred yards. the men had torn strips off their flannel jackets and had thrust them into the crevices of the doors, and had then plastered mud from the roadway on thickly, and there was no reason to fear any irruption of choke-damp, unless, indeed, an explosion should take place so violent as to blow in the doors. this, however, was unlikely, as, with a fire burning, the gas would ignite as it came out; and although there might be many minor explosions, there would scarcely be one so serious as the first two which had taken place. the work at the doors and the water being over, the men all gathered in the stall. then jack insisted on an equal division of the tobacco, of which almost all the miners possessed some--for colliers, forbidden to smoke, often chew tobacco, and the tobacco might therefore be regarded both as a luxury, and as being very valuable in assisting the men to keep down the pangs of hunger. this had to be divided only into twenty shares, as mr. brook said that he could not use it in that way, and that he had, moreover, a couple of cigars in his pocket, which he could suck if hard driven to it. now that they were together again, all the lamps were extinguished save the two required by the men employed. with work to be done, and a hope of ultimate release, the men's spirits rose, and between their spells they talked, and now and then even a laugh was heard. mr. brook, although unable to do a share of the work, was very valuable in aiding to keep up their spirits, by his hopeful talk, and by anecdotes of people who had been in great danger in many ways in different parts of the world, but who had finally escaped. sometimes one or other of the men would propose a hymn--for among miners, as among sailors, there is at heart a deep religious feeling, consequent upon a life which may at any moment be cut short--and then their deep voices would rise together, while the blows of the sledges and picks would keep time to the swing of the tune. on the advice of mr. brook the men divided their portions of food, small as they were, into two parts, to be eaten twelve hours apart; for as the work would proceed without interruption night and day, it was better to eat, however little, every twelve hours, than to go twenty-four without food. the first twenty-four hours over, the stall--or rather the heading, for it was now driven as narrow as it was possible for four men to work simultaneously--had greatly advanced; indeed it would have been difficult even for a miner to believe that so much work had been done in the time. there was, however, no change in the appearances; the water still trickled in, but they could not perceive that it came faster than before. as fast as the coal fell--for fortunately the seam was over four feet thick, so that they did not have to work upon the rock--it was removed by the set of men who were next for work, so that there was not a minute lost from this cause. during the next twenty-four hours almost as much work was done as during the first; but upon the third there was a decided falling off. the scanty food was telling upon them now. the shifts were lengthened to an hour to allow longer time for sleep between each spell of work, and each set of men, when relieved, threw themselves down exhausted, and slept for three hours, until it was their turn to wake up and remove the coal as the set at work got it down. at the end of seventy-two hours the water was coming through the face much faster than at first, and the old miners, accustomed to judge by sound, were of opinion that the wall in front sounded less solid, and that they were approaching the old workings of the logan pit. in the three days and nights they had driven the heading nearly fifteen yards from the point where they had begun. upon the fourth day they worked cautiously, driving a borer three feet ahead of them into the coal, as in case of the water bursting through suddenly they would be all drowned. at the end of ninety hours from the time of striking the first blow the drill which, jack holding it, bill haden was just driving in deeper with a sledge, suddenly went forward, and as suddenly flew out as if shot from a gun, followed by a jet of water driven with tremendous force. a plug, which had been prepared in readiness, was with difficulty driven into the hole; two men who had been knocked down by the force of the water were picked up, much bruised and hurt; and with thankful hearts that the end of their labour was at hand all prepared for the last and most critical portion of their task. chapter xxvi. a critical moment. after an earnest thanksgiving by mr. brook for their success thus far, the whole party partook of what was a heartier meal than usual, consisting of the whole of the remaining food. then choosing the largest of the drills, a hole was driven in the coal two feet in depth, and in this an unusually heavy charge was placed. "we're done for after all," bill haden suddenly exclaimed. "look at the lamp." every one present felt his heart sink at what he saw. a light flame seemed to fill the whole interior of the lamp. to strike a match to light the fuse would be to cause an instant explosion of the gas. the place where they were working being the highest part of the mine, the fiery gas, which made its way out of the coal at all points above the closed doors, had, being lighter than air, mounted there. "put the lamps out," jack said quickly, "the gauze is nearly red hot." in a moment they were in darkness. "what is to be done now?" mr. brook asked after a pause. there was silence for a while--the case seemed desperate. "mr. brook," jack said after a time, "it is agreed, is it not, that all here will obey my orders?" "yes, certainly, jack," mr. brook answered. "whatever they are?" "yes, whatever they are." "very well," jack said, "you will all take your coats off and soak them in water, then all set to work to beat the gas out of this heading as far as possible. when that is done as far as can be done, all go into the next stall, and lie down at the upper end, you will be out of the way of the explosion there. cover your heads with your wet coats, and, bill, wrap something wet round those cans of powder." "what then, jack?" "that's all," jack said; "i will fire the train. if the gas explodes at the match it will light the fuse, so that the wall will blow in anyhow." "no, no," a chorus of voices said; "you will be killed." "i will light it, jack," bill haden said; "i am getting on now, it's no great odds about me." "no, dad," jack said, "i am in charge, and it is for me to do it. you have all promised to obey orders, so set about it at once. bill, take mr. brook up first into the other stall; he won't be able to find his way about in the dark." without a word bill did as he was told, mr. brook giving one hearty squeeze to the lad's hand as he was led away. the others, accustomed to the darkness from boyhood, proceeded at once to carry out jack's instructions, wetting their flannel jackets and then beating the roof with them towards the entrance to the stall; for five minutes they continued this, and then jack said: "now, lads, off to the stall as quick as you can; cover your heads well over; lie down. i will be with you in a minute, or--" or, as jack knew well, he would be dashed to pieces by the explosion of the gas. he listened until the sound of the last footstep died away--waited a couple of minutes, to allow them to get safely in position at the other end of the next stall--and then, holding the end of the fuse in one hand and the match in the other, he murmured a prayer, and, stooping to the ground, struck the match. no explosion followed; he applied it to the fuse, and ran for his life, down the narrow heading, down the stall, along the horse road, and up the next stall. "it's alight," he said as he rushed in. a cheer of congratulation and gladness burst from the men. "cover your heads close," jack said as he threw himself down; "the explosion is nigh sure to fire the gas." for a minute a silence as of death reigned in the mine; then there was a sharp cracking explosion, followed--or rather, prolonged--by another like thunder, and, while a flash of fire seemed to surround them, filling the air, firing their clothes, and scorching their limbs, the whole mine shook with a deep continuous roaring. the men knew that the danger was at an end, threw off the covering from their heads, and struck out the fire from their garments. some were badly burned about the legs, but any word or cry they may have uttered was drowned in the tremendous roar which continued. it was the water from the logan pit rushing into the vaughan. for five minutes the noise was like thunder, then, as the pressure from behind decreased, the sound gradually diminished, until, in another five minutes, all was quiet. then the party rose to their feet. the air in the next stall was clear and fresh, for as the logan pit had emptied of water, fresh air had of course come down from the surface to take its place. "we can light our lamps again safely now," bill haden said. "we shall want our tools, lads, and the powder; there may be some heavy falls in our way, and we may have hard work yet before we get to the shaft, but the roof rock is strong, so i believe we shall win our way." "it lies to our right," jack said. "like our own, it is at the lower end of the pit, so, as long as we don't mount, we are going right for it." there were, as haden had anticipated, many heavy falls of the roof, but the water had swept passages in them, and it was found easier to get along than the colliers had expected. still it was hard work for men weakened by famine; and it took them five hours of labour clearing away masses of rock, and floundering through black mud, often three feet deep, before they made their way to the bottom of the logan shaft, and saw the light far above them--the light that at one time they had never expected to see again. "what o'clock is it now, sir?" bill haden asked mr. brook, who had from the beginning been the timekeeper of the party. "twelve o'clock exactly," he replied. "it is four days and an hour since the pit fired." "what day is it, sir? for i've lost all count of time." "sunday," mr. brook said after a moment's thought. "it could not be better," bill haden said; "for there will be thousands of people from all round to visit the mine." "how much powder have you, bill?" jack asked. "four twenty-pound cans." "let us let off ten pounds at a time," jack said. "just damp it enough to prevent it from flashing off too suddenly; break up fine some of this damp wood and mix with it, it will add to the smoke." in a few minutes the "devil" was ready, and a light applied; it blazed furiously for half a minute, sending volumes of light smoke up the shaft. "flash off a couple of pounds of dry powder," bill haden said; "there is very little draught up the shaft, and it will drive the air up." for twenty minutes they continued letting off "devils" and flashing powder. then they determined to stop, and allow the shaft to clear altogether of the smoke. presently a small stone fell among them--another--and another, and they knew that some one had noticed the smoke. chapter xxvii. rescued. a stranger arriving at stokebridge on that sunday morning might have thought that a fair or some similar festivity was going on, so great was the number of people who passed out of the station as each train came in. for the day stokebridge was the great point of attraction for excursionists from all parts of staffordshire. not that there was anything to see. the vaughan mine looked still and deserted; no smoke issued from its chimneys; and a strong body of police kept all, except those who had business there, from approaching within a certain distance of the shaft. still less was there to see in stokebridge itself. every blind was down--for scarce a house but had lost at least one of its members; and in the darkened room women sat, silently weeping for the dead far below. for the last four days work had been entirely suspended through the district; and the men of the other collieries, as well as those of the vaughan who, belonging to the other shift, had escaped, hung about the pit yard, in the vague hope of being able in some way to be useful. within an hour of the explosion the managers of the surrounding pits had assembled; and in spite of the fact that the three volunteers who had first descended were, without doubt, killed, plenty of other brave fellows volunteered their services, and would have gone down if permitted. but the repeated explosions, and the fact that the lower part of the shaft was now blocked up, decided the experienced men who had assembled that such a course would be madness--an opinion which was thoroughly endorsed by mr. hardinge and other government inspectors and mining authorities, who arrived within a few hours of the accident. it was unanimously agreed that the pit was on fire, for a light smoke curled up from the pit mouth, and some already began to whisper that it would have to be closed up. there are few things more painful than to come to the conclusion that nothing can be done, when women, half mad with sorrow and anxiety, are imploring men to make an effort to save those below. jane haden, quiet and tearless, sat gazing at the fatal shaft, when she was touched on the shoulder. she looked up, and saw harry. "thou art not down with them then, harry?" "no; i almost wish i was," harry said. "i came up with jack, and hurried away to get breakfast. when i heard the blow i ran up, and found jack had just gone down. if i had only been near i might have gone with him;" and the young man spoke in regret at not having shared his friend's fate rather than in gladness at his own escape. "dost think there's any hope, harry?" "it's no use lying, and there's no hope for jack, mother," harry said; "but if any one's saved it's like to be your bill. he was up in the old workings, a long way off from the part where the strength of the blow would come." "it's no use telling me, harry; i ask, but i know how it is. there ain't a chance--not a chance at all. if the pit's afire they'll have to flood it, and then it will be weeks before they pump it out again; and when they bring jack and bill up i sha'n't know 'em. that's what i feel, i sha'n't even know 'em." "don't wait here, mrs. haden; nought can be done now; the inspectors and managers will meet this evening, and consult what is best to be done." "is your father down, harry? i can't think of aught but my own, or i'd have asked afore." "no; he is in the other shift. my brother willy is down. come, mother, let me take you home." but mrs. haden would not move, but sat with scores of other women, watching the mouth of the pit, and the smoke curling up, till night fell. the news spread round stokebridge late in the evening that the managers had determined to shut up the mouth of the pit, if there was still smoke in the morning. then, as is always the case when such a determination is arrived at, there was a cry of grief and anger throughout the village, and all who had friends below protested that it would be nothing short of murder to cut off the supply of air. women went down to the inn where the meeting was held, and raved like wild creatures; but the miners of the district could not but own the step was necessary, for that the only chance to extinguish the fire was by cutting off the air, unless the dreadful alternative of drowning the pit was resorted to. in the morning the smoke still curled up, and the pit's mouth was closed. boards were placed over both the shafts, and earth was heaped upon them, so as to cut off altogether the supply of air, and so stifle the fire. this was on thursday morning. nothing was done on friday; and on saturday afternoon the mining authorities met again in council. there were experts there now from all parts of the kingdom--for the extent of the catastrophe had sent a thrill of horror through the land. it was agreed that the earth and staging should be removed next morning early, and that if smoke still came up, water should be turned in from the canal. at six in the morning a number of the leading authorities met at the mine. men had during the night removed the greater part of the earth, and the rest was now taken off, and the planks withdrawn. at once a volume of smoke poured out. this was in any case expected; and it was not for another half-hour, when the accumulated smoke had cleared off, and a straight but unbroken column began to rise as before, that the conviction that the pit was still on fire seized all present. "i fear that there is no alternative," mr. hardinge said; "the pit must be flooded." there was not a dissentient voice; and the party moved towards the canal to see what would be the best method of letting in the water, when a cry from the men standing round caused them to turn, and they saw a dense white column rise from the shaft. "steam!" every one cried in astonishment. a low rumbling sound came from the pit. "what can have happened?" mr. hardinge exclaimed, in surprise. "this is most extraordinary!" all crowded round the pit mouth, and could distinctly hear a distant roaring sound. presently this died away. gradually the steam ceased to rise, and the air above the pit mouth was clear. "there is no smoke rising," one of the inspectors said. "what on earth can have happened? let us lower a light down." hoisting gear and rope had been prepared on the first day, in case it should be necessary to lower any one, for the wire rope had snapped when the attempt had been made to draw up the cage after the second explosion, and the sudden release from the strain had caused the engine to fly round, breaking some gear, and for the time disabling it from further work. a hundred and forty fathoms of rope, the depth of the shaft being a hundred and twenty, had been prepared, and was in readiness to be passed over a pulley suspended above the shaft. a lighted candle in a candlestick was placed on a sort of tray, which was fastened to the rope, and then it was lowered gradually down. eagerly those above watched it as it descended--down--down, till it became a mere speck below. then it suddenly disappeared. "stop," mr. hardinge, who was directing the operations, said. "there are six more fathoms yet, sir--nigh seven--before it gets to the hundred-and-twenty fathom mark." "draw up carefully, lads. what can have put the light out forty feet from the bottom of the shaft? choke-damp, i suppose; but it's very singular." when the candle came up to the surface there was a cry of astonishment; the tray and the candle were wet! the whole of those present were astounded, and mr. hardinge at once determined to descend himself and verify this extraordinary occurrence. there was no fear of an explosion now. taking a miner's lamp, he took his seat in a sling, and was lowered down. just before the rope had run out to the point at which the light was extinguished he gave the signal to stop by jerking a thin rope which he held in his hands. there was a pause, and in a minute or two came two jerks, the signal to haul up. "it is so," he said, when he gained the surface; "there are forty feet of water in the shaft, but where it came from is more than i can tell." much astonished at this singular occurrence, the group of mining engineers walked back to breakfast at stokebridge, where the population were greatly excited at the news that the pit was flooded. to the miners it was a subject of the greatest surprise, while the friends of those in the pit received the news as the death-blow of their last hopes. it was now impossible that any one could be alive in the pit. at ten o'clock the mining authorities went again to discuss the curious phenomenon. all agreed that it was out of the question that so large a quantity of water had accumulated in any old workings, for the plan of the pit had been repeatedly inspected by them all. some inclined to the belief that there must have been some immense natural cavern above the workings, and that when the fire in the pit burned away the pillars left to support the roof, this must have fallen in, and let the water in the cavern into the mine; others pointed out that there was no example whatever of a cavern of such dimensions as this must have been, being found in the coal formation, and pointed to the worked-out logan pit, which was known to be full of water, as the probable source of supply. during the previous four days the plan had been discussed of cutting through from the logan, which was known to have been worked nearly up to the vaughan boundary. this would enable them to enter the pit and rescue any miners who might be alive, but the fact that to erect pumping gear and get out the water would be an affair of many weeks, if not months, had caused the idea to be abandoned as soon as broached. to those who argued that the water had come from the logan, it was pointed out that there were certainly several yards of solid coal between the vaughan and the logan still standing, and that as the force of the explosion was evidently near the vaughan shaft it was incredible that this barrier between the pits should have been shattered. however, it was decided to solve the question one way or the other by an immediate visit to the top of the old logan shaft. they were just starting when they heard a movement in the street, and men setting off to run. a moment later a miner entered the room hurriedly. "there be a big smoke coming up from the old logan shaft; it be too light for coal smoke, and i don't think it be steam either." with exclamations of surprise the whole party seized their hats and hurried off. it was twenty minutes' sharp walking to the shaft, where, by the time they reached it, a large crowd of miners and others were already assembled. as they approached, eager men ran forward to meet them. "it be gunpowder smoke, sir!" there was indeed no mistaking the sulphurous smell. "it's one of two things," mr. hardinge said; "either the fire has spread to the upper workings, some powder bags have exploded, and the shock has brought down the dividing wall, in which case the powder smoke might possibly find its way out when the water from the logan drained in; or else, in some miraculous way some of the men have made their escape, and are letting off powder to call our attention. at any rate let us drop a small stone or two down. if any one be below he will know he is noticed." then he turned to the miners standing round: "i want the pulley and rope that we were using at the vaughan, and that small cage that was put together to work with it. i want two or three strong poles, to form a tripod over the pit here, and a few long planks to make a stage." fifty willing men hurried off to fetch the required materials. "the smoke is getting thinner, a good deal," one of the managers said. "now if you'll hold me, i will give a shout down." the mouth of the pit was surrounded by a wooden fencing, to prevent any one from falling down it. the speaker got over this and lay down on his face, working nearer to the edge, which sloped dangerously down, while others, following in the same way, held his legs, and were in their turn held by others. when his head and shoulders were fairly over the pit he gave a loud shout. there was a death-like silence on the part of the crowd standing round, and all of those close could hear a faint murmur come from below. then arose a cheer, echoed again and again, and then half-a-dozen fleet-footed boys started for stokebridge with the news that some of the imprisoned pitmen were still alive. mr. hardinge wrote on a piece of paper, "keep up your courage; in an hour's time the cage will come down;" wrapped it round a stone, and dropped it down. a messenger was despatched to the vaughan, for the police force stationed there to come up at once to keep back the excited crowd, and with orders that the stretchers and blankets in readiness should be brought on; while another went into stokebridge for a surgeon, and for a supply of wine, brandy, and food, and two or three vehicles. no sooner were the men sent off than mr. hardinge said, in a loud tone: "every moment must be of consequence; they must be starving. will any one here who has food give it for them?" the word was passed through the crowd, and a score of picnic baskets were at once offered. filling one of them full with sandwiches from the rest, mr. hardinge tied the lid securely on, and threw it down the shaft. "there is no fear of their standing under the shaft," he said; "they will know we shall be working here, and that stones might fall." in less than an hour, thanks to the willing work of many hands, a platform was constructed across the mouth of the logan shaft, and a tripod of strong poles fixed in its place. the police kept the crowd, by this time very many thousands strong, back in a wide circle round the shaft, none being allowed inside save those who had near relatives in the vaughan. these were for the most part women, who had rushed wildly up without bonnets or shawls--just as they stood when the report reached them that there were yet some survivors of the explosion. at full speed they had hurried along the road--some pale and still despairing, refusing to allow hope to rise again, but unable to stay away from the fatal pit; others crying as they ran; some even laughing in hysterical excitement. most excited, because most hopeful, were those whose husbands had stalls in the old workings, for it had from the first been believed that while all in the main workings were probably killed at once by the first explosion, those in the old workings might have survived for days. jane haden walked steadily along the road, accompanied by harry shepherd, who had brought her the news, and by nelly hardy. "i will go," she said, "but it is of no use; they are both gone, and i shall never see them again." then she had put on her bonnet and shawl, deliberately and slowly, and had started at her ordinary pace, protesting all along against its being supposed that she entertained the slightest hope; but when she neared the spot, her quivering lips and twitching fingers belied her words. nelly remained outside the crowd, but harry made a way for jane haden through the outside circle of spectators. a smaller circle, of some thirty yards in diameter, was kept round the shaft, and within this only those directing the operations were allowed to enter. mr. hardinge and one of the local managers took their places in the cage. the rope was held by twenty men, who at first stood at its full length from the shaft, and then advanced at a walk towards it, thus allowing the cage to descend steadily and easily, without jerks. as they came close to the shaft the signal rope was shaken; another step or two, slowly and carefully taken, and the rope was seen to sway slightly. the cage was at the bottom of the shaft. three minutes' pause, the signal rope shook, and the men with the end of the rope, started again to walk from the shaft. as they increased their distance, the excitement in the great crowd grew; and when the cage showed above the surface, and it was seen that it contained three miners, a hoarse cheer arose. the men were assisted from the cage, and surrounded for a moment by those in authority; and one of the head men raised his hand for silence, and then shouted: "mr. brook and twenty others are saved!" an announcement which was received with another and even more hearty cheer. [illustration: saved!] passing on, the rescued men moved forward to where the women stood, anxiously gazing. blackened as they were with coal-dust, they were recognizable, and with wild screams of joy three women burst from the rest and threw themselves in their arms. but only for a moment could they indulge in this burst of happiness, for the other women crowded round. "who is alive? for god's sake tell us! who is alive?" then one by one the names were told, each greeted with cries of joy, till the last name was spoken; and then came a burst of wailing and lamentation from those who had listened in vain for the names of those they loved. jane haden had not risen from the seat she had taken on a block of broken brickwork. "no, no!" she said to harry; "i will not hope! i will not hope!" and while harry moved closer to the group, to hear the names of the saved, she sat with her face buried in her hands. the very first names given were those of jack simpson and bill haden, and with a shout of joy he rushed back. the step told its tale, and jane haden looked up, rose as if with a hidden spring, and looked at him. "both saved!" he exclaimed; and with a strange cry jane haden swayed, and fell insensible. an hour later, and the last survivor of those who were below in the vaughan pit stood on the surface, the last cage load being mr. brook, jack simpson, and mr. hardinge. by this time the mourners had left the scene, and there was nothing to check the delight felt at the recovery from the tomb, as it was considered, of so many of those deemed lost. when mr. brook--who was a popular employer, and whose popularity was now increased by his having, although involuntarily, shared the dangers of his men--stepped from the cage, the enthusiasm was tremendous. the crowd broke the cordon of police and rushed forward, cheering loudly. mr. hardinge, after a minute or two, held up his hand for silence, and helped mr. brook on to a heap of stones. although mr. brook, as well as the rest, had already recovered much, thanks to the basket of food thrown down to them, and to the supply of weak brandy and water, and of soup, which those who had first descended had carried with them, he was yet so weakened by his long fast that he was unable to speak. he could only wave his hand in token of his thanks, and sobs of emotion choked his words. mr. hardinge, however, who had, during the hour below, learned all that had taken place, and had spoken for some time apart with mr. brook, now stood up beside him. "my friends," he said, in a loud clear voice, which was heard over the whole crowd, "mr. brook is too much shaken by what he has gone through to speak, but he desires me to thank you most heartily in his name for your kind greeting. he wishes to say that, under god, his life, and the lives of those with him, have been saved by the skill, courage, and science of his under-viewer, jack simpson. mr. brook has consulted me on the subject, and i thoroughly agree with what he intends to do, and can certify to jack simpson's ability, young as he is, to fill any post to which he may be appointed. in a short time i hope that the vaughan pit will be pumped out and at work again, and when it is, mr. jack simpson will be its manager!" the story of the escape from death had already been told briefly by the miners as they came to the surface, and had passed from mouth to mouth among the crowd, and mr. hardinge's announcement was greeted with a storm of enthusiasm. jack was seized by a score of sturdy pitmen, and would have been carried in triumph, were it not that the startling announcement, coming after such a long and intense strain, proved too much for him, and he fainted in the arms of his admirers. chapter xxviii. changes. beyond the body of the crowd, outside the ring kept by the police, stood nelly hardy, watching, without a vestige of colour in her face, for the news from below. she had given a gasping sigh of relief as the names, passed from mouth to mouth by the crowd, met her ear, and had leaned for support against the wall behind her. so great was her faith in jack's resources and in jack's destiny that she had all along hoped, and the assertion that those who had first gone down to rescue the pitmen must have fallen victims to the second explosion had fallen dead upon her ears. the school had been closed from the date of the accident, and had it not been so, she felt that she could not have performed her duties. hour after hour she had sat in her cottage alone--for her mother had died a year before--except when mrs. dodgson, who had long suspected her secret, came to sit awhile with her, or harry brought the latest news. during this time she had not shed a tear, and, save for her white face and hard unnatural voice, none could have told how she suffered. harry had brought her the news of the smoke being seen from the shaft of the logan pit before he carried it to mrs. haden, and she had at once thrown on her bonnet and jacket and joined them as they started from the village. when she reached the pit she had not attempted to approach, but had taken her place at a distance. several of her pupils, with whom she was a great favourite, had come up to speak to her, but her hoarse, "not now, dear; please go away," had sufficed to send them off. but deeply agitated as she was, she was hopeful; and deep as was her joy at the news of jack's safety she was hardly surprised. dropping her veil to hide the tears of joy which streamed down her cheeks, she turned to go home; but she was more shaken than she had thought, and she had to grasp at the wall for support. so she waited until the last of the miners arrived at the surface, and heard the speech of the government inspector. then when she heard jack's elevation announced, the news shook her even more than that of his safety had done, and she fainted. when she recovered the crowd was gone, and harry only stood beside her. he had felt that she would rather stand and watch alone, and had avoided going near her, but when jack was driven off he had hastened to her side. he knew how she would object to her emotion becoming known, and had contented himself with lifting her veil, untying her bonnet strings, putting her in a sitting attitude against the wall, and waiting patiently till she came round. "are you better now?" he inquired anxiously when she opened her eyes. "yes, i am well now," she said, glancing hastily round to see if others beside himself had noticed her situation; "i am quite well." "don't try to get up; sit still a few minutes longer," he said. "don't try to talk." "he has got his rise at last," she said smiling faintly and looking up; "he has gone right away from us at a bound." "i am glad," harry said simply. "he has earned it. he is a grand, a glorious fellow, is jack. of course i shall never be to him now what i have been, but i know that he will be as true a friend as ever, though i may not see so much of him." "you are more unselfish than i, harry; but as he was to rise, it was better that it should be at a bound far above me. now i am better; let me go home." jack simpson's fainting fit had been but of short duration. his sturdy organization soon recovered from the shock which the fresh air and mr. hardinge's announcement had made upon a frame exhausted by privation, fatigue, and excitement. none the less was he astonished and indignant with himself at what he considered a girlish weakness. his thoughts were, however, speedily diverted from himself by a pitman telling him that jane haden was in a second faint close by. mr. brook's carriage had been sent for in readiness, immediately the possibility of his being found alive had appeared; and that gentleman insisted upon mrs. haden being lifted into it, and upon jack taking his seat beside her to support her. he then followed, and, amidst the cheers of the crowd, started for stokebridge. mrs. haden recovered before reaching the village; and leaving her and jack at their home, with an intimation that the carriage would come at an early hour next morning to fetch the latter up to the hall, mr. brook drove off alone. that afternoon was a proud day for bill haden and his wife, but a trying one for jack. every one in the place who had the slightest knowledge of him called to shake his hand and congratulate him on his promotion, his friends of boyhood first among them. harry was one of the earliest comers, and tears fell down the cheeks of both as they clasped hands in silent joy at their reunion. not a word was spoken or needed. "go round to nelly," jack said in an undertone as other visitors arrived; "tell her i will come in and see her at seven o'clock. come again yourself before that, let us three meet together again." so quickly did the callers press in that the little room could not hold them; and jack had to go to the front door, there to shake hands and say a word to all who wanted to see him. it was quite a levée, and it was only the fact that the gloom of a terrible calamity hung over stokebridge that prevented the demonstration being noisy as well as enthusiastic. by six o'clock all his friends had seen him, and jack sat down with bill haden and his wife. then jane haden's feelings relieved themselves by a copious flood of tears; and bill himself, though he reproached her for crying on such an occasion, did so in a husky voice. "thou art going to leave us, jack," jane haden said; "and though we shall miss thee sorely, thou mustn't go to think that bill or me be sorry at the good fortune that be come upon you. thou hast been a son, and a good son to us, and ha' never given so much as a day's trouble. i know'd as how you'd leave us sooner or later. there was sure to be a time when all the larning thou hast worked so hard to get would bring thee to fortune, but i didn't think 'twould come so soon." bill haden removed from his lips the pipe--which, in his endeavour to make up for loss of time, he had smoked without ceasing from the moment of his rescue--and grunted an acquiescence with his wife's speech. "my dear mother and dad," jack said, "there must be no talk of parting between us. as yet, of course, it is too soon to form plans for the future; but be assured that there will be no parting. you took me when i was a helpless baby; but for you i should have been a workhouse child, and might now be coming out of my apprenticeship to a tinker or a tailor. i owe all i have, all i am, to you; and whatever fortune befall me you will still be dad and mother. for a short time i must go to the hall, as mr. brook has invited me; and we shall have much to arrange and talk over. afterwards i suppose i shall have to go to the manager's house, but, of course, arrangements will have to be made as to mr. fletcher's widow and children; and when i go there, of course you will come too." "thee'st a good un, lad," bill haden said, for mrs. haden's tears prevented her speech; "but i doubt what thou say'st can be; but we needn't talk that over now. but t' old 'ooman and i be none the less glad o' thy words, jack; though the bit and sup that thou had'st here till you went into th' pit and began to pay your way ain't worth the speaking o'. thou beats me a'together, jack. when un see's a good pup un looks to his breed, and un finds it pure; but where thou get'st thy points from beats me a'together. thy mother were a schoolmaster's daughter, but she had not the name o' being fond o' larning, and was a'ways weak and ailing; thy dad, my mate jack simpson, was as true a mate as ever man had; but he were in no ways uncommon. the old 'ooman and i ha' reared ye; but, arter all, pups don't follow their foster-mother, for the best bull pup ain't noways injured by having a half-bred un, or for the matter o' that one wi' no breed at all, as a foster-mother; besides the old 'ooman and me has no points at all, 'cept on my part, such as are bad uns; so it beats me fairly. it downright shakes un's faith in breeding." here harry's tap was heard at the door, and jack, leaving bill haden to ponder over his egregious failure in proving true to blood, joined his friend outside. scarce a word was spoken between the two young men as they walked across to nelly hardy's little cottage by the schoolhouse. the candles were already lighted, and nelly rose as they entered. "my dear nelly." "my dear jack," she said, throwing her arms round his neck as a sister might have done, and kissing him, for the first time in her life; and crying, "my dear jack, thank god you are restored alive to us." "thank god indeed," jack said reverently; "it has been almost a miracle, nelly, and i am indeed thankful. we prayed nearly as hard as we worked, and god was with us; otherwise assuredly we had never passed through such danger uninjured. i thought many a time of you and harry, and what you would be doing and thinking. "i never gave up hope, did i, harry?" she said; "i thought that somehow such a useful life as yours would be spared." "many other useful lives have been lost, nelly," jack said sadly; "but it was not my time." "and now," nelly said changing her tone, "there are other things to talk of. will you please take a chair, sir," and she dropped a curtsy. "didn't i tell you, jack," she said, laughing at the astonishment in jack's face, "that when you congratulated me on getting my post here and called me miss hardy, that the time would come when i should say, sir to you. it has come, jack, sooner than we expected, but i knew it would come." then changing her tone again, as they sat looking at the fire, she went on, "you know we are glad, jack, harry and i, more glad than we can say, that needs no telling between us, does it?" "none," jack said. "we are one, we three, and no need to say we are glad at each other's success." "we have had happy days," nelly said, "but they will never be quite the same again. we shall always be friends, jack, always--true and dear friends, but we cannot be all in all to each other. i know, dear jack," she said as she saw he was about to speak vehemently, "that you will be as much our friend in one way as ever, but you cannot be our companion. it is impossible, jack. we have trod the same path together, but your path leaves ours here. we shall be within sound of each other's voices, we shall never lose sight of each other, but we are no longer together." "i have not thought it over yet," jack said quietly. "it is all too new and too strange to me to see yet how things will work; but it is true, nelly, and it is the one drawback to my good fortune, that there must be some little change between us. but in the friendship which began when you stood by me at the old shaft and helped me to save harry, there will be no change. i have risen as i always had determined to rise; i have worked for this from the day when mr. pastor, my artist friend, told me it was possible i might reach it, but i never dreamed it would come so soon; and i have always hoped and thought that i should keep you both with me. how things will turn out we do not know, but, dear friends," and he held out a hand to each, "believe me, that i shall always be as i am now, and that i shall care little for my good fortune unless i can retain you both as my dearest friends." chapter xxix. the new manager. the next day preparations for pumping out the vaughan commenced; but it took weeks to get rid of the water which had flowed in in five minutes. then the work of clearing the mine and bringing up the bodies commenced. this was a sad business. a number of coffins, equal to that of the men known to be below at the time of the explosion, were in readiness in a shed near the pit mouth. these were sent down, and the bodies as they were found were placed in them to be carried above. in scarcely any instances could the dead be identified by the relatives, six weeks in the water having changed them beyond all recognition; only by the clothes could a clue be obtained. then the funerals began. a great grave a hundred feet long by twelve wide had been dug in the churchyard, and in this the coffins were laid two deep. some days ten, some fifteen, some twenty bodies were laid there, and at each funeral the whole village attended. who could know whether those dearest to them were not among the shapeless forms each day consigned to their last resting-place? at last the tale was complete; the last of the victims of the great explosion at the vaughan was laid to rest, the blinds were drawn up, and save that the whole of the people seemed to be in mourning, stokebridge assumed its usual aspect. upon the day before the renewal of regular work, jack simpson, accompanied by mr. brook appeared upon the ground, and signified that none were to descend until he had spoken to them. he had already won their respect by his indefatigable attention to the work of clearing the mine, and by the care he had evinced for the recovery of the bodies. few, however, of the hands had spoken to him since his accession to his new dignity; now they had time to observe him, and all wondered at the change which had been wrought in his appearance. clothes do not make a man, but they greatly alter his appearance, and there was not one but felt that jack looked every inch a gentleman. when he began to speak their wonder increased. except to mr. dodgson, harry, nelly hardy, and some of his young comrades, jack had always spoken in the dialect of the place, and the surprise of the colliers when he spoke in perfect english without a trace of accent or dialect was great indeed. standing up in the gig in which he had driven up with mr. brook he spoke in a loud, clear voice heard easily throughout the yard. "my friends," he said, "my position here is a new and difficult one, so difficult that did i not feel sure that you would help me to make it as easy as possible i should shrink from undertaking it. i am a very young man. i have grown up among you, and of you, and now in a strange way, due in a great measure to the kindness of your employers, and in a small degree to my own exertions to improve myself, i have come to be put over you. now it is only by your helping me that i can maintain this position here. you will find in me a true friend. i know your difficulties and your wants, and i will do all in my power to render your lives comfortable. those among you who were my friends from boyhood can believe this, the rest of you will find it to be so. any of you who are in trouble or in difficulty will, if you come to me, obtain advice and assistance. but while i will try to be your friend, and will do all in my power for your welfare, it is absolutely necessary that you should treat me with the respect due to mr. brook's manager. without proper discipline proper work is impossible. a captain must be captain of his own ship though many of his men know the work as well as he does. and i am glad to be able to tell you that mr. brook has given me full power to make such regulations and to carry out such improvements as may be conducive to your comfort and welfare. he wants, and i want, the vaughan to be a model mine and stokebridge a model village, and we will do all in our power to carry out our wishes. we hope that no dispute will ever again arise here on the question of wages. there was one occasion when the miners of the vaughan were led away by strangers and paid dearly for it. we hope that such a thing will never occur again. mr. brook expects a fair return, and no more than a fair return, for the capital he has sunk in the mine. when times are good you will share his prosperity, when times are bad you, like he, must submit to sacrifices. if disputes arise elsewhere, they need not affect us here, for you may be sure that your wages will never be below those paid elsewhere. and now i have said my say. let us conclude by trusting that we shall be as warm friends as ever although our relations towards each other are necessarily changed." three rousing cheers greeted the conclusion of jack's speech, after which he drove off with mr. brook. as the men gathered round the top of the shaft, an old miner exclaimed: "dang it all, i ha' it now. i was wondering all the time he was speaking where i had heard his voice before. i know now. as sure as i'm a living man it was jack simpson as beat us back from that there engine-house when we were going to stop the pumps in the strike." now that the clue was given a dozen others of those who had been present agreed with the speaker. the event was now an old one, and all bitterness had passed. had it been known at the time, or within a few months afterwards, jack's life would probably have paid the penalty, but now the predominant feeling was one of admiration. those who had, during the last few weeks, wearily watched the pumping out of the vaughan, felt how fatal would have been the delay had it occurred when the strike ended and they were penniless and without resources, and no feeling of ill-will remained. "he be a game 'un; to think o' that boy standing alone agin' us a', and not a soul as much as suspected it! did'st know o't, bill haden?" "noa," bill said, "never so much as dream't o't, but now i thinks it over, it be loikely enoo'. i often thought what wonderful luck it were as he gave me that 'ere bottle o' old tom, and made me as drunk as a loord joost at th' roight time, and i ha' thought it were curious too, seeing as never before or since has he giv'd me a bottle o' liquor, but now it all comes natural enough. well, to be sure, and to think that lad should ha' done all that by hisself, and ne'er a soul the wiser! you may be sure the gaffer didn't know no more than we, or he'd a done summat for the lad at the time. he offered rewards, too, for the finding out who 't were as had done it, and to think 'twas my jack! well, well, he be a good plucked un too, they didn't ca' him bull-dog for nowt, for it would ha' gone hard wi' him had 't been found out. i'm main proud o' that lad." and so the discovery that jack had so wished to avoid, when it was at last made, added much to the respect with which he was held in the vaughan pit. if when a boy he would dare to carry out such a scheme as this, it was clear that as a man he was not to be trifled with. the reputation which he had gained by his courage in descending into the mine, in his battle with tom walker, and by the clear-headedness and quickness of decision which had saved the lives of the survivors of the explosion, was immensely increased; and any who had before felt sore at the thought of so young a hand being placed above them in command of the pit, felt that in all that constitutes a man, in energy, courage, and ability, jack simpson was worthy the post of manager of the vaughan mine. bill haden was astonished upon his return home that night to find that his wife had all along known that it was jack who had defended the vaughan, and was inclined to feel greatly aggrieved at having been kept in the dark. "did ye think as i wasn't to be trusted not to split on my own lad?" he exclaimed indignantly. "we knew well enough that thou mightest be trusted when thou wer't sober, bill," his wife said gently; "but as about four nights a week at that time thou wast drunk, and might ha' blabbed it out, and had known nowt in the morning o' what thou'dst said, jack and i were of a mind that less said soonest mended." "may be you were right," bill haden said after a pause; "a man has got a loose tongue when he's in drink, and i should never ha' forgiven myself had i harmed t' lad." chapter xxx. risen. it was not until the pit was cleared of water and about to go to work again, that the question of bill haden and his wife removing from their cottage came forward for decision. jack had been staying with mr. brook, who had ordered that the house in which the late manager had lived should be put in good order and furnished from top to bottom, and had arranged for his widow and children to remove at once to friends living at a distance. feeling as he did that he owed his life to the young man, he was eager to do everything in his power to promote his comfort and prosperity, and as he was, apart from the colliery, a wealthy man and a bachelor, he did not care to what expense he went. the house, "the great house on the hill," as jack had described it when speaking to his artist friend pastor years before, was a far larger and more important building than the houses of managers of mines in general. it had, indeed, been originally the residence of a family owning a good deal of land in the neighbourhood, but they, when coal was discovered and work began, sold this property and went to live in london, and as none cared to take a house so close to the coal-pits and village of stokebridge, it was sold for a nominal sum to the owner of the vaughan, and was by him used as a residence for his manager. now, with the garden nicely laid out, redecorated and repaired outside and in, and handsomely furnished, it resumed its former appearance of a gentleman's country seat. mr. brook begged jack as a favour not to go near the house until the place was put in order, and although the young man heard that a birmingham contractor had taken it in hand, and that a large number of men were at work there, he had no idea of the extensive changes which were taking place. a few days before work began again at the vaughan jack went down as usual to the hadens', for he had looked in every day to say a few words to them on his way back from the pit-mouth. "now, dad," he said, "we must not put the matter off any longer. i am to go into the manager's house in a fortnight's time. i hear they have been painting and cleaning it up, and mr. brook tells me he has put new furniture in, and that i shall only have to go in and hang up my hat. now i want for you to arrange to come up on the same day." "we ha' been talking the matter over in every mortal way, the old woman and me, jack, and i'll tell 'ee what we've aboot concluded. on one side thou really wan't t' have us oop wi' 'ee." "yes, indeed, dad," jack said earnestly. "i know thou dost, lad; me and jane both feels that. well that's an argiment that way. then there's the argiment that naturally thou would'st not like the man who hast brought thee oop to be working in the pit o' which thou wast manager. that's two reasons that way; on the other side there be two, and the old 'ooman and me think they are stronger than t'others. first, we should be out o' place at the house oop there. thou wilt be getting to know all kinds o' people, and whatever thou may'st say, jack, your mother and me would be oot o' place. that's one argiment. the next argiment is that we shouldn't like it, jack, we should feel we were out o' place and that our ways were out o' place; and we should be joost miserable. instead o' doing us a kindness you'd joost make our lives a burden, and i know 'ee don't want to do that. we's getting on in loife and be too old to change our ways, and nothing thou could'st say could persuade us to live a'ways dressed up in our sunday clothes in your house." "well, dad, i might put you both in a comfortable cottage, without work to do." "what should i do wi'out my work, jack? noa, lad, i must work as long as i can, or i should die o' pure idleness. but i needn't work at a stall. i'm fifty now, and although i ha' got another fifteen years' work in me, i hope, my bones bean't as liss as they was. thou might give me the job as underground viewer. i can put in a prop or see to the firing o' a shot wi' any man. oi've told my mates you want to have me and the old woman oop at th' house, and they'll know that if i stop underground it be o' my own choice. i know, lad, it wouldn't be roight for me to be a getting droonk at the "chequers" and thou manager; but i ha' told t' old 'ooman that i will swear off liquor altogether." "no, no, dad!" jack said, affected at this proof of bill haden's desire to do what he could towards maintaining his dignity. "i wouldn't think o't. if you and mother feel that you'd be more happy and comfortable here--and maybe you are right, i didn't think over the matter from thy side as well as my own, as i ought to have done--of course you shall stay here; and, of course, you shall have a berth as under-viewer. as for swearing off drink altogether, i wouldn't ask it of you, though i do wish you could resolve never to drink too much again. you ha' been used to go to the "chequers" every night for nigh forty years, and you couldn't give it up now. you would pine away without somewhere to go to. however, this must be understood, whenever you like to come up to me i shall be glad to see you, and i shall expect you on sundays to dinner if on no other day; and whenever the time shall come when you feel, dad, that you'd rather give up work, there will be a cottage for you and mother somewhere handy to me, and enough to live comfortably and free from care." "that's a bargain, lad, and i'm roight glad it be off my mind, for i ha' been bothering over't ever since thee spoke to me last." the same evening jack had a long talk with harry. his friend, although healthy, was by no means physically strong, and found the work of a miner almost beyond him. he had never taken to the life as jack had done, and his friend knew that for the last year or two he had been turning his thoughts in other directions, and that of all things he would like to be a schoolmaster. he had for years read and studied a good deal, and mr. dodgson said that with a year in a training college he would be able to pass. he had often talked the matter over with jack, and the latter told him now that he had entered his name in st. mark's college, chelsea, had paid his fees six months in advance, his savings amply sufficing for this without drawing upon his salary, and that he was to present himself there in a week's time. the announcement took away harry's breath, but as soon as he recovered himself he accepted jack's offer as frankly as it was made. it had always been natural for jack to lend him a hand, and it seemed to him, as to jack, natural that it should be so now. "have you told nelly?" "no, i left it for you to tell, harry. i know, of course, one reason why you want to be a schoolmaster, and she will know it too. she is a strange girl, is nelly; i never did quite understand her, and i never shall; why on earth she should refuse you i can't make out. she's had lots o' other offers these last four years, but it's all the same. there's no one she cares for, why shouldn't she take you?" "i can wait," harry said quietly, "there's plenty of time; perhaps some day i shall win her, and i think--yes, i think now--that i shall." "well," jack said cheerfully, "as you say there's plenty of time; i've always said thirty was the right age to marry, and you want eight years of that, and nelly won't get old faster than you do, so if she don't fall in love with any one else it must come right; she has stood out for nearly four years, and though i don't pretend to know anything of women, i should think no woman could go on saying no for twelve years." harry, although not given to loud mirth, laughed heartily at jack's views over love-making, and the two then walked across to nelly hardy's cottage. jack told her what bill haden and his wife had decided, and she approved their determination. then harry said what jack had arranged for him. nelly shook her head as if in answer to her own thoughts while harry was speaking, but when he ceased she congratulated him warmly. "you were never fit for pit-work, harry, and a schoolmaster's life will suit you well. it is curious that jack's two friends should both have taken to the same life." jack's surprise was unbounded when, a month after the reopening of the vaughan, mr. brook took him over to his new abode. his bewilderment at the size and completeness of the house and its fittings was even greater than his pleasure. "but what am i to do alone in this great place, mr. brook?" he asked; "i shall be lost here. i am indeed deeply grateful to you, but it is much too big for me altogether." "it is no bigger now than it has always been," mr. brook said, "and you will never be lost as long as you have your study there," and he pointed to a room snugly fitted up as a library and study. "you will be no more lonely than i or other men without wives and families; besides you know these may come some day." "ah! but that will be many years on," jack said; "i always made up my mind not to marry till i was thirty, because a wife prevents you making your way." "yes; but now that you have made your way so far, jack, a wife will aid rather than hinder you. but it will be time to think of that in another three or four years. you will not find it so dull as you imagine, jack. there is your work, which will occupy the greater part of your day. there is your study for the evening. you will speedily know all the people worth knowing round here; i have already introduced you to a good many, and they will be sure to call as soon as you are settled here. in the stable, my dear boy, you will find a couple of horses, and a saddle, and a dog-cart, so that you will be able to take exercise and call about. i shall keep the horses. i consider them necessary for my manager. my men will keep the garden in order, and i think that you will find that your salary of £ a year to begin with ample for your other expenses." jack was completely overpowered by the kindness of his employer, but the latter would not hear of thanks. "why, man, i owe you my life," he said; "what are these little things in comparison?" jack found fewer difficulties than he had anticipated in his new position. his speech at the opening of the mine added to the favour with which he was held for his conduct at the time of the explosion, and further heightened the respect due to him for his defence of the vaughan. as he went through the mine he had ever a cheery "good morning, bob," "good morning, jack," for his old comrades, and the word "sir" was now universally added to the answered "good morning," a concession not always made by colliers to their employers. the miners soon felt the advantages of the new manager's energy, backed as he was in every respect by the owner. the work as laid down by the government inspector was carried out, and mr. brook having bought up for a small sum the disused logan mine, in which several of the lower seams of coal were still unworked, the opening between the pits was made permanent, and the logan shaft became the upcast to the vaughan, thus greatly simplifying the work of ventilation, lessening the danger of explosion, and giving a means of escape for the miners should such a catastrophe recur in spite of all precautions. as nearly half the old workers at the pit had perished in the explosion, an equal number of new hands had to be taken on. jack, sharing the anxiety of the vicar and mr. dodgson, that all the good work should not be checked by the ingress of a fresh population, directed that all vacancies should be filled up by such colliers of good character as resided at stokebridge, working for other pits in the neighbourhood. as the vaughan promised to be the most comfortable and well-worked pit in the country, these were only too glad to change service, and more names were given in than vacancies could be found for. as all the inhabitants of stokebridge had participated in the benefits of the night schools and classes, and in the improvements which had taken place, the advance of the village suffered no serious check from the catastrophe at the vaughan. chapter xxxi. conclusion. three years more of progress and stokebridge had become the model village of the black country. the chief employer of labour, his manager, the vicar, and schoolmaster all worked together for this end. the library had been a great success, and it was rare, indeed, for a drunken man to be seen in the streets even of a saturday night. many of the public-houses had closed their doors altogether; and in addition to the library a large and comfortable club-house had been built. the men of an evening could smoke their pipes, play at bagatelle, chess, draughts, or cards, and take such beer as they required, any man getting drunk or even noisy to be expelled the club. this, however, was a rule never requiring to be called into force. the building was conducted on the principle of a regimental canteen. the beer was good and cheap but not strong, no spirits were sold, but excellent tea, coffee, and chocolate could be had at the lowest prices. the building was closed during the day, but beer was sent out both for dinners and suppers to those who required it. there was a comfortable room where women could sew, knit, and talk as they pleased, or they could, if they liked, sit in the general room with their husbands. entertainments and lectures were of frequent occurrence, and the establishment, supplemented by the library and wash-house, did wonders for stokebridge. the promise made by mr. brook at the fête had been carried out. a choir-master came over twice a week from birmingham, and the young people entered into the scheme with such zest that the choir had carried away the prize three years in succession at birmingham. the night-school was now carried on on a larger scale than ever, and the school for cooking and sewing was so well attended that mrs. dodgson had now a second assistant. to encourage the children and young people an annual show was held at which many prizes were given for gardening, needlework, dressmaking, carpentering, and a variety of other subjects. it was seldom, indeed, that an untidy dress was to be seen, still more uncommon that a foul word was heard in the streets of stokebridge. nothing could make the rows of cottages picturesque as are those of a rural village; but from tubs, placed in front, creepers and roses climbed over the houses, while the gardens behind were gay with flowers. no young woman needed to remain single in stokebridge longer than she chose, for so noteworthy were they for their housewifely qualities that the young pitmen of the villages round thought themselves fortunate indeed if they could get a wife from stokebridge. bill cummings, fred wood, and several others of jack's boy friends, were viewers or under-managers of the vaughan, and many had left to take similar situations elsewhere. jack simpson was popular with all classes. with the upper class his simple straightforwardness, his cheerfulness and good temper, made him a great favourite, although they found it hard to understand how so quiet and unassuming a young fellow could be the hero of the two rescues at the vaughan, for, now when the fact was known, jack no longer made a secret of his share in the attack by the rioters on the engine-house. among the pitmen his popularity was unbounded. of an evening he would sometimes come down to the club-room and chat as unrestrainedly and intimately as of old with the friends of his boyhood, and he never lost an opportunity of pushing their fortunes. once a week he spent the evening with bill haden and his wife, who always came up and passed sunday with him when he was at home. at this time all ceremony was dispensed with, the servants were sent out of the room, and when the pitman and his wife became accustomed to their surroundings they were far more at their ease than they had at first thought possible. on the evenings when he went down to his mother he always dropped in for an hour's talk with his friend nelly. there was no shadow of change in their relations. nelly was his friend firm and fast, to whom he told all his thoughts and plans. harry was assistant master in a school at birmingham, and was, as he told jack, still waiting patiently. jack was now often over at birmingham, and one night he said to nelly: "nelly, i promised you long ago that i would tell you if i ever fell in love." "and you have come to tell me now?" she asked quietly. "yes," he said, "if it can be called falling in love; for it has been so gradual that i don't know how it began. perhaps three years ago, when she refused another man. i was glad of it, and of course asked myself why i was glad. there came no answer but one--i wanted her myself." "i suppose it is alice merton?" nelly said as quietly as before. "of course," jack said; "it could be no one else. i suppose i like her because she is the reverse of myself. she is gentle but lively and full of fun, she is made to be the light of a hard working man's home. i am not at all gentle, and i have very little idea of fun. alice is made to lean on some one. i suppose i am meant to be leant upon. i suppose it is always the case that opposite natures are attracted towards one another, the one forms the complement of the other." nelly sat thinking. this then was the reason why she had never attracted jack. both their natures were strong and firm. both had full control over themselves, although both of a passionate nature; both had the capability of making great sacrifices, even of life if necessary; both had ambition and a steady power of work. no wonder jack had thought of her as a comrade rather than as a possible wife; while harry, gentler and easily led, patient rather than firm, leaned upon her strong nature. "i think, dear jack," she said, "that miss merton is the very woman to make you happy. you have known each other for twelve years, and can make no mistake. i need not say how truly and sincerely i wish you every happiness." there was a quiver in her voice as she spoke, but her face was as firm and steadfast as ever; and jack simpson, as he walked homewards, did not dream that nelly hardy was weeping as if her heart would break, over this final downfall of her life's dream. it was not that she had for the last seven years ever thought that jack would ask her to be his wife, but she would have been content to go on to the end of her life as his first and dearest friend. then she said at last, "that's done with. jack and i will always be great friends, but not as we have been. perhaps it is as well. better now than ten years on." then her thoughts went to harry, to whom, indeed, during the last few years they had gone oftener than she would have admitted to herself. "he is very faithful and kind and good, and i suppose one of these days i shall have to give in. he will not expect much, but he deserves all i could give him." in after years, however, nelly shepherd learned that she could give her husband very true and earnest love; and the headmaster and mistress of the largest school at wolverhampton are regarded by all who know them, and by none less than by jack simpson and his wife, as a perfectly happy couple. it is ten years since jack married alice merton, who had loved him for years before he asked her to be his wife. jack is now part proprietor of the vaughan pit, and is still its real manager, although he has a nominal manager under him. he cannot, however, be always on the spot, as he lives near birmingham, and is one of the greatest authorities on mining, and the first consulting engineer, in the black country. at mr. brook's death he will be sole proprietor of the vaughan, that gentleman having at jack's marriage settled its reversion upon his wife. dinner is over, and he is sitting in the garden, surrounded by those he most cares for in the world. it is the st of june, a day upon which a small party always assembles at his house. by his side is his wife, and next to her are harry shepherd and nelly. between the ladies a warm friendship has sprung up of late years, while that between the three friends has never diminished in the slightest. on jack's other hand sits an artist, bearing one of the most honoured names in england, whose health jack always proposes at this dinner as "the founder of his fortune." next to the artist sits mr. brook, and beyond him mrs. simpson's father, a permanent resident in the house now, but some years back a professor of mathematics in birmingham. playing in the garden are six children, two of whom call the young simpsons cousins, although there is no blood relationship between them; and walking with them are an old couple, who live in the pretty cottage just opposite to the entrance of the grounds, and whom jack simpson still affectionately calls "dad" and "mother." the end. transcriber's note punctuation has been standardized. inconsistent hyphenation has not been changed. this book includes a lot of dialect, which often looks misspelled but was intentionally written that way. therefore, some irregularities that might be errors have not been corrected in order to preserve author intent. on page , the name ratcliffe was misspelled in the original text. this has been corrected. in the paragraph beginning "there was a movement in the crowd," the next sentence in the original text is, '"the soldiers be coming" run from mouth to mouth.' as this is likely an error in the text, "run" has been changed to "ran." in the formula given by jack, the original text has an extraneous . this seems to be an error by the author and has been removed. italics in the original text are indicated by _ in the text version, with one exception: the above-mentioned formula was originally in italics, but the _ characters have been removed for clarity. the sign of the red cross a tale of old london by evelyn everett-green chapter i. a warning whisper. "i don't believe a word of it!" cried the master builder, with some heat of manner. "it is just an old scare, the like of which i have heard a hundred times ere now. some poor wretch dies of the sweating sickness, or, at worst, of the spotted fever, and in a moment all men's mouths are full of the plague! i don't believe a word of it!" "heaven send you may be right, good friend," quoth rachel harmer, as she sat beside her spinning wheel, and spoke to the accompaniment of its pleasant hum. "and yet, methinks, the vice and profligacy of this great city, and the lewdness and wanton wickedness of the court, are enough to draw down upon us the judgments of almighty god. the sin and the shame of it must be rising up before him day and night." the master builder moved a little uneasily in his seat. for his own part he thought no great harm of the roistering, gaming, and gallantries of the court dandies. he knew that the times were very good for him. fine ladies were for ever sending for him to alter some house or some room. gay young husbands, or those who thought of becoming husbands, were seldom content nowadays without pulling their house about their ears, and rebuilding it after some new-fangled fashion copied from france. or if the structure were let alone, the plenishings must be totally changed; and master charles mason, albeit a builder by trade, and going generally amongst his acquaintances and friends by the name of master builder, had of late years taken to a number of kindred avocations in the matter of house plenishings, and so forth. this had brought him no small profit, as well as intimate relations with many a fine household and with many grand folks. money had flowed apace into his pocket of late. his wife had begun to go about so fine that it was well for her the old sumptuary laws had fallen into practical disuse. his son was an idle young dog, chiefly known to the neighbourhood as being the main leader of a notorious band of scourers, of which more anon, and many amongst his former friends and associates shook their heads, and declared that charles mason was growing so puffed up by wealth that he would scarce vouchsafe a nod to an old acquaintance in the street, unless he were smart and prosperous looking. the master builder had a house upon old london bridge. once he had carried on his business there, but latterly he had grown too fine for that. to the disgust of his more simple-minded neighbours, he had taken some large premises in cheapside, where he displayed many fine stuffs for upholstering and drapery, where the new-fashioned indian carpets were displayed to view, and fine gilded furniture from france, which a little later on became the rage all through the country. his own house was now nothing more than a dwelling place for himself and his family; even his apprentices and workmen were lodged elsewhere. the neighbours, used to simpler ways, shook their heads, and prophesied that the end of so much pride would be disaster and ruin. but year after year went by, and the master builder grew richer and richer, and could afford to laugh at the prognostications of those about him, of which he was very well aware. he was perhaps somewhat puffed up by his success. he was certainly proud of the position he had made. he liked to see his wife sweep along the streets in her fine robes of indian silk, which seemed to set a great gulf between her and her neighbours. he allowed his son to copy the fopperies of the court gallants, and even to pick up the silly french phrases which made the language at court a mongrel mixture of bad english and vile french. all these things pleased him well, although he himself went about clad in much the same fashion as his neighbours, save that the materials of his clothing were finer, and his frills more white and crisp; and it was in his favour that his friendship with his old friend james harmer had never waned, although he knew that this honest tradesman by no means approved his methods. perhaps in his heart of hearts he preferred the comfortable living room of his neighbour to the grandeur insisted upon by his wife at home. at any rate, he found his way three or four evenings in the week to harmer's fireside, and exchanged with him the news of the day, or retailed the current gossip of the city. harmer was by trade a gold and silver lace maker. he carried on his business in the roomy bridge house which he occupied, which was many stories high, and contained a great number of rooms. he housed in it a large family, several apprentices, two shopmen, and his wife's sister, dinah morse, at such times as the latter was not out nursing the sick, which was her avocation in life. mason and harmer had been boys together, had inherited these two houses on the bridge from their respective fathers, and had both prospered in the world. but harmer was only a moderately affluent man, having many sons and daughters to provide for; whereas mason had but one of each, and had more than one string to his bow in the matter of money getting. in the living room of harmer's house were assembled that february evening six persons. it was just growing dusk, but the dancing firelight gave a pleasant illumination. harmer and mason were seated on opposite sides of the hearth in straight-backed wooden armchairs, and both were smoking. rachel sat at her wheel, with her sister dinah near to her; and in the background hovered two fine-looking young men, the two eldest sons of the household--reuben, his father's right-hand man in business matters now; and dan, who had the air and appearance of a sailor ashore, as, indeed, was the case with him. it was something which dinah morse had said that had evoked the rather fierce disclaimer from the master builder, with the rejoinder by rachel as to the laxity of the times; and now it was dinah's voice which again took up the word. "whether it be god's judgment upon the city, or whether it be due to the carelessness of man, i know not," answered dinah quietly; "i only say that the bill of mortality just published is higher than it has been this long while, and that two in the parish of st. giles have died of the plague." "well, st. giles' is far enough away from us," said the master builder. "if the magistrates do their duty, there is no fear that it will spread our way. there were deaths over yonder of the plague last november, and it seems as though they had not yet stamped out the germs of it. but a little firmness and sense will do that. we have nothing to fear. so long as the cases are duly reported, we shall soon be rid of the pest." dinah pressed her lips rather closely together. she had that fine resolute cast of countenance which often characterizes those who are constantly to be found at the bedside of the sick. her dress was very plain, and she wore a neckerchief of soft, white indian muslin about her throat, instead of the starched yellow one which was almost universal amongst the women citizens of the day. her hands were large and white and capable looking. her only ornament was a chatelaine of many chains, to which were suspended the multifarious articles which a nurse has in constant requisition. in figure she was tall and stately, and in the street strangers often paused to give her a backward glance. she was greatly in request amongst the sick of the better class, though she was often to be found beside the sick poor, who could give her nothing but thanks for her skilled tendance of them. "ay, truly, so long as the cases are duly reported," she repeated slowly. "but do you think, sir, that that is ever done where means may be found to avoid it?" the master builder looked a little startled at the question. "surely all good folks would wish to do what was right by their neighbours. they would not harbour a case of plague, and not make it known in the right quarter." "you think not, perhaps. had you seen as much of the sick as i have, you would know that men so fear and dread the distemper, as they most often call it, that they will blind their eyes to it to the very last, and do everything in their power to make it out as something other than what they fear. i have seen enough of the ways of folks with sickness to be very sure that all who have friends to protect the fearful secret, will do so if it be possible. it is when a poor stranger dies of a sudden that it becomes known that the plague has found another victim. why are there double the number of deaths in this week's bill, if more than are set down as such be not the distemper?" all the faces in the room looked very grave at that, for in truth it was a most disquieting thought. the sailor came a few steps nearer the fire, and remarked: "it has all come from those hounds of dutchmen! right glad am i that we are to go to war with them at last, whether the cause be righteous or not. they have gotten the plague all over their land. i saw men drop down in the streets and die of it when i was last in port there. they send it to us in their merchandise." "my wife will die of terror if she hears but a whisper of the distemper being anigh us," remarked the master builder, with a sigh and a look of uneasiness. "but men are always scaring us with tales of its coming and, after all, there is but a death here and one there, such as any great city may look to have." at that moment the door was thrown open, and a pretty young damsel, wearing a crimson cloak and hood, stepped lightly in. "o father, mother, do but come and look!" she cried, with the air of coaxing assurance which bespoke a favoured child. "such a strange star in the sky! men in the streets are all looking and pointing; and some say that it is no star, but a comet, and that it predicts some dreadful thing which is coming upon this land. do come and look at it! there is a clear sky tonight, and one can see it well. and i heard that it has been seen by some before this, when at night the rain clouds have been swept away by the wind. do come to the window above the river and look! one can see it fine from there." this sudden announcement, falling just upon the talk of pestilence and peril, caused a certain flutter and sensation through the room. all the persons there rose to their feet and followed the rosy-cheeked maiden out upon the staircase, and to a window from which the great river could be seen flowing beneath. a large expanse of sky could also be commanded from here, and as the inside of the house was almost dark, it was easy to obtain an excellent view of the strange appearance which was attracting so much attention in the streets. it certainly was no star that was glowing thus with a red and sullen-looking flame. neither shape nor position in the heavens accorded with that of any star of magnitude. "it was certainly," so said reuben harmer, who had some knowledge of the heavenly bodies, "no star, but one of those travelling meteors or comets which are seen from time to time, and which from remote ages have been declared to foretell calamity to the lands over which they appear to travel." the harmer family were godly people of somewhat puritanic leaning, yet they were by no means entirely free from the superstition of their times, nor would rachel have called it superstition to regard this manifestation as a warning from god. why should he not send some such messenger before he proceeded to take vengeance upon an ungodly city? was not even guilty sodom warned of its approaching doom? all faces then were grave, but that of the master builder wore a look of fear as well. "i must to my wife," he said. "if she sees this comet, she will be vastly put about. i must to her side to reassure her. pray heaven that no calamity be near to us!" "amen!" replied harmer, gravely; and then the master builder retreated down the staircase, whilst from a room below a cheerful voice was heard announcing that supper was ready. the party therefore all moved downstairs towards the kitchen, where all the meals were taken in company with the apprentices, shopmen, and serving wenches. dorcas, the maiden who had brought news of the comet, slipped her. hand within reuben's arm, and asked him in a whisper: "thinkest thou, reuben, that it betides evil to the city?" "nay, i know not what to think," he answered. "it is a strange thing, and men often say it betides ill; but i have no knowledge of mine own. i never saw the like before." "they spoke of it at my lady scrope's today," said dorcas. "i was behind her chair, with her fan and essence bottles, and the lap dogs, when in comes one and another of the old beaux who beguile their leisure with my lady's sharp speeches; and they spoke of this thing, and she laughed them to scorn, and called them fools for listening to old wives' fables. it is her way thus to revile all who come anigh her. she said she had lived through a score of such scares, and would snap her fingers at all the comets of the heavens at once. sometimes it makes me tremble to hear her talk; but methinks she loveth to raise a shudder in the hearts of those who hear her. she is a strange being. sometimes i almost fear to go to and fro there, albeit she treats me well, and seldom speaks harshly to me. but men say she is above a hundred years old, and she leads so strange a life in her lonely house. fancy being there alone of a night, with only that deaf old man and his aged wife within doors! it would scare me to death. but she will not let one other of her servants abide there with her!" "ay, it is her whimsie. women folks are given to such," answered reuben, tolerantly. "she is a strange creature, albeit i doubt not that men make her out stranger than she is. well, well, the comet at least will do us no hurt of itself; and if it be god's way of warning us of peril to come, we need not fear it, but only set ourselves to be ready for what he may send us." below stairs there was a comfortable meal spread upon the table, simple and homely, but sufficient for the appetites of all. the three rosy-faced apprentices, of whom a son of the house made one, formed a link at table between the family and the shopmen and serving wenches. all sat down together, and rebecca, the daughter who lived at home, served up the hot broth and puddings. the eldest daughter was a serving maid in the household of my lady howe, and was seldom able to get home for more than a few hours occasionally, even when that fashionable dame was in london. dorcas spent each night under the shelter of her father's roof, and went daily to the quaint old house close beside allhallowes the less, where lived the eccentric lady scrope, her mistress, of whom mention has been made. the youngest son was also from home, being apprenticed to a carpenter in the service of the master builder next door, and he lived, as was usual, in the house of his employer. thus four out of harmer's seven children lived always at home, and dan the sailor was with them whenever his ship put into the river after a voyage. no talk of either comet or plague was permitted at table; indeed the meal was generally eaten in something approaching to silence. sometimes the master of the house would address a question to one of the family, or suppress by a glance the giggling of the lads at the lower end of the table. joseph's presence there rather encouraged hilarity, for he was a merry urchin, and stood not in the same awe of his father as did his comrades. kindness was the law of the house, but it was the kindness of thorough discipline. neither the master nor the mistress believed in the liberty that brings licence in its train. life went very quietly, smoothly, and monotonously within the walls of that busy house. trade was brisk just now. the fashion lately introduced amongst fine ladies of having whole dresses of gold or silver lace, brought more orders for the lace maker than he well knew how to accomplish in the time. he and his son and his apprentices were hard at work from morning to night; and glad enough was the master of the daily-increasing daylight, which enabled him and those who were glad to earn larger wages to work extra hours each day. being thus busy at home, he went less than was his wont abroad, and heard but little either of the sullen comet which hung night after night in the sky, or of the whispers sometimes circulating in the city of fresh cases of the distemper. these last, however, were growing fewer. the scare of a few weeks back seemed to be dying down. people said the pest had been stamped out, and the brighter, hotter weather cheered the hearts of men, albeit in case of sickness it might be their worst enemy, as some amongst them well knew. "i never believed a word of it!" said the wife of the master builder, as she sat in her fine drawing room and fanned herself with a great fan made of peacock's feathers. she was very handsomely dressed, far muore like a fine court dame than the wife of a simple citizen. her comnpanion was a very pretty girl of about nineteen, whose abundant chestnut hair was dressed after a fashionable mode, although she refused to have it frizzed over her head as her mother's was, and would have preferred to dress it quite simply. she wished she might have plain clothes suitable to her station, instead of being tricked out as though she were a fine lady. but her mother ruled her with a rod of iron, and girls in those days had not thought of rising in rebellion. the master builder's wife considered that she had gentle blood in her veins, as her grandfather had been a country squire who was ruined in the civil war, so that his family sank into poverty. of late she had done all in her power to get her neighbours to accord her the title of madam mason, which she extorted from her servants, and which was given to her pretty generally now, although as much in mockery, it must be confessed, as in respect of her finery. she did not look a very happy woman, in spite of all the grandeur about her. she had frightened away her simpler neighbours by her airs of condescension and by the splendour of her house, and yet she could not yet see any way of inducing other and finer folks to come and see her. sometimes her husband brought in a rich patron and his wife to look at the fine room, and examnine the furniture in it, and these persons would generally be mighty civil to her whilst they stayed; but then they did not come to see her, but only in the way of business. it was agreeable to be able to repeat what my lord this or my lady that said about the cabinets and chairs; but after all she was half afraid that her boasting deceived nobody, and gertrude would never come to her aid with any little innocent fibs about their grand visitors. "i never did believe a word of it," repeated madam, after a pause. "gertrude, why do you not answer when i speak to you? you are as dull as a dutch doll, sitting there and saying nothing. i would that frederick were at home! he can speak when he is spoken to; but you are like a deaf mute!" "i beg your pardon, ma'am. i was reading--i did not hear." "that is always the way--reading, reading, reading! why, what good do you think reading will do you? why don't you get your silk embroidery or practise upon the spinnet? such advantages as you have! and all thrown away on a girl who does not know when she is well off. i have no manner of patience with you, gertrude. if i had had such opportunities in my girlhood, i should never have been a mere citizen's wife now." a slightly mutinous look passed across gertrude's face. submissive in word and manner, as was the rule of the day, she was by no means submissive in mind, and had her mother's ears been sharper she might have detected the undertone of irony in the reply she received. "i think nobody would take you for a citizen's wife, ma'am. as for me, i am not made to shine in a higher sphere than mine own. i have not even the patience to learn the spinnet. i would sooner be baking pies with rebecca next door, as we used to do when we were children, before father grew so rich." madam's face clouded ominously. she heartily wished she had never admitted her children to intimacy with the harmers next door. it had done no harm in the case of frederick. he was his mother's son, every inch of him, and was as ready to turn up a supercilious nose at his old comrades as ever madam could wish. but gertrude was different--she was excessively provoking at times. she did not seem able to understand that if one intended to rise in the world, one must cut through a number of old ties, and start upon a fresh track. it was not easy in those times to rise; but still the wealthier citizens did occasionally make a position for themselves, and get amongst the hangers-on of the court party, especially if they were open handed with their money. madam often declared that if they only moved into another part of the town, everything she wanted could be attained; but on that point her husband was inexorable. he loved the old bridge house. there he had been born, and there he meant to die, and he had not the smnallest intention of removing elsewhere to please even the wife to whom he granted so many indulgences. "you are a fool!" cried madam, angrily; "you say those things only to provoke me. i wish you had some right feeling and some conversation. you are as dull as ditch water. you care for nothing. i don't believe it would rouse you to hear that the plague was in the next street!" "well, we shall see," answered gertrude, with a calmness that was at least a little provoking, "for people say it is spreading very fast, and may soon be here." "what!" cried madam, in a sudden panic; "who says that? what do you mean, girl?" "it was reuben who told me," answered gertrude, with a little blush which she tried to conceal by turning her face towards the window. but her ruse was in vain. madam's hawk eye had caught the rising colour, and her brow contracted sharply. "reuben! what reuben? have i not told you a hundred times that i would have none of that sort of talk any more? reuben, indeed! as though you were boy and girl together! pray tell me this, you forward minx, does he dare to address you as gertrude when he has the insolence to speak to you in the streets, where alone i presume he can do so?" gertrude's face was burning with indignation. she had to clasp her hands tightly together to restrain the hot words which rose to her lips. "we have been children together--and friends," she said, "the harmers and i. how should we forget that so quickly--even though you have forgotten! my father does not mind." madam's face was as red as her daughter's. she was about to make some violent retort, when the sound of a footstep on the stairs checked the words upon her lips. "there is frederick!" she said. chapter ii. london's young citizens. the door of the room where mother and daughter sat was flung wide open with scant ceremony, and to the accompaniment of a boisterous laugh. into the room swaggered a tall, fine-looking young man of some three-and-twenty summers, dressed in all the extravagance of a lavish and extravagant age. upon his head he wore an immense peruke of ringlets, such as had been introduced at court the previous year, and which was almost universal now with the nobles and gentry, but by no means so amongst the citizens. the periwig was surmounted by a high-crowned hat adorned with feathers and ribbons, and ribbons floated from his person in such abundance that to unaccustomed eyes the effect was little short of grotesque. even the absurd high-heeled shoes were tied with immense bows of ribbon, whilst knees, wrists, throat, and even elbows displayed their bows and streamers. the young dandy wore the full "petticoat breeches" of the period, with a short doublet, a jaunty cloak hung from the shoulders, and an abundance of costly lace ruffles adorned the neck and wrists of the doublet, he wore at his side a short rapier, and had a trick of laying his hand upon the hilt, as though it would take very little provocation to make him draw it forth upon an adversary. his step was not altogether so steady as it might have been, as he swaggered into his mother's presence. his handsome face was deeply flushed. he was laughing boisterously; but there was that in his aspect which made his sister turn away with a look of repulsion, though his mother's glance rested on him with a look of admiring pride that savoured of adoration. in her fond and foolish eyes he was perfection, and the more he copied the vices and the follies of the gallants about the person of the king, the prouder did his vain and weak mother become of him. "ho! ho! ho! such a bit of fun!" it is impossible to give frederick mason's words verbatim, as he seldom opened his lips without an oath, and inter-larded his talk with coarse jests in english and fragments of ribaldry in vile french, till it would scarce be intelligible to the reader of today. "such a prime bit of fun! who would have thought that little dorcas next door would grow up such a marvelous pretty damsel! by my troth, what a slap she did give me in return for my kiss!" gertrude suddenly turned upon her brother with flashing eyes. "think shame of yourself, frederick! you disgrace your boasted manhood. how dare you annoy with your coarse gallantry the daughter of our father's oldest friend, and that too in the open streets!" "how dare you speak so to your brother, girl?" cried madam, bristling up like an angry mother hen. "what call have you to chide him? is he answerable to you for his acts?" gertrude subsided into silence, for she could not answer back as she would have liked. it was not for her to argue with her mother; and madam, having vanquished her daughter, turned upon her son. "you must have a care how you vex our neighbours, for your father would take it ill an he heard of it. nay, i would not myself that you mixed yourself up too much with them. they are honest good folks enow, but scarce such as are fitting company for us. what of this girl dorcas? is not she the one who is waiting maid to that mad old witch woman in allhallowes, lady scrope?" "that may well be. i saw her come forth from a grim portal hard by allhallowes the less. i knew not who it was, but i gave chase, and ere she put her foot upon the bridge, i had plucked the hood from off her pretty curls, and had kissed her soundly on both cheeks. and at that she gave me such a cuff as i feel yet, and ran like a fawn, and i after her, till she vanished within the door of our neighbour's house; and then it came to me that it was dorcas, grown wondrous pretty since i last took note of her. if she comes always home at this hour, i'll waylay my lady again and take toll of her." "you had better be careful not to let reuben get wind of it" said gertrude, with suppressed anger in her voice. "if he were to catch you insulting his sister, it is more than a slap or a cuff you would get." frederick burst into a boisterous laugh. "what! do you think a dirty shopman would dare lay hands upon me? i'd run him through the body as soon as look at him. he'd better keep out of reach of my sword arm. you can tell him so, fair sister, if you have a tendresse for the young counter jumper." gertrude's sensitive colour flew up, and her brother laughed loud and long, pointing his finger at her, and adding one coarse jest to another; but the mother interposed rather hastily, being uneasy at the turn the talk was taking. "hist, children, no more of this! "i would not that this tale came to your father's ears, frederick; it were better to have a care where our neighbours are concerned. let the wench alone. there are many prettier damsels than she, who will not rebuff you in such fashion." "ay, verily, but that is the spice of it all. when the wench gives you kiss for kiss, it is sweet, but flavourless. a box on the ear, and a merry chase through the streets afterwards, is a game more to my liking. i'll see the little witch again and be even with her, or my name's not frederick mason the scourer!" "your father will like it ill if it comes to his ears," remarked madam, with a touch of uneasiness; "and for my part, the less we have to do with our neighbours the better. they are no fit associates for us." "say that we are no fit associates for them," murmured gertrude, beneath her breath. her heart was swelling with sorrow and anger. in her eyes there was no young man in all london town to be compared with reuben harmer. from the day when in childhood they had playfully plighted their troth, she had never ceased to regard him as the one man in the world most worthy of love and reverence, and she knew that he had never ceased to look upon her with the same feelings. latterly they had had but scant opportunities of meeting. madam threw every possible obstacle in the way of her daughter's entering the doors of that house, and kept her own closed against those of her former friends whom she now chose to regard as her inferiors. madam had never been liked. she had always held her head high, and shown that she thought herself too good for the place she occupied. her house had never been popular. no neighbours had ever been in the habit of running in and out to exchange bits of news with her, or ask for the loan of some recipe or household convenience. it had not been difficult to seclude herself in her gradually increasing dignities, and only her daughter had keenly felt the difference when she had intimated that she wished the intimacy between her family and that of the harmers to cease. frederick had long since taken to himself other associates of a more congenial kind. the master builder went to and fro as before, permitting his wife full indulgence of her fads and fancies, but resolved to exercise his own individual liberty, and quite unconscious of the blow that was being inflicted upon his daughter, who was naturally tied by her mother's commands, and forced to abide by her regulations. madam had been quick to see that if she did not take care reuben harmer would shortly aspire to the hand of her daughter, and she was not sure but that her husband would be weak enough to let the foolish girl please herself in the matter, and throw away what chance she had of marrying out of the city, and rising a step in life. madam pinned her main hopes of a social rise for herself in the marriages of her children. she fondly believed that frederick, with his good looks and his wealth, could take his pick even amongst high-born ladies, and not all the good-natured ridicule of her husband served to weaken this conviction. she was not a great admirer of her daughter's charms, but she knew that the girl was admired, and had been noticed more than once by the fine ladies who had come to look at her furniture and hangings. she had a plan of her own for getting gertrude into the train of some fine court dame, and once secured in such a position, her fair face and ample dowry might do the rest. if her son and daughter were well married, she would have two houses where she could make a home for herself more to her liking. no end of ambitious dreams were constantly floating in her shallow brain, and as all these were more or less bound up with the future of her son and daughter, it was natural that she should desire to put down with a strong hand the smallest indication of a love affair between gertrude and reuben. she had even persuaded her husband that gertrude ought to make a good marriage; and as he was able to give her an ample dowry, and was proud of her good looks, he himself was of opinion that she might do something rather brilliant, even if she did not realize her mother's fond dreams. all this was very well known to poor gertrude by this time, and it was seldom now that she did more than catch a passing glimpse of reuben, or exchange a few hasty words with him in the street. the young man was proud, and knew that he was looked down upon by the master builder and his wife. this made him very reticent of showing his feelings, and reduced gertrude often to the lowest ebb of depression. so the coarse jests of her brother were a keen pain to her, and she presently rose and left the room in great resentment, followed by a mocking laugh from the ill-conditioned young man. having lost one victim, that amiable youth next turned his attention to his mother, and began to torment her with the same zest as he had displayed in the baiting of his sister. "all the town is talking of the plague," he remarked, in would-be solemn tones. "they say that in st. giles' and st. andrew's parishes they are burying them by the dozen every day;" and as his mother uttered a little scream, and shrank away even from him, he went on in the same tone, "all the fine folks from that end of the town are thinking of moving into the country. the witches and wizards are declaring openly in the streets that the whole city is to be destroyed. some folks say that soon the lord mayor and the magistrates will have all the infected houses shut up straitly, so that none may go in or come forth when it is known that the distemper has appeared there. the door will be marked with a red cross, and the words 'lord, have mercy upon us!' writ large above it. so, good mother, when i come home one day with the marks of the distemper upon me, the whole house will be closed, and none will be able to go forth to escape it. so we shall all perish together, as a loving family should do." the blasphemies and ribald jokes with which this good-for-nothing young man adorned his speech made it sound tenfold more hideous than i can do. even his mother shrank away from him, in terror and amaze at his levity, and cried aloud in her fear so that instantly the door opened, and her husband entered to know what was amiss. frederick looked a little uneasy then, for he still held his father in a wholesome awe; but the mother made no complaint of her son, but only said she had been affrighted by hearing that there were more deaths from the plague than she had thought would ever be the case after all the care the magistrates had taken, and was it true that the lord mayor had spoken of shutting up the houses, and so causing the sound ones to become diseased and to perish with the stricken ones? the master builder answered gravely enough; for he had himself but just come in from hearing that the weekly bills of mortality were terribly high, and that the deaths in certain of the western parishes had been beyond all reckoning since the last years when the plague had visited the city. true, there were not many put down as having died of the plague; but it was known how much was done to get other diseases set down in the bills, so that there was not much comfort to be got out of that. the master builder thought that the houses would not be shut up unless things became much worse. the matter had been spoken of, as he himself had heard; but the people were much against it, and it would be a measure most difficult to enforce, and would tend to make men conceal from the authorities any case of distemper which appeared amongst them. but he said it was true enough that persons of high degree were beginning to move into the country, at least from the western part of the town; but that all felt very sure the distemper would speedily be checked, and would not come within the city walls at all, nor extend eastward beyond its boundaries. madam breathed a little more freely on hearing this, but made an eager suggestion to her husband that they should go away if the distemper began to spread. but the master builder shook his head impatiently. "a fine thing to run away from a chance ill, and court a certain ruin! how do you think business will thrive if all the men run away from their shops like affrighted sheep? no, no; it is often safest to stay at home with closed doors than to run helter skelter to strange places where one knows not who may have been last. keep indoors with your perfumes and spices, and keep the wench close with you. that is the best way of outwitting the enemy. besides, it has come nowhere near us yet." madam had certainly no mind to be ruined, nor was she one who loved change or the discomforts of travel. so she thought on the whole her husband's advice was good. it would be much more comfortable to stay here with closed doors, surrounded by the luxuries of home. now as frederick sat with outstretched legs in one of the easiest chairs in the room, and heard his father speak of these things, a thought came into his head which tickled his fancy so vastly that throughout the evening he kept bursting into smothered laughter, so much so that his sister threw him many suspicious glances, and divined that he had some evil purpose in his head. the may light lasted long in the sky; but as it failed frederick went out, as was his wont, and for many hours he spent his time with a number of kindred spirits in a neighbouring tavern, quaffing large potations, and dicing and gaming after the fashion of the court gallants. the bulk of the young roisterers thus assembled belonged to one of those bands of scourers of which frederick claimed to be the head. they were the worthy successors to the "roaring boys" or bonaventors of past centuries, and their favourite pastime was, after spending the night in revelry and play, to start forth towards dawn and scour the streets, upsetting the baskets or carts of the early market folks bringing their wares into the town, scattering the merchandise in the gutter, kissing the women, cuffing the men, wrenching off knockers from house doors, and getting up fights with the watch or with some rival band of scourers which resulted in broken heads and sometimes in actual bloodshed. the magistrates treated these misdemeanours with wonderful tolerance when the culprits were from time to time brought before them, and the nuisance went on practically unchecked--the people being used to wild and dissolute ways and much brawling--and looking on it as one of the necessary ills of life. but upon this bright may morning, before the streets began to awaken, even before the market folks were astir, frederick led forth his band intent upon a new sort of mischief. some of the number carried pots of red paint in their hands, and others pots of white paint. up and down the empty streets paraded these worthies, pausing here and there at the door of some citizen that presented a tempting surface. one of their number would paint upon it the ominous red cross, whilst another who had skill enough (for writing was not the accomplishment of every citizen even then) would add in staring white letters the legend, "lord, have mercy upon us!" it was a brutal jest at such a time, when the dread visitor had actually appeared as it were in their midst, and all sober men were in fear of what might betide, and of the methods already spoken of for the suppression of the distemper. but it was its very wickedness which gave it its charm in the opinion of the perpetrators, and as they went from street to street, frederick suddenly exclaimed: "ha! we are close to allhallowes. let us adorn the door of the old madwoman, lady scrope. they say she lives quite alone, and that her servants come in the morning and leave at night. sure they will none of them have courage to pass the threshold when that sign adorns it, and the old hag will have to come forth herself to seek them. an excellent joke! i will watch the house, and give her a kiss as she comes forth." whereupon the whole crew burst into shouts of drunken laughter, and made a rush to the door, which stood flush in a grim-looking wall just beneath the shadow of the church of allhallowes the less. frederick had the paint pot in his hand, and he traced a fine red cross upon the door, all the while making his ribald jests upon the old woman within, he and his companions alike, far too drunk with wine and unholy mirth to have eyes or ears for what was happening close beside them. they did not hear the sound of an opening window just above them. they did not see a nightcapped head poked forth, the great frilled cap surrounding a small, wizened, but keenly-courageous face, in which the eyes were glittering like points of fire. none of them saw this. none of them heeded, and the head was for a moment silently withdrawn. then it was again cautiously protruded, and the next minute there descended on the head of frederick a black hot mass of tar and bitumen. it scalded his face, it blinded his eyes. it choked and almost poisoned him by its vaporous pungency. it matted itself in his voluminous periwig, and plastered it down to his shoulders; it clotted his lace frills, and ran in filthy rivulets down his smart clothes. in a word, it rendered him in a moment a disgusting and helpless object, unable to see or hear, almost unable to breathe, and quite unable to rid himself of the sticky, loathsome mass in which he had suddenly become encased. then from the window above came a shrill, jeering cry: "to your task, bold scourers--to your task! scour your own fine friend and comrade. scour him well, for he will need it. scour him from head to foot. a pest upon you, young villains! i would every citizen in london would serve you the same!" then the window above was banged to. the mob of roisterers fled helter skelter, laughing and jeering. not one amongst them offered to assist their wretched leader. they left him alone in his sorry plight to get out of it as best he might. they had not the smallest consideration for one even of their own number overtaken by misfortune. roaring with laughter at the frightful picture he presented, they dispersed to their own homes, and the wretched frederick was left alone in the street to do the best he could with his black, unsavoury plaster. he strove in vain to clear his vision, and to remove the peruke, which clung to him like a second skin. he was in a horrible fright lest he should be seen and recognized in this ignominious plight; and although he felt sure his comrades would spread the story of his discomfiture all over the town, he did not wish to be seen by the watch, or by any law-abiding citizens who knew him. but how to get home was a puzzle, blind and half suffocated as he was; and he scarce knew whether anger or relief came uppermost to his mind when he felt his arm taken, and a voice that he knew said in his ear: "for shame, frederick! it is a disgrace to london the way you and your comrades go on. and now of all times to jest when the foe is at our doors. shame upon you! the old dame has given you no more than your due. but come with me, and i will get you home ere the town be awake; and have a care how you offend again like this, for the magistrates will not suffer jests of such a kind at such a time. know you not that it is almost enough to frighten a timid serving wench into the distemper to see such signs upon the doors? and if it break out in the midst of us, who can say where it will end?" it was reuben harmer who spoke, as frederick very well knew. the young men had been boys together, and as reuben was two years the elder, he assumed a tone in speaking which frederick now keenly resented. but it was no time to repel an overture of help, and he sullenly forced himself to accept reuben's good offices. the great clotted periwig was with some difficulty got off, and then it was possible to remove the worst of the tar from face and eyes. frederick at last could see clearly and breathe freely, but presented so lamentable an object that he only longed to get safe home to the shelter of his father's house. the costly periwig of curls had perforce to be left in the gutter, hopelessly ruined, and frederick, who had given more money for it than he could well afford, shook his fist at the house which contained the redoubtable old woman who had thus fooled and bested him. "you scourers will find that you can play your meddlesome games too often," remarked reuben sternly, his eyes upon the red cross and the half-completed words above. "i would that all the city were of the same spirit as lady scrope. she always keeps a quantity of hot pitch or tar beside her bed, with a lamp burning beneath it, in case of attacks from robbers. you may thank your stars that it descended not boiling hot upon your head. had she been so minded to punish you, she would have done so fearlessly. you may be thankful it was no worse." frederick sullenly picked up his hat, which he had laid aside while painting the door, and which had thus escaped injury, pulled it as far over his face as it would go, and turned abruptly away from reuben. "i'll be revenged on the old hag yet!" he muttered between his teeth. "i've got a double debt to pay to this house now. i'll not forget it either." he turned abruptly away and scuttled home by the narrowest alleys he could find, whilst reuben went about looking for the red crosses, and giving timely notice to the master of the house, that they might be erased, as quietly and quickly as possible. accident had led reuben early abroad that day, but he made use of his time to undo as far as he was able the mischievous jesting of frederick's band of scourers. chapter iii. drawing nearer. "brother reuben, i cannot think what can be the reason, but my lady scrope has bidden me beg of thee to give her speech upon the morrow. all this day she has been in a mighty pleasant humour: she gave me this silken neckerchief when i left today, and bid me bring my brother with me on the morrow--and she means thee, reuben." "what can be the meaning of that?" asked rachel harmer, with a look of curiosity. "doth she often speak to thee of thy kindred, child?" "if the whim be on her, and she has naught else to amuse her, she will bid me tell of the life at home, and of our neighbours and friends," answered dorcas. "but never has she spoke as she did today. nor can i guess why she would have speech with reuben." "i can guess shrewdly at that," said the young man. "it so befell this morning that i found a party of roisterers at her door, who were marking it with a red cross, as though it were a plague-stricken house--as the magistrates talk of marking them now if the distemper spreads much further and wider. the bold lady had herself put these fellows to the rout by pouring pitch upon them from a window above; but i stopped to rebuke the foremost of them myself, and to erase their handiwork from the door. i did not know that i was either seen or known; but methinks my lady scrope has eyes in the back of her head, as the saying goes." "you may well say that!" cried dorcas, with a laugh and a shrug. "never was there such a woman for knowing everything and everybody. but she spoke not to me of any roisterers. would i had been there to see her pouring her filthy compound over them! she always has it ready. how she must have rejoiced to find a use for it at last!" "it is an evil and a scurvy jest at such a time to mock at the peril which is at our very doors, and which naught but the mercy of god can avert from us," said the master of the house, very gravely. then, looking round upon his assembled household, he added in the same very serious way, "i have been this day into the heart of the city. i have spoken with many of the authorities there. the lord mayor and the magistrates are in great anxiety, and i fear me there can be no longer any doubt that the distemper is spreading fearfully. it has not yet appeared within the city nor upon the other side of the river; but in the western parishes it is spreading every way, and they say that all who are able are fleeing away from their houses. perchance for those who can do so this may be the safest thing to do. but soon they will not be permitted to leave, unless they have a bill of health from the lord mayor, as in the country beyond the honest folks are taking alarm, and are crying out that we are like to spread the plague all over the kingdom." "i, too, have heard sad tales of the mortality," said dinah, raising her calm voice and speaking very seriously. "i met a good physician, under whom i often laboured amongst the sick, and he tells me that there be poor stricken wretches from whom all the world flee in terror the moment it appears they have the distemper upon them. many have died already untended and uncared for, whilst others have in the madness of the fever and pain burst out of the rooms in which they have been shut up, and have run up and down the streets, spreading terror in their path, till they have dropped down dead or dying, to be carried to graveyard or pest house as the case may be. but who can tell how many other victims such a miserable creature may not have infected first?" "ay, that is the terror of it," said harmer. "all are saying that nurses must be found to care for the sick, and many are very resolved that the houses where the distemper is found should be straitly shut up and guarded by watchmen, that none go forth. it is a hard thing for the whole to be thus shut in with the infected; but as men truly say, how shall the whole city escape if something be not done to restrain the people from passing to and fro, and spreading the distemper everywhere?" "i have thought," said dinah, very quietly, "that it may be given to me to offer myself as a nurse for these poor persons. i have passed unscathed through many perils before now. once i verily believe i was with one who died even of this distemper, albeit the physician called it the spotted fever, which frights men less than the name of plague. there be many herbs and simples and decoctions which men say are of great value in keeping the infection at bay. and even were it not so, we must not be thinking only at such times of saving our own lives. there be some that must be ready to risk even life, if they may serve their brethren. the good physicians are prepared to do this, to say nothing of the magistrates and those who have the management of this great city at such a time. and it seems to me that women must always be ready to tend the sick even in times of peril. i seem to hear a call that bids me offer myself for this work; but none else shall suffer through me. if i go, i return hither no more. i shall live amongst the sick until this judgment be overpast, or until i myself be called hence, as may well be." all faces were grave and full of awe. yet perhaps none who knew dinah were overmuch surprised at her words. her life had been lived amongst the sick for many years. she had never shrunk from danger, or had spared herself when the need was pressing. her sister rachel, although the tears stood in her eyes, said nothing to dissuade her. nor indeed was there much time for discussion then, for the master builder looked in at that moment with a face full of concern. he brought the news that fresh revelations were being hourly made as to the terrible rapidity with which the plague was spreading in the parishes without the walls; and he added that even the gay and giddy court had been at last alarmed, and that the king had been heard to say he should quit whitehall and retire with his court and his minions to oxford in the course of a week or a fortnight, unless matters became speedily much better. "ay, that is ever the way," said harmer, sternly. "the reckless monarch and his licentious court draw down upon the city the wrath of god in judgment of their wickedness, and those who have provoked the judgment flee from the peril, leaving the poor of the city to perish like sheep." "well, well, well; fine folks like change, and it is easy for them to go elsewhere. i would do the same, perchance, were i so placed," said the master builder; "but we men of business must stick to our work as long as it sticks to us. "what about your mistress, lady scrope, dorcas? has she said aught of leaving london? she is one who could easily fly. not but what i trust the distemper will be kept well out of the city by the care taken." "she has spoken no word of any such thing," answered dorcas. "she reads and hears all that is spoken about the plague, and makes my blood run cold by the stories she tells of it in other lands, and during other outbreaks which she can remember. methinks sometimes the very hair on my head is standing up in the affright her words bring me. but she only laughs and mocks, and calls me a little poltroon. i trow that she would never fly; it would not be like her." "men and women do many things unlike themselves in stress of particular and deadly peril," said the master builder. "lady scrope would do well to consider leaving whilst the city has so good a bill of health; it may be less easy by-and-by, should the distemper spread." "thou canst speak to her of this thing, reuben, when thou dost see her on the morrow," observed his father. "perchance she has not considered the peril of being detained if she puts off flight too long." reuben said he would name the matter to the lady; and when dorcas set forth upon the morrow for her daily walk, her brother accompanied her, and told her in confidence what he had not told to his family--how frederick mason had been served by the irate old lady, and what a sorry spectacle he had presented afterwards. dorcas laughed heartily at the story. she had no love for frederick, and she told her brother that she suspected he had been the half-tipsy gallant who had striven to kiss her in the streets, and had partially succeeded. this put reuben into a great wrath, and he promised whenever he could do so to come and escort his sister home from the house in allhallowes. true, the distance was but very short, yet the lane to the bridge head was lonely and narrow, and frederick was known for a most ill-conditioned young man. lady scrope received reuben in a demi-toilet of a peculiar kind, and a very strange and wizened object did she appear. she thanked him for the rebuke she had heard him administer to the roisterer, enjoyed a hearty laugh over his wretched appearance, and then proceeded to indulge her insatiable taste for gossip by demanding of him all the city news, and what all the world there was talking about. "since this plague bogey has got into men's minds i see nobody and hear nothing," she said. "all the fools be flying the place like so many silly sheep; or, if they come to sit awhile, their talk is all of pills and decoctions, refuses and ointments. bah! they will buy the drugs of every foolish quack who goes about the streets selling plague cures, and then fly off the next day, thinking that they will be the next victim. bah! the folly of the men! how glad i am that i am a woman." "still, madam," said reuben, taking his cue, "there be many noble ladies who think it well to remove themselves for a time from this infected city. not that for the time being the city itself is infected, and we hope to keep it free--" "then men are worse fools than i take them for," was the sharp retort. "keep the plague out of the city! bah! what nonsense will they talk next! is it not written in the very heavens that the city is to be destroyed? heed not their idle prognostications. i tell you, young man, that the plague is already amongst us, even though men know it not. in a few more weeks half the houses in the very city itself will be shut up, and grass will be growing in the streets. we may be thankful if there are enough living to bury the dead. keep it out of the city, forsooth! let them do it if they can; i know better!" dorcas paled and shrank, fully convinced that her redoubtable mistress possessed a familiar spirit who revealed to her the things that were coming; but reuben fancied that the old lady was but guessing, and he saw no reason to be afraid at her words. saying such things would not bring them to pass. "then, madam," he answered, "if such be the case, would it not be well to consider whether you do not remove yourself ere these things comne to pass? pardon me if i seem to take it upon mnyself to advise you, but i was charged by my father, who is like to be appointed for a time one of the examiners of health whom the mayor and magistrates think it well to institute at this time, that soon it may not be so easy to get away from the city as it is now; wherefore it behoves the sound whilst they are yet sound to bethink them whether or not they will take themselves away elsewhere. also my mother wished me to ask the question of your ladyship, forasmuch as she would like to know whether my sister in such case would be required to accompany you." lady scrope nodded her head several times, an odd light of mockery gleaming in her keen black eyes. "tell your worthy father, good youth, that i thank him for his good counsel; but also tell him that nothing will drive me from this place--not even though i be the only one left alive in the city. here i was born, and here i mean to die; and whether death comes by the plague or by some other messenger what care i? i tell thee, lad, i am far safer here than gadding about the country. here i can shut myself up at pleasure from all the world. abroad, i am at the muercy of any plague-stricken vagabond who comes to ask an alms. let all sensible folks stay at home and shut themselves up, and let the fools go gadding here, there, and all over. as for dorcas, let her come and go as long as she safely may; but if your good mother would keep her at home, then let her abide there, and return to me when the peril is overpast. i like the wench, and if she likes to abide altogether with me she may do so. let her mother choose." dorcas, however, had no wish to live in that lonely house altogether, and for the present there was no reason why she should not go backwards and forwards to her father's abode. her parents were grateful to lady scrope for her offer, but for the present there was no reason for making any change. the weather during these bright days of may had been cool and fresh, and in spite of all evil auguries, sanguine persons had tried hard to believe and to make others believe that the peril of a visitation of the plague had been somewhat overrated. yet the choked thoroughfares leading out of london gave the lie to these suppositions, and for many weeks the bridge was a sight in itself, crowded with carriages and waggons all filled with the richer folks and their goods, hastening to the pleasant regions of surrey to forget their fears and escape the pestilential atmosphere of the city. then towards the end of the month a great heat set in, and at once, as it were, the infection broke out in a hundred different and unsuspected places, not only without but within the city walls. how the distemper had so spread none then dared to guess. it seemed everywhere at once, none knew why or how. doubtless it was in innumerable instances the tainted condition of the wells from which the bulk of the people still drew their water; but men did not think of these things long ago. they looked each other in the face in fear and terror, none knowing but that his neighbour in the street might be carrying about with him the seeds of the dread distemper. it now behoved all careful citizens to bethink them well what they would do, with the fearful foe knocking as it were at their very doors, and the matter was brought home right early to the harmer household, by a thing that befell them at the very outset of the access of hot weather which told so fatally upon the city almost imumediately afterwards. rachel harmer was awakened from sleep one night by the sound of something rattling upon the bed-chamber floor, as though it had fallen from the open casement, and as she came to her waking senses, she heard a voice without calling in urgent accents: "mother! mother! mother!" rising in some alarm, she went to the window which projected over the lower stories of the house, as was usual at that time, and on putting out her head she beheld a female figure standing in the roadway below. when the moonlight fell upon the upturned face, she saw it was that of her daughter janet, who was in the service of lady howe, and was her waiting maid, living in her house not far from whitehall, and earning good wages in that gay household. in no little alarm at seeing her daughter out alone in the street at night, she spoke her name and bid her wait at the door till she could let her in, which she would do immediately; but janet instantly replied: "nay, mother, come not to the door; come to the little window at the corner, where i can speak quietly till i have told you all. open not the door till you have heard my lamentable tale. i know not even now that i am right to come hither at all." in great fear and anxiety the mother cast a loose wrapper about her, and descended quickly to the little storeroom close against the shop, where there was a tiny window which opened direct upon the street. at this window, but a few paces away, she found her daughter awaiting her, and by the light of the rush candle that she carried she saw that the girl's face was deadly white. "child, child, what ails thee? come in and tell me all. thou must not stand out there. i will open the door and fetch thee in." "no, mother, no--not till thou hast heard my tale," pleaded janet; "for the sake of the rest thou must be cautious. mother, i have been with one who died of the plague at noon today!" "mercy on us, child! how came that about?" "it was my fellow servant and bed fellow," answered janet. "we were like sisters together, and if ever i ailed aught she tended me as fondly as thou couldst thyself, mother. today, when we rose, she complained of headache and a feeling of illness; but we went down and took our breakfast below with the rest. at least i took mine as usual, though she did but toy with her food. then all of a sudden she put her hand to her side and turned ghastly white, and fell off her chair. a scullery wench set up a cry, 'the plague! the plague!' and forthwith they all fled this way and that--all save me, who could not leave her thus. i made her swallow some hot cordial which i think they call alexiteric water, and which is said to be very beneficial in cases of the distemper; and she was able to crawl upstairs after a while to her bed once more, where i put her. i knew not for some hours what was passing in the house, though i heard a great commotion there, and presently there stole in a mincing physician who attends my lady, holding a handkerchief steeped in vinegar to his nose, and smelling like an apothecary's shop. he looked at poor patience, who lay in a stupor, heeding none, and he directed me to uncover her neck for him to see if she had the tokens upon her. there had been none when i put her to bed again, so that i had hoped it was but a colic or some such affection; but, alas, when i looked at his direction, there were the black swellings plainly to be seen. forthwith he fled with indecent haste, and only stopped to say he would send a nurse and such remedies as should be needful." "o my child! and thou wast with her all the time!--thou didst even touch and handle her?" "mother, i could not leave her alone to die. and hardly had the doctor gone than the fever came upon her, and it was all i could do to keep her from rushing out of the room in her pain. but it lasted only a brief while--for the poison must have gotten a sore hold on her--and just after noon she fell back in mine arms and died. "o mother, i see her face now--so livid and terrible to look upon! o mother, mother, shall i too look like that when my turn comes to die?" "hush, hush, my child! god is very merciful. it may be his good pleasure to spare thee. thy aunt doth go to and fro amongst the smitten ones, and she is yet in her wonted health. but ere i call thy father and ask counsel what we are to do, tell me the rest of thy tale. who came to thy relief? and how camest thou hither so late?" "i could not come before. i dared not go forth by day, lest i bore about the seeds of the distemper. the nurse came at three o'clock, and finding her patient already dead, wrapped her in a sheet, and said that a coffin would be sent at dark, and that the bearers would fetch her for burying when the cart came round, and that when i heard the bell ring i must call to them from the window and let them in. i asked why the porter should not do that, but she told me that already every person in the house had fled. my lady had fallen into an awful fright on hearing that one of her servants was smitten, and before any knowledge could have been received of it by the authorities, she had applied for and obtained a clean bill for herself and her household, and every one of them had fled. the house was empty, save for me and the poor dead girl; and i was bidden to stay till her corpse was removed, for the nurse said she was wanted in a dozen places at once, and that she had too much to do with the sick to attend upon the dead." "and thou wert willing to wait?" "i could not leave her alone. besides, i feared to walk the streets till night. the nurse bid me not linger after the body was taken, for no man knows when the houses will be shut up, so that none can go forth who have been with an infected person. but it is not so done yet, and i was free. but i dared not come home amongst you all to bring, perhaps, death with me. i waited in the house till the men and the cart came, and they brought a coffin and took poor patience away. they told me then that soon there would be no more coffins, and that they would have to bury without them." janet paused and shuddered strongly. "o mother, mother, mother!" she wailed, "what shall i do? what will become of me? shall i have to die in the streets, or to go to the pest house? oh, why do such terrible things befall us?" the mother was weeping now, but the next moment she felt the touch of her husband's hand upon her shoulder, and his voice said in its quiet and authoritative way: "what means all this coil and to do? why does the child speak thus? tell me all; i must hear the tale. "janet, my girl, never ask the why and the wherefore of any of the lord's just judgments. it is for us to bow our heads in repentance and submission, trusting that he will never try us above what we are able to bear." comforted by the sound of her father's voice, janet repeated her tale to him in much the same words as before, the father listening in thoughtful silence, without comment or question; till at the conclusion of the tale he said to his wife: "go upstairs and bring down with thee my heavy riding cloak which hangs in the press;" and when she had obeyed him, he added, "now go up to thy room, and shut thyself in till i call thee thence." implicit obedience to her husband was one of rachel's characteristics. although she longed to know what was to be done, she asked no questions, but retired upstairs and fell on her knees in prayer. the master of the house went to a great cask of vinegar which stood in the corner, and after pretty well saturating the heavy cloak in that pungent liquid, he unbarred the door, and beckoning to his daughter to approach, threw about her the heavy mantle and bid mer follow him. he led her through the house and up to a large spare guest chamber, rather away from the other sleeping chambers of the house, and he quickly brought to her there a bath and hot water, and certain herbs specially prepared--wormwood, woodsorrel, angelica, and so forth. he bid her wash herself all over in the herb bath, wrapping all her clothing first in the cloak, which she was to put outside the door. then she was to go to bed, whilst all her clothing was burnt by his own hands; and after that she must submit to remain shut up in that room, seeing nobody but himself, until such time should have gone by as should prove whether or not she had become infected by the distemper. janet wept for joy at being thus received beneath her father's roof, having heard so many fearsome tales of persons being turned out of doors even by their nearest and dearest, were it but suspected that they might carry about with them the seeds of the dreaded distemper. but the worthy lace maker was a godly man, and brave with the courage that comes of a lively faith. he had learned all that could be told of the nature of the distemper; and after he had burnt all his daughter's clothing with his own hands, and had assured himself that she felt sound and well, and had also fumigated his own house thoroughly, he felt that he had done all in his power against the infection, and that the rest must be left in the hands of providence. the mother hovered anxiously about, but came not near her husband till permitted by him. she did not enter the room where her daughter now lay comfortably in a soft bed, but she prepared some good food for her, which was carried in by the father later on, and promised her that by the morning she should have clothing to put on, and that she should have every care and comfort during the days of her captivity. janet thanked god from the very bottom of her heart that night for having given to her such good and kindly parents, and earnestly besought that she might be spared, not only for her own unworthy sake, but for their sakes who had risked so much rather than that she should be an outcast from home at such a time of peril and horror. chapter iv. james harmer's resolve. it was with a grave face, yet with a brave and cheerful mien, that the worthy harmer met his household upon the following morning. he had passed the remainder of that strangely interrupted night in meditation and prayer, and had arrived now at a resolution which he intended to put into immediate effect. his household consisted, it will be remembered, of his own family, together with apprentices, shopmen, and serving wenches. to all of these he now addressed himself, told the story which his daughter had related of the treatment received in the house of the high-born lady by the poor girl stricken by the pestilence, and how it had made even his own child almost fear to enter her father's house. "my friends," said the master, looking round upon the ring of grave and eager faces, "these things ought not to be. in times of common trouble and peril the hearts of men should draw closer together, and we should remember that god's command to us is to love our neighbour as ourself. if we were to lie stricken of mortal illness, should we think it a christ-like act for all men to flee away from us? but inasmuch as we ought all of us to take every care not to run into needless peril, so must we take every right and reasonable precaution to keep from ourselves and our homes this just but terrible visitation, which god has doubtless sent for our admonition and chastisement." after this preface, harmer proceeded to tell his household what he had himself resolved upon. his two apprentices--other than his own son joseph--were sons of a farmer living in greenwich; and he purposed that very day to get his sailor son dan to take them down the river in a boat, that he might deliver the lads safe and sound to their parents before further peril threatened, advising them to keep them at home till the distemper should have abated, and arranging with them for a regular supply of fresh and untainted provisions, to be conveyed to his house from week to week by water, so long as there should be any fear of marketing in the city. he foresaw that very soon trade would come almost to a standstill. the scare and the pestilence together were emptying london of all its wealthier inhabitants. there would be soon no work for either shopmen or apprentices, and he counselled the former, if they had homes out of london to go to, to remain no longer in town, but to take their wages and seek safety and employment elsewhere, until the calamity should be overpast. he also gave the same liberty to the serving wenches, one of whom came from islington and the other from rotherhithe. and all of these persons having home and friends, decided to leave forthwith, to be out of the danger of infection, and of that still more dreaded danger of being shut up in an infected house with a plague-stricken person. the master gave liberally to each of his servants according to their past service, and promised that if he should escape the pestilence, and continue his business in more prosperous times, he would take them back into his house again. for the present, however, it seemed good to him that only his own family should remain with him. his wife and three daughters could well manage the house, and he did not desire that any other person should be imperilled through the course of action he himself intended to take. when he took boat with his apprentices, he offered to joseph to accompany his companions and remain under the charge of the farmer and his wife at greenwich; but the boy begged so earnestly to remain at home with the rest, that he was permitted to do so. truth to tell, joseph was more fascinated than alarmed by the thought of the advance of the dreaded plague, and was by no means anxious to be taken away from the city when all the world was saying that such strange things would be seen ere long. the lad felt so safe beneath the care of wise and loving parents, that he would never of his own will consent to leave them. the moment the party had started by boat, the shop being that day shut for the first time, albeit for some days nothing had been stirring in the way of custom--joseph darted away down a network of alleys hard by in search of his younger brother benjamin, who was apprenticed to a carpenter in lad lane, off wood street, and therefore much nearer to the infected parishes than the house on the bridge. benjamin was sure to know the latest news as to the spread of the pestilence. joseph was of opinion that it was all rather fine fun, especially since it seemed like to get him a spell of unwonted holiday. already as he passed through the streets he noted a great many empty and shut-up houses. men were going about with grave and anxious faces. often they would look askance at some passerby who might be walking a little feebly or unsteadily, and once joseph saw a man some fifty paces in advance of him stagger and fall to the ground with a lamentable cry. instead of flying to his assistance, all who saw him fled in terror, crying one to the other, "it is the pestilence! send for the watch to get him away!" and presently there came two men who lifted him up and carried him away, but whether he was then alive or dead the boy did not know, and a great awe fell upon him; for he had never seen such a thing before, and could not understand how death could come so suddenly. "is it always so with them?" he asked of a woman who was craning her head out of a window to see where the bearers were taking him. "i cannot tell," she answered. "they say that there be many walking about amongst us daily in the streets who carry death to all in their breath and in their touch, and yet they know it not themselves, and none know it till they fall as yon poor man did, and die ofttimes in a few minutes or hours. if such be so, who knows when he is safe? may the lord have mercy upon us all! there be seven lying dead in this street today, and though folks say they died of other fevers and distempers, who can tell? they bribe the nurses and the leeches to return them dead of smaller ailments, but i verily believe the pestilence is stalking through our very midst even now." she shut down the window with a groan, and joseph pursued his way with somewhat modified feelings, half elated at being in the thick of so much that was terrible and awesome, and yet beginning to understand somewhat of the horror that was possessing the minds of all. he found himself walking in the middle of the street, and avoiding too close contact with the passersby; indeed all seemed disposed to give strangers a wide berth just now, so that it was not difficult to avoid contact. yet crowds were to be seen, too, at many open spaces. sometimes a fervid preacher would be declaiming to a pale-faced group on the subject of god's righteous judgments upon a wicked and licentious city. sometimes a wizened old woman or a juggling charlatan would be seen selling all sorts of charms and potions as specifics against the plague. joseph pressing near in curiosity to one of these vendors, found him doing a brisk trade in dried toads, which he vowed would preserve the wearer from all infection. another had packets of dried herbs to which he gave terribly long names, and which he declared acted as an antidote to the poison. another had small leaflets on which directions were given for applying a certain ointment to the plague spots, which at once cured them as by magic. the leaflets were given away, but the ointment had to be bought. those, however, who once read what the paper said, seldom went away without a box of the precious specific. joseph would have liked one himself, but had no money, and was further restrained by a sense of conviction that his father would say it was all nonsense and quackery. church bells were ringing, and many were tolling--tolling for the dead, and ringing the living into the churches, where special prayers were being offered and many excellent discourses preached, to which crowds of people listened with bated breath. joseph crept into one church on his way for a few minutes, but was too restless to listen long, and soon came forth again. he was now near to lad lane, and hastening his steps lest he might be further delayed, came quickly upon the back premises of the carpenter's shop, where the sound of hammer and chisel and saw made quite a clamour in the quiet air. "they are busy here at all events," muttered joseph, as he pushed open the gate of the yard, and in truth they were busy within; but yet the sight that presented itself to his eyes was anything hut a cheerful one, for every man in the large number assembled there was at work upon a coffin. coffins in every stage of construction stood everywhere, and the carpenters were toiling away at them as if for dear life. nothing but coffins was to be seen; and scarcely was one finished, in never so rude a fashion, but it was borne hurriedly away by some waiting messenger, and the master kept coming into the yard to see if his men could not work yet faster. "they say they must bury the corpses uncoffined soon," joseph heard him whisper to his foreman as he passed by. "no bodies may wait above ground after the first night when the cart goes its round. six orders have come in within the last hour. no one knows how many we shall have by nightfall, or how many men we shall have working soon. i sent job away but an hour since. i hope it was not the distemper that turned his face so green! they say it has broken out in three streets hard by, and that it is spreading like wildfire." joseph shuddered as he listened and crept away to the corner where his brother was generally to be found. and there sure enough was benjamin, a pretty fair-haired boy, who looked scarce strong enough for the task in hand, but who was yet working might and main with chisel and hammer. his face brightened at sight of his brother, yet he did not relax his efforts, only saying eagerly: "how goes it at home with them all, joseph? i trow it is the coffin makers, not the lace makers, who have all the trade nowadays! we are working night and day, and yet cannot keep up with the orders." benjamin was half proud of all this press of business, but he did not look as though it agreed with him. his face was pale, and when at last he threw down his hammer it was with a gasp of exhaustion. the day was very hot, and he had been at work before the dawn. it was no wonder, perhaps, that he looked wan and weary, yet the master passing by paused and cast an uneasy glance at him. for it was from the very next stool that he had recently dismissed the man job of whom he had spoken, and of whose condition he felt grave doubts. seeing joseph close by he gave him a nod, and said: "hast come to fetch home thy brother? two of my apprentices have been taken away since yesterday. he is a good lad, and does his best; but he may take a holiday at home if he likes. you are healthier at your end of the town, and they say the distemper comes not near water. "wilt thou go home to thy mother, boy? we want men rather than lads at our work in these days." joseph had had no thought of fetching home his brother when he started, but it seemed to him that benjamin would be much better at home than in this crowded yard, where already the infection might have spread. the boy confessed to a headache and pains in his limbs; and so fearful were all men now of any symptom of illness, however trifling, that the master sent him forth without delay, bidding joseph take him straight home to his mother, and keep him there at his father's pleasure. a young boy was better at home in these days, as indeed might well be the case. benjamin was well pleased with this arrangement, having had something too much of over hours and hard work. "he thinks perchance i have the distemper upon me," he remarked slyly to joseph, "but it is not that. it is but the long hours and the heat and noise of the yard. i shall be well enough when i get home to mother." and this indeed proved to be the case. the child was overdone, and wanted but a little rest and care and mothering; and right glad were both his parents to have him safe under their own wing. upon that hot evening, almost the first in june, james harmer had the satisfaction of feeling that he had every member of his family under his own roof, and that his household contained now none who were not indeed his very own flesh and blood. janet had slept peacefully almost the whole day, and had conversed happily and affectionately through the closed door with her sisters, who were rejoiced to have her there. she spoke of feeling perfectly well but desired to remain in seclusion until certain that she could injure none beside. she was not therefore able to be present when her father unfolded his plans to the rest of the family, though she was quickly apprised of the result later on. "my dear wife and dutiful children," said the master of the house, as he sat at table and looked about him at the ring of dear faces round him, "i have been thinking much as to what it is right for us to do in face of this peril and scourge which god has sent upon the city; and albeit i am well aware that it is the duty of every man to take reasonable care of himself and his household, yet i also feel very strongly that in the protection of the lord is our greatest strength and safeguard, and that our best and strongest defence is in throwing ourselves upon his mercy, and asking day by day for his merciful protection for a household which looks to him as the lord of life and death." then the good man proceeded to quote from holy writ certain passages in which the pestilence is represented as being the scourge of the lord, and is spoken of as being an angel of the lord with a drawn sword slaying right and left, yet ever ready to spare where the lord shall bid. "i shall then," continued harmer, "daily and nightly confide those of this household into the keeping of almighty god, and pray to him for his protection and special blessing. it may be (since his ears are always open to the supplication of his children) that he will send his angel of life to watch over us and keep us from harm; and having this confidence, and using such means as seem wise and reasonable for the protection of all, i shall strive--and you must all strive with me--to dismiss selfish terrors and the horror that begets cruelty and callousness, that we may all of us do our duty towards those about us, and show that even the scourge of a righteous and offended god may become a blessing if taken in meekness and humility." then the good man proceeded to say what precautions he was about to take for the preservation of his family. he did not propose to fly the city. he had many valuable goods on the premises, which he might probably lose were he to shut up his house and leave. he had no place to go to in the country, and believed that the scourge might well follow them there, were every householder to seek to quit his abode. moreover, never was there greater need in the city for honest men of courage and probity to help to meet the coming crisis and to see carried out all the wise regulations proposed by the mayor and aldermen. he had resolved to join them--since business was like to be at a standstill for a while--and do whatsoever a man could do to forward that good work. his son reuben was of the same mind with him; whilst his wife would far rather face the peril in her own house than go out, she knew not whither, to be perhaps overtaken by the plague on the road. her heart had yearned over the sick ever since she had heard her daughter's harrowing tale, and knew that her sister was at work amongst the stricken. she knew not what she might be able to do, but she trusted to her husband for guidance, and would be entirely under his direction. some citizens spoke of victualling their houses as for a siege, and entirely secluding themselves and their families till the plague was overpast--and indeed this was many times done with success, although the plan broke down in other cases--but this was not harmer's idea. he did indeed advise his wife and daughters to be careful how they adventured themselves abroad, and where they went. he had arranged at the farm near greenwich for a regular supply of provisions to be brought by water to the stairs hard by the bridge; and since their house was supplied by water from the new river, they were sure of a constant fresh supply. but he had no intention of incarcerating himself or any of his household, and preventing them from being of use to afflicted neighbours, whilst he himself anticipated having to go into many stricken homes and into infected houses. all the restriction he imposed was that any person sallying forth into places where infection might be met should change his raiment before going out, in a small building in the rear of the shop which he was about to fit up for that purpose, and to keep constantly fumigated by the frequent burning of certain perfumes, of oil of sulphur, and of a coarse medicated vinegar which was said to be an excellent disinfectant. on returning home again, the person who had been exposed would doff all outer garments in this little room, would resume his former clothing, and hang up the discarded garments where they would be subjected to this disinfecting fumigation for a number of hours, and would be then safe to wear upon another occasion. he intended burning regularly in his house a fire of pungent wood such as pine or cedar, which was to be constantly fed with such spices and perfumes and disinfectants as the physicians should pronounce most efficacious. perfect cleanliness he did not need to insist upon, for his wife could not endure a speck of dust upon anything in the house. a careful diet, regular hours, and freedom from needless fears would, he was assured, do much towards maintaining them all in health, and he concluded his address by kneeling down in the midst of his sons and daughters, and commending them all most fervently to the protection of heaven, praying for grace to do their duty towards all about them, and for leading and guidance that they ran not into needless peril, but were directed in all things by the spirit of god. they had hardly risen from their knees before a knock at the door announced the arrival of a visitor, and joseph running to answer the summons--since there was now no servant in the house--came back almost immediately ushering in the master builder, whose face wore a very troubled look. "heaven guard us all! i think my wife will go distraught with the terror of this visitation, if it goes on much longer. what is a man to do for the best? she raves at me sometimes like a maniac for not having taken her away ere the scourge spread as it is doing now. but when i tell her that if she is bent upon it she must e'en go now, she cries out that nothing would induce her to set her foot outside the house. she sits with the curtains and shutters fast closed, and a fire of spices on the hearth, till one is fairly stifled, and will touch nothing that is not well-nigh soaked in vinegar. and each time that frederick comes in with some fresh tale, she is like to swoon with fear, and every time she vows that it is the pestilence attacking her, and is like to die from sheer fright. what is a man to do with such a wife and such a son?" "surely frederick will cease to repeat tales of horror when he sees they so alarm his mother," said rachel; but the master builder shook his head with an air of more than doubt. "it seems his delight to torment her with terror; and she appears almost equally eager to hear all, though it almost scares her out of her senses. as for gertrude, the child is pining like a caged bird shut up in the house and not suffered to stir into the fresh air. i am fair beset to know what to do for them. nothing will convince madam but that there be dead carts at every street corner, and that the child will bring home death with her every time she stirs out. yet frederick comes to and fro, and she admits him to her presence (though she holds a handkerchief steeped in vinegar to her nose the while), and she gets no harm from him." "poor child!" said rachel, thinking of gertrude, whom once she had known so well, running to and fro in the house almost like one of her own. "would that we could do somewhat for her. but i fear me her mother would not suffer her to visit us, especially since poor janet came home last night from a plague-stricken house." reuben's eyes had brightened suddenly at his mother's words, but the gleam died out again, and he remained quite silent whilst the story of janet's appearance at home was told. the master builder listened with interest and sighed at the same time. perhaps he was contrasting the nature of his neighbour's wife with that of his own. how would madam have acted had her child come to her in such a plight? harmer then told his neighbour the rules he was about to lay down for his own household, all of which the master builder, who was a keen practical man, cordially approved. he was himself likely soon to be in a great strait, for most probably he would be appointed in due course to serve as an examiner of health, and would of necessity come into contact with those who had been amongst the sick, even if not with the infected themselves, and how his wife would bear such a thing as that he scarce dared to think. business, too, was at a standstill, all except the carpentering branch, and that was only busy with coffins. if london became depopulated, there would be nothing doing in the building and furnishing line for long enough. some prophets declared that the city was doomed to a destruction such as had never been seen by mortal man before. even as it was the plague seemed like to sweep away a fourth of the inhabitants; and if that were so, what would become of such trades as his for many a year to come? already the master builder spoke of himself as a half-ruined man. his neighbour did all he could to cheer him, but it was only too true that misfortune appeared imminent. harmer had always been a careful and cautious man, laying by against a rainy day, and not striving after a rapid increase of wealth. but the master builder had worked on different lines. he had enlarged his borders wherever he could see his way to doing so, and although he had a large capital by this time, it was all floating in this and that venture; so that in spite of his appearance of wealth and prosperity, he had often very little ready money. so long as trade was brisk this mattered little, and he turned his capital over in a fashion that was very pleasing to himself. but this sudden and totally unexpected collapse of business came upon him at a time when he could ill afford to meet it. already he had had to discharge the greater part of his workmen, having nothing for them to do. the expenses which he could not put down drained his resources in a way that bid fair to bring him to bankruptcy, and it was almost impossible to get in outstanding accounts when the rich persons in his debt had fled hither and thither with such speed and haste that often no trace of them could be found, and their houses in town were shut up and absolutely empty. "as for frederick, he spends money like water--and his mother encourages him," groaned the unhappy father in confidence to his friend. "ah me! when i look at your fine sons, and see their conduct at home and abroad, it makes my heart burn with shame. what is it that makes the difference? for i am sure i have denied frederick no advantage that money could purchase." "perhaps it is those advantages which money cannot purchase that he lacks," said james harmer, gravely--"the prayers of a godly mother, the chastisement of a father who would not spoil the child by sparing the rod. there are things in the upbringing of children, my good friend, of far more value than those which gold will purchase." the master builder gave vent to a sound almost like a groan. "you are right, harmer, you are right. i have not done well in this thing. my son is no better than an idle profligate. i say it to my shame, but so it is. nothing that i say will keep him from his riotous comrades and licentious ways. i have spoken till i am weary of speaking, and all is in vain. and now that this terrible scourge of god has fallen upon the city, instead of turning from their evil courses with fear and loathing, he and such as he are but the more reckless and impious, and turn into a jest even this fearful visitation. they scour the streets as before, and drink themselves drunk night by night. ah, should the pestilence reach some amongst them, what would be their terrible doom! i cannot bear even to think of it! yet that is too like to be the end of my wretched boy, my poor, unhappy frederick!" chapter v. the plot and its punishment. strange as it may appear, the awful nature of the calamity which had overtaken the great city had by no means the subduing influence upon the spirits of the lawless young roisterers of the streets that might well have been expected. no doubt there were some amongst these who were sobered by the misfortunes of their fellows, and by the danger in which every person in the town now stood; but it seemed as if the very imminence of the peril and the fearful spread of the contagion exercised upon others a hardening influence, and they became even more lawless and dissolute than before. "let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die," appeared to be their motto, and they lived up to it only too well. so whilst the churches were thronged with multitudes of pious or terrified persons, assembled to pray to god for mercy, and to listen to words of godly counsel or admonition; whilst the city authorities were doing everything in their power to check the course of the frightful contagion, and send needful relief to the sufferers, and many devoted men and women were adventuring their lives daily for the sake of others, the taverns were still filled day by day and night by night with idle and dissolute young men, tainted with all the vices of a vicious court and an unbelieving age--drinking, and making hideous mockery of the woes of their townsmen, careless even when the gaps amid their own ranks showed that the fell disease was busy amongst all classes and ranks. indeed, it was no unheard of thing for a man to fall stricken to the ground in the midst of one of these revels; and although the master of the house would hastily throw him out of the door as if he had staggered forth drunk, yet it would ofttimes be the distemper which had him in its fatal clutches, and the dead cart would remove him upon its next gloomy round. for now indeed the pestilence was spreading with a fearful rapidity. the king, taking sudden alarm, after being careless and callous for long, had removed with his court to oxford. the fiat for the shutting up of all infected houses had gone forth, and was being put in practice, greatly increasing the terror of the citizens, albeit many of them recognized in it both wisdom and foresight. something plainly had to be done to check the spread of the infection. and as there was no means of removing the sick from their houses--there being but two or three pest houses in all london--even should their friends be prompt to give notice, and permit them to be borne away, the only alternative seemed to be to shut them up within the doors of the house where they lay stricken; and since they might already have infected all within it, condemn these also to share the imprisonment. it was this that was the hardship, and which caused so many to strive to evade the law by every means in their power. it drove men mad with fear to think of being shut up in an infected house with a person smitten with the fell disease. yet if the houses were not so closed, and guarded by watchmen hired for the purpose, the sick in their delirium would have constantly been getting out and running madly about the streets, as indeed did sometimes happen, infecting every person they met. restraint of some sort was needful, and the closing of the houses seemed the only way in which this could be accomplished. it may be guessed what hard work all this entailed upon such of the better sort of citizens as were willing to give themselves to the business. james harmer and his two elder sons, reuben and dan, offered themselves to the lord mayor to act as examiners or searchers, or in whatever capacity he might wish to employ them. dan should by this time have been at sea, but his ship being still in the docks when the plague broke out remained yet unladed. none from the infected city would purchase merchandise. the sailing master had himself been smitten down, and dan, together with quite a number of sailors, was thrown out of employment. many of these poor fellows were glad to take service as watchmen of infected houses, or even as bearers and buriers of the dead. at a time when trade was at a standstill, and men feared alike to buy or to sell, this perilous and lugubrious occupation was all that could be obtained, and so there were always men to be found for the task of watching the houses, though at other times it might have been impossible to get enough. orders had been sent round the town that all cases of the distemper were to be reported within a few hours of discovery to the examiner of health, who then had the house shut up, supplied it with a day and a night watchman (whose duty it was to wait on the inmates and bring them all they needed), and had the door marked with the ominous red cross and the motto of which mention has been made before. plague nurses were numerous, but too often these were women of the worst character, bent rather upon plunder than desirous of relieving the sufferers. grim stories were told of their neglect and rapacity. yet amongst them were many devoted and excellent women, and the physicians who bravely faced the terrors of the time and remained at their post when others fled from the peril, deserve all honour and praise; the more so that many amongst these died of the infection, as indeed did numbers of the examiners and searchers who likewise remained at their post to the end. it will therefore be well understood that good master harmer and his sons had no light time of it, and ran no small personal risk in their endeavours to serve their fellow citizens in this crisis. although the pestilence had not as yet broken out in this part of the town with the virulence that it had shown elsewhere, still there were fresh cases rumoured day by day; and it often appeared that when one case in a street was reported, there had been many others there before of which no notice had been given, and that perhaps half a dozen houses were infected, and must be forthwith shut up. at first neglectful persons were brought before the magistrates; but soon these persons became too numerous, and the magistrates too busy to hear their excuses. an example was made of one or another, to show that the laws must be kept; but newgate itself becoming infected by the disease, it was not thought fit to send any malefactor there except for some heinous offence. dan joined the force of the constables, and day by day had exciting tales to tell about determined persons who had escaped from infected houses either by tricking or overpowering the watchman. all sorts of clever shifts were made to enable families where perhaps only one lay sick to escape from the house, leaving the sick person sometimes quite alone, or sometimes in charge of a nurse. dan said it was heartrending to hear the cries and lamentations of miserable creatures pleading to be let out, convinced that it was certain death to them to remain shut up with the sick. yet, since they might likely be themselves already infected, it was the greater peril and cruelty to let them forth; and he had ghastly tales to tell of the visitation of certain houses, where the watchmen reported that nothing had been asked for for long, and where, when the house was entered by searchers or constables, every person within was found either dead or dying. the precautions duly observed by the harmer family had hitherto proved efficacious, and though the father and his sons going about their daily duties came into contact with infected persons frequently, yet, by the use of the disinfectants recommended by the college of physicians, and by a close and careful attention to their directions, they went unscathed in the midst of much peril, and brought no ill to those at home when they returned thither for needful rest and refreshment. janet had had a slight attack of illness, but there were no absolute symptoms of the distemper with it. her father was of opinion that it might possibly be a very mild form of the disease, but the doctor called in thought not, and so their house escaped being shut up, and after a prudent interval janet came down and took her place in the family as before. mother and daughters worked together for the relief of the sick poor, making and sending out innumerable dainties in the way of broth, possets, and light puddings, which were gratefully received by poor folks in shut-up houses, who, although fed and cared for at the public expense when not able to provide for themselves, were grateful indeed for these small boons, and felt themselves not quite so forlorn and wretched when receiving tokens of goodwill from even an unknown source. the harmony, tranquillity, and goodwill that reigned in this household, even in the midst of so much that was terrible, was a great contrast to the anguish, terror, and ceaseless recriminations which made the masons' abode a veritable purgatory for its luckless inhabitants. as the news of the spreading contagion reached her, so did madam's terror and horror increase. as her husband had said long since, she sat in rooms with closed windows and drawn curtains, burned fires large enough to roast an ox, and half poisoned herself with the drugs she daily swallowed, and which she would have forced upon her whole household had they not rebelled against being thus sickened. as a natural consequence of her folly and ungovernable fears, madam was never well, and was for ever discovering some new symptom which threw her into an ecstasy of terror. she would wake in the night screaming out in uncontrollable fear that she had gotten the plague--that she felt a burning tumour here or there upon her person--that she was sinking away into a deadly swoon, or that something fatal was befalling her. by day she would fall into like passions of fear, call out to her daughter to send for every physician whose name she had heard, and upbraid and revile her in the most unmeasured terms if the poor girl ventured to hint that the doctors were beginning to be tired of coming to listen to what always proved imaginary terrors. the only times when husband or daughter enjoyed any peace was when frederick chose to make his appearance at home. on these occasions his mother would summon him to her presence, although in mortal fear lest he should bring infection with him, and make him tell her all the most frightful stories which he had picked up about the awful spread of the disease, about the iniquities and abominations practised by nurses and buriers, of which last there was plenty of gossip (although probably much was set down in malice and much exaggerated) and all the prognostications of superstitious or profane persons as to the course the pestilence was going to take. eagerly did she listen to all of these stories, which frederick took care should be very well spiced, as it was at once his amusement to frighten his mother and spite his sister; for gertrude in private implored him not to continue to alarm their mother with his frightful tales, and also begged him for his own sake to relinquish his evil habits of intemperance, which at such a time as this might lead to fatal results. the good-for-nothing youth only mocked at her, and derided his father when he gave him the same warning. he had become perfectly unmanageable and reckless, and nothing that he heard or saw about him produced any impression. although taverns and ale houses were closely watched, and ordered to close at nine o'clock, and the gatherings of idle and profligate youths of whatever condition of life sternly reprobated and forbidden by the authorities, yet these worthies found means of evading or defying the regulations, and their revels continued as before, so that frederick was seldom thoroughly sober, and more reckless and careless even than of old. in vain his father strove to bring him to a better mind; in vain he warned him of the peril of his ways and the danger to his health of such constant excesses. frederick only laughed insolently; whereupon the master builder, who had but just come from his neighbour's house, and was struck afresh with the contrast presented by the two homes, asked him if he knew how reuben harmer was passing his time, and made a few bitter comparisons between his son and those of his neighbour. this was perhaps unfortunate, for frederick, like most men of his type, was both vain and spiteful. the mention of the harmers put him instantly in mind of his grudge against reuben and his suddenly-aroused admiration for rosy-cheeked dorcas, both of which matters had been put out of his head by recent events. he had discovered also that reuben generally accompanied his sister home from lady scrope's house in the evening, so that it had not been safe to pursue his attempted gallantries towards the maid. but as he heard his father's strictures upon his conduct, coupled with laudations of his old rival reuben, a gleam of malice shone in his eyes, and he at once made up his mind to contrive and carry out a project which had been vaguely floating in his brain for some time, and which might be the more easily arranged now that the town was in a state of confusion and distress, and the streets were often so empty and deserted. in that age of vicious licence, it seemed nothing but an excellent joke to frederick and his boon companions to waylay a pretty city maiden returning to her home from her daily duties. frederick meant no harm to the girl; but he had been piqued by the way in which his compliments and kisses had been received, and above all he was desirous to do a despite to reuben, whose rebukes still rankled in his heart, though he had quickly forgotten his good offices on the occasion of his escapade before lady scrope's door. moreover, he owed that notable old woman a grudge likewise, and thought he could pay off scores all round by making away with pretty dorcas, at any rate for a while. so he and his comrades laid their plans with what they thought great skill, resolved that they should be carried out upon the first favourable opportunity. for a while dorcas had been rather nervous of leaving the house in allhallowes unless reuben was waiting for her. but as she had seen no more of the gallant who had accosted her, and as it was said on all hands that these had left london in hundreds, she had taken courage of late, and had bidden her brother not incommode himself on her account, if it were difficult for him to be her escort home. of late he had oftentimes been kept away by pressure of other duties. sometimes dan had come in his stead. sometimes she had walked back alone and unmolested. persons avoided each other in the streets now, and hurried by with averted glances. although upon her homeward route, which was but short, she had as yet no infected houses to pass, she always hastened along half afraid to look about her. but her father's good counsel and his daily prayers for his household so helped her to keep up heart, that she had not yet been frightened from her occupation, although her mistress always declared on parting in the evening that she never expected to see her back in the morning. "if the plague does not get you, some coward terror will. never mind; i can do without you, child. i never looked for you to have kept so long at your post. all the rest have fled long since." which was true indeed, only dorcas and the old couple who lived in the house still continuing their duties. fear of the pestilence had driven away the other servants, and they had sought safety on the other side of the water, where it was still believed infection would not spread. "i will come back in the morning. my father bids us all do our duty, and sets us the example, madam," said dorcas, as she prepared to take her departure. it was a dark evening for the time of year; heavy thunderclouds were hanging low in the sky and obscuring the light. the air was oppressive, and seemed charged with noxious vapours. part of this was due to the cloud of smoke wafted along from one of the great fires kept burning with the object of dispelling infection. but dorcas shivered as she stepped out into the empty street, and looked this way and that, hoping to see one of her brothers. but nobody was in sight and she had just descended the steps and was turning towards her home when out from a neighbouring porch there swaggered a very fine young gallant, who made an instant rush towards her, with words of welcome and endearment on his lips. in a moment dorcas recognized him not only as the gallant who had addressed her once before, but also as frederick mason, her brothers' old playfellow, of whom such evil things were spoken now by all their neighbours on the bridge. uttering a little cry of terror, the girl darted back, turned, and commenced running like a hunted hare in the opposite direction, careless where she went or what she did provided she only escaped from the address and advances of her pursuer. but fleet as were her own steps, those in pursuit seemed fleeter. she heard her tormentor coming after her, calling her by name and entreating for a hearing. she knew that he was gaining upon her and must soon catch her up. she was in a lonely street where not a single passerby seemed to be stirring. she looked wildly round for some way of escape, and just at that moment saw a man come round a corner and fit a key into the door of one of the houses. without pausing to think, dorcas made a rush towards him, and so soon as the door was opened she dashed within the house, and fled up the staircase--fled she knew not whither--uttering breathless, frightened cries, whilst all the time she knew that her pursuer was close behind, and heard his voice mingled with angry cries of remonstrance from the man they had left below. suddenly a door close to dorcas opened, and a new terror was revealed to her horror-stricken gaze. a gaunt, tall figure, wrapped in a long white garment that looked like grave clothes, sprang out into the stairway with a shriek that was like nothing human. dorcas sank, almost fainting with terror, to the ground; but the spectre--for such it seemed to her--paid no heed to her, but sprang upon her pursuer, who had at that moment come up, and the next moment had his arms wound about him in a bearlike embrace, whilst all the time he was laughing an awful laugh. then lifting the unfortunate young man off his feet with a strength that was almost superhuman, he bore him rapidly down the stairs and rushed out with him into the street. all this happened in so brief a moment of time that dorcas had not even time to regain her feet, or to utter the scream of terror which came to her lips. but as she found breath to utter her cry, another door opened and a scared face looked out, whilst a woman's voice asked in lamentable accents: "what do you here, maiden? what has happened to bring any person into this shut-up house? child, child, how didst thou obtain entrance here? the plague is in this house, and we are straitly shut up!" before dorcas could answer for fright and the confusion of her faculties, a pale-faced watchman came hurrying up the stairs. "where is the maid?" he asked, and then seeing dorcas he grasped her by the wrist and cried, "unless you wish to be shut up for a month, come away instantly. this is a stricken house. what possessed you to seek shelter here? better anything than that. "as for your son, mistress, he is fled forth into the street; i could not hinder him. we are undone if the constable comes. but if we can get him back again ere that, all may be well. i will let you forth to lead him hither if he will listen to your voice." from the room whence the sick man had appeared a frightened face looked forth, and a half-tipsy old crone whimpered out: "the fault was none of mine. i had but just dropped asleep for a moment. but when a man has the strength of ten what can one poor old woman do?" without paying any heed to this creature, the watchman and the mother of the plague-stricken man, together with dorcas, who hurriedly told her tale as they moved, ran down the dark staircase and out into the street. there, a little way off, was the tall spectre-like figure, still hugging in bearlike embrace the hapless frederick, and dancing the while a most weird and fantastic dance, chanting some awful words which none could rightly catch, but the burden of which was, "the dance of death! the dance of death! none who dances here with me will dance with any other!" "for heaven's sake release him from that embrace!" cried the mother, who knew that her son was smitten to death. "if all be true that the maid hath said, he is not fit to die, and that embrace is a deadly one!--o my son, my son! come back, come back! "mercy on us, here is the watch! we are undone!" indeed the trampling of many hasty feet announced the arrival of a number of persons upon the scene. it seemed like enough to be the constables or the watch; but the moment the newcomers appeared round the corner, dorcas, uttering a little shriek of joy and relief, threw herself upon the foremost man, who was in fact none other than reuben himself--reuben, followed closely by his brother dan, and they by several young roisterers, the boon companions of frederick. it had chanced that almost as soon as dorcas had run from lady scrope's door, hotly pursued by frederick, her brothers had come up to fetch her thence. it was also part of that worthy's plan that they should hear she had been carried off, though not by himself. his half-tipsy comrades, therefore, who had come to see the sport, immediately informed the young men that the maid had been pursued by a scourer in such and such a direction; and so quickly had the brothers pursued the flying footsteps of the pair--guided by the footmarks in the dusty and untrodden streets--that they had come upon this strange and ghastly scene almost at its commencement, and in a moment their practised eyes took in what had happened. the open door marked with the ominous red cross, the troubled face of the watchman, the ghastly apparition of the delirious plague-stricken man, the horror depicted in the face of the mother--all this told a tale of its own. scenes of a like kind were now growing common enough in the city; but this was more terrible to the young men from the fact that the face of the unhappy and half-fainting frederick was known to them and that they understood the awful peril into which this adventure had thrown him. they knew the strength of delirious patients, and the peril of contagion in their touch. to attempt to loosen that bearlike clasp might be death to any who attempted it. reuben looked about him, still holding his sister in his arms as though to keep her away from the peril; and dan, who had taken one step forward towards the sheeted spectre, paused and muttered between his teeth: "the hound! he has but got his deserts!" "true," said reuben, for he was certain now that it had been frederick who was dorcas's pursuer; "yet we must not leave him thus. he will be strangled or choked by the pestilential smell if we cannot get him away. take dorcas, dan. let me see if i can do aught with him." but even as reuben spoke, and dorcas clung closer than ever to him in fear that he was about to adventure himself into greater peril, the delirious man suddenly flung frederick from him, so that he fell upon the pavement almost as one dead; and then, with a hideous shriek that rang in their ears for long, fled back to the house as rapidly as he had left it, and fell down dead a few moments later upon the bed from which he had so lately risen. that fact they learned only the next day. for the moment it was enough that the patient was safely within doors again, and that the watchman could make fast the door. the roisterers had fled at the first sight of the plague-stricken man with their hapless leader in his embrace, and now the darkening street contained only the prostrate figure on the pavement, the two brothers, and the white-faced dorcas, who felt like to die of fear and horror. as chance or providence would have it, up at that very moment came the master builder himself, and seeing his son in such a plight, shook his head gravely, thinking him drunk in the gutter. but reuben went up and told all the tale, as far as he knew or guessed it, and dorcas having confirmed the same more by gestures than words, the unhappy father smote his brow, and cried in a voice of lamentation: "alas that i should have such a son! o unhappy, miserable youth! what will be thy doom now?" at this cry frederick moved, and got slowly upon his feet. he had been stunned by the violence of his fall, and for the first moment believed himself drunk, and caught at his father's arm for support. "have a care, sir," said reuben, in a low voice; "he may be infected already by the contact." but the master builder only uttered a deep sigh like a groan, as he answered, "i fear me he is infected by a distemper worse then the plague. i thank you, lads, for your kindly thoughts towards him and towards me, but i must e'en take this business into mine own hands. get you away, and take your sister with you. it is not well for maids to be abroad in a city where such things can happen. lord, indeed have mercy upon us!" chapter vi. neighbours in need. gertrude mason sat in the topmost attic of the house, leaning out at the open window, and drinking in, as it were, great draughts of fresh air, as she watched the lights beginning to sparkle from either side of the river, and the darkening volume of water slipping silently beneath. this attic was gertrude's haven of refuge at this dread season, when almost every other window in the house was shuttered and close-curtained; when she was kept like a prisoner within the walls of the house, and half smothered and suffocated by the fumes of the fires which her mother insisted on burning, let the weather be ever so hot, as a preventive against the terrible infection which was spreading with fearful rapidity throughout all london. but madam mason's feet never climbed these steep ladder-like stairs up to this eyrie, which all her life had been dear to gertrude. in her childhood it had been her playroom. as she grew older, she had gradually gathered about her in this place numbers of childish and girlish treasures. her father bestowed gifts upon her at various times. she had clever fingers of her own, and specimens of her needlework and her painting adorned the walls. at such times as the fastidious mistress of the house condemned various articles of furniture as too antiquated for her taste, gertrude would get them secretly conveyed up here; so that her lofty bower was neither bare nor cheerless, but, on the contrary, rather crowded with furniture and knick-knacks of all sorts. she kept her possessions scrupulously clean, lavishing upon them much tender care, and much of that active service in manual labour which she found no scope for elsewhere. her happiest hours were spent up in this lonely attic, far removed from the sound of her mother's plaints or her brother's ribald and too often profane jesting. here she kept her books, her lute, and her songbirds; and the key of her retreat hung always at her girdle, and was placed at night beneath her pillow. this evening she had been hastily dismissed from her father's presence, he having come in with agitated face, and bidden her instantly take herself away whilst he spoke with her mother. she had obeyed at once, without pausing to ask the questions which trembled on her lips. that something of ill had befallen she could not doubt; but at least her father was safe, and she must wait with what patience she could for the explanation of her sudden dismissal. she knew from her brother's reports that already infected houses were shut up, and none permitted to go forth. but so straitly had she herself been of late imprisoned within doors, that she felt it would make but little difference were she to hear that a watchman guarded the door, and that the fatal red cross had been painted upon it. "our neighbours are not fearful as we are. they go to and fro in the streets. they seek to do what they can for the relief of the sick. my father daily speaks of their courage and faith. why may not i do likewise? i would fain tend the sick, even though my life should be the forfeit. we can but live once and die once. far sooner would i spend a short life of usefulness to my fellow men, than linger out a long and worthless existence in the pursuit of idle pleasures. it does not bring happiness. ah! how little pleasure does it bring!" gertrude spoke half aloud and with some bitterness, albeit she strove to be patient with the foibles of her mother, and to think kindly of her, her many faults notwithstanding. but the terror of these days was taking with her a very different form from what it did with madam mason. it was inflaming within her a great desire to be up and doing in this stricken city, where the fell disease was walking to and fro and striking down its victims by hundreds and thousands. other women, in all lands and of all shades of belief, had been found to come forward at seasons of like peril, and devote themselves fearlessly to the care of the sick. why might not she make one of this band? what though it should cost her her life? life was not so precious a thing to her that she should set all else aside to preserve it! she was awakened from her fit of musing by an unwonted sound--a hollow tapping, tapping, tapping, which seemed to come from a corner of the attic where the shadows gathered most dun and dark. the girl drew in her head from the window with a startled expression on her face, and was then more than ever aware of the strange sound which caused a slight thrill to run through her frame. what could it be? there was no other room in their house from which the sound could proceed. she was not devoid of the superstitious feelings of the age, and had heard before of ghostly tappings that were said to be a harbinger of coming death or misfortune. tap! tap! tap! the sound continued with a ceaseless regularity, and then came other strange sounds of wrenching and tearing. these were perhaps not quite so ghostly, but equally alarming. what could it be? who and what could be behind that wall? gertrude had heard stories of ghastly robberies, committed during these past days in plague-stricken houses, which were entered by worthless vagabonds, when all within were dead or helpless, and from which vantage ground they had gained access into other houses, and had sometimes brought the dread infection with them. gertrude was by nature courageous, and she had always made it a point of duty not to add to her mother's alarms by permitting herself to fall a victim to nervous terrors. frightened though she undoubtedly was, therefore, she did not follow the impulse of her fear and run below to summon her father, who was, she suspected, bent on some serious work of his own; but she stood very still and quiet, pressing her hands over her beating heart, resolved if possible to discover the mystery for herself before giving any alarm. all at once the sounds grew louder; something seemed to give way, and she saw a hand, a man's hand, pushed through some small aperture. at that she uttered a little cry. "who is there?" she cried, in a shaking voice; and immediately the hand was withdrawn, whilst a familiar and most reassuring voice made answer: "is anybody there? i beg ten thousand pardons. i had thought the attic would be hare and empty." "reuben!" cried gertrude, springing forward towards the small aperture in the wall. "oh, what is it? is it indeed thou? and what art thou doing to the wall?" "gertrude! is that thy voice indeed? nay, now, this is a good hap. sweet mistress gertrude, have i thy permission to open once again betwixt thy home and mine that door which as children thy brother and we did contrive, but which was presently sealed up, though not over-strongly?" "ah, the door!" cried gertrude, coming forward to the place and feeling with her hands at the laths and woodwork; "i had forgot, but it comes to me again. yes, truly there was a rude door once. oh, open it quickly! i will get thee a light and hold it. dost thou know, reuben, what has befallen to make my father look as he did but now? i trow it is something evil. my heart is heavy within me." "ay, i know," answered reuben; "i will tell thee anon, sweet mistress, if thou wilt let me into thy presence." "nay, call me not mistress," said gertrude, with a little accent of reproach in her voice. "have we not played as brother and sister together, and do not times like this draw closer the bonds of friendship? thou canst not know how lonesome and dreary my life has been of late. i pine for a voice from the world without. thou wilt indeed be welcome, good reuben." gertrude was busying herself with the tedious preparations for obtaining a light, and being skilful by long practice, she soon had a lamp burning in the room; and in a few minutes more, by the diligent use of hammer and chisel, reuben forced open the little rough door which long ago had been contrived between the boys of the two households, and which had not been done away with altogether, although it had been securely fastened up by the orders of madam mason when she found her son frederick taking too great advantage of this extra means of egress from the house, though she had other motives than the one alleged for the checking of the great intimacy which was growing up between her children and those of her neighbour. the door once opened, reuben quickly stood within the attic, and looked around him with wondering and admiring eyes. "nay, but it is a very bower of beauty!" he cried, and then he came forward almost timidly and took gertrude by the hand, looking down at her with eyes that spoke eloquently. "is this thy nest, thou pretty songbird?" he said. "had i known, i should scarce have dared to invade it so boldly." gertrude clung to him with an involuntary appeal for protection that stirred all the manhood within him. "ah, reuben, tell me what it all means!" she cried, "for methinks that something terrible has happened." still holding the little trembling hand in his, reuben told her of the peril her brother had been in. he spoke not of dorcas, not desiring to pain her more than need be, but he had to say that her brother was, in a half-drunken state, pursuing some maiden in idle sport, and that, having been so exposed to contagion, there was great fear now for him and for his life. gertrude listened with pale lips and dilating eyes; her quick apprehension filled up more of the details than reuben desired. "it was dorcas he was pursuing," she cried, recoiling and putting up her hands to her face; "i know it! i know it! o wretched boy! why does he cover us with shame like this? i marvel that thou canst look kindly upon me, reuben. am i not his most unhappy sister?" "thou art the sweetest, purest maiden my eyes ever beheld," answered reuben, his words seeming to leap from his lips against his own will. then commanding himself, he added more quietly, "but he is like to be punished for his sins, and it may be the lesson learned will be of use to him all his life. it will be a marvel if he escapes the distemper, having been so exposed, and that whilst inflamed by drink, which, so far as i may judge, enfeebles the tissues, and causes a man to fall a victim far quicker than if he had been sober, and a temperate liver." "my poor brother!" cried gertrude, beneath her breath. "oh, what has my father done with him? what will become of him?" "your father brought him hither at once--not within the house, but into one of his old offices where in past times his goods were wont to be stored. he has now gone to consult with your mother whether or not the poor lad should be admitted within the house or not. if your mother will not have him here, he will remain for a while where he is; and if he falls sick, he will be removed to the pest house." "oh no! no! no!" cried gertrude vehemently, "not whilst he has a sister to nurse him--a roof, however humble, to shelter him. let him not die amongst strangers! i fear not the infection. i will go to him this minute. already i have thought it were better to die of the plague, doing one's duty towards the sick and suffering, than to keep shut up away from all. they shall not take him away to die amidst those scenes of horror of which one has heard. even my mother will be brave, methinks, for frederick's sake. i trow she will open her doors to him." "that is what your father thinks. it may be that even now he is bringing him within. but, sweet mistress, if frederick comes here, it may well be that in another week this house will be straitly shut up, with the red cross upon the door, and the watchman before the portal day and night. that is why i have come hither at once, to open the little door between our houses; for i cannot bear the thought of knowing naught that befalls you for a whole long month. and since, though my work takes me daily into what men call the peril of infection, i am sound and bring no hurt to others, i am not afraid that i shall bring hurt to thee. i could not bear to have no tidings of how it fared with thee. thou wilt not chide me for making this provision. it came into my head so soon as i knew that peril of infection was like to come within these walls. we must not let thee be shut quite away from us. we may be able to give thee help, and in times of peril neighbours must play a neighbourly part." the tears stood in gertrude's eyes. she was thinking of the unkindly fashion in which her mother had spoken of late years of these neighbours, and contrasting with that the way in which they were now coming forward to claim the neighbour's right to help in time of threatened trouble. the tears were very near her eyes as she made answer: "o reuben, how good thou art! but if our house be infected, how can it be possible for thee to come and go? would it not be a wrong against those who lay down these laws for the preservation of the city?" then reuben explained to her that, though the magistrates and aldermen were forced to draw up a strict code for the ordering of houses where infection was, these same personages themselves, together with doctors, examiners, and searchers of houses, had perforce to go from place to place; yet by using all needful and wise precautions, both for themselves and others, they had reasonable hope of doing nothing to spread the contagion. reuben, as a searcher under his father, had again and again been in infected houses, and brought face to face with persons dying of the malady; yet so far he had escaped, and by adopting the wise precautions ordered at the outset by their father, no case of illness had appeared so far amongst them. if every person who could be of use excluded himself from all chance of contagion, there would be none to order the affairs of the unhappy city, or to carry relief to the sufferers. there must be perforce some amongst them who were ready to run the risk in order to assist the sufferers, and they of the household of james harmer were all of one mind in this. "we do naught that is rash. we have herbs and drugs and all those things which the doctors think to be of use; and thou shalt have a supply of all such anon--if indeed thy mother be not already amply provided. but i cannot bear for thee to be straitly shut up; i must be able to see how it goes with thee. and should it be that thou wert thyself a victim, thou shalt not lack the best nursing that all london can give." she looked up at him with fearless eyes. "do men ever recover when once attacked by the plague?" "yes, many do--though nothing like the number who die. amongst our nurses and bearers of the dead are numbers who have had the distemper and have survived it. they go by the name of the 'safe people.' yet some have been known to take it again, though i think these cases are rare." "if frederick takes it, will he be like to live?" asked gertrude; and reuben was silent. both knew that the unhappy young man had long been given to drunkenness and debauchery, and that his constitution was undermined by his excesses. the girl pressed her hands together and was silent; but after a few moments' pause she looked up at reuben, and said, "you have given me courage by this visit. come again soon. i must to my mother now. i must ask her what i can do to help her and my unhappy brother." "take this paper and this packet before you go," said reuben. "the one contains directions for the better lodging and tending of the sick. the other contains prepared herbs which are useful as preventives--tormentil, valerian, zedoary, angelica, and so forth; but i take it that pure vinegar is as good an antidote to infection as anything one can find. keep some always about you. let your kerchief be always steeped in it. then be of a cheerful courage, and take food regularly, and in sufficient quantities. all these things help to keep the body in health; and though the most healthy may fall victims, yet methinks that it is those who are underfed or weakened by disease or dissipation upon whom the malady fastens with most virulent strength. i will come anon and learn what is betiding. farewell for the nonce, sweet mistress, and may god be with you." greatly cheered and strengthened by this unexpected interview, gertrude descended to the lower part of the house in search of her mother, and found her, with her face tied up in a cloth soaked in vinegar, bending over the unhappy frederick, who lay with a face as white as death upon a couch in one of the lower rooms. to her credit be it said, the motherhood in the master builder's wife had triumphed over her natural terror at the thought of the infection. when her husband had brought her the news that frederick was in one of the old shop buildings, awaiting her permission (after what had occurred) to enter the house; when she knew that should he sicken of the plague he would be taken away to the pest house to be tended there, and as she believed assuredly to die, she burst into wild weeping, and declared that she would risk everything sooner than that should happen. so it had been speedily arranged that the unhappy youth should be provided with a vinegar and herb bath and a complete change of raiment out there in the disused shop, and that then he should come into the house, his mother being willing to take the risk rather than banish him from home. this had been quickly done, under the direction of good james harmer, who as one of the examiners of health was well qualified to give counsel in the matter. he also told his neighbour that should the young man be attacked by the plague, he would strive if possible to gain for him the services of his sister-in-law, dinah morse, who was one of the most tender and skilful nurses now working amongst the sick. she was always busy; but so fell was the action of the plague poison, that her patients died daily, despite her utmost care, and she was constantly moving from house to house, sometimes leaving none alive behind her in a whole domicile. a certain number recovered, and these she made shift to visit daily for a while; but her main work lay amongst the dying, whose friends too often left them in terror so soon as the fatal marks appeared which bespoke them sickening of the terrible distemper. the master builder received this promise with gratitude, having heard gruesome stories of the evil practices of many of those who called themselves plague nurses, but who really sought their own gain, and often left the patient alone and untended in his agony, whilst they coolly ransacked the house from which the other inmates had often contrived to flee before it was shut up. frederick, utterly unnerved and overcome by the horror of the thing which had befallen him, looked already almost like one stricken to death. his mother was striving to get him to swallow some of the medicines which were considered as valuable antidotes, and to sip at a cup of so-called plague water--a rather costly preparation much in vogue amongst the wealthier citizens at that time. but the nausea of the horrible smell of the plague patient was still upon him, sickening him to the refusal of all medicine or food, and to gertrude's eyes he looked as though he might well be smitten already. her father was the only person who had eyes to notice her approach, and he strode forward and took her by the hands as though to keep her away. "child, thou must not come here. thy brother has been in a terrible danger--half strangled by a creature raving in the delirium of the distemper. it may be death to approach him even now. i would have had thy mother keep away. come not thou near to him. let us not increase the peril which besets us." gertrude stood quite still, neither resisting her father, nor yet yielding to the pressure which would have forced her from the room. "dear sir," she said, with dutiful reverence, "i must fain submit to thee in this thing. yet i prithee keep me not from my brother in the hour of his extremity. methinks that a more terrible thing than the plague itself is the cruel fear which it inspires, whereby families are rent asunder, and the sick are neglected and deserted in the hour of their utmost need. if indeed frederick should fall a victim, this house will be straitly shut up; and if it be true what men say, the infection will spread through it, do what we will to keep it away. then what can it matter whether the risk be a little more or less? is it not better that i should be with my mother and my brother, than that i should seek my own safety by shutting myself up apart from all, a readier prey to grief and terror? methinks i should the sooner fall ill thus shut away from all. prithee let me take my place beside frederick, and relieve my mother when she be weary; so do i think it will be best for me and her." the father's face quivered with emotion as he took his daughter in his arms and kissed her tenderly. "thou shalt do as thou wilt, my sweet child," he said. "these indeed are fearful days, and it may be that happier are they who let their heart be ruled by love instead of by fear. fear has become a cruel thing, from what men tell us. thou shalt do thy desire. yet methinks thy brother has scarce deserved this grace at thy hands." "let us not think of that," said gertrude, with a look of pain in her eyes; "let us only think of his peril, and of the terrible retribution which may fall upon him. god grant that he may find repentance and peace at the last!" "amen!" said the master builder, with some solemnity, thinking of the fashion in which his son's time had been spent of late, and of the very escapade which had brought this evil upon him. all that night mother and sister watched beside the bed of the unhappy young man, who moaned and tossed, and too often broke into blasphemous railings at the fate which had overtaken him. he gave himself up for lost from the first, and having no hope or real belief as regards the future life, was full of darkness and bitterness of heart. he would not so much as listen when gertrude would have spoken to him of the saviour's love for sinners, but answered with mocking and profane words which made her heart die within her. towards morning he fell into a restless sleep, from which he wakened in a high fever, not knowing any of those about him. the father coming in, went towards him with a strange look in his eyes, and after bending over him a few seconds, turned a haggard face towards his wife and daughter, saying: "may the lord have mercy upon us! he has the tokens upon him!" instantly the mother uttered a scream of lamentation, and fell half senseless into her husband's arms; whilst gertrude stood suddenly up with a white face and said: "let me take word to our neighbours next door. master harmer is an examiner. we must needs report it to him; and they will tell us what we must do, and give us help if any can." "ay, that they will," answered the master builder, with some emotion in his voice. "go, girl, and report that the distemper has broken out in the house, and that we submit ourselves to the orders of the authorities for all such as be infected." gertrude sped upstairs. she preferred that method of transit to the one by the street door. but she had no need to go further than her attic; for upon opening the door she saw two figures in the room, and instantly recognized reuben and his sister janet. the latter came forward with outstretched hands, and would have taken gertrude into her embrace, but that she drew back and said in a voice of warning: "take heed, janet; touch me not. i have passed the night by the bedside of my brother, and he is stricken with the plague!" "so soon?" quoth reuben, quickly; whilst janet would not be denied her embrace, saying softly: "i have no longer a fear of that distemper myself, for i have been with it erstwhile, and my aunt dinah tells me that i have had a very mild attack of the same ill, and that i am not like to take it again." "if indeed frederick is smitten, we must take precautions to close the house," said reuben. "is there aught you would wish to do ere giving the notice to my father?" "nay, i was on my way to him," said gertrude, speaking with the calmness of one upon whom the expected blow has at last fallen. "let what must be done be done quickly. can we have a nurse? for methinks frederick must needs have tendance more skilled than any we can give him. but let it not be one of those women"--gertrude paused and shuddered, as though she knew not how to finish her sentence. "trust me to do all for you that lies in my power," answered reuben, in a voice of emotion; "and never feel shut up altogether from the world; even when the outer door be locked and guarded by a watchman. i have already hung a bell within our house, and the cord is tied here upon this nail. in any time of need you have but to ring it, and be sure that the summons will be speedily answered." a mist rose before gertrude's eyes and a lump in her throat. she pressed janet's hand, and said to reuben in a husky voice: "i have no words today. some day i will find how to thank you for all this goodness at such a time." before many hours had passed dinah morse was installed beside the sick man. strong perfumes were burnt in and about his room, and the terrible tumours which bespoke the poison in his blood were treated skilfully by poultices and medicaments, applied by one who thoroughly understood the nature of the disease and the course it ran. but from the first it was apparent to a trained eye that the young man was doomed. there was too much poison in his blood before, and his constitution was undermined by his reckless and dissolute life. all that was possible was done to relieve the sufferings and abate the fever of the patient. one of the best and most devoted of the doctors who remained courageously at his post during this terrible time was called in. but he shook his head over the patient, and bid his parents make up their minds for the worst. "you have the best nurse in all london," said dr. hooker. "if skill and care could save him, he would be saved. but i fear me the poison has spread all over. be cautious how you approach him, for he breathes forth death to those who are not inoculated. i would i could do more for you, but our skill avails little before this dread scourge." and so, with looks and words of friendly compassion and goodwill, the doctor took his departure; and before nightfall frederick was called to his last account. just as the hour of midnight tolled, a sound of wheels was heard in the street below, a bell rang, and a lugubrious voice called out: "bring forth your dead! bring forth your dead!" directed by reuben, who was on the alert, the bearers themselves entered the house and removed the body, wrapped in its linen swathings, but without a coffin, for by this time there was not such a thing to be had for love or money; nor could the carts have contained their loads had each corpse been coffined. gertrude alone, from an upper window, saw the body of her brother laid decently and reverently, under reuben's direction, in the ominous-looking vehicle. for the mother of the dead youth was weeping her heart out in her husband's arms, and was not allowed to know at what hour nor in what manner her son's body was conveyed away. "will they fling him, with never a prayer, into some great pit such as i have heard spoken of?" asked gertrude of dinah, who stood beside her at the window, fearful lest she should be overwhelmed by the horror of it all. she now drew her gently and tenderly back into the room, whilst the cart rumbled away upon its mournful errand, and smoothing the tresses of the girl, and drawing her to rest upon a couch hard by, she answered: "think not of that, dear child. for what does it matter what befalls the frail mortal body? with whatsoever burial we may be buried now, we shall rise again at the last day in glory and immortality! that is what we must think of in these sorrowful times. we must lift our hearts above the things of this world, and let our conversation and citizenship be in heaven." then the tears gushed out from gertrude's eyes, and she wept freely and fully the healing tears of youth. chapter vii. sisters of mercy. "father, dear father, prithee let me go!" "what, my child? have i not lost all but thee? am i to send thee forth to thy death in this terrible city, stricken by the hand of god?" into gertrude's face there crept a wonderful light and brightness. her eyes shone with the intensity of her feeling. "father," she said, "it is even because i hold the city to be smitten by god that i ask thy permission to go forth to minister to the sick and stricken ones. it seems to me as though in my heart a voice had spoken, saying, 'go, and i will be with thee.' father, listen, i pray thee. i heard that voice first, methought, upon the terrible night when they came and took frederick away. when mother was next laid low, and as i watched beside her, and watched likewise how dinah soothed and comforted and assuaged her anguish of mind and body, the voice in my heart grew ever louder and louder. whilst she lived, i knew my place was beside her; but it has pleased god to take her away. no tie binds me here now. if i stay, i shall but eat out my heart in fruitless longing, shut into these walls, and by no means permitted to sally forth. from a plague-stricken house i may only go to those smitten with the distemper. father, let me go! prithee let me go! dinah will take me; she will let me be with her. ask her; she will tell thee." as the girl made her appeal to her father, the grave-faced, gentle woman who had remained with this household for nigh fourteen days stood quietly by. dinah morse had not quitted the house since the day upon which the hapless frederick had been stricken down by the fell disease. for hardly had his remains been borne from the house before the mother fell violently ill of a wasting fever. at first there were no special indications of the plague in her malady; but after a week's time these suddenly developed themselves. from the first she had declared herself smitten by the distemper, and whether this conviction helped to develop the germs of the malady none could say. but be that as it might, the dreaded tokens appeared upon her body at last, and within three days from that time she lay dead. all that the kindness of friends and neighbours could avail had been done. the harmer family, in particular, had showed so much attention and sympathy in this trying time, that gertrude was often overcome with shame as she recalled in what uncivil fashion they had been treated by her mother of late years, and how they were now returning good for evil, just at a time when so many men were finding themselves forsaken even by their nearest and dearest in the hour of their affliction. the whole experience through which she had passed had made a deep and lasting impression upon gertrude. she had already watched two of the beings nearest and dearest to her fall victims to the dire disease which was raging in the city and laying low its thousands daily. it seemed to her that there was but one thing to be done now by those whose circumstances permitted it, and that was to go forth amid the sick and smitten ones, and do what lay within human power to mitigate their sufferings, and to afford them the solace and comfort of feeling that they were not altogether shut off from the love and sympathy of their fellow men. "father," she urged, as she saw that her parent still hesitated, "what would have become of us without dinah? what should we have done had no help come to us in our hour of need? think of the hundreds and thousands about us longing for some such tendance and love as she brought hither to us! what would have become of us had no kind neighbours befriended us? and are we not bidden to do unto others as we would have them do unto us in like case?" "but the risk, my child, the risk!" he urged. "am i to lose my last and only stay and solace?" "mother died in this house, which is now doubly infected. i was with her and with frederick both, and yet i am sound and whole, and thou also. why should we so greatly fear, when no man can say who will be smitten and who will escape? methinks, perchance, those who seek to do their duty to the living, as our good neighbours and the city aldermen and magistrates and doctors are doing, will be specially protected of god. father, let me go! truly i feel that i have been bidden. here i should fret myself ill in fruitless longing. let me go forth with dinah. let me obey the call which methinks god has sent me. truly i think i shall be the safest so. and who can say in these days, take what precaution he will, that he may not already have upon him the dreaded tokens? if we must die, let us at least die doing good to our fellow men. did not our lord say to those who visited the sick in their necessity, 'ye have done it unto me'?" "child," said the master builder, in a much-moved voice, "it shall be as you desire. go; and may the blessing of god go with you. i will offer myself for any post, as searcher or examiner, which may be open, if indeed i may go forth from this house ere the twenty-eight days be expired. if dinah will take you, and if the harmers will let you both sally forth from the house, i will not keep you back. it may be indeed that god has called you; and if so, may he keep and bless you both." father and daughter embraced each other tenderly. in those times the shadow of death was so very apparent that no one knew from day to day what might befall him ere the morrow. strong men, leaving their homes apparently in their usual health, would sink down in the streets an hour afterwards, and perhaps die before the very eyes of the passersby, none of whom would be found willing so much as to approach the sufferer with a kind word. men would hasten by with vinegar-steeped cloths held closely over their faces; and later on some bearer with a cart or barrow would be sent to carry away the corpse and fling it into the nearest pit, of which there was now an ever-increasing number in the various parishes. it will well be understood that in such days as these the need for nurses for the sick was terribly great. the majority of those so-called nurses were women of the lowest class, whose motive was personal gain, not a loving desire to mitigate the sufferings of the stricken. whether all the dismal tales told by the miserable beings shut up in their houses, and left to the mercy of watchmen and nurses, were true may be well open to doubt. many poor creatures became half demented by terror, and scarcely knew what they said. but enough was from time to time substantiated to prove how very terrible were the scenes which sometimes went on within these sealed abodes; and more than once some careless watchman or thieving and neglectful nurse had been whipped through the streets for misdemeanours brought home to them by the authorities. but now things were growing too pressing for individual cases to attract much attention. do as men would to cope with the evil, the spread of the fell disease was something terrible to witness. up till quite recently, the cases in the southern and eastern parishes and within the city walls had been few as compared with those in the north and west; but now the scourge seemed to have fallen upon the city itself, and the resources of the authorities were taxed to the uttermost. the harmer family welcomed back dinah with joy; but when they heard of gertrude's resolve, they looked grave and awed. then janet stepped forward suddenly, and addressing her father, said: "dear father, what gertrude has desired for herself is nothing less than what i myself have often wished. let me go forth also to tend the sick. if our neighbour can dare to let his only child do this thing, surely thou wilt spare me. every day brings terrible tales of the woe and the pressing need of hundreds and thousands around us. let me go, too. i am like to be safer than many, seeing that i may already have been touched by the distemper, though i knew it not." the example of his neighbour was not without effect upon the worthy citizen. moreover, it seemed to him that those who went about their daily duties, and shrank not from contact with the sick when it was needful, fared better than many who shut themselves up at home, and feared to look forth even from their windows. as an examiner of health he was frequently brought into contact with the sick, and his son even oftener, and yet both kept their health wonderfully. true, there were many amongst those who filled these perilous offices who did fall victims, but not more in proportion than others who shunned all contact with peril. steady nerves and a stout heart seemed as good preventives as any antidote; and the physicians who laboured ceaselessly and devotedly amongst the stricken ones seemed seldom to suffer. moreover, after all these weeks of terror, the minds of persons of all degrees were growing used to the sense of uncertainty and peril, and janet's request aroused no very strenuous opposition from any member of her family. "she shall please herself," said her father, after some discussion on the subject. "god has been very merciful to us so far. we will put our trust in him during all this time. if the girl has had a call, let her do her duty, and he will he with her." that night the three devoted women slept beneath the roof of the bridge house. upon the morrow they sallied forth to their strange task, but were told by the master of the house that they might return thither at any time they chose, provided they took the prescribed precautions with regard to their clothing before they entered. the sun was blazing hotly down on the streets as they opened the door to go forth. sultry weather had now set in, no rain fell through the long, scorching days, and the heat was a terrible factor in the spread of the epidemic. dinah, who had been nigh upon fourteen days shut up in one house, looked about her with grave, watchful eyes. already she saw a great difference in the look of the bridge. four houses were marked with the ominous red cross; and the tide of traffic, bearing the stream of persons out from the stricken city, had almost ceased. bills of health were difficult to obtain now. the country villages round were loth to receive inmates of london. all roads were watched, and many hapless stragglers sent back again who had thought to escape from the city of destruction. myriads had already left, and others were still flying--they could make shift to escape. but the continuous stream had ceased to cross the bridge. foot passengers were few, and all walked in the middle of the road, avoiding contact with one another. many kept a handkerchief or cloth pressed to their faces. strangers eyed each other askance, none knowing that the other might not be already sickening of the disease. between the stones of the streets blades of grass were beginning to grow up. dinah pointed to these tokens and gave a little sigh. just before they turned off from the bridge a flying figure was seen approaching, and janet exclaimed quickly: "why, it is dorcas!" since her fright of a fortnight back, dorcas had remained an inmate of lady scrope's house by her own desire. although she knew that poor frederick would annoy her no more, she had come to have a horror of the very streets themselves. she had never forgotten the apparition of that white-robed figure, clad in what seemed like its death shroud; and as lady scrope was by no means ill pleased to keep her young maiden by night as well as by day, her father was glad that she should be saved the risk even of the short walk to and fro each day. but here she was, flying homewards as though there were wings to her feet; and she would almost have passed them in her haste, had not janet laid hold of her arm and spoken her name aloud. then she gave a little cry of relief and happiness, and turning upon her aunt, she cried: "ah, how glad i am to see thee! i was praying thou mightst still be at home. lady scrope has been suddenly seized by some malady, i know not what. everyone in the house but the old deaf man and his wife has fled. three servants left before, afraid of passing to and fro. the rest only waited for the first alarm to seize whatever they could lay hands upon and fly. i could not stop them. i did what i could, but methinks they would have rifled the house had it not been that the mistress, ill as she was, rose from her bed and chased them forth. they feared her more than ever when they thought she had the plague upon her. and now i have come forth for help; for i am alone with her in the house, and i know not which way to turn. "ah, good aunt, come back with me, i prithee. i am at my wit's end with the fear of it all." without a moment's delay the party turned towards the house in allhallowes, and speedily found themselves at the grim-looking portal, which dorcas opened with her key. the house felt cool and fresh after the glare of the hot streets. although by no means a stately edifice outside, it was roomy and commodious within, and the broad oak staircase was richly carpeted--a thing in those days quite unusual save in very magnificent houses. doors stood open, and there were traces of confusion in some of the rooms; but dorcas was already hurrying her companions up the stairs, and the silence of the house was broken by the sound of a shrill voice demanding in imperious tones who were coming and what was their business. "fear not, mistress, it is i!" cried dorcas, springing forward in advance of the others. she disappeared within an open door, and her companions heard the sharp tones of the answering voice saying: "tush, child! who talks of fear? it is only fools who fear! dost think i am scared by this bogey talk of plague? a colic, child--a colic; that is all i ail. i have always suffered thus in hot weather all my life. plague, forsooth! i could wish i had had it, that i might have given it as a parting benediction to those knaves and hussies who thought to rob me when i lay a-dying, as many a woman has been robbed before! i only hope they may sicken of pure fright, as has happened to many a fool before now! ha! ha! ha! how they did run! they thought i was tied by the leg for once. but i had them--i had them! i warrant me they did not take the worth of a sixpence from my house!" the chuckling laugh which followed bespoke a keen sense of enjoyment. certainly this high-spirited old lady was not much like the ordinary plague patient. dinah knocked lightly at the door, and entered, the two girls following her out of sheer curiosity. "heyday! and who are these?" cried lady scrope. that redoubtable old dame was sitting up in bed, her great frilled nightcap tied beneath her chin, her hawk's eyes full of life and fire, although her face was very pinched and blue, and there were lines about her brow and lips which told the experienced eyes of the sick nurse that she was suffering considerable pain. dinah explained their sudden appearance, and asked if they could be of any service. the old lady gazed at them all in turn, and her face relaxed as she broke into rather a grim laugh. "plague nurses, by all the powers! certes, this is very pretty company! if all that is said be true, ye be the worst harpies of all. i had better have my own minions to rob me than be left to your tender mercies. three of you, too! verily, 'wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together,'" and the patient laughed again, as though tickled at her own grim pleasantry. dorcas would have expostulated and explained and apologized, but her mistress cut her short with a sharp tap of her fan. "little fool, hold thy peace! as though i didn't know an honest face when i see it! "come, good people, look me well over, and you'll soon see i have none of the tokens. it is but a colic, such as i am well used to at this season of the year; but in these days let a body's finger but ache, and all the world runs helter skelter this way and that, calling out, 'the plague! the plague!' the plague, forsooth! as though i had not lived through a score of such scares of plague. if men would but listen to me, there need never be any more plagues in london. but the fools will not hear wisdom." "what is your remedy, madam?" asked dinah, who saw very clearly that the old lady had gauged her symptoms aright; and although she had alarmed her attendants by a partial collapse an hour before, was mending now, and had no symptom of the distemper upon her. "my remedy is too simple for fools. fill up every well in london--which is just a poison trap--and drink only new river water, and make every house draw its supply from thence, and we shall soon cease to hear of the plague! that's my remedy; but when i tell men so, they gibe and jeer and call me fool for my pains. fools every one of them! if it would only please providence to burn their city about their ears and fill up all the old wells with the rubbish, you would soon see an end of these scares of plague. tush! if men will drink rank poison they deserve to have the plague--that is all i have to say to them." such an idea as this was certainly far in advance of the times, and it was small wonder that lady scrope found no serious listeners when she propounded her scheme. dinah did not profess to have an opinion on such a wide question. her duties were with the sick. others must seek for the cause of the outbreak. that was not the province of women. something in her way of moving about and performing her little offices pleased the fancy of the capricious old woman, as did also the aspect of the two girls, who were assisting dorcas to set the room to rights after the confusion of the morning, when the mistress had suddenly been taken with a violent colic, which had turned her blue and rigid, and had convinced her household that she was taken for death, and that by a seizure of the prevailing malady. she asked dinah of herself and her plans, and nodded her head with approval as she heard that the two girls were to attend the sick likewise under her care. "good girls, brave girls--i like to see courage in old and young alike. if i were young myself, i vow i would go with you. it's a fine set of experiences you will have. "young woman, i like you. i shall want to hear of you and your work. listen to me. this house is my own. i have no one with me here save the child dorcas, and i don't think she is of the stuff that would be afraid; and i take good care of her, so that she is in no peril. come back hither to me whenever you can. this house shall be open to you. you can come hither for rest and food. it is better than to go to and fro where there be so many young folks as in the place you come from. bring the girls with you, too. they be good, brave maidens, and deserve a place of rest. i have victualled my house well. i have enough and to spare. i like to hear the news, and none can know more in these days than a plague nurse. "come, children, what say you to this? go to and fro amongst the sick; but come home hither and tell me all you have done. what say you? against rules for persons to pass from infected houses into clean ones? bah! in times like these what can men hope to do by their rules and regulations? plague nurses and plague doctors are under no rules. they must needs go hither and thither wherever they are called. if i fear not for myself, you need not fear for me. i shall never die of the plague; i have had my fortune told me too many times to fear that! i shall never die in my bed--that they all agree to tell me. have no fears for me; i have none for myself. "make this house your home, you three good women. i am not a good woman myself, but i know the kind when i see them. they are rare, but all the more valued for that. come, i say; you will not find a better place!" dorcas clasped her hands in rapture and looked from one to the other. the fear of the distemper was small in comparison with the pleasure of the thought of seeing her sister and aunt and friend at intervals, now that she was so completely shut up in this lonely house, and that the servants had all fled never to return. it was just such an eccentric and capricious whim as was eminently characteristic of lady scrope. she had had nothing but her own whims to guide her through life, and she indulged them at her pleasure. she had taken a fancy to dinah from the first moment. she knew all about the family of her young companion, from having listened to dorcas's chatter when in the mood. keenly interested in the spread of the plague, which had driven away all her fashionable friends, she was eager for news about it, and the more ghastly the tales that were told, the more did she seem to revel in them. to have news first hand from those who actually tended the sick seemed to her a capital plan; and dinah recognized at once the advantage of having admittance for herself and the two girls to this solitary and commodious house, where rest and refreshment could be readily obtained, and where their coming and going would not be likely to be observed or to hurt any one. "if your ladyship really means it--" she began. "my ladyship generally does mean what she says--as dorcas will tell you if you ask her," was the rather short, sharp reply. "say no more, say no more; i hate chitter-chatter and shilly-shally. the thing's settled, and there's an end of it. go your ways, go your ways; i'm none too ill for dorcas to look to, now that the little fool is assured that i haven't got the plague. but you may have brought it here yourself, so you are bound in duty to come back and look after us the first moment you can. go along with you all, and bring me word what london is doing, and what the streets are like. they say there be courts down in the worst parts of the town where not a living person remains, and where there be none left to give notice of the deaths. you go and bring me word about all that. "a fine thing truly for our grand city! the living soon will not be enough to bury the dead! go! go! go! i shall wait and watch for your return. none will interfere with anything that goes on in my house. you can come and go at will. dorcas will give you a key. i will trust you. you have a face to be trusted." "it is quite true--nobody ever dares interfere with her," said dorcas, as she led the way downstairs. "they think she is a witch; and truly, methinks she is the strangest woman that ever drew breath! but i shall love her for what she has said and done today. i pray you be not long in coming again. none can want you much more sorely than i do!" chapter viii. in the doomed city. the clocks in the church steeples were chiming the hour of ten as dinah and her two companions started forth a second time upon their errand of mercy and charity. it was an hour at which in ordinary times all the city should be alive, the streets filled with passersby, wagons lumbering along with heavy freights, fine folks in their coaches or on horseback picking their way from place to place, and shopmen or their apprentices crying their wares from open doorways. now the streets were almost empty. the shops were almost all shut up. here and there an open bake house was to be seen, orders having been issued that these places were to remain available for the public, come what might; and women or trembling servant maids were to be seen going to and fro with their loads of bread or dough for baking. but each person looked askance at the other. neighbours were afraid to pause to exchange greetings, and hurried away from all contact with one another; and children breaking away from their mothers' sides were speedily called back, and chidden for their temerity. some of the churches stood wide open, and persons were seen to hurry in, lock themselves for a few minutes into separate pews, and pour out their souls in supplication. often the sound of lamentation and weeping was heard to issue from these buildings. at certain hours of the day such of the clergy as were not scared away through fear of infection, or who were not otherwise occupied amongst the sick, would come in and address the persons gathered there, or read the daily office of prayer; but although at first these services had been well attended--people flocking to the churches as though to take sanctuary there--the widely-increased mortality and the fearful spread of the distemper had caused a panic throughout the city. the magistrates had issued warnings against the assembling of persons together in the same building, and the congregations were themselves so wasted and decimated by death and disease that each week saw fewer and fewer able to attend. from every steeple in the city the bells tolled ceaselessly for the dead. but it was already whispered that soon they would toll no more, for the deaths were becoming past all count, and there might likely enough be soon no one left to toll. at one open place through which dinah led her companions, a tall man, strangely habited, and with a great mass of untrimmed hair and beard, was addressing a wild harangue to a ring of breathless listeners. in vivid and graphic words he was summing up the wickedness and perversity of the city, and telling how that the wrath of god had descended upon it, and that he would no longer stay his hand. the day of mercy had gone by; the day of vengeance had come--the day of reckoning and of punishment. the innocent must now perish with the guilty, and he warned each one of his hearers to prepare to meet his judge. the man was gazing up overhead with eyes that seemed ready to start from their sockets. every face in the crowd grew pale with horror. the man seemed rooted to the spot with a ghastly terror. they followed the direction of his gaze, but could see nothing save the quivering sunshine above them. suddenly one in the crowd gave a shriek which those who heard it never forgot, and fell to the ground like one dead. with a wild, terrible laugh the preacher gathered up his long gown and fled onwards, and the crowd scattered helter skelter, terrified and desperate. none seemed to have a thought for the miserable man smitten down before their very eyes. all took care to avoid approaching him in their hasty flight. he lay with his face upturned to the steely, pitiless summer sky. a woman coming furtively along with a market basket upon her arm suddenly set up a dolorous cry at sight of him, and setting down her basket ran towards him, the tears streaming down her face. "why, it is none other than good john harwood and his wife elizabeth!" cried janet, making a forward step. "oh, poor creatures, poor creatures! good aunt, prithee let us do what we can for their relief. i knew not the man, his face was so changed, but i know him now. they are very honest, good folks, and have worked for us ere now. they live hard by, if so be they have not changed their lodgings. can we do nothing to help them?" "we will do what we can," said dinah. "remember, my children, all that i have bidden you do when approaching a stricken person. be not rash, neither be over-much affrighted. the lord has preserved me, and methinks he will preserve you, too." with that she stepped forward and laid a hand upon the shoulder of the poor woman, who was weeping copiously over her husband, and calling him by every name she could think of, though he lay rigid with half-open eyes and heeded her not. "good friend," said dinah, in her quiet, commanding fashion, "it is of no avail thus to weep and cry. we must get your goodman within doors, and tend him there. see, there is a man with a handcart over yonder. go call him, and bid him come to our help. we must not let your goodman lie out here in the streets in this hot sunshine." "god bless you! god bless you!" cried the poor distracted woman, unspeakably thankful for any help at a time when neighbours and friends were wont alike to flee in terror from any stricken person. "but alas and woe is me! tell me, is this the plague?" "i fear so," answered dinah, who had bent over the smitten man; "but go quickly and do as i have said. there be some amongst the sick who recover. lose not heart at the outset, but trust in god, and do all that thou art bidden." the woman ran quickly, and the man, who was indeed one of those forlorn creatures who, for a livelihood, were even willing to scour the streets and remove from thence those that were stricken down by death as they went their way amongst their fellows, came with her at her request, and lifting her husband into his cart, wheeled him away towards a poor alley where lay her home. as she turned into it she looked at the three women who followed, and said: "god have mercy upon us! i would not have you adventure yourselves here. there be but three houses in all the street where the distemper has not come, and of those, mine, which was one, must now be shut up. lord have mercy upon us indeed, else we be all dead men!" dinah paused for a brief moment, and looked at her young charges. "my children," she said, "needs must that i go where the need is so great. but bethink you a moment if ye have strength and wish to follow. i know not what sad and terrible sights we may have to encounter. think ye that ye can bear them? have ye the strength to go forward? if not, i would have you go back ere you have reached the contamination." janet looked at gertrude, and gertrude looked at janet; but though there was great seriousness and awe in their faces, there was no fear. gertrude had gone through so much already within the walls of her home that she had no fear greater than that of remaining in helpless idleness there, alone with her own thoughts and memories. as for janet, she had much of the nature of her aunt--much of that eager, intense sympathy and compassion for the sick and suffering which has induced women in all ages to go forth in times of dire need, and risk their lives for their stricken and afflicted brethren. so after one glance of mutual comprehension and sympathy, they both answered in one breath: "no, we will not turn back. we will go with you. where the need is sorest, there would we be, too." "god bless you! god bless you for angels of mercy!" sobbed the poor woman, who heard their words, and knowing both dinah and janet, understood something of the situation, "for we be perishing like sheep here in this place, shut away from all, and with never a nurse to come nigh us. there be some rough fellows placed outside the houses to see that none go in or out, and perchance they do their best to find nurses; but at such a time as this it is small wonder if ofttimes none are to be found. and some they have brought are worse than none. the lord protect us from the tender mercies of such!" the narrow court into which they now turned was cool in comparison with the sunny street; but there was nothing refreshing in the coolness, for fumes of every sort exhaled from the houses, and at the far end there burned a fire of resinous pine logs, the smoke from which, when it rolled down the court, was almost choking. "they say it will check the spread of the distemper to the streets beyond," said the woman, "but methinks it does as much harm as good. if the lord help us not, we be all dead men. the cart took away a score or more of corpses last night. pray heaven it take not away my poor husband tonight!" the bearer of the handcart stopped at the door indicated by the woman, and lifted the stricken man in his arms. it was one of the very few doors all down that street which did not bear the ominous red cross. as gertrude looked up and down the court her heart sank within her for pity. the houses were closed. watchers lounged at the doors, drinking and smoking and jesting together, being by this time recklessly and brutally hardened to their office. they knew not from day to day when their own turn might come; but this knowledge seemed to have an evil rather than a sobering effect upon them. the better sort of watchmen were employed, as a rule, to keep the better sort of houses. when these crowded courts and alleys were attacked, the authorities had to send whom they could rather than whom they would. indefatigable and courageously as they worked, the magnitude of the calamity was such that it taxed their resources to the utmost; and had it not been for the bountiful supplies of money sent in by charitable people, from the king downwards, for the relief of the city in this time of dire need, thousands must have perished from actual want, as well as those who fell victims to the plague itself. yet do as these brave and devoted men could, the sufferings of the poor at this time were terrible. as the sound of voices was heard in the street below, windows were thrown up, and heads protruded with more or less of caution. from one of the windows thus thrown up there issued a lamentable wailing, and a woman with a white, wild face cried out in tones of passionate entreaty: "help! help! help! good people. ah, if that be a nurse, let her come hither. there be five dying and two dead in the house, and none but me to tend them, and methinks i am stricken to the death!" "janet," said dinah, with a searching glance at her niece, "methinks i must needs answer that cry. go with this good woman, and do what thou canst for her husband. thou dost know what is best to be done. i will come to thee anon; but thou wilt not fear to be thus left? there is but one sick in this house. the need is sorer elsewhere." "go, i will do my best. at least i can make a poultice, and see that he is put to bed. i have medicaments in my bag. i would not hinder thee. sure there is work for all in this terrible place!" "and this is only one of many scattered throughout the city!" breathed gertrude softly, her heart swelling within her. ever since she had halted before this house she had been aware of the sound of plaintive weeping and wailing proceeding from the adjoining tenement; and as dinah moved away towards the door opposite, she asked elizabeth harwood what the sound meant, and if there was trouble in the next house. "trouble?--trouble and death everywhere!" was the answer. "the man was taken away in the cart yesternight. god alone knows who is alive in the house now. there be seven little children there with their mother, but which of them be living and which dead by now no one knows. i have heard nothing of the woman's voice these many hours. pray heaven she be not dead--and the little helpless children all alone with the dead corpse!" "oh, surely that could not be!" cried gertrude. "surely the watchman would go to them! oh, that must not be! i will go and speak with him. he would not leave them to perish so!" the woman shook her head, and hurried up the stairs whither her husband had been carried. her heart was too full of her own anxious misery to have room for more than a passing sympathy for the needs and troubles of others. but gertrude could not rest. she neither followed janet into this house nor her aunt across the street. she went to the door of the next house, upon which the red cross had been painted; and seeing her so stand before it, a man detached himself from a group hard by and asked her business, since the house was closed. "i am a nurse," answered gertrude, boldly. "i have come to nurse the sick. let me into this house, i pray, for i hear the need is very sore." "sore enough, mistress," answered the man, fumbling with his key, for of course there was admittance to plague nurses and doctors into infected houses; "but if you take my advice, you'll not venture within the door. the dead cart has had four from it these last two days. like enough by this time they are all dead. they have asked for nothing these past ten hours--not since the cart came last night." with a shudder of pity and horror, but without any personal shrinking, gertrude signed to the man to open the door, which he proceeded to do in a leisurely manner. then she stepped across the threshold, the door was closed behind her, and she heard the key turn in the lock. truly her work had now begun. she was incarcerated in a plague-stricken house, and this time by her own will. for the first few seconds she stood still in the dark entry, unable to see her way before her; but soon her eyes grew used to the dim light, and she saw that there was a door on one side of the passage and a steep flight of stairs leading upwards, and it was from some upper portion of the house from which the sound of crying proceeded. just glancing into the lower room, which she found quite empty, and which was unexpectedly clean, she mounted the rickety staircase, the wailing sound growing more distinct every step she took. the house was a very tiny one even for these small tenements, and there were only two little rooms upon the upper floor. it was from one of these that the crying was proceeding, but gertrude could not be sure which. with a beating heart she opened the first door, and saw a sight which went to her heart. upon a narrow bed lay two little forms wrapped in the same sheet, rigidly still, waiting their last transit to the common grave. except for the two dead children the room was empty, and gertrude, softly closing the door, and breathing a silent prayer, she scarce knew whether for herself, for the living, or for the dead, she opened the other, and came upon a scene, the pathos and inexpressible sadness of which made a lasting impression upon her, which even after events did not efface from her memory. there was a bed in this room too, and upon it lay the emaciated form of a woman; asleep, as the girl first thought--dead, as she afterwards quickly discovered. by her side there nestled a little child, hardly more than an infant, wailing pitifully with that plaintive, persistent cry which had attracted her attention at the outset. three children, varying in age from four to eight, sat huddled on the floor in a corner, their tear-stained faces all turned in wondering expectancy upon the newcomer. stretched upon the floor beside the bed was another child, so still that gertrude felt from the first that it, too, was dead, and when she lifted up the little form, she saw the dreaded death tokens upon the waxen skin. with a prayer in her heart for grace and strength and guidance, gertrude laid the dead child beside its dead mother--for she saw that the woman was cold and stiff in death; and then she gathered the living children round her, and taking the infant in her arms, she led them all down into the lower room, and quickly kindled the fire that was laid ready in the grate. she found nothing of any sort in the house, and the children were crying for food; but the watchman quickly provided what was needful, being, perhaps, a little ashamed of the condition in which this household had been found. gertrude tended and fed and comforted the little ones, her heart overflowing with sympathy. they clung about her and fondled her as children will do those who have come to them in their hour of dire necessity; and as their hunger became appeased, and they grew confident of the kindness of their new friend, they told their pathetic tale with the unconscious graphic force of childhood. there had been a large household only a few days before. father, mother, two grownup sons, and one or two daughters--evidently by a former marriage. the big brothers had gone away--probably to act as bearers or watchmen--and the little ones knew nothing of them. one of the sisters had been in service, but came home suddenly, complaining of illness, sat down in a chair, and died almost before they realized she was ill. they had kept that death a secret, had obtained a certificate of some other ailment than the distemper, and for a week all had gone on quietly, when suddenly three became ill together. numbers of houses were shut up all round them. theirs was reported and closed. for a few days there had been hope. then the father sickened, and all the grownup persons had died almost together, save the mother, and had been taken away the night before last. what had happened since was dim and confused to the children. their mother had seemed like one stunned--had hardly noticed them, or attended to their wants. then two of them had been taken away into the other room. they had heard their mother weeping aloud for a while, but she would not let them in to her. by and by she had come back to them, and had taken the baby in her arms and lain down upon the bed. she had never moved after that--not even when little harry had called to her, and had lain crying and moaning on the floor. the children thought she was asleep, and by and by harry had gone to sleep too. they had slept together on the floor, huddled together in helpless misery and confusion of mind, until awakened by the ceaseless wailing of the baby, which never roused their mother. they were too much bewildered and weakened to make any attempt to call for help, and were just waiting for what would happen, when gertrude had come amongst them like an angel of mercy. her tears fell fast as the story was told, but the children had shed all theirs. they were comforted now, feeling as though something good had happened, and they crept about her and clung round her, begging her not to leave them. nor had she any wish to do so. it seemed to her as though this must surely be her place for the present--amongst these helpless little ones to whom providence had sent her in the hour of their extreme necessity. the baby was sleeping in her arms. she looked down into its tiny face, and wondered if it would be possible that its life could be saved. for a whole night it had lain at its dead mother's side. could it have escaped the contagion? the three older children appeared well, and even grew merry as the hours wore slowly away. from time to time gertrude looked out into the street, but there was nothing to be seen save the men on guard; and only from time to time was the silence broken by the cry of some delirious patient, or a shriek for mercy from some half-demented woman driven frantic by the terrors by which she was surrounded. when afternoon came, she prepared more food for the children, and partook of it with them, and wondered how and where she should spend the night. the infant in her arms had grown strangely still and quiet. it could not be roused, and breathed slowly and heavily. "harry looked just like that before he went to sleep," said the eldest of the children, coming and peeping into the small waxen face; and gertrude gave a little involuntary shiver as she thought of the four still forms lying sleeping upstairs, and wondered whether this would make a fifth for the bearers to carry forth at night. just as the dusk began to fall, there came the sound of a slight parley without. then the key turned in the house door, and the next minute, to gertrude's unspeakable relief, dinah entered the room. "my poor child, did you think i was never coming to you?" "i did not know if you could," answered gertrude. "oh, tell me, what must i do for all these little ones--and for the baby? is he dying too? it is so long since he has moved. i am afraid to look at him lest i disturb him, but--but--" dinah bent over the little form, and lifted it gently from gertrude's arms. "poor little lamb, its troubles are all over," she said, after a few moments. "the little ones often go like that--quite peacefully and quietly. it has not suffered at all. it has been a gentle and merciful release. you need not weep for it, my child." "i think my tears are for the living rather than for the dead," answered gertrude, with brimming eyes. "there are but three left out of seven living yesterday, and what is to become of them?" "we must report their case to the authorities. there are numbers of poor children left thus orphaned, and it is hard to know what will become of them. i will send at once to my brother-in-law, and report the matter to him. he will know what it were best to do. meantime i shall remain here with you. janet is busy next door. her patient is mending, and none besides in the house is sick. but oh, the things i have seen and heard this day! there is not one living now in the house to which i went first, and i have seen ten men and women die since i saw you last. "god alone knows how it is to end. it seems as though his hand were outstretched, and as though the whole city were doomed!" chapter ix. joseph's plan. "ben, boy, i am sick to death of sitting at home doing naught, and seeing naught of all the sights that be abroad, and of which men are for ever speaking. what boots it to be alive, if one is buried or shut up as we are? art thou afraid to come forth? or shall i go alone?" "where wilt thou go, brother?" asked ben, looking up from a bit of wood carving upon which he was engrossed, with an eager light in his eyes. perhaps these two young lads had felt the calamity which had befallen the city more than any one else in the house; for whilst the father, mother, sisters, and two elder sons were all hard at work doing all in their power for the relief of the sick, the younger lads were kept at home, to be as far as possible out of harm's way, and they had felt the confinement and idleness as most irksome. their mother employed them about the house when she could, but it was not much she could find for them to do. to be sure there was some amusement to be found in watching the life on the river; for though traffic was suspended, many whole families were living on board vessels moored on the river, and hoped by this device to keep the plague away from them. yet the time hung very heavy on their hands, and the stories of the increasing ravages of the plague could not but depress them, seeming as they did to lengthen out indefinitely the time of their captivity. three of the sisters were practically living away from the house (of which more anon), and the loneliness of the silent house was becoming unbearable. to lads used to an active life and plenty of exercise, the distemper itself seemed a less evil than this close confinement between four walls. the bridge houses did not even possess yards or strips of garden, and without venturing out into the streets--which had for some weeks been forbidden by their father--the boys could not stir beyond the walls of their home. august had now come, a close, steaming, sultry august, and the plague was raging with a virulence that threatened to destroy the whole city. the bills of mortality week by week were appalling in magnitude; and yet those who knew best the condition of the lower courts and alleys were well aware that no possible record could be kept of those crowded localities, where whole households and families, even whole streets, were swept away in the course of a few days, and where there were sometimes none left to give warning and notice that there were dead to be borne away. so the registered deaths could only show a certain proportionate accuracy; for even the dead carts could keep no reckoning of the numbers they bore to the common grave, and the bearers themselves were too often stricken down in the performance of their ghastly duties, and shot by their comrades into the pit amongst those whom they had carried forth an hour before. it was small wonder that the father had forbidden his younger sons to adventure themselves in the streets, where the pestilence seemed to hang in the very air. but the magnitude of the peril was beginning to rob even the most cautious persons of any confidence in their methods, for it seemed as if those working hardest amongst the sick and dead were quite as much preserved from peril as those who shunned their neighbours and never came abroad unless dire necessity compelled them. indeed, despite many deaths of individuals, it began to be noted that the magistrates, aldermen, examiners of health, and nurses of the plague-stricken sickened and died less, in proportion, than almost any other class. and of the physicians who remained at their posts to tend the sick, not many died, although some few here and there were stricken, and of these a certain proportion succumbed. but, as a whole, the workers who toiled with a good heart and gentle spirit amongst the sick (not just for daily bread or love of gain) fared better in the prevailing mortality than many others who held themselves aloof and lived in deadly fear of the pestilence. wherefore it was not strange that at the last a sort of recklessness was bred amongst the citizens, and they kept themselves less close now when things were in so terrible a pass than they had done when the deaths were fewer and the conditions less fatal. james harmer had always been one of those who had put his confidence more in the providence of god than in any merely human precautions, and although he had always insisted upon prudence and care, he had steadily discouraged in his household any of that feeling of panic or of despair which he believed had been a strong factor in the spread of the distemper in its earlier stages. he also agreed in part with lady scrope's views regarding the water supply of the city--the old wells and the contaminated river water. he let nothing be drunk in his house save what was supplied from the new river, and he impressed the same advice upon all his neighbours. but to return to the boys and their weariness of the shut-up life of the house. the heat had grown intolerable, their pining after fresh air and liberty was become too strong for resistance. benjamin's eyes glowed at the very thought of escape from the region of streets and shut-up houses, and he drank in the sense of his brother's words eagerly. "hark ye," cried joseph, in a rapid undertone, for they did not wish their mother to overhear them, she being by many degrees more fearful than their father, as was but natural, "why should we stay pent up here day after day and week after week, when even the girls be permitted abroad, and go into the very heart of the peril? we cannot be nurses to the sick, i know right well; neither can we help to search houses, or do such like things, as the elder ones. but why do we tarry at home eating our hearts out, when the whole world is before us, and there be such wondrous things to see? "listen, ben. i have a plan. let us but once get free of this house, and be our own masters, and we will wander about london as we will, and see those things of which all men be speaking. i long to look into one of those yawning pits where they shoot the dead, and to see the grass growing in the city, and to hear some of those strange preachers who go about prophesying in the streets. i long for liberty and freedom. i would sooner die of the plague at last than fret my heart out shut up here. and we may be smitten as well at home as abroad, as even father says himself." "why, so we may; and methinks more are smitten so than those who go forth and breathe the air without!" cried benjamin. "our aunt lives amongst the dying, but she is not smitten; and the girls are ever in peril, but they live on, whilst others are taken. but will our father let us go forth? for i would not like to go unless he bid us." "nay, nor i," answered joseph quickly, for reverence for their father was a strong sentiment in all james harmer's sons and daughters; "we will strive to win his consent and blessing to our going forth; but we need not say all that we purpose doing when we are free. for, indeed, it may well be that we shall meet with many hindrances. they say that the roads leading away from the city are all closely watched, that no infected person is able to pass, and that many sound ones are turned back lest they bring the infection with them." "then how shall we get out?" asked benjamin; but joseph nodded his head wisely, and said he had a plan. before, however, he could further enlighten his brother they heard their father's footfall on the stair, and he came in looking weary and sad, as it was inevitable that he should, coming as he did into personal contact with so much misery, sickness, and death. there was always refreshment ready for the workers at any hour of the day when they should come in to seek it. the boys rushed off to get him such things as their mother had ready, and whilst he partook of the wholesome and appetising meal prepared for him, joseph burst out with his pent-up weariness of the shut-up life, his longing to be free of the house and the city, and his earnest desire that his father would permit him and benjamin to go forth and shift for themselves in the country until the terrible visitation was past. the father listened with a grave face. he too began to have a great fear that the whole city was doomed to be swept away, and although upheld in his resolve to do his duty, so long as he was able, by his strong and fervent faith in the goodness and mercy of god, he was disposed to the opinion that all who remained would in turn be carried off victims to the fearful pestilence. had he known from the beginning how terrible it would become in time, he sometimes said to himself, he would at least have made shift to send his family away; but now that they were engrossed in works of piety and charity, he could not feel it right to bid them cease their labours of love, nor did he feel any temptation to quit his own post. yet this made him the more ready to listen to the eager petition of his boys, and to consider the project which had formed itself in the quick brain of joseph. "father, i have thought of it so much these past days. we are sound in health. thou couldst get us the papers without which men say none can pass the watch upon the roads. with them we can sally forth, with a small provision of money and food, and make our way either by boat to the farm at greenwich where the other 'prentice boys live, and where there would be a welcome for us always, or else northward to our aunt beyond islington, who will be hungering for news of us, and who will be rejoiced, i am very sure, to give us a welcome and to hear of the welfare of all, even though we come to her from the land of the shadow of death." "ay, verily do ye!" exclaimed the father, whose phrase joseph had picked up and quoted. "heaven send that my poor sister be yet numbered among the living. i know not whether the fell disease has wrought havoc beyond the limits of the city in that direction; but at the first it raged more fiercely north and west than with us, and god alone knows who are taken and who are left!" "then, father, may we go?" asked benjamin, eagerly. the father looked from one boy to the other with the glance of one who thinks he may be looking his last upon some loved face. men had begun to grow used to the thought that when they left their homes in the morning they might return to them no more, or that they might return to find that one or more of their dear ones had been struck down and carried off in the course of a few hours. so terrible was the malignity of the disease, that often death supervened after a few hours, although others would linger--often in terrible suffering--for many days before death (or much more rarely, recovery) relieved them of their pain. this good man knew that if he let the lads go, he might never see them again. he or they might be victims before they met, and might see each other's face no more upon earth. yet he did not oppose the boys' plan. he knew how bad for them was this shut-up life, and how the very sense of fret and compulsory inactivity might predispose them to the contagion. if they could once get beyond the limits of the city, they might be far safer than they could be here. it would be a relief to have them gone--to think of them as living in safety in the fresh air of the country. moreover, it pleased him to think of sending a message of loving assurance to his favourite sister, who dwelt in the open country beyond the hamlet of islington. he felt assured that if she still lived she would have a warm welcome for his boys; and if the lads were well provided with money and wholesome food, they had wits enough to take care of themselves for a while, until they had found some asylum. in all the surrounding villages, as he well knew, were only too many empty houses and cottages. he knew that there was risk; but there was risk everywhere, and he felt sympathy with the lads for their eager desire to get free of their prison. the mother felt more fear, but she never interfered with the decisions of her husband. her tears fell as she packed up in very small compass a few articles of clothing and some provisions for the lads. their father furnished them with money, the bulk of which was sewn up in their clothing, and with those health passes which were so needful for those leaving the infected city. the summer's night was really the best time in which to commence a journey. the heat of the streets by day was intolerable, the danger of encountering infected persons was greater, whilst although it was at night that the dead carts went about, these could be easily avoided, as the warning bell and mournful cry gave ample notice of their approach. last thing of all, after the boys had partaken of an ample supper, and had shed a few natural tears at the thought that it might be the last meal ever eaten beneath the roof of the old home, the father knelt down and commended them solemnly to the care of him in whose hands alone lay the issues of life and death. then he blessed the boys individually, charged them to take every reasonable care, and finally escorted them down to the door, which he carefully opened, and after ascertaining that the road was quite clear, he walked with them as far as the end of the bridge, and dismissed them on their way with another blessing. much sobered by the scenes through which they had passed, yet not a little elated by the quick and successful issue to their demand, the boys looked each other in the face by the light of the great yellow moon, and nipped each other by the hand to make sure it was not all a dream. how strange the sleeping city looked beneath that pale white light! the boys had hardly ever been abroad after nightfall, and never during this sad strange time, when even by day all was so different from what they had been used to see. now it did indeed look like a city of the dead, for not even an idle roisterer, or a drunkard stumbling homewards with uncertain gait, was to be seen. the watchmen, sleeping or trying to sleep within the porches or upon the doorsteps of certain houses, were the only living beings to be seen; and even they were few and far between in this locality, for almost every house was shut up and empty, the inhabitants of many having fled before the distemper became so bad, and others having all died off, leaving the houses utterly vacant. "let us go and see the house where janet and rebecca and mistress gertrude dwell," said benjamin, as they watched their father's figure vanish in the distance, and felt themselves quite alone in the world; "perchance one of them may be waking, and may look forth from the window if we throw up a pebble. i would fain say a farewell word to them ere we go forth, for who knows whether we may see them again?" "ay, verily, we may be dead or else they," said joseph, but in the tone of one who has grown used to the thought. "this way then; the house lies hard by, next door to my lady scrope's. who would have thought that that cross old madwoman would have turned so kindly disposed towards the poor and sick as she hath done?" there were many amongst her former friends and acquaintances who would have asked that question, had they been there to ask it. lady scrope had never been credited with charitable feelings; and yet it was her doing that a large house, her own property, next door to the small one she chose to inhabit, had been made over to the magistrates and authorities of the city at this time, for the housing of orphaned children whose parents had perished of the plague, and who were thrown upon the charity of strangers, or upon those entrusted with the care of the city at this crisis. true, the house was standing empty and desolate. its tenants had fled, taking their goods with them. all that was left of plenishing belonged to lady scrope. pallets were easily provided by the officers of health, and the place was speedily filled with little children, who were tenderly cared for by gertrude, janet, and rebecca (who had joined her sister in this labour of love), all three having given themselves up to this work, and finding their hands too full to desire other occupation abroad. joseph and benjamin had of course heard all about this, and knew exactly where to find the house. it was marked with the red cross, for, as was inevitable, many of the little inmates were carried off by the fell disease after admission, and the numbers were constantly thinning and being replaced by fresh ones. but hitherto the nurses themselves had been spared, and toiled on unremittingly at their self-chosen work. there was no watchman at the door as the boys stole up, but they had scarcely been there ten seconds before a window was thrown up, and janet's voice was heard exclaiming, "andrew, art thou yet returned?" "there is nobody here, sister," answered joseph, "save ben and me. we are come to say farewell, for we are going forth this night from the city, to seek safety with our aunt in islington. can we do aught for you ere we go?" "alas, it is the dead cart of which we have need tonight," answered janet. "we sent the watchman for physic, but it is needed no longer. the little ones are dead already--three of them, and only one ill this morning. "ah, brothers, glad am i to hear ye be going. god send you safety and health; and forget not to pray for us in the city when ye are far away. may he soon see fit to remove his chastening hand! it is hard to see the little ones suffer." janet's voice was quiet and calm, but benjamin burst into tears at the sound of her words, and at the thought of the little dead children; but she leaned out and said kindly: "nay, nay, weep not, ben, boy; let us think that they are taken in mercy from the evil to come. but linger not here, dear brothers. who knows that contagion may not dwell in the very air? go forth with what speed you may. "ah, there is the bell! the cart is on its way! and here comes good andrew back. now he will do all that we need. fare you well, brothers. rebecca is sleeping tonight, and i would not wake her. i will give her your farewell love tomorrow." she waved them away, and they withdrew; but a species of fascination kept them hanging round the spot. moreover, they feared to meet the death cart in that narrow thoroughfare, and the porch of the church of allhallowes the less was in close proximity. the iron gate was open, and they were quickly able to hide themselves in the porch, from whence by peeping out they could see all that passed. nearer and nearer came the sound of the rumbling wheels and the bell, and now the cry, "bring forth your dead! bring forth your dead!" was clearly to be heard through the still air. round the corner came the strange conveyance, drawn by two weary-looking horses; and at some signal from the inmates it drew up at the door of the house in front of which the boys had been standing a minute before. the watchman brought out three little shrouded forms. they were laid upon the top of the awful pile, and the cart with its heavy load rumbled away, the bell no longer ringing, because there was no room for more upon that journey. the boys stood with hands closely locked together, for although they had heard of these things before, they had never seen the sight. their bedroom at home looked out upon the river, and the dead cart only went about at night. they trembled at the thought which came to them, that had they been numbered amongst the dead during this terrible visitation they too had been carried in that fashion to their last resting place. "come, ben, let us be going," said joseph, recovering himself first; "we need not linger in the city if we like it not. there may be strange things to see in all truth; but if we have no stomach for them, why let us make our way northward with all speed. we can leave all this behind us by daybreak an we will." taking hands, and feeling their courage return as they walked on, the brothers passed along the silent streets. sometimes a window would be opened from above, and a doleful voice would cry aloud in grief or anguish of mind, or some command would be shouted to the watchman beneath, or there would be a piercing cry for the dead cart as it rumbled by. the boys at last grew used to the sound of the bell and the wheels. go where they would they could not avoid hearing one or another as the men went about their dismal errand. it seemed less terrible after a time than it had done at first, and the bold spirit within them came back. they wended their way northward, avoiding the narrower thoroughfares and keeping to the broader streets. even these were often very narrow and ill smelling, so that the brothers had recourse to their vinegar bottle or swallowed a spoonful of venice treacle before venturing down. once they were forced to turn aside out of their way to avoid a heap of corpses that had been brought out from a narrow alley to wait for the cart. they had heard of such things before, but to see them was tenfold more terrible. yet the spirit of adventure took possession of them as they passed along, and they were less afraid even of the most terrible things than they had been of lesser ones at starting. in passing near to the little church of st. margaret's, lothbury, they were attracted by the sound of a voice crying out as if in excitement or fear. being filled with curiosity in spite of their fears, they turned in the direction of the sound, and came upon a man clutching hard at the railings of the little churchyard, which like all others in that part was now filled to overflowing, and closed for burials, the dead being taken to the great pits dug in various places. night though it was, there was a small crowd of persons gathered round the railings, all peering in with eager faces, whilst the voice of the man at the corner kept calling out: "see! see! there she goes! she stands there by yon tall tombstone waving her arms over her head! now she is wringing her hands, and weeping again. "o my wife, my wife! do you not know me? i am here, margaret, i am here! weep not for the children who are dead; weep for unhappy me, who am left alive. ay, it is for the living that men should weep and howl. the dead are at peace--their troubles are over; but our agony is yet to come. "margaret! margaret! look at me! pity me! "ah, she will not hear! she turns away! see, she is gliding hither and thither seeking the graves of her children-- "margaret! i could not help it. they would not let them lie beside thee! they took them away in the cart. i would have sprung in after them, but they held me back. "ah, woe is me! woe is me! there is no place for me either among the living or the dead. all turn from me alike!" the tears rolled down the poor man's face, his voice was choked with sobs. he still continued to point and to cry out, and to address some imaginary being whom he declared was wandering amongst the tombs. the boys pressed near to look, for some in the crowd suddenly made exclamations as though they had caught a glimpse of the phantom; but look as they would the brothers saw nothing, and joseph asked of an elderly man in the little crowd what it all meant. "methinks it means only that yon poor fellow has lost his reason," he answered, shaking his head. "his wife was one of the first to die when the distemper broke out; and men called it only a fever, though some said she had the tokens on her. she was buried here. and it is but a week since the last of his children was taken--six in two weeks; and he has escaped out of his house, and wanders about the streets, and comes here every night, saying that he sees his dead wife, and that she is looking for her children, and cannot find them because they are lying in the plague pit. he is distraught, poor fellow; but many men gather night by night to hear him. "for my part, i will come no more. men are best at home in their own houses; and you lads had best go home as fast as you can. it is no place and no hour for boys to be abroad." joseph and benjamin said a civil goodnight to the man, and taking hands bent their steps northward once again. they were now close to the open moor fields; and although there was still another region of houses to be passed upon the other side, they felt that when once they had passed the gate and the walls they should have left the worst of the peril behind them. chapter x. without the walls. only one trifling incident befell the boys before they found themselves without the city gate. they were proceeding down coleman street towards moor gate, where they knew they should have to show their pass, and perhaps have some slight trouble in getting through, and were rehearsing such things as they had decided to tell the guard at the gate, when the sound of a dismal howling smote upon their ears, and they paused to look about them, for the street was very still, and almost every house seemed deserted and empty. the sound came again, and joseph remarked: "'tis some poor dog who perchance has lost master and home. there be only too many such in the city they say. they throw them by scores into the river to be rid of them; but i have heard father say that it is an ill thing to do, and likely to spread the contagion instead of checking it. alive, the poor beasts do no ill; but their carcasses poison both the water and the air. beshrew me, but he makes a doleful wailing!" going on cautiously through the darkness, for the moon was veiled behind some clouds, the brothers presently saw, lying just outside a shut-up house, a long still form wrapped in a winding sheet, put out ready for one of the many carts that passed up the street on the way to the great pits in bunhill and finsbury fields. whether the corpse was that of a man or a woman the boys could not tell. they made a circuit round it to avoid passing near. but beside the still figure squatted a little dog of the turnspit variety, and he was awakening the echoes of the quiet street by his lugubrious howls. both the brothers were fond of animals, and particularly of dogs, and they paused after having passed by, and tried to get the creature to come to them; but though he paused for a moment in his wailing, and even wagged his tail as though in gratitude for the kind words spoken, he would not leave his post beside the corpse, and the boys had perforce to go on their way. "the dumb brute could teach a lesson in charity to many a human being," remarked joseph, gravely; "he will not leave his dead master, and they too often flee away even from the living. poor creature, how mournful are his cries! i would that we could comfort him." at the gate they were stopped and questioned. they told a straightforward and truthful tale; their pass was examined and found correct; and their father's name being widely known and respected for his untiring labours in the city at this time, the boys were treated civilly enough and wished god speed and a safe return. they were the more quickly dismissed that the sound of wheels rumbling up to the gate made itself heard, and the guard darted hastily away into his shelter. "these plague carts will be the death of us, passing continually all the night through with their load," he said. "best be gone before it comes through, lads. it carries death in its train." the boys were glad enough to make off, and found themselves for the time being free of houses in the pleasant open moor fields, which were familiar to them as the favourite gathering place of shopmen and apprentices on all high days and holidays. the moon shone down brightly again, although near her setting now; but before long the dawn would begin to lighten in the east, and the boys cared no whit for the semi-darkness of a summer's night. behind them still came the rumble of wheels, and they drew aside to let the cart pass with its dreadful cargo. behind it ran a small black object, and benjamin exclaimed: "it is the little dog! o brother, let us follow and see what becomes of him!" the strange curiosity to see the burying place, which tempted only too many to their death in those perilous days, was upon joseph at that moment. he desired greatly to see one of those plague pits, and to watch the emptying of the cart at its mouth. forgetting their father's warnings, the brothers ran quickly after the cart, which was easily kept in view, and soon saw it halt and turn round at a spot where they could discern the outline of a great mound of earth, and the black yawning mouth of what they knew must be the pit. half terrified, half fascinated, they gripped each other by the hand and crept step by step nearer. they took care to keep to the windward of the pit, and were getting very near to it when the air was rent by another of the doleful cries which they had heard before, but which sounded so strange and mournful here that they stopped short in terror at the noise. it seemed even to affect the nerves of the bearers, for one of them exclaimed: "it is that cur again, who has left the marks of his teeth in my hand. if i could but get near him with my cudgel, he should never howl again." "i thought we had rid ourselves of the brute, but he must have followed us. a plague upon his doleful voice! they say that it bodes ill to hear a dog's howl at night. perchance he will leap down into the pit after his master. we will take good care he comes not forth again if he does that." with these words the rough fellows turned to the cart, which was now at the edge of the pit, and finished the rude burial which was all that could in those days be given to the dead. every now and then one of the men would aim a heavy stone at the poor dog, who sat on the edge of the pit howling dismally. the creature, however, was never hit, for he kept a respectful distance from his enemies. their work done, the men got into the cart and drove away, without having noticed the two boys crouching beside the pile of soil in the shadow. the dog began running backwards and forwards along the edge of the pit, which being only lately dug was still deep, though filling up very fast in these terrible days of drought and heat. the boys rose up and called to him kindly. he did not notice them at first, but finally came, and looked up in their faces with appealing eyes, as though he begged of them to give him back his master. "touch him not, ben," said joseph to his brother, who would have taken the dog into his embrace, "he has been in a plague stricken house. let us coax him to yon pool, and wash him there; and then, if he will go with us, we will take him and welcome. it may be he will be a safeguard from danger; and it would be sorrowful indeed to leave him here." the dog was divided in mind between watching the pit's mouth and going with the kindly-spoken boys, who coaxed and called to him; but at last it seemed as though the loneliness of the place, and the natural instinct of the canine mind to follow something human, prevailed over the other instinct of watching for the return of his master from this strange resting place. perhaps the journey in the cart and the promiscuous burial had confused the poor beast's mind as to whether indeed his master lay there at all. with many wistful glances backwards, he still followed the boys; and when they paused at length beside a spring of fresh water, he needed little urging to jump in and refresh himself with a bath, emerging thence in better spirits and ravenously hungry, as they quickly found when they opened their wallet and partook of a part of the excellent provisions packed up for them by their mother. the young travellers were by this time both tired and sleepy, and finding near by a soft mossy bank, they lay down and were quickly asleep, whilst the dog curled himself up contentedly at their feet and slept also. when the boys awoke the sun was up, although it was still early morning. they were bewildered for a few moments to know where they were, but memory quickly returned to them, and with it a sense of exhilaration at being no longer cooped up within the walls of a house, but out in the open country, with the world before them and the plague-stricken city behind. even the presence of the dog, who proved to be a handsome and intelligent member of his race, black and tan in colour, with appealing eyes and a quick comprehension of what was spoken to him, added greatly to the pleasure of the lads. they gave their new companion the name of fido, as a tribute to his affection for his dead master; but they were very well pleased that he did not carry his fidelity to the pass of remaining behind by the great pit when they started forth to pursue their way to their aunt's house beyond islington. fido ran backwards and forwards for a while whining and looking pathetically sorrowful; but after the boys had coaxed and caressed him, and had explained many times over that his master could not possibly come back, he seemed to resign himself to the inevitable, and trotted at their heels with drooping tail, but with gratitude in his eyes whenever they paused to caress him or give him a kind word. and they were glad enough of his company along the road, for from time to time they met groups of very rough-looking men prowling about as though in search of plunder. some of these fellows eyed the wallets carried by the boys with covetous glances; but on such occasions fido invariably placed himself in front of his young masters, and with flashing eyes and bristling back plainly intimated that he was there to protect them, whilst the gleaming rows of shining teeth which he displayed when he curled up his lips in a threatening snarl seemed to convince all parties that it was better not to provoke him to anger. the more open parts of the region without the walls looked very strange to the boys as they journeyed onwards. numbers of tents were to be seen dotted about finsbury and moor fields and whole families were living there in the hope of escaping contagion. country people from regions about came daily with their produce to supply the needs of these nomads; and it was curious to see the precautions taken on both sides to avoid personal contact. the villagers would deposit their goods upon large stones set up for the purpose; and after they had retired to a little distance, some persons from the tents or scattered houses would come and take the produce, depositing payment for it in a jar of vinegar set there to receive it. after it had thus lain a short time, the vendor would come and take it thence; but some were so cautious that they would not place it in purse or pocket till they had passed it through the fire of a little brazier which they had with them. nor was it to be wondered at that the country folks were thus cautious, for the contagion had spread throughout all the surrounding districts, and every village had its tale of woe to tell. at first the people had been kind and compassionate enough in welcoming and harbouring apparently sound persons fleeing from the city of destruction; but when again and again it happened that the wayfarer died that same night of the plague in the house which had received him, and infected many of those who had showed him kindness, so that sometimes a whole family was swept away in two or three days, it was no wonder that they were afraid of offering hospitality to wayfarers, and preferred that these persons should encamp at a distance from them, though they were willing to supply them with the necessaries of life at reasonable charges. it must be spoken to the credit of the country people at this time, that they did not raise the price of provisions, as might have been expected, seeing the risk they ran in taking them to the city. there was no scarcity and hardly any advance in price throughout the dismal time of visitation. this was doubtless due, in part, to the wise and able measures taken by the magistrates and city corporations; but it also redounds to the credit of the villagers, that they did not strive to enrich themselves through the misfortunes of their neighbours. the boys were glad to purchase fruit and milk for a light breakfast; and their fresh open faces and tender years seemed to give them favour wherever they went. they were not shunned, as some travellers found themselves at this time, but were admitted to several farm houses on their way, and regaled plentifully, whilst they told their tale to a circle of breathless listeners. sometimes they were stopped upon the way by the men told off to watch the roads, and turn back any coming from the city who had not the proper pass of health. but the boys, being duly provided with this, were always suffered to proceed after some parley. they began, however, to understand how difficult a thing it had now become to escape from the infected city; and several times they saw travellers turned back because their passes were dated a few days back, and the guard declared it impossible to know what infection they had encountered since. very sad indeed were these poor creatures at being, as it were, sent back to their death. for it began to be rumoured all about the city that not a living creature would escape who remained there. it was said that god's judgments had gone forth, and that the whole place would be given over to destruction, even as sodom, and that none who remained in it would be left alive. this sort of talk made the brothers very anxious and sorrowful, but, as joseph sought to remind his brother, the people who said these things had nothing better to go by than the prognostications of old women or quacks and astrologers, whom their father had taught them to disbelieve. he had always taught them that god alone knew the future and the thing that he would do, and that it was folly and presumption on the part of man to seek to penetrate his counsels, and venture to prophesy things which he had not revealed. so they plucked up heart, these two youthful wayfarers, firmly believing that god would take care of their father and all those who were working in the cause of mercy and charity in the great city, and that they could leave the issues of these things in his hands. since the day was very hot, and they were somewhat weary with their long walk and short night, they lay down at noontide in a little wood, not more than three miles from their aunt's house in islington, and there they slept again, with fido at their feet, until the sun was far in the west, and they were ready to finish their journey in the cool freshness of the evening. they had come by no means the nearest way, but had fetched a wide circuit, so as to avoid, as far as possible, all regions of outlying houses. time was no particular object to them, so that they reached their destination by nightfall; and now they were quite in the open country, and delighting in the pure air and the rural sights and sounds. yet even here all was not so happy and smiling as appeared from the face of nature. the corn was standing ripe for the sickle, but in too many districts there were not hands enough to reap it. one beautiful field of wheat which the brothers passed was shedding the golden grain from the ripened ears, and flocks of birds were gathering it up. when they passed the farmstead they saw the reason for this. not a sign of life was there about the place. no cattle lowed, no dog barked; and an old crone who sat by the wayside with a bundle of ripe ears in her lap shook her head as she saw the wondering faces of the boys, and said: "all dead and gone! all dead and gone! alive one day--dead the next! the plague carried them off, every one of them, harvest hands and all. they say it was the men who came to cut the corn that brought it. but who can tell? they got yon field in"--pointing to one where the golden stubble was to be seen short and compact--"but half were dead ere ever it was down; and then the sickness fell upon the house, and of those who did not fly not one remains. lord have mercy upon us! we be all dead men if he come not to our aid. who knows whose turn may come next?" truly the shadow of death seemed everywhere. but the boys were so used to dismal tales of wholesale devastation that one more or less did not seem greatly to matter. perhaps the contrast was the more sharp out here between the smiling landscape and the silent, shut-up house; but the chief fear which beset them was lest their kind aunt should have been taken by death, in which case they scarcely knew what would become of themselves. they hastened their steps as they entered the familiar lane where nestled the thatched cottage in which their aunt had her abode. mary harmer was their father's youngest and favourite sister. once she had made one of the home party on the bridge; but that was long before the boys could remember. that was in the lifetime of their grandparents, and before the old people resigned their business to the able hands of their son james, and came into the country to live. the grandfather of joseph and benjamin had built this cottage, and he and his wife had lived in it from that time till the day of their death. their daughter mary remained still in the pretty, commodious place--if indeed she had not died during the time of the visitation. the children all loved their aunt mary, and esteemed a visit to her house as one of the greatest of privileges. benjamin, who was rather delicate, had once passed six months together here, and was called by mary harmer "her boy." he grew excited as he marked every familiar turn in the shady lane; and when at last the thatched roof of the rose-covered cottage came in sight, he uttered a shout of excitement and ran hastily forward. the diamond lattice panes were shining with their accustomed cleanliness. there was no sign of neglect about the bright little house. the door stood open to the sunshine and the breeze; and at the sound of benjamin's cry, a figure in a neat cotton gown and large apron appeared suddenly in the doorway, whilst a familiar voice exclaimed: "now god be praised! it is my own boy. two of them! thank heaven for so much as this!" and running down the garden path, mary harmer folded both the lads in her arms, tears coursing down her cheeks the while. "god bless them! god bless them! how i have longed for news of you all! what news from home bring you, dear lads? i tremble almost to ask, but be it what it may, two of you are alive and well; and in times like these we must needs learn to say, 'thy will be done!'" "we are all alive, we are all well!" cried joseph, hastening to relieve the worst of his aunt's fears. "some say ours is almost the only house in london where there be not one dead. i scarce know if that be true. one or two of us have been sick, and some say that janet and dan have both had a touch of the distemper; but they soon were sound again. they all go about amongst the sick. father has been one of the examiners all the time through; and though they only appoint them for a month, he will not give up his office. he says that so long as he and his family are preserved, so long will he strive to do his duty towards his fellow men. there be many like him--our good lord mayor for one; and my lord craven, who will not fly, as almost all the great ones have done, but stays to help to govern the city wisely, and to see that the alms are distributed aright to the poor at this season. "but there was naught for us to do. we were too young to be bearers or searchers, and boys cannot tend the sick. so we grew weary past bearing of the shut-up house, and yestereve our father gave us leave to sally forth and seek news of thee, good aunt. and oh, we are right glad to find ourselves out of the city and safe with thee!" joseph spoke on, because mary harmer was weeping so plenteously with joy and gratitude that she had no words in which to answer him. she had not dared to hope that she should see again any of the dear faces of her kinsfolk. true, the distemper was yet raging fiercely, and none could say when the end would come; but it was much to know that they had lived in safety through these many weeks. it seemed to the pious woman as though god had given her a sort of pledge of his special mercy to her and hers, and that he would not now fail them. she led the boys into her pretty, cheerful cottage, and set them down to the table, where she quickly had a plentiful meal set before them. fido's pathetic story was told, and he was caressed and fed in a fashion that altogether won his heart. he made them all laugh at his method of showing gratitude; for he walked up to the fire before which a bit of meat was cooking, and plainly intimated his desire to be allowed to turn the spit if they would give him the needful convenience. this being done by the handy benjamin, he set to his task with the greatest readiness, and the boys quite forgot all their sorrowful thoughts in the entertainment of watching fido turn the spit. long did they sit at table, eating with the healthy appetite of growing lads, and answering their aunt's minute questions as to the welfare of every member of the household. greatly was she interested in the home for desolate children provided by lady scrope, and ordered by her nieces and gertrude. she told the boys that her house had often been used to shelter homeless and destitute persons, whom charity forbade her to send away. just now she was alone; but even then she was not idle, for all round in the open fields and woods persons of all conditions were living encamped, and some of these had hardly the necessaries of life. out of her own modest abundance, mary harmer supplied food and clothing to numbers of poor creatures, who might otherwise be in danger of perishing; and she bid the boys be ready to help her in her labour of love, because she had ofttimes more to do than one pair of hands could accomplish, and her little serving girl had run off in alarm the very first time she opened her door to a poor sick lady with an infant in her arms, who had escaped from the city only to die out in the country. it was not the plague that carried her off, but lung disease of long standing, and the infant did not survive its mother many days. "but it frightened sally away, poor child, just as if it had been the sickness; and i have since heard that she was taken with it a month ago in her own home, and that every one there died within three days. these be terrible times! but we know they are sent by god, and that he will help us through them; and surely, i think, it cannot be his will that we turn a deaf ear to the plaints of the afflicted, and think of naught but our own safety. i have work and enough to do, and will find you enough to fill your hands, boys. it was a happy thought indeed which sent you two hither to me." chapter xi. love in difficulties. "it means that i am a ruined man, my poor girl!" "ruined! o father, how can that be? methought you were a man of much substance. mother always said so." gertrude looked anxiously into the careworn face of her father, which had greatly changed during the past weeks. he paid her occasional visits in her self-chosen home, being one of those who had ceased to fear contagion, and went about almost without precaution, from sheer indifference to the long-continued peril. he had been a changed man ever since the melancholy deaths of his son and his wife; but today a darker cloud than any she had seen there before rested upon his brow, and the daughter was anxious to learn the reason of it. this it was which had wrung from the master builder the foregoing confession. "your poor mother was partly right, and partly wrong. i might have been a rich man, i might be a rich man even now--terrible as is the state of trade in this stricken city--had it not been that she would have me adventure beyond my means in her haste to see me wealthy before my fellows. and the end of it is that i stand here today a ruined man!" gertrude held in her arms a little child, over whom she bent from time to time to assure herself that it slept. her face had grown pale and thin during her long confinement between the walls of this house; yet it was a happier and more contented face than it had been wont to be in the days when she lived in luxurious idleness at her mother's side. she looked many years older than she had done then, but there was a beauty and sweet serenity about her appearance now which had not been visible in the days of old. "what has happened during this sad time to ruin you, dear father?" asked gertrude gently, guessing that it would ease his heart to talk of his troubles. "is it the sudden stoppage of all trade?" "that has been serious enough. it would have done much harm had that been the only thing, but there be many, many other causes. thou art too young and unversed in the ways of business to understand all; but i was not content to grow rich in the course of business alone. i had ventures of all sorts afloat--on sea and on land; and through the death of patrons, through the sudden stoppage of all trade, numbers and numbers of these have come to no good. my money is lost; my loans cannot be recovered. men are dead or fled to whom i looked for payment. half-finished houses are thrown back on my hands, since half london is empty. and poor frederick's debts are like the sands upon the seashore. i cannot meet them, but i cannot let others suffer for his imprudence and folly. the old house on the bridge will have to go. i must needs sell it so soon as a purchaser can be found. it may be i shall have to hand it over to one of frederick's creditors bodily. i had thought to end my days there in peace, with my children's children round me. but the almighty is dealing very bitterly with me. wife and son are taken away, and now the old home must follow!" gertrude, who knew his great love for the house in which he had been born, well understood what a fearful wrench this would be, and her heart overflowed with compassion. "o father! must it be so? is there no way else? methought you had stores of costly goods laid by in your warehouses. surely the sale of those things would save you from this last step!" the master builder smiled a little bitterly. "truly is it said that wealth takes to itself wings in days of adversity. i myself thought as you do, child--at least in part; and today i visited my warehouses, to look over my goods and see what there were to fetch when men will dare to buy things which have lain within the walls of this doomed city all these months. i had the keys of the place. i myself locked them up when the plague forced me to close my warehouse and dismiss my men. i saw all made sure, as i thought, with my own eyes. but what think you i found there today?" "o father! what?" asked gertrude, and yet she divined the answer all too well; for she had heard stories of robbery and daring wickedness even during this season of judgment and punishment which prepared her for the worst. "that the whole place had been plundered; that there was nothing left of any price whatever. thieves have broken in during this time of panic, and have despoiled me of the value of thousands of pounds. whilst my mind has been full of other matters, my worldly wealth has been swept away. i stand here before you a ruined man. and like enough the very miscreants who have used this time of public calamity for plunder and lawlessness may be lying by this time in the common grave. but that will not give my property back to me." "alas, father, these are indeed evil days! but has no watch been kept upon the streets that such acts can be done by the evil disposed? is all property in the city at the mercy of the violent and wicked?" "only too much has vanished that same way, as i have heard from many. some owners are themselves gone where they will need their valuables no more, and others were careful to remove all they had to their own houses, or they themselves lived over their goods and could guard them by their presence. that is where my error lay. i gave your mother her will in this. she liked not the shop beneath, and i stored my goods elsewhere. poor woman, she is dead and gone; we will speak no hard things of her weaknesses and follies. but had she lived to see this day, she had grievously lamented her resolve to have naught about her to remind her of buying and selling." "ah, poor mother! i often think it was the happiest thing for her to be taken ere these fearful things came to pass. the terror would well nigh have driven her distracted. methinks she would have died of sheer fright. but, father, is all lost past recovery? can none of the watch or of the constables tell you aught, or help you to recover aught?" "ah, child, in these days of death, who is to know so much as where to carry one's questions? watchmen and constables have died and changed a score of times in the past two months. the magistrates do their best to keep order in the city, but who can fight against the odds of such a time as this? the very men employed as watchmen may be the thieves themselves. they have to take the services of almost any who offer. it is no time to pick and choose. i carried my story to the lord mayor himself, and he gave me sympathy and pity; but to look for the robbers is a hopeless task. it is most like that the plague pits have received them ere now. the mortality in the lower parts of the city is more fearful than it has ever been, and it seems as though the summer heats would never end. belike i shall be taken next, and then it will matter little that my fortune has taken unto itself wings." gertrude came and bent over him with a soft caress. "say not so, dear father. god has preserved us all this while. let us not distrust his love and goodness now." "it might be the greater mercy," answered the master builder in a depressed voice. "i am too old to start life again with nothing but my broken credit for capital. as for you, child, your future is assured. i could leave you happy in that thought. you would want for nothing." gertrude raised her eyes wonderingly to her father's face. she had laid the sleeping child in its cot, and had taken a place at her father's feet. "what mean you, father?" she asked. "i have only you in the wide world now. if you were to die, i should be both orphaned and destitute. what mean you by speaking of my future thus? whom have i in the wide world besides yourself?" the father passed his hand over her curly hair, and answered with a sigh and a smile: "surely, child, thou dost know by this time that the heart of reuben harmer is all thine own. he worships the very ground on which thou dost tread. his father and i have spoken of it. fortune has dealt more kindly with our neighbours than with me. good james harmer has laid by money, while i have adventured it rashly in the hope of large returns. this calamity has but checked his work for these months; when the scourge is past, he will reopen business once more, and will find himself but little the poorer. he is a wiser man than i have been; and his wife and sons have all been helpful to him. the love of reuben harmer is my assurance for thy future welfare. thou wilt never want so long as they have a roof over their heads. "nay, now what ails thee, child? why dost thou spring up and look at me like that?" for gertrude's usually tranquil face was ablaze now with all manner of conflicting emotions. she seemed for a moment almost too agitated to speak, and when she could command herself there were traces of great emotion in her voice. "father, father!" she cried, "how can you thus shame me? you must know with what unmerited scorn and contumely reuben was treated by poor mother when it was we who were rich and they who were (in her belief, at least) poor. she would scarce let him cross the threshold of our house. i have tingled with shame at the way in which she spoke of and to him. frederick openly insulted him at pleasure. every slight was heaped upon him; and he was once told to his very face that he might look elsewhere for a wife, for that my fortune was to win me the hand of some needy court gallant. yes, father, i heard with my own ears those very words spoken--save that the term 'needy' was added in mine own heart. oh, i could have shrunk into the earth with shame. and after all this, after all these insults and aspersions heaped upon him in the day of our prosperity--am i to be made over to him penniless and needy, without a shilling of dowry? am i to be thrown upon his generosity in my hour of poverty, when i was denied to him in my day of supposed wealth? "father, father! i cannot, i will not permit it. i can work for my own bread if needs must be. but i will not owe it to the generosity of reuben harmer, after all that has passed. i should be humbled to the very dust!" the master builder looked at his daughter in amaze. he had never seen gertrude quite so moved before. "why, child," he exclaimed in astonishment. "i always thought that thou hadst a liking for the youth!" then at that word gertrude burst suddenly into tears and cried: "i love him as mine own soul, and i am not ashamed to own it. but that is the very reason why i will have none of him now. i will not be thrown upon his generosity like a bundle of damaged goods. let him seek a wife who can bring him a modest fortune with her, and who has never been scornfully denied to him before. o father! can you not see that i can never consent to be his now? "o mother, mother! why did you do me this ill?" the father felt that the situation had got beyond him. never much versed in the ways of women, he was fairly puzzled by his daughter's strange method of taking his confidence. he knew, of course, of the tactics of his wife, which he had deplored at the time, though he had been unable to bring her to a better frame of mind; but since the young people liked each other, and since madam was in her grave, it seemed absurd to let a shadow stand between them and their happiness. perhaps if left to herself gertrude would reach that conclusion of her own accord, and the master builder rose to go without pressing the matter further. gertrude, left alone, was weeping silently and bitterly beside the child's cot, when she was aware of a little short laugh almost at her elbow, and a familiar voice said in sharp accents: "good child! i like a woman with a spirit of her own. go on as you have begun, and don't let him think he is to have it all his own way. lovers are all very well, but husbands soon show their wives how cheap they hold them when they have won them all too cheap. throw him aside in scorn! let him not think or see that you care a snap of the fingers for him. that will rivet the fetters all the faster; and when you have got him like a tame bear at the end of a chain--why then you can make up your mind at leisure what you will end by doing." gertrude sprang up suddenly, and faced lady scrope with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes. the little witch-like woman with her black-handled stick and her mobcap was no unfrequent visitor to this shut-up house. there was a communication between the two dwellings by means of a door in the cellars, and all this while curiosity, or some better motive, had prompted the eccentric old woman to come to and fro between her own luxurious house and this, paying visits to the devoted girls, and by turns terrifying and charming the children. gertrude had been interested from the first by the piquant individuality of the old aristocrat, and was a decided favourite with her. it was plain now that she had been listening to the conversation between father and daughter, a thing so characteristic of her curiosity and even of her benevolence that gertrude hardly so much as resented it. nevertheless, having a spirit of her own, and being by no means prepared to be dictated to in these matters, some hot words escaped her lips almost before she knew, and were answered by lady scrope by an amused peal of her witch-like laughter. "tut! tut! tut! hoity toity! but she is in a temper, is she, my lady? well a good thing too. your saints are insipid unless they can call up a spice of the devil on occasion! oh, don't you be afraid of me, child. i've known all about you and young harmer this long time. i agree with your late mother, that you could do better; but with all the world topsy turvy as it is now, we must take what we can get; and that young man is estimable without doubt, and a bit of a hero in his way. i don't blame you for loving him. it's the way with maids, and will be to the end of time, i take it. all i say is, don't throw yourself away too fast. show a proper pride. keep him dangling and fearing, rather than hoping too much. show him that he can't have you just for the asking. why, child, i have kept a dozen fools hanging round me for a twelvemonth together sometimes; but i only married when i was tired of the game, and when i knew i had made sure of a captive who would not rebel. i swore in church to obey poor scrope; but, bless you, he obeyed me like a lamb to the last day of his life--and was all the better for it." lady scrope's reminiscences and bits of worldly wisdom were not much more to gertrude's taste than her father's had been. it was not pride, but a sense of humiliation and shame, which kept her from facing the thought of marriage with reuben now that she was poor, when she had been scornfully denied to him when she was thought to be a well-dowered maiden. the idea of keeping him dangling after her in suspense was about the last that would ever have entered her head. her feeling was one of profound humiliation and unworthiness. her mother's bitter words could never be forgotten by her; and after what her father had told her of his ruined state, it appeared to her simply impossible that she should let reuben take possession of her and her future when she could bring nothing in return. but she could not speak of these things to lady scrope; and finding her favourite irresponsive and reserved, the dame shrugged her shoulders and passed on to another room, where the children were soon heard to utter shrieks and gasps of mingled delight and terror at the stories she told them, which stories invariably fascinated them to an extraordinary degree, yet left them with a sense of undefined horror that was half delightful, half terrible. they all thought that she was a witch, and that she could spirit any of them away to fairy land. but since she brought sweetmeats in her capacious pockets, and had an endless fund of stories at her disposal, her visits were always welcomed, and she had certainly shown herself capable of a most unsuspected benevolence at this crisis, in presenting this house to the authorities for such a purpose, and in contributing considerably to the maintenance of the desolate little inmates. she liked to hear their dismal stories almost as well as they liked to hear hers. she made a point of visiting every fresh batch of children, after they had been duly fumigated and disinfected, and she seemed to take a horrible and unnatural delight in the ghastly details of desolation and death which were revealed in the artless narratives of the children. she was one of those who, knowing much of the fearful corruption of the times, were fond of prognosticating this judgment as a sweeping away of the dregs of the earth; although she still maintained that had the water supply been purer and differently arranged, the judgment of heaven would have had to seek another medium. for three or four days gertrude lived in a state of feverish expectancy and subdued excitement. she had fancied from her father's tone in speaking that there had been some talk of a betrothal between him and his neighbour, and that reuben might take her consent for granted. the idea made her restless and unhappy. she wished the ordeal of refusing him over. she believed she was right in taking this step; but it was a hard one, and she was sometimes afraid of her own courage. the more she thought of the matter the more she convinced herself that reuben's love was one of compassion rather than true affection. he had almost ceased his attentions in her mother's lifetime, and had been very reserved in his intercourse of late. doubtless if he heard of her father's ruin, generosity would make him strive to do all that he could for her in her changed circumstances. it would be like him then to step forward and avow himself ready to marry her. but it was out of the question for her to consent. she wished the matter settled and done with; she wished the irrevocable words spoken. and yet when at dusk one evening reuben suddenly stood before her, she felt her heart beating to suffocation, and wished that she had any reasonable excuse for fleeing from him. his visits to the house were not frequent; he was too busy to make them so. but from time to time he brought orphaned children to the home of shelter, or took away from it some of those for whom other homes had been found with their kinsfolk in other places. tonight he had brought in three little destitute orphans; but having given them over into the care of his sisters, he went in search of gertrude, who was with the youngest of the children in a separate room, and, having sung them all to sleep, was sitting in the window thinking her own thoughts. she knew what was coming when she saw reuben's face, and braced herself to meet it. reuben was very quiet and self-restrained--so self-restrained that she thought she read in his manner an indication that her suspicion was correct, and that it was pity rather than love which prompted his proposal of marriage. as a matter of fact reuben was more in love with gertrude now than he had ever been in his life before; but he had come to look upon her as a being so far above him in every respect that he sometimes marvelled at himself for ever hoping to win her. the fact that her father was just now a ruined man seemed to him as nothing. at a time like this the presence or absence of this world's goods appeared absolutely trivial. reuben believed that the master builder would retrieve his fortune in better times without difficulty, and regarded this temporary reverse as absolutely insignificant. therefore he had no clue to gertrude's motive in her rejection of him, and accepted it almost in silence, feeling that it was what he always ought to have looked for, and marvelling at his temerity in seeking the hand of one who was to him more angel than woman. he said very little; he took it very quietly. it seemed to him as though all the life went out of him, and as though hope died within him for ever. but he scarcely showed any outward emotion as he rose and said farewell; and little did he guess how, when he had gone, gertrude flung herself on the floor in a passion of tears and sobbed till the fountain of her weeping was exhausted. "i was right! i was right! it was not love; it was only pity! but ah, how terrible it is to put aside all the happiness of one's life! oh i wonder if i have done wrong! i wonder if i could better have borne it if i had humbled myself to take what he had to offer, without thinking of anything but myself!" would he come again? would he try to see her any more? would this be the end of everything between them? gertrude asked herself these questions a thousand times a day; but a week flew by and he had not come. she had not seen a sign of him, nor had any word concerning him reached her from without. there was nothing very unusual in this, certainly; and yet as day after day passed by without bringing him, the girl felt her heart sinking within her, and would have given worlds for the chance of reconsidering her well-considered judgment. how the days went by she scarcely knew, but the next event in her dream-like life was the sudden bursting into the room of dorcas, her face flushed, and her eyelids swollen and red with weeping. dorcas was a member of lady scrope's household, but paid visits from time to time to the other house. also, as lady scrope's house was not shut up, she could go thence to pay a visit home at any time, and she had just come from one such visit now. gertrude sprang up at sight of her, asking anxiously: "dorcas! dorcas! what is wrong?" "reuben!" cried dorcas, with a great catch in her breath, and then she fell sobbing again as though her heart would break. gertrude stood like one turned to stone, her face growing as white as her kerchief. "what of reuben?" she asked, in a voice that she hardly knew for her own. "he is not--dead?" "pray heaven he be not," cried dorcas through her sobs; and then, with a great effort controlling herself, she told her brief tale. "i went home at noon today and found them all in sore trouble. reuben has not been seen or heard of for three days. mother says she had a fear for several days before that that something was amiss; he looked so wan, and ate so little, and seemed like one out of whom all heart is gone. he would go forth daily to his work, but he came home harassed and tired, and on the last morning she thought him sick; but he said he was well, and promised to come home early. then she let him go, and no one has seen him since. "oh, what can have befallen him? there seems but one thing to believe. they say the sickness is worse now than ever it was. people drop down dead in street and market, and soon there will be none left to bury them. that must have been reuben's fate. he has dropped down with the infection upon him, and if he be not lying in some pest house--which they say it is death now to enter--he must be lying in one of those awful graves. "o reuben! reuben! we shall never see you again!" chapter xii. exciting discoveries. joseph and benjamin found themselves exceedingly happy and exceedingly well occupied in their aunt's pleasant cottage. they rose every morning with the lark, and spent an hour in setting everything to rights in the house, and sweeping out every room with scrupulous care, as their mother had taught them to do at home, believing that perfect cleanliness was one of the greatest safeguards against infection. hot and close though the weather remained, the air out in these open country places seemed delicious to the boys, and the freedom to run out every moment into the open fields was in itself a privilege which could only be appreciated by those who had been long confined within walls. sometimes they were alone in the house with their aunt. sometimes the cottage harboured guests of various degrees--travellers fleeing from the doomed city in terror of the fearful mortality there, or poor unfortunates turned away from their own abodes because they were suspected of having been in contact with the sick, and were refused admittance again. servant maids were often put in this melancholy plight. they would be sent upon errands by their employers to the bake house or some other place; and perhaps ere they were admitted again they would be closely questioned as to what they had seen or heard. sometimes having terrible and doleful tales to tell of having seen persons fall down in the agonies of death almost at their feet, terror would seize hold upon the inmates of the house, who would refuse to open the door to one who might by this time be herself infected. and when this was the case, the forlorn creature was forced to wander away, and generally tried to find her way out of the city and into the country beyond. many such unlucky wights, having no passes, were turned back by the guardians of the road; but some succeeded in evading these men, or else in persuading them, and many such unfortunates had found rest and help and shelter beneath mary harmer's charitable roof. september was now come, but as yet there was no abatement of the pestilence raging in the city. indeed the accounts coming in of the virulence of the plague seemed worse than ever. ten thousand deaths were returned in the weekly bill for the first week alone, and those who knew the state of the city were of opinion that not more than two-thirds of the deaths were ever really reported to the authorities. hitherto the carts had never gone about save by night, and for all that was rumoured by those who loved to make the worst of so terrible a calamity, it was seldom that a corpse lay about in the streets for above a short while, just until notice of its presence there was given to the authorities. but now it seemed as though nothing could cope with the fearful increase of the mortality. the carts were forced to work by day as well as by night; and so virulent was now the pestilence that the bearers and buriers who had hitherto escaped, or had recovered of the malady and thought themselves safe, died in great numbers. so that there were tales of carts overthrown in the streets by reason of the drivers of them falling dead upon their load, or of driverless horses going of their own accord to the pits with their load. these terrible tales were reported to mary harmer and her nephews by the fugitives who sought refuge with her at this time. and very thankful did the lads feel to be free of the city and its terrors, albeit they never forgot to offer up earnest prayer for their father and mother and all their dear ones who were dwelling in the midst of so much peril. there was no hope of hearing news of them, save by hazard, whilst things were like this; but they trusted that the precautions taken, and hitherto successfully, would avert the pestilence from their dwelling, and for the rest the boys were too well employed to have time for brooding. when their daily work at home was done, there were always errands of mercy to be performed to neighbours who had had sickness at home, or to the persons encamped in the fields, who were very thankful of any little presents of vegetables or eggs or other necessaries; whilst others of larger means were glad to buy from those who came to sell, and gave good money for the accommodation. mary harmer had a large and productive garden and a large stock of poultry, so that she was able both to sell and to give largely; and the boys thought that working in the garden and looking after the fowls was the best sort of fun possible. they were exceedingly useful to her, and she kept them out of danger without fretting or curbing their eager spirit of usefulness. of course, no person in those days could act with unselfish charity and not adventure something; but she took all reasonable precautions, and, like her brother, trusted the rest to providence. and she believed that the boys were safer with her, even though not so closely restrained, than they would have been had they remained in the infected city, where the people now seemed to be dying like stricken sheep. but the spirit of curiosity and love of adventure were not dead within the hearts of the boys; and although for some weeks they were fully contented in performing the duties set them by their aunt, there were moments when a strong curiosity would come over them for some greater sensation, and this it was which led them to an act of disobedience destined to be fraught with important consequences, as will soon be seen. mary harmer's house was empty again, and she had promised to sit up for a night with a sick woman who lived some two miles off, and who had entreated her to come and see her. this was no case of plague, but fear of the infection had become so strong by this time that the sick were often rather harshly treated, and sometimes almost entirely neglected, by those about them. mary harmer had heard that this poor creature had been left alone by her son's wife, who had taken away her children and refused to go near her. mary knew that her presence there for a while, and her assurances as to the nature of the malady, would be most likely to bring the woman to reason, so she decided to go and remain for one whole night, and she left her own cottage in the charge of the boys, bidding them take care of everything, and expect her back again on the following afternoon. they were quite happy all that evening, seeing to the poultry, and running races with fido in the leafy lane. they liked the importance of the charge of the house, although they missed the gentle presence of their aunt. they shut up the house at dark, and prepared their simple supper, and whilst they were eating it, benjamin said: "what shall we do tomorrow when we have finished our work?" "i know what i should like to do," said joseph promptly. "what, brother?" asked benjamin eagerly. "marry, what i want to do is to go and see that farm house hard by clerkenwell which they have turned into a pest house, and where they say they have dozens of plague-stricken people brought in daily. i have never seen a pest house. i would fain know what it looks like. and we might get more news there of the truth of those things that they say about the plague in the city. ben, what sayest thou?" ben's eyes were round with wonder and excitement. the boys had all the careless daring and eager curiosity which belong to boy nature. they were by this time so much habituated to living under conditions of risk and a certain amount of peril, that a little more or a little less did not now seem greatly to matter. "would our good aunt approve?" asked the younger boy. "i trow not," answered joseph frankly; "women are always timid, and she would say, perchance, that unless duty called us it were foolish to adventure ourselves into danger. but i would fain see this place, ben, boy. if in time to come we live to be men, and folks ask us of these days of peril and sickness, i should like to have seen all that may be seen of these great things. our father went many times to the pest houses within the city and came away no worse. why should thou or i suffer? we have our vinegar bottles and our decoctions, and methinks we know enough now not to run needless risks." benjamin was almost as eager and curious as his brother. the spirit of adventure soon gets into the hearts of boys and runs riot there. before they went to bed they had fully decided to make the excursion; and they rose earlier next morning so as to get all their work done while it was yet scarce light, so that they might start for their destination before the heat of the day came on. it was pleasant walking through the dewy fields, and hard indeed was it to imagine that death and misery lurked anywhere in the neighbourhood of what was so smiling and gay. the boys knew what paths to take, nor was the distance very great. benjamin on his former visit to his aunt had spent a day with the good people at this very farm house. now, alas, all had been swept away, and the place had been taken possession of for the time being by the authorities, to be used as a supplementary pest house, where the homeless sick could be temporarily housed. generally it was but for a few hours or a couple of days that such shelter was needed. the great common grave, barely a quarter of a mile away, received day by day the great majority of the unfortunate ones who were brought in. in all london proper there were only two pest houses used at this time, one on some fields beyond old street, and the other in westminster; but as the virulence of the distemper increased, and the suburbs became so terribly infected, and such numbers of persons fleeing this way and that would fall stricken by the wayside, it became necessary to find places of some sort where they could be received, and the authorities began to take possession of empty houses--generally farmsteads standing in a convenient but isolated position--and to use them for this melancholy purpose. it could not be expected that even the most charitable would receive plague-stricken wayfarers into their own families, nor would such a thing be right. yet they could not remain by the wayside to die and infect the air. so they were removed by the bearers appointed to that gruesome work to these smaller pest houses, and only too often from thence to the pit in the course of a few hours. "how pretty it all looks!" said benjamin, as they approached the place. "see, joseph, those are the great elm trees where the rooks build, and which i used to climb. when they cut the hay, i came often and rolled about in it and played with the boys from the farm. to think that they should all be dead and gone! alack! what strange times these be! it seems sometimes as though it were all a dream!" "i would it were!" said joseph, sobered by the thought of their near approach to the habitation of death. "ben, wouldst thou rather turn back and see no more? we have at least seen the outside of a pest house. shall that suffice us?" "nay, if we have come so far, let us go further," answered benjamin. "we have seen naught but the tiled roof and the green garden. come this way. there is a little gate by which we may gain entrance to a side door. perchance they will turn us back if we seek to enter at the front." the farm house looked peaceful enough nestling beneath its sheltering row of tall elms, in the midst of its wild garden, now a mass of autumnal bloom. but as they neared the house the boys heard dismal sounds issuing thence--the groans of sufferers beneath the hands of the physicians, who were often driven to use what seemed cruel measures to cause the tumours to break--the only chance of recovery for the patient--the shriek of some maddened or delirious patient, or the unintelligible murmur and babble from a multitude of sick. moreover, they inhaled the pungent fumes of the burning drugs and vinegar which alone made it possible to breathe the atmosphere tainted by so much pestilential sickness. the boys held their own bottles of vinegar to their noses as they stole towards the house, feeling a mingling of strong repulsion and strong curiosity as they approached the dismal stronghold of disease. although men were in these days becoming almost reckless, and those who actually nursed and tended the sick were naturally less cautious and less particular than others, yet it is probable that the daring boys might have been turned back had they approached the house by the ordinary entrance, for they certainly could not profess to have business there. as it was, however, thanks to benjamin's knowledge of the place, not a creature observed their quiet approach through the orchard and along a tangled garden path. this path brought them to a door, which stood wide open in this sultry weather, in order to let a free current of air pass through the house, and they inhaled more strongly still the aromatic perfumes, which were not yet strong enough entirely to overcome that other noisome odour which was one of the most fatal means of spreading infection from plague-stricken patients. "we can get into the great kitchen by this door," whispered benjamin. "i trow they will use it for the sick; it is the biggest room in all the house. yonder is the door. shall i open it?" joseph gave a sign of assent, but bid his brother not speak needlessly, and keep his handkerchief to his mouth and nose. they had both steeped their handkerchiefs in vinegar, and could inhale nothing save that pungent scent. burning with curiosity, yet half afraid of their own temerity, the boys stole through a half-open door into a great room lined with beds. the sound of moans, groans, shrieks, and prayers drowned all the noise their own entry might have made, and they stood in the shadow looking round them, quite unnoticed in the general confusion of that busy home of death. there were perhaps a score or more of sufferers in the great room, and two nurses moving about amongst them, quickly and in none too tender a fashion. a doctor was also there with a young man, his assistant; and at some bedsides he paused, whilst at others he gave a shake of the head, and went by without a word. indeed it seemed to the boys as though almost a quarter of the patients were dead men, they lay so still and rigid, and the purple patches upon the white skin stood out with such terrible distinctness. a man suddenly put in his head from the open door at the other end and asked of anybody who could answer him: "room for any more here?" and the doctor's assistant, looking round, replied: "room for four, if you will send and have these taken away." almost immediately there came in two men, who bore away four corpses from the place, and in five minutes more the beds were full again, and the nurses were calculating how soon it would be possible to receive more, some now here being obviously in a dying state. the bearers reported that the outer barn was full as well as all the house; but those without invariably died, whilst a portion of those brought in recovered. joseph and benjamin had seen enough for their own curiosity. it was a more terrible sight than they had anticipated, and they felt a great longing to get out of this stricken den into the purer air without. joseph had laid a hand on his brother's arm to draw him away, when he was alarmed by seeing his brother's eyes fixed upon the far corner of the room with such an extraordinary expression of amaze and horror, that for a moment he feared he must have been suddenly stricken by the plague and was going off into the awful delirium he had heard described. a poignant fear and remorse seized him, lest he had been the means of bringing his brother into this peril and having caused his attack, if indeed it were one, and he pulled him harder by the arm to get him away. but with a strange choked cry benjamin broke from him, and running across the room he flung himself upon his knees by the side of a bed, crying in a lamentable voice: "reuben--reuben--reuben!" it was joseph's turn now to gaze in horror and dismay. could that be reuben--that cadaverous, death-like creature, with the livid look of a plague patient, lying like one in a trance which can only end in the awakening of death? was benjamin dreaming? or was it really their brother? but how could he by any possibility be here, so far away from home, so utterly beyond the limits of his own district? the doctor had approached benjamin and had pulled him back from the bedside quickly, though not unkindly. "what are you doing here, child?" he said. "have we not enough upon our hands without having sound persons mad enough to seek to add to the numbers of the sick? is he a relation of yours? "well, well, well, he will be looked after here better than you can do it. your brother? well, he has been four days here, and is one of those i have hope for. the tumours have discharged. he is suffering now from weakness and fever; but he might get well, especially if we could move him out of this pestilential air. go home, children, and tell your friends that if they have a place to take him to he will not infect them now, and will have a better chance. but you must not linger here. it may be death to you; though it is true enough that many come seeking their friends who go away and take no hurt. no one can say who is safe and who is not. but get you gone, get you gone. your brother shall be well looked to, i say. we have none so many who recover that we can afford to let those slip back for whom there is a chance!" he had pushed the boys by this time into the garden, and was speaking to them there. he was a kind man, if blunt, and habit had not bred indifference in him to the sufferings of those about him. he told the boys that one of the strangest features about the plague patients was the rapid recovery they often made when once the poison was discharged by the breaking of the swellings, and the rapidity with which the infection ceased when these broken tumours had healed. reuben's case had seemed desperate enough when he was brought in, but now he was in a fair way of recovery. if he could be taken to better air, he would probably be a sound man quickly. even as he was, he might well recover. the boys looked at each other and said with one voice that they thought they knew of a house where he would be received, and got leave to remove him in a cart at any time. the doctor then hurried back to his work, whilst the brothers looked each other in the face, and benjamin said gravely: "methinks it must have been put into our hearts to go. aunt mary will forgive the temerity when she hears of the special providence." their aunt was at no great distance off, as benjamin knew. instead of going home, they found their way to a brook. pulling off their clothes, they proceeded to drag them over the sweet-scented meadow grass. then they plunged into the brook, and enjoyed a delightful paddle and bath in the clear cool water. after rolling themselves in the hot grass, and having a fine romp there with fido, they donned their garments, and felt indeed as though they had got rid of all germs of infection and disease. after this they made their way towards the cottage where their aunt had been staying, and met her just sallying forth to return home. without any hesitation or delay joseph told the tale of their hardihood and disobedience, and the strange discovery to which it had led them; and although their aunt trembled and looked pale with terror at the thought of how they had exposed themselves, she did not stop to chide them, but was full of anxiety for the immediate release of reuben from his pestilential prison, and eager to have him to nurse in her own house, if she could do this without risk to the younger boys. they were to the full as eager as she, and promised in everything to obey her--even to the sleeping and living in an outhouse for a few days, if only she would save reuben from that horrible pest house. none knew better than mary harmer, who was a notable nurse herself, how much might now depend upon pure air, nourishing food, and quiet; and how could her nephew receive much individual care when cooped up amongst scores, if not hundreds, of desperate cases? mary was so much beloved by all around, that she quickly found a farmer willing to lend a cart even for the purpose of removing a sick person from the pest house, if he bore the honoured name of harmer. she would not permit any person to accompany the cart, but drove it herself, and sent the boys home to prepare the airiest chamber and make all such preparations as they could think of beforehand; and to remove their own bedding into the outhouse, till she was assured that they were in no peril from the presence of their brother indoors. eagerly the boys worked at these tasks, and everything was in beautiful order when the cart drove up. one of the attendants from the pest house had come with it, and he carried reuben up to the bed made ready for him, and drove the cart away, promising to disinfect it thoroughly, and return it to the owner ere nightfall. it was little the eager boys saw of their aunt that day. she was engrossed by reuben the whole time. she said he was terribly weak, and that he had not yet got back the use of his faculties. he lay in a sort of trance or stupor, and did not know where he was or what was happening. it came from weakness, and would pass away as he got back his strength. the doctor had assured her that the plague symptoms had spent themselves, and that he was free from the contagion. the boys slept in the shed that night tranquilly enough, and in the morning their aunt came to them with a grave and sorrowful face. "is he worse?" asked benjamin starting up. "not worse, i hope, yet not better. he has some trouble on his mind, and i fear that if we cannot ease him of that he will die," and her tears ran over, for reuben was dear to her as a nephew, and she knew what store her brother set by his eldest son. "trouble! what trouble? are any dead at home?" cried the boys anxiously. "can he speak? has he talked to you? tell us all!" "he has not talked with his senses awake, but he has spoken words which have told me much. death is not the trouble. he has not said one word to make me fear that our loved ones have been taken. the trouble is his own. it is a trouble of the heart. it concerns one whose name is gertrude. is not that the name of master mason's daughter?" "why, yes, to be sure. she has joined with the rest--with janet and rebecca--to care for the orphan children whom none know what to do with, there are such numbers of them. reuben always thought a great deal of mistress gertrude--and she of him. what of that?" "does she think much of him?" asked mary eagerly. "i feared she had flouted his love!" "nay, she worships the ground he treads on!" cried joseph, who had a very sharp pair of eyes of his own, and a great liking for sweet-spoken gertrude himself. "it was madam, her mother, who flouted reuben. gertrude is of different stuff. why, whenever she was with us she would get me in a corner and talk of nothing but him. i thought they would but wait for the plague to be overpast to wed each other!" mary stood with her hands locked together, thinking deeply. "joseph," she said, "if it were a matter of saving reuben's life, think you that mistress gertrude would come hither to my house and help me to nurse him back to health?" joseph's eyes flashed with eager excitement. "i am certain sure she would!" he answered. "ah, but how to let her know!" cried mary, pressing her hands together in perplexity. "alas for days like these! how shall any one get a letter safely delivered to her in time? it may be that if we tarry the fever will have swept him off. it is fever of the mind rather than the body, and it is hard to minister to the mind diseased, without the one healing medicine." "hold! i have a plan," cried joseph, whose wits were sharpened by the pressing nature of the business in hand; "listen, and i will expound it. tomorrow morning i will sally forth with a barrow laden with eggs, vegetables, and fruit; and i will enter the city as one of the country folks for the market, with whom none interfere at the barriers. i will e'en sell my goods to whoever will buy them, and at the bottom of the barrow thou shalt put one of thy cotton gowns and market aprons, aunt mary. then will i go to mistress gertrude and tell her all. i shall learn of the welfare of those at home, and will come back with her at my side. the watch will but take her for a market woman, and we shall both pass unchecked and unhindered. by noon tomorrow gertrude shall be here! "nay, hinder me not, good aunt. we must all adventure ourselves somewhat in this dire distress and peril. sure, if providence kept me safe in yon pest house yesterday, i need not fear to return to the city upon an errand of mercy such as may save my brother's life!" chapter xiii. happy meetings. "reuben found! reuben alive! o joseph, joseph, joseph!" and dorcas burst into tears of joy and relief, and sobbed aloud upon her brother's neck. joseph had brought his news straight to dorcas, knowing that she at least would be certainly found within lady scrope's house. he was secretly afraid to go home first, lest the fatal red cross upon the door should tell its tale of woe, or lest the whole house itself should be shut up and desolate, like the majority of the houses he had passed in the forlorn city that morning. he felt, however, an almost superstitious confidence that lady scrope's house would defy the infection. he was decidedly of the opinion that that redoubtable dame was a witch, and that she had charms which kept the plague at bay. he therefore first sought out the sister with whom he felt certain he could obtain speech; and she had drawn him into a little parlour hard by the street door, in great astonishment at seeing him there, and fearful at first (as folks had grown to be of late) that he was the bearer of evil tidings. the joy and relief were therefore so great that she could not restrain her tears, and between laughing, crying, and repeating in astonished snatches the words of explanation which fell from joseph's lips, she made such an unwonted commotion in the ordinarily silent house, that soon the tap of a stick could have been heard by ears less preoccupied coming down the stairs and along the passage, and the door was pushed open to admit the little upright figure of the mistress of the house. "hoity toity! art thou bereft of thy senses, child? what in fortune's name means all this? "boy, who art thou? and what dost thou here? a brother, forsooth! come with some news, perchance? well, well, well; how goes it in the city? are any left alive? they say at the rate we are going now, it will take but a month more to destroy the city even as sodom was destroyed!" "o madam," cried dorcas dashing away her tears, and turning an eager face towards the witch-like old woman, who in her silk gown, hooped and looped up, her fine lace cap and mittens, and her ebony stick with its ivory head, looked the impersonation of a fairy godmother, "this is my brother joseph, and he comes with welcome tidings. my brother reuben is not dead, albeit he has in truth been smitten by the plague. joseph found him yesterday in the pest house just beyond clerkenwell; and he is in a fair way to recover, if his mind can but be set at rest. "oh what news this will be for our parents!--for the girls!--for gertrude! oh how we have mourned and wept together; and now we shall rejoice with full hearts!" "has mistress gertrude mourned for him too?" asked joseph eagerly. "marry that is good hearing, for i have wondered all this while whether i should obtain the grace from her for which i have come." "and what is that, young man?" asked lady scrope, tapping her cane upon the ground as much as to say that in her own house she was not going to take a secondary place, and that conversation was to be addressed to her. joseph turned to her at once and answered: "verily, good madam, my aunt has sent me hither to fetch mistress gertrude forthwith to his side. she says that he calls ceaselessly upon her, and that unless he can see her beside him he may yet die of the disappointment and trouble, albeit the plague is stayed in his case, and it is but the fever of weakness that is upon him. she thinks it will not hurt her to come, if so be that it is as we hope, and that she has in her heart for him the same love as he has for her." "oh, she has! she has!" cried dorcas, fired with sudden illumination of mind about many things that perplexed her before. "her heart is just breaking for him! "prithee, good madam, let me go and call her. they say that she is of little use in the house now, being weak and weeping, and too sad at heart to work as heretofore. they can well spare her on such an errand, and methinks it will save her life as well as his. let me but go and tell her the news." "go, child, go. lovers be the biggest fools in all this world of fools! and if the women be the bigger fools, 'tis but because they were meant to be fitting companions for the men! "go to, child!--bring her here, and let us see what she says to this mad errand of this mad boy. "and you, young sir, whilst your sister is gone, tell me all you saw and heard in the pest house! marry, i like your spirit in going thither! it is the one place i long to see myself; only i am too old to go gadding hither and thither after fine sights!" joseph was quite willing to indulge the old lady's morbid curiosity as to the sights he had seen yesterday and today, as he had journeyed back into the city in the guise of a market lad. the things were terrible enough to satisfy even lady scrope, who seemed to rejoice in an uncanny fashion over the awful devastation going on all round. "i'm not a saint myself," she said with unwonted gravity, "and i never set up for one, but many has been the time when i have warned those about me that god would not stand aside for ever looking on at these abominations. the means were ready to his hand, and he has taken them and used them as a scourge. and he will scourge this wicked city yet again, if men will not amend their evil practices." next minute gertrude and dorcas came running in together, and gertrude almost flung herself into joseph's arms in her eager gratitude to him for his news, and her desire to hear everything he could tell her. such a clamour of voices then arose as fairly drowned any remark that lady scrope tried from time to time to throw in. her old face took a suddenly softened look as she watched the little scene, and heard the words that passed amongst the young people. presently she went tapping away on her high-heeled shoes, and was absent for some ten or fifteen minutes. when she came back she held in her hands a small iron-bound box, which seemed to be very heavy for its size. "well," she asked in her clear, sharp tones, "and what is going to be done next?" "o madam, i am going to him. i can do naught else," answered gertrude, whose face was like an april morning, all smiles and tears blended together. "i cannot let him lie wanting me and wearying for me." "humph! i thought you had shown yourself a girl of spirit, and had sent him about his business when he came a-wooing, eh?" "o madam, i did so. i thought that duty bid me; but i have repented so bitterly since! they say that 'twas since then he fell into the melancholy which was like to make him fall ill of the distemper. oh, if he were to die, i should feel his blood on my head. i should never hold it up again. i cannot let anything keep me from him now. i must go to him in my poverty and tell him all. he must be the judge!" lady scrope uttered a little snort, although her face bore no unkindly look. "child, child, thou art a veritable woman! i had thought better things of thee, but thou art just like the rest. thou wilt gladly lie down in the dust, so as the one man shall trample upon thee, whilst thou dost adore him the more for it. go to! go to! maids and lovers be all alike. fools every one of them! but for all that i like thee. i have an old woman's fancy for thee. and since in these days none may reckon on seeing the face of a departing friend again, i give now into thine hands the wedding gift i have had in mine eyes for thee. "nay, thank me not; and open it not save at the bedside of thy betrothed husband--if thou art fool enough to betroth thyself to one who as like as not will die of the plague before the week is out. "and now off with you both. if you tarry too long, the watch will not believe you to be honest market folks, and will hinder your flight. good luck go with you; and when ye be come to the city again--if ever that day arrive--come hither and tell me all the tale of your folly and love. although a wise woman myself, i have a wondrous love of hearing tales of how other folks make havoc of their lives by their folly." gertrude took the box, which amazed her by its weight, and suggested ideas of value quite out of keeping with what she had any reason to expect from one so little known to her as lady scrope. she thanked the donor with shy gratitude, and pressed the withered hand to her fresh young lips. lady scrope, a little moved despite her cynical fashion of talking, gave her several affectionate kisses; and then the other girls came in to see the last of their companion, and to charge her with many messages of love for reuben. joseph during this interval darted round to his father's house, to exchange a kiss with his mother and tell her the good news. it was indeed a happy day for the parents to hear that the son whom they had given up for lost was living, and likely, under gertrude's care, to do well. they had not dared to murmur or repine. it seemed to them little short of a miracle that death had spared to them all their children through this fearful season. when they believed one had at last been taken, they had learned the strength and courage to say, "god's will be done." yet it was happiness inexpressible to know that he was not only living, but in the safe retreat of mary harmer's cottage, and under her tender and skilful care. so used were they now to the thought of those they loved caring for the sick, that they had almost ceased to fear contagion so encountered. it appeared equally busy amongst those who fled from it. they did not even chide joseph for the reckless curiosity which had led the boys to adventure themselves without cause in the fashion that had led to such notable results. when joseph returned to lady scrope's, it was to find gertrude arrayed in the clothes provided for her, and looking, save for her dainty prettiness, quite like a country girl come in with marketable wares. such things of her own as she needed for her sojourn, together with lady scrope's precious box, were put into the barrow beneath the empty basket and sacks. then with many affectionate farewells the pair started forth, and talking eagerly all the while, took their way through the solitary grass-grown streets, away through cripplegate, and out towards the pleasanter regions beyond the walls. joseph sought to engross his companion in talk, so that she might not see or heed too much the dismal aspect of all around them. he himself had seen a considerable difference in the city between the time he and benjamin had left it and today. in places it almost seemed as though no living soul now remained; and he observed that foot passengers in the streets went about more recklessly than before, with a set and desperate expression of countenance, as though they had made up their minds to the worst, and cared little whether their fate overtook them today or a week hence. gertrude's thoughts, however, were so much with reuben, that she heeded but little of what she saw around her. she spoke of him incessantly, and begged again and again to hear the story of how he had been found. her cheek flushed a delicate rose tint each time she heard how he had called for her ceaselessly in his delirium. that showed her, if nothing else could convince her of it, how true and disinterested his love was; that it was for herself he had always wooed her, and not for any hope of the fortune she had at one time looked to receive from her father as her marriage dowry. when they had passed the last of the houses, and stood in the sunny meadows, with the blue sky above them and the songs of birds in their ears, gertrude heaved a great sigh of relief, and her eyes filled with tears. "o beautiful trees and fields!" she cried; "it seems as though nothing of danger and death could overshadow the dwellers in such fair places." "so benjamin and i thought," said joseph gravely; "but, alas, the plague has been busy here, too. see, there is a cluster of houses down there, and but three of them are now inhabited. the pestilence came and smote right and left, and in some houses not one was left alive. still death seems not so terrible here amid these smiling fields as it does when men are pent together in streets and lanes. and the dead at first could be buried in their own gardens by their friends, if they could not take them to the churchyards, which soon refused to receive them. many were thus saved from the horror of the plague pit, which they so greatly dreaded. but i know not whether it is a wise kindness so to bury them; for there were hamlets, i am told, where the plague raged fearfully, and where the living could scarce bury the dead." gertrude sighed; death and trouble did indeed seem everywhere. but even her sorrow for others could not mar her happiness in the prospect of seeing reuben once again; and as they neared the place, and joseph pointed out the twisted chimneys and thatched roof peeping through the sheltering trees and shrubs, the girl could not restrain her eager footsteps, and flew on in advance of her companion, who was retarded by his barrow. the next minute she was eagerly kissing benjamin (who, together with fido, had run out at the sound of her footsteps), and shedding tears of joy at the news that reuben was no worse, that there were now no symptoms of the plague about him, but that he was perilously weak, and needed above all things that his mind should be set at rest. at the sound of voices mary harmer came softly downstairs from the sick man's side, and divining in a moment who the stranger was, took her into a warm, motherly embrace, and thanked her again and again for coming so promptly. "nay, it is i must thank thee for letting me come," answered gertrude between smiles and tears. "and now, may i not go to him? i would not lose a moment. i am hungry for the sight of his living face. prithee, let me go!" "so thou shalt, my child, in all good speed; but just at this moment he sleeps, and thou must refresh thyself after thy long, hot walk, that thou mayest be better able to tend him. i will not keep thee from him, be sure, when the time comes that thou mayest go to him." joseph at that moment came up with the barrow, and gertrude found that it was pleasant and refreshing to let mary harmer bathe her face and hands and array her in her own garments. and then she sat down to a pleasant meal of fresh country provisions, which tasted so different from anything she had eaten these many long weeks. the boys, who as a precautionary measure were keeping away from the house itself until it should be quite certain that their brother was free from infection, took their meal on the grass plot outside, and enjoyed it mightily. the whole scene was so different from anything upon which gertrude's eyes had rested for long, that tears would rise unbidden in them, though they were tears of happiness and gratitude. the dog fido took to her at once, and showed her many intelligent attentions, and was so useful altogether in fetching and carrying that his cleverness and docility were a constant source of amusement and wonder to all, and gave endless delight to the boys, who spent all their spare time in training him. then just when the afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen, and the light to grow golden with the mellow september glow, gertrude was softly summoned to the pleasant upper chamber, which smelt sweetly of lavender, rose leaves, and wild thyme, where beside the open casement lay reuben, in a snow-white bed, his face sadly wasted and white, and his eyes closed as if in the lassitude of utter weakness. mary gave gertrude a smile, and motioned her to go up to him, which she did very softly and with a beating heart. he did not appear to note her footfall; but when she stood beside him, and gently spoke his name, his eyes flashed open in a moment, and fixed themselves upon her face, their expression growing each moment more clear and comprehending. "gertrude!" he breathed in a voice whose weakness told a tale of its own, and he moved his hand as though he would fain ascertain by the sense of touch whether or not this was a dream. she saw the movement, and took his hand between her own, kneeling down beside the bed and covering it with kisses and tears. that seemed to tell him all, without the medium of words. he asked no question, he only lay gazing at her with a deep contentment in his eyes. he probably knew not either where he was, or how any of these strange things came to pass. she was with him; she was his very own. of that there could be no manner of doubt. and that being so, what did anything else matter? he lay gazing at her perfectly contented, till he fell asleep holding her hand in his. that was the beginning of a steady if rather a slow recovery. it was only natural indeed that reuben should be long in regaining strength. he had been through months of fatigue and arduous wearing toil, and the marvel was that when the distemper attacked him in his weakness and depression he had strength enough to throw it off. as mary harmer said, it seemed sometimes as though those who went fearlessly amongst the plague stricken became gradually inoculated with the poison, and were thus able to rid themselves of it when it did attack them. reuben at least had soon thrown off his attack, and the state of weakness into which he had fallen was less the result of the plague than of his long and arduous labours before. how he ever came to be in the pest house of clerkenwell he never could altogether explain. he remembered that business had called him out in a northwesterly direction; and he had a dim recollection of feeling a sick longing for a sight of the country once more, and of bending his steps further than he need, whilst he fancied he had entertained some notion of paying a visit to his aunt, and making sure that his brothers had safely reached her abode. that was probably the reason why he had come so far away from home. he had been feeling miserably restless and wretched ever since gertrude had refused him, and upon that day he had an overpowering sense of illness and weariness upon him, too. but he did not remember feeling any alarm, or any premonition of coming sickness. he had grown so used to escaping when others were stricken down all round, that the sense of uncertainty which haunted all men at the commencement of the outbreak had almost left him now. it could only be supposed that the fever of the pestilence had come upon him, and that he had dropped by the wayside, as so many did, and had been carried into the farm house by some compassionate person, or by one of the bearers whose duty it was to keep the highways clear of such objects of public peril. but he knew nothing of his own condition, and had had no real gleam of consciousness, until he opened his eyes in his aunt's house to find gertrude bending over him. there was no shadow between them now. gertrude's surrender was as complete as lady scrope had foreseen. she used now to laugh with reuben over the sayings of that redoubtable old dame, and wonder what she would think of them could she see them now. the box she had entrusted to gertrude had been given into mary harmer's care for the present, till reuben should be strong enough to enjoy the excitement of opening it. but upon the first day that saw him down in the little parlour, lying upon the couch that had been made ready to receive him, joseph eagerly clamoured to have the box brought down and opened; and his wish being seconded by all, mary harmer quickly produced it, and it was set upon a little table at the side of the couch. "have you the key?" asked reuben of gertrude, and she produced it from her neck, round which it had been hanging all this while by a silken cord. "it felt almost like a love token," she said with a little blush, "for she told me i was not to open it save at the side of my betrothed husband!" now, amid breathless silence, she fitted the key into the lock and raised the lid. that disclosed a layer of soft packing, which, when removed, left the contents exposed to view. "oh!" cried joseph and benjamin in tones of such wonder that fido must needs rear himself upon his hind legs to get a peep, too; but he was soon satisfied, for he saw nothing very interesting in the yellow contents of the wooden box, which neither smelt nice nor were good for food. but the lovers looked across at each other in speechless amazement. for the box was filled to the brim with neatly piled heaps of golden guineas--the first guineas ever struck in this country; so called from the fact that they were made of guinea gold brought from africa by one of the trading companies, and first coined in the year . and a quick calculation, based upon the counting of one of these upright heaps, showed that the box contained five hundred of these golden coins, which as yet were only just coming into general circulation. "oh," cried gertrude in amaze, "what can she have done it for? and they call lady scrope a miser!" "misers often have strange fancies; and lady scrope has always been one of the strangest and most unaccountable of her sex," said reuben. "i cannot explain it one whit. it is of a piece with much of her inscrutable life. all we can do is to give her our gratitude for her munificence. she has neither kith nor kin to wrong by her strange liberality to thee, sweet gertrude; nor can i marvel that she should have come to love thee so well. sweet heart, this money will purchase the house upon the bridge which thy father tells us he is forced to sell. i had thought that i would buy it of him for our future home. but thou hast the first claim. at least, now the place is safe. what is mine is thine, and what is thine is mine, and we will together make the purchase, and give him a home with us beneath the old roof. "will that make you happy, dear heart? methinks it will please lady scrope that her golden hoard should help in such an act of filial love!" and gertrude could only weep tears of pure happiness on her lover's shoulder, and marvel how it was that such untold joy had come to her in the midst of the very shadow of death. chapter xiv. brighter days. "the plague is abating! the plague is abating! the bills were lower by two thousand last week! they say the city is like to go mad with joy. i would fain go and see what is happening there. prithee, good aunt, let me e'en do so much. i shall take no hurt. methinks, having escaped all peril heretofore, i may be accounted safe now." this was joseph's eager petition as he rushed homewards after a stroll in the direction of the town one evening early in october. there had been rumours of an improvement in the health of the city for perhaps ten days now, notwithstanding the fearful mortality during the greater part of september. therefore were the weekly bills most eagerly looked for, and when it was ascertained that the mortality had diminished by two thousand (when, from the number of sick, it might well have risen by that same amount), it did indeed seem as though the worst were over; and great was the joy which joseph's news brought to those within the walls of that cottage home. yet mary harmer was wise and cautious in the answer she gave to the eager boy. "wait yet one week longer, joseph; for we may not presume upon god's goodness and mercy, and adventure ourselves without cause into danger. the city has been fearfully ravaged of late. the very air seems to have been poisoned and tainted, and there are streets and lanes which, they say, it is even now death to enter. therefore wait yet another week, and then we will consider what is safe to be done. right glad should i be for news of your father and mother; but we have been patient this long while, and we will be patient still." "our good aunt is wise," said reuben, who looked wonderfully better for his stay in fresh country air, albeit still rather gaunt and pale. "it is like that this good news itself may lead men to be somewhat reckless in their joy and confidence. we will not move till we have another report. perchance our father may be able to let us know ere long of his welfare and that of the rest at home." all through the week that followed encouraging and cheering reports of the abatement of the plague were heard by those living on the outskirts of the stricken city; and when the next week's bill showed a further enormous decrease in the death rate, mary harmer permitted joseph to pay a visit home, his return being eagerly waited for in the cottage. he came just as the early twilight was drawing in, and his face was bright and joyous. "it is like another city," he cried. "i had not thought there could be so many left as i saw in the streets today. and they went about shaking each other by the hand, and smiling, and even laughing aloud in their joy. and if they saw a shut-up house, and none looking forth from the windows, some one would stand and shout aloud till those within looked out, and then he would tell them the good news that the plague was abating; and at that sound many poor creatures would fall a-weeping, and praise the lord that he had left even a remnant." "poor creatures!" said mary harmer with commiseration; "it has been a dismal year for thousands upon thousands!" "ay, verily. i cannot think that london will ever be full again," said the boy. "there be whole streets with scarce an inhabitant left, and we know that multitudes of those who fled died of the pestilence on the road and in other places. but today there was no memory for the misery of the past, only joy that the scourge was abating. it is not that many do not still fall ill of the distemper, but that they recover now, where once they would have died. and whereas three weeks back they died in a day or two days, now even if so be as they do die, it takes the poison eight or ten days to kill them. the physicians say that that is because the malignity of the distemper is abating, wherefore men scarce fear it now, and come freely abroad, not in despair, as they did when it was so virulent a scourge, but because they fear it so much less than before." "and our parents and those at home?" asked reuben eagerly. "all well, though something weary and worn; but it is wondrous how they have borne up all through. father says that he will come hither to see us all the first moment he can. his duties are like to have a speedy end; and he is longing for a sight of reuben's face, and of something better than closed houses and the wan faces of the sick or the mourners." "poor brother james!" said mary softly; "i would that he and his would leave the city behind for a while, and remain under my roof to recover their strength and health. it must have been a sorely trying time. think you that they could leave the house together? for we would make shift to receive them all, an they could come." this was a most delightful idea to all the party. the hospitable cottage had plenty of rooms, although many of these were but attics beneath the thatched roof, none too light or commodious. in summer they might have been too warm and stuffy to be agreeable sleeping places, but in the cooler autumn they would be good enough for hardy young folks brought up simply and plainly. joseph and benjamin at once dashed all over the place, making plans for the housing of the whole party. it would be the finest end to a melancholy period, being all together here in this homelike place. everything was duly arranged in the hopes of winning the father's consent to the scheme. mary harmer hunted up stores of bedding and linen, the latter of her own weaving, and every day they waited impatiently for the appearing of james harmer, who, however, was unaccountably long in making his appearance. he came at last, but it was with a sorrowful face and a bowed look which told at once a story of trouble, and made the whole party stand silent, after the first eager chorus of welcome, certain that he was the bearer of bad news. "my poor boy dan!" he said in a choked voice, and sat himself heavily down upon the chair beside the hearth. "dan!" cried reuben, and the word was echoed by all the brothers in tones of varying surprise and dismay. "you do not mean that he is dead!" "taken to the plague pit a week ago. just when all the world is rejoicing in the thought that the distemper is abating. dr. hooker spoke truly when he said that the confidence of the people was like to be a greater peril than the disease itself. for those who are sick now come openly abroad into the streets, no longer afraid for themselves or others, and thus it has come about that no man knows whether he is safe, and my poor boy has been taken." sad indeed were the faces of all, and the two little boys were dissolved in tears, as their father told how poor dan had fallen sick, and had succumbed on the fourth day to the poison. "dr. hooker said that he was worn out with his unceasing labours, else he would not have died," said the sorrowful father. "he had treated many worse cases even when things were worse, and brought them round. but dan was worn out with all he had been doing for the past months. he fell an easy prey; and he did not suffer much, thank god. he lay mostly in a torpor, much as reuben did, as i hear, but slowly sank away. his poor mother! she had begun to think that she was to have all her children about her yet. but in truth we must not repine, having so many left to us, when they say there is scarce a family in all the town that has not lost its two, three, or four at best!" it almost seemed a more sorrowful thing to lose dan just when things were beginning to look brighter, than it would have done when the distemper was at its height. but as the good man said, gratitude for so many spared ought to outweigh any repining for those taken. after the first tears were shed, he gently checked in those about him the inclination to mourn, saying that god knew best, and had dealt very lovingly and bountifully with them; and that they must trust his goodness and mercy all through, and believe that he had judged mercifully and tenderly in taking their brother from them. the sight of reuben alive and well did much to assuage the father's grief; for there had been a time when he had not thought to look upon the face of his firstborn in this life. he was also greatly pleased to learn that he had another daughter in the person of gentle gertrude, and he gladly undertook the negotiation of the purchase of his neighbour's house, so that he should not know who the purchaser was until the right moment came. mary harmer's proposal to take in the whole family for a spell of fresh air and rest was gratefully accepted by the tired father. "i trow it would be the greatest boon for all of us, and may likely save us from some peril," he said, "for, as i say, men seem to be gone mad with joy that the malignity of the plague is so greatly abating, and that the houses are no longer closed. for my own part, i would they were closed yet a little longer; but the impatience of the people would not now permit it, and they having shown themselves in the main docile and obedient these many months, must be considered now that the worst of the peril is past. when the plague was at its worst last month, there was of necessity some relaxation of stringent measures, because there were times when neither watchmen nor nurses could be found, and common humanity forbade us to close houses when the inhabitants could not get tendance in the prescribed way. moreover, a sort of desperation was bred in men's minds, and the fear was the less because that every man thought his own turn would assuredly come ere long. so that when of a sudden the bills began to decrease, it seemed unreasonable to be more strict than we had been just before. moreover, it was found harder to restrain the people in their joy than in their sorrow; and so we must hope for the best, and trust that the lessened malignity of the disease will keep down the mortality. for that there will continue to be many sick for weeks to come we cannot doubt. as for myself, knowing and fearing all i do, nothing would more please and comfort me than to bring my wife and girls hither to this safe spot. i had not dared to think you could take such a party, mary; but since you have already made provision for us, why, the sooner we all get forth from the city, the better will it please me." great was the joy in the cottage occasioned by this answer. sorrow for the loss of poor dan was almost forgotten in joyful preparation. dan had not been much at home for many years, only coming and going as his ship chanced to put into port in the river or not. therefore his loss was not felt as that of reuben would have been. it seemed a sad and grievous thing, after having escaped so many perils, to come to his death at last; but so many families had suffered such infinitely greater loss, that repining and mourning seemed almost wrong. and the thought of seeing all the home faces once more was altogether too delightful to admit of much admixture of grief. "i wonder if dorcas will come," said gertrude, as they hung about the door awaiting the arrival which was expected every minute. three days had now passed since james harmer's first visit, and he was to bring his wife and daughters in the afternoon, and stay the night himself, returning on the morrow to transact some necessary business, but spending much of his time with his family in this pleasant spot. gertrude had offered to leave, if there were not room for her; but in truth she scarce knew where to go, since of her father she had heard very little of late, and knew not how long his house would be his own. no one, however, would hear of such a thing as that she should leave them. she was already like a sister to the boys, and had in old days been as one to the girls. moreover, as mary harmer sometimes said, why should not she and reuben be quietly married out here before they returned to the city, and then they could go back to their own house when all the negotiations had been completed and her father's mind relieved of its load of care? "why should dorcas not come?" asked mary quickly. "my brother spoke of bringing all." "i was wondering if lady scrope would be willing to spare her," was the reply. "she is fond of dorcas in her way, and is used to her. she might not be willing she should go, and she is very determined when her mind is made up." "yet i think she has a kind heart in spite of all her odd ways," said mary harmer; "i scarce think she would keep the girl pining there alone. but we shall see. my wonder would rather be if janet and rebecca could get free from the other house where the children are kept." "father said that that house was to be emptied soon. the lord mayor is making many wise regulations for the support of those left destitute by the plague. large sums of money kept flowing in all the while the scourge lasted. the king sent large contributions, and other wealthy men followed his example. there be many widows left alone and desolate, and these are to have a sum of money and certain orphan children to care for. all that will be settled speedily; for who knows when my lady scrope's house may not be wanted by the tenant who ran away in such hot haste months ago? it will need purifying, too, and directions will shortly be issued, i take it, for the right purification of infected houses. "my sisters will soon get their burdens off their hands. it is time they had a change; they were looking worn and tired even before i left the city." "they are coming! they are coming! they are just here!" shouted joseph and benjamin in one breath, coming rushing down from a vantage post up to which they had climbed in one of the great elm trees. "they must all be there--every one of them! it is like a caravan along the road; but i know it is they, for we saw father leading a horse, and mother was riding it--with such a lot of bags and bundles!" the next minute the caravan hove in sight through the windings of the lane, and three minutes later there was such a confusion of welcomes going on that nothing intelligible could be said on either side; nor was it until the whole party was assembled round the table in mary harmer's pleasant kitchen, ready to do justice to the good cheer provided, that any kind of conversation could be attempted. the sisters felt like prisoners released. they laughed and cried as they danced about the garden in the twilight, stooping down to lay their faces against the cool, wet grass, and drinking in the scented air as though it were something to be tasted by palate and tongue. "it is so beautiful! it is so wonderful!" they kept exclaiming one to the other, and the quaint, rambling cottage, with its bare floor, and simple, homely comforts, seemed every whit as charming. dorcas was there, as well as janet and rebecca; and the three sisters, together with gertrude, were to share a pair of attics with a door of communication between them. they were delighted with everything. they kept laughing and kissing each other for sheer joy of heart; and although a sigh, and a murmur of "poor dan! if only he could be here!" would break at intervals from one or another, yet in the intense joy of this meeting, and in the sense of escape from the city in which they had been so long imprisoned, all but thankfulness and delight must needs be forgotten, and it was a ring of wonderfully happy faces that shone on mary harmer at the supper board that night. "this is indeed a kindly welcome, sister," said rachel, as she sat at her husband's right hand, looking round upon the dear faces she had scarce dared hope to see thus reunited for so many weary weeks; "i could have desired nothing better for all of us. thou canst scarcely know how it does feel to be free once more, to be able to go where one will, without vinegar cloths to one's face, and to feel that the air is a thing to breathe with healing and delight, instead of to be feared lest there be death in its kiss! ah me! i think god does not let us know how terrible a thing is till his chastening hand is removed. we go on from day to day, and he gives us strength for each day as it comes; but had we known at the beginning what lay before us, methinks our souls would have well nigh fainted within us. and yet here we are--all but one--safe and sound at the other side!" "i truly never thought to see such fearful sights, and to come through such a terrible time of trial," said dinah very gravely. she was one of the party included in mary harmer's hospitable invitation, and looked indeed more in need of the rest and change than any of the others. her brother had had some ado to get her to quit her duties as nurse to the sick even yet, but it was not difficult now to get tendance for them, and she felt so greatly the need of rest that she had been persuaded at last. "many and many are the times when i have been left the only living being in a house--once, so far as i could tell, the only living thing in a whole street! none may know, save those who have been through it, the awful loneliness of being so shut in, with nothing near but dead bodies. and yet the lord has brought me through, and only one of our number has been taken." the mother's eyes filled with tears, but her heart was too thankful for those spared her to let her grief be loud. one after another those round the table spoke of the things they had seen and heard; but presently the talk drifted to brighter themes. gertrude asked eagerly of her father, and where he was and what he was doing; and mary harmer asked if he would not come and join them, if her house could be made to hold another inmate. "he is well in health, but looks aged and harassed," was the answer of the father. "he has had sad losses. half-finished houses have been thrown back on his hands through the death of those who had commenced them; he has been robbed of his stores of costly merchandise; and poor frederick's debts have mounted up to a great sum. now that people are flocking back into the city, and business is reviving once more, he will have to meet his creditors, and can only do this by the sale of his house. i saw him yesterday, and told him i had heard of a purchaser already; whereat he was right glad, fearing that he might be long in selling, since men might fear to come back to the city, and whilst there were so many hundreds of houses left empty. if he can once get rid of his load of debt, he can strive to begin business again in a modest way. but, to be sure, it will be long before any houses will need to be built; the puzzle will be how to fill those that are left empty. i fear me he will find things hard for a while. but if he has a home with you, my children, and if we all give what help we can, i doubt not that little by little he may recover a part of what he has lost. he will be wise not to try so many different callings. if he had not had so many ventures afloat in these troubled times, he would not now have lost his all." "that was poor mother's wish," said gertrude softly; "she wanted to be rich quickly for frederick's sake. i used to hear father tell her that the risk was too great; but she did not seem able to understand aright. i do not think it was father's own wish." "that is what i always said," answered james harmer heartily; "and i trow things will be greatly better now, if once trade makes a start again. as for us, we have lost a summer's trade, but, beyond that, all has been well with us. we have had the fewer outgoings, and so soon as the gentry and the court come back again we shall be as busy as ever. the plague has done us little harm, for we had no great ventures afloat to miscarry, and had money laid by against any time of necessity." that evening, before the party retired to rest, the father gathered his children and all the household about him, and offered a fervent thanksgiving for their preservation during this time of peril. after that they all separated to their own rooms, and the girls sat long together ere they sought their couches, talking, as girls will talk, of all that had happened to them, and of the coming marriage of gertrude and their brother, over which they heartily rejoiced. "i must e'en let lady scrope know when it is to be," said dorcas, "if i can make shift to do so. i trow she would like to be there. she has taken a wondrous liking to thee, gertrude, and she says she has a fine opinion of reuben, too. i know not quite what she has heard of him, but so it is." "i was fearful lest she should not be willing to spare thee, dorcas," said gertrude with a caress, "but here thou art with the rest." "yes, she was wondrous good to us," said janet eagerly, "else i scarce know how we could have come, for there were six children left in the house, and no homes yet found for them to go to. they were the sickly ones whom we feared to part with, and father said they would strive to get places for them in the country. when we heard what our kind aunt wished, we saw not how we could leave the little ones; but lady scrope, she up and chid us well for silly, puling fools, who thought the world could not wag without our help. and then she sent out and got two nice, comfortable, honest widow women to live in the house with the children. and one of them had a neat-fingered daughter, who had been in good service till the plague sent her family into the country and she was packed off home. her she took for her maid, and sent dorcas off with us. sure, never was a sharper tongue and a kinder heart in one body together! i had never thought to like lady scrope one-tenth part as well as i do." those were happy days that followed. it was pure delight to the sisters to wander about the green fields and lanes, watching the play of light and shadow there, hearing the songs of the birds, and seeing the gorgeous pageantry of autumn clothing the trees with all manner of wondrous tints and hues. reuben knew the neighbourhood by that time, and was their companion in their rambles; and happy were the hours thus spent, only less happy than the meetings round the glowing hearth or hospitable table later on, when the news of the day would be told and retold. james harmer went frequently into the city to see after certain things, and to ascertain that his own and his neighbour's houses were safe. what he saw and heard there day by day made him increasingly glad that big family had found so safe a retreat; for there was still some considerable peril to the dwellers in the city, owing, more than anything, to the utter carelessness of the people now that the immediate scare was removed. the same men who had shrunk away from all contact with even sound persons six weeks ago, would now actually visit and hold converse with those who had the disease upon them. persons afflicted with tumours that were still active and therefore infectious would walk openly about the streets, none seeming to object to their presence even in crowded thoroughfares. it seemed as though joy at the abatement of the pestilence had wrought a sort of madness in the brains and hearts of the people. so long as the death rate decreased, and the cases were no longer so fatal in character, there seemed no way of making the citizens observe proper precautions, and, as many averred, the malady increased and spread, although not in nearly so fatal a form, as it never need have done but for the recklessness of the multitudes. one very sorrowful case was brought home to the harmers, because it happened to some worthy neighbours of their own who had lived opposite to them for many a year. when first the alarm was given that the plague had entered within the city walls, this man had hastily decided to quit london with his wife and family and seek an asylum in the country, and had earnestly urged the harmers to do the same. for many months nothing had been heard of them; but with the first abatement of the malady the father had appeared, and had asked advice from harmer as to how soon he might bring home his family, who were all sound and well. his friend advised him to wait another month at least; but he laughed such counsel to scorn, and just before the harmers themselves started for islington, their friends had settled themselves in their old house opposite. ten days later harmer heard with great dismay that three of the children had taken the plague and had died. by the end of the week there was not one of the family alive save the unhappy man himself, and he went about like one distraught, so that his reason or his life seemed like to pay the forfeit. it was no wonder, in the hearing of such stories as these--of which there were many--that mary harmer rejoiced to have her brother's household safely housed and out of danger, and that she earnestly begged them to remain with her at least until the merry christmastide should be overpast. chapter xv. a christmas wedding. "i never thought to see daughter of mine wedded from the house of a neighbour," said the master builder (whose title yet clung to him, albeit there was something of mockery in the sound), heaving a sigh as he looked into the happy face of his child. "but a homeless man must needs do the best he can; and our good friends have won the right to play the part of kinsfolk towards us both." "indeed--indeed they have, dear father," answered gertrude; "thou canst not think how happy i have been here in this sweet cottage, nor what a home it has been to us all these weeks. i shall be almost loth to leave it on the morrow--at least i should be, were it not for the great happiness coming into my life. but the home to which reuben will take me must be even dearer than this. and thou wilt come with us, sweet father, and make us happy by thy presence!" "ay, child, if thou wilt have the homeless old man who has managed his affairs so ill as to have to start life afresh when he should be thinking of resigning his work into other hands, and passing his old age in peace and--" but gertrude stopped him with a kiss. "thou art not old, father; and i trow before thou art, a peaceful and prosperous old age will be in store for thee. whilst reuben and i live, nothing shall lack to thee that filial love can bestow. o dearest father! methinks there are bright and happy days before us yet." "i trust so--i trust so, my child, for thee especially. for thou dost deserve them. thou hast been a good daughter, and wilt make a good wife." "my heart misgives me sometimes that i was not always so tender a daughter to poor mother as i fain would have been. may god pardon me in whatever way i may have erred!" "the error was more hers than thine," answered the father with a sigh; "and mine too, inasmuch as i checked her not early, as i perchance might have done. she would have wed thee with some needy and perhaps evil-living gallant, who would have taken thee for thy fortune. thou hast done far better to choose such an honest, godly youth as reuben. he will make thee an excellent husband." "ah, will he not!" said gertrude, her face alight with tender love. "poor mother did not understand what she was doing in striving to banish him from the house. but methinks, in the land of spirits all these things are seen aright; and that if it is permitted to the dead to know aught of what passes in the land they have left behind, she will be rejoicing with us today." "heaven send it may be so! my poor wife," and the father heaved a great sigh of mixed feelings, "it is well she has not lived to see this end to her schemings to be rich. at least she is spared the knowledge of her husband's ruin." "nay, call it not that, dear father. master harmer says that things are beginning to look up again after the terrible visitation, and surely your affairs will look up likewise." "in a measure, yes," he answered. "i have at least sold the old house for a better sum than i expected; and the purchaser has bought all the rich furniture, save such things as i would not sell for the sake of your poor mother. these i shall move shortly to your home, my child. my good friend says that it is hard by his house, so the journey will not be a difficult one." "no, father," answered gertrude, with glowing cheeks. "and who has bought the old bridge house?" "nay, i have not even had the heart to ask. my good friend has carried out the business for me from first to last. he has been the truest friend man ever had. i have had naught to do but to sign the papers and receive the purchase money. no doubt the pang of seeing others living there will pass in time, but just now i care not even to think of it." gertrude's face was still glowing a rosy red, but she turned the conversation at once. "and thou art getting together a little business again, father, on the southwark side of the river?" "yes; that again is by the advice of our good neighbour. he showed me that i could no longer afford the large buildings in the chepe. he heard of these small premises going a-begging for a purchaser, all connected with them having perished in the plague. the small sum left to me of the purchase money of the house, after my debts were paid, sufficed to buy them; and now i have two steady workmen in my employ, instead of the scores i once had. but god be thanked, we have never been idle all these weeks. and it may be that by-and-by, as confidence returns, i may get something of a business together again." "thou hast been purifying and disinfecting houses, they say, for the wealthy ones of the city?" "ay; that was our good friend's thought. the lord mayor and authorities issued general directions for this work; and harmer suggested to me that i should print handbills offering to undertake the purging of any house entrusted to me for a fixed fee. this i did, and have had my hands full ever since. all the fine folks are crowding back now that the cold weather has come, but no one cares to venture within his house till it has been purified by the burning of aromatic drugs and spices. the rich care not what they spend, so that they are sure they are free from danger. as for the poor, they do but burn tar or pitch or sulphur; and methinks these do just as well, save that the odour which hangs about is not so grateful to the senses. yes, it was a happy thought of good james harmer, and has put money in my pocket enough to enable me to undertake small building matters without borrowing. but i trow it will be long ere any building is wanted in and about the city. there are too many empty houses left there for that." "shall i see a wondrous change there when i go back, father?" "a change, but a wondrous small one compared to what one would suppose," answered the father. "all men are amazed to see how quickly the streets have filled, and how little of change there is to note in the outward aspect of things. i had thought that half the houses would be left empty; but i think there be not more than one-eighth without inhabitants, and these are filling up apace. to be sure, in the once crowded lanes and alleys there are far fewer people than before; but it is wonderful to see how small the change is; and life goes on just as of old. it is as if the calamity was already half forgot!" "nay but, father, i trust it is not forgotten, and that men's consciences are stirred, and that they have taken to heart the warning of god's just anger." the master builder slightly shook his head. "i fear not, child, i fear not. i hear the same oaths and blasphemies, the same ribald jests and ungodly talk, as of old. they say the court, which has lately returned to whitehall, is as gay and wanton as ever. in face of the terror of death, men did resolve to amend their ways; but i fear me, that terror being past, they do but make a mock of it, and return, like the sow in scripture, to their wallowing in the mire." gertrude looked gravely sorrowful for a moment; but, on the eve of her wedding day, she could not be sorrowful long. she and her father were enjoying a talk together before she sought her couch. he had been unable to come earlier to see her, business matters having detained him in town. for the past two months he had been at work with his task of purifying and setting in order the houses of the better-class people, for their return thither after the plague; and though he had sent many affectionate messages to his daughter, this was the first time for several weeks that they had met. it could not but rankle in the father's heart that, for the time being, he had no home to offer to his child. he had been staying with his good friend james harmer all this while, who had left his wife and family at islington to regain their full health and strength, while he spent his time between the bridge house and the cottage. his business required his presence at home during a part of the week, since his shopmen and apprentices had already returned; but he would not permit his family to do so just yet, deeming it better for them to remain with his sister, and to enjoy with her a period of rest and refreshment which could never be theirs in the busy life of home. a happy christmas had thus been spent; and now it was the eve of gertrude's wedding day, which was the one following christmas day. the master builder had spent the festival with his friends, and on the morrow would accompany his daughter and her husband to their home in the city, the harmer family returning to their house at the same time, and bringing mary with them on a visit after all her hospitality to them. by nine o'clock the next morning, the quiet little wedding party was approaching the church, when to their surprise they beheld a fine coach, drawn by four horses, drawing up at the gate of the churchyard; and before dorcas had more than time to exclaim, "why, it is my lady scrope herself!" they saw that diminutive but remarkable old dame alighting from it, and walking nimbly up the path towards the porch. "i never dreamed she would really come, albeit i did let her know the day according to promise--or rather to her command," said her handmaiden, hurrying after her as if by instinct. the little figure in its sables and strangely-fashioned velvet bonnet turned at the sound of the quick footfall; and there stood the old lady scanning the whole party with her bead-like eyes, and giving little nods to this one and the other in response to their respectful reverences. "a pretty pair! a pretty pair!" was her comment upon the bridal couple, who walked together, and who certainly looked very handsome and happy. reuben had regained strength and colour, though his face was thinner and finer in outline than it had been before his illness; and gertrude had always been something of a beauty, and had greatly improved in looks during these weeks of happiness. "well, well, well! i am always sorry for folks who are tying burdens round their own necks; but some can do it with a better grace than others. "now, child," and she turned to gertrude, and rapped her cane upon the ground, "don't make a fool of yourself or your husband! don't begin by thinking him the best man in the world; else he may turn out all too soon to be the worst. don't let him trample upon you. hold your own with him. "pooh! i might as well spare my words. poor fools, they are all alike at starting. they only learn to sing to another tune when experience has taken them in hand for a while. well, well, well! 'tis a pretty sight after all. i'll say no more. give me your arm, good master harmer, and let me have a good view of the tying of this knot, so that there shall be no slipping out of it later." james harmer, with a bow which he made as courtly as he knew how, offered his arm to the curious, little, old lady; and strange it was to see her small, richly-clad, upright figure amongst the simple group before the altar that day. many there were who wondered what had brought her, and amongst the party themselves none could answer the question. it appeared to be one of those freaks for which, in old days, lady scrope had made herself famous throughout london, and the habit of which had not been overcome, although the opportunities were growing smaller with advancing years. she insisted on accompanying the party back to mary harmer's cottage. a simple collation was awaiting them before they travelled back to the city. lady scrope looked with the greatest interest and curiosity at the cottage; received the inquiring advances of fido very graciously; made the boys tell her all the history of his attaching himself to them; and finally made herself the most entertaining and agreeable guest at the board, although the sharpness of her speech and the acid favour of some of her remarks bred a little uneasiness in some of her auditors. nevertheless the time passed pleasantly enough; and when the hands of the clock pointed to the hour of eleven, the lady rose to her feet and remarked incisively: "my coach will be here immediately, if the varlets play me not false. the bride, bridegroom, and the bride's father shall drive with me. i mean to see the maiden's house before i return to mine own." a glowing colour was in gertrude's face. now she began to have a clearer idea why lady scrope was there. reuben had been to her once, and had asked her approval of their plan to expend the bulk of the dowry she had, with such eccentric and unaccountable generosity, bestowed upon the bride, upon the purchase of the house which had been for many generations in the family of her father, and which she loved well from old associations. reuben was going to set up in business for himself now. he had long been contemplating this step, since his father's trade was increasing steadily. they would now be partners, reuben taking one branch of the industry, and leaving his father the other. with the changes in fashions, changes in the manufacture of court luxuries became necessary. reuben would advance with the times, his father would remain where he was before. it was a plan which had been carefully considered by both father and son for long, and would have been earlier carried out had it not been for the disastrous stoppage of all trade during the visitation of the plague. now, however, london seemed as gay as ever. orders were pouring in. it was wonderful how little the gaps in the ranks seemed to be heeded. it was scarcely, even amongst the upper classes, that persons troubled to wear the deep mourning for departed friends which, under ordinary circumstances, they would have done. the great wish of all appeared to be to forget the awful visitation as fast as possible, and to drown the memory of it in feasting and revelry. and this spirit, however little to the liking of a godly man like james harmer, was nevertheless good for his trade. lady scrope being in the secret of the surprise in store for the master builder, was anxious to amuse herself by being witness to his enlightenment; and it certainly seemed as though she had full right thus to amuse herself, if it were her desire. reuben had some savings of his own; but the purchase of the house, had it been made by him alone, would have seriously crippled his ability to carry out his further plans of business. thus it was really lady scrope's golden guineas which had paved the way for the young people, and no one could grudge her the enjoyment of seeing them arrive at their new home. the master builder had had some dealings of late with her ladyship; for on hearing what he was employed to do for so many of her friends, she summoned him to fumigate both of her houses when she had got rid of all her temporary inmates; and she followed him about, watching what he did, and amusing herself with making him relate all the gossip he had picked up relative to her acquaintances into whose houses he had been admitted: how many amongst them had had the plague, how many had died, and all the other details that her insatiable curiosity could glean from him. and now the bridal couple, together with the bride's father, were being driven in state through the widest thoroughfares of the city in the hired chariot of lady scrope, she chatting all the while, and pointing out this thing and that as they went, openly lamenting that so little remained to remind them of the plague, and prophesying that london had not done with calamity yet. gertrude was amazed at the small change in the familiar streets as they neared their home. true, she saw more strange faces than she had been wont to do, and read new names and new signs upon the gaily-painted boards hanging over the shop doors. again and again she missed from some accustomed doorway the familiar face of the former owner, and saw that a stranger had taken the old business. but then, again, others were there in their old places; friendly faces beamed upon her as she looked out of the window. it was known upon the bridge itself that she was to come back today; and though the appearance of this fine coach caused a little thrill of surprise, there was a fine buzz of welcome as reuben put out his head and stopped the postillion at the familiar door; for so many fears had been entertained of reuben's death, that there were those who could not believe they should see him again in the flesh until he stood before them. "what means all this? why stop ye here?" asked the master builder, with a little agitation in his voice. "you have a home of your own, you told me, reuben, to which to take your wife. why stop you at your father's house? let the postillion drive to your own abode." "this is our own abode, dear father," said gertrude softly, alighting from the coach and taking him by the hand to lead him in. her other hand was held by her husband; and lady scrope was forgotten for the moment by all, as the three passed the familiar threshold amid a chorus of good wishes from friends and neighbours, to which reuben responded by a variety of signs, gertrude being too much moved to notice them. "dear father," she said, as they stood within the lower room, which was being now fitted as of old for a shop, "forgive us if we have kept our happy secret till now. we wanted to have the home ready ere we brought you to it. this is our home. a wonderful thing befell me. a dowry was bestowed upon me by a generous patroness, from whom i looked not to receive a penny; that dowry bought the house. reuben's business will give us an ample livelihood. thou wilt remain always with us in the dear old house which thou hast loved. oh how happy we shall be--how wondrously happy! "father dear, it was lady scrope who gave me the wonderful gift that has brought us all this. we must try to thank her ere we think of ourselves more." so speaking gertrude turned, with her eyes full of happy tears, towards lady scrope, who stood only a few paces off watching everything with her accustomed intense scrutiny, and held out both her hands in a sweet and simple gesture expressive of so much feeling that the old dame felt an unwonted mist rising in her eyes. "tut, tut, tut, child! i want no thanks. what good did the gold do me, thinkest thou, shut away in yonder box? what think you i had preserved it there for? marry that i might fling it away at dice or cards with those who came to visit me? it was my pleasure money, as i chose to call it. and then came the plague and smote hip and thigh amongst those who called me friend. and what good did the gold do me or any person else? if it pleases me to throw it away on a pair of fools, whose business is that but mine? "there, there, there, that will do, all of you good people. i want to see the house. i want none of your fool's talk. going to keep a shop here?--sensible man. i'll come and buy all my finery when you start business, and sit and gossip at the counter the while. so mind you have plenty of fine folks to gossip with me. if i were young again, i vow i'd keep a shop myself." and she made reuben show samples of his goods, which were piled up in readiness, albeit he was not quite ready to open shop; and very excellent of their kind they were, as lady scrope was not slow to remark. "i'll send the whole city to you. i'll make you the fashion yet. if i were a younger woman, and had my own old train of gallants after me, i'd have made your fortune for you before the year was out. but i'll do something yet, you shall see. and mind that you never begin to lend money, young man, to any needy young fool who may ask it of you. those greedy court gallants would eat up all the gold of the indies, and be no whit the richer for it. no money lending, young man, for in that way lies ruin, as too many have found." the master builder winced like one touched in a tender part, whilst reuben answered boldly: "i have no such intentions. i hate usury, nor care i to earn money for others to filch from me. i get my wealth by honest trade; and if any man comes to me for aid, all the help i can give him is to put him in the way of doing the like." lady scrope nodded her head and laughed her shrill witch-like laugh. "he! he! he! offer honest work to a needy gallant! may i be there to hear when thou dost. work, forsooth!--a turn at the galleys would do most of them a power of good. well, well, well, young man, thou speakest sound sense. thou shouldst prosper in thy business. "now, girl, show me the rest of the house, for i must needs be getting home ere long. i shall weary my old bones with all this gadding to and fro." gertrude was willing enough to obey. the house was hardly changed from the time she had left it, save that all which was faded and worn had been replaced and furbished anew, and the whole place made sweet and wholesome, and as clean and bright as hands could make it. gertrude would have preferred a plainer and simpler abode, more like that of her neighbours; but she had not had the heart to undo all her mother's dainty handiwork, and reuben had thought nothing too good for his bride. lady scrope gibed and jeered a little, but not unkindly. she knew all the family history by this time, and how that gertrude was not responsible for the luxuries with which her life would be surrounded. "go to, child, go to; i am no judge over thee. what matters it a few years earlier or later? it began in shakespeare's time, as you may read if you will, and it grows worse every generation. soon the shopmen and traders will be the fine gentlemen of the land, and we may hope for the pickings and leavings of their tables. what does it matter to me? i shall not be troubled by it. and if i be not troubled thereby, what matter if all the world goes mad? "now fare you well, young folks; and thou, good master builder, thank heaven for a good and dutiful daughter, for they grow not on every hedge in these graceless days. "see me to my coach, young man, if thou canst leave devouring thy wife with thine eyes for so much as a minute. "poor fools! poor fools! both of you. "give me a kiss, maiden--nay, mistress i must call thee now. be a good child, and be not too meek. remember the fate of the hapless griselda." nodding her head and shaking her finger, lady scrope vanished down the stairs upon reuben's arm; and gertrude, moved beyond her powers of self restraint by all she had gone through, flung herself into her father's arms, and the two mingled together their tears of thankfulness and joy. chapter xvi. a flaming city. many happy months passed away, and the great city began to forget the terrible calamity through which it had passed. there was a little fear at first when the summer set in exceptionally hot and dry--very much as it had done the preceding year; but the plague seemed to have wreaked its full vengeance upon the inhabitants, and there was no fresh outbreak, although isolated cases were reported, as was usual, from time to time, and sometimes a slight passing scare would upset the minds of men in a certain locality, to be shortly laid at rest when no further ill followed. the two houses on the bridge, standing sociably side by side, were pleasant and flourishing places of business. benjamin was now apprenticed to his brother reuben, his old master the carpenter having fallen a victim to the plague. dorcas remained with lady scrope, who was now reckoned as a kind friend and patroness to the harmers, father and son. rebecca fulfilled her old functions of the useful daughter at home, though it was thought she would not long remain there, as she was being openly courted by a young mercer in southwark, who had bought a business left without head through the ravages of the plague, and was rapidly working it up to something considerable and successful. the master builder, too, was getting on, although still doing a very small trade compared to what he had done before. many of his patrons were dead, others had been scared away altogether from london for the present, and with so many vacant houses to fill nobody cared to think of building. still he found employment of a kind, and was never idle, although things were very different from what they had been, and he thought rather of paying his way in a quiet fashion than of building up a great fortune. he lived in the old house with his daughter and son-in-law, and was happier than in the old days, when his wife had always been trying to make him ape the ways of the gentry, and his son had been wearying his life out with ceaseless importunities for money, which would only be wasted in drunkenness and rioting. now the days passed happily and peacefully. gertrude was a loving wife and a loving daughter. her father's comfort and welfare were studied equally with that of her husband. she did her utmost not to permit him ever to feel lonely or neglected, and she considered his needs as his own fine-lady wife had never thought of doing. he had also his friends next door to visit, where he was always welcome. there was now another door of communication opened between the two houses, and almost every evening the master builder would drop in for an hour to smoke a pipe with his friend and exchange the news of the day, leaving the young married couple to themselves, for a happy interchange of affection and confidences. the harmer household remained unchanged, save for the death of dan and the marriage of reuben; but the sailor had been so little at home, that there was no great blank left by his absence, and reuben was too close at hand to be greatly missed. janet had not returned to service. her mother had been rather horrified at the manner in which the poor girl had been treated by her mistress when the plague had appeared in the house. she did not care to send her back to lady howe, and janet had become so accomplished a nurse, and took such interest in the life, that she begged to be allowed to follow the calling of her aunt dinah, and to spend her time amongst the sick, wherever she might be needed. so both she and dinah morse lived at the house on the bridge, but went about amongst the sick in the neighbourhood, generally directed by dr. hooker, but sometimes called specially to urgent cases by neighbours or friends. sometimes they returned home at night to sleep, sometimes they remained for several days or weeks at a time with their patients, according to their degree and the urgency of the case. janet found herself very well content in her new life, and her mother liked it for her, since it brought her so much more to her home. it began to be noted that when dinah morse was at the house on the occasions of the visits of the master builder, he addressed a great part of his conversation to her, seemed never to weary hearing her talk, and would sit looking reflectively at her when other people were doing the talking. he had never forgotten how she had come to them in their hour of dire need, when poor frederick had sickened of the fell disease which so soon carried him off. he always declared that her tenderness to his wife and daughter at that time had been beyond all price, and it seemed as though his sense of obligation and gratitude did not lessen with time. sometimes james harmer would say smilingly to his wife: "methinks our good neighbour hath a great fancy for dinah. i always do say that such a woman as she ought to be the wife of some good honest man. they might do worse, both of them, than think of marriage. what think you of dinah? tends her fancy that way at all?" and at that question rachel would shake her head wisely and respond: "dinah is not one to wear her heart upon her sleeve! a woman hides her secret in her heart till the right time comes for giving an answer. but we shall see! we shall see!" in this manner the spring and summer passed happily and quickly away. august had come and gone, and now the first days of september had arrived. the heat still continued very great, and a parching east wind had been blowing for many weeks, which had dried up the woodwork of the houses till it was like tinder. sometimes the master builder, coming home from his work of repairing or altering some house either great or small, would say: "i would we could get rain. this long drought is something serious. i never knew the houses so dry and parched as they are now. if a fire were to break out, it would be no small matter to extinguish it. the water supply is very low, and the whole city is like tinder." it was saturday night. the sun had gone down like a great ball of fire, and gertrude had observed to her husband how it had dyed the river a peculiarly blood-red hue. one of those wandering fortune tellers, who had paraded the city so often during the early days of the plague (till the poor wretches were themselves carried off in great numbers by it), had passed down the street once or twice during the day, and had been always chanting a rude song like a dirge, in which many woes were said to be hanging over london town. these prognostications had been frequent since the appearance in the sky of another comet, which had been seen on all clear nights of late. it had considerably alarmed the citizens, who remembered the comet of the previous year, and the terrible visitation which had followed. this one was not very like the former; it was far more bright, and burning, and red, and its motion appeared more rapid in the sky. the soothsayers and astrologers, of which there were still plenty left, all averred that it bespoke some fresh calamity hanging over the city, and for a while there was considerable alarm in many minds, and some families actually left london, fearful that the plague would again break out there; but by this time the panic had well nigh died down. the comet ceased to be seen in the sky, and even the mournful words of the fortune tellers did not attract the notice they had done at first. the summer was waning, and no sickness had appeared; and of any other kind of calamity the people did not appear to dream. the master builder had gone in as usual to the next house to have a talk with his neighbour. but tonight he looked in vain for dinah. "she and janet have both been summoned to a fine lady who is sick in a grand house nigh to st. paul's. dr. hooker fetched them thither this morning. they will be well paid for their work, he says. the lady has sickened of a fever, and some of her household took fright lest it should be the plague, albeit the symptoms are quite different. so he must needs take both dinah and janet with him, that she might be rightly served and tended. tomorrow joseph shall go and ask news of her, and get speech with janet if he can, and learn how it fares with her. i confess i am glad, when she goes to fine houses, that dinah should be there also. janet is a pretty creature, and those young gallants think of nothing but to amuse themselves by turning girls' heads, be they ever so humble. "ah me! ah me! there is a vast deal of wickedness in the world! i cannot wonder that men foretell some fresh calamity upon this city. i am sure some of the things we hear and see--well, well, well, we must not judge others. it is enough that judgment and vengeance are the lord's." rachel stopped short because she saw the look of pain which always came into the master builder's face when he thought of his profligate young son, cut off in the prime of his youthful manhood, and that without any assurance on the part of those about him that he had repented of the error of his ways. the carelessness and wickedness of the young men of the city were always a sore subject, and he still winced when the pranks of the scourers were commented upon by his neighbours. "it is my lady desborough who has fallen ill," concluded rachel, anxious to turn the subject. "methinks you had some dealings with her lord not such very long time since. the name fell familiarly upon my ears." "yes, truly, i did much to garnish their house, and i built out a private parlour for my lady, all of looking glass and gilding. not long since i purified the house for them with the costliest of spices. lord desborough thinks all the world of his beauteous lady. they are devoted to each other, which is a goodly thing to see in these days. he will be greatly alarmed if she be seriously indisposed. he is a right worthy gentleman; and with thy permission i will accompany joseph to st. paul's tomorrow and learn the latest tidings of her." "with all my heart," answered the mother; and soon after that the master builder took his departure, and both houses settled to rest for the night. it might have been two or three o'clock in the morning, none could say exactly how time went on that memorable day, when the master builder was awakened by sounds in the adjoining chamber, where reuben and his wife slept; and before he was fully awake, he heard gertrude's voice at his door crying out: "o father, father! there is such a dreadful fire! reuben is going out to see where it is. methinks it must be very nigh at hand. prithee go with him, and see that he comes to no hurt!" the master builder was awake in an instant, and although it was an hour at which the room should be dark, he found it quite sufficiently light to dress without trouble, owing to the red glare of fire somewhere in the neighbourhood. "pray heaven it be not very near us!" was the cry of his heart as he hurried into his clothes, remembering his own auguries of a short time back respecting the spread of fire, if once it got a hold upon a street or building. he was dressed in a moment, and had joined reuben as the latter was feeling his way to the fastenings of the door. two of the shopmen, who slept below, were already aroused and wishful to join them; and as they emerged into the street, which was quite light with the palpitating glow of fire, the door of the harmers' house opened to admit the exit of the master of the house and his son joseph. "thou hast seen it also! i fear me it is very nigh at hand. i had a good look from my topmost window, and methought it must surely be in long lane or in pudding lane; certainly it is in one of the narrow thoroughfares turning off northward from thames street. it must have been burning for some while. it seems to have taken firm hold. belike the poor creatures there are all too terrified to do aught to check the spread of the flames. we must see what can be done. it will not do to let the flames get a hold. this strong dry wind will spread them west and north with terrible speed, if something be not done to check them!" james harmer spoke with the air of a man who is used to offices of authority. he had exercised one so long during the crisis of the plague, that the habit of thinking for his fellow citizens still clung to him. it appeared to him to be his bounden duty to do what he could to save life and property; and all the time he spoke he was hastening along the bridge in the direction of the smoke clouds and flames. the master builder hurried along at his side, and before they had reached the end of the bridge there were quite a dozen of the householders or their servants joining the procession to the scene of the conflagration. until they reached the corner of thames street they saw nothing beyond the red column of flame and the showers of sparks mingling with clouds of smoke; but when once they reached the corner, a terrible sight was revealed to them, for the whole block of buildings between pudding lane and new fish street was a mass of flames, and the fire seemed to be like a living thing, driven onwards before some mighty compelling power. "god preserve us all! it will be upon us in an hour if nothing be done to check it," cried harmer in sudden dismay. "what is being done? what are the people doing?" cried a score of voices. but what indeed could the terrified people do, wakened out of their sleep in the dead of night to find their houses burning about their ears? they were running helter skelter this way and that, not knowing which way to turn, like so many frightened sheep. not that they thought as yet that this fire was going to be so very different from other bad fires which some of them had seen; for their wooden and plaster houses burned down too readily at all times, and were built up easily enough afterwards. a little farther off the people were trying to get their goods out of the houses, that they might not lose all if the fire came their way. but those actually burned out seemed to do nothing but stand helplessly by looking on; and perhaps it was only the master builder himself who at this moment realized that there was a very serious peril threatening the whole quarter of the city where the fire had broken out, and had already taken such hold. the wind being slightly north as well as east in its direction, it seemed reasonable to hope that the conflagration would not cross thames street in a southerly direction, in which case the bridge would be safe; and, indeed, as new fish street was a fairly wide thoroughfare, it was rather confidently hoped that this might prove a check to the fire. the master builder ran up the street crying out to the terrified inhabitants to get all the water they could and fling it upon the roofs and walls of their dwellings, to strive to keep the flames at bay; but there was scarcely one to listen or try to obey. the people were all hurrying out of their houses, bringing their families and their goods and chattels with them. the street was so blocked by hand carts and jostling crowds, that it was hopeless to attempt any plan of organization here. then all too soon a cry went up that the fire had leaped the street and had ignited a house on the west side. a groan and a scream of terror went up as it was seen that this was all too true, and already great waves of flame seemed to be rushing onwards as if driven from the mouth of some vast blasting furnace; and the master builder returned to his friends with a very grave face. "heaven send the whole city be not destroyed!" he exclaimed; "never have i seen fire like unto this fire! "reuben, lad, make thy way with all speed to the lord mayor, and tell him of the peril in which we stand. he is the man to find means to check this fearful conflagration. would to heaven it were good sir john lawrence who were mayor, as he was in the days of the plague! he was a man of spirit, and courage, and resource. but i much fear me that poor bludworth has little of any of these qualities. nevertheless go to him, reuben. tell him what thou hast seen, and tell him that if he wishes not to see london burned about his ears it behoves him to do something!" reuben dashed off along thames street westward to do his errand, and then the master builder turned gravely to his friend and said: "harmer, i like not the aspect of things. i fear me that even we are likely to stand in dire peril ere long. yet we shall have time to take steps for our salvation, seeing the wind is our friend so far, though heaven alone knows when that may change, and drive the flames straight down upon us. yet, methinks, we shall have time for what must be done. wilt thou work hand in hand with me for the salvation of our goods and houses, even though it may mean present loss?" "i will do whatever is right and prudent," answered harmer, hurrying hack towards the bridge with his friend and with those who had followed them, and in a short while they were surrounded by a number of frightened neighbours, all asking what awful thing was happening, and what could be done to save themselves. the master builder was naturally the man looked to, and he gave answer quietly and firmly. if the fire once leaped thames street, and attacked the south side, nothing short of a miracle could save the bridge houses, unless some drastic step were taken; and the only method which he could devise in the emergency, was that some of the houses at the northern end should be demolished by means of gunpowder, and the ruins soaked in water, so that the passage of the flames might be stayed there. but at this suggestion the faces of those who lived in these same houses grew long and grave, as indeed the speaker had anticipated. the owners were not prepared for so great a sacrifice. they argued that with the wind where it was, the fire might in all probability not extend southward at all, in which case their loss would he useless. they talked and argued the matter out for about twenty anxious minutes, and in fine flatly refused to have their houses touched, preferring to take their chance of escaping the fire to this wholesale demolition. this was no more than the master builder had foreseen, and without attempting further argument he turned to his neighbour and said: "then it must be your workshops and storerooms that must go. you can better spare them than the house itself; and on the opposite side there is the empty house where poor david norris lived and died. there is none living there now to hinder us. we must take the law into our own hands and make the gap there. if the fire comes not this way, i will bear the blame with the mayor, if we be called to account; but methinks a little promptitude now may save half the bridge, and perchance all the southern part of london likewise!" "do as you will, good friend, your knowledge is greater than mine," answered james harmer with cheerful alacrity; "heaven forbid that i should value my goods beyond the life and property and salvation of the many in this time of threatened peril." "we shall save the goods first. it is only the sheds and workshops that must go," answered the master builder cheerily, and forthwith he and his men, who had come hurrying up, together with all the men and boys in the double harmer household, commenced carrying within shop and houses all the valuables stored in the smaller buildings hard by. it was a work quickly accomplished, and whilst it was being carried out, the master builder himself was carefully making preparations for the demolition of the empty house opposite, which indeed was already in some danger of falling into decay, and was empty and desolate. it had been the abode of the unfortunate man who brought his family back too soon to the city, and lost them all of the plague within a short time. he himself had lingered on for some months, and had then died of a broken heart. but nobody had cared to live in the house since. it was averred that it was haunted by the restless spirit of the poor man, and strange noises were said to issue from it at night. others declared that the ghost of the wife was seen flitting past the windows, and that she always carried a sick moaning child in her arms. so ill a name had the house got by reason of these many stories that none would take it, and there was therefore none to interfere when, with a loud report and showers of dust and sparks, the whole place and the workshop at the side were blown up at the command of the master builder, and reduced to a pile of ruins. in spite of all the excitement and fear caused by the spreading fire, the neighbours looked upon the master builder as an enthusiast and a madman, and upon james harmer as a poor dupe, to allow such destruction of property. no sooner were both sets of buildings destroyed than men were set to work with buckets and chains to drench the dusty heaps of the ruins with water, nor would the master builder permit the workers to slacken their efforts until the whole mass of demolished ruin was reduced to the condition of a soppy pulp. by this time the day had broken; but the sun was partially obscured by the thick pall of smoke which hung in the air, whilst the ceaseless roar of the flames was becoming terrible in its monotony. backwards and forwards ran excited men and boys, always bringing fresh reports as to the alarming spread of the fire. even upon the bridge the heat could plainly be felt. the workers who were called within doors to be refreshed by food and drink were almost too anxious to eat. never had such a fire been seen before. whilst the master builder and his friend were snatching a hasty meal, reuben came hurrying back with a smoke-blackened face. he too showed signs of grave anxiety. "well, lad, hast thou seen the lord mayor?" was the eager question. "ay, verily, i have seen him," answered reuben, with a bent brow, and a look of severity on his young face, "but i might as well have spoken to fido there for all the good i did." "why, how so?" asked his father quickly and sternly; "is the man lost to all sense of his duties? where was he? what said he? come sit thee down, lad, and eat thy fill, and tell us all the tale." reuben was hungry enough, and his wife hung over him supplying his needs; but he was thinking more of the perils of his fellow citizens, and of the supine conduct of the mayor, than of anything else. "i found the worshipful fellow in bed," he answered. "other messengers had arrived with the news, but his servant had not ventured to disturb him. i, however, would not be denied. i went up to him in his bed chamber, and i told him what i had seen, and warned him that there was need for prompt action. but he only answered with an oath and a ribald jest, which i will not repeat in the hearing of my wife or mother; and he would have turned again to his slumbers, had i not well nigh forced him to get up, and had not some of the aldermen arrived at that minute to speak of the matter, and inquire into its magnitude. they be all of them disposed to say that it will burn itself out fast enough like other fires; but i trow some amongst them are aroused to a fear that it may spread far in this dry wind, and with the houses so parched and cracked with heat. then i came away, having done mine errand, and went back to the fire. it had spread all too fast even in that short time, and the worst thing is that no means seem to be taken to stop it. the people run about like those distraught, crying that a second judgment has come, that it is god's doing, and that man cannot fight against it. they are all seeking to convey away their goods to some safe place; but the fire travels quicker than they, and they are forced to leave their chattels and flee for their lives. i trow such a sight has never been seen before." "it must be like the burning of rome in the days of the wicked emperor nero," said gertrude in a low, awed voice. "pray heaven they extinguish the flames soon! it would be fearful indeed were they to last till nightfall." at this moment rachel harmer came hurrying into the room with a pale scared face. "the child dorcas!" she cried. "why have we not thought of her? is she safe? where has the fire reached to? god forgive me! i must surely be off my head! husband, go for the child; she must be scared to death, even if naught worse has befallen her!" "i had not forgot the maid," answered the father; "but it is well she should be looked to now. the fire has not crossed thames street. lady scrope's house is safe yet a while; but unless things quickly improve, both she and the child should come hither. "make ready the best guest chamber in thy house, gertrude, and thy husband and i will go and bring her hither. "come, lad, as thy mother saith, the child may be scared at the heat and the flames. and my lady has many valuables to be rescued, too. it would be shame that they should perish in the flames if these leap the street. we will take the boat and moor it at cold harbour, and slip up by the side street out of the way of the smoke and the heat. we can thus bring her and her goods with most safety here. marry that is well bethought! we will lose not an hour. one cannot tell at what moment the fire may change its direction." reuben rose at once, and accompanied by two of the steadiest of the shopmen, they prepared to carry out their plan of seeking to rescue lady scrope and her valuables. chapter xvii. scenes of terror. "father! sweet father! thank heaven thou art come! methought we should be burned alive in this terrible house. methought perchance all of you had been burned. o father! tell me, what is befalling? it is like the last judgment, when all the world shall be consumed with fervent heat!" dorcas, with a white face and panting breath, stood clinging to her father's arm, as though she would never let it go. he soothed her tenderly, striving to pacify her terrors, but it was plain that she had been through some hours of terrible fear. "my little bird, didst thou think we should leave thee to perish here?" asked the father, half playfully, half reproachfully; "and if so affrighted, why didst thou not fly home to thy nest? that, at least, would have been easy." "ah, but i could not leave my lady when all besides had fled--even the two old creatures who were never afraid of remaining when the distemper was raging all around. she stands at the window watching the flames devouring all else opposite, and it is hot enough there well nigh to singe the hair on her head; but she laughs and chuckles the while, and says the most horrible things. i cannot bear to go anigh her; and yet i cannot leave her alone. "o father, father! come and get her away. she seems like one made without the power of fear. the more that others are affrighted, the more she seems to rejoice!" dorcas and her father and brother were in the narrow entry upon which the back door of the house opened. this alley led right down to the river, where the boat was moored under the charge of the two shopmen. it would be easy to carry down any valuables and load it up, and then transport the intrepid old woman, when she had looked her fill, and when she saw her own safety threatened. for it began to be evident that the flames would quickly overleap the gap presented by thames street. they were gathering so fearfully in power that great flakes of fire detached themselves from the burning buildings and leaped upon other places to right and left, as though endowed with the power of volition. the fire was even spreading eastward in spite of the strong east wind--not, of course, with anything like the rapidity with which it made its way westward, but in a fashion which plainly showed how firm a hold it had upon the doomed houses. there was no time to lose if lady scrope and her valuables were to be saved. the house seemed full of smoke as they entered it; and dorcas led them up the stairs into the parlour, at the window of which her mistress was standing, leaning upon her stick, and uttering a succession of short, sharp exclamations, intermingled with the cackling laugh of old age. "ha! that is a good one! some roof fell in then! see the sparks rushing up like waters from a fountain! i would not have missed that! pity it is daylight; 'twould have been twice as fine at night! good! good! good! yes run, my man, run, or the flames will catch you. ha! they gave him a lick, and he has dropped his bundle and fled for his very life. ha! ha! ha! it is as good as the best play i ever saw in my life! here comes another. oh, he has so laden himself that he can scarcely run. there! he is down; he struggles to rise, but his pack holds him to the ground. o my good fool! you will find that your goods cost you dear today. you should have read your bible to better purpose. ah! there is some good-natured fool helping him up and along. it is more than he deserves. i should have liked to see what he did when the next wave of fire ran up the street. "dorcas, child, where art thou? thou art losing the finest sight of thy life! if thou hast courage to stay with me, why hast thou not courage to enjoy such a sight as thou wilt not see twice in a lifetime?" "madam! madam!" cried the girl running forward, "here are my father and brother, come to help to save your goods and escape by the back. they have brought the boat to cold harbour, where it is moored; and, if it please you, they will conduct you to it, and come back and fetch such goods as you would most wish saved." but the old woman did not even turn her head. she was eagerly scanning the street without, along which sheets of flame seemed to be driven. "great powers, what a noise! methinks some church tower has collapsed. st. lawrence, poultney, belike. st. mary's, bush lane, will be the next. would i were there to see. i will to the roof of the house to obtain a better view. zounds, but this is worth a hundred plagues! i had never thought to live to see london burned about my ears. what a noise the fire makes! it is like the rushing of a mighty flood. oh, a flood of fire is a fine thing!" the weird old woman looked like a spirit of the devouring element, as she stood at her window talking aloud in her strange excitement and enjoyment of the awful destruction about her. the heat within the room was becoming intolerable, yet she did not appear to feel it. the house being well built, with thick walls and well-fitting windows, resisted the entrance of the great volumes of smoke that roiled along laden with sparks and burning fragments of wood; but these fiery heralds were becoming so menacing and continuous, that the harmers saw plainly how little time was to be lost if they would save either the old woman or her valuables. "madam," said james harmer approaching, and forcing his presence upon the notice of the mistress of the house, "there is little time to lose if you would save yourself or your goods. we have come to give such assistance as lies in our power. will you give me your authority to bear away hence all such things as may be most readily transported and are of most value? when we have saved these, belike you will have looked your fill on the fire. and, at least, you can see it as well from any other place in the neighbourhood without this risk. may we commence our task of rescue?" "oh yes, my good fellow, take what you will. dorcas will show you what is of greatest value. lade yourselves with spoil, and make yourselves rich for life. i drove forth the hired varlets who would fain have robbed me ere they left; but take what you will, and my blessing with it. your daughter deserves a dowry at my hands. take all you can lay hands upon; i shall want it no more. ha! i must to the roof! i must to the roof! why, if it only lasts till nightfall, what a sight it will be! right glad am i that i have lived to see this day." without particularly heeding the words of the strange old woman, father and son, directed by dorcas, set about rapidly to collect and transport to the boat the large quantities of silver plate and other valuables which, during her long life, lady scrope had collected about her. the rich furniture had, perforce, to be left behind, save a small piece here and there of exceptional value; but there were jewels, and golden trinkets, and strangely-carved ivories set with gems, and all manner of costly trophies from the distant lands whither vessels now went and returned laden with all manner of wonders. the harmers were amazed at the vast amount of treasure hoarded up in that small house, and wondered that lady scrope had not many times had her life attempted by the servants, who must have known something of the contents of cabinet and chest. but her reputation as a witch had been a great safeguard, and her own intrepid spirit had done even more to hold robbers at bay. all who knew her were fully aware that she was quite capable of shooting down any person found in the act of robbing her, and that she always kept loaded pistols in her room in readiness. there was a story whispered about, of her having locked up in one of her rooms a servant whom she had caught pilfering, and it was said that she had starved him to death amid the plunder he had gathered, and had afterwards had his body flung without burial into the river. whether there was more than rumour in such a gruesome tale none could now say, but it had long become an acknowledged axiom that lady scrope's goods had better be let alone. twice had the boat been laden and returned, for all concerned worked with a will, and now all had been removed from the house which it was possible to take on such short notice and in such a fashion. the fire was surging furiously across the road, and in more than one place it had leaped the street, and the other side, the south side, was now burning as fiercely as the northern. dorcas had been dispatched to call down lady scrope, for her father reckoned that in ten minutes more the house would be actually engulfed in the oncoming mass of flames. and now the girl hurried up to them, her face blanched with terror. "she will not come, father; she will not come. she laughs to scorn all that i say. she stands upon the parapet of the roof, tossing her arms, and crying aloud as she sees building after building catch fire, and the great billows of flame rolling along. oh, it is terrible to see and to hear her! methinks she has gone distraught. prithee, go fetch her down by force, dear father, for i trow that naught else will suffice." father and son looked at each other in consternation. they had not seriously contemplated the possibility of finding the old woman obstinate to the last. but yet, now that dorcas spoke, it seemed to them quite in keeping with what they had heard of her, that she should decline to leave even in the face of dire peril. "run to the boat, child!" cried the father. "let us know that thou art safe on board, and leave thy mistress to us. if she come not peaceably, we must needs carry her down. "come, reuben, we must not tarry within these walls more than five minutes longer. the fire is approaching on all sides. i fear me, both the allhallowes will be victims next." springing up the staircase, now thick with smoke, father and son emerged at last upon a little leaden platform, and saw at a short distance from them the old woman whom they sought, tossing her arms wildly up and down, and bursting into awful laughter when anything more terrible than usual made itself apparent. they could not get quite up to her without actually crawling along an unguarded ridge of masonry, as she must have done to attain her present position; but they approached as near as was possible, and called to her urgently: "madam, we have saved your goods as far as it was possible; now we come to save you. lose not a moment in escaping from the house. in a few more minutes escape will be impossible." she turned and faced them then, dropping her mocking and excited manner, and speaking quite calmly and quietly. "good fellow, who told you that i should leave my house? i have no intention whatever of doing any such thing. what should i do in a strange place with strange surroundings? here i have lived, and here i will die. you are an honest man, and you have an honest wench for your daughter. keep all you have saved, and give her a marriage portion when she is fool enough to marry. as for me, i shall want it no more." "but, madam, it is idle speaking thus!" cried reuben, with the impetuosity of youth. "you must leave your house on the instant--" "so they told me in the time of the plague," returned lady scrope, with a little, disdainful smile; "but i told them i should never die in my bed." "madam, we cannot leave you here to perish in the flames," cried the youth, with some heat and excitement of manner. "i would that you would come quietly with us, but if not i must needs--" and here he began to suit the action to the words, and to make as though he would creep along the ledge and gain the old woman's vantage ground, as, indeed, was his intention. but he had hardly commenced this perilous transit before he felt himself pulled back by his father, who said, in a strange, muffled voice: "it is useless, reuben; we can do nothing. we must leave her to her fate. either she is truly a witch, as men say, or else her brain is turned by the fearsome sight." and reuben, following his father's glance, saw that the redoubtable lady scrope had drawn forth a pistol from pocket or girdle, and was pointing it full at him, with a light in her eyes which plainly betokened her intention of using it if he dared to thwart her beyond a certain point. when she saw the action of james harmer, she smiled a sardonic smile. "farewell, gentlemen," she said, with a wave of her hand. "i thank you for your good offices, and for your kindly thought for me. but no man has ever yet moved me from my purpose, and no man has laid hands on me against my will--nor ever shall. go! farewell! save yourselves, and take my blessing and good wishes with you; but i move not an inch from where i stand. i defy the fire, as i defied the plague!" it was useless to remain. words were thrown away, and to attempt force would but bring certain death upon whoever attempted it. the fire was already almost upon them. father and son, after one despairing look at each other, darted down the stairs again, and had but just time to make their escape ere a great wave of flame came rolling along overhead, and the house itself was wrapped in the fiery mantle. dorcas, waiting with the men in the boat, devoured them with her eyes as they appeared, and uttered a little cry of horror and amazement when she saw them appear, choked and blackened, but alone. "she would not come! she would not come! oh, i feared it from the first; but it seemed so impossible! oh, how could she stay there alone in that sea of fire! o my mistress! my mistress! my poor mistress! she was always kind to me." neither father nor brother spoke as they got into the boat and pushed off into the glowing river. it was terrible to think of that intrepid old woman facing her self-chosen and fiery doom alone up there upon the roof of that blazing house. "she must have been mad!" sobbed dorcas; and her father answered with grave solemnity: "methinks that self-will, never checked, never guided, breeds in the mind a sort of madness. let us not judge her. god is the judge. by this time, methinks, she will have passed from time to eternity." dorcas shuddered and hid her face. she could not grasp the thought that her redoubtable mistress was no more; but the weird sight of the fire, as seen from the river, drew her thoughts even from the contemplation of the tragedy just enacted. the great pall of smoke seemed extending to a fearful distance, and the girl turned with a sudden terror to her father. "father, will our house be burned?" "i trust not, my child, i trust not. it is of great moment that the bridge should be saved, not for its own sake only, but to keep the flames from spreading southward, as they might if they crossed that frail passage. we have done what we could; and we cannot be surrounded as are other houses. the fire can advance but by one road upon us. i trust the action we have taken will suffice to save us and others. i would fain be at home to see how matters are going there. i fear me that the pillar of fire over yonder is the blazing tower of st. magnus. if so, the fire is fearfully near the head of the bridge. god help the poor families who would not consent to the demolition of their houses for the common weal! i fear me now they are in danger of losing both houses and goods!" it was even so, as the harmers found on reaching their own abode, which they did by putting across the river to the southwark side, to avoid the peril from the burning fragments which were flying all about the north bank of the river. the flames, having once leaped thames street, were devouring the houses on the southern side of the street with an astonishing rapidity; and the river was crowded with wherries, to which the affrighted people brought such goods as they could hastily lay hands upon in the terror and confusion. st. magnus was now burning furiously, and great flakes of fire were falling pitilessly upon the houses at the northern end of the bridge. even as the harmers came hurrying up, a shout of fear told them that one of these had ignited, and the next minute there was no mistaking it. the houses on both sides of the northern end of the bridge were in flames; and the people who had somehow trusted that the bridge would, on account of its more isolated position, escape, were rushing terrified out of their doors, or were flinging their goods out of the windows with a recklessness that caused many of them to be broken to fragments as they reached the ground, whilst others were seized and carried off by the thieves and vagabonds who came swarming out of the dens of the low-lying parts of the city, eager to turn the public calamity into an occasion of private gain, and lost no opportunity of appropriating in the general confusion anything upon which they could lay their hands. "pray heaven the means we have taken may be blessed to the city!" cried james harmer, as he hurried along. he found his men hard at work pumping water and drenching the ruins with it; for, as they said, the great heat dried up the moisture with inconceivable rapidity, and if once these ruins fired, nothing short of a miracle could save the remainder of the houses. other stout fellows were upon the roofs with their buckets, emptying them as fast as they were filled upon the roofs and walls, so that when burning fragments and showers of sparks or even a leaping billow of flame smote upon them, it hissed like a live thing repulsed, and died away in smoke and blackness. it was the same when the flames reached the gap which had been made in the buildings by the master builder. the angry fire leapt again and again upon the drenched ruins, but each time fell back hissing and throwing off clouds of steam. for above two long hours that seemed like days the hand-to-hand fight continued, resolute and determined men casting water ceaselessly upon the ruins and the roofs and walls of the adjoining houses, the fire on the other side of the gap blazing furiously, and seeking to overstep it whenever a puff of wind gave it the right impetus. had the wind shifted a point to the south, possibly nothing could have saved the bridge; but the general direction was northeast, and it was only an occasional eddy that brought a rush of flames to the southward. but there was great peril from the intense heat generated by the huge body of burning buildings close at hand, and from the flying splinters and clouds of sparks. fearlessly and courageously as the workers toiled on, there were moments when their hearts almost failed them, when it seemed as though nothing could stop the oncoming tyrant, which appeared more like a living monster than a mere inanimate agency. but as the daylight waned, it began to be evident that victory would be with the devoted workers. although the ever-increasing light in the sky told them that in other directions the fire was spreading with tireless fury, in the neighbourhood of the bridge and the places where it had broken out it had almost wreaked its fury. it had burned houses, and shops, and churches to the very ground. the lambent flames still played about the heaps of burning ruins, but the fury of the conflagration had abated through lack of material upon which to feed itself. victory remained finally with those who had worked so well to keep the foe in check, and keep in safety the southern portion of the city. the master builder's scheme had been attended with marked success. the demolished buildings had arrested the progress of the flames, although not without severe labour on the part of those concerned. when the harmer family met together to eat and drink after the toils of the day, so wearied out that even the knowledge that the terrible fire was still devouring all before it in other quarters could not keep them from their beds that night, the master of the house said to his friend the master builder: "truly, if other means fail, we had better set about blowing up whole streets of houses in the path of the flames. we will to the lord mayor at daybreak, and tell him how the bridge has been saved. the people may lament at the destruction of their houses, but sure that is better than that all the city should be ravaged by fire!" busy indeed were the women of both those abodes upon that memorable night. from basement to attic their houses were crowded with neighbours who had been burned out, and who must either pass the night in the open air or else seek shelter from friends more fortunate than themselves. the men, for the most part, were abroad in the streets, drawn thither by the excitement of the great fire, and by the hope of helping to save other persons and goods. but the women and children crowded together in helpless dismay, watching from the windows the increasing glow in the sky as the sun sank and night came on, and mingling tears of terror for others with their own lamentations over the loss of houses and goods. good rachel harmer and her daughters and daughter-in-law moved amongst the poor creatures like ministering angels. the children were fed and put to bed by twos and threes together. the mothers were bidden to table in relays, and everything was done to cheer and sustain them. good james harmer thought not of his own goods when his neighbours were in dire need, and neither he nor his son grudged the hospitality which was willingly accorded to all who asked it, even though the houses would not stretch themselves out for the accommodation of more than a certain number. but as in times of trouble men draw very near together, so the misfortune of the citizens of london opened the hearts of their neighbours of southwark and the surrounding villages, who themselves were now safe and in no danger from the great fire. hospitable countrymen came with wagons and took away homeless creatures with their few poor goods, to be entertained for a while by their own wives and daughters. others who had to encamp in the open fields were supplied with food by the surrounding inhabitants; and although there were much sorrow of heart and distress, the kindness shown to the burned out families did much to assuage their woes. james harmer, who had done much to see to the safe housing of multitudes of women and children, came home at last, and gathering his household about him, gave thanks for their timely preservation in another great peril; and then he dismissed them to their beds, bidding them sleep, for that none knew what the morrow might bring forth. and they went to such couches as they could find for themselves, ready to do his behest; and though london was in flames, and the house almost as light as day, there were few that did not sleep soundly on the night which followed that strange eventful sunday. chapter xviii. what befell dinah. dinah morse and her niece janet were faring sumptuously in lord desborough's house, hard by st. paul's churchyard. his young wife lay sick of a grievous fever, and he was well nigh distracted by the fear of losing her. nothing was too good for her, or for the gentle-faced, soft-voiced nurses who had come to tend her in her hour of need. the best of everything was at their disposal; and it was no great source of regret to them that several of the hired servants had fled before their arrival, a whisper having gone through the house that her ladyship had taken the plague. dinah and janet had seen too much of the plague to be deceived by a few trifling similarities in some of the symptoms. they were able to assure the distracted husband that it was not the dreaded distemper, and then they settled to the task of nursing like those habituated to it; and so different were they in their ways from the women he had seen before in the office of sick nurse, many of whom were creatures of no good reputation, and of evil habits and life, that his mind was almost relieved of its fears and anxiety, and he began to entertain joyful hopes of the recovery of his spouse. upon the sunday morning which had passed so strangely and eventfully for those in the east of the city, there was nothing to disturb the tranquillity of patient or of nurses. it had been a hot night, and janet, when she relieved dinah towards morning, said she had seen a red light in the sky towards the east, and feared there had been a bad fire. but neither of them thought much of this; and when the bell of st. paul's rang for morning service, dinah bade janet put on her hood and go, for lady desborough was sleeping quietly, and would only need quiet watching for the next few hours. when janet entered the great building she was aware that a certain excitement and commotion seemed to prevail in some of the groups gathered together in paul's walk, as the long nave of the old building was called. paul's walk was a place of no very good repute, and any modest girl was wont to hurry through it with her hood drawn and her eyes bent upon the ground. disgraceful as such desecration must be accounted, there can be no doubt that paul's walk was a regular lounge for the dissipated and licentious young gallants of the day, a place where barter and traffic were shamelessly carried on, and where all sorts of evil practices prevailed. the sacredness of a building solemnly consecrated to god by their pious forefathers seemed to mean nothing to the reckless roisterers of that shameless age. the puritans during the late civil war had set the example of desecrating churches, by using them as stables and hospitals, and for other secular purposes. it was a natural outcome of such practices that the succeeding generation should go a step further and do infinitely worse. if god-fearing men did not scruple to desecrate consecrated churches, was it likely that their godless successors would have greater misgivings? janet therefore hurried along without seeking to know what men were talking of, and during the time that the service went on she almost forgot the impression she had taken in on her first entrance. as she came out she joined the old door porter of lord desborough's house, and was glad to walk with him through the crowded nave and into the bright, sunny air without. although the sun was shining, she was aware of a certain murkiness in the air, but did not specially heed it until some loudly-spoken words fell upon her ears. "but forty hours, and this whole city shall be consumed by fire!" shouted a strange-looking man, who, in very scanty attire, was stationed upon the top of the steps, and was declaiming and gesticulating as he addressed a rather frightened-looking crowd beneath him. "within forty hours there shall not be left standing one stone upon another in all this mighty edifice. the hand of the lord is stretched forth against this evil city, and judgment shall begin at his sanctuary. beware, and bewail, and repent in dust and ashes, for the lord will do a thing this day which will cause the ears of every one who hears it to tingle. he is coming! he is coming! he is coming in clouds and majesty in a flaming fire, even as he appeared on the mount of sinai! be ready to meet him. he comes to smite and not to spare! his chariots of fire are over us already. they travel apace upon the wings of the wind. i see them! i hear them! they come! they come! they come!" the fanatic waved his hands in the air with frantic gestures, and pointed eastward. certainly there did appear to be a strange murkiness and haze in the air; and was there not a smell as of burning? or was it but the idea suggested by the man's words? janet trembled as she slipped her arm within that of the old porter. "what does he mean?" she asked nervously. "the people seem very attentive to hear. they look affrighted, and some of them seem to tremble. what does it all mean?" "i scarce know myself. i heard men speak of a terrible fire right away in the east that has been burning many hours now. but sure they cannot fear that it will come nigh to st. paul's. that were madness indeed! why, each dry summer, as it comes, brings us plenty of bad fires. the fellow is but one of those mad fools who love to scare honest folks out of their senses. heed him not, mistress. belike he knows no more than thou and i. it is his trade to set men trembling. let us go home; there is no danger for us." rather consoled by these words, and certainly without any real apprehensions for their personal safety, janet returned to the house, where she and dinah passed a quiet day. neither of them went out again; and though they spoke sometimes of the fire, and wondered if it had been extinguished, they did not suffer any real anxiety of mind. "i trust it went not nigh to our homes," said janet once or twice. "i would that one of the boys might come and give us news of them. but if folks are in trouble over yonder, father is certain to have his hands full. he will never stand by idle whilst other folks are suffering danger and loss." "he is a good man," answered dinah, and with her these words stood for much. towards nightfall lord desborough came in with rather an anxious look upon his face. his eyes first sought the face of his wife; but seeing her lie in the tranquil sleep which was her best medicine, he was satisfied of her well being, and without putting his usual string of questions he began abruptly to ask of dinah: "have you heard news of this terrible fire?" both nurses looked earnestly at him. "is it not yet extinguished, my lord?" "extinguished? no, nor likely to be, if all we hear be true. i have not seen it with mine own eyes. i was at whitehall all the day, and heard no more than that some houses and churches in the east had been burned. but they say now that the flames are spreading this way with all the violence of a tempest at sea, and those who have been to see say that it is like a great sea of fire, rushing over everything so that nothing can hinder it. the lord mayor and his aldermen have been down since the morning, striving to do what they can; but, so far as report says, the flames are yet unchecked. it seems impossible that they should ever reach even to us here; but i am somewhat full of fear. what would befall my poor young wife if the fire were to threaten this house?" dinah looked grave and anxious. lady desborough's condition was critical, and she could only be moved at considerable risk. but it seemed impossible that the fire could travel all this distance. only the troubled look on the husband's face would have convinced her that such a thing could be contemplated for a moment even by the faintest-hearted. "you would not have us move her now, ere the danger approaches?" asked the husband anxiously. "no, my lord. to move her tonight would be, i think, certain death," answered dinah gravely. "she has but passed the crisis of a very serious fever, and is weak as a newborn babe. we will strive all we can to get up her strength, that she may be able for what may come. but i trust and hope the fire will be extinguished long ere it reaches us. oh, surely never was there fire that burned for days and destroyed whole streets and parishes!" "and oh, my lord, can you tell us if the bridge is safe?" asked janet clasping her hands together in an agony of uncertainty and fear. "have you heard news of the bridge? oh, say it is not burned! they all talk of the east, but what does that mean? who can tell me if my father's house has escaped?" lord desborough was a very kindly man, and the distress of the girl touched him. "i will go forth and ask news of all who have been thither to see," he answered. "many have gone both by land and water to see the great sight. i would go likewise, save that i fear to leave my wife. but, at least, i will seek all the news i can get, and come again to you." the master of the house went forth, and the two anxious watchers, after a long look at their patient to satisfy themselves that she was sleeping peacefully, and not likely to wake suddenly, crept silently into an adjoining room, where a large window looking eastward enabled them to see in the sky that strange and terrible glow, which was so bright and fierce as darkness fell that they were appalled in beholding it spreading and brightening in the sky. "good lack, what a terrible fire it must be!" cried janet, wringing her hands together. "o good aunt, what can resist the oncoming fury of such a fearful conflagration? would that i knew my father's house was safe. but, at least, those within must have had warning, and they could with ease escape by water if even the streets were in flames. alack, this poor city! it does indeed seem as though the vials of god's wrath were being poured out upon it! will his hand be stayed till all is destroyed? surely the hearts of men must turn back to him in these days of dire calamity!" dinah gravely shook her head, her face lighted up by the ever-increasing light in the eastern sky, which grew brighter and brighter with the gathering shades of night. "methought in those terrible days of the plague that surely men's hearts would, for the future, be set upon higher things, seeing how they had learned by fearful experience that man's life is but a vapour that the wind carrieth away. but as soon as the pressing peril abated, they hardened their hearts, and turned hack to their evil ways. it may be that even this warning will be lost upon them. god alone knows how many will see his hand in this great judgment, and will turn to him in fear if not in love!" before many minutes had passed affrighted servants began peeping and then crowding into the room, as though they felt more assurance in presence of dinah's quiet steadfastness and courage. the faces of the maids were pale with apprehension. it was difficult to believe, in the midst of this ruddy glare which actually palpitated as the lights and shadows danced upon the wall, that the fire was yet as distant as was reported. all the menservants had run out into the streets after news of the progress of the fire, and the women were scared by their absence. dinah did what she could to calm them, pointing out that since they could as yet neither hear nor feel anything of so great a fire, it must still be a great way off. it was hardly possible to believe that it would be permitted to sweep onwards much longer unchecked. by this time men's minds must be fully alive to the great peril in which all london stood, and she doubted not that some wise measures would soon be taken to stay the spread of the flames. she advised the maidens to go to bed and not think any more about it. let them commend themselves to god and seek to sleep. she would undertake to watch, and to rouse them up should there be any need during the night. somewhat appeased and comforted by these words, the maids withdrew and sought their needed rest. but janet and dinah returned to the sickroom, resolved to keep vigil there, and only to sleep by turns upon the couch, ready dressed in case of emergency. it was nigh upon midnight before lord desborough returned, and he was so blackened and begrimed that they scarcely knew him. his wife was still sleeping the sleep of exhausted nature, and, after one glance at her, the young nobleman turned towards janet, who was quivering all over in her anxiety to hear the news. "well, maiden, thy father's house is safe, and half the bridge is safe; and the thanks of that are due to him and to a worthy neighbour, who by their wise exertions stayed the fire, which might else have spread even to the other side of the river." janet and dinah exchanged looks of unspeakable relief, and lord desborough continued in the same cautious undertone: "once out of doors, the fire fever quickly got its hold on me, even as it has gotten hold upon almost every person in the city. i had not meant to go far but i took a wherry, and, the tide serving well, i was swiftly borne along towards the bridge, and from the river i saw the raging of such a fire as, methinks, the world has never seen before. no words of mine can paint the awful grandeur of the sight i saw. it was as light as day upon the water, and there were times when the river itself seemed ablaze. for, as the flames wrought havoc amongst the warehouses and stores along the wharfs, burning masses of oil and tar would pour out upon the bosom of the water, blazing terribly, and the boatmen had to keep a sharp watch sometimes lest they and their craft should be engulfed in the fiery stream. to the ignorant, who knew not what caused the water to wear this aspect of burning, it appeared as though even the river had ignited. this increased their terrors tenfold, and they say that some poor distraught creatures actually flung themselves into the fire or the water, convinced that the end of the world had come, and careless as to whether they perished soon or late." "but my father--my father!" cried janet earnestly. "ah, true, thy father. i heard of him from the watermen in the wherries, who told me the tale of how he had saved the bridge by pulling down his workshops and drenching the ruins with water. it seemeth to me that unless some prompt and resolute course of a similar kind is taken tomorrow or tonight, infinite loss must ensue. no ordinary means can now check this great fire. but surely the lord mayor and his advisers will have by now a plan on foot. were i not so weary, and anxious about my wife, i would go forth once more to see what was doing. but i must wait now for the morrow, and then, pray heaven all danger may be at an end. fear not, good friends, if you hear terrible sounds as of an earthquake shaking the house this night. men say that if the city is to be saved it must be by the blowing up of whole streets of small houses somewhere in the path of the flames, so that they shall have nothing whereon to feed. others say that nothing will stop them, and that none will be found ready to make sacrifice of their dwellings for the public good, preferring to risk the chance of the flames reaching them. i know not the truth of all the rumours flying about; but the thing might be, and might be wisely done. so fear not if you should hear some sounds that will make you think of an earthquake. and call me if aught alarms you, or if my wife should change either for the better or the worse." so saying, lord desborough took himself off to his well-earned repose; and the two nurses passed the night, sometimes waking and sometimes sleeping, but not disturbed by any strange sounds of explosion, and hopeful, as the night passed without special event, that the fire had been extinguished. but morning brought appalling accounts of its spread. nothing had been done, it seemed, to stay its course. it had reached cheapside, and was rushing a headlong course down it, and even the guildhall, men said, would not escape. north and west the great, rolling body of the flames was spreading; churches were going down before it, one after the other, as helplessly as the timber and plaster houses, which burned like so much tinder. hour after hour as that day passed by fresh and terrible items of news were brought in. would anything ever stop the oncoming sea of fire? surely--surely something would be done to save st. paul's. surely that magnificent and time-honoured structure would not be permitted to perish without some attempt to save it! dinah went out at midday for a mouthful of air, leaving janet in charge of the sick lady. she turned her steps towards the great edifice towering up in all its grandeur towards the sunny sky. it was hard indeed to believe that it could succumb to the devouring element, so solid and unconsumable it looked. yet, although all men were asserting vehemently that "paul's could never burn," all faces were looking anxious, and all ears were eagerly attuned to catch any new item of news which a messenger or passerby might bring. the murkiness in the air, faintly discernible even yesterday, had become very marked by this time. the smell of fire was in the air, although as yet the terrible roaring of the flames, of which all men who had been near it were speaking, had not yet become audible in the babel of talk going on in the streets and about the great church. the dean and canons were grouped about the precincts, looking anxiously into each other's faces, as though to seek to read encouragement from one another. nothing was talked of but the fire, the incapacity shown by the civic authorities in dealing with it, and lamentations that good sir john lawrence, who had coped so ably with the pestilence last year, should be no longer in office at this second great crisis. still it was averred on all hands that something was about to be done; that it was too scandalous to stand by panic stricken whilst the whole city perished. every one seemed to have heard talk respecting the demolition or blowing up of houses in the path of the flames; but none could say actually that it had been done, or was about to be done, in any given locality. burned out households were pouring continually along the choked thoroughfares, striving to find safe places where they might bestow such goods as they had succeeded in saving. charitable persons were occupied in housing and feeding those who had nothing of their own; whilst others, whose fears were on a larger scale, were fleeing altogether away from the city to friends in the country beyond, desiring only to escape the coming judgment, which seemed like that poured out on sodom. dinah went back with a very grave face to her charge. the poor lady had now recovered her senses, and though as weak as a newborn babe, was able to smile from time to time upon her husband, who sat beside her holding her hand between his. he was so overjoyed at this happy change in his wife's condition that he had no thought to spare at this moment for the peril of the city. he asked for no news as dinah appeared; and indeed it was very necessary that the patient should not be in any wise alarmed or excited. dinah, however, was becoming very uneasy as time went on; and she was certain that the air grew darker than could be accounted for by the falling dusk, and upon going to the east window as the twilight fell, she was appalled by the awful glare in the sky, and was certain that now, indeed, she did begin to distinguish the roaring of the flames as the wind drifted them ever onwards and onwards. had it not been for the exceedingly critical state in which the patient lay, she would have suggested her removal before things grew worse. as it was, it might be death to move her; and perhaps the flames would be stayed ere they reached the noble cathedral pile. surely every effort would be made for that end. it was difficult to imagine that the citizens would not combine together in some great and mighty effort to save their homes and their sanctuary before it should be too late. "what an awful sight!" exclaimed a soft voice behind her. "heaven grant the peril be not so nigh as it looks!" it was lord desborough, who had come in and was looking with anxious eyes at the flaming sky, over which great clouds of sparks and flaming splinters could be seen drifting. it might only be fancy, but the room seemed to be growing hot with the breath of the fire. the young nobleman's face was very grave and disturbed. "what must we do?" he asked of dinah. "can she be moved? ought we to take her elsewhere?" "i would we could," answered dinah, "but she is so weak that it may be death to carry her hence, and if we spoke to her of this terrible thing that is happening, the shock might bring back the fever, and then, indeed, all would be lost." the husband wrung his hands together in the utmost anxiety. dinah stood thinking deeply. "my lord," she presently said, "it may come to this, that she will have to be moved, risk or no risk. should we not think about whither to take her if it be needful?" "ay, verily; but where may that be? who can know what place is safe? and to transport her far would be certain death. she would die on the road thither." "that is very true, my lord," answered dinah; "but it has come into my mind that, perchance, my sister's house could receive her--that house upon the bridge, which is now safe, and which can be in no danger again, since all the city about it lies in ashes. by boat we could transport her most gently of all; and tonight, upon the rising tide, it might well be done, if the need should become more pressing." "a good thought! a happy thought indeed!" cried lord desborough. "but art thou sure that thy good kinsmen will have room within their walls? they may have befriended so many." "that is like enow," answered dinah; "i have thought of that myself. my lord, methinks it would be a good plan for you to take boat now, at once, taking the maid janet with you as a guide and spokeswoman. she will take you to her father's house and explain all; and then her father and brothers will come back with you, if need presses more sorely, and help us to transport thither the poor lady. i will sit by her the while, and by plying her with cordials and such food as she can swallow, strive to feed her feeble strength; and if the flames seem coming nearer and nearer, i will make shift to dress her in such warm and easy garments as are best suited to the journey she may have to take. and i will trust to you to be back to save us ere the danger be over great." "that i will! that i will!" cried the eager husband. "the plan is an excellent one! i will lose not a moment in acting upon it. i like not the look of yon sky. i fear me there will be no staying the raging of the flames. i will lose not a minute. bid the girl be ready, and we will forth at once. we will take boat at baynard's castle, and be back again ere two hours have passed!" janet was delighted with the plan. she was restless and nervous here, and anxiously eager to know what had befallen her own people. she would gladly have had dinah to go also, but saw that the sick lady could not be left, and that it would not be right to move her save on urgent necessity; but to go and get a band of eager helpers to come to the rescue if need be satisfied her entirely, and she said a joyful farewell to her aunt, promising to send help right speedily. left alone with her patient, dinah commenced her task of feeding the lamp of life, and seeking by every means in her power to prepare the patient for the possible transit. once she was called from the room by some commotion without, and found the frightened servants all huddled together outside the door, uncertain whether to fly the place altogether or to wait till some one came with definite news as to the magnitude of the peril. the light in the sky was terrible. the showers of sparks were falling all round the houses and the cathedral. the roar of the approaching fire began to be clearly distinguished above every other sound. dinah, who knew that tumult and affright were the worst things possible for her patient, counselled the cowering maids to make good their escape at once, since there was nothing to be done in the house that night, and they were far too frightened to sleep. all had friends who would give them shelter. and soon the house was silent and empty, for the men had gone off either to the fire or out of sheer fright, and dinah was left quite alone with her patient. "what is that noise i hear all the time?" asked lady desborough presently, in a feeble voice. "i feel as though there was something burning in the room. the air seems thick and heavy. is it my fantasy, or do i smell burning? where is my husband? is there something the matter going on?" "there is a bad fire not very far from here, my lady," answered dinah quietly. "my lord has gone to see if it be like to spread, that he may take such steps as are needful. be not anxious; we are safe beneath his care. he will let no hurt come nigh us before he is back to tell us what we shall do." a tranquil smile lighted the lady's face at these words. she was in that state of weakness when the mind is not easily ruffled, and dinah's calm face and steady voice were very tranquillizing. "ah yes, my good lord will not let hurt come nigh us. we will await his good pleasure. i trust no poor creatures are in peril? there will be many to help them i trow?" "yes, my lady. i have not heard of lives lost; and many say that it is good for some of the old houses to burn, that they may build better ones little by little. now take this cordial, and sleep once more. i will awaken you when my lord returns." the lady obeyed, and soon slept again, her pulse stronger and firmer and her mind at rest. but dinah was growing very uneasy. far though she was above the street, she heard shouts and cries--muffled and distant truly, but very apparent to her strained faculties--all indicative of alarm and the presence of peril. she dared not leave her post at the bedside, but the air was becoming so thick with smoke that the patient coughed from time to time, and the nurse was not certain how much longer it would be possible to breathe in it. she was certain, too, that the place was becoming hot, increasingly hot, each minute. oh, where was lord desborough? why did he not come? at last she stole from the room and into the adjoining chamber, and then indeed an awful sight met her shrinking gaze. a pillar of lambent flame, which seemed to her to be close at hand, was rising up in the air as though it reached the very heavens. it swayed slowly this way and that, surrounded by clouds of crimson smoke and a veritable furnace of sparks. then, as she watched with awed and fascinated gaze, it suddenly seemed to make a bound towards the tower of st. paul's standing up majestic and beautiful against the fiery sky. it fastened upon it like a living monster greedy of prey. tongues of flame seemed to be licking it on all sides, and a mass of fire encircled it. with a gasp of fear and horror dinah turned away. "st. paul's on fire!" she exclaimed beneath her breath; "god in his mercy have pity upon us! can any one save us now?" chapter xix. just in time. lady desborough sat up in bed propped up with pillows, dressed in such flowing garments as dinah had been able to array her in, her eyes shining in anxious expectation, her panting breath showing the oppression caused by the murkiness of the atmosphere. but in spite of the peril of the situation, to which she had now awakened with full comprehension; in spite of the fatigue of being partially dressed, with a view to sudden flight; in spite of the horror of knowing herself to be alone with dinah in this flame-encircled house, her spirit rose to the occasion, triumphing over the weakness of the flesh. dinah had feared that the knowledge of the peril would extinguish the faint flame of life; but it seemed rather to cause it to burn more strongly. the fragile creature looked full of courage, and the fears she experienced at this moment were less for herself than for others. "my dear lord! my dear lord!" she kept repeating. "dinah, if he were living nothing would keep him from me. where is he gone? dost thou think he will return in time?" "i think so, my dear lady," answered dinah in her full, quiet voice; "i pray he may come soon!" "yes, pray for him, pray for him!" cried the lady clasping her hands, "i have not prayed for him enough. pray that his precious life may be preserved!" dinah clasped her hands and bent her head. her whole faculties seemed merged in one great stress of urgent prayer. the lady looked at her and touched her hand gently. "you are a good woman, dinah morse. i am glad to have you with me; but if my good lord come not soon, you must save yourself and fly. i will not have you lose your life for me. you have not strength to bear me hence, and i cannot walk. you must fly and save yourself. for me, if my dear lord be dead, life has nothing for me to desire it." "madam," answered dinah, in her calm, resolute way, "your good lord, my master, entrusted you to my care, and that charge i cannot and will not quit whatever may betide. god is with us in the midst of the fire as truly as he was in the raging of the plague. he brought me safe through the one peril, and i can trust him for this second one. our lives we may not recklessly cast away, neither may we fly from our post of duty lightly, and without due warrant." lady desborough's thin white fingers closed over dinah's steady hand with a grateful pressure. "thou art a good woman, dinah," she said. "thy presence beside me gives me strength and hope. truly i should dread to be left alone, and yet i would not have thee stay if the peril becomes great." "we will trust that help may reach us shortly," answered dinah, who realized the magnitude of the peril far more clearly than did the sick lady, who had no idea of the awful extent of the fire. that it was a bad one she was well aware, and in perilous proximity to their dwelling; but dinah had not told her, nor had she for a moment guessed, that half the city of london was already destroyed. "go and look from the windows," she said a few minutes later, when the two had sat in silent prayer and meditation for that brief interval. "go see what is happening in the street below. i marvel that i hear so little stir of voices. but the walls are thick, and we are high up. go and see what is passing below, and bring me word again." dinah was not loth to obey this behest, being terribly anxious to know what was happening around them. neither by word nor by sign would she add to the anxieties of lady desborough, knowing how much might depend upon her calmness if the chance of rescue offered itself; but she herself began to entertain grave fears for the safety of this house, wedged in, as it appeared to her to be, between masses of blazing buildings. running up to the top attics of the house, which commanded views almost every way, the sight which greeted her eyes was indeed appalling. the whole mass of st. paul's grand edifice was alight, and the flames were rushing up the walls like fiery serpents whilst the dull roar of the conflagration was like the booming of the breakers on an iron-bound coast. grand and terrible was the sight presented by that vast sea of flame, which extended eastward as far as the eyes could see. it was more brilliantly light now, in the middle of the night, than in the brightest summer noontide, although the blood-red glare was terrible in its intensity, and brought to dinah's spirit, with a shudder of horror, a vision of the bottomless pit with its eternal fires. but without pausing to linger to watch the awful grandeur of the burning cathedral, she hastily passed from attic to attic to see how matters were going in other quarters, and she soon discovered, to her dismay and anxiety, that the flames had crept around the little wedge-like block of buildings in which this mansion stood, and that they were literally ringed round by fire. by some caprice, or perhaps owing to its solidity of structure, this small three-cornered block, containing about three good houses, had not yet ignited; but the hungry flames were creeping on apace, and, as it seemed to dinah, from all sides. as she took in this fact, it seemed to her that help could never reach them now, and that all they could do was to strive to meet death with as calm and bold a spirit as they could, commending their souls to god, and trusting that he would raise up their bodies at the last day, even though they might be consumed to ashes in the midst of this burning fire. what was that noise? surely a shout from below. dinah started, and fled hastily down the staircase. in another moment she heard more plainly. "sweet heart, sweet heart, where art thou--oh where art thou?" it was lord desborough's voice; she recognized it with a thrill of gladness. but there was another voice mingling with it which she also knew, and she heard her own name called with equal urgency. "dinah! mistress dinah! ah, pray god we have not come too late! dinah, we are here to save you both! show yourself, if you be still there. pray heaven they have not rushed forth in their fears and perished in the flames!" in another instant dinah had rushed to a window, which seemed to be on the same side of the house as the voices--namely, at the back; and, in the narrow court below, she saw lord desborough, the master builder, her brother, and reuben, all clustered together, with ladders and ropes, and all calling aloud to those within to show themselves. "we are here! we are safe! but the fire is well nigh upon us," answered dinah, who had just been convinced by the rolling of the smoke up the staircase that the lower part of the house was in flames. "thank god! thank god! they are still there!" cried lord desborough at sight of her; whilst the master builder, who was getting a ladder into position in order to run it up to the window where she stood, spoke rapidly and commandingly: "there is no time to lose. the house is ringed by fire. it will be all we can do to make good our escape. the front of the place is in flames already; we cannot approach that way, and the street is full of waves of fire. can you make shift to bring out the sick lady to this window? or--" dinah vanished the moment she understood what was to be done; but quick as were her movements, lord desborough was in the room almost as soon as she was. he must have darted up the ladder almost ere it was in position, and the next moment he had his wife in his arms, straining her passionately to his breast, as she cried in joyful accents: "o my love, my dear, dear love! methought thou hadst perished in yon fearful fire!" "it is more fearful than thou dost know, sweet heart, but with heaven's help we will bear thee safe through it. shut thine eyes, dear heart, and trust to me. we have won our way thus far in the teeth of many a peril. pray heaven we make good our escape in like fashion. we have taken every measure of precaution." in her great delight at having her husband back safe and sound, and in her state of exceeding weakness, lady desborough understood little of the terrible nature of what was happening. she felt her husband's arms round her; she knew he had come to save her from danger; and her trust was so perfect and implicit that it left no room in her heart for anxious fears. she closed her eyes like a tired child, and laid her head upon his shoulder. he was a strong man, and she had wasted in the fever to a mere shadow, and was always small and slight. he carried her as easily as though she had been an infant; and making straight for the open window, he climbed out upon the ladder and went slowly and steadily down it, whilst those below held it for him. dinah watched the descent with eager eyes, unheeding all else. she never thought to look behind her. she had no idea that a mass of flames had suddenly come rushing up the stairway behind her. she was conscious of an overpowering heat and a rush of blinding smoke that caused her to stagger back gasping for breath; but it was only as she actually felt the hot breath of the flames upon her cheek, and saw that the whole house had suddenly become involved in the universal destruction, that she knew what had befallen her, and that death was striving hard to clutch her and make her its prey. with a short, sharp cry, she staggered towards the open window, but the heat and the smoke made her dizzy. she fell against the frame, and uttered a faint cry for help; and then it seemed to her that the body of flame behind leaped upon her like a live thing. she was conscious for a moment of making a fierce and desperate struggle, and then she knew no more, for black darkness swallowed her up, and her last moment of consciousness was spent in a prayer that the lord would be with her in death and receive her spirit into his hands. when next dinah opened her eyes it was to find a cool wind blowing on her face, and to feel an unwonted motion of the bed (as she supposed it for a moment) on which she was lying. everything was bright as day about her, but everything seemed to be dyed the hue of blood. the next moment sense and memory returned. she realized that she was lying in the bottom of a boat, which men were rowing with steady strokes. she saw lord desborough sitting in the stern, only a few feet away, still clasping his wife in his arms. she knew that her head was lying in somebody's lap, and the next moment she heard a familiar voice saying: "ah! she is better now. she has opened her eyes!" "rachel!" exclaimed dinah sitting suddenly up, in spite of a sensation of giddiness which made everything swim before her eyes for a few moments; and rachel harmer looked down into her face and smiled. "dear dinah, thank heaven thou art safe! i hear that thou wert in fearful peril in this burning city; but our good neighbour brought thee forth from the blazing house just as the boards on which thou wert standing gave way beneath thy feet. oh, how thankful must we be that our home and our dear ones have all been preserved to us, when half the city is lying in ruins!" dinah raised herself up still more at these words, and turned her eyes in the direction of the raging flames on the north side of the river; and only then was she able to realize something of the terrible magnitude of that great conflagration. the boat was hugging the southwark shore, for indeed it was scarce safe to approach the other, save from motives of dire necessity, and so thickly did sparks and fragments of blazing matter fall hissing into the river for quite half its width, that boats were chary of adventuring themselves much beyond the southwark bank, save those conveying persons or goods from some of the many wharfs; and these made straight across with their cargoes as soon as they could quit the shore. "it is terrible! terrible!" gasped dinah. "it is like the mouth of a volcano! and to think that but a short hour since i was in the midst of it. o sister, tell me how thou comest to be here. tell me how i was snatched from the flames, for, verily, i thought i was their prey." rachel put a trembling arm about her sister's shoulders as she made reply. "truly there were those standing by who thought the same. but for the brave expedition of our neighbour there, methinks thou wouldst have perished; but let me tell the tale from the beginning. "it was some time after dark--i scarce know how the hours have sped through these two strange nights and days, when the day seems almost dimmer than the night. but suddenly there was janet with us--janet and my lord desborough, come with news that the fire had threatened even st. paul's, and that he desired help to save his sick wife and thee, dinah, ere the flames should have reached his abode. janet told us much of the poor lady's state, and we made all fitting preparation to receive her. but none were at home save the boys, and they had to go forth and find their father and brother, to return with lord desborough to help him in his work of rescue. he would fain have got others and not have tarried so long. but all men seem distraught by fear, and would not listen to his promises of reward, nor face the perils either of the journey by water or of an approach to the flaming city." "indeed it hath a fearful aspect!" said dinah thoughtfully, as she turned her eyes upon the blazing mass that had been teeming with life but a few short hours ago. "hast heard, sister, whether many poor creatures have perished in the flames? oh, my heart has been sad for them, thinking of all the homeless and all the dead!" "they say that wondrous few have fallen victims to the fire," said rachel, "and those that have perished are, for the most part, poor, distraught creatures, whom terror caused to fling away their lives, or like my lady scrope, who would not leave her home and preferred to perish with it. it is sad enough to think of the thousands who have lost home and goods in the fire. but had it come before the plague had ravaged the city so fearfully, it must have been tenfold worse. methinks if the lanes and courts of the city had been crowded as they were then, the loss of life must needs have been far greater." "but to proceed with thy tale," said dinah after a pause. "how was it that thou didst adventure thyself with the rescuing party in the boat?" "methought that, as there were helpless women to be saved, a woman might find work to do suited more to her than to the men folks. moreover, i may not deny that i felt a great and mighty desire to see this wonderful fire more nigh. custom has used us to so much since it commenced that the terror of it has somewhat faded. they were saying that st. paul's was blazing or like to blaze. i desired to see that awful sight; and see it i did right well, as we pushed the boat into mid-water after landing lord desborough and his assistants at baynard's castle. they were some half hour gone, and we sat and watched the fire, in some fear truly for them, for the flames seemed devouring everything, but with confidence that they would act with all prudence, and in the full belief that the fire had not yet attacked my lord's house." "ah, but it had!" said dinah with a little shiver. "i would not have believed that flames could sweep on at such a fearful pace. one minute we seemed safe, the next it was seething round us!" "that is what they all say of this fire. it travels with such an awful rapidity, and will suddenly pounce like a live thing upon some building hitherto unharmed, and in an incredibly short time will have licked it up, if one may so speak, leaving nothing but a mass of smouldering ashes behind." "i know how it leaps," spoke dinah, with a little shiver. "i cannot think even now how i came to be saved." "it was our good neighbour, the master builder, who saved thee at risk of his life," answered rachel with a little sob in her voice. "it was a terrible thing to see, reuben tells me. he and his father were holding the ladder, and lord desborough was bringing down his wife, when all in a moment the house seemed engulfed in one of those great flame waves of which all men are speaking, and they saw you totter and fall, as if it had engulfed thee in its deadly embrace. lord desborough was not yet down the ladder, and knew nothing of thy peril, being engrossed in tender care for his wife. nobody could pass him, nor would the ladder bear a greater weight; but the next moment they saw that our good neighbour had somehow got another ladder against the wall and was rushing up it at a pace that seemed impossible. reuben ran to steady this ladder, for it was like to fall with the quaking and shaking. and then, just before they heard the fall of the burning floors, he saw the master builder coming down bearing his burden safely; and once having both of you safe, there was not a moment to lose in making for the boat. already the alley was full of blinding flame and choking smoke, and it was all the men could do to carry the pair of you safe to baynard's castle, where we took you all on board, but only two minutes before the fire began to blaze there also. see, by looking back thou canst see how fiercely it is burning! "god alone knows how and where it will be stayed. they say it is spreading northward as furiously as it flies westward. if the city walls stay not its course, all london will surely perish." dinah was silent a while, looking seriously before her. then she lifted her face nearer to her sister's and said: "prithee, tell me, has our good friend and neighbour suffered hurt in thus adventuring his life for me?" "he has not spoken of it, if so be that he has," was the answer; "but the haste and peril and confusion were too great for many words. we shall soon be at home now, and all who need it will receive tendance. i fear me, dear sister, that thou canst not altogether have escaped the cruel embrace of the fire. thy garments were singed and charred: but this cloak covers thee well and protects thee from the night air." dinah moved herself, and felt no hurt. she looked anxiously towards lord desborough, as though to ask how it went with his lady. fortunately the night was warm and calm, save for the light breeze that was enough to fan the fierce flames onward and onward. by day the wind blew hard from the east; but it dropped at night, and this was no small boon to the many homeless creatures who had no roofs to shelter their heads. once landed at the southwark wharf, the party was soon within the sheltering doors of the twin houses. gertrude came forth to meet them, anxious solicitude written on every line of her face. the first care was for the poor lady, for whom they had made ready a pleasant and airy room. she was carried thither, and dinah followed to see what was her condition; and although she was exceedingly weak, she was not unconscious, and so long as she had her husband beside her holding her hand, she seemed to care nothing for the strangeness of her surroundings, or for the perils through which she had passed. "verily, i think she will live," said dinah, when janet had fed her with some of the strong broth which had been made in readiness. "she looks not greatly worse than when she started up in bed in her own house with the consciousness that there was fire near. i had not thought so tender a frame could go through so much of peril and hardship; but methinks her lord's return was the charm that worked so marvellously for her; for, truly, she had begun to fear him dead." satisfied as to her patient, dinah allowed herself to be taken care of by gertrude, who insisted on removing her burned garments, and assuring herself that no other hurt had been done. it was wonderful what an escape dinah's had been, for there was scarcely any mark of fire upon her, only a little redness here and there, but nothing approaching to a severe burn. she declared that she could not go to bed in the midst of so much excitement; and after telling gertrude of the wonderful nature of her own escape, she added, with a slightly heightened colour: "i would fain assure myself of the welfare of thy brave father, for it may be that he may have sustained some hurt; and if that be so, we must minister to his needs right speedily. much depends in burns upon the promptness with which they are dressed." gertrude's filial anxiety was at once aroused, as well as her warm admiration for her father's courage and devotion. together they sought him out and found him in one of the lower rooms, a plate of food before him, which, however, he had hardly touched. the moment he saw his daughter, who entered a little in advance, he rose hastily and exclaimed: "tell me how she does. has she received any hurt?" "lady desborough?" asked gertrude; "they all say she--" "nay, nay, child, not lady desborough! what is lady desborough to me? i mean dinah, that noble, devoted woman, who would not leave her mistress even in the face of deadly peril. tell me of her! tell me--" and here the master builder came to a dead stop, and paused for a moment in bashful shamefacedness most unwonted with him, for there was dinah entering behind his daughter, and surely she must have heard every word. "dinah is not hurt, father," said gertrude, covering the awkward pause with ready tact; "her escape has been truly wonderful. she wishes to know whether you also have escaped; for she tells me that you must have faced a sea of flame in order to get to her." "your arm is hurt--is burned!" said dinah coming forward quickly, her eye detecting that much in a moment. "gertrude, bring me the oil and the linen. i will bind it up before i do aught else. when the air is kept away the smart is wonderfully allayed." the burn was rather a severe one, but the master builder seemed to feel no pain under the dexterous manipulation of dinah's gentle, capable hands. when he would have thanked her she gave him a quick look, and made a low-toned answer. "nay, nay, i can hear no thanks from thee. do i not owe thee my life? but for thee i should not be here now. it is i who must thank thee--only i have no words in which to do it." "then let us do without words between us for the future, dinah," said the master builder, possessing himself of one of her hands, which was not withdrawn. "if thou hadst perished in the fire, life had had nothing left for me. does not that show that we belong to each other? i have not much to give, but all i have is thine; and i think thou mightest go the world over and not find a more loving heart!" chapter xx. the flames stayed. "something must be done! the whole city must not perish! it is a shame that so much destruction has already taken place. what are the city magnates about that they stand idle, wringing their hands, whilst all london burns about their ears?" young lord desborough was the speaker. he had risen in some excitement from the table where he had been seated at breakfast, for james harmer had just come in with the news that the fire was still burning with the same fierceness as of old; that it had spread beyond the city walls, ludgate and newgate having both been reduced to a heap of smoking ruins; that it was spreading northward and westward as fiercely as ever; whilst even in an easterly direction it was creeping slowly and insidiously along, so that men began to whisper that the tower itself would eventually fall a prey. "nay, now, but that must not, that shall not be!" cried lord desborough in great excitement. "shame enough for london that st. paul's is gone! are we to lose every ancient building of historic fame? what would his majesty say were that to perish also? zounds! methinks my lord mayor must surely be sleeping. in good king henry the eighth's reign his head would have been struck off ere now. "thou hast seen him, thou sayest, good master harmer. what does he purpose to do? surely he cannot desire all the city to perish. yet, methinks, that will be what will happen, if indeed it be not already accomplished." "he is like one distraught," answered harmer. "i went to him yesterday, and i have been again at break of day this morn. i have told him how we saved the bridge, and have begged powers of him to effect great breaches at various points to stay the ravages of the flames; but he will do naught but say he must consider, he must consider." "and whilst he considers, london burns to ashes!" cried the young nobleman in impetuous scorn. "a plague upon his consideration and his reflections! we want a man who can act in times like these. beshrew me if i go not to his majesty myself and tell him the whole truth. methinks if he but knew the dire need for bold measures, london might even now be saved--so much of it as yet remains. if the lord mayor is worse than a child at such a crisis, let us to his majesty and see what he will say!" "a good thought, in truth," answered harmer thoughtfully. "but surely his majesty knows?" "ay, after a fashion doubtless; but it takes some little time to rouse the lion spirit in him. he is wont to laugh and jest somewhat too much, and dally with news, whilst he throws the dice with his courtiers, or passes a compliment to some fair lady. he takes life somewhat too lightly does my lord the king, until he be thoroughly roused. but the blood of kings runs in his veins; and let him but be awakened to the need for action, then he can act as a sovereign, indeed." "then, good my lord, in the name of all those poor townsfolk whose houses are standing yet, let the king be roused to a full sense of the dire peril!" cried harmer, in almost passionate tones; "for if some one come not to their help, i trow there will not be a house within or without the city that will not be reduced to ashes ere two more days have passed." "it is terrible to think of," said the master builder, who was taking his meal with the young lord, by his special desire, both having slept late into the morning after the exertions of the previous night. "if you, my lord, can get speech of the king, and show him the things you have seen and suffered, methinks that that should be enough to rouse him. and doubtless you could get speech of his majesty without trouble, whereas a humble citizen might sue for hours in vain." "yes, i trow that i could obtain an audience without much ado," answered lord desborough, though he gave rather a doubtful glance at his soiled and fire-blackened garments, which were all he had in the world since the burning of his house. "but i would have you go with me also, good masters harmer and mason; for it was your prompt methods that saved the bridge, and perchance all southwark too. i would have you with me to add your testimony to mine. "master harmer, your name was spoken often in the time of the raging of the plague, as that of a brave and loyal citizen. it is likely his majesty may bear it still in mind, and it will give weight to any testimony you have to offer." harmer and the master builder exchanged glances. they had not thought to appear before royalty, but they were willing to do anything that might be for the good of the town; and whilst the one hurried away to procure a wherry to take them as near as might be to whitehall, the other supplied, from the stores in the shop, a new court suit to young lord desborough befitting his rank and station. lady desborough was going on better than any had dared to hope. her husband stole in to look at her before his departure, and was rewarded by a sweet and tranquil smile. he stole towards the bedside and kissed her, telling her he was going to see the king; and she, knowing that his duties called him often to court, asked no question, and seemed to remember nothing of the fire, but only bade him return anon to her when he could. reuben was going also in the boat, and some of the men as rowers. gertrude had donned her best cloak and holiday gown, and asked wistfully of her husband: "prithee take me also; i will not be in your way. but i would fain see something of this great sight of which all men talk, and they say it may best be seen from the river." "come then, sweet heart, so as thou dost not ask to run into peril," said reuben; and by noon the party were well on their way, their progress being somewhat slow, as the tide was running out, and there was a considerable press of craft on the river, which was the only safe roadway now from one part of the burned city to the other. as boats passed each other, items of news were exchanged between the occupants, and every tale added some detail of horror to the last. bridewell was in flames now, and many said newgate also. some averred that the prisoners had been left locked up in their cells to perish miserably, others that they had all been released, and that london would be swarming with felons and criminals, who would lead the van in the many acts of plunder which were already being perpetrated. what might be the truth of all these rumours none could say; but one thing could at least be gathered, which was that the fire was still raging unchecked, and that nothing had as yet been done to stay its progress. when the boat had reached its destination, lord desborough courteously invited gertrude and her husband to accompany the deputation. they had not anticipated any such thing; but curiosity overcame every other feeling, and before another half hour had passed they found themselves absolutely within the precincts of whitehall, passing along corridors where fine-feathered gallants and royal lackeys and pages walked hither and thither, and where their appearance excited some mirthful curiosity, although nobody spoke openly to them. lord desborough was challenged on all hands, but gave only brief replies. he would tell no word of his mission; and presently he led his companions into a small anteroom, which was quite empty, and charged the servant, who had accompanied them thus far, not to permit any one to enter so long as they were there. then he hurried away to seek audience of the king, but promised to join his companions again in as brief a time as possible. "belike it will be long enough ere we see him again," said harmer, who almost regretted having come when there might be work to do elsewhere. "the ear of royalty is often besieged in vain, or at least it is a case of hours before an audience can be obtained. yon pleasure-loving monarch will care but little if all london burn, so as he has his ladies and his courtiers about him to make merry by day and by night!" by which sentiment it may be gathered that a good deal of the puritan sternness of character and distrust of royalty lingered in the mind of james harmer, although in this case he was not destined to be a true prophet. half an hour may have passed, certainly not more, before a sound of approaching voices from the inner room, to which this one was but the antechamber, announced the approach of some persons. the listeners within thought they distinguished the tones of lord desborough's voice; nor were they mistaken, for next moment, when the doors were flung wide open, and the party instinctively rose to their feet, it was to see the young noble approaching in earnest talk with a very dark, sallow man in an immense black periwig, whom in a moment they knew to be the king himself. he was followed by a still darker man, less richly dressed than himself, but still very fine and gay, who was so like the king as to be recognized instantly for the duke of york. the little group made deep obeisance as the royal party came forward, and received in return a carelessly gracious nod from the king, who flung himself into a seat, and looked at lord desborough. "his majesty would know from you, good masters harmer and mason, what you have seen with your own eyes of this fire, and in particular how the flames were stayed upon the bridge by your efforts. he has heard so many contradictory stories from those who are less well informed, that he will have the tale from first to last by worthy citizens who are to be trusted to speak truth." there was no mistaking the ring of truth in the narratives which were told by the master builder and his neighbour. the king listened almost in silence, but when he did ask a question it was shrewd and pertinent in its import. the dark face was lacking neither in force nor in power; and if the eyes of royalty did, from time to time, stray towards the fair face of gertrude, who followed her father's tale with breathless interest, his talk was all of the means which must forthwith be taken for the arrest of the fire, and from the sparkle in his eyes it was plain that he was aroused at last to some purpose. "good citizens," he said at length, "since our worthy mayor has proved himself a fool and a poltroon, i must needs use such tools as i have under my hand. "bring me pen and paper, knave!" he cried to a servant who was in attendance; and when the man returned, the king hastily scrawled a few lines upon the paper, and gave it into the hands of the citizens. "my good fellows," he said, in his easy and familiar way, "take there your authority under my hand, and go and save the tower. the tower must not and shall not perish. pull down, blow up, sacrifice as you will, but save you the tower. as for me, i will forth instantly and see what may be done in this quarter. the people shall not say that their king cared no whit whilst the whole city was burned to ashes. would i had known more before, but each messenger brought news that something was about to be done. "about to be done, forsooth! that is ever the way. zounds! i would like to pitch yon cowardly mayor and his whole corporation into the heart of the flames! and if something be not done to save what remains of the city, i will make good my word!" then, with a complete change of manner, he rose and came forward to the corner where gertrude stood shrinking and quivering, half frightened by this strange man, yet impressed by some indescribably kingly quality in him that fascinated her imagination in spite of all she had heard of him. "fair mistress," he said gallantly, "hast thou nothing to ask? these good citizens have all had their word to say. am i not to hear the music of thy voice also?" gertrude, startled and abashed, dropped her eyes, and knew not what to say; but something in the king's glance compelled an answer of some kind, and a sudden inspiration flashed upon her. "sire," she said, in a sweet tremulous voice, her colour coming and going in her cheek in a most becoming fashion, "may i ask a boon of your gracious majesty?" "a hundred if thou wilt, fair mistress; there is nothing so sweet to me as obeying the behests of beauty." she shrank a little from his glance, and her grasp tightened upon her husband's arm; but she took courage, and went on bravely: "i have but one boon to crave, gracious sire. for myself i have all that heart of woman could crave; but there is still one small trouble in my life. my dear father, who stands before you now, was well-nigh ruined a year ago in that fearful visitation of the plague. by trade he is a builder, and right well does he know his business. after this terrible fire there must needs be much building to do ere the city can be dwelt in. may it please your gracious majesty to grant to him a portion of the work, that he may retrieve his lost fortune, and regain the place which he once held amongst his fellow citizens!" "it shall be done, mistress, it shall be done!" answered the king, with a smile at the girl and a friendly look towards the master builder. "marry, it is a good thought too; for we shall want honest and skilful men to rebuild us our city. "thy prayer is heard and granted, fair lady. i will not forget thy petition. i will see to it myself. farewell, sweet heart! think always kindly of your king," and he saluted her upon the cheek, after the fashion of the day. then turning briskly to the men he said, in a very different tone, "now to our respective tasks, good sirs. we have our work cut out before us this day. let it not be our fault if, ere the night fall upon us, the spreading flames, which are devastating this city, are stopped, and further destruction arrested." with a friendly nod, and with a smile to gertrude, the king went as suddenly as he came. lord desborough lingered only a few moments to say, in hurried tones: "thank heaven his majesty is roused at last! now, indeed, something will be accomplished. i must remain with him. i shall have my work, doubtless, somewhere, as you have yours in the east. fare you well. we shall meet again at nightfall; and pray heaven the fire may by that time be stayed in its ravages!" need it be told here how that fire was stayed? how the king and the duke, his brother, rode in person at the head of a gallant band of men-at-arms and soldiers, and directed those measures--long urged upon the mayor, but never efficiently carried out--of blowing up and pulling down large blocks of houses in the path of the flames, so that their ravages were stayed? it was the king himself who saved temple bar and a part of fleet street, the fire being checked close to st. dunstan's in the west. lord desborough superintended like operations at pye corner, hard by smithfield; whilst the good citizens, harmer and mason, took boat to the tower as fast as possible, and with the assistance of the governor, and by the mandate of the king, checked the slowly advancing flames just as they had reached the very walls of the fortress itself. the great and terrible fire was stayed ere nightfall. true, the flames smouldered and even raged in the burning area for another day and night, but the spread of them was checked. the citizens, recovering from their apathetic despair, and encouraged by the example of their king, no longer stood trembling by, but joined together to imitate his actions and sacrifice a little property to save much. "thank god, thank god, the peril is at an end! the very flames have glutted themselves, and are sinking down into the smouldering heaps of the ruins they have wrought!" said reuben, coming back on the thursday evening from an expedition of inquiry and discovery. "terrible indeed is the sight, but the worst is now known. four hundred streets, ninety churches--if what i heard be true--and thirteen thousand houses--fifteen wards destroyed, and eight more half burned! was ever such a fire known before? yet can we say, heaven be praised that it has spread no further. verily, it seemed once as though nothing would escape!" gertrude, too, was full of excitement. "father has had a summons from the lord mayor. he was urgently sent for soon after thou hadst gone. o reuben, dost think the king has remembered my words to him? dost think he has put in a plea for my father when the city is rebuilt?" "it is like enough," answered reuben; "they say his majesty does not forget when his word is plighted. he will be a rich man if he be employed by the corporation. and how goes the sick lady?" "so well that my lord has taken her away by boat to a villa hard by lambeth, where she will be quieter and more at rest than she could be here. janet and dorcas have gone with her as her maids, her own servants having fled hither and thither. she would fain have had dinah, too, but dinah was not willing." husband and wife smiled a little at each other, and then reuben said: "thou, wilt have a stepmother soon, little wife. how wilt thou like that?" "well enow, so it be dinah," answered gertrude, smiling; "but there is the father coming in. prithee, let me run to him and hear his news!" others had seen the approach of the familiar figure, and there was quite a little group around the door of the two houses to ask news of the master builder as he approached. his face wore a beaming look, and in reply to the many questions showered upon him he answered gaily: "in truth, good friends, if the plague ruined me, it seems as though the fire was to set me up again. here is my lord mayor, prompted thereto by his gracious majesty the king, giving into my hands the task of seeing to the rebuilding of bridge ward, within, billingsgate ward, dowgate ward, and candlewick ward. four wards to build! why, my fortune is made!" he gave one quick look at dinah, and then took her hand in his, all looking smilingly on the while. "thou didst not repulse me when i was but a poor and broken man," he said; "but, please heaven, before many months have passed over my head it will be no mockery to speak of me as master builder once again!" culm rock, the story of a year: what it brought and what it taught. by glance gaylord. boston: entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by henry hoyt, in the clerk's office of the district court of massachusetts. innes and niles, stereotypers and printers, cornhill, boston. contents. chapter page i.--the old stone house ii.--letters iii.--on the "white gull" iv.--disappointments v.--the first evening vi.--culm sights vii.--how the month was spent viii.--noll's decision ix.--dirk's trouble x.--in the sea xi.--dirk's treasure xii.--firelight talk xiii.--the winter's waning xiv.--ned thorn xv.--plans xvi.--the work begun xvii.--the work progressing xviii.--the work finished xix.--a happy walk xx.--new thoughts and new plans xxi.--in peril of the sea xxii.--weary watching xxiii.--waiting xxiv.--days of calm xxv.--out of the sea [transcriber's note: in this e-text, italics have been denoted by enclosing the affected text in underscores] culm rock. chapter i. the old stone house. culm rock was a wild place. you might search the coast for miles and not find another bit of nature so bare and rent and ragged as this. so fiercely had the storms driven over it, so wildly had the wind and waves beat, that the few cedars which once flourished as its only bit of greenness were long ago dead, and now held up only bleached and ragged hands. jutting out into the sea, the surf rolled and thundered along its jagged shore of rock and sand, and was never silent. it would have been an island but for the narrow strips of sand, heaped high and ridgelike, which bound it to the main land; and this slender bridge, it often seemed, would be torn away by the ravenous sea which gnawed and engulfed great tracts at once, and yet heaped it higher and broader in the next storm. beyond, on the firm and unyielding land, the pine woods stood up, vast, dim, and silent, stretching away into the interior. so, with the great dark barrier of forest behind and the waste of shining sea in front, culm rock seemed shut out from all the rest of the world. true, sails flitted along the horizon, and the smoke of foreign-bound steamers trailed against the sky, giving token of the great world's life and stir; and there were skipper ben and the "white gull" who touched at the little wharf at culm every week; but for these, the people--for there were people who dwelt here--might have lived in another sphere for aught they knew or were conscious of what was transpiring in the wonderful land which lay beyond the stretch of sea, and between which and themselves the "white gull" was the only means of communication. do you wonder that people could spend their lives here, die, and never have seen the world without? there were only a dozen houses,--poor, racked, weather-beaten things, nestled on a bit of sand on a far corner of culm,--inhabited by fishermen and their families. they were rough, hardy folk, but ignorant, and with only ambition enough to get their living out of the great sea, and a poor and scanty enough living at that. skipper ben brought them molasses and calicoes down in the "white gull," and took their fish in exchange; and if he told them a bit of news from the great city and the greater world, it was all very well. if he failed to do this, it was all very well too. back of the fisher huts, the rocks rose high and dark, and quite hid the pine woods and the isthmus of yellow sand, and everything that could make culm at all cheery or pleasant. this eminence was wind cliff, and served as a landmark for all the sailors whose path lay along the coast. around this the gulls were alway flitting and screaming, and their nests were everywhere in the crevices of the rocks. bald and gray it rose, scarred and rent with storms and age, and so steep as to be almost inaccessible. it fronted the north-west, and from its sharp tip the rock sloped south to the sea, and held in one of its great hollows down by the shore a house--such a house as you would not have looked for at culm--with walls of stone and tall, ancient chimneys and deep-set windows, like eyes looking forever at the sea. it was so dark and weather-beaten that at first sight you might almost fancy it to be but some quaint, odd shape which the rocks had taken, by dint of the stress of winds and waves beating upon them for long ages. but a house it was, and made by human hands, and human beings dwelt in it. at night the red light from its windows streamed out upon the water, and in many a dark and tempestuous watch had skipper ben guided the "white gull" into port through the friendly gleaming of this beacon. for a long period of years the old house had stood empty and tenantless, the windows and doors broken and gone, the wind sweeping through and the rain beating in, and everything but the stout walls and chimneys a ruin. the superstitious fishermen would not inhabit it, and told tales of smugglers and pirates who made it their haunt, with other fanciful stories which always seem to linger about the sea, and in which there was not the faintest shadow of truth. desolate and neglected, it stood there year after year, till, one day, skipper ben brought down carpenters and masons on the "white gull," and straightway they went at work upon the old house. doors went up, windows went in, a piazza pushed itself out towards the sea-front, and there was great bustle and activity about it for weeks. then the laborers went away, and when the skipper came again, he brought, instead of groceries and store-cloth, a great quantity of furniture, the like of which the poor people at culm rock had never seen, and with the furniture came the master of the new house--a sorrowful, bowed man--and his housekeeper, a thin, wrinkled negro woman. then the smoke curled out of the great stone chimneys once more, the light streamed from the windows at night, and the fishermen and sailors rejoiced that at last the old house had found a tenant and no longer yawned bare and empty. the "white gull" came more than once with a cargo for the master of the stone house, who, the skipper told the culm folk, "was a mighty rich man, but the down-heartedest chap he'd ever cast eyes on. why, man, he just sot lookin' over the rail the best part o' the way down, with his eyes in the water, and said no more nor a stone. what ye think? now lookee here, men, let me give ye a bit o' advice. don't ye go to pesterin' him with yer talk and yer questions; fur he's diff'rent make 'an i be, an' 'twon't do. let him alone, an' keep yer own side o' the rock." the skipper's word was looked upon with respect by all the fish-folk, and they heeded his advice. so, in consequence, the owner of the stone mansion was undisturbed, and lived in the greatest seclusion. he never came within the limits of the little village, and whenever he was seen, it was only as pacing slowly along the shore. he passed the fishermen as they were hanging up their seines in the sun without heeding them, or acknowledging their respectful bows. the old black housekeeper came down to the village sometimes after fish or gulls' eggs, but went her way without satisfying the eager questions with which the women plied her. so one year passed away, then a second, and the master of the stone house was still as much a mystery to the poor fishers as ever. he rarely walked upon the sand, gave them not a look if ever they chanced to meet, and living, apparently, for no one but himself, took not the slightest interest in their welfare, cared naught for wreck or disaster on the shore, and seemed always stern and sorrowful. no company ever came down on the "white gull" to visit this strange and silent man, and he had no friends, apparently. skipper ben brought stores for him occasionally, and sometimes a letter; but this last event was a rare one, and the man seemed to have little more communication with the great world out of which he had come than did the humble culm fishermen. with winds and storms, the third year rolled around, and the master of the old house was still as much of a recluse as ever; but the culm people had ceased to regard him with any interest, and the man led a most solitary life, hardly seeing a human being, other than his housekeeper, from month to month. do you wonder what could make him so stern and sad? here is his story:-- one sweet and golden summer day, a man stood by the bedside of his wife,--he, crushed and heart-broken; she, faint and dying, but calm and loving and comforting. she held his hand, and whispered brokenly such words as she could only hope to comfort him with; and the last faint whisper which trembled on her lips was, "oh, richard, don't fail--don't fail to--to find him and cling to him, and come--come up--too." and with that she was dead. and the man left the bedside, and went out into the summer fields, where the birds were flitting and the bees droning and the wide earth seemed brimming with life and joy, and prayed that he might die too, since she was gone. but the birds sang on as joyously as ever, and the sun shone no less brightly because of the sorrow in the earth, and after his first tears were shed, his heart began to grow hard and bitter, and he put away the dying whisper, and went back to the dear dead face, cold and stern. his friends came to console him, but he would not listen, and after it was all over, and the gentle face hidden forever under the brown earth, he began to think of fleeing to some spot where he might find rest and quietness, and hide himself from all thoughts of the dear one who had left him, smothering his sorrow, and living as if she had not been. "i have been robbed," he said, bitterly; "all my happiness has been stolen from me. i can't seek him; i will not. oh, if there is a kind and merciful god, why has he stricken me? why has he taken all the joy out of my life? why has he left me without a comforter in the world?" so, without seeking for a comforter, without striving to "find him," as the dear voice had whispered, he turned away and strove to crush out the love and the tender memories which haunted his heart, and most of all that dying whisper which said, "don't fail--don't fail to find _him_." grown suddenly stern and morose, richard trafford looked about him for a refuge where he might flee from all society, and most of all from the spot where _her_ presence seemed yet to linger. he discovered wild and solitary culm rock, and purchased the old stone house. here, he thought, with the everlasting sound of the sea in his ears, with all the wildness and barrenness about him, and apart from the rest of mankind, he would bury himself, and forget all the bright and happy days which had passed. he left his friends without giving them any clew to his whereabouts, and with faithful old hagar, who persisted in following him, took up his abode by the sea. but do you think his sorrow lessened? do you think he found peace and happiness again? he carried his hard and bitter heart with him, and there was no happiness to be found by the sea. one year after another rolled away until the three were gone, and still he was wandering along his own thorny path, bowed with his sorrow, sighing and lamenting for the bright form which had left him, and still deaf to its whisper, "find _him_, and come up too." he walked on the sands, lonely and desolate; he paced about the great rooms of the stone house, oppressed and heavy-hearted; he shut himself up in his library and pored over books in vain. his sorrow clung to him, followed him everywhere; his heart was stubborn and bitter and rebellious. perhaps he despaired of ever losing the burden, for one day he brought out a portrait, wrapped and swathed with great care, and, tearing all the veilings off, gazed once more on the sainted face which he had not looked upon for three long and heavy years. he did not hide it again, but hung it upon his library wall, where the tender face and calm and loving eyes looked down and almost melted him to tears. he wondered how he could have kept it veiled and hidden so long. he wondered if those three years had not been spent in vain, unless it were to learn that he could not crush out his sweet memories if he tried. he sank down into his chair as he thought of this, and going back over the three past dreary years, remembered what a weary blank they were, thought, with a heavy sigh, what a shipwreck his life had been, and how he was now floating about without rudder or compass or anchor, merely a drifting wreck. and as he sits there in the sunshine which streams through the wide, high old window, we will see him for the first time. chapter ii. letters. richard trafford was a man of forty; but his hair was tinged with gray, and grief and wretchedness had worn heavy lines in his face. as he sat in the library this september afternoon, looking up at the portrait on the wall, he seemed almost an old man. the room was wide and high, with tall oaken bookcases at either end. two great windows, before one of which he sat, looked out upon the sea and the white line of foam curling upon the sand. the waves were but mere ripples this calm afternoon, but from the shore there came up a ceaseless, steady murmur that made itself heard in the quiet of the room; and by and by trafford's eyes turned from the calm face above him and looked out seaward. white and shining lay the vast expanse, with here and there the faint film of a sail upon the horizon. nothing to be seen but water and the great dome of sky and the little spit of yellow sand where the tide was murmuring. how many sunny afternoons he had thus looked out upon the sea, vast and gleaming! how many lonely afternoons and long, weary nights he had listened to the slow chanting of the tide, watched it creep up the sand with its puffs of thick foam, watched it as it slowly receded and left its burden of weed and shell behind! flowing and ebbing forever, alway at its work, in and out, in and out, through storm and shine, through night and day, it seemed to mock his own idle, useless life, and reproach him with its never silent voice. of what use, he wondered as he sat there, was such a life as his? to-morrow the tide would be at its work again, the ships go on, the sun shine warm and bright over all,--and he? for him to-morrow would be but the repetition of to-day; the same dragging hours, the same apathetic poring over books, the same half-hours at the organ with the music-books, playing sad melodies which accorded well with his own sombre feelings. he looked up at the portrait and sighed; remembered the dear one's dying words, and thought, "i might have found him once; but it's too late now. all that passed away a long time ago, and now,--it's only to plod on and on, year in and year out, till the end." and what then? there came a soft rap at the door. "come in, hagar," said he, heavily, without taking his eyes off the sea; and then the door was pushed open, and a head, surmounted by a great yellow turban, looked in. "somethin' fur you, mas'r dick," said the owner of the turban, without coming in, however. "what is it?" said trafford, abstractedly. the door opened wider, and the old housekeeper entered. she was bent and thin, with great wrinkles in her forehead and face, and wherever a tuft of wool peeped out from under the fanciful headgear, it showed quite gray; but her step was quick and firm as she went across the floor to the figure by the great window. "a letter, mas'r dick," said she, standing by trafford's chair; "dat yer old skipper brought it. said he brung it straight from de city." "ben tate?" asked the master. hagar nodded assent. "said ye was to hev it dis yer afternoon, sure," said she; "'twa'n't no letter to be lyin' 'round in dem culm huts, so he cum up here wid it hisself. be it frum hastings, mas'r dick?" hagar had lived in the trafford family from childhood, and richard had grown up to manhood under her eyes, had married, and she went to live with the young people. she had seen the wife fade and die, and the husband grow stern and gloomy, and out of solicitude and affection had clung faithfully to him through all fortunes. it would seem, to hear her talk, that she never had quite realized that richard trafford, the man of forty, was any other than "mas'r dick," the boy whose smartness at school, and whose popularity among his companions, had always been her boast and pride. gray and worn he was getting, gloomy, sad, even harsh at times to her, yet he was only "mas'r dick," and her own little boy, for whom she must watch and care to the best of her ability. now, as she queried where the letter might be from, she dropped down in a chair a little way from him, and waited till he should see fit to answer her question; for could there be a paradise on earth, it would have been represented to hagar by hastings,--that great city where their old home had been, where her own childhood had been spent, and where all the friends of her kin and color dwelt. it was a hard matter to tear herself away from them all and follow richard trafford to dreary culm rock; but, with some tears and sighing, she had said to her people, "yer don't know nuffin about it. ye habn't got any 'mas'r dick;' so how ken ye? 'tain't in dis yer old heart to let de chile go off sufferin' all by hisself, now! bress de lord, i'll stick to de poor boy, an' keep him frum jes' worryin' his life out." so here she was in her old age, away from all her people, yet happy because it was to serve "mas'r dick." trafford took up the letter,--a large, thick one, bearing the marks of the skipper's great fingers on its envelope, and smelling of fish, as if it had performed its journey in company with herring and cod,--and said, "yes, hagar; it's from hastings, of course." the old housekeeper lingered, looked at the master in hopes that he would bid her stay, and then, as he tore open the letter with a moody face, went slowly out, closing the door softly behind her. the handwriting was unfamiliar, and trafford wondered where it came from, feeling vexed that it should have arrived at that moment; and so began to read an emphatically business letter:-- "hastings, sept. th. "_to mr. richard trafford, of culm rock_: "sir,--i am sorry to be under the painful necessity of informing you of your brother's death. the rev. oliver trafford died the th of march last, leaving me as the executor of his estate. he was anxious to see you till the very last; but as we had no clew to your whereabouts, and only discovered your place of residence by accident a short time ago, that pleasure was denied him. he left one child--a boy of fourteen, or thereabouts--for whose welfare he was much distressed. he often expressed it as his desire that, should you ever make your appearance, this boy might be received by you as your own, and, indeed, left written statements to that effect. there is, also, among his private papers, a sealed letter for you, which, i doubt not, contains some such request. the boy, i am happy to say, is not likely to prove a burden or trouble to you, being obedient and all that could be desired. he is smart and sprightly, and quite a favorite in the circle in which his father moved, and from my own acquaintance with him (very intimate during the past six months) can assure you that he will prove anything but a poor acquisition. "as to the estate, i am sorry to say that mr. trafford left but little of value,--enough, perhaps, to educate the boy; but, as i hear you are a gentleman of fortune, this, i presume, is a matter of very little moment. i shall be happy to show you your brother's accounts at any time, and to have the honor of answering any inquiries which you may be disposed to make. i enclose a note from your nephew. awaiting your decision in the matter, i am, sir, your most obedient servant, "thomas gray. "room , at no. court st." with a gloomy face, trafford laid down the lawyer's letter, and took up his nephew's. he did not remember ever having seen the boy. he was, most likely, a crazy, boisterous lad, that would be forever in mischief, and bring the house about their heads. as for having him at culm rock, it was too preposterous a thought to be entertained for a moment. he had decided at once how mr. gray's letter should be answered, and felt too indifferent to care about reading his nephew's. what did these things matter to him? yet, after a time, he thought better of it, and took up the note again, saying to himself, "i'll read it, if only because it's poor noll's boy;" and opening the missive, found therein the following frank boy's letter:-- "hastings, sept. th. "dear uncle richard,--i don't know what to say to you--it all seems so strange and awkward. mr. gray said i was to write, however, and send the note with his; so i am trying. it is such a long time since i saw you that i've forgotten your face, and i think you must have forgotten that there was such a person as myself in the world. papa died almost six months ago, and he said all the time, at the last, 'go for uncle richard!' but i didn't know where you were, and mr. gray could not find out till a short time ago; so papa died without seeing you. i don't know what he wanted to say, but he told me that i was to live with you and be your boy; and mr. gray says the papers say the same thing." here the writer had evidently faltered, and been at a loss how to proceed further with intelligence which it, apparently, was very irksome for him to disclose; but he continued with, "there are only you and me left, and i am sure i would like very much to be your boy and live with you, as papa said; but--but i don't know--i mean--well, i can't say it, uncle richard, but i mean that i wish i might know what you thought about it first. i wouldn't like to come, you know, unless you liked,--unless you were _glad_ to have me. mr. gray has all papa's business to settle, and i suspect he wants to get me settled, too, somewhere, pretty quick; and so, if you please, i hope you won't mind whatever he may say about me, and only do just as you like about giving him permission to send me. i can find a home somewhere, if you would rather. "my name is oliver,--noll, everybody calls me; i'm almost fifteen, and have always been at school in hastings, and papa used to give me lessons beside. is there a school at culm rock? i do wish you could have seen papa, dear uncle richard, he longed so for you when he died; but there is a letter for you among his papers, which will be sent to culm rock, if i do not come to bring it. mr. gray will tell you all about me, i suppose, and the affairs besides; so i will stop. "your nephew, "noll trafford. "--and don't mind what mr. gray says, please, and only do as you like." richard trafford finished this letter with something like a grim smile on his lips. "the boy has got the true trafford spirit," he said to himself, "and some of brother noll's gentleness, i fancy. ah, noll was always a happier man than i!" he read the boy's letter again, wondering what made it seem so bright and pleasant, and feeling vexed with himself for doing it. why should he care for this boy or this boy's letter? had he not fled to culm rock to escape all knowledge of what was transpiring in the world without,--to forget friends and kin, if that was possible? he looked up and met the sweet, grave eyes of his wife looking down into his, and read something there which made his eyes fill and his lip quiver. "ah," he sighed, "why did i not try to follow after?" and with this thought in his heart, he rose and stood by the window, looking down at the crawling tide. his thoughts came back to the boy, presently, and with another grim smile upon his face, he remembered what a dull and dreary place culm rock would be for a lad of fourteen. he would soon tire of it, and be glad enough to go back to hastings, he fancied. if he was a wild boy, he should go back on the return of the "white gull;" if he could be tolerated, he might stay till he tired of it. it was poor brother noll's boy, after all, he thought, and he could not make his heart quite hard enough to refuse him a home. so, when skipper ben returned to hastings with his next cargo of fish, he carried a letter hidden away under his pea-jacket, and this was what it contained:-- "culm rock, sept. th. "_to noll trafford_: "come; you are welcome. "uncle richard." chapter iii. on the "white gull." the breeze was crisp and fresh that morning, and the skipper anxious to set sail. everything was in readiness on board the "white gull," but still its master did not give the word to cast off, and stumped up and down the deck, muttering and grumbling to his mate. "allus jes' so!" he said, wrathfully; "these town folks never up to time. think on't, jack, that 'ere lawyer, gray, promised to get the youngster here a good half-hour afore sunrise! here it's sun-up already, and this breeze won't last forever, nuther." "why don't ye go 'long 'thout him?" queried jack snape from his seat on a bucket. "would, ef 'twa'n't fur that pesky lawyer!" growled the skipper; "an' 'tain't every day ye can get a passenger fur the rock, nuther. mought as well take what passage-money he can, a fellow mought, jack." the mate of the "white gull" began to whistle, and fumbling in his pea-jacket brought out a pipe and tobacco, with which he proceeded to console himself. skipper ben took a few more impatient turns up and down the deck, and sat down at last in grim despair, while the wind came in strong, steady puffs, and the craft rocked and swayed gently on the swell of the tide. the city behind them was hardly awake yet. its roofs and steeples loomed through a veil of haze or smoke which hovered over and clung about the towers, and only a faint murmur told of the stir and bustle which were presently to reign. on the wharves a few early drays were rumbling down after their loads of merchandise, and one or two vessels had left their moorings, and, taking advantage of the favorable breeze, were standing out to sea, which fact did not at all add to skipper ben's good-nature. "here they come," drawled the mate, putting up his pipe; and then a carriage came rattling down the wharf, stopping in front of the "white gull." "come at last, hev ye?" shouted the skipper, gruffly. "call this a half-hour afore sunrise, squire?" "well," said the lawyer, looking at his watch, "i thought we were prodigiously early. driver, put these trunks aboard in a hurry, since the skipper is waiting; and--noll, are you ready?" the skipper left his craft and came to bear a hand with the trunks, looking askance, meanwhile, at the boy who had got out of the carriage and stood on the wharf's edge, surveying the "gull." "hope you'll have a good run, skipper," said the lawyer, as the baggage went over into a cavernous aperture in the deck; "fine breeze, i should say. have a good care of this passenger of yours, man." "ay, squire, we'll manage. can't stop fur words from ye this morning; should ha' been a long piece down the coast afore this time o' day. bear a hand there, jack!" "good-by, noll," said the lawyer; "keep up a stout heart, my boy, and don't forget your city friends. you'll have a fine run down to culm, and you must send me a line back by the skipper. good-by!" and mr. gray got into his carriage and rolled back toward the city. noll trafford stood leaning against a great post and looking after the lawyer's carriage with a slight choking in his throat, till the skipper's gruff "get aboard here, lad!" warned him that the "gull" was about to cast off. slowly the wharf glided away, and the little coasting vessel stood out into the channel. the city spread itself out behind them, a long maze of brick and slate, with spires and domes showing dimly through the blue haze which wrapped them about. on the far, watery horizon lay a belt of vapory clouds which presently began to rend and tear and float off in ragged masses, and then a great red sun gleamed through and made a golden roadway across the sea, and transformed the misty fleeces of vapor to wonderful hangings of amethyst, streaked with great threads of scarlet. "jes' sunrise!" muttered the skipper; "make the best o' this 'ere breeze, eh, jack?" "ay," drawled the mate, "we'll catch it afore long, skipper." the city's old cold front suddenly gleamed out in vivid gold, the spires grew rosy in the first rays of sunlight, and, all its dimness and dulness gone, hastings lay gleaming and glowing in the fair morning light like some vision of fairyland. noll trafford, sitting on a great bale of merchandise near the stern of the "gull," gazed at the city, slowly sinking and fading in the sea, with a feeling somewhat akin to homesickness. it had never looked so bright to him before as at this moment of his departure from it, and he was leaving behind a great many friends--all his school acquaintances, all the scenes and haunts that were dear to him--to go--where? he hardly knew, himself, but his bright fancy had pictured culm as some pleasant little sea town, where there would, perhaps, be a great beach to ramble upon and hunt for minerals and shells, and where he would soon make plenty of new acquaintances. and uncle richard he had pictured to himself as a gentle, kind man,--grave, perhaps, but who would love him and try to fill the place of his own dead father. so, with these bright visions filling his mind, it was little wonder that he turned from the stern, after hastings had faded into the merest blue dot on the horizon-line, and looked forward to the time when the journey's end should be reached, with happy anticipations. before them lay the vast and boundless sea, with no trace of shore or island save a low blue belt in the south, like a cloud, and the "gull" began to pitch and toss somewhat with the great ocean-swell. skipper ben, having got well in the way of the breeze which was carrying his vessel steadily before it, began to regain his good-humor. sitting on the top of a cask, he puffed away at his pipe and soliloquized to himself about his passenger, who sat regarding jack snape's movements at the helm with much interest. the skipper had three or four boys at home,--great sturdy, brown-faced, stout-armed fellows,--between whom and this fair-faced, curly-headed boy there was little resemblance, he felt. "town breedin', town breedin'," muttered he; "it's curi's what it'll make of a lad. this chap'll grow up with his head full o' le'rnin' into a lawyer or parson or somethin' like, and my lads'll be skippers like their dad, with no le'rnin' to speak on. i'll warrant this lad could get off more book-stuff in five minutes 'an mine ever heerd on." his eyes followed the boy as he went out to stand by jack's elbow and ply this slow-witted gentleman with quick, eager questions. he was slender and rather tall for one of his age, but lithe and agile, as the skipper noted. "one o' mine could jes' trip him with a turn o' his hand," thought he; yet he regarded the lad with a mixture of kindness and respect, after all. there were other things in the world beside bone and muscle, he remembered, and when the boy came slowly along the deck, after a fruitless attempt to coax the mate into conversation, he put out one of his big red hands and stopped him. noll looked up, inquiringly. "goin' down to culm for a bit o' vacation?--to git scarce o' the books, eh?" queried the skipper. "vacation? oh, no," said the boy, quickly; "i'm going there to live,--to have a home." the master of the "gull" came near dropping his pipe with amazement. "_you_ live at culm!" said he, incredulous; "what ye goin' to live in?" it was noll's turn to look amazed. he suddenly faced the skipper, saying, very earnestly, "what kind of a place is culm rock, anyhow? isn't it a town?" a broad grin stretched across the old sailor's face, then he laughed aloud. "did ye hear that, jack?" he cried; "here's a lad what's goin' to culm to live, an' he wants to know ef it's a town!" "'twon't take him long to find out arter he gets there," drawled mr. snape. noll turned away and walked to the stern, thinking the skipper was a very uncivil fellow to laugh at his ignorance, and sat down again on the bale, secretly ill at ease on account of these sailors' words. what kind of a place could culm rock be? all around the boundless waste of waves flashed and glittered under the sun, and the "gull" sailed steadily on her course with not a fleck of land in sight,--nothing around but the vast blue of the sea,--above, only the great azure arch of sky. it was a new and strange sight to noll trafford. he lay on his back on the bale, and looked up into the wonderful depths of the blue dome, where no clouds sailed, and speculated about his destination. somehow, the bright vision of a pleasant sea town with a shining beach of sand and pebbles had faded, and in its stead there was doubt and perplexity. was it only a rock, as the name suggested, and no town? however, uncle richard was there, and that was one comfort; and perhaps the skipper was only joking, after all. he wished, though, that he might know what to expect; he wondered why he had not thought to ask mr. gray before starting. he lay a long time listening to the rush of water about the vessel, a strange and unusual sound to his ears. by and by a brawny hand touched his shoulder, and a gruff voice said,-- "lookee here, lad!" noll turned about and saw the skipper. "'twa'n't manners in me to laugh at ye, i 'low," said he, good-humoredly; "but 'twas droll, ennyhow. hain't ye never been to culm afore?" "never," said noll. "an' ye don't know nuthin' what it's like?" "no; how should i?" said his passenger; "i didn't know there was such a place in the world a month ago." the skipper looked incredulous once more. "an' now ye goin' there to live!" he exclaimed; "why, there ben't but one house there fit fur such as you, an' 'tain't there ye're bound, not by a long shot!" "but _one_ house! whose is it?" cried noll, eagerly. "why, it be one trafford's, one o' the strangest--" a sudden expression in the boy's face checked the words on the skipper's tongue, and the truth began to dawn upon his slow brain. "great fishes!" cried he, falling back a step or two, "ye ben't goin' _there_?" "yes," said noll, as quietly as he could. "why not?" the skipper gave him a long, steady survey, and then stumped away across the deck without another word, leaned over the rail, and began to whistle. noll looked after him, half determined to follow and demand what he meant, yet half dreading to learn that all his visions were a great way from the truth. perhaps it would be better to wait, he thought; night would bring the journey to an end, and then he should know all. so he did not follow the skipper, but kept his seat, while a great many shadowy forebodings crept into his heart, and he began to look back over the trackless waste which they had come, and wish, almost, that he was back in dear old hastings--in the old home where papa and he had spent so many happy hours--and that culm rock was a myth. the sun rose royally up to noon, and odors of dinner began to ascend from the hatchway. noll had a dinner of his own somewhere in a basket, which he brought forth and ate on the bale which served him for a seat, enjoying the novelty in spite of the anxious speculations concerning his new home in which he could not help indulging. after dinner the skipper was in better humor than ever, and took his turn at the helm. noll, wandering about the deck, stopped to watch him, whereupon the master of the "gull" good-naturedly answered all his questions, and even allowed him to take the tiller a few minutes, laughing the while at his white hands that could hardly grasp it. "wish ye could see my lads' hands!" he said; "could take both 'o' yourn in one uv 'em, an' not know they was holding anything. but you'll have browner paws afore ye leave culm!" "of course!" said noll, "for i'm going to get uncle richard to teach me to row,--i can swim now,--and i'm going to be around the shore half the time." "likely enough, likely enough!" said the skipper, meditatively; and when noll had passed on, he muttered, "it's a pesky shame fur the lad to be sent off and cooped up on the rock! don't know what he's comin' to, nuther. i'll be blamed ef i ain't sorry for the boy!" chapter iv. disappointments. it was late afternoon when land loomed up blue on the horizon. mr. snape had taken the tiller, and noll stood leaning over the rail by him, eager and watchful for the first look at culm. "mought as well wait a bit," jack snape had drawled out; "we sha'n't get there fur a long while yet, lad." but the boy chose to keep his place, and kept his eyes unweariedly on the distant point for which the "gull" was making. yet it was but tiresome watching, after all, and the brisk breeze seemed to have failed them somewhat, for the vessel's speed had sensibly diminished. "he'll be glad 'nough to look t'other way arter he gits there," muttered skipper ben, between the whiffs at his pipe; "my lads 'ud think they's killed for sartin to be shut up there a week." he got up at last, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and disappeared down the hatchway, returning presently with a spy-glass, which he carried to his passenger with, "lookee here, boy, take this an' make out what ye ken. 'tain't much ye'll see yet, but mebby ye'll get a look arter a time." he sat down again, looking at the boy's face from time to time, and wondering if this sending him to culm rock was not some of that lawyer gray's work. the skipper had not a very high opinion of lawyers. slowly, slowly the blue point began to take shape, and noll's glass brought it to his eyes all too faithfully. the skipper saw the eager look and the warm color which had been on his face fade slowly out as the "gull" drew nearer and nearer the journey's end, and the warm-hearted sailor waxed indignant. "mought ha' told him what ter expect, anyhow!" he muttered, shaking a great bale with his brawny hands as if it had been lawyer gray's shoulders. the "gull" stood in toward shore. first, the pine woods, vast and sombre, showed themselves; then, a little way on, culm rock came slowly into view, bald, ragged, and desolate. noll's face was very grave, but he kept his place and said nothing. slowly the curve of the shore unfolded itself, a long line of yellow sand, length after length of scarred and jagged rock. the sound of the surf came faintly out, sounding over the ripple of water about the "gull's" prow. not a sign of life, as yet, had showed itself. the vessel kept steadily on till, at last, the whole great breadth of the rock lay before them, rising huge and massive out of the sea, and, in a sheltered hollow on the shore, a great stone house stood up, gray and weather-beaten as the cliffs about it. "is that the house?" noll asked, turning to the skipper, and laying down his glass. the old sailor nodded assent, thinking to himself that he had never seen it look darker and gloomier, and wondering what the boy thought. "aren't you going to stop?" noll asked, as the "gull" kept on, and the stone house dropped astern. "goin' round to the landin'," explained mr. snape; "'tain't good moorin's till ye git half a mile fu'ther round. ye'll git ashore pretty quick." under the cool and heavy shadow of the rock they crept, coming out of it at last into the full glory of the sun's setting. all the west was aflame, and the sea glowed and sparkled like molten gold. even the wretched little culm fish-huts looked almost fair and comely in this flood of light. noll trafford scanned the little wharf, where a motley collection of men were gathered, with a quick-beating heart. which of them could be uncle richard? would he give him a kind welcome? the boy's spirits began to rise somewhat under the influence of the broad, cheerful glow of sunshine and the speedy prospect of meeting this uncle who was to be as a father to him. the remembrance of the gray old house under the shadow of the rocks around the curve of the shore still lay somewhat heavily on his heart; but if uncle richard were only glad to see him, all that would not matter, he thought. he stood by the prow as the "gull" moved slowly up to the wharf, eagerly scanning every face that was watching the craft's motions. a sudden pang of disappointment chilled him from head to foot, for among that idle, shiftless-looking group, there was not one whom he could possibly mistake for his uncle. they were all fishermen, dull-faced, dirty, and out at their elbows. some frowsy, ill-clad women had come out of their houses, and, with children clinging to their skirts, looked on with idle curiosity. so this was culm rock! noll's bright fancies had all fled, and his heart was suddenly very heavy. he looked back across the sea toward hastings, longingly, and thus verified the skipper's prediction. if uncle richard had only been there to greet him, he thought, chokingly, it would not have mattered so much, but now, it was all forlorn and dreary enough. "'tain't much uv a town arter all; is it?" drawled mr. snape, with a broad grin on his thick features. "shut up, jack!" growled the skipper. "can't ye see the lad's got all he ken weather?" then he turned to noll, proffering his rough sympathy. "sorry fur ye!" he said. "culm ain't the place for the like o' you, an' what ye cum here fur, i can't see. but keep a stout heart, lad, an' rough it out best way ye can; ain't no other way now." "i'm going to," said noll, with an effort; "i won't mind after a little, i guess. good-by, skipper;" and he stepped out on to the little wharf among the fish-folk, who made way, regarding him curiously. "keep 'long up the shore," called the master of the "gull" after him, "and you'll cum to the house afore long. i'll send yer trunks up by some o' these 'ere good-fur-nothin' culm folks. good-by, lad!" the skipper watched the boyish figure walking away up the sands, and remarked to his mate, "ef i knew that was some o' gray's work, i'd jes' like the fun o' bringin' the ole chap down here on the 'gull,' an' lettin' him loose to browse on the rocks,--jes' to see how _he'd_ like it!" noll walked briskly, trying to keep up good heart by whistling and humming snatches of tunes, looking back over his shoulder at the wonderful gleaming of the west, and the queer picture which the fish-huts and the group of idlers made, with the "gull" lying by the little wharf, her cloud of canvas yet unfurled and its shadow gleaming white as ivory in the depth of water on which she floated. at his feet the tide was murmuring. how far and vast stretched the sea! what a minute atom of earth was culm rock, compared with the boundless waste of waves which compassed it about! bending over all, the evening sky lay cool and serene, flushed, where it met the water, with lovely stains of color. noll was but dimly conscious of these things as he hurried on, because his heart was filled with conjectures about the stone house and the friend he was to find there. the disappointment of not finding his uncle awaiting him with a warm greeting still lay heavily on his heart; and as he passed the curve of the shore, and the stone house came in sight, his quick pace slackened, and he walked but slowly. there was no one visible on the piazza. all the doors and windows were closed, though the evening was warm and mild. the boy wondered if his uncle was absent. perhaps, he thought, with a little thrill of pleasure, that, after all, was the reason why uncle richard had failed to meet him. a thin blue film of smoke crept up from one of the tall chimneys, telling him that some one was within the gloomy old structure, which, it seemed to him, looked much more like a grim fortress than a _peaceful_ dwelling. not a blade of grass or anything green flourished about it; all was rock and sand and stranded kelp. his heart beat fast as he went up the piazza-steps, and noted how his footsteps echoed in the silence. he rapped on the great oaken front-door. no one answered the summons. he rapped again, wondering if uncle richard was really gone, and his heart began to grow heavy again, as it had done upon his first disappointment at the wharf. the lonely voice of the sea stole up to his ears, and he turned about to look. twilight was fast settling down upon it, and already the far horizon was hidden; but along the shore the waves shone and gleamed whitely. noll's first pang of genuine homesickness came upon him here. it seemed as if he had not a friend this side of the wide, dark sea. this second summons met with no better success than the first. noll turned away, went back down the steps, and there stopped to look about him. he discovered some straggling footprints in the sand leading around the corner of the house, and these he followed for lack of a better guide. they led him to a long, low projection from the main body of the house, a kitchen it appeared to be, and here he found a wide-open door, from whence came the strains of a hymn half chanted, half sung. noll rapped. the singing ceased. a slow step came across the kitchen floor, and a voice said, "bress us! who's dis?" noll looked up at the wrinkled black face framed by a great yellow turban, and said,-- "i'm noll trafford. didn't--didn't uncle richard expect me?" old hagar threw up both hands crying, shrilly, "bress de lord! is dis noll trafford's boy?" and then stared blankly at him. "yes, if you mean uncle richard's brother," said noll, still very sad-hearted; "and wasn't he looking for me at all?" "bress ye, honey!" said hagar, recovering her senses, "he didn't say one single word to me 'bout ye! dun forgot it, i 'spose. but don't ye stan' on dem yer steps another minnit; come right in, honey. i'll see mas'r dick dis instant." noll followed her into the little kitchen, where on the hearth a fire was crackling and flashing its red flicker over the walls. he sat down on a rough wooden bench by the door, wondering if his uncle could really have forgotten that he was coming, and feeling not all light-hearted, while hagar clattered away to "see mas'r dick." she came back pretty quick, saying,-- "you's to go right in to de lib'ry, chile, right in jes' as soon as i git dis yer candle lit;" and getting down on her knees she puffed away at the coals and burned splinters till she succeeded in coaxing her tallow candle to burn. she got up, came back to where noll was sitting, and holding the light close to his face, looked down at him long and steadily. "bress de lord!" she said, stroking his curly hair, "you's de bery picter ob yer father. 'pears like 'twas him i see'd dis minnit 'fore me! did ye drop down frum de sky, or what, chile?" "i came down on the 'white gull,'" noll answered. "well, now!" said hagar; "an' why didn't yer father come too?" "papa? oh, why--papa is dead," said noll, with a little quiver in his voice which he could not possibly prevent, he was so lonely and homesick. old hagar gave a shrill wail and set her candle down. "now don't tell me dat!" she cried. "mas'r oliver dead? well, well, honey, we dunno nuffin on dis yer rock? de whole ob creation might cum to an' end, an' we nebber hear on't. an' you's all alone now, chile?" "yes," said noll, feeling at that moment as if there wore never truer words spoken. "an' you's come down to lib wid yer uncle dick?" "yes." "well, bress de lord fur dat!" said hagar, joyfully; "couldn't a better ting happened to dat yer man, nohow. jes' what he wants,--a boy like yerself, wid yer own father's face. an' did mas'r dick know ye's comin'?" "yes, he knew," said noll; "he--he told me i'd be welcome. do you think i am?" "why, yes, honey! what made ye ask dat? yer uncle dick is a strange man, an' ye mustn't mind if he don't say much to ye, an'--but come right in de libr'y, chile, fur he's waitin' fur ye. come right along; i's lit de lamp in dar;" and taking up her candle, she led the way. "don't yer mind dis ole hall," said hagar, by way of apology as they entered a long, bare, chilly corridor; "nobody comes here but me, an' i don't mind. it's only my road frum de libr'y to de kitchen. _he_ nebber comes out here." from this hall they passed into the dining-room, where stood a supper-table very plainly spread. "mas'r dick didn't eat nuffin to-night," said hagar, glancing around as she clattered on. at one end of the dining-room they came to a door which the old housekeeper softly opened. "go right in, honey," she said to noll, in a whisper; "he's dar," and then turned away. richard trafford sat by one of the great bookcases, reading. the lamplight fell full upon his worn and sorrowful face. he did not hear the door open, did not hear noll's light step, and was first conscious of the boy's presence when two arms were suddenly clasped about his neck, and a voice, trembling with a mixture of joy and sadness, cried, "oh, uncle richard!" chapter v. the first evening. richard trafford, a little startled, unclasped the boy's hands without a word, and held him off by one arm. full in the light he held him, gazing in his face long and keenly. then he said, "so this is noll!" oh, how coldly the words fell upon the boy's heart! how the stern voice and the keen gray eyes chilled him! not a word of welcome, after all,--only those four chilling words. the boy's disappointment was so great, his heart so lonely and homesick, that he stood with downcast eyes, before his uncle, to hide the tears that glittered in them, and could not answer a word. trafford released his nephew's arm with a sigh. the boy was the very counterpart of his father, of brother noll, he thought,--the same fair, high forehead and curling locks, the same deep blue eyes, the same eager, impetuous manner. this resemblance touched him somewhat; he noted, also, that the boy's lips quivered a little, and so said, in a kindlier tone,-- "you're very welcome to culm, noll. are you tired with the journey?" "no--yes--some, i mean," stammered poor noll, winking hard to keep the tears back. "and you'd like some supper, i dare say," continued his uncle. "yes, by and by," the nephew managed to answer. a silence fell upon them here,--long and deep,--in which the eternal murmur of the sea stole in. trafford's eyes did not move from the boy's face; and at last he said, taking his hand,-- "you're wonderfully like your father, noll,--in more ways than one, i hope. can a lad like you ever be contented in this old house?" "i--i hope so, uncle richard," noll replied, mocking these words, however, by a very despairing tone. trafford smiled grimly. "he's weary of it already," he thought; "and who can wonder? noll and i couldn't have endured it at his age, i suppose." then he added aloud, "if you tire of it, noll, you shall have liberty to return to hastings whenever you choose. you're not to stay against your will, remember. you may find it lonely and dull, perhaps; if so, i leave you to go or stay, as you choose." the tone in which this was spoken was so sad that noll ventured to look up into his uncle's face. the gray eyes had lost their stern light, and looked very sorrowful. "i--i will never want to go back, uncle richard, if you would like me to stay," he said, quickly. "ah, you don't know what you say, noll," trafford answered, stroking the boy's hair; "it's a lonely place. for a boy it is horrible. even i sometimes find it but a weary resting-place. ah! wait and see, wait and see. i've little hope you'll stay longer than a month." at this noll's heart gave a leap of joy. "do you really _hope_ i'll stay, uncle richard?" he cried. trafford looked at the boy's eager, searching face for a second, then answered, "yes, if you can be contented." this was hardly such an answer as noll craved, yet it made his heart lighter. perhaps it was only uncle richard's way, he thought, which made it seem as though he was not welcome. the old black housekeeper, he remembered, had warned him not to mind it. with this thought, his heart grew somewhat more cheerful, and he began to take a brighter view of things. he noted the tall cases of books and the open organ, and unconsciously these evidences of taste and refinement made the thought of dwelling in the stone house more acceptable. if uncle richard would only care for him, he thought, all the rest would not matter. trafford let go his hand, saying, "go and get your supper, noll; hagar will show you. then, if you like, you can come back." the boy took two or three steps toward obeying, then, as if remembering some duty unperformed, turned and came back. "i had forgotten the letter,--papa's letter,--uncle richard," he said, drawing the missive from his pocket. "would you like it now?" trafford extended his hand without a word. noll placed the precious letter therein, and walked away, looking back at the door to see that his uncle had broken the seal. not till the boy's footsteps had died away did the uncle look upon the hurriedly-traced lines which the note contained. the letters were feebly made, hinting of the weakness of the hand which traced them. this was what he found:-- "my dear dick,--i write this to you from my dying-bed, not knowing that it will ever reach you, or that you are even upon the face of the earth. if ever you _do_ return,--if ever you receive this, be kind to my poor noll for my sake. make him your own,--he'll love you,--and make him such a man, before god, as you know i would have him. "if he has disappeared, look him up, search for him, and cherish the boy as my precious legacy. and, dear dick, look well to yourself. a man needs much when he lies where i am lying. we ought to have been more to each other these past years, not living with a great gulf, as it were, atween us. this and the thought of my boy is all that weighs upon me now. "and, dear dick, till we meet again, farewell, farewell. o. trafford." a sudden mist came across the reader's eyes, a sudden throb to his heart. brother noll! the blithe, warm-hearted, once precious brother! he who had astonished all his friends by studying for a minister, and who, with all the fervor of youth, had devoted every talent and energy to the sacred cause. how he had loved him once! how proud and happy he had been at his success! and here were words, his last thoughts on earth, breathed from the very depths of his heart, and thrilling with love for himself and this boy. they stirred the man's heart as it had not been stirred before since that dreary afternoon when all the joy and sunshine fled out of his heart and left it so cold and bitter. he had not realized before that brother noll had really ended his pilgrimage, and passed out of the earth, which, to himself, was such a weary abiding-place. now, with the last whispers of that dear heart before him, the whole bitter sense of his loss came upon him, and he covered his face, sighing heavily. back came the remembrance of the long and happy days of boyhood, with visions of the shining meadows where they strayed together; with visions of careless, joyful hours, when they sailed and fished and hunted the woods for purple grapes and glossy nuts; with visions of those calmer days when they grew up to manhood together,--noll always bright and brave and loving, and a check upon his own wilder spirits. now he was gone; and all the years to come could never again bring joy so deep and love so everlasting. yet, true and dear to the last, he had breathed his life out in one sweet message to himself, confiding his love and this boy to him as a precious legacy. trafford almost groaned when he thought of his loss. oh, what a cruel thing was death! a fierce, pitiless robber, seeking for the loveliest and brightest, it had lain in wait, all his life long, despoiling him of whatever he set his heart upon, he thought, and leaving him wrecked and desolate. he had thought that no death or sorrow could ever move him again; yet here was his heart aching as wretchedly as ever. was there no place in the wide, wide earth where such wretchedness could not pursue? he had hoped to find it in this wild and barren rock; yet here sorrow had crept in, bitter and poignant as in the busy city. trafford rose from his chair, put away the message from out of his sight, and sat down at his organ to still the pain in his heart with the charm of its music. noll had had his supper, and was sitting, sad and solitary, by hagar's fire in the kitchen. he would wait a little, he thought, before going back to the library, that uncle richard might have time to read his letter. he wondered what its contents could be, and wished and hoped that papa had written some message there for himself. would uncle richard tell him if there were? he wondered. then his thoughts went back over the sea to hastings, and there came up such pictures of the dear old home there, and the faces of his school friends flocked before him so vividly,--ned thorn's in particular,--that he could look about him only through tears that he strove in vain to banish. hagar had gone out with the candle, so the kitchen was quite dusk, save where the fire flared scarlet light on the wall and ceiling. suddenly, in this silence, there stole in a heavy throbbing, like the beating of a great, muffled heart, and with a slow and solemn movement, rolled and swept in long chains of sound through the house, till, at last, a clear, sweet, flutelike warble broke in and ran up and down, seeming to wind in and out with the heavy undertone. hagar came in just then with her flaming candle, and began to rattle about among her pots and kettles. "what is that?" noll asked, quickly, as the strains kept stealing in above the clatter which the old negress made. it had startled him at first, coming so suddenly, and corresponding so well with the gloom and mystery which seemed to fill the house. "bress ye, honey!" said the black old figure, stooping over the cooking utensils on the stone hearth, "don't ye know? dat's mas'r dick at his organ. he sits dar mos' times at ebenin', an' 'pears like i ken jes' tell his feelin's by de music he makes. sometimes i ken hear it jes' as sad as nuffin ye ken think ob, an' sometimes it's singin' as ef 'twas 'live and 'joicin.' it dun make ye homesick?" queried hagar, dropping her dishcloth and looking up into the boy's face. "no," noll answered, with a sigh, "'tisn't the music. it will all be gone in the morning, i guess," and tried to look his cheeriest. "you's tired out, chile," said hagar, with ready sympathy; "better go to bed. i's been makin' ye one in de room jes' side o' mas'r dick's. bes' room in de whole house!" the music had ceased, and noll left his seat and went groping his way along the dark, echoing hall, through the dimly-lighted dining-room to the library-door. entering, he found his uncle still seated before the organ, but with his head bent forward upon the music-rack, and apparently lost in deep thought, for he did not look up till noll stood beside him. trafford made a faint attempt to smile, and asked,-- "could hagar find you anything fit to eat? we can't live here as at hastings. the sea brings us our food." noll said something about not being hungry, and presently trafford asked, with the stem and gloomy look upon his face,-- "did you know that brother noll, your father, did a very unwise thing when he put you into my hands?" noll started at the strangeness of the question, and the bright color came into his face. "do you mean that papa did wrong?" he asked, quickly. "yes, so far as your good is concerned. i can be no companion for you. you would have got more good anywhere else than here." "don't say that, uncle richard!" noll pleaded. "why not?" trafford queried, not unkindly; "it is the truth." "papa said that you--you--" there was such a choking in noll's throat that he could get no further, and stopped, looking very much distressed. trafford took the boy's hand in his own. "my boy," he said, huskily, calling him by that title for the first time, "i'm but a poor wreck at best. i can teach you no good, and god knows i wouldn't be the means of putting a shadow of evil in your heart. your father says, 'make him such a man, before god, as you know i would have him.' he asked too much, noll. why, boy, i can't rule myself." noll said not a word. uncle richard was getting to be more of a mystery to him than culm rock had been. "and," continued trafford, "we will leave the matter thus: you shall be at liberty, after the first month, to go or stay, as you like. if you go, it shall be to stay away forever; if you stay, it shall be at your own risk. do you understand?" "yes, uncle richard." trafford saw the boy's lips quiver again, and turned quickly away; the face was so much like his dead brother's. noll came to him pretty soon, said "good-night," and went away. hagar guided the boy up to his room, bidding him good-night with many assurances that "'tw'u'd be pleasanter to-morrow, 'nough sight!" and left him to himself. the stars shone brightly over the sea. noll could not read his bible verses that night, for the familiar, precious gift of mamma was locked in the trunk away round the shore at culm; but he prayed with all the stronger longing for the saviour's pity and help; and then from his bed by one of the great windows, lay listening to the moaning of the tide below, which seemed the saddest, lonesomest sound he had ever heard. and his heart ached too. chapter vi. culm sights. when noll awoke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in. it was not until after some long minutes of yawning and rubbing his eyes, that he comprehended where he was; then, with some chills of disappointment, he remembered, and bounded up to look out the window. the sea lay rippling, cool and fresh below. here and there faint trails of mist floated and hovered over the waves, but the breeze was fast tearing and blowing them away. with a feeling of delight, he saw on the far horizon-line the white film of shadowy sails. it showed that there was life and stir somewhere, he thought, and it was pleasant to think of them as bound for far-off hastings. then he remembered skipper ben and the "white gull," and wondered when he would return; and then mr. gray's note had not been written, he recollected. "well," thought noll, "i'll find time for it to-day, i guess. i wonder if my trunks will come this morning? and--when am i to begin my studies, and who am i to recite to?" this last thought had not entered his head before. there was evidently not a school of any kind upon culm rock, and of course uncle richard was the only person capable of teaching him anything. "i wonder if he will offer to teach me?" noll thought in perplexity, "or shall i have to ask him? i can't do that! he's so cold and stern; and besides, i don't believe he would like the trouble. i wonder if i am to grow up like those dull culm people?" he dressed himself, thinking busily enough of a dozen troublesome matters which had already sprung up to puzzle him, and with these in his head, went down-stairs. he found the dining-room at last, after getting into three or four empty, unoccupied rooms, and there found hagar putting the last dishes upon the breakfast-table. "you's lookin' brighter, honey," said she, gleefully. "didn't dis yer ole woman tell ye so? ki! i knowed how 'tw'u'd be las' night." "it _does_ seem pleasanter," noll admitted; "and where's uncle richard?" "mas'r dick? he's in de libr'y; goin' to call him dis minnit. breakfas' dun waitin' for ye both, honey; an', bress de lord! how much ye looks like yer father dis mornin'!" and hagar caressed the boy's hair with her skinny old hands, muttering, as she gazed affectionately in his face, "you's de bery picter ob him,--de bery picter!" so richard trafford thought as he answered the old housekeeper's call and entered the dining-room where his nephew was waiting with a cheery "good-morning, uncle richard." the boy's sunshiny face, somehow, made the great room brighter, trafford thought, and hagar bustled about and poured the coffee with a lighter heart than she had had since leaving her people at hastings. [illustration: "good morning, uncle richard," page .] "jes' what's been lackin' de whole time!" she thought to herself; "mas'r dick wants somethin' he ken love and talk to. 'pears like dar'll be a change in dis yer ole house afore long, de lord willin'." it was such a long time since the old negress had seen a young face, or heard the pleasant accents of a young voice, that she made various pretexts for lingering in the room while the two sat at the table, and though it was for the most part a silent meal, yet it was a wonderful pleasure to see noll eat, hagar thought. and when the two had left the table and gone to the library, she soliloquized, "nebber thought i'd see a day like dis yer, agen! wonder what mas'r dick t'inks o' de boy? bress de chile! if mas'r don't take to him, 'pears like he'll nebber take to nuffin. be like habbin' poor mas'r noll's face afore him de whole time, an' ef he ken stan' _dat_, athought lubbin' him, i's 'feard he's dun got colder'n a stone, de whole ob him. you jes' wait an' see, hagar!" noll followed his uncle from the breakfast-table into the library, hoping that he would at once say something about his books or studies, or at least hint what plans he had made concerning himself. it would be a great deal pleasanter, noll thought, to have uncle richard dispose of him, even in a stern, cold way, than to do nothing at all with him and remain indifferent as to whether he studied or grew up in ignorance. but trafford had relapsed into one of his gloomy, absent moods, and took up a book as soon as he reached the library, without a look or word for noll. the boy stood by one of the great windows and looked out on the sea, striving to drown his disappointment by thinking of other matters. when he had tired of this, and found that disappointment was long-lived, and would not be drowned, he loitered by the bookcases, reading the titles, now and then peering into a volume and looking over its top at his uncle, and thinking him a very cold or else a very forgetful man. when he had made the tour of the room several times, and was about to go out in despair, trafford looked up. "noll, did you wish to speak to me?" he asked, abruptly. the question came upon noll unawares. "yes, if--if you were not too--too busy," he stammered. "i thought--i hoped you would say something about my books--my studies, i mean, uncle richard." "what about them?" "why, whether i were to study with you, or by myself, or how; and whether i am to begin now, or wait a while," said noll, wishing that his uncle would look less keenly at him. trafford leaned his head upon his hand and reflected a little. at last he said,-- "you will wait, noll, till your month is up. there would be no use in beginning studies which, perchance, may end in so short a time. if, at the end of four weeks, you conclude to stay, then we will talk about study. till then, you will wait." noll's blue eyes said, as plainly as eyes could, "don't mention that month again, uncle richard!" but his tongue was silent, and he acquiesced in this decision by a nod of his head. "you can fill up the time," continued his uncle, "as you like. you had best make yourself acquainted with the rock before you decide to stay here. you will hardly explore it all in one day, i think;" and with this trafford turned again to his book. noll found his hat and went out, determined to keep a brave heart if uncle richard _was_ cold and gloomy. if there was no other way, he would _make_ him love him, he thought, though how that was to be done he had, as yet, but a very slight idea. he went through the dining-room, and from thence found his way to the broad front piazza which faced the sea, and where, the previous evening, he had stood so lonely and homesick. everything looked much cheerier to him now, and he ran down the sand, in front of the house, to the water's edge, resolved to see the bright side of everything which pertained to gray, barren culm. there were stranded shells and bright-hued weeds on the wet, glittering sand, which made noll's eyes sparkle with delight. "wouldn't ned's eyes open to see these!" he thought, "and wouldn't the dear old fellow like some for his museum! i'll gather a whole box full and send them up by the skipper some day." thinking of the skipper made noll remember his trunks, and he wondered if the "white gull" had continued her voyage farther down the shore. "there's a whole month to explore and pick up shells in," he said to himself, "and i'll take this forenoon to go around to the landing and see the skipper, if he's there." with this thought, he started off, hoping to find the "gull" still lying off the little wharf. the skipper seemed almost like an old friend, already; and, however rough he might be, he came from hastings, and this fact alone made the boy long for a sight of his face. so he hastened along the sand, toward culm, with an eye and ear for everything which he passed. great boulders, all green and fringed with sea-weed, were strewn everywhere,--in the yellow sand of the beach, in the line of the tide and waves which whitened themselves to foam, and murmured hoarsely against them. in some places the great mass of the rock came down so near the water's edge that only a slender path of pebbles was left between it and the waves. in high tide, noll thought, this narrow way must be quite covered, and he wondered why the sea did not carry it quite away. but in other places the beach was broad and smooth, quite wide enough for many horsemen to ride abreast. this morning the sea was peaceful and calm. neither did it look so vast and illimitable as on the previous night. the tide was going out, stranding great quantities of glittering weeds and all sorts of curious objects, the sight of which made noll's heart glad; but, without stopping to examine or preserve them, he hastened on, hoping to soon catch sight of the "gull." but in this he was disappointed. no sooner had he passed the curve of the shore than he saw that the skipper and his craft were gone. there were his trunks to see to, however; so he kept on, though at a slower pace, wondering if those dull-looking fishermen could tell him when the "gull" would return. not half so fair or comely did the dozen houses look as in the gold of sunset. such racked, weather-beaten dwellings noll had never seen before. it was a mystery how they could ever stand in a high gale. not a solitary vestige of anything green was there to enliven the barrenness. long lines of seine were stretched upon stakes, and dangled from the sides of boulders upon the shore. in the sand some dirty-faced children were playing, who got up and ran away at his approach. a little farther on he came upon two fishermen dividing a basket of fish. they looked up, stared, and nodded respectfully. "when did the skipper go?" noll asked, pausing. "ben, ye mean?" asked one of the men, suspending his labor to take a more leisurely survey of the questioner. "yes, ben tate," said noll. "afore sunrise," said the other. "did ye want the skipper, lad?" "no, not particularly. when is he going to stop here again?" "ben? why, he comes mondays and thursdays, he does," said the fisherman; "ye'll find him here day after to-morrow, lad,--early, too, mos' like." "can you tell me where he left my trunks?" queried noll. at this question, the men looked perplexed. "do ye mean boxes like?" they asked, after a time. noll was astonished at this lack of knowledge, but managed to explain to the two what he meant. "ye'd best go up to dirk sharp's," said one; "the skipper leaves much with dirk, he does, an' ye'll be like to find 'em there." "back o' the wharf, lad,--back o' the wharf dirk lives," the other called to noll, as he walked away. dirk sharp's house was rather smarter than the others,--at least, it was in better repair; but the look which noll caught of its interior, as he stood rapping by the open door, sufficed to destroy any anticipations of industry or thriftiness which he might have formed from the dwelling's exterior. dirk was a great broad-shouldered, slouching fellow, with a general air of shiftlessness about him. at noll's summons, he came lounging out of an inner room, and, catching sight of the boy, said,-- "lookin' for yer trunks, lad? the skipper said ye was to hev 'em las' night, shore; but ye see," pulling up his sleeve, "as how i got a cut what's hindered," displaying a long, bloody wound upon his arm. "ye sh'u'd ha' had 'em, lad, but for that, as the skipper said. but ef ye ken wait till the men get back from their seinin'--ho! there be bob an' darby now," he exclaimed, as he spied the two whom noll had just passed. "ahoy there, lads! here be a job fur ye!" he cried to the fishermen. the two left their work and came up to dirk. "here be two trunks to go 'roun' to the stone house fur this lad," said he. "ef ye'll shoulder 'em roun' the shore, yer welcome to what the skipper left fur't. what ye say, lads?" "we'll do't fur ye, dirk, seein' yer cut," said the one who was called darby. "where be the boxes, man?" dirk led them into the inner room, from whence they presently emerged, each with a trunk on his shoulder, and, bending with their burdens, started up the shore. noll followed slowly after, wondering why they did not use their boat, instead of enduring such back-breaking toil. it struck him that he had never seen such dull, apathetic faces as these culm people had. such utter shiftlessness as everything about the cluster of tumble-downs betokened he had never imagined. perhaps all this dreariness and desolation made itself more keenly felt because the boy was just from the city, which teemed with life and bustle and energy. in its poorest quarter he had never seen such a lack of tidiness as the interior of dirk sharp's house presented. he followed the slowly-plodding trunk-bearers up the yellow sand, wondering if there was such another wretched, desolate, and forlorn place as culm rock in the whole wide earth. chapter vii. how the month was spent. they were a long time in getting to the stone house. before they passed the curve of the shore, the sun was well up in the sky and beat down with fervid rays upon the sweating, toiling fishermen. noll rejoiced when the trunks were safely landed in his room at the top of the stairs, and the men had taken their departure, each with a piece of silver in addition to the skipper's fee. it seemed to him that there was no bright side to the life over in those wretched culm huts. if there was, he could not see it. it puzzled and perplexed him to imagine how human beings could live in such ignorance and apathy of all that was transpiring about them; and the sights which he had seen in the miserable, tumbledown village left a very disagreeable feeling in his heart. somehow, his hitherto blithe spirits were dampened by this morning's walk, and he thought the great bare rock would be a great deal more endurable if the fish-huts and their inmates were only off it. true, it would be much lonelier, but that was far more endurable than the sight of such shiftlessness and ignorance. he wondered if uncle richard ever went among them, and whether he really knew what a degraded people they had got to be. if he did know, noll thought, it was very strange that he did not try to lift them up, teach them something, or, at least, have a school opened for the children. papa, he thought, would have done something for them long ago. there would have been a little schoolhouse and a teacher. a new wharf, he was sure, would have taken the place of the rickety old thing; and by degrees the women would have learned thrift and neatness, and the men energy and industry. to be sure, it seemed a great deal to do for such dull, apathetic people, who seemed not to have a particle of energy and ambition about them; but papa, he thought, could have done it, and _would_ have done it, had he lived here as long as uncle richard. he remembered a little sea-town, where they had lived before dwelling in hastings, how wretched and dirty and ignorant the fishermen were, and what a great change for the better came over the place through his father's efforts. but now papa was gone, and uncle richard? the man was so much of a mystery to noll, as yet, that he did not know whether there were any hopes of his setting himself to the task of lifting the culm people out of their slough of wretchedness; but he hoped that his uncle would see and realize what needed to be done before another year had worn away. and if he did not? why, then they would have to go on in their old way, he thought. he wished that he might do something toward the work; but, then, how could he? he had no money, and no means of getting any, and he was not fifteen. noll put away, or tried to do so, all thoughts of the culm people and their life, and went to writing the note which skipper ben was to carry to mr. gray on his return to hastings. when it was finished, he unlocked his trunk, took a look at the thumbed, worn little bible which had been mamma's; at the familiar covers of his school-books, which brought up a hundred visions of pleasant, happy hours in the great, buzzing schoolroom,--wondered if he should ever know such joyful moments again,--it seemed quite an impossibility, now,--and took up, one by one, the keepsakes and knick-knacks which his boy friends had given him on his departure. there was the new ball which sam scott had given him,--how sam _did_ love ball-playing!--and which was now not of the least possible use to him. there was a great bundle of fish-hooks which archie phillips had bestowed upon him, more in fun than in earnest, but which noll had treasured because archie was his seat-mate. then there were all sorts of relics and mementos, such as boys set their hearts upon,--bits of carved wood, favorite drawing pencils, a purple amethyst, which johnny moore, whose father had been in india, had given him, and, best of all, there was ned thorn's dear, merry face beaming upon him from out the little ebony frame in which ned's own hands had placed it the night before his departure. looking at this face, and gazing upon these mementos of his friends, did not serve to make noll at all more contented with culm rock and the prospect before him, and, being presently made aware of this by the heaviness which began to settle upon his heart, he closed the trunks in great haste, and ran off. the day passed quickly enough, even for noll, and was only the first of many happy ones spent by the shore and on the rocks. the boy had a taste for treasuring curiosities, and in the wonderful wealth of weed and shell which the sea was continually throwing upon the sand, his love of collecting and preserving was gratified. every return of the tide was a great sweeping in of the wonders and beauties of the sea to add to his stores. there was always something new and strange to excite his delight and admiration. then, too, there were long hours spent in climbing the rocks, till all its cliffs and hollows began to grow familiar to the boy. he climbed to wind cliff, and from its top looked down on the culm houses on the sand, and into the gulls' nests far below in the crevices of the rock, and enjoyed their wild wheeling and screaming about him as he stood there. from this high look-out he often stood looking upon such sunsets as he had never seen before. high up toward the zenith the sun shot its great banners of flame as it dipped in the sea, and made the vast expanse glow and glitter. in the east the sails flitted along the purple line of the horizon, and down in the dusk shadow of the rock he could see the grim stone house and the blue thread of smoke from hagar's kitchen chimney. sometimes he made use of archie phillips' gift, and caught fish off the rocks, much to the advantage of the old housekeeper's dinner-table. one week after another passed, and still there seemed plenty of variety and amusement for every day. in one of his rambles, noll came upon a little cluster of graves, with the rudest of monuments to mark them,--most of them were rough head-boards in which the sleeper's name was cut or scratched,--and this sight of such poor, uncared-for resting-places in the sand made him sad and thoughtful for more than one day. what if he were to die and be buried there, too? he surmised. the thought chilled him. true, he knew that heaven beyond was just as bright and fair for all that the graves were so forlorn and dreary; but the thought of lying far from all his friends, on bare and lonely culm rock, oppressed him till new sights and adventures had somewhat effaced the remembrance of the sight from his mind. nearly one day was spent in the pine woods, whose fragrance and sombre light, and the deep hush reigning within, both awed and delighted him. then there were days of storm and mist which could only be spent in his chamber or in the library. uncle richard was generally as silent and stern as ever, and sometimes chilled the boy's heart with his coldness, and sometimes touched it by his prolonged and heavy sadness. noll found more ways than one to make his affection known, and even when his uncle was stern almost to harshness, found some excuse for his unkindness in his warm heart, thinking that all would come right at last, and uncle richard lose his coldness and be as kind and regardful as he could wish. only once did he lose his temper and rebel, and for this noll repented heartily as soon as it was done. he went into the library one afternoon and asked permission to go around to culm and climb up to the gulls' nests on wind cliff. he had explored every nook of the rock, and this was a pleasure which he had reserved till the last, and, though not quite confident of being successful in an attempt to scale the precipitous cliff, yet he was eager and anxious enough to make the trial. trafford was in one of his gloomiest moods, and replied, sternly,-- "you would like to break your neck, i suppose, sir, and give me the pleasure of seeing you brought home bruised and bleeding! no, you shall not go near wind cliff!" the angry color came into noll's face in an instant. "i believe it _would_ be a pleasure for you to see me brought home with a broken neck!" he cried, impetuously; "and oh, i wish i were back in hastings, where somebody cared for me!" and with this noll hurried out of the library, slamming the door behind him. trafford heard these words with astonishment; then, as his nephew's footsteps died away along the hall, he covered his face and sighed heavily. "ah," he thought, "i did it for his good; yet--the boy distrusts me. he can't know what i would be to him if i could; how can he? he thinks me cold and unloving, and--well, he has reason to." hardly had ten minutes elapsed before the door swung softly open, and noll re-entered. trafford did not look up, did not hear him, in fact, and presently was startled by a voice saying, brokenly,-- "uncle richard!" then he looked up. noll stood before him with downcast eyes and a trembling lip. "well?" said trafford, speaking neither with coldness nor yet with kindness. "i--i--i didn't mean what i said a few minutes ago, uncle richard," said noll, chokingly; "there was not a word of truth in it, and i oughtn't to have said such a thing." a deep silence followed, broken at last by another "well?" from trafford's lips. "will you forgive me, uncle richard? i was angry then, and i _don't_ wish i was back at hastings," said noll, grieved, and fearful lest he had only put a wider gulf between himself and his uncle. trafford was silent so long that the boy ventured to raise his eyes. to his surprise and astonishment, his uncle was regarding him with eyes that were neither cold nor stern, but almost tender and yearning. "oh! do you forgive me?" noll cried, taking hope. trafford laid his hand on his nephew's fair, curly hair, stroking it gently as he had once before done on the boy's arrival. "you need not ask that, noll," he said. "go where you will,--i can trust you." "but i'll not go to wind cliff?" said noll, "and i wish--you don't know how much, uncle richard!--that i could take back those words." "there is no need," said his uncle. "go where you will." noll took his departure, more confident than ever that under uncle richard's coldness and seeming indifference there lurked love and regard for himself, and, true to his word, gave up all idea of ascending the cliff. as for trafford, though outwardly stern and cold as ever, his heart went out to the boy more yearningly after that. the month was drawing near its close, and in spite of himself, he could not regard the approaching day on which noll's decision was to be made without some forebodings. yet, lest the boy should be influenced by perceiving that his uncle wished his presence, trafford was gloomier and more forbidding than ever, those last days. the boy should be perfectly free to make his choice, he thought; he would use no influence to change or bias his decision in any manner. "everything i have set my heart upon has been snatched away by death," he said to himself; "noll shall stay only because it is his choice. never will i, by look or voice, influence him to share my life and loneliness. if he stays, and i love him as my own, just so surely will death snatch him away." but that the boy was a great comfort and delight to him he could not but confess to himself. he was surprised to find how, in those few short weeks, his cheery presence had won upon his heart. he watched him from the window as he walked on the sand below, searching for sea treasures, and could not endure the thought of having the boyish figure gone forever out of his sight. neither could he think of the loneliness and silence which would settle down upon the old house when the gladsome voice and quick footsteps were gone, without a sigh. now it was a great pleasure to go out to the tea-table at evening and find noll, fresh and ruddy from his ramble on the shore and rocks, awaiting him one side the table with his grave and yet merry face. how would it be when he was gone? it were a great deal better, trafford thought, that the boy had never come to brighten the old house with sunshine for a brief space, if now he went and left it darker and gloomier than before. and would he go? he should be left to choose for himself, the uncle thought, though the decision proved an unfavorable one. chapter viii. noll's decision. noll stayed. the day on which the decision was to be made he came into the library, where trafford sat, saying, gravely, "uncle richard, to-day i was to choose, you know; and i would rather stay at culm rock and be your boy than to go back. may i?" "may you?" exclaimed trafford, on the impulse of the moment, while even his heavy heart was glad. "how can you ask that? oh, noll! do you know what you are doing?" "to be sure, uncle richard! i'm going to stay with you," replied noll, without any shadow of regret in his eyes. "ah, boy, i fear you will rue it," said his uncle, shaking his head mournfully; "remember, whatever befalls, that i did not bid you stay,--it was at your own risk." "why, what do you mean?" noll asked, with a puzzled face,--"what is to befall me, uncle richard?" "i know not,--i know not," trafford answered; "there may be nothing to harm you; yet death ever snatches all that is dear to me, and i tremble for you, my boy." noll looked grave and puzzled still. "i don't understand, uncle richard," he said. "no; how can you?" his uncle said, after a pause. "to _you_, death is only god's hand; to me, it--oh, noll, i cannot tell you what it is! i don't wish to shock you, boy, but i'm a long way from where your father was when he penned me that calm note,--lying in the very arms of death at the moment." noll was silent. "yes," continued trafford, "for me there is no brightness beyond the depths of the grave. all is dark,--dark! and so many of my friends have vanished in it,--so many have been lost to me there! ah, my hope was all wrecked long ago!" noll looked up quickly, with, "papa lost to you, to me, uncle richard? oh, that is not true at all! papa _lost_ to us?" "not to you, not to you, noll, thank god!" trafford replied; "but to me,--yes! his faith he left to you,--i can see, i feel it; but i have none." noll looked up to the sad-eyed, gloomy man, and fathomed the mystery of his sorrow at once. who would not be forever sad with nothing beyond the grave but blank and darkness in which loved hearts were alway vanishing? "oh, uncle richard," said he, "i'm sorry for you!" "i don't deserve it," trafford said, with unusual tenderness. "how can you love such a man as myself? oh, my boy, i've been harsh with you, and cold and stern; go where you'll find some one that can care for you better than i!" but noll's face suddenly grew bright. "i wouldn't do that," he said, earnestly,--"never, uncle richard! papa said i was to live with you and love you, and i _will_, unless you wish me to go. and if you do not, don't tell me to leave you again!" "i will not, noll," trafford said. so it was all settled, at last, and noll's heart--in spite of uncle richard's gloominess--was light and glad. he would stay and see if the man's sorrow and wretchedness could not be driven away, he thought; perhaps--who could tell?--he would lose his sternness, and become kind and regardful, and follow in the path which papa had trod. it all seemed very doubtful now, it was true, but such a thing _might_ be, after a time. "yes," said noll, as he thought of these things, "i would much rather stay with you, uncle richard--always. and now shall we talk about studies?" "true, we were to consider that matter," said his uncle; "yet i had little hope that you would stay, then. what do you study, noll?" "at hastings i had arithmetic and geography and latin. then with papa i studied history, and a little--a very little, uncle richard--in mineralogy,--he liked that so, you know." "and what do you propose to do here?" asked his uncle. "i would like to do just the same," said noll, "and keep up with my class, perhaps." "he has still some thoughts of returning?" trafford wondered; then said aloud, "well, it shall be as you like. and when will you commence?" "at once, if you please, uncle richard. i've had such a long vacation that it will seem good to get back to books once more; they're all waiting for me up-stairs. shall i get them?" noll bounded away as his uncle nodded assent, and went up-stairs with a merry whistle. trafford listened to the quick footsteps and the light-hearted music, and really rejoiced that they were not to flee and leave the old house desolate. it would be a brighter dwelling than it had been till--till death came, he thought. and if he could not teach the boy as brother noll had desired him to do, yet he would see that in the matter of books and study he had every advantage. so, when the boy came down with his arms full of books, he set himself to his task with an earnestness that pleased noll wonderfully. "uncle richard means that i shall progress," he thought; "and oh, i _do_ hope i can keep up with ned and the rest!" trafford found his nephew an apt scholar. he had expected that, however, for the boy came of a book-loving race. very likely, had the pupil proved but a dull one, he would sometimes have wearied of his task of hearing the recitations every day; but as it was, he found a positive pleasure in his capacity as noll's instructor, and generally a relief from his gloominess. noll's study-hours were at his own discretion; the recitations came in the afternoon, and after four the boy had the remainder of the day to spend as he liked. sometimes the shore claimed him, sometimes the rocks. then there were excursions, in company with old hagar, to the solitude of the pines, after cones and dry, resinous branches for the kitchen fire, which never seemed to burn well unless the old housekeeper had an abundance of this kindling material. "nuffin like dem yer pine cones fur winter mornin's," hagar always said; and many were the visits which she and "mas'r noll" paid to the woods, returning with laden baskets. somehow, after a time, the boy found more delight in these simple pleasures than at first. once, with all his friends about him, he would have found no entertainment in a journey into the forest after cones,--there were other delights in abundance, then; but now, forced to get all his enjoyment out of the simplest, humblest events, this work of gathering winter fuel grew to be a positive pleasure, after the recitations were over, and the short october days drawing to a close. then, too, the winter stores were being brought down from hastings on the "gull," and skipper ben and his crew came often to the stone house, to break the monotony of days in some little manner. "yer 'live an' hearty yet, lad!" was his greeting as he came around in the "gull's" boat with a variety of provisions for winter use, one cloudy afternoon. "well, i mus' say i didn't think to find ye so? lonesome any? goin' to let me carry ye back to hastings afore the 'gull' stops runnin'?" "no," said noll, bravely, "i'm going to stay, skipper." "ye'll find the weather a tough un, bime-by," drawled mr. snape, as he rolled a flour-barrel up the sand. "yes," said the skipper, "winters are mos'ly hard uns down here. an' what ye goin' to do when the 'gull' stops cruisin' fur the season, an' ye can't get a word frum the city?" this was a contingency for which noll had made no calculation. not hear a word from hastings for a whole long winter? "well," he said at last, "that isn't pleasant to think of, but i'll manage somehow, skipper. and you must bring me a great packet of letters to last till the 'gull' commences her trips again." "ay, lad," said the skipper, his eyes twinkling. "what be these?" drawing a parcel from under his pea-jacket. noll's eager "letters! and for me?" tickled the old sailor wonderfully. "yes, these be letters," he said, chuckling; "jack, here, talks o' runnin' a smack down this winter purpose to bring yer mail!" "'tw'u'd take something bigger'n a smack," observed mr. snape, looking askance to see how noll grasped the precious parcel. "all yer frien's said as how i was to bring ye back on the 'gull,'" called the skipper after him, as noll went running across the sand toward the house. "oh, how i wish--no! i can't go, skipper; it's no use talking," noll answered back as he gained the piazza, and there sat down to open his precious missives. five or six of his boy friends had agreed to surprise him each with a letter, and here they were, together with a kind note from mr. gray. what a comfort and pleasure they were! it was almost like seeing the writers' faces and talking with them, noll thought. trafford came out upon the piazza while he sat there absorbed in their contents, and as he walked along toward the skipper, who stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, noted the boy's eager, delighted face, and wondered why the lad did not return to his friends, where, it was quite evident, he was much desired and longed for. why did he stay on this dreary rock? what was there here to make the place endurable for a boy of his age and tastes? he could not see. those were the last letters which noll received. the "gull" made one or two trips after that, but the first of november brought keen, sleety weather, and skipper ben came no more; so that for the long months ahead culm rock was to be shut out from the world entirely. the thought of being isolated from all assistance, in case of illness or trouble, oppressed noll somewhat till he had accustomed himself to the thought, and then a vague dread of loneliness and homesickness in the dragging days of winter haunted him for a time. but getting bravely over these, and interested in his studies, he began to find that the november days were not so intolerable, after all. uncle richard had surprised him one day by bringing in a writing-table, from one of the unoccupied rooms, and placing it opposite his own chair by one of the tall windows. "for your books, noll," he had said; and from thenceforth the boy's well-worn school volumes had a place there, and study in the cold chamber was exchanged for the comfortable warmth of the library. it was not an unpleasant schoolroom, by any means, though the high, old window framed nothing but a great stretch of sea and sky,--both, this chilly month of november, often gray and misty. instead of the roar and din of the city which sounded about the dearly-remembered room at hastings, there was the hoarse murmur of the tide on its rocks and pebbles, the wild whirling of the wind and its screaming around the corners and over the chimney,--not cheery sounds, any of them; yet, in the still afternoons, and the cozy quietness of long evenings when the lamp shed its mild light over the room, and the fire on the hearth shone redly, there was such calm and peace for books and study as noll found both pleasant and profitable. in these days, you may be sure, the boy's thoughts were often across the vast gray sea in front of his window, even when he was bending over his problems or translations; not that he regretted his decision to share uncle richard's life with him, nor that he had any thoughts of fleeing away, but those flitting sails on the far horizon were messengers which alway bore on their white wings thoughts of hope and love and patience to those over the sea. it was not the natural sphere of a boy,--this monotonous, unvarying round of days, with no companions of his age or tastes; and, as week after week passed, and noll was still blithe and apparently contented, trafford wondered and conjectured, and could not surmise a reason for it; though, had he observed closely, it would not have been a great mystery. for noll there was the unfailing comfort of the little bible which lay beside the huge old bed up-stairs, and which gave the double comfort of its own blessedness and the remembrance of its preciousness to her who turned its pages to the last; and there were ever the pitying ears of jesus ready to hear the story of discouragement and loneliness, when the burden of slow, weary days seemed _too_ heavy to bear. into trafford's life had come more brightness and content than he had known since that dark day when his wife left him and vanished in the darkness which, to his eyes, filled and hovered over the grave. it did not, as yet, seem like a real and lasting joy; he trembled lest some day it should prove but a dream, a vision, and so vanish. he often laid aside his book and looked up, half expecting to find the room as silent and lonely as when, of old, he was the only inhabitant of the great library; but there, at the opposite window, sat the pleasant figure of the boy, busy with his books, and as real and tangible as heart could wish. it was a perpetual delight, though he hid all knowledge of it from noll, to feel that the boy was present, to see him curled up in a great chair by the fire, watching the flames or the depths of rosy coal, of a twilight, and to feel that he was _his_,--a precious gift to love and cherish. so the man's heart began to go out toward the boy,--tremblingly, warningly at first, then, as he found him true and worthy, with all its might and all the fervor of which it was capable. chapter ix. dirk's trouble. noll closed his books one afternoon after recitations, saying, "i'll put on my overcoat, uncle richard, and take a run up the shore,--just for exercise. the waves are monstrous, and how they thunder! i haven't seen them so large since i came to culm." "look out for the tide," continued his uncle; "keep away from that narrow strip of sand up the shore, for the waves will cover it in an hour." noll promised to be cautious, and ran off after cap and overcoat. hagar met him as he came down from his room all muffled for the walk, and exclaimed,-- "bress ye, honey! where ye bound fur now? dis yer is a drefful bad time on de shore! i's 'feard to hev ye roun' dar!" looking at him anxiously. noll laughed merrily. "do you think i'm too small to take care of myself, hagar?" he asked; "i'm only going for a walk, and to see the waves. i'll be back for supper with uncle richard." the sky was wild and gray with clouds. a keen, chilly wind swept fiercely over the rocks and along the shore, and the dark, foam-fringed waves rode grandly in upon the beach with a thunderous shock as they flew into spray. some of the spray mist wet noll's face, even as he stood upon the piazza steps. but, warmly clad, and loving the sight of the wild tumult, he started with a light heart for his walk up the shore. as far as he could see, the sea was dark and gloomy, with long curves of foam whitening its surface and gleaming on the crests of its racing waves. at his feet, on the sand, lay great tangles of kelp and flecks of yeasty froth. the air was keen, and frosty enough to film the still pools in the hollows with brittle ice, and where the spray fell upon the rocks, it congealed and cased the old boulders with glittering mail. not a sail was there in sight, and noll thought the sea had never looked so vast and lonely as now. along the horizon the clouds were white-edged, and seemed to open and lead away into illimitable distances of vapor. he stopped under the shelter of a rock to look behind him, over the path which he had trodden. the stone house looked dark and forbidding, like everything else under this wild gray sky; but noll had long ago ceased to consider it as resembling a prison. it was home, now, and so took a fairer, brighter shape in his eyes. beyond, the pines stood up against the sky, full of sombreness and inky shadow. "how cold and desolate everything is!" thought noll; "but it's not half so gloomy as it seems, after all. i wish, though, that ned--dear fellow!--was here, just to make it lively once in a while." he walked on, listening to the heavy thunder of waves, and looking upon the troubled waste of sea, till he came to the curve of the shore. here lay the narrow path of pebbles against which his uncle had warned him. but there seemed no immediate danger, for the path looked as wide as ever, and as there was yet an hour before the tide would be in, noll hurried across, the salt spray flying wildly about him. "i'll go on a little further," he thought, "and i shall get home long enough before tea-time, then." having gone a little way, however, he chanced to remember that he had not been at culm village for a month, at least, and longed to take a run down to the little cluster of houses. "how the waves will dash in there!" he thought; "and i wonder how those huts stand such a tempest as this? i've a good mind to go, anyhow,--it's such a good chance to see the place in a gale." he wavered and walked hesitatingly about in the sand for a few minutes, and at last decided to go. he ran and walked by turns, the wind blowing his curly locks in his eyes and taking his breath almost away with its fierce gusts; yet he kept on. it seemed as if the waves jarred and thundered heavier on this culm side than on his own quarter of the rock; at any rate, the wind was more powerful, and blew the spray upon him in showers. "i'll get drenched, if the wind keeps on like this!" he thought; "if i weren't so near, i'd turn back; but the houses are in sight, already, and i've got to get acquainted with salt water. i'll keep on!" when he drew near the little settlement, he was tired enough with running and battling the wind, and was content to take a slower pace. never had the fishermen's huts looked so forlorn and miserable as now. noll half expected to see them come tumbling and rolling along the sand in every gust of wind which struck them; yet, with some mysterious attraction to their sandy foundations, they held their own, though some of them creaked and groaned with the strain which was brought to bear upon their timbers. the boy kept on toward the little wharf, over which the waves rolled and tumbled furiously, without meeting a soul. the water dashed so high and wildly up the sand that he was obliged to keep well up beside the houses to escape a drenching. he thought he had never looked upon so grand a sight as the sea presented here,--all its vast waste lashed into great waves that came roaring in like white-maned monsters to dash themselves upon the laud. standing here, close by dirk sharp's door, noll suddenly fancied he heard a faint wail within. he was not at all sure, the sea thundered so, and the wind screamed so shrilly about the miserable dwelling; but presently, in a slight lull of the tempest, he heard the wail--if wail it was--again. it sounded like the voice of a child,--a child suffering illness or pain. "i wonder if dirk has any little ones?" thought noll; "and what can he do with them, if they are ill?" mentally hoping that his ears had deceived him, and that no one on the desolate rock stood in need of aid which they could not have, he was about to turn away and retrace his steps homeward, as the sky seemed to shut down grayer and darker than before, and nightfall was approaching. but at that instant the door of the dwelling opened, and out came dirk, beating his breast and crying aloud, whether with pain or grief noll was too surprised to notice at first. the man failed to see the lad standing close by his door-step till he had taken several strides up and down the sand, where the wind blew the spray full upon him,--walking there hatless and coatless. when he did perceive him, he stopped short, exclaiming, almost fiercely,-- "what _ye_ here fur, lad?--what ye here fur? the lord knows it's no place fur the sort ye b'long to!" "i was looking at the sea," said noll; "and--and--what's the matter, dirk?" "nothin' that'll do ye any good ter know!" cried dirk, roughly, beginning to pace up and down the sand again. "ye can't know nothin' o' trouble, lad! how ken ye?" noll hardly knew what answer to make to this vehement question, and finally made none at all, but asked,-- "are any of your family ill, dirk?" "ill? sick, ye mean? o lord! yes, yes,--and dyin'!" noll started. some one ill and dying on this dreary, wretched rock! and no doctor to give aid. he did not know how far he might dare to interrogate dirk in his present half-frenzied condition, but ventured, after a minute or two of silence, to ask,-- "is it one of the children?" "yes, my little gal!" said dirk, groaning,--"my little gal it is, an' nothin' to keep her frum it. o lord! seems as ef i sh'u'd go mad!" and he threw up his hands to the lowering sky in despair, and faced about to the sea, letting the cold drops drive into his face. noll was fain to comfort him, but was at a loss how to offer consolation to such anguish as dirk's. "isn't there some one on the rock that can help, that knows something about medicine?" he asked, eagerly. "no, no, lad!" dirk cried, "there ain't a soul this side o' the sea ken help my little gal! ye don' know nothin' o' trouble, lad! ye don' know what 'tis ter feel that yer chile's dyin' fur want o' somethin' to save it! o lord! seems as ef i c'u'd swim through this sea to hastings fur my little gal!" he rushed down to the boiling surf, and noll half expected to see him throw himself into the sea; but he came back, drenched with a great wave, with despair and agony upon his face. "here, lad," he exclaimed, "come in,--come in an' see what trouble is! ye don' know. how ken ye?" noll followed, and dirk pushed open the door of his dwelling. the air which met the boy as he entered the small, low room was so close and foul that he almost staggered back. the floor was bare, and through a crack under the door the keen wind swept in across it, flaring the fire on the stone hearth and puffing ashes and smoke about. a fishy odor was upon everything. household utensils were scattered about in front of the hearth, occupying a quarter of the room, and what few chairs and other articles of wooden furniture there were, were fairly black with dirt and smoke. noll had never before entered a dwelling so filthy, wretched, and miserable as this. "here, lad," said dirk, brokenly,--"here--be--the--little gal," and pointed to one corner, where, watched over by a thin, slovenly woman, the child lay on its little bed. the mother did not take her eyes off the girl, and noll went forward, with much inward repugnance, to look upon dirk's treasure. the child's cheeks were flushed a bright red, and it lay with drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes, uttering, at intervals, a low wail. noll shivered, and involuntarily thought of those dreary, desolate graves which he stumbled upon in one of his rambles. could nothing be done? must the child die for lack of a little medicine? he looked through the little dirt-crusted window upon the tossing sea, and saw what a hopeless barrier it interposed between them and aid. he thought of uncle richard, and knew that it was useless to expect aid from that direction; and then he thought of _hagar_! she was a good nurse, he remembered, and knew--or claimed to know--a vast deal about medicine. perhaps she could help this child! he thought, with a glad heart, and if she could! his heart suddenly sank, for he remembered that the old housekeeper could not make a journey through the storm and tempest, even had she the necessary skill. "but," he thought to himself, "i can tell her about the child,--it's got a fever,--and she can send medicines; and to-morrow, if it's pleasant, she can come herself!" and thinking thus, noll turned to dirk, with-- "i can get you some medicines, i think, from our old housekeeper. may i? shall i try?" the fisherman was silent with surprise. he would probably have sooner expected aid from across the raging sea than from this lad. noll read an answer in his eyes, and hastened to the door, and bounded away without waiting for any more words or explanations. how fast it had grown dark while he was in dirk's hut! the horizon was quite hidden, so was all the wide waste a half-mile from shore; but with the coming of night the sea had lost none of its thunder, nor the wind aught of its fierceness. noll ran till he was out of breath. then he walked, thinking that the homeward path was wonderfully long. then he ran again, feeling almost as if the child's life depended upon his exertions, and seeming to hear its wail above all the din of wind and waves. suddenly he plashed to his ankles, and this brought his headlong race to an abrupt termination. what could it mean? then he remembered, with a sudden chill, what, in his eagerness and anxiety, he had entirely forgotten,--the tide was coming in, and was already over the path which uncle richard warned him against. he looked back. the beach over which he had come glimmered faintly in the dusk, with its long line of breakers gleaming far up and down. back there in the darkness, he thought, dirk's child was dying for want of medicine. oh! what to do? he looked down at the foam creeping about his ankles, and said to himself,-- "pshaw! it's only over shoe, now, and my feet are wet already. i'll dash through; 'twon't take but three minutes, and i _can't_ wait!" he sprang on, thinking to clear the short strip, which the tide had covered, with a few bounds. a wave, high and broad, which had been gathering power and volume in all its long, onward course, came sweeping thunderingly in and engulfed him. chapter x. in the sea. noll's presence of mind enabled him to clutch the jagged sides of the rock desperately, so that in the wave's return he was not drawn with it into the sea depths. stunned, strangled, half blinded, and impelled by a sudden horror of death in the cold, treacherous sea, he took two or three forward steps, fell, then rose and strove to struggle on. but a little hollow in the path let him down into the flood to his waist. the spray flew into his eyes and mouth, and breathless and bewildered he fell again, this time to disappear under the foam-flecked water. he struggled up to air and life at last, with many gasps for breath, and once more clutched at the rocks behind him. it all seemed like the terror of a dream, not real and threatening. was he to be drowned? some sudden thought of the pleasantness of life, of dear friends across this same cruel, ravenous sea, of uncle richard and his warning, came to him here. to be drowned in this dark, chill, raging flood? oh! no, no! then he saw, out in the gloom and mistiness, the white gleaming of a wave-crest, rising and sinking, but sweeping steadily toward him, and knew that it would dash upon his narrow foothold. could he survive another? then from noll's lips came a shrill cry, which rose above the thunder and battering of the sea; and, whether from terror or whether from the fact that the dear name was so warm and vivid in his heart at that moment, the cry was not "help!" but, "papa, papa!" the cry was answered!--at least, noll fancied it was, and clung to the jagged edges of rock with a new love of life in his heart, and, with his eyes on the approaching wave, which began to loom up dark and vast, cried out again with all his might. out of the darkness which hovered over his submerged path beyond, a figure came struggling,--battling the water and making desperate efforts to run,--crying,-- "noll, noll! where are you?" "here,--uncle richard,--quick!" answered the boy, clinging desperately to his only refuge,--the slippery, icy rocks. the wave came thunderingly in, burst, and hid uncle and nephew from each other. trafford uttered a groan of despair, and stood, for an instant, like one palsied. back swept the flood, leaving the sand bare for a minute, and with a shout, the master of the stone house rushed forward, seized the figure which had fallen there, and sprang away toward the sand and safety. he gained it, and tremblingly laid his burden down. had he only saved a body from which the life had flown? "oh, noll!" he cried, brokenly,--"noll, noll!" only the sea and the wailing of the wind answered him. hurriedly gathering the boy in his arms, he started for the house, running and stumbling through the sand and over the rocks, fearful lest he should reach its warmth and shelter too late. but before he had gained half the distance between him and the redly-gleaming window, where he knew hagar was sitting before her fire, noll stirred in his arms. trafford stopped, fearing that his excited imagination had deceived him. "noll," he cried, "speak to me,--speak!" "yes--only--i'm--i'm so cold," chattered noll, faintly; "and--uncle richard--you--you've saved me!" trafford could not speak, so great was the load which had suddenly lifted from his heart. he started on with his burden, though noll protested against being carried, and at every step rejoiced within himself. what cared he for the thunder of the sea, the wind's screaming, and the terror of death which they boded? _his_ treasure was safe, safe!--torn from the very yawning mouth of the deep, and what were wreck and disaster of others to him? he came to the little kitchen, presently, the light from its one window toward the shore beaming cheerily upon him, and threw open the door and entered so suddenly that hagar screamed out with affright. "de good lord help us now!" she cried at the sight of the master and his burden. "what's happened, mas'r dick?" noll answered, assuringly, "nothing very serious, hagar. i've been in--the sea. oh, uncle richard! how did you find me?" trafford set his burden down upon the three-legged stool which hagar had just vacated, saying,-- "i was looking for you, noll, and heard your cry. o heaven! what if i had failed to hear it!" "i should have been swept away," said noll. here hagar recovered her wits sufficiently to give a little howl of lamentation. "out ob de sea! out ob de sea!" she cried; "de lord be t'anked fur it! dat yer sea am a drefful t'ing, honey,--allers swallerin', swallerin', an' nebber ken get 'nough fur itself, nohow. hagar's seen it; she knows what dat yer sea is, an' t'ank de lord, he's let ye come out of it alive. mas'r dick, why don't ye t'ank him fur savin' ob yer boy fur ye?" "hush!" said trafford, his face growing gloomy; "find noll some dry clothes, hagar. quick, woman!" "yes, in a minnit, mas'r dick; quick's i ken git dis yer ole candle lit. but ef ye don't t'ank de lord now, ye'll have to come to it 'fore long, mas'r dick; hagar tells ye so! dat yer time'll come! it'll come!" "hush!" said trafford, harshly, "and do as i bade you." hagar went out, sighing, "dat time'll come, dat time'll come, bress de lord!" noll looked up from his seat by the fire, where he sat dripping and shivering, and said,-- "but aren't you glad i'm safe, uncle richard?--aren't you thankful?" trafford answered this question with a look which made his nephew exclaim,-- "i know you are, uncle richard! then why--why--aren't you thankful to god?" "don't, don't, noll!" said his uncle. "strip off those wet garments and make haste to get warm again. culm rock is no place for one to be sick in. hurry, boy?" instead of hurrying, however, noll suddenly grew very grave and exclaimed,-- "oh, i've forgotten something, uncle richard! that tide drove it all out of my head. what can i do? dirk sharp's little girl is sick--dying, and i was to bring her some medicine, if hagar had any!" "what is dirk or his to you?" exclaimed trafford. "was that what kept you so late? is that how you came to be caught by the tide?" "yes," said noll, "i--" his uncle interrupted him with a stern, "noll, you reckless lad! what are those culm people to us,--to me? you put your life in peril--oh, i tremble to think _what_ peril!--for dirk's miserable child? what were you thinking of? have you no regard for your life,--for my happiness?" "why," said noll, quickly, "dirk loves his child as well as you love me, and i thought perhaps hagar's medicines could help it, and i didn't know there was any peril till i got into it; and oh, uncle richard, what will they do now that i can't come back?" "i don't know," said trafford, gloomily; "they are accustomed to such things, i suppose. shall i have to command you to take off those wet clothes?" noll began to remove his ice-cold garments, but presently said,-- "is there,--do you think there'll be any hope of my going back to-night, uncle richard? the child is dreadful sick, you know." "going back!--to-night! are you crazy, noll?" trafford cried. "no, you will not put foot outside the door this night!" "but, un--" "hush! not another word," said his uncle, sternly. "if you have no regard for your life, i must have for you. hagar is waiting at the door with your dry clothes. are you ready for them?" noll answered "yes," his heart suddenly filled with a dreary recollection of the sight which he had seen in dirk's miserable abode. it seemed to him as if he could hear the sick child's wail above the war of the storm. dirk, he thought, would watch and wait for his return, peering through the dirty little window into the gathering gloom and darkness, and, finding that he did not come, would settle back into despair again. noll put on the dry garments with a heavy heart. he was sure he felt strong enough to return to culm, and although the sea barred the beach path, yet, with a lantern, he could find a way over the rocks, he thought. but uncle richard had utterly refused; so there was no hope, and the child must suffer on, and dirk watch in vain. "oh," thought noll, "why wasn't i more careful? why _didn't_ i think of the tide? then nothing would have happened, and i could have gone back!" hagar came in, saying, "ye'll hab yer supper here, in de kitchen, mas'r noll, 'cause it's warmer fur ye dan in de dinin'-room. ye won't mind hagar's ole kitchen jes' fur once, honey?" "no," said noll, sadly, "i won't mind at all, hagar, and i'm not hungry--much." trafford went out to change his own wet clothing. the old housekeeper bustled between her cupboards and a little round table which she had drawn before the fire, casting wistful looks at noll as he sat gravely gazing in the coals. "bress de lord! bress de lord fur savin' ye!" she ejaculated, fervently, as she bent down over her tea-pot which was spouting odorous jets of steam from its place on the hearth; "'pears like dar wouldn't be nuffin left in dis ole house ef de sea had swallered ye, mas'r noll. don't _ye_ t'ank de lord?" she asked, peering up into the boy's sober face. "yes; i'm glad to live, and i thank god for saving me; but oh, hagar," said noll, almost with tears in his eyes, "there's somebody on this rock to-night that's as sad as you or uncle richard would have been if the tide had swept me away!" "now!" said hagar; "an' who is dem yer?" "dirk sharp's little girl is sick with a fever, and i think she's going to die,--though of course i can't tell,--and they haven't a drop of medicine. just think, hagar,--dying, and nothing to save!" hagar thought, and sighed heavily over her tea-pot. "don' know what's goin' to 'come o' them yer culm folks!" she said. "and," continued noll, "i promised to bring dirk some medicine,--i was going to get it of you; but i got into that fearful tide and was half drowned, and now--oh, what can i do?" "bress ye, honey, ye didn't 'spect to go back in de dark to culm?" cried hagar. "i would--if uncle richard hadn't forbidden," said noll; "do you think you have any medicines that can help the child, hagar?" "don' know," shaking her turbaned head. "ef 'twas rheumatiz, or ef 'twas a cut, or ef 'twas one o' dem yer colds, hagar'd 'spect to know; but can't tell nuffin 'bout fevers, nohow. 'tw'u'd be jes' as de lord's willin'!" "will you go, or send something in the morning?" queried noll. "ef it's pleasant, honey, hagar'll go wid ye. yer supper's waiting fur ye!" noll sighed, and did not stir. the misery which he had seen in dirk's wretched hut haunted him. hagar poured out the boy's cup of tea, waited a little space, then returned it to its steaming pot again. "come, yer supper's cold 'nough, now, honey," said she, coming up to noll's seat. "what ye waitin' fur? oh, chile, ye grows more'n' more like yer poor father. t'inkin' ob de mis'ry ober dar; ain't ye?" "_such_ misery, too!" said noll. "well, dar's mis'ry eberywhere!" said hagar; "can't go nowhere but what ye'll find it. yer uncle dick has had mis'ry 'nough in his day, but 'tain't done him no good 'tall. jes' froze his heart up harder'n a stone." "it isn't all stone," said noll. "don' ye t'ink so? well, 'pears like ye's sent here by de lord, jes' to break dat heart ob his all to pieces!" said hagar, earnestly. "sent here to break uncle richard's heart?" laughed noll. "well, i wonder if he thinks i came here for that purpose?" "don' know," said the old housekeeper, with a shake of her head; "but dat's what i t'ink de lord sent ye here fur. dat heart ob his is all frizzed up. 'spects 'twon't be so allus, chile,--de lord helpin'." noll ate his supper, bade hagar good-night, admonishing her to "be sure and have the medicines ready the first thing!" and groped his way to the library, where his uncle was sitting at his organ. trafford stopped playing the instant the door opened, and as noll drew near, put his arm about him, saying,-- "my boy!--_mine!_--doubly my own since i snatched you from death! oh, noll! if i had lost you!" the boy sighed. "dirk has got to lose _his_ child," he said, "and oh, uncle richard, i should be a great deal happier if i might only try to save it!" chapter xi. dirk's treasure. at the first gray glimmer of the wintry dawn, noll was awake. he felt stiff and lame after his adventure of the previous evening, and not at all inclined to stir. but a sudden recollection of dirk and his child, and the aid which he had promised them, came to him almost as soon as he was conscious of the day's dawning, and he got up and limped to the window to see whether there was any prospect of hagar's journey to culm being realized. the sky was as gray and sombre as yesterday's had been. all the sea was in a great turmoil, and rolled in a flood of foam upon the shore as far as he could see. not a sail in sight upon the lonely waste, not a sign of human life anywhere. now and then a snow-flake fluttered down; and the wind screamed shrilly about the house-corners, and wailed hoarsely in the casements. "hagar can't go to-day," thought noll, with a sinking heart; "and, oh! what _can_ be done?" he trembled for fear uncle richard would forbid him to go to culm again. he felt as if he could never bear to meet dirk's eyes after promising him aid and failing to bring it; and, with this thought oppressing him, and the lonely cry of the sea filling his ears, he dressed himself, and went down to the library with a downcast heart. his uncle sat by a window, looking, with a sad and gloomy face, upon the sea; and, as his nephew entered, acknowledged his "good-morning, uncle richard," with only a cold nod. but noll, resolved to have the matter settled at once, came up to his chair, saying,-- "i've got a great favor to ask of you, uncle richard. may i go around to culm after breakfast?" trafford's face grew gloomier than before. "for what?" he asked. "to carry something for dirk's child," noll answered, meeting his uncle's stern eyes with his own pleading blue ones. "pshaw!" exclaimed trafford, impatiently, "what are these miserable fish-folks to you? i don't want you to care for them!" "but, uncle richard--" "well?" "dirk's child is sick,--dying, i'm afraid!" "so are hundreds in this world. there's misery everywhere." "perhaps i might aid this misery, uncle richard, if you'll let me try. will you?" "you will have more than your hands full if you are going to look after these culm people," said trafford, coldly; "you had better not begin." noll's face grew graver and graver, and he made no reply to his uncle's last remark. "well," said trafford, after a long silence, "do you wish anything more, noll?" the boy turned away, as if hurt by his uncle's coldness, and walked quickly to the library door. there he wavered--stopped--then turned about, and came back. "uncle richard," said he, tremulously, "papa said i was to do all the good i could in the world, and never pass by any trouble that i might help, and--and i think he would tell me to go to dirk's, if he were here." trafford turned about with an impatient word upon his lips, but it was not spoken. it seemed to him as if his dead brother stood before him,--as he had known him when they were boys together,--and that those words were meant for a reproach. he put out his hand and touched noll's shoulder, as if to make sure that it was really his nephew and no vision. "ah!" said he, with a sigh, "your father looks out at me from your eyes, noll. turn them away from me. go to culm, if you like,--you have my permission." "breakfas's waitin' fur ye!" said hagar, at the door. "but, uncle richard," said noll, in some perplexity, "i don't like to go and have you all the time wishing me at home." "i cannot help that," said trafford, as he rose to answer hagar's call. "i have given you permission,--go." the breakfast was a silent one. after it was over, and the door had closed upon the grim master of the house as he went back to his books, hagar said,-- "don't ye let nuffin make ye downhearted, honey! de lord'll help ye, ef yer uncle dick won't. 'tain't de might nor de money dat'll do eberyting, chile. all 'pends on whether de lord's on yer side. jes' come in my ole kitchen and see what i's put up fur ye to carry to dem yer mis'able folks." [illustration: "dis yer is brof." page .] noll got his overcoat and cap, and followed the old housekeeper into her cozy and comfortable dominion. "look at dis yer," said hagar, taking a basket off the table; "jes' as chock full as nuffin ye ken think ob. dis yer is brof,--chicken-brof,--an' dat yer bundle is crackers. dis bottle's de med'cine, an' de chile is to hab a teaspoonful ebery half an hour. ef i could be there, de chile should hab a sweat, sure; but dis med'cine'll hev to answer! dis yer is a teaspoon an' a teacup, 'cause ye won't find nuffin fit fur to drink nuffin out ob. hagar knows how dem yer culm folks lib! now, ken ye 'member all dat, honey?" "yes," said noll, "and i thank you a hundred times, hagar. i'd better start at once, without waiting another minute." the old housekeeper followed him to the door, cautioning, "keep 'way from dat yer sea, chile! don't yer git into dat yer drefful tide, honey! an' de lord bress ye an' bring ye safe back!" the wind was keen and bitter, and the sea thundered as mightily as on the previous evening. noll hurried along over the great patches of icy sea-weed and frozen pools of water in the rocks and hollows, and thought, now that he was making such haste, that the way had never seemed quite so long before. he paused for a moment to look upon the scene of last night's peril, and remember, with a shudder, how the waves battered, and how they pierced and numbed him with their cold. then he ran along the hard, sandy beach as fast as the wind and his burden would let him. the culm huts came in sight at last, cheerless and desolate, and with no sign of life or occupancy about them, save the faint smoke which the wind whirled down from the chimneys. noll began to regard dirk's habitation with anxious eyes long before he drew near. he half expected to see the fisherman's tall figure pacing up and down the sand, beating his breast and groaning with despair, perhaps; but instead, the sands were deserted. noll came opposite the miserable dwelling, and paused a few seconds before rapping, waiting to hear the sick child's low wail. he heard only a confused, unintelligible murmur of voices. a woman answered his summons,--not the child's mother, but a neighbor, evidently,--and stood staring blankly at him. "can i see dirk,--dirk sharp?" noll asked. at the sound of the boy's voice, the fisherman himself came to the door. his face was haggard, and looked wan and worn, for all the bronze of wind and weather that was upon it. "lord bless ye, lad!" he cried to noll, "but ye be too late." "too late?" "yes," brokenly, "my little gal died las' night." noll was silent with surprise. he was too late,--too late. "oh, dirk," he said, as soon as he could speak, "i would have come back last night, but i got into the sea, and--and it was impossible. so i brought what i could this morning." dirk looked at the lad and his basket, and choked. at last he said, gratefully, "it be good in ye to care for the like o' us, lad. we be poor folks fur ye to look at, the lord knows! what did ye bring fur my little gal?" noll lifted the cover of his basket, and dirk peered in, exclaiming, "my little gal never seed the like o' them, lad! she wur a tender thing, my little gal wur, and mabby ef she'd had a bit o' somethin' better'n the salt fish--well, she be beyond meat and drink now," he said, choking again. noll knew not whether to turn back, or to stay. dirk, however, presently said, "come, lad, step in an' see my little gal. she wur as white an' sof'-cheeked as yerself. o lord! i might ha' knowed she'd never come up stout an' growin' like the rest," he groaned as he turned back to lead the way for noll. in the room where the little one had lain sat three or four old fish-wives,--wrinkled, weather-beaten old faces they had,--who were nodding and whispering over their pipes in a solemn kind of way, occasionally addressing a word to the mother, who sat enveloped in the smoke which poured into the room from the ill-constructed fireplace. they regarded noll with many curious glances as he passed through after dirk to the apartment where the child was laid, and one old creature followed after them, apparently to ascertain the boy's errand. it was a bare room where dirk's treasure was sleeping,--not a thing in it save the two wooden stools and rough board which upheld their still little burden. pure and white the child lay,--a fair, delicate flower when compared with the dinginess and squalor of everything about it; and something of this contrast seemed to glimmer upon dirk's rough perceptions, for he said to noll,-- "ye wouldn't think she could be mine, lad! ye don't wonder the little gal couldn't come up like the rest o' the young uns?" "it wur a fair gal, lord knows," said the old fish-wife who had followed them in; "it warn't black and freckly, never. sich kinds don't love this salt water, dirk sharp,--ye couldn't ha' raised her, man!" "oh, my little gal!" murmured dirk, smoothing a fleck of golden hair with his great brawny hand. "ye be fair an' white," said the old fish-wife, touching noll's cheek with her skinny finger, "an' what be ye here on the rock fur?" "sh!--ye let the lad alone, mother," said dirk; "he be come here to bring my little gal somethin', an' she be beyond eatin' an' drinkin'. he be a good lad to do it!" noll looked upon the little sleeper's face, and then at the wretched surroundings, and was glad for the child's sake that sleep and peace had come at last. yet his heart was heavy as he looked upon his basket and its now useless contents, and he thought, "oh, if i had only been more careful last night!--perhaps--perhaps hagar's medicines could have helped it." he turned to dirk, saying, quietly,-- "i must go now. i'm--i'm _so_ sorry i was too late!" the fisherman followed noll out on to the sand, and, as the boy was about to turn away homeward, took both his hands in one of his own great brown ones, saying,-- "ye be kinder to me 'an i ken tell ye, lad. i thought yer kind had no heart fur us folk. bless ye, lad, bless ye!" noll's homeward walk seemed somewhat brighter to him, even though he left the child dead behind him. dirk's gratitude, a small matter though it may have been, gave him a thrill of pleasure. it was pleasant to think that he had one friend among the fish-folk, rough and ignorant though they were. he remembered how, in the little sea-town in which his father had once dwelt, the fishermen came at last to love and respect the kind minister who worked so patiently to raise them out of their slough of ignorance and degradation, and that whenever his father walked among them, they flocked about him to listen to his words and counsel, and watch for his look or smile of approval. "and," thought noll, "if uncle richard would only do as papa did, what a happy man he would be, and what good he could do for culm!" but that time--if ever it came--was yet a long, long way off, he thought, and so the people must live on their old, dreary, wretched life till some one taught them better. the boy walked soberly home, with a great many serious, earnest thoughts in his heart. somehow, this morning's sight had made another impression upon his mind beside that of sadness and disappointment. he felt and saw that there was a great work to do. who was to do it? hagar met him at the door, rejoicing that he had returned in safety, but, stopping only to tell her that the child was dead, noll went on to the library. it was the boy's intention to open his heart to his uncle, and tell him of all the want and wretchedness there was at culm, while the impression was so deep and vivid in his mind; but trafford sat at the organ and took no notice of his nephew's presence, and, after a long lingering, noll gave up the attempt for that day, at least. it was late in the afternoon when he went out for his accustomed walk. partly by accident, partly by design, he came to the little place of graves in the frozen sand, and there found the funeral party from the fish-huts just gathering about the shallow resting-place which had been scooped for dirk's treasure. the huddling crowd of poorly-clad men and women respectfully made way for him, and dirk looked unutterable thanks for what he considered a great honor. without a prayer, without a word of consolation, the little one was lowered into the earth amid the wailing of the women, and the shrill and lonely screaming of the fierce and bitter wind. noll had never seen anything so unutterably dreary, and when all was over, and the mourners had disappeared over the other side of the rock, he went home, thinking more deeply than ever of the work to be done, and wondering who was to do it. chapter xii. firelight talk. the warmth and quietness of the library made such a bright and pleasant contrast to the dreary scene in the culm burying-ground that noll gave a great sigh of pleasure and relief as he entered the room and found it light and cheerful with the blaze of a brisk fire on the hearth. he sat down in one of the big arm-chairs which stood either side of the fireplace, and held his numbed hands in the warmth, and looked about him, thinking that the old stone house was a palace in comparison with the other culm habitations. uncle richard sat in his usual seat by the window, with his face toward the darkening sea, and, with the dismal scene which he had just witnessed fresh in his mind, noll felt a tenderer yearning toward the stern man,--feeling, somehow, as if they could not be too near and dear to each other on this lonely rock, where, just now, it seemed as if there was little else than wretchedness. perhaps it was this feeling which led the boy to leave his seat and stand by his uncle's chair, and, with one hand on the grim man's shoulder, to say, "dirk's child is dead, uncle richard, and they've just buried it. oh! what a lonely place to be buried in! i would rather lie in the sea, it seems to me." trafford turned suddenly about at these words, exclaiming, "hush, hush! don't talk about death, boy! what have you been up to that dreary little heap of graves for?" "partly to please dirk,--partly because i wished, uncle richard. it's a dismal place! i'm glad enough to get back." "we shall both sleep there soon enough," said trafford, who seemed to be in one of his gloomiest moods. "why go there till we go for the last time?" noll's arm went about his uncle's neck. "don't say such things!" he said. "perhaps we'll not live here always, uncle richard; and, if we do have to be buried up there in the sand, heaven is just as near, after all." trafford looked at the boy's face, ruddy and glowing from the long walk in the wind, and sighed,-- "yes, for you, noll. but for me,--no, no!" "why, uncle richard?" "because--it is all dark,--dark! i have nothing, see nothing to hope for beyond." "why won't you try to hope?" said noll, softly. "hush! it's no use. your aunt marguerite bade me follow after her long ago. i did not try. your father said almost the same, noll. yet here i am,--i have not tried, i see no light, there is no hope for me." the crackle of the fire and the hoarse voice of the sea had the silence all to themselves for a long time. at last noll said,-- "when papa died, he did not fear at all, uncle richard. he said it was only the end of his journey, and that i was to follow on in the same way till i got to him at last. and papa said the truth, uncle richard." "yes! he never said aught else, noll,--never!" "and," continued the boy, his face growing grave, "papa said i was never to forget god, and never to forget to help any of his creatures if they were in trouble, and, oh! uncle richard, i hope i never shall!" "ah!" said trafford, thoughtfully, "your father ever had others' welfare at heart. i remember, when we were lads, how, one day, in coming from the woods with nuts and grapes, we passed a poor creature by the roadside, who seemed fainting with fatigue or hunger. we both laughed at the queer figure at first, and passed by merrily, and went on our way; but noll's face grew graver and graver, i remember, and by and by he would turn about, in spite of me, and go all the long way back to empty his pockets of their pennies and bits of silver into the wanderer's lap. yes, he had a heart for every unfortunate, and it was not closed against them as he grew older." again the room was silent, while the fire flickered and painted flame-shadows on the wall, and lit up the dusky corners with its red glow. noll sat on the arm of his uncle's chair, and watched the quivering shapes, and, in fancy, went back over the sea to hastings. it was something such a night as this, he remembered, that papa had bidden him farewell,--lying so calm and patient in the great south chamber, where people were stepping softly about, and speaking in whispers and sighs. and papa's dear arms had been around him till the last, noll thought, with his eyes brimming, and seeming yet to feel their gentle pressure; and, as long as it could whisper, the dear voice had breathed love and solemn counsel and fervent prayer into his ears. back to the boy came the vivid recollection of all the hushed voice had said,--all the injunctions, the earnest entreaties to follow in the path which led only heavenward, and his heart was so full that he longed to cry out, "papa, papa! if i might only see your face in this dreary place!" trafford presently said, speaking his thoughts aloud, "it was an evil day that separated us. god only knows what i might have been, had i always lived in the sunshine of his pure, warm heart. why are you so silent, noll?" the boy could not trust himself to speak, and trafford suddenly saw that there were tears shining in his eyes. noll felt his uncle's hand laid upon his head, and the stern voice said, with all the tenderness of which it was capable,-- "it's a hard life for you, noll. i can see,--i know it." "no, no!" said the boy, quickly, "it's not that, uncle richard! i was only thinking of--of papa,--that was all." "what about him?" queried trafford; "i never knew that you mourned before." "why," said noll, chokingly, "papa told me so much,--so much that he wished me to do and be,--and it all came to me just then, as if he were saying it over again." "what did he wish you to do and be?" trafford quietly asked. "he said that--that i should find christ's work to do wherever i might be, and that i must do his work and follow him wherever i should go; and--and i'm a long way from that, uncle richard; though," noll added, turning his face away from the shining firelight, "i do try to do it, and not forget him nor his work." again trafford's hand was laid upon the boy's head, this time to stroke his curly locks away from his eyes, where the wind had blown them. "did he tell you aught of me?" he asked, presently. "no,--only that if you ever found me, or i you, that i was to be your boy. papa said you would care for me." "he believed in me still! he trusted me!" said trafford. "alas! he knew not what a father i should make his child." noll slipped off the chair arm, saying, "don't say that again, uncle richard. papa trusted you,--so do i. and, if you please, will you go out to supper? hagar called a long time ago. come, uncle richard, don't look so gloomy! papa smiled even when--when he was saying good-by to me." the instant these words escaped noll's lips he half regretted them. he had never before allowed his uncle to know that he thought him sad and gloomy, and he was not quite sure that the careless word would strike agreeably upon his ears. but trafford only said,-- "yes, noll, i know. we will go out to supper," and rose from the chair and followed after his nephew. the boy did his best to make the meal a cheery one, thinking to himself that this, as much as anything, was a part of the work which papa wished him to do; and, observing his efforts, trafford endeavored to keep pace with his nephew's cheerful talk. noll did not go back to the library after tea was over, but followed hagar out to her kitchen as she went thither with her tray of dishes, and sat down in the cozy corner by the fireplace. somehow, the boy thought, the old housekeeper's humble kitchen seemed to gather more brightness and cheerfulness into its rough and smoke-tarnished precincts than the great library, with all its comforts and elegancies, ever held. the reason for this he did not seek; he only knew that it was so, and liked the wooden seat in the chimney-corner accordingly. hagar came out with her last tray-load from the dining-room, and set it down upon the table with,-- "bress ye, honey, hagar's glad 'nough to see ye sittin' dar. 'pears like i never heard de sea shoutin' like it is dis yer ebenin'. seems as ef all de folks dat de cruel ole monster hab swallered wur jes' openin' the'r moufs and cryin' 'loud! hagar t'anks de lord dat yer ain't in de bottom ob it, honey." the old housekeeper took two or three side glances at the boy's sober face as she poured the hot water over her dishes, and said at last, "now don' ye s'pose hagar knows what ye're t'inkin' ob so hard, chile? ki! she c'u'd tell ye quicker'n nuffin. you's t'inkin' ob dem mis'able culm folks, you is." "you are partly right," said noll. "it seems to me as if i couldn't think of anything else. i try to sometimes, but the sight of their wretched ways keeps coming to me, and it's no use to try and put it away. oh, dear, i wish something could be done for them!" "dat's yer bressed father all ober!" said hagar. "'spects ef he was 'live an' livin' on dis yer wild'ness, we'd see somethin' did fur 'em. but mas'r dick--well, his heart is all frizzed up, jes' as i telled ye afore. but de lord'll open it sometime, honey,--hagar's got faith 'nough to b'lieve dat!" "oh! i hope so," said noll; "but what are the people going to do till then?" "can't tell ye nuffin 'bout dat," said hagar, making a vigorous clatter among her dishes; "'spects the day's comin', tho', when de lord gets ready fur't. 'tain't till _he_ says, honey." noll gravely replenished the fire from the great basket of cones and chips which stood on the hearth, and stood listening, for a little time, to their brisk snap and crackle, then turned to hagar, saying,-- "do you think i could do anything for them, hagar? i've been thinking this long time about it, and there's no one to ask but you, for i can't quite get courage enough to say anything to uncle richard about it,--he would be angry, i'm afraid. do you think i could do anything, hagar?" the old housekeeper let go her dishcloth, and turned about to look at noll, as he stood before the fire. her eyes surveyed the lad from head to foot,--as if it was the first time she had seen him,--and after a few minutes of silence she slowly said, "what put dat in yer head, chile?" "i don't know; it's been there this great while. it was the misery over there, i suppose," said noll. "well, well," said she, turning back to her dishes, "hagar's 'stonished, she is! does i 'spect ye ken do anything fur dem yer? bress de lord! he'll help ye, honey!--he'll help ye! an' ef it wa'n't de lord dat put it in yer head--well, chile," hagar added, "de lord's eberywhere, an' 'pears to me like as ef it was his doin'. what ye t'ink, honey?" noll was looking in the rosy bed of coals, and for a few minutes made no reply; then he said, in answer to hagar's question,-- "i'd like to think that, hagar. i'd like to have all my thoughts and plans come from him, and i'd like to do the lord's work; for that's what i promised,--that's what i am trying to do." hagar wiped a pile of plates, and laying down her towel, said, reverently,-- "promise, chile? did ye promise de lord, or who?" after she had asked this question, she looked furtively over her shoulder at noll, as if fearing she had asked about something which she had no right to know. but noll, with hands clasped over knee, was looking straight into the firelight, and did not appear offended; and pretty soon he said, slowly and softly, hagar stopping her clatter to listen,-- "before mamma died--did you know mamma, hagar?" "not muchly, chile," said hagar; "yer uncle dick's wife was my lady." "well, before mamma died," continued noll, "we used to take long walks upon the shore by the town. a great shining shore it was, i remember, and yellow like gold sometimes when the sun shone upon it." "like de shore ob de new jerusalem," interposed hagar, gazing abstractedly in her dish-pan. "and there were great cedars and pines drooping down from the rocks," continued noll, "and here mamma and i used to walk up and down when papa was busy in his study; and almost always he used to come out to walk a little with us before we were through. and one day we waited a long time for him to come out, and at last sat down on a rock, for mamma was not well then, and could not walk long without a rest; and as she looked across the smooth water, she said, 'and the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass.' though i was a good deal smaller than i am now, i knew what she meant, and of what she was thinking, for mamma used to talk about leaving me then; and i laid my head in her lap and cried a little, and said,-- "'oh, don't talk of that, mamma, for what am i going to do?'" noll choked a little here at the remembrance, and hagar drew a long breath. "then," continued noll, with a quivering voice, "she bent her face over me and the tears in her eyes ran over on to my cheeks, and she said,-- "'oh, my little noll, if mamma could feel sure that you were ready to come after her into that city, she would never cry or mourn again!' "it seemed as if my heart would break to see her cry and to know that i was _not_ ready, and that i could not stop her tears. i wanted to scream and groan, my heart swelled so." "ob course ye did," said hagar, with ready sympathy. noll was silent for a long minute. somehow, the talk with uncle richard in the library had brought back the remembrance of all these past events so brightly and vividly that it was like living them over again. but he had not yet got to the "promise," and hagar was waiting patiently. so he continued, with a slight effort, saying,-- "mamma dried her tears very suddenly, for papa came in sight just then, and i suppose she feared he would be worried or anxious about her, and though she said nothing more to me about the city to which she was going, i couldn't forget her tears, nor that she was sorrowful and unhappy on my account. it made me miserable. i didn't want to walk with her the next day, for fear i should see her tears again; and i knew i could not bear _that_. so when it came time to go, i hid away, and she went alone." "poor honey!" said hagar, reflectively. "but that only made it all worse. i knew that i was all wrong, and that i ought to try and find jesus, through whom, mamma said, she could only enter into the city. but it seemed as if he had hidden away from me; and the way was all dark and i was afraid and wretched and miserable." "oh, chile," said hagar, "de bressed lord was waitin' an' ready to take ye up in his arms de berry minnit ye frowed yerself on his mercy!" "yes," said noll, "but i was not ready. i held back, and was wicked and wretched; but it couldn't last alway, and one night when i had said my prayer and been tucked in bed by mamma's poor weak, patient hands, i could delay no longer, and throwing my arms about her neck when she bent down to kiss me, i cried and sobbed, and begged her to help me find jesus, who reigned over the city, and mamma cried too,--tears of joy they were, she said,--and told me that i had not to seek for him as for a great stranger, but that he stood ready to enter in and dwell in my heart the moment i yielded it up to him." "dat was de bressed troof!" said hagar, with shining eyes; "an' what did ye do den, honey?" "mamma called papa to come, and he prayed that jesus would forgive me and make my heart his own, and help me to always walk in the path that ends at last at the gate of his city. and," noll added, turning partly about to hagar, "i did give up, and--and i think he forgave me. the dreary load went off my heart, and i promised jesus then to never forget him nor his work. when mamma did at last go to the city, i promised her the same; when papa went, i promised him too. that is my promise," said noll, a little tremulously. "do you think i can forget it, hagar? do you think i can help wanting to do what is his work?" hagar wiped her eyes. "'spects dere's no need ob answerin' dat question," said she, quietly; "when de lord's wid ye, dar ain't nobody gwine to 'vent yer workin' good, nohow." "but i don't know how to begin," said noll, "even if i could do anything. there's so much to be done, and i've nothing to do with. and i'm afraid that uncle richard will forbid me to do anything about it. he doesn't want me to go to culm, he says, and he dislikes the culm people." hagar did not know what consolation to offer for this unfavorable prospect. she could not counsel the boy to disobey his uncle's commands, neither did she accept the idea of having noll's projects defeated for lack of permission to carry them out. "don' know, honey," said she, after a long meditation; "can't tell ye nuffin 'bout dat, nohow. but jes' go right on wid yer plans, an' de lord'll find a way fur ye. he ken do it,--he ken do it, chile." but the question was not settled in noll's mind. it was not a thing to be undertaken without much deliberation, and, as yet, only the vaguest of schemes floated through his mind. he wished to aid, he longed to be doing something of the work that was to be done, but there did not seem to be the smallest prospect of a commencement. christmas came and went. the eve was not an unpleasant one to noll, though he remembered all too well what a blithe evening the last christmas-eve had been, and could not help thinking yearningly of the dear friends gathered merrily together across the sea, and wonder whether he was missed from the throng, as he sat by the fire all the solitary evening. chapter xiii. the winter's waning. dirk's little one was not the only fever-stricken sleeper that was laid to rest in the dreary little burying-ground that winter. the fever, born of want and filth and exposure, lingered among the wretched huts, taking down the strong men and wasting the lives of the little ones, till, after weary lingering, they flickered out. of course the sick ones had but the poorest of care and the rudest of medical aid. the people were disheartened and apathetic, and seemed to have no idea of cleansing their habitations or reforming their way of living. noll once ventured to hint to dirk, with whom he was more intimately acquainted than the others, that cleanliness and care might do much toward ridding them of the haunting fever. the fisherman stared blankly at this suggestion, and replied,-- "it mought do fur the like o' ye, lad; but we be poor folks, an' i don't think 'tw'u'd do the good ye think. the fever be come, an' it be goin' to stay till we be all lyin' up in the sand yender." so the sickness lingered, meeting no resistance and no attempts to check its progress. it smote heaviest the little ones just toddling about, and who had not enough of strength and endurance in their little bodies to resist the slowly-destroying fever. so dirk's treasure did not sleep alone in the sand, for many another father's was there to keep it company. oh! the weariness of the days, the slow dragging of the weeks! when the sickness seemed to have spent itself, and hope was beginning to flicker up, back came the destroyer and fell upon some little one whom father and mother had fondly hoped to save,--for these culm people, dull and ignorant though they were, had a strong and passionate love for their children that showed itself most vividly in these days of death,--and then the people settled into their old apathetic despair and found no light nor comfort for their souls. was it any wonder that--with all this misery and death about him, and the sight of it distressing him--noll should grow sick at heart? the gloom of the old stone house and the desolateness of his new home, when compared with the one which he had left, had, at first, been all that his fresh young spirits could bear; and, having grown to like his new abode in a measure, he found, even then, that it would not do to remember hastings and his friends too often; and now, in these dreary days, the boy began to grow less cheerful and to feel an unconquerable desire to go back to those who loved him and whose homes knew nothing of dreariness or gloom. this longing for friends he kept bravely to himself, because he thought it was a part of his work--the work which it seemed to him was god's--to be as brave and cheerful as possible before uncle richard, and win him out of his gloom and moroseness. so this yearning and desire for brighter scenes and faces was kept a secret, and trafford suspected nothing of it. his keen eyes, however, detected that noll was graver and less talkative than usual, and he began to look about for a reason. some dim knowledge of the sickness and death in the village had crept in to him through noll's and hagar's talk, and a sudden fear chilled him lest his nephew, too, was to be stricken down with the lingering fever. what if it should be so? what if even now the boy was oppressed with the languor and depression which precedes illness? with this thought torturing him, he called to noll one afternoon from the library window, as the boy was idly walking up and down the frozen sand. after a few minutes of waiting, noll made his appearance at the library door, looking a little surprised, perhaps, at this unusual summons. trafford bade him come up to his chair, and noll obeyed. "where were you all the forenoon?" questioned the uncle. "i saw you but once after breakfast." noll looked as if he had much rather refrain from answering, but said, after a few seconds of hesitation, "over at culm, uncle richard." "at culm!" exclaimed trafford, sternly. "isn't the fever raging there?" "yes, sir." "and you have been exposing yourself? speak, noll!" "why--yes--i suppose so, uncle richard. i was in the room where hark darby's little boy was sick." trafford stamped upon the floor with impatience. "what were you there for?" he cried. "to carry something that hagar made for it to drink. there's no doctor, you know; and they're terribly poor, uncle richard. oh! if you could only--" "stop! i wish to hear naught of those fish-folks," cried trafford. "oh! you careless lad, what can i do with you? are you determined to catch the fever? are you bound to be always in danger?" "no; but it's terrible over there, and--and they're dying with the sickness, and nothing to make them comfortable! oh! how can i help it, uncle richard?" trafford looked into the lad's earnest eyes and sighed. "would you like to take the fever and be buried with the rest up there in the sand?" he asked. noll shivered a little, and answered, "no, i don't want to die, uncle richard. but i think i ought to help them all i can, over there, for all that. and it's such a little--such a _very_ little--that i can do! oh! uncle richard, don't you think it is terrible to see them so wretched, and no one to help them?" "i don't see them!" said trafford; "i should know nothing of it but for you, and i don't want you to see them or know aught of the misery or the sickness. do you understand?" noll looked at his uncle as if he failed to comprehend. "you don't mean that i'm not to go there any more?" he said. "yes, since you are not disposed to incline to my wishes, i must command you. you are not to go near--" this time it was noll who interrupted. before trafford could finish his command, the boy had taken two or three quick steps forward and clasped his arms so quickly and convulsively about the stern man's neck that he was startled into silence. "don't, don't say that, uncle richard!" cried noll; "i couldn't mind you if you did! it wouldn't be right,--when they're all sick and almost starving,--and i couldn't do it, and it is not as papa told me to do! and--" trafford endeavored to release noll's hold, but the boy only clung the tighter, exclaiming,-- "no, no! don't say it, uncle richard, for i couldn't mind you! papa never would wish me to! and oh, why don't _you_ help those poor, dying people? why don't you help them, uncle richard? why don't you,--why _don't_ you?" surprised at this unusual vehemence on the part of his nephew, trafford was silent, hardly knowing whether to be angry or indifferent. that this matter lay very near the boy's heart, he had no longer any doubt. what could he do with him? "noll," said he after a long silence, "do you mean that you will not obey me?" the boy hesitated. "in everything else, uncle richard," he answered, with red cheeks and downcast eyes; "but this--but this--oh, how can you ask me to stop? there isn't any one else to do anything, and it helps a little, and they look for me to come every day; and if i did not--oh, uncle richard, it would be too cruel! i can't do it! do _you_ think papa would be pleased?" "but you are mine, now, not his," said trafford; with something like displeasure in his tone; "aren't you aware of it?" noll said not a word, but stood with his eyes turned away from his uncle's, and his cheeks crimsoning, while his breath came quick and fast. "will you obey me or not?" trafford asked, sternly. noll turned around and met his uncle's eye. he began to plead. his awe of his uncle seemed to have vanished for the time, and trafford was astonished at the boy's earnestness and vehemence. two or three times he was about to put up his hand to command silence, but noll redoubled his pleading, and he continued to listen. all the remembrances of the past dreary weeks--the want, the slow wasting, the flickering out of life, the dismal laying away of the poor body in the sand--came to noll as vividly as the reality which he had witnessed, and made him pray for relief with an earnestness and entreaty which ordinarily were not his. "just think, uncle richard," said he, in conclusion, "papa would have gone to their aid long ago. he bade me do all the good i could, and you won't forbid me?--oh, i know you will not!--and won't you help me to do more,--won't you, uncle richard?" trafford gloomily pushed his nephew away. "go!" he said; "i do not care to see you any more this afternoon." hardly had the boy turned away, however, before the quick thought flashed into his mind that he had failed to ask him the question for which he had called him. he might even now be ill, and he was sending him away in anger! "noll!" exclaimed trafford, "come back. are you ill, my boy?" "no, sir." "why are you so grave and sober of late?" "i didn't know that i was, uncle richard." trafford looked keenly in his nephew's face, and at last drew him toward himself. what if the fever should get a hold of the boy? he thought, anxiously. there was no aid, no succor! "oh, noll," he said, as tenderly as he might, "you cannot know what a blow it would be to me to lose you. won't you be careful for my sake?" "yes, uncle richard; i don't think there is much danger, though. it is only the weak, half-starved ones that are ill." a long silence followed. then noll asked, softly,-- "do you give me permission to help them all i can, uncle richard?" trafford drew a great sigh, as if he felt himself to be yielding, perhaps, the boy's very life, and answered, "yes." "and you'll help me, too?" said noll, brightly. "no! isn't this enough? what more would you have?" "i thought that--that perhaps you would help a little, too,--you can do so much more than i," said noll. trafford shook his head, gloomily. "no," he said; "i can give you nothing but money. i have no heart for the work. and now i think of it, you've had no allowance since you came here, noll. i had not thought of it before. brother noll and i always had spending-money." "but i've no use for it," said noll, with a little laugh; "i couldn't spend it if i tried, uncle richard!" "you may find a use for it when the 'gull' begins her trips again," said his uncle; "at any rate, you shall have an allowance. you will find it on your study table every monday morning." noll thanked his uncle for this kindness, but at the time, was much at a loss what to do with his weekly allowance which every monday morning brought him. he found a use for it, however, as time will show. after this long talk, noll felt somewhat lighter-hearted, if for no other reason than because he had received uncle richard's permission to go on with his work of aid. spring was not far off, and with its coming the fever would most likely flee, and then, he thought, there would be some hope of doing something for the culm people. and was he not already doing something? to noll, it seemed but the merest trifle; in the eyes of the poor fish-folk, his deeds were great and wonderful. all unconsciously, the boy was accomplishing one of the most difficult portions of the task which he had set for himself,--the winning of those rough, untaught hearts. many an uncouth blessing was called down upon the lad's head as he made his appearance day after day at the doors of the habitations which the fever had entered. his cheery, gladsome presence, the culm folk thought, was like a ray of sunshine in the gloom of their hovels. it was curious to see how those great brawny men confided in him, and watched to see him coming down the sands of a morning-time, with his basket of delicacies on one arm, balanced by a basket of more substantial food on the other. not one of the men but what, in their hearts, loved the boy and blessed the day which brought him to culm rock. and, quite before he was aware of it, noll had accomplished one great object, and won the love and confidence of the fish-folk. the snow melted and ran into the sea, the ice in the rock hollows trickled its life away, and warmer winds and sunnier clouds gave token of the spring's coming; and noll grew happier every day and looked gleefully forward to the coming of the "gull," and the tidings which she would bring. often in these days, when returning from his morning round, it seemed to the boy as if his own father's blessing rested upon his heart, it was so light and glad, and that god's love was all about him and smiling over the barren rock and the far, wide sea. chapter xiv. ned thorn. it was on one of the balmiest of spring afternoons that noll went over to culm to see a little child who was recovering from the fever. the sickness, apparently, had run its course, and the people were beginning to take heart; and the men were overhauling their nets and making ready for their summer's work. there had been a heavy storm on the previous evening, and noll found quantities of brilliant sea-weeds and curious shells and pebbles on his walk along the beach, and lingered long to search for treasures and enjoy the bright loveliness of the day. culm rock and the great sea had never looked fairer to him than on this afternoon,--the one lying warm and silent, its great stone ribs purpling under the sun, and the other flecked with curling ripples of snowy foam and emerald light. it was late afternoon when he arrived at the culm houses, and so long did he linger that the sun was dipping in the waves before he was ready to leave his little patient. he was standing in the door, swinging his basket to and fro, and on the point of taking his departure, when a sudden shout of voices from without turned his attention in that direction. there, slowly riding in over the waves all burnished and aflame with ruddy sunlight, was the "gull"! for a few short seconds noll actually stood still with pleasure and delight, then dropping his basket, he ran off across the sand toward the wharf, as fast as he could go. the fishermen were already congregating there, and their wives were standing in the doors of their dwellings to gaze upon the welcome sight. the vessel's white wings slowly brought her round to the little wharf, revealing the skipper's sturdy person, and mr. snape's long and solemn visage. noll could hardly wait for the craft to touch the planks, and skipper ben spied the lad before the "gull" came up, with a dull thump and jar, alongside. "great fishes!" cried he, extending his hand to aid noll in clambering aboard, "if here ben't the lad, alive an' hearty! glad ter see ye,--glad ter see ye!" shaking the boy's hand as if he never would have done. "you may believe i'm glad to see you!" said noll; "i never was so glad to see anything as the old 'gull' in my life; and oh, why didn't you come earlier, skipper?" ben laughed. "i knowed ye hev a hard time on't," he said; "reckoned ye'd be glad ter see the old skipper once more. an', lad, how goes it?" mr. snape came up just here, drawling, "what ye think o' the winters down 'ere, now, lad?" "they _are_ long," said noll; "but i've got through one, somehow. if it weren't for the sickness, and such a long time without letters, i wouldn't mind. oh! skipper, haven't you got a great packet of 'em for me?" "been sick down 'ere; hev ye?" said ben, evading noll's question. "well, that's wuss'n bein' without letters, eh, lad?" "but haven't you got a bundle of 'em for me?" queried noll. "i can't wait, skipper!" the skipper began to slowly shake his head. "sorry," he said, "but i didn't bring ye nary letter this time. don' know but all yer frien's hev forgot ye, fur they didn't give a single scrap o' paper to bring, nor a message, nuther." mr. snape began to grin, seeing how noll's face fell, and how all his joy and eagerness had suddenly vanished, and stepping along to the hatchway, made certain mysterious signs and beckonings to something or some one, there. noll, filled with disappointment, walked away to the stern and looked down into the green depths of water rippling there, and strove to conceal his feelings from the watchful skipper. up from the hatchway and along the deck came a light step,--eager, hurrying,--and before noll could turn around, two arms had clasped him about and held him fast against the rail, while a voice--just as full of laughter and merriness as a voice could be--cried,-- "oh, noll, noll trafford! not to know me! not to _guess_ that i was here! why, you dear old fellow, ain't i better than letters? i've a good mind to never let you look around to pay for not mistrusting that i was here! oh, noll!" "well, i be beat!" said the skipper. "i never seed a lad so dumbfounded afore. what ye goin' to give me fur bringin' ye sech a parcel, master noll?" but noll had only eyes and ears for his friend. "ned, ned thorn!" he exclaimed, looking at his friend with wide-open eyes, as if he thought he was seeing a vision. "it is really you, only grown a little taller!" "of course it is; who else should it be?" said ned, drawing his friend out to one of the skipper's bales, where they could both sit down. "you're brown as an old salt, noll; but you haven't grown a bit! oh, but you may believe i'm glad to see you! i thought you'd be dying by this time to see some one from hastings, and when the skipper pointed out the old stone dungeon where you live, i thought likely you were dead already. what a horrid old fortress 'tis! and weren't you awful homesick? and aren't you terribly moped up in such quarters? and, you dear old noll, how _have_ you managed to live it through, anyhow?" "beats everything at questions, that lad does," observed mr. snape to the skipper; "nigh about pestered me to death, comin' down. you'd better charge double ef yer goin' to carry him home, 'cause it's two days' work fur one man ter tend to his talk. i ben't goin' to do't fur nothin'." "they ben't glad to see each other, eh, jack?" said ben; "wish there was some prospect o' taking t'other home, too." "i sh'u'd be 'feared the 'gull''d founder," said mr. snape. noll, in the midst of happy talk, suddenly recollected that it was after sundown, and that uncle richard and the tea-table would be waiting. "come, ned," he said, gleefully, "i'd forgotten all about sunset and home till this minute. it's a good long walk, and we must start." "i'm ready," said ned, jumping up. "skipper, where's my carpet-bag? i'm going to stay, noll, just as long as you'll keep me; and now i'm anxious for a look inside your old dungeon and a peep at that grim old--that's what the skipper said he was--uncle of yours. do you think he'll scold because i've come?" "indeed not!" said noll; "and uncle richard's not so very grim, either. we'll have splendid times in the old house, and now see if you aren't sorry when it comes time for you to leave culm rock." they clambered over the "gull's" side on to the wharf, and passed through in the little lane which the fishermen made for them, to the smooth and shining sand, and so started for the stone house. ned thorn was a boy of noll's own age, and much resembled him in appearance, though, of the two, ned was a trifle the taller. indeed, as mr. snape observed, leaning over the rail and smoking his pipe while he watched the two lads walking briskly homeward,-- "they're as like as two peas, ben,--did ye note?--only one's more so than t'other." it seemed to noll, while on this homeward walk, that nothing was lacking to make home pleasant, now that ned had come. his friend's presence did not seem a reality, as yet, and he had to listen a long time to ned's merry chatter before he could realize that it was actually ned thorn who was walking beside him in this purple twilight, along the shore of the glimmering, sounding sea. "what a queer place!" said ned, stopping, at the curve of the shore, to look off at the horizon, which seemed to rise higher than their heads, and turning to look at the dark wall of rock behind them; "and what a lonesome sound the waves make! i should have died of the blues in three weeks. and what a miserable set those fishermen are! they all seem to like you, though. did you see how they made way for us, and touched their caps, some of them? what a capital place to fish, off those rocks! i'm glad i brought hooks and lines, and--what's that light ahead? a lighthouse?" "no, only hagar's kitchen window," said noll; "hagar's our black cook, and there's only three of us in that great house, ned!" "i should think you'd lose each other! is your uncle like your father at all?" "no, uncle richard's not much like papa," said noll, with sudden graveness; "but he loves me, and--and i hope you'll like him, ned." they walked the rest of the way in silence till they came to the piazza steps under the shadow of the great stone house. "it looks just as it did when i saw it first," said noll,--"the sea getting dark and shadowy and making that lonesome sound on the pebbles, and oh, how i had to rap and search before i could find my way in! but come on, ned." noll led his friend along the echoing hall, straight to uncle richard's library, where the lamp had been lighted. "this is ned thorn, uncle richard," said he, as they entered, "and he's come clear from hastings to see me." "ned is very welcome," said trafford, who chanced to be in a cheerful mood, "and if you boys are ready, we will go out to tea." noll ran on before to hagar's kitchen, where he burst in, exclaiming,-- "another plate and teacup, hagar! did you know that we have actually got company? it's ned thorn, a dear friend of mine, and he's from hastings, and going to stay--i don't know how long. will you bring them? is tea all ready?" "bress ye!" said hagar, "i's 'stonished to see ye so 'cited, honey. i'll bring de dishes in a minnit." the old housekeeper followed him back to the dining-room, where the new-comer was endeavoring to interest trafford in the account of the day's journey, telling it in such a sprightly manner that the grim master was betrayed into more than one smile. "and now, mr. trafford, i'm going to stay here in this dismal old house just as long as you'll keep me," said ned, in conclusion. "and noll and i are going to have tip-top good times! i don't know as there's a thing we can have fun out of, but if there isn't, we'll invent something. we can fish,--there's one consolation! why, mr. trafford, what does noll do with himself, anyhow? i think he's grown as sober as--as--i don't know what!" "very likely," said trafford, with a shadow of gloom on his face; "this is a sober place. noll has seen much of which you know nothing, and it has made him graver and more thoughtful, i suppose; yet--" "yet you think he's all the better for that?" said ned, merrily. "well, so do i! papa always says i'm too much of a rattle-box; but i can't help it. i couldn't be sober, like noll, if i should try; and you wouldn't want me to; would you, old fellow?" noll looked as if he was entirely suited, now, and secretly wondered what uncle richard thought of his merry, light-hearted friend. the days which followed were happy ones. trafford recollected that noll had had a long winter of study, and granted a vacation to last during ned thorn's stay; so the two boys were at liberty to fish and ramble and explore rock and sand to their hearts' content. they gathered basket after basket full of sea flowers and weeds of vivid dye, to be pressed and packed for transportation to hastings, and such quantities of shells, with an occasional pebble of agate or carnelian, that ned laughingly declared,-- "i'll have just all the baggage the 'gull' can float under, noll. i'll have to charter it to convey me and mine; for the skipper won't take me under any other condition, you may be sure." and these days were merry ones too. hagar declared, "dat yer thorn boy beat eberyt'ing dis ole woman eber seed. 'peared like ther' was more'n forty boys racin' up an' down dem yer stairs, an' laughin' at de tops ob ther voices. neber seed nuffn like it, nohow! but is ye sorry, hagar? ye knows ye isn't! ye likes to hear dis yer ole house waked up an' 'pear as ef 'twas good fur somethin' 'sides holdin' mis'ry." noll more than once trembled lest uncle richard should be displeased at this unusual clamor and mirthfulness, and banish ned in anger; but day after day passed, and trafford made no opposition to the boys' plans or proceedings, and apparently took quite a fancy to noll's friend. "i'd just like to coax your uncle into playing a game of ball with us," said ned, as the two sat on the piazza one evening at twilight; "do you suppose he would consent?" "uncle richard play ball!" exclaimed noll, laughing at the idea. "no! i would almost as soon expect to see this old stone house playing at toss and catch." "well, he _is_ the strangest man!" observed ned; "but he loves you,--i can see that, every day,---and perhaps he'll come out as bright as a dollar, by and by. and--do you remember?--you was to tell me about that plan to-night. go in, noll dear,--i'm all attention." chapter xv. plans. noll looked thoughtfully on the sea a few minutes before he said, "i don't know what you'll say, ned, the plan is so difficult; but i've thought of it a long time,--i believe it's been in my head every day for the last two months,--and it seems to me it is possible. oh! if it _were_, i'd be the happiest boy in the land!" "well, now what have you got in your head, i'd like to know?" said ned; "tell me quickly, for i hate long speeches, you know." "well, in the first place, you must know i want to help those culm people, somehow. that's--" "yes," interrupted ned, "they need 'helping,' i should think! they're the laziest, miserablest set of people i ever saw. some of 'em need 'helping' with a good, sound punching,--'twould stir 'em up a little." "that's the object of the plan, and the next thing is how to do it," continued noll. "if papa had only lived here a little time, i know it would have been a different place, and i want to make it what he would have made it; but, though i can't do that, i want to do something." "i'll warrant you do!" said ned, edging nearer his friend. "what do you think hagar has told me about your work this winter? you _are_ the funniest fellow, and i don't see what puts such ideas in your head, anyhow!--they never get into mine." "well, i'll never get to my plan at this rate," said noll, laughing a bit. "i don't believe the people will ever be any cleaner or more industrious till they have better houses to live in, and they're too poor to buy lumber and make repairs. now, if i could only accomplish that, i think they'd soon have some pride in keeping their dwellings nice and neat, and that would keep the fever away, and perhaps--i almost _know_--they'd soon be a different people!" "my stars!" exclaimed ned, "what're you thinking of? do you really mean that--that you're going to repair their huts for them?" "yes, that is what i wish to do, and what i've been planning for," said noll, peering through the dusk to see how ned received the project; "and do you think i'll succeed?--do you think it is possible?" ned was silent a few seconds, and the low voice of the sea rose and murmured far up and down the beach-line and died away in a faint whisper before he replied, "well, i _am_ astonished! and if any one else had proposed it, i should say they were out of their wits. now, what are those dirty fishermen to you, noll?" "that was not the question," said noll. "do you think i can succeed?" "i don't know,--can't tell,--it's all so sudden. where will you get the money? and why don't your uncle richard do the work, instead of you?" "uncle richard? why, he--he doesn't care for the culm people," noll was obliged to confess; "but as for the money, i think i can manage that. you see, he gives me more spending-money every week than i used to have in a whole quarter,--i showed you all my savings the other night, you remember,--and it has got to be quite a sum. then i have about as much more that mr. gray gave me when i came away, and with this i'll make a commencement. the--" "but what will your uncle say? does he know?" queried ned. "no, he knows nothing about it. but he gave me permission, a long time ago, to aid the culm people, and he lets me do as i choose with my money. so doesn't my plan seem possible?" "yes, if you can tell where lumber and nails and a carpenter are to come from," said ned. "oh! but those will have to come down from hastings, on the 'gull,' of course. there's nothing here to do with," said noll; "and i mean to coax ben tate to buy the lumber and hire a carpenter for me. you see, i've got it all planned, and if it will only work!" "my stars!" said ned, "i didn't know you were such a fellow. why, i don't wonder these fish-folks all touch their hats to you,--they can afford to, i think. and, noll, won't you tell me what these people are to you? i can't see, for the life of me! and why should you spend all your money for them?" noll hesitated, not feeling certain that ned would understand his reason, if he told him, and, looking up at the stars, which had come out in great fleets over the sea, was silent. but ned got up, came to noll's end of the step, and, sitting down beside him, said,-- "now for your reason! i'll not be put off at all. won't you tell me?" "yes, if you wish very much to know," said noll, in a lower tone. "i think everybody has a work to do,--a work that god gives them,--and i think this is mine, that he has given me. and i promised always to do his work, and i mean to do it, if i can. besides," he added, softly taking ned's hand in his, "it is work that papa would do if he were here, and i know that he, too, would be glad to have me do it. wouldn't you be anxious to get about it at once, and without waiting for the culm people to sink lower, if you thought it was your work and waiting for your hands? wouldn't you, ned?" noll's friend was suddenly silent. it was hardly such a reason as he had expected to hear, and what to reply he did not know. "noll always was the funniest fellow ever since i knew him!" he thought to himself. noll waited, and tried to look into his friend's face, and feared that ned did not comprehend his motives, after all. at last he said, "don't you understand?" "oh, yes," said ned, quickly, "but i--well--i didn't know what to say, and, somehow, you make me ashamed. it seems too bad for you to waste--spend, i mean--your money for those fishermen." "oh, no," said noll, "i've no need of it for myself, and if i had, they need it more than i. and, ned, i want to beg you to help me. will you?" "pshaw! i'd be no help at all!" said ned; "i'm no good at such things." "but will you try?" said noll, eagerly. "yes, if you wish. but i'll be sure to bother or make a mess of something,--see if i don't!" at that instant the hall door behind them opened, and trafford stepped out. so dark had it grown that he failed, at first, to see the two figures on the step; but when a little stir of ned's betrayed them, he exclaimed, in a tone of great relief,-- "ah, here you are, boys! i feared that--that you were up the shore, perhaps. come in, come in. why do you sit here in the darkness?" "so i say!" said ned, briskly, and not regretting this interruption; "what _are_ we sitting here in the dark for, noll? let's go in!" as they were groping along their darksome way to the library, ned whispered,-- "when are you going to begin your plan, or 'put it in execution,' as the books say?" "the skipper will touch here to-morrow; i'd like to see him then," said noll. "why not?" returned ned. "we can get up early and run over to culm before breakfast, and coax ben into doing the business for you." "we will!" said noll, gladly, "and have the work begun at once; and i knew you'd be willing to help. oh, ned, i wish you were to stay here always." the boys did not linger long in the library after arriving there, but went up to noll's chamber, where his little hoard of money was brought forth and counted. neither of the lads knew how far it would go toward purchasing lumber, but to them the sum in hand seemed a large one, and they decided, after much deliberation, to place it in ben's hands, and trust to his judgment and discretion. "but how is the carpenter to be paid for his labor, if this all goes for lumber?" queried ned. "why, my spending-money is accumulating all the time," said noll, "and though that won't be enough, i'll manage to get the rest, somehow. i'll write to mr. gray, or do something that will bring it." they were both up at the first glimmer of dawn the next morning, and on their way to culm long before the mist had fled from off the face of the sea. they ran, and made all possible haste, and were only just in time after all; for ben was about to stand out on the day's journey as they came panting and breathless on to the little wharf. "what be wantin' now, lads?" he cried, gruffly; "we be in a hurry to get off!" "but you must wait a few minutes," said ned, "for we want to come aboard, skipper. we can't run a mile for nothing, and before breakfast too." "s'pose i shall hev ter!" grumbled ben, as he gave them each a hand to help them up. noll brought forth his roll of money, and narrated his errand, disclosing for what object the lumber was to be purchased. ben sat down and stared blankly at the boy, while mr. snape, who had drawn near, looked utterly bewildered. "let me hear ye say that agen," said ben, when his scattered senses began to return; "i think i did not hear ye rightly." noll repeated his errand, aided by some impatient explanations which ned threw in for the skipper's benefit. "well," said the "gull's" master, as he concluded, "i be beat! why, lad, 'tw'u'd be like throwin' yer silver into the sea to spend it on them good-fur-nothin', shif'less critters. an' what be the like o' them to you?" "why," said ned, coming to noll's relief, "he want's to do them good. can't you see through a ladder, ben? and what we want to know is whether you will do the business?" the skipper was silent for a time. what was passing in his mind, the boys did not suspect, and they feared lest he should refuse. but presently he got up, saying, with gruffness which was assumed to hide a sudden tenderness in the old sailor's heart,-- "i ken do't fur ye, lad, i s'pose!--tho' i call ye foolish all the same. the 'gull' be engaged fur the next run, but the next arter that ye shall hev yer boards an' yer carpenter." "that will be week after next," said ned. "hurrah for you, ben! and i want to engage a passage home for next week. come, noll, let's go back and let the skipper put out, if he's in such a hurry. a good voyage to you, ben!--and don't you forget that i'm to go next week, now!" "ay, ay," said ben, "get along with you!" and over the side went the boys, and, after a little delay, off went the "gull" with noll's precious savings on board. "wait," said noll, as they left the wharf, "there's dirk sharp out there with his boat, ready to put off. wait here, ned, till i've spoken with him." and noll ran off across the sand. ned sat down on the wharf and watched his friend and the fisherman. they were sufficiently near for him to note the expressions upon their faces, and when he saw the blank look of wonder and incredulity that suddenly came over dirk's coarse features, he suspected that noll was disclosing his project. "oh, but noll _is_ a queer fellow," he said to himself. "how can he care for these dirty, dull-witted fellows that can't spell their own names, when he is so smart and such a long, long way above them?" but noll, he remembered, had answered this question on the previous evening; yet ned could hardly comprehend such motives, and so sat puzzling his head over it till his friend came back with a pleased and happy face, to say,-- "i'm ready now. you should have seen dirk when i told what was going to be done! the great fellow almost cried before i could finish; and he's promised to aid me in a dozen ways, at least, and promised, oh! so much besides. and it seems as if i'll be the happiest boy in the world when once things are under way." "i suppose you will be," said ned, with something like a sigh, "and i wish i could stay and see how the huts'll look after you've done with them. however," he added, brightly, "i can come again sometime,--there's one consolation." the fair spring days went on with the speed with which all happy days fly by, and little by little the culm people began to talk among themselves of the--to them--great event which was to take place so soon. noll overheard one old fish-wife say, "we ben't slick 'nough for new housen; ther'll hev to be great scrubbin' an' scourin' that day, eh, janet?" to her slatternly daughter-in-law; and the boy mentally prayed that this opinion would gain ground among all the fish-folk. if there was only some one to teach the children, and save them from the utter ignorance which was their parents', there would be great hope for culm, he thought. ned thorn went home, and this was the only sad day which noll knew during the two weeks' waiting. he could not bid ned good-by and see the dear, merry face fade away, as the "gull" departed, without a great choking in his throat and a heaviness of heart that made one day a lonely, homesick one. chapter xvi. the work begun. you may be sure that noll did not fail to be at culm village when the "gull" and its precious freight arrived. the sky had been overcast all day and the sea somewhat rough, so that he was not certain that ben would set sail from hastings. but about half-past four in the afternoon the white wings of the skipper's craft hovered on the horizon, and soon after began to loom into shape and proportion. noll first descried the welcome sight while standing on the piazza steps, anxiously surveying the sea and sky. a strong and vigorous breeze bore the "gull" rapidly before it, and it was soon evident that it would arrive at the wharf before himself, unless he started soon. recitations were over an hour ago, and he was now at liberty to go where he chose, and accordingly started for culm at once. he arrived there some time before ben and his craft, after all, and was forced to sit and wait impatiently. he could see the yellow lumber long enough before the "gull" was in hailing distance, and knew that ben had been successful. the skipper came alongside at last, shouting at the top of his voice, "ahoy, there, men! give us a hand at this 'ere lumber, an' be spry about it, fur there's a storm brewin', an' i've got ter be twenty mile down the coast afore it breaks!" the fishermen drew near at this summons, and as soon as the "gull" was fast, they began to unload the cargo, under the carpenter's directions. it was carried well up the sand to preserve it from the dash of the sea and the treachery of the tide, and noll stood looking on with a heart so full of joy and satisfaction that he forgot all about the skipper till a gruff voice cried, "why don't ye come aboard, lad? here be sumat fur ye that come from the city. it be a mighty thick letter, somehow. give us yer hand an' come up, lad!" noll got aboard quickly enough after this intelligence, and took the packet which the skipper fished out from under his pea-jacket, saying, "i wonder if it can be from ned?" "how ken i tell?" said ben, evasively. "best open it, lad,--best open it." noll quickly had the envelope open, and, holding the packet upside down, there fell out upon the deck a thick little wad of bank-notes, which the wind threatened to take off into the sea before the boy's astonished senses returned to him. ben prevented such a disaster, however, by picking up the roll and placing it in noll's hand, with, "it's worth savin', lad, fur 'tain't every bush that grows sech blossoms, eh?" "i should think not," said noll, still full of amazement, and hurriedly opened his letter to see where this bounty hailed from, while ben walked off to assist in his craft's unlading. this is what noll's wondering eyes found:-- "hastings, may th. "dear noll,--i can imagine just how your eyes are staring by this time; but you needn't be alarmed, for i came by the money honestly. this is how it was: papa said i might have a new pony if i would save my spending-money till i got a third of the sum which one would cost, and so, though i didn't hint of it to you when i was down at culm, i've been laying up and laying up, like an old miser; and last monday morning i found that i had got the sum, and so papa made up the rest to me. but when i thought of you and those miserable culm people, and how you were making a fool of yourself (as ben t. said), i thought i'd like to--to--well, let pony go, and help you a bit. so here's the whole sum (if you get it safe), and you're just as welcome as you can be, and don't you make any fuss about it, for it's your own, and i can go without spending-money if you can, and am willing to too. and it's no great denial, either, for the pony'll come sometime, i'm quite sure. so don't you worry any more about how the carpenter is to be paid. good-by, dear old fellow, "ned thorn. "p.s.--i was just as dismal as i could be after i got home, longing to go back to that dreary, dismal, good-for-nothing culm rock. the shells, etc., got here all right. give my respects to uncle richard, and tell him i'll come down and turn his house topsy-turvy for him again next summer, if he wants me to. don't you forget to send a letter back by ben, now." noll finished this characteristic letter with something very like tears in his eyes. "the dear, generous fellow!" he thought to himself; "how could he ever bring himself to do it? for it _is_ a denial, because ned is _so_ fond of a horse! and he claimed, all the time, that he never could help at all!" ben came stumping along the deck with his gruff, "well, we hev brought yer lumber an' yer carpenter, lad,--both on 'em the best i c'u'd find. one's 'bout stacked up on the sand, yender, and t'other'll be waitin' fur yer orders purty soon. he's good at his trade, john sampson be, an' he'll do fair an' square by ye. john ben't delicate neither, an' won't mind the livin' he'll get 'mongst these 'ere good-fur-nothin's,--i looked out fur that, ye see." "i thank you more than i can tell, ben," said noll, taking the skipper's hand; "and have you taken your pay for the freight and all the trouble?" "the freight be paid fur," said ben, "an' the trouble likewise. an' ef ye hev anythin' more fur the 'gull' ter do, don't ye be backward, boy, about lettin' her know't." the last of the lumber was now being dragged up the sand, and the skipper hurried away, saying,-- "luck ter ye an' yer undertakin', lad! we be in a desput hurry to get off, fur we'd stan' a poor chance on this shore in a storm." noll wished the skipper a safe run to a better harbor, and went back to the wharf, where the carpenter intercepted him. he was a rough, blunt-spoken man, but was evidently "good at his trade," as ben had said, and did not despair of making the culm huts decent and habitable; and after a long talk with him, noll started for home, as the afternoon was fast giving way to a gray and lowery night. his heart was full of gratitude and love to ned, and he stopped more than once on his homeward walk to read the letter over by the gray glimmer of twilight. at first he was more than half resolved to return the money, and bid his friend to buy the pony,--it seemed such a great denial for horse-loving, mirthful ned to make,--but as he read the letter again and again, and pondered over its contents, he began to think that his friend had more earnestness and love for kind-doing than he had ever suspected. "i wronged the poor fellow," he thought to himself, "because he was so merry and careless all the time. and now he's sent me this great roll of bills to help those people whom he pretended to hate! oh, i wonder if it is best to keep them?" this question was not decided then. it took more than one day's thought about the matter before he at last concluded to accept ned's bounty, and perhaps he would not have decided thus at all if he had been quite sure that his friend would not be greatly grieved and offended at having the money returned. meanwhile, the carpenter commenced operations. dirk's house was the first to undergo repairs, and noll took every opportunity to go over to culm to see how matters were progressing. it was a great delight to him to watch john sampson at his labor, and note how saw and hammer and plane, guided by his strong and skilful hand, repaired the rents, brought the shackling doors and windows to comfortable tightness, made the crooked and twisted roofs to assume something like straight and even proportions, and righted matters generally. when dirk's habitation was thoroughly repaired, it was the wonder and admiration of all the culm people. "it be like what it was when i was a gal, an' all the housen was new," said one old fish-wife, who had tottered in with the others. "ay, mother," said dirk, "an' it be time we had new habits to go with the new housen, eh?" noll had not allowed any good opportunities, wherein he might hint to dirk that cleanliness and industry should reign in the snug new quarters, to pass without improving them. dirk, out of regard and gratitude to "the young master," as he called him, was willing to make the attempt, and strove, in his bungling way, to impress his neighbors with the fact that they were expected to reform their way of living. but it was up-hill work for people who had lived all their life in filth and wretchedness, and progressed but slowly. many were the hours, after the recitations were over, that noll spent over at the little village those warm days, planning with john sampson about broken doors and shattered beams, which were to be made strong and serviceable, or, sitting on a pile of lumber, watching the carpenter as he put in execution the plans which they had made. the children of the village were generally playing near by, in the sand, with blocks and chips,--growing up as unlettered and ignorant as their parents. some of them were great boys and girls,--almost as tall as noll himself,--and had never yet seen the inside of a book. "if uncle richard would only hire a teacher," thought noll, "and have them grow up with some knowledge in their heads, they'd never get so low and wretched as their parents. but that never'll be, i'm afraid. oh! if i were only rich, how quick i'd change it all!" but there was no prospect of any such fortune befalling him, and he usually turned away from the cluster of dirty, unkempt children with a hopeless sigh. he said, one day, while sitting on a great heap of shingles beside the carpenter,-- "what's to become of all these children, mr. sampson? will they be left to grow up like their fathers and mothers?" "well, i don't see much to hinder," said the carpenter, with a glance at the dirty little ones who were throwing sand over their heads. "don't think you'll ever see many lawyers and ministers out o' the lot." "if there could only be a school here," continued noll, "what a change it would make! but there's no teacher, no schoolroom, no nothing, and no prospect of there ever being anything!" "why don't you teach 'em yourself?" said sampson, between the creakings and rasping of his saw. noll was silent for a few minutes before he answered, "why, to tell the truth, i never had thought of the thing. but how can i? i don't have any time till after four o'clock." the carpenter sawed and planed, and made no reply, being entirely indifferent to the whole matter; but his chance question had put an idea in noll's head which was not out of it for that afternoon, at least. could he teach those idle, ignorant children? he wondered. would they ever sit still long enough to look in a book? and where could a room for the school be found? and where was the leisure time to come from? noll pondered over these questions many days, and several times came near discarding the plan as impracticable. he knew that he could only have the time after recitations were over for his own, and that, at the most, would be only an hour or two,--the time between four o'clock and the supper-hour. he was quite sure that he was willing to give this time to the culm children, if it would do any good, and if a room could be found for them to assemble in. a whole week of days went by before he mentioned this plan to any one, and then it was only dirk to whom he mentioned it. the rough fisherman looked upon reading and writing as some of the wonderful and mysterious arts to which dull and humble people like himself had no right. he looked blank and mystified at noll's proposition, and expressed himself thus:-- "i don' know, i don' know, lad,--we but poor folk anyway. but ye ken do as ye like, an' ef ye say so, the youngsters shall take ter books an' sech, an' ye ken hev a room where ye say, i'll say fur't. i don' know, i don' know, lad; ye mus' do as ye think it best, anyway." chapter xvii. the work progressing. studies at home progressed steadily under uncle richard's supervision, meanwhile, and that grim gentleman found much more pleasure and satisfaction in directing his nephew's tasks than he would have been willing to acknowledge. the boy brought so much brightness and pleasant life into the gloomy stone house that the stern master, as week after week passed by, visibly began to lose something of his grimness and gloominess, and to take something like a faint interest in what was passing around him. and, after a time, he himself began to be sensible of this gradual change which was stealing over his thoughts and actions, and, vexed with himself, strove to check these new emotions, and wrap himself again in the cloak of sadness and melancholy which so long had shielded him from everything bright and cheerful and happy. but he found it hardly an easy task. noll was almost always blithe and light-hearted, and trafford found his bright influence a hard one to struggle against. he loved the boy so well that it was almost an impossibility to harden his heart to all his winning ways and pleasant talk, which met him so constantly, and these summer days, which noll found such delight in, were days of struggle and wavering to his uncle. he could not but acknowledge to himself that he was interested in all the boy's plans for the future,--all his youthful anticipations of happiness and success,--all his present little projects for progress and self-improvement,--and these matters, trivial though they may have been, gradually drew his thoughts from himself and his sorrow, put them farther and farther away into the dimness and silence of the past, and made the present a more vivid and earnest reality. was it any wonder that, seeing he could not maintain his gloom and grimness in noll's sunshine, and finding it slipping away from him in spite of his endeavors to retain it, he should astonish his nephew by strange fits of moroseness, alternating with the utmost kindness and indulgence? the boy sometimes fancied that his uncle had grown to utterly dislike him,--being so irritable and unjust at times; then again his heart was light with joy and hope, for he fancied that the grim man was just on the point of losing his great burden of gloom, and becoming hopeful and unoppressed. but how could he be hopeful for whom there was no hope?--who refused to trust in god's promises?--for whom the shadow of the grave was utter darkness and horror, wherein dear faces had vanished--forever? one day noll had begged him to come out for a walk on the beach, thinking he would lead his uncle on and on till they should come out upon culm village, and in this manner disclose what he had been doing for the dwellings and their inmates. trafford at first appeared inclined to consent, and followed his nephew out as far as the piazza steps, but here he stopped, and all noll's entreaties could not prevail upon him to go further. he sat down, looking dispiritedly across the tranquil sea, all warm and fair with changing lights, and down at his feet at the bit of verdure which noll had caused to flourish by dint of much seed-sowing and watering, saying, "no, i've no part in it all. i'll go no further." so noll was obliged to set off for culm alone, consoling himself with the thought that next time, perhaps, he should be so successful as to get uncle richard a little farther, and next time a little way farther still, till, at last, they might walk together as uncle and nephew should. would that happy day ever come? he wondered. at last, after many delays and hindrances, the plan of a school was decided upon. noll did not begin the undertaking with much confidence of success, or with any great hope of making the culm children very bright or vigorous scholars; but it would be something toward supplying the great want, he thought, and who could tell what this little beginning might lead to? so, about half-past four one misty, lowery afternoon, he found himself in a little room in dirk's dwelling, with ten dirty-faced, frowsy-headed children huddled together in one corner, each of them regarding him with wide-open eyes, and apparently without the remotest idea what they were there for. the only furniture which the "schoolroom" could boast were two rough benches, just from john sampson's hands, and a three-legged stool, which noll appropriated to himself. of course none of the ten had anything in the shape of books or primers, and here the boy had reason to rejoice that all his old school-books had made the journey with himself to culm. after getting the wondering assemblage seated in proper order, noll began by asking, "who wants to learn to read?" it seemed as if the sound of his voice had wrought a spell, for each of the ten were as silent as so many mutes. "who would like to know how to read?" noll repeated. still a long silence, most discouraging to the teacher. at last--the sound of his voice a most welcome one to noll--a little fellow, who sat on the end of one of the benches, ventured to query, "what be 'read'?" "well," thought the would-be teacher, "i've got to explain what 'read' is before they'll know whether they fancy it, to be sure! i didn't think of that." among his books was a great primer, with painted letters and pictures, and bringing this forth, he gathered the ten around him, and used all his powers of description and story-telling to endeavor to awaken the slumbering interest of these unpromising pupils. it was a weary hour's work. a few of them betrayed a slight curiosity in regard to the bright colors, which noll endeavored to stimulate; but it soon died out, and all looked on and listened with listless attention. they appeared much more inclined to stand with their fingers in their mouths, and gaze steadfastly into noll's face, than to put eyes on the book. "if i had the alphabet stamped upon my face, i believe they'd learn it easily enough!" he thought to himself, in despair, as, on looking up, he found the whole ten staring in his face, instead of having had their eyes upon the primer during his long explanation. as a last resort, he stepped out upon the sand in front of the door, and there drew a great a. "now," said he, "see which of you can make a letter like that. take a stick and try, every one of you. look sharp, and make it just like the one i've made." thereupon, there was a great searching for sticks, and when all the little ones had been supplied, there was a great scratching and marking in the sand. to noll's great delight, the result was two or three tolerable a's, which were allowed to stand, and the rest were brushed away. then a new attempt at making the wonderful symbol ensued, and added another to the successful list, and so the letter-making was kept up till all the pupils had succeeded in making a tolerably faithful representation of the letter. noll began to take heart. what the children cared nothing for, when seen in the book, they were apparently delighted to draw on the sand, and soon learned to give the proper pronunciation of the character. the night came on apace, and noll began to perceive that it was time for him to be on his homeward way. "remember," he said to his pupils, who were scratching a's all about the door, "you're not to forget this while i'm gone. to-morrow afternoon i'll come again, and then i shall want to see you make it over, and you are to have a new letter, besides. will you all be here?" "yes! yes!" one after another promised; and, once more bidding them remember, noll walked away,--the children still making the mysterious character along the beach, and keeping it up till darkness came over sea and land. "only one letter!" noll said to himself, as he hurried homeward. "why, that's not a tenth of what i meant to do this afternoon! what dull wits they've got! and will they ever, ever learn the whole alphabet?" the prospect did not seem very encouraging, and he was obliged to confess himself disappointed with the result of the first day's lesson. "however, one can't tell much by the first afternoon," he thought. "perhaps they'll be quicker and brighter when we're better acquainted." the next afternoon he arrived at dirk's house at the appointed time, and found not ten, but twelve awaiting him, sticks in hand, and all eager for the lesson to commence. noll could not refrain from laughing at the sight which the sand directly in front of the house presented, covered as it was with a's of all shapes and sizes. it looked much as if a great bird, with a peculiarly-constructed foot, had been walking there. he did not need to be assured that his pupils had all remembered yesterday's lesson, and proceeded at once to instruct them in the art of making b. this the young learners of the alphabet found to be somewhat more difficult of execution, but appeared to like it none the less on that account, and, after its curves were mastered, were much delighted with this acquisition to their stock of accomplishments. while this second lesson was yet in progress, dirk and one or two other fishermen came up from their boats, and stopped to look on, with wonder and astonishment written on their countenances. "i don' know," said dirk, shaking his head as he eyed the mystic characters traced before him; "we be all poor folk, anyhow, an' this do beat me! why, what be this?" he exclaimed, pointing at a letter staring up at him from the sand at his feet. "that be a!" said half a dozen voices at once. "an' what be this?" said hark darby, pointing to a character by his feet. "that be b!" chorused the voices again. the two fishermen exchanged wondering glances. "that do beat me!" said poor dirk, regarding the letters before him with much awe. "ah, lad," turning to noll, "my little gal w'u'd liked yer teaching, an' yer b's an' a's, eh?" and dirk drew his hand across his eyes. noll went home much encouraged after this second alphabet lesson. time and patience would do something for these culm children, after all, he thought. and could he have the patience and skill which was necessary? "i'll try,--i'll try hard for it!" he thought, "and pray christ to keep me from losing my patience and courage. it's his work, and he'll help me to teach them, and by winter there'll be something accomplished." and of his help he had great need, for patience and courage were often sorely tried in the days which followed, and it was not always his pupils' obtuseness which brought the greatest strain to bear upon them. one old fish-wife, the oldest woman in the village, had regarded the whole plan of teaching the children as suspicious and ill-omened. "it be a bad day fur us, lads," she warned, standing on dirk's door-step among the fishermen, and looking frowningly upon noll as he instructed his pupils in the making of u. "it be no good fur yer chile to be ther', hark darby, learnin' ye don' know what! yes, lads, i say it be an evil day, and ye'll find no good cum from it! i warn ye, i warn ye!" shaking her skinny forefinger and solemnly nodding her head. noll's face flushed at these words, and he half resolved to go home, and leave these culm children to their parents' ignorance. "i warn ye! i--" the old crone was about to continue her forebodings; but dirk interposed with a gruff, "hush ye, hush ye, mother deb! ye be doin' the lad wrong. d'ye think he be one to teach our young uns wrong, eh? be it evil, think ye? w'u'd he be doin' us a bad turn who's mendin' the housen an' makin' us comf'table? i'd like ye ter show't, mother, ef it be!" "ay," said hark darby, "an' ef he ken do us evil, who ha' been so good an' kind in the sickness, we w'u'd like ye ter show't, mother deb!" the old woman said no more, but went muttering homeward, not all convinced that noll was not teaching the children some evil, mysterious art. chapter xviii. the work finished. the days went by,--busy enough for noll with lessons and the afternoon lesson at culm,--and john sampson's labors began to draw to a close. the carpenter had worked steadily and faithfully, and the result was a gratifying one to more than one person. true, the houses were not models of elegance; that was not needed; and they _did_ look somewhat patchy, with here and there a fresh new board over the old weather-beaten gray of the dwelling, and new doors staring blank and yellow out of the dinginess of their surroundings; but, if they were not handsome, they were thoroughly repaired and now stood warmer and more comfortable than any of the present generation of culm people had ever known them. if they could only have a coat of paint or whitewash to make them look fresh and cheerful, what an improvement it would be! noll thought. how the sun would gleam upon them with his last ruddy rays as he sank into the sea! how fair and pleasant they would look from the sea, when the coast first came upon the mariner's vision! it would be one bright spot against the black background of the rock,--those twelve houses,--if only they might have a coat of fresh white paint. but after counting his stock of money, this desire was obliged to remain ungratified; for there was the carpenter's bill, which would shortly be due, and must be paid upon the completion of the work. "the houses must wait till--till another year," noll thought, with something like a sigh; "they can wait, after all, for the painting isn't really necessary, though it would improve them wonderfully! and i'm thankful enough that i can pay the carpenter. oh, but i wonder if ned ever regrets his denial, and longs for the pony?" letters came down from ned thorn with almost every trip of the "gull," but not a word about the pony did they contain, nor the least sentence which noll could interpret to mean a sigh or regret for the pet which he had given up. if ned felt any regret, it was all carefully hidden from his friend's observation, and the missives, which noll received through the skipper's kindness, were fairly bubbling over with the briskness and bright spirits of ned's light heart. "if they should stop coming, i don't know how i _could_ manage," thought noll; "i'm afraid culm rock would grow dreadfully lonesome and dreary." it was always, "and how do you get on with your plan?--and are the houses 'most finished?" or, "have you got those culm savages almost civilized, you dear old noll?--and does uncle richard know anything about it yet? won't he stare! and what do you suppose he'll say?" or, "oh, now i think of it, how many scholars in latin have you got down there? and how do they manage with their greek? and are you putting on airs because you've got to be a pedagogue? and how much is the tuition a term?--because, you see, i've some idea of going away to boarding-school, and yours might suit me, if the charges aren't too high." and the whole generally concluded with, "p. s.--i don't mean a word of all that last i've written, my dear noll, and you're not to think so. how does the money hold out? don't fail to let me know if you're in a tight place, and i'll try to get a few dollars somehow. and hurry up and answer this letter by return steamer (what should we do if the old 'gull' went to the bottom?), and so good-night," etc., etc. perhaps noll expected a great deal too much of the culm people when he looked to see them give up their filthy and slovenly habits at once, after getting fairly settled again in their whole and comfortable abodes. if he really expected to see this, he was disappointed. people do not follow a habit for the best part of a lifetime, to give it up suddenly and at once, even when gratitude and a sense of their short-coming are both urging them to do so. so he was obliged to content himself with some few faint evidences of thrift, and a desire to do better, on the part of those whom he had befriended, and wait patiently for the rest. dirk's household improved somewhat. dirk was the most intelligent of the fishermen, and began to dimly perceive that it was much better and pleasanter to live cleanly and neatly than to pattern his household arrangements after the beasts of the field. he was, moreover, strongly actuated to reform his way of living by his deep, strong sense of gratitude to noll, which led him to endeavor to accomplish whatever the boy suggested. it gave the stalwart fisherman something like a feeling of shame to see the lad--bright, fresh, and ruddy--enter his dirty and smoke-begrimed hovel and hardly be able to find himself a seat among the litter of old nets, broken chairs, household utensils, and all conceivable kinds of rubbish which strewed the floors and filled the corners. "it be a shame," dirk said to his wife, after noll had gone, one day, "that the lad hev ter stan' up, an' ben't able ter find a seat, nohow. i tell ye it be a shame, woman!" "ye might mend the chairs a bit, man!" retorted mrs. sharp. "i'll warrant the lad be able ter find a seat then." dirk was sulky for a while after this, but saw that there could be nothing to sit upon so long as the chairs were for the most part legless, and at last got energy enough to mend them after a rude fashion. then another place was found for the old nets besides the two corners by the fireplace, and when these had been removed, mrs. sharp took her broom and--well, it was not exactly sweeping, for the woman had not much idea of what a good housekeeper would call sweeping, but it was a feeble attempt at cleanliness, and she really thought she had made a great exertion, and was certainly proud of the achievement. dirk chanced to be at home when noll came again, and the flash of surprise and pleasure which swept over the boy's face as he entered and noted the change which had taken place since his last call pleased dirk amazingly. "here be a seat fur ye, lad," he said, not without some pride in his tone, as he brought forward a rough three-legged block and placed it for his visitor. a faint stir of worthy ambition having slightly roused dirk and his wife, they were hardly contented to allow matters to remain as they were. mrs. sharp once more took her broom, and used it with rather better effect. dirk made an onslaught upon the rubbish which had been collecting in their kitchen and about the doorsteps for years, and which no one had had the energy to remove, and threw many a basketful into the sea. the neighbors, meanwhile, were not entirely insensible to the fact that dirk's house began to present--both within and without--a much more cleanly and respectable appearance than their own. they stopped at the door to look in and say, "la, ye be slickin' up finely, dirk!" or, "ye be gittin' fine ways, lately, man. an' what be all this fur?" "why," dirk would answer, "i be 'shamed of livin' like a beast, man. an' the young master be wishin' us to hev cleaner housen an' slicker, an' i be willin' to do't ef he wish, now! he be a good lad to mend our housen so finely, and w'u'd ye think i ben't willin' to do his wish?" noll was greatly encouraged at these signs of improvement, and mentally rejoiced, hoping to see this new ambition spread till the whole twelve houses were reclaimed from their present filth and wretchedness. the carpenter's work came to an end at last,--his labor all plain and visible to every eye in patched walls, roofs, mended doors and windows, and the general look of repair about the whole line of what were once but the poorest of shelters. sampson's task had been a hard and bothersome one,--"couldn't ha' got another man to teched it," the skipper said,--and noll expected, as he walked around to culm one afternoon with his roll of bills to pay the carpenter, that the bill would be a large one,--perhaps even more than ned's generous bounty and his own amount of spending-money, saved since the lumber was purchased, could meet. he found sampson packing up his tools,--he was to leave on the "gull" the next morning,--with the bill all ready, added up and written out on a bit of smooth shingle. it proved to be five dollars less than the sum which noll held in his hand. "i swun!" said sampson, roughly, as he counted over the bills which the boy placed in his hands, "i told the skipper, comin' down, that you was a born fool to be layin' out your money in this style. now, i've been thinkin' on't over all the while i've been hammerin' and sawin', and i can't make out, to save my neck, how you're goin' to get any return from this 'ere investment. 'tain't payin' property, i should judge," said the carpenter, looking up and down the beach. "of course i don't expect to get any money back from it," said noll, laughing a little at the idea. "it was to help these fish-folk and to try and make them more comfortable that i did it." sampson put the roll of bills away in his capacious purse, remarking, "well, you're a queer un. i did the job right well, though, if i do say it, and i ha'n't charged very steep for it, neither. couldn't do it, somehow!--went too much against the grain. and--well, can't you shake hands over it? you're a tip-top paymaster, and if you want anything done, i'll come and do it, if i'm in china--there! don't you lay out another cent on this settlement, though,--'tain't worth it." noll did not promise to take this advice, and started homeward, sampson calling after him, "good-by, good-by, lad! hope you'll get some return from this 'ere investment!" so the work was done, and a glad and happy letter went over the sea to hastings, telling ned thorn that the labor was accomplished, and the houses all as whole and comfortable as when new, and that the people were actually beginning to show a little thrift and ambition; and saying, among other things, "i send you back five dollars that were left,--so you can begin to save your money again for that pony. and, oh! ned, i don't think you can know how much good that money did! perhaps you never will know (it must seem to you almost like throwing it away, because you are where you cannot see any result from it), and i felt, at first, as if you ought not to make the denial; but, somehow, i'm very glad, now, and i shall always feel sure that if you _do_ make fun and pretend to laugh at a plan, you're all the time meaning to 'give it a lift,' as you say. and, oh! ned, i believe i'm one of the happiest boys in the world! and i'm sure uncle richard has changed a great deal since last spring, when you were here, for he's got over being cross and gloomy, and actually asked me yesterday where i spent so much of my time. i'm going, if i can, to persuade him to take a walk with me, one of these afternoons, and so bring him around to the new houses. wouldn't you like to be here to see us then? as for my school, it flourishes a little. there are still twelve scholars, and all but four have got through with their sand letters, and are at work at their 'a-b, ab,' and 'b-a, ba.' they'll get into spelling-books, sometime. now, i'll end this long letter with telling you once more that you can't know how much good your money has done and will do, and say, good-night, "noll trafford." noll did not lose sight for a moment of his plan to persuade uncle richard to take a walk with him. it filled his thoughts all the pleasant days that followed after mr. sampson's departure, and several times he hinted very broadly to his uncle that it was "a splendid afternoon for a walk! the beach is hard as a floor, and the tide out." but trafford was oblivious to all hints, and at last, on one warm, balmy, cloudless afternoon, noll thought, "it is now, or never! i'll ask him at once." and straightway he started for the library, where he knew his uncle sat reading. chapter xix. a happy walk. trafford looked up from his books as his nephew entered, and greeted him with a smile. noll thought this welcome portended good, and remembered, with a grateful thrill in his heart, that uncle richard had fallen into the habit of greeting him thus of late. he went up to the reader's chair, and without waiting for his courage to cool, laid a hand on the reader's arm, saying,-- "uncle richard, i've come to ask a great favor of you. do you think you'll grant it? can't you guess what it is?" trafford did not reply at once, but sat looking steadfastly into his nephew's face, his eyes wearing the dreamy, far-away look which lingered in them much of late, and it was not until noll had repeated his question that he replied, musingly,-- "i'm sure i cannot think. perhaps you wish more pocket-money, or--" "oh, no!" answered the boy, quickly, "it's nothing like that, uncle richard! it's--it's--oh, it's will you take a walk?" trafford's forehead began to wrinkle and slowly gather the shade of gloom which seemed always hovering about him, even in his most cheerful moments; but before it had time to cover the man's brow, and before he could utter a refusal, noll's hand was endeavoring to smooth away the wrinkles, and he was saying,-- "there, don't say 'no,'--don't, uncle richard! i won't ask you to go again if you are not pleased with this walk, but _this_ time--just _this_ once--do say 'yes,' uncle! there can't be a pleasanter afternoon in the whole year than this, and i've walked alone, always till now. why, uncle richard, you won't say 'no' _this_ time?" trafford hesitated, a refusal trembling on his lips, which he did not quite wish to utter. the boy _had_ walked alone, he remembered, and it was a very simple request to grant; and if it was going to be such a pleasure and gratification to noll, why not yield, and for once put aside his own preferences and inclinations? it is not an easy matter for a man who has lived only for himself and his own pleasure to put the gratification of these aside to give place to the happiness and comfort of another; but, with an effort, trafford put his books away, and rose from his chair, saying,-- "this once, noll,--this once. one walk with me will suffice you, i think. when shall we start?" "now,--at once, uncle richard!" said noll, joyfully; "it's two o'clock already, and the tide a long, long way out. don't let's wait a minute longer." trafford smiled a little at his nephew's eagerness, and taking his hat, followed the boy to the piazza. it was a great change from the half-gloom of the library, and the chilliness of the long, dark halls, to the bright, sunny piazza, where the light fell so warm and broadly, and from whence the blue and shining sea stretched far and wide and vast. noll felt sure that uncle richard must notice it and rejoice, even though it might be secretly. from east to west there were no clouds, and nothing to hinder the sunbeams from finding the earth and working wondrous charms on land and rock and sea. they stood for a few minutes there, one of them, at least, enjoying the wide view very much, then noll said,-- "we'll go up the shore, if you'd as lief, uncle richard. it's much pleasanter that way, i think." "very well," said trafford, with an indifference which was not encouraging, and they passed down the steps on to the sand. it was a silent and uncomfortable walk for the first few rods, trafford walking with his head bowed upon his breast and looking only at the yellow sand upon which he trod. he seemed to have no eyes for the calm and gentle peace which had descended upon that afternoon, robbing the sea of its terror and making it enchanting and lovely, and weaving a mystic charm about the bare, bald rock basking warm and purple under the sun. even the waves murmured only softly and soothingly and with drowsy echoes, as they rippled in and out among the rocks and along the sand. fortunately for their pleasure, noll picked up a curious pebble before they had gone a great way. it was not an agate, nor was it like the rounded pebbles of porphyry which the tide washed up, and puzzling over this, and asking uncle richard, at last, to explain its nature, somehow broke the heavy silence which had been between them, and questions and pleasant talk came naturally enough after this. trafford lost his gloom and reserve, and followed after his nephew, chatting and explaining strange matters of rock and sea, and stopping now and then to pull over great bunches of freshly-stranded kelp to help noll search for rare shells or bits of scarlet or purple weed which were hidden and entangled there. how brightly shone the sun! what peace and calm hovered over land and sea! he was just beginning to be conscious of the joy and loveliness which the afternoon held. it was no wonder, he thought, that noll's blithe, unclouded heart loved such a pleasant earth, and found delight in all the hours which flitted by. but for himself, alas! all this brightness was clouded over by the ever-present, ever-shadowing darkness of the future. it might have been different if--if--but with a sigh trafford put away these thoughts, and followed on. they lingered around the rocks in their path, black with fringes of dry sea-weed, and talked of gneiss and sienite, granite and trap; they stopped at the curve in the shore, and sat down to watch the white flitting of sails on the far horizon-line, and somehow, the sight of them led to a long talk about hastings and noll's papa, and happy memories of other days. trafford was in a softened mood as they rose up from their seat on a great fragment which had fallen from the cliff above, and noll said,-- "come, uncle richard, let's keep on toward culm. it's _so_ pleasant, and night is a long way off yet." if he had followed his own inclinations, the uncle would have turned about and retraced his steps, but noll had started on, and trafford followed, thinking, "it isn't often the boy has company in his rambles. i can humor him for once." slowly enough they approached the culm houses, loitering along the moist, shining sand, over which the waves had rolled and rippled but a few hours before, and marking their devious path with straying footprints. noll's heart began to beat somewhat faster as they neared the fishermen's houses, and he kept a keen watch upon his uncle's face in order to detect the first look of surprise and astonishment that should come across it when he perceived how the huts had been improved. but trafford's eyes were turned toward the sea, thoughtfully and gravely, and they drew very near the village without the discovery being made. they came upon dirk, hark darby, and two or three other fishermen, spreading their nets in the sun, all of whom touched their hats and nodded respectfully to noll, eying the uncle, meanwhile, with curious eyes and half-averted faces. the sight of these men brought trafford's eyes and thoughts back to culm and the present. he turned to noll, saying, with a little smile,-- "some of your sworn friends?" "yes, they're my friends, uncle richard," said noll, expecting every moment to see trafford raise his eyes to the houses, which they were passing, "and they do me a great many favors too." "in what way?" trafford was about to ask; but just then he looked up and about him, and the words died on his lips. noll paused, waiting in suspense for what was to come next. his uncle stood still, and looked for a full minute upon dirk's house, then cast his eyes up and down the line of dwellings, while a look of wonder and amazement came over his face. he turned about, and looked at noll, who could not, for the life of him, keep the bright color from creeping up into his cheeks and over his forehead, and then he looked at the houses again. a sudden suspicion came into trafford's mind, and turning his keen eyes upon noll, he exclaimed,-- "can you explain this?" the nephew hesitated, looked down in some embarrassment, then gathering sudden courage, looked up and answered, brightly, "yes, uncle richard, i know all about it." it was all plain to trafford then. for a moment his own eyes faltered and refused to meet noll's, and he showed some signs of emotion. but his voice and tone were as calm as ever when he said, a few minutes after,-- "_you_ did this? how can i believe it? what had you to do with? and why was i not consulted, if this was your work?" "oh, uncle richard!" said noll, quickly, "don't be vexed with me. you gave me permission to help these culm people. don't you remember?" trafford made no reply, and again looked at the line of comfortable, well-repaired houses. there were deeper thoughts and emotions in his heart at that moment than noll could know or guess. the long silence was so uncomfortable that the boy was fain to break it, with, "i've one more thing to show you, uncle richard. it's not much,--only just a beginning,--but i'd like you to see and know about it." trafford followed, without a word, and noll led the way to the little schoolroom, with its two benches and three-legged stool and pile of well-thumbed primers and spelling-books. "it's not much," said noll, apologetically, "but it's a beginning, and they all know their letters, and some can spell a little." trafford evinced no surprise, much to noll's wonder, and merely asked, "where do you find the time?" "after recitations," replied the nephew; and that was all that was said about the matter. trafford went out and sat down on the little wharf, and noll lingered in the doorway of his schoolroom, thinking that he had never seen uncle richard act more strangely. was he offended at what he had done and was doing for the culm people? he wondered. he looked out and saw that his uncle had turned his face away, and was looking off upon the sea with the same dreamy, thoughtful look which he had noticed in his eyes of late. noll would have given a great deal could he have known his thoughts at that moment. to human eyes this grave and thoughtful man, who sat on the wharf, was not a whit less the stern and gloomy creature that he had been an hour before. yet, all hidden from others' gaze, and almost from his own consciousness, a sudden sense of regret and of a great short-coming in himself had welled up through the crust of his hardened heart. his heart had been deeply stirred, and now it smote him. his thoughts took some such shape as this,--even while he was looking with such apparent calmness upon the changing, shadowy lights of the sea:-- "this boy has done more in this short summer for his fellow-men and for his god than i have done in my whole forty years of life! oh, what a life mine has been!--all a wreck, a failure, a miserable waste! and he? why, in this short summer-time, and on this barren rock, he has made his very life a blessing to every one upon it. i suppose those dirty, ignorant fishermen bless the day that brought him here. and i? o heaven! what a failure, what a failure! i've done the world no good,--it's no better for my having lived in it,--it would miss me no more than one of these useless pebbles which i cast into the sea. and this boy--_my_ boy--always at work to make others rejoice that he was born into the world!" for all the calmness and repose that was on his face, he longed to cry out. oh! was there no deliverance? might not these long wasted years yet be paid for by deeds of mercy and charity? but where was there a deliverer? and who could tell how many years of good deeds and charity could pay for forty years of wasted ones? chapter xx. new thoughts and new plans. noll, sitting in the doorway, was presently aroused from a little reverie into which he had fallen by hearing a voice call, "noll, my boy, come here." he obeyed the call, and started for the little wharf, half expecting that uncle richard was about to reprove him for what he had done. trafford gazed in his nephew's face for a short space, and then, smothering what his heart longed to cry out, and what he had intended to say to the boy, he sighed only, "we will start homeward, if you are ready." noll was sure that his uncle had kept back something which it was in his heart to say, and, wondering what it could be, he followed after the tall figure along the homeward path. the sun was getting well down into the west. the fair clearness of the sky was broken by a soft, mellow haze which began to steal across it, yet the afternoon was no less beautiful, and along the horizon there were long and lovely trails of misty color,--faint, delicate flushes of amber and purple,--which gave an added charm to the day's declining. not a word did uncle and nephew speak till, as they rounded the curve of the shore, and the stone house came in sight, trafford asked, abruptly, "noll, where did your pocket-money go?" the boy explained the whole matter, with an account of ned thorn's bounty and help, at the last, and then they paced along the sand in silence, as before. noll managed to get many looks at his uncle's face, and seeing that it wore no stern nor forbidding aspect, ventured to ask,-- "are you offended with me, or what, uncle richard?" trafford took his nephew's hand as he replied, "not in the least, noll." his voice was strangely kind and tender, and noll exclaimed, looking up joyfully and brightly, "i'm very glad, uncle richard! and do you know your voice sounded like papa's just now?" they walked hand in hand along the shore,--noll, at least, very happy,--and looking afar at the sea through glad and hopeful eyes. he mentally prayed that uncle richard's gloom and sternness might never return, and that he might always be in his present softened and subdued mood. they came to the stone house at last, and, as they reached the steps, noll took one long look at his uncle's face, thinking to himself that not soon again should he see it so gentle and tender, for the gloom of the library would soon shadow it, and make it once more stern and forbidding. but, just as if he felt something of this himself, trafford lingered on the steps, as if loath to go in, and at last sat down. noll inwardly rejoiced, and seated himself on the bit of green which he had caused to grow, by much watering and nourishing, close beside the piazza. that little breadth of grass, with its deep verdure, was a wonderfully pleasant thing for the eyes to rest upon in this waste of rock and sand. trafford looked down at it and at the boy sitting there,--his curly locks blown all about his face by the warm wind,--and thought to himself, that, wherever the lad went, brightness and pleasantness sprang up about him, even though the soil was naught but sand and barrenness. his heart was full of reproachful cries. "what this boy has done,--and _i_!" was a thought continually haunting him. and he did not try to put it away; but, as he sat there, went back over all the months of the lad's stay, remembering what he had done to brighten the old stone house and himself, and contrasting all the boy's actions and motives with his own,--sparing himself not at all in the condemnation which his own heart was ready to pronounce. "what this boy has done,--and _i_! i? nothing, nothing! the earth will never miss me, for i have had no part in its life, and have cared naught for its joys or its sorrows; and beyond--where this boy's heaven lies--there will be no place for me, because i have not sought it, and have cared only for my own peace. so i have no part nor place in the world or out of it." a more vivid sense of this truth came to trafford here, and he sighed long and heavily, thinking of what might have been. he saw and felt what a great matter it was to have a heart wherein god's love dwelt so steadfastly that eye nor ear could ever be closed against the wants of his creatures, and the work of his that lay waiting for the doing. and it was another matter to have a heart so cold and frozen that no warmth of his love ever thrilled it with pity or compassion,--ever drew it with tender, gentle guidance toward himself,--ever stirred it with longings for his love and his blessing and upholding. it was no wonder, he thought, that for one heart the earth was joyous and beautiful, while for the other it was but a gloomy, unhappy waste; for over the pure, warm heart's earth god reigned, and his sunshine lighted it, and his flowers blossomed by the wayside, and they who lived in the land were his own, and their needs the needs of his children. all doing was but doing for god, while in a cold, frozen heart his work is not remembered, and the sunshine is but gloom, because it does not come from him, and the flowers are not his, and the poor soul mourns and sorrows, wrapped up in its own darkness and chilliness, and fails to find the earth bright or beautiful. with such thoughts as these in his heart, trafford was silent a long time. the sun set, and shadows began to steal over the sea, gradually and softly wrapping its farther distances in hazy indistinctness. hagar's voice, from the kitchen-door, where she was calling her chickens to their supper, floated around to his ears and awoke him from his long and sorrowful reverie. he started up, surprised to see how fast the light had flitted from sky and earth. noll still sat on the bit of grass, busy over a heap of shells and pebbles, which he had gathered during his afternoon walk. trafford looked at him a few minutes in silence, and finally asked,-- "what plans have you made for winter about your school, my boy?" a sudden look of surprise flitted over the boy's face ere he answered, "i haven't made any, uncle richard. i can't, you see, because the days will be so short that i'm afraid there'll not be time after my recitations. and there's no stove nor fireplace in the room, and not much of anything comfortable. but i'm going to try, though," he added, hopefully. trafford was silent and thoughtful for a long time. at last he said, "what would you say if i forbade you to continue your school through the winter?" "i don't think you'll say that, uncle richard," said noll,--not very confidently, however. "i should be very sorry to give it up now." "even if i thought it best?" noll could not deny but that he should. "they're just beginning to learn," he said, "and it would be too bad for them to lose all they have gained. don't you really think so, too, uncle richard?" [illustration: culm rock.] trafford made no reply to this question, but, when he spoke again, said, "not even if another teacher filled your place, noll?" the boy's tongue was silent with wonder and astonishment. then, thinking his ears had deceived him, he said, "why--why--what did you say, uncle richard?" "i asked you," said trafford, "whether you would be willing to give up the school if another teacher took your place?" the warm, eager color rushed into noll's face, and he cried, "do you mean that--that--a teacher might take my place, uncle richard? do you really mean it? were you in earnest, and shall i answer?" "to be sure," said his uncle, gravely enough. "oh, uncle richard!" cried noll, "i _knew_ the time would come some day! i knew it! i knew it! and will you hire a teacher for those culm children? was that what you meant?" "i do not know that they need two," said trafford. "yes, i'll give up the school this minute!" said noll, remembering that he had not answered his uncle's question; "i'm willing to, if the children can only have a teacher. oh, but it seems too good to be true! and are you really going to hire some one to take my place?" "i have hardly thought yet; you must not press questions upon me too fast. i do not know my own mind." hagar heard their voices, and came around the piazza corner to say, "tea hab been waitin' fur ye dis yer whole hour, mas'r dick, an' 'tain't growin' better, nohow. will ye hab it wait any longer?" "no, we're coming, shortly," said trafford, and presently they went in to tea, for which noll had not the least appetite, in spite of his long walk,--it being quite driven away by the question which his uncle had put to him,--and he spent most of the meal-time in taking keen and watchful looks at uncle richard's face, to see when it began to cloud over with gloom and grow stern and moody again. but the shadow which he so much dreaded did not make its appearance, and from the supper-table they went to the library, where hagar had lit the lamp, noll feeling wonderfully happy and quite sure that this was the eve of a brighter day for uncle richard and the culm people. contrary to his usual habit, trafford did not take up his books on reaching the library, but sat looking thoughtfully at noll, and at last, as if speaking his thoughts aloud, he said,-- "if a new teacher comes, a new schoolroom will have to follow, as a matter of consequence; and those two rough benches which i saw over at culm are hardly the best style of school furniture. and how is it about books?" "there are none but primers and leaves from old spelling-books," said noll, sitting very still and quiet with delight at hearing uncle richard ask such questions. it all seemed like a dream, and not at all a matter of reality. what could have come across the man's feelings so suddenly and with such effect? trafford resumed his inquiries after a short silence, and little by little drew from his nephew the whole story of the school's commencement, and what drawbacks the lack of a good room, with seats and desks and the necessary books, were, till he had made himself acquainted with all the needs of the school. he talked with noll about the culm people, and listened to the boy's hopeful and enthusiastic account of their slight improvement, with something that was very like interest. but the school seemed to interest him most. he proposed that a teacher be sent for to take charge of the school during the winter, and that the best room which could be found among the houses be fitted up as a schoolroom, and as nicely and warmly as possible. the teacher and the furniture would have to come from hastings, and most likely a carpenter would be needed. noll thought of john sampson at once. so the evening passed away in planning and discussion, and when noll went to bed, it seemed as if all the events of the afternoon and evening were but phases of a happy dream, which morning light would banish as unreal. his thankfulness for this token of dawn, after the long, black, weary night of gloom through which he had struggled, could not find words enough in which to praise god for this promise of brighter days. he prayed that it might not be fleeting, and that morning might not show this gleam of brightness to be only imaginary. but the morrow came, and proved yesterday's events to be real and true, and uncle richard still without his stern and gloomy face, and ready to perfect the plans which they had discussed the previous evening. one day after another passed, till noll began to be certain that uncle richard's gloom and moroseness had departed from him forever. the boy wondered and surmised, but could not account for this sudden disappearance of the shadow. what had wrought the change so suddenly? would it last alway? true, uncle richard was not cheerful yet, and he seemed to be carrying some heavy grief or sorrow about with him; but from his face the grimness and gloominess were gone, and noll was sure that there must be some little change in his heart, else he would not care for the welfare of these culm children. a week or two elapsed before this new plan was put in operation, or rather before anything was done toward carrying it out. the skipper was hardly the person to intrust with the care of finding a teacher and looking up school-books, and for a time they were in doubt and perplexity. then noll proposed--what he had long been wishing--to go to hastings himself, and find such a teacher as was needed, procure the suitable books and furniture, and bring john sampson back with him. it would require but a week's absence, and in that time all the business could be done, and some happy days be spent with ned thorn and old friends. trafford hesitated a long time. who could tell what peril the boy might be in while crossing the sea? how could he lose him now? and, when once in the charmed circle of old friends and associations, would he not dislike to return to gray and barren culm rock? but noll went. chapter xxi. in peril of the sea. the day had dawned clear and brilliant, but as the afternoon waned, a gray curtain of ragged cloud slowly rose and hid the sun, and brought an early nightfall. the wind was strong, and the sea--calm and silvery but a few hours before--began to toss and thunder heavily. hagar came from the pine woods with a great basket of cones, just as the early dusk began to settle over the windy sea and to wrap the forest in heavy shadow, and as the old woman crossed the narrow bar of sand which connected culm rock with the main-land, the wind swept over in such strong gusts, and with such blinding sheets of spray, that her safety was more than once endangered. but she reached the firm, unyielding rock, with no worse misfortune than a drenching befalling her, and made her way to the warm and comfortable precincts of her kitchen, with many ejaculations of delight and thankfulness. the first sound which greeted her ears on entering was the long-drawn, solemn voice of the organ. "wonder what mas'r dick's got on his heart dis yer night?" she muttered, bustling about to prepare supper; "'tain't sech music as dat yer organ make lately. 'pears like somethin' was de matter, anyhow." she prepared supper in the dining-room, muttering to herself about the lonesomeness and silence of the house since "mas'r noll dun gone off;" and when the solitary meal was in readiness, put her head in at the library-door and called her master to tea. when she had got back to her kitchen, and was standing in the open door, her grizzled head thrust out into the gathering gloom and tempest to watch the progress of the storm, she noticed that the music did not cease, but kept on in its slow and solemn measure, rising and falling and stealing plaintively in. "something's de matter, sure," hagar said, turning about and shutting the door; "dat ain't de kind of music dat mas'r dick's made lately. 'pears like he's 'stressed 'bout somethin'! but, hagar, ye can't do nuffin but jes' trust de lord, nohow. ye'd better get yer own supper, ef yer mas'r dick don't tech his." she ate her supper and washed the dishes, and gave the little kitchen a stroke or two with her broom, and yet the music from the library came stealing in as sad-voiced and heavy as ever. "'pears as if he'd never eat his supper," hagar grumbled; "de chile can't live on music, allers, nohow. reckon he'll nebber hab much sperits till he eats more. but jes' stop yer talkin', chile, ye can't do nuffin' but trust de lord." by and by the wandering notes ceased, and in the deep silence there came up the hoarse and awful roar of the surf, with the wailing of the wind over the chimney, and filled the house with their echoes. hagar heaped wood on the fire, drew her little low chair nearer the light and gladsome blaze, shivering and muttering as she did so. she had a great dread of cold and darkness, and the deep hush, broken by the clamor of the sea, made her afraid. "de lord's about," said she, drawing her old woollen shawl close around her; "de lord's on de sea, an' 'pears like nobody need be feared when he holds it in his hand like as i holds dis yer silber ob mas'r noll's dat he lost under de rug in de dinin'-room,"--looking down at the shining coin which she had picked up that morning, and wondering where the boy was at that moment. "'pears as ef de sunshine had been hid de whole time sence he went off to de city," she muttered, gazing in the coals. "wonder ef mas'r dick misses him? wonder ef dis yer ole woman won't be tickled 'nuff to see him when de day comes? ki! hagar, ye knows ye will." the roar of the sea and the cry of the wind came in again, more lonesome, sadder than ever. the old negress shivered, peered about her into the dark corners of the kitchen, and crooned to herself,--a wild, monotonous air, set to words which came to her lips for the occasion:-- "oh, hagar, don't ye know de lord's on de sea? he rides on de waves, and de wind is in his hand,-- de lord keeps dem all! what ye feared of, hagar? kase, don't ye know de lord's in it? 'pears like ye done forget dat de whole time--now!" and she broke into her rhymeless chant again. it was only a way she had got of setting her thoughts to music, drawing the words out very slowly, and weaving to and fro the while. when she had repeated her first lines, she kept on with her thoughts, peering over her shoulder at the flickering shadows which the fire cast on the wall behind her, shivering with awe at the clamor without, and chanting, waveringly,-- "oh, hagar, don't ye know de lord's on de sea? de wind blows, an' de sky is dark, an' de sea _cries like a little chile_, an' de boats will be blowed away; but de lord is good, an' mornin' will come, an', oh, hagar, sing hallelujah! fur de lord is in it all!" here she stopped her chanting, and began to sing "hallelujah!" softly, ceasing her swaying, to look into the coals. the fire burned down to rosy embers, in which little blue-tongued flames darted up fitfully,--anon lighting up the room brilliantly, then dying away and leaving it almost in darkness,--while hagar's crooning died away to a whisper. a little gray light still shone in at the kitchen-window, but it was fast flitting. the roar of the sea became thunder, the wind grew tempestuous. by and by the rain began to fall, sounding strangely soft and still, when compared with the din of wind and waves. "god bress us!" said hagar, "dis yer is an awful night. keep de boats off de rock, lord, and pity de sailors in dis yer awful storm!" the old woman knew how the sea must look now,--yeasty, horrible, its white wave-caps shining through the darkness and hurrying to topple over and thunder against the rocks. to her, as she sat crouched before the fire, it seemed to howl and scream and mourn hoarsely, like some great voice rending the night with lamentation. "call on de lord, hagar," she muttered frequently; "can't nuffin else help ye now!" sometimes she fell to chanting her thoughts,--the sound of her own voice was pleasant to her in the loneliness,--and she piled cedar chips on the fire to see their cheerful blaze and enjoy their brisk crackle. "might as well hab a candle," she said, after a time. "git yer knittin', chile, an' 'pear as ef ye didn't distrus' de lord. what ef de wind is blowin'? what ef de sea is a-screamin'? don't ye know whose wind and whose sea 'tis?" she got up to grope for a candle on the shelf over the fireplace. "hagar!" exclaimed a voice at the farther end of the kitchen,--a voice so full of compressed fear and anxiety that the old negress tumbled back in her chair with affright,--"hagar! are you here?" demanded the voice. "bress ye! yes, i's here, mas'r dick!" she answered, catching sight of his white face by the dining-room door. "i's here, but ye spoke so suddent! jes' wait, an' i'll hab a candle in a minnit." the candle was found, and, after a long blowing of coals and burning of splinters, began to burn dimly. hagar set it on the table, and looked up at her master with a start of alarm, his face was so white and anxious. "hagar," said he, huskily, "_noll was to start from hastings this morning!_" the old negress stood looking at him a full minute,--a fearful, lonesome minute in which the rain beat against the panes, and the awful voice of the sea filled the room,--then she sank down by the fire with a low cry. "lord bress us all!" she wailed, as she looked up, "fur he'll nebber get here, mas'r dick!" trafford looked at her silently. oh, that awful voice without!--the thunder, the tremble of the earth, the screaming of the wind! at last,-- "is ye certain sure, mas'r dick? d'ye _know_ he started? did he say?" "oh, hagar, if i did not--_not know_,--if i had any doubt that he started, i would give all my possessions this very moment!" "'tain't de money nor de lands dat'll do now!" moaned hagar, beginning to sway back and forth; "it's only de lord! de lord's on de sea to-night, an' 'tain't fur man to say! oh, mas'r dick! t'ink o' dat bressed boy in dese waves an' dis wind!" "hush!" said the master, imperatively, "i will _not_ think of it! it can't be! noll? oh, hagar, i believe i'm going mad!" he turned away from the old negress and opened the door. the tempest swept in, overturning the candle and flaring up the fire, and bearing the rain, in one long gust, across the little kitchen, even into hagar's face. trafford stood there, regardless of wind and rain, looking out upon the sea. the mighty tumult awed him and filled his heart with a sense of man's utter weakness and helplessness. the foamy expanse gleamed whitely through the night,--awful with the terror of death,--and its deafening roar smote upon his ears, and in the slightest lull, the rain-drops fell with a soft, dull patter. noll in it all?--in this fearful, yawning sea,--in this wild tumult of wind and rain,--in the vast waste of waves which the thick darkness shrouded, and where death was riding? "god help me!" he cried in sudden frenzy,--"god help me!" he looked up at the thick, black depths of sky with a groan of agony when he remembered his utter powerlessness. but what right had he to look to heaven for aid?--he who knew not god, nor sought him, nor desired his love? the bitterness of this thought made him groan and beat his breast. would he--whom all his life long he had refused and rejected--hear his cries? hagar's voice came to him here through all the din and thunder, beseeching that the door might be closed. he closed it behind him, and stepped out into the darkness. it was already past the hour for the "gull" to arrive, he remembered, and then a sudden thought flashed through his brain that beacons ought to be kindled to guide the skipper, if he were not already beyond the need of earthly guides and beacons. and close upon this thought came a remembrance of the culm fishermen,--stout, skilful sailors, all of them,--and a great hope filled his heart that in them he might find aid in his extremity. and without waiting for a second thought, he started through the inky darkness and the tempest for culm village. he ran till he was breathless. he climbed and groped his way over and along the slippery rocks, the awful voice of the sea filling his ears and goading him on. chapter xxii. weary watching. the evening wore on. they were all on the beach,--trafford and the culm fishermen,--and now a beacon fire streamed up into the darkness, and made the night seem even more black and intense. they had piled their heap of driftwood somewhat in the shelter of a great rock, and around it the men were huddled, muttering and whispering to each other, and casting sober glances at trafford, who stood apart from them in the shadow. not a word had he spoken since the fire was kindled, but, grim and silent as a statue, had stood there, with his eyes looking upon the gleaming sea, and the rain beating in his face. he had worked desperately while gathering driftwood. "the master be crazed, like," dirk had whispered to the men as they came in with armfuls of fuel. "d'ye see his eyes? d'ye see the way he be runnin' up an' down, poor man?" "ay, an' his lad be where many o' your'n an' mine ha' been, eh, dirk?" said hark harby. "mabby he ken tell what 'tis ter be losin' his own, an' no help fur it, eh?" "sh!" said dirk; "the sea ben't able ter get sech a lad as his every day. if he be lost, 'tis a losin' fur more'n he, yender." this was before the beacon was kindled. now they huddled in a gloomy circle about the hissing, sputtering fire, some crouching close to the rock to save themselves from the rain, and the others drawing their heads down into their wide-collared jackets, that bade defiance to the wet. the wind whirled and raved, and the sea thundered on. the fire cast a little pathway of light through the darkness, down to the sea's edge, and they could see its waves all beaten to foam as white as milk, flecking the sand in great patches. it was an awful waiting. by and by hagar came down along the sand in a great hood-cloak that gave her a most weird and witchlike appearance. the fishermen looked at her with startled, suspicious eyes as the bent old figure suddenly emerged from the darkness into the full glare of the firelight. the old negress passed on to where trafford was standing. "i's here, mas'r dick," she said, touching his arm, as if fain to assure him of her presence and sympathy. he did not repel her, but said, with much of kindness in his tone, "this is no place for you, hagar." "de lord's here," said hagar, quietly, "an' i's gwine ter stay. i isn't feared, mas'r dick." trafford looked in her wrinkled, time-worn old face yearningly. this black, ignorant old woman had something within her heart that gave her a peace and serenity in this fearful hour that he envied. he felt the truth of this as he had never felt it before. she was stayed and upheld by some invisible hand. somehow, in her humble life, this old negress had found some great truth which all his own study and research had failed to teach him. he turned about and made her a seat of boards on an old spar which lay on the sand, under the shelter of the rock by the fire. "t'ank ye, mas'r dick," said hagar, tremulously, as she sat down. this unusual kindness touched her. it was like his old-time thoughtfulness and gentleness, when he was her own blithe, merry schoolboy, she thought. the rain began to fall less heavily. only now and then a great drop fell with a hiss and sputter into the fire; but the wind grew fiercer as the evening waned, and the thunder and pounding of the sea was deafening. the spray dashed higher and higher, quite up to the backs of the men who huddled about the fire, and its fine mist sifted even into hagar's face and grizzled locks. "'tain't nuffin tu what dat bressed boy is suff'rin'," she sighed, wiping the cold drops off her cheeks; "'pears as ef dis ole heart 'ud split'n two, thinkin' ob it. o good lord, bress de chile!--bress him,--bress him!--dat's all hagar ken say." it was a weary watching. as the war of the sea grew louder and the wind fiercer, the culm fishermen gathered into a yet closer group, and looked with awed and sober faces in the fire. for all that these men followed the sea, and it was almost a native element to them, they seemed to have a great dread and awe of it. trafford yet stood apart from them with his eyes looking into the dense night, and hagar, all muffled in her great cloak, swayed slowly to and fro with her face hidden. oh, the suspense and agony of those minutes!--the weary watching and waiting for--what? it came at last. in the short space of silence between the bursting of two great waves, there rose a cry from out the great waste of darkness beyond their little length and breadth of light. trafford started and sprang forward. the men around the fire were startled from their crouching positions by this shrill, sudden shout, and looked in one another's faces and--waited. but the cry was not repeated. then dirk said,-- "it wur the skipper, sure. o lord, men! but i be feared the 'gull' be on the rocks, yender." the sweat stood in drops on his forehead, and he slowly clinched and unclinched his great brawny hands. trafford heard his words, and a sudden faintness like death smote him. but it passed away, and in sudden frenzy and despair he rushed up to dirk, exclaiming,-- "how do you know, man? how can you tell? there was only a cry!" before dirk could answer, there rose, clear and distinct, that one solitary voice from out the darkness,--a fearful, appealing cry for aid from some human heart out there in the awful presence of death. and that thrilling cry was all. it never came again. trafford beat his breast with agony. then he turned upon the fishermen. "why do you stand here," he cried, furiously, "when they are perishing out there? my boy is there!--my boy that's done so much for you and yours! will you let him drown without lifting a hand to save him?" "it be no use to try," said the men, pointing to the surf; "boat's ud crack like a gull's shell out there." "but try,--only try!" shouted trafford, in an agonized tone. "if money will tempt you, you shall have all of mine! you shall have more than ever your eyes saw before! i will make you all rich!--only try,--only try!" "we'd try soon enough for the young master's sake, an' ye might keep yer gold," said dirk; "but it wud be no use, an' only losin' of life. the lad be beyont our help or yer gold, either." "'tain't de money nor de lands dat'll do, now," moaned hagar; "it's only de lord!" "but think of it, you ungrateful wretches!" cried trafford, frantically,--"the lad has done more for you and yours than you can ever repay! he went across the sea this time to do you good, and it's for your sakes that he's out in the peril yonder! will you let him drown without even an attempt to save him? will you?" dirk shook his head. "it be no use," he said, "but we ken try. i be not one to hev it said that i be unthankful. here, lads, give us a hand! ef i'll be riskin' my life fur any one, 'tis fur the lad yender." they dragged a boat down to the curling line of foam, and watching for a favorable opportunity, launched it. trafford sprang in with them, and they pushed into the darkness. it seemed hardly three minutes to those who stood around the fire, before a great wave came riding in and threw the boat and its load upon the sand. dirk sprang up and seized trafford before the returning flood had engulfed him. he pointed to the rent ribs of the boat, saying, as he shook himself,-- "it be as i told ye. yer lad be beyont yer gold or yer help." they made no more attempts. trafford gave up the idea of a rescue, and paced up and down the sand in the very face of the surf that drenched him at every tumble. utterly helpless! the cold, cruel sea mocked his despair and frenzy. it was great and mighty, and even now was swallowing his treasure, he thought, which lay almost within his power to save. so near!--and yet death between! the thought made him half wild with despair and horror. yet there was no help,--nowhere to turn for aid or succor,--not the faintest hope of saving the boy's life. the sea must swallow him. the fishermen looked askance at the wild, desperate figure that rushed up and down the sand as if it sought to burst through the sea and save its treasure, and whispered gloomily among themselves. suddenly the man wheeled about and came up to the fire, crying, fiercely,-- "hagar, you have a god! i cannot find him. pray to him,--pray to him! quick, woman!--pray to him before it's too late!" "lord help ye, mas'r dick!" said hagar, "i's jes' prayin' fur de dear chile ebery minnit! don't ye know it? but de lord's out thar!"--pointing with her skinny finger to the depths of darkness which shrouded the sea, with such vehemence as to startle the fishermen; "he's wid dat boy, and thar can't nuffin kill his soul. it's only goin' to glory quicker'n de rest ob us. don't ye know it, mas'r dick?--can't ye feel it? what's de winds or de waves, so long as de lord's got ye in his arms, holdin' ye up?--as he's got dat boy ob your'n. oh, mas'r dick! jes' humble yerself 'fore de lord, right off. what's de use ob stribin' to fight him?--what's de use? 'tain't no use!--ye knows it dis minnit!--ye knows it all ober! call on de lord yerself, mas'r dick!--call on de lord 'fore it's too late!" "i cannot, i cannot!" groaned trafford, dropping down on the sand by his old nurse; "i don't know him, and he will not hear me. oh, my boy, my boy!" he gave up then. hagar knew by the way he sank back upon the sand, all the wildness and fierceness gone out of his face, and the crushed, broken-hearted manner in which his head drooped, that he had given up the boy. she gathered his head on her knee, as she had often done when he was a youth, and stroked it tenderly, saying, as her tears dropped,-- "poor chile, poor honey! hagar's sorry fur ye. it's a dreadful t'ing not ter know de lord; ain't it, chile? can't do nuffin widout him, somehow. but hagar hopes ye'll find him; she hopes ye'll find him dis berry night. 'pears like he ain't fur off dis awful night; an', o lord jesus!"--folding her hands reverently, and looking toward the sea as if she saw her redeemer walking there,--"come an' bress dis poor broken heart dat can't find ye. it's jes' waitin' fur de bressin', an' 'pears like 'twould faint ter def ef ye didn't come. come, lord, come." the night wore slowly on. the "gull" began to break in pieces and float ashore. the fishermen had enough to do to snatch the boxes and bales which the sea hurled up. as yet, none of the "gull's" more precious freight of life had made its way through the sea to the shore. dirk was watching keenly for it. a half-dozen draggled, fearful women had stolen down from their houses, and were standing by the fire, whispering and talking in undertones, with many glances of pity at the figure lying prone on the sand with its head in the old black woman's lap. "alack!" said dirk, with a great sigh, "it wur a fine lad. i never knowed kinder nor better. ye ken all say that, women, an' this be the sorriest night i ever knowed, 'cept when my little gal died. he wur good to my little gal, the lad wur, an' he giv' me a bit o' flower to put on the sand where she be sleepin', an' it growed an' growed an' blossomed, an' the blossom wur like a great blue eye,--like my little gal's eye,--an' many's the night after fishin' i've gone up ter the buryin'-place ter look at it. an' now the lad himself be gone," said dirk, wiping his eyes and snuffling. "ay, it be a heavy night!" moaned the women, wiping their eyes with the corners of their aprons. a great heap of bales and boxes and bits of the "gull's" timbers was accumulating on the sand by the fire. the women sat down on them, keeping up their low talk and whispers, and watching the two silent figures the other side of the fire. the man moved not a muscle. the old negress bent over him, stroking his forehead and whispering and crooning. only once he had said, chokingly, "my noll!--all that was left to me," and now lay passive and unheeding, overwhelmed and crushed by the sense of his loss and the consciousness that the sea had quenched the brave, bright life forever. chapter xxiii. waiting. the long, long, weary night gave way to a gray and gloomy dawn. the tempest had not abated, and the sea thundered as furiously as ever. the wet and shivering women had gone back to their houses and their little ones; and as the cold, steely light of the coming day began to whiten in the east, hagar made her way back to her kitchen, where she kindled a fire to warm her numb limbs. never more, she thought,--rocking to and fro before the pleasant blaze,--could the old house be bright or cheerful. the sea had quenched its life and its joy, and never again would the merry voice echo in the great rooms, or the quick, eager steps sound along the hall and in at her kitchen-door. "o good, bressed lord!" moaned she, "bress yer poor chil'en dat's lef' behind! 'pears like dey was jes' ready ter fall down an' faint ter def ef ye didn't hold 'em up. o lord, keep hagar up, an' 'vent her from 'strustin' ye! bress us, lord, fur we ain't nuffin dis yer time. ye's all we hab ter hold on ter." meanwhile, trafford and the fishermen lingered on the shore, waiting for the sea to give up its dead. the east grew whiter, and light broke dimly over the waste of waves, and faintly showed them where the "gull" had struck. there was not much left of the little craft,--only a few timbers and the taper point of a mast, wedged in between some outlying rocks, which the sea thundered over. it was a dreary sight,--the vast, immeasurable waste lashed into foam, and dimly discerned through the gray gleaming of the dawn, with the bit of wreck swaying in the wares, where those lives had gone out in the awful thunder and darkness; but trafford gazed upon it with a calm face. groans and lamentation could not express the agony which rent his heart, and he walked up and down the drenched sand with a calm, white face that awed dirk whenever he looked upon it. "it be a heavier stroke for the master an' we ken tell, lads," he said to his comrades, as they kept keen lookout for the poor bodies which the sea still kept. "ay, there be a heart within him like the rest of us," said one of the fishermen, looking at trafford as he kept his watchful vigil; "an' he be only losin' what we hev lost afore." "but the lad wur not like ours," said dirk, pityingly, "an' it wur a finer lad an' ever i see afore." so they talked as they watched and waited, and the light grew, and somewhere behind the lowering banks of clouds in the east the sun had risen, and all the land and sea lay cold and warmthless and forlorn. trafford relinquished not his keen search for a moment, fearful lest the waves should cast his lost treasure at his feet and snatch it back before he could grasp it. the dear face might be bruised and battered by the cruel, remorseless sea, and the eyes could never beam upon him with any light of love or recognition, he thought; yet find it and look upon it he must, even though the sight agonized him. so he watched and waited, with his tearless eyes roaming along the line of foam. an hour fled. the sea relented, and gave up one poor form into the fishermen's hands. trafford walked calmly out to where the men were bending over it with pale, awed faces, and saw that it was not noll. he shivered, looking at the skipper's stalwart figure, and wondered whether, if the sailor but had the power of speech, he might not tell him something of his boy,--whether he met death's dark face calmly and fearlessly, and whether he sent a message to those whom he saw on the shore and could not call to. this thought gave him fresh anguish. if noll had sent him a farewell,--a last message,--oh, what would he not give to hear it? but, if that were really the case, it had died with those to whom it was intrusted. the sea would never whisper it,--the dead could not. he went back to his lonely pacing. another long, long hour passed. the bit of wreck that was jammed between the rocks went to pieces and came ashore. ben's mate came with it, but no noll. the men began to straggle homeward, weary and worn with the night's vigil, till only dirk and hark darby were left to keep the stricken master of the stone house company. oh, such a weary waiting it was!--the ceaseless pouring of the waves upon the sand filling their ears with clamor, and the fearful tide bringing them not the treasure which they sought. would the sea never give it up? was the dear form caught and held by the entangling arms of some purple weed in the sea depths? or was it cradled in the calm, unruffled quiet of some crevice of the rocks? "oh, cruel, cruel sea!" he cried to himself, "to rob me of my boy, and refuse to give back the poor boon of his body." it never came. the morning wore on to noon, the noon to night, and still the lonely watcher paced up and down. toward night the tempest abated, and the turmoil of the sea subsided somewhat. the gray clouds broke and let through a slant mist of yellow sunshine as the sun departed, and the storm was over. its work was done; and as the clouds fled in ragged squadrons, the calm, untroubled stars shone out over the sea, and mocked, with their deep, unutterable peace, the aching, wretched heart of him who still kept up his lonely pacing. trafford's eyes suddenly caught sight of their silvery glitter, and he stopped, looking up at them, while the sudden thought flashed through his mind, "is my boy up there? beyond those shining worlds, in that happy heaven which he trusted in?" the thought held him silent and motionless. it had not entered his heart before. he had been searching for the lad upon this dreary, sea-beaten shore, without a thought of anything beyond. was he really standing upon a heavenly shore, where no waves beat nor tempest raved, and, perhaps, looking down upon his own lonely vigil? there was something in this thought which brought a great calm upon his heart. true, the boy was no less dead nor separated from him; the merry voice was no less hushed to him for all his life and journeying, and the echo of his footsteps might never float down from heavenly paths to gladden his ears; yet, though he realized this, there was a wonderful peace and joy in thinking of the lad as happy and joyous in a sphere where nothing would ever blight his happiness; where he had found those who bore him a great love and had been long waiting for his coming. trafford sat down on the great pile of broken timbers, and once more looked upward at the stars. pure and unwavering their gentle eyes looked down at him. and then peaceful as an angel's whisper, came the remembered words of one who was an angel too: "oh, richard! don't fail--don't fail to find him and cling to him, and come up,--come up too." why, oh, why, of all times, did this gentle breathing come to him here? it seemed to trafford as if his wife's lips had whispered it close to his ear, and he bowed his head upon his breast, while his breath came quick and fast, and bitter tears of grief stood in his eyes. had god taken his treasures, one after another, and placed them in that heaven which they all looked forward to, that his own wayward, straying heart might be drawn thither? was this last loss meant to be the great affliction which, through love, should turn his heart toward god and his kingdom? he could not tell; his heart was strangely stirred and melted within him. it seemed to him as if that angel whisper had driven the great burden of despair and agony out of his heart by its gentle breathing, and left it broken and sorrowful, yet not without peace and hope. he looked up at the stars and thought of noll, and wept. they were not tears of agony, and he did not rave and groan. a slow step came along the sand, turning hither and thither, as if in quest of some one. it drew near trafford, at last, and a tremulous old voice said,-- "is dis ye, mas'r dick? hagar's glad 'nough ter find ye, anyhow. 'pears like she couldn't stay up ter de house, nohow,--'twas so lonesome." "yes, i know, hagar," said the man, without raising his head. the twilight was so thick that the old negress could not see the speaker's face, but a certain tremble and softness of his voice did not escape her notice. "have ye foun' de lord, mas'r dick?" she asked, quickly. "i know not what i have found," trafford answered, while his tears fell; "but if i might find his face, and know that it smiled upon me, i should care for little else." "now praise de lord!" said hagar, fervently; "dat's more'n ye ever felt afore. thar's help fur ye, mas'r dick, an' 'tain't fur off!" "too far for me to find it!" said trafford; "he does not smile upon those who have rejected him." "oh, chile!" said hagar, in a shocked tone; "don't ye know de lord's all mercy an' lubbin' kin'ness? don't ye know he won't 'spise an' hate ye jes' as ef he was like a man? oh, honey! hagar's feared ter hear ye talk like dat. 'pears as ef ye made de lord jes' like poor, eble, good-fur-nuffin man." trafford made no reply. a sudden darkness seemed shutting down upon him. it was as if a great golden gleam had fallen out of heaven upon him, warming and softening his heart, and when he turned with tears and joy to look along its pathway heavenward, it vanished and left him groping in confusion and dismay. he got up from off his seat, saying, mournfully,-- "the brightness is all gone from me! i'm in doubt and fear. oh, how can i ever find his face?--and how can he ever smile upon me who have rejected him?" hagar sighed heavily as she said, "ye don't 'preciate de lord, chile. ye talks jes' as ef he was a man, an' could feel 'vengeful towards ye! don't s'pose any _man_ could forgive ye, honey, but de bressed lord is all lub,--hagar knows _dat_,--an' jesus died jes' as much fur ye as he did fur anybody. ye's got to look to dat bressed lord jesus, an' ef ye looks hard 'nough, ye'll find him. oh, hagar t'anks de lord frum de bottom ob her heart fur yer feelin' so to-night." "but i have not found him! he is hidden from me!" said trafford. "but ye will ef ye looks long enough!" said hagar, cheerfully; "he'll come out ob de darkness to ye: bimeby. bress ye, chile, dis ole woman was lookin' an' seekin' an' stribin' in mis'ry till she was 'bout ready to give up in 'spair; but i foun' him at las', an' he nebber 'sook hagar,--nebber!" the sea was growing calmer with every hour that passed. but it was rough and thunderous still, and its wave-crests gleamed whitely under the starlight. trafford at last remembered the lateness of the hour, and said, "come, hagar, this is no place for us. we will go in." the two slowly made their way along the shore up to the dark and deserted stone house. hagar smothered the sigh that rose up from her heart as the silence and loneliness smote upon it, and led the way around to her kitchen-door. "poor chile! ye habn't had nuffin to eat dis day," said she, after they were once within her little dominion and she had kindled the fire; "go into de libr'y, honey, an' i'll hab ye sumfin' purty quick." but trafford shook his head, saying, "not there!--not there, yet!" and sat down on the bench by the fire. hagar moved wearily about from the cupboard to the table, saying to herself,-- "what ye t'inkin' ob, hagar, to tell him dat? dar's all poor mas'r noll's books an' t'ings lyin' 'bout eberywhar, an' how ken de poor chile stan' it? de lord's han' is heaby upon him, an', o good lord jesus, jes' come an' bress de poor chile an' sabe him!" chapter xxiv. days of calm. he found it at last,--the peace which comes after a long, weary, despairing struggle. but it was not easily won. it seemed to trafford as if god had hidden himself in a thick, awful darkness, through which not the faintest ray of light or hope could glimmer upon his heavy, despairing heart. he sought for him as one who, feeling himself in the grasp of death, would seek for life. he had long rejected him and put him away; now, in his hour of anguish and extremity, his face and his peace were hard to find. never had such utter silence reigned in the stone house since its occupancy as reigned there now. hagar kept mostly within her own province, and trafford sat day after day in the dining-room, hardly stirring from thence. he had not entered the library since the night of the shipwreck, neither had hagar stepped within the room, where all noll's books and shells and treasures gathered from the sea lay, and where everything hinted of the sunny, joyous life which once had made the great room cheerful. neither looked within, as if they dreaded to recall the dear and pleasant vision of the curly-haired boy who had lived and studied there. these were the days in which trafford groped in darkness and despondency. hagar set the table by his side, and brought him his meals, and carried away the untasted viands, with much sighing and regret, but, nevertheless, with joy in her heart. "'pears as ef 'twas a drefful t'ing fur de poor chile ter be suff'rin' so," she would sigh to herself as she watched his worn and heavy face on her passages through the room; "but hagar's t'ankful 'nough to see it, 'cause de poor chile'll find de lord bimeby. bress de lord! mas'r dick'll find him some time!" a long and weary week passed away. without, the world had never been fairer, nor the sea lovelier. no storms lashed it, and the great world of waves glittered calm and untroubled under the sun, with no hint of death or woe in its purple evening lights or its bright morning gleams. then, after this long seeking, a faint hope began to dawn in trafford's heart. he did not dare to give it heed or trust at first,--he who had been in despair so long,--and when, at last, he began to put forth feeble, trembling anticipations of the peace and joy which might come when god's smile and forgiveness shone upon him, this little ray of hope broadened and grew warmer and brighter, and he began to look up out of his depths of anguish. it was long coming,--it seemed at times to be utterly unattainable,--it was sometimes almost within his heart, and then it fled from him; but at last it came, and abode with him,--this peace which a poor, wandering soul feels after it has found its lord. then he was at rest. he came out into hagar's kitchen one sunshiny afternoon, and, in answer to the old negress' look of wonder and surprise at seeing him there, said, with a grave joy thrilling his words,-- "hagar, i have found him; and i do not think that his peace will ever leave me, or that my heart will ever forget him." hagar got up off the bench where she was sitting, and came slowly forward, saying, brokenly, "bress de lord, bress de lord! dat's all hagar ken say. oh, chile, ef ye knew how dis ole heart felt ter hear ye say dem words! ef ye only c'u'd know! but ye nebber will till dis ole woman gits such a tongue as de lord'll gib her when she gets ter heaben. den hagar ken tell ye!" she followed him to the door, and sat down there in the sunshine, softly blessing him again and again as she watched him follow the thread of a path which led around to the piazza. trafford paused here, on the smooth sand by the piazza-steps, and looked out upon the sea. it was like a new sea, and the very earth seemed not as of old, for now god reigned over them, and it was his sunshine which fell so brightly and broadly everywhere, and his smile and the knowledge of his forgiveness which filled his heart with such utter peace and tranquillity. this great joy and calm held him quiet for a little space, and, when he turned about, his eyes fell upon the little breadth of grass waving there by the step. one or two gay, crimson asters nodded in the warm wind, planted there by the same hand that watered and cared for the bit of turf. trafford sat down by them, stroking the turf's green blades, and gazing at the warm-hued flowers through tears. "gone--gone," they seemed to whisper as they softly rustled. somehow these tender, soulless things brought up the boy's memory most vividly. he remembered how noll sat on the same bit of turf only those two short weeks ago with the warm wind blowing his curly locks about his eyes while he looked off upon the sea. who thought of danger or death then? who thought of death lying in wait in that calm, shadowy sea? trafford's tears fell thick and fast upon the green blades, thinking of the lad. did ever the sea quench a fairer, brighter life? he wondered,--a life fuller of rich and generous promise? yet, only two short weeks ago,--short, in reality, but slow and long in passing,--the boy had sat upon this little breadth of verdure full of life and spirits and happiness. "ah!" sighed he, "i knew not a treasure i possessed till it passed from me. now that i have lost it, i see what a blissful life i might have made for myself and it. god forgive me! but i was harsh and cruel to the boy. i made his life darker and less joyous than it ought to have been." he sat here for a long time, till once more his face was calm and undisturbed. sometime, he thought, he might meet the boy face to face, and tell him all that his heart longed to unburden itself of. he rose up, at last, and went slowly in, pausing at the library-door. after a few seconds of indecision, he opened it, and went softly in. the room was cold and chilly from its long unoccupancy; but through one of the high windows, and along the floor, streamed a broad bar of cheerful sunlight. it fell right across noll's study-table and the chair which he was wont to occupy. trafford moved forward, sat down in the chair, and looked about him with misty eyes. traces of the boy's presence everywhere! the familiar school-books, open to the last lessons which trafford had heard him recite; bits of paper, with sums and solutions traced thereon; copies of the fine and feathery sea-moss, which it was the boy's delight to gather, with odd pebbles and shells, met his gaze on either hand. he took up a scrap of paper from among the rest, and found something thereon which the boy had written, evidently in an idle moment. trafford, however, read it not without emotion. it merely said:-- "_wednes., aug. ._--this is a long, gray, rainy day, and i have not stirred out of the house. i am at this moment (or ought to be) studying my latin lesson. uncle richard has not spoken a word to me since breakfast. i wish i knew what made him look so grim and sober to-day, and i _do_ wish he would speak to me. when the fog lifted just now, i fancied i saw a ship on the horizon, bound for hastings, i suppose. oh, but i--" here the slight record was broken off. perhaps the boy had gone back to his latin, or perhaps the passing ship had taken his thoughts along with it to hastings, and thus left the half-commenced exclamation unfinished. trafford read and reread the little bit of paper, and folded it carefully, and put it away with the precious letter which the boy's father had written on his dying-bed. then he began to gather up noll's books, thinking to put them out of his sight, but stopped before he had taken the third in his hand. why hide them? why shut them up in darkness, as if some evil, dreaded memory were connected with the sight of them? had not everything about the boy and his life been bright and pleasant to think of? he put the books back in their places, saying to himself, "they shall stay where they are. hagar shall not move them, and i will have them before my eyes alway, just as his dear hands left them? why should i try to hide aught that his blessed memory lingers around?" so he left everything just as noll's hands had placed them last, and rose up from his chair, and went to his old familiar seat by the great bookcase, where he had sat and pored over great volumes day after day, and watched the boy at his studies. the portrait on the wall looked down at him with its soft and tender eyes, and he thought, "now i may look at it without its reproaching me; for, dear heart, i have begun to 'come up.' i have turned my eyes toward thy abode, and, god helping me, i may some day hear thy own sweet voice. and though i may never see the boy's face, and rejoice to look upon it as i do upon thine, yet his pure memory lingers about everything that he loved and touched, and his face can never be removed from my heart." calm and peaceful days passed, and the third week after the shipwreck went by, and life in the stone house began to move on as it was wont to do. once more the red light from the library-window streamed out into the night, but there was no skipper ben and his "gull" for it to guide. not a sail had been seen near the rock, and its inhabitants had been shut out from the rest of mankind for three long weeks. that which at first was only an inconvenience grew to be a serious matter at last. the culm folk, never very provident, exhausted their supply of flour and meal, and had only fish to eat; and fish, with a little salt, was not an extensive nor varied bill of fare. in some way or another, hagar discovered that the people had exhausted all their stores, and through her it came to trafford's ears. "nuffin but fish ter live on, an' not de greatest plenty o' dat," hagar had said, standing beside trafford's chair in the library. the man started, as a sudden remembrance of forgotten duties came into his mind. he had neglected to look after those culm people,--he had forgotten about noll's school and its pupils. but it should be so no longer, he resolved at once. that work which the boy loved and desired to complete, he would take up and carry out. it should be a pleasure and delight. he would gather up the broken, half-completed plans, and make it the work of his life to perfect them as noll would have done. now the inmates of the stone house were not well supplied with provisions, as the winter stores had not been laid in. there was no telling when another ship would touch at culm, but, in all probability, it would be soon. the skipper must have friends somewhere, who would be searching for his whereabouts. trafford divided his supplies with the fishermen, trusting that ere long some sail would appear, bound for the rock, or within signalling distance of it. he walked often by the sea, looking toward hastings, and trying in vain to discern some sail bound hitherward. he walked over to culm village, and lingered about the little room where noll's school had been, and resolved that the plan of a new schoolroom, with good seats, benches, and a faithful teacher, should be carried out if ever communication was opened between the rock and hastings. and if no teacher could be got for the winter, he would teach the children himself. he wondered whether there were any chairs or benches left from the cargo of the "gull," remembering that noll was to bring school-furniture from hastings with him; but, though he searched long and keenly among the timbers and refuse which the sea had thrown up, he could not find so much as a bit of varnished wood that looked as if it might have belonged to a desk or chair. at this he wondered, but thought, "the poor boy was unsuccessful, or else the sea refuses to give up aught that was his, as well as himself." and still he watched and waited for a sail, thinking that if none came soon, a way must be devised for getting to hastings. chapter xxv. out of the sea. the fourth week after the shipwreck dragged slowly away,--spent in watching and waiting for a sail. none came. the lack of good food was getting to be a serious matter for both culm folk and the inmates of the stone house. trafford's stores were well-nigh exhausted, and the last day of that long fourth week was spent in company with dirk sharp and some of his comrades, devising plans by which they might communicate with hastings. the master of the stone house walked homeward after his conference with the fishermen, and paused in the gathering dusk on the spot where he had stood that fearful night when the "gull" and her crew were on the rocks in the awful roar and thunder of the tempest. how silent and peaceful it all lay now,--the sea purpling in its calm and shadowy depths, its waves faintly murmuring on the pebbles, and, overhead, the arch of silvery sky bending down to the far horizon, full of the tender lights of the after-glow! only one month since that fearful night, yet how far in the dim past the event seemed! what a great darkness and despair he had struggled through! how full and real every minute of those four weeks had been! and, as he stood there, such strong and tender memories of the lad he had lost came back to him that he turned away with a throbbing heart, and walked homeward along the sand with a bowed head, and so failed to see the white gleaming of a sail which rose out of the sea and stood toward the rock. the lingering daylight touched it with a rosy flush as the rising night-breeze bore it steadily onward; but trafford saw it not, and went up the piazza-steps, and into the stone house, without turning his eyes seaward. he ate his scanty supper, which hagar--poor heart!--had placed upon the table with a wonderful display of dishes, as if to make up for the lack of food by a board spread with cups and plates enough for a feast, and then took his way to the silent library. he sat down at his organ, and from its long-silent pipes drew soft and tender music that filled the room and stole gently through the house. the tears came into hagar's eyes as she listened to it. "'pears as ef de angels was singin'," she said, wiping her cheeks. "hagar wonders ef de lord'll gib her a voice like dat when she gets ter glory." it died away at last in gentle, tremulous whispers, and trafford walked to the window and looked out. twilight had settled so thickly that the sea was quite hidden, save a faint glimmer of ripples along the sand. deep quiet reigned over land and sea, and nowhere with such undisputed sway as in the stone house. trafford lit his study-lamp and sat down, with no desire, however, to read or study. hardly had he seated himself, when, with startling suddenness, a shrill scream broke upon the deep quiet. it was hagar's voice, and the cry came from her kitchen; and before trafford had recovered from his surprise, there was a little sound of commotion in her distant province,--doors were thrown open, voices echoed, and then along the silent hall came a sound--the rush of eager feet--that drove every trace of color from trafford's face, as well it might, and made his heart beat so loud and wildly that he pressed his hands over it to stay its tumultuous beating. he started up, gazing with wide-open eyes at the library-door, while at every echo of those coming footsteps, he started and trembled, and grew faint with anticipation. the door burst open, and there stood--noll trafford! [illustration: "it's i, uncle richard" page .] one moment the boy paused, perhaps frightened by the white face of the man who sat gazing motionlessly at him, then he bounded forward, crying, "it's i, uncle richard!--your own noll!" trafford's arms did not clasp the boy about; his tongue refused to articulate; his heart could not take in this great, overwhelming joy. but noll's arms were about his neck, the boy's warm breath was upon his cheek, and in his ears was the lad's whisper, "it's i,--i, uncle richard! no one else!" then the man began to sigh, just as if he were awakening from a long and troubled dream, and presently he put out his hand and touched the boy's cheeks, as if to assure himself that it was not all a vision, and then he said, chokingly, "my boy,--_mine_! o god! i don't deserve this." his arms clasped the lad in one long, fervent embrace. he bent his head over the curly locks, and wept for joy, stroking the lad's shoulders and pressing his hands the while, as if he were not yet sure that the boy was a reality. he looked upon him as one from the dead. had the sea given him up?--had that terrible tempest spared him in its wild fury? why had the boy lingered so long? where had he been sojourning all these long weeks? but too happy in the consciousness that it was really noll, safe and unharmed, who was before him, to care for aught further at present, he sat silently holding the boy's hands, while his heart gave grateful thanks to god. "poor uncle richard!" said the boy, at last. trafford's lips moved, and with an effort he said, "no, no,--not _poor_! i'm rich, rich!--_so_ rich! o god, help me! i can't believe my own happiness." "but it's really i, uncle richard!" said noll, assuringly; "you've felt my hands, my face, my shoulders, and aren't they alive and warm?" "yes, it is really you, thank god!" said trafford, drawing a long breath, while he gazed upon the merry face that he never more expected to see on earth. "yes, and oh, uncle richard, you can't know how i longed to see you, to tell you that i was alive and safe! i knew you would worry, but i didn't think you'd think me dead. i didn't think _that_ till we got to culm, and dirk and all the rest trembled, and were actually going to run away from me!" "then you have not been harmed?" said trafford: "but oh, my boy, where were you on that awful night?" "safe and sound, with ned thorn, at hastings, uncle richard, and not even dreaming of danger or shipwreck. you see, the furniture was not ready, and i hadn't found a teacher, and so i stayed. ned and i went down to the wharf the night before the 'gull' was to sail, and carried a letter to the skipper to give to you, telling you why i couldn't come; but poor ben never got here alive, and the letter was lost with him, i suppose. oh, uncle richard, if i _had_ started,--if the furniture had been ready--" "thank god it was not!" interrupted trafford, presently; "he watched over you, he stayed your coming, and now he has brought you out of the sea, as it were, to me. oh, noll!" the boy looked up eagerly. "have--have you found the lord jesus, uncle richard?" he asked. trafford's hands rested tenderly on the boy's head. "yes," he said, with a great calm and peace in his voice, "i found him through great sorrow and grief. i think god led me through all this suffering that my heart might be softened and turned toward him. and now this saviour has brought you back to me!" a deep silence followed, full of unutterable joy. trafford reverently bent his head, his lips quivering with emotion, and with his nephew's hands clasped in his, silently thanked god for his goodness, for this great joy which was come into his life, for this precious lad that was dead and now was alive again. it seemed as if god had brought him out of the sea to him. at last noll said, taking up his explanation where he had left it off,-- "after we had given the letter to the skipper, i thought no more about it, and ned and i were busy enough with seeing about the furniture for a day or two, and we didn't notice the storm, or even think of the 'gull' being in danger. and mr. gray helped me to find a teacher, and we were so busy with plans that the time passed away before i knew it, and when i came to go down on the wharf to engage a passage with ben, the men said the 'gull' had never got back from her last trip, and they were afraid it was lost. ned didn't believe there had been a shipwreck, neither did mr. gray. he said that most likely the skipper had been kept by some business, or perhaps the 'gull' had gone farther down the coast than usual. oh, uncle richard! we didn't think that poor ben was drowned, nor that you thought me wrecked with him." trafford said, "those were fearful days for me. go on, go on, noll." "we went down to the wharf every night till another week was gone, and then, we began to be certain that ben was either wrecked or sick, and i began to be anxious to get some word to you. i thought that perhaps you might be worried about me, though mr. gray said that if the 'gull' was wrecked anywhere near culm, you could not help but know i was not on board. we waited and waited till the three weeks were gone, and then some of ben's friends began to talk of going in search of him. but it was only till last night that they were ready to go, and we came off before daylight this morning. oh, the time has seemed so long, uncle richard! but here i am, safe and sound, once more." trafford looked at his nephew as if he could yet hardly believe his eyes. "and you should have seen dirk and the rest!" continued noll; "why, he wouldn't speak to me at first, but was going to run away; but when he did find that it was really i, he cried like a great child. he said that you thought me dead,--you can't know how i felt when he said that, uncle richard,--and so ned and i didn't wait any longer, but ran all the way here. i can think, now, why you looked so white when i came in at the door!" trafford stroked the boy's hair, saying, "i never thought to hear the echoes of your feet again. god knows. oh, my boy, _you_ can never know what this night has brought to me. he who led you thither only can. but whose name did you mention?" "ned's; he came down with me, uncle richard, for it's vacation at hastings. we came up to the kitchen-door, because hagar's light shone so brightly, and what do you think? she threw up her hands and screamed at the sight of me. but it didn't take long to make her certain that i was real, and not a vision. and, oh, there's one thing i'd forgotten! the new teacher is at culm, waiting for dirk to come over with his trunks. it's one of papa's old scholars, uncle richard, and his name is henry fields. he worked with papa in the old sea-town where we lived, and he's come down to work here at culm among our fish-folk. i like him very much, and you can't help but like him, too; and we've brought a cargo of benches and desks all ready to--" the library-door began to swing softly open,--not so softly, however, but that noll heard and stopped. "it's ned," he said, looking over his shoulder. "come in!" ned came shyly around to where they were sitting, his usually merry face sobered by something which he perceived in the faces of his friends before him. a silence fell upon them here. ned leaned against his friend, looking soberly at trafford's rapt face, and wondering where all the man's grimness and gloominess had gone. and just then a sudden thought came into noll's heart, and he said, looking up brightly,-- "it's a year this very night since i came to you, uncle richard! don't you remember? what a long, long time!" trafford said, "yes, i remember. through all the days since then god has been teaching me, and he has led me on to this; and, oh! my boy, the sea may never divide us again, for, though through its dark floods we go down to death, beyond there is light and god and heaven!" and in his voice there was peace unutterable. * * * * * if this story of a year, and what it taught, is not already too long, you may know that a schoolhouse was built at culm, and that henry fields proved a good and faithful teacher; that a stanch, new "white gull" was built, and one of skipper ben's sea-loving sons was its captain; that the culm children and their parents slowly improved in more ways than one under the constant, unfailing care and effort of trafford and his nephew; that the rock was not always noll trafford's home, but exchanged for a pleasanter one in hastings, though the old stone house was often brightened by his presence, and never got to be entirely gloomy and deserted again. the young woodsman or life in the forests of canada by j. macdonald oxley author of "diamond rock; or, on the right track," &c. &c. contents. i. the call to work ii. the choice of an occupation iii. off to the woods iv. the building of the shanty v. standing fire vi. life in the lumber camp vii. a thrilling experience viii. in the nick of time ix. out of clouds, sunshine x. a hunting-trip xi. the great spring drive xii. home again the young woodsman. chapter i. the call to work. "i'm afraid there'll be no more school for you now, frank darling. will you mind having to go to work?" "mind it! why, no, mother; not the least bit. i'm quite old enough, ain't i?" "i suppose you are, dear; though i would like to have you stay at your lessons for one more year anyway. what kind of work would you like best?" "that's not a hard question to answer, mother. i want to be what father was." the mother's face grew pale at this reply, and for some few moments she made no response. * * * * * the march of civilization on a great continent means loss as well as gain. the opening up of the country for settlement, the increase and spread of population, the making of the wilderness to blossom as the rose, compel the gradual retreat and disappearance of interesting features that can never be replaced. the buffalo, the beaver, and the elk have gone; the bear, the indian, and the forest in which they are both most at home, are fast following. along the northern border of settlement in canada there are flourishing villages and thriving hamlets to-day where but a few years ago the verdurous billows of the primeval forest rolled in unbroken grandeur. the history of any one of these villages is the history of all. an open space beside the bank of a stream or the margin of a lake presented itself to the keen eye of the woodranger traversing the trackless waste of forest as a fine site for a lumber camp. in course of time the lumber camp grew into a depot from which other camps, set still farther back in the depths of the "limits," are supplied. then the depot develops into a settlement surrounded by farms; the settlement gathers itself into a village with shops, schools, churches, and hotels; and so the process of growth goes on, the forest ever retreating as the dwellings of men multiply. it was in a village with just such a history, and bearing the name of calumet, occupying a commanding situation on a vigorous tributary of the ottawa river--the grand river, as the dwellers beside its banks are fond of calling it--that frank kingston first made the discovery of his own existence and of the world around him. he at once proceeded to make himself master of the situation, and so long as he confined his efforts to the limits of his own home he met with an encouraging degree of success; for he was an only child, and, his father's occupation requiring him to be away from home a large part of the year, his mother could hardly be severely blamed if she permitted her boy to have a good deal of his own way. in the result, however, he was not spoiled. he came of sturdy, sensible stock, and had inherited some of the best qualities from both sides of the house. to his mother he owed his fair curly hair, his deep blue, honest eyes, his impulsive and tender heart; to his father, his strong symmetrical figure, his quick brain, and his eager ambition. he was a good-looking, if not strikingly handsome, boy, and carried himself in an alert, active way that made a good impression on one at the start. he had a quick temper that would flash out hotly if he were provoked, and at such times he would do and say things for which he was heartily sorry afterwards. but from those hateful qualities that we call malice, rancour, and sullenness he was absolutely free. to "have it out" and then shake hands and forget all about it--that was his way of dealing with a disagreement. boys built on these lines are always popular among their comrades, and frank was no exception. in fact, if one of those amicable contests as to the most popular personage, now so much in vogue at fairs and bazaars, were to have been held in calumet school, the probabilities were all in favour of frank coming out at the head of the poll. but better, because more enduring than all these good qualities of body, head, and heart that formed frank's sole fortune in the world, was the thorough religious training upon which they were based. his mother had left a christian household to help her husband to found a new home in the great canadian timberland; and this new home had ever been a sweet, serene centre of light and love. while calumet was little more than a straggling collection of unlovely frame cottages, and too small to have a church and pastor of its own, the hard-working christian minister who managed to make his way thither once a month or so, to hold service in the little schoolroom, was always sure of the heartiest kind of a welcome, and the daintiest dinner possible in that out-of-the-way place, at mrs. kingston's cozy cottage. and thus frank had been brought into friendly relations with the "men in black" from the start, with the good result of causing him to love and respect these zealous home missionaries, instead of shrinking from them in vague repugnance, as did many of his companions who had not his opportunities. when he grew old enough to be trusted, it was his proud privilege to take the minister's tired horse to water and to fill the rack with sweet hay for his refreshment before they all went off to the service together; and very frequently when the minister was leaving he would take frank up beside him for a drive as far as the cross-roads, not losing the chance to say a kindly and encouraging word or two that might help the little fellow heavenward. in due time the settlement so prospered and expanded that a little church was established there, and great was the delight of mrs. kingston when calumet had its minister, to whom she continued to be a most effective helper. this love for the church and its workers, which was more manifest in her than in her husband--for, although he thought and felt alike with her, he was a reserved, undemonstrative man--mrs. kingston sought by every wise means to instill into her only son; and she had much success. religion had no terrors for him. he had never thought of it as a gloomy, joy-dispelling influence that would make him a long-faced "softy." not a bit of it. his father was religious; and who was stronger, braver, or more manly than his father? his mother was a pious woman; and who could laugh more cheerily or romp more merrily than his mother? the ministers who came to the house were men of god; and yet they were full of life and spirits, and dinner never seemed more delightful than when they sat at the table. no, indeed! you would have had a hard job to persuade frank kingston that you lost anything by being religious. he knew far better than that; and while of course he was too thorough a boy, with all a boy's hasty, hearty, impulsive ways, to do everything "decently and in order," and would kick over the traces, so to speak, sometimes, and give rather startling exhibitions of temper, still in the main and at heart he was a sturdy little christian, who, when the storm was over, felt more sorry and remembered it longer than did anybody else. out of the way as calumet might seem to city folk, yet the boys of the place managed to have a very good time. there were nearly a hundred of them, ranging in age from seven years to seventeen, attending the school which stood in the centre of a big lot at the western end of the village, and with swimming, boating, lacrosse, and baseball in summer, and skating, snow-shoeing, and tobogganing in winter, they never lacked for fun. frank was expert in all these sports. some of the boys might excel him at one or another of them, but not one of his companions could beat him in an all-round contest. this was due in part to the strength and symmetry of his frame, and in part to that spirit of thoroughness which characterized all he undertook. there was nothing half-way about him. he put his whole soul into everything that interested him, and, so far as play was concerned, at fifteen years of age he could swim, run, handle a lacrosse, hit a base-ball, skim over the ice on skates, or over snow on snow-shoes, with a dexterity that gave himself a vast amount of pleasure and his parents a good deal of pride in him. nor was he behindhand as regarded the training of his mind. mr. warren, the head teacher of the calumet school, regarded him favourably as one of his best and brightest pupils, and it was not often that the "roll of honour" failed to contain the name of frank kingston. at the midsummer closing of the school it was mr. warren's practice to award a number of simple prizes to the pupils whose record throughout the half-year had been highest in the different subjects, and year after year frank had won a goodly share of these trophies, which were always books, so that now there was a shelf in his room upon which stood in attractive array livingstone's "travels," ballantyne's "hudson bay," kingsley's "westward ho!" side by side with "robinson crusoe," "pilgrim's progress," and "tom brown at rugby." frank knew these books almost by heart, yet never wearied of turning to them again and again. he drew inspiration from them. they helped to mould his character, although of this he was hardly conscious, and they filled his soul with a longing for adventure and enterprise that no ordinary everyday career could satisfy. he looked forward eagerly to the time when he would take a man's part in life and attempt and achieve notable deeds. with amyas leigh he traversed the tropical wilderness of southern america, or with the "young fur traders" the hard-frozen wastes of the boundless north, and he burned to emulate their brave doings. he little knew, as he indulged in these boyish imaginations, that the time was not far off when the call would come to him to begin life in dead earnest on his own account, and with as many obstacles to be overcome in his way as had any of his favourite heroes in theirs. mr. kingston was at home only during the summer season. the long cold winter months were spent by him at the "depot," many miles off in the heart of the forest, or at the "shanties" that were connected with it. at rare intervals during the winter he might manage to get home for a sunday, but that was all his wife and son saw of him until the spring time. when the "drive" of the logs that represented the winter's work was over, he returned to them, to remain until the falling of the leaves recalled him to the forest. frank loved and admired his father to the utmost of his ability; and when in his coolest, calmest moods he realized that there was small possibility of his ever sailing the spanish main like amyas leigh, or exploring the interior of africa like livingstone, he felt quite settled in his own mind that, following in his father's footsteps, he would adopt lumbering as his business. 'tis true, his father was only an agent or foreman, and might never be anything more; but even that was not to be despised, and then, with a little extra good fortune, he might in time become an owner of "limits" and mills himself. why not? many another boy had thus risen into wealth and importance. he had at least the right to try. fifteen in october, and in the highest class, this was to be frank's last winter at school; and before leaving for the woods his father had enjoined upon him to make the best of it, as after the summer holidays were over he would have to "cease learning, and begin earning." frank was rather glad to hear this. he was beginning to think he had grown too big for school, and ought to be doing something more directly remunerative. poor boy! could he have guessed that those were the last words he would hear from his dear father's lips, how differently would they have affected him! calumet never saw mr. kingston again. in returning alone to the depot from a distant shanty, he was caught in a fierce and sudden snowstorm. the little-travelled road through the forest was soon obliterated. blinded and bewildered by the pitiless storm beating in their faces, both man and beast lost their way, and, wandering about until all strength was spent, lay down to die in the drifts that quickly hid their bodies from sight. it was many days before they were found, lying together, close wrapped in their winding-sheet of snow. mrs. kingston bore the dreadful trial with the fortitude and submissive grace that only a serene and unmurmuring faith can give. frank was more demonstrative in his grief, and disposed to rebel against so cruel a calamity. but his mother calmed and inspired him, and when the first numbing force of the blow had passed away, they took counsel together as to the future. this was dark and uncertain enough. all that was left to them was the little cottage in which they lived. mr. kingston's salary had not been large, and only by careful management had the house been secured. of kind and sympathizing friends there was no lack, but they were mostly people in moderate circumstances, like themselves, from whom nothing more than sympathy could be expected. there was no alternative but that frank should begin at once to earn his own living, and thus the conversation came about with which this chapter began, and which brought forth the reply from frank that evidently gave his mother deep concern. chapter ii. the choice of an occupation. the fact was that mrs. kingston felt a strong repugnance to her son's following in his father's footsteps, so far as his occupation was concerned. she dreaded the danger that was inseparable from it, and shrank from the idea of giving up the boy, whose company was now the chief delight of her life, for all the long winter months that would be so dreary without him. frank had some inkling of his mother's feelings, but, boy like, thought of them as only the natural nervousness of womankind; and his heart being set upon going to the woods, he was not very open to argument. "why don't you want me to go lumbering, mother?" he inquired in a tone that had a touch of petulance in it. "i've got to do something for myself, and i detest shopkeeping. it's not in my line at all. fellows like tom clemon and jack stoner may find it suits them, but i can't bear the idea of being shut up in a shop or office all day. i want to be out of doors. that's the kind of life for me." mrs. kingston gave a sigh that was a presage of defeat as she regarded her son standing before her, his handsome face flushed with eagerness and his eyes flashing with determination. "but, frank dear," said she gently, "have you thought how dreadfully lonely it will be for me living all alone here during the long winter--your father gone from me, and you away off in the woods, where i can never get to you or you to me?" the flush on frank's face deepened and extended until it covered forehead and neck with its crimson glow. he had not taken this view of the case into consideration before, and his tender heart reproached him for so forgetting his mother while laying out his own plans. he sprang forward, and kneeling down beside the lounge, threw his arms about his mother's neck and clasped her fondly, finding it hard to keep the tears back as he said,-- "you dear, darling mother! i have been selfish. i should have thought how lonely it would be for you in the winter time." mrs. kingston returned the embrace with no less fervour, and as usually happens where the other side seems to be giving way, began to weaken somewhat herself, and to feel a little doubtful as to whether, after all, it would be right to oppose her son's wishes when his inclinations toward the occupation he had chosen were evidently so very decided. "well, frank dear," she said after a pause, while frank looked at her expectantly, "i don't want to be selfish either. if it were not for the way we lost your father, perhaps i should not have such a dread of the woods for you; and no doubt even then it is foolish for me to give way to it. we won't decide the matter now. if you do go to the woods, it won't be until the autumn, and perhaps during the summer something will turn up that will please us better. we will leave the matter in god's hands. he will bring it to pass in the way that will be best for us both, i am confident." so with that understanding the matter rested, although of course it was continually being referred to as the weeks slipped by and the summer waxed and waned. although frank felt quite convinced in his own mind that he was not cut out for a position behind a desk or counter, he determined to make the experiment, and accordingly applied to squire eagleson, who kept the principal shop and was the "big man" of the village, for a place in his establishment. summer being the squire's busy season, and frank being well known to him, he was glad enough to add to his small staff of clerks so promising a recruit, especially as, taking advantage of the boy's ignorance of business affairs, he was able to engage him at wages much below his actual worth to him. this the worthy squire regarded as quite a fine stroke of business, and told it to his wife with great gusto, rubbing his fat hands complacently together as he chuckled over his shrewdness. "bright boy that frank kingston! writes a good fist, and can run up a row of figures like smoke. mighty civil, too, and sharp. and all for seven shillings a week! ha, ha, ha! wish i could make as good a bargain as that every day." and the squire looked the picture of virtuous content as he leaned back in his big chair to enjoy the situation. mrs. eagleson did not often venture to intermeddle in her husband's business affairs, although frequently she became aware of things which she could not reconcile with her conscience. but this time she was moved to speak by an impulse she could not control. she knew the kingstons, and had always thought well of them. mrs. kingston seemed to her in many respects a model woman, who deserved well of everybody; and that her husband, who was so well-to-do, should take any advantage of these worthy people who had so little, touched her to the quick. there was a bright spot on the centre of her pale cheeks and an unaccustomed ring in her voice as she exclaimed, with a sharpness that made her husband give quite a start of surprise,-- "do you mean to tell me, daniel, that you've been mean enough to take advantage of that boy who has to support his widowed mother, and to hire him for half the wages he's worth, just because he didn't know any better? and then you come home here and boast of it! have you no conscience?" the squire was so taken aback by this unexpected attack that at first he hardly knew how to meet it. should he lecture his wife for her presumption in meddling in his affairs, which were quite beyond her comprehension as a woman, or should he make light of the matter and laugh it off? after a moment's reflection he decided on the latter course. "hoity, toity, mrs. eagleson! but what's set you so suddenly on fire? business is business, you know, and if frank kingston did not know enough to ask for more wades, it wasn't my concern to enlighten him." mrs. eagleson rose from her chair and came over and stood in front of her husband, pointing her long, thin forefinger at him as, with a trembling yet scornful voice, she addressed him thus,-- "daniel, how you can kneel down and ask the blessing of god upon such doings is beyond me, or how your head can lie easy on your pillow when you know that you are taking the bread out of that poor lone widow's mouth it is not for me to say. but this i will say, whether you like it or not: if you are not ashamed of yourself, i am for you." and before the now much-disturbed squire had time to say another word in his defence the speaker had swept indignantly out of his presence and hastened to her own room, there to throw herself down upon the bed and burst into a passion of tears, for she was at best but a weak-nerved woman. left to himself, the squire shifted about uneasily in his chair, and then rose and stumped angrily to the window. "what does she know about business?" he muttered. "if she were to have her own way at the store, she'd ruin me in a twelvemonth." yet mrs. eagleson's brave outburst was not in vain. somehow or other after it the squire never felt comfortable in his mind until, much to frank's surprise and delight, he one day called him to him, and, with an air of great generosity and patronage, said,-- "see here, my lad. you seem to be doing your work real well, so i am going to give you half-a-crown a week more just to encourage you, and then if a little extra work comes along"--for autumn was approaching--"ye won't mind tackling it with a goodwill; eh?" frank thanked his employer very heartily, and this unexpected increase of earnings and his mother's joy over it for a time almost reconciled him to the work at the shop, which he liked less and less the longer he was at it. the fact of the matter was, a place behind the counter was uncongenial to him in many ways. there was too much in-doors about it, to begin with. from early morning until late evening he had to be at his post, with brief intervals for meals; and the colour was leaving his cheeks, and his muscles were growing slack and soft, owing to the constant confinement. but this was the least of his troubles. a still more serious matter was that his conscience did not suffer him to take kindly to the "tricks of the trade," in which his employer was a "passed master" and his fellow-clerks very promising pupils. he could not find it in his heart to depreciate the quality of widow perkins's butter, or to cajole unwary sam struthers, from the backlands, into taking a shop-worn remnant for the new dress his wife had so carefully commissioned him to buy. his idea of trade was that you should deal with others as fairly as you would have them deal with you; and while, of course, according to the squire's philosophy, you could never make a full purse that way, still you could at least have a clear conscience, which surely was the more desirable after all. the squire had noticed frank's "pernickety nonsense," as he was pleased to call it, and at first gave him several broad hints as to the better mode of doing business; but finding that the lad was firm, and would no doubt give up his place rather than learn these "business ways," he had the good sense to let him alone, finding in his quickness, fidelity, and attention to his work sufficient compensation for this deficiency in bargaining acumen. "you'll be content to stay at the shop now, won't you, frank?" said his mother as they talked over the welcome and much-needed rise of salary. "it does seem to make it easier to stay, mother," answered frank. "but--" and he gave a big sigh, and stopped. "but what, dear?" asked mrs. kingston, tenderly. frank was slow in answering. he evidently felt reluctant to bring up the matter again, and yet his mind was full of it. "but what, frank?" repeated his mother, taking his hands in hers and looking earnestly into his face. "well, mother, it's no use pretending. i'm not cut out for keeping shop, and i'll never be much good at it. i don't like being in-doors all day. and then, if you want to get on, you've got to do all sorts of things that are nothing else but downright mean; and i don't like that either." and then frank went on to tell of some of the tricks and stratagems the squire or the other clerks would resort to in order to make a good bargain. mrs. kingston listened with profound attention. more than once of late, as she noticed her son's growing pallor and loss of spirits, she had asked herself whether she were not doing wrong in seeking to turn him aside from the life for which he longed; and now that he was finding fresh and fatal objections to the occupation he had chosen in deference to her wishes, she began to relent of her insistence, and to feel more disposed to discuss the question again. but before doing so she wished to ask the advice of a friend in whom she placed much confidence, and so for the present she contented herself with applauding frank for his conscientiousness, and assuring him that she would a thousand times rather have him always poor than grow rich after the same fashion as squire eagleson. the friend whose advice mrs. kingston wished to take was her husband's successor as foreman at the depot for the lumber camps--a sensible, steady, reliable young man, who had risen to his present position by process of promotion from the bottom, and who was therefore well qualified to give her just the counsel she desired. at the first opportunity, therefore, she went over to mr. stewart's cottage, and, finding him at home, opened her heart fully to him. mr. stewart, or alec stewart, as he was generally called, listened with ready sympathy to what mrs. kingston had to say, and showed much interest in the matter, for he had held a high opinion of his former chief, and knew frank well enough to admire his spirit and character. "well, you see, mrs. kingston, it's just this way," said he, when his visitor had stated the case upon which she wanted his opinion: "if frank's got his heart so set upon going into the woods, i don't know as there's any use trying to cross him. he won't take kindly to anything else while he's thinking of that; and he'd a big sight better be a good lumberman than a poor clerk, don't you think?" mrs. kingston felt the force of this reasoning, yet could hardly make up her mind to yield to it at once. "but, mr. stewart," she urged, "it may only be a boyish notion of frank's. he thinks, perhaps, he'd like it because that's what his father was before him, and then he may find his mistake." "well, mrs. kingston," replied mr. stewart, "if you think there's any chance of that being the case, we can settle the question right enough in this way:--let frank come to the woods with me this winter. i will give him a berth as chore-boy in one of the camps; and if that doesn't sicken him of the business, then all i can say is you'd better let the lad have his will." mrs. kingston sighed. "i suppose you're right. i don't quite like the idea of his being chore-boy; but if he's really in earnest, there's no better way of proving him." now frank knew well enough how humble was the position of "chore-boy" in a lumber camp. it meant that he would be the boy-of-all-work; that he would have to be up long before dawn, and be one of the last in the camp to get into his bunk; that he would have to help the cook, take messages for the foreman, be obliging to the men, and altogether do his best to be generally useful. yet he did not shrink from the prospect. the idea of release from the uncongenial routine of shopkeeping filled him with happiness, and his mother was almost reconciled to letting him go from her, so marked was the change in his spirits. chapter iii. off to the woods. september, the finest of all the months in the canadian calendar, was at hand, as the sumac and the maple took evident delight in telling by their lovely tints of red and gold, and the hot, enervating breath of summer had yielded to the inspiring coolness of early autumn. the village of calumet fairly bubbled over with business and bustle. preparations for the winter's work were being made on all sides. during the course of the next two weeks or so a large number of men would be leaving their homes for the lumber camps, and the chief subject of conversation in all circles was the fascinating and romantic occupation in which they were engaged. no one was more busy than mrs. kingston. even if her son was to be only a chore-boy, his equipment should be as comfortable and complete as though he were going to be a foreman. she knew very well that jack frost has no compunctions about sending the thermometer away down thirty or forty degrees below zero in those far-away forest depths; and whatever other hardships frank might be called upon to endure, it was very well settled in her mind that he should not suffer for lack of warm clothing. accordingly, the knitting-needles and sewing-needles had been plied industriously from the day his going into the woods was decided upon; and now that the time for departure drew near, the result was to be seen in a chest filled with such thick warm stockings, shirts, mittens, and comforters, besides a good outfit of other clothing, that frank, looking them over with a keen appreciation of their merits and of the loving skill they evidenced, turned to his mother, saying, with a grateful smile,-- "why, mother, you've fitted me out as though i were going to the north pole." "you'll need them all, my dear, before the winter's over," said mrs. kingston, the tears rising in her eyes, as involuntarily she thought of how the cruel cold had taken from her the father of the bright, hopeful boy before her. "your father never thought i provided too many warm things for him." frank was in great spirits. he had resigned his clerkship at squire eagleson's, much to that worthy merchant's regret. the squire looked upon him as a very foolish fellow to give up a position in his shop, where he had such good opportunities of learning business ways, in order to go "galivanting off to the woods," where his good writing and correct figuring would be of no account. frank said nothing about his decided objections to the squire's ideas of business ways and methods, but contented himself with stating respectfully his strong preference for out-door life, and his intention to make lumbering his occupation, as it had been his father's before him. "well, well, my lad," said the squire, when he saw there was no moving him, "have your own way. i reckon you'll be glad enough to come back to me in the spring. one winter in the camps will be all you'll want." frank left the squire, saying to himself as he went out from the shop:-- "if i do get sick of the camp and want a situation in the spring, this is not the place i'll come to for it; you can depend upon that, squire eagleson. many thanks to you, all the same." mr. stewart was going up to the depot the first week in september, to get matters in readiness for the men who would follow him a week later, and much to frank's satisfaction he announced that he would take him along if he could be ready in time. thanks to mrs. kingston's being of the fore-handed kind, nothing was lacking in her son's preparations, and the day of departure was anticipated with great eagerness by him, and with much sinking of heart by her. the evening previous mother and son had a long talk together, in the course of which she impressed upon him the absolute importance of his making no disguise of his religious principles. "you'll be the youngest in the camp, perhaps, frank darling, and it will, no doubt, be very hard for you to read your bible and say your prayers, as you've always done here at home. but the braver you are about it at first, the easier it'll be in the end. take your stand at the very start. let the shanty men see that you're not afraid to confess yourself a christian, and rough and wicked as they may be, never fear but they'll respect you for it." mrs. kingston spoke with an earnestness and emphasis that went straight to frank's heart. he had perfect faith in his mother. in his eyes she was without fault or failing, and he knew very well that she was asking nothing of him that she was not altogether ready to do herself, were she to be put in his place. not only so. his own shrewd sense confirmed the wisdom of her words. there could be no half-way position for him at the lumber camp; no half-hearted serving of god would be of any use there. he must take caleb for his pattern, and follow the lord wholly. his voice was low, but full of quiet determination, as he answered,-- "i know it, mother. it won't be easy, but i'm not afraid. i'll begin fair and let the others know just where i stand, and they may say or do what they like." mrs. kingston needed no further assurance to make her mind quite easy upon this point; and she took no small comfort from the thought that, faithful and consistent as she felt so confident frank would be, despite the many trials and temptations inseparable from his new sphere of life, he could hardly fail to exercise some good influence upon those about him, and perhaps prove a very decided power for good among the rough men of the lumber camp. the day of departure dawned clear and bright. the air was cool and bracing, the ground glistened with the heavy autumn dew that the sun had not yet had time to drink up, and the village was not fairly astir for the day when mr. stewart drove up to mrs. kingston's door for his young passenger. he was not kept long waiting, for frank had been ready fully half-an-hour beforehand, and all that remained to be done was to bid his mother "good-bye," until he should return with the spring floods. overflowing with joy as he was at the realization of his desire, yet he was too fond a son not to feel keenly the parting with his mother, and he bustled about very vigorously, stowing away his things in the back of the waggon, as the best way of keeping himself under control. he had a good deal of luggage for a boy. first, of all, there was his chest packed tight with warm clothing; then another box heavy with cake, preserves, pickles, and other home-made dainties, wherewith to vary the monotony of shanty fare; then a big bundle containing a wool mattress, a pillow, two pairs of heavy blankets, and a thick comforter to insure his sleep being undisturbed by saucy jack frost; and finally, a narrow box made by his own father to carry the light rifle that always accompanied him, together with a plentiful supply of ammunition. in this box frank was particularly interested, for he had learned to handle this rifle pretty well during the summer, and looked forward to accomplishing great things with it when he got into the woods. mr. stewart laughed when he saw all that frank was taking with him. "i guess you'll be the swell of the camp, and make all the other fellows wish they had a mother to fit them out. it's a fortunate thing my waggon's roomy, or we'd have to leave some of your stuff to come up by one of the teams," said he. mrs. kingston was about to make apologies for the size of frank's outfit, but mr. stewart stopped her. "it's all right, mrs. kingston. the lad might just as well be comfortable as not. he'll have plenty of roughing it, anyway. and now we've got it all on board, we must be starting." the moment mrs. kingston dreaded had now come. throwing her arms around frank's neck, she clasped him passionately to her heart again and again, and then, tearing herself away from him, rushed up the steps as if she dared not trust herself any longer. gulping down the big lump that rose into his throat, frank sprang up beside mr. stewart, and the next moment they were off. but before they turned the corner frank, looking back, caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway, and taking off his cap he gave her a farewell salute, calling out rather huskily his last "good-bye" as the swiftly-moving waggon bore him away. mr. stewart took much pride in his turn-out, and with good reason; for there was not a finer pair of horses in calumet than those that were now trotting along before him, as if the well-filled waggon to which they were attached was no impediment whatever. his work required him to be much upon the road in all seasons, and he considered it well worth his while to make the business of driving about as pleasant as possible. the horses were iron-grays, beautifully matched in size, shape, and speed; the harness sparkled with bright brass mountings; and the waggon, a kind of express, with specially strong springs and comfortable seat, had abundant room for passengers and luggage. as they rattled along the village street there were many shouts of "good-bye, frank," and "good luck to you," from shop and sidewalk; for everybody knew frank's destination, and there were none that did not wish him well, whatever might be their opinion of the wisdom of his action. in responding to these expressions of good-will, frank found timely relief for the feelings stirred by the parting with his mother, and before the impatient grays had breasted the hill which began where the village ended he had quite regained his customary good spirits, and was ready to reply brightly enough to mr. stewart's remarks. "well, frank, you've put your hand to the plough now, as the scripture says, and you mustn't turn back on any account, or all the village will be laughing at you," he said, scanning his companion closely. "not much fear of that, mr. stewart," answered frank firmly. "calumet won't see me again until next spring. whether i like the lumbering or not, i'm going to stick out the winter, anyway; you see if i don't." "i haven't much fear of you, my boy," returned mr. stewart, "even if you do find shanty life a good deal rougher than you may have imagined. you'll have to fight your own way, you know. i shan't be around much, and the other men will all be strangers at first; but just you do what you know and feel to be right without minding the others, and they won't bother you long, but will respect you for having a conscience and the pluck to obey it. as for your work, it'll seem pretty heavy and hard at the start; but you've got lots of grit, and it won't take you long to get used to it." frank listened attentively to mr. stewart's kindly, sensible advice, and had many questions to ask him as the speedy horses bore them further and further away from calumet. the farms, which at first had followed one another in close succession, grew more widely apart, and finally ended altogether before many miles of the dusty road had been covered, and thenceforward their way ran through unbroken woods, not the stately "forest primeval" but the scrubby "second growth," from which those who have never been into the heart of the leafy wilderness can form but a poor conception of the grandeur to which trees can attain. about mid-day they halted at a lonely log-house which served as a sort of inn or resting-place, the proprietor finding compensation for the dreariness of his situation in the large profit derived from an illegal but thriving traffic in liquor. a more unkempt, unattractive establishment could hardly be imagined, and if rumour was to be relied upon, it had good reason to be haunted by more than one untimely ghost. "a wretched den!" said mr. stewart, as he drew up before the door. "i wouldn't think of stopping here for a moment but for the horses. but we may as well go in and see if old pierre can get us a decent bite to eat." the horses having been attended to, the travellers entered the house, where they found pierre, the proprietor, dozing on his bar; a bloated, blear-eyed creature, who evidently would have much preferred making them drunk with his vile whisky to preparing them any pretence for a dinner. but they firmly declined his liquor, so muttering unintelligibly to himself he shambled off to obey their behests. after some delay they succeeded in getting a miserable meal of some kind; and then, the horses being sufficiently rested, they set off once more at a good pace, not halting again until, just before sundown, they arrived at the depot, where the first stage of their journey ended. this depot was simply a large farm set in the midst of a wilderness of trees, and forming a centre from which some half-dozen shanties, or lumber camps, placed at different distances in the depths of the forest that stretched away interminably north, south, east, and west, were supplied with all that was necessary for their maintenance. besides the ordinary farm buildings, there was another which served as a sort of a shop or warehouse, being filled with a stock of axes, saws, blankets, boots, beef, pork, tea, sugar, molasses, flour, and so forth, for the use of the lumbermen. this was mr. stewart's headquarters, and as the tired horses drew up before the door he tossed the reins over their backs, saying,-- "here we are, frank. you'll stay here until your gang is made up. to-morrow morning i'll introduce you to some of your mates." chapter iv. the building of the shanty. frank looked about him with quick curiosity, expecting to see some of the men in whose society he was to spend the jointer. but there were only the farm-hands lounging listlessly about, their days work being over, and they had nothing to do except to smoke their pipes and wait for nightfall, when they would lounge off to bed. the shantymen had not yet arrived, mr. stewart always making a point of being at the depot some days in advance of them, in order to have plenty of time to prepare his plans for the winter campaign. noting frank's inquiring look, he laughed, and said,-- "oh, there are none of them here yet--we're the first on the field-but by the end of the week there'll be more than a hundred men here." a day or two later the first batch made their appearance, coming up by the heavy teams that they would take with them into the woods; and each day brought a fresh contingent, until by the time mr. stewart had mentioned the farm fairly swarmed with them, and it became necessary for this human hive to imitate the bees and send off its superfluous inhabitants without delay. they were a rough, noisy, strange-looking lot of men, and frank, whose acquaintance with the shantymen had been limited to seeing them in small groups as they passed through calumet in the autumn and spring, on their way to and from the camps, meeting them now for the first time in such large numbers, could not help some inward shrinking of soul as he noted their uncouth ways and listened to their oath-besprinkled talk. they were "all sorts and conditions of men"--habitants who could not speak a word of english, and irishmen who could not speak a word of french; shrewd scotchmen, chary of tongue and reserved of manner, and loquacious half-breeds, ready for song, or story, or fight, according to the humour of the moment. here and there were dusky skins and prominent features that betrayed a close connection with the aboriginal owners of this continent. almost all bad come from the big saw-mills away down the river, or from some other equally arduous employment, and were glad of the chance of a few days' respite from work while mr. stewart was dividing them up and making the necessary arrangements for the winter's work. frank mingled freely with them, scraping acquaintance with those who seemed disposed to be friendly, and whenever he came across one with an honest, pleasant, prepossessing face, hoping very much that he would be a member of his gang. he was much impressed by the fact that he was evidently the youngest member of the gathering, and did not fail to notice the sometimes curious, sometimes contemptuous, looks with which he was regarded by the fresh arrivals. in the course of a few days matters were pretty well straightened out at the depot, and the gangs of men began to leave for the different camps. mr. stewart had promised frank that he would take care to put him under a foreman who would treat him well; and when one evening he was called into the office and introduced to a tall, powerful, grave-looking man, with heavy brown beard and deep voice, mr. stewart said,-- "here is frank kingston, dan; jack's only son, you know. he's set his heart on lumbering, and i'm going to let him try it for a winter." frank scrutinized the man called dan very closely as. mr. stewart continued,-- "i'm going to send him up to the kippewa camp with you, dan. there's nobody'll look after him better than you will, for i know you thought a big sight of his father, and for his sake as well as mine you'll see that nothing happens to the lad." dan johnston's face relaxed into a smile that showed there were rich depths of good nature beneath his rather stern exterior, for he was pleased at the compliment implied in the superintendent's words, and stretching out a mighty hand to frank, he laid it on his shoulder in a kindly way, saying,-- "he seems a likely lad, mr. stewart, and a chip of the old block, if i'm not mistaken. i'll be right glad to have him with me. but what kind of work is he to go at? he seems rather light for chopping, doesn't he?" mr. stewart gave a quizzical sort of glance at frank as he replied,-- "well, you see, dan, i think myself he is too light for chopping, so i told him he'd have to be chore-boy for this winter, anyway." a look of surprise came over johnston's face, and, more to himself than the others, he muttered in a low tone,-- "chore-boy, eh? jack kingston's son a chore-boy!" then turning to frank, he said aloud, "all right, my boy. there's nothing like beginning at the bottom if you want to learn the whole business. you must make up your mind to put in a pretty hard time, but i'll see you have fair play, anyway." as frank looked at the rugged, honest, determined face, and the stalwart frame, he felt thoroughly satisfied that in dan johnston he had a friend in whom he could place perfect confidence, and that mr. stewart's promise had been fully kept. the foreman then became quite sociable, and asked him many questions about his mother, and his life in calumet, and his plans for the future, so that before they parted for the night frank felt as if they were quite old friends instead of recent acquaintances. the following morning johnston was bestirring himself bright and early getting his men and stores together, and before noon a start was made for the kippewa river, on whose southern bank a site had already been selected for the lumber camp which would be the centre of his operations for the winter. johnston's gang numbered fifty men all told, himself included, and they were in high spirits as they set out for their destination. the stores and tools were, of course, transported by waggon; but the men had to go on foot, and with fifteen miles of a rough forest road to cover before sundown, they struck a brisk pace as, in twos and threes and quartettes, they marched noisily along the dusty road. "you stay by me, frank," said the foreman, "and if your young legs happen to go back on you, you can have a lift on one of the teams until you're rested." frank felt in such fine trim that although he fully appreciated his big friend's thoughtfulness, he was rash enough to think he would not require to avail himself of it; but the next five miles showed him his mistake, and at the end of them he was very glad to jump upon one of the teams that happened to be passing, and in this way hastened over a good part of the remainder of the tramp. as the odd-looking gang pushed forward steadily, if not in exactly martial order, frank had a good opportunity of inspecting its members, and making in his own mind an estimate of their probable good of bad qualities as companions. in this he was much assisted by the foreman, who, in reply to his questions, gave him helpful bits of information about the different ones that attracted his attention. fully one-half of the gang were french canadians, dark-complexioned, black-haired, bright-eyed men, full of life and talk, their tongues going unceasingly as they plodded along in sociable groups. of the remainder, some were scotch, others irish, the rest english. upon the whole, they were quite a promising-looking lot of men; indeed, johnston took very good care to have as little "poor stuff" as possible in his gang; for he had long held the reputation of turning out more logs at his camp than were cut at any other on the same "limits;" and this well-deserved fame he cherished very dearly. darkness was coming on apace, when at last a glad shout from the foremost group announced that the end of the journey was near; and in a few minutes more the whole band of tired men were resting their wearied limbs on the bank of the river near which the shanty was to be erected at once. the teams had arrived some time before them, and two large tents had been put up as temporary-shelter; while brightly-burning fires and the appetizing fizzle of frying bacon joined with the wholesome aroma of hot tea to make glad the hearts of the dusty, hungry pedestrians. frank enjoyed his open-air tea immensely. it was his first taste of real lumberman's life, and was undoubtedly a pleasant introduction to it; for the hard work would not begin until the morrow, and in the meantime everybody was still a-holidaying. so refreshing was the evening meal that, tired as all no doubt felt from their long tramp, they soon forgot it sufficiently to spend an hour or more in song and chorus that made the vast forest aisles re-echo with rough melody before they sank into the silence of slumber for the night. at daybreak next morning dan johnston's stentorian voice aroused the sleepers, and frank could hardly believe that he had taken more than twice forty winks at the most before the stirring shout of "turn out! turn out! the work's waiting!" broke into his dreams and recalled him to life's realities. the morning was gray and chilly, the men looked sleepy and out of humour, and johnston himself had it a stern distant manner, or seemed to have, as after a wash at the river bank frank approached him and reported himself for duty. "will you please to tell me what is to be my work, mr. johnston?" said he, in quite a timid tone; for somehow or other there seemed to be a change in the atmosphere. the foreman's face relaxed a little as he turned to answer him. "you want to be set to work, eh? well, that won't take long." and looking around among the moving men until he found the one he wanted, he raised his voice and called,-- "hi, there, baptiste! come here a moment." in response to the summons a short, stout, smooth-faced, and decidedly good-natured looking frenchman, who had been busy at one of the fires, came over to the foreman. "see here, baptiste; this lad's to be your chore-boy this winter, and i don't want you to be too hard on him--_savez?_ let him have plenty of work, but not more than his share." baptiste examined frank's sturdy figure with much the same smile of approval that he might bestow upon a fine capon that he was preparing for the pot, and murmured out something like,-- "_bien, m'sieur_. i sall be easy wid him if ee's a good boy." the foreman then said to frank,-- "there, frank, go with baptiste, and he'll give you work enough." so frank went dutifully off with the frenchman. he soon found out what his work was to be. baptiste was cook, and he was his assistant, not so much in the actual cooking, for baptiste looked after that himself, but in the scouring of the pots and pans, the keeping up of the fires, the setting out of the food, and such other supplementary duties. not very dignified or inspiring employment, certainly, especially for a boy "with a turn for books and figures." but frank had come to the camp prepared to undertake, without a murmur, any work within his powers that might be given him, and he now went quietly and steadily at what was required of him. as soon as breakfast was despatched, johnston called the men together to give them directions about the building of the shanty, which was the first thing of all to be done; and having divided them up into parties, to each of which a different task was assigned, he set them at work without delay. frank was very glad that attention to his duties would not prevent his watching the others at theirs; for what could be more interesting than to study every stage of the erection of the building that was to be their shelter and home during the long winter months now rapidly approaching? it was a first experience for him, and nothing escaped his vigilant eye. this is the way he described the building of the shanty to his mother on his return to calumet:-- "you see, mother, everybody except baptiste and myself took a hand, and just worked like beavers. i wish you could have seen the men. and mr. johnston--why, he was in two places at once most of the time, or at least seemed to be! it was grand fun watching them. the first thing they did was to cut down a lot of trees--splendid big fellows, that would make the trees round here look pretty small, i can tell you. then they chopped off all the branches and cut up the trunks into the lengths that suited, and laid them one on the top of the other until they made a wall about as high as mr. johnston, or perhaps higher, in the shape of one big room forty feet long by thirty feet wide, mr. johnston said. it looked very funny then--just like a huge pig-pen, with no windows and only one door--on the side that faced the river. next day they laid long timbers across the top of the wall, resting them in the middle on four great posts they called 'scoop-bearers.' funny name, isn't it? but they called them that because they bear the 'scoops' that make the roof; and a grand roof it is, i tell you. the scoops are small logs hollowed out on one side and flat on the other; and they lay them on the cross timbers in such a way that the edges of one fit into the hollows of two others, so that the rain hasn't a chance to get in, no matter how bard it tries. next thing they made the floor; and that wasn't a hard job, for they just made logs flat on two sides and laid them on the ground, so that it was a pretty rough sort of a floor. all the cracks were stuffed tight with moss and mud, and a big bank of earth thrown up around the bottom of the wall to keep the draught out. "but you should have seen the beds, or 'bunks,' as they called them, for the men. i don't believe you could ever sleep on them. they were nothing but board platforms all around three sides of the room, built on a slant so that your head was higher than your feet; so you see i'd have had nothing better than the soft side of a plank for a mattress if you hadn't fitted me out with one. and when the other fellows saw how snug i was, they vowed they'd have a soft bed too; so what do you think they did? they gathered an immense quantity of hemlock branches--little soft ones, you know--and spread them thick over the boards, and then they laid blankets over that and made a really fine mattress for all. so that, you see, i quite set the fashion. the last thing to be made was the fireplace, which has the very queer name of 'caboose,' and is queerer than its name. it is right in the middle of the room, not at one end, and is as big as a small room by itself. first of all, a great bank of stones and sand is laid on the floor, kept together by boards at the edges; then a large square hole is cut in the roof above, and a wooden chimney built on the top of it; and then at two of the corners cranes to hold the pots are fixed, and the caboose is complete. and oh, mother, such roaring big fires as were always going in it after the cold came--all night long, you know; and sometimes i had to stay awake to keep the fire from going out, which wasn't much fun, but, of course, i had to take my turn. so now, mother, you ought to have a pretty good idea of what our shanty was like; for, besides a table and our chests, there was nothing much else in it to describe." such were frank kingston's surroundings as he entered upon the humble and laborious duties of chore-boy in camp kippewa, not attempting to conceal from himself that he would much rather be a chopper or teamster or road-maker, but with his mind fully fixed upon doing his work, however uncongenial it might be, cheerfully and faithfully for one winter at least, feeling confident that if he did he would not be chore-boy for long, but would in due time be promoted to some more dignified and attractive position. chapter v. standing fire. the shanty finished, a huge mass of wood cut into convenient lengths and piled near the door, a smooth road made down to the river-bank, the store-house filled with barrels of pork and flour and beans and chests of tea, the stable for the score of horses, put up after much the same architectural design as the shanty, and then the lumber camp was complete, and the men were free to address themselves to the business that had brought them so far. as frank looked around him at the magnificent forests into whose heart they had penetrated, and tried with his eyes to measure the height of the splendid trees that towered above his head on every side, he found himself touched with a feeling of sympathy for them--as if it seemed a shame to humble the pride of those silvan monarchs by bringing them crashing to the earth. and then this feeling gave way to another; and as he watched the expert choppers swinging their bright axes in steady rhythm, and adding wound to wound in the gaping trunk so skilfully that the defenceless monster fell just where they wished, his heart thrilled with pride at man's easy victory over nature, and he longed to seize an axe himself and attack the forest on his own account. he had plenty of axe work as it was, but of a much more prosaic kind. an important part of his duty consisted in keeping up the great fire that roared and crackled unceasingly in the caboose. the appetite of this fire seemed unappeasable, and many a time did his arms and legs grow weary in ministering to its wants. sometimes, when all his other work was done, he would go out to the wood-pile, and selecting the thickest and toughest-looking logs, arrange them upon the hearth so that they might take as long as possible to burn; and then, congratulating himself that he had secured some respite from toil, get out his rifle for a little practice at a mark, or would open one of the few books he had brought with him. but it seemed to him he would hardly have more than one shot at the mark, or get through half-a-dozen pages, before baptiste's thick voice would be heard calling out,-- "francois, francois! ver is yer? some more wood, k'vick!" and with a groan poor frank would have to put away the rifle or book and return to the wood-pile. "i suppose i'm what the bible calls a hewer of wood and a drawer of water," he would say to himself; for hardly less onerous than the task of keeping the fire in fuel was that of keeping well filled the two water-barrels that stood on either side of the door--one for the thirsty shantymen, the other for baptiste's culinary needs. the season's work once well started, it went forward with commendable steadiness and vigour under foreman johnston's strict and energetic management. he was admirably suited for his difficult position. his grave, reserved manner rendered impossible that familiarity which is so apt to breed contempt, while his thorough mastery of all the secrets of woodcraft, his great physical strength, and his absolute fearlessness in the face of any peril, combined to make him a fit master for the strangely-assorted half-hundred of men now under his sole control. frank held him in profound respect, and would have endured almost anything rather than seem unmanly or unheedful in his eyes. to win a word of commendation from those firm-set lips that said so little was the desire of his heart, and, feeling sure that it would come time enough, he stuck to his work bravely, quite winning good-natured baptiste's heart by his prompt obedience to orders. "you are a _bon garçon,_ francois," he would say, patting his shoulder with his plump palm. "too good to be chore-boy; but not for long--eh, francois? you be chopper _bientôt_, and then"--with an expressive wave of his hand to indicate the rapid flight of time--"you'll be foreman, like m'sieur johnston, while baptiste"--and the broad shoulders would rise in that meaning shrug which only frenchmen can achieve--"poor baptiste will be cook still." beginning with johnston and baptiste, frank was rapidly making friends among his companions, and as he was soon to learn, much to his surprise and sorrow, some enemies too--or, rather, to be more correct, he was making the friends, but the enemies were making themselves; for he was to blame in small part, if at all, for their rising against him. there were all sorts and conditions of men, so far at least as character and disposition went, among the gang, and the evil element was fitly represented by a small group of inhabitants who recognized one damase deschenaux as their leader. this damase made rather a striking figure. although he scorned the suggestion as hotly as would a southern planter the charge that negro blood darkened his veins, there was no doubt that some generations back the dusky wife of a _courier du bois_ had mingled the indian nature with the french. unhappily for damase, the result of his ancestral error was manifest in him; for, while bearing but little outward resemblance to his savage progenitor, he was at heart a veritable indian. greedy, selfish, jealous, treacherous, quick to take offence and slow to forgive or forget, his presence in the johnston gang was explained by his wonderful knowledge of the forest, his sure judgment in selecting good bunches of timber to be cut, and his intimate acquaintance with the course of the stream down which the logs would be floated in the spring. johnston had no liking for damase, but found him too valuable to dispense with. this year, by chance, or possibly by his own management, damase had among the gang a number of companions much after his own pattern, and it was clearly his intention to take the lead in the shanty so far as he dared venture. when first he saw frank, and learned that he was to be with johnston also, he tried after his own fashion to make friends with him. but as might be expected, neither the man himself nor his overtures of friendship impressed frank favourably. he wanted neither a pull from his pocket flask nor a chew from his plug of "navy," nor to handle his greasy cards; and although he declined the offer of all these uncongenial things as politely as possible, the veritable suspicious, sensitive, french-indian nature took offence, which deepened day after day, as he could not help seeing that frank was careful to give himself and companions as wide a berth as he could without being pointedly rude or offensive. when one is seeking to gratify evil feelings toward another with whom he has daily contact, the opportunity is apt to be not long in coming, and damase conceived that he had his chance of venting his spite on frank by seizing upon the habit of bible reading and prayer which the lad had as scrupulously observed in the shanty as if he had been at home. as might be imagined, he was altogether alone in this good custom, and at first the very novelty of it had secured him immunity from pointed notice or comment. but when damase, thinking he saw in his daily devotions an opening for his malicious purposes, drew attention to them by jeering remarks and taunting insinuations, the others, yielding to that natural tendency to be incensed with any one who seems to assert superior goodness, were inclined to side with him, or at all events to make no attempt to interfere. at first damase confined himself to making as much noise as possible while frank was reading his bible or saying his prayers, keeping up a constant fire of remarks that were aimed directly at the much-tried boy, and which were sometimes clever or impertinent enough to call forth a hearty laugh from his comrades. but finding that frank was not to be overcome by this, he resorted to more active measures. pretending to be dancing carelessly about the room he would, as if by accident, bump up against the object of his enmity, sending the precious book flying on the floor, or, if frank was kneeling by his bunk, tripping and tumbling roughly over his outstretched feet. another time he knocked the bible out of his hands with a well-aimed missile, and, again, covered him with a heavy blanket as he knelt at prayer. all this frank bore in patient silence, hoping in that way to secure peace in time. but damase's persecutions showing no signs of ceasing, the poor lad's self-control began to desert him, and at last the crisis came one night when, while he was kneeling as usual at the foot of his bunk, damase crept up softly behind him, and springing upon his shoulders, brought him sprawling to the floor. in an instant frank was on his feet, and when the others saw his flashing and indignant countenance and noticed his tight-clinched fists, the roar of laughter that greeted his downfall was checked half way, and a sudden silence fell upon them. they all expected him to fly at his tormentor like a young tiger, and damase evidently expected it too, for he stepped back a little, and his grinning face sobered as he assumed a defensive attitude. but frank had no thought of striking. that was not his way of defending his religion, much as he was willing to endure rather than be unfaithful. drawing himself up to his full height, and looking a splendid type of righteous indignation, he commanded the attention of all as in clear, strong tones, holding his sturdy fists close to his sides as though he dared not trust them elsewhere, and looking straight into damase's eyes, lie exclaimed,-- "aren't you ashamed to do such an unmanly thing--you, who are twice my size and age? i have done nothing to you. why should you torment me? and just when i want most to be quiet, too!" then, turning to the other men with a gesture of appeal that was irresistible, he cried,-- "do you think it's fair, fellows, for that man to plague me so when i've done him no harm? why don't you stop him? you can do it easy enough. he's nothing but a big coward." frank's anger had risen as he spoke, and this last sentence slipped out before he had time to stop it. no sooner was it uttered than he regretted it; but the bolt had been shot, and it went straight to its mark. while frank had been speaking, damase was too keen of sight and sense not to notice that the manly speech and fine self-control of the boy were causing a quick revulsion of feeling in his hearers, and that unless diverted they would soon be altogether on his side, and the taunt he had just flung out awoke a deep murmur of applause which was all that was needed to inflame his passion to the highest pitch. the frenchman looked the very incarnation of fury as, springing towards frank with uplifted fist, he hissed, rather cried, through his gleaming teeth,-- "coward! i teach you call me coward." stepping back a little, frank threw up his arms in a posture of defence; for he was not without knowledge of what is so oddly termed "the noble art." but before the blow fell an unlooked-for intervention relieved him from the danger that threatened. the foreman, when the shanty was being built, had the farther right-hand corner partitioned off so as to form a sort of cabin just big enough to contain his bunk, his chest, and a small rude table on which lay the books in which he kept his accounts and made memoranda, and some half-dozen volumes that constituted his library. in this nook, shut off from the observation and society of the others, yet able to overhear and, if he chose to open the door, to oversee also all that went on in the larger room, johnston spent, his evenings poring over his books by the light of a tallow candle, the only other light in the room being that given forth by the ever-blazing fire. owing to this separation from the others, johnston had been unaware of the manner in which frank had been tormented, as it was borne so uncomplainingly. but this time frank's indignant speech, followed so fast by damase's angry retort, told him plainly that there was need of his interference. he emerged from his corner just at the moment when damase was ready to strike. one glance at the state of affairs was enough. damase's back was turned toward him. with a swift spring, that startled the others as if he had fallen through the roof, he darted forward, and ere the french-canadian's fist could reach its mark a resistless grasp was laid upon his collar, and, swung clear off his feet, he was flung staggering across the room as though he had been a mere child. "you indian dog!" growled johnston, in his fiercest tones, "what are you about? don't let me catch you tormenting that boy again!" chapter vi. life in the lumber camp. for a moment there was absolute silence in the shanty, the sudden and effectual intervention of the big foreman in frank kingston's behalf filling the onlookers with astonishment. but then, as they recovered themselves, there came a burst of laughter that made the rafters ring, in the midst of which damase, gathering himself together, slunk scowling to his berth with a face that was dark with hate. not deigning to take any further notice of him, johnston turned to go back to his corner, touching frank on his shoulder as he did so, and saying to him in a low tone,-- "come with me, my lad; i want a word with you." still trembling from the excitement of the scene through which he had just passed, frank followed the foreman into his little sanctum, the inside of which he had never seen before, for it was kept jealously locked whenever its occupant was absent. johnston threw himself clown on his bunk, and motioned frank to take a seat upon the chest. for a few moments he regarded him in silence, and so intently that, although his expression was full of kindness, and it seemed of admiration, too, the boy felt his face flushing under his steady scrutiny. at last the foreman spoke. "you're a plucky lad, frank. just like your father-god bless him' he was a good friend to me when i needed a friend sorely. i heard all that went on to-night, though i didn't see it, and had some hint of it before, though i didn't let on, for i wanted to see what stuff you were made of. but you played the man, my boy, and your father would have been proud to see you. now just you go right ahead, frank; and if any of those french rascals or anybody else tries to hinder you, out of this shanty he'll go, neck and crop, and stay out, as sure as my name is dan johnston." "you're very kind, mr. johnston," said frank, his eyes glistening somewhat suspiciously, for, to tell the truth, this warm praise coming after the recent strain upon his nerves was a little too much for his self-control. "i felt sometimes like telling you when the men tormented me so; but i didn't want to be a tale-bearer, and i was hoping they'd get tired of it and give up of their own accord." "it's best as it is, lad," replied johnston. "if the men found out you told me, they'd be like to think hard of you. but there's no fear of that now. and look here, frank. after this, when you want to read your bible in peace, and say your prayers, just come in here. no one'll bother you here, and you can sit down on the chest there and have a quiet time to yourself." frank's face fairly beamed with delight at this unexpected invitation, and he stood up on his feet to thank his kind friend. "oh, mr. johnston, i'm so glad! i've never been able to read my bible or say my prayers right since i came to the shanty-there's always such a noise going on. but i won't mind that in here. it's so good of you to let me come in." the foreman smiled in his deep, serious way, and then as he relapsed into silence, and took up again the book he had laid down to spring to frank's assistance, frank thought it time to withdraw; and with a respectful "good-night, sir," which johnston acknowledged by a nod, returned to the larger room. the shantymen were evidently awaiting his reappearance with much curiosity; but he went quietly back to his bunk, picked up his bible, finished the passage in the midst of which he had been interrupted, and, having said his prayers, lay down to sleep without a word to any one; for no one questioned him, and he felt no disposition to start a discussion by questioning any of the others. from this time forth he could see clearly that two very different opinions concerning himself prevailed in the shanty. by all the english members of the gang, and some of the. french, headed by honest baptiste, he was looked upon, with hearty liking and admiration, as a plucky chap that knew how to take care of himself; by the remainder of the french contingent, with damase as the ruling spirit, he was regarded as a stuck-up youngster that wanted taking down badly, and who was trying to make himself a special favourite with the foreman just to advance his own selfish ends. gladly would frank have been on friendly terms with all; but this being now impossible, through no fault of his own, he made up his mind to go on his way as quietly as possible, being constantly careful to give no cause of offence to those who, as he well knew, were only too eager to take it. there were some slight flurries of snow, fragile and short-lived heralds of winter's coming, during the latter part of november, and then december was ushered in by a grand storm that lasted a whole day, and made glad the hearts of the lumbermen by filling the forest aisles with a deep, soft, spotless carpet, that asked only to be packed smooth and hard in order to make perfect roads over which to transport the noble logs that had been accumulating upon the "roll-ways" during the past weeks. a shantyman is never so completely in his element as when the snow lies two feet deep upon the earth's brown breast. an open winter is his bane, jack frost his best friend; and there was a perceptible rise in the spirits of the occupants of camp kippewa as the mercury sank lower and lower in the tube of the foreman's thermometer. plenty of snow meant not only easy hauling all winter long, but a full river and "high water" in the spring-time, and no difficulty in getting the drive of logs that would represent their winter's work down the kippewa to the grand river beyond. frank did not entirely share their exultation. the colder it got the more wood had to be chopped, the more food had to be cooked--for the men's appetites showed a marked increase--and, furthermore, the task of keeping the water-barrels filled became one of serious magnitude. but bracing himself to meet his growing burdens, he toiled away cheerfully, resisting every temptation to grumble, his clear tuneful whistling of the sacred airs in vogue at calumet making baptiste, who had a quick ear for music, so familiar with "rock of ages," "abide with me," "nearer, my god, to thee," and other melodies, which have surely strayed down to us from heaven, that unconsciously he took to whistling them himself, much to frank's amusement and approval. the days were very much alike. at early dawn, before it was yet light enough to see clearly, johnston would emerge from his corner, and, in stentorian tones whose meaning was not to be mistaken, shout to the sleeping men scattered along the rows of sloping bunks. "up with ye, men! up with ye!" and with many a growl and grunt they would, one by one, unroll from their blankets. as their only preparation for bed had been to lay aside their coats and boots or moccasins, the morning toilet did not consume much time. a dash of cold water as an eye-opener, a tugging on of boots or lacing up of moccasins, a scrambling into coats, and that was the sum of it. the only brush and comb in the camp belonged to frank, and he felt half ashamed to use them, because no one else thought such articles necessary. breakfast hurriedly disposed of, all but baptiste and frank sallied forth into the snow, to be seen no more until mid-day. there were just fifty persons, all told, in the camp, each man having his definite work to do the carpenter, whose business it was to keep the sleighs in repair; the teamsters, who directed the hauling of the logs; the "sled-tenders," who saw that the loads were well put on; the "head chopper" and his assistants, whose was the laborious yet fascinating task of felling the forest monarchs; the "sawyers," who cut their prostrate forms into convenient lengths; the "scorers," who stripped off the branches and slab sides from tree trunks set apart for square timber; and finally, the "hewer," who with his huge, broad axe made square the "stick," as the great piece of timber is called. all these men had to be fed three times a day, and almost insatiable were their appetites, as poor frank had no chance to forget. happily they did not demand the same variety in their bill of fare as do the guests at a metropolitan hotel. pork and beans, bread and tea, these were the staple items. anything else was regarded as an "extra." a rather monotonous diet, undoubtedly; but it would not be easy to prescribe a better one for men working twelve hours a day, in the open air, through the still, steady cold of a canadian winter in the backwoods. at noon the hungry toilers trooped back for dinner, which they devoured in ravenous haste that there might be as much as possible left of the hour for a lounge upon the bunk, with pipe in mouth, in luxurious idleness. then as the dusk gathered they appeared once more, this time for the night, and disposed to eat their supper with much more decorous slowness. supper over, the snow-soaked mittens and stockings hung about the fire to dry, and pipes put in full blast, they were ready for song, story, or dance, until bed time. thus day followed day, until frank, whose work kept him closely confined to the camp, grew so weary of it that he was on the verge of heartily repenting that he had ever consented to be a chore-boy, ever thought that was the only condition upon which he could gratify his longing for a lumberman's life, when another mischance became his good fortune, and he was unexpectedly relieved of a large part of his tiresome duties. this was how it came about. one morning he was surprised by seeing one of the sleighs returning a good while before the dinner hour, and was somewhat alarmed when he noticed that it bore the form of a man, who had evidently been the victim of an accident. happily, however, it proved to be not a very serious case. an immense pine in falling headlong had borne with it a number of smaller trees that stood near by, and one of these had fallen upon an unwary "scorer," hurling him to the ground, and badly bruising his right leg, besides causing some internal injury. he was insensible when picked up, but came to himself soon after reaching the shanty, where frank made him as comfortable as he could, even putting him upon his own mattress that he might lie as easy as possible. the injured man proved to be one of damase deschenaux's allies; but frank did not let that prevent his showing him every kindness while he was recovering from his injuries, with the result of completely winning the poor ignorant fellow's heart, much to damase's disgust. damase, indeed, did his best to persuade laberge that frank's attentions were prompted by some secret motive, and that it was not to be trusted. but deeds are far stronger arguments than words, and the sufferer was not to be convinced. by the end of a week he was able to limp about the shanty, but it was very evident that he would not be fit to take up his work again that season. this state of affairs caused the foreman some concern, for he felt loath to send the unfortunate fellow home, and yet he could not keep him in idleness. then it appeared that what is one man's extremity may be another's opportunity. johnston knew very well that however bravely he might go about it, frank's work could not help being distasteful to him, and a bright plan flashed into his mind. calling frank into his corner one evening, he said,-- "how would you like, my lad, to have some of the out-door work for a change?" the mere expression of frank's face was answer enough. it fairly shone with gladness, as he replied,-- "i would like it above all things, sir, for i am a little tired of being nothing but a chore-boy." "well, i think we might manage it, frank," said the foreman. "you see, laberge can't do his work again this winter, and it goes against my heart to send him home, for he's nobody but himself to depend upon. so i've hit upon this plan: laberge can't chop the wood or haul the water, but he can help baptiste in cooking and cleaning up. suppose, then, you were to get the wood ready and see about the water in the morning, and then come out into the woods with us after dinner, leaving laberge to do the rest of the work. how would that suit you?" "it would suit me just splendidly, sir," exclaimed frank, delightedly. "i can see about the wood and water all right before dinner, and i'll be so glad to go to the woods with you. i'll just do the best i can to fill laberge's place." "i'm right sure you will, frank," replied johnston. "so you may consider it settled for the present, at any rate." frank felt like dancing a jig on the way back to his bunk, and not even the scowling face of damase, who had been listening to the conversation in the foreman's room with keen indian ears, and had caught enough of it to learn of the arrangement made, could cast any damper upon his spirits. in this case half a loaf was decidedly better than no bread at all. freedom from the restraints and irksome duties of chore-boy's lot for even half the day was a precious boon, and the happy boy lay down to rest that night feeling like quite a different person from what he had been of late, when there seemed no way of escape from the monotonous, wearisome task he had taken upon himself, except to give it all up and return to calumet, which was almost the last thing that he could imagine himself doing; for frank kingston had plenty of pride as well as pluck, and his love for lumbering had not suffered any eclipse because of his experiences. but what is one man's meat is another man's poison, according to the homely adage, and in this case what made frank so happy made--damase miserable. the jealous, revengeful fellow saw in it only another proof of the foreman's favouritism, and was also pleased to regard the relegating of laberge to the dish-washing and so forth as the degradation of a compatriot, which it behoved him to resent, since laberge seemed lacking in the spirit to do it himself. had he imagined that he would meet with the support of the majority, he would have sought to organize a rebellion in the camp. but he knew well enough that such a thing was utterly out of the question, so he was forced to content himself with fresh determinations to "get even" with the foreman and his favourite in some way before the winter passed; and, as will be seen, he came perilously near attaining his object. chapter vii. a thrilling experience. frank was very happy now that the way had been so opportunely opened for him to take part in the whole round of lumbering operations. he awaited with impatience the coming of noon and the rush of hungry men to their hearty dinner, because it was the signal for his release from chore-boy work and promotion to the more honourable position of assistant-teamster. the long afternoons out in the cold, crisp air, amid the thud of well-aimed axes, the crash of falling trees, the shouts of busy men, and all the other noisy incidents of the war they were waging against the innocent, defenceless forest, were precisely what his heart had craved so long, and he felt clearer than ever in his mind that lumbering was the life for him. after he had been a week at his new employment, con murphy, the big teamster to whom he had been assigned by the foreman, with the injunction to "be easy on the lad, and give him plenty of time to get handy," was heard to say in public,-- "faith, an' he's a broth of a boy, i can tell you; and i wouldn't give him for half-a-dozen of those _parlez-vous_ frenchies like the chap whose place he took--indade that i wouldn't." which, coming to damase's ears, added further fuel to the fire of jealousy and hate that was burning within this half-savage creature's breast. so fierce indeed were damase's feelings that he could not keep them concealed, and more than one of the shantymen took occasion to drop a word of warning into frank's ear about him. "you'd better keep a sharp eye on that chap damase, frank," they would say. "he's an ugly customer, and he seems to have got it in for you." frank, on his part, was by no means disposed to laugh at or neglect these kindly warnings. indeed, he fully intended repeating them to johnston at the first opportunity. but the days slipped by without a favourable chance presenting itself, and damase's wild thirst for the revenge which he thought was merited came perilously near a dreadful satisfaction. february had come, and supplies at the shanty were running low, so that foreman johnston deemed it necessary to pay a visit to the depot to see about having a fresh stock sent out. the first that frank knew of his intention was the night before he started. he had gone into the foreman's little room as usual to read his bible and pray, and having finished, was about to slip quietly out, johnston having apparently been quite unobservant of his presence, when he was asked,-- "how would you like to go over to the depot with me to-morrow?" how would he like! such a question to ask of a boy, when it meant a twenty-five miles' drive and a whole day's holiday after months of steady work at the camp! "i should be delighted, sir," replied frank, as promptly as he could get the words out. "very well, then; you can come along with me. we'll start right after breakfast. baptiste will have to look after himself for one day," said the foreman. and with a fervent "thank you, sir," frank went off, his face wreathed with smiles and his heart throbbing with joy at the prospect before him. so eager was he that it did not need johnston's shout of "turn out, lads, turn out!" to waken him next morning, for he was wide awake already, and he tumbled into his clothes with quite unusual alacrity. so soon as breakfast was over, the foreman had one of the best horses in the stable harnessed to his "jumper," as the low, strong, comfortable wooden sleigh that is alone able to cope with the rough forest roads is called; abundance of thick warm buffalo-robes were provided; and then he and frank tucked themselves in tightly, and they set out on their long drive to the depot. the mercury stood at twenty degrees below zero when they started, but they did not mind that. not a breath of wind stirred the clear cold air. the sun soon rose into the blue vault above them, and shone down upon the vast expanse of snow about them with a vigour that made their eyes blink. the horse was a fine animal, and, having been off duty for a few days previous, was full of speed and spirit, and they glided over the well-beaten portion of the road at a dashing pace. but when they came to the part over which there had been little travel all winter long the going was too heavy for much speed, and often the horse could not do more than walk. this seemed to frank just the opportunity for which he had been waiting, to tell the foreman about damase and his threats of revenge. at first johnston was disposed to make light of the matter, but when frank told him what he had himself observed, as well as what had been reported to him by the others, the foreman was sufficiently impressed to say,-- "the rascal wants some looking after, that's clear. he's a worthless fellow, anyway, and i'm mighty sorry i ever let him into my gang. i think the best thing will be to drop him as soon as i get back, or he may make some trouble for us. i'm glad you told me this, frank. i won't forget it." at the depot they found alec stewart, just returned from a tour of inspection of the different camps, and full of hearty welcome. he was very glad to see frank. "ah ha, my boy!" he cried, slapping him vigorously on the back, "i needn't ask you how you are. your looks answer for you. why, you must weigh ten pounds more than when i last saw you. well, what do you think of lumbering now, and how does mr. johnston treat you? they tell me," looking at the foreman with a sly smile, "that he's a mighty stiff boss. is that the way you find him?" frank was ready enough to answer all his friend's questions, and to assure him that the foreman treated him like a kind father, and that he himself was fonder of lumbering than ever. both he and johnston had famous appetites for the bountiful dinner that was soon spread before them, and the resources of the depot permitting of a much more extensive bill of fare than was possible at the shanty, he felt in duty bound to apologize for the avidity with which he attacked the juicy roast of beef, the pearly potatoes, the toothsome pudding, and the other dainties that, after months of pork and beans, tasted like ambrosia. the superintendent and the foreman had much to say to one another which did not concern frank, and so while they talked business he roamed about the place, enjoying the freedom from work, and chatting with the men at the depot, telling them some of his experiences and being told some of theirs in return. happening to mention damase deschenaux, one of the men at once exclaimed,-- "that's a first-class scoundrel! it beats me to understand why johnston has him in his gang. he's sure to raise trouble wherever he goes." frank felt tempted to tell how damase had "raised trouble" with him, but thought he would better not, and the talk soon turned in another direction. the afternoon was waning before johnston prepared to start on the return journey, and mr. stewart tried hard to persuade him to stay for the night--an invitation that frank devoutly hoped would be accepted. but the big foreman would not hear of it. "no, no," said be in his decided way, "i must get back to the shanty. there's been only half a day's work done to-day, i'll warrant you, because i wasn't on hand to keep the beggars at it. why, they'll lie abed till mid-day to-morrow if i'm not there to rouse them out of their bunks." whatever johnston said he stuck to, so there was no use in argument, and shortly after four o'clock he and frank tucked themselves snugly into the jumper again and drove away from the depot, stewart shouting after them,-- "if you change your mind after you've gone a couple of miles, don't feel delicate about coming back. i won't laugh at you." johnston's only answer was a grim smile and a crack of the whip over the horse's hind-quarters that sent him off at full gallop, the snow flying in clouds from his plunging feet into the faces of his passengers. the hours crept by as the sleigh made its slow way over the heavy ground, and frank, as might be expected after the big dinner he had eaten, began to feel very sleepy. there was no reason why he should not yield to the seductive influence of the drowsy god, so, sinking down low into the seat and drawing the buffalo-robe up over his head, he soon was lost to sight and sense. while he slept the night fell, and they were still many miles from home. the cold was great, but not a breath of wind stirred the intense stillness. the stars shone out like flashing diamonds set in lapis-lazuli. silence reigned supreme, save as it was intruded upon by the heavy breathing of the frost-flaked horse and the crunching of the runners through the crisp snow. johnston felt glad when they breasted the hill on the other side of which was deep gully, crossed by a rude corduroy bridge; for that bridge was just five miles from the camp, and another hour, at the farthest, would bring them to the end of their journey. when the top of the hill was reached, the foreman gathered up the reins, called upon the horse to quicken his pace, and away they went down the slope at a tearing gallop. deep gully well deserved the name that had been given it when the road was made. a turbulent torrent among the hills had in the course of time eaten a way for itself, which, although very narrow, made up for its lack of breadth by a great degree of depth. it was a rather picturesque place in summer time, when abundant foliage softened its steep sides; but in winter, when it seemed more like a crevasse in a glacier than anything else, there was no charm about it. the bridge that crossed it was a very simple affair, consisting merely of two long stringers laid six feet apart, and covered with flattened timbers. upon this slight structure the jumper descended with a bump that woke frank from his pleasant nap, and, putting aside the buffalo-robe, he sat up in the sleigh to gather his wits. it was well he did, for if ever he needed them it was at that moment. almost simultaneous with the thud of the horse's feet upon the bridge there came a crash, a sound of rending timbers, the bridge quivered like a ship struck by a mighty billow, and the next instant dropped into the chasm below, bearing with it a man, and boy, and horse, and sleigh! full thirty feet they fell; the bridge, which had given way at one end only, hurling them from it so that they landed at the bottom of deep gully in a confused heap, yet happily free from entanglement with its timbers. so soon as he felt himself falling frank threw aside the robes and made ready to spring; but johnston instinctively held on to the reins, with the result that, being suddenly dragged forward by the frantic plunging of the terrified animal, he received a kick in the forehead that rendered him insensible, and would have dashed his brains out but for the thick fur cap he wore, while the jumper, turning over upon him, wrenched his leg so as to render him completely helpless. frank was more fortunate. his timely spring, aided by the impetus of their descent, carried him clear of the horse and sleigh, and sent him headlong into a deep drift that filled a hollow at the gully's bottom. the snow-bank opened its arms to receive him, and buried him to the hips. the first shock completely deprived him of breath, and almost of his senses too. but beyond that he received no injury, and was soon struggling with all his might to free himself from the snow that held him captive. this proved to be no easy task. he was pretty firmly embedded, and at first it seemed as though his efforts at release only made his position worse. "this is a fine fix to be in!" said he to himself. "buried in a snow-drift; and dear knows what's happened to mr. johnston." he had been hoping that the foreman would come to his assistance, but getting no reply to his shouts, he began to fear lest his companion might be unable to render any help. perhaps, indeed, he might be dead! the thought roused him to still greater exertions, and at last by a heroic effort he succeeded in turning a kind of somersault in his cold prison, which had the happy result of putting his head where his heels had been. to scramble out altogether was then an easy job, and in another instant he was beside the sleigh. his first thought was that his worst fears were realized. certainly the sight was one that might have filled a stouter heart with chill alarm. the horse had fallen into a deep drift, which covered him to the shoulders, and rendered him utterly helpless, entangled as he was with the harness and the over-turned jumper. he had evidently, like frank, been struggling violently to free himself, but finding it useless, had for a time ceased his efforts, and stood wild-eyed and panting, the picture of animal terror. on seeing frank he made another frantic plunge or two, looking at the boy with an expression of agonized appeal, as though he would say,-- "oh, help me out of this dreadful place!" and glad would frank have been to respond to the best of his ability. but the poor horse could not be considered first. half under the sleigh, half buried in the snow, lay the big foreman, to all appearance dead, the blood flowing freely from an ugly gash in his forehead, where the fur cap had failed to protect him entirely from the horse's hoof. frank sprang to his side, and with a tremendous effort turned him over upon his back, and getting out his handkerchief, wiped the blood away from his face. as he did so, the first awful thought of death gave way to a feeling of hope. white and still as johnston lay, his face was warm, and he was surely breathing a little. seizing a handful of snow, frank pressed it to the foreman's forehead, and cried to him as though he were asleep,-- "mr. johnston, mr. johnston! what's the matter with you? tell me, won't you?" for some minutes there was no sign of response. then the injured man stirred, gave a deep sigh followed by a groan, opened his eyes with a look of dazed bewilderment, and put his hand up to his head, which was evidently giving him intense pain. "oh, mr. johnston, i'm so glad! i was afraid you were dead!" exclaimed frank. "can't i help you to get up?" turning upon his shoulder, the foreman made an effort to raise himself, but at once sank back with a groan. "i'm sore hurt, my lad," he said; "i can't stir. you'll have to get help." and so great was his suffering that he well nigh lost consciousness again. frank tried his best to lift him away from the sleigh, but found the task altogether beyond his young strength in that deep snow, and had to give it up as hopeless. certainly he was in a most trying situation for a mere boy--fully five miles from the shanty, with an almost untravelled road between that must be traversed by him alone, while the injured man would have to lie helpless in the snow until his return. little wonder if he felt in sore perplexity as to what should be done, and how he should act under the circumstances. chapter viii. in the nick of time. if frank was undecided, mr. johnston's mind was fully made up. "our only chance is for you to get to the shanty at once, frank. it'll be a hard job, my boy, but you'll have to try it," said he. "but what'll become of you, sir, staying here all alone? the wolves might find you out, and how could you defend yourself then?" asked frank, in sore bewilderment as to the solution of the dilemma. "i'll have to take my chances of that, frank; for if i stay here all night, i'll freeze to death, anyway. so just throw the buffaloes over me, and put for the shanty as fast as you can," replied the foreman. unable to suggest any better plan, frank covered johnston carefully with the robes, making him as comfortable as he could; then buttoning up his coat and pulling his cap on tightly, he was about to scramble up the steep side of the gully to regain the road, when the foreman said, in a low tone, almost a whisper,-- "this is about the time you generally say your prayers, frank. couldn't you say them here before you start?" with quick intuition frank divined the big bashful man's meaning. it was his roundabout way of asking the boy to commit him to the care of god before leaving him alone in his helplessness. feeling half condemned at not having thought of it himself, frank came back, and kneeling close beside his friend, lifted up his voice in prayer with a fervour and simplicity that showed how strong and sure was his faith in the love and power of his father in heaven. when he had finished his petition, the foreman added to it an "amen" that seemed to come from the very depths of his heart; and then, yielding to an impulse that was irresistible, frank bent down and implanted a sudden kiss upon the pale face looking at him with such earnest, anxious eyes. this unexpected proof of warm affection completely overcame the foreman, whose feelings had been already deeply stirred by the prayer. strong, reserved man as he was, be could not keep back the tears. "god bless you, my boy!" he murmured huskily. "if i get safely out of this, i shall be a different man. you have taught me a lesson i won't forget." "god bless you and take care of you, sir!" answered frank. "i hope nothing will happen to you while i'm away, and i'll be back as soon as i can." the next moment he was making his way up the gully's side, and soon a triumphant shout announced that he had reached the road and was off for the lumber camp at his best speed. the task before him was one from which many a grown man might have shrunk in dismay. for five long, lonely miles the road ran through the forest that darkened it with heavy shadows, and not a living soul could he hope to meet until he reached the shanty. it was now past eight o'clock, and to do his best it would take him a whole hour to reach his goal. the snow lay deep upon the road, and was but little beaten down by the few sleighs that had passed over it. the air was keen and crisp with frost, the temperature being many degrees below zero. and finally, the most fear-inspiring of all, there was the possibility of wolves, for the dreaded timber wolf had been both heard and seen in close proximity to the camp of late, an unusual scarcity of small game having made him daring in his search for food. but frank possessed a double source of strength. he was valiant by nature, and he had implicit faith in god's overruling providence. he felt specially under the divine care now, and resolutely putting away all thoughts of personal danger, addressed himself, mind and body, to the one thing--the relief of johnston from his perilous position. with arms braced at his sides and head bent forward, he set out at a jog-trot, which was better suited for getting through the deep snow than an ordinary walk. fortunately he was in the very pink of condition. the steady, hard work of the preceding months, combined with the coarse but abundant food and early hours, had developed and strengthened every muscle in his body and hardened his constitution until few boys of his age could have been found better fitted to endure a long tramp through heavy snow than he. moreover, running had always been his favourite form of athletic exercise, and the muscles it required were well trained for their work. "i'll do it all right inside the hour," he said to himself. and then, as a sudden thought struck him, he gave a nervous little laugh, and added, "and perhaps make a good deal better time if i hear anything of the wolves." try as he might, he could not get the wolves out of his head. he had not himself seen any signs of them, but several times the choppers working farthest from the camp had mentioned finding their tracks in the snow, and once they had been heard howling in the distance after the men had all come into the shanty for the night. on he went through the snow and night, now making good progress at his brisk jog-trot, now going more slowly as he dropped into a walk to rest himself and recover breath. although the moon rode high in the heavens, the trees which stood close to the road allowed few of her beams to light his path. "if it was only broad daylight i wouldn't mind it a bit," frank soliloquized; "but this going alone at this time of night is not the sort of a job i care for." and then the thought of poor johnston lying helpless but uncomplaining in the snow made him feel ashamed of his words, and to ease his conscience he broke into a trot again. just as he did so a sound reached his ear that sent a thrill of terror to his heart. hoping he might be mistaken, he stopped and listened with straining senses. for a moment there was absolute silence. then the sound came again--distant, but clear and unmistakable. he had heard it only once before, yet he felt as sure of it now as if it had been his mother's voice. it was the howl of the timber wolf sounding through the still night air from somewhere to the north; how far away he could not determine. at the sound all his strength seemed to leave him. how helpless he was alone in that mighty forest without even so much as a knife wherewith to defend himself! but it would not do to stand irresolute. his own life as well as the foreman's depended upon his reaching the shanty. were he to climb one of the big trees that stood around, the wolves, of course, could not get at him; but johnston would be dead before daylight came to release him from his tree citadel, and perhaps he would himself fall a victim to the cold in that exposed situation. there was no other alternative than to run for his life, so, breathing out a fervent prayer for divine help and protection, he summoned all his energies to the struggle. he was more than a mile from the shanty, and his exertion had told severely upon his strength; but the great peril of his situation made him forget his weariness, and he started off as if he were perfectly fresh. but the howling of the wolves grew more and more distinct as they drew swiftly nearer, and with agony of heart the poor boy felt his breath coming short and his limbs beginning to fail beneath him. nearer and nearer came his dreaded pursuers, and every moment he expected to see them burst into the road behind him. fortunately, be had reached a part of the road which, being near the camp, was much used by the teams drawing logs to the river-bank, and was consequently beaten hard and smooth. this welcome change enabled him to quicken his steps, which had dropped into a walk; and although he felt almost blind from exhaustion, he pushed desperately forward, hoping at every turn of the road to catch a glimpse of the shanty showing dark through the trees. the cry of the disciples caught in the sudden storm on galilee, "lord, save us; we perish!" kept coming to his lips as he staggered onward. surely there could not be much further to go! he turned for a moment to look behind him. the wolves were in sight, their dark forms showing distinctly against the snow as in silence now they gained upon their prey. run as hard as he might, they must be upon him ere another fifty yards were passed. he felt as if it were all over with him, and so utter was his exhaustion that it seemed to benumb his faculties and make him half willing for the end to come. but the end was not to be as the wolves desired. just at the critical moment, when further exertion seemed impossible, he caught sight of some one approaching him rapidly from the direction of the shanty, and shouting aloud while he rushed forward to meet him. with one last supreme effort he plunged toward this timely apparition, and a moment later fell insensible at his feet. it was baptiste--good-hearted, affectionate baptiste--who, having awaited the travellers' return and grown concerned at their long delay, had gone out to look along the road to see if they were anywhere in view. catching sight of frank's lonely figure, he had made all haste to meet him, and reached him just in time to ward off the wolves that in a minute more would have been upon him. when the wolves saw baptiste, who swung a gleaming axe about his head, as he shouted, "_chiens donc!_ i'll split your heads eef i get at you!" they stopped short, and even retreated a little, drawing themselves together in a sort of group in the middle of the road, snapping their teeth and snarling in a half-frightened, half-furious manner. but baptiste was not to be daunted. lifting his axe on high, he shouted at them in his choicest french, and charged upon the pack as though they had been simply a flock of marauding sheep. wolves are arrant cowards, and without pausing to take into consideration the disparity of numbers, for they stood twelve to one, they fled ignominiously before the plucky frenchman, not halting until they had put fifty yards between themselves and him. whereupon baptiste seized upon the opportunity to pick up the still senseless frank, throw him over his broad shoulder, and hasten back to the shanty before the wolves should regain their self-possession. they were all asleep in the shanty when the cook returned with his unconscious burden; but he soon roused the others with his vigorous shouts, and by the time they were fully awake, frank was awake too, the warm air of the room quickly reviving him from his faint. looking round about with a bewildered expression, he asked anxiously,-- "where is mr. johnston? hasn't he come back too?" then he recollected himself, and a picture of his good friend lying prostrate and helpless in the snow, perhaps surrounded by the same wolves that brave baptiste had rescued him from, flashed into his mind, and springing to his feet he cried,-- "hurry--hurry! mr. johnston is in deep gully, and he can't move. the bridge broke under us, and he was almost killed. oh, hurry, won't you, or the wolves will be after him!" the men looked at one another in astonishment and horror. "deep gully!" they exclaimed. "that's five miles off. we must go at once." and immediately all was bustle and excitement as they prepared to go out into the night. as lumbermen always sleep in their clothes, they did not take long to dress, and in a wonderfully short space of time the teamsters had a sleigh with a pair of horses at the door, upon which eight of the men, armed with guns and axes, sprang, and off they went along the road as fast as the horses could gallop. frank wanted to accompany them, but baptiste would not allow him. "no, no, _mon cher._ you must stay wid me. you tired out. they get him all right, and bring him safe home." and he was fair to lie back, so tortured with anxiety for the foreman that he could hardly appreciate the blessing of rest, although his own exertions had been tremendous. not sparing the horses, the rescuers sped over the road, ever now and then discharging a gun, in order to let johnston know of their approach and keep his courage up. in less than half-an-hour they reached the gully, and peering over the brink, beheld the dark heap in the snow below that was the object of their search. one glance was sufficient to show how timely was their coming, for almost encircling the hapless man were smaller shapes that even at that distance could be readily recognized. "we're too late!" cried one of the men; "they're wolves." and with a wild shout he flung himself recklessly down the snowy slope, and others followed close behind. before their tumultuous onset the wolves fled like leaves before the autumn wind, and poor johnston, almost dead with pain, cold, and exhaustion, raising himself a little from the snow, called out in a faint but joyful tone,-- "thank god; you've come in time! i thought it was all over with me." chapter ix. out of clouds, sunshine. great was the joy of the men at finding johnston alive and still able to speak, and at once their united strength was applied to extricating him from his painful position. the poor horse, utterly unable to help himself, had long ago given up the vain struggle, and in a state of pitiful exhaustion and fright was lying where he first fell, the snow all about him being torn up in a way that showed how furious had been his struggles. johnston had by dint of heroic exertion managed to withdraw his leg a little from underneath the heavy jumper; but he could not free himself altogether, so that had the wolves found out how completely both horse and man were in their power, they would have made short work of both. fortunately, by vigorous shouting and wild waving of his arms, the foreman had been able to keep the cowardly creatures at bay long enough to allow the rescuing party to reach him. but he could not have kept up many minutes more, and if strength and voice had entirely forsaken him the dreadful end would soon have followed. handling the injured man with a tenderness and care one would hardly have looked for in such rough fellows, the lumbermen after no small exertion got him up out of the gully and laid him upon the sleigh in the road. then the horse was released from the jumper, and, being coaxed to his feet, led down the gully to where the sides were not so steep and he could scramble up, while the jumper itself was left behind to be recovered when they had more time to spare. before they started off for the shanty one of the men had the curiosity to cross the gully and examine the bridge where it broke, in order to find out the cause of the accident. when he returned there was a strange expression on his face, which added to the curiosity of the others who were awaiting his report. "both stringers are sawed near through!" he exclaimed. "and it's not been done long, either. must have been done to-day, for the sawdust's lying round still." the men looked at one another in amazement and horror. the stringers sawed through! what scoundrel could have done such a thing? who was the murderous traitor in their camp? then to the quickest-witted of them came the thought of damase's dire threat and consuming jealousy. "i know who did it," he cried. "there's only one man in the camp villain enough to do it. it was that hound damase, as sure as i stand here!" instantly the others saw the matter in the same light. damase had done it beyond a doubt, hoping thereby to have the revenge for which his savage heart thirsted. ill would it have gone with him could the men have laid hands on him at that moment. they were just in the mood to have inflicted such punishment as would probably have put the wretch in a worse plight than his intended victim, and many and fervent were their vows of vengeance, expressed in language rather the reverse of polite. strict almost to severity as johnston was in his management of the camp, the majority of the men, including all the best elements, regarded him with deep respect, if not affection; and that damase deschenaux should make so dastardly an attempt upon his life aroused in them a storm of indignant wrath which would not soon be allayed. they succeeded in making the sufferer quite comfortable upon the sleigh; but they had to go very slowly on the return journey to the shanty, both to make it easy for johnston, and because the men had to walk now that the sleigh was occupied. so soon as they came in sight, frank ran to meet them, calling out eagerly,-- "is he all right? have you got him?" "we've got him, frank, safe enough," replied the driver of the sleigh. "but we wasn't a minute too soon, i can tell you. i guess you must have sent your wolves off to him when you'd done with them." "were the wolves at you, sir?" exclaimed frank, bending over the foreman, and looking anxiously into his face. johnston had fallen into a sort of doze or stupor but the stopping of the sleigh and frank's anxious voice aroused him, and he opened his eyes with a smile that told plainly how dear to him the boy had become. "they weren't quite at me, frank, but they soon would have been if the men hadn't come along," he replied. with exceeding tenderness the big helpless man was lifted from the sleigh and placed in his own bunk in the corner. the whole shanty was awake to receive him, a glorious fire roared and crackled upon the hearth, and the pleasant fragrance of fresh-brewed tea filled the room. so soon as the foreman's outer garments had been removed, frank brought him a pannikin of the lumberman's pet beverage, and he drank it eagerly, saying that it was all the medicine he needed. beyond making him as comfortable as possible, nothing further could be done for him, and in a little while the shantymen were all asleep again as soundly as though there had been no disturbance of their slumbers. frank wanted to sit up with johnston; but the foreman would not hear of it, and, anyway, thoroughly sincere as was his offer, he never could have carried it out, for he was very weary himself and ready to drop asleep at the first chance. of damase there was no sign. some of the men had noticed him quitting work earlier than usual in the afternoon, and when he did not appear at supper-time had thought he was gone off hunting, which he loved to do whenever he got the opportunity. whether or not he would have the assurance to return to the shanty would depend upon whether he had waited in ambush to see the result of his villany; for if he had done so, and had witnessed the at least partial failure of his plot, there was little chance of his being seen again. the next morning a careful examination of johnston showed that, while no bones were broken, his right leg had been very badly twisted and strained almost to dislocation, and he had been internally injured to an extent that could be determined only by a doctor. it was decided to send a message for the nearest doctor, and meanwhile to do everything possible for the sufferer in the way of bandages and liniments that the simple shanty outfit afforded. by general understanding frank assumed the duties of nurse; and it was not long before life at the camp settled down into its accustomed routine, johnston having appointed the most experienced and reliable of the gang its foreman during his confinement. in due time the doctor came, examined his patient, made everybody glad by announcing that none of the injuries were serious, and that they required only time and attention for their cure, wrote out full directions for frank to follow, and then, congratulating johnston upon his good fortune in having so devoted and intelligent a nurse, set off again on the long drive to his distant home with the pleasant consciousness of having done his duty and earned a good fee. the weeks that followed were the happiest frank spent that winter. his duties as nurse were not onerous, and he enjoyed very much the importance with which they invested him. so long as his patient was well looked after, he was free to come and go according to his inclinations, and the thoughtful foreman saw to it that he spent at least half the day in the open air, often sending him with messages to the men working far off in the woods. frank always carried his rifle with him on these tramps, and frequently brought back with him a brace of hares or partridges, which, having had the benefit of baptiste's skill, were greatly relished by johnston, who found his appetite for the plain fare of the shanty much dulled by his confinement. as the days slipped by the foreman began to open his heart to his young companion and to tell him much about his boyhood, which deeply interested frank. living a frontier life, he had his full share of adventure in hunting, lumbering, and prospecting for limits, and many an hour was spent reviewing the past. one evening while they were thus talking together johnston became silent and fell into a sort of reverie, from which he presently roused himself, and looking very earnestly into frank's face, asked him,-- "have you always been a christian, frank?" the question came so unexpectedly and was so direct that frank was quite taken aback, and being slow to answer, the foreman, as if fearing he had been too abrupt, went on to say,-- "the reason i asked was because you seem to enjoy so much reading your bible and saying your prayers that i thought you must have had those good habits a long time." frank had now fully recovered himself, and with a blush that greatly became him, answered modestly,-- "i have always loved god. mother taught me how good and kind he is as soon as i was old enough to understand; and the older i get the more i want to love him and to try to do what is right." a look of ineffable tenderness came into johnston's dark eyes while the boy was speaking. then his face darkened, and giving vent to a heavy sigh, he passed his hand over his eyes as though to put away some painful recollection. after a moment's silence, he said,-- "my mother loved her bible, and wanted me to love it too. but i was a wild, headstrong chap, and didn't take kindly to the notion of being religious, and i'm afraid i cost her many a tear. god bless her! i wonder does she ever up there think of her son down here, and wonder if he's any better than he was when she had to leave him to look after himself." not knowing just what to say, frank made no reply, but his face glowed with sympathetic interest; and after another pause the foreman went on,-- "i've been thinking a great deal lately, frank, and it's been all your doing. seeing you so particular about your religion, and not letting anything stop you from saying your prayers and reading your bible just as you would at home, has made me feel dreadfully ashamed of myself, and i've been wanting to have a talk with you about it. would you mind reading your bible to me? i haven't been inside a church for many a year, and i guess i'd be none the worse of a little bible-reading." frank could not restrain an exclamation of delight. would he mind? had not this very thing been on his conscience for weeks past? had he not been hoping and praying for a good opportunity to propose it himself, and only kept back because of his fear lest the foreman should think this offer presumptuous? "i shall be very glad indeed to read my bible to you, sir," he answered eagerly. "i've been wanting to ask if i mightn't do it, but was afraid that perhaps you would not like it." "well, frank, to be honest with you, i'd a good deal rather have you read to me than read it for myself," said johnston; "because you must know it 'most by heart, and i've forgotten what little i did know once." the reading began that night, and thenceforward was never missed while the two were at camp kippewa. young as frank was, he had learned from his parents and at the sunday school a great deal about the book of books, and especially about the life of christ, so that to johnston he seemed almost a marvel of knowledge. it was beautiful to see the big man's simplicity as he sat at the feet, so to speak, of a mere boy, and learned anew from him the sublime and precious gospel truths that the indifference and neglect of more than forty years had buried in dim obscurity; and frank found an ever-increasing pleasure in repeating the comments and explanations that he had heard from the dear lips at home. even to his young eyes it was clear that the foreman was thoroughly in earnest, and would not stop short of a full surrender of himself to the master he had so long refused to acknowledge. above all things, he was a thorough man, and therefore this would take time, for he would insist upon knowing every step of the way; but once well started; no power on earth or beneath would be permitted to bar his progress to the very end. and this great end was achieved before he left his bunk to resume his work. he lay down there bruised and crippled and godless; but lie arose healed and strengthened and a new man in christ jesus! if frank was proud of his big convert, who can blame him? but for his coming to the camp, johnston might have remained as he was, caring for none of those things which touched his eternal interests; but now through the influence of his example, aided by favouring circumstances, he had been led to the master's feet. but damase--what of damase? there is not much to tell. whether or not he was watching when the bridge fell, and how he spent that night, no one ever knew. the next morning he was seen at the depot, where he explained his presence by saying that the foreman had "bounced" him, and that he was going back to his native town. beyond this, nothing further was ever heard of him. chapter x. a hunting-trip. the hold of winter had begun to relax ere johnston was able fully to resume his work, and a good deal of time having been lost through his accident, every effort had to be exerted to make it up ere the warm sunshine should put an end to the winter's work. frank was looking forward eagerly to the day when they should break camp, for, to tell the truth, he felt that he had had quite enough of it for one season, and he was longing to be back in calumet and enjoying the comforts of home once more. he was not exactly homesick. you would have very much offended him by hinting at that. he was simply tired of the monotony of camp fare and camp life, and anxious to return to civilization. so he counted the days that must pass before the order to break camp would come, and felt very light of heart when the sun shone warm, and correspondingly downcast when the thermometer sank below zero, as it was still liable to do. "striving" was the order of the day at the lumber camp--that is, the different gangs of choppers and sawyers and teamsters vied with each other as to which could chop, saw, and haul the most logs in a day. the amount of work they could accomplish when thus striving might astonish mr. gladstone himself, from eighty to one hundred logs felled and trimmed being the day's work of two men. frank was deeply interested in this competition, and enjoying the fullest confidence of the men, he was unanimously appointed scorer, keeping each gang's "tally" in a book, and reporting the results to the foreman, who heartily encouraged the rivalry among his men; for the harder they worked the better would be the showing for the season, and he was anxious not to lose the reputation he had won of turning out more logs at his shanty than did any other foreman on the kippewa. as the weeks passed and march gave way to april, and april drew toward its close, the lumbermen's work grew more and more arduous; but they kept at it bravely until at last, near the end of april, the snow became so soft in the woods and the roads so bad that no more hauling could be done, and the whole attention of the camp was then given to getting the logs that had been gathering at the river-side all through the winter out upon the ice, so that they might be sure to be carried off by the spring floods. this work did not require all hands, and johnston now saw the way clear to giving frank a treat that he had long had in mind for him, but had said nothing about. they were having their usual chat together before going to bed, when the foreman said,-- "is there anything you would like to do before we break up camp?" frank did not at first see the drift of the question, and looking at johnston with a puzzled sort of expression, replied, questioningly,-- "i don't know. i've had a very good time here." "well, but can you think of anything you would like to do before you go back to calumet?" persisted the foreman. "i'm asking you because there'll not be enough work to go round next week, and you can have a bit of holiday. now, isn't there something you would like to have a taste of while you have the chance?" and as he spoke his eyes were directed toward the wall at the head of his bed, where hung his rifle, powder-flask, and hunting knife. frank caught his meaning at once. "oh, i see what you are driving at now!" he exclaimed. "you want to know if i wouldn't like to go out hunting." "right you are," said johnston. "would you?" "would i?" cried frank. "would a duck swim? just try me, that's all." "well, i do intend to try you," returned johnston. "the firm have some limits over there near the foot of the mountain that they want me to prospect before i go back, and pick out the best place for a camp. i've been trying to make out to go over there all winter, but getting hurt upset my plans, and i've not had a chance until now. so i'm thinking of making a start to-morrow. there's nothing much else to do except to finish getting the logs on the ice, and i can trust the men to see to that; and, no odds what kind of weather we have, the ice can't start for a week at least. so if you'd like to come along with me and take your rifle, you may get a chance to have a shot at something before we get back. does that suit you?" this proposition suited frank admirably. a week in the woods in johnston's company could not fail to be a week of delight, and he thanked the foreman in his warmest words for offering to take him on his prospecting tour. the following morning they set off, the party consisting of four--namely, the foreman, frank, laberge, who accompanied them as cook, and another man named booth as a sort of assistant. the snow still lay deep enough to render snow-shoes necessary, and while johnston and frank carried their rifles, laberge and booth drew behind them a toboggan, upon which was packed a small tent and an abundant supply of provisions. their route led straight into the heart of the vast and so far little-explored forest, and away from the river beside whose bank they had been living all winter. it was johnston's purpose to penetrate to the foot of the mountain range that rose into sight nearly thirty miles away, and then work backward by a different route, noting carefully the lie of the land, the course of the streams, and the best bunches of timber, so as to make sure of selecting a site for the future camp in the very best locality. he was evidently in excellent spirits himself at the prospect of a week's holiday, for such it would really be, and all trace of his injury having entirely disappeared, there was no drawback to the energy with which he led his little expedition into the forest where they would be buried for the rest of the week. the weather was as fine as heart could wish. all day the sun shone brightly, and even at night the temperature never got anywhere near zero, so that with a buffalo-robe under you and a couple of good blankets over you it was possible to sleep quite comfortably in a canvas tent. "i can't promise you much in the way of game, frank," said johnston, as the two tramped along side by side. "it is too late in the season. but the bears must be out of their dens by this time, and if we see one we'll do our best to get his skin for you to take home." the idea of bringing a big bear-skin home as a trophy of his first real hunting expedition pleased frank mightily, and his eyes flashed as he grasped his rifle in a way that would in itself have been sufficient warning to bruin, could he only have seen it, to keep well out of the way of so doughty an assailant. "i'd like immensely to have a shot at a bear, sir," he replied. "so i do hope we shall see one." "you must be precious careful, though, frank," said johnston, "for they're generally in mighty bad humour at this time of year, and you need to get your work in quick, or they may make short work of you." various kinds of game were seen during the next day or two, and frank had many a shot. but johnston seldom fired, preferring to let frank have all the fun, as he said. one afternoon, just before they went into camp, the keen eyes of laberge detected something among the branches of a pine a little distance to the right of their path which caused his face to glow with excitement as he pointed eagerly to it, and exclaimed,-- "_voila_! a lucifee--shoot him, quick!" they all turned in the direction he pointed out, and there, sure enough, was a dark mass in the fork of the tree that, as they hastened toward it, resolved itself into a fierce-looking creature, full four times the size of an ordinary cat, which, instead of showing any fear at their approach, bristled up its back and uttered a deep, angry snarl that spoke volumes for its courage. "now, then, frank," said johnston, "take first shot, and see if you can fetch the brute down." trembling with excitement, frank threw up his rifle, did his best to steady himself, took aim at the bewhiskered muzzle of the lynx, and pulled the trigger. the sharp crack of the rifle was followed by an ear-piercing shriek of mingled pain and rage, and the next instant the wounded creature launched forth into the air toward the hunters. frank's nervousness, natural enough under the circumstances, had caused him to miss his mark a little, and the bullet, instead of piercing the "lucifee's" brain, had only stung him sorely in the shoulder. but quick as was its movements, johnston was still quicker, and the moment its feet touched the snow, ere it could gather itself for another spring, his rifle cracked and a bullet put an end to its career. "just as well you weren't by yourself, frank; hey?" said he, with a smile of satisfaction at the accuracy of his shot. "this chap would have been an ugly customer at close quarters, and," turning the body over to find where the first bullet had hit, "you see you hardly winged him." frank blushed furiously and looked very much ashamed of himself for not being a better marksman; but the foreman cheered him up by assuring him that he had really done very well in hitting the animal at all at that distance. "you only want a little practice, my boy," said he. "you have plenty of pluck; there's no mistake about that." the lynx had a fine skin, which laberge deftly removed, and it was given to frank because he had fired the first shot at it, so that he would not go back to calumet without at least one hunting trophy on the strength of which he might do a little boasting. further and further into the forest the little party pierced their way, not following any direct line, but making detours to right and left, in order that the country might be thoroughly inspected. as they neared the mountains the trees diminished in size and the streams shrank until, at the end of their journey, the first were too small to pay for cutting, and the second too shallow to be any good for floating. with no little difficulty they ascended a shoulder of the mountain range, in order to get a look over all the adjoining country, and then, johnston having made up his mind as to the location of the best bunches of timber and the most convenient site for the projected lumber camp, the object of the expedition was accomplished, and they were at liberty to return to the shanty. but before they could do this they were destined to have an adventure that came perilously near taking away from them the youngest of their number. it was the afternoon before they struck camp on the return journey. the foreman was sitting by the tent mending one of his snow-shoes, which had been damaged tramping through the bush, booth was busy cutting firewood, and laberge making preparations for the evening meal. having nothing else to do, frank picked up his rifle and sauntered off toward the mountain side, with no very clear idea as to anything more than to kill a little time. whistling cheerfully one of the many sacred melodies he knew and loved, he made his way over the snow, being soon lost to sight from the camp, johnston calling after him just before he disappeared,-- "take care of yourself, my boy, and don't go too far." to which frank responded with a smiling, "all right, sir." at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the camp he noticed a sort of rift in the mountain, where the rocks were bare and exposed, and at the end of this rift a dark aperture was visible, which at once attracted his attention. the boy that could come across a cave without being filled with a burning curiosity to take a peep in and, if possible, explore its interior, would have to be a very dull fellow, and frank certainly was not of that kind. this dark aperture was no doubt the mouth of a cave of some sort, and he determined to inspect it. when he got within about fifteen yards, he noticed what he had not seen before, that there was a well-defined track leading from the cave to the underbrush to the right, which had evidently been made by some large animal; and with somewhat of a start frank immediately thought of a bear. now, of course, under the circumstances, there was but one thing for him to do if he wished to illustrate his common sense, and that was to hurry back to the tent as fast as possible for reinforcements. ordinarily, he would have done so at once, but this time he was still smarting a bit at his poor marksmanship in the case of the "lucifee," and the sight of the track in the snow suggested the idea of winning a reputation for himself by killing a bear without any assistance from the others. it was a rash and foolish notion; but then boys will be boys. moving forward cautiously, he approached within ten yards of the cave and then halted again, bringing his rifle forward so as to be ready to fire at a moment's notice. bending down until his eyes were on a level with the opening, he tried hard to peer into its depths; but the darkness was too deep to pierce, and he could not make out anything. then he bethought him of another expedient. picking up a lump of snow, he pressed it into a ball and threw it into the cave, at the same time shouting out, "hallo there! anybody inside?" a proceeding that capped the climax of his rashness and produced quite as sensational a result as he could possibly have desired, for the next moment a deep angry roar issued from the rocky retreat and a fiery pair of eyes gleamed out from its shadows. the critical moment had come, and taking aim a little below the shining orbs, so as to make sure of hitting, frank pulled the trigger. the report of the rifle and the roar of the bear followed close upon one another, awaking the echoes of the adjoining heights. then came a moment's silence, broken the next instant by a cry of alarm from frank; for the bear, instead of writhing in the agonies of death, was charging down upon him with open mouth! once more he had missed his mark and only wounded when he should have killed. there was but one thing for him to do--to flee for his life; and uttering a shout of "help! help!" with all the strength of his lungs, he threw down his rifle and started for the tent at the top of his speed. it was well for him that the snow still lay deep upon the ground, and that he was so expert in the use of his snow-shoes; for while the bear wallowed heavily in the drifts, he flew lightly over them, so that for a time the furious creature lost ground rather than gained upon him. for a hundred yards the boy and bear raced through the forest, frank continuing his cries for help while he ran. looking back for an instant, he saw that the bear bad not yet drawn any nearer, and, terrified as he was, the thought flashed into his mind that if the brute followed him all the way to the camp he would soon be despatched by the men, and then he, frank, would be entitled to some credit for thus bringing him to execution. on sped the two in their race for life, the boy skimming swiftly over the soft snow, the bear ploughing his way madly through it, until more than half the distance to the camp had been accomplished. if johnston had heard the report of the rifle and frank's wild cries for help, he should be coming into sight now, and with intense anxiety frank looked ahead in hopes of seeing him emerge from the trees which clustered thickly in that direction. but there was no sign of him yet; and shouting again as loudly as he could, the boy pressed strenuously forward. there was greater need for exertion than ever, for he had reached a spot where the snow was not very deep and had been firmly packed by the wind, so that the bear's broad feet sank but little in it, and his rate of speed ominously increased. so close was the fierce creature coming that frank could hear his paws pattering on the snow and his deep panting breath. oh why did not johnston appear? surely he must have heard frank's cries. ah, there he was, just bursting through the trees into the opening, with laberge and booth close at his heels. frank's heart bounded with joy, and he was tempted to take a glance back to see how close the bear had got. it was not a wise thing to do, and he came near paying dearly for doing it; for at the same instant his snowshoes caught in each other, and before he could recover himself he fell headlong in the snow with the bear right upon him. chapter xi. the great spring drive. at the sight of frank's fall the three men gave a simultaneous shout of alarm that caused the bear to halt for a moment in his fierce pursuit, and lifting his head to look angrily in the direction from which the sound had come. this action saved the helpless boy--striving to regain his feet only a yard from death. the instant the creature's broad breast was exposed, johnston threw his rifle to his shoulder, and without waiting to take aim, but ejaculating a fervent "help me, o god!" pulled the trigger. the report of the rifle rang out sharp and clear, the heavy bullet sped through the air straight to its mark, and with it embedded in his heart the mighty animal, leaving untouched the boy at his feet, made a mad bound across his body to reach the assailant who had given him his death wound. but it was a vain though gallant attempt. ere he was half-way to the foreman, he staggered and rolled over upon the snow, and before he could lift himself again the men were upon him, and laberge, swinging his keen axe high in the air, brought it down with a mighty blow upon the brute's slanting forehead, letting daylight into his brain. not even a bear could survive such a stroke, and without a struggle the creature yielded up its life. instantly the foreman sprang to frank's side and lifted him upon his feet. "my dear boy!" he cried, his face aflame with anxious love, as he clasped frank passionately in his arms, "are you hurt at all? did he touch you?" what between his previous exertions and the big man's mighty embrace, poor frank had hardly enough breath left in him to reply, but he managed to gasp out,-- "not a bit. he never touched me." "are you quite sure now?" persisted johnston, whose anxiety could not be at once relieved. "o my lad! my heart stood still when you fell down right in front of the brute." "i'm quite sure, mr. johnston," said frank. "see!" and to prove his words he gave a jump into the air, threw up his arms, and shouted, "hip! hip! hurrah!" with the full force of his lungs. "god be praised!" exclaimed the foreman. "what a wonderful escape! let us kneel down right here, and give him thanks," he added, suiting his action to his words. frank at once followed his example; so too did laberge and booth; and there in the midst of the forest-wilds this strange praise-meeting was held over the body of the fierce creature from whose murderous rage frank had been so happily delivered. johnston sent laberge back to the tent for the toboggan, and before darkness set in the bear was dragged thither, where the two men skilfully skinned him by the light of the camp fire, and stretched the pelt out to dry. the quartette had a long talk over the whole affair after supper had been disposed of. frank was plied with questions which he took much pleasure in answering, for naturally enough he felt himself to be in some measure the hero of the occasion. while he could not help admiring and cordially praising frank's audacity, the foreman felt bound to reprove him for it, and to impress upon him the necessity of showing more caution in future, or he might get himself into a situation of danger from which there might be no one at hand to deliver him. frank, by this time thoroughly sobered down, listened dutifully, and readily promised to be more careful if he ever came across bear tracks again. "anyway, my boy," said johnston, "you won't go home empty-handed; and when your mother sees those two skins, which are both pretty good ones, she'll think more of you than she ever did before." "yes, but you know," said frank, "both skins oughtn't to be mine, for i didn't kill either of the animals." "neither you did, frank," replied johnston, "but you came mighty near killing the one, and the other came mighty near killing you; so i think it's only fair you should have both.--don't you think so, mates?" turning to the men. "ah, _oui_," exclaimed laberge, with a vigorous nod of his head. "of course," added booth, no less emphatically; and so the matter was settled very much to frank's satisfaction. the next day the tent was packed and the little party set out for the shanty, which was reached in good time without anything eventful occurring on the way. they found the work of getting the logs down upon the ice well nigh completed, and the foreman's return giving an impetus to the men's exertions, it was finished in a few days more, and then there was nothing to do but to await the breaking up of the ice. they were not kept long in expectancy. the sun was now in full vigour; before his burning rays the snow and ice fled in utter rout; and the frost king, confessing defeat, withdrew his grasp from the kippewa, which, as if rejoicing in its release, went rippling and bounding merrily on toward the great river beyond, bearing upon its bosom the many thousand logs which represented the hard labour of camp kippewa during the long cold winter months that were now past and gone. the most arduous and exciting phase of the lumberman's life had begun, the great spring drive, as they call it, and for weeks to come he would be engaged playing the part of shepherd after a strange fashion, with huge, clumsy, unruly logs for his flock, and the rushing river for the highway along which they should be driven. the shantymen were divided into two parties, one section taking the teams and camp-belongings back to the depot, the other and much larger section following the logs in their journey to the mills. johnston put himself at the head of the latter, and frank, of course, accompanied him, for the foreman was no less anxious to have him than the boy was to go. the bonds of affection that bound the two were growing stronger every day they were together. frank regarded johnston as the preserver of his life, and johnston, on his part, looked upon frank as having been in god's hands the means of bringing light and joy to his soul. it might be said, without exaggeration, that either of them would risk his life in the other's behalf with the utmost willingness. the journey down the river had to be done in light marching order. not much baggage could be carried, so as not to burden too heavily the three or four "_bonnes_," as they call the long, light, flat-bottomed boats peculiar to lumbermen, which had been all winter awaiting the time when their services would be required. the shore work being beyond his strength, frank was given a place in one of the _bonnes_ along with baptiste, laberge, and part of the commissariat, and it was their duty to precede the main body of the men, and have their dinner and supper ready for them when they came up. in this way frank would get a perfect view of the whole business of river driving, and he was in high feather as they made a start on a beautiful morning in early may, with the sun shining brightly, the air soft and balmy, and the river reflecting the blue of the unclouded heavens. "now take good care of baptiste and the grub," said johnston, with a smile, as he pushed the boat in which frank was sitting off into the stream. "if you let anything happen to them, frank, i don't know what we'll do to you." "i'll do my best, sir," replied frank, smiling back. "the boat won't upset if i can help it, and as baptiste can't swim, he'll do his best to be careful too; won't you, baptiste?" "_vraiment, mon cher_," cried baptiste. "if we upset--poor baptiste! zat will be the last of him." and he shrugged his fat shoulders and made a serio-comic grimace that set everybody laughing. if the kippewa, through all its course, had been as deep and free from obstructions as it was opposite the lumber camp, the river drivers would have had an easy time of it getting their wooden flock to market. but none of the rivers in this part of the country go quietly on their way from source to outlet. falls and rapids are of frequent occurrence, and it is these which add difficulty and danger to the lumberman's work. carrying pike-poles and cant-hooks, the former being simply long tough ash poles with a sharp spike on the business end, and the latter shorter stouter poles, something like the handle of a shovel, with a curious curved iron attachment that took a firm grip of a log and enabled the worker to roll its lazy bulk over and over in the direction he desired--with these weapons taking the place of the axe and saw, the men set off on their journey down the river side, two of the boats going ahead, and two bringing up the rear. frank felt in great spirits. he was thoroughly expert in the management of a _bonne_, and the voyage down the river in this lovely spring weather could be only continued enjoyment, especially as beyond steering the boat he had nothing to do, and it would be practically one long holiday. there were nearly twenty thousand logs to be guided, coaxed, rolled, and shoved for one hundred miles or more through sullen pools, sleeping reaches, turbulent rapids, and roaring falls, where, as if they were living things, they would seem to exhaust every possible means of delay. the way in which they would stick at some critical point and pile one upon another, until the whole river was blocked, defies description; and one seeing the spectacle for the first time might well be pardoned if he were to be positive that there could be no way of bringing order out of so hopeless a confusion, and releasing the tangled obstructed mass. for the first few days matters went very smoothly, the river being deep and swift, and the logs giving little trouble. of course, numbers of them were continually stranding on the banks, but the watchful drivers soon spied them out, and with a push of the pike-pole, or drag of the cant-hook, sent them floating off again on their journey. at mid-day all the men would gather about baptiste's kettles and dispose of a hearty dinner, and then again at night they would leave the logs to look after themselves while they ate their supper and talked, and then lay down to rest their weary bodies. but this condition of things was too good to last. in due time the difficulties began to show themselves, and then frank saw the most exciting and dangerous phase of a lumberman's life--a part of it with which when he grew older he must himself become familiar if he would be master of the whole business, as it was his ambition to be. the great army of logs, forging onward slowly or swiftly, according to the force of the current, would come to a point where the stream narrowed and jagged rocks thrust their unwelcome heads above the surface. the vanguard of the army, perhaps, passing either to right or left of the rocks, would go on its way unchecked. but when the main body came up, and the whole stream was full of drifting logs, some clumsy tree trunk going down broadside first would bring up short against the rock. as quickly as a crowd will gather in a city street, the other logs would cluster about the one that obstructed their passage. there would be no stopping the on-rush. in less time than it takes to describe it, a hundred logs would be jostling one another in the current; and every minute the confusion would increase, until ere long the disordered mass would stretch from shore to shore, the whole stream would be blocked up, and the event most dreaded by the river driver would have taken place, to wit, a log jam. the worst place that johnston had to encounter in getting his drive of logs to the river was at the black rapids, and never will frank forget the thrilling excitement of that experience. these rapids were the terror of the kippewa lumbermen. they were situated in the swiftest part of the river, and if nature had in cold blood tried her utmost to give the despoilers of her forest a hard nut to crack she could scarcely have succeeded better. the boiling current was divided into two portions by a jagged spur of rock that thrust itself above the surging waters, and so sure as a log came broadside against this projection it was caught and held in a firm embrace. johnston thoroughly understood this, and had taken every care to prevent a jam occurring; and if it had been possible for him to do what was in his mind--namely, to land upon the troublesome rock, and with his pike-pole push back again into the current every log that threatened to stick--the whole drive would have slipped safely by. he did make a gallant attempt to carry this out, putting four of the best oarsmen into frank's boat, and trying again and again to force his way through the fierce current to the rock, while frank watched him with breathless interest from the bank. but, strain and tug as the oarsmen might, the eddying, whirling stream was too strong for them, and swept them past the rock again and again, until at length the foreman had to give up his design as impracticable. it was exciting work, and frank longed very much to be in the boat; but johnston, indulgent as he was toward his favourite, refused him this time. "no, no, frank; i couldn't think of it," he said decidedly. "it's too risky a business. the _bonne_ might be smashed any time, and if it did we'd run a poor chance of getting out of these rapids. more than one good man has gone to his death here." "have there been men killed in these rapids?" frank asked, with a look of profound concern at his big friend, who was taking such risks. "the poor fellows! what a dreadful death! they must have been dashed against the rocks. surely you won't try it again, will you?" for it was dinner-time, and all hands were taking a welcome rest before resuming the toils of the day. johnston thoroughly understood and appreciated the boy's anxiety in his behalf, and there was a look of wonderful tenderness in his eyes as he answered him:-- "i must try it once more, frank; for if i can only get out to that rock there'll be no jam this day. but don't you worry. i've taken bigger risks and come out all right." so he made one more attempt, while frank watched every movement of the boat, praying earnestly for its preservation. again he failed, and the _bonne_ returned to the bank unharmed. but hardly had the weary men thrown themselves down for a brief spell of rest than what they all so dreaded happened. one of the logs, getting into a cross eddy, rolled broadside against the rock. it was caught and held fast. another and another charged against it and stayed there. the main body of the drive was now passing down, and every moment the jam increased in size. soon it would fill the whole stream. yet the lumbermen were powerless to prevent its growth. they could do nothing until it had so checked the current that it would be possible to make a way over to its centre. so soon as this took place, johnston, accompanied by three of his best men, armed with axes and cant-hooks, leaping from log to log with the sure agility only lumbermen could show, succeeded in reaching the heart of the jam, and at once proceeded to attack it with tremendous energy. one log after another was detached from the disordered mass and sent whirling off down stream, until at the end of an hour's arduous exertion, the key-piece--that is, the log that had caused all the trouble--was found. "now, my boys," said johnston to his men, "get ashore as quick as you can. i'll stay and cut out the key-piece." the men demurred for a moment. they were reluctant to leave their chief alone in a position of such extreme peril. but he commanded them to go. "there's only one man wanted," he said; "and i'll do it myself. it's no use you risking your lives too." so the men obeyed, and returned to the bank to join the group watching johnston's movements with intense anxiety. they all knew as well as he did the exceeding peril of his position, and not one of them would breathe freely until he had accomplished his task, and found his way safely back to the shore. chapter xii. home again. for so large a man the foreman showed an agility that was really wonderful, as he leaped from log to log with the swiftness and sureness of a chamois. he had been lumbering all his life, and there was nothing that fell to the lumberman's experience with which he was not perfectly familiar. yet it is doubtful if he ever had a more difficult or dangerous task than that before him now. the "key-piece" of the jam was fully exposed, and once it was cut in two it would no longer hold the accumulation of logs together. they would be released from their bondage, and springing forward with the full force of the pent-up current, would rush madly down stream, carrying everything before them. but what would johnston do in the midst of this tumult? a few more moments would tell; for his axe was dealing tremendous strokes, before which the key-piece, stout though it was, must soon yield. ah, it is almost severed. the foreman pauses for an instant and glances keenly around, evidently in order to see what will be his best course of action when the jam breaks. frank, in an agony of apprehension and anxiety, has sunk to his knees, his lips moving in earnest prayer, while his eyes are fixed on his beloved friend. johnston's quick glance falls upon him, and, catching the significance of his attitude, his face is irradiated with a heavenly light of love as lie calls out across the boiling current,-- "god bless you, frank! keep praying." then he returns to his work. the keen axe flashes through the air in stroke after stroke. at length there comes a sound that cannot be mistaken. the foreman throws aside his axe and prepares to jump for life; and, like one man, the breathless onlookers shout together as the key-piece rends in two, and the huge jam, suddenly released, bursts away from the rock and charges tumultuously down the river. if ever man needed the power of prompt decision, it was the foreman then. to the men on shore there seemed no possible way of escape from the avalanche of logs; and frank shut his eyes lest he should have to witness a dreadful tragedy. a cry from the men caused him to open them again quickly, and when he looked at the rock it was untenanted--johnston had disappeared! speechless with dread, he turned to the man nearest him, his blanched countenance expressing the inquiry he could not utter. "he's there," cried the man, pointing to the whirl of water behind the body of logs. "he dived." and so it was. recognizing that to remain in the way of the jam was to court certain death, the foreman chose the desperate alternative of diving beneath the logs, and allowing them to pass over him before he rose to the surface. great was the relief of frank and the others when, amid the foaming water, johnston's head appeared, and he struck out to keep himself afloat. but it was evident that he had little strength left, and was quite unable to contend with the mighty current. good swimmer as he was, the danger of drowning threatened him. frank's quick eyes noticed this, and like a flash the fearless boy, not stopping to call any of the others to his aid, bounded down the bank to where the _bonne_ lay upon the shore, shoved her off into deep water, springing in over the bow as she slipped away, and in another moment was whirling down the river, crying out at the top of his voice,-- "i'm coming! i'll save you! keep up!" his eager shouts reached johnston's ears, and the sight of the boat, pitching and tossing as the current swept it toward him, inspired him to renewed exertion. he struggled to get in the way of the boat, and succeeded so well that frank, leaning over the side as far as he dared, was able to seize his outstretched hand and hold it until he could grasp the gunwale himself with a grip that no current could loosen. a glad shout of relief went up from the men at sight of this, and frank, having made sure that the foreman was now out of danger, seized the oars and began to ply them vigorously with the purpose of beaching the _bonne_ at the first opportunity. they had to go some distance before this could be done, but johnston held on firmly, and presently a projecting point was reached, against which frank steered the boat; and the moment she was aground, he hastened to the stern and helped the foreman ashore, the latter having just strength enough left to drag himself out of the water and fall in a limp, dripping heap upon the ground. "god bless you, frank dear," he said, as soon as he recovered his breath. "you've saved my life again. i never could have got ashore if you hadn't come after me. one of the logs must have hit me on the head when i was diving, for i felt so faint and dizzy when i came up that i thought it was all over with me. but, thank god, i'm a live man still; and i'm sure it's not for nothing that i've been spared." the men all thought it a plucky act on frank's part to go off alone in the boat to the foreman's rescue, and showered unstinted praise upon him; all of which he took very quietly, for, indeed, he felt quite sufficiently rewarded in that his venture was crowned with success. the exciting incident of course threw everybody out in their work, and when they returned to it they found that the logs had taken advantage of their being left uncared for to play all sorts of queer pranks and run themselves aground in every conceivable fashion. but the river drivers did not mind this very much. the hated black rapids were passed, and the rest of the kippewa was comparatively smooth sailing. so, with song and joke, they toiled away until all their charges were afloat again and gliding steadily onward toward their goal. thenceforward they had little interruption in their course; and frank found the life wonderfully pleasant, drifting idly all day long in the _bonne_, and camping at night beside the river, the weather being bright, and warm, and delightful all the time. so soon as the kippewa rolled its burden of forest spoils out upon the broad bosom of the ottawa--the grand river, as those who live beside its batiks love to call it--the work of the river drivers was over. the logs that had caused them so much trouble were now handed over to the care of a company which gathered them up into "tows," and with powerful steamers dragged them down the river until the sorting grounds were reached, where they were turned into the "booms" to await their time for execution--in other words, their sawing up. frank felt really sorry when the driving was over. he loved the water, and would have been glad to spend the whole summer upon it. he was telling johnston this as they were talking together on the evening of the last day upon the kippewa. johnston had been saying to him how glad he must be that the work was all over, and that they now could go over to the nearest village and take the stage for home. but frank did not entirely agree with him. "i'm not anxious to go home by stage," said he. "i'd a good deal rather stick to the river. i think it's just splendid, so long as the weather's fine." "why, what a water-dog you are, frank!" said the foreman, laughing. "one would think you'd have had enough of the water by this time." "not a bit of it," said frank, returning the smile. "the woods in winter, and the water in summer--that's what i enjoy." "well, but aren't you in a hurry to get home and see your mother again?" queried johnston. "of course i am," answered frank. "but, you see, a day or two won't make much difference, for she doesn't know just when to look for me; and i've never been on this part of the ottawa, and want to see it ever so much." "well--let me see," reflected johnston. "how can we manage it? you'd soon get sick of the steamers. they're mortal slow and very dirty. besides, they don't encourage passengers, or they'd have too many of them. but hold on!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with a new idea. "i've got it. how would you like to finish the rest of the trip home on a square timber raft? there'll be one passing any day, and i know 'most all the men in the business, so there'll be no difficulty about getting a passage." "the very idea!" cried frank, jumping up and bringing his hand down upon his thigh with a resounding slap. "nothing would please me better. oh, what fun it will be shooting the slides!" and he danced about in delight at the prospect. "all right then, my lad," said johnston, smiling at the boy's exuberance. "we'll just wait here until a raft comes along, and then we'll board her and ask the fellows to let us go down with them. they won't refuse." they had not long to wait, for the very next day a huge raft hove in sight--a real floating island of mighty timbers--and on going out to it in the _bonne_, johnston was glad to find that the foreman in charge was an old friend who would be heartily pleased at having his company for the rest of the voyage. so he and frank brought their scanty baggage on board, and joined themselves to the crew of men that, with the aid of a towing steamer, were navigating this very strange kind of craft down the river. this was an altogether novel experience for frank, and he found it much to his liking. the raft was an immense one. "as fine a lot of square timber as i ever took down," said its captain proudly. "it's worth five thousand pounds if it's worth a penny." five thousand pounds! frank's eyes opened wide at the mention of this vast sum, and he wondered to himself if he should ever be the owner of such a valuable piece of property. although he had begun as a chore-boy, his ambition was by no means limited to his becoming in due time a foreman like johnston, or even an overseer like alec stewart. he allowed his imagination to carry him forward to a day of still greater things, when he should be his own master, and have foremen and overseers under him. this slow sailing down the river was very favourable to day dreaming, and frank could indulge himself to his heart's content during the long lovely spring days. there were more than twoscore men upon the raft, the majority of them habitants and half-breeds, and they were as full of songs as robins; especially in the evening after supper, when they would gather about the great fire always burning on its clay bed in the centre of the raft, and with solo and chorus awake the echoes of the placid river. in common with the rivers which pour into it, the ottawa is broken by many falls and rapids, and to have attempted to run the huge raft over one of these would have insured its complete destruction. but this difficulty is duly provided for. at one side of the fall a "slide" is built--that is, a contrivance something like a canal, with sides and bottom of heavy timber, and having a steep slope down which the water rushes in frantic haste to the level below. now the raft is not put together in one piece, but is made up of a number of "cribs"--a crib being a small raft containing fifteen to twenty timbers, and being about twenty-four feet wide by thirty feet in length. at the head of the slide the big raft is separated into the cribs, and these cribs make the descent one at a time, each having three or four men on board. shooting the slides, as it is called, is a most delightful amusement to people whose nerves don't bother them. frank had heard so much about it that he was looking forward to it from the time he boarded the raft, and now at des joachim falls he was to have the realization. he went down in one of the first cribs, and this is the way he described the experience to his mother:-- "but, mother, the best fun of the whole thing is shooting the slides. i just wish there was a slide near calumet, so that i could take you down and let you see how splendid it is. why, it's just like--let me see--i've got it! it's just like tobogganing on water. you jump on board the crib at the mouth of the slide, you know, and it moves along very slowly at first, until it gets to the edge of the first slant; then it takes a sudden start, and away it goes shooting down like greased lightning, making the water fly up all around you, just like the snow does when you're tobogganing. oh, but if it isn't grand! the timbers of the crib rub against the bottom of the slide, and groan and creak as if it hurt them. and then, besides coming in over the bow, the water spurts up between the timbers, so that you have to look spry or you're bound to get soaking wet. i got drenched nearly every time; but that didn't matter, for the sun soon made me dry again, and it was too good fun to mind a little wetting." frank felt quite sorry when the last of the slides was passed, and wished there were twice as many on the route of the raft. but presently he had something else to occupy his thoughts, for each day brought him nearer to calumet, and soon his journeyings by land and water would be ended, and he would be at home again to make his mother's heart glad. it was the perfection of a spring day when the raft, moving in its leisurely fashion--for was not the whole summer before it?--reached calumet, and mrs. kingston, sitting alone in her cottage, and wondering when her boy would make his appearance, was surprised by an unceremonious opening of the front door, a quick step in the hall, and a sudden enfolding by two stout arms, while a voice that she had not heard for months shouted in joyous accents,-- "here i am, mother darling, safe and sound, right side up with care, and oh, so glad to be at home again!" mrs. kingston returned the fond embrace with interest, and then held frank off at arms-length to see how much he had changed during his six months' absence. she found him both taller and stouter, and with his face well browned by the exposure to the bright spring sunshine. "you went away a boy, and you've come back almost a man, frank," she said, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "but you're my own boy the same as ever; aren't you, darling?" it was many a day before frank reached the end of his story of life at the lumber camp, for mrs. kingston never wearied of hearing all about it. when she learned of his different escapes from danger, the inclination of her heart was to beseech him to be content with one winter in the woods, and to take up some other occupation. but she wisely said nothing, for there could be no doubt as to the direction in which frank's heart inclined, and she determined not to interfere. when in the following autumn frank went back to the forest, he was again under johnston's command, but not as chore-boy. he was appointed clerk and checker, with liberty to do as much chopping or other work as he pleased. whatever his duty was he did it with all his might, doing it heartily as to the lord and not unto men, so that he found increasing favour in his employer's eyes, rising steadily higher and higher until, while still a young man, he was admitted into partnership, and had the sweet satisfaction of realizing the day dreams of that first trip down the ottawa on a timber raft. yet he never forgot what he had learned when chore-boy of camp kippewa, and out of that experience grew a practical philanthropic interest in the well-being and advancement of his employees, that made him the most popular and respected "lumber-king" on the river. the end. proofreaders tommy and grizel by j. m. barrie illustrated by bernard partridge , contents part i chapter i how tommy found a way ii the search for the treasure iii sandys on woman iv grizel of the crooked smile v the tommy myth vi ghosts that haunt the den vii the beginning of the duel viii what grizel's eyes said ix gallant behaviour of t. sandys x gavinia on the track xi the tea-party xii in which a comedian challenges tragedy to bowls xiii little wells of gladness xiv elspeth xv by prosen water xvi "how could you hurt your grizel so!" xvii how tommy saved the flag part ii chapter xviii the girl she had been xix of the change in thomas xx a love-letter xxi the attempt to carry elspeth by numbers xxii grizel's glorious hour xxiii tommy loses grizel xxiv the monster xxv mr. t. sandys has returned to town xxvi grizel all alone xxvii grizel's journey xxviii two of them xxix the red light xxx the little gods desert him xxxi "the man with the greetin' eyes" xxxii tommy's best work xxxiii the little gods return with a lady xxxiv a way is found for tommy xxxv the perfect lover illustrations part i and clung to it, his teeth set. "she is standing behind that tree looking at us." she did not look up, she waited. part ii "i sit still by his arm-chair and tell him what is happening to his grizel." they told aaron something. "but my friends still call me mrs. jerry," she said softly. "i woke up," she said he heard their seductive voices, they danced around him in numbers. tommy and grizel part i chapter i how tommy found a way o.p. pym, the colossal pym, that vast and rolling figure, who never knew what he was to write about until he dipped grandly, an author in such demand that on the foggy evening which starts our story his publishers have had his boots removed lest he slip thoughtlessly round the corner before his work is done, as was the great man's way--shall we begin with him, or with tommy, who has just arrived in london, carrying his little box and leading a lady by the hand? it was pym, as we are about to see, who in the beginning held tommy up to the public gaze, pym who first noticed his remarkable indifference to female society, pym who gave him----but alack! does no one remember pym for himself? is the king of the _penny number_ already no more than a button that once upon a time kept tommy's person together? and we are at the night when they first met! let us hasten into marylebone before little tommy arrives and pym is swallowed like an oyster. this is the house, little owlet street, marylebone, but which were his rooms it is less easy to determine, for he was a lodger who flitted placidly from floor to floor according to the state of his finances, carrying his apparel and other belongings in one great armful, and spilling by the way. on this particular evening he was on the second floor front, which had a fireplace in the corner, furniture all his landlady's and mostly horsehair, little to suggest his calling save a noble saucerful of ink, and nothing to draw attention from pym, who lolled, gross and massive, on a sofa, one leg over the back of it, the other drooping, his arms extended, and his pipe, which he could find nowhere, thrust between the buttons of his waistcoat, an agreeable pipe-rack. he wore a yellow dressing-gown, or could scarcely be said to wear it, for such of it as was not round his neck he had converted into a cushion for his head, which is perhaps the part of him we should have turned to first it was a big round head, the plentiful gray hair in tangles, possibly because in pym's last flitting the comb had dropped over the banisters; the features were ugly and beyond life-size, yet the forehead had altered little except in colour since the day when he was near being made a fellow of his college; there was sensitiveness left in the thick nose, humour in the eyes, though they so often watered; the face had gone to flabbiness at last, but not without some lines and dents, as if the head had resisted the body for a space before the whole man rolled contentedly downhill. he had no beard. "young man, let your beard grow." those who have forgotten all else about pym may recall him in these words. they were his one counsel to literary aspirants, who, according as they took it, are now bearded and prosperous or shaven and on the rates. to shave costs threepence, another threepence for loss of time--nearly ten pounds a year, three hundred pounds since pym's chin first bristled. with his beard he could have bought an annuity or a cottage in the country, he could have had a wife and children, and driven his dog-cart, and been made a church-warden. all gone, all shaved, and for what? when he asked this question he would move his hand across his chin with a sigh, and so, bravely to the barber's. pym was at present suffering from an ailment that had spread him out on that sofa again and again--acute disinclination to work. meanwhile all the world was waiting for his new tale; so the publishers, two little round men, have told him. they have blustered, they have fawned, they have asked each other out to talk it over behind the door. has he any idea of what the story is to be about? he has no idea. then at least, pym--excellent pym--sit down and dip, and let us see what will happen. he declined to do even that. while all the world waited, this was pym's ultimatum: "i shall begin the damned thing at eight o'clock." outside, the fog kept changing at intervals from black to white, as lazily from white to black (the monster blinking); there was not a sound from the street save of pedestrians tapping with their sticks on the pavement as they moved forward warily, afraid of an embrace with the unknown; it might have been a city of blind beggars, one of them a boy. at eight o'clock pym rose with a groan and sat down in his stocking-soles to write his delicious tale. he was now alone. but though his legs were wound round his waste-paper basket, and he dipped often and loudly in the saucer, like one ringing at the door of fancy, he could not get the idea that would set him going. he was still dipping for inspiration when t. sandys, who had been told to find the second floor for himself, knocked at the door, and entered, quaking. "i remember it vividly," pym used to say when questioned in the after years about this his first sight of tommy, "and i hesitate to decide which impressed me more, the richness of his voice, so remarkable in a boy of sixteen, or his serene countenance, with its noble forehead, behind which nothing base could lurk." pym, pym! it is such as you that makes the writing of biography difficult. the richness of tommy's voice could not have struck you, for at that time it was a somewhat squeaky voice; and as for the noble forehead behind which nothing base could lurk, how could you say that, pym, you who had a noble forehead yourself? no; all that pym saw was a pasty-faced boy sixteen years old, and of an appearance mysteriously plain; hair light brown, and waving defiance to the brush; nothing startling about him but the expression of his face, which was almost fearsomely solemn and apparently unchangeable. he wore his sunday blacks, of which the trousers might with advantage have borrowed from the sleeves; and he was so nervous that he had to wet his lips before he could speak. he had left the door ajar for a private reason; but pym, misunderstanding, thought he did it to fly the more readily if anything was flung at him, and so concluded that he must be a printer's devil. pym had a voice that shook his mantelpiece ornaments; he was all on the same scale as his ink-pot. "your christian name, boy?" he roared hopefully, for it was thus he sometimes got the idea that started him. "thomas," replied the boy. pym gave him a look of disgust "you may go," he said. but when he looked up presently, thomas was still there. he was not only there, but whistling--a short, encouraging whistle that seemed to be directed at the door. he stopped quickly when pym looked up, but during the remainder of the interview he emitted this whistle at intervals, always with that anxious glance at his friend the door; and its strained joviality was in odd contrast with his solemn face, like a cheery tune played on the church organ. "begone!" cried pym. "my full name," explained tommy, who was speaking the english correctly, but with a scots accent, "is thomas sandys. and fine you know who that is," he added, exasperated by pym's indifference. "i'm the t. sandys that answered your advertisement." pym knew who he was now. "you young ruffian," he gasped, "i never dreamt that you would come!" "i have your letter engaging me in my pocket," said tommy, boldly, and he laid it on the table. pym surveyed it and him in comic dismay, then with a sudden thought produced nearly a dozen letters from a drawer, and dumped them down beside the other. it was now his turn to look triumphant and tommy aghast. pym's letters were all addressed from the dubb of prosen farm, near thrums, n.b., to different advertisers, care of a london agency, and were tommy's answers to the "wants" in a london newspaper which had found its way to the far north. "x y z" was in need of a chemist's assistant, and from his earliest years, said one of the letters, chemistry had been the study of studies for t. sandys. he was glad to read, was t. sandys, that one who did not object to long hours would be preferred, for it seemed to him that those who objected to long hours did not really love their work, their heart was not in it, and only where the heart is can the treasure be found. " " had a vacancy for a page-boy, "glasgow man" for a photographer; page-boy must not be over fourteen, photographer must not be under twenty. "i am a little over fourteen, but i look less," wrote t. sandys to " "; "i am a little under twenty," he wrote to "glasgow man," "but i look more." his heart was in the work. to be a political organizer! if "h and h," who advertised for one, only knew how eagerly the undersigned desired to devote his life to political organizing! in answer to "scholastic's" advertisement for janitor in a boys' school, t. sandys begged to submit his name for consideration. undoubtedly the noblest letter was the one applying for the secretaryship of a charitable society, salary to begin at once, but the candidate selected must deposit one hundred pounds. the application was noble in its offer to make the work a labour of love, and almost nobler in its argument that the hundred pounds was unnecessary. "rex" had a vacancy in his drapery department. t. sandys had made a unique study of drapery. lastly, "anon" wanted an amanuensis. "salary," said "anon," who seemed to be a humourist, "salary large but uncertain." he added with equal candour: "drudgery great, but to an intelligent man the pickings may be considerable." pickings! is there a finer word in the language? t. sandys had felt that he was particularly good at pickings. but amanuensis? the thing was unknown to him; no one on the farm could tell him what it was. but never mind; his heart was in it. all this correspondence had produced one reply, the letter on which tommy's hand still rested. it was a brief note, signed "o.p. pym," and engaging mr. sandys on his own recommendation, "if he really felt quite certain that his heart (treasure included) was in the work." so far good, tommy had thought when he received this answer, but there was nothing in it to indicate the nature of the work, nothing to show whether o.p. pym was "scholastic," or " ," or "rex," or any other advertiser in particular. stop, there was a postscript: "i need not go into details about your duties, as you assure me you are so well acquainted with them, but before you join me please send (in writing) a full statement of what you think they are." there were delicate reasons why mr. sandys could not do that, but oh, he was anxious to be done with farm labour, so he decided to pack and risk it. the letter said plainly that he was engaged; what for he must find out slyly when he came to london. so he had put his letter firmly on pym's table; but it was a staggerer to find that gentleman in possession of the others. one of these was pym's by right; the remainder were a humourous gift from the agent who was accustomed to sift the correspondence of his clients. pym had chuckled over them, and written a reply that he flattered himself would stump the boy; then he had unexpectedly come into funds (he found a forgotten check while searching his old pockets for tobacco-crumbs), and in that glory t. sandys escaped his memory. result, that they were now face to face. a tiny red spot, not noticeable before, now appeared in tommy's eyes. it was never there except when he was determined to have his way. pym, my friend, yes, and everyone of you who is destined to challenge tommy, 'ware that red light! "well, which am i?" demanded pym, almost amused, tommy was so obviously in a struggle with the problem. the saucer and the blank pages told nothing. "whichever you are," the boy answered heavily, "it's not herding nor foddering cattle, and so long as it's not that, i'll put my heart in it, and where the heart is, there the treasure--" he suddenly remembered that his host must be acquainted with the sentiment. easy-going pym laughed, then said irritably, "of what use could a mere boy be to me?" "then it's not the page-boy!" exclaimed tommy, thankfully. "perhaps i am 'scholastic,'" suggested pym. "no," said tommy, after a long study of his face. pym followed this reasoning, and said touchily, "many a schoolmaster has a red face." "not that kind of redness," explained tommy, without delicacy. "i am 'h and h,'" said pym. "you forget you wrote to me as one person," replied tommy. "so i did. that was because i am the chemist; and i must ask you, thomas, for your certificate." tommy believed him this time, and pym triumphantly poured himself a glass of whisky, spilling some of it on his dressing-gown. "not you," said tommy, quickly; "a chemist has a steady hand." "confound you!" cried pym, "what sort of a boy is this?" "if you had been the draper you would have wiped the drink off your gown," continued tommy, thoughtfully, "and if you had been 'glasgow man' you would have sucked it off, and if you had been the charitable society you wouldn't swear in company." he flung out his hand. "i'll tell you who you are," he said sternly, "you're 'anon.'" under this broadside pym succumbed. he sat down feebly. "right," he said, with a humourous groan, "and i shall tell you who you are. i am afraid you are my amanuensis!" tommy immediately whistled, a louder and more glorious note than before. "don't be so cocky," cried pym, in sudden rebellion. "you are only my amanuensis if you can tell me what that is. if you can't--out you go!" he had him at last! not he! "an amanuensis," said tommy, calmly, "is one who writes to dictation. am i to bring in my box? it's at the door." this made pym sit down again. "you didn't know what an amanuensis was when you answered my advertisement," he said. "as soon as i got to london," tommy answered, "i went into a bookseller's shop, pretending i wanted to buy a dictionary, and i looked the word up." "bring in your box," pym said, with a groan. but it was now tommy's turn to hesitate. "have you noticed," he asked awkwardly, "that i sometimes whistle?" "don't tell me," said pym, "that you have a dog out there." "it's not a dog," tommy replied cautiously. pym had resumed his seat at the table and was once more toying with his pen. "open the door," he commanded, "and let me see what you have brought with you." tommy obeyed gingerly, and then pym gaped, for what the open door revealed to him was a tiny roped box with a girl of twelve sitting on it. she was dressed in some dull-coloured wincey, and looked cold and patient and lonely, and as she saw the big man staring at her she struggled in alarm to her feet, and could scarce stand on them. tommy was looking apprehensively from her to pym. "good god, boy!" roared pym, "are you married?" "no," cried tommy, in agony, "she's my sister, and we're orphans, and did you think i could have the heart to leave elspeth behind?" he took her stoutly by the hand. "and he never will marry," said little elspeth, almost fiercely; "will you, tommy?" "never!" said tommy, patting her and glaring at pym. but pym would not have it. "married!" he shouted. "magnificent!" and he dipped exultantly, for he had got his idea at last. forgetting even that he had an amanuensis, he wrote on and on and on. "he smells o' drink," elspeth whispered. "all the better," replied tommy, cheerily. "make yourself at home, elspeth; he's the kind i can manage. was there ever a kind i couldna manage?" he whispered, top-heavy with conceit. "there was grizel," elspeth said, rather thoughtlessly; and then tommy frowned. chapter ii the search for the treasure six years afterwards tommy was a famous man, as i hope you do not need to be told; but you may be wondering how it came about. the whole question, in pym's words, resolves itself into how the solemn little devil got to know so much about women. it made the world marvel when they learned his age, but no one was quite so staggered as pym, who had seen him daily for all those years, and been damning him for his indifference to the sex during the greater part of them. it began while he was still no more than an amanuensis, sitting with his feet in the waste-paper basket, pym dictating from the sofa, and swearing when the words would not come unless he was perpendicular. among the duties of this amanuensis was to remember the name of the heroine, her appearance, and other personal details; for pym constantly forgot them in the night, and he had to go searching back through his pages for them, cursing her so horribly that tommy signed to elspeth to retire to her tiny bedroom at the top of the house. he was always most careful of elspeth, and with the first pound he earned he insured his life, leaving all to her, but told her nothing about it, lest she should think it meant his early death. as she grew older he also got good dull books for her from a library, and gave her a piano on the hire system, and taught her many things about life, very carefully selected from his own discoveries. elspeth out of the way, he could give pym all the information wanted. "her name is felicity," he would say at the right moment; "she has curly brown hair in which the sun strays, and a blushing neck, and her eyes are like blue lakes." "height!" roared pym. "have i mentioned it?" "no; but she is about five feet six." "how the ---- could you know that?" "you tell percy's height in his stocking-soles, and when she reached to his mouth and kissed him she had to stand on her tiptoes so to do." tommy said this in a most businesslike tone, but could not help smacking his lips. he smacked them again when he had to write: "have no fear, little woman; i am by your side." or, "what a sweet child you are!" pym had probably fallen into the way of making the percys revel in such epithets because he could not remember the girl's name; but this delicious use of the diminutive, as addressed to full-grown ladies, went to tommy's head. his solemn face kept his secret, but he had some narrow escapes; as once, when saying good-night to elspeth, he kissed her on mouth, eyes, nose, and ears, and said: "shall i tuck you in, little woman?" he came to himself with a start. "i forgot," he said hurriedly, and got out of the room without telling her what he had forgotten. pym's publishers knew their man, and their arrangement with him was that he was paid on completion of the tale. but always before he reached the middle he struck for what they called his honorarium; and this troubled them, for the tale was appearing week by week as it was written. if they were obdurate, he suddenly concluded his story in such words as these: "several years have passed since these events took place, and the scene changes to a lovely garden by the bank of old father thames. a young man sits by the soft-flowing stream, and he is calm as the scene itself; for the storm has passed away, and percy (for it is no other) has found an anchorage. as he sits musing over the past, felicity steals out by the french window and puts her soft arms around his neck. 'my little wife!' he murmurs. _the end--unless you pay up by messenger._" this last line, which was not meant for the world (but little would pym have cared though it had been printed), usually brought his employers to their knees; and then, as tommy advanced in experience, came the pickings--for pym, with money in his pockets, had important engagements round the corner, and risked intrusting his amanuensis with the writing of the next instalment, "all except the bang at the end." smaller people, in tommy's state of mind, would have hurried straight to the love-passages; but he saw the danger, and forced his pegasus away from them. "do your day's toil first," he may be conceived saying to that animal, "and at evenfall i shall let you out to browse." so, with this reward in front, he devoted many pages to the dreary adventures of pretentious males, and even found a certain pleasure in keeping the lady waiting. but as soon as he reached her he lost his head again. "oh, you beauty! oh, you small pet!" he said to himself, with solemn transport. as the artist in him was stirred, great problems presented themselves; for instance, in certain circumstances was "darling" or "little one" the better phrase? "darling" in solitary grandeur is more pregnant of meaning than "little one," but "little" has a flavour of the patronizing which "darling" perhaps lacks. he wasted many sheets over such questions; but they were in his pocket when pym or elspeth opened the door. it is wonderful how much you can conceal between the touch on the handle and the opening of the door, if your heart is in it. despite this fine practice, however, he was the shyest of mankind in the presence of women, and this shyness grew upon him with the years. was it because he never tried to uncork himself? oh, no! it was about this time that he, one day, put his arm round clara, the servant--not passionately, but with deliberation, as if he were making an experiment with machinery. he then listened, as if to hear clara ticking. he wrote an admirable love-letter--warm, dignified, sincere--to nobody in particular, and carried it about in his pocket in readiness. but in love-making, as in the other arts, those do it best who cannot tell how it is done; and he was always stricken with a palsy when about to present that letter. it seemed that he was only able to speak to ladies when they were not there. well, if he could not speak, he thought the more; he thought so profoundly that in time the heroines of pym ceased to thrill him. this was because he had found out that they were not flesh and blood. but he did not delight in his discovery: it horrified him; for what he wanted was the old thrill. to make them human so that they could be his little friends again--nothing less was called for. this meant slaughter here and there of the great pym's brain-work, and tommy tried to keep his hands off; but his heart was in it. in pym's pages the ladies were the most virtuous and proper of their sex (though dreadfully persecuted), but he merely told you so at the beginning, and now and again afterwards to fill up, and then allowed them to act with what may be called rashness, so that the story did not really suffer. before tommy was nineteen he changed all that. out went this because she would not have done it, and that because she could not have done it. fathers might now have taken a lesson from t. sandys in the upbringing of their daughters. he even sternly struck out the diminutives. with a pen in his hand and woman in his head, he had such noble thoughts that his tears of exaltation damped the pages as he wrote, and the ladies must have been astounded as well as proud to see what they were turning into. that was tommy with a pen in his hand and a handkerchief hard by; but it was another tommy who, when the finest bursts were over, sat back in his chair and mused. the lady was consistent now, and he would think about her, and think and think, until concentration, which is a pair of blazing eyes, seemed to draw her out of the pages to his side, and then he and she sported in a way forbidden in the tale. while he sat there with eyes riveted, he had her to dinner at a restaurant, and took her up the river, and called her "little woman"; and when she held up her mouth he said tantalizingly that she must wait until he had finished his cigar. this queer delight enjoyed, back he popped her into the story, where she was again the vehicle for such glorious sentiments that elspeth, to whom he read the best of them, feared he was becoming too good to live. in the meantime the great penny public were slowly growing restive, and at last the two little round men called on pym to complain that he was falling off; and pym turned them out of doors, and then sat down heroically to do what he had not done for two decades--to read his latest work. "elspeth, go upstairs to your room," whispered tommy, and then he folded his arms proudly. he should have been in a tremble, but latterly he had often felt that he must burst if he did not soon read some of his bits to pym, more especially the passages about the hereafter; also the opening of chapter seventeen. at first pym's only comment was, "it is the same old drivel as before; what more can they want?" but presently he looked up, puzzled. "is this chapter yours or mine?" he demanded. "it is about half and half," said tommy. "is mine the first half? where does yours begin?" "that is not exactly what i mean," explained tommy, in a glow, but backing a little; "you wrote that chapter first, and then i--i--" "you rewrote it!" roared pym. "you dared to meddle with--" he was speechless with fury. "i tried to keep my hand off," tommy said, with dignity, "but the thing had to be done, and they are human now." "human! who wants them to be human? the fiends seize you, boy! you have even been tinkering with my heroine's personal appearance; what is this you have been doing to her nose?" "i turned it up slightly, that's all," said tommy. "i like them down," roared pym. "i prefer them up," said tommy, stiffly. "where," cried pym, turning over the leaves in a panic, "where is the scene in the burning house?" "it's out," tommy explained, "but there is a chapter in its place about--it's mostly about the beauty of the soul being everything, and mere physical beauty nothing. oh, mr. pym, sit down and let me read it to you." but pym read it, and a great deal more, for himself. no wonder he stormed, for the impossible had been made not only consistent, but unreadable. the plot was lost for chapters. the characters no longer did anything, and then went and did something else: you were told instead how they did it. you were not allowed to make up your own mind about them: you had to listen to the mind of t. sandys; he described and he analyzed; the road he had tried to clear through the thicket was impassable for chips. "a few more weeks of this," said pym, "and we should all three be turned out into the streets." tommy went to bed in an agony of mortification, but presently to his side came pym. "where did you copy this from?" he asked. "'it is when we are thinking of those we love that our noblest thoughts come to us, and the more worthy they are of our love the nobler the thought; hence it is that no one has done the greatest work who did not love god.'" "i copied it from nowhere," replied tommy, fiercely; "it's my own." "well, it has nothing to do with the story, and so is only a blot on it, and i have no doubt the thing has been said much better before. still, i suppose it is true." "it's true," said tommy; "and yet--" "go on. i want to know all about it." "and yet," tommy said, puzzled, "i've known noble thoughts come to me when i was listening to a brass band." pym chuckled. "funny things, noble thoughts," he agreed. he read another passage: "'it was the last half-hour of day when i was admitted, with several others, to look upon my friend's dead face. a handkerchief had been laid over it. i raised the handkerchief. i know not what the others were thinking, but the last time we met he had told me something, it was not much--only that no woman had ever kissed him. it seemed to me that, as i gazed, the wistfulness came back to his face. i whispered to a woman who was present, and stooping over him, she was about to--but her eyes were dry, and i stopped her. the handkerchief was replaced, and all left the room save myself. again i raised the handkerchief. i cannot tell you how innocent he looked.'" "who was he?" asked pym. "nobody," said tommy, with some awe; "it just came to me. do you notice how simple the wording is? it took me some time to make it so simple." "you are just nineteen, i think?" "yes." pym looked at him wonderingly. "thomas," he said, "you are a very queer little devil." he also said: "and it is possible you may find the treasure you are always talking about. don't jump to the ceiling, my friend, because i say that. i was once after the treasure, myself; and you can see whether i found it." from about that time, on the chances that this mysterious treasure might spring up in the form of a new kind of flower, pym zealously cultivated the ground, and tommy had an industrious time of it. he was taken off his stories, which at once regained their elasticity, and put on to exercises. "if you have nothing to say on the subject, say nothing," was one of the new rules, which few would have expected from pym. another was: "as soon as you can say what you think, and not what some other person has thought for you, you are on the way to being a remarkable man." "without concentration, thomas, you are lost; concentrate, though your coat-tails be on fire. "try your hand at description, and when you have done chortling over the result, reduce the whole by half without missing anything out. "analyze your characters and their motives at the prodigious length in which you revel, and then, my sonny, cut your analysis out. it is for your own guidance, not the reader's. "'i have often noticed,' you are always saying. the story has nothing to do with you. obliterate yourself. i see that will be your stiffest job. "stop preaching. it seems to me the pulpit is where you should look for the treasure. nineteen, and you are already as didactic as seventy." and so on. over his exercises tommy was now engrossed for so long a period that, as he sits there, you may observe his legs slowly lengthening and the coming of his beard. no, his legs lengthened as he sat with his feet in the basket; but i feel sure that his beard burst through prematurely some night when he was thinking too hard about the ladies. there were no ladies in the exercises, for, despite their altercation about noses, pym knew that on this subject tommy's mind was a blank. but he recognized the sex's importance, and becoming possessed once more of a black coat, marched his pupil into the somewhat shoddy drawing-rooms that were still open to him, and there ordered tommy to be fascinated for his future good. but it was as it had always been. tommy sat white and speechless and apparently bored; could not even say, "you sing with so much expression!" when the lady at the pianoforte had finished. "shyness i could pardon," the exasperated pym would roar; "but want of interest is almost immoral. at your age the blood would have been coursing through my veins. love! you are incapable of it. there is not a drop of sentiment in your frozen carcass." "can i help that?" growled tommy. it was an agony to him even to speak about women. "if you can't," said pym, "all is over with you. an artist without sentiment is a painter without colours. young man, i fear you are doomed." and tommy believed him, and quaked. he had the most gallant struggles with himself. he even set his teeth and joined a dancing-class; though neither pym nor elspeth knew of it, and it never showed afterwards in his legs. in appearance he was now beginning to be the sandys of the photographs: a little over the middle height and rather heavily built; nothing to make you uncomfortable until you saw his face. that solemn countenance never responded when he laughed, and stood coldly by when he was on fire; he might have winked for an eternity, and still the onlooker must have thought himself mistaken. in his boyhood the mask had descended scarce below his mouth, for there was a dimple in the chin to put you at ease; but now the short brown beard had come, and he was for ever hidden from the world. he had the dandy's tastes for superb neckties, velvet jackets, and he got the ties instead of dining; he panted for the jacket, knew all the shop-windows it was in, but for years denied himself, with a moan, so that he might buy pretty things for elspeth. when eventually he got it, pym's friends ridiculed him. when he saw how ill his face matched it he ridiculed himself. often when tommy was feeling that now at last the ladies must come to heel, he saw his face suddenly in a mirror, and all the spirit went out of him. but still he clung to his velvet jacket. i see him in it, stalking through the terrible dances, a heroic figure at last. he shuddered every time he found himself on one leg; he got sternly into everybody's way; he was the butt of the little noodle of an instructor. all the social tortures he endured grimly, in the hope that at last the cork would come out. then, though there were all kinds of girls in the class, merry, sentimental, practical, coquettish, prudes, there was no kind, he felt, whose heart he could not touch. in love-making, as in the favourite thrums game of the dambrod, there are sixty-one openings, and he knew them all. yet at the last dance, as at the first, the universal opinion of his partners (shop-girls, mostly, from the large millinery establishments, who had to fly like cinderellas when the clock struck a certain hour) was that he kept himself to himself, and they were too much the lady to make up to a gentleman who so obviously did not want them. pym encouraged his friends to jeer at tommy's want of interest in the sex, thinking it a way of goading him to action. one evening, the bottles circulating, they mentioned one dolly, goddess at some bar, as a fit instructress for him. coarse pleasantries passed, but for a time he writhed in silence, then burst upon them indignantly for their unmanly smirching of a woman's character, and swept out, leaving them a little ashamed. that was very like tommy. but presently a desire came over him to see this girl, and it came because they had hinted such dark things about her. that was like him also. there was probably no harm in dolly, though it is man's proud right to question it in exchange for his bitters. she was tall and willowy, and stretched her neck like a swan, and returned you your change with disdainful languor; to call such a haughty beauty dolly was one of the minor triumphs for man, and dolly they all called her, except the only one who could have given an artistic justification for it. this one was a bearded stranger who, when he knew that pym and his friends were elsewhere, would enter the bar with a cigar in his mouth, and ask for a whisky-and-water, which was heroism again, for smoking was ever detestable to him, and whisky more offensive than quinine. but these things are expected of you, and by asking for the whisky you get into talk with dolly; that is to say, you tell her several times what you want, and when she has served every other body you get it. the commercial must be served first; in the barroom he blocks the way like royalty in the street. there is a crown for us all somewhere. dolly seldom heard the bearded one's "good-evening"; she could not possibly have heard the "dear," for though it was there, it remained behind his teeth. she knew him only as the stiff man who got separated from his glass without complaining, and at first she put this down to forgetfulness, and did nothing, so that he could go away without drinking; but by and by, wherever he left his tumbler, cunningly concealed behind a water-bottle, or temptingly in front of a commercial, she restored it to him, and there was a twinkle in her eye. "you little rogue, so you see through me!" surely it was an easy thing to say; but what he did say was "thank you." then to himself he said, "ass, ass, ass!" sitting on the padded seat that ran the length of the room, and surreptitiously breaking his cigar against the cushions to help it on its way to an end, he brought his intellect to bear on dolly at a distance, and soon had a better knowledge of her than could be claimed by those who had dollied her for years. he also wove romances about her, some of them of too lively a character, and others so noble and sad and beautiful that the tears came to his eyes, and dolly thought he had been drinking. he could not have said whether he would prefer her to be good or bad. these were but his leisure moments, for during the long working hours he was still at the exercises, toiling fondly, and right willing to tear himself asunder to get at the trick of writing. so he passed from exercises to the grand experiment. it was to be a tale, for there, they had taken for granted, lay the treasure. pym was most considerate at this time, and mentioned woman with an apology. "i have kept away from them in the exercises," he said in effect, "because it would have been useless (as well as cruel) to force you to labour on a subject so uncongenial to you; and for the same reason i have decided that it is to be a tale of adventure, in which the heroine need be little more than a beautiful sack of coals which your cavalier carries about with him on his left shoulder. i am afraid we must have her to that extent, thomas, but i am not asking much of you; dump her down as often as you like." and thomas did his dogged best, the red light in his eye; though he had not, and never could have had, the smallest instinct for story-writing, he knew to the finger-tips how it is done; but for ever he would have gone on breaking all the rules of the game. how he wrestled with himself! sublime thoughts came to him (nearly all about that girl), and he drove them away, for he knew they beat only against the march of his story, and, whatever befall, the story must march. relentlessly he followed in the track of his men, pushing the dreary dogs on to deeds of valour. he tried making the lady human, and then she would not march; she sat still, and he talked about her; he dumped her down, and soon he was yawning. this weariness was what alarmed him most, for well he understood that there could be no treasure where the work was not engrossing play, and he doubted no more than pym that for him the treasure was in the tale or nowhere. had he not been sharpening his tools in this belief for years? strange to reflect now that all the time he was hacking and sweating at that novel (the last he ever attempted) it was only marching towards the waste-paper basket! he had a fine capacity, as has been hinted, for self-deception, and in time, of course, he found a way of dodging the disquieting truth. this, equally of course, was by yielding to his impulses. he allowed himself an hour a day, when pym was absent, in which he wrote the story as it seemed to want to write itself, and then he cut this piece out, which could be done quite easily, as it consisted only of moralizings. thus was his day brightened, and with this relaxation to look forward to be plodded on at his proper work, delving so hard that he could avoid asking himself why he was still delving. what shall we say? he was digging for the treasure in an orchard, and every now and again he came out of his hole to pluck an apple; but though the apple was so sweet to the mouth, it never struck him that the treasure might be growing overhead. at first he destroyed the fruit of his stolen hour, and even after he took to carrying it about fondly in his pocket, and to rewriting it in a splendid new form that had come to him just as he was stepping into bed, he continued to conceal it from his overseer's eyes. and still he thought all was over with him when pym said the story did not march. "it is a dead thing," pym would roar, flinging down the manuscript,--"a dead thing because the stakes your man is playing for, a woman's love, is less than a wooden counter to you. you are a fine piece of mechanism, my solemn-faced don, but you are a watch that won't go because you are not wound up. nobody can wind the artist up except a chit of a girl; and how you are ever to get one to take pity on you, only the gods who look after men with a want can tell. "it becomes more impenetrable every day," he said. "no use your sitting there tearing yourself to bits. out into the street with you! i suspend these sittings until you can tell me you have kissed a girl." he was still saying this sort of thing when the famous "letters" were published--t. sandys, author. "letters to a young man about to be married" was the full title, and another almost as applicable would have been "bits cut out of a story because they prevented its marching." if you have any memory you do not need to be told how that splendid study, so ennobling, so penetrating, of woman at her best, took the town. tommy woke a famous man, and, except elspeth, no one was more pleased than big-hearted, hopeless, bleary pym. "but how the ---- has it all come about!" he kept roaring. "a woman can be anything that the man who loves her would have her be," says the "letters"; and "oh," said woman everywhere, "if all men had the same idea of us as mr. sandys!" "to meet mr. t. sandys." leaders of society wrote it on their invitation cards. their daughters, athirst for a new sensation, thrilled at the thought, "will he talk to us as nobly as he writes?" and oh, how willing he was to do it, especially if their noses were slightly tilted! chapter iii sandys on woman "can you kindly tell me the name of the book i want?" it is the commonest question asked at the circulating library by dainty ladies just out of the carriage; and the librarian, after looking them over, can usually tell. in the days we have now to speak of, however, he answered, without looking them over: "sandys's 'letters,'" "ah, yes, of course. may i have it, please?" "i regret to find that it is out." then the lady looked naughty. "why don't you have two copies?" she pouted. "madam," said the librarian, "we have a thousand." a small and very timid girl of eighteen, with a neat figure that shrank from observation, although it was already aware that it looked best in gray, was there to drink in this music, and carried it home in her heart. she was elspeth, and that dear heart was almost too full at this time. i hesitate whether to tell or to conceal how it even created a disturbance in no less a place than the house of commons. she was there with mrs. jerry, and the thing was recorded in the papers of the period in these blasting words: "the home secretary was understood to be quoting a passage from 'letters to a young man,' but we failed to catch its drift, owing to an unseemly interruption from the ladies' gallery." "but what was it you cried out?" tommy asked elspeth, when she thought she had told him everything. (like all true women, she always began in the middle.) "oh, tommy, have i not told you? i cried out, 'i'm his sister.'" thus, owing to elspeth's behaviour, it can never be known which was the passage quoted in the house; but we may be sure of one thing--that it did the house good. that book did everybody good. even pym could only throw off its beneficent effects by a tremendous effort, and young men about to be married used to ask at the bookshops, not for the "letters," but simply for "sandys on woman," acknowledging tommy as the authority on the subject, like mill on jurisprudence, or thomson and tait on the differential calculus. controversies raged about it. some thought he asked too much of man, some thought he saw too much in women; there was a fear that young people, knowing at last how far short they fell of what they ought to be, might shrink from the matrimony that must expose them to each other, now that they had sandys to guide them, and the persons who had simply married and risked it (and it was astounding what a number of them there proved to be) wrote to the papers suggesting that he might yield a little in the next edition. but sandys remained firm. at first they took for granted that he was a very aged gentleman; he had, indeed, hinted at this in the text; and when the truth came out ("and just fancy, he is not even married!") the enthusiasm was doubled. "not engaged!" they cried. "don't tell that to me. no unmarried man could have written such a eulogy of marriage without being on the brink of it." perhaps she was dead? it ran through the town that she was dead. some knew which cemetery. the very first lady mr. sandys ever took in to dinner mentioned this rumour to him, not with vulgar curiosity, but delicately, with a hint of sympathy in waiting, and it must be remembered, in fairness to tommy, that all artists love sympathy. this sympathy uncorked him, and our tommy could flow comparatively freely at last. observe the delicious change. "has that story got abroad?" he said simply. "the matter is one which, i need not say, i have never mentioned to a soul." "of course not," the lady said, and waited eagerly. if tommy had been an expert he might have turned the conversation to brighter topics, but he was not; there had already been long pauses, and in dinner talk it is perhaps allowable to fling on any faggot rather than let the fire go out. "it is odd that i should be talking of it now," he said musingly. "i suppose," she said gently, to bring him out of the reverie into which he had sunk, "i suppose it happened some time ago?" "long, long ago," he answered. (having written as an aged person, he often found difficulty in remembering suddenly that he was two and twenty.) "but you are still a very young man." "it seems long ago to me," he said with a sigh. "was she beautiful?" "she was beautiful to my eyes." "and as good, i am sure, as she was beautiful." "ah me!" said tommy. his confidante was burning to know more, and hoping they were being observed across the table; but she was a kind, sentimental creature, though stout, or because of it, and she said, "i am so afraid that my questions pain you." "no, no," said tommy, who was very, very happy. "was it very sudden?" "fever." "ah! but i meant your attachment." "we met and we loved," he said with gentle dignity. "that is the true way," said the lady. "it is the only way," he said decisively. "mr. sandys, you have been so good, i wonder if you would tell me her name?" "felicity," he said, with emotion. presently he looked up. "it is very strange to me," he said wonderingly, "to find myself saying these things to you who an hour ago were a complete stranger to me. but you are not like other women." "no, indeed!" said the lady, warmly. "that," he said, "must be why i tell you what i have never told to another human being. how mysterious are the workings of the heart!" "mr. sandys," said the lady, quite carried away, "no words of mine can convey to you the pride with which i hear you say that. be assured that i shall respect your confidences." she missed his next remark because she was wondering whether she dare ask him to come to dinner on the twenty-fifth, and then the ladies had to retire, and by the time he rejoined her he was as tongue-tied as at the beginning. the cork had not been extracted; it had been knocked into the bottle, where it still often barred the way, and there was always, as we shall see, a flavour of it in the wine. "you will get over it yet; the summer and the flowers will come to you again," she managed to whisper to him kind-heartedly, as she was going. "thank you," he said, with that inscrutable face. it was far from his design to play a part. he had, indeed, had no design at all, but an opportunity for sentiment having presented itself, his mouth had opened as at a cherry. he did not laugh afterwards, even when he reflected how unexpectedly felicity had come into his life; he thought of her rather with affectionate regard, and pictured her as a tall, slim girl in white. when he took a tall, slim girl in white in to dinner, he could not help saying huskily: "you remind me of one who was a very dear friend of mine. i was much startled when you came into the room." "you mean some one who is dead?" she asked in awe-struck tones. "fever," he said. "you think i am like her in appearance?" "in every way," he said dreamily; "the same sweet--pardon me, but it is very remarkable. even the tones of the voice are the same. i suppose i ought not to ask your age?" "i shall be twenty-one in august." "she would have been twenty-one in august had she lived," tommy said with fervour. "my dear young lady--" this was the aged gentleman again, but she did not wince; he soon found out that they expect authors to say the oddest things, and this proved to be a great help to him. "my dear young lady, i feel that i know you very well." "that," she said, "is only because i resemble your friend outwardly. the real me (she was a bit of philosopher also) you cannot know at all." he smiled sadly. "has it ever struck you," he asked, "that you are very unlike other women?" "oh, how ever could you have found that out?" she exclaimed, amazed. almost before he knew how it came about, he was on terms of very pleasant sentiment with this girl, for they now shared between them a secret that he had confided to no other. his face, which had been so much against him hitherto, was at last in his favour; it showed so plainly that when he looked at her more softly or held her hand longer than is customary, he was really thinking of that other of whom she was the image. or if it did not precisely show that, it suggested something or other of that nature which did just as well. there was a sweet something between them which brought them together and also kept them apart; it allowed them to go a certain length, while it was also a reason why they could never, never exceed that distance; and this was an ideal state for tommy, who could be most loyal and tender so long as it was understood that he meant nothing in particular. she was the right kind of girl, too, and admired him the more (and perhaps went a step further) because he remained so true to felicity's memory. you must not think him calculating and cold-blooded, for nothing could be less true to the fact. when not engaged, indeed, on his new work, he might waste some time planning scenes with exquisite ladies, in which he sparkled or had a hidden sorrow (he cared not which); but these scenes seldom came to life. he preferred very pretty girls to be rather stupid (oh, the artistic instinct of the man!), but instead of keeping them stupid, as he wanted to do, he found himself trying to improve their minds. they screwed up their noses in the effort. meaning to thrill the celebrated beauty who had been specially invited to meet him, he devoted himself to a plain woman for whose plainness a sudden pity had mastered him (for, like all true worshippers of beauty in women, he always showed best in the presence of plain ones). with the intention of being a gallant knight to lady i-won't-tell-the-name, a whim of the moment made him so stiff to her that she ultimately asked the reason; and such a charmingly sad reason presented itself to him that she immediately invited him to her riverside party on thursday week. he had the conversations and incidents for that party ready long before the day arrived; he altered them and polished them as other young gentlemen in the same circumstances overhaul their boating costumes; but when he joined the party there was among them the children's governess, and seeing her slighted, his blood boiled, and he was her attendant for the afternoon. elspeth was not at this pleasant jink in high life. she had been invited, but her ladyship had once let tommy kiss her hand for the first and last time, so he decided sternly that this was no place for elspeth. when temptation was nigh, he first locked elspeth up, and then walked into it. with two in every three women he was still as shy as ever, but the third he escorted triumphantly to the conservatory. she did no harm to his work--rather sent him back to it refreshed. it was as if he were shooting the sentiment which other young men get rid of more gradually by beginning earlier, and there were such accumulations of it that i don't know whether he ever made up on them. punishment sought him in the night, when he dreamed constantly that he was married--to whom scarcely mattered; he saw himself coming out of a church a married man, and the fright woke him up. but with the daylight came again his talent for dodging thoughts that were lying in wait, and he yielded as recklessly as before to every sentimental impulse. as illustration, take his humourous passage with mrs. jerry. geraldine something was her name, but her friends called her mrs. jerry. she was a wealthy widow, buxom, not a day over thirty when she was merry, which might be at inappropriate moments, as immediately after she had expressed a desire to lead the higher life. "but i have a theory, my dear," she said solemnly to elspeth, "that no woman is able to do it who cannot see her own nose without the help of a mirror." she had taken a great fancy to elspeth, and made many engagements with her, and kept some of them, and the understanding was that she apprenticed herself to tommy through elspeth, he being too terrible to face by himself, or, as mrs. jerry expressed it, "all nose." so tommy had seen very little of her, and thought less, until one day he called by passionate request to sign her birthday-book, and heard himself proposing to her instead! for one thing, it was twilight, and she had forgotten to ring for the lamps. that might have been enough, but there was more: she read to him part of a letter in which her hand was solicited in marriage. "and, for the life of me," said mrs. jerry, almost in tears, "i cannot decide whether to say yes or no." this put tommy in a most awkward position. there are probably men who could have got out of it without proposing; but to him there seemed at the moment no other way open. the letter complicated matters also by beginning "dear jerry," and saying "little jerry" further on--expressions which stirred him strangely. "why do you read this to me?" he asked, in a voice that broke a little. "because you are so wise," she said. "do you mind?" "do i mind!" he exclaimed bitterly. ("take care, you idiot!" he said to himself.) "i was asking your advice only. is it too much?" "not at all. i am quite the right man to consult at such a moment, am i not?" it was said with profound meaning; but his face was as usual. "that is what i thought," she said, in all good faith. "you do not even understand!" he cried, and he was also looking longingly at his hat. "understand what?" "jerry," he said, and tried to stop himself, with the result that he added, "dear little jerry!" ("what am i doing!" he groaned.) she understood now. "you don't mean--" she began, in amazement. "yes," he cried passionately. "i love you. will you be my wife?" ("i am lost!") "gracious!" exclaimed mrs. jerry; and then, on reflection, she became indignant. "i would not have believed it of you," she said scornfully. "is it my money, or what? i am not at all clever, so you must tell me." with tommy, of course, it was not her money. except when he had elspeth to consider, he was as much a quixote about money as pym himself; and at no moment of his life was he a snob. "i am sorry you should think so meanly of me," he said with dignity, lifting his hat; and he would have got away then (which, when you come to think of it, was what he wanted) had he been able to resist an impulse to heave a broken-hearted sigh at the door. "don't go yet, mr. sandys," she begged. "i may have been hasty. and yet--why, we are merely acquaintances!" he had meant to be very careful now, but that word sent him off again. "acquaintances!" he cried. "no, we were never that." "it almost seemed to me that you avoided me." "you noticed it!" he said eagerly. "at least, you do me that justice. oh, how i tried to avoid you!" "it was because--" "alas!" she was touched, of course, but still puzzled. "we know so little of each other," she said. "i see," he replied, "that you know me very little, mrs. jerry; but you--oh, jerry, jerry! i know you as no other man has ever known you!" "i wish i had proof of it," she said helplessly. proof! she should not have asked tommy for proof. "i know," he cried, "how unlike all other women you are. to the world you are like the rest, but in your heart you know that you are different; you know it, and i know it, and no other person knows it." yes, mrs. jerry knew it, and had often marvelled over it in the seclusion of her boudoir; but that another should have found it out was strange and almost terrifying. "i know you love me now," she said softly. "only love could have shown you that. but--oh, let me go away for a minute to think!" and she ran out of the room. other suitors have been left for a space in tommy's state of doubt, but never, it may be hoped, with the same emotions. oh, heavens! if she should accept him! he saw elspeth sickening and dying of the news. his guardian angel, however, was very good to tommy at this time; or perhaps, like cannibals with their prisoner, the god of sentiment (who has a tail) was fattening him for a future feast; and mrs. jerry's answer was that it could never be. tommy bowed his head. but she hoped he would let her be his very dear friend. it would be the proudest recollection of her life that mr. sandys had entertained such feelings for her. nothing could have been better, and he should have found difficulty in concealing his delight; but this strange tommy was really feeling his part again. it was an unforced tear that came to his eye. quite naturally he looked long and wistfully at her. "jerry, jerry!" he articulated huskily, and whatever the words mean in these circumstances he really meant; then he put his lips to her hand for the first and last time, and so was gone, broken but brave. he was in splendid fettle for writing that evening. wild animals sleep after gorging, but it sent this monster, refreshed, to his work. nevertheless, the incident gave him some uneasy reflections. was he, indeed, a monster? was one that he could dodge, as yet; but suppose mrs. jerry told his dear elspeth of what had happened? she had said that she would not, but a secret in mrs. jerry's breast was like her pug in her arms, always kicking to get free. "elspeth," said tommy, "what do you say to going north and having a sight of thrums again?" he knew what she would say. they had been talking for years of going back; it was the great day that all her correspondence with old friends in thrums looked forward to. "they made little of you, tommy," she said, "when we left; but i'm thinking they will all be at their windows when you go back." "oh," replied thomas, "that's nothing. but i should like to shake corp by the hand again." "and aaron," said elspeth. she was knitting stockings for aaron at that moment. "and gavinia," tommy said, "and the dominie." "and ailie." and then came an awkward pause, for they were both thinking of that independent girl called grizel. she was seldom discussed. tommy was oddly shy about mentioning her name; he would have preferred elspeth to mention it: and elspeth had misgivings that this was so, with the result that neither could say "grizel" without wondering what was in the other's mind. tommy had written twice to grizel, the first time unknown to elspeth, but that was in the days when the ladies of the penny numbers were disturbing him, and, against his better judgment (for well he knew she would never stand it), he had begun his letter with these mad words: "dear little woman." she did not answer this, but soon afterwards she wrote to elspeth, and he was not mentioned in the letter proper, but it carried a sting in its tail. "p.s.," it said "how is sentimental tommy?" none but a fiend in human shape could have written thus, and elspeth put her protecting arms round her brother. "now we know what grizel is," she said. "i am done with her now." but when tommy had got back his wind he said nobly: "i'll call her no names. if this is how she likes to repay me for--for all my kindnesses, let her. but, elspeth, if i have the chance, i shall go on being good to her just the same." elspeth adored him for it, but grizel would have stamped had she known. he had that comfort. the second letter he never posted. it was written a few months before he became a celebrity, and had very fine things indeed in it, for old dr. mcqueen, grizel's dear friend, had just died at his post, and it was a letter of condolence. while tommy wrote it he was in a quiver of genuine emotion, as he was very pleased to feel, and it had a specially satisfying bit about death, and the world never being the same again. he knew it was good, but he did not send it to her, for no reason i can discover save that postscripts jarred on him. chapter iv grizel of the crooked smile to expose tommy for what he was, to appear to be scrupulously fair to him so that i might really damage him the more, that is what i set out to do in this book, and always when he seemed to be finding a way of getting round me (as i had a secret dread he might do) i was to remember grizel and be obdurate. but if i have so far got past some of his virtues without even mentioning them (and i have), i know how many opportunities for discrediting him have been missed, and that would not greatly matter, there are so many more to come, if grizel were on my side. but she is not; throughout those first chapters a voice has been crying to me, "take care; if you hurt him you will hurt me"; and i know it to be the voice of grizel, and i seem to see her, rocking her arms as she used to rock them when excited in the days of her innocent childhood. "don't, don't, don't!" she cried at every cruel word i gave him, and she, to whom it was ever such agony to weep, dropped a tear upon each word, so that they were obliterated; and "surely i knew him best," she said, "and i always loved him"; and she stood there defending him, with her hand on her heart to conceal the gaping wound that tommy had made. well, if grizel had always loved him there was surely something fine and rare about tommy. but what was it, grizel? why did you always love him, you who saw into him so well and demanded so much of men? when i ask that question the spirit that hovers round my desk to protect tommy from me rocks her arms mournfully, as if she did not know the answer; it is only when i seem to see her as she so often was in life, before she got that wound and after, bending over some little child and looking up radiant, that i think i suddenly know why she always loved tommy. it was because he had such need of her. i don't know whether you remember, but there were once some children who played at jacobites in the thrums den under tommy's leadership. elspeth, of course, was one of them, and there were corp shiach, and gavinia, and lastly, there was grizel. had tommy's parents been alive she would not have been allowed to join, for she was a painted lady's child; but tommy insisted on having her, and grizel thought it was just sweet of him. he also chatted with her in public places, as if she were a respectable character; and oh, how she longed to be respectable! but, on the other hand, he was the first to point out how superbly he was behaving, and his ways were masterful, so the independent girl would not be captain's wife; if he said she was captain's wife he had to apologize, and if he merely looked it he had to apologize just the same. one night the painted lady died in the den, and then it would have gone hard with the lonely girl had not dr. mcqueen made her his little housekeeper, not out of pity, he vowed (she was so anxious to be told that), but because he was an old bachelor sorely in need of someone to take care of him. and how she took care of him! but though she was so happy now, she knew that she must be very careful, for there was something in her blood that might waken and prevent her being a good woman. she thought it would be sweet to be good. she told all this to tommy, and he was profoundly interested, and consulted a wise man, whose advice was that when she grew up she should be wary of any man whom she liked and mistrusted in one breath. meaning to do her a service, tommy communicated this to her; and then, what do you think? grizel would have no more dealings with him! by and by the gods, in a sportive mood, sent him to labour on a farm, whence, as we have seen, he found a way to london, and while he was growing into a man grizel became a woman. at the time of the doctor's death she was nineteen, tall and graceful, and very dark and pale. when the winds of the day flushed her cheek she was beautiful; but it was a beauty that hid the mystery of her face. the sun made her merry, but she looked more noble when it had set; then her pallor shone with a soft, radiant light, as though the mystery and sadness and serenity of the moon were in it. the full beauty of grizel came out only at night, like the stars. i had made up my mind that when the time came to describe grizel's mere outward appearance i should refuse her that word "beautiful" because of her tilted nose; but now that the time has come, i wonder at myself. probably when i am chapters ahead i shall return to this one and strike out the word "beautiful," and then, as likely as not, i shall come back afterwards and put it in again. whether it will be there at the end, god knows. her eyes, at least, were beautiful. they were unusually far apart, and let you look straight into them, and never quivered; they were such clear, gray, searching eyes, they seemed always to be asking for the truth. and she had an adorable mouth. in repose it was, perhaps, hard, because it shut so decisively; but often it screwed up provokingly at one side, as when she smiled, or was sorry, or for no particular reason; for she seemed unable to control this vagary, which was perhaps a little bit of babyhood that had forgotten to grow up with the rest of her. at those moments the essence of all that was characteristic and delicious about her seemed to have run to her mouth; so that to kiss grizel on her crooked smile would have been to kiss the whole of her at once. she had a quaint way of nodding her head at you when she was talking. it made you forget what she was saying, though it was really meant to have precisely the opposite effect. her voice was rich, with many inflections. when she had much to say it gurgled like a stream in a hurry; but its cooing note was best worth remembering at the end of the day. there were times when she looked like a boy. her almost gallant bearing, the poise of her head, her noble frankness--they all had something in them of a princely boy who had never known fear. i have no wish to hide her defects; i would rather linger over them, because they were part of grizel, and i am sorry to see them go one by one. thrums had not taken her to its heart. she was a proud-purse, they said, meaning that she had a haughty walk. her sense of justice was too great. she scorned frailties that she should have pitied. (how strange to think that there was a time when pity was not the feeling that leaped to grizel's bosom first!) she did not care for study. she learned french and the pianoforte to please the doctor; but she preferred to be sewing or dusting. when she might have been reading, she was perhaps making for herself one of those costumes that annoyed every lady of thrums who employed a dressmaker; or, more probably, it was a delicious garment for a baby; for as soon as grizel heard that there was a new baby anywhere, all her intellect deserted her, and she became a slave. books often irritated her because she disagreed with the author; and it was a torment to her to find other people holding to their views when she was so certain that hers were right. in church she sometimes rocked her arms; and the old doctor by her side knew that it was because she could not get up and contradict the minister. she was, i presume, the only young lady who ever dared to say that she hated sunday because there was so much sitting still in it. sitting still did not suit grizel. at all other times she was happy; but then her mind wandered back to the thoughts that had lived too closely with her in the old days, and she was troubled. what woke her from these reveries was probably the doctor's hand placed very tenderly on her shoulder, and then she would start, and wonder how long he had been watching her, and what were the grave thoughts behind his cheerful face; for the doctor never looked more cheerful than when he was drawing grizel away from the ugly past, and he talked to her as if he had noticed nothing; but after he went upstairs he would pace his bedroom for a long time; and grizel listened, and knew that he was thinking about her. then, perhaps, she would run up to him, and put her arms around his neck. these scenes brought the doctor and grizel very close together; but they became rarer as she grew up, and then for once that she was troubled she was a hundred times irresponsible with glee, and "oh, you dearest, darlingest," she would cry to him, "i must dance,--i must, i must!--though it is a fast-day; and you must dance with your mother this instant--i am so happy, so happy!" "mother" was his nickname for her, and she delighted in the word. she lorded it over him as if he were her troublesome boy. how could she be other than glorious when there was so much to do? the work inside the house she made for herself, and outside the doctor made it for her. at last he had found for nurse a woman who could follow his instructions literally, who understood that if he said five o'clock for the medicine the chap of six would not do as well, who did not in her heart despise the thermometer, and who resolutely prevented the patient from skipping out of bed to change her pillow-slips because the minister was expected. such tyranny enraged every sufferer who had been ill before and got better; but what they chiefly complained of to the doctor (and he agreed with a humourous sigh) was her masterfulness about fresh air and cold water. windows were opened that had never been opened before (they yielded to her pressure with a groan); and as for cold water, it might have been said that a bath followed her wherever she went--not, mark me, for putting your hands and face in, not even for your feet; but in you must go, the whole of you, "as if," they said indignantly, "there was something the matter with our skin." she could not gossip, not even with the doctor, who liked it of an evening when he had got into his carpet shoes. there was no use telling her a secret, for she kept it to herself for evermore. she had ideas about how men should serve a woman, even the humblest, that made the men gaze with wonder, and the women (curiously enough) with irritation. her greatest scorn was for girls who made themselves cheap with men; and she could not hide it. it was a physical pain to grizel to hide her feelings; they popped out in her face, if not in words, and were always in advance of her self-control. to the doctor this impulsiveness was pathetic; he loved her for it, but it sometimes made him uneasy. he died in the scarlet-fever year. "i'm smitten," he suddenly said at a bedside; and a week afterwards he was gone. "we must speak of it now, grizel," he said, when he knew that he was dying. she pressed his hand. she knew to what he was referring. "yes," she said, "i should love you to speak of it now." "you and i have always fought shy of it," he said, "making a pretence that it had altogether passed away. i thought that was best for you." "dearest, darlingest," she said, "i know--i have always known." "and you," he said, "you pretended because you thought it was best for me." she nodded. "and we saw through each other all the time," she said. "grizel, has it passed away altogether now?" her grip upon his hand did not tighten in the least. "yes," she could say honestly, "it has altogether passed away." "and you have no more fear?" "no, none." it was his great reward for all that he had done for grizel. "i know what you are thinking of," she said, when he did not speak. "you are thinking of the haunted little girl you rescued seven years ago." "no," he answered; "i was thanking god for the brave, wholesome woman she has grown into; and for something else, grizel--for letting me live to see it." "to do it," she said, pressing his hand to her breast. she was a strange girl, and she had to speak her mind. "i don't think god has done it all," she said. "i don't even think that he told you to do it. i think he just said to you, 'there is a painted lady's child at your door. you can save her if you like.' "no," she went on, when he would have interposed; "i am sure he did not want to do it all. he even left a little bit of it to me to do myself. i love to think that i have done a tiny bit of it myself. i think it is the sweetest thing about god that he lets us do some of it ourselves. do i hurt you, darling?" no, she did not hurt him, for he understood her. "but you are naturally so impulsive," he said, "it has often been a sharp pain to me to see you so careful." "it was not a pain to me to be careful; it was a joy. oh, the thousand dear, delightful joys i have had with you!" "it has made you strong, grizel, and i rejoice in that; but sometimes i fear that it has made you too difficult to win." "i don't want to be won," she told him. "you don't quite mean that, grizel." "no," she said at once. she whispered to him impulsively: "it is the only thing i am at all afraid of now." "what?" "love." "you will not be afraid of it when it comes." "but i want to be afraid," she said. "you need not," he answered. "the man on whom those clear eyes rest lovingly will be worthy of it all. if he were not, they would be the first to find him out." "but need that make any difference?" she asked. "perhaps though i found him out i should love him just the same." "not unless you loved him first, grizel." "no," she said at once again. "i am not really afraid of love," she whispered to him. "you have made me so happy that i am afraid of nothing." yet she wondered a little that he was not afraid to die, but when she told him this he smiled and said: "everybody fears death except those who are dying." and when she asked if he had anything on his mind, he said: "i leave the world without a care. not that i have seen all i would fain have seen. many a time, especially this last year, when i have seen the mother in you crooning to some neighbour's child, i have thought to myself, 'i don't know my grizel yet; i have seen her in the bud only,' and i would fain--" he broke off. "but i have no fears," he said. "as i lie here, with you sitting by my side, looking so serene, i can say, for the first time for half a century, that i have nothing on my mind. "but, grizel, i should have married," he told her. "the chief lesson my life has taught me is that they are poor critturs--the men who don't marry." "if you had married," she said, "you might never have been able to help me." "it is you who have helped me," he replied. "god sent the child; he is most reluctant to give any of us up. ay, grizel, that's what my life has taught me, and it's all i can leave to you." the last he saw of her, she was holding his hand, and her eyes were dry, her teeth were clenched; but there was a brave smile upon her face, for he had told her that it was thus he would like to see her at the end. after his death, she continued to live at the old house; he had left it to her ("i want it to remain in the family," he said), with all his savings, which were quite sufficient for the needs of such a manager. he had also left her plenty to do, and that was a still sweeter legacy. and the other jacobites, what of them? hi, where are you, corp? here he comes, grinning, in his spleet new uniform, to demand our tickets of us. he is now the railway porter. since tommy left thrums "steam" had arrived in it, and corp had by nature such a gift for giving luggage the twist which breaks everything inside as you dump it down that he was inevitably appointed porter. there was no travelling to thrums without a ticket. at tilliedrum, which was the junction for thrums, you showed your ticket and were then locked in. a hundred yards from thrums. corp leaped upon the train and fiercely demanded your ticket. at the station he asked you threateningly whether you had given up your ticket. even his wife was afraid of him at such times, and had her ticket ready in her hand. his wife was one gavinia, and she had no fear of him except when she was travelling. to his face she referred to him as a doited sumph, but to grizel pleading for him she admitted that despite his warts and quarrelsome legs he was a great big muckle sonsy, stout, buirdly well set up, wise-like, havering man. when first corp had proposed to her, she gave him a clout on the head; and so little did he know of the sex that this discouraged him. he continued, however, to propose and she to clout him until he heard, accidentally (he woke up in church), of a man in the bible who had wooed a woman for seven years, and this example he determined to emulate; but when gavinia heard of it she was so furious that she took him at once. dazed by his good fortune, he rushed off with it to his aunt, whom he wearied with his repetition of the great news. "to your bed wi' you," she said, yawning. "bed!" cried corp, indignantly. "and so, auntie, says gavinia, 'yes,' says she, 'i'll hae you.' those were her never-to-be-forgotten words." "you pitiful object," answered his aunt. "men hae been married afore now without making sic a stramash." "i daursay," retorted corp; "but they hinna married gavinia." and this is the best known answer to the sneer of the cynic. he was a public nuisance that night, and knocked various people up after they had gone to bed, to tell them that gavinia was to have him. he was eventually led home by kindly though indignant neighbours; but early morning found him in the country, carrying the news from farm to farm. "no, i winna sit down," he said; "i just cried in to tell you gavinia is to hae me." six miles from home he saw a mud house on the top of a hill, and ascended genially. he found at their porridge a very old lady with a nut-cracker face, and a small boy. we shall see them again. "auld wifie," said corp, "i dinna ken you, but i've just stepped up to tell you that gavinia is to hae me." it made him the butt of the sportive. if he or gavinia were nigh, they gathered their fowls round them and then said: "hens, i didna bring you here to feed you, but just to tell you that gavinia is to hae me." this flustered gavinia; but grizel, who enjoyed her own jokes too heartily to have more than a polite interest in those of other people, said to her: "how can you be angry! i think it was just sweet of him." "but was it no vulgar?" "vulgar!" said grizel. "why, gavinia, that is how every lady would like a man to love her." and then gavinia beamed. "i'm glad you say that," she said; "for, though i wouldna tell corp for worlds, i fell likit it." but grizel told corp that gavinia liked it. "it was the proof," she said, smiling, "that you have the right to marry her. you have shown your ticket. never give it up, corp." about a year afterwards corp, armed in his sunday stand, rushed to grizel's house, occasionally stopping to slap his shiny knees. "grizel," he cried, "there's somebody come to thrums without a ticket!" then he remembered gavinia's instructions. "mrs. shiach's compliments," he said ponderously, "and it's a boy." "oh, corp!" exclaimed grizel, and immediately began to put on her hat and jacket. corp watched her uneasily. "mrs. shiach's compliments," he said firmly, "and he's ower young to be bathed yet; but she's awid to show him off to you," he hastened to add. "'tell grizel,' was her first words." "tell grizel"! they were among the first words of many mothers. none, they were aware, would receive the news with quite such glee as she. they might think her cold and reserved with themselves, but to see the look on her face as she bent over a baby, and to know that the baby was yours! what a way she had with them! she always welcomed them as if in coming they had performed a great feat. that is what babies are agape for from the beginning. had they been able to speak they would have said "tell grizel" themselves. "and mrs. shiach's compliments," corp remembered, "and she would be windy if you would carry the bairn at the christening." "i should love it, corp! have you decided on the name?" "lang syne. gin it were a lassie we were to call her grizel--" "oh, how sweet of you!" "after the finest lassie we ever kent," continued corp, stoutly. "but i was sure it would be a laddie." "why?" "because if it was a laddie it was to be called after him," he said, with emphasis on the last word; "and thinks i to mysel', 'he'll find a way.' what a crittur he was for finding a way, grizel! and he lookit so holy a' the time. do you mind that swear word o' his--'stroke'? it just meant 'damn'; but he could make even 'damn' look holy." "you are to call the baby tommy?" "he'll be christened thomas sandys shiach," said corp. "i hankered after putting something out o' the jacobites intil his name; and i says to gavinia, 'let's call him thomas sandys stroke shiach,' says i, 'and the minister'll be nane the wiser'; but gavinia was scandalized." grizel reflected. "corp," she said, "i am sure gavinia's sister will expect to be asked to carry the baby. i don't think i want to do it." "after you promised!" cried corp, much hurt. "i never kent you to break a promise afore." "i will do it, corp," she said, at once. she did not know then that tommy would be in church to witness the ceremony, but she knew before she walked down the aisle with t.s. shiach in her arms. it was the first time that tommy and she had seen each other for seven years. that day he almost rivalled his namesake in the interests of the congregation, who, however, took prodigious care that he should not see it--all except grizel; she smiled a welcome to him, and he knew that her serene gray eyes were watching him. chapter v the tommy myth on the evening before the christening, aaron latta, his head sunk farther into his shoulders, his beard gone grayer, no other perceptible difference in a dreary man since we last saw him in the book of tommy's boyhood, had met the brother and sister at the station, a barrow with him for their luggage. it was a great hour for him as he wheeled the barrow homeward, elspeth once more by his side; but he could say nothing heartsome in tommy's presence, and tommy was as uncomfortable in his. the old strained relations between these two seemed to begin again at once. they were as self-conscious as two mastiffs meeting in the street; and both breathed a sigh of relief when tommy fell behind. "you're bonny, elspeth," aaron then said eagerly. "i'm glad, glad to see you again." "and him too, aaron?" elspeth pleaded. "he took you away frae me." "he has brought me back." "ay, and he has but to whistle to you and away you go wi' him again. he's ower grand to bide lang here now." "you don't know him, aaron. we are to stay a long time. do you know mrs. mclean invited us to stay with her? i suppose she thought your house was so small. but tommy said, 'the house of the man who befriended us when we were children shall never be too small for us.'" "did he say that? ay, but, elspeth, i would rather hear what you said." "i said it was to dear, good aaron latta i was going back, and to no one else." "god bless you for that, elspeth." "and tommy," she went on, "must have his old garret room again, to write as well as sleep in, and the little room you partitioned off the kitchen will do nicely for me." "there's no a window in it," replied aaron; "but it will do fine for you, elspeth." he was almost chuckling, for he had a surprise in waiting for her. "this way," he said excitedly, when she would have gone into the kitchen, and he flung open the door of what had been his warping-room. the warping-mill was gone--everything that had been there was gone. what met the delighted eyes of elspeth and tommy was a cozy parlour, which became a bedroom when you opened that other door. "you are a leddy now, elspeth," aaron said, husky with pride, "and you have a leddy's room. do you see the piano?" he had given up the warping, having at last "twa three hunder'" in the bank, and all the work he did now was at a loom which he had put into the kitchen to keep him out of languor. "i have sorted up the garret, too, for you," he said to tommy, "but this is elspeth's room." "as if tommy would take it from me!" said elspeth, running into the kitchen to hug this dear aaron. "you may laugh," aaron replied vindictively, "but he is taking it frae you already"; and later, when tommy was out of the way, he explained his meaning. "i did it all for you, elspeth; 'elspeth's room,' i called it. when i bought the mahogany arm-chair, 'that's elspeth's chair,' i said to mysel'; and when i bought the bed, 'it's hers,' i said. ay; but i was soon disannulled o' that thait, for, in spite of me, they were all got for him. not a rissom in that room is yours or mine, elspeth; every muhlen belongs to him." "but who says so, aaron? i am sure he won't." "i dinna ken them. they are leddies that come here in their carriages to see the house where thomas sandys was born." "but, aaron, he was born in london!" "they think he was born in this house," aaron replied doggedly, "and it's no for me to cheapen him." "oh, aaron, you pretend----" "i was never very fond o' him," aaron admitted, "but i winna cheapen jean myles's bairn, and when they chap at my door and say they would like to see the room thomas sandys was born in, i let them see the best room i have. so that's how he has laid hands on your parlor, elspeth. afore i can get rid o' them they gie a squeak and cry, 'was that thomas sandys's bed?' and i says it was. that's him taking the very bed frae you, elspeth." "you might at least have shown them his bed in the garret," she said. "it's a shilpit bit thing," he answered, "and i winna cheapen him. they're curious, too, to see his favourite seat." "it was the fender," she declared. "it was," he assented, "but it's no for me to cheapen him, so i let them see your new mahogany chair. 'thomas sandys's chair,' they call it, and they sit down in it reverently. they winna even leave you the piano. 'was this thomas sandys's piano?' they speir. 'it was,' says i, and syne they gowp at it." his under lip shot out, a sure sign that he was angry. "i dinna blame him," he said, "but he had the same masterful way of scooping everything into his lap when he was a laddie, and i like him none the mair for it"; and from this position aaron would not budge. "quite right, too," tommy said, when he heard of it. "but you can tell him, elspeth, that we shall allow no more of those prying women to come in." and he really meant this, for he was a modest man that day, was tommy. nevertheless, he was, perhaps, a little annoyed to find, as the days went on, that no more ladies came to be turned away. he heard that they had also been unable to resist the desire to shake hands with thomas sandys's schoolmaster. "it must have been a pleasure to teach him," they said to cathro. "ah me, ah me!" cathro replied enigmatically. it had so often been a pleasure to cathro to thrash him! "genius is odd," they said. "did he ever give you any trouble?" "we were like father and son," he assured them. with natural pride he showed them the ink-pot into which thomas sandys had dipped as a boy. they were very grateful for his interesting reminiscence that when the pot was too full thomas inked his fingers. he presented several of them with the ink-pot. two ladies, who came together, bothered him by asking what the hugh blackadder competition was. they had been advised to inquire of him about thomas sandys's connection therewith by another schoolmaster, a mr. ogilvy, whom they had met in one of the glens. mr. cathro winced, and then explained with emphasis that the hugh blackadder was a competition in which the local ministers were the sole judges; he therefore referred the ladies to them. the ladies did go to a local minister for enlightenment, to mr. dishart; but, after reflecting, mr. dishart said that it was too long a story, and this answer seemed to amuse mr. ogilvy, who happened to be present. it was mr. mclean who retailed this news to tommy. he and ailie had walked home from church with the newcomers on the day after their arrival, the day of the christening. they had not gone into aaron's house, for you are looked askance at in thrums if you pay visits on sundays, but they had stood for a long time gossiping at the door, which is permitted by the strictest. ailie was in a twitter, as of old, and not able even yet to speak of her husband without an apologetic look to the ladies who had none. and oh, how proud she was of tommy's fame! her eyes were an offering to him. "don't take her as a sample of the place, though," mr. mclean warned him, "for thrums does not catch fire so readily as london." it was quite true. "i was at the school wi' him," they said up there, and implied that this damned his book. but there were two faithful souls, or, more strictly, one, for corp could never have carried it through without gavinia's help. tommy called on them promptly at their house in the bellies brae (four rooms, but a lodger), and said, almost before he had time to look, that the baby had corp's chin and gavinia's eyes. he had made this up on the way. he also wanted to say, so desirous was he of pleasing his old friends, that he should like to hold the baby in his arms; but it was such a thundering lie that even an author could not say it. tommy sat down in that house with a very warm heart for its inmates; but they chilled him--gavinia with her stiff words, and corp by looking miserable instead of joyous. "i expected you to come to me first, corp," said tommy, reproachfully. "i had scarcely a word with you at the station." "he couldna hae presumed," replied gavinia, primly. "i couldna hae presumed," said corp, with a groan. "fudge!" tommy said. "you were my greatest friend, and i like you as much as ever, corp." corp's face shone, but gavinia said at once, "you werena sic great friends as that; were you, man?" "no," corp replied gloomily. "whatever has come over you both?" asked tommy, in surprise. "you will be saying next, gavinia, that we never played at jacobites in the den!" "i dinna deny that corp and me played," gavinia answered determinedly, "but you didna. you said to us, 'think shame,' you said, 'to be playing vulgar games when you could be reading superior books.' they were his very words, were they no, man?" she demanded of her unhappy husband, with a threatening look. "they were," said corp, in deepest gloom. "i must get to the bottom of this," said tommy, rising, "and as you are too great a coward, corp, to tell the truth with that shameless woman glowering at you, out you go, gavinia, and take your disgraced bairn with you. do as you are told, you besom, for i am captain stroke again." corp was choking with delight as gavinia withdrew haughtily. "i was sure you would sort her," he said, rubbing his hands, "i was sure you wasna the kind to be ashamed o' auld friends." "but what does it mean?" "she has a notion," corp explained, growing grave again, "that it wouldna do for you to own the like o' us. 'we mauna cheapen him,' she said. she wanted you to see that we hinna been cheapening you." he said, in a sepulchral voice, "there has been leddies here, and they want to ken what thomas sandys was like as a boy. it's me they speir for, but gavinia she just shoves me out o' sight, and says she, 'leave them to me.'" corp told tommy some of the things gavinia said about thomas sandys as a boy: how he sat rapt in church, and, instead of going bird-nesting, lay on the ground listening to the beautiful little warblers overhead, and gave all his pennies to poorer children, and could repeat the shorter catechism, beginning at either end, and was very respectful to the aged and infirm, and of a yielding disposition, and said, from his earliest years, "i don't want to be great; i just want to be good." "how can she make them all up?" tommy asked, with respectful homage to gavinia. corp, with his eye on the door, produced from beneath the bed a little book with coloured pictures. it was entitled "great boyhoods," by "aunt martha." "she doesna make them up," he whispered; "she gets them out o' this." "and you back her up, corp, even when she says i was not your friend!" "it was like a t' knife intil me," replied loyal corp; "every time i forswore you it was like a t' knife, but i did it, ay, and i'll go on doing it if you think my friendship cheapens you." tommy was much moved, and gripped his old lieutenant by the hand. he also called gavinia ben, and, before she could ward him off, the masterful rogue had saluted her on the cheek. "that," said tommy, "is to show you that i am as fond of the old times and my old friends as ever, and the moment you deny it i shall take you to mean, gavinia, that you want another kiss." "he's just the same!" corp remarked ecstatically, when tommy had gone. "i dinna deny," gavinia said, "but what he's fell taking"; and for a time they ruminated. "gavinia," said corp, suddenly, "i wouldna wonder but what he's a gey lad wi' the women!" "what makes you think that?" she replied coldly, and he had the prudence not to say. he should have followed his hero home to be disabused of this monstrous notion, for even while it was being propounded tommy was sitting in such an agony of silence in a woman's presence that she could not resist smiling a crooked smile at him. his want of words did not displease grizel; she was of opinion that young men should always be a little awed by young ladies. he had found her with elspeth on his return home. would grizel call and be friendly? he had asked himself many times since he saw her in church yesterday, and elspeth was as curious. each wanted to know what the other thought of her, but neither had the courage to inquire, they both wanted to know so much. her name had been mentioned but casually, not a word to indicate that she had grown up since they saw her last. the longer tommy remained silent, the more, he knew, did elspeth suspect him. he would have liked to say, in a careless voice, "rather pretty, isn't she?" but he felt that this little elspeth would see through him at once. for at the first glance he had seen what grizel was, and a thrill of joy passed through him as he drank her in; it was but the joy of the eyes for the first moment, but it ran to his heart to say, "this is the little hunted girl that was!" and tommy was moved with a manly gladness that the girl who once was so fearful of the future had grown into this. the same unselfish delight in her for her own sake came over him again when he shook hands with her in aaron's parlor. this glorious creature with the serene eyes and the noble shoulders had been the hunted child of the double dykes! he would have liked to race back into the past and bring little grizel here to look. how many boyish memories he recalled! and she was in every one of them. his heart held nothing but honest joy in this meeting after so many years; he longed to tell her how sincerely he was still her friend. well, why don't you tell her, tommy? it is a thing you are good at, and you have been polishing up the phrases ever since she passed down the aisle with master shiach in her arms; you have even planned out a way of putting grizel at her ease, and behold, she is the only one of the three who is at ease. what has come over you? does the reader think it was love? no, it was only that pall of shyness; he tried to fling it off, but could not. behold tommy being buried alive! elspeth showed less contemptibly than her brother, but it was grizel who did most of the talking. she nodded her head and smiled crookedly at tommy, but she was watching him all the time. she wore a dress in which brown and yellow mingled as in woods on an autumn day, and the jacket had a high collar of fur, over which she watched him. let us say that she was watching to see whether any of the old tommy was left in him. yet, with this problem confronting her, she also had time to study the outer man, tommy the dandy--his velvet jacket (a new one), his brazen waistcoat, his poetic neckerchief, his spotless linen. his velvet jacket was to become the derision of thrums, but tommy took his bonneting haughtily, like one who was glad to suffer for a cause. there were to be meetings here and there where people told with awe how many shirts he sent weekly to the wash. grizel disdained his dandy tastes; why did not elspeth strip him of them? and oh, if he must wear that absurd waistcoat, could she not see that it would look another thing if the second button was put half an inch farther back? how sinful of him to spoil the shape of his silly velvet jacket by carrying so many letters in the pockets! she learned afterwards that he carried all those letters because there was a check in one of them, he did not know which, and her sense of orderliness was outraged. elspeth did not notice these things. she helped tommy by her helplessness. there is reason to believe that once in london, when she had need of a new hat, but money there was none, tommy, looking very defiant, studied ladies' hats in the shop-windows, brought all his intellect to bear on them, with the result that he did concoct out of elspeth's old hat a new one which was the admired of o.p. pym and friends, who never knew the name of the artist. but obviously he could not take proper care of himself, and there is a kind of woman, of whom grizel was one, to whose breasts this helplessness makes an unfair appeal. oh, to dress him properly! she could not help liking to be a mother to men; she wanted them to be the most noble characters, but completely dependent on her. tommy walked home with her, and it seemed at first as if elspeth's absence was to be no help to him. he could not even plagiarize from "sandys on woman." no one knew so well the kind of thing he should be saying, and no one could have been more anxious to say it, but a weight of shyness sat on the lid of tommy. having for half an hour raged internally at his misfortune, he now sullenly embraced it. "if i am this sort of an ass, let me be it in the superlative degree," he may be conceived saying bitterly to himself. he addressed grizel coldly as "miss mcqueen," a name she had taken by the doctor's wish soon after she went to live with him. "there is no reason why you should call me that," she said. "call me grizel, as you used to do." "may i?" replied tommy, idiotically. he knew it was idiotic, but that mood now had grip of him. "but i mean to call you mr. sandys," she said decisively. he was really glad to hear it, for to be called tommy by anyone was now detestable to him (which is why i always call him tommy in these pages). so it was like him to say, with a sigh, "i had hoped to hear you use the old name." that sigh made her look at him sharply. he knew that he must be careful with grizel, and that she was irritated, but he had to go on. "it is strange to me," said sentimental tommy, "to be back here after all those years, walking this familiar road once more with you. i thought it would make me feel myself a boy again, but, heigh-ho, it has just the opposite effect: i never felt so old as i do to-day." his voice trembled a little, i don't know why. grizel frowned. "but you never were as old as you are to-day, were you?" she inquired politely. it whisked tommy out of dangerous waters and laid him at her feet. he laughed, not perceptibly or audibly, of course, but somewhere inside him the bell rang. no one could laugh more heartily at himself than tommy, and none bore less malice to those who brought him to land. "that, at any rate, makes me feel younger," he said candidly; and now the shyness was in full flight. "why?" asked grizel, still watchful. "it is so like the kind of thing you used to say to me when we were boy and girl. i used to enrage you very much, i fear," he said, half gleefully. "yes," she admitted, with a smile, "you did." "and then how you rocked your arms at me, grizel! do you remember?" she remembered it all so well! this rocking of the arms, as they called it, was a trick of hers that signified sudden joy or pain. they hung rigid by her side, and then shook violently with emotion. "do you ever rock them now when people annoy you?" he asked. "there has been no one to annoy me," she replied demurely, "since you went away." "but i have come back," tommy said, looking hopefully at her arms. "you see they take no notice of you." "they don't remember me yet. as soon as they do they will cry out." grizel shook her head confidently, and in this she was pitting herself against tommy, always a bold thing to do. "i have been to see corp's baby," he said suddenly; and this was so important that she stopped in the middle of the road. "what do you think of him?" she asked, quite anxiously. "i thought," replied tommy, gravely, and making use of one of grizel's pet phrases, "i thought he was just sweet." "isn't he!" she cried; and then she knew that he was making fun of her. her arms rocked. "hurray!" cried tommy, "they recognize me now! don't be angry, grizel," he begged her. "you taught me, long ago, what was the right thing to say about babies, and how could i be sure it was you until i saw your arms rocking?" "it was so like you," she said reproachfully, "to try to make me do it." "it was so unlike you," he replied craftily, "to let me succeed. and, after all, grizel, if i was horrid in the old days i always apologized." "never!" she insisted. "well, then," said tommy, handsomely, "i do so now"; and then they both laughed gaily, and i think grizel was not sorry that there was a little of the boy who had been horrid left in tommy--just enough to know him by. "he'll be vain," her aged maid, maggy ann, said curiously to her that evening. they were all curious about tommy. "i don't know that he is vain," grizel replied guardedly. "if he's no vain," maggy ann retorted, "he's the first son of adam it could be said o'. i jalouse it's his bit book." "he scarcely mentioned it." "ay, then, it's his beard." grizel was sure it was not that. "then it'll be the women," said maggy ann. "who knows!" said grizel of the watchful eyes; but she smiled to herself. she thought not incorrectly that she knew one woman of whom mr. sandys was a little afraid. about the same time tommy and elspeth were discussing her. elspeth was in bed, and tommy had come into the room to kiss her good-night--he had never once omitted doing it since they went to london, and he was always to do it, for neither of them was ever to marry. "what do you think of her?" elspeth asked. this was their great time for confidences. "of whom?" tommy inquired lightly. "grizel." he must be careful. "rather pretty, don't you think?" he said, gazing at the ceiling. she was looking at him keenly, but he managed to deceive her. she was much relieved, and could say what was in her heart. "tommy," she said, "i think she is the most noble-looking girl i ever saw, and if she were not so masterful in her manner she would be beautiful." it was nice of elspeth to say it, for she and grizel were never very great friends. tommy brought down his eyes. "did you think as much of her as that?" he said. "it struck me that her features were not quite classic. her nose is a little tilted, is it not?" "some people like that kind of nose," replied elspeth. "it is not classic," tommy said sternly. chapter vi ghosts that haunt the den looking through the tommy papers of this period, like a conscientious biographer, i find among them manuscripts that remind me how diligently he set to work at his new book the moment he went north, and also letters which, if printed, would show you what a wise and good man tommy was. but while i was fingering those, there floated from them to the floor a loose page, and when i saw that it was a chemist's bill for oil and liniment i remembered something i had nigh forgotten. "eureka!" i cried. "i shall tell the story of the chemist's bill, and some other biographer may print the letters." well, well! but to think that this scrap of paper should flutter into view to damn him after all those years! the date is saturday, may , by which time tommy had been a week in thrums without doing anything very reprehensible, so far as grizel knew. she watched for telltales as for a mouse to show at its hole, and at the worst, i think, she saw only its little head. that was when tommy was talking beautifully to her about her dear doctor. he would have done wisely to avoid this subject; but he was so notoriously good at condolences that he had to say it. he had thought it out, you may remember, a year ago, but hesitated to post it; and since then it had lain heavily within him, as if it knew it was a good thing and pined to be up and strutting. he said it with emotion; evidently dr. mcqueen had been very dear to him, and any other girl would have been touched; but grizel stiffened, and when he had finished, this is what she said, quite snappily: "he never liked you." tommy was taken aback, but replied, with gentle dignity, "do you think, grizel, i would let that make any difference in my estimate of him?" "but you never liked him," said she; and now that he thought of it, this was true also. it was useless to say anything about the artistic instinct to her; she did not know what it was, and would have had plain words for it as soon as he told her. please to picture tommy picking up his beautiful speech and ramming it back into his pocket as if it were a rejected manuscript. "i am sorry you should think so meanly of me, grizel," he said with manly forbearance, and when she thought it all out carefully that night she decided that she had been hasty. she could not help watching tommy for backslidings, but oh, it was sweet to her to decide that she had not found any. "it was i who was horrid," she announced to him frankly, and tommy forgave her at once. she offered him a present: "when the doctor died i gave some of his things to his friends; it is the scotch custom, you know. he had a new overcoat; it had been worn but two or three times. i should be so glad if you would let me give it to you for saying such sweet things about him. i think it will need very little alteration." thus very simply came into tommy's possession the coat that was to play so odd a part in his history. "but oh, grizel," said he, with mock reproach, "you need not think that i don't see through you! your deep design is to cover me up. you despise my velvet jacket!" "it does not--" grizel began, and stopped. "it is not in keeping with my doleful countenance," said tommy, candidly; "that was what you were to say. let me tell you a secret, grizel: i wear it to spite my face. sha'n't give up my velvet jacket for anybody, grizel; not even for you." he was in gay spirits, because he knew she liked him again; and she saw that was the reason, and it warmed her. she was least able to resist tommy when he was most a boy, and it was actually watchful grizel who proposed that he and she and elspeth should revisit the den together. how often since the days of their childhood had grizel wandered it alone, thinking of those dear times, making up her mind that if ever tommy asked her to go into the den again with him she would not go, the place was so much sweeter to her than it could be to him. and yet it was grizel herself who was saying now, "let us go back to the den." tommy caught fire. "we sha'n't go back," he cried defiantly, "as men and women. let us be boy and girl again, grizel. let us have that saturday we missed long ago. i missed a saturday on purpose, grizel, so that we should have it now." she shook her head wistfully, but she was glad that tommy would fain have had one of the saturdays back. had he waxed sentimental she would not have gone a step of the way with him into the past, but when he was so full of glee she could take his hand and run back into it. "but we must wait until evening," tommy said, "until corp is unharnessed; we must not hurt the feelings of corp by going back to the den without him." "how mean of me not to think of corp!" grizel cried; but the next moment she was glad she had not thought of him, it was so delicious to have proof that tommy was more loyal. "but we can't turn back the clock, can we, corp?" she said to the fourth of the conspirators, to which corp replied, with his old sublime confidence, "he'll find a way." and at first it really seemed as if tommy had found a way. they did not go to the den four in a line or two abreast--nothing so common as that. in the wild spirits that mastered him he seemed to be the boy incarnate, and it was always said of tommy by those who knew him best that if he leaped back into boyhood they had to jump with him. those who knew him best were with him now. he took command of them in the old way. he whispered, as if black cathro were still on the prowl for him. corp of corp had to steal upon the den by way of the silent pool, grizel by the queen's bower, elspeth up the burn-side, captain stroke down the reekie brothpot. grizel's arms rocked with delight in the dark, and she was on her way to the cuttle well, the trysting-place, before she came to and saw with consternation that tommy had been ordering her about. she was quite a sedate young lady by the time she joined them at the well, and tommy was the first to feel the change. "don't you think this is all rather silly?" she said, when he addressed her as the lady griselda, and it broke the spell. two girls shot up into women, a beard grew on tommy's chin, and corp became a father. grizel had blown tommy's pretty project to dust just when he was most gleeful over it; yet, instead of bearing resentment, he pretended not even to know that she was the culprit. "corp," he said ruefully, "the game is up!" and "listen," he said, when they had sat down, crushed, by the old cuttle well, "do you hear anything?" it was a very still evening. "i hear nocht," said corp, "but the trickle o' the burn. what did you hear?" "i thought i heard a baby cry," replied tommy, with a groan. "i think it was your baby, corp. did you hear it, grizel?" she understood, and nodded. "and you, elspeth?" "yes." "my bairn!" cried the astounded corp. "yours," said tommy, reproachfully; "and he has done for us. ladies and gentlemen, the game is up." yes, the game was up, and she was glad, grizel said to herself, as they made their melancholy pilgrimage of what had once been an enchanted land. but she felt that tommy had been very forbearing to her, and that she did not deserve it. undoubtedly he had ordered her about, but in so doing had he not been making half-pathetic sport of his old self--and was it with him that she was annoyed for ordering, or with herself for obeying? and why should she not obey, when it was all a jest? it was as if she still had some lingering fear of tommy. oh, she was ashamed of herself. she must say something nice to him at once. about what? about his book, of course. how base of her not to have done so already! but how good of him to have overlooked her silence on that great topic! it was not ignorance of its contents that had kept her silent. to confess the horrid truth, grizel had read the book suspiciously, looking as through a microscope for something wrong--hoping not to find it, but peering minutely. the book, she knew, was beautiful; but it was the writer of the book she was peering for--the tommy she had known so well, what had he grown into? in her heart she had exulted from the first in his success, and she should have been still more glad (should she not?) to learn that his subject was woman; but no, that had irritated her. what was perhaps even worse, she had been still more irritated on hearing that the work was rich in sublime thoughts. as a boy, he had maddened her most in his grandest moments. i can think of no other excuse for her. she would not accept it as an excuse for herself now. what she saw with scorn was that she was always suspecting the worst of tommy. very probably there was not a thought in the book that had been put in with his old complacent waggle of the head. "oh, am i not a wonder!" he used to cry, when he did anything big; but that was no reason why she should suspect him of being conceited still. very probably he really and truly felt what he wrote--felt it not only at the time, but also next morning. in his boyhood mr. cathro had christened him sentimental tommy; but he was a man now, and surely the sentimentalities in which he had dressed himself were flung aside for ever, like old suits of clothes. so grizel decided eagerly, and she was on the point of telling him how proud she was of his book, when tommy, who had thus far behaved so well, of a sudden went to pieces. he and grizel were together. elspeth was a little in front of them, walking with a gentleman who still wondered what they meant by saying that they had heard his baby cry. "for he's no here," corp had said earnestly to them all; "though i'm awid for the time to come when i'll be able to bring him to the den and let him see the jacobites' lair." there was nothing startling in this remark, so far as grizel could discover; but she saw that it had an immediate and incomprehensible effect on tommy. first, he blundered in his talk as if he was thinking deeply of something else; then his face shone as it had been wont to light up in his boyhood when he was suddenly enraptured with himself; and lastly, down his cheek and into his beard there stole a tear of agony. obviously, tommy was in deep woe for somebody or something. it was a chance for a true lady to show that womanly sympathy of which such exquisite things are said in the first work of t. sandys: but it merely infuriated grizel, who knew that tommy did not feel nearly so deeply as she this return to the den, and, therefore, what was he in such distress about? it was silly sentiment of some sort, she was sure of that. in the old days she would have asked him imperiously to tell her what was the matter with him; but she must not do that now--she dare not even rock her indignant arms; she could only walk silently by his side, longing fervently to shake him. he had quite forgotten her presence; indeed, she was not really there, for a number of years had passed, and he was corp shiach, walking the den alone. to-morrow he was to bring his boy to show him the old lair and other fondly remembered spots; to-night he must revisit them alone. so he set out blithely, but, to his bewilderment, he could not find the lair. it had not been a tiny hollow where muddy water gathered; he remembered an impregnable fortress full of men whose armour rattled as they came and went; so this could not be the lair. he had taken the wrong way to it, for the way was across a lagoon, up a deep-flowing river, then by horse till the rocky ledge terrified all four-footed things; no, up a grassy slope had never been the way. he came night after night, trying different ways; but he could not find the golden ladder, though all the time he knew that the lair lay somewhere over there. when he stood still and listened he could hear the friends of his youth at play, and they seemed to be calling: "are you coming, corp? why does not corp come back?" but he could never see them, and when he pressed forward their voices died away. then at last he said sadly to his boy: "i shall never be able to show you the lair, for i cannot find the way to it." and the boy was touched, and he said: "take my hand, father, and i will lead you to the lair; i found the way long ago for myself." it took tommy about two seconds to see all this, and perhaps another half-minute was spent in sad but satisfactory contemplation of it. then he felt that, for the best effect, corp's home life was too comfortable; so gavinia ran away with a soldier. he was now so sorry for corp that the tear rolled down. but at the same moment he saw how the effect could be still further heightened by doing away with his friend's rude state of health, and he immediately jammed him between the buffers of two railway carriages, and gave him a wooden leg. it was at this point that a lady who had kept her arms still too long rocked them frantically, then said, with cutting satire: "are you not feeling well, or have you hurt yourself? you seem to be very lame." and tommy woke with a start, to see that he was hobbling as if one of his legs were timber to the knee. "it is nothing," he said modestly. "something corp said set me thinking; that is all." he had told the truth, and if what he imagined was twenty times more real to him than what was really there, how could tommy help it? indignant grizel, however, who kept such a grip of facts, would make no such excuse for him. "elspeth!" she called. "there is no need to tell her," said tommy. but grizel was obdurate. "come here, elspeth," she cried vindictively. "something corp said a moment ago has made your brother lame." tommy was lame; that was all elspeth and corp heard or could think of as they ran back to him. when did it happen? was he in great pain? had he fallen? oh, why had he not told elspeth at once? "it is nothing," tommy insisted, a little fiercely. "he says so," grizel explained, "not to alarm us. but he is suffering horribly. just before i called to you his face was all drawn up in pain." this made the sufferer wince. "that was another twinge," she said promptly. "what is to be done, elspeth?" "i think i could carry him," suggested corp, with a forward movement that made tommy stamp his foot--the wooden one. "i am all right," he told them testily, and looking uneasily at grizel. "how brave of you to say so!" said she. "it is just like him," elspeth said, pleased with grizel's remark. "i am sure it is," grizel said, so graciously. it was very naughty of her. had she given him a chance he would have explained that it was all a mistake of grizel's. that had been his intention; but now a devil entered into tommy and spoke for him. "i must have slipped and sprained my ankle," he said. "it is slightly painful; but i shall be able to walk home all right, corp, if you let me use you as a staff." i think he was a little surprised to hear himself saying this; but, as soon as it was said, he liked it. he was captain stroke playing in the den again, after all, and playing as well as ever. nothing being so real to tommy as pretence, i daresay he even began to feel his ankle hurting him. "gently," he begged of corp, with a gallant smile, and clenching his teeth so that the pain should not make him cry out before the ladies. thus, with his lieutenant's help, did stroke manage to reach aaron's house, making light of his mishap, assuring them cheerily that he should be all right to-morrow, and carefully avoiding grizel's eye, though he wanted very much to know what she thought of him (and of herself) now. there were moments when she did not know what to think, and that always distressed grizel, though it was a state of mind with which tommy could keep on very friendly terms. the truth seemed too monstrous for belief. was it possible she had misjudged him? perhaps he really had sprained his ankle. but he had made no pretence of that at first, and besides,--yes, she could not be mistaken,--it was the other leg. she soon let him see what she was thinking. "i am afraid it is too serious a case for me," she said, in answer to a suggestion from corp, who had a profound faith in her medical skill, "but, if you like,"--she was addressing tommy now,--"i shall call at dr. gemmell's, on my way home, and ask him to come to you." "there is no necessity; a night's rest is all i need," he answered hastily. "well, you know best," she said, and there was a look on her face which thomas sandys could endure from no woman. "on second thoughts," he said, "i think it would be advisable to have a doctor. thank you very much, grizel. corp, can you help me to lift my foot on to that chair? softly--ah!--ugh!" his eyes did not fall before hers. "and would you mind asking him to come at once, grizel?" he said sweetly. she went straight to the doctor. chapter vii the beginning of the duel it was among old dr. mcqueen's sayings that when he met a man who was certified to be in no way remarkable he wanted to give three cheers. there are few of them, even in a little place like thrums; but david gemmell was one. so mcqueen had always said, but grizel was not so sure. "he is very good-looking, and he does not know it," she would point out. "oh, what a remarkable man!" she had known him intimately for nearly six years now, ever since he became the old doctor's assistant on the day when, in the tail of some others, he came to thrums, aged twenty-one, to apply for the post. grizel had even helped to choose him; she had a quaint recollection of his being submitted to her by mcqueen, who told her to look him over and say whether he would do--an odd position in which to place a fourteen-year-old girl, but grizel had taken it most seriously, and, indeed, of the two men only gemmell dared to laugh. "you should not laugh when it is so important," she said gravely; and he stood abashed, although i believe he chuckled again when he retired to his room for the night. she was in that room next morning as soon as he had left it, to smell the curtains (he smoked), and see whether he folded his things up neatly and used both the brush and the comb, but did not use pomade, and slept with his window open, and really took a bath instead of merely pouring the water into it and laying the sponge on top (oh, she knew them!)--and her decision, after some days, was that, though far from perfect, he would do, if he loved her dear darling doctor sufficiently. by this time david was openly afraid of her, which grizel noticed, and took to be, in the circumstances, a satisfactory sign. she watched him narrowly for the next year, and after that she ceased to watch him at all. she was like a congregation become so sure of its minister's soundness that it can risk going to sleep. to begin with, he was quite incapable of pretending to be anything he was not. oh, how unlike a boy she had once known! his manner, like his voice, was quiet. being himself the son of a doctor, he did not dodder through life amazed at the splendid eminence he had climbed to, which is the weakness of scottish students when they graduate, and often for fifty years afterwards. how sweet he was to dr. mcqueen, never forgetting the respect due to gray hairs, never hinting that the new school of medicine knew many things that were hidden from the old, and always having the sense to support mcqueen when she was scolding him for his numerous naughty ways. when the old doctor came home now on cold nights it was not with his cravat in his pocket, and grizel knew very well who had put it round his neck. mcqueen never had the humiliation, so distressing to an old doctor, of being asked by patients to send his assistant instead of coming himself. he thought they preferred him, and twitted david about it; but grizel knew that david had sometimes to order them to prefer the old man. she knew that when he said good-night and was supposed to have gone to his lodgings, he was probably off to some poor house where, if not he, a tired woman must sit the long night through by a sufferer's bedside, and she realized with joy that his chief reason for not speaking of such things was that he took them as part of his natural work and never even knew that he was kind. he was not specially skilful, he had taken no honours either at school or college, and he considered himself to be a very ordinary young man. if you had said that on this point you disagreed with him, his manner probably would have implied that he thought you a bit of an ass. when a new man arrives in thrums, the women come to their doors to see whether he is good-looking. they said no of tommy when he came back, but it had been an emphatic yes for dr. gemmell. he was tall and very slight, and at twenty-seven, as at twenty-one, despite the growth of a heavy moustache, there was a boyishness about his appearance, which is, i think, what women love in a man more than anything else. they are drawn to him by it, and they love him out of pity when it goes. i suppose it brings back to them some early, beautiful stage in the world's history when men and women played together without fear. perhaps it lay in his smile, which was so winning that wrinkled old dames spoke of it, who had never met the word before, smiles being little known in thrums, where in a workaday world we find it sufficient either to laugh or to look thrawn. his dark curly hair was what grizel was most suspicious of; he must be vain of that, she thought, until she discovered that he was quite sensitive to its being mentioned, having ever detested his curls as an eyesore, and in his boyhood clipped them savagely to the roots. he had such a firm chin, if there had been another such chin going a-begging, i should have liked to clap it on to tommy sandys. tommy sandys! all this time we have been neglecting that brave sufferer, and while we talk his ankle is swelling and swelling. well, grizel was not so inconsiderate, for she walked very fast and with an exceedingly determined mouth to dr. gemmell's lodgings. he was still in lodgings, having refused to turn grizel out of her house, though she had offered to let it to him. she left word, the doctor not being in, that he was wanted at once by mr. sandys, who had sprained his ankle. now, then, tommy! for an hour, perhaps until she went to bed, she remained merciless. she saw the quiet doctor with the penetrating eyes examining that ankle, asking a few questions, and looking curiously at his patient; then she saw him lift his hat and walk out of the house. it gave her pleasure; no, it did not. while she thought of this tommy she despised, there came in front of him a boy who had played with her long ago when no other child would play with her, and now he said, "you have grown cold to me, grizel," and she nodded assent, and little wells of water rose to her eyes and lay there because she had nodded assent. she had never liked dr. gemmell so little as when she saw him approaching her house next morning. the surgery was still attached to it, and very often he came from there, his visiting-book in his hand, to tell her of his patients, even to consult her; indeed, to talk to grizel about his work without consulting her would have been difficult, for it was natural to her to decide what was best for everybody. these consultations were very unprofessional, but from her first coming to the old doctor's house she had taken it as a matter of course that in his practice, as in affairs relating to his boots and buttons, she should tell him what to do and he should do it. mcqueen had introduced his assistant to this partnership half-shamefacedly and with a cautious wink over the little girl's head; and gemmell fell into line at once, showing her his new stethoscope as gravely as if he must abandon it at once should not she approve, which fine behaviour, however, was quite thrown away on grizel, who, had he conducted himself otherwise, would merely have wondered what was the matter with the man; and as she was eighteen or more before she saw that she had exceeded her duties, it was then, of course, too late to cease doing it. she knew now how good, how forbearing, he had been to the little girl, and that it was partly because he was acquainted with her touching history. the grave courtesy with which he had always treated her--and which had sometimes given her as a girl a secret thrill of delight, it was so sweet to grizel to be respected--she knew now to be less his natural manner to women than something that came to him in her presence because he who knew her so well thought her worthy of deference; and it helped her more, far more, than if she had seen it turn to love. yet as she received him in her parlor now--her too spotless parlor, for not even the ashes in the grate were visible, which is a mistake--she was not very friendly. he had discovered what tommy was, and as she had been the medium she could not blame him for that, but how could he look as calm as ever when such a deplorable thing had happened? "what you say is true; i knew it before i asked you to go to him, and i knew you would find it out; but please to remember that he is a man of genius, whom it is not for such as you to judge." that was the sort of haughty remark she held ready for him while they talked of other cases; but it was never uttered, for by and by he said: "and then, there is mr. sandys's ankle. a nasty accident, i am afraid." was he jesting? she looked at him sharply. "have you not been to see him yet?" she asked. he thought she had misunderstood him. he had been to see mr. sandys twice, both last night and this morning. and he was sure it was a sprain? unfortunately it was something worse--dislocation; further mischief might show itself presently. "haemorrhage into the neighbouring joint on inflammation?" she asked scientifically and with scorn. "yes." grizel turned away from him. "i think not," she said. well, possibly not, if mr. sandys was careful and kept his foot from the ground for the next week. the doctor did not know that she was despising him, and he proceeded to pay tommy a compliment. "i had to reduce the dislocation, of course," he told her, "and he bore the wrench splendidly, though there is almost no pain more acute." "did he ask you to tell me that?" grizel was thirsting to inquire, but she forbore. unwittingly, however, the doctor answered the question. "i could see," he said, "that mr. sandys made light of his sufferings to save his sister pain. i cannot recall ever having seen a brother and sister so attached." that was quite true, grizel admitted to herself. in all her recollections of tommy she could not remember one critical moment in which elspeth had not been foremost in his thoughts. it passed through her head, "even now he must make sure that elspeth is in peace of mind before he can care to triumph over me," and she would perhaps have felt less bitter had he put his triumph first. his triumph! oh, she would show him whether it was a triumph. he had destroyed for ever her faith in david gemmell. the quiet, observant doctor, who had such an eye for the false, had been deceived as easily as all the others, and it made her feel very lonely. but never mind; tommy should find out, and that within the hour, that there was one whom he could not cheat. her first impulse, always her first impulse, was to go straight to his side and tell him what she thought of him. her second, which was neater, was to send by messenger her compliments to mr. and miss sandys, and would they, if not otherwise engaged, come and have tea with her that afternoon? not a word in the note about the ankle, but a careful sentence to the effect that she had seen dr. gemmell to-day, and proposed asking him to meet them. maggy ann, who had conveyed the message, came back with the reply. elspeth regretted that they could not accept grizel's invitation, owing to the accident to her brother being _very much more_ serious than grizel seemed to think. "i can't understand," elspeth added, "why dr. gemmell did not tell you this when he saw you." "is it a polite letter?" asked inquisitive maggy ann, and grizel assured her that it was most polite. "i hardly expected it," said the plain-spoken dame, "for i'm thinking by their manner it's more than can be said of yours." "i merely invited them to come to tea." "and him wi' his leg broke! did you no ken he was lying on chairs?" "i did not know it was so bad as that, maggy ann. so my letter seemed to annoy him, did it?" said grizel, eagerly, and, i fear, well pleased. "it angered her most terrible," said maggy ann, "but no him. he gave a sort of a laugh when he read it." "a laugh!" "ay, and syne she says, 'it is most heartless of grizel; she does not even ask how you are to-day; one would think she did not know of the accident'; and she says, 'i have a good mind to write her a very stiff letter.' and says he in a noble, melancholic voice, 'we must not hurt grizel's feelings,' he says. and she says, 'grizel thinks it was nothing because you bore it so cheerfully; oh, how little she knows you!' she says; and 'you are too forgiving,' she says. and says he, 'if i have anything to forgive grizel for, i forgive her willingly.' and syne she quieted down and wrote the letter." forgive her! oh, how it enraged grizel! how like the tommy of old to put it in that way. there never had been a boy so good at forgiving people for his own crimes, and he always looked so modest when he did it. he was reclining on his chairs at this moment, she was sure he was, forgiving her in every sentence. she could have endured it more easily had she felt sure that he was seeing himself as he was; but she remembered him too well to have any hope of that. she put on her bonnet, and took it off again; a terrible thing, remember, for grizel to be in a state of indecision. for the remainder of that day she was not wholly inactive. meeting dr. gemmell in the street, she impressed upon him the advisability of not allowing mr. sandys to move for at least a week. "he might take a drive in a day or two," the doctor thought, "with his sister." "he would be sure to use his foot," grizel maintained, "if you once let him rise from his chair; you know they all do." and gemmell agreed that she was right. so she managed to give tommy as irksome a time as possible. but next day she called. to go through another day without letting him see how despicable she thought him was beyond her endurance. elspeth was a little stiff at first, but tommy received her heartily and with nothing in his manner to show that she had hurt his finer feelings. his leg (the wrong leg, as grizel remembered at once) was extended on a chair in front of him; but instead of nursing it ostentatiously as so many would have done, he made humourous remarks at its expense. "the fact is," he said cheerily, "that so long as i don't move i never felt better in my life. and i daresay i could walk almost as well as either of you, only my tyrant of a doctor won't let me try." "he told me you had behaved splendidly," said grizel, "while he was reducing the dislocation. how brave you are! you could not have endured more stoically though there had been nothing the matter with it." "it was soon over," tommy replied lightly. "i think elspeth suffered more than i." elspeth told the story of his heroism. "i could not stay in the room," she said; "it was too terrible." and grizel despised too tender-hearted elspeth for that; she was so courageous at facing pain herself. but tommy had guessed that elspeth was trembling behind the door, and he had called out, "don't cry, elspeth; i am all right; it is nothing at all." "how noble!" was grizel's comment, when she heard of this; and then elspeth was her friend again, insisted on her staying to tea, and went into the kitchen to prepare it. aaron was out. the two were alone now, and in the circumstances some men would have given the lady the opportunity to apologize, if such was her desire. but tommy's was a more generous nature; his manner was that of one less sorry to be misjudged than anxious that grizel should not suffer too much from remorse. if she had asked his pardon then and there, i am sure he would have replied, "right willingly, grizel," and begged her not to give another thought to the matter. what is of more importance, grizel was sure of this also, and it was the magnanimity of him that especially annoyed her. there seemed to be no disturbing it. even when she said, "which foot is it?" he answered, "the one on the chair," quite graciously, as if she had asked a natural question. grizel pointed out that the other foot must be tired of being a foot in waiting. it had got a little exercise, tommy replied lightly, last night and again this morning, when it had helped to convey him to and from his bed. had he hopped? she asked brutally. no, he said; he had shuffled along. half rising, he attempted to show her humourously how he walked nowadays--tried not to wince, but had to. ugh, that was a twinge! grizel sarcastically offered her assistance, and he took her shoulder gratefully. they crossed the room--a tedious journey. "now let me see if you can manage alone," she says, and suddenly deserts him. he looked rather helplessly across the room. few sights are so pathetic as the strong man of yesterday feeling that the chair by the fire is a distant object to-day. tommy knew how pathetic it was, but grizel did not seem to know. "try it," she said encouragingly; "it will do you good." [illustration: and clung to it, his teeth set.] he got as far as the table, and clung to it, his teeth set. grizel clapped her hands. "excellently done!" she said, with fell meaning, and recommended him to move up and down the room for a little; he would feel ever so much the better for it afterwards. the pain--was--considerable, he said. oh, she saw that, but he had already proved himself so good at bearing pain, and the new school of surgeons held that it was wise to exercise an injured limb. even then it was not a reproachful glance that tommy gave her, though there was some sadness in it. he moved across the room several times, a groan occasionally escaping him. "admirable!" said his critic. "bravo! would you like to stop now?" "not until you tell me to," he said determinedly, but with a gasp. "it must be dreadfully painful," she replied coldly, "but i should like you to go on." and he went on until suddenly he seemed to have lost the power to lift his feet. his body swayed; there was an appealing look on his face. "don't be afraid; you won't fall," said grizel. but she had scarcely said it when he fainted dead away, and went down at her feet. "oh, how dare you!" she cried in sudden flame, and she drew back from him. but after a moment she knew that he was shamming no longer--or she knew it and yet could not quite believe it; for, hurrying out of the room for water, she had no sooner passed the door than she swiftly put back her head as if to catch him unawares; but he lay motionless. the sight of her dear brother on the floor paralyzed elspeth, who could only weep for him, and call to him to look at her and speak to her. but in such an emergency grizel was as useful as any doctor, and by the time gemmell arrived in haste the invalid was being brought to. the doctor was a practical man who did not ask questions while there was something better to do. had he asked any as he came in, grizel would certainly have said: "he wanted to faint to make me believe he really has a bad ankle, and somehow he managed to do it." and if the doctor had replied that people can't faint by wishing, she would have said that he did not know mr. sandys. but, with few words, gemmell got his patient back to the chairs, and proceeded to undo the bandages that were round his ankle. grizel stood by, assisting silently. she had often assisted the doctors, but never before with that scornful curl of her lip. so the bandages were removed and the ankle laid bare. it was very much swollen and discoloured, and when grizel saw this she gave a little cry, and the ointment she was holding slipped from her hand. for the first time since he came to thrums, she had failed gemmell at a patient's side. "i had not expected it to be--like this," she said in a quivering voice, when he looked at her in surprise. "it will look much worse to-morrow," he assured them, grimly. "i can't understand, miss sandys, how this came about." "miss sandys was not in the room," said grizel, abjectly, "but i was, and i--" tommy's face was begging her to stop. he was still faint and in pain, but all thought of himself left him in his desire to screen her. "i owe you an apology, doctor," he said quickly, "for disregarding your instructions. it was entirely my own fault; i would try to walk." "every step must have been agony," the doctor rapped out; and grizel shuddered. "not nearly so bad as that," tommy said, for her sake. "agony," insisted the doctor, as if, for once, he enjoyed the word. "it was a mad thing to do, as surely you could guess, grizel. why did you not prevent him?" "she certainly did her best to stop me," tommy said hastily; "but i suppose i had some insane fit on me, for do it i would. i am very sorry, doctor." his face was wincing with pain, and he spoke jerkily; but the doctor was still angry. he felt that there was something between these two which he did not understand, and it was strange to him, and unpleasant, to find grizel unable to speak for herself. i think he doubted tommy from that hour. all he said in reply, however, was: "it is unnecessary to apologize to me; you yourself are the only sufferer." but was tommy the only sufferer? gemmell left, and elspeth followed him to listen to those precious words which doctors drop, as from a vial, on the other side of a patient's door; and then grizel, who had been standing at the window with head averted, turned slowly round and looked at the man she had wronged. her arms, which had been hanging rigid, the fists closed, went out to him to implore forgiveness. i don't know how she held herself up and remained dry-eyed, her whole being wanted so much to sink by the side of his poor, tortured foot, and bathe it in her tears. so, you see, he had won; nothing to do now but forgive her beautifully. go on, tommy; you are good at it. but the unexpected only came out of tommy. never was there a softer heart. in london the old lady who sold matches at the street corner had got all his pence; had he heard her, or any other, mourning a son sentenced to the gallows, he would immediately have wondered whether he might take the condemned one's place. (what a speech tommy could have delivered from the scaffold!) there was nothing he would not jump at doing for a woman in distress, except, perhaps, destroy his note-book. and grizel was in anguish. she was his suppliant, his brave, lonely little playmate of the past, the noble girl of to-day, grizel whom he liked so much. as through a magnifying-glass he saw her top-heavy with remorse for life, unable to sleep of nights, crushed and---- he was not made of the stuff that could endure it. the truth must out. "grizel," he said impulsively, "you have nothing to be sorry for. you were quite right. i did not hurt my foot that night in the den, but afterwards, when i was alone, before the doctor came. i wricked it here intentionally in the door. it sounds incredible; but i set my teeth and did it, grizel, because you had challenged me to a duel, and i would not give in." as soon as it was out he was proud of himself for having the generosity to confess it. he looked at grizel expectantly. yes, it sounded incredible, and yet she saw that it was true. as elspeth returned at that moment, grizel could say nothing. she stood looking at him only over her high collar of fur. tommy actually thought that she was admiring him. chapter viii what grizel's eyes said to be the admired of women--how tommy had fought for it since first he drank of them in pym's sparkling pages! to some it seems to be easy, but to him it was a labour of sisyphus. everything had been against him. but he concentrated. no labour was too herculean; he was prepared, if necessary, to walk round the world to get to the other side of the wall across which some men can step. and he did take a roundabout way. it is my opinion, for instance, that he wrote his book in order to make a beginning with the ladies. that as it may be, at all events he is on the right side of the wall now, and here is even grizel looking wistfully at him. had she admired him for something he was not (and a good many of them did that) he would have been ill satisfied. he wanted her to think him splendid because he was splendid, and the more he reflected the more clearly he saw that he had done a big thing. how many men would have had the courage to wrick their foot as he had done? (he shivered when he thought of it.) and even of these spartans how many would have let the reward slip through their fingers rather than wound the feelings of a girl? these had not been his thoughts when he made confession; he had spoken on an impulse; but now that he could step out and have a look at himself, he saw that this made it a still bigger thing. he was modestly pleased that he had not only got grizel's admiration, but earned it, and he was very kind to her when next she came to see him. no one could be more kind to them than he when they admired him. he had the most grateful heart, had our tommy. when next she came to see him! that was while his ankle still nailed him to the chair, a fortnight or so during which tommy was at his best, sending gracious messages by elspeth to the many who called to inquire, and writing hard at his new work, pad on knee, so like a brave soul whom no unmerited misfortune could subdue that it would have done you good merely to peep at him through the window. grizel came several times, and the three talked very ordinary things, mostly reminiscences; she was as much a plain-spoken princess as ever, but often he found her eyes fixed on him wistfully, and he knew what they were saying; they spoke so eloquently that he was a little nervous lest elspeth should notice. it was delicious to tommy to feel that there was this little unspoken something between him and grizel; he half regretted that the time could not be far distant when she must put it into words--as soon, say, as elspeth left the room; an exquisite moment, no doubt, but it would be the plucking of the flower. don't think that tommy conceived grizel to be in love with him. on my sacred honour, that would have horrified him. curiously enough, she did not take the first opportunity elspeth gave her of telling him in words how much she admired his brave confession. she was so honest that he expected her to begin the moment the door closed, and now that the artistic time had come for it, he wanted it; but no. he was not hurt, but he wondered at her shyness, and cast about for the reason. he cast far back into the past, and caught a little girl who had worn this same wistful face when she admired him most. he compared those two faces of the anxious girl and the serene woman, and in the wistfulness that sometimes lay on them both they looked alike. was it possible that the fear of him which the years had driven out of the girl still lived a ghost's life to haunt the woman? at once he overflowed with pity. as a boy he had exulted in grizel's fear of him; as a man he could feel only the pain of it. there was no one, he thought, less to be dreaded of a woman than he; oh, so sure tommy was of that! and he must lay this ghost; he gave his whole heart to the laying of it. few men, and never a woman, could do a fine thing so delicately as he; but of course it included a divergence from the truth, for to tommy afloat on a generous scheme the truth was a buoy marking sunken rocks. she had feared him in her childhood, as he knew well; he therefore proceeded to prove to her that she had never feared him. she had thought him masterful, and all his reminiscences now went to show that it was she who had been the masterful one. "you must often laugh now," he said, "to remember how i feared you. the memory of it makes me afraid of you still. i assure you, i joukit back, as corp would say, that day i saw you in church. it was the instinct of self-preservation. 'here comes grizel to lord it over me again,' i heard something inside me saying. you called me masterful, and yet i had always to give in to you. that shows what a gentle, yielding girl you were, and what a masterful character i was!" his intention, you see, was, without letting grizel know what he was at, to make her think he had forgotten certain unpleasant incidents in their past, so that, seeing they were no longer anything to him, they might the sooner become nothing to her. and she believed that he had forgotten, and she was glad. she smiled when he told her to go on being masterful, for old acquaintance had made him like it. hers, indeed, was a masterful nature; she could not help it; and if the time ever came when she must help it, the glee of living would be gone from her. she did continue to be masterful--to a greater extent than tommy, thus nobly behaving, was prepared for; and his shock came to him at the very moment when he was modestly expecting to receive the prize. she had called when elspeth happened to be out; and though now able to move about the room with the help of a staff, he was still an interesting object. he saw that she thought so, and perhaps it made him hobble slightly more, not vaingloriously, but because he was such an artist. he ceased to be an artist suddenly, however, when grizel made this unexpected remark: "how vain you are!" tommy sat down, quite pale. "did you come here to say that to me, grizel?" he inquired, and she nodded frankly over her high collar of fur. he knew it was true as grizel said it, but though taken aback, he could bear it, for she was looking wistfully at him, and he knew well what grizel's wistful look meant; so long as women admired him tommy could bear anything from them. "god knows i have little to be vain of," he said humbly. "those are the people who are most vain," she replied; and he laughed a short laugh, which surprised her, she was so very serious. "your methods are so direct," he explained. "but of what am i vain, grizel? is it my book?" "no," she answered, "not about your book, but about meaner things. what else could have made you dislocate your ankle rather than admit that you had been rather silly?" now "silly" is no word to apply to a gentleman, and, despite his forgiving nature, tommy was a little disappointed in grizel. "i suppose it was a silly thing to do," he said, with just a touch of stiffness. "it was an ignoble thing," said she, sadly. "i see. and i myself am the meaner thing than the book, am i?" "are you not?" she asked, so eagerly that he laughed again. "it is the first compliment you have paid my book," he pointed out. "i like the book very much," she answered gravely. "no one can be more proud of your fame than i. you are hurting me very much by pretending to think that it is a pleasure to me to find fault with you." there was no getting past the honesty of her, and he was touched by it. besides, she did admire him, and that, after all, is the great thing. "then why say such things, grizel?" he replied good-naturedly. "but if they are true?" "still let us avoid them," said he; and at that she was most distressed. "it is so like what you used to say when you were a boy!" she cried. "you are so anxious to have me grow up," he replied, with proper dolefulness. "if you like the book, grizel, you must have patience with the kind of thing that produced it. that night in the den, when i won your scorn, i was in the preliminary stages of composition. at such times an author should be locked up; but i had got out, you see. i was so enamoured of my little fancies that i forgot i was with you. no wonder you were angry." "i was not angry with you for forgetting me," she said sharply. (there was no catching grizel, however artful you were.) "but you were sighing to yourself, you were looking as tragic as if some dreadful calamity had occurred--" "the idea that had suddenly come to me was a touching one," he said. "but you looked triumphant, too." "that was because i saw i could make something of it." "why did you walk as if you were lame?" "the man i was thinking of," tommy explained, "had broken his leg. i don't mind telling you that it was corp." he ought to have minded telling her, for it could only add to her indignation; but he was too conceited to give weight to that. "corp's leg was not broken," said practical grizel. "i broke it for him," replied tommy; and when he had explained, her eyes accused him of heartlessness. "if it had been my own," he said, in self-defence, "it should have gone crack just the same." "poor gavinia! had you no feeling for her?" "gavinia was not there," tommy replied triumphantly. "she had run off with a soldier." "you dared to conceive that?" "it helped." grizel stamped her foot. "you could take away dear gavinia's character with a smile!" "on the contrary," said tommy, "my heart bled for her. did you not notice that i was crying?" but he could not make grizel smile; so, to please her, he said, with a smile that was not very sincere: "i wish i were different, but that is how ideas come to me--at least, all those that are of any value." "surely you could fight against them and drive them away?" this to tommy, who held out sugar to them to lure them to him! but still he treated her with consideration. "that would mean my giving up writing altogether, grizel," he said kindly. "then why not give it up?" really! but she admired him, and still he bore with her. "i don't like the book," she said, "if it is written at such a cost." "people say the book has done them good, grizel." "what does that matter, if it does you harm?" in her eagerness to persuade him, her words came pell-mell. "if writing makes you live in such an unreal world, it must do you harm. i see now what mr. cathro meant, long ago, when he called you senti----" tommy winced. "i remember what mr. cathro called me," he said, with surprising hauteur for such a good-natured man. "but he does not call me that now. no one calls me that now, except you, grizel." "what does that matter," she replied distressfully, "if it is true? in the definition of sentimentality in the dictionary--" he rose indignantly. "you have been looking me up in the dictionary, have you, grizel?" "yes, the night you told me you had hurt your ankle intentionally." he laughed, without mirth now. "i thought you had put that down to vanity." "i think," she said, "it was vanity that gave you the courage to do it." and he liked one word in this remark. "then you do give me credit for a little courage?" "i think you could do the most courageous things," she told him, "so long as there was no real reason why you should do them." it was a shot that rang the bell. oh, our tommy heard it ringing. but, to do him justice, he bore no malice; he was proud, rather, of grizel's marksmanship. "at least," he said meekly, "it was courageous of me to tell you the truth in the end?" but, to his surprise, she shook her head. "no," she replied; "it was sweet of you. you did it impulsively, because you were sorry for me, and i think it was sweet. but impulse is not courage." so now tommy knew all about it. his plain-spoken critic had been examining him with a candle, and had paid particular attention to his defects; but against them she set the fact that he had done something chivalrous for her, and it held her heart, though the others were in possession of the head. "how like a woman!" he thought, with a pleased smile. he knew them! still he was chagrined that she made so little of his courage, and it was to stab her that he said, with subdued bitterness: "i always had a suspicion that i was that sort of person, and it is pleasant to have it pointed out by one's oldest friend. no one will ever accuse you of want of courage, grizel." she was looking straight at him, and her eyes did not drop, but they looked still more wistful. tommy did not understand the courage that made her say what she had said, but he knew he was hurting her; he knew that if she was too plain-spoken it was out of loyalty, and that to wound grizel because she had to speak her mind was a shame--yes, he always knew that. but he could do it; he could even go on: "and it is satisfactory that you have thought me out so thoroughly, because you will not need to think me out any more. you know me now, grizel, and can have no more fear of me." "when was i ever afraid of you?" she demanded. she was looking at him suspiciously now. "never as a girl?" he asked. it jumped out of him. he was sorry as soon as he had said it. there was a long pause. "so you remembered it all the time," she said quietly. "you have been making pretence--again!" he asked her to forgive him, and she nodded her head at once. "but why did you pretend to have forgotten?" "i thought it would please you, grizel." "why should pretence please me?" she rose suddenly, in a white heat. "you don't mean to say that you think i am afraid of you still?" he said no a moment too late. he knew it was too late. "don't be angry with me, grizel," he begged her, earnestly. "i am so glad i was mistaken. it made me miserable. i have been a terrible blunderer, but i mean well; i misread your eyes." "my eyes?" "they have always seemed to be watching me, and often there was such a wistful look in them--it reminded me of the past." "you thought i was still afraid of you! say it," said grizel, stamping her foot. but he would not say it. it was not merely fear that he thought he had seen in her eyes, you remember. this was still his comfort, and, i suppose, it gave the touch of complacency to his face that made grizel merciless. she did not mean to be merciless, but only to tell the truth. if some of her words were scornful, there was sadness in her voice all the time, instead of triumph. "for years and years," she said, standing straight as an elvint, "i have been able to laugh at all the ignorant fears of my childhood; and if you don't know why i have watched you and been unable to help watching you since you came back, i shall tell you. but i think you might have guessed, you who write books about women. it is because i liked you when you were a boy. you were often horrid, but you were my first friend when every other person was against me. you let me play with you when no other boy or girl would let me play. and so, all the time you have been away, i have been hoping that you were growing into a noble man; and when you came back, i watched to see whether you were the noble man i wanted you so much to be, and you are not. do you see now why my eyes look wistful? it is because i wanted to admire you, and i can't." she went away, and the great authority on women raged about the room. oh, but he was galled! there had been five feet nine of him, but he was shrinking. by and by the red light came into his eyes. chapter ix gallant behaviour of t. sandys there were now no fewer than three men engaged, each in his own way, in the siege of grizel, nothing in common between them except insulted vanity. one was a broken fellow who took for granted that she preferred to pass him by in the street. his bow was also an apology to her for his existence. he not only knew that she thought him wholly despicable, but agreed with her. in the long ago (yesterday, for instance) he had been happy, courted, esteemed; he had even esteemed himself, and so done useful work in the world. but she had flung him to earth so heavily that he had made a hole in it out of which he could never climb. there he lay damned, hers the glory of destroying him--he hoped she was proud of her handiwork. that was one thomas sandys, the one, perhaps, who put on the velvet jacket in the morning. but it might be number two who took that jacket off at night. he was a good-natured cynic, vastly amused by the airs this little girl put on before a man of note, and he took a malicious pleasure in letting her see that they entertained him. he goaded her intentionally into expressions of temper, because she looked prettiest then, and trifled with her hair (but this was in imagination only), and called her a quaint child (but this was beneath his breath). the third--he might be the one who wore the jacket--was a haughty boy who was not only done with her for ever, but meant to let her see it. (his soul cried, oh, oh, for a conservatory and some of society's darlings, and grizel at the window to watch how he got on with them!) and now that i think of it, there was also a fourth: sandys, the grave author, whose life (in two vols. vo.) i ought at this moment to be writing, without a word about the other tommies. they amused him a good deal. when they were doing something big he would suddenly appear and take a note of it. the boy, who was stiffly polite to her (when tommy was angry he became very polite), told her that he had been invited to the spittal, the seat of the rintoul family, and that he understood there were some charming girls there. "i hope you will like them," grizel said pleasantly. "if you could see how they will like me!" he wanted to reply; but of course he could not, and unfortunately there was no one by to say it for him. tommy often felt this want of a secretary. the abject one found a glove of grizel's, that she did not know she had lost, and put it in his pocket. there it lay, unknown to her. he knew that he must not even ask them to bury it with him in his grave. this was a little thing to ask, but too much for him. he saw his effects being examined after all that was mortal of t. sandys had been consigned to earth, and this pathetic little glove coming to light. ah, then, then grizel would know! by the way, what would she have known? i am sure i cannot tell you. nor could tommy, forced to face the question in this vulgar way, have told you. yet, whatever it was, it gave him some moist moments. if grizel saw him in this mood, her reproachful look implied that he was sentimentalizing again. how little this chit understood him! the man of the world sometimes came upon the glove in his pocket, and laughed at it, as such men do when they recall their callow youth. he took walks with grizel without her knowing that she accompanied him; or rather, he let her come, she was so eager. in his imagination (for bright were the dreams of thomas!) he saw her looking longingly after him, just as the dog looks; and then, not being really a cruel man, he would call over his shoulder, "put on your hat, little woman; you can come." then he conceived her wandering with him through the den and caddam wood, clinging to his arm and looking up adoringly at him. "what a loving little soul it is!" he said, and pinched her ear, whereat she glowed with pleasure. "but i forgot," he would add, bantering her; "you don't admire me. heigh-ho! grizel wants to admire me, but she can't!" he got some satisfaction out of these flights of fancy, but it had a scurvy way of deserting him in the hour of greatest need; where was it, for instance, when the real grizel appeared and fixed that inquiring eye on him? he went to the spittal several times, elspeth with him when she cared to go; for lady rintoul and all the others had to learn and remember that, unless they made much of elspeth, there could be no t. sandys for them. he glared at anyone, male or female, who, on being introduced to elspeth, did not remain, obviously impressed, by her side. "give pleasure to elspeth or away i go," was written all over him. and it had to be the right kind of pleasure, too. the ladies must feel that she was more innocent than they, and talk accordingly. he would walk the flower-garden with none of them until he knew for certain that the man walking it with little elspeth was a person to be trusted. once he was convinced of this, however, he was very much at their service, and so little to be trusted himself that perhaps they should have had careful brothers also. he told them, one at a time, that they were strangely unlike all the other women he had known, and held their hands a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, and then went away, leaving them and him a prey to conflicting and puzzling emotions. lord rintoul, whose hair was so like his skin that in the family portraits he might have been painted in one colour, could never rid himself of the feeling that it must be a great thing to a writing chap to get a good dinner; but her ladyship always explained him away with an apologetic smile which went over his remarks like a piece of india-rubber, so that in the end he had never said anything. she was a slight, pretty woman of nearly forty, and liked tommy because he remembered so vividly her coming to the spittal as a bride. he even remembered how she had been dressed--her white bonnet, for instance. "for long," tommy said, musing, "i resented other women in white bonnets; it seemed profanation." "how absurd!" she told him, laughing. "you must have been quite a small boy at the time." "but with a lonely boy's passionate admiration for beautiful things," he answered; and his gravity was a gentle rebuke to her. "it was all a long time ago," he said, taking both her hands in his, "but i never forget, and, dear lady, i have often wanted to thank you." what he was thanking her for is not precisely clear, but she knew that the artistic temperament is an odd sort of thing, and from this time lady rintoul liked tommy, and even tried to find the right wife for him among the families of the surrounding clergy. his step was sometimes quite springy when he left the spittal; but grizel's shadow was always waiting for him somewhere on the way home, to take the life out of him, and after that it was again, oh, sorrowful disillusion! oh, world gone gray! grizel did not admire him. t. sandys was no longer a wonder to grizel. he went home to that as surely as the labourer to his evening platter. and now we come to the affair of the slugs. corp had got a holiday, and they were off together fishing the drumly water, by lord rintoul's permission. they had fished the drumly many a time without it, and this was to be another such day as those of old. the one who woke at four was to rouse the other. never had either waked at four; but one of them was married now, and any woman can wake at any hour she chooses, so at four corp was pushed out of bed, and soon thereafter they took the road. grizel's blinds were already up. "do you mind," corp said, "how often, when we had boasted we were to start at four and didna get roaded till six, we wriggled by that window so that grizel shouldna see us?" "she usually did see us," tommy replied ruefully. "grizel always spotted us, corp, when we had anything to hide, and missed us when we were anxious to be seen." "there was no jouking her," said corp. "do you mind how that used to bother you?" a senseless remark to a man whom it was bothering still--or shall we say to a boy? for the boy came back to tommy when he heard the drumly singing; it was as if he had suddenly seen his mother looking young again. there had been a thunder-shower as they drew near, followed by a rush of wind that pinned them to a dike, swept the road bare, banged every door in the glen, and then sank suddenly as if it had never been, like a mole in the sand. but now the sun was out, every fence and farm-yard rope was a string of diamond drops. there was one to every blade of grass; they lurked among the wild roses; larks, drunken with song, shook them from their wings. the whole earth shone so gloriously with them that for a time tommy ceased to care whether he was admired. we can pay nature no higher compliment. but when they came to the slugs! the slugs of kenny is a wild crevice through which the drumly cuts its way, black and treacherous, into a lovely glade where it gambols for the rest of its short life; you would not believe, to see it laughing, that it had so lately escaped from prison. to the slugs they made their way--not to fish, for any trout that are there are thinking for ever of the way out and of nothing else, but to eat their luncheon, and they ate it sitting on the mossy stones their persons had long ago helped to smooth, and looking at a roan-branch, which now, as then, was trailing in the water. there were no fish to catch, but there was a boy trying to catch them. he was on the opposite bank; had crawled down it, only other boys can tell how, a barefooted urchin of ten or twelve, with an enormous bagful of worms hanging from his jacket button. to put a new worm on the hook without coming to destruction, he first twisted his legs about a young birch, and put his arms round it. he was after a big one, he informed corp, though he might as well have been fishing in a treatise on the art of angling. corp exchanged pleasantries with him; told him that tommy was captain ure, and that he was his faithful servant alexander bett, both of edinburgh. since the birth of his child, corp had become something of a humourist. tommy was not listening. as he lolled in the sun he was turning, without his knowledge, into one of the other tommies. let us watch the process. he had found a half-fledged mavis lying dead in the grass. remember also how the larks had sung after rain. tommy lost sight and sound of corp and the boy. what he seemed to see was a baby lark that had got out of its nest sideways, a fall of half a foot only, but a dreadful drop for a baby. "you can get back this way," its mother said, and showed it the way, which was quite easy, but when the baby tried to leap, it fell on its back. then the mother marked out lines on the ground, from one to the other of which it was to practise hopping, and soon it could hop beautifully so long as its mother was there to say every moment, "how beautifully you hop!" "now teach me to hop up," the little lark said, meaning that it wanted to fly; and the mother tried to do that also, but in vain; she could soar up, up, up bravely, but could not explain how she did it. this distressed her very much, and she thought hard about how she had learned to fly long ago last year, but all she could recall for certain was that you suddenly do it. "wait till the sun comes out after rain," she said, half remembering. "what is sun? what is rain?" the little bird asked. "if you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing." "when the sun comes out after rain," the mother replied, "then you will know how to sing." the rain came, and glued the little bird's wings together. "i shall never be able to fly nor to sing," it wailed. then, of a sudden, it had to blink its eyes; for a glorious light had spread over the world, catching every leaf and twig and blade of grass in tears, and putting a smile into every tear. the baby bird's breast swelled, it did not know why; and it fluttered from the ground, it did not know how. "the sun has come out after the rain," it trilled. "thank you, sun; thank you, thank you! oh, mother, did you hear me? i can sing!" and it floated up, up, up, crying, "thank you, thank you, thank you!" to the sun. "oh, mother, do you see me? i am flying!" and being but a baby, it soon was gasping, but still it trilled the same ecstasy, and when it fell panting to earth it still trilled, and the distracted mother called to it to take breath or it would die, but it could not stop. "thank you, thank you, thank you!" it sang to the sun till its little heart burst. with filmy eyes tommy searched himself for the little pocket-book in which he took notes of such sad thoughts as these, and in place of the book he found a glove wrapped in silk paper. he sat there with it in his hand, nodding his head over it so broken-heartedly you could not have believed that he had forgotten it for several days. death was still his subject; but it was no longer a bird he saw: it was a very noble young man, and his white, dead face stared at the sky from the bottom of a deep pool. i don't know how he got there, but a woman who would not admire him had something to do with it. no sun after rain had come into that tragic life. to the water that had ended it his white face seemed to be saying, "thank you, thank you, thank you." it was the old story of a faithless woman. he had given her his heart, and she had played with it. for her sake he had striven to be famous; for her alone had he toiled through dreary years in london, the goal her lap, in which he should one day place his book--a poor, trivial little work, he knew (yet much admired by the best critics). never had his thoughts wandered for one instant of that time to another woman; he had been as faithful in life as in death; and now she came to the edge of the pool and peered down at his staring eyes and laughed. he had got thus far when a shout from corp brought him, dazed, to his feet. it had been preceded by another cry, as the boy and the sapling he was twisted round toppled into the river together, uprooted stones and clods pounding after them and discolouring the pool into which the torrent rushes between rocks, to swirl frantically before it dives down a narrow channel and leaps into another caldron. there was no climbing down those precipitous rocks. corp was shouting, gesticulating, impotent. "how can you stand so still?" he roared. for tommy was standing quite still, like one not yet thoroughly awake. the boy's head was visible now and again as he was carried round in the seething water; when he came to the outer ring down that channel he must infallibly go, and every second or two he was in a wider circle. tommy was awake now, and he could not stand still and see a boy drown before his eyes. he knew that to attempt to save him was to face a terrible danger, especially as he could not swim; but he kicked off his boots. there was some gallantry in the man. "you wouldna dare!" corp cried, aghast. tommy hesitated for a moment, but he had abundance of physical courage. he clenched his teeth and jumped. but before he jumped he pushed the glove into corp's hand, saying, "give her that, and tell her it never left my heart." he did not say who she was; he scarcely knew that he was saying it. it was his dream intruding on reality, as a wheel may revolve for a moment longer after the spring breaks. corp saw him strike the water and disappear. he tore along the bank as he had never run before, until he got to the water's edge below the slugs, and climbed and fought his way to the scene of the disaster. before he reached it, however, we should have had no hero had not the sapling, the cause of all this pother, made amends by barring the way down the narrow channel. tommy was clinging to it, and the boy to him, and, at some risk, corp got them both ashore, where they lay gasping like fish in a creel. the boy was the first to rise to look for his fishing-rod, and he was surprised to find no six-pounder at the end of it. "she has broke the line again!" he said; for he was sure then and ever afterwards that a big one had pulled him in. corp slapped him for his ingratitude; but the man who had saved this boy's life wanted no thanks. "off to your home with you, wherever it is," he said to the boy, who obeyed silently; and then to corp: "he is a little fool, corp, but not such a fool as i am." he lay on his face, shivering, not from cold, not from shock, but in a horror of himself. i think it may fairly be said that he had done a brave if foolhardy thing; it was certainly to save the boy that he had jumped, and he had given himself a moment's time in which to draw back if he chose, which vastly enhances the merit of the deed. but sentimentality had been there also, and he was now shivering with a presentiment of the length to which it might one day carry him. they lit a fire among the rocks, at which he dried his clothes, and then they set out for home, corp doing all the talking. "what a town there will be about this in thrums!" was his text; and he was surprised when tommy at last broke silence by saying passionately: "never speak about this to me again, corp, as long as you live. promise me that. promise never to mention it to anyone. i want no one to know what i did to-day, and no one will ever know unless you tell; the boy can't tell, for we are strangers to him." "he thinks you are a captain ure, and that i'm alexander bett, his servant," said corp. "i telled him that for a divert." "then let him continue to think that." of course corp promised. "and i'll go to the stake afore i break my promise," he swore, happily remembering one of the jacobite oaths. but he was puzzled. they would make so much of tommy if they knew. they would think him a wonder. did he not want that? "no," tommy replied. "you used to like it; you used to like it most michty." "i have changed." "ay, you have; but since when? since you took to making printed books?" tommy did not say, but it was more recently than that. what he was surrendering no one could have needed to be told less than he; the magnitude of the sacrifice was what enabled him to make it. he was always at home among the superlatives; it was the little things that bothered him. in his present fear of the ride that sentimentality might yet goad him to, he craved for mastery over self; he knew that his struggles with his familiar usually ended in an embrace, and he had made a passionate vow that it should be so no longer. the best beginning of the new man was to deny himself the glory that would be his if his deed were advertised to the world. even grizel must never know of it--grizel, whose admiration was so dear to him. thus he punished himself, and again i think he deserves respect. chapter x gavinia on the track corp, you remember, had said that he would go to the stake rather than break his promise; and he meant it, too, though what the stake was, and why such a pother about going to it, he did not know. he was to learn now, however, for to the stake he had to go. this was because gavinia, when folding up his clothes, found in one of the pockets a glove wrapped in silk paper. tommy had forgotten it until too late, for when he asked corp for the glove it was already in gavinia's possession, and she had declined to return it without an explanation. "you must tell her nothing," tommy said sternly. he was uneasy, but relieved to find that corp did not know whose glove it was, nor even why gentlemen carry a lady's glove in their pocket. at first gavinia was mildly curious only, but her husband's refusal to answer any questions roused her dander. she tried cajolery, fried his take of trout deliciously for him, and he sat down to them sniffing. they were small, and the remainder of their brief career was in two parts. first he lifted them by the tail, then he laid down the tail. but not a word about the glove. she tried tears. "dinna greet, woman," he said in distress. "what would the bairn say if he kent i made you greet?" gavinia went on greeting, and the baby, waking up, promptly took her side. "d----n the thing!" said corp. "your ain bairn!" "i meant the glove!" he roared. it was curiosity only that troubled gavinia. a reader of romance, as you may remember, she had encountered in the printed page a score of ladies who, on finding such parcels in their husbands' pockets, left their homes at once and for ever, and she had never doubted but that it was the only course to follow; such is the power of the writer of fiction. but when the case was her own she was merely curious; such are the limitations of the writer of fiction. that there was a woman in it she did not believe for a moment. this, of course, did not prevent her saying, with a sob, "wha is the woman?" with great earnestness corp assured her that there was no woman. he even proved it: "just listen to reason, gavinia. if i was sich a black as to be chief wi' ony woman, and she wanted to gie me a present, weel, she might gie me a pair o' gloves, but one glove, what use would one glove be to me? i tell you, if a woman had the impidence to gie me one glove, i would fling it in her face." nothing could have been clearer, and he had put it thus considerately because when a woman, even the shrewdest of them, is excited (any man knows this), one has to explain matters to her as simply and patiently as if she were a four-year-old; yet gavinia affected to be unconvinced, and for several days she led corp the life of a lodger in his own house. "hands off that poor innocent," she said when he approached the baby. if he reproved her, she replied meekly, "what can you expect frae a woman that doesna wear gloves?" to the baby she said: "he despises you, my bonny, because you hae no gloves. ay, that's what maks him turn up his nose at you. but your mother is fond o' you, gloves or no gloves." she told the baby the story of the glove daily, with many monstrous additions. when corp came home from his work, she said that a poor, love-lorn female had called with a boot for him, and a request that he should carry it in the pocket of his sabbath breeks. worst of all, she listened to what he said in the night. corp had a habit of talking in his sleep. he was usually taking tickets at such times, and it had been her custom to stop him violently; but now she changed her tactics: she encouraged him. "i would be lying in my bed," he said to tommy, "dreaming that a man had fallen into the slugs, and instead o' trying to save him i cried out, 'tickets there, all tickets ready,' and first he hands me a glove and neist he hands me a boot and havers o' that kind sich as onybody dreams. but in the middle o' my dream it comes ower me that i had better waken up to see what gavinia's doing, and i open my een, and there she is, sitting up, hearkening avidly to my every word, and putting sly questions to me about the glove." "what glove?" tommy asked coldly. "the glove in silk paper." "i never heard of it," said tommy. corp sighed. "no," he said loyally, "neither did i"; and he went back to the station and sat gloomily in a wagon. he got no help from tommy, not even when rumours of the incident at the slugs became noised abroad. "a'body kens about the laddie now," he said. "what laddie?" tommy inquired. "him that fell into the slugs." "ah, yes," tommy said; "i have just been reading about it in the paper. a plucky fellow, this captain ure who saved him. i wonder who he is." "i wonder!" corp said with a groan. "there was an alexander bett with him, according to the papers," tommy went on. "do you know any bett?" "it's no a thrums name," corp replied thankfully. "i just made it up." "what do you mean?" tommy asked blankly. corp sighed, and went back again to the wagon. he was particularly truculent that evening when the six-o'clock train came in. "tickets, there; look slippy wi' your tickets." his head bobbed up at the window of another compartment. "tick----" he began, and then he ducked. the compartment contained a boy looking as scared as if he had just had his face washed, and an old woman who was clutching a large linen bag as if expecting some scoundrel to appear through the floor and grip it. with her other hand she held on to the boy, and being unused to travel, they were both sitting very self-conscious, humble, and defiant, like persons in church who have forgotten to bring their bible. the general effect, however, was lost on corp, for whom it was enough that in one of them he recognized the boy of the slugs. he thought he had seen the old lady before, also, but he could not give her a name. it was quite a relief to him to notice that she was not wearing gloves. he heard her inquiring for one alexander bett, and being told that there was no such person in thrums, "he's married on a woman of the name of gavinia," said the old lady; and then they directed her to the house of the only gavinia in the place. with dark forebodings corp skulked after her. he remembered who she was now. she was the old woman with the nut-cracker face on whom he had cried in, more than a year ago, to say that gavinia was to have him. her mud cottage had been near the slugs. yes, and this was the boy who had been supping porridge with her. corp guessed rightly that the boy had remembered his unlucky visit. "i'm doomed!" corp muttered to himself--pronouncing it in another way. the woman, the boy, and the bag entered the house of gavinia, and presently she came out with them. she was looking very important and terrible. they went straight to ailie's cottage, and corp was wondering why, when he suddenly remembered that tommy was to be there at tea to-day. chapter xi the tea-party it was quite a large tea-party, and was held in what had been the school-room; nothing there now, however, to recall an academic past, for even the space against which a map of the world (mercator's projection) had once hung was gone the colour of the rest of the walls, and with it had faded away the last relic of the hanky school. "it will not fade so quickly from my memory," tommy said, to please mrs. mclean. his affection for his old schoolmistress was as sincere as hers for him. i could tell you of scores of pretty things he had done to give her pleasure since his return, all carried out, too, with a delicacy which few men could rival, and never a woman; but they might make you like him, so we shall pass them by. ailie said, blushing, that she had taught him very little. "everything i know," he replied, and then, with a courteous bow to the gentleman opposite, "except what i learned from mr. cathro." "thank you," cathro said shortly. tommy had behaved splendidly to him, and called him his dear preceptor, and yet the dominie still itched to be at him with the tawse as of old. "and fine he knows i'm itching," he reflected, which made him itch the more. it should have been a most successful party, for in the rehearsals between the hostess and her maid christina every conceivable difficulty had been ironed out. ailie was wearing her black silk, but without the honiton lace, so that miss sophia innes need not become depressed; and she had herself taken the chair with the weak back. mr. cathro, who, though a lean man, needed a great deal of room at table, had been seated far away from the spinet, to allow christina to pass him without climbing. miss sophia and grizel had the doctor between them, and there was also a bachelor, but an older one, for elspeth. mr. mclean, as stout and humoursome as of yore, had solemnly promised his wife to be jocular but not too jocular. neither minister could complain, for if mr. dishart had been asked to say grace, mr. gloag knew that he was to be called on for the benediction. christina, obeying strict orders, glided round the table leisurely, as if she were not in the least excited, though she could be heard rushing along the passage like one who had entered for a race. and, lastly, there was, as chief guest, the celebrated thomas sandys. it should have been a triumph of a tea-party, and yet it was not. mrs. mclean could not tell why. grizel could have told why; her eyes told why every time they rested scornfully on mr. sandys. it was he, they said, who was spoiling the entertainment, and for the pitiful reason that the company were not making enough of him. he was the guest of the evening, but they were talking admiringly of another man, and so he sulked. oh, how she scorned tommy! that other man was, of course, the unknown captain ure, gallant rescuer of boys, hero of all who admire brave actions except the jealous sandys. tommy had pooh-poohed him from the first, to grizel's unutterable woe. "have you not one word of praise for such a splendid deed?" she had asked in despair. "i see nothing splendid about it," he replied coldly. "i advise you in your own interests not to talk in that way to others," she said. "don't you see what they will say?" "i can't help that," answered tommy the just. "if they ask my opinion, i must give them the truth. i thought you were fond of the truth, grizel." to that she could only wring her hands and say nothing; but it had never struck her that the truth could be so bitter. and now he was giving his opinion at mrs. mclean's party, and they were all against him, except, in a measure, elspeth's bachelor, who said cheerily, "we should all have done it if we had been in captain ure's place; i would have done it myself, miss elspeth, though not fond of the water." he addressed all single ladies by their christian name with a miss in front of it. this is the mark of the confirmed bachelor, and comes upon him at one-and-twenty. "i could not have done it," grizel replied decisively, though she was much the bravest person present, and he explained that he meant the men only. his name was james bonthron; let us call him mr. james. "men are so brave!" she responded, with her eyes on tommy, and he received the stab in silence. had the blood spouted from the wound, it would have been an additional gratification to him. tommy was like those superb characters of romance who bare their breast to the enemy and say, "strike!" "well, well," mr. cathro observed, "none of us was on the spot, and so we had no opportunity of showing our heroism. but you were near by, mr. sandys, and if you had fished up the water that day, instead of down, you might have been called upon. i wonder what you would have done?" yes, tommy was exasperating to him still as in the long ago, and cathro said this maliciously, yet feeling that he did a risky thing, so convinced was he by old experience that you were getting in the way of a road-machine when you opposed thomas sandys. "i wonder," tommy replied quietly. the answer made a poor impression, and cathro longed to go on. "but he was always most dangerous when he was quiet," he reflected uneasily, and checked himself in sheer funk. mr. gloag came, as he thought, to tommy's defence. "if mr. sandys questions," he said heavily, "whether courage would have been vouchsafed to him at that trying hour, it is right and fitting that he should admit it with christian humility." "quite so, quite so," mr. james agreed, with heartiness. he had begun to look solemn at the word "vouchsafed." "for we are differently gifted," continued mr. gloag, now addressing his congregation. "to some is given courage, to some learning, to some grace. each has his strong point," he ended abruptly, and tucked reverently into the jam, which seemed to be his. "if he would not have risked his life to save the boy," elspeth interposed hotly, "it would have been because he was thinking of me." "i should like to believe that thought of you would have checked me," tommy said. "i am sure it would," said grizel. mr. cathro was rubbing his hands together covertly, yet half wishing he could take her aside and whisper: "be canny; it's grand to hear you, but be canny; he is looking most extraordinar meek, and unless he has cast his skin since he was a laddie, it's not chancey to meddle with him when he is meek." the doctor also noticed that grizel was pressing tommy too hard, and though he did not like the man, he was surprised--he had always thought her so fair-minded. "for my part," he said, "i don't admire the unknown half so much for what he did as for his behaviour afterwards. to risk his life was something, but to disappear quietly without taking any credit for it was finer and i should say much more difficult." "i think it was sweet of him," grizel said. "i don't see it," said tommy, and the silence that followed should have been unpleasant to him; but he went on calmly: "doubtless it was a mere impulse that made him jump into the pool, and impulse is not courage." he was quoting grizel now, you observe, and though he did not look at her, he knew her eyes were fixed on him reproachfully. "and so," he concluded, "i suppose captain ure knew he had done no great thing, and preferred to avoid exaggerated applause." even elspeth was troubled; but she must defend her dear brother. "he would have avoided it himself," she explained quickly. "he dislikes praise so much that he does not understand how sweet it is to smaller people." this made tommy wince. he was always distressed when timid elspeth blurted out things of this sort in company, and not the least of his merits was that he usually forbore from chiding her for it afterwards, so reluctant was he to hurt her. in a world where there were no women except elspeths, tommy would have been a saint. he saw the doctor smiling now, and at once his annoyance with her changed to wrath against him for daring to smile at little elspeth. she saw the smile, too, and blushed; but she was not angry: she knew that the people who smiled at her liked her, and that no one smiled so much at her as dr. gemmell. the dominie said fearfully: "i have no doubt that explains it, miss sandys. even as a boy i remember your brother had a horror of vulgar applause." "now," he said to himself, "he will rise up and smite me." but no; tommy replied quietly; "i am afraid that was not my character, mr. cathro; but i hope i have changed since then, and that i could pull a boy out of the water without wanting to be extolled for it." that he could say such things before her was terrible to grizel. it was perhaps conceivable that he might pull the boy out of the water, as he so ungenerously expressed it; but that he could refrain from basking in the glory thereof, that, she knew, was quite impossible. her eyes begged him to take back those shameful words, but he bravely declined; not even to please grizel could he pretend that what was not was. no more sentiment for t. sandys. "the spirit has all gone out of him; what am i afraid of?" reflected the dominie, and he rose suddenly to make a speech, tea-cup in hand. "cathro, cathro, you tattie-doolie, you are riding to destruction," said a warning voice within him, but against his better judgment he stifled it and began. he begged to propose the health of captain ure. he was sure they would all join with him cordially in drinking it, including mr. sandys, who unfortunately differed from them in his estimation of the hero; that was only, however, as had been conclusively shown, because he was a hero himself, and so could make light of heroic deeds--with other sly hits at mr. sandys. but when all the others rose to drink the toast, tommy remained seated. the dominie coughed. "perhaps mr. sandys means to reply," grizel suggested icily. and it was at this uncomfortable moment that christina appeared suddenly, and in a state of suppressed excitement requested her mistress to speak with her behind the door. all the knowing ones were aware that something terrible must have happened in the kitchen. miss sophia thought it might be the china tea-pot. she smiled reassuringly to signify that, whatever it was, she would help mrs. mclean through, and so did mr. james. he was a perfect lady. how dramatic it all was, as ailie said frequently afterwards. she was back in a moment, with her hand on her heart. "mr. sandys," were her astounding words, "a lady wants to see you." tommy rose in surprise, as did several of the others. "was it really you?" ailie cried. "she says it was you!" "i don't understand, mrs. mclean," he answered; "i have done nothing." "but she says--and she is at the door!" all eyes turned on the door so longingly that it opened under their pressure, and a boy who had been at the keyhole stumbled forward. "that's him!" he announced, pointing a stern finger at mr. sandys. "but he says he did not do it," ailie said. "he's a liar," said the boy. his manner was that of the police, and it had come so sharply upon tommy that he looked not unlike a detected criminal. most of them thought he was being accused of something vile, and the dominie demanded, with a light heart, "who is the woman?" while mr. james had a pleasant feeling that the ladies should be requested to retire. but just then the woman came in, and she was much older than they had expected. "that's him, granny," the boy said, still severely; "that's the man as saved my life at the slugs." and then, when the truth was dawning on them all, and there were exclamations of wonder, a pretty scene suddenly presented itself, for the old lady, who had entered with the timidest courtesy, slipped down on her knees before tommy and kissed his hand. that young rascal of a boy was all she had. they were all moved by her simplicity, but none quite so much as tommy. he gulped with genuine emotion, and saw her through a maze of beautiful thoughts that delayed all sense of triumph and even made him forget, for a little while, to wonder what grizel was thinking of him now. as the old lady poured out her thanks tremblingly, he was excitedly planning her future. he was a poor man, but she was to be brought by him into thrums to a little cottage overgrown with roses. no more hard work for these dear old hands. she could sell scones, perhaps. she should have a cow. he would send the boy to college and make a minister of him; she should yet hear her grandson preach in the church to which as a boy-- but here the old lady somewhat imperilled the picture by rising actively and dumping upon the table the contents of the bag--a fowl for tommy. she was as poor an old lady as ever put a halfpenny into the church plate on sundays; but that she should present a hen to the preserver of her grandson, her mind had been made up from the moment she had reason to think she could find him, and it was to be the finest hen in all the country round. she was an old lady of infinite spirit, and daily, dragging the boy with her lest he again went a-fishing, she trudged to farms near and far to examine and feel their hens. she was a brittle old lady who creaked as she walked, and cracked like a whin-pod in the heat, but she did her dozen miles or more a day, and passed all the fowls in review, and could not be deceived by the craftiest of farmers' wives; and in the tail of the day she became possessor, and did herself thraw the neck of the stoutest and toughest hen that ever entered a linen bag head foremost. by this time the boy had given way in the legs, and hence the railway journey, its cost defrayed by admiring friends. with careful handling he should get a week out of her gift, she explained complacently, besides two makes of broth; and she and the boy looked as if they would like dearly to sit opposite tommy during those seven days and watch him gorging. if you look at the matter aright it was a handsomer present than many a tiara, but if you are of the same stuff as mr. james it was only a hen. mr. james tittered, and one or two others made ready to titter. it was a moment to try tommy, for there are doubtless heroes as gallant as he who do not know how to receive a present of a hen. grizel, who had been holding back, moved a little nearer. if he hurt that sweet old woman's feelings, she could never forgive him--never! he heard the titter, and ridicule was terrible to him; but he also knew why grizel had come closer, and what she wanted of him. our tommy, in short, had emerged from his emotion, and once more knew what was what. it was not his fault that he stood revealed a hero: the little gods had done it; therefore let him do credit to the chosen of the little gods. the way he took that old lady's wrinkled hand, and bowed over it, and thanked her, was an ode to manhood. everyone was touched. those who had been about to titter wondered what on earth mr. james had seen to titter at, and grizel almost clapped her hands with joy; she would have done it altogether had not tommy just then made the mistake of looking at her for approval. she fell back, and, intoxicated with himself, he thought it was because her heart was too full for utterance. tommy was now splendid, and described the affair at the slugs with an adorable modesty. "i assure you, it was a much smaller thing to do than you imagine; it was all over in a few minutes; i knew that in your good nature you would make too much of it, and so--foolishly, i can see now--i tried to keep it from you. as for the name captain ure, it was an invention of that humourous dog, corp." and so on, with the most considerate remarks when they insisted on shaking hands with him: "i beseech you, don't apologize to me; i see clearly that the fault was entirely my own. had i been in your place, mr. james, i should have behaved precisely as you have done, and had you been at the slugs you would have jumped in as i did. mr. cathro, you pain me by holding back; i assure you i esteem my old dominie more than ever for the way in which you stuck up for captain ure, though you must see why i could not drink that gentleman's health." and mr. cathro made the best of it, wringing tommy's hand effusively, while muttering, "fool, donnard stirk, gowk!" he was addressing himself and any other person who might be so presumptuous as to try to get the better of thomas sandys. cathro never tried it again. had tommy died that week his old dominie would have been very chary of what he said at the funeral. they were in the garden now, the gentlemen without their hats. "have you made your peace with him?" cathro asked grizel, in a cautious voice. "he is a devil's buckie, and i advise you to follow my example, miss mcqueen, and capitulate. i have always found him reasonable so long as you bend the knee to him." "i am not his enemy," replied grizel, loftily, "and if he has done a noble thing i am proud of him and will tell him so." "i would tell him so," said the dominie, "whether he had done it or not." "do you mean," she asked indignantly, "that you think he did not do it?" "no, no, no," he answered hurriedly; "or mercy's sake, don't tell him i think that." and then, as tommy was out of ear-shot: "but i see there is no necessity for my warning you against standing in his way again, miss mcqueen, for you are up in arms for him now." "i admire brave men," she replied, "and he is one, is he not?" "you'll find him reasonable," said the dominie, drily. but though it was thus that she defended tommy when others hinted doubts, she had not yet said she was proud of him to the man who wanted most to hear it. for one brief moment grizel had exulted on learning that he and captain ure were one, and then suddenly, to all the emotions now running within her, a voice seemed to cry, "halt!" and she fell to watching sharply the doer of noble deeds. her eyes were not wistful, nor were they contemptuous, but had tommy been less elated with himself he might have seen that they were puzzled and suspicious. to mistrust him in face of such evidence seemed half a shame; she was indignant with herself even while she did it; but she could not help doing it, the truth about tommy was such a vital thing to grizel. she had known him so well, too well, up to a minute ago, and this was not the man she had known. how unfair she was to tommy while she watched! when the old lady was on her knees thanking him, and every other lady was impressed by the feeling he showed, it seemed to grizel that he was again in the arms of some such absurd sentiment as had mastered him in the den. when he behaved so charmingly about the gift she was almost sure he looked at her as he had looked in the old days before striding his legs and screaming out, "oh, am i not a wonder? i see by your face that you think me a wonder!" all the time he was so considerately putting those who had misjudged him at their ease she believed he did it considerately that they might say to each other, "how considerate he is!" when she misread tommy in such comparative trifles as these, is it to be wondered that she went into the garden still tortured by a doubt about the essential? it was nothing less than torture to her; when you discover what is in her mind, tommy, you may console yourself with that. he discovered what was in her mind as mr. cathro left her. she felt shy, he thought, of coming to him after what had taken place, and, with the generous intention of showing that she was forgiven, he crossed good-naturedly to her. "you were very severe, grizel," he said, "but don't let that distress you for a moment; it served me right for not telling the truth at once." she did not flinch. "do we know the truth now?" she asked, looking at him steadfastly. "i don't want to hurt you--you know that; but please tell me, did you really do it? i mean, did you do it in the way we have been led to suppose?" it was a great shock to tommy. he had not forgotten his vows to change his nature, and had she been sympathetic now he would have confessed to her the real reason of his silence. he wanted boyishly to tell her, though of course without mention of the glove; but her words hardened him. "grizel!" he cried reproachfully, and then in a husky voice: "can you really think so badly of me as that?" "i don't know what to think," she answered, pressing her hands together, "i know you are very clever." he bowed slightly. "did you?" she asked again. she was no longer chiding herself for being over-careful; she must know the truth. he was silent for a moment. then, "grizel," he said, "i am about to pain you very much, but you give me no option. i did do it precisely as you have heard. and may god forgive you for doubting me," he added with a quiver, "as freely as i do." you will scarcely believe this, but a few minutes afterwards, grizel having been the first to leave, he saw her from the garden going, not home, but in the direction of corp's house, obviously to ask him whether tommy had done it. tommy guessed her intention at once, and he laughed a bitter ho-ho-ha, and wiped her from his memory. "farewell, woman; i am done with you," are the terrible words you may conceive tommy saying. next moment, however, he was hurriedly bidding his hostess good-night, could not even wait for elspeth, clapped his hat on his head, and was off after grizel. it had suddenly struck him that, now the rest of the story was out, corp might tell her about the glove. suppose gavinia showed it to her! sometimes he had kissed that glove passionately, sometimes pressed his lips upon it with the long tenderness that is less intoxicating but makes you a better man; but now, for the first time, he asked himself bluntly why he had done those things, with the result that he was striding to corp's house. it was not only for his own sake that he hurried; let us do him that justice. it was chiefly to save grizel the pain of thinking that he whom she had been flouting loved her, as she must think if she heard the story of the glove. that it could be nothing but pain to her he was boyishly certain, for assuredly this scornful girl wanted none of his love. and though she was scornful, she was still the dear companion of his boyhood. tommy was honestly anxious to save grizel the pain of thinking that she had flouted a man who loved her. he took a different road from hers, but, to his annoyance, they met at couthie's corner. he would have passed her with a distant bow, but she would have none of that. "you have followed me," said grizel, with the hateful directness that was no part of tommy's character. "grizel!" "you followed me to see whether i was going to question corp. you were afraid he would tell me what really happened. you wanted to see him first to tell him what to say." "really, grizel--" "is it not true?" there are no questions so offensive to the artistic nature as those that demand a yes or no for answer. "it is useless for me to say it is not true," he replied haughtily, "for you won't believe me." "say it and i shall believe you," said she. tommy tried standing on the other foot, but it was no help. "i presume i may have reasons for wanting to see corp that you are unacquainted with," he said. "oh, i am sure of it!" replied grizel, scornfully. she had been hoping until now, but there was no more hope left in her. "may i ask what it is that my oldest friend accuses me of? perhaps you don't even believe that i was captain ure?" "i am no longer sure of it." "how you read me, grizel! i could hoodwink the others, but never you. i suppose it is because you have such an eye for the worst in anyone." it was not the first time he had said something of this kind to her; for he knew that she suspected herself of being too ready to find blemishes in others, to the neglect of their better qualities, and that this made her uneasy and also very sensitive to the charge. to-day, however, her own imperfections did not matter to her; she was as nothing to herself just now, and scarcely felt his insinuations. "i think you were captain ure," she said slowly, "and i think you did it, but not as the boy imagines." "you may be quite sure," he replied, "that i would not have done it had there been the least risk. that, i flatter myself, is how you reason it out." "it does not explain," she said, "why you kept the matter secret." "thank you, grizel! well, at least i have not boasted of it." "no, and that is what makes me----" she paused. "go on," said he, "though i can guess what agreeable thing you were going to say." but she said something else: "you may have noticed that i took the boy aside and questioned him privately." "i little thought then, grizel, that you suspected me of being an impostor." she clenched her hands again; it was all so hard to say, and yet she must say it! "i did not. i saw he believed his story. i was asking him whether you had planned his coming with it to mrs. mclean's house at that dramatic moment." "you actually thought me capable of that!" "it makes me horrid to myself," she replied wofully, "but if i thought you had done that i could more readily believe the rest." "very well, grizel," he said, "go on thinking the worst of me; i would not deprive you of that pleasure if i could." "oh, cruel, cruel!" she could have replied; "you know it is no pleasure; you know it is a great pain." but she did not speak. "i have already told you that the boy's story is true," he said, "and now you ask me why i did not shout it from the housetops myself. perhaps it was for your sake, grizel; perhaps it was to save you the distress of knowing that in a momentary impulse i could so far forget myself as to act the part of a man." she pressed her hands more tightly. "i may be wronging you," she answered; "i should love to think so; but--you have something you want to say to corp before i see him." "not at all," tommy said; "if you still want to see corp, let us go together." she hesitated, but she knew how clever he was. "i prefer to go alone," she replied. "forgive me if i ask you to turn back." "don't go," he entreated her. "grizel, i give you my word of honour it is to save you acute pain that i want to see corp first." she smiled wanly at that, for though, as we know, it was true, she misunderstood him. he had to let her go on alone. chapter xii in which a comedian challenges tragedy to bowls when grizel opened the door of corp's house she found husband and wife at home, the baby in his father's arms; what is more, gavinia was looking on smiling and saying, "you bonny litlin, you're windy to have him dandling you; and no wonder, for he's a father to be proud o'." corp was accepting it all with a complacent smirk. oh, agreeable change since last we were in this house! oh, happy picture of domestic bliss! oh--but no, these are not the words; what we meant to say was, "gavinia, you limmer, so you have got the better of that man of yours at last." how had she contrived it? we have seen her escorting the old lady to the dovecot, corp skulking behind. our next peep at them shows gavinia back at her house, corp peering through the window and wondering whether he dare venture in. gavinia was still bothered, for though she knew now the story of tommy's heroism, there was no glove in it, and it was the glove that maddened her. "no, i ken nothing about a glove," the old lady had assured her. "not a sylup was said about a glove," maintained christina, who had given her a highly coloured narrative of what took place in mrs. mclean's parlour. "and yet there's a glove in't as sure as there's a quirk in't," gavinia kept muttering to herself. she rose to have another look at the hoddy-place in which she had concealed the glove from her husband, and as she did so she caught sight of him at the window. he bobbed at once, but she hastened to the door to scarify him. the clock had given only two ticks when she was upon him, but in that time she had completely changed her plan of action. she welcomed him with smiles of pride. thus is the nimbleness of women's wit measured once and for all. they need two seconds if they are to do the thing comfortably. "never to have telled me, and you behaved so grandly!" she cried, with adoring glances that were as a carpet on which he strode pompously into the house. "it wasna me that did it; it was him," said corp, and even then he feared that he had told too much. "i kenna what you're speaking about," he added loyally. "corp," she answered, "you needna be so canny, for the laddie is in the town, and mr. sandys has confessed all." "the whole o't?" "every risson." "about the glove, too?" "glove and all," said wicked gavinia, and she continued to feast her eyes so admiringly on her deceived husband that he passed quickly from the gratified to the dictatorial. "let this be a lesson to you, woman," he said sternly; and gavinia intimated with humility that she hoped to profit by it. "having got the glove in so solemn a way," he went on, "it would have been ill done of me to blab to you about it. do you see that now, woman?" she said it was as clear as day to her. "and a solemn way it was," she added, and then waited eagerly. "my opinion," continued corp, lowering his voice as if this were not matter for the child, "is that it's a love-token frae some london woman." "behear's!" cried gavinia. "else what," he asked, "would make him hand it to me so solemn-like, and tell me to pass it on to her if he was drowned? i didna think o' that at the time, but it has come to me, gavinia; it has come." this was a mouthful indeed to gavinia. so the glove was the property of mr. sandys, and he was in love with a london lady, and--no, this is too slow for gavinia; she saw these things in passing, as one who jumps from the top of a house may have lightning glimpses through many windows on the way down. what she jumped to was the vital question, who was the woman? but she was too cunning to ask a leading question. "ay, she's his lady-love," she said, controlling herself, "but i forget her name. it was a very wise-like thing o' you to speir the woman's name." "but i didna." "you didna!" "he was in the water in a klink." had gavinia been in corp's place she would have had the name out of tommy, water or no water; but she did not tell her husband what she thought of him. "ay, of course," she said pleasantly. "it was after you helped him out that he telled you her name." "did he say he telled me her name?" "he did." "well, then, i've fair forgot it." instead of boxing his ears she begged him to reflect. result of reflection, that if the name had been mentioned to corp, which he doubted, it began with m. was it mary? that was the name. or was it martha? it had a taste of martha about it. it was not margaret? it might have been margaret. or matilda? it was fell like matilda. and so on. "but wi' a' your wheedling," corp reminded his wife, bantering her from aloft, "you couldna get a scraping out o' me till i was free to speak." he thought it a good opportunity for showing gavinia her place once and for all. "in small matters," he said, "i gie you your ain way, for though you may be wrang, thinks i to mysel', 'she's but a woman'; but in important things, gavinia, if i humoured you i would spoil you, so let this be a telling to you that there's no diddling a determined man"; to which she replied by informing the baby that he had a father to be proud of. a father to be proud of! they were the words heard by grizel as she entered. she also saw gavinia looking admiringly at her man, and in that doleful moment she thought she understood all. it was corp who had done it, and tommy had been the looker-on. he had sought to keep the incident secret because, though he was in it, the glory had been won by another (oh, how base!), and now, profiting by the boy's mistake, he was swaggering in that other's clothes (oh, baser still!). everything was revealed to her in a flash, and she stooped over the baby to hide a sudden tear. she did not want to hear any more. the baby cried. babies are aware that they can't do very much; but all of them who knew grizel were almost contemptuously confident of their power over her, and when this one saw (they are very sharp) that in his presence she could actually think of something else, he was so hurt that he cried. was she to be blamed for thinking so meanly of tommy? you can blame her with that tear in her eye if you choose; but i can think only of the gladness that came afterwards when she knew she had been unjust to him. "thank you, thank you, thank you!" the bird sang to its creator when the sun came out after rain, and it was grizel's song as she listened to corp's story of heroic tommy. there was no room in her exultant heart for remorse. it would have shown littleness to be able to think of herself at all when she could think so gloriously of him. she was more than beautiful now; she was radiant; and it was because tommy was the man she wanted him to be. as those who are cold hold out their hands to the fire did she warm her heart at what corp had to tell, and the great joy that was lit within her made her radiant. now the baby was in her lap, smiling back to her. he thought he had done it all. "so you thought you could resist me!" the baby crowed. the glove had not been mentioned yet. "the sweetest thing of all to me," grizel said, "is that he did not want me to hear the story from you, corp, because he knew you would sing his praise so loudly." "i'm thinking," said gavinia, archly, "he had another reason for no wanting you to question corp. maybe he didna want you to ken about the london lady and her glove. will you tell her, man, or will i?" they told her together, and what had been conjectures were now put forward as facts. tommy had certainly said a london lady, and as certainly he had given her name, but what it was corp could not remember. but "give her this and tell her it never left my heart"--he could swear to these words. "and no words could be stronger," gavinia said triumphantly. she produced the glove, and was about to take off its paper wrapping when grizel stopped her. "we have no right, gavinia." "i suppose we hinna, and i'm thinking the pocket it came out o' is feeling gey toom without it. will you take it back to him?" "it was very wrong of you to keep it," grizel answered, "but i can't take it to him, for i see now that his reason for wanting me not to come here was to prevent my hearing about it. i am sorry you told me. corp must take it back." but when she saw it being crushed in corp's rough hand, a pity for the helpless glove came over her. she said: "after all, i do know about it, so i can't pretend to him that i don't. i will give it to him, corp"; and she put the little package in her pocket with a brave smile. do you think the radiance had gone from her face now? do you think the joy that had been lit in her heart was dead? oh, no, no! grizel had never asked that tommy should love her; she had asked only that he should be a fine man. she did not ask it for herself, only for him. she could not think of herself now, only of him. she did not think she loved him. she thought a woman should not love any man until she knew he wanted her to love him. but if tommy had wanted it she would have been very glad. she knew, oh, she knew so well, that she could have helped him best. many a noble woman has known it as she stood aside. in the meantime tommy had gone home in several states of mind--reckless, humble, sentimental, most practical, defiant, apprehensive. at one moment he was crying, "now, grizel, now, when it is too late, you will see what you have lost." at the next he quaked and implored the gods to help him out of his predicament. it was apprehension that, on the whole, played most of the tunes, for he was by no means sure that grizel would not look upon the affair of the glove as an offer of his hand, and accept him. they would show her the glove, and she would, of course, know it to be her own. "give her this and tell her it never left my heart." the words thumped within him now. how was grizel to understand that he had meant nothing in particular by them? i wonder if you misread him so utterly as to believe that he thought himself something of a prize? that is a vulgar way of looking at things of which our fastidious tommy was incapable. as much as grizel herself, he loathed the notion that women have a thirsty eye on man; when he saw them cheapening themselves before the sex that should hold them beyond price, he turned his head and would not let his mind dwell on the subject. he was a sort of gentleman, was tommy. and he knew grizel so well that had all the other women in the world been of this kind, it would not have persuaded him that there was a drop of such blood in her. then, if he feared that she was willing to be his, it must have been because he thought she loved him? not a bit of it. as already stated, he thought he had abundant reason to think otherwise. it was remorse that he feared might bring her to his feet, the discovery that while she had been gibing at him he had been a heroic figure, suffering in silence, eating his heart for love of her. undoubtedly that was how grizel must see things now; he must seem to her to be an angel rather than a mere man; and in sheer remorse she might cry, "i am yours!" vain though tommy was, the picture gave him not a moment's pleasure. alarm was what he felt. of course he was exaggerating grizel's feelings. she had too much self-respect and too little sentiment to be willing to marry any man because she had unintentionally wronged him. but this was how tommy would have acted had he happened to be a lady. remorse, pity, no one was so good at them as tommy. in his perturbation he was also good at maidenly reserve. he felt strongly that the proper course for grizel was not to refer to the glove--to treat that incident as closed, unless he chose to reopen it. this was so obviously the correct procedure that he seemed to see her adopting it like a sensible girl, and relief would have come to him had he not remembered that grizel usually took her own way, and that it was seldom his way. there were other ways of escape. for instance, if she would only let him love her hopelessly. oh, grizel had but to tell him there was no hope, and then how finely he would behave! it would bring out all that was best in him. he saw himself passing through life as her very perfect knight. "is there no hope for me?" he heard himself begging for hope, and he heard also her firm answer: "none!" how he had always admired the outspokenness of grizel. her "none!" was as splendidly decisive as of yore. the conversation thus begun ran on in him, tommy doing the speaking for both (though his lips never moved), and feeling the scene as vividly as if grizel had really been present and elspeth was not. elspeth was sitting opposite him. "at least let me wait, grizel," he implored. "i don't care for how long; fix a time yourself, and i shall keep to it, and i promise never to speak one word of love to you until that time comes, and then if you bid me go i shall go. give me something to live for. it binds you to nothing, and oh, it would make such a difference to me." then grizel seemed to reply gently, but with the firmness he adored: "i know i cannot change, and it would be mistaken kindness to do as you suggest. no, i can give you no hope; but though i can never marry you, i will watch your future with warm regard, for you have to-day paid me the highest compliment a man can pay a woman." (how charmingly it was all working out!) tommy bowed with dignity and touched her hand with his lips. what is it they do next in pym and even more expensive authors? oh, yes! "if at any time in your life, dear grizel," he said, "you are in need of a friend, i hope you will turn first to me. it does not matter where your message reaches me, i will come to you without delay." in his enthusiasm he saw the letter being delivered to him in central africa, and immediately he wheeled round on his way to thrums. "there is one other little request i should like to make of you," he said huskily. "perhaps i ask too much, but it is this: may i keep your glove?" she nodded her head; she was so touched that she could scarcely trust herself to speak. "but you will soon get over this," she said at last; "another glove will take the place of mine; the time will come when you will be glad that i said i could not marry you." "grizel!" he cried in agony. he was so carried away by his feelings that he said the word aloud. "where?" asked elspeth, looking at the window. "was it not she who passed just now?" he replied promptly; and they were still discussing his mistake when grizel did pass, but only to stop at the door. she came in. "my brother must have the second sight," declared elspeth, gaily, "for he saw you coming before you came"; and she told what had happened, while grizel looked happily at tommy, and tommy looked apprehensively at her. grizel, he might have seen, was not wearing the tragic face of sacrifice; it was a face shining with gladness, a girl still too happy in his nobility to think remorsefully of her own misdeeds. to let him know that she was proud of him, that was what she had come for chiefly, and she was even glad that elspeth was there to hear. it was an excuse to her to repeat corp's story, and she told it with defiant looks at tommy that said, "you are so modest, you want to stop me, but elspeth will listen; it is nearly as sweet to elspeth as it is to me, and i shall tell her every word, yes, and tell her a great deal of it twice." it was not modesty which made tommy so anxious that she should think less of him, but naturally it had that appearance. the most heroic fellows, i am told, can endure being extolled by pretty girls, but here seemed to be one who could not stand it. "you need not think it is of you we are proud," she assured him light-heartedly; "it is really of ourselves. i am proud of being your friend. to-morrow, when i hear the town ringing your praises, i shall not say, 'yes, isn't he wonderful?' i shall say, 'talk of me; i, too, am an object of interest, for i am his friend.'" "i have often been pointed out as his sister," said elspeth, complacently. "he did not choose his sister," replied grizel, "but he chose his friends." for a time he could suck no sweetness from it. she avoided the glove, he was sure, only because of elspeth's presence. but anon there arrived to cheer him a fond hope that she had not heard of it, and as this became conviction, exit the tommy who could not abide himself, and enter another who was highly charmed therewith. tommy had a notion that certain whimsical little gods protected him in return for the sport he gave them, and he often kissed his hand to them when they came to the rescue. he would have liked to kiss it now, but gave a grateful glance instead to the corner in the ceiling where they sat chuckling at him. grizel admired him at last. tra, la, la! what a dear girl she was! into his manner there crept a certain masterfulness, and instead of resisting it she beamed. rum-ti-tum! "if you want to spoil me," he said lazily, "you will bring me that footstool to rest my heroic feet upon." she smiled and brought it. she even brought a cushion for his heroic head. adoring little thing that she was, he must be good to her. he was now looking forward eagerly to walking home with her. i can't tell you how delicious he meant to be. when she said she must go, he skipped upstairs for his hat, and wafted the gods their kiss. but it was always the unexpected that lay in wait for tommy. he and she were no sooner out of the house than grizel said, "i did not mention the glove, as i was not sure whether elspeth knew of it." he had turned stone-cold. "corp and gavinia told me," she went on quietly, "before i had time to stop them. of course i should have preferred not to know until i heard it from yourself." oh, how cold he was! "but as i do know, i want to tell you that it makes me very happy." they had stopped, for his legs would carry him no farther. "get us out of this," every bit of him was crying, but not one word could tommy say. "i knew you would want to have it again," grizel said brightly, producing the little parcel from her pocket, "so i brought it to you." the frozen man took it and held it passively in his hand. his gods had flown away. no, they were actually giving him another chance. what was this grizel was saying? "i have not looked at it, for to take it out of its wrapping would have been profanation. corp told me she was a london girl; but i know nothing more, not even her name. you are not angry with me for speaking of her, are you? surely i may wish you and her great happiness." he was saved. the breath came back quickly to him. he filled like a released ball. had ever a heart better right to expand? grizel, looking so bright and pleased, had snatched him from the slugs. surely you will be nice to your preserver, tommy. you will not be less grateful than a country boy? ah me! not even yet have we plumed his vanity. but we are to do it now. he could not have believed it of himself, but in the midst of his rejoicings he grew bitter, and for no better reason than that grizel's face was bright. "i am glad," he said quite stiffly, "that it is such pleasant news to you." his tone surprised her; but she was in a humble mood, and answered, without being offended: "it is sweet news to me. how could you think otherwise?" so it was sweet to her to think that he was another's! he who had been modestly flattering himself a few moments ago that he must take care not to go too far with this admiring little girl! o woman, woman, how difficult it is to know you, and how often, when we think we know you at last, have we to begin again at the beginning! he had never asked an enduring love from her; but surely, after all that had passed between them, he had a right to expect a little more than this. was it maidenly to bring the glove and hand it to him without a tremor? if she could do no more, she might at least have turned a little pale when corp told her of it, and then have walked quietly away. next day she could have referred to it, with just the slightest break in her voice. but to come straight to him, looking delighted-- "and, after all, i am entitled to know first," grizel said, "for i am your oldest friend." friend! he could not help repeating the word with bitter emphasis. for her sake, as it seemed to him now, he had flung himself into the black waters of the drumly. he had worn her glove upon his heart. it had been the world to him. and she could stand there and call herself his friend. the cup was full. tommy nodded his head sorrowfully three times. "so be it, grizel," he said huskily; "so be it!" sentiment could now carry him where it willed. the reins were broken. "i don't understand." neither did he; but, "why should you? what is it to you!" he cried wildly. "better not to understand, for it might give you five minutes' pain, grizel, a whole five minutes, and i should be sorry to give you that." "what have i said! what have i done!" "nothing," he answered her, "nothing. you have been most exemplary; you have not even got any entertainment out of it. the thing never struck you as possible. it was too ludicrous!" he laughed harshly at the package, which was still in his hand. "poor little glove," he said; "and she did not even take the trouble to look at you. you might have looked at it, grizel. i have looked at it a good deal. it meant something to me once upon a time when i was a vain fool. take it and look at it before you fling it away. it will make you laugh." now she knew, and her arms rocked convulsively. joy surged to her face, and she drove it back. she looked at him steadfastly over the collar of her jacket; she looked long, as if trying to be suspicious of him for the last time. ah, grizel, you are saying good-bye to your best friend! as she looked at him thus there was a mournfulness in her brave face that went to tommy's heart and almost made a man of him. it was as if he knew that she was doomed. "grizel," he cried, "don't look at me in that way!" and he would have taken the package from her, but she pressed it to her heart. "don't come with me," she said almost in a whisper, and went away. he did not go back to the house. he wandered into the country, quite objectless when he was walking fastest, seeing nothing when he stood still and stared. elation and dread were his companions. what elation whispered he could not yet believe; no, he could not believe it. while he listened he knew that he must be making up the words. by and by he found himself among the shadows of the den. if he had loved grizel he would have known that it was here she would come, to the sweet den where he and she had played as children, the spot where she had loved him first. she had always loved him--always, always. he did not know what figure it was by the cuttle well until he was quite close to her. she was kissing the glove passionately, and on her eyes lay little wells of gladness. chapter xiii little wells of gladness it was dusk, and she had not seen him. in the silent den he stood motionless within a few feet of her, so amazed to find that grizel really loved him that for the moment self was blotted out of his mind. he remembered he was there only when he heard his heavy breathing, and then he tried to check it that he might steal away undiscovered. divers emotions fought for the possession of him. he was in the meeting of many waters, each capable of whirling him where it chose, but two only imperious: the one the fierce joy of being loved; the other an agonizing remorse. he would fain have stolen away to think this tremendous thing over, but it tossed him forward. "grizel," he said in a husky whisper, "grizel!" she did not start; she was scarcely surprised to hear his voice: she had been talking to him, and he had answered. had he not been there she would still have heard him answer. she could not see him more clearly now than she had been seeing him through those little wells of gladness. her love for him was the whole of her. he came to her with the opening and the shutting of her eyes; he was the wind that bit her and the sun that nourished her; he was the lowliest object by the cuttle well, and he was the wings on which her thoughts soared to eternity. he could never leave her while her mortal frame endured. when he whispered her name she turned her swimming eyes to him, and a strange birth had come into her face. her eyes said so openly they were his, and her mouth said it was his, her whole being went out to him; in the radiance of her face could be read immortal designs: the maid kissing her farewell to innocence was there, and the reason why it must be, and the fate of the unborn; it was the first stirring for weal or woe of a movement that has no end on earth, but must roll on, growing lusty on beauty or dishonour till the crack of time. this birth which comes to every woman at that hour is god's gift to her in exchange for what he has taken away, and when he has given it he stands back and watches the man. to this man she was a woman transformed. the new bloom upon her face entranced him. he knew what it meant. he was looking on the face of love at last, and it was love coming out smiling from its hiding-place because it thought it had heard him call. the artist in him who had done this thing was entranced, as if he had written an immortal page. but the man was appalled. he knew that he had reached the critical moment in her life and his, and that if he took one step farther forward he could never again draw back. it would be comparatively easy to draw back now. to remain a free man he had but to tell her the truth; and he had a passionate desire to remain free. he heard the voices of his little gods screaming to him to draw back. but it could be done only at her expense, and it seemed to him that to tell this noble girl, who was waiting for him, that he did not need her, would be to spill for ever the happiness with which she overflowed, and sap the pride that had been the marrow of her during her twenty years of life. not thus would grizel have argued in his place; but he could not change his nature, and it was sentimental tommy, in an agony of remorse for having brought dear grizel to this pass, who had to decide her future and his in the time you may take to walk up a garden path. either her mistake must be righted now or kept hidden from her for ever. he was a sentimentalist, but in that hard moment he was trying to be a man. he took her in his arms and kissed her reverently, knowing that after this there could be no drawing back. in that act he gave himself loyally to her as a husband. he knew he was not worthy of her, but he was determined to try to be a little less unworthy; and as he drew her to him a slight quiver went through her, so that for a second she seemed to be holding back--for a second only, and the quiver was the rustle of wings on which some part of the grizel we have known so long was taking flight from her. then she pressed close to him passionately, as if she grudged that pause. i love her more than ever, far more; but she is never again quite the grizel we have known. he was not unhappy; in the near hereafter he might be as miserable as the damned--the little gods were waiting to catch him alone and terrify him; but for the time, having sacrificed himself, tommy was aglow with the passion he had inspired. he so loved the thing he had created that in his exultation he mistook it for her. he believed all he was saying. he looked at her long and adoringly, not, as he thought, because he adored her, but because it was thus that look should answer look; he pressed her wet eyes reverently because thus it was written in his delicious part; his heart throbbed with hers that they might beat in time. he did not love, but he was the perfect lover; he was the artist trying in a mad moment to be as well as to do. love was their theme; but how to know what was said when between lovers it is only the loose change of conversation that gets into words? the important matters cannot wait so slow a messenger; while the tongue is being charged with them, a look, a twitch of the mouth, a movement of a finger, transmits the story, and the words arrive, like blücher, when the engagement is over. with a sudden pretty gesture--ah, so like her mother's!--she held the glove to his lips. "it is sad because you have forgotten it." "i have kissed it so often, grizel, long before i thought i should ever kiss you!" she pressed it to her innocent breast at that. and had he really done so? and which was the first time, and the second, and the third? oh, dear glove, you know so much, and your partner lies at home in a drawer knowing nothing. grizel felt sorry for the other glove. she whispered to tommy as a terrible thing, "i think i love this glove even more than i love you--just a tiny bit more." she could not part with it. "it told me before you did," she explained, begging him to give it back to her. "if you knew what it was to me in those unhappy days, grizel!" "i want it to tell me," she whispered. and did he really love her? yes, she knew he did, but how could he? "oh, grizel, how could i help it!" he had to say it, for it is the best answer; but he said it with a sigh, for it sounded like a quotation. but how could she love him? i think her reply disappointed him. "because you wanted me to," she said, with shining eyes. it is probably the commonest reason why women love, and perhaps it is the best; but his vanity was wounded--he had expected to hear that he was possessed of an irresistible power. "not until i wanted you to?" "i think i always wanted you to want me to," she replied, naïvely; "but i would never have let myself love you," she continued very seriously, "until i was sure you loved me." "you could have helped it, grizel!" he drew a blank face. "i did help it," she answered. "i was always fighting the desire to love you,--i can see that plainly,--and i always won. i thought god had made a sort of compact with me that i should always be the kind of woman i wanted to be if i resisted the desire to love you until you loved me." "but you always had the desire!" he said eagerly. "always, but it never won. you see, even you did not know of it. you thought i did not even like you! that was why you wanted to prevent corp's telling me about the glove, was it not? you thought it would pain me only! do you remember what you said: 'it is to save you acute pain that i want to see corp first'?" all that seemed so long ago to tommy now! "how could you think it would be a pain to me!" she cried. "you concealed your feelings so well, grizel." "did i not?" she said joyously. "oh, i wanted to be so careful, and i was careful. that is why i am so happy now." her face was glowing. she was full of odd, delightful fancies to-night. she kissed her hand to the gloaming; no, not to the gloaming--to the little hunted, anxious girl she had been. [illustration: "she is standing behind that tree looking at us."] "she is looking at us," she said. "she is standing behind that tree looking at us. she wanted so much to grow into a dear, good woman that she often comes and looks at me eagerly. sometimes her face is so fearful! i think she was a little alarmed when she heard you were coming back." "she never liked me, grizel." "hush!" said grizel, in a low voice. "she always liked you; she always thought you a wonder. but she would be distressed if she heard me telling you. she thought it would not be safe for you to know. i must tell him now, dearest, darlingest," she suddenly called out boldly to the little self she had been so quaintly fond of because there was no other to love her. "i must tell him everything now, for you are no longer your own. you are his." "she has gone away rocking her arms," she said to tommy. "no," he replied. "i can hear her. she is singing because you are so happy." "she never knew how to sing." "she has learned suddenly. everybody can sing who has anything to sing about. and do you know what she said about your dear wet eyes, grizel? she said they were just sweet. and do you know why she left us so suddenly? she ran home gleefully to stitch and dust and beat carpets, and get baths ready, and look after the affairs of everybody, which she is sure must be going to rack and ruin because she has been away for half an hour!" at his words there sparkled in her face the fond delight with which a woman assures herself that the beloved one knows her little weaknesses, for she does not truly love unless she thirsts to have him understand the whole of her, and to love her in spite of the foibles and for them. if he does not love you a little for the foibles, madam, god help you from the day of the wedding. but though grizel was pleased, she was not to be cajoled. she wandered with him through the den, stopping at the lair, and the queen's bower, and many other places where the little girl used to watch tommy suspiciously; and she called, half merrily, half plaintively: "are you there, you foolish girl, and are you wringing your hands over me? i believe you are jealous because i love him best." "we have loved each other so long, she and i," she said apologetically to tommy. "ah," she said impulsively, when he seemed to be hurt, "don't you see it is because she doubts you that i am so sorry for the poor thing!" "dearest, darlingest," she called to the child she had been, "don't think that you can come to me when he is away, and whisper things against him to me. do you think i will listen to your croakings, you poor, wet-faced thing!" "you child!" said tommy. "do you think me a child because i blow kisses to her?" "do you like me to think you one?" he replied. "i like you to call me child," she said, "but not to think me one." "then i shall think you one," said he, triumphantly. he was so perfect an instrument for love to play upon that he let it play on and on, and listened in a fever of delight. how could grizel have doubted tommy? the god of love himself would have sworn that there were a score of arrows in him. he wanted to tell elspeth and the others at once that he and grizel were engaged. i am glad to remember that it was he who urged this, and grizel who insisted on its being deferred. he even pretended to believe that elspeth would exult in the news; but grizel smiled at him for saying this to please her. she had never been a great friend of elspeth's, they were so dissimilar; and she blamed herself for it now, and said she wanted to try to make elspeth love her before they told her. tommy begged her to let him tell his sister at once; but she remained obdurate, so anxious was she that her happiness, when revealed, should bring only happiness to others. there had not come to grizel yet the longing to be recognized as his by the world. this love was so beautiful and precious to her that there was an added joy in sharing the dear secret with him alone; it was a live thing that might escape if she let anyone but him look between the fingers that held it. the crowning glory of loving and being loved is that the pair make no real progress; however far they have advanced into the enchanted land during the day, they must start again from the frontier next morning. last night they had dredged the lovers' lexicon for superlatives and not even blushed; to-day is that the heavens cracking or merely someone whispering "dear"? all this was very strange and wonderful to grizel. she had never been so young in the days when she was a little girl. "i can never be quite so happy again!" she had said, with a wistful smile, on the night of nights; but early morn, the time of the day that loves maidens best, retold her the delicious secret as it kissed her on the eyes, and her first impulse was to hurry to tommy. when joy or sorrow came to her now, her first impulse was to hurry with it to him. was he still the same, quite the same? she, whom love had made a child of, asked it fearfully, as if to gaze upon him openly just at first might be blinding; and he pretended not to understand. "the same as what, grizel?" "are you still--what i think you?" "ah, grizel, not at all what you think me." "but you do?" "coward! you are afraid to say the word. but i do!" "you don't ask whether i do!" "no." "why? is it because you are so sure of me?" he nodded, and she said it was cruel of him. "you don't mean that, grizel." "don't i?" she was delighted that he knew it. "no; you mean that you like me to be sure of it." "but i want to be sure of it myself." "you are. that was why you asked me if i loved you. had you not been sure of it you would not have asked." "how clever you are!" she said gleefully, and caressed a button of his velvet coat. "but you don't know what that means! it does not mean that i love you--not merely that." "no; it means that you are glad i know you so well. it is an ecstasy to you, is it not, to feel that i know you so well?" "it is sweet," she said. she asked curiously: "what did you do last night, after you left me? i can't guess, though i daresay you can guess what i did." "you put the glove under your pillow, grizel." (she had got the precious glove.) "however could you guess!" "it has often lain under my own." "oh!" said grizel, breathless. "could you not guess even that?" "i wanted to be sure. did it do anything strange when you had it there?" "i used to hear its heart beating." "yes, exactly! but this is still more remarkable. i put it away at last in my sweetest drawer, and when i woke in the morning it was under my pillow again. you could never have guessed that." "easily. it often did the same thing with me." "story-teller! but what did you do when you went home?" he could not have answered that exhaustively, even if he would, for his actions had been as contradictory as his emotions. he had feared even while he exulted, and exulted when plunged deep in fears. there had been quite a procession of tommies all through the night; one of them had been a very miserable man, and the only thing he had been sure of was that he must be true to grizel. but in so far as he did answer he told the truth. "i went for a stroll among the stars," he said. "i don't know when i got to bed. i have found a way of reaching the stars. i have to say only, 'grizel loves me,' and i am there." "without me!" "i took you with me." "what did we see? what did we do?" "you spoiled everything by thinking the stars were badly managed. you wanted to take the supreme control. they turned you out." "and when we got back to earth?" "then i happened to catch sight of myself in a looking-glass, and i was scared. i did not see how you could possibly love me. a terror came over me that in the den you must have mistaken me for someone else. it was a darkish night, you know." "you are wanting me to say you are handsome." "no, no; i am wanting you to say i am very, very handsome. tell me you love me, grizel, because i am beautiful." "perhaps," she replied, "i love you because your book is beautiful." "then good-bye for ever," he said sternly. "would not that please you?" "it would break my heart." "but i thought all authors--" "it is the commonest mistake in the world. we are simple creatures, grizel, and yearn to be loved for our face alone." "but i do love the book," she said, when they became more serious, "because it is part of you." "rather that," he told her, "than that you should love me because i am part of it. but it is only a little part of me, grizel; only the best part. it is tommy on tiptoes. the other part, the part that does not deserve your love, is what needs it most." "i am so glad!" she said eagerly. "i want to think you need me." "how i need you!" "yes, i think you do--i am sure you do; and it makes me so happy." "ah," he said, "now i know why grizel loves me." and perhaps he did know now. she loved to think that she was more to him than the new book, but was not always sure of it; and sometimes this saddened her, and again she decided that it was right and fitting. she would hasten to him to say that this saddened her. she would go just as impulsively to say that she thought it right. her discoveries about herself were many. "what is it to-day?" he would say, smiling fondly at her. "i see it is something dreadful by your face." "it is something that struck me suddenly when i was thinking of you, and i don't know whether to be glad or sorry." "then be glad, you child." "it is this: i used to think a good deal of myself; the people here thought me haughty; they said i had a proud walk." "you have it still," he assured her; the vitality in her as she moved was ever a delicious thing to him to look upon. "yes, i feel i have," she admitted, "but that is only because i am yours; and it used to be because i was nobody's!" "do you expect my face to fall at that?" "no, but i thought so much of myself once, and now i am nobody at all. at first it distressed me, and then i was glad, for it makes you everything and me nothing. yes, i am glad, but i am just a little bit sorry that i should be so glad!" "poor grizel!" said he. "poor grizel!" she echoed. "you are not angry with me, are you, for being almost sorry for her? she used to be so different. 'where is your independence, grizel?' i say to her, and she shakes her sorrowful head. the little girl i used to be need not look for me any more; if we were to meet in the den she would not know me now." ah, if only tommy could have loved in this way! he would have done it if he could. if we could love by trying, no one would ever have been more loved than grizel. "am i to be condemned because i cannot?" he sometimes said to himself in terrible anguish; for though pretty thoughts came to him to say to her when she was with him, he suffered anguish for her when he was alone. he knew it was tragic that such love as hers should be given to him, but what more could he do than he was doing? chapter xiv elspeth ever since the beginning of the book we have been neglecting elspeth so pointedly that were she not the most forgiving creature we should be afraid to face her now. you are not angry with us, are you, elspeth? we have been sitting with you, talking with you, thinking of you between the chapters, and the only reason why you have so seldom got into them is that our pen insisted on running after your fascinating brother. (that is the way to get round her.) tommy, it need not be said, never neglected her. the mere fact of his having an affair of his own at present is a sure sign that she is comfortable, for, unless all were well with elspeth, no venture could have lured him from her side. "now i am ready for you," he said to the world when elspeth had been, figuratively speaking, put to sleep; but until she was nicely tucked up the world had to wait. he was still as in his boyhood, when he had to see her with a good book in her hand before he could set off on deeds of darkness. if this was but the story of a brother and sister, there were matter for it that would make the ladies want to kiss tommy on the brow. that dr. gemmell disliked or at least distrusted him, tommy knew before their acquaintance was an hour old; yet that same evening he had said cordially to elspeth: "this young doctor has a strong face." she was evidently glad that tommy had noticed it. "do you think him handsome?" she inquired. "decidedly so," he replied, very handsomely, for it is an indiscreet question to ask of a plain man. there was nothing small about tommy, was there? he spoke thus magnanimously because he had seen that the doctor liked elspeth, and that she liked him for liking her. elspeth never spoke to him of such things, but he was aware that an extra pleasure in life came to her when she was admired; it gave her a little of the self-confidence she so wofully lacked; the woman in her was stirred. take such presents as these to elspeth, and tommy would let you cast stones at himself for the rest of the day, and shake your hand warmly on parting. in london elspeth had always known quickly, almost at the first clash of eyes, whether tommy's friends were attracted by her, but she had not known sooner than he. those acquaintanceships had seldom ripened; but perhaps this was because, though he and she avoided talking of them, he was all the time taking such terrifying care of her. she was always little elspeth to him, for whom he had done everything since the beginning of her, a frail little female counterpart of himself that would never have dared to grow up had he not always been there to show her the way, like a stronger plant in the same pot. it was even pathetic to him that elspeth should have to become a woman while he was a man, and he set to, undaunted, to help her in this matter also. to be admired of men is a woman's right, and he knew it gratified elspeth; therefore he brought them in to admire her. but beyond profound respect they could not presume to go, he was watching them so vigilantly. he had done everything for her so far, and it was evident that he was now ready to do the love-making also, or at least to sift it before it reached her. elspeth saw this, and perhaps it annoyed her once or twice, though on the whole she was deeply touched; and the young gentlemen saw it also: they saw that he would not leave them alone with her for a moment, and that behind his cordial manner sat a tommy who had his eye on them. subjects suitable for conversation before elspeth seemed in presence of this strict brother to be limited. you had just begun to tell her the plot of the new novel when t. sandys fixed you with his gleaming orb. you were in the middle of the rumour about mrs. golightly when he let the poker fall. if the newsboys were yelling the latest horror he quickly closed the window. he made all visitors self-conscious. if she was not in the room few of them dared to ask if she was quite well. they paled before expressing the hope that she would feel stronger to-morrow. yet when tommy went up to sit beside her, which was the moment the front door closed, he took care to mention, incidentally, that they had been inquiring after her. one of them ventured on her birthday to bring her flowers, but could not present them, tommy looked so alarming. a still more daring spirit once went the length of addressing her by her christian name. she did not start up haughtily (the most timid of women are a surprise at times), but the poker fell with a crash. he knew elspeth so well that he could tell exactly how these poor young men should approach her. as an artist as well as a brother, he frowned when they blundered. he would have liked to be the medium through which they talked, so that he could give looks and words their proper force. he had thought it all out so thoroughly for elspeth's benefit that in an hour he could have drawn out a complete guide for her admirers. "at the first meeting look at her wistfully when she does not see you. she will see you." it might have been rule one. rule two: "don't talk so glibly." how often that was what the poker meant! being herself a timid creature, elspeth showed best among the timid, because her sympathetic heart immediately desired to put them at their ease. the more glibly they could talk, the less, she knew, were they impressed by her. even a little boorishness was more complimentary than chatter. sometimes when she played on the piano which tommy had hired for her, the visitor was so shy that he could not even mutter "thank you" to his hat; yet she might play to him again, and not to the gallant who remarked briskly: "how very charming! what is that called?" to talk disparagingly of other women is so common a way among men of penetrating into the favour of one that, of course, some tried it with elspeth. tommy could not excuse such blundering, for they were making her despise them. he got them out of the house, and then he and she had a long talk, not about them, but about men and women in general, from which she gathered once again that there was nobody like tommy. when they bade each other good-night, she would say to him: "i think you are the one perfect gentleman in the world." or he might say: "you expect so much of men, elspeth." to which her reply: "you have taught me to do it, and now i expect others to be like you." sometimes she would even say: "when i see you so fond of me, and taking such care of me, i am ashamed. you think me so much better than i am. you consider me so pure and good, while i know that i am often mean, and even have wicked thoughts. it makes me ashamed, but so proud of you, for i see that you are judging me by yourself." and then this tommy would put the gas out softly and go to his own room, and, let us hope, blush a little. one stripling had proposed to elspeth, and on her agitatedly declining him, had flung out of the room in a pet. it spoiled all her after-thoughts on the subject, and so roused her brother's indignation with the fellow. if the great baby had only left all the arrangements to tommy, he could so easily have made that final scene one which elspeth would remember with gratification for the remainder of her days; for, of course, pride in the offer could not be great unless she retained her respect for the man who made it. from the tremulous proposal and the manly acceptance of his fate to his dignified exit ("don't grieve for me, miss sandys; you never gave me the least encouragement, and to have loved you will always make me a better man"), even to a touching way of closing the door with one long, last, lingering look, tommy could have fitted him like a tailor. from all which it will be seen that our splendid brother thought exclusively of what was best for elspeth, and was willing that the gentlemen, having served their purpose, should, if it pleased them, go hang. also, though he thought out every other possible move for the suitor, it never struck him to compose a successful proposal, for the simple reason that he was quite certain elspeth would have none of them. their attentions pleased her; but exchange tommy for one of them--never! he knew it from her confessions at all stages of her life; he had felt it from the days when he began to be father and mother to her as well as brother. in his heart he believed there was something of his own odd character in elspeth which made her as incapable of loving as himself, and some of his devotion to her was due to this belief; for perhaps nothing touches us to the quick more than the feeling that another suffers under our own curse; certainly nothing draws two souls so close together in a lonely comradeship. but though tommy had reflected about these things, he did not trouble elspeth with his conclusions. he merely gave her to understand that he loved her and she loved him so much that neither of them had any love to give to another. it was very beautiful, elspeth thought, and a little tragic. "you are quite sure that you mean that," she might ask timidly, "and that you are not flinging away your life on me?" "you are all i need," he answered cheerily, and he believed it. or, if he was in another mood, he might reflect that perhaps he was abstaining from love for elspeth's sake, and that made him cheery also. and now david gemmell was the man, and tommy genially forgave him all else for liking elspeth. he invited the doctor, who so obviously distrusted him, to drop in of an evening for a game at the dambrod (which they both abominated, but it was an easy excuse); he asked him confidentially to come in and see aaron, who had been coughing last night; he put on all the airs of a hail-fellow-well-met, though they never became him, and sat awkwardly on his face. david always seemed eager to come, and tried to rise above his suspicions of tommy, as tommy saw, and failed, as tommy saw again. elspeth dosed the doctor with stories of her brother's lovely qualities, and tommy, the forgiving, honestly pitied the poor man for having to listen to them. he knew that if all went well gemmell would presently propose, and find that elspeth (tearful at having to strike a blow) could not accept him; but he did not look forward maliciously to this as his revenge on the doctor; he was thinking merely of what was good for elspeth. there was no open talk about david between the brother and sister. some day, tommy presumed, she would announce that the doctor had asked her to marry him; and oh, how sorry she was; and oh, what a good man he was; and oh, tommy knew she had never encouraged him; and oh, she could never leave tommy! but until that day arrived they avoided talking directly about what brought gemmell there. that he came to see elspeth neither of them seemed to conceive as possible. did tommy chuckle when he saw david's eyes following her? no; solemn as a cat blinking at the fire; noticed nothing. the most worldly chaperon, the most loving mother, could not have done more for elspeth. yet it was not done to find her a husband, but quite the reverse, as we have seen. on reflection tommy must smile at what he has been doing, but not while he is working the figures. the artist never smiles at himself until afterwards. and now he not only wondered at times how elspeth and david were getting on, but whether she noticed how he was getting on with grizel; for in matters relating to tommy elspeth was almost as sharp as he in matters that related to her, and he knew it. when he proposed to elspeth that they should ask gemmell to go fishing with them on the morrow ("he has been overworked of late and it would do him good") he wanted to add, in a careless voice, "we might invite grizel also," but could not; his lips suddenly went dry. and when elspeth said the words that were so difficult to him, he wondered, "did she say that because she knew i wished it?" but he decided that she did not, for she was evidently looking forward to to-morrow, and he knew she would be shuddering if she thought her tommy was slipping. "i am so glad it was she who asked me," grizel said to him when he told her. "don't you see what it means? it means that she wants to get you out of the way! you are not everything to her now as you used to be. are you glad, glad?" "if i could believe it!" tommy said. "what else could make her want to be alone with him?" nothing else could have made grizel want to be alone with him, and she must always judge others by herself. but tommy knew that elspeth was different, and that a girl with some of himself in her might want to be alone with a man who admired her without wanting to marry him. chapter xv by prosen water that day by the banks of prosen water was one of grizel's beautiful memories. all the days when she thought he loved her became beautiful memories. it was the time of reds and whites, for the glory of the broom had passed, except at great heights, and the wild roses were trooping in. when the broom is in flame there seems to be no colour but yellow; but when the wild roses come we remember that the broom was flaunting. it was not quite a lady, for it insisted on being looked at; while these light-hearted things are too innocent to know that there is anyone to look. grizel was sitting by the side of the stream, adorning her hat fantastically with roses red and white and some that were neither. they were those that cannot decide whether they look best in white or red, and so waver for the whole of their little lives between the two colours; there are many of them, and it is the pathetic thing about wild roses. she did not pay much heed to her handiwork. what she was saying to herself was that in another minute he and she would be alone. nothing else in the world mattered very much. every bit of her was conscious of it as the supreme event. her fingers pressed it upon the flowers. it was in her eyes as much as in her heart. he went on casting his line, moving from stone to stone, dropping down the bank, ascending it, as if the hooking of a trout was something to him. was he feeling to his marrow that as soon as those other two figures rounded the bend in the stream he and she would have the world to themselves? ah, of course he felt it, but was it quite as much to him as it was to her? "not quite so much," she said bravely to herself. "i don't want it to be quite so much--but nearly." [illustration: she did not look up, she waited.] and now they were alone as no two can be except those who love; for when the third person leaves them they have a universe to themselves, and it is closed in by the heavens, and the air of it is the consciousness of each other's presence. she sat motionless now--trembling, exulting. she could no longer hear the talking of the water, but she heard his step. he was coming slowly towards her. she did not look up--she waited; and while she waited time was annihilated. he was coming to her to treat her as if she were a fond child; that she, of all women, could permit it was still delicious to him, and a marvel. she had let him do it yesterday, but perhaps she had regained her independence in the night. as he hesitated he became another person. in a flood of feeling he had a fierce desire to tell her the truth about himself. but he did not know what it was. he put aside his rod, and sat down very miserably beside her. "grizel, i suppose i am a knave." his lips parted to say it, but no words came. she had given him an adorable look that stopped them as if her dear hand had been placed upon his mouth. was he a knave? he wanted honestly to know. he had not tried to make her love him. had he known in time he would even have warned her against it. he would never have said he loved her had she not first, as she thought, found it out; to tell her the truth then would have been brutal. he had made believe in order that she might remain happy. was it even make-belief? assuredly he did love her in his own way, in the only way he was capable of. she was far more to him than any other person except elspeth. he delighted in her, and would have fought till he dropped rather than let any human being injure her. all his feelings for her were pure. he was prepared to marry her; but if she had not made that mistake, oh, what a delight it would have been to him never to marry anyone! he felt keenly miserable. "grizel, i seem to be different from all other men. there seems to be some curse upon me that makes me unable to love as they do. i want to love you, dear one; you are the only woman i ever wanted to love; but apparently i can't. i have decided to go on with this thing because it seems best for you; but is it? i would tell you all and leave the decision to you, were it not that i fear you would think i wanted you to let me off." it would have been an honest speech, and he might have said it had he begun at once, for it was in a passion to be out, so desirous was he that dear grizel should not be deceived; but he tried its effect first upon himself, and as he went on the tragedy he saw mastered him. he forgot that she was there, except as a figure needed to complete the picture of the man who could not love. he saw himself a splendidly haggard creature with burning eyes standing aside while all the world rolled by in pursuit of the one thing needful. it was a river, and he must stand parched on the bank for ever and ever. should he keep that sorrowful figure a man or turn it into a woman? he tried a woman. she was on the bank now, her arms outstretched to the flood. ah! she would be so glad to drink, though she must drown. grizel saw how mournful he had become as he gazed upon her. in his face she had been seeing all the glories that can be given to mortals. thoughts had come to her that drew her nearer to her god. her trust in him stretched to eternity. all that was given to her at that moment she thought was also given to him. she seemed to know why, with love lighting up their souls to each other, he could yet grow mournful. "oh," she cried, with a movement that was a passionate caress, "do you indeed love me so much as that? i never wanted you to love me quite so much as that!" it brought him back to himself, but without a start. those sudden returns to fact had ceased to bewilder him; they were grown so common that he passed between dreams and reality as through tissue-paper. "i did not mean," she said at last, in a tremor, "that i wanted you to love me less, but i am almost sorry that you love me quite so much." he dared say nothing, for he did not altogether understand. "i have those fears, too, sometimes," she went on; "i have had them when i was with you, but more often when i was alone. they come to me suddenly, and i have such eager longings to run to you and tell you of them, and ask you to drive them away. but i never did it; i kept them to myself." "you could keep something back from me, grizel?" "forgive me," she implored; "i thought they would distress you, and i had such a desire to bring you nothing but happiness. to bear them by myself seemed to be helping you, and i was glad, i was proud, to feel myself of use to you even to that little extent. i did not know you had the same fears; i thought that perhaps they came only to women; have you had them before? fears," she continued, so wistfully, "that it is too beautiful to end happily? oh, have you heard a voice crying, 'it is too beautiful; it can never be'?" he saw clearly now; he saw so clearly that he was torn with emotion. "it is more than i can bear!" he said hoarsely. surely he loved her. "did you see me die?" she asked, in a whisper. "i have seen you die." "don't, grizel!" he cried. but she had to go on. "tell me," she begged; "i have told you." "no, no, never that," he answered her. "at the worst i have had only the feeling that you could never be mine." she smiled at that. "i am yours," she said softly; "nothing can take away that--nothing, nothing. i say it to myself a hundred times a day, it is so sweet. nothing can separate us but death; i have thought of all the other possible things, and none of them is strong enough. but when i think of your dying, oh, when i think of my being left without you!" she rocked her arms in a frenzy, and called him dearest, darlingest. all the sweet names that had been the child grizel's and the old doctor's were tommy's now. he soothed her, ah, surely as only a lover could soothe. she was his grizel, she was his beloved. no mortal could have been more impassioned than tommy. he must have loved her. it could not have been merely sympathy, or an exquisite delight in being the man, or the desire to make her happy again in the quickest way, or all three combined? whatever it was, he did not know; all he knew was that he felt every word he said, or seemed to feel it. "it is a punishment to me," grizel said, setting her teeth, "for loving you too much. i know i love you too much. i think i love you more than god." she felt him shudder. "but if i feel it," she said, shuddering also, yet unable to deceive herself, "what difference do i make by saying it? he must know it is so, whether i say it or not." there was a tremendous difference to tommy, but not of a kind he could explain, and she went on; she must tell him everything now. "i pray every night and morning; but that is nothing--everyone does it. i know i thank god sincerely; i thank him again and again and again. do you remember how, when i was a child, you used to be horrified because i prayed standing? i often say little prayers standing now; i am always thanking him for giving me you. but all the time it is a bargain with him. so long as you are well i love him, but if you were to die i would never pray again. i have never said it in words until to-day, but he must know it, for it is behind all my prayers. if he does not know, there cannot be a god." she was watching his face, half wofully, half stubbornly, as if, whatever might be the issue of those words, she had to say them. she saw how pained he was. to admit the possible non-existence of a god when you can so easily leave the subject alone was horrible to tommy. "i don't doubt him," she continued. "i have believed in him ever since the time when i was such a lonely child that i did not know his name. i shall always believe in him so long as he does not take you from me. but if he does, then i shall not believe in him any more. it may be wrong, but that is what i feel. "it makes you care less for me!" she cried in anguish. "no, no, dear." "i don't think it makes god care less for me," she said, very seriously. "i think he is pleased that i don't try to cheat him." somehow tommy felt uncomfortable at that. "there are people," he said vaguely, like one who thought it best to mention no names, who would be afraid to challenge god in that way." "he would not be worth believing in," she answered, "if he could be revengeful. he is too strong, and too loving, and too pitiful for that." but she took hold of tommy as if to protect him. had they been in physical danger, her first impulse would have been to get in front of him to protect him. the noblest women probably always love in this way, and yet it is those who would hide behind them that men seem to love the best. "i always feel--oh, i never can help feeling," she said, "that nothing could happen to you, that god himself could not take you from me, while i had hold of you." "grizel!" "i mean only that he could not have the heart," she said hastily. "no, i don't," she had to add. "i meant what you thought i meant. that is why i feel it would be so sweet to be married, so that i could be close to you every moment, and then no harm could come to you. i would keep such a grip of you, i should be such a part of you, that you could not die without my dying also. "oh, do you care less for me now?" she cried. "i can't see things as clearly as you do, dearest, darlingest. i have not a beautiful nature like yours. i am naturally rebellious. i have to struggle even to be as good as i am. there are evil things in my blood. you remember how we found out that. god knew it, too, and he is compassionate. i think he makes many pitying allowances for me. it is not wicked, is it, to think that?" "you used to know me too well, grizel, to speak of my beautiful nature," he said humbly. "i did think you vain," she replied. "how odd to remember that!" "but i was, and am." "i love to hear you proving you are not," said she, beaming upon him. "do you think," she asked, with a sudden change of manner to the childish, like one trying to coax a compliment out of him, "that i have improved at all during those last days? i think i am not quite such a horrid girl as i used to be; and if i am not, i owe it to you. i am so glad to owe it to you." she told him that she was trying to make herself a tiny bit more like him by studying his book. "it is not exactly the things you say of women that help me, for though they are lovely i am not sure that they are quite true. i almost hope they are not true; for if they are, then i am not even an average woman." she buried her face in his coat. "you say women are naturally purer than men, but i don't know. perhaps we are more cunning only. perhaps it is not even a thing to wish; for if we were, it would mean that we are good because there is less evil in us to fight against. dear, forgive me for saying that; it may be all wrong; but i think it is what nearly all women feel in their hearts, though they keep it locked up till they die. i don't even want you to believe me. you think otherwise of us, and it is so sweet of you that we try to be better than we are--to undeceive you would hurt so. it is not the book that makes me a better woman--it is the man i see behind it." he was too much moved to be able to reply--too much humbled. he vowed to himself that, whether he could love or not, he would be a good husband to this dear woman. "ah, grizel," he declared, by and by, "what a delicious book you are, and how i wish i had written you! with every word you say, something within me is shouting, 'am i not a wonder!' i warned you it would be so as soon as i felt that i had done anything really big, and i have. i have somehow made you love me. ladies and gentlemen," he exclaimed, addressing the river and the trees and the roses, "i have somehow made her love me! am i not a wonder?" grizel clapped her hands gaily; she was merry again. she could always be what tommy wanted her to be. "ladies and gentlemen," she cried, "how could i help it?" david had been coming back for his fly-book, and though he did not hear their words, he saw a light in grizel's face that suddenly set him thinking. for the rest of the day he paid little attention to elspeth; some of his answers showed her that he was not even listening to her. chapter xvi "how could you hurt your grizel so!" to concentrate on elspeth so that he might find out what was in her mind was, as we have seen, seldom necessary to tommy; for he had learned her by heart long ago. yet a time was now come when he had to concentrate, and even then he was doubtful of the result. so often he had put that mind of hers to rights that it was an open box to him, or had been until he conceived the odd notion that perhaps it contained a secret drawer. this would have been resented by most brothers, but tommy's chagrin was nothing compared to the exhilaration with which he perceived that he might be about to discover something new about woman. he was like the digger whose hand is on the point of closing on a diamond--a certain holiness added. what puzzled him was the state of affairs now existing between elspeth and the doctor. a week had elapsed since the fishing excursion, and david had not visited them. too busy? tommy knew that it is the busy people who can find time. could it be that david had proposed to her at the waterside? no, he could not read that in elspeth's face. he knew that she would be in distress lest her refusal should darken the doctor's life for too long a time; but yet (shake your fist at him, ladies, for so misunderstanding you!) he expected also to note in that sympathetic face a look of subdued triumph, and as it was not there, david could not have proposed. the fact of her not having told him about it at once did not prove to tommy that there had been no proposal. his feeling was that she would consider it too sacred a thing to tell even to him, but that it would force its way out in a week or two. on the other hand, she could not have resisted dropping shyly such remarks as these: "i think dr. gemmell is a noble man," or, "how wonderfully good dr. gemmell is to the poor!" also she would sometimes have given tommy a glance that said, "i wonder if you guess." had they quarrelled? tommy smiled. if it was but a quarrel he was not merely appeased--he was pleased. had he had the ordering of the affair, he would certainly have included a lovers' quarrel in it, and had it not been that he wanted to give her the pleasure of finding these things out for herself, he would have taken her aside and addressed her thus: "no need to look tragic, elspeth; for to a woman this must be really one of the most charming moments in the comedy. you feel that he would not have quarrelled had he had any real caring for you, and yet in your heart you know it is a proof that he has. to a woman, i who know assure you that nothing can be more delicious. your feeling for him, as you and i well know, is but a sentiment of attraction because he loves you as you are unable to love him, and as you are so pained by this quarrel, consider how much more painful it must be to him. you think you have been slighted; that when a man has seemed to like you so much you have a right to be told so by him, that you may help him with your sympathy. oh, elspeth, you think yourself unhappy just now when you are really in the middle of one of the pleasantest bits of it! love is a series of thrills, the one leading to the other, and, as your careful guardian, i would not have you miss one of them. you will come to the final bang quickly enough, and find it the finest thrill of all, but it is soon over. when you have had to tell him that you are not for him, there are left only the pleasures of memory, and the more of them there were, the more there will be to look back to. i beg you, elspeth, not to hurry; loiter rather, smelling the flowers and plucking them, for you may never be this way again." all these things he might have pointed out to elspeth had he wanted her to look at the matter rationally, but he had no such wish. he wanted her to enjoy herself as the blessed do, without knowing why. no pity for the man, you see, but no ill will to him. david was having his thrills also, and though the last of them would seem a staggerer to him at the time, it would gradually become a sunny memory. the only tragedy is not to have known love. so long as you have the experiences, it does not greatly matter whether your suit was a failure or successful. so tommy decided, but he feared at the same time that there had been no quarrel--that david had simply drawn back. how he saw through elspeth's brave attempts to show that she had never for a moment thought of david's having any feeling for her save ordinary friendship--yes, they were brave, but not brave enough for tommy. at times she would say something bitter about life (not about the doctor, for he was never mentioned), and it was painful to her brother to see gentle elspeth grown cynical. he suffered even more when her manner indicated that she knew she was too poor a creature to be loved by any man. tommy was in great woe about elspeth at this time. he was thinking much more about her than about grizel; but do not blame him unreservedly for that: the two women who were his dears were pulling him different ways, and he could not accompany both. he had made up his mind to be loyal to grizel, and so all his pity could go to elspeth. on the day he had his talk with the doctor, therefore, he had, as it were, put grizel aside only because she was happy just now, and so had not elspeth's need of him. the doctor and he had met on the hill, whence the few who look may see one of the fairest views in scotland. tommy was strolling up and down, and the few other persons on the hill were glancing with good-humoured suspicion at him, as we all look at celebrated characters. had he been happy he would have known that they were watching him, and perhaps have put his hands behind his back to give them more for their money, as the saying is; but he was miserable. his one consolation was that the blow he must strike elspeth when he told her of his engagement need not be struck just yet. david could not have chosen a worse moment, therefore, for saying so bluntly what he said: "i hear you are to be married. if so, i should like to congratulate you." tommy winced like one charged with open cruelty to his sister--charged with it, too, by the real criminal. "it is not true?" david asked quietly, and tommy turned from him glaring. "i am sorry i spoke of it, as it is not true," the doctor said after a pause, the crow's-feet showing round his eyes as always when he was in mental pain; and presently he went away, after giving tommy a contemptuous look. did tommy deserve that look? we must remember that he had wanted to make the engagement public at once; if he shrank from admitting it for the present, it was because of elspeth's plight. "grizel, you might have given her a little time to recover from this man's faithlessness," was what his heart cried. he believed that grizel had told david, and for the last time in his life he was angry with her. he strode down the hill savagely towards caddam wood, where he knew he should find her. soon he saw her. she was on one of the many tiny paths that lead the stranger into the middle of the wood and then leave him there maliciously or because they dare not venture any farther themselves. they could play no tricks on grizel, however, for she knew and was fond of them all. tommy had said that she loved them because they were such little paths, that they appealed to her like babies; and perhaps there was something in it. she came up the path with the swing of one who was gleefully happy. some of the thrums people, you remember, said that grizel strutted because she was so satisfied with herself, and if you like an ugly word, we may say that she strutted to-day. it was her whole being giving utterance to the joy within her that love had brought. as grizel came up the path on that bright afternoon, she could no more have helped strutting than the bud to open on the appointed day. she was obeying one of nature's laws. i think i promised long ago to tell you of the day when grizel would strut no more. well, this is the day. observe her strutting for the last time. it was very strange and touching to her to remember in the after years that she had once strutted, but it was still more strange and touching to tommy. she was like one overfilled with delight when she saw him. how could she know that he was to strike her? he did not speak. she was not displeased. when anything so tremendous happened as the meeting of these two, how could they find words at once? she bent and pressed her lips to his sleeve; but he drew away with a gesture that startled her. "you are not angry?" she said, stopping. "yes," he replied doggedly. "not with me?" her hand went to her heart. "with me!" a wounded animal could not have uttered a cry more pathetic. "not with me!" she clutched his arm. "have i no cause to be angry?" he said. she looked at him in bewilderment. could this be he? oh, could it be she? "cause? how could i give you cause?" it seemed unanswerable to her. how could grizel do anything that would give him the right to be angry with her? oh, men, men! will you never understand how absolutely all of her a woman's love can be? if she gives you everything, how can she give you more? she is not another person; she is part of you. does one finger of your hand plot against another? he told her sullenly of his scene with the doctor. "i am very sorry," she said; but her eyes were still searching for the reason why tommy could be angry with her. "you made me promise to tell no one," he said, "and i have kept my promise: but you----" the anguish that was grizel's then! "you can't think that i told him!" she cried, and she held out her arms as if to remind him of who she was. "you can believe that of your grizel?" "i daresay you have not done it wittingly; but this man has guessed, and he could never have guessed it from look or word of mine." "it must have been i!" she said slowly. "tell me," she cried like a suppliant, "how have i done it?" "your manner, your face," he answered; "it must have been that. i don't blame you. grizel, but--yes, it must have been that, and it is hard on me." he was in misery, and these words leaped out. they meant only that it was hard on him if elspeth had to be told of his engagement in the hour of her dejection. he did not mean to hurt grizel to the quick. however terrible the loss of his freedom might be to the man who could not love, he always intended to be true to her. but she gave the words a deeper meaning. she stood so still she seemed to be pondering, and at last she said quietly, as if they had been discussing some problem outside themselves: "yes, i think it must have been that." she looked long at him. "it is very hard on you," she said. "i feel sure it was that," she went on; and now her figure was erect, and again it broke, and sometimes there was a noble scorn in her voice, but more often there was only pitiful humility. "i feel sure it was that, for i have often wondered how everybody did not know. i have broken my promise. i used always to be able to keep a promise. i had every other fault,--i was hard and proud and intolerant,--but i was true. i think i was vain of that, though i see now it was only something i could not help; from the moment when i had a difficulty in keeping a promise, i ceased to keep it. i love you so much that i carry my love in my face for all to read. they cannot see me meet you without knowing the truth; they cannot hear me say your name but i betray myself; i show how i love you in every movement; i am full of you. how can anyone look at me and not see you? i should have been more careful--oh, i could have been so much more careful had i loved you a little less! it is very hard on you." the note of satire had died out of her voice; her every look and gesture carried in it nothing but love for him; but all the unhappy dog could say was something about self-respect. her mouth opened as if for bitterness; but no sound came. "how much self-respect do you think is left for me after to-day?" she said mournfully at last; and then she quickly took a step nearer her dear one, as if to caress the spot where these words had struck him. but she stopped, and for a moment she was the grizel of old. "have no fear," she said, with a trembling, crooked smile; "there is only one thing to be done now, and i shall do it. all the blame is mine. you shall not be deprived of your self-respect." he had not been asking for his freedom; but he heard it running to him now, and he knew that if he answered nothing he would be whistling it back for ever. a madness to be free at any cost swept over him. he let go his hold on self-respect, and clapped his hand on freedom. he answered nothing, and the one thing for her to do was to go; and she did it. but it was only for a moment that she could be altogether the grizel of old. she turned to take a long, last look at him; but the wofulness of herself was what she saw. she cried, with infinite pathos, "oh, how could you hurt your grizel so!" he controlled himself and let her go. his freedom was fawning on him, licking his hands and face, and in that madness he actually let grizel go. it was not until she was out of sight that he gave utterance to a harsh laugh. he knew what he was at that moment, as you and i shall never be able to know him, eavesdrop how we may. he flung himself down in a blaeberry-bed, and lay there doggedly, his weak mouth tightly closed. a great silence reigned; no, not a great silence, for he continued to hear the cry: "oh, how could you hurt your grizel so!" she scarcely knew that she had said it; but to him who knew what she had been, and what he had changed her into, and for what alone she was to blame, there was an unconscious pathos in it that was terrible. it was the epitome of all that was grizel, all that was adorable and all that was pitiful in her. it rang in his mind like a bell of doom. he believed its echo would not be quite gone from his ears when he died. if all the wise men in the world had met to consider how grizel could most effectively say farewell to tommy, they could not have thought out a better sentence. however completely he had put himself emotionally in her place with this same object, he would have been inspired by nothing quite so good. but they were love's dying words. he knew he could never again, though he tried, be to grizel what he had been. the water was spilled on the ground. she had thought him all that was glorious in man--that was what her love had meant; and it was spilled. there was only one way in which he could wound her more cruelly than she was already hurt, and that was by daring to ask her to love him still. to imply that he thought her pride so broken, her independence, her maidenly modesty, all that make up the loveliness of a girl, so lost that by entreaties he could persuade her to forgive him, would destroy her altogether. it would reveal to her how low he thought her capable of falling. i suppose we should all like to think that it would have been thus with grizel, but our wishes are of small account. it was not many minutes since she left tommy, to be his no more, his knife still in her heart; but she had not reached the end of the wood when all in front of her seemed a world of goblins, and a future without him not to be faced. he might beat her or scorn her, but not for an hour could she exist without him. she wrung her arms in woe; the horror of what she was doing tore her in pieces; but not all this prevented her turning back. it could not even make her go slowly. she did not walk back; she stole back in little runs. she knew it was her destruction, but her arms were outstretched to the spot where she had left him. he was no longer there, and he saw her between the firs before she could see him. as he realized what her coming back meant, his frame shook with pity for her. all the dignity had gone from her. she looked as shamed as a dog stealing back after it had been whipped. she knew she was shamed. he saw she knew it: the despairing rocking of her arms proved it; yet she was coming back to him in little runs. pity, chivalry, oh, surely love itself, lifted him to his feet, and all else passed out of him save an imperious desire to save her as much humiliation as he could--to give her back a few of those garments of pride and self-respect that had fallen from her. at least she should not think that she had to come all the way to him. with a stifled sob, he rose and ran up the path towards her. "grizel! it is you! my beloved! how could you leave me! oh, grizel, my love, how could you misunderstand me so!" she gave a glad cry. she sought feebly to hold him at arm's length, to look at him watchfully, to read him as in the old days; but the old days were gone. he strained her to him. oh, surely it was love at last! he thanked god that he loved at last. chapter xvii how tommy saved the flag he loved at last, but had no time to exult just now, for he could not rejoice with tommy while his dear one drooped in shame. ah, so well he understood that she believed she had done the unpardonable thing in woman, and that while she thought so she must remain a broken column. it was a great task he saw before him--nothing less than to make her think that what she had done was not shameful, but exquisite; that she had not tarnished the flag of love, but glorified it. artfulness, you will see, was needed; but, remember, he was now using all his arts in behalf of the woman he loved. "you were so long in coming back to me, grizel. the agony of it!" "did it seem long?" she spoke in a trembling voice, hiding her face in him. she listened like one anxious to seize his answer as it left his heart. "so long," he answered, "that it seemed to me we must be old when we met again. i saw a future without you stretching before me to the grave, and i turned and ran from it." "that is how i felt," she whispered. "you!" tommy cried, in excellent amazement. "what else could have made me come?" "i thought it was pity that had brought you--pity for me, grizel. i thought you had perhaps come back to be angry with me--" "how could i be!" she cried. "how could you help it, rather?" said he. "i was cruel, grizel; i spoke like a fool as well as like a dastard. but it was only anxiety for elspeth that made me do it. dear one, be angry with me as often as you choose, and whether i deserve it or not; but don't go away from me; never send me from you again. anything but that." it was how she had felt again, and her hold on him tightened with sudden joy. so well he knew what that grip meant! he did not tell her that he had not loved her fully until now. he would have liked to tell her how true love had been born in him as he saw her stealing back to him, but it was surely best for her not to know that any transformation had been needed. "i don't say that i love you more now than ever before," he said carefully, "but one thing i do know: that i never admired you quite so much." she looked up in surprise. "i mean your character," he said determinedly. "i have always known how strong and noble it was, but i never quite thought you could do anything so beautiful as this." "beautiful!" she could only echo the word. "many women, even of the best," he told her, "would have resorted to little feminine ways of humbling such a blunderer as i have been: they would have spurned him for weeks; made him come to them on his knees; perhaps have thought that his brutality of a moment outweighed all his love. when i saw you coming to meet me half-way--oh, grizel, tell me that you were doing that?" "yes, yes, yes!" she answered eagerly, so that she might not detain him a moment. "when i saw you i realized that you were willing to forgive me; that you were coming to say so; that no thought of lowering me first was in your mind; that yours was a love above the littleness of ordinary people: and the adorableness of it filled me with a glorious joy; i saw in that moment what woman in her highest development is capable of, and that the noblest is the most womanly." she said "womanly?" with a little cry. it had always been such a sweet word to her, and she thought it could never be hers again! "it is by watching you," he replied, "that i know the meaning of the word. i thought i knew long ago, but every day you give it a nobler meaning." if she could have believed it! for a second or two she tried to believe it, and then she shook her head. "how dear of you to think that of me!" she answered. she looked up at him with exquisite approval in her eyes. she had always felt that men should have high ideas about women. "but it was not to save you pain that i came back," she said bravely. there was something pathetic in the way the truth had always to come out of her. "i did not think you wanted me to come back. i never expected you to be looking for me, and when i saw you doing it, my heart nearly stopped for gladness. i thought you were wearied of me, and would be annoyed when you saw me coming back. i said to myself, 'if i go back i shall be a disgrace to womanhood,' but i came; and now do you know what my heart is saying, and always will be saying? it is that pride and honour and self-respect are gone. and the terrible thing is that i don't seem to care; i, who used to value them so much, am willing to let them go if you don't send me away from you. oh, if you can't love me any longer, let me still love you! that is what i came back to say." "grizel, grizel!" he cried. it was she who was wielding the knife now. "but it is true," she said. "we could so easily pretend that it isn't." that was not what he said, though it was at his heart. he sat down, saying: "this is a terrible blow, but better you should tell it to me than leave me to find it out." he was determined to save the flag for grizel, though he had to try all the tommy ways, one by one. "have i hurt you?" she asked anxiously. she could not bear to hurt him for a moment. "what did i say?" "it amounts to this," he replied huskily: "you love me, but you wish you did not; that is what it means." he expected her to be appalled by this; but she stood still, thinking it over. there was something pitiful in a grizel grown undecided. "do i wish i did not?" she said helplessly. "i don't know. perhaps that is what i do wish. ah, but what are wishes! i know now that they don't matter at all." "yes, they matter," he assured her, in the voice of one looking upon death. "if you no longer want to love me, you will cease to do it soon enough." his manner changed to bitterness. "so don't be cast down, grizel, for the day of your deliverance is at hand." but again she disappointed him, and as the flag must be saved at whatever cost, he said. "it has come already. i see you no longer love me as you did." her arms rose in anguish; but he went on ruthlessly: "you will never persuade me that you do; i shall never believe it again." i suppose it was a pitiable thing about grizel--it was something he had discovered weeks ago and marvelled over--that nothing distressed her so much as the implication that she could love him less. she knew she could not; but that he should think it possible was the strangest woe to her. it seemed to her to be love's only tragedy. we have seen how difficult it was for grizel to cry. when she said "how could you hurt your grizel so!" she had not cried, nor when she knew that if she went back to him her self-respect must remain behind. but a painful tear came to her eyes when he said that she loved him less. it almost unmanned him, but he proceeded, for her good: "i daresay you still care for me a little, as the rank and file of people love. what right had i, of all people, to expect a love so rare and beautiful as yours to last? it had to burn out, like a great fire, as such love always does. the experience of the world has proved it." "oh!" she cried, and her body was rocking. if he did not stop, she would weep herself to death. "yes, it seems sad," tommy continued; "but if ever man knew that it served him right, i know it. and they maintain, the wiseacres who have analyzed love, that there is much to be said in favour of a calm affection. the glory has gone, but the material comforts are greater, and in the end--" she sank upon the ground. he was bleeding for her, was tommy. he went on his knees beside her, and it was terrible to him to feel that every part of her was alive with anguish. he called her many sweet names, and she listened for them between her sobs; but still she sobbed. he could bear it no longer; he cried, and called upon god to smite him. she did not look up, but her poor hands pulled him back. "you said i do not love you the same!" she moaned. "grizel!" he answered, as if in sad reproof; "it was not i who said that--it was you. i put into words only what you have been telling me for the last ten minutes." "no, no," she cried. "oh, how could i!" he flung up his arms in despair. "is this only pity for me, grizel," he implored, looking into her face as if to learn his fate, "or is it love indeed?" "you know it is love--you know!" "but what kind of love?" he demanded fiercely. "is it the same love that it was? quick, tell me. i can't have less. if it is but a little less, you will kill me." the first gleam of sunshine swept across her face (and oh, how he was looking for it!). "do you want it to be the same--do you really want it? oh, it is, it is!" "and you would not cease to love me if you could?" "no, no, no!" she would have come closer to him, but he held her back. "one moment, grizel," he said in a hard voice that filled her with apprehension. "there must be no second mistake. in saying that love, and love alone, brought you back, you are admitting, are you not, that you were talking wildly about loss of pride and honour? you did the loveliest thing you have ever done when you came back. if i were you, my character would be ruined from this hour--i should feel so proud of myself." she smiled at that, and fondled his hand. "if you think so," she said, "all is well." but he would not leave it thus. "you must think so also," he insisted; and when she still shook her head, "then i am proud of your love no longer," said he, doggedly. "how proud of it i have been! a man cannot love a woman without reverencing her, without being touched to the quick a score of times a day by the revelations she gives of herself--revelations of such beauty and purity that he is abashed in her presence. the unspoken prayers he offers up to god at those times he gives to her to carry. and when such a one returns his love, he is proud indeed. to me you are the embodiment of all that is fair in woman, and it is love that has made you so, that has taken away your little imperfections--love for me. ah, grizel, i was so proud to think that somehow i had done it; but even now, in the moment when your love has manifested itself most splendidly, you are ashamed of it, and what i respect and reverence you for most are changes that have come about against your will. if your love makes you sorrowful, how can i be proud of it? henceforth it will be my greatest curse." she started up, wringing her hands. it was something to have got her to her feet. "surely," he said, like one puzzled as well as pained by her obtuseness, "you see clearly that it must be so. true love, as i conceive it, must be something passing all knowledge, irresistible; something not to be resented for its power, but worshipped for it; something not to fight against, but to glory in. and such is your love; but you give the proof of it with shame, because your ideal of love is a humdrum sort of affection. that is all you would like to feel, grizel, and because you feel something deeper and nobler you say you have lost your self-respect. i am the man who has taken it from you. can i ever be proud of your love again?" he paused, overcome with emotion. "what it has been to me!" he cried. "i walked among my fellows as if i were a colossus. it inspired me at my work. i felt that there was nothing great i was not capable of, and all because grizel loved me." she stood trembling with delight at what he said, and with apprehension at what he seemed to threaten. his head being bent, he could not see her, and amid his grief he wondered a little what she was doing now. "but you spoke"--she said it timidly, as if to refer to the matter at all was cruel of her--"you spoke as if i was disgracing you because i could not conceal my love. you said it was hard on you." she pressed her hands together. "yes, that is what you said." this was awkward for tommy. "she believes i meant that," he cried hoarsely. "grizel believes that of me! i have behaved since then as if that was what i meant, have i? i meant only that it would be hard on me if elspeth learned of our love at the very moment when this man is treating her basely. i look as if i had meant something worse, do i? i know myself at last! grizel has shown me what i am." he covered his face with his hands. strong man as he was, he could not conceal his agony. "don't!" she cried. "if i was wrong--" "if you were wrong!" "i was wrong! i know i was wrong. somehow it was a mistake. i don't know how it arose. but you love me and you want me to love you still. that is all i know. i thought you did not, but you do. if you wanted me to come back----" "if i wanted it!" "i know you wanted it now, and i am no longer ashamed to have come. i am glad i came, and if you can still be proud of my love and respect me----" "oh, grizel, if!" "then i have got back my pride and my self-respect again. i cannot reason about it, but they have come back again." it was she who was trying to comfort him by this time, caressing his hair and his hands. but he would not be appeased at once; it was good for her to have something to do. "you are sure you are happy again, grizel? you are not pretending in order to please me?" "so happy!" "but your eyes are still wet." "that is because i have hurt you so. oh, how happy i should be if i could see you smile again!" "how i would smile if i saw you looking happy!" "then smile at once, sir," she could say presently, "for see how happy i am looking." and as she beamed on him once more he smiled as well as he was able to. grizel loved him so much that she actually knew when that face of his was smiling, and soon she was saying gaily to his eyes: "oh, silly eyes that won't sparkle, what is the use of you?" and she pressed her own upon them; and to his mouth she said: "mouth that does not know how to laugh--poor, tragic mouth!" he let her do nearly all the talking. she sat there crooning over him as if he were her child. and so the flag was saved. he begged her to let him tell their little world of his love for her, and especially was he eager to go straight with it to the doctor. but she would not have this. "david and elspeth shall know in good time," she said, very nobly. "i am sure they are fond of each other, and they shall know of our happiness on the day when they tell us of their own." and until that great day came she was not to look upon herself as engaged to tommy, and he must never kiss her again until they were engaged. i think it was a pleasure to her to insist on this. it was her punishment to herself for ever having doubted tommy. * * * * * part ii * * * * * chapter xviii the girl she had been as they sat amid the smell of rosin on that summer day, she told him, with a glance that said, "now you will laugh at me," what had brought her into caddam wood. "i came to rub something out." he reflected. "a memory?" "yes." "of me?" she nodded. "an unhappy memory?" "not to me," she replied, leaning on him. "i have no memory of you i would rub out, no, not the unhappiest one, for it was you, and that makes it dear. all memories, however sad, of loved ones become sweet, don't they, when we get far enough away from them?" "but to whom, then, is this memory painful, grizel?" again she cast that glance at him. "to her," she whispered. "'that little girl'!" "yes; the child i used to be. you see, she never grew up, and so they are not distant memories to her. i try to rub them out of her mind by giving her prettier things to think of. i go to the places where she was most unhappy, and tell her sweet things about you. i am not morbid, am i, in thinking of her still as some one apart from myself? you know how it began, in the lonely days when i used to look at her in mamma's mirror, and pity her, and fancy that she was pitying me and entreating me to be careful. always when i think i see her now, she seems to be looking anxiously at me and saying, 'oh, do be careful!' and the sweet things i tell her about you are meant to show her how careful i have become. are you laughing at me for this? i sometimes laugh at it myself." "no, it is delicious," he answered her, speaking more lightly than he felt. "what a numskull you make, grizel, of any man who presumes to write about women! i am at school again, and you are miss ailie teaching me the alphabet. but i thought you lost that serious little girl on the doleful day when she heard you say that you loved me best." "she came back. she has no one but me." "and she still warns you against me?" grizel laughed gleefully. "i am too clever for her," she said. "i do all the talking. i allow her to listen only. and you must not blame her for distrusting you; i have said such things against you to her! oh, the things i said! on the first day i saw you, for instance, after you came back to thrums. it was in church. do you remember?" "i should like to know what you said to her about me that day." "would you?" grizel asked merrily. "well, let me see. she was not at church--she never went there, you remember; but of course she was curious to hear about you, and i had no sooner got home than she came to me and said, 'was he there?' 'yes,' i said. 'is he much changed?' she asked. 'he has a beard,' i said. 'you know that is not what i really mean,' she said, and then i said, 'i don't think he is so much changed that it is impossible to recognize him again.'" tommy interrupted her: "now what did you mean by that?" "i meant that i thought you were a little annoyed to find the congregation looking at gavinia's baby more than at you!" "grizel, you are a wretch, but perhaps you were right. well, what more did the little inquisitor want to know?" "she asked me if i felt any of my old fear of you, and i said no, and then she clapped her hands with joy. and she asked whether you looked at me as if you were begging me to say i still thought you a wonder, and i said i thought you did----" "grizel!" "oh, i told her ever so many dreadful things as soon as i found them out. i told her the whole story of your ankle, sir, for instance." "on my word, grizel, you seem to have omitted nothing!" "ah, but i did," she cried. "i never told her how much i wanted you to be admirable; i pretended that i despised you merely, and in reality i was wringing my hands with woe every time you did not behave like a god." "they will be worn away, grizel, if you go on doing that." "i don't think so," she replied, "nor can she think so if she believes half of what i have told her about you since. she knows how you saved the boy's life. i told her that in the old lair because she had some harsh memories of you there; and it was at the cuttle well that i told her about the glove." "and where," asked tommy, severely, "did you tell her that you had been mistaken in thinking me jealous of a baby and anxious to be considered a wonder?" she hid her face for a moment, and then looked up roguishly into his. "i have not told her that yet!" she replied. it was so audacious of her that he took her by the ears. "if i were vain," tommy said reflectively, "i would certainly shake you now. you show a painful want of tact, grizel, in implying that i am not perfect. nothing annoys men so much. we can stand anything except that." his merriness gladdened her. "they are only little things," she said, "and i have grown to love them. i know they are flaws; but i love them because----" "say because they are mine. you owe me that." "no; but because they are weaknesses i don't have. i have others, but not those, and it is sweet to me to know that you are weak in some matters in which i am strong. it makes me feel that i can be of use to you." "are you insinuating that there are more of them?" tommy demanded, sitting up. "you are not very practical," she responded, "and i am." "go on." "and you are--just a little--inclined to be senti----" "hush! i don't allow that word; but you may say, if you choose, that i am sometimes carried away by a too generous impulse." "and that it will be my part," said she, "to seize you by the arm and hold you back. oh, you will give me a great deal to do! that is one of the things i love you for. it was one of the things i loved my dear dr. mcqueen for." she looked up suddenly. "i have told him also about you." "lately, grizel?" "yes, in my parlour. it was his parlour, you know, and i had kept nothing from him while he was alive; that is to say, he always knew what i was thinking of, and i like to fancy that he knows still. in the evenings he used to sit in the arm-chair by the fire, and i sat talking or knitting at his feet, and if i ceased to do anything except sit still, looking straight before me, he knew i was thinking the morbid thoughts that had troubled me in the old days at double dykes. without knowing it i sometimes shuddered at those times, and he was distressed. it reminded him of my mamma." "i understand," tommy said hurriedly. he meant: "let us avoid painful subjects." [illustration: "i sit still by his arm-chair and tell him what is happening to his grizel."] "it is years," she went on, "since those thoughts have troubled me, and it was he who drove them away. he was so kind! he thought so much of my future that i still sit by his arm-chair and tell him what is happening to his grizel. i don't speak aloud, of course; i scarcely say the words to myself even; and yet we seem to have long talks together. i told him i had given you his coat." "well, i don't think he was pleased at that, grizel. i have had a feeling for some time that the coat dislikes me. it scratched my hand the first time i put it on. my hand caught in the hook of the collar, you will say; but no, that is not what i think. in my opinion, the deed was maliciously done. mcqueen always distrusted me, you know, and i expect his coat was saying, 'hands off my grizel.'" she took it as quite a jest. "he does not distrust you now," she said, smiling. "i have told him what i think of you, and though he was surprised at first, in the end his opinion was the same as mine." "ah, you saw to that, grizel!" "i had nothing to do with it. i merely told him everything, and he had to agree with me. how could he doubt when he saw that you had made me so happy! even mamma does not doubt." "you have told her! all this is rather eerie, grizel." "you are not sorry, are you?" she asked, looking at him anxiously. "dr. mcqueen wanted me to forget her. he thought that would be best for me. it was the only matter on which we differed. i gave up speaking of her to him. you are the only person i have mentioned her to since i became a woman; but i often think of her. i am sure there was a time, before i was old enough to understand, when she was very fond of me. i was her baby, and women can't help being fond of their babies, even though they should never have had them. i think she often hugged me tight." "need we speak of this, grizel?" "for this once," she entreated. "you must remember that mamma often looked at me with hatred, and said i was the cause of all her woe; but sometimes in her last months she would give me such sad looks that i trembled, and i felt that she was picturing me growing into the kind of woman she wished so much she had not become herself, and that she longed to save me. that is why i have told her that a good man loves me. she is so glad, my poor dear mamma, that i tell her again and again, and she loves to hear it as much as i to tell it. what she loves to hear most is that you really do want to marry me. she is so fond of hearing that because it is what my father would never say to her." tommy was so much moved that he could not speak, but in his heart he gave thanks that what grizel said of him to her mamma was true at last. "it makes her so happy," grizel said, "that when i seem to see her now she looks as sweet and pure as she must have been in the days when she was an innocent girl. i think she can enter into my feelings more than any other person could ever do. is that because she was my mother? she understands how i feel just as i can understand how in the end she was willing to be bad because he wanted it so much." "no, no, grizel," tommy cried passionately, "you don't understand that!" she rocked her arms. "yes, i do," she said; "i do. i could never have cared for such a man; but i can understand how mamma yielded to him, and i have no feeling for her except pity, and i have told her so, and it is what she loves to hear her daughter tell her best of all." they put the subject from them, and she told him what it was that she had come to rub out in caddam. if you have read of tommy's boyhood you may remember the day it ended with his departure for the farm, and that he and elspeth walked through caddam to the cart that was to take him from her, and how, to comfort her, he swore that he loved her with his whole heart, and grizel not at all, and that grizel was in the wood and heard. and how elspeth had promised to wave to tommy in the cart as long as it was visible, but broke down and went home sobbing, and how grizel took her place and waved, pretending to be elspeth, so that he might think she was bearing up bravely. tommy had not known what grizel did for him that day, and when he heard it now for the first time from her own lips, he realized afresh what a glorious girl she was and had always been. "you may try to rub that memory out of little grizel's head," he declared, looking very proudly at her, "but you shall never rub it out of mine." it was by his wish that they went together to the spot where she had heard him say that he loved elspeth only--"if you can find it," tommy said, "after all these years"; and she smiled at his mannish words--she had found it so often since! there was the very clump of whin. and here was the boy to match. oh, who by striving could make himself a boy again as tommy could! i tell you he was always irresistible then. what is genius? it is the power to be a boy again at will. when i think of him flinging off the years and whistling childhood back, not to himself only, but to all who heard, distributing it among them gaily, imperiously calling on them to dance, dance, for they are boys and girls again until they stop--when to recall him in those wild moods is to myself to grasp for a moment at the dear dead days that were so much the best, i cannot wonder that grizel loved him. i am his slave myself; i see that all that was wrong with tommy was that he could not always be a boy. "hide there again, grizel," he cried to her, little tommy cried to her, stroke the jacobite, her captain, cried to the lady griselda; and he disappeared, and presently marched down the path with an imaginary elspeth by his side. "i love you both, elspeth," he was going to say, "and my love for the one does not make me love the other less"; but he glanced at grizel, and she was leaning forward to catch his words as if this were no play, but life or death, and he knew what she longed to hear him say, and he said it: "i love you very much, elspeth, but however much i love you, it would be idle to pretend that i don't love grizel more." a stifled cry of joy came from a clump of whin hard by, and they were man and woman again. "did you not know it, grizel?" "no, no; you never told me." "i never dreamed it was necessary to tell you." "oh, if you knew how i have longed that it might be so, yes, and sometimes hated elspeth because i feared it could not be! i have tried so hard to be content with second place. i have thought it all out, and said to myself it was natural that elspeth should be first." "my tragic love," he said, "i can see you arguing in that way, but i don't see you convincing yourself. my passionate grizel is not the girl to accept second place from anyone. if i know anything of her, i know that." to his surprise, she answered softly: "you are wrong. i wonder at it myself, but i had made up my mind to be content with second place, and to be grateful for it." "i could not have believed it!" he cried. "i could not have believed it myself," said she. "are you the grizel----" he began. "no," she said, "i have changed a little," and she looked pathetically at him. "it stabs me," he said, "to see you so humble." "i am humbler than i was," she answered huskily, but she was looking at him with the fondest love. "don't look at me so, grizel," he implored. "i am unworthy of it. i am the man who has made you so humble." "yes," she answered, and still she looked at him with the fondest love. a film came over his eyes, and she touched them softly with her handkerchief. "those eyes that but a little while ago were looking so coldly at you!" he said. "dear eyes!" said she. "though i were to strike you----" he cried, raising his hand. she took the hand in hers and kissed it. "has it come to this!" he said, and as she could not speak, she nodded. he fell upon his knees before her. "i am glad you are a little sorry," she said; "i am a little sorry myself." chapter xix of the change in thomas to find ways of making david propose to elspeth, of making elspeth willing to exchange her brother for david--they were heavy tasks, but tommy yoked himself to them gallantly and tugged like an arab steed in the plough. it should be almost as pleasant to us as to him to think that love was what made him do it, for he was sure he loved grizel at last, and that the one longing of his heart was to marry her; the one marvel to him was that he had ever longed ardently for anything else. well, as you know, she longed for it also, but she was firm in her resolve that until elspeth was engaged tommy should be a single man. she even made him promise not to kiss her again so long as their love had to be kept secret. "it will be so sweet to wait," she said bravely. as we shall see presently, his efforts to put elspeth into the hands of david were apparently of no avail, but though this would have embittered many men, it drew only to the surface some of tommy's noblest attributes; as he suffered in silence he became gentler, more considerate, and acquired a new command over himself. to conquer self for her sake (this is in the "letters to a young man") is the highest tribute a man can pay to a woman; it is the only real greatness, and tommy had done it now. i could give you a score of proofs. let us take his treatment of aaron latta. one day about this time tommy found himself alone in the house with aaron, and had he been the old tommy he would have waited but a moment to let aaron decide which of them should go elsewhere. it was thus that these two, ever so uncomfortable in each other's presence, contrived to keep the peace. now note the change. "aaron," said tommy, in the hush that had fallen on that house since quiet elspeth left it, "i have never thanked you in words for all that you have done for me and elspeth." "dinna do it now, then," replied the warper, fidgeting. "i must," tommy said cheerily, "i must"; and he did, while aaron scowled. "it was never done for you," aaron informed him, "nor for the father you are the marrows o'." "it was done for my mother," said tommy, reverently. "i'm none so sure o't," aaron rapped out. "i think i brocht you twa here as bairns, that the reminder of my shame should ever stand before me." but tommy shook his head, and sat down sympathetically beside the warper. "you loved her, aaron," he said simply. "it was an undying love that made you adopt her orphan children." a charming thought came to him. "when you brought us here," he said, with some elation, "elspeth used to cry at nights because our mother's spirit did not come to us to comfort us, and i invented boyish explanations to appease her. but i have learned since why we did not see that spirit; for though it hovered round this house, its first thought was not for us, but for him who succoured us." he could have made it much better had he been able to revise it, but surely it was touching, and aaron need not have said "damn," which was what he did say. one knows how most men would have received so harsh an answer to such gentle words, and we can conceive how a very holy man, say a monk, would have bowed to it. even as the monk did tommy submit, or say rather with the meekness of a nun. "i wish i could help you in any way, aaron," he said, with a sigh. "you can," replied aaron, promptly, "by taking yourself off to london, and leaving elspeth here wi' me. i never made pretence that i wanted you, except because she wouldna come without you. laddie and man, as weel you ken, you were aye a scunner to me." "and yet," said tommy, looking at him admiringly, "you fed and housed and educated us. ah, aaron, do you not see that your dislike gives me the more reason only to esteem you?" carried away by desire to help the old man, he put his hand kindly on his shoulder. "you have never respected yourself," he said, "since the night you and my mother parted at the cuttle well, and my heart bleeds to think of it. many a year ago, by your kindness to two forlorn children, you expiated that sin, and it is blotted out from your account. forget it, aaron, as every other person has forgotten it, and let the spirit of jean myles see you tranquil once again." he patted aaron affectionately; he seemed to be the older of the two. "tak' your hand off my shuther," aaron cried fiercely. tommy removed his hand, but he continued to look yearningly at the warper. another beautiful thought came to him. "what are you looking so holy about?" asked aaron, with misgivings. "aaron," cried tommy, suddenly inspired, "you are not always the gloomy man you pass for being. you have glorious moments still. you wake in the morning, and for a second of time you are in the heyday of your youth, and you and jean myles are to walk out to-night. as you sit by this fire you think you hear her hand on the latch of the door; as you pass down the street you seem to see her coming towards you. it is for a moment only, and then you are a gray-haired man again, and she has been in her grave for many a year; but you have that moment." aaron rose, amazed and wrathful. "the de'il tak' you," he cried, "how did you find out that?" perhaps tommy's nose turned up rapturously in reply, for the best of us cannot command ourselves altogether at great moments, but when he spoke he was modest again. "it was sympathy that told me," he explained; "and, aaron, if you will only believe me, it tells me also that a little of the man you were still clings to you. come out of the moroseness in which you have enveloped yourself so long. think what a joy it would be to elspeth." "it's little she would care." "if you want to hurt her, tell her so." "i'm no denying but what she's fell fond o' me." "then for her sake," tommy pleaded. but the warper turned on him with baleful eyes. "she likes me," he said in a grating voice, "and yet i'm as nothing to her; we are all as nothing to her beside you. if there hadna been you i should hae become the father to her i craved to be; but you had mesmerized her; she had eyes for none but you. i sent you to the herding, meaning to break your power over her, and all she could think o' was my cruelty in sindering you. syne you ran aff wi' her to london, stealing her frae me. i was without her while she was growing frae lassie to woman, the years when maybe she could hae made o' me what she willed. magerful tam took the mother frae me, and he lived again in you to tak' the dochter." "you really think me masterful--me!" tommy said, smiling. "i suppose you never were!" aaron replied ironically. "yes," tommy admitted frankly, "i was masterful as a boy, ah, and even quite lately. how we change!" he said musingly. "how we dinna change!" retorted aaron, bitterly. he had learned the truer philosophy. "man," he continued, looking tommy over, "there's times when i see mair o' your mother than your father in you. she was a wonder at making believe. the letters about her grandeur that she wrote to thrums when she was starving! even you couldna hae wrote them better. but she never managed to cheat hersel'. that's whaur you sail away frae her." "i used to make believe, aaron, as you say," tommy replied sadly. "if you knew how i feel the folly of it now, perhaps even you would wish that i felt it less. "but we must each of us dree his own weird," he proceeded, with wonderful sweetness, when aaron did not answer. "and so far, at least, as elspeth is concerned, surely i have done my duty. i had the bringing up of her from the days when she was learning to speak." "she got into the way o' letting you do everything for her," the warper responded sourly. "you thought for her, you acted for her, frae the first; you toomed her, and then filled her up wi' yoursel'." "she always needed some one to lean on." "ay, because you had maimed her. she grew up in the notion that you were all the earth and the wonder o' the world." "could i help that?" "help it! did you try? it was the one thing you were sure o' yoursel'; it was the one thing you thought worth anybody's learning. you stood before her crowing the whole day. i said the now i wished you would go and leave her wi' me: but i wouldna dare to keep her; she's helpless without you; if you took your arm awa frae her now, she would tumble to the ground." "i fear it is true, aaron," tommy said, with bent head. "whether she is so by nature, or whether i have made her so, i cannot tell, but i fear that what you say is true." "it's true," said aaron, "and yours is the wite. there's no life for her now except what you mak'; she canna see beyond you. go on thinking yoursel' a wonder if you like, but mind this: if you were to cast her off frae you now, she would die like an amputated hand." to tommy it was like listening to his doom. ah, aaron, even you could not withhold your pity, did you know how this man is being punished now for having made elspeth so dependent on him! some such thought passed through tommy's head, but he was too brave to appeal for pity. "if that is so," he said firmly, "i take the responsibility for it. but i began this talk, aaron, not to intrude my troubles on you, but hoping to lighten yours. if i could see you smile, aaron----" "drop it!" cried the warper; and then, going closer to him: "you would hae seen me smile, ay, and heard me laugh, gin you had been here when mrs. mclean came yont to read your book to me. she fair insistit on reading the terrible noble bits to me, and she grat they were so sublime; but the sublimer they were, the mair i laughed, for i ken you, tommy, my man, i ken you." he spoke with much vehemence, and, after all, our hero was not perfect. he withdrew stiffly to the other room. i think it was the use of the word tommy that enraged him. but in a very few minutes he scorned himself, and was possessed by a pensive wonder that one so tragically fated as he could resent an old man's gibe. aaron misunderstood him. was that any reason why he should not feel sorry for aaron? he crossed the hallan to the kitchen door, and stopped there, overcome with pity. the warper was still crouching by the fire, but his head rested on his chest; he was a weary, desolate figure, and at the other side of the hearth stood an empty chair. the picture was the epitome of his life, or so it seemed to the sympathetic soul at the door, who saw him passing from youth to old age, staring at the chair that must always be empty. at the same moment tommy saw his own future, and in it, too, an empty chair. yet, hard as was his own case, at least he knew that he was loved; if her chair must be empty, the fault was as little hers as his, while aaron---- a noble compassion drew him forward, and he put his hand determinedly on the dear old man's shoulder. "aaron," he said, in a tremble of pity, "i know what is the real sorrow of your life, and i rejoice because i can put an end to it. you think that jean myles never cared for you; but you are strangely wrong. i was with my mother to the last, aaron, and i can tell you, she asked me with her dying breath to say to you that she loved you all the time." aaron tried to rise, but was pushed back into his chair. "love cannot die," cried tommy, triumphantly, like the fairy in the pantomime; "love is always young----" he stopped in mid-career at sight of aaron's disappointing face. "are you done?" the warper inquired. "when you and me are alane in this house there's no room for the both o' us, and as i'll never hae it said that i made jean myles's bairn munt, i'll go out mysel'." and out he went, and sat on the dyke till elspeth came home. it did not turn tommy sulky. he nodded kindly to aaron from the window in token of forgiveness, and next day he spent a valuable hour in making a cushion for the old man's chair. "he must be left with the impression that you made it," tommy explained to elspeth, "for he would not take it from me." "oh, tommy, how good you are!" "i am far from it, elspeth." "there is a serenity about you nowadays," she said, "that i don't seem to have noticed before," and indeed this was true; it was the serenity that comes to those who, having a mortal wound, can no more be troubled by the pinpricks. "there has been nothing to cause it, has there?" elspeth asked timidly. "only the feeling that i have much to be grateful for," he replied. "i have you, elspeth." "and i have you," she said, "and i want no more. i could never care for anyone as i care for you, tommy." she was speaking unselfishly; she meant to imply delicately that the doctor's defection need not make tommy think her unhappy. "are you glad?" she asked. he said yes bravely. elspeth, he was determined, should never have the distress of knowing that for her sake he was giving up the one great joy which life contains. he was a grander character than most. men have often in the world's history made a splendid sacrifice for women, but if you turn up the annals you will find that the woman nearly always knew of it. he told grizel what aaron had said and what elspeth had said. he could keep nothing from her now; he was done with the world of make-believe for ever. and it seemed wicked of him to hope, he declared, or to let her hope. "i ought to give you up, grizel," he said, with a groan. "i won't let you," she replied adorably. "gemmell has not come near us for a week. i ask him in, but he avoids the house." "i don't understand it," grizel had to admit; "but i think he is fond of her, i do indeed." "even if that were so, i fear she would not accept him. i know elspeth so well that i feel i am deceiving you if i say there is any hope." "nevertheless you must say it," she answered brightly; "you must say it and leave me to think it. and i do think it. i believe that elspeth, despite her timidity and her dependence on you, is like other girls at heart, and not more difficult to win. "and even if it all comes to nothing," she told him, a little faintly, "i shall not be unhappy. you don't really know me if you think i should love to be married so--so much as all that." "it is you, grizel," he replied, "who don't see that it is myself i am pitying. it is i who want to be married as much as all that." her eyes shone with a soft light, for of course it was what she wanted him to say. these two seemed to have changed places. that people could love each other, and there the end, had been his fond philosophy and her torment. now, it was she who argued for it and tommy who shook his head. "they can be very, very happy." "no," he said. "but one of them is." "not the other," he insisted; and of course it was again what she wanted him to say. and he was not always despairing. he tried hard to find a way of bringing david to elspeth's feet, and once, at least, the apparently reluctant suitor almost succumbed. tommy had met him near aaron's house, and invited him to come in and hear elspeth singing. "i did not know she sang," david said, hesitating. "she is so shy about it," tommy replied lightly, "that we can hear her by stealth only. aaron and i listen at the door. come and listen at the door." and david had yielded and listened at the door, and afterwards gone in and remained like one who could not tear himself away. what was more, he and elspeth had touched upon the subject of love in their conversation, tommy sitting at the window so engrossed in a letter to pym that he seemed to hear nothing, though he could repeat everything afterwards to grizel. elspeth had said, in her shrinking way, that if she were a man she could love only a woman who was strong and courageous and helpful--such a woman as grizel, she had said. "and yet," david replied, "women have been loved who had none of those qualities." "in spite of the want of them?" elspeth asked. "perhaps because of it," said he. "they are noble qualities," elspeth maintained a little sadly, and he assented. "and one of them, at least, is essential," she said. "a woman has no right to be loved who is not helpful." "she is helpful to the man who loves her," david replied. "he would have to do for her," elspeth said, "the very things she should be doing for him." "he may want very much to do them," said david. "then it is her weakness that appeals to him. is not that loving her for the wrong thing?" "it may be the right thing," david insisted, "for him." "and at that point," tommy said, boyishly, to grizel, "i ceased to hear them, i was so elated; i felt that everything was coming right. i could not give another thought to their future, i was so busy mapping out my own. i heard a hammering. do you know what it was? it was our house going up--your house and mine; our home, grizel! it was not here, nor in london. it was near the thames. i wanted it to be upon the bank, but you said no, you were afraid of floods. i wanted to superintend the building, but you conducted me contemptuously to my desk. you intimated that i did not know how to build--that no one knew except yourself. you instructed the architect, and bullied the workmen, and cried for more store-closets. grizel, i saw the house go up; i saw you the adoration and terror of your servants; i heard you singing from room to room." he was touched by this; all beautiful thoughts touched him. but as a rule, though tommy tried to be brave for her sake, it was usually she who was the comforter now, and he the comforted, and this was the arrangement that suited grizel best. her one thought need no longer be that she loved him too much, but how much he loved her. it was not her self-respect that must be humoured back, but his. if hers lagged, what did it matter? what are her own troubles to a woman when there is something to do for the man she loves? "you are too anxious about the future," she said to him, if he had grown gloomy again. "can we not be happy in the present, and leave the future to take care of itself?" how strange to know that it was grizel who said this to tommy, and not tommy who said it to grizel! she delighted in playing the mother to him. "now you must go back to your desk," she would say masterfully. "you have three hours' work to do to-night yet." "it can wait. let me stay a little longer with you, grizel," he answered humbly. ha! it was tommy who was humble now. not so long ago he would not have allowed his work to wait for anyone, and grizel knew it, and exulted. "to work, sir," she ordered. "and you must put on your old coat before you sit down to write, and pull up your cuffs so that they don't scrape on the desk. also, you must not think too much about me." she tried to look businesslike, but she could scarce resist rocking her arms with delight when she heard herself saying such things to him. it was as if she had the old doctor once more in her hands. "what more, grizel? i like you to order me about." "only this. good afternoon." "but i am to walk home with you," he entreated. "no," she said decisively; but she smiled: once upon a time it had been she who asked for this. "if you are good," she said, "you shall perhaps see me to-morrow." "perhaps only?" he was scared; but she smiled happily again: it had once been she who had to beg that there should be no perhaps. "if you are good," she replied,--"and you are not good when you have such a long face. smile, you silly boy; smile when i order you. if you don't i shall not so much as look out at my window to-morrow." he was the man who had caused her so much agony, and she was looking at him with the eternally forgiving smile of the mother. "ah, grizel," tommy cried passionately, "how brave and unselfish and noble you are, and what a glorious wife god intended you to be!" she broke from him with a little cry, but when she turned round again it was to nod and smile to him. chapter xx a love-letter some beautiful days followed, so beautiful to grizel that as they passed away she kissed her hand to them. do you see her standing on tiptoe to see the last of them? they lit a fire in the chamber of her soul which is the home of all pure maids, and the fagots that warmed grizel were every fond look that had been on her lover's face and every sweet word he had let fall. she counted and fondled them, and pretended that one was lost that she might hug it more than all the others when it was found. to sit by that fire was almost better than having the days that lit it; sometimes she could scarcely wait for the day to go. tommy's fond looks and sweet words! there was also a letter in those days, and, now that i remember, a little garnet ring; and there were a few other fagots, but all so trifling it must seem incredible to you that they could have made so great a blaze--nothing else in it, on my honour, except a girl's heart added by herself that the fire might burn a moment longer. and now, what so chilly as the fire that has gone out! gone out long ago, dear grizel, while you crouched over it. you may put your hand in the ashes; they will not burn you now. ah, grizel, why do you sit there in the cold? the day of the letter! it began in dread, but ended so joyfully, do you think grizel grudged the dread? it became dear to her; she loved to return to it and gaze at the joy it glorified, as one sees the sunshine from a murky room. when she heard the postman's knock she was not even curious; so few letters came to her, she thought this must be maggy ann's monthly one from aberdeen, and went on placidly dusting. at last she lifted it from the floor, for it had been slipped beneath the door, and then grizel was standing in her little lobby, panting as if at the end of a race. the letter lay in both her hands, and they rose slowly until they were pressed against her breast. she uttered some faint cries (it was the only moment in which i have known grizel to be hysterical), and then she ran to her room and locked herself in--herself and it. do you know why that look of elation had come suddenly to her face? it was because he had not even written the address in a disguised hand to deceive the postmistress. so much of the old grizel was gone that the pathos of her elation over this was lost to her. several times she almost opened it. why did she pause? why had that frightened look come into her eyes? she put the letter on her table and drew away from it. if she took a step nearer, her hands went behind her back as if saying, "grizel, don't ask us to open it; we are afraid." perhaps it really did say the dear things that love writes. perhaps it was aghast at the way she was treating it. dear letter! her mouth smiled to it, but her hands remained afraid. as she stood irresolute, smiling, and afraid, she was a little like her mother. i have put off as long as possible saying that grizel was ever like her mother. the painted lady had never got any letters while she was in thrums, but she looked wistfully at those of other people. "they are so pretty," she had said; "but don't open them: when you open them they break your heart." grizel remembered what her mother had said. had the old grizel feared what might be inside, it would have made her open the letter more quickly. two minds to one person were unendurable to her. but she seemed to be a coward now. it was pitiable. perhaps it was quite a common little letter, beginning "dear grizel," and saying nothing more delicious or more terrible than that he wanted her to lend him one of the doctor's books. she thought of a score of trivialities it might be about; but the letter was still unopened when david gemmell called to talk over some cases in which he required her counsel. he found her sitting listlessly, something in her lap which she at once concealed. she failed to follow his arguments, and he went away puckering his brows, some of the old doctor's sayings about her ringing loud in his ears. one of them was: "things will be far wrong with grizel when she is able to sit idle with her hands in her lap." another: "she is almost pitifully straightforward, man. everything that is in grizel must out. she can hide nothing." yet how cunningly she had concealed what was in her hands. cunning applied to grizel! david shuddered. he thought of tommy, and shut his mouth tight. he could do this easily. tommy could not do it without feeling breathless. they were types of two kinds of men. david also remembered a promise he had given mcqueen, and wondered, as he had wondered a good deal of late, whether the time had come to keep it. but grizel sat on with her unopened letter. she was to meet tommy presently on the croquet lawn of the dovecot, when ailie was to play mr. james (the champion), and she decided that she must wait till then. she would know what sort of letter it was the moment she saw his face. and then! she pressed her hands together. oh, how base of her to doubt him! she said it to herself then and often afterwards. she looked mournfully in her mother's long mirror at this disloyal grizel, as if the capacity to doubt him was the saddest of all the changes that had come to her. he had been so true yesterday; oh, how could she tremble to-day? beautiful yesterday! but yesterday may seem so long ago. how little a time had passed between the moment when she was greeting him joyously in caddam wood and that cry of the heart, "how could you hurt your grizel so!" no, she could not open her letter. she could kiss it, but she could not open it. foolish fears! for before she had shaken hands with tommy in mrs. mclean's garden she knew he loved her still, and that the letter proved it. she was properly punished, yet surely in excess, for when she might have been reading her first love-letter, she had to join in discussions with various ladies about berlin wool and the like, and to applaud the prowess of mr. james with the loathly croquet mallet. it seemed quite a long time before tommy could get a private word with her. then he began about the letter at once. "you are not angry with me for writing it?" he asked anxiously. "i should not have done it; i had no right: but such a desire to do it came over me, i had to; it was such a glory to me to say in writing what you are to me." she smiled happily. oh, exquisite day! "i have so long wanted to have a letter from you," she said. "i have almost wished you would go away for a little time, so that i might have a letter from you." he had guessed this. he had written to give her delight. "did you like the first words of it, grizel?" he asked eagerly. the lover and the artist spoke together. could she admit that the letter was unopened, and why? oh, the pain to him! she nodded assent. it was not really an untruth, she told herself. she did like them--oh, how she liked them, though she did not know what they were! "i nearly began 'my beloved,'" he said solemnly. somehow she had expected it to be this. "why didn't you?" she asked, a little disappointed. "i like the other so much better," he replied. "to write it was so delicious to me, i thought you would not mind." "i don't mind," she said hastily. (what could it be?) "but you would have preferred 'beloved'?" "it is such a sweet name." "surely not so sweet as the other, grizel?" "no," she said, "no." (oh, what could it be!) "have you destroyed it?" he asked, and the question was a shock to her. her hand rose instinctively to defend something that lay near her heart. "i could not," she whispered. "do you mean you wanted to?" he asked dolefully. "i thought you wanted it," she murmured. "i!" he cried, aghast, and she was joyous again. "can't you guess where it is?" she said. he understood. "grizel! you carry my letter there!" she was full of glee; but she puzzled him presently. "do you think i could go now?" she inquired eagerly. "and leave me?" it was dreadful of her, but she nodded. "i want to go home." "is it not home, grizel, when you are with me?" "i want to go away from home, then." she said it as if she loved to tantalize him. "but why?" "i won't tell you." she was looking wistfully at the door. "i have something to do." "it can wait." "it has waited too long." he might have heard an assenting rustle from beneath her bodice. "do let me go," she said coaxingly, as if he held her. "i can't understand----" he began, and broke off. she was facing him demurely but exultantly, challenging him, he could see, to read her now. "just when i am flattering myself that i know everything about you, grizel," he said, with a long face, "i suddenly wonder whether i know anything." she would have liked to clap her hands. "you must remember that we have changed places," she told him. "it is i who understand you now." "and i am devoutly glad," he made answer, with humble thankfulness. "and i must ask you, grizel, why you want to run away from me." "but you think you know," she retorted smartly. "you think i want to read my letter again!" her cleverness staggered him. "but i am right, am i not, grizel?" "no," she said triumphantly, "you are quite wrong. oh, if you knew how wrong you are!" and having thus again unhorsed him, she made her excuses to ailie and slipped away. dr. gemmell, who was present and had been watching her narrowly, misread the flush on her face and her restless desire to be gone. "is there anything between those two, do you think?" mrs. mclean had said in a twitter to him while tommy and grizel were talking, and he had answered no almost sharply. "people are beginning to think there is," she said in self-defence. "they are mistaken," he told her curtly, and it was about this time that grizel left. david followed her to her home soon afterwards, and maggy ann, who answered his summons, did not accompany him upstairs. he was in the house daily, and she left him to find grizel for himself. he opened the parlour door almost as he knocked, and she was there, but had not heard him. he stopped short, like one who had blundered unawares on what was not for him. she was on her knees on the hearth-rug, with her head buried in what had been dr. mcqueen's chair. ragged had been the seat of it on the day when she first went to live with him, but very early on the following morning, or, to be precise, five minutes after daybreak, he had risen to see if there were burglars in the parlour, and behold, it was his grateful little maid repadding the old arm-chair. how a situation repeats itself! without disturbing her, the old doctor had slipped away with a full heart. it was what the young doctor did now. but the situation was not quite the same. she had been bubbling over with glee then; she was sobbing now. david could not know that it was a sob of joy; he knew only that he had never seen her crying before, and that it was the letter in her hands that had brought tears at last to those once tranquil and steadfast eyes. in an odd conversation which had once taken place in that room between the two doctors, gemmell had said: "but the time may come without my knowing it." and mcqueen's reply was: "i don't think so, for she is so open; but i'll tell you this, david, as a guide. i never saw her eyes wet. it is one of the touching things about her that she has the eyes of a man, to whom it is a shame to cry. if you ever see her greeting, david, i'm sore doubting that the time will have come." as david gemmell let himself softly out of the house, to return to it presently, he thought the time had come. what he conceived he had to do was a hard thing, but he never thought of not doing it. he had kept himself in readiness to do it for many days now, and he walked to it as firmly as if he were on his professional rounds. he did not know that the skin round his eyes had contracted, giving them the look of pain which always came there when he was sorry or pitiful or indignant. he was not well acquainted with his eyes, and, had he glanced at them now in a glass, would have presumed that this was their usual expression. grizel herself opened the door to him this time, and "maggy ann, he is found!" she cried victoriously. evidently she had heard of his previous visit. "we have searched every room in the house for you," she said gaily, "and had you disappeared for much longer, maggy ann would have had the carpets up." he excused himself on the ground that he had forgotten something, and she chided him merrily for being forgetful. as he sat with her david could have groaned aloud. how vivacious she had become! but she was sparkling in false colours. after what he knew had been her distress of a few minutes ago, it was a painted face to him. she was trying to deceive him. perhaps she suspected that he had seen her crying, and now, attired in all a woman's wiles, she was defying him to believe his eyes. grizel garbed in wiles! alack the day! she was shielding the man, and gemmell could have driven her away roughly to get at him. but she was also standing over her own pride, lest anyone should see that it had fallen; and do you think that david would have made her budge an inch? of course she saw that he had something on his mind. she knew those puckered eyes so well, and had so often smoothed them for him. "what is it, david?" she asked sympathetically. "i see you have come as a patient to-night." "as one of those patients," he rejoined, "who feel better at mere sight of the doctor." "fear of the prescription?" said she. "not if you prescribe yourself, grizel." "david!" she cried. he had been paying compliments! "i mean it." "so i can see by your face. oh, david, how stern you look!" "dr. mcqueen and i," he retorted, "used to hold private meetings after you had gone to bed, at which we agreed that you should no longer be allowed to make fun of us. they came to nothing. do you know why?" "because i continued to do it?" "no; but because we missed it so much if you stopped." "you are nice to-night, david," she said, dropping him a courtesy. "we liked all your bullying ways," he went on. "we were children in your masterful hands." "i was a tyrant, david," she said, looking properly ashamed. "i wonder you did not marry, just to get rid of me." "have you ever seriously wondered why i don't marry?" he asked quickly. "oh, david," she exclaimed, "what else do you think your patients and i talk of when i am trying to nurse them? it has agitated the town ever since you first walked up the marrywellbrae, and we can't get on with our work for thinking of it." "seriously, grizel?" she became grave at once. "if you could find the right woman," she said wistfully. "i have found her," he answered; and then she pressed her hands together, too excited to speak. "if she would only care a little for me," he said. grizel rocked her arms. "i am sure she does," she cried. "david, i am so glad!" he saw what her mistake was, but pretended not to know that she had made one. "are you really glad that i love you, grizel?" he asked. it seemed to daze her for a moment. "not me, david," she said softly, as if correcting him. "you don't mean that it is me?" she said coaxingly. "david," she cried, "say it is not me!" he drooped his head, but not before he had seen all the brightness die out of her face. "is it so painful to you even to hear me say it?" he asked gravely. her joy had been selfish as her sorrow was. for nigh a minute she had been thinking of herself alone, it meant so much to her; but now she jumped up and took his hand in hers. "poor david!" she said, making much of his hand as if she had hurt it. but david gemmell's was too simple a face to oppose to her pitying eyes, and presently she let his hand slip from her and stood regarding him curiously. he had to look another way, and then she even smiled, a little forlornly. "do you mind talking it over with me, grizel?" he asked. "i have always been well aware that you did not care for me in that way, but nevertheless i believe you might do worse." "no woman could do better," she answered gravely. "i should like you to talk it over, david, if you begin at the beginning"; and she sat down with her hands crossed. "i won't say what a good thing it would be for me," was his beginning; "we may take that for granted." "i don't think we can," she remarked; "but it scarcely matters at present. that is not the beginning, david." he was very anxious to make it the beginning. "i am weary of living in lodgings," he said. "the practice suffers by my not being married. many patients dislike being attended by a single man. i ought to be in mcqueen's house; it has been so long known as the doctor's house. and you should be a doctor's wife--you who could almost be the doctor. it would be a shame, grizel, if you who are so much to patients were to marry out of the profession. don't you follow me?" "i follow you," she replied; "but what does it matter? you have not begun at the beginning." he looked at her inquiringly. "you must begin," she informed him, "by saying why you ask me to marry you when you don't love me." she added, in answer to another look from him: "you know you don't." there was a little reproach in it. "oh, david, what made you think i could be so easily taken in!" he looked so miserable that by and by she smiled, not so tremulously as before. "how bad at it you are, david!" she said. and how good at it she was! he thought gloomily. "shall i help you out?" she asked gently, but speaking with dignity. "you think i am unhappy; you believe i am in the position in which you placed yourself, of caring for someone who does not care for me." "grizel, i mistrust him." she flushed; she was not quite so gentle now. "and so you offer me your hand to save me! it was a great self-sacrifice, david, but you used not to be fond of doing showy things." "i did not mean it to be showy," he answered. she was well aware of that, but--"oh, david," she cried, "that you should believe i needed it! how little you must think of me!" "does it look as if i thought little of you?" he said. "little of my strength, david, little of my pride." "i think so much of them that how could i stand by silently and watch them go?" "you think you have seen that!" she was agitated now. he hesitated. "yes," he said courageously. her eyes cried, "david, how could you be so cruel!" but they did not daunt him. "have you not seen it yourself, grizel?" he said. she pressed her hands together. "i was so happy," she said, "until you came!" "have you not seen it yourself?" he asked again. "there may be better things," she retorted, "than those you rate so highly." "not for you," he said. "if they are gone," she told him, with a flush of resentment, "it is not you who can bring them back." "but let me try, grizel," said he. "david, can i not even make you angry with me?" "no, grizel, you can't. i am very sorry that i can make you angry with me." "i am not," she said dispiritedly. "it would be contemptible in me." and then, eagerly: "but, david, you have made a great mistake, indeed you have. you--you are a dreadful bungler, sir!" she was trying to make his face relax, with a tremulous smile from herself to encourage him; but the effort was not successful. "you see, i can't even bully you now!" she said. "did that capacity go with the others, david?" "try a little harder," he replied. "i think you will find that i submit to it still" "very well." she forced some gaiety to her aid. after all, how could she let his monstrous stupidity wound a heart protected by such a letter? "you have been a very foolish and presumptuous boy," she began. she was standing up, smiling, wagging a reproachful but nervous finger at him. "if it were not that i have a weakness for seeing medical men making themselves ridiculous so that i may put them right, i should be very indignant with you, sir." "put me right, grizel," he said. he was sure she was trying to blind him again. "know, then, david, that i am not the poor-spirited, humble creature you seem to have come here in search of--" "but you admitted--" "how dare you interrupt me, sir! yes, i admit that i am not quite as i was, but i glory in it. i used to be ostentatiously independent; now i am only independent enough. my pride made me walk on air; now i walk on the earth, where there is less chance of falling. i have still confidence in myself; but i begin to see that ways are not necessarily right because they are my ways. in short, david, i am evidently on the road to being a model character!" they were gay words, but she ended somewhat faintly. "i was satisfied with you as you were," was the doctor's comment. "i wanted to excel!" "you explain nothing, grizel," he said reproachfully. "why have you changed so?" "because i am so happy. do you remember how, in the old days, i sometimes danced for joy? i could do it now." "are you engaged to be married, grizel?" she took a quiet breath. "you have no right to question me in this way," she said. "i think i have been very good in bearing with you so long." but she laid aside her indignation at once; he was so old a friend, the sincerity of him had been so often tried. "if you must know, david," she said, with a girlish frankness that became her better, "i am not engaged to be married. and i must tell you nothing more," she added, shutting her mouth decisively. she must be faithful to her promise. "he forbids it?" gemmell asked mercilessly. she stamped her foot, not in rage, but in hopelessness. "how incapable you are of doing him justice!" she cried. "if you only knew----" "tell me. i want to do him justice." she sat down again, sighing. "my attempt to regain my old power over you has not been very successful, has it, david? we must not quarrel, though"--holding out her hand, which he grasped. "and you won't question me any more?" she said it appealingly. "never again," he answered. "i never wanted to question you, grizel. i wanted only to marry you." "and that can't be." "i don't see it," he said, so stoutly that she was almost amused. but he would not be pushed aside. he had something more to say. "dr. mcqueen wished it," he said; "above all else in the world he wished it. he often told me so." "he never said that to me," grizel replied quickly. "because he thought that to press you was no way to make you care for me. he hoped that it would come about." "it has not come about, david, with either of us," she said gently. "i am sure that would have been sufficient answer to him." "no, grizel, it would not, not now." he had risen, and his face was whiter than she had ever seen it. "i am going to hurt you, grizel," he said, and every word was a pang to him. "i see no other way. it has got to be done. dr. mcqueen often talked to me about the things that troubled you when you were a little girl--the morbid fears you had then, and that had all been swept away years before i knew you. but though they had been long gone, you were so much to him that he tried to think of everything that might happen to you in the future, and he foresaw that they might possibly come back. 'if she were ever to care for some false loon!' he has said to me, and then, grizel, he could not go on." grizel beat her hands. "if he could not go on," she said, "it was not because he feared what i should do." "no, no," david answered eagerly, "he never feared for that, but for your happiness. he told me of a boy who used to torment you, oh, all so long ago, and of such little account that he had forgotten his name. but that boy has come back, and you care for him, and he is a false loon, grizel." she had risen too, and was flashing fire on david; but he went on. "'if the time ever comes,' he said to me, 'when you see her in torture from such a cause, speak to her openly about it. tell her it is i who am speaking through you. it will be a hard task to you, but wrestle through with it, david, in memory of any little kindness i may have done you, and the great love i bore my grizel.'" she was standing rigid now. "is there any more, david?" she said in a low voice. "only this. i admired you then as i admire you now. i may not love you, grizel, but of this i am very sure"--he was speaking steadily, he was forgetting no one--"that you are the noblest and bravest woman i have ever known, and i promised--he did not draw the promise from me, i gave it to him--that if i was a free man and could help you in any way without paining you by telling you these things, i would try that way first." "and this is the way?" "i could think of no other. is it of no avail?" she shook her head. "you have made such a dreadful mistake," she cried miserably, "and you won't see it. oh, how you wrong him! i am the happiest girl in the world, and it is he who makes me so happy. but i can't explain. you need not ask me; i promised, and i won't." "you used not to be so fond of mystery, grizel." "i am not fond of it now." "ah, it is he," david said bitterly, and he lifted his hat. "is there nothing you will let me do for you, grizel?" he cried. "i thought you were to do so much for me when you came into this room," she admitted wistfully, "and said that you were in love. i thought it was with another woman." he remembered that her face had brightened. "how could that have helped you?" he asked. she saw that she had but to tell him, and for her sake he would do it at once. but she could not be so selfish. "we need not speak of that now," she said. "we must speak of it," he answered. "grizel, it is but fair to me. it may be so important to me." "you have shown that you don't care for her, david, and that ends it." "who is it?" he was much stirred. "if you don't know----" "is it elspeth?" the question came out of him like a confession, and hope turned grizel giddy. "do you love her, david?" she cried. but he hesitated. "is what you have told me true, that it would help you?" he asked, looking her full in the eyes. "do you love her?" she implored, but he was determined to have her answer first. "is it, grizel?" "yes, yes. do you, david?" and then he admitted that he did, and she rocked her arms in joy. "but oh, david, to say such things to me when you were not a free man! how badly you have treated elspeth to-day!" "she does not care for me," he said. "have you asked her?"--in alarm. "no; but could she?" "how could she help it?" she would not tell him what tommy thought. oh, she must do everything to encourage david. "and still," said he, puzzling, "i don't see how it can affect you." "and i can't tell you," she moaned. "oh, david, do, do find out. why are you so blind?" she could have shaken him. "don't you see that once elspeth was willing to be taken care of by some other person----i must not tell you!" "then he would marry you?" she cried in anxiety: "have i told you, or did you find out?" "i found out," he said. "is it possible he is so fond of her as that?" "there never was such a brother," she answered. she could not help adding, "but he is still fonder of me." the doctor pulled his arm over his eyes and sat down again. presently he was saying with a long face: "i came here to denounce the cause of your unhappiness, and i begin to see it is myself." "of course it is, you stupid david," she said gleefully. she was very kind to the man who had been willing to do so much for her; but as the door closed on him she forgot him. she even ceased to hear the warning voice he had brought with him from the dead. she was re-reading the letter that began by calling her wife. chapter xxi the attempt to carry elspeth by numbers that was one of grizel's beautiful days, but there were others to follow as sweet, if not so exciting; she could travel back through the long length of them without coming once to a moment when she had held her breath in sudden fear; and this was so delicious that she sometimes thought these were the best days of all. of course she had little anxieties, but they were nearly all about david. he was often at aaron's house now, and what exercised her was this--that she could not be certain that he was approaching elspeth in the right way. the masterful grizel seemed to have come to life again, for, evidently, she was convinced that she alone knew the right way. "oh, david, i would not have said that to her!" she told him, when he reported progress; and now she would warn him, "you are too humble," and again, "you were over-bold." the doctor, to his bewilderment, frequently discovered, on laying results before her, that what he had looked upon as encouraging signs were really bad, and that, on the other hand, he had often left the cottage disconsolately when he ought to have been strutting. the issue was that he lost all faith in his own judgment, and if grizel said that he was getting on well, his face became foolishly triumphant, but if she frowned, it cried, "all is over!" of the proposal tommy did not know; it seemed to her that she had no right to tell even him of that; but the rest she did tell him: that david, by his own confession, was in love with elspeth; and so pleased was tommy that his delight made another day for her to cherish. so now everything depended on elspeth. "oh, if she only would!" grizel cried, and for her sake tommy tried to look bright, but his head shook in spite of him. "do you mean that we should discourage david?" she asked dolefully; but he said no to that. "i was afraid," she confessed, "that as you are so hopeless, you might think it your duty to discourage him so as to save him the pain of a refusal." "not at all," tommy said, with some hastiness. "then you do really have a tiny bit of hope?" "while there is life there is hope," he answered. she said: "i have been thinking it over, for it is so important to us, and i see various ways in which you could help david, if you would." "what would i not do, grizel! you have to name them only." "well, for instance, you might show her that you have a very high opinion of him." "agreed. but she knows that already." "then, david is an only child. don't you think you could say that men who have never had a sister are peculiarly gentle and considerate to women?" "oh, grizel! but i think i can say that." "and--and that having been so long accustomed to doing everything for themselves, they don't need managing wives as men brought up among women need them." "yes. but how cunning you are, grizel! who would have believed it?" "and then----" she hesitated. "go on. i see by your manner that this is to be a big one." "it would be such a help," she said eagerly, "if you could be just a little less attentive to her. i know you do ever so much of the housework because she is not fond of it; and if she has a headache you sit with her all day; and you beg her to play and sing to you, though you really dislike music. oh, there are scores of things you do for her, and if you were to do them a little less willingly, in such a way as to show her that they interrupt your work and are a slight trial to you, i--i am sure that would help!" "she would see through me, grizel. elspeth is sharper than you think her." "not if you did it very skilfully." "then she would believe i had grown cold to her, and it would break her heart." "one of your failings," replied grizel, giving him her hand for a moment as recompense for what she was about to say, "is that you think women's hearts break so easily. if, at the slightest sign that she notices any change in you, you think her heart is breaking, and seize her in your arms, crying, 'elspeth, dear little elspeth!'--and that is what your first impulse would be----" "how well you know me, grizel!" groaned sentimental tommy. "if that would be the result," she went on, "better not do it at all. but if you were to restrain yourself, then she could not but reflect that many of the things you did for her with a sigh david did for pleasure, and she would compare him and you--" "to my disadvantage?" tommy exclaimed, with sad incredulity. "do you really think she could, grizel?" "give her the chance," grizel continued, "and if you find it hard, you must remember that what you are doing is for her good." "and for ours," tommy cried fervently. every promise he made her at this time he fulfilled, and more; he was hopeless, but all a man could do to make elspeth love david he did. the doctor was quite unaware of it. "fortunately, her brother had a headache yesterday and was lying down," he told grizel, with calm brutality, "so i saw her alone for a few minutes." "the fibs i have to invent," said tommy, to the same confidante, "to get myself out of their way!" "luckily he does not care for music," david said, "so when she is at the piano he sometimes remains in the kitchen talking to aaron." tommy and aaron left together! tommy described those scenes with much good humour. "i was amazed at first," he said to grizel, "to find aaron determinedly enduring me, but now i understand. he wants what we want. he says not a word about it, but he is watching those two courting like a born match-maker. aaron has several reasons for hoping that elspeth will get our friend (as he would express it): one, that this would keep her in thrums; another, that to be the wife of a doctor is second only in worldly grandeur to marrying the manse; and thirdly and lastly, because he is convinced that it would be such a staggerer to me. for he thinks i have not a notion of what is going on, and that, if i had, i would whisk her away to london." he gave grizel the most graphic, solemn pictures of those evenings in the cottage. "conceive the four of us gathered round the kitchen fire--three men and a maid; the three men yearning to know what is in the maid's mind, and each concealing his anxiety from the others. elspeth gives the doctor a look which may mean much or nothing, and he glares at me as if i were in the way, and i glance at aaron, and he is on tenterhooks lest i have noticed anything. next minute, perhaps, david gives utterance to a plaintive sigh, and aaron and i pounce upon elspeth (with our eyes) to observe its effect on her, and elspeth wonders why aaron is staring, and he looks apprehensively at me, and i am gazing absent-mindedly at the fender. "you may smile, grizel," tommy would say, "and now that i think of it, i can smile myself, but we are an eerie quartet at the time. when the strain becomes unendurable, one of us rises and mends the fire with his foot, and then i think the rest of us could say 'thank you.' we talk desperately for a little after that, but soon again the awful pall creeps down." "if i were there," cried grizel, "i would not have the parlour standing empty all this time." "we are coming to the parlour," tommy replies impressively. "the parlour, grizel, now begins to stir. elspeth has disappeared from the kitchen, we three men know not whither. we did not notice her go; we don't even observe that she has gone--we are too busy looking at the fire. by and by the tremulous tinkling of an aged piano reaches us from an adjoining chamber, and aaron looks at me through his fingers, and i take a lightning glance at mr. david, and he uncrosses his legs and rises, and sits down again. aaron, in the most unconcerned way, proceeds to cut tobacco and rub it between his fingers, and i stretch out my legs and contemplate them with passionate approval. while we are thus occupied david has risen, and he is so thoroughly at his ease that he has begun to hum. he strolls round the kitchen, looking with sudden interest at the mantelpiece ornaments; he reads, for the hundredth time, the sampler on the wall. next the clock engages his attention; it is ticking, and that seems to impress him as novel and curious. by this time he has reached the door; it opens to his touch, and in a fit of abstraction he leaves the room." "you don't follow him into the parlour?" asks grizel, anxiously. "follow whom?" tommy replies severely. "i don't even know that he has gone to the parlour; now that i think of it, i have not even noticed that he has left the kitchen; nor has aaron noticed it. aaron and i are not in a condition to notice such things; we are conscious only that at last we have the opportunity for the quiet social chat we so much enjoy in each other's company. that, at least, is aaron's way of looking at it, and he keeps me there with talk of the most varied and absorbing character; one topic down, another up; when very hard put to it, he even questions me about my next book, as if he would like to read the proof-sheets, and when i seem to be listening, a little restively, for sounds from the parlour (the piano has stopped), he has the face of one who would bar the door rather than lose my society. aaron appreciates me at my true value at last, grizel. i had begun to despair almost of ever bringing him under my charm." "i should be very angry with you," grizel said warningly, "if i thought you teased the poor old man." "tease him! the consideration i show that poor old man, grizel, while i know all the time that he is plotting to diddle me! you should see me when it is he who is fidgeting to know why the piano has stopped. he stretches his head to listen, and does something to his ear that sends it another inch nearer the door; he chuckles and groans on the sly; and i--i notice nothing. oh, he is becoming quite fond of me; he thinks me an idiot." "why not tell him that you want it as much as he?" "he would not believe me. aaron is firmly convinced that i am too jealous of elspeth's affection to give away a thimbleful of it. he blames me for preventing her caring much even for him." "at any rate," said grizel, "he is on our side, and it is because he sees it would be so much the best thing for her." "and, at the same time, such a shock to me. that poor old man, grizel! i have seen him rubbing his hands together with glee and looking quite leery as he thought of what was coming to me." but grizel could not laugh now. when tommy saw so well through aaron and david, through everyone he came in contact with, indeed, what hope could there be that he was deceived in elspeth? "and yet she knows what takes him there; she must know it!" she cried. "a woman," tommy said, "is never sure that a man is in love with her until he proposes. she may fancy--but it is never safe to fancy, as so many have discovered." "she has no right," declared grizel, "to wait until she is sure, if she does not care for him. if she fears that he is falling in love with her, she knows how to discourage him; there are surely a hundred easy, kind ways of doing that." "fears he is falling in love with her!" tommy repeated. "is any woman ever afraid of that?" he really bewildered her. "no woman would like it," grizel answered promptly for them all, because she would not have liked it. "she must see that it would result only in pain to him." "still----" said tommy. "oh, but how dense you are!" she said, in surprise. "don't you understand that she would stop him, though it were for no better reasons than selfish ones? consider her shame if, in thinking it over afterwards, she saw that she might have stopped him sooner! why," she cried, with a sudden smile, "it is in your book! you say: 'every maiden carries secretly in her heart an idea of love so pure and sacred that, if by any act she is once false to that conception, her punishment is that she never dares to look at it again.' and this is one of the acts you mean." "i had not thought of it, though," he said humbly. he was never prouder of grizel than at that moment. "if elspeth's outlook," he went on, "is different----" "it can't be different." "if it is, the fault is mine; yes, though i wrote the passage that you interpret so nobly, grizel. shall i tell you," he said gently, "what i believe is elspeth's outlook exactly, just now? she knows that the doctor is attracted by her, and it gives her little thrills of exultation; but that it can be love--she puts that question in such a low voice, as if to prevent herself hearing it. and yet she listens, grizel, like one who would like to know! elspeth is pitifully distrustful of anyone's really loving her, and she will never admit to herself that he does until he tells her." "and then?" tommy had to droop his head. "i see you have still no hope!" she said. "it would be so easy to pretend i have," he replied, with longing, "in order to cheer you for the moment. oh, it would even be easy to me to deceive myself; but should i do it?" "no, no," she said; "anything but that; i can bear anything but that," and she shuddered. "but we seem to be treating david cruelly." "i don't think so," he assured her. "men like to have these things to look back to. but, if you want it, grizel, i have to say only a word to elspeth to bring it to an end. she is as tender as she is innocent, and--but it would be a hard task to me," he admitted, his heart suddenly going out to elspeth; he had never deprived her of any gratification before. "still, i am willing to do it." "no!" grizel cried, restraining him with her hand. "i am a coward, i suppose, but i can't help wanting to hope for a little longer, and david won't grudge it to me." it was but a very little longer that they had to wait. tommy, returning home one day from a walk with his old school-friend, gav dishart (now m.a.), found aaron suspiciously near the parlour keyhole. "there's a better fire in the other end," aaron said, luring him into the kitchen. so desirous was he of keeping tommy there, fixed down on a stool, that "i'll play you at the dambrod," he said briskly. "anyone with elspeth?" "some women-folk you dinna like," replied aaron. tommy rose. aaron, with a subdued snarl, got between him and the door. "i was wondering, merely," tommy said, pointing pleasantly to something on the dresser, "why one of them wore the doctor's hat." "i forgot; he's there, too," aaron said promptly; but he looked at tommy with misgivings. they sat down to their game. "you begin," said tommy; "you're black." and aaron opened with the double corner; but so preoccupied was he that it became a variation of the ayrshire lassie, without his knowing. his suspicions had to find vent in words: "you dinna speir wha the women-folk are?" "no." "do you think i'm just pretending they're there?" aaron asked apprehensively. "not at all," said tommy, with much politeness, "but i thought you might be mistaken." he could have "blown" aaron immediately thereafter, but, with great consideration, forbore. the old man was so troubled that he could not lift a king without its falling in two. his sleeve got in the way of his fingers. at last he sat back in his chair. "do you ken what is going on, man?" he demanded, "or do you no ken? i can stand this doubt no longer." a less soft-hearted person might have affected not to understand, but that was not tommy's way. "i know, aaron," he admitted. "i have known all the time." it was said in the kindliest manner, but its effect on aaron was not soothing. "curse you!" he cried, with extraordinary vehemence, "you have been playing wi' me a' the time, ay, and wi' him and wi' her!" what had aaron been doing with tommy? but tommy did not ask that. "i am sorry you think so badly of me," he said quietly. "i have known all the time, aaron, but have i interfered?" "because you ken she winna take him. i see it plain enough now. you ken your power over her; the honest man that thinks he could take her frae you is to you but a divert." he took a step nearer tommy. "listen," he said. "when you came back he was on the point o' speiring her; i saw it in his face as she was playing the piano, and she saw it, too, for her hands began to trem'le and the tune wouldna play. i daursay you think i was keeking, but if i was i stoppit it when the piano stoppit; it was a hard thing to me to do, and it would hae been an easy thing no to do, but i wouldna spy upon elspeth in her great hour." "i like you for that, aaron," tommy said; but aaron waved his likes aside. "the reason i stood at the door," he continued, "was to keep you out o' that room. i offered to play you at the dambrod to keep you out. ay, you ken that without my telling you, but do you ken what makes me tell you now? it's to see whether you'll go in and stop him; let's see you do that, and i'll hae some hope yet." he waited eagerly. "you do puzzle me now," tommy said. "ay," replied the old man, bitterly, "you're dull in the uptak' when you like! i dinna ken, i suppose, and you dinna ken, that if you had the least dread o' her taking him you would be into that room full bend to stop it; but you're so sure o' her, you're so michty sure, that you can sit here and lauch instead." "am i laughing, aaron? if you but knew, elspeth's marriage would be a far more joyful thing to me than it could ever be to you." the old warper laughed unpleasantly at that. "and i'se uphaud," he said, "you're none sure but what shell tak' him! you're no as sure she'll refuse him as that there's a sun in the heavens, and i'm a broken man." for a moment sympathy nigh compelled tommy to say a hopeful thing, but he mastered himself. "it would be weakness," was what he did say, "to pretend that there is any hope." aaron gave him an ugly look, and was about to leave the house; but tommy would not have it. "if one of us must go, aaron," he said, with much gentleness, "let it be me"; and he went out, passing the parlour door softly, so that he might not disturb poor david. the warper sat on by the fire, his head sunk miserably in his shoulders. the vehemence had passed out of him; you would have hesitated to believe that such a listless, shrunken man could have been vehement that same year. it is a hardy proof of his faith in tommy that he did not even think it worth while to look up when, by and by, the parlour door opened and the doctor came in for his hat. elspeth was with him. [illustration: they told aaron something.] they told aaron something. it lifted him off his feet and bore him out at the door. when he made up on himself he knew he was searching everywhere for tommy. a terror seized him, lest he should not be the first to convey the news. had he been left a fortune? neighbours asked, amazed at this unwonted sight; and he replied, as he ran, "i have, and i want to share it wi' him!" it was his only joke. people came to their doors to see aaron latta laughing. chapter xxii grizel's glorious hour elspeth was to be his wife! david had carried the wondrous promise straight to grizel, and now he was gone and she was alone again. oh, foolish grizel, are you crying, and i thought it was so hard to you to cry! "me crying! oh, no!" put your hand to your cheeks, grizel. are they not wet? "they are wet, and i did not know it! it is hard to me to cry in sorrow, but i can cry for joy. i am crying because it has all come right, and i was so much afraid that it never would." ah, grizel, i think you said you wanted nothing else so long as you had his love! "but god has let it all come right, just the same, and i am thanking him. that is why i did not know that i was crying." she was by the fireplace, on the stool that had always been her favourite seat, and of course she sat very straight. when grizel walked or stood her strong, round figure took a hundred beautiful poses, but when she sat it had but one. the old doctor, in experimenting moods, had sometimes compelled her to recline, and then watched to see her body spring erect the moment he released his hold. "what a dreadful patient i should make!" she said contritely. "i would chloroform you, miss," said he. she sat thus for a long time; she had so much for which to thank god, though not with her lips, for how could they keep pace with her heart? her heart was very full; chiefly, i think, with the tears that rolled down unknown to her. she thanked god, in the name of the little hunted girl who had not been taught how to pray, and so did it standing. "i do so want to be good; oh, how sweet it would be to be good!" she had said in that long ago. she had said it out loud when she was alone on the chance of his hearing, but she had not addressed him by name because she was not sure that he was really called god. she had not even known that you should end by saying "amen," which tommy afterwards told her is the most solemn part of it. how sweet it would be to be good, but how much sweeter it is to be good! the woman that girl had grown into knew that she was good, and she thanked god for that. she thanked him for letting her help. if he had said that she had not helped, she would have rocked her arms and replied almost hotly: "you know i have." and he did know: he had seen her many times in the grip of inherited passions, and watched her fighting with them and subduing them; he had seen ugly thoughts stealing upon her, as they crawl towards every child of man; ah, he had seen them leap into the heart of the painted lady's daughter, as if a nest already made for them must be there, and still she had driven them away. grizel had helped. the tears came more quickly now. she thanked god that she had never worn the ring. but why had she never worn it, when she wanted so much to do so, and it was hers? why had she watched herself more carefully than ever of late, and forced happiness to her face when it was not in her heart, and denied herself, at fierce moments, the luxuries of grief and despair, and even of rebellion? for she had carried about with her the capacity to rebel, but she had hidden it, and the reason was that she thought god was testing her. if she fell he would not give her the thing she coveted. unworthy reason for being good, as she knew, but god overlooked it, and she thanked him for that. her hands pressed each other impulsively, as if at the shock of a sudden beautiful thought, and then perhaps she was thanking god for making her the one woman who could be the right wife for tommy. she was so certain that no other woman could help him as she could; none knew his virtues as she knew them. had it not been for her, his showy parts only would have been loved; the dear, quiet ones would never have heard how dear they were: the showy ones were open to all the world, but the quiet ones were her private garden. his faults as well as his virtues passed before her, and it is strange to know that it was about this time that grizel ceased to cry and began to smile instead. i know why she smiled; it was because sentimentality was one of the little monsters that came skipping into her view, and tommy was so confident that he had got rid at last of it! grizel knew better! but she could look at it and smile. perhaps she was not sorry that it was still there with the others, it had so long led the procession. i daresay she saw herself taking the leering, distorted thing in hand and making something gallant of it. she thought that she was too practical, too much given to seeing but one side to a question, too lacking in consideration for others, too impatient, too relentlessly just, and she humbly thanked god for all these faults, because tommy's excesses were in the opposite direction, and she could thus restore the balance. she was full of humility while she saw how useful she could be to him, but her face did not show this; she had forgotten her face, and elation had spread over it without her knowing. perhaps god accepted the elation as part of the thanks. she thanked god for giving tommy what he wanted so much--herself. ah, she had thanked him for that before, but she did it again. and then she went on her knees by her dear doctor's chair, and prayed that she might be a good wife to tommy. when she rose the blood was not surging through her veins. instead of a passion of joy it was a beautiful calm that possessed her, and on noticing this she regarded herself with sudden suspicion, as we put our ear to a watch to see if it has stopped. she found that she was still going, but no longer either fast or slow, and she saw what had happened: her old serene self had come back to her. i think she thanked god for that most of all. and then she caught sight of her face--oh, oh! her first practical act as an engaged woman was to wash her face. engaged! but was she? grizel laughed. it is not usually a laughing matter, but she could not help that. consider her predicament. she could be engaged at once, if she liked, even before she wiped the water from her face, or she might postpone it, to let tommy share. the careful reader will have noticed that this problem presented itself to her at an awkward moment. she laughed, in short, while her face was still in the basin, with the very proper result that she had to grope for the towel with her eyes shut. it was still a cold, damp face (grizel was always in such a hurry) when she opened her most precious drawer and took from it a certain glove which was wrapped in silk paper, but was not perhaps quite so conceited as it had been, for, alas and alack! it was now used as a wrapper itself. the ring was inside it. if grizel wanted to be engaged, absolutely and at once, all she had to do was to slip that ring upon her finger. it had been hers for a week or more. tommy had bought it in a certain scottish town whose merchant princes are so many, and have risen splendidly from such small beginnings, that after you have been there a short time you beg to be introduced to someone who has not got on. when you look at them they slap their trouser pockets. when they look at you they are wondering if you know how much they are worth. tommy, one day, roaming their streets (in which he was worth incredibly little), and thinking sadly of what could never be, saw the modest little garnet ring in a jeweller's window, and attached to it was a pathetic story. no other person could have seen the story, but it was as plain to him as though it had been beautifully written on the tag of paper which really contained the price. with his hand on the door he paused, overcome by that horror of entering shops without a lady to do the talking, which all men of genius feel (it is the one sure test), hurried away, came back, went to and fro shyly, until he saw that he was yielding once more to the indecision he thought he had so completely mastered, whereupon he entered bravely (though it was one of those detestable doors that ring a bell as they open), and sternly ordered the jeweller, who could have bought and sold our tommy with one slap on the trouser leg, to hand the ring over to him. he had no intention of giving it to grizel. that, indeed, was part of its great tragedy, for this is the story tommy read into the ring: there was once a sorrowful man of twenty-three, and forty, and sixty. ah, how gray the beard has grown as we speak! how thin the locks! but still we know him for the same by that garnet ring. since it became his no other eye has seen it, and yet it is her engagement ring. never can he give it to her, but must always carry it about with him as the piteous memory of what had never been. how innocent it looked in his hand, and with an innocence that never wore off, not even when he had reached his threescore years. as it aged it took on another kind of innocence only. it looked pitiable now, for there is but a dishonoured age for a lonely little ring which can never see the finger it was made to span. a hair-shirt! such it was to him, and he put it on willingly, knowing it could be nothing else. every smart it gave him pleased, even while it pained. if ever his mind roamed again to the world of make-believe, that ring would jerk him back to facts. grizel remembered well her finding of it. she had been in his pockets. she loved to rifle them; to pull out his watch herself, instead of asking him for the time; to exclaim "oh!" at the many things she found there, when they should have been neatly docketed or in the fire, and from his waistcoat pocket she drew the ring. she seemed to understand all about it at once. she was far ahead while he was explaining. it seemed quite strange to her that there had ever been a time when she did not know of her garnet ring. how her arms rocked! it was delicious to her to remember now with what agony her arms had rocked. she kissed it; she had not been the first to kiss it. it was "oh, how i wish i could have saved you this pain!" "but i love it," she cried, "and i love the pain." it was "am i not to see it on your finger once?" "no, no; we must not." "let me, grizel!" "is it right, oh, is it right?" "only this once!" "very well!" "i dare not, grizel, i can't! what are we to do with it now?" "give it to me. it is mine. i will keep it, beside my glove." "let me keep it, grizel." "no; it is mine." "shall i fling it away?" "how can you be so cruel? it is mine." "let me bury it." "it is mine." and of course she had got her way. could he resist her in anything? they had never spoken of it since, it was such a sad little ring. sad! it was not in the least little bit sad. grizel wondered as she looked at it now how she could ever have thought it sad. the object with which she put on her hat was to go to aaron's cottage, to congratulate elspeth. so she said to herself. oh, grizel! but first she opened two drawers. they were in a great press and full of beautiful linen woven in thrums, that had come to dr. mcqueen as a "bad debt." "your marriage portion, young lady," he had said to grizel, then but a slip of a girl, whereupon, without waiting to lengthen her frock, she rushed rapturously at her work-basket. "not at all, miss," he cried ferociously; "you are here to look after this house, not to be preparing for another, and until you are respectably bespoken by some rash crittur of a man, into the drawers with your linen and down with those murderous shears." and she had obeyed; no scissors, the most relentless things in nature when in grizel's hand, had ever cleaved their way through that snowy expanse; never a stitch had she put into her linen except with her eyes, which became horribly like needles as she looked at it. and now at last she could begin! oh, but she was anxious to begin; it is almost a fact that, as she looked at those drawers, she grudged the time that must be given to-day to tommy and his ring. do you see her now, ready to start? she was wearing her brown jacket with the fur collar, over which she used to look so searchingly at tommy. to think there was a time when that serene face had to look searchingly at him! it nearly made her sad again. she paused to bring out the ring and take another exultant look at it. it was attached now to a ribbon round her neck. sweet ring! she put it to her eyes. that was her way of letting her eyes kiss it then she rubbed them and it, in case the one had left a tear upon the other. and then she went out, joy surging in her heart for this was grizel's glorious hour, the end of it. chapter xxiii tommy loses grizel it was not aaron's good fortune to find tommy. he should have looked for him in the den. in that haunt of happier lovers than he, tommy walked slowly, pondering. he scarce noticed that he had the den to himself, or that, since he was last here, autumn had slipped away, leaving all her garments on the ground. by this time, undoubtedly, elspeth had said her gentle no; but he was not railing against fate, not even for striking the final blow at him through that innocent medium. he had still too much to do for that--to help others. there were three of them at present, and by some sort of sympathetic jugglery he had an arm for each. "lean on me, grizel--dear sister elspeth, you little know the harm you have done--david, old friend, your hand." thus loaded, he bravely returned at the fitting time to the cottage. his head was not even bent. had you asked tommy what elspeth would probably do when she dismissed david, he might have replied that she would go up to his room and lock herself into it, so that no one should disturb her for a time. and this he discovered, on returning home, was actually what had happened. how well he knew her! how distinctly he heard every beat of her tender heart, and how easy to him to tell why it was beating! he did not go up; he waited for little elspeth to come to him, all in her own good time. and when she came, looking just as he knew she would look, he had a brave, bright face for her. she was shaking after her excitement, or perhaps she had ceased to shake and begun again as she came down to him. he pretended not to notice it; he would notice it the moment he was sure she wanted him to, but perhaps that would not be until she was in bed and he had come to say good-night and put out her light, for, as we know, she often kept her great confidences till then, when she discovered that he already knew them. "the doctor has been in." she began almost at once, and in a quaking voice and from a distance, as if in hope that the bullet might be spent before it reached her brother. "i am sorry i missed him," he replied cautiously. "what a fine fellow he is!" "you always liked him," said elspeth, clinging eagerly to that. "no one could help liking him, elspeth, he has such winning ways," said tommy, perhaps a little in the voice with which at funerals we refer to the departed. she loved his words, but she knew she had a surprise for him this time, and she tried to blurt it out. "he said something to me. he--oh, what a high opinion he has of you!" (she really thought he had.) "was that the something?" tommy asked, with a smile that helped her, as it was meant to do. "you understand, don't you?" she said, almost in a whisper. "of course i do, elspeth," he answered reassuringly; but somehow she still thought he didn't. "no one could have been more manly and gentle and humble," she said beseechingly. "i am sure of it," said tommy. "he thinks nothing of himself," she said. "we shall always think a great deal of him," replied tommy. "yes, but----" elspeth found the strangest difficulty in continuing, for, though it would have surprised him to be told so, tommy was not helping her nearly as much as he imagined. "i told him," she said, shaking, "that no one could be to me what you were. i told him----" and then timid elspeth altogether broke down. tommy drew her to him, as he had so often done since she was the smallest child, and pressed her head against his breast, and waited. so often he had waited thus upon elspeth. "there is nothing to cry about, dear," he said tenderly, when the time to speak came. "you have, instead, the right to be proud that so good a man loves you. i am very proud of it, elspeth." "if i could be sure of that!" she gasped. "don't you believe me, dear?" "yes, but--that is not what makes me cry. tommy, don't you see?" "yes," he assured her, "i see. you are crying because you feel so sorry for him. but i don't feel sorry for him, elspeth. if i know anything at all, it is this: that no man needs pity who sincerely loves; whether that love be returned or not, he walks in a new and more beautiful world for evermore." she clutched his hand. "i don't understand how you know those things," she whispered. please god, was tommy's reflection, she should never know. he saw most vividly the pathos of his case, but he did not break down under it; it helped him, rather, to proceed. "it will be the test of gemmell," he said, "how he bears this. no man, i am very sure, was ever told that his dream could not come true more kindly and tenderly than you told it to him." he was in the middle of the next sentence (a fine one) before her distress stopped him. "tommy," she cried, "you don't understand. that is not what i told him at all!" it was one of the few occasions on which the expression on the face of t. sandys perceptibly changed. "what did you tell him?" he asked, almost sharply. "i accepted him," she said guiltily, backing away from this alarming face. "what!" "if you only knew how manly and gentle and humble he was," she cried quickly, as if something dire might happen if tommy were not assured of this at once. "you--said you would marry him, elspeth?" "yes!" "and leave me?" "oh, oh!" she flung her arms around his neck. "yes, but that is what you are prepared to do!" said he, and he held her away from him and stared at her, as if he had never seen elspeth before. "were you not afraid?" he exclaimed, in amazement. "i am not the least bit afraid," she answered. "oh tommy, if you knew how manly----" and then she remembered that she had said that already. "you did not even say that you would--consult me?" "oh, oh!" "why didn't you, elspeth?" "i--i forgot!" she moaned. "tommy, you are angry!" she hugged him, and he let her do it, but all the time he was looking over her head fixedly, with his mouth open. "and i was always so sure of you!" were the words that came to him at last, with a hard little laugh at the end of them. "can you think it makes me love you less," she sobbed, "because i love him, too? oh, tommy, i thought you would be so glad!" he kissed her; he put his hand fondly upon her head. "i am glad," he said, with emotion. "when that which you want has come to you, elspeth, how can i but be glad? but it takes me aback, and if for a moment i felt forlorn, if, when i should have been rejoicing only in your happiness, the selfish thought passed through my mind, 'what is to become of me?' i hope--i hope--" then he sat down and buried his face in the table. and he might have been telling her about grizel! has the shock stunned you, tommy? elspeth thinks it has been a shock of pain. may we lift your head to show her your joyous face? "i am so proud," she was saying, "that at last, after you have done so much for me, i can do a little thing for you. for it is something to free you, tommy. you have always pretended, for my sake, that we could not do without each other, but we both knew all the time that it was only i who was unable to do without you. you can't deny it." he might deny it, but it was true. ah, tommy, you bore with her with infinite patience, but did it never strike you that she kept you to the earth? if elspeth could be happy without you! you were sure she could not, but if she could!--had that thought never made you flap your wings? "i often had a pain at my heart," she told him, "which i kept from you. it was a feeling that your solicitude for me, perhaps, prevented your caring for any other woman. it seemed terrible and unnatural that i should be a bar to that. i felt that i was starving you, and not you only, but an unknown woman as well." "so long as i had you, elspeth," he said reproachfully, "was not that enough?" "it seemed to be enough," she answered gravely, "but even while i comforted myself with that, i knew that it should not be enough, and still i feared that if it was, the blame was mine. now i am no longer in the way, and i hope, so ardently, that you will fall in love, like other people. if you never do, i shall always have the fear that i am the cause, that you lost the capacity in the days when i let you devote yourself too much to me." oh, blind elspeth! now is the time to tell her, tommy, and fill her cup of happiness to the brim. but it is she who is speaking still, almost gaily now, yet with a full heart. "what a time you have had with me, tommy! i told david all about it, and what he has to look forward to, but he says he is not afraid. and when you find someone you can love," she continued sweetly, though she had a sigh to stifle, "i hope she will be someone quite unlike me, for oh, my dear, good brother, i know you need a change." not a word said tommy. she said, timidly, that she had begun to hope of late that grizel might be the woman, and still he did not speak. he drew elspeth closer to him, that she might not see his face and the horror of himself that surely sat on it. to the very marrow of him he was in such cold misery that i wonder his arms did not chill her. this poor devil of a sentimental tommy! he had wakened up in the world of facts, where he thought he had been dwelling of late, to discover that he had not been here for weeks, except at meal-times. during those weeks he had most honestly thought that he was in a passion to be married. what do you say to pitying instead of cursing him? it is a sudden idea of mine, and we must be quick, for joyous grizel is drawing near, and this, you know, is the chapter in which her heart breaks. * * * * * it was elspeth who opened the door to grizel. "does she know?" said elspeth to herself, before either of them spoke. "does she know?" it was what grizel was saying also. "oh, elspeth, i am so glad! david has told me." "she does know," elspeth told herself, and she thought it was kind of grizel to come so quickly. she said so. "she doesn't know!" thought grizel, and then these two kissed for the first time. it was a kiss of thanks from each. "but why does she not know?" grizel wondered a little as they entered the parlour, where tommy was; he had been standing with his teeth knit since he heard the knock. as if in answer to the question, elspeth said: "i have just broken it to tommy. he has been in a few minutes only, and he is so surprised he can scarcely speak." grizel laughed happily, for that explained it. tommy had not had time to tell her yet. she laughed again at elspeth, who had thought she had so much to tell and did not know half the story. elspeth begged tommy to listen to the beautiful things grizel was saying about david, but, truth to tell, grizel scarcely heard them herself. she had given tommy a shy, rapturous glance. she was wondering when he would begin. what a delicious opening when he shook hands! suppose he had kissed her instead! or, suppose he casually addressed her as darling! he might do it at any moment now! just for once she would not mind though he did it in public. perhaps as soon as this new remark of elspeth's was finished, he meant to say: "you are not the only engaged person in the room, miss elspeth; i think i see another two!" grizel laughed as if she had heard him say it. and then she ceased laughing suddenly, for some little duty had called elspeth into the other room, and as she went out she stopped the movement of the earth. these two were alone with their great joy. elspeth had said that she would be back in two minutes. was grizel wasting a moment when she looked only at him, her eyes filmy with love, the crooked smile upon her face so happy that it could not stand still? her arms made a slight gesture towards him; her hands were open; she was giving herself to him. she could not see. for a fraction of time the space between them seemed to be annihilated. his arms were closing round her. then she knew that neither of them had moved. "grizel!" he tried to be true to her by deceiving her. it was the only way. "at last, grizel," he cried, "at last!" and he put joyousness into his voice. "it has all come right, dear one!" he cried like an ecstatic lover. never in his life had he tried so hard to deceive at the sacrifice of himself. but he was fighting something as strong as the instinct of self-preservation, and his usually expressionless face gave the lie to his joyous words. loud above his voice his ashen face was speaking to her, and she cried in terror, "what is wrong?" even then he attempted to deceive her, but suddenly she knew the truth. "you don't want to be married!" i think the room swam round with her. when it was steady again, "you did not say that, did you?" she asked. she was sure he had not said it. she was smiling again tremulously to show him that he had not said it. "i want to be married above all else on earth," he said imploringly; but his face betrayed him still, and she demanded the truth, and he was forced to tell it. a little shiver passed through her, that was all. "do you mean that you don't love me?" she said. "you must tell me what you mean." "that is how others would put it, i suppose," he replied. "i believe they would be wrong. i think i love you in my own way; but i thought i loved you in their way, and it is the only way that counts in this world of theirs. it does not seem to be my world. i was given wings, i think, but i am never to know that i have left the earth until i come flop upon it with an arrow through them. i crawl and wriggle here, and yet"--he laughed harshly--"i believe i am rather a fine fellow when i am flying!" she nodded. "you mean you want me to let you off?" she asked. "you must tell me what you mean." and as he did not answer instantly, "because i think i have some little claim upon you," she said, with a pleasant smile. "i am as pitiful a puzzle to myself as i can be to you," he replied. "all i know is that i don't want to marry anyone. and yet i am sure i could die for you, grizel." it was quite true. a burning house and grizel among the flames, and he would have been the first on the ladder. but there is no such luck for you, tommy. "you are free," was what she said. "don't look so tragic," she added, again with the pleasant smile. "it must be very distressing to you, but--you will soon fly again." her lips twitched tremulously. "i can't fly," she said. she took the ring from her neck. she took it off its ribbon. "i brought it," she said, "to let you put it on my finger. i thought you would want to do that," she said. "grizel," he cried, "can we not be as we have been?" "no," she answered. "it would all come right, grizel. i am sure it would. i don't know why i am as i am; but i shall try to change myself. you have borne with me since we were children. won't you bear with me for a little longer?" she shook her head, but did not trust herself to speak. "i have lost you," he said, and she nodded. "then i am lost indeed!" said he, and he knew it, too; but with a gesture of the hand she begged him not to say that. "without your love to help me----" he began. "you shall always have that," she told him with shining eyes, "always, always." and what could he do but look at her with the wonder and the awe that come to every man who, for one moment in his life, knows a woman well? "you can love me still, grizel!" his voice was shaky. "just the same," she answered, and i suppose he looked uplifted. "but you should be sorry," she said gravely, and it was then that elspeth came back. she had not much exceeded her two minutes. it was always terrible to tommy not to have the feelings of a hero. at that moment he could not endure it. in a splendid burst of self-sacrifice he suddenly startled both grizel and himself by crying, "elspeth, i love grizel, and i have just asked her to be my wife." yes, the nobility of it amazed himself, but bewitched him, too, and he turned gloriously to grizel, never doubting but that she would have him still. he need not have spoken so impulsively, nor looked so grand. she swayed for an instant and then was erect again. "you must forgive me, elspeth," she said, "but i have refused him"; and that was the biggest surprise tommy ever got in his life. "you don't care for him!" elspeth blurted out. "not in the way he cares for me," grizel replied quietly, and when elspeth would have said more she begged her to desist. "the only thing for me to do now, elspeth," she said, smiling, "is to run away, but i want you first to accept a little wedding-gift from me. i wish you and david so much happiness; you won't refuse it, will you?" elspeth, still astounded, took the gift. it was a little garnet ring. "it will have to be cut," grizel said. "it was meant, i think, for a larger finger. i have had it some time, but i never wore it." elspeth said she would always treasure her ring, and that it was beautiful. "i used to think it--rather sweet," grizel admitted, and then she said good-bye to them both and went away. chapter xxiv the monster tommy's new character was that of a monster. he always liked the big parts. concealed, as usual, in the garments that clung so oddly to him, modesty, generosity, indifference to applause and all the nobler impulses, he could not strip himself of them, try as he would, and so he found, to his scornful amusement, that he still escaped the public fury. in the two months that preceded elspeth's marriage there was positively scarce a soul in thrums who did not think rather well of him. "if they knew what i really am," he cried with splendid bitterness, "how they would run from me!" even david could no longer withhold the hand of fellowship, for grizel would tell him nothing, except that, after all, and for reasons sufficient to herself, she had declined to become mrs. sandys. he sought in vain to discover how tommy could be to blame. "and now," tommy said grimly to grizel, "our doctor thinks you have used me badly, and that i am a fine fellow to bear no resentment! elspeth told me that he admires the gentle and manly dignity with which i submit to the blow, and i have no doubt that, as soon as i heard that, i made it more gentle and manly than ever! "i have forbidden elspeth," he told her, "to upbraid you for not accepting me, with the result that she thinks me too good to live! ha, ha! what do you think, grizel?" it became known in the town that she had refused him. everybody was on tommy's side. they said she had treated him badly. even aaron was staggered at the sight of tommy accepting his double defeat in such good part. "and all the time i am the greatest cur unhung," says tommy. "why don't you laugh, grizel?" never, they said, had there been such a generous brother. the town was astir about this poor man's gifts to the lucky bride. there were rumours that among the articles was a silver coal-scuttle, but it proved to be a sugar-bowl in that pattern. three bandboxes came for her to select from; somebody discovered who was on the watch, but may i be struck dead if more than one went back. yesterday it was bonnets; to-day she is at tilliedrum again, trying on her going-away dress. and she really was to go away in it, a noticeable thing, for in thrums society, though they usually get a going-away dress, they are too canny to go away in it the local shops were not ignored, but the best of the trousseau came from london. "that makes the second box this week, as i'm a living sinner," cries the lady on the watch again. when boxes arrived at the station corp wheeled them up to elspeth without so much as looking at the label. ah, what a brother! they said it openly to their own brothers, and to tommy in the way they looked at him. "there has been nothing like it," he assured grizel, "since red riding-hood and the wolf. why can't i fling off my disguise and cry, 'the better to eat you with!'" he always spoke to her now in this vein of magnificent bitterness, but grizel seldom rewarded him by crying, "oh, oh!" she might, however, give him a patient, reproachful glance instead, and it had the irritating effect of making him feel that perhaps he was under life-size, instead of over it. "i daresay you are right," says tommy, savagely. "i said nothing." "you don't need to say it. what a grand capacity you have for knocking me off my horse, grizel!" "are you angry with me for that?" "no; it is delicious to pick one's self out of the mud, especially when you find it is a baby you are picking up, instead of a brute. am i a baby only, grizel?" "i think it is childish of you," she replied, "to say you are a brute." "there is not to be even that satisfaction left to me! you are hard on me, grizel." "i am trying to help you. how can you be angry with me?" "the instinct of self-preservation, i suppose. i see myself dwindling so rapidly under your treatment that soon there will be nothing of me left." it was said cruelly, for he knew that the one thing grizel could not bear now was the implication that she saw his faults only. she always went down under that blow with pitiful surrender, showing the woman suddenly, as if under a physical knouting. he apologized contritely. "but, after all, it proves my case," he said, "for i could not hurt you in this way, grizel, if i were not a pretty well-grown specimen of a monster." "don't," she said; but she did not seek to help him by drawing him away to other subjects, which would have been his way. "what is there monstrous," she asked, "in your being so good to elspeth? it is very kind of you to give her all these things." "especially when by rights they are yours, grizel!" "no, not when you did not want to give them to me." he dared say nothing to that; there were some matters on which he must not contradict grizel now. "it is nice of you," she said, "not to complain, though elspeth is deserting you. it must have been a blow." "you and i only know why," he answered. "but for her, grizel, i might be whining sentiment to you at this moment." "that," she said, "would be the monstrous thing." "and it is not monstrous, i suppose, that i should let gemmell press my hand under the conviction that, after all, i am a trump." "you don't pose as one." "that makes them think the more highly of me! nothing monstrous, grizel, in my standing quietly by while you are showing elspeth how to furnish her house--i, who know why you have the subject at your finger-tips!" for grizel had given all her sweet ideas to elspeth. heigh-ho! how she had guarded them once, confiding them half reluctantly even to tommy; half reluctantly, that is, at the start, because they were her very own, but once she was embarked on the subject talking with such rapture that every minute or two he had to beg her to be calm. she was the first person in that part of the world to think that old furniture need not be kept in the dark corners, and she knew where there was an oak bedstead that was looked upon as a disgrace, and where to obtain the dearest cupboards, one of them in use as the retiring-chamber of a rabbit-hutch, and stately clocks made in the town a hundred years ago, and quaint old-farrant lamps and cogeys and sand-glasses that apologized if you looked at them, and yet were as willing to be loved again as any old lady in a mutch. you will not buy them easily now, the people will not chuckle at you when you bid for them now. we have become so cute in thrums that when the fender breaks we think it may have increased in value, and we preserve any old board lest the worms have made it artistic. grizel, however, was in advance of her time. she could lay her hands on all she wanted, and she did, but it was for elspeth's house. "and the table-cloths and the towels and the sheets," said tommy. "nothing monstrous in my letting you give elspeth them?" the linen, you see, was no longer in grizel's press. "i could not help making them," she answered, "they were so longing to be made. i did not mean to give them to her. i think i meant to put them back in the press, but when they were made it was natural that they should want to have something to do. so i gave them to elspeth." "with how many tears on them?" "not many. but with some kisses." "all which," says tommy, "goes to prove that i have nothing with which to reproach myself!" "no, i never said that," she told him. "you have to reproach yourself with wanting me to love you." she paused a moment to let him say, if he dared, that he had not done that, when she would have replied instantly, "you know you did." he could have disabused her, but it would have been cruel, and so on this subject, as ever, he remained silent. "but that is not what i have been trying to prove," she continued. "you know as well as i that the cause of this unhappiness has been--what you call your wings." he was about to thank her for her delicacy in avoiding its real name, when she added, "i mean your sentiment," and he laughed instead. "i flatter myself that i no longer fly, at all events," he said. "i know what i am at last, grizel" "it is flattery only," she replied with her old directness. "this thing you are regarding with a morbid satisfaction is not you at all." he groaned. "which of them all is me, grizel?" he asked gloomily. "we shall see," she said, "when we have got the wings off." "they will have to come off a feather at a time." "that," she declared, "is what i have been trying to prove." "it will be a weary task, grizel." "i won't weary at it," she said, smiling. her cheerfulness was a continual surprise to him. "you bear up wonderfully well yourself," he sometimes said to her, almost reproachfully, and she never replied that, perhaps, that was one of her ways of trying to help him. she is not so heartbroken, after all, you may be saying, and i had promised to break her heart. but, honestly, i don't know how to do it more thoroughly, and you must remember that we have not seen her alone yet. she tried to be very little alone. she helped david in his work more than ever; not a person, for instance, managed to escape the bath because grizel's heart was broken. you could never say that she was alone when her needle was going, and the linen became sheets and the like, in what was probably record time. yet they could have been sewn more quickly; for at times the needle stopped and she did not know it. once a bedridden old woman, with whom she had been sitting up, lay watching her instead of sleeping, and finally said: "what makes you sit staring at a cauld fire, and speaking to yourself?" and there was a strange day when she had been too long in the den. when she started for home she went in the direction of double dykes, her old home, instead. she could bear everything except doubt. she had told him so, when he wondered at her calmness; she often said it to herself. she could tread any path, however drearily it stretched before her, so long as she knew whither it led, but there could be no more doubt. oh, he must never again disturb her mind with hope! how clearly she showed him that, and yet they had perhaps no more than parted when it seemed impossible to bear for the next hour the desolation she was sentenced to for life. she lay quivering and tossing on the hearth-rug of the parlour, beating it with her fists, rocking her arms, and calling to him to give her doubt again, that she might get through the days. "let me doubt again!" here was grizel starting to beg it of him. more than once she got half-way to aaron's house before she could turn; but she always did turn, with the words unspoken; never did tommy hear her say them, but always that she was tranquil now. was it pride that supported her in the trying hour? oh, no, it was not pride. that is an old garment, which once became grizel well, but she does not wear it now; she takes it out of the closet, perhaps, at times to look at it. what gave her strength when he was by was her promise to help him. it was not by asking for leave to dream herself that she could make him dream the less. all done for you, tommy! it might have helped you to loosen a few of the feathers. sometimes she thought it might not be tommy, but herself, who was so unlike other people; that it was not he who was unable to love, but she who could not be loved. this idea did not agitate her as a terrible thing; she could almost welcome it. but she did not go to him with it. while it might be but a fancy, that was no way to help a man who was overfull of them. it was the bare truth only that she wanted him to see, and so she made elaborate inquiries into herself, to discover whether she was quite unlovable. i suppose it would have been quaint, had she not been quite so much in earnest. she examined herself in the long mirror most conscientiously, and with a determinedly open mind, to see whether she was too ugly for any man to love. our beautiful grizel really did. she had always thought that she was a nice girl, but was she? no one had ever loved her, except the old doctor, and he began when she was so young that perhaps he had been inveigled into it, like a father. even david had not loved her. was it because he knew her so well? what was it in women that made men love them? she asked it of david in such a way that he never knew she was putting him to the question. he merely thought that he and she were having a pleasant chat about elspeth, and, as a result, she decided that he loved elspeth because she was so helpless. his head sat with uncommon pride on his shoulders while he talked of elspeth's timidity. there was a ring of boastfulness in his voice as he paraded the large number of useful things that elspeth could not do. and yet david was a sensible and careful man. was it helplessness that man loved in woman, then? it seemed to be elspeth's helplessness that had made tommy such a brother, and how it had always appealed to aaron! no woman could be less helpless than herself, grizel knew. she thought back and back, and she could not come to a time when she was not managing somebody. women, she reflected, fall more or less deeply in love with every baby they see, while men, even the best of them, can look calmly at other people's babies. but when the helplessness of the child is in the woman, then other women are unmoved; but the great heart of man is stirred--woman is his baby. she remembered that the language of love is in two sexes--for the woman superlatives, for the man diminutives. the more she loves the bigger he grows, but in an ecstasy he could put her in his pocket. had not tommy taught her this? his little one, his child! perhaps he really had loved her in the days when they both made believe that she was infantile; but soon she had shown with fatal clearness that she was not. instead of needing to be taken care of, she had obviously wanted to take care of him: their positions were reversed. perhaps, said grizel to herself, i should have been a man. if this was the true explanation, then, though tommy, who had tried so hard, could not love her, he might be able to love--what is the phrase?--a more womanly woman, or, more popular phrase still, a very woman. some other woman might be the right wife for him. she did not shrink from considering this theory, and she considered so long that i, for one, cannot smile at her for deciding ultimately, as she did, that there was nothing in it. the strong like to be leaned upon and the weak to lean, and this irrespective of sex. this was the solution she woke up with one morning, and it seemed to explain not only david's and elspeth's love, but her own, so clearly that in her desire to help she put it before tommy. it implied that she cared for him because he was weak, and he drew a very long face. "you don't know how the feathers hurt as they come out," he explained. "but so long as we do get them out!" she said. "every other person who knows me thinks that strength is my great characteristic," he maintained, rather querulously. "but when you know it is not," said grizel. "you do know, don't you?" she asked anxiously. "to know the truth about one's self, that is the beginning of being strong." "you seem determined," he retorted, "to prevent my loving you." "why?" she asked. "you are to make me strong in spite of myself, i understand. but, according to your theory, the strong love the weak only. are you to grow weak, grizel, as i grow strong?" she had not thought of that, and she would have liked to rock her arms. but she was able to reply: "i am not trying to help you in order to make you love me; you know, quite well, that all that is over and done with. i am trying only to help you to be what a man should be." she could say that to him, but to herself? was she prepared to make a man of him at the cost of his possible love? this faced her when she was alone with her passionate nature, and she fought it, and with her fists clenched she cried: "yes, yes, yes!" do we know all that grizel had to fight? there were times when tommy's mind wandered to excuses for himself; he knew what men were, and he shuddered to think of the might have been, had a girl who could love as grizel did loved such a man as her father. he thanked his maker, did tommy, that he, who was made as those other men, had avoided raising passions in her. i wonder how he was so sure. do we know all that grizel had to fight? * * * * * they spoke much during those days of the coming parting, and she always said that she could bear it if she saw him go away more of a man than he had come. "then anything i have suffered or may suffer," she told him, "will have been done to help you, and perhaps in time that will make me proud of my poor little love-story. it would be rather pitiful, would it not, if i have gone through so much for no end at all?" she spoke, he said, almost reproachfully, as if she thought he might go away on his wings, after all. "we can't be sure," she murmured, she was so eager to make him watchful. "yes," he said, humbly but firmly, "i may be a scoundrel, grizel, i am a scoundrel, but one thing you may be sure of, i am done with sentiment." but even as he said it, even as he felt that he could tear himself asunder for being untrue to grizel, a bird was singing at his heart because he was free again, free to go out into the world and play as if it were but a larger den. ah, if only tommy could always have remained a boy! elspeth's marriage day came round, and i should like to linger in it, and show you elspeth in her wedding-gown, and tommy standing behind to catch her if she fainted, and ailie weeping, and aaron latta rubbing his gleeful hands, and a smiling bridesmaid who had once thought she might be a bride. but that was a day in elspeth's story, not in tommy's and grizel's. only one incident in their story crept into that happy day. there were speeches at the feast, and the rev. mr. dishart referred to tommy in the kindliest way, called him "my young friend," quoted (inaccurately) from his book, and expressed an opinion, formed, he might say, when mr. sandys was a lad at school (cheers), that he had a career before him. tommy bore it well, all except the quotation, which he was burning to correct, but sighed to find that it had set the dominies on his left talking about precocity. "to produce such a graybeard of a book at two and twenty, mr. sandys," said cathro, "is amazing. it partakes, sir, of the nature of the miraculous; it's onchancey, by which we mean a deviation from the normal." and so on. to escape this kind of flattery (he had so often heard it said by ladies, who could say it so much better), tommy turned to his neighbours on the right. oddly enough, they also were discussing deviations from the normal. on the table was a plant in full flower, and ailie, who had lent it, was expressing surprise that it should bloom so late in the season. "so early in its life, i should rather say," the doctor remarked after examining it. "it is a young plant, and in the ordinary course would not have come to flower before next year. but it is afraid that it will never see next year. it is one of those poor little plants that bloom prematurely because they are diseased." tommy was a little startled. he had often marvelled over his own precocity, but never guessed that this might be the explanation why he was in flower at twenty-two. "is that a scientific fact?" he asked. "it is a law of nature," the doctor replied gravely, and if anything more was said on the subject our tommy did not hear it. what did he hear? he was a child again, in miserable lodgings, and it was sometime in the long middle of the night, and what he heard from his bed was his mother coughing away her life in hers. there was an angry knock, knock, knock, from somewhere near, and he crept out of bed to tell his mother that the people through the wall were complaining because she would not die more quietly; but when he reached her bed it was not his mother he saw lying there, but himself, aged twenty-four or thereabouts. for tommy had inherited his mother's cough; he had known it every winter, but he remembered it as if for the first time now. did he hear anything else? i think he heard his wings slipping to the floor. he asked ailie to give him the plant, and he kept it in his room very lovingly, though he forgot to water it. he sat for long periods looking at it, and his thoughts were very deep, but all he actually said aloud was, "there are two of us." aaron sometimes saw them together, and thought they were an odd pair, and perhaps they were. tommy did not tell grizel of the tragedy that was hanging over him. he was determined to save her that pain. he knew that most men in his position would have told her, and was glad to find that he could keep it so gallantly to himself. she was brave; perhaps some day she would discover that he had been brave also. when she talked of wings now, what he seemed to see was a green grave. his eyes were moist, but he held his head high. all this helped him. ah, well, but the world must jog along though you and i be damned. elspeth was happily married, and there came the day when tommy and grizel must say good-bye. he was returning to london. his luggage was already in corp's barrow, all but the insignificant part of it, which yet made a bulky package in its author's pocket, for it was his new manuscript, for which he would have fought a regiment, yes, and beaten them. little cared tommy what became of the rest of his luggage so long as that palpitating package was safe. "and little you care," grizel said, in a moment of sudden bitterness, "whom you leave behind, so long as you take it with you." he forgave her with a sad smile. she did not know, you see, that this manuscript might be his last. and it was the only bitter thing she said. even when he looked very sorry for her, she took advantage of his emotion to help him only. "don't be too sorry for me," she said calmly; "remember, rather, that there is one episode in a woman's life to which she must always cling in memory, whether it was a pride to her or a shame, and that it rests with you to make mine proud or shameful." in other words, he was to get rid of his wings. how she harped on that! he wanted to kiss her on the brow, but she would not have it. he was about to do it, not to gratify any selfish desire, but of a beautiful impulse that if anything happened she would have this to remember as the last of him. but she drew back almost angrily. positively, she was putting it down to sentiment, and he forgave her even that. but she kissed the manuscript. "wish it luck," he had begged of her; "you were always so fond of babies, and this is my baby." so grizel kissed tommy's baby, and then she turned away her face. chapter xxv mr. t. sandys has returned to town it is disquieting to reflect that we have devoted so much paper (this is the third shilling's worth) to telling what a real biographer would almost certainly have summed up in a few pages. "caring nothing for glory, engrossed in his work alone, mr. sandys, soon after the publication of the 'letters,' sought the peace of his mother's native village, and there, alike undisturbing and undisturbed, he gave his life, as ever, to laborious days and quiet contemplation. the one vital fact in these six months of lofty endeavour is that he was making progress with the new book. fishing and other distractions were occasionally indulged in, but merely that he might rise fresher next morning to a book which absorbed," etc. one can see exactly how it should be done, it has been done so often before. and there is a deal to be said for this method. his book was what he had been at during nearly the whole of that time; comparatively speaking, the fishing and "other distractions" (a neat phrase) had got an occasional hour only. but while we admire, we can't do it in that way. we seem fated to go on taking it for granted that you know the "vital facts" about tommy, and devoting our attention to the things that the real biographer leaves out. tommy arrived in london with little more than ten pounds in his pockets. all the rest he had spent on elspeth. he looked for furnished chambers in a fashionable quarter, and they were much too expensive. but the young lady who showed them to him asked if it was _the_ mr. sandys, and he at once took the rooms. her mother subsequently said that she understood he wrote books, and would he deposit five pounds? such are the ups and downs of the literary calling. the book, of course, was "unrequited love," and the true story of how it was not given to the world by his first publishers has never been told. they had the chance, but they weighed the manuscript in their hands as if it were butter, and said it was very small. "if you knew how much time i have spent in making it smaller," replied tommy, haughtily. the madmen asked if he could not add a few chapters, whereupon, with a shudder, he tucked baby under his wing and flew away. that is how goldie & goldie got the book. for one who had left london a glittering star, it was wonderful how little he brightened it by returning. at the club they did not know that he had been away. in society they seemed to have forgotten to expect him back. he had an eye for them--with a touch of red in it; but he bided his time. it was one of the terrible things about tommy that he could bide his time. pym was the only person he called upon. he took pym out to dinner and conducted him home again. his kindness to pym, the delicacy with which he pretended not to see that poor old pym was degraded and done for--they would have been pretty even in a woman, and we treat tommy unfairly in passing them by with a bow. pym had the manuscript to read, and you may be as sure he kept sober that night as that tommy lay awake. for when literature had to be judged, who could be so grim a critic as this usually lenient toper? he could forgive much, could pym. you had run away without paying your rent, was it? well, well, come in and have a drink. broken your wife's heart, have you? poor chap, but you will soon get over it. but if it was a split infinitive, "go to the devil, sir." "into a cocked hat," was the verdict of pym, meaning thereby that thus did tommy's second work beat his first. tommy broke down and wept. presently pym waxed sentimental and confided to tommy that he, too, had once loved in vain. the sad case of those who love in vain, you remember, is the subject of the book. the saddest of autobiographies, it has been called. an odd thing, this, i think. tearing home (for the more he was engrossed in mind the quicker he walked), tommy was not revelling in pym's praise; he was neither blanching nor smiling at the thought that he of all people had written as one who was unloved; he was not wondering what grizel would say to it; he had even forgotten to sigh over his own coming dissolution (indeed, about this time the flower-pot began to fade from his memory). what made him cut his way so excitedly through the streets was this: pym had questioned his use of the word "untimely" in chapter eight. and tommy had always been uneasy about that word. he glared at every person he passed, and ran into perambulators. he rushed past his chambers like one who no longer had a home. he was in the park now, and did not even notice that the row was empty, that mighty round a deserted circus; management, riders, clowns, all the performers gone on their provincial tour, or nearly all, for a lady on horseback sees him, remembers to some extent who he is, and gives chase. it is our dear mrs. jerry. "you wretch," she said, "to compel me to pursue you! nothing could have induced me to do anything so unwomanly except that you are the only man in town." she shook her whip so prettily at him that it was as seductive as a smile. it was also a way of gaining time while she tried to remember what it was he was famous for. "i believe you don't know me!" she said, with a little shriek, for tommy had looked bewildered. "that would be too mortifying. please pretend you do!" her look of appeal, the way in which she put her plump little hands together, as if about to say her prayers, brought it all back to tommy. the one thing he was not certain of was whether he had proposed to her. it was the one thing of which she was certain. "you think i can forget so soon," he replied reproachfully, but carefully. "then tell me my name," said she; she thought it might lead to his mentioning his own. "i don't know what it is now. it was mrs. jerry once." "it is mrs. jerry still." "then you did not marry him, after all?" no wild joy had surged to his face, but when she answered yes, he nodded his head with gentle melancholy three times. he had not the smallest desire to deceive the lady; he was simply an actor who had got his cue and liked his part. [illustration: "but my friends still call me mrs. jerry," she said softly.] "but my friends still call me mrs. jerry," she said softly. "i suppose it suits me somehow." "you will always be mrs. jerry to me," he replied huskily. ah, those meetings with old loves! "if you minded so much," mrs. jerry said, a little tremulously (she had the softest heart, though her memory was a trifle defective), "you might have discovered whether i had married him or not." "was there no reason why i should not seek to discover it?" tommy asked with tremendous irony, but not knowing in the least what he meant. it confused mrs. jerry. they always confused her when they were fierce, and yet she liked them to be fierce when she re-met them, so few of them were. but she said the proper thing. "i am glad you have got over it." tommy maintained a masterly silence. no wonder he was a power with women. "i say i am glad you have got over it," murmured mrs. jerry again. has it ever been noticed that the proper remark does not always gain in propriety with repetition? it is splendid to know that right feeling still kept tommy silent. yet she went on briskly as if he had told her something: "am i detaining you? you were walking so quickly that i thought you were in pursuit of someone." it brought tommy back to earth, and he could accept her now as an old friend he was glad to meet again. "you could not guess what i was in pursuit of, mrs. jerry," he assured her, and with confidence, for words are not usually chased down the row. but, though he made the sound of laughter, that terrible face which mrs. jerry remembered so well, but could not give a name to, took no part in the revelry; he was as puzzling to her as those irritating authors who print their jokes without a note of exclamation at the end of them. poor mrs. jerry thought it must be a laugh of horrid bitterness, and that he was referring to his dead self or something dreadful of that sort, for which she was responsible. "please don't tell me," she said, in such obvious alarm that again he laughed that awful laugh. he promised, with a profound sigh, to carry his secret unspoken to the grave, also to come to her "at home" if she sent him a card. he told her his address, but not his name, and she could not send the card to "occupier." "now tell me about yourself," said mrs. jerry, with charming cunning. "did you go away?" "i came back a few days ago only." "had you any shooting?" (they nearly always threatened to make for a distant land where there was big game.) tommy smiled. he had never "had any shooting" except once in his boyhood, when he and corp acted as beaters, and he had wept passionately over the first bird killed, and harangued the murderer. "no," he replied; "i was at work all the time." this, at least, told her that his work was of a kind which could be done out of london. an inventor? "when are we to see the result?" asked artful mrs. jerry. "very soon. everything comes out about this time. it is our season, you know." mrs. jerry pondered while she said: "how too entrancing!" what did come out this month? oh, plays! and whose season was it? the actor's, of course! he could not be an actor with that beard, but--ah, she remembered now! "are they really clever this time?" she asked roguishly--"for you must admit that they are usually sticks." tommy blinked at this. "i really believe, mrs. jerry," he said slowly, "it is you who don't know who i am!" "you prepare the aristocracy for the stage, don't you?" she said plaintively. "i!" he thundered. "he had a beard," she said, in self-defence. "who?" "oh, i don't know! please forgive me! i do remember, of course, who you are--i remember too well!" said mrs. jerry, generously. "what is my name?" tommy demanded. she put her hands together again, beseechingly. "please, please!" she said. "i have such a dreadful memory for names, but--oh, please!" "what am i?" he insisted. "you are the--the man who invents those delightful thingumbobs," she cried with an inspiration. "i never invented anything, except two books," said tommy, looking at her reproachfully. "i know them by heart," she cried. "one of them is not published yet," he informed her. "i am looking forward to it so excitedly," she said at once. "and my name is sandys," said he. "thomas sandys," she said, correcting him triumphantly. "how is that dear, darling little agnes--elspeth?" "you have me at last," he admitted. "'sandys on woman!'" exclaimed mrs. jerry, all rippling smiles once more. "can i ever forget it!" "i shall never pretend to know anything about women again," tommy answered dolefully, but with a creditable absence of vindictiveness. "please, please!" said the little hands again. "it is a nasty jar, mrs. jerry." "please!" "oh that i could forget so quickly!" "please!" "i forgive you, if that is what you want." she waved her whip. "and you will come and see me?" "when i have got over this. it needs--a little time." he really said this to please her. "you shall talk to me of the new book," she said, confident that this would fetch him, for he was not her first author. "by the way, what is it about?" "can you ask, mrs. jerry?" replied tommy, passionately. "oh, woman, woman, can you ask?" this puzzled her at the time, but she understood what he had meant when the book came out, dedicated to pym. "goodness gracious!" she said to herself as she went from chapter to chapter, and she was very self-conscious when she heard the book discussed in society, which was not quite as soon as it came out, for at first the ladies seemed to have forgotten their tommy. but the journals made ample amends. he had invented, they said, something new in literature, a story that was yet not a story, told in the form of essays which were no mere essays. there was no character mentioned by name, there was not a line of dialogue, essays only, they might say, were the net result, yet a human heart was laid bare, and surely that was fiction in its highest form. fiction founded on fact, no doubt (for it would be ostrich-like to deny that such a work must be the outcome of a painful personal experience), but in those wise and penetrating pages mr. sandys called no one's attention to himself; his subject was an experience common to humanity, to be borne this way or that; and without vainglory he showed how it should be borne, so that those looking into the deep waters of the book (made clear by his pellucid style) might see, not the author, but themselves. a few of the critics said that if the book added nothing to his reputation, it detracted nothing from it, but probably their pen added this mechanically when they were away. what annoyed him more was the two or three who stated that, much as they liked "unrequited love," they liked the "letters" still better. he could not endure hearing a good word said for the "letters" now. the great public, i believe, always preferred the "letters," but among important sections of it the new book was a delight, and for various reasons. for instance, it was no mere story. that got the thoughtful public. its style, again, got the public which knows it is the only public that counts. society still held aloof (there was an african traveller on view that year), but otherwise everything was going on well, when the bolt came, as ever, from the quarter whence it was least expected. it came in a letter from grizel, so direct as to be almost as direct as this: "i think it is a horrid book. the more beautifully it is written the more horrid it seems. no one was ever loved more truly than you. you can know nothing about unrequited love. then why do you pretend to know? i see why you always avoided telling me anything about the book, even its title. it was because you knew what i should say. it is nothing but sentiment. you were on your wings all the time you were writing it. that is why you could treat me as you did. even to the last moment you deceived me. i suppose you deceived yourself also. had i known what was in the manuscript i would not have kissed it, i would have asked you to burn it. had you not had the strength, and you would not, i should have burned it for you. it would have been a proof of my love. i have ceased to care whether you are a famous man or not. i want you to be a real man. but you will not let me help you. i have cried all day. grizel." fury. dejection. the heroic. they came in that order. "this is too much!" he cried at first, "i can stand a good deal, grizel, but there was once a worm that turned at last, you know. take care, madam, take care. oh, but you are a charming lady; you can decide everything for everybody, can't you! what delicious letters you write, something unexpected in everyone of them! there are poor dogs of men, grizel, who open their letters from their loves knowing exactly what will be inside--words of cheer, words of love, of confidence, of admiration, which help them as they sit into the night at their work, fighting for fame that they may lay it at their loved one's feet. discouragement, obloquy, scorn, they get in plenty from others, but they are always sure of her,--do you hear, my original grizel?--those other dogs are always sure of her. hurrah! grizel, i was happy, i was actually honoured, it was helping me to do better and better, when you quickly put an end to all that. hurrah, hurrah!" i feel rather sorry for him. if he had not told her about his book it was because she did not and never could understand what compels a man to write one book instead of another. "i had no say in the matter; the thing demanded of me that i should do it, and i had to do it. some must write from their own experience, they can make nothing of anything else; but it is to me like a chariot that won't budge; i have to assume a character, grizel, and then away we go. i don't attempt to explain how i write, i hate to discuss it; all i know is that those who know how it should be done can never do it. london is overrun with such, and everyone of them is as cock-sure as you. you have taken everything else, grizel; surely you might leave me my books." yes, everything else, or nearly so. he put upon the table all the feathers he had extracted since his return to london, and they did make some little show, if less than it seemed to him. that little adventure in the park; well, if it started wrongly, it but helped to show the change in him, for he had determinedly kept away from mrs. jerry's house. he had met her once since the book came out, and she had blushed exquisitely when referring to it, and said: "how you have suffered! i blame myself dreadfully." yes, and there was an unoccupied sofa near by, and he had not sat down on it with her and continued the conversation. was not that a feather? and there were other ladies, and, without going into particulars, they were several feathers between them. how doggedly, to punish himself, he had stuck to the company of men, a sex that never interested him! "but all that is nothing. i am beyond the pale, i did so monstrous a thing that i must die for it. what was this dreadful thing? when i saw you with that glove i knew you loved me, and that you thought i loved you, and i had not the heart to dash your joy. you don't know it, but that was the crime for which i must be exterminated, fiend that i am!" gusts of fury came at intervals all the morning. he wrote her appalling letters and destroyed them. he shook his fist and snapped his fingers at her, and went out for drink (having none in the house), and called a hansom to take him to mrs. jerry's, and tore round the park again and glared at everybody. he rushed on and on. "but the one thing you shall never do, grizel, is to interfere with my work; i swear it, do you hear? in all else i am yours to mangle at your will, but touch it, and i am a beast at bay." and still saying such things, he drew near the publishing offices of goldie & goldie, and circled round them, less like a beast at bay than a bird that is taking a long way to its nest. and about four of the afternoon what does this odd beast or bird or fish do but stalk into goldie & goldie's and order "unrequited love" to be withdrawn from circulation. "madam, i have carried out your wishes, and the man is hanged." not thus, but in words to that effect, did tommy announce his deed to grizel. "i think you have done the right thing," she wrote back, "and i admire you for it." but he thought she did not admire him sufficiently for it, and he did not answer her letter, so it was the last that passed between them. such is the true explanation (now first published) of an affair that at the time created no small stir. "why withdraw the book?" goldie & goldie asked of tommy, but he would give no reason. "why?" the public asked of goldie & goldie, and they had to invent several. the public invented the others. the silliest were those you could know only by belonging to a club. i swear that tommy had not foreseen the result. quite unwittingly the favoured of the gods had found a way again. the talk about his incomprehensible action was the turning-point in the fortunes of the book. there were already a few thousand copies in circulation, and now many thousand people wanted them. sandys, sandys, sandys! where had the ladies heard that name before? society woke up, sandys was again its hero; the traveller had to go lecturing in the provinces. the ladies! yes, and their friends, the men. there was a tommy society in mayfair that winter, nearly all of the members eminent or beautiful, and they held each other's hands. both sexes were eligible, married or single, and the one rule was something about sympathy. it afterwards became the souls, but those in the know still call them the tommies. they blackballed mrs. jerry (she was rather plump), but her married stepdaughter, lady pippinworth (who had been a miss ridge-fulton), was one of them. indeed, the ridge-fultons are among the thinnest families in the country. t. sandys was invited to join the society, but declined, and thus never quite knew what they did, nor can any outsider know, there being a regulation among the tommies against telling. i believe, however, that they were a brotherhood, with sisters. you had to pass an examination in unrequited love, showing how you had suffered, and after that either the men or the women (i forget which) dressed in white to the throat, and then each got some other's old love's hand to hold, and you all sat on the floor and thought hard. there may have been even more in it than this, for one got to know tommies at sight by a sort of careworn halo round the brow, and it is said that the house of commons was several times nearly counted out because so many of its middle-aged members were holding the floor in another place. of course there were also the anti-tommies, who called themselves (rather vulgarly) the tummies. many of them were that shape. they held that, though you had loved in vain, it was no such mighty matter to boast of; but they were poor in argument, and their only really strong card was that mr. sandys was stoutish himself. their organs in the press said that he was a man of true genius, and slightly inclined to _embonpoint_. this maddened him, but on the whole his return was a triumph, and despite thoughts of grizel he was very, very happy, for he was at play again. he was a boy, and all the ladies were girls. perhaps the lady he saw most frequently was mrs. jerry's stepdaughter. lady pippinworth was a friend of lady rintoul, and had several times visited her at the spittal, but that was not the sole reason why tommy so frequently drank tea with her. they had met first at a country house, where, one night after the ladies had retired to rest, lady pippinworth came stealing into the smoking-room with the tidings that there were burglars in the house. as she approached her room she had heard whispers, and then, her door being ajar, she had peeped upon the miscreants. she had also seen a pile of her jewellery on the table, and a pistol keeping guard on top of it. there were several men in the house, but that pistol cowed all of them save tommy. "if we could lock them in!" someone suggested, but the key was on the wrong side of the door. "i shall put it on the right side," tommy said pluckily, "if you others will prevent their escaping by the window"; and with characteristic courage he set off for her ladyship's room. his intention was to insert his hand, whip out the key, and lock the door on the outside, a sufficiently hazardous enterprise; but what does he do instead? locks the door on the inside, and goes for the burglars with his fists! a happy recollection of corp's famous one from the shoulder disposed at once of the man who had seized the pistol; with the other gentleman tommy had a stand-up fight in which both of them took and gave, but when support arrived, one burglar was senseless on the floor and t. sandys was sitting on the other. courageous of tommy, was it not? but observe the end. he was left in the dining-room to take charge of his captives until morning, and by and by he was exhorting them in such noble language to mend their ways that they took the measure of him, and so touching were their family histories that tommy wept and untied their cords and showed them out at the front door and gave them ten shillings each, and the one who begged for the honour of shaking hands with him also took his watch. thus did tommy and lady pippinworth become friends, but it was not this that sent him so often to her house to tea. she was a beautiful woman, with a reputation for having broken many hearts without damaging her own. he thought it an interesting case. chapter xxvi grizel all alone it was tommy who was the favoured of the gods, you remember, not grizel. elspeth wondered to see her, after the publication of that book, looking much as usual. "you know how he loved you now," she said, perhaps a little reproachfully. "yes," grizel answered, "i know; i knew before the book came out." "you must be sorry for him?" grizel nodded. "but proud of him also," elspeth said. "you have a right to be proud." "i am as proud," grizel replied, "as i have a right to be." something in her voice touched elspeth, who was so happy that she wanted everyone to be happy. "i want you to know, grizel," she said warmly, "that i don't blame you for not being able to love him; we can't help those things. nor need you blame yourself too much, for i have often heard him say that artists must suffer in order to produce beautiful things." "but i cannot remember," elspeth had to admit, with a sigh, to david, "that she made any answer to that, except 'thank you.'" grizel was nearly as reticent to david himself. once only did she break down for a moment in his presence. it was when he was telling her that the issue of the book had been stopped. "but i see you know already," he said. "perhaps you even know why--though he has not given any sufficient reason to elspeth." david had given his promise, she reminded him, not to ask her any questions about tommy. "but i don't see why i should keep it," he said bluntly. "because you dislike him," she replied. "grizel," he declared, "i have tried hard to like him. i have thought and thought about it, and i can't see that he has given me any just cause to dislike him." "and that," said grizel, "makes you dislike him more than ever." "i know that you cared for him once," david persisted, "and i know that he wanted to marry you--" but she would not let him go on. "david," she said, "i want to give up my house, and i want you to take it. it is the real doctor's house of thrums, and people in need of you still keep ringing me up of nights. the only door to your surgery is through my passage; it is i who should be in lodgings now." "do you really think i would, grizel!" he cried indignantly. "rather than see the dear house go into another's hands," she answered steadily; "for i am determined to leave it. dr. mcqueen won't feel strange when he looks down, david, if it is only you he sees moving about the old rooms, instead of me." "you are doing this for me, grizel, and i won't have it." "i give you my word," she told him, "that i am doing it for myself alone. i am tired of keeping a house, and of all its worries. men don't know what they are." she was smiling, but his brows wrinkled in pain. "oh, grizel!" he said, and stopped. and then he cried, "since when has grizel ceased to care for housekeeping?" she did not say since when. i don't know whether she knew; but it was since she and tommy had ceased to correspond. david's words showed her too suddenly how she had changed, and it was then that she broke down before him--because she had ceased to care for housekeeping. but she had her way, and early in the new year david and his wife were established in their new home, with all grizel's furniture, except such as was needed for the two rooms rented by her from gavinia. she would have liked to take away the old doctor's chair, because it was the bit of him left behind when he died, and then for that very reason she did not. she no longer wanted him to see her always. "i am not so nice as i used to be, and i want to keep it from you," she said to the chair when she kissed it good-bye. was grizel not as nice as she used to be? how can i answer, who love her the more only? there is one at least, grizel, who will never desert you. ah, but was she? i seem again to hear the warning voice of grizel, and this time she is crying: "you know i was not." she knew it so well that she could say it to herself quite calmly. she knew that, with whatever repugnance she drove those passions away, they would come back--yes, and for a space be welcomed back. why does she leave gavinia's blue hearth this evening, and seek the solitary den? she has gone to summon them, and she knows it. they come thick in the den, for they know the place. it was there that her mother was wont to walk with them. have they been waiting for you in the den, grizel, all this time? have you found your mother's legacy at last? don't think that she sought them often. it was never when she seemed to have anything to live for. tommy would not write to her, and so did not want her to write to him; but if that bowed her head, it never made her rebel. she still had her many duties. whatever she suffered, so long as she could say, "i am helping him," she was in heart and soul the grizel of old. in his fits of remorse, which were many, he tried to produce work that would please her. thus, in a heroic attempt to be practical, he wrote a political article in one of the reviews, quite in the ordinary style, but so much worse than the average of such things that they would never have printed it without his name. he also contributed to a magazine a short tale,--he who could never write tales,--and he struck all the beautiful reflections out of it, and never referred to himself once, and the result was so imbecile that kindly people said there must be another writer of the same name. "show them to grizel," tommy wrote to elspeth, inclosing also some of the animadversions of the press, and he meant grizel to see that he could write in his own way only. but she read those two efforts with delight, and said to elspeth, "tell him i am so proud of them." elspeth thought it very nice of grizel to defend the despised in this way (even elspeth had fallen asleep over the political paper). she did not understand that grizel loved them because they showed tommy trying to do without his wings. then another trifle by him appeared, shorter even than the others; but no man in england could have written it except t. sandys. it has not been reprinted, and i forget everything about it except that its subject was love. "will not the friends of the man who can produce such a little masterpiece as this," the journals said, "save him from wasting his time on lumber for the reviews, and drivelling tales?" and tommy suggested to elspeth that she might show grizel this exhortation also. grizel saw she was not helping him at all. if he would not fight, why should she? oh, let her fall and fall, it would not take her farther from him! these were the thoughts that sent her into solitude, to meet with worse ones. she could not face the morrow. "what shall i do to-morrow?" she never shrank from to-day--it had its duties; it could be got through: but to-morrow was a never-ending road. oh, how could she get through to-morrow? her great friend at this time was corp; because he still retained his faith in tommy. she could always talk of tommy to corp. how loyal corp was! he still referred to tommy as "him." gavinia, much distressed, read aloud to corp a newspaper attack on the political article, and all he said was, "he'll find a wy." "he's found it," he went upstairs to announce to grizel, when the praises of the "little masterpiece" arrived. "yes, i know, corp," she answered quietly. she was sitting by the window where the plant was. tommy had asked her to take care of it, without telling her why. something in her appearance troubled the hulking, blundering man. he could not have told what it was. i think it was simply this--that grizel no longer sat erect in her chair. "i'm nain easy in my mind about grizel," he said that evening to gavinia. "there's something queery about her, though i canna bottom 't." "yea?" said gavinia, with mild contempt. he continued pulling at his pipe, grunting as if in pleasant pain, which was the way corp smoked. "i could see she's no pleased, though he has found a wy," he said. "what pleasure should she be able to sook out o' his keeping ding-ding-danging on about that woman?" retorted gavinia. "what woman?" "the london besom that gae him the go-by." "was there sic a woman!" corp cried. "of course there was, and it's her that he's aye writing about." "havers, gavinia! it's grizel he's aye writing about, and it was grizel that gae him the go-by. it's town talk." but whatever the town might say, gavinia stuck to her opinion. "grizel's no near so neat in her dressing as she was," she informed corp, "and her hair is no aye tidy, and that bonnet she was in yesterday didna set her." "i've noticed it," cried corp. "i've noticed it this while back, though i didna ken i had noticed it, gavinia. i wonder what can be the reason?" "it's because nobody cares," gavinia replied sadly. trust one woman to know another! "we a' care," said corp, stoutly. "we're a' as nothing, corp, when he doesna care. she's fond o' him, man." "of course she is, in a wy. whaur's the woman that could help it?" "there's many a woman that could help it," said gavinia, tartly, for the honour of her sex, "but she's no are o' them." to be candid, gavinia was not one of them herself. "i'm thinking she's terrible fond o' him," she said, "and i'm nain sure that he has treated her weel." "woman, take care; say a word agin him and i'll mittle you!" corp thundered, and she desisted in fear. but he made her re-read the little essay to him in instalments, and at the end he said victoriously, "you blethering crittur, there's no sic woman. it's just another o' his ploys!" he marched upstairs to grizel with the news, and she listened kindly. "i am sure you are right," she said; "you understand him better than any of them, corp," and it was true. he thought he had settled the whole matter. he was burning to be downstairs to tell gavinia that these things needed only a man. "and so you'll be yoursel' again, grizel," he said, with great relief. she had not seen that he was aiming at her until now, and it touched her. "am i so different, corp?" not at all, he assured her delicately, but she was maybe no quite so neatly dressed as she used to be, and her hair wasna braided back so smooth, and he didna think that bonnet quite set her. "gavinia has been saying that to you!" "i noticed it mysel', grizel; i'm a terrible noticher." "perhaps you are right," she said, reflecting, after looking at herself for the first time for some days. "but to think of your caring, corp!" "i care most michty," he replied, with terrific earnestness. "i must try to satisfy you, then," she said, smiling. "but, corp, please don't discuss me with gavinia." this request embarrassed him, for soon again he did not know how to act. there was grizel's strange behaviour with the child, for instance. "no, i won't come down to see him to-day, corp," she had said; "somehow children weary me." such words from grizel! his mouth would not shut and he could say nothing. "forgive me, corp!" she cried remorsefully, and ran downstairs, and with many a passionate caress asked forgiveness of the child. corp followed her, and for the moment he thought he must have been dreaming upstairs. "i wish i saw you wi' bairns o' your ain, grizel," he said, looking on entranced; but she gave him such a pitiful smile that he could not get it out of his head. deprived of gavinia's counsel, and afraid to hurt elspeth, he sought out the doctor and said bluntly to him, "how is it he never writes to grizel? she misses him terrible." "so," david thought, "grizel's dejection is becoming common talk." "damn him!" he said, in a gust of fury. but this was too much for loyal corp. "damn you!" he roared. but in his heart he knew that the doctor was a just man, and henceforth, when he was meaning to comfort grizel, he was often seeking comfort for himself. he did it all with elaborate cunning, to prevent her guessing that he was disturbed about her: asked permission to sit with her, for instance, because he was dull downstairs; mentioned as a ludicrous thing that there were people who believed tommy could treat a woman badly, and waited anxiously for the reply. oh, he was transparent, was corp, but you may be sure grizel never let him know that she saw through him. tommy could not be blamed, she pointed out, though he did not care for some woman who perhaps cared for him. "exac'ly," said corp. and if he seemed, grizel went on, with momentary bitterness, to treat her badly, it could be only because she had made herself cheap. "that's it," said corp, cheerfully. then he added hurriedly, "no, that's no it ava. she's the last to mak' hersel' cheap." then he saw that this might put grizel on the scent. "of course there's no sic woman," he said artfully, "but if there was, he would mak' it a' right. she mightna see how it was to be done, but kennin' what a crittur he is, she maun be sure he would find a wy. she would never lose hope, grizel." and then, if grizel did not appease him instantly, he would say appealingly, "i canna think less o' him, grizel; no, it would mak' me just terrible low. grizel," he would cry sternly, "dinna tell me to think less o' that laddie." then, when she had reassured him, he would recall the many instances in which tommy as a boy had found a way. "did we ever ken he was finding it, grizel, till he did find it? many a time i says to mysel', says i, 'all is over,' and syne next minute that holy look comes ower his face, and he stretches out his legs like as if he was riding on a horse, and all that kens him says, 'he has found a wy.' if i was the woman (no that there is sic a woman) i would say to mysel', 'he was never beat,' i would say, 'when he was a laddie, and it's no likely he'll be beat when he's a man'; and i wouldna sit looking at the fire wi' my hands fauded, nor would i forget to keep my hair neat, and i would wear the frock that set me best, and i would play in my auld bonny wy wi' bairns, for says i to mysel', 'i'm sure to hae bairns o' my ain some day, and--"' but grizel cried, "don't, corp, don't!" "i winna," he answered miserably, "no, i winna. forgive me, grizel; i think i'll be stepping"; and then when he got as far as the door he would say, "i canna do 't, grizel; i'm just terrible wae for the woman (if sic a woman there be), but i canna think ill o' him; you mauna speir it o' me." he was much brightened by a reflection that came to him one day in church. "here have i been near blaming him for no finding a wy, and very like he doesna ken we want him to find a wy!" how to inform tommy without letting grizel know? she had tried twice long ago to teach him to write, but he found it harder on the wrists than the heaviest luggage. it was not safe for him even to think of the extra twirl that turned an _n_ into an _m_, without first removing any knick-knacks that might be about. nevertheless, he now proposed a third set-to, and grizel acquiesced, though she thought it but another of his inventions to keep her from brooding. the number of words in the english tongue excited him, and he often lost all by not confining the chase to one, like a dog after rabbits. fortunately, he knew which words he wanted to bag. "change at tilliedrum!" "tickets! show your tickets!" and the like, he much enjoyed meeting in the flesh, so to speak. "let's see 'find a wy,' grizel," he would say. "ay, ay, and is that the crittur!" and soon the sly fellow could write it, or at least draw it. he affected an ambition to write a letter to his son on that gentleman's first birthday, and so "let's see what 'i send you these few scrapes' is like, grizel." she assured him that this is not essential in correspondence, but all the letters he had ever heard read aloud began thus, and he got his way. anon master shiach was surprised and gratified to receive the following epistle: "my dear sir, i send you these few scrapes to tell you as you have found a way to be a year of age the morn. all tickets ready in which gavinia joins so no more at present i am, sir, your obed't father corp shiach." the fame of this letter went abroad, but not a soul knew of the next. it said: "my dear sir, i send you these few scrapes to tell you as grizel needs cheering up. kindly oblidge by finding a way so no more at present. i am sir your obed't serv't corp shiach." to his bewilderment, this produced no effect, though only because tommy never got it, and he wrote again, more sternly, requesting his hero to find a way immediately. he was waiting restlessly for the answer at a time when elspeth called on grizel to tell her of something beautiful that tommy had done. he had been very ill for nearly a fortnight, it appeared, but had kept it from her to save her anxiety. "just think, grizel; all the time he was in bed with bronchitis he was writing me cheerful letters every other day pretending there was nothing the matter with him. he is better now. i have heard about it from a mrs. jerry, a lady whom i knew in london, and who has nursed him in the kindest way." (but this same mrs. jerry had opened corp's letters and destroyed them as of no importance.) "he would never have mentioned it himself. how like him, grizel! you remember, i made him promise before he went back to london that if he was ill he would let me know at once so that i could go to him, but he is so considerate he would not give me pain. he wrote those letters, grizel, when he was gasping for breath." "but she seemed quite unmoved," elspeth said sadly to her husband afterwards. unmoved! yes; grizel remained apparently unmoved until elspeth had gone, but then--the torture she endured! "oh, cruel, cruel!" she cried, and she could neither stand nor sit; she flung herself down before the fire and rocked this way and that, in a paroxysm of woe. "oh, cruel, cruel!" it was tommy who was cruel. to be ill, near to dying, apparently, and not to send her word! she could never, never have let him go had he not made that promise to elspeth; and he kept it thus. oh, wicked, wicked! "you would have gone to him at once, elspeth! you! who are you, that talks of going to him as your right? he is not yours, i tell you; he is mine! he is mine alone; it is i who would go to him. who is this woman that dares take my place by his side when he is ill!" she rose to go to him, to drive away all others. i am sure that was what gave her strength to rise; but she sank to the floor again, and her passion lasted for hours. and through the night she was crying to god that she would be brave no more. in her despair she hoped he heard her. her mood had not changed when david came to see her next morning, to admit, too, that tommy seemed to have done an unselfish thing in concealing his illness from them. grizel nodded, but he thought she was looking strangely reckless. he had a message from elspeth. tommy had asked her to let him know whether the plant was flourishing. "so you and he don't correspond now?" david said, with his old, puzzled look. "no," was all her answer to that. the plant, she thought, was dead; she had not, indeed, paid much attention to it of late; but she showed it to david, and he said it would revive if more carefully tended. he also told her its rather pathetic history, which was new to grizel, and of the talk at the wedding which had led to tommy's taking pity on it. "fellow-feeling, i suppose," he said lightly; "you see, they both blossomed prematurely." the words were forgotten by him as soon as spoken; but grizel sat on with them, for they were like a friend--or was it an enemy?--who had come to tell her strange things. yes, the doctor was right. now she knew why tommy had loved this plant. of the way in which he would sit looking wistfully at it, almost nursing it, she had been told by aaron; he had himself begged her to tend it lovingly. fellow-feeling! the doctor was shrewder than he thought. well, what did it matter to her? all that day she would do nothing for the plant, but in the middle of the night she rose and ran to it and hugged it, and for a time she was afraid to look at it by lamplight, lest tommy was dead. whether she had never been asleep that night, or had awakened from a dream, she never knew, but she ran to the plant, thinking it and tommy were as one, and that they must die together. no such thought had ever crossed his mind, but it seemed to her that she had been told it by him, and she lit her fire to give the plant warmth, and often desisted, to press it to her bosom, the heat seemed to come so reluctantly from the fire. this idea that his fate was bound up with that of the plant took strange possession of the once practical grizel; it was as if some of tommy's nature had passed into her to help her break the terrible monotony of the days. and from that time there was no ailing child more passionately tended than the plant, and as spring advanced it began once more to put forth new leaves. and grizel also seemed glorified again. she was her old self. dark shapes still lingered for her in the den, but she avoided them, and if they tried to enter into her, she struggled with them and cast them out. as she saw herself able to fight and win once more, her pride returned to her, and one day she could ask david, joyously, to give her a present of the old doctor's chair. and she could kneel by its side and say to it, "you can watch me always; i am just as i used to be." seeing her once more the incarnation of vigor and content, singing gaily to his child, and as eager to be at her duties betimes as a morning in may, corp grunted with delight, and was a hero for not telling her that it was he who had passed tommy the word. for, of course, tommy had done it all. "somebody has found a wy, grizel!" he would say, chuckling, and she smiled an agreement. "and yet," says he, puzzled, "i've watched, and you hinna haen a letter frae him. it defies the face o' clay to find out how he has managed it. oh, the crittur! ay, i suppose you dinna want to tell me what it is that has lichted you up again?" she could not tell him, for it was a compact she had made with one who did not sign it. "i shall cease to be bitter and despairing and wicked, and try every moment of my life to be good and do good, so long as my plant flourishes; but if it withers, then i shall go to him--i don't care what happens; i shall go to him." it was the middle of june when she first noticed that the plant was beginning to droop. chapter xxvii grizel's journey nothing could have been less expected. in the beginning of may its leaves had lost something of their greenness. the plant seemed to be hesitating, but she coaxed it over the hill, and since then it had scarcely needed her hand; almost light-headedly it hurried into its summer clothes, and new buds broke out on it, like smiles, at the fascinating thought that there was to be a to-morrow. grizel's plant had never been so brave in its little life when suddenly it turned back. that was the day on which elspeth and david were leaving for a fortnight's holiday with his relatives by the sea; for elspeth needed and was getting special devotion just now, and grizel knew why. she was glad they were going; it was well that they should not be there to ask questions if she also must set forth on a journey. for more than a week she waited, and everything she could do for her plant she did. she watched it so carefully that she might have deceived herself into believing that it was standing still only, had there been no night-time. she thought she had not perhaps been sufficiently good, and she tried to be more ostentatiously satisfied with her lot. never had she forced herself to work quite so hard for others as in those few days, and then when she came home it had drooped a little more. when she was quite sure that it was dying, she told corp she was going to london by that night's train. "he is ill, corp, and i must go to him." ill! but how had he let her know? "he has found a way," she said, with a tremulous smile. he wanted her to telegraph; but no, she would place no faith in telegrams. at least she could telegraph to elspeth and the doctor. one of them would go. "it is i who am going," she said quietly. "i can't wait any longer. it was a promise, corp. he loves me." they were the only words she said which suggest that there was anything strange about grizel at this time. corp saw how determined she was when she revealed, incidentally, that she had drawn a sum of money out of the bank a week ago, "to be ready." "what will folk say!" he cried. "you can tell gavinia the truth when i am gone," she told him. "she will know better than you what to say to other people." and that was some comfort to him, for it put the burden of invention upon his wife. so it was corp who saw grizel off. he was in great distress himself about tommy, but he kept a courageous face for her, and his last words flung in at the carriage window were, "now dinna be down-hearted; i'm nain down-hearted mysel', for we're very sure he'll find a wy." and grizel smiled and nodded, and the train turned the bend that shuts out the little town of thrums. the town vanishes quickly, but the quarry we howked it out of stands grim and red, watching the train for many a mile. of grizel's journey to london there are no particulars to tell. she was wearing her brown jacket and fur cap because tommy had liked them, and she sat straight and stiff all the way. she had never been in a train since she was a baby, except two or three times to tilliedrum, and she thought this was the right way to sit. always, when the train stopped, which was at long intervals, she put her head out at the window and asked if this was the train to london. every station a train stops at in the middle of the night is the infernal regions, and she shuddered to hear lost souls clanking their chains, which is what a milk-can becomes on its way to the van; but still she asked if this was the train to london. when fellow-passengers addressed her, she was very modest and cautious in her replies. sometimes a look of extraordinary happiness, of radiance, passed over her face, and may have puzzled them. it was part of the thought that, however ill he might be, she was to see him now. she did not see him as soon as she expected, for at the door of tommy's lodgings they told her that he had departed suddenly for the continent about a week ago. he was to send an address by and by to which letters could be forwarded. was he quite well when he went away? grizel asked, shaking. the landlady and her daughter thought he was rather peakish, but he had not complained. he went away for his health, grizel informed them, and he was very ill now. oh, could they not tell her where he was? all she knew was that he was very ill. "i am engaged to be married to him," she said with dignity. without this strange certainty that tommy loved her at last, she could not have trod the road which faced her now. even when she had left the house, where at their suggestion she was to call to-morrow, she found herself wondering at once what he would like her to do now, and she went straight to a hotel, and had her box sent to it from the station, and she remained there all day because she thought that this was what he would like her to do. she sat bolt upright on a cane chair in her bedroom, praying to god with her eyes open; she was begging him to let tommy tell her where he was, and promising to return home at once if he did not need her. next morning they showed her, at his lodgings, two lines in a newspaper, which said that he was ill with bronchitis at the hotel krone, bad-platten, in switzerland. it may have been an answer to her prayer, as she thought, but we know now how the paragraph got into print. on the previous evening the landlady had met mr. pym on the ladder of an omnibus, and told him, before they could be plucked apart, of the lady who knew that mr. sandys was ill. it must be bronchitis again. pym was much troubled; he knew that the krone at bad-platten had been tommy's destination. he talked that day, and one of the company was a reporter, which accounts for the paragraph. grizel found out how she could get to bad-platten. she left her box behind her at the cloakroom of the railway station, where i suppose it was sold years afterwards. from dover she sent a telegram to tommy, saying: "i am coming. grizel." on entering the train at calais she had a railway journey of some thirty hours, broken by two changes only. she could speak a little french, but all the use she made of it was to ask repeatedly if she was in the right train. an english lady who travelled with her for many hours woke up now and again to notice that this quiet, prim-looking girl was always sitting erect, with her hand on her umbrella, as if ready to leave the train at any moment. the lady pointed out some of the beauties of the scenery to her, and grizel tried to listen. "i am afraid you are unhappy," her companion said at last. "that is not why i am crying," grizel said; "i think i am crying because i am so hungry." the stranger gave her sandwiches and claret as cold as the rivers that raced the train; and grizel told her, quite frankly, why she was going to bad-platten. she did not tell his name, only that he was ill, and that she was engaged to him, and he had sent for her. she believed it all. the lady was very sympathetic, and gave her information about the diligence by which the last part of grizel's journey must be made, and also said: "you must not neglect your meals, if only for his sake; for how can you nurse him back to health if you arrive at bad-platten ill yourself? consider his distress if he were to be told that you were in the inn, but not able to go to him." "oh!" grizel cried, rocking her arms for the first time since she knew her plant was drooping. she promised to be very practical henceforth, so as to have strength to take her place by his side at once. it was strange that she who was so good a nurse had forgotten these things, so strange that it alarmed her, as if she feared that, without being able to check herself, she was turning into some other person. the station where she alighted was in a hubbub of life; everyone seemed to leave the train here, and to resent the presence of all the others. they were mostly english. the men hung back, as if, now that there was business to be done in some foolish tongue, they had better leave the ladies to do it. many of them seemed prepared, if there was dissension, to disown their womankind and run for it. they looked haughty and nervous. such of them as had tried to shave in the train were boasting of it and holding handkerchiefs to their chins. the ladies were moving about in a masterful way, carrying bunches of keys. when they had done everything, the men went and stood by their sides again. outside the station buses and carriages were innumerable, and everybody was shouting; but grizel saw that nearly all her fellow-passengers were hurrying by foot or conveyance to one spot, all desirous of being there first, and she thought it must be the place where the diligence started from, and pressed on with them. it proved to be a hotel where they all wanted the best bedroom, and many of them had telegraphed for it, and they gathered round a man in uniform and demanded that room of him; but he treated them as if they were little dogs and he was not the platter, and soon they were begging for a room on the fourth floor at the back, and swelling with triumph if they got it. the scrimmage was still going on when grizel slipped out of the hotel, having learned that the diligence would not start until the following morning. it was still early in the afternoon. how could she wait until to-morrow? bad-platten was forty miles away. the road was pointed out to her. it began to climb at once. she was to discover that for more than thirty miles it never ceased to climb. she sat down, hesitating, on a little bridge that spanned a horrible rushing white stream. poets have sung the glories of that stream, but it sent a shiver through her. on all sides she was caged in by a ring of splendid mountains, but she did not give them one admiring glance (there is a special spot where the guide-books advise you to stop for a moment to do it); her one passionate desire was to fling out her arms and knock them over. she had often walked twenty miles in a day, in a hill country too, without feeling tired, and there seemed no reason why she should not set off now. there were many inns on the way, she was told, where she could pass the night. there she could get the diligence next day. this would not bring her any sooner to him than if she waited here until to-morrow; but how could she sit still till to-morrow? she must be moving; she seemed to have been sitting still for an eternity. "i must not do anything rash," she told herself, carefully. "i must arrive at bad-platten able to sit down beside him the moment i have taken off my jacket--oh, without waiting to take off my jacket." she went into the hotel and ate some food, just to show herself how careful she had become. about three o'clock she set off. she had a fierce desire to get away from that heartless white stream and the crack of whips and the doleful pine woods, and at first she walked very quickly; but she never got away from them, for they marched with her. it was not that day, but the next, that grizel thought anything was marching with her. that day her head was quite clear, and she kept her promise to herself, and as soon as she felt tired she stopped for the night at a village inn. but when she awoke very early next morning she seemed to have forgotten that she was to travel the rest of the way by diligence; for, after a slight meal, she started off again on foot, and she was walking all day. she passed through many villages so like each other that in time she thought they might be the same. there was always a monster inn whence one carriage was departing as another drove up, and there was a great stone water-tank in which women drew their washing back and forward, and there was always a big yellow dog that barked fiercely and then giggled, and at the doors of painted houses children stood. you knew they were children by their size only. the one person she spoke to that day was a child who offered her a bunch of wild flowers. no one was looking, and grizel kissed her and then hurried on. the carriage passed and repassed her. there must have been a hundred of them, but in time they became one. no sooner had it disappeared in dust in front of her than she heard the crack of its whip behind. it was a glorious day of sweltering sun; but she was bewildered now, and did not open the umbrella with which she had shielded her head yesterday. in the foreground was always the same white road, on both sides the same pine wood laughing with wild flowers, the same roaring white stream. from somewhere near came the tinkle of cow-bells. far away on heights, if she looked up, were villages made of match-boxes. she saw what were surely the same villages if she looked down; or the one was the reflection of the other, in the sky above or in the valley below. they stood out so vividly that they might have been within arm's reach. they were so small that she felt she could extinguish them with her umbrella. near them was the detestably picturesque castle perched upon a bracket. everywhere was that loathly waterfall. here and there were squares of cultivated land that looked like door-mats flung out upon the hillsides. the huge mountains raised their jagged heads through the snow, and were so sharp-edged that they might have been clipped out of cardboard. the sky was blue, without a flaw; but lost clouds crawled like snakes between heaven and earth. all day the sun scorched her, but the night was nipping cold. from early morn till evening she climbed to get away from them, but they all marched with her. they waited while she slept. she woke up in an inn, and could have cried with delight because she saw nothing but bare walls. but as soon as she reached the door, there they all were, ready for her. an hour after she set off, she again reached that door; and she stopped at it to ask if this was the inn where she had passed the night. everything had turned with her. two squalls of sudden rain drenched her that day, and she forced her way through the first, but sought a covering from the second. it was then afternoon, and she was passing through a village by a lake. since grizel's time monster hotels have trampled the village to death, and the shuddering lake reflects all day the most hideous of caravansaries flung together as with a giant shovel in one of the loveliest spots on earth. even then some of the hotels had found it out. grizel drew near to two of them, and saw wet halls full of open umbrellas which covered the floor and looked like great beetles. these buildings were too formidable, and she dragged herself past them. she came to a garden of hops and evergreens. wet chairs were standing in the deserted walks, and here and there was a little arbour. she went into one of these arbours and sat down, and soon slid to the floor. the place was st. gian, some miles from bad-platten; but one of the umbrellas she had seen was tommy's. others belonged to mrs. jerry and lady pippinworth. chapter xxviii two of them when tommy started impulsively on what proved to be his only continental trip he had expected to join mrs. jerry and her stepdaughter at bad-platten. they had been there for a fortnight, and "the place is a dream," mrs. jerry had said in the letter pressing him to come; but it was at st. gian that she met the diligence and told him to descend. bad-platten, she explained, was a horror. her fuller explanation was that she was becoming known there as the round lady. "now, am i as round as all that?" she said plaintively to tommy. "mrs. jerry," he replied, with emotion, "you must not ask me what i think of you." he always treated her with extraordinary respect and chivalry now, and it awed her. she had looked too, too round because she was in the company of lady pippinworth. everyone seemed to be too round or too large by the side of that gifted lady, who somehow never looked too thin. she knew her power. when there were women in the room whom she disliked she merely went and stood beside them. in the gyrations of the dance the onlooker would momentarily lose sight of her; she came and went like a blinking candle. men could not dance with her without its being said that they were getting stout. there is nothing they dislike so much, yet they did dance with her. tommy, having some slight reason, was particularly sensitive about references to his figure, yet it was lady pippinworth who had drawn him to switzerland. what was her strange attraction? calmly considered, she was preposterously thin, but men, at least, could not think merely of her thinness, unless, when walking with her, they became fascinated by its shadow on the ground. she was tall, and had a very clear, pale complexion and light-brown hair. light brown, too, were her heavy eyelashes, which were famous for being black-tipped, as if a brush had touched them, though it had not. she made play with her eyelashes as with a fan, and sometimes the upper and lower seemed to entangle for a moment and be in difficulties, from which you wanted to extricate them in the tenderest manner. and the more you wanted to help her the more disdainfully she looked at you. yet though she looked disdainful she also looked helpless. now we have the secret of her charm. this helpless disdain was the natural expression of her face, and i am sure she fell asleep with a curl of the lip. her scorn of men so maddened them that they could not keep away from her. "damn!" they said under their breath, and rushed to her. if rumour is to be believed, sir harry pippinworth proposed to her in a fury brought on by the sneer with which she had surveyed his family portraits. i know nothing more of sir harry, except that she called him pips, which seems to settle him. "they will be calling me the round gentleman," tommy said ruefully to her that evening, as he strolled with her towards the lake, and indeed he was looking stout. mrs. jerry did not accompany them; she wanted to be seen with her trying stepdaughter as little as possible, and tommy's had been the happy proposal that he should attend them alternately--"fling away my own figure to save yours," he had said gallantly to mrs. jerry. "do you mind?" lady pippinworth asked. "i mind nothing," he replied, "so long as i am with you." he had not meant to begin so near the point where they had last left off; he had meant to begin much farther back: but an irresistible desire came over him to make sure that she really did permit him to say this sort of thing. her only reply was a flutter of the little fans and a most contemptuous glance. "alice," said tommy, in the old way. "well?" "you don't understand what it is to me to say alice again." "many people call me alice." "but they have a right to." "i supposed you thought you had a right to also." "no," said tommy. "that is why i do it." she strolled on, more scornful and helpless than ever. apparently it did not matter what one said to lady pippinworth; her pout kept it within the proprieties. there was a magnificent sunset that evening, which dyed a snow-topped mountain pink. "that is what i came all the way from london to see," tommy remarked, after they had gazed at it. "i hope you feel repaid," she said, a little tartly. "you mistake my meaning," he replied. "i had heard of these wonderful sunsets, and an intense desire came over me to see you looking disdainfully at them. yes, i feel amply repaid. did you notice, alice, or was it but a fancy of my own, that when he had seen the expression on your face the sun quite slunk away?" "i wonder you don't do so also," she retorted. she had no sense of humour, and was rather stupid; so it is no wonder that the men ran after her. "i am more gallant than the sun," said he. "if i had been up there in its place, alice, and you had been looking at me, i could never have set." she pouted contemptuously, which meant, i think, that she was well pleased. yet, though he seemed to be complimenting her, she was not sure of him. she had never been sure of tommy, nor, indeed, he of her, which was probably why they were so interested in each other still. "do you know," tommy said, "what i have told you is really at least half the truth? if i did not come here to see you disdaining the sun, i think i did come to see you disdaining me. odd, is it not, if true, that a man should travel so far to see a lip curl up?" "you don't seem to know what brought you," she said. "it seems so monstrous," he replied, musing. "oh, yes, i am quite certain that the curl of the lip is responsible for my being here; it kept sending me constant telegrams; but what i want to know is, do i come for the pleasure of the thing or for the pain? do i like your disdain, alice, or does it make me writhe? am i here to beg you to do it again, or to defy it?" "which are you doing now?" she inquired. "i had hoped," he said with a sigh, "that you could tell me that." on another occasion they reached the same point in this discussion, and went a little beyond it. it was on a wet afternoon, too, when tommy had vowed to himself to mend his ways. "that disdainful look is you," he told her, "and i admire it more than anything in nature; and yet, alice, and yet----" "well?" she answered coldly, but not moving, though he had come suddenly too near her. they were on a private veranda of the hotel, and she was lolling in a wicker chair. "and yet," he said intensely, "i am not certain that i would not give the world to have the power to drive that look from your face. that, i begin to think, is what brought me here." "but you are not sure," she said, with a shrug of the shoulder. it stung him into venturing further than he had ever gone with her before. not too gently, he took her head in both his hands and forced her to look up at him. she submitted without a protest. she was disdainful, but helpless. "well?" she said again. he withdrew his hands, and she smiled mockingly. "if i thought----" he cried with sudden passion, and stopped. "you think a great deal, don't you?" she said. she was going now. "if i thought there was any blood in your veins, you icy woman----" "or in your own," said she. but she said it a little fiercely, and he noticed that. "alice," he cried, "i know now. it is to drive that look from your face that i am here." she courtesied from the door. she was quite herself again. but for that moment she had been moved. he was convinced of it, and his first feeling was of exultation as in an achievement. i don't know what you are doing just now, lady pippinworth, but my compliments to you, and t. sandys is swelling. there followed on this exultation another feeling as sincere--devout thankfulness that he had gone no further. he drew deep breaths of relief over his escape, but knew that he had not himself to thank. his friends, the little sprites, had done it, in return for the amusement he seemed to give them. they had stayed him in the nick of time, but not earlier; it was quite as if they wanted tommy to have his fun first. so often they had saved him from being spitted, how could he guess that the great catastrophe was fixed for to-night, and that henceforth they were to sit round him counting his wriggles, as if this new treatment of him tickled them even more than the other? but he was too clever not to know that they might be fattening him for some very special feast, and his thanks took the form of a vow to need their help no more. to-morrow he would begin to climb the mountains around st. gian; if he danced attendance on her dangerous ladyship again, mrs. jerry should be there also, and he would walk circumspectly between them, like a man with gyves upon his wrists. he was in the midst of all the details of these reforms, when suddenly he looked at himself thus occupied, and laughed bitterly; he had so often come upon tommy making grand resolves! he stopped operations and sat down beside them. no one could have wished more heartily to be anybody else, or have had less hope. he had not even the excuse of being passionately drawn to this woman; he remembered that she had never interested him until he heard of her effect upon other men. her reputation as a duellist, whose defence none of his sex could pass, had led to his wondering what they saw in her, and he had dressed himself in their sentiments and so approached her. there were times in her company when he forgot that he was wearing borrowed garments, when he went on flame, but he always knew, as now, upon reflection. nothing seemed easier at this moment than to fling them aside; with one jerk they were on the floor. obviously it was only vanity that had inspired him, and vanity was satisfied: the easier, therefore, to stop. would you like to make the woman unhappy, tommy? you know you would not; you have somewhere about you one of the softest hearts in the world. then desist; be satisfied that you did thaw her once, and grateful that she so quickly froze again. "i am; indeed i am," he responds. "no one could have himself better in hand for the time being than i, and if a competition in morals were now going on, i should certainly take the medal. but i cannot speak for myself an hour in advance. i make a vow, as i have done so often before, but it does not help me to know what i may be at before the night is out." when his disgust with himself was at its height he suddenly felt like a little god. his new book had come into view. he flicked a finger at his reflection in a mirror. "that for you!" he said defiantly; "at least i can write; i can write at last!" the manuscript lay almost finished at the bottom of his trunk. it could not easily have been stolen for one hour without his knowing. just when he was about to start on a walk with one of the ladies, he would run upstairs to make sure that it was still there; he made sure by feeling, and would turn again at the door to make sure by looking. miser never listened to the crispness of bank-notes with more avidity; woman never spent more time in shutting and opening her jewel-box. "i can write at last!" he knew that, comparatively speaking, he had never been able to write before. he remembered the fuss that had been made about his former books. "pooh!" he said, addressing them contemptuously. once more he drew his beloved manuscript from its hiding-place. he did not mean to read, only to fondle; but his eye chancing to fall on a special passage--two hours afterwards he was interrupted by the dinner-gong. he returned the pages to the box and wiped his eyes. while dressing hurriedly he remembered with languid interest that lady pippinworth was staying in the same hotel. there were a hundred or more at dinner, and they were all saying the same thing: "where have you been to-day?" "really! but the lower path is shadier." "is this your first visit?" "the glacier is very nice." "were you caught in the rain?" "the view from the top is very nice." "after all, the rain lays the dust." "they give you two sweets at bad-platten and an ice on sunday." "the sunset is very nice." "the poulet is very nice." the hotel is open during the summer months only, but probably the chairs in the dining-room and the knives and forks in their basket make these remarks to each other every evening throughout the winter. being a newcomer, tommy had not been placed beside either of his friends, who sat apart "because," mrs. jerry said, "she calls me mamma, and i am not going to stand that." for some time he gave thought to neither of them; he was engrossed in what he had been reading, and it turned him into a fine and magnanimous character. when gradually her ladyship began to flit among his reflections, it was not to disturb them, but because she harmonized. he wanted to apologize to her. the apology grew in grace as the dinner progressed; it was so charmingly composed that he was profoundly stirred by it. the opportunity came presently in the hall, where it is customary after dinner to lounge or stroll if you are afraid of the night air. or if you do not care for music, you can go into the drawing-room and listen to the piano. "i am sure mamma is looking for you everywhere," lady pippinworth said, when tommy took a chair beside her. "it is her evening, you know." "surely you would not drive me away," he replied with a languishing air, and then smiled at himself, for he was done with this sort of thing. "lady pippinworth," said he, firmly--it needs firmness when of late you have been saying "alice." "well?" "i have been thinking----" tommy began. "i am sure you have," she said. "i have been thinking," he went on determinedly, "that i played a poor part this afternoon. i had no right to say what i said to you." "as far as i can remember," she answered, "you did not say very much." "it is like your generosity, lady pippinworth," he said, "to make light of it; but let us be frank: i made love to you." anyone looking at his expressionless face and her lazy disdain (and there were many in the hall) would have guessed that their talk was of where were you to-day? and what should i do to-morrow? "you don't really mean that?" her ladyship said incredulously. "think, mr. sandys, before you tell me anything more. are you sure you are not confusing me with mamma?" "i did it," said tommy, remorsefully. "in my absence?" she asked. "when you were with me on the veranda." her eyes opened to their widest, so surprised that the lashes had no time for their usual play. "was that what you call making love, mr. sandys?" she inquired. "i call a spade a spade." "and now you are apologizing to me, i understand?" "if you can in the goodness of your heart forgive me, lady pippinworth--" "oh, i do," she said heartily, "i do. but how stupid you must have thought me not even to know! i feel that it is i who ought to apologize. what a number of ways there seem to be of making love, and yours is such an odd way!" now to apologize for playing a poor part is one thing, and to put up with the charge of playing a part poorly is quite another. nevertheless, he kept his temper. "you have discovered an excellent way of punishing me," he said manfully, "and i submit. indeed, i admire you the more. so i am paying you a compliment when i whisper that i know you knew." but she would not have it. "you are so strangely dense to-night," she said. "surely, if i had known, i would have stopped you. you forget that i am a married woman," she added, remembering pips rather late in the day. "there might be other reasons why you did not stop me," he replied impulsively. "such as?" "well, you--you might have wanted me to go on." he blurted it out. "so," said she slowly, "you are apologizing to me for not going on?" "i implore you, lady pippinworth," tommy said, in much distress, "not to think me capable of that. if i moved you for a moment, i am far from boasting of it; it makes me only the more anxious to do what is best for you." this was not the way it had shaped during dinner, and tommy would have acted wisely had he now gone out to cool his head. "if you moved me?" she repeated interrogatively; but, with the best intentions, he continued to flounder. "believe me," he implored her, "had i known it could be done, i should have checked myself. but they always insist that you are an iceberg, and am i so much to blame if that look of hauteur deceived me with the rest? oh, dear lady disdain," he said warmly, in answer to one of her most freezing glances, "it deceives me no longer. from that moment i knew you had a heart, and i was shamed--as noble a heart as ever beat in woman," he added. he always tended to add generous bits when he found it coming out well. "does the man think i am in love with him?" was lady disdain's inadequate reply. "no, no, indeed!" he assured her earnestly. "i am not so vain as to think that, nor so selfish as to wish it; but if for a moment you were moved----" "but i was not," said she, stamping her shoe. his dander began to rise, as they say in the north; but he kept grip of politeness. "if you were moved for a moment, lady pippinworth," he went on, in a slightly more determined voice,--"i am far from saying that it was so; but if----" "but as i was not----" she said. it was no use putting things prettily to her when she snapped you up in this way. "you know you were," he said reproachfully. "i assure you," said she, "i don't know what you are talking about, but apparently it is something dreadful; so perhaps one of us ought to go away." as he did not take this hint, she opened a tattered tauchnitz which was lying at her elbow. they are always lying at your elbow in a swiss hotel, with the first pages missing. tommy watched her gloomily. "this is unworthy of you," he said. "what is?" he was not quite sure, but as he sat there misgivings entered his mind and began to gnaw. was it all a mistake of his? undeniably he did think too much. after all, had she not been moved? 'sdeath! his restlessness made her look up. "it must be a great load off your mind," she said, with gentle laughter, "to know that your apology was unnecessary." "it is," tommy said; "it is." ('sdeath!) she resumed her book. so this was how one was rewarded for a generous impulse! he felt very bitter. "so, so," he said inwardly; also, "very well, ve-ry well." then he turned upon himself. "serve you right," he said brutally. "better stick to your books, thomas, for you know nothing about women." to think for one moment that he had moved her! that streak of marble moved! he fell to watching her again, as if she were some troublesome sentence that needed licking into shape. as she bent impertinently over her book, she was an insult to man. all tommy's interest in her revived. she infuriated him. "alice," he whispered. "do keep quiet till i finish this chapter," she begged lazily. it brought him at once to the boiling-point. "alice!" he said fervently. she had noticed the change in his voice. "people are looking," she said, without moving a muscle. there was some subtle flattery to him in the warning, but he could not ask for more, for just then mrs. jerry came in. she was cloaked for the garden, and he had to go with her, sulkily. at the door she observed that the ground was still wet. "are you wearing your goloshes?" said he, brightening. "you must get them, mrs. jerry; i insist." she hesitated. (her room was on the third floor.) "it is very good of you to be so thoughtful of me," she said, "but----" "but i have no right to try to take care of you," he interposed in a melancholy voice. "it is true. let us go." "i sha'n't be two minutes," said mrs. jerry, in a flutter, and went off hastily for her goloshes, while he looked fondly after her. at the turn of the stair she glanced back, and his eyes were still begging her to hurry. it was a gracious memory to her in the after years, for she never saw him again. as soon as she was gone he returned to the hall, and taking from a peg a cloak with a mother goose hood, brought it to lady pippinworth, who had watched her mamma trip upstairs. "did i say i was going out?" she asked. "yes," said tommy, and she rose to let him put the elegant thing round her. she was one of those dangerous women who look their best when you are helping them to put on their cloaks. "now," he instructed her, "pull the hood over your head." "is it so cold as that?" she said, obeying. "i want you to wear it," he answered. what he meant was that she never looked quite so impudent as in her hood, and his vanity insisted that she should be armed to the teeth before they resumed hostilities. the red light was in his eyes as he drew her into the garden where grizel lay. chapter xxix the red light it was an evening without stars, but fair, sufficient wind to make her ladyship cling haughtily to his arm as they turned corners. many of the visitors were in the garden, some grouped round a quartet of gaily attired minstrels, but more sitting in little arbours or prowling in search of an arbour to sit in; the night was so dark that when our two passed beyond the light of the hotel windows they could scarce see the shrubs they brushed against; cigars without faces behind them sauntered past; several times they thought they had found an unoccupied arbour at last, when they heard the clink of coffee-cups. "i believe the castle dates from the fifteenth century," tommy would then say suddenly, though it was not of castles he had been talking. with a certain satisfaction he noticed that she permitted him, without comment, to bring in the castle thus and to drop it the moment the emergency had passed. but he had little other encouragement. even when she pressed his arm it was only as an intimation that the castle was needed. "i can't even make her angry," he said wrathfully to himself. "you answer not a word," he said in great dejection to her. "i am afraid to speak," she admitted. "i don't know who may hear." "alice," he said eagerly, "what would you say if you were not afraid to speak?" they had stopped, and he thought she trembled a little on his arm, but he could not be sure. he thought--but he was thinking too much again; at least, lady pippinworth seemed to come to that conclusion, for with a galling little laugh she moved on. he saw with amazing clearness that he had thought sufficiently for one day. on coming into the garden with her, and for some time afterwards, he had been studying her so coolly, watching symptoms rather than words, that there is nothing to compare the man to but a doctor who, while he is chatting, has his finger on your pulse. but he was not so calm now. whether or not he had stirred the woman, he was rapidly firing himself. when next he saw her face by the light of a window, she at the same instant turned her eyes on him; it was as if each wanted to know correctly how the other had been looking in the darkness, and the effect was a challenge. like one retreating a step, she lowered her eyes. "i am tired," she said. "i shall go in." "let us stroll round once more." "no, i am going in." "if you are afraid----" he said, with a slight smile. she took his arm again. "though it is too bad of me to keep you out," she said, as they went on, "for you are shivering. is it the night air that makes you shiver?" she asked mockingly. but she shivered a little herself, as if with a presentiment that she might be less defiant if he were less thoughtful. for a month or more she had burned to teach him a lesson, but there was a time before that when, had she been sure he was in earnest, she would have preferred to be the pupil. two ladies came out of an arbour where they had been drinking coffee, and sauntered towards the hotel. it was a tiny building, half concealed in hops and reached by three steps, and tommy and his companion took possession. he groped in the darkness for a chair for her, and invited her tenderly to sit down. she said she preferred to stand. she was by the open window, her fingers drumming on the sill. though he could not see her face, he knew exactly how she was looking. "sit down," he said, rather masterfully. "i prefer to stand," she repeated languidly. he had a passionate desire to take her by the shoulders, but put his hand on hers instead, and she permitted it, like one disdainful but helpless. she said something unimportant about the stillness. "is it so still?" he said in a low voice. "i seem to hear a great noise. i think it must be the beating of my heart." "i fancy that is what it is," she drawled. "do you hear it?" "no." "did you ever hear your own heart beat, alice?" "no." he had both her hands now. "would you like to hear it?" she pulled away her hands sharply. "yes," she replied with defiance. "but you pulled away your hands first," said he. he heard her breathe heavily for a moment, but she said nothing. "yes," he said, as if she had spoken, "it is true." "what is true?" "what you are saying to yourself just now--that you hate me." she beat the floor with her foot. "how you hate me, alice!" "oh, no." "yes, indeed you do." "i wonder why," she said, and she trembled a little. "i know why." he had come close to her again. "shall i tell you why?" she said "no," hurriedly. "i am so glad you say no." he spoke passionately, and yet there was banter in his voice, or so it seemed to her. "it is because you fear to be told; it is because you had hoped that i did not know." "tell me why i hate you!" she cried. "tell me first that you do." "oh, i do, i do indeed!" she said the words in a white heat of hatred. before she could prevent him he had raised her hand to his lips. "dear alice!" he said. "why is it?" she demanded. "listen!" he said. "listen to your heart, alice; it is beating now. it is telling you why. does it need an interpreter? it is saying you hate me because you think i don't love you." "don't you?" she asked fiercely. "no," tommy said. her hands were tearing each other, and she could not trust herself to speak. she sat down deadly pale in the chair he had offered her. "no man ever loved you," he said, leaning over her with his hand on the back of the chair. "you are smiling at that, i know; but it is true, lady disdain. they may have vowed to blow their brains out, and seldom did it; they may have let you walk over them, and they may have become your fetch-and-carry, for you were always able to drive them crazy; but love does not bring men so low. they tried hard to love you, and it was not that they could not love; it was that you were unlovable. that is a terrible thing to a woman. you think you let them try to love you, that you might make them your slaves when they succeeded; but you made them your slaves because they failed. it is a power given to your cold and selfish nature in place of the capacity for being able to be loved, with which women not a hundredth part as beautiful as you are dowered, and you have a raging desire, alice, to exercise it over me as over the others; but you can't." had he seen her face then, it might have warned him to take care; but he heard her words only, and they were not at all in keeping with her face. "i see i can't," was what she cried, almost in a whisper. "it is all true, alice, is it not?" "i suppose so. i don't know; i don't care." she swung round in her chair and caught his sleeve. her hands clung to it. "say you love me now," she said. "i cannot live without your love after this. what shall i do to make you love me? tell me, and i will do it." he could not stop himself, for he mistrusted her still. "i will not be your slave," he said, through his teeth. "you shall be mine." "yes, yes." "you shall submit to me in everything. if i say 'come,' you shall come to wheresoever it may be; and if i say 'stay,' and leave you for ever, you shall stay." "very well," she said eagerly. she would have her revenge when he was her slave. "you can continue to be the haughty lady disdain to others, but you shall be only obedient little alice to me." "very well." she drew his arm towards her and pressed her lips upon it. "and for that you will love me a little, won't you? you will love me at last, won't you?" she entreated. he was a masterful man up to a certain point only. her humility now tapped him in a new place, and before he knew what he was about he began to run pity. "to humiliate you so, alice! i am a dastard. i am not such a dastard as you think me. i wanted to know that you would be willing to do all these things, but i would never have let you do them." "i am willing to do them." "no, no." it was he who had her hands now. "it was brutal, but i did it for you, alice--for you. don't you see i was doing it only to make a woman of you? you were always adorable, but in a coat of mail that would let love neither in nor out. i have been hammering at it to break it only and free my glorious alice. we had to fight, and one of us had to give in. you would have flung me away if i had yielded--i had to win to save you." "now i am lost indeed," he was saying to himself, even as it came rushing out of him, and what appalled him most was that worse had probably still to come. he was astride two horses, and both were at the gallop. he flung out his arms as if seeking for something to check him. as he did so she had started to her feet, listening. it seemed to her that there was someone near them. he flung out his arms for help, and they fell upon lady pippinworth and went round her. he drew her to him. she could hear no breathing now but his. "alice, i love you, for you are love itself; it is you i have been chasing since first love rose like a bird at my feet; i never had a passing fancy for any other woman; i always knew that somewhere in the world there must be you, and sometime this starless night and you for me. you were hidden behind walls of ice; no man had passed them; i broke them down and love leaped to love, and you lie here, my beautiful, love in the arms of its lover." he was in a frenzy of passion now; he meant every word of it; and her intention was to turn upon him presently and mock him, this man with whom she had been playing. oh, the jeering things she had to say! but she could not say them yet; she would give her fool another moment--so she thought, but she was giving it to herself; and as she delayed she was in danger of melting in his arms. "what does the world look like to you, my darling? you are in it for the first time. you were born but a moment ago. it is dark, that you may not be blinded before you have used your eyes. these are your eyes, dear eyes that do not yet know their purpose; they are for looking at me, little alice, and mine are for looking into yours. i cannot see you; i have never seen the face of my love--oh, my love, come into the light that i may see your face." they did not move. her head had fallen on his shoulder. she was to give it but a moment, and then----but the moment had passed and still her hair pressed his cheek. her eyes were closed. he seemed to have found the way to woo her. neither of them spoke. suddenly they jumped apart. lady pippinworth stole to the door. they held their breath and listened. it was not so loud now, but it was distinctly heard. it had been heavy breathing, and now she was trying to check it and half succeeding--but at the cost of little cries. they both knew it was a woman, and that she was in the arbour, on the other side of the little table. she must have been there when they came in. "who is that?" there was no answer to him save the checked breathing and another broken cry. she moved, and it helped him to see vaguely the outlines of a girl who seemed to be drawing back from him in terror. he thought she was crouching now in the farthest corner. "come away," he said. but lady pippinworth would not let him go. they must know who this woman was. he remembered that a match-stand usually lay on the tables of those arbours, and groped until he found one. "who are you?" he struck a match. they were those french matches that play an infernal interlude before beginning to burn. while he waited he knew that she was begging him, with her hands and with cries that were too little to be words, not to turn its light on her. but he did. then she ceased to cower. the girlish dignity that had been hers so long came running back to her. as she faced him there was even a crooked smile upon her face. [illustration: "i woke up," she said.] "i woke up," she said, as if the words had no meaning to herself, but might have some to him. the match burned out before he spoke, but his face was terrible. "grizel!" he said, appalled; and then, as if the discovery was as awful to her as to him, she uttered a cry of horror and sped out into the night. he called her name again, and sprang after her; but the hand of another woman detained him. "who is this girl?" lady pippinworth demanded fiercely; but he did not answer. he recoiled from her with a shudder that she was not likely to forget, and hurried on. all that night he searched for grizel in vain. chapter xxx the little gods desert him and all next day he searched like a man whose eyes would never close again. she had not passed the night in any inn or village house of st. gian; of that he made certain by inquiries from door to door. none of the guides had seen her, though they are astir so late and so early, patiently waiting at the hotel doors to be hired, that there seems to be no night for them--darkness only, that blots them out for a time as they stand waiting. at all hours there is in st. gian the tinkle of bells, the clatter of hoofs, the crack of a whip, dust in retreat; but no coachman brought him news. the streets were thronged with other coachmen on foot looking into every face in quest of some person who wanted to return to the lowlands, but none had looked into her face. within five minutes of the hotel she might have been on any of half a dozen roads. he wandered or rushed along them all for a space, and came back. one of them was short and ended in the lake. all through that long and beautiful day this miserable man found himself coming back to the road that ended in the lake. there were moments when he cried to himself that it was an apparition he had seen and heard. he had avoided his friends all day; of the english-speaking people in st. gian one only knew why he was distraught, and she was the last he wished to speak to; but more than once he nearly sought her to say, "partner in my shame, what did you see? what did you hear?" in the afternoon he had a letter from elspeth telling him how she was enjoying her holiday by the sea, and mentioning that david was at that moment writing to grizel in thrums. but was it, then, all a dream? he cried, nearly convinced for the first time, and he went into the arbour saying determinedly that it was a dream; and in the arbour, standing primly in a corner, was grizel's umbrella. he knew that umbrella so well! he remembered once being by while she replaced one of its ribs so deftly that he seemed to be looking on at a surgical operation. the old doctor had given it to her, and that was why she would not let it grow old before she was old herself. tommy opened it now with trembling hands and looked at the little bits of grizel on it: the beautiful stitching with which she had coaxed the slits to close again; the one patch, so artful that she had clapped her hands over it. and he fell on his knees and kissed these little bits of grizel, and called her "beloved," and cried to his gods to give him one more chance. "i woke up." it was all that she had said. it was grizel's excuse for inconveniencing him. she had said it apologetically and as if she did not quite know how she came to be there herself. there was no look of reproach on her face while the match burned; there had been a pitiful smile, as if she was begging him not to be very angry with her; and then when he said her name she gave that little cry as if she had recognized herself, and stole away. he lived that moment over and over again, and she never seemed to be horror-stricken until he cried "grizel!" when her recognition of herself made her scream. it was as if she had wakened up, dazed by the terrible things that were being said, and then, by the light of that one word "grizel," suddenly knew who had been listening to them. did he know anything more? he pressed his hands harshly on his temples and thought. he knew that she was soaking wet, that she had probably sought the arbour for protection from the rain, and that, if so, she had been there for at least four hours. she had wakened up. she must have fallen asleep, knocked down by fatigue. what fatigue it must have been to make grizel lie there for hours he could guess, and he beat his brow in anguish. but why she had come he could not guess. "oh, miserable man, to seek for reasons," he cried passionately to himself, "when it is grizel--grizel herself--you should be seeking for!" he walked and ran the round of the lake, and it was not on the bank that his staring eyes were fixed. at last he came for a moment upon her track. the people of an inn six miles from st. gian remembered being asked yesterday by an english miss, walking alone, how far she was from bad-platten. she was wearing something brown, and her boots were white with dust, and these people had never seen a lady look so tired before; when she stood still she had to lean against the wall. they said she had red-hot eyes. tommy was in an einspänner now, the merry conveyance of the country and more intoxicating than its wines, and he drove back through st. gian to bad-platten, where again he heard from grizel, though he did not find her. what he found was her telegram from london: "i am coming. grizel." why had she come? why had she sent that telegram? what had taken her to london? he was not losing time when he asked himself distractedly these questions, for he was again in his gay carriage and driving back to the wayside inn. he spent the night there, afraid to go farther lest he should pass her in the darkness; for he had decided that, if alive, she was on this road. that she had walked all those forty miles uphill seemed certain, and apparently the best he could hope was that she was walking back. she had probably no money to enable her to take the diligence. perhaps she had no money with which to buy food. it might be that while he lay tossing in bed she was somewhere near, dying for want of a franc. he was off by morning light, and several times that day he heard of her, twice from people who had seen her pass both going and coming, and he knew it must be she when they said she rocked her arms as she walked. oh, he knew why she rocked her arms! once he thought he had found her. he heard of an english lady who was lying ill in the house of a sawmiller, whose dog (we know the dogs of these regions, but not the people) had found her prostrate in the wood, some distance from the highroad. leaving his einspänner in a village, tommy climbed down the mountain-side to this little house, which he was long in discovering. it was by the side of a roaring river, and he arrived only an hour too late. the lady had certainly been grizel; but she was gone. the sawyer's wife described to him how her husband had brought her in, and how she seemed so tired and bewildered that she fell asleep while they were questioning her. she held her hands over her ears to shut out the noise of the river, which seemed to terrify her. so far as they could understand, she told them that she was running away from the river. she had been sleeping there for three hours, and was still asleep when the good woman went off to meet her husband; but when they returned she was gone. he searched the wood for miles around, crying her name. the sawyer and some of his fellow-workers left the trees they were stripping of bark to help him, and for hours the wood rang with "grizel, grizel!" all the mountains round took up the cry; but there never came an answer. this long delay prevented his reaching the railway terminus until noon of the following day, and there he was again too late. but she had been here. he traced her to that hotel whence we saw her setting forth, and the portier had got a ticket for her for london. he had talked with her for some little time, and advised her, as she seemed so tired, to remain there for the night. but she said she must go home at once. she seemed to be passionately desirous to go home, and had looked at him suspiciously, as if fearing he might try to hold her back. he had been called away, and on returning had seen her disappearing over the bridge. he had called to her, and then she ran as if afraid he was pursuing her. but he had observed her afterwards in the train. so she was not without money, and she was on her way home! the relief it brought him came to the surface in great breaths, and at first every one of them was a prayer of thankfulness. yet in time they were triumphant breaths. translated into words, they said that he had got off cheaply for the hundredth time. his little gods had saved him again, as they had saved him in the arbour by sending grizel to him. he could do as he liked, for they were always there to succour him; they would never desert him--never. in a moment of fierce elation he raised his hat to them, then seemed to see grizel crying "i woke up," and in horror of himself clapped it on again. it was but a momentary aberration, and is recorded only to show that, however remorseful he felt afterwards, there was life in our tommy still. the train by which he was to follow her did not leave until evening, and through those long hours he was picturing, with horrible vividness and pain, the progress of grizel up and down that terrible pass. often his shoulders shook in agony over what he saw, and he shuddered to the teeth. he would have walked round the world on his knees to save her this long anguish! and then again it was less something he saw than something he was writing, and he altered it to make it more dramatic. "i woke up." how awful that was! but in this new scene she uttered no words. lady pippinworth was in his arms when they heard a little cry, so faint that a violin string makes as much moan when it snaps. in a dread silence he lit a match, and as it flared the figure of a girl was seen upon the floor. she was dead; and even as he knew that she was dead he recognized her. "grizel!" he cried. the other woman who had lured him from his true love uttered a piercing scream and ran towards the hotel. when she returned with men and lanterns there was no one in the arbour, but there were what had been a man and a girl. they lay side by side. the startled onlookers unbared their heads. a solemn voice said, "in death not divided." he was not the only occupant of the hotel reading-room as he saw all this, and when his head fell forward and he groaned, the others looked up from their papers. a lady asked if he was unwell. "i have had a great shock," he replied in a daze, pulling his hand across his forehead. "something you have seen in your paper?" inquired a clergyman who had been complaining that there was no news. "people i knew," said tommy, not yet certain which world he was in. "dead?" the lady asked sympathetically. "i knew them well," he said, and staggered into the fresh air. poor dog of a tommy! he had been a total abstainer from sentiment, as one may say, for sixty hours, and this was his only glass. it was the nobler tommy, sternly facing facts, who by and by stepped into the train. he even knew why he was going to thrums. he was going to say certain things to her; and he said them to himself again and again in the train, and heard her answer. the words might vary, but they were always to the same effect. "grizel, i have come back!" he saw himself say these words, as he opened her door in gavinia's little house. and when he had said them he bowed his head. at his sudden appearance she started up; then she stood pale and firm. "why have you come back?" "not to ask your forgiveness," he replied hoarsely; "not to attempt to excuse myself; not with any hope that there remains one drop of the love you once gave me so abundantly. i want only, grizel, to put my life into your hands. i have made a sorry mess of it myself. will you take charge of what may be left of it? you always said you were ready to help me. i have come back, grizel, for your help. what you were once willing to do for love, will you do for pity now?" she turned away her head, and he went nearer her. "there was always something of the mother in your love, grizel; but for that you would never have borne with me so long. a mother, they say, can never quite forget her boy--oh, grizel, is it true? i am the prodigal come back. grizel, beloved, i have sinned and i am unworthy, but i am still your boy, and i have come back. am i to be sent away?" at the word "beloved" her arms rocked impulsively. "you must not call me that," she said. "then i am to go," he answered with a shudder, "for i must always call you that; whether i am with you or away, you shall always be beloved to me." "you don't love me!" she cried. "oh, do you love me at last!" and at that he fell upon his knees. "grizel, my love, my love!" "but you don't want to be married," she said. "beloved, i have come back to ask you on my knees to be my wife." "that woman--" "she was a married woman, grizel." "oh, oh, oh!" "and now you know the worst of me. it is the whole truth at last. i don't know why you took that terrible journey, dear grizel, but i do know that you were sent there to save me. oh, my love, you have done so much, will you do no more?" and so on, till there came a time when his head was on her lap and her hand caressing it, and she was whispering to her boy to look up and see her crooked smile again. he passed on to the wedding. all the time between seemed to be spent in his fond entreaties to hasten the longed-for day. how radiant she looked in her bridal gown! "oh, beautiful one, are you really mine? oh, world, pause for a moment and look at the woman who has given herself to me!" "my wife--this is my wife!" they were in london now; he was showing her to london. how he swaggered! there was a perpetual apology on her face; it begged people to excuse him for looking so proudly at her. it was a crooked apology, and he hurried her into dark places and kissed it. do you see that tommy was doing all this for grizel and pretending to her that it was for himself? he was passionately desirous of making amends, and he was to do it in the most generous way. perhaps he believed when he seemed to enter her room saying, "grizel, i have come back," that she loved him still; perhaps he knew that he did not love in the way he said; perhaps he saw a remorseful man making splendid atonement: but never should she know these things; tenderly as he had begun he would go on to the end. here at last is a tommy worth looking at, and he looked. yet as he drew near thrums, after almost exactly two days of continuous travel, many a shiver went down his back, for he could not be sure that he should find grizel here; he sometimes seemed to see her lying ill at some wayside station in switzerland, in france; everything that could have happened to her he conceived, and he moved restlessly in the carriage. his mouth went dry. "has she come back?" the train had stopped for the taking of tickets, and his tremulous question checked the joy of corp at sight of him. "she's back," corp answered in an excited whisper; and oh, the relief to tommy! "she came back by the afternoon train; but i had scarce a word wi' her, she was so awid to be hame. 'i am going home,' she cried, and hurried away up the brae. ay, and there's one queer thing." "what?" "her luggage wasna in the van." tommy could smile at that. "but what sent her," he asked eagerly, "on that journey?" corp told him the little he knew. "but nobody kens except me and gavinia," he said. we pretend she gaed to london to see her father. we said he had wrote to her, wanting her to go to him. gavinia said it would never do to let folk ken she had gaen to see you, and even elspeth doesna ken." "is elspeth back?" "they came back yesterday." did david know the truth from grizel? was what tommy was asking himself now as he strode up the brae. but again he was in luck, for when he had explained away his abrupt return to elspeth, and been joyfully welcomed by her, she told him that her husband had been in one of the glens all day. "he does not know that grizel has come back," she said. "oh," she exclaimed, "but you don't even know that she has been away! grizel has been in london." "corp told me," said tommy. "and did he tell you why she had gone?" "yes." "she came back an hour or two ago. maggy ann saw her go past. fancy her seeing her father at last! it must have been an ordeal for her. i wonder what took place." "i think i had better go and ask her," tommy said. he was mightily relieved for grizel's sake. no one need ever know now what had called her away except corp and gavinia, and even they thought she had merely been to london. how well the little gods were managing the whole affair! as he walked to grizel's lodgings to say what he had been saying in the train, the thought came to him for a moment that as no one need ever know where she had been there was less reason why he should do this generous thing. but he put it from him with lofty disdain. any effect it had was to make him walk more firmly to his sacrifice, as if to show all ignoble impulses that they could find no home in that swelling breast he was pleased with himself, was tommy. "grizel, i have come back." he said it to the night, and bowed his head. he said it with head accompaniment to grizel's lighted window. he said it to himself as he reached the door. he never said it again. for gavinia's first words were: "it's you, mr. sandys! wherever is she? for mercy's sake, dinna say you've come without her!" and when he blinked at this, she took him roughly by the arm and cried, "wherever's grizel?" "she is here, gavinia." "she's no here." "i saw her light." "you saw my light." "gavinia, you are torturing me. she came back to-day." "what makes you say that? you're dreaming. she hasna come back." "corp saw her come in by the afternoon train. he spoke to her." gavinia shook her head incredulously. "you're just imagining that," she said. "he told me. gavinia, i must see for myself," she stared after him as he went up the stairs. "you are very cruel, gavinia," he said, when he came down. "tell me where she is." "may i be struck, mr. sandys, if i've seen or heard o' her since she left this house eight days syne." he knew she was speaking the truth. he had to lean against the door for support. "it canna be so bad as you think," she cried in pity. "if you're sure corp said he saw her, she maun hae gone to the doctor's house." "she is not there. but elspeth knew she had come back. others have seen her besides corp. my god, gavinia! what can have happened?" in little more than an hour he knew what had happened. many besides himself, david among them towards the end, were engaged in the search. and strange stories began to fly about like night-birds; you will not search for a missing woman without rousing them. why had she gone off to london without telling anyone? had corp concocted that story about her father to blind them? had she really been as far as london? have you seen sandys?--he's back. it's said corp telegraphed to him to switzerland that she had disappeared. it's weel kent corp telegraphed. sandys came at once. he is in a terrible state. look how white he is aneath that lamp. what garred them telegraph for him? how is it he is in sic a state? fond o' her, was he? yea, yea, even after she gave him the go-by. then it's a weary sabbath for him, if half they say be true. what do they say? they say she was queer when she came back. corp doesna say that. maybe no; but francie crabb does. he says he met her on the station brae and spoke to her, and she said never a word, but put up her hands like as if she feared he was to strike her. the dundas lassies saw her frae their window, and her hands were at her ears as if she was trying to drown the sound o' something. do you mind o' her mother? they say she was looking terrible like her mother. it was only between the station and gavinia's house that she had been seen, but they searched far afield. tommy, accompanied by corp, even sought for her in the den. do you remember the long, lonely path between two ragged little dykes that led from the den to the house of the painted lady? it was there that grizel had lived with her mamma. the two men went down that path, which is oppressed with trees. elsewhere the night was not dark, but, as they had known so well when they were boys, it is always dark after evenfall in the double dykes. that is the legacy of the painted lady. presently they saw the house--scarcely the house, but a lighted window. tommy remembered the night when as a boy, elspeth crouching beside him, he had peered in fearfully at that corner window on grizel and her mamma, and the shuddersome things he had seen. he shuddered at them again. "who lives there now?" he asked. "nobody. it's toom." "there is a light." "some going-about body. they often tak' bilbie in toom houses, and that door is without a lock; it's keepit close wi' slipping a stick aneath it. do you mind how feared we used to be at that house?" "she was never afraid of it." "it was her hame." he meant no more than he said, but suddenly they both stopped dead. "it's no possible," corp said, as if in answer to a question. "it's no possible," he repeated beseechingly. "wait for me here, corp." "i would rather come wi' you." "wait here!" tommy said almost fiercely, and he went on alone to that little window. it had needed an effort to make him look in when he was here before, and it needed a bigger effort now. but he looked. what light there was came from the fire, and whether she had gathered the logs or found them in the room no one ever knew. a vagrant stated afterwards that he had been in the house some days before and left his match-box in it. by this fire grizel was crouching. she was comparatively tidy and neat again; the dust was gone from her boots, even. how she had managed to do it no one knows, but you remember how she loved to be neat. her hands were extended to the blaze, and she was busy talking to herself. his hand struck the window heavily, and she looked up and saw him. she nodded, and put her finger to her lips as a sign that he must be cautious. she had often, in the long ago, seen her mother signing thus to an imaginary face at the window--the face of the man who never came. tommy went into the house, and she was so pleased to see him that she quite simpered. he put his arms round her, and she lay there with a little giggle of contentment. she was in a plot of heat. "grizel! oh, my god!" he said, "why do you look at me in that way?" she passed her hand across her eyes, like one trying to think. "i woke up," she said at last. corp appeared at the window now, and she pointed to him in terror. thus had she seen her mother point, in the long ago, at faces that came there to frighten her. "grizel," tommy entreated her, "you know who i am, don't you?" she said his name at once, but her eyes were on the window. "they want to take me away," she whispered. "but you must come away, grizel. you must come home." "this is home," she said. "it is sweet." after much coaxing, he prevailed upon her to leave. with his arm round her, and a terrible woe on his face, he took her to the doctor's house. she had her hands over her ears all the way. she thought the white river and the mountains and the villages and the crack of whips were marching with her still. chapter xxxi "the man with the greetin' eyes" for many days she lay in a fever at the doctor's house, seeming sometimes to know where she was, but more often not, and night after night a man with a drawn face sat watching her. they entreated, they forced him to let them take his place; but from his room he heard her moan or speak, or he thought he heard her, or he heard a terrible stillness, and he stole back to listen; they might send him away, but when they opened the door he was there, with his drawn face. and often they were glad to see him, for there were times when he alone could interpret her wild demands and soothe those staring eyes. once a scream startled the house. someone had struck a match in the darkened chamber, and she thought she was in an arbour in st. gian. they had to hold her in her bed by force at times; she had such a long way to walk before night, she said. she would struggle into a sitting posture and put her hands over her ears. her great desire was not to sleep. "i should wake up," she explained fearfully. she took a dislike to elspeth, and called her "alice." these ravings, they said to each other, must have reference to what happened to her when she was away, and as they thought he knew no more of her wanderings than they, everyone marvelled at the intuition with which he read her thoughts. it was he who guessed that the striking of matches somehow terrified her; he who discovered that it was a horrid roaring river she thought she heard, and he pretended he heard it too, and persuaded her that if she lay very still it would run past. nothing she said or did puzzled him. he read the raving of her mind, they declared admiringly, as if he held the cipher to it. "and the cipher is his love," mrs. mclean said, with wet eyes. in the excitement of those days elspeth talked much to her of tommy's love for grizel, and how she had refused him, and it went round the town with embellishments. it was generally believed now that she really had gone to london to see her father, and that his heartless behaviour had unhinged her mind. by david's advice, corp and gavinia did not contradict this story. it was as good as another, he told them, and better than the truth. but what was the truth? they asked greedily. "oh, that he is a noble fellow," david replied grimly. they knew that, but-- he would tell them no more, however, though he knew all. tommy had made full confession to the doctor, even made himself out worse than he was, as had to be his way when he was not making himself out better. "and i am willing to proclaim it all from the market-place," he said hoarsely, "if that is your wish." "i daresay you would almost enjoy doing that," said david, rather cruelly. "i daresay i should," tommy said, with a gulp, and went back to grizel's side. it was not, you may be sure, to screen him that david kept the secret; it was because he knew what many would say of grizel if the nature of her journey were revealed. he dared not tell elspeth, even; for think of the woe to her if she learned that it was her wonderful brother who had brought grizel to this pass! the elspeths of this world always have some man to devote himself to them. if the tommies pass away, the davids spring up. for my own part, i think elspeth would have found some excuse for tommy. he said so himself to the doctor, for he wanted her to be told. "or you would find the excuse for her in time," david responded. "very likely," tommy said. he was humble enough now, you see. david could say one thing only which would rouse him, namely, that grizel was not to die in this fever; and for long it seemed impossible to say that. "would you have her live if her mind remains affected?" he asked; and tommy said firmly, "yes." "you think, i suppose, that then you would have less for which to blame yourself!" "i suppose that is it. but don't waste time on me, gemmell, when you have her life to save, if you can." well, her life was saved, and tommy's nursing had more to do with it than david's skill. david admitted it; the town talked of it. "i aye kent he would find a wy," corp said, though he had been among the most anxious. he and aaron latta were the first admitted to see her, when she was able once more to sit in a chair. they had been told to ask her no questions. she chatted pleasantly to them, and they thought she was quite her old self. they wondered to see tommy still so sad-eyed. to ailie she spoke freely of her illness, though not of what had occasioned it, and told her almost gleefully that david had promised to let her sew a little next week. there was one thing only that surprised ailie. grizel had said that as soon as she was a little stronger she was going home. "does she mean to her father's house?" ailie asked. this was what started the report that, touched no doubt by her illness, grizel's unknown father had, after all, offered her a home. they discovered, however, what grizel meant by home when, one afternoon, she escaped, unseen, from the doctor's house, and was found again at double dykes, very indignant because someone had stolen the furniture. she seemed to know all her old friends except elspeth, who was still alice to her. seldom now did she put her hands over her ears, or see horrible mountains marching with her. she no longer remembered, save once or twice when she woke up, that she had ever been out of thrums. to those who saw her casually she was grizel--gone thin and pale and weak intellectually, but still the grizel of old, except for the fixed idea that double dykes was her home. "you must not humour her in that delusion," david said sternly to tommy; "when we cease to fight it we have abandoned hope." so the weapon he always had his hand on was taken from tommy, for he would not abandon hope. he fought gallantly. it was always he who brought her back from double dykes. she would not leave it with any other person, but she came away with him. "it's because she's so fond o' him," corp said. but it was not. it was because she feared him, as all knew who saw them together. they were seen together a great deal when she was able to go out. driving seemed to bring back the mountains to her eyes, so she walked, and it was always with the help of tommy's arm. "it's a most pitiful sight," the people said. they pitied him even more than her, for though she might be talking gaily to him and leaning heavily on him, they could see that she mistrusted him. at the end of a sweet smile she would give him an ugly, furtive look. "she's like a cat you've forced into your lap," they said, "and it lies quiet there, ready to jump the moment you let go your grip." they wondered would he never weary. he never wearied. day after day he was saying the same things to her, and the end was always as the beginning. they came back to her entreaty that she should be allowed to go home as certainly as they came back to the doctor's house. "it is a long time, you know, grizel, since you lived at double dykes--not since you were a child." "not since i was a child," she said as if she quite understood. "then you went to live with your dear, kind doctor, you remember. what was his name?" "dr. mcqueen. i love him." "but he died, and he left you his house to live in. it is your home, grizel. he would be so grieved if he thought you did not make it your home." "it is my home," she said proudly; but when they returned to it she was loath to go in. "i want to go home!" she begged. one day he took her to her rooms in corp's house, thinking her old furniture would please her; and that was the day when she rocked her arms joyously again. but it was not the furniture that made her so happy; it was corp's baby. "oh, oh!" she cried in rapture, and held out her arms; and he ran into them, for there was still one person in thrums who had no fear of grizel. "it will be a damned shame," corp said huskily, "if that woman never has no bairns o' her ain." they watched her crooning over the child, playing with him for a long time. you could not have believed that she required to be watched. she told him with hugs that she had come back to him at last; it was her first admission that she knew she had been away and a wild hope came to tommy that along the road he could not take her she might be drawn by this little child. she discovered a rent in the child's pinafore and must mend it at once. she ran upstairs, as a matter of course, to her work-box, and brought down a needle and thread. it was quite as if she was at home at last. "but you don't live here now, grizel," tommy said, when she drew back at his proposal that they should go away; "you live at the doctor's house." "do i, gavinia?" she said beseechingly. "is it here you want to bide?" corp asked, and she nodded her head several times. "it would be so much more convenient," she said, looking at the child. "would you take her back, gavinia," tommy asked humbly, "if she continues to want it?" gavinia did not answer. "woman!" cried corp. "i'm mortal wae for her," gavinia said slowly, "but she needs to be waited on hand and foot." "i would come and do the waiting on her hand and foot, gavinia," tommy said. and so it came about that a week afterwards grizel was reinstalled in her old rooms. every morning when tommy came to see her she asked him, icily how alice was. she seemed to think that alice, as she called her, was his wife. he always replied, "you mean elspeth," and she assented, but only, it was obvious, because she feared to contradict him. to corp and gavinia she would still say passionately, "i want to go home!" and probably add fearfully, "don't tell him." yet though this was not home to her, she seemed to be less unhappy here than in the doctor's house, and she found a great deal to do. all her old skill in needlework came back to her, and she sewed for the child such exquisite garments that she clapped her hands over them. one day tommy came with a white face and asked gavinia if she knew whether a small brown parcel had been among the things brought by grizel from the doctor's house. "it was in the box sent after me from switzerland," he told her, "and contained papers." gavinia had seen no such package. "she may have hidden it," he said, and they searched, but fruitlessly. he questioned grizel gently, but questions alarmed her, and he desisted. "it does not matter, gavinia," he said, with a ghastly smile; but on the following sunday, when corp called at the doctor's house, the thought "have they found it?" leaped in front of all thought of grizel. this was only for the time it takes to ask a question with the eyes, however, for corp was looking very miserable. "i'm sweer to say it," he announced to tommy and david, "but it has to be said. we canna keep her." evidently something had happened, and tommy rose to go to grizel without even asking what it was. "wait," david said, wrinkling his eyebrows, "till corp tells us what he means by that. i knew it might come, corp. go on." "if it hadna been for the bairn," said corp, "we would hae tholed wi' her, however queer she was; but wi' the bairn i tell you it's no mous. you'll hae to tak' her awa'." "whatever she has been to others," tommy said, "she is always an angel with the child. his own mother could not be fonder of him." "that's it," corp replied emphatically. "she's no the mother o' him, but there's whiles when she thinks she is. we kept it frae you as long as we could." "as long as she is so good to him----" david began. "but at thae times she's not," said corp. "she begins to shiver most terrible, as if she saw fearsome things in her mind, and syne we see her looking at him like as if she wanted to do him a mischief. she says he's her brat; she thinks he's hers, and that he hasna been well come by." tommy's hands rose in agony, and then he covered his face with them. "go on, corp," david said hoarsely; "we must have it all." "sometimes," corp went on painfully, "she canna help being fond o' him, though she thinks she shouldna hae had him. i've heard her saying, 'my brat!' and syne birsing him closer to her, as though her shame just made him mair to her. women are so queer about thae things. i've seen her sitting by his cradle, moaning to hersel', 'i did so want to be good! it would be sweet to be good! and never stopping rocking the cradle, and a' the time the tears were rolling down." tommy cried, "if there is any more to tell, corp, be quick." "there's what i come here to tell you. it was no langer syne than jimply an hour. we thocht the bairn was playing at the gavle-end, and that grizel was up the stair. but they werena, and i gaed straight to double dykes. she wasna there, but the bairn was, lying greetin' on the floor. we found her in the den, sitting by the burn-side, and she said we should never see him again, for she had drowned him. we're sweer, but you'll need to tak' her awa'." "we shall take her away," david said, and when he and tommy were left together he asked: "do you see what it means?" "it means that the horrors of her early days have come back to her, and that she is confusing her mother with herself." david's hands were clenched. "that is not what i am thinking of. we have to take her away; they have done far more than we had any right to ask of them. sandys, where are we to take her to?" "do even you grow tired of her?" tommy cried. david said between his teeth: "we hope there will soon be a child in this house, also. god forgive me, but i cannot bring her back here." "she cannot be in a house where there is a child!" said tommy, with a bitter laugh. "gemmell, it is grizel we are speaking of! do you remember what she was?" "i remember." "well, where are we to send her?" david turned his pained eyes full on tommy. "no!" tommy cried vehemently. "sandys," said david, firmly, "that is what it has come to. they will take good care of her." he sat down with a groan. "have done with heroics," he said savagely, when tommy would have spoken. "i have been prepared for this; there is no other way." "i have been prepared for it, too," tommy said, controlling himself; "but there is another way: i can marry her, and i am going to do it." "i don't know that i can countenance that," david said, after a pause. "it seems an infernal shame." "don't trouble about me," replied tommy, hoarsely; "i shall do it willingly." and then it was the doctor's turn to laugh. "you!" he said with a terrible scorn as he looked tommy up and down. "i was not thinking of you. all my thoughts were of her. i was thinking how cruel to her if some day she came to her right mind and found herself tied for life to the man who had brought her to this pass." tommy winced and walked up and down. "desire to marry her gone?" asked david, savagely. "no," tommy said. he sat down. "you have the key to me, gemmell," he went on quietly. "i gave it to you. you know i am a man of sentiment only; but you are without a scrap of it yourself, and so you will never quite know what it is. it has its good points. we are a kindly people. i was perhaps pluming myself on having made an heroic proposal, and though you have made me see it just now as you see it, as you see it i shall probably soon be putting on the same grand airs again. lately i discovered that the children who see me with grizel call me 'the man with the greetin' eyes.' if i have greetin' eyes it was real grief that gave them to me; but when i heard what i was called it made me self-conscious, and i have tried to look still more lugubrious ever since. it seems monstrous to you, but that, i believe, is the kind of thing i shall always be doing. but it does not mean that i feel no real remorse. they were greetin' eyes before i knew it, and though i may pose grotesquely as a fine fellow for finding grizel a home where there is no child and can never be a child, i shall not cease, night nor day, from tending her. it will be a grim business, gemmell, as you know, and if i am sentimental tommy through it all, why grudge me my comic little strut?" david said, "you can't take her to london." "i shall take her to wherever she wants to go." "there is one place only she wants to go to, and that is double dykes." "i am prepared to take her there." "and your work?" "it must take second place now. i must write; it is the only thing i can do. if i could make a living at anything else i would give up writing altogether." "why?" "she would be pleased if she could understand, and writing is the joy of my life--two reasons." but the doctor smiled. "you are right," said tommy. "i see i was really thinking what a fine picture of self-sacrifice i should make sitting in double dykes at a loom!" they talked of ways and means, and he had to admit that he had little money. but the new book would bring in a good deal, david supposed. "the manuscript is lost," tommy replied, crushing down his agitation. "lost! when? where?" "i don't know. it was in the bag i left behind at st. gian, and i supposed it was still in it when the bag was forwarded to me here. i did not look for more than a month. i took credit to myself for neglecting my manuscript, and when at last i looked it was not there. i telegraphed and wrote to the innkeeper at st. gian, and he replied that my things had been packed at his request in presence of my friends there, the two ladies you know of. i wrote to them, and they replied that this was so, and said they thought they remembered seeing in the bottom of the bag some such parcel in brown paper as i described. but it is not there now, and i have given up all hope of ever seeing it again. no, i have no other copy. every page was written half a dozen times, but i kept the final copy only." "it is scarcely a thing anyone would steal." "no; i suppose they took it out of the bag at st. gian, and forgot to pack it again. it was probably flung away as of no account." "could it have been taken out on the way here?" "the key was tied to the handle so that the custom officials might be able to open the bag. perhaps they are fonder of english manuscripts than one would expect, or more careless of them." "you can think of no other way in which it might have disappeared?" "none," tommy said; and then the doctor faced him squarely. "are you trying to screen grizel?" he asked. "is it true, what people are saying?" "what are they saying?" "that she destroyed it. i heard that yesterday, and told them your manuscript was in my house, as i thought it was. was it she?" "no, no. gavinia must have started that story. i did look for the package among grizel's things." "what made you think of that?" "i had seen her looking into my bag one day. and she used to say i loved my manuscripts too much ever to love her. but i am sure she did not do it." "be truthful, sandys. you know how she always loved the truth." "well, then, i suppose it was she." after a pause the doctor said: "it must be about as bad as having a limb lopped off." "if only i had been offered that alternative!" tommy replied. "and yet," david mused, better pleased with him, "you have not cried out." "have i not! i have rolled about in agony, and invoked the gods, and cursed and whimpered; only i take care that no one shall see me." "and that no one should know poor grizel had done this thing. i admire you for that, sandys." "but it has leaked out, you see," tommy said; "and they will all be admiring me for it at the wedding, and no doubt i shall be cocking my greetin' eyes at them to note how much they are admiring." but when the wedding-day came he was not doing that. while he and grizel stood up before mr. dishart, in the doctor's parlour, he was thinking of her only. his eyes never left her, not even when he had to reply "i do." his hand pressed hers all the time. he kept giving her reassuring little nods and smiles, and it was thus that he helped grizel through. had mr. dishart understood what was in her mind he would not have married them. to her it was no real marriage; she thought they were tricking the minister, so that she should be able to go home. they had rehearsed the ceremony together many times, and oh, she was eager to make no mistake. "if they were to find out!" she would say apprehensively, and then perhaps giggle at the slyness of it all. tommy had to make merry with her, as if it was one of his boyish plays. if he was overcome with the pain of it, she sobbed at once and wrung her hands. she was married in gray silk. she had made the dress herself, as beautifully as all her things were made. tommy remembered how once, long ago, she had told him, as a most exquisite secret, that she had decided on gray silk. corp and gavinia and ailie and aaron latta were the only persons asked to the wedding, and when it was over, they said they never saw anyone stand up by a woman's side looking so anxious to be her man; and i am sure that in this they did tommy no more than justice. it was a sad day to elspeth. could she be expected to smile while her noble brother did this great deed of sacrifice? but she bore up bravely, partly for his sake, partly for the sake of one unborn. the ring was no plain hoop of gold; it was garnets all the way round. she had seen it on elspeth's finger, and craved it so greedily that it became her wedding-ring. and from the moment she had it she ceased to dislike elspeth, and pitied her very much, as if she thought happiness went with the ring. "poor alice!" she said when she saw elspeth crying at the wedding, and having started to go away with tommy, she came back to say again, "poor, poor alice!" corp flung an old shoe after them. chapter xxxii tommy's best work and thus was begun a year and a half of as great devotion as remorseful man ever gave to woman. when she was asleep and he could not write, his mind would sometimes roam after abandoned things; it sought them in the night as a savage beast steals forth for water to slake the thirst of many days. but if she stirred in her sleep they were all dispelled; there was not a moment in that eighteen months when he was twenty yards from grizel's side. he would not let himself lose hope. all the others lost it. "the only thing you can do is to humour her," even david was reduced in time to saying; but tommy replied cheerily, "not a bit of it." every morning he had to begin at the same place as on the previous morning, and he was always as ready to do it, and as patient, as if this were the first time. "i think she is a little more herself to-day," he would say determinedly, till david wondered to hear him. "she makes no progress, sandys." "i can at least keep her from slipping back." and he did, and there is no doubt that this was what saved grizel in the end. how he strove to prevent her slipping back! the morning was the time when she was least troubled, and had he humoured her then they would often have been easy hours for him. but it was the time when he tried most doggedly, with a gentleness she could not ruffle, to teach her the alphabet of who she was. she coaxed him to let her off those mental struggles; she turned petulant and sulky; she was willing to be good and sweet if he would permit her to sew or to sing to herself instead, or to sit staring at the fire: but he would not yield; he promised those things as the reward, and in the end she stood before him like a child at lessons. "what is your name?" the catechism always began thus. "grizel," she said obediently, if it was a day when she wanted to please him. "and my name?" "tommy." once, to his great delight, she said, "sentimental tommy." he quite bragged about this to david. "where is your home?" "here." she was never in doubt about this, and it was always a pleasure to her to say it. "did you live here long ago?" she nodded. "and then did you live for a long time somewhere else?" "yes." "where was it?" "here." "no, it was with the old doctor. you were his little housekeeper; don't you remember? try to remember, grizel; he loved you so much." she tried to think. her face was very painful when she tried to think. "it hurts," she said. "do you remember him, grizel?" "please let me sing," she begged, "such a sweet song!" "do you remember the old doctor who called you his little housekeeper? he used to sit in that chair." the old chair was among grizel's many possessions that had been brought to double dykes, and her face lit up with recollection. she ran to the chair and kissed it. "what was his name, grizel?" "i should love to know his name," she said wistfully. he told her the name many times, and she repeated it docilely. or perhaps she remembered her dear doctor quite well to-day, and thought tommy was some one in need of his services. "he has gone into the country," she said, as she had so often said to anxious people at the door; "but he won't be long, and i shall give him your message the moment he comes in." but tommy would not pass that. he explained to her again and again that the doctor was dead, and perhaps she would remember, or perhaps, without remembering, she said she was glad he was dead. "why are you glad, grizel?" she whispered, as if frightened she might be overheard: "i don't want him to see me like this." it was one of the pathetic things about her that she seemed at times to have some vague understanding of her condition, and then she would sob. her tears were anguish to him, but it was at those times that she clung to him as if she knew he was trying to do something for her, and that encouraged him to go on. he went over, step by step, the time when she lived alone in the doctor's house, the time of his own coming back, her love for him and his treatment of her, the story of the garnet ring, her coming to switzerland, her terrible walk, her return; he would miss out nothing, for he was fighting for her. day after day, month by month, it went on, and to-morrow, perhaps, she would insist that the old doctor and this man who asked her so many questions were one. and tommy argued with her until he had driven that notion out, to make way for another, and then he fought it, and so on and on all round the circle of her delusions, day by day and month by month. she knew that he sometimes wrote while she was asleep, for she might start up from her bed or from the sofa, and there he was, laying down his pen to come to her. her eyes were never open for any large fraction of a minute without his knowing, and immediately he went to her, nodding and smiling lest she had wakened with some fear upon her. perhaps she refused to sleep again unless he promised to put away those horrid papers for the night, and however intoxicating a point he had reached in his labours, he always promised, and kept his word. he was most scrupulous in keeping any promise he made her, and one great result was that she trusted him implicitly. whatever others promised, she doubted them. there were times when she seemed to be casting about in her mind for something to do that would please him, and then she would bring pieces of paper to him, and pen and ink, and tell him to write. she thought this very clever of her, and expected to be praised for it. but she might also bring him writing materials at times when she hated him very much. then there would be sly smiles, even pretended affection, on her face, unless she thought he was not looking, when she cast him ugly glances. her intention was to trick him into forgetting her so that she might talk to herself or slip out of the room to the den, just as her mother had done in the days when it was grizel who had to be tricked. he would not let her talk to herself until he had tried endless ways of exorcising that demon by interesting her in some sort of work, by going out with her, by talking of one thing and another till at last a subject was lit upon that made her forget to brood. but sometimes it seemed best to let her go to the den, she was in such a quiver of desire to go. she hurried to it, so that he had to stride to keep up with her; and he said little until they got there, for she was too excited to listen. she was very like her mother again; but it was not the man who never came that she went in search of--it was a lost child. i have not the heart to tell of the pitiful scenes in the den while grizel searched for her child. they always ended in those two walking silently home, and for a day or two grizel would be ill, and tommy tended her, so that she was soon able to hasten to the den again, holding out her arms as she ran. "she makes no progress," david said. "i can keep her from slipping back," tommy still replied. the doctor marvelled, but even he did not know the half of all her husband did for grizel. none could know half who was not there by night. here, at least, was one day ending placidly, they might say when she was in a tractable mood,--so tractable that she seemed to be one of themselves,--and tommy assented brightly, though he knew, and he alone, that you could never be sure the long day had ended till the next began. often the happiest beginning had the most painful ending. the greatest pleasure he could give her was to take her to see elspeth's baby girl, or that sturdy rogue, young shiach, who could now count with ease up to seven, but swayed at eight, and toppled over on his way to ten; or their mothers brought them to her, and grizel understood quite well who her visitors were, sometimes even called elspeth by her right name, and did the honours of her house irreproachably, and presided at the tea-table, and was rapture personified when she held the baby jean (called after tommy's mother), and sat gaily on the floor, ready to catch little corp when he would not stop at seven. but tommy, whom nothing escaped, knew with what depression she might pay for her joy when they had gone. despite all his efforts, she might sit talking to herself, at first of pleasant things and then of things less pleasant. or she stared at her reflection in the long mirror and said: "isn't she sweet!" or "she is not really sweet, and she did so want to be good!" or instead of that she would suddenly go upon her knees and say, with clasped hands, the childish prayer, "save me from masterful men," which jean myles had told tommy to teach elspeth. no one could have looked less masterful at those times than tommy, but grizel did not seem to think so. and probably they had that night once more to search the den. "the children do her harm; she must not see them again," he decided. "they give her pleasure at the time," david said. "it lightens your task now and then." "it is the future i am thinking of, gemmell. if she cannot progress, she shall not fall back. as for me, never mind me." "elspeth is in a sad state about you, though! and you can get through so little work." "enough for all our wants." (he was writing magazine papers only.) "the public will forget you." "they have forgotten me." david was openly sorry for him now. "if only your manuscript had been saved!" "yes; i never thought the little gods would treat me so scurvily as that." "who?" "did i never tell you of my little gods? i so often emerged triumphant from my troubles, and so undeservedly, that i thought i was especially looked after by certain tricky spirits in return for the entertainment i gave them. my little gods, i called them, and we had quite a bowing acquaintance. but you see at the critical moment they flew away laughing." he always knew that the lost manuscript was his great work. "my seventh wave," he called it; "and though all the conditions were favourable," he said, "i know that i could run to nothing more than little waves at present. as for rewriting that book, i can't; i have tried." yet he was not asking for commiseration. "tell elspeth not to worry about me. if i have no big ideas just now, i have some very passable little ones, and one in particular that--" he drew a great breath. "if only grizel were better," that breath said, "i think tommy sandys could find a way of making the public remember him again." so david interpreted it, and though he had been about to say, "how changed you are!" he did not say it. and tommy, who had been keeping an eye on her all this time, returned to grizel. as she had been through that long year, so she was during the first half of the next; and day by day and night by night he tended her, and still the same scenes were enacted in infinite variety, and still he would not give in. everything seemed to change with the seasons, except grizel, and tommy's devotion to her. yet you know that she recovered, ever afterwards to be herself again; and though it seemed to come in the end as suddenly as the sight may be restored by the removal of a bandage, i suppose it had been going on all the time, and that her reason was given back to her on the day she had strength to make use of it. tommy was the instrument of her recovery. he had fought against her slipping backward so that she could not do it; it was as if he had built a wall behind her, and in time her mind accepted that wall as impregnable and took a forward movement. and with every step she took he pushed the wall after her, so that still if she moved it must be forward. thus grizel progressed imperceptibly as along a dark corridor towards the door that shut out the light, and on a day in early spring the door fell. many of them had cried for a shock as her only chance. but it came most quietly. she had lain down on the sofa that afternoon to rest, and when she woke she was grizel again. at first she was not surprised to find herself in that room, nor to see that man nodding and smiling reassuringly; they had come out of the long dream with her, to make the awakening less abrupt. he did not know what had happened. when he knew, a terror that this could not last seized him. he was concealing it while he answered her puzzled questions. all the time he was telling her how they came to be there, he was watching in agony for the change. she remembered everything up to her return to thrums; then she walked into a mist. "the truth," she begged of him, when he would have led her off by pretending that she had been ill only. surely it was the real grizel who begged for the truth. she took his hand and held it when he told her of their marriage. she cried softly, because she feared that she might again become as she had been; but he said that was impossible, and smiled confidently, and all the time he was watching in agony for the change. "do you forgive me, grizel? i have always had a dread that when you recovered you would cease to care for me." he knew that this would please her if she was the real grizel, and he was so anxious to make her happy for evermore. she put his hand to her lips and smiled at him through her tears. hers was a love that could never change. suddenly she sat up. "whose baby was it?" she asked. "i don't know what you mean, grizel," he said uneasily. "i remember vaguely," she told him, "a baby in white whom i seemed to chase, but i could never catch her. was it a dream only?" "you are thinking of elspeth's little girl, perhaps. she was often brought to see you." "has elspeth a baby?" she rose to go exultantly to elspeth. "but too small a baby, grizel, to run from you, even if she wanted to." "what is she like?" "she is always laughing." "the sweet!" grizel rocked her arms in rapture and smiled her crooked smile at the thought of a child who was always laughing. "but i don't remember her," she said. "it was a sad little baby i seemed to see." chapter xxxiii the little gods return with a lady grizel's clear, searching eyes, that were always asking for the truth, came back to her, and i seem to see them on me now, watching lest i shirk the end. thus i can make no pretence (to please you) that it was a new tommy at last. we have seen how he gave his life to her during those eighteen months, but he could not make himself anew. they say we can do it, so i suppose he did not try hard enough; but god knows how hard he tried. he went on trying. in those first days she sometimes asked him, "did you do it out of love, or was it pity only?" and he always said it was love. he said it adoringly. he told her all that love meant to him, and it meant everything that he thought grizel would like it to mean. when she ceased to ask this question he thought it was because he had convinced her. they had a honeymoon by the sea. he insisted upon it with boyish eagerness, and as they walked on the links or sat in their room he would exclaim ecstatically: "how happy i am! i wonder if there were ever two people quite so happy as you and i!" and if he waited for an answer, as he usually did, she might smile lightly and say: "few people have gone through so much." "is there any woman in the world, grizel, with whom you would change places?" "no, none," she said at once; and when he was sure of it, but never until he was sure, he would give his mind a little holiday; and then, perhaps, those candid eyes would rest searchingly upon him, but always with a brave smile ready should he chance to look up. and it was just the same when they returned to double dykes, which they added to and turned into a comfortable home--tommy trying to become a lover by taking thought, and grizel not letting on that it could not be done in that way. she thought it was very sweet of him to try so hard--sweeter of him than if he really had loved her, though not, of course, quite so sweet to her. he was a boy only. she knew that, despite all he had gone through, he was still a boy. and boys cannot love. oh, who would be so cruel as to ask a boy to love? that grizel's honeymoon should never end was his grand ambition, and he took elaborate precautions against becoming a matter-of-fact husband. every morning he ordered himself to gaze at her with rapture, as if he had wakened to the glorious thought that she was his wife. "i can't help it, grizel; it comes to me every morning with the same shock of delight, and i begin the day with a song of joy. you make the world as fresh and interesting to me as if i had just broken like a chicken through the egg shell." he rose at the earliest hours. "so that i can have the longer day with you," he said gaily. if when sitting at his work he forgot her for an hour or two he reproached himself for it afterwards, and next day he was more careful. "grizel," he would cry, suddenly flinging down his pen, "you are my wife! do you hear me, madam? you hear, and yet you can sit there calmly darning socks! excuse me," he would say to his work, "while i do a dance." he rose impulsively and brought his papers nearer her. with a table between them she was several feet away from him, which was more, he said, than he could endure. "sit down for a moment, grizel, and let me look at you. i want to write something most splendiferous to-day, and i am sure to find it in your face. i have ceased to be an original writer; all the purple patches are cribbed from you." he made a point of taking her head in his hands and looking long at her with thoughts too deep for utterance; then he would fall on his knees and kiss the hem of her dress, and so back to his book again. and in time it was all sweet to grizel. she could not be deceived, but she loved to see him playing so kind a part, and after some sadness to which she could not help giving way, she put all vain longings aside. she folded them up and put them away like the beautiful linen, so that she might see more clearly what was left to her and how best to turn it to account. he did not love her. "not as i love him," she said to herself,--"not as married people ought to love; but in the other way he loves me dearly." by the "other way" she meant that he loved her as he loved elspeth, and loved them both just as he had loved them when all three played in the den. "he would love me if he could." she was certain of that. she decided that love does not come to all people, as is the common notion; that there are some who cannot fall in love, and that he was one of them. he was complete in himself, she decided. "is it a pity for him that he married me? it would be a pity if he could love some other woman, but i am sure he could never do that. if he could love anyone it would be me, we both want it so much. he does not need a wife, but he needs someone to take care of him--all men need that; and i can do it much better than any other person. had he not married me he never would have married; but he may fall ill, and then how useful i shall be to him! he will grow old, and perhaps it won't be quite so lonely to him when i am there. it would have been a pity for him to marry me if i had been a foolish woman who asked for more love than he can give; but i shall never do that, so i think it is not a pity. "is it a pity for me? oh, no, no, no! "is he sorry he did it? at times, is he just a weeny bit sorry?" she watched him, and decided rightly that he was not sorry the weeniest bit. it was a sweet consolation to her. "is he really happy? yes, of course he is happy when he is writing; but is he quite contented at other times? i do honestly think he is. and if he is happy now, how much happier i shall be able to make him when i have put away all my selfish thoughts and think only of him." "the most exquisite thing in human life is to be married to one who loves you as you love him." there could be no doubt of that. but she saw also that the next best thing was the kind of love this boy gave to her, and she would always be grateful for the second best. in her prayers she thanked god for giving it to her, and promised him to try to merit it; and all day and every day she kept her promise. there could not have been a brighter or more energetic wife than grizel. the amount of work she found to do in that small house which his devotion had made so dear to her that she could not leave it! her gaiety! her masterful airs when he wanted something that was not good for him! the artfulness with which she sought to help him in various matters without his knowing! her satisfaction when he caught her at it, as clever tommy was constantly doing! "what a success it has turned out!" david would say delightedly to himself; and grizel was almost as jubilant because it was so far from being a failure. it was only sometimes in the night that she lay very still, with little wells of water on her eyes, and through them saw one--the dream of woman--whom she feared could never be hers. that boy tommy never knew why she did not want to have a child. he thought that for the present she was afraid; but the reason was that she believed it would be wicked when he did not love her as she loved him. she could not be sure--she had to think it all out for herself. with little wells of sadness on her eyes, she prayed in the still night to god to tell her; but she could never hear his answer. she no longer sought to teach tommy how he should write. that quaint desire was abandoned from the day when she learned that she had destroyed his greatest work. she had not destroyed it, as we shall see; but she presumed she had, as tommy thought so. he had tried to conceal this from her to save her pain, but she had found it out, and it seemed to grizel, grown distrustful of herself, that the man who could bear such a loss as he had borne it was best left to write as he chose. "it was not that i did not love your books," she said, "but that i loved you more, and i thought they did you harm." "in the days when i had wings," he answered, and she smiled. "any feathers left, do you think, grizel?" he asked jocularly, and turned his shoulders to her for examination. "a great many, sir," she said, "and i am glad. i used to want to pull them all out, but now i like to know that they are still there, for it means that you remain among the facts not because you can't fly, but because you won't." "i still have my little fights with myself," he blurted out boyishly, though it was a thing he had never meant to tell her, and grizel pressed his hand for telling her what she already knew so well. the new book, of course, was "the wandering child." i wonder whether any of you read it now? your fathers and mothers thought a great deal of that slim volume, but it would make little stir in an age in which all the authors are trying who can say "damn" loudest. it is but a reverie about a child who is lost, and his parents' search for him in terror of what may have befallen. but they find him in a wood singing joyfully to himself because he is free; and he fears to be caged again, so runs farther from them into the wood, and is running still, singing to himself because he is free, free, free. that is really all, but t. sandys knew how to tell it. the moment he conceived the idea (we have seen him speaking of it to the doctor), he knew that it was the idea for him. he forgot at once that he did not really care for children. he said reverently to himself, "i can pull it off," and, as was always the way with him, the better he pulled it off the more he seemed to love them. "it is myself who is writing at last, grizel," he said, as he read it to her. she thought (and you can guess whether she was right) that it was the book he loved rather than the children. she thought (and you can guess again) that it was not his ideas about children that had got into the book, but hers. but she did not say so; she said it was the sweetest of his books to her. i have heard of another reading he gave. this was after the publication of the book. he had gone into corp's house one sunday, and gavinia was there reading the work to her lord and master, while little corp disported on the floor. she read as if all the words meant the same thing, and it was more than tommy could endure. he read for her, and his eyes grew moist as he read, for it was the most exquisite of his chapters about the lost child. you would have said that no one loved children quite so much as t. sandys. but little corp would not keep quiet, and suddenly tommy jumped up and boxed his ears. he then proceeded with the reading, while gavinia glowered and corp senior scratched his head. on the way home he saw what had happened, and laughed at the humour of it, then grew depressed, then laughed recklessly. "is it sentimental tommy still?" he said to himself, with a groan. seldom a week passed without his being reminded in some such sudden way that it was sentimental tommy still. "but she shall never know!" he vowed, and he continued to be half a hero. his name was once more in many mouths. "come back and be made of more than ever!" cried that society which he had once enlivened. "come and hear the pretty things we are saying about you. come and make the prettier replies that are already on the tip of your tongue; for oh, tommy, you know they are! bring her with you if you must; but don't you think that the nice, quiet country with the thingumbobs all in bloom would suit her best? it is essential that you should run up to see your publisher, is it not? the men have dinners for you if you want them, but we know you don't. your yearning eyes are on the ladies, tommy; we are making up theatre-parties of the old entrancing kind; you should see our new gowns; please come back and help us to put on our cloaks, tommy; there is a dance on monday--come and sit it out with us. do you remember the garden-party where you said--well, the laurel walk is still there; the beauties of two years ago are still here, and there are new beauties, and their noses are slightly tilted, but no man can move them; ha, do you pull yourself together at that? we were always the reward for your labours, tommy; your books are move one in the game of making love to us; don't be afraid that we shall forget it is a game; we know it is, and that is why we suit you. come and play in london as you used to play in the den. it is all you need of women; come and have your fill, and we shall send you back refreshed. we are not asking you to be disloyal to her, only to leave her happy and contented and take a holiday." [illustration: he heard their seductive voices, they danced around him in numbers.] he heard their seductive voices. they danced around him in numbers, for they knew that the more there were of them the better he would be pleased; they whispered in his ear and then ran away looking over their shoulders. but he would not budge. there was one more dangerous than the rest. her he saw before the others came and after they had gone. she was a tall, incredibly slight woman, with eyelashes that needed help, and a most disdainful mouth and nose, and she seemed to look scornfully at tommy and then stand waiting. he was in two minds about what she was waiting for, and often he had a fierce desire to go to london to find out. but he never went. he played the lover to grizel as before--not to intoxicate himself, but always to make life sunnier to her; if she stayed longer with elspeth than the promised time, he became anxious and went in search of her. "i have not been away an hour!" she said, laughing at him, holding little jean up to laugh at him. "but i cannot do without you for an hour," he answered ardently. he still laid down his pen to gaze with rapture at her and cry, "my wife!" she wanted him to go to london for a change, and without her, and his heart leaped into his mouth to prevent his saying no; yet he said it, though in the tommy way. "without you!" he exclaimed. "oh, grizel, do you think i could find happiness apart from you for a day? and could you let me go?" and he looked with agonized reproach at her, and sat down, clutching his head. "it would be very hard to me," she said softly; "but if the change did you good----" "a change from you! oh, grizel, grizel!" "or i could go with you?" "when you don't want to go!" he cried huskily. "you think i could ask it of you!" he quite broke down, and she had to comfort him. she was smiling divinely at him all the time, as if sympathy had brought her to love even the tommy way of saying things. "i thought it would be sweet to you to see how great my faith in you is now," she said. this was the true reason why generous grizel had proposed to him to go. she knew he was more afraid than she of sentimental tommy, and she thought her faith would be a helping hand to him, as it was. he had no regard for lady pippinworth. of all the women he had dallied with, she was the one he liked the least, for he never liked where he could not esteem. perhaps she had some good in her, but the good in her had never appealed to him, and he knew it, and refused to harbour her in his thoughts now; he cast her out determinedly when she seemed to enter them unbidden. but still he was vain. she came disdainfully and stood waiting. we have seen him wondering what she waited for; but though he could not be sure, and so was drawn to her, he took it as acknowledgment of his prowess and so was helped to run away. to walk away would be the more exact term, for his favourite method of exorcising this lady was to rise from his chair and take a long walk with grizel. occasionally if she was occupied (and a number of duties our busy grizel found to hand!) he walked alone, and he would not let himself brood. someone had once walked from thrums to the top of the law and back in three hours, and tommy made several gamesome attempts to beat the record, setting out to escape that willowy woman, soon walking her down and returning in a glow of animal spirits. it was on one of these occasions, when there was nothing in his head but ambition to do the fifth mile within the eleven minutes, that he suddenly met her ladyship face to face. we have now come to the last fortnight of tommy's life. chapter xxxiv a way is found for tommy the moment for which he had tried to prepare himself was come, and tommy gulped down his courage, which had risen suddenly to his mouth, leaving his chest in a panic. outwardly he seemed unmoved, but within he was beating to arms. "this is the test of us!" all that was good in him cried as it answered his summons. they began by shaking hands, as is always the custom in the ring. then, without any preliminary sparring, lady pippinworth immediately knocked him down; that is to say, she remarked, with a little laugh: "how very stout you are getting!" i swear by all the gods that it was untrue. he had not got very stout, though undeniably he had got stouter. "how well you are looking!" would have been a very ladylike way of saying it, but his girth was best not referred to at all. those who liked him had learned this long ago, and grizel always shifted the buttons without comment. her malicious ladyship had found his one weak spot at once. he had a reply ready for every other opening in the english tongue, but now he could writhe only. who would have expected to meet her here? he said at last feebly. she explained, and he had guessed it already, that she was again staying with the rintouls; the castle, indeed, was not half a mile from where they stood. "but i think i really came to see you," she informed him, with engaging frankness. it was very good of her, he intimated stiffly; but the stiffness was chiefly because she was still looking in an irritating way at his waist. suddenly she looked up. to tommy it was as if she had raised the siege. "why aren't you nice to me?" she asked prettily. "i want to be," he replied. she showed him a way. "when i saw you steaming towards the castle so swiftly," she said, dropping badinage, "the hope entered my head that you had heard of my arrival." she had come a step nearer, and it was like an invitation to return to the arbour. "this is the test of us!" all that was good in tommy cried once more to him. "no, i had not heard," he replied, bravely if baldly. "i was taking a smart walk only." "why so smart as that?" he hesitated, and her eyes left his face and travelled downward. "were you trying to walk it off?" she asked sympathetically. he was stung, and replied in words that were regretted as soon as spoken: "i was trying to walk you off." a smile of satisfaction crossed her impudent face. "i succeeded," he added sharply. "how cruel of you to say so, when you had made me so very happy! do you often take smart walks, mr. sandys?" "often." "and always with me?" "i leave you behind." "with mrs. sandys?" had she seemed to be in the least affected by their meeting it would have been easy to him to be a contrite man at once; any sign of shame on her part would have filled him with desire to take all the blame upon himself. had she cut him dead, he would have begun to respect her. but she smiled disdainfully only, and stood waking. she was still, as ever, a cold passion, inviting his warm ones to leap at it. he shuddered a little, but controlled himself and did not answer her. "i suppose she is the lady of the arbour?" lady pippinworth inquired, with mild interest. "she is the lady of my heart," tommy replied valiantly. "alas!" said lady pippinworth, putting her hand over her own. but he felt himself more secure now, and could even smile at the woman for thinking she was able to provoke him. "look upon me," she requested, "as a deputation sent north to discover why you have gone into hiding." "i suppose a country life does seem exile to you," he replied calmly, and suddenly his bosom rose with pride in what was coming. tommy always heard his finest things coming a moment before they came. "if i have retired," he went on windily, "from the insincerities and glitter of life in town,"--but it was not his face she was looking at, it was his waist,--"the reason is obvious," he rapped out. she nodded assent without raising her eyes. yet he still controlled himself. his waist, like some fair tortured lady of romance, was calling to his knighthood for defence, but with the truer courage he affected not to hear. "i am in hiding, as you call it," he said doggedly, "because my life here is such a round of happiness as i never hoped to find on earth, and i owe it all to my wife. if you don't believe me, ask lord or lady rintoul, or any other person in this countryside who knows her." but her ladyship had already asked, and been annoyed by the answer. she assured tommy that she believed he was happy. "i have often heard," she said musingly, "that the stout people are the happiest." "i am not so stout," he barked. "now i call that brave of you," said she, admiringly. "that is so much the wisest way to take it. and i am sure you are right not to return to town after what you were; it would be a pity. somehow it"--and again her eyes were on the wrong place--"it does not seem to go with the books. and yet," she said philosophically, "i daresay you feel just the same?" "i feel very much the same," he replied warningly. "that is the tragedy of it," said she. she told him that the new book had brought the tommy society to life again. "and it could not hold its meetings with the old enthusiasm, could it," she asked sweetly, "if you came back? oh, i think you act most judiciously. fancy how melancholy if they had to announce that the society had been wound up, owing to the stoutness of the master." tommy's mouth opened twice before any words could come out. "take care!" he cried. "of what?" said she, curling her lip. he begged her pardon. "you don't like me, lady pippinworth," he said, watching himself, "and i don't wonder at it; and you have discovered a way of hurting me of which you make rather unmerciful use. well, i don't wonder at that, either. if i am--stoutish, i have at least the satisfaction of knowing that it gives you entertainment, and i owe you that amend and more." he was really in a fury, and burning to go on--"for i did have the whip-hand of you once, madam," etc., etc.; but by a fine effort he held his rage a prisoner, and the admiration of himself that this engendered lifted him into the sublime. "for i so far forgot myself," said tommy, in a glow, "as to try to make you love me. you were beautiful and cold; no man had ever stirred you; my one excuse is that to be loved by such as you was no small ambition; my fitting punishment is that i failed." he knew he had not failed, and so could be magnanimous. "i failed utterly," he said, with grandeur. "you were laughing at me all the time; if proof of it were needed, you have given it now by coming here to mock me. i thought i was stronger than you, but i was ludicrously mistaken, and you taught me a lesson i richly deserved; you did me good, and i thank you for it. believe me, lady pippinworth, when i say that i admit my discomfiture, and remain your very humble and humbled servant." now was not that good of tommy? you would think it still better were i to tell you what part of his person she was looking at while he said it. he held out his hand generously (there was no noble act he could not have performed for her just now), but, whatever her ladyship wanted, it was not to say good-bye. "do you mean that you never cared for me?" she asked, with the tremor that always made tommy kind. "never cared for you!" he exclaimed fervently. "what were you not to me in those golden days!" it was really a magnanimous cry, meant to help her self-respect, nothing more; but it alarmed the good in him, and he said sternly: "but of course that is all over now. it is only a sweet memory," he added, to make these two remarks mix. the sentiment of this was so agreeable to him that he was half thinking of raising her hand chivalrously to his lips when lady pippinworth said: "but if it is all over now, why have you still to walk me off?" "have you never had to walk me off?" said tommy, forgetting himself, and, to his surprise, she answered, "yes." "but this meeting has cured me," she said, with dangerous graciousness. "dear lady pippinworth," replied tommy, ardently, thinking that his generosity had touched her, "if anything i have said----" "it is not so much what you have said," she answered, and again she looked at the wrong part of him. he gave way in the waist, and then drew himself up. "if so little a thing as that helps you----" he began haughtily. "little!" she cried reproachfully. he tried to go away. he turned. "there was a time," he thundered. "it is over," said she. "when you were at my feet," said tommy. "it is over," she said. "it could come again!" she laughed a contemptuous no. "yes!" tommy cried. "too stout," said she, with a drawl. he went closer to her. she stood waiting disdainfully, and his arms fell. "too stout," she repeated. "let us put it in that way, since it pleases you," said tommy, heavily. "i am too stout." he could not help adding, "and be thankful, lady pippinworth, let us both be thankful, that there is some reason to prevent my trying." she bowed mockingly as he raised his hat. "i wish you well," he said, "and these are my last words to you"; and he retired, not without distinction. he retired, shall we say, as conscious of his waist as if it were some poor soldier he was supporting from a stricken field. he said many things to himself on the way home, and he was many tommies, but all with the same waist. it intruded on his noblest reflections, and kept ringing up the worst in him like some devil at the telephone. no one could have been more thankful that on the whole he had kept his passions in check. it made a strong man of him. it turned him into a joyous boy, and he tingled with hurrahs. then suddenly he would hear that jeering bell clanging, "too stout, too stout." "take care!" he roared. oh, the vanity of tommy! he did not tell grizel that he had met her ladyship. all she knew was that he came back to her more tender and kind, if that were possible, than he had gone away. his eyes followed her about the room until she made merry over it, and still they dwelt upon her. "how much more beautiful you are than any other woman i ever saw, grizel!" he said. and it was not only true, but he knew it was true. what was lady pippinworth beside this glorious woman? what was her damnable coldness compared to the love of grizel? was he unforgivable, or was it some flaw in the making of him for which he was not responsible? with clenched hands he asked himself these questions. this love that all his books were about--what was it? was it a compromise between affection and passion countenanced by god for the continuance of the race, made beautiful by him where the ingredients are in right proportion, a flower springing from a soil that is not all divine? oh, so exquisite a flower! he cried, for he knew his grizel. but he could not love her. he gave her all his affection, but his passion, like an outlaw, had ever to hunt alone. was it that? and if it was, did there remain in him enough of humanity to give him the right to ask a little sympathy of those who can love? so tommy in his despairing moods, and the question ought to find some place in his epitaph, which, by the way, it is almost time to write. on the day following his meeting with lady pippinworth came a note from lady rintoul inviting grizel and him to lunch. they had been to rintoul once or twice before, but this time tommy said decisively, "we sha'n't go." he guessed who had prompted the invitation, though her name was not mentioned in it. "why not?" grizel asked. she was always afraid that she kept tommy too much to herself. "because i object to being disturbed during the honeymoon," he replied lightly. their honeymoon, you know, was never to end. "they would separate us for hours, grizel. think of it! but, pooh! the thing is not to be thought of. tell her ladyship courteously that she must be mad." but though he could speak thus to grizel, there came to him tempestuous desires to be by the side of the woman who could mock him and then stand waiting. had she shown any fear of him all would have been well with tommy; he could have kept away from her complacently. but she had flung down the glove, and laughed to see him edge away from it. he knew exactly what was in her mind. he was too clever not to know that her one desire was to make him a miserable man; to remember how he had subdued and left her would be gall to lady pippinworth until she achieved the same triumph over him. how confident she was that he could never prove the stronger of the two again! what were all her mockings but a beckoning to him to come on? "take care!" said tommy between his teeth. and then again horror of himself would come to his rescue. the man he had been a moment ago was vile to him, and all his thoughts were now heroic. you may remember that he had once taken grizel to a seaside place; they went there again. it was tommy's proposal, but he did not go to flee from temptation; however his worse nature had been stirred and his vanity pricked, he was too determinedly grizel's to fear that in any fierce hour he might rush into danger. he wanted grizel to come away from the place where she always found so much to do for him, so that there might be the more for him to do for her. and that week was as the time they had spent there before. all that devotion which had to be planned could do for woman he did. grizel saw him planning it and never admitted that she saw. in the after years it was sweet to her to recall that week and the hundred laboriously lover-like things tommy had done in it. she knew by this time that tommy had never tried to make her love him, and that it was only when her love for him revealed itself in the den that desire to save her pride made him pretend to be in love with her. this knowledge would have been a great pain to her once, but now it had more of pleasure in it, for it showed that even in those days he had struggled a little for her. we must hasten to the end. those of you who took in the newspapers a quarter of a century ago know what it was, but none of you know why he climbed the wall. they returned to thrums in a week. they had meant to stay longer, but suddenly tommy wanted to go back. yes, it was lady pippinworth who recalled him, but don't think too meanly of tommy. it was not that he yielded to one of those fierce desires to lift the gauntlet; he had got rid of them in fair fight when her letter reached him, forwarded from thrums. "did you really think your manuscript was lost?" it said. that was what took tommy back. grizel did not know the reason; he gave her another. he thought very little about her that day. he thought still less about lady pippinworth. how could he think of anything but it? she had it, evidently she had it; she must have stolen it from his bag. he could not even spare time to denounce her. it was alive--his manuscript was alive, and every moment brought him nearer to it. he was a miser, and soon his hands would be deep among the gold. he was a mother whose son, mourned for dead, is knocking at the door. he was a swain, and his beloved's arms were outstretched to him. who said that tommy could not love? the ecstasies that came over him and would not let him sit still made grizel wonder. "is it a book?" she asked; and he said it was a book--such a book, grizel! when he started for the castle next morning, she thought he wanted to be alone to think of the book. "of it and you," he said; and having started, he came back to kiss her again; he never forgot to have an impulse to do that. but all the way to the spittal it was of his book he thought, it was his book he was kissing. his heart sang within him, and the songs were sonnets to his beloved. to be worthy of his beautiful manuscript--he prayed for that as lovers do; that his love should be his, his alone, was as wondrous to him as to any of them. but we are not noticing what proved to be the chief thing. though there was some sun, the air was shrewd, and he was wearing the old doctor's coat. should you have taken it with you, tommy? it loved grizel, for it was a bit of him; and what, think you, would the old doctor have cared for your manuscript had he known that you were gone out to meet that woman? it was cruel, no, not cruel, but thoughtless, to wear the old doctor's coat. he found no one at the spittal. the men were out shooting, and the ladies had followed to lunch with them on the moors. he came upon them, a gay party, in the hollow of a hill where was a spring suddenly converted into a wine-cellar; and soon the men, if not the ladies, were surprised to find that tommy could be the gayest of them all. he was in hilarious spirits, and had a gallantly forgiving glance for the only one of them who knew why his spirits were hilarious. but he would not consent to remain to dinner. "the wretch is so hopelessly in love with his wife," lady rintoul said, flinging a twig of heather at him. it was one of the many trivial things said on that occasion and long remembered; the only person who afterwards professed her inability to remember what tommy said to her that day, and she to him, was lady pippinworth. "and yet you walked back to the castle with him," they reminded her. "if i had known that anything was to happen," she replied indolently, "i should have taken more note of what was said. but as it was, i think we talked of our chance of finding white heather. we were looking for it, and that is why we fell behind you." that was not why tommy and her ladyship fell behind the others, and it was not of white heather that they talked. "you know why i am here, alice," he said, as soon as there was no one but her to hear him. she was in as great tension at that moment as he, but more anxious not to show it. "why do you call me that?" she replied, with a little laugh. "because i want you to know at once," he said, and it was the truth, "that i have no vindictive feelings. you have kept my manuscript from me all this time, but, severe though the punishment has been, i deserved it, yes, every day of it." lady pippinworth smiled. "you took it from my bag, did you not?" said tommy. "yes." "where is it, alice? have you got it here?" "no." "but you know where it is?" "oh, yes," she said graciously, and then it seemed that nothing could ever disturb him again. she enjoyed his boyish glee; she walked by his side listening airily to it. "had there been a fire in the room that day i should have burned the thing," she said without emotion. "it would have been no more than my deserts," tommy replied cheerfully. "i did burn it three months afterwards," said she, calmly. he stopped, but she walked on. he sprang after her. "you don't mean that, alice!" "i do mean it." with a gesture fierce and yet imploring, he compelled her to stop. "before god, is this true?" he cried. "yes," she said, "it is true"; and, indeed, it was the truth about his manuscript at last. "but you had a copy of it made first. say you had!" "i had not." she seemed to have no fear of him, though his face was rather terrible. "i meant to destroy it from the first," she said coldly, "but i was afraid to. i took it back with me to london. one day i read in a paper that your wife was supposed to have burned it while she was insane. she was insane, was she not? ah, well, that is not my affair; but i burned it for her that afternoon." they were moving on again. he stopped her once more. "why have you told me this?" he cried. "was it not enough for you that i should think she did it?" "no," lady pippinworth answered, "that was not enough for me. i always wanted you to know that i had done it." "and you wrote that letter, you filled me with joy, so that you should gloat over my disappointment?" "horrid of me, was it not!" said she. "why did you not tell me when we met the other day?" "i bided my time, as the tragedians say." "you would not have told me," tommy said, staring into her face, "if you had thought i cared for you. had you thought i cared for you a little jot--" "i should have waited," she confessed, "until you cared for me a great deal, and then i should have told you. that, i admit, was my intention." she had returned his gaze smilingly, and as she strolled on she gave him another smile over her shoulder; it became a protesting pout almost when she saw that he was not accompanying her. tommy stood still for some minutes, his hands, his teeth, every bit of him that could close, tight clenched. when he made up on her, the devil was in him. she had been gathering a nosegay of wild flowers. "pretty, are they not?" she said to him. he took hold of her harshly by both wrists. she let him do it, and stood waiting disdainfully; but she was less unprepared for a blow than for what came. "how you love me, alice!" he said in a voice shaking with passion. "how i have proved it!" she replied promptly. "love or hate," he went on in a torrent of words, "they are the same thing with you. i don't care what you call it; it has made you come back to me. you tried hard to stay away. how you fought, alice! but you had to come. i knew you would come. all this time you have been longing for me to go to you. you have stamped your pretty feet because i did not go. you have cried, 'he shall come!' you have vowed you would not go one step of the way to meet me. i saw you, i heard you, and i wanted you as much as you wanted me; but i was always the stronger, and i could resist. it is i who have not gone a step towards you, and it is my proud little alice who has come all the way. proud little alice!--but she is to be my obedient little alice now." his passion hurled him along, and it had its effect on her. she might curl her mouth as she chose, but her bosom rose and fell. "obedient?" she cried, with a laugh. "obedient!" said tommy, quivering with his intensity. "obedient, not because i want it, for i prefer you as you are, but because you are longing for it, my lady--because it is what you came here for. you have been a virago only because you feared you were not to get it. why have you grown so quiet, alice? where are the words you want to torment me with? say them! i love to hear them from your lips. i love the demon in you--the demon that burned my book. i love you the more for that. it was your love that made you do it. why don't you scratch and struggle for the last time? i am half sorry that little alice is to scratch and struggle no more." "go on," said little alice; "you talk beautifully." but though her tongue could mock him, all the rest of her was enchained. "whether i shall love you when you are tamed," he went on with vehemence, "i don't know. you must take the risk of that. but i love you now. we were made for one another, you and i, and i love you, alice--i love you and you love me. you love me, my peerless alice, don't you? say you love me. your melting eyes are saying it. how you tremble, sweet alice! is that your way of saying it? i want to hear you say it. you have been longing to say it for two years. come, love, say it now!" it was not within this woman's power to resist him. she tried to draw away from him, but could not. she was breathing quickly. the mocking light quivered on her face only because it had been there so long. if it went out she would be helpless. he put his hands on her shoulders, and she was helpless. it brought her mouth nearer his. she was offering him her mouth. "no," said tommy, masterfully. "i won't kiss you until you say it." if there had not been a look of triumph in his eyes, she would have said it. as it was, she broke from him, panting. she laughed next minute, and with that laugh his power fell among the heather. "really," said lady pippinworth, "you are much too stout for this kind of thing." she looked him up and down with a comic sigh. "you talk as well as ever," she said condolingly, "but heigh-ho, you don't look the same. i have done the best i could for you for the sake of old times, but i forgot to shut my eyes. shall we go on?" and they went on silently, one of them very white. "i believe you are blaming me," her ladyship said, making a face, just before they overtook the others, "when you know it was your own fault for"--she suddenly rippled--"for not waiting until it was too dark for me to see you!" they strolled with some others of the party to the flower-garden, which was some distance from the house, and surrounded by a high wall studded with iron spikes and glass. lady rintoul cut him some flowers for grizel, but he left them on a garden-seat--accidentally, everyone thought afterwards in the drawing-room when they were missed; but he had laid them down, because how could those degraded hands of his carry flowers again to grizel? there was great remorse in him, but there was a shrieking vanity also, and though the one told him to be gone, the other kept him lagging on. they had torn him a dozen times from each other's arms before he was man enough to go. it was gloaming when he set off, waving his hat to those who had come to the door with him. lady pippinworth was not among them; he had not seen her to bid her good-bye, nor wanted to, for the better side of him had prevailed--so he thought. it was a man shame-stricken and determined to kill the devil in him that went down that long avenue--so he thought. a tall, thin woman was standing some twenty yards off, among some holly-trees. she kissed her hand mockingly to him, and beckoned and laughed when he stood irresolute. he thought he heard her cry, "too stout!" he took some fierce steps towards her. she ran on, looking over her shoulder, and he forgot all else and followed her. she darted into the flower-garden, pulling the gate to after her. it was a gate that locked when it closed, and the key was gone. lady pippinworth clapped her hands because he could not reach her. when she saw that he was climbing the wall she ran farther into the garden. he climbed the wall, but, as he was descending, one of the iron spikes on the top of it pierced his coat, which was buttoned to the throat, and he hung there by the neck. he struggled as he choked, but he could not help himself. he was unable to cry out. the collar of the old doctor's coat held him fast. they say that in such a moment a man reviews all his past life. i don't know whether tommy did that; but his last reflection before he passed into unconsciousness was "serves me right!" perhaps it was only a little bit of sentiment for the end. lady disdain came back to the gate, by and by, to see why he had not followed her. she screamed and then hid in the recesses of the garden. he had been dead for some time when they found him. they left the gate creaking in the evening wind. after a long time a terrified woman stole out by it. chapter xxxv the perfect lover tommy has not lasted. more than once since it became known that i was writing his life i have been asked whether there ever really was such a person, and i am afraid to inquire for his books at the library lest they are no longer there. a recent project to bring out a new edition, with introductions by some other tommy, received so little support that it fell to the ground. it must be admitted that, so far as the great public is concerned, thomas sandys is done for. they have even forgotten the manner of his death, though probably no young writer with an eye on posterity ever had a better send-off. we really thought at the time that tommy had found a way. the surmise at rintoul, immediately accepted by the world as a fact, was that he had been climbing the wall to obtain for grizel the flowers accidentally left in the garden, and it at once tipped the tragedy with gold. the newspapers, which were in the middle of the dull season, thanked their gods for tommy, and enthusiastically set to work on him. great minds wrote criticisms of what they called his life-work. the many persons who had been the first to discover him said so again. his friends were in demand for the most trivial reminiscences. unhappy pym cleared £ll s. shall we quote? it is nearly always done at this stage of the biography, so now for the testimonials to prove that our hero was without a flaw. a few specimens will suffice if we select some that are very like many of the others. it keeps grizel waiting, but tommy, as you have seen, was always the great one; she existed only that he might show how great he was. "busy among us of late," says one, "has been the grim visitor who knocks with equal confidence at the doors of the gifted and the ungifted, the pauper and the prince, and twice in one short month has he taken from us men of an eminence greater perhaps than that of mr. sandys; but of them it could be said their work was finished, while his sun sinks tragically when it is yet day. not by what his riper years might have achieved can this pure, spirit now be judged, and to us, we confess, there is something infinitely pathetic in that thought. we would fain shut our eyes, and open them again at twenty years hence, with mr. sandys in the fulness of his powers. it is not to be. what he might have become is hidden from us; what he was we know. he was little more than a stripling when he 'burst upon the town' to be its marvel--and to die; a 'marvellous boy' indeed; yet how unlike in character and in the nobility of his short life, as in the mournful yet lovely circumstances of his death, to that other might-have-been who 'perished in his pride.' our young men of letters have travelled far since the days of chatterton. time was when a riotous life was considered part of their calling--when they shunned the domestic ties and actually held that the consummate artist is able to love nothing but the creations of his fancy. it is such men as thomas sandys who have exploded that pernicious fallacy.... "whether his name will march down the ages is not for us, his contemporaries, to determine. he had the most modest opinion of his own work, and was humbled rather than elated when he heard it praised. no one ever loved praise less; to be pointed at as a man of distinction was abhorrent to his shrinking nature; he seldom, indeed, knew that he was being pointed at, for his eyes were ever on the ground. he set no great store by the remarkable popularity of his works. 'nothing,' he has been heard to say to one of those gushing ladies who were his aversion, 'nothing will so certainly perish as the talk of the town.' it may be so, but if so, the greater the pity that he has gone from among us before he had time to put the coping-stone upon his work. there is a beautiful passage in one of his own books in which he sees the spirits of gallant youth who died too young for immortality haunting the portals of the elysian fields, and the great shades come to the portal and talk with them. we venture to say that he is at least one of these." what was the individuality behind the work? they discussed it in leading articles and in the correspondence columns, and the man proved to be greater than his books. his distaste for admiration is again and again insisted on and illustrated by many characteristic anecdotes. he owed much to his parents, though he had the misfortune to lose them when he was but a child. "little is known of his father, but we understand that he was a retired military officer in easy circumstances. the mother was a canny scotchwoman of lowly birth, conspicuous for her devoutness even in a land where it is everyone's birthright, and on their marriage, which was a singularly happy one, they settled in london, going little into society, the world forgetting, by the world forgot, and devoting themselves to each other and to their two children. of these thomas was the elder, and as the twig was early bent so did the tree incline. from his earliest years he was noted for the modesty which those who remember his boyhood in scotland (whither the children went to an uncle on the death of their parents) still speak of with glistening eyes. in another column will be found some interesting recollections of mr. sandys by his old schoolmaster, mr. david cathro, m.a., who testifies with natural pride to the industry and amiability of his famous pupil. 'to know him,' says mr. cathro, 'was to love him.'" according to another authority, t. sandys got his early modesty from his father, who was of a very sweet disposition, and some instances of this modesty are given. they are all things that elspeth did, but tommy is now represented as the person who had done them. "on the other hand, his strong will, singleness of purpose, and enviable capacity for knowing what he wanted to be at were a heritage from his practical and sagacious mother." "i think he was a little proud of his strength of will," writes the r.a. who painted his portrait (now in america), "for i remember his anxiety that it should be suggested in the picture." but another acquaintance (a lady) replies: "he was not proud of his strong will, but he liked to hear it spoken of, and he once told me the reason. this strength of will was not, as is generally supposed, inherited by him; he was born without it, and acquired it by a tremendous effort. i believe i am the only person to whom he confided this, for he shrank from talk about himself, looking upon it as a form of that sentimentality which his soul abhorred." he seems often to have warned ladies against this essentially womanish tendency to the sentimental. "it is an odious onion, dear lady," he would say, holding both her hands in his. if men in his presence talked sentimentally to ladies he was so irritated that he soon found a pretext for leaving the room. "yet let it not be thought," says one who knew him well, "that because he was so sternly practical himself he was intolerant of the outpourings of the sentimental. the man, in short, reflected the views on this subject which are so admirably phrased in his books, works that seem to me to found one of their chief claims to distinction on this, that at last we have a writer who can treat intimately of human love without leaving one smear of the onion upon his pages." on the whole, it may be noticed, comparatively few ladies contribute to the obituary reflections, "for the simple reason," says a simple man, "that he went but little into female society. he who could write so eloquently about women never seemed to know what to say to them. ordinary tittle-tattle from them disappointed him. i should say that to him there was so much of the divine in women that he was depressed when they hid their wings." this view is supported by clubman, who notes that tommy would never join in the somewhat free talk about the other sex in which many men indulge. "i remember," he says, "a man's dinner at which two of those present, both persons of eminence, started a theory that every man who is blessed or cursed with the artistic instinct has at some period of his life wanted to marry a barmaid. mr. sandys gave them such a look that they at once apologized. trivial, perhaps, but significant. on another occasion i was in a club smoking-room when the talk was of a similar kind. mr. sandys was not present. a member said, with a laugh, 'i wonder for how long men can be together without talking gamesomely of women?' before any answer could be given mr. sandys strolled in, and immediately the atmosphere cleared, as if someone had opened the windows. when he had gone the member addressed turned to him who had propounded the problem and said, 'there is your answer--as long as sandys is in the room.'" "a fitting epitaph, this, for thomas sandys," says the paper that quotes it, "if we could not find a better. mr. sandys was from first to last a man of character, but why when others falter was he always so sure-footed? it is in the answer to this question that we find the key to the books, and to the man who was greater than the books. he was the perfect lover. as he died seeking flowers for her who had the high honour to be his wife, so he had always lived. he gave his affection to her, as our correspondent miss (or mrs.) ailie mclean shows, in his earliest boyhood, and from this, his one romance, he never swerved. to the moment of his death all his beautiful thoughts were flowers plucked for her; his books were bunches of them gathered to place at her feet. no harm now in reading between the lines of his books and culling what is the common knowledge of his friends in the north, that he had to serve a long apprenticeship before he won her. for long his attachment was unreciprocated, though she was ever his loyal friend, and the volume called 'unrequited love' belongs to the period when he thought his life must be lived alone. the circumstances of their marriage are at once too beautiful and too painful to be dwelt on here. enough to say that, should the particulars ever be given to the world, with the simple story of his life, a finer memorial will have been raised to him than anything in stone, such as we see a committee is already being formed to erect. we venture to propose as a title for his biography, 'the story of the perfect lover.'" yes, that memorial committee was formed; but so soon do people forget the hero of yesterday's paper that only the secretary attended the first meeting, and he never called another. but here, five and twenty years later, is the biography, with the title changed. you may wonder that i had the heart to write it. i do it, i have sometimes pretended to myself, that we may all laugh at the stripling of a rogue, but that was never my reason. have i been too cunning, or have you seen through me all the time? have you discovered that i was really pitying the boy who was so fond of boyhood that he could not with years become a man, telling nothing about him that was not true, but doing it with unnecessary scorn in the hope that i might goad you into crying: "come, come, you are too hard on him!" perhaps the manner in which he went to his death deprives him of these words. had the castle gone on fire that day while he was at tea, and he perished in the flames in a splendid attempt to save the life of his enemy (a very probable thing), then you might have felt a little liking for him. yet he would have been precisely the same person. i don't blame you, but you are a tommy. grizel knew how he died. she found lady pippinworth's letter to him, and understood who the woman was; but it was only in hopes of obtaining the lost manuscript that she went to see her. then lady pippinworth told her all. are you sorry that grizel knew? i am not sorry--i am glad. as a child, as a girl, and as a wife, the truth had been all she wanted, and she wanted it just the same when she was a widow. we have a right to know the truth; no right to ask anything else from god, but the right to ask that. and to her latest breath she went on loving tommy just the same. she thought everything out calmly for herself; she saw that there is no great man on this earth except the man who conquers self, and that in some the accursed thing which is in all of us may be so strong that to battle with it and be beaten is not altogether to fail. it is foolish to demand complete success of those we want to love. we should rejoice when they rise for a moment above themselves, and sympathize with them when they fall. in their heyday young lovers think each other perfect; but a nobler love comes when they see the failings also, and this higher love is so much more worth attaining to that they need not cry out though it has to be beaten into them with rods. so they learn humanity's limitations, and that the accursed thing to me is not the accursed thing to you; but all have it, and from this comes pity for those who have sinned, and the desire to help each other springs, for knowledge is sympathy, and sympathy is love, and to learn it the son of god became a man. and grizel also thought anxiously about herself, and how from the time when she was the smallest girl she had longed to be a good woman and feared that perhaps she never should. and as she looked back at the road she had travelled, there came along it the little girl to judge her. she came trembling, but determined to know the truth, and she looked at grizel until she saw into her soul, and then she smiled, well pleased. grizel lived on at double dykes, helping david in the old way. she was too strong and fine a nature to succumb. even her brightness came back to her. they sometimes wondered at the serenity of her face. some still thought her a little stand-offish, for, though the pride had gone from her walk, a distinction of manner grew upon her and made her seem a finer lady than before. there was no other noticeable change, except that with the years she lost her beautiful contours and became a little angular--the old maid's figure, i believe it is sometimes called. no one would have dared to smile at grizel become an old maid before some of the young men of thrums. they were people who would have suffered much for her, and all because she had the courage to talk to them of some things before their marriage-day came round. and for their young wives who had tidings to whisper to her about the unborn she had the pretty idea that they should live with beautiful thoughts, so that these might become part of the child. when gavinia told this to corp, he gulped and said, "i wonder god could hae haen the heart." "life's a queerer thing," gavinia replied, sadly enough, "than we used to think it when we was bairns in the den." he spoke of it to grizel. she let corp speak of anything to her because he was so loyal to tommy. "you've given away a' your bonny things, grizel," he said, "one by one, and this notion is the bonniest o' them a'. i'm thinking that when it cam' into your head you meant it for yoursel'." grizel smiled at him. "i mind," corp went on, "how when you was little you couldna see a bairn without rocking your arms in a waeful kind o' a way, and we could never thole the meaning o't. it just comes over me this minute as it meant that when you was a woman you would like terrible to hae bairns o' your ain, and you doubted you never should." she raised her hand to stop him. "you see, i was not meant to have them, corp," she said. "i think that when women are too fond of other people's babies they never have any of their own." but corp shook his head. "i dinna understand it," he told her, "but i'm sure you was meant to hae them. something's gane wrang." she was still smiling at him, but her eyes were wet now, and she drew him on to talk of the days when tommy was a boy. it was sweet to grizel to listen while elspeth and david told her of the thousand things tommy had done for her when she was ill, but she loved best to talk with corp of the time when they were all children in the den. the days of childhood are the best. she lived so long after tommy that she was almost a middle-aged woman when she died. and so the painted lady's daughter has found a way of making tommy's life the story of a perfect lover, after all. the little girl she had been comes stealing back into the book and rocks her arms joyfully, and we see grizel's crooked smile for the last time. lovey mary by alice hegan rice author of "mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch" to cale young rice who taught me the secret of plucking roses from a cabbage patch contents chapter i a cactus-plant ii a runaway couple iii the hazy household iv an accident and an incident v the dawn of a romance vi the losing of mr. stubbins vii neighborly advice viii a denominational garden ix labor day x a timely visit xi the christmas play xii reaction xiii an honorable retreat xiv the cactus blooms list of illustrations "they met at the pump." ..... frontispiece "'now the lord meant you to be plain.'" "'come here, tom, and kiss your mother.'" "''t ain't no street...; this here is the cabbage patch.'" "she puffed her hair at the top and sides." "'she took on mighty few airs fer a person in mournin'.'" "she sat on the door-step, white and miserable." "mrs. wiggs took pictures from her walls and chairs from her parlor to beautify the house of hazy." "mr. stubbins, sitting in mrs. wiggs's most comfortable chair, with a large slice of pumpkin-pie in his hand." "'stick out yer tongue.'" "asia held out her hands, which were covered with warm red mitts." "master robert redding was right side up again, sobbing himself quiet in lovey mary's arms." "'have you ever acted any?' he asked." "europena stepped forward." "sang in a high, sweet voice, 'i need thee every hour.'" "'haven't you got any place you could go to?'" susie smithers at the keyhole "lovey mary waved until she rounded a curve." lovey mary chapter i a cactus-plant for life, with all it yields of joy and woe, and hope and fear,... is just our chance o' the prize of learning love,-- how love might be, hath been indeed, and is. browning's "a death in the desert." everything about lovey mary was a contradiction, from her hands and feet, which seemed to have been meant for a big girl, to her high ideals and aspirations, that ought to have belonged to an amiable one. the only ingredient which might have reconciled all the conflicting elements in her chaotic little bosom was one which no one had ever taken the trouble to supply. when miss bell, the matron of the home, came to receive lovey mary's confession of repentance, she found her at an up-stairs window making hideous faces and kicking the furniture. the depth of her repentance could always be gaged by the violence of her conduct. miss bell looked at her as she would have looked at one of the hieroglyphs on the obelisk. she had been trying to decipher her for thirteen years. miss bell was stout and prim, a combination which was surely never intended by nature. her gray dress and tight linen collar and cuffs gave the uncomfortable impression of being sewed on, while her rigid black water-waves seemed irrevocably painted upon her high forehead. she was a routinist; she believed in system, she believed in order, and she believed that godliness was akin to cleanliness. when she found an exception to a rule she regarded the exception in the light of an error. as she stood, brush in hand, before lovey mary, she thought for the hundredth time that the child was an exception. "stand up," she said firmly but not unkindly. "i thought you had too much sense to do your hair that way. come back to the bath-room, and i will arrange it properly." lovey mary gave a farewell kick at the wall before she followed miss bell. one side of her head was covered with tight black ringlets, and the other bristled with curl-papers. "when i was a little girl," said miss bell, running the wet comb ruthlessly through the treasured curls, "the smoother my hair was the better i liked it. i used to brush it down with soap and water to make it stay." lovey mary looked at the water-waves and sighed. "if you're ugly you never can get married with anybody, can you, miss bell?" she asked in a spirit of earnest inquiry. miss bell's back became stiffer, if possible, than before. "marriage isn't the only thing in the world. the homelier you are the better chance you have of being good. now the lord meant you to be plain"--assisting providence by drawing the braids so tight that the girl's eyebrows were elevated with the strain. "if he had meant you to have curls he would have given them to you." [illustration: "'now the lord meant you to be plain'"] "well, didn't he want me to have a mother and father?" burst forth lovey mary, indignantly, "or clothes, or money, or nothing? can't i ever get nothing at all 'cause i wasn't started out with nothing?" miss bell was too shocked to reply. she gave a final brush to the sleek, wet head and turned sorrowfully away. lovey mary ran after her and caught her hand. "i'm sorry," she cried impulsively. "i want to be good. please-- please--" miss bell drew her hand away coldly. "you needn't go to sabbath-school this morning," she said in an injured tone; "you can stay here and think over what you have said. i am not angry with you. i never allow myself to get angry. i don't understand, that's all. you are such a good girl about some things and so unreasonable about others. with a good home, good clothes, and kind treatment, what else could a girl want?" receiving no answer to this inquiry, miss bell adjusted her cuffs and departed with the conviction that she had done all that was possible to throw light upon a dark subject. lovey mary, left alone, shed bitter tears on her clean gingham dress. thirteen years ought to reconcile a person even to gingham dresses with white china buttons down the back, and round straw hats bought at wholesale. but lovey mary's rebellion of spirit was something that time only served to increase. it had started with kate rider, who used to pinch her, and laugh at her, and tell the other girls to "get on to her curves." curves had signified something dreadful to lovey mary; she would have experienced real relief could she have known that she did not possess any. it was not kate rider, however, who was causing the present tears; she had left the home two years before, and her name was not allowed to be mentioned even in whispers. neither was it rebellion against the work that had cast lovey mary into such depths of gloom; fourteen beds had been made, fourteen heads had been combed, and fourteen wriggling little bodies had been cheerfully buttoned into starchy blue ginghams exactly like her own. something deeper and more mysterious was fermenting in her soul-- something that made her long passionately for the beautiful things of life, for love and sympathy and happiness; something that made her want to be good, yet tempted her constantly to rebel against her environs. it was just the world-old spirit that makes the veriest little weed struggle through a chink in the rock and reach upward toward the sun. "what's the matter with your hair, lovey mary? it looks so funny," asked a small girl, coming up the steps. "if anybody asts you, tell 'em you don't know," snapped lovey mary. "well, miss bell says for you to come down to the office," said the other, unabashed. "there's a lady down there--a lady and a baby. me and susie peeked in. miss bell made the lady cry; she made her wipe the powders off her compleshun." "and she sent for me?" asked lovey mary, incredulously. such a ripple in the still waters of the home was sufficient to interest the most disconsolate. "yes; and me and susie's going to peek some more." lovey mary dried her tears and hurried down to the office. as she stood at the door she heard a girl's excited voice protesting and begging, and miss bell's placid tones attempting to calm her. they paused as she entered. "mary," said miss bell, "you remember kate rider. she has brought her child for us to take care of for a while. have you room for him in your division?" as lovey mary looked at the gaily dressed girl on the sofa, her animosity rekindled. it was not kate's bold black eyes that stirred her wrath, nor the hard red lips that recalled the taunts of other days: it was the sight of the auburn curls gathered in tantalizing profusion under the brim of the showy hat. "mary, answer my question!" said miss bell, sharply. with an involuntary shudder of repugnance lovey mary drew her gaze from kate and murmured, "yes, 'm." "then you can take the baby with you," continued miss bell, motioning to the sleeping child. "but wait a moment. i think i will put jennie at the head of your division and let you have entire charge of this little boy. he is only a year old, kate tells me, so will need constant attention." lovey mary was about to protest, when kate broke in: "oh, say, miss bell, please get some other girl! tommy never would like lovey. he's just like me: if people ain't pretty, he don't have no use for 'em." "that will do, kate," said miss bell, coldly. "it is only pity for the child that makes me take him at all. you have forfeited all claim upon our sympathy or patience. mary, take the baby up-stairs and care for him until i come." lovey mary, hot with rebellion, picked him up and went out of the room. at the door she stumbled against two little girls who were listening at the keyhole. up-stairs in the long dormitory it was very quiet. the children had been marched away to sunday-school, and only lovey mary and the sleeping baby were on the second floor. the girl sat beside the little white bed and hated the world as far as she knew it: she hated kate for adding this last insult to the old score; she hated miss bell for putting this new burden on her unwilling shoulders; she hated the burden itself, lying there before her so serene and unconcerned; and most of all she hated herself. "i wisht i was dead!" she cried passionately. "the harder i try to be good the meaner i get. ever'body blames me, and ever'body makes fun of me. ugly old face, and ugly old hands, and straight old rat-tail hair! it ain't no wonder that nobody loves me. i just wisht i was dead!" the sunshine came through the window and made a big white patch on the bare floor, but lovey mary sat in the shadow and disturbed the sunday quiet by her heavy sobbing. at noon, when the children returned, the noise of their arrival woke tommy. he opened his round eyes on a strange world, and began to cry lustily. one child after another tried to pacify him, but each friendly advance increased his terror. "leave him be!" cried lovey mary. "them hats is enough to skeer him into fits." she picked him up, and with the knack born of experience soothed and comforted him. the baby hid his face on her shoulder and held her tight. she could feel the sobs that still shook the small body, and his tears were on her cheek. "never mind," she said. "i ain't a-going to let 'em hurt you. i'm going to take care of you. don't cry any more. look!" she stretched forth her long, unshapely hand and made grotesque snatches at the sunshine that poured in through the window. tommy hesitated and was lost; a smile struggled to the surface, then broke through the tears. "look! he's laughing!" cried lovey mary, gleefully. "he's laughing 'cause i ketched a sunbeam for him!" then she bent impulsively and kissed the little red lips so close to her own. chapter ii a runaway couple "courage mounteth with occasion." for two years lovey mary cared for tommy: she bathed him and dressed him, taught him to walk, and kissed his bumps to make them well; she sewed for him and nursed him by day, and slept with him in her tired arms at night. and tommy, with the inscrutable philosophy of childhood, accepted his little foster-mother and gave her his all. one bright june afternoon the two were romping in the home yard under the beech-trees. lovey mary lay in the grass, while tommy threw handfuls of leaves in her face, laughing with delight at her grimaces. presently the gate clicked, and some one came toward them. "good land! is that my kid?" said a woman's voice. "come here, tom, and kiss your mother." lovey mary, sitting up, found kate rider, in frills and ribbons, looking with surprise at the sturdy child before her. tommy objected violently to this sudden overture and declined positively to acknowledge the relationship. in fact, when kate attempted to pull him to her, he fled for protection to lovey mary and cast belligerent glances at the intruder. kate laughed. "oh, you needn't be so scary; you might as well get used to me, for i am going to take you home with me. i bet he's a corker, ain't he, lovey? he used to bawl all night. sometimes i'd have to spank him two or three times." lovey mary clasped the child closer and looked up in dumb terror. was tommy to be taken from her? tommy to go away with kate? "great scott!" exclaimed kate, exasperated at the girl's manner. "you are just as ugly and foolish as you used to be. i'm going in to see miss bell." lovey mary waited until she was in the house, then she stole noiselessly around to the office window. the curtain blew out across her cheek, and the swaying lilacs seemed to be trying to count the china buttons on her back; but she stood there with staring eyes and parted lips, and held her breath to listen. [illustration with caption: "'come here, tom, and kiss your mother.'"] "of course," miss bell was saying, measuring her words with due precision, "if you feel that you can now support your child and that it is your duty to take him, we cannot object. there are many other children waiting to come into the home. and yet--" miss bell's voice sounded human and unnatural--"yet i wish he could stay. have you thought, kate, of your responsibility toward him, of--" "oh! ough!" shrieked tommy from the playground, in tones of distress. lovey mary left her point of vantage and rushed to the rescue. she found him emitting frenzied yells, while a tiny stream of blood trickled down his chin. "it was my little duck," he gasped as soon as he was able to speak. "i was tissin' him, an' he bited me." at thought of the base ingratitude on the part of the duck, tommy wailed anew. lovey mary led him to the hydrant and bathed the injured lip, while she soothed his feelings. suddenly a wave of tenderness swept over her. she held his chubby face up to hers and said fervently: "tommy, do you love me?" "yes," said tommy, with a reproachful eye on the duck. "yes; i yuv to yuv. i don't yuv to tiss, though!" "but me, tommy, me. do you love me?" "yes," he answered gravely, "dollar an' a half." "whose little boy are you?" "yuvey's 'e boy." satisfied with this catechism, she put tommy in care of another girl and went back to her post at the window. miss bell was talking again. "i will have him ready to-morrow afternoon when you come. his clothes are all in good condition. i only hope, kate, that you will care for him as tenderly as mary has. i am afraid he will miss her sadly." "if he's like me, he'll forget about her in two or three days," answered the other voice. "it always was 'out of sight, out of mind' with me." miss bell's answer was indistinct, and in a few minutes lovey mary heard the hall door close behind them. she shook her fists until the lilacs trembled. "she sha'n't have him!" she whispered fiercely. "she sha'n't let him grow up wicked like she is. i won't let him go. i'll hide him, i'll--" suddenly she grew very still, and for a long time crouched motionless behind the bushes. the problem that faced her had but one solution, and lovey mary had found it. the next morning when the sun climbed over the tree-tops and peered into the dormitory windows he found that somebody else had made an early rise. lovey mary was sitting by a wardrobe making her last will and testament. from the neatly folded pile of linen she selected a few garments and tied them into a bundle. then she took out a cigar-box and gravely contemplated the contents. there were two narrow hair- ribbons which had evidently been one wide ribbon, a bit of rock crystal, four paper dolls, a soiled picture-book with some other little girl's name scratched out on the cover, and two shining silver dollars. these composed lovey mary's worldly possessions. she tied the money in her handkerchief and put it in her pocket, then got up softly and slipped about among the little white beds, distributing her treasures. "i'm mad at susie," she whispered, pausing before a tousled head; "i hate to give her the nicest thing i've got. but she's just crazy 'bout picture-books." the curious sun climbed yet a little higher and saw lovey mary go back to her own bed, and, rolling tommy's clothes around her own bundle, gather the sleeping child in her arms and steal quietly out of the room. then the sun got too high up in the heavens to watch little runaway orphan girls. nobody saw her steal through the deserted playroom, down the clean bare steps, which she had helped to wear away, and out through the yard to the coal-shed. here she got the reluctant tommy into his clothes, and tied on his little round straw hat, so absurdly like her own. "is we playin' hie-spy, yuvey?" asked the mystified youngster. "yes, tommy," she whispered, "and we are going a long way to hide. you are my little boy now, and you must love me better than anything in the world. say it, tommy; say, 'i love you better 'n anybody in the whole world.'" "will i det on de rollin' honor?" asked tommy, thinking he was learning his golden text. but lovey mary had forgotten her question. she was taking a farewell look at the home, every nook and corner of which had suddenly grown dear. already she seemed a thing apart, one having no right to its shelter and protection. she turned to where tommy was playing with some sticks in the corner, and bidding him not to stir or speak until her return, she slipped back up the walk and into the kitchen. swiftly and quietly she made a fire in the stove and filled the kettle with water. then she looked about for something more she might do. on the table lay the grocery book with a pencil attached. she thought a moment, then wrote laboriously under the last order: "miss bell i will take kere tommy pleas don't be mad." then she softly closed the door behind her. a few minutes later she lifted tommy out of the low shed window, and hurried him down the alley and out into the early morning streets. at the corner they took a car, and tommy knelt by the window and absorbed the sights with rapt attention; to him the adventure was beginning brilliantly. even lovey mary experienced a sense of exhilaration when she paid their fare out of one of the silver dollars. she knew the conductor was impressed, because he said, "you better watch buddy's hat, ma'am." that "ma'am" pleased her profoundly; it caused her unconsciously to assume miss bell's tone and manner as she conversed with the back of tommy's head. "we'll go out on the avenue," she said. "we'll go from house to house till i get work. 'most anybody would be glad to get a handy girl that can cook and wash and sew, only--i ain't very big, and then there's you." "ain't that a big house?" shouted tommy, half way out of the window. "yes; don't talk so loud. that's the court-house." "where they make court-plaster at?" inquired tommy shrilly. lovey mary glanced around uneasily. she hoped the old man in the corner had not heard this benighted remark. all went well until the car reached the terminal station. here tommy refused to get off. in vain lovey mary coaxed and threatened. "it'll take us right back to the home," she pleaded. "be a good boy and come with lovey. i'll buy you something nice." tommy remained obdurate. he believed in letting well enough alone. the joys of a street-car ride were present and tangible; "something nice" was vague, unsatisfying. "don't yer little brother want to git off?" asked the conductor, sympathetically. "no, sir," said lovey mary, trying to maintain her dignity while she struggled with her charge. "if you please, sir, would you mind holding his feet while i loosen his hands?" tommy, shrieking indignant protests, was borne from the car and deposited on the sidewalk. "don't you dare get limber!" threatened lovey mary. "if you do i'll spank you right here on the street. stand up! straighten out your legs! tommy! do you hear me?" tommy might have remained limp indefinitely had not a hurdy-gurdy opportunely arrived on the scene. it is true that he would go only in the direction of the music, but lovey mary was delighted to have him go at all. when at last they were headed for the avenue, tommy caused another delay. "i want my ducky," he announced. the words brought consternation to lovey mary. she had fearfully anticipated them from the moment of leaving the home. "i'll buy you a 'tend-like duck," she said. "no; i want a sure-'nough ducky; i want mine." lovey mary was exasperated. "well, you can't have yours. i can't get it for you, and you might as well hush." his lips trembled, and two large tears rolled down his round cheeks. when he was injured he was irresistible. lovey mary promptly surrendered. "don't cry, baby boy! lovey'll get you one someway." for some time the quest of the duck was fruitless. the stores they entered were wholesale houses for the most part, where men were rolling barrels about or stacking skins and hides on the sidewalk. "do you know what sort of a store they sell ducks at?" asked lovey mary of a colored man who was sweeping out an office. "ducks!" repeated the negro, grinning at the queerly dressed children in their round straw hats. "name o' de lawd! what do you all want wif ducks?" lovey mary explained. "wouldn't a kitten do jes as well?" he asked kindly. "i want my ducky," whined tommy, showing signs of returning storm. "i don' see no way 'cept'n' gwine to de mahket. efen you tek de cah you kin ride plumb down dere." recent experience had taught lovey mary to be wary of street-cars, so they walked. at the market they found some ducks. the desired objects were hanging in a bunch with their limp heads tied together. further inquiry, however, discovered some live ones in a coop. "they're all mama ducks," objected tommy. "i want a baby ducky. i want my little ducky!" when he found he could do no better, he decided to take one of the large ones. then he said he was hungry, so he and mary took turn about holding it while the other ate "po' man's pickle" and wienerwurst. it was two o'clock by the time they reached the avenue, and by four they were foot-sore and weary, but they trudged bravely along from house to house asking for work. as dusk came on, the houses, which a few squares back had been tall and imposing, seemed to be getting smaller and more insignificant. lovey mary felt secure as long as she was on the avenue. she did not know that the avenue extended for many miles and that she had reached the frayed and ragged end of it. she and tommy passed under a bridge, and after that the houses all seemed to behave queerly. some faced one way, some another, and crisscross between them, in front of them, and behind them ran a network of railroad tracks. "what's the name of this street?" asked lovey mary of a small, bare- footed girl. "'t ain't no street," answered the little girl, gazing with undisguised amazement at the strange-looking couple; "this here is the cabbage patch." [illustration: "'t ain't no street...; this here is the cabbage patch.'"] chapter iii the hazy household "here sovereign dirt erects her sable throne, the house, the host, the hostess all her own." miss hazy was the submerged tenth of the cabbage patch. the submersion was mainly one of dirt and disorder, but miss hazy was such a meek, inefficient little body that the cabbage patch withheld its blame and patiently tried to furnish a prop for the clinging vine. miss hazy, it is true, had chris; but chris was unstable, not only because he had lost one leg, but also because he was the wildest, noisiest, most thoughtless youngster that ever shied a rock at a lamp-post. miss hazy had "raised" chris, and the neighbors had raised miss hazy. when lovey mary stumbled over the hazy threshold with the sleeping tommy and the duck in her arms, miss hazy fluttered about in dismay. she pushed the flour-sifter farther over on the bed and made a place for tommy, then she got a chair for the exhausted girl and hovered about her with little chirps of consternation. "dear sakes! you're done tuckered out, ain't you? you an' the baby got losted? ain't that too bad! must i make you some tea? only there ain't no fire in the stove. dear me! what ever will i do? jes wait a minute; i'll have to go ast mis' wiggs." in a few minutes miss hazy returned. with her was a bright-faced little woman whose smile seemed to thaw out the frozen places in lovey mary's heart and make her burst into tears on the motherly bosom. "there now, there," said mrs. wiggs, hugging the girl up close and patting her on the back; "there ain't no hole so deep can't somebody pull you out. an' here's me an' miss hazy jes waitin' to give you a h'ist." there was something so heartsome in her manner that lovey mary dried her eyes and attempted to explain. "i'm tryin' to get a place," she began, "but nobody wants to take tommy too. i can't carry him any further, and i don't know where to go, and it's 'most night--" again the sobs choked her. "lawsee!" said mrs. wiggs, "don't you let that worry you! i can't take you home, 'cause asia an' australia an' europeny are sleepin' in one bed as it is; but you kin git right in here with miss hazy, can't she, miss hazy?" the hostess, to whom mrs. wiggs was an oracle, acquiesced heartily. "all right: that's fixed. now i'll go home an' send you all over some nice, hot supper by billy, an' to-morrow mornin' will be time enough to think things out." lovey mary, too exhausted to mind the dirt, ate her supper off a broken plate, then climbed over behind tommy and the flour-sifter, and was soon fast asleep. the business meeting next morning "to think things out" resulted satisfactorily. at first mrs. wiggs was inclined to ask questions and find out where the children came from, but when she saw lovey mary's evident distress and embarrassment, she accepted the statement that they were orphans and that the girl was seeking work in order to take care of herself and the boy. it had come to be an unwritten law in the cabbage patch that as few questions as possible should be asked of strangers. people had come there before who could not give clear accounts of themselves. "now i'll tell you what i think'll be best," said mrs. wiggs, who enjoyed untangling snarls. "asia kin take mary up to the fact'ry with her to-morrow, an' see if she kin git her a job. i 'spect she kin, 'cause she stands right in with the lady boss. miss hazy, me an' you kin keep a' eye on the baby between us. if mary gits a place she kin pay you so much a week, an' that'll help us all out, 'cause then we won't have to send in so many outside victuals. if she could make three dollars an' chris three, you all could git along right peart." lovey mary stayed in the house most of the day. she was almost afraid to look out of the little window, for fear she should see miss bell or kate rider coming. she sat in the only chair that had a bottom and diligently worked buttonholes for miss hazy. "looks like there ain't never no time to clean up," said miss hazy, apologetically, as she shoved chris's sunday clothes and a can of coal-oil behind the door. lovey mary looked about her and sighed deeply. the room was brimful and spilling over: trash, tin cans, and bottles overflowed the window- sills; a crippled rocking-chair, with a faded quilt over it, stood before the stove, in the open oven of which chris's shoe was drying; an old sewing-machine stood in the middle of the floor, with miss hazy's sewing on one end of it and the uncleared dinner-dishes on the other. mary could not see under the bed, but she knew from the day's experience that it was used as a combination store-room and wardrobe. she thought of the home with its bare, clean rooms and its spotless floors. she rose abruptly and went out to the rear of the house, where tommy was playing with europena wiggs. they were absorbed in trying to hitch the duck to a spool-box, and paid little attention to her. "tommy," she said, clutching his arm, "don't you want to go back?" but tommy had tasted freedom; he had had one blissful day unwashed, uncombed, and uncorrected. "no," he declared stoutly; "i'm doin' to stay to this house and play wiv you're-a-peanut." "then," said mary, with deep resignation, "the only thing for me to do is to try to clean things up." when she went back into the house she untied her bundle and took out the remaining dollar. "i'll be back soon," she said to miss hazy as she stepped over a basket of potatoes. "i'm just going over to mrs. wiggs's a minute." she found her neighbor alone, getting supper. "please, ma'am,"--she plunged into her subject at once,--"have any of your girls a dress for sale? i've got a dollar to buy it." mrs. wiggs turned the girl around and surveyed her critically. "well, i don't know as i blame you fer wantin' to git shut of that one. there ain't more 'n room enough fer one leg in that skirt, let alone two. an' what was the sense in them big shiny buttons?" "i don't know as it makes much difference," said lovey mary, disconsolately; "i'm so ugly, nothing could make me look nice." mrs. wiggs shook her by the shoulders good-naturedly. "now, here," she said, "don't you go an' git sorry fer yerself! that's one thing i can't stand in nobody. there's always lots of other folks you kin be sorry fer 'stid of yerself. ain't you proud you ain't got a harelip? why, that one thought is enough to keep me from ever gittin' sorry fer myself." mary laughed, and mrs. wiggs clapped her hands. "that's what yer face needs--smiles! i never see anything make such a difference. but now about the dress. yes, indeed, asia has got dresses to give 'way. she gits 'em from mrs. reddin'; her husband is mr. bob, billy's boss. he's a newspaper editress an' rich as cream. mrs. reddin' is a fallen angel, if there ever was one on this earth. she sends all sorts of clothes to asia, an' i warm 'em over an' boil 'em down till they're her size. "asia minor!" she called to a girl who was coming in the door, "this here is mary--lovey mary she calls herself, miss hazy's boarder. have you got a dress you could give her?" "i'm going to buy it," said mary, immediately on the defensive. she did not want them to think for a moment that she was begging. she would show them that she had money, that she was just as good as they were. "well, maw," the other girl was saying in a drawling voice as she looked earnestly at lovey mary, "seems to me she'd look purtiest in my red dress. her hair's so nice an' black an' her teeth so white, i 'low the red would look best." mrs. wiggs gazed at her daughter with adoring eyes. "ain't that the artis' stickin' out through her? couldn't you tell she handles paints? up at the fact'ry she's got a fine job, paints flowers an' wreaths on to bath-tubs. yes, indeed, this here red one is what you must have. keep your dollar, child; the dress never cost us a cent. here's a nubia, too, you kin have; it'll look better than that little hat you had on last night. that little hat worried me; it looked like the stopper was too little fer the bottle. there now, take the things right home with you, an' tomorrow you an' asia kin start off in style." lovey mary, flushed with the intoxication of her first compliment, went back and tried on the dress. miss hazy got so interested that she forgot to get supper. "you look so nice i never would 'a' knowed you in the world!" she declared. "you don't look picked, like you did in that other dress." "that wiggs girl said i looked nice in red," said lovey mary tentatively. "you do, too," said miss hazy; "it keeps you from lookin' so corpsey. i wisht you'd do somethin' with yer hair, though; it puts me in mind of snakes in them long black plaits." all lovey mary needed was encouragement. she puffed her hair at the top and sides and tucked it up in the latest fashion. tommy, coming in at the door, did not recognize her. she laughed delightedly. "do i look so different?" "i should say you do," said miss hazy, admiringly, as she spread a newspaper for a table-cloth. "i never seen no one answer to primpin' like you do." [illustration: "she puffed her hair at the top and sides."] when it was quite dark lovey mary rolled something in a bundle and crept out of the house. after glancing cautiously up and down the tracks she made her way to the pond on the commons and dropped her bundle into the shallow water. next day, when mrs. schultz's goat died of convulsions, nobody knew it was due to the china buttons on lovey mary's gingham dress. chapter iv an accident and an incident "our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are." through the assistance of asia wiggs, lovey mary secured pleasant and profitable work at the factory; but her mind was not at peace. of course it was a joy to wear the red dress and arrange her hair a different way each morning, but there was a queer, restless little feeling in her heart that spoiled even the satisfaction of looking like other girls and earning three dollars a week. the very fact that nobody took her to task, that nobody scolded or blamed her, caused her to ask herself disturbing questions. secret perplexity had the same effect upon her that it has upon many who are older and wiser: it made her cross. two days after she started to work, asia, coming down from the decorating-room for lunch, found her in fiery dispute with a red- haired girl. there had been an accident in front of the factory, and the details were under discussion. "well, i know all about it," declared the red-haired girl, excitedly, "'cause my sister was the first one that got to her." "is your sister a nigger named jim brown?" asked lovey mary, derisively. "ever'body says he was the first one got there." "was there blood on her head?" asked asia, trying to stem the tide of argument. "yes, indeed," said the first speaker; "on her head an' on her hands, too. i hanged on the steps when they was puttin' her in the ambalance- wagon, an' she never knowed a bloomin' thing!" "why didn't you go on with them to the hospital!" asked lovey mary. "i don't see how the doctors could get along without you." "oh, you're just mad 'cause you didn't see her. she was awful pretty! had on a black hat with a white feather in it, but it got in the mud. they say she had a letter in her pocket with her name on it." "i thought maybe she come to long enough to tell you her name," teased her tormentor. "well, i do know it, smarty," retorted the other, sharply: "it's miss kate rider." meanwhile in the cabbage patch miss hazy and mrs. wiggs were holding a consultation over the fence. "she come over to my house first," mrs. wiggs was saying, dramatically illustrating her remarks with two tin cans. "this is me here, an' i looks up an' seen the old lady standin' over there. she put me in mind of a graven image. she had on a sorter gray mournin', didn't she, miss hazy?" "yes, 'm; that was the way it struck me. bein' gray, i 'lowed it was fer some one she didn't keer fer pertickler." "an' gent's cuffs," continued mrs. wiggs; "i noticed them right off. ''scuse me,' says she, snappin' her mouth open an' shut like a trap-- ''scuse me, but have you seen anything of two strange children in this neighborhood?' i th'owed my apron over lovey mary's hat, that i was trimmin'. i wasn't goin' to tell till i found out what that widder woman was after. but before i was called upon to answer, tommy come tearin' round the house chasin' cusmoodle." "who?" "cusmoodle, the duck. i named it this mornin'. well, when the lady seen tommy she started up, then she set down ag'in, holdin' her skirts up all the time to keep 'em from techin' the floor. 'how'd they git here?' she ast, so relieved-like that i thought she must be kin to 'em. so i up an' told her all i knew. i told her if she wanted to find out anything about us she could ast mrs. reddin' over at terrace park. 'mrs. robert reddin'?' says she, lookin' dumfounded. 'yes,' says i, 'the finest lady, rich or poor, in kentucky, unless it's her husband.' then she went on an' ast me goin' on a hunderd questions 'bout all of us an' all of you all, an' 'bout the factory. she even ast me where we got our water at, an' if you kept yer house healthy. i told her lovey mary had made chris carry out more 'n a wheelbarrow full of dirt ever' night since she had been here, an' i guess it would be healthy by the time she got through." [illustration: "'she took on mighty few airs fer a person in mournin'.'"] miss hazy moved uneasily. "i told her i couldn't clean up much 'count of the rheumatism, an' phthisic, an' these here dizzy spells--" "i bet she didn't git a chance to talk much if you got started on your symptims," interrupted mrs. wiggs. "didn't you think she was a' awful haughty talker?" 'no, indeed. she took on mighty few airs fer a person in mournin'. when she riz to go, she says, real kind fer such a stern-faced woman, 'do the childern seem well an' happy?' 'yes, 'm; they're well, all right,' says i. 'tommy he's like a colt what's been stabled up all winter an' is let out fer the first time. as fer mary,' i says, 'she seems kinder low in her mind, looks awful pestered most of the time.' 'it won't hurt her,' says the lady. 'keep a' eye on 'em,' says she, puttin' some money in my hand,' an' if you need any more, i'll leave it with mrs. reddin'.' then she cautioned me pertickler not to say nothin' 'bout her havin' been here." "she told me not to tell, too," said miss hazy; "but i don't know what we're goin' to say to mrs. schultz. she 'most sprained her back tryin' to see who it was, an' mrs. eichorn come over twicet pertendin'-like she wanted to borrow a corkscrew driver." "tell 'em she was a newfangled agent," said mrs. wiggs, with unblushing mendacity--"a' agent fer shoestrings." chapter v the dawn of a romance "there is in the worst of fortunes the best of chances for a happy change." "good land! you all're so clean in here i'm feared of ketchin' the pneumony." mrs. wiggs stood in miss hazy's kitchen and smiled approval at the marvelous transformation. "well, now, i don't think it's right healthy," complained miss hazy, who was sitting at the machine, with her feet on a soap-box; "so much water sloppin' round is mighty apt to give a person a cold. but lovey mary says she can't stand it no other way. she's mighty set, mis' wiggs." "yes, an' that's jes what you need, miss hazy. you never was set 'bout nothin' in yer life. lovey mary's jes took you an' the house an' ever'thing in hand, an' in four weeks got you all to livin' like white folks. i ain't claimin' she ain't sharp-tongued; i 'low she's sassed 'bout ever'body in the patch but me by now. but she's good, an' she's smart, an' some of her sharp corners'll git pecked off afore her hair grows much longer." "oh, mercy me! here she comes now to git her lunch," said miss hazy, with chagrin. "i ain't got a thing fixed." "you go on an' sew; i'll mess up a little somethin' fer her. she'll stop, anyway, to talk to tommy. did you ever see anything to equal the way she takes on 'bout that child? she jes natchally analyzes him." lovey mary, however, did not stop as usual to play with tommy. she came straight to the kitchen and sat down on the door-step, looking worried and preoccupied. "how comes it you ain't singin'?" asked mrs. wiggs. "if i had a voice like yourn, folks would have to stop up their years with cotton. i jes find myself watchin' fer you to come home, so's i can hear you singin' them pretty duets round the house." lovey mary smiled faintly; for a month past she had been unconsciously striving to live up to mrs. wiggs's opinion of her, and the constant praise and commendation of that "courageous captain of compliment" had moved her to herculean effort. but a sudden catastrophe threatened her. she sat on the door-step, white and miserable. held tight in the hand that was thrust in her pocket was a letter; it was a blue letter addressed to miss hazy in large, dashing characters. lovey mary had got it from the postman as she went out in the morning; for five hours she had been racked with doubt concerning it. she felt that it could refer but to one subject, and that was herself. perhaps miss bell had discovered her hiding- place, or, worse still, perhaps kate rider had seen her at the factory and was writing for tommy. lovey mary crushed the letter in her hand; she would not give it to miss hazy. she would outwit kate again. "all right, honey," called mrs. wiggs; "here you are. 't ain't much of a lunch, but it'll fill up the gaps. me an' miss hazy jes been talkin' 'bout you." lovey mary glanced up furtively. could they have suspected anything? [illustration: "she sat on the door-step, white and miserable."] "didn't yer years sorter burn! we was speakin' of the way you'd slicked things up round here. i was a-sayin' even if you was a sorter repeatin'-rifle when it come to answerin' back, you was a good, nice girl." lovey mary smoothed out the crumpled letter in her pocket. "i'm 'fraid i ain't as good as you make me out," she said despondently. "oh, yes, she is," said miss hazy, with unusual animation; "she's a rale good girl, when she ain't sassy." this unexpected praise was too much for lovey mary. she snatched the letter from her pocket and threw it on the table, not daring to trust her good impulse to last beyond the minute. "'miss marietta hazy, south avenue and railroad crossing,'" read mrs. wiggs, in amazement. "oh, surely it ain't got me on the back of it!" cried miss hazy, rising hurriedly from the machine and peering over her glasses. "you open it, mis' wiggs; i ain't got the nerve to." with chattering teeth and trembling hands lovey mary sat before her untasted food. she could hear tommy's laughter through the open window, and the sound brought tears to her eyes. but mrs. wiggs's voice recalled her, and she nerved herself for the worst. _"miss hazy._ "dear miss [mrs. wiggs read from the large type-written sheet before her]: why not study the planets and the heavens therein? in casting your future, i find that thou wilt have an active and succesful year for business, but beware of the law. you are prudent and amiable and have a lively emagination. you will have many ennemies; but fear not, for in love you will be faitful and sincer, and are fitted well fer married life." "they surely ain't meanin' me?" asked miss hazy, in great perturbation. "_yes, ma'am_," said mrs. wiggs, emphatically; "it's you, plain as day. let's go on: "your star fortells you a great many lucky events. you are destined to a brilliant success, but you will have to earn it by good conduct. let wise men lead you. your mildness against the wretched will bring you the friendship of everbody. enclosed you will find a spirit picture of your future pardner. if you will send twenty-five cents with the enclosed card, which you will fill out, we will put you in direct correspondance with the gentleman, and the degree ordained by the planets will thus be fulfilled. please show this circuler to your friends, and oblige _"astrologer."_ as the reading proceeded, lovey mary's fears gradually diminished, and with a sigh of relief she applied herself to her lunch. but if the letter had proved of no consequence to her, such was not the case with the two women standing at the window. miss hazy was re-reading the letter, vainly trying to master the contents. "mary," she said, "git up an' see if you can find my other pair of lookin'-glasses. seems like i can't git the sense of it." mrs. wiggs meanwhile was excitedly commenting on the charms of the "spirit picture": "my, but he's siylish! looks fer all the world like a' insurance agent. looks like he might be a little tall to his size, but i like statute men better 'n dumpy ones. i bet he's got a lot of nice manners. ain't his smile pleasant!" miss hazy seized the small picture with trembling fingers. "i don't seem to git on to what it's all about, mis' wiggs. ain't they made a mistake or somethin'?" "no, indeed; there's no mistake at all," declared mrs. wiggs. "yer name's on the back, an' it's meant fer you. someway yer name's got out as bein' single an' needin' takin' keer of, an' i reckon this here 'strologer, or conjurer, or whatever he is, seen yer good fortune in the stars an' jes wanted to let you know 'bout it." "does he want to get married with her?" asked lovey mary, beginning to realize the grave importance of the subject under discussion. "well, it may lead to that," answered mrs. wiggs, hopefully. surely only a beneficent providence could have offered such an unexpected solution to the problem of miss hazy's future. miss hazy herself uttered faint protests and expostulations, but in spite of herself she was becoming influenced by mrs. wiggs's enthusiasm. "oh, shoo!" she repeated again and again. "i ain't never had no thought of marryin'." "course you ain't," said mrs. wiggs. "good enough reason: you ain't had a show before. seems to me you'd be flyin' straight in the face of providence to refuse a stylish, sweet-smilin' man like that." "he is fine-lookin'," acknowledged miss hazy, trying not to appear too pleased; "only i wisht his years didn't stick out so much." mrs. wiggs was exasperated. "lawsee! miss hazy, what do you think he'll think of yer figger? have you got so much to brag on, that you kin go to pickin' him to pieces? do you suppose i'd 'a' dared to judge mr. wiggs that away? why, mr. wiggs's nose was as long as a clothespin; but i would no more 'a' thought of his nose without him than i would 'a' thought of him without the nose." "well, what do you think i'd orter do 'bout it?" asked miss hazy. "i ain't quite made up my mind," said her mentor. "i'll talk it over with the neighbors. but i 'spect, if we kin skeer up a quarter, that you'll answer by the mornin's mail." that night lovey mary sat in her little attic room and held tommy close to her hungry heart. all day she worked with the thought of coming back to him at night; but with night came the dustman, and in spite of her games and stories tommy's blue eyes would get full of the sleep-dust. tonight, however, he was awake and talkative. "ain't i dot no muvver?" he asked. "no," said lovey mary, after a pause. "didn't i never had no muvver?" lovey mary sat him up in her lap and looked into his round, inquiring eyes. her very love for him hardened her heart against the one who had wronged him. "yes, darling, you had a mother once, but she was a bad mother, a mean, bad, wicked mother. i hate her--hate her!" lovey mary's voice broke in a sob. "ma--ry; aw, ma--ry!" called miss hazy up the stairs. "you'll have to come down here to chris. he's went to sleep with all his clothes on 'crost my bed, an' i can't git him up." lovey mary tucked tommy under the cover and went to miss hazy's assistance. "one night i had to set up all night 'cause he wouldn't git up," complained miss hazy, in hopelessly injured tones. lovey mary wasted no time in idle coaxing. she seized a broom and rapped the sleeper sharply on the legs. his peg-stick was insensible to this insult, but one leg kicked a feeble protest. in vain lovey mary tried violent measures; chris simply shifted his position and slumbered on. finally she resorted to strategy: "listen, miss hazy! ain't that the fire-engine?" in a moment chris was hanging half out of the window, demanding, "where at?" "you great big lazy boy!" scolded lovey mary, as she put miss hazy's bed in order. "i'll get you to behaving mighty different if i stay here long enough. what's this?" she added, pulling something from under miss hazy's pillow. "oh, it ain't nothin'," cried miss hazy, reaching for it eagerly. but lovey mary had recognized the "spirit picture." chapter vi the losing of mr. stubbins "love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove." if the cabbage patch had pinned its faith upon the efficiency of the matrimonial agency in regard to the disposal of miss hazy, it was doomed to disappointment. the events that led up to the final catastrophe were unique in that they cast no shadows before. [illustration: "mrs. wiggs took pictures from her walls and chairs from her parlor to beautify the house of hazy."] miss hazy's letters, dictated by mrs. wiggs and penned by lovey mary, were promptly and satisfactorily answered. the original of the spirit picture proved to be one mr. stubbins, "a prominent citizen of bagdad junction who desired to marry some one in the city. the lady must be of good character and without incumbrances." "that's all right," mrs. wiggs had declared; "you needn't have no incumbrances. if he'll take keer of you, we'll all look after chris." the wooing had been ideally simple. mr. stubbins, with the impetuosity of a new lover, demanded an early meeting. it was a critical time, and the cabbage patch realized the necessity of making the first impression a favorable one. mrs. wiggs took pictures from her walls and chairs from her parlor to beautify the house of hazy. old mrs. schultz, who was confined to her bed, sent over her black silk dress for miss hazy to wear. mrs. eichorn, with deep insight into the nature of man, gave a pound-cake and a pumpkin-pie. lovey mary scrubbed, and dusted, and cleaned, and superintended the toilet of the bride elect. the important day had arrived, and with it mr. stubbins. to the many eyes that surveyed him from behind shutters and half-open doors he was something of a disappointment. mrs. wiggs's rosy anticipations had invested him with the charms of an apollo, while mr. stubbins, in reality, was far from godlike. "my land! he's lanker 'n a bean-pole," exclaimed mrs. eichorn, in disgust. but then mrs. eichorn weighed two hundred, and her judgment was warped. taking everything into consideration, the prospects had been most flattering. mr. stubbins, sitting in mrs. wiggs's most comfortable chair, with a large slice of pumpkin-pie in his hand, and with miss hazy opposite arrayed in mrs. schultz's black silk, had declared himself ready to marry at once. and mrs. wiggs, believing that a groom in the hand is worth two in the bush, promptly precipitated the courtship into a wedding. [illustration: "mr. stubbins, sitting in mrs. wiggs's most comfortable chair, with a large slice of pumpkin-pie in his hand"] the affair proved the sensation of the hour, and "miss hazy's husband" was the cynosure of all eyes. for one brief week the honeymoon shed its beguiling light on the neighborhood, then it suffered a sudden and ignominious eclipse. the groom got drunk. mary was clearing away the supper-dishes when she was startled by a cry from miss hazy: "my sakes! lovey mary! look at mr. stubbins a-comin' up the street! do you s'pose he's had a stroke?" lovey mary ran to the window and beheld the "prominent citizen of bagdad junction" in a state of unmistakable intoxication. he was bareheaded and hilarious, and used the fence as a life-preserver. miss hazy wrung her hands and wept. "oh, what'll i do?" she wailed. "i do b'lieve he's had somethin' to drink. i ain't goin' to stay an' meet him, mary; i'm goin' to hide. i always was skeered of drunken men." "i'm not," said mary, stoutly. "you go on up in my room and lock the door; i'm going to stay here and keep him from messing up this kitchen. i want to tell him what i think of him, anyhow. i just hate that man! i believe you do, too, miss hazy." miss hazy wept afresh. "well, he ain't my kind, mary. i know i'd hadn't orter marry him, but it 'pears like ever' woman sorter wants to try gittin' married oncet anyways. i never would 'a' done it, though, if mrs. wiggs hadn't 'a' sicked me on." by this time mr. stubbins had reached the yard, and miss hazy fled. lovey mary barricaded tommy in a corner with his playthings and met the delinquent at the door. her eyes blazed and her cheeks were aflame. this modern david had no stones and sling to slay her goliath; she had only a vocabulary full of stinging words which she hurled forth with indignation and scorn. mr. stubbins had evidently been abused before, for he paid no attention to the girl's wrath. he passed jauntily to the stove and tried to pour a cup of coffee; the hot liquid missed the cup and streamed over his wrist and hand. howling with pain and swearing vociferously, he flung the coffee-pot out of the window, kicked a chair across the room, then turned upon tommy, who was adding shrieks of terror to the general uproar. "stop that infernal yelling!" he cried savagely, as he struck the child full in the face with his heavy hand. lovey mary sprang forward and seized the poker. all the passion of her wild little nature was roused. she stole up behind him as he knelt before tommy, and lifted the poker to strike. a pair of terrified blue eyes arrested her. tommy forgot to cry, in sheer amazement at what she was about to do. ashamed of herself, she threw the poker aside, and taking advantage of mr. stubbins's crouching position, she thrust him suddenly backward into the closet. the manoeuver was a brilliant one, for while mr. stubbins was unsteadily separating himself from the debris into which he had been cast, lovey mary slammed the door and locked it. then she picked up tommy and fled out of the house and across the yard. mrs. wiggs was sitting on her back porch pretending to knit, but in truth absorbed in a wild game of tag which the children were having on the commons. "that's right," she was calling excitedly--"that's right, chris hazy! you kin ketch as good as any of 'em, even if you have got a peg-stick." but when she caught sight of mary's white, distressed face and tommy's streaming eyes, she dropped her work and held out her arms. when mary had finished her story mrs. wiggs burst forth: "an' to think i run her up ag'in' this! ain't men deceivin'? now i'd 'a' risked mr. stubbins myself fer the askin'. it's true he was a widower, an' ma uster allays say, 'don't fool with widowers, grass nor sod.' but mr. stubbins was so slick-tongued! he told me yesterday he had to take liquor sometime fer his war enjury." "but, mrs. wiggs, what must we do?" asked lovey mary, too absorbed in the present to be interested in the past. "do? why, we got to git miss hazy out of this here hole. it ain't no use consultin' her; i allays have said talkin' to miss hazy was like pullin' out bastin'-threads: you jes take out what you put in. me an' you has got to think out a plan right here an' now, then go to work an' carry it out." "couldn't we get the agency to take him back?" suggested mary. "no, indeed; they couldn't afford to do that. lemme see, lemme see--" for five minutes mrs. wiggs rocked meditatively, soothing tommy to sleep as she rocked. when she again spoke it was with inspiration: "i've got it! it looks sometime, lovey mary, 's if i'd sorter caught some of mr. wiggs's brains in thinkin' things out. they ain't but one thing to do with miss hazy's husband, an' we'll do it this very night." "what, mrs. wiggs? what is it?" asked lovey mary, eagerly. "why, to lose him, of course! we'll wait till mr. stubbins is dead asleep; you know men allays have to sleep off a jag like this. i've seen mr. wiggs--i mean i've heared 'em say so many a time. well, when mr. stubbins is sound asleep, you an' me an' billy will drag him out to the railroad." mrs. wiggs's voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and her eyes looked fierce in the twilight. lovey mary shuddered. "you ain't going to let the train run over him, are you?" she asked. "lor', child, i ain't a 'sassinator! no; we'll wait till the midnight freight comes along, an' when it stops fer water, we'll h'ist mr. stubbins into one of them empty cars. the train goes 'way out west somewheres, an' by the time mr. stubbins wakes up, he'll be so far away from home he won't have no money to git back." "what'll miss hazy say?" asked mary, giggling in nervous excitement. "miss hazy ain't got a thing to do with it," replied mrs. wiggs conclusively. at midnight, by the dark of the moon, the unconscious groom was borne out of the hazy cottage. mrs. wiggs carried his head, while billy wiggs and mary and asia and chris officiated at his arms and legs. the bride surveyed the scene from the chinks of the upstairs shutters. silently the little group waited until the lumbering freight train slowed up to take water, then with a concerted effort they lifted the heavy burden into an empty car. as they shrank back into the shadow, billy whispered to lovey mary: "say, what was that you put 'longside of him?" mary looked shamefaced. "it was just a little lunch-dinner," she said apologetically; "it seemed sorter mean to send him off without anything to eat." "gee!" said billy. "you're a cur'us girl!" the engine whistled, and the train moved thunderously away, bearing an unconscious passenger, who, as far as the cabbage patch was concerned, was henceforth submerged in the darkness of oblivion. chapter vii neighborly advice "it's a poor business looking at the sun with a cloudy face." the long, hot summer days that followed were full of trials for lovey mary. day after day the great unwinking sun glared savagely down upon the cabbage patch, upon the stagnant pond, upon the gleaming rails, upon the puffing trains that pounded by hour after hour. each morning found lovey mary trudging away to the factory, where she stood all day counting and sorting and packing tiles. at night she climbed wearily to her little room under the roof, and tried to sleep with a wet cloth over her face to keep her from smelling the stifling car smoke. but it was not the heat and discomfort alone that made her cheeks thin and her eyes sad and listless: it was the burden on her conscience, which seemed to be growing heavier all the time. one morning mrs. wiggs took her to task for her gloomy countenance. they met at the pump, and, while the former's bucket was being filled, lovey mary leaned against a lamp-post and waited in a dejected attitude. "what's the matter with you?" asked mrs. wiggs. "what you lookin' so wilted about?" lovey mary dug her shoe into the ground and said nothing. many a time had she been tempted to pour forth her story to this friendly mentor, but the fear of discovery and her hatred of kate deterred her. mrs. wiggs eyed her keenly. "pesterin' about somethin'?" she asked. "yes, 'm," said lovey mary, in a low tone. "somethin' that's already did?" "yes, 'm"--still lower. "did you think you was actin' fer the best?" the girl lifted a pair of honest gray eyes. "yes, ma'am, i did." "i bet you did!" said mrs. wiggs, heartily. "you ain't got a deceivin' bone in yer body. now what you want to do is to brace up yer sperrits. the decidin'-time was the time fer worryin'. you've did what you thought was best; now you want to stop thinkin' 'bout it. you don't want to go round turnin' folks' thoughts sour jes to look at you. most girls that had white teeth like you would be smilin' to show 'em, if fer nothin' else." "i wisht i was like you," said lovey mary. "don't take it out in wishin'. if you want to be cheerful, jes set yer mind on it an' do it. can't none of us help what traits we start out in life with, but we kin help what we end up with. when things first got to goin' wrong with me, i says: 'o lord, whatever comes, keep me from gittin' sour!' it wasn't fer my own sake i ast it,--some people 'pears to enjoy bein' low-sperrited,--it was fer the childern an' mr. wiggs. since then i've made it a practice to put all my worries down in the bottom of my heart, then set on the lid an' smile." "but you think ever'body's nice and good," complained lovey mary. "you never see all the meanness i do." "don't i? i been watchin' old man rothchild fer goin' on eleven year', tryin' to see some good in him, an' i never found it till the other day when i seen him puttin' a splint on cusmoodle's broken leg. he's the savagest man i know, yit he keered fer that duck as tender as a woman. but it ain't jes seein' the good in folks an' sayin' nice things when you're feelin' good. the way to git cheerful is to smile when you feel bad, to think about somebody else's headache when yer own is 'most bustin', to keep on believin' the sun is a-shinin' when the clouds is thick enough to cut. nothin' helps you to it like thinkin' more 'bout other folks than about yerself." "i think 'bout tommy first," said lovey mary. "yes, you certainly do yer part by him. if my childern wore stockin's an' got as many holes in 'em as he does, i'd work buttonholes in 'em at the start fer the toes to come through. but even tommy wants somethin' besides darns. why don't you let him go barefoot on sundays, too, an' take the time you been mendin' fer him to play with him? i want to see them pretty smiles come back in yer face ag'in." in a subsequent conversation with miss hazy, mrs. wiggs took a more serious view of lovey mary's depression. "she jes makes me wanter cry, she's so subdued-like. i never see anybody change so in my life. it 'u'd jes be a relief to hear her sass some of us like she uster. she told me she never had nobody make over her like we all did, an' it sorter made her 'shamed. lawsee! if kindness is goin' to kill her, i think we'd better fuss at her some." "'pears to me like she's got nervous sensations," said miss hazy; "she jumps up in her sleep, an' talks 'bout folks an' things i never heared tell of." "that's exactly what ails her," agreed mrs. wiggs: "it's nerves, miss hazy. to my way of thinkin', nerves is worser than tumors an' cancers. look at old mrs. schultz. she's got the dropsy so bad you can't tell whether she's settin' down or standin' up, yet she ain't got a nerve in her body, an' has 'most as good a time as other folks. we can't let lovey mary go on with these here nerves; no tellin' where they'll land her at. if it was jes springtime, i'd give her sulphur an' molasses an' jes a leetle cream of tartar; that, used along with egg-shell tea, is the outbeatenest tonic i ever seen. but i never would run ag'in' the seasons. seems to me i've heared yallerroot spoke of fer killin' nerves." "i don't 'spect we could git no yallerroot round here." "what's the matter with miss viny? i bet it grows in her garden thick as hairs on a dog's back. let's send lovey mary out there to git some, an' we'll jes repeat the dose on her till it takes some hold." "i ain't puttin' much stock in miss viny," demurred miss hazy. "i've heared she was a novelist reader, an' she ain't even a church-member." "an' do you set up to jedge her?" asked mrs. wiggs, in fine scorn. "miss viny's got more sense in her little finger than me an' you has got in our whole heads. she can doctor better with them yarbs of hers than any physicianner i know. as to her not bein' a member, she lives right an' helps other folks, an' that's more than lots of members does. besides," she added conclusively, "mr. wiggs himself wasn't no church-member." chapter viii a denominational gardbn "oh, mickle is the powerful grace that lies in herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities; for naught so vile that on the earth doth live but to the earth some special good doth give." the following sunday being decidedly cooler, lovey mary was started off to miss viny's in quest of yellowroot. she had protested that she was not sick, but miss hazy, backed by mrs. wiggs, had insisted. "if you git down sick, it would be a' orful drain on me," was miss hazy's final argument, and the point was effective. as lovey mary trudged along the railroad-tracks, she was unconscious of the pleasant changes of scenery. the cottages became less frequent, and the bare, dusty commons gave place to green fields. here and there a tree spread its branches to the breezes, and now and then a snatch of bird song broke the stillness. but lovey mary kept gloomily on her way, her eyes fixed on the cross-ties. the thoughts surging through her brain were dark enough to obscure even the sunshine. for three nights she had cried herself to sleep, and the "nervous sensations" were getting worse instead of better. "just two months since kate was hurt," she said to herself. "soon as she gets out the hospital she'll be trying to find us again. i believe she was coming to the factory looking for me when she got run over. she'd just like to take tommy away and send me to jail. oh, i hate her worse all the time! i wish she was--" the wish died on her lips, for she suddenly realized that it might already have been fulfilled. some one coughed near by, and she started guiltily. "you seem to be in a right deep steddy," said a voice on the other side of the fence. lovey mary glanced up and saw a queer-looking old woman smiling at her quizzically. a pair of keen eyes twinkled under bushy brows, and a fierce little beard bristled from her chin. when she smiled it made lovey mary think of a pebble dropped in a pool, for the wrinkles went rippling off from her mouth in ever-widening circles until they were lost in the gray hair under her broad-brimmed hat. "are you miss viny?" asked lovey mary, glancing at the old-fashioned flower-garden beyond. "well, i been that fer sixty year'; i ain't heared of no change," answered the old lady. "miss hazy sent me after some yellowroot," said lovey mary, listlessly. "who fer?" "me." miss viny took a pair of large spectacles from her pocket, put them on the tip of her nose, and looked over them critically at lovey mary. "stick out yer tongue." lovey mary obeyed. "uh-huh. it's a good thing i looked. you don't no more need yallerroot than a bumblebee. you come in here on the porch an' tell me what's ailin' you, an' i'll do my own prescriptin'." lovey mary followed her up the narrow path, that ran between a mass of flowers. snowy oleanders, yellow asters, and purple phlox crowded together in a space no larger than miss hazy's front yard. lovey mary forgot her troubles in sheer delight in seeing so many flowers together. "do you love 'em, too?" asked miss viny, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "i guess i would if i had a chance. i never saw them growing out of doors like this. i always had to look at them through the store windows." "oh, law, don't talk to me 'bout caged-up flowers! i don't b'lieve in shuttin' a flower up in a greenhouse any more 'n i b'lieve in shuttin' myself up in one church." lovey mary remembered what miss hazy had told her of miss viny's pernicious religious views, and she tried to change the subject. but miss viny was started upon a favorite theme and was not to be diverted. "this here is a denominational garden, an' i got every congregation i ever heared of planted in it. i ain't got no faverite bed. i keer fer 'em all jes alike. when you come to think of it, the same rule holds good in startin' a garden as does in startin' a church. you first got to steddy what sort of soil you goin' to work with, then you have to sum up all the things you have to fight ag'inst. next you choose what flowers are goin' to hold the best places. that's a mighty important question in churches, too, ain't it? then you go to plantin', the thicker the better, fer in both you got to allow fer a mighty fallin' off. after that you must take good keer of what you got, an' be sure to plant something new each year. once in a while some of the old growths has to be thinned out, and the new upstarts an' suckers has to be pulled up. now, if you'll come out here i'll show you round." she started down the path, and lovey mary, somewhat overwhelmed by this oration, followed obediently. "these here are the baptists," said miss viny, waving her hand toward a bed of heliotrope and flags. "they want lots of water; like to be wet clean through. they sorter set off to theyselves an' tend to their own business; don't keer much 'bout minglin' with the other flowers." lovey mary did not understand very clearly what miss viny was talking about, but she was glad to follow her in the winding paths, where new beauties were waiting at every turn. "these is geraniums, ain't they? one of the girls had one, once, in a flower-pot when she was sick." "yes," said miss viny; "they're methodist. they fall from grace an' has to be revived; they like lots of encouragement in the way of sun an' water. these phlox are methodist, too; no set color, easy to grow, hardy an' vigorous. pinchin' an' cuttin' back the shoots makes it flower all the better; needs new soil every few years; now ain't that methodist down to the ground?" "are there any presbyterians?" asked lovey mary, beginning to grasp miss viny's meaning. "yes, indeed; they are a good, old, reliable bed. look at all these roses an' tiger-lilies an' dahlias; they all knew what they was goin' to be afore they started to grow. they was elected to it, an' they'll keep on bein' what they started out to be clean to the very end." "i know about predestination," cried lovey mary, eagerly. "miss bell used to tell us all those things." "who did?" lovey mary flushed crimson. "a lady i used to know," she said evasively. miss viny crossed the garden, and stopped before a bed of stately lilies and azaleas. "these are 'piscopals," she explained. "ain't they tony? jes look like they thought their bed was the only one in the garden. somebody said that a lily didn't have no pore kin among the flowers. it ain't no wonder they 'most die of dignity. they're like the 'piscopals in more ways 'n one; both hates to be disturbed, both likes some shade, an'"--confidentially--"both air pretty pernickity. but to tell you the truth, ain't nothin' kin touch 'em when it comes to beauty! i think all the other beds is proud of 'em, if you'd come to look into it. why, look at weddin's an' funerals! don't all the churches call in the 'piscopals an' the lilies on both them occasions?" lovey mary nodded vaguely. "an' here," continued miss viny, "are the unitarians. you may be s'prised at me fer havin' 'em in here, 'long with the orthodox churches; but if the sun an' the rain don't make no distinction, i don't see what right i got to put 'em on the other side of the fence. these first is sweet-william, as rich in bloom as the unitarian is in good works, a-sowin' theyselves constant, an' every little plant a- puttin' out a flower." "ain't there any catholics?" asked lovey mary. "don't you see them hollyhawks an' snowballs an' laylacs? all of them are catholics, takin' up lots of room an' needin' the prunin'-knife pretty often, but bringin' cheer and brightness to the whole garden when it needs it most. yes, i guess you'd have trouble thinkin' of any sect i ain't got planted. them ferns over in the corner is quakers. i ain't never seen no quakers, but they tell me that they don't b'lieve in flowerin' out; that they like coolness an' shade an' quiet, an' are jes the same the year round. these colea plants are the apes; they are all things to all men, take on any color that's round 'em, kin be the worst kind of baptists or presbyterians, but if left to theyselves they run back to good-fer-nothin's. this here everlastin' is one of these here christians that's so busy thinkin' 'bout dyin' that he fergits to live." miss viny chuckled as she crumbled the dry flower in her fingers. "see how different this is," she said, plucking a sprig of lemon- verbena. "this an' the mint an' the sage an' the lavender is all true christians; jes by bein' touched they give out a' influence that makes the whole world a sweeter place to live in. but, after all, they can't all be alike! there's all sorts of christians: some stands fer sunshine, some fer shade; some fer beauty, some fer use; some up high, some down low. there's jes one thing all the flowers has to unite in fightin' ag'inst--that's the canker-worm, hate. if it once gits in a plant, no matter how good an' strong that plant may be, it eats right down to its heart." "how do you get it out, miss viny?" asked lovey mary, earnestly. "prayer an' perseverance. if the christian'll do his part, god'll do his'n. you see, i'm tryin' to be to these flowers what god is to his churches. the sun, which answers to the sperrit, has to shine on 'em all, an' the rain, which answers to god's mercy, has to fall on 'em all. i jes watch 'em, an' plan fer 'em, an' shelter 'em, an' love 'em, an' if they do their part they're bound to grow. now i'm goin' to cut you a nice bo'quet to carry back to the cabbage patch." so engrossed were the two in selecting and arranging the flowers that neither thought of the yellowroot or its substitute. nevertheless, as lovey mary tramped briskly back over the railroad-ties with her burden of blossoms, she bore a new thought in her heart which was destined to bring about a surer cure than any of miss viny's most efficient herbs. chapter ix labor day "and cloudy the day, or stormy the night, the sky of her heart was always bright." "it wouldn't s'prise me none if we had cyclones an' tornadoes by evenin', it looks so thundery outdoors." it was inconsiderate of miss hazy to make the above observation in the very face of the most elaborate preparations for a picnic, but miss hazy's evil predictions were too frequent to be effective. "i'll scurry round an' git another loaf of bread," said mrs. wiggs, briskly, as she put a tin pail into the corner of the basket. "lovey mary, you put in the eggs an' git them cookies outen the stove. i promised them boys a picnic on labor day, an' we are goin' if it snows." "awful dangerous in the woods when it storms," continued miss hazy. "i heared of a man oncet that would go to a picnic in the rain, and he got struck so bad it burned his shoes plump off." "must have been the same man that got drownded, when he was little, fer goin' in swimmin' on sunday," answered mrs. wiggs, wiping her hands on her apron. "mebbe 't was," said miss hazy. lovey mary vibrated between the door and the window, alternating between hope and despair. she had set her heart on the picnic with the same intensity of desire that had characterized her yearning for goodness and affection and curly hair. "i believe there is a tiny speck more blue," she said, scanning the heavens for the hundredth time. "course there is!" cried mrs. wiggs, "an' even if there ain't, we'll have the picnic anyway. i b'lieve in havin' a good time when you start out to have it. if you git knocked out of one plan, you want to git yerself another right quick, before yer sperrits has a chance to fall. here comes jake an' chris with their baskets. suppose you rench off yer hands an' go gether up the rest of the childern. i 'spect billy's done hitched up by this time." at the last moment miss hazy was still trying to make up her mind whether or not she would go. "them wheels don't look none too stiddy fer sich a big load," she said cautiously. "them wheels is a heap sight stiddier than your legs," declared mrs. wiggs. "an' there ain't a meeker hoss in kentucky than cuby. he looks like he might 'a' belonged to a preacher 'stid of bein' a broken-down engine- hoss." an unforeseen delay was occasioned by a heated controversy between lovey mary and tommy concerning the advisability of taking cusmoodle. "there ain't more than room enough to squeeze you in, tommy," she said, "let alone that fat old duck." "'t ain't a fat old duck." "'t is, too! he sha'n't go. you'll have to stay at home yourself if you can't be good." "i feel like i was doin' to det limber," threatened tommy. mrs. wiggs recognized a real danger. she also knew that discretion was the better part of valor. "here's a nice little place up here by me, jes big enough fer you an' cusmoodle. you kin set on the basket; it won't mash nothin'. if we're packed in good an' tight, can't none of us fall out." when the last basket was stored away, the party started off in glee, leaving miss hazy still irresolute in the doorway, declaring that "she almost wisht she had 'a' went." the destination had not been decided upon, so it was discussed as the wagon jolted along over the cobblestones. "let's go out past miss viny's," suggested jake; "there's a bully woods out there." "aw, no! let's go to tick creek an' go in wadin'." mrs. wiggs, seated high above the party and slapping the reins on cuba's back, allowed the lively debate to continue until trouble threatened, then she interfered: "i think it would be nice to go over to the cemetery. we'd have to cross the city, but when you git out there there's plenty of grass an' trees, an' it runs right 'longside the river." the proximity of the river decided the matter. "i won't hardly take a swim!" said jake, going through the motions, to the discomfort of the two little girls who were hanging their feet from the back of the wagon. "i'm afraid it's going to rain so hard that you can take your swim before you get there," said lovey mary, as the big drops began to fall. the picnic party huddled on the floor of the wagon in a state of great merriment, while mrs. wiggs spread an old quilt over as many of them as it would cover. "'t ain't nothin' but a summer shower," she said, holding her head on one side to keep the rain from driving in her face. "i 'spect the sun is shinin' at the cemetery right now." as the rickety wagon, with its drenched and shivering load, rattled across main street, an ominous sound fell upon the air: _one--two--three! one--two!_ mrs. wiggs wrapped the lines about her wrists and braced herself for the struggle. but cuba had heard the summons, his heart had responded to the old call, and with one joyous bound he started for the fire. "hold on tight!" yelled mrs. wiggs. "don't none of you fall out. whoa, cuby! whoa! i'll stop him in a minute. hold tight!" cuba kicked the stiffness out of his legs, and laying his ears back, raced valiantly for five squares neck and neck with the engine-horses. but the odds were against him; mrs. wiggs and chris sawing on one line, and billy and jake pulling on the other, proved too heavy a handicap. within sight of the fire he came to a sudden halt. "it's the lumber-yards!" called chris, climbing over the wheels. "looks like the whole town's on fire." "let's unhitch cuby an' tie him, an' stand in the wagon an' watch it," cried mrs. wiggs, in great excitement. the boys were not content to be stationary, so they rushed away, leaving mrs. wiggs and the girls, with tommy and the duck, to view the conflagration at a safe distance. for two hours the fire raged, leaping from one stack of lumber to another, and threatening the adjacent buildings. every fire-engine in the department was called out, the commons were black with people, and the excitement was intense. "ain't you glad we come!" cried lovey mary, dancing up and down in the wagon. "we never come. we was brought," said asia. long before the fire was under control the sun had come through the clouds and was shining brightly. picnics, however, were not to be considered when an attraction like this was to be had. when the boys finally came straggling back the fire was nearly out, the crowd had dispersed, and only the picnic party was left on the commons. "it's too late to start to the cemetery," said mrs. wiggs, thoughtfully. "what do you all think of havin' the picnic right here an' now?" the suggestion was regarded as nothing short of an inspiration. "the only trouble," continued mrs. wiggs, "is 'bout the water. where we goin' to git any to drink? i know one of the firemen, pete jenkins; if i could see him i'd ast him to pour us some outen the hose." "gimme the pail; i'll go after him," cried jake. "naw, you don't; i'm a-goin'. it's my maw that knows him," said billy. "that ain't nothin'. my uncle knows the chief of police! can't i go, mrs. wiggs?" meanwhile chris had seized the hint and the bucket, and was off in search of mr. peter jenkins, whose name would prove an open sesame to that small boy's paradise--the engine side of the rope. the old quilt, still damp, was spread on the ground, and around it sat the picnic party, partaking ravenously of dry sandwiches and cheese and cheer. such laughing and crowding and romping as there was! jake gave correct imitations of everybody in the cabbage patch, chris did some marvelous stunts with his wooden leg, and lovey mary sang every funny song that she knew. mrs. wiggs stood in the wagon above them, and dispensed hospitality as long as it lasted. cuba, hitched to a fence near by, needed no material nourishment. he was contentedly sniffing the smoke-filled air, and living over again the days of his youth. when the party reached home, tired and grimy, they were still enthusiastic over the fine time they had had. "it's jes the way i said," proclaimed mrs. wiggs, as she drove up with a flourish; "you never kin tell which way pleasure is a-comin'. who ever would 'a' thought, when we aimed at the cemetery, that we'd land up at a first-class fire?" chapter x a timely visit "the love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart." weeks and months slipped by, and the cabbage patch ate breakfast and supper by lamplight. those who could afford it were laying in their winter coal, and those who could not were providently pasting brown paper over broken window-panes, and preparing to keep jack frost at bay as long as possible. one saturday, as lovey mary came home from the factory, she saw a well-dressed figure disappearing in the distance. "who is that lady?" she demanded suspiciously of europena wiggs, who was swinging violently on the gate. "'t ain't no lady," said europena. "it's my sunday-school teacher." "mrs. redding?" "uh-huh. she wants asia to come over to her house this evenin'." "wisht i could go," said lovey mary. "why can't you?" asked mrs. wiggs, coming to the open door. "asia would jes love to show mrs. reddin' how stylish you look in that red dress. i'll curl yer hair on the poker if you want me to." any diversion from the routine of work was acceptable, so late that afternoon the two girls, arrayed in their best garments, started forth to call on the reddings. "i wisht i had some gloves," said lovey mary, rubbing her blue fingers. "if i'd 'a' thought about it i'd 'a' made you some before we started. it don't take no time." asia held out her hands, which were covered with warm red mitts. "i make 'em outen billy's old socks after the feet's wore off." "i don't see how you know how to do so many things!" said lovey mary, admiringly. [illustration: "asia held out her hands, which were covered with warm red mitts."] "'t ain't nothin'," disclaimed asia, modestly. "it's jes the way maw brought us up. whenever we started out to do a thing she made us finish it someway or 'nother. oncet when we was all little we lived in the country. she sent billy out on the hoss to git two watermelon, an' told him fer him not to come home without 'em. when billy got out to the field he found all the watermelon so big he couldn't carry one, let alone two. what do you think he done?" "come home without 'em?" "no, sir, he never! he jes set on the fence an' thought awhile, then he took off en his jeans pants an' put a watermelon in each leg an' hanged 'em 'crost old rollie's back an' come ridin' home barelegged." "i think he's the nicest boy in the cabbage patch," said lovey mary, laughing over the incident. "he never does tease tommy." "that's 'cause he likes you. he says you've got grit. he likes the way you cleaned up miss hazy an' stood up to mr. stubbins." a deeper color than even the fresh air warranted came into lovey mary's cheeks, and she walked on for a few minutes in pleased silence. "don't you want to wear my gloves awhile?" asked asia. "no; my hands ain't cold any more," said lovey mary. as they turned into terrace park, with its beautiful grounds, its fountains and statuary, asia stopped to explain. "jes rich folks live over here. that there is the reddin's' house, the big white one where them curbstone ladies are in the yard. i wisht you could git a peek in the parlor; they've got chairs made outer real gold, an' strandaliers that look like icicles all hitched together." "do they set on the gold chairs?" "no, indeed; the legs is too wabbly fer that. i reckon they're jes to show how rich they are. this here is where the carriage drives in. their hired man wears a high-style hat, an' a fur cape jes like mrs. reddin's." "i 'spect they have turkey every day, don't they, asia?" before asia's veracity was tested to the limit, the girls were startled by the sudden appearance of an excited housemaid at the side door. "simmons! simmons!" she screamed. "oh, where is that man? i'll have to go for somebody myself." and without noticing the girls, she ran hastily down the driveway. asia, whose calmness was seldom ruffled, led the way into the entry. "that's the butter's pantry," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "don't they keep nothing in it but butter?" gasped lovey mary. "reckon not. they've got a great big box jes fer ice; not another thing goes in it." another maid ran down the steps, calling simmons. asia, a frequent visitor at the house, made her way unconcernedly up to the nursery. on the second floor there was great confusion; the telephone was ringing, servants were hurrying to and fro. "he'll choke to death before the doctor gets here!" they heard the nurse say as she ran through the hall. from the open nursery door they could hear the painful gasps and coughs of a child in great distress. asia paused on the landing, but lovey mary darted forward. the mother instinct, ever strong within her, had responded instantly to the need of the child. in the long, dainty room full of beautiful things, she only saw the terrified baby on his mother's lap, his face purple, his eyes distended, as he fought for his breath. [illustration: "master robert redding was right side up again, sobbing himself quiet in lovey mary's arms."] without a word she sprang forward, and grasping the child by his feet, held him at arm's-length and shook him violently. mrs. redding screamed, and the nurse, who was rushing in with hot milk, dropped the cup in horror. but a tiny piece of hard candy lay on the floor, and master robert redding was right side up again, sobbing himself quiet in lovey mary's arms. after the excitement had subsided, and two doctors and mr. redding had arrived breathless upon the scene, mrs. redding, for the dozenth time, lavished her gratitude upon lovey mary: "and to think you saved my precious baby! the doctor said it was the only thing that could have saved him, yet we four helpless women had no idea what to do. how did you know, dear? where did you ever see it done!" lovey mary, greatly abashed, faced the radiant parents, the two portly doctors, and the servants in the background. "i learned on tommy," she said in a low voice. "he swallered a penny once that we was going to buy candy with. i didn't have another, so i had to shake it out." during the laugh that followed, she and asia escaped, but not before mr. redding had slipped a bill into her hand, and the beautiful mrs. redding had actually given her a kiss! chapter xi the christmas play "not failure, but low aim, is crime." as the holiday season approached, a rumor began to be circulated that the cabbage patch sunday-school would have an entertainment as well as a christmas tree. the instigator of this new movement was jake schultz, whose histrionic ambition had been fired during his apprenticeship as "super" at the opera-house. "i know a man what rents costumes, an' the promp'-books to go with 'em," he said to several of the boys one sunday afternoon. "if we all chip in we kin raise the price, an' git it back easy by chargin' admittance." "aw, shucks!" said chris. "we don't know nothin' 'bout play-actin'." "we kin learn all right," said billy wiggs. "i bid to be the feller that acts on the trapeze." the other boys approving of the plan, it was agreed that jake should call on the costumer at his earliest convenience. one night a week later lovey mary was getting supper when she heard an imperative rap on the door. it was jake schultz. he mysteriously beckoned her out on the steps, and closed the door behind them. "have you ever acted any?" he asked. "i used to say pieces at the home," said lovey mary, forgetting herself. "well, do you think you could take leadin' lady in the entertainment?" [illustration: "'have you ever acted any?' he asked."] lovey mary had no idea what the lady was expected to lead, but she knew that she was being honored, and she was thrilled at the prospect. "i know some arm-exercises, and i could sing for them," she offered. "oh, no," explained jake; "it's a play, a reg'lar theayter play. i got the book and the costumes down on market street. the man didn't have but this one set of costumes on hand, so i didn't have no choice. it's a bully play, all right, though! i seen it oncet, an' i know how it all ought to go. it's named 'forst,' er somethin' like that. i'm goin' to be the devil, an' wear a red suit, an' have my face all streaked up. billy he's goin' to be the other feller what's stuck on the girl. he tole me to ast you to be her. your dress is white with cords an' tassels on it, an' the sleeves ain't sewed up. reckon you could learn the part? we ain't goin' to give it all." "i can learn anything!" cried lovey mary, recklessly. "already know the alphabet and the lord's prayer backward. is the dress short- sleeve? and does it drag in the back when you walk?" "yep," said jake, "an' the man said you was to plait your hair in two parts an' let 'em hang over your shoulders. i don't see why it wouldn't be pretty for you to sing somethin', too. ever'body is so stuck on yer singin'." "all right," said lovey mary, enthusiastically; "you bring the book over and show me where my part's at. and, jake," she called as he started off, "you tell billy i'll be glad to." for the next ten days lovey mary dwelt in elysium. the prompt-book, the rehearsals, the consultations, filled the spare moments and threw a glamour over the busy ones. jake, with his vast experience and unlimited knowledge of stage-craft, appealed to her in everything. he sat on a barrel and told how they did things "up to the opery-house," and lovey mary, seizing his suggestions with burning zeal, refitted the costumes, constructed scenery, hammered her own nails as well as the iron ones, and finally succeeded in putting into practice his rather vague theories. for the first time in her life she was a person of importance. besides her numerous other duties she prepared an elaborate costume for tommy. this had caused her some trouble, for miss hazy, who was sent to buy the goods for the trousers, exercised unwise economy in buying two remnants which did not match in color or pattern. "why didn't you put your mind on it, miss hazy?" asked lovey mary, making a heroic effort to keep her temper. "you might have known i couldn't take tommy to the show with one blue leg and one brown one. what must i do?" miss hazy sat dejectedly in the corner, wiping her eyes on her apron. "you might go ast mis' wiggs," she suggested as a forlorn hope. when mrs. wiggs was told the trouble she smiled reassuringly. emergencies were to her the spice of life; they furnished opportunities for the expression of her genius. "hush cryin', miss hazy; there ain't a speck of harm did. mary kin make the front outen one piece an' the back outen the other. nobody won't never know the difference, 'cause tommy can't be goin' an' comin' at the same time." the result was highly satisfactory, that is, to everybody but tommy. he complained that there "wasn't no room to set down." on christmas night the aristocracy of the cabbage patch assembled in the school-house to enjoy the double attraction of a christmas tree and an entertainment. mr. rothchild, who had arranged the tree for the last ten years, refused to have it moved from its accustomed place, which was almost in the center of the platform. he had been earnestly remonstrated with, but he and the tree remained firm. mrs. rothchild and all the little rothchildren had climbed in by the window before the doors were open in order to secure the front seats. immediately behind them sat the hazys and the wiggses. "that there is the seminary student gittin' up now," whispered mrs. wiggs. "he's goin' to call out the pieces. my land! ain't he washed out? looks like he'd go into a trance fer fifty cents. hush, australia! don't you see he is goin' to pray?" after the opening prayer, the young preacher suggested that, as long as the speakers were not quite ready, the audience should "raise a hymn." "he's got a fine voice," whispered miss hazy; "i heared 'em say he was the gentleman soprano at a down-town church." when the religious exercises were completed, the audience settled into a state of pleasurable anticipation. "the first feature of the entertainment," announced the preacher, "will be a song by miss europena wiggs." [illustration: "europena stepped forward."] europena stepped forward and, with hands close to her sides and anguished eyes on the ceiling, gasped forth the agonized query: "can she make a cheery-pie, billy boy, billy boy? can she make a cheery-pie, charming billy?" notwithstanding the fact that there were eight verses, an encore was demanded. mrs. wiggs rose in her seat and beckoned vehemently to europena. "come on back!" she motioned violently with her lips. "they want you to come back." europena, in a state of utter bewilderment, returned to the stage. "say another speech!" whispered mrs. wiggs, leaning over so far that she knocked mrs. rothchild's bonnet awry. still europena stood there, an evident victim of lockjaw. "'i have a little finger,'" prompted her mother frantically from the second row front. a single ray of intelligence flickered for a moment over the child's face, and with a supreme effort she said: "i have a little finger, an' i have a little beau; when i get a little bigger i'll have a little toe." "well, she got it all in," said mrs. wiggs, in a relieved tone, as europena was lifted down. after this, other little girls came forward and made some unintelligible remarks concerning santa claus. it was with some difficulty that they went through their parts, for mr. rothchild kept getting in the way as he calmly and uncompromisingly continued to hang cornucopias on the tree. songs and recitations followed, but even the youngest spectator realized that these were only preliminary skirmishes. at last a bell rang. two bedspreads. which served as curtains were majestically withdrawn. a sigh of admiration swept the room. "ain't he cute!" whispered a girl in the rear, as billy rose resplendent in pink tights and crimson doublet, and folding his arms high on his breast, recited in a deep voice: "i have, alas! philosophy, medicine, jurisprudence too, and, to my cost, theology with ardent labor studied through." "i don't see no sense in what he's sayin' at all," whispered miss hazy. "it's jes what was in the book," answered mrs. wiggs, "'cause i heared him repeat it off before supper." the entrance of jake awakened the flagging interest. nobody understood what he said either, but he made horrible faces, and waved his red arms, and caused a pleasant diversion. "maw, what's john bagby a-handin' round in that little saucer?" asked australia. "fer the mercy sake! i don't know," answered her mother, craning her neck to see. john, with creaking footsteps, tiptoed to the front of the stage, and stooping down, began to mix a concoction in a plate. many stood up to see what he was doing, and conjecture was rife. _mephisto_ and _faust_ were forgotten until jake struck a heroic pose, and grasping billy's arm, said hoarsely: "gaze, faustis, gaze into pairdition!" john put a match to the powder, a bright red light filled the room, and the audience, following the index-finger of the impassioned _mephisto_, gazed into the placid, stupid faces of four meek little boys on the mourners' bench. [illustration: "sang in a high, sweet voice, 'i need thee every hour'"] before the violent coughing caused by the calcium fumes had ceased, a vision in white squeezed past mr. rothchild and came slowly down to the edge of the platform. it was lovey mary as _marguerite_. her long dress swept about her feet, her heavy hair hung in thick braids over both shoulders, and a burning red spot glowed on each cheek. for a moment she stood as jake had directed, with head thrown back and eyes cast heavenward, then she began to recite. the words poured from her lips with a volubility that would have shamed an auctioneer. it was a long part, full of hard words, but she knew it perfectly and was determined to show how fast she could say it without making a mistake. it was only when she finished that she paused for breath. then she turned slowly, and stretching forth appealing arms to _faust_, sang in a high, sweet voice, "i need thee every hour." the effect was electrical. at last the cabbage patch understood what was going on. the roof rang with applause. even mr. rothchild held aside his strings of pop-corn to let _marguerite_ pass out. "s' more! s' more!" was the cry. "sing it ag'in!" jake stepped before the curtain. "if our friends is willin'," he said, "we'll repeat over the last ak." again lovey mary scored a triumph. john bagby burned the rest of the calcium powder during the last verse, and the entertainment concluded in a prolonged cheer. chapter xii reaction "our remedies oft in ourselves do lie." when the paint and powder had been washed off, and tommy had with difficulty been extracted from his new trousers and put to bed, lovey mary sat before the little stove and thought it all over. it had been the very happiest time of her whole life. how nice it was to be praised and made much of! mrs. wiggs had started it by calling everybody's attention to her good points; then mrs. redding had sought her out and shown her continued attention; to-night was the great climax. her name had been on every tongue, her praises sung on every side, and billy wiggs had given her everything he got off the christmas tree. "i wisht i deserved it all," she said, as she got up to pull the blanket closer about tommy. "i've tried to be good. i guess i am better in some ways, but not in all--not in all." she knelt by the bed and held tommy's hand to her cheek. "sometimes he looks like kate when he's asleep like this. i wonder if she's got well? i wonder if she ever misses him?" for a long time she knelt there, holding the warm little hand in hers. the play, the success, the applause, were all forgotten, and in their place was a shame, a humiliation, that brought the hot tears to her eyes. "i ain't what they think i am," she whispered brokenly. "i'm a mean, bad girl after all. the canker-worm's there. miss viny said there never would be a sure-'nough beautiful flower till the canker-worm was killed. but i want to be good; i want to be what they think i am!" again and again the old thoughts of kate rose to taunt and madden her. but a new power was at work; it brought new thoughts of kate, of kate sick and helpless, of kate without friends and lonely, calling for her baby. through the night the battle raged within her. when the first gray streaks showed through the shutters, lovey mary cleaned her room and put on her sunday dress. "i'll be a little late to the factory," she explained to miss hazy at breakfast, "for i've got to go on a' errand." it was an early hour for visitors at the city hospital, but when lovey mary stated her business she was shown to kate's ward. at the far end of the long room, with her bandaged head turned to the wall, lay kate. when the nurse spoke to her she turned her head painfully, and looked at them listlessly with great black eyes that stared forth from a face wasted and wan from suffering. "kate!" said lovey mary, leaning across the bed and touching her hand. "kate, don't you know me?" the pale lips tightened over the prominent white teeth. "well, i swan, lovey mary, where'd you come from?" not waiting for an answer, she continued querulously: "say, can't you get me out of this hole someway? but even if i had the strength to crawl, i wouldn't have no place to go. can't you take me away? anywhere would do." lovey mary's spirits fell; she had nerved herself for a great sacrifice, had decided to do her duty at any cost; but thinking of it beforehand in her little garret room, with tommy's hand in hers, and kate rider a mere abstraction, was very different from facing the real issue, with the old, selfish, heartless kate in flesh and blood before her. she let go of kate's hand. "don't you want to know about tommy?" she asked. "i've come to say i was sorry i run off with him." "it was mighty nervy in you. i knew you'd take good care of him, though. but say! you can get me away from this, can't you? i ain't got a friend in the world nor a cent of money. but i ain't going to stay here, where there ain't nothing to do, and i get so lonesome i 'most die. i'd rather set on a street corner and run a hand-organ. where are you and tommy at?" "we are in the cabbage patch," said lovey mary, with the old repulsion strong upon her. "where?" "the cabbage patch. it ain't your sort of a place, kate. the folks are good and honest, but they are poor and plain. you'd laugh at 'em." kate turned her eyes to the window and was silent a moment before she said slowly: "i ain't got much right to laugh at nobody. i'd be sorter glad to get with good people again. the other sort's all right when you're out for fun, but when you're down on your luck they ain't there." lovey mary, perplexed and troubled, looked at her gravely. "haven't you got any place you could go to?" [illustration: "'haven't you got any place you could go to?'"] kate shook her head. "nobody would be willing to look after me and nurse me. lovey,"--she stretched her thin hand across to her entreatingly,--"take me home with you! i heard the doctor tell the nurse he couldn't do nothing more for me. i can't die here shut up with all these sick people. take me wherever you are at. i'll try not to be no trouble, and--i want to keep straight." tears were in her eyes, and her lips trembled. there was a queer little spasm at lovey mary's heart. the canker-worm was dead. when a carriage drove up to miss hazy's door and the driver carried in a pale girl with a bandaged head, it caused untold commotion. "do you s'pose mary's a-bringin' home a smallpox patient?" asked miss hazy, who was ever prone to look upon the tragic side. "naw!" said chris, who was peeping under the window-curtain; "it looks more like she's busted her crust." in less than an hour every neighbor had been in to find out what was going on. mrs. wiggs constituted herself mistress of ceremonies. she had heard the whole story from the overburdened mary, and was now prepared to direct public opinion in the way it should go. "jes another boarder for miss hazy," she explained airily to mrs. eichorn. "lovey mary was so well pleased with her boardin'-house, she drummed it up among her friends. this here lady has been at the hospittal. she got knocked over by a wagon out there near the factory, an' it run into celebrated concussion. the nurse told lovey mary this mornin' it was somethin' like information of the brain. what we're all goin' to do is to try to get her well. i'm a-goin' home now to git her a nice dinner, an' i jes bet some of you'll see to it that she gits a good supper. you kin jes bank on us knowin' how to give a stranger a welcome!" it was easy to establish a precedent in the cabbage patch. when a certain course of action was once understood to be the proper thing, every resident promptly fell in line. the victim of "celebrated concussion" was overwhelmed with attention. she lay in a pink wrapper in miss hazy's kitchen, and received the homage of the neighborhood. meanwhile lovey mary worked extra hours at the factory and did sewing at night to pay for kate's board. in spite, however, of the kind treatment and the regular administration of miss viny's herbs and mrs. wiggs's yellowroot, kate grew weaker day by day. one stormy night when lovey mary came home from the factory she found her burning with fever and talking excitedly. miss hazy had gotten her up-stairs, and now stood helplessly wringing her hands in the doorway. "lor', lovey mary! she's cuttin' up scandalous," complained the old lady. "i done ever'thing i knowed how; i ironed the sheets to make 'em warm, an' i tried my best to git her to swallow a mustard cocktail. i wanted her to lemme put a fly-blister on to her head, too, but she won't do nothin'." "all right, miss hazy," said lovey mary, hanging her dripping coat on a nail. "i'll stay with her now. don't talk, kate! try to be still." "but i can't, lovey. i'm going to die, and i ain't fit to die. i've been so bad and wicked, i'm 'fraid to go, lovey. what'll i do? what'll i do?" in vain the girl tried to soothe her. her hysteria increased; she cried and raved and threw herself from side to side. "kate! kate!" pleaded lovey mary, trying to hold her arms, "don't cry so. god'll forgive you. he will, if you are sorry." "but i'm afraid," shuddered kate. "i've been so bad. heaven knows i'm sorry, but it's too late! too late!" another paroxysm seized her, and her cries burst forth afresh. mary, in desperation, rushed from the room. "tommy!" she called softly down the steps. the small boy was sitting on the stairs, in round-eyed wonder at what was going on. "tommy," said lovey mary, picking him up, "the sick lady feels so bad! go in and give her a love, darling. pet her cheeks and hug her like you do me. tell her she's a pretty mama. tell her you love her." tommy trotted obediently into the low room and climbed on the bed. he put his plump cheek against the thin one, and whispered words of baby- love. kate's muscles relaxed as her arms folded about him. gradually her sobs ceased and her pulse grew faint and fainter. outside, the rain and sleet beat on the cracked window-pane, but a peace had entered the dingy little room. kate received the great summons with a smile, for in one fleeting moment she had felt for the first and last time the blessed sanctity of motherhood. chapter xiii an honorable retreat "for i will ease my heart although, it be with hazard of my head." miss bell sat in her neat little office, with the evening paper in her hand. the hour before tea was the one time of the day she reserved for herself. susie smithers declared that she sat before the fire at such times and took naps, but susie's knowledge was not always trustworthy --it depended entirely on the position of the keyhole. at any rate, miss bell was not sleeping to-night; she moved about restlessly, brushing imaginary ashes from the spotless hearth, staring absently into the fire, then recurring again and again to an item in the paper which she held: died. kate rider, in her twenty-fourth year, from injuries received in an accident. miss bell seemed to cringe before the words. her face looked old and drawn. "and to think i kept her from having her child!" she said to herself as she paced up and down the narrow room. "no matter what else kate was, she was his mother and had the first right to him. but i acted for the best; i could see no other way. if i had only known!" [illustration: "susie smithers at the keyhole."] there were steps on the pavement without; she went to the window, and shading her eyes with her hands, gazed into the gathering dusk. some one was coming up the walk, some one very short and fat. no; it was a girl carrying a child. miss bell reached the door just in time to catch tommy in her arms as lovey mary staggered into the hall. they were covered with sleet and almost numb from the cold. "kate's dead!" cried lovey mary, as miss bell hurried them into the office. "i didn't know she was going to die. oh, i've been so wicked to you and to kate and to god! i want to be arrested! i don't care what they do to me." she threw herself on the floor, and beat her fists on the carpet. tommy stood near and wept in sympathy; he wore his remnant trousers, and his little straw hat, round which mrs. wiggs had sewn a broad band of black. miss bell hovered over lovey mary and patted her nervously on the back. "don't, my dear, don't cry so. it's very sad--dear me, yes, very sad. you aren't alone to blame, though; i have been at fault, too. i-- i--feel dreadfully about it." miss bell's face was undergoing such painful contortions that lovey mary stopped crying in alarm, and tommy got behind a chair. "of course," continued miss bell, gaining control of herself, "it was very wrong of you to run away, mary. when i discovered that you had gone i never stopped until i found you." "till you found me?" gasped lovey mary. "yes, child; i knew where you were all the time." again miss bell's features were convulsed, and mary and tommy looked on in awed silence. "you see," she went on presently, "i am just as much at fault as you. i was worried and distressed over having to let tommy go with kate, yet there seemed no way out of it. when i found you had hidden him away in a safe place, that you were both well and happy, i determined to keep your secret. but oh, mary, we hadn't the right to keep him from her! perhaps the child would have been her salvation; perhaps she would have died a good girl." "but she did, miss bell," said lovey mary, earnestly. "she said she was sorry again and again, and when she went to sleep tommy's arms was round her neck." "mary!" cried miss bell, seizing the girl's hand eagerly, "did you find her and take him to her?" "no, ma'am. i brought her to him. she didn't have no place to go, and i wanted to make up to her for hating her so. i did ever'thing i could to make her well. we all did. i never thought she was going to die." then, at miss bell's request, lovey mary told her story, with many sobs and tears, but some smiles in between, over the good times in the cabbage patch; and when she had finished, miss bell led her over to the sofa and put her arms about her. they had lived under the same roof for fifteen years, and she had never before given her a caress. "mary," she said, "you did for kate what nobody else could have done. i thank god that it all happened as it did." "but you'd orter scold me and punish me," said lovey mary. "i'd feel better if you did." tommy, realizing in some vague way that a love-feast was in progress, and always ready to echo lovey mary's sentiments, laid his chubby hand on miss bell's knee. "when my little sled drows up i'm doin' to take you ridin'," he said confidingly. miss bell laughed a hearty laugh, for the first time in many months. the knotty problem which had caused her many sleepless nights had at last found its own solution. chapter xiv the cactus blooms "i tell thee love is nature's second sun, causing a spring of virtues where he shines." it was june again, and once more lovey mary stood at an up-stairs window at the home. on the ledge grew a row of bright flowers, brought from miss viny's garden, but they were no brighter than the face that smiled across them at the small boy in the playground below. lovey mary's sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and a dust-cloth was tied about her head. as she returned to her sweeping she sang joyfully, contentedly: "can she sweep a kitchen floor, billy boy, billy boy? can she sweep a kitchen floor, charming billy?" "miss bell says for you to come down to the office," announced a little girl, coming up the steps. "there's a lady there and a baby." lovey mary paused in her work, and a shadow passed over her face. just three years ago the same summons had come, and with it such heartaches and anxiety. she pulled down her sleeves and went thoughtfully down the steps. at the office door she found mrs. redding talking to miss bell. "we leave saturday afternoon," she was saying. "it's rather sooner than we expected, but we want to get the baby to canada before the hot weather overtakes us. last summer i asked two children from the toronto home to spend two weeks with me at our summer place, but this year i have set my heart on taking lovey mary and tommy. they will see niagara falls and buffalo, where we stop over a day, besides the little outing at the lake. will you come, mary? you know robert might get choked again!" lovey mary leaned against the door for support. a half-hour visit to mrs. redding was excitement for a week, and only to think of going away with her, and riding on a steam-car, and seeing a lake, and taking tommy, and being ever so small a part of that gorgeous redding household! she could not speak; she just looked up and smiled, but the smile seemed to mean more than words, for it brought the sudden tears to mrs. redding's eyes. she gave mary's hand a quick, understanding little squeeze, then hurried out to her carriage. that very afternoon lovey mary went to the cabbage patch. as she hurried along over the familiar ground, she felt as if she must sing aloud the happy song that was humming in her heart. she wanted to stop at each cottage and tell the good news; but her time was limited, so she kept on her way to miss hazy's, merely calling out a greeting as she passed. when she reached the door she heard mrs. wiggs's voice in animated conversation. "well, i wish you'd look! there she is, this very minute! i never was so glad to see anybody in my life! my goodness, child, you don't know how we miss you down here! we talk 'bout you all the time, jes like a person puts their tongue in the empty place after a tooth's done pulled out." "i'm awful glad to be back," said lovey mary, too happy to be cast down by the reversion to the original state of the hazy household. "me an' chris ain't had a comfortable day sence you left," complained miss hazy. "i'd 'a' almost rather you wouldn't 'a' came than to have went away ag'in." "but listen!" cried lovey mary, unable to keep her news another minute. "i'm a-going on a railroad trip with mrs. redding, and she's going to take tommy, too, and we are going to see niag'ra and a lake and a buffalo!" "ain't that the grandest thing fer her to go and do!" exclaimed mrs. wiggs. "i told you she was a' angel!" "i'm right skeered of these here long trips," said miss hazy, "so many accidents these days." "my sakes!" answered mrs. wiggs, "i'd think you'd be 'fraid to step over a crack in the floor fer fear you'd fall through. why, lovey mary, it's the nicest thing i ever heared tell of! an' niag'ry fall, too. i went on a trip once when i was little. maw took me through the mountains. i never had seen mountains before, an' i cried at first an' begged her to make 'em sit down. a trip is something you never will fergit in all yer life. it was jes like mrs. reddin' to think about it; but i don't wonder she feels good to you. asia says she never expects to see anything like the way you shook that candy outen little robert. but see here, if you go 'way off there you mustn't fergit us." "i never could forget you all, wherever i went," said lovey mary. "i was awful mean when i come to the cabbage patch; somehow you all just bluffed me into being better. i wasn't used to being bragged on, and it made me want to be good more than anything in the world." "that's so," said mrs. wiggs. "you can coax a' elephant with a little sugar. the worser mr. wiggs used to act, the harder i'd pat him on the back. when he'd git bilin' mad, i'd say: 'now, mr. wiggs, why don't you go right out in the woodshed an' swear off that cuss? i hate to think of it rampantin' round inside of a good-lookin' man like you.' he'd often take my advice, an' it always done him good an' never hurt the woodshed. as fer the childern, i always did use compelments on them 'stid of switches." lovey mary untied the bundle which she carried, and spread the contents on the kitchen table. "i've been saving up to get you all some presents," she said. "i wanted to get something for every one that had been good to me, but that took in the whole patch! these are some new kind of seed for miss viny; she learned me a lot out of her garden. this is goods for a waist for you, miss hazy." "it's rale pretty," said miss hazy, measuring its length. "if you'd 'a' brought me enough fer a skirt, too, i'd never 'a' got through prayin' fer you." mrs. wiggs was indignant. "i declare, miss hazy! you ain't got a manner in the world, sometimes. it's beautiful goods, lovey mary. i'm goin' to make it up fer her by a fancy new pattern asia bought; it's got a sailor collar." "this here is for chris," continued lovey mary, slightly depressed by miss hazy's lack of appreciation, "and this is for mrs. schultz. i bought you a book, mrs. wiggs. i don't know what it's about, but it's an awful pretty cover. i knew you'd like to have it on the parlor table." it was the "iliad"! mrs. wiggs held it at arm's-length and, squinting her eyes, read: "home of an island." "that ain't what the man called it," said lovey mary. "oh, it don't matter 'bout the name. it's a beautiful book, jes matches my new tidy. you couldn't 'a' pleased me better." "i didn't have money enough to go round," explained lovey mary, apologetically, "but i bought a dozen lead-pencils and thought i'd give them round among the children." "ever'thing'll be terrible wrote over," said miss hazy. the last bundle was done up in tissue-paper and tied with a silver string. lovey mary gave it to mrs. wiggs when miss hazy was not looking. "it's a red necktie," she whispered, "for billy." when the train for the north pulled out of the station one saturday afternoon it bore an excited passenger. lovey mary, in a new dress and hat, sat on the edge of a seat, with little robert on one side and tommy on the other. when her nervousness grew unbearable she leaned forward and touched mrs. redding on the shoulder: "will you please, ma'am, tell me when we get there?" mrs. redding laughed. "get there, dear? why, we have just started!" "i mean to the cabbage patch. they're all going to be watching for me as we go through." "is that it?" said mr. redding. "well, i will take the boys, and you can go out and stand on the platform and watch for your friends." lovey mary hesitated. "please, sir, can't i take tommy, too? if it hadn't 'a' been for him i never would have been here." so mr. redding took them to the rear car, and attaching lovey mary firmly to the railing, and tommy firmly to mary, returned to his family. "there's miss viny's!" cried lovey mary, excitedly, as the train whizzed past. "we're getting there. hold on to your hat, tommy, and get your pocket-handkerchief ready to wave." the bell began to ring, and the train slowed up at the great water- tank. "there they are! all of 'em. hello, miss hazy! and there's asia and chris and ever'body!" mrs. wiggs pushed through the little group and held an empty bottle toward lovey mary. "i want you to fill it fer me," she cried breathlessly. "fill it full of niag'ry water. i want to see how them falls look." [illustration: "lovey mary waved until she rounded a curve."] the train began to move. miss hazy threw her apron over her head and wept. mrs. wiggs and mrs. eichorn waved their arms and smiled. the cabbage patch, with its crowd of friendly faces, became a blur to the girl on the platform. suddenly a figure on a telegraph pole attracted her attention; it wore a red necktie and it was throwing kisses. lovey mary waved until the train rounded a curve, then she gave tommy an impulsive hug. "it ain't hard to be good when folks love you," she said, with a little catch in her voice. "i'll make 'em all proud of me yet!" transcribed by david price, email ccx @coventry.ac.uk a reputed changeling, or, three seventh years two centuries ago preface i do not think i have here forced the hand of history except by giving portchester to two imaginary rectors, and by a little injustice to her whom princess anne termed 'the brick-bat woman.' the trial is not according to present rules, but precedents for its irregularities are to be found in the doings of the seventeenth century, notably in the trial of spencer cowper by the same judge hatsel, and i have done my best to represent the habits of those country gentry who were not infected by the evils of the later stewart reigns. there is some doubt as to the proper spelling of portchester, but, judging by analogy, the t ought not to be omitted. c. m. yonge. d may . chapter i: the experiences of goody madge "dear madam, think me not to blame; invisible the fairy came. your precious babe is hence conveyed, and in its place a changeling laid. where are the father's mouth and nose, the mother's eyes as black as sloes? see here, a shocking awkward creature, that speaks a fool in every feature." gay. "he is an ugly ill-favoured boy--just like riquet a la houppe." "that he is! do you not know that he is a changeling?" such were the words of two little girls walking home from a school for young ladies kept, at the cathedral city of winchester, by two frenchwomen of quality, refugees from the persecutions preluding the revocation of the edict of nantes, and who enlivened the studies of their pupils with the contes de commere l'oie. the first speaker was anne jacobina woodford, who had recently come with her mother, the widow of a brave naval officer, to live with her uncle, the prebendary then in residence. the other was lucy archfield, daughter to a knight, whose home was a few miles from portchester, dr. woodford's parish on the southern coast of hampshire. in the seventeenth century, when roads were mere ditches often impassable, and country-houses frequently became entirely isolated in the winter, it was usual with the wealthier county families to move into their local capital, where some owned mansions and others hired prebendal houses, or went into lodgings in the roomy dwellings of the superior tradesmen. for the elders this was the season of social intercourse, for the young people, of education. the two girls, who were about eight years old, had struck up a rapid friendship, and were walking hand in hand to the close attended by the nurse in charge of mistress lucy. this little lady wore a black silk hood and cape, trimmed with light brown fur, and lined with pink, while anne woodford, being still in mourning for her father, was wrapped in a black cloak, unrelieved except by the white border of her round cap, fringed by fair curls, contrasting with her brown eyes. she was taller and had a more upright bearing of head and neck, with more promise of beauty than her companion, who was much more countrified and would not have been taken for the child of higher station. they had traversed the graveyard of the cathedral, and were passing through a narrow archway known as the slype, between the south- western angle of the cathedral and a heavy mass of old masonry forming part of the garden wall of the present abode of the archfield family, when suddenly both children stumbled and fell, while an elfish peal of laughter sounded behind them. lucy came down uppermost, and was scarcely hurt, but anne had fallen prone, striking her chin on the ground, so as to make her bite her lip, and bruising knees and elbows severely. nurse detected the cause of the fall so as to avoid it herself. it was a cord fastened across the archway, close to the ground, and another shout of derision greeted the discovery; while lucy, regaining her feet, beheld for a moment a weird exulting grimace on a visage peeping over a neighbouring headstone. "it is he! it is he! the wicked imp! there's no peace for him! i say," she screamed, "see if you don't get a sound flogging!" and she clenched her little fist as the provoking "ho! ho! ho!" rang farther and farther off. "don't cry, anne dear; the dean and chapter shall take order with him, and he shall be soundly beaten. are you hurt? o nurse, her mouth is all blood." "i hope she has not broken a tooth," said nurse, who had been attending to the sobbing child. "come in, my lamb, we will wash your face, and make you well." anne, blinded with tears, jarred, bruised, bleeding, and bewildered, submitted to be led by kind nurse the more willingly because she knew that her mother, together with all the quality, were at sir thomas charnock's. they had dined at the fashionable hour of two, and were to stay till supper-time, the elders playing at ombre, the juniors dancing. as a rule the ordinary clergy did not associate with the county families, but dr. woodford was of good birth and a royal chaplain, and his deceased brother had been a favourite officer of the duke of york, and had been so severely wounded by his side in the battle of southwold as to be permanently disabled. indeed anne jacobina was godchild to the duke and his first duchess, whose favoured attendant her mother had been. thus mrs. woodford was in great request, and though she had not hitherto gone into company since her widowhood, she had yielded to lady charnock's entreaty that she would come and show her how to deal with that strange new chinese infusion, a costly packet of which had been brought to her from town by sir thomas, as the queen's favourite beverage, wherewith the ladies of the place were to be regaled and astonished. it had been already arranged that the two little girls should spend the evening together, and as they entered the garden before the house a rude voice exclaimed, "holloa! london nan whimpering. has my fine lady met a spider or a cow?" and a big rough lad of twelve, in a college gown, spread out his arms, and danced up and down in the doorway to bar the entrance. "don't, sedley," said a sturdy but more gentlemanlike lad of the same age, thrusting him aside. "is she hurt? what is it?" "that spiteful imp, peregrine oakshott," said lucy passionately. "he had a cord across the slype to trip us up. i heard him laughing like a hobgoblin, and saw him too, grinning over a tombstone like the malicious elf he is." the college boy uttered a horse laugh, which made lucy cry, "cousin sedley, you are as bad!" but the other boy was saying, "don't cry, anne none-so-pretty. i'll give it him well! though i'm younger, i'm bigger, and i'll show him reason for not meddling with my little sweetheart." "have with you then!" shouted sedley, ready for a fray on whatever pretext, and off they rushed, as nurse led little anne up the broad shallow steps of the dark oak staircase, but lucy stood laughing with exultation in the intended vengeance, as her brother took down her father's hunting-whip. "he must be wellnigh a fiend to play such wicked pranks under the very minster!" she said. "and a rascal of a whig, and that's worse," added charles; "but i'll have it out of him!" "take care, charley; if you offend him, and he does really belong to those--those creatures"--lucy lowered her voice--"who knows what they might do to you?" charles laughed long and loud. "i'll take care of that," he said, swinging out at the door. "elf or no elf, he shall learn what it is to play off his tricks on _my_ sister and my little sweetheart." lucy betook herself to the nursery, where anne was being comforted, her bleeding lip washed with essence, and repaired with a pinch of beaver from a hat, and her other bruises healed with lily leaves steeped in strong waters. "charley is gone to serve him out!" announced lucy as the sovereign remedy. "oh, but perhaps he did not mean it," anne tried to say. "mean it? small question of that, the cankered young slip! nurse, do you think those he belongs to can do charley any harm if he angers them?" "i cannot say, missie. only 'tis well we be not at home, or there might be elf knots in the horses' manes to-night. i doubt me whether _that sort_ can do much hurt here, seeing as 'tis holy ground." "but is he really a changeling? i thought there were no such things as--" "hist, hist, missie anne!" cried the dame; "'tis not good to name them." "oh, but we are on the minster ground, nurse," said lucy, trembling a little however, looking over her shoulder, and coming closer to the old servant. "why do they think so?" asked anne. "is it because he is so ugly and mischievous and rude? not like boys in london." "prithee, nurse, tell her the tale," entreated lucy, who had made large eyes over it many a time before. "ay, and who should tell you all about it save me, who had it all from goody madge bulpett, as saw it all!" "goody madge! it was she that came when poor little kitty was born and died," suggested lucy, as anne, laying her aching head upon nurse's knees, prepared to listen to the story. "well, deary darlings, you see poor madam oakshott never had her health since the great fire in london, when she was biding with her kinsfolk to be near major oakshott, who had got into trouble about some of his nonconforming doings. the poor lady had a mortal fright before she could be got out of gracechurch street as was all of a blaze, and she was so afeard of her husband being burnt as he lay in newgate that she could scarce be got away, and whether it was that, or that she caught cold lying out in a tent on highgate hill, she has never had a day's health since." "and the gentleman--her husband?" asked anne. "they all broke prison, poor fellows, as they had need to do, and the major's time was nearly up. he made himself busy in saving and helping the folk in the streets; and his brother, sir peregrine, who was thick with the king, and is in foreign parts now, took the chance to speak of the poor lady's plight and say it would be the death of her if he could not get his discharge, and his majesty, bless his kind heart, gave the order at once. so they took madam home to the chace, but she has been but an ailing body ever since." "but the fairy, the fairy, how did she change the babe?" cried anne. "hush, hush, dearie! name them not. i am coming to it all in good time. i was telling you how the poor lady failed and pined from that hour, and was like to die. my gossip madge told me how when, next midsummer, this unlucky babe was born they had to take him from her chamber at once because any sound of crying made her start in her sleep, and shriek that she heard a poor child wailing who had been left in a burning house. moll owens, the hind's wife, a comely lass, was to nurse him, and they had him at once to her in the nursery, where was the elder child, two years old, master oliver, as you know well, mistress lucy, a fine-grown, sturdy little turk as ever was." "yes, i know him," answered lucy; "and if his brother's a changeling, he is a bear! the whig bear is what charley calls him." "well, what does that child do but trot out of the nursery, and try to scramble down the stairs.--never tell me but that they you wot of trained him out--not that they had power over a christian child, but that they might work their will on the little one. so they must needs trip him up, so that he rolled down the stair hollering and squalling all the way enough to bring the house down, and his poor lady mother, she woke up in a fit. the womenfolk ran, molly and all, she being but a slip of a girl herself and giddy-pated, and when they came back after quieting master oliver, the babe was changed." "then they didn't see the--" "hush, hush, missie! no one never sees 'em or they couldn't do nothing. they cannot, if a body is looking. but what had been as likely a child before as you would wish to handle was gone! the poor little mouth was all of a twist, and his eyelid drooped, and he never ceased mourn, mourn, mourn, wail, wail, wail, day and night, and whatever food he took he never was satisfied, but pined and peaked and dwined from day to day, so as his little legs was like knitting pins. the lady was nigh upon death as it seemed, so that no one took note of the child at first, but when madge had time to look at him, she saw how it was, as plain as plain could be, and told his father. but men are unbelieving, my dears, and always think they know better than them as has the best right, and major oakshott would hear of no such thing, only if the boy was like to die, he must be christened. well, madge knew that sometimes they flee at touch of holy water, but no; though the thing mourned and moaned enough to curdle your blood and screeched out when the water touched him, there he was the same puny little canker. so when madam was better, and began to fret over the child that was nigh upon three months old, and no bigger than a newborn babe, madge up and told her how it was, and the way to get her own again." "what was that, nurse?" "there be different ways, my dear. madge always held to breaking five and twenty eggs and have a pot boiling on a good sea-coal fire with the poker in it red hot, and then drop the shells in one by one, in sight of the creature in the cradle. presently it will up and ask whatever you are about. then you gets the poker in your hand as you says, "a-brewing of egg shells." then it says, "i'm forty hundred years old and odd, and yet i never heard of a-brewing of egg shells." then you ups with the poker and at him to thrust it down his ugly throat, and there's a hissing and a whirling, and he is snatched away, and the real darling, all plump and rosy, is put back in the cradle." "and did they?" "no, my dears. madam was that soft-hearted she could not bring her mind to it, though they promised her not to touch him unless he spoke. but nigh on two years later, master robert was born, as fine and lusty and straight-limbed as a chrisom could be, while the other could not walk a step, but sat himself about on the floor, a-moaning and a-fretting with the legs of him for all the world like the drumsticks of a fowl, and his hands like claws, and his face wizened up like an old gaffer of a hundred, or the jackanapes that martin boats'n brought from barbary. so after a while madam saw the rights of it, and gave consent that means should be taken as madge and other wise folk would have it; but he was too old by that time for the egg shells, for he could talk, talk, and ask questions enough to drive you wild. so they took him out under the privet hedge, madge and her gossip deborah clint, and had got his clothes off to flog him with nettles till they changed him, when the ill-favoured elf began to squall and shriek like a whole litter of pigs, and as ill luck would have it, the master was within hearing, though they had watched him safe off to one of his own 'venticles, but it seems there had been warning that the justices were on the look-out, so home he came. and behold, the thing that never knew the use of his feet before, ups and flies at him, and lays hold of his leg, hollering out, "sir, father, don't let them," and what not. so then it was all over with them, as though that were not proof enow what manner of thing it was! madge tried to put him off with washing with yarbs being good for the limbs, but when he saw that deb was there, he saith, saith he, as grim as may be, "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," which was hard, for she is but a white witch; and he stormed and raved at them with bible texts, and then he vowed (men are so headstrong, my dears) that if ever he ketched them at it again, he would see deb burnt for a witch at the stake, and madge hung for the murder of the child, and he is well known to be a man of his word. so they had to leave him to abide by his bargain, and a sore handful he has of it." anne drew a long sigh and asked whether the real boy in fairyland would never come back. "there's no telling, missie dear. some say they are bound there for ever and a day, some that they as holds 'em are bound to bring them back for a night once in seven years, and in the old times if they was sprinkled with holy water, and crossed, they would stay, but there's no such thing as holy water now, save among the papists, and if one knew the way to cross oneself, it would be as much as one's life was worth." "if peregrine was to die," suggested lucy. "bless your heart, dearie, he'll never die! when the true one's time comes, you'll see, if so be you be alive to see it, as heaven grant, he will go off like the flame of a candle and nothing be left in his place but a bit of a withered sting nettle. but come, my sweetings, 'tis time i got your supper. i'll put some nice rosy- cheeked apples down to roast, to be soft for mistress woodford's sore mouth." before the apples were roasted, charles archfield and his cousin, the colleger sedley archfield, a big boy in a black cloth gown, came in with news of having--together with the other boys, including oliver and robert oakshott--hunted peregrine all round the close, but he ran like a lapwing, and when they had pinned him up in the corner by dr. ken's house, he slipped through their fingers up the ivy, and grinned at them over the wall like the imp he was. noll said it was always the way, he was no more to be caught than a bit of thistledown, but sedley meant to call out all the college boys and hunt and bait him down like a badger on 'hills.' chapter ii: high treason "whate'er it be that is within his reach, the filching trick he doth his fingers teach." robin badfellow. there was often a considerable distance between children and their parents in the seventeenth century, but anne woodford, as the only child of her widowed mother, was as solace, comfort, and companion; and on her pillow in early morning the child poured forth in grave earnest the entire story of the changeling, asking whether he could not be "taken to good dr. ken, or the dean, or the bishop to be ex-- ex--what is it, mother? not whipped with nettles. oh no! nor burnt with red hot pokers, but have holy words said so that the right one may come back." "my dear child, did you really believe that old nurse's tale?" "o madam, she _knew_ it. the other old woman saw it! i always thought fairies and elves were only in tales, but lucy's nurse knows it is true. and _he_ is not a bit like other lads, mamma dear. he is lean and small, and his eyes are of different colours, look two ways at once, and his mouth goes awry when he speaks, and he laughs just like--like a fiend. lucy and i call him riquet a la houppe, because he is just like the picture in mademoiselle's book, with a great stubbly bunch of hair sticking out on one side, and though he walks a little lame, he can hop and skip like a grasshopper, faster than any of the boys, and leap up a wall in a moment, and grin--oh most frightfully. have you ever seen him, mamma?" "i think so. i saw a poor boy, who seemed to me to have had a stroke of some sort when he was an infant." "but, madam, that would not make him so spiteful and malicious!" "if every one is against him and treats him as a wicked mischievous elf, it is only too likely to make him bitter and spiteful. nay, anne, if you come back stuffed with old wives' tales, i shall not allow you to go home with lucy archfield." the threat silenced anne, who was a grave and rather silent little person, and when she mentioned it to her friend, the answer was, "did you tell your mother? if i had told mine, i should have been whipped for repeating lying tales." "oh then you don't believe it!" "it must be true, for madge knew it. but that's the way always if one lets out that one knows more than they think." "it is not the way with my mother," stoutly said anne, drawing up her dignified little head. and she kept her resolution, for though a little excited by her first taste of lively youthful companionship, she was naturally a thoughtful reticent child, with a character advanced by companionship with her mother as an only child, through a great sorrow. thus she was in every respect more developed than her contemporary lucy, who regarded her with wonder as well as affection, and she was the object of the boyish devotion of charley, who often defended her from his cousin sedley's endeavours to put down what he considered upstart airs in a little nobody from london. sedley teased and baited every weak thing in his way, and lucy had been his chief butt till anne woodford's unconscious dignity and more cultivated manners excited his utmost spleen. lucy might be incredulous, but she was eager to tell that when her cousin sedley archfield was going back to 'chambers,' down from the close gate came the imp on his shoulders in the twilight and twisted both legs round his neck, holding tight on in spite of plunges, pinches, and endeavours to scrape him off against the wall, which were frustrated or retaliated by hair pulling, choking, till just ere entering the college gateway, where sedley looked to get his revenge among his fellows, he found his shoulders free, and heard "ho! ho! ho!" from the top of a wall close at hand. all the more was the young people's faith in the changeling story confirmed, and child-world was in those days even more impenetrable to their elders than at present. changeling or no, it was certain that peregrine oakshott was the plague of the close, where his father, an ex-officer of the parliamentary army, had unwillingly hired a house for the winter, for the sake of medical treatment for his wife, a sufferer from a complication of ailments. oakwood, his home, was about five miles from dr. woodford's living of portchester, and as the families would thus be country neighbours, mrs. woodford thought it well to begin the acquaintance at winchester. while knocking at the door of the house on the opposite side of the close, she was aware of an elfish visage peering from an upper window. there was the queer mop of dark hair, the squinting light eyes, the contorted grin crooking the mouth, the odd sallow face, making her quite glad to get out of sight of the strange grimaces which grew every moment more hideous. mrs. oakshott sat in an arm-chair beside a large fire in a wainscotted room, with a folding-screen shutting off the window. her spinning-wheel was near, but it was only too plain that 'feeble was the hand, and silly the thread.' she bent her head in its wadded black velvet hood, but excused herself from rising, as she was crippled by rheumatic pains. she had evidently once been a pretty little person, innocent and inane, and her face had become like that of a withered baby, piteous in its expression of pain and weariness, but otherwise somewhat vacant. at first, indeed, there was a look of alarm. perhaps she expected every visitor to come with a complaint of her unlucky peregrine, but when mrs. woodford spoke cheerfully of being her neighbour in the country, she was evidently relieved and even gratified, prattling in a soft plaintive tone about her sufferings and the various remedies, ranging from woodlice rolled into natural pills, and grease off the church bells, to diamond dust and goa stones, since, as she said, there was no cost to which major oakshott would not go for her benefit. he had even procured for her a pound of the queen's new chinese herb, and it certainly was as nauseous as could be wished, when boiled in milk, but she was told that was not the way it was taken at my lady charnock's. she was quite animated when mrs. woodford offered to show her how to prepare it. therewith the master of the house came in, and the aspect of affairs changed. he was a tall, dark, grave man, plainly though handsomely dressed, and in a gentlemanly way making it evident that visits to his wife were not welcome. he said that her health never permitted her to go abroad, and that his poor house contained nothing that could please a court lady. mrs. oakshott shrank into herself, and became shy and silent, and mrs. woodford felt constrained to take leave, courteously conducted to the door by her unwilling host. she had not taken many steps before she was startled by a sharp shower from a squirt coming sidelong like a blow on her cheek and surprising her into a low cry, which was heard by the major, so that he hastened out, exclaiming, "madam, i trust that you are not hurt." "oh no, sir! it is nothing--not a stone--only water!" she said, wiping it with her handkerchief. "i am grieved and ashamed at the evil pranks of my unhappy son, but he shall suffer for it." "nay, sir, i pray you. it was only childish mischief." he had not waited to hear her pleadings, and before she was half across the close he had overtaken her, dragging the cowering struggling boy in his powerful grasp. "now, peregrine," he commanded, "let me instantly hear you ask the lady's pardon for your dastardly trick. or--!" and his other hand was raised for a blow. "i am sure he is sorry," said mrs. woodford, making a motion to ward off the stroke, and as the queer eyes glanced up at her in wondering inquiry, she laid her hand on the bony shoulder, saying, "i know you did not mean to hurt me. you are sorry, are you not?" "ay," the boy muttered, and she saw a look of surprise on his father's face. "there," she said, "he has made his amends, and surely that may suffice." "nay, madam, it would be a weak and ungodly tenderness that would spare to drive forth the evil spirit which possesses the child by the use of the rod. i should fail in my duty alike to god and man," he added, in reply to a fresh gesture of intercession, "did i not teach him what it is to insult a lady at mine own door." mrs. woodford could only go away, heartily sorry for the boy. from that time, however, both she and her little daughter were untouched by his tricks, though every one else had some complaint. peas were shot from unknown recesses at venerable canons, mice darted out before shrieking ladies, frogs' clammy forms descended on the nape of their necks, hedgehogs were curled up on their chairs, and though peregrine oakshott was not often caught in the act, no mischief ever took place that was not attributed to him; and it was popularly believed in the close that his father flogged him every morning for what he was about to do, and his tutor repeated the castigation every evening for what he had done, besides interludes at each detection. perhaps frequent usage had toughened his skin, or he had become expert in wriggling from the full force of the blow, or else, as many believed, the elfish nature was impervious; for he was as ready as ever for a trick the moment he was released, like, as his brother said, the dog keeper, who, with a slaughtered chick hung round his neck in penance, rushed murderously upon the rest of the brood. yet mrs. woodford, on her way through the cathedral nave, was aware of something leaning against one of the great columns, crouching together so that the dark head, supported on the arms, rested against the pillar which fluted the pier. the organ was pealing softly and plaintively, and the little gray coat seemed to heave as with a sob. she stood, impelled to offer to take him with her into the choir, but a verger, spying him, began rating him in a tone fit for expelling a dog, "come, master, none of your pranks here! be not you ashamed of yourself to be lying in wait for godly folk on their way to prayers? if i catch you here again the dean shall hear of it, and you shall smart for it." mrs. woodford began, "he was only hearkening to the music," but she caught such a look of malignity cast upon the verger as perfectly appalled her, and in another moment the boy had dashed, head over heels, out at the nearest door. the next report that reached her related how a cloud of lime had suddenly descended from a broken arch of the cloister on the solemn verger, on his way to escort the dean to the minster, powdering his wig, whitening his black gown from collar to hem, and not a little endangering his eyesight. the culprit eluded all pursuit on this occasion; but mrs. woodford soon after was told that the major had caught peregrine listening at the little south door of the choir, had collared him, and flogged him worse than ever, for being seduced by the sounds of the popish and idolatrous worship, and had told all his sons that the like chastisement awaited them if they presumed to cross the threshold of the steeple house. nevertheless the senior prefect of the college boys, when about to come out of the cathedral on sunday morning, found his gown pinned with a skewer so fast to the seat that he was only set free at the expense of a rent. public opinion decided that the deed had been done by the imp of oakshott, and accordingly the whole of the wykeham scholars set on him with hue and cry the first time they saw him outside the close, and hunted him as far as st. cross, where he suddenly and utterly vanished from their sight. mrs. woodford agreed with anne that it was a very strange story. for how could he have been in the cathedral at service time when it was well known that major oakshott had all his family together at his own form of worship in his house? anne, who had been in hopes that her mother would be thus convinced of his supernatural powers, looked disappointed, but she had afterwards to confess that charles archfield had found out that it was his cousin sedley archfield who had played the audacious trick, in revenge for a well-merited tunding from the prefect. "and then saddled it on young oakshott?" asked her mother. "charley says one such matter more or less makes no odds to the whig ape; but i cannot endure sedley archfield, mamma." "if he lets another lad bear the blame of his malice he cannot indeed be a good lad." "so charley and lucy say," returned anne. "we shall be glad to be away from winchester, for while peregrine oakshott torments slyly, sedley archfield loves to frighten us openly, and to hurt us to see how much we can bear, and if charley tries to stand up for us, sedley calls him a puny wench, and a milksop, and knocks him down. but, dear madam, pray do not tell what i have said to her ladyship, for there is no knowing what sedley would do to us." "my little maid has not known before what boys can be!" "no; but indeed charles archfield is quite different, almost as if he had been bred in london. he is a very gentleman. he never is rude to any girl, and he is courteous and gentle and kind. he gathered walnuts for us yesterday, and cracked all mine, and i am to make him a purse with two of the shells." mrs. woodford smiled, but there was a short thrill of anxiety in her motherly heart as her glance brought up a deeper colour into anne's cheeks. there was a reserve to bring that glow, for the child knew that if she durst say that charles called her his little sweetheart and wife, and that the walnut-shell purse would be kept as a token, she should be laughed at as a silly child, perhaps forbidden to make it, or else her uncle might hear and make a joke of it. it was not exactly disingenuousness, but rather the first dawn of maidenly reserve and modesty that reddened her cheek in a manner her mother did not fail to observe. yet it was with more amusement than misgiving, for children played at courtship like other games in mimicry of being grown up, and a baronet's only son was in point of fact almost as much out of the reach of a sea captain's daughter and clergyman's niece as a prince of the blood royal; and master archfield would probably be contracted long before he could choose for himself, for his family were not likely to take into account that if captain woodford had not been too severely wounded to come forward after the battle of southwold bay he would have been knighted. on the strength of which anne, as her companions sometimes said, gave herself in consequence more airs than mistress lucy ever did. sedley, a poor cousin, a destitute cavalier's orphan, who had been placed on the foundation at winchester college in hopes that he might be provided for in the church, would have been far more on her level, and indeed lady archfield, a notable matchmaker, had already hinted how suitable such a thing would be. however, the present school character of master sedley, as well as her own observations, by no means inclined mrs. woodford towards the boy, large limbed and comely faced, but with a bullying, scowling air that did not augur well for his wife or his parish. whether it were this lad's threats, or more likely, the fact that all the close was on the alert, peregrine's exploits were less frequent there, and began to extend to the outskirts of the city. there were some fine yew trees on the southern borders, towards the chalk down, with massive dark foliage upon stout ruddy branches, among which peregrine, armed with a fishing-rod, line, and hook, sat perched, angling for what might be caught from unconscious passengers along a path which led beneath. from a market-woman's basket he abstracted thus a fowl! his "ho! ho! ho!" startled her into looking up, and seeing it apparently resuscitated, and hovering aloft. full of dismay, she hurried shrieking away to tell the story of the bewitched chick at the market-cross among her gossips. his next capture was a chop from a butcher boy's tray, but this involved more peril, for with a fierce oath that he would be revenged on the whiggish imp, the lad darted at the tree, in vain, however, for peregrine had dropped down on the other side, and crept unseen to another bush, where he lay perdu, under the thick green branches, rod and all, while the youth, swearing and growling, was shaking his former refuge. as soon as the coast was clear he went back to his post, and presently was aware of three gentlemen advancing over the down, pointing, measuring, and surveying. one was small and slight, as simply dressed as a gentleman of the period could be; another was clad in a gay coat with a good deal of fluttering ribbon and rich lace; the third, a tall well-made man, had a plain walking suit, surmounted by a flowing periwig and plumed beaver. coming close beneath peregrine's tree, and standing with their backs to it, they eagerly conversed. "such a cascade will drown the honours of the versailles fountains, if only the water can be raised to such a height. are you sure of it, wren?" "as certain as hydraulics can make me, sir," and the lesser man began drawing lines with his stick in the dust of the path in demonstration. the opportunity was irresistible, and the hook from above deftly caught the band of the feathered hat of the taller man, slowly and steadily drawing it up, entirely unperceived by the owner, on whose wig it had rested, and who was bending over the dust-traced diagram in absorbed attention. peregrine deferred his hobgoblin laughter, for success emboldened him farther. detaching the hat from his hook, and depositing it safely in a fork of the tree, he next cautiously let down his line, and contrived to get a strong hold of one of the black locks on the top of the wig, just as the wearer was observing, "oliver's battery, eh? a cupola with a light to be seen out at sea? our sailors will make another st. christopher of you! ha! what's this'" for feeling as if a branch were touching the structure on his head, he had stepped forward, thus favouring peregrine's manoeuvres so that the wig dangled in the air, suddenly disclosing the bare skull of a very dark man, with such marked features that it needed not the gentlemen's outcry to show the boy who was the victim of his mischief. "what imp is there?" cried the king, spying up into the tree, while his attendant drew his sword, "how now?" as peregrine half climbed, half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with him, and, whether by design or accident, fell at his feet. "will nothing content you but royal game?" he continued laughing, as sir christopher wren helped him to resume his wig. "why, what a shrimp it is! a mere goblin sprite! what's thy name, master wag?" "peregrine oakshott, so please you," the boy answered, raising himself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queer impishness. "sir, i never guessed--" "young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?" demanded the king, with an affected fierceness. "know you not 'tis rank treason to discrown our sacred majesty, far more to dishevel or destroy our locks? why! i might behead you on the spot." to his great amazement the boy, with an eager face and clasped hands, exclaimed, "o sir! oh, please your majesty, do so." "do so!" exclaimed the king astounded. "didst hear what i said?" "yes, sir! you said it was a beheading matter, and i'm willing, sir." "of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is the strangest!" exclaimed charles. "an urchin like this weary of life! what next? so," with a wink to his companions, "peregrine oakshott, we condemn thee for high treason against our most sacred majesty's beaver and periwig, and sentence thee to die by having thine head severed from thy body. kneel down, open thy collar, bare thy neck. ay, so, lay thy neck across that bough. killigrew, do thy duty." to the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions, never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips were set and his cheek whitened. as he knelt, with closed eyes, the flat cold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank! "hold!" cried the king. "it is gone too far! he has surely not carried out the jest by dying on our hands." "no, no, sir," said wren, after a moment's alarm, "he has only swooned. has any one here a flask of wine to revive him?" several gentlemen had come up, and as peregrine stirred, some wine was held to his lips, and he presently asked in a faint voice, "is this fairyland?" "not yet, my lad," said charles, "whatever it may be when wren's work is done." the boy opened his eyes, and as he beheld the same face, and the too familiar sky and trees, he sighed heavily, and said, "then it is all the same! o sir, would you but have cut off my head in good earnest, i might be at home again!" "home! what means the elf?" "an elf! that is what they say i am--changed in the cradle," said peregrine, incited to confidence by the good-natured eyes, "and i thought if i were close on death mine own people might take me home, and bring back the right one." "he really believes it!" exclaimed charles much diverted. "tell me, good master elf, who is thy father, i mean not my brother oberon, but him of the right one, as thou sayst." "mr. robert oakshott of oakwood, sir," said peregrine. "a sturdy squire of the country party," said the king. "i am much minded to secure the lad for an elfin page," he added aside to killigrew. "there's a fund of excellent humour and drollery in those queer eyes of his! so, sir hobgoblin, if you are proof against cold steel, i know not what is to be done with you. get you back, and devise some other mode of finding your way home to fairyland." peregrine said not a word of his adventure, so that the surprise of his family was the greater when overtures were made through sir christopher wren for his appointment as a royal page. "i would as soon send my son at once to be a page to beelzebub," returned major oakshott. and though sir christopher did not return the answer exactly in those terms, he would not say that the puritan major did not judge rightly. chapter iii: the fairy king "she's turned her right and round about, and thrice she blew on a grass-green horn, and she sware by the moon and the stars above that she'd gar me rue the day i was born." old ballad of alison cross. dr. woodford's parish was portchester, where stood the fine old royal castle at present ungarrisoned, and partly dismantled in the recent troubles, on a chalk peninsula, a spur from portsdown, projecting above the alluvial flats, and even into the harbour, whose waves at high tide laved the walls. the church and churchyard were within the ample circuit of the fortifications, about two furlongs distant from the main building, where rose the mighty norman keep, above the inner court, with a gate tower at this date, only inhabited by an old soldier as porter with his family. a massive square tower at each angle of the huge wall likewise defied decay. it was on midsummer eve, that nearly about sundown, dr. woodford was summoned by the severe illness of the gatekeeper's old father, and his sister-in-law went with him to attempt what her skill could accomplish for the old man's relief. they were detained there till the sun had long set, though the air, saturated with his redness, was full of soft twilight, while the moon, scarcely past the full, was just high enough to silver the quiet sea, and throw the shadow of the battlements and towers on the sward whitened with dew. after the close atmosphere of the sickroom the freshness was welcome, and mrs. woodford, once a friend of katherine phillips, 'the matchless orinda,' had an eye and a soul to appreciate the beauty, and she even murmured the lines of il penseroso as she leant on the arm of her brother-in-law, who, in his turn, thought of homer. suddenly, as they stood in the shadow, they were aware of a small, slight, fantastic figure in the midst of the grass-grown court, where there was a large green mushroom circle or fairy ring. on the borders of this ring it paused with an air of disappointment. then entering it stood still, took off the hat, whose lopsided appearance had given so strange an outline, and bowed four times in opposite directions, when, as the face was turned towards the spectators, invisible in the dark shadow, the lady recognised peregrine oakshott. she pressed the doctor's arm, and they both stood still watching the boy bathing his hand in the dew, and washing his face with it, then kneeling on one knee, and clasping his hands, as he cried aloud in a piteous chant-- "fairy mother, fairy mother! oh, come, come and take me home! my very life is sore to me. they all hate me! my brothers and the servants, every one of them. and my father and tutor say i am possessed with an evil spirit, and i am beaten daily, and more than daily. i can never, never get a good word from living soul! this is the second seven years, and midsummer night! oh, bring the other back again! i'm weary, i'm weary! good elves, good elves, take me home. fairy mother! come, come, come!" shutting his eyes he seemed to be in a state of intense expectation. tears filled mrs. woodford's eyes. the doctor moved forward, but no sooner did the boy become conscious of human presence than he started up, and fled wildly towards a postern door, but no sooner had he disappeared in the shadow than there was a cry and a fall. "poor child!" exclaimed dr. woodford, "he has fallen down the steps to the vault. it is a dangerous pitfall." they both hurried to the place, and found the boy lying on the steps leading down to the vault, but motionless, and when they succeeded in lifting him up, he was quite unconscious, having evidently struck his head against the mouth of the vault. "we must carry him home between us," said mrs. woodford. "that will be better than rousing miles gateward, and making a coil." dr. woodford, however, took the entire weight, which he declared to be very slight. "no one would think the poor child fourteen years old," he observed, "yet did he not speak of a second seven?" "true," said mrs. woodford, "he was born after the great fire of london, which, as i have good cause to know, was in the year ' ." there was still little sign of revival about the boy when he had been carried into the parsonage, undressed and laid in the doctor's own bed, only a few moans when he was handled, and on his thin, sharp features there was a piteous look of sadness entirely unlike his ordinary expression of malignant fun, and which went to the kind hearts of the doctor and mrs. woodford. after exhausting their own remedies, as soon as the early daylight was available dr. woodford called up a couple of servants, and sent one into portsmouth for a surgeon, and another to oakwood to the parents. the doctor was the first to arrive, though not till the morning was well advanced. he found that three ribs were broken against the edge of the stone step, and the head severely injured, and having had sufficient experience in the navy to be a reasonably safe practitioner, he did nothing worse than bleed the patient, and declared that absolute rest was the only hope of recovery. he was being regaled with cold roast pig and ale when major oakshott rode up to the door. four horses were dragging the great lumbering coach over portsdown hill, but he had gone on before, to thank dr. and mrs. woodford for their care of his unfortunate son, and to make preparations for his transport home under the care of his wife's own woman, who was coming in the coach in the stead of the invalid lady. "nay, sir. master brent here has a word to say to that matter," replied the doctor. "truly, sir, i have," said the surgeon; "in his present state it is as much as your son's life is worth to move him." "be that as it may seem to man, he is in the hand of heaven, and he ought to be at home, whether for life or death." "for death it will assuredly be, sir, if he be jolted and shaken along the portsdown roads--yea, i question whether you would get him to oakwood alive," said brent, with naval roughness. "indeed, sir," added mrs. woodford, "mrs. oakshott may be assured of my giving him as tender care as though he were mine own son." "i am beholden to you, madam," said the major; "i know your kindliness of heart; but in good sooth, the unhappy and rebellious lad merits chastisement rather than pity, since what should he be doing at this distance from home, where he was shut up for his misdemeanours, save fleeing like the prodigal of the parable, or else planning another of his malicious pranks, as i greatly fear, on you or your daughter, madam. if so, he hath fallen into the pit that he made for others." the impulse was to tell what had occurred, but the surgeon's presence, and the dread of making all worse for the poor boy checked both the hosts, and mrs. woodford only declared that since the day of the apology he had never molested her or her little girl. "still," said the major, "it is not possible to leave him in a stranger's house, where at any moment the evil spirit that is in him may break forth." "come and see him, and judge," said dr. woodford. when the father beheld the deathly face and motionless form, stern as he was, he was greatly shocked. his heavy tread caused a moan, and when he said "what, perry, how now?" there was a painful shrinking and twitching, which the surgeon greeted as evidence of returning animation, but which made him almost drag the major out of the room for fear of immediate consequences. major oakshott, and still more the servant, who had arrived in the coach and come upstairs, could not but be convinced that removal was not to be thought of. the maid was, moreover, too necessary to her mistress to be left to undertake the nursing, much to her master's regret, but to the joy of mrs. woodford, who felt certain that by far the best chance for the poor boy was in his entire separation from all associations with the home where he had evidently suffered so much. there was, perhaps, nothing except the pageship at court that could have gone more against major oakshott's principles than to leave his son in the house of a prelatical minister, but alternative there was none, and he could only express how much he was beholden to the dr. and mrs. woodford. all their desire was that he would remain at a distance, for during the long and weary watch they had to keep over the half-conscious lad, the sound of a voice or even a horse's tread from oakwood occasioned moans and restlessness. the major rode over, or sent his sons, or a servant daily to inquire during the first fortnight, except on the sundays, and on each of these the patient made a step towards improvement. at first he lay in a dull, death-like stupor, only groaning if disturbed, but by and by there was a babbling murmur of words, and soon the sound of his brother's loud voice at the door, demanding from the saddle how it went to-day with peregrine, caused a shriek of terror and such a fit of trembling that mrs. woodford had to go out and make a personal request that oliver would never again speak under the window. to her great relief, when the balance between life and death had decidedly turned, the inquiries became less frequent, and could often be forestalled by sending messengers to oakwood. the boy usually lay still all day in the darkened room, only showing pain at light or noise, but at night he often talked and rambled a good deal. sometimes it was greek or latin, sometimes whole chapters of scripture, either denunciating portions or genealogies from the first book of chronicles, the polysyllabic names pouring from his mouth whenever he was particularly oppressed or suffering, so that when mrs. woodford had with some difficulty made out what they were, she concluded that they had been set as tasks of penance. at other times peregrine talked as if he absolutely believed himself in fairyland, accepting a strawberry or cherry as elfin food, promising a tester in anne's shoe when she helped to change his pillow, or conversing in the style of puck, or robin goodfellow, on intended pranks. often he fancied himself the lubber fiend resting at the fire his hairy strength, and watching for cock-crow as the signal for flinging out-of-doors. it was wonderful how in the grim and strict puritanical household he could have imbibed so much fairy lore, but he must have eagerly assimilated and recollected whatever he heard, holding them as tidings from his true kith and kin; and, indeed, when he was running on thus, mrs. woodford sometimes felt a certain awe and chill, as of the preternatural, and could hardly believe that he belonged to ordinary human nature. either she or the doctor always took the night-watch after the talking mood set in, for they could not judge of the effect it might have on any of the servants. indeed they sometimes doubted whether this were not the beginning of permanent insanity, as the delusion seemed to strengthen with symptoms of recovery. "then," said dr. woodford, "heaven help the poor lad!" for sad indeed was the lot in those days of even the most harmless lunatic. "yet," said the lady, "i scarcely think anything can be worse than what he undergoes at home. when i hear the terror and misery of his voice, i doubt whether we did him any true kindness by hindering his father from killing him outright by the shaking of his old coach." "nay, sister, we strove to do our duty, though it may be we have taken on ourselves a further charge." chapter iv: imp or no imp "but wist i of a woman bold who thrice my brow durst sign, i might regain my mortal mould, as fair a form as thine." scott. at last came a wakening with intelligence in the eyes. in the summer morning light that streamed through the chinks of the shutters mrs. woodford perceived the glance of inquiry, and when she brought some cool drink, a rational though feeble voice asked those first questions, "who? and where?" "i am mrs. woodford, my dear child. you remember me at winchester. you are at portchester. you fell down and hurt yourself, but you are getting better." she was grieved to see the look of utter disappointment and weariness that overspread the features, and the boy hardly spoke again all day. there was much drowsiness, but also depression, and more than once mrs. woodford detected tears, but at other times he received her attentions with smiles and looks of wondering gratitude, as though ordinary kindness and solicitude were so new to him that he did not know what to make of them, and perhaps was afraid of breaking a happy dream by saying too much. the surgeon saw him, and declared him so much better that he might soon be taken home, recommending his sitting up for a little while as a first stage. peregrine, however, seemed far from being cheered, and showed himself so unwilling to undergo the fatigue of being dressed, even when good dr. woodford had brought up his own large chair--the only approach to an easy one in the house--that the proposal was dropped, and he was left in peace for the rest of the day. in the evening mrs. woodford was sitting by the window, letting her needlework drop as the light faded, and just beginning to doze, when her repose was broken by a voice saying "madam." "yes, peregrine." "come near, i pray. will you tell no one?" "no; what is it?" in so low a tone that she had to bend over him: "do you know how the papists cross themselves?" "yes, i have seen the queen's confessor and some of the ladies make the sign." "dear lady, you have been very good to me! if you would only cross me thrice, and not be afraid! they could not hurt you!" "who? what do you mean?" she asked, for fairy lore had not become a popular study, but comprehension came when he said in an awe- stricken voice, "you know what i am." "i know there have been old wives' tales about you, my poor boy, but surely you do not believe them yourself." "ah! if you will not believe them, there is no hope. i might have known. you were so good to me;" and he hid his face. she took his unwilling hand and said, "be you what you will, my poor child, i am sorry for you, for i see you are very unhappy. come, tell me all." "nay, then you would be like the rest," said peregrine, "and i could not bear that," and he wrung her hand. "perhaps not," she said gently, "for i know that a story is afloat that you were changed in your cradle, and that there are folk ignorant enough to believe it." "they all _know_ it," he said impressively. "my mother and brothers and all the servants. every soul knows it except my father and mr. horncastle, and they will never hear a word, but will have it that i am possessed with a spirit of evil that is to be flogged out of me. goody madge and moll owens, they knew how it was at the first, and would fain have forced them--mine own people--to take me home, and bring the other back, but my father found it out and hindered them." "to save your life." "much good does my life do me! every one hates or fears me. no one has a word for me. every mischance is laid on me. when the kitchen wench broke a crock, it was because i looked at it. if the keeper misses a deer, he swears at master perry! oliver and robert will not let me touch a thing of theirs; they bait me for a moon-calf, and grin when i am beaten for their doings. even my mother quakes and trembles when i come near, and thinks i give her the creeps. as to my father and tutor, it is ever the rod with them, though i can learn my tasks far better than those jolter-heads noll and robin. i never heard so many kind words in all my life as you have given me since i have been lying here!" he stopped in a sort of awe, for tears fell from her eyes, and she kissed his forehead. "will you not help me, good madam?" he entreated. "i went down to goody madge, and she said there was a chance for me every seven years. the first went by, but this is my fourteenth year. i had a hope when the king spoke of beheading me, but he was only in jest, as i might have known. then methought i would try what midsummer night in the fairy ring would do, but that was in vain; and now you, who could cross me if you would, will not believe. oh, will you not make the trial?" "alas! peregrine, supposing i could do it in good faith, would you become a mere tricksy sprite, a thing of the elements, and yield up your hopes as a christian soul, a child of god and heir of heaven?" "my father says i am an heir of hell." "no, no, never," she cried, shuddering at his quiet way of saying it. "you are flesh and blood, christened, and with the hope set before you." "the christening came too late," he said. "o lady, you who are so good and pitiful, let my mother get back her true peregrine--a straight-limbed, comely dullard, such as would be welcome to her. she would bless and thank you, and for me, to be a will-of-the-wisp, or what not, would be far better than the life i lead. never did i know what my mother calls peace till i lay here." "ah, peregrine, poor lad, your value for peace and for my poor kindness proves that you have a human heart and are no elf." "indeed, i meant to flit about and give you good dreams, and keep off all that could hurt or frighten you," he said earnestly. "only the human soul could feel so, dear boy," she answered tenderly. "and you _really_ disbelieve--the other," he said wistfully. "this is what i verily believe, my child: that there were causes to make you weakly, and that you may have had some palsy stroke or convulsive fit perhaps at the moment you were left alone. such would explain much of your oddness of face, which made the ignorant nurses deem you changed; and thus it was only your father who, by god's mercy, saved you from a miserable death, to become, as i trust, a good and true man, and servant of god." then answering a hopeless groan, she added, "yes, it is harder for you than for many. i see that these silly servants have so nurtured you in this belief that you have never even thought it worth while to strive for goodness, but supposed tricksomeness and waywardness a part of your nature." "the only pleasure in life is paying folk off," said peregrine, with a glitter in his eye. "it serves them right." "and thus," she said sadly, "you have gone on hating and spiting, deeming yourself a goblin without hope or aim; but now you feel that you have a christian soul you will strive with evil, you will so love as to win love, you will pray and conquer." "my father and mr. horncastle pray," said peregrine bitterly. "i hate it! they go on for ever, past all bearing; i _must_ do something--stand on my head, pluck some one's stool away, or tickle robin with a straw, if i am birched the next moment. that's the goblin." "yet you love the minster music." "ay! father calls it rank popery. i listened many a time he never guessed, hid away in the holy hole, or within old bishop wykeham's little house." "ah, peregrine, could an imp of evil brook to lie hidden in the holy hole behind the very altar?" said mrs. woodford. "but i hear nick bringing in supper, and i must leave you for the present. god in his mercy bless you, his poor child, and lead you in his ways." as she went peregrine muttered, "is that a prayer? it is not like father's." she was anxious to consult her brother-in-law on the strange mood of her patient. she found that he had heard more than he had told her of what major oakshott deemed the hopeless wickedness of his son, the antics at prayers, the hatred of everything good, the spiteful tricks that were the family torment. no doubt much was due to the boy's entire belief in his own elfship, and these two good people seriously considered how to save him from himself. "if we could only keep him here," said mrs. woodford, "i think we might bring him to have some faith and love in god and man." "you could, dear sister," said the doctor, smiling affectionately; "but major oakshott would never leave his son in our house. he abhors our principles too much, and besides, it is too near home. all the servants have heard rumours of this cruel fable, and would ascribe the least misadventure to his goblin origin. i must ride over to oakwood and endeavour to induce his father to remove him to safe and judicious keeping." some days, however, elapsed before dr. woodford could do this, and in the meantime the good lady did her best to infuse into her poor young guest the sense that he had a human soul, responsible for his actions, and with hope set before him, and that he was not a mere frolicsome and malicious sprite, the creature of unreasoning impulse. it was a matter only to be attempted by gentle hints, for though reared in a strictly religious household, peregrine's ears seemed to have been absolutely closed, partly by nursery ideas of his own exclusion from the pale of humanity, partly by the harsh treatment that he was continually bringing on himself. preachings and prayers to him only meant a time of intolerable restraint, usually ending in disgrace and punishment; scripture and the westminster catechism contained a collection of tasks more tedious and irksome than the latin and greek grammar; sunday was his worst day of the week, and these repugnances, as he had been taught to believe, were so many proofs that he was a being beyond the power of grace. mrs. woodford scrupled to leave him to any one else on this first sunday of his recovered consciousness, and in hopes of keeping him quiet through fatigue, she contrived that it should be the first day of his being dressed, and seated in the arm-chair, resting against cushions beside the open window, whence he could watch the church- goers, anne in her little white cap, with her book in one hand, and a posy in the other, tripping demurely beside her uncle, stately in gown, cassock, and scarlet hood. peregrine could not refrain from boasting to his hostess how he had once grimaced from outside the church window at havant, and at the women shrieking that the fiend was there. she would not smile, and shook her head sadly, so that he said, "i would never do so here." "nor anywhere, i hope." whereupon, thinking better to please the churchwoman, he related how, when imprisoned for popping a toad into the soup, he had escaped over the leads, and had beaten a drum outside the barn, during a discourse of the godly tinker, john bunyan, tramping and rattling so that all thought the troopers were come, and rushed out, tumbling one over the other, while he yelled out his "ho! ho! ho!" from the haystack where he had hidden. "when you feel how kind and loving god is," said mrs. woodford gravely, "you will not like to disturb those who are doing him honour." "is he kind?" asked peregrine. "i thought he was all wrath and anger." she replied, "the lord is loving unto every man, and his mercy is over all his works." he made no answer. if he were sullen, this subsided into sleepiness, and when he awoke he found the lady on her knees going through the service with her prayer-book. she encountered his wistful eyes, but no remark was made, though on her return from fetching him some broth, she found him peeping into her book, which he laid down hastily, as though afraid of detection. she had to go down to the sunday dinner, where, according to good old custom, half a dozen of the poor and aged were regaled with the parish priest and his household. there she heard inquiries and remarks showing how widely spread and deeply rooted was the notion of peregrine's elfish extraction. if daddy hoskins did ask after the poor young gentleman as if he were a human being, the three old dames present shook their heads, and while the more bashful only groaned, granny perkins demanded, "well, now, my lady, do he eat and sleep like other folk?" "exactly, granny, now that he's mending in health." "and don't he turn and writhe when there's prayers?" mrs. woodford deposed to having observed no such demonstrations. "think of that now! lauk-a-daisy! i've heard tell by my nevvy davy, as is turnspit at oak'ood, as how when there's prayers and expounding by master horncastle, as is a godly man, saving his reverence's presence, he have seen him, have davy--master perry, as they calls him, a-twisted round with his heels on the chair, and his head where his heels should be, and a grin on his face enough to give one a turn." "did davy never see a mischievous boy fidgeting at prayers?" asked the doctor, who was nearer than she thought. "if so, he has been luckier than i have been." there was a laugh, out of deference to the clergyman, but the old woman held to her point. "begging your reverence's pardon, sir, there be more in this than we knows. they says up at oakwood, there's no peace in the place for the spite of him, and when they thinks he is safe locked into his chamber, there he be a-clogging of the spit, or changing sugar into pepper, or making the stool break down under one. oh, he be a strange one, sir, or summat worse. i have heerd him myself hollaing 'ho! ho! ho!' on the downs enough to make one's flesh creep." "i will tell you what he is, dame," said the doctor gravely. "he is a poor child who had a fit in his cradle, and whom all around have joined in driving to folly, evil, and despair through your foolish superstitions. he is my guest, and i will have no more said against him at my table." the village gossips might be silenced by awe of the parson, but their opinion was unshaken; and silas hewlett, a weather-beaten sailor with a wooden leg, was bold enough to answer, "ay, ay, sir, you parsons and gentlefolk don't believe naught; but you've not seen what i have with my own two bodily eyes--" and this of course was the prelude to the history of an encounter with a mermaid, which alternated with the flying dutchman and a combat with the moors, as regular entertainment at the sunday meal. when mrs. woodford went upstairs she was met by the servant nicolas, declaring that she might get whom she would to wait on that there moon-calf, he would not go neist the spiteful thing, and exhibiting a swollen finger, stung by a dead wasp, which peregrine had cunningly disposed on the edge of his empty plate. she soothed the man's wrath, and healed his wound as best she might, ere returning to her patient, who looked at her with an impish grin on his lips, and yet human deprecation in his eyes. feeling unprepared for discussion, she merely asked whether the dinner had been relished, and sat down to her book; but there was a grave, sorrowful expression on her countenance, and, after an interval of lying back uneasily in his chair, he exclaimed, "it is of no use; i could not help it. it is my nature." "it is the nature of many lads to be mischievous," she answered; "but grace can cure them." therewith she began to read aloud. she had bought the pilgrim's progress (the first part) from a hawker, and she was glad to have at hand something that could hardly be condemned as frivolous or prelatical. the spell of the marvellous book fell on peregrine; he listened intently, and craved ever to hear more, not being yet able to read without pain and dizziness. he was struck by hearing that the dream of christian's adventures had visited that same tinker, whose congregation his own wicked practices had broken up. "he would take me for one of the hobgoblins that beset master christian." "nay," said mrs. woodford, "he would say you were christian floundering in the slough of despond, and deeming yourself one of its efts or tadpoles." he made no answer, but on the whole behaved so well that the next day mrs. woodford ventured to bring her little daughter in after having extracted a promise that there should be no tricks nor teasing, a pledge honourably kept. anne did not like the prospect of the interview. "oh, ma'am, don't leave me alone with him!" she said. "do you know what he did to mistress martha browning, his own cousin, you know, who lives at emsworth with her aunt? he put a horsehair slily round her glass of wine, and tipped it over her best gray taffeta, and her aunt whipped her for the stain. she never would say it was his doing, and yet he goes on teasing her the same as ever, though his brother oliver found it out, and thrashed him for it: you know oliver is to marry mistress martha." "my dear child, where did you hear all this?" asked mrs. woodford, rather overwhelmed with this flood of gossip from her usually quiet daughter. "lucy told me, mamma. she heard it from sedley, who says he does not wonder at any one serving out martha browning, for she is as ugly as sin." "hush, hush, anne! such sayings do not become a young maid. this poor lad has scarce known kindness. every one's hand has been against him, and so his hand has been against every one. i want my little daughter to be brave enough not to pain and anger him by shrinking from him as if he were not like other people. we must teach him to be happy before we can teach him to be good." "madam, i will try," said the child, with a great gulp; "only if you would be pleased not to leave me alone with him the first time!" this mrs. woodford promised. at first the boy lay and looked at anne as if she were a rare curiosity brought for his examination, and it took all her resolution, even to a heroic exertion of childish fortitude, not to flinch under the gaze of those queer eyes. however, mrs. woodford diverted the glances by producing a box of spillekins, and in the interest of the game the children became better acquainted. over their next day's game mrs. woodford left them, and anne became at ease since peregrine never attempted any tricks. she taught him to play at draughts, the elders thinking it expedient not to doubt whether such vanities were permissible at oakwood. soon there was such merriment between them that the kind doctor said it did his heart good to hear the boy's hearty natural laugh in lieu of the "ho! ho! ho!" of malice or derision. they were odd conversations that used to take place between that boy and girl. the king's offer of a pageship had oozed out in the oakshott family, and peregrine greatly resented the refusal, which he naturally attributed to his father's whiggery and spite at all things agreeable, and he was fond of discussing his wrongs and longings with anne, who, from her childish point of view, thought the walls of portchester and the sluggish creek a very bad exchange for her enjoyments at greenwich, where she had lived during her father's years of broken health, after he had been disabled at southwold by a wound which had prevented his being knighted by the duke of york for his daring in the excitement of the critical moment, a fact which mistress anne never forgot, though she only knew it by hearsay, as it happened a few weeks after she was born, and her father always averred that he was thankful to have missed the barren and expensive honour, and that the _worst_ which had come of his exploit was the royal sponsorship to his little maid. anne had, however, been the pet of her father's old friends, the sea captains, had played with the little evelyns under the yew hedges of says court, had been taken to london to behold the lord mayor's show and more than one court pageant, had been sometimes at the palaces as the plaything of the ladies mary and anne of york, had been more than once kissed by their father, the duke, and called a pretty little poppet, and had even shared with them a notable game at romps with their good-natured uncle the king, when she had actually caught him at blind-man's-buff! ignorant as she was of evil, her old surroundings appeared to her delightful, and peregrine, bred in a puritan home, was at fourteen not much more advanced than she was in the meaning of the vices and corruptions that he heard inveighed against in general or scriptural terms at home, and was only too ready to believe that all that his father proscribed must be enchanting. thus they built castles together about brilliant lives at a court of which they knew as little as of that at timbuctoo. there was another court, however, of which peregrine seemed to know all the details, namely, that of king oberon and queen mab. how much was village lore picked up from moll owens and her kind, or how much was the work of his own imagination, no one could tell, probably not himself, certainly not anne. when he appeared on intimate terms with hip, nip, and skip, and described catching daddy long legs to make a fence with his legs, or dwelt upon a terrible fight between two armies of elves mounted on grasshoppers and crickets, and armed with lances tipped with stings of bees and wasps, she would exclaim, "is it true, perry?" and he would wink his green eye and look at her with his yellow one till she hardly knew where she was. he would tell of his putting a hornet in a sluttish maid's shoe, which was credible, if scarcely meriting that elfish laughter which made his auditor shrink, but when he told of dancing over the mud banks with a lantern, like a will-of-the-wisp, till he lured boats to get stranded, or horsemen to get stuck, in the hopeless mud, anne never questioned the possibility, but listened with wide open eyes, and a restrained shudder, feeling as if under a spell. that mysterious childish feeling which dreads even what common sense forbids the calmer mind to believe, made her credit peregrine, for the time at least, with strange affinities to the underground folk, and kept her under a strange fascination, half attraction, half repulsion, which made her feel as if she must obey and follow him if he turned those eyes on her, whether she were willing or not. nor did she ever tell her mother of these conversations. she had been rebuked once for repeating nurse's story of the changeling, and again for her shrinking from him; and this was quite enough in an essentially reserved, as well as proud and sensitive, nature, to prevent further confidences on a subject which she knew would be treated as a foolish fancy, bringing both herself and her companion into trouble. chapter v: peregrine's home "for, at a word, be it understood, he was always for ill and never for good." scott. a week had passed since any of the family from oakwood had come to make inquiries after the convalescent at portchester, when dr. woodford mounted his sleek, sober-paced pad, and accompanied by a groom, rode over to make his report and tender his counsel to major oakshott. he arrived just as the great bell was clanging to summon the family to the mid-day meal, since he had reckoned on the squire being more amenable as a 'full man,' especially towards a guest, and he was well aware that the major was thoroughly a gentleman in behaviour even to those with whom he differed in politics and religion. accordingly there was a ready welcome at the door of the old red house, which was somewhat gloomy looking, being on the north side of the hill, and a good deal stifled with trees. in a brief interval the doctor found himself seated beside the pale languid lady at the head of the long table, placed in a large hall, wainscotted with the blackest of oak, which seemed to absorb into itself all the light from the windows, large enough indeed but heavily mullioned, and with almost as much of leading as of octagons and lozenges--greenish glass--in them, while the coats of arms, repeated in upper portions and at the intersections of beams and rafters, were not more cheerful, being sable chevrons on an argent field. the crest, a horse shoe, was indeed azure, but the blue of this and of the coats of the serving-men only deepened the thunderous effect of the black. strangely, however, among these sad-coloured men there moved a figure entirely differently. a negro, white turbaned, and with his blue livery of a lighter shade, of fantastic make and relieved by a great deal of white and shining silver, so as to have an entirely different effect. he placed himself behind the chair of dr. woodford's opposite neighbour, a shrewd business-like looking gentleman, soberly but handsomely dressed, with a certain foreign cut about his clothes, and a cravat of rich flemish lace. he was presented to the doctor as major oakshott's brother, sir peregrine. the rest of the party consisted of oliver and robert, sturdy, ruddy lads of fifteen and twelve, and their tutor, mr. horncastle, an elderly man, who twenty years before had resigned his living because he could not bring himself to accept all the liturgy. while sir peregrine courteously relieved his sister-in-law of the trouble of carving the gammon of bacon which accompanied the veal which her husband was helping, dr. woodford informed her of her son's progress towards recovery. "ah," she said, "i knew you had come to tell us that he is ready to be brought home;" and her tone was fretful. "we are greatly beholden to you, sir," said the major from the bottom of the table. "the boy shall be fetched home immediately." "not so, sir, as yet, i beg of you. neither his head nor his side can brook the journey for at least another week, and indeed my good sister woodford will hardly know how to part with her patient." "she will not long be of that mind after master perry gets to his feet again," muttered the chaplain. "indeed no," chimed in the mother. "there will be no more peace in the house when he is come back." "i assure you, madam," said dr. woodford, "that he has been a very good child, grateful and obedient, nor have i heard any complaints." "your kindness, or else that of mrs. woodford, carries you far, sir," answered his host. "what? is my nephew and namesake so peevish a scapegrace?" demanded the visitor. on which anecdotes broke forth from all quarters. peregrine had greased the already slippery oak stairs, had exchanged oliver's careful exercise for a ribald broadsheet, had filled mr. horncastle's pipe with gunpowder, and mixed snuff with the chocolate specially prepared for the peculiar godly guest dame priscilla waller. every one had something to adduce, even the serving-men behind the chairs; and if oliver and robert did not add their quota, it was because absolute silence at meals was the rule for nonage. however, the subject was evidently distasteful to the father, who changed the conversation by asking his brother questions about the young prince of orange and the grand pensionary de witt. for the gentleman had been acting as english attache to the embassy at the hague, whence he had come on affairs of state to london, and after being knighted by charles, had newly arrived at the old home, which he had scarcely seen since his brother's marriage. dr. woodford enjoyed his conversation, and his information on foreign politics, and the major, though now and then protesting, was evidently proud of his brother. when grace had been pronounced by the chaplain the lady withdrew to her parlour, the two boys, each with an obeisance and request for permission, departed for an hour's recreation, and dr. woodford intimated that he wished for some conversation with his host respecting the boy peregrine. "let us discuss it here," said major oakshott, turning towards a small table set in the deep bay window, and garnished with wine, fruit, and long slender glasses. "good mr. horncastle," he added, as he motioned his guest to one of the four seats, "is with me in all that concerns my children, and i desire my brother's counsel respecting the untoward lad with whom it has pleased heaven to afflict me." when the glasses had been filled with claret dr. woodford uttered a diplomatic compliment on the healthful and robust appearance of the eldest and youngest sons, and asked whether any cause had been assigned for the difference between them and the intermediate brother. "none, sir," returned the father with a sigh, "save the will of the almighty to visit us for our sins with a son who has thus far shown himself one of the marred vessels doomed to be broken by the potter. it may be in order to humble me and prove me that this hath been laid upon me." the chaplain groaned acquiescence, but there was vexation in the brother's face. "sir," said the doctor, "it is my opinion and that of my sister-in- law, an excellent, discreet, and devout woman, that the poor child would give you more cause for hope if the belief had not become fixed in his mind that he is really and truly a fairy elf--yes, in very sooth--a changeling!" all the auditors broke out into exclamations that it was impossible that a boy of fourteen could entertain so absurd an idea, and the tutor evidently thought it a fresh proof of depravity that he should thus have tried to deceive his kind hosts. in proof that peregrine veritably believed it himself, dr. woodford related what he had witnessed on midsummer night, mentioning how in delirium the boy had evidently believed himself in fairyland, and how disappointed he had been, on regaining his senses, to find himself on common earth; telling also of the adventure with the king, which sir christopher wren had described to him, but of which major oakshott was unaware, though it explained the offer of the pageship. he was a good deal struck by these revelations, proving misery that he had never suspected, though, as he said, he had often pleaded, "why will ye revolt more and more? ye _will_ be stricken more and more." "have you ever sought his confidence?" asked the travelled brother, a question evidently scarcely understood, for the reply was, "i have always required of my sons to speak the truth, nor have they failed of late years save this unfortunate peregrine." "and," said sir peregrine, "if the unlucky lad actually supposes himself to be no human being, admonitions and chastisements would naturally be vain." "i cannot believe it," exclaimed the major. "'tis true, as i now remember, i once came on a couple of beldames, my wife's nurse and another, who has since been ducked for witchcraft, and found them about to flog the babe with nettles, and lay him in the thorn hedge because he was a sickly child, whom, forsooth, they took to be a changeling; but i forbade the profane folly to be ever again mentioned in my household, nor did i ever hear thereof again." "there are a good many more things mentioned in a household, brother, than the master is wont to hear of," remarked sir peregrine. dr. woodford then begged as a personal favour for an individual examination of the family and servants on their opinion. the master was reluctant thus, as he expressed it, to go a-fooling, but his brother backed the doctor up, and further prevented a general assembly to put one another to shame, but insisted on the witnesses being called in one by one. oliver, the first summoned, was beginning to be somewhat less overawed by his father than in his earlier boyhood. to the inquiry what he thought of his brother peregrine, he made a tentative sort of reply, that he was a strange fellow, who never could keep out of disgrace. "that is not the question," said his father. "i am almost ashamed to speak it! do you--nay, have you ever supposed him to be a--" he really could not bring out the word. "a changeling, sir?" returned oliver. "i do not believe so now, knowing that it is impossible, but as a child i always did." "who durst possess you with so foolish and profane a falsehood?" "every one, sir. i cannot recollect the time when i did not as entirely deem peregrine a changeling elf as that robin was my own brother. he believes so himself." "you have never striven to disabuse him." "indeed, sir, he would scarce have listened to me had i done go; besides, to tell the truth, it has only been of late, since i have been older, and have studied more, that i have come to perceive the folly of it." major oakshott groaned, and bade him call robert without saying wherefore. the little fellow came in, somewhat frightened, and when asked the question that had been put to his elder, his face lighted up, and he exclaimed, "oh, have they brought him back again?" "whom?" "our real brother, sir, who was carried off to fairyland!" "who told you so, robert?" he looked puzzled, and said, "sir, they all know it. molly owens, that was his foster-mother, saw the fairies bear him off on a broomstick up the chimney." "robert, no lying!" the boy was only restrained from tears by fear of his father, and just managed to say, "'tis what they all say, and perry knows." "knows!" muttered major oakshott in despair, but the uncle, drawing robin towards him, extracted that perry had been seen flying out of the loft window, when he had been locked up--robin had never seen it himself, but the maids had often done so. moreover, there was proof positive, in the mark on oliver's head, where he had nearly killed himself by tumbling downstairs, being lured by the fairies while they stole away the babe. the major could not listen with patience. "a boy of that age to repeat such blasphemous nonsense!" he exclaimed; and robert, restraining with difficulty his sobs of terror, was dismissed to fetch the butler. the old ironside who now appeared would not avouch his own disbelief in the identity of master peregrine, being, as he said, a man who had studied his bible, listened to godly preachers, and seen the world; but he had no hesitation in declaring that almost every other soul in the household believed in it as firmly as in the gospel, certainly all the women, and probably all the men, nor was there any doubt that the young gentleman conducted himself more like a goblin than the son of pious christian parents. in effect both the clergyman and the diplomate could not help suspecting that in other company the worthy butler's disavowal of all share in the superstition might have been less absolute. "after this," said major oakshott with a sigh, "it seems useless to carry the inquiry farther." "what says my sister oakshott?" inquired sir peregrine. "she! poor soul, she is too feeble to be fretted," said her husband. "she has never been the same woman since the fire of london, and it would be vain to vex her with questions. she would be of one mind while i spoke to her, and another while her women were pouring their tales into her ear. methinks i now understand why she has always seemed to shrink from this unfortunate child, and to fear rather than love him." "even so, sir," added the tutor. "much is explained that i never before understood. the question is how to deal with him under this fresh light. i will, so please your honour, assemble the family this very night, and expound to them that such superstitions are contrary to the very word of scripture." "much good will that do," muttered the knight. "i should humbly suggest," put in dr. woodford, "that the best hope for the poor lad would be to place him where these foolish tales were unknown, and he could start afresh on the same terms with other youths." "there is no school in accordance with my principles," said the squire gloomily. "godly men who hold the faith as i do are inhibited by the powers that be from teaching in schools." "and," said his brother, "you hold these principles as more important than the causing your son to be bred up a human being instead of being pointed at and rendered hopeless as a demon." "i am bound to do so," said the major. "surely," said dr. woodford, "some scholar might be found, either here or in holland, who might share your opinions, and could receive the boy without incurring penalties for opening a school without license." "it is a matter for prayer and consideration," said major oakshott. "meantime, reverend sir, i thank you most heartily for the goodness with which you have treated my untoward son, and likewise for having opened my eyes to the root of his freakishness." the doctor understood this as dismissal, and asked for his horse, intimating, however, that he would gladly keep the boy till some arrangement had been decided upon. then he rode home to tell his sister-in-law that he had done his best, and that he thought it a fortunate conjunction that the travelled brother had been present. chapter vi: a relapse "a tell-tale in their company they never could endure, and whoso kept not secretly their pranks was punished sure. it was a just and christian deed to pinch such black and blue; oh, how the commonwealth doth need such justices as you!" bishop corbett. several days passed, during which there could be no doubt that peregrine oakshott knew how to behave himself, not merely to grown- up people, but to little anne, who had entirely lost her dread of him, and accepted him as a playfellow. he was able to join the family meals, and sit in the pleasant garden, shaded by the walls of the old castle, as well as by its own apple-trees, and looking out on the little bay in front, at full tide as smooth and shining as a lake. there, while anne did her task of spinning or of white seam, mrs. woodford would tell the children stories, or read to them from the pilgrim's progress, a wonderful romance to both. peregrine, still tamed by weakness, would lie on the grass at her feet, in a tranquil bliss such as he had never known before, and his fairy romances to anne were becoming mitigated, when one day a big coach came along the road from fareham, with two boys riding beside it, escorting lady archfield and mistress lucy. the lady was come to study mrs. woodford's recipe for preserved cherries, the young people, charles, lucy, and their cousin sedley, now at home for the summer holidays, to spend an afternoon with mistress anne. great was lady archfield's surprise at finding that major oakshott's cross-grained slip of a boy was still at portchester. "if you were forced to take him in for very charity when he was hurt," she said, "i should have thought you would have been rid of him as soon as he could leave his bed." "the road to oakwood is too rough for broken ribs as yet," said mrs. woodford, "nor is the poor boy ready for discipline." "ay, i fancy that major oakshott is a bitter puritan in his own house; but no discipline could be too harsh for such a boy as that, according to all that i hear," said her ladyship, "nor does he look as if much were amiss with him so far as may be judged of features so strange and writhen." "he is nearly well, but not yet strong, and we are keeping him here till his father has decided on what is best for him." "you even trust him with your little maid! and alone! i wonder at you, madam." "indeed, my lady, i have seen no harm come of it. he is gentle and kind with anne, and i think she softens him." still mrs. woodford would gladly not have been bound to her colander and preserving-pan in her still-room, where her guest's housewifely mind found great scope for inquiry and comment, lasting for nearly two hours. when at length the operations were over, and numerous little pots of jam tied up as specimens for the archfield family to taste at home, the children were not in sight. no doubt, said mrs. woodford, they would be playing in the castle court, and the visitor accompanied her thither in some anxiety about broken walls and steps, but they were not in sight, nor did calls bring them. the children had gone out together, anne feeling altogether at ease and natural with congenial playmates. even sedley's tortures were preferable to peregrine's attentions, since the first were only the tyranny of a graceless boy, the other gave her an indescribable sense of strangeness from which these ordinary mundane comrades were a relief and protection. however, charles and sedley rushed off to see a young colt in which they were interested, and lucy, in spite of her first shrinking, found peregrine better company than she could have expected, when he assisted in swinging her and anne by turns under the old ash tree. when the other two were seen approaching, the swinging girl hastily sprang out, only too well aware what sedley's method of swinging would be. then as the boys came up followed inquiries why peregrine had not joined them, and jests in schoolboy taste ensued as to elf- locks in the horses' manes, and inquiries when he had last ridden to a witch's sabbath. little anne, in duty bound, made her protest, but this only incited charles to add his word to the teasing, till lucy joined in the laugh. by and by, as they loitered along, they came to the doctor's little boat, and there was a proposal to get in and rock. lucy refused, out of respect for her company attire, and anne could not leave her, so the two young ladies turned away with arms round each other's waists, lucy demonstratively rejoicing to be quit of the troublesome boys. before they had gone far an eldritch shout of laughter was responded to by a burst of furious dismay and imprecation. the boat with the two boys was drifting out to sea, and peregrine capering wildly on the shore, but in another instant he had vanished into the castle. anne had presence of mind enough to rush to the nearest fisherman's cottage, and send him out to bring them back, and it was at this juncture that the two mothers arrived on the scene. there was little real danger. a rope was thrown and caught, and after about half an hour of watching they were safely landed, but the tide had ebbed so far that they had to take off their shoes and stockings and wade through the mud. they were open-mouthed against the imp who had enticed them to rock in the boat, then in one second had cut the painter, bounded out, and sent them adrift with his mocking 'ho! ho! ho!' sedley archfield clenched his fists, and gazed round wildly in search of the goblin to chastise him soundly, and charles was ready to rush all over the castle in search of him. "two to one!" cried anne, "and he so small; you would never be so cowardly." "as if he were like an honest fellow," said charley. "a goblin like that has his odds against a dozen of us." "i'd teach him, if i could but catch him," cried sedley. "i told you," said anne, "that he would be good if you would let him alone and not plague him." "now, anne," said charles, as he sat putting on his stockings, "how could i stand being cast off for that hobgoblin, that looks as if he had been cut out of a root of yew with a blunt knife, and all crooked! i that always was your sweetheart, to see you consorting with a mis-shapen squinting whig of a nonconformist like that." "nonconformist! i'll nonconform him indeed," added sedley. "i wish i had the wringing of his neck." "now is not that hard!" said anne; "a poor lad who has been very sick, and that every one baits and spurns." "serve him right," said sedley; "he shall have more of the same sauce!" "i think he has cast his spell on anne," added charles, "or how can she stand up for him?" "my mamma bade me be kind to him." "kind! i would as lief be kind to a toad!" put in lucy. "to see you kind to him makes me sick," exclaimed charles. "you see what comes of it." "it did not come of my kindness, but of your unkindness," reasoned anne. "i told you so," said charles. "you would have been best pleased if we had been carried out to sea and drowned!" anne burst into tears and disavowed any such intention, and charles was protesting that he would only forgive her on condition of her never showing any kindness to peregrine again, when a sudden shower of sand and pebbles descended, one of them hitting sedley pretty sharply on the ear. the boys sprang up with a howl of imprecation and vengeance, but no one was to be seen, only 'ho! ho! ho!' resounded from the battlements. off they rushed headlong, but the nearest door was in a square tower a good way off, and when they reached it the door defied their efforts of frantic rage, whilst another shower descended on them from above, accompanied by the usual shout. but while they were dashing off in quest of another entrance they were met by a servant sent to summon them to return home. coach and horses were at the door, and lady archfield was in haste to get them away, declaring that she should not think their lives safe near that fiendish monster. considering that sedley was nearly twice as big as peregrine, and charles a strong well-grown lad, this was a tribute to his preternatural powers. very unwillingly they went, and if lady archfield had not kept a strict watch from her coach window, they would certainly have turned back to revenge the pranks played on them. the last view of them showed sedley turning round shaking his whip and clenching his teeth in defiance. mrs. woodford was greatly concerned, especially as peregrine could not be found and did not appear at supper. "had he run away to sea?" the usual course of refractory lads at portchester, but for so slight a creature only half recovered it did not seem probable. it was more likely that he had gone home, and that mrs. woodford felt as somewhat a mortifying idea. however, on looking into his chamber, as she sought her own, she beheld him in bed, with his face turned into the pillow, whether asleep or feigning slumber there was no knowing. later, she heard sounds that induced her to go and look at him. he was starting, moaning, and babbling in his sleep. but with morning all his old nature seemed to have returned. there was a hedgehog in anne's bowl of milk, mrs. woodford's poultry were cackling hysterically at an unfortunate kitten suspended from an apple tree and let down and drawn up among them. the three- legged stool of the old waiting-woman 'toppled down headlong' as though by the hands of puck, and even on anne's arms certain black and blue marks of nails were discovered, and when her mother examined her on them she only cried and begged not to be made to answer. and while dr. woodford was dozing in his chair as usual after the noonday dinner mrs. woodford actually detected a hook suspended from a horsehair descending in the direction of his big horn spectacles, and quietly moving across to frustrate the attempt, she unearthed peregrine on a chair angling from behind the window curtain. she did not speak, but fixed her calm eyes on him with a look of sad, grave disappointment as she wound up the line. in a few seconds the boy had thrown himself at her feet, rolling as if in pain, and sobbing out, "'tis all of no use! let me alone." nevertheless he obeyed the hushing gesture of her hand, and held his breath, as she led him out to the garden-seat, where they had spent so many happy quiet hours. then he flung himself down and repeated his exclamation, half piteous, half defiant. "leave me alone! leave me alone! it has me! it is all of no use." "what has you, my poor child?" "the evil spirit. you will have it that i'm not one of--one of them--so it must be as my father says, that i am possessed--the evil spirit. i was at peace with you--so happy--happier than ever i was before--and now--those boys. it has me again--i could not help it-- i've even hurt her--mistress anne. let me alone--send me home--to be scorned, and shunned, and brow-beaten--and as bad as ever--then at least she will be safe from me." all this came out between sobs such that mrs. woodford could not attempt to speak, but she kept her hand on him, and at last she said, when he could hear her: "every one of us has to fight with an evil spirit, and when we are not on our guard he is but too apt to take advantage of us." the boy rather sullenly repeated that it was of no use to fight against his. "indeed! nay. were you ever so much grieved before at having let him have the mastery?" "no--but no one ever was good to me before." "yes; all about you lived under a cruel error, and you helped them in it. but if you had not a better nature in you, my poor child, you would not be happy here and thankful for what we can do for you." "i was like some one else here," said peregrine, picking a daisy to pieces, "but they stirred it all up. and at home i shall be just the same as ever i was." she longed to tell him that there was hope of a change in his life, but she durst not till it was more certain, so she said-- "there was one who came to conquer the evil spirit and the evil nature, and to give each one of us the power to get the victory. the harder the victory, the more glorious!" and her eyes sparkled at the thought. he caught a moment's glow, then fell back. "for those that are chosen," he said. "you are chosen--you were chosen by your baptism. you have the stirrings of good within you. you can win and beat back the evil side of you in christ's strength, if you will ask for it, and go on in his might." the boy groaned. mrs. woodford knew that the great point with him would be to teach him to hope and to pray, but the very name of prayer had been rendered so distasteful to him that she scarce durst press the subject by name, and her heart sank at the thought of sending him home again, but she was glad to be interrupted, and said no more. at night, however, she heard sounds of moaning and stifled babbling that reminded her of his times of delirium, and going into his room she found him tossing and groaning so that it was manifestly a kindness to wake him; but her gentle touch occasioned a scream of terror, and he started aside with open glassy eyes, crying, "oh take me not!" "my dear boy! it is i. perry, do you not know me?" "oh, madam!" in infinite relief, "it is you. i thought--i thought i was in elfland and that they were paying me for the tithe to hell;" and he still shuddered all over. "no elf--no elf, dear boy; a christened boy--god's child, and under his care;" and she began the st psalm. "oh, but i am not under his shadow! the evil one has had me again! he will have me. aren't those his claws? he will have me!" "never, my child, if you will cry to god for help. say this with me, 'lord, be thou my keeper.'" he did so, and grew more quiet, and she began to repeat dr. ken's evening hymn, which had become known in manuscript in winchester. it soothed him, and she thought he was dropping off to sleep, but no sooner did she move than he started with "there it is again--the black wings--the claws--" then while awake, "say it again! oh, say it again. fold me in your prayers--you can pray." she went back to the verse, and he became quiet, but her next attempt to leave him caused an entreaty that she would remain, nor could she quit him till the dawn, happily very early, was dispelling the terrors of the night, and then, when he had himself murmured once-- "let no ill dreams disturb my rest, no powers of darkness me molest," he fell asleep at last, with a softer look on his pinched face. poor boy, would that verse be his first step to prayer and deliverance from his own too real enemy? chapter vii: the envoy "i then did ask of her, her changeling child." midsummer night's dream. mrs. woodford was too good a housewife to allow herself any extra rest on account of her vigil, and she had just put her juneating apple-tart into the oven when anne rushed into the kitchen with the warning that there was a grand gentleman getting off his horse at the gateway, and speaking to her uncle--she thought it must be peregrine's uncle. mrs. woodford was of the same opinion, and asked where peregrine was. "fast asleep in the window-seat of the parlour, mother! i did not waken him, for he looked so tired." "that was right, my little maiden," said mrs. woodford, hastily washing her hands, taking off her cooking apron, letting down her black gown from its pocket holes, and arranging her veil-like widow's coif, after which, in full trim for company, she sallied out to the front door, to avert, if possible, the wakening of the boy, whom she wished to appear to the best advantage. she met in the garden her brother-in-law, and sir peregrine oakshott, on being presented to her, made such a bow as had seldom been seen in those parts, as he politely said that he was the bearer of his brother's thanks for her care of his nephew. mrs. woodford explained that the boy had had so bad a night that it would be well not to break his present sleep, and invited the guest to walk in the garden or sit in the doctor's study or in the shade of the castle wall. this last was what he preferred, and there they seated themselves, with a green slope before them down to the pale gray creek, and the hill beyond lying in the summer sunshine. "i have been long in coming hither," said the knight, "partly on account of letters on affairs of state, and partly likewise because i desired to come alone, thinking that i might better understand how it is with the lad without the presence of his father or brothers." "i am very glad you have so done, sir." "then, madam, i entreat of you to speak freely and tell me your opinion of him without reserve. you need not fear offence by speaking of the mode in which they have treated him at home. my poor brother has meant to do his duty, but he has stood so far aloof from his sons that he has dealt with them in ignorance, and their mother, between sickliness and timidity, is a mere prey to the folly of her gossips. so speak plainly, madam, i beg of you." mrs. woodford did speak plainly of the boy's rooted belief in his own elfish origin, and how when arguing against it she had found the alternative even sadder and more hopeless, how well he comported himself as long as he was treated as a human and rational being, but how the taunts and jests of the young archfields had renewed all the mischief, to the poor fellow's own remorse and despair. sir peregrine listened with only a word of comment, or question now and then, like a man of the world well used to hearing all before he committed himself, and the description was only just ended when the clang of the warning dinner-bell sounded and they rose; but as they were passing the window of the dining-parlour a shriek of anne's startled them all, and as they sprang forward, mrs. woodford first, peregrine's voice was heard, "no, no, anne, don't be afraid. it is for me he is come; i knew he would." something in a strange language was heard. a black face with round eyes and gleaming teeth might be seen bending forward. anne gave another shriek, but was heard crying, "no, no! get away, sir. he is our lord christ's! he is! you can't! you shan't have him." and anne was seen standing over peregrine, who had dropped shuddering and nearly fainting on the floor, while she stood valiantly up warding off the advance of him whom she took for the prince of darkness, and in her excitement not at first aware of those who were come to her aid at the window. in one second the negro was saying something which his master answered, and sent him off. mrs. woodford had called out, "don't be afraid, dear children. 'tis sir peregrine's black servant"; and the doctor, "foolish children! what is this nonsense?" a moment or two more and they were in the room, anne, all trembling, flying up to her mother and hiding her face against her between fright and shame at not having thought of the black servant, and the while they lifted up peregrine, who, as he met his kind friend's eyes, said faintly, "is he gone? was it the dream again?" "it was your uncle's blackamoor servant," said mrs. woodford. "you woke up, and no wonder you were startled. come with me, both of you, and make you ready for dinner." peregrine had rather collapsed than fainted, for he was able to walk with her hand on his shoulder, and sir peregrine understood her sign and did not attempt to accost either of the children, though as the doctor took him to his chamber he expressed his admiration of the little maiden. "that's the right woman," he said, "losing herself when there is one to guard. nay, sir, she needs no excuse. such a spirit may well redeem a child's mistake." mrs. woodford had reassured the children, so that they were more than half ashamed, though scarce willing to reappear when she had made peregrine wash his face and hands, smooth the hair ruffled in his nap, freshly tying his little cravat and the ribbons on his shoes and at his knees. to make his hair into anything but elf locks, or to obliterate the bristly tuft that made him like riquet, was impossible, illness had made him additionally lean and sallow, and his keen eyes, under their black contracted brows and dark lashes, showed all the more the curious variation in their tints, and with an obliquity that varied according to the state of the nerves. there was a satirical mischievous cast in the mould of the face, though individually the features were not amiss except for their thinness, and in fact the unpleasantness of the expression had insensibly been softened during this last month, and there was nothing repellent, though much that was quaint, in the slight figure, with the indescribably one-sided air, and stature more befitting ten than fourteen years. what would the visitor think of him? the doctor called to him, "come, peregrine, your uncle, sir peregrine oakshott, has been good enough to come over to see you." peregrine had been well trained enough in that bitter school of home to make a correct bow, though his feelings were betrayed by his yellow eye going almost out of sight. "my namesake--your father will not let me say my godson," said sir peregrine smiling. "we ought to be good friends." the boy looked up. perhaps he had never been greeted in so human a manner before, and there was something confiding in the way those bony fingers of his rested a moment in his uncle's clasp. "and this is your little daughter, madam, peregrine's kind playmate? you may well be proud of her valour," said the knight, while anne made her courtesy, which he, in the custom of the day, returned with a kiss; and she, who had been mortally ashamed of her terror, marvelled at his praise. the pair of fowls were by this time on the table, and good manners required silence on the part of the children, but while sir peregrine explained that he had been appointed by his majesty as envoy to the elector of brandenburg, and gave various interesting particulars of foreign life, mrs. woodford saw that he was keeping a quiet watch over his nephew's habits at table, and she was thankful that when unmoved by any wayward spirit of mischief they were quite beyond reproach. something of the refinement of his poor mother's tastes must have been inherited by peregrine, for a certain daintiness of taste and habit had probably added to his discomforts in the austere, not to say rude simplicity imposed upon the children of the family. when the meal was over the children were dismissed to the garden, but bidden to keep within call, in case sir peregrine should wish to see his nephew again. the others repaired again to the garden seat, with wine and fruit, but the knight begged mrs. woodford not to leave them. "i am satisfied," he said. "the boy shows gentle blood and breeding. there was cause enough for fright without cowardice, and there is not, what i was led to fear, such uncouthness or ungainliness as should hinder me from having him with me." "oh, sir, is that your purpose?" cried the lady, almost as eagerly as if it had been high preferment for her own child. "i had thought thereon," said the envoy. "there is reason that he should be my charge, and my brother is like to give a ready consent, since he is sorely perplexed what to do with this poor untoward slip." "he would be less untoward were he happier," said mrs. woodford. "indeed, sir, i do not think you will repent it, if--" and she paused. "what would you say, madam?" "if only all your honour's household are absolutely ignorant of all these tales." "that can well be, madam. i have only one body-servant with me, this unlucky blackamoor, who speaks nothing save dutch. i had already thought of leaving my grooms here, and returning to london by sea, and this could well be done, and would cut off all channels of gossiping. the boy is, the chaplain tells me, quick-witted, and a fair scholar for his years, and i can find good schooling for him." "when his head is able to bear it," said mrs. woodford. "truly, sir," added the doctor, "you are doing a good work, and i trust that the boy will requite you worthily." "i tell your reverence," said sir peregrine, "crooked stick though they term him, i had ten times rather have the dealing with him than with those comely great lubbers his brothers! the question now is, shall i tell him what is in store for him?" "i should say," returned dr. woodford, "that provided it is certain that the intention can be carried out, nothing would be so good for him as hope. do you not say so, sister?" "indeed i do," she replied. "i believe that he would be a very different boy if he were relieved from the misery he suffers at home and requites by mischievous pranks. i do not say he will or can be a good lad at once, but if your honour can have patience with him, i do believe there is that in him which can be turned to good. if he only can believe in the better nature and higher guidings, and pray, and not give himself up in despair." she had tears in her eyes. "my good madam, i can believe it all," said sir peregrine. "short of being supposed an elf, i have gone through the same, and it was not my good father's fault that i did not loathe the very name of preaching or prayer. but i had a mother who knew how to deal with me, whereas this poor child's mother, i am sure, believes in her secret heart that he is none of hers, though she has enough sense not to dare to avow it. alas! i cannot give the boy the woman's tending by which you have already wrought so much," and mrs. woodford remembered to have heard that his wife had died at rotterdam, "but i can treat him like a human being, i hope indeed as a son; and, at any rate, there will be no one to remind him of these old wives' tales." "i can only say that i am heartily rejoiced," said mrs. woodford. so peregrine was summoned, and shambled up, his eyes showing that he expected a trying interview, and, moreover, with a certain twinkle of mischief or perverseness in their corners. "soh! my lad, we ought to be better acquainted," said the uncle. "d'ye know what our name means?" "peregrinus, a vagabond," responded the boy. "eh! the translation may be correct, but 'tis scarce the most complimentary. i wonder now if you, like me, were born on a wednesday. 'wednesday's child has far to go.'" "no. i was born on a sunday, and if to see goblins and oafs--" "nay, i read it, 'sunday's child is full of grace.'" peregrine's mouth twitched ironically, but his uncle continued, "look you, my boy, what say you to fulfilling the augury of your name with me. his majesty has ordered me off again to represent the british name to the elector of brandenburg, and i have a mind to carry you with me. what do you say?" if any one expected peregrine to be overjoyed his demeanour was disappointing. he shuffled with his feet, and after two or three "ehs?" from his uncle, he mumbled, "i don't care," and then shrank together, as one prepared for the stripe with the riding-whip which such a rude answer merited: but his uncle had, as a diplomate, learnt a good deal of patience, and he said, "ha! don't care to leave home and brothers. eh?" peregrine's chin went down, and there was no answer; his hair dropped over his heavy brow. "see, boy, this is no jest," said his uncle. "you are too big to be told that 'i'll put you into my pocket and carry you off.' i am in earnest." peregrine looked up, and with one sudden flash surveyed his uncle. his lips trembled, but he did not speak. "it is sudden," said the knight to the other two. "see, boy, i am not about to take you away with me now. in a week or ten days' time i start for london; and there we will fit you out for konigsberg or berlin, and i trust we shall make a man of you, and a good man. your tutor tells me you have excellent parts, and i mean that you shall do me credit." dr. woodford could not help telling the lad that he ought to thank his uncle, whereat he scowled; but sir peregrine said, "he is not ready for that yet. wait till he feels he has something to thank me for." so peregrine was dismissed, and his friends exclaimed with some wonder and annoyance that the boy who had been willing to be decapitated to put an end to his wretchedness, should be so reluctant to accept such an offer, but sir peregrine only laughed, and said-- "the lad has pith in him! i like him better than if he came like a spaniel to my foot. but i will say no more till i fully have my brother's consent. no one knows what crooks there may be in folks' minds." he took his leave, and presently mrs. woodford had a fresh surprise. she found this strange boy lying flat on the grass, sobbing as if his heart would break, and when she tried to soothe and comfort him it was very hard to get a word from him; but at last, as she asked, "and does it grieve you so much to leave home?" the answer was-- "no, no! not home!" "what is it, then? what are you sorry to leave?" "oh, _you_ don't know! you and anne--the only ones that ever were good to me--and drove away--_it_." "nay, my dear boy. your uncle means to be good to you." "no, no. no one ever will be like you and anne. oh, let me stay with you, or they will have me at last!" he was too much shaken, in his still half-recovered state, by the events of these last days, to be reasoned with. mrs. woodford was afraid he would work himself into delirium, and could only soothe him into a calmer state. she found from anne that the children had some vague hopes of his being allowed to remain at portchester, and that this was the ground of his disappointment, since he seemed to be attaching himself to them as the first who had ever touched his heart or opened to him a gleam of better things. by the next day, however, he was in a quieter and more reasonable state, and mrs. woodford was able to have a long talk with him. she represented that the difference of opinions made it almost certain that his father would never consent to his remaining under her roof, and that even if this were possible, portchester was far too much infected with the folly from which he had suffered so much; and his uncle would take care that no one he would meet should ever hear of it. "there's little good in that," said the boy moodily. "i'm a thing they'll jibe at and bait any way." "i do not see that, if you take pains with yourself. your uncle said you showed blood and breeding, and when you are better dressed, and with him, no one will dare to mock his excellency's nephew. depend upon it, peregrine, this is the fresh start that you need." "if you were there--" "my boy, you must not ask for what is impossible. you must learn to conquer in god's strength, not mine." all, however, that passed may not here be narrated, and it apparently left that wayward spirit unconvinced. nevertheless, when on the second day major oakshott himself came over with his brother, and informed peregrine that his uncle was good enough to undertake the charge of him, and to see that he was bred up in godly ways in a protestant land, free from prelacy and superstition, the boy seemed reconciled to his fate. major oakshott spoke more kindly than usual to him, being free from fresh irritation at his misdemeanours; but even thus there was a contrast with the gentler, more persuasive tones of the diplomatist, and no doubt this tended to increase peregrine's willingness to be thus handed over. the next question was whether he should go home first, but both the uncle and the friends were averse to his remaining there, amid the unavoidable gossip and chatter of the household, and it was therefore decided that he should only ride over with dr. woodford for an hour or two to take leave of his mother and brothers. this settled, mrs. woodford found him much easier to deal with. he had really, through his midnight invocation of the fairies, obtained an opening into a new world, and he was ready to believe that with no one to twit him with being a changeling or worse, he could avoid perpetual disgrace and punishment and live at peace. nor was he unwilling to promise mrs. woodford to say daily, and especially when tempted, one or two brief collects and ejaculations which she selected to teach him, as being as unlike as possible to the long extempore exercises which had made him hate the very name of prayer. the doctor gave him a greek testament, as being least connected with unpleasant recollections. "and," entreated peregrine humbly, in a low voice to mrs. woodford on his last sunday evening, "may i not have something of yours, to lay hold of, and remember you if--when--the evil spirit tries to lay hold of me again?" she would fain have given him a prayer-book, but she knew that would be treason to his father, and with tears in her eyes and something of a pang, she gave him a tiny miniature of herself, which had been her husband's companion at sea, and hung it round his neck with the chain of her own hair that had always held it. "it will always keep my heart warm," said peregrine, as he hid it under his vest. there was a shade of disappointment on anne's face when he showed it to her, for she had almost deemed it her own. "never mind, anne," he said; "i am coming back a knight like my uncle to marry you, and then it will be yours again." "i--i'm not going to wed you--i have another sweetheart," added anne in haste, lest he should think she scorned him. "oh, that lubberly charles archfield! no fear of him. he is promised long ago to some little babe of quality in london. you may whistle for him. so you'd better wait for me." "it is not true. you only say it to plague me." "it's as true as gospel! i heard sir philip telling one of the big black gowns one day in the close, when i was sitting up in a tree overhead, how they had fixed a marriage between his son and his old friend's daughter, who would have ever so many estates. so i'd give that"--snapping his fingers--"for your chances of being my lady archfield in the salt mud at fareham." "i shall ask lucy. it is not kind of you, perry, when you are just going away." "come, come, don't cry, anne." "but i knew charley ever so long first, and--" "oh, yes. maids always like straight, comely, dull fellows, i know that. but as you can't have charles archfield, i mean to have you, anne--for i shall look to you as the only one as can ever make a good man of me! ay--your mother--i'd wed her if i could, but as i can't, i mean to have you, anne woodford." "i don't mean to have you! i shall go to court, and marry some noble earl or gentleman! why do you laugh and make that face, peregrine? you know my father was almost a knight--" "nobody is long with you without knowing that!" retorted peregrine; "but a miss is as good as a mile, and you will find the earls and the lords will think so, and be fain to take the crooked stick at last!" mistress anne tossed her head--and peregrine returned a grimace. nevertheless they parted with a kiss, and for some time the thought of peregrine haunted the little girl with a strange, fateful feeling, between aversion and attraction, which wore off, as a folly of her childhood, with her growth in years. chapter viii: the return "i think he bought his doublet in italy, his round hose in france, his bonnet in germany, and his behaviour everywhere." merchant of venice. it was autumn, but in the year , when again lucy archfield and anne jacobina woodford were pacing the broad gravel walk along the south side of the nave of winchester cathedral. lucy, in spite of her brocade skirt and handsome gown of blue velvet tucked up over it, was still devoid of any look of distinction, but was a round- faced, blooming, cheerful maiden, of that ladylike thoroughly countrified type happily frequent in english girlhood throughout all time. anne, or jacobina, as she tried to be called, towered above her head, and had never lost that tincture of courtly grace that early breeding had given her, and though her skirt was of gray wool, and the upper gown of cherry tabinet, she wore both with an air that made them seem more choice and stylish than those of her companion, while the simple braids and curls of her brown hair set off an unusually handsome face, pale and clear in complexion, with regular features, fine arched eyebrows over clear brown eyes, a short chin, and a mouth of perfect outline, but capable of looking very resolute. altogether she looked fit for a court atmosphere, and perhaps she was not without hopes of it, for dr. woodford had become a royal chaplain under charles ii, and was now continued in the same office; and though this was a sinecure as regarded the present king, yet tory and high church views were as much in the ascendant as they could be under a romanist king, and there were hopes of a canonry at windsor or westminster, or even higher preferment still, if he were not reckoned too staunch an anglican. that mrs. woodford's health had been failing for many months past would, her sanguine daughter thought, be remedied by being nearer the best physicians in london, which had been quitted with regret. meantime lucy's first experiences of wedding festivities were to be heard. for the archfield family had just returned from celebrating the marriage of the heir. long ago anne jacobina had learnt to reckon master charles's pledges of affection among the sports and follies of childhood, and the strange sense of disappointment and shame with which she recollected them had perhaps added to her natural reserve, and made her feel it due to maidenly dignity to listen with zest to the account of the bride, who was to be brought to supper at doctor woodford's that eve. "she is a pretty little thing," said lucy, "but my mother was much concerned to find her so mere a child, and would not, if she had seen her, have consented to the marriage for two years to come, except for the sake of having her in our own hands." "i thought she was sixteen." "barely fifteen, my dear, and far younger than we were at that age. she cried because her woman said she must leave her old doll behind her; and when my brother declared that she should have anything she liked, she danced about, and kissed him, and made him kiss its wooden face with half the paint rubbed off." "he did?" "oh, yes! she is like a pretty fresh plaything to him, and they go about together just like big towzer and little frisk at home. he is very much amused with her, and she thinks him the finest possession that ever came in her way." "well, so he is." "that is true; but somehow it is scarcely like husband and wife; and my mother fears that she may be sickly, for she is so small and slight that it seems as if you could blow her away, and so white that you would think she had no blood, except when a little heat brings the purest rose colour to her cheek, and that, my lady says, betokens weakliness. you know, of course, that she is an orphan; her father died of a wasting consumption, and her mother not long after, when she was a yearling babe. it was her grandfather who was my father's friend in the old cavalier days, and wrote to propose the contract to my brother not long before his death, when she was but five years old. the pity was that she was not sent to us at once, for the old lord, her grand-uncle, never heeded or cared for her, but left her to servants, who petted her, but understood nothing of care of her health or her education, so that the only wonder is that she is alive or so sweet and winning as she is. she can hardly read without spelling, and i had to make copies for her of alice fitzhubert, to show her how to sign the book. all she knew she learnt from the old steward, and only when she liked. my father laughs and is amused, but my lady sighs, and hopes her portion is not dearly bought." "is not she to be a great heiress?" "not of the bulk of the lands--they go to heirs male; but there is much besides, enough to make charles a richer man than our father. i wonder what you will think of her. my mother is longing to talk her over with mrs woodford." "and my mother is longing to see my lady." "i fear she is still but poorly." "we think she will be much better when we get home," said anne. "i am sure she is stronger, for she walked round the close yesterday, and was scarcely tired." "but tell me, anne, is it true that poor master oliver oakshott is dead of smallpox?" "quite true. poor young gentleman, he was to have married that cousin of his mother's, mistress martha browning, living at emsworth. she came on a visit, and they think she brought the infection, for she sickened at once, and though she had it favourably, is much disfigured. master oliver caught it and died in three days, and all the house were down with it. they say poor mrs. oakshott forgot her ailments and went to and fro among them all. my mother would have gone to help in their need if she had been as well as she used to be." "how is it with the other son? he was a personable youth enough. i saw him at the ship launch in the spring, and thought both lads would fain have staid for the dance on board but for their grim old father." "you saw robert, but he is not the elder." "what? is that shocking impish urchin whom we used to call riquet with the tuft, older than he?" "certainly he is. he writes from time to time to my mother, and seems to be doing well with his uncle." "i cannot believe he would come to good. do you remember his sending my brother and cousin adrift in the boat?" "i think that was in great part the fault of your cousin for mocking and tormenting him." "sedley archfield was a bad boy! there's no denying that. i am afraid he had good reason for running away from college." "have you heard of him since?" "yes; he has been serving with the life-guards in scotland, and mayhap he will come home and see us. my father wishes to see whether he is worthy to have a troop procured by money or favour for him, and if they are recalled to the camp at november it will be an opportunity. but see--who is coming through the slype?" "my uncle. and who is with him?" dr. woodford advanced, and with him a small slender figure in black. as the broad hat with sable plume was doffed with a sweep on approaching the ladies, a dark head and peculiar countenance appeared, while the doctor said, "here is an old acquaintance, young ladies, whom i met dismounting at the white hart, and have brought home with me." "mr. peregrine oakshott!" exclaimed anne, feeling bound to offer in welcome a hand, which he kissed after the custom of the day, while lucy dropped a low and formal courtesy, and being already close to the gate of the house occupied by her family, took her leave till supper-time. even in the few steps before reaching home anne was able to perceive that a being very unlike the imp of seven years ago had returned, though still short in stature and very slight, with long dark hair hanging straight enough to suggest elf-locks, but his figure was well proportioned, and had a finished air of high breeding and training. his riding suit was point device, from the ostrich feather in his hat, to the toes of his well made boots, and his sword knew its place, as well as did those of the gentlemen that anne remembered at the duke of york's when she was a little child. his thin, marked face was the reverse of handsome, but it was keen, shrewd, perhaps satirical, and the remarkable eyes were very bright under dark eyebrows and lashes, and the thin lips, devoid of hair, showed fine white teeth when parted by a smile of gladness--at the meeting--though he was concerned to hear that mrs. woodford had been very ill all the last spring, and had by no means regained her former health, and even in the few words that passed it might be gathered that anne was far more hopeful than her uncle. she did indeed look greatly changed, though her countenance was sweeter than ever, as she rose from her seat by the fire and held out her arms to receive the newcomer with a motherly embrace, while the expression of joy and affection was such as could never once have seemed likely to sit on peregrine oakshott's features. they were left together, for anne had the final touches to put to the supper, and dr. woodford was sent for to speak to one of the cathedral staff. peregrine explained that he was on his way home, his father having recalled him on his brother's death, but he hoped soon to rejoin his uncle, whose secretary he now was. they had been for the last few months in london, and were thence to be sent on an embassy to the young czar of muscovy, an expedition to which he looked forward with eager curiosity. mrs. woodford hoped that all danger of infection at oakwood was at an end. "there is none for me, madam," he said, with a curious writhed smile. "did you not know that they thought they were rid of me when i took the disease at seven years old, and lay in the loft over the hen-house with molly owens to tend me? and i believe it was thought to be fairy work that i came out of it no more unsightly than before." "you are seeking for compliments, peregrine; you are greatly improved." "crooked sticks can be pruned and trained," he responded, with a courteous bow. "you are a travelled man. let me see, how many countries have you seen?" "a year at berlin and konigsberg--strange places enough, specially the last, two among the scholars and high roofs of leyden, half a year at versailles and paris, another year at turin, whence back for another half year to wait on old king louis, then to the hague, and the last three months at court. not much like buying and selling cows, or growing wheat on the slopes, or lying out on a cold winter's night to shoot a few wild fowl; and i have you to thank for it, my first and best friend!" "nay, your uncle is surely your best." "never would he have picked up the poor crooked stick save for you, madam. moreover, you gave me my talisman," and he laid his hand on his breast; "it is your face that speaks to me and calls me back when the elf, or whatever it is, has got the mastery of me." somewhat startled, mrs. woodford would have asked what he meant, but that intelligence was brought that mr. oakshott's man had brought his mail, so that he had to repair to his room. mrs. woodford had kept up some correspondence with him, for which his uncle's position as envoy afforded unusual facilities, and she knew that on the whole he had been a very different being from what he was at home. once, indeed, his uncle had written to the doctor to express his full satisfaction in the lad, on whom he seemed to look like a son, but from some subsequent letters she had an impression that he had got into trouble of some sort while at the university of leyden, and she was afraid that she must accept the belief that the wild elfish spirit, as he called it, was by no means extinct in him, any more, she said to herself, than temptation is in any human creature. the question is, what is there to contend therewith? the guests were, however, about to assemble. the doctor, in black velvet cap and stately silken cassock, sash, and gown, sailed down to receive them, and again greeted peregrine, who emerged in black velvet and satin, delicate muslin cravat and cuffs, dainty silk stockings and rosetted shoes, in a style such as made the far taller and handsomer charles archfield, in spite of gay scarlet coat, embroidered flowery vest, rich laced cravat, and thick shining brown curls, look a mere big schoolboy, almost bumpkin-like in contrast. however, no one did look at anything but the little creature who could just reach to hang upon that resplendent bridegroom's arm. she was in glistening white brocade, too stiff and cumbrous for so tiny a figure, yet together with the diamonds glistening on her head and breast giving her the likeness of a fairy queen. the whiteness was almost startling, for the neck and arms were like pearl in tint, the hair flowing in full curls on her shoulders was like shining flax or pale silk just unwound from the cocoon, and the only relief of colour was the deep blue of the eyes, the delicate tint of the lips, and the tender rosy flush that was called up by her presentation to her hosts by stout old sir philip, in plum-coloured coat and full-bottomed wig, though she did not blush half as much as the husband of nineteen in his new character. indeed, had it not been for her childish prettiness, her giggle would have been unpleasing to more than lady archfield, who, broad and matronly, gave a courtesy and critical glance at peregrine before subsiding into a seat beside mrs. woodford. lucy stood among a few other young people from the close, watching for anne, who came in, trim and bright, though still somewhat reddened in face and arms from her last attentions to the supper--an elaborate meal on such occasions, though lighter than the mid-day repast. there were standing pies of game, lobster and oyster patties, creams, jellies, and other confections, on which sir philip and his lady highly complimented anne, who had been engaged on them for at least a couple of days, her mother being no longer able to assist except by advice. "see, daughter alice, you will learn one day to build up a jelly as well as to eat it," said sir philip good-humouredly, whereat the small lady pouted a little and said-- "bet lets me make shapes of the dough, but i won't stir the pans and get to look like a turkey-cock." "ah, ha! and you have always done what you liked, my little madam?" "of course, sir! and so i shall," she answered, drawing up her pretty little head, while lady archfield gave hers a boding shake. "time, and life, and wifehood teach lessons," murmured mrs. woodford in consolation, and the doctor changed the subject by asking peregrine whether the ladies abroad were given to housewifery. "the german dames make a great ado about their wirthschaft, as they call it," was the reply, "but as to the result! pah! i know not how we should have fared had not hans, my uncle's black, been an excellent cook; but it was in paris that we were exquisitely regaled, and our maitre d'hotel would discourse on ragouts and entremets till one felt as if his were the first of the sciences." "so it is to a frenchman," growled sir philip. "french and frenchifications are all the rage nowadays, but what will your father say to your science, my young spark?" the gesture of head and shoulder that replied had certainly been caught at paris. mrs. woodford rushed into the breach, asking about the princess of orange, whom she had often seen as a child. "a stately and sightly dame is she, madam," peregrine answered, "towering high above her little mynheer, who outwardly excels her in naught save the length of nose, and has the manners of a boor." "the prince of orange is the hope of the country," said sir philip severely. peregrine's face wore a queer satirical look, which provoked sir philip into saying, "speak up, sir! what d'ye mean? we don't understand french grins here." "nor does he, nor french courtesies either," said peregrine. "so much the better!" exclaimed the baronet. here the little clear voice broke in, "o mr. oakshott, if i had but known you were coming, you might have brought me a french doll in the latest fashion." "i should have been most happy, madam," returned peregrine; "but unfortunately i am six months from paris, and besides, his honour might object lest a french doll should contaminate the dutch puppets." "but oh, sir, is it true that french dolls have real hair that will curl?" "don't be foolish," muttered charles impatiently; and she drew up her head and made an indescribably droll moue of disgust at him. supper ended, the party broke up into old and young, the two elder gentlemen sadly discussing politics over their tall glasses of wine, the matrons talking over the wedding and lady archfield's stay in london at the parlour fire, and the young folk in a window, waiting for the fiddler and a few more of the young people who were to join them in the dance. the archfield ladies had kissed the hand of the queen, and agreed with peregrine in admiration of her beauty and grace, though they did not go so far as he did, especially when he declared that her eyes were as soft as mistress anne's, and nearly of the same exquisite brown, which made the damsel blush and experience a revival of the old feeling of her childhood, as if he put her under a spell. he went on to say that he had had the good fortune to pick up and restore to queen mary beatrice a gold and coral rosary which she had dropped on her way to st. james's palace from whitehall. she thanked him graciously, letting him kiss her hand, and asking him if he were of the true church. "imagine my father's feelings," he added, "when she said, 'ah! but you will be ere long; i give it you as a pledge.'" he produced the rosary, handing it first to anne, who admired the beautiful filigree work, but it was almost snatched from her by mrs. archfield, who wound it twice on her tiny wrist, tried to get it over her head, and did everything but ask for it, till her husband, turning round, said roughly, "give it back, madam. we want no popish toys here." lucy put in a hasty question whether master oakshott had seen much sport, and this led to a spirited description of the homely earnest of wild boar hunting under the great elector of brandenburg, in contrast with the splendours of la chasse aux sangliers at fontainebleau with the green and gold uniforms, the fanfares on the curled horns, the ladies in their coaches, forced to attend whether ill or well, the very boars themselves too well bred not to conform to the sport of the great idol of france. and again, he showed the diamond sleeve buttons, the trophies of a sort of bazaar held at marly, where the stalls were kept by the dauphin, monsieur, the duke of maine, madame de maintenon, and the rest, where the purchases were winnings at ombre, made not with coin but with nominal sums, and other games at cards, and all was given away that was not purchased. and again the levees, when the king's wig was handed through the curtains on a stick. peregrine's profane mimicry of the stately march of louis quatorze, and the cringing obeisances of his courtiers, together with their strutting majesty towards their own inferiors, convulsed all with merriment; and the bride shrieked out, "do it again! oh, i shall die of laughing!" it was very girlish, with a silvery ring, but the elder ladies looked round, and the bridegroom muttered 'mountebank.' the fiddler arrived at that moment, and the young people paired off, the young couple naturally together, and peregrine, to the surprise and perhaps discomfiture of more than one visitor, securing anne's hand. the young lady pupils of madame knew their steps, and lucy danced correctly, anne with an easy, stately grace, charles archfield performed his devoir seriously, his little wife frisked with childish glee, evidently quite untaught, but peregrine's light narrow feet sprang, pointed themselves, and bounded with trained agility, set off by the tight blackness of his suit. he was like one of the grotesque figures shaped in black paper, or as sir philip, looking in from the dining-parlour, observed, "like a light- heeled french fop." as a rule partners retained one another all the evening, but little mrs. archfield knew no etiquette, and maybe her husband had pushed and pulled her into place a little more authoritatively than she quite approved, for she shook him off, and turning round to peregrine exclaimed-- "now, i will dance with you! you do leap and hop so high and trippingly! never mind her; she is only a parson's niece!" "madam!" exclaimed charles, in a tone of surprised displeasure; but she only nodded archly at him, and said, "i must dance with him; he can jump so high." "let her have her way," whispered lucy, "she is but a child, and it will be better not to make a pother." he yielded, though with visible annoyance, asking anne if she would put up with a poor deserted swain, and as he led her off muttering, "that fellow's friskiness is like to be taken out of him at oakwood." meanwhile the small creature had taken possession of her chosen partner, who, so far as size went, was far better suited to her than any of the other men present. they were dancing something original and unpremeditated, with twirls and springs, sweeps and bends, bounds and footings, just as the little lady's fancy prompted, perhaps guided in some degree by her partner's experience of national dances. white and black, they figured about, she with floating sheeny hair and glistening robes, he trim and tight and jetty, like fairy and imp! it was so droll and pretty that talkers and dancers alike paused to watch them in a strange fascination, till at last, quite breathless and pink as a moss rosebud, alice dropped upon a chair near her husband. he stood grim, stiff, and vexed, all the more because peregrine had taken her fan and was using it so as to make it wave like butterfly's wings, while poor charles looked, as the doctor whispered to his father, far more inclined to lay it about her ears. sir philip laughed heartily, for both he and the doctor had been so much entranced and amused as to be far more diverted at the lad's discomfiture than scandalised at the bride's escapade, which they viewed as child's play. perhaps, however, he was somewhat comforted by her later observation, "he is as ugly as old nick, and looks like always laughing at you; but i wish you could dance like him, mr. archfield, only then you wouldn't be my dear old great big husband, or so beautiful to look at. oh, yes, to be sure, he is nothing but a skipjack such as one makes out of a chicken bone!" and anne meanwhile was exclaiming to her mother, "oh, madam! how could they do such a thing? how could they make poor charley marry that foolish ill-mannered little creature?" "hush, daughter, you must drop that childish name," said mrs. woodford gravely. anne blushed. "i forgot, madam, but i am so sorry for him." "there is no reason for uneasiness, my dear. she is a mere child, and under such hands as lady archfield she is sure to improve. it is far better that she should be so young, as it will be the more easy to mould her." "i hope there is any stuff in her to be moulded," sighed the maiden. "my dear child," returned her mother, "i cannot permit you to talk in this manner. yes, i know mr. archfield has been as a brother to you, but even his sister ought not to allow herself to discuss or dwell on what she deems the shortcomings of his wife." the mother in her prudence had silenced the girl; but none the less did each fall asleep with a sad and foreboding heart. she knew her child to be good and well principled, but those early days of notice and petting from the young princesses of the house of york had never faded from the childish mind, and although anne was dutiful, cheerful, and outwardly contented, the mother often suspected that over the spinning-wheel or embroidery frame she indulged in day dreams of heroism, promotion, and grandeur, which might either fade away in a happy life of domestic duty or become temptations. before going away next morning peregrine entreated that mistress anne might have the queen's rosary, but her mother decidedly refused. "it ought to be an heirloom in your family," said she. he threw up his hands with one of his strange gestures. chapter ix: on his travels "for satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." isaac watts. peregrine went off in good spirits, promising a visit on his return to london, of which he seemed to have no doubt; but no more was heard of him for ten days. at the end of that time the portsmouth carrier conveyed the following note to winchester:-- honoured and reverend sir--seven years since your arguments and intercession induced my father to consent to what i hoped had been the rescue of me, body and soul. i know not whether to ask of your goodness to make the same endeavour again. my father declares that nothing shall induce him again to let me go abroad with my uncle, and persists in declaring that the compact has been broken by our visits to papist lands, nor will aught that i can say persuade him that the muscovite abhors the pope quite as much as he can. he likewise deems that having unfortunately become his heir, i must needs remain at home to thin the timber and watch the ploughmen; and when i have besought him to let me yield my place to robert he replies that i am playing the part of esau. i have written to my uncle, who has been a true father to me, and would be loth to part from me for his own sake as well as mine but i know not whether he will be able to prevail; and i entreat of you, reverend sir, to add your persuasions, for i well know that it would be my perdition to remain bound where i am. commend me to mrs. woodford and mistress anne. i trust that the former is in better health.--i remain, reverend sir, your humble servant to command, peregrine oakshott. given at oakwood house, this th of october . this was very bad news, but dr. woodford knew not how to interfere; moreover, being in course at the cathedral, he could not absent himself long enough for an expedition to oakwood, through wintry roads in short days. he could only write an encouraging letter to the poor lad, and likewise one to mr. horncastle, who under the indulgence had a chapel of his own. the doctor had kept up the acquaintance formed by peregrine's accident, and had come to regard him with much esteem, and as likely to exercise a wholesome influence upon his patron. nothing more was heard for a week, and then came another visitor to the doctor's door, sir peregrine himself, on his way down, at considerable inconvenience, to endeavour to prevail with his brother to allow him to retain his nephew in his suite. "surely," he said, "my brother had enough of camps in his youth to understand that his son will be none the worse squire for having gone a little beyond hampshire bogs, and learnt what the world is made of." "i cannot tell," said dr. woodford; "i have my fears that he thinks the less known of the world the better." "that might answer with a heavy clod of a lad such as the poor youth who is gone, and such as, for his own sake and my brother's, i trust the younger one is, fruges consumere natus; but as for this boy, dulness and vacancy are precisely what would be the ruin of him. let my brother keep master robert at home, and give him oakwood; i will provide for perry as i always promised to do." "if he is wise he will accept the offer," said dr. woodford; "but 'tis hard to be wise for others." "nothing harder, sir. i would that i had gone home with perry, but mine audience of his majesty was fixed for the ensuing week, and my brother's summons was peremptory." "i trust your honour will prevail," said mrs. woodford gently. "you have effected a mighty change in the poor boy, and i can well believe that he is as a son to you." "well, madam, yes--as sons go," said the knight in a somewhat disappointing tone. she looked at him anxiously, and ventured to murmur a hope so very like an inquiry, and so full of solicitous hope, that it actually unlocked the envoy's reserve, and he said, "ah, madam, you have been the best mother that the poor youth has ever had! i will speak freely to you, for should i fail in overcoming my brother's prejudices, you will be able to do more for him than any one else, and i know you will be absolutely secret." mrs. woodford sighed, with forebodings of not long being able to aid any one in this world, but still she listened with earnest interest and sympathy. "yes, madam, you implanted in him that which yet may conquer his strange nature. your name is as it were a charm to conjure up his better spirit." "of course," she said, "i never durst hope, that he could be tamed and under control all at once, but--" and she paused. "he has improved--vastly improved," said the uncle. "indeed, when first i took him with me, while he was still weak, and moreover much overcome by sea-sickness, while all was strange to him, and he was relieved by not finding himself treated as an outcast, i verily thought him meeker than other urchins, and that the outcry against him was unmerited. but no sooner had we got to berlin, and while i was as yet too busy to provide either masters or occupations for my young gentleman, than he did indeed make me feel that i had charge of a young imp, and that if i did not watch the better, it might be a case of war with his spanish majesty. for would you believe it, his envoy's gardens joined ours, and what must my young master do, but sit atop of our wall, making grimaces at the dons and donnas as they paced the walks, and pelting them from time to time with walnuts. well, i was mindful of your counsel, and did not flog him, nor let my chaplain do so, though i know the good man's fingers itched to be at him; but i reasoned with him on the harm he was doing me, and would you believe it, the poor lad burst into tears, and implored me to give him something to do, to save him from his own spirit. i set him to write out and translate a long roll of latin despatches sent up by that pedant court in hungary, and i declare to you i had no more trouble with him till next he was left idle. i gave him tutors, and he studied with fervour, and made progress at which they were amazed. he learnt the high dutch faster than any other of my people, and could soon jabber away in it with the best of the elector's folk, and i began to think i had a nephew who would do me no small credit. i sent him to perfect his studies at leyden, but shall i confess it to you? it was to find that no master nor discipline could keep him out of the riotings and quarrels of the worse sort of students. nay, i found him laid by with a rapier thrust in the side from a duel, for no better cause than biting his thumb at a scots law student in chapel, his apology being that to sit through a dutch sermon drove him crazy. 'tis not that he is not trustworthy. find employment for the restless demon that is in him, and all is well with him; moreover, he is full of wit and humour, and beguiles a long journey or tedious evening at an inn better than any comrade i ever knew, extracting mirth from all around, even the very discomforts, and searching to the quick all that is to be seen. but if left to himself, the restless demon that preys on him is sure to set him to something incalculable. at turin it set him to scraping acquaintance with a capuchin friar, a dirty rogue whom i would have kept on the opposite side of the street. that was his graver mood; but what more must he do, but borrow or steal, i know not how, the ghastly robes of the confraternity of death--the white garb and peaked cap with two holes for the eyes, wherewith men of all degrees disguise themselves while doing the pious work of bearing the dead to the grave. none suspected him, for the disguise is complete, and a duke may walk unknown beside a water-carrier, bearing the corpse of a cobbler. all would have been well, but that at the very brink of the grave the boy's fiend--'tis his own word--impelled him to break forth into his wild "ho! ho! ho!" with an eldritch shriek, and slipping out of his cerements, dash off headlong over the wall of the cemetery. he was not followed. i believe the poor body belonged to a fellow whose salvation was more than doubtful in spite of all the priests could do, and that the bearers really took him for the foul fiend. it was not till a week or two after that the ring of his voice and laugh caused him to be recognised by one of the duke of savoy's gentlemen, happily a prudent man, loth to cause a tumult against one of my suite, and he told me all privately in warning. ay, and when i spoke to peregrine, i found him thoroughly penitent at having insulted the dead; he had been unhappy ever since, and had actually bestowed his last pocket-piece on the widow. he made handsome apologies in good italian, which he had picked up as fast as the german, to the gentleman, who promised that it should go no farther, and kept his word. it was the solemnity, peregrine assured me, that brought back all the intolerableness of the preachings at home, and awoke the same demon." "how long ago was this, sir?" "about eighteen months." "and has all been well since?" "fairly well. he has had fuller and more responsible work to do for me, his turn for languages making him a most valuable secretary; and in the french court, really the most perilous of all to a young man's virtue, he behaved himself well. it is not debauchery that he has a taste for, but he must be doing something, and if wholesome occupations do not stay his appetite, he will be doing mischief. he brought on himself a very serious rebuke from the prince of orange, churlishly and roughly given, i allow, but fully merited, for making grimaces at his acquaintance among the young officers at a military inspection. heaven help the lad if he be left with his father, whose most lively notion of innocent sport is scratching the heads of his hogs!" nothing could be said in answer save earnest wishes that the knight might persuade his brother. mrs. woodford wished her brother-in-law to go with him to add force to his remonstrance; but on the whole it was thought better to leave the family to themselves, dr. woodford only writing to major oakshott, as well as to the youth himself. the result was anxiously watched for, and in another week, earlier in the day than mrs. woodford was able to leave her room, sir peregrine's horses stopped at the door, and as anne ascertained by a peep from the window, he was only accompanied by his servants. "yes," he said to the doctor in his vexation, "one would really think that by force of eating southdown mutton my poor brother had acquired the brains of one of his own rams! i declare 'tis a piteous sight to see a man resolute on ruining his son and breaking his own heart all for conscience sake!" "say you so, sir! i had hoped that the sight of what you have made of your nephew might have had some effect." "all the effect it has produced is to make him more determined to take him from me. the hampshire mind abhors foreign breeding, and the old cromwellian spirit thinks good manners sprung from the world, and wit from the evil one!" "i can quite believe that peregrine's courtly airs are not welcomed here; i could see what our good neighbour, sir philip archfield, thought of them; but whereas no power on earth could make the young gentleman a steady-going clownish youth after his father's heart, methought he might prefer his present polish to impishness." "so i told him, but i might as well have talked to the horse block. it is his duty, quotha, to breed his heir up in godly simplicity!" "simplicity is all very well to begin with, but once flown, it cannot be restored." "and that is what my brother cannot see. well, my poor boy must be left to his fate. there is no help for it, and all i can hope is that you, sir, and the ladies, will stand his friend, and do what may lie in your power to make him patient and render his life less intolerable." "indeed, sir, we will do what we can; i wish that i could hope that it would be of much service." "my brother has more respect for your advice than perhaps you suppose; and to you, madam, the poor lad looks with earnest gratitude. nay, even his mother reaps the benefit of the respect with which you have inspired him. peregrine treats her with a gentleness and attention such as she never knew before from her bear cubs. poor soul! i think she likes it, though it somewhat perplexes her, and she thinks it all french manners. there is one more favour, your reverence, which i scarce dare lay before you. you have seen my black boy hans?" "he was with you at oakwood seven years ago." "even so. i bought the poor fellow when a mere child from a dutch skipper who had used him scurvily, and he has grown up as faithful as a very spaniel, and mightily useful too, not only as body servant, but he can cook as well as any french maitre d'hotel, froth chocolate, and make the best coffee i ever tasted; is as honest as the day, and, i believe, would lay down his life for peregrine or me. i shall be cruelly at a loss without him, but a physician i met in london tells me it would be no better than murder to take the poor rogue to so cold a country as muscovy. i would leave him to wait on perry, but they will not hear of it at oakwood. my sister- in-law wellnigh had a fit every time she looked at him when i was there before, and i found, moreover, that even when i was at hand, the servants jeered at the poor blackamoor, gave him his meals apart, and only the refuse of their own, so that he would fare but ill if i left him to their mercy. i had thought of offering him to mr. evelyn of says court, who would no doubt use him well, but it was peregrine who suggested that if you of your goodness would receive the poor fellow, they could sometimes meet, and that would cheer his heart, and he really is far from a useless knave, but is worth two of any serving-men i ever saw." to take an additional man-servant was by no means such a great proposal as it would be in most houses at present. men swarmed in much larger proportion than maids in all families of condition, and the doctor was wealthy enough for one--more or less--to make little difference, but the question was asked as to what wages hans should receive. the knight laughed. "wages, poor lad, what should he do with them? he is but a slave, i tell you. meat, clothes, and fire, that is all he needs, and i will so deal with him that he will serve you in all faithfulness and obedience. he can speak english enough to know what you bid him do, but not enough for chatter with the servants." so the agreement was made, and poor hans was to be sent down by the portsmouth coach together with peregrine's luggage. chapter x: the menagerie "the head remains unchanged within, nor altered much the face, it still retains its native grin, and all its old grimace. "men with contempt the brute surveyed, nor would a name bestow, but women liked the motley beast, and called the thing a beau." the monkies, merrick. the woodford family did not long remain at winchester. anne declared the cold to be harming her mother, and became very anxious to bring her to the milder sea breezes of portchester, and though mrs. woodford had little expectation that any place would make much difference to her, she was willing to return to the quiet and repose of her home under the castle walls beside the tranquil sea. thus they travelled back, as soon as the doctor's residence was ended, plodding through the heavy chalk roads as well as the big horses could drag the cumbrous coach up and down the hills, only halting for much needed rest at sir philip archfield's red house, round three sides of a quadrangle, the fourth with a low wall backed by a row of poplar trees, looking out on the alternate mud and sluggish waters of fareham creek, but with a beautiful garden behind the house. the welcome was hearty. lady archfield at once conducted mrs. woodford to her own bedroom, where she was to rest and be served apart, and anne disrobed her of her wraps, covered her upon the bed, and at her hostess's desire was explaining what refreshment would best suit her, when there was a shrill voice at the door: "i want mistress anne! i want to show her my clothes and jewels." "coming, child, she is coming when she has attended to her mother," responded the lady. "white wine, or red, did you say, anne, and a little ginger?" "is she never coming?" was again the call; and lady archfield muttering, "was there ever such an impatient poppet?" released anne, who was instantly pounced upon by young mrs. archfield. linking her arm into that of her visitor, and thrusting lucy into the background, the little heiress proceeded to her own wainscotted bedroom, bare according to modern views, but very luxurious according to those of the seventeenth century, and with the toilette apparatus, scanty indeed, but of solid silver, and with a lavish amount of perfumery. her 'own woman' was in waiting to display and refold the whole wedding wardrobe, brocade, satin, taffetas, cambric, valenciennes, and point d'alencon. anne had to admire each in detail, and then to give full meed to the whole casket of jewels, numerous and dazzling as befitted a constellation of heirlooms upon one small head. they were beautiful, but it was wearisome to repeat 'vastly pretty!' 'how exquisite!' 'that becomes you very well,' almost mechanically, when lucy was standing about all the time, longing to exchange the girlish confidences that were burning to come forth. 'young madam,' as every one called her in those times when christian names were at a discount, seemed to be jealous of attention to any one else, and the instant she saw the guest attempt to converse with her sister-in-law peremptorily interrupted, almost as if affronted. perhaps if anne had enjoyed freedom of speech with lucy she would not have learnt as much as did her mother, for the young are often more scrupulous as to confidences than their seniors, who view them as still children, and freely discuss their affairs among themselves. so lady archfield poured out her troubles: how her daughter-in-law refused employment, and disdained instruction in needlework, housewifery, or any domestic art, how she jangled the spinnet, but would not learn music, and was unoccupied, fretful, and exacting, a burthen to herself and every one else, and treating lucy as the slave of her whims and humours. as to such discipline as mothers- in-law were wont to exercise upon young wives, the least restraint or contradiction provoked such a tempest of passion as to shake the tiny, delicate frame to a degree that alarmed the good old matron for the consequences. her health was a continual difficulty, for her constitution was very frail, every imprudence cost her suffering, and yet any check to her impulses as to food, exertion, or encountering weather was met by a spoilt child's resentment. moreover, her young husband, and even his father, always thought the ladies were hard upon her, and would not have her vexed; and as their presence always brightened and restrained her, they never understood the full amount of her petulance and waywardness, and when they found her out of spirits, or out of temper, they charged all on her ailments or on want of consideration from her mother and sister-in-law. poor lady archfield, it was trying for her that her husband should be nearly as blind as his son. the young husband was wonderfully tender, indulgent, and patient with the little creature, but it would not be easy to say whether the affection were not a good deal like that for his dog or his horse, as something absolutely his own, with which no one else had a right to interfere. it was a relief to the family that she always wanted to be out of doors with him whenever the weather permitted, nay, often when it was far from suitable to so fragile a being; but if she came home aching and crying ever so much with chill or fatigue, even if she had to keep her bed afterwards, she was equally determined to rush out as soon as she was up again, and as angry as ever at remonstrance. charles was gone to try a horse; and as the remains of the effects of her last imprudence had prevented her accompanying him, the arrival of the guests had been a welcome diversion to the monotony of the morning. he was, however, at home again by the time the dinner-bell summoned the younger ladies from the inspection of the trinkets and the gentlemen from the live stock, all to sit round the heavy oaken table draped with the whitest of napery, spun by lady archfield in her maiden days, and loaded with substantial joints, succeeded by delicacies manufactured by herself and lucy. as to the horse, charles was fairly satisfied, but 'that fellow, young oakshott, had been after him, and had the refusal.' "don't you be outbid, mr. archfield," exclaimed the wife. "what is the matter of a few guineas to us?" "little fear," replied charles. "the old major is scarcely like to pay down twenty gold caroluses, but if he should, the bay is his." "oh, but why not offer thirty?" she cried. charles laughed. "that would be a scurvy trick, sweetheart, and if peregrine be a crooked stick, we need not be crooked too." "i was about to ask," said the doctor, "whether you had heard aught of that same young gentleman." "i have seen him where i never desire to see him again," said sir philip, "riding as though he would be the death of the poor hounds." "nick huntsman swears that he bewitches them," said charles, "for they always lose the scent when he is in the field, but i believe 'tis the wry looks of him that throw them all out." "and i say," cried the inconsistent bride, "that 'tis all jealousy that puts the gentlemen beside themselves, because none of them can dance, nor make a bow, nor hand a cup of chocolate, nor open a gate on horseback like him." "what does a man on horseback want with opening gates?" exclaimed charles. "that's your manners, sir," said young madam with a laugh. "what's the poor lady to do while her cavalier flies over and leaves her in the lurch?" her husband did not like the general laugh, and muttered, "you know what i mean well enough." "yes, so do i! to fumble at the fastening till your poor beast can bear it no longer and swerves aside, and i sit waiting a good half hour before you bring down your pride enough to alight and open it." "all because you _would_ send will home for your mask." "you would like to have had my poor little face one blister with the glare of sun and sea." "blisters don't come at this time of the year." "no, nor to those who have no complexion to lose," she cried, with a triumphant look at the two maidens, who certainly had not the lilies nor the roses that she believed herself to have, though, in truth, her imprudences had left her paler and less pretty than at winchester. if this were the style of the matrimonial conversations, anne again grieved for her old playfellow, and she perceived that lucy looked uncomfortable; but there was no getting a moment's private conversation with her before the coach was brought round again for the completion of the journey. all that neighbourhood had a very bad reputation as the haunt of lawless characters, prone to violence; and though among mere smugglers there was little danger of an attack on persons well known like the woodford family, they were often joined by far more desperate men from the seaport, so that it was never desirable to be out of doors after dark. the journey proved to have been too much for mrs. woodford's strength, and for some days she was so ill that anne never left the house; but she rallied again, and on coming downstairs became very anxious that her daughter should not be more confined by attendance than was wholesome, and insisted on every opportunity of change or amusement being taken. one day as anne was in the garden she was surprised by peregrine dashing up on horseback. "you would not take the queen's rosary before," he said. "you must now, to save it. my father has smelt it out. he says it is teraphim! micah--rachel, what not, are quoted against it. he would have smashed it into fragments, but that martha browning said it would be a pretty bracelet. i'd sooner see it smashed than on her red fist. to think of her giving in to such vanities! but he said she might have it, only to be new strung. when he was gone she said, 'i don't really want the thing, but it was hard you should lose the queen's keepsake. can you bestow it safely?' i said i could, and brought it hither. keep it, anne, i pray." anne hesitated, and referred it to her mother upstairs. "tell him," she said, "that we will keep it in trust for him as a royal gift." peregrine was disappointed, but had to be content. a dutch vessel from the east indies had brought home sundry strange animals, which were exhibited at the jolly mariner at portsmouth, and thus announced on a bill printed on execrable paper, brought out to portchester by some of the market people:-- "an ellefante twice the bignesse of an ocks, the trunke or probosces whereof can pick up a needle or roote up an ellum tree. also the royale tyger, the same as has slaine and devoured seven yonge gentoo babes, three men, and two women at the township at chuttergong, nie to bombay, in the eastern indies. also the sacred ape, worshipped by the heathen of the indies, the dancing serpent which weareth spectacles, and whose bite is instantly mortal, with other rare fish, fowle, idols and the like. all to be seene at the charge of one groat per head." mrs. woodford declared herself to be extremely desirous that her daughter should see and bring home an account of all these marvels, and though anne had no great inclination to face the tiger with the formidable appetite, she could not refuse to accompany her uncle. the jolly mariner stood in one of the foulest and narrowest of the streets of the unsavoury seaport, and dr. woodford sighed, and fumed, and wished for a good pipe of tobacco more than once as he hesitated to try to force a way for his niece through the throng round the entrance to the stable-yard of the jolly mariner, apparently too rough to pay respect to gown and cassock. anne clung to his arm, ready to give up the struggle, but a voice said, "allow me, sir. mistress anne, deign to take my arm." it was peregrine oakshott with his brother robert, and she could hardly tell how in a few seconds she had been squeezed through the crowd, and stood in the inn-yard, in a comparatively free space, for a groat was a prohibitory charge to the vulgar. "peregrine! master oakshott!" they heard an exclamation of pleasure, at which peregrine shrugged his shoulders and looked expressively at anne, before turning to receive the salutations of an elderly gentleman and a tall young woman, very plainly but handsomely clad in mourning deeper than his own. she was of a tall, gaunt, angular figure, and a face that never could have been handsome, and now bore evident traces of smallpox in redness and pits. dr. woodford knew the guardian mr. browning, and his ward mistress martha and mistress anne jacobina were presented to one another. the former gave a good-humoured smile, as if perfectly unconscious of her own want of beauty, and declared she had hoped to meet all the rest here, especially mistress anne woodford, of whom she had heard so much. there was just a little patronage about the tone which repelled the proud spirit that was in anne, and in spite of the ordinary dread and repulsion she felt for peregrine, she was naughty enough to have the feeling of a successful beauty when peregrine most manifestly turned away from the heiress in her silk and velvet to do the honours of the exhibition to the parson's niece. the elephant was fastened by the leg to a post, which perhaps he could have pulled up, had he thought it worth his while, but he was well contented to wave his trunk about and extend its clever finger to receive contributions of cakes and apples, and he was too well amused to resort to any strong measures. the tiger, to anne's relief, proved to be only a stuffed specimen. peregrine, who had seen a good many foreign animals in holland, where the dutch captains were in the habit of bringing curiosities home for the delectation of their families in their lusthausen, was a very amusing companion, having much to tell about bird and beast, while robert stood staring with open mouth. the long-legged secretary and the beautiful doves were, however, only stuffed, but anne was much entertained at second hand with the relation of the numerous objects, which on the word of a leyden merchant had been known to disappear in the former bird's capacious crop, and with stories of the graceful dancing of the cobra, though she was not sorry that the present specimen was only visible in a bottle of arrack, where his spectacled hood was scarcely apparent. presently a well known shrill young voice was heard. "yes, yes, i know i shall swoon at that terrible tiger! oh, don't! i can't come any farther." "why, you would come, madam," said charles. "yes, yes! but--oh, there's a two-tailed monster! i know it is the tiger! it is moving! i shall die if you take me any farther." "plague upon your folly, madam! it is only the elephant," said a gruffer, rude voice. "oh, it is dreadful! 'tis like a mountain! i can't! oh no, i can't!" "come, madam, you have brought us thus far, you must come on, and not make fools of us all," said charles's voice. "there's nothing to hurt you." anne, understanding the distress and perplexity, here turned back to the passage into the court, and began persuasively to explain to little mrs. archfield that the tiger was dead, and only a skin, and that the elephant was the mildest of beasts, till she coaxed forward that small personage, who had of course never really intended to turn back, supported and guarded as she was by her husband, and likewise by a tall, glittering figure in big boots and a handsome scarlet uniform and white feather who claimed her attention as he strode into the court. "ha! mistress anne and the doctor on my life. what, don't you know me?" "master sedley archfield!" said the doctor; "welcome home, sir! 'tis a meeting of old acquaintance. you and this gentleman are both so much altered that it is no wonder if you do not recognise one another at once." "no fear of mr. perry oakshott not being recognised," said sedley archfield, holding out his hand, but with a certain sneer in his rough voice that brought peregrine's eyebrows together. "kenspeckle enough, as the fools of whigs say in scotland." "are you long from scotland, sir?" asked dr. woodford, by way of preventing personalities. "oh ay, sir; these six months and more. there's not much more sport to be had since the fools of cameronians have been pretty well got under, and 'tis no loss to be at hounslow." "and oh, what a fright!" exclaimed mrs. archfield, catching sight of the heiress. "keep her away! she makes me ill." they were glad to divert her attention to feeding the elephant, and she was coquetting a little about making up her mind to approach even the defunct tiger, while she insisted on having the number of his victims counted over to her. anne asked for lucy, to whom she wanted to show the pigeons, but was answered that, "my lady wanted lucy at home over some matter of jellies and blancmanges." charles shrugged his shoulders a little and sedley grumbled to anne. "the little vixen sets her heart on cates that she won't lay a finger to make, and poor lucy is like to be no better than a cook- maid, while they won't cross her, for fear of her tantrums." at that instant piercing screams, shriek upon shriek, rang through the court, and turning hastily round, anne beheld a little monkey perched on mrs. archfield's head, having apparently leapt thither from the pole to which it was chained. the keeper was not in sight, being in fact employed over a sale of some commodities within. there was a general springing to the rescue. charles tried to take the creature off, sedley tugged at the chain fastened to a belt round its body, but the monkey held tight by the curls on the lady's forehead with its hands, and crossed its legs round her neck, clasping the hands so that the effect of the attempts of her husband and his cousin was only to throttle her, so that she could no longer scream and was almost in a fit, when on peregrine holding out a nut and speaking coaxingly in dutch, the monkey unloosed its hold, and with another bound was on his arm. he stood caressing and feeding it, talking to it in the same tongue, while it made little squeaks and chatterings, evidently delighted, though its mournful old man's visage still had the same piteous expression. there was something most grotesque and almost weird in the sight of peregrine's queer figure toying with its odd hands which seemed to be in black gloves, and the strange language he talked to it added to the uncanny effect. even the doctor felt it as he stood watching, and would have muttered 'birds of a feather,' but that the words were spoken more gruffly and plainly by sedley archfield, who said something about the devil and his dam, which the good doctor did not choose to hear, and only said to peregrine, "you know how to deal with the jackanapes." "i have seen some at leyden, sir. this is a pretty little beast." pretty! there was a recoil in horror, for the creature looked to the crowd demoniacal. something the same was the sensation of charles, who, assisted by anne and martha, had been rather carrying than leading his wife into the inn parlour, where she immediately had a fit of hysterics--vapours, as they called it--bringing all the women of the inn about her, while martha and anne soothed her as best they could, and he was reduced to helplessly leaning out at the bay window. when the sobs and cries subsided, under cold water and essences without and strong waters within, and the little lady in martha's strong arms, between the matronly coaxing of the fat hostess and the kind soothings of the two young ladies, had been restored to something of equanimity, mistress martha laid her down and said with the utmost good humour and placidity to the young husband, "now i'll go, sir. she is better now, but the sight of my face might set her off again." "oh, do not say so, madam. we are infinitely obliged. let her thank you." but martha shook her hand and laughed, turning to leave the room, so that he was fain to give her his arm and escort her back to her guardian. then ensued a scream. "where's he going? mr. archfield, don't leave me." "he is only taking mistress browning back to her guardian," said anne. "eh? oh, how can he? a hideous fright!" she cried. to say the truth, she was rather pleased to have had such a dreadful adventure, and to have made such a commotion, though she protested that she must go home directly, and could never bear the sight of those dreadful monsters again, or she should die on the spot. "but," said she, when the coach was at the door, and anne had restored her dress to its dainty gaiety, "i must thank master peregrine for taking off that horrible jackanapes." "small thanks to him," said charles crossly. "i wager it was all his doing out of mere spite." "he is too good a beau ever to spite _me_," said mrs. alice, her head a little on one side. "then to show off what he could do with the beast--satan's imp, like himself." "no, no, mr. archfield," pleaded anne, "that was impossible; i saw him myself. he was with that sailor-looking man measuring the height of the secretary bird." "i believe you are always looking after him," grumbled charles. "i can't guess what all the women see in him to be always gazing after him." "because he is so charmingly ugly," laughed the young wife, tripping out in utter forgetfulness that she was to die if she went near the beasts again. she met peregrine half way across the yard with outstretched hands, exclaiming-- "o mr. oakshott! it was so good in you to take away that nasty beast." "i am glad, madam, to have been of use," said peregrine, bowing and smiling, a smile that might explain something of his fascination. "the poor brute was only drawn, as all of our kind are. he wanted to see so sweet a lady nearer. he is quite harmless. will you stroke him? see, there he sits, gazing after you. will you give him a cake and make friends?" "no, no, madam, it cannot be; it is too much," grumbled charles; and though alice had backed at first, perhaps for the pleasure of teasing him, or for that of being the centre of observation, actually, with all manner of pretty airs and graces, she let herself be led forward, lay a timid hand on the monkey's head, and put a cake in its black fingers, while all the time peregrine held it fast and talked dutch to it; and charles archfield hardly contained his rage, though anne endeavoured to argue the impossibility of peregrine's having incited the attack; and sedley blustered that they ought to interfere and make the fellow know the reason why. however, charles had sense enough to know that though he might exhale his vexation in grumbling, he had no valid cause for quarrelling with young oakshott, so he contented himself with black looks and grudging thanks, as he was obliged to let peregrine hand his wife into her carriage amid her nods and becks and wreathed smiles. they would have taken dr. woodford and his niece home in the coach, but anne had an errand in the town, and preferred to return by boat. she wanted some oranges and turkey figs to allay her mother's constant thirst, and peregrine begged permission to accompany them, saying that he knew where to find the best and cheapest. accordingly he took them to a tiny cellar, in an alley by the boat camber, where the portugal oranges certainly looked riper and were cheaper than any that anne had found before; but there seemed to be an odd sort of understanding between peregrine and the withered old weather-beaten sailor who sold them, such as rather puzzled the doctor. "i hope these are not contraband," he said to peregrine, when the oranges had been packed in the basket of the servant who followed them. peregrine shrugged his shoulders. "living is hard, sir. ask no questions." the doctor looked tempted to turn back with the fruit, but such doubts were viewed as ultra scruples, and would hardly have been entertained even by a magistrate such as sir philip archfield. it was not a time for questions, and peregrine remained with them till they embarked at the point, asking to be commended to mrs. woodford, and hoping soon to come and see both her and poor hans, he left them. chapter xi: proposals "hear me, ye venerable core, as counsel for poor mortals, that frequent pass douce wisdom's door for glaikit folly's portals; i for their thoughtless, careless sakes would here propose defences, their doucie tricks, their black mistakes, their failings and mischances." burns. for seven years anne woodford had kept lucy archfield's birthday with her, and there was no refusing now, though there was more and more unwillingness to leave mrs. woodford, whose declining state became so increasingly apparent that even the loving daughter could no longer be blind to it. the coach was sent over to fetch mistress anne to fareham, and the invalid was left, comfortably installed in her easy-chair by the parlour fire, with a little table by her side, holding a hand-bell, a divided orange, a glass of toast and water, and the bible and prayer-book, wherein lay her chief studies, together with a little needlework, which still amused her feeble hands. the doctor, divided between his parish, his study, and his garden, had promised to look in from time to time. presently, however, the door was gently tapped, and on her call "come in," hans, all one grin, admitted peregrine oakshott, bowing low in his foreign, courteous manner, and entreating her to excuse his intrusion, "for truly, madam, in your goodness is my only hope." then he knelt on one knee and kissed the hand she held out to him, while desiring him to speak freely to her. "nay, madam, i fear i shall startle you, when i lay before you the only chance that can aid me to overcome the demon that is in me." "my poor--" "call me your boy, as when i was here seven years ago. let me sit at your feet as then and listen to me." "indeed i will, my dear boy," and she laid her hand on his dark head. "tell me all that is in your heart." "ah, dear lady, that is not soon done! you and mistress anne, as you well know, first awoke me from my firm belief that i was none other than an elf, and yet there have since been times when i have doubted whether it were not indeed the truth." "nay, peregrine, at years of discretion you should have outgrown old wives' tales." "better be an elf at once--a soulless creature of the elements--than the sport of an evil spirit doomed to perdition," he bitterly exclaimed. "hush, hush! you know not what you are saying!" "i know it too well, madam! there are times when i long and wish after goodness--nay, when heaven seems open to me--and i resolve and strive after a perfect life; but again comes the wild, passionate dragging, as it were, into all that at other moments i most loathe and abhor, and i become no more my own master. ah!" there was misery in his voice, and he clutched the long hair on each side of his face with his hands. "st. paul felt the same," said mrs. woodford gently. "'who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' ay, ay! how many times have i not groaned that forth! and so, if that father at turin were right, i am but as paul was when he was saul. madam, is it not possible that i was never truly baptized?" he cried eagerly. "impossible, peregrine. was not mr. horncastle chaplain when you were born? yes; and i have heard my brother say that both he and your father held the same views as the church upon baptism." "so i thought; but father geronimo says that at the best it was but heretical baptism, and belike hastily and ineffectually performed." "put that aside, peregrine. it is only a temptation and allurement." "it is an allurement you know not how strong," said the poor youth. "could i only bring myself to believe all that father geronimo does, and fall down before his madonnas and saints, then could i hope for a new nature, and scourge away the old"--he set his teeth as he spoke--"till naught remains of the elf or demon, be it what it will." "ah, peregrine, scourging will not do it, but grace will, and that grace is indeed yours, as is proved by these higher aspirations." "i tell you, madam, that if i live on as i am doing now, grace will be utterly stifled, if it ever abode in me at all. every hour that i live, pent in by intolerable forms and immeasurable dulness, the maddening temper gains on me! nay, i have had to rush out at night and swear a dozen round oaths before i could compose myself to sit down to the endless supper. ah, i shock you, madam! but that's not the worst i am driven to do." "nor the way to bring the better spirit, my poor youth. oh, that you would pray instead of swearing!" "i cannot pray at oakwood. my father and mr. horncastle drive away all the prayers that ever were in me, and i mean nothing, even though i keep my word to you." "i am glad you do that. while i know you are doing so, i shall still believe the better angel will triumph." "how can aught triumph but hatred and disgust where i am pinned down? listen, madam, and hear if good spirits have any chance. we break our fast, ere the sun is up, on chunks of yesterday's half- dressed beef and mutton. if i am seen seeking for a morsel not half raw, i am rated for dainty french tastes; and the same with the sour smallest of beer. i know now what always made me ill-tempered as a child, and i avoid it, but at the expense of sneers on my french breeding, even though my drink be fair water; for wine, look you, is a sinful expense, save for after dinner, and frothed chocolate for a man is an invention of satan. the meal is sauced either with blame of me, messages from the farm-folk, or bob's exploits in the chase. then my father goes his rounds on the farm, and would fain have me with him to stand knee-deep in mire watching the plough, or feeling each greasy and odorous old sheep in turn to see if it be ready for the knife, or gloating over the bullocks or swine, or exchanging auguries with thomas vokes on this or that crop. faugh! and i am told i shall never be good for a country gentleman if i contemn such matters! i say i have no mind to be a country gentleman, whereby i am told of esau till i am sick of his very name." "but surely you have not always to follow on this round?" "oh no! i may go out birding with bob, who is about as lively as an old jackass, or meet the country boobies for a hunt, and be pointed at as the frenchman, and left to ride alone; or there's mine own chamber, when the maids do not see fit to turn me out with their pails and besoms, as they do at least twice a week--i sit there in my cloak and furs (by the way, i am chidden for an effeminate fop if ever i am seen in them). i would give myself to books, as my uncle counselled, but what think you? by ill hap bob, coming in to ask some question, found me studying the divina commedia of dante alighieri, and hit upon one of the engravings representing the torments of purgatory. what must he do but report it, and immediately a hue and cry arises that i am being corrupted with popish books. in vain do i tell them that their admirable john milton, the only poet save sternhold and hopkins that my father deems not absolute pagan, knew, loved, and borrowed from dante. all my books are turned over as ruthlessly as ever don quixote's by the curate and the barber, and whatever mr. horncastle's erudition cannot vouch for is summarily handed over to the kitchen wench to light the fires. the best of it is that they have left me my classics, as though old terence and lucan were lesser heathens than the great florentine. however, i have bribed the young maid, and rescued my dante and boiardo with small damage, but i dare not read them save with door locked." mrs. woodford could scarcely shake her head at the disobedience, and she asked if there were really no other varieties. "such as fencing with that lubber robert, and trying to bend his stiff limbs to the noble art of l'escrime. but that is after dinner work. there is the mountain of half-raw flesh to be consumed first, and then my father, with mr. horncastle and bob discuss on what they call the news--happy if a poor rogue has been caught by tom constable stealing faggots. 'tis argument for a week--almost equal to the price of a fat mutton at portsmouth. my father and the minister nod in due time over their ale-cup, and bob and i go our ways till dark, or till the house bell rings for prayers and exposition. well, dear good lady, i will not grieve you by telling you how often they make me wish to be again the imp devoid of every shred of self-respect, and too much inured to flogging to heed what my antics might bring on me." "i am glad you have that shred of self respect; i hope indeed it is some higher respect." "well, i can never believe that heaven meant to be served by mortal dullness. seven years have only made old horncastle blow his horn to the same note, only more drearily." "i can see indeed that it is a great trial to one used to the life of foreign courts and to interest in great affairs like you, my poor peregrine; but what can i say but to entreat you to be patient, try to find interest, and endeavour to win your father's confidence so that he may accord you more liberty? did i not hear that your attention made your mother's life happier?" peregrine laughed. "my mother! she has never seen aught but boorishness all her life, and any departure therefrom seems to her unnatural. i believe she is as much afraid of my courtesy as ever she was of my mischief, and that in her secret heart she still believes me a changeling. no, madam woodford, there is but one way to save me from the frenzy that comes over me." "your father has already been entreated to let you join your uncle." "i know it--i know it; but if it were impossible before, that discovery of dante has made it impossibilissimo, as the italian would say, to deal with him now. there is a better way. give me the good angel who has always counteracted the evil one. give me mistress anne!" "anne, my anne!" exclaimed mrs. woodford in dismay. "o peregrine, it cannot be!" "i knew that would be your first word," said peregrine, "but verily, madam, i would not ask it but that i know that i should be another man with her by my side, and that she would have nothing to fear from the evil that dies at her approach." "ah, peregrine! you think so now; but no man can be sure of himself with any mere human care. besides, my child is not of degree to match with you. your father would justly be angered if we took advantage of your attachment to us to encourage you in an inclination he could never approve." "i tell you, madam--yes, i must tell you all--my madness and my ruin will be completed if i am left to my father's will. i know what is hanging over me. he is only waiting till i am of age--at midsummer, and the year of mourning is over for poor oliver--i am sure no one mourns for him more heartily than i--to bind me to martha browning. if she would only bring the plague, or something worse than smallpox, to put an end to it at once!" "but that would make any such scheme all the more impossible." "listen, madam; do but hear me. even as children the very sight of martha browning's solemn face"--peregrine drew his countenance down into a portentous length--"her horror at the slightest word or sport, her stiff broomstick carriage, all impelled me to the most impish tricks. and now--letting alone that pock-marks have seamed her grim face till she is as ugly as alecto--she is a precisian of the precisians. i declare our household is in her eyes sinfully free! if she can hammer out a text of scripture, and write her name in characters as big and gawky as herself, 'tis as far as her education has carried her, save in pickling, preserving, stitchery, and clear starching, the only arts not sinful in her eyes. if i am to have a broomstick, i had rather ride off on one at once to the witches' sabbath on the wartburg than be tied to one for life." "i should think she would scarce accept you." "there's no such hope. she has been bred up to regard one of us as her lot, and she would accept me without a murmur if i were beelzebub himself, horns and tail and all! why, she ogles me with her gooseberry eyes already, and treats me as a chattel of her own." "hush, hush, peregrine! i cannot have you talk thus. if your father had such designs, it would be unworthy of us to favour you in crossing them." "nay, madam, he hath never expressed them as yet. only my mother and brother both refer to his purpose, and if i could show myself contracted to a young lady of good birth and education, he cannot gainsay; it might yet save me from what i will not and cannot endure. not that such is by any means my chief and only motive. i have loved mistress anne with all my heart ever since she shone upon me like a being from a better world when i lay sick here. she has the same power of hushing the wild goblin within me as you have, madam. i am another man with her, as i am with you. it is my only hope! give me that hope, and i shall be able to endure patiently.-- ah! what have i done? have i said too much?" he had talked longer and more eagerly than would have been good for the invalid even if the topic had been less agitating, and the emotion caused by this unexpected complication, consternation at the difficulties she foresaw, and the present difficulty of framing a reply, were altogether too much for mrs. woodford. she turned deadly white, and gasped for breath, so that peregrine, in terror, dashed off in search of the maids, exclaiming that their mistress was in a swoon. the doctor came out of his study much distressed, and in anne's absence the household was almost helpless in giving the succours in which she had always been the foremost. peregrine lingered about in remorse and despair, offering to fetch her or to go for the doctor, and finally took the latter course, thereto impelled by the angry words of the old cook, an enemy of his in former days. "no better? no, sir, nor 'tis not your fault if ever she be. you've been and frought her nigh to death with your terrifying ways." peregrine was hampshire man enough to know that to terrify only meant to tease, but he was in no mood to justify himself to old patience, so he galloped off to portsmouth, and only returned with the doctor to hear that madam woodford was in bed, and her daughter with her. she was somewhat better, but still very ill, and it was plain that this was no moment for pressing his suit even had it not been time for him to return home. going to fetch the doctor might be accepted as a valid reason for missing the evening exhortation and prayer, but there were mistrustful looks that galled him. anne's return was more beneficial to mrs. woodford than the doctor's visit, and the girl was still too ignorant of all that her mother's attacks of spasms and subsequent weakness implied to be as much alarmed as to depress her hopes. yet mrs. woodford, lying awake in the night, detected that her daughter was restless and unhappy, and asked what ailed her, and how the visit had gone off. "you do not wish me to speak of such things, madam," was the answer. "tell me all that is in your heart, my child." it all came out with the vehemence of a reserved nature when the flood is loosed. 'young madam' had been more than usually peevish and exacting, jealous perhaps at lucy's being the heroine of the day, and fretful over a cold which confined her to the house, how she worried and harassed all around her with her whims, megrims and complaints could only too well be imagined, and how the entire pleasure of the day was destroyed. lucy was never allowed a minute's conversation with her friend without being interrupted by a whine and complaints of unkindness and neglect. lady archfield's ill-usage, as the young wife was pleased to call every kind of restriction, was the favourite theme next to the daughter-in law's own finery, her ailments, and her notions of the treatment befitting her. and young mr. archfield himself, while handing his old friend out to the carriage that had fetched her, could not help confiding to her that he was nearly beside himself. his mother meant to be kind, but expected too much from one so brought up, and his wife--what could be done for her? she made herself miserable here, and every one else likewise. yet even if his father would consent, she was utterly unfit to be mistress of a house of her own; and poor charles could only utter imprecations on the guardians who could have had no idea how a young woman ought to be brought up. it was worse than an ill-trained hound." mrs. woodford heard what she extracted from her daughter with grief and alarm, and not only for her friends. "indeed, my dear child," she said, "you must prevent such confidences. they are very dangerous things respecting married people." "it was all in a few moments, mamma, and i could not stop him. he is so unhappy;" and anne's voice revealed tears. "the more reason why you should avoid hearing what he will soon be very sorry you have heard. were he not a mere lad himself, it would be as inexcusable as it is imprudent thus to speak of the troubles and annoyances that often beset the first year of wedded life. i am sorry for the poor youth, who means no harm nor disloyalty, and is only treating you as his old companion and playmate; but he has no right thus to talk of his wife, above all to a young maiden too inexperienced to counsel him, and if he should attempt to do so again, promise me, my daughter, that you will silence him--if by no other means, by telling him so." "i promise!" said anne, choking back her tears and lifting her head. "i am sure i never want to go to fareham again while that lieutenant sedley archfield is there. if those be army manners, they are what i cannot endure. he is altogether mean and hateful, above all when he scoffs at master oakshott." "i am afraid a great many do so, child, and that he often gives some occasion," put in mrs. woodford, a little uneasy that this should be the offence. "he is better than sedley archfield, be he what he will, madam," said the girl. "he never pays those compliments, those insolent disgusting compliments, such as he--that sedley, i mean--when he found me alone in the hall, and i had to keep him at bay from trying to kiss me, only mr. archfield--charley--came down the stairs before he was aware, and called out, 'i will thank you to behave yourself to a lady in my father's house.' and then he, sedley, sneered 'the parson's niece!' with such a laugh, mother, i shall never get it out of my ears. as if i were not as well born as he!" "that is not quite the way to take it, my child. i had rather you stood on your maidenly dignity and discretion than on your birth. i trust he will soon be away." "i fear he will not, mamma, for i heard say the troop are coming down to be under the duke of berwick at portsmouth." "then, dear daughter, it is the less mishap that you should be thus closely confined by loving attendance on me. now, goodnight. compose yourself to sleep, and think no more of these troubles." nevertheless mother and daughter lay long awake, side by side, that night; the daughter in all the flutter of nerves induced by offended yet flattered feeling--hating the compliment, yet feeling that it was a compliment to the features that she was beginning to value. she was substantially a good, well-principled maiden, modest and discreet, with much dignified reserve, yet it was impossible that she should not have seen heads turned to look at her in portsmouth, and know that she was admired above her contemporaries, so that even if it brought her inconvenience it was agreeable. besides, her heart was beating with pity for the archfields. the elder ones might have only themselves to blame, but it was very hard for poor charles to have been blindly coupled to a being who did not know how to value him, still harder that there should be blame for a confidence where neither meant any harm--blame that made her blush on her pillow with indignant shame. perhaps mrs. woodford divined these thoughts, for she too meditated deeply on the perils of her fair young daughter, and in the morning could not leave her room. in the course of the day she heard that master peregrine oakshott had been to inquire for her, and was not surprised when her brother-in-law sought an interview with her. the gulf between the hierarchy and squirearchy was sufficient for a marriage to be thought a mesalliance, and it was with a smile at the folly as well as with a certain displeased pity that dr. woodford mentioned the proposal so vehemently pressed upon him by peregrine oakshott for his niece's hand. "poor boy!" said mrs. woodford, "it is a great misfortune. you forbade him of course to speak of such a thing." "i told him that i could not imagine how he could think us capable of entertaining any such proposal without his father's consent. he seems to have hoped that to pledge himself to us might extort sanction from his father, not seeing that it would be a highly improper measure, and would only incense the major." "all the more that the major wishes to pass on mistress martha browning to him, poor fellow." "he did not tell me so." mrs. woodford related what he had said to her, and the doctor could not but observe: "the poor major! his whole treatment of that unfortunate youth is as if he were resolved to drive him to distraction. but even if the major were ever so willing, i doubt whether master peregrine be the husband you would choose for our little maid." "assuredly not, poor fellow! though if she loved him as he loves her--which happily she does not--i should scarce dare to stand in the way, lest she should be the appointed instrument for his good." "he assured me that he had never directly addressed her." "no, and i trust he never will. not that she is ever like to love him, although she does not shrink from him quite as much as others do. yet there is a strain of ambition in my child's nature that might make her seek the elevation. but, my good brother, for this and other reasons we must find another home for my poor child when i am gone. nay, brother, do not look at me thus; you know as well as i do that i can scarcely look to see the spring come in, and i would fain take this opportunity of speaking to you concerning my dear daughter. no one can be a kinder father to her than you, and i would most gladly leave her to cheer and tend you, but as things stand around us she can scarce remain here without a mother's watchfulness. she is guarded now by her strict attendance on my infirmity, but when i am gone how will it be?" "she is as good and discreet a maiden as parent could wish." "good and discreet as far as her knowledge and experience go, but that is not enough. on the one hand, there is a certain wild temper about that young master oakshott such as makes me never know what he might attempt if, as he says, his father should drive him to desperation, and this is a lonely place, with the sea close at hand." "lady archfield would gladly take charge of her." mrs. woodford here related what anne had said of sedley's insolence, but this the doctor thought little of, not quite believing in the regiment coming into the neighbourhood, and mrs. woodford most unwillingly was forced to mention her further unwillingness that her daughter should be made a party to the troubles caused by the silly young wife of her old playfellow. "what more?" said the doctor, holding up his hands. "i never thought a discreet young maid could be such a care, but i suppose that is the price we pay for her good looks. three of them, eh? what is it that you propose?" "i should like to place her in the household of some godly and kindly lady, who would watch over her and probably provide for her marriage. that, as you know, was my own course, and i was very happy in lady sandwich's family, till i made the acquaintance of your dear and honoured brother, and my greater happiness began. the first day that i am able i will write to some of my earlier friends, such as mrs. evelyn and mrs. pepys, and again there is mistress eleanor wall, who, i hear, is married to sir theophilus oglethorpe, and who might accept my daughter for my sake. she is a warm, loving, open-hearted creature of irish blood, and would certainly be kind to her." there was no indignity in such a plan. most ladies of rank or quality entertained one or more young women of the clerical or professional classes as companions, governesses, or ladies' maids, as the case might be. they were not classed with the servants, but had their share of the society and amusements of the house, and a fair chance of marriage in their own degree, though the comfort of their situation varied a good deal according to the amiability of their mistress, from that of a confidential friend to a white slave and souffre douleur. dr. woodford had no cause to object except his own loss of his niece's society and return to bachelor life, after the eight years of companionship which he had enjoyed; but such complications as were induced by the presence of an attractive young girl were, as he allowed, beyond him, and he acquiesced with a sigh in the judgment of the mother, whom he had always esteemed so highly. the letters were written, and in due time received kind replies. mrs. evelyn proposed that the young gentlewoman should come and stay with her till some situation should offer itself, and lady oglethorpe, a warm-hearted irishwoman, deeply attached to the queen, declared her intention of speaking to the king or the princess anne on the first opportunity of the daughter of the brave captain woodford. there might very possibly be a nursery appointment to be had either at the cockpit or at whitehall in the course of the year. this was much more than mrs. woodford had desired. she had far rather have placed her daughter immediately under some kind matronly lady in a private household; but she knew that her good friend was always eager to promise to the utmost of her possible power. she did not talk much of this to her daughter, only telling her that the kind ladies had promised to befriend her, and find a situation for her; and anne was too much shocked to find her mother actually making such arrangements to enter upon any inquiries. the perception that her mother was looking forward to passing away so soon entirely overset her; she would not think about it, would not admit the bare idea of the loss. only there lurked at the bottom of her heart the feeling that when the crash had come, and desolation had over taken her, it would be more dreary at portchester than anywhere else; and there might be infinite possibilities beyond for the king's godchild, almost a knight's daughter. the next time that mrs. woodford heard that major oakshott was at the door inquiring for her health, she begged as a favour that he would come and see her. the good gentleman came upstairs treading gently in his heavy boots, as one accustomed to an invalid chamber. "i am sorry to see you thus, madam," he said, as she held out her wasted hand and thanked him. "did you desire spiritual consolations? there are times when our needs pass far beyond prescribed forms and ordinances." "i am thankful for the prayers of good men," said mrs. woodford; "but for truth's sake i must tell you that this was not foremost in my mind when i begged for this favour." he was evidently disappointed, for he was producing from his pocket the little stout black-bound bible, which, by a dent in one of the lids, bore witness of having been with him in his campaigns; and perhaps half-diplomatically, as well as with a yearning for oneness of spirit, she gratified him by requesting him to read and pray. with all his rigidity he was too truly pious a man for his ministrations to contain anything in which, churchwoman as she was, she could not join with all her heart, and feel comforting; but ere he was about to rise from his knees she said, "one prayer for your son, sir." a few fervent words were spoken on behalf of the wandering sheep, while tears glistened in the old man's eyes, and fell fast from those of the lady, and then he said, "ah, madam! have i not wrestled in prayer for my poor boy?" "i am sure you have, sir. i know you have a deep fatherly love for him, and therefore i sent to speak to you as a dying woman." "and i will gladly hear you, for you have always been good to him, and, as i confess, have done him more good--if good can be called the apparent improvement in one unregenerate--than any other." "except his uncle," said mrs. woodford. "i fear it is vain to say that i think the best hope of his becoming a good and valuable man, a comfort and not a sorrow to yourself, would be to let him even now rejoin sir peregrine." "that cannot be, madam. my brother has not kept to the understanding on which i entrusted the lad to him, but has carried him into worldly and debauched company, such as has made the sober and godly habits of his home distasteful to him, and has further taken him into popish lands, where he has become infected with their abominations to a greater extent than i can yet fathom." mrs. woodford sighed and felt hopeless. "i see your view of the matter, sir. yet may i suggest that it is hard for a young man to find wholesome occupation such as may guard him from temptation on an estate where the master is active and sufficient like yourself?" "protection from temptation must come from within, madam," replied the major; "but i so far agree with you that in due time, when he has attained his twenty-first year, i trust he will be wedded to his cousin, a virtuous and pious young maiden, and will have the management of her property, which is larger than my own." "but if--if--sir, the marriage were distasteful to him, could it be for the happiness and welfare of either?" "the boy has been complaining to you? nay, madam, i blame you not. you have ever been the boy's best friend according to knowledge; but he ought to know that his honour and mine are engaged. it is true that mistress martha is not a court beauty, such as his eyes have unhappily learnt to admire, but i am acting verily for his true good. 'favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain.'" "most true, sir; but let me say one more word. i fear, i greatly fear, that all young spirits brook not compulsion." "that means, they will not bow their stiff necks to the yoke." "ah, sir! but on the other hand, 'fathers, provoke not your children to wrath.' forgive me, sir; i spoke but out of true affection to your son, and the fear that what may seem to him severity may not drive him to some extremity that might grieve you." "no forgiveness is needed, madam. i thank you for your interest in him, and for your plain speaking according to your lights. i can but act according to those vouchsafed unto me." "and we both agree in praying for his true good," said mrs. woodford. and with a mutual blessing they parted, mrs. woodford deeply sorry for both father and son, for whom she had done what she could. it was her last interview with any one outside the house. another attack of spasms brought the end, during the east winds of march, so suddenly as to leave no time for farewells or last words. when she was laid to rest in the little churchyard within the castle walls, no one showed such overwhelming tokens of grief as peregrine oakshott, who lingered about the grave after the doctor had taken his niece home, and was found lying upon it late in the evening, exhausted with weeping. yet sedley archfield, whose regiment had, after all, been sent to portsmouth, reported that he had spent the very next afternoon at a cock-fight, ending in a carouse with various naval and military officers at a tavern, not drinking, but contributing to the mirth by foreign songs, tricks, and jests. chapter xii: the one hope "there's some fearful tie between me and that spirit world, which god brands with his terrors on my troubled mind." kingsley. the final blow had fallen upon anne woodford so suddenly that for the first few days she moved about as one in a dream. lady archfield came to her on the first day, and showed her motherly kindness, and lucy was with her as much as was possible under the exactions of young madam, who was just sufficiently unwell to resent attention being paid to any other living creature. she further developed a jealousy of lucy's affection for any other friend such as led to a squabble between her and her husband, and made her mother-in-law unwillingly acquiesce in the expediency of anne's being farther off. and indeed anne herself felt so utterly forlorn and desolate that an impatience of the place came over her. she was indeed fond of her uncle, but he was much absorbed in his studies, his parish, and in anxious correspondence on the state of the church, and was scarcely a companion to her, and without her mother to engross her love and attention, and cut off from the archfields as she now was, there was little to counterbalance the restless feeling that london and the precincts of the court were her natural element. so she wrote her letters according to her mother's desire, and waited anxiously for the replies, feeling as if anything would be preferable to her present unhappiness and solitude. the answers came in due time. mrs. evelyn promised to try to find a virtuous and godly lady who would be willing to receive mistress anne woodford into her family, and lady oglethorpe wrote with vaguer promises of high preferment, which excited anne's imagination during those lonely hours that she had to spend while her strict mourning, after the custom of the time, secluded her from all visitors. meantime, in that anxious spring of , when the church of england was looking to her defences, the doctor could not be much at home, and when he had time to listen to private affairs, he heard reports which did not please him of peregrine oakshott. that the young men in the county all abhorred his fine foreign airs was no serious evil, though it might be suspected that his sharp ironical tongue had quite as much to do with their dislike as his greater refinement of manner. his father was reported to be very seriously displeased with him, for he openly expressed contempt of the precise ways of the household, and absented himself in a manner that could scarcely be attributed to aught but the licentious indulgences of the time; and as he seldom mingled in the amusements of the young country gentlemen, it was only too probable that he found a lower grade of companions in portsmouth. moreover his talk, random though it might be, offended all the whig opinions of his father. he talked with the dogmatism of the traveller of the glories of louis xiv, and broadly avowed his views that the grandeur of the nation was best established under a king who asked no questions of people or parliament, 'that senseless set of chattering pies,' as he was reported to have called the house of commons. he sang the praises of the gracious and graceful queen mary beatrice, and derided 'the dried-up orange stick,' as he called the hope of the protestants; nor did he scruple to pronounce popery the faith of chivalrous gentlemen, far preferable to the whining of sullen whiggery. no one could tell how far all this was genuine opinion, or simply delight in contradiction, especially of his father, who was in a constant state of irritation at the son whom he could so little manage. and in the height of the wrath of the whole of the magistracy at the expulsion of their lord-lieutenant, the earl of gainsborough, and the substitution of the young duke of berwick, what must peregrine do but argue in high praise of that youth, whom he had several times seen and admired. and when not a gentleman in the neighbourhood chose to greet the intruder when he arrived as governor of portsmouth, peregrine actually rode in to see him, and dined with him. words cannot express the major's anger and shame at such consorting with a person, whom alike, on account of parentage, religion, and education, he regarded as a son of perdition. yet peregrine would only coolly reply that he knew many a protestant who would hardly compare favourably with young berwick. it was an anxious period that spring of . the order to read the king's declaration of indulgence from the pulpit had come as a thunder-clap upon the clergy. the english church had only known rest for twenty-eight years, and now, by this unconstitutional assumption of prerogative, she seemed about to be given up to be the prey of romanists on the one hand and nonconformists on the other; though for the present the latter were so persuaded that the indulgence was merely a disguised advance of rome that they were not at all grateful, expecting, as mr. horncastle observed, only to be the last devoured, and he was as much determined as was dr. woodford not to announce it from his pulpit, whatever might be the consequence; the latter thus resigning all hopes of promotion. news letters, public and private, were eagerly scanned. though the diocesan, bishop mew, took no active part in the petition called a libel, being an extremely aged man, the imprisonment of ken, so deeply endeared to hampshire hearts when canon of winchester and rector of brighstone, and with the bloody assize and the execution of alice lisle fresh in men's memories, there could not but be extreme anxiety. in the midst arrived the tidings that a son had been born to the king--a son instantly baptized by a roman catholic priest, and no doubt destined by james to rivet the fetters of rome upon the kingdom, destroying at once the hope of his elder sister's accession. loyal churchmen like the archfields still hoped, recollecting how many infants had been born in the royal family only to die; but at oakwood the major and his chaplain shook their heads, and spoke of warming pans, to the vehement displeasure of peregrine, who was sure to respond that the queen was an angel, and that the whigs credited every one with their own sly tricks. the major groaned, and things seemed to have reached a pass very like open enmity between father and son, though peregrine still lived at home, and reports were rife that the year of mourning for his brother being expired, he was, as soon as he came of age, to be married to mistress martha browning, and have an establishment of his own at emsworth. under these circumstances, it was with much satisfaction that dr. woodford said to his niece: "child, here is an excellent offer for you. lady russell, who you know has returned to live at stratton, has heard you mentioned by lady mildmay. she has just married her eldest daughter, and needs a companion to the other, and has been told of you as able to speak french and italian, and otherwise well trained. what! do you not relish the proposal?" "why, sir, would not my entering such a house do you harm at court, and lessen your chance of preferment?" "think not of _that_, my child." "besides," added anne, "since lady oglethorpe has written, it would not be fitting to engage myself elsewhere before hearing from her again." "you think so, anne. lady russell's would be a far safer, better home for you than the court." anne knew it, but the thought of that widowed home depressed her. it might, she thought, be as dull as oakwood, and there would be infinite chances of preferment at court. what she said, however, was: "it was by my mother's wish that i applied to lady oglethorpe." "that is true, child. yet i cannot but believe that if she had known of lady russell's offer, she would gladly and thankfully have accepted it." so said the secret voice within the girl herself, but she did not yet yield to it. "perhaps she would, sir," she answered, "if the other proposal were not made. 'tis a whig household though." "a whig household is a safer one than a popish one," answered the doctor. "lady russell is, by all they tell me, a very saint upon earth." shall it be owned? anne thought of oakwood, and was not attracted towards a saint upon earth. "how soon was the answer to be given?" she asked. "i believe she would wish you to meet her at winchester next week, when, if you pleased her, you might return with her to stratton." the doctor hoped that lady oglethorpe's application might fail, but before the week was over she forwarded the definite appointment of mistress anne jacobina woodford as one of the rockers of his royal highness the prince of wales, his majesty having been graciously pleased to remember her father's services and his own sponsorship. "if your friends consider the office somewhat beneath you," wrote lady oglethorpe, "it is still open to you to decline it." "oh no; i would certainly not decline it!" cried anne. "i could not possibly do so; could i, sir?" "lady oglethorpe says you might," returned the doctor; "and for my part, niece, i should prefer the office of a gouvernante to that of a rocker." "ah, but it is to a prince!" said anne. "it is the way to something further." "and what may that something further be? that is the question," said her uncle. "i will not control you, my child, for the application to this court lady was by the wish of your good mother, who knew her well, but i own that i should be far more at rest on your account if you were in a place of less temptation." "the court is very different from what it was in the last king's time," pleaded anne. "in some degree it may be; but on the other hand, the influence which may have purified it is of the religion that i fear may be a seduction." "oh no, never, uncle; nothing could make me a papist." "do not be over confident, anne. those who run into temptation are apt to be left to themselves." "indeed, sir, i cannot think that the course my mother shaped for me can be a running into temptation." "well, anne, as i say, i cannot withstand you, since it was your mother who requested lady oglethorpe's patronage for you, though i tell you sincerely that i believe that had the two courses been set before her she would have chosen the safer and more private one. "nay but, dear sir," still pleaded the maiden, "what would become of your chances of preferment if it were known that you had placed me with lord russell's widow in preference to the queen?" "let not that weigh with you one moment, child. i believe that no staunch friend of our protestant church will be preferred by his majesty; nay, while the archbishop and my saintly friend of bath and wells are persecuted, i should be ashamed to think of promotion. spurn the thought from you, child." "nay, 'twas only love for you, dear uncle." "i know it, child. i am not displeased, only think it over, and pray over it, since the post will not go out until to-morrow." anne did think, but not quite as her uncle intended. the remembrance of the good-natured young princesses, the large stately rooms, the brilliant dresses, the radiance of wax lights, had floated before her eyes ever since her removal from chelsea to the quieter regions of winchester, and she had longed to get back to them. she really loved her uncle, and whatever he might say, she longed to push his advancement, and thought his unselfish abnegation the greater reason for working for him; and in spite of knowing well that it was only a dull back-stair appointment, she could look to the notice of princess anne, when once within her reach, and further, with the confidence of youth, believed that she had that within her which would make her way upwards, and enable her to confer promotion, honour, and dignity, on all her friends. her uncle should be a bishop, charles a peer (fancy his wife being under obligations to the parson's niece!), lucy should have a perfect husband, and an appointment should be found for poor peregrine which his father could not gainsay. it was her bounden duty not to throw away such advantages; besides loyalty to her royal godfather could not permit his offer to be rejected, and her mother, when writing to lady oglethorpe, must surely have had some such expectation. nor should she be entirely cut off from her uncle, who was a royal chaplain; and this was some consolation to the good doctor when he found her purpose fixed, and made arrangements for her to travel up to town in company with lady worsley of gatcombe, whom she was to meet at southampton on the st of july. meantime the doctor did his best to arm his niece against the allurements to romanism that he feared would be held out. lady oglethorpe and other friends had assured him of the matronly care of lady powys and lady strickland to guard their department from all evil; but he did fear these religious influences and anne, resolute to resist all, perhaps not afraid of the conflict, was willing to arm herself for defence, and listened readily. she was no less anxious to provide for her uncle's comfort in his absence, and many small matters of housewifery that had stood over for some time were now to be purchased, as well as a few needments for her own outfit, although much was left for the counsel of her patroness in the matter of garments. accordingly her uncle rode in with her to portsmouth on a shopping expedition, and as the streets of the seaport were scarcely safe for a young woman without an escort, he carried a little book in his pocket wherewith he beguiled the time that she spent in the selection of his frying-pans, fire-irons, and the like, and her own gloves and kerchiefs. they dined at the 'ordinary' at the inn, and there dr. woodford met his great friends mr. stanbury of botley, and mr. worsley of gatcombe, in the isle of wight, who both, like him, were opposed to the reading of the declaration of indulgence, as unconstitutional, and deeply anxious as to the fate of the greatly beloved bishop of bath and wells. it was inevitable that they should fall into deep and earnest council together, and when dinner was over they agreed to adjourn to the house of a friend learned in ecclesiastical law to hunt up the rights of the case, leaving anne to await them in a private room at the spotted dog, shown to her by the landlady. anne well knew what such a meeting betided, and with a certain prevision, had armed herself with some knotting, wherewith she sat down in a bay window overlooking the street, whence she could see market-women going home with empty baskets, pigs being reluctantly driven down to provision ships in the harbour, barrels of biscuit, salt meat, or beer, being rolled down for the same purpose, sailors in loose knee-breeches, and soldiers in tall peaked caps and cross- belts, and officers of each service moving in different directions. she sat there day-dreaming, feeling secure in her loneliness, and presently saw a slight figure, daintily clad in gray and black, who catching her eye made an eager gesture, doffing his plumed hat and bowing low to her. she returned his salute, and thought he passed on, but in another minute she was startled to find him at her side, exclaiming: "this is the occasion i have longed and sought for, mistress anne; i bless and thank the fates." "i am glad to see you once more before i depart," said anne, holding out her hand as frankly as she could to the old playfellow whom she always thought ill-treated, but whom she could never meet without a certain shudder. "then it is true?" he exclaimed. "yes; i am to go up with lady worsley from southampton next week." "ah!" he cried, "but must that be?" and she felt his strange power, so that she drew into herself and said haughtily-- "my dear mother wished me to be with her friends, nor can the king's appointment be neglected, though of course i am extremely grieved to go." "and you are dazzled with all these gewgaws of court life, no doubt?" "i shall not be much in the way of gewgaws just yet," said anne drily. "it will be dull enough in some back room of whitehall or st. james's." "say you so. you will wish yourself back--you, the lady of my heart--mine own good angel! hear me. say but the word, and your home will be mine, to say nothing of your own most devoted servant." "hush, hush, sir! i cannot hear this," said anne, anxiously glancing down the street in hopes of seeing her uncle approaching. "nay, but listen! this is my only hope--my only chance--i must speak--you doom me to you know not what if you will not hear me!" "indeed, sir, i neither will nor ought!" "ought! ought! ought you not to save a fellow-creature from distraction and destruction? one who has loved and looked to you ever since you and that saint your mother lifted me out of the misery of my childhood." then as she looked softened he went on: "you, you are my one hope. no one else can lift me out of the reach of the demon that has beset me even since i was born." "that is profane," she said, the more severe for the growing attraction of repulsion. "what do i care? it is true! what was i till you and your mother took pity on the wild imp? my old nurse said a change would come to me every seven years. that blessed change came just seven years ago. give me what will make a more blessed--a more saving change-- or there will be one as much for the worse." "but--i could not. no! you must see for yourself that i could not-- even if i would," she faltered, really pitying now, and unwilling to give more pain than she could help. "could not? it should be possible. i know how to bring it about. give me but your promise, and i will make you mine--ay, and i will make myself as worthy of you as man can be of saint-like maid." "no--no! this is very wrong--you are pledged already--" "no such thing--believe no such tale. my promise has never been given to that grim hag of my father's choice--no, nor should be forced from me by the rack. look you here. let me take this hand, call in the woman of the house, give me your word, and my father will own his power to bind me to martha is at an end." "oh, no! it would be a sin--never. besides--" said anne, holding her hands tightly clasped behind her in alarm, lest against her will she should let them be seized, and trying to find words to tell him how little she felt disposed to trust her heart and herself to one whom she might indeed pity, but with a sort of shrinking as from something not quite human. perhaps he dreaded her 'besides'--for he cut her short. "it would save ten thousand greater sins. see, here are two ways before us. either give me your word, your precious word, go silent to london, leave me to struggle it out with my father and your uncle and follow you. hope and trust will be enough to bear me through the battle without, and within deafen the demon of my nature, and render me patient of my intolerable life till i have conquered and can bring you home." her tongue faltered as she tried to say such a secret unsanctioned engagement would be treachery, but he cut off the words. "you have not heard me out. there is another way. i know those who will aid me. we can meet in early dawn, be wedded in one of these churches in all secrecy and haste, and i would carry you at once to my uncle, who, as you well know, would welcome you as a daughter. or, better still, we would to those fair lands i have scarce seen, but where i could make my way with sword or pen with you to inspire me. i have the means. my uncle left this with me. speak! it is death or life to me." this last proposal was thoroughly alarming, and anne retreated, drawing herself to her full height, and speaking with the dignity that concealed considerable terror. "no, indeed, sir. you ought to know better than to utter such proposals. one who can make such schemes can certainly obtain no respect nor regard from the lady he addresses. let me pass"--for she was penned up in the bay window--"i shall seek the landlady till my uncle returns." "nay, mistress anne, do not fear me. do not drive me to utter despair. oh, pardon me! nothing but utter desperation could drive me to have thus spoken; but how can i help using every effort to win her whose very look and presence is bliss! nothing else soothes and calms me; nothing else so silences the demon and wakens the better part of my nature. have you no pity upon a miserable wretch, who will be dragged down to his doom without your helping hand?" he flung himself on his knee before her, and tried to grasp her hand. "indeed, i am sorry for you, master oakshott," said anne, compassionate, but still retreating as far as the window would let her; "but you are mistaken. if this power be in me, which i cannot quite believe--yes, i see what you want to say, but if i did what i know to be wrong, i should lose it at once; god's grace can save you without me." "i will not ask you to do what you call wrong; no, nor to transgress any of the ties you respect, you, whose home is so unlike mine; only tell me that i may have hope, that if i deserve you, i may win you; that you could grant me--wretched me--a share of your affection." this was hardest of all; mingled pity and repugnance, truth and compassion strove within the maiden as well as the strange influence of those extraordinary eyes. she was almost as much afraid of herself as of her suitor. at last she managed to say, "i am very sorry for you; i grieve from my heart for your troubles; i should be very glad to hear of your welfare and anything good of you, but--" "but, but--i see--it is mere frenzy in me to think the blighted elf can aspire to be aught but loathsome to any lady--only, at least, tell me you love no one else." "no, certainly not," she said, as if his eyes drew it forcibly from her. "then you cannot hinder me from making you my guiding star--hoping that if yet i can--" "there's my uncle!" exclaimed anne, in a tone of infinite relief. "stand up, mr. oakshott, compose yourself. of course i cannot hinder your thinking about me, if it will do you any good, but there are better things to think about which would conquer evil and make you happy more effectually." he snatched her hand and kissed it, nor did she withhold it, since she really pitied him, and knew that her uncle was near, and all would soon be over. peregrine dashed away by another door as dr. woodford's foot was on the stairs. "i have ordered the horses," he began. "they told me young oakshott was here." "he was, but he is gone;" and she could not quite conceal her agitation. "crimson cheeks, my young mistress? ah, the foolish fellow! you do not care for him, i trust?" "no, indeed, poor fellow. what, did you know, sir?" "know. yes, truly--and your mother likewise, anne. it was one cause of her wishing to send you to safer keeping than mine seems to be. my young spark made his proposals to us both, though we would not disturb your mind therewith, not knowing how he would have dealt with his father, nor viewing him, for all he is heir to oakwood, as a desirable match in himself. i am glad to see you have sense and discretion to be of the same mind, my maid." "i cannot but grieve for his sad condition, sir," replied anne, "but as for anything more--it would make me shudder to think of it--he is still too like robin goodfellow." "that's my good girl," said her uncle. "and do you know, child, there are the best hopes for the bishops. there's a gentleman come down but now from london, who says 'twas like a triumph as the bishops sat in their barge on the way to the tower; crowds swarming along the banks, begging for their blessing, and they waving it with tears in their eyes. the king will be a mere madman if he dares to touch a hair of their heads. well, when i was a lad, bishops were sent to the tower by the people; i little thought to live to see them sent thither by the king." all the way home dr. woodford talked of the trial, beginning perhaps to regret that his niece must go to the very focus of roman influence in england, where there seemed to be little scruple as to the mode of conversion. would it be possible to alter her destination? was his thought, when he rose the next day, but loyalty stood in the way, and that very afternoon another event happened which made it evident that the poor girl must leave portchester as soon as possible. she had gone out with him to take leave of some old cottagers in the village, and he finding himself detained to minister to a case of unexpected illness, allowed her to go home alone for about a quarter of a mile along the white sunny road at the foot of portsdown, with the castle full in view at one end, and the cottage where he was at the other. many a time previously had she trodden it alone, but she had not reckoned on two officers coming swaggering from a cross road down the hill, one of them sedley archfield, who immediately called out, "ha, ha! my pretty maid, no wench goes by without paying toll;" and they spread their arms across the road so as to arrest her. "sir," said anne, drawing herself up with dignity, "you mistake--" "not a whit, my dear; no exemption here;" and there was a horse laugh, and an endeavour to seize her, as she stepped back, feeling that in quietness lay her best chance of repelling them, adding-- "my uncle is close by." "the more cause for haste;" and they began to close upon her. but at that moment peregrine oakshott, leaping from his horse, was among them, with the cry-- "dastards! insulting a lady." "lady, forsooth! the parson's niece." in a few seconds--very long seconds to her--her flying feet had brought her back to the cottage, where she burst in with--"pardon, pardon, sir; come quick; there are swords drawn; there will be bloodshed if you do not come." he obeyed the summons without further query, for when all men wore swords the neighbourhood of a garrison were only too liable to such encounters outside. there was no need for her to gasp out more; from the very cottage door he could see the need of haste, for the swords were actually flashing, and the two young men in position to fight. anne shook her head, unable to do more than sign her thanks to the good woman of the cottage, who offered her a seat. she leant against the door, and watched as her uncle, sending his voice before him, called on them to desist. there was a start, then each drew back and held down his weapon, but with a menacing gesture on one side, a shrug of the shoulders on the other, which impelled the doctor to use double speed in the fear that the parting might be with a challenge reserved. he was in time to stand warning, and arguing that if he pardoned the slighting words and condoned the insult to his niece, no one had a right to exact vengeance; and in truth, whatever were his arguments, he so dealt with the two young men as to force them into shaking hands before they separated, though with a contemptuous look on either side--a scowl from sedley, a sneer from peregrine, boding ill for the future, and making him sigh. "ah! sister, sister, you judged aright. would that i could have sent the maid sooner away rather than that all this ill blood should have been bred. yet i may only be sending her to greater temptation and danger. but she is a good maiden; god bless her and keep her here and there, now and for evermore, as i trust he keepeth our good dr. ken in this sore strait. the trial may even now be over. ah, my child, here you are! frightened were you by that rude fellow? nay, i believe you were almost equally terrified by him who came to the rescue. you will soon be out of their reach, my dear." "yes, that is one great comfort in going," sighed anne. one comfort--yes--though she would not have stayed had the choice been given her now. and shall the thought be told that flashed over her and coloured her cheeks with a sort of shame yet of pleasure, "i surely must have power over men! i know mother would say it is a terrible danger one way, and a great gift another. i will not misuse it; but what will it bring me? or am i only a rustic beauty after all, who will be nobody elsewhere?" still heartily she wished that her rescuer had been any one else in the wide world. it was almost uncanny that he should have sprung out of the earth at such a moment. chapter xiii: the bonfire "from eddystone to berwick bounds, from lynn to milford bay, that time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; for swift to east and swift to west the fiery herald sped, high on st. michael's mount it shone: it shone on beachy head." macaulay. doctor woodford and his niece had not long reached their own door when the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard, and charles archfield was seen, waving his hat and shouting 'hurrah!' before he came near enough to speak, "good news, i see!" said the doctor. "good news indeed! not guilty! express rode from westminster hall with the news at ten o'clock this morning. all acquitted. expresses could hardly get away for the hurrahing of the people. hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" cried the young man, throwing up his hat, while doctor woodford, taking off his own, gave graver, deeper thanks that justice was yet in england, that these noble and honoured confessors were safe, and that the king had been saved from further injustice and violence to the church. "we are to have a bonfire on portsdown hill," added charles. "they will be all round the country, in the island, and everywhere. my father is rid one way to spread the tidings, and give orders. i'm going on into portsmouth, to see after tar barrels. you'll be there, sir, and you, anne?" there was a moment's hesitation after the day's encounters, but he added, "my mother is going, and my little madam, and lucy. they will call for you in the coach if you will be at ryder's cottage at nine o'clock. it will not be dark enough to light up till ten, so there will be time to get a noble pile ready. come, anne, 'tis lucy's last chance of seeing you--so strange as you have made yourself of late." this plea decided anne, who had been on the point of declaring that she should have an excellent view from the top of the keep. however, not only did she long to see lucy again, but the enthusiasm was contagious, and there was an attraction in the centre of popular rejoicing that drew both her and her uncle, nor could there be a doubt of her being sufficiently protected when among the archfield ladies. so the arrangement was accepted, and then there was the cry-- "hark! the havant bells! ay! and the cosham! portsmouth is pealing out. that's alverstoke. they know it there. a salute! another." "scarce loyal from the king's ships," said the doctor, smiling. "nay, 'tis only loyalty to rejoice that the king can't make a fool of himself. so my father says," rejoined charles. and that seemed to be the mood of all england. when anne and her uncle set forth in the summer sunset light the great hill above them was dark with the multitudes thronging around the huge pyre rising in the midst. they rested for some minutes at the cottage indicated before the arrival of sir philip, who rode up accompanying the coach in which his three ladies were seated, and which was quite large enough to receive dr. woodford and mistress anne. charles was in the throng, in the midst of most of the younger gentlemen of the neighbourhood, and a good many of the naval and military officers, directing the arrangement of the pile. what a scene it was, as seen even from the windows of the coach where the ladies remained, for the multitude of sailors, soldiers, town and village people, though all unanimous, were far too tumultuous for them to venture beyond their open door, especially as little mrs. archfield was very far from well, and nothing but her eagerness for amusement could have brought her hither, and of course she could not be left. probably she knew as little of the real bearings of the case or the cause of rejoicing as did the boys who pervaded everything with their squibs, and were only restrained from firing them in the faces of the horses by wholesome fear of the big whips of the coachman and outriders who stood at the horses' heads. it was hardly yet dark when the match was put to the shavings, and to the sound of the loud 'hurrahs!' and cries of 'long live the bishops!' 'down with the pope!' the flame kindled, crackled, and leapt up, while a responsive fire was seen on st. catherine's down in the isle of wight, and northward, eastward, westward, on every available point, each new light greeted by fresh acclamations, as it shone out against the summer night sky, while the ships in the harbour showed their lights, reflected in the sea, as the sky grew darker. then came a procession of sailors and other rough folk, bearing between poles a chair with a stuffed figure with a kind of tiara, followed by others with scarlet hats and capes, and with reiterated shouts of 'down with the pope!' these were hurled into the fire with deafening hurrahs, their more gorgeous trappings being cleverly twitched off at the last moment, as part of the properties for the th of november. little mrs. archfield clapped her hands and screamed with delight as each fresh blaze shot up, and chattered with all her might, sometimes about some lace and perfumes which she wanted anne to procure for her in london at the sign of the flower pot, sometimes grumbling at her husband having gone off to the midst of the party closest to the fire, "just like mr. archfield, always leaving her to herself," but generally very well amused, especially when a group of gentlemen, officers, and county neighbours gathered round the open door talking to the ladies within. peregrine was there with his hands in his pockets, and a queer ironical smile writhing his features. he was asked if his father and brother were present. "not my father," he replied. "he has a logical mind. martha is up here with her guardian, and i am keeping out of her way, and my brother is full in the thick of the fray. a bonfire is a bonfire to most folks, were it to roast their grandsire!" "oh, fie, mr. oakshott, how you do talk!" laughed mrs. archfield. "nay, but you rejoice in the escape of the good bishops," put in lucy. "for what?" asked peregrine. "for refusing to say live and let live?" "not against letting _live_, but against saying so unconstitutionally, my young friend," said dr. woodford, "or tyrannising over our consciences." generally peregrine was more respectful to dr. woodford than to any one else; but there seemed to be a reckless bitterness about him on that night, and he said, "i marvel with what face those same eight reverend seigniors will preach against the french king." "sir," thrust in sedley archfield, "i am not to hear opprobrious epithets applied to the bishops." "what was the opprobrium?" lazily demanded peregrine, and in spite of his unpopularity, the laugh was with him. sedley grew more angry. "you likened them to the french king--" "the most splendid monarch in europe," said peregrine coolly. "a frenchman!" quoth one of the young squires with withering contempt. "he has that ill fortune, sir," said peregrine. "mayhap he would be sensible of the disadvantage, if he evened himself with some of my reasonable countrymen." "do you mean that for an insult, sir?" exclaimed sedley archfield, striding forward. "as you please," said peregrine. "to me it had the sound of compliment." "oh la! they'll fight," cried mrs. archfield. "don't let them! where's the doctor? where's sir philip?" "hush, my dear," said lady archfield; "these gentlemen would not fall out close to us." dr. woodford was out of sight, having been drawn into controversy with a fellow-clergyman on the limits of toleration. anne looked anxiously for him, but with provoking coolness peregrine presently said, "there's no crowd near, and if you will step out, the fires on the farther hills are to be seen well from the knoll hard by." he spoke chiefly to anne, but even if she had not a kind of shrinking from trusting herself with him in this strange wild scene, she would have been prevented by mrs. archfield's eager cry-- "oh, i'll come, let me come! i'm so weary of sitting here. thank you, master oakshott." lady archfield's remonstrance was lost as peregrine helped the little lady out, and there was nothing for it but to follow her, as close as might be, as she hung on her cavalier's arm chattering, and now and then giving little screams of delight or alarm. lady archfield and her daughter each was instantly squired, but mistress woodford, a nobody, was left to keep as near them as she could, and gaze at the sparks of light of the beacons in the distance, thinking how changed the morrow would be to her. presently a figure approached, and charles archfield's voice said, "is that you, anne? did i hear my wife's voice?" "yes, she is there." "and with that imp of evil! i would his own folk had him!" muttered charles, dashing forward with "how now, madam? you were not to leave the coach!" she laughed exultingly. "ha, sir! see what comes of leaving me to better cavaliers, while you run after your fire! i should have seen nothing but for master oakshott." "come with me now," said charles; "you ought not to be standing here in the dew." "ha, ha! what a jealous master," she said; but she put her arm into his, saying with a courtesy, "thank you, master oakshott, lords must be obeyed. i should have been still buried in the old coach but for you." peregrine fell back to anne. "that blaze is at st. helen's," he began. "that--what! will you not wait a moment?" "no, no! they will want to be going home." "and have you forgotten that it is only just over midsummer? this is the week of my third seventh--the moment for change. o anne! make it a change for the better. say the word, and the die will be cast. all is ready! come!" he tried to take her hand, but the vehemence of his words, spoken under his breath, terrified her, and with a hasty "no, no! you know not what you talk of," she hastened after her friends, and was glad to find herself in the safe haven of the interior of the coach. ere long they drove down the hill, and at the place of parting were set down, the last words in anne's ears being mrs. archfield's injunctions not to forget the orange flower-water at the sign of the flower pot, drowning lucy's tearful farewells. as they walked away in the moonlight a figure was seen in the distance. "is that peregrine oakshott?" asked the doctor. "that young man is in a desperate mood, ready to put a quarrel on any one. i hope no harm will come of it." chapter xiv: gathering mouse-ear "i heard the groans, i marked the tears, i saw the wound his bosom bore." scott. after such an evening it was not easy to fall asleep, and anne tossed about, heated, restless, and uneasy, feeling that to remain at home was impossible, yet less satisfied about her future prospects, and doubtful whether she had not done herself harm by attending last night's rejoicings, and hoping that nothing would happen to reveal her presence there. she was glad that the night was not longer, and resolved to take advantage of the early morning to fulfil a commission of lady oglethorpe, whose elder children, lewis and theophilus, had the whooping-cough. mouse-ear, namely, the little sulphur-coloured hawk-weed, was, and still is, accounted a specific, and anne had been requested to bring a supply--a thing easily done, since it grew plentifully in the court of the castle. she dressed herself in haste, made some of her preparations for the journey, and let herself out of the house, going first for one last look at her mother's green grave in the dewy churchyard, and gathering from it a daisy, which she put into her bosom, then in the fair morning freshness, and exhilaration of the rising sun, crossing the wide tilt-yard, among haycocks waiting to be tossed, and arriving at the court within, filling her basket between the churchyard and the gateway tower and keep, when standing up for a moment she was extremely startled to see peregrine oakshott's unmistakable figure entering at the postern of the court. with vague fears of his intentions, and instinctive terror of meeting him alone, heightened by that dread of his power, she flew in at the great bailey tower door, hoping that he had not seen her, but tolerably secure that even if he had, and should pursue her, she was sufficiently superior in knowledge of the stairs and passages to baffle him, and make her way along the battlements to the tower at the corner of the court nearest the parsonage, where there was a turret stair by which she could escape. up the broken stairs she went, shutting behind her every available door in the chambers and passages, but not as quickly as she wished, since attention to her feet was needful in the ruinous state of steps and walls. through those massive walls she could hear nothing distinctly, but she fancied voices and a cry, making her seek more intricate windings, nor did she dare to look out till she had gained a thick screen of bushy ivy at the corner of the turret, where a little door opened on the broad summit of the battlemented wall. then, what horror was it that she beheld? or was it a dream? she even passed her hands over her face and looked again. peregrine and charles, yes, it was charles archfield, were fighting with swords in the court beneath. she gave a shriek, in a wild hope of parting them, but at that instant she saw peregrine fall, and with the impulse of rushing to aid she hurried down, impeded however by stumbles, and by the doors, she herself had shut, and when she emerged, she saw only charles, standing like one dazed and white as death. "o mr archfield! where is he? what have you done?" the young man pointed to the opening of the vault. then, speaking with an effort, "he was quite dead; my sword went through him. he forced it on me-- he was pursuing you. i withstood him--and--" he gasped heavily as the words came one by one. she trembled exceedingly, and would have looked into the vault, with, "are you quite sure?" but he grasped her hand and withheld her. "only too sure! yes, i have done it! it could not be helped. i would give myself up at once, but, anne, there is my wife. they tell me any shock would kill her as she is now. i should be double murderer. will you keep the secret, anne, always my friend? and 'twas for you." "indeed, indeed, i will not betray you. i go away in two hours," said anne; and he caught her hand. "but oh!" and she pointed to the blood on the grass, then with sudden thought, "heap the hay over it," running to fill her arms with the lately-cut grass. he mechanically did the same, and then they stood for a moment, awe- stricken. "god forgive me!" said the poor young man. "how to hide it i hardly know, but for _her_ sake, ah--'twas that brought me here. she could not rest last night till i had promised to be here early enough in the morning to give you a piece of sarcenet to be matched in london. where is it? ah! i forget. it seems to be ages ago that she was insisting that i should ride over so as to be in time." "lucy must write," said anne, "o charley! wipe that dreadful sword, look like yourself. i am going in a couple of hours. there is no fear of me! but oh! that you should have done such a thing! and through me!" "hush! hush! don't talk. i must be gone ere folks are about. my horse is outside." he wrung her hand and kissed it, forgetting to give her the pattern, and anne, still stunned, walked back to the parsonage, her one thought how to control herself so as to guard charles's secret. it must be remembered that in the generation succeeding that which had fought a long civil war, and when duels were common assertions of honour and self-respect among young gentlemen, homicide was not so exceptional and heinous an offence in ordinary eyes as when a higher value has come to be set on life, and acts of violence are far less frequent. charles had drawn his sword in fair fight, and in her own defence, and thus it was natural that anne woodford should think of his deed, certainly with a shudder, but with more of pity than of horror, and with gratitude that made her feel bound to do her utmost to guard him from the consequences; also there was a sense of relief, and perhaps a feeling as if the victim were scarcely a human creature like others. it never occurred to her till some time after to recollect it would have had an unpleasant sound that she had been the occasion of such an 'unseemly brawl' between two young men, one of them a married man. when the thought occurred to her it made the blood rash hotly to her cheeks. it was well for her that the pain of leaving home and the bustle of preparation concealed that she had suffered a great shock, and accounted for her not being able to taste any breakfast beyond a draught of milk. her ears were intent all the time to perceive any token whether the haymakers had come into the court and had discovered any trace of the ghastly thing in the vault, and she hardly heard the kind words of her uncle or the coaxings of his old housekeeper. she dreaded especially the sight of hans, so fondly attached to his master's nephew, and it was with a sense of infinite relief--instead of the tender grief otherwise natural--that she was seated in the boat for portsmouth, and her uncle believing her to be crying, left her undisturbed till she had composed herself to wear the front that she knew was needful, however her heart might throb beneath it, and as their boat threaded its way through the ships, even then numerous, she looked wistfully up at the tall tower of the castle, with earnest prayers for the living, and a longing she durst not utter, to ask her uncle whether it were right to pray for the poor strange, struggling soul, always so cruelly misunderstood, and now so summarily dismissed from the world of trial. yet presently there was a revulsion of feeling as she was roused from her meditations by the coxswain's answer to her uncle, who had asked what was a smart, swift little smack, which after receiving something from a boat, began stretching her wings and making all sail for the isle of wight. the men looked significant and hesitated. "smugglers, eh? traders in french brandy?" asked the doctor. "well, your reverence, so they says. they be a rough lot out there by at the back of the island." "there would be small harm in letting a poor man get a drink of spirits cheap to warm his heart," said one of the other men; "but they say as how 'tis a very nest of 'em out there, and that's how no one can ever pitch on the highwaymen, such as robbed farmer vine t'other day a coming home from market." "they do say," added the other, "that there's them as ought to know better that is thick with them. there's that young master up at oakwood--that crooked slip as they used to say was a changeling-- gets out o' window o' nights and sails with them." "he has nought to do with the robberies, they say," added the coxswain; "but i could tell of many a young spark who has gone out with the fair traders for the sport's sake, and because gentle folk don't know what to do with their time." "and they do say the young chap is kept uncommon tight at home." here the sight of a vessel of war coming in changed the topic, but it had given anne something more to think of. peregrine had spoken of means arranged for making her his own. could that smuggling yacht have anything to do with them? he could hardly have reckoned on meeting her alone in the morning, but he might have attempted to find her thus--or failing that, he might have run down the boat. if so, she had a great deliverance to be thankful for, and charles's timely appearance had been a great blessing. but peregrine! poor peregrine! it became doubly terrible that he should have perished on the eve of such a deed. it was cruel to entertain such thoughts of the dead, yet it was equally impossible not to feel comfort in being rid for ever of one who had certainly justified the vague alarm which he had always excited in her. she could not grieve for him now that the first shock was over, but she must suppress all tokens of her extreme anxiety on account of charles archfield. thus she was landed at portsmouth, and walked up the street to the spotted dog, where lady worsley was taking an early noonchine before starting for london, having crossed from the little fishing village of ryde. here anne parted with her uncle, who promised an early letter, though she could hardly restrain a shudder at the thought of the tidings that it might contain. chapter xv: news from fareham "my soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery. hopeless the evil is, i have not told its history." jean ingelow. lady worsley was a handsome, commanding old dame, who soon made her charge feel the social gulf between a county magnate and a clergyman's niece. she decidedly thought that mistress anne jacobina held her head too high for her position, and was, moreover, conceited of an unfortunate amount of good looks. therefore the good lady did her best to repress these dangerous tendencies by making the girl sit on the back seat with two maids, and uttering long lectures on humility, modesty, and discretion which made the blood of the sea-captain's daughter boil with indignation. yet she always carried with her the dread of being pursued and called upon to accuse charles archfield of peregrine's death. it was a perpetual cloud, dispersed, indeed, for a time by the events of the day, but returning at night, when not only was the combat acted over again, but when she fell asleep it was only to be pursued by peregrine through endless vaulted dens of darkness, or, what was far worse, to be trying to hide a stream of blood that could never be stanched. it was no wonder that she looked pale in the morning, and felt so tired and dejected as to make her sensible that she was cast loose from home and friends when no one troubled her with remarks or inquiries such as she could hardly have answered. however, when, on the evening of the second day's journey, anne was set down at sir theophilus oglethorpe's house at westminster, she met with a very different reception. lady oglethorpe, a handsome, warm-hearted irish woman, met her at once in the hall with outstretched hands, and a kiss on each cheek. "come in, my dear, my poor orphan, the daughter of one who was very dear to me! ah, how you have grown! i could never have thought this was the little anne i recollect. you shall come up to your chamber at once, and rest you, and make ready for supper, by the time sir theophilus comes in from attending the king." anne found herself installed in a fresh-smelling wainscotted room, where a glass of wine and some cake was ready for her, and where she made herself ready, feeling exhilarated in spirits as she performed her toilette, putting on her black evening dress, and refreshing the curls of her brown hair. it was a simple dress of deep mourning, but it became her well, and the two or three gentlemen who had come in to supper with sir theophilus evidently admired her greatly, and complimented her on having a situation at court, which was all that lady oglethorpe mentioned. "child," she said afterwards, when they were in private, "if i had known what you looked like i would have sought a different position for you. but, there, to get one's foot--were it but the toe of one's shoe--in at court is the great point after all, the rest must come after. i warrant me you are well educated too. can you speak french?" "oh yes, madam, and italian, and dance and play on the spinnet. i was with two french ladies at winchester every winter who taught such things." "well, well, mayhap we may get you promoted to a sub-governess's place--though your religion is against you. you are not a catholic-- eh?" "no, your ladyship." "that's the only road to favour nowadays, though for the name of the thing they may have a protestant or two. you are the king's godchild too, so he will expect it the more from you. however, we may find a better path. you have not left your heart in the country, eh?" anne blushed and denied it. "you will be mewed up close enough in the nursery," ran on lady oglethorpe. "lady powys keeps close discipline there, and i expect she will be disconcerted to see how fine a fish i have brought to her net; but we will see--we will see how matters go. but, my dear, have you no coloured clothes? there is no appearing in the royal household in private mourning. it might daunt the prince's spirits in his cradle!" and she laughed, though anne felt much annoyed at thus disregarding her mother, as well as at the heavy expense. however, there was no help for it; the gowns and laces hidden in the bottom of her mails were disinterred, and the former were for the most part condemned, so that she had to submit to a fresh outfit, in which lady oglethorpe heartily interested herself, but which drained the purse that the canon had amply supplied. these arrangements were not complete when the first letter from home arrived, and was opened with a beating heart, and furtive glances as of one who feared to see the contents, but they were by no means what she expected. i hope you have arrived safely in london, and that you are not displeased with your first taste of life in a court. neither town nor country is exempt from sorrow and death. i was summoned only on the second day after your departure to share in the sorrows at archfield, where the poor young wife died early on friday morning, leaving a living infant, a son, who, i hope, may prove a blessing to them, if he is spared, which can scarcely be expected. the poor young man, and indeed all the family, are in the utmost distress, and truly there were circumstances that render the event more than usually deplorable, and for which he blames himself exceedingly, even to despair. it appears that the poor young gentlewoman wished to add some trifle to the numerous commissions with which she was entrusting you on the night of the bonfire, and that she could not be pacified except by her husband undertaking to ride over to give the patterns and the orders to you before your setting forth. you said nothing of having seen him--nor do i see how it was possible that you could have done so, seeing that you only left your chamber just before the breakfast that you never tasted, my poor child. he never returned till long after noon, and what with fretting after him, and disappointment, that happened which lady archfield had always apprehended, and the poor fragile young creature worked herself into a state which ended before midnight in the birth of a puny babe, and her own death shortly after. she wanted two months of completing her sixteenth year, and was of so frail a constitution that dr. brown had never much hope of her surviving the birth of her child. it was a cruel thing to marry her thus early, ungrown in body or mind, but she had no one to care for her before she was brought hither. the blame, as i tell sir philip, and would fain persuade poor charles, is really with those who bred her up so uncontrolled as to be the victim of her humours; but the unhappy youth will listen to no consolation. he calls himself a murderer, shuts himself up, and for the most part will see and speak to no one, but if forced by his father's command to unlock his chamber door, returns at once to sit with his head hidden in his arms crossed upon the table, and if father, mother, or sister strive to rouse him and obtain answer from him, he will only murmur forth, "i should only make it worse if i did." it is piteous to see a youth so utterly overcome, and truly i think his condition is a greater distress to our good friends than the loss of the poor young wife. they asked him what name he would have given to his child, but all the answer they could get was, "as you will, only not mine;" and in the enforced absence of my brother of fareham i baptized him philip. the funeral will take place to-morrow, and sir philip proposes immediately after to take his son to oxford, and there endeavour to find a tutor of mature age and of prudence, with whom he may either study at new college or be sent on the grand tour. it is the only notion that the poor lad has seemed willing to entertain, as if to get away from his misery, and i cannot but think it well for him. he is not yet twenty, and may, as it were, begin life again the wiser and the better man for his present extreme sorrow. lady archfield is greatly wrapped up in the care of the babe, who, i fear, is in danger of being killed by overcare, if by nothing else, though truly all is in the hands of god. i have scarce quitted the afflicted family since i was summoned to them on friday, since sir philip has no one else on whom to depend for comfort or counsel; and if i can obtain the services of mr. ellis from portsmouth for a few sundays, i shall ride with him to oxford to assist in the choice of a tutor to go abroad with mr. archfield. one interruption however i had, namely, from major oakshott, who came in great perturbation to ask what was the last i had seen of his son peregrine. it appears that the unfortunate young man never returned home after the bonfire on portsdown hill, where his brother robert lost sight of him, and after waiting as long as he durst, returned home alone. it has become known that after parting with us high words passed between him and lieutenant sedley archfield, insomuch that after the unhappy fashion of these times, blood was demanded, and early in the morning sedley sent the friend who was to act as second to bear the challenge to young oakshott. you can conceive the reception that he was likely to receive at oakwood; but it was then discovered that peregrine had not been in his bed all night, nor had any one seen or heard of him. sedley boasts loudly that the youngster has fled the country for fear of him, and truly things have that appearance, although to my mind peregrine was far from wanting in spirit or courage. but, as he had not received the cartel, he might not have deemed his honour engaged to await it, and i incline to the belief that he is on his way to his uncle in muscovy, driven thereto by his dread of the marriage with the gentlewoman whom he holds in so much aversion. i have striven to console his father by the assurance that such tidings of him will surely arrive in due time, but the major is bitterly grieved, and is galled by the accusation of cowardice. "he could not even be true to his own maxims of worldly honour," says the poor gentleman. "so true it is that only by grace we stand fast." the which is true enough, but the poor gentleman unwittingly did his best to make grace unacceptable in his son's eyes. i trust soon to hear again of you, my dear child. i rejoice that lady oglethorpe is so good to you, and i hope that in the palace you will guard first your faith and then your discretion. and so praying always for your welfare, alike spiritual and temporal.-- your loving uncle, jno. woodford. truly it was well that anne had secluded herself to read this letter. so the actual cause for which poor charles archfield had entreated silence was at an end. the very evil he had apprehended had come to pass, and she could well understand how, on his return in a horror- stricken, distracted state of mind, the childish petulance of his wife had worried him into loss of temper, so that he hardly knew what he said. and what must not his agony of remorse be? she could scarcely imagine how he had avoided confessing all as a mere relief to his mind, but then she reflected that when he called himself a murderer the words were taken in another sense, and no questions asked, nor would he be willing to add such grief and shame to his parents' present burthen, especially as no suspicion existed. that peregrine's fate had not been discovered greatly relieved her. she believed the vault to go down to a considerable depth after a first platform of stone near the opening, and it was generally avoided as the haunt of hobgoblins, fairies, or evil beings, so that no one was likely to be in its immediate neighbourhood after the hay was carried, so that there might have been nothing to attract any one to the near neighbourhood and thus lead to the discovery. if not made by this time, charles would be far away, and there was nothing to connect him with the deed. no one save herself had even known of his having been near the castle that morning. how strange that the only persons aware of that terrible secret should be so far separated from one another that they could exchange no confidences; and each was compelled to absolute silence. for as long as no one else was suspected, anne felt her part must be not to betray charles, though the bare possibility of the accusation of another was agony to her. she wrote her condolences in due form to fareham, and in due time was answered by lucy archfield. the letter was full of details about the infant, who seemed to absorb her and her mother, and to be as likely to live as any child of those days ever was--and it was in his favour that his grandmother and her old nurse had better notions of management than most of her contemporaries. in spite of all that lucy said of her brother's overwhelming grief, and the melancholy of thus parting with him, there was a strain of cheerfulness throughout the letter, betraying that the poor young wife of less than a year was no very great loss to the peace and comfort of the family. the letter ended with-- there is a report that sir peregrine oakshott is dead in muscovy. nothing has been heard of that unfortunate young man at oakwood. if he be gone in quest of his uncle, i wonder what will become of him? however, nurse will have it that this being the third seventh year of his life, the fairies have carried off their changeling--you remember how she told us the story of his being changed as an infant, when we were children at winchester; she believes it as much as ever, and never let little philip out of her sight before he was baptized. i ask her, if the changeling be gone, where is the true peregrine? but she only wags her head in answer. a day or two later anne heard from her uncle from oxford. he was extremely grieved at the condition of his beloved alma mater, with a roman catholic master reigning at university college, a doctor from the sorbonne and fellows to match, inflicted by military force on magdalen, whose lawful children had been ejected with a violence beyond anything that the colleges had suffered even in the time of the rebellion. if things went on as they were, he pronounced oxford would be no better than a popish seminary: and he had the more readily induced his old friend to consent to charles's desire not to remain there as a student, but to go abroad with mr. fellowes, one of the expelled fellows of magdalen, a clergyman of mature age, but a man of the world, who had already acted as a travelling tutor. considering that the young widower was not yet twenty, and that all his wife's wealth would be in his hands, also that his cousin sedley formed a dangerous link with the questionable diversions of the garrison at portsmouth, both father and friend felt that it was well that he should be out of reach, and have other occupations for the present. change of scene had, dr. woodford said, brightened the poor youth, and he was showing more interest in passing events, but probably he would never again be the light-hearted boy they used to know. anne could well believe it. chapter xvi: a royal nursery "the duty that i owe unto your majesty i seal upon the lips of this sweet babe." king richard iii. it was not till the queen had moved from st. james's, where her son had been born, to take up her abode at whitehall, that lady oglethorpe was considered to be disinfected from her children's whooping-cough, and could conduct mistress anne jacobina woodford to her new situation. anne remembered the place from times past, as she followed the lady up the broad stairs to the state rooms, where the child was daily carried for inspection by the nation to whom, it was assumed, he was so welcome, but who, on the contrary, regarded him with the utmost dislike and suspicion. whitehall was, in those days, free to all the world, and though sentries in the life-guards' uniform with huge grenadier caps were posted here and there, every one walked up and down. members of parliament and fine gentlemen in embroidered coats and flowing wigs came to exchange news; country cousins came to stare and wonder, some to admire, some to whisper their disbelief in the prince's identity; clergy in gown, cassock, and bands came to win what they could in a losing cause; and one or two other clergy, who were looked at askance, whose dress had a foreign air, and whose tonsure could be detected as they threaded their way with quick, gliding steps to the king's closet. lady oglethorpe, as one to the manner born, made her way through the midst of this throng in the magnificent gallery, and anne followed her closely, conscious of words of admiration and inquiries who she was. into the prince's presence chamber, in fact his day-nursery, they came, and a sweet and gentle-looking lady met them, and embraced lady oglethorpe, who made known mistress woodford to lady strickland, of sizergh, the second governess, as the fourth rocker who had been appointed. "you are welcome, miss woodford," said the lady, looking at anne's high, handsome head and well-bred action in courtesying, with a shade of surprise. "you are young, but i trust you are discreet. there is much need thereof." following to a kind of alcove, raised by a step or two, anne found herself before a half-circle of ladies and gentlemen round a chair of state, in front of which stood a nurse, with an infant in her arms, holding him to be caressed and inspected by the lady on the throne. her beautiful soft dark eyes and hair, and an ivory complexion, with her dignified and graceful bearing, her long, slender throat and exquisite figure, were not so much concealed as enhanced by the simple mob cap and 'night-gown,' as it was then the fashion to call a morning wrapper, which she wore, and anne's first impression was that no wonder peregrine raved about her. poor peregrine! that very thought came like a stab, as, after courtesying low, she stood at the end of the long room--silent, and observing. a few gentlemen waited by the opposite door, but not coming far into the apartment, and lady oglethorpe was announced by one of them. the space was so great that anne could not hear the words, and she only saw the gracious smile and greeting as lady oglethorpe knelt and kissed the queen's hand. after a long conversation between the mothers, during which lady oglethorpe was accommodated with a cushion, anne was beckoned forward, and was named to the queen, who honoured her with an inclination of the head and a few low murmured words. then there was an announcement of 'his majesty,' and anne, following the general example of standing back with low obeisances, beheld the tall active figure and dark heavy countenance of her royal godfather, under his great black, heavily-curled wig. he returned lady oglethorpe's greeting, and his face lighted up with a pleasant smile that greatly changed the expression as he took his child into his arms for a few moments; but the little one began to cry, whereupon he was carried off, and the king began to consult lady oglethorpe upon the water-gruel on which the poor little prince was being reared, and of which she emphatically disapproved. before he left the room, however, lady oglethorpe took care to present to him his god-daughter, mistress anne jacobina woodford, and very low was the girl's obeisance before him, but with far more fright and shyness than before the sweet-faced queen. "oh ay!" he said, "i remember honest will woodford. he did good service at southwold. i wish he had left a son like him. have you a brother, young mistress?" "no, please your majesty, i am an only child." "more's the pity," he said kindly, and with a smile brightening his heavy features. "'tis too good a breed to die out. you are catholic?" "i am bred in the english church, so please your majesty." his majesty was evidently less pleased than before, but he only said, "ha! and my godchild! we must amend that," and waved her aside. the royal interview over, the newcomer was presented to the state governess, the countess of powys, a fair and gracious matron, who was, however, almost as far removed from her as the queen. then she was called on to take a solemn oath before the master of the household, of dutiful loyalty to the prince. mrs. labadie was head nurse as well as being wife to the king's french valet. she was a kindly, portly englishwoman, who seemed wrapped up in her charge, and she greeted her new subordinate in a friendly way, which, however, seemed strange in one who at home would have been of an inferior degree, expressed hopes of her steadiness and discretion, and called to miss dunord to show miss woodford her chamber. the abbreviation miss sounded familiar and unsuitable, but it had just come into use for younger spinsters, though officially they were still termed mistress. mistress or miss dunord was sallow and gray-eyed, somewhat older than anne, and looking thoroughly french, though her english was perfect. she was entirely dressed in blue and white, and had a rosary and cross at her girdle. "this way," she said, tripping up a steep wooden stair. "we sleep above. 'tis a huge, awkward place. her majesty calls it the biggest and most uncomfortable palace she ever was in." opening a heavy door, she showed a room of considerable size, hung with faded frayed tapestry, and containing two huge bedsteads, with four heavy posts, and canopies of wood, as near boxes as could well be. privacy was a luxury not ordinarily coveted, and the arrangement did not surprise anne, though she could have wished that on that summer day curtains and tapestry had been less fusty. two young women were busy over a dress spread on one of the beds, and with french ease and grace the guide said, "here is our new colleague, miss jacobina woodford. let me present miss hester bridgeman and miss jane humphreys." "miss woodford is welcome," said miss bridgeman, a keen, brown, lively, somewhat anxious-looking person, courtesying and holding out her hand, and her example was followed by jane humphreys, a stout, rosy, commonplace girl. "oh! i am glad," this last cried. "now i shall have a bedfellow." this anne was the less sorry for, as she saw that the bed of the other two was furnished with a holy water stoup and a little shrine with a waxen madonna. there was only one looking-glass among the four, and not much apparatus either for washing or the toilet, but miss bridgeman believed that they would soon go to richmond, where things would be more comfortable. then she turned to consult miss dunord on her endeavour to improve the trimmings of a dress of miss humphreys. "yes, i know you are always in our lady's colours, pauline, but you have a pretty taste, and can convince jane that rose colour and scarlet cannot go together." "my father chose the ribbons," said jane, as if that were unanswerable. "city taste," said miss bridgeman. "they are pretty, very pretty with anything else," observed pauline, with more tact. "see, now, with your white embroidered petticoat and the gray train they are ravishing--and the scarlet coat will enliven the black." there was further a little murmur about what a mr. hopkins admired, but it was lost in the arrival of miss woodford's mails. they clustered round, as eager as a set of schoolgirls, over anne's dresses. happily even the extreme of fashion had not then become ungraceful. "her majesty will not have the loose drapery that folks used to wear," said hester bridgeman. "no," said pauline; "it was all very well for those who could dispose it with an artless negligence, but for some i could name, it was as though they had tumbled it on with a hay-fork and had their hair tousled by being tickled in the hay." "now we have the tight bodice with plenty of muslin and lace, the gown open below to show the petticoat," said hester; "and to my mind it is more decorous." "decorum was not the vogue then," laughed pauline, "perhaps it will be now. oh, what lovely lace! real flanders, on my word! where did you get it, miss woodford?" "it was my mother's." "and this? why, 'tis old french point, you should hang it to your sleeves." "my lady archfield gave it to me in case i should need it." "ah! i see you have good friends and are a person of some condition," put in hester bridgeman. "i shall be happy to consort with you. let us--" anne courtesied, and at the moment a bell was heard, pauline at once crossed herself and fell on her knees before the small shrine with a figure of the blessed virgin, and hester, breaking off her words, followed her example; but jane humphreys stood twisting the corner of her apron. in a very short time, almost before anne had recovered from her bewilderment, the other two were up and chattering again. "you are not a catholic?" demanded miss bridgeman. "i was bred in the church," said anne. "and you the king's godchild!" exclaimed pauline. "but we shall soon amend that and make a convert of you like miss bridgeman there." anne shook her head, but was glad to ask, "and what means the bell that is ringing now?" "that is the supper bell. it rings just after the angelus," said hester. "no, it is not ours. the great folks, lady powys, lady strickland, and the rest sup first. we have the dishes after them, with nurses labadie and royer and the rest--no bad ones either. they are allowed five dishes and two bottles of wine apiece, and they always leave plenty for us, and it is served hot too." the preparations for going down to the second table now absorbed the party. as hester said, the fare at this second table was not to be despised. it was a formal meal shared with the two nurses and the two pages of the backstairs. not the lads usually associated with the term, but men of mature age, and of gentle, though not noble, birth and breeding; and there were likewise the attendants of the king and queen of the same grade, such as mr. labadie, the king's valet, some english, but besides these, dusian, the queen's french page, and signer and signora turini, who had come with her from modena, pere giverlai, her confessor, and another priest. pere giverlai said grace, and the conversation went on briskly between the elders, the younger ones being supposed to hold their peace. their dishes went in reversion to the inferior class of servants, laundress, sempstress, chambermaids, and the like, who had much more liberty than their betters, and not such a lack of occupation as anne soon perceived that she should suffer from. there was, however, a great muster of all the prince's establishment, who stood round, as many as could, with little garments in their hands, while he was solemnly undressed and laid in his richly inlaid and carved cradle--over which pere giverlai pronounced a latin benediction. the nursery establishment was then released, except one of the nurses, who was to sleep or wake on a couch by his side, and one of the rockers. these damsels had, two at a time, to divide the night between them, one being always at hand to keep the food warm, touch the rocker at need with her foot, or call up the nurse on duty if the child awoke, but not presume herself to handle his little royal highness. it was the night when mistresses dunord and bridgeman were due, and anne followed jane humphreys to her room, asking a little about the duties of the morrow. "we must be dressed before seven," said the girl. "one of us will be left on duty while the others go to mass. i am glad you are a protestant, miss woodford, for the catholics put everything on me that they can." "we must do our best to help and strengthen each other," said anne. "it is very hard," said jane; "and the priests are always at me! i would change as hester bridgeman has done, but that i know it would break my grand-dame's heart. my father might not care so much, if i got advancement, but i believe it would kill my grandmother." "advancement! oh, but faith comes first," exclaimed anne, recalling the warning. "hester says one religion is as good as another to get to heaven by," murmured jane. "not if we deny our own for the world's sake," said anne. "is the chapel here a popish one?" "no; the queen has an oratory, but the popish chapel is at st. james's--across the park. the protestant one is here at whitehall, and there are daily prayers at nine o'clock, and on sunday music with three fiddlers, and my grandmother says it might almost as well be popish at once." "did your grandmother bring you up?" "yes. my mother died when i was seven years old, and my grandmother bred us all up. you should hear her talk of the good old times before the kings came back and there were no bishops and no book prayers--but my father says we must swim with the stream, or he would not have got any custom at his coffee-house." "is that his calling?" "ay! no one has a better set of guests than in the golden lamb. the place is full. the great dr. hammond sees his patients there, and it is all one buzz of the wits. it was because of that that my lord sunderland made interest, and got me here. how did you come?" anne briefly explained, and jane broke out-- "then you will be my friend, and we will tell each other all our secrets. you are a protestant too. you will be mine, and not bridgeman's or dunord's--i hate them." in point of fact anne did not feel much attracted by the proffer of friendship, and she certainly did not intend to tell jane humphreys all her secrets, nor to vow enmity to the other colleagues, but she gravely answered that she trusted they would be friends and help to maintain one another's faith. she was relieved that miss bridgeman here came in to take her first turn of rest till she was to be called up at one o'clock. as jane humphreys had predicted, mrs. royer and anne alone were left in charge of the nursling while every one went to morning mass. then followed breakfast and the levee of his royal highness, lasting as on the previous day till dinner-time; and the afternoon was as before, except that the day was fine enough for the child to be carried out with all his attendants behind him to take the air in the private gardens. if this was to be the whole course of life at the palace, anne began to feel that she had made a great mistake. she was by no means attracted by her companions, though miss bridgeman decided that she must know persons of condition, and made overtures of friendship, to be sealed by calling one another oriana and portia. she did not approve of such common names as princess anne and lady churchill used--mrs. morley and mrs. freeman! they must have something better than what was used by the cockpit folks, and she was sure that her dear portia would soon be of the only true faith. chapter xvii: machinations "baby born to woe." f. t. palgrave. when anne woodford began to wake from the constant thought of the grief and horror she had left at portchester, and to feel more alive to her surroundings and less as if they were a kind of dream, in which she only mechanically took her part, one thing impressed itself on her gradually, and that was disappointment. if the previous shock had not blunted all her hopes and aspirations, perhaps she would have felt it sooner and more keenly; but she could not help realising that she had put herself into an inferior position whence there did not seem to be the promotion she had once anticipated. her companion rockers were of an inferior grade to herself. jane humphreys was a harmless but silly girl, not much wiser, though less spoilt, than poor little madam, and full of cockney vulgarities. education was unfashionable just then, and though hester bridgeman was bettor born and bred, being the daughter of an attorney in the city, she was not much better instructed, and had no pursuits except that of her own advantage. pauline dunord was by far the best of the three, but she seemed to live a life apart, taking very little interest in her companions or anything around her except her devotions and the bringing them over to her church. the nursery was quite a separate establishment; there was no mingling with the guests of royalty, who were only seen in excited peeps from the window, or when solemnly introduced to the presence chamber to pay their respects to the prince. as to books, the only secular one that anne saw while at whitehall was an odd volume of parthenissa. the late king's summary of the roman controversy was to be had in plenty, and nothing was more evident than that the only road to favour or promotion was in being thereby convinced. "don't throw it down as if it were a hot chestnut," said her oriana. "that's what they all do at first, but they come to it at last." anne made no answer, but a pang smote her as she thought of her uncle's warnings. yet surely she might hope for other modes of prospering, she who was certainly by far the best looking and best educated of all the four, not that this served her much in her present company, and those of higher rank did not notice her at all. princess anne would surely recollect her, and then she might be safe in a protestant household, where her uncle would be happy about her. the princess had been at bath when first she arrived, but at the end of a week preparations were made at the cockpit, a sort of appendage to whitehall, where the prince and princess of denmark lived, and in due time there was a visit to the nursery. standing in full ceremony behind lady powys, anne saw the plump face and form she recollected in the florid bloom of a young matron, not without a certain royal dignity in the pose of the head, though in grace and beauty far surpassed by the tall, elegant figure and face of lady churchill, whose bright blue eyes seemed to be taking in everything everywhere. anne's heart began to beat high at the sight of a once familiar face, and with hopes of a really kind word from one who as an elder girl had made much of the pretty little plaything. the princess anne's countenance was, however, less good-natured than usual; her mouth was made up to a sullen expression, and when her brother was shown to her she did not hold out her arms to him nor vouchsafe a kiss. the queen looked at her wistfully, asking-- "is he not like the king?" "humph!" returned princess anne, "i see no likeness to any living soul of our family." "nay, but see his little nails," said the queen, spreading the tiny hand over her finger. "see how like your father's they are framed! my treasure, you can clasp me!" "my brother, edgar! he was the beauty," said the princess. "_he_ was exactly like my father; but there's no judging of anything so puny as this!" "he was very suffering last week, the poor little angel," said the mother sadly; "but they say this water-gruel is very nourishing, and not so heavy as milk." "it does not look as if it agreed with him," said the princess. "poor little mammet! did i hear that you had the little woodford here? is that you, girl?" anne courtesied herself forward. "ay, i remember you. i never forget a face, and you have grown up fair enough. where's your mother?" "i lost her last february, so please your royal highness." "oh! she was a good woman. why did she not send you to me? well, well! come to my toilette to-morrow." so princess anne swept away in her rich blue brocade. her behest was obeyed, of course, though it was evidently displeasing to the nursery authorities, and lady strickland gave a warning to be discreet and to avoid gossip with the cockpit folks. anne could not but be excited. perhaps the princess would ask for her, and take her into the number of her own attendants, where she would no longer be in a romish household, and would certainly be in a higher position. why, she remembered that very lady churchill as sarah jennings in no better a position than she could justly aspire to. her coming to court would thus be truly justified. the princess sat in a silken wrapper, called a night-gown, in her chamber, which had a richly-curtained bed in the alcove, and a toilet-table with a splendid venetian mirror, and a good deal of silver sparkling on it, while a strange mixture of perfumes came from the various boxes and bottles. ladies and tirewomen stood in attendance; a little black boy in a turban and gold-embroidered dress held a salver with her chocolate cup; a cockatoo soliloquised in low whispers in the window; a monkey was chained to a pole at a safe distance from him; a french friseur was manipulating the princess's profuse brown hair with his tongs; and a needy-looking, pale thin man, in a semi-clerical suit, was half-reading, half- declaiming a poem, in which 'fair anna' seemed mixed up with juno, ceres, and other classical folk, but to which she was evidently paying very little attention. "ah! there you are, little one. thank you, master--what's name; that is enough. 'tis a fine poem, but i never can remember which is which of all your gods and goddesses. oh yes, i accept the dedication. give him a couple of guineas, ellis; it will serve him for board and lodging for a fortnight, poor wretch!" then, after giving a smooth, well-shaped white hand to be kissed, and inviting her visitor to a cushion at her feet, she began a long series of questions, kindly ones at first, though of the minute gossiping kind, and extending to the archfields, for poor young madam had been of the rank about which royalty knew everything in those days. the inquiries were extremely minute, and the comments what from any one else, anne would have thought vulgar, especially in the presence of the hairdresser, but her namesake observed her blush and hesitation, and said, "oh, never mind a creature like that. he is french, besides, and does not understand a word we say." anne, looking over the princess's head, feared that she saw a twinkle in the man's eye, and could only look down and try to ignore him through the catechism that ensued, on when she came to whitehall, on the prince of wales's health, the management of him, and all the circumstances connected with his birth. very glad was anne that she knew nothing, and had not picked up any information as to what had happened before she came to the palace. as to the present, lady strickland's warning and her own sense of honour kept her reticent to a degree that evidently vexed the princess, for she dropped her caressing manner, and sent her away with a not very kind, "you may go now; you will be turning papist next, and what would your poor mother say?" and as anne departed in backward fashion she heard lady churchill say, "you will make nothing of her. she is sharper than she affects, and a proud minx! i see it in her carriage." the visit had only dashed a few hopes and done her harm with her immediate surroundings, who always disliked and distrusted intercourse with the other establishment. however, in another day the nursery was moved to richmond. this was a welcome move to anne, who had spent her early childhood near enough to be sometimes taken thither, and to know the park well, so that there was a home feeling in the sight of the outline of the trees and the scenery of the neighbourhood. the queen intended going to bath, so that the establishment was only that of the prince, and the life was much quieter on the whole; but there was no gratifying any yearning for country walks, for it was not safe nor perhaps decorous for one young woman to be out alone in a park open to the public and haunted by soldiers from hounslow--nor could either of her fellow-rockers understand her preference for a secluded path through the woods. miss dunord never went out at all, except on duty, when the prince was carried along the walks in the garden, and the other two infinitely preferred the open spaces, where tables were set under the horse-chestnut trees for parties who boated down from london to eat curds and whey, sometimes bringing a fiddler so as to dance under the trees. jane humphreys especially was always looking out for acquaintances, and once, with a cry of joy, a stout, homely-looking young woman started up, exclaiming, "sister jane!" and flew into her arms. upon which miss woodford was introduced to 'my sister coles' and her husband, and had to sit down under a tree and share the festivities, while there was an overflow of inquiries and intelligence, domestic and otherwise. certainly these were persons whom she would not have treated as equals at home. besides, it was all very well to hear of the good old grandmother's rheumatics, and of little tommy's teething, and even to see jane hang her head and be teased about remembering mr. hopkins; nor was it wonderful to hear lamentations over the extreme dulness of the life where one never saw a creature to speak to who was not as old as the hills; but when it came to inquiries as minute as the princess's about the prince of wales, anne thought the full details lavishly poured out scarcely consistent with loyalty to their oaths of service and lady strickland's warning, and she told jane so. she was answered, "oh la! what harm can it do? you are such a proud peat! grand-dame and sister like to know all about his royal highness." this was true; but anne was far more uncomfortable two or three days later. the prince was ailing, so much so that lady powys had sent an express for the queen, who had not yet started for bath, when anne and jane, being relieved from duty by the other pair, went out for a stroll. "oh la!" presently exclaimed jane, "if that is not colonel sands, the princess's equerry. i do declare he is coming to speak to us, though he is one of the cockpit folks." he was a very fine gentleman indeed, all scarlet and gold, and no wonder jane was flattered and startled, so that she jerked her fan violently up and down as he accosted her with a wave of his cocked hat, saying that he was rejoiced to meet these two fair ladies, having been sent by the princess of denmark to inquire for the health of the prince. she was very anxious to know more than could be learnt by formal inquiry, he said, and he was happy to have met the young gentlewomen who could gratify him. the term 'gentlewoman' highly flattered miss humphreys, who blushed and bridled, and exclaimed, "oh la, sir!" but anne thought it needful to say gravely-- "we are in trust, sir, and have no right to speak of what passes within the royal household." "madam, i admire your discretion, but to the--(a-hem)--sister of the--(a-hem)--prince of wales it is surely uncalled for." "miss woodford is so precise," said jane humphreys, with a giggle; "i do not know what harm can come of saying that his royal highness peaks and pines just as he did before." "he is none the better for country air then?" "oh no? except that he cries louder. such a time as we had last night! mrs. royer never slept a wink all the time i was there, but walked about with him all night. you had the best of it, miss woodford." "he slept while i was there," said anne briefly, not thinking it needful to state that the tired nurse had handed the child over to her, and that he had fallen asleep in her arms. she tried to put an end to the conversation by going indoors, but she was vexed to find that, instead of following her closely, miss humphreys was still lingering with the equerry. anne found the household in commotion. pauline met her, weeping bitterly, and saying the prince had had a fit, and all hope was over, and in the rockers' room, she found hester bridgeman exclaiming that her occupation was gone. water-gruel, she had no doubt, had been the death of the prince. the queen was come, and wellnigh distracted. she had sent out in quest of a wet-nurse, but it was too late; he was going the way of all her majesty's children. going down again together the two girls presently had to stand aside as the poor queen, seeing and hearing nothing, came towards her own room with her handkerchief over her face. they pressed each other's hands awe-stricken, and went on to the nursery. there mrs. labadie was kneeling over the cradle, her hood hanging over her face, crying bitterly over the poor little child, who had a blue look about his face, and seemed at the last gasp, his features contorted by a convulsion. at that moment jane humphreys was seen gently opening the door and letting in colonel sands, who moved as quietly as possible, to give a furtive look at the dying child. his researches were cut short, however. lady strickland, usually the gentlest of women, darted out and demanded what he was doing in her nursery. he attempted to stammer some excuse about princess anne, but lady strickland only answered by standing pointing to the door and he was forced to retreat in a very undignified fashion. "who brought him?" she demanded, when the door was shut. "those cockpit folk are not to come prying here, hap what may!" miss humphreys had sped away for fear of questions being asked, and attention was diverted by mrs. royer arriving with a stout, healthy- looking young woman in a thick home-spun cloth petticoat, no stockings, and old shoes, but with a clean white cap on her head--a tilemaker's wife who had been captured in the village. no sooner was the suffering, half-starved child delivered over to her than he became serene and contented. the water-gruel regime was over, and he began to thrive from that time. even when later in the afternoon the king himself brought in colonel sands, whom in the joy of his heart he had asked to dine with him, the babe lay tranquilly on the cradle, waving his little hands and looking happy. the intrusion seemed to have been forgotten, but that afternoon anne, who had been sent on a message to one of the queen's ladies, more than suspected that she saw jane in a deep recess of a window in confabulation with the colonel. and when they were alone at bed- time the girl said-- "is it not droll? the colonel cannot believe that 'tis the same child. he has been joking and teasing me to declare that we have a dead prince hidden somewhere, and that the king showed him the brick-bat woman's child." "how can you prattle in that mischievous way--after what lady strickland said, too? you do not know what harm you may do!" "oh lack, it was all a jest!" "i am not so sure that it was." "but you will not tell of me, dear friend, you will not. i never saw lady strickland like that; i did not know she could be in such a rage." "no wonder, when a fellow like that came peeping and prying like a raven to see whether the poor babe was still breathing," cried anne indignantly. "how could you bring him in?" "fellow indeed! why he is a colonel in the life-guards, and the princess's equerry; and who has a right to know about the child if not his own sister--or half-sister?" "she is not a very loving sister," replied anne. "you know well, jane, how many would not be sorry to make out that it is as that man would fain have you say." "well, i told him it was no such thing, and laughed the very notion to scorn." "it were better not to talk with him at all." "but you will not speak of it. if i were turned away my father would beat me. nay, i know not what he might not do to me. you will not tell, dear darling portia, and i will love you for ever." "i have no call to tell," said anne coldly, but she was disgusted and weary, and moreover not at all sure that she, as the other protestant rocker, and having been in the park on that same day, was not credited with some of the mischievous gossip that had passed. "there, portia, that is what you get by walking with that stupid humphreys," said oriana. "she knows no better than to blab to any one who will be at the trouble to seem sweet upon her, though she may get nothing by it." "would it be better if she did?" asked anne. "oh well, we must all look out for ourselves, and i am sure there is no knowing what may come next. but i hear we are to move to windsor as soon as the child is strong enough, so as to be farther out of reach of the cockpit tongues." this proved to be true, but the prince and his suite were not lodged in the castle itself, a house in the cloisters being thought more suitable, and here the queen visited her child daily, for since that last alarm she could not bear to be long absent from him. such emissaries as colonel sands did not again appear, but after that precedent lady strickland had become much more unwilling to allow any of those under her authority to go out into any public place, and the rockers seldom got any exercise except as swelling the prince's train when he was carried out to take the air. anne looked with longing eyes at the park, but a ramble there was a forbidden pleasure. she could not always even obtain leave to attend st. george's chapel; the wish was treated as a sort of weakness, or folly, and she was always the person selected to stay at home when any religious ceremony called away the rest of the establishment. as the king's god-daughter it was impressed on her that she ought to conform to his church, and one of the many priests about the court was appointed to instruct her. in the dearth of all intellectual intercourse, and the absolute deficiency of books, she could not but become deeply interested in the arguments. her uncle had forearmed her with instruction, and she wrote to him on any difficulty which arose, and this became the chief occupation of her mind, distracting her thoughts from the one great cloud that hung over her memory. indeed one of the foremost bulwarks her feelings erected to fortify her conscience against the temptations around, was the knowledge that she would have, though of course under seal of confession, to relate that terrible story to a priest. hester bridgeman could not imagine how her portia could endure to hear the old english prayer-book droned out. for her part, she liked one thing or the other, either a rousing nonconformist sermon in a meeting-house or a splendid mass. "but, after all," as anne overheard her observing to miss dunord, "it may be all the better for us. what with her breeding and her foreign tongues, she would be sure to be set over our heads as under-governess, or the like, if she were not such an obstinate heretic, and keeping that stupid humphreys so. we could have converted her long ago, if it were not for that woodford and for her city grand-dame! portia is the king's godchild, too, so it is just as well that she does not see what is for her own advantage." "i do not care for promotion. i only want to save my own soul and hers," said pauline. "i wish she would come over to the true church, for i could love her." and certainly pauline dunord's gentle devotional example, and her perfect rest and peace in the practice of her religion, were strong influences with anne. she was waiting till circumstances should make it possible to her to enter a convent, and in the meantime she lived a strictly devout life, abstracted as far as duty and kindness permitted from the little cabals and gossipry around. anne could not help feeling that the girl was as nearly a saint as any one she had ever seen--far beyond herself in goodness. moreover, the queen inspired strong affection. mary beatrice was not only a very beautiful person, full of the grace and dignity of the house of este, but she was deeply religious, good and gentle, kindly and gracious to all who approached her, and devoted to her husband and child. a word or look from her was always a delight, and anne, by her knowledge of italian, was able sometimes to obtain a smiling word or remark. the little prince, after those first miserable weeks of his life, had begun to thrive, and by and by manifested a decided preference not only for his beautiful mother, but for the fresh face, bright smile, and shining brown eyes of miss woodford. she could almost always, with nods and becks, avert a passion of roaring, which sometimes went beyond the powers of even his foster-mother, the tiler's wife. the queen watched with delight when he laughed and flourished his arms in response, and the king was summoned to see the performance, which he requited by taking out a fat gold watch set with pearls, and presenting it to anne, as his grave gloomy face lighted up with a smile. "are you yet one of us?" he asked, as she received his gift on her knee. "no, sir, i cannot--" "that must be amended. you have read his late majesty's paper?" "i have, sir." "and seen father giverlai?" "yes, please your majesty." "and still you are not convinced. that must not be. i would gladly consider and promote you, but i can only have true catholics around my son. i shall desire father crump to see you." chapter xviii: hallowmas eve "this more strange than such a murder is." macbeth. "bambino mio, bambino mio," wailed mary beatrice, as she pressed her child to her bosom, and murmured to him in her native tongue. "and did they say he was not his mother's son, his poor mother, whose dearest treasure he is! oime, crudeli, crudelissimi! even his sisters hate him and will not own him, the little jewel of his mother's heart!" anne, waiting in the window, was grieved to have overheard the words which the poor queen had poured out, evidently thinking no one near could understand her. that evening there were orders to prepare for a journey to whitehall the next morning. "and," said hester bridgeman, "i can tell you why, in all confidence, but i have it from a sure hand. the prince of orange is collecting a fleet and army to come and inquire into certain matters, especially into the birth of a certain young gentleman we wot of." "how can he have the insolence?" cried anne. "'tis no great wonder, considering the vipers in the cockpit," said hester. "but what will they do to us?" asked jane humphreys in terror. "nothing to you, my dear, nor to portia; you are good protestants," said hester with a sneer. "mrs. royer told me it was for the christening," said jane, "and then we shall all have new suits. i am glad we are going back to town. it cannot be so mortal dull as 'tis here, with all the leaves falling--enough to give one the vapours." there were auguries on either hand in the palace that if the prince came it would be only another monmouth affair, and this made anne shrink, for she had partaken of the grief and indignation of winchester at the cruel execution of lady lisle, and had heard rumours enough of the progress of the assize to make her start in horror when called to watch the red-faced lord chancellor jeffreys getting out of his coach. it really seemed for the time as if the royal household were confident in this impression, though as soon as they were again settled in whitehall there was a very close examination of the witnesses of the prince's birth, and a report printed of their evidence, enough it might be thought to satisfy any one; but jane humphreys, who went to spend a day at the golden lamb, her father's warehouse, reported that people only laughed at it. anne's spirit burned at the injustice, and warmed the more towards the queen and little prince, whose pretty responses to her caresses could not but win her love. moreover, pauline's example continued to attract her, and father crump was a better controversialist, or perhaps a better judge of character, than pere giverlai, and took her on sides where she was more vulnerable, so as to make her begin to feel unsettled, and wonder whether she were not making a vain sacrifice, and holding out after all against the better way. the sense of the possible gain, and disgust at the shallow conversions of some around her, helped to keep her back. she could not help observing that while pauline persuaded, hester had ceased to persuade, and seemed rather willing to hinder her. just before the state christening or rather admission into the church, lady powys, in the name of the king and queen, offered her the post of sub-governess, which really would mean for the present chief playfellow to the little prince, and would place her on an entirely different platform of society from the comparatively menial one she occupied, but of course on the condition of conformity to rome. to be above the familiarity of jane and hester was no small temptation, but still she hesitated. "madam, i thank you, i thank their majesties," she said, "but i cannot do it thus." "i see what you mean, miss woodford," said lady powys, who was a truly noble woman. "your motives must be above suspicion even to yourself. i respect you, and would not have made you the offer except by express command, but i still trust that when your disinterestedness is above suspicion you will still join us." it was sore mortification when hester bridgeman was preferred to the office, for which she was far less fitted, being no favourite with the babe, and being essentially vulgar in tastes and habits, and knowing no language save her own, and that ungrammatically and with an accent which no one could wish the prince to acquire. yet there she was, promoted to the higher grade of the establishment and at the christening, standing in the front ranks, while miss woodford was left far in the rear among the servants. a report of the dutch fleet having been destroyed by a storm had restored the spirits of the court; and in the nursery very little was known of the feelings of the kingdom at large. dr. woodford did not venture on writing freely to his niece, lest he should compromise her, and she only vaguely detected that he was uneasy. so came all saints' day eve, when there was to be a special service late in the evening at the romanised chapel royal at st. james's, with a sermon by a distinguished dominican, to which all the elder and graver members of the household were eager to go. and there was another very different attraction at the cockpit, where good-natured princess anne had given permission for a supper, to be followed by burning of nuts and all the divinations proper to hallowmas eve, to which were invited all the subordinates of the whitehall establishment who could be spared. pauline dunord was as eager for the sermon as jane humphreys was for the supper, and hester bridgeman was in an odd mood of uncertainty, evidently longing after the sports, but not daring to show that she did so, and trying to show great desire to hear the holy man preach, together with a polite profession of self-denial in giving up her place in case there should not be room for all. however, as it appeared that even the two chief nurses meant to combine sermon and the latter end of the supper, she was at ease. the foster-mother and one of the protestant rockers were supposed to be enough to watch over the prince, but the former, who had been much petted and spoilt since she had been at the palace, and was a young creature, untrained and wilful, cried so much at the idea of missing the merrymaking, that as it was reckoned important to keep her in good humour and good spirits, mrs. labadie decided on winking at her absence from the nursery, since miss woodford was quite competent to the charge for the short time that both the church-goers and the supper-goers would all be absent together. "but are you not afraid to stay alone?" asked mrs. labadie, with a little compunction. "what is there to be afraid of?" asked anne. "there are the sentinels at the foot of the stairs, and what should reach us here?" "i would not be alone here," said more than one voice. "nor i!"-- "nor i!" "and on this night of all others!" said hester. "but why?" "they say he walks!" whispered jane in a voice of awe. "who walks?" "the old king?" asked hester. "no; the last king," said jane. "no, no: it was oliver cromwell--old noll himself!" put in another voice. "i tell you, no such thing," said jane. "it was the last king. i heard it from them that saw it, at least the lady's cousin. 'twas in the long gallery, in a suit of plain black velvet, with white muslin ruffles and cravat quilled very neat. why do you laugh, miss woodford?" this was too much for anne, who managed to say, "who was his laundress?" "i tell you i heard it from them that told no lies. the gentleman could swear to it. he took a candle to him, and there was nought but the wainscot behind. think of that." "and that we should be living here!" said another voice. "i never venture about the big draughty place alone at night," said the laundress. "no! nor i would not for twenty princes," added the sempstress. "nay, i have heard steps," said mrs. royer, "and wailing--wailing. no wonder after all that has happened here. oh yes, steps as of the guard being turned out!" "that is like our squire's manor-house, where--" every one contributed a story, and only the announcement of her majesty's approach put an end to these reminiscences. anne held to her purpose. she had looked forward to this time of solitude, for she wanted leisure to consider the situation, and fairly to revolve the pleas by which father crump had shaken her, more in feeling than in her reason, and made her question whether her allegiance to her mother and uncle, and her disgust at interested conversions, were not making her turn aside from what might be the only true church, the mother of saints, and therewith perversely give up earthly advancement. but, oh! how to write to her uncle. the very intention made her imagination and memory too powerful for the consideration of controversy. she went back first to a merry hallowmas eve long ago, among the archfield party and other winchester friends, and how the nuts had bounced in a manner which made the young ones shout in ecstasy of glee, but seemed to displease some of the elders, and had afterwards been the occasion of her being told that it was all folly, and therewith informed of charles archfield's contract to poor little alice fitzhubert. then came other scenes. all the various ghostly tales she had heard, and as she sat with her knitting in the shaded room with no sound but the soft breathing of her little charge in his cradle, no light save from a shaded lamp and the fire on the hearth, strange thoughts and dreams floated over her; she started at mysterious cracks in the wainscotting from time to time, and beheld in the dark corners of the great room forms that seemed grotesque and phantom-like till she went up to them and resolved them into familiar bits of furniture or gowns and caps of mrs. labadie. she repeated half aloud numerous psalms and bits of poetry, but in the midst would come some disturbing noise, a step or a shout from the street, though the chamber being at the back of the house looking into the park few of such sounds penetrated thither. she began to think of king charles's last walk from st. james's to whitehall, and of the fatal window of the banqueting-hall which had been pointed out to her, and then her thoughts flew back again to that vault in the castle yard, and she saw only too vividly in memory that open vault, veiled partly by nettles and mulleins, which was the unblest, unknown grave of the old playfellow who had so loved her mother and herself. perhaps she had hitherto more dwelt on and pitied the living than the dead, as one whom fears and prayers still concerned, but now as she thought of the lively sprite-like being who had professed such affection for her, and for whom her mother had felt so much, and recollected him so soon and suddenly cut down and consigned to that dreary darkness, the strange yearning spirit dismissed to the unknown world, instead of her old terror and repulsion, a great tenderness and compunction came over her, and she longed to join those who would in two days more be keeping all souls' day in intercessions for their departed, so as to atone for her past dislike; and there was that sort of feeling about her which can only be described by the word 'eerie.' to relieve it anne walked to the window and undid a small wicket in the shutter, so as to look out into the quiet moonlight park where the trees cast their long shadows on the silvery grass, and there was a great calm that seemed to reach her heart and spirits. suddenly, across the sward towards the palace there came the slight, impish, almost one-sided figure, with the peculiar walk, swift though suggestive of a limp, the elfish set of the plume, the foreign adjustment of short cloak. anne gazed with wide-stretched eyes and beating heart, trying to rally her senses and believe it fancy, when the figure crossed into a broad streak of light cast by the lamp over the door, the face was upturned for a moment. it was deadly pale, and the features were beyond all doubt peregrine oakshott's. she sprang back from the window, dropped on her knees, with her face hidden in her hands, and was hardly conscious till sounds of the others returning made her rally her powers so as to prevent all inquiries or surmises. it was mrs. labadie and pauline dunord, the former to see that all was well with the prince before repairing to the cockpit. "how pale you are!" she exclaimed. "have you seen anything?" "i--it may be nothing. he is dead!" stammered anne. "oh then, 'tis naught but a maid's fancies," said the nurse good- humouredly. "miss dunord is in no mind for the sports, so she will stay with his highness, and you had best come with me and drive the cobwebs out of your brain." "indeed, i thank you, ma'am, but i could not," said anne. "you had best, i tell you, shake these megrims out of your brain," said mrs. labadie; but she was in too great haste not to lose her share of the amusements to argue the point, and the two young women were left together. pauline was in a somewhat exalted state, full of the sermon on the connection of the church with the invisible world. "you have seen one of your poor dead," she said. "oh, may it not be that he came to implore you to have pity, and join the church, where you could intercede and offer the holy sacrifice for him?" anne started. this seemed to chime in with proclivities of poor peregrine's own, and when she thought of his corpse in that unhallowed vault, it seemed to her as if he must be calling on her to take measures for his rest, both of body and of spirit. yet something seemed to seal her tongue. she could not open her lips on what she had seen, and while pauline talked on, repeating the sermon which had so deeply touched her feelings, anne heard without listening to aught besides her own perturbations, mentally debating whether she could endure to reveal the story to father crump, if she confessed to him, or whether she should write to her uncle; and she even began to compose the letter in her own mind, with the terrible revelation that must commence it, but every moment the idea became more formidable. how transfer her own heavy burthen to her uncle, who might feel bound to take steps that would cut young archfield off from parents, sister, child, and home. or supposing dr. woodford disbelieved the apparition of to-night, the whole would be discredited in his eyes, and he might suppose the summer morning's duel as much a delusion of her fancy as the autumn evening's phantom, and what evidence had she to adduce save charles's despair, peregrine's absence, and what there might be in the vault? yet if all that father crump and pauline said was true, that dear uncle might be under a fatal delusion, and it might be the best hope for herself--nay, even for that poor restless spirit--to separate herself from them. here was pauline talking of the blessedness of being able to offer prayers on 'all souls' day' for all those of whose ultimate salvation there were fears, or who might be in a state of suffering. it even startled her as she thought of her mother, whom she always gave thanks for as one departed in faith and fear. would father crump speak of her as one in a state of inevitable ignorance to be expiated in the invisible world? it shocked the daughter as almost profane. yet if it were true, and prayers and masses could aid her? altogether anne was in a mood on which the voices broke strangely returning from the supper full of news. jane humphreys was voluble on her various experiments. the nuts had burnt quietly together, and that was propitious to the life-guardsman, mr. shaw, who had shared hers; but on the other hand, the apple-paring thrown over her shoulder had formed a p, and he whom she had seen in the vista of looking-glasses had a gold chain but neither a uniform nor a p in his name, and mrs. buss declared that it meant that she should be three times married, and the last would be an alderman, if not lord mayor; and mrs. royer was joking miss bridgeman on the i of her apple-paring, which could stand for nothing but a certain incle among 'the cockpit folk,' who was her special detestation. princess anne and her husband had come down to see the nuts flying, and had laughed enough to split their sides, till lord cornbury came in and whispered something to prince george, who said, "est il possible?" and spoke to the princess, and they all went away together. yes, and the bishop of bath and wells, who had been laughing before looked very grave, and went with them. "oh!" exclaimed anne, "is the bishop of bath and wells here?" "yes, in spite of his disgrace. i hear he is to preach in your protestant chapel to-morrow." anne had brought a letter of introduction from her uncle in case she should have any opportunity of seeing his old fellow canon, who had often been kind to her when she was a little girl at winchester. she was in many minds of hope and fear as to the meeting him or speaking to him, under the consciousness of the possible defection from his church, and the doubt and dread whether to confide her secret and consult him. however, the extreme improbability of her being able to do so made the yearning for the sight of a winchester face predominate, and her vigil of the night past made the nursery authorities concede that she had fairly earned her turn to go to church in the forenoon, since she was obstinate enough to want to run after an old heretic so-called bishop who had so pragmatically withstood his majesty. jane humphreys went too, for though she was not fond of week-day services, any escape from the nursery was welcome, and there was a chance of seeing lady churchill's new mantle. in this she was disappointed, for none of the grandees were present, indeed it was whispered as the two girls made their way to the chapel, that there was great excitement over the declaration of the prince of orange, which had arrived last night, that he had been invited by the lords spiritual and temporal to take up the cause of the liberties of england, and inquire into the evidence of the birth of the prince of wales. people shrugged their shoulders, but looked volumes, though it was no time nor place for saying more; and when in the chapel, that countenance of bishop ken, so beautiful in outward form, so expressive of strength, sweetness, and devotion, brought back such a flood of old associations to anne, that it was enough to change the whole current of her thoughts and make her her own mother's child again, even before he opened his mouth. she caught his sweet voice in the psalms, and closing her eyes seemed to be in the cathedral once more among those mighty columns and arches; and when he began his sermon, on the text, 'let the saints be joyful with glory, let them rejoice in their beds,' she found the communion of saints in paradise and on earth knit together in one fellowship as truly and preciously brought home to her as ever it had been to pauline, and moreover when she thought of her mother, 'the lurid mist' was dispelled which had so haunted her the night before. the longing to speak to him awoke; and as he was quitting the chapel in full procession his kindly eye lit upon her with a look of recognition; and before she had moved from her place, one of the attendant clergy came back by his desire to conduct her to him. he held out his hand as she courtesied low. "mistress woodford," he said, "my old friend's niece! he wrote to me of you, but i have had no opportunity of seeing you before." "oh, my lord! i was so much longing to see and speak with you." "i am lodging at lambeth," said the bishop, "and it is too far to take you with me thither, but perhaps my good brother here," turning to the chaplain, "can help us to a room where we can be private." this was done; the chaplain's parlour at the cockpit was placed at their disposal, and there a few kind words from bishop ken led to the unburthening of her heavy heart. of ken's replies to the controversial difficulties there is no need to tell. indeed, ambition was far more her temptation than any real difficulties as to doctrine. her dissatisfaction at being unable to answer the questions raised by father crump was exaggerated as the excuse and cover to herself of her craving for escape from her present subordinate post; and this the bishop soon saw, and tenderly but firmly drew her to own both this and to confess the ambitious spirit which had led her into this scene of temptation. "it was true indeed," he said, "that trial by our own error is hardest to encounter, but you have repented, and by god's grace, my child, i trust you will be enabled to steer your course aright through the trials of loyalty to our god and to our king that are coming upon us all. ever remember god and the plain duty first, his anointed next. is there more that you would like to tell me? for you still bear a troubled look, and i have full time." then anne told him all the strange adventure of portchester castle, and even of the apparition of the night before. that gentleness and sympathy seemed to draw out all that was in her heart, and to her surprise, he did not treat the story of that figure as necessarily a delusion. he had known and heard too much of spiritual manifestations to the outward senses to declare that such things could not be. what she had seen might be explained by one of four hypotheses. it was either a phantom of her brain, and her being fully awake, although recently dwelling on the recollection, rendered that idea less probable, or the young man had not been killed and she had seen him in propria persona. she had charles archfield's word that the death was certain. he had never been heard of again, and if alive, the walk before whitehall was the last place where he would be. as to mistaking any one else for him, the bishop remembered enough of the queer changeling elf to agree with her that it was not a very probable contingency. and if it were indeed a spirit, why should it visit her? there had been one good effect certainly in the revival of home thoughts and turning her mind from the allurements of favour, but that did not seem to account for the spirit seeking her out. was it, anne faltered, a sign that she ought to confess all, for the sake of procuring christian burial for him. yet how should she, when she had promised silence to young archfield? true, it was for his wife's sake, and she was dead; but there were the rest of his family and himself to be considered. what should she do? the bishop thought a little while, then said that he did not believe that she ought to speak without mr. archfield's consent, unless she saw any one else brought into danger by her silence. if it ever became possible, he thought, that she should ascertain whether the body were in the vault, and if so, it might be possible to procure burial for it, perhaps without identification, or at any rate without making known what could only cause hostility and distress between the two families, unless the young man himself on his return should make the confession. this the bishop evidently considered the sounder, though the harder course, but he held that anne had no right to take the initiative. she could only wait, and bear her load alone; but the extreme kindness and compassion with which he talked to her soothed and comforted her so much that she felt infinitely relieved and strengthened when he dismissed her with his blessing, and far happier and more at peace than she had been since that terrible summer morning, though greatly humbled, and taught to repent of her aspirations after earthly greatness, and to accept her present condition as a just retribution, and a trial of constancy. chapter xix: the daughter's secret "thy sister's naught: o regan, she hath tied sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, _here_: i can scarce speak to thee." king lear. "am i--oh! am i going home?" thought anne. "my uncle will be at winchester. i am glad of it. i could not yet bear to see portchester again. that shape would be there. yet how shall i deal with what seems laid on me? but oh! the joy of escaping from this weary, weary court! oh, the folly that took me hither! now that the prince is gone, lady strickland will surely speak to the queen for my dismissal." there had been seventeen days of alarms, reports, and counter- reports, and now the king, with the prince of denmark, had gone to join the army on salisbury plain, and at the same time the little prince of wales had been sent off to his half-brother, the duke of berwick, at portsmouth, under charge of lady powys, there to be embarked for france. anne had been somewhat disappointed at not going with them, hoping that when at portsmouth or in passing winchester she might see her uncle and obtain her release, for she had no desire to be taken abroad; but it was decreed otherwise. miss dunord went, rejoicing and thankful to be returning to france, and the other three rockers remained. there had already been more than one day of alarms and tumults. the body-guards within were always on duty; the life-guards without were constantly patrolling; and on the th of november, when the prince of orange was known to be near at hand, and was in fact actually landing at torbay, the mob had with difficulty been restrained from burning in effigy, not only guy fawkes, but pope, cardinals, and mitred bishops, in front of the palace, and actually paraded them all, with a figure of poor sir edmondbury godfrey bearing his head in his hand, tied on horseback behind a jesuit, full before the windows, with yells of "the pope, the pope, up the ladder and down the rope," and clattering of warming-pans. jane humphreys was dreadfully frightened. anne found her crouching close to her bed, with the curtains wrapped round her. "have they got in?" she cried. "o miss woodford, how shall we make them believe we are good protestants?" and when this terror had subsided, and it was well known that the dutch were at exeter, there was another panic, for one of the life- guardsmen had told her to beware, since if the royal troops at hounslow were beaten, the papists would surely take their revenge. "i am to scream from the windows to mr. shaw," she said; but what good will that do if the priests and the frenchmen have strangled me? and perhaps he won't be on guard." "he was only trying to frighten you," suggested anne. "dear me, miss woodford, aren't you afraid? you have the stomach of a lion." "why, what would be the good of hurting us?" however, anne was not at all surprised, when on the very evening of the prince's departure, old mrs. humphreys, a venerable-looking dame in handsome but puritanically-fashioned garments, came in a hackney coach to request in her son's name that her granddaughter might return with her, as her occupation was at an end. jane was transported with joy. "ay, ay," said the grandmother, "look at you now, and think how crazy you were to go to the palace, though 'twas always against my judgment." "ah, i little knew how mortal dull it would be!" said jane. "ye've found it no better than the husks that the swine did eat, eh? so much the better and safer for your soul, child." nobody wanted to retain jane, and while she was hastily putting her things together, the grandmother turned to anne: "and you, mistress woodford, from what i hear, you have been very good in keeping my silly child stanch to her religion and true to her duty. if ever on a pinch you needed a friend in london, my son and i would be proud to serve you--master joshua humphreys, at the golden lamb, gracechurch street, mind you. no one knows what may hap in these strange and troublesome times, and you might be glad of a house to go to till you can send to your own friends--that is, if we are not all murdered by the papists first." though anne did not expect such a catastrophe as this, she was really grateful for the offer, and thought it possible that she might avail herself of it, as she had not been able to communicate with any of her mother's old friends, and bishop ken was not to her knowledge still in london. she watched anxiously for the opportunity of asking lady strickland whether she might apply for her dismissal, and write to her uncle to fetch her home. "child," said the lady, "i think you love the queen." "indeed i do, madam." "it is well that at this juncture all protestants should not leave her. you are a gentlewoman in manner, and can speak her native tongue, friends are falling from her, scarcely ladies are left enough to make a fit appearance around her; if you are faithful to her, remain, i entreat of you." there was no resisting such an appeal, and anne remained in the rooms now left bare and empty, until a message was brought to her to come to the queen. mary beatrice sat in a chair by her fire, looking sad and listless, her eyes red with weeping, but she gave her sweet smile as the girl entered, and held out her hand, saying in her sweet italian, "you are faithful, signorina anna! you remain! that is well; but now my son is gone, anna, you must be mine. i make you my reader instead of his rocker." as anne knelt on one knee to kiss hands with tears in her eyes, the queen impulsively threw her arms round her neck and kissed her. "ah, you loved him, and he loved you, il mio tesorino?" promotion _had_ come--how strangely. she had to enter on her duties at once, and to read some chapters of an italian version of the imitation. a reader was of a higher grade of importance than a rocker, and for the ensuing days, when not in attendance on the queen, anne was the companion of lady strickland and lady oglethorpe. in the absence of the king and prince, the queen received princess anne at her own table, and lady churchill and lady fitzhardinge joined that of her ladies-in-waiting. lady churchill, with her long neck, splendid hair and complexion, short chin, and sparkling blue eyes, was beautiful to look at, but not at all disposed to be agreeable to the queen's ladies, whom she treated with a sort of blunt scorn, not at all disguised by the forms of courtesy. however, she had, to their relief, a good deal of leave of absence just then to visit her children, as indeed the ladies agreed that she did pretty much as she chose, and that the faithful mrs. morley was somewhat afraid of the dear mrs. freeman. one evening in coming up some steps princess anne entangled her foot in her pink taffetas petticoat, nearly fell, and tore a large rent, besides breaking the thread of the festoons of seed pearls which bordered it, and scattering them on the floor. "lack-a-day! lack-a-day!" sighed she, as after a little screaming she gathered herself up again. "that new coat! how shall i ever face danvers again such a figure? she's an excellent tirewoman, but she will be neither to have nor to hold when she sees that gown-- that she set such store by! nay, i can hardly step for it." "i think i could repair it, with her majesty's and your royal highness's permission," said anne, who was creeping about on her knees picking up the pearls." "oh! do! do! there's a good child, and then danvers and dawson need know nothing about it," cried the princess in great glee. "you remember dawson, don't you, little woodie, as we used to call you, and how she used to rate us when we were children if we soiled our frocks?" so, in the withdrawing-room, anne sat on the floor with needle and silk, by the light of the wax candles, deftly repairing the rent, and then threading the scattered pearls, and arranging the festoon so as to hide the darn. the princess was delighted, and while the poor wife lay back in her chair, thankful that behind her fan she could give way to her terrible anxieties about her little son, who might be crossing to france, and her husband, suffering from fearful nose-bleeding, and wellnigh alone among traitors and deserters, the step-daughter, on the other side of the great hearth, chattered away complacently to 'little woodford.' "do you recollect old dawson, and how she used to grumble when i went to sup with the duchess--my own mother--you know, because she used to give me chocolate, and she said it made me scream at night, and be over fat by day? ah! that was before you used to come among us. it was after i went to france to my poor aunt of orleans. i remember she never would let us kiss her for fear of spoiling her complexion, and mademoiselle and i did so hate living maigre on the fast days. i was glad enough to get home at last, and then my sister was jealous because i talked french better than she did." so the princess prattled on without needing much reply, until her namesake had finished her work, with which she was well pleased, and promised to remember her. to anne it was an absolute marvel how she could thus talk when she knew that her husband had deserted her father in his need, and that things were in a most critical position. the queen could not refrain from a sigh of relief when her step- daughter had retired to the cockpit; and after seeking her sleepless bed, she begged anne, "if it did not too much incommode her, to read to her from the gospel." the next day was sunday, and anne felt almost as if deserting her cause, when going to the english service in whitehall chapel royal, now almost emptied except of the princess's suite, and some of these had the bad taste and profanity to cough and chatter all through the special prayer drawn up by the archbishop for the king's safety. people were not very reverent, and as all stood up at the end of the advent sunday service to let the princess sweep by in her glittering green satin petticoat, peach-coloured velvet train, and feather- crowned head, she laid a hand on anne's arm, and whispered, "follow me to my closet, little woodford." there was no choice but to obey, as the queen would not require her reader till after dinner, and anne followed after the various attendants, who did not seem very willing to forward a private interview with a possible rival, though, as anne supposed, the object must be to convey some message to the queen. by the time she arrived and had been admitted to the inner chamber or dressing-room, the princess had thrown off her more cumbrous finery, and sat at ease in an arm-chair. she nodded her be-curled head, and said, "you can keep a secret, little woodie?" "i can, madam, but i do not love one," said anne, thinking of her most burthensome one. "well, no need to keep this long. you are a good young maiden, and my own poor mother's godchild, and you are handy and notable. you deserve better preferment than ever you will get in that popish household, where your religion is in danger. now, i am not going to be in jeopardy here any longer, nor let myself be kept hostage for his highness. come to my rooms at bedtime. slip in when i wish the queen good-night, and i'll find an excuse. then you shall come with me to--no, i'll not say where, and i'll make your fortune, only mum's the word." "but--your royal highness is very good, but i am sworn to the prince and queen. i could not leave them without permission." "prince! prince! pretty sort of a prince. prince of brickbats, as churchill says. nay, girl, don't turn away in that fashion. consider. your religion is in danger." "nay, madam, my religion would not be served by breaking my oath." "pooh! what's your oath to a mere pretender? besides, consider your fortune. rocker to a puling babe--even if he was what they say he is. and don't build on the queen's favour--even if she remains what she is now, she is too much beset with papists and foreigners to do anything for you." "i do not," anne began to say, but the princess gave her no time. "besides, pride will have a fall, and if you are a good maid, and hold your tongue, and serve me well in this strait, i'll make you my maid of honour, and marry you so that you shall put lady before your name. ay, and get good preferment for your uncle, who has had only a poor stall from the king here." anne repressed an inclination to say this was not the way in which her uncle would wish to get promotion, and only replied, "your royal highness is very good, but--" whereat the princess, in a huff, exclaimed, "oh, very well, if you choose to be torn to pieces by the mob, and slaughtered by the priests, like poor godfrey, and burnt by the papists at last, unless you go to mass, you may stay for aught i care, and joy go with you. i thought i was doing you a kindness for my poor mother's sake, but it seems you know best. if you like to cast in your lot with the pope, i wash my hands of you." accordingly anne courtesied herself off, not seriously alarmed as to the various catastrophes foretold by the princess, though a little shaken in nerves. here then was another chance of promotion, certainly without treason to her profession of faith, but so offered that honour could not but revolt against it, though in truth poor princess anne was neither so foolish nor so heartless a woman as she appeared in the excitement to which an uneasy conscience, the expectation of a great enterprise, and a certain amount of terror had worked her up; but she had high words again in the evening, as was supposed, with the queen. certainly anne found her own royal mistress weeping and agitated, though she only owned to being very anxious about the health of the king, who had had a second violent attack of bleeding at the nose, and she did not seem consoled by the assurances of her elder attendants that the relief had probably saved him from a far more dangerous attack. again anne read to her till a late hour, but next morning was strangely disturbed. the royal household had not been long dressed, and breakfast had just been served to the ladies, when loud screams were heard, most startling in the unsettled and anxious state of affairs. the queen, pale and trembling, came out of her chamber with her hair on her shoulders. "tell me at once, for pity's sake. is it my husband or my son?" she asked with clasped hands, as two or three of the princess's servants rushed forward. "the princess, the princess!" was the cry, "the priests have murdered her." "what have you done with her, madam?" rudely demanded mrs. buss, one of the lost lady's nurses. mary beatrice drew herself up with grave dignity, saying, "i suppose your mistress is where she likes to be. i know nothing of her, but i have no doubt that you will soon hear of her." there was something in the queen's manner that hushed the outcry in her presence, but the women, with lady clarendon foremost of them, continued to seek up and down the two palaces as if they thought the substantial person of the princess anne could be hidden in a cupboard. anne, in the first impulse, exclaimed, "she is gone!" in a moment mrs. royer turned, "gone, did you say? do you know it?" "you knew it and kept it secret!" cried lady strickland. "a traitor too!" said lady oglethorpe, in her vehement irish tone. "i would not have thought it of nanny moore's daughter!" and she turned her eyes in sad reproach on anne. "if you know, tell me where she is gone," cried mrs. buss, and the cry was re-echoed by the other women, while anne's startled "i cannot tell! i do not know!" was unheeded. only the queen raising her hand gravely said, "silence! what is this?" "miss woodford knew." "and never told!" cried the babble of voices. "come hither, mistress woodford," said the queen. "tell me, do you know where her highness is?" "no, please your majesty," said anne, trembling from head to foot. "i do not know where she is." "did you know of her purpose?" "your majesty pardon me. she called me to her closet yesterday and pledged me to secrecy before i knew what she would say." "only youthful inexperience will permit that pledge to be implied in matters of state," said the queen. "continue, mistress woodford; what did she tell you?" "she said she feared to be made a hostage for the prince of denmark, and meant to escape, and she bade me come to her chamber at night to go with her." "and wherefore did you not? you are of her religion," said the queen bitterly. "madam, how could i break mine oath to your majesty and his royal highness?" "and you thought concealing the matter according to that oath? nay, nay, child, i blame you not. it was a hard strait between your honour to her and your duty to the king and to me, and i cannot but be thankful to any one who does regard her word. but this desertion will be a sore grief to his majesty." mary beatrice was fairer-minded than the women, who looked askance at the girl, princess anne's people resenting that one of the other household should have been chosen as confidante, and the queen's being displeased that the secret had been kept. but at that moment frightful yells and shouts arose, and a hasty glance from the windows showed a mass of men, women, and children howling for their princess. they would tear down whitehall if she were not delivered up to them. however, a line of helmeted life-guards on their heavy horses was drawn up between, with sabres held upright, and there seemed no disposition to rush upon these. lord clarendon, uncle to the princess, had satisfied himself that she had really escaped, and he now came out and assured the mob, in a stentorian voice, that he was perfectly satisfied of his niece's safety, waving the letter she had left on her toilet-table. the mob shouted, "bless the princess! hurrah for the protestant faith! no warming-pans!" but in a good-tempered mood; and the poor little garrison breathed more freely; but anne did not feel herself forgiven. she was in a manner sent to coventry, and treated as if she were on the enemy's side. never had her proud nature suffered so much, and she shed bitter tears as she said to herself, "it is very unjust! what could i have done? how could i stop her highness from speaking? could they expect me to run in and accuse her? oh, that i were at home again! mother, mother, you little know! of what use am i now?" it was the very question asked by hester bridgeman, whom she found packing her clothes in her room. "take care that this is sent after me," she said, "when a messenger i shall send calls for it." "what, you have your dismissal?" "no, i should no more get it than you have done. they cannot afford to let any one go, you see, or they will have to dress up the chambermaids to stand behind the queen's chair. i have settled it with my cousin, harry bridgeman, i shall mix with the throng that come to ask for news, and be off with him before the crowd breaks in, as they will some of these days, for the guards are but half- hearted. my portia, why did not you take a good offer, and go with the princess?" "i thought it would be base." "and much you gained by it! you are only suspected and accused." "i can't be a rat leaving a sinking ship." "that is courteous, but i forgive it, portia, as i know you will repent of your folly. but you never did know which side to look for the butter." perhaps seeing how ugly desertion and defection looked in others made constancy easier to anne, much as she longed for the close at winchester, and she even thought with a hope of the golden lamb, gracechurch, as an immediate haven sure to give her a welcome. her occupation of reading to the queen was ended by the king's return, so physically exhausted by violent nose-bleeding, so despondent at the universal desertion, and so broken-hearted at his daughter's defection, that his wife was absorbed in attending upon him. anne began to watch for an opportunity to demand a dismissal, which she thought would exempt her from all blame, but she was surprised and a little dismayed by being summoned to the king in the queen's chamber. he was lying on a couch clad in a loose dressing-gown instead of his laced coat, and a red night-cap replacing his heavy peruke, and his face was as white and sallow as if he were recovering from a long illness. "little godchild," he said, holding out his hand as anne made her obeisance, "the queen tells me you can read well. i have a fancy to hear." immensely relieved at the kindness of his tone, anne courtesied, and murmured out her willingness. "read this," he said; "i would fain hear this; my father loved it. here." anne felt her task a hard one when the king pointed to the third act of shakespeare's richard ii. she steeled herself and strengthened her voice as best she could, and struggled on till she came to-- "i'll give my jewels for a set of beads, my gay apparel for an almsman's gown, my figured goblets for a dish of wood, my sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff, my subjects for a pair of carved saints, and my large kingdom for a little grave, a little, little grave." there she fairly broke down, and sobbed. "little one, little one," said james, you are sorry for poor richard, eh?" "oh, sir!" was all she could say. "and you are in disgrace, they tell me, because my daughter chose to try to entice you away," said james, "and you felt bound not to betray her. never mind; it was an awkward case of conscience, and there's not too much faithfulness to spare in these days. we shall know whom to trust to another time. can you continue now? i would take a lesson how, 'with mine own hands to give away my crown.'" it was well for anne that fresh tidings were brought in at that moment, and she had to retire, with the sore feeling turned into an enthusiastic pity and loyalty, which needed the relief of sobs and mental vows of fidelity. she felt herself no longer in disgrace with her royal master and mistress, but she was not in favour with her few companions left--all who could not get over her secrecy, and thought her at least a half traitor as well as a heretic. whitehall was almost in a state of siege, the turbulent mob continually coming to shout, 'no popery!' and the like, though they proceeded no farther. the ministers and other gentlemen came and went, but the priests and the ladies durst not venture out for fear of being recognised and insulted, if not injured. bad news came in from day to day, and no tidings of the prince of wales being in safety in france. once anne received a letter from her uncle, which cheered her much. dear child--so far as i can gather, your employment is at an end, if it be true as reported that the prince of wales is at portsmouth, with the intent that he should be carried to france; but the gentlemen of the navy seem strongly disposed to prevent such a transportation of the heir of the realm to a foreign country. i fear me that you are in a state of doubt and anxiety, but i need not exhort your good mother's child to be true and loyal to her trust and to the anointed of the lord in all things lawful at all costs. if you are left in any distress or perplexity, go either to sir theophilus oglethorpe's house, or to that of my good old friend, the dean of westminster; and as soon as i hear from you i will endeavour to ride to town and bring you home to my house, which is greatly at a loss without its young mistress. the letter greatly refreshed anne's spirits, and gave her something to look forward to, giving her energy to stitch at a set of lawn cuffs and bands for her uncle, and think with the more pleasure of a return that his time of residence at winchester lay between her and that vault in the castle. there were no more attempts made at her conversion. every one was too anxious and occupied, and one or more of the chiefly obnoxious priests were sent privately away from day to day. while summer friends departed, anne often thought of bishop ken's counsel as to loyalty to heaven and man. chapter xx: the flight "storms may rush in, and crimes and woes deform that peaceful bower; they may not mar the deep repose of that immortal flower. though only broken hearts be found to watch his cradle by, no blight is on his slumbers sound, no touch of harmful eye." keble. the news was even worse and worse in that palace of despondency and terror. notice had arrived that lord dartmouth was withheld from despatching the young prince to france by his own scruples and those of the navy; and orders were sent for the child's return. then came a terrible alarm. the escort sent to meet him were reported to have been attacked by the rabble on entering london and dispersed, so that each man had to shift for himself. there was a quarter of an hour which seemed many hours of fearful suspense, while king and queen both knelt at their altar, praying in agony for the child whom they pictured to themselves in the hands of the infuriated mob, too much persuaded of his being an imposture to pity his unconscious innocence. no one who saw the blanched cheeks and agonised face of mary beatrice, or james's stern, mute misery, could have believed for a moment in the cruel delusion that he was no child of theirs. the roman catholic women were with them. to enter the oratory would in those circumstances have been a surrender of principle, but none the less did anne pray with fervent passion in her chamber for pity for the child, and comfort for his parents. at last there was a stir, and hurrying out to the great stair, anne saw a man in plain clothes replying in an irish accent to the king, who was supporting the queen with his arm. happily the escort had missed the prince of wales. they had been obliged to turn back to london without meeting him, and from that danger he had been saved. a burst of tears and a cry of fervent thanksgiving relieved the queen's heart, and james gave eager thanks instead of the reprimand the colonel had expected for his blundering. a little later, another messenger brought word that lord and lady powys had halted at guildford with their charge. a french gentleman, monsieur de st. victor, was understood to have undertaken to bring him to london--understood--for everything was whispered rather than told among the panic-stricken women. no one who knew the expectation could go to bed that night except that the king and queen had--in order to disarm suspicion--to go through the accustomed ceremonies of the coucher. the ladies sat or lay on their beds intently listening, as hour after hour chimed from the clocks. at last, at about three in the morning, the challenge of the sentinels was heard from point to point. every one started up, and hurried almost pell-mell towards the postern door. the king and queen were both descending a stair leading from the king's dressing- room, and as the door was cautiously opened, it admitted a figure in a fur cloak, which he unfolded, and displayed the sleeping face of the infant well wrapped from the december cold. with rapture the queen gathered him into her arms, and the father kissed him with a vehemence that made him awake and cry. st. victor had thought it safer that his other attendants should come in by degrees in the morning, and thus miss woodford was the only actually effective nursery attendant at hand. his food was waiting by the fire in his own sleeping chamber, and thither he was carried. there the queen held him on her lap, while anne fed him, and he smiled at her and held out his arms. the king came, and making a sign to anne not to move, stood watching. presently he said, "she has kept one secret, we may trust her with another." "oh, not yet, not yet," implored the queen. "now i have both my treasures again, let me rest in peace upon them for a little while." the king turned away with eyes full of tears while anne was lulling the child to sleep. she wondered, but durst not ask the queen, where was the tiler's wife; but later she learnt from miss dunord, that the woman had been so terrified by the cries of the multitude against the 'pretender,' and still more at the sight of the sea, that she had gone into transports of fright, implored to go home, and perhaps half wilfully, become useless, so that the weaning already commenced had to be expedited, and the fretfulness of the poor child had been one of the troubles for some days. however, he seemed on his return to have forgotten his troubles, and anne had him in her arms nearly all the next day. it was not till late in the evening that anne knew what the king had meant. then, while she was walking up and down the room, amusing the little prince with showing by turns the window and his face in a large mirror, the queen came in, evidently fresh from weeping, and holding out her arms for him, said, after looking to see that there was no other audience-- "child, the king would repose a trust in you. he wills that you should accompany me to-night on a voyage to france to put this little angel in safety." "as your majesty will," returned anne; "i will do my best." "so the king said. he knew his brave sailor's daughter was worthy of his trust, and you can speak french. it is well, for we go under the escort of messieurs de lauzun and st. victor. be ready at midnight. lady strickland or the good labadie will explain more to you, but do not speak of this to anyone else. you have leave now," she added, as she herself carried the child towards his father's rooms. the maiden's heart swelled at the trust reposed in her, and the king's kind words, and she kept back the sense of anxiety and doubt as to so vague a future. she found mrs. labadie lying on her bed awake, but trying to rest between two busy nights, and she was then told that there was to be a flight from the palace of the queen and prince at midnight, mrs. labadie and anne alone going with them, though lord and lady powys and lady strickland, with the queen's italian ladies, would meet them on board the yacht which was waiting at gravesend. the nurse advised anne to put a few necessary equipments into a knapsack bound under a cloak, and to leave other garments with her own in charge of mr. labadie, who would despatch them with those of the suite, and would follow in another day with the king. doubt or refusal there could of course be none in such circumstances, and a high-spirited girl like anne could not but feel a thrill of heart at selection for such confidential and signal service at her age, scarcely seventeen. her one wish was to write to her uncle what had become of her. mrs. labadie hardly thought it safe, but said her husband would take charge of a note, and if possible, post it when they were safe gone, but nothing of the king's plans must be mentioned. the hours passed away anxiously, and yet only too fast. so many had quitted the palace that there was nothing remarkable in packing, but as anne collected her properties, she could not help wondering whether she should ever see them again. sometimes her spirit rose at the thought of serving her lovely queen, saving the little prince, and fulfilling the king's trust; at others, she was full of vague depression at the thought of being cut off from all she knew and loved, with seas between, and with so little notice to her uncle, who might never learn where she was; but she knew she had his approval in venturing all, and making any sacrifice for the king whom all deserted; and she really loved her queen and little prince. the night came, and she and mrs. labadie, fully equipped in cloaks and hoods, waited together, anne moving about restlessly, the elder woman advising her to rest while she could. the little prince, all unconscious of the dangers of the night, or of his loss of a throne, lay among his wraps in his cradle fast asleep. by and by the door opened, and treading softly in came the king in his dressing-gown and night-cap, the queen closely muffled, lady strickland also dressed for a journey, and two gentlemen, the one tall and striking-looking, the other slim and dark, in their cloaks, namely, lauzun and st. victor. it was one of those supreme moments almost beyond speech or manifestation of feeling. the king took his child in his arms, kissed him, and solemnly said to lauzun, "i confide my wife and son to you." both frenchmen threw themselves on their knees kissing his hand with a vow of fidelity. then giving the infant to mrs. labadie, james folded his wife in his arms in a long mute embrace; anne carried the basket containing food for the child; and first with a lantern went st. victor, then lauzun, handing the queen; mrs. labadie with the child, and anne following, they sped down the stairs, along the great gallery, with steps as noiseless as they could make them, down another stair to a door which st. victor opened. a sentry challenged, sending a thrill of dismay through the anxious hearts, but st. victor had the word, and on they went into the privy gardens, where often anne had paced behind mrs. labadie as the prince took his airing. startling lights from the windows fell on them, illuminating the drops of rain that plashed round them on that grim december night, and their steps sounded on the gravel, while still the babe, sheltered under the cloak, slept safely. another door was reached, more sentries challenged and passed; here was a street whose stones and silent houses shone for a little space as st. victor raised his lantern and exchanged a word with a man on the box of a carriage. one by one they were handed in, the queen, the child, the nurse, anne, and lauzun, st. victor taking his place outside. as if in a dream they rattled on through the dark street, no one speaking except that lauzun asked the queen if she were wet. it was not far before they stopped at the top of the steps called the horseferry. a few lights twinkled here and there, and were reflected trembling in the river, otherwise a black awful gulf, from which, on st. victor's cautious hail, a whistle ascended, and a cloaked figure with a lantern came up the steps glistening in the rain. one by one again, in deep silence, they were assisted down, and into the little boat that rocked ominously as they entered it. there the women crouched together over the child unable to see one another, anne returning the clasp of a hand on hers, believing it mrs. labadie's, till on lauzun's exclaiming, "est ce que j'incommode sa majeste?" the reply showed her that it was the queen's hand that she held, and she began a startled "pardon, your majesty," but the sweet reply in italian was, "ah, we are as sisters in this stress." the eager french voice of lauzun went on, in undertones certainly, but as if he had not the faculty of silence, and amid the plash of the oars, the rush of the river, and the roar of the rain, it was not easy to tell what he said, his voice was only another of the noises, though the queen made little courteous murmurs in reply. it was a hard pull against wind and tide towards a little speck of green light which was shown to guide the rowers; and when at last they reached it, st. victor's hail was answered by dusions, one of the servants, and they drew to the steps where he held a lantern. "to the coach at once, your majesty." "it is at the inn--ready--but i feared to let it stand." lauzun uttered a french imprecation under his breath, and danced on the step with impatience, only restrained so far as to hand out the queen and her two attendants. he was hotly ordering off dusions and st. victor to bring the coach, when the former suggested that they must find a place for the queen to wait in where they could find her. "what is that dark building above?" "lambeth church," dusions answered. "ah, your protestant churches are not open; there is no shelter for us there," sighed the queen. "there is shelter in the angle of the buttress; i have been there, your majesty," said dusions. thither then they turned. "what can that be?" exclaimed the queen, starting and shuddering as a fierce light flashed in the windows and played on the wall. "it is not within, madame," lauzun encouraged; "it is reflected light from a fire somewhere on the other side of the river." "a bonfire for our expulsion. ah! why should they hate us so?" sighed the poor queen. "'tis worse than that, only there's no need to tell her majesty so," whispered mrs. labadie, who, in the difficulties of the ascent, had been fain to hand the still-sleeping child to anne. "'tis the catholic chapel of st. roque. the heretic miscreants!" "pray heaven no life be lost," sighed anne. sinister as the light was, it aided the poor fugitives at that dead hour of night to find an angle between the church wall and a buttress where the eaves afforded a little shelter from the rain, which slackened a little, when they were a little concealed from the road, so that the light need not betray them in case any passenger was abroad at such an hour, as two chimed from the clock overhead. the women kept together close against the wall to avoid the drip of the eaves. lauzun walked up and down like a sentinel, his arms folded, and talking all the while, though, as before, his utterances were only an accompaniment to the falling rain and howling wind; mary beatrice was murmuring prayers over the sleeping child, which she now held in the innermost corner; anne, with wide-stretched eyes, was gazing into the light cast beyond the buttress by the fire on the opposite side, when again there passed across it that form she had seen on all saints' eve--the unmistakable phantom of peregrine. it was gone into the darkness in another second; but a violent start on her part had given a note of alarm, and brought back the count, whose walk had been in the opposite direction. "what was it? any spy?" "oh no--no--nothing! it was the face of one who is dead," gasped anne. "the poor child's nerve is failing her," said the queen gently, as lauzun drawing his sword burst out-- "if it be a spy it _shall_ be the face of one who is dead;" and he darted into the road, but returned in a few moments, saying no one had passed except one of the rowers returning after running up to the inn to hasten the coach; how could he have been seen from the church wall? the wheels were heard drawing up at that moment, so that the only thought was to enter it as quickly as might be in the same order as before, after which the start was made, along the road that led through the marshes of lambeth; and then came the inquiry-- an anxious one--whom or what mademoiselle, as lauzun called her, had seen. "o monsieur!" exclaimed the poor girl in her confusion, her best french failing, "it was nothing--no living man." "can mademoiselle assure me of that? the dead i fear not, the living i would defy." "he lives not," said she in an undertone, with a shudder. "but who is he that mademoiselle can be so certain?" asked the frenchman. "oh! i know him well enough," said anne, unable to control her voice. "mademoiselle must explain herself," said m. de lauzun. "if he be spirit--or phantom--there is no more to say, but if he be in the flesh, and a spy--then--" there was a little rattle of his sword. "speak, i command," interposed the queen; "you must satisfy m. le comte." thus adjured, anne said in a low voice of horror: "it was a gentleman of our neighbourhood; he was killed in a duel last summer!" "ah! you are certain?" "i had the misfortune to see the fight," sighed anne. "that accounts for it," said the queen kindly. "if mademoiselle's nerves were shaken by such a remembrance, it is not wonderful that it should recur to her at so strange a watch as we have been keeping." "it might account for her seeing this revenant cavalier in any passenger," said lauzun, not satisfied yet. "no one ever was like him," said anne. "i could not mistake him." "may i ask mademoiselle to describe him?" continued the count. feeling all the time as if this first mention were a sort of betrayal, anne faltered the words: "small, slight, almost misshapen--with a strange one-sided look--odd, unusual features." lauzun's laugh jarred on her. "eh! it is not a flattering portrait. mademoiselle is not haunted by a hero of romance, it appears, so much as by a demon." "and none of those monsieur has employed in our escape answer to that description?" asked the queen. "assuredly not, your majesty. crooked person and crooked mind go together, and st. victor would only have trusted to your big honest rowers of the tamise. i think we may be satisfied that the demoiselle's imagination was excited so as to evoke a phantom impressed on her mind by a previous scene of terror. such things have happened in my native gascony." anne was fain to accept the theory in silence, though it seemed to her strange that at a moment when she was for once not thinking of peregrine, her imagination should conjure him up, and there was a strong feeling within her that it was something external that had flitted across the shadow, not a mere figment of her brain, though the notion was evidently accepted, and she could hear a muttering of mrs. labadie that this was the consequence of employing young wenches with their whims and megrims. the count de lauzun did his best to entertain the queen with stories of revenants in gascony and elsewhere, and with reminiscences of his eleven years' captivity at pignerol, and his intercourse with fouquet; but whenever in aftertimes anne woodford tried to recall her nocturnal drive with this strange personage, the chosen and very unkind husband of the poor old grande mademoiselle, she never could recollect anything but the fierce glare of his eyes in the light of the lamps as he put her to that terrible interrogation. the talk was chiefly monologue. mrs. labadie certainly slept, perhaps the queen did so too, and anne became conscious that she must have slumbered likewise, for she found every one gazing at her in the pale morning dawn and asking why she cried, "o charles, hold!" as she hastily entreated pardon, lauzun was heard to murmur, "je parie que le revenant se nomme charles," and she collected her senses just in time to check her contradiction, recollecting that happily such a name as charles revealed nothing. the little prince, who had slumbered so opportunely all night, awoke and received infinite praise, and what he better appreciated, the food that had been provided for him. they were near their journey's end, and it was well, for people were awakening and going to their work as they passed one of the villages, and once the remark was heard, "there goes a coach full of papists." however, no attempt was made to stop the party, and as it would be daylight when they reached gravesend, the queen arranged her disguise to resemble, as she hoped, a washerwoman--taking off her gloves, and hiding her hair, while the prince, happily again asleep, was laid in a basket of linen. anne could not help thinking that she thus looked more remarkable than if she had simply embarked as a lady; but she meant to represent the attendant of her italian friend countess almonde, whom she was to meet on board. leaving the coach outside a little block of houses, the party reached a projecting point of land, where three irish officers received them, and conducted them to a boat. then, wrapped closely in cloaks from the chill morning air, they were rowed to the yacht, on the deck of which stood lord and lady powys, lady strickland, pauline dunord, and a few more faithful followers, who had come more rapidly. there was no open greeting nor recognition, for the captain and crew were unaware whom they were carrying, and, on the discovery, either for fear of danger or hope of reward, might have captured such a prize. therefore all the others, with whispered apologies, were hoisted up before her, and countess almonde had to devise a special entreaty that the chair might be lowered again for her poor laundress as well as for the other two women. the yacht, which had been hired by st. victor, at once spread her sails; mrs. labadie conversed with the captain while the countess took the queen below into the stifling crowded little cabin. it was altogether a wretched voyage; the wind was high, and the pitching and tossing more or less disabled everybody in the suite. the queen was exceedingly ill, so were the countess and mrs. labadie. nobody could be the least effective but signora turini, who waited on her majesty, and anne, who was so far seasoned by excursions at portsmouth that she was capable of taking sole care of the little prince, as the little vessel dashed along on her way with her cargo of alarm and suffering through the dutch fleet of fifty vessels, none of which seemed to notice her--perhaps by express desire not to be too curious as to english fugitives. between the care of the little one, who needed in the tossing of the ship to be constantly in arms though he never cried and when awake was always merry, and the giving as much succour as possible to her suffering companions, anne could not either rest or think, but seemed to live in one heavy dazed dream of weariness and endurance, hardly knowing whether it were day or night, till the welcome sound was heard that calais was in sight. then, as well as they could, the poor travellers crawled from the corners, and put themselves in such array as they could contrive, though the heaving of the waves, as the little yacht lay to, did not conduce to their recovery. the count de lauzun went ashore as soon as a boat could be lowered to apprise m. charot, the governor of calais, of the guest he was to receive, and after an interval of considerable discomfort, in full view of the massive fortifications, boats came off to bring the queen and her attendants on shore, this time as a queen, though she refused to receive any honours. lady strickland, recovering as soon as she was on dry land, resumed her prince, who was fondled with enthusiastic praises for his excellent conduct on the voyage. anne could not help feebly thinking some of the credit might be due to her, since she had held him by land and water nearly ever since leaving whitehall, but she was too much worn out by her nights of unrest, and too much battered and beaten by the tossings of her voyage, to feel anything except in a languid half-conscious way, under a racking headache; and when the curious old house where they were to rest was reached, and all the rest were eating with ravenous appetites, she could taste nothing, and being conducted by a compassionate frenchwoman in a snow-white towering cap to a straw mattress spread on the ground, she slept the twenty-four hours round without moving. chapter xxi: exile "'oh, who are ye, young man?' she said. 'what country come ye frae?' 'i flew across the sea,' he said; ''twas but this very day.'" old ballad. five months had passed away since the midnight flight from england, when anne woodford was sitting on a stone bench flanked with statues in the stately gardens of the palace of st. germain, working away at some delicate point lace, destined to cover some of the deficiencies of her dress, for her difficulties were great, and these months had been far from happy ones. the king was in ireland, the queen spent most of the time of his absence in convents, either at poissy or chaillot, carrying her son with her to be the darling of the nuns, who had for the most part never even seen a baby, and to whom a bright lively child of a year old was a perfect treasure of delight. not wishing to encumber the good sisters with more attendants than were needful, the queen only took with her one lady governess, one nurse, and one rocker, and this last naturally was pauline dunord, both a frenchwoman and a roman catholic. this was in itself no loss to anne. her experience of the nunnery at boulogne, where had been spent three days in expectation of the king, had not been pleasant. the nuns had shrunk from her as a heretic, and kept their novices and pensionnaires from the taint of communication with her; and all the honour she might have deserved for the queen's escape seemed to have been forfeited by that moment of fear, which in the telling had become greatly exaggerated. it was true that the queen had never alluded to it; but probably through mrs. labadie, it had become current that miss woodford had been so much alarmed under the churchyard wall that her fancy had conjured up a phantom and she had given a loud scream, which but for the mercy of the saints would have betrayed them all. anne was persuaded that she had done nothing worse than give an involuntary start, but it was not of the least use to say so, and she began to think that perhaps others knew better than she did. miss dunord, who had never been more than distantly polite to her in england, was of course more thrown with her at st. germain, and examined her closely. who was it? what was it? had she seen it before? it was of no use to deny. pauline knew she had seen something on that all saints' eve. was it true that it was a lover of hers, and that she had seen him killed in a duel on her account? who would have imagined it in cette demoiselle si sage! would she not say who it was! but though truth forced more than one affirmative to be pumped out of anne, she clung to that last shred of concealment, and kept her own counsel as to the time, place, and persons of the duel, and thus she so far offended pauline as to prevent that damsel from having any scruples in regarding her as an obnoxious and perilous rival, with a dark secret in her life. certainly miss dunord did earnestly assure her that to adopt her church, invoke the saints, and have masses for the dead was the only way to lay such ghosts; but anne remained obdurate, and thus was isolated, for there were very few protestants in the fugitive court, and those were of too high a degree to consort with her. perhaps that undefined doubt of her discretion was against her; perhaps too her education and knowledge of languages became less useful to the queen when surrounded by french, for she was no longer called upon to act as reader; and the little prince, during his residence in the convent, had time to forget her and lose his preference for her. she was not discharged, but except for taking her turn as a nursery-maid when the prince was at st. germain, she was a mere supernumerary, nor was there any salary forthcoming. the small amount of money she had with her had dwindled away, and when she applied to lady strickland, who was kinder to her than any one else, she was told that the queen was far too much distressed for money wherewith to aid the king to be able to pay any one, and that they must all wait till the king had his own again. her clothes were wearing out, and scarcely in condition for attendance on the prince when he was shown in state to the king of france. worse than all, she seemed entirely cut off from home. she had written several times to her uncle when opportunity seemed to offer, but had never heard from him, and she did not know whether her letters could reach him, or if he were even aware of what had become of her. people came with passports from england to join the exiled court, but no one returned thither, or she would even have offered herself as a waiting-maid to have a chance of going back. lady strickland would have forwarded her, but no means or opportunity offered, and there was nothing for it but to look to the time that everybody declared to be approaching when the king was to be reinstated, and they would all go home in triumph. meanwhile anne woodford felt herself a supernumerary, treated with civility, and no more, as she ate her meals with a very feminine court, for almost all the gentlemen were in ireland with the king. she had a room in the entresol to herself, in pauline's absence, and here she could in turn sit and dream, or mend and furbish up her clothes--a serious matter now--or read the least scrap of printed matter in her way, for books were scarcer than even at whitehall; and though her 'mail' had safely been forwarded by mr. labadie, some jealous censor had abstracted her bible and prayer-book. probably there was no english service anywhere in france at that time, unless among the merchants at bordeaux--certainly neither english nor reformed was within her reach--and she had to spend her sundays in recalling all she could, and going over it, feeling thankful to the mother who had made her store psalms, gospels, and collects in her memory week by week. she was so far forgotten that active attempts to convert her had been dropped, except by pauline. perhaps it was thought that isolation would be effectual, but in fact the sight of popular romanism not kept in check by protestant surroundings shocked her, and made her far more averse to change than when she saw it at its best at whitehall. in fine, the end of her ambition had been neglect and poverty, and the real service that she had rendered was unacknowledged, and marred by that momentary alarm. no wonder she felt sore. she had never once been to paris, and seldom beyond the gardens, which happily were free in the absence of the queen, and always had secluded corners apart from the noble terraces, safe from the intrusion of idle gallants. anne had found a sort of bower of her own, shaded by honeysuckles and wild roses, where she could sit looking over the slopes and the windings of the seine and indulge her musings and longings. the lonely life brought before her all the anxieties that had been stifled for the time by the agitations of the escape. again and again she lived over the scene in the ruins. again and again she recalled those two strange appearances, and shivering at the thought of the anniversary that was approaching in another month, still felt sometimes that, alive or dead, peregrine's would be a home face, and framed to herself imaginary scenes in which she addressed him, and demanded whether he could not rest in his unhallowed grave. what would bishop ken say? sometimes even she recollected the strange theory which had made him crave execution from the late king, seven years, yes, a little more than seven years ago, and marvel whether at that critical epoch he had indeed between life and death been snatched away to his native land of faery. imagination might well run riot in the solitary, unoccupied condition to which she was reduced; and she also brooded much over the fragments of doubtful news which reached her. something was said of all loyal clergy being expelled and persecuted, and this of course suggested those sufferings of the clergy during the commonwealth, of which she had often heard, making her very anxious about her uncle, and earnestly long for wings to fly to him. the archfields too! had charles returned, and did that secret press upon him as it did upon her? did lucy think herself utterly forgotten and cast aside, receiving no word or message from her friend? "perhaps," thought anne, "they fancy me sailing about at court in silks and satins, jewels and curls, and forgetting them all, as i remember lucy said i should when she first heard that i was going to whitehall. nay, and i even took pleasure in the picture of myself so decked out, though i never, never meant to forget her. foolish, worse than foolish, that i was! and to think that i might now be safe and happy with good lady russell, near my uncle and all of them. i could almost laugh to think how my fine notions of making my fortune have ended in sitting here, neglected, forgotten, banished, almost in rags! i suppose it was all self- seeking, and that i must take it meekly as no more than i deserve. but oh, how different! how different is this captivity! 'oh that i had wings like a dove, for then would i flee away, and be at rest.' swallow, swallow! you are sweeping through the air. would that my spirit could fly like you! if only for one glimpse to tell me what they are doing. ah! there's some one coming down this unfrequented walk, where i thought myself safe. a young gentleman! i must rise and go as quietly as i can before he sees me. nay," as the action following the impulse, she was gathering up her work, "'tis an old abbe with him! no fear! abbe? nay, 'tis liker to an english clergyman! can a banished one have strayed hither? the younger man is in mourning. could it be? no graver, older, more manly--oh!" "anne! anne! we have found you!" "mr. archfield! you!" and as charles archfield, in true english fashion, kissed her cheek, anne fairly choked with tears of joy, and she ever after remembered that moment as the most joyful of her life, though the joy was almost agony. "this is mistress anne woodford, sir," said charles, the next moment. "allow me, madam, to present mr. fellowes, of magdalen college." anne held out her hand, and courtesied in response to the bow and wave of the shovel hat. "how did you know that i was here?" she said. "doctor woodford thought it likely, and begged us to come and see whether we could do anything for you," said charles; "and you may believe that we were only too happy to do so. a lady to whom we had letters, who is half english, the vicomtesse de bellaise, was so good as to go to the convent at poissy and discover for us from some of the suite where you were." "my uncle--my dear uncle--is he well?" "quite well, when last we heard," said charles. "that was at florence, nearly a month ago." "and all at fareham, are they well?" "all just as usual," said charles, "at the last hearing, which was at the same time. i hoped to have met letters at paris, but no doubt the war prevents the mails from running." "ah! i have never had a single letter," said anne. "did my uncle know anything of me? has he never had one of mine?" "up to the time when he wrote, last march, that is to say, he had received nothing. he had gone to london to make inquiries--" "ah! my dear good uncle!" "and had ascertained that you had been chosen to accompany the queen and prince in their escape from whitehall. you have played the heroine, miss anne." "oh! if you knew--" "and," said mr. fellowes, "both he and sir philip archfield requested us, if we could make our way home through paris, to come and offer our services to mistress woodford, in case she should wish to send intelligence to england, or if she should wish to make use of our escort to return home." "oh sir! oh sir! how can i thank you enough! you cannot guess the happiness you have brought me," cried anne with clasped hands, tears welling up again. "you _will_ come with us then," cried charles. "i am sure you ought. they have not used you well, anne; how pale and thin you have grown." "that is only pining! i am quite well, only home-sick," she said with a smile. "i am sure the queen will let me go. i am nothing but a burthen now. she has plenty of her own people, and they do not like a protestant about the prince." "there is madame de bellaise," said mr. fellowes, "advancing along the walk with lady powys. let me present you to her." "you have succeeded, i see," a kind voice said, as anne found herself making her courtesy to a tall and stately old lady, with a mass of hair of the peculiar silvered tint of flaxen mixed with white. "i am sincerely glad," said lady powys, "that miss woodford has met her friends." "also," said madame de bellaise, "lady powys is good enough to say that if mademoiselle will honour me with a visit, she gives permission for her to return with me to paris." this was still greater joy, except for that one recollection, formidable in the midst of her joy, of her dress. did madame de bellaise divine something? for she said, "these times remind me of my youth, when we poor cavalier families well knew what sore straits were. if mademoiselle will bring what is most needful, the rest can be sent afterwards." making her excuses for the moment, anne with light and gladsome foot sped along the stately alley, up the stairs to her chamber, round which she looked much as if it had been a prison cell, fell on her knees in a gush of intense thankfulness, and made her rapid preparations, her hands trembling with joy, and a fear that she might wake to find all again a dream. she felt as if this deliverance were a token of forgiveness for her past wilfulness, and as if hope were opened to her once more. lady powys met her as she came down, and spoke very kindly, thanking her for her services, and hoping that she would enjoy the visit she was about to make. "does your ladyship think her majesty will require me any longer?" asked anne timidly. "if you wish to return to the country held by the prince of orange," said the countess coldly, "you must apply for dismissal to her majesty herself." anne perceived from the looks of her friends that it was no time for discussing her loyalty, and all taking leave, she was soon seated beside madame de bellaise, while the coach and four rolled down the magnificent avenue, and scene after scene disappeared, beautiful and stately indeed, but which she was as glad to leave behind her as if they had been the fetters and bars of a dungeon, and she almost wondered at the words of admiration of her companions. madame de bellaise sat back, and begged the others to speak english, saying that it was her mother tongue, and she loved the sound of it, but really trying to efface herself, while the eager conversation between the two young people went on about their homes. charles had not been there more recently than anne, and his letters were at least two months old, but the intelligence in them was as water to her thirsty soul. all was well, she heard, including the little heir of archfield, though the young father coloured a little, and shuffled over the answers to the inquiries with a rather sad smile. charles was, however, greatly improved. he had left behind him the loutish, unformed boy, and had become a handsome, courteous, well-mannered gentleman. the very sight of him handing madame de bellaise in and out of her coach was a wonder in itself when anne recollected how he had been wont to hide himself in the shrubbery to prevent being called upon for such services, and how uncouthly in the last extremity he would perform them. madame de bellaise was inhabiting her son's great hotel de nidemerle. he was absent in garrison, and she was presiding over the family of grandchildren, their mother being in bad health. so much anne heard before she was conducted to a pleasant little bedroom, far more home-like and comfortable than in any of the palaces she had inhabited. it opened into another, whence merry young voices were heard. "that is the apartment of my sister's youngest daughter," said madame de bellaise, "noemi darpent. i borrowed her for a little while to teach her french and dancing, but now that we are gone to war, they want to have her back again, and it will be well that she should avail herself of the same escort as yourself. all will then be selon les convenances, which had been a difficulty to me," she added with a laugh. then opening the door of communication she said; "here, noemi, we have found your countrywoman, and i put her under your care. ah! you two chattering little pies, i knew the voices were yours. this is my granddaughter, marguerite de nidemerle, and my niece--a la mode de bretagne--cecile d'aubepine, all bestowing their chatter on their cousin." noemi darpent was a tall, fair, grave-faced maiden, some years over twenty, and so thoroughly english that it warmed anne's heart to look at her, and the other two were bright little frenchwomen-- marguerite a pretty blonde, cecile pale, dark, and sallow, but full of life. both were at the age at which girls were usually in convents, but as anne learnt, madame de bellaise was too english at heart to give up the training of her grandchildren, and she had an english governess for them, daughter to a romanist cavalier ruined by sequestration. she was evidently the absolute head of the family. her daughter-in- law was a delicate little creature, who scarcely seemed able to bear the noise of the family at the long supper-table, when all talked with shrill french voices, from the two youths and their abbe tutor down to the little four-year-old lolotte in her high chair. but to anne, after the tedious formality of the second table at the palace, stiff without refinement, this free family life was perfectly delightful and refreshing, though as yet she was too much cramped, as it were, by long stiffness, silence, and treatment as an inferior to join, except by the intelligent dancing of her brown eyes, and replies when directly addressed. after mrs. labadie's homeliness, pauline's exclusive narrowness, jane's petty frivolity, hester's vulgar worldliness, and the general want of cultivation in all who treated her on an equality, it was like returning to rational society; and she could not but observe that mr. archfield altogether held his own in conversation with the rest, whether in french or english. little more than a year ago he would hardly have opened his mouth, and would have worn the true bumpkin look of contemptuous sheepishness. now he laughed and made others laugh as readily and politely as--ah! with whom was she comparing him? did the thought of poor peregrine dwell on his mind as it did upon hers? but perhaps things were not so terrible to a man as to a woman, and he had not seen those apparitions! indeed, when not animated, she detected a certain thoughtful melancholy on his brow which certainly had not belonged to former times. mr. fellowes early made known to anne that her uncle had asked him to be her banker, and the first care of her kind hostess was to assist her in supplying the deficiencies of her wardrobe, so that she was able to go abroad without shrinking at her own shabby appearance. the next thing was to take her to poissy to request her dismissal from the queen, without which it would be hardly decorous to depart, though in point of fact, in the present state of affairs, as noemi said, there was nothing to prevent it. "no," said mr. fellowes; "but for that reason miss woodford would feel bound to show double courtesy to the discrowned queen." "and she has often been very kind to me--i love her much," said anne. "noemi is a little whig," said madame de bellaise. "i shall not take her with us, because i know her father would not like it, but to me it is only like the days of my youth to visit an exiled queen. will these gentlemen think fit to be of the party?" "thank you, madam, not i," said the magdalen man. "i am very sorry for the poor lady, but my college has suffered too much at her husband's hands for me to be very anxious to pay her my respects; and if my young friend will take my advice, neither will he. it might be bringing his father into trouble." to this charles agreed, so m. l'abbe undertook to show them the pictures at the louvre, and anne and madame de bellaise were the only occupants of the carriage that conveyed them to the great old convent of poissy, the girl enjoying by the way the comfort of the kindness of a motherly woman, though even to her there could be no confiding of the terrible secret that underlay all her thoughts. madame de bellaise, however, said how glad she was to secure this companionship for her niece. noemi had been more attached than her family realised to claude merrycourt, a neighbour who had had the folly, contrary to her prudent father's advice, to rush into monmouth's rebellion, and it had only been by the poor girl's agony when he suffered under the summary barbarities of kirke that her mother had known how much her heart was with him. the depression of spirits and loss of health that ensued had been so alarming that when madame de bellaise, after some months, paid a long visit to her sister in england, mrs. darpent had consented to send the girl to make acquaintance with her french relations, and try the effect of change of scene. she had gone, indifferent, passive, and broken- hearted, but her aunt had watched over her tenderly, and she had gradually revived, not indeed into a joyous girl, but into a calm and fairly cheerful woman. when she had left home, france and england were only too closely connected, but now they were at daggers drawn, and probably would be so for many years, and the revolution had come so suddenly that madame de bellaise had not been able to make arrangements for her niece's return home, and noemi was anxiously waiting for an opportunity of rejoining her parents. the present plan was this. madame de bellaise's son, the marquis de nidemerle, was governor of douai, where his son, the young baron de ribaumont, with his cousin, the chevalier d'aubepine, were to join him with their tutor, the abbe leblanc. the war on the flemish frontier was not just then in an active state, and there were often friendly relations between the commandants of neighbouring garrisons, so that it might be possible to pass a party on to the spanish territory with a flag of truce, and then the way would be easy. this passing, however, would be impossible for noemi alone, since etiquette would not permit of her thus travelling with the two young gentlemen, nor could she have proceeded after reaching douai, so that the arrival of the two englishmen and the company of miss woodford was a great boon. madame de bellaise had already despatched a courier to ask her son whether he could undertake the transit across the frontier, and hoped to apply for passports as soon as his answer was received. she told anne her niece's history to prevent painful allusions on the journey. "ah, madame!" said anne, "we too have a sad day connected with that unfortunate insurrection. we grieved over lady lisle, and burnt with indignation." "m. barillon tells me that her judge, the lord chancellor, was actually forced to commit himself to the tower to escape being torn to pieces by the populace, and it is since reported that he has there died of grief and shame. i should think his prison cell must have been haunted by hundreds of ghosts." "i pray you, madame! do you believe that there are apparitions?" "i have heard of none that were not explained by some accident, or else were the produce of an excited brain;" and anne said no more on that head, though it was a comfort to tell of her own foolish preference for the chances of court preferment above the security of lady russell's household, and madame de bellaise smiled, and said her experience of courts had not been too agreeable. and thus they reached poissy, where queen mary beatrice had separate rooms set apart for visitors, and thus did not see them from behind the grating, but face to face. "you wish to leave me, signorina," she said, using the appellation of their more intimate days, as anne knelt to kiss her hand. "i cannot wonder. a poor exile has nothing wherewith to reward the faithful." "ah! your majesty, that is not the cause; if i were of any use to you or to his royal highness." "true, signorina; you have been faithful and aided me to the best of your power in my extremity, but while you will not embrace the true faith i cannot keep you about the person of my son as he becomes more intelligent. therefore it may be well that you should leave us, until such time as we shall be recalled to our kingdom, when i hope to reward you more suitably. you loved my son, and he loved you--perhaps you would like to bid him farewell." for this anne was very grateful, and the prince was sent for by the mother, who was too proud of him to miss any opportunity of exhibiting him to an experienced mother and grandmother like the vicomtesse. he was a year old, and had become a very beautiful child, with large dark eyes like his mother's, and when mrs. labadie carried him in, he held out his arms to anne with a cry of glad recognition that made her feel that if she could have been allowed the charge of him she could hardly have borne to part with him. and when the final leave-taking came, the queen made his little hand present her with a little gold locket, containing his soft hair, with a j in seed pearls outside, in memory, said mary beatrice, of that night beneath the church wall. "ah, yes, you had your moment of fear, but we were all in terror, and you hushed him well." thus with another kiss to the white hand, returned on her own forehead, ended anne jacobina's court life. never would she be jacobina again--always anne or sweet nancy! it was refreshing to be so called, when charles archfield let the name slip out, then blushed and apologised, while she begged him to resume it, which he was now far too correct to do in public. noemi quite readily adopted it. "i am tired of fine french names," she said: "an english voice is quite refreshing; and do you call me naomi, not noemi. i did not mind it so much at first, because my father sometimes called me so, after his good old mother, who was bred a huguenot, but it is like the first step towards home to hear naomi--little omy, as my brothers used to shout over the stairs." that was a happy fortnight. madame de bellaise said it would be a shame to let anne have spent a half year in france and have seen nothing, so she took the party to the theatre, where they saw the cid with extreme delight. she regretted that the season was so far advanced that the winter representations of esther, at st. cyr by the young ladies, were over, but she invited m. racine for an evening, when mr. fellowes took extreme pleasure in his conversation, and he was prevailed on to read some of the scenes. she also used her entree at court to enable them to see the fountains at versailles, which winchester was to have surpassed but for king charles's death. "just as well otherwise," remarked charles to anne. "these fine feathers and flowers of spray are beautiful enough in themselves, but give me the clear old itchen not tortured into playing tricks, with all the trout killed; and the open down instead of all these terraces and marble steps where one feels as cramped as if it were a perpetual minuet. and look at the cost! ah! you will know what i mean when we travel through the country." another sight was from a gallery, whence they beheld the king eat his dinner alone at a silver-loaded table, and a lengthy ceremony it was. four plates of soup to begin with, a whole capon with ham, followed by a melon, mutton, salad, garlic, pate de foie gras, fruit, and confitures. charles really grew so indignant, that, in spite of his newly-acquired politeness, anne, who knew his countenance, was quite glad when she saw him safe out of hearing. "the old glutton!" he said; "i should like to put him on a diet of buckwheat and sawdust like his poor peasants for a week, and then see whether he would go on gormandising, with his wars and his buildings, starving his poor. it is almost enough to make a whig of a man to see what we might have come to. how can you bear it, madame?" "alas! we are powerless," said the vicomtesse. "a seigneur can do little for his people, but in anjou we have some privileges, and our peasants are better off than those you have seen, though indeed i grieved much for them when first i came among them from england." she was perhaps the less sorry that paris was nearly emptied of fashionable society since her guest had the less chance of uttering dangerous sentiments before those who might have repeated them, and much as she liked him, she was relieved when letters came from her son undertaking to expedite them on their way provided they made haste to forestall any outbreak of the war in that quarter. meantime naomi and anne had been drawn much nearer together by a common interest. the door between their rooms having some imperfection in the latch swung open as they were preparing for bed, and anne was aware of a sound of sobbing, and saw one of the white- capped, short-petticoated femmes de chambre kneeling at naomi's feet, ejaculating, "oh, take me! take me, mademoiselle! madame is an angel of goodness, but i cannot go on living a lie. i shall do something dreadful." "poor suzanne! poor suzanne!" naomi was answering: "i will do what i can, i will see if it is possible--" they started at the sound of the step, suzanne rising to her feet in terror, but naomi, signing to anne and saying, "it is only mademoiselle woodford, a good protestant, suzanne. go now; i will see what can be done; i know my aunt would like to send a maid with us." then as suzanne went out with her apron to her eyes, and anne would have apologised, she said, "never mind; i must have told you, and asked your help. poor suzanne, she is one of the rotrous, an old race of huguenot peasants whom my aunt always protected; she would protect any one, but these people had a special claim because they sheltered our great-grandmother, lady walwyn, when she fled after the s. barthelemi. when the edict of nantes was revoked, the two brothers fled. i believe she helped them, and they got on board ship, and brought a token to my father; but the old mother was feeble and imbecile, and could not move, and the monks and the dragoons frightened and harassed this poor wench into what they called conforming. when the mother died, my aunt took suzanne and taught her, and thought she was converted; and indeed if all papists were like my aunt it would not be so hard to become one." "oh yes! i know others like that." "but this poor suzanne, knowing that she only was converted out of terror, has always had an uneasy conscience, and the sight of me has stirred up everything. she says, though i do not know if it be true, that she was fast drifting into bad habits, when finding my bible, though it was english and she could not read it, seems to have revived everything, and recalled the teaching of her good old father and pastor, and now she is wild to go to england with us." "you will take her?" exclaimed anne. "of course i will. perhaps that is what i was sent here for. i will ask her of my aunt, and i think she will let me have her. you will keep her secret, anne." "indeed i will." madame de bellaise granted suzanne to her niece without difficulty, evidently guessing the truth, but knowing the peril of the situation too well to make any inquiry. perhaps she was disappointed that her endeavours to win the girl to her church had been ineffectual, but to have any connection with one 'relapsed' was so exceedingly perilous that she preferred to ignore the whole subject, and merely let it be known that suzanne was to accompany mademoiselle darpent, and this was only disclosed to the household on the very last morning, after the passports had been procured and the mails packed, and she hushed any remark of the two english girls in such a decided manner as quite startled them by the manifest need of caution. "we should have come to that if king james were still allowed to have his own way," said naomi. "oh no! we are too english," said anne. "our generation might not see it," said naomi; "but who can be safe when a popish king can override law? oh, i shall breathe more freely when i am on the other side of the channel. my aunt is much too good for this place, and they don't approve of her, and keep her down." chapter xxii: revenants "but soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! i'll cross it, though it blast me." hamlet. floods of tears were shed at the departure of the two young officers of sixteen and seventeen. the sobs of the household made the english party feel very glad when it was over and the cavalcade was in motion. a cavalcade it was, for each gentleman rode and so did his body-servant, and each horse had a mounted groom. the two young officers had besides each two chargers, requiring a groom and horse boy, and each conducted half a dozen fresh troopers to join the army. a coach was the regulation mode of travelling for ladies, but both the english girls had remonstrated so strongly that madame de bellaise had consented to their riding, though she took them and suzanne the first day's journey well beyond the ken of the parisians in her own carriage, as far as senlis, where there was a fresh parting with the two lads, fewer tears, and more counsel and encouragement, with many fond messages to her son, many to her sister in england, and with affectionate words to her niece a whisper to her to remember that she would not be in a protestant country till she reached holland or england. the last sight they had of the tall dignified figure of the old lady was under the arch of the cathedral, where she was going to pray for their safety. suzanne was to ride on a pillion behind the swiss valet of mr. fellowes, whom naomi had taken into her confidence, and the two young ladies each mounted a stout pony. mr. fellowes had made friends with the abbe leblanc, who was of the old gallican type, by no means virulently set against anglicanism, and also a highly cultivated man, so that they had many subjects in common, besides the question of english catholicity. the two young cousins, ribaumont and d'aubepine, were chiefly engaged in looking out for sport, setting their horses to race with one another, and the like, in which charles archfield sometimes took a share, but he usually rode with the two young ladies, and talked to them very pleasantly of his travels in italy, the pictures and antiquities which had made into an interesting reality the studies that he had hated when a boy, also the condition of the country he had seen with a mind which seemed to have opened and enlarged with a sudden start beyond the interests of the next fox-hunt or game at bowls. all were, as he had predicted, greatly shocked at the aspect of the country through which they passed: the meagre crops ripening for harvest, the hay- carts, sometimes drawn by an equally lean cow and woman, the haggard women bearing heavy burthens, and the ragged, barefooted children leading a wretched cow or goat to browse by the wayside, the gaunt men toiling at road-mending with their poor starved horses, or at their seigneur's work, alike unpaid, even when drawn off from their own harvests. and in the villages the only sound buildings were the church and presbytere by its side, the dwellings being miserable hovels, almost sunk into the earth, an old crone or two, marvels of skinniness, spinning at the door, or younger women making lace, and nearly naked children rushing out to beg. sometimes the pepper-box turrets of a chateau could be seen among distant woods, or the walls of a cloister, with a taper spire in the midst, among greener fields; and the towns were approached through long handsome avenues, and their narrow streets had a greater look of prosperity, while their inns, being on the way to the place of warfare, were almost luxurious, with a choice of dainty meats and good wines. everywhere else was misery, and naomi said it was the vain endeavour to reform the source of these grievances that had forced her father to become an exile from his native country, and that he had much apprehended that the same blight might gradually be brought over his adopted land, on which charles stood up for the constitution, and for the resolute character of englishmen, and anne, as in duty bound, for the good intentions of her godfather. thus they argued, and anne not only felt herself restored to the company of rational beings, but greatly admired charles's sentiments and the ability with which he put them forward, and now and then the thought struck her, and with a little twinge of pain of which she was ashamed, would naomi darpent be the healer of the wound nearly a year old, and find in him consolation for the hero of her girlhood? somehow there would be a sense of disappointment in them both if so it were. at length the spires and towers of douai came in sight, fenced in by stern lines of fortification according to the science of vauban-- smooth slopes of glacis, with the terrible muzzles of cannon peeping out on the summits of the ramparts, and the line of salient angle and ravelin with the moat around, beautiful though formidable. the marquis de nidemerle had sent a young officer and sergeant's party to meet the travellers several miles off, and bring them unquestioned through the outposts of the frontier town, so closely watched in this time of war, and at about half a mile from the gates he himself, with a few attendants, rode out all glittering and clanking in their splendid uniforms and accoutrements. he doffed his hat with the heavy white plume, and bowed his greeting to the ladies and clergymen, but both the young frenchmen, after a military salute, hastily dismounted and knelt on one knee, while he sprang from his horse, and then, making the sign of the cross over his son, raised him, and folding him in his arms pressed him to his breast and kissed him on each cheek, not without tears, then repeated the same greeting with young d'aubepine. he then kissed the hand of his belle cousine, whom, of course, he knew already, and bowed almost to the ground on being presented to mademoiselle woodford, a little less low to monsieur archfield, who was glad the embracing was not to be repeated, politely received mr. fellowes, and honoured the domestic abbe with a kindly word and nod. the gradation was amusing, and he was a magnificent figure, with his noble horse and grand military dress, while his fine straight features, sunburnt though naturally fair, and his tall, powerful frame, well became his surroundings--'a true white ribaumont,' as naomi said, as she looked at the long fair hair drawn back and tied with ribbon. "he is just like the portrait of our great-grandfather who was almost killed on the s. barthelemi!" however, naomi had no more time to talk _of_ him, for he rode by her side inquiring for his mother, wife, and children, but carefully doing the honours to the stranger lady and gentleman. moat and drawbridge there were at portsmouth, and a sentry at the entrance, but here there seemed endless guards, moats, bridges, and gates, and there was a continual presenting of arms and acknowledging of salutes as the commandant rode in with the travellers. it was altogether a very new experience in life. they were lodged in the governor's quarters in the fortress, where the accommodation for ladies was of the slenderest, and m. de nidemerle made many apologies, though he had evidently given up his own sleeping chamber to the two ladies, who would have to squeeze into his narrow camp-bed, with suzanne on the floor, and the last was to remain there entirely, there being no woman with whom she could have her meals. the ladies were invited to sup with the staff, and would, as m. de nidemerle assured them, be welcomed with the greatest delight. so naomi declared that they must make their toilette do as much justice as possible to their country; and though full dress was not attainable, they did their best with ribbons and laces, and the arrangement of her fair locks and anne's brown ones, when suzanne proved herself an adept; the ladies meantime finding no small amusement in the varieties of swords, pistols, spurs, and other accoutrements, for which the marquis had apologised, though naomi told him that they were the fittest ornaments possible. "and my cousin gaspard is a really good man," she said, indicating to her friend the little shrine with holy-water stoup, ivory crucifix, print of the madonna, two or three devotional books, and the miniatures of mother, wife, and children hung not far off; also of two young cavaliers, one of whom naomi explained to be the young father whom gaspard could not recollect, the other, that of the uncle eustace, last baron walwyn and ribaumont, of whom her own mother talked with such passionate affection, and whose example had always been a guiding star to the young marquis. he came to their door to conduct them down to supper, giving his arm to miss woodford as the greatest stranger, while miss darpent was conducted by a resplendent ducal colonel. the supper-room was in festal guise, hung round with flags, and the table adorned with flowers; a band was playing, and never had either anne or naomi been made so much of. all were eagerly talking, charles especially so, and anne thought, with a thrill, "did he recollect that this was the very anniversary of that terrible st of july?" it was a beautiful summer evening, and the supper taking place at five o'clock there was a considerable time to spare afterwards, so that m. de nidemerle proposed to show the strangers the place, and the view from the ramparts. "in my company you can see all well," he said, "but otherwise there might be doubts and jealousies." he took them through the narrow flemish streets of tall houses with projecting upper stories, and showed them that seminary which was popularly supposed in england to be the hotbed of truculent plots, but where they only saw a quiet academic cloister and an exquisite garden, green turf, roses and white lilies in full perfection, and students flitting about in cassocks and square caps, more like an oxford scene, as mr. fellowes said, than anything he had yet seen. he was joined by an english priest from his own original neighbourhood. the abbe leblanc found another acquaintance, and these two accompanied their friends to the ramparts. the marquis had a great deal to hear from his cousin about his home, and thus it happened that charles archfield and anne found themselves more practically alone together than they had yet been. as they looked at the view over the country, he told her of a conversation that he had had with an officer now in the french army, but who had served in the imperial army against the turks, and that he had obtained much useful information. "useful?" asked anne. "yes. i have been watching for the moment to tell you, anne; i have resolved what to do. i intend to make a few campaigns there against the enemy of christendom." "o mr. archfield!" was all she could say. "see here, i have perceived plainly that to sink down into my lady's eldest son is no wholesome life for a man with all his powers about him. i understand now what a set of oafs we were to despise the poor fellow you wot of, because he was not such a lubber as ourselves. i have no mind to go through the like." "you are so different; it could not be the same." "not quite; but remember there is nothing for me to do. my father is still an active man, and i am not old enough to take my part in public affairs, even if i loved greatly either the prince of orange or king james. i could not honestly draw my sword for either. i have no estate to manage, my child's inheritance is all in money, and it would drive me mad, or worse, to go home to be idle. no; i will fight against the common enemy till i have made me a name, and won reputation and standing; or if i should not come back, there's the babe at home to carry on the line." "oh, sir! your father and mother--lucy--all that love you. what will they say?" "it would only put them to needless pain to ask them. i shall not. i shall write explaining all my motives--all except one, and that you alone know, anne." she shuddered a little, and felt him press her arm tightly. they had fallen a good deal behind the marquis and his cousin, and were descending as twilight fell into a narrow, dark, lonely street, with all the houses shut up. "no one has guessed, have they?" she faltered. "not that i know of. but i cannot--no! i can_not_ go home, to have that castle near me, and that household at oakwood. i see enough in my dreams without that." "see! ah, yes!" "then, anne, you have suffered then too--guiltless as you are in keeping my terrible secret! i have often thought and marvelled whether it were so with you." she was about to tell him what she had seen, when he began, "there is one thing in this world that would sweeten and renew my life--and that?" her heart was beating violently at what was so suddenly coming on her, when at that instant charles broke off short with "good heavens! what's that?" on the opposite side of the street, where one of the many churches stood some way back, making an opening, there was a figure, essentially the same that anne had seen at lambeth, but bare-headed, clad apparently in something long and white, and with a pale bluish light on the ghastly but unmistakable features. she uttered a faint gasping cry scarcely audible, charles's impulse was to exclaim, "man or spirit, stand!" and drawing his sword to rush across the street; but in that second all had vanished, and he only struck against closed doors, which he shook, but could not open. "mr. archfield! oh, come back! i have seen it before," entreated anne; and he strode back, with a gesture of offering her support, and trembling, she clung to his arm. "it does not hurt," she said. "it comes and goes--" "you have seen it before!" "twice." no more could be said, for through the gloom the white plume and gold-laced uniform of the marquis were seen. he had missed them, and come back to look for them, beginning to apologise. "i am confounded at having left mademoiselle behind.--comment!"--as the sound betrayed that charles was sheathing his sword. "i trust that monsieur has met with no unpleasant adventure from my people." "oh, no, monsieur," was the answer, as he added-- "one can never be sure as to these fiery spirits towards an englishman in the present state of feeling, and i blame myself extremely for having permitted myself to lose sight of monsieur and mademoiselle." "indeed, sir, we have met with no cause of complaint," said charles, adding as if casually, "what is that church?" "'tis the jesuits' church," replied the governor. "there is the best preaching in the town, they say, and jansenists as we are, i was struck with the lenten course." anne went at once to her room on returning to the house. naomi, who was there already, exclaimed at her paleness, and insisted on administering a glass of wine from what the english called the rere supper, the french an encas, the substantial materials for which had been left in the chamber. then anne felt how well it had been for her that her fellows at the palace had been so uncongenial, for she could hardly help disclosing to naomi the sight she had seen, and the half-finished words she had heard. it was chiefly the feeling that she could not bear naomi to know of the blood on charles's hand which withheld her in her tumult of feeling, and made her only entreat, "do not ask me, i cannot tell you." and naomi, who was some years older, and had had her own sad experience, guessed perhaps at one cause for her agitation, and spared her inquiries, though as anne, tired out by the long day, and forced by their close quarters to keep herself still, dropped asleep, strange mutterings fell from her lips about "the vault--the blood--come back. there he is. the secret has risen to forbid. o, poor peregrine!" between the july heat, the narrow bed, and the two chamber fellows, anne had little time to collect her thoughts, except for the general impression that if charles finished what he had begun to say, the living and the dead alike must force her to refuse, though something within foreboded that this would cost her more than she yet durst perceive, and her heart was ready to spring forth and enclose him as it were in an embrace of infinite tenderness, above all when she thought of his purpose of going to those fearful hungarian wars. but after the hot night, it was a great relief to prepare for an early start. m. de nidemerle had decided on sending the travellers to tournay, the nearest spanish town, on the scheldt, since he had some acquaintance with the governor, and when no campaign was actually on foot the courtesies of generous enemies passed between them. he had already sent an intimation of his intention of forwarding an english kinswoman of his own with her companions, and bespoken the good offices of his neighbour, and they were now to set off in very early morning under the escort of a flag of truce, a trumpeter, and a party of troopers, commanded by an experienced old officer with white moustaches and the peaked beard of the last generation, contrasting with a face the colour of walnut wood. the marquis himself and his son, however, rode with the travellers for their first five miles, through a country where the rich green of the natural growth showed good soil, all enamelled with flowers and corn crops run wild; but the villages looked deserted, the remains of burnt barns and houses were frequent, and all along that frontier, it seemed as if no peaceful inhabitants ventured to settle, and only brigands often rendered such by misery might prowl about. the english party felt as if they had never understood what war could be. however, in a melancholy orchard run wild, under the shade of an apple-tree laden with young fruit, backed by a blackened gable half concealed by a luxuriant untrimmed vine, the avant couriers of the commandant had cleared a space in the rank grass, and spread a morning meal, of cold pate, fowl and light wines, in which the french officers drank to the good journey of their friends, and then when the horses had likewise had their refreshment the parting took place with much affection between the cousins. the young ribaumont augured that they should meet again when he had to protect noemi in a grand descent on dorsetshire in behalf of james, and she merrily shook her fist at him and defied him, and his father allowed that they were a long way from that. m. de nidemerle hinted to mr. archfield that nobody could tell him more about the war with the turks than m. le capitaine delaune, who was, it appeared, a veteran swiss who had served in almost every army in europe, and thus could give information by no means to be neglected. so that, to anne's surprise and somewhat to her mortification, since she had no knowledge of the cause, she saw charles riding apart with this wooden old veteran, who sat as upright as a ramrod on his wiry-looking black horse, leaving her to the company of naomi and mr. fellowes. did he really wish not to pursue the topic which had brought peregrine from his grave? it would of course be all the better, but it cost her some terrible pangs to think so. there were far more formalities and delays before the travellers could cross the tournay bridge across the scheldt. they were brought to a standstill a furlong off, and had to wait while the trumpeter rode forward with the white flag, and the message was referred to the officer on guard, while a sentry seemed to be watching over them. then the officer came to the gateway of the bridge, and captain delaune rode forward to him, but there was still a long weary waiting in the sun before he came back, after having shown their credentials to the governor, and then he was accompanied by a flemish officer, who, with much courtesy, took them under his charge, and conducted them through all the defences, over the bridge, and to the gate where their baggage had to be closely examined. naomi had her bible in her bosom, or it would not have escaped; anne heartily wished she had used the same precaution on her flight from england, but she had not, like her friend, been warned beforehand. when within the city there was more freedom, and the fleming conducted the party to an inn, where, unlike english inns, they could not have a parlour to themselves, but had to take their meals in common with other guests at a sort of table d'hote, and the ladies had no refuge but their bedroom, where the number of beds did not promise privacy. an orderly soon arrived with an invitation to don carlos arcafila to sup with the spanish governor, and of course the invitation could not be neglected. the ladies walked about a little in the town with mr. fellowes, looking without appreciation at the splendid five-towered cathedral, but recollecting with due english pride that the place had been conquered by henry viii. thence they were to make for ostend, where they were certain of finding a vessel bound for england. it was a much smaller party that set forth from tournay than from paris, and soon they fell into pairs, mr. fellowes and naomi riding together, sufficiently out of earshot of the others for charles to begin-- "i have not been able to speak to you, anne, since that strange interruption--if indeed it were not a dream." "oh, sir, it was no dream! how could it be?" "how could it, indeed, when we both saw it, and both of us awake and afoot, and yet i cannot believe my senses." "oh, i can believe it only too truly! i have seen him twice before. i thought you said you had." "merely in dreams, and that is bad enough." "are you sure? for i was up and awake." "are _you_ sure? i might ask again. i was asleep in bed, and glad enough to shake myself awake. where were you?" "once on hallowmas eve, looking from the window at whitehall; once when waiting with the queen under the wall of lambeth church, on the night of our flight." "did others see him then?" "i was alone the first time. the next time when he flitted across the light, no one else saw him; but they cried out at my start. why should he appear except to us?" "that is true," muttered charles. "and oh, sir, those two times he looked as he did in life--not ghastly as now. there can be no doubt now that--" "what, sweet anne?" "sir, i must tell you! i could bear it no longer, and i _did_ consult the bishop of bath and wells." "any more?" he asked in a somewhat displeased voice. "no one, not a soul, and he is as safe as any of the priests here; he regards a confession in the same way. mr. archfield, forgive me. he seemed divinely sent to me on that all saints' day! oh, forgive me!" and tears were in her eyes. "he is dr. ken--eh? i remember him. i suppose he is as safe as any man, and a woman must have some relief. you have borne enough indeed," said charles, greatly touched by her tears. "what did he say?" "he asked, was i certain of the--death," said she, bringing out the word with difficulty; "but then i had only seen _it_ at whitehall; and these other appearances, in such places too, take away all hope that it is otherwise!" "assuredly," said charles; "i had not the least doubt at the moment. i know i ran my sword through his body, and felt a jar that i believe was his backbone," he said with a shudder, "and he fell prone and breathless; but since i have seen more of fencing, and heard more of wounds, the dread has crossed me that i acted as an inexperienced lad, and that i ought to have tried whether the life was in him, or if he could be recovered. if so, i slew him twice, by launching him into that pit. god forgive me!" "is it so deep?" asked anne, shuddering. "i know there is a sort of step at the top; but i always shunned the place, and never looked in." "there are two or three steps at the top, but all is broken away below. sedley and i once threw a ball down, and i am sure it dropped to a depth down which no man could fall and _live_. i believe there once were underground passages leading to the harbour on one hand, and out to portsdown hill on the other, but that the communication was broken away and the openings destroyed when lord goring was governor of portsmouth, to secure the castle. be that as it may, he could not have been living after he reached that floor. i heard the thud, and the jingle of his sword, and it will haunt me to my dying day." "and yet you never intended it. you did it in defence of me. you did not mean to strike thus hard. it was an accident." "would that i could so feel it!" he sighed. "nay, of course i had no evil design when my poor little wife drove me out to give you her rag of ribbon, or whatever it was; but i hated as well as despised the fellow. he had angered me with his scorn--well deserved, as now i see--of our lubberly ways. she had vexed me with her teasing commendations--out of harmless mischief, poor child. i hated him more every time you looked at him, and when i had occasion to strike him i was glad of it. there was murder in my heart, and i felt as if i were putting a rat or a weasel out of the way when i threw him down that pit. god forgive me! then, in my madness, i so acted that in a manner i was the death of that poor young thing." "no, no, sir. your mother had never thought she would live." "so they say; but her face comes before me in reproach. there are times when i feel myself a double murderer. i have been on the point of telling all to mr. fellowes, or going home to accuse myself. only the thought of my father and mother, and of leaving such a blight on that poor baby, has withheld me; but i cannot go home to face the sight of the castle." "no," said anne, choked with tears. "nor is there any suspicion of the poor fellow's fate," he added. "not that i ever heard." "his family think him fled, as was like enough, considering the way in which they treated him," said charles. "nor do i see what good it would do them to know the truth." "it would only be a grief and bitterness to all." "i hope i have repented, and that god accepts my forgiveness," said charles sadly. "i am banishing myself from all i love, and there is a weight on me for life; but, unless suspicion falls on others, i do not feel bound to make it worse for all by giving myself up. yet those appearances--to you, to me, to us both! at such a moment, too, last night!" "can it be because of his unhallowed grave?" said anne, in a low voice of awe. "if it were!" said charles, drawing up his horse for a moment in thought. "anne, if there be one more appearance, the place shall be searched, whether it incriminate me or not. it would be adding to all my wrongs towards the poor fellow, if that were the case." "even if he were found," said anne, "suspicion would not light on you. and at home it will be known if he haunts the place. i will-- " "nay, but, anne, he will not interrupt me now. i have much more to say. i want you to remember that we were sweethearts ere ever i, as a child of twelve, knew that i was contracted to that poor babe, and bidden to think only of her. poor child! i honestly did my best to love her, so far as i knew how, and mayhap we could have rubbed on through life passably well as things go. but--but--it skills not talking of things gone by, except to show that it is a whole heart-- not the reversion of one that is yours for ever, mine only love." "oh, but--but--i am no match for you." "i've had enough of grand matches." "your father would never endure it." "my father would soon rejoice. besides, if we are wedded here--say at ostend--and you make me a home at buda, or vienna, or some place at our winter quarters, as my brave wench will, my father will be glad enough to see us both at home again." "no; it cannot be. it would be plain treachery to your parents; mr. fellowes would say so. i am sure he would not marry us." "there are english chaplains. is that all that holds you back?" "no, sir. if the archbishop of canterbury were here himself, it could not make it other than a sin, and an act of mean ingratitude, for me, the prince's rocker, to take advantage of their goodness in permitting you to come and bring me home--to do what would be pain, grief, and shame to them." "never shame." "what is wrong is shame! cannot you see how unworthy it would be in me, and how it would grieve my uncle that i should have done such a thing?" "love would override scruples." "not _true_ love." "true! then you own to some love for me, anne." "i do--not--know. i have guarded--i mean--cast away--i mean--never entertained any such thought ever since i was old enough to know how wicked it would be." "anne! anne!" (in an undertone very like rapture), "you have confessed all! it is no sin _now_. even you cannot say so." she hung her head and did not answer, but silence was enough for him. "it is enough!" he said; "you will wait. i shall know you are waiting till i return in such sort that nothing can be denied me. let me at least have that promise." "you need not fear," murmured anne. "how could i need? the secret would withhold me, were there nothing else." "and there is something else? eh, sweetheart? is that all i am to be satisfied with?" "oh sir!--mr. archfield, i mean--o charles!" she stammered. mr. fellowes turned round to consult his pupil as to whether the halt should be made at the village whose peaked roofs were seen over the fruit trees. but when anne was lifted down from the steed it was with no grasp of common courtesy, and her hand was not relinquished till it had been fervently kissed. charles did not again torment her with entreaties to share his exile. mayhap he recognised, though unwillingly, that her judgment had been right, but there was no small devotion in his whole demeanour, as they dined, rode, and rested on that summer's day amid fields of giant haycocks, and hostels wreathed with vines, with long vistas of sleek cows and plump dappled horses in the sheds behind. the ravages of war had lessened as they rode farther from the frontier, and the rich smiling landscape lay rejoicing in the summer sunshine; the sturdy peasants looked as if they had never heard of marauders, as they herded their handsome cattle and responded civilly when a draught of milk was asked for the ladies. there was that strange sense of eden felicity that sometimes comes with the knowledge that the time is short for mutual enjoyment in full peace. charles and anne would part, their future was undefined; but for the present they reposed in the knowledge of each other's hearts, and in being together. it was as in their childhood, when by tacit consent he had been anne's champion from the time she came as a little londoner to be alarmed at rough country ways, and to be easily scared by sedley. it had been then that charles had first awakened to the chivalry of the better part of boyhood's nature, instead of following his cousin's lead, and treating girls as creatures meant to be bullied. many a happy reminiscence was shared between the two as they rode together, and it was not till the pale breadth of sea filled their horizon, broken by the tall spires and peaked gables and many-windowed steep roofs of ostend, that the future was permitted to come forward and trouble them. then anne's heart began to feel that persistence in her absolute refusal was a much harder thing than at the first, when the idea was new and strange to her. and there were strange yearnings that charles should renew the proposal, mixed with dread of herself and of her own resolution in case of his doing so. as her affections embraced him more and more she pictured him sick, wounded, dying, out of reach of all, among germans, hungarians, turks,--no one at hand to comfort him or even to know his fate. there was even disappointment in his acquiescence, though her better mind told her that it was in accordance with her prayer against temptation. moreover, he was of a reserved nature, not apt to discuss what was once fixed, and perhaps it showed that he respected her judgment not to try to shake her decision. though for once love had carried him away, he might perhaps be grateful to her for sparing him the perplexities of dragging her about with him and of giving additional offence to his parents. the affection born of lifelong knowledge is not apt to be of the vehement character that disregards all obstacles or possible miseries to the object thereof. yet enough feeling was betrayed to make naomi whisper at night, "sweet nan, are you not some one else's sweet?" and anne, now with another secret on her heart, only replied with embraces, and, "do not talk of it! i cannot tell how it is to be. i cannot tell you all." naomi was discreet enough only to caress. with strict formalities at outworks, moat, drawbridge, and gates, and the customary inquisitorial search of the luggage, the travellers were allowed to repair to a lofty inn, with the lion of flanders for its sign, and a wide courtyard, the successive outside galleries covered with luxuriant vines. here, as usual, though the party of females obtained one bedroom together, the gentlemen had to share one vast sleeping chamber with a variety of merchants, dutch, flemish, spanish, and a few english. meals were at a great table d'hote in the public room, opening into the court, and were shared by sundry spanish, belgic, and swiss officers of the garrison, who made this their mess-room. two young english gentlemen, like charles archfield, making the grand tour, whom he had met in italy, were delighted to encounter him again, and still more so at the company of english ladies. "no wonder the forlorn widower has recovered his spirits!" anne heard one say with a laugh that made her blush and turn away; and there was an outcry that after a monopoly of the fair ones all the way from paris, the seats next to them must be yielded. anne was disappointed, and could not bring herself to be agreeable to the obtrusive cavalier with the rich lace cravat and perfumed hair, both assumed in her honour. the discussion was respecting the vessels where a passage might be obtained. the cavaliers were to sail in a couple of days for london, but another ship would go out of harbour with the tide on the following day for southampton, and this was decided on by acclamation by the hampshire party, though no good accommodation was promised them. there was little opportunity for a tete-a-tetes, for the young men insisted on escorting the ladies to the picture galleries, palaces, and gardens, and charles did not wish to reawaken the observations that, according to the habits of the time, might not be of the choicest description. anne watched him under her eyelashes, and wondered with beating heart whether after all he intended to return home, and there plead his cause, for he gave no token of intending to separate from the rest. the hampshire hog was to sail at daybreak, so the passengers went on board over night, after supper, when the summer twilight was sinking down and the far-off west still had a soft golden tint. anne felt charles's arm round her in the boat and grasping her hand, then pulling off her glove and putting a ring on her finger--all in silence. she still felt that arm on the deck in the confusion of men, ropes, and bales of goods, and the shouts and hails on all sides that nearly deafened her. there was imminent danger of being hurled down, if not overboard, among the far from sober sailors, and mr. fellowes urged the ladies to go below at once, conducting miss darpent himself as soon as he could ascertain where to go. anne felt herself almost lifted down. then followed a strong embrace, a kiss on brow, lips, and either cheek, and a low hoarse whisper--"so best! mine own! god bless you,"--and as suzanne came tumbling aft into the narrow cabin, anne found herself left alone with her two female companions, and knew that these blissful days were over. chapter xxiii: french leave "when ye gang awa, jamie, far across the sea, laddie, when ye gang to germanie what will ye send to me, laddie?" huntingtower. fides was the posy on the ring. that was all anne could discover, and indeed only this much with the morning light of the july sun that penetrated the remotest corners. for the cabin was dark and stifling, and there was no leaving it, for both miss darpent and her attendant were so ill as to engross her entirely. she could hardly leave them when there was a summons to a meal in the captain's cabin, and there she found herself the only passenger able to appear, and the rest of the company, though intending civility, were so rough that she was glad to retreat again, and wretched as the cabin was, she thought it preferable to the deck. mr. fellowes, she heard, was specially prostrated, and jokes were passing round that it was the less harm, since it might be the worse for him if the crew found out that there was a parson on board. thus anne had to forego the first sight of her native land, and only by the shouts above and the decreased motion of the vessel knew when she was within lee of the isle of wight, and on entering the solent could encourage her companions that their miseries were nearly over, and help them to arrange themselves for going upon deck. when at length they emerged, as the ship lay-to in sight of the red roofs and white steeples of southampton, and of the green mazes of the new forest, mr. fellowes was found looking everywhere for the pupil whom he had been too miserable to miss during the voyage. neither charles archfield nor his servant was visible, but mr. fellowes's own man coming forward, delivered to the bewildered tutor a packet which he said that his comrade had put in his charge for the purpose. in the boat, on the way to land, mr. fellowes read to himself the letter, which of course filled him with extreme distress. it contained much of what charles had already explained to anne of his conviction that in the present state of affairs it was better for so young a man as himself, without sufficient occupation at home, to seek honourable service abroad, and that he thought it would spare much pain and perplexity to depart without revisiting home. he added full and well-expressed thanks for all that mr. fellowes had done for him, and for kindness for which he hoped to be the better all his life. he enclosed a long letter to his father, which he said would, he hoped, entirely exonerate his kind and much-respected tutor from any remissness or any participation in the scheme which he had thought it better on all accounts to conceal till the last. "and indeed," said poor mr. fellowes, "if i had had any inkling of it, i should have applied to the english consul to restrain him as a ward under trust. but no one would have thought it of him. he had always been reasonable and docile beyond his years, and i trusted him entirely. i should as soon have thought of our president giving me the slip in this way. surely he came on board with us." "he handed me into the boat," said miss darpent. "who saw him last? did you, miss woodford?" anne was forced to own that she had seen him on board, and her cheeks were in spite of herself such tell-tales that mr. fellowes could not help saying, "it is not my part to rebuke you, madam, but if you were aware of this evasion, you will have a heavy reckoning to pay to the young man's parents." "sir," said anne, "i knew indeed that he meant to join the imperial army, but i knew not how nor when." "ah, well! i ask no questions. you need not justify yourself to me, young lady; but sir philip and lady archfield little knew what they did when they asked us to come by way of paris. not that i regret it on all accounts," he added, with a courteous bow to naomi which set her blushing in her turn. he avoided again addressing miss woodford, and she thought with consternation of the prejudice he might excite against her. it had been arranged between the two maidens that naomi should be a guest at portchester rectory till she could communicate with walwyn, and her father or brother could come and fetch her. they landed at the little wharf, among the colliers, and made their way up the street to an inn, where, after ordering a meal to satisfy the ravenous sea-appetite, mr. fellowes, after a few words with naomi, left the ladies to their land toilet, while he went to hire horses for the journey. then naomi could not help saying, "o anne! i did not think you would have done this. i am grieved!" "you do not know all," said anne sadly, "or you would not think so hardly." "i saw you had an understanding with him. i see you have a new ring on your finger; but how could i suppose you would encourage an only son thus to leave his parents?" "hush, hush, naomi!" cried anne, as the uncontrollable tears broke out. "don't you believe that it is quite as hard for me as for them that he should have gone off to fight those dreadful blood-thirsty turks? indeed i would have hindered him, but that--but that--i know it is best for him. no! i can't tell you why, but i _know_ it is; and even to the very last, when he helped me down the companion- ladder, i hoped he might be coming home first." "but you are troth-plight to him, and secretly?" "i am not troth-plight; i know i am not his equal, i told him so, but he thrust this ring on me in the boat, in the dark, and how could i give it back!" naomi shook her head, but was more than half-disarmed by her friend's bitter weeping. whether she gave any hint to mr. fellowes anne did not know, but his manner remained drily courteous, and as anne had to ride on a pillion behind a servant she was left in a state of isolation as to companionship, which made her feel herself in disgrace, and almost spoilt the joy of dear familiar recognition of hill, field, and tree, after her long year's absence, the longest year in her life, and substituted the sinking of heart lest she should be returning to hear of misfortune and disaster, sickness or death. her original plan had been to go on with naomi to portchester at once, if by inquiry at fareham she found that her uncle was at home, but she perceived that mr. fellowes decidedly wished that miss darpent should go first to the archfields, and something within her determined first to turn thither in spite of all there was to encounter, so that she might still her misgivings by learning whether her uncle was well. so she bade the man turn his horse's head towards the well-known poplars in front of archfield house. the sound of the trampling horses brought more than one well-known old 'blue-coated serving-man' into the court, and among them a woman with a child in her arms. there was the exclamation, "mistress anne! sure master charles be not far behind," and the old groom ran to help her down. "oh! ralph, thanks. all well? my uncle?" "he is here, with his honour," and in scarcely a moment more lucy, swift of foot, had flown out, and had anne in her embrace, and crying out-- "ah, charles! my brother! i don't see him." anne was glad to have no time to answer before she was in her uncle's arms. "my child, at last! god bless thee! safe in soul and body!" sir philip was there too, greeting mr. fellowes, and looking for his son, and with the cursory assurance that mr. archfield was well, and that they would explain, a hasty introduction of miss darpent was made, and all moved in to where lady archfield, more feeble and slow of movement, had come into the hall, and the nurse stood by with the little heir to be shown to his father, and sedley archfield stood in the background. it was a cruel moment for all, when the words came from mr. fellowes, "sir, i have to tell you, mr. archfield is not here. this letter, he tells me, is to explain." there was an outburst of exclamation, during which sir philip withdrew into a window with his spectacles to read the letter, while all to which the tutor or anne ventured to commit themselves was that mr. archfield had only quitted them without notice on board the hampshire hog. the first tones of the father had a certain sound of relief, "gone to the imperialist army to fight the turks in hungary!" poor lady archfield actually shrieked, and lucy turned quite pale, while anne caught a sort of lurid flush of joy on sedley archfield's features, and he was the first to exclaim, "undutiful young dog!" "tut! tut!" returned sir philip, "he might as well have come home first, and yet i do not know but that it is the best thing he could do. there might have been difficulties in the way of getting out again, you see, my lady, as things stand now. ay! ay! you are in the right of it, my boy. it is just as well to let things settle themselves down here before committing himself to one side or the other. 'tis easy enough for an old fellow like me who has to let nothing go but his commission of the peace, but not the same for a stirring young lad; and he is altogether right as to not coming back to idle here as a rich man. it would be the ruin of him. i am glad he has the sense to see it. i was casting about to obtain an estate for him to give him occupation." "but the wars," moaned the mother; "if he had only come home we could have persuaded him." "the wars, my lady! why, they will be a feather in his cap; and may be if he had come home, the dutchman would have claimed him for his, and let king james be as misguided as he may, i cannot stomach fighting against his father's son for myself or mine. no, no; it was the best thing there was for the lad to do. you shall hear his letter, it does him honour, and you, too, mr. fellowes. he could not have written such a letter when he left home barely a year ago." sir philip proceeded to read the letter aloud. there was a full explanation of the motives, political and private, only leaving out one, and that the most powerful of all of those which led charles archfield to absent himself for the present. he entreated pardon for having made the decision without obtaining permission from his father on returning home; but he had done so in view of possible obstacles to his leaving england again, and to the belief that a brief sojourn at home would cause more grief and perplexity than his absence. he further explained, as before, his reasons for secrecy towards his travelling companion, and entreated his father not to suppose for a moment that mr. fellowes had been in any way culpable for what he could never have suspected; warmly affectionate messages to mother and sister followed, and an assurance of feeling that 'the little one' needed for no care or affection while with them. lady archfield was greatly disappointed, and cried a great deal, making sure that the poor dear lad's heart was still too sore to brook returning after the loss of his wife, who had now become the sweetest creature in the world; but sir philip's decision that the measure was wise, and the secrecy under the circumstances so expedient as to be pardonable, prevented all public blame; mr. fellowes, however, was drawn apart, and asked whether he suspected any other motive than was here declared, and which might make his pupil unwilling to face the parental brow, and he had declared that nothing could have been more exemplary than the whole demeanour of the youth, who had at first gone about as one crushed, and though slowly reviving into cheerfulness, had always been subdued, until quite recently, when the meeting with his old companion had certainly much enlivened his spirits. poor mr. fellowes had been rejoicing in the excellent character he should have to give, when this evasion had so utterly disconcerted him, and it was an infinite relief to him to find that all was thought comprehensible and pardonable. anne might be thankful that none of the authorities thought of asking her the question about hidden motives; and naomi, looking about with her bright eyes, thought she had perhaps judged too hardly when she saw the father's approval, and that the mother and sister only mourned at the disappointment at not seeing the beloved one. the archfields would not hear of letting any of the party go on to portchester that evening. dr. woodford, who had ridden over for consultation with sir philip, must remain, he would have plenty of time for his niece by and by, and she and miss darpent must tell them all about the journey, and about charles; and anne must tell them hundreds of things about herself that they scarcely knew, for not one letter from st. germain had ever reached her uncle. how natural it all looked! the parlour just as when she saw it last, and the hall, with the long table being laid for supper, and the hot sun streaming in through the heavy casements. she could have fancied it yesterday that she had left it, save for the plump rosy little yearling with flaxen curls peeping out under his round white cap, who had let her hold him in her arms and fondle him all through that reading of his father's letter. charles's child! he was her prince indeed now. he was taken from her and delivered over to lady archfield to be caressed and pitied because his father would not come home 'to see his grand-dame's own beauty,' while lucy took the guests upstairs to prepare for supper, naomi and her maid being bestowed in the best guest-chamber, and lucy taking her friend to her own, the scene of many a confabulation of old. "oh, how i love it!" cried anne, as the door opened on the well- known little wainscotted abode. "the very same beau-pot. one would think they were the same clove gillyflowers as when i went away." "o anne, dear, and you are just the same after all your kings and queens, and all you have gone through;" and the two friends were locked in another embrace. "kings and queens indeed! none of them all are worth my lucy." "and now, tell me all; tell me all, nancy, and first of all about my brother. how does he look, and is he well?" "he looks! o lucy, he is grown such a noble cavalier; most like the picture of that uncle of yours who was killed, and that sir philip always grieves for." "my father always hoped charley would be like him," said lucy. "you must tell him that. but i fear he may be grave and sad." "graver, but not sad now." "and you have seen him and talked to him, anne? did you know he was going on this terrible enterprise?" "he spoke of it, but never told me when." "ah! i was sure you knew more about it than the old tutor man. you always were his little sweetheart before poor little madam came in the way, and he would tell you anything near his heart. could you not have stopped him?" "i think not, lucy; he gave his reasons like a man of weight and thought, and you see his honour thinks them sound ones." "oh yes; but somehow i cannot fancy our charley doing anything for grand, sound, musty reasons, such as look well marshalled out in a letter." "you don't know how much older he is grown," said anne, again, with the tell-tale colour in her cheeks. "besides, he cannot bear to come home." "don't tell me that, nan. my mother does not see it; but though he was fond of poor little madam in a way, and tried to think himself more so, as in duty bound, she really was fretting and wearing the very life--no, perhaps not the life, but the temper--out of him. what i believe it to be the cause is, that my father must have been writing to him about that young gentlewoman in the island that he is so set upon, because she would bring a landed estate which would give charles something to do. they say that peregrine oakshott ran away to escape wedding his cousin; charley will banish himself for the like cause." "he said nothing of it," said anne. "o anne, i wish you had a landed estate! you would make him happier than any other, and would love his poor little phil! anne! is it so? i have guessed!" and lucy kissed her on each cheek. "indeed, indeed i have not promised. i know it can never, never be-- and that i am not fit for him. do not speak of it, lucy? he spoke of it once as we rode together--" "and you could not be so false as to tell him you did not love him? no, you could not?" and lucy kissed her again. "no," faltered anne; "but i would not do as he wished. i have given him no troth-plight. i told him it would never be permitted. and he said no more, but he put this ring on my finger in the boat without a word. i ought not to wear it; i shall not." "oh yes, you shall. indeed you shall. no one need understand it but myself, and it makes us sisters. yes, anne, charley was right. my father will not consent now, but he will in due time, if he does not hear of it till he wearies to see charles again. trust it to me, my sweet sister that is to be." "it is a great comfort that you know," said anne, almost moved to tell her the greater and more perilous secret that lay in the background, but withheld by receiving lucy's own confidence that she herself was at present tormented by her cousin sedley's courtship. he was still, more's the pity, she said, in garrison at portsmouth, but there were hopes of his regiment being ere long sent to the low countries, since it was believed to be more than half inclined to king james. in the meantime he certainly had designs on lucy's portion, and as her father never believed half the stories of his debaucheries that were rife, and had a kindness for his only brother's orphan, she did not feel secure against his yielding so as to provide for sedley without continuance in the dutch service. "i could almost follow the example of running away!" said lucy. "i suppose," anne ventured to say, faltering, "that nothing has been heard of poor mr. oakshott." "nothing at all. his uncle's people, who have come home from muscovy, know nothing of him, and it is thought he may have gone off to the plantations. the talk is that mistress martha is to be handed on to the third brother, but that she is not willing." it was clear that there could have been no spectres here, and lucy went on, "but you have told me nothing yet of yourself and your doings, my anne. how well you look, and more than ever the court lady, even in your old travelling habit. is that the watch the king gave you?" in private and in public there was quite enough to tell on that evening for intimate friends who had not met for a year, and one of whom had gone through so many vicissitudes. nor were the other two guests by any means left out of the welcome, and the evening was a very happy one. mr. fellowes intimated his intention of going himself to walwyn with the news of miss darpent's arrival, and naomi accepted the invitation to remain at portchester till she could be sent for from home. it was not till the next morning that anne woodford could be alone with her uncle. as she came downstairs in the morning she saw him waiting for her; he held out his hands, and drew her out with him into the walled garden that lay behind the house. "child! dear child!" said he, "you are welcome to my old eyes. may god bless you, as he has aided you to be faithful alike to him and to your king through much trial." "ah, sir! i have sorely repented the folly and ambition that would not heed your counsel." "no doubt, my maid; but the spirit of humility and repentance hath worked well in you. i fear me, however, that you are come back to further trials, since probably portchester may be no longer our home." "nor winchester?" "nor winchester." "then is this new king going to persecute as in the old times you talk of? he who was brought over to save the church!" "he accepts the english church, my maid, so far as it accepts him. all beneficed clergy are required to take the oath of allegiance to him before the first of august, now approaching, under pain of losing their preferments. many of my brethren, even our own bishop and dean, think this merely submission to the powers that be, and that it may be lawfully done; but as i hear neither the archbishop himself, nor my good old friends doctors ken and frampton can reconcile it to their conscience, any more than my brother stanbury, of botley, nor i, to take this fresh oath, while the king to whom we have sworn is living. some hold that he has virtually renounced our allegiance by his flight. i cannot see it, while he is fighting for his crown in ireland. what say you, anne, who have seen him; did he treat his case as that of an abdicated prince?" "no, sir, certainly not. all the talk was of his enjoying his own again." "how can i then, consistently with my duty and loyalty, swear to this william and mary as my lawful sovereigns? i say not 'tis incumbent on me to refuse to live under them a peaceful life, but make oath to them as my king and queen i cannot, so long as king james shall live. true, he has not been a friend to the church, and has wofully trampled on the rights of englishmen, but i cannot hold that this absolves me from my duty to him, any more than david was freed from duty to saul. so, anne, back must we go to the poverty in which i was reared with your own good father." anne might grieve, but she felt the gratification of being talked to by her uncle as a woman who could understand, as he had talked to her mother. "the first of august!" she repeated, as if it were a note of doom. "yes; i hear whispers of a further time of grace, but i know not what difference that should make. a christian man's oath may not be broken sooner or later. well, poverty is the state blessed by our lord, and it may be that i have lived too much at mine ease; but i could wish, dear child, that you were safely bestowed in a house of your own." "so do not i," said anne, "for now i can work for you." he smiled faintly, and here mr. fellowes joined them; a good man likewise, but intent on demonstrating the other side of the question, and believing that the popish, persecuting king had forfeited his rights, so that there need be no scruple as to renouncing what he had thrown up by his flight. it was an endless argument, in which each man could only act according to his own conscience, and endeavour that this conscience should be as little biassed as possible by worldly motives or animosity. mr. fellowes started at once with his servant for walwyn, and naomi accompanied the two woodfords to portchester. in spite of the cavalier sentiments of her family, naomi had too much of the spire of her frondeur father to understand any feeling for duty towards the king, who had so decidedly broken his covenant with his people, and moreover had so abominably treated the fellows of magdalen college; and her pity for anne as a sufferer for her uncle's whim quite angered her friend into hot defence of him and his cause. the dear old parsonage garden under the gray walls, the honeysuckle and monthly roses trailing over the porch, the lake-like creek between it and green portsdown hill, the huge massive keep and towers, and the masts in the harbour, the island hills sleeping in blue summer haze--anne's heart clave to them more than ever for the knowledge that the time was short and that the fair spot must be given up for the right's sake. certainly there was some trepidation at the thought of the vault, and she had made many vague schemes for ascertaining that which her very flesh trembled at the thought of any one suspecting; but these were all frustrated, for since the war with france had begun, the bailey had been put under repair and garrisoned by a detachment of soldiers, the vault had been covered in, there was a sentry at the gateway of the castle, and the postern door towards the vicarage was fastened up, so that though the parish still repaired to church through the wide court solitary wanderings there were no longer possible, nor indeed safe for a young woman, considering what the soldiery of that period were. the thought came over her with a shudder as she gazed from her window at the creek where she remembered peregrine sending charles and sedley adrift in the boat. the tide was out, the mud glistened in the moonlight, but nothing was to be seen more than anne had beheld on many a summer night before, no phantom was evoked before her eyes, no elfin-like form revealed his presence, nor did any spirit take shape to upbraid her with his unhallowed grave, so close at hand. no, but naomi darpent, yearning for sympathy, came to her side, caressed her on that summer night, and told her that mr. fellowes had gone to ask her of her father, and though she could never love again as she had once loved, she thought if her parents wished it, she could be happy with so good a man. chapter xxiv: in the moonlight i have had a dream this evening, while the white and gold were fleeting, but i need not, need not tell it. where would be the good? requiescat in pace.--jean ingelow. anne woodford sat, on a sultry summer night, by the open window in archfield house at fareham, busily engaged over the tail of a kite, while asleep in a cradle in the corner of the room lay a little boy, his apple-blossom cheeks and long flaxen curls lying prone upon his pillow as he had tossed when falling asleep in the heat. the six years since her return had been eventful. dr. woodford had adhered to his view that his oath of allegiance could not be forfeited by james's flight; and he therefore had submitted to be ousted from his preferments, resigning his pleasant prebendal house, and his sea-side home, and embracing poverty for his personal oath's sake, although he was willing to acquiesce in the government of william and mary, and perhaps to rejoice that others had effected what he would not have thought it right to do. things had been softened to him as regarded his flock by the appointment of mr. fellowes to portchester, which was a crown living, though there had been great demur at thus slipping into a friend's shoes, so that dr. woodford had been obliged to asseverate that nothing so much comforted him as leaving the parish in such hands, and that he blamed no man for seeing the question of divine right as he did in common with the non-jurors. the appointment opened the way to the marriage with naomi darpent, and the pair were happily settled at portchester. dr. woodford and his niece found a tiny house at winchester, near the wharf, with the clear itchen flowing in front and the green hills rising beyond, while in the rear were the ruins of wolvesey, and the buildings of the cathedral and college. they retained no servant except black hans, poor peregrine's legacy, who was an excellent cook, and capable of all that anne could not accomplish in her hours of freedom. it was a fall indeed from her ancient aspirations, though there was still that bud of hope within her heart. the united means of uncle and niece were so scanty that she was fain to offer her services daily at mesdames reynaud's still flourishing school, where the freshness of her continental experiences made her very welcome. dr. woodford occasionally assisted some student preparing for the university, but this was not regular occupation, and it was poorly paid, so that it was well that fifty pounds a year went at least three times as far as it would do in the present day. though his gown and cassock lost their richness and lustre, he was as much respected as ever. bishop mews often asked him to wolvesey, and allowed him to assist the parochial clergy when it was not necessary to utter the royal name, the vergers marshalled him to his own stall at daily prayers, and he had free access to bishop morley's cathedral library. the archfield family still took a house in the close for the winter months, and there a very sober-minded and conventional courtship of lucy took place by sir edmund nutley, a worthy and well-to-do gentleman settled on the borders of parkhurst forest, in the isle of wight. anne, with the thought of her charles burning within her heart, was a little scandalised at the course of affairs. sir edmund was a highly worthy man, but not in his first youth, and ponderous--a whig, moreover, and an intimate friend of the masterful governor of the island, lord cutts, called the "salamander." he had seen miss archfield before at the winter and spring quarter sessions, and though her father was no longer in the commission of the peace, the residence at winchester gave him opportunities, and the chief obstacle seemed to be the party question. he was more in love than was the lady, but she was submissive, and believed that he would be a kind husband. she saw, too, that her parents would be much disappointed and displeased if she made any resistance to so prosperous a settlement, and she was positively glad to be out of reach of sedley's addresses. such an entirely unenthusiastic acceptance was the proper thing, and it only remained to provide for lady archfield's comfort in the loss of her daughter. for this the elders turned at once to anne woodford. sir philip made it his urgent entreaty that the doctor and his niece would take up their abode with him, and that anne would share with the grandmother the care of the young philip, a spirited little fellow who would soon be running wild with the grooms, without the attention that his aunt had bestowed on him. dr. woodford himself was much inclined to accept the office of chaplain to his old friend, who he knew would be far happier for his company; and anne's heart bounded at the thought of bringing up charles's child, but that very start of joy made her blush and hesitate, and finally surprise the two old gentlemen by saying, with crimson cheeks-- "sir, your honour ought to know what might make you change your mind. there have been passages between mr. archfield and me." sir philip laughed. "ah, the rogue! you were always little sweethearts as children. why, anne, you should know better than to heed what a young soldier says." "no doubt you have other views for your son," said dr. woodford, "and i trust that my niece has too much discretion and sense of propriety to think that they can be interfered with on her account." "passages!" repeated sir philip thoughtfully. "mistress anne, how much do you mean by that? surely there is no promise between you?" "no, sir," said anne; "i would not give any; but when we parted in flanders he asked me to--to wait for him, and i feel that you ought to know it." "oh, i understand!" said the baronet. "it was only natural to an old friend in a foreign land, and you have too much sense to dwell on a young man's folly, though it was an honourable scruple that made you tell me, my dear maid. but he is not come or coming yet, more's the pity, so there is no need to think about it at present." anne's cheeks did not look as if she had attained that wisdom; but her conscience was clear, since she had told the fact, and the father did not choose to take it seriously. to say how she herself loved charles would have been undignified and nothing to the purpose, since her feelings were not what would be regarded, and there was no need to mention her full and entire purpose to wed no one else. time enough for that if the proposal were made. so the uncle and niece entered on their new life, with some loss of independence, and to the doctor a greater loss in the neighbourhood of the cathedral and its library; for after the first year or two, as lady archfield grew rheumatic, and sir philip had his old friend to play backgammon and read the weekly gazette, they became unwilling to make the move to winchester, and generally stayed at home all the winter. before this, however, princess anne had been at the king's house at winchester for a short time; and lady archfield paid due respects to her, with anne in attendance. with the royal faculty of remembering everybody, the princess recognised her namesake, gave her hand to be kissed, and was extremely gracious. she was at the moment in the height of a quarrel with her sister, and far from delighted with the present regime. she sent for miss woodford, and, to anne's surprise, laughed over her own escape from the cockpit, adding, "you would not come, child. you were in the right on't. there's no gratitude among them! had i known how i should be served i would never have stirred a foot! so 'twas you that carried off the child! tell me what he is like." and she extracted by questions all that anne could tell her of the life at st. germain, and the appearance of her little half-brother. it was impossible to tell whether she asked from affectionate remorse or gossiping interest, but she ended by inquiring whether her father's god-daughter were content with her position, or desired one--if there were a vacancy--in her own household, where she might get a good husband. anne declined courteously and respectfully, and was forced to hint at an engagement which she could not divulge. she had heard charles's expressions of delight at the arrangement which gave his boy to her tender care, warming her heart. lady archfield had fits of talking of finding a good husband for anne woodford among the cathedral clergy, but the maiden was so necessary to her, and so entirely a mother to little philip, that she soon let the idea drop. perhaps it was periodically revived, when, about three times a year, there arrived a letter from charles. he wrote in good spirits, evidently enjoying his campaigns, and with no lack of pleasant companions, english, scotch, and irish jacobites, with whom he lived in warm friendship and wholesome emulation. he won promotion, and the county member actually came out of his way to tell sir philip what he had heard from the imperial ambassador of young archfield's distinguished services at the battle of salankamen, only regretting that he was not fighting under king william's colours. little philip pranced about cutting off turks' heads in the form of poppies, 'like papa,' for whose safety anne taught him to pray night and morning. pride in his son's exploits was a compensation to the father, who declared them to be better than vegetating over the sheepfolds, like robert oakshott, or than idling at portsmouth, like sedley archfield. that young man's regiment had been ordered to ireland during the campaign that followed the battle of boyne water. he had suddenly returned from thence, cashiered: by his own story, the victim of the enmity of the dutch general ginkel; according to another version, on account of brutal excesses towards the natives and insolence to his commanding officer. courts-martial had only just been introduced, and sir philip could believe in a whig invention doing injustice to a member of a loyal family, so that his doors were open to his nephew, and sedley haunted them whenever he had no other resource; but he spent most of his time between newmarket and other sporting centres, and contrived to get a sort of maintenance by bets at races, cock-fights, and bull-baitings, and by extensive gambling. evil reports of him came from time to time, but sir philip was loth to think ill of the son of his brother, or to forbode that as his grandson grew older, such influence might be dangerous. in his uncle's presence sedley was on his good behaviour; but if he caught miss woodford without that protection, he attempted rude compliments, and when repelled by her dignified look and manner, sneered at the airs of my lady's waiting-woman, and demanded how long she meant to mope after charley, who would never look so low. "she need not be so ungracious to a poor soldier. she might have to put up with worse." moreover, he deliberately incited philip to mischief, putting foul words into the little mouth, and likewise giving forbidden food and drink, lauding evil sports, and mocking at obedience to any authority, especially miss woodford's. philip was very fond of his nana, and in general good and obedient; but what high-spirited boy is proof against the allurements of the only example before him of young manhood, assuring him that it was manly not to mind what the women said, nor to be tied to the apron-strings of his grand-dame's abigail? the child had this summer thus been actually taken to the outskirts of a bull-fight, whence he had been brought home in great disgrace by ralph, the old servant who had been charged to look after his out-door amusements, and to ride with him. the grandfather was indeed more shocked at the danger and the vulgarity of the sport than its cruelty, but philip had received his first flogging, and his cousin had been so sharply rebuked that--to the great relief of anne and of lady archfield--he had not since appeared at fareham house. the morrow would be philip's seventh birthday, a stage which would take him farther out of anne's power. he was no longer to sleep in her chamber, but in one of his own with ralph for his protector, and he was to begin latin with dr. woodford. so great was his delight that he had gone to bed all the sooner in order to bring the great day more quickly, and anne was glad of the opportunity of finishing the kite, which was to be her present, for ralph to help him fly upon portsdown hill. that great anniversary, so delightful to him, with pony and whip prepared for him--what a day of confusion, distress, and wretchedness did it not recall to his elders? anne could not choose but recall the time, as she sat alone in the window, looking out over the garden, the moon beginning to rise, and the sunset light still colouring the sky in the north-west, just as it had done when she returned home after the bonfire. the events of that sad morning had faded out of the foreground. the oakshott family seemed to have resigned themselves to the mystery of peregrine's fate. only his mother had declined from the time of his disappearance. when it was ascertained that his uncle had died in russia, and that nothing had been heard of him there, it seemed to bring on a fresh stage of her illness, and she had expired at last in martha browning's arms, her last words being a blessing not only to robert, but to peregrine, and a broken entreaty to her husband to forgive the boy, for he might have been better if they had used him well. martha was then found to hold out against the idea of his being dead. little affection and scant civility as she had received from him, her dutiful heart had attached itself to her destined lord, and no doubt her imagination had been excited by his curious abilities, and her compassion by the persecution he suffered at home. at any rate, when, after a proper interval, the major tried to transfer her to his remaining son, she held out against it for a long interval, until at last, after full three years, the desolation and disorganisation of oakwood without a mistress, a severe illness of the major, and the distress of his son, so worked upon her feelings that she consented to the marriage with robert, and had ever since been the ruling spirit at oakwood, and a very different one from what had been expected--sensible, kindly, and beneficent, and allowing the young husband more liberty and indulgence than he had ever known before. the remembrance of peregrine seemed to have entirely passed away, and anne had been troubled with no more apparitions, so that though she thought over the strange scene of that terrible morning, the rapid combat, the hasty concealment, the distracted face of the unhappy youth, it was with the thought that time had been a healer, and that charles might surely now return home. and what then? she raised her eyes to the open window, and what did she behold in the moonlight streaming full upon the great tree rose below? it was the same face and figure that had three times startled her before, the figure dark and the face very white in the moonlight, but like nothing else, and with that odd, one-sided feather as of old. it had flitted ere she could point its place--gone in a single flash-- but she was greatly startled! had it come to protest against the scheme she had begun to indulge in on that very night of all nights, or had it merely been her imagination? for nothing was visible, though she leant from the window, no sound was to be heard, though when she tried to complete her work, her hands trembled and the paper rustled, so that philip showed symptoms of wakening, and she had to defer her task till early morning. she said nothing of her strange sight, and phil had a happy successful birthday, flying the kite with a propitious wind, and riding into portsmouth on his new pony with grandpapa. but there was one strange event. the servants had a holiday, and some of them went into portsmouth, black hans, who never returned, being one. the others had lost sight of him, but had not been uneasy, knowing him to be perfectly well able to find his way home; but as he never appeared, the conclusion was that he must have been kidnapped by some ship's crew to serve as a cook. he had not been very happy among the servants at fareham, who laughed at his black face and dutch english, and he would probably have gone willingly with dutchmen; but anne and her uncle were grieved, and felt as if they had failed in the trust that poor sir peregrine had left them. chapter xxv: tidings from the iron gates "he has more cause to be proud. where is he wounded?" coriolanus. it was a wet autumn day, when the yellow leaves of the poplars in front of the house were floating down amid the misty rain; dr. woodford had gone two days before to consult a book in the cathedral library, and was probably detained at winchester by the weather; lady archfield was confined to her bed by a sharp attack of rheumatism. sir philip was taking his after-dinner doze in his arm- chair; and little philip was standing by anne, who was doing her best to keep him from awakening his grandfather, as she partly read, partly romanced, over the high-crowned hatted fishermen in the illustrations to izaak walton's complete angler. he had just, caught by the musical sound, made her read to him a second time marlowe's verses, 'come live with me and be my love,' and informed her that his nana was his love, and that she was to watch him fish in the summer rivers, when the servant who had been sent to meet his majesty's mail and extract the weekly gazette came in, bringing not only that, but a thick, sealed packet, the aspect of which made the boy dance and exclaim, "a packet from my papa! oh! will he have written an answer to my own letter to him?" but sir philip, who had started up at the opening of the door, had no sooner glanced at the packet than he cried out, "'tis not his hand!" and when he tried to break the heavy seals and loosen the string, his hands shook so much that he pushed it over to anne, saying, "you open it; tell me if my boy is dead." anne's alarm took the course of speed. she tore off the wrapper, and after one glance said, "no, no, it cannot be the worst; here is something from himself at the end. here, sir." "i cannot! i cannot," said the poor old man, as the tears dimmed his spectacles, and he could not adjust them. "read it, my dear wench, and let me know what i am to tell his poor mother." and he sank into a chair, holding between his knees his little grandson, who stood gazing with widely-opened blue eyes. "he sends love, duty, blessing. oh, he talks of coming home, so do not fear, sir!" cried anne, a vivid colour on her cheeks. "but what is it?" asked the father. "tell me first--the rest after." "it is in the side--the left side," said anne, gathering up in her agitation the sense of the crabbed writing as best she could. "they have not extracted the bullet, but when they have, he will do well." "god grant it! who writes?" "norman graham of glendhu--captain in his k. k. regiment of volunteer dragoons. that's his great friend! oh, sir, he has behaved so gallantly! he got his wound in saving the colours from the turks, and kept his hands clutched over them as his men carried him out of the battle." philip gave another little spring, and his grandfather bade anne read the letter to him in detail. it told how the imperial forces had met a far superior number of turks at lippa, and had sustained a terrible defeat, with the loss of their general veterani, how captain archfield had received a scimitar wound in the cheek while trying to save his commander, but had afterwards dashed forward among the enemy, recovered the colours of the regiment, and by a desperate charge of his fellow-soldiers, who were devotedly attached to him, had been borne off the field with a severe wound on the left side. retreat had been immediately necessary, and he had been taken on an ammunition waggon along rough roads to the fortress called the iron gates of transylvania, whence this letter was written, and sent by the messenger who was to summon the elector of saxony to the aid of the remnant of the army. it had not yet been possible to probe the wound, but charles gave a personal message, begging his parents not to despond but to believe him recovering, so long as they did not see his servant return without him, and he added sundry tender and dutiful messages to his parents, and a blessing to his son, with thanks for the pretty letter he had not been able to answer (but which, his friend said, was lying spread on his pillow, not unstained with blood), and he also told his boy always to love and look up to her who had ever been as a mother to him. anne could hardly read this, and the scrap in feeble irregular lines she handed to sir philip. it was-- with all my heart i entreat pardon for all the errors that have grieved you. i leave you my child to comfort you, and mine own true love, whom yon will cherish. she will cherish you as a daughter, as she will be, with your consent, if god spares me to come home. the love of all my soul to her, my mother, sister, and you." there was a scrawl for conclusion and signature, and captain graham added-- writing and dictating have greatly exhausted him. he would have said more, but he says the lady can explain much, and he repeats his urgent entreaties that you will take her to your heart as a daughter, and that his son will love and honour her. there was a final postscript-- the surgeon thinks him better for having disburthened his mind. "my child," said sir philip, with a long sigh, looking up at anne, who had gathered the boy into her arms, and was hiding her face against his little awe-struck head, "my child, have you read?" "no," faltered anne. "read then." and as she would have taken it, he suddenly drew her into his embrace and kissed her as the eyes of both overflowed. "my poor girl!" he said, "this is as hard to you as to us! oh, my brave boy!" and he let her lay her head on his shoulder and held her hand as they wept together, while little phil stared for a moment or two at so strange a sight and then burst out with a great cry-- "you shall not cry! you shall not! my papa is not dead!" and he stamped his little foot. "no, he isn't. he will get well; the letter said so, and i will go and tell grandmamma." the need of stopping this roused them both; sir philip, heavily groaning, went away to break the tidings to his wife, and anne went down on her knees on the hearth to caress the boy, and help him to understand his father's state and realise the valorous deeds that would always be a crown to him, and which already made the little fellow's eye flash and his fair head go higher. by and by she was sent for to lady archfield's room, and there she had again to share the grief and the fears and try to dwell on the glory and the hopes. when in a calmer moment the parents interrogated her on what had passed with charles, it was not in the spirit of doubt and censure, but rather as dwelling on all that was to be told of one whom alike they loved, and finally sir philip said, "i see, dear child, i would not believe how far it had gone before, though you tried to tell me. whatever betide, you have won a daughter's place." it was true that naturally a far more distinguished match would have been sought for the heir, and he could hardly have carried out his purpose without more opposition than under their present feelings, his parents supposed themselves likely to make, but they really loved anne enough to have yielded at last; and lady nutley, coming home with a fuller knowledge of her brother's heart, prevented any reaction, and anne was allowed full sympathies as a betrothed maiden, in the wearing anxiety that continued in the absence of all intelligence. on the principle of doing everything to please him, she was even encouraged to write to charles in the packet in which he was almost implored to recover, though all felt doubts whether he were alive even while the letters were in hand, and this doubt lasted long and long. it was all very well to say that as long as the servant did not return his master must be safe--perhaps himself on the way home; but the journey from transylvania was so long, and there were so many difficulties in the way of an englishman, that there was little security in this assurance. and so the winter set in while the suspense lasted; and still dr. woodford spoke charles's name in the intercessions in the panelled household chapel, and his mother and anne prayed together and separately, and his little son morning and evening entreated god to "bless papa, and make him well, and bring him home." thus passed more than six weeks, during which sir philip's attention was somewhat diverted from domestic anxieties by an uninvited visit to portchester from mr. charnock, who had once been a college mate of mr. fellowes, and came professing anxiety, after all these years, to renew the friendship which had been broken when they took different sides on the election of dr. hough to the presidency of magdalen college. from his quarters at the rectory mr. charnock had gone over to fareham, and sounded sir philip on the practicability of a jacobite rising, and whether he and his people would join it. the old gentleman was much distressed, his age would not permit him to exert himself in either cause, and he had been too much disturbed by james's proceedings to feel desirous of his restoration, though his loyal heart would not permit of his opposing it, and he had never overtly acknowledged william of orange as his sovereign. he could only reply that in the present state of his family he neither could nor would undertake anything, and he urgently pleaded against any insurrection that could occasion a civil war. there was reason to think that sedley had no hesitation in promising to use all his influence over his uncle's tenants, and considerably magnifying their extremely small regard to him--nay, probably, dwelling on his own expectations. at any rate, even when charnock was gone, sedley continued to talk big of the coming changes and his own distinguished part in them. indeed one very trying effect of the continued alarm about charles was that he took to haunting the place, and report declared that he had talked loudly and coarsely of his cousin's death and his uncle's dotage, and of his soon being called in to manage the property for the little heir--insomuch that sir edmund nutley thought it expedient to let him know that charles, on going on active service soon after he had come of age, had sent home a will, making his son, who was a young gentleman of very considerable property on his mother's side, ward to his grandfather first, and then to sir edmund nutley himself and to dr. woodford. chapter xxvi: the legend of penny grim "o dearest marjorie, stay at hame, for dark's the gate ye have to go, for there's a maike down yonder glen hath frightened me and many me." hogg. "nana," said little philip in a meditative voice, as he looked into the glowing embers of the hall fire, "when do fairies leave off stealing little boys?" "i do not believe they ever steal them, phil." "oh, yes they do;" and he came and stood by her with his great limpid blue eyes wide open. "goody dearlove says they stole a little boy, and his name was penny grim." "goody dearlove is a silly old body to tell my boy such stories," said anne, disguising how much she was startled. "oh, but ralph huntsman says 'tis true, and he knew him." "how could he know him when he was stolen?" "they put another instead," said the boy, a little puzzled, but too young to make his story consistent. "and he was an elf--a cross spiteful elf, that was always vexing folk. and they stole him again every seven years. yes--that was it--they stole him every seven years." "whom, phil; i don't understand--the boy or the elf?" she said, half-diverted, even while shocked at the old story coming up in such a form. "the elf, i think," he said, bending his brows; "he comes back, and then they steal him again. yes; and at last they stole him quite-- quite away--but it is seven years, and goody dearlove says he is to be seen again!" "no!" exclaimed anne, with an irrepressible start of dismay. "has any one seen him, or fancied so?" she added, though feeling that her chance of maintaining her rational incredulity was gone. "goody dearlove's jenny did," was the answer. "she saw him stand out on the beach at night by moonlight, and when she screamed out, he was gone like the snuff of a candle." "saw him? what was he like?" said anne, struggling for the dispassionate tone of the governess, and recollecting that jenny dearlove was a maid at portchester rectory. "a little bit of a man, all twisty on one side, and a feather sticking out. ralph said they always were like that;" and phil's imitation, with his lithe, graceful little figure, of ralph's clumsy mimicry was sufficient to show that there was some foundation for this story, and she did not answer at once, so that he added, "i am seven, nana; do you think they will get me?" "oh no, no, phil, there's no fear at all of that. i don't believe fairies steal anybody, but even old women like goody dearlove only say they steal little tiny babies if they are left alone before they are christened." the boy drew a long breath, but still asked, "was penny grim a little baby?" "so they said," returned anne, by no means interfering with the name, and with a quailing heart as she thought of the child's ever knowing what concern his father had in that disappearance. she was by no means sorry to have the conversation broken off by sir philip's appearance, booted and buskined, prepared for an expedition to visit a flock of sheep and their lambs under the shelter of portsdown hill, and in a moment his little namesake was frisking round eager to go with grandpapa. "well, 'tis a brisk frost. is it too far for him, think you, mistress anne?" "oh no, sir; he is a strong little man and a walk will only be good for him, if he does not stand still too long and get chilled. run, phil, and ask nurse for your thick coat and stout shoes and leggings." "his grandmother only half trusts me with him," said sir philip, laughing. "i tell her she was not nearly so careful of his father. i remember him coming in crusted all over with ice, so that he could hardly get his clothes off, but she fancies the boy may have some of his poor mother's weakliness about him." "i see no tokens of it, sir." "grand-dames will be anxious, specially over one chick. heigho! winter travelling must be hard in germany, and posts do not come. how now, my man! are you rolled up like a very russian bear? the poor ewes will think you are come to eat up their lambs." "i'll growl at them," said master philip, uttering a sound sufficient to disturb the nerves of any sheep if he were permitted to make it, and off went grandfather and grandson together, sir philip only pausing at the door to say-- "my lady wants you, anne; she is fretting over the delay. i fear, though i tell her it bodes well." anne watched for a moment the hale old gentleman briskly walking on, the merry child frolicking hither and thither round him, and the sturdy body-servant ralph, without whom he never stirred, plodding after, while keeper, the only dog allowed to follow to the sheepfolds, marched decorously along, proud of the distinction. then she went up to lady archfield, who could not be perfectly easy as to the precious grandchild being left to his own devices in the cold, while sir philip was sure to run into a discussion with the shepherd over the turnips, which were too much of a novelty to be approved by the hampshire mind. it was quite true that she could not watch that little adventurous spirit with the same absence of anxiety as she had felt for her own son in her younger days, and anne had to devote herself to soothing and diverting her mind, till dr. woodford knocked at the door to read and converse with her. the one o'clock dinner waited for the grandfather and grandson, and when they came at last, little philip looked somewhat blue with cold and more subdued than usual, and his grandfather observed severely that he had been a naughty boy, running into dangerous places, sliding where he ought not, and then muttered under his breath that sedley ought to have known better than to have let him go there. discipline did not permit even a darling like little phil to speak at dinner-time; but he fidgeted, and the tears came into his eyes, and anne hearing a little grunt behind sir philip's chair, looked up, and was aware that old ralph was mumbling what to her ears sounded like: 'knew too well.' but his master, being slightly deaf, did not hear, and went on to talk of his lambs and of how sedley had joined them on the road, but had not come back to dinner. phil was certainly quieter than usual that afternoon, and sat at anne's feet by the fire, filling little sacks with bran to be loaded on his toy cart to go to the mill, but not chattering as usual. she thought him tired, and hearing a sort of sigh took him on her knee, when he rested his fair little head on her shoulder, and presently said in a low voice-- "i've seen him." "who? not your father? oh, my child!" cried anne, in a sudden horror. "oh no--the penny grim thing." "what? tell me, phil dear, how or where?" "by the end of the great big pond; and he threw up his arms, and made a horrid grin." the boy trembled and hid his face against her. "but go on, phil. he can't hurt you, you know. do tell me. where were you?" "i was sliding on the ice. grandpapa was ever so long talking to bill shepherd, and looking at the men cutting turnips, and i got cold and tired, and ran about with cousin sedley till we got to the big pond, and we began to slide, and the ice was so nice and hard-- you can't think. he showed me how to take a good long slide, and said i might go out to the other end of the pond by the copse, by the great old tree. and i set off, but before i got there, out it jumped, out of the copse, and waved its arms, and made _that_ face." he cowered into her bosom again and almost cried. anne knew the place, and was ready to start with dismay in her turn. it was such a pool as is frequent in chalk districts--shallow at one end, but deep and dangerous with springs at the other. "but, phil dear," she said, "it was well you were stopped; the ice most likely would have broken at that end, and then where would nana's little man have been?" "cousin sedley never told me not," said the boy in self-defence; "he was whistling to me to go on. but when i tumbled down ralph and grandpapa and all _did_ scold me so--and cousin sedley was gone. why did they scold me, nana? i thought it was brave not to mind danger--like papa." "it is brave when one can do any good by it, but not to slide on bad ice, when one must be drowned," said anne. "oh, my dear, dear little fellow, it was a blessed thing you saw _that_, whatever it was! but why do you call it pere--penny grim?" "it was, nana! it was a little man--rather. and one-sided looking, with a bit of hair sticking out, just like the picture of riquet- with-a-tuft in your french fairy-book." this last was convincing to anne that the child must have seen the phantom of seven years ago, since he was not repeating the popular description he had given her in the morning, but one quite as individual. she asked if grandpapa had seen it. "oh no; he was in the shed, and only came out when he heard ralph scolding me. was it a wicked urchin come to steal me, nana?" "no, i think not," she answered. "whatever it was, i think it came because god was taking care of his child, and warning him from sliding into the deep pool. we will thank him, phil. 'he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.'" and to that verse she soothed the tired child till he fell asleep, and she could lay him on the settle, and cover him with a cloak, musing the while on the strange story, until presently she started up and repaired to the buttery in search of the old servant. "ralph, what is this master philip tells me?" she asked. "what has he seen?" "well, mistress anne, that is what i can't tell--no, not i; but i knows this, that the child has had a narrow escape of his precious life, and i'd never trust him again with that there sedley--no, not for hundreds of pounds." "you _really_ think, ralph--?" "what can i think, ma'am? when i finds he's been a-setting that there child to slide up to where he'd be drownded as sure as he's alive, and you see, if we gets ill news of master archfield (which god forbid), there's naught but the boy atween him and this here place--and he over head and ears in debt. be it what it might that the child saw, it saved the life of him." "did you see it?" "no, mistress anne; i can't say as i did. i only heard the little master cry out as he fell. i was in the shed, you see, taking a pipe to keep me warm. and when i took him up, he cried out like one dazed. 'twas penny grim, ralph! keep me. he is come to steal me." but sir philip wouldn't hear nothing of it, only blamed master phil for being foolhardy, and for crying for the fall, and me for letting him out of sight." "and mr. sedley--did he see it?" "well, mayhap he did, for i saw him as white as a sheet and his eyes staring out of his head; but that might have been his evil conscience." "what became of him?" "to say the truth, ma'am, i believe he be at the brocas arms, a- drowning of his fright--if fright it were, with master harling's strong waters." "but this apparition, this shape--or whatever it is? what put it into master philip's head? what has been heard of it?" ralph looked unwilling. "bless you, mistress anne, there's been some idle talk among the women folk, as how that there crooked slip of major oakshott's, as they called master perry or penny, and said was a changeling, has been seen once and again. some says as the fairies have got him, and 'tis the seven year for him to come back again. and some says that he met with foul play, and 'tis the ghost of him, but i holds it all mere tales, and i be sure 'twere nothing bad as stopped little master on that there pond. so i be." anne could not but be of the same mind, but her confusion, alarm, and perplexity were great. it seemed strange, granting that this were either spirit or elf connected with peregrine oakshott, that it should interfere on behalf of charles archfield's child, and on the sweet hypothesis that a guardian angel had come to save the child, it was in a most unaccountable form. and more pressing than any such mysterious idea was the tangible horror of ralph's suggestion, too well borne out by the boy's own unconscious account of the adventure. it was too dreadful, too real a peril to be kept to herself, and she carried the story to her uncle on his return, but without speaking of the spectral warning. not only did she know that he would not attend to it, but the hint, heard for the first time, that peregrine was supposed to have met with foul play, sealed her lips, just when she still was hoping against hope that charles might be on the way home. but that ralph believed, and little philip's own account confirmed, that his cousin had incited the little heir to the slide that would have been fatal save for his fall, she told with detail, and entreated that the grandfather might be warned, and some means be found of ensuring the safety of her darling, the motherless child! to her disappointment dr. woodford was not willing to take alarm. he did not think so ill of sedley as to believe him capable of such a secret act of murder, and he had no great faith in ralph's sagacity, besides that he thought his niece's nerves too much strained by the long suspense to be able to judge fairly. he thought it would be cruel to the grandparents, and unjust to sedley, to make such a frightful suggestion without further grounds during their present state of anxiety, and as to the boy's safety, which anne pleaded with an uncontrollable passion of tears, he believed that it was provided for by watchfulness on the part of his two constant guardians, as well as himself, since, even supposing the shocking accusation to be true, sedley would not involve himself in danger of suspicion, and it was already understood that he was not a fit companion for his little cousin to be trusted with. philip had already brought home words and asked questions that distressed his grandmother, and nobody was willing to leave him alone with the ex- lieutenant. so again the poor maiden had to hold her peace under an added burthen of anxiety and many a prayer. when the country was ringing with the tidings of sir george barclay's conspiracy for the assassination of william iii, it was impossible not to hope that sedley's boastful tongue might have brought him sufficiently under suspicion to be kept for a while under lock and key; but though he did not appear at fareham, there was reason to suppose that he was as usual haunting the taverns and cockpits of portsmouth. no one went much abroad that winter. sir philip, perhaps from anxiety and fretting, had a fit of the gout, and anne kept herself and her charge within the garden or the street of the town. in fact there was a good deal of danger on the roads. the neighbourhood of the seaport was always lawless, and had become more so since sir philip had ceased to act as justice of the peace, and there were reports of highway robberies of an audacious kind, said to be perpetrated by a band calling themselves the black gang, under a leader known as piers pigwiggin, who were alleged to be half smuggler, half jacobite, and to have their headquarters somewhere in the back of the isle of wight, in spite of the governor, the terrible salamander, lord cutts, who was, indeed, generally absent with the army. chapter xxvii: the vault "heaven awards the vengeance due." cowper. the weary days had begun to lengthen before the door of the hall was flung open, and little phil, forgetting his bow at the door, rushed in, "here's a big packet from foreign parts! harry had to pay ever so much for it." "i have wellnigh left off hoping," sighed the poor mother. "tell me the worst at once." "no fear, my lady," said her husband. "thank god! 'tis our son's hand." there was the silence for a moment of intense relief, and then the little boy was called to cut the silk and break the seals. joy ineffable! there were three letters--for master philip archfield, for mistress anne jacobina woodford, and for sir philip himself. the old gentleman glanced over it, caught the words 'better,' and 'coming home,' then failed to read through tears of joy as before through tears of sorrow, and was fain to hand the sheet to his old friend to be read aloud, while little philip, handling as a treasure the first letter he had ever received, though as yet he was unable to decipher it, stood between his grandfather's knees listening as dr. woodford read-- dear and honoured sir--i must ask your pardon for leaving you without tidings so long, but while my recovery still hung in doubt i thought it would only distress you to hear of the fluctuations that i went through, and the pain to which the surgeons put me for a long time in vain. indeed frequently i had no power either to think or speak, until at last with much difficulty, and little knowledge or volition of my own, my inestimable friend graham brought me to vienna, where i have at length been relieved from my troublesome companion, and am enjoying the utmost care and kindness from my friend's mother, a near kinswoman, as indeed he is himself, of the brave and lamented viscount dundee. my wound is healing finally, as i hope, and though i have not yet left my bed, my friends assure me that i am on the way to full and complete recovery, for which i am more thankful to the almighty than i could have been before i knew what suffering and illness meant. as soon as i can ride again, which they tell me will be in a fortnight or three weeks, i mean to set forth on my way home. i cannot describe to you how i am longing after the sight of you all, nor how home-sick i have become. i never had time for it before, but i have lain for hours bringing all your faces before me, my father's, and mother's, my sister's, and that of her whom i hope to call my own; and figuring to myself that of the little one. i have thought much over my past life, and become sensible of much that was amiss, and while earnestly entreating your forgiveness, especially for having absented myself all these years, i hope to return so as to be more of a comfort than i was in the days of my rash and inconsiderate youth. i am of course at present invalided, but i want to consult you, honoured sir, before deciding whether it be expedient for me to resign my commission. how i thank and bless you for the permission you have given me, and the love you bear to my own heart's joy, no words can tell. it shall be the study of my life to be worthy of her and of you.-- and so no more from your loving and dutiful son, charles archfield. having drunk in these words with her ears, anne left phil to have his note interpreted by his grandparents, and fled away to enjoy her own in her chamber, yet it was as short as could be and as sweet. mine own, mine own sweet anne, sweetheart of good old days, your letter gave me strength to go through with it. the doctors could not guess why i was so much better and smiled through all their torments. these are our first, i hope our last letters, for i shall soon follow them home, and mine own darling will be mine.-- thine own, c. a. she had but short time to dwell on it and kiss it, for little philip was upon her, waving his letter, which he already knew by heart; and galloping all over the house to proclaim the good news to the old servants, who came crowding into the hall, trembling with joy, to ask if there were indeed tidings of mr. archfield's return, whereupon the glad father caused his grandson to carry each a full glass of wine to drink to the health of the young master. anne had at first felt only the surpassing rapture of the restoration of charles, but there ensued another delight in the security his recovery gave to the life of his son. sedley archfield would not be likely to renew his attempt, and if only on that account the good news should be spread as widely as possible. she was the first to suggest the relief it would be to mr. fellowes, who had never divested himself of the feeling that he ought to have divined his pupil's intention. dr. woodford offered to ride to portchester with the news, and sir philip, in the gladness of his heart, proposed that anne should go with him and see her friend. shall it be told how on the way anne's mind was assailed by feminine misgivings whether three and twenty could be as fair in her soldier's eyes as seventeen had been? old maidenhood came earlier then than in these days, and anne knew that she was looked upon as an old waiting-gentlewoman or governess by the belles of winchester. her glass might tell her that her eyes were as softly brown, her hair as abundant, her cheek as clear and delicately moulded as ever, but there was no one to assure her that the early bloom had not passed away, and that she had not rather gained than lost in dignity of bearing and the stately poise of the head, which the jealous damsels called court airs. "and should he be disappointed, i shall see it in his eyes," she said to herself, "and then his promise shall not bind him, though it will break my heart, and oh! how hard to resign my phil to a strange stepmother." still her heart was lighter than for many a long year, as she cantered along in the brisk march air, while the drops left by the departing frost glistened in the sunshine, and the sea lay stretched in a delicate gray haze. the old castle rose before her in its familiar home-like massiveness as they turned towards the rectory, where in that sheltered spot the well-known clusters of crocuses were opening their golden hearts to the sunshine, and recalling the days when anne was as sunny-hearted as they, and she felt as if she could be as bright again. in mrs. fellowes's parlour they found an unexpected guest, no other than mrs. oakshott. 'gadding about' not being the fashion of the archfield household, anne had not seen the lady for several years, and was agreeably surprised by her appearance. perhaps the marks of smallpox had faded, perhaps motherhood had given expression, and what had been gaunt ungainliness in the maiden had rounded into a certain importance in the matron, nor had her dress, though quiet, any of the puritan rigid ugliness that had been complained of, and though certainly not beautiful, she was a person to inspire respect. it was explained that she was waiting for her husband, who was gone with mr. fellowes to speak to the officer in command of the soldiers at the castle. "for," said she, "i am quite convinced that there is something that ought to be brought to light, and it may be in that vault." anne's heart gave such a throb as almost choked her. dr. woodford asked what the lady meant. "well, sir, when spirits and things 'tis not well to talk of are starting up and about here, there, and everywhere, 'tis plain there must be cause for it." "i do not quite take your meaning, madam." "ah, well! you gentlemen, reverend ones especially, are the last to hear such things. there's the poor old major, he won't believe a word of it, but you know, mistress woodford. i see it in your face. have you seen anything?" "not here, not now," faltered anne. "you have, mrs. fellowes?" "i have heard of some foolish fright of the maids," said naomi, "partly their own fancy, or perhaps caught from the sentry. there is no keeping those giddy girls from running after the soldiers." perhaps naomi hoped by throwing out this hint to conduct her visitors off into the safer topic of domestic delinquencies, but mrs. oakshott was far too earnest to be thus diverted, and she exclaimed, "ah, they saw him, i'll warrant!" "him?" the doctor asked innocently. "him or his likeness," said mrs. oakshott, "my poor brother-in-law, peregrine oakshott; you remember him, sir? he always said, poor lad, that you and mrs. woodford were kinder to him than his own flesh and blood, except his uncle, sir peregrine. for my part, i never did give in to all the nonsense folk talked about his being a changeling or at best a limb of satan. he had more spirit and sense than the rest of them, and they led him the life of a dog, though they knew no better. if i had had him at emsworth, i would have shown them what he was;" and she sighed heavily. "well, i did not so much wonder when he disappeared, i made sure that he could bear it no longer and had run away. i waited as long as there was any reason, till there should be tidings of him, and only took his brother at last because i found they could not do without me at home." remarkable frankness! but it struck both the doctor and anne that if peregrine could have submitted, his life might have been freer and less unhappy than he had expected, though mrs. martha spoke the broadest hampshire. naomi asked, "then you no longer think that he ran away?" "no, madam; i am certain there was worse than that. you remember the night of the bonfire for the bishops' acquittal, miss woodford?" "indeed i do." "well, he was never seen again after that, as you know. the place was full of wild folk. there was brawling right and left." "were you there?" asked anne surprised. "yes; in my coach with my uncle and aunt that lived with me, though, except robin, none of the young sparks would come near me, except some that i knew were after my pockets," said martha, with a good- humoured laugh. "properly frightened we were too by the brawling sailors ere we got home! now, what could be more likely than that some of them got hold of poor perry? you know he always would go about with the rapier he brought from germany, with amber set in the hilt, and the mosaic snuff-box he got in italy, and what could be looked for but that the poor dear lad should be put out of the way for the sake of these gewgaws?" this supposition was gratifying to anne, but her uncle must needs ask why mrs. oakshott thought so more than before. "because," she said impressively, "there is no doubt but that he has been seen, and not in the flesh, once and again, and always about these ruins." "by whom, madam, may i ask?" "mrs. fellowes's maids, as she knows, saw him once on the beach at night, just there. the sentry, who is tom hart, from our parish, saw a shape at the opening of the old vault before the keep and challenged him, when he vanished out of sight ere there was time to present a musket. there was once more, when one moonlight night our sexton, looking out of his cottage window, saw what he declares was none other than master perry standing among the graves of our family, as if, poor youth, he were asking why he was not among them. when i heard that, i said to my husband, 'depend upon it,' says i, 'he met with his death that night, and was thrown into some hole, and that's the reason he cannot rest. if i pay a hundred pounds for it, i'll not give up till his poor corpse is found to have christian burial, and i'll begin with the old vault at portchester!' my good father, the major, would not hear of it at first, nor my husband either, but 'tis my money, and i know how to tackle robin." it was with strangely mingled feelings that anne listened. that search in the vault, inaugurated by faithful martha, was what she had always felt ought to be made, and she had even promised to attempt it if the apparitions recurred. the notion of the deed being attributed to lawless sailors and smugglers or highwaymen, who were known to swarm in the neighbourhood, seemed to remove all danger of suspicion. yet she could not divest herself of a vague sense of alarm at this stirring up of what had slept for seven years. neither she nor her uncle deemed it needful to mention the appearance seen by little philip, but to her surprise naomi slowly and hesitatingly said it was very remarkable, that her husband having occasion to be at the church at dusk one evening just after midsummer, had certainly seen a figure close to mrs. woodford's grave, and lost sight of it before he could speak of it. he thought nothing more of it till these reports began to be spread, but he had then recollected that it answered the descriptions given of the phantom. here the ladies were interrupted by the appearance of mr. fellowes and robert oakshott, now grown into a somewhat heavy but by no means foolish-looking young man. "well, madam," said he, in hampshire as broad as his wife's, "you will have your will. not that captain henslowe believes a word of your ghosts--not he; but he took fire when he heard of queer sights about the castle. he sent for the chap who stood sentry, and was downright sharp on him for not reporting what he had seen, and he is ordering out a sergeant's party to open the vault, so you may come and see, if you have any stomach for it." "i could not but come!" said madam oakshott, who certainly did not look squeamish, but who was far more in earnest than her husband, and perhaps doubted whether without her presence the quest would be thorough. anne was full of dread, and almost sick at the thought of what she might see, but she was far too anxious to stay away. mrs. fellowes made some excuse about the children for not accompanying them. it always thrilled anne to enter that old castle court, the familiar and beloved play-place of her childhood, full of memories of charles and of lucy, and containing in its wide precincts the churchyard where her mother lay. she moved along in a kind of dream, glad to be let alone, since mr. fellowes naturally attended mrs. oakshott, and robert was fully occupied in explaining to the doctor that he only gave in to this affair for the sake of pacifying madam, since women folk would have their little megrims. assuredly that tall, solid, resolute figure stalking on in front, looked as little subject to megrims as any of her sex. her determination had brought her husband thither, and her determination further carried the day, when the captain, after staring at the solid-looking turf, stamping on the one stone that was visible, and trampling down the bunch of nettles beside it, declared that the entrance had been so thoroughly stopped that it was of no use to dig farther. it was madam martha who demanded permission to offer the four soldiers a crown apiece if they opened the vault, a guinea each if they found anything. the captain could not choose but grant it, though with something of a sneer, and the work was begun. he walked up and down with robert, joining in hopes that the lady would be satisfied before dinner- time. the two clergymen likewise walked together, arguing, as was their wont, on the credibility of apparitions. the two ladies stood in almost breathless watch, as the bricks that had covered in the opening were removed, and the dark hole brought to light. contrary to expectation, when the opening had been enlarged, it was found that there were several steps of stone, and where they were broken away, there was a rude ladder. a lantern was fetched from the guard-room in the bailey, and after much shaking and trying of the ladder, one of the soldiers descended, finding the place less deep than was commonly supposed, and soon calling out that he was at the bottom. another followed him, and presently there was a shout. something was found! "a rusty old chain, no doubt," grumbled robert; but his wife shrieked. it was a sword in its sheath, the belt rotted, the clasp tarnished, but of silver. mrs. oakshott seized it at once, rubbed away the dust from the handle, and brought to light a glistening yellow piece of amber, which she mutely held up, and another touch of her handkerchief disclosed on a silver plate in the scabbard an oak- tree, the family crest, and the twisted cypher p. o. her eyes were full of tears, and she did not speak. anne, white and trembling, was forced to sink down on the stone, unnoticed by all, while robert oakshott, convinced indeed, hastily went down himself. the sword had been hidden in a sort of hollow under the remains of the broken stair. thence likewise came to light the mouldy remnant of a broad hat and the quill of its plume, and what had once been a coat, even in its present state showing that it had been soaked through and through with blood, the same stains visible on the watch and the mosaic snuff-box. that was all; there was no purse, and no other garments, though, considering the condition of the coat, they might have been entirely destroyed by the rats and mice. there was indeed a fragment of a handkerchief, with the cypher worked on it, which mrs. oakshott showed to anne with the tears in her eyes: "there! i worked that, though he never knew it. no! i know he did not like me! but i would have made him do so at last. i would have been so good to him. poor fellow, that he should have been lying there all this time!" lying there; but where, then, was he? no signs of any corpse were to be found, though one after another all the gentlemen descended to look, and mrs. oakshott was only withheld by her husband's urgent representations, and promise to superintend a diligent digging in the ground, so as to ascertain whether there had been a hasty burial there. altogether, anne was so much astonished and appalled that she could hardly restrain herself, and her mind reverted to bishop ken's theory that peregrine still lived; but this was contradicted by the appearance at douai, which did not rest on the evidence of her single perceptions. mrs. fellowes sent out an entreaty that they would come to dinner, and the gentlemen were actually base enough to wish to comply, so that the two ladies had no choice save to come with them, especially as the soldiers were unwilling to work on without their meal. neither mrs. oakshott nor anne felt as if they could swallow, and the polite pressure to eat was only preferable in anne's eyes to the conversation on the discoveries that had been made, especially the conclusion arrived at by all, that though the purse and rings had not been found, the presence of the watch and snuff-box precluded the idea of robbery. "these would be found on the body," said mr. oakshott. "i could swear to the purse. you remember, madam, your uncle bantering him about french ladies and their finery, asking whose token it was, and how black my father looked? poor perry, if my father could have had a little patience with him, he would not have gone roaming about and getting into brawls, and we need not be looking for him in yonder black pit." "you'll never find him there, master robert," spoke out the old oakwood servant, behind mrs. oakshott's chair, free and easy after the manner of the time. "and wherefore not, jonadab?" demanded his mistress, by no means surprised at the liberty. "why, ma'am, 'twas the seven years, you sees, and in course when them you wot of had power to carry him off, they could not take his sword, nor his hat, not they couldn't." "how about his purse, then?" put in dr. woodford. "i'll be bound you will find it yet, sir," responded jonadab, by no means disconcerted, "leastways unless some two-legged fairies have got it." at this some of the party found it impossible not to laugh, and this so upset poor martha's composure that she was obliged to leave the table, and anne was not sorry for the excuse of attending her, although there were stings of pain in all her rambling lamentations and conjectures. very tardily, according to the feelings of the anxious women, was the dinner finished, and their companions ready to take them out again. indeed, madam oakshott at last repaired to the dining- parlour, and roused her husband from his glass of spanish wine to renew the search. she would not listen to mrs. fellowes's advice not to go out again, and anne could not abstain either from watching for what could not be other than grievous and mournful to behold. the soldiers were called out again by their captain, and reinforced by the rectory servant and jonadab. there was an interval of anxious prowling round the opening. mr. oakshott and the captain had gone down again, and found, what the military man was anxious about, that if there were passages to the outer air, they had been well blocked up and not re-opened. meantime the digging proceeded. it was just at twilight that a voice below uttered an exclamation. then came a pause. the old sergeant's voice ordered care and a pause, somewhere below the opening with, "sir, the spades have hit upon a skull." there was a shuddering pause. all the gentlemen except dr. woodford, who feared the chill, descended again. mrs. oakshott and anne held each other's hands and trembled. by and by mr. fellowes came up first. "we have found," he said, looking pale and grave, "a skeleton. yes, a perfect skeleton, but no more--no remains except a fine dust." and robert oakshott following, awe-struck and sorrowful, added, "yes, there he is, poor perry--all that is left of him--only his bones. no, madam, we must leave him there for the present; we cannot bring it up without preparation." "you need not fear meddling curiosity, madam," said the captain. "i will post a sentry here to bar all entrance." "thanks, sir," said robert. "that will be well till i can bury the poor fellow with all due respect by my mother and oliver." "and then i trust his spirit will have rest," said martha oakshott fervently. "and now home to your father. how will he bear it, sir?" "i verily believe he will sleep the quieter for knowing for a certainty what has become of poor peregrine," said her husband. and anne felt as if half her burthen of secrecy was gone when they all parted, starting early because the black gang rendered all the roads unsafe after dark. chapter xxviii: the disclosure "he looked about as one betrayed, what hath he done, what promise made? oh! weak, weak moment, to what end can such a vain oblation tend?" wordsworth. for the most part anne was able to hold her peace and keep out of sight while dr. woodford related the strange revelations of the vault with all the circumstantiality that was desired by two old people living a secluded life and concerned about a neighbour of many years, whom they had come to esteem by force of a certain sympathy in honest opposition. the mystery occupied them entirely, for though the murder was naturally ascribed to some of the lawless coast population, the valuables remaining with the clothes made a strange feature in the case. it was known that there was to be an inquest held on the remains before their removal, and dr. woodford, both from his own interest in the question, and as family intelligencer, rode to the castle. sir philip longed to go, but it was a cold wet day, and he had threatenings of gout, so that he was persuaded to remain by the fireside. inquests were then always held where the body lay, and the court of portchester castle was no place for him on such a day. dr. woodford came home just before twilight, looking grave and troubled, and, much to anne's alarm, desired to speak to sir philip privately in the gun-room. lady archfield took alarm, and much distressed her by continually asking what could be the meaning of the interview, and making all sorts of guesses. when at last they came together into the parlour the poor lady looked so anxious and frightened that her husband went up to her and said, "do not be alarmed, sweetheart. we shall clear him; but those foolish fellows have let suspicion fall on poor sedley." nobody looked at anne, or her deadly paleness must have been remarked, and the trembling which she could hardly control by clasping her hands tightly together, keeping her feet hard on the floor, and setting her teeth. lady archfield was perhaps less fond of the scapegrace nephew than was her husband, and she felt the matter chiefly as it affected him, so that she heard with more equanimity than he had done; and as they sat round the fire in the half-light, for which anne was thankful, the doctor gave his narration in order. "i found a large company assembled in the castle court, waiting for the coroner from portsmouth, though the sentry on guard would allow no one to go down, in spite of some, even ladies, i am ashamed to say, who offered him bribes for the permission. everything, i heard, had been replaced as we found it. the poor major himself was there, looking sadly broken, and much needing the help of his son's arm. 'to think that i was blaming my poor son as a mere reprobate, and praying for his conversion,' says he, 'when he was lying here, cut off without a moment for repentance.' there was your nephew, suspecting nothing, squire brocas, mr. eyre, of botley grange, mr. biden, mr. larcom, and mr. bargus, and a good many more, besides dr. james yonge, the naval doctor, and the mayor of portsmouth, and more than i can tell you. when the coroner came, and the jury had been sworn in, they went down and viewed the spot, and all that was there. the soldiers had put candles round, and a huge place it is, all built up with large stones. then, as it was raining hard, they adjourned to the great room in the keep and took the evidence. robert oakshott identified the clothes and the watch clearly enough, and said he had no doubt that the other remains were peregrine's; but as to swearing to a brother's bones, no one could do that; and dr. yonge said in my ear that if the deceased were so small a man as folks said, the skeleton could scarce be his, for he thought it had belonged to a large-framed person. that struck no one else, for naturally it is only a chirurgeon who is used to reckon the proportion that the bones bear to the body, and i also asked him whether in seven years the other parts would be so entirely consumed, to which he answered that so much would depend on the nature of the soil that there was no telling. however, jury and coroner seemed to feel no doubt, and that old seafaring man, tom block, declared that poor master peregrine had been hand and glove with a lot of wild chaps, and that the vault had been well known to them before the gentlemen had had it blocked up. then it was asked who had seen him last, and robert oakshott spoke of having parted with him at the bonfire, and never seen him again. there, i fancy, it would have ended in a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, but robert oakshott must needs say, "i would give a hundred pounds to know who the villain was." and then who should get up but george rackstone, with "please your honour, i could tell summat." the coroner bade swear him, and he deposed to having seen master peregrine going down towards the castle somewhere about four o'clock that morning after the bonfire when he was getting up to go to his mowing. but that was not all. you remember, anne, that his father's cottage stands on the road towards portsmouth. well, he brought up the story of your running in there, frightened, the day before the bonfire, when i was praying with his sick mother, calling on me to stop a fray between peregrine and young sedley, and i had to get up and tell of sedley's rudeness to you, child." "what was that?" hastily asked lady archfield. "the old story, my lady. the young officer's swaggering attempt to kiss the girl he meets on the road. i doubt even if he knew at the moment that it was my niece. peregrine was coming by at the moment, and interfered to protect her, and swords were drawn. i could not deny it, nor that there was ill blood between the lads; and then young brocas, who was later on portsdown than we were, remembered high words, and had thought to himself that there would be a challenge. and next old goody spore recollects seeing master sedley and another soldier officer out on the portsmouth road early that morning. the hay was making in the court then, and jenny light remembered that when the haymakers came she raked up something that looked like a bloody spot, and showed it to one of the others, but they told her that most likely a rabbit or a hare had been killed there, and she had best take no heed. probably there was dread of getting into trouble about a smugglers' fray. well, every one was looking askance at master sedley by this time, and the coroner asked him if he had anything to say. he spoke out boldly enough. he owned to the dispute with peregrine oakshott, and to having parted with him that night on terms which would only admit of a challenge. he wrote a cartel that night, and sent it by his friend lieutenant ainslie, but doubting whether major oakshott might not prevent its delivery, he charged him to try to find peregrine outside the house, and arrange with him a meeting on the hill, where you know the duellists of the garrison are wont to transact such encounters. sedley himself walked out part of the way with his friend, but neither of them saw peregrine, nor heard anything of him. so he avers, but when asked for his witness to corroborate the story, he says that ainslie, i fear the only person who could have proved an alibi--if so it were--was killed at landen; but, he added, certainly with too much of his rough way, it was a mere absurdity to charge it upon him. what should a gentleman have to do with private murders and robberies? nor did he believe the bones to be perry oakshott's at all. it was all a bit of whiggish spite! he worked himself into a passion, which only added to the impression against him; and i own i cannot wonder that the verdict has sent him to winchester to take his trial. why, anne, child, how now?" "'tis a terrible story. take my essences, child," said lady archfield, tottering across, and anne, just saving herself from fainting by a long gasp at them, let herself be led from the room. the maids buzzed about her, and for some time she was sensible of nothing but a longing to get rid of them, and to be left alone to face the grievous state of things which she did not yet understand. at last, with kind good-nights from lady archfield, such as she could hardly return, she was left by herself in the darkness to recover from the stunned helpless feeling of the first moment. sedley accused! charles to be sacrificed to save his worthless cousin, the would-be murderer of his innocent child, who morally thus deserved to suffer! never, never! she could not do so. it would be treason to her benefactors, nay, absolute injustice, for charles had struck in generous defence of herself; but sedley had tried to allure the boy to his death merely for his own advantage. should she not be justified in simply keeping silence? yet there was like an arrow in her heart, the sense of guilt in so doing, guilt towards god and truth, guilt towards man and justice. she should die under the load, and it would be for charles. might it only be before he came home, then he would know that she had perished under his secret to save him. nay, but would he be thankful at being saved at the expense of his cousin's life? if he came, how should she meet him? the sense of the certain indignation of a good and noble human spirit often awakes the full perception of what an action would be in the sight of heaven, and anne began to realise the sin more than at first, and to feel the compulsion of truth. if only charles were not coming home she could write to him and warn him, but the thought that he might be already on the way had turned from joy to agony. "and to think," she said to herself, "that i was fretting as to whether he would think me pretty!" she tossed about in misery, every now and then rising on her knees to pray--at first for charles's safety--for she shrank from asking for divine protection, knowing only too well what that would be. gradually, however, a shudder came over her at the thought that if she would not commit her way unto the lord, she might indeed be the undoing of her lover, and then once more the higher sense of duty rose on her. she prayed for forgiveness for the thought, and that it might not be visited upon him; she prayed for strength to do what must be her duty, for safety for him, and comfort to his parents, and so, in passing gusts of misery and apprehension, of failing heart and recovered resolution, of anguish and of prayer, the long night at length passed, and with the first dawn she arose, shaken and weak, but resolved to act on her terrible resolution before it again failed her. sir philip was always an early riser, and she heard his foot on the stairs before seven o'clock. she came out on the staircase, which met the flight which he was descending, and tried to speak, but her lips seemed too dry to part. "child! child! you are ill," said the old gentleman, as he saw her blanched cheek; "you should be in bed this chilly morning. go back to your chamber." "no, no, sir, i cannot. pray, your honour, come here, i have something to say;" and she drew him to the open door of his justice- room, called the gun-room. "bless me," he muttered, "the wench does not mean that she has got smitten with that poor rogue my nephew!" "oh! no, no," said anne, almost ready for a hysterical laugh, yet letting the old man seat himself, and then dropping on her knees before him, for she could hardly stand, "it is worse than that, sir; i know who it was who did that thing." "well, who?" he said hastily; "why have you kept it back so long and let an innocent man get into trouble?" "o sir philip! i could not help it. forgive me;" and with clasped hands, she brought out the words, "it was your son, mr. archfield;" and then she almost collapsed again. "child! child! you are ill; you do not know what you are saying. we must have you to bed again. i will call your uncle." "ah! sir, it is only too true;" but she let him fetch her uncle, who was sure to be at his devotions in a kind of oratory on the farther side of the hall. she had not gone to him first, from the old desire to keep him clear of the knowledge, but she longed for such support as he might give her, or at least to know whether he were very angry with her. the two old men quickly came back together, and dr. woodford began, "how now, niece, are you telling us dreams?" but he broke off as he saw the sad earnest of her face. "sir, it is too true. he charged me to speak out if any one else were brought into danger." "come," said sir philip, testily; "don't crouch grovelling on the floor there. get up and let us know the meaning of this. good heavens! the lad may be here any day." anne had much rather have knelt where she was, but her uncle raised her, and placed her in a chair, saying, "try to compose yourself, and tell us what you mean, and why it has been kept back so long." "indeed he did not intend it," pleaded anne; "it was almost an accident--to protect me--peregrine was--pursuing me." "upon my word, young mistress," burst out the father, "you seem to have been setting all the young fellows together by the ears." "i doubt if she could help it," said the doctor. "she tried to be discreet, but it was the reason her mother--" "well, go on," interrupted poor sir philip, too unhappy to remember manners or listen to the defence; "what was it? when was it?" anne was allowed then to proceed. "it was the morning i went to london. i went out to gather some mouse-ear." "mouse-ear! mouse-ear!" growled he. "some one else's ear." "it was for lady oglethorpe." "it was," said her uncle, "a specific, it seems, for whooping-cough. i saw the letter, and knew--" "umph! let us hear," said sir philip, evidently with the idea of a tryst in his mind. "no wonder mischief comes of maidens running about at such hours. what next?" the poor girl struggled on: "i saw peregrine coming, and hoping he would not see me, i ran into the keep, meaning to get home by the battlements out of his sight, but when i looked down he and mr. archfield were fighting. i screamed, but i don't think they heard me, and i ran down; but i had fastened all the doors, and i was a long time getting out, and by that time mr. archfield had dragged him to the vault and thrown him in. he was like one distracted, and said it must be hidden, or it would be the death of his wife and his mother, and what could i do?" "is that all the truth?" said sir philip sternly. "what brought them there--either of them?" "mr. archfield came to bring me a pattern of sarcenet to match for poor young madam in london." no doubt sir philip recollected the petulant anger that this had been forgotten, but he was hardly appeased. "and the other fellow? why, he was brawling with my nephew sedley about you the day before!" "i do not think she was to blame there," said dr. woodford. "the unhappy youth was set against marrying mistress browning, and had talked wildly to my sister and me about wedding my niece." "but why should she run away as if he had the plague, and set the foolish lads to fight?" "sir, i must tell you," anne owned, "he had beset me, and talked so desperately that i was afraid of what he might do in that lonely place and at such an hour in the morning. i hoped he had not seen me." "umph!" said sir philip, much as if he thought a silly girl's imagination had caused all the mischief. "when did he thus speak to you, anne?" asked her uncle, not unkindly. "at the inn at portsmouth, sir," said anne. "he came while you were with mr. stanbury and the rest, and wanted me to marry him and flee to france, or i know not where, or at any rate marry him secretly so as to save him from poor mistress browning. i could not choose but fear and avoid him, but oh! i would have faced him ten times over rather than have brought this on--us all. and now what shall i do? he, mr. archfield, when i saw him in france, said as long as no one was suspected, it would only give more pain to say what i knew, but that if suspicion fell on any one--" and her voice died away. "he could not say otherwise," returned sir philip, with a groan. "and now what shall i do? what shall i do?" sighed the poor girl. "i must speak truth." "i never bade you perjure yourself," said sir philip sharply, but hiding his face in his hands, and groaning out, "oh, my son! my son!" seeing that his distress so overcame poor anne that she could scarcely contain herself, dr. woodford thought it best to take her from the room, promising to come again to her. she could do nothing but lie on her bed and weep in a quiet heart-broken way. sir philip's anger seemed to fill up the measure, by throwing the guilt back upon her and rousing a bitter sense of injustice, and then she wept again at her cruel selfishness in blaming the broken-hearted old man. she could hardly have come down to breakfast, so heavy were her limbs and so sick and faint did every movement render her, and she further bethought herself that the poor old father might not brook the sight of her under the circumstances. it was a pang to hear little philip prancing about the house, and when he had come to her to say his prayers, she sent him down with a message that she was not well enough to come downstairs, and that she wanted nothing, only to be quiet. the little fellow was very pitiful, and made her cry again by wanting to know whether she had gout like grandpapa or rheumatics like grandmamma, and then stroking her face, calling her his dear nana, and telling her of the salad in his garden that his papa was to eat the very first day he came home. by and by dr. woodford knocked at her door. he had had a long conversation with poor old sir philip, who was calmer now than under the first blow, and somewhat less inclined to anger with the girl, who might indeed be the cause, but surely the innocent cause, of all. the doctor had done his best to show that her going out had no connection with any of the youths, and he thought sir philip would believe it on quieter reflection. he had remembered too, signs of self-reproach mixed with his son's grief for his wife, and his extreme relief at the plan for going abroad, recollecting likewise that charles had strongly disliked poor peregrine, and had much resented the liking which young madam had shown for one whose attentions might have been partly intended to tease the young husband. "of course," said dr. woodford, "the unhappy deed was no more than an unfortunate accident, and if all had been known at first, probably it would so have been treated. the concealment was an error, but it is impossible to blame either of you for it." "oh never mind that, dear uncle! only tell me! must he--must charles suffer to save that man? you know what he is, real murderer in heart! oh i know. the right must be done! but it is dreadful!" "the right must be done and the truth spoken at all costs. no one knows that better than our good old patron," said the doctor; "but, my dear child, you are not called on to denounce this young man as you seem to imagine, unless there should be no other means of saving his cousin, or unless you are so questioned that you cannot help replying for truth's sake. knowing nothing of all this, it struck others besides myself at the inquest that the evidence against sedley was utterly insufficient for a conviction, and if he should be acquitted, matters will only be as they were before." "then you think i am not bound to speak--the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth," she murmured in exceeding grief, yet firmly. "you certainly may, nay, _must_ keep your former silence till the trial, at the lent assizes. i trust you may not be called on as a witness to the fray with sedley, but that i may be sufficient testimony to that. i could testify to nothing else. remember, if you are called, you have only to answer what you are asked, nor is it likely, unless sedley have any suspicion of the truth, that you will be asked any question that will implicate mr. archfield. if so, god give you strength my poor child, to be true to him. but the point of the trial is to prove sedley guilty or not guilty; and if the latter, there is no more to be said. god grant it." "but he--mr. archfield?" "his father is already taking measures to send to all the ports to stop him on his way till the trial is over. thus there will be no actual danger, though it is a sore disappointment, and these wicked attempts of charnock and barclay put us in bad odour, so that it may be less easy to procure a pardon than it once would have been. so, my dear child, i do not think you need be in terror for his life, even if you are obliged to speak out plainly." and then the good old man knelt with anne to pray for pardon, direction, and firmness, and protection for charles. she made an entreaty after they rose that her uncle would take her away--her presence must be so painful to their kind hosts. he agreed with her, and made the proposition, but sir philip would not hear of it. perhaps he was afraid of any change bringing suspicion of the facts, and he might have his fears of anne being questioned into dangerous admissions, besides which, he hoped to keep his poor old wife in ignorance to the last. so anne was to remain at fareham, and after that one day's seclusion she gathered strength to be with the family as usual. poor old sir philip treated her with a studied but icy courtesy which cut her to the heart; but lady archfield's hopes of seeing her son were almost worse, together with her regrets at her husband's dejection at the situation of his nephew and the family disgrace. as to little philip, his curious inquiries about cousin sedley being in jail for murdering penny grim had to be summarily hushed by the assurance that such things were not to be spoken about. but why did nana cry when he talked of papa's coming home? all the neighbourhood was invited to the funeral in havant churchyard, the burial-place of the oakshotts. major oakshott himself wrote to dr. woodford, as having been one of the kindest friends of his poor son, adding that he could not ask sir philip archfield, although he knew him to be no partner in the guilt of his unhappy nephew, who so fully exemplified that divine justice may be slow, but is sure. dr. woodford decided on accepting the invitation, not only for peregrine's sake, but to see how the land lay. scarcely anything remarkable, however, occurred, except that it was painful to perceive the lightness of the coffin. a funeral sermon was previously preached by a young nonconformist minister in his own chapel, on the text, "whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed;" and then the burial took place, watched by a huge crowd of people. but just as the procession was starting from the chapel for the churchyard, over the wall there came a strange peal of wild laughter. "oh, would not the unquiet spirit be at rest till it was avenged?" thought anne when she was told of it. chapter xxix: the assize court "o terror! what hath she perceived? o joy, what doth she look on? whom hath she perceived?" wordsworth. time wore away, and the lent assizes at winchester had come. sir philip had procured the best legal assistance for his nephew, but in criminal cases, though the prisoner was allowed the advice of counsel, the onus of defence rested upon himself. to poor anne's dismay, a subpoena was sent to her, as well as to her uncle, to attend as a witness at the trial. sir philip was too anxious to endure to remain at a distance from winchester, and they travelled in his coach, sir edmund nutley escorting them on horseback, while lucy was left with her mother, both still in blissful ignorance. they took rooms at the george inn. that night was a strange and grievous one to anne, trying hard to sleep so as to be physically capable of composure and presence of mind, yet continually wakened by ghastly dreams, and then recollecting that the sense of something terrible was by no means all a dream. very white, very silent, but very composed, she came to the sitting- room, and was constrained by her uncle and sir philip to eat, much as it went against her. on this morning sir philip had dropped his sternness towards her, and finding a moment when his son-in-law was absent, he said, "child, i know that this is wellnigh, nay, quite as hard for you as for me. i can only say, let no earthly regards hold you back from whatever is your duty to god and man. speak the truth whatever betide, and leave the rest to the god of truth. god bless you, however it may be;" and he kissed her brow. the intelligence that the trial was coming on was brought by sedley's counsel, mr. simon harcourt. they set forth for the county hall up the sharply-rising street, thronged with people, who growled and murmured at the murderer savagely, sir philip, under the care of his son-in-law, and anne with her uncle. mr. harcourt was very hopeful; he said the case for the prosecution had not a leg to stand on, and that the prisoner himself was so intelligent, and had so readily understood the line of defence to take, that he ought to have been a lawyer. there would be no fear except that it might be made a party case, and no stone was likely to be left unturned against a gentleman of good loyal family. moreover mr. william cowper, whom robert oakshott, or rather his wife, had engaged at great expense for the prosecution, was one of the most rising of barristers, noted for his persuasive eloquence, and unfortunately mr. harcourt had not the right of reply. the melancholy party were conducted into court, sir philip and sir edmund to the seats disposed of by the sheriff, beside the judge, strangely enough only divided by him from major oakshott. the judge was mr. baron hatsel, a somewhat weak-looking man, in spite of his red robes and flowing wig, as he sat under his canopy beneath king arthur's round table. sedley, perhaps a little thinner since his imprisonment, but with the purple red on his face, and his prominent eyes so hard and bold that it was galling to know that this was really the confidence of innocence. mr. cowper was with great ability putting the case. here were two families in immediate neighbourhood, divided from the first by political opinions of the strongest complexion; and he put the oakshott views upon liberty, civil and religious, in the most popular light. the unfortunate deceased he described as having been a highly promising member of the suite of the distinguished envoy, sir peregrine oakshott, whose name he bore. on the death of the eldest brother he had been recalled, and his accomplishments and foreign air had, it appeared, excited the spleen of the young gentlemen of the county belonging to the tory party, then in the ascendant, above all of the prisoner. there was then little or no etiquette as to irrelevant matter, so that mr. cowper could dwell at length on sedley's antecedents, as abusing the bounty of his uncle, a known bully expelled for misconduct from winchester college, then acting as a suitable instrument in those violences in scotland which had driven the nation finally to extremity, noted for his debaucheries when in garrison, and finally broken for insubordination in ireland. after this unflattering portrait, which sedley's looks certainly did not belie, the counsel went back to , proceeded to mention several disputes which had taken place when peregrine had met lieutenant archfield at portsmouth; but, he added with a smile, that no dart of malice was ever thoroughly winged till cupid had added his feather; and he went on to describe in strong colours the insult to a young gentlewoman, and the interference of the other young man in her behalf, so that swords were drawn before the appearance of the reverend gentleman her uncle. still, he said, there was further venom to be added to the bolt, and he showed that the two had parted after the rejoicings on portsdown hill with a challenge all but uttered between them, the whig upholding religious liberty, the tory hotly defending such honour as the king possessed, and both parting in anger. young mr. oakshott was never again seen alive, though his family long hoped against hope. there was no need to dwell on the strange appearances that had incited them to the search. certain it was, that after seven years' silence, the grave had yielded up its secrets. then came the description of the discovery of the bones, and of the garments and sword, followed by the mention of the evidence as to the blood on the grass, and the prisoner having been seen in the neighbourhood of the castle at that strange hour. he was observed to have an amount of money unusual with him soon after, and, what was still more suspicious, after having gambled this away, he had sold to a goldsmith at southampton a ruby ring, which both mr. and mrs. oakshott could swear to have belonged to the deceased. in fact, when mr. cowper marshalled the facts, and even described the passionate encounter taking place hastily and without witnesses, and the subsequent concealment of guilt in the vault, the purse taken, and whatever could again be identified hidden, while providentially the blocking up of the vault preserved the evidence of the crime so long undetected and unavenged, it was hardly possible to believe the prisoner innocent. when the examination of the witnesses began, however, sedley showed himself equal to his own defence. he made no sign when robert oakshott identified the clothes, sword, and other things, and their condition was described; but he demanded of him sharply how he knew the human remains to be those of his brother. "of course they were," said robert. "were there any remains of clothes with them?" "no." "can you swear to them? did you ever before see your brother's bones?" at which, and at the witness's hesitating, "no, but--" the court began to laugh. "what was the height of the deceased?" "he reached about up to my ear," said the witness with some hesitation. "what was the length of the skeleton?" "quite small. it looked like a child's." "my lord," said sedley, "i have a witness here, a surgeon, whom i request may be called to certify the proportion of a skeleton to the size of a living man." though this was done, the whole matter of size was so vague that there was nothing proved, either as to the inches of peregrine or those of the skeleton, but still sedley made his point that the identity of the body was unproved at least in some minds. still, there remained the other articles, about which there was no doubt. mr. cowper proceeded with his examination as to the disputes at portsmouth, but again the prisoner scored a point by proving that peregrine had staked the ring against him at a cock-fight at southampton, and had lost it. dr. woodford was called, and his evidence could not choose but to be most damaging as to the conflict on the road at portsmouth; but as he had not seen the beginning, 'mistress anne jacobina woodford' was called for. there she stood, tall and stately, almost majestic in the stiffness of intense self-restraint, in her simple gray dress, her black silk hood somewhat back, her brown curls round her face, a red spot in each cheek, her earnest brown eyes fixed on the clerk as he gabbled out the words so awful to her, "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;" and her soul re-echoed the words, "so help you god." mr. cowper was courteous; he was a gentleman, and he saw she was no light-minded girl. he asked her the few questions needful as to the attack made on her, and the defence; but something moved him to go on and ask whether she had been on portsdown hill, and to obtain from her the account of the high words between the young men. she answered each question in a clear low voice, which still was audible to all. was it over, or would sedley begin to torture her, when so much was in his favour? no! mr. cowper--oh! why would he? was asking in an affirmative tone, as if to clench the former evidence, "and did you ever see the deceased again?" "yes." the answer was at first almost choked, then cleared into sharpness, and every eye turned in surprise on the face that had become as white as her collar. "indeed! and when?" "the next morning," in a voice as if pronouncing her own doom, and with hands clinging tight to the front of the witness-box as though in anguish. "where?" said the counsel, like inexorable fate. "i will save the gentlewoman from replying to that question, sir;" and a gentleman with long brown hair, in a rich white and gold uniform, rose from among the spectators. "perhaps i may be allowed to answer for her, when i say that it was at portchester castle, at five in the morning, that she saw peregrine oakshott slain by my hand, and thrown into the vault." there was a moment of breathless amazement in the court, and the judge was the first to speak. "very extraordinary, sir! what is your name?" "charles archfield," said the clear resolute voice. then came a general movement and sensation, and anne, still holding fast to the support, saw the newcomer start forward with a cry, "my father!" and with two or three bounds reach the side of sir philip, who had sunk back in his seat for a moment, but recovered himself as he felt his son's arm round him. there was a general buzz, and a cry of order, and in the silence thus produced the judge addressed the witness:-- "is what this gentleman says the truth?" and on anne's reply, "yes, my lord," spoken with the clear ring of anguish, the judge added-- "was the prisoner present?" "no, my lord; he had nothing to do with it." "then, brother cowper, do you wish to proceed with the case?" mr. cowper replied in the negative, and the judge then made a brief summing-up, and the jury, without retiring, returned a verdict of 'not guilty.' in the meantime anne had been led like one blinded from the witness- box, and almost dropped into her uncle's arms. "cheer up, cheer up, my child," he said. "you have done your part bravely, and after so upright a confession no one can deal hardly with the young man. god will surely protect him." the acquittal had been followed by a few words from baron hatsel, congratulating the late prisoner on his deliverance through this gentleman's generous confession. then there was a moment's hesitation, ended by the sheriff asking charles, who stood up by his old father, one arm supporting the trembling form, and the other hand clasped in the two aged ones, "then, sir, do you surrender to take your trial?" "certainly, sir," said charles. "i ought to have done so long ago, but in the first shock--" mr. harcourt here cautioned him not to say anything that could be used against him, adding in a low tone, much to sir philip's relief, "it may be brought in manslaughter, sir." "he should be committed," another authority said. "is there a hampshire magistrate here to sign a warrant?" of these there were plenty; and as the clerk asked for his description, all eyes turned on the tall and robust form in the prime of manhood, with the noble resolute expression on his fine features and steadfast eyes, except when, as he looked at his father, they were full of infinite pity. the brown hair hung over the rich gold-laced white coat, faced with black, and with a broad gold-coloured sash fringed with black over his shoulder, and there was a look of distinction about him that made his answer only natural. "charles archfield, of archfield house, fareham, lieutenant-colonel of his imperial majesty's light dragoons, knight of the holy roman empire. must i give up my sword like a prisoner of war?" he asked, with a smile. sir philip rose to his feet with an earnest trembling entreaty that bail might be taken for him, and many voices of gentlemen and men of substance made offers of it. there was a little consultation, and it was ruled that bail might be accepted under the circumstances, and charles bowed his thanks to the distant and gave his hand to the nearer, while mr. eyre of botley grange, and mr. brocas of roche court, were accepted as sureties. the gentle old face of mr. cromwell of hursley, was raised to poor old sir philip's with the words, spoken with a remnant of the authority of the protector: "your son has spoken like a brave man, sir; god bless you, and bring you well through it." charles was then asked whether he wished for time to collect witnesses. "no, my lord," he said. "i thank you heartily, but i have no one to call, and the sooner this is over the better for all." after a little consultation it was found that the grand jury had not been dismissed, and could find a true bill against him; and it was decided that the trial should take place after the rest of the criminal cases were disposed of. this settled, the sorrowful party with the strangely welcomed son were free to return to their quarters at the george. mr. cromwell pressed forward to beg that they would make use of his coach. it was a kind thought, for sir philip hung feebly on his son's arm, and to pass through the curious throng would have been distressing. after helping him in, charles turned and demanded-- "where is she, the young gentlewoman, miss woodford?" she was just within, her uncle waiting to take her out till the crowd's attention should be called off. charles lifted her in, and sir edmund and dr. woodford followed him, for there was plenty of room in the capacious vehicle. nobody spoke in the very short interval the four horses took in getting themselves out of the space in front of the county hall and down the hill to the george. only charles had leant forward, taken anne's hand, drawn it to his lips, and then kept fast hold of it. they were all in the room at the inn at last, they hardly knew how; indeed, as charles was about to shut the door there was a smack on his back, and there stood sedley holding out his hand. "so, charley, old fellow, you were the sad dog after all. you got me out of it, and i owe you my thanks, but you need not have put your neck into the noose. i should have come off with flying colours, and made them all make fools of themselves, if you had only waited." "do you think i could sit still and see _her_ put to the torture?" said charles. "torture? you are thinking of your barbarous countries. no fear of the boot here, nor even in scotland nowadays." "that's all the torture you understand," muttered sir edmund nutley. "not but what i am much beholden to you all the same," went on sedley. "and look here, sir," turning to his uncle, "if you wish to get him let off cheap you had better send up another special retainer to harcourt, without loss of time, as he may be off." sir edmund nutley concurred in the advice, and they hurried off together in search of the family attorney, through whom the great man had to be approached. the four left together could breathe more freely. indeed dr. woodford would have taken his niece away, but that charles already had her in his arms in a most fervent embrace, as he said, "my brave, my true maid!" she could not speak, but she lifted up her eyes, with infinite relief in all her sorrow, as for a moment she rested against him; but they had to move apart, for a servant came up with some wine, and charles, putting her into a chair, began to wait on her and on his father. "i have not quite forgotten my manners," he said lightly, as if to relieve the tension of feeling, "though in germany the ladies serve the gentlemen." it was very hard not to burst into tears at these words, but anne knew that would be the way to distress her companions and to have to leave the room and lose these precious moments. sir philip, after swallowing the wine, succeeded in saying, "have you been at home?" charles explained that he had landed at gravesend, and had ridden thence, sleeping at basingstoke, and taking the road through winchester in case his parents should be wintering there, and on arriving a couple of hours previously and inquiring for them, he had heard the tidings that sir philip archfield was indeed there, for his nephew was being tried for his life for the wilful murder of major oakshott's son seven years ago. "and you had none of my warnings? i wrote to all the ports," said his father, "to warn you to wait till all this was over." no; he had crossed from sluys, and had met no letter. "i suppose," he said, "that i must not ride home to-morrow. it might make my sureties uneasy; but i would fain see them all." "it would kill your mother to be here," said sir philip. "she knows nothing of what anne told me on sedley's arrest. she is grown very feeble;" and he groaned. "but we might send for your sister, if she can leave her, and the boy." "i should like my boy to be fetched," said charles. "i should wish him to remember his father--not as a felon convicted!" then putting a knee to the ground before sir philip, he said, "sir, i ask your blessing and forgiveness. i never before thoroughly understood my errors towards you, especially in hiding this miserable matter, and leaving all this to come on you, while my poor anne there was left to bear all the load. it was a cowardly and selfish act, and i ask your pardon." the old man sobbed with his hand on his son's head. "my dear boy! my poor boy! you were distraught." "i was then. i did it, as i thought, for my poor alice's sake at first, and as it proved, it was all in vain; but at the year's end, when i was older, it was folly and wrong. i ought to have laid all before you, and allowed you to judge, and i sincerely repent the not having so done. and anne, my sweetest anne, has borne the burthen all this time," he added, going back to her. "let no one say a woman cannot keep secrets, though i ought never to have laid this on her." "ah! it might have gone better for you then," sighed sir philip. "no one would have visited a young lad's mischance hardly on a loyal house in those days. what is to be done, my son?" "that we will discuss when the lawyer fellow comes. is it old lee? meantime let us enjoy our meeting. so that is lucy's husband. sober and staid, eh? and my mother is feeble, you say. has she been ill?" charles was comporting himself with the cheerfulness that had become habitual to him as a soldier, always in possible danger, but it was very hard to the others to chime in with his tone, and when a message was brought to ask whether his honour would be served in private, the cheery greeting and shake of the hand broke down the composure of the old servant who brought it, and he cried, "oh, sir, to see you thus, and such a fine young gentleman!" charles, the only person who could speak, gave the orders, but they did not eat alone, for sir edmund nutley and sedley arrived with the legal advisers, and it was needful, perhaps even better, to have their company. the chief of the conversation was upon hungarian and transylvanian politics and the turkish war. mr. harcourt seeming greatly to appreciate the information that colonel archfield was able to give him, and the anecdotes of the war, and descriptions of scenes therein actually brightened sir philip into interest, and into forgetting for a moment his son's situation in pride in his conduct, and at the distinction he had gained. "we must save him," said mr. harcourt to sir edmund. "he is far too fine a fellow to be lost for a youthful mischance." the meal was a short one, and a consultation was to follow, while sedley departed. anne was about to withdraw, when mr. lee the attorney said, "we shall need mistress woodford's evidence, sir, for the defence." "i do not see what defence there can be," returned charles. "i can only plead guilty, and throw myself on the king's mercy, if he chooses to extend it to one of a tory family." "not so fast, sir," said mr. harcourt; "as far as i have gathered the facts, there is every reason to hope you may obtain a verdict of manslaughter, and a nominal penalty, although that rests with the judge." on this the discussion began in earnest. charles, who had never heard the circumstances which led to the trial, was greatly astonished to hear what remains had been discovered. he said that he could only declare himself to have thrown in the body, full dressed, just as it was, and how it could have been stripped and buried he could not imagine. "what made folks think of looking into the vault?" he asked. "it was mrs. oakshott," said lee, "the young man's wife, she who was to have married the deceased. she took up some strange notion about stories of phantoms current among the vulgar, and insisted on having the vault searched, though it had been walled up for many years past." charles and anne looked at each other, and the former said, "again?" "oh yes!" said anne; "indeed there have been enough to make me remember what you bade me do, in case they recurred, only it was impossible." "phantoms!" said mr. harcourt; "what does this mean?" "mere vulgar superstitions, sir," said the attorney. "but very visible," said charles; "i have seen one myself, of which i am quite sure, besides many that may be laid to the account of the fever of my wound." "i must beg to hear," said the barrister. "do i understand that these were apparitions of the deceased?" "yes," said charles. "miss woodford saw the first, i think." "may i beg you to describe it?" said mr. harcourt, taking a fresh piece of paper to make notes on. anne narrated the two appearances in london, and charles added the story of the figure seen in the street at douai, seen by both together, asking what more she knew of. "once at night last summer, at the very anniversary, i saw his face in the trees in the garden," said anne; "it was gone in a moment. that has been all i have seen; but little philip came to me full of stories of people having seen penny grim, as he calls it, and very strangely, once it rose before him at the great pond, and his fright saved him from sliding to the dangerous part. what led mrs. oakshott to the examination was that it was seen once on the beach, once by the sentry at the vault itself, once by the sexton at havant churchyard, and once by my mother's grave." "seven?" said the counsel, reviewing the notes he jotted down. "colonel archfield, i should recommend you pleading not guilty, and basing your defence, like your cousin, on the strong probability that this same youth is a living man." "indeed!" said charles, starting, "i could have hoped it from these recent apparitions, but what i myself saw forbids the idea. if any sight were ever that of a spirit, it was what we saw at douai; besides, how should he come thither, a born and bred whig and puritan?" "there is no need to mention that; you can call witnesses to his having been seen within these few months. it would rest with the prosecution to disprove his existence in the body, especially as the bones in the vault cannot be identified." "sir," said charles, "the defence that would have served my innocent cousin cannot serve me, who know what i did to oakshott. i am _now_ aware that it is quite possible that the sword might not have killed him, but when i threw him into that vault i sealed his fate." "how deep is the vault?" mr. lee and dr. woodford both averred that it was not above twenty or twenty-four feet deep, greatly to charles's surprise, for as a lad he had thought it almost unfathomable; but then he owned his ideas of winchester high street had been likewise far more magnificent than he found it. the fall need not necessarily have been fatal, especially to one insensible and opposing no resistance, but even supposing that death had not resulted, in those draconian days, the intent to murder was equally subject with its full accomplishment to capital punishment. still, as colonel archfield could plead with all his heart that he had left home with no evil intentions towards young oakshott, the lawyers agreed that to prove that the death of the victim was uncertain would reduce the matter to a mere youthful brawl, which could not be heavily visited. mr. harcourt further asked whether it were possible to prove that the prisoner had been otherwise employed than in meddling with the body; but unfortunately it had been six hours before he came home. "i was distracted," said charles; "i rode i knew not whither, till i came to my senses on finding that my horse was ready to drop, when i led him into a shed at a wayside public-house, bade them feed him, took a drink, then i wandered out into the copse near, and lay on the ground there till i thought him rested, for how long i know not. i think it must have been near bishops waltham, but i cannot recollect." mr. lee decided on setting forth at peep of dawn the next morning to endeavour to collect witnesses of peregrine's appearances. sir edmund nutley intended to accompany him as far as fareham to fetch little philip and lady nutley, if the latter could leave her mother after the tidings had been broken to them, and also to try to trace whether charles's arrival at any public-house were remembered. to her dismay, anne received another summons from the other party to act as witness. "i hoped to have spared you this, my sweet," said charles, "but never mind; you cannot say anything worse of me than i shall own of myself." the two were left to each other for a little while in the bay window. "oh, sir! can you endure me thus after all?" murmured anne, as she felt his arm round her. "can you endure me after all i left you to bear?" he returned. "it was not like what i brought on you," she said. but they could not talk much of the future; and charles told how he had rested through all his campaigns in the knowledge that his anne was watching and praying for him, and how his long illness had brought before him deeper thoughts than he had ever had before, and made him especially dwell on the wrong done to his parents by his long absence, and the lightness with which he had treated home duties and responsibilities, till he had resolved that if his life were then spared, he would neglect them no longer. "and now," he said, and paused, "all i shall have done is to break their hearts. what is that saying, 'be sure your sin will find you out.'" "oh, sir! they are sure not to deal hardly with you." "perhaps the emperor's ambassador may claim me. if so, would you go into banishment with the felon, anne, love? it would not be quite so mad as when i asked you before." "i would go to the ends of the world with you; and we would take little phil. do you know, he is growing a salad, and learning latin, all for papa?" and so she told him of little phil till his father was seen looking wistfully at him. with sir philip, charles was all cheerfulness and hope, taking such interest in all there was to hear about the family, estate, and neighbourhood that the old gentleman was beguiled into feeling as if there were only a short ceremony to be gone through before he had his son at home, saving him ease and trouble. but after sir philip had been persuaded to retire, worn out with the day's agitations, and anne likewise had gone to her chamber to weep and pray, charles made his arrangements with mr. lee for the future for all connected with him in case of the worst; and after the lawyer's departure poured out his heart to dr. woodford in deep contrition, as he said he had longed to do when lying in expectation of death at the iron gates. "however it may end," he said, "and i expect, as i deserve, the utmost, i am thankful for this opportunity, though unhappily it gives more pain to those about me than if i had died out there. tell them, when they need comfort, how much better it is for me." "my dear boy, i cannot believe you will have to suffer." "there is much against me, sir. my foolish flight, the state of parties, and the recent conspiracy, which has made loyal families suspected and odious. i saw something of that as i came down. the crowd fancied my uniform french, and hooted and hissed me. unluckily i have no other clothes to wear. nor can i from my heart utterly disclaim all malice or ill will when i remember the thrill of pleasure in driving my sword home. i have had to put an end to a janissary or two more than once in the way of duty, but their black eyes never haunted me like those parti-coloured ones. still i trust, as you tell me i may, that god forgives me, for our blessed lord's sake; but i should like, if i could, to take the holy sacrament with my love while i am still thus far a free man. i have not done so since the easter before these troubles." "you shall, my dear boy, you shall." there were churches at which the custom freshly begun at the restoration was not dropped. the next was st. matthias's day, and anne and her uncle had already purposed to go to the quiet little church of st. lawrence, at no great distance, in the very early morning. they were joined on their way down the stair into the courtyard of the inn by a gentleman in a slouched hat and large dark cloak, who drew anne's arm within his own. truly there was peace on that morning, and strength to the brave man beyond the physical courage that had often before made him bright in the face of danger, and anne, though weeping, had a sense of respite and repose, if not of hope. late in the afternoon, little philip was lifted down from riding before old ralph into the arms of the splendid officer, whose appearance transcended all his visions. he fumbled in his small pocket, and held out a handful of something green and limp. "here's my salad, papa. i brought it all the way for you to eat." and colonel archfield ate every scrap of it for supper, though it was much fitter for a rabbit, and all the evening he held on his knee the tired child, and responded to his prattle about nana and dogs and rabbits; nay, ministered to his delight and admiration of the sheriff's coach, javelin men, and even the judge, with a strange mixture of wonder, delight, and with melancholy only in eyes and undertones. chapter xxx: sentence "i have hope to live, and am prepared to die." measure for measure. ralph was bidden to be ready to take his young master home early the next morning. at eight o'clock the boy, who had slept with his father, came down the stair, clinging to his father's hand, and miss woodford coming closely with him. "yes," said charles, as he held the little fair fellow in his arms, ere seating him on the horse, "he knows all, ralph. he knows that his father did an evil thing, and that what we do in our youth finds us out later, and must be paid for. he has promised me to be a comfort to the old people, and to look on this lady as a mother. nay, no more, ralph; 'tis not good-bye to any of you yet. there, phil, don't lug my head off, nor catch my hair in your buttons. give my dutiful love to your grandmamma and to aunt nutley, and be a good boy to them." "and when i come to see you again i'll bring another salad," quoth philip, as he rode out of the court; and his father, by way of excusing a contortion of features, smoothed the entangled lock of hair, and muttered something about, "this comes of not wearing a periwig." then he said-- "and to think that i have wasted the company of such a boy as that, all his life except for this mere glimpse!" "oh! you will come back to him," was all that could be said. for it was time for charles archfield to surrender himself to take his trial. he had been instructed over and over again as to the line of his defence, and cautioned against candour for himself and delicacy towards others, till he had more than once to declare that he had no intention of throwing his life away; but the lawyers agreed in heartily deploring the rules that thus deprived the accused of the assistance of an advocate in examining witnesses and defending himself. all depended, as they knew and told sir edmund nutley, on the judge and jury. now mr. baron hatsel had shown himself a well- meaning but weak and vacillating judge, whose summing up was apt rather to confuse than to elucidate the evidence; and as to the jury, mr. lee scanned their stolid countenances somewhat ruefully when they were marshalled before the prisoner, to be challenged if desirable. a few words passed, into which the judge inquired. "i am reminded, my lord," said colonel archfield, bowing, "that i once incurred mr. holt's displeasure as a mischievous boy by throwing a stone which injured one of his poultry; but i cannot believe such a trifle would bias an honest man in a question of life and death." nevertheless the judge put aside mr. holt. "i like his spirit," whispered mr. harcourt. "but," returned lee, "i doubt if he has done himself any good with those fellows by calling it a trifle to kill an old hen. i should like him to have challenged two or three more moody old whiggish rascals; but he has been too long away from home to know how the land lies." "too generous and high-spirited for this work," sighed sir edmund, who sat with them. the indictment was read, the first count being "that of malice aforethought, by the temptation of the devil, charles archfield did wilfully kill and slay peregrine oakshott," etc. the second indictment was that "by misadventure he had killed and slain the said peregrine oakshott." to the first he pleaded 'not guilty;' to the second 'guilty.' tall, well-made, manly, and soldierly he stood, with a quiet set face, while mr. cowper proceeded to open the prosecution, with a certain compliment to the prisoner and regret at having to push the case against one who had so generously come forward on behalf of a kinsman; but he must unwillingly state the circumstances that made it doubtful, nay, more than doubtful, whether the prisoner's plea of mere misadventure could stand. the dislike to the unfortunate deceased existing among the young tory country gentlemen of the county was, he should prove, intensified in the prisoner on account of not inexcusable jealousies, as well as of the youthful squabbles which sometimes lead to fatal results. on the evening of the th of june there had been angry words between the prisoner and the deceased on portsdown hill, respecting the prisoner's late lady. at four or five o'clock on the ensuing morning, the st of july, the one fell by the sword of the other in the then unfrequented court of portchester castle. it was alleged that the stroke was fatal only through the violence of youthful impetuosity; but was it consistent with that supposition that the young gentleman's time was unaccounted for afterwards, and that the body should have been disposed of in a manner that clearly proved the assistance of an accomplice, and with so much skill that no suspicion had arisen for seven years and a half, whilst the actual slayer was serving, not his own country, but a foreign prince, and had only returned at a most suspicious crisis? the counsel then proceeded to construct a plausible theory. he reminded the jury that at that very time, the summer of , messages and invitations were being despatched to his present gracious majesty to redress the wrongs of the protestant church, and protect the liberties of the english people. the father of the deceased was a member of a family of the country party, his uncle a distinguished diplomatist, to whose suite he had belonged. what was more obvious than that he should be employed in the correspondence, and that his movements should be dogged by parties connected with the stewart family? already there was too much experience of how far even the most estimable and conscientious might be blinded by the sentiment that they dignified by the title of loyalty. the deceased had already been engaged in a struggle with one of the archfield family, who had been acquitted of his actual slaughter; but considering the strangeness of the hour at which the two cousins were avowedly at or near portchester, the condition of the clothes, stripped of papers, but not of valuables, and the connection of the principal witness with the pretended prince of wales, he could not help thinking that though personal animosity might have added an edge to the weapon, yet that there were deeper reasons, to prompt the assault and the concealment, than had yet been brought to light. "he will make nothing of that," whispered mr. lee. "poor master peregrine was no more a whig than old sir philip there." "'twill prejudice the jury," whispered back mr. harcourt, "and discredit the lady's testimony." mr. cowper concluded by observing that half truths had come to light in the former trial, but whole truths would give a different aspect to the affair, and show the unfortunate deceased to have given offence, not only as a man of gallantry, but as a patriot, and to have fallen a victim to the younger bravoes of the so-called tory party. to his (the counsel's) mind, it was plain that the prisoner, who had hoped that his crime was undiscovered and forgotten, had returned to take his share in the rising against government so happily frustrated. he was certain that the traitor charnock had been received at his father's house, and that mr. sedley archfield had used seditious language on several occasions, so that the cause of the prisoner's return at this juncture was manifest, and only to the working of providence could it be ascribed that the evidence of the aggravated murder should have at that very period been brought to light. there was an evident sensation, and glances were cast at the upright, military figure, standing like a sentinel, as if the audience expected him to murder them all. as before, the examination began with robert oakshott's identification of the clothes and sword, but mr. cowper avoided the subject of the skeleton, and went on to inquire about the terms on which the two young men had lived. "well," said robert, "they quarrelled, but in a neighbourly sort of way." "what do you call a neighbourly way?" "my poor brother used to be baited for being so queer. but then we were as bad to him as the rest," said robert candidly. "that is, when you were boys?" "yes." "and after his return from his travels?" "it was the same then. he was too fine a gentleman for any one's taste." "you speak generally. was there any especial animosity?" "my brother bought a horse that archfield was after." "was there any dispute over it?" "not that i know of." "can you give an instance of displeasure manifested by the prisoner at the deceased?" "i have seen him look black when my brother held a gate open for his wife." "then there were gallant attentions towards mrs. archfield?" charles's face flushed, and he made a step forward, but robert gruffly answered: "no more than civility; but he had got frenchified manners, and liked to tease archfield." "did they ever come to high words before you?" "no. they knew better." "thank you, mr. oakshott," said the prisoner, as it was intimated that mr. cowper had finished. "you bear witness that only the most innocent civility ever passed between your brother and my poor young wife?" "certainly," responded robert. "nothing that could cause serious resentment, if it excited passing annoyance." "nothing." "what were your brother's political opinions?" "well"--with some slow consideration--"he admired the queen as was, and could not abide the prince of orange. my father was always _at him_ for it." "would you think him likely to be an emissary to holland?" "no one less likely." but mr. cowper started up. "sir, i believe you are the younger brother?" "yes." "how old were you at the time?" "nigh upon nineteen." "oh!" as if that accounted for his ignorance. the prisoner continued, and asked whether search was made when the deceased was missed. "hardly any." "why not?" "he was never content at home, and we believed he had gone to my uncle in muscovy." "what led you to examine the vault?" "my wife was disquieted by stories of my brother's ghost being seen." "did you ever see this ghost?" "no, never." that was all that was made of robert oakshott, and then again came anne woodford's turn, and mr. cowper was more satirical and less considerate than the day before. still it was a less dreadful ordeal than previously, though she had to tell the worst, for she knew her ground better, and then there was throughout wonderful support in charles's eyes, which told her, whenever she glanced towards him, that she was doing right and as he wished. as she had not heard the speech for the prosecution it was a shock, after identifying herself a niece to a 'non-swearing' clergyman, to be asked about the night of the bonfire, and to be forced to tell that mrs. archfield had insisted on getting out of the carriage and walking about with mr. oakshott. "was the prisoner present?" "he came up after a time." "did he show any displeasure?" "he thought it bad for her health." "did any words pass between him and the deceased?" "not that i remember." "and now, madam, will you be good enough to recur to the following morning, and continue the testimony in which you were interrupted the day before yesterday? what was the hour?" "the church clock struck five just after." "may i ask what took a young gentlewoman out at such an untimely hour? did you expect to meet any one?" "no indeed, sir," said anne hotly. "i had been asked to gather some herbs to carry to a friend." "ah! and why at that time in the morning?" "because i was to leave home at seven, when the tide served." "where were you going?" "to london, sir." "and for what reason?" "i had been appointed to be a rocker in the royal nursery." "i see. and your impending departure may explain certain strange coincidences. may i ask what was this same herb?" in a mocking tone. "mouse-ear, sir," said anne, who would fain have called it by some less absurd title, but knew no other. "a specific for the whooping- cough." "oh! not 'love in a mist.' are your sure?" "my lord," here simon harcourt ventured, "may i ask, is this regular?" the judge intimated that his learned brother had better keep to the point, and mr. cowper, thus called to order, desired the witness to continue, and demanded whether she was interrupted in her quest. "i saw mr. peregrine oakshott enter the castle court, and i hurried into the tower, hoping he had not seen me." "you said before he had protected you. why did you run from him?" she had foreseen this, and quietly answered, "he had made me an offer of marriage which i had refused, and i did not wish to meet him." "did you see any one else?" "not till i had reached the door opening on the battlements. then i heard a clash, and saw mr. archfield and mr. oakshott fighting." "mr. archfield! the prisoner? did he come to gather mouse-ear too?" "no. his wife had sent him over with a pattern of sarcenet for me to match in london." "early rising and prompt obedience." and there ensued the inquiries that brought out the history of what she had seen of the encounter, of the throwing the body into the vault, full dressed, and of her promise of silence and its reason. mr. cowper did not molest her further except to make her say that she had been five months at the court, and had accompanied the late queen to france. then came the power of cross-examination on the part of the prisoner. he made no attempt to modify what had been said before, but asked in a gentle apologetic voice: "was that the last time you ever saw, or thought you saw, peregrine oakshott?" "no." and here every one in court started and looked curious. "when?" "the st of october , in the evening." "where?" "looking from the window in the palace at whitehall, i saw him, or his likeness, walking along in the light of the lantern over the great door." the appearance at lambeth was then described, and that in the garden at archfield house. this strange cross-examination was soon over, for charles could not endure to subject her to the ordeal, while she equally longed to be able to say something that might not damage him, and dreaded every word she spoke. moreover, mr. cowper looked exceedingly contemptuous, and made the mention of whitehall and lambeth a handle for impressing on the jury that the witness had been deep in the counsels of the late royal family, and that she was escorted from st. germain by the prisoner just before he entered on foreign service. one of the servants at fareham was called upon to testify to the hour of his young master's return on the fatal day. it was long past dinner-time, he said. it must have been about three o'clock. charles put in an inquiry as to the condition of his horse. "hard ridden, sir, as i never knew your honour bring home black bess in such a pickle before." after a couple of young men had been called who could speak to some outbreaks of dislike to poor peregrine, in which all had shared, the case for the prosecution was completed. cowper, in a speech that would be irregular now, but was permissible then, pointed out that the jealousy, dislike, and jacobite proclivities of the archfield family had been fully made out, that the coincidence of visits to the castle at that untimely hour had been insufficiently explained, that the condition of the remains in the vault was quite inconsistent with the evidence of the witness, mistress woodford, unless there were persons waiting below unknown to her, and that the prisoner had been absent from fareham from four or five o'clock in the morning till nearly three in the afternoon. as to the strange story she had further told, he (mr. cowper) was neither superstitious nor philosophic, but the jury would decide whether conscience and the sense of an awful secret were not sufficient to conjure up such phantoms, if they were not indeed spiritual, occurring as they did in the very places and at the very times when the spirit of the unhappy young man, thus summarily dismissed from the world, his corpse left in an unblessed den, would be most likely to reappear, haunting those who felt themselves to be most accountable for his lamentable and untimely end. the words evidently told, and it was at a disadvantage that the prisoner rose to speak in his own defence and to call his witnesses. "my lord," he said, "and gentlemen of the jury, let me first say that i am deeply grieved and hurt that the name of my poor young wife has been brought into this matter. in justice to her who is gone, i must begin by saying that though she was flattered and gratified by the polite manners that i was too clownish and awkward to emulate, and though i may have sometimes manifested ill-humour, yet i never for a moment took serious offence nor felt bound to defend her honour or my own. if i showed displeasure it was because she was fatiguing herself against warning. i can say with perfect truth, that when i left home on that unhappy morning, i bore no serious ill-will to any living creature. i had no political purpose, and never dreamt of taking the life of any one. i was a heedless youth of nineteen. i shall be able to prove the commission of my wife's on which this learned gentleman has thought fit to cast a doubt. for the rest, mistress anne woodford was my sister's friend and playfellow from early childhood. when i entered the castle court i saw her hurrying into the keep, pursued by oakshott, whom i knew her to dread and dislike. i naturally stepped between. angry words passed. he challenged my right to interfere, and in a passion drew upon me. though i was the taller and stronger, i knew him to be proud of his skill in fencing, and perhaps i may therefore have pressed him the harder, and the dislike i acknowledge made me drive home my sword. but i was free from all murderous intention up to that moment. in my inexperience i had no doubt but that he was dead, and in a terror and confusion which i regret heartily, i threw him into the vault, and for the sake of my wife and mother bound miss woodford to secrecy. i mounted my horse, and scarcely knowing what i did, rode till i found it ready to drop. i asked for rest for it in the first wayside public-house i came to. i lay down meanwhile among some bushes adjoining, and there waited till my horse could take me home again. i believe it was at the white horse, near bishops waltham, but the place has changed hands since that time, so that i can only prove my words, as you have heard, by the state of my horse when i came home. for the condition of the remains in the vault i cannot account; i never touched the poor fellow after throwing him there. my wife died a few hours after my return home, where i remained for a week, nor did i suggest flight, though i gladly availed myself of my father's suggestion of sending me abroad with a tutor. let me add, to remove misconception, that i visited paris because my tutor, the reverend george fellowes, one of the fellows of magdalen college expelled by the late king, and now rector of portchester, had been asked to provide for miss woodford's return to her home, and he is here to testify that i never had any concern with politics. i did indeed accompany him to st. germain, but merely to find the young gentlewoman, and in the absence of the late king and queen, nor did i hold intercourse with any other person connected with their court. after escorting her to ostend, i went to hungary to serve in the army of our ally, the emperor, against the turks, the enemies of all christians. after a severe wound, i have come home, knowing nothing of conspiracies, and i was taken by surprise on arriving here at winchester at finding that my cousin was on his trial for the unfortunate deed into which i was betrayed by haste and passion, but entirely without premeditation or intent to do more than to defend the young lady. so that i plead that my crime does not amount to murder from malicious intent; and likewise, that those who charge me with the actual death of peregrine oakshott should prove him to be dead." charles's first witness was mrs. lang, his late wife's 'own woman,' who spared him many questions by garrulously declaring 'what a work' poor little madam had made about the rose-coloured sarcenet, causing the pattern to be searched out as soon as she came home from the bonfire, and how she had 'gone on at' her husband till he promised to give it to mistress anne, and how he had been astir at four o'clock in the morning, and had called to her (mrs. lang) to look to her mistress, who might perhaps get some sleep now that she had her will and hounded him out to go over to portchester about that silk. nothing was asked of this witness by the prosecution except the time of mr. archfield's return. the question of jealousy was passed over. of the pond apparition nothing was said. anne had told charles of it, but no one could have proved its identity but sedley, and his share in it was too painful to be brought forward. three other ghost seers were brought forward: mrs. fellowes's maid, the sentry, and the sexton; but only the sexton had ever seen master perry alive, and he would not swear to more than that it was something in his likeness; the sentry was already bound to declare it something unsubstantial; and the maid was easily persuaded into declaring that she did not know what she had seen or whether she had seen anything. there only remained mr. fellowes to bear witness of his pupil's entire innocence of political intrigues, together with a voluntary testimony addressed to the court, that the youth had always appeared to him a well-disposed but hitherto boyish lad, suddenly sobered and rendered thoughtful by a shock that had changed the tenor of his mind. mr. baron hatsel summed up in his dreary vacillating way. he told the gentlemen of the jury that young men would be young men, especially where pretty wenches were concerned, and that all knew that there was bitterness where whig and tory were living nigh together. then he went over the evidence, at first in a tone favourable to the encounter having been almost accidental, and the stroke an act of passion. but he then added, it was strange, and he did not know what to think of these young sparks and the young gentlewoman all meeting in a lonely place when honest folks were abed, and the hiding in the vault, and the state of the clothes were strange matters scarce agreeing with what either prisoner or witness said. it looked only too like part of a plot of which some one should make a clean breast. on the other hand, the prisoner was a fine young gentleman, an only son, and had been fighting the turks, though it would have been better to have fought the french among his own countrymen. he had come ingenuously forward to deliver his cousin, and a deliberate murderer was not wont to be so generous, though may be he expected to get off easily on this same plea of misadventure. if it was misadventure, why did he not try to do something for the deceased, or wait to see whether he breathed before throwing him into this same pit? though, to be sure, a lad might be inexperienced. for the rest, as to these same sights of the deceased or his likeness, he (the judge) was no believer in ghosts, though he would not say there were no such things, and the gentlemen of the jury must decide whether it was more likely the poor youth was playing pranks in the body, or whether he were haunting in the spirit those who had most to do with his untimely end. this was the purport, or rather the no-purport, of the charge. the jury were absent for a very short time, and as it leaked out afterwards, their intelligence did not rise above the idea that the young gentleman was thick with they frenchies who wanted to bring in murder and popery, warming-pans and wooden shoes. he called stoning poultry a trifle, so of what was he not capable? of course he spited the poor young chap, and how could the fact be denied when the poor ghost had come back to ask for his blood? so the awful suspense ended with 'guilty, my lord.' "of murder or manslaughter?" "of murder." the prisoner stood as no doubt he had faced turkish batteries. the judge asked the customary question whether he had any reason to plead why he should not be condemned to death. "no, my lord. i am guilty of shedding peregrine oakshott's blood, and though i declare before god and man that i had no such purpose, and it was done in the heat of an undesigned struggle, i hated him enough to render the sentence no unjust one. i trust that god will pardon me, if man does not." the gentlemen around drew the poor old father out of the court so as not to hear the final sentence, and anne, half stunned, was taken away by her uncle, and put into the same carriage with him. the old man held her hands closely and could not speak, but she found voice, "sir, sir, do not give up hope. god will save him. i know what i can do. i will go to princess anne. she is friendly with the king now. she will bring me to tell him all." hurriedly she spoke, her object, as it seemed to be that of every one, to keep up such hope and encouragement as to drown the terrible sense of the actual upshot of the trial. the room at the george was full in a moment of friends declaring that all would go well in the end, and consulting what to do. neither sir philip nor dr. woodford could be available, as their refusal to take the oaths to king william made them marked men. the former could only write to the imperial ambassador, beseeching him to claim the prisoner as an officer of the empire, though it was doubtful whether this would be allowed in the case of an englishman born. mr. fellowes undertook to be the bearer of the letter, and to do his best through archbishop tenison to let the king know the true bearings of the case. almost in pity, to spare anne the misery of helpless waiting, dr. woodford consented to let her go under his escort, starting very early the next morning, since the king might immediately set off for the army in holland, and the space was brief between condemnation and execution. sir edmund proposed to hurry to carisbrooke castle, being happily on good terms with that fiery personage, lord cutts, the governor of the isle of wight as well as a favoured general of the king, whose intercession might do more than princess anne's. moreover, a message came from old mr. cromwell, begging to see sir edmund. it was on behalf of major oakshott, who entreated that sir philip might be assured of his own great regret at the prosecution and the result, and his entire belief that the provocation came from his unhappy son. both he and richard cromwell were having a petition for pardon drawn up, which sir henry mildmay and almost all the leading gentlemen of hampshire of both parties were sure to sign, while the sheriff would defer the execution as long as possible. pardons, especially in cases of duelling, had been marketable articles in the last reigns, and there could not but be a sigh for such conveniences. sir philip wanted to go at once to the jail, which was very near the inn, but consented on strong persuasion to let his son-in-law precede him. anne longed for a few moments to herself, but durst not leave the poor old man, who sat holding her hand, and at each interval of silence saying how this would kill the boy's mother, or something equally desponding, so that she had to talk almost at random of the various gleams of hope, and even to describe how the little duke of gloucester might be told of philip and sent to the king, who was known to be very fond of him. it was a great comfort when dr. woodford came and offered to pray with them. by and by sir edmund returned, having been making arrangements for charles's comfort. ordinary prisoners were heaped together and miserably treated, but money could do something, and by application to the high sheriff, permission had been secured for charles to occupy a private room, on a heavy fee to the jailor, and for his friends to have access to him, besides other necessaries, purchased at more than their weight in gold. sir edmund brought word that charles was in good heart; sent love and duty to his father, whom he would welcome with all his soul, but that as miss woodford was--in her love and bravery--going so soon to london, he prayed that she might be his first visitor that evening. there was little more to do than to cross the street, and sir edmund hurried her through the flagged and dirty yard, and the dim, foul hall, filled with fumes of smoke and beer, where melancholy debtors held out their hands, idle scapegraces laughed, heavy degraded faces scowled, and evil sounds were heard, up the stairs to a nail-studded door, where anne shuddered to hear the heavy key turned by the coarse, rude-looking warder, only withheld from insolence by the presence of a magistrate. her escort tarried outside, and she saw charles, his rush-light candle gleaming on his gold lace as he wrote a letter to the ambassador to be forwarded by his father. he sprang up with outstretched arms and an eager smile. "my brave sweetheart! how nobly you have done. truth and trust. it did my heart good to hear you." her head was on his shoulder. she wanted to speak, but could not without loosing the flood of tears. "faith entire," he went on; "and you are still striving for me." "princess anne is--" she began, then the choking came. "true!" he said. "come, do not expect the worst. i have not made up my mind to that! if the ambassador will stir, the king will not be disobliging, though it will probably not be a free pardon, but hungary for some years to come--and you are coming with me." "if you will have one who might be--may have been--your death. oh, every word i said seemed to me stabbing you;" and the tears would come now. "no such thing! they only showed how true my love is to god and me, and made my heart swell with pride to hear her so cheering me through all." his strength seemed to allow her to break down. she had all along had to bear up the spirits of sir philip and lady archfield, and though she had struggled for composure, the finding that she had in him a comforter and support set the pent-up tears flowing fast, as he held her close. "oh, i did not mean to vex you thus!" she said. "vex! no indeed! 'tis something to be wept for. but cheer up, anne mine. i have often been in far worse plights than this, when i have ridden up in the face of eight big turkish guns. the balls went over my head then, by god's good mercy. why not the same now? ay! and i was ready to give all i had to any one who would have put a pistol to my head and got me out of my misery, jolting along on the way to the iron gates. yet here i am! maybe the almighty brought me back to save poor sedley, and clear my own conscience, knowing well that though it does not look so, it is better for me to die thus than the other way. no, no; 'tis ten to one that you and the rest of you will get me off. i only meant to show you that supposing it fails, i shall only feel it my due, and much better for me than if i had died out there with it unconfessed. i shall try to get them all to feel it so, and, after all, now the whole is out, my heart feels lighter than it has done these seven years. and if i could only believe that poor fellow alive, i could almost die content, though that sounds strange. it will quiet his poor restless spirit any way." "you are too brave. oh! i hoped to come here to comfort you, and i have only made you comfort me." "the best way, sweetest. now, i will seal and address this letter, and you shall take it to mr. fellowes to carry to the ambassador." this gave anne a little time to compose herself, and when he had finished, he took the candle, and saying, "look here," he held it to the wall, and they read, scratched on the rough bricks, "alice lisle, . this is thankworthy." "lady lisle's cell! oh, this is no good omen!" "i call it a goodly legacy even to one who cannot claim to suffer wrongfully," said charles. "there, they knock--one kiss more--we shall meet again soon. don't linger in town, but give me all the days you can. yes, take her back, sir edmund, for she must rest before her journey. cheer up, love, and do not lie weeping all night, but believe that your prayers to god and man must prevail one way or another." chapter xxxi: elf-land "three ruffians seized me yestermorn, alas! a maiden most forlorn; they choked my cries with wicked might, and bound me on a palfrey white." s. t. coleridge. yet after the night it was with more hope than despondency, anne, in the february morning, mounted en croupe behind mr. fellowes's servant, that being decided on as the quickest mode of travelling. she saw the sunrise behind st. catherine's hill, and the gray mists filling the valley of the itchen, and the towers of the cathedral and college barely peeping beyond them. would her life rise out of the mist? through hoar-frosted hedges, deeply crested with white, they rode, emerging by and by on downs, becoming dully green above, as the sun touched them, but white below. suddenly, in passing a hollow, overhung by two or three yew-trees, they found themselves surrounded by masked horsemen. the servant on her horse was felled, she herself snatched off and a kerchief covered her face, while she was crying, "oh sir, let me go! i am on business of life and death." the covering was stuffed into her mouth, and she was borne along some little way; then there was a pause, and she freed herself enough to say, "you shall have everything; only let me go;" and she felt for the money with which sir philip had supplied her, and for the watch given her by king james. "we want you; nothing of yours," said a voice. "don't be afraid. no one will hurt you; but we must have you along with us." therewith she was pinioned by two large hands, and a bandage was made fast over her eyes, and when she shrieked out, "mr. fellowes! oh! where are you?" she was answered-- "no harm has been done to the parson. he will be free as soon as any one comes by. 'tis you we want. now, i give you fair notice, for we don't want to choke you; there's no one to hear a squall. if there were, we should gag you, so you had best be quiet, and you shall suffer no hurt. now then, by your leave, madam." she was lifted on horseback again, and a belt passed round her and the rider in front of her. again she strove, in her natural voice, to plead that to stop her would imperil a man's life, and to implore for release. "we know all that," she was told. it was not rudely said. the voice was not that of a clown; it was a gentleman's pronunciation, and this was in some ways more inexplicable and alarming. the horses were put in rapid motion; she heard the trampling of many hoofs, and felt that they were on soft turf, and she knew that for many miles round winchester it was possible to keep on the downs so as to avoid any inhabited place. she tried to guess, from the sense of sunshine that came through her bandage, in what direction she was being carried, and fancied it must be southerly. on--on--on--still the turf. it seemed absolutely endless. time was not measurable under such circumstances, but she fancied noon must have more than passed, when the voice that had before spoken said, "we halt in a moment, and shift you to another horse, madam; but again i forewarn you that our comrades here have no ears for you, and that cries and struggles will only make it the worse for you." then came the sound as of harder ground and a stop-- undertones, gruff and manly, could be heard, the peculiar noise of horses' drinking; and her captor came up this time on foot, saying, "plaguy little to be had in this accursed hole; 'tis but the choice between stale beer and milk. which will you prefer?" she could not help accepting the milk, and she was taken down to drink it, and a hunch of coarse barley bread was given to her, with it the words, "i would offer you bacon, but it tastes as if old nick had smoked it in his private furnace." such expressions were no proof that gentle blood was lacking, but whose object could her abduction be--her, a penniless dependent? could she have been seized by mistake for some heiress? in that moment's hope she asked, "sir, do you know who i am--anne woodford, a poor, portionless maid, not--" "i know perfectly well, madam," was the reply. "may i trouble you to permit me to mount you again?" she was again placed behind one of the riders, and again fastened to him, and off they went, on a rougher horse, on harder ground, and, as she thought, occasionally through brushwood. again a space, to her illimitable, went by, and then came turf once more, and by and by what seemed to her the sound of the sea. another halt, another lifting down, but at once to be gathered up again, and then a splashing through water. "be careful," said the voice. a hand, a gentleman's hand, took hers; her feet were on boards--on a boat; she was drawn down to sit on a low thwart. putting her hand over, she felt the lapping of the water and tasted that it was salt. "oh, sir, where are you taking me?" she asked, as the boat was pushed off. "that you will know in due time," he answered. some more refreshment was offered her in a decided but not discourteous manner, and she partook of it, remembering that exhaustion might add to her perils. she perceived that after pushing off from shore sounds of eating and low gruff voices mingled with the plash of oars. commands seemed to be given in french, and there were mutterings of some strange language. darkness was coming on. what were they doing with her? and did charles's fate hang upon hers? yet in spite of terrors and anxieties, she was so much worn out as to doze long enough to lose count of time, till she was awakened by the rocking and tossing of the boat and loud peremptory commands. she became for the first time in her life miserable with sea- sickness, for how long it was impossible to tell, and the pitching of the boat became so violent that when she found herself bound to one of the seats she was conscious of little but a longing to be allowed to go to the bottom in peace, except that some great cause-- she could hardly in her bewildered wretchedness recollect what-- forbade her to die till her mission was over. there were loud peremptory orders, oaths, sea phrases, in french and english, sometimes in that unknown tongue. something expressed that a light was directing to a landing-place, but reaching it was doubtful. "unbind her eyes," said a voice; "let her shift for herself." "better not." there followed a fresh upheaval, as if the boat were perpendicular; a sudden sinking, some one fell over and bruised her; another frightful rising and falling, then smoothness; the rope that held her fast undone; the keel grating; hands apparently dragging up the boat. she was lifted out like a doll, carried apparently through water over shingle. light again made itself visible; she was in a house, set down on a chair, in the warmth of fire, amid a buzz of voices, which lulled as the bandage was untied and removed. her eyes were so dazzled, her head so giddy, her senses so faint, that everything swam round her, and there that strange vision recurred. peregrine oakshott was before her. she closed her eyes again, as she lay back in the chair. "take this; you will be better." a glass was at her lips, and she swallowed some hot drink, which revived her so that she opened her eyes again, and by the lights in an apparently richly curtained room, she again beheld that figure standing by her, the glass in his hand. "oh!" she gasped. "are you alive?" the answer was to raise her still gloved hand with substantial fingers to a pair of lips. "then--then--he is safe! thank god!" she murmured, and shut her eyes again, dizzy and overcome, unable even to analyse her conviction that all would be well, and that in some manner he had come to her rescue. "where am i?" she murmured dreamily. "in elf-land?" "yes; come to be queen of it." the words blended with her confused fancies. indeed she was hardly fully conscious of anything, except that a woman's hands were about her, and that she was taken into another room, where her drenched clothes were removed, and she was placed in a warm, narrow bed, where some more warm nourishment was put into her mouth with a spoon, after which she sank into a sleep of utter exhaustion. that sleep lasted long. there was a sensation of the rocking of the boat, and of aching limbs, through great part of the time; also there seemed to be a continual roaring and thundering around her, and such strange misty visions, that when she finally awoke, after a long interval of deeper and sounder slumber, she was incapable of separating the fact from the dream, more especially as head and limbs were still heavy, weary, and battered. the strange roaring still sounded, and sometimes seemed to shake the bed. twilight was coming in at a curtained window, and showed a tiny chamber, with rafters overhead and thatch, a chest, a chair, and table. there was a pallet on the floor, and anne suspected that she had been wakened by the rising of its occupant. her watch was on the chair by her side, but it had not been wound, and the dim light did not increase, so that there was no guessing the time; and as the remembrance of her dreadful adventures made themselves clear, she realised with exceeding terror that she must be a prisoner, while the evening's apparition relegated itself to the world of dreams. being kidnapped to be sent to the plantations was the dread of those days. but if such were the case, what would become of charles? in the alarm of that thought she sat up in bed and prepared to rise, but could nowhere see her clothes, only the little cloth bag of toilet necessaries that she had taken with her. at that moment, however, the woman came in with a steaming cup of chocolate in her hand and some of the garments over her arm. she was a stout, weather-beaten, kindly-looking woman with a high white cap, gold earrings, black short petticoat, and many-coloured apron. "monsieur veut savoir si mademoiselle va bien?" said she in slow careful french, and when questions in that language were eagerly poured out, she shook her head, and said, "ne comprends pas." she, however, brought in the rest of the clothes, warm water, and a light, so that anne rose and dressed, exceedingly perplexed, and wondering whether she could be in a ship, for the sounds seemed to say so, and there was no corresponding motion. could she be in france? certainly the voyage had seemed interminable, but she did not think it _could_ have been long enough for that, nor that any person in his senses would try to cross in an open boat in such weather. she looked at the window, a tiny slip of glass, too thick to show anything but what seemed to be a dark wall rising near at hand. alas! she was certainly a prisoner! in whose hands? with what intent? how would it affect that other prisoner at winchester? was that vision of last night substantial or the work of her exhausted brain? what could she do? it was well for her that she could believe in the might of prayer. she durst not go beyond her door, for she heard men's tones, suppressed and gruff, but presently there was a knock, and wonder of wonders, she beheld hans, black hans, showing all his white teeth in a broad grin, and telling her that missee anne's breakfast was ready. the curtain that overhung the door was drawn back, and she passed into another small room, with a fire on the open hearth, and a lamp hung from a beam, the walls all round covered with carpets or stuffs of thick glowing colours, so that it was like the inside of a tent. and in the midst, without doubt, stood peregrine oakshott, in such a dress as was usually worn by gentlemen in the morning--a loose wrapping coat, though with fine lace cuffs and cravat, all, like the shoes and silk stockings, worn with his peculiar daintiness, and, as was usual when full-bottomed wigs were the rule in grande tenue, its place supplied by a silken cap. this was olive green with a crimson tassel, which had assumed exactly the characteristic one-sided riquet-with-a-tuft aspect. for the rest, these years seemed to have made the slight form slighter and more wiry, and the face keener, more sallow, and more marked. he bowed low with the foreign courtesy which used to be so offensive to his contemporaries, and offered a delicate, beringed hand to lead the young lady to the little table, where grilled fowl and rolls, both showing the cookery of hans, were prepared for her. "i hope you rested well, and have an appetite this morning." "sir, what does it all mean? where am i?" asked anne, drawing herself up with the native dignity that she felt to be her defence. "in elf-land," he said, with a smile, as he heaped her plate. "speak in earnest," she entreated. "i cannot eat till i understand. it is no time for trifling! life and death hang on my reaching london! if you saved me from those men, let me go free." "no one can move at present," he said. "see here." he drew back a curtain, opened first one door and then another, and she saw sheets of driving rain, and rising, roaring waves, with surf which came beating in on the force of such a fearful gust of wind that peregrine hastily shut the door, not without difficulty. "nobody can stir at present," he said, as they came into the warm bright room again. "it is a frightful tempest, the worst known here for years, they say. the dead-lights, as they call them, have been put in, or the windows would be driven in. come and taste hans's work; you know it of old. will you drink tea? do you remember how your mother came to teach mine to brew it, and how she forgave me for being graceless enough to squirt at her?" there was something so gentle and reassuring in the demeanour of this strange being that anne, convinced of the utter hopelessness of confronting the storm, as well as of the need of gathering strength, allowed herself to be placed in a chair, and to partake of the food set before her, and the tea, which was served without milk, in an exquisite dragon china cup, but with a saucer that did not match it. "we don't get our sets perfect," said peregrine, with a smile, who was waiting on her as if she were a princess. "i entreat you to tell me where we are!" said anne. "not in france?" "no, not in france! i wish we were." "then--can this be the island?" "yes, the island it is," said peregrine, both speaking as south hants folk; "this is the strange cave or chasm called black gang chine." "black gang! oh! the highwaymen, the pirates! you have saved me from them. were they going to send me to the plantations?" "you need have no fears. no one shall touch you, or hurt you. you shall see no one save by your own consent, my queen." "and when this storm is passed--oh!" as a more fearful roar and dash sounded as if the waves were about to sweep away their frail shelter--"you will come with me and save mr. archfield's life? you cannot know--" "i know," he interrupted; "but why should i be solicitous for his life? that i am here now is no thanks to him, and why should i give up mine for the sake of him who meant to make an end of me?" "you little know how he repented. and your own life? what do you mean?" "people don't haunt the black gang chine when their lives are secure from dutch bill," he answered. "don't be terrified, my queen; though i cannot lay claim, like prospero, to having raised this storm by my art magic, yet it perforce gives me time to make you understand who and what i am, and how i have recovered my better angel to give her no mean nor desperate career. it will be better thus than with the suddenness with which i might have had to act." a new alarm seized upon anne as to his possible intentions, but she would not forestall what she so much apprehended, and, sensible that self-control alone could guard her, since escape at present was clearly impossible, she resigned herself to sit opposite to him by the ample hearth of what she perceived to be a fisherman's hut, thus fitted up luxuriously with, it might be feared, the spoils of the sea. the story was a long one, and not by any means told consecutively or without interruption, and all the time those eyes were upon her, one yellow the other green, with the effect she knew so well of old in childish days, of repulsion yet compulsion, of terror yet attraction, as if irresistibly binding a reluctant will. several times peregrine was called off to speak to some one outside the door, and at noon he begged permission for his friends to dine with them, saying that there was no other place where the dinner could be taken to them comfortably in this storm. chapter xxxii: seven years "it was between the night and day, when the fairy king has power, that i sunk down in a sinful fray, and 'twixt life and death was snatched away to the joyless elfin bower." scott. this motto was almost the account that the twisted figure, with queer contortions of face, yet delicate feet and hands, and dainty utterance, might have been expected to give, when anne asked him, "was it you, really?" "i--or my double?" he asked. "when?" she told him, and he seemed amazed. "so you were there? well, you shall hear. you know how things stood with me--your mother, my good spirit, dead, my uncle away, my father bent on driving me to utter desperation, and martha browning laying her great red hands on me--" "oh, sir, she really loved you, and is far wiser and more tolerant than you thought her." "i know," he smiled grimly. "she buried the huge scot that was killed in the great smuggling fray under the protector, with all honours, in our family vault, and had a long-winded sermon preached on my untimely end. ha! ha!" with his mocking laugh. "don't, sir! if you had seen your father then! why did no one come forward and explain?" "mayhap there were none at hand who knew, or wished to meddle with the law," he said. "well, things were beyond all bearing at home, and you were going away, and would not so much as look at me. now, one of the few sports my father did not look askance at was fishing, and he would endure my being out at night with, as he thought, poor man, old pete perring, who was as stern a puritan as himself; but i had livelier friends, and more adventurous. they had connections with french free-traders for brandy and silks, and when they found i was one with them, my french tongue was a boon to them, till i came to have a good many friends among the norman fishermen, and to know the snug hiding-places about the coast. so at last i made up my mind to be off with them, and make my way to my uncle in muscovy. i had raised money enough at play and on the jewels one picks up in an envoy's service, and there was one good angel whom i meant to take with me if i could secure her and bind her wings. now you know with what hopes i saw you gathering flowers alone that morning." anne clasped her hands; charles had truly interfered with good cause. "i had all arranged," he continued; "my uncle would have given you a hearty welcome, and made our peace with my father, or if not, he would have left us all his goods, and secured my career. what call had that great lout, with a wife of his own too, to come thrusting between us? i thought i should make short work of him, and give him a lesson against meddling--great unlicked cub as he was, while i had had the best training at berlin and paris in fencing; but somehow those big strong fellows, from their very clumsiness, throw one out. and he meant mischief--yes, that he did. i saw it in his eyes. i suppose his sulky rustic jealousy was a-fire at a few little civilities to that poor little wife of his. any way, when he bore me down like the swing of a windmill, he drove his sword home. talk of his being innocent! why should he never look whether i were dead or alive, but fling me headlong into that pit?" anne could not but utter her eager defence, but it was met with a sinister smile, half of scorn, half of pity, and as she would have gone on, "hush! your pleading only fills up the measure of my loathing." her heart sank, but she let him go on, listening perhaps less attentively as she considered how to take him. "in fact," he continued, "little as the lubber knew it, 'twas the best he could have done for me. for though i never looked for such luck as your being out in the court at that hour, i did think the chance not to be lost of visiting the garden or the churchyard, and there were waiting in the vault a couple of stout normans, who were to come at my whistle. it seems that when i came tumbling down in their midst, senseless and bleeding like a calf, they did not take it quite so easily as your champion above, but began doing what they could for me, and were trying to staunch the wound, when they heard a trampling and a rumbling overhead, and being aware that our undertaking might look ugly in the sight of the law, and thinking this might be pursuers, they carried me off with all speed, not so much as stopping to pick up the things that have made such a commotion. was there any pursuit?" "oh no; it must have been the haymakers." "no doubt. the place was in no great favour with our own people; they were in awe of the big scot, who is in comfortable quarters in my grave, and the frenchmen could not have found their way thither, so it was let alone till mistress martha's researches. so i came to myself in the boat in which they took me on board the lugger that was waiting for us; and instead of making for alderney, as i had intended, so as to get the knot safely tied to your satisfaction, they sailed straight for havre. they had on board a jesuit father, whom i had met once or twice among the duke of berwick's people, but who had found portsmouth too hot to hold him in the frenzy of protestant zeal on the bishops' account. he had been beset, and owed his life, he says, to the fists of the breton and norman sailors, who had taken him on board. it was well for me, for i doubt if ever i was tough enough to have withstood my good friends' treatment. he had me carried to a convent in havre, where the fathers nursed me well; and before i was on my legs again, i had made up my mind to cast in my lot with them, or rather with their church." "oh!" "i had been baulked of winning the one being near whom my devil never durst come. and blood-letting had pretty well disposed of him. i was as meek and mild as milk under the good fathers. moreover, as my good friend at turin had told me, and they repeated it, such a doubly heretical baptism as mine was probably invalid, and accounted for my being as much a vessel of wrath as even my father was pleased to call me. there was the queen's rosary drawing me too. everything else was over with me, and it seemed to open a new life. so, bless me, what a soft and pious frame i was in when they chastened me, water, oil, salt and all, on what my father raged at folks calling lammas day, but which it seems really belongs to st. peter in the fetters. so i was named pierre or piers after him, thus keeping my own initial." "piers! oh! not piers pigwiggin?" "pierre de pilpignon, if you please. i have a right to that too; but we shall come to it by and by. i can laugh now, or perhaps weep, over the fervid state i was in then, as if i had trodden down my snake, and by giving up everything--you, estate, career, i could keep him down. so it was settled that i would devote myself to the priesthood--don't laugh!--and i was ordered off to their seminary in london, partly, i believe, for the sake of piloting a couple of fathers, who could not speak a word of english. it was, as they rightly judged, the last place where my father would think of looking for me, but they did not as rightly judge that we should long keep possession there. matters grew serious, and it was not over safe in the streets. there was a letter of importance from a friend in holland, carrying the prince of orange's hypocritical declaration, which was to be got to father petre or the king on the night--hallowmas eve it was--and i was told off to put on a secular dress, which i could wear more naturally than most of them, and convey it." "ah, that explains!" "apparition number one! i guessed you were somewhere in those parts, and looked up at the windows, and though i did not see you, i believe it was your eyes that first sent a thrill through me that boded ill for roman orders. after that we lived in a continual state of rumours and alarms, secret messages and expeditions, until i, being strong in the arm and the wind and a feather-weight, was one of those honoured by rowing the queen and prince across the river. m. de st. victor accepted me. he told me there would be two nurses, but never knew or cared who they were, nor did i guess, as we sat in the dark, how near i was to you. and only for one second did i see your face, as you were entering the carriage, and i blessed you the more for what you were doing for her majesty." he proceeded to tell how he had accompanied the jesuit fathers, on their leaving london, to the great english seminary at douai, and being for the time convinced by them that his feelings towards anne were a delusion of the enemy, he had studied with all his might, and as health and monotony of life began to have their accustomed effect in rousing the restlessness and mischievousness of his nature, with all the passions of manhood growing upon him, he strove to force them down by fasting and scourging. he told, in a bitter, almost savage way, of his endeavours to flog his demon out of himself, and of his anger and disappointment at finding piers pilgrim in the seminary of douai, quite as subject to his attacks as ever was perry oakshott under a sermon of mr. horncastle's. then came the information among the students that the governor of the city, the marquis de nidemerle, had brought some english gentlemen and ladies to visit the gardens. as most of the students were of british families there was curiosity as to who they were, and thus peregrine heard that one was young archfield of the hampshire family, with his tutor, and the lady was mistress darpent, daughter to a french lawyer, who had settled in england after the fronde. anne's name had not transpired, for she was viewed merely as an attendant. peregrine had been out on some errand in the town, and had a distant view of his enemy as he held him, flaunting about with a fine lady on his arm, forgetting the poor little pretty wife whom no doubt he had frightened to death." "oh! you little know how tenderly he speaks of her." "tenderly!--that's the way they speak of me at oakwood, eh? human, not to say elf, nature, could not withstand giving the fellow a start. i sped off, whipped into the church, popped into a surplice i found ready to hand, caught up a candle, and!--little did i think who it was that was hanging on his arm. so little did i know it that my heart began to be drawn to st. germain, where i still imagined you. altogether, after that prank, all broke out again. i entertained the lads with a few more freaks, for which i did ample penance, but it grew on me that in my case all was a weariness and a sham, and that my demon might get a worse hold of me if i got into a course of hypocrisy. they were very good to me, those fathers, but jesuits as they were, i doubt whether they ever fathomed me. any way, perhaps they thought i should be a scandal, but they agreed with me that their order was not my vocation, and that we had better part before my fiend drove me to do so with dishonour. they even gave me recommendations to the french officers that were besieging tournay. i knew the duke of berwick a little at portsmouth, and it ended in my becoming under-secretary to the duke of chartres. a man who knows languages has his value among frenchmen, who despise all but their own." peregrine did not enter into full details of this stage of his career, and anne was not fully informed of the habits that the young duke of chartres, the future regent duke of orleans, was already developing, but she gathered that, what the young man called his demon, had nearly undisputed sway over him, and she had not spent eight months at st. germain without knowing by report of the dissolute manners of the substratum of fashionable society at paris, even though outward decorum had been restored by madame de maintenon. yet he seemed to have been crossed by fits of vehement penitence, and almost the saddest part of the story was the mocking tone in which he alluded to these. he had sought service at the court in the hope of meeting miss woodford there, and had been grievously disappointed when he found that she had long since returned to england. the sight of the gracious and lovely countenance of the exiled queen seemed always to have moved and touched him, as in some inexplicable manner her eyes and expression recalled to him those of mrs. woodford and anne; but the thought had apparently only stung him into the sense of being forsaken and abandoned to his own devices or those of his evil spirit. one incident, occurring some three years previously, he told more fully, as it had a considerable effect on his life. "i was attending the duke in the gardens at versailles," he said, "when we were aware of a great commotion. all the gentlemen were standing gazing up into the top of a great chestnut tree, the king and all, and in the midst stood the abbe de fenelon with his little pupils, the youngest, the duke of anjou, sobbing piteously, and the duke of burgundy in a furious passion, stamping and raging, and only withheld from rolling on the ground by the abbe's hand grasping his shoulder. 'i will not have him killed! he is mine,' he cried. and up in the tree, the object of all their gaze, was a monkey with a paper fluttering in his hand. some one had made a present of the creature to the king's grandsons; he was the reigning favourite, and having broken his chain, had effected an entrance by the window into the king's cabinet, where after giving himself the airs of a minister of state, on being interrupted, he had made off through the window with an important document, which he was affecting to peruse at his leisure, only interrupting himself to hurl down leaves or unripe chestnuts at those who attempted to pelt him with stones, and this only made him mount higher and higher, entirely out of their reach, for no one durst climb after him. i believe it was a letter from the king of spain; at any rate the whole cabinet was in agony lest the brute should proceed to tear it into fragments, and a musqueteer had been sent for to shoot him down. i remembered my success with the monkey on poor little madam archfield's back--nay, perhaps 'twas the same, my familiar taking shape. i threw myself at the king's feet, and desired permission to deal with the beast. by good luck it had not been so easy as they supposed to find a musquet fit for immediate use, so i had full time. to ascend the tree was no more than i had done many times before, and i went high in the branches, but cautiously, not to give monsieur le singe the idea of being pursued, lest he should leap to a bough incapable of supporting me. when i had reached a fork tolerably high, and where he could see me, i settled myself, took out a letter, which fortunately was in my pocket, read it with the greatest deliberation, the monkey watching me all the time, and finally i proceeded to fold it neatly in all its creases. the creature imitated me with its black fingers, little aware, poor thing, that the musqueteer had covered him with his weapon, and was waiting for the first sign of tearing the letter to pull the trigger, but withheld by a sign from the king, who did not wish to sacrifice his grandson's pet before his eyes. finally, after finishing the folding, i doubled it a second time, and threw it at the animal. to my great joy he returned the compliment by throwing the other at my head. i was able to catch it, and moreover, as he was disposed to go in pursuit of his plaything, he swung his chain so near me that i got hold of it, twisted it round my arm, and made the best of my way down the tree, amid the 'bravos!' started by the royal lips themselves, and repeated with ecstasy by all the crowd, who waved their hats, and made such a hallooing that i had much ado to get the monkey down safely; but finally, all dishevelled, with my best cuffs and cravat torn to ribbons, and my wig happily detached, unlike absalom's, for it remained in the tree, i had the honour of presenting on my knee the letter to the king, and the monkey to the princes. i kissed his majesty's hand, the little duke of anjou kissed the monkey, and the duke of burgundy kissed me with arms round my neck, then threw himself on his knees before his grandfather to ask pardon for his passion. every one said my fortune was made, and that my agility deserved at least the cordon bleu. my own duke of chartres, who in many points is like his cousin, our late king charles, gravely assured me that a new office was to be invented for me, and that i was to be grand singier du roi. i believe he pushed my cause, and so did the little duke of burgundy, and finally i got the pension without the office, and a good deal of occasional employment besides, in the way of translation of documents. there were moments of success at play. oh yes, quite fairly, any one with wits about him can make his profit in the long-run among the court set. and thus i had enough to purchase a pretty little estate and chateau on the coast of normandy, the confiscated property of a poor huguenot refugee, so that it went cheap. it gives the title of pilpignon, which i assumed in kindness to the tongues of my french friends. so you see, i have a station and property to which to carry you, my fair one, won by myself, though only by catching an ape." he went on to say that the spot had been chosen advisedly, with a view to communication with the opposite coast, where his old connection with the smugglers was likely to be useful in the jacobite plots. "as you well know," he said, "my father had done his utmost to make whiggery stink in my nostrils, to say nothing of the kindness i have enjoyed from our good queen; and i was ready to do my utmost in the cause, especially after i had stolen a glimpse of you, and when charnock, poor fellow, returning from reconnoitring among the loyal, told me that you were still unmarried, and living as a dependent in the archfields' house. our headquarters were in romney marsh, but it was as well to have, as it were, a back door here, and as it has turned out it has been the saving of some of us." "oh, sir! you were not in that wicked plot?" "nay; surely _you_ are not turned whig." "but this was assassination." "not at all, if they would have listened to me. the dutchman is no bigger than i am. i could have dropped on him from one of his trees at hampton court, or through a window, via presto, and we would have had him off by the river, given him an interview to beg his uncle's pardon, and despatched him for the benefit of his asthma to the company of the iron mask at st. marguerite; then back again, the king to enjoy his own again, dr. woodford, archbishop or bishop of whatever you please, and a lady here present to be marquise de pilpignon, or countess of havant, whichever she might prefer. yes, truly those were the hopes with which i renewed my communications with the contraband trade on this coast, a good deal more numerous since the dutchman and his wars have raised the duties and driven many good men to holes and corners. "ever since last spring, when the princess royal died, and thus extinguished the last spark of forbearance in the king's breast, i have been here, there, and everywhere--romney marsh, drury lane, paris, besides this place and pilpignon, where i have a snug harbour for the yacht, ma belle annik, as the breton sailors call her. the crew are chiefly breton; it saves gossip; but i have a boat's crew of our own english folk here, stout fellows, ready for anything by land or sea." "the black gang," said anne faintly. "don't suppose i have meddled in their exploits on the road," he said, "except where a king's messenger or a royal mail was concerned, and that is war, you know, for the cause. unluckily my personal charms are not easily disguised, so that i have had to lurk in the background, and only make my private investigations in the guise of my own ghost." "then so it was you saved the dear little philip?" said anne. "the archfield boy? i could not see a child sent to his destruction by that villain sedley, whoever were his father, for he meant mischief if ever man did. 'twas superhuman scruple not to hold your peace and let him swing." "what was it, then, on his cousin's part?" peregrine only answered with a shrug. it appeared further, that as long as the conspirators had entertained any expectation of success, he had merely kept a watch over anne, intending to claim her in the hour of the triumph of his party, when he looked to enjoy such a position as would leave his brother free to enjoy his paternal inheritance. in the failure of all their schemes through mr. pendergrast's denunciation, sir george barclay, and one or two inferior plotters, had succeeded in availing themselves of the assistance of the black gang, and had been conducted by peregrine to the hut that he had fitted up for himself. still trusting to the security there, although his name of piers pilgrim or de pilpignon had been among those given up to the privy council, he had insisted on lingering, being resolved that an attempt should be made to carry away the woman he had loved for so many years. captain burford had so disguised himself as to be able to attend the trial, loiter about the inn, and collect intelligence, while the others waited on the downs. peregrine had watched over the capture, but being unwilling to disclose himself, had ridden on faster and crossed direct, traversing the island on horseback, while the captive was rounding it in the boat. "as should never have been done," he said, "could i have foretold to what stress of weather you would be exposed while i was preparing for your reception. but for this storm--it rages louder than ever--we would have been married by a little parson whom burford would have fetched from portsmouth, and we should have been over the channel, and my people hailing my bride with ecstasy." "never!" exclaimed anne. "can you suppose i could accept one who would leave an innocent man to suffer?" "people sometimes are obliged to accept," said peregrine. then at her horrified start, "no, no, fear no violence; but is not something due to one who has loved you through exile all these years, and would lay down his life for you? you, the only being who overcomes his evil angel!" "this is what you call overcoming it," she said. "nay; indeed, mistress anne, i would let the authorities know that they are hanging a man for murdering one who is still alive if i could; but no one would believe without seeing, and i and all who could bear witness to my existence would be rushing to an end even worse than a simple noose. you were ready enough to denounce him to save that worthless fellow." "not ready. it tore my heart. but truth is truth. i could not do that wickedness. oh! how can you? this _is_ the prompting of the evil spirit indeed, to expect me to join in leaving that innocent, generous spirit to die in cruel injustice. let me go. i will not betray where you are. you will be safe in france; but there will yet be time for me to bear witness to your life. write a letter. your father would thankfully swear to your handwriting, and i think they would believe me. only let me go." "and what then becomes of the hopes of a lifetime?" demanded peregrine. "i, who have waited as long as jacob, to be defrauded now i have you; and for the sake of the fellow who killed me in will if not in deed, and then ran away like a poltroon leaving you to bear the brunt!" "he did not act like a poltroon when he saved the life of his general, or when he rescued the colours of his regiment, still less when he stood up to save me from the pain of bearing witness against him, and to save a guiltless man," cried anne, with flashing eyes. before she had finished her indignant words, hans was coming in from some unknown region to lay the cloth for supper, and peregrine, with an imprecation under his breath, had gone to the door to admit his two comrades, who came into the narrow entry on a gust of wind as it were, struggling out of their cloaks, stamping and swearing. in the middle of the day, they had been much more restrained in their behaviour. there had at that time been a slight clearance in the sky, though the wind was as furious as ever, and they were in haste to despatch the meal and go out again to endeavour to stand on the heights and to watch some vessels that were being tossed by the storm. almost all the conversation had then been on the chances of their weathering the tempest, and the probability of its lasting on, and they had hurried away as soon as possible. anne had not then known who they were, and only saw that they were fairly civil to her, and kept under a certain constraint by pilpignon, as they called their host. now she fully knew the one who was addressed as sir george to be barclay, the prime mover in the wicked scheme of assassination of which all honest tories had been so much ashamed, and she could see captain burford to be one of those bravoes who were only too plentiful in those days, attending on dissolute and violent nobles. she was the less inclined to admit their attentions, and shielded herself with a grave coldness of stately manners; but their talk was far more free than at noon, suggesting the thought that they had anticipated the meal with some of the nantz or other liquors that seemed to be in plenty. they began by low bows of affected reverence, coarser and worse in the ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented pilpignon on being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his time in spite of the airs of his duchess. it was his own fault if he were not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, were buffeting with the winds, which had come on more violently than ever. peregrine broke in with a question about the vessels in sight. there was an east indiaman, dutch it was supposed, laying-to, that was the cause of much excitement. "if she drives ashore our fellows will neither be to have nor to hold," said sir george. "they will obey me," said peregrine quietly. "more than the sea will just yet," laughed the captain. "however, as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, i'll be off across the island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss of the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at portsmouth there will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. never mind, madam, we'll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of the water it is. i should recommend the voyage first for my part." all anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could, apparently ignoring the man's meaning. she did not know how dignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. when presently sir george barclay proposed as a toast a health to the bride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the glass to her lips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, "may the brides be happy, wherever they may be." "coy, upon my soul," laughed sir george. "you have not made the best of your opportunities, pil." but with an oath, "it becomes her well." "a truce with fooling, barclay," muttered peregrine. "come, come, remember faint heart--no lowering your crest, more than enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of the neck!" "sir," said anne rising, "monsieur de pilpignon is an old neighbour, and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest. i wish you a good-night, gentlemen. guennik, venez ici, je vous prie." guennik, the breton boatswain's wife, understood french thus far, and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leaving the remainder of the attendance to hans, who was fully equal to it. the door was secured by a long knife in the post, but anne could hear plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortress and much of the banter of peregrine for having proceeded no further. it was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming they were, as well as sometimes so coarse that they made her cheeks glow, while she felt thankful that the bretonne could not understand. these three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, but peregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered to obtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now they had caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook no longer delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, and married or not married, he and she should both be carried off together, let the damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs she would. it was a weak concession on their part to the old puritan scruples that he might have got rid of by this time, to attempt to bring about the marriage. they jested at him for being afraid of her, and then there were jokes about gray mares. the one voice she could not hear was peregrine's, perhaps because he realised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, and besides, he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them; and then she heard sounds of card-playing, which made an accompaniment to her agonised prayers. chapter xxxiii: black gang chine "come, lady; while heaven lends us grace, let us fly this cursed place, lest the sorcerer us entice with some other new device. not a word or needless sound till we come to holier ground. i shall be your faithful guide through this gloomy covert wide." milton. never was maiden in a worse position than that in which anne woodford felt herself when she revolved the matter. the back of the isle of wight, all along the undercliff, had always had a wild reputation, and she was in the midst of the most lawless of men. peregrine alone seemed to have any remains of honour or conscience, and apparently he was in some degree in the hands of his associates. even if the clergyman came, there was little hope in an appeal to him. naval chaplains bore no good reputation, and portsmouth and cowes were haunted by the scum of the profession. all that seemed possible was to commit herself and charles to divine protection, and in that strength to resist to the uttermost. the tempest had returned again, and seemed to be raging as much as ever, and the delay was in her favour, for in such weather there could be no putting to sea. she was unwilling to leave the stronghold of her chamber, but hans came to announce breakfast to her, telling her that the mynheeren were gone, all but massa perry; and that gentleman came forward to meet her just as before, hoping 'those fellows had not disturbed her last night.' "i could not help hearing much," she said gravely. "brutes!" he said. "i am sick of them, and of this life. save for the king's sake, i would never have meddled with it." the roar of winds and waves and the beat of spray was still to be heard, and in the manifest impossibility of quitting the place and the desire of softening him, anne listened while he talked in a different mood from the previous day. the cynical tone was gone, as he spoke of those better influences. he talked of mrs. woodford and his deep affection for her, of the kindness of the good priests at havre and douai, and especially of one father seyton, who had tried to reason with him in his bitter disappointment, and savage penitence on finding that 'behind the cross lurks the devil,' as much at douai as at havant. he told how a sermon of the abbe fenelon's had moved him, and how he had spent half a lent in the severest penance, but only to have all swept away again in the wild and wicked revelry with which easter came in. again he described how his heart was ready to burst as he stood by mrs. woodford's grave at night and vowed to disentangle himself and lead a new life. "and with you i shall," he said. "no," she answered; "what you win by a crime will never do you good." "a crime! 'tis no crime. you _know_ i mean honourable marriage. you owe no duty to any one." "it is a crime to leave the innocent to undeserved death," she said. "do you love the fellow?" he cried, with a voice rising to a shout of rage. "yes," she said firmly. "why did not you say so before?" "because i hoped to see you act for right and justice sake," was anne's answer, fixing her eyes on him. "for god's sake, not mine." "yours indeed! think, what can be his love to mine? he who let them marry him to that child, while i struggled and gave up everything. then he runs away--_runs away_--leaving you all the distress; never came near you all these years. oh yes! he looks down on you as his child's governess! what's the use of loving him? there's another heiress bespoken for him no doubt." "no. his parents consent, and we have known one another's love for six years." "oh, that's the way he bound you to keep his secret! he would sing another song as soon as he was out of this scrape." "you little know!" was all she said. "ay!" continued peregrine, pacing up and down the room, "you know that all that was wanting to fill up the measure of my hatred was that he should have stolen your heart." "you cannot say that, sir. he was my kind protector and helper from our very childhood. i have loved him with all my heart ever since i durst." "ay, the great straight comely lubbers have it all their own way with the women," said he bitterly. "i remember how he rushed headlong at me with the horse-whip when i tripped you up at the slype, and you have never forgiven that." "oh! indeed i forgot that childish nonsense long ago. you never served me so again." "no indeed, never since you and your mother were the first to treat me like a human being. you will be able to do anything with me, sweetest lady; the very sense that you are under the same roof makes another man of me. i loathe what i used to enjoy. why, the very sight of you, sitting at supper like the lady in comus, in your sweet grave dignity, made me feel what i am, and what those men are. i heard their jests with your innocent ears. with you by my side the devil's power is quelled. you shall have a peaceful beneficent life among the poor folk, who will bless you; our good and gracious queen will welcome you with joy and gratitude; and when the good time comes, as it must in a few years, you will have honours and dignities lavished on you. can you not see what you will do for me?" "do you think a broken-hearted victim would be able to do you any good?" said she, looking up with tears in her eyes. "i _do_ believe, sir, that you mean well by me, in your own way, and i could, yes, i can, be sorry for you, for my mother did feel for you, and yours has been a sad life; but how could i be of any use or comfort to you if you dragged me away as these cruel men propose, knowing that he who has all my heart is dying guiltless, and thinking i have failed him!" and here she broke down in an agony of weeping, as she felt the old power in his eyes that enforced submission. he marched up and down in a sort of passion. "don't let me see you weep for him! it makes me ready to strangle him with my own hands!" a shout of 'pilpignon!' at the door here carried him off, leaving anne to give free course to the tears that she had hitherto been able to restrain, feeling the need of self-possession. she had very little hope, since her affection for charles archfield seemed only to give the additional sting of jealousy, 'cruel as the grave,' to the vindictive temper peregrine already nourished, and which certainly came from his evil spirit. she shed many tears, and sobbed unrestrainingly till the bretonne came and patted her shoulder, and said, "pauvre, pauvre!" and even hans looked in, saying, "missee nana no cry, massa perry great herr--very goot." she tried to compose herself, and think over alternatives to lay before peregrine. he might let her go, and carry to sir edmund nutley letters to which his father would willingly swear, while he was out of danger in normandy. or if this was far beyond what could be hoped for, surely he could despatch a letter to his father, and for such a price she _must_ sacrifice herself, though it cost her anguish unspeakable to call up the thought of charles, of little philip, of her uncle, and the old people, who loved her so well, all forsaken, and with what a life in store for her! for she had not the slightest confidence in the power of her influence, whatever peregrine might say and sincerely believe at present. if there were, more palpably than with all other human beings, angels of good and evil contending for him, swaying him now this way and now that; it was plain from his whole history that nothing had yet availed to keep him under the better influence for long together; and she believed that if he gained herself by these unjust and cruel means the worse spirit would thereby gain the most absolute advantage. if her heart had been free, and she could have loved him, she might have hoped, though it would have been a wild and forlorn hope; but as it was, she had never entirely surmounted a repulsion from him, as something strange and unnatural, a feeling involving fear, though here he was her only hope and protector, and an utter uncertainty as to what he might do. she could only hope that she might pine away and die quickly, and _perhaps_ charles archfield might know at last that it had been for his sake. and would it be in her power to make even such terms as these? how long she wept and prayed and tried to 'commit her way unto the lord' she did not know, but light seemed to be making its way far more than previously through the shutters closed against the storm when peregrine returned. "you will not be greatly troubled with those fellows to-day," he said; "there's a vessel come on the rocks at chale, and every man and mother's son is gone after it." so saying he unfastened the shutters and let in a flood of sunshine. "you would like a little air," he said; "'tis all quiet now, and the tide is going down." after two days' dark captivity, anne could not but be relieved by coming out, and she was anxious to understand where she was. it was, though only in march, glowing with warmth, as the sun beat against the cliffs behind, of a dark red brown, in many places absolutely black, in especial where a cascade, swelled by the rains into imposing size, came roaring, leaping, and sparkling down a sheer precipice. on either side the cove or chine was closely shut in by treeless, iron-coloured masses of rock, behind one of which the few inhabited hovels were clustered, and the boat which had brought her was drawn up. in front was the sea, still lashed by a fierce wind, which was driving the fantastically shaped remains of the great storm cloud rapidly across an intensely blue sky. the waves, although it was the ebb, were still tremendous, and their roar re-echoed as they reared to fearful heights and broke with the reverberations that she had heard all along. peregrine kept quite high up, not venturing below the washed line of shingle, saying that the back draught of the waves was most perilous, and in a high wind could not be reckoned upon. "no escape!" he said, as he perceived anne's gaze on the inaccessible cliff and the whole scene, the wild beauty of which was lost to her in its terrors. "where's your ship?" she asked. "safe in whale chine. no putting to sea yet, though it may be fair to-morrow." then she put before him the first scheme she had thought out, of letting her escape to sir edmund nutley's house, whence she could make her way back, taking with her a letter that would prove his existence without involving him or his friends in danger. and eagerly she argued, "you do not know me really! it is only an imagination that you can be the better for my presence." then, unheeding his fervid exclamation, "it was my dear mother who did you good. what would she think of the way in which you are trying to gain me?" "that i cannot do without you." "and what would you have in me? i could be only wretched, and feel all my life--such a life as it would be--that you had wrecked my happiness. oh yes! i do believe that you would try to make me happy, but don't you see that it would be quite impossible with such a grief as that in my heart, and knowing that you had caused it? i know you hate him, and he did you the wrong; but he has grieved for it, and banished himself. but above all, of this i am quite sure, that to persist in this horrible evil of leaving him to die, because of your revenge, and stealing me away, is truly giving satan such a frightful advantage over you that it is mere folly to think that winning me in such a way could do you any good. it is just a mere delusion of his, to ruin us both, body and soul. peregrine, will you not recollect my mother, and what she would think? have pity on me, and help me away, and i would pledge myself never to utter a word of this place nor that could bring you and yours into danger. we would bless and pray for you always." "no use," he gloomily said. "i believe you, but the others will never believe a woman. no doubt we are watched even now by desperate men, who would rather shoot you than let you escape from our hands." it seemed almost in connection with these words that at that moment, from some unknown quarter, where probably there was an entrance to the chine, sir george barclay appeared with a leathern case under his arm. it had been captured on the wreck, and contained papers which he wanted assistance in deciphering, since they were in dutch, and he believed them to be either despatches or bonds, either of which might be turned to profit. these were carried indoors, and spread on the table, and as anne sat by the window, dejected and almost hopeless as she was, she could not help perceiving that, though peregrine was so much smaller and less robust than his companions, he exercised over them the dominion of intellect, energy, and will, as if they too felt the force of his strange eyes; and it seemed to her as if, supposing he truly desired it, whatever he might say, he must be able to deliver her and charles; but that a being such as she had always known him should sacrifice both his love and his hate seemed beyond all hope, and "change his heart! turn our captivity, o lord," could only be her cry. only very late did burford come back, full of the account of the wreck and of the spoils, and the struggles between the wreckers for the flotsam and jetsam. there was much of savage brutality mated with a cool indifference truly horrible to anne, and making her realise into what a den of robbers she had fallen, especially as these narratives were diversified by consultations over the dutch letters and bills of exchange in the wrecked east indiaman, and how to turn them to the best advantage. barclay and burford were so full of these subjects that they took comparatively little notice of the young lady, only when she rose to retire, burford made a sort of apology that this little business had hindered his going after the parson. he heard that the salamander was at the castle, and redcoats all about, he said, and if the annick could be got out to- morrow they must sail any way; and if pil was still so squeamish, a popish priest could couple them in a leash as tight as a fleet parson could. and then peregrine demanded whether burford thought a fleet parson the english for a naval chaplain, and there was some boisterous laughter, during which anne shut herself up in her room in something very like despair, with that one ray of hope that he who had brought her back from exile before would again save her from that terrible fate. she heard card-playing and the jingle of glasses far into the night, as she believed, but it seemed to her as if she had scarcely fallen asleep before, to her extreme terror, she heard a knock and a low call at her door of 'guennik.' then as the bretonne went to the door, through which a light was seen, a lantern was handed in, and a scrap of paper on which the words were written: "on second thoughts, my kindred elves at portchester shall not be scared by a worricow. dress quickly, and i will bring you out of this." for a moment anne did not perceive the meaning of the missive, the ghastly idea never having occurred to her that if charles had suffered, the gibbet would have been at portchester. then, with an electric flash of joy, she saw that it meant relenting on peregrine's part, deliverance for them both. she put on her clothes with hasty, trembling hands, thankful to guennik for helping her, pressed a coin into the strong toil-worn hand, and with an earnest thrill of thankful prayer opened the door. the driftwood fire was bright, and she saw peregrine, looking deadly white, and equipped with slouched hat, short wrapping cloak, pistols and sword at his belt, dark lantern lighted on the table, and hans also cloaked by his side. he bent his head in salutation, and put his finger to his lips, giving one hand to anne, and showing by example instead of words that she must tread as softly as possible, as she perceived that he was in his slippers, hans carrying his boots as well as the lantern she had used. yet to her ears the roar of the advancing tide seemed to stifle all other sounds. past the other huts they went in silence, then came a precipitous path up the cliff, steps cut in the hard sandy grit, but very crumbling, and in places supplemented by a rude ladder of sticks and rope. peregrine went before anne, hans behind. each had hung the lantern from his neck, so as to have hands free to draw her, support her, or lift her, as might be needful. how it was done she never could tell in after years. she might jestingly say that her lightened heart bore her up, but in her soul and in her deeper moments she thought that truly angels must have had charge over her. up, up, up! at last they had reached standing ground, a tolerably level space, with another high cliff seeming to rise behind it. here it was lighter--a pale streak of dawn was spreading over the horizon, both on sky and sea, and the waves still leaping glanced in the light of a golden waning moon, while venus shone in the brightening sky, a daystar of hope. peregrine drew a long breath, and gave an order in a very low voice in dutch to hans, who placed his boots before him, and went off towards a shed. "he will bring you a pony," said his master. "excuse me;" and he was withdrawing his hand, when anne clasped it with both hers, and said in a voice of intense feeling-- "oh, how can i thank you and bless you! this _is_ putting the evil angel to flight." "'tis you that have done it! you see, i cannot do the wicked act where you are," he answered gloomily, as he turned aside to draw on his boots. "ah! but you have won the victory over him!" "do not be too sure. we are not out of reach of those rascals yet." he was evidently anxious for silence, and anne said no more. hans presently brought from some unknown quarter, a little stout pony bridled and saddled; of course not with a side saddle, but cloaks were arranged so as to make a fairly comfortable seat for anne, and peregrine led the animal on the ascent to st. catherine's down. it was light enough to dispense with the lanterns, and as they mounted higher the glorious sight of daybreak over the sea showed itself-- almost due east, the sharp points of the needles showing up in a flood of pale golden light above and below, with gulls flashing white as they floated into sunlight, all seeming to anne's thankful heart to be a new radiance of joy and hope after the dark roaring terrors of the chine. as they came out into the open freedom of the down, with crisp silvery grass under their feet, the breadth of sea on one side, before them fertile fields and hills, and farther away, dimly seen in gray mist, the familiar portsdown outlines, not a sound to be heard but the exulting ecstasies of larks, far, far above in the depths of blue, peregrine dared to speak above his breath, with a question whether anne were at ease in her extemporary side saddle, producing at the same time a slice of bread and meat, and a flask of wine. "oh, how kind! what care you take of me!" she said. "but where are we going?" "wherever you command," he said. "i had thought of carisbrooke. cutts is there, and it would be the speediest way." "would it not be the most dangerous for you?" "i care very little for my life after this." "oh no, no, you must not say so. after what you are doing for me you will be able to make it better than ever it has been. this is what i thought. if you would bring me in some place whence i could reach sir edmund nutley's house at parkhurst, his servants would help me to do the rest, even if he be not there himself. i would never betray you! you know i would not! and you would have full time to get away to your place in normandy with your friends." "you care?" asked he. "of course i do!" exclaimed she. "do i not feel grateful to you, and like and honour you better than ever i could have thought?" "you do?" in a strange choked tone. "of course i do. you are doing a noble, thankworthy thing. it is not only that i thank you for _his_ sake, but it is a grand and beautiful deed in itself; and if my dear mother know, she is blessing you for it." "i shall remember those words," he said, "if--" and he passed his hand over his eyes. "see here," he presently said; "i have written out a confession of my identity, and explanation that it was i who drew first on archfield. it is enough to save him, and in case my handwriting has altered, as i think it has, and there should be further doubt, i shall be found at pilpignon, if i get away. you had better keep it in case of accidents, or if you carry out your generous plan. say whatever you please about me, but there is no need to mention barclay or burford; and it would not be fair to the honest free-traders here to explain where their chine lies. i should have brought you up blindfold, if i could have done so with safety, not that _i_ do not trust you, but i should be better able to satisfy those fellows if i ever see them again, by telling them i have sworn you to secrecy." then he laughed. "the gowks! i won all those indian bonds of them last night, but left them in a parcel addressed to them as a legacy." anne took the required pledge, and ventured to ask, "shall i say anything for you to your father?" "my poor old father! let him know that i neither would nor could disturb robert in his inheritance, attainted traitor as the laws esteem me. for the rest, mayhap i shall write to him if the good angel you talk of will help me." "oh do! i am sure he would rejoice to forgive. he is much softened." "now, we must hush, and go warily. i see sheep, and if there is a shepherd, i want him not to see us, or point our way. it is well these isle of wight folk are not early risers." chapter xxxiv: life for life "follow light, and do the right--for man can half-control his doom-- till you find the deathless angel seated in the vacant tomb. forward, let the stormy moment fly and mingle with the past. i that loathed, have come to love him. love will conquer at the last." tennyson. on they had gone in silence for the most part, avoiding villages, but as the morning advanced and they came into more inhabited places, they were not able entirely to avoid meeting labourers going out to work, who stared at hans's black face with curiosity. the sun was already high when they reached a cross-road whence the massive towers of carisbrooke were seen above the hedges, and another turn led to parkhurst. they paused a moment, and anne was beginning to entreat her escort to leave her to proceed alone, when the sound of horses' feet galloping was heard behind them. peregrine looked back. "ah!" he said. "ride on as fast as you can towards the castle. you will be all right. i will keep them back. go, i say." and as some figures were seen at the end of the road, he pricked the pony with the point of his sword so effectually that it bolted forward, quite beyond anne's power of checking it, and in a second or two its speed was quickened by shouts and shots behind. anne felt, but scarcely understood at the moment, a sharp pang and thrill in her left arm, as the steed whirled her round the corner of the lane and full into the midst of a party of gentlemen on horseback coming down from the castle. "help! help!" she cried. "down there." attacks by highwaymen were not uncommon experiences, though scarcely at eight o'clock in the morning, or so near a garrison, but the horsemen, having already heard the shots, galloped forward. perhaps anne could hardly have turned her pony, but it chose to follow the lead of its fellows, and in a few seconds they were in the midst of a scene of utter confusion. peregrine was grappling with burford trying to drag him from his horse. both fell together, and as the auxiliaries came in sight there was another shot and two more men rode off headlong. "follow them!" said a commanding voice. "what have we here?" the two struggling figures both lay still for a moment or two, but as some of the riders drew them apart peregrine sat up, though blood was streaming down his breast and arm. "sir," he said, "i am peregrine oakshott, on whose account young archfield lies under sentence of death. if a magistrate will take my affidavit while i can make it, he will be safe." then anne heard a voice exclaiming: "oakshott! nay--why, this is mistress woodford! how came she here?" and she knew sir edmund nutley. still it was peregrine who answered-- "i captured her, in the hope of marrying her, but that cannot be--i have brought her back in all safety and honour." "sir! sir, indeed he has been very good to me. pray let him be looked to." "let him be carried to the castle," said the commander of the party, a tall man sunburnt to a fiery red. "is the other alive?" "only stunned, my lord, i think and not much hurt," was the answer of an attendant officer; "but here is a poor blackamoor dead." "poor hans! best so perhaps," murmured peregrine, as he was lifted. then in a voice of alarm, "look to the lady, she is hurt." "it is nothing," cried she. "o mr. oakshott! that this should have happened!" "my lord, this is the young gentlewoman i told you of, betrothed to poor young archfield," said sir edmund nutley. lord cutts, for it was indeed william's favoured 'salamander,' took off his plumed hat in salutation, and both gentlemen perceiving that she too was bleeding, she was solicitously invited to the castle, to be placed under the charge of the lieutenant-governor's wife. she found by this time that she was in a good deal of pain, and thankfully accepted the support sir edmund offered her, when he dismounted and walked beside her pony, while explanations passed between them. the weather had prevented any communication with the mainland, so that he was totally ignorant of her capture, and did not know what had become of mr. fellowes. he himself had been just starting with lord cutts, who was going to join the king for his next campaign, and they were to represent the case to the king. anne told him in return what she dared to say, but she was becoming so faint and dazed that she was in great fear of not saying what she ought; and indeed she could hardly speak, when after passing under the great gateway, she was lifted off her horse, at the door of the dwelling-house, and helped upstairs to a bedroom, where the wife of the lieutenant-governor, mrs. dudley, was very tender over her with essences and strong waters, and a surgeon of the suite almost immediately came to her. "oh," she exclaimed, "you should be with mr. oakshott." the surgeon explained that mr. oakshott would have nothing done for him till he had fully made and signed his deposition, in case the power should afterwards be wanting. so anne submitted to the dressing of her hurt, which was only a flesh wound, the bone being happily untouched. both the surgeon and mrs. dudley urged her going to bed immediately, but she was unwilling to put herself out of reach; and indeed the dressing was scarcely finished before sir edmund nutley knocked at the door to ask whether she could admit him. "lord cutts is very desirous of speaking with you, if you are able," he said. "here has this other fellow come round, declaring that oakshott is the pilpignon who was in the barclay plot, and besides, the prime leader of the black gang, of whom we have heard so much." "the traitor!" cried anne. "poor mr. oakshott was resolved not to betray him! how is he--mr. oakshott, i mean?" "the surgeon has him in his hands. we will send another from portsmouth, but it looks like a bad case. he made his confession bravely, though evidently in terrible suffering, seeming to keep up by force of will till he had totally exonerated archfield and signed the deposition, and then he fainted, so that i thought him dead, but i fear he has more to go through. can you come to the hall, or shall i bring lord cutts to you? we must hasten in starting that we may bring the news to winchester to-night." anne much preferred going to the hall, though she felt weak enough to be very glad to lean on sir edmund's arm. lord cutts, william's high-spirited and daring officer, received her with the utmost courtesy and kindness, inquired after her hurt, and lamented having to trouble her, but said that though he would not detain her long, her testimony was important, and he begged to hear what had happened to her. she gave the account of her capture and journey as shortly as she could. "whither was she taken?" she paused. "i promised mr. oakshott for the sake of others--" she said. "you need have no scruples on that score," said lord cutts. "burford hopes to get off for the murder by turning king's evidence, and has told all." "yes," added sir edmund; "and poor oakshott managed to say, 'tell her she need keep nothing back. it is all up.'" so anne answered all the questions put to her, and they were the fewer both out of consideration for her condition, and because the governor wanted to take advantage of the tide to embark on the medina. in a very few hours the archfields would have no more fears. anne longed to go with sir edmund, but she was in no state for a ride, and could not be a drag. sir edmund said that either his wife would come to her at once and take her to parkhurst, or else her uncle would be sure to come for her. she would be the guest of major and mrs. dudley, who lived in the castle, the actual lord warden only visiting it from time to time; and though major dudley was a stern man, both were very kind to her. as a whig, major dudley knew the oakshott family, and was willing to extend his hospitality even to the long-lost peregrine. the lord warden, who was evidently very favourably impressed, saying that there was no need at present to treat him as a prisoner, but that every attention should be paid to him, as indeed he was evidently a dying man. burford and another of his associates were to be carried off, handcuffed, with the escort to winchester jail, but before the departure, the soldiers who had been sent to the chine returned baffled; the place was entirely deserted, and barclay had escaped. anne allowed herself to be put to bed, being indeed completely exhausted, and scarcely able to think of anything but the one blessed certainty that charles was safe, and freed from all stigma. when, after the pain in her arm lulled enough to allow her to sleep, she had had a few hours' rest, she inquired for peregrine, she heard that for many hours the surgeon had been trying to extract the balls, and that they considered that the second shot had made his case hopeless, as it was in the body. he was so much exhausted as to be almost unconscious; but the next morning, when anne, against the persuasions of her hostess, had risen and been dressed, though still feeling weak and shaken, she received a message, begging her to do him the great kindness of visiting him. deadly pale, almost gray, as he looked, lying so propped with pillows as to relieve his shattered shoulder, his face had a strange look of peace, almost of relief, and he smiled at her as she entered. he held out the hand he could use, and his first word was of inquiry after her hurt. "that is nothing--it will soon be well; i wish it were the same with you." "nay, i had rather cheat the hangman. i told those doctors yesterday that they were giving themselves and me a great deal of useless trouble. the villains, as i told you, could not believe we should not betray them, and meant to make an end of us all. it's best as it is. my poor faithful hans would never have had another happy moment." "but you must be better, peregrine," for his voice, though low, was steady. "there's no living with what i have here," he said, laying his hand on his side; "and--i dreamt of your mother last night." with the words there was a look of gladness exceeding. "ah! the evil angel is gone!" "i want your prayers that he may not come back at the last." then, as she clasped her hands, and her lips moved, he added, "there were some things i could only say to you. if they don't treat my body as that of an attainted traitor, let me lie at your mother's feet. don't disturb the big scot for me, but let me rest at last near her. then tell robin 'tis not out of want of regard for him that i have not bequeathed pilpignon to him, but he could do no good with a french estate full of papists; and there's a poor loyal fellow, living ruined at paris--a catholic too--with a wife and children half starved, to whom it will do more good." "i meant to ask--shall a priest be sent for? surely major dudley would consent." "i don't know. i have not loved such priests lately. i had rather die as near your mother as may be." "miss woodford," said a voice at the door, and going to it, anne found herself clasped in her uncle's arms. with very few words she led him to the bedside, and the first thing he said was "god bless you, peregrine, for what you have done." again peregrine's face lighted up, but fell again when he was told of the portsmouth surgeon's arrival at the same time, saying with one of his strange looks that it was odd sort of mercy to try to cure a man for jack ketch, but that he should baffle them yet. "do not set your mind on that," said dr. woodford, "for lord cutts was so much pleased with you that he would do his utmost on your behalf." "much good that would do me," said poor peregrine, setting his teeth as his tormentor came in. meantime, in mrs. dudley's parlour, while that good lady was assisting the surgeon at the dressing, anne and her uncle exchanged information. mr. fellowes had arrived on foot at about noon, with his servant, having only been released after two hours by a traveller, and having been deprived both of money and horses, so that he could not proceed on his journey; besides that he had given the alarm about the abduction, and raised the hue and cry at the villages on his way. there had been great distress, riding and searching, and the knowledge had been kept from poor charles archfield in his prison. mr. fellowes had gone on to london as soon as possible, and dr. woodford had just returned from a fruitless attempt to trace his niece, when sir edmund nutley and lord cutts appeared, with the joyful tidings, which, however, could be hardly understood. nothing, dr. woodford said, could be more thorough than the vindication of charles archfield. peregrine had fully stated that the young man had merely interposed to prevent the pursuit of anne woodford, that it was he himself who had made the first attack, and that his opponent had been forced to fight in self-defence. lord cutts had not only shown his affidavit to sir philip, but had paid a visit to the colonel himself in his prison, had complimented him highly on his services in the imperial army, only regretting that they had not been on behalf of his own country, and had assured him of equal, if not superior rank, in the british army if he would join it on the liberation that he might reckon upon in the course of a very few days. "how did you work on the unhappy young man to bring about this blessed change?" asked the doctor. "oh, sir, i do not think it was myself. it was first the mercy of the almighty, and then my blessed mother's holy memory working on him, revived by the sight of myself. i cannot describe to you how gentle, and courteous, and respectful he was to me all along, though i am sure those dreadful men mocked at him for it. do you know whether his father has heard?" "robert oakshott is gone in search of him. he had set off to beat up the country, good old man, to obtain signatures to the petition in favour of our prisoner, and robert expected to find him with mr. chute at the vine. it is much to that young man's credit, niece, he was so eager to see his brother that he longed to come with me himself; but he thought that the shock to his father would be so great that he ought to bear the tidings himself. and what do you think his good wife is about? perhaps you did not know that sedley archfield brought away jail fever with him, and mrs. oakshott, feeling that she was the cause by her hasty action, has taken lodgings for him in winchester, and is nursing him like a sister. no. you need not fear for your colonel, my dear maid. sedley caught the infection because he neither was, nor wished to be, secluded from the rest of the prisoners, some of whom were, i fear, only too congenial society to him. but now tell me the story of your own deliverance, which seems to me nothing short of miraculous." the visit of the portsmouth surgeon only confirmed peregrine's own impression that it was impossible that he should live, and he was only surviving by the strong vitality in his little, spare, wiry frame. dr. woodford, after hearing anne's story, thought it well to ask him whether he would prefer the ministrations of a roman catholic priest; but whether justly or unjustly, peregrine seemed to impute to that church the failure to exorcise the malignant spirit which had led him to far worse aberrations than he had confessed to anne. though by no means deficient in knowledge or controversian theology, as dr. woodford soon found in conversation with him, his real convictions were all as to what personally affected him, and his strong protestant ingrain education, however he might have disavowed it, no doubt had affected his point of view. he had admired and been strongly influenced by the sight of real devotion and holiness, though as his temptations and hatred of monotony recurred, he had more than once swung back again. then, however, he had been revolted by the perception of the concessions to popular superstition and the morality of a wicked state of society. his real sense of any religion had been infused by mrs. woodford, and to her belongings, and the faith they involved, he was clinging in these last days. dr. woodford could not but be glad that thus it was, not only on the penitent's own account, but on that of the father, who might have lost the comfort of finding him truly repentant in the shock of finding a popish priest at his bedside. and indeed the contrition seemed to have gathered force in many a past fit of remorse, and now was deep but not unhopeful. in the evening the father and brother arrived. the major was now an old man, hale indeed, and with the beauty that a pure, self- restrained life often sheds on an aged man. he was much shaken, and when he came in, with his own white hair on his shoulders, and actually tears in his eyes, the look that passed between them was like nothing but the spirit of the parable so often, but never too often, repeated. peregrine, who never perhaps had spent a happy or fearless hour with him, and had dreaded his coming, felt probably for the first time the mysterious sense of home and peace given by the presence of those between whom there is the tie of blood. not many words passed; he was hardly in a state for them, but from that time, he was never so happy as when his father and brother were beside him; and they seldom left him, the major sitting day and night by his pillow attending to his wants, or saying words of prayer. the old man had become much softened, by nothing more perhaps than watching the way in which his daughter-in-law dealt with the manifestations of the oakshott imp nature in her eldest child. "if i had understood," he said to dr. woodford. "if i had so treated that poor boy, never would he have been as he is now." "you acted according to your conscience." "ah, sir! a man does not grow old without learning that the conscience may be blinded, above all by the spirit of opposition and party." "i will not say there were no mistakes," said the doctor; "and yet, sir, the high standard, sound principle, and strong faith he learnt from you and your example have prevailed to bear him through." the major answered with a groan, but added, "and yet, even now, stained as he tells me he is, and cut off in the flower of his age, i thank my god and his saviour, and after him, you and yours, that i am happier about him than i have been these eight and twenty years." with no scruple, major oakshott threw his heart into the ministrations of dr. woodford, which peregrine declared kept at bay the evil angel who more than once seemed to his consciousness to be striving to make him despair, while friend and father brought him back to the one hope. from time to time anne visited him for a short interval, always to his joy and gratitude. there was one visit at last which all knew would be the final one, when she shared in his first and last english communion. as she was about to leave him, he held her hand, and signed to her to bend down to hear him better. "if you can, let good father seyton at douai know that peace is come--the evil one beaten, thanks to him who giveth us the victory--and i thank them all there--and ask their prayers." "i will, i will." some one at the door said, "may i come in?" there was a sunburnt face, a head with long brown hair, a white coat. "archfield?" asked peregrine. "come, send me away with pardon." "'tis yours i need;" and as charles knelt by the bed the two faces, one all health, the other gray and deathly, were close together. "you have given your life for mine, and given _her_. how shall i thank you?" "make her happy. she deserves it." charles clasped her hand with a look that was enough. then with a strange smile, half sweetness, half the contortion of a mortal pang, the dying man said, "may she kiss me once?" and when her lips had touched the cold damp brow-- "there--my fourth seven. at last! the change is come. old-- impish--evil--self left behind. at last! thanks to him who treads down satan under our feet. thanks! take her away now." charles took her away, scarce knowing where they went,--out into the spring sunshine, on the slopes above the turf bowling-green, where the captive king had beguiled his weary hours. only then would awe and emotion let them speak, though his arm was round her, her hand in his, and his first words were, as he looked at the scarf that still bore up her arm, "and this is what you have borne for me?" "it is all but healed. don't think of it." "i shall all my life! poor fellow, he might well bid me deserve you. i never can. 'tis to you i owe all. i believe, indeed, the ambassador might have claimed me, but he is so tardy that probably i should have been hanged long before the proper form was ready; and it would have been to exile, and with a tainted name. you have won for me the clearing of name and honour--home, parents and child and all, besides your sweet self." "and it was not me, but he whom we so despised and dreaded. had i not been seized, i could only have implored for you." "i know this, that if you had not been what you are, my boy would have borne a dishonoured name, and we should never have been together as now." it was in truth their first meeting in freedom and security as lovers; but it could only be in a grave, quiet fashion, under the knowledge that he, to whom their re-union was chiefly owing, was breathing out the life he had sacrificed for them. thus they only gently and in a low voice went over their past doings and feelings as they walked up and down together, till dr. woodford came in the sunset to tell them that the change so longed for had come in peace, and with a smile that told of release from the evil angel. * * * * * peregrine's wish was fulfilled, and he was buried in portchester churchyard at mrs. woodford's feet. this time it was mr. horncastle, old as he was, who preached the funeral sermon, the in memoriam of our forefathers; and by special desire of major oakshott took for his text, 'at evening time there shall be light.' he spoke, sometimes in a voice broken, as much by feeling as by age, of the childhood blighted by a cruel superstition, and perverted, as he freely made confession, by discipline without comprehension, because no confidence had been sought. then ensued a tribute of earnest, generous justice to her who had done her best to undo the warp in the boy's nature, and whose blessed influence the young man had owned to the last, through all the temptations, errors, and frenzies of his life. nor did the good man fail to make this a means of testifying to the entire neighbourhood, who had flocked to hear him, all that might be desirable to be known respecting the conflict at portchester, actually reading peregrine's affidavit, as indeed was due to colonel archfield, so as to prove that this was no mere pardon, though technically it had so to stand, but actual acquittal. nor was the struggle with evil at the end forgotten, nor the surrender alike of love and of hatred, as well as of his own life, which had been the final conquest, the decisive passing from darkness to light. it was a strange sermon according to present ideas, but not to those who had grown up to the semi-political preaching of the century then in its last decade; and it filled many eyes with tears, many hearts with a deeper spirit of that charity which hopeth all things. * * * * * a month later charles archfield and anne jacobina woodford were married at the little parish church of fareham. sir philip insisted on making it a gay and brilliant wedding, in order to demonstrate to the neighbourhood that though the maiden had been his grandson's governess, she was a welcomed and honoured acquisition to the family. perhaps too he perceived the error of his middle age, when he contrasted that former wedding, the work of worldly conventionality, with the present. in the first, an unformed, undeveloped lad, unable to understand his own true feelings and affections had been passively linked to a shallow, frivolous, ill- trained creature, utterly incapable of growing into a helpmeet for him; whereas the love and trust of the stately-looking pair, in the fresh bloom of manhood and womanhood, had been proved in the furnace of trial, so that the troth they plighted had deep foundation for the past, and bright hope for the future. nor was anybody more joyous than little philip, winning his nana for a better mother to him than his own could ever have been it was in a blue velvet coat that colonel archfield was married. he had resigned his austrian commission; and though the 'salamander,' was empowered to offer him an excellent staff appointment in the english army, he decided to refuse. sir philip showed signs of having been aged and shaken by the troubles of the winter, and required his son's assistance in the care of his property, and little philip was growing up to need a father's hand, so that charles came to the conclusion that there was no need to cross the old cavalier's dislike to the new regime, nor to make his mother and wife again suffer the anxieties of knowing him on active service, while his duties lay at home. sedley archfield, after a long illness, owed recovery both in body and mind to mrs. oakshott, and by her arrangement finally obtained a fresh commission in a regiment raised for the defence of the possessions of the east india company. and that the poor changeling was still tenderly remembered might be proved by the fact that when the bells rung for queen anne's coronation there was one baby peregrine at fareham and another at oakwood. in the days of chivalry a tale of the times of the black prince by evelyn everett-green. chapter i. the twin eaglets. autumn was upon the world -- the warm and gorgeous autumn of the south -- autumn that turned the leaves upon the trees to every hue of russet, scarlet, and gold, that transformed the dark solemn aisles of the trackless forests of gascony into what might well have been palaces of fairy beauty, and covered the ground with a thick and soundless carpet of almost every hue of the rainbow. the sun still retained much of its heat and power, and came slanting in between the huge trunks of the forest trees in broad shafts of quivering light. overhead the soft wind from the west made a ceaseless, dreamy music and here and there the solemn silence of the forest was broken by the sweet note of some singing bird or the harsh croak of the raven. at night the savage cry of the wolf too often disturbed the rest of the scattered dwellers in that vast forest, and made a belated traveller look well to the sharpness of his weapons and the temper of his bowstring; but by day and in the sunlight the forest was beautiful and quiet enough -- something too quiet, perhaps, for the taste of the two handsome lads who were pacing the dim aisles together, their arms entwined and their curly heads in close proximity as they walked and talked. the two lads were of exactly the same height, and bore a strong likeness one to the other. their features were almost identical, but the colouring was different, so that no one who saw them in a good light would be likely to mistake or confuse them. both had the oval face and delicate regular features which we english sometimes call "foreign-looking;" but then again they both possessed the broad shoulders, the noble height, the erect carriage, and frank, fearless bearing which has in it something distinctively english, and which had distinguished these lads from their infancy from the children of the country of their adoption. then, though raymond had the dark, liquid eyes of the south, gaston's were as blue as the summer skies; and again, whilst gaston's cheek was of a swarthy hue, raymond's was as fair as that of an english maiden; and both had some golden gleams in their curly brown hair --- hair that clustered round their heads in a thick, waving mass, and gave a leonine look to the bold, eager faces. "the lion cubs" had been one of the many nicknames given to the brothers by the people round, who loved them, yet felt that they would not always keep them in their quiet forest. "the twin eaglets" was another such name; and truly there was something of the keen wildness of the eagle's eye in the flashing blue eyes of gaston. the eager, delicate features and the slightly aquiline noses of the pair added, perhaps, to this resemblance; and there had been many whispers of late to the effect that the eaglets would not remain long in the nest now, but would spread their wings for a wider flight. born and bred though they had been at the mill in the great forest that covered almost the whole of the district of sauveterre, they were no true children of the mill. what had scions of the great house of the de brocas to do with a humble miller of gascony? the boys were true sons of their house -- grafts of the parent stock. the gascon peasants looked at them with pride, and murmured that the day would come when they would show the world the mettle of which they were made. those were stirring times for gascony -- when gascony was a fief of the english crown, sorely coveted by the french monarch, but tenaciously held on to by the "roy outremer," as the great edward was called; the king who, as was rumoured, was claiming as his own the whole realm of france. and gascony, it must be remembered, did not in those days hold herself to be a part of france nor a part of the french monarchy. she held a much more important place than she would have done had she been a mere fief of the french crown. she had a certain independence of her own -- her own language, her own laws, her own customs and she saw no humiliation in owning the sovereignty of england's king, since she bad passed under english rule through no act of conquest or aggression on england's part, but by the peaceful fashion of marriage, when nearly two centuries ago eleanor of aquitaine had brought to her lord, king henry the second, the fair lands of which gascony formed a part. gascony had grown and flourished apace since then, and was rich, prosperous, and content. her lords knew how important she might be in days to come, when the inevitable struggle between the rival kings of france and england should commence; and like an accomplished coquette, she made the most of her knowledge, and played her part well, watching her opportunity for demanding an increase of those rights and privileges of which she had not a few already. but it was not of their country's position that the twin brothers were so eagerly talking as they wandered together along the woodland paths. it was little indeed that they knew of what was passing in the wide world that lay beyond their peaceful home, little that they heard of the strife of party or the suspicious jealousy of two powerful monarchs -- jealousy which must, as all long-sighted men well knew, break into open warfare before long. it was of matters nearer to their own hearts that the brothers spoke as they sauntered through the woodland paths together; and gaston's blue eyes flashed fire as he paused and tossed back the tangled curls from his broad brow. "it is our birthright -- our land, our castle. do they not all say that in old days it was a de brocas, not a navailles, that ruled there? father anselm hath told us a thousand times how the english king issued mandate after mandate bidding him give up his ill-gotten gains, and restore the lands of his rival; and yet he failed to do it. i trow had i been in the place of our grandsire, i would not so tamely have sat down beneath so great an affront. i would have fought to the last drop of my blood to enforce my rights, and win back my lost inheritance brother, why should not thou and i do that one day? canst thou be content for ever with this tame life with honest jean and margot at the mill? are we the sons of peasants? does their blood run in our veins? raymond, thou art as old as i -- thou hast lived as long. canst thou remember our dead mother? canst thou remember her last charge to us?" raymond had nodded his head at the first question; he nodded it again now, a glance of strange eagerness stealing into his dark eyes. although the two youths wore the dress of peasant boys -- suits of undyed homespun only very slightly finer in make than was common in those parts -- they spoke the english tongue, and spoke it with purity and ease. it needed no trained eye to see that it was something more than peasant blood that ran in their veins, albeit the peasant race of gascony in those days was perhaps the freest, the finest, the most independent in the whole civilized world. "i remember well," answered raymond quickly; "nay, what then?" "what then? spoke she not of a lost heritage which it behoved us to recover? spoke she not of rights which the sons of the de brocas had power to claim -- rights which the great roy outremer had given to them, and which it was for them to win back when the time should come? dost thou remember? dost thou heed? and now that we are approaching to man's estate, shall we not think of these things? shall we not be ready when the time comes?" raymond gave a quick look at his brother. his own eyes were full of eager light, but he hesitated a moment before asking: "and thinkest thou, gaston, that in speaking thus our mother would fain have had us strive to recover the castle and domain of saut?" "in good sooth yea," answered gaston quickly. "was it not reft from our grandsire by force? has it not been kept from him ever since by that hostile brood of navailles, whom all men hate for their cruelty and oppression? brother, have we not heard of dark and hideous deeds done in that same castle -- deeds that shame the very manhood of those that commit them, and make all honest folk curse them in their hearts? raymond, thou and i have longed this many a day to sally forth to fight for the holy sepulchre against the saracens; yet have we not a crusade here at home that calls us yet more nearly? hast thou not thought of it, too, by day, and dreamed of it by night? to plant the de brocas ensign above the walls of saut -- that would indeed be a thing to live for. methinks i see the banner already waving over the proud battlements." gaston's eyes flashed and glowed, and raymond's caught an answering gleam, but still he hesitated awhile, and then said: "i fain would think that some day such a thing might be; but, brother, he is a powerful and wily noble, and they say that he is high in favour with the roy outremer. what chance have two striplings like ourselves against so strong a foe? to take a castle, men must be found, and money likewise, and we have neither; and all men stand in deadly terror of the wrath of the sieur de navailles. do they not keep even our name a secret from him, lest he should swoop down upon the mill with his armed retainers and carry us off thence -- so hates he the whole family that bears the name of de brocas? what could we do against power such as his? i trow nothing. we should be but as pygmies before a giant." gaston's face had darkened. he could not gainsay his brother's reluctant words, but he chafed beneath them as a restive horse beneath the curb rein tightly drawn. "yet our mother bid us watch and be ready. she spoke often of our lost inheritance, and she knew all the peril, the danger." raymond's eyes sought his brother's face. he looked like one striving to recall a dim and almost lost memory. "but thinkest thou, gaston, that in thus speaking our mother was thinking of the strong fortress of saut? i can scarce believe that she would call that our birthright. for we are not of the eldest branch of our house. there must be many whose title would prove far better than our own. we might perchance win it back to the house of de brocas by act of conquest; but even so, i misdoubt me if we should hold it in peace. we have proud kinsfolk in england, they tell us, whose claim, doubtless, would rank before ours. they care not to cross the water to win back the lands themselves, yet i trow they would put their claim before the king did tidings reach them that their strong and wily foe had been ousted therefrom. we win not back lands for others to hold, nor would we willingly war against our own kindred. methinks, my brother, that our mother had other thoughts in her mind when she spoke of our rightful inheritance." "other thoughts! nay, now, what other thoughts?" asked gaston, with quick impatience. "i have never dreamed but of saut. i have called it in my thoughts our birthright ever since we could walk far enow to look upon its frowning battlements perched upon yon wooded crag." and gaston stretched out his hand in the direction in which the castle of saut lay, not many leagues distant. "we have heard naught save of saut ever since we could run alone. what but that could our mother's words have boded? sure she looked to us to recover yon fortress as our father once meant to do?" "i know not altogether, and yet i can scarce believe it was so. would that our father had left some commands we might have followed. but, brother, canst thou not recall that other name she spoke so many a time and oft as she lay a-dying? sure it was some such name as basildon or basildene -- the name of some fair spot, i trow, where she must once have lived. gaston, canst thou remember the day when she called us to her, and joined our hands together, and spoke of us as 'the twin brothers of basildene'? i have scarce thought of it from that hour to this, but it comes back now clearly to my mind. in sooth, it might well have been of basildene she was thinking when she gave us that last charge. what could she have known or cared for saut and its domain? she had fled hither from england, i know not why. she knew but little of the ways and the thoughts of those amongst whom she had come to dwell. it might well have been of her own land that she was thinking so oft. i verily believe that basildene is our lost inheritance." "basildene!" said gaston quickly, with a start as of recollection suddenly stirred to life; "sure i remember the name right well now that thy words bring it back to mind. yet it is years since i have heard it spoke. raymond, knowest thou where is this basildene?" "in england, i well believe," was the answer of the other brother. "methinks it was the name of our mother's home. i seem to remember how she told us of it -- the old house over the sea, where she had lived. perchance it was once her own in very sooth, and some turbulent baron or jealous kinsman drove her forth from it, even as we of the house of de brocas have been ousted from the castle of saut. brother, if that be so, basildene is more our inheritance than yon gloomy fortress can be. we are our mother's only children, and when she joined our hands together she called us the twins of basildene. i trow that we have an inheritance of our very own, gaston, away over the blue water yonder." gaston's eyes flashed with sudden ardour and purpose. often of late had the twins talked together of the future that lay before them, of the doughty deeds they would accomplish; yet so far nothing of definite purpose had entered into their minds. gaston's dreams had been all of the ancient fortress of saut, now for long years passed into the hands of the hostile family, the terrible and redoubtable sieur de navailles, who was feared throughout the length and breadth of the country round about his house. raymond had been dimly conscious of other thoughts and purposes, but memory was only gradually recalling to his mind the half-forgotten days of childhood, when the twin eaglets had stood at their mother's knee to talk with her in her own tongue of the land across the water where was her home -- the land to which their father had lately passed, upon some mission the children were too young to understand. now the faint dim memories had returned clear and strong. the long silence was broken. eagerly the boys strove to recall the past, and bit by bit things pieced themselves together in their minds till they could not but marvel how they had so long forgotten. yet it is often so in youth. days pass by one after the other unnoticed and unmarked. then all in a moment some new train of thought or purpose is awakened, a new element enters life, making it from that day something different; and by a single bound the child becomes a youth -- the youth a man. some such change as this was passing over the twin brothers at this time. a deep-seated dissatisfaction with their present surroundings had long been growing up in their hearts. they were happy in a fashion in the humble home at the mill, with good jean the miller, and margot his wife who had been their nurse and a second mother to them all their lives; but they knew that a great gulf divided them from the gascon peasants amongst whom they lived -- a gulf recognized by all those with whom they came in contact, and in nowise bridged by the fact that the brothers shared in a measure the simple peasant life, and had known no other. their very name of de brocas spoke of the race of nobles who had long held almost sovereign rights over a large tract of country watered by the adour and its many tributary streams; and although at this time, the year of grace , the name of de brocas was no more heard, but that of the proud sieur de navailles who now reigned there instead, the old name was loved and revered amongst the people, and the boys were bred up in all the traditions of their race, till the eagle nature at last asserted itself, and they felt that life could no longer go on in its old accustomed groove. had they not been taught from infancy that a great future lay before them? and what could that future be but the winning back of their old ancestral lands and rights? perhaps they would have spoken more of this deeply-seated hope had it not been so very chimerical -- so apparently impossible of present fulfilment. to wrest from the proud and haughty sieur de navailles the vast territory and strong castle that had been held by him in open defiance of many mandates from a powerful king, was a task that even the sanguine and ambitious boys knew to be a hundred times too hard for them. if they had dreamed of it in their hearts, they had scarce named the hope even to each other. but today the brooding silence had been broken. the twins had taken counsel one with the other; and now burning thoughts of this other fair inheritance were in the minds of both. what golden possibilities did not open out before them? how small a matter it seemed to cross the ocean and claim as their own that unknown basildene! both were certain that their mother had held it in her own right. sure, if there were right or justice in the kingdom of the roy outremer, they would but have to show who and what they were, to become in very fact what their mother had loved to call them -- the twin brothers of basildene. how their young hearts swelled with delighted expectation at the thought of leaving behind the narrow life of the mill, and going forth into the wide world to seek fame and fortune there! and england was no such foreign land to them, albeit they had never been above ten leagues from the mill where they had been born and brought up. was not their mother an englishwoman? had she not taught them the language of her country, and begged them never to forget it? and could they not speak it now as well as they spoke the language of gascony -- better than they spoke the french of the great realm to which gascony in a fashion belonged? the thought of travel always brings with it a certain exhilaration, especially to the young and ardent, and thoughts of such a journey on such a quest could not but be tinged with all the rainbow hues of hope. "we will go; we will go right soon!" cried gaston. "would that we could go tomorrow! why have we lingered here so long, when we might have been up and doing years ago?" "nay, brother, we were but children years ago. we are not yet sixteen. yet methinks our manhood comes the faster to us for that noble blood runs in our veins. but we will speak to father anselm. he has always been our kindest friend. he will best counsel us whether to go forth, or whether to tarry yet longer at home --" "i will tarry no longer; i pant to burst my bonds," cried the impetuous gaston; and raymond was in no whit less eager, albeit he had something more of his mother's prudence and self-restraint. "methinks the holy father will bid us go forth," he said thoughtfully. "he has oft spoken to us of england and the roy outremer, and has ever bidden us speak our mother's tongue, and not forget it here in these parts where no man else speaks it. i trow he has foreseen the day when we should go thither to claim our birthright. our mother told him many things that we were too young to hear. perchance he could tell us more of basildene than she ever did, if we go to him and question him thereupon." gaston nodded his head several times. "thou speakest sooth, brother," said he. "we will go to him forthwith. we will take counsel with him, albeit --" gaston did not finish his sentence, for two reasons. one was that his brother knew so well what words were on his lips that speech was well-nigh needless; the other, that he was at that moment rudely interrupted. and although the brothers had no such thought at the time, it is probable that this interruption and its consequences had a very distinct bearing upon their after lives, and certainly it produced a marked effect upon the counsel they subsequently received from their spiritual father, who, but for that episode, might strongly have dissuaded the youths from going forth so young into the world. the interruption came in the form of an angry hail from a loud and gruff voice, full of impatience and resentment. "out of my path, ye base-born peasants!" shouted a horseman who had just rounded the sharp angle taken by the narrow bridle path, and was brought almost to a standstill by the tall figures of the two stalwart youths, which took up the whole of the open way between the trees and their thick undergrowth. "stand aside, ye idle loons! know ye not how to make way for your betters? then, in sooth, i will teach you a lesson;" and a thick hide lash came whirling through the air and almost lighted upon the shoulders of gaston, who chanced to be the nearer. but such an insult as that was not to be borne. even a gascon peasant might well have sprung upon a solitary adversary of noble blood had he ventured to assault him thus, without support from his train of followers. as for gaston, he hesitated not an instant, but with flashing eyes he sprang at the right arm of his powerful adversary, and had wrested the whip from him and tossed it far away before the words were well out of the angry lord's mouth. with a great oath the man drew his sword; but the youth laughed him to scorn as he stepped back out of reach of the formidable weapon. he well knew his advantage. light of foot, though all unarmed, he could defy any horseman in this wooded spot. no horse could penetrate to the right or left of the narrow track. even if the knight dismounted, the twin brothers, who knew every turn and winding of these dim forest paths, could lead him a fine dance, and then break away and let him find his way out as best he could. fearless and impetuous as gaston ever was, at this moment his fierce spirit was stirred more deeply within him than it had ever been before, for in this powerful warrior who had dared to insult both him and his brother, ay, and their mother's fair fame too -- he recognized the lineaments of the hated sieur de navailles. the more cautious raymond had done the same, and now he spoke in low though urgent accents. "have a care, brother! knowest thou who it be?" "know? ay, that i do. it is he who now holds by force and tyranny those fair lands which should be ours -- lands which our forefathers held from generation to generation, which should be theirs now, were right and justice to be had, as one day it may be, when the roy outremer comes in person, as men say he will one day come, and all men may have access to his royal presence. and he, the tyrant, the usurper, dares to call us base born, to call us peasants, we who own a nobler name than he! "the day will come, proud man, when thou shalt rue the hour when thou spakest thus to me -- to me who am thy equal, ay, and more than thy equal, in birth, and who will some day come and prove it to thee at the sword's point!" many expressions had flitted over the rider's face as these bold words had been spoken -- anger, astonishment, then an unspeakable fury, which made gaston look well to the hand which held the shining sword; last of all an immense astonishment of a new kind, a perplexity not unmixed with dismay, and tinged with a lively curiosity. as the youth ceased speaking the knight sheathed his sword, and when he replied his voice was pitched in a very different key. "i pray you pardon, young sirs," he said, glancing quickly from one handsome noble face to the other. "i knew not that i spoke to those of gentle birth. the dress deceived me. tell me now, good youths, who and whence are ye? you have spoken in parables so far; tell me more plainly, what is your name and kindred?" raymond, who had heard somewhat of the enmity of the sieur de navailles, and knew that their identity as sons of the house of de brocas had always been kept from his knowledge, here pressed his brother's arm as though to suggest the necessity for caution; but gaston's hot blood was up. the talk they had been holding together had strung his nerves to the utmost pitch of tension. he was weary of obscurity, weary of the peasant life. he cared not how soon he threw off the mask. asked a downright question, even by a foe, it was natural to him to make a straightforward answer, and he spoke without fear and without hesitation. "we are the sons of arnald de brocas. de brocas is our name; we can prove it whenever such proof becomes needful. our fathers held these fair lands long ere you or yours did. the day may come when a de brocas may reign here once more, and the cursed brood of navailles be rooted out for ever." and without waiting to see the effect produced by such words upon the haughty horseman, the two brothers dashed off into the wood, and were speedily lost to sight. chapter ii. father anselm. the mill of sainte-foi, which was the home of the twin brothers of the de brocas line, was situated upon a tributary stream of the river adour, and was but a couple of leagues distant from the town of sauveterre -- one of those numerous "bastides" or "villes anglaises" built by the great king edward the first of england during his long regency of the province of gascony in the lifetime of his father. it was one of those so-called "filleules de bordeaux" which, bound by strong ties to the royal city, the queen of the garonne, stood by her and played so large a part in the great drama of the hundred years' war. those cities had been built by a great king and statesman to do a great work, and to them were granted charters of liberties such as to attract into their walls large numbers of persons who helped originally in the construction of the new townships, and then resided there, and their children after them, proud of the rights and immunities they claimed, and loyally true to the cause of the english kings, which made them what they were. it is plain to the reader of the history of those days that gascony could never have remained for three hundred years a fief of the english crown, had it not been to the advantage of her people that she should so remain. her attachment to the cause of the roy outremer, her willing homage to him, would never have been given for so long a period of time, had not the people of the land found that it was to their own advancement and welfare thus to accord this homage and fealty. nor is the cause for this advantage far to seek. gascony was of immense value to england, and of increasing value as she lost her hold upon the more northerly portions of france. the wine trade alone was so profitable that the nobility, and even the royal family of england, traded on their own account. bordeaux, with its magnificent harbour and vast trade, was a queen amongst maritime cities. the vast "landes" of the province made the best possible rearing ground for the chargers and cavalry horses to which england owed much of her warlike supremacy; whilst the people themselves, with their strength and independence of character, their traditions of personal and individual freedom which can be clearly traced back to the roman occupation of the province, and their long attachment to england and her king, were the most valuable of allies; and although they must have been regarded to a certain extent as foreigners when on english soil, they still assimilated better and worked more easily with british subjects than any pure frenchman had ever been found to do. small wonder then that so astute a monarch as the first edward had taken vast pains to draw closer the bond which united this fair province to england. the bold gascons well knew that they would find no such liberties as they now enjoyed did they once put themselves beneath the rule of the french king. his country was already overgrown and almost unmanageable. he might cast covetous eyes upon gascony, but he would not pour into it the wealth that flowed steadily from prosperous england. he would not endow it with charters, each one more liberal than the last, or bind it to his kingdom by giving it a pre-eminence that would but arouse the jealousy of its neighbours. no: the shrewd gaseous knew that full well, and knew when they were well off. they could often obtain an increase of liberty and an enlarged charter of rights by coquetting with the french monarch, and thus rousing the fears of the english king; but they had no wish for any real change, and lived happily and prosperously beneath the rule of the roy outremer; and amongst all the freemen of the gascon world, none enjoyed such full privileges as those who lived within the walls of the "villes anglaises," of which sauveterre was one amongst the smaller cities. the construction of these towns (now best seen in libourne) is very simple, and almost always practically the same -- a square in the centre formed by the public buildings, with eight streets radiating from it, each guarded by a gate. an outer ditch or moat protected the wall or palisade, and the towns were thus fortified in a simple but effective manner, and guarded as much by their own privileges as by any outer bulwarks. the inhabitants were bound together by close ties, and each smaller city looked to the parent city of bordeaux, and was proud of the title of her daughter. sauveterre and its traditions and its communistic life were familiar enough, and had been familiar from childhood to the twin brothers. halfway between the mill and the town stood a picturesque and scattered hamlet, and to this hamlet was attached a church, of which a pious ecclesiastic, by name father anselm, had charge. he was a man of much personal piety, and was greatly beloved through all the countryside, where he was known in every hut and house for leagues around the doors of his humble home. he was, as was so frequently the case in those times, the doctor and the scribe, as well as the spiritual adviser, of his entire flock; and he was so much trusted and esteemed that all men told him their affairs and asked advice, not in the confessional alone, but as one man speaking to another in whom he has strong personal confidence. the twin brothers knew that during the years when their dead mother had resided at the mill with honest jean and margot (they began greatly to wonder now why she had so lived in hiding and obscurity), she had been constantly visited by the holy father, and that she had told him things about herself and her history which were probably known to no other human being beside. brought up as the youths had been, and trained in a measure beneath the kindly eye of the priest, they would in any case have asked his counsel and blessing before taking any overt step in life; but all the more did they feel that they must speak to him now, since he was probably the only person within their reach who could tell them anything as to their own parentage and history that they did not know already. "we will go to him upon the morrow," said gaston with flashing eyes. "we will rise with the sun -- or before it -- and go to him ere his day's work is begun. he will surely find time to talk with us when he hears the errand upon which we come. i trow now that when he has sat at our board, and has bent upon our faces those glances i have not known how to read aright, he has been wondering how long it would be ere we should awake to the knowledge that this peasant life is not the life of the de brocas race, guessing that we should come to him for counsel and instruction ere we spread our wings to flee away. they call us eaglets in sooth; and do eaglets rest for ever in their mountain eyry? nay, they spread their wings as strength comes upon them, and soar upwards and onwards to see for themselves the great world around; even as thou and i will soar away, brother, and seek other fortunes than will ever be ours here in sauveterre." with these burning feelings in their hearts, it was no wonder that the twins uttered a simultaneous exclamation of satisfaction and pleasure when, as they approached the mill, they were aware of the familiar figure of father anselm sitting at the open door of the living house, engaged, as it seemed, in an animated discussion with the worthy miller and his good wife. the look which the father bent upon the two youths as they approached betrayed a very deep and sincere affection for them; and when after supper they asked to speak with him in private, he readily acceded to their request, accepting the offer of a bed from the miller's wife, as already the sun had long set, and his own home was some distance away. the faces of jean and margot were grave with anxious thought, and that of the priest seemed to reflect something of the same expression; for during the course of the simple meal which all had shared together, gaston had told of the unlooked-for encounter with the proud sieur de navailles in the forest, and of the defiance he had met with from the twin eaglets. as the good miller and his wife heard how gaston had openly declared his name and race to the implacable foe of his house, they wrung their hands together and uttered many lamentable exclamations. the present lord of saut was terribly feared throughout the neighbourhood in which he dwelt. his fierce and cruel temper had broken forth again and again in acts of brutality or oppression from which there was practically no redress. free as the gascon peasant was from much or the serfdom and feudal servitude of other lands, he was in some ways worse off than the serf, when he chanced to have roused the anger of some great man of the neighbourhood. the power of the nobles and barons -- the irresponsible power they too often held -- was one of the crying evils of the age, one which was being gradually extinguished by the growing independence of the middle classes. but such changes were slow of growth, and long in penetrating beyond great centres; and it was a terrible thing for a brace of lads, unprotected and powerless as these twin brothers, to have brought upon themselves the hostility and perchance the jealousy of a man like the sieur de navailles. if he wished to discover their hiding place, he would have small difficulty in doing so; and let him but once find that out, and the lives of the boys would not be safe either by night or day. the retainers of the proud baron might swoop down at any moment upon the peaceful mill, and carry off the prey without let or hindrance; and this was why the secret of their birth and name had been so jealously kept from all (save a few who loved the house of de brocas) by the devoted miller and his wife. but gaston little recked of the threatened peril. the fearless nature of his race was in him, and he would have scorned himself had he failed to speak out boldly when questioned by the haughty foe of his house. if the de brocas had been ruined in all else, they had their fearless honour left them still. but the priest's face was grave as he let the boys lead him into the narrow bedchamber where they slept -- a room bare indeed of such things as our eyes would seek, but which for the times was commodious and comfortable enough. he was pondering in his mind what step must now be taken, for it seemed to him as though the place of safety in the mill in which their mother had left her sons could hide them no longer. go they must, of that he felt well assured; but where? that was a question less easily answered offhand. "father," began gaston eagerly, so soon as the door had closed behind the three, and raymond had coaxed the dim taper into its feeble flicker -- "father, we have come to thee for counsel -- for help. father, chide us not, nor call us ingrate; but it has come to this with us -- we can no longer brook this tame and idle life. we are not of the peasant stock; why must we live the peasant life? father, we long to be up and doing -- to spread our wings for a wider flight. we know that those who bear our name are not hiding their heads in lowly cots; we know that our sires have been soldiers and statesmen in the days that are past. are we then to hide our heads here till the snows of age gather upon them? are we, of all our race, to live and die obscure, unknown? father, we cannot stand it; it shall not be! to thee we come to ask more of ourselves than yet we know. to thee our mother commended us in her last moments; to thee she bid us look in days to come when we needed guidance and help. wherefore to thee we have come now, when we feel that there must surely be an end to all of this. tell us, father, of our sire; tell us of our kinsfolk. where be they? where may we seek them? i trow thou knowest all. then tell us, i beseech thee tell us freely all there is to know." the good priest raised his eyes and thoughtfully scanned the faces of the two eager youths. gaston was actually shivering with repressed excitement; raymond was more calm, but not, as it seemed, one whit less interested. what a strong and manly pair they looked! the priest's eyes lighted with pride as they rested on the stalwart figures and noble faces. it was hard to believe that these youths were not quite sixteen, though man's estate was then accounted reached at an age which we should call marvellously immature in these more modern days. "my children," said the good old man, speaking slowly and with no small feeling, "i have long looked for this day to come -- the day when ye twain should stand thus before me and put this selfsame question." "you have looked for it!" said gaston eagerly; "then, in very sooth, there is something to tell?" "yes, my children, there is a long story to tell; and it seemeth to me, even as it doth to you, that the time has now come to tell it. this day has marked an era in your lives. methinks that from this night your childhood will pass for ever away, and the life of your manhood commence. may the holy mother of god, the blessed saints, and our gracious saviour himself watch over and guard you in all the perils and dangers of the life that lies before you!" so solemn were the tones of the father that the boys involuntarily sank upon their knees, making the sign of the cross as they did so. the priest breathed a blessing over the two, and when they had risen to their feet, he made them sit one on each side of him upon the narrow pallet bed. "the story is something long -- the story which will tell ye twain who and what ye are, and why ye have been thus exiled and forced to dwell obscure in this humble home; but i will tell all i know, and ye will then see something of the cause. "my children, ye know that ye have a noble name -- that ye belong to the house of de brocas, which was once so powerful and great in these fair lands around this home of yours. i wot that ye know already some thing of the history of your house, how that it was high in favour with the great king of england, that first edward who so long dwelt amongst us, and made himself beloved by the people of these lands. it was in part fidelity to him that was the cause of your kinsfolk's ruin: for whilst they served him in other lands, following him across the sea when he was bidden to go thither, the treacherous foe of the house of navailles wrested from them, little by little, all the lands they had owned here, and not even the many mandates from the roy outremer sufficed to gain them their rights again. it might have been done had the great edward lived; but when he died and his son mounted the throne, men found at once how weak were the hands that held the sovereign power, and the sieur de navailles laughed in his beard at commands he knew there was no power to enforce. but listen again, my sons; that feeble king, despite many and great faults, was not without some virtues also; and he did not forget that the house of de brocas had ruined itself in the cause of himself and his father." "did he do aught to show his gratitude?" "thou shalt hear, my son. the younger edward had not been many years upon his father's throne before a great battle was fought by him against the scottish race his father had vanquished and subdued. these rebel subjects revolted from under his hand, and he fought with them a battle on the field of bannockburn, in which he was overthrown and defeated, and in which your grandsire, arnald de brocas, lost his life, fighting gallantly for england's king." "our grandsire?" cried both the boys in a breath. "tell us more of him." "it is little that i know, my children, save what i have just said. he served the king faithfully in life and death, and his sons reaped some reward for their father's fidelity. at first, whilst they were quite young, his three sons (of whom your father was the third) were sent to dwell with their mother's relatives -- the de campaines of agen, of whom, doubtless, ye have heard; but as they grew to man's estate, they were recalled to the english court, and received offices there, as many another noble gascon has done before them." "have we then uncles in england?" asked raymond eagerly. "then, if we find but our way across the water, we may find a home with one of them? is it not so, good father?" the priest did not exclaim at the idea of the boys journeying forth across the seas alone, but he shook his head thoughtfully as he continued his narrative as if there had been no interruption. "the english king was not unmindful of the service done him by the father of these youths, and he promoted them to places of honour about his court. first, they were all made serviens of his own royal person, and were brought up with his son, who is now the king; then, as i have heard, they greatly endeared themselves to the prince by loyalty and faithful service. when he ascended the throne, and purged the court of the false favourites from this and other lands who had done so much ill to that country, he was ably helped in the task before him by thy father and thy two uncles; and i can well believe that this was so, seeing that they were speedily advanced to posts of honour in the royal service." "what posts?" asked the eager youths. "the head of your branch of this noble house," continued the priest, "is your uncle sir john de brocas, who is the king's master of the horse, and the lord of many fair manors and wide lands in england, and high in favour with his master. second in the line is your uncle master bernard de brocas, a clerk, and the rector (as it is called in the realm of england) of st. nicholas, in or near a town that is called guildford -- if i can frame my lips aright to the strange words. he too is high in favour with the roy outremer, and, as i have heard, is oft employed by him in these parts to quell strife or redress grievances; but i know not how that may be. it is of thy father that i would fain speak to thee, gaston, for thou art heir to his name and estate if thou canst make good the claim, as in time thou mayest yet. listen whilst i tell all that i know. thy father -- arnald -- was the youngest of the three sons of him who died on the field of bannockburn, and to him was given the post of master of the horse to prince john of eltham. i misdoubt me if that prince is living yet; but of that i cannot speak with certainty. he was also valettus or serviens to the king, and might have carved out for himself as great a career as they, had it not been that he estranged himself from his kindred, and even offended the king himself, by the marriage that he made with mistress alice sanghurst of basildene." the brothers exchanged quick glances as the name passed the priest's lips. their memory had not then played them false. "but why were they thus offended? was not our mother rightful owner of basildene? and is it not a fair heritage?" "the reason for the ill will, my sons, i know not. your mother did not fully understand it, and from her lips it was i heard all this tale. perchance some nobler alliance was wished by the family and by the king himself, perchance the young man acted something hastily, and gave umbrage that might have been spared. i know not how that may have been. all i for certainty know is that your father, arnald, brought hither his wife, flying from some menaced peril, fearful of capture and discovery; and that here in this lonely mill, amongst those who had ever loved the name of de brocas, the sweet lady was able to hide her head, and to find a place of safe refuge. jean, then a youth, had been in the service of arnald, having been seized with a love of wandering in his boyhood, which had led him to cross the sea to england, where he had fallen in with your father and attached himself to his person. the elder jean, his father, was miller then and right glad was he to welcome back his son, and give a shelter to the lady in her hour of need. good margot, as you know, was your nurse when you were born; she had married jean a short time back, and her own babe had died the very week before you came into the world. she has always loved you as her own, and though your mother was taken from you, you have never lost a mother's love. do not forget that, my children, in the years to come; and if the time should ever be when you can requite the faithful attachment of these two honest hearts, be sure that you let not the chance slip." "we will not," answered the boys in a breath. "but the rest of your story, good father." "you shall hear it all, my sons. it was in the year of grace that your father first brought his wife here, and in the following year you twain were born. your father stayed till he could fold you in his arms, and bestow upon you the blessing of a father; but then his duties to his master called him to england, and for a whole long year we heard no news of him. at the end of that time a messenger arrived with despatches for his lady. she sent to ask my help in reading these; and together we made out that the letter contained a summons for her to join her lord in england, where he would meet her at the port of southampton, into which harbour many of our vessels laden with wine put in for safe anchorage. as for the children, said the letter, she must either bring or leave them, as seemed best to her at the time; and after long and earnest debate we resolved that she should go alone, and that you should be left to good margot's tender care. i myself escorted our gentle lady to bordeaux, and there it was easy to find safe and commodious transport for her across the sea. she left us, and we heard no more until more than a year had passed by, and she returned to us, sorely broken down in mind and body, to tell a sorrowful tale." "sorrowful? had our proud uncles refused to receive her?" asked gaston, with flashing eyes. "i trow if that be so --" but the father silenced him by a gesture. "wait and let me tell my tale, boy. thou canst not judge till thou knowest all. she came back to us, and to me she told all her tale, piece by piece and bit by bit, not all at once, but as time and opportunity served. and this is what i learned. when your father summoned her back to join him, it was because her one brother was dead -- dead without leaving children behind -- and her father, now growing old, wished to see her once again, and give over to her before he died the fair domain of basildene, which she would now inherit, but to which she had had no title when she married your father. it seemed like enow to both of them that if arnald de brocas could lead a well-dowered bride to his brothers' halls, all might be well between them and so it came about when the old man died, and the lady had succeeded to the lands, that he started forth to tell the news, not taking her, as the weather was inclement, and she somewhat suffering from the damp and fog which they say prevail so much in england, but faring forth alone on his embassy, trusting to come with joy to fetch her anon." "and did he not?" asked the boys eagerly. "i will tell you what chanced in his absence. you must know that your grandsire on your mother's side had a kinsman, by name peter sanghurst, who had long cast covetous eyes upon basildene. he was next of kin after your mother, and he, as a male, claimed to call the property his. he had failed to make good his claim by law; but so soon as he knew your mother to be alone in the house, he came down upon it with armed retainers and drove her forth ere she well knew what had befallen; and she, not knowing whither her lord had gone, nor how to find him, and being in sore danger from the malice of the wicked man who had wrested from her the inheritance, and would gladly have done her to death, knew not what better to do than to fly back here, leaving word for her lord where she was to be found; and thus it came that ere she had been gone from us a year, she returned in more desolate plight than at the first." gaston's face was full of fury, and raymond's hands were clenched in an access of rage. "and what did our father then? sure he waged war with the vile usurper, and won back our mother's lands for her! sure a de brocas never rested quiet under so foul an insult!" "my sons, your father had been taught patience in a hard school. he returned to basildene, not having seen either of his brothers, who were both absent on the king's business, to find his wife fled, and the place in the firm grasp of the wily man, who well knew how to strengthen himself in the possession of ill-gotten gains. his first care was for your mother's safety, and he followed her hither before doing aught else. when he found her safe with honest jean and margot, and when they had taken counsel together, he returned to england to see what could be done to regain the lost inheritance and the favour of his kinsmen who had been estranged. you were babes of less than three summers when your father went away, and you never saw him more." "he did not come again?" "nay, he came no more, for all too soon a call which no man may disobey came for him, and he died before the year was out." "and had he accomplished naught?" "so little that it must needs come to naught upon his death. he sent a trusty messenger -- one of his stout gascon henchmen -- over to us with all needful tidings. but there was little of good to tell. he had seen his brother, sir john, the head of the family, and had been received not unkindly by him; but in the matter of the recovery of basildene the knight had but shaken his head, and had said that the king had too many great matters on hand just then to have leisure to consider so small a petition as the one concerning a manor of no repute or importance. if arnald had patience to wait, or to interest prince john in the matter, something might in time be done; but peter sanghurst would strive to make good his claim by any means bad or good, and as he held possession it might be difficult indeed to oust him. the property belonged to one who had been a cause of much offence, and perchance that weighed with sir john and made him less willing to bestir himself in the matter. but be that as it may, nothing had been done when arnald de brocas breathed his last; and his wife, when she heard the tale, looked at you two young children as you lay upon the grass at play, and she said with a sigh and a smile, 'father, i will wait till my boys be grown, for what can one weak woman do alone? and then we will go together to the land that is mine by birth, and my boys shall win back for me and for themselves the lost inheritance of basildene.'" "and so we will!" cried gaston, with flashing eyes; "and so we will! here as i stand i vow that we will win it back from the false and coward kinsman who holds it now." "ay," answered raymond, with equal ardour and enthusiasm, "that, brother, will we do; and we will win for ourselves the name that she herself gave to us -- the twin brothers of basildene." chapter iii. the unknown world. so that was the story of their past. that was why they two, with the blood of the de brocas running in their veins, had lived all their past lives in the seclusion of a humble mill; why they had known nothing of their kinsfolk, albeit they had always known that they must have kindred of their own name and race; and why their mother upon her deathbed had spoken to them not of any inheritance that they might look to claim from descent through their father, but of basildene, which was theirs in very right, as it had been hers before, till her ambitious and unscrupulous kinsman had driven her forth. and now what should they do? whither should they go; and what should be the object of the lives -- the new lives of purpose and resolve which had awakened within them? gaston had given voice to this feeling in vowing them to the attempt to recover their lost heritage of basildene, and father anselm did not oppose either that desire or the ardent wish of the youths to fare forth into the great world alone. "my sons," he said a few days later, when he had come to see if the twins held yet to their first resolve. "you are something young as yet to sally forth into the unknown world and carve for yourselves your fortunes there; but nevertheless i trow the day has come, for this place is no longer a safe shelter for you. the sieur de navailles, as it is told me, is already searching for you. it cannot be long before he finds your hiding place, and then no man may call your lives safe by night or day. and not only would ye yourselves be in peril, but peril would threaten good jean and margot; and methinks you would be sorely loath that harm should come to them through the faithful kindness they have ever shown to you and yours." "sooner would we die than that one hair of their head should be touched!" cried both the boys impetuously; "and margot lives in fear and trembling ever since we told her of the words we spoke to yon tyrant and usurper of saut. we told her for her comfort that he would think us too poor and humble and feeble to vent his rage on us; but she shook her head at that, and feared no creature hearing the name of de brocas would be too humble to be a mark for his spite. and then we told her that we would sally forth to see the world, as we had ever longed to do and though she wept to think that we must go, she did not bid us stay. she said, as thou hast done, good father, that she had known that such day would surely come; and though it has come something early and something suddenly, she holds that we shall be safer facing the perils of the unknown world, than living here a mark for the spite and malice of the foe of our house. if no man holds us back, why go we not forth tomorrow?" the priest's face was grave and even sorrowful, but he made no objection even to so rapid a move. "my sons, if this thing is to be, it is small use to tarry and linger. i would not that the sieur de navailles should know that you have hidden your heads here so long; and a secret, however faithfully kept, that belongs to many, may not be a secret always. it is right that you should go, and with the inclement winter season hard upon us, with its dangers from heavy snows, tempests at sea, and those raids from wolves that make the peril of travellers when the cold once sets in, it behoves you, if go ye must, to go right speedily. and in the belief that i should find your minds made up and your preparations well-nigh complete, i have brought to you the casket given into my charge by your mother on her dying bed. methinks that you will find therein gold enough to carry you safe to england, and such papers as shall suffice to prove to your proud kinsmen at the king's court that ye are in very truth the sons of their brother, and that it is of just and lawful right that you make your claim to basildene." the brothers looked eagerly at the handsome case, wrought and inlaid with gold, in which certain precious parchments had lain ever since they had been carried in haste from england. the boys looked at these with a species of awe, for they had but very scant knowledge of letters, and such as they had acquired from the good father was not enough to enable them to master the contents of the papers. learning was almost entirely confined to the ecclesiastics in those days, and many were the men of birth and rank who could scarce read or write their own name. but the devices upon the parchments told a tale more easily understood. there was the golden lion rampant upon the black ground -- the arms of the de brocas family, as the father told them; whilst the papers that referred to basildene were adorned with a shield bearing a silver stag upon an azure ground. they would have no difficulty in knowing the deeds apart; and good margot sewed them first into a bag of untanned leather, and then stitched them safely within the breast of gaston's leathern jerkin. the golden pieces, and a few rings and trinkets that were all that remained to the boys of their lost inheritance, were sewn in like manner into raymond's clothing, and there was little more to be done ere the brothers went forth into the unknown world. as for their worldly possessions, they were soon numbered, and comprised little more than their clothing, their bows and arrows, and the poniards which hung at their girdles. as they were to proceed on foot to bordeaux, and would probably journey in the same simple fashion when they reached the shores of england, they had no wish to hamper themselves with any needless encumbrances, and all that they took with them was a single change of under vest and hose, which they were easily able to carry in a wallet at their back. they sallied forth in the dress they commonly wore all through the inclement winter season -- an under-dress of warm blue homespun, with a strong jerkin of leather, soft and well-dressed, which was as long as a short tunic, and was secured by the girdle below the waist which was worn by almost all ranks of the people in that age. the long hose were likewise guarded by a species of gaiter of the same strong stuff. and a peasant clad in his own leather garments was often a match for a mailed warrior, the tough substance turning aside sword point or arrow almost as effectually as a coat of steel, whilst the freedom and quickness of motion allowed by the simpler dress was an immense advantage to the wearer in attack or defence. the good father looked with tender glances at the brave bright boys as they stood forth on the morning of their departure, ready to sally out into the wide world with the first glimpse of dawn. he had spent the previous night at the mill, and many words of fatherly counsel and good advice had he bestowed upon the lads, now about to be subjected to temptations and perils far different from any they had known in their past life. and his words had been listened to with reverent heed, for the boys loved him dearly, and had been trained by him in habits of religious exercise, more common in those days than they became, alas in later times. they had with them an english breviary which had been one of their mother's most valued possessions, and they promised the father to study it with reverent heed; for they were very familiar with the petitions, and could follow them without difficulty despite their rudimentary education. so that when they knelt before him for his last blessing, he was able to give it with a heart full of hope and tender confidence; and he felt sure that whether the lads went forth for weal or woe, he should (if they and he both lived through the following years) see their faces again in this selfsame spot. they would not forget old friends -- they would seek them out in years to come; and if fate smiled upon their path, others would share in the sunshine of their good fortune. and so the boys rose to their feet again to meet a proud, glad smile from the eyes of the kind old man; and though margot's face was buried in her apron, and honest jean was not ashamed to let the tears run down his weatherbeaten face, there was no attempt made to hinder or to sadden the eager lads. they kissed their good nurse with many protestations of love and gratitude, telling her of the days to come when they would return as belted knights, riding on fine horses, and with their esquires by their side, and how they would tell the story of how they had been born and bred in this very mill, and of all they owed to those who had sheltered them in their helpless infancy. the farewells once over, with the inevitable sadness that such scenes must entail, the boys' spirits rose with wonderful celerity. true, they looked back with fond glances at the peaceful homestead where their childhood had been passed, as they reached the ridge of the undulating plain from which the last glimpse of the red roofs and tumbling water was to be had. raymond even felt a mist rise before his eyes as he stood and gazed, and gaston dashed his hand impatiently across his eyes as though something hindered his vision; but his voice was steady and full of courage as he waved his right arm and cried aloud: "we will come back! we will see this place again! ah, raymond, methinks i shall love it better then than i do today; for though it has been a timely place of shelter, it has not been -- it never could be -- our true home. our home is basildene, in the fair realm of england's king. i will rest neither day nor night until i have looked upon the home our mother dwelt in, and have won the right to call that home our own." then the brothers strode with light springy steps along the road which would in time lead them to the great seaport city of bordeaux, towards which all the largest roads of the whole province converged. the royal city of the garonne was full forty leagues away -- over a hundred british miles -- and the boys had never visited it yet, albeit their dream had long been to travel thither on their feet, and see the wonders of which travellers spoke. a day's march of ten leagues or more was as nothing to them. had the days been longer they would have done more, but travelling in the dark through these forest-clad countries was by no means safe, and the father had bid them promise that they would always strive to seek shelter ere the shades of night fell; for great picks of wolves ravaged the forests of gascony until a much later date, and though the season of their greatest boldness and fierceness had not yet come, they were customers not to be trifled with at any time, and a hunting knife and a crossbow would go but a small way in defence if a resolute attack were to be made by even half-a-dozen of the fierce beasts. but the brothers thought not of peril as they strode through the clear crisp air, directing their course more by the sun than by any other guide, as they pursued their way engrossed in eager talk. they were passing through the great grazing pastures, the landes of gascony, which supplied england with so many of her best horses, and walking was easy and they covered the ground fast. later on would come dark stretches of lonely forest, but here were smiling pasture and bright sunshine and the brothers talked together of the golden future before them, of their proud kinsmen at the king's court, of the roy outremer himself, and of basildene and that other treacherous kinsman there. as they travelled they debated within themselves whether it were better to seek first the countenance of their uncles on their father's side, or whether to make their way first to basildene and see what manner of place it was, and what likelihood there seemed of ousting the intruder. how to decide this point themselves the brothers did not know; but as it chanced, fortune was to decide it for them in her own fashion, and that before many suns had set. two days of travel had passed. the brothers had long left behind them every trace of what had been familiar to them in the old life. the evening of the third day was stealing fast upon them, and they were yet, as it seemed, in the heart of the vast forest which they had entered soon after noon, and which they had hoped to pass completely through before the daylight waned. they had been told that they might look, if they pushed on fast, to reach the town of castres by nightfall; but the paths through the forest were intricate: they had several times felt uncertain as to whether they were going right. now that the darkness was coming on so fast they were still more uncertain, and more than once they had heard behind and before them the unmistakable howl of the wolf. the hardy twins would have thought nothing of sleeping in the open air even at this somewhat inclement season; but the proximity of the wolves was unpleasant. for two days the cold had been sharp, and though it was not probable that it had yet seriously interfered with the supplies of the wild beasts, yet it was plain that they had emerged from their summer retreats in the more remote parts of the forest, and were disposed to venture nearer to the habitable world on the outskirts. if the brothers slept out of doors at all, it would have to be in the fork of some tree, and in that elevated position they would be likely to feel the cold rather keenly, though down below in some hollow trunk they could make themselves a warm nest enough. mindful of their promise to the priest, they resolved to try yet to reach some hut or place of shelter, however rude, before the night absolutely closed in, and marched quickly forward with the practised tread of those born to forest life. suddenly gaston, who was a couple of paces in the front, paused and laid a hand upon his brother's arm. "hist!" he said below his breath. "methought i heard a cry." raymond stopped short and listened, too. yes; there was certainly some tumult going on a little distance ahead of them. the brothers distinguished the sound of human voices raised in shrill piercing cries, and with that sound was mingled the fierce baying note that they had heard too often in their lives to mistake at any time. "it is some traveller attacked by wolves!" cried the brothers in a breath, and without a single thought of their own peril the gallant boys tore headlong through the dark wood to the spot whence the tumult proceeded. guided by the sound of shouts, cries, and the howling of the beasts, the brothers were not long in nearing the scene of the strife. "shout aloud!" cried gaston to his brother as they ran. "make the cowardly brutes believe that a company is advancing against them. it is the best, the only chance. they will turn and fly if they think there be many against them." raymond was not slow to act upon this hint. the next moment the wood rang again to the shouts and calls of the brothers, voice answering to voice till it seemed as though a score of men were approaching. the brothers, moreover, knew and used the sharp fierce call employed by the hunters of the wolves in summoning their dogs to their aid -- a call that they knew would be heard and heeded by the savage brutes, who would well know what it meant. and in effect the artifice was perfectly successful; for ere they had gained the spot upon which the struggle had taken place, they heard the breaking up of the wolf party, as the frightened beasts dashed headlong through the coverts, whilst their howling and barking died away in the distance, and a great silence succeeded. "thank heaven for a timely rescue!" they heard a voice say in the english tongue; "for by my troth, good malcolm, i had thought that thou and i would not live to tell this tale to others. but where are our good friends and rescuers? verily, i have seen nothing, yet there must have been a good dozen or more. light thy lantern, an thou canst, and let us look well round us, for by the mass i shall soon think we have been helped by the spirits of the forest." "nay, fair sir, but only by two travellers," said gaston, advancing from the shadow of the giant trees, his brother closely following him. "we are ourselves benighted in this forest, having by some mischance lost our road to castres, which we hoped to have sighted ere now. hearing the struggle, and the shouts with which you doubtless tried to scare off the brutes, we came to see if we might not aid, and being well acquainted with the calls of the hunters of the wolves, succeeded beyond our hopes. i trust the cowardly and treacherous beasts have done you no injury?" "by my troth, it is strange to hear my native tongue in these parts, and so fairly spoken withal. i trust we are not bewitched, or the sport of spirits. who art thou, brave boy? and whence comest thou? how comes it that thou, being, as it seems, a native of these parts, speakest so well a strange language?" "it was our mother's tongue," answered gaston, speaking nevertheless guardedly, for he had been warned by the father not to be too ready to tell his name and parentage to all the world. "we are bound for bordeaux, and thence to england, to seek our mother's kindred, as she bid us ere she died." "if that be so, then let us join forces and travel on together," said he whom they had thus succoured, a man well mounted on a fine horse, and with a mounted servant beside him, so that the brothers took him for a person of quality, which indeed he was, as they were soon to learn. "there is safety in numbers, and especially so in these inhospitable forest tracks, where so many perils beset the traveller. i have lost my other stout fellows in the windings of the wood, and it were safer to travel four than two. riding is slow work in this gloom. i trow ye will have no trouble in keeping pace with our good chargers." the hardy gascon boys certainly found no difficulty about that. gaston walked beside the bridle rein of the master, whilst raymond chatted amicably to the man, whose broad scotch accent puzzled him a little, and led in time to stories of border warfare, and to the tale of bannockburn, told from a scotchman's point of view; to all of which the boy listened with eager interest. as for gaston, he was hearing of the king's court, the gay tourneys, the gallant feats of arms at home and abroad which characterized the reign of the third edward. the lad drank in every item of intelligence, asking such pertinent questions, and appearing so well informed upon many points, that his interlocutor was increasingly surprised, and at last asked him roundly of his name and kindred. now the priest had warned the boys at starting not to speak with too much freedom to strangers of their private affairs, and had counselled them very decidedly not to lay claim at starting to the name of de brocas, and thus draw attention to themselves at the outset. there was great laxity in the matter of names in ages when penmanship was a recondite art, and even in the documents of the period a name so well known as that of de brocas was written broc and brook, brocaz and brocazt, and half-a-dozen more ways as well. wherefore it mattered the less what the lads called themselves, and they had agreed that broc, without the de before it, would be the best and safest patronymic for them in the present. "we are twin brothers, may it please you, fair sir; english on our mother's side, though our father was a gascon. our father was much in england likewise, and, as we hear, held some office about the court, though of its exact nature we know not. both our parents died many long years since; but we have never ceased to speak the tongue of england, and to dream of one day going thither. our names are gaston and raymond broc, and we are going forth at last in search of the adventures which men say in these warlike days may be found by young and old, by rich and poor. our faces are set towards england. what may befall us there kind fortune only knows." something in the frank and noble bearing of the lad seemed to please the knightly stranger. he laid a friendly hand on gaston's shoulder as the youth paced with springy strides beside him. "i trow thou art a mettlesome knave, and i owe thee and thy brother something more than fair words for the service ye have rendered me this night. i have lost three or four of my followers by disease and accident since i left the shores of england. boy, what sayest thou to taking service with me for a while -- thou and thy brother likewise -- and journeying to fair england as two of my young esquires? i like you well, and in these days it is no small thing to rank in one's train those to whom the language of gascony is familiar. i trow ye be able to speak the french tongue likewise, since ye be so ready with our foreign english?" "ay, we can both speak and understand it," answered gaston, whose cheeks had crimsoned with eager delight; "but we speak english better. good sir, we could desire nothing better than to follow you to the world's end; but we have not been trained to the use of arms, nor to knightly exercises. i know not if we could make shift to please you, be our service never so faithful." "in such a case as that, sure i should be a hard master to please," returned the other, and gaston knew from his voice that he was smiling. "but we need not settle it all out here in this dark wood. you must wait awhile to see what manner of man it is you speak of serving. and you may at least be my companions of voyage across the sea, though once on english shores you shall please yourselves whether or not you serve me farther. as for my name, it is james audley, and i am one of the king's knights. i am now bound for windsor -- thou hast doubtless heard of windsor, the mighty fortress where the king holds his court many a time and oft. well, it hath pleased his majesty of late to strive to bring back those days of chivalry of which our bards sing and of which we hear from ancient legend -- days that seem to be fast slipping away, and which it grieves our most excellent king to see die out in his time. hast heard, boy, of the great king arthur of whom men wrote and sung in days gone by? has his fame reached as far as thy gascon home?" "yea, verily," answered gaston eagerly. "our mother in long-past days would speak to us of that great king, and of his knights, and of the round table at which they sat together, their king in their midst --" "ay, truly thou knowest well the tale, and it is of this same round table i would speak. the king has thought good to hold such a round table himself, and has sent forth messages to numbers of his knights to hold themselves in readiness to attend it early in the year which will soon be upon us. men say that he is building a wondrous round tower at his fortress of windsor, wherein his round table will be placed and the feast celebrated. i know not with what truth they rumour this, but it is like enough, for his majesty hath the love of his people and a kingly mind; and what he purposes he makes shift to carry out, and that right speedily. but be that as it may, there is no mistaking his royal summons to his round table, and i am hastening back across the water to be at windsor on the appointed day; and if it will pleasure you twain to journey thither with me, i trow you will see things the like of which you have never dreamed before; and sure a better fashion of entering life could scarce be found than to follow one of the king's knights to one of the fairest assemblies of chivalry that the world has ever locked upon." and indeed gaston thought so too. his breath was taken away by the prospect. he was dazzled by the very thought of such a thing, and his words of eager thanks were spoken with the falterings of strong emotion. the road had widened out here, and the travellers had got free of the forest. lights sparkled pleasantly in front of them, and raymond had come up in time to hear the offer just made. the eager delight of the two lads seemed to please the brave sir james, who was not much more than a youth himself, as we should reckon things now, though four-and-twenty appeared a more advanced age then. as the travellers at last found themselves within the precincts of a fairly comfortable hostelry, and the horsemen dismounted at the door and entered the inn, sir james pushed the two lads into the lighted room before him, and looked them well over with a pair of searching but kindly blue eyes. he was himself a fine man, of noble stature and princely hearing. his face was pleasant, though it could be stern too on occasion, and the features were regular and good. the boys had never seen such a kingly-looking man, and their hearts went out to him at once. as for him, he looked from one bright face to the other, and nodded his head with a smile. "methinks you will make a pair of gallant squires," he said. "so long as it pleases you to remain in my service, you may call yourselves my men, and receive from my hands what my other servants do." chapter iv. the master of the horse. what a wonderful experience it was for the twin brothers to find themselves for the first time in their lives upon the great ocean of which they had so many times heard! as the little vessel, with her cargo of wine, plunged merrily through the white-crested waves, bearing her freight northward through the stormy bay of biscay to the white shores of albion, the brothers loved to stand in the pointed prow of the brave little craft, feeling the salt spray dashing in their faces, and listening to the swirl of water round the ship's sides as she raced merrily on her way. now indeed, were they well embarked upon a career of adventure and glory. were they not habited like the servants of an english knight -- their swords by their sides (if need be), their master's badge upon their sleeves? were they not bound for the great king's court -- for the assembly of the round table, of which, as it seemed, all men were now talking? would they not see their own kinsmen, feel their way perhaps to future friendship with those who bore their own name? for the present they were dubbed brook by the english servants with whom they associated, though more frequently they went by their christian names alone. it was the fashion in these times to think well of the gascon race. the king set the example, knowing how useful such men were like to be to him in days to come; and these lads, who spoke english almost as their mother tongue, and were so full of spirit, grace, and vivacity, rapidly rose in favour both with sir james himself and with his retinue. no auspices could well have been more favourable for the lads upon their first entrance into the great world, and they only wished that father anselm could hear of their good fortune. they had settled now to let the visit to basildene stand over for a time. they had but the vaguest idea where to seek their mother's home. the priest could not help them to any information on this point, and the way to windsor was open. their kinsfolk there could possibly give them news of basildene, even did they decide to keep their own true name a secret for a time. there could be no doubt as to the wisdom of learning something of their mother's country and the ways of its sons before they launched themselves upon a difficult and possibly dangerous quest. with what strange feelings did the brothers first set eyes upon the shores of england, as the little sloop slid merrily into the smoother solent, after a rough but not unpleasant passage! how they gazed about them as they neared the quays of southampton, and wondered at the contrast presented by this seaport with the stately and beautiful city of bordeaux, which they had seen a fortnight back! certainly this english port could not compare with her a single moment, yet the boys' hearts bounded with joyful exhilaration as they first set foot on english soil. was not the first step of their wild dream safely and prosperously accomplished? might they not augur from this a happy and prosperous career till their aim and object was accomplished? their master had some business to transact in and about southampton which detained him there many days; but the gaston lads found no fault with this arrangement, for everything they saw was new and full of interest; they were well lodged and well fed without cost to themselves, and had full license to go where they would and do what they would, as their master had no present use for their services. gaston and raymond had no desire to idle away their time without profit to themselves, and after taking counsel with honest malcolm, who had a great liking for the boys, they put themselves under the instruction of a capable swordsman, who undertook to teach them the art of using those weapons with skill and grace. as their natural quickness of eye and strength of hand made them quickly proficient in this exercise, they became anxious to try their skill at the more difficult sport of tilting, then so much in vogue with both knights and gentlemen -- a sport which the king greatly encouraged as likely to be excellent training for those charges of his picked horsemen which so often turned the fortunes of the day in his favour in the sterner game of war. both the gascon youths were good horsemen; not that they had ever owned a horse themselves, or had ridden upon a saddle after the fashion of knights and their esquires, but they had lived amongst the droves of horses that were bred upon the wide pasture lands of their own country, and from childhood it had been their favourite pastime to get upon the back of one of these beautiful, unbroken creatures, and go careering wildly over the sweeping plain. that kind of rough riding was as good a training as they could have had, and when once they had grown used to the feel of a saddle between their knees, and had learned the right use of rein and spur, they became almost at once excellent and fearless riders, and enjoyed shivering a lance or carrying off a ring or a handkerchief from a pole as well as any of their comrades. so that the month they passed in the seaport town was by no means wasted on them, and when they took to horse once again to accompany sir james on his way to windsor, they felt that they had made great strides, and were very different from the country-bred gascon youths of two months back. there was one more halt made in london, that wonderful city of which time fails us to speak here; and in that place a new surprise awaited the young esquires, for they and their comrades who wore sir james audley's livery were all newly equipped in two new suits of clothes, and these of such a sumptuous description as set the boys agape with wonder. truly as we read of the bravery in which knights and dames and their servants of old days were attired, one marvels where the money came from to clothe them all. it could have been no light thing to be a great man in such times, and small wonder was it that those who lived in and about the court, whose duty it was to make a brave show in the eyes of royalty, were so often rewarded for trifling services by the gifts of manors, benefices, or wardships; for the cost of keeping up such state as was required was great indeed, and could not have been done without some adequate compensation. sir james had always been a favourite with the king, as he was with the prince of wales -- the black prince of the days to come. he had at various times received marks of the royal favour by substantial grants, and was resolved to appear at this festival of the round table in such guise as should be fitting to his rank and revenues. thus it came about that the gascon youths found themselves furnished with tunics of blue and silver, richly embroidered with their master's cognizances, and trimmed with costly fur, with long mantles of blue cloth fastened with golden clasps, with rich girdles, furnished with gipciere and anelace, and hose and long embroidered shoes, such as they began to see were the fashion of the day in england. their stout nags, which had carried them bravely thus far, were now exchanged for handsome animals of a better breed, horses trained to knightly exercises, and capable of carrying their masters bravely through any game of battle or tourney such as the king loved to organize when he had his knights round him. it was often that the esquires as well as the knights competed in these contests of skill and strength, or followed their masters into some great melee, and it was a point of honour with the latter that their followers should be well and suitably equipped for the sport. "by my faith, but i wish good margot and the holy father could see us now," quoth gaston, laughing, as sir james and his followers sallied forth one bright december morning to take their last stage on the journey to windsor. they had traversed the main distance the day previously, for sir james had no wish to arrive weary and travel stained at the king's court. orders had been given for every man to don his best riding dress and look well to the trappings of his steed, and it was a gallant-looking company indeed that sallied out from the door of the wayside hostelry and took the road towards the great castle, glimpses of which began from time to time to be visible through the trees. "i trow they would scarce know us! there be moments, raymond, when i scarce know myself for the same. it seems as though years had passed since we left the old home, and by the mass i feel as though i were a new being since then!" "yea, verily, and i also," answered raymond, looking round him with eager eyes. "gaston, look well about thee; for by what malcolm says, these very woods through which we shall pass, and the manor of old windsor hard by, are the property of our uncle sir john de brocas, the king's master of the horse; and by what i hear, methinks we shall see him in the flesh ere the day has passed." "ha!" exclaimed gaston, with interest; "if that be so let us heed him well, for much of our future may hang on him. he is in the king's favour, they say, and if he did but plead our cause with the roy outremer, we might well look to call basildene our home ere long." "we must call him no longer the roy outremer," said raymond, with a smile. "if we are to be the brothers of basildene, we must be english subjects and he our liege lord." "true," answered gaston readily; "and methinks, if he be what all men say, it will be no hardship to own ourselves his subjects. i would ten thousand times sooner call myself so than be servant to yon weak and treacherous king of france." at that moment an interruption occurred to delay the little cavalcade for a few moments. the road they were traversing led them past a solid gateway, which showed that upon one side at least the property was that of a private individual; and just as they were approaching this gateway the portal swung open, and out of it rode a fine-looking man of middle age and imposing aspect, followed by three youths richly attired, and by some dozen mounted attendants. the leader of the party wore a dress that was evidently the livery of some office -- a tunic of blue and a cape of white brussels cloth. his cap was of white and blue, and the king's badge of a silver swan was fastened in the front. as he rode out, the esquires round gaston and raymond drew rein and whispered one to another: "it is the king's master of the horse!" eagerly and curiously the two lads gazed at the face and figure of the kinsman now before them, whilst sir james spurred his horse forward, a smile lighting up the grave face of the king's servant. "marry well met, good sir james!" was the hearty greeting of the latter, as the two men grasped hands. "i warrant you will be welcome at the castle, whither, i doubt not, your steps are bent. it was but two days since that his majesty was asking news of you, no man knowing rightly whither you had gone, nor upon what errand. there be fine musterings already at the court, and every day brings some fresh faces to the gathering assembly. i trow that such a sight as will shortly be witnessed within those walls has scarce been seen by england before." "nay, nor since the days of good king arthur, if all be true that i have heard," answered sir james. "be these gallant youths your sons, sir john? verily time flies! i have not been in these parts for full three years. i scarce know them once again." "yes, these be my three sons," answered the father, with a proud glance at the handsome youths, who came up at a sign from him to be presented to the knight. "it may well be many long years since you saw them, for they have often been away from my side, travelling in foreign parts with my good brother, and learning the lessons of life as i have been able to see occasion. this is john, my first born. oliver and bernard follow after him. i trust in years to come they will live to win their spurs in the king's service. they are often about the court, and the prince has chosen them amongst his serviens. but they have not yet seen war, albeit i trow they will not be missing when the day for fighting shall come, which i verily believe will not be long now." the youths made their salute to the knight, and then dropped behind. sir james rode in advance, still in earnest converse with the master of the horse; whilst the attendants of the two bands, some of whom were acquainted, mixed together indiscriminately, and rode after their masters in amicable converse. sir john's three sons rode a few paces behind the knights, and as it chanced the gascon brothers were the next behind them, studying these cousins of theirs with natural interest and curiosity. they had heard their names distinctly as their father had presented them to his friend, and gladly would they have fallen into converse with them had they felt certain that the advance would be taken in good part. as it was, they were rather fearful of committing breaches of good manners, and restrained themselves, though their quick, eager glances towards each other betrayed what they were feeling. all of a sudden something unseen by the rider caused gaston's horse to take fright. it was a very spirited and rather troublesome animal, which had been passed on by two or three riders as too restive for them, and had been ridden more successfully by gaston than by any of its former masters. but the creature wanted close watching, and gaston had been for a time off his guard. the knowing animal had doubtless discovered this, and had hoped to take advantage of this carelessness to get rid of his rider and gain the freedom of the forest himself. with a sudden plunge and hound, which almost unseated gaston, the horse made a dash for the woodland aisles; and when he felt that his rider had regained his seat and was reining him in with a firm and steady hand, the fiery animal reared almost erect upon his hind legs, wildly pawing the air, and uttering fierce snorts of anger and defiance. but gaston's blood was up now, and he was not going to be mastered by his steed, least of all in presence of so many witnesses. shouting to raymond, who had dismounted and appeared about to spring at the horse's head, to keep away, he brought the angry creature down by throwing himself upon his neck; and though there were still much plunging and fierce kicking and struggling to be encountered before the day was won, gaston showed himself fully equal to the demands made upon his horsemanship; and before many moments had passed, had the satisfaction of riding the horse quietly back to the little cavalcade, which had halted to witness the struggle. "that was good riding, and a fine animal," remarked the master of the horse, whose eyes were well trained to note the points of any steed. "i trow that lad will make a soldier yet. who is he, good sir james?" "one gaston brook, a lad born and brought up in gascony, together with his twin brother who rides by his side. they came to my help in the forest round castres; and as i was in need of service, and they were faring forth to seek their fortunes, i bid them, an it pleased them, follow me. one parent was a native of gascony, their mother i trow, since their name is english. i did hear somewhat of their simple tale, but it has fled my memory since." "they are proper youths," said sir john, not without a passing gleam of interest in any persons who hailed from his own country. "half gascon and half english makes a fine breed. the lads may live to do good service yet." meantime the three sons of sir john had entered into conversation with the two youthful esquires, and were making friends as fast as circumstances would allow. they were some years older than the gascon brothers -- that is to say that john was close upon twenty, and oliver and bernard followed, each a year younger than his predecessor. they had seen far more of the world than these country-bred lads, and had been reared more or less in the atmosphere of the court; still they were bright, high spirited, and unaffected youths, who were ready enough to make advances to any comrades of their own standing across whose path they might be thrown. gaston and raymond had about them an air of breeding which won them notice wherever they went. their speech was refined for the times, and their handsome figures and faces gained them speedy and favourable attention. very soon the five youths were chatting and laughing together as though they were old friends. the sons of sir john heard all about the encounter in the forest, and how the wolves had been scared away; whilst the gascon brothers, on their side, heard about the vast round tower built by the king for his round table to assemble at, and how busily everybody had been employed in hastening on the work and getting everything in readiness for the great festival that was at hand. "shall we see the feast?" asked gaston eagerly. "men say it will be a sight not to be forgotten." "we shall see it like enough," answered john, "but only belted knights will sit at the board. why, even the prince of wales himself will not sit down at the table, but will only stand to serve his father; for his spurs are not yet won, though he says he will not be long in winning them if kind fortune will but give him the chance he craves. a great assembly of esquires will be in attendance on their masters, and i trow ye twain might well be amongst these, as we hope ourselves to be. your master is one of the bidden knights, and will sit not very far from the king himself. if you can make shift to steal in through the press and stand behind his chair, i doubt not but what ye will see all right well; and perchance the king himself may take note of you. he has a marvellous quick eye, and so has the prince; and he is ever on the watch for knightly youths to serve him as valettus -- as we do." "we are going to win our spurs together," cried bernard, who in some ways was the leading spirit amongst the brothers, as he was afterwards the most noted man of his house. "we have talked of it a thousand times, and the day will come ere long. the king has promised that when next he is called forth to fight the recreant king of france, he will take the prince with him, and he has promised that we shall go with him. the day will come when he will lay claim once more to that crown of france which by rights is his to wear, and we shall all sally forth to drive the coward louis from the throne, and place the crown on edward's royal brow." bernard's eyes flashed fire at the bare thought of the unchecked career of victory he saw for england's arms when once she had set foot on the long-talked-of expedition which was to make edward king over the realm of france. "and we will fight for him too!" cried gaston and raymond in a breath; "and so, i trow, will all gascony. we love the english rule there. we love the roy outremer, as he is called there. if he would but come to our land, instead of to treacherous flanders or feeble, storm-torn brittany, for his soldiers and for his starting place, i trow his arms would meet with naught but victory. the sieur d'albret, men whisper, has been to the court, and has looked with loving eyes upon one of the king's daughters for his son. that hope would make him faithful to the english cause, and he is the greatest lord in gascony, where all men fear his name." "thou shalt tell all that to the king or to the prince," said john in a low tone to raymond, as they fell a little behind, for the road grew rough and narrow. "i trow he will be glad to learn all he may from those who know what the people of the land speak and think -- the humbler folks, of whom men are growing now to take more account, at least here in england, since it is they, men now say, who must be asked ere even the king himself may dare to go to war. for money must be found through them, and they will not always grant it unless they be pleased with what has already been done. the great nobles say hard things of them they call the 'commons;' they say that england's doom will surely come if she is to be answerable to churls and merchant folk for what her king and barons choose to do. but for my part it seems but just that those who pay the heavy burden of these long wars should know somewhat about them, and should even have the power to check them did they think the country oppressed beyond what she could bear. a bad king might not care for the sufferings of his people. a weak king might be but the tool of his barons -- as we have heard the king's father was -- and hear nothing but what they chose for him to know. for my own part, i think it right and just enough that the people should have their voice in these things. they always grant the king a liberal supply; and if they demand from him the redress of grievances and the granting of certain privileges in return, i can see in that naught that is unfair; nor would england be happier and more prosperous, methinks, were she governed by a tyrant who might grind her down to the dust." john de brocas was a very thoughtful youth, very different in appearance from his younger brothers, who were fine stalwart young men, well versed in every kind of knightly exercise, and delighting in nothing so much as the display of their energies and skill. john was cast in quite a different mould, and possibly it was something of a disappointment to the father that his first born should be so unlike himself and his other sons. john had had weak health from his cradle, which might account in part for his studious turn of mind; and the influence of his uncle's training may have had still greater effect. as the damp air of windsor did not appear to agree with the boy, he had been sent, when seven years old, to his uncle's rectory of st. nicholas, and brought up in the more healthy and bracing air of guildford. master bernard de brocas, though by no means a man of exclusively scholarly tastes, was for the days he lived in a learned man, and feeling sure that his eldest nephew would never make a soldier, he tried to train him for a statesman and for an ecclesiastic -- the two offices being in those days frequently combined. the great statesmen were nearly always men in the church's employ, and the scholarship and learning of the age were almost entirely in their keeping. john showed no disposition to enter the church -- probably the hope of winning his spurs was not yet dead within him; but he took very kindly to book lore, and had often shown a shrewdness and aptness in diplomatic negotiation which had made master bernard prophesy great things for him. raymond had never heard such matters discussed before, and knew little enough about the art of government. he looked with respect at his companion, and john, catching the glance, smiled pleasantly in reply. "i trow thou wouldest sooner be with the rest, hearing of the king's round table and the knightly jousts to follow. let me not weary thee with my graver words. go join the others an thou wilt." "nay, i will stay with thee," answered raymond, who was greatly attracted by john's pale and thoughtful face, and could not but pity him for his manifest lack of strength and muscle. the youth was tall and rode well, but he was slight to the verge of attenuation, and the hollow cheek and unnaturally bright eyes sunk in deep caverns told a tale that was not hard to read. young de brocas might make a student, a clerk, a man of letters, but he would never be a soldier; and that in itself appeared to raymond the greatest deprivation that could befall a man. but he liked his companion none the less for this sense of pity. "i would fain hear more of england -- england's laws, england's ways. i have heard that in this land men may obtain justice better than in any other. i have heard that justice is here administered to poor as well as rich. i would learn more of this. i would learn more of you. tell me first of yourself. i know well the name of de brocas. we come from the very place where once you held sway. the village (as you would call it) of brocas was not so very far away. tell me of yourself, your father, your uncle. i know all their names right well. i would hear all that you can tell." john's face lighted with interest. he was willing enough to tell of himself, his two brothers, two sisters, and their many homes in and about the castle of windsor. besides his post as master of the horse, john explained to raymond, his father held the office of chief forester of windsor forest (equivalent to the modern ranger), and besides the manor of old windsor, possessed property and manors at old and new bray, didworth and clewer. he was high in the king's favour and confidence, and, as may well be believed, led a busy and responsible life. upon him devolved the care of all those famous studs of horses on which the king relied when he sent his armies into the field; and if his expenditure in these matters has been condemned in more recent days, the best answer will be found in the disasters and the ruinous expenditure of the later campaigns of the reign, when the king, thinking that he had reduced his french possessions to complete order, and that his magnificent cavalry would not longer be wanted to career over the plains of france, broke up and sold off his studs; so that when his calculation as to the future proved mistaken, he had no longer any organized supply of war horses to draw upon. raymond's interest in john's talk so won the heart of that youth that a warm friendship sprang up rapidly between them, whilst the younger brothers appeared to take almost the same liking for gaston. by-and-by it became known that the castle was crowded almost beyond its capacity for accommodation; and as much of the responsibility of seeing to the lodging of guests fell upon sir john de brocas, he gave up his house at clewer for the time being for the use of some of the guests of humbler rank, his son john acting as host there; and to this house the gaston brothers were asked, amongst many other youthful esquires of like degree. thus it came about that the merry yuletide season was spent by them actually beneath their uncle's roof, although he had no idea that he was entertaining kinsmen unawares. mindful of the good priest's warning, and knowing their ignorance of the new life and the new people amongst whom their fortunes had led them, the twins still carefully preserved the secret of their identity. they knew too little of the cause of estrangement between their father and his brothers to have any confidence how his sons would be received. they were both of opinion that by far their wisest course was to wait quietly and patiently, and watch what befell them; and the only question which raymond ever dared to put to john in the days that followed which savoured of their own affairs, was an inquiry as to whether he had ever heard of a place called basildene. "basildene?" repeated john slowly. "yes, i have heard the name. it is the name of a manor not very many miles from my uncle's house in guildford. dost thou know aught of it?" "nay; i knew not rightly if there were such a spot. but i have heard the name. knowest thou to whom it belongs?" "yes, i know that too. it belongs to one peter sanghurst, of whom no man speaks aught but evil." chapter v. the king and the prince. king edward's assembly of knights that met at his first round table was as typical a gathering as could well have been found of that age of warlike chivalry. the king's idea was likewise typical of the age he lived in. he had begun to see something of that decline of chivalry which was the natural outcome of a real advance in general civilization, and of increasing law and order, however slow its progress might be. greatly deploring any decay in a system so much beloved and cherished by knights and warriors, and not seeing that its light might merely be paling in the rise of something more truly bright and beneficent, the king resolved to do everything in his power to give an impetus to all chivalrous undertakings by assembling together his knights after the fashion of the great king arthur, and with them to take counsel how the ways and usages of chivalry might best be preserved, the old spirit kept alive, and the interests of piety and religion (with which it should ever be blended) be truly considered. how far this festival succeeded in its object can scarcely be told now. the days of chivalry (in the old acceptation of the term) were drawing to a close, and an attempt to galvanize into life a decaying institution is seldom attended with any but very moderate success. from the fact that we hear so little of the king's round table, and from the few times it ever met, one is led to conclude that the results were small and disappointing. but the brilliance of the first assembly cannot be doubted; and for the twins of gascony it was a wonderful day, and marked an epoch in their lives; for on that occasion they saw for the first time the mighty king, whose name had been familiar to them from childhood, and had actual speech with the prince of wales, that hero of so many battlefields, known to history as the black prince. so great was the crowd of esquires who waited upon the knights sitting around the huge round table, that the gascon brothers only struggled for a few minutes into the gay assemblage to look at what was going on there. the table was itself a curiosity -- a huge ring round which, in beautifully carved seats, the knights sat, each seat fitting into the next, with an arm to divide them, the backs forming a complete circle round the table. the king's seat was adorned with a richer carving, and had a higher back, than the others, but that was its only distinction. within the circle of the table were pages flitting about, attending on the guests; and the esquires who thronged the corridors or supplemented the attentions of the pages were considerably more numerous than the occasion required, so that these were to be seen gathering in groups here and there about the building in the vicinity of the feast, discussing the proceedings or talking of public or private matters. very wonderful was all this to gaston and raymond, but not quite so bewildering as it would have been a month ago. they had been about the court some little time now, and were growing used to the fine dresses, the english ways of speech, and the manners and customs which had perplexed them not a little at first. they were greatly entertained by watching the shifting throng of courtiers, and their one glimpse at the royal countenance of the king had been fraught with keen pleasure and satisfaction; but so far as they knew it, they had not yet seen the prince of wales, and they had not caught sight either of their cousins oliver or bernard, though they had found john sitting in the embrasure of a window in the corridor, watching the scene with the same interest which they felt in it themselves. when they saw him they joined him, and asked the names of some of the gay personages flitting about. john good-naturedly amused them with a number of anecdotes of the court; and as the three were thus chatting together, they were suddenly joined by another group of three, who advanced along the corridor talking in low tones but with eager excitement. "here comes the prince," said john, rising to his feet, and the twin brothers turned eagerly round. they knew in an instant which of the three was the prince, for his companions were john's two brothers, oliver and bernard. young edward was at that time not quite fourteen, but so strong, so upright, so well grown, and of such a kingly presence, that it was hard to believe he had scarcely left his childhood behind. his tunic was of cloth of gold, with the royal arms embroidered upon it. he wore a golden collar round his neck, and his golden girdle held a dagger with a richly-jewelled hilt. a short velvet mantle lined with ermine hung over his shoulder, and was fastened by a clasp richly chased and set with rubies. his face was flushed as if with some great purpose, and his eyes shone brightly with excitement. "it shall never be true -- i will not believe it!" he was saying, in urgent accents. "let chivalry once die out, and so goes england's glory. may i die ere i live to see that day! better a thousand times death in some glorious warfare, in some knightly deed of daring, than to drag out a life of ease and sloth with the dying records of the glorious past alone to cheer and sustain one. good john, thou art a man of letters -- thou canst read the signs of the times -- prithee tell me that there be no truth in this dark whisper. sure the days of chivalry are not half lived through yet!" "nor will be so long as you are spared to england, gentle prince," answered john, with his slight peculiar smile. "you and your royal sire together will keep alive the old chivalry at which was dealt so sore a blow in your grandsire's days. a reign like that of weakness and folly and treachery leaves its mark behind; but england's chivalry has lived through it --" "ay, and she shall awake to new and fuller life!" cried the ardent boy. "what use in being born a prince if something cannot thus be done to restore what has been lost? and why should princes stand idle when the world is all in arms? comrades, do ye long as i do to show the world that though we have not yet won our knighthood's spurs, we are yet ready and willing to sally forth, even as did the knights of old, upon some quest of peril or adventure? why is it that i, who should by rights be one to show what may be done by a boy's arm with a stout heart behind, am ever held back from peril and danger, have never seen fighting save in the tilt yard, or wound worse than what splintered spear may chance to inflict? i burn to show the world what a band of youths can do who go forth alone on some errand of true chivalry. comrades, give me your ears. let me speak to you of the purpose in my heart. this day has my father, in the hearing of all men, lamented the wane of chivalry, has spoken brave words of encouragement to those who will strive with him to let it be no hollow name amongst us. then who more fit than his own son to go forth now -- at once, by stealth if need be -- upon such a quest of peril and glory? nay, not for the glory -- that may or may not be ours -- but upon a mission of chivalrous service to the weak and helpless? this thing i purpose to do myself, together with some few chosen comrades. brothers of brocas, will ye go with me?" "we will! we will!" cried the three brothers in a breath. "we will!" echoed the twins of gascony, forgetting all but their eager desire to share the peril and the glory of the prince's enterprise, whatever it might be. young edward heard the sound of the strange voices, and turned a quick glance of inquiry upon the youths. he saw that they wore the livery of sir james audley, who was a great favourite even then with the prince. the true kingly courtesy of the plantagenets was ingrained in the nature of this princely boy, and he looked with a smile at the two eager faces before him. "and who be ye, fair gentlemen?" he asked. "methinks the badge you wear is answer almost enough. i know your good lord well, and love him well, and sure there be none of his esquires, be they never so young, who would disgrace their master by fleeing in an hour of peril. wherefore if ye would fain be of the band i seek to muster round me, i will bid you ready welcome. i seek none that be above twenty years of age. "good john, you shall be the wise man of our party. these lads have not lived many more years than i have myself, or i am much mistaken." "we are twin brothers," said gaston frankly, "and we are nigh upon sixteen. we have been with sir james a matter of two months. we --" "they met him in the woods of gascony," cried oliver, "and rescued him from the attacks of a pack of fierce wolves. i trow they would bear themselves bravely be your quest what it may." "are you gascons?" asked the prince, looking with keener interest at the two youths; for he shared some of his father's instincts of government, and was always well disposed towards gascon subjects. "we are half gascon and half english, may it please you, fair prince," answered gaston readily, "and we will follow you to the death." "i well believe it, my good comrades," answered the prince quickly; "and right glad shall we be of your company and assistance. for our errand lies amidst dark forests with their hidden perils and dangers, and i wot that none know better what such dangers are nor how they may be escaped than our brethren of gascony." "then you know on what quest we are bent, sweet prince?" edward nodded his head as he looked over his shoulder. "ay, that i do right well, and that will i tell you incontinently if no eavesdroppers be about. ye know that of late days brave knights and gentlemen have been mustering to our court from all parts of this land? now amongst these is one sir hugh vavasour, who comes from his house of woodcrych, not half a day's ride from our royal palace of guildford; and with him he has brought his son, one alexander, with whom i yestere'en fell into converse. i say not that i liked the youth himself. he seemed to me something over bold, yet lacking in those graces of chivalry that are so dear to us. still it was in talking with him that i heard this thing which has set my blood boiling in my veins." "what thing is that, fair prince?" asked john. and then the young edward told his tale. it was such a tale as was only too often heard in olden days, though it did not always reach the ears of royalty. the long and expensive, and as yet somewhat fruitless, wars in which edward had been engaged almost ever since he came to the throne, had greatly impoverished his subjects, and with poverty there arose those other evils inseparable from general distress -- robbery, freebooting, crime in its darkest and ugliest aspects; bands of hungry men, ruined and beggared, partly perhaps through misfortune, but partly through their own fault, wandering about the country ravaging and robbing, leaving desolation behind them, and too often, if opposed, committing acts of brutal cruelty upon defenceless victims, as a warning to others. a band such as this was just now scouring the woods around guildford. young vavasour had heard of depredations committed close against the walls of his own home, and had heard of many outrages which had been suffered by the poor folks around. cattle had been driven off, their hardly-gathered fuel had vanished in the night; sometimes lonely houses were attacked, and the miserable inhabitants, if they offered resistance, stabbed to the heart by the marauders. one or two girls had been missed from their homes, and were said to have fallen a prey to the robber band. all these things, and the latter item especially, stirred the hot blood in the young prince's veins, and he was all on fire to do some doughty deed that should at once exterminate such evildoers from the face of the earth, strike terror into the hearts of other bands, and show that the spirit of chivalry was yet alive in the kingdom, and that the king's son was the first to fly to the succour of the distressed and the feeble. "for i will go myself and hunt these miscreants as though they were dogs or wolves -- beasts of prey that needs must be put down with a strong hand. i will not tell my father the tale, else might he appoint warriors of his own to see to the matter, and the glory be theirs and not ours. no, this is a matter for my arm to settle. i will collect around me a band of our bravest youths -- they shall all be youths like myself. our good john knows well the country around our palace of guildford -- in truth i know it indifferently well myself. we will sally forth together -- my father will grant me leave to go thither with a body of youths of my own choosing -- and thence we will scour the forests, scatter or slay these vile disturbers of the peace, restore the lost maidens to their homes, and make recompense to our poor subjects for all they have suffered at their hands." it was just the scheme to fascinate the imagination and fire the ardour of a number of high-spirited and generous boys. the proximity of the royal palace of guildford gave them every facility for carrying out the plan speedily and yet secretly, and the prince had quickly enlisted a score of well-trained, well-equipped lads to follow him on his chivalrous quest. sir james gave ready consent to his petition that the gascon twins might join his train for a few days. the king, when he gave his sanction to the proposed expedition to guildford, believed that his son was going there bent on sport or some boyish pastime, and scarce bestowed a second thought upon the matter. the royal children had each their own attendants and establishment, following wherever their youthful master or mistress went; and to the eldest son of the king a very decided liberty was given, of which his father had never yet had cause to repent. thus it came about that three days after the king's great feast of the round table had ended, the prince of wales, with a following of twenty young comrades, in addition to his ordinary staff of attendants, rode forth from the castle of windsor in the tardy winter's dawn, and before night had fallen the gay and gallant little band had reached the palace of guildford, which had received due notice of the approach of the king's son. those who were sharp-eyed amongst the spectators of this departure might have noted that the prince and his immediate followers each wore round his arm a band of black ribbon with a device embroidered upon it. the device was an eagle worked in gold, and was supposed to be emblematic of the swiftness and the strength that were to characterize the expedition of the prince, when he should swoop down upon the dastardly foes, and force them to yield up their ill-gotten gains. these badges had been worked by the clever fingers of edward's sisters, the youthful princesses isabella and joanna. joanna, as the wardrobe rolls of the period show, was a most industrious little maiden with her needle, and must have spent the best part of her time in her favourite pastime of embroidery, judging by the amount of silk and other material required by her for her own private use. both the sisters were devotedly attached to their handsome brother, and were the sharers of his confidences. they knew all about this secret expedition, and sympathized most fully with it. it was joanna's ready wit which had suggested the idea of the badge, which idea was eagerly caught up by edward; for to go forth with a token woven by the fair hands of ladies would give to the exploit a spice of romantic chivalry that would certainly add to its zest. so for the past three days the royal sisters had been plying their needles with the utmost diligence, and each of the gallant little band knew that he wore upon his arm a token embroidered for him by the hands of a youthful princess. of the royal palace of guildford nothing now remains -- even the site is not known with any certainty, though it is supposed to have occupied the spot where guildford park farm now stands. its extensive park covered a large area of ground, and was a favoured hunting ground for many of the illustrious plantagenets. it need hardly be said with what interest and curiosity the twin brothers gazed about them as they neared the little town of guildford, where their uncle, master bernard de brocas, possessed a gradually increasing property. they felt that this journey was the first step towards basildene; and utterly ignorant as they were of its exact locality, they wondered if they might not be passing it by whenever some ancient manor house reared its chimneys or gables above the bare encircling trees, and their hearts beat high at the thought that they were drawing near to their own lost inheritance. the palace was warmly lighted in honour of the arrival of the prince of wales; and as the little cavalcade dismounted at the door and entered the noble hall, a figure, habited after the fashion of the ecclesiastics of the day, stepped forth to greet the scion of royalty, and the twin brothers heard their comrades mutter, "it is the good rector, master bernard de brocas." the young prince plainly knew the rector well, and after just bending his knee to ask the blessing, as was his reverent custom, he led him into the banqueting hall, where a goodly meal lay spread, placing him in a seat at his own right hand, and asking him many things as the meal progressed, leading the talk deftly to the robbers' raids, and seeking, without betraying his purpose, to find out where these miscreants might most readily be found. the good rector had heard much about them, but knew little enough of their movements. one day they were heard of in one place, and again they would vanish, and no man would know whither they had gone till they appeared in another. everywhere they left behind them desolated homes, and bloodshed and ruin followed in their track. master bernard had heard too many such tales from all parts of the kingdom to heed overmuch what went on in this particular spot. he knew that the winter's privation and cold acted upon savage men almost as it did upon wolves and ravenous beasts, and that in a country harassed and overtaxed such things must needs be. he never suspected the cause of the prince's eagerness. he believed that the youths had come down bent on sport, and that they would take far more interest in the news he had to give them, that a wild boar had recently been seen in the forest aisles of the royal park, and that the huntsmen would be ready to sally forth to slay it at a single word from the prince. edward's eyes lighted at this. it seemed to him a fortunate coincidence. also he would be glad enough to see the killing of the boar, though he was more interested in the expedition it would involve into the heart of the forest. "prithee give orders, good master bernard, that the huntsmen be ready tomorrow morning at dawn of day. i trow there be horses and to spare to mount us all, as our own beasts will be something weary from the journey they have taken today. we will be ready ere the sun is up, and if kind fortune smiles upon us, i trust i shall have the good fortune to have a pair of fine tusks to offer to my sisters when they join us here, as they shortly hope to do." master bernard, who was a man of no small importance all through this neighbourhood, hastened away to give the needful orders. he had come from his own rectory hard by to receive the prince and his comrades, and he suspected that the king would be well pleased for him to remain beneath the roof of the castle so long as this gay and youthful party did so. when night came and the youths sought the rooms which had been made ready for them, the prince signed to a certain number of his comrades to repair with him to his chamber, as though he desired their services at his toilet. amongst those thus summoned were the three sons of sir john de brocas, and also the gascon twins, for whom young edward appeared to have taken a great liking, and who on their part warmly returned this feeling. shutting the door carefully, and making sure that none but friends were round him, the prince unfolded his plan. he had learned from the master huntsman, whom he had seen for a few minutes before going to his room, that the boar lay concealed for the most part in some thick underwood lying in the very heart of the forest many miles distant, right away to the southwest in the direction of woodcrych. this part of the forest was fairly well known to the prince from former hunting expeditions, and he and john both remembered well the hut of a lonely woodman that lay hidden in the very depths of the wood near this spot. it had occurred to edward as likely that old ralph would be better acquainted with the habits of the robbers than any other person could be. he was too poor to be made a mark for their rapacity, yet from his solitary life in the forest he might likely enough come across their tracks, and be able to point out their hiding places. therefore the prince's plan was that he and the picked companions he should choose should slip away from the main body of the huntsmen, and make their way to this lonely cabin, joining their comrades later when they had discovered all that they could do from the old man. the shouts of the huntsmen and the baying of the dogs would guide them to the scene of the chase, and if the rest who remained all the while with the foresters and the dogs missed the prince from amongst their ranks, they were not to draw attention to the fact, but were rather to strive to conceal it from the master huntsman, who might grow uneasy if he found the young edward missing. it was of importance that all inquiries respecting the robbers should be conducted with secrecy, for if the prince's curiosity on the subject were once to be known, suspicion might be aroused, or a regular expedition against them organized, the glory and credit of which would not belong in anything but empty name to the prince. it was not, perhaps, unnatural that the six lads who had first conned over the plan together should be selected as the ones to make this preliminary inquiry. john was chosen for his seniority and the prudence of his counsels, his brothers for their bravery and fleetness of foot, and the gascon twins for their close acquaintance with forest tracks, and their greater comprehension of the methods employed in following the trail of foes or fugitives through tangled woods. they would likely enough understand the old man's counsel better than any of the others; and as the sport of hunting the boar was more esteemed by the other youths than the expedition to the woodman's hut, no jealousy was aroused by the prince's choice, and the scheme was quickly made known to the whole of the party. the morrow proved a first-rate day for a hunting party in the forest. a light crisp snow lay on the ground, melting where exposed to the sun's rays, but forming a sparkling white carpet elsewhere. it was not deep enough to inconvenience either men or horses, and would scarce have fallen to any depth beneath the trees of the forest; but there was just sufficient to be an excellent guide in tracking down the quarry, and all felt confident that the wily old boar had seen his last sunrise. merrily rode the party forth through the great gateway and across the fine park in the direction of the forest. the prince and his five chosen comrades rode together, sometimes speaking in low tones, sometimes joining in the gay converse on the subject of hunting which went on around them. but the prince's thoughts were far less with sport than with the wrongs of his father's subjects, and the cruel outrages which they had suffered unredressed and almost unpitied. his heart burned within him to think that in merry england, as he liked to call it, and in the days of chivalry, such things were possible; and to put down cruelty and rapacity with a strong hand seemed of infinitely more importance to him than the pursuit of a fine sport. thus musing, and thus talking in low tones to the thoughtful john, the prince dropped a little behind the muster of huntsmen. his chosen comrades followed his example, and straggled rather aimlessly after the main body, till at last a turn in the forest shut these completely from their view. "now," said the prince, turning to his five selected comrades, "this, if i mistake not, is our road. we will soon see if we cannot get upon the track of the miscreants whom i am burning to punish and destroy!" chapter vi. the prince's exploit. the woodman's cottage was quickly reached. it was a little rush-thatched cabin of mud, lying in the very heart of the dim wood. the party had to dismount and tie up their horses at some short distance from the place; but they had the good fortune to find the occupant at home, or rather just outside his cabin, gathering a few dried sticks to light his fire. he was a grizzled, uncouth-looking old man, but a certain dignity was imparted to him by a look of deep and unspeakable melancholy upon his face, which gave it pathos and character of its own. the rustic face is apt to become vacant, bovine, or coarse. solitude often reduces man almost to the level of the beasts. this old man, who for many years had lived hidden away in this vast forest, might well have lost all but the semblance of humanity; but such was not the case. his eyes had light in them; his very melancholy showed that the soul was not dead. as he saw the bright-faced boys approaching him, he first gave a great start of surprise, eagerly scanning one face after another; then, as he did so the light of hope died out from his eyes, and the old despairing look came back. something of this was observed by the prince and his followers, but they were at present too much bent upon their own mission to have thought to spare for any other concerns. they formed a circle round him, and asked him of the robbers -- if he ever saw them; if he knew their haunts; if they had been near these parts during the past days? for a moment it seemed as though the old man was disappointed by the questions asked him. he muttered something they did not rightly comprehend about robbers worse than these, and a quick fierce look passed across his face, and then died out again. the young prince was courteous and patient: he allowed the old man's slow wits time to get to work; and when he did begin to speak he spoke to some purpose, and the boys listened and questioned with the most eager attention. it took some time to extract the necessary information, not from any reluctance to speak on the old man's part, but from his inability to put his thoughts into words. still when this was by degrees achieved, the information was of the highest possible importance. the robbers, said the old man, were at that very moment not far away. he had seen them sally forth on one of their nocturnal raids about dusk the previous evening; and they had returned home laden with spoil two hours before the dawn. he was of the opinion that they had carried off some captive with them, for he had heard sounds as of bitter though stifled weeping as they passed his hut on their return. did he know where they lay by day? oh yes, right well he did! they had a hiding place in a cave down in a deep dingle, so overgrown with brushwood that only those who knew the path thither could hope to penetrate within it. once there, they felt perfectly safe, and would sleep away the day after one of their raids, remaining safely hidden there till supplies were exhausted, when they sallied forth again. the old woodman showed them the tracks of the party that had passed by that morning, and to the eyes of the gascon brothers these tracks were plain enough, and they undertook to follow them unerringly to the lair. the old woodman had no desire to be mixed up in the matter. if he were to be seen in the company of the trackers, he firmly believed that he should be skinned alive before many days had passed. he plainly did not put much faith in the power of these lads to overcome a large band of desperate men, and strongly advised them to go home and think no more of the matter. but his interest was only very partially aroused, and it was plain that there was something on his own mind which quite outweighed with him the subject of the forest outlaws. john would fain have questioned him about himself, being a youth of kindly spirit; but the moment was not propitious, for the prince was all on fire with a new idea. "comrades," he said gravely and firmly, "the hour has come when we must put our manhood to the proof. this very day, without the loss of a needless moment, we must fall, sword in hand, upon yon dastard crew, and do to them as they have done. you have heard this honest man's tale. upon the day following a midnight raid they lie close in their cave asleep -- no doubt drunken with the excesses they indulge in, i warrant, when they have replenished their larder anew. this, then, is the day they must be surprised and slain. if we wait we may never have such another chance. my brothers in arms, are you ready to follow me? shall the eagles fail for lack of courage when the prey is almost within sight?" an unanimous sound of dissent ran through the group. all were as eager as the prince for the battle and the victory; but the face of john wore an anxious look. "we must not go alone," he said. "we must summon our comrades to join us. they are bound on the quest as much as we." "true," answered the prince, looking round him. "it were madness, i trow, for the six of us to make the attack alone. yet did not jonathan and his armour bearer fall unawares upon a host and put them to flight? methinks some holy father has told such a tale to me. still thou art right, good john. we must not risk losing all because it has been given to godly men in times of old to work a great deliverance. see here, friends, what we will do. our comrades cannot be very far away. hark! surely it is the baying of the hound i hear yonder over that wooded ridge! good bernard, do thou to horse, gallop to them as fast as thou canst, and tell them of the hap upon which we have fallen. bid them follow fast with thee, but leave the dogs and horses behind with the huntsmen, lest their noise betray our approach. master huntsman may seek to withhold them from the quest, but when he knows that i, the prince, with but four of my comrades to help me, have gone on in advance, and that we are even then approaching the robbers' cave, he will not only bid them all go, but will come himself doubtless, with the best of his followers, and give us what help he may. lose no time. to horse, and away! and when thou hast called the band together, come back in all haste to this spot. the forest trackers will be put upon the trail, and will follow us surely and swiftly. you will find us there before you, lying in ambush, having fully reconnoitred. be not afraid for us. honest john will see that we run not into too great peril ere we have help. is it understood? good! then lose not a moment. and for the rest of us, we will follow these sturdy gascons, who will secretly lead us to the haunt of the outlaws." bernard was off almost before the last words had been spoken, and very soon they heard from the sounds that he had mounted his horse and was galloping in the direction in which, from the faint baying of the hounds, he knew the hunting party to be. john looked somewhat anxious as the prince signed to gaston and raymond to lead the way upon the robbers' track; but he knew the determined nature of the prince, and did not venture open remonstrance. yet edward's quick eye caught the uneasy glance, and he replied to it with frank goodwill. "nay, fear not, honest john; i will run into no reckless peril, for my sweet mother hath ever been forward to counsel me that recklessness is not true bravery. some peril there must needs be -- without it there could be no glory; but that danger shall not be added to by any hardihood such as my royal sire would chide in me. trust me; i will be prudent, as i trust i may yet show that i can be bold. we will use all due caution in approaching this hiding place, and if it will pleasure thee, i will promise not to leave thy side before our friends come to our aid." john was glad enough of this promise. as the eldest of this ardent band, and the one who would be most harshly taken to task did any harm come of the enterprise, he was anxious above all things to insure the safety of the prince. if edward would remain beside him, he could certainly make sure of one thing -- that he himself did not survive his royal master, but died at his side fighting for his safety. the younger spirits thought only of the glory of victory. john, with his feebler physique and more thoughtful mind, saw another possible ending to the day's adventure. still his heart did not fail; only his unspoken prayer was that no harm should befall the brave young prince, who was so eager to show the world that chivalry was not yet dead. the brothers from gascony had no trouble whatever in finding and keeping the trail the robbers had left behind them. slowly but surely they pursued their way through the labyrinth of the gloomy forest. neither john nor any of his companions had ever been here before. the dense wood was gloomy enough to be almost terrible. craggy rocks were visible from time to time as the party proceeded, and the thickness of the forest was so great that almost all light was excluded. at last a spot was reached where the forest-bred boys paused. they looked back at those who were following, and beckoned them silently forward. so quietly had the party moved that the stillness of the forest had scarce been broken. mute and breathless, john and his companion stole up. they found that they had now reached the edge of a deep ravine, so thickly wooded as to appear impassable to human foot. but just where they stood there were traces of a narrow pathway, well concealed by the sweeping boughs of a drooping willow; and that this was the dell and the path of which the old woodman had spoken the little party did not doubt for a moment. "it is doubtless the place," said the prince, in a whisper. "let us softly reconnoitre whilst our forces are assembling." "i and my brother will make the round of the dell," answered gaston, in a like cautious tone. "sweet prince, stay you hither, where the rest will doubtless find us. it boots not for us to make too much stir. sound carries well in this still frosty air." the prince made a sign of assent, and gaston and raymond crept away in different directions to make the circuit of this secluded hollow, and try to ascertain how the land lay, and what was the chance of capturing the band unawares. in particular they desired to note whether there were any other pathway into it, and whether, if the robbers were taken by surprise and desirous of flight, there was any way of gaining the forest save by the overgrown path the exploring party had already found. the dell proved to be a cup-like hollow of no very great extent. on the side by which the party had approached it the ground shelved down gradually, thickly covered with bushes and undergrowth; but on the opposite side, as the gascon boys discovered, the drop was almost sheer, and though trees grew up to the very edge of the dell, nothing could grow upon the precipitous sandy sides. "we have them like rats in a trap," cried gaston, with sparkling eyes, as he once more joined the prince, his brother with him. "they can only escape up these steep banks thickly overgrown, and we know that there is but this one path. on the other side it is a sheer drop; a goat could not find foothold. if we can but take them by surprise, and post an ambush ready to fall upon escaped stragglers who reach the top, there will not be one left to tell the tale when the deed is done." the prince set his teeth, and the battle light which in after days men learned to regard with awe shone brightly in his eyes. "good," he said briefly: "they shall be served as they have served others -- taken in their slumber, taken in the midst of their security. nay, even so it will not be for them as it has been for their victims, for doubtless they will have their arms beside them, and will spring from their slumber to fight like wild wolves trapped; but i trow the victory will lie with us, and he who fears may stay away. are we not all clad in leather, and armed to repulse the savage attacks of the wild boar of the woods? thus equipped, need we fear these human wild beasts? methinks we shall sweep this day from the face of the earth a fouler scourge than ever beasts of the forest prove." "hist!" whispered oliver de brocas cautiously; "methinks i hear a sound approaching. it is our fellows joining us." oliver was right. the trail had now been cautiously followed by the huntsmen and their young charges, and the next moment the whole twenty stood at the head of the pathway, together with the master huntsman, and some half-dozen stout fellows all armed with murderous-looking hunting knives, and betraying by their looks the same eagerness for the fight as the band of youthful warriors. it was vain to plead with the prince to be one of those told off to remain in ambush in order to intercept and slay any fugitive who might escape the melee below. no, the young heir of england was resolved to be foremost in the fray; and the utmost that he would consent to was that the party should be led down by the master huntsman himself, whilst he walked second, john behind him, the rest pressing on in single file, one after the other, as quickly as might be. down went the gallant little band -- with the exception of two stalwart huntsmen and four of the younger amongst the boys, who were left to guard the head of the path -- not knowing the risk they ran: whether they would find an alert and well-armed foe awaiting them at the bottom, or whether they might fall upon the enemy unawares. very silent and cautious were their movements. the huntsman and the gascon brothers moved noiselessly as cats, and even the less trained youths were softly cautious in their movements. downwards they pressed in breathless excitement, till they found themselves leaving the thick scrub behind and emerging upon a rocky platform of rude shape. here the master huntsman made an imperative sign to the prince to stop, whilst he crept forward a few paces upon hands and knees, and peeped over the edge. after gazing for a moment at something unseen to those behind, he made a cautious sign to the prince to approach. edward at once did so, and gaston and raymond followed him, their agile, cat-like movements being as circumspect as those of the leader himself. what they saw as they peeped down into the heart of the dell was a welcome spectacle indeed. some distance below them, but in full view, was the opening into what looked like a large cavern, and at the entrance to this cavern lay two stout ruffians, armed to the teeth, but both in a sound sleep, their mouths open, their breath coming noisily between their parted lips. there were no dogs to be seen. nothing broke the intense stillness that prevailed. it was plainly as the old woodman had said. their nocturnal raid had been followed by a grand carouse on the return home, and now the party, overcome by fatigue and strong drink, and secure in the fancied privacy of their isolated retreat, had retired to rest within the cave, leaving two fellows on guard, to be sure, but plainly without the smallest apprehension of attack. "good!" whispered the prince, with eyes that shone like his father's in the hour of action; and softly rising to his feet, he made a sign to his comrades to draw their long knives and follow him in a compact body. "no quarter," he whispered, as he surveyed with pride the brave faces round him: "they have shown no mercy; let no mercy be shown to them. those who rob the poor, who slay the defenceless, who commit brutal outrages upon the persons of women and children, deserve naught but death. let them fight like men; we will slay them in fair fight, but we will give no quarter. we will, if god fights for us, sweep the carrion brood from off the very face of the earth!" and then, to the dismay of the master huntsman, who had hoped to step upon the sleeping sentries unawares, and rid themselves of at least two of the foe before the alarm was given, the prince raised his voice in a shrill battle cry, and dashing down the slope with his comrades at his heels, flung himself upon the taller of the guards and plunged his knife into the fellow's throat. gaston and raymond had simultaneously sprung upon the other, and with a sharp cry of astonishment and rage he too fell lifeless to the ground. but the prince's shout, the man's cry, and the sound of clashing arms aroused from their deep slumbers the robber crew within the cavern, and with the alertness that comes of such a lawless life, every man of them sprang to his feet and seized his weapon almost before he was awake. the master huntsman, however, had not waited to see the end of the struggle upon the platform outside. at the very moment that the prince buried his weapon in the sentry's throat, this bold fellow, with three of his underlings at his side, had sprung inside the cave itself, and luckily enough it was upon the prostrate figure of the chief of the band that his eye first lighted. before the man could spring to his feet, a blow from that long shining knife had found its way to his heart. the other hunters had set each upon his man, and taken unawares, those attacked were slain ere they had awakened sufficiently to realize what was happening. thus the number had been diminished by six before the rest came swarming out, as bees from a disturbed hive. it was well indeed then for the brave boys, who had thought themselves the match for armed men, that these latter were dazed with deep potations and but half armed after throwing aside their weapons ere lying down to rest. well was it also that they had amongst them the master huntsman and his trusty satellites, who had the strength of men, as well as the trained eye, quick hand, and steady nerve that belong to their calling in life. then, again, the dress of these huntsmen was so like in character to that worn by many of the band, that the robbers themselves suspected each other of treachery, and many turned one upon the other, and smote his fellow to the earth. yet notwithstanding all these things in their favour, the prince's youthful followers were hardly beset, and to his rage and grief young edward saw more than one bright young head lying in the dust of the sandy platform. but this sight filled him with such fury that he was like a veritable tiger amongst the assailants who still came flocking out of the cave. his battle cry rang again and again through the vaulted cavern, his shining blade seemed everywhere, dealing death and destruction. boy though he was, he appeared endued with the strength of a man, and that wonderful hereditary fighting instinct, which was so marked in his own sire, seemed handed down to him. he took in the whole scope of the scene with a single glance. wherever there was an opening to deal a fatal blow, that blow was dealt by the prince's trusty blade. it almost seemed as though he bore a charmed life in that grim scene of bloodshed and confusion, though perhaps he owed his safety more to the faithful support of the two gascon brothers, who together with john de brocas followed the prince wherever he went, and averted from his head many a furious stroke that else might have settled his mortal career for ever. but the robbers began to see that this boy was their chiefest foe. if they could but slay him, the rest might perchance take flight. already their own ranks were terribly thinned, and they saw that mischief was meant by the deadly fury with which their assailants came on at them. they were but half armed, and the terror and bewilderment of the moment put them at great disadvantage; but amongst those who still retained their full senses, and could distinguish friend from foe, were three brothers of tall stature and mighty strength, and these three, taking momentary counsel together, resolved to fling themselves upon the little knot surrounding the person of the prince, and slay at all cost the youthful leader who appeared to exercise so great a power over the rest of the gallant little band. it was a terrible moment for good john de brocas, already wearied and ready to drop with the exertions of the fight -- exertions to which he was but little habituated -- when he saw bearing down upon them the gigantic forms, as they looked to him, of these three black-browed brothers. the prince had separated himself somewhat from the rest of the band. he and his three immediate followers had been pursuing some fugitives, who had fallen a prey to their good steel blades. they were just about to return to the others, round whom the fight still raged, though with far less fierceness than at first, when these new adversaries set upon them from behind. john was the only one who had seen the approach, and he only just in time to give one warning shout. before the prince could turn, an axe was whirling in the air above his head; and had not john flung himself at that instant upon the prince, covering his person and dragging him aside at the same moment, a glorious page in england's history would never have been written. but john's prompt action saved the young edward's life, though a frightful gash was inflicted upon his own shoulder, which received the weight of the robber's blow. with a gasping moan he sank to the ground, and knew no more of what passed, whilst gaston and raymond each sprang upon one of their assailants with a yell of fury, and the prince flung himself upon the fellow who had so nearly caused his death, and for all he knew had slain the trusty john before his very eyes. the prince soon made sure of his man. the fellow, having missed his stroke, was taken at a disadvantage, and was unable to free his axe or draw his dagger before the prince had stabbed him to the heart. gaston and raymond were sore beset with their powerful adversaries, and would scarce have lived to tell the tale of that fell struggle had not help been nigh at hand from the master huntsman. but he, missing the prince from the cave's mouth, and seeing the peril he was in, now came running up, shouting to his men to follow him, and the three giant brothers were soon lying together stark and dead, whilst poor john was tenderly lifted and carried out of the melee. the fighting was over now. the robbers had had enough of it. some few had escaped, or had sought to do so; but by far the greater number lay dead on or about the rocky platform, where the fiercest of the fighting had been. they had slain each other as well as having been slain by the prince's band, and the place was now a veritable shambles, at which some of the lads began to look with shuddering horror. several of their own number were badly hurt. three lay dead and cold. victory had indeed been theirs, but something of the sense of triumph was dashed as they bore away the bodies of their comrades and looked upon the terrible traces of the fray. but the prince had escaped unscathed -- that was the point of paramount importance in the minds of many -- and he was now engrossed in striving to relieve the sufferings of his wounded comrades by seeing their wounds skilfully bound up by the huntsmen, and obtaining for them draughts of clear cold water from a spring that bubbled up within the cavern itself. gaston and raymond had escaped with minor hurts; but john's case was plainly serious, and the flow of blood had been very great before any help could reach him. he was quite unconscious, and looked like death as he lay on the floor of the cave; and after fruitless efforts to revive him, the prince commanded a rude litter to be made wherein he might be transported to the palace by the huntsmen who had not taken part in the struggle, and were therefore least weary. the horses were not very far away, and the rest of the wounded and the rescued captives could make shift to walk that far, and afterwards gain the palace by the help of their sturdy steeds. thus it came about that master bernard de brocas, who had believed the prince and his party to be engaged in the harmless and (to them) safe sport of tracking and hunting a boar in the forest, was astounded beyond all power of speech by seeing a battered and ghastly procession enter the courtyard two hours before dusk, bearing in their midst a litter upon which lay the apparently inanimate form of his eldest nephew, his brother's first-born and heir. chapter vii. the rector's house. "it was well thought and boldly executed, my son," said the king of england, as he looked with fatherly pride at his bright-faced boy. "thou wilt win thy spurs ere long, i doubt not, an thou goest on thus. but it must be an exploit more worthy thy race and state that shall win thee the knighthood which thou dost rightly covet. england's prince must be knighted upon some glorious battlefield -- upon a day of victory that i trow will come ere long for thee and me. and now to thy mother, boy, and ask her pardon for the fright thou madest her to suffer, when thy sisters betrayed to her the wild chase upon which thou and thy boy comrades were bent. well was it for all that our trusty huntsmen were with you, else might england be mourning sore this day for a life cut off ere it had seen its first youthful prime. yet, boy, i have not heart to chide thee; all i ask is that when thou art bent on some quest of glory or peril another time, thou wilt tell thy father first. trust him not to say thee nay; it is his wish that thou shouldst prove a worthy scion of thy house. he will never stand in thy path if thy purpose be right and wise." the prince accepted this paternal admonition with all becoming grace and humility, and bent his knee before his mother, to be raised and warmly embraced both by her and the little princesses, who had come in all haste to the palace of guildford before the good rector had had time to send a message of warning to the king. queen philippa had heard from her daughters of the proposed escapade on the part of the little band surrounding the prince, and the fear lest the bold boy might expose himself to real peril had induced the royal family to hasten to guildford only two days after the prince had gone thither. they had met a messenger from master bernard as they had neared the palace, and the king, after assuring himself of the safety of his son, made kindly inquiries after those of his companions who had been with him on his somewhat foolhardy adventure. john de brocas was lying dangerously ill in one of the apartments of the palace. the king was greatly concerned at hearing how severely he had been hurt; and when the story came to be told more in its details, and it appeared that to john's fidelity and the stanch support of audley's two youthful esquires the heir of england owed his life, edward and his queen both paid a visit to the room where the sick youth lay, and with their own hands bestowed liberal rewards upon the twin brothers, who had stood beside the prince in the stress of the fight, and had both received minor hurts in shielding him. sir james audley was himself in the king's train; but he was about to leave the south for a secret mission in scotland, entrusted to him by his sovereign. he was going to travel rapidly and without any large escort, and for the present he had no further need for the services of the gascon twins. neither of the lads would be fit for the saddle for more than a week to come, and they had already made good use of their time in england, and had interested both the king and the prince in them, and had also earned liberal rewards. in their heart of hearts they were anxious to remain in the neighbourhood of guildford, for they knew that there they were not far from basildene. wherefore when they understood that their master had no present occasion for any further service from them, they were not a little excited and pleased by the thought that they were now in a position to prosecute their own quest in such manner as seemed best to them. they had made a wonderfully good beginning to their life of adventure. they had won the favour not only of their own kinsfolk, but of the king and the prince. they had money and clothes and arms. they had the prospect of service with sir james in the future, when he should have returned from his mission and require a larger train. everything seemed to be falling in with their own desires; and it was with faces of eager satisfaction that they turned to each other when the knight had left them alone again, after a visit to the long rush-carpeted room, by the glowing hearth of which they were sitting when he had come to seek them soon after the king had visited john's couch. john lay in a semi-conscious state upon the tall canopied bed, beneath a heavy pall of velvet, that gave a funereal aspect to the whole room. he had been aroused by the king's visit, and had spoken a few words in reply to the kind ones addressed to him; but afterwards he had sunk back into the lethargy of extreme weakness, and the brothers were to all intents and purposes alone in the long dormitory they had shared with john, and with two more comrades who had also received slight hurts, but who had now been summoned to attend the prince on the return journey to windsor, which was to be taken leisurely and by short stages. oliver and bernard de brocas had likewise gone, and john was, they knew, to be moved as soon as possible to master bernard's rectory, not far away. the kindly priest had said something about taking the brothers there also till they were quite healed of their wounds and bruises, and john invariably asked for raymond if ever he awoke to consciousness. what was to be the end of it all the twins had no idea, but it certainly seemed as though for the present they were to be the guests of their own uncle, who knew nothing of the tie that existed betwixt them. "shall we say aught to him, gaston?" asked raymond, in a low whisper, as the pair sat over the glowing fire together. "he is a good man and a kind one, and perchance if he knew us for kinsmen he might --" "might be kinder than before?" questioned gaston, with a proud smile. "is it that thou wouldst say, brother? ay, it is possible, but it is also likely enough that he would at once look coldly and harshly upon us. raymond, i have learned many lessons since we left our peaceful home, and one of these is that men love not unsuccess. it is the prosperous, the favoured of fortune, upon whom the smiles of the great are bent. perchance it was because he succeeded not well that by his own brothers our father was passed by. raymond, i have seen likewise this -- if our kinsmen are kind, they are also proud. they have won kingly favour, kingly rewards; all men speak well of them; they are placed high in the land. doubtless they could help us if they would; but are we to come suing humbly to them for favours, when they would scarce listen to our father when he lived? shall we run into the peril of having their smiles turned to frowns by striving to claim kinship with them, when perchance they would spurn us from their doors? and if in days to come we rise to fame and fortune, as by good hap we may, shall we put it in their power to say that it is to their favour we owe it all? no -- a thousand times no! i will carve out mine own fortune with mine own good sword and mine own strong arm. i will be beholden to none for that which some day i will call mine own. the king himself has said that i shall make a valiant knight. i have fought by the prince's side once; i trow that in days to come i shall do the like again. when my knighthood's spurs are won, then perchance i will to mine uncle and say to him, 'sire, i am thy brother arnald's son -- thine own nephew;' but not till then will i divulge the secret. sir john de brocas -- no, nor master bernard either -- shall never say that they have made sir gaston's fortune for him!" the lad's eyes flashed fire; the haughty look upon his face was not unlike the one sometimes to be seen upon that of the king's master of the horse. raymond listened with a smile to these bold words, and then said quietly: "perhaps thou art right, gaston; but i trust thou bearest no ill will towards our two uncles?" gaston's face cleared, and he smiled frankly enough. "nay, brother, none in the world. it is only as i think sometimes of the story of our parents' wrongs that my hot blood seems to rise against them. they have been kind to us. i trow we need not fear to take such kindness as may be offered to us as strangers; but to come as suppliant kinsmen, humble and unknown, i neither can nor will. let us keep our secret; let us carve out our own fortunes. a day shall come when we may stand forth before all the world as of the old line of de brocas, but first we will win for ourselves the welcome we would fain receive." "ay, and we will seek our lost inheritance of basildene," added raymond. "that shall be our next quest, gaston. i would fain look upon our mother's home. methinks it lies not many miles from here." "i misdoubt me if basildene be aught of great moment," said gaston, shaking back his curly hair. "like enough it is but a manor such as we have seen by the score as we have ridden through this land. it may be no such proud inheritance when we do find it, raymond. it is of our lost possessions in gascony that i chiefly think. what can any english house, of which even here scarce any man has heard, be as compared with our vast forest lands of gascony -- our castle of saut -- of orthez -- where the false sieur de navailles rules with the rod of iron? it is there that i would be; it is there that i would rule. when the roy outremer wages war with the french king, and i fight beneath his banner and win his favour, as i will do ere many years have passed, and when he calls me to receive my rewards at his kingly hands, then will i tell him of yon false and cruel tyrant there, and how our people groan beneath his harsh rule. i will ask but his leave to win mine own again, and then i will ride forth with my own knights in my train, and there shall be once again a lord of the old race ruling at saut, and the tyrant usurper shall be brought to the very dust!" "ay," answered raymond, with a smile that made his face look older for the moment than that of his twin brother, "thou, gaston, shalt reign in saut, and i will try to win and to reign at basildene, content with the smaller inheritance. methinks the quiet english manor will suit me well. by thy side for a while will i fight, too, winning, if it may be, my spurs of knighthood likewise; but when the days of fighting be past, i would fain find a quiet haven in this fair land -- in the very place where our mother longed to end her days." it may be seen, from the foregoing fragment of talk, that already the twin brothers were developing in different directions. so long as they had lived in the quiet of the humble home, they had scarce known a thought or aspiration not shared alike by both; but the experiences of the past months had left a mark upon them, and the mark was not altogether the same in the case of each. they had shared all adventures, all perils, all amusements; their hearts were as much bound up as ever one with the other; but they were already looking at life differently, forming a different ideal of the future. the soldier spirit was coming out with greater intensity in one nature than in the other. gaston had no ambition, no interest beyond that of winning fame and glory by the sword. raymond was just beginning to see that there were other aims and interests in life, and to feel that there might even come a day when these other interests should prove more to him than any laurels of battle. in the days that followed, this feeling grew more and more upon him. his hurt was more slow to heal than gaston's, and long after his brother was riding out daily into the forest with the keepers to slay a fat buck for the prelate's table or fly a falcon for practice or sport, raymond remained within the house, generally the companion of the studious john; and as the latter grew strong enough to talk, he was always imparting new ideas to the untutored but receptive mind of the gascon boy. they had quickly removed from the royal palace to the more cozy and comfortable quarters within the rectory, which belonged to master bernard in right of his office. john was as much at home in his uncle's house as in his father's, having spent much of his youth with the priest. indeed it may be questioned whether he felt as much at ease anywhere as he did in this sheltered and retired place, and raymond began to feel the subtle charm of the life there almost at once. the rector possessed what was for that age a fine collection of books. these were of course all manuscripts, and very costly of their kind, some being beautifully illuminated and others very lengthy. these manuscripts and books were well known to john, who had read the majority of them, and was never weary of reading them again and again. some were writings of the ancient fathers; others were the works of pagan writers and philosophers who had lived in the dark ages of the world's history, yet who had had thoughts and aspirations in advance of their day, and who had striven without the light of christianity to construct a code of morals that should do the work for humanity which never could have been done till the light came into the world with the incarnation. as raymond sat day by day beside john's couch, hearing him read out of these wonderful books, learning himself to read also with a sense of quickened pleasure that it was a surprise to experience, he began to realize that there was a world around and about him of which he had had no conception hitherto, to feel his mental horizon widening, and to see that life held weightier questions than any that could be settled at the sword's point. "in truth i have long held that myself," answered john, to whom some such remark had been made; and upon the pale face of the student there shone a light which raymond had seen there before, and marked with a dim sense of awe. "we hear men talk of the days of chivalry, and mourn because they seem to be passing away. yet methinks there may be a holier and a higher form of chivalry than the world has yet seen that may rise upon the ashes of what has gone before, and lead men to higher and better things. raymond, i would that i might live to see such a day -- a day when battle and bloodshed should be no longer men's favourite pastime, but when they should come to feel as our blessed lord has bidden us feel, brothers in love, for that we love him, and that we walk forward hand in hand towards the light, warring no more with our brethren of the faith, but only with such things as are contrary to his word, and are hindering his purpose concerning the earth." raymond listened with but small comprehension to a thought so vastly in advance of the spirit of the day; but despite his lack of true understanding, he felt a quick thrill of sympathy as he looked into john's luminous eyes, and he spoke with reverence in his tone even though his words seemed to dissent from those of his companion. "nay, but how would the world go on without wars and gallant feats of arms? and sure in a good cause men must fight with all their might and main? truly i would gladly seek for paynim and pagan foes if they might be found; but men go not to the holy land as once they did. there be foes nigher at home against whom we have to turn our arms. good john, thou surely dost not call it a wicked thing to fight beneath the banner of our noble king when he goes forth upon his wars?" john smiled one of those thoughtful, flickering smiles that puzzled his companion and aroused his speculative curiosity. "nay, raymond," he answered, speaking slowly, as though it were no easy matter to put his thought in such words as would be comprehensible to his companion, "it is not that i would condemn any man or any cause. we are placed in the midst of warlike and stirring times, and it may be that some great purpose is being worked out by all these wars and tumults in which we bear our share. it is only as i lie here and think (i have, as thou knowest, been here many times before amongst these books and parchments, able for little but study and thought) that there comes over me a strange sense of the hollowness of these earthly strivings and search after fame and glory, a solemn conviction -- i scarce know how to frame it in words -- that there must be other work to be done in the world, stronger and more heroic deeds than men will ever do with swords and spears. methinks the holy saints and martyrs who went before us knew something of that work; and though it be not given to us to dare and suffer as they did, yet there come to me moments when i feel assured that god may still have works of faith and patience for us to do for him here, which (albeit the world will never know it) may be more blessed in his eyes than those great deeds the fame of which goes through the world. perchance were i a man of thews and sinews like my brothers, i might think only of the glory of feats of arms and the stress and strife of the battle. but being as i am, i cannot but think of other matters; and so thinking and dreaming, there has come to me the sense that if i may never win the knighthood and the fame which may attend on others, i may yet be called upon to serve the great king in some other way. raymond, i think that i could gladly die content if i might but feel that i had been called to some task for him, and having been called had been found faithful." john's eyes were shining brightly as he spoke. raymond felt a slight shiver run through his frame as he answered impulsively: "thou hast done a deed already of which any belted knight might well be proud. it was thou who saved the life of the prince of wales by taking upon thy shoulder the blow aimed at his head. the king himself has spoken in thy praise. how canst thou speak as though no fame or glory would be thine?" a look of natural pride and pleasure stole for a moment over john's pale face; but the thoughtful brightness in his eyes deepened during the silence that followed, and presently he said musingly: "i am glad to think of that. i like to feel that my arm has struck one good blow for my king and country; though, good raymond, to thee and to gaston, as much as to me, belongs the credit of saving the young prince. yet though i too love deeds of glory and chivalry, and rejoice to have borne a part in one such struggle undertaken in defence of the poor and the weak, i still think there be higher tasks, higher quests, yet to be undertaken by man in this world." "what quest?" asked raymond wonderingly, as john paused, enwrapped, as it seemed, in his own thoughts. it was some time before the question was answered, and then john spoke dreamily and slow, as though his thoughts were far away from his wondering listener. "the quest after that whose glory shall not be of this world alone; the quest that shall raise man heavenward to his maker. is that thought new in the heart of man? i trow not. we have heard of late much of that great king arthur, the founder of chivalry, and of his knights. were feats of arms alone enough for them? or those exploits undertaken in the cause of the helpless or oppressed, great and noble as these must ever be? did not one or more of their number feel that there was yet another and a holier quest asked of a true knight? did not sir galahad leave all else to seek after the holy grail? thou knowest all the story; have we not read it often together? and seems it not to thee to point us ever onward and upward, away from things of earth towards the things of heaven, showing that even chivalry itself is but an earthly thing, unless it have its final hopes and aspirations fixed far above this earth?" john's face was illumined by a strange radiance. it seemed to raymond as though something of the spirit of the knight of the grail shone out from those hollow eyes. a subtle sympathy fired his own soul, and taking his cousin's thin hand in his he cried quickly and impetuously: "such a knight as that would i fain be. good john, tell me, i pray thee, where such a quest may be found." at that literal question, put with an air of the most impulsive good faith, john's face slightly changed. the rapt look faded from his eyes, and a reflective smile took its place, as the young man gazed long and earnestly into the bright face of the eager boy. "why shouldst thou come to me to know, good lad?" he questioned. "it is of others that thou wilt learn these matters better than of me. do they not call me the man of books -- of dreams -- of fancies?" "i know not and i care not," answered raymond impetuously. "it is of thee and of thee only that i would learn." "and i scarce know how to answer thee," replied the youth, "though gladly would i help thee to fuller, clearer knowledge if i knew how. i trow that many men would smile at me were i to put my thoughts into words, for it seems to me that for us who call ourselves after the sacred name of christ there can be no higher or holier service than the service in which he himself embarked, and bid his followers do likewise -- feeding the hungry, ministering to the sick, cheering the desolate, binding up the broken heart, being eyes to the blind and feet to the lame. he that would be the greatest, let him be the servant of all. those were his own words. yet how little do we think of them now." raymond sat silent and amazed. formerly such words would have seemed comprehensible enough to him; but of late he had seen life under vastly different aspects than any he had known in his quiet village home. the great ones of the earth did not teach men thus to think or speak. not to serve but to rule was the aim and object of life. "wouldst have me enter the cloister, then?" he asked, a look of distaste and shrinking upon his face; for the quiet, colourless life (as it seemed to him) of those who entered the service of the church was little to the taste of the ardent boy. but john's answer was a bright smile and a decided negative; whereupon raymond breathed more freely. "nay; i trow we have priests and monks enow, holy and pious men as they are. it has often been asked of me if i will not follow in the steps of my good uncle here; but i have never felt the wish. it seems to me that the habit of the monk or the cassock of the priest too often seems to separate betwixt him and his fellow man, and that it were not good for the world for all its holiest men to don that habit and divide themselves from their brethren. sir galahad's spotless heart beat beneath his silver armour. would he have been to story and romance the star and pattern he now is had he donned the monkish vesture and turned his armed quest into a friar's pilgrimage?" "nay, verily not." "i think with thee, and therefore say i, let not all those who would fain lead the spotless life think to do so by withdrawing from the world. rather let them carry about the spotless heart beneath the coat of mail or the gay habit. their quest need not be the less exalted --" "but what is that quest to be?" cried raymond eagerly; "that is what i fain would know. good john, give me some task to perform. what wouldst thou do thyself in my place?" "thou wouldst laugh were i to tell thee." "try me and see." "i will. if i were sound and whole tomorrow, i should forth into the forest whence we came, and i should seek and find that aged woodman, who seemed so sorely bowed down with sorrow, and i should bid him unfold his tale to me, and see if in any wise i might help him. he is poor, helpless, wretched, and by the words he spoke, i knew that he had suffered heavy sorrow. perchance that sorrow might be alleviated could one but know the story of it. his face has haunted my fevered dreams. to me it seems as though perchance this were an errand of mercy sent to me to do. deeds of knightly prowess i trow will never now be mine. it must be enough for me to show my chivalry by acts of love and care for the helpless, the sorrowful, the oppressed." raymond's eyes suddenly glowed. something of the underlying poetry of the thought struck an answering chord in his heart, though the words themselves had been plain and bald enough. "i will perform that task for thee, good john," he said. "i well remember the place, ay, and the old man and his sorrowful mien. i will thither tomorrow, and will bring thee word again. if he may be helped by any act of mine, be assured that act shall not be lacking." john pressed his comrade's hand and thanked him; but raymond little knew to what this quest, of apparently so little moment, was to lead, nor what a link it was to form with the story of the lost inheritance of basildene. chapter viii. the visit to the woodman. "raymond, i am glad of this chance to speak alone together, for since thou hast turned into a man of books and letters i have scarce seen thee. i am glad of this errand into these dark woods. it seems like times of old come back again -- and yet not that either. i would not return to those days of slothful idleness, not for all the gold of the king's treasury. but i have wanted words with thee alone, brother. knowest thou that we are scarce ten miles (as they measure distance here in england) from basildene?" raymond turned an eager face upon his brother. "hast seen it, gaston?" "nay. it has not been my hap to go that way; but i have heard enough and to spare about it. i fear me that our inheritance is but a sorry one, raymond, and that it will be scarce worth the coil that would be set afoot were we to try to make good our claim." "tell me, what hast thou heard?" asked raymond eagerly. "why, that it is but an ancient manor, of no great value or extent, and that the old man who dwells there with his son is little different from a sorcerer, whom it is not safe to approach -- at least not with intent to meddle. men say that he is in league with the devil, and that he has sold his soul for the philosopher's stone, that changes all it touches to gold. they say, too, that those who offend him speedily sicken of some fell disease that no medicine can cure. though he must have wondrous wealth, he has let his house fall into gloomy decay. no man approaches it to visit him, and he goes nowhither himself. his son, peter, who seems as little beloved as his father, goes hither and thither as he will. but it is whispered that he shares in his father's dealings with the evil one, and that he will reap the benefit of the golden treasure which has been secured to them. however that may be, all men agree that the sanghursts of basildene are not to be meddled with with impunity." raymond's face was very thoughtful. such a warning as this, lightly as it would be regarded in the present century, meant something serious then; and raymond instinctively crossed himself as he heard gaston's words. but after a moment's pause of thoughtful silence he said gravely: "yet perhaps on this very account ought we the rather to strive to win our inheritance out of such polluted hands. have we not others to think of in this thing? are there not those living beneath the shelter of basildene who must be suffering under the curse that wicked man is like to bring upon it? for their sakes, gaston, ought we not to do all in our power to make good our rights? are they to be left to the mercy of one whose soul is sold to satan?" gaston looked quickly into his brother's flushed face, and wondered at the sudden enthusiasm beaming out of his eyes. but he had already recognized that a change was passing over raymond, even as a change of a different kind was coming upon himself. he did not entirely understand it, neither did he resent it; and now he threw his arm across his brother's shoulder in the old caressing fashion of their boyhood. "nay, i know not how that may be. there may be found those who dare to war against the powers of darkness, and with the help of the holy and blessed saints they may prevail. but that is not the strife after which my heart longs. raymond, i fear me i love not basildene, i love not the thought of making it our own. it is for the glory of the battlefield and the pomp and strife of true warfare that i long. there are fairer lands to be won by force of arms than ever basildene will prove, if all men speak sooth. who and what are we, to try our fortunes and tempt destruction by drawing upon ourselves the hatred of this wicked old man, who may do us to death in some fearful fashion, when else we might be winning fame and glory upon the plains of france? let us leave basildene alone, brother; let us follow the fortunes of the great king, and trust to his noble generosity for the reward of valour." raymond made no immediate reply, though he pressed his brother's hand and looked lovingly into his face. truth to tell, his affections were winding themselves round his mother's country and inheritance, just as gaston's were turning rather to his father's land, and the thought of the rewards to be won there. then, within raymond's heart were growing up those new thoughts and aspirations engendered by long talks with john; and it seemed to him that possibly the very quest of which he was in search might be found in freeing basildene of a heavy curse. ardent, sensitive, full of vivid imagination -- as the sons of the forest mostly are -- raymond felt that there was more in the truest and deepest chivalry than the mere feats of arms and acts of dauntless daring that so often went by that name. hazy and indistinct as his ideas were, tinged with much of the mysticism, much of the superstition of the age, they were beginning to assume definite proportions, and to threaten to colour the whole future course of his life; and beneath all the dimness and confusion one settled, leading idea was slowly unfolding itself, and forming a foundation for the superstructure that was to follow -- the idea that in self-denial, self-sacrifice, the subservience of selfish ambition to the service of the oppressed and needy, chivalry in its highest form was to be found. but in his brother's silence gaston thought he read disappointment, and with another affectionate gesture he hastened to add: "but if thy heart goes out to our mother's home, we will yet win it back, when time has changed us from striplings to tried warriors. see, brother, i will tell thee what we will do. men say that it can scarce be a year from now ere the war breaks out anew betwixt france and england, and then will come our opportunity. we will follow the fortunes of the king. we will win our spurs fighting at the side of the prince. we will do as our kindred have done before us, and make ourselves honoured and respected of all men. it may be that we shall then be lords of saut once more. but be that as it may, we shall be strong, rich, powerful -- as our uncles are now. then, if thou wilt so have it, we will think again of basildene; and if we win it back, it shall be thine, and thine alone. fight thou by my side whilst we are yet too young to bring to good any private matter of our own. then will i, together with thee, think again of our boyhood's dream; and it may be that we shall yet live to be called the twin brothers of basildene!" raymond smiled at the sound of that name, as he had smiled at gaston's eager words before. full of ardent longings and unbounded enthusiasm, as were most well-born youths in those adventurous days, he was just a little less confident than gaston of the brilliant success that was to attend upon their feats of arms. still there was much of the fighting instinct in the boy, and there was certainly no hope of regaining basildene in the present. so that he agreed willingly to his brother's proposition, although he resolved before he left these parts to look once with his own eyes upon the home that had sheltered his mother's childhood and youth. and then they plunged into the thickest of the forest, and could talk no more till they had reached the little clearing that lay around the woodman's hut. the old man was not far away, as they heard by the sound of a falling axe a little to the right of them. following this sound, they quickly came upon the object of their search -- the grizzled old man, with the same look of unutterable woe stamped upon his face. gaston, who knew only one-half of the errand upon which they had come, produced the pieces of silver that the rector and john had sent, with a message of thanks to the old woodman for his help in directing the prince and his company to the robbers' cave at such a favourable moment. the old man appeared bewildered at first by the sight of the money and the words of thanks; but recollection came back by degrees, though he seemed as one who in constant brooding upon a single theme has come to lose all sense of other things, and scarce to observe the flight of time, or to know one day from another. this strange, wild melancholy, which had struck john at once, now aroused in raymond a sense of sympathetic interest. he had come to try to seek the cause of the old man's sorrow, and he did not mean to leave with his task unfulfilled. perhaps john could have found no fitter emissary than this gascon lad, with his simple forest training, his quick sympathy and keen intelligence, and his thorough knowledge of the details of peasant life, which in all countries possess many features in common. it was hard at first to get the old man to care to understand what was said, or to take the trouble to reply. the habit of silence is one of the most difficult to break; but patience and perseverance generally win the day: and when it dawned upon this strange old man that it was of himself and his own loss and grief that these youths had come to speak, a new look crossed his weatherbeaten face, and a strange gleam of mingled fury and despair shone in the depths of his hollow eyes. "my sorrow!" he exclaimed, in a voice from which the dreary cadence had now given place to a clearer, firmer ring: "is it of that you ask, young sirs? has it been told to you the cruel wrong that i have suffered?" then suddenly clinching his right hand and shaking it wildly above his head, he broke into vehement and almost unintelligible invective, railing with frenzied bitterness against some foe, speaking so rapidly, and with such strange inflections of voice, that it was but a few words that the brothers could distinguish out of the whole of the impassioned speech. one of those words was "my son -- my boy," followed by the names of sanghurst and basildene. it was these names that arrested the attention of the brothers, causing them to start and exchange quick glances. raymond waited till the old man had finished his railing, and then he asked gently: "had you then a son? where is he now?" "a son! ay, that had i -- the light and brightness of my life!" cried the old man, with a sudden burst of rude eloquence that showed him to have been at some former time something better than his present circumstances seemed to indicate. "young sirs, i know not who you are; i know not why you ask me of my boy. but your faces are kind, and perchance there may be help in the world, though i have found it not. i know not how time has fled since that terrible sorrow fell upon me. perchance not many years by the calendar, but in misery and suffering a lifetime. listen, and i will tell you all. i was not ever as you see me now. i was no lonely woodman buried in the heart of the forest. i was second huntsman to sir hugh vavasour of woodcrych, in favour with my master and well contented with my lot. i had a wife whom i loved, and she had born me a lovely boy, who was the very light of my eyes and the joy of my heart. i should weary you did i tell you of all his bold pranks and merry ways. he was, i verily believe, the loveliest child that god's sun has ever looked down upon. when it pleased him to take my wife away from me after seven happy years, i strove not to murmur; for i had still the child, and every day that passed made him more winsome, more loving, more mettlesome and bold. even the master would draw rein as he passed my door to have a word with the boy; and little mistress joan gave me many a silver groat to buy him a fairing with, and keep him always dressed in the smartest little suit of forester's green. the priest noticed him too, and would have him to his house to teach him many things, and told me he would live to carve out a fortune for himself. i thought naught too good for him. i would have wondered little if even the king had sent for him to make of him a companion for his son. "perchance i was foolish in the boastings i made. but the beauty and the wisdom of the boy struck all alike -- and thence came his destruction." "his destruction?" echoed both brothers in a breath. "what! is he then dead?" "he is worse than dead," answered the father, in a hollow, despairing voice; "he has been bewitched -- undone by foul sorcery, bound over hand and foot, and given to the keeping of satan. even the priest can do nothing for us. he is lost, body and soul, for ever." the brothers exchanged wondering glances as they made the sign of the cross, the old man watching the gesture with a bitter smile in his eye. then raymond spoke again: "but what was it that happened? we do not yet understand." "i will tell you all. if you know this part of the world, young sirs, you have doubtless heard of the old manor of basildene, where dwells one, peter sanghurst by name, who is nothing more nor less than a wizard, who should be hunted to death without pity. men have told me (i know not with what truth) that these wizards, who give themselves over to the devil, are required by their master from time to time to furnish him with new victims, and these victims are generally children -- fair and promising children, who can first be trained in the black arts of their earthly master, and are then handed over, body and soul, to the devil, to be his slaves and his victims for ever." the old man was speaking slowly now, with a steady yet despairing ferocity that was terrible to hear. his sunken eyes gleamed in their sockets, and his hands, that were tightly clinched over the handle of his axe, trembled with the emotion that had him in its clutches. "i was sent upon a mission by my master. i was absent from my home some seven days. when i came back my boy was gone. i had left him in the care of the keeper of the hounds. he was an honest man, and told me all the tale. perchance you know that sir hugh vavasour is what men call a spendthrift. his estates will not supply him with the money he needs. he is always in debt, he is always in difficulties. from that it comes that he cares little what manner of men are his comrades or friends, provided only that they can supply his needs when his own means fail. this is why, when all men else hate and loathe the very name of sanghurst, he calls himself their friend. he knows that the old man has the secret by which all things may be turned into gold, and therefore he welcomes his son to woodcrych. and men say that mistress joan is to be given in marriage to his son one day, because he will take her without dowry; for she is the fairest creature in the world, and he has vowed that she shall wed him and none else." the brothers were intensely interested by this tale, but were growing a little confused by all the names introduced, and they wanted the story of the woodman's son complete. "then was it the old man who took your boy, or was it his son? are they not both called peter?" "ay, they have both the same name -- the same name and the same nature: evil, cruel, remorseless. i know not how nor where the old man first set eyes upon my boy; but he must have seen him, and have coveted possession of him for his devilish practices; for upon the week that i was absent from home, he left the solitude of his house, and came with the master himself to the house where the boy was. and then sir hugh explained to honest stephen, who had charge of him, that master peter sanghurst had offered the lad a place in his service, where he would learn many things that would stand him in good stead all the days of his life. it sounded fair in all faith. but stephen stoutly refused to let the boy go till i returned; whereupon sir hugh struck him a blow across the face with his heavy whip, and young peter sanghurst, leaping to the ground, seized the child and placed him in front of him upon the horse, and the three galloped off laughing aloud, whilst the boy in vain implored to be set down to run home. when i came back he had gone, and all men said that the old man had thus stolen him to satisfy the greed for souls of his master the devil." "and hast thou not seen him since?" asked the boys breathlessly. "what didst thou do when thou camest back?" for a moment it seemed as though the old man would break out again into those wild imprecations of frenzied anger which the brothers had heard him utter before; but by a violent effort he checked the vehement flow of words that rose to his lips, and replied with a calmness far more really impressive: "i did all that a poor helpless man might do when his feudal lord was on the side of the enemy, and met every prayer and supplication either with mockery or blows. i soon saw it all too well. sir hugh was under the spell of the wicked old man. what was my boy's soul to him? what my agony? nothing -- nothing. the wizard had coveted the beautiful boy. he had doubtless made it worth my master's while to sell him to him; and what could i do? i tried everything i knew; but who would listen to me? master bernard de brocas of guildford, whom i met upon the road and begged to listen to my tale, promised he would see if something might not be done. i waited and waited in anguish, and hope, and despair, and there came a day when his palfrey stopped at my door, and he came forward himself to speak with me. he told me he had spoken to the master of basildene, and that he had promised to restore me my son if i was resolved to have him back; but he had told the good priest that he knew the boy would never be content to stay in a woodland cottage with an unlettered father, when he had learned what life elsewhere was like. but i laughed this warning to scorn, and demanded my boy back." "and did he come?" a strange look swept over the old man's face. his hands were tightly clinched. his voice was very low, and full of suppressed awe and fury. "ay, he came back -- he came back that same night -- but so changed in those few months that i scarce knew him. and ah, how he clung to me when he was set down at my door! how he sobbed on my breast, entreating me to hold him fast -- to save him -- to protect him! what fearful tales of unhallowed sights and sounds did his white lips pour into my ears! how my own blood curdled at the tale, and how i vowed that never, never, never would i let him go from out my arms again! i held him fast. i took him within doors. i fastened the door safely. i fed him, comforted him, and laid him in mine own bed, lying wakeful beside him for fear even then that he should be taken from me; and thus the hours sped by. but the rest -- ah, how can i tell it? it wrings my very heart. o my child, my son -- my own heart's joy!" the old man threw up his arms with a wild gesture of despair, and there was something in his face so terrible that the twins dared ask him no question; but after that one cry and gesture, the stony look returned upon his face, and he went on of his own accord. "midnight had come. i knew it by the position of the moon in the heavens. my boy had been sleeping like one dead beside me, never moving or stirring, scarce breathing; and i had at last grown soothed and drowsy likewise. i had just fallen into a light sleep, when i was aroused by feeling roger stir beside me, and hastily sit up in the bed. his eyes were wide open, and in the moonlight they seemed to shine with unnatural brilliance. it was as if he were listening -- listening with every fibre of his being, listening to a voice which he could hear and i could not; for he made quick answers. 'i hear, sire,' he said, in a strange, muffled voice. and he rose suddenly to his feet and cried, 'i come, master, i come.' then a great rage and fear possessed me, for i knew that my boy was being called by some foul spirit, and that he was bewitched. i sprang up and seized him in my arms. 'thou shalt not go!' i cried aloud. 'he has given thee back to me. i am thy father. thy place is here. i will not let thee go!' but i might have been speaking to a dead corpse for all the understanding i received. my boy's eyes were opened, but he saw me not. his ears, that heard other voices, were deaf to mine. he struggled fiercely against my fatherly embrace; and when i felt the strength that had come into that frame, so worn and feeble but a few short hours ago, then i knew that it was the devil himself who had entered into my child, and that it was his voice that was luring him back to his destruction. o my god! may i never have to live again through the agony of that hour in which i fought with the devil for my child, and fought in vain. like one possessed (as indeed he was) did he wrestle with me, crying out wildly all the while that he was coming -- that he would quickly come; hearing nothing that i could hear, seeing nothing that i could see, and all the time struggling with me with a strength that i knew must at last prevail, albeit he was but a tender child and i a man in the prime of manhood's strength. but the devil was in him that night. it was not my boy's own hand that struck the blow which forced me to leave my hold, and sent me staggering back against the wall. no, it was but the evil spirit within him; and even as i released him from my embrace, he glided to the door, undid the fastenings, and still calling out that he was coming, that he would be there anon, he slipped out into the still forest, and vanished amongst the trees." "did he return to basildene?" "ay, like a bird to its nest, a dog to its master's home. spent and breathless, despairing as i was, i yet gathered my strength and followed my boy -- weeping and calling upon his name, though i knew he heard me not. scarce could i keep the gliding figure in sight; yet i could not choose but follow, lest some mischance should befall the child by the way. but he moved onwards as if he trod on air, neither stumbling nor falling, nor turning to the right hand or to the left. i watched him to the end of the avenue of trees that leads to basildene. as he reached it a dark figure stepped forth, and the child sank to the ground as if exhausted. there was the sound of laughter -- fiends' laughter, if ever devils do laugh. it chilled the very blood in my veins, and i stood rooted to the spot, whilst the hair of my head stood erect. the dark form bent over the boy and seemed to raise it. "'you shall suffer for this,' i heard a cruel voice say in a hissing whisper; 'you will not ask to leave again!' and at those evil words a cry of anguish -- a human cry -- broke from my boy's lips, and with a yell of fury i sprang forward to save him or to die with him. but what happened then i know not. whether a human hand or a fiend's struck me down i shall never now know. i remember a blow -- the sense that hell's mouth was opening to receive me; that the mocking laughter of devils was in my ears. then i knew no more till (they tell me it was many weeks later) i awoke from a long strange sleep in yon cabin where i live. an old woodman had found me, and had carried me there. sir hugh had given him a few silver pieces to take care of me. he had filled my place, and my old home was occupied by another; but had it not been so, no power on earth would have taken me back there. i had grown old in one night. i had lost my strength, my cunning, my heart. i stayed on with the old man awhile, and as he fell sick and died when the next snow fell upon the ground, master bernard de brocas appointed me as woodman in his stead, and here i have remained ever since. i know not how the time has sped. i have no heart or hope in life. my child is gone -- possessed by fiends who have him in their clutches, so that i may never win him back to me. i hate my life, yet fear to die; for then i might see him the sport of devils, and be, as before, powerless to succour him. i have long ceased to be shriven for my sins. what good to me is forgiveness, if my child will be doomed to hellfire for evermore? no hope in this world, no hope after death. woe is me that ever i was born! woe is me! woe is me!" the energy which had supported the old man as he told his tale now appeared suddenly to desert him. with a low moan he sank upon the ground and buried his face in his hands, whilst the boys stood and gazed at him, and then at one another, their faces full of interest and sympathy, their hearts burning with indignation against the wicked foe of their own race, who seemed to bring misery and wrong wherever he moved. "and thou hast never seen thy son again?" asked raymond softly. "is he yet alive, knowest thou?" "i have never seen him again: they say that he still lives. but what is life to one who is sold and bound over, body and soul, to the powers of darkness?" then the old man buried his face once more in his hands, and seemed to forget even the presence of the boys; and gaston and raymond stole silently away, with many backward glances at the bowed and stricken figure, unable to find any words either to help or comfort him. chapter ix. joan vavasour. it was with the greatest interest that john de brocas listened to the story brought home by the twin brothers after their visit to the woodman's hut. such a story of oppression, cruelty, and wrong truly stirred him to the very soul; and moreover, as the brothers spoke of basildene, they told him also (under the promise of secrecy) of their own connection with that place, of their kinship with himself, and of the wrongs they had suffered at the hand of the sanghursts, father and son; and all this aroused in the mind of john an intense desire to see wrong made right, and retribution brought upon the heads of those who seemed to become a curse wherever they went. "and so ye twain are my cousins?" he said, looking from one face to the other with penetrating gaze. "i knew from the very first that ye were no common youths; and it was a stronger tie than that of gascon blood that knit us one to the other. but i will keep your secret. perchance ye are wise in wishing it kept. there be something too many hangers-on of our house already, and albeit i know not all the cause of the estrangement, i know well that your father was coldly regarded for many years, and it may be that his sons would receive but sorry welcome if they came as humble suppliants for place. the unsuccessful members of a house are scarce ever welcomed, and the claim to basildene might be but a hindrance in your path. sir hugh vavasour is high in favour at court. he is a warm friend of my father and my uncle; and he and the sanghursts are bound together by some close tie, the nature of which i scarce know. any claim on basildene would be fiercely resented by the father and son who have seized it, and their quarrel would be taken up by others of more power. gaston is right in his belief that you must first win credit and renown beneath the king's banners. as unknown striplings you have no chance against yon crafty fox of basildene. were he but to know who and what you were, i know not that your very lives would be safe from his malice." the twins exchanged glances. it seemed as though they were threatened on every hand by the malice of those who had usurped their rights and their lands; yet they felt no fear, rather a secret exultation at the thought of what lay before them. but their curiosity was strongly stirred about the strange old man at basildene, and they eagerly asked john of the truth of those reports which spoke of him as being a tool and slave of the devil. a grave light came into john's eyes as he replied: "methinks that every man is the tool of satan who willingly commits sin with his eyes open, and will not be restrained. i cannot doubt that old peter sanghurst has done this again and again. he is an evil man and a wicked one. but whether or no he has visible dealings with the spirits of darkness, i know not. men can sin deeply and darkly and yet win no power beyond that vouchsafed to others." "but the woodman's son," said raymond, in awestruck tones, "him he most certainly bewitched. how else could he have so possessed him that even his own father could not restrain him from going back to the dread slavery once again?" a thoughtful look was on john's face. he was lying on his couch in the large room where his learned uncle stored all his precious books and parchments, safely locked away in carved presses; and rising slowly to his feet -- for he was still feeble and languid in his movements -- he unlocked one of these, and took from it a large volume in some dead language, and laid it upon the table before him. "i know not whether or no i am right, but i have heard before of a strange power that some men may possess over the minds and wills of others -- a power so great that they become their helpless tools, and can be made to act, to see, to feel just as they are bidden, and are as helpless to resist that power as the snared bird to avoid the outstretched hand of the fowler. that this power is a power of evil, and comes from the devil himself, i may not disbelieve; for it has never been god's way of dealing with men to bind captive their wills and make them blind and helpless agents of the will of others. could you read the words of this book, you would find many things therein as strange as any you have heard today. for myself, i have little doubt that old peter sanghurst, who has spent years of his life amongst the heathen moors, and is, as all men avow, steeped to the lips in their strange and unchristian lore, has himself the art of thus gaining the mastery over the minds and wills of others, and that it was no demoniacal possession, but just the wicked will of the old man exercised upon that of his helpless victim, which drew the boy back to him when his father had him safe at home (as he thought) once more. in this book it is written that young boys, especially if they be beautiful of form and receptive of mind, make the best tools for this black art. they can be thrown into strange trances, in which many things are revealed to them. they can be sent in the spirit to places they have never seen, and can be made to describe what is passing thousands of miles away. i cannot tell how these things may be, unless indeed it is the devil working in them; yet here it is written down as if it were some art which certain men with certain gifts may acquire, as they may acquire other knowledge and learning. in truth, i think such things smack of the evil one himself; yet i doubt if there be that visible bond with satan that is commonly reported amongst the unlettered and ignorant. it is a cruel and a wicked art without doubt, and it says here that the children who are caught and subjected to these trances and laid under this spiritual bondage seldom live long; and that but for this, there seems no end to the wonders that might be performed. but the strain upon their spirits almost always results in madness or death, and thus the art never makes the strides that those who practise it long to see." john was turning the leaves of the book as he spoke, reading a word here and there as if to refresh his memory. the gascon brothers listened with breathless interest, and suddenly raymond started to his feet, saying: "john, thou hast spoken of a knightly quest that would win no praise from man, but yet be such as a true knight would fain undertake. would not the rescue of yon wretched boy from the evil thraldom of that wicked sorcerer be such a task as that? is not basildene ours? is it not for us to free it from the curse of such pollution? is not that child one of the oppressed and wronged that it is the duty of a true servant of the old chivalry to rescue at all costs? "gaston, wilt thou go with me? shall we snatch from the clutches of this devilish old man the boy whose story we have heard today? methinks i can never rest happy till the thing is done. will not a curse light upon the very house itself if these dark deeds go on within its walls? who can have a better right to avert such curse than we -- its rightful lords?" gaston sprang to his feet, and threw back his head with a proud and defiant gesture. "verily i will go with thee, brother. i would gladly strike a blow for the freedom of the boy and against the despoiler of our mother's house. i would fain go this very day." both brothers looked to john, as if asking his sanction for the act. he closed his book, and raised his eyes with a smile; but he advocated prudence, and patience too. "in truth, methinks it would be a deed of charity and true chivalry, yet one by no means without its peril and its risk. old sanghurst is a wily and a cruel foe, and failure would but mean more tyranny and suffering for the miserable victim he holds in his relentless hands. it might lead also to some mysterious vengeance upon you yourselves. there are ugly whispers breathed abroad about the old man and his evil practices. travellers through these forest tracks, richly laden, have been known to disappear, and no man has heard of them more. it is rumoured that they have been seized and done to death by the rapacious owners of basildene, and that the father and son are growing wealthy beyond what any man knows by the plunder they thus obtain." "but if they hold the secret of the philosopher's stone, sure they would not need to fall upon travellers by the way!" john slowly shook his head, a thoughtful smile upon his face. "for mine own part," he said quietly, "i have no belief in that stone, or in that power of alchemy after which men since the beginning of time have been vainly striving. they may seek and seek, but i trow they will never find it; and i verily believe if found it would but prove a worthless boon. for in the hands of a rapacious master, so quickly would gold be poured upon the world that soon its value would be lost, and it would be no more prized than the base metals we make our horseshoes of. it is not the beauty of gold that makes men covet it. it is because it is rare that it is precious. if this philosopher's stone were to be found, that rareness would speedily disappear, and men would cease to prize a thing that could be made more easily than corn may be grown." the brothers could scarce grasp the full meaning of these words; but it was not of the philosopher's stone that their minds were full, and john's next words interested them more. "no: i believe that the wealth which is being accumulated at basildene is won in far different fashion, and that this miserable boy, who is the helpless slave and tool of his master's illicit art, is an unwilling agent in showing the so-called magician the whereabouts of hapless travellers, and in luring them on to their destruction. but that the old man is wealthy above all those about him may not now be doubted; and it is this growing wealth, gotten no man knows how, that makes men believe in his possession of the magic stone." "and if we rescue the boy, some part of his power will be gone, and he will lose a tool that he will not easily replace," cried gaston, with eager animation. "brother, let us not delay. we have long desired to look upon basildene; let us sally forth this very day." but john laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "nay now, why this haste? thou art a bold lad, gaston, but something more than boldness is needed when thou hast such a subtle foe to deal with. then there is another thing to think of. what will it avail to rescue the boy, if his master holds his spirit so in thrall that he can by no means be restrained from rising in the dead of night to return to him again? there be many things to think of ere we can act. and we must take counsel of one who knows basildene, as we do not. i have never seen the house, and know nothing of its ways. till these things were recalled to my memory these last days, i had scarce remembered that such a place existed." "of whom then shall we take counsel?" asked gaston, with a touch of impatience, for to him action and not counsel was the mainspring of life. "of thine uncle, who thou sayest is a friend of this unholy man?" "scarce a friend," answered john, "albeit he has no quarrel with master sanghurst; and if thou knewest more of the temper of the times, thou wouldst know that the king's servants must have a care how they in any wise stir up strife amongst those who dwell in the realm. we have enemies and to spare abroad -- in scotland, in flanders, in france. at home we must all strive to keep the peace. it behoves not one holding office under the crown to embroil himself in private quarrels, or stir up any manner of strife. this is why i counsel you to make no claim on basildene for the nonce, and why my uncle could give no help in the matter of this boy, kindly as his heart is disposed towards the poor and oppressed. he moved once in the matter, with the result that you know. it could scarce be expected of him to do more." "who then will help or counsel us?" "i can think of but one, and that is but a slim maiden, whom ye bold lads might despise. i mean mistress joan vavasour herself." "what!" cried gaston in amaze -- "the maiden whom peter sanghurst is to wed? sure that were a strange counsellor to choose! good john, thou must be dreaming." "nay, i am no dreamer," was the smiling answer; and a slight access of colour came slowly into john's face. "i have not seen fair mistress joan of late; yet unless i be greatly mistaken in her, i am very sure that by no deed of her own will she ever mate with one of the sanghurst brood. i have known her from childhood. once it was my dream that i might wed her myself; but such thoughts have long ago passed from my mind never to enter it again. yet i know her and i love her well, and to me she has spoken words which tell me that she will never be a passive tool in the hands of her haughty parents. she has the spirit of her sire within her, and i trow he will find it no easy task to bend the will even of a child of his own, when she is made after the fashion of mistress joan. if peter sanghurst has gone a-wooing there, i verily believe that the lady will by this time have had more than enough of his attentions. it may be that she would be able to give us good counsel; at least i would very gladly ask it at her hands." "how can we see her?" asked the brothers quickly. "so soon as i can make shift to ride once more we will to horse and away to woodcrych. it is time i paid my respects to fair mistress joan, for i have not seen her for long. i would that you twain could see her. she is as fair as a lily, yet with all the spirit of her bold sire, as fearless in the saddle as her brother, as upright as a dart, beautiful exceedingly, with her crown of hair the colour of a ripe chestnut. ah! if she were but taken to the king's court, she would be its fairest ornament. but her sire has never the money to spend upon her adornment; and moreover if she appeared there, she would have suitors and to spare within a month, and he would be called upon to furnish forth a rich dower -- for all men hold him to be a wealthy man, seeing the broad lands he holds in fief. wherefore i take it he thinks it safer to betroth her to this scion of the sanghurst brood, who will be heir to all his father's ill-gotten wealth. but if i know mistress joan, as i think i do, she will scarce permit herself to be given over like a chattel, though she may have a sore fight to make for her liberty." raymond's eyes brightened and his hands closely clinched themselves. surely this quest after basildene was bringing strange things to light. here was a miserable child to be rescued from bondage that was worse than death; and a maiden, lovely and brave of spirit, to be saved from the clutches of this same sanghurst faction. what a strange combination of circumstances seemed woven around the lost inheritance! might it not be the very life's work he had longed after, to fulfil his mother's dying behest and make himself master of basildene again? that night his dreams were a strange medley of wizards, beauteous maidens, and ruinous halls, through which he wandered in search of the victim whose shrill cries he kept hearing. he rose with the first of the tardy light, to find that gaston was already off and away upon some hunting expedition planned overnight. raymond had not felt disposed to join it; the attraction of john's society had more charm for him. the uncle was absent from home on the king's business. the two cousins had the house to themselves. they had established themselves beside the glowing hearth within their favourite room containing all the books, when the horn at the gate announced the arrival of some guest, and a message was brought to john saying that mistress joan vavasour was even then dismounting from her palfrey, and was about to pay him a visit. "nay now, but this is a lucky hap!" cried john, as he went forward to be ready to meet his guest. the next moment the light footfall along the polished boards of the anteroom announced the coming of the lady, and raymond's eager eyes were fixed upon a face so fair that he gazed and gazed and could not turn his eyes away. mistress joan was just his own age -- not yet seventeen -- yet she had something of the grace and dignity of womanhood mingling with the fresh sweet frankness of the childhood that had scarcely passed. her eyes were large and dark, flashing, and kindling with every passing gust of feeling; her delicate lips, arched like a cupid's bow, were capable of expressing a vast amount of resolution, though now relaxed into a merry smile of greeting. she was rather tall and at present very slight, though the outlines of her figure were softly rounded, and strength as well as grace was betrayed in every swift eager motion. she held john's hands and asked eagerly after his well-being. "it was but two days ago i heard that you lay sick at guildford, and i have been longing ever since for tidings. today my father had business in the town, and i humbly sued him to let me ride with him, and rest, whilst he went his own way, in the hospitable house of your good uncle. this is how i come to be here today. and now tell me of thyself these many months, for i hear no news at woodcrych. and who is this fair youth with thee? methinks his face is strange to me, though he bears a look of the de brocas, too." a quick flush mounted in raymond's cheek; but john only called him by the name by which he was known to the world, and mistress joan spoke no more of the fancied likeness. she and john, who were plainly well acquainted, plunged at once into eager talk; and it was not long before the question of joan's own marriage was brought up, and he plainly asked her if the news was true which gave her in wedlock to peter sanghurst. a change came over joan's face at those words. a quick gleam shot out of her dark eyes. she set her teeth, and her face suddenly hardened as if carved in flint. her voice, which had been full of rippling laughter before, now fell to a lower pitch, and she spoke with strange force and gravity. "john, whatever thou hearest on that score, believe it not. i will die sooner than be wedded to that man. i hate him. i fear him -- yes, i do fear him, i will not deny it -- i fear him for his wickedness, his evil practices, his diabolic cruelty, of which i hear fearful whispers from time to time. he may be rich beyond all that men credit. i doubt not he has many a dark and hideous method of wringing gold from his wretched victims. basildene holds terrible secrets; and never will i enter that house by my own free will. never will i wed that man, not if i have to plunge this dagger into mine own heart to save myself from him. i know what is purposed. i know that he and his father have some strange power over my sire and my brother, and that they will do all they can to bend my will to theirs. but i have two hopes yet before me. one is appeal to the king, through his gentle and gracious queen; another is the convent -- for sooner would i take the veil (little as the life of the recluse charms me) than sell myself to utter misery as the wife of that man. death shall call me its bride before that day shall come. yet i would not willingly take my life, and go forth unassoiled and unshriven. no; i will try all else first. and in thee, good john, i know i shall find a trusty and a stalwart friend and champion." "trusty in all truth, fair lady, but stalwart i fear john de brocas will never be. rather enlist in thy service yon gallant youth, who has already distinguished himself in helping to save the prince in the moment of peril. i trow he would be glad enough to be thy champion in days to come. he has, moreover, a score of his own to settle one day with the present master of basildene." joan's bright eyes turned quickly upon raymond, who had flushed with boyish pride and pleasure and shame at hearing himself thus praised. he eagerly protested that he was from that time forward mistress joan's loyal servant to command; and at the prompting of john, he revealed to her the fact of his own claim on basildene (without naming his kinship with the house of de brocas), and gave an animated account of the recent visit to the woodman's hut, and told the story of his cruel wrongs. joan listened with flashing eyes and ever-varying colour. at the close of the tale she spoke. "i have heard of that wretched boy -- the tool and sport of the old man's evil arts, the victim of the son's diabolic cruelty when he has no other victim to torment. they keep him for days without food at times, because they say that he responds better to their fiendish practices when the body is well-nigh reduced to a shadow. oh, i hear them talk! my father is a dabbler in mystic arts. they are luring him on to think he will one day learn the secret of the transmutation of metals, whilst i know they do but seek to make of him a tool, to subdue his will, and to do with him what they will. they will strive to practise next on me -- they have tried it already; but i resist them, and they are powerless, though they hate me tenfold more for it, and i know that they are reckoning on their revenge when i shall be a helpless victim in their power. art thou about to try to rescue the boy? that were, in truth, a deed worth doing, though the world will never praise it; though it might laugh to scorn a peril encountered for one so humble as a woodman's son. but it would be a soul snatched from the peril of everlasting death, and a body saved from the torments of a living hell!" and then john spoke of the thoughts which had of late possessed them both of that chivalry that was not like to win glory or renown, that would not gain the praise of men, but would strive to do in the world a work of love for the oppressed, the helpless, the lowly. and joan's eyes shone with the light of a great sympathy, as she turned her bright gaze from one face to the other, till raymond felt himself falling beneath a spell the like of which he had never known before, and which suddenly gave a new impulse to all his vague yearnings and imaginings, and a zest to this adventure which was greater than any that had gone before. joan's ready woman's wit was soon at work planning and devising how the deed might best be done. "i can do this much to aid," she said. "a day will come ere long when the two sanghursts will come at nightfall to woodcrych, to try, as they have done before, some strange experiments in the laboratory my father has had made for himself. we always know the day that this visit is to be made, and i can make shift to let you know. they stay far into the night, and only return to basildene as the dawn breaks. that would be the night to strive to find and rescue the boy. he will be almost alone in yon big house, bound hand and foot, i doubt not, or thrown into some strange trance that shall keep him as fast a prisoner. there be but few servants that can be found to live there. mostly they flee away in affright ere they have passed a week beneath that roof. those that stay are bound rather by fear than aught beside; and scarce a human being will approach that house, even in broadest daylight. there are many doors and windows, and the walls in places are mouldering away, and would give easy foothold to the climber. it is beneath the west wing, hard by the great fish ponds, that the rooms lie which are ever closed from light of day, and in which the evil men practise their foul arts. i have heard of a secret way from the level of the water into the cellars or dungeons of the house; but whether this be true i do not rightly know. yet methinks you could surely find entrance within the house, for so great is the terror in which basildene is held that master sanghurst freely boasts that he needs neither bolt nor bar. he professes to have drawn around the house a line which no human foot may cross. he knows well that no man wishes to try." raymond shivered slightly, but he was not daunted, yet there was still the question to be faced, what should be done with the boy when rescued to hold him back from the magician's unholy spell. but joan had an answer ready for this objection. her hands folded themselves lightly together, her dark eyes shone with the earnestness of her devotion. "that will i soon tell to you. the spell cast upon the boy is one of evil, and therefore it comes in some sort from the devil, even though, as john says, men may have no visible dealings with him. yet, as all sin is of the evil one, and as the good god and his holy saints are stronger than the devil and his angels, it is his help we must invoke when the powers of darkness strive to work in him again. and we must ask in this the help of some holy man of god, one who has fasted and prayed and learned to discern betwixt good and evil, has fought with the devil and has overcome. i know one such holy man. he lives far away from here. it is a small community between guildford and salisbury -- i suppose it lies some thirty miles from hence. i could find out something more, perchance, in time to acquaint you farther with the road. if you once gain possession of the boy, mount without loss of time, and draw not rein till you reach that secluded spot. ask to be taken in in the name of charity, and when the doors have opened to you, ask for father paul. give him the boy. tell him all the tale, and trust him into his holy hands without fear. he will take him; he will cast out the evil spirit. i misdoubt me if the devil himself will have power over him whilst he is within those hallowed walls. at least if he can find entrance there, he will not be able to prevail; and when the foul spirit is cast out and vanquished, you can summon his father to him and give him back his son -- as the son of the father in scripture was restored to him again when the devil had been cast out by the voice of the blessed jesus." "i truly think that thou art right," said john. "the powers of evil are very strong, too strong to be combated by us unaided by the prayers and the efforts of holy men. "raymond, it shall be my work to provide for this journey. my uncle will be long absent. in his absence i may do what i will and go where i will. i would myself pay a pilgrimage to the house where this holy man resides, and make at the shrine of the chapel there my offering of thanksgiving for my recovery from this hurt. we will go together. we will take the boy with us; and the boy's father shall be one of our party. he shall see that the powers of evil can be vanquished. he shall see for himself the restoration of his child." chapter x. basildene. it was in the bright moonlight of a clear march evening that the twin brothers of gascony stood hand in hand, gazing for the first time in their lives upon their lost inheritance of basildene. it was not yet wholly dark, for a saffron glow in the sky behind still showed where the sun had lately sunk, whilst the moon was shining with frosty brightness overhead. dark as the surrounding woods had been, it was light enough here in the clearing around the house. behind the crumbling red walls the forest grew dark and close, but in the front the larger trees had been cleared away, and the long low house, with its heavy timbers and many gables, stood clearly revealed before the eager eyes of the boys, who stopped short to gaze without speaking a single word to one another. once, doubtless, it had been a beautiful house, more highly decorated than was usual at the period. the heavy beams, dark with age, let into the brickwork were many of them richly carved, and the twisted chimneys and quaint windows showed traces of considerable ingenuity in the builder's art. plainly, too, there had been a time when the ground around the house had been cared for and kept trim and garden-like. now it was but a waste and wilderness, everything growing wild and tangled around it; whilst the very edifice itself seemed crumbling to decay, and wore the grim look of a place of evil repute. it was hard to believe that any person lived within those walls. it was scarce possible to approach within the precincts of that lonely house without a shudder of chill horror. gaston crossed himself as he stood looking on the house, which, by what men said, was polluted by many foul deeds, and tenanted by evil spirits to boot; but upon raymond's face was a different look. his heart went suddenly out to the lonely old house. he felt that he could love it well if it were ever given to him to win it back. as he stood there in the moonlight gazing and gazing, he registered anew in his heart the vow that the day should come when he would fulfil his mother's dying behest, and stand within those halls as the recognized lord of basildene. but the present moment was one for action, not for vague dreamings. the brothers had come with a definite purpose, and they did not intend to quit the spot until that purpose was accomplished. the sanghursts -- father and son -- were far away. the gloomy house -- unless guarded by malevolent spirits, which did not appear unlikely -- was almost tenantless. within its walls was the miserable victim of cruel tyranny whom they had come to release. the boys, who had both confessed and received the blessed sacrament from the hands of the priest who had interested himself before in the woodman's son, felt strong in the righteousness of their cause. if they experienced some fear, as was not unlikely, they would not own it even to themselves. gaston was filled with the soldier spirit of the day, that scorned to turn back upon danger however great. raymond was supported by a deep underlying sense of the sacredness of the cause in which he was embarked. it was not alone that he was going to deal a blow at the foes of his house; it was much more to him than that. vengeance might play a part in the crusade, but to him it was a secondary idea. what he thought of was the higher chivalry of which he and john had spoken so much together -- the rescue of a soul from the clutches of spiritual tyranny; a blow struck in the defence of one helpless and oppressed; risk run for the sake of those who would never be able to repay; the deed done for its own sake, not in the hope of any praise or reward. surely this thing might be the first step in a career of true knightliness, albeit such humble deeds might never win the golden spurs of which men thought so much. gaston's eyes had been scanning the whole place with hawk-like gaze. now he turned to his brother and spoke in rapid whispers. "entrance will be none too easy here. the narrow windows, with their stone mullions, will scarce admit the passage of a human body, and i can see that iron bars protect many of them still farther. the doors are doubtless strong, and heavily bolted. the old sorcerer has no wish to be interrupted in his nefarious occupations, nor does he trust alone to ghostly terrors to protect his house. methinks we had better skirt round the house, and seek that other entrance of which we have heard. raymond, did not our mother tell us oft a story of a revolving stone door to an underground passage, and the trick by which it might be opened from within and without? i remember well that it was by a secret spring cleverly hidden -- seven from above, three from below, those were the numbers. can it be that it was of basildene she was thinking all that time? it seems not unlikely. seven from the top, three from the bottom -- those were certainly the numbers, though i cannot recollect to what they referred. canst thou remember the story, raymond? dost thou think it was of basildene she spoke?" "ay, verily i do!" cried the other quickly, a light coming into his face. "why had i not thought of it before? i remember well she spoke of dark water which lay upon the outside of the house hard by the entrance to the underground way. rememberest thou not the boat moored in the lake to carry the fugitive across to the other side, and the oars so muffled that none might hear? and did not mistress joan say that the secret way into basildene was hard by the fish ponds on the west side of the house? it can be nothing else but this. let us go seek them at once. methinks we have in our hands the clue by which we may obtain entrance into basildene." cautiously, as though their foes were at hand, the brothers slipped round the crumbling walls of the house, marking well as they did so that despite the half-ruinous aspect of much of the building, there was no ready or easy method of access. every gap in the masonry was carefully filled up, every window that was wide enough to admit the passage of a human form was guarded by iron bars, and the doors were solid enough to defy for a long time the assault of battering rams. "it is not in ghostly terrors he mainly trusts to guard his house," whispered raymond, as they skirted round into the dim darkness of the dense woodland that lay behind the house. "methinks if he had in very truth a guard of evil spirits, he would not be so careful of his bolts and bars." gaston was willing enough to believe this; for though he feared no human foe, he was by no means free from the superstitious terrors of the age, and it needed all his coolness of head, as well as all his confidence in the righteousness of his cause, to keep his heart from fluttering with fear as they stepped along beneath the gloom of the trees, which even when not in leaf cast dense shadows around them. it was in truth a weird spot: owls hooted dismally about them, bats flitted here and there in their erratic flight, and sometimes almost brushed the faces of the boys with their clammy wings. the strange noises always to be heard in a wood at night assailed their ears, and mingled with the quick beating of their own hearts; whilst from time to time a long unearthly wail, which seemed to proceed from the interior of the house itself, filled them with an unreasoning sense of terror that they would not confess even to themselves. "it is like the wail of a lost spirit," whispered raymond at the third repetition of the cry. "brother, let us say a prayer, and go forward in the power of the blessed virgin and her holy son." for a moment the brothers knelt in prayer, as the priest had bidden them if heart or spirit quailed. then rising, strengthened and supported, they looked carefully about them, and gaston, grasping his brother by the arm, pointed through the trees and said: "the water, the water! sure i see a gleam of moonlight upon it! we have reached the fish ponds, i verily believe! now for the secret way to the house!" it was true enough. a few steps brought them to the margin of a large piece of water, which was something between a lake and a series of fish ponds, such as are so often seen by old houses. once the lake had plainly been larger, but had partially drained away, and was now confined to various levels by means of a rude dam and a sort of gate like that of a modern lock. still the boys could trace a likeness to the lake of their mother's oft-told tale, and by instinct they both turned to the right as they reached the margin of the water, and threaded their way through the coarse and tangled sedges, decaying in the winter's cold, till they reached a spot where brushwood grew down to the very edge of the water, and the bank rose steep and high above their heads. gaston was a step in advance, raymond following at his heels, both keenly eager over the quest. an exclamation from the leader soon showed that something had been discovered, and the next minute he had drawn aside the sweeping branches of a great willow, and revealed a dark opening in the bank, around which the giant roots seemed to form a protecting arch. "this is the place," he said, in a muffled whisper. "raymond, hast thou the wherewithal to kindle the torch?" the boys had not come unprovided with such things as were likely to prove needful for their search, and though it was a matter of some time to obtain a light, they were skilful and well used to the process, and soon their torch was kindled and they were treading with cautious steps the intricacies of the long and tortuous passage which plainly led straight to the house. "we never should have found it but for our mother's story," said gaston, with exultation in his voice. "raymond, methinks that this is the first step in our career of vengeance. we have the key to basildene in our hands. it may be that upon another occasion we may use it with a different purpose." it seemed to the brothers that they had walked a great distance, when their steps were arrested by what appeared in the first instance to be a solid wall of stone. had they not had some sort of clue in their heads, they would certainly have believed that this natural tunnel ended here, and that further progress was impossible. but as it was, they were firmly convinced that this was but the door of masonry of which their mother had told them in years gone by. neither could recollect the story save in fragments; but the numbers had clung to gaston's tenacious memory, and now he stood before the door saying again and again -- "seven from the top, three from the bottom" -- scanning the wall in front of him with the keenest glances all the while. "ha!" he exclaimed at length; "bring the torch nearer, raymond. see here. this is not one block of stone, as seems at first, but a mass of masonry so cunningly joined together as to look like one solid piece. see, here are the joints; i can feel them with my fingernail, though i can scarce see them with my eyes. let us count the number of the stones used. yes; there are nine in all from top to bottom, each of the same width. therefore the seventh from the top is the third counting from the bottom. this is the stone which is the key." so saying, gaston set his knee against it and pressed with all his might. almost to his own surprise he felt it give as he did so, and raymond uttered a short cry of astonishment: for the whole of what had looked like a solid wall revolved slowly inwards, revealing a continuation of the passage which they had been traversing so long, only that now the passage was plainly one in the interior of the house; for the walls were of masonry, and the dimensions were far more regular. "this is the secret door," said gaston exultingly. "it is in truth a cunning contrivance. let me have the light here a moment, brother. i will see what the trick of the door upon this side is." this point was quickly settled by an inspection of the ingenious contrivance, which was one purely of balance, and not dependent either upon springs or bolts. probably it dated back from days when these latter things were hardly known, and was so satisfactory in the working that it had never been improved upon. "the way to basildene is always open to us," murmured raymond, with a quick thrill of exultation, as the brothers passed through the doorway and let it close behind them; and then they forgot all else in the excitement of the search after the woodman's miserable son. what strange places they came upon in this underground region below the ill-famed house! plainly these cells had been built once for prisoners; for there were fragments of rusty chains still fastened to the stone floors, and in one spot a grinning skull lying broken in a corner sent thrills of horror through the brothers' hearts. from time to time the sound of that unearthly wailing reached their ears, though it was almost impossible to divine from what direction it proceeded; and it had a far less human sound now that the boys were within the precincts of the house than had been the case when they were still outside. whether this was more alarming or less they hardly knew. everything was so strange and dreamlike that they could not tell whether or not all were real. they pressed on eager to accomplish the object of their search, resolved to do that at all cost, and anxious to keep themselves from thinking or feeling too much until that object should be accomplished. they had mounted some stairs, and had reached a different level from the underground passages, when they found their further progress barred by a strong door. this door was bolted, but from the outside, and they had no difficulty in withdrawing the heavy bolts from their sockets. when this had been done the door opened of itself, and they found themselves in a large vaulted room utterly unlike any place they had ever seen before. they grasped each other by the hand and gazed about in wonder. "it is the magician's laboratory!" whispered raymond, whose recent readings with john had taught him many things. he recognized the many crucibles and the strange implements lying on the table as the things employed by dabblers in magic lore, whilst the great sullen wood and charcoal fire, which illumined the place with a dull red glow, was all in keeping with the nature of the occupations carried on there, as was the strange pungent smell that filled the air. rows of jars and bottles upon shelves, strange-looking mirrors and crystals, some fixed and some lying upon the tables, books and parchments full of cabalistic signs propped open beside the crucibles or hung against the wall, all gave evidence of the nature of the pursuits carried on in that unhallowed spot. the brothers, burning with curiosity as well as filled with awe, approached the tables and looked into the many vessels lying upon them, shuddering as the crimson contents made them think of blood. gaston put forth his hand cautiously and touched an ebony rod tipped with crystal that lay beside the largest crucible. as he did so a heavy groan seemed to arise from the very ground at his feet, and he dropped the implement with a smothered exclamation of terror. raymond at the same moment looking hastily round the dim place, grasped his brother's arm, and pointed to a dark corner not many paces from them. "brother, see there! see there!" he whispered. "sure there is the boy we have come to save!" gaston looked and made a quick step forward. sure enough, there upon the floor, bound hand and foot with leather thongs that had been pulled cruelly tight, lay the emaciated figure of what had once been a handsome and healthy boy, but was now little more than a living skeleton. his face still retained its beauty of outline, though these outlines were terribly pinched and sharpened, but the expression of abject terror in the great blue eyes was pitiful to behold, and as gaston and raymond bent over the boy, a shrill cry, as of agony or terror, broke from his pale lips. "who are you?" he gasped. "how have you come? oh, do not touch me -- do not hurt me! go -- go quickly from this evil place, or perchance those devils will return and capture you as they have captured me, that they may torture you to death as they are torturing me. oh, how did you come? i know the doors are locked and bolted. are you devils in human guise, or hapless prisoners like myself? oh, if you are still free, go -- go ere they can return! they know that they cannot keep me much longer; they are thirsting for another victim. let them not return to find you here; and plunge your own dagger into your heart sooner than be made a slave as i have been!" these words were not all spoken at once, but were gasped out bit by bit whilst the twin brothers, with wrath and fury in their hearts, cut the tough thongs that bound the wrists and ankles of the boy, and raised his head as they poured down his throat the strong cordial that had been given to them by john, and which was a marvellous restorer of exhausted nature. they had food, too, in a wallet, and they made the boy eat before they told him aught of their mission; and after the first gasping words of warning and wonder, it seemed as though he obeyed their behests mechanically, most likely taking it all for part and parcel of some strange vision. but as the sorely-needed nourishment and the powerful restorative did its work upon the boy, he began to understand that this was no vision, and that something utterly inexplicable had befallen him, whether for weal or woe his confused senses would not tell him. he heard as in a dream the hurried explanations of the boys, drawing his brows together in the effort to understand. but when they spoke of flight he shook his head, and pointed to the door leading into the house. "no man may pass out of that," he said, in low despairing tones. "how you came in i cannot even guess. it is guarded by a fierce hound, who will tear in pieces any who approaches save his master. there is no way of escape for me. if you are blessed spirits from the world above, fly hence the way you came. for me, i must ever remain the slave of him who, if not the devil himself, is his sworn servant." "we will go, and that quickly," answered raymond; "but thou shalt go with us. we are no spirits, but let us be such to thee for the nonce. fear nothing; only trust us and obey us. if thou wilt do both these things, thou shalt this very night escape for ever from the tyranny of him whom thou hast served so long in such cruel bondage." the boy looked at the face bending over him, instinct with courage and a deep sympathy and brotherly love, and a strange calm and security seemed to fall upon him. he rose to his feet, though with some difficulty, and laid his hand in raymond's. "i will go with thee to the world's end. be my master, and break the hated yoke of that monster of wickedness, and i will serve thee for ever. thou art a ministering spirit sent from heaven. i verily believe that thou canst free me from this slavery." "kneel then and lift thy heart in prayer to the great god of heaven and earth," answered raymond, a strange sense of power and responsibility falling upon him at this moment, together with a clearer, purer perception of divine things than had ever been vouchsafed him before -- "ay, here in this very place, polluted though it may be; for god's presence is everywhere, and it may be he will give thee, even in this fearful chamber of abominations, that release of soul which is the right of each of his human creatures. kneel, and lift thy heart in prayer. i too will pray with thee and for thee. he will hear us, for he loves us. be not afraid; pray with boldness, pray with love in thine heart. god alone can loose the bands of the thraldom which binds thee; and he wilt do it if thou canst trust in him." first making the sign of the cross over the kneeling boy, and then kneeling by his side, raymond directed his crushed spirit to rise in an act of devotion and supplication; and the child, believing that most assuredly a divine messenger had come to deliver him from the hand of his persecutor, was able to utter his prayer in a spirit of trust and hope that brought its own immediate answer in a strange calm and confidence. "come," said gaston cautiously; "we must not longer delay. we have a long night's ride before us, and john will be wondering what detains us this long while." together they supported the feeble steps of the boy, who was passive and quiet in their hands. he was scarce amazed by the opening of the mysterious inner door within a vaulted arch, through which he saw from time to time his captors disappear, but which was ever firmly bolted and barred upon the outer side. he did not even hang back through dread of what might befall him if he were again recalled, as on a former occasion, by the diabolic arts of his master. he was so firmly persuaded of the supernatural character of these visitors, that he had faith and strength to let them do with him what they would without comment, question, or remonstrance. when they reached the outer air, after having successfully passed the secret door again, he gave one great gasp of surprise and reeled as if almost intoxicated by the sweet freshness of the spring night; but the strong arms of his protectors supported him, and hurrying along through the woodland tracks already traversed earlier in the evening, they quickly approached the appointed place just on the outskirts of the basildene lands, where john, attended by three trusty serving men, together with the old woodman, were impatiently awaiting the return of the twins. "we have him safe!" cried gaston, as he bounded on a few paces in advance; and as the words were spoken there broke from the lips of the old woodman a strange inarticulate cry. he sprang forward with a swiftness and agility that seemed impossible in one so bent and bowed, and the next minute he had clasped his son in his arms, and was weeping those terrible tears of manhood over the emaciated form clasped to his breast. leaving the father and son for a few moments together, the brothers in rapid words told their tale to john, who heard it with great satisfaction. but time was passing, and there was no longer any need for delay. the journey before them was somewhat rough and tedious, and all were anxious to put many miles of forest road between themselves and basildene ere the dawn should break. john did not greatly fear pursuit. he did not believe that the old man's occult powers would enable him to track the fugitive; but he was not certain of this, and the rest were all of opinion that he both could and would follow, and that remorselessly, the moment he discovered the loss of his captive. certainly it could do no harm to put all possible distance betwixt the boy and his master, and the party got to horse with the smallest possible delay. once let the boy be placed within the precincts of the sanctuary for which he was bound, in the keeping of the holy man of god whose power was known to be so great, and none feared for the result. but if the boy should be seized upon the road with one of his fits of frenzy, no one could tell what the result might be, and so there was no dissentient voice raised when a quick start and a rapid pace was suggested by gaston. the woodman took his boy in front of him upon the strong animal he bestrode. roger was plainly unfit to sit a horse unsupported by a strong arm, and as they rode through the chill night air a dull lethargy seemed to fall upon him, and he slept in an uneasy, troubled fashion. every moment his father feared to hear him answer an unheard call, feared to feel him struggle wildly in his encircling arm; but neither of these things happened. mile after mile was traversed; the moonlight enabled the party to push rapidly onward. mile after mile slipped away; and just as the first dim rays of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, john, who was himself by this time looking white and jaded, pointed eagerly towards a spire rising up against the saffron of the sky to the south. "that is the spire of st. michael's church," he cried. "the abode of the holy men of whom father paul is one is nigh at hand. ride on, good gaston, and bid the holy man come forth in the name of the love of the blessed saviour. if we may once put the child in his keeping, the powers of hell will not prevail to snatch him thence." gaston, who was the freshest of the little band, eagerly pressed onward with his message. his tired horse, seeing signs of habitation, pricked up his ears, and broke into an eager gallop. the youth quickly disappeared from the eyes of his companions along the road; but when they reached the monastery gate they saw that his errand had been accomplished. a tall monk, holding in his hand a crucifix, advanced to meet them, with a word of blessing which bared all heads; and advancing to the side of the woodman's horse, he took the apparently inanimate form of the boy in his arms, and looking into the wan face, said: "peace be with thee, my son. into the care of holy church i receive thee. let him who can prevail against the church of god pluck thee from that keeping!" chapter xi. a quiet retreat. little did raymond de brocas think, as he stepped across the threshold of that quiet monastic home, that the two next years of his own life were to be spent beneath that friendly and hospitable roof. and yet so it was, and to the training and teaching he received during his residence there he attributed much of the strength of mind and force of character that distinguished him in days to come. the small community to which they had brought the persecuted victim of the sorcerer's evil practices belonged to the order of the cistercians, who have been described as the quakers of their day. at a time when many of the older orders of monks were falling from their first rigid simplicity -- falling into those habits of extravagance which in days to come caused their fall and ultimate suppression -- the cistercians still held to their early regime of austere simplicity and plainness of life; and though no longer absolutely secluding themselves from the sight or sound of their fellow men, or living in complete solitude, they were still men of austere life and self-denying habits, and retained the reputation for sanctity of life that was being lost in other orders, though men had hardly begun to recognize this fact as yet. from the first moment that raymond's eyes fell upon the wonderful face of father paul, his heart was touched by one of those strange attractions for which it is difficult to account, yet which often form a turning point in the history of a human life. it was not the venerable appearance of the holy man alone; it was an indescribable something that defied analysis, yet drew out all that was best and highest in the spirit of the youth. but after the first glance at the monk, as he came forward and received the inanimate form of the woodman's son in his strong arms, raymond's attention was differently occupied; for on looking round at his companions, he saw that john's face was as white as death, and that he swayed in his saddle as though he would fall. it then occurred to the boy for the first time that this long and tiring night's ride was an undertaking for which john was little fit. he had but recently recovered from a bout of sickness that had left him weak and fit for little fatigue, and yet the whole night through he had been riding hard, and had only yielded to exhaustion when the object for which the journey had been taken had been accomplished. the kindly monks came out and bore him into their house, and presently he and the woodman's son lay side by side in the room especially set apart for the sick, watched over by father paul, and assiduously tended by raymond, to whom john was by this time greatly attached. as for gaston, after a rest extending over two nights and days, he was despatched to windsor with the escort who had accompanied them on their ride hither, to tell john's father what had befallen the travellers, and how, john's wound having broken out afresh, he purposed to remain for some time the guest of the holy fathers. thus, for the first time in their lives, were the brothers separated; for though gaston had no thought but of speedy return when he set out on his journey, they saw him no more in that quiet cloistered home, and for two long years the brothers did not meet again. truth to tell, the quiet of a religious retreat had no charm for gaston, as it had for his brother, and the stirring doings in the great world held him altogether in thrall. the king of england was even then engaged in active preparations for the war with france that did not commence in real earnest till two years later. but all men believed that the invasion of the enemy's land was very near. proclamations of the most warlike nature were being issued alike by king and parliament. edward was again putting forward his inconsistent and illogical claim to the crown of france. men's hearts were aflame for the glory and the stress of war, and gaston found himself drawn into the vortex, and could only send an urgent message to his brother, bidding him quickly come to him at windsor. he had been taken amongst the number of the prince's attendants. he longed for raymond to come and share his good fortune. but raymond, when that message reached him, had other things to think of than the clash of arms and the struggle with a foreign foe; and he could only send back a message to his brother that for the time at least their paths in life must lie in different worlds. doubtless the day would come when they should meet again; but for the present his own work lay here in this quiet place, and gaston must win his spurs without his brother beside him. so gaston threw himself into the new life with all the zest of his ardent nature, following sometimes the prince and sometimes the king, according as it was demanded of him, making one of those who followed edward into flanders the following year, only to be thwarted of their object through the most unexpected tragedy of the murder of van artevelde. of wars, adventures, and battles we shall have enough in the pages to follow; so without farther concerning ourselves with the fortunes of gaston through these two years of excitement and preparation, we will rather remain with raymond, and describe in brief the events which followed upon his admission within the walls of the cistercian monks' home. of those first weeks within its walls raymond always retained a vivid remembrance, and they left upon him a mark that was never afterwards effaced. he became aware of a new power stirring within him which he had never hitherto dreamed of possessing. as has before been said, roger the woodman's son was carried into the bare but spotlessly clean room upon the upper floor of the building which was used for any of the sick of the community, and john was laid in another of the narrow pallet beds, of which there were four in that place. all this while roger lay as if dead, in a trance that might be one simply of exhaustion, or might be that strange sleep into which the old sorcerer had for years been accustomed to throw him at will. leaving him thus passive and apparently lifeless (save that the heart's action was distinctly perceptible), father paul busied himself over poor john, who was found to be in pitiable plight; for his wound had opened with the exertion of the long ride, and he had lost much blood before any one knew the state he was in. for some short time his case was somewhat critical, as the bleeding proved obstinate, and was checked with difficulty; and but for father paul's accurate knowledge of surgery (accurate for the times he lived in, at any rate), he would likely enough have bled to death even as he lay. then whilst the kindly monks were bending over him, and father paul's entire time and attention were given up to the case before him, so that he dared not leave john's bedside for an instant, roger suddenly uttered a wild cry and sprang up in his bed, his lips parted, his eyes wide open and fixed in a dreadful stare. "i come! i come!" he cried, in a strange, muffled voice; and with a rapidity and energy of which no one would have believed him capable who had seen him lifted from the horse an hour before, he rose and strove to push aside his father's detaining hand. the old man uttered a bitter cry, and flung his arms about the boy. "it has come! it has come! i knew it would. there is no hope, none! he is theirs, body and soul. he will go back to them, and they will --" the words were drowned in a wild cry, as the boy struggled so fiercely that it was plain even the old man's frenzied strength would not suffice to detain him long. father paul and the monk who was assisting him with john could not move without allowing the bleeding to recommence. but raymond was standing by disengaged, and the keen eyes of the father fixed themselves upon his face. he had heard a brief sketch of the rescue of roger as the boy had been undressed and laid in the bed, and now he said, in accents of quiet command, "take the crucifix that hangs at my girdle, and lay it upon his brow. bid him lie down once again -- adjure him in the name of the holy jesus. it is not earthly force that will prevail here. we may save him but by the name that is above every name. go!" again over raymond's senses there stole that sense of mystic unreality, or to speak more truly, the sense of the reality of the unseen over the seen things about and around us that men call mysticism, but which may be something widely different; and with it came that quickening of the faculties that he had experienced before as he had knelt in the sorcerer's unhallowed hall, the same sense of fearlessness and power. he took the crucifix without a word, and went straight to the frenzied boy, struggling wildly against the detaining clasp of his father's arms. "let him go," he said briefly; and there was that in the tone that caused the astonished old man to loose his hold, and stand gazing in awe and amaze at the youthful face, kindling with its strange look of resolve and authoritative power. it seemed as though the possessed boy felt the power himself; for though his open eyes took in no answering impression from the scenes around him, his arms fell suddenly to his side. the struggles ceased, he made no attempt to move; whilst raymond laid the crucifix against his brow, and said in a low voice: "in the name of the holy son of god, in the name of the blessed jesus, i forbid you to go. awake from that unhallowed sleep! call upon the name of all names. he will hear you -- he will save you." his eyes were fixed upon the trembling boy; his face was shining with the light of his own implicit faith; his strong will braced itself to the fulfilment of the task set him to do. confident that what the father bid him accomplish, that he could and must fulfil, raymond did indeed resemble some pictured saint on painted window, engaged in conflict with the evil one; and when with a sudden start and cry the boy woke suddenly to the sense of passing things, perhaps it was small wonder that he sank at raymond's feet, clasping him round the knees and sobbing wildly his broken and incoherent words: "o blessed saint george -- blessed and glorious victor! thou hast come to me a second time to strengthen and to save. ah, leave me not! to thee i give myself; help, o help me to escape out of this snare, which is more cruel than that of death itself! i will serve thee ever, blessed saint. i will be thine in life and death! only fight my battle with the devil and his host, and take me for thine own for ever and ever." raymond kindly lifted him up, and laid him upon the bed again. "i am no saint," he said, a little shamefacedly; "i am but a youth like thyself. thou must not pray to me. but i will help thee all i may, and perchance some day, when this yoke be broken from off thy neck, we will ride forth into the world together, and do some service there for those who are yet oppressed and in darkness." "i will follow thee to the world's end, be thou who thou mayest!" exclaimed the boy ecstatically, clasping his thin hands together, whilst a look of infinite peace came into his weary eyes. "if thou wouldest watch beside my bed, then might i sleep in peace. he will not dare to come nigh me; his messengers must stand afar off, fearing to approach when they see by whom i am guarded." it was plainly useless to try to disabuse roger of the impression that his visitor was other than a supernatural one, and raymond saw that with the boy's mind so enfeebled and unhinged he had better let him think what he would. he simply held the crucifix over him once again, and said, with a calm authority that surprised even himself: "trust not in me, nor in any saint however holy. in the name of the blessed jesus alone put thy faith. speak the prayer his lips have taught, and then sleep, and fear nothing." with hands locked together, and a wonderful look of rest upon his face, roger repeated after raymond the long-unused paternoster which he had never dared to speak beneath the unhallowed roof of his master at basildene. with the old sense of restful confidence in prayer came at once the old untroubled sleep of the little child; and when raymond at last looked up from his own devotions at the bedside, it was to see that roger had fallen into the tranquil slumber that is the truest restorer of health, and that father paul was standing on the opposite side of the bed, regarding him with a very gentle yet a very penetrating and authoritative gaze. he bent his head once more as if to demand a blessing, and the father laid a hand upon his head, and said, in grave, full tones: "peace be with thee, my son." that was all. there was no comment upon what had passed; and after partaking of a simple meal, raymond was advised to retire to rest himself after his long night's ride, and glad enough was he of the sleep that speedily came to him. all the next day he was occupied with gaston, who had many charges to undertake for john; and only when his brother had gone was he free to take up his place at john's bedside, and be once again his nurse, companion, and fellow student. roger still occupied the bed in the same room where he had first been laid. a low fever of a nature little understood had fastened upon him, and he still fell frequently into those strange unnatural trances which were looked upon by the brothers of the order as due to purely satanic agency. what father paul thought about them none ever knew, and none dared to ask. father paul was a man who had lived in the world till past the meridian of life. he was reported to have travelled much, to have seen many lands and many things, and to have been in his youth a reckless and evil liver. some even believed him to have committed some great crime; but none rightly knew his history, and his present sanctity and power and holiness were never doubted. a single look into that stern, worn, powerful face, with the coal-black eyes gleaming in their deep sockets, was enough to convince the onlooker that the man was intensely, even terribly in earnest. his was the leading spirit in that small and austere community, and he began at once to exercise a strong influence upon each of the three youths so unexpectedly thrown across his path. this influence was the greatest at first over raymond, in whom he appeared to take an almost paternal interest; and the strange warfare that they waged together over the mental malady of the unhappy roger drew them still closer together. certainly for many long weeks it seemed as though the boy were labouring under some demoniacal possession, and raymond fully believed that such was indeed the case. often it seemed as though no power could restrain him from at least the attempt to return to the tyrant whom he believed to be summoning him back. possibly much of the strange malady from which he was suffering might be due to physical causes -- overstrained nerves, and even an unconscious and morbid craving after that very hypnotic condition (as it would now be termed) which had really reduced him to his present pitiable state; but to raymond it appeared to proceed entirely from some spiritual possession, and in helping the unhappy boy to resist and conquer the voice of the tempter, his own faith and strength of spirit were marvellously strengthened; whilst roger continued to regard him in the light of a guardian angel, and followed him about like a veritable shadow. father paul watched the two youths with a keen and observant interest. it was by his command that raymond was always summoned or roused from sleep whenever the access of nervous terror fell upon roger and he strove to obey the summoning voice. he would watch with quiet intensity the struggle between the wills of the two lads, and mark, with a faint smile upon his thin lips, the triumph invariably attained by raymond, and his growing and increasing faith in the power of the name he invoked in his aid. seldom indeed had he himself to come to the aid of the boy. he never did so unless roger's paroxysm lasted long enough to try raymond's strength to the verge of exhaustion, and this was very seldom. the calm smile in the father's eyes, and his quiet words of commendation, "well done, my son!" were reward sufficient for raymond even when his strength had been most severely tasked; and as little by little he and his charge came to know the monk better, and to receive from him from time to time words of teaching, admonition, or encouragement, they found themselves growing more and more dominated by his strong will and personality, more eager day by day to please him, more anxious to win the rare smile that occasionally flashed across the austere face and illuminated it like a gleam of sunshine. john felt almost the same sense of fascination as raymond, and was by no means impatient of the tardy convalescence that kept him so long a prisoner beneath the walls of the small religious house. he would indeed have fain tarried longer yet, but that his father sent a retinue of servants at length to bring him home again. but raymond did not go with him. his work for roger was not yet done, and warmly attached as he was to john, his heart was still more centred upon father paul. besides, no mention was made of him in the letter that accompanied the summons home. his brother was he knew not where, and his duty lay with roger, who looked to him as to a saviour and protector. there was no thought of roger's leaving the retreat he had found in his hour of need. he scarce dared put foot outside the quiet cloistered quadrangle behind whose gates and walls he alone felt safe. besides, his father lay slowly dying in the hospital hard by. it seemed as though the very joy of having his son restored to him had been too much for his enfeebled frame after the long strain of grief that had gone before. the process of decay might be slow, but it was sure, and all knew that the old man would ere long die. he had no desire for life, if only his boy were safe; and to raymond he presented a pathetic petition that he would guard and cherish him, and save him from that terrible possession which had well-nigh been his ruin body and soul. to raymond it seemed indeed as if this soul had been given him, and he passed his word with a solemnity that brought great comfort to the dying man. an incident which had occurred shortly before had added to raymond's sense of responsibility with regard to roger, and had shown him likewise that a new peril menaced his own path in life, though of personal danger the courageous boy thought little. one day, some six weeks after his admission to the monastery, and shortly before john's departure thence, roger had been strangely uneasy and depressed for many hours. it was no return of the trance-like state in which he was not master of his own words and actions. those attacks had almost ceased, and he had been rapidly gaining in strength in consequence. this depression and restless uneasiness was something new and strange. raymond did not know what it might forebode, but he tried to dissipate it by cheerful talk, and roger did his best to fight against it, though without much success. "some evil presence is near!" he exclaimed suddenly; "i know it -- i feel it! i ever felt this sick shuddering when those wicked men approached me. methinks that one of them must even now be nigh at hand. can they take me hence? do i indeed belong to them? o save me -- help me! give me not up to their power!" his agitation became so violent, that it was a relief to raymond that father paul at this moment appeared; and as this phase in roger's state was something new, and did not partake of the nature of any spiritual possession, he dismissed raymond with a smile, bidding him go out for one of the brief wanderings in the woods that were at once pleasant and necessary for him, whilst he himself remained beside roger, soothing his nameless terrors and assuring him that no power in the land, not even that of the king himself, would be strong enough to force from the keeping of the church any person who had sought sanctuary beneath her shadow. meantime raymond went forth, as he was wont to do, into the beech wood that lay behind the home of the monks. it was a very beautiful place at all times; never more so than when the first tender green of coming summer was clothing the giant trees, and the primroses and wood sorrel were carpeting the ground, which was yet brown with the fallen leaves of the past autumn. the slanting sunbeams were quivering through the gnarled tree trunks, and the birds were singing rapturously overhead, as raymond bent his steps along the trodden path which led to the nearest village; but he suddenly stopped short with a start of surprise on encountering the intent gaze of a pair of fierce black eyes, and finding himself face to face with a stranger he had never seen in his life before. never seen? no; and yet he knew the man perfectly, and felt that he changed colour as he stood gazing upon the handsome malevolent face that was singularly repulsive despite its regular features and bold beauty. in a moment he recollected where he had seen those very lineaments portrayed with vivid accuracy, even to the sinister smile and the gleam in the coal-black eyes. roger possessed a gift of face drawing that would in these days make the fortune of any portrait painter. he had many times drawn with a piece of rough charcoal pictures of the monks as he saw them in the refectory, the refined and hollow face of john, and the keen and powerful countenance of father paul. so had he also portrayed for raymond the features of the two sanghursts, father and son. the youth knew perfectly the faces of both; and as he stopped short, gazing at this stranger with wide-open eyes, he knew in a moment that roger's malevolent foe was nigh at hand, and that the sensitive and morbidly acute faculties of the boy had warned him of the fact, when he could by no possibility have known it by any other means. sanghurst stood looking intently at this bright-faced boy, a smile on his lips, a frown in his eyes. "methinks thou comest from the monastery hard by?" he questioned smoothly. "canst tell me if there be shelter there for a weary traveller this night?" "for a poor and weary traveller perchance there might be," answered the boy, with a gleam in his eye not lost upon his interlocutor; "but it is no house of entertainment for the rich and prosperous. those are sent onwards to the benedictine brothers, some two miles south from this. father paul opens not his gates save to the sick, the sorrowful, the needy. shall i put you in the way of the other house, sir? methinks it would suit you better than any place which calls father paul its head." the gaze bent upon the boy was searching and distinctly hostile. as the dialogue proceeded, the look of malevolence gradually deepened upon the face of the stranger, till it might have made a timid heart quail. "how then came john de brocas to tarry there so long? for aught i know he may be there yet. by what right is he a guest beneath this so hospitable roof?" "he was sick nigh to the death when he craved admittance," answered raymond briefly. "he --" "he had aided and abetted the flight from his true masters of a servant boy bound over to them lawfully and fast. if he thinks to deceive peter sanghurst or if you do either, boy that you are, though with the hardihood of a man and the recklessness of a fool -- you little know with whom you have to deal. it was you -- you who broke into our house -- i know not how, but some day i shall know -- and stole away with one you fondly hope to hold against my power. boy, i warn you fairly: none ever makes of peter sanghurst an enemy but he bitterly, bitterly rues the day. i give you one chance of averting the doom which else will fall upon you. give back the boy. lure him out hither some day when i am waiting to seize him. place him once again in my hands, and your rash act shall be forgiven. you have the power to do this. be advised, and accept my terms. the sanghursts never forgive. refuse, and the day will come when you will so long to have done my bidding now, that you would even sell your soul to undo the deed which has brought my enmity upon you. now choose. will you deliver up the boy, or --" "never!" answered raymond, with flashing eyes, not even waiting to hear the alternative. "i fear you not. i know you, and i defy you. i will this moment to father paul, to warn him of your approach. the gates will be closed, and you will be denied all entrance. you may strive as you will, but your victim has taken sanctuary, and not all the powers of the world or the devil you serve can prevail against the walls of that haven of refuge. go back whence you came, or stay and do your worst. we fear you not. the holy saints and the blessed jesus are our protectors and defenders. you have tried in vain your foul spells. you have seen what their power is against that which is from above. go, and repent your evil ways ere it be too late. you threaten me with your vengeance; have you ever thought of that vengeance of god which awaits those who defy his laws and invoke the powers of darkness? my trust is in him; wherefore i fear you not. do then your worst. magnify yourself as you will. your fate will be like that of the blaspheming giant of gath who defied the power of the living god and fell before the sling and the stone of the shepherd boy." and without waiting to hear the answer which was hurled at him with all the fury of an execration, raymond turned and sped back to the monastery, not in any physical fear of the present vengeance of his foe, but anxious to warn the keeper of the gate of the close proximity of one who was so deadly a foe to father paul's protege. not a word of this adventure ever reached roger's ears, and indeed raymond thought little of it after the next few weeks had passed without farther molestation from the foe. the old woodman died. roger, though sincerely mourning his father, was too happy in returning health and strength to be over-much cast down. his mind and body were alike growing stronger. he was never permitted to speak of the past, nor of the abominations of his prison house. father paul had from the first bidden the boy to forget, or at least to strive to forget, all that had passed there, and never let his thoughts or his words dwell upon it. raymond, despite an occasional access of boyish curiosity, ever kept this warning in mind, and never sought to discover what roger had done or had suffered beneath the roof of basildene. and so soon as the boy had recovered some measure of health, both he and raymond were regularly instructed by father paul in such branches of learning as were likely to be of most service to them in days to come. whether or not he hoped that they would embrace the religious life they never knew. he never dropped a hint as to his desires on that point, and they never asked him. they were happy in their quiet home. all the brothers were kind to them, and the father was an object of loving veneration which bordered on adoration. two years slipped thus away so fast that it seemed scarce possible to believe how time had fled by. save that they had grown much both in body and mind, the boys would have thought it had been months, not years, they had spent in that peaceful retreat. the break to that quiet life came with a mission which was entrusted by his holiness himself to father paul, and which involved a journey to rome. with the thought of travel there came to raymond's mind a longing after his own home and the familiar faces of his childhood. the father was going to take the route across the sea to bordeaux, for he had a mission to fulfil there first. why might not he go with him and see his foster-mother and father anselm again? he spoke his wish timidly, but it was kindly and favourably heard; and before the spring green had begun to clothe the trees, father paul, together with raymond and his shadow roger, had set foot once more upon the soil of france. chapter xii. on the war path "raymond! is it -- can it be thou?" "gaston! i should scarce have known thee!" the twin brothers stood facing one another within the walls of caen, grasping each other warmly by the hand, their eyes shining with delight as they looked each other well over from head to foot, a vivid happiness beaming over each handsome face. it was more than two years since they had parted -- parted in the quiet cloister of the cistercian brotherhood; now they met again amid scenes of plunder and rapine: for the english king had just discovered, within the archives of the city his sword had taken, a treaty drawn up many years before, agreeing that its inhabitants should join with the king of france for the invasion of england; and in his rage at the discovery, he had given over the town to plunder, and would even have had the inhabitants massacred in cold blood, had not geoffrey of harcourt restrained his fury by wise and merciful counsel. but the order for universal pillage was not recalled, and the soldiers were freebooting to their hearts' content all over the ill-fated city. raymond had seen sights and had heard sounds as he had pressed through those streets that day in search of his brother that had wrung his soul with indignation and wonder. where was the vaunted chivalry of its greatest champion, if such scenes could be enacted almost under his very eyes? were they not true, those lessons father paul had slowly and quietly instilled into his mind, that not chivalry, but a true and living christianity, could alone withhold the natural man from deeds of cruelty and rapacity when the hot blood was stirred by the fierce exultation of battle and victory, and the lust of conquest had gained the mastery over his spirit? the hot july sun was beating down upon the great square where were situated those buildings of which the king and the prince and their immediate followers had taken temporary possession. the brothers stood together beneath the shadow of a lofty wall. cries and shouts from the surrounding streets told tales of the work being done there; but that work had carried off almost all the soldiers, and the twins were virtually alone in the place, save for the tall and slight youth who stood a few paces off, and was plainly acting in the capacity of raymond's servant. "i thought i should find thee here, gaston," said his brother, with fond affection in his tones. "i knew that thou wouldst be with the king at such a time; and when i entered within the walls of this city, i said in my heart that my gaston would have no hand in such scenes as those i was forced to witness as i passed along." gaston's brow darkened slightly, but he strove to laugh it off. "nay, thou must not fall foul of our great and mighty king for what thou hast seen today. in truth i like it not myself; but what would you? the men were furious when they heard of yon treaty; and the king's fierce anger was greatly kindled. the order went forth, and when pillage once begins no man may tell where it will end. war is a glorious pastime, but there must ever be drawbacks. sure thine own philosophy has taught thee that much since thou hast turned to a man of letters. but tell me of thyself, raymond. i am hungry for news. for myself, thou mayest guess what has been my life, an thou knowest how these past two years have been spent -- wars and rumours of wars, fruitless negotiations, and journeys and marches for little gain. i am glad enough that we have shaken hands with peace and bid her adieu for a while. she can be a false and treacherous friend, and well pleased am i that the bloody banner of true warfare is unfurled at last. england is athirst for some great victory, for some gallant feat of arms which shall reward her for the burdens she has to pay to support our good soldiers. for his people's sake, as well as for his own honour, the king must strike some great blow ere he returns home and we who follow the prince have sworn to follow him to the death and win our spurs at his side. "brother, say that thou wilt join our ranks. thou hast not forgotten our old dreams? thou hast not turned monk or friar?" "nay, or i should not now be here," answered raymond. "no, gaston, i have forgotten naught of the old dream; and i too have seen fighting in the south, where the king of france has mustered his greatest strength. for we believed the roy outremer would land at bordeaux and march to the help of my lord derby, who is waging war against the count of lille jourdaine and the duke of bourbon in and around gascony. and, gaston, the sieur de navailles has joined the french side, and is fighting in the van of the foe. he has long played a double game, watching and waiting till victory seems secure for either one king or the other. now, having seen the huge force mustered by the king of france in the south, he seems to have resolved that the victory must remain with him, and has cast in his lot against the english cause. so, brother, if the great edward wins his battles, and drives from his own fair territories the invading hosts of france, it may be that the sieur do navailles may be deprived of his ill-gotten lands and castles; and then, if thou hast won thy spurs --" raymond paused, and gaston's eyes flashed at the thought. but he had learned, even in these two years, something of the lesson of patience, and was now less confident of winning fame and fortune at one stroke than he had been when he had made his first step along the path that he believed would lead him by leaps and bounds to the desired haven. "then thou hast been there? hast thou seen the old places -- the old faces? truly i have longed to visit sauveterre once more; but all our plans are changed, and now men speak of naught but pressing on for calais. where hast thou come from?" "from the old home, gaston, where for three months i and roger have been. what! dost thou not know roger again? in truth, he looks vastly different from what he did when thou sawest him last. we are brothers in arms now, albeit he likes to call himself my servant. we have never been parted since the day we snatched him from that evil place within the walls of basildene. we have been in safe shelter at the mill. honest jean and margot had the warmest welcome for us, and father anselm gave us holy words of welcome. everything there is as when we left. scarce could i believe that nigh upon three years will soon have fled since we quitted its safe shelter. but i could not stay without thee, brother. i have greatly longed to look upon thy face again. i knew that thou wert with the king, and i looked that this meeting should have been at bordeaux. but when news was brought that the english ships had changed their course and were to land their soldiers in the north, i could tarry no longer, and we have ridden hard through the land northward to find thee here. tell me, why this sudden change of plan? surely the king will not let his fair province of gascony be wrested from his hand without striking a blow in its defence in person?" gaston laughed a proud, confident laugh. "thou needst scarce ask such a question, raymond; little canst thou know the temper of our king an thou thinkest for a moment such a thing as that. but methinks we may strike a harder blow here in the north against the treacherous french monarch than ever we could in the south, where his preparations are made to receive us. here no man is ready. we march unopposed on a victorious career. the army is far away in the south; the king has but a small force with him in paris. brave geoffrey of harcourt, by whose advice we have turned our course and landed here at la hague, has counselled us to march upon calais and gain possession of that pirate city. with the very key of france in our hands, what may not england accomplish? wherefore our march is to be upon calais, and methinks there will be glory and honour to be won ore this campaign closes!" and, indeed, for a brief space it did seem as though king edward's progress was to be one of unchecked victory; for he had already routed the french king's constable, sent to try to save caen; had taken and pillaged that city, and had marched unopposed through carbon, lisieux, and louviers to rouen, leaving terrible devastation behind, as the soldiers seized upon everything in the way of food from the hapless inhabitants, though not repeating the scenes which had disgraced the english colours at caen. but at rouen came the first of those checks which in time became so vexatious and even perilous to the english army. the french, in great alarm, had realized that something must be done to check edward's victorious career; and as it was plain that if he turned his steps northward there would be no chance of opposing him, their aim and object was to pen him as far in the south as possible, so that the army in gascony, perhaps, or failing that the new one mustering rapidly round the king in paris, might close in upon the alien army and cut them to pieces by sheer force of numbers, before they could reach the coast and their ships. so philip, recovering from his first panic, sent orders that all the bridges between rouen and paris should be broken down; and when edward reached the former city, intending to cross there to the north side of the seine, he found only the broken piers and arches of the bridge left standing, and the wide, turbid waters of the great river barring his further progress. irritated and annoyed, but not really alarmed as yet, the english king turned his steps eastward toward paris, still resolved to cross by the first bridge found standing. but each in turn had been broken down; and the only retaliation he could inflict upon the people who were thwarting and striving to entangle him in a net, was to burn the towns through which he passed; pont de l'arche, vernon, and verneuil, until he arrived at last at poissy, only a few miles from paris, to find the bridge there likewise broken down, whilst messengers kept arriving from all sides warning him that a far mightier host was gathering around philip than he had with him, and advising instant retreat along the course by which he had come. but edward well knew that retreat was impossible. he had so exhausted the country and exasperated its inhabitants by his recent march and its attendant ravages, that it would be impossible to find food for his soldiers there again, even if the people did not rise up in arms against them. rather would he face the french foe, however superior to his own force, in open fight, than turn his back upon them in so cowardly a fashion. meantime, as philip did not move, he set to work with his soldiers to repair the bridge, sending out detachments of his army to harass and alarm the inhabitants of paris, ravaging the country up and down, and burning st. germain, st. cloud, and montjoie. these expeditions, so perilous and so singularly successful, were just of the kind to delight the eager spirits of the camp, and keep enthusiasm up to a high pitch. why philip suffered these ravages, when his army already far outnumbered that of the english, and why the french permitted their foes to repair and cross the bridge at poissy without stirring a finger to hinder them, are questions more easily asked than answered. possibly the knowledge that the somme still lay between their enemies and the sea, and that the same difficulties with regard to the bridges was to be found there, kept the french army secure still of final victory. possibly they thought that, hemmed in between the two great rivers, the army of edward would be so well caught in a trap that they need not bestir themselves to consummate the final scene of the drama. at any rate, philip remained inactive, save that his army was rapidly augmenting from all sides; whilst the english finished their bridge and marched northward, only opposed by a large body of troops sent out from amiens to meet them, over which they obtained an easy victory. nevertheless the position of the english was becoming exceedingly critical, and their march certainly partook something of the nature of a retreat, little as they themselves appeared to be aware of the fact. philip with his host was advancing from behind, the great river somme lay before them, all its bridges either broken down or so well fortified as to be practically impassable; and though their allies in flanders had raised the siege of bovines in order to march to the assistance of the english king, there appeared small chance of their effecting a junction in time to be of any use. at airaines a pause was made in order to try to discover some bridge or ford by which the river might be passed. but philip's work had been so well done that not a whole bridge could anywhere be found; and the french army was pressing so hard upon the english that in the end they had to break up their camp in the greatest haste, leaving their cooked provisions and tables ready spread for their foes to benefit by. they themselves hastened on to abbeville, keeping slightly to the west of the town so as to avoid provoking attack, and be nearer to the coast, though as no english ships could be looked for in the river's mouth, the seacoast was of small service to them. such is the brief outline of the facts of edward's well-known march in this campaign, destined to become so famous. the individual action of our gascon twins must now be told in greater detail. their reunion after so long a separation had been a source of keen delight to both the brothers. each had developed in a different direction, and instead of being shadows the one of the other as in old days, they were now drawn together by the force of contrast. gaston was above all else a soldier, with a soldier's high spirit, love of adventure, and almost reckless courage. he fairly worshipped the king and the prince, and was high in favour with the youthful edward, whose first campaign this was. raymond, whilst imbued with the same high courage, though of a loftier kind, in that it was as much spiritual as physical, and with much of the chivalrous love of adventure so common to the gallant youths of that age, was far more thoughtful, well instructed, and far-seeing than his brother. he looked to the larger issues of life. he was not carried away by wild enthusiasm. he could love, and yet see faults. he could throw in his lot with a cause, and ardently strive for the victory, and yet know all the while that there were flaws in that same cause, and admit with sorrow, yet firm truthfulness, that in this world no cause is ever altogether pure, altogether just. he was not of the stuff of which hot partisans are made. he had a spirit in advance of his times, and the chances were that he would never rise to the same measure of success as his brother. for those who try to keep a stainless name in times of strife, bloodshed, and hostile jealousy, seldom escape without making bitter enemies, and suffer the penalty that will ever attend upon those who strive after a higher ideal than is accepted by the world at large. but if growing apart in character, the bond of warm love was but drawn closer by the sense that each possessed gifts denied to the other. raymond found in gaston the most charming and enlivening comrade and friend. gaston began unconsciously to look up to his brother, and to feel that in him was a power possessed by few of those by whom he was surrounded, and to which he could turn for counsel and help if ever the time should come when he felt the need of either. in raymond's presence others as well as gaston began to curb some of that bold freedom of speech which has always characterized the stormy career of the soldier. those who so curbed themselves scarce knew why they did so. it was seldom that raymond spoke any word of rebuke or admonition, and if he did it was only to some youth younger than himself. but there was something in the direct grave look of his eyes, and in the pure steadfastness of his expression, which gave to his aspect a touch of saintliness quickly felt by those about him. for in those days men, in spite of many and great faults, were not ashamed of their religion. much superstition might be mingled with their beliefs, corruption and impurity were creeping within the fold of the church, darkness and ignorance prevailed to an extent which it is hard in these times to realize; yet with all this against them, men were deeply and truly loyal to their faith. it had not entered into their minds that a deep and firm faith in god was a thing of which to be ashamed; that to trust in special providence was childish folly; to receive absolution upon the eve of some great and perilous undertaking a mere empty form, or a device of cunning priestcraft. it has been the work of a more "enlightened" age to discover all this. in olden times -- those despised days of worn-out superstition -- men yet believed fully and faithfully in their god, and in his beneficent care of his children. raymond, then, with his saint-like face and his reputation of piety, together with the story of his residence beneath the care of father paul, quickly obtained a certain reputation of his own that made him something of a power; and gaston felt proud to go about with his brother at his side, and hear the comments passed upon that brother by the comrades he had made in the past years. during the exciting march through the hostile country gaston and raymond had known much more of the feeling of the people than their comrades. the french tongue was familiar to them, and though they did not speak it as readily as english or their gascon dialect, they had always known it from childhood, and never had any difficulty in making themselves understood. despite their english sympathies and their loyalty to england's king, they felt much natural compassion for the harried and distracted victims of edward's hostile march; and many little acts of protective kindness had been shown by both the brothers (generally at raymond's instigation) towards some feeble or miserable person who might otherwise have been left in absolute destitution. these small acts of kindness won them goodwill wherever they went, and also assisted them to understand the words and ways of the people as they would scarcely have done without. then, as in all countries and all times the old proverb holds good that one good turn deserves another, they picked up here and there several valuable hints, and none more valuable than the knowledge that somewhere below abbeville, between that town and the sea, was a tidal ford that could be crossed twice in the twelve hours by those who knew where to seek it. thus whilst the king's marshals were riding up and down the river banks, vainly seeking some bridge over which the hard-pressed army could pass, the twin brothers carefully pursued their way down the stream, looking everywhere for the white stone bottom which they had been told marked the spot where the water was fordable. but the tide was rolling in deep and strong, and they could see nothing. still cautiously pursuing their way -- cautiously because upon the opposite bank of the river they saw a large gathering of archers and footmen all belonging to the enemy -- they lighted presently upon a peasant varlet cutting willow wands not far from the river's brink. the boys entered into talk with him, and raymond's kindly questioning soon elicited the information that the man's name was gobin agace, that he was a poor man with little hope of being anything else all his days, and that he knew the river as well as any man in the realm. "then," said raymond, "thou needest be poor no longer; for if thou wilt come with us to the camp of the english king a short league away, and lead him and his army to the ford of the blanche tache which lies not far from here, he will make thee rich for life, and thou wilt be prosperous all thy days." "if the king of france do not follow and cut off my head," said the man doubtfully, though his eyes glistened at the prospect of such easily-won wealth. "by holy st. anthony, thou needst not fear that!" cried gaston. "our great king can protect thee and keep thee from all harm. see here, good knave: it will be far better for thee to win this great reward than for us, who have no such dire need of the king's gold. if thou wilt not aid us, we must e'en find the place ourselves; but as time presses we will gladly lead thee to the king, and let him reward thee for thy good service. so answer speedily yea or nay, for we may not linger longer whilst thou debatest the matter in that slow mind of thine." "then i will e'en go with you, fair sirs," answered the fellow, who was in no mind to let the reward slip through his fingers; and within an hour gaston and raymond led before the king the peasant varlet who held the key of the position in his hands. every hour was bringing fresh messages of warning. the french king was in pursuit of his flying foe (as he chose to consider him), and though he felt so certain of having him in a trap that he did not hasten as he might have done, there was no knowing when the van of the french army would be upon them; and the moment that the king heard of this ford, and was assured by the peasant that at certain states of the tide twelve men abreast could ford it, the water reaching only to the knee, he broke up his camp at an hour's notice, and with gobin agace at his side proceeded in person to the water's edge, the flower of his army crowding to the spot beside him, whilst the mass of his troops formed in rank behind, ready to press forward the moment the water should be fordable. night had fallen before the trumpets had sounded, warning the soldiers of the breaking up of the camp. all night long they had been working, and then marching to the fordable spot: but now the tide was rolling in again; and worse than that, the english saw upon the opposite shore a compact band of twelve hundred men -- genoese archers and picked cavalry -- posted there by the now vigilant philip, ready to oppose their passage if they should chance upon the ford. "knights and gentlemen," said the king, as he sat his fine charger and looked round upon the gallant muster around him, "shall we be daunted by the opposing foe? they are but a handful, and we know the coward temper of yon italian crossbowmen. who will be the first to lead the charge, and ride on to victory?" a hundred eager voices shouted a reply. the enthusiasm spread from rank to rank. foremost of those beside the water's edge stood oliver and bernard de brocas; and when at last the ebb came, and the word was given to advance, they were amongst the first who dashed into the shallow water, whilst gaston and his brother, though unable to press into the foremost rank, were not far behind. thick and fast fell round them the bolts of the crossbows; but far thicker and more deadly were the long shafts of the english archers, which discomfited the foreign banners and sent them flying hither and thither. in vain did their brave leader, godemar de fay, strive to rally them and dispute the passage of the main body of the army, even when the horsemen had passed across. edward's splendid cavalry rode hither and thither, charging again and again into the wavering band. quickly the genoese hirelings flung away their bows and ran for their lives; whilst the english army, with shouts of triumph, steadily advanced across the ford in the first quivering light of the dawning day, and looked back to see the banners of philip of france advancing upon them, whilst a few stragglers and some horses were actually seized by the soldiers of that monarch. "now god and st. george be praised!" cried edward, as he watched the approach of the foe, who had so nearly trapped him upon ground which would have given every advantage to the french and none to his own army. "methinks had our good brother but pressed on a day's march faster, it would have gone hard with us to save the honour of england. now i stand on mine own ground. now will i fight at my ease. there is bread for my soldiers. they shall rest ere they be called upon to fight. let philip do his worst! we will be ready with an english welcome when he comes. let his host outnumber ours by three to one, as men say it does, shall we be afraid to meet him in fair field, and show him what english chivalry may accomplish?" a tumultuous cheer was answer enough. the whole of the english army now stood upon the north bank of the somme, watching, with shouts of triumph and gestures of defiance, the futile efforts of the french to plunge over the ford. the tide was again flowing. the water was deep and rapid. in a moment they knew themselves to be too late, and a few well-aimed shafts from english longbows showed them how futile was now any effort in pursuit of the foe who had eluded them. sullenly and with many menacing gestures, that were replied to by shouts of derisive laughter from the english soldiers, the french army turned hack towards abbeville, where they could cross the river at their leisure by the bridge which had been strongly fortified against edward. careless confidence had lost philip the advantage he might have gained through clever generalship; he was now to see what he could do by force of arms when he and edward should stand face to face in their opposing hosts in the open field of battle. chapter xiii. winning his spurs. "tomorrow, good comrades in arms, we will show yon laggard king of what stuff english chivalry is made!" cried the young prince of wales, as he rose to his feet and held a bumper of wine high above his head. "we have our spurs to win, and tomorrow shall be our chance. here is to the victory of the english arms! may the mighty st. george fight upon our side, and bring us with glory and honour through the day!" every guest at the prince's table had leaped to his feet. swords were unsheathed and waved in wild enthusiasm, and a shout went up that was like one of triumph, as with one voice the guests around the prince's table drained their cups to the victory of the english cause, shouting with one voice, as if formulating a battle cry: "st. george and the prince! st. george and the prince!" in the english camp that night there were elation and revelry; not the wild carousing that too often in those days preceded a battle and left the soldiers unfit for duty, but a cheerful partaking of good and sufficient food before the night's rest and ease which the king had resolved upon for his whole army, in preparation for the battle that could scarce be delayed longer than the morrow. it was early on thursday morning, the twenty-fourth day of august, that the ford of the blanche tache had been crossed. thursday and friday had been spent by the english in skirmishing about in search of provisions, of which great abundance had been found, and in deciding upon the disposition of their troops in a favourable position for meeting the advance of the french. the king had selected some wooded and rising ground in the vicinity of the then obscure little village of crecy. then having made all his arrangements with skill and foresight, and having ordered that his men should be provided with ample cheer, and should rest quietly during the night, he himself gave a grand banquet to the leaders of his army; and the young prince of wales followed his father's example by inviting to his own quarters some score of bold and congenial spirits amongst the youthful gentlemen who followed his father's banner, to pass the time with them in joyous feasting, and to lay plans for the glory of the coming day. it is difficult in these modern days to realize how young were some amongst those who took part in the great battles of the past. the black prince, as he was afterwards called from the sombre hue of the armour he wore, was not yet fifteen when the battle of crecy was fought; and when the king had summoned his bold subjects to follow him to the war, he had called upon all knights and gentlemen between the ages of sixteen and twenty to join themselves to him for this campaign in france. lads who would now be reckoned as mere schoolboys were then doughty warriors winning their spurs in battle; and some of the most brilliant charges of those chivalrous days were led and carried through mainly by striplings scarce twenty years old. inured from infancy to hardy sports, and trained to arms to the exclusion almost of all other training, these bold sons of england certainly proved equal to the demands made upon them. true, they were often skilfully generalled by older men, but the young ones held their own in prowess in the field; and child as the prince of wales would now be considered, the right flank of the army was to be led by him upon the morrow; and though the earls of warwick and hereford and other trusty veterans were with him, his was the command, and to him were they to look. no wonder then that the comrades who had marched with him through these last hazardous days, and who had been with and about him for many months -- some of them for years -- should rally round him now with the keenest enthusiasm. the de brocas brothers were there -- oliver and bernard (john had not left england to follow the fortunes of the war) -- as well as gaston and his brother, whose return had been warmly welcomed by the prince. he had heard about the rescue of the woodman's son, and had been greatly interested and taken by raymond and his story. student though he might be by nature, raymond was as eager as any for the fight that was to come. he had caught the spirit of the warlike king's camp, and his blood was on fire to strike a blow at the foe who had so long harassed and thwarted them. and it was not all rioting and feasting in the camp that night. the soldiers supped well and settled to rest; but the king, when his guests had departed, went to his oratory and spent the night upon his knees, his prayer being less for himself than for his gallant boy; less for victory than that england's honour might be upheld, and that whatever was the issue of the day, this might be preserved stainless in the sight of god and man. then very early in the morning, whilst almost all the camp slept, the king was joined by his son, the prince being followed by raymond, who had also kept vigil upon his knees that night, and they, with some half score of devout spirits, heard mass and received the sacrament; whilst a little later on the monks and priests were busy hearing the confessions of the greater part of the soldiers, who after receiving the priestly absolution went into battle with a loftier courage than before. when this had been done and still the french army appeared not, the king gave orders that the men should be served with something to eat and drink, after which they might sit down at their ease to wait till their adversaries appeared. meantime the french were having anything but a comfortable time of it. they had remained inactive in abbeville for the whole of friday as well as the preceding thursday, after they had retreated thither from the ford where the english had given them the slip; and on saturday they were marched off none too well fed, to meet their english foes. philip was so confident that his immense superiority in numbers was certain to give him the victory, that he thought little of the comfort of his men, the consequence being that they grew jaded and weary with the long hot march taken in an ill-fed state; and his own marshals at last very earnestly entreated their lord to call a halt for rest and refreshment before the troops engaged in battle, or else the men would fight at a terrible disadvantage. philip consented to this, and a halt was called, which was obeyed by the ranks in front; but those behind, eager to fall upon the english, and confident of easy victory, declined to wait, and went steadily forward, shouting "kill! kill!" as they went, till all the alleys became filled up and choked. the press from behind urged forward the men in front, and the army moved on perforce once again, though now no longer in order, but in a confused and unmanageable mass. just as they came in sight of the english line of battle a heavy tempest of thunder and rain came upon them. the clouds seemed to discharge themselves upon the french host, and those birds of evil omen, the ravens, flew screaming overhead, throwing many men into paroxysms of terror who would never have blenched before the drawn blade of an armed foe. worse than this, the rain wet and slackened the strings of the genoese crossbowmen, who marched in the foremost rank; and hungry and weary as they were, this last misfortune seemed to put the finishing touch to their discomfiture. hireling soldiers, whose hearts are not in the cause, have been the curse of many a battlefield; and though these genoese advanced with a great shouting against the foe, as though hoping to affright them by their noise, they did little enough except shout, till their cries were changed to those of agony and terror as their ineffectual shower of bolts was answered by a perfect hail of shafts from the english archers' dreaded longbows, whilst the sun shining full into their dazzled eyes rendered ineffectual any farther attempt on their part to shoot straight at the foe. the hired archers turned and fled, and throwing into confusion the horsemen behind who were eager to charge and break the ranks of the english archers, the luckless men were mown down ruthlessly by their infuriated allies, whose wrath was burning against them now that they had proved not only useless but a serious hindrance. this was by no means a promising beginning for the french; but still, with their overwhelming superiority of numbers, they had plenty of confidence left; and the english, though greatly encouraged by the breaking and havoc in the ranks of the foe, were by no means recklessly confident that the day was theirs. presumably the english king, who with the reserves was posted upon the highest ground at some distance behind the two wings, had the best view of the battle. the left wing, commanded by the earls of northampton and arundel, occupied the stronger position, being protected on their left by the little river maye. the young prince was in the position of the greatest danger; and as he and his companions stood in their ranks, watching the onset of the battle with parted lips, and breath that came and went with excitement, they began to see that upon them and their men the brunt of the day would fall. it had been the king's command that the battle should be fought on foot by the english, probably owing to the wooded and uncertain nature of the ground, else his far-famed cavalry would hardly have been dismounted. the prince then stood still in his place, gazing with kindling eyes at the confusion in the ranks of the foe, till the glint of a blood-red banner in their ranks caught his eye, and he cried aloud to his men, "the oriflamme! the oriflamme, good comrades! see ye that, and know ye what it means when the king of france unfurls it? it is a signal that no lives will be spared, no quarter granted to the foe. if we go not on to victory, we march every man to his death!" a shout that was like a cheer was the response of the gallant little band who stood shoulder to shoulder with the prince, and the word being passed from mouth to mouth was received everywhere with like courageous enthusiasm, so that the cheer went ringing down from line to line, and hearts beat high and hand grasped sword ever harder and faster as the tide of battle rolled onward, until the word was given and the trumpets sounded the advance. "keep by my side and the prince's, raymond," breathed gaston, as slowly and steadily they pressed down the hill towards the spot where the french horse under the count of alencon were charging splendidly into the ranks of the archers and splitting the harrow into which they had been formed by edward's order into two divisions. the count of flanders likewise, knowing that the king's son was in this half of the battle, called on his men to follow him, and with a fine company of germans and savoyards made for the spot where the young prince was gallantly fighting, and cheering on his men to stand firm for the honour of england. shoulder to shoulder, fearless and dauntless, stood the little band of gallant knights and gentlemen who formed the bodyguard of the prince. again and again had the horsemen charged them; but the soldiers threw themselves beneath the horses of the foe and stabbed them through the body, so that hundreds of gallant french knights were overthrown and slain ere they well knew what had befallen them. but in the press and the heat of battle it was hard to say how the tide would turn. the commanders of the left wing of the english, the earls of northampton and arundel, were forcing their way inch by inch to reach the prince's side and divert from his immediate neighbourhood the whole stress of the opposing force now concentred there. they could see that the prince was still unharmed, fighting with the gallantry of his soldier race. but the odds for the moment were heavily against him; and they despatched a messenger to the king, who remained with the reserves, begging him to go to the assistance of the prince. ere the messenger returned, they had fought their own way into the melee, and had joined issue with the gallant youth, who, fearless and full of spirit, was encouraging his men alike by the boldness of his demeanour and by his shouts of encouragement and praise, though his breath was coming thick and fast, and the drops of exhaustion stood upon his brow. "fear not, sweet prince," cried arundel, raising his voice so that all who were near could hear: "we have sent word to your royal sire of the stress of the battle round you, and he will soon be here himself with the help that shall enable us to rout this rebel host;" and he turned his eyes somewhat anxiously towards the height where the king and his company still remained motionless. but a messenger was spurring back through the open ground which lay between the reserves and the right wing where such hot work was going on. he made straight for the spot where the prince was fighting, and both the earls turned eagerly towards him. "what said the king?" they asked quickly. "when will he be with us?" "he asked," replied the messenger, "whether the prince were killed or wounded; and when i told him nay, but in a hard passage of arms wherein he needed his sire's help, the king folded his arms and turned away, saying, 'let the boy win his spurs; for i will that the glory of this day be his, and not mine.'" as those words were spoken it seemed as if new life were infused into the young prince himself and all those who surrounded him. a ringing cheer rose from all their throats. they formed once again under their young leader, and charged the enemy with a fury that nothing was able to resist. the horsemen were forced hack the way they had come. the counts who had led them boldly and well were unhorsed and slain. dismay and terror fell upon the breaking ranks of the french, and they turned and fled; whilst the excited and triumphant young prince pursued them with shouts of exultation and triumph, till he found himself with his few most faithful followers in the midst of the flying but hostile ranks some little distance away from the english army. "sweet prince, beware! have a care how you adventure your life thus in the enemy's ranks," whispered raymond in his ear, he alone keeping a cool head in the midst of so much that was exciting. "see, here come some score of horsemen who know thee and would fain cut off thy retreat. let us here make a stand and receive the charge, else shall we all be overthrown together." this cautious counsel came only just in time. young edward looked round to see that his reckless bravery had placed him for the moment in imminent peril; but he had all the courage of his race, and his heart quailed not for an instant. giving the word to his comrades to form a compact square, he placed himself where the onset was like to be the fiercest; nor was there time for his companions to interfere to place him in a position of greater safety. with a great shout of rage and triumph the band of horsemen, who had recognized the person of the prince, now rushed upon him, resolved either to carry him off a prisoner or leave him lying dead upon the field, so that the english might have little joy in their victory. so fierce was the attack that the prince was borne to the ground; and the battle of crecy might have been a dark instead of a bright page in england's history, but for the gallantry of a little band of welshmen headed by richard de beaumont, the bearer of the banner portraying the great red dragon of merlin, which had floated all day over the bold welsh contingent. flinging this banner over the prostrate form of the prince, the brave soldier called on his men to charge the horses and cut them down. this they did in the way before mentioned -- throwing themselves underneath and stabbing them through the heart. so their riders, finding even this last effort futile, joined in the headlong flight of their compatriots; and the prince's faithful attendants crowded round him to raise him up again, greatly rejoicing to find that though breathless and confused by the shock of his fall, he was none the worse for his overthrow, and was quickly able to thank the brave welshmen who had so opportunely come to the rescue of him and his comrades. "now, we will back to the ranks and find my father," said the prince, when he had spoken his courteous thanks and looked round about to see if his comrades had suffered more than himself. one or two had received slight wounds, and raymond was leaning upon gaston's shoulder looking white and shaken; but he quickly recovered, and declared himself only bruised and breathless, and still holding fast to gaston's arm, followed the prince up the hill amongst the heaps of dying and dead. gaston was flushed with his exertions, and in his heart was room for nothing but pride and joy in the glorious victory just achieved. but whilst raymond looked around him as he slowly moved, suffering more bodily pain than he wished his brother to know, his heart felt bruised and crushed like his body, and a sudden sense of the vanity of human life and ambition came suddenly upon him, so much so that he scarce knew whether he was in the flesh or in the spirit as he moved slowly and quietly onwards. everywhere he saw before him the bodies of men who but a few short hours ago had been full of strong vitality, instinct with the same passions of hatred and loyalty as had animated their own ranks that day. how strange it seemed to look into those dead faces now, and wonder what those freed spirits thought of those same passions that had been raging within them but a few short hours before! did it seem to them, as it almost seemed to him, that in all the world around there was nothing of moment enough to arouse such tumult of passion and strife; that only the things eternal the things that pass not away were worthy to be greatly sought after and longed for? but his reverie was quickly interrupted by an exclamation from gaston. "see, brother, the king! the king he is coming to meet his son, and his nobles with him!" it was a sight not soon to be forgotten, that meeting between the warlike edward and his bold young son, after the splendid triumph just achieved by the gallant boy. the king embraced the prince with tears of joyful pride in his eyes, whilst the nobles standing round the king shouted aloud at the sight, and the soldiers made the welkin ring with their lusty english cheers. young edward had received knighthood at his father's hand upon landing on the shores of france, though truly it was this day's fighting which had won him his spurs. but as the king was resolved to mark the occasion by some rewards to those who had stood by his gallant boy in the thick of the press, he quickly picked out from the cluster of noble youths who stood behind their young leader some six of gentle blood and known bravery, and thereupon dubbed them knights upon the bloody battlefield. amongst those thus singled out for such honourable notice were the two sons of the king's master of the horse, oliver and bernard de brocas, the latter of whom was destined to be the prince's chosen and trusted comrade through many another warlike campaign. gladly and proudly did the royal boy stand by and see the reward of valour thus bestowed upon his chosen comrades of the day; but he seemed scarce satisfied by all that was done. his eye wandered quickly over the little knot grouped upon the knoll around the king, and then his glance travelling yet farther to the remoter outskirts, he suddenly detached himself from the centre group, and ran quickly down the hillside till he reached the spot where the twin brothers were standing watching the scene with vivid interest, raymond still leaning rather heavily upon his brother's arm. "nay now, why tarry ye here?" eagerly questioned the prince. "sure ye were amongst the most steadfast and fearless in the fight today. "good raymond, but for thy quick eye and timely word of warning, we had been fallen upon and scattered unawares, and perhaps had been cut to pieces, ere we knew that we were vanquished rather than victors. my father is even now bestowing upon my gallant comrades the reward their good swords have won for them. come, and let me present you twain to him; for sure in all the gallant band that fought by my side none were more worthy of knighthood than you. come, and that quickly!" a quick flush crossed gaston's cheek as the guerdon so dear to the heart of the soldier was thus thrust upon him; but a whisper in his ear held him back. "gaston, we have no name; we cannot receive knighthood without revealing all. has the time yet come to speak? of that thou shalt be the judge. i will follow thy wishes in this as in all else." for a moment gaston stood debating with himself. then the counsel of prudence prevailed over that of youthful ambition. how were he and his brother worthily to support the offered rank? even did they make known their true parentage, that would not put money in their purses; and to be poor dependents upon the bounty of relatives who had rejected their mother and driven forth their father to seek his fortune as he could, was as repugnant to gaston's pride now as it had been two years before. "sweet prince," he answered, after this brief pause for thought, "we have but done our duty today, and knighthood is far too great a reward for our poor merits. sure it has been honour and glory enough to fight by your side, and win this gallant day. we are but poor youths, without home or friends. how could we receive a reward which we could not worthily wear? a penniless knight without servant or esquire would cut but a sorry figure. nay then, sweet prince, let it be enough for us this day to have won these gracious words at your lips. it may be when fair fortune has smiled upon us, and we are no longer poor and nameless, that we will come to you to crave the boon you have graciously offered this day. we will remain for the nonce in our present state, but will ever look forward to the day when some other glorious victory may be won, and when we may come to our prince for that reward which today we may not receive at his hands." "so be it," answered the prince, his face, which had clouded over with regret a few moments earlier, lighting up again at these latter words. "be assured i will not forget you, nor the services ye have done me this day. i too in days to come shall have knighthood to bestow upon those who have earned the right to wear it. fear not that edward ever will forget. whenever the day comes that shall bring you thus to me for the reward so nobly earned today, that reward shall be yours. the king's son has promised it." chapter xiv. winter days. "nephew john, i have brought thee a companion to share thy winter's solitude." john de brocas, who was in his old and favourite retreat -- his rector-uncle's great library -- rose to his feet with a start at hearing the familiar voice of master bernard (whom he believed to be far away in france), and found himself face to face not with his cheery uncle alone, but with a tall, white, hollow-eyed youth, upon whose weary face a smile of delighted recognition was shining, whilst a thin hand was eagerly advanced in welcome. "raymond!" exclaimed john, with a look that spoke volumes of welcome. "good mine uncle, welcome at all times, thou art doubly welcome in such company as this. but i had not looked to see you in merry england again for long. men say that calais is closely besieged by the king, and methought he had need of thee and my father likewise whilst the campaign across the water lasted." "true, lad, the king has need of those he graciously dubs his trusty counsellors; and i have but come hither for a short while. the king is full of anxiety about this outbreak of the hardy scots, which has been so gallantly frustrated at neville's cross by our gracious queen, worthy to be the mate of the world's greatest warrior. i am come hither charged with much business in this matter, and so soon as all is accomplished i am desired to bring the queen to join her royal spouse before the walls of calais. it is not long that i may linger here. i have but a few short hours to set mine own affairs in order. but thinking i should be like to find thee here, nephew john, as the autumn weather in low-lying windsor generally drives thee forth from thence, i hastened hither to bring to thee a companion for thy winter's loneliness. methinks thou hast known and loved him before. treat him as a cousin and a friend. he will tell thee all his story at his leisure." the slight stress laid upon the word "cousin" by the prelate caused john to glance quickly and curiously at raymond, who answered by a slight smile. just at that moment there was no time for explanations. master bernard engrossed the whole of john's time and attention, being eager to learn from that young man every detail of the campaign in the north which had reached his ears. and john, who took a wide and intelligent interest in all the passing affairs of the day, and from his position was able to learn much of what went on in the world, sat beside his uncle at the hastily-spread board, and told all the leading facts of the brief and triumphant campaign in terse and soldier-like fashion. meantime raymond sat at ease in the corner of a deep settle beside the fire, leaning back against the soft fur rug which draped it, unable to eat through very weariness, but eagerly interested in all the news his uncle was hearing from john. master bernard had to push on to london that night. he and his companion had landed at southampton the previous day, and had taken guildford upon their way to the capital. there raymond was to remain under the kindly care of john; and as soon as the rector had set off with fresh horses and his own retinue of servants, his nephew turned eagerly back to the hall, where his cousin was still resting, and taking him warmly by the hands, gazed into his face with a glance of the most friendly and affectionate solicitude. "good my cousin, i have scarce had time to bid thee welcome yet, but i do so now with all my heart. it is as a cousin i am to receive and treat thee? what meant my good uncle by that? hast thou told him what i myself know? methought he spoke like one with a purpose." "yes, it is true that he knows," answered raymond; "but he counsels us to keep our secret awhile longer. he thinks, as does gaston, that we were wiser first to win our way to greater fame and fortune than mere boys can hope to do, and then to stand revealed as those sprung from a noble line. how came he to know? that i will tell thee when i am something rested. but i am so weary with our journey that i scarce know how to frame my thoughts in fitting words. yet i am glad to see thy face again, good john. i have been wearying long for a sight of thee." "thou art indeed sadly changed thyself, my cousin," said john. "in truth, men who go to these wars go with their lives in their hands. was it on the glorious field of crecy that thou receivedst some hurt? sure thou hast been sore wounded. but thou shalt tell me all thy tale anon, when thou art something rested and refreshed." the tale was told that same evening, when, after raymond had slept for a few hours and had been able then to partake of some food, he felt, in part at least, recovered from the fatigues of the long ride from the coast, and could recline at ease beside the glowing fire, and talk to john of all that had befallen him since they had parted two and a half years before. the account of the victory at crecy was eagerly listened to, and also that of the subsequent march upon calais, when the king of france, choosing to consider the campaign at an end, had disbanded both his armies, leaving the victorious king of england to build unmolested a new town about calais, in which his soldiers could live through the winter in ease and plenty, and complete the blockade both by sea and land undisturbed by hostile demonstrations. "it seems to me," said raymond, "that did our great edward wish to make good his claim on the crown of france, he has only to march straight upon paris and demand coronation there. when after the victory at crecy and the subsequent triumphs i have told you of, over band after band of troops all going to the support of philip, we could have marched unopposed through the length and breadth of the land, none daring to oppose us, the soldiers all thought that paris, not calais, would be the next halting place. "what thinkest thou, good john? thou knowest much of the true mind of the king. why, after so glorious a victory, does he not make himself master of all france?" john smiled his thoughtful smile. "verily because our king is statesman as well as soldier; and though he boldly advances a claim on the crown of france, to give the better colour to his feats of arms against its king, he knows that he could not rule so vast an empire as that of france and england together would be, and that his trusty subjects at home would soon grow jealous and discontented were they to find themselves relegated to the second place, whilst their mighty edward took up his abode in his larger and more turbulent kingdom of france. england rejoices in snatching portions of territory from the french monarch, in holding off his grasping hand from those portions of france that lawfully belong to our great king. she will support him joyfully through a series of victories that bring spoil and glory to her soldiers; but jealousy would soon arise did she think that her king was like to regard france as his home rather than england, that england was to be drained of her gold and her best men to keep under control the unwieldy possession she had won but could never peacefully hold. methinks the king and his best counsellors know this well, and content themselves with their glorious feats of arms which stir the blood and gratify the pride of all loyal subjects. "but now, i pray thee, tell me of thyself; for thou hast sadly altered since we parted last. what has befallen thee in these wars? and where is thy brother gaston, whom thou wentest forth to seek? and where the faithful roger, whose name thou hast spoken many times before?" "i have left them together in the camp before calais," answered raymond. "roger would fain have come with me, but i thought it not well that he should place himself so near his ancient foes and masters, even though i trow the spell has been snapped once and for ever. he loves gaston only second to me, and was persuaded at length to stay with him. i, too, would have stayed likewise, but they said the winter's cold would kill me, and i could no longer bear arms or serve in the ranks. so i was fain to leave them and come to england with our uncle. and the thought of spending the winter months with thee and with the books made amends for all i left behind beneath the walls of calais." "what ails thee then, raymond? is it some unhealed wound?" the youth shook his head. "nay, i have no wound. it was some hurt i got in that last melee on the field of crecy, when the prince nearly lost his life just as the day was won. i was hurled to the ground and trampled upon. methought for many long minutes that i should never rise again. but for days afterwards i knew not that the hurt was aught to think about or care for. it pained me to move or breathe, but i thought the pain would pass, and heeded it but little. we rode gaily enough to the walls of calais, and we set about building a second city without its walls (when the governor refused to surrender it into our hands), which the king has been pleased to call newtown the bold. i strove to work with the rest, thinking that the pain i suffered would abate by active toil, and liking not to speak of it when many who had received grievous wounds were to be seen lending willing service in the task set us. but there came a day when i could no more. i could scarce creep to the tent which gaston, roger, and i shared together; and then i can remember naught but the agony of a terrible pain that never left me night or day, and i only longed that i might die and so find rest." "ah, poor lad, i too have known that wish," said john. "doubtless it was some grave inflammation of the hidden tissues of the body from the which you so grievously suffered. and how came it that our uncle found you out? he is a notable leech, as many men have found ere now. was it as such that he then came to thee?" "yes, truly; and our generous and kindly prince sent him. he heard through gaston of the strait i was in, and forthwith begged our uncle to come and visit me. john, dost thou know that gaston and i each wear about our neck the halves of a charm our mother hung there in our infancy? it is a ring of gold, each complete in itself, yet which may be so joined together as to form one circlet with the two halves of the medallion joined in one;" and raymond pulled forth from within his doublet a small circlet of gold curiously chased, with a half medallion bearing certain characters inscribed upon it. john examined it curiously, and said it was of eastern workmanship. "i know not how that may be. i know not its history," answered raymond; "but gaston tells me that when our uncle saw the ring about my neck he seemed greatly moved, and asked quickly how it came there. gaston told him it was hung there by our mother, and showed his own half, and how they fitted together. at that our uncle seemed yet more moved; and after he had done what he could to ease my pain, he left me with roger, and bid gaston follow him to his own tent. there he told him the history of that ring, and how for many generations it had been in the de brocas family, its last owner having been the arnald de brocas who had quarrelled with his kindred, and had died ere the dispute had been righted. seeing that it was useless to hide the matter longer, gaston told our uncle all; and he listened kindly and with sympathy to the tale. at the first he seemed as if he would have told your father all the story likewise, and have had us owned before the world. but either gaston's reluctance to proclaim ourselves before we had won our way to fortune, or else his own uncertainty as to how your father would take the news, held him silent; and he said we were perchance right and wise to keep our secret. he added that to reveal ourselves, though it might gain us friends, would also raise up many bitter and powerful enemies. the sieur de navailles in the south, who by joining the french king's standard had already made himself a mark for edward's just displeasure when the time should come for revenging himself upon those treacherous subjects in gascony, would be certain to hold in especial abhorrence any de brocas who would be like to cast longing eyes upon the domain he had so long ruled over; whilst in england the fierce and revengeful sanghursts would have small scruple in seeking the destruction of any persons who would rise to dispute their hold on basildene. the king's time and thought were too much engrossed in great matters of the state to give him leisure to concern himself with private affairs. let the youths then remain as they were for the present, serving under his banner, high in favour with the youthful prince, and like to win fame and honour and wealth through the victorious war about to be waged in france. when that war had triumphantly ended, and the king was rewarding those whose faithful service had gained him the day, then might the time come for the brothers of basildene to make themselves known, and plead for their own again." "i trow he is in the right," said john, "and i am glad that he knows all himself. so would he take the more interest in you, good raymond; and thus it was, i take it, that he brought you to england himself when he came hither." "ay, truly his kindness was great; and after he knew all, i was moved to better quarters, and a prince could not have been better treated. but it was long before i could stand upon my own feet, and save for the hope of seeing you once again, i would gladly have been spared the journey to england. but the sea passage was favourable, and gave me strength, though the wind from the east blew so strong that we could not make the harbour of dover, and were forced to beat westward along the coast till we reached the friendly port of southampton. then we took horse and rode hither, and glad am i to be at the journey's end. but our uncle tells me that in a few short weeks i shall be sound and whole again, and before the winter ends i may hope to join my brother beneath the king's banner." "i hope it will be so," answered john; "and if rest is what thou needest for thy recovery, it will not be lacking to thee here. it is well that the sword is not the only weapon thou lovest, but that the quill and the lore of the wise of the earth have attractions for thee likewise." it quickly seemed to raymond as if the incidents of that stirring campaign had been but part and parcel of a fevered dream. he was disposed to believe that he had never quitted the retreat of his uncle's roof, and took up his old studies with john with the greatest zest. john found him marvellously advanced since the days they had studied together before. his two years with father paul in the brotherhood had wonderfully enlarged his mind and extended his field of vision. it was a delight to both cousins to exchange ideas, and learn from one another; and the time fled by only too fast, each day marked by a steady though imperceptible improvement in raymond's state of health, as his fine constitution triumphed over the serious nature of the injury received. although he often thought of basildene, he made no attempt to see the place. the winter cold had set in with severity; john had little disposition to face it, and quiet and rest were far more congenial to him than any form of activity or amusement. john believed that the sanghursts were still there, engaged in their mysterious experiments that savoured so strongly of magic. but after hearing of raymond's bold defiance of the implacable peter in the forest near to the brotherhood, john was by no means desirous that the fact of raymond's residence at the rectory of st. nicholas should become known at basildene. without sharing to the full the fears of the country people with regard to the occult powers of the father and son in that lonely house, john believed them to be as cruel and unscrupulous a pair as ever lived, even in those half-civilized times. he therefore charged his servants to say nothing of raymond's visit, and hoped that it would not reach the ears of the sanghursts. but there was another person towards whom raymond's fancy had sometime strayed during the years of his absence from guildford, and this person he was unaccountably shy of naming even to john, though he would have been quite unable to allege a reason for his reticence. but fortune favoured him in this as in other matters, for on entering the library one day after a short stroll around the rector's garden, he found himself face to face with a radiant young creature dressed in the picturesque riding gear of the day, who turned to him with a beaming smile as she cried: "ah! i have been hearing of thee and of thy prowess, my fair young sir. my good brother alexander, who has followed the king's banner, would gladly have been in thy place on the day of crecy. thou and thy brother were amongst that gallant little band who fought around the prince and bore him off the field unhurt. did not i say of thee that thou wouldst quickly win thy knighthood's spurs? and thou mightest already have been a belted knight if thy prudence and thy modesty had not been greater than thine ambition. is it not so?" raymond's face glowed like a child's beneath the praises of mistress joan vavasour, and the light of her bright eyes seemed fairly to dazzle him. john came to the rescue by telling raymond's own version of the story; and then he eagerly asked joan of herself and what had become of her these past years, for he had seldom seen her, and knew not where she was living nor what she was doing -- knew not even if she were wedded, nor if peter sanghurst's suit were at an end or had been crowned by success. at the sound of that name the girl's face darkened quickly, and a spark of fire gleamed in her eyes. "talk not of him," she said; "i would that he were dead! have i not said that i would never wed him, that i would die first? fair fortune hath befriended me in this thing. thou knowest perchance that my father and brother have been following the king's banner of late, first in flanders and then in france. my mother and i meantime have not been residing at woodcrych, but in london, whither all news of the war is first known, and where travellers from the spot are like to come. we are here but for a short space, to spend the merry yuletide season with my mother's brother, who lives, as thou knowest, within the town of guildford. after that we return once more to london, there to await the return of my father and brother. alexander, in truth, has once visited us, but has returned to the siege of calais, hoping to be amongst those who will reap plenteous spoil when the city is given over to plunder, as caen was given. of the sanghursts, i thank my kindly saints, i have heard naught all this while. my mother loved them not, albeit she was always entreating me in nowise to thwart or gainsay my father. i cannot but hope that these long months of absence will have gone far to break the spell that those evil men seemed to cast about him. be that as it may, i myself have grown from a child to a woman, and i say now, as i said then, that no power in the world shall induce me to give my hand in marriage to peter sanghurst. i will die first!" the girl threw back her handsome head, and her great eyes glowed and flashed. raymond looked at her with a beating heart, feeling once more that mysterious kindling of the soul which he could not understand, and yet of which he had been before in the presence of joan so keenly conscious. she appeared to him to be far older than himself, though in reality he was a few months the senior; for at eighteen a girl is always older in mind than a boy, and joan's superb physique helped to give to her the appearance of a more advanced age than was really hers. just then, too, raymond, though grown to his full height, which was stately enough, was white and thin and enfeebled. he felt like a mere stripling, and it never occurred to him that the many glances bent upon him by the flashing eyes of the queenly maiden were glances of admiration, interest, and romantic approval. to her the pale, silent youth, with the saint-like face and the steadfast, luminous eyes, was in truth a very /preux chevalier/ amongst men. she had seen something too much of those knights of flesh and blood and nothing else, who could fight gallantly and well, but who knew nothing of the deeper and truer chivalry of the days of mythical romance in which her own ardent fancies loved to stray. feats of arms she delighted in truly with the bold spirit of her soldier race; but she wanted something more than mere bravery in the field. it was not physical courage alone that made sir galahad her favourite of all king arthur's knights. ah no! there was another quest than that of personal glory which every true knight was bound to seek. yet how many of them felt this and understood the truer, deeper meaning of chivalry? she knew, she felt, that raymond did; and as she turned her palfrey's steps homeward when the twilight began to fall that cold december day, it was with her favourite sir galahad that her mind was engrossed, and to him she gave a pale, thin face, with firm, sweet lines and deep-set dreamy eyes -- eyes that looked as though they had never quailed before the face of foe, and which yet saw far into the unseen mysteries of life, and which would keep their sweet steadfastness even to the end. as for raymond, an unwonted restlessness came over him at this time. he was growing stronger and better. moderate exercise was recommended as beneficial, and almost every day during the bright hours of the forenoon his steps were turned towards the town of guildford, lying hard by his uncle's rectory house. scarce a day passed but what he was rewarded by a chance encounter with mistress joan -- either a glimpse of her at a window, or a smile from her bright eyes as she passed him upon her snow-white palfrey; or sometimes he would have the good hap to meet her upon foot, attended by her nurse, or some couple of stout retainers, if her walk had been in any wise extended; and then she would pause and bring him to her side by a look, and inquire after his own health and that of john, who seldom stirred out in the bitter cold of winter. then he would ask and obtain her permission to accompany her as far as the gate of her own home -- the place where she was staying; and though he never advanced beyond the gate -- for she knew not what her relatives might say to these encounters with a gallant without money and without lands -- they were red-letter days in the calendar of two young lives, and were strong factors moulding their future lives, little as either knew it at the time. had either the radiant maiden or the knightly youth had eyes for any but the other, they might have observed that these encounters, now of almost daily occurrence, were not unheeded by at least one evil-faced watcher. the servants who attended mistress joan were all devoted to her, and kept their own counsel, whatever they might think, and raymond's fame as one of the heroes of crecy had already gone far and wide, and won him great regard in and about the walls of his uncle's home; but there was another watcher of mistress joan's movements who took a vastly different view of the little idyll playing itself out between the youth and the maiden, and this watcher was none other than the evil and vengeful peter sanghurst the younger. once as raymond turned away, after watching joan's graceful, stately figure vanish up the avenue which led to her uncle's house, he suddenly encountered the intensely malevolent glance of a pair of coal-black eyes, and found himself most unexpectedly face to face with the same man who had once confronted him in the forest and had demanded the restitution of the boy roger. "you again!" hissed out between his teeth the dark-browed man. "you again daring to stand in my path to thwart me! have a care how you provoke me too far. my day is coming! think you that i threaten in vain? go on then in your blind folly and hardihood! but remember that i can read the future. i can see the day when you, a miserable crushed worm, will be wholly and solely in my power; when you will be mine mine to do with what i will, none hindering or gainsaying me. take heed then how you provoke me to vengeance; for the vengeance of the sanghurst can be what thou dreamest not of now. thwart me, defy me, and the hour will come when for every pang of rage and jealousy i have known thou shalt suffer things of which thou hast no conception now, and none shall be able to rescue thee from my hand. yon maiden is mine -- mine -- mine! her will i wed, and none other. strive as thou wilt, thou wilt never pluck her from my hand. thou wilt but draw down upon thine own head a fearful fate, and she too shall suffer bitterly if thou failest to heed my words." and with a look of hatred and fury that seemed indeed to have something positively devilish in it, sanghurst turned and strode away, leaving raymond to make what he could of the vindictive threats launched at him. had this man, in truth, some occult power of which none else had the secret; or was it but an idle boast, uttered with the view of terrifying one who was but a boy in years? raymond knew not, could not form a guess; but his was a nature not prone to coward fears. he resolved to go home and take counsel with his good cousin john. chapter xv. the double surrender. on a burning day in july, nearly a year from the time of their parting, the twin brothers met once more in the camp before calais, where they had parted the previous autumn. raymond had been long in throwing off the effect of the severe injuries which had nearly cost him his life after the battle of crecy; but thanks to the rest and care that had been his in his uncle's house, he had entirely recovered. though not quite so tall nor so broad-shouldered and muscular as gaston, who was in truth a very prince amongst men, he was in his own way quite as striking, being very tall, and as upright as a dart, slight and graceful, though no longer attenuated, and above all retaining that peculiar depth and purity of expression which had long seemed to mark him out somewhat from his fellow men, and which had only intensified during the year that had banished him from the stirring life of the camp. "why, brother," said gaston, as he held the slim white hands in his vise-like clasp, and gazed hungrily into the face he had last seen so wan and white, "i had scarce dared to hope to see thee again in the camp of the king after the evil hap that befell thee here before; but right glad am i to welcome thee hither before the final act of this great drama, for methinks the city cannot long hold out against the famine within and our bold soldiers without the walls. thou hast done well to come hither to take thy part in the final triumph, and reap thy share of the spoil, albeit thou lookest more like a youthful st. george upon a church window than a veritable knight of flesh and blood, despite the grip of thy fingers, which is well-nigh as strong as my own." "i will gladly take my share in any valorous feat of arms that may be undertaken for the honour of england and of england's king. but i would sooner fight with warriors who are not half starved to start with. say not men that scarce a dog or a cat remains alive in the city, and that unless the citizens prey one upon the other, all must shortly perish?" "yea, in very truth that is so; for, as perchance thou hast heard, a vessel was sighted leaving calais harbour but a few short days ago, and being hotly pursued, was seen to drop a packet overboard. that packet at ebb tide was found tied to an anchor, and being brought to the king and by him opened, was found to contain those very words addressed to the king of france by the governor of the city, praying him to come speedily to the rescue of his fortress if he wished to save it from the enemy's hand. our bold king having first read it, sent it on posthaste to his brother of france, crying shame upon him to leave his gallant subjects thus to perish with hunger. methinks that message will shame yon laggard monarch into action. how he has been content to idle away the year, with the foe besieging the key of his kingdom, i know not. but it is a warm welcome he shall get if he comes to the relief of calais. we are as ready to receive him here as we were a year ago on the field of crecy!" "ay, in fair fight with philip's army would i gladly adventure my life again!" cried raymond, with kindling eyes; "but there be fighting i have small relish for, my gaston, and i have heard stories of this very siege which have wrung my heart to listen to. was it true, brother, that hundreds of miserable creatures, more than half of them women and little children, were expelled from the city as 'useless mouths,' and left to starve to death between the city walls and the camp of the english, in which plenty has all the winter reigned? could that be true of our gallant king and his brave english soldiers?" a quick flush dyed gaston's cheek, but he strove to laugh. "raymond, look not at me with eyes so full of reproach. war is a cruel game, and in some of its details i like it little better than thou. but what can we soldiers do? nay, what can even the king do? listen, and condemn him not too hastily. long months ago, soon after thou hadst left us, the same thing was done. seventeen hundred persons -- men, women, and children -- were turned out of the town, and the king heard of it and ordered some of them to be brought before him. in answer to his question they told him that they were driven from the city because they could not fight, and were only consuming the bread, of which there was none to spare for useless mouths. they had no place to go to, no food to eat, no hope for the future. then what does our king do but give them leave to pass through his camp; and not only so, but he orders his soldiers to feed them well, and start them refreshed on their way; and before they went forth, to each of them was given, by the royal order, two sterlings of silver, so that they went forth joyously, blessing the liberality and kindness of the english and england's king. but thou must see he could not go on doing these kindly acts if men so took advantage of them. he is the soul of bravery and chivalry, but there must be reasonable limits to all such royal generosity." raymond could have found in his heart to wish that the limit had not been quite so quickly reached, and that the hapless women and children had not been left to perish miserably in the sight of the warmth and plenty of the english camp; but he would not say more to damp his brother's happiness in their reunion, nor in that almost greater joy with which roger received him back. "in faith," laughed gaston, "i believe that some of the wizard's art cleaves yet to yon boy, for he has been restless and dreamy and unlike himself these many days; and when i have asked him what ailed him, his answer was ever the same, that he knew you were drawing nigh; and verily he has proved right, little as i believed him when he spoke of it." roger had so grown and improved that raymond would scarce have recognized in him the pale shrinking boy they had borne out from the house of the sorcerer three years before. he had developed rapidly after the first year of his new life, when the shackles of his former captivity seemed finally broken; but this last year of regular soldier's employment had produced a more marked change in his outward man than those spent in the brotherhood or at raymond's side. his figure had widened. he carried himself well, and with an air of fearless alertness. he was well trained in martial exercises, and the hot suns of france had bronzed his cheeks, and given them a healthy glow of life and animation. he still retained much of his boyish beauty, but the dreaminess and far-away vacancy had almost entirely left his eyes. now and again the old listening look would creep into them, and he would seem for a few moments to be lost to outward impressions; but if recalled at such moments from his brief lapse, and questioned as to what he was thinking, it always proved to be of raymond, not of his old master. once or twice he had told gaston that his brother was in peril -- of what kind he knew not; and gaston had wondered if indeed this had been so. one of these occasions had been just before christmastide, and the date being thus fixed in his mind, he asked his brother if he had been at that time exposed to any peril. raymond could remember nothing save the vindictive threat of peter sanghurst, and gaston was scarce disposed to put much faith in words, either good or bad, uttered by such a man as that. and now things began to press towards a climax in this memorable siege. the french king, awakened from his long and inexplicable lethargy by the entreaties of his starving subjects so bravely holding the town for a pusillanimous master, and stung by the taunts of the english king, had mustered an army, and was now marching to the relief of the town. it was upon the last day of july, when public excitement was running high, and all men were talking and thinking of an approaching battle, that word was brought into the camp, and eagerly passed from mouth to mouth, to the effect that the king of france had despatched certain messengers to hold parley with the royal edward, and that they were even now being admitted to the camp by the bridge of nieulay -- the only approach to calais through the marshes on the northeast, which had been closely guarded by the english throughout the siege. "hasten, raymond, hasten!" cried gaston, dashing into the small lodging he and his brother now shared together. "there be envoys come from the french king. the prince will be with his father to hear their message, and if we but hasten to his side, we may be admitted amongst the number who may hear what is spoken on both sides." raymond lost no time in following his brother, both eager to hear and see all that went on; and they were fortunate enough to find places in the brilliant muster surrounding the king and his family, as these received with all courtesy the ambassador from the french monarch. that messenger was none other than the celebrated eustache de ribeaumont, one of the flower of the french chivalry, to whom, on another occasion, edward presented the celebrated chaplet of pearls, with one of the highest compliments that one brave man could give another. the boys, and indeed the whole circle of english nobility, looked with admiration at his stately form and handsome face, and though to our ears the message with which he came charged sounds infinitely strange, it raised no smile upon the faces of those who stood around the royal edward. "sire," began the messenger, "our liege lord, the king of france, sends us before you, and would have you know that he is here, and is posted on the sandgatte hill to fight you; but intrenched as you are in this camp, he can see no way of getting at you, and therefore he sends us to you to say this. he has a great desire to raise the siege of calais, and save his good city, but can see no way of doing so whilst you remain here. but if you would come forth from your intrenchments, and appoint some spot where he could meet you in open fight, he would rejoice to do it, and this is the thing we are charged to request of you." a shout, led by the prince of wales, and taken up by all who stood by, was proof enough how acceptable such a notion was to the ardent spirits of the camp; for it was not a shout of derision, but one of eager assent. indeed, for a moment it seemed as though the king of england were disposed to give a favourable reply to the messenger; but then he paused, and a different expression crossed his face. he sat looking thoughtfully upon the ground, whilst breathless silence reigned around him, and then he and the queen spoke in low tones together for some few minutes. when edward looked up again his face had changed, and was stern and set in expression. "tell your lord," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, "that had he wished thus to fight, he should have sent his challenge before. i have been near a twelvemonth encamped before this place, and my good people of england have been sore pressed to furnish me with munitions for the siege. the town is now on the point of falling into my hands, and then will my good subjects find plunder enough to recompense them for their labour and loss. wherefore tell your lord that where i am there will i stay; and that if he wishes to fight he must attack me in my camp, for i assuredly have no intention of moving out from it." a slight murmur of disappointment arose from the younger and more ardent members of the crowd; but the older men saw the force of the king's words, and knew that it would be madness to throw away all the hardly-earned advantages of those long months just for a piece of chivalrous bravado. so de ribeaumont had to ride back to the french camp with edward's answer; and ere two more days had passed, the astonishing news was brought to the english lines that philip had abandoned his camp, which was now in flames, and was retreating with his whole army by the way he had come. "was ever such a craven coward!" cried the prince, in indignant disappointment; for all within the english camp had been hoping for battle, and had been looking to their arms, glad of any incident to vary the long monotony of the siege. "were i those gallant soldiers in yon fortress, i would serve no longer such a false, treacherous lord. were my father but their king, he would not leave them in such dire strait, with an army at his back to fight for him, be the opposing force a hundredfold greater than it is!" and indeed it seemed as though the brave but desperate garrison within those walls saw that it was hopeless to try to serve such a master. how bitter must their feelings have been when philip turned and left them to their fate may well be imagined. hopeless and helpless, there was nothing but surrender before them now; and to make the best terms possible was the only thing that remained for them. the day following philip's dastardly desertion, the signal that the city was ready to treat was hung out, and brave sir walter manny, whose own history and exploits during the campaigns in brittany and gascony would alone fill a volume either of history or romance, was sent to confer on this matter with the governor of the city, the gallant de vienne, who had been grievously wounded during the long siege. raymond's sympathies had been deeply stirred by what he had heard and imagined of the sufferings of the citizens, and with the love of adventure and romance common to those days, he arrayed himself lightly in a dress that would not betray his nationality, and followed in the little train which went with sir walter. the conference took place without the walls, but near to one of the gates. raymond did not press near to hear what was said, like the bulk of the men on both sides who accompanied the leaders, but he passed through the eager crowd and made for the gate itself, the wicket of which stood open; and so calm and assured was his air, and so deeply were the minds of the porters stirred by anxiety to know the fate of the town, that the youth passed in unheeded and unchallenged, and once within the ramparts he could go where he chose and see what he would. but what a sight met his eyes! out into the streets were flocking the inhabitants, all trembling with anxiety to hear their fate. every turn brought him to fresh knots of famine-stricken wretches, who had almost lost the wish to live, or any interest in life, till just stirred to a faint and lingering hope by the news that the town was to be surrendered at last. gaunt and hollow-eyed men, women little better than skeletons, and children scarce able to trail their feeble bodies along, were crowding out of the houses and towards the great marketplace, where the assembly to hear the conditions was likeliest to meet. the soldiers, who had been better cared for than the more useless townsfolk, were spectre-like in all conscience; but the starving children, and the desperate mothers who could only weep and wring their hands in answer to the piteous demand for bread, were the beings who most stirred raymond's heart as he went his way amongst them. again that sense of horror and shrinking came upon him that he had experienced upon the field of crecy amongst the dying and the dead. if war did indeed entail such ghastly horrors and frightful sufferings, could it be that glorious thing that all men loved to call it? curious glances began to be levelled at him as he passed through the streets, sometimes pausing to soothe a wailing child, sometimes lending a hand to assist a tottering woman's steps, and speaking to all in that gentle voice of his, which with its slightly unfamiliar accent smote strangely upon the ears of the people. he wore no helmet on his head, and his curly hair floated about his grave saint-like face, catching golden lights from the glory of the august sunshine. "is it one of the blessed saints?" asked a little child of his mother, as raymond paused in passing by to lay a caressing hand upon his head, and speak a soft word of encouragement and hope to the weary mother. and the innocent question was taken up and passed from mouth to mouth, till it began to be whispered about that one of the holy saints had appeared in their midst in the hour of the city's deadly peril. as raymond passed on his way, many a knee was bent and many a pleading voice asked a blessing; whilst he, feeling still as one who moves in a dream, made the sign of the cross from time to time over some kneeling suppliant without understanding what was said of him or why all eyes were bent upon him. but the great town bell was ringing now to summon the citizens to assemble themselves together to hear the final terms agreed upon for the capitulation of the city, and all else was forgotten in the overwhelming anxiety of that moment; for none could form a guess what terms would be granted to a town in such sore straits as was theirs. the english king could be generous and merciful, but he could also be stern and implacable; and the long resistance made by the town was like to have stirred his wrath, as well as the fact that the sea port of calais had done more harm to his ships and committed more acts of piracy than any other port in france. raymond himself had great fears for the fate of the hapless town, and was as eager as any to hear what had been decreed. "sure if the king could see the famished gathering here his heart would relent," murmured the youth to himself, as he looked round at the sea of wan faces gathered in the open square. but the grave and sorrowful expression upon the governor's face told that he had no very happy tidings to impart. he stood upon a flight of steps where all men could well behold him, and in the dead silence that fell upon the multitude every word spoken could be distinctly beard. "my friends," he said, in grave, mournful accents, "i come to you with news of the only terms of capitulation that i have been able to win from england's king. i myself offered to capitulate if he would permit all within the walls to depart unharmed, whilst his demand was for unconditional surrender. the brave knight who came forth to confer with me went back more than once to strive to win for us better terms, and his intercession was thus far successful. the king will take the rest of the citizens to mercy if six of their chief burgesses be given up to his vengeance, and appear before him bareheaded and barefooted, with halters about their necks and the keys of the city in their hands. for such there will be no mercy. brave sir walter manny, who bore hack this message with so sorrowful a countenance, bid me not hope that the lives of these men would be spared. he said he saw the fierce sparkle in edward's eyes as he added, grinding his teeth, 'on them will i do my will.' wherefore, my good friends, we are this day in a great strait, and i would that i might myself give up my life to save the town; but the king's command is that it shall be six of the burgesses, and it is for you and them to say if these hard conditions shall be accepted." the deepest silence had hitherto prevailed in that vast place, but now it was broken by the weeping and wailing of a great multitude. raymond's throat swelled and his eyes glistened as he looked around upon that sea of starving faces, and tried to realize all that this message must mean to them. if his own life could have paid the ransom, he would have laid it down that moment for these miserable weeping beings; but he was helpless as the brave governor, and could only stand and see the end of the drama. slowly up the steps of the marketplace, where stood the governor of the city, advanced a fine-looking man in the prime of life, and a hushed murmur ran through the crowd, in which raymond caught the name of eustache de st. pierre. this man held up his hand in token that he wished to speak, and immediately a deathlike silence fell again upon the crowd. "my friends," spoke the clear deliberate voice, "it would be a great pity and mischief to let such a people as this assembled here die by famine or any other way, if a means can be found to save them; and it would be great alms and great grace in the sight of the lord for any one who could save them from such harm. i have myself so great hope of finding grace and pardon in the sight of our lord, if i die to save this people, that i will be the first, and will yield myself willingly, in nothing but my shirt, with my head bare and a halter round my neck, to the mercy of the king of england." as these simple but truly heroic words were spoken a burst of weeping and blessing arose from the crowd, women pressed forward and fell at the feet of the worthy citizen, and raymond said in his heart: "sure if the king of england could but see it, there is more chivalry in yon simple merchant than in half the knights who stand about his throne." it is seldom that a noble example is thrown away upon men. hardly had the burst of weeping died away before two more men, brothers, to judge by their likeness to each other, mounted the steps and stood beside st. pierre. he held out his hand and greeted them by name. "my good friends jacques and peter de wisant, we go hand in hand to death, as we have gone hand in hand in other ventures of another kind. and hither to join us comes our good friend jehan d'aire. truly if we march to death, we shall march in good company." the full number was soon made up. six of the wealthiest and best known of the citizens came forward and stood together to be disrobed and led before the king. but raymond could bear the sight no longer. with a bursting heart he hurried through the crowd, which made way wonderingly for him as he moved, and went straight towards the gate by which he had entered, none hindering his path. "it is the blessed saint who came amongst us in our hour of need," said the women one to another, "and now perchance he goes to intercede with the mighty conqueror! see how his face is set towards the gate; see the light that shines in his eyes! sure he can be no being of this earth, else how could he thus come and go in our beleaguered city!" the guard at the gate looked with doubtful eyes at the stranger, and one man stood in his path as if to hinder him; but raymond's eyes seemed to look through and beyond him, and in a clear, strange voice he said: "in the name of the blessed son of god, i bid thee let me pass. i go upon an errand of mercy in that most holy name." the man fell back, his comrades crossed themselves and bent the knee. raymond passed out of the gate, scarce knowing how he had done so, and sped back to the english camp as if his feet had wings. with that same strangely rapt expression upon his face, he went straight to the lodging of the prince of wales, and entering without ceremony found not only the prince there, but also his royal mother, the gracious queen philippa. bending his knee to that fair lady, but without one thought beyond the present urgent need of the moment, raymond told all his tale in the ear of the queen and the prince. with that power of graphic description which was the gift of his vivid imagination and deep sense of sympathy with the needs of others, he brought the whole scene before the eyes of his listeners the crowded marketplace, the famine-stricken people in their extremity and despair, the calm heroism of the men who willingly offered their lives to save those of their townspeople, and the wailing multitude watching the start of the devoted six going forth to a shameful and ignominious death on their behalf. and as raymond spoke the prince's cheek flushed, and the eyes of the beautiful queen kindled and filled with sudden tears; and rising to her feet she held out her hand to raymond and said: "good lad, i thank thee for thy tale, and the request thy lips have not spoken shall be granted. those men shall not die! i, the queen of england, will save them. i pledge thee here my royal word. i will to my noble husband and win their pardon myself." raymond sank upon his knee and kissed the fair hand extended to him, and both he and the prince hastened after the queen, who hoped to find her royal husband alone and in a softened mood, as he was wont to be after the stress of the day was over. but time had fled fast whilst raymond had been telling his tale, and already notice had been brought to edward of the approach of the six citizens, and he had gone forth into a pavilion erected for his convenience in an open part of the camp; and there he was seated with grim aspect and frowning brow as his queen approached to speak with him. "i will hear thee anon, good wife," he said, seeing that she craved his ear. "i have sterner work on hand today than the dallying of women. stay or go as thou wilt, but speak not to me till this day's work is carried through." raymond's heart sank as he heard these words, and saw the relentless look upon the king's face. none realized better than he the cruel side to the boasted chivalry of the age; and these middle-aged burgesses, with no knightliness of dress or bearing, would little move the loftier side of the king's nature. there would be no glamour of romance surrounding them. he would think only of the thousands of pounds the resistance of the city had cost him, and he would order to a speedy death those whom he would regard as in part the cause of all this trouble and loss. the queen made no further effort to win his notice, but with graceful dignity placed herself beside him; whilst the prince, quivering with suppressed excitement, stepped behind his father's chair. raymond stood in the surrounding circle, and felt gaston's arm slipped within his. but he had eyes only for the mournful procession approaching from the direction of the city, and every nerve was strained to catch the lightest tone of the queen's voice if she should speak. the governor of calais, though disabled by wounds from walking, was pacing on horseback beside the devoted six thus giving themselves up to death; and as he told how they had come forward to save their fellow citizens from death, tears gathered in many eyes, and brave sir walter manny, who had pleaded their cause before, again threw himself upon his knees before his sovereign, and besought his compassion for the brave burgesses. but edward would not listen -- would not allow the better feelings within him to have play. with a few angry and scathing words, bidding his servants remember what calais had cost them to take, and what the obstinacy of its citizens had made england pay, he relentlessly ordered the executioner to do his work, and that right quickly; and as that grim functionary slowly advanced to do the royal bidding, a shiver ran through the standing crowd, the devoted six alone holding themselves fearlessly erect. but just at the moment when it seemed as if all hope of mercy was at an end, the gentle queen arose and threw herself at her husband's feet, and her silvery voice rose clear above the faint murmur rising in the throng. "ah, gentle sire, since i have crossed the sea with great peril, i have never asked you anything; now i humbly pray, for the sake of the son of the holy mary and your love of me, that you will have mercy on these six brave men!" raymond's breath came so thick and fast as he waited for the answer, that he scarce heard it when it came, though the ringing cheer which broke from the lips of those who stood by told him well its purport. the king's face, gloomy at first, softened as he gazed upon the graceful form of his wife, and with a smile he said at last: "dame, i wish you had been somewhere else this day; but i cannot refuse you. i put them into your keeping; do with them what you will." raymond felt himself summoned by a glance from the prince. the queen-mother had bidden him take the men, and feast them royally, and send them away with rich gifts. as the youth who had done so much for them forced his way to the side of the prince, his face full of a strange enthusiasm and depth of feeling, the citizens looked one upon another and whispered: "sure it was true what the women said to us. that was the youth with the face of painted saint that we saw within the walls of the city. sure the blessed saints have been watching over us this day, and have sent an angel messenger down to deliver us in our hour of sorest need!" chapter xvi. in the old home. the memorable siege of calais at an end, edward, his queen and son and nobility generally, set sail for england, where many matters were requiring the presence of the sovereign after an absence so prolonged. when the others of the prince's comrades were thronging on hoard to accompany him homewards, gaston and raymond sought him to petition for leave to remain yet longer in france, that they might revisit the home of their youth and the kind-hearted people who had protected them during their helpless childhood. leave was promptly and willingly given, though the prince was graciously pleased to express a hope that he should see his faithful comrades in england again ere long. it had begun to be whispered abroad that these two lads with their knightly bearing, their refinement of aspect, and their fearlessness in the field, were no common youths sprung from some lowly stock. that there was some mystery surrounding their birth was now pretty well admitted, and this very mystery encircled them with something of a charm -- a charm decidedly intensified by the aspect of raymond, who never looked so much the creature of flesh and blood as did his brother and the other young warriors of edward's camp. the fact, which was well known now, that he had walked unharmed and unchallenged through the streets of calais upon the day of its capitulation, but before the terms had been agreed upon, was in itself, in the eyes of many, a proof of some strange power not of this world which encircled the youth. and indeed gaston himself was secretly of the opinion that his brother was something of a saint or spirit, and regarded him with a reverential affection unusual between brothers of the same age. through the four years since he had left his childhood's home, gaston had felt small wish to revisit it. the excitement and exaltation of the new life had been enough for him, and the calm quiet of the peaceful past had lost, its charm. now, however, that the war was for the present over, and with it the daily round of adventure and change; now that he had gold in his purse, a fine charger to ride, and two or three stout men-at-arms in his train, a sudden wish to see again the familiar haunts of his childhood had come over him, and he had willingly agreed to raymond's suggestion that they should go together to sauveterre, to ask a blessing from father anselm, and tell him how they had fared since they had parted from him long ago. true, raymond had seen him a year before, but he had not then been in battle; he had not had much to tell save of the cloister life he had been sharing; and of gaston's fortunes he had himself known nothing. both brothers were for the present amply provided for. they had received rich rewards from the prince after the battle of crecy, and the spoils of calais had been very great. they could travel in ease through the sunny plains of france, sufficiently attended to be safe from molestation, even if the terror of the english arms were not protection enough for those who wore the badge of the great edward. from bordeaux they could find easy means of transport to england later; and nothing pleased them better than the thought of this long ride through the plains of france, on the way to the old home. they did not hurry themselves on this pleasant journey, taken just as the trying heats of summer had passed, but before the winter's cold had made its first approach. the woods were scarce showing their first russet tints as the brothers found themselves in familiar country once again, and looked about them with eager glances of recognition as they traversed the once well-known tracks. "let us first to father anselm," said raymond, as they neared the village where the good priest held his cure. "he will gladly have us pass a night beneath his roof ere we go onward to the mill; and our good fellows will find hospitable shelter with the village folks. they have been stanch and loyal in these parts to the cause of the roy outremer, and any soldier coming from his camp will be doubly welcome, as the bearer of news of good luck to the english arms. the coward king of france is little loved by the bold gascons, save where a rebel lord thinks to forward his private ends by transferring his allegiance from england to france." "to the good father's, then, with all my heart," answered gaston heartily; and the little troop moved onwards until, to the astonishment of the simple villagers clustered round the little church and their cure's house, the small but brilliant cavalcade of armed travellers drew up before that lowly door. the father was within, and, as the sound of trampling feet made itself heard, appeared at his door in some astonishment; but when the two youths sprang from their horses and bent the knee before him, begging his blessing, and he recognized in them the two boys who had filled so great a portion of his life not so many years ago, a mist came before his eyes, and his voice faltered as he gave the benediction, whilst raising them afterwards and tenderly embracing them, he led them within the well-known doorway, at the same time calling his servant and bidding him see to the lodging of the men without. the low-ceiled parlour of the priest, with its scanty plenishing and rush-strewn floor, was well known to the boys; yet as raymond stepped across the threshold he uttered a cry of surprise, not at any change in the aspect of the room itself, but at sight of a figure seated in a high-backed chair, with the full sunlight shining upon the calm, thin face. with an exclamation of joyful recognition the lad sped forward and threw himself upon his knees before the erect figure, with the name of father paul upon his lips. the keen, austere face did not soften as father anselm's had done. the cistercian monk, true to the severity of his order, permitted nothing of pleasure to appear in his face as he looked at the youth whose character he had done so much to form. he did not even raise his hand at once in the customary salutation or blessing, but fixed his eyes upon raymond's face, now lifted to his in questioning surprise; and not until he had studied that face with great intentness for many long minutes did he lay his hand upon the lad's head and say, in a low, deep voice, "peace be with thee, my son." this second and most unexpected meeting was almost a greater pleasure to raymond than the one with father anselm. whilst gaston engrossed his old friend's time and thought, sitting next him at the board, and pacing at his side afterwards in the little garden in which he loved to spend his leisure moments, raymond remained seated at the feet of father paul, listening with breathless interest to his history of the voyage he had taken to the far east (as it then seemed), and to the strange and terrible sights he had witnessed in some of those far-off lands. raymond had vaguely heard before of the plague, but had regarded it as a scourge confined exclusively to the fervid heat of far-off countries -- a thing that would never come to the more temperate latitudes of the north; but when he spoke these words to the monk, father paul shook his head, and a sudden sombre light leaped into his eyes. "my son, the plague is the scourge of god. it is not confined to one land or another. it visits all alike, if it be god's will to send it in punishment for the many and grievous sins of its inhabitants. true, in the lands of the east, where the paynim holds his court, and everywhere is blasphemy and abomination, the scourge returns time after time, and never altogether ceases from amongst the blinded people. but of late it has spread farther and farther westward -- nearer and nearer to our own shores. god is looking down upon the lands whose people call themselves after his name, and what does he see there but corruption in high places, greed, lust, the covetousness that is idolatry, the slothful ease that is the curse of the church?" the monk's eyes flashed beneath their heavily-fringed lids; the fire that glowed in them was of a strange and sombre kind. raymond turned his pure young face, full of passionate admiration and reverence, towards the fine but terribly stern countenance of the ecclesiastic. a painter would have given much to have caught the expression upon those two faces at that moment. the group was a very striking one, outlined against the luminous saffron of the western sky behind. "father, tell me more!" pleaded raymond. "i am so young, so ignorant; and many of the things the world praises and calls deeds of good turn my heart sick and my spirit faint within me. i would fain know how i may safely tread the difficult path of life. i would fain choose the good and leave the evil. but there be times when i know not how to act, when it seems as though naught in this world were wholly pure. is it only those who yield themselves up to the life of the cloister who may choose aright and see with open eyes? must i give up my sword and turn monk ere i may call myself a son of heaven?" the boy's eyes were full of an eager, questioning light. his hands were clasped together, and his face was turned full upon his companion. the father's eyes rested on the pure, ethereal face with a softer look than they had worn before, and then a deep sadness came into them. "my son," he answered, very gravely, "i am about to say a thing to thee which i would not say to many young and untried as thou art. there have been times in my life when i should have triumphed openly had men spoken to me the words that i shall speak to thee -- times when i had gladly said that all which men call holiness was but a mask for corruption and deceit, and should have rejoiced that the very monks themselves were forced to own to their own wanton disregard of their vows. my son, i see the shrinking and astonishment in thine eyes; but yet i would for a moment that thou couldst see with mine. i spoke awhile ago of the judgment of an angry god. wherefore, thinkest thou, is it that his anger is so hotly burning against those lands that call themselves by his name -- that call day by day upon his name, and make their boast that they hold the faith whole and undefiled?" raymond shook his head. he had no words with which to answer. he was beginning slowly yet surely to feel his eyes opened to the evil of the world -- even that world of piety and chivalry of which such bright dreams had been dreamed. his fair ideals were being gradually dashed and effaced. something of sickness of heart had penetrated his being, and he had said in the unconscious fashion of pure-hearted youth, "vanity of vanities! is all around but vanity?" and he had found no answer to his own pathetic question. as an almost necessary consequence of all this had his thoughts turned towards the holy, dedicated life of the sons of the church; and though it was with a strong sense of personal shrinking, with a sense that the sacrifice would be well-nigh bitterer than the bitterness of death, he had asked himself if it might not be that god had called him, and that if he would be faithful to the love he had ever professed to hold, he ought to rise up without farther delay and offer himself to the dedicated service of the church. and now father paul, who had always seemed to read the very secrets of his heart, appeared about to answer this unspoken question. greatly had raymond longed of late to speak with him again. father anselm was a good and a saintly man, but he knew nothing of the life of the world. to him the church was the ark of refuge from all human ills, and gladly would he have welcomed within its fold any weary or world-worn soul. but with father paul it was different. he had lived in the world; he had sinned (if men spoke truth), and had suffered bitterly. one look in his face was enough to tell that; and having lived and sinned, repented and suffered, he was far more able to offer counsel to one tempted and sometimes suffering, though perhaps in a very different fashion. the father's eyes were bent upon the faint glow in the sky, seen through the open casement. his words were spoken quietly, yet with an earnestness that was almost terrible. "my son," he said, "i have come back but recently from lands where it seems that holiness should abound -- that righteousness should flow forth as from a perpetual fountain, where the lord should be seen walking almost visibly in the midst of his people. and what have i seen instead? luxury, corruption, unspeakable abominations -- abominations such as i may not dare to speak in thy pure ears, such as i would not have believed had not mine own eyes seen, mine own ears heard. where is the poverty, the lowliness, the meekness, the chastity of the sons of the church? ah, god in heaven only knows; and let it be our solemn rejoicing that he does know where his own faithful children are to be found, for assuredly man would miserably fail if he were sent forth to find and to gather them. leaving those lands which thou, my son, hast never seen, and coming hither to france and england, what do we find? those who have vowed themselves to the service of the church walking gaily in the dress of soldiers, engaged in carnal matters, letting their hair hang down their shoulders curled and powdered, and thinking scorn of the tonsure, which is the mark of the kingdom of heaven. and does not god see? will he not recompense to his people their sins? yea, verily he will; and in an hour when they little think it, the wrath of god shall fall upon them. it is even now upon its way. i have seen it; i have marked its progress. ere another year has passed, if men repent not of their sins, it will be stalking amongst us. and thou, my son, when that day comes, fear not. think not of the cloister; keep thy good sword at thy side, but keep it bright in the cause of right, of mercy, of truth, and keep thy shield stainless and unspotted. then when the hour of judgment falls upon this land, and men in wild terror begin to call upon the god they have forgotten and abused, then go thou forth in the power of that purity of heart which he in his mercy has vouchsafed to thee. fear not the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor the sickness that destroyeth at noonday. a thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. with thine eyes shalt thou behold the destruction of thine enemies; but the angels of god shall encamp around thy path, and guard thee in all thy ways. only be true, be fearless, be steadfast. thou shalt be a knight of the lord; thou shalt fight his battle; and from him, and from no earthly sovereign, shalt thou reap thy reward at last!" as the father continued speaking, it seemed as if something of prophetic fire had lighted his eyes. raymond held his breath in awe as he heard this strange warning, benediction, and promise. but not for a moment did he doubt that what the father spoke would come to pass. he sank upon his knees, and his heart went up in prayer that when the hour of trial came he might be found faithful at his post; and at once and for ever was laid to rest that restless questioning as to the life of the church. he knew from that moment forward that it was in the world and not out of it that his work for his lord was to be done. no more of a personal nature passed between him and father paul that night, and upon the morrow the brothers proceeded to the mill, and the father upon his journey to england. "we shall meet again ere long," was father paul's parting word to raymond, and he knew that it would be so. it was a pretty sight to witness the delighted pride with which honest jean and margot welcomed back their boys again after the long separation. raymond hardly seemed a stranger after his visit of the previous year, but of gaston they knew not how to make enough. his tall handsome figure and martial air struck them dumb with admiration. they never tired of listening to his tales of flood and field; and the adventures he had met with, though nothing very marvellous in themselves, seemed to the simple souls, who had lived so quiet a life, to raise him at once to the position of some wonderful and almost mythical being. on their own side, they had a long story to tell of the disturbed state of the country, and the constant fighting which had taken place until the english king's victory at crecy had caused philip to disband his army, and had restored a certain amount of quiet to the country. the quiet was by no means assured or very satisfactory. though the army had been disbanded, there was a great deal of brigandage in the remoter districts. so near as the mill was to sauveterre, it had escaped without molestation, and the people in the immediate vicinity had not suffered to any extent; but there was a restless and uneasy feeling pervading the country, and it had been a source of considerable disappointment to the well-disposed that the roy outremer had not paid a visit to gascony in person, to restore a greater amount of order, before returning to his own kingdom. the sieur de navailles had made himself more unpopular than ever by his adhesion to the french cause when all the world had believed that philip, with his two huge armies, would sweep the english out of the country. of late, in the light of recent events, he had tried to annul his disloyalty, and put another face upon his proceedings; but only his obscurity, and the remoteness of his possessions in the far south, would protect him from edward's wrath when the affairs of the rebel gascons came to be inquired into in detail. gaston listened eagerly, and treasured it all carefully up, feeling sure he could place his rival and the usurper of the de brocas lands in a very unenviable position with the royal edward at any time when he wished to make good his own claim. the visit of the de brocas brothers (as they were known in these parts) was not made by stealth. all the world might know it now for all they cared, protected as they were by their stout men-at-arms, and surrounded by the glamour of the english king's royal favour. gaston and raymond ranged the woods and visited their old haunts with the zest of youth and affectionate memories, and gaston often hunted there alone whilst his brother paid a visit to father anselm, to read with him or talk of father paul. it was after a day spent thus apart that gaston came in looking as though some unwonted thing had befallen him, and when he and his brother were alone in their room together, he began to speak with eager rapidity. "raymond, methinks i have this day lost my heart to a woodland nymph or fairy. such a strange encounter had i in the forest today! and with it a warning almost as strange as the being who offered it." "a warning, gaston? what sort of warning?" "why, against our old, old enemy the navailles, who, it seems, knows of our visit here, and, if he dared, would gladly make an end of us both. so at least the fairy creature told me, imploring me, with sweetest solicitude, to be quickly gone, and to adventure myself in the woods alone no more. i told her that our visit was well-nigh at an end, and that we purposed to reach england ere the autumn gales blew shrill. at that she seemed mightily pleased, and yet she sighed when we said adieu. raymond, she was the loveliest maiden my eyes have ever beheld: her hair like silk, and of the deepest golden hue; her eyes of the colour of violets nestling beneath brown winter leaves. her voice was like the rippling of a summer's brook, and her form scarce of this earth, so light, so airy, so full of sylvan grace. she was like the angelic being of a dream. i have never seen a daughter of earth so fair. tell me, thinkest thou it was some dream? yet it is not my wont to slumber at my sport, and the little hand i held in mine throbbed with the warmth of life." "asked you not her name and station?" "yea verily, but she would tell me naught; only the soft colour crept into her cheeks, and she turned her eyes for a moment away. raymond, i have heard men speak of love, but till that moment i knew not what they meant. now methinks i have a better understanding, for if yon sweet maiden had looked long into my eyes, my very soul would sure have gone out to her, and i should have straightway forgot all else in the world but herself. wherefore i wondered if she could be in truth a real and living being, or whether some woodland siren sent to lure man to death and destruction." raymond smiled at the gravity of gaston's words. mystic as he was in many matters, he had outgrown that belief in woodland nymphs and sirens which had woven itself into their life whilst the spell of the forests remained upon them in their boyhood. that evil and good spirits did hover about the path of humanity, raymond sincerely believed; but he was equally certain that they took no tangible form, and that the vision gaston had seen in the wood was no phantom form of spirit. "sure she came to try to warn and save," he answered; "that should be answer enough. gaston, methinks we will take that warning. we are still but striplings and our men are few, though brave and true. the land is disturbed as in our memory it never was, and men are wild and lawless, none being strong enough to put down disorder. wherefore we had best be gone. it is no true bravery to court danger, and our errand here is done. when the king comes, as one day he will, to punish rebels and reward faithful loyalty, then we will come with him, and thou shalt seek out thy woodland nymph once more, and thank her for her good counsel. now wilt thou thank her best -- seeing she came express to warn thee of coming peril -- by taking her at her word. honest jean and margot will not seek to stay us longer. they have a secret fear of the sieur de navailles. we will not tell them all, but we will tell them something, and that will be enough. tomorrow will we take to horse again; and we will tell in the ears of the king how restless and oppressed by lawlessness and strife are his fair lands of gascony." raymond's advice was followed. gaston had had enough of quiet and repose, and only the desire to see again the face of the woodland sprite could have detained him. not knowing where to seek her, he was willing enough to set his face for bordeaux; and soon the brothers had landed once again upon the shores of england. chapter xvii. the black death the glorious termination of edward's campaign, and the rich spoil brought home from the wars by the soldiers, had served to put the nation into a marvellous good temper. their enthusiasm for their king amounted almost to adoration, and nothing was thought of but tourneys, jousts, and all sorts of feasting and revelry. indeed, things came to such a pass that at last an order was given that tournaments might be held only at the royal pleasure, else the people were disposed to think of nothing else, and to neglect the ordinary avocations of life. as the king appointed nineteen in six months, to be held in various places throughout the kingdom, it cannot be said that he defrauded his subjects of their sports; and he himself set the example of the extravagant and fanciful dressing which called forth so much adverse criticism from the more sober minded, appearing at the jousts in all manner of wonderful apparel, one of his dresses being described as "a harness of white buckram inlaid with silver -- namely, a tunic, and a shield with the motto: 'hay, hay, the wythe swan! by goddes soul i am thy man;' whilst he gave away on that occasion five hoods of long white cloth worked with blue men dancing, and two white velvet harnesses worked with blue garters and diapered throughout with wild men." women disgraced themselves by going about in men's attire and behaving themselves in many unseemly fashions. the ecclesiastics, too, often fell into the prevailing vices of extravagance and pleasure seeking that at this juncture characterized the whole nation, and, as father paul had said to raymond, disgraced their calling by so doing far more than others who had never professed a higher code. amongst the graver and more austere men of the day heads were gravely shaken over the wild burst of enthusiasm and extravagance, and there were not wanting those who declared that the nation was calling down upon itself some terrible judgment of god -- such a judgment as so often follows upon a season of unwonted and sudden prosperity. as for the twin brothers, they spent these months in diverse fashion, each carrying out his own tastes and preferences. gaston attached himself to sir james audley once again, and travelled with him into scotland, where the knight frequently went upon the king's business. when in or about the court, he threw himself into the jousting and sports with the greatest enthusiasm and delight, quickly excelling so well in each and every contest that he made a name and reputation for himself even amongst the chosen flower of the english nobility. real fighting was, however, more to his taste than mock contests, and he was always glad to accompany his master upon his journeys, which were not unfrequently attended by considerable peril, as the unsettled state of the border counties, and the fierce and sometimes treacherous nature of the inhabitants, made travelling there upon the king's business a matter of some difficulty and danger. there was no fear of gaston's growing effeminate or turning into a mere pleasure hunter; and he soon made himself of great value to his master, not only by his undaunted bravery, but by his success in diplomatic negotiation -- a success by no means expected by himself, and a surprise to all about him. perhaps the frank, free bearing of the youth, his perfect fearlessness, and his remarkably quick and keen intelligence, helped him when he had any delicate mission entrusted to him. then, too, the hardy and independent nature of the scots was not altogether unlike that of the free-born gascon peasant of the pyrenean portion of the south of france; so that he understood and sympathized with them better, perhaps, than an average englishman could have done. a useful life is always a happy one, and the successful exercise of talents of whose very existence we were unaware is in itself a source of great satisfaction. gaston, as he grew in years, now began to develop in mind more rapidly than he had hitherto done, and though separated for the most part from his brother, was seldom many months without meeting him for at least a few days. raymond was spending the time with his old friend and comrade and cousin, john de brocas. it had become evident to all who knew him that john was not long for this world. he might linger on still some few years, but the insidious disease we now call consumption had firm hold upon him, and he was plainly marked as one who would not live to make any name in the world. he showed no disposition to seclude himself from his kind by entering upon the monastic life, and his father had recently bestowed upon him a small property which he had purchased near guildford, the air and dryness of which place had always been beneficial to him. this modest but pleasant residence, with the revenues attached, kept john in ease and comfort. he had spent the greater part of his income the year previous in the purchase of books, and his uncle's library was always at his disposal. he had many friends in and about the place; and his life, though a little lonely, was a very happy one -- just the life of quietness and study that he loved better than any other. when his cousin raymond came home from the wars without any very definite ideas as to his own immediate career in the future, it had occurred to john that if he could secure the companionship of this cousin for the coming winter it would be a great boon to himself; and the suggestion had been hailed with pleasure by the youth. raymond would gladly have remained with the king had there been any fighting in the cause of his country to be done; but the round of feasting and revelry which now appeared to be the order of the day had no charms for him. after breaking a lance or two at windsor, and seeing what court life was in times of triumphant peace, he wearied of the scene, and longed for a life of greater purpose. hearing where his cousin john was located, he had quickly ridden across to pay him a visit; and that visit had lasted from the previous october till now, when the full beauty of a glorious english summer had clothed the world in green, and the green was just tarnishing slightly in the heat of a glaring august. as raymond had seen something of the fashion in which the world was wagging, his thoughts had ofttimes recurred to father paul and that solemn warning he had uttered. he had spoken of it to john, and both had mused upon it, wondering if indeed something of prophetic fire dwelt within that strong, spare frame -- whether indeed, through his austerities and fasts, the monk had so reduced the body that the things of the spiritual world were revealed to him, and the future lay spread before his eyes. at first both the cousins had thought week by week to hear some news of a terrible visitation; but day had followed day, and months had rolled by, and still the country was holding high revel without a thought or a fear for the future. so gradually the two studious youths had ceased to speak of the visitation they had once confidently looked for, and they gave themselves up with the zest of pure enjoyment to their studies and the pursuit of learning. raymond's spiritual nature was deepened and strengthened by his perusal of such sacred and devotional lore as he could lay hands upon; and though the scriptures, as they were presented to him, were not without many errors and imperfections and omissions, he yet obtained a clearer insight into many of the prophetical writings, and a fuller grasp of god's purposes towards man, than he had ever dreamed of before. so that though strongly tinged with the mysticism and even with the superstition of the times, his spiritual growth was great, and the youth felt within him a spring of power unknown before which was in itself a source of exaltation and power. and there was another element of happiness in raymond's life at this time which must not be omitted from mention. seldom as he saw her -- jealously as she was guarded by her father and brother, now returned from the war, and settled again at woodcrych -- he did nevertheless from time to time encounter mistress joan vavasour, and each encounter was fraught with a new and increasing pleasure. he had never spoken a word of love to her; indeed he scarce yet knew that he had lost his heart in that fashion which so often leads to wedlock. he was only just beginning to realize that she was not many years older than himself -- that she was not a star altogether beyond the firmament of his own sky. he had hitherto regarded her with one of those boyish adorations which are for the time being sufficient in themselves, and do not look ahead into the future; and then raymond well knew that before he could for a moment dream of aspiring to the hand of the proud knight's daughter, he must himself have carved his way to moderate fortune and fame. his dreams of late had concerned themselves little with his worldly estate, and therefore his deep reverential admiration for joan had not developed into anything of a definite purpose. if he dreamed dreams of the future in which she bore a part, it was only of laying at her feet such laurels as he should win, without thinking of asking a reward at her hands, unless it was the reward of being her own true knight, and rescuing her from the power of the sanghursts, father and son, who appeared to have regained their old ascendency over sir hugh and his son, and to be looking forward still to the alliance between the two families. joan was of more than marriageable age. it was thought strange by many that the match was not yet consummated. but the quietly determined resistance on the part of the girl herself was not without some effect; and although there were many rumours afloat as to the boundless wealth of the ill-famed father and son, it was not yet an affair of absolute certainty that they were in possession of the secret of the transmutation of metals. so the match still hung fire, and raymond received many bewitching smiles from the lady on the rare occasions when they met; and he thought nothing of the threat of peter sanghurst, being endowed with that fearless courage which does not brood upon possible perils, but faces real ones with quiet resolution. john was sitting over his books in the pleasant western window one evening at the close of a hot september day, when he heard a quick footstep crossing the anteroom, and raymond came in with a strange look upon his face. "john," he said, before his cousin could ask a single question, "it has come at last!" "what has come?" "the visitation -- the sickness -- the scourge of god. i knew that father paul was looking into the future when he pronounced the doom upon this land. it has come; it is amongst us now!" "not here -- not in this very place! we must have heard something of it had it been so nigh." "it has not yet reached this town," answered raymond, the same strange light shining in his eyes that john had observed there from his entrance. "listen, and i will tell thee all i myself know. thou knowest that i have been to windsor, to meet my brother who is there. him i found well and happy, brave as ever, knowing naught of this curse and scourge. but even as we talked together, there came a messenger from london in hot haste to see thy father, good john. he had been straight despatched by the king with a message of dire warning. a terrible sickness, which already men are calling by the name of black death, has broken out in the south and west of the land, and seems creeping eastward with these hot west winds that steadily blow. it attacks not only men, but beasts and cattle -- that is, it seems to be accompanied by a plague something similar in nature which attacks the beasts. word has been passed on by the monks of what is happening far away, and already a great terror has seized upon many, and some are for flying the country, others for shutting themselves up in their houses and keeping great fires burning around them. the message to thy father was to have a care for the horses, and to buy no new ones that might by chance carry the seeds of the sickness within them. men say that the people of london are very confident that they can keep the sickness away from entering their walls, by maintaining a careful guard upon the city gates. at windsor, i left the town in a mighty fear, folks looking already askance at each other, as if afraid they were smitten with the deadly disease. the news of its appearance is passing from mouth to mouth faster than a horseman could spread the tidings. it had outridden me hither, and i thought perchance thou mightest have heard it ere i reached home." "nay, i have heard naught; but i would fain hear more now." "i know little but what i have already told thee," answered raymond. "indeed, it is but little that there is to know at present. the disease seems to me somewhat to resemble that described by lucretius as visiting athens. men sometimes suddenly fall down dead; or they are seized with violent shiverings, their hair bristling upon their heads. sometimes it is like a consuming fire within, and they run raving mad to the nearest water, falling in perchance, and perishing by drowning, leaving their carcases to pollute the spring. but if it do not carry off the stricken person for some hours or days, black swellings are seen upon their bodies like huge black boils, and death follows rapidly, the victim often expiring in great agony. i have heard that the throat and lungs often become inflamed before the black death seizes its victim, and that in districts where the scourge has reached, any persons who appear to have about them even a common rheum are cast forth from their homes even by those nearest and dearest, for fear they are victims to the terrible scourge." "misfortune makes men cruel if it do not bind them closer together. raymond, i see a purpose in thy face -- a purpose of which i would know the meaning. that light in thine eyes is not for nothing. tell me all that is in thine heart. methinks i divine it somewhat already." "belike thou dost, good john," answered raymond, speaking very calmly and steadily, "for thou knowest the charge laid upon me by my spiritual father. 'fear not, be not dismayed. a thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.' such was the burden of his charge; and shall i shrink or falter when the hour i have waited and watched for all these years has come like a thief in the night? good john, thou wast the first to teach me that there was a truer, deeper chivalry than that of the tourney or the battlefield. thou wast the first to understand, and to make me understand, that the highest chivalry was that of our lord himself, when he laid down his life for sinners, and prayed for his enemies who pierced and nailed him to the cross. his words are ever words of mercy. were he here with us today upon earth, where should we find him now? surely where the peril was greatest, where the need sorest, where the darkness, the terror, the distress blackest. and where he would be, were he with us here, is the place where those who would follow him most faithfully should be found. not all perchance; there be claims of kindred, ties of love that no man may lightly disregard: but none such ties bind me. i have but my brother to love, and he is out in the world -- he needs me not. i am free to go where the voice within calls me; and i go forth to-morrow." "and whither goest thou?" asked john, in a low, awestruck tone. "i go to father paul," answered raymond, without hesitation, as one who has thought the matter well out beforehand. "wherever the need is sorest, the peril greatest, there will father paul be found. and the brotherhood stands in the heart of the smitten regions; wherefore at his very doors the sick will be lying, untended perchance and unassoiled, save in those places whither he can go. i fare forth at sunrising tomorrow, to seek and to find him. he will give me work, he will let me toil beside him; better than that i ask not." john had risen from his seat. an answering light had sprung to his eyes as he had heard and watched raymond. now he laid his hand upon his cousin's arm, and said quietly: "go, then, in the name of the lord; i too go with thee." raymond turned his head and looked full at his cousin, marking the thin, sunken lines of the face, the stooping pose of the shoulders, the hectic flush that came and went upon the hollow cheek; and seeing this and knowing what it betokened, he linked his arm within john's and commenced walking up and down the room with him, as though inaction were impossible at such a moment. and as he walked he talked. "good john," he said, "i would fain have thee with me; but i well know thou hast no strength for the task thou hast set thyself. even the long day's ride would weary thy frame so sorely that thou wouldst fall an easy victim to the sickness ere thou hadst done aught to help another. thou hast thy father, thy mother, and thy good uncle to think of. how sad would they be to hear whither thou hadst gone! and then, my cousin, it may well be that for thee there is other work, and work for which thou canst better prepare thyself here than in any other place. i have thought of thee as well as of myself as i have ridden homeward this day. shall i tell thee what my thought -- my dream of thee was like?" "ay, tell me; i would gladly hear." "i saw in my spirit the advance of this terrible black death; i saw it come to this very place. dead and dying, cast out of their homes by those who would neither bury the one nor tend the other, were left lying in the streets around, and a deadly fear was upon all the place. and then i saw a man step forth amongst these miserable wretches, and the man had thy face, dear cousin. and he came forward and said to those who were yet willing to touch the sick, 'carry them into my house; i have a place made ready for them. bring them to my house; there they will he tended and cared for.' and then i thought that i saw the bearers lift and carry the sick here to this house, and that there they were received by some devoted men and women who had not been driven away by the general terror, and there were clean and comfortable beds awaiting the sick, and great fires of aromatic herbs burning upon the hearths to keep away the fumes of the pestilence from the watchers. and as the wretched and stricken creatures found themselves in this fair haven, they blessed him who had had this care for them; and those who died, died in comfort, shriven and assoiled by holy priests, whilst some amongst the number were saved, and saved through the act of him who had found them this safe refuge." raymond ceased speaking, and looked out over the fair landscape commanded by the oriel window of the room in which they were standing; and john's pale face suddenly kindled and glowed. the same spirit of self-sacrifice animated them both; but the elder of the pair realized, when it was put before him, how little he was fit for the work which the younger had set himself to do, whilst he had the means as well as the disposition to perform an act of mercy which in the end might be a greater boon to many than any service he could offer now. and if he did this thing -- if he turned his house into a house of mercy for the sick of the plague -- he would then have his own opportunity to tend and care for the sufferers. only one thought for a moment hindered him from giving an answer. he looked at raymond, and said: "thinkest thou that this sickness will surely come this way?" "in very truth i believe that it will ravage the land from end to end. i know that father paul looked to see the whole country swept by the scourge of god. fear not but that thy work will find thee here. thou wilt not have to wait long, methinks. thou wilt but have fair time to make ready all that thou wilt need -- beds, medicaments, aromatic wood, and perfumes -- and gather round thee a few faithful, trusty souls who will not fly at the approach of danger. it may be no easy task to find these, yet methinks they will be found here and there; for where god sends his scourges upon his earth, he raises up pious men and women too, to tend the sufferers and prove to the world that he has still amongst the gay and worldly his own children, his own followers, who will follow wherever he leads." john's mind was quickly made up. "i will remain behind and do this thing," he said. "perchance thou and i will yet work together in this very place amongst the sick and dying." "i well believe it," answered raymond, with one of his far-away looks; and the cousins stood together looking out over the green world bathed in the light of sunset, wondering how and when they would meet again, but both strangely possessed with perfect confidence that they would so meet. then raymond went to make his simple preparations for the morrow's ride. he had intended travelling quite alone, and chancing the perils of the road, which, however, in these times of peace and rejoicing, were not very great; for freebooters seldom disturbed travellers by day, save perhaps in very lonely forest roads. but when roger, the woodman's son, heard whither his master's steps were bent, and upon what errand he was going, he fell at his feet in one of his wild passions of devotional excitement, and begged to be allowed to follow him even to the death. "it may well be to the death, good roger," answered raymond gravely. "men say that death is certain for those who take the breath of the smitten persons; and such as go amongst them go at the risk of their lives. i do not bid thee follow me -- i well believe the peril is great; but if thou willest to do this thing, i dare not say thee nay, for methinks it is a work of god, and may well win his approval." "i will go," answered roger, without the slightest hesitation. "do i not owe all -- my body and soul alike -- to you and father paul? where you go, there will i go with you. what you fear not to face, i fear not either. for life or for death i am yours; and if the holy saints and the blessed virgin will but give me strength to fight and to conquer this fell foe, i trow they will do it because that thou art half a saint thyself, and they will know that i go to be with thee, to watch over thee, and perchance, by my service and my prayers, guard thee in some sort from ill." raymond smiled and held out his hand to his faithful servant. in times of common peril men's hearts are very closely knit together. the bond between the two youths seemed suddenly to take a new form; and when they rode forth at sunrise on the morrow, with john waving an adieu to them and watching their departure with a strange look of settled purpose on his face, it was no longer as master and servant that they rode, but as friends and comrades going forth to meet a deadly peril together. it seemed strange, as they rode along in the bright freshness of a clear september morning, to realize that any scenes of horror and death could be enacting themselves upon this fair earth not very many miles away. yet as they rode ever onwards and drew near to the infected districts, the sunshine became obscured by a thick haze, the fresh wind which had hitherto blown in their faces dropped, and the air was still with a deadly stillness new to both of them -- a stillness which was oppressive and which weighed upon their spirits like lead. the first intimation they had of the pestilence itself was the sight of the carcasses of several beasts lying dead in their pasture, and, what was more terrible still, the body of a man lying beside them, as though he had dropped dead as he came to drive them into shelter. raymond looked at the little group with an involuntary shudder, and roger crossed himself and muttered a prayer. but they did not turn out of their way; they were now nearing the gates of the monastery, and it was of father paul that raymond's thoughts were full. plainly enough he was in the heart of the peril. how had it gone with him since the sickness had appeared here? that question was answered the moment the travellers appeared within sight of the well-known walls. they saw a sight that lived in their memories for many a day to come. instead of the calm and solitude which generally reigned in this place, a great crowd was to be seen around the gate, but such a crowd as the youths had never dreamed of before. wretched, plague-stricken people, turned from their own doors and abandoned by their kindred, had dragged themselves from all parts to the doors of the monastery, in the hope that the pious brothers would give them help and a corner to die in peace. and that they were not disappointed in this hope was well seen: for as raymond and his companion appeared, they saw that one after another of these wretched beings was carried within the precincts of the monastery by the brothers; whilst amongst those who lay outside waiting their turn for admission, or too far gone to be moved again, a tall thin form moved fearlessly, bending over the dying sufferers and hearing their last confessions, giving priestly absolution, or soothing with strong and tender hands the last agonies of some stricken creature. raymond, with a strange, tense look upon his face, went straight to the father where he stood amongst the dying and the dead, and just as he reached his side the monk stood suddenly up and looked straight at him. his austere face did not relax, but in his eyes shone a light that looked like triumph. "it is well, my son," he said. "i knew that thou wouldest be here anon. the soldier of the cross is ever found at his post in such a time as this." chapter xviii. with father paul. all that evening and far into the night raymond worked with the brothers under father paul, bringing in the sick, burying the dead, and tending all those for whom anything could be done to mitigate their sufferings, or bring peace either of body or mind. by nightfall the ghastly assemblage about the monastery doors had disappeared. the living were lying in rows in the narrow beds, or upon the straw pallets of the brothers, filling dormitories and refectory alike; the dead had been laid side by side in a deep trench which had been hastily dug by order of father paul; and after he had read over them the burial service, earth and lime had been heaped upon the bodies, and one end of the long trench filled in. before morning there were a score more corpses to carry forth, and out of the thirty and odd stricken souls who lay within the walls, probably scarce ten would recover from the malady. but no more of the sick appeared round and about the monastery gates as they had been doing for the past three days; and when raymond asked why this was so, father paul looked into his face with a keen, searching glance as he replied: "verily, my son, it is because there be no more to come -- no more who have strength to drag themselves out hither. tomorrow i go forth to visit the villages where the sick be dying like beasts in the shambles. i go to shrive and confess the sick, to administer the last rites to the dying, to read the prayers of the church over those who are being carried to the great common grave. god alone knows whether even now the living may suffice to bury the dead. but where the need is sorest, there must his faithful servants be found." raymond looked back with a face full of resolute purpose. "father, take me with thee," he said. father paul looked earnestly into that fair young face, that was growing so intensely spiritual in its expression, and asked one question. "my son, and if it should be going to thy death?" "i will go with thee, father paul, be it for life or for death." "god bless and protect thee, my son!" said the father. "i verily believe that thou art one over whom the blessed saints and the holy angels keep watch and ward, and that thou wilt pass unscathed even through this time of desolation and death." raymond had bent his knee to receive the father's blessing, and when he rose he saw that roger was close behind him, likewise kneeling; and reading the thought in his mind, he said to the father: "wilt thou not give him thy blessing also? for i know that he too will go with us and face the peril, be it for life or death." father paul laid his hand upon the head of the second lad. "may god's blessing rest also upon thee, my son," he said. "in days past thou hast been used as an instrument of evil, and hast been forced to do the devil's own work. now god, in his mercy, has given thee work to do for him, whereby thou mayest in some sort make atonement for the past, and show by thy faith and piety that thou art no longer a bondservant unto sin." then turning to both the youths as they stood before him, the father added, in a different and less solemn tone: "and since your purpose is to go forth with me tomorrow, you must now take some of that rest without which youthful frames cannot long dispense. since early dawn you have been travelling and working at tasks of a nature to which you are little used. come with me, therefore, and pass the remaining hours of the night in sleep. i will arouse you for our office of early mass, and then we will forth together. till then sleep fearlessly and well. sleep will best fit you for what you will see and hear tomorrow." so saying, the father led them into a narrow cell where a couple of pallet beds had been placed, and where some slices of brown bread and a pitcher of spring water were likewise standing. "our fare is plain, but it is wholesome. eat and drink, my sons, and sleep in peace. wake not nor rise until i come to you again." the lads were indeed tired enough, though they had scarcely known it in the strange excitement of the journey, and amid the terrible scenes of death and sickness which they had witnessed around and about the monastery doors since their arrival there. now, however, that they had received the command to rest and sleep (and to gainsay the father's commands was a thing that would never have entered their minds), they were willing enough to obey, and had hardly laid themselves down before they fell into a deep slumber, from which neither awoke until the light of day had long been shining upon the world, and the father stood beside them bidding them rise and follow him. in a few minutes their simple toilet and ablutions had been performed, and they made their way along the familiar passage to the chapel, from whence a low sound of chanting began to arise. there were not many of the brothers present at the early service, most of them being engaged in tending the plague-stricken guests beneath their roof. but the father was performing the office of the mass, and when he had himself partaken of the sacrament, he signed to the two boys, who were about to go forth with him into scenes of greater peril than any they had witnessed heretofore, to come and receive it likewise. the service over, and some simple refreshment partaken of, the youths prepared for their day's toil, scarce knowing what they would be like to see, but resolved to follow father paul wherever he went, anxious only to accomplish successfully such work as he should find for them to do. each had a certain burden to carry with him -- some of the cordials that had been found to give most relief in cases of utter collapse and exhaustion, a few simple medicaments and outward applications thought to be of some use in allaying the pain of those terrible black swellings from which the sickness took its significant name, and some simply-prepared food for the sufferers, who were often like to perish from inanition even before the plague had done its worst. for stricken persons, or those supposed to be stricken, were often turned out of their homes even by their nearest relatives, and forced to wander about homeless and starving, none taking pity upon their misery, until the poison in their blood did its fatal work, and they dropped down to die. that loosening of the bands of nature and affection in times of deadly sickness has always been one of the most terrible features of the outbreaks of the plague when it has visited either this or other lands. there are some forms of peril that bind men closer and closer together, and that bring into bond of friendship even those who have been before estranged; and terrible though these perils may be, there is always a deep sense of underlying consolation in the closer drawing of the bond of brotherhood. but when the scourge of deadly sickness has passed over the land, the effect has almost always been to slacken this tie; the inherent love of life, natural to human beings, turning to an almost incredible selfishness, and inducing men to abandon their nearest and dearest in the hour of peril, leaving them, if stricken, to die alone, or turning them, sick to death though they might be, away from their doors, to perish untended and without shelter. true, there were many bright exceptions to such a code of barbarity, and devoted men and women arose by the score to strive to ameliorate the condition of the sufferers; but for all that, one of the most terrible features of the period of death and desolation was that of the fearful panic it everywhere produced, and the inhuman neglect and cruelty with which the early sufferers were treated by the very persons who, perhaps only a few days or even hours later, had themselves caught the contagion, and were lying dead or dying in the homes from which they had ejected their own kith and kin before. of the fearful havoc wrought in england by this scourge of the black death many readers of history are scarcely aware. whole districts were actually and entirely depopulated, not a living creature of any kind being left sometimes within a radius of many miles; and at the lowest computation made by historians, it is believed that not less than one-half of the entire population perished during the outbreak. but of anything like the magnitude of such a calamity no person at this time had any conception, and little indeed was raymond prepared for the sights that he was this day to look upon. the father and his two assistants went forth after they had partaken of food, and turned their faces westward. "there is a small village two miles hence that we will visit first," said the father, "for the poor people have no pastor or any other person to care for their bodies or souls, and i trow we shall find work to do there. if time permits when we have done what we may there, we will pass on to the little town round the church of st. michael, whose spire you see yonder on the hillside. many of the stricken folks within our walls came from thence. the sickness is raging there, and there may be few helpers left by now." the same sultry haze the travellers had noticed in the infected regions was still hanging over the woods today as they sallied forth; and though the sun was shining in the sky, its beams were thick and blood-red instead of being clear and bright, and there was an oppression in the air which caused the birds to cease their song, and lay on the spirit like a dead weight. "the curse of god upon the land -- the curse of god!" said the father, in a low, solemn tone, as he led the way, bearing in his hands the holy sacrament with which to console the dying. "men have long been forgetting him. but he will not alway be forgotten. he will arise in judgment and show men the error of their ways. if in their prosperity they will not remember him, he will call himself to their remembrance by a terrible day of adversity. and who may stand before the lord? who may abide the day of his visitation?" moving along with these and like solemn words of warning and admonition, to which his followers paid all reverent heed, the woodland path was quickly traversed, and the clearing reached which showed the near approach to the village. there was a break in the forest at this point, and some excellent pasture land and arable fields had tempted two farmers to establish themselves here, a small hamlet growing quickly up around the farmsteads. this small community supplied the brothers with some of the necessaries of life, and every soul there was known to the father. some dozen persons had come to the monastery gates during the past two days, stricken and destitute, and had been taken in there. but all these had died and no others had followed, and father paul was naturally anxious to know how it fared with those left behind. raymond and roger both knew the villagers well. the two years spent within the walls of the brotherhood had made them fully acquainted with the people round about. the little hamlet was a pretty spot: a number of low thatched cottages nestled together beside the stream that watered the meadows, whilst the larger farmsteads, which, however, were only modest dwelling houses with their barns and sheds forming a background to them, stood a little farther back upon a slightly-rising ground, sheltered from the colder winds by a spur of the forest. generally one was aware, in approaching the place, of the pleasant homely sounds of life connected with farming. today, with the golden grain all ready for the reaper's hand, one looked to hear the sound of the sickle in the corn, and the voices of the labourers calling to each other, or singing some rustic harvest song over their task. but instead of that a deadly and death-like silence prevailed; and raymond, who had quickened his steps as he neared the familiar spot, now involuntarily paused and hung back, as if half afraid of what he would be forced to look upon when once the last turning was passed. but father paul moved steadily on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left. there was no hesitation or faltering in his step, and the two youths pressed after him, ashamed of their moment's backwardness. the sun had managed to pierce through the haze, and was shining now with some of its wonted brilliancy. as raymond turned the corner and saw before him the whole of the little hamlet, he almost wished the sun had ceased to shine, the contrast between the beauty and brightness of nature and the scene upon which it looked being almost too fearful for endurance. lying beside the river bank, in every attitude and contortion of the death agony, were some dozen prostrate forms of men, women, and children, all dead and still. it seemed as though they must have crawled forth from the houses when the terrible fever thirst was upon them, and dragging themselves down to the water's edge, had perished there. and yet if all were dead, as indeed there could be small doubt from their perfect stillness and rigidity, why did none come forth to bury them? already the warm air was tainted and oppressive with that plague-stricken odour so unspeakably deadly to the living. why did not the survivors come forth from their homes and bury the dead out of their sight? had all fled and left them to their fate? father paul walked calmly onwards, his eyes taking in every detail of the scene. as he reached the dead around the margin of the stream, he paused and looked upon the faces he had known so well in life, then turning to his two followers, he said: "i trow these be all dead corpses, but i will examine each if there be any spark of life remaining. go ye into the houses, and if there be any sound persons within, bid them, in the name of humanity and their own safety, come forth and help to bury their brethren. if they are suffered to lie here longer, every soul in this place will perish!" glad enough to turn his eyes from the terrible sight without, raymond hurried past to the cluster of dwelling places beyond, and entering the first of these himself, signed to roger to go into the second. he had some slight difficulty in pushing open the door, not because it was fastened, but owing to some encumbrance behind. when, however, he succeeded in forcing his way in, he found that the encumbrance was nothing more or less than the body of a woman lying dead along the floor of the tiny room. upon a bed in the corner two children were lying, smiling as if in sleep, but both stiff and cold, the livid tokens of the terrible malady visible upon their little bodies, though the end seemed to have been painless. no other person was in the house, and raymond, drawing a covering over the children as they lay, turned from the house again with a shudder of compassionate sorrow. outside he met roger coming forth with a look of awe upon his face. "there be five souls within you door," he said -- "an old woman, her two sons and two daughters. but they are all dead and cold. i misdoubt me if we find one alive in the place." "we must try farther and see," answered raymond, his face full of the wondering consternation of so terrible a discovery; and by mutual consent they proceeded in their task together. there was something so unspeakably awful in going about alone in a veritable city of the dead. and such indeed might this place be called. roger was fearfully right in his prediction. each house entered showed its number of victims to the destroyer, but not one of these victims was living to receive comfort or help from the ministrations of those who had come amongst them. and not man alone had suffered; upon the dumb beasts too had the scourge fallen: for when roger suddenly bethought him that the creatures would want tendance in the absence of their owners, and had gone to the sheds to seek for them, nothing but death met his eye on all sides. some in their stalls, some in the open fields, some, like their masters, beside the stream, lay the poor beasts all stone dead. it seemed as if the scourge had fallen with peculiar virulence upon this little hamlet, in the warm cup-like hollow where it lay, and had smitten it root and branch. possibly the waters of the stream had been poisoned higher up, and the deadly malaria had reached it in that way; possibly some condition of the atmosphere predisposed living things to take the infection. but be the cause what it might, there was no gainsaying the fact. not a living or breathing thing remained in the hamlet; and little as raymond knew it, such wholesale destruction was only too common throughout the length and breadth of england. but such a revelation coming upon him suddenly, brought before his very eyes when he had come with the desire to help and tend the living, filled him with an awe that was almost terror, although the terror was not for himself. personally he had no fear; he had given himself to this work, and he would hold to it be the result what it might. but the thought of the scourge sweeping down upon a peaceful hamlet, and carrying off in a few short days every breathing thing within its limits, was indeed both terrible and pitiful. he could picture only too vividly the terror, the anguish, the agony of the poor helpless people, and longed, not to escape from such scenes, but rather to go forward to other places ere the work of destruction had been accomplished, and be with the sick when the last call came. if he had been but two days earlier in coming forward, might he not have been in time to do a work of mercy and charity even here? but it was useless musing thus. to act, and not to think, was now the order of the day. he went slowly out from the yard they had last visited, his face as pale as death, but full of courage and high purpose. "there is nothing living here," he said, as he reached the father, who had not left the side of the dead. "we have been into all the houses, we have looked everywhere, but there is nothing but dead corpses: man and beast have perished alike. nothing that breathes is left alive." the father looked round upon the scene of smiling desolation -- the sunny harvest fields, the laughing brook, the broad meadows -- and the ghastly rows of plague-stricken corpses at his feet, and a stern, sad change passed across his face. "it is the hand of the lord," he said, "and perchance he smites in mercy as well as in wrath, delivering men from the evil to come. let us arise and go hence. our work is for the living and not the dead." for those three to have attempted to bury all that hamlet would have been an absolute impossibility. dreadful as was the thought of turning away and leaving the place as it was, it was hopeless to do otherwise, and possibly in the town men might be found able and willing to come out and inter the corpses in one common grave. with hearts full of awe, the two lads followed their conductor. he had been through similar scenes in other lands. to him there was nothing new in sights such as this. even the sense of personal peril, little as he had ever regarded it, had long since passed away. but it was something altogether new to raymond and his companion; and though they had seen death in many terrible forms upon the battlefield, it had never inspired the same feelings of horror and awe. it was impossible to forget that they might at any moment be breathing into their lungs the same deadly poison which was carrying off multitudes on every side, and although there was no conscious fear for themselves in the thought, it could not but fill them with a quickened perception of the uncertainty of life and the unreality of things terrestrial. in perfect silence the walk towards the little town was accomplished; and as they neared it terrible sights began to reveal themselves even along the roadside. plainly indeed to be seen were evidences of attempted flight from the plague-stricken place; and no doubt many had made good their escape, but others had fallen down by the wayside in a dying state, and these dead or dying sufferers were the first tokens observed by the travellers of the condition of the town. not all were dead, though most were plainly hopeless cases. raymond and roger had both learned something during the hours of the previous night, when they had helped the good brothers over their tasks; and they fearlessly knelt beside the poor creatures, moistening their parched lips, answering their feeble, moaning plaints, and summoning to the side of the dying the father, who could hear the feeble confession of sin, and pronounce the longed-for absolution to the departing soul. passing still onwards -- for they could not linger long, and little enough could be done for these dying sufferers, all past hope -- they reached the streets of the town itself; and the first sight which greeted their eyes was the figure of a man stripped naked to the waist, his back bleeding from the blows he kept on inflicting upon himself with the thick, knotted cord he held in his hands, a heavy and rough piece of iron being affixed to the end to make the blows more severe. from the waist downwards he was clothed with sackcloth, and as he rushed about the streets shrieking and castigating himself, he called aloud on the people to repent of their sins, and to flee from the wrath of god that was falling upon the whole nation. yet, though many dead and dying were lying in the streets about him, and though cries and groans from many houses told that the destroyer was at work there, this flagellant (as these maniacs, of which at that time there were only too many abroad, were called) never attempted to touch one of them, though he ran almost over their prostrate bodies, and had apparently no fear of the contagion. there were very few people abroad in the streets, and such as were sound kept their faces covered with cloths steeped in vinegar or some other pungent mixture, and walked gingerly in the middle of the road, as if afraid to approach either the houses on each side or the other persons walking in the streets. a cart was going about, with two evil-looking men in it, who lifted in such of the dead as they found lying by the roadside, and coolly divested them of anything of any value which they chanced to have upon them before conveying them to the great pit just outside which had been dug to receive the victims of the plague. a wild panic had seized upon the place. most of the influential inhabitants had fled. there was no rule or order or oversight observed, and the priest of the church, who until this day had kept a certain watch over his flock, and had gone about encouraging and cheering the people, had himself been stricken down with the fell malady, and no one knew whether he were now living or dead. as the father passed by, people rushed out from many doors to implore him to come to this house or the other, to administer the last rites to some one dying within. there were other houses marked with a red cross on the doors, which had been for many days closed by the town authorities, until these had themselves fled, being assured that no person could live in that polluted air. what had become of the wretched beings thus shut up, when the watchers who were told off to guard them had fled in terror, it was hard to imagine; and whilst the father responded to the calls of those who required spiritual assistance at the last dread hour, raymond beckoned to roger to follow him in his visitation to those places where the distemper had first showed itself, and where people had hoped to confine it by closing the houses and letting none go forth. the terribly deadly nature of the malady was well exemplified by the condition of these houses. scarce ten living souls were found in them, and of these almost all were reduced to the last extremity either by disease or hunger; for none had been nigh them, and they had no strength to try to make their wants known. raymond had the satisfaction of seeing some amongst these wretched beings revive somewhat under his ministrations. it was not in every case the real distemper from which they suffered; in not a few the patients had sunk only from fright and the misery of feeling themselves shut away from their fellows. whenever any persons ailed anything in those days, it was at once supposed that the black death was upon them, and they were shunned and abhorred by all their friends and kindred. to these poor creatures it seemed indeed as though an angel from heaven had come down when raymond bent over them and put food and drink to their lips. many an office of loving mercy to the sick and dying did he and roger perform ere daylight faded from the sky; and before night actually fell, the father had by precept and example got together a band of helpers ready and willing to tend the sick and bury the dead, and the people felt that the terrible panic which had fallen upon them, and caused every one to flee away, had given place to something better and more humane. men who had fled their stricken homes and had spent their time carousing in the taverns, trying to drown their fears and their griefs, now returned home to see how it fared with those who had been left behind. women who had been almost distracted by grief, and had been rushing into the church sobbing and crying, and neglecting the sick, that they might pour out their hearts at the shrine of their favourite saint, were admonished by the holy father, so well known to them, to return to their homes and their duties. as the pall of night fell over the stricken city, and the three who had entered it a few hours before still toiled on without cessation, people breathed blessings on them wherever they appeared, and raymond felt that his work for the lord in the midst of his stricken people had indeed begun. chapter xix. the stricken sorcerer. "thou to guildford then, my son, and i and the brethren to london." so said father paul some three weeks later, as he stood once again inside the precincts of the monastery, with raymond by his side, looking round the thinned circle of faces of such of the brothers as had survived the terrible visitation which had passed over them, and now gone, as it seemed, elsewhere. quite one-half of the inhabitants of that small retreat had fallen victims to the scourge. scarce ten souls out of all those who had sought shelter within those walls had risen from their beds and gone forth to their desolated homes again. the great trench in the burying ground had received the rest; and of the brothers who gathered round father paul to welcome him back, several showed, by their pinched and stricken appearance, how near they themselves had been to the gates of death. few stricken by the fatal sickness itself ever recovered; but there were many others who, falling ill of overwork or some other feverish ailment, were accounted to have caught the distemper, and many of these did amend, though all sickness at such a time seemed to get a firmer hold upon its victims. but father paul and both his young assistants had escaped unscathed, though they had been waging a hand-to-hand fight with the destroyer for three long weeks, that seemed years in the retrospect. the brothers came crowding round them as about those returned from the grave. indeed, to them it did almost seem as though this was a resurrection from the dead; for they had long since given up all hope of seeing their beloved superior and father again in the flesh. but the father himself only accounted his work begun. although the pestilence appeared to have passed from the immediate district, and such cases as occurred amid the few survivors of the visitation were by no means so fatal as they had been in the beginning, yet the sickness itself in its most virulent form was sweeping along northward and eastward, spreading death and desolation in its track; and father paul had but one purpose in his mind, which was to follow in the path of the destroyer, performing for the sufferers wherever he went the same offices of piety and mercy that he had been wont to undertake all these past days; and the brothers, who had finished their labour of love within the walls of their home, and had grown fearless before the pestilence with that fearlessness which gradually comes to those who look long and steadily upon death, were not wanting in resolve to face it even in its most terrible shape. so that they one and all vowed that they would go with father paul; and his steps were bound for the capital of the kingdom, where he knew that the need would be the sorest. it seemed to the brothers, who had long lived beneath his austere but wise and fatherly rule, that not only did he himself bear a charmed life, but that all who worked with him felt the shelter of that charm. raymond and roger had returned, having suffered no ill effects from the terrible sights and scenes through which they had passed. though the country in these almost depopulated districts literally reeked with the pestilence, owing to the effluvia from the carcasses of men and beasts which lay rotting on the ground unburied, yet they had passed unscathed through all, and were ready to go forth again upon the same errand of mercy. raymond was much divided in mind as to his own course of action. much as he longed to remain with father paul, whom he continued to revere with a loving admiration that savoured of worship, he yet had a great desire to know how it was faring with his cousin john. he could not but be very sure that the pestilence would not pass guildford by, and he knew that john would go forth amongst the sick and dying, and bring them into his own house for tendance, even though his own life paid the forfeit. it was therefore with no small eagerness that he longed for news of him; and when he spoke of this to the father, the latter at once advised that they should part company -- he and such of the brethren as were fit for the journey travelling on to london, whilst the two youths took the direct road to guildford, to see how matters fared there. "ye are but striplings," said the father kindly, "and though ye be willing and devoted, ye have not the strength of men, nor are ye such seasoned vessels. in london the scenes will be terrible to look upon. it may be that they would be more than ye could well brook. go, then, to guildford. they will need helpers there who know how best to wrestle with the foul distemper, and ye have both learned many lessons with me. i verily believe that your work lies there, as mine lies yonder. go then, and the lord be with you. it may be we shall meet again in this world, but if not, in that world beyond into which our blessed saviour has passed, that through his intercession, offered unceasingly for us, we too may obtain an entrance through the merits of his redeeming blood." then blessing both the boys and embracing them with a tenderness new in one generally so reserved and austere, he sent them away, and they set their faces steadily whence they had come, not knowing what adventures they might meet upon the way. this return journey was by no means so rapid as the ride hither had been. both the horses they had then ridden had perished of the sickness, and as none others were to be found, and had they been obtainable might but have fallen down by the wayside to die, the youths travelled on foot. and they did not even take the most direct route, but turned aside to this place or the other, wherever they knew of the existence of human habitations; for wherever such places were, there might there be need for human help and sympathy. and not a few acts of mercy did the boys perform as they travelled slowly onwards through an almost depopulated region. time fails to tell of all they saw and heard as they thus journeyed; but they found ample employment for all their skill and energy. the lives of many little children, whose parents had died or fled, were saved by them, and the neglected little orphans left in the kindly care of some devoted sisterhood, whose inmates gladly received them, fearless of the risk they might run by so doing. wandering so often out of their way, they scarce knew their exact whereabouts when darkness fell upon them on the third day of their journeying; but after walking still onwards for some time in what they judged to be the right direction, they presently saw a light in a cottage window, and knocking at the door, asked shelter for the night. travellers at such a time as this were regarded with no small suspicion, and the youths hardly looked to get any answer to their request; but rather to their surprise, the door was quickly opened, and roger uttered a cry of recognition as he looked in the face of the master of the house. it was no other, in fact, than the ranger with whom as a boy he had found a temporary home, from which home he had been taken in his father's absence and sold into the slavery of basildene. the boy's cry of astonishment was echoed by the man when once he had made sure that his senses were not deceiving him, but that it was really little roger, whom he had long believed to be dead; and both he and his companion were eagerly welcomed in and set down to a plentiful meal of bread and venison pasty, whilst the boy told his long and adventurous story as briefly as he could, stephen listening with parted lips and staring eyes, as if to the recital of some miraculous narrative. and in truth the tale was strange enough, told in its main aspects: the escape from basildene, which to himself always partook of the nature of a miracle, the conflict with the powers of darkness in the monastery, his adventures in france, and now his marvellous escape in the midst of the plague-stricken people whom he had tended and helped. the ranger, who had lost his own wife and children in the distemper, and had himself escaped, had lost all fear of the contagion --indeed he cared little whether he lived or died; and when he heard upon what errand the youths were bent, he declared he would gladly come with them, for the solitude of his cottage was so oppressive to him that he would have welcomed even a plague-stricken guest sooner than be left much longer with only his hounds and his own thoughts for company. "if i cannot tend the sick, i can at least bury the dead," he said, drawing his horny hand across his eyes, remembering for whom he had but lately performed that last sad office. and raymond, to whom this offer was addressed, accepted his company gladly, for he knew by recent experience how great was the need for helpers where the sick and the dead so far outnumbered the whole and sound. he had gone off into a reverie as he sat by the peat fire, whilst roger and the ranger continued talking together eagerly of many matters, and he heard little of what passed until roused by the name of basildene spoken more than once, and he commanded his drowsy and wearied faculties to listen to what the ranger was saying. "yes, the black death has found its way in behind those walls, men say. the old sorcerer tried all his black arts to keep it out; but there came by one this morning who told me that the old man had been seized, and was lying without a soul to go near him. they have but two servants that have ever stayed with them in that vile place, and these both thought the old man's dealings with the devil would at least suffice to keep the scourge away, and felt themselves safer there than elsewhere. but the moment he was seized they both ran away and left him, and there they say he is lying still, untended and unwatched -- if he be not dead by now. for as for the son, he had long since made his own preparations. he has shut himself up in a turret, with a plentiful supply of food; and he burns a great fire of scented wood and spices at the foot of the stairway, and another in the place he lives in, and never means to stir forth until the distemper has passed. one of the servants, before he fled, went to the stair foot and called to him to tell him that his father lay a-dying of the plague below; but he only laughed, and said it was time he went to the devil, who had been waiting so long for him; and the man rushed out of the house in affright at the sound of such terrible blasphemy and unnatural wickedness at a time like this." raymond's face took a new expression as he heard these words. the lassitude and weariness passed out of it, and a curious light crept into his eyes. roger and the ranger continued to talk together of many things, but their silent companion still sat motionless beside the hearth. over his face was stealing a look of purpose -- such purpose as follows a struggle of the spirit over natural distaste and disgust. when the ranger presently left them, to see what simple preparations he could make for their comfort during the night, he motioned to roger to come nearer, and looking steadily at him, he said: "roger, i am going to basildene tonight, to see what human skill may do for the old sanghurst. he is our enemy -- thine and mine -- therefore doubly is it our duty to minister to him in the hour of his extremity. i go forth this night to seek him. wilt thou go with me? or dost thou fear to fall again under the sway of his evil mind, or his son's, if thou puttest foot within the halls of basildene again?" for a moment a look of strong repulsion crossed roger's face. he shrank back a little, and looked as though he would have implored his young master to reconsider his resolution. but something in the luminous glance of those clear bright eyes restrained him, and presently some of their lofty purpose seemed to be infused into his own soul. "if thou goest, i too will go," he said. "at thy side no harm from the evil one can come nigh me. have i not proved that a hundred times ere now? and the spell has long been broken off my neck and off my spirit. i fear neither the sorcerer nor his son. if it be for us -- if it be a call -- to go even to him in the hour of his need, i will go without a thought of fear. i go in the name of the holy virgin and her son. i need not fear what man can do against me." great was the astonishment of the worthy ranger when he returned to hear the purpose upon which his guests were bent; but he had already imbibed some of that strange reverential admiration for raymond which he so frequently inspired in those about him, and it did not for a moment occur to him to attempt to dissuade him from an object upon which his mind was bent. the october night, though dark and moonless, was clear, and the stars were shining in the sky as the little procession started forth. the ranger insisted on being one of the number. partly from curiosity, partly from sheer hatred of solitude, and a good deal from interest in his companions and their errand of mercy, he had decided to come with them, not merely to show them the way to basildene, which he could find equally well by night as by day, but to see the result of their journey there, and take on with him to guildford the description of the old sorcerer's home and his seizure there. as they moved along through the whispering wood, the man, in low and awe-stricken tones, asked roger of his old life there, and what it was that made him of such value to the sanghursts. raymond had never talked to the lad of that chapter in his past life, always abiding by father paul's advice to let him forget it as far as possible. now, however, roger seemed able to speak of it calmly, and without the terror and emotion that any recollection of that episode used to cause him in past years. he could talk now of the strange trances into which he was thrown, and how he was made to see things at a distance and tell all he saw. generally it was travellers upon the road he was instructed to watch, and forced to describe the contents of the mails they carried with them. some instinct made the boy many times struggle hard against revealing the nature of the valuables he saw that these people had about them, knowing well how they would be plundered by his rapacious masters, after they had tempted them upon the treacherous swamp not far from basildene, where, if they escaped with their lives, it would be as much as they could hope to do. but the truth was always wrung from him by suffering at last -- not that his body was in any way injured by them, save by the prolonged fasts inflicted upon him to intensify his gift of clairvoyance; but whilst in these trances they could make him believe that any sort of pain was being inflicted, and he suffered it exactly as though it had been actually done upon his bodily frame. thus they forced from his reluctant lips every item of information they desired; and he knew when plunder was brought into the house, and stored in the deep underground cellars, how and whence it had come -- knew, too, that many and many a wretched traveller had been overwhelmed in the swamp who might have escaped with life and goods but for him. it was the horror of this conviction, and the firm belief that he had been bound over body and soul to satan, that was killing him by inches when the twin brothers effected his rescue. he did not always remember clearly in his waking moments what had passed in his hours of trance, but the horror of great darkness always remained with him; and at some moments everything would come upon him with a fearful rush, and he would remain stupefied and overwhelmed with anguish. to all of this raymond listened with great interest. he and john had read of some such phenomena in their books relating to the history of magic; and little as the hypnotic state was understood in those days, the young student had gained some slight insight into the matter, and was able to speak of his convictions to roger with some assurance. he told him that though he verily believed such power over the wills of others to be in some sort the work of the devil, it might yet be successfully withstood by a resolute will, bound over to the determination to yield nothing to the strong and evil wills of others. and roger, who had long since fought his fight and gained strength and confidence, was not afraid of venturing into the stronghold of wickedness -- less so than ever now that he might go at raymond's side. it was midnight before the lonely house was reached, and raymond's heart beat high as he saw the outline of the old walls looming up against the gloomy sky. not a light was to be seen burning in any of the windows, save a single gleam from out the turret at the corner away to the left; and though owls hooted round the place, and bats winged their uncertain flight, no other living thing was to be seen, and the silence of death seemed to brood over the house. "this is the way to the door that is the only one used," said stephen, "and we shall find it unlocked for certain, seeing that the servants have run away, and the young master will not go nigh his father, not though he were ten times dying. my lantern will guide us surely enough through the dark passages, and maybe young roger will know where the old man is like to be found." "below stairs, i doubt not, amongst his bottles and books of magic," answered roger, with a light shiver, as he passed through the doorway and found himself once again within the evil house. "he would think that in yon place no contagion could touch him. he spent his days and nights alike there. he scarce left it save to go abroad, or perchance to have a few hours' sleep in his bed. but the treasure is buried somewhere nigh at hand down in those cellars, though the spot i know not. and he fears to leave it night or day, lest some stealthy hand filch away the ill-gotten gain. men thought he had the secret whereby all might be changed to gold, and indeed he would ofttimes bring pure gold out from the crucibles over his fire; but he had cast in first, unknown to those who so greedily watched him, the precious baubles he had stolen from travellers upon the road. he was a very juggler with his hands. i have watched him a thousand times at tricks which would have made the fortune of a travelling mountebank. but soft! here is the door at the head of the stairs. take heed how that is opened, lest the hound fly at thy throat. give me the lantern, and have thou thy huntsman's knife to plunge into his throat, else he may not let us pass down alive." but when the door was opened, the hound, instead of growling or springing, welcomed them with whines of eager welcome. the poor beast was almost starved, and had been tamed by hunger to unwonted gentleness. raymond, who had food in his wallet, fed him with small pieces as they cautiously descended the stairs, for basildene would furnish them with more if need be; the larder and cellar there were famous in their way, though few cared to accept of their owner's hospitality. roger almost expected to find the great door of that subterranean room bolted and locked, so jealous was its owner of entrance being made there; but it yielded readily to the touch, and the three, with the hound, passed in together. in a moment raymond knew by the peculiar atmosphere, which even in so large a place was sickly and fetid, that they were in the presence of one afflicted with the true distemper. the place was in total darkness save for the light of the lantern the ranger carried; but there were lamps in sconces all along the wall, and these roger quickly lighted, being familiar enough with this underground place, which it had been part of his duty to see to. the light from these lamps was pure and white and very bright, and lit up the weird vaulted chamber from end to end. it shone upon a stiffened figure lying prone upon the floor not far from the vaulted fireplace, upon whose hearth the embers lay black and cold; and raymond, springing suddenly forward as his glance rested upon this figure, feared that he had come too late, and that the foe of his house had passed beyond the power of human aid. "help me to lift him," he said to stephen; "and, roger, kindle thou a fire upon the hearth. there may be life in him yet. we will try what we know. yes, methinks his heart beats faintly; and the tokens of the distemper are plainly out upon him. perchance he may yet live. of late i have seen men rise up from their beds whom we have given up for lost." raymond was beginning to realize that the black boils, so often looked upon as the death tokens, were by no means in reality anything of the kind. as a matter of fact, of the cases that recovered, most, if not all, had the plague spots upon them. these boils were, in fact, nature's own effort at expelling the virulent poison from the system, and if properly treated by mild methods and poultices, in some cases really brought relief, so that the patient eventually recovered. but the intensity of the poison, and its rapid action upon the human organs, made cases of recovery rare indeed at the outset, when the outbreak always came in its most virulent form; and truly the appearance of old peter sanghurst was such as almost to preclude hope of restoration. tough as he was in constitution, the glaze of death seemed already in his eyes. he was all but pulseless and as cold as death, whilst the spasmodic twitchings of his limbs when he was lifted spoke of death rather than life. still raymond would not give up hope. he had the fire kindled, and it soon blazed up hot and fierce, whilst the old man was wrapped in a rich furred cloak which roger produced from a cupboard, and some hot cordial forced between his lips. after one or two spasmodic efforts which might have been purely muscular, he appeared to make an attempt to swallow, and in a few more minutes it became plain that he was really doing so, and with increasing ease each time. the blood began to run through his veins again, the chest heaved, and the breath was drawn in long, labouring gasps. at last the old man's eyes opened, and fixed themselves upon raymond's face with a long, bewildered stare. they asked him no questions. they had no desire that he should speak. his state was critical in the extreme. they had but come to minister to his stricken body. to cope with a mind such as his was a task that raymond felt must be far beyond his own powers. he would have given much to have had father paul at this bedside for one brief hour, the more so as he saw the shrinking and terror creeping over the drawn, ashen face. did his guilty soul know itself to be standing on the verge of eternity? and did the wretched man feel the horror of great darkness infolding him already? all at once he spoke, and his words were like a cry of terror. "alicia! alicia! how comest thou here?" raymond, to whom the words were plainly addressed, knew not how to answer them, or what they could mean; but the wild eyes were still fixed upon his face, and again the old man's excited words broke forth -- "comest thou in this dread hour to claim thine own again? alicia, alicia! i do repent of my robbery. i would fain restore all. it has been a curse, and not a blessing; all has been against me -- all. i was a happy man before i unlawfully wrested basildene from thee. since i have done that deed naught has prospered with me; and here i am left to die alone, neglected by all, and thou alone -- thy spirit from the dead -- comes to taunt me in my last hour with my robbery and my sin. o forgive, forgive! thou art dead. spirits cannot inherit this world's goods, else would i restore all to thee. tell me what i may do to make amends ere i die? but look not at me with those great eyes of thine, lightened with the fire of the lord. i cannot bear it -- i cannot bear it! tell me only how i may make restoration ere i am taken hence to meet my doom!" raymond understood then. the old man mistook him for his mother, who must have been about his own age when her wicked kinsman had ousted her from her possessions. had they not told him in the old home how wondrous like to her he was growing? the clouded vision of the old man could see nothing but the face of the youth bending over him, and to him it was the face of an avenging angel. he clasped his hands together in an agony of supplication, and would have cast himself at the boy's feet had he not been restrained. the terrible remorse which so often falls upon a guilty conscience at the last hour had the miserable man in its clutches. his mind was too far weakened to think of his many crimes even blacker than this one. the sight of raymond had awakened within him the memory of the defrauded woman, and he could think of nothing else. she had come back from the dead to put him in mind of his sin. if he could but make one act of restitution, he felt that he could almost die in peace. he gripped raymond's hand hard, and looked with agonizing intensity into his face. "i am not alicia," he answered gently. "her spirit is at rest and free, and no thought of malice or hatred could come from her now. i am her son. i know all -- how you drove her forth from basildene, and made yourself an enemy; but you are an enemy no longer now, for the hand of god is upon you, and i am here in his name to strive to soothe your last hours, and point the way upwards whither she has gone." "alicia's son! alicia's son!" almost screamed the old man. "now heaven be praised, for i can make restitution of all!" raymond raised his eyes suddenly at an exclamation from roger, to see a tall dark figure standing motionless in the doorway, whilst peter sanghurst's fiery eyes were fixed upon his face with a gaze of the most deadly malevolence in them. chapter xx. ministering spirits. "the sickness in the town! alackaday! woe betide us all! it will be next within our very walls. holy st. catherine protect us! may all the saints have mercy upon us! in guildford! why, that is scarce five short miles away! and all the men and the wenches are flying as for dear life, though if what men say be true there be few enough places left to fly to! why, joan, why answerest thou not? i might as well speak to a block as to thee. dost understand, girl, that the black death is at our very doors -- that all our people are flying from us? and yet thou sittest there with thy book, as though this were a time for idle fooling. i am fair distraught -- thy father and brother away and all! canst thou not say something? hast thou no feeling for thy mother? here am i nigh distracted by fear and woe, and thou carriest about a face as calm as if this deadly scourge were but idle rumour." joan laid down her book, came across to her mother, and put her strong hand caressingly upon her shoulder. poor, weak, timid lady vavasour had never been famed for strength of mind in any of the circumstances of life, and it was perhaps not wonderful that this scare, reaching her ears in her husband's absence, should drive her nearly frantic with terror. for many days reports of a most disquieting nature had been pouring in. persons who came to woodcrych on business or pleasure spoke of nothing but the approach of the black death. some affected to make light of it, protested that far too much was being made of the statements of ignorant and terrified people, and asserted boldly that it would not attack the well-fed and prosperous classes; whilst others declared that the whole country would speedily be depopulated, and whispered gruesome tales of those scenes of death and horror which were shortly to become so common. then the inhabitants of isolated houses like woodcrych received visits from travelling peddlers and mountebanks of all sorts, many disguised in oriental garb, who brought with them terrible stories of the spread of the distemper, at the same time offering for sale certain herbs and simples which they declared to be never-failing remedies in case any person were attacked by the disease; or else they besought the credulous to purchase amulets or charms, or in some cases alleged relics blessed by the pope, which if always worn upon the person would effectually prevent the onset of the malady. after listening greedily (as the servants in those houses always loved to do) to any story of ghastly horror which these impostors chose to tell them, they were thankful to buy at almost any price some antidote against the fell disease; and even lady vavasour had made many purchases for herself and her daughter of quack medicines and talismans or relics. but hitherto no one had dared to whisper how fast the distemper was encroaching in this very district. men still spoke of it as though it were far off, and might likely enough die out without spreading, so that now it was with terror akin to distraction that the poor lady heard through her servants that it had well-nigh reached their own doors. one of the lackeys had had occasion to ride over to the town that very day, and had come back with the news that people there were actually dying in the streets. he had seen two men fall down, either dead or stricken for death, before he could turn his beast away and gallop off, and the shops were shut and the church bell was tolling, whilst all men looked in each other's faces as if afraid of what they might see there. sir hugh and his son were far away from woodcrych at one of their newer possessions some forty miles distant, and in their absence lady vavasour felt doubly helpless. she shook off joan's hand, and recommenced her agitated pacing. her daughter's calmness was incomprehensible apathy to her. it fretted her even to see it. "thou hast no feeling, joan; thou hast a heart of stone," she cried, bursting into weak weeping. "why canst thou not give me help or counsel of some sort? what are we to do? what is to become of us? wouldst have us all stay shut up in this miserable place to die together?" joan did not smile at the feeble petulance of the half-distracted woman. indeed it was no time for smiles of any sort. the peril around and about was a thing too real and too fearful in its character to admit of any lightness of speech; and the girl did not even twit her mother with the many sovereign remedies purchased as antidotes against infection, though her own disbelief in these had brought down many laments from lady vavasour but a few days previously. brought face to face with the reality of the peril, these wonderful medicines did not inspire the confidence the sanguine purchasers had hoped when they spent their money upon them. lady vavasour's hope seemed now to lie in flight and flight alone. she was one of those persons whose instinct is always for flight, whatever the danger to be avoided; and now she was eagerly urging upon joan the necessity for immediate departure, regardless of the warning of her calmer-minded daughter that probably the roads would be far more full of peril than their own house could ever be, if they strictly shut it up, lived upon the produce of their own park and dairy, and suffered none to go backwards and forwards to bring the contagion with them. whether joan's common-sense counsel would have ever prevailed over the agitated panic of her mother is open to doubt, but all chance of getting lady vavasour to see reason was quickly dissipated by a piece of news brought to the mother and daughter by a white-faced, shivering servant. the message was that the lackey who had but lately returned from guildford, whilst sitting over the kitchen fire with his cup of mead, had complained of sudden and violent pains, had vomited and fallen down upon the floor in a fit; whereat every person present had fled in wild dismay, perfectly certain that he had brought home the distemper with him, and that every creature in the house was in deadly peril. lady vavasour's terror and agitation were pitiful to see. in vain joan strove to soothe and quiet her. she would listen to no words of comfort. not another hour would she remain in that house. the servants, some of whom had already fled, were beginning to take the alarm in good earnest, and were packing up their worldly goods, only anxious to be gone. horses and pack horses were being already prepared, for lady vavasour had given half-a-dozen orders for departure before she had made up her mind what to do or where to go. now she was resolved to ride straight to her husband, without drawing rein, or exchanging a word with any person upon the road. such of the servants as wished to accompany her might do so; the rest might do as they pleased. her one idea was to be gone, and that as quickly as possible. she hurried away to change her dress for her long ride, urging joan to lose not a moment in doing the same; but what was her dismay on her return to find her daughter still in her indoor dress, though she was forwarding her mother's departure by filling the saddlebags with provisions for the way, and laying strict injunctions upon the trusty old servants who were about to travel with her to give every care to their mistress, and avoid so far as was possible any place where there was likelihood of catching the contagion. they were to bait the horses in the open, and not to take them under any roof, and all were to carry their own victuals and drink with them. but that she herself was not to make one of the party was plainly to be learned by these many and precise directions. this fact became patent to the mother directly she came downstairs, and at once she broke into the most incoherent expression of dismay and terror; but joan, after letting her talk for a few minutes to relieve her feelings, spoke her answer in brief, decisive sentences. "mother, it is impossible for me to go. old bridget, as you know, is ill. it is not the distemper, it is one of the attacks of illness to which she has been all her life subject; but not one of these foolish wenches will now go near her. she has nursed and tended me faithfully from childhood. to leave her here alone in this great house, to live or die as she might, is impossible. here i remain till she is better. think not of me and fear not for me. i have no fears for myself. go to our father; he will doubtless be anxious for news of us. linger not here. men say that those who fear the distemper are ever the first victims. farewell, and may health and safety be with you. my place is here, and here i will remain till i see my way before me." lady vavasour wept and lamented, but did not delay her own departure on account of her obstinate daughter. she gave joan up for lost, but she would not stay to share her fate. she had already seen something of the quiet firmness of the girl, which her father sometimes cursed as stubbornness, and she felt that words would only be thrown away upon her. lamenting to the last, she mounted her palfrey, and set her train of servants in motion; whilst joan stood upon the top step of the flight to the great door, and waved her hand to her mother till the cortege disappeared down the drive. a brave and steadfast look was upon her face, and the sigh she heaved as she turned at last away seemed one of relief rather than of sorrow. lonely as might be her situation in this deserted house, it could not but be a relief to her to feel that her timid mother would shortly be under the protection of her husband, and more at rest than she could ever hope to be away from his side. he could not keep the distemper at bay, but he could often quiet the restless plaints and causeless terrors of his weak-minded spouse. as she turned back into the silent house she was aware of two figures in the great hall that were strange there, albeit she knew both well as belonging to two of the oldest retainers of the place, an old man and his wife, who had lived the best part of their lives in sir hugh's service at woodcrych. "why, betty -- and you also, andrew -- what do ye here?" asked joan, with a grave, kindly smile at the aged couple. with many humble salutations and apologies the old folks explained that they had heard of the hasty and promiscuous flight of the whole household, headed by the mistress, and also that the "sweet young lady" was left all alone because she refused to leave old bridget; and that they had therefore ventured to come up to the great house to offer their poor services, to wait upon her and to do for her all that lay in their power, and this not for her only, but for the two sick persons already in the house. "for, as i do say to my wife there," said old andrew, though he spoke in a strange rustic fashion that would scarce be intelligible to our modern ears, "a body can but die once; and for aught i see, one might as easy die of the black death as of the rheumatics that sets one's bones afire, and cripples one as bad as being in one's coffin at once. so i be a-going to look to poor willum, as they say is lying groaning still upon the kitchen floor, none having dared to go anigh him since he fell down in a fit. and if i be took tending on him, i know that you will take care of my old woman, and see that she does not want for bread so long as she lives." joan put out her soft, strong hand and laid it upon the hard, wrinkled fist of the old servant. there was a suspicious sparkle in her dark eyes. "i will not disappoint that expectation, good andrew," she said. "go if you will, whilst we think what may best be done for bridget. later on i will come myself to look at william. i have no fear of the distemper; and of one thing i am very sure -- that it is never kept away by being fled from and avoided. i have known travellers who have seen it, and have been with the sick, and have never caught the contagion, whilst many fled from it in terror only to be overtaken and struck down as they so ran. we are in god's hands -- forsaken of all but him. let us trust in his mercy, do our duty calmly and firmly, and leave the rest to him." later in the day, upheld by this same lofty sense of calmness and trust, joan, after doing all in her power to make comfortable the old nurse, who was terribly distressed at hearing how her dear young lady had been deserted, left her to the charge of betty, and went down again through the dark and silent house to the great kitchen, where william was still to be found, reclining now upon a settle beside the glowing hearth, and looking not so very much the worse for the seizure of the afternoon. "i do tell he it were but the colic," old andrew declared, rubbing his crumpled hands together in the glow of the fire. "he were in a rare fright when i found he -- groaning out that the black death had hold of he, and that he were a dead man; but i told he that he was the liveliest corpse as i'd set eyes on this seventy years; and so after a bit he heartened up, and found as he could get upon his feet after all. it were naught but the colic in his inside; and he needn't be afraid of nothing worse." old andrew proved right. william's sudden indisposition had been but the result of fright and hard riding, followed by copious draughts of hot beer taken with a view to keeping away the contagion. very soon he was convinced of this himself; and when he understood how the whole household had fled from him, and that the only ones who had stayed to see that he did not die alone and untended were these old souls and their adored young lady, his heart was filled with loving gratitude and devotion, and he lost no opportunity of doing her service whenever it lay in his power. strange and lonely indeed was the life led by those five persons shut up in that large house, right away from all sights and sounds from the world without. the silence and the solitude at last became well-nigh intolerable, and when bridget had recovered from her attack of illness and was going about briskly again, joan took the opportunity of speaking her mind to her fully and freely. "why do we remain shut up within these walls, when there is so much work to be done in the world? bridget, thou knowest that i love not my life as some love it. often it seems to me as though by death alone i may escape a frightful doom. all around us our fellow creatures are dying -- too often alone and untended, like dogs in a ditch. good bridget, i have money in the house, and we have health and strength and courage; and thou art an excellent good nurse in all cases of sickness. thou hast taught me some of thy skill, and i long to show it on behalf of these poor stricken souls, so often deserted by their nearest and dearest in the hour of their deadliest peril. if i go, wilt thou go with me? i trow that thou art a brave woman --" "and if i were not thou wouldst shame me into bravery, sweetheart," answered the old woman fondly, as she looked into the earnest face of her young mistress. "i too have been thinking of the poor stricken souls. i would gladly risk the peril in such a labour of love. as old andrew says, we can but die once. the holy saints will surely look kindly upon those who die at their post, striving to do as they would have done had they been here with us upon earth." and when william heard what his young mistress was about to do, he declared that he too would go with her, and assist with the offices to the sick or the dead. he still had a vivid recollection of the moments when he had believed himself left alone to die of the distemper; and fellow feeling and generosity getting the better of his first unreasoning terror, he was as eager as joan herself to enter upon this labour of love. bridget, who was a great botanist, in the practical fashion of many old persons in those days, knew more about the properties of herbs than anybody in the country round, and she made a great selection from her stores, and brewed many pungent concoctions which she gave to her young mistress and william to drink, to ward off any danger from infection. she also gave them, to hang about their necks, bags containing aromatic herbs, whose strong and penetrating odour dominated all others, and was likely enough to do good in purifying the atmosphere about the wearer. there was no foolish superstition in bridget's belief in her simples. she did not regard them as charms; but she had studied their properties and had learned their value, and knew them to possess valuable properties for keeping the blood pure, and so rendering much smaller any chance of imbibing the poison. at dusk that same evening, william, who had been out all day, returned, and requested speech of his young mistress. he was ushered into the parlour where she sat, with her old nurse for her companion; and standing just within the threshold he told his tale. "i went across to the town today. i thought i would see if there was any lodging to be had where you, fair mistress, might conveniently abide whilst working in that place. your worshipful uncle's house i found shut up and empty, not a soul within the doors -- all fled, as most of the better sort of the people are fled, and every window and door fastened up. half the houses, too, are marked with black or red crosses, to show that those within are afflicted with the distemper. there are watchmen in the streets, striving to keep within their doors all such as have the black death upon them; but these be too few for the task, and the maddened wretches are continually breaking out, and running about the streets crying and shouting, till they drop down in a fit, and lie there, none caring for them. by day there be dead and dying in every street; but at night a cart comes and carries the corpses off to the great grave outside the town." "and is there no person to care for the sick in all the town?" asked joan, with dilating eyes. "there were many monks at first; but the distemper seized upon them worse than upon the townfolks, and now there is scarce one left. soon after the distemper broke out, master john de brocas threw open his house to receive all stricken persons who would come thither to be tended, and it has been full to overflowing night and day ever since. i passed by the house as i came out, and around the door there were scores of wretched creatures, all stricken with the distemper, praying to be taken in. and i saw master john come out to them and welcome them in, lifting a little child from the arms of an almost dying woman, and leading her in by the hand. when i saw that, i longed to go in myself and offer myself to help in the work; but i thought my first duty was to you, sweet mistress, and i knew if once i had told my tale you would not hold me back." "nay; and i will go thither myself, and bridget with me," answered joan, with kindling eyes. "we will start with the first light of the new-born day. they will want the help of women as well as of men within those walls. "good bridget, look well to thy store of herbs, and take ample provision of all such as will allay fever and destroy the poison that works in the blood. for methinks there will be great work to be done by thee and me ere another sun has set; and every aid that nature can give us we will thankfully make use of." "your palfrey is yet in the stable, fair mistress," said william, "and there be likewise the strong sorrel from the farm, whereupon bridget can ride pillion behind me. shall i have them ready at break of day tomorrow? we shall then gain the town before the day's work has well begun." "do so," answered joan, with decision. "i would fain have started by night; but it will be wiser to tarry for the light of day. good william, i thank thee for thy true and faithful service. we are going forth to danger and perchance to death; but we go in a good cause, and we have no need to fear." and when william had retired, she turned to bridget with shining eyes, and said: "ah, did i not always say that john was the truest knight of them all? the others have won their spurs; they have won the applause of men. they have all their lives looked down on john as one unable to wield a sword, one well-nigh unworthy of the ancient name he bears. but which of yon gay knights would have done what he is doing now? who of all of them would stand forth fearless and brave in the teeth of this far deadlier peril than men ever face upon the battlefield? i trow not one of them would have so stood before a peril like this. they have left that for the true knight of the cross!" at dawn next day joan said adieu to her old home, and set her face steadily forward towards guildford. the chill freshness of the november air was pleasant after the long period of oppressive warmth and closeness which had gone before, and now that the leaves had really fallen from the trees, there was less of the heavy humidity in the air that seemed to hold the germs of distemper and transmit them alike to man and beast. the sun was not quite up as they started; but as they entered the silent streets of guildford it was shining with a golden glory in strange contrast to the scenes upon which it would shortly have to look. early morning was certainly the best time for joan to enter the town, for the cart had been its round, the dead had been removed from the streets, and the houses were quieter than they often were later in the day. once in a way a wild shriek or a burst of demoniacal laughter broke from some window; and once a girl, with hair flying wildly down her back, flew out of one of the houses sobbing and shrieking in a frenzy of terror, and was lost to sight down a side alley before joan could reach her side. pursuing their way through the streets, they turned down the familiar road leading to john's house, and dismounting at the gate, joan gave up her palfrey to william to seek stabling for it behind, and walked up with bridget to the open door of the house. that door was kept wide open night and day, and none who came were ever turned away. joan entered the hall, to find great fires burning there, and round these fires were crowded shivering and moaning beings, some of the latest victims of the distemper, who had been brought within the hospitable shelter of that house of mercy, but who had not yet been provided with beds; for the numbers coming in day by day were even greater than the vacancies made by deaths constantly occurring in the wards (as they would now be called). helpers were few, and of these one or another would be stricken down, and carried away to burial after a few hours' illness. of the wretched beings grouped about the fires several were little children, and joan's heart went out in compassion to the suffering morsels of humanity. taking a little moaning infant upon her knee, and letting two more pillow their weary beads against her dress, she signed to bridget to remove her riding cloak, which she gently wrapped about the scantily-clothed form of a woman extended along the ground at her feet, to whom the children apparently belonged. the woman was dying fast, as her glazing eyes plainly showed. probably her case was altogether hopeless; but joan was not yet seasoned to such scenes, and it seemed too terrible to sit by idle whilst a fellow creature actually died not two yards away. surely somewhere within that house aid could be found. the girl rose gently from her seat, and still clasping the stricken infant in her arms, she moved towards one of the closed doors of the lower rooms. opening this softly, she looked in, and saw a row of narrow pallet beds down each side of the room, and every bed was tenanted. sounds of moaning, the babble of delirious talk, and thickly-uttered cries for help or mercy now reached her ears, and the terrible breath of the plague for the first time smote upon her senses in all its full malignity. she recoiled for an instant, and clutched at the bag around her neck, which she was glad enough to press to her face. a great fire was burning in the hearth, and all that could be done to lessen the evil had been accomplished. there was one attendant in this room, which was set apart for men, and he was just now bending over a delirious youth, striving to restrain his wild ravings and to induce him to remain in his bed. this attendant had his back to joan, but she saw by his actions and his calm self possession that he was no novice to his task; and she walked softly through the pestilential place, feeling that she should not appeal to him for help in vain. as the sound of the light, firm tread sounded upon the bare boards of the floor, the attendant suddenly lifted himself and turned round. joan uttered a quick exclamation of surprise, which was echoed by the person in question. "raymond!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "joan! thou here, and at such a time as this!" and then they both stood motionless for a few long moments, feeling that despite the terrible scenes around and about them, the very gates of paradise had opened before them, turning everything around them to gold. chapter xxi. the old, old story the scourge had passed. it had swept over the length and breadth of the region of which guildford formed the centre, and had done its terrible work of destruction there, leaving homes desolated and villages almost depopulated. it was still raging in london, and was hurrying northward and eastward with all its relentless energy and deadliness; but in most of the places thus left behind its work seemed to be fully accomplished, and there were no fresh cases. people began to go about their business as of old. those who had fled returned to their homes, and strove to take up the scattered threads of life as best they might. in many cases whole families had been swept out of existence; in others (more truly melancholy cases), one member had escaped when all the rest had perished. the religious houses were crowded with the helpless orphans of the sufferers in the epidemic, and the summer crops lay rotting in the fields for want of labourers to get them in. john's house in guildford had by this time reassumed its normal aspect. the last of the sick who had not been carried to the grave, but had recovered to return home, had now departed, with many a blessing upon the master, whose act of piety and charity had doubtless saved so many lives at this crisis. the work the young man had set himself to do had been nobly accomplished; but the task had been one beyond his feeble strength, and he now lay upon a couch of sickness, knowing well, if others did not, that his days were numbered. he had fallen down in a faint upon the very day that the last patient had been able to leave his doors. for a moment it was feared that the poison of the distemper had fastened upon him; but it was not so. the attack was but due to the failure of the heart's action -- nature, tried beyond her powers of endurance, asserting herself at last -- and they laid him down in his old favourite haunt, with his books around him, having made the place look like it did before the house had been turned into a veritable hospital and mortuary. when john opened his eyes at last it was to find joan bending over him; and looking into her face with his sweet, tired smile, he said: "you will not leave me, joan?" "no," she answered gently; "i will not leave you yet. bridget and i will nurse you. all our other helpers are themselves worn out; but we have worked only a little while. we have not borne the burden and heat of that terrible day." "you came in a good hour -- like angels of mercy that you were," said john, feeling, now that the long strain and struggle was over, a wonderful sense of rest and peace. "i thought it was a dream when first i saw your face, joan -- when i saw you moving about amongst the sick, always with a child in your arms. i have never been able to ask how you came hither. in those days we could never stay to talk. there are many things i would fain ask now. how come you here alone, save for your old nurse? are your parents dead likewise?" "i know not that myself," answered joan, with the calmness that comes from constantly standing face to face with death. "i have heard naught of them these many weeks. william goes ofttimes to woodcrych to seek for news of them there. but they have not returned, and he can learn nothing." and then whilst john lay with closed eyes, his face so white and still that it looked scarce the face of a living man, joan told him all her tale; and he understood then how it was that she had suddenly appeared amongst them like a veritable angel of mercy. when her story was done, he opened his eyes and said: "where is raymond?" "they told me he was sleeping an hour since," answered joan. "he has sore need of sleep, for he has been watching and working night and day for longer than i may tell. he looks little more than a shadow himself; and he has had roger to care for of late, since he fell ill." "but roger is recovering?" "yes. it was the distemper, but in its least deadly form, and he is already fast regaining his strength. "has raymond been the whole time with you? i have never had the chance to speak to him of himself." and a faint soft flush awoke in joan's cheek, whilst a smile hovered round the corners of her lips. "nor i; yet there be many things i would fain ask of him. he went forth to be with father paul when first the black death made its fatal entry into the country; and from that day forth i heard naught of him until he came hither to me. we will ask him of himself when he comes to join us. it will be like old times come back again when thou, joan, and he and i gather about the yule log, and talk together of ourselves and others." a common and deadly peril binds very closely together those who have faced it and fought it hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder; and in those days of divided houses, broken lives, and general disruption of all ordinary routine in domestic existence, things that in other times would appear strange and unnatural were now taken as a matter of course. it did not occur to joan as in any way remarkable that she should remain in john's house, nursing him with the help of bridget, and playing a sister's part until some of his own kith or kin returned. he had been deserted by all of his own name. she herself knew not whether she had any relatives living. circumstances had thrown her upon his hospitality, and she had looked upon him almost as a brother ever since the days of her childhood. she knew that he was dying; there was that in his face which told as much all too well to those who had long been looking upon death. to have left him at such a moment would have seemed far more strange and unnatural than to remain. in those times of terror stranger things were done daily, no man thinking aught of it. so she smiled as she heard john's last words, trying to recall the day when she had first seen raymond at master bernard's house, when he had seemed to her little more than a boy, albeit a very knightly and chivalrous one. now her feelings towards him were far different: not that she thought less of his knightliness and chivalry, but that she was half afraid to let her mind dwell too much upon him and her thoughts of him; for of late, since they had been toiling together in the hand-to-hand struggle against disease and death, she was conscious of a feeling toward him altogether new in her experience, and his face was seldom out of her mental vision. the sound of his voice was ever in her ears; and she always knew, by some strange intuition, when he was near, whether she could see him or not. she knew even as john spoke that he was approaching; and as the latch of the door clicked a soft wave of colour rose in her pale cheek, and she turned her head with a gesture that spoke a mute welcome. "they tell me that thou art sick, good john," said raymond, coming forward into the bright circle of the firelight. the dancing flames lit up that pale young face, worn and hollow with long watching and stress of work, and showed that raymond had changed somewhat during those weeks of strange experience. some of the dreaminess had gone out of the eyes, to be replaced by a luminous steadfastness of expression which had always been there, but was now greatly intensified. pure, strong, and noble, the face was that of a man rather than a boy, and yet the bright, almost boyish, alertness and eagerness were still quickly apparent when he entered into conversation, and turned from one companion to another. it was the same raymond -- yet with a difference; and both of his companions scanned him with some curiosity as he took his seat beside john's couch and asked of his cousin's welfare. "nay, trouble not thyself over me; thou knowest that my life's sands are well-nigh run out. i have been spared for this work, that thou, my raymond, gavest me to do. i am well satisfied, and thou must be the same, my kind cousin. only let me have thee with me to the end -- and sweet mistress joan, if kind fortune will so favour us. and tell us now of thyself, raymond, and how it fared with thee before thou camest hither. hast thou been with father paul? and if so, why didst thou leave him? is he, too, dead?" "he was not when we parted; he went forward to london when he bid me come to see how it fared with thee, good john, and bring thee his blessing. i should have been with thee one day earlier, save that i turned aside to basildene, where i heard that the old man lay dying alone." "basildene!" echoed both his hearers quickly. "has the black death been there?" "ay, and the old man who is called a sorcerer is dead. to me it was given to soothe his dying moments, and give him such christian burial as men may have when there be no priest at hand to help them to their last rest. i was in time for that." "peter sanghurst dead!" mused john thoughtfully; and looking up at raymond, he said quickly, "did he know who and what thou wert?" "he did; for in his delirium he took me for my mother, and his terror was great, knowing her to be dead. when i told him who i was, he was right glad; and he would fain have made over to me the deeds by which he holds basildene -- the deeds my mother left behind her in her flight, and which he seized upon. he would fain have made full reparation for that one evil deed of his life; but his son, who had held aloof hitherto, and would have left his father to die untended and alone --" joan had uttered a little exclamation of horror and disgust; now she asked, quickly and almost nervously: "the son -- peter sanghurst? o raymond, was that bad man there?" "yes; and he knows now who and what i am, whereby his old hatred to me is bitterly increased. he holds that i have hindered and thwarted him before in other matters. now that he knows i have a just and lawful claim on basildene, which one day i will make good, he hates me with a tenfold deadlier hatred." "hates you -- when you came to his father in his last extremity? how can he dare to hate you now?" raymond smiled a shadowy smile as he looked into the fire. "methinks he knows little of filial love. he knew that his father had been stricken with the distemper, but he left him to die alone. he would not have come nigh him at all, save that he heard sounds in the house, and feared that robbers had entered, and that his secret treasure hoards might fall into their hands. he had come down armed to the teeth to resist such marauders, being willing rather to stand in peril of the distemper than to lose his ill-gotten gold. but he found none such as he thought; yet having come, and having learned who and what manner of man i was, he feared to leave me alone with his father, lest i should be told the secret of the hidden hoard, which the old man longed to tell me but dared not. doubtless the parchment he wished to place in my hands is there; but his son hovered ever within earshot, and the old man dared not speak. yet with his last breath he called me lord of basildene, and charged me to remove from it the curse which in his own evil days had fallen upon the place." "peter sanghurst will not love you the more for that," said john. "verily no; yet methinks he can scarce hate me more than he does and has done for long." "he is no insignificant foe," was the thoughtful rejoinder. "his hate may be no light thing." "he has threatened me oft and savagely," answered raymond, "and yet no harm has befallen me therefrom." "why has he threatened thee?" asked joan breathlessly; "what hast thou done to raise his ire?" "we assisted roger, the woodman's son, to escape from that vile slavery at basildene, of which doubtless thou hast heard, sweet lady. that was the first cause of offence." "and the second?" raymond's clear gaze sought her face for a moment, and joan's dark eyes kindled and then slowly dropped. "the second was on thy account, sweet joan," said raymond, with a curious vibration in his voice. "he saw us once together -- it is long ago now -- and he warned me how i meddled to thwart him again. i scarce understood him then, though i knew that he would fain have won this fair hand, but that thou didst resolutely withhold it. now that i have reached man's estate i understand him better. joan, he is still bent upon having this hand. in my hearing he swore a great oath that by fair means or foul it should be his one day. he is a man of resolute determination, and, now that his father no longer lives, of great wealth too, and wealth is power. thou hast thwarted him till he is resolved to humble thee at all cost. i verily believe to be avenged for all thou hast cost him would be motive enough to make him compass heaven and earth to win thee. what sayest thou? to withstand him may be perilous --" "to wed him would be worse than death," said joan, in a very low tone. "i will never yield, if i die to save myself from him." unconsciously these two had lowered their voices. john had dropped asleep beside the fire with the ease of one exhausted by weakness and long watching. joan and raymond were practically alone together. there was a strange light upon the face of the youth, and into his pale face there crept a flush of faint red. "joan," he said, in low, firm tones that shook a little with the intensity of his earnestness, "when i saw thee first, and knew thee for a very queen amongst women, my boyish love and homage was given all to thee. i dreamed of going forth to win glory and renown, that i might come and lay my laurels at thy feet, and win one sweet answering smile, one kindly word of praise from thee. yet here am i, almost at man's estate, and i have yet no laurels to bring to thee. i have but one thing to offer -- the deep true love of a heart that beats alone for thee. joan, i am no knightly suitor, i have neither gold nor lands -- though one day it may be i may have both, and thy father would doubtless drive me forth from his doors did i present myself to him as a suitor for this fair hand. but, joan, i love thee -- i would lay down my life to serve thee -- and i know that thou mayest one day be in peril from him who is also mine own bitter foe. wilt thou then give me the right to fight for thee, to hold this hand before all the world and do battle for its owner, as only he may hope to do who holds it, as i do this moment, by that owner's free will? give me but leave to call it mine, and i will dare all and do all to win it. sweet mistress joan, my words are few and poor; but could my heart speak for me, it would plead eloquent music. thou art the sun and star of my life. tell me, may i hope some day to win thy love?" joan had readily surrendered her hand to his clasp, and doubtless this had encouraged raymond to proceed in his tale of love. he certainly had not intended thus to commit himself, poor and unknown and portionless as he was, with everything still to win; but a power stronger than he could resist drew him on from word to word and phrase to phrase, and a lovely colour mantled in joan's cheek as he proceeded, till at last she put forth her other hand and laid it in his, saying: "raymond, i love thee now. my heart is thine and thine alone. go forth, if thou wilt, and win honour and renown -- but thou wilt never win a higher honour and glory than i have seen thee winning day by day and hour by hour here in this very house -- and come back when and as thou wilt. thou wilt find me waiting for thee --ever ready, ever the same. i am thine for life or death. when thou callest me i will come." it was a bold pledge for a maiden to give in those days of harsh parental rule; yet joan gave it without shrinking or fear. that this informal betrothal might be long before it could hope to be consummated, both the lovers well knew; that there might be many dangers lying before them, they did not attempt to deny. it was no light matter to have thus plighted their troth, when raymond was still poor and nameless, and joan, in her father's estimation, plighted to the sanghurst. but both possessed brave and resolute spirits, that did not shrink or falter; and joyfully happy in the security of their great love, they could afford for a time to forget the world. raymond drew from within his doublet the half ring he had always carried about with him, and placed it upon the finger of his love. joan, on her side, drew from her neck a black agate heart she had always worn there, and gave it to raymond, who put it upon the silver cord which had formerly supported his circlet of the double ring. "so long as i live that heart shall hang there," he said. "never believe that i am dead until thou seest the heart brought thee by another. while i live i part not with it." "nor i with thy ring," answered joan, proudly turning her hand about till the firelight flashed upon it. and then they drew closer together, and whispered together, as lovers love to do, of the golden future lying before them; and raymond told of his mother and her dying words, and his love, in spite of all that had passed there, for the old house of basildene, and asked joan if they two together would be strong enough to remove the curse which had been cast over the place by the evil deeds of its present owners. "methinks thou couldst well do that thyself, my faithful knight," answered joan, with a great light in her eyes; "for methinks all evil must fly thy presence, as night flies from the beams of day. art thou not pledged to a high and holy service? and hast thou not proved ere now how nobly thou canst keep that pledge?" at that moment john stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. there was in them that slightly bewildered look that comes when the mind has been very far away in some distant dreamland, and where the weakened faculties have hardly the strength to reassert themselves. "joan," he said -- "joan, art thou there? art thou safe?" she rose and bent over him smilingly. "here by thy side, good john, and perfectly safe. where should i be?" "and raymond too?" "raymond too. what ails thee, john, that thou art so troubled?" he smiled slightly as he looked round more himself. "it must have been a dream, but it was a strangely vivid one. belike it was our talk of a short while back; for i thought thou wast fleeing from the malice of the sanghurst, and that raymond was in his power, awaiting his malignant rage and vengeance. i know not how it would have ended -- i was glad to wake. i fear me, sweet joan, that thou wilt yet have a hard battle ere thou canst cast loose from the toil spread for thee by yon bad man." joan threw back her head with a queenly gesture. "fear not for me, kind john, for now i am no longer alone to fight my battle. i have raymond for my faithful knight and champion. raymond and i have plighted our troth this very day. let peter sanghurst do his worst; it will take a stronger hand than his to sunder love like ours!" john's pale face kindled with sympathy and satisfaction. he looked from one to the other and held out his thin hands. "my heart's wishes and blessings be with you both," he said. "i have so many times thought of some such thing, and longed to see it accomplished. there may be clouds athwart your path, but there will be sunshine behind the cloud. joan, thou hast chosen thy knight worthily and well. it may be that men will never call him knight. it may be that he will not have trophies rich and rare to lay at thy feet. but thou and i know well that there is a knighthood not of this world, and in that order of chivalry his spurs have already been won, and he will not, with thee at his side, ever be tempted to forget his high and holy calling. for thou wilt be the guiding star of his life; and thou too art dedicated to serve." there was silence for a few moments in the quiet room. john lay back on his pillows panting somewhat, and with that strange unearthly light they had seen there before deepening in his eyes. they had observed that look often of late -- as though he saw right through them and beyond to a glory unspeakable, shut out for the time from their view. joan put out her hand and took that of raymond, as if there was assurance in the warm human clasp. but their eyes were still fixed upon john's face, which was changing every moment. he had done much to form both their minds, this weakly scion of the de brocas house, whose life was held by those who bore his name to be nothing but a failure. it was from him they had both imbibed those thoughts and aspirations which had been the first link drawing them together, and which had culminated in an act of the highest self-sacrifice and devotion. and now it seemed to him, as he lay there looking at them, the two beings upon earth that he loved the best (for raymond was more to him than a brother, and joan the one woman whom, had things gone otherwise with him, he would fain have made his wife), that he might well leave his work in their hands -- that they would carry on to completion the nameless labour of love which he had learned to look upon as the highest form of chivalry. "raymond," he said faintly. raymond came and bent down over him. "i am close beside thee, john." "i know it. i feel it. i am very happy. raymond, thou wilt not forget me?" "never, john, never." "i have been very happy in thy brotherly love and friendship. it has been very sweet to me. raymond, thou wilt not forget thy vow? thou wilt ever be true to that higher life that we have spoken of so oft together?" raymond's face was full of deep and steadfast purpose. "i will be faithful, i will be true," he answered. "god helping me, i will be true to the vow we have made together. joan shall be my witness now, as i make it anew to thee here." "not for fame or glory or praise of man alone," murmured john, his voice growing fainter and fainter, "but first for the glory of god and his honour, and then for the poor, the feeble, the helpless, the needy. to be a champion to such as have none to help them, to succour the distressed, to comfort the mourner, to free those who are wrongfully oppressed, even though kings be the oppressors -- that is the true courage, the true chivalry; that is the service to which thou, my brother, art pledged." raymond bent his head, whilst joan's clasp tightened on his hand. they both knew that john was dying, but they had looked too often upon death to fear it now. they did not summon any one to his side. no priest was to be found at that time, and john had not long since received the sacrament with one who had lately died in the house. there was no restlessness or pain in his face, only a great peace and rest. his voice died away, but he still looked at raymond, as though to the last he would fain see before his eyes the face he had grown to love best upon earth. his breath grew shorter and shorter. raymond thought he made a sign to him to bend his head nearer. stooping over him, he caught the faintly-whispered words: "tell my father not to grieve that i did not die a knight. he has his other sons; and i have been very happy. tell him that -- happier, i trow, than any of them --" there were a brief silence and a slight struggle for breath, then one whispered phrase: "i will arise and go to my father --" those were the last words spoken by john de brocas. chapter xxii. the black visor. "brother, this is like old times," said gaston, his hand upon raymond's shoulder as they stood side by side in the extreme prow of the vessel that was conveying them once again towards the sunny south of france. the salt spray dashed in their faces, the hum of the cordage overhead was in their ears, and their thoughts had gone back to that day, now nigh upon eight years back, when they, as unknown and untried boys, had started forth to see the world together. gaston's words broke the spell of silence, and raymond turned his head to scan the stalwart form beside him with a look of fond admiration and pride. "nay, scarce like those old days, sir gaston de brocas," he answered, speaking the name with significant emphasis; and gaston laughed and tossed back his leonine head with a gesture of mingled pride and impatience as he said: "tush, brother! i scarce know how to prize my knighthood now that thou dost not share it with me -- thou so far more truly knightly and worthy. i had ever planned that we had been together in that as in all else. why wert thou not with me that day when we vanquished the navy of proud spain? the laurels are scarce worth the wearing that thou wearest not with me." for gaston was now indeed a knight. he had fought beside the prince in the recent engagement at sea, when a splendid naval victory had been obtained over the spanish fleet. he had performed prodigies of valour on that occasion, and had been instrumental in the taking of many rich prizes. and when the royal party had returned to windsor, gaston had been named, with several more youthful gentlemen, to receive knighthood at the hands of the prince of wales. whereupon master bernard de brocas had stood forward and told the story of the parentage of the twin brothers, claiming kinship with them, and speaking in high praise of raymond, who, since the death of john, had been employed by his uncle in a variety of small matters that used to be john's province to see to. in every point the gascon youth had shown aptitude and ability beyond the average, and had won high praise from his clerical kinsman, who was more the statesman than the parish priest. very warmly had the de brocas brothers been welcomed by their kinsmen; and as they laid no claim to any lands or revenues in the possession of other members of the family, not the least jealousy or ill-will was excited by their rise in social status. all that gaston asked of the king was liberty some day, when the hollow truce with france should be broken, and when the king's matters were sufficiently settled to permit of private enterprise amongst his own servants, to gather about him a company of bold kindred spirits, and strive to wrest back from the treacherous and rapacious sieur de navailles the ancient castle of saut, which by every law of right should belong to his own family. the king listened graciously to this petition, and gave gaston full encouragement to hope to regain his fathers' lost inheritance. but of basildene no word was spoken then; for the shrewd master bernard had warned raymond that the time had not yet come to prosecute that claim -- and indeed the neglected old house, crumbling to the dust and environed by an evil reputation which effectually kept all men away from it, seemed scarce worth the struggle it would cost to wrest it from the keeping of peter sanghurst. this worthy, since his father's death, had entered upon a totally new course of existence. he had appeared at court, sumptuously dressed, and with a fairly large following. he had ingratiated himself with the king by a timely loan of gold (for the many drains upon edward's resources kept him always short of money for his household and family expenses), and was playing the part of a wealthy and liberal man. it was whispered of him, as it had been of his father, that he had some secret whereby to fill his coffers with gold whenever they were empty, and this reputation gave him a distinct prestige with his comrades and followers. he was not accused of black magic, like his father. his secret was supposed to have been inherited by him, not bought with the price of his soul. it surrounded him with a faint halo of mystery, but it was mystery that did him good rather than harm. the king himself took favourable notice of one possessed of such a golden secret, and for the present the sanghurst was better left in undisturbed possession of his ill-gotten gains. raymond had learned the difficult lesson of patience, and accepted his uncle's advice. it was the easier to be patient since he knew that joan was for the present safe from the persecutions of her hated suitor. joan had been summoned to go to her father almost immediately upon the death of john de brocas. he had sent for her to woodcrych, and she had travelled thither at once with the escort sent to fetch her. raymond had heard from her once since that time. in the letter she had contrived to send him she had told him that her mother was dead, having fallen a victim to the dreaded distemper she had fled to avoid, but which had nevertheless seized her almost immediately upon her arrival at her husband's house. he too had been stricken, but had recovered; and his mind having been much affected by his illness and trouble, he had resolved upon a pilgrimage to rome, in which his daughter was to accompany him. she did not know how long they would be absent from england, and save for the separation from her true love, she was glad to go. her brother would return to the court, and only she and her father would take the journey. she had heard nothing all these weeks of the dreaded foe, and hoped he might have passed for ever from her life. and in this state matters stood with the brothers as the vessel bore them through the tossing blue waves that bright may morning, every plunge of the well-fitted war sloop bringing them nearer and nearer to the well-known and well-loved harbour of bordeaux. yet it was on no private errand that they were bound, though gaston could not approach the familiar shores of gascony without thinking of that long-cherished hope of his now taking so much more solid a shape. the real object of this small expedition was, however, the relief of the town of st. jean d'angely, belonging to the english king, which had been blockaded for some time by the french monarch. the distressed inhabitants had contrived to send word to edward of their strait, and he had despatched the earl of warwick with a small picked army to its relief. the gascon twins had been eager to join this small contingent, and had volunteered for the service. gaston was put in command of a band of fine soldiers, and his brother took service with him. this was the first time for several years that raymond had been in arms, for of late his avocations had been of a more peaceful nature. but he possessed all the soldier instincts of his race, and by his brother's side would go joyfully into battle again. he did not know many of the knights and gentlemen serving in this small expedition, nor did gaston either, for that matter. it was too small an undertaking to attract the flower of edward's chivalry, and the black death had made many gaps in the ranks of the comrades the boys had first known when they had fought under the king's banner. but the satisfaction of being together again made amends for all else. indeed they scarce had eyes for any but each other, and had so much to tell and to ask that the voyage was all too short for them. amongst those on board raymond had frequently noticed the figure of a tall man always in full armour, and always wearing his visor down, so that none might see his face. his armour was of fine workmanship, light and strong, and seemed in no way to incommode him. there was no device upon it, save some serpents cunningly inlaid upon the breastplate, and the visor was richly chased and inlaid with black, so that the whole effect was gloomy and almost sinister. raymond had once or twice asked the name of the black visor, as men called him, but none had been able to tell him. it was supposed that he was under some vow -- a not very uncommon thing in the days of chivalry -- and that he might not remove his visor until he had performed some gallant feat of arms. sometimes it had seemed to the youth as though the dark eyes looking out through the holes in that black covering were fixed more frequently upon himself than upon any one else; and if he caught full for a moment the fiery gleam, he would wonder for the instant it lasted where and when he had seen those eyes before. but his mind was not in any sense of the word concerned with the black visor, and it was only now and then he gave him a passing thought. and now the good vessel was slipping through the still waters of the magnificent harbour of bordeaux. the deck was all alive with the bustle of speedy landing, and the gascon brothers were scanning the familiar landmarks and listening with delight to the old familiar tongue. familiar faces there were none to be seen, it is true. the boys were too much of foreigners now to have many old friends in the queenly city. but the whole place was homelike to them, and would be so to their lives' ends. moreover, they hoped ere they took ship again to have time and opportunity to revisit old haunts and see their foster parents and the good priest once more; but for the present their steps were turned northward towards the gallant little beleaguered town which had appealed to the english king for aid. a few days were spent at bordeaux collecting provisions for the town, and mustering the reinforcements which the loyal city was always ready and eager to supply in answer to any demand on the part of the roy outremer. the french king had died the previous year, and his son john, formerly duke of normandy, was now upon the throne; but the situation between the two nations had by no means changed, and indeed the bitter feeling between them was rather increased than diminished by the many petty breaches of faith on one side or another, of which this siege of st. jean d'angely was an example. on the whole the onus of breaking the truce rested more with the french than the english. but a mere truce, where no real peace is looked for on either side, is but an unsatisfactory state of affairs at best; and although both countries were sufficiently exhausted by recent wars and the ravages of the plague to desire the interlude prolonged, yet hostilities of one kind or another never really ceased, and the struggles between the rival lords of brittany and their heroic wives always kept the flame of war smouldering. gascony as a whole was always loyal to the english cause, and bordeaux too well knew what she owed to the english trade ever to be backward when called upon by the english king. speedily a fine band of soldiers was assembled, and at dawn one day the march northward was commenced. the little army mustered some five thousand men, all well fed and in capital condition for the march. raymond rode by his brother's side well in the van, and he noticed presently, amongst the new recruits who had joined them, another man of very tall stature, who also wore a black visor over his face. he was plainly a friend to the unknown knight (if knight he were) who had sailed in their vessel, for they rode side by side deep in talk; and behind them, in close and regular array, rode a number of their immediate followers, all wearing a black tuft in their steel caps and a black band round their arm. however, there was nothing very noteworthy in this. many men had followers marked by some distinctive badge, and the sombre little contingent excited small notice. they all looked remarkably fine soldiers, and appeared to be under excellent discipline. more than that was not asked of any man, and the gascons were well known to be amongst the best soldiers of the day. the early start and the long daylight enabled the gallant little band to push on in the one day to the banks of the charente, and within a few miles of st. jean itself. there, however, a halt was called, for the french were in a remarkably good position, and it was necessary to take counsel how they might best be attacked. in the first place there was the river to be crossed, and the one bridge was in the hands of the enemy, who had fortified it, and would be able to hold it against great odds. they were superior in numbers to their assailants, and probably knew their advantage. gaston, who well understood the french nature, was the first to make a likely suggestion. "let us appear to retreat," he said. "they will then see our small numbers, and believe that we are flying through fear of them. doubtless they will at once rush out to pursue and attack us, and after we have drawn them from their strong position, we can turn again upon them and slay them, or drive them into the river." this suggestion was received with great favour, and it was decided to act upon it that very day. there were still several hours of daylight before them, and the men, who had had wine and bread distributed to them, were full of eagerness for the fray. the french, who were quite aware of the strength of their own position, and very confident of ultimate victory, were narrowly watching the movements of the english, whose approach had been for some time expected by them. they were certain that they could easily withstand the onslaught of the whole body, if these were bold enough to attack, and they well knew how terribly thinned would the english ranks become before they could hope to cross the bridge and march upon the main body of the french army encamped before the town. great, then, was the exultation of the french when they saw how much terror they had inspired in the heart of the foe. they were eagerly observing their movements; they saw that a council had been called amongst the chiefs, and that deliberations had been entered into by them. but so valiant were the english in fight, and so many were the victories they had obtained with numbers far inferior to those of the foe, that there was a natural sense of uncertainty as to the result of a battle, even when all the chances of the war seemed to be against the foreign foe. but when the trumpets actually sounded the retreat, and they saw the whole body moving slowly away, then indeed did they feel that triumph was near, and a great shout of derision and anger rose up in the still evening air. "to horse, men, and after them!" was the word given, and a cry of fierce joy went up from the whole army. "my lords of england, you will not get off in that way. you have come hither by your own will; you shall not leave until you have paid your scot." no great order was observed as the frenchmen sprang to horse and galloped across the bridge, and so after the retreating foe. every man was eager to bear his share in the discomfiture of the english contingent, and hardly staying to arm themselves fully, the eager, hot-headed french soldiers, horse and foot, swung along in any sort of order, only eager to cut to pieces the flower of the english chivalry (as their leaders had dubbed this little band), and inflict a dark stain upon the honour of edward's brilliant arms. in the ranks of this same english contingent, now in rapid and orderly retreat, there was to the full as much exultation and lust of battle as in the hearts of their pursuing foes. every man grasped his weapon and set his teeth firmly, the footmen marching steadily onwards at a rapid and swinging pace, whilst the horsemen, who brought up the rear -- for they were to be the first to charge when the trumpet sounded the advance -- kept turning their heads to watch the movement of the foe, and sent up a brief huzzah as they saw that their ruse had proved successful, and that their foes were coming fast after them. "keep thou by my side in the battle today, raymond," said gaston, as he looked to the temper of his weapons and glanced backwards over his shoulder. "thou hast been something more familiar with the pen than the sword of late -- and thy faithful esquire likewise. fight, then, by my side, and together we will meet and overcome the foe. they will fight like wolves, i doubt not, for they will be bitterly wrathful when they see the trick we have played upon them. wherefore quit not my side, be the fighting never so hot, for i would have thee ever with me." "i wish for nothing better for myself," answered raymond, with a fond proud glance at the stalwart gaston, who now towered a full head taller above him, and was a very king amongst men. he was mounted on a fine black war horse, who had carried his master victoriously through many charges before today. raymond's horse was much lighter in build, a wiry little barb with a distinct arab strain, fearless in battle, and fleet as the wind, but without the weight or solidity of gaston's noble charger. indeed, gaston had found some fault with the creature's lack of weight for withstanding the onslaught of cavalry charge; but he suited raymond so well in other ways that the latter had declined to make any change, and told his brother smilingly that his great lucifer had weight and strength for both. scarcely had gaston given this charge to his brother before the trumpets sounded a new note, and at once the compact little body of horse and foot halted, wheeled round, and put themselves in position for the advance. another blast from those same trumpets, given with all the verve and joyousness of coming victory, and the horses of their own accord sprang forward to the attack. then the straggling and dismayed body of frenchmen who had been pushing on in advance of their fellows to fall upon the flying english, found themselves opposed to one of those magnificent cavalry charges which made the glory and the terror of the english arms throughout the reign of the great edward. vainly trying to rally themselves, and with shouts of "st. dennis!" "st. dennis!" the frenchmen rushed upon their foes; and the detachments from behind coming up quickly, the engagement became general at once, and was most hotly contested on both sides. gaston was one of the foremost to charge into the ranks of the french, and singling out the tallest and strongest adversary he could see, rode full upon him, and was quickly engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand conflict. raymond was close beside him, and soon found himself engaged in parrying the thrusts of several foes. but roger was quickly at his side, taking his own share of hard blows; and as the foot and horse from behind pressed on after the impetuous leaders, and more and more detachments from the french army came up to assist their comrades, the melee became very thick, and in the crush it was impossible to see what was happening except just in front, and to avoid the blows levelled at him was all that raymond was able to think of for many long minutes -- minutes that seemed more like hours. when the press became a little less thick about him, raymond looked round for his brother, but could not see him. a body of riders, moving in a compact wedge, had forced themselves in between himself and gaston. he saw the white plume in his brother's helmet waving at some distance away to the left, but when he tried to rein in his horse and reach him, he still found himself surrounded by the same phalanx of mounted soldiers, who kept pressing him by sheer weight on and on away to the right, though the tide of battle was most distinctly rolling to the left. the french were flying promiscuously back to their lines, and the english soldiers were in hot pursuit. raymond was no longer amid foes. he had long since ceased to have to use his sword either for attack or defence, but he could not check the headlong pace of his mettlesome little barb, nor could he by any exertion of strength turn the creature's head in any other direction. as he was in the midst of those he looked upon as friends, he had no uneasiness as to his own position, even though entirely separated from gaston and roger, who generally kept close at his side. he was so little used of late to the manoeuvres of war, that he fancied this headlong gallop, in which he was taking an involuntary part, might be the result of military tactics, and that he should see its use presently. but as he and his comrades flew over the ground, and the din of the battle died away in his ears, and the last of the evening sunlight faded from the sky, a strange sense of coming ill fell upon raymond's spirit. again he made a most resolute and determined effort to check the fiery little creature he rode, who seemed as if his feet were furnished with wings, so fast he spurned the ground beneath his hoofs. then for the first time the youth found that this mad pace was caused by regular goading from the silent riders who surrounded him. turning in his saddle he saw that these men were one and all engaged in pricking and spurring on the impetuous little steed; and as he cast a keen and searching look at these strange riders, he saw that they all wore in their steel caps the black tuft of the followers of the black visor and his sable-coated companion, and that these two leaders rode themselves a little distance behind. greatly astonished at the strange thing that was befalling him, yet not, so far, alarmed for his personal safety, raymond drew his sword and looked steadily round at the ring of men surrounding him. "cease to interfere with my horse, gentlemen," he said, in stern though courteous accents. "it may be your pleasure thus to ride away from the battle, but it is not mine; and i will ask of you to let me take my way whilst you take yours. why you desire my company i know not, but i do not longer desire yours; wherefore forbear!" not a word or a sign was vouchsafed him in answer; but as he attempted to rein back his panting horse, now fairly exhausted with the struggle between the conflicting wills of so many persons, the dark silent riders continued to urge him forward with open blows and pricks from sword point, till, as he saw that his words were still unheeded, a dangerous glitter shone in raymond's eyes. "have a care how you molest me, gentlemen!" he said, in clear, ringing tones. "ye are carrying a jest (if jest it be meant for) a little too far. the next who dares to touch my horse must defend himself from my sword." and then a sudden change came over the bearing of his companions. a dozen swords sprang from their scabbards. a score of harsh voices replied to these words in fierce accents of defiance. one -- two -- three heavy blows fell upon his head; and though he set his teeth and wheeled about to meet and grapple with his foes, he felt from the first moment that he had no chance whatever against such numbers, and that the only thing to do was to sell his life as dearly as he could. there was no time to ask or even to wonder at the meaning of this mysterious attack. all he could do was to strive to shield his head from the blows that rained upon him, and breathe a prayer for succour in the midst of his urgent need. and then he heard a voice speaking in accents of authority: where had he heard that voice before? "hold, men! have i not warned you to do him no hurt? kill him not, but take him alive." that was the last thing raymond remembered. his next sensation was of falling and strangulation. then a blackness swam before his eyes, and sense and memory alike fled. chapter xxiii. in the hands of his foe. how long that blackness and darkness lasted raymond never really knew. it seemed to him that he awoke from it at occasional long intervals, always to find himself dreaming of rapid motion, as though he were being transported through the air with considerable speed. but there was no means of telling in what direction he moved, nor in what company. his senses were clouded and dull. he did not know what was real and what part of a dream. he had no recollection of any of the events immediately preceding this sudden and extraordinary journey, and after a brief period of bewilderment would sink back into the black abyss of unconsciousness from which he had been roused for a few moments. at last, after what seemed to him an enormous interval -- for he knew not whether hours, days, or even years had gone by whilst he had remained in this state of unconscious apathy, he slowly opened his eyes, to find that the black darkness had given place to a faint murky light, and that he was no longer being carried rapidly onwards, but was lying still upon a heap of straw in some dim place, the outlines of which only became gradually visible to him. raymond was very weak, and weakness exercises a calming and numbing effect upon the senses. he felt no alarm at finding himself in this strange place, but after gazing about him without either recollection or comprehension, he turned round upon his bed of straw, which was by no means the worst resting place he had known in his wanderings, and quickly fell into a sound sleep. when he awoke some hours later, the place was lighter than it had been, for a ray of sunlight had penetrated through the loophole high above his head, and illuminated with tolerable brightness the whole of the dim retreat in which he found himself. raymond raised himself upon his elbow and looked wonderingly around him. "what in the name of all the holy saints has befallen me?" he questioned, speaking half aloud in the deep stillness, glad to break the oppressive silence, if it were only by the sound of his own voice. "i feel as though a leaden weight were pressing down my limbs, and my head is throbbing as though a hammer were beating inside it. i can scarce frame my thoughts as i will. what was i doing last, before this strange thing befell me?" he put his hand to his head and strove to think; but for a time memory eluded him, and his bewilderment grew painfully upon him. then he espied a pitcher of water and some coarse food set not far away, and he rose with some little difficulty and dragged his stiffened limbs across the stone floor till he reached the spot where this provision stood. "sure, this be something of the prisoner's fare," he said, as he raised the pitcher to his lips; "yet i will refresh myself as best i may. perchance i shall then regain my scattered senses and better understand what has befallen me." he ate and drank slowly, and it was as he hoped. the nourishment he sorely needed helped to dispel the clouds of weakness and faintness which had hindered the working of his mind before, and a ray of light penetrated the mists about him. "ha!" he exclaimed, "i have it now! we were in battle together -- gaston and i rode side by side. i recollect it all now. we were separated in the press, and i was carried off by the followers of the black visor. strange! he was in our ranks. he is a friend, and not a foe. how came it, then, that his men-at-arms made such an error as to set upon me? was it an error? did i not hear him, or his huge companion, give some order for my capture to his men before their blades struck me down? it is passing strange. i comprehend it not. but gaston will be here anon to make all right. there must be some strange error. sure i must have been mistaken for some other man." raymond was not exactly uneasy, though a little bewildered and disturbed in mind by the strangeness of the adventure. it seemed certain to him that there must have been some mistake. that he was at present a prisoner could not be doubted, from the nature of the place in which he was shut up, and the silence and gloom about him; but unless he had been abandoned by his first captors, and had fallen into the hands of the french, he believed that his captivity would speedily come to an end when the mistake concerning his identity was explained. if indeed he were in the power of some french lord, there might be a little longer delay, as a ransom would no doubt have to be found for him ere he could be released. but then gaston was at liberty, and gaston had now powerful friends and no mean share in some of the prizes which had been taken by sea and land. he would quickly accomplish his brother's deliverance when once he heard of his captivity; and there would be no difficulty in sending him a message, as his captor's great desire would doubtless be to obtain as large a ransom as he was able to extort. "they had done better had they tried to seize upon gaston himself," said raymond, with a half smile. "he would have been a prize better worth the taking. but possibly he would have proved too redoubtable a foe. methinks my arm has somewhat lost its strength or cunning, else should i scarce have fallen so easy a prey. i ought to have striven harder to have kept by gaston's side; but i know not now how we came to be separated. and roger, too, who has ever been at my side in all times of strife and danger, how came he to be sundered from me likewise? it must have been done by the fellows who bore me off -- the followers of the black visor. strange, very strange! i know not what to think of it. but when next my jailer comes he will doubtless tell me where i am and what is desired of me." the chances of war were so uncertain, and the captive of one day so often became the victor of the next, that raymond, who for all his fragile look possessed a large fund of cool courage, did not feel greatly disturbed by the ill-chance that had befallen him. many french knights were most chivalrous and courteous to their prisoners; some even permitted them to go out on parole to collect their own ransoms, trusting to their word of honour to return if they were unable to obtain the stipulated sum. the english cause had many friends amongst the french nobility, and friendships as well as enmities had resulted from the english occupation of such large tracts of france. so raymond resolved to make the best of his incarceration whilst it lasted, trusting that some happy accident would soon set him at large again. with such a brother as gaston on the outside of his prison wall, it would be foolish to give way to despondency. he looked curiously about at the cave-like place in which he found himself. it appeared to be a natural chamber formed in the living rock. it received a certain share of air and light from a long narrow loophole high up overhead, and the place was tolerably fresh and dry, though its proportions were by no means large. still it was lofty, and it was wide enough to admit of a certain but limited amount of exercise to its occupant. raymond found that he could make five paces along one side of it and four along the other. except the heap of straw, upon which he had been laid, there was no plenishing of any kind to the cell. however, as it was probably only a temporary resting place, this mattered the less. raymond had been worse lodged during some of his wanderings before now, and for the two years that he had lived amongst the cistercian brothers, he had scarcely been more luxuriously treated. his cell there had been narrower than this place, his fare no less coarse than that he had just partaken of, and his pallet bed scarce so comfortable as this truss of straw. "father paul often lay for weeks upon the bare stone floor," mused raymond, as he sat down again upon his bed. "sure i need not grumble that i have such a couch as this." he was very stiff and bruised, as he found on attempting to move about, but he had no actual wounds, and no bones were broken. his light strong armour had protected him, or else his foes had been striving to vanquish without seriously hurting him. he could feel that his head had been a good deal battered about, for any consecutive thought tired him; but it was something to have come off without worse injury, and sleep would restore him quickly to his wonted strength. he lay down upon the straw presently, and again he slept soundly and peacefully. he woke up many hours later greatly refreshed, aroused by some sound from the outside of his prison. the light had completely faded from the loophole. the place was in pitchy darkness. there is something a little terrible in black oppressive darkness -- the darkness which may almost be felt; and raymond was not sorry, since he had awakened, to hear the sound of grating bolts, and then the slow creaking of a heavy door upon its hinges. a faint glimmer of light stole into the cell, and raymund marked the entrance of a tall dark figure habited like a monk, the cowl drawn so far over the face as entirely to conceal the features. however, the ecclesiastical habit was something of a comfort to raymond, who had spent so much of his time amongst monks, and he rose to his feet with a respectful salutation in french. the monk stepped within the cell, and drew the door behind him, turning the heavy key in the lock. the small lantern he carried with him gave only a very feeble light; but it was better than nothing, and enabled raymond to see the outline of the tall form, which looked almost gigantic in the full religious habit. "welcome, holy father," said raymond, still speaking in french. "right glad am i to look upon face of man again. i prithee tell me where i am, and into whose hands i have fallen; for methinks there is some mistake in the matter, and that they take me for one whom i am not." "they take thee for one raymond de brocas, who lays claim, in thine own or thy brother's person, to basildene in england and orthez and saut in gascony," answered the monk, who spoke slowly in english and in a strangely-muffled voice. "if thou be not he, say so, and prove it without loss of time; for evil is purposed to raymond de brocas, and it were a pity it should fall upon the wrong head." a sudden shiver ran through raymond's frame. was there not something familiar in the muffled sound of that english voice? was there not something in the words and tone that sounded like a cruel sneer? was it his fancy that beneath the long habit of the monk he caught the glimpse of some shining weapon? was this some terrible dream come to his disordered brain? was he the victim of an illusion? or did this tall, shadowy figure stand indeed before him? for a moment raymond's head seemed to swim, and then his nerves steadied themselves, and he wondered if he might not be disquieting himself in vain. possibly, after all, this might be a holy man -- one who would stand his friend in the future. "thou art english?" he asked quickly; "and if english, surely a friend to thy countrymen?" "i am english truly," was the low-toned answer, "and i am here to advise thee for thy good." "i thank thee for that at least. i will follow thy counsel, if i may with honour." it seemed as though a low laugh forced its way from under the heavy cowl. the monk drew one step nearer. "thou hadst better not trouble thy head about honour. what good will thy honour be to thee if they tear thee piecemeal limb from limb, or roast thee to death over a slow fire, or rack thee till thy bones start from their sockets? let thy honour go to the winds, foolish boy, and think only how thou mayest save thy skin. there be those around and about thee who will have no mercy so long as thou provest obdurate. bethink thee well how thou strivest against them, for thou knowest little what may well befall thee in their hands." the blood seemed to run cold in raymond's veins as he heard these terrible words, spoken with a cool deliberation which did nothing detract from their dread significance. who was it who once -- nay, many times in bygone years -- had threatened him with just that cool, deliberate emphasis, seeming to gloat over the dark threats uttered, as though they were to him full of a deep and cruel joy? it seemed to the youth as though he were in the midst of some dark and horrible dream from which he must speedily awake. he passed his hand fiercely across his eyes and made a quick step towards the monk. "who and what art thou?" he asked, in stifled accents, for it seemed as though a hideous oppression was upon him, and he scarce knew the sound of his own voice; and then, with a harsh, grating laugh, the tall figure recoiled a pace, and flung the cowl from his head, and with an exclamation of astonishment and dismay raymond recognized his implacable foe and rival, peter sanghurst, whom last he had beheld within the walls of basildene. "thou here!" he exclaimed, and moved back as far as the narrow limits of the cell would permit, as though from the presence of some noxious beast. peter sanghurst folded his arms and gazed upon his youthful rival with a gleam of cool, vindictive triumph in his cruel eyes that might well send a thrill of chill horror through the lad's slight frame. when he spoke it was with the satisfaction of one who gloats over a victim utterly and entirely in his power. "ay, truly i am here; and thou art mine, body and soul, to do with what i will; none caring what befalls thee, none to interpose between thee and me. i have waited long for this hour, but i have not waited in vain. i can read the future. i knew that one day thou wouldst be in my hands -- that i might do my pleasure upon thee, whatsoever that pleasure might be. knowing that, i have been content to wait; only every day the debt has been mounting up. every time that thou, rash youth, hast dared to try to thwart me, hast dared to strive to stand between me and the object of my desires, a new score has been written down in the record i have long kept against thee. now the day of reckoning has come, and thou wilt find the reckoning a heavy one. but thou shalt pay it -- every jot and tittle shalt thou pay. thou shalt not escape from my power until thou hast paid the uttermost farthing." the man's lips parted in a hideous smile which showed his white teeth, sharp and pointed like the fangs of a wolf. raymond felt his courage rise with the magnitude of his peril. that some unspeakably terrible doom was designed for him he could not doubt. the malignity and cruelty of his foe were too well understood; but at least if he must suffer, he would suffer in silence. his enemy should not have the satisfaction of wringing from him one cry for mercy. he would die a thousand times sooner than sue to him. he thought of joan -- realizing that for her sake he should be called upon, in some sort, to bear this suffering; and even the bare thought sent a thrill of ecstasy through him. any death that was died for her would be sweet. and might not his be instrumental in ridding her for ever of her hateful foe? would not gaston raise heaven and earth to discover his brother? surely he would, sooner or later, find out what had befallen him; and then might peter sanghurst strive in vain to flee from the vengeance he had courted: he would assuredly fall by gaston's hand, tracked down even to the ends of the earth. peter sanghurst, his eyes fixed steadily on the face of his victim, hoping to enjoy by anticipation his agonies of terror, saw only a gleam of resolution and even of joy pass across his face, and he gnashed his teeth in sudden rage at finding himself unable to dominate the spirit of the youth, as he meant shortly to rack his body. "thou thinkest still to defy me, mad boy?" he asked. "thou thinkest that thy brother will come to thine aid? let him try to trace thee if he can! i defy him ever to learn where thou art. wouldst know it thyself? then thou shalt do so, and thou wilt see thy case lost indeed. thou art in that castle of saut that thou wouldest fain call thine own -- that castle which has never yet been taken by foe from without, and never will be yet, so utterly impregnable is its position. thou art in the hands of the lord of navailles, who has his own score to settle with thee, and who will not let thee go till thou hast resigned in thy brother's name and thine own every one of those bold claims which, as he has heard, have been made to the roy outremer by one or both of you. now doth thy spirit quail? now dost thou hope for succour from without? bid adieu to all such fond and idle hopes. thou art here utterly alone, no man knowing what has befallen thee. thou art in the hands of thy two bitterest foes, men who are known and renowned for their cruelty and their evil deeds -- men who would crush to death a hundred such as thou who dared to strive to bar their way. now what sayest thou? how about that boasted honour of thine? thou hadst best hear reason ere thou hast provoked thy foes too far, and make for thyself the best terms that thou canst. thou mayest yet save thyself something if thou wilt hear reason." raymond's face was set like a flint. he had no power to rid himself of the presence of his foe, but yield one inch to persuasion or threat he was resolved not to do. for one thing, his distrust of this man was so great that he doubted if any concessions made by him would be of the smallest value in obtaining him his release; for another, his pride rose up in arms against yielding anything to fear that he would not yield were he a free man in the midst of his friends. no: at all costs he would stand firm. he could but die once, and what other men had borne for their honour or their faith he could surely bear. his lofty young face kindled and glowed with the enthusiasm of his resolution, and again the adversary's face darkened with fury. "thou thinkest perhaps that i have forgot the art of torture since thou wrested from me one victim? thou shalt find that what he suffered at my hands was but the tithe of what thou shalt endure. thou hast heard perchance of that chamber in the heart of the earth where the lord of navailles welcomes his prisoners who have secrets worth the knowing, or treasures hidden out of his reach? that chamber is not far from where thou standest now, and there be willing hands to carry thee thither into the presence of its lord, who lets not his visitors escape him till he has wrung from their reluctant lips every secret of which he desires the key. and what are his clumsy engines to the devices and refinements of torture that i can inflict when once that light frame is bound motionless upon the rack, and stretched till not a muscle may quiver save at my bidding? rash boy, beware how thou provokest me to do my worst; for once i have thee thus bound beneath my hands, then the devil of hatred and cruelty which possesses me at times will come upon me, and i shall not let thee go until i have done my worst. bethink thee well ere thou provokest me too far. listen and be advised, ere it be too late for repentance, and thy groans of abject submission fall upon unheeding ears. none will befriend thee then. thou mayest now befriend thyself. if thou wilt not take the moment when it is thine, it may never be offered thee again." raymond did not speak. he folded his arms and looked steadily across at his foe. he knew himself perfectly and absolutely helpless. every weapon he possessed had been taken from him whilst he lay unconscious. his armour had been removed. he had nothing upon him save his light summer dress, and the precious heart hanging about his neck. even the satisfaction of making one last battle for his life was denied him. his limbs were yet stiff and weak. his enemy would grip him as though he were a child if he so much as attempted to cast himself upon him. all that was now left for him was the silent dignity of endurance. sanghurst made one step forward and seized the arm of the lad in a grip like that of a vice. so cruel was the grip that it was hard to restrain a start of pain. "renounce joan!" he hissed in the boy's ear; "renounce her utterly and for ever! write at my bidding such words as i shall demand of thee, and thou shalt save thyself the worst of the agonies i will else inflict upon thee. basildene thou shalt never get -- i can defy thee there, do as thou wilt; besides, if thou departest alive from this prison house, thou wilt have had enough of striving to thwart the will of peter sanghurst -- but joan thou shalt renounce of thine own free will, and shalt so renounce her that her love for thee will be crushed and killed! here is the inkhorn, and here the parchment. the ground will serve thee for a table, and i will tell thee what to write. take then the pen, and linger not. thou wouldst rejoice to write whatever words i bid thee didst thou know what is even now preparing in yon chamber below thy prison house. take the pen and sit down. it is but a short half-hour's task." the strong man thrust the quill into the slight fingers of the boy; but raymond suddenly wrenched his hand away, and flung the frail weapon to the other end of the cell. he saw the vile purpose in a moment. peter knew something of the nature of the woman he passionately desired to win for his wife, and he well knew that no lies of his invention respecting the falsity of her young lover would weigh one instant with her. even the death of his rival would help him in no whit, for joan would cherish the memory of the dead, and pay no heed to the wooing of the living. there was but one thing that would give him the faintest hope, and that was the destruction of her faith in raymond. let him be proved faithless and unworthy, and her love and loyalty must of necessity receive a rude shock. sanghurst knew the world, and knew that broken faith was the one thing a lofty-souled and pure-minded woman finds it hardest to forgive. raymond, false to his vows, would no longer be a rival in his way. he might have a hard struggle to win the lady even then, but the one insuperable obstacle would be removed from his path. and raymond saw the purpose in a moment. his quick and sharpened intelligence showed all to him in a flash. not to save himself from any fate would he so disgrace his manhood -- prove unworthy in the hour of trial, deny his love, and by so doing deny himself the right to bear all for her dear sake. flinging the pen to the ground and turning upon sanghurst with a great light in his eyes, he told him how he read his base purpose, his black treachery, and dared him to do his worst. "my worst, mad boy, my worst!" cried the furious man, absolutely foaming at the mouth as he drew back, looking almost like a venomous snake couched for a spring. "is that, then, thy answer -- thy unchangeable answer to the only loophole i offer thee of escaping the full vengeance awaiting thee from thy two most relentless foes? bethink thee well how thou repeatest such words. yet once again i bid thee pause. take but that pen and do as i bid thee --" "i will not!" answered raymond, throwing back his head in a gesture of noble, fearless defiance; "i will not do thy vile bidding. joan is my true love, my faithful and loving lady. her heart is mine and mine is hers, and her faithful knight i will live and die. do your worst. i defy you to your face. there is a god above who can yet deliver me out of your hand if he will. if not -- if it be his will that i suffer in a righteous cause -- i will do it with a soul unseared by coward falsehood. there is my answer; you will get none other. now do with me what you will. i fear you not." peter sanghurst's aspect changed. the fury died out, to be replaced by a perfectly cold and calm malignity a hundred times more terrible. he stooped and picked up the pen, replacing it with the parchment and inkhorn in a pouch at his girdle. then throwing off entirely the long monk's habit which he had worn on his entrance, he advanced step by step upon raymond, the glitter in his eye being terrible to see. raymond did not move. he was already standing against the wall at the farthest limit of the cell. his foe slowly advanced upon him, and suddenly put out two long, powerful arms, and gripped him round the body in a clasp against which it was vain to struggle. lifting him from his feet, he carried him into the middle of the chamber, and setting him down, but still encircling him with that bear-like embrace, he stamped thrice upon the stone floor, which gave out a hollow sound beneath his feet. the next moment there was a sound of strange creaking and groaning, as though some ponderous machinery were being set in motion. there was a sickening sensation, as though the very ground beneath his feet were giving way, and the next instant raymond became aware that this indeed was the case. the great flagstone upon which he and his captor were standing was sinking, sinking, sinking into the very heart of the earth, as it seemed; and as they vanished together into the pitchy darkness, to the accompaniment of that same strange groaning and creaking, raymond heard a hideous laugh in his ear. "this is how his victims are carried to the lord of navailles's torture chamber. ha-ha! ha-ha! this is how they go down thither. whether they ever come forth again is quite another matter!" chapter xxiv. gaston's quest. when gaston missed his brother from his side in the triumphant turning of the tables upon the french, he felt no uneasiness. the battle was going so entirely in favour of the english arms, and the discomfited french were making so small a stand, that the thought of peril to raymond never so much as entered his head. in the waning light it was difficult to distinguish one from another, and for aught he knew his brother might be quite close at hand. they were engaged in taking prisoners such of their enemies as were worthy to be carried off; and when they had completely routed the band and made captive their leaders, it was quite dark, and steps were taken to encamp for the night. then it was that gaston began to wonder why he still saw nothing either of raymond or of the faithful roger, who was almost like his shadow. he asked all whom he met if anything had been seen of his brother, but the answer was always the same -- nobody knew anything about him. nobody appeared to have seen him since the brothers rode into battle side by side; and the young knight began to feel thoroughly uneasy. of course there had been some killed and wounded in the battle upon both sides, though the english loss was very trifling. still it might have been raymond's fate to be borne down in the struggle, and gaston, calling some of his own personal attendants about him, and bidding them take lanterns in their hands, went forth to look for his brother upon the field where the encounter had taken place. the field was a straggling one, as the combat had taken the character of a rout at the end, and the dead and wounded lay at long intervals apart. gaston searched and searched, his heart growing heavier as he did so, for his brother was very dear to him, and he felt a pang of bitter self-reproach at having left him, however inadvertently, to bear the brunt of the battle alone. but search as he would he found nothing either of raymond or roger, and a new fear entered into his mind. "can he have been taken prisoner?" this did not seem highly probable. the french, bold enough at the outset when they had believed themselves secure of an easy victory, had changed their front mightily when they had discovered the trap set for them by their foes, and in the end had thought of little save how to save their own lives. they would scarce have burdened themselves with prisoners, least of all with one who did not even hold the rank of knight. this disappearance of his brother was perplexing gaston not a little. he looked across the moonlit plain, now almost as light as day, a cloud of pain and bewilderment upon his face. "by holy st. anthony, where can the boy be?" he cried. then one of his men-at-arms came up and spoke. "when we were pursuing the french here to the left, back towards their own lines, i saw a second struggle going on away to the right. the knight with the black visor seemed to be leading that pursuit, and though i could not watch it, as i had my own work to do here, i know that some of our men took a different line, there along by yon ridge to the right." "let us go thither and search there," said gaston, with prompt decision, "for plainly my brother is not here. it may be he has been following another flying troop. we will up and after him. look well as you ride if there be any prostrate figures lying in the path. i fear me he may have been wounded in the rout, else surely he would not have stayed away so long." turning his horse round, and closely followed by his men, gaston rode off in the direction pointed out by his servant. it became plain that there had been fighting of some sort along this line, for a few dead and wounded soldiers, all frenchmen, lay upon the ground at intervals. nothing, however, could be seen of raymond, and for a while nothing of roger either; but just as gaston was beginning to despair of finding trace of either, he beheld in the bright moonlight a figure staggering along in a blind and helpless fashion towards them, and spurring rapidly forward to meet it, he saw that it was roger. roger truly, but roger in pitiable plight. his armour was gone. his doublet had been half stripped from off his back. he was bleeding from more than one wound, and in his eyes was a fixed and glassy stare, like that of one walking in sleep. his face was ghastly pale, and his breath came in quick sobs and gasps. "roger, is it thou?" cried gaston, in accents of quick alarm. "i have been seeking thee everywhere. where is thy master? where is my brother?" "gone! gone! gone!" cried roger, in a strange and despairing voice. "carried off by his bitterest foes! gone where we shall never see him more!" there was something in the aspect of the youth and in his lamentable words that sent an unwonted shiver through gaston's frame; but he was quick to recover himself, and answered hastily: "boy, thou art distraught! tell me where my brother has gone. i will after him and rescue him. he cannot be very far away. quick -- tell me what has befallen him!" "he has been carried off -- more i know not. he has been carried off by foulest treachery." "treachery! whose treachery? who has carried him off?" "the knight of the black visor." "the black visor! nay; thou must be deceived thyself! the black visor is one of our own company." "ay verily, and that is why he succeeded where an open foe had failed. none guessed with what purpose he came when he and his men pushed their way in a compact wedge, and sundered my young master from your side, sir, driving him farther and farther from all beside, till he and i (who had managed to keep close beside him) were far away from all the world beside, galloping as if for dear life in a different direction. then it was that they threw off the pretence of being friends -- that they set upon him and overpowered him, that they beat off even me from holding myself near at hand, and carried me bound in another direction. i was given in charge to four stalwart troopers, all wearing the black badge of their master. they bound my bands and my feet, and bore me along i knew not whither. i lost sight of my master. him they took at headlong speed in another direction. i had been wounded in the battle. i was wounded by these men, struggling to follow your brother. i swooned in my saddle, and knew no more till a short hour ago, when i woke to find myself lying, still bound, upon a heap of straw in some outhouse of a farm. i heard the voices of my captors singing snatches of songs not far away; but they were paying no heed to their captive, and i made shift to slacken my bonds and slip out into the darkness of the wood. "i knew not where i was; but the moon told me how to bend my steps to find the english camp again. i, in truth, have escaped -- have come to bring you word of his peril; but ah, i fear, i fear that we shall never see him more! they will kill him -- they will kill him! he is in the hands of his deadliest foes!" "if we know where he is, we can rescue him without delay!" cried gaston, who was not a little perplexed at the peculiar nature of the adventure which had befallen his brother. to be taken captive and carried off by one of the english knights (if indeed the black visor were a knight) was a most extraordinary thing to have happened. gaston, who knew little enough of his brother's past history in detail, and had no idea that he had called down upon himself any particular enmity, was utterly at a loss to understand the story, nor was roger in a condition to give any farther explanation. he tottered as he stood, and gaston ordered his servants to mount him upon one of their horses and bring him quietly along, whilst he himself turned and galloped back to the camp to prosecute inquiries there. "who is the black visor?" -- that was the burden of his inquiries, and it was long before he could obtain an answer to this question. the leaders of the expedition were full of their own plans and had little attention to bestow upon gaston or his strange story. the loss of a single private gentleman from amongst their muster was nothing to excite them, and their own position was giving them much more concern. they had taken many prisoners. they believed that they had done amply enough to raise the siege of st. jean d'angely (though in this they proved themselves mistaken), and they were anxious to get safely back to bordeaux with their spoil before any misadventure befell them. gaston cared nothing now for the expedition; his heart was with his brother, his mind was full of anxious questioning. roger's story plainly showed that raymond was in hostile hands. but the perplexity of the matter was that gaston had no idea of the name or rank of his brother's enemy and captor. at last he came upon a good-natured knight who had been courteous to the brothers in old days. he listened with interest to gaston's tale, and bid him wait a few minutes whilst he went to try to discover the name and rank of the black visor. he was certain that he had heard it, though he could not recollect at a moment's notice what he had heard. he did not keep gaston waiting long, but returned quickly to him. "the black visor is one peter sanghurst of basildene, a gentleman in favour with the king, and one likely to rise to high honour. men whisper that he has some golden secret which, if it be so, will make of him a great man one of these days. it is he who has been in our company, always wearing his black visor. men say he is under some vow, and until the vow is accomplished no man may look upon his face." gaston drew his breath hard, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. "peter sanghurst of basildene!" he exclaimed, and then fell into a deep reverie. what did it all mean? what had raymond told him from time to time about the enmity of this man? did not gaston himself well remember the adventure of long ago, when he and his brother had entered basildene by stealth and carried thence the wretched victim of the sorcerer's art? was not that the beginning of an enmity which had never been altogether laid to sleep? had he not heard whispers from time to time all pointing to the conclusion that sanghurst had neither forgotten nor forgiven, and that he felt his possession of basildene threatened by the existence of the brothers whose right it was? had not raymond placed himself almost under vow to win back his mother's lost inheritance? and might it not be possible that this knowledge had come to the ears of the present owner? gaston ground his teeth in rage as he realized what might be the meaning of this cowardly attack. treachery and cowardice were the two vices most hateful in his eyes, and this vile attack upon an unsuspecting comrade filled him with the bitterest rage as well as with the greatest anxiety. plain indeed was it that raymond had been carried off; but whither? to england? that scarce seemed possible. it would be a daring thing indeed to bring an english subject back to his native land a prisoner. yet where else could peter sanghurst carry a captive? he might have friends amongst the french; but who would be sufficiently interested in his affairs to give shelter to him and his prisoner, when it might lead to trouble perhaps with the english king? one thought of relief there was in the matter. plainly it was not raymond's death that was to be compassed. if they had wished to kill him, they would have done so upon the battlefield and have left him there, where his death would have excited no surprise or question. no; it was something more than this that was wanted, and gaston felt small difficulty in guessing what that aim and object was. "he is to be held for ransom, and his ransom will be our claim upon basildene. we both shall be called upon to renounce that, and then raymond will go free. well, if that be the only way, basildene must go. but perchance it may be given to me to save the inheritance and rescue raymond yet. would that i knew whither they had carried him! but surely he may be traced and followed. some there must be who will be able to give me news of them." of one thing gaston was perfectly assured, and that was that he must now act altogether independently, gain permission to quit the expedition, and pursue his own investigations with his own followers. he had no difficulty in arranging this matter. the leaders had already resolved upon returning to bordeaux immediately, and taking ship with their spoil and prisoners for england. had gaston not had other matters of his own to think of, he would most likely have urged a farther advance upon the beleaguered town, to make sure that it was sufficiently relieved. as it was, he had no thoughts but for his brother's peril; and his anxieties were by no means relieved by the babble of words falling from roger's lips when he returned to see how it fared with him. roger appeared to the kindly soldiers, who had made a rude couch for him and were tending him with such skill as they possessed, to be talking in the random of delirium, and they paid little heed to his words. but as gaston stood by he was struck by the strange fixity of the youth's eyes, by the rigidity of his muscles, and by the coherence and significance of his words. it was not a disconnected babble that passed his lips; it was the description of some scene upon which he appeared to be looking. he spoke of horsemen galloping through the night, of the black visor in the midst and his gigantic companion by his side. he spoke of the unconscious captive they carried in their midst -- the captive the youth struggled frantically to join, that they might share together whatever fate was to be his. the soldiers naturally believed he was wandering, and speaking of his own ride with his captors; but gaston listened with different feelings. he remembered well what he had once heard about this boy and the strange gift he possessed, or was said to possess, of seeing what went on at a distance when he had been in the power of the sorcerer. might it not be that this gift was not only exercised at the will of another, but might be brought into play by the tension of anxiety evoked by a great strain upon the boy's own nervous system? gaston did not phrase the question thus, but he well knew the devotion with which roger regarded raymond, and it seemed quite possible to him that in this crisis of his life, his body weakened by wounds and fatigue, his mind strained by grief and anxiety as to the fate of him he loved more than life, his spirit had suddenly taken that ascendency over his body which of old it had possessed, and that he was really and truly following in that strange trance-like condition every movement of the party of which raymond was the centre. at any rate, whether he were right or not in this surmise, gaston resolved that he would not lose a word of these almost ceaseless utterings, and dismissing his men to get what rest they could, he sat beside roger, and listened with attention to every word he spoke. roger lay with his eyes wide open in the same fixed and glassy stare. he spoke of a halt made at a wayside inn, of the rousing up with the earliest stroke of dawn of the keeper of this place, of the inside of the bare room, and the hasty refreshment set before the impatient travellers. "he sits down, they both sit down, and then he laughs -- ah, where have i heard that laugh before?" and a look of strange terror sweeps over the youth's face. "'i may now remove my visor -- my vow is fulfilled! my enemy is in my hands. my lord of navailles, i drink this cup to your good health and the success of our enterprise. we have the victim in our own hands. we can wring from him every concession we desire before we offer him for ransom.'" gaston gave a great start. what did this mean? well indeed he remembered the sieur de navailles, the hereditary foe of the de brocas. was it, could it be possible, that he was concerned in this capture? had their two foes joined together to strive to win all at one blow? he must strive to find this out. could it be possible that roger really saw and heard all these things? or was it but the fantasy of delirium? raymond might have spoken to him of the lord of navailles as a foe, and in his dreams he might be mixing one thought with the other. suddenly roger uttered a sharp cry and pressed his hands before his eyes. "it is he! it is he!" he cried, with a gasping utterance. "he has removed the mask from his face. it is he -- peter sanghurst -- and he is smiling -- that smile. oh, i know what it means! he has cruel, evil thoughts in his mind. o my master, my master!" gaston started to his feet. here was corroboration indeed. roger no more knew who the black visor was than he had done himself an hour back. yet he now saw the face of peter sanghurst, the very man he himself had discovered the black visor to be. this indeed showed that roger was truly looking upon some distant scene, and a strange thrill ran through gaston as he realized this mysterious fact. "and the other, peter sanghurst's companion -- what of him? what likeness does he bear?" asked gaston quickly. "he is a very giant in stature," was the answer, "with a swarthy skin, black eyes that burn in their sockets, and a coal-black beard that falls below his waist. he has a sear upon his left cheek, and he has lost two fingers upon the left hand. he speaks in a voice like rolling waves, and in a language that is half english and half the gascon tongue." "in very truth the sieur de navailles!" whispered gaston to himself. with every faculty on the alert, he sat beside roger's bed, listening to every word of his strange babble of talk. he described how they took to horse, fresh horses being provided for the whole company, as though all had been planned beforehand, and how they galloped at headlong pace away -- away -- away, ever faster, ever more furiously, as though resolved to gain their destination at all cost. the day dawned, but roger lay still in this trance, and gaston would not have him disturbed. until he could know whither his brother had been carried, it was useless to strive to seek and overtake him. if in very truth roger was in some mysterious fashion watching over him, he would, doubtless, be able to tell whither at length the captive was taken. then they would to horse and pursue. but they must learn all they could first. the hours passed by. roger still talked at intervals. if questioned he answered readily -- always of the same hard riding, the changes of horses, the captive carried passive in the midst of the troop. then he began to speak words that arrested gaston's attention. he spoke of natural features well known to him: he described a grim fortress, so placed as to be impregnable to foes from without. there were the wide moat, the huge natural mound, the solid wall, the small loopholes. gaston held his breath to hear: he knew every feature of the place so described. was it not the ancient castle of saut -- his own inheritance, as he had been brought up to call it? roger had never seen it; he was almost assured of that. what he was describing was something seen with that mysterious second sight of his, nothing that had ever impressed itself upon his waking senses. it was all true, then. raymond had indeed been taken captive by the two bitter enemies of the house of de brocas. peter sanghurst had doubtless heard of the feud between the two houses, and of the claim set up by gaston for the establishment of his own rights upon the lands of the foe, and had resolved to make common cause with the navailles against the brothers. it was possible that they would have liked to get both into their clutches, but that they feared to attack so stalwart a foe as gaston; or else they might have believed that the possession of the person of raymond would be sufficient for their purpose. the tie between the twin brothers was known to be strong. it was likely enough that were raymond's ransom fixed at even an exorbitant sum, the price would be paid by the brother, who well knew that the tower of saut was strong enough to defy all attacks from without, and that any person incarcerated in its dungeons would be absolutely at the mercy of its cruel and rapacious lord. the king of england had his hands full enough as it was without taking up the quarrel of every wronged subject. what was done would have to be done by himself and his own followers; and gaston set his teeth hard as he realized this, and went forth to give his own orders for the morrow. at the first glimpse of coming day they were to start forth for the south, and by hard riding might hope to reach saut by the evening of the second day. gaston could muster some score of armed men, and they would be like enough to pick up many stragglers on the way, who would be ready enough to join any expedition promising excitement and adventure. to take the castle of saut by assault would, as gaston well knew, be impossible; but he cherished a hope that it might fall into his hands through strategy if he were patient, and if roger still retained that marvellous faculty of second-sight which revealed to his eyes things hidden from the vision of others. he slept all that night without moving or speaking, and when he awoke in the morning it was in a natural state, and at first he appeared to have no recollection of what had occurred either to himself or to raymond. but as sense and memory returned to him, so did also the shadow of some terrible doom hanging over his beloved young master; and though he was still weak and ill, and very unfit for the long journey on horseback through the heat of a summer's day, he would not hear of being left behind, and was the one to urge upon the others all the haste possible as they rode along southward after the foes who had captured raymond. on, on, on! there were no halts save for the needful rest and refreshment, or to try to get fresh horses to carry them forward. a fire seemed to burn in gaston's veins as well as in those of roger; and the knowledge that they were on the track of the fugitives gave fresh ardour to the pursuit at every halting place. only a few hours were allowed for rest and sleep during the darkest hour of the short night, and then on -- on -- ever on, urged by an overmastering desire to know what was happening to the prisoner behind those gloomy walls. roger's sleep that night had been disturbed by hideous visions. he did not appear to know or see anything that was passing; but a deep gloom hung upon his spirit, and he many times woke shivering and crying out with horror at he knew not what; whilst gaston lay broad awake, a strange sense of darkness and depression upon his own senses. he could scarce restrain himself from springing up and summoning his weary followers to get to horse and ride forth at all risks to the very doors of saut, and only with the early dawn of day did any rest or refreshment fall upon his spirit. roger looked more himself as they rode forth in the dawn. "methinks we are near him now," he kept saying; "my heart is lighter than it was. we will save him yet -- i am assured of it! he is not dead; i should surely know it if he were. we are drawing nearer every step. we may be with him ere nightfall." "the walls of saut lie betwixt us," said gaston, rather grimly, but he looked sternly resolute, as though it would take strong walls indeed to keep him from his brother when they were so near. the country was beginning to grow familiar to him. he picked up followers in many places as he passed through. the name of de brocas was loved here; that of de navailles was loathed, and hated, and feared. evening was drawing on. the woods were looking their loveliest in all the delicate beauty of their fresh young green. gaston, riding some fifty yards ahead with roger beside him, looked keenly about him, with vivid remembrance of every winding of the woodland path. soon, as he knew, the grim castle of saut would break upon his vision -- away there in front and slightly to the right, where the ground fell away to the river and rose on the opposite bank, crowned with those frowning walls. he was riding so carelessly that when his horse suddenly swerved and shied violently, he was for a moment almost unseated; but quickly recovering himself, he looked round to see what had frightened the animal, and himself gave almost as violent a start as the beast had done. and yet what he saw was nothing very startling: only the light figure of a young girl -- a girl fair of face and light of foot as a veritable forest nymph -- such as indeed she looked springing out from the overhanging shade of that dim place. for one instant they looked into each other's faces with a glance of quick recognition, and then clasping her hands together, the girl exclaimed in the gascon tongue: "the holy saints be praised! you have come, you have come! ah, how i have prayed that help might come! and my prayers have been heard!" chapter xxv. the fairy of the forest gaston sat motionless in his saddle, gazing at the apparition as though fascinated. he had seen this woodland nymph before. he had spoken with her, had sat awhile beside her, and her presence had inspired feelings within him to which he had hitherto been a complete stranger. as he gazed now into that lovely face, anxious, glad, fearful, all in one, and yet beaming with joy at the encounter, he felt as if indeed the denizens of another sphere had interposed to save his brother, and from that moment he felt a full assurance that raymond would be rescued. recovering himself as by an effort, he sprang from his saddle and stood beside the girl. "lady," he said, in gentle accents, that trembled slightly through the intensity of his emotion -- "fairest lady, who thou art i know not, but this i know, that thou comest ever as a messenger of mercy. once it was to warn me of peril to come; now it is to tell us of one who lies in sore peril. lady, tell me that i am not wrong in this -- that thou comest to give me news of my brother!" her liquid eyes were full of light. she did not shrink from him, or play with his feelings as on a former occasion. her face expressed a serious gravity and earnestness of purpose which added tenfold to her charms. gaston, deeply as his feelings were stirred with anxious care for his brother's fate, could not help his heart going out to this exquisite young thing standing before him with trustful upturned face. who she was he knew not and cared not. she was the one woman in the world for him. he had thought so when he had found her in the forest in wayward tricksy mood; he knew it without doubt now that he saw her at his side, her sweet face full of deep and womanly feeling, her arch shyness all forgotten in the depth and resolution of her resolve. "i do!" she answered, in quick, short sentences that sounded like the tones of a silver bell. "you are gaston de brocas, and he, the prisoner, is your twin brother raymond. i know all. i have heard them talk in their cups, when they forget that i am growing from a child to a woman. i have long ceased to be a child. i think that i have grown old in that terrible place. i have heard words -- oh, that make my blood run cold! that make me wish i had never been born into a world where such things are possible! in my heart i have registered a vow. i have vowed that if ever the time should come when i might save one wretched victim from my savage uncle's power -- even at the risk of mine own life -- i would do it. i have warned men away from here. i have done a little, times and again, to save them from a snare laid for them. but never once have i had power to rescue from his relentless clutch the victim he had once enclosed in his net, for never have i had help from without. but when i heard them speak of raymond de brocas -- when i knew that it was he, thy brother, of whom some such things were spoken -- then i felt that i should indeed go mad could i not save him from such fate." "what fate?" asked gaston breathlessly; but she went on as though she had not heard. "i thought of thee as i had seen thee in the wood. i said in my heart, 'he is noble, he is brave. he will rest not night nor day whilst his brother lies a captive in these cruel hands. i have but to watch and to wait. he will surely come. and when he comes, i will show him the black hole in the wall -- the dark passage to the moat -- and he will dare to enter where never man has entered before. he will save his brother, and my vow will be fulfilled!'" gaston drew his breath hard, and a light leaped into his eyes. "thou knowest a secret way by which the tower of saut may be entered -- is that so, lady?" "i know a way by which many a wretched victim has left it," answered the girl, whose dark violet eyes were dilated by the depth of her emotion. "i know not if any man ever entered by that way. but my heart told me that there was one who would not shrink from the task, be the peril never so great. i will see that the men-at-arms have drink enough to turn their heads. i have a concoction of herbs which if mingled with strong drink will cause such sleep to fall upon men that a thunderbolt falling at their feet would scarce awaken them. i will see that thou hast the chance thou needest. the rest wilt thou do without a thought of fear." "fear to go where raymond is -- to share his fate if i may not rescue him!" cried gaston. "nay, sweet lady, that would be indeed a craven fear, unworthy of any true knight. but tell me more. i have many times wandered round the tower of saut in my boyhood, when its lord and master was away. methinks i know every loophole and gate by heart. but the gates are so closely guarded, and the windows are so narrow and high up in the walls, that i know not how they may be entered from without." "true: yet there is one way of which doubtless thou knowest naught, for, as i have said, men go forth that way, but enter not by it; and the trick is known only to a few chosen souls, for the victims who pass out seek not to come again. they drop with sullen plash into the black waters of the moat, and the river, which mingles its clearer water with the sluggish stream encircling the tower, bears thence towards the hungry sea the burden thus entrusted to its care." gaston shivered slightly. "thou speakest of the victims done to death within yon gloomy walls. i have heard dark tales of such ere now." "thou hast heard nothing darker than the truth," said the girl, her slight frame quivering with repressed emotion and a deep and terrible sense of helpless indignation and pity. "i have heard stories that have made my blood run cold in my veins. men have been done to death in a fashion i dare not speak of. there is a terrible room scarce raised above the level of the moat, into which i was once taken, and the memory of which has haunted me ever since. it is within the great mound upon which the tower is built; and above it is the dungeon in which the victim is confined. there is some strange and wondrous device by which he may be carried down and raised again to his own prison house when his captor has worked his hideous will upon him. and if he dies, as many do, upon the fearful engines men have made to inflict torture upon each other, then there is this narrow stairway, and this still narrower passage down to the sullen waters of the moat. "the opening is just at the level of the water. it looks so small from the opposite side, that one would think it but the size to admit the passage of a dog; you would think it was caused by the loosening of some stone in the wall -- no more. but yet it is large enough to admit the passage of a human body; and where a body has passed out, sure a body may pass in. there is no lock upon the door from the underground passage to the moat; for what man would be so bold as find his way into the castle by the grim dungeons which hold such terrible secrets? if thou hast the courage to enter thus, none will bar thy passage --" "if!" echoed gaston, whose hand was clenched and his whole face quivering with emotion as he realized the fearful peril which menaced his brother. "there is no such thing as a doubt. raymond is there. i come to save him." the girl's eyes flashed with answering fire. she clasped her hands together, and cried, with something like a sob in her voice: "i knew it! i knew it! i knew that thou wert a true knight that thou wouldst brave all to save him." "i am his brother," said gaston simply, "his twin brother. who should save him but i? tell me, have i come in time? have they dared to lay a finger upon him yet?" "dared!" repeated the girl, with a curious inflection in her voice. "of what should they be afraid here in this tower, which has ever withstood the attacks of foes, which no man may enter without first storming the walls and forcing the gates? thinkest thou that they fear god or man? nay, they know not what such fear is; and therein lies our best hope." "how so?" asked gaston quickly. "marry, for two reasons: one being that they keep but small guard over the place, knowing its strength and remoteness; the other, that being thus secure, they are in no haste to carry out their devil's work. they will first let their prisoner recover of his hurts, that he slip not too soon from their power, as weaklier victims ofttimes do." "then they have done naught to him as yet?" asked gaston, in feverish haste. "what hurts speakest thou of? was he wounded in the fight, or when they surrounded him and carried him off captive?" "not wounded, as i have heard, but sorely battered and bruised; and he was brought hither unconscious, and lay long as one dead. when he refused to do the bidding of peter sanghurst, they took him down to yon fearsome chamber; but, as i heard when i sat at the hoard with mine uncle and that wicked man, they had scarce laid hands upon him, to bend his spirit to their will through their hellish devices, before he fell into a deep swoon from which they could not rouse him; and afraid that he would escape their malice by a merciful death, and that they would lose the very vengeance they had taken such pains to win, they took him back to his cell; and there he lies, tended not unskilfully by my old nurse, who is ever brought to the side of the sick in this place. once i made shift to slip in behind her when the warder was off his guard, and to whisper in his ear a word of hope. but we are too close watched to do aught but by stealth, and annette is never suffered to approach the prison alone. she is conducted thither by a grim warder, who waits beside her till she has done her office, and then takes her away. they do not know how we loathe and hate their wicked, cruel deeds; but they know that women have ere this been known to pity helpless victims, and they have an eye to us ever." gaston drew his breath more freely. raymond, then, was for the moment safe. no grievous bodily hurt had been done him as yet; and here outside his prison was his brother, and one as devoted as though the tie of blood bound them together, ready to dare all to save him from the hands of his cruel foes. "they are in no great haste," said the maiden; "they feel themselves so strong. they say that no man can so much as discover where thy brother has been spirited, still less snatch him from their clasp. they know the french king will not stir to help a subject of the roy outremer, they know that edward of england is far away, and that he still avoids an open breach of the truce. they are secure in the undisturbed possession of their captive. i have heard them say that had he a hundred brothers all working without to obtain his release, the walls of the tower of saut would defy their utmost efforts." "that we shall see," answered gaston, with a fierce gleam in his eye; and then his face softened as he said, "now that we have for our ally the enchanted princess of the castle, many things may be done that else would be hard of achievement." his ardent look sent a flush of colour through the girl's transparent skin, but her eyes did not waver as she looked frankly back at him. "nay; i am no princess, and i have no enchantments -- would that i had, if they could be used in offices of pity and mercy! i am but a portionless maiden, an orphan, an alien. ofttimes i weep to think that i too did not die when my parents did, in that terrible scourge which has devastated the world, which i hear that you of england call the black death." "who art thou then, fair maid?" questioned gaston, who was all this time cautiously approaching the tower of saut by a winding and unfrequented path well known to his companion. roger had been told to wait till the other riders came up, and conduct them with great secrecy and caution along the same path. their worst fears for raymond partially set at rest, and the hope of a speedy rescue acting upon their minds like a charm, gaston was able to think of other things, and was eager to know more of the lovely girl who had twice shown herself to him in such unexpected fashion. it was a simple little story that she told, but it sounded strangely entrancing from her lips. her name, she said, was constanza, and her father had been one of a noble spanish house, weakened and finally ruined by the ceaseless internal strife carried on between the proud nobles of the fiery south. her mother was the sister of the sieur do navailles, and he had from time to time given aid to her father in his troubles with his enemies. the pestilence which had of late devastated almost the whole of europe, had visited the southern countries some time before it had invaded more northerly latitudes; and about a year before gaston's first encounter with the nymph of the wood, it had laid waste the districts round and about her home, and had carried off both her parents and her two brothers in the space of a few short days. left alone in that terrible time of trouble, surrounded by enemies eager to pounce upon the little that remained of the wide domain which had once owned her father's sway, constanza, in her desperation, naturally turned to her uncle as the one protector that she knew. he had always showed himself friendly towards her father. he had from time to time lent him substantial assistance in his difficulties; and when he had visited at her home, he had shown himself kindly disposed in a rough fashion to the little maiden who flitted like a fairy about the wide marble halls. annette, her nurse, who had come with her mother from france when she had left that country on her nuptials, was a gascon woman, and had taught the language of the country to her young mistress. it was natural that the woman should be disposed to return to her native land at this crisis; and for constanza to attempt to hold her own -- a timid maiden against a score of rapacious foes -- was obviously out of the question. together they had fled, taking with them such family jewels as could easily be carried upon their persons, and disguised as peasants they had reached and crossed the frontier, and found their way to saut, where the lord of navailles generally spent such of his time as was not occupied in forays against his neighbours, or in following the fortunes either of the french or english king, as best suited the fancy of the moment. he had received his niece not unkindly, but with complete indifference, and had soon ceased to think about her in any way. she had a home beneath his roof. she had her own apartments, and she was welcome to occupy herself as she chose. sometimes, when he was in a better humour than usual, he would give her a rough caress. more frequently he swore at her for being a useless girl, when she might, as a boy, have been of some good in the world. he had no intention of providing her with any marriage portion, so that it was superfluous to attempt to seek out a husband for her. she and annette were occasionally of use when there was sickness within the walls of the castle, or when he or his followers came in weary and wounded from some hard fighting. on the whole he did not object to her presence at saut, and her own little bower was not devoid of comfort, and even of luxury. but for all that, the girl was often sick at heart with all that she saw and heard around her, and was unconsciously pining for some life, she scarce knew what, but a life that should be different from the one she was doomed to now. "sometimes i think that i will retire to a convent and shut myself up there," she said to gaston, her eyes looking far away over the wooded plain before them; "and yet i love my liberty. i love to roam the forest glades -- to hear the songs of the bird, and to feel the fresh winds of heaven about me. methinks i should pine and die shut up within high walls, without the liberty to rove as i will. and then i am not /devote/. i love not to spend long hours upon my knees. i feel nearest to the blessed saints and the holy mother of god out here in these woods, where no ribald shouts of mirth or blasphemous oaths can reach me. but the sisters live shut behind high walls, and they love best to tell their beads beside the shrine of some saint within their dim chapels. they were good to us upon our journey. i love and reverence the holy sisters, and yet i do not know how i could be one of them. i fear me they would soon send me forth, saying that i was not fit for their life." "nay, truly such a life is not for thee!" cried gaston, with unwonted heat. "sweet maiden, thou wert never made to pine away behind walls that shelter such as cannot stand against the trials and troubles of life. for it is not so with thee. thou hast courage; thou hast a noble heart and a strong will. there is other work for thee to do. lady, thou hast this day made me thy humble slave for ever. my brother once free, as by thy aid i trust he will be ere another day has dawned, and i will repay thy service by claiming as my reward the right to call myself thine own true knight. sweet constanza, i will live and, if need be, die for thee. thou wilt henceforth be the light of my path, the star of my life. lady, thy face hath haunted me ever since that day, so long gone by, when i saw thee first, scarce knowing if thou wert a creature of flesh and blood or a sprite of the woodland and water. fair women have i looked upon ere now, but none so fair as thee. let me but call myself thy true and faithful knight, and the day will come when i will stand boldly forth and make thee mine before all the world!" gaston had never meant to speak thus when he and his companion first began this walk through the winding woodland path. then his thoughts had been filled with his brother and him alone, and there had been no space for other matters to intrude upon him. but with a mind more at rest as to raymond's immediate fate, he could not but be aware of the intense fascination exercised upon him by his companion; and before he well knew what he was saying, he was pouring into her ears these ardent protestations of devotion. her fair face flushed, and the liquid eyes, so full of softness and fire, fell before his ardent gaze. the little hand he had taken in his own quivered in his strong clasp, and gaston felt with a thrill of ecstatic joy that it faintly returned the pressure of his fingers. "lady, sweetest lady!" he repeated, his words growing more and more rapid as his emotion deepened, "let me hear thee say that thou wilt grant me leave to call myself thy true knight! let me hear from those sweet lips that there is none before me who has won the love of this generous heart!" the maid was quivering from head to foot. such words were like a new language to her, and yet her heart gave a ready and sweet response. had she not sung of knightly wooers in the soft songs of her childhood, and had she not dreamed her own innocent dreams of him who would one day come to seek her? and had not that dream lover always worn the knightly mien, the proud and handsome face, of him she had seen but once, and that for one brief hour alone? was it hard to give to him the answer he asked? and yet how could she frame her lips aright to tell him she had loved him ere he had asked her love? "fair sir, how should a lonely maid dwelling in these wild woods know aught of that knightly love of which our troubadours so sweetly sing? i have scarce seen the face of any since i have come to these solitudes; only the rough and terrible faces of those wild soldiers and savages who follow mine uncle when he rideth forth on his forays." gaston's heart gave a throb of joy; but it was scarce the moment to press his suit farther. who could tell what the next few hours might bring forth? he might himself fall a victim, ere another day had passed, to the ancient foe of his house. it was enough for the present to know that the fair girl's heart was free. he raised the hand he held and pressed his lips upon it, saying in tenderest tones: "from henceforth -- my brother once standing free without these walls -- i am thy true knight and champion, lady. give me, i pray thee, that knot of ribbon at thy neck. let me place it in my head piece, and feel that i am thine indeed for life or death." with a hand that trembled, but not from hesitation, constanza unfastened the simple little knot she wore as her sole ornament, and gave it to gaston. they exchanged one speaking glance, but no word passed their lips. by this time they had approached very near to the tower, although the thick growth of the trees hindered them from seeing it, as it also concealed them from the eyes of any persons who might be upon the walls. the evening light was now fast waning. upon the tops of the heights the sun still shone, but here in the wooded hollow, beside the sullen waters of the moat, twilight had already fallen, and soon it would be dark as night itself. the moon rose late, and for a space there would be no light save that of the stars. constanza laid her finger upon her lips, and made a sign demanding caution. gaston understood that he was warned not to speak, and to tread cautiously, which he did, stealing along after his fairy-like companion, and striving to emulate her dainty, bird-like motions. he could see by the glint of water that they were skirting along beside the moat, but he had never approached so near to it before, and he knew not where they were going. some men might have feared treachery, but such an idea never entered gaston's head. little as he knew of his companion, he knew that she was true and loyal, that she was beloved by him, and that her heart was already almost won. presently the girl stopped and laid her hand upon his arm. "this is the place," she whispered. "come very softly to the water's edge, and i will show you the dark hole opposite, just above the waterline, where entrance can be made. there be no loopholes upon this side of the tower, and no watchman is needed where there be no foothold for man to scale the wall beneath. "look well across the moat. seest thou yon black mark, that looks no larger than my hand? that is the entrance to a tunnel which slopes upward until it reaches a narrow doorway in the thickness of the solid wall whereby the underground chamber may be reached. once there, thou wilt see let into the wall a great wheel with iron spokes projecting from it. set that wheel in motion, and a portion of the flooring of the chamber above will descend. when it has reached the ground, thou canst ascend by reversing the wheel, leaving always some one in the chamber below to work the wheel, which will enable thee to bring thy brother down again. that accomplished, all that remains will be to creep again through the narrow passage to the moat and swim across once more. thou canst swim?" "ay, truly. raymond and i have been called fishes from our childhood. we swam in the great mill pool almost ere we could well run alone. many of my stout fellows behind are veritable water rats. if my brother be not able to save himself, there will be a dozen stout arms ready to support him across the moat. "and what will be the hour when this attempt must be made? what if the very moment i reached my brother his jailer should come to him, and the alarm be given through the castle ere we could get him thence?" "that it must be my office to prevent," answered the girl, with quiet resolution. "i have thought many times of some such thing as this, hoping as it seemed where no hope was, and annette and i have taken counsel together. leave it to me to see that all the castle is filled with feasting and revelry. i will see that the mead which circulates tonight be so mingled with annette's potion that it will work in the brains of the men till they forget all but rioting and sleep. for mine uncle and his saturnine guest, i have other means of keeping them in the great banqueting hall, far away from the lonely tower where their prisoner lies languishing. they shall be so well served at the board this night, that no thought of aught beside the pleasure of the table shall enter to trouble their heads. and at ten of the clock, if i come not again to warn thee, cross fearlessly the great moat, and do as i have bid thee. but if thou hearest from the castle wall the hooting of an owl thrice repeated like this" -- and the girl put her hands to her mouth, and gave forth so exact an mutation of an owl's note that gaston started to hear it -- "thrice times thrice, so that there can be no mistake, then tarry here on this side; stir not till i come again. it will be a danger signal to tell that all is not well. but if at the hour of ten thou hast heard naught, then go forward, and fear not. thy brother will be alone, and all men far away from the tower. take him, and go forth; and the blessed saints bless and protect you all." she stretched forth her hand and placed it in his. there was a sudden sadness in her face. gaston caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, but he had more to say than a simple word of parting. "but i shall see thee again, sweet constanza? am i not thy true knight? shall i not owe to thee a debt i know not how to pay? thou wilt not send me forth without a word of promise of another meeting? when can i see thee again to tell thee how we have fared?" "thou must not dream of loitering here once thy object is secured," answered the girl, speaking very firmly and almost sternly, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes. "it will not be many hours ere they find their captive has escaped them, and they will rouse the whole country after you. nay, to linger is certain death; it must not be thought of. in bordeaux, and there alone, wilt thou be safe. it is thither that thou must fly, for thither alone will the sieur de navailles fear to follow you. for me, i must remain here, as i have done these many years. it will not be worse than it hath ever been." "and thinkest thou that i will leave thee thus to languish after thou hast restored to me my brother?" asked gaston hotly. "nay, lady, think not that of thine own true knight! i will come again. i vow it! first will i to the english king, and tell in his ears a tale which shall arouse all his royal wrath. and then will i come again. it may not be this year, but it shall be ere long. i will come to claim mine own; and all that is mine shall be thine. sweet lady, wouldst thou look coldly upon me did i come with banners unfurled and men in arms against him thou callest thine uncle? for the lands he holds were ours once, and the english king has promised that they shall one day be restored, as they should have been long ago had not this usurper kept his iron clutch upon them in defiance of his feudal lord. lady, sweet constanza, tell me that thou wilt not call me thy foe if i come as a foe to the lord of navailles!" "methinks thou couldst never be my foe," answered constanza in a low voice, pressing her hands closely together; "and though he be mine uncle, and though he has given me a home beneath his roof, he has made it to me an abode of terror, and i know that he is feared and hated far and wide, and that his evil deeds are such that none may trust or love him. i would not show ingratitude for what he hath done for me; but he has been paid many times over. he has had all my jewels, and of these many were all but priceless; and he gives me but the food i eat and the raiment i wear. i should bless the day that set me free from this life beneath his roof. there be moments when i say in mine heart that i cannot live longer in such an evil place -- when i have no heart left and no hope." "but thou wilt have hope now!" cried gaston ardently. "thou wilt know that i am coming to claim mine own, and with it this little hand, more precious to me than all else besides. sweetest constanza, tell me that i shall still find thee as thou art when i come to claim thee! i shall not come to find thee the bride of another?" he could not see her face in the dimness, but he felt her hand flutter in his clasp like a bird in the hand of one who has tamed it, and whom it trusts and loves. the next moment his arm was about her slight figure, and her head drooped for a moment upon his shoulder. "i shall be waiting," she whispered, scarce audibly. "how could i love another, when thou hast called thyself my knight?" he pressed a passionate kiss upon her brow. "if this is indeed farewell for the present hour, it is a sweet one, my beloved. i little thought, as i journeyed hither today, what i was to find. farewell, farewell, my lady love, my princess, my bride. farewell, but not for ever. i will come again anon, and then we will be no more parted, for thou shalt reign in these grim walls, and no more dark tales of horror shall be breathed of them. i will come again; i will surely come. trust me, and fear not!" she stood beside him in the gathering darkness, and he could almost hear the fluttering of her heart. it was a moment full of sweetness for both, even though the shadow of parting was hanging over them. a slight rustle amongst the underwood near to them caused them to spring apart; and the girl fled from him, speeding away with the grace and silent fleetness of a deer. gaston made a stride towards the place whence the sound had proceeded, and found himself face to face with roger. "the men are all at hand," he whispered. "i would not have them approach too close till i knew your pleasure. they are all within the wood, all upon the alert lest any foe be nigh; but all seems silent as the grave, and not a light gleams from the tower upon this side. shall i bid them remain where they are? or shall i bring them hither to you beside the water?" "let them remain where they are for a while and see that the horses be well fed and cared for. at ten o'clock, if all be well, the attempt to enter the tower is to be made; and once the prisoner is safe and in our keeping, we must to bordeaux as fast as horse will take us. the sieur de navailles will raise the whole country after us. we must be beyond the reach of his clutches ere we draw rein again." chapter xxvi. the rescue of raymond. the appointed hour had arrived. no signal had fallen upon gaston's listening ears; no note of warning had rung through the still night air. from the direction of the castle sounds of distant revelry arose at intervals -- sounds which seemed to show that nothing in the shape of watch or ward was being thought of by its inmates; and also that constanza's promise had been kept, and potations of unwonted strength had been served out to the men. now the appointed hour had come and gone, and gaston commenced his preparations for the rescue of his brother. that he might be going to certain death if he failed, or if he had been betrayed, did not weigh with him for a moment. if constanza were false to him, better death than the destruction of his hopes and his trust. in any case he would share his brother's fate sooner than leave him in the relentless hands of these cruel foes. he had selected six of his stoutest followers, all of them excellent swimmers, to accompany him across the moat; and roger, as a matter of course, claimed to be one of the party. to roger's mysterious power of vision they owed their rapid tracing of raymond to this lonely spot. it was indeed his right to make one of the rescue party if he desired to be allowed to do so. the rest of their number were to remain upon this farther side of the moat, and the horses were all in readiness, rested and refreshed, about half-a-mile off under the care of several stout fellows, all stanch to their master's interests. the story they had heard from gaston of what had been devised against his brother filled the honest soldiers with wrath and indignation. rough and savage as they might show themselves in open warfare, deliberate and diabolical cruelty was altogether foreign to their nature. and they all felt towards raymond a sense of protecting and reverent tenderness, such as all may feel towards a being of finer mould and loftier nature. raymond had the faculty of inspiring in those about him this reverential tenderness; and not one of those stalwart fellows who were silently laying aside their heavy mail, and such of their garments as would be likely to hinder them in their swim across the moat, but felt a deep loathing and hatred towards the lord of this grim tower, and an overmastering resolve to snatch his helpless victim from his cruel hands, or perish in the attempt. all their plans had been very carefully made. lanterns and the wherewithal for kindling them were bound upon the heads of some of the swimmers; and though they laid aside most of their defensive armour and their heavy riding boots, they wore their stout leather jerkins, that were almost as serviceable against foeman's steel, and their weapons, save the most cumbersome, were carried either in their belts or fastened across their shoulders. dark though it had become, gaston had not lost cognizance of the spot whither they were to direct their course; and one by one the strong swimmers plunged into the sullen waters without causing so much as a ripple or plash, which might betray their movements to suspicious ears upon the battlements (if indeed any sort of watch were kept, which appeared doubtful). they swam with that perfect silence possible only to those who are thoroughly at home in the water, till they had crossed the dark moat and had reached the perpendicular wall of the tower, which rose sheer upon the farther side -- so sheer that not even the foot of mountain goat could have scaled its rough-hewn side. but gaston knew what he had to search for, and with outstretched hand he swam silently along the solid masonry, feeling for that aperture just above watermark which he had seen before the daylight faded. it took him some little time to find it, but at last it was discovered, and with a muttered word of command to the men who silently followed in his wake, he drew himself slowly out of the water, to find himself in a very narrow rounded aperture like a miniature tunnel, which trended slightly upwards, and would only admit the passage of one human being at a time, and then only upon hands and knees. it was pitchy dark in this tunnel, and there was no space in which to attempt to kindle a light. once the thought came into gaston's head that if he were falling into a treacherous pitfall laid for him with diabolic ingenuity by his foes, nothing could well be better than to entrap him into such a place as this, where it would be almost impossible to go forward or back, and quite out of his power to strike a single blow for liberty or life. but he shook off the chill sense of fear as unworthy and unknightly. his constanza was true; of that he was assured. the only possible doubt was whether she herself were being used as an unconscious tool in the hands of subtle and perfectly unscrupulous men. but even so gaston had no choice but to advance. he had come to rescue his brother or to die with him. if the latter, he would try at least to sell his life dearly. but he was fully persuaded that his efforts would be crowned with success. he had time to think many such things as he slowly crept along the low passage in the black darkness. it seemed long before his hand came in contact with the door he had been told he should presently reach, and this door, as constanza had said, yielded to his touch, and he felt rather than saw that he had emerged into a wider space beyond. this place, whatever it was, was not wholly dark, though so very dim that it was impossible to make out anything save the dull red glow of what might be some embers on a distant hearth. gaston did not speak a word, but waited till all his companions had reached this more open space, and had risen to their feet and grasped their weapons. then all held their breath, and listened for any sound that might by chance reveal the presence of hidden foes, till they started at the sound of roger's voice speaking softly but with complete assurance. "there is no one here," he said. "we are quite alone. let me kindle a torch and show you." roger, as gaston had before observed, possessed a cat-like faculty of seeing in the dark. whether it was natural to him, or had been acquired during those days spent almost entirely underground in the sorcerer's vaulted chamber at basildene, the youth himself scarcely knew. but he was able to distinguish objects clearly in gloom which no ordinary eye could penetrate; and now he walked fearlessly forward and stirred up the smouldering embers, whose dull red glow all could see, into a quick, bright, palpitating flame which illumined every corner of the strange place into which they had penetrated. gaston and his men looked wonderingly around them, as they lighted their lanterns at the fire and flashed them here and there into all the dark corners, as though to assure themselves that there were no ambushed foes lurking in the grim recesses of that circular room. but roger had been quite right. there was nothing living in that silent place. not so much as a loophole in the wall admitted any air or light from the outer world, or could do so even in broad noon. the chamber was plainly hollowed out in the mass of earth and masonry of which the foundations of the tower were composed, and if any air were admitted (as there must have been, else men could not breathe down there), it was by some device not easily discovered at a first glance. it was in truth a strange and terrible place -- the dank walls, down which the damp moisture slowly trickled, hung round with instruments of various forms, all designed with a terrible purpose, and from their look but too often used. gaston's face assumed a look of dark wrath and indignation as his quick eyes roved round this evil place, and he set his teeth hard together as he muttered to himself: "heaven send that the prince himself may one day look upon the vile secrets of this charnel house! i would that he and his royal father might know what deeds of darkness are even now committed in lands that own their sway! would that i had that wicked wretch here in my power at this moment! well does he deserve to be torn in pieces by his own hideous engines. and in this very place does he design to do to death my brother! may god pardon me if i sin in the thought, but death by the sword is too good for such a miscreant!" words very similar to these were being bandied about in fierce undertones by the men who had accompanied gaston, and who had never seen such a chamber as this before. great would have been their satisfaction to let its owner taste something of the agony he had too often inflicted upon helpless victims thrown into his power. but this being out of the question, the next matter was the rescue of the captive they had come to save; and they looked eagerly at their young leader to know what was the next step to be taken. gaston was searching for the wheel by which the mechanism could be set in motion which would enable him to reach his brother's prison house. it was easily found from the description given him by constanza. he set his men to work to turn the wheel, and at once became aware of the groaning and grating sound that attends the motion of clumsy machinery. gazing eagerly up into the dun roof above him, he saw slowly descending a portion of the stonework of which it was formed. it was a clever enough contrivance for those unskilled days, and showed a considerable ingenuity on the part of some owner of the castle of saut. when the great slab had descended to the floor below, gaston stepped upon it, roger placing himself at his side, and with a brief word to his men to reverse the action of the wheel, and to lower the slab again a few minutes later, he prepared for his strange passage upwards to his brother's lonely cell. roger held a lantern in his hand, and the faces of the pair were full of anxious expectation. suppose raymond had been removed from that upper prison? suppose he had succumbed either to the cruelty of his foes or to the fever resulting from his injuries received on the day of the battle? a hundred fears possessed gaston's soul as the strange transit through the air was being accomplished -- a transit so strange that he felt as though he must surely be dreaming. but there was only one thing to be done -- to persevere in the quest, and trust to the holy saints and the loving mercy of blessed mary's son to grant him success in this his endeavour. up, up into the darkness of the vaulted roof he passed, and then a yawning hole above their heads, which looked too small to admit the passage of the slab upon which they stood, swallowed them up, and they found themselves passing upwards through a shaft which only just admitted the block upon which they stood. up and up they went, and now the creaking sound grew louder, and the motion grew perceptibly slower. they were no longer in a narrow shaft; a black space opened before their eyes. the motion ceased altogether with a grinding sensation and a jerk, and out of the darkness of a wider space, pitchy dark to their eyes, came the sound of a familiar voice. "gaston -- brother!" gaston sprang forward into the darkness, heedless of all but the sound of that voice. the next moment he was clasping his brother in his arms, his own emotion so great that he dared not trust his voice to speak; whilst raymond, holding him fast in a passionate clasp, whispered in his ear a breathless question. "thou too a prisoner in this terrible place, my gaston? o brother -- my brother -- i trusted that i might have died for us both!" "a prisoner? nay, raymond, no prisoner; but as thy rescuer i come. what, believest thou not? then shalt thou soon see with thine own eyes. "but let me look first upon thy face. i would see what these miscreants have done to thee. thou feelest more like a creature of skin and bone than one of sturdy english flesh and blood. "the light, roger! "ay, truly, roger is here with me. it is to him in part we owe it that we are here this night. raymond, raymond, thou art sorely changed! thou lookest more spirit-like than ever! thou hast scarce strength to stand alone! what have they done to thee, my brother?" but raymond could scarce find strength to answer. the revulsion of feeling was too much for him. when he had heard that terrible sound, and had seen the slab in the floor sink out of sight, he had sprung from his bed of straw, ready to face his cruel foes when they came for him, yet knowing but too well what was in store for him when he was carried down below, as he had been once before. then when, instead of the cruel mocking countenance of peter sanghurst, he had seen the noble, loving face of his brother, and had believed that he, too, had fallen into the power of their deadly foes, it had seemed to him as though a bitterness greater than that of death had fallen upon him, and the rebound of feeling when gaston had declared himself had been so great, that the whole place swam before his eyes, and the floor seemed to reel beneath his feet. "we will get him away from this foul place!" cried gaston, with flaming eyes, as he looked into the white and sharpened face of his brother, and felt how feebly the light frame leaned against the stalwart arm supporting it. he half led, half carried raymond the few paces towards the slab in the floor which formed the link with the region beneath, and the next minute raymond felt himself sinking down as he had done once before; only then it had been in the clasp of his most bitter foe that he had been carried to that infernal spot. the recollection made him shiver even now in gaston's strong embrace, and the young knight felt the quiver and divined the cause. "fear nothing now, my brother," he said. "though we be on our way to that fearful place, it is for us the way to light and liberty. our own good fellows are awaiting us there. i trow not all the hireling knaves within this castle wall should wrest thee from us now." "i fear naught now that thou art by my side, gaston," answered raymond, in low tones. "if thou art not in peril thyself, i could wish nothing better than to die with thine arm about mine." "nay, but thou shalt live!" cried gaston, with energy, scarce understanding that after the long strain of such a captivity as raymond's had been it was small wonder that he had grown to think death well-nigh better and sweeter than life. "thou shalt live to take vengeance upon thy foes, and to recompense them sevenfold for what they have done to thee. i will tell this story in the ears of the king himself. this is not the last time that i shall stand within the walls of saut!" by this time the heavy slab had again descended, and around it were gathered the eager fellows, who received their young master's brother with open arms and subdued shouts of triumph and joy. but he, though he smiled his thanks, looked round him with eyes dilated by the remembrance of some former scene there, and gaston set his teeth hard, and shook back his head with a gesture that boded little good for the sieur de navailles upon a future day. "come men; we may not tarry!" he said. "no man knows what fancy may enter into the head of the master of this place. turn the wheel again; send up the slab to its right place. let them have no clue to trace the flight of their victim. leave everything as we found it, and follow me without delay." he was all anxiety now to get his brother from the shadow of this hideous place. the whiteness of raymond's face, the hollowness of his eyes, the lines of suffering traced upon his brow in a few short days, all told a tale only too easily read. the rough fellows treated him tenderly as they might have treated a little child. they felt that he had been through some ordeal from which they themselves would have shrunk with a terror they would have been ashamed to admit; and that despite the youth's fragile frame and ethereal face that looked little like that of a mailed warrior, a hero's heart beat in his breast, and he had the spirit to do and to dare what they themselves might have quailed from and fled before. the transit through the narrow tunnel presented no real difficulty, and soon the sullen waters of the moat were troubled by the silent passage of seven instead of six swimmers. the shock of the cold plunge revived raymond; and the sense of space above him, the star-spangled sky overhead, the free sweet air around him, even the unfettered use of his weakened limbs, as he swam with his brother's strong supporting arm about him, acted upon him like a tonic. he hardly knew whether or not it was a dream; whether he were in the body or out of the body; whether he should awake to find himself in his gloomy cell, or under the cruel hands of his foes in that dread chamber he had visited once before. he knew not, and at that moment he cared not. gaston's arm was about him, gaston's voice was in his ear. whatever came upon him later could not destroy the bliss of the present moment. a score of eager hands were outstretched to lift the light frame from gaston's arm as the brothers drew to the edge of the moat. it was no time to speak, no time to ask or answer questions. at any moment some unguarded movement or some crashing of the boughs underfoot might awaken the suspicions of those within the walls. it was enough that the secret expedition had been crowned with success -- that the captive was now released and in their own hands. raymond was almost fainting now with excitement and fatigue, but gaston's muscles seemed as if made of iron. though the past days had been for him days of great anxiety and fatigue, though he had scarce eaten or slept since the rapid march upon the besieging army around st. jean d'angely, he seemed to know neither fatigue nor feebleness. the arm upholding raymond's drooping frame seemed as the arm of a giant. the young knight felt as though he could have carried that light weight even to bordeaux, and scarce have felt fatigue. but there was no need for that. nigh at hand the horses were waiting, saddled and bridled, well fed and well rested, ready to gallop steadily all through the summer night. the moon had risen now, and filtered in through the young green of the trees with a clear and fitful radiance. the forest was like a fairy scene; and over the minds of both brothers stole the softening remembrance of such woodland wonders in the days gone by, when as little lads, full of curiosity and love of adventure, they had stolen forth at night into the forest together to see if they could discover the fairies at their play, or the dwarfs and gnomes busy beneath the surface of the earth. to raymond it seemed indeed as though all besides might well be a dream. he knew not which of the fantastic images impressed upon his brain was the reality, and which the work of imagination. a sense of restful thankfulness -- the release from some great and terrible fear -- had stolen upon him, he scarce knew how or why. he did not wish to think or puzzle out what had befallen him. he was with gaston once more; surely that was enough. but gaston's mind was hard at work. from time to time he turned an anxious look upon his brother, and he saw well how ill and weary he was, how he swayed in the saddle, though supported by cleverly-adjusted leather thongs, and how unfit he was for the long ride that lay before them. and yet that ride must be taken. they must be out of reach of their implacable foe as quickly as might be. in the unsettled state of the country no place would afford a safe harbour for them till bordeaux itself was reached. fain would he have made for the shelter of the old home in the mill, or of father anselm's hospitable home, but he knew that those would be the first places searched by the emissaries of the navailles. even as it was these good people might be in some peril, and they must certainly not be made aware of the proximity of the de brocas brothers. but if not there, whither could raymond be transported? to carry him to england in this exhausted state might be fatal to him; for no man knew when once on board ship how contrary the wind might blow, and the accommodation for a sick man upon shipboard was of the very rudest. no; before the voyage could be attempted raymond must have rest and care in some safe place of shelter. and where could that shelter be found? as gaston thus mused a sudden light came upon him, and turning to roger he asked of him a question: "do not some of these fellows of our company come from bordeaux; and have they not left it of late to follow the english banner?" "ay, verily," answered roger quickly. "there be some of them who came forth thence expressly to fight under the young knight of de brocas. the name of de brocas is as dear to many of those gascon soldiers as that of navailles is hated and cursed." "send then to me one of those fellows who best knows the city," said gaston; and in a few more minutes a trooper rode up to his side. "good fellow," said gaston, "if thou knowest well you city whither we are bound, tell me if thou hast heard aught of one father paul, who has been sent to many towns in this and other realms by his holiness the pope, to restore amongst the brethren of his order the forms and habits which have fallen something into disuse of late? i heard a whisper as we passed through the city a week back now that he was there. knowest thou if this be true?" "it was true enow, sir knight, a few days back," answered the man, "and i trow you may find him yet at the cistercian monastery within the city walls. he had but just arrived thither ere the english ships came, and men say that he had much to do ere he sallied forth again." "good," answered gaston, in a tone of satisfaction; and when the trooper had dropped back to his place again, the young knight turned to his brother and said cheerily: "courage, good lad; keep but up thy heart, my brother, for i have heard good news for thee. father paul is in the city of bordeaux, and it is in his kindly charge that i will leave thee ere i go to england with my tale to lay before the king." raymond was almost too far spent to rejoice over any intelligence, however welcome; yet a faint smile crossed his face as the sense of gaston's words penetrated to his understanding. it was plain that there was no time to lose if they were to get him to some safe shelter before his strength utterly collapsed, and long before bordeaux was reached he had proved unable to keep his seat in the saddle, and a litter had been contrived for him in which he could lie at length, carried between four of the stoutest horsemen. they were now in more populous and orderly regions, where the forest was thinner and townships more frequent. the urgent need for haste had slightly diminished, and though still anxious to reach their destination, the party was not in fear of an instant attack from a pursuing foe. the navailles would scarce dare to fall upon the party in the neighbourhood of so many of the english king's fortified cities; and before the sun set they hoped to be within the environs of bordeaux itself -- a hope in which they were not destined to be disappointed. nor was gaston disappointed of his other hope; for scarce had they obtained admission for their unconscious and invalided comrade within the walls of the cistercian monastery, and gaston was still eagerly pouring into the prior's ears the story of his brother's capture and imprisonment, when the door of the small room into which the strangers had been taken was slowly opened to admit a tall, gaunt figure, and father paul himself stood before them. he gave gaston one long, searching look; but he never forgot a face, and greeted him by name as sir gaston de brocas, greatly to the surprise of the youth, who thought he would neither be recognized nor known by the holy father. then passing him quickly by, the monk leaned over the couch upon which raymond had been laid -- a hard oaken bench -- covered by the cloak of the man who had borne him in. raymond's eyes were closed; his face, with the sunset light lying full upon it, showed very hollow and white and worn. even in the repose of a profound unconsciousness it wore a look of lofty purpose, together with an expression of purity and devotion impossible to describe. gaston and the prior both turned to look as father paul bent over the prostrate figure with an inarticulate exclamation such as he seldom uttered, and gaston felt a sudden thrill of cold fear run through him. "he is not dead?" he asked, in a passionate whisper; and the father looked up to answer: "nay, sir knight, he is not dead. a little rest, a little tendance, a little of our care, and he will be restored to the world again. better perhaps were it not so - better perchance for him. for his is not the nature to battle with impunity against the evil of the world. look at him as he lies there: is that face of one that can look upon the deeds of these vile days and not suffer keenest pain? to fight and to vanquish is thy lot, young warrior; but what is his? to tread the thornier path of life and win the hero's crown, not by deeds of glory and renown, but by that higher and holier path of suffering and renunciation which one chose that we might know he had been there before us. thou mayest live to be one of this world's heroes, boy; but in the world to come it will be thy brother who will wear the victor's crown." "i truly believe it," answered gaston, drawing a deep breath; "but yet we cannot spare him from this world. i give him into thy hands, my father, that thou mayest save him for us here." chapter xxvii. peter sanghurst's wooing. "joan -- sweetest mistress -- at last i find you; at last my eyes behold again those peerless charms for which they have pined and hungered so long! tell me, have you no sweet word of welcome for him whose heart you hold between those fair hands, to do with it what you will?" joan, roused from her reverie by those smoothly-spoken words, uttered in a harsh and grating voice, turned quickly round to find herself face to face with peter sanghurst -- the man she had fondly hoped had passed out of her life for ever. joan and her father, after a considerable period spent in wanderings in foreign lands (during which sir hugh had quite overcome the melancholy and sense of panic into which he had been thrown by the scourge of the black death and his wife's sudden demise as one of its victims), had at length returned to woodcrych. the remembrance of the plague was fast dying out from men's minds. the land was again under cultivation; and although labour was still scarce and dear, and continued to be so for many, many years, whilst the attempts at legislation on this point only produced riot and confusion (culminating in the next reign in the notable rebellion of wat tyler, and leading eventually to the emancipation of the english peasantry), things appeared to be returning to their normal condition, and men began to resume their wonted apathy of mind, and to cease to think of the scourge as the direct visitation of god. sir hugh had been one of those most alarmed by the ravages of the plague. he was full of the blind superstition of a thoroughly irreligious man, and he knew well that he had been dabbling in forbidden arts, and had been doing things that were supposed in those days to make a man peculiarly the prey of the devil after death. thus when the black death had visited the country, and he had heard on all sides that it was the visitation of god for the sins of the nations, he had been seized with a panic which had been some years in cooling, and he had made pilgrimages and had paid a visit to his holiness the pope in order to feel that he had made amends for any wrongdoing in his previous life. he had during this fit of what was rather panic than repentance avoided woodcrych sedulously, as the place where these particular sins which frightened him now had been committed. he had thus avoided any encounter with peter sanghurst, and joan had hoped that the shadow of that evil man was not destined to cross her path again. but, unluckily for her hopes, a reaction had set in in her father's feelings. his blind, unreasoning terror had now given place to an equally wild and reckless confidence and assurance. the black death had come and gone, and had passed him by (he now said) doing him no harm. he had obtained the blessing of the pope, and felt in his heart that he could set the almighty at defiance. his revenues, much impoverished through the effects of the plague, made the question of expenditure the most pressing one of the hour; and the knight had come to woodcrych with the distinct intention of prosecuting those studies in alchemy and magic which a year or two back he had altogether forsworn. old sanghurst was dead, he knew -- the devil had claimed one of his own. but the son was living still, and was to be heard of, doubtless, at basildene. peter sanghurst was posing in the world as a wealthy man, surrounded by a halo of mystery which gave him distinction and commanded respect. sir hugh felt that he might be a very valuable ally, and began to regret now that his fears had made him so long an exile from his country and a wanderer from home. many things might have happened in that interval. what more likely than that sanghurst had found a wife, and that his old affection for joan would by now be a thing of the past? the knight fumed a good deal as he thought of neglected opportunities. but there was just the chance that sanghurst might be faithful to his old love, whilst surely joan would have forgotten her girlish caprice, and cease to attempt a foolish resistance to her father's will. had he been as much in earnest then as he now was, the marriage would long ago have been consummated. but in old days he had not felt so confident of the wealth of the sanghursts as he now did, and had been content to let matters drift. now he could afford to drift no longer. joan had made no marriage for herself, she was unwed at an age when most girls are wives and mothers, and sir hugh was growing weary of her company. he wished to plunge once again into a life of congenial dissipation, and into those researches for magic wealth which had always exercised so strong a fascination over him; and the first step necessary for both these objects appeared to be to marry off his daughter, and that, if possible, to the man who was supposed to be in possession of these golden secrets. joan, however, knew nothing of the hopes and wishes filling her father's mind. she was glad to come back to the home she had always loved the best of her father's residences, and which was so much associated in her mind with her youthful lover. she believed that so near to guildford she would be sure to hear news of raymond. master bernard de brocas would know where he was; he might even be living beneath his uncle's roof. the very thought sent quick thrills of happiness through her. her face was losing its thoughtful gravity of expression, and warming and brightening into new beauty. she had almost forgotten the proximity of basildene, and peter sanghurst's hateful suit, so long had been the time since she had seen him last, until the sound of his voice, breaking in upon a happy reverie, brought all the old disgust and horror back again, and she turned to face him with eyes that flashed with lambent fire. yet as she stood there in the entrance to that leafy bower which was her favourite retreat at woodcrych, peter sanghurst felt as though he had never before seen so queenly a creature, and said in his heart that she had grown tenfold more lovely during the years of her wanderings. joan was now no mere strip of a girl. she was three-and-twenty, and had all the grace of womanhood mingling with the free, untrammelled energy of youth. her step was as light, her movements as unfettered, as in the days of her childhood; yet now she moved with an unconscious stately grace which caused her to be remarked wherever she went; and her face, always beautiful, with its regular features, liquid dark eyes, and full, noble expression, had taken an added depth and sweetness and thoughtfulness which rendered it remarkable and singularly attractive. joan inspired a considerable amount of awe in the breasts of those youthful admirers who had flitted round her sometimes during the days of her wanderings; but she had never given any of them room to hope to be more to her than the passing acquaintance of an hour. she had received proffers of life-long devotion with a curious gentle courtesy almost like indifference, and had smiled upon none of those who had paid her court. her father had let her do as she would. no suitor wealthy enough to excite his cupidity had appeared at joan's feet. he intended to make a wealthy match for her before she grew much older; but the right person had not yet appeared, and time slipped by almost unheeded. now she found herself once again face to face with peter sanghurst, and realized that he was renewing, or about to renew, that hateful suit which she trusted had passed from his mind altogether. the face she turned towards him, with the glowing autumn sunshine full upon it, was scarcely such as could be called encouraging to an ardent lover. but peter sanghurst only smiled as she stood there in her proud young beauty, the russet autumn tints framing her noble figure in vivid colours. "i have taken you by surprise, sweet lady," he said; "it is long since we met." "long indeed, master peter -- or should i say sir peter? it hath been told to me that you have been in the great world; but whether or not your gallantry has won you your spurs i know not." was there something of covert scorn in the tones of her cold voice? sanghurst could not tell, but every smallest stab inflicted upon his vanity or pride by this beautiful creature was set down in the account he meant to settle with her when once she was in his power. his feelings towards her were strangely mixed. he loved her passionately in a fierce, wild fashion, coveting the possession of that beauty which maddened whilst it charmed him. she enchained and enthralled him, yet she stung him to the quick by her calm contempt and resolute avoidance of him. he was determined she should be his, come what might; but when once he had won the mastery over her, he would make her suffer for every pang of wounded pride or jealousy she had inflicted upon him. the cruelty of the man's nature showed itself even in his love, and he hated even whilst he loved her; for he knew that she was infinitely his superior, and that she had read the vileness of his nature, and had learned to shrink from him, as purity always shrinks from contact with what is foul and false. even her question stung his vanity, and there was a savage gleam in his eye as he answered: "nay, my spurs are still to be won; for what was it to me whether i won them or not unless i might wear them as your true knight? sweetest mistress, these weary years have been strangely long and dark since the light of your presence has been withdrawn from us. now that the sun has risen once again upon woodcrych, let it shine likewise upon basildene. mistress joan, i come to you with your father's sanction. you doubtless know how many years i have wooed you -- how many years i have lived for you and for you alone. i have waited even as the patriarch of old for his wife. the time has now come when i have the right to approach you as a lover. sweet lady, tell me that you will reward my patience -- that i shall not sue in vain." peter sanghurst bent the knee before her; but she was acute enough to detect the undercurrent of mockery in his tone. he came as a professed suppliant; but he came with her father's express sanction, and joan had lived long enough to know how very helpless a daughter was if her father's mind were once made up to give her hand in marriage. her safety in past days had been that sir hugh was not really resolved upon the point. he had always been divided between the desire to conciliate the old sorcerer and the fear lest his professed gifts should prove but illusive; and when he was in this mood of uncertainty, joan's steady and resolute resistance had not been without effect. but she knew that he owed large sums of money to the sanghursts, who had made frequent advances when he had been in difficulties, and it was likely enough that the day of reckoning had now come, and that her hand was to be the price of the cancelled bonds. her father had for some days been dropping hints that had raised uneasiness in her mind. this sudden appearance of peter sanghurst, coupled with his confident words, showed to joan only too well how matters stood. for a moment she stood silent, battling with her fierce loathing and disgust, her fingers toying with the gold circlet her lover had placed upon her finger. the very thought of raymond steadied her nerves, and gave her calmness and courage. she knew that she was in a sore strait; but hers was a spirit to rise rather than sink before peril and adversity. "master peter sanghurst," she answered, calmly and steadily, "i thought that i had given you answer before, when you honoured me by your suit. my heart is not mine to give, and if it were it could never be yours. i pray you take that answer and be gone. from my lips you can never have any other." a fierce gleam was in his eye, but his voice was still smooth and bland. "sweet lady," he said, "it irks me sore to give you pain; but i have yet another message for you. think you that i should have dared to come with this offer of my heart and hand if i had not known that he to whom thy heart is pledged lies stiff and cold in the grip of death -- nay, has long since mouldered to ashes in the grave?" joan turned deadly pale. she had not known that her secret had passed beyond her own possession. how came peter sanghurst to speak of her as having a lover? was it all guesswork? true, he had been jealous of raymond in old days. was this all part of a preconcerted and diabolical plot against her happiness? her profound distrust of this man, and her conviction of his entire unscrupulousness, helped to steady her nerves. if she had so wily a foe to deal with, she had need of all her own native shrewdness and capacity. after a few moments, which seemed hours to her from the concentrated thought pressed into them, she spoke quietly and calmly: "of whom speak you, sir? who is it that lies dead and cold?" "your lover, raymond de brocas," answered sanghurst, rising to his feet and confronting joan with a gaze of would-be sympathy, though his eyes were steely bright and full of secret malice -- "your lover, who died in my arms after the skirmish of which you may have heard, when the english army routed the besieging force around st. jean d'angely; and in dying he gave me a charge for you, sweet lady, which i have been longing ever since to deliver, but until today have lacked the opportunity." joan's eyes were fixed upon him wide with distrust. she was in absolute ignorance of raymond's recent movements. but in those days that was the fate of those who did not live in close contiguity. she had been a rover in the world, and so perchance had he. all that sanghurst said might be true for aught she could allege to the contrary. yet how came it that raymond should confide his dying message to his sworn and most deadly foe? the story seemed to bear upon it the impress of falsehood. sanghurst, studying her face intently, appeared to read her thoughts. "lady," he said, "if you will but listen to my tale, methinks i can convince you of the truth of my words. you think that because we were rivals for your hand we were enemies, too? and so of old it was. but, fair mistress, you may have heard how raymond de brocas soothed the dying bed of my father, and tended him when all else, even his son, had fled from his side; and albeit at the moment even that service did not soften my hard heart, in the times that followed, when i was left alone to muse on what had passed, i repented me of my old and bitter enmity, and resolved, if ever we should meet again, to strive to make amends for the past. i knew that he loved you, and that you loved him; and i vowed i would keep away and let his suit prosper if it might. i appeal to you, fair mistress, to say how that vow has been kept." "i have certainly seen naught of you these past years," answered joan. "but i myself have been a wanderer." "had you not been, my vow would have been as sacredly kept," was the quick reply. "i had resolved to see you no more, since i might never call you mine. i strove to banish your image from my mind by going forth into the world; and when this chance of fighting for the king arose, i was one who sailed to the relief of the english garrison." she made no response, but her clear gaze was slightly disconcerting; he looked away and spoke rapidly. "raymond de brocas was on board the vessel that bore us from england's shores: ask if it be not so, an you believe me not. we were brothers in arms, and foes no longer. i sought him out and told him all that was in my heart. you know his nature -- brave, candid, fearless. he showed his nobility of soul by giving to me the right hand of fellowship. ere the voyage ended we were friends in truth. when the day of battle came we rode side by side against the foe." joan's interest was aroused. she knew raymond well. she knew his nobility of nature -- his generous impulse to forgive a past foe, to bury all enmity. if sanghurst had sought him with professions of contrition, might he not have easily been believed? and yet was such an one as this to be trusted? "in the melee -- for the fighting was hard and desperate -- we were separated: he carried one way and i another. when the french were driven back or taken captive i sought for raymond everywhere, but for long without avail. at last i found him, wounded to the death. i might not even move him to our lines. i could but give him drink and watch beside him as he slowly sank. "it was then he spoke of thee, joan." sanghurst's voice took a new tone, and seemed to quiver slightly; he dropped the more formal address hitherto observed, and lapsed into the familiar "thou." "the sole trouble upon that pure soul was the thought of thee, left alone and unprotected in this harsh world. he spoke of thee and that love he bore thee, and i, who had also loved, but had resigned all my hopes for love of him, could but listen and grieve with him. but he knew my secret -- his clear eyes had long ago divined it -- and in talking together of thee, joan, as we had many times done before, he had learned all there was to know of my hopeless love. as he lay dying he seemed to be musing of this; and one short half-hour before he breathed his last, he spoke in these words -- "'sanghurst, we have been rivals and foes, but now we are friends, and i know that i did misjudge thee in past days, as methinks she did, too.' (joan, this is not so. it was not that ye misjudged me, but that i have since repented of my evil ways in which erst i rejoiced.) 'but thou wilt go to her now, and tell her what has befallen her lover. tell her that i died with her name on my lips, with thoughts of her in my heart. and tell her also not to grieve too deeply for me. it may be that to die thus, loving and beloved, is the happiest thing that can befall a man. but tell her, too, that she must not grieve too bitterly -- that she must not lead a widowed life because that i am taken from her. give to her this token, good comrade; she will know it. tell her that he to whom she gave it now restores it to her again, and restores it by the hand of his best and truest friend, trusting that this trusty friend will some day meet the reward he covets from the hand of her who once gave the token to him upon whom the hand of death is resting. give it her, and tell her when you give it that her dying lover's hope is that she will thus reward the patient, generous love of him who shall bring it to her.'" as he spoke these words, sanghurst, his eyes immovably fixed upon the changing face of the beautiful girl, drew from his breast a small packet and placed it within her trembling hands. he knew he was playing a risky game, and that one false move might lose him his one chance. it was all the veriest guesswork; but he believed he had guessed aright. whilst raymond had been stretched upon the rack, swooning from extremity of pain, sanghurst's eyes, fixed in gloating satisfaction upon the helpless victim, had been caught by the sight of this token about his neck, secured by a strong silver cord. to possess himself of the charm, or whatever it might be, had been but the work of a moment. he had felt convinced that it was a lover's token, and had been given to raymond by joan, and if so it might be turned to good account, even if other means failed to bend the stubborn will of the youth who looked so frail and fragile. raymond had escaped from his hands by a species of magic, as it had seemed to the cruel captors, when he had tasted but a tithe of what they had in store for him. baffled and enraged as sanghurst was, he had still the precious token in his possession. if it had been given by joan, she would recognize it at once, and coupled with the supposed dying message of her lover, surely it would not be without effect. eagerly then were his eyes fixed upon her face as she undid the packet, and a gleam of triumph came into them as he saw a flash of recognition when the little heart was disclosed to view. truly indeed did joan's heart sink within her, and every drop of blood ebbed from her cheek; for had not raymond said that he would never part from her gift whilst he had life? and how could peter sanghurst have become possessed of it unless his tale were true? he might be capable of robbing a dead body, but how would he have known that the token was given by her? a mist seemed to float before the girl's eyes. at that moment she was unable to think or to reason. the one thought there was room for in her mind was that raymond was dead. if he were lost to her for ever, it was little matter what became of herself. sanghurst's keen eyes, fixed upon her with an evil gleam, saw that the charm was working. it had worked even beyond his hopes. he was so well satisfied with the result of this day's work, that he would not even press his suit upon her farther then. let her have time to digest her lover's dying words. when she had done so, he would come to her again. "sweet lady, i grieve that thou shouldst suffer though any words i have been forced to speak; but it was a promise given to him who is gone to deliver the message and the token. lady, i take my leave of thee. i will not intrude upon thy sacred sorrow. i, too, sorrow little less for him who is gone. he was one of the brightest ornaments of these days of chivalry and renown." he caught her hand for a moment and pressed it to his lips, she scarce seeming to know what he did or what he said; and then he turned away and left her alone with her thoughts, a strangely malicious expression crossing his face as he knew himself hidden from her eyes. that same evening, when father and daughter were alone together in the room they habitually occupied in the after part of the day, sir hugh began to speak with unwonted decision and authority. "joan, child, has peter sanghurst been with thee today?" "he has, my father." "and has he told thee that he comes with my sanction as a lover, and that thou and he are to wed ere the month is out?" "he had not said so much as that," answered joan, who spoke quietly and dreamily, and with so little of the old ring of opposition in her voice that her father looked at her in surprise. she was very pale, and there was a look in her eyes he did not understand; but the flush of anger or defiance he had thought to see did not show itself. he began to think sanghurst had spoken no more than the truth in saying that mistress joan appeared to have withdrawn her opposition to him as a husband. "but so it is to be," answered her father, quickly and imperiously, trying to seize this favourable moment to get the matter settled. "i have long given way to thy whimsies -- far too long -- and here art thou a woman grown, older than half the matrons round, yet never a wife as they have long been. i will no more of it. it maketh thee and me alike objects of ridicule. peter sanghurst is my very good friend. he has helped me in many difficulties, and is ready to help me again. he has money, and i have none. listen, girl: this accursed plague has carried off all my people, and labourers are asking treble and quadruple for their work that which they have been wont to do. sooner would i let the crops rot upon the ground than be so mulcted by them. the king does what he can, but the idle rogues set him at defiance; and there be many beside me who will feel the grip of poverty for long years to come. peter sanghurst has his wealth laid up in solid gold, not in fields and woods that bring nothing without hands to till or tend them. marry but him, and woodcrych shall be thy dower, and its broad acres and noble manor will make of ye twain, with his gold, as prosperous a knight and dame (for he will soon rise to that rank) as ye can wish to be. girl, my word is pledged, and i go not back from it. i have been patient with thy fancies, but i will no more of them. thou art mine own daughter, my own flesh and blood, and thy hand is mine to give to whom i will. peter sanghurst shall be thy lord whether thou wilt or no. i have said it; let that be enough. it is thy part to obey." joan sat quite still and answered nothing. her eyes were fixed upon the dancing flames rushing up the wide chimney. she must have heard her father's words, yet she gave no sign of having done so. but for that sir hugh cared little. he was only too glad to be spared a weary battle of words, or a long struggle with his high-spirited daughter, whose force of character he had come to know. that she had yielded her will to his at last seemed only right and natural, and of course she must have been by this time aware that if her father was really resolved upon the match, she was practically helpless to prevent it. she was no longer a child; she was a woman who had seen much of the world for the times she lived in. doubtless she had begun to see that she must now marry ere her beauty waned; and having failed to make a grander match during her years of wandering, was glad enough to return to her former lover, whose fidelity had doubtless touched her heart. "thou wilt have a home and a dowry, and a husband who has loved thee long and faithfully," added sir hugh, who felt that he might now adopt a more paternal tone, seeing he had not to combat foolish resistance. "thou hast been a good daughter, joan; doubtless thou wilt make a good wife too." still no reply, though a faint smile seemed to curve joan's lips. she presently rose to her feet, and making a respectful reverence to her father -- for daily embraces were not the order of the day -- glided from the room as if to seek her couch. "that is a thing well done!" breathed the knight, when he found himself once more alone, "and done easier than i had looked for. well, well, it is a happy thing the wench has found her right senses. methinks good peter must have been setting his charms to work, for she never could be brought to listen to him of old. he has tamed her to some purpose now." meantime joan had glided up the staircase of the hall, along several winding passages, and up and down several irregular flights of narrow steps, till she paused at the door of a room very dim within, but just lighted by the gleam of a dying fire. as she stepped across the threshold a voice out of the darkness accosted her. "my ladybird, is it thou, and at such an hour? tell me what has befallen thee." "the thing that thou and i have talked of before now, bridget," answered joan, speaking rapidly in a strange low voice -- "the thing that thou and i have planned a hundred times if the worst should befall us. it is tenfold more needful now than before. bridget, i must quit this house at sunset tomorrow, and thou must have my disguise ready. i must to france, to find out there the truth of a tale i have this day heard. nat will go with me -- he has said so a hundred times; and i have long had money laid by for the day i ever knew might come. thou knowest all. he is a man of the sea; i am his son. we have planned it too oft to be taken unawares by any sudden peril. thus disguised, we may wander where we will, molested by none. lose no time. rise and go to nat this very night. i myself must not be seen with him or with thee. i must conduct myself as though each day to come were like the one past. but thou knowest what to do. thou wilt arrange all. god bless thee, my faithful bridget; and when i come back again, thou shalt not lack thy reward!" "i want none else but thy love, my heart's delight," said the old nurse, gathering the girl into her fond arms; and joan hid her face for one moment upon that faithful breast and gave way to a short burst of weeping, which did much for her overcharged heart. then she silently stole away and went quietly to her own chamber. chapter xxviii. gaston's search. "he would get better far more quickly could the trouble be removed from his mind." gaston raised his head quickly, and asked: "what trouble?" father paul's face, thin and worn as of old, with the same keen, kindling glance of the deep-set eyes, softened almost into a smile as he met the questioning glance of gaston's eyes. "thou shouldst know more of such matters than i, my son, seeing that thou art in youth's ardent prime, whilst i wear the garb of a monk. sure thou canst not have watched beside thy brother's sickbed all these long weeks without knowing somewhat of the trouble in his mind?" "i hear him moan and talk," answered gaston; "but he knows not what he says, and i know not either. he is always feeling at his neck, and calling out for some lost token. and then he will babble on of things i understand not. but how i may help him i know not. i have tarried long, for i could not bear to leave him thus; and yet i am longing to carry to the king my tale of outrage and wrong. with every week that passes my chance of success grows less. for peter sanghurst may have been before me, and may have told his own false version of the tale ere i may have speech with king or prince. i know not what to do -- to stay beside raymond, or to hasten to england ere time be farther flown. holy father, wilt thou not counsel me? i feel that every day lost is a day lived in vain, ere i be revenged upon raymond's cruel foes!" the youth's eyes flashed. he clenched his hands, and his teeth set themselves fast together. he felt like an eagle caged, behind these protecting walls. for his brother's sake he was right glad of the friendly shelter; but for himself he was pining to be free. and yet how was he to leave that dearly-loved brother, whose eyes followed him so wistfully from place to place, who brightened up into momentary life when he entered the room, and took so little heed of what passed about him, unless roused by gaston's touch or voice? raymond had been very, very near to the gates of death since he had been brought into the monastery, and even now, so prostrated was he by the long attack of intermittent fever which had followed his wonderful escape from saut, that those about him scarce knew how the balance would turn. the fever, which had at first run high and had been hard to subdue, had now taken another turn, and only recurred at intervals of a few days; but the patient was so fearfully exhausted by all he had undergone that he seemed to have no strength to rally. he would lie in a sort of trance of weakness when the fever was not upon him, scarce seeming to breathe unless he was roused to wakefulness by some word or caress from gaston; whilst on the days when the fever returned, he would lie muttering indistinctly to himself, sometimes breaking forth into eager rapid speech difficult to follow, and often trying to rise and go forth upon some errand, no one knew what, and struggling hard with those who held him back. father paul had watched over the first stages of the illness with the utmost care and tenderness, after which his duties called him away, and he had only returned some three days since. the long hot summer in bordeaux had been a very trying one for the patient, whose state prohibited any attempt at removal to a cooler, fresher air. but as august was merging into september, and the days were growing shorter and the heat something less oppressive, it was hoped that there might be a favourable change in the patient's state; and much was looked for also from father paul's skill, which was accounted something very great. gaston and roger had remained within the monastery walls in close attendance upon the patient; but the restraint had been terribly irksome to the temper of the young knight, and he was panting to be free to pursue his quest, and to tell his story in the king's ears. he could not but dread that in his absence some harm might befall his constanza. suppose those two remorseless men suspected her to be concerned in the flight of their victim, what form might not their vengeance take? it was a thing that would scarce bear thinking of. yet what could he do to save her and to win her until he could make an organized attack upon saut, armed with full authority from england's king? and now that father paul was back, might it not be possible that this could be done? gaston felt torn in twain betwixt his love for his brother and his love for his betrothed. father paul would be able to advise him wisely and well. the father looked earnestly into the ardent and eager face of the youth, and answered quietly: "methinks thou hast been here long enough, my son. thou mayest do better for raymond by going forth upon the mission thou hast set thyself. but first i would ask of thee a few questions. who is this lady of whom thy brother speaks so oft?" "lady?" questioned gaston, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "does he indeed speak of a lady?" the father smiled at the question. "thy thoughts must have been as wandering as his if thou dost not know as much as that," he said, with a look that brought the hot blood into gaston's cheek, for he well knew where his own thoughts had been whilst he sat beside his brother, scarce heeding the ceaseless murmur which babbled from his unconscious lips. it had never occurred to him that he could learn aught by striving to catch those indistinct utterances; and his mind had been full to overflowing with his own affairs. "i knew not that he spoke of any lady," said the young knight, wondering for a moment, with love's irrational jealousy, whether raymond could have seen his constanza and have lost his heart to her. had she not spoken of having slipped once into his cell to breathe in his ear a word of hope? might not even that passing glimpse at such a time have been enough to subjugate his heart? he drew his breath hard, and an anxious light gleamed in his eye. but the father continued speaking, and a load seemed to roll from his spirit with the next words. "it is of a lady whose name is joan that he speaks almost ceaselessly when the fever fit is on him. sometimes he speaks, too, of his cousin, that john de brocas who lost his life in the black death through his ceaseless labours amongst the sick. he is in sore trouble, as it seems, by the loss of some token given him by the lady. he fears that some foul use may be made by his foes of this same token, which he would sooner have died than parted from. if thou knowest who this lady is and where she may be found, it would do more for thy brother to have news of her than to receive all the skilled care of the best physicians in the world. i misdoubt me whether we shall bring him back to life without her aid. wherefore, if thou knowest where she may be found, delay not to seek her. tell her her lover yet lives, and bring him some message from her that may give him life and health." gaston's eyes lighted. to be given anything to do -- anything but this weary, wearing waiting and watching for the change that never came -- put new life into him forthwith. "it must sure be mistress joan vavasour thou meanest, father," he said. "raymond spoke much of her when we were on shipboard together. i knew not that his heart was so deeply pledged; but i see it all now. it is of her that he is dreaming night and day. it is the loss of her token that is troubling him now. "stop! what have i heard? methinks that this same peter sanghurst was wooing mistress joan himself once. sure i see another motive in his dastard capture of my brother. perchance he had in him not only a rival for the lands of basildene, but for the hand of the lady. father, i see it all! would that i had seen it before! it is peter sanghurst who has robbed raymond of his token, and he may make cruel use of what he has treacherously filched away. i must lose not a day nor an hour. i must to england in the wake of this villain. oh, why did i not understand before? what may he not have done ere i can stop his false mouth? the king shall hear all; the king shall be told all the tale! i trow he will not tarry long in punishing the coward traitor!" father paul was less certain how far the king would interest himself in a private quarrel, but peter sanghurst's recent action with regard to raymond might possibly be such as to stir even the royal wrath. at least it was time that some watch should be placed upon the movements of the owner of basildene, for he would be likely to make a most unscrupulous use of any power he might possess to injure raymond or gain any hold over the lady they both loved. roger being called in to the conference, and giving his testimony clearly enough as to the frequent intercourse which had existed between mistress joan vavasour and raymond de brocas, and the evident attraction each bore for the other, the matter appeared placed beyond the possibility of all doubt. gaston's resolve was quickly taken, and he only waited till his brother could be aroused to fuller consciousness, to start forth upon his double quest after vengeance and after joan. "brother," he said, taking raymond's hands in his, and bending tenderly over him, "i am going to leave thee, but only for a time. i am going to england to find thy joan, and to tell her that thou art living yet, and how thou hast been robbed of thy token." a new light shone suddenly in raymond's eyes. it seemed as though some of the mists of weakness rolled away, leaving to him a clearer comprehension. he grasped his brother's hand with greater strength than gaston believed him to possess, and his lips parted in a flashing smile. "thou wilt seek her and find her? knowest thou where she is?" "no; but i will go to seek her. i shall get news of her at guildford. i will to our uncle's house forthwith. sir hugh vavasour can easily be found." "he has been wandering in foreign lands this long while," answered raymond. "i know not whether he may have returned home. gaston, if thou findest her, save her from the sanghurst. tell her that i yet live -- that for her sake i will live to protect her from that evil man. he has robbed me of the pledge of her love; i am certain of it. it was a trinket not worth the stealing, and i had it ever about my neck. it was taken from me when i was a prisoner and at their mercy, when i did not know what befell me. he has it -- i am assured of that -- and what evil use he may make of it i know not. ah, if thou canst but find her ere he can reach her side!" "i will find her," answered gaston, firmly and cheerfully. "fear not, raymond; i have had harder tasks than this to perform ere now. be it thy part to shake off this wasting sickness. i will seek out thy joan, and will bring her to thy side. but let her not find thee in such sorry plight. thou lookest yet rather a corpse than a man. thou wouldst fright her by thy wan looks an she came to thee now." wan and white and wasted did raymond indeed appear, as though a breath would blow him away. upon his face was that faraway, ethereal look of one who has been lingering long beside the portal of another world, and scarce knows to which he belongs. it sometimes seemed as though the angel song of the unseen realm was oftener heard and understood by him than the voices of those about him. but the fever cloud was slowly lifting from his brain, and today the first impulse to a real recovery had been given by these few words with his brother. raymond's recollection of past events was coming back to him connectedly, and the thought of joan acted like a tonic upon him. for her sake he would live; for her sake he would make a battle for his life. had he not vowed himself to her service? and did any woman stand more in need of her lover's strong arm than the daughter of sir hugh vavasour? raymond had gauged the character of that knight before, and knew that he would sell his daughter without scruple to any person who would make it worth his while. it had been notorious in old days that the sanghursts had some peculiar hold upon him, and was it likely that peter sanghurst, who was plainly resolved to make joan his wife, would allow that power to rest unused when it might be employed for the furtherance of his purpose? to send gaston forth upon the quest for joan was much; but he himself must fight this wasting sickness, that he might be ready to go to her when the summons came that she was found, and was ready to welcome her faithful knight. from that hour raymond began to amend; and although his progress was slow, and seemed doubly slow to his impatience, it was steady and sure, and he was as one given back from the dead. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "mistress joan vavasour, boy? why, all the world is making that inquiry. how comes it that thou, by thine own account but just home from gascony, shouldst be likewise asking the same question?" master bernard de brocas turned his kindly face towards gaston with a look of shrewd inquiry in his eyes. his nephew had arrived but a short half-hour at his house, somewhat jaded by rapid travelling, and after hurriedly removing the stains of the journey from his person, was seated before a well-supplied board, whilst the cleric sat beside him, always eager for news, and exceedingly curious to know the history of the twin brothers, who for the past six months seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. but for the moment gaston was too intent upon asking questions to have leisure to answer any. "how?" he questioned; "what mean you, reverend sir? everybody asking news of her? how comes that about?" "marry, for the reason that the lady hath disappeared these last three weeks from her father's house, and none can tell whither she has fled, or whether she has been spirited away, or what hath befallen her. sir hugh is in a mighty taking, for he had just arranged a marriage betwixt her and peter sanghurst, and the lady had given her consent (or so it is said, albeit there be some who doubt the truth of that), and he is sorely vexed to know what can have become of her." "peter sanghurst! that arch-villain!" cried gaston, involuntarily laying his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "mine uncle, i have come to ask counsel of thee about that same miscreant. i am glad that he at least has not fled the country. he shall not escape the fate he so richly merits." and then, with flashing eyes and words eloquent through excess of feeling, gaston related the whole story of the past months: the appearance on board the vessel of the black visor; the concerted action against raymond carried out by sanghurst, thus disguised, and the sieur de navailles; and the cruelty devised against him, from which he had escaped only by something of a miracle. and as master bernard de brocas listened to this tale of treachery, planned and carried out against one of his own name and race, an answering light shone in his eyes, and he smote his palms together, crying out in sudden wrath: "gaston, the king shall hear of this! thou shalt tell to him the tale as thou hast told it to me. he will not hear patiently of such indignities offered to a subject of his, not though the king of france himself had done it! that sieur de navailles is no friend to england. i know him well, and his false, treacherous ways. i have heard much of him ere now, and the king has his eye upon him. gaston, this hollow truce cannot long continue. the nobles and the king are alike weary of a peace which is no peace, and which the king of france or his lords are continually breaking. a very little, and the flame of war will burst out anew. it may be that even this tale of thine may put the spark to the train (as they say of these new artillery engines that are so astonishing men by their smoke and noise), and that the prince, when he hears of it, will urge his father to march once more into france, and put an end to the petty annoyances and treacherous attacks which are goading the royal lion of england to wrath and fury." "pray heaven it may!" cried gaston, starting to his feet and pacing up and down the hall. "thou knowest, uncle mine, how the prince and the king did long ago confirm to me the rights of the de brocas to the ancient castles of orthez and saut. if he would but give me his royal warrant for mustering men and recovering mine own, i trow, be the walls of saut never so strong, that i would speedily make mine entrance within them! uncle, the sieur de navailles is hated and feared and reviled by all men for miles around his walls. i trow that, even amongst those who bear arms for him, some would be found who would gladly serve another master. stories of the punishments he is wont to inflict upon all who fall beneath his displeasure have passed from mouth to mouth, and bitter is the rage burning in the breasts of those whose helpless kinsfolk have suffered through his tyrant cruelty. i trow an armed band, coming in the name of the english king, could soon smoke that old fox out of his hole; whilst all men would rejoice at his fall. let me to the king -- let me tell my tale! i burn to be on the wing once more! where may his majesty be found?" "softly, softly, boy! we must think somewhat more of this. and we have two foes, not one alone, to deal with. peter sanghurst is, as it were, beneath our very hand. he is at basildene, fuming like a wild thing at the sudden disappearance of mistress joan. there be, nevertheless, some who say that this wrath is all assumed; that he has captured the lady, and holds her a prisoner in his hands, all the while pretending to know naught of her. i know not what truth there may be in such rumours. the sanghurst bears an evil name, and many are the stories whispered about him." "what!" almost shouted gaston, in the fierceness of his excitement, "mistress joan a prisoner in basildene, the captive of that miscreant! uncle, let us lose not an hour! let us forthwith to the king. he will give us his royal warrant, and armed with that we will to basildene, and search for her there, and free her ere the set of sun. oh, it would be like him -- it would be all in a piece with his villainy! i cannot rest nor breathe till i know all. uncle, may we not set forth this very day -- this same night?" the worthy ecclesiastic laid a hand upon gaston's shoulder. "boy," he said, "i will myself to the king this very day. the moon will soon be up, and the way is familiar to me and my men. but thou shalt tarry here. thou hast travelled far today, and art weary and in need of rest. perchance, in this matter of the sanghurst, i shall do better without thee. thou shalt see the king anon, and shalt tell him all thy tale; but methinks this matter of basildene had best be spoken of betwixt him and me alone. thou knowest that i have for long been in the king's favour and confidence, and have managed many state matters for him. thou mayest therefore leave thy cause in my hands. i have all the papers safe that thou broughtest from gascony long since, and have left in my care these many years. i have been awaiting my opportunity to lay the matter of basildene before the king, and now i trow that the hour has come." gaston stopped short in his restless pacing, a bright light in his eyes. "thou thinkest to oust the sanghurst thence -- to gain basildene for raymond?" "ay, verily i do. it is your inheritance by right; the papers prove it. ye were deprived of it by force, and now the hour of restitution has come. as to thee are secured the gascon lands, when they can be wrested from the hand of the foe, so shall basildene be secured to raymond, albeit he has not won his spurs as thou hast done, boy, and that right lustily. but i know much good of raymond. he will worthily fill his place. go now to rest, boy, and leave this matter in mine hands. i warrant thee the cause shall not suffer for being intrusted to me. get thee to rest. fear not; and ere two days be passed thou shalt have tidings of some sort from me." gaston would fain have been his uncle's companion on the road, but he knew better than to insist. master bernard de brocas well knew what he was about, and was plainly deeply interested in the story he had heard. raymond had long been high in his favour. to cause to recoil upon the head of the treacherous sanghurst the vengeance he had plotted against his own nephew, to punish him for his treachery -- to wrest from his rapacious grasp the lands and the manor of basildene, was a task peculiarly agreeable to the statesman, who knew well what he was about and the master whom he served. basildene was no great possession, but it might be greatly increased in value, and there was rumour of buried hoards there which might speedily restore the old house to more than its former splendour. at any rate, its lands and revenues would be a modest portion for a younger son, who still had the flower of his life before him, and was like to rise in the king's favour. the romantic story of his love, his sufferings, his rescue from the two foes of his house, was certain to appeal to the king and his son, whilst the treachery of those foes would equally rouse the royal wrath. master bernard departed for windsor with the rising of the moon; and gaston passed a restless night and day wondering what was passing at windsor, and feeling, when he retired to rest upon the second night, as though his excitement of mind must drive slumber from his eyes. nor did sleep visit him till the tardy dawn stole in at the window, and when he did sleep he slept long and soundly. he was aroused by the sound of a great trampling in the courtyard below; and springing quickly from his couch, he saw the place full of men-at-arms, all wearing either the badge of the de brocas or else that of the prince of wales. throwing on his clothes in great haste, and scarce tarrying to buckle on his sword, gaston strode from his chamber and hastened down the great staircase. at the foot of this stood one whom well he knew, and with an inarticulate exclamation of delight he threw himself upon one knee before the young prince, and pressed his lips to the hand graciously extended to him. "nay, gaston; thy friend and comrade, not thy sovereign!" cried the handsome youth gaily, as he raised gaston and looked smilingly into his face, his own countenance alight with satisfaction and excitement. "ah, thou knowest not how glad i am to welcome thee once more! for the days be coming soon when i must needs rally all my brave knights about me, and go forth to france for a new career of glory there. but today another task is ours, and not as thy prince, but thy good comrade, have i come. i will forth with thee to the den of this foul sanghurst, and together will we search his house for the lady men say he has so cunningly spirited away; and if she be found indeed languishing in captivity there, then in very truth shall the sanghurst feel the wrath of the royal edward. he shall live to feel the iron hand of the king he has outraged and defied! but he shall pay the forfeit of his life. england shall be rid of one of her greatest villains when peter sanghurst feels the halter about his neck!" chapter xxix. the fall of the sanghurst. "is that the only answer you have for me, sweet lady?" "the only one, sir; and you will never have another. strive as you will, keep me imprisoned as long as you will, i will never yield. i will never be yours; i belong to another --" a fierce gleam was in sanghurst's eyes, though he retained the suave softness of speech that he had assumed all along. "he is dead, fair mistress." "living or dead, i am yet his," answered joan unfalteringly; "and were i as free as air -- had i never pledged my faith to him -- i should yet have none other answer for you. think you that your evil deeds have not been whispered in mine ear? think you that this imprisonment in which you think fit to keep me is like to win my heart?" "nay, sweetest lady, call it not by that harsh name. could a princess have been better served or tended than you have been ever since you came beneath my humble roof? it is no imprisonment; it is but the watchful care of one who loves you, and would fain save you from the peril into which you had recklessly plunged. lady, had you known the dangers of travel in these wild and lawless days, you never would have left the shelter of your father's house with but one attendant to protect you. think you that those peerless charms could ever have been hidden beneath the dress of a peasant lad? well was it for you, lady, that your true love was first to follow and find you, ere some rude fellow had betrayed the secret to his fellows, and striven to turn it to their advantage. here you are safe; and i have sent to your father to tell him you are found and are secure. he, too, is searching for you; but soon he will receive my message, and will come hastening hither. then will our marriage be solemnized with all due rites. your obstinate resistance will avail nothing to hinder our purpose. but i would fain win this lovely hand by gentle means; and it will be better for thee, joan vavasour, to lay down thine arms and surrender while there is yet time." there was a distinct accent of menace in the last words, and the underlying expression upon that smiling face was evil and threatening in the extreme. but joan's eyes did not falter beneath the searching gaze of her would-be husband. her face was set in lines of fearless resolution. she still wore the rough blue homespun tunic of a peasant lad, and her chestnut locks hung in heavy natural curls about her shoulders. the distinction in dress between the sexes was much less marked in those days than it has since become. men of high degree clothed themselves in flowing robes, and women of humble walk in life in short kirtles; whilst the tunic was worn by boys and girls alike, though there was a difference in the manner of the wearing, and it was discarded by the girl in favour of a longer robe or sweeping supertunic with the approach of womanhood. in the lower ranks of life, however, the difference in dress between boy and girl was nothing very distinctive; and the disguise had been readily effected by joan, who had only to cut somewhat shorter her flowing locks, clothe herself in the homespun tunic and leather gaiters of a peasant boy, and place a cloth cap jauntily on her flowing curls before she was transformed into as pretty a lad as one could wish to see. with the old henchman nat to play the part of father, she had journeyed fearlessly forth, and had made for the coast, which she would probably have reached in safety had it not been for the acuteness of peter sanghurst, who had guessed her purpose, had dogged her steps with the patient sagacity of a bloodhound, and had succeeded in the end in capturing his prize, and in bringing her back in triumph to basildene. he had not treated her badly. he had not parted her from the old servant under whose escort she had travelled. perhaps he felt he would have other opportunities of avenging this insult to himself; perhaps there was something in the light in joan's eyes and in the way in which she sometimes placed her hand upon the hilt of the dagger in her belt which warned him not to try her too far. joan was something of an enigma to him still. she was like no other woman with whom he had ever come in contact. he did not feel certain what she might say or do. it was rather like treading upon the crust of some volcanic crater to have dealings with her. at any moment something quite unforeseen might take place, and cause a complete upheaval of all his plans. from policy, as well as from his professed love, he had shown himself very guarded during the days of their journey and her subsequent residence beneath the roof of basildene; but neither this show of submission and tenderness, nor thinly-veiled threats and menaces, had sufficed to bend her will to his. it had now come to this -- marry him of her own free will she would not. therefore the father must be summoned, and with him the priest, and the ceremony should be gone through with or without the consent of the lady. such marriages were not so very unusual in days when daughters were looked upon as mere chattels to be disposed of as their parents or guardians desired. it was usual, indeed, to marry them off at an earlier age, when reluctance had not developed into actual resistance; but still it could be done easily enough whatever the lady might say or do. peter sanghurst, confident that the game was now entirely in his own hands, could even afford to be indulgent and patient. in days to come he would be amply avenged for all the slights now inflicted upon him. he often pictured the moment when he should tell to joan the true story of his possession of the love token she had bestowed upon raymond. he thought that she would suffer even more in the hearing of it than he had done upon the rack; and his wife could not escape him as his other victim had. he could wring her heartstrings as he had hoped to wring the nerves of raymond's sensitive frame, and none could deliver her out of his hand. but now he was still playing the farce of the suppliant lover, guessing all the while that she knew as well as he what a farce the part was. he strove to make her surrender, but was met by an invincible firmness. "do what you will, peter sanghurst," she said: "summon my father, call the priest, do what you will, your wife i will never be. i have told you so before; i tell it you again." he smiled a smile more terrible than his frown. "we shall see about that," was his reply, as he turned on his heel and strode from the room. when he was gone joan turned suddenly towards the old man, who was all this while standing with folded arms in a distant window, listening in perfect silence to the dialogue. she made a few swift paces towards him and looked into his troubled face. "nat," she said, in a low voice, "thou hast not forgotten thy promise made to me?" "my mistress, i have not forgotten." "and thou wilt keep thy word?" "i will keep it." he spoke with manifest effort; but joan heaved a sigh of relief. she came one step nearer, and laid her soft hand upon the old servant's shoulder, looking into his face with affectionate solicitude. "i know not if i should ask it of thee; it may cost thee thy life." "my life is naught, if i can but save thee from that monster, sweet mistress; but oh, if it might be by another way!" "nay, say not so; methinks now this is the best, the sweetest way. i shall the sooner find him, who will surely be waiting for me upon the farther shore. one blow, and i shall be free for ever. o nat, this world is a sore place for helpless women to dwell in. since he has gone, what is there for me to live for? i almost long for the hour which shall set my spirit free. they will let me see the holy father, who comes to wed us. i shall receive the absolution and the blessing; and methinks i am not unprepared. death has no terrors for me: i have seen him come so oft in the guise of a friend. nay, weep not, good nat; the day will come when we all must die. thou wouldst rather see me lying dead at thy feet than the helpless captive of the sanghurst, as else i must surely be?" "ay, lady," answered the old man, between his shut teeth, "ten thousand times rather, else would not this fond hand strike the blow that will lay thy fair young head in the dust. but sooner than know thee the wife of yon vile miscreant, i would slay thee ten times over. death is soon past -- death comes but once; but a life of helpless misery and agony, that i could not bear for thee. let them do what they will to me, i will set thee free first." joan raised the strong, wrinkled hand to her lips and kissed it, before the old retainer well knew what she was doing. he withdrew it in some confusion. "good nat, i know not how to thank thee; but what i can do to save thee i will. i do not think my father will suffer thee to be harmed if when i am dead thou wilt give him this packet i now give to thee. in it i have told him many things he would not listen to whilst i lived, but he will read the words that have been penned by a hand that is cold and stiff in death. to his old love for me i have appealed to stand thy friend, telling him how and why the deed has been done, and thy hand raised against me. i think he will protect and pardon thee -- i think it truly. "how now, nat? what seest thou? what hearest thou? thy thoughts are not with me and with my words. what is it? why gazest thou thus from the casement? what is there to see?" "armed men, my mistress -- armed men riding towards basildene!" answered the old man, in visible excitement. "i have seen the sunlight glinting on their headpieces. i am certain sure there be soldiers riding to this very door. what is their business? how have they come? ah, lady, my sweet mistress, pray heaven they have come to set thee free! pray heaven they have come as our deliverers!" joan started and ran to the casement. she was just in time to see the flash of the november sunlight upon the steel caps of the last of the band of horsemen whose approach had been observed by nat. only a very small portion of the avenue leading to basildene could be seen from these upper casements, and the riders must have been close to the house before their approach was marked by the old man. now joan flung open the casement in great excitement, and leaned far out. "hark!" she exclaimed, in great excitement, "i hear the sound of heavy blows, and of voices raised in stern command." "open in the king's name; open to the prince of wales!" these words were distinctly borne to joan's listening ears as she stood with her head thrust through the lattice, every faculty absorbed in the strain of eager desire to hear. "the king! the prince!" she cried, her breath coming thick and fast, whilst her heart beat almost to suffocation. "o nat, good nat! what can it mean? the prince! what can have brought him hither?" "doubtless he comes to save thee, sweet lady," cried the old retainer, to whom it seemed but natural that the heir of england should come forth to save his fair young mistress from her fate. but joan shook her head, perplexed beyond measure, yet not able to restrain the wildest hopes. the prince -- that noble youth so devoted to chivalry, so generous and fearless, and the friend of the twin brothers, one of whom was her lost raymond! oh, could it be that some rumour had reached his ears? could it be that he had come to set her free? it seemed scarce possible, and yet what besides could have brought him hither? and at least with help so near she could surely make her woeful case known to him! for the first time for many days hope shot up in joan's heart -- hope of release from her hated lover by some other means than that of death; and with that hope came surging up the love of life so deeply implanted in human nature, the wild hope that her lover might yet live, that she had been tricked and deceived by the false sanghurst --all manner of vague and unformed hopes, to which there was no time to give definite form even in her thoughts. she was only conscious that a ray of golden sunshine had fallen athwart her path, and that the darkness in which she had been enwrapped was changing -- changing to what? there were strange sounds in the house -- a tumult of men's voices, the clash of arms, cries and shouts, and the tread of many feet upon the stairs. joan's colour came and went as she listened. yes, surely she heard a voice -- a voice that sent thrills all through her -- and yet it was not raymond's voice; it was deeper, louder, more authoritative. but the footsteps were approaching, were mounting the turret stair, and joan, with a hasty movement, flung over her shoulders a sweeping supertunic lined with fur, which peter sanghurst had placed in the room for her use, but which she had not hitherto deigned to wear. she had but just secured the buckle and girdle, and concealed her boy's garb by the means of these rich folds of velvet, before a hand was upon the latch of the door, and the same thrilling voice was speaking through the panels in urgent accents. "lady -- mistress joan -- art thou there?" "i am within this turret -- i am here, fair sir," answered joan, as calmly as her beating heart would allow. "but i cannot open to thee, for i am but a captive here -- the captive of peter sanghurst." "now a prisoner bound, and answering for his sins before the prince and some of the highest nobles of the land. lady, i and my men have come to set thee free. i come to thee the bearer of a message from my brother -- from raymond de brocas. give my stout fellows but a moment's grace to batter down this strong door, and we will set thee free, and take thee to the prince, to bear witness against the false traitor, who stands in craven terror before him below!" but these last words were quite lost upon joan. she had sunk, trembling and white, upon a couch, overcome by the excess of joy with which she had heard her lover's name pronounced. she heard heavy blows dealt upon the oaken panels of the door. she knew that her deliverance was at hand; but a mist was before her eyes, and she could think of nothing but those wonderful words just spoken, until the woodwork fell inwards with a loud crash, and gaston, springing across the threshold, knelt at her feet. "lady, it is many years since we met, and then we met but seldom; but i come from him whom thou lovest and therefore i know myself welcome. fair mistress, my brother has been sorely sick -- sick unto death -- or he would be here himself to claim this fair hand. he has been sick in body and sick in mind -- sick with fear lest that traitor and villain who robbed him of your token should make foul use of it by deceiving thee with tales of his death or falsity. "lady, he was robbed by peter sanghurst of that token. sanghurst and our ancient foe of navailles leagued themselves together and carried off my brother by treachery. he was their prisoner in the gloomy tower of saut. they would have done him to death in cruel fashion had not we found a way to save and rescue him from their hands. they had done him some hurt even then, and they had robbed him of what had become almost dearer to him than life itself; but he was saved from their malice. it was long ere he could tell us of his loss, tell us of thee; for he lay sick of a wasting fever for many a long month, and we knew not what the trouble was that lay so sore upon him. but no sooner had he recovered so as to speak more plainly than we learned all, and i have been seeking news of thee ever since. i should have been here long ago but for the contrary winds which kept us weeks at sea, unable to make the haven we sought. but i trow i have not come too late. i find thee here at basildene; but sure thou art not the wife of him who calls himself its lord?" "wife! no -- ten thousand times no!" answered joan, springing to her feet, and looking superb in her stately beauty, the light of love and happiness in her eyes, the flush of glad triumph on her cheek. "sir knight, thou art raymond's brother, thou art my saviour, and i will tell thee all. i was fleeing from sanghurst -- fleeing to france, to learn for myself if the tale he told of raymond's death were true; for sorely did i misdoubt me if those false lips could speak truth. he guessed my purpose, followed and brought me back hither a captive. to force me to wed him has long been his resolve, and he has won my father to take his side. he was about to summon my father and a priest and make me his wife, here in this very place, and never let me stir thence till the chain was bound about me. but i had a way of escape. yon faithful servant, who shared my perils and my wanderings, had given me his word to strike me dead ere he would see me wedded to sanghurst. no false vow should ever have passed my lips; no mockery of marriage should ever have been consummated. i have no fear of death. i only longed to die that i might go to my raymond, and be with him for ever." "but now thou needest not die to be with him!" cried gaston, enchanted at once by her beauty, her fearless spirit, and her loyalty and devotion to raymond. "my brother lives! he lives for thee alone! i have come to lead thee to him, if thou wilt go. but first, sweet mistress, let me take thee to our prince. it is our noble prince who has come to see into this matter his own royal self. i had scarce hoped for so much honour, and yet i ever knew him for the soul of generosity and chivalry. let me lead thee to him. tell him all thy tale. we have the craven foe in our hands now, and this time he shall not escape us!" gaston ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed fire, as he thought of all the wickedness of peter sanghurst. he was within the walls of basildene, his brother's rightful inheritance; the memory of the cruelty and the treachery of this man was fresh in his mind. the prince was hearing all the tale; the prince would judge and condemn. gaston knew well what the fate of the tyrant would be, and there was no room for aught in his heart beside a great exultant triumph. giving his arm to joan, who was looking absolutely radiant in her stately beauty, he led her down into the hall below, where the prince was seated with some knights and nobles round him -- master bernard de brocas occupying a seat upon his right hand -- examining witnesses and looking at the papers respecting the ownership of basildene which were now laid before him. at the lower end of the hall, his hands bound behind him, and his person guarded by two strong troopers, stood peter sanghurst, his face a chalky-white colour, his eyes almost starting from his head with terror, all his old ease and assumption gone, the innate cowardice of his nature showing itself in every look and every gesture. a thoroughly cruel man is always at heart a coward, and peter sanghurst, who had taken the liveliest delight in inflicting pain of every kind upon those in his power, now stood shivering and almost fainting with apprehension at the fate in store for himself. as plentiful evidence had been given of his many acts of barbarity and tyranny, there had been fierce threats passed from mouth to mouth that hanging was too good for him -- that he ought to taste what he had inflicted on others; and the wretched man stood there in an agony of apprehension, every particle of his swaggering boldness gone, and without a vestige of real courage to uphold him in the hour of his humiliation. as the prince saw the approach of joan, he sprang to his feet, and all the assembled nobles did the same. with that chivalrous courtesy for which he became famous in history, the prince bent the knee before the lady, and taking her by the hand, led her to a seat of honour beside himself, asking her of herself and her story, and listening with respectful attention to every word she spoke. gaston then stood forward and told again his tale of raymond's capture, and deep murmurs of indignation ran through the hall as he did so. the veins swelled upon the prince's forehead as he heard the tale, and his eyes emitted sparks of fierce light as they flashed from time to time upon the trembling prisoner. "methinks we have heard enough, gentlemen," said he at length, as gaston's narrative drew to a close. "marshal, bring hither your prisoner. "this man, gentlemen, is the hero of these brave deeds of valour of which we have been hearing. this is the man who dares to waylay and torture english subjects to wring from them treasure and gold; the man who dares to bring this vilely-won wealth to purchase with it the favour of england's king; the man who wages war on foreign soil with the friends of england, and treacherously sells them into the hand of england's foe; who deals with them as we have heard he dealt and would have dealt with raymond de brocas had not providence worked almost a miracle in his defence. this is the man who, together with his father, drove from this very house the lawful owner, because that she was a gentle, tender woman, and was at that moment alone and unable to defend herself from them. this is the man who is not ashamed to call himself the master of basildene, and who has striven to compass by the foulest ends the death of the true owner of the property -- though raymond de brocas braved the terrors of the black death to tend and soothe the last dying agonies of that man's father. this is the man who would wed by force this fair maiden, and strove to deceive her by the foulest tricks and jugglery. say, gentlemen, what is the desert of this miscreant? what doom shall we award him as the recompense of his past life?" a score of hideous suggestions were raised at once, and the miserable peter sanghurst shook in his shoes as he saw the fierce, relentless faces of the soldiers making a ring round him. those were cruel days, despite the softening influence of their vaunted chivalry, and the face of the prince was stern and black. it was plain that he had been deeply roused by the story he had heard. but joan was there, and she was a woman; and vile as had been this man's life, and deeply as he had injured her and him she loved tenfold more than her own life, he was still a human creature, and a creature without a hope either in this world or the world to come. she could not but pity him as he stood there cowering and shuddering, and she turned swiftly towards the prince and spoke to him in a rapid undertone. young edward listened, and the dark cloud passed from his brow. he was keenly susceptible to the nobler emotions, and an appeal to his generosity was not unheeded. raising his hand in token that he demanded silence, he turned towards the quaking criminal, and thus addressed him: "peter sanghurst, you stand convicted of many and hideous crimes -- witchcraft, sorcery, treachery to your king, vile cruelty to his subjects -- crimes for which death alone is scarce punishment enough. you well merit a worse fate than the gallows. you well merit some of those lingering agonies that you have inflicted upon your wretched victims, and have rejoiced to witness. but we in england do not torture our prisoners, and it is england's pride that this is so. this fair lady, who owes you naught but grievous wrong, has spoken for you; she says that were raymond de brocas here, he would join with her in praying that your fate might be swift and merciful. therefore i decree that you are led forth without the gates of basildene, and hanged upon the first tree out of sight of its walls. "see to it, marshal. let there be no delay. it is not fit that such a wretch should longer cumber the earth. away with him, i say!" the soldiers closed around the condemned man and bore him forth, one of the marshals following to see the deed done. joan had for a moment covered her face with her hand, for even so it was rather terrible to see this tyrant and oppressor led forth from his own house to an ignominious death, and she was unused to such stern scenes. but those around the table were already turning their attention to other matters, and the prince was addressing himself to certain men who had come into the hall covered with cobweb and green mould. "has the treasure been found?" he asked. "yes, sire," answered the leader of this strange-looking band. "it was cleverly hidden, in all truth, in the cellars of the house, and we should scarce have lighted on it but for the help of some of the people here, who, so soon as they heard that their master was doomed to certain death, were as eager to help us as they had been fearful before. it has all been brought up for you to see; and a monstrous hoard it is. it must almost be true, i trow, that the old man had the golden secret. so much gold i have never seen in one place." "it is ill-gotten gold," said the prince, sternly, as he rose, and, followed by the nobles and master bernard de brocas, went to look at the coffers containing the treasure hoarded up and amassed by the sanghursts during a long period of years. "but i trow since the black death has so ravaged these parts, it would be idle to strive to seek out the owners, and it would but raise a host of false claims that no man might sift. "master bernard de brocas, i award this treasure to raymond de brocas, the true lord of basildene, to whom and to whose heirs shall be secured this house and all that belongs to it. into your hands i now intrust the gold and the lands, to be kept by you until the rightful owner appears to lay claim to them. let a part of this gold be spent upon making fit this house for the reception of its master and this fair maiden, who will one day be the mistress here with him. let it be thy part, good master bernard, to remove from these walls the curse which has been brought upon them by the vile sorceries and cruelties of this wicked father and more wicked son. let holy church do her part to cleanse and purify the place, and then let it be made meet for the reception of its lord and lady when they shall return hither to receive their own." the good bernard's face glowed with satisfaction at this charge. it was just such a one as pleased him best, and such as he was well able to fulfil. nobody more capable could well have been found for the guardianship and restoration of basildene; and with this hoard to draw upon, the old house might well grow to a beauty and grandeur it had never known before. "gracious prince, i give you thanks on behalf of my nephew, and i will gladly do all that i may to carry out your behest. the day will come when raymond de brocas shall come in person to thank you for your princely liberality and generosity." "tush, man, the gold is not mine; and some of it may have been come by honestly, and belong fairly enough to the sanghurst family. you say the mother of these bold gascon youths was a sanghurst: it follows, then, that basildene and all pertaining to it should be theirs. raymond de brocas has suffered much from the sanghursts. by every law of right and justice, it is he who should reap the reward, and find basildene restored to its former beauty before he comes to dwell within it." "and he shall so find it if i have means to compass it," answered the uncle, with glad pride. his eye was then drawn to another part of the hall; for sir hugh vavasour had just come galloping up to the door in hot haste, having heard all manner of strange rumours: the first being that his daughter had been found, and was in hiding at basildene; the second, which had only just reached his ears, that peter sanghurst was dead -- hanged by order of the prince, and that basildene had been formally granted as the perpetual right of raymond de brocas and his heirs. "and raymond de brocas is the plighted husband of thy daughter, good sir hugh," said master bernard, coming up to help his old friend out of his bewilderment -- "plighted, that is, by themselves, by the right of a true and loyal love. thy daughter will still be the lady of basildene, and i think that thou wilt rather welcome my nephew as her lord than yon miscreant, whose body is swinging on some tree not far away. thou wert something too willing, my friend, to sell thy daughter for wealth; but fortune has been kind to her as well as to thee, and thou hast gained for her the wealth, and yet hast not sacrificed her brave young heart. go to her now, and give her thy blessing, and tell her she may wed young raymond de brocas so soon as he comes to claim her hand." chapter xxx. with the prince.[i] "sanghurst dead! joan free! her father's consent won! i the lord of basildene! gaston, thou takest away my breath! art sure thou art not mocking me?" "art sure that thou art indeed thyself, my lord of basildene?" was gaston's merry response, as he looked his brother over from head to foot with beaming face; "for, in sooth, i scarce should know thee for the brother i left behind -- that wan and wasted creature, more like a corpse than a man. the good brothers have indeed done well by thee, raymond. save that thou hast not lost thine old saintly look, which stamps thee as something different from the rest of us, i should scarce have thought it could be thee. this year spent in thine own native clime has made a new man of thee!" "in truth i think it has," answered raymond, who was indeed wonderfully changed from the time when gaston had left him, rather more than ten months before. "we had no snow and no cold in the winter gone by, and i was able to take the air daily, and i grew strong wondrous fast. thou hadst told me to be patient, to believe that all was well if i heard nothing from thee; and i strove to follow thy maxim, and that with good success. i knew that thou wouldst not let me go on hoping if hope meant but a bitterer awaking. i knew that silence must mean there was work which thou wert doing. many a time, as a white-winged vessel spread her sails for england's shores, have i longed to step on board and follow thee across the blue water to see how thou wast faring; but then came always the thought that thou mightest be on thy way hither, and that thou wouldst chide me for having left these sheltering walls. and so i stayed on day after day, and week after week, until months had rolled by; and i began to say within myself that, if thou camest not before the autumn storms, i must e'en take ship and follow thee, for i could wait no longer for news of thee -- and her." "and here i am with news of her, and news that to me is almost better. raymond, i have not come hither alone. the prince and the flower of our english chivalry are here at bordeaux this day. the hollow truce is at an end. insult upon insult has been heaped upon england's king by the king of france, the king of navarre (who called himself our ally till he deserted us to join the french king, who will yet avenge upon him his foul murder of charles of spain), and the count of blois in brittany. england has been patient. edward has listened long to the pleadings of the pope, and has not rushed into war; but he cannot wait patiently for ever. they have roused the lion at last, and he will not slumber again till he has laid his foes in the dust. "listen, raymond: the prince is here in bordeaux. the faithful gascon nobles -- the lord of pommiers, the lord of rosen, the lord of mucident, and the lord de l'esparre -- have sent to england to say that if the prince will but come to lead them, they will make gallant war upon the french king. john has long been striving to undermine england's power in his kingdom, to rid himself of an enemy's presence in his country, to be absolute lord over his vassals without their intermediate allegiance to another master. it does not suffice that our great king does homage for his lands in france (though he by rights is king of france himself). he knows that here, in these sunny lands of the south, the roy outremer is beloved as he has never been. he would fain rob our king of all his lands; he is planning and plotting to do it." "but the roy outremer is not to be caught asleep," cried raymond, with a kindling glance, "and john of france is to learn what it is to have aroused the wrath of the royal edward and of his brave people of england." "ay, verily; and our good gascons are as forward in edward's cause as his english subjects," answered gaston quickly. "they love our english rule, they love our english ways; they will not tamely be transformed into a mere fief of the french crown. they will fight for their feudal lord, and stand stanchly by his banner. it is their express request that brings the prince hither today. the king is to land farther north -- at cherbourg methinks it was to be; whilst my lord of lancaster has set sail for brittany, to defend the countess of montford from the count of blois, who has now paid his ransom and is free once more. his majesty of france will have enough to do to meet three such gallant foes in the field. "and listen still farther, raymond, for the prince has promised this thing to me -- that as he marches through the land, warring against the french king, he will pause before the castle of saut and smoke out the old fox, who has long been a traitor at heart to the english cause. and the lands so long held by the navailles are to be mine, raymond -- mine. and a de brocas will reign once more at saut, as of old! what dost thou think of that?" "brother, i am glad at heart. it seemeth almost like a dream. thou the lord of saut and i of basildene! would that she were living yet to see the fulfilment of her dream!" "ay, truly i would she were. but, raymond, thou wilt join the prince's standard; thou wilt march with us to strike a blow for england's honour and glory? basildene and fair mistress joan are safe. no harm will come to them by thine absence. and thou owest all to the prince. surely thou wilt not leave him in the hour of peril; thou wilt march beneath his banner and take thy share of the peril and the glory?" gaston spoke with eager energy, looking affectionately into his brother's face; and as he saw that look, raymond felt that he could not refuse his brother's request. for just a few moments he hesitated, for the longing to see joan once again and to clasp her in his arms was very strong within him; but his brother's next words decided him. "thy brother and the prince have won basildene for thee; surely thou wilt not leave us till saut has yielded to me!" raymond held out his hand and grasped that of gaston in a warm clasp. "we will go forth together once again as brothers in arms," he said, with brightening eyes. "it may be that our paths in life may henceforth be divided; wherefore it behoves us in the time that remains to us to cling the more closely together. i will go with thee, brother, as thy faithful esquire and comrade, and we will win back for thee the right to call the old lands thine. how often we have dreamed together in our childhood of some such day! how far away it then appeared! and yet the day has come." "and thou wilt then see my constanza," said gaston, in low, exultant tones -- "my lovely and gentle mistress, to whom thou, my brother, owest thy life. it is meet that thou shouldst be one to help to set her free from the tyranny of her rude uncle and the isolation of her dreary life in yon grim castle walls. thou hast seen her, hast thou not? tell me, was she not the fairest, the loveliest object thine eyes had ever looked upon, saving of course (to thee) thine own beauteous lady?" "methought it was some angel visitor from the unseen world," answered raymond, "flitting into yon dark prison house, where it seemed that no such radiant creature could dwell. there was fever in my blood, and all i saw was through a misty veil, i scarce believed it more than a sweet vision; but i will thank her now for the whispered word of hope breathed in mine ear in the hour of my sorest need." "ay, that thou shalt do!" cried gaston, with all a lover's delight in the thought of the near meeting with the lady of his heart. "and when, in days to come, thou and i shall bring our brides to edward's court, men will all agree that two nobler, lovelier women never stepped this earth before -- my fairy constanza, a creature of fire and snow; thy joan, a veritable queen amongst women, stately, serene, full of dignity and courage, and beautiful as she is noble." "and thou art sure that she is safe?" questioned raymond, his heart still longing for the moment of reunion after the long separation, albeit those were days when the separation of years was no infrequent thing, even betwixt those most closely drawn by bonds of love. "there is none else to come betwixt her and me? her father will not strive to sunder us more?" "her father is but too joyous to be free from the power of the sanghurst; and the prince spoke words that brought the flush of shame tingling to his face. an age of chivalry, and a man selling his daughter for filthy lucre to one renowned for his evil deeds and remorseless cruelties! a lady forced to flee her father's house and brave the perils of the road to escape a terrible doom! i would thou hadst heard him, raymond our noble young prince, with scorn in his voice and the light of indignation in his eyes. and thy joan stood beside him; he held her hand the while, as though he would show to all men that the heir of england was the natural protector of outraged womanhood, that the upholder of chivalry would stand to his colours, and be the champion of every distressed damsel throughout the length and the breadth of the land. and the lady looked so proud and beautiful that i trow she might have had suitors and to spare in that hour; but the prince, still holding her hand, told her father all the story of her plighted troth to thee -- that truest troth plight of changeless love. and he told him how that basildene and all its treasure had been secured to thee, and asked him was he willing to give his daughter to the lord of basildene? and sir hugh was but too glad that no more than this was asked of him, and in presence of the prince and of us all he pledged his daughter's hand to thee, i standing as thy proxy, as i have told thee. and now thy joan is well-nigh as fully thine as though ye had joined your hands in holy wedlock. thou hast naught to fear from her father's act. he is but too much rejoiced with the fashion in which all has turned out. his word is pledged before the prince; and moreover thou art the lord of basildene and its treasure, and what more did he ever desire? it was a share in that gold for which he would have sold his daughter." raymond's face took a new look, one of shrinking and pain. "i like not that treasure, gaston," he said. "it is like the price of blood. i would that the king had taken it for his own. it seemeth as though it could never bring a blessing with it." "methinks it could in thy hands and joan's," answered gaston, with a fond, proud glance at his brother's beautiful face; "and as the prince truly said, since this scourge has swept through the land, claiming a full half of its inhabitants, it would be a hopeless task to try to discover the real owners; and moreover a part may be the sanghurst store, which men have always said is no small thing, and which in very truth is now thine. but thou canst speak to father paul of all that. the church will give thee holy counsel. methinks that gold in thy hands would ever be used so as to bring with it a blessing and not a curse. "but come now with me to the prince. he greatly desires to see thee again. he has not forgot thee, brother mine, nor that exploit of thine at the surrender of calais." father paul was not at that time within the monastery walls, his duties calling him hither and thither, sometimes in one land and sometimes in another. raymond had enjoyed a peaceful time of rest and mental refreshment with the good monks, but he was more than ready to go forth into the world again. quiet and study were congenial to him, but the life of a monk was not to his taste. he saw clearly the evils to which such a calling was exposed, and how easy it was to forget the high ideal, and fall into self indulgence, idleness, and sloth. not that the abuses which in the end caused the monastic system to fall into such contempt were at that time greatly developed; but the germs of the evil were there, and it needed a nature such as that of father paul and men of his stamp to show how noble the life of devotion could be made. ordinary men fell into a routine existence, and were in danger of letting their duties and even their devotions become purely mechanical. raymond said adieu to his hospitable entertainers with some natural regrets, yet with a sense that there was a wider work for him to do in the world than any he should ever find between monastery walls. even apart from all thoughts of love and marriage, there was attraction for him in the world of chivalry and warfare. his ambition took a different form from that of the average youth of the day, but none the less for that did it act upon him like a spur, driving him forth where strife and conflict were being waged, and where hard blows were to be struck. gaston's brother was warmly welcomed in the camp of the prince. many there were who remembered the dreamy-faced lad, who had seemed like a young saint michael amongst them, and still bore about with him something of that air of remoteness which was never without its effect even upon the rudest of his companions. indeed the ordeal through which he had passed had left an indelible stamp upon him. if the face looked older than of yore, it was not that the depth and spirituality of the expression had in any wise diminished. the two brothers standing together formed a perfect picture in contrasted types -- the bronzed, stalwart soldier in his coat of mail, looking every inch the brave knight he was; and the slim, pale-faced raymond, with the haunting eyes and wonderful smile, which irradiated his face like a gleam of light from another world, bearing about with him that which seemed to stamp him as somewhat different from his fellows, and yet which always commanded from them not only admiration, but affection and respect. the prince's greeting was warm and hearty. he felt towards raymond all that goodwill which naturally follows an act of generous interference on behalf of an injured person. he made him sit beside him in his tent at supper time, and tell him all his history; and the promise made to gaston with reference to the tyrant lord of saut was ratified anew as the wine circulated at table. the chosen comrades of the prince, who had most of them known the twin brothers for many years, vowed themselves to the enterprise with hearty goodwill; and had the lord of navailles been there to hear, he might well have trembled for his safety, despite the strong walls and deep moat that environed saut. "let his walls be never so strong, i trow we can starve or smoke the old fox out!" quoth young edward, laughing. "there be many strong citadels, many a fortified town, that will ere long open their gates at the summons of england's prince. how say ye, my gallant comrades? shall the old tower of saut defy english arms? shall we own ourselves beaten by any sieur de navailles?" the shout with which these words were answered was answer sufficient. the english and gascon lords, assembled together under the banner of the prince, were bent on a career of glory and plunder. the inaction of the long truce, with its perpetual sources of irritation and friction, had been exasperating in the extreme. it was an immense relief to them to feel that war had at last been declared, and that they could unfurl their banners and march forth against their old enemy, and enrich themselves for life at his expense. with the march of the prince through south france we have little concern in this history. it was one long triumphal progress, not over and above glorious from a military standpoint; for there were no real battles, and the accumulation of plunder and the infliction of grievous damage upon the french king's possessions seemed the chief object of the expedition. had there been any concerted resistance to the prince's march, doubtless he might have shown something of his great military talents in directing his forces in battle; but as it was, the country appeared paralyzed at his approach: place after place fell before him, or bought him off by a heavy price; and though there were several citadels in the vanquished towns which held out for france, the prince seldom stayed to subdue them, but contented himself with plundering and burning the town. not a very glorious style of warfare for those days of vaunted chivalry, yet one, nevertheless, characteristic enough of the times. every undertaking, however small, gave scope for deeds of individual gallantry and the exercise of individual acts of courtliness and chivalry; and even the battles were often little more than a countless number of hand-to-hand conflicts carried on by the individual members of the opposing armies. the prince and his chosen comrades, always on the watch for opportunities of showing their prowess and of exercising their knightly chivalry towards any miserable person falling in their own way, were doubtless somewhat blinded to the ignoble side of such a campaign. however that may be, raymond often felt a sinking at heart as he saw their path marked out by blazing villages and wasted fields; and almost all his own energies were concentrated in striving to do what one man could achieve to mitigate the horrors of war for some of its helpless victims. narbonne, on the gulf of lions, was the last place attacked and taken by the prince, who then decided to return with his spoil to bordeaux, and pass the remainder of the winter in the capture of certain places that would be useful to the english. nothing had all this time been spoken as to saut, which lay out of the line of their march in the heart of friendly gascony. but the project had by no means been abandoned, and the prince was but waiting a favourable opportunity to carry it into effect. the sieur de navailles had not attempted to join the prince's standard, as so many of the gascon nobles had done, but had held sullenly aloof, probably watching and waiting to see the result of this expedition, but by no means prepared to adventure his person into the hands of a feudal lord against whom his own sword had more than once been drawn. he was well aware, no doubt, that there were pages in his past history with regard to his relations with france that would not bear inspection by english eyes, and perhaps he trusted to the remoteness and obscurity of his two castles to save him from the notice of the prince. the terror inspired by the english arms in france is a thing that must always excite the wonder and curiosity of the readers of history. it was displayed on and after the battle of crecy, when edward's army, if numbers counted for anything, ought to have been simply annihilated by the vast musters of the french, who were in their own land surrounded by friends, whilst the english were a small band in the midst of a hostile and infuriated population. this same thing was seen again in the march of the prince of wales, soon to be called the black prince, when city after city bought him off, hopeless of resisting his progress; and when the army mustered by the count of armagnac to oppose the retreat of the english to bordeaux with their spoil was seized with a panic after the merest skirmish, and fled, leaving the prince to pursue his way unmolested. if the conduct of the english army was somewhat inglorious, certainly the behaviour of their foes was still more so. the english were always ready to fight if they could find an enemy to meet them. possibly the doubtful character of the prince's first campaign was less his fault than that of his pusillanimous enemies. bordeaux reached, however, and the gascon soldiers dismissed to their homes for the winter months, the prince promising to lead them next year upon a more glorious campaign, in which fresh spoil was to be won and more victories achieved, there was time for the consideration of objects of minor importance, and a breathing space wherein private interests could be considered. gaston had repressed all impatience during the march of the prince. he had not looked that his own affairs should take the foremost place in the prince's scheme. moreover, he saw well that it would give a false colour to the expedition if the first march of the prince had been into gascony; nor was the capture of so obscure a fortress as the castle of saut a matter to engross the energies of the whole of the allied army. but now that the army was partially disbanded, whilst the english contingent was either in winter quarters in bordeaux or engaged here and there in the capture of such cities and fortresses as the prince decided worth the taking, the moment appeared to be favourable for that long-wished-for capture of saut; and gaston, taking his brother aside one day, eagerly opened to him his mind. "raymond, i have spoken to the prince. he is ready and willing to give me men at any time i ask him. perchance he will even come himself, if duty calls him not elsewhere. the thing is now in mine own hands. brother, when shall the attempt be made?" raymond smiled at the eager question. "sir knight, thou art more the warrior than i. thou best knowest the day and the hour for such a matter." gaston passed his hand through his hair, and a softer light shone in his eyes. his brother knew of whom he was thinking, and he was not surprised at the next words. "raymond, methinks before i do aught else i must see her once more. my heart is hungry for her. i think of her by day and dream of her by night. perchance there might be some more peaceful way of winning entrance to saut than by battering down the walls, and doing by hap some hurt to the precious treasure within. brother, wilt thou wander forth with me once again -- thou and i, and a few picked men, in case of peril by the way, to visit saut by stealth? we would go by the way of father anselm's and our old home. i have a fancy to see the dear old faces once again. thou hast, doubtless, seen them all this year that has passed by, but i not for many an one." "i saw father anselm in bordeaux," answered raymond; "and good jean, when he heard i was there, came all the way to visit me. but i adventured not myself so near the den of navailles. the brothers would not permit it. they feared lest i might fall again into his power. gladly, indeed, would i come and see them once again. i have pictured many times how, when thou art lord of saut, i will bring my joan to visit thee, and show her to good jean and margot and saintly father anselm. i would fain talk to them of that day. they ever feel towards us as though we were their children in very truth." there was no difficulty in obtaining the prince's sanction to this absence from bordeaux. he gave the brothers free leave to carry out their plan by any means they chose, promising if they sent him word at any time that they were ready for the assault, he would either come himself or send a picked band of veterans to their aid; and saying that gaston was to look upon himself as lord of saut, by mandate from the english king, who would enforce his right by his royal power if any usurping noble dared to dispute it with him. thus fortified by royal warrant, and with a heart beating high with hope and love, gaston set out with some two score soldiers as a bodyguard to reconnoitre the land; and upon the evening of the second day, the brothers saw, in the fast-fading light of the winter's day, the red roofs of the old mill lying peacefully in the gathering shadows of the early night. their men had been dismissed to find quarters in the village for themselves, and roger was their only attendant, as they drew rein before the door of the mill, and saw the miller coming quickly round the angle of the house to inquire what these strangers wanted there at such an hour. "jean!" cried gaston, in his loud and hearty tones, the language of his home springing easily to his lips, though the english tongue was now the one in which his thoughts framed themselves. "good jean, dost thou not know us?" the beaming welcome on the miller's face was answer enough in itself; and, indeed, he had time to give no other, for scarce had the words passed gaston's lips before there darted out from the open door of the house a light and fairy-like form, and a silvery cry of rapture broke from the lips of the winsome maiden, whilst gaston leaped from his horse with a smothered exclamation, and in another moment the light fairy form seemed actually swallowed up in the embrace of those strong arms. "constanza my life -- my love!" "o gaston, gaston! can it in very truth be thou?" raymond looked on in mute amaze, turning his eyes from the lovers towards the miller, who was watching the encounter with a beaming face. "what means it all?" asked the youth breathlessly. "marry, it means that the maiden has found her true knight," answered jean, all aglow with delight; but then, understanding better the drift of raymond's question, he turned his eyes upon him again, and said: "you would ask how she came hither? well, that is soon told. it was one night nigh upon six months agone, and we had long been abed, when we heard a wailing sound beneath our windows, and margot declared there was a maiden sobbing in the garden below. she went down to see, and then the maid told her a strange, wild tale. she was of the kindred of the sieur de navailles, she said, and was the betrothed wife of gaston de brocas; and as we knew somewhat of her tale through father anselm, who had heard of your captivity and rescue, we knew that she spoke the truth. she said that since the escape, which had so perplexed the wicked lord, he had become more fierce and cruel than before, and that he seemed in some sort to suspect her, though of what she scarce knew. she told us that his mind seemed to be deserting him, that she feared he was growing lunatic. he was so fierce and wild at times that she feared for her own life. she bore it as long as her maid, the faithful annette, lived; but in the summer she fell sick of a fever, and died -- the lady knew not if it were not poison that had carried her off -- and a great terror seized her. not two days later, she fled from her gloomy home, and not knowing where else to hide her head, she fled hither, trusting that her lover would shortly come to free her from her uncle's tyranny, as he had sworn, and believing that the home which had sheltered the infancy of the de brocas brothers would give her shelter till that day came." "and you took her in and guarded her, and kept her safe from harm," cried raymond, grasping the hand of the honest peasant and wringing it hard. "it was like you to do it, kind, good souls! my brother will thank you, in his own fashion, for such service. but i must thank you, too. and where is margot? for i trow she has been as a mother to the maid. i would see her and thank her, for gaston has no eyes nor ears for any one but his fair lady." gaston, indeed, was like one in a dream. he could scarce believe the evidence of his senses; and it was a pretty sight to see how the winsome constanza clung to him, and how it seemed as though she could not bear to let her eyes wander for a moment from his face. only at night, when the brothers stood together in the room they had occupied of yore, and clasped each other by the hand in warm congratulation, did raymond really know how this meeting affected the object of their journey; then gaston, looking grave and thoughtful, spoke a few words of his purpose. "the sieur de navailles is a raging madman. that i can well divine from what constanza says. tomorrow we will to saut, to see what we may discover there on the spot. it may be we may have no bloody warfare to wage; it may be that saut may be won without the struggle we have thought. his own people are terrified before him. constanza thinks that i have but to declare myself and show the king's warrant to be proclaimed by all as lord and master of saut." chapter xxxi. the surrender of saut. "in the king's name!" the old seneschal at the drawbridge eyed with glances of awed suspicion the gallant young knight who had ridden so boldly up to the walls of saut and had bidden him lower the bridge. a few paces behind the leader was a compact little body of horsemen, all well mounted and well armed, though it was little their bright weapons could do against the solid walls of the grim old fortress, girdled as it was with its wide and deep moat. the pale sunshine of a winter's day shone upon the trappings of the little band, and lighted up the stone walls with something of unwonted brightness. it revealed to those upon the farther side of the moat the perplexed countenance of the old seneschal, who did not meet gaston's bold demand for admittance with defiance or refusal, but stood staring at the apparition, as if not knowing what to make of it; and when the demand had been repeated somewhat more peremptorily, he still stood doubtful and hesitating, saying over and over to himself the same words: "in the king's name! in the king's name!" "ay, fellow, in the king's name," repeated gaston sternly. "wilt thou see his warrant? i have it here. thou hadst best have a care how thou settest at defiance the king's seal and signet. knowest thou not that his royal son is within a few leagues of this very spot?" the old man only shook his head, as if scarce comprehending the drift of these words, and presently he looked up to ask: "of which king speak you, good sir knight?" "of the english king, fellow, the only king i acknowledge! whose servant doth thy master call himself? thou hadst better go and tell him that king edward of england has sent a message to him." "tell my master!" repeated the seneschal, with a strange gesture, as he lifted his hand and touched his head. "to what good would that be? my master understands no word that is said to him. he raves up and down the hall day by day, taking note of naught about him. thou hadst best have a care how thou beardest him, sir knight. we go in terror of our very lives through him." "ye need go no longer in that fear," cried gaston, with a kindling of the eyes, as he bared his noble head and looked forth at the old man with his fearless glance, "for in me ye will find a master whom none need fear who do their duty by him and by the king. seneschal, i stand here the lawful lord of saut -- lord by hereditary right, and by the mandate of england's king, the roy outremer, as you call him. i am gaston de brocas, of the old race who owned these lands long before the false navailles had set foot therein. i have come back armed with the king's warrant to claim mine own. "say, men, will ye have me for your lord? or will ye continue to serve yon raging madman till england's king sends an army to raze saut to the ground, and slay the rebellious horde within these ancient walls?" gaston had raised his voice as he had gone on speaking, for he saw that the dialogue with the old seneschal had attracted the attention of a number of men-at-arms, who had gradually mustered about the gate to hear what was passing. gaston spoke his native dialect like one of themselves. the name of de brocas was known far and wide in that land, and was everywhere spoken with affection and respect. the fierce rapacity of the navailles was equally feared and hated. even the stout soldiers who had followed his fortunes so long regarded him with fear and distrust. no man in those days felt certain of his life. if he chanced to offend the madman, a savage blow from that strong arm might fell him to the earth; whilst some amongst their companions had from time to time mysteriously disappeared, and their fate had never been disclosed. a sense of fearfulness and uncertainty had long reigned at saut. the mad master had his own myrmidons in the tower, who would do his bidding whatever that bidding might be; and that there were dark secrets hidden away in those underground dungeons and secret chambers everybody in the castle well knew. hardly one of the men now gathered on the opposite side of the moat but had awakened at some time or other from a horrid dream, believing himself to have been spirited down into those gloomy subterranean places, there to expiate some trifling offence, according as their savage lord should give order. many of these men had assisted at scenes which seemed frightful to them when they pictured themselves the victims of the cruelty of the fierce man they had long served, but whom now they had grown to fear and distrust. a sense of horror had long been hanging over saut, and since the disappearance of the maiden who once had brightened the grim place by her presence, this horror had perceptibly deepened. not one of all the men-at-arms dared even to his fellow to propose the remedy. each feared that if he breathed what was in his own mind, the very walls would whisper it in the ears of their lord, and that the offender would be doomed to some horrible death, to act as a warning to others like-minded with himself. since the loss of his niece, almost as mysterious to him as the escape of raymond de brocas from the prison, the clouds of doubt and suspicion had closed more and more darkly round the miserable man, who had let himself become the slave of his passions until these had increased to absolute madness. his unbridled fury and fits of maniac rage had estranged from him even the most attached of his old retainers, and in proportion as he felt this with the instinct of cunning and madness, the more did he exact from those about him protestations of zeal and faithfulness, the more did he watch the words and actions of his servants, and mark the smallest attempt on their part to restrain or thwart him. small wonder was it, then, when gaston de brocas stood forth in the sunshine, the king's warrant in his hand, words of good augury upon his lips, and a compact little body of armed men at his back, proclaiming himself the lord of saut, and inviting to his service the men who were now trembling before the caprices and cruel cunning of a madman, that they exchanged wondering glances, and spoke in eager whispers together, fearful lest the navailles should approach from behind ere they were aware of it, and feeling that there was here such a chance of escape from miserable bondage as might never occur again. and whilst they still hesitated -- for the fear of treachery was never absent from the minds of those bred up in habits and thoughts of treachery -- another wonder happened. out from the little knot a few paces behind the young knight two more figures pressed forward, and the men-at-arms rubbed their eyes and looked on in silent wonder: for one of the pair was none other than the fairy maiden who had lived so long amongst them, and had endeared herself even to these rude spirits by her grace and sweetness and undefinable charm; the other, that youth with the wonderful eyes and saint-like face who had been captured and borne away to saut after the battle before st. jean d'angely, and whose body they all believed had long ago been lying beneath the sullen waters of the moat, where so many victims of their lord's hatred had found their last resting place. and as they stared and looked at one another and stared again, a silvery voice was uplifted, and they all held their breath to listen. "my friends," said the lady, urging her palfrey till she reached gaston's side, and could feel his hand upon hers, "i have come hither with this noble knight, sir gaston de brocas, because he is my betrothed husband and liege lord, and i have the right to be at his side even in the hour of peril, but also because you all know me; and when i tell you that every word he has spoken is true, i trow ye will believe it. there he stands, the lawful lord of saut, and if ye will but own him as your lord, you will find in him a wise, just, and merciful master, who will protect you from the mad fury of yon miserable man whom now ye serve, and will lead you to more glorious feats of arms than any ye have dreamed of before. hitherto ye have been little better than robbers and outlaws. have ye no wish for better things than ye have won under the banner of navailles?" the men exchanged glances, and visibly wavered. they compared their coarse and stained garments, their rusty arms and battered accoutrements, with the brilliant appearance of the little band of soldiers standing on the opposite side of the moat, their armour shining in the sunlight, their steeds well fed and well groomed, arching their necks and pawing the ground, every man and every horse showing plainly that they came from a region of abundance of good things; whilst the military precision of their aspect showed equally well that they would be antagonists of no insignificant calibre, if the moment should come when they were transformed from friends to foes. constanza saw the wavering and hesitation amongst her uncle's men. she well knew their discontent at their own lot, their fearful distrust of their lord. she knew, too, that it was probably some fear of treachery alone that withheld them from making cause at once with the de brocas -- treachery having been only too much practised amongst them by their own fierce master -- and again her voice rang out clear and sweet. "men, listen again to me. i speak to counsel you for your good; for fierce and cruel as ye have been to your foes, ye have ever been kind and gentle to me when i was with you in these walls. what think ye to gain by defying the great king of england? think ye that he will spare you if ye arouse him to anger by impotent resistance? what more could king have done for you than send to be your lord a noble gascon knight; one of your own race and language; one who, as ye all must know, has a far better right to hold these lands than any of the race of navailles? here before you stands sir gaston de brocas, offering you place in his service if ye will but swear to him that allegiance he has the right to claim. the offer is made in clemency and mercy, because he would not that any should perish in futile resistance. men, ye know that he comes to this place with the king's mandate that saut be given up to him. if it be not peaceably surrendered, what think ye will happen next? "i will tell you. ye have heard of the prince of wales, son of the roy outremer; doubtless even to these walls has come the news of that triumphal march of his, where cities have surrendered or ransomed themselves to him, and nothing has been able to stay the might of his conquering arm. that noble prince and valiant soldier is now not far away. we have come from his presence, and are here with his knowledge and sanction. if we win you over, and gain peaceable possession of these walls, good; no harm will befall any living creature within them. but if ye prove obdurate; if ye will not listen to the voice of reason; if ye still hold with rebellious defiance to the lord ye have served, and who has shown himself so little worthy of your service, then will the prince and his warriors come with all their wrath and might to inflict chastisement upon you, and take vengeance upon you, as enemies of the king. "say, men, how can ye hope to resist the might of the prince's arm? say, which will ye do -- be the free servants of gaston de brocas, or die like rats in a hole for the sake of yon wicked madman, whose slaves ye have long been? which shall it be -- a de brocas or a navailles?" something in this last appeal stirred the hearts of the men. it seemed as though a veil were torn from their eyes. they seemed to see all in a moment the hopelessness of their position as vassals of navailles, and the folly of attempting resistance to one so infinitely more worthy to be called their lord. it was no stranger coming amongst them -- it was one of the ancient lords of the soil; and the sight of the youthful knight, sitting there on his fine horse, with his fair lady beside him, was enough to stir the pulses and awaken the enthusiasm of an ardent race, even though the nobler instincts had been long sleeping in the breasts of these men. they hated and distrusted their old lord with a hatred he had well merited; and degraded as they had become in his service, they had not yet sunk so low but that they could feel with the keenness of instinct, rather than by any reasoning powers they possessed, that this young knight was a man to be trusted and be loved -- that if they became his vassals they would receive vastly different treatment from any they had received from the sieur de navailles. there was one long minute's pause, whilst looks and whispered words were exchanged, and then a shout arose: "de brocas! de brocas! we will live and die the servants of de brocas!" whilst at the same moment the drawbridge slowly descended, and gaston, at the head of his gallant little band, with raymond and constanza at his side, rode proudly over the sounding planks, and found himself, for the first time in his life, in the courtyard of the castle of saut. "de brocas! de brocas!" shouted the men, all doubt and hesitation done away with in a moment at sight of the gallant show thus made, enthusiasm kindling in every breast as the sweet lady rained smiles and gracious words upon the rough men, who had always had a soft spot in their heart for her; whilst raymond's earnest eyes and gaston's courtly and chivalrous bearing were not without effect upon the ruder natures of these lonely residents of saut. it seemed to them as though they had been invaded by some denizens from another world, and murmurs of wonder and reverent admiration mingled with the cheering with which gaston de brocas was received as lord of saut. but there was still one more person to be faced. the men had accepted the sovereignty of a new lord, and were already rejoicing in the escape from the dreaded tyranny they had not had the resolution to shake off unprompted; but there was still the sieur de navailles to be dealt with, and impotent as he might be in the desertion of his old followers, it was necessary to see and speak with him, and decide what must be done with the man who was believed by those about him to be little better than a raging maniac. "where is your master?" asked gaston of the old seneschal, who stood at his bridle rein, his eyes wandering from his face to that of raymond and constanza and back again; "i marvel that this tumult has not brought him forth." "the walls are thick," replied the old man, "and he lives for days together in a world of his own, no sound or sight from without penetrating his understanding. then again he will awaken from his dream, and show us that he has heard and seen far more than we have thought. and if any man amongst us has dropped words that have incensed him -- well, there have been men who have disappeared from amongst us and have never been seen more; and tales are whispered of horrid cries and groans that have issued as from the very bowels of the earth each time following their spiriting away." constanza shuddered, and a black frown crossed gaston's face as he gave one quick glance at his brother, who had so nearly shared that mysterious and terrible doom. "the man is a veritable fiend. he merits scant mercy at our hands. he has black crimes upon his soul. seneschal, lead on. take us to him ye once owned as sovereign lord. i trow ye will none of you lament the day ye transferred your allegiance from yon miscreant to gaston de brocas!" another cheer, heartier than the last, broke from the lips of all the men. they had been joined now by their comrades within the castle, and in the sense of freedom from the hateful tyranny of their old master all were rejoicing and filled with enthusiasm. for once they were free from all fear of treachery. gaston's own picked band of stalwart veterans was guarantee enough that might as well as right was on the side of the de brocas. the sight of those well-equipped men-at-arms, all loyal and full of affectionate enthusiasm for their youthful lord, showed these rude retainers how greatly to their advantage would be this change of masters; and before gaston had dismounted and walked across the courtyard towards the portal of the castle, he felt, with a swelling of the heart that raymond well understood, that saut was indeed his own. "this is the way to the sieur de navailles," said the old seneschal, as they passed beneath the frowning doorway into a vaulted stone hall. "he spends whole days and nights pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. he scarce leaves the hall, save when he wanders forth into the forest, and that has not happened since the cold winds have blown hard. you will find him within those doors, good gentlemen. shall i make known your presence to him?" it was plain that the old man had no small fear of his master, and would gladly be spared this office. gaston looked round to see that some of his own followers were close behind and on the alert, and then taking constanza's hand in his, and laying his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, he signed to the seneschal to throw open the massive oaken doors, and walked fearlessly in with raymond at his side. they found themselves in the ancient banqueting hall of the fortress -- a long, lofty, rather narrow room, with a heavily-raftered ceiling, two huge fireplaces, one at either end, and a row of very narrow windows cut in the great thickness of the wall occupying almost the whole of one side of the place; whilst a long table was placed against the opposite wall, with benches beside it, and another smaller table was placed upon a small raised dais at the far end of the apartment. on this dais was also set a heavy oaken chair, close beside the glowing hearth; and at this moment it was plain that the occupant of the chair had been disturbed by the commotion from without, and had suddenly risen to his feet, for he stood grasping the oaken arms, his wild gray hair hanging in matted masses about his seamed and wrinkled face, and his hollow eyes, in which a fierce light blazed, turned upon the intruders in a glare of impotent fury. "who are ye who thus dare to intrude upon me here? what is all this tumult i hear in mine own halls? "seneschal, art thou there? send hither to me my soldiers; bid them bind these men, and carry them to the dungeons. i will see them there. ha, ha! i will talk with them there. i will deal with them there. what ho! send me the jailer and his assistants! let them light the fires and heat hot the irons. let them prepare our welcome for guests to saut. ha, ha! ho, ho! these brave gallants shall taste our hospitality. who brought them in? where were they found? methinks they will prove a rich booty. would that good peter sanghurst were here to help me in the task of entertaining these new guests!" the man was a raving lunatic; that was plain to the most inexperienced eye from the first moment. he knew not his own niece, he knew not the de brocas brothers, though raymond's face must have been familiar to him had he been in his right senses. he was still in fancy the undisputed lord of these wide lands, scouring the country for english travellers or prisoners of meaner mould; acting here in gascony much the same part as the sanghursts had more cautiously done in england, and as the barons of both france and england had long done, though their day of irresponsible and autocratic power was well-nigh at an end. he glared upon the brothers and their attendants with savage fury, still calling out to his men to carry them to the dungeons, still believing them to be a band of travellers taken prisoners by his own orders, raving and raging in his impotent fury till the gust of passion had worn itself out, and in a sullen amaze he sank into his seat, still gazing out from under his shaggy brows at the intruders, but the passion and fury for a moment at an end. "he will understand better what you say to him now, sir knight," whispered the old seneschal, who alone of the men belonging to the castle dared to enter the hall where their maniac master was. "his mind comes back to him sometimes after he has raved himself quiet. we dread his sullen moods almost more than his wild ones. "have a care how you approach him. he is as cunning as a fox, and as crafty as he is cruel. he always has some weapon beneath his robe. have a care, i say, how you approach him." gaston nodded, but he was too fearless by nature to pay much heed to the warning; he felt himself more than a match for that bowed-down old man. giving constanza into raymond's charge, he stepped boldly up to the dais, and doffing his headpiece, addressed himself to his adversary in firm though courteous accents. "my lord of navailles," he said, "i am come to claim mine own. if thou knowest me not, i will tell thee who i am -- gaston de brocas, the lord of saut in mine own right, and by the mandate of the king which i hold in mine hand. long hast thou held lands to which thou hadst no right, but the day has come when i claim mine own again, and am prepared to do battle for it to the death. but here is no battle needed. thine own men have called me lord; they have obeyed the mandate of the king, and have opened their gates to me. i stand here the lord of saut. thy power and thy reign are over for ever. grossly hast thou abused that power when it was thine. now, like all tyrants, thou art finding that thy servants fall away in the hour of peril, and that thou, who hast been a cruel master, canst command no service from them in the time of need. i, and i alone, am lord of saut. hast thou aught to say ere thou yieldest dominion to me?" did he understand? those standing round and breathlessly watching the curious scene could scarce be sure; but there was a look of comprehension and of intense baffled rage and malice in those cavernous eyes that sent a shiver through constanza's light frame. "have a care, gaston; have a care!" she cried, with sudden shrillness, as she saw a quick movement of those knotted sinewy hands beneath the coarse robe the old man wore; and in another moment both she and raymond had sprung forward, for there was a flash of keen steel, and the madman had flung himself upon gaston with inconceivable rapidity of motion. for a moment there was a hideous scuffle. blood was flowing, they knew not whose. gaston acted solely on the defensive. he would not raise his hand against one who was old and lunatic, and near in blood to her whom he held dear; but he wrestled valiantly in the iron grip of arms stronger than his own, and he felt that some struggle was going on above him, though for the moment his own breath seemed suspended, and his very life pressed out of him. then came a sudden sense of release. his enemy had relaxed his bear-like clasp. gaston sprang to his feet to see his enemy falling backwards in a helpless collapse, the hilt of a dagger clasped between his knotted hands -- the sharp blade buried in his own heart. "he has killed himself!" cried constanza, with eyes dilated with horror, as she sprang to gaston's side. it had all been so quick that it was hard to tell what had befallen in those few seconds of life-and-death struggle. gaston was bleeding from a slight flesh wound in the arm, but that was the only hurt he had received; whilst his foe -- "he strove to plunge the dagger in thy breast, gaston," said raymond, who was supporting the head of the dying man; "and failing that, he thought to smother thee in his bear-like clasp, that has crushed the life out of enemies before now, as we have ofttimes heard. when he felt other foes around him unloosing that clasp, and knew himself balked of his purpose, he clutched the weapon thou hadst dashed from his hand and buried it in his own body. as he has lived, so has he died -- defiant to the very end. but the madness-cloud may have hung long upon his spirit. perchance some of the worst of his crimes may not be laid to his charge." as raymond spoke, the dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them upon the face bending over him. the light of sullen defiance which had shone there but a few short moments ago changed to something strange and new as he met the calm, compassionate glance of those expressive eyes now fixed upon him. he seemed to give a slight start, and to strive to draw himself away. "thou here!" he gasped -- "thou! hast thou indeed come from the spirit world to mock me in my last moments? i know thee now, raymond de brocas! i have seen thee before -- thou knowest how and where. methinks the very angels of heaven must have spirited thee away. why art thou here now?" "to bid thee ask forgiveness for thy sins with thy dying breath," answered raymond, gently yet firmly; "to bid thee turn thy thoughts for one last moment towards thy saviour, and though thou hast scorned and rebelled against him in life, to ask his pardoning mercy in death. he has pardoned a dying miscreant ere now. wilt thou not take upon thy lips that dying thief's petition, and cry 'lord, remember me;' or this prayer, 'lord, be merciful to me, a sinner'?" a gray shadow was creeping over the rugged face, the lips seemed to move, but no words came forth. there was no priest at hand to listen to a dying confession, or to pronounce a priestly absolution, and yet raymond had spoken as if there might yet be mercy for an erring, sin-stained soul, if it would but turn in its last agony to the crucified one -- the saviour crucified for the sins of the whole world. it must be remembered that there was less of priestcraft -- less of what we now call popery -- in those earlier days than there came to be later on; and the springs of truth, though somewhat tainted, were not poisoned, as it were, at the very source, as they afterwards became. something of the purity of primitive times lingered in the minds of men, and here and there were always found pure spirits upon whom the errors of man obtained no hold -- spirits that seemed to rise superior to their surroundings, and hold communion direct with heaven itself. such a nature and such a mind was raymond's; and his clear, intense faith had been strengthened and quickened by the vicissitudes through which he had passed. he did not hesitate to point the dying soul straight to the saviour himself, without mediation from the blessed virgin or the holy saints. love and revere these he might and did; but in the presence of that mighty power of death, in that hour when flesh and heart do fail, he felt as he had felt when he believed his own soul was to be called away -- when it seemed as though no power could avail to save him from a fearful fate -- that to god alone must the cry of the suffering soul be raised; that into the saviour's hands alone could the departing soul be committed. he did not speak to others of these thoughts -- thoughts which in later days came to be branded with the dreaded name of "heresy" -- but he held them none the less surely in the depths of his own spirit; and now, when all but he would have stood aside with pitiful helplessness, certain that nothing could be done for the dying man in absence of a priest, raymond strove to lead his thoughts upwards, that though his life had been black and evil, he might still die with his face turned godwards, with a cry for mercy on his lips. nor was this hope in vain; for at the last the old man raised himself with a strength none believed him to possess, and raising his hand he clasped that of raymond, and said: "raymond de brocas, i strove to compass thy death, and thou hast come to me in mine hour of need, and spoken words of hope. if thou canst forgive -- thou so cruelly treated, so vilely betrayed -- it may be that the saviour, whose servant thou art, can forgive yet greater crimes. "christ have mercy upon me! lord have mercy upon me! christ have mercy upon me! my worldly possessions are fled: let them go; they are in good hands. may christ pardon my sins, and receive me at last to himself!" he looked earnestly at raymond, who understood him, and whispered the last prayers of the church in his ear. a look of calm and peace fell upon that wild and rugged face; and drawing one sigh, and slightly turning himself towards his former foe, the old ruler of saut fell asleep, and died with the two de brocas brothers standing beside him. chapter xxxii. on the field of poitiers. the face of the prince was dark and grave. he had posted his gallant little army in the strongest position the country afforded; but his men were ill-fed, and though brave as lions and eager for the battle, were but a handful of troops compared with the vast french host opposed to them. eight thousand against fifty or even sixty thousand! such an inequality might well make the stoutest heart quail. but there was no fear in young edward's eyes, only a glance of stern anxiety slightly dashed with regret; for the concessions just made to the cardinal de perigord, who was earnestly striving to arrange terms between the rival armies and so avoid the bloodshed of a battle, went sorely against the grain of the warrior prince, and he was almost disposed to repent that he had been induced to make them. but his position was sufficiently critical, and defeat meant the annihilation of the gallant little army who had followed his fortunes through two campaigns, and who were to a man his devoted servants. he had led them, according to promise, upon another long march of unopposed plunder and victory, right into the very heart of france; whilst another english army in normandy and brittany had been harassing the french king, and averting his attention from the movements of his son. perhaps young edward's half-matured plan had been to join the other english forces in the north, for he was too much the general and the soldier to think of marching upon paris or of attacking the french army with his own small host. indeed, a few reverses had recently taught him that he had already ventured almost too far into the heart of a hostile country; and he was, in fact, retreating upon bordeaux, believing the french army to be behind him, when he discovered that it was in front of him, intercepting his farther progress, and he was made aware of this unwelcome fact by seeing the advance guard of his own army literally cut to pieces by the french soldiers before he could come to their assistance. realizing at once the immense peril of his position, the prince had marched on till he reached a spot where he could post his men to some advantage amongst hedges and bushes that gave them shelter, and would serve to embarrass an attacking foe, and in particular any charge of cavalry. the place selected was some six miles from poitiers, and possessed so many natural advantages that the prince felt encouraged to hope for a good issue to the day, albeit the odds were fearfully to his disadvantage. he had looked to be speedily attacked by the french king, who was in person leading his host; but the saturday passed away without any advance, and on sunday morning the good cardinal de perigord began to strive to bring matters to a peaceable issue. brave as the young prince was, and great as his reliance on his men had always been, his position was perilous in the extreme, and he had been willing to listen to the words of the cardinal. indeed, he had made wonderful concessions to the messenger of peace, for he had at last consented to give up all the places he had taken, to set free all prisoners, and to swear not to take up arms against the king of france for seven years; and now he stood looking towards the french host with a frown of anxious perplexity upon his face, for the cardinal had gone back to the french king with this message, and already the prince was half repentant at having conceded so much. he had been persuaded rather against his will, and he was wondering what his royal father would say when he should hear. he had been thinking rather of his brave soldiers' lives than his own military renown, when he had let himself be won over by the good cardinal. had he, after all, made a grand mistake? his knights stood around, well understanding the conflict going on in his breast, and sympathizing deeply with him in this crisis of his life, but not knowing themselves what it were best to do. the sun was creeping to the horizon before the cardinal was seen returning, and his face was grave and sorrowful as he was ushered into the presence of the prince. "my liege," he said, in accents of regret, "it is but sorry news i have to bring you. my royal master of his own will would have gladly listened to the terms to which your consent has been won, save for the vicious counsel of my lord bishop of chalons, renaud chauveau, who hates your nation so sorely that he has begged the king, even upon his bended knees, to slay every english soldier in this realm rather than suffer them to escape just when they had fallen into his power, rather than listen to overtures of submission without grasping the victory of blood which god had put into his hands. wherefore my liege the king has vowed that he will consent to nothing unless you yourself, together with one hundred of your knights, will give yourselves up into his hand without condition." young edward's eyes flashed fire. a look more like triumph than dismay crossed his noble face. looking at the sorrowful cardinal, with the light of battle in his eyes, he said in ringing tones: "my lord cardinal, i thank you for your goodwill towards us. you are a good and holy man, an ambassador of peace, and as such you are fulfilling your master's will. but i can listen no longer to your words. go back to the king of france, and tell him that i thank him for his last demand, because it leaves me no choice but to fight him to the death; and ten thousand times would i rather fight than yield, albeit persuaded to submit to terms by your eloquent pleading. return to your lord, and tell him that edward of england defies him, and will meet him in battle so soon as it pleases him to make the attack. i fear him not. the english have found no such mighty antagonists in the french that they should fear them now. "go, my lord cardinal, and carry back my message of defiance. ere another sun has set i hope to meet john of france face to face in the foremost of the fight!" a shout of joy and triumph rose from a hundred throats as this answer was listened to by the prince's knights, and the cheer was taken up and echoed by every soldier in the camp. it was the signal, as all knew well, that negotiation had failed; and the good cardinal went sorrowfully back to the french lines, whilst the english soldiers redoubled their efforts at trenching the ground and strengthening their position -- efforts which had been carried on ceaselessly all through this and the preceding day, regardless of the negotiations for peace, which many amongst them hoped would prove abortive. then up to the prince's side stepped bold sir james audley, who had been his counsellor and adviser during the whole of the campaign, and by whose advice the coming battle was being arranged. "sire," he said, bending the knee before his youthful lord, "i long ago vowed a vow that if ever i should find myself upon the field of battle with the king of england or his son, i would be foremost in the fight for his defence. sire, that day has now dawned -- or will dawn with tomorrow's sun. grant me, i pray you, leave to be the first to charge into yon host, and so fulfil the vow long registered before god." "good sir james, it shall be even as thou wilt," answered the prince, extending his hand. "but if thou goest thus into peril, sure thou wilt not go altogether alone?" "i will choose out four knightly comrades," answered sir james, "and together we will ride into the battle. i know well that there will be no lack of brave men ready and willing to fight at my side. gaston de brocas has claimed already to be one, and his brother ever strives to be at his side. but he has yet his spurs to win, and i may but take with me those who are knights already." "raymond de brocas's spurs unwon!" cried the prince, with kindling eye, "and he the truest knight amongst us! call him hither this moment to me. shame upon me that i have not ere this rewarded such pure and lofty courage as his by that knighthood he so well merits!" and then and there upon the field of poitiers raymond received his knighthood, amid the cheers of the bystanders, from the hands of the prince, on the eve of one of england's most glorious victories. gaston's eyes were shining with pride as he led his brother back to their tent as the last of the september daylight faded from the sky. "i had set my heart on sending thee back to thy joan with the spurs of knighthood won," he said, affectionately pressing his brother's hands. "and truly, as they all say, none were ever more truly won than thine have been, albeit thou wilt ever be more the saint than the warrior." raymond's eyes were bright. for joan's sake rather than his own he rejoiced in his new honour; though every man prided himself upon that welcome distinction, especially when bestowed by the hand of king or prince. and the thought of a speedy return to england and his true love there was as the elixir of life to raymond, who was counting the days and hours before he might hope to set sail for his native land again. he had remained with his brother at saut all through the past winter. gaston and constanza had been married at bordeaux very shortly after the death of old navailles; and they had returned to saut, their future home, and raymond had gone with them. greatly as he longed for england and joan, his duty to the prince kept him beside him till he should obtain his dismissal to see after his own private affairs. the prince needed his faithful knights and followers about him in his projected expedition of the present year; and gaston required his brother's help and counsel in setting to rights the affairs of his new kingdom, and in getting into better order a long-neglected estate and its people. there had been work enough to fill their minds and hands for the whole time the prince had been able to spare them from his side; and an interchange of letters between him and his lady love had helped raymond to bear the long separation from her. she had assured him of her changeless devotion, of her present happiness and wellbeing, and had bidden him think first of his duty to the prince, and second of his desire to rejoin her. they owed much to the prince: all their present happiness and security were the outcome of his generous interposition on their behalf. raymond's worldly affairs were not suffering by his absence. master bernard de brocas was looking to that. he would find all well on his return to england; and it were better he should do his duty nobly by the prince now, and return with him when they had subdued their enemies, than hasten at once to her side. in days to come it would grieve them to feel that they had at this juncture thought first of themselves, when king and country should have taken the foremost place. so raymond had taken the counsel thus given, and now was one of those to be foremost in the field on the morrow. no thought of fear was in his heart or gaston's; peril was too much the order of the day to excite any but a passing sense of the uncertainty of human life. they had come unscathed through so much, and raymond had so long been said to bear a charmed life, that he and gaston had alike ceased to tremble before the issue of a battle. well armed and well mounted, and versed in every art of attack and defence, the young knights felt no personal fear, and only longed to come forth with honour from the contest, whatever else their fate might be. monday morning dawned, and the two opposing armies were all in readiness for the attack. the fighting began almost by accident by the bold action of a gascon knight, eustace d'ambrecicourt, who rode out alone towards what was called the "battle of the marshals," and was met by louis de recombes with his silver shield, whom he forthwith unhorsed. this provoked a rapid advance of the marshals' battle, and the fighting began in good earnest. the moment this was soon to have taken place, the brave james audley, calling upon his four knights to follow him, dashed in amongst the french in another part of the field, giving no quarter, taking no prisoners, but performing such prodigies of valour as struck terror into the breasts of the foe. the french army (with the exception of three hundred horsemen, whose mission was to break the ranks of the bowmen) had been ordered, on account of the nature of the ground, all to fight on foot; and when the bold knight and his four chosen companions came charging in upon them, wheeling their battle-axes round their heads and flashing through the ranks like a meteor, the terrified and impressionable frenchmen cried out that st. george himself had appeared to fight against them, and an unreasoning panic seized upon them. flights of arrows from the dreaded english longbow added immeasurably to their distress and bewilderment. the three hundred horsemen utterly failed in their endeavour to approach these archers, securely posted behind the hedges, and protected by the trenches they had dug. the arrows sticking in the horses rendered them perfectly wild and unmanageable, and turning back upon their own comrades, they threw the ranks behind into utter confusion, trampling to death many of the footmen, and increasing the panic tenfold. then seeing the utter confusion of his foes, the prince charged in amongst them, dealing death and destruction wherever he went. the terror of the french increased momentarily; and the division under the duke of normandy, that had not even taken any part as yet in the battle, rushed to their horses, mounted and fled without so much as striking a blow. the king of france, however, behaved with far greater gallantry than either his son or the majority of his knights and nobles, and the battle that he led was long and fiercely contested. if, as the chronicler tells us, one-fourth of his soldiers had shown the same bravery as he did, the fortunes of the day would have been vastly different; but though personally brave, he was no genius in war, and his fatal determination to fight the battle on foot was a gross blunder in military tactics. even when he and his division were being charged by the prince of wales at full gallop, at the head of two thousand lances, the men all flushed with victory, john made his own men dismount, and himself did the same, fighting with his axe like a common soldier; whilst his little son philip crouched behind him, narrowly watching his assailants, and crying out words of warning to his father as he saw blows dealt at him from right or left. the french were driven back to the very gates of poitiers, where a great slaughter ensued; for those gates were now shut against them, and they had nowhere else to fly. the battle had begun early in the morning, and by noon the trumpets were sounding to recall the english from the pursuit of their flying foes. such a victory and such vast numbers of noble prisoners almost bewildered even the victors themselves; and the prince was anxious to assemble his knights once more about him, to learn some of the details of the issue of the day. that the french king had either been killed or made prisoner appeared certain, for it was confidently asserted that he had not left the field; but for some time the confusion was so great that it was impossible to ascertain what had actually happened, and the prince, who had gone to his tent to take some refreshment after the labours of the day, had others than his high-born prisoners to think for. "who has seen sir james audley -- gallant sir james?" he asked, looking round upon the circle of faces about him and missing that of the one he perhaps loved best amongst his knights. "who has seen him since his gallant charge that made all men hold their breath with wonder? i would fain reward him for that gallant example he gave to our brave soldiers at the beginning of the day." news was soon brought that sir james had been badly wounded, and had been carried by his knights to his tent. the prince would have gone to visit him there; but news of this proposal having been brought to the knight, he caused himself to be transported to the prince's tent by his knights, all of whom had escaped almost unscathed from their gallant escapade. thus it came about that gaston and raymond stood within the royal tent, whilst the prince bent over his faithful knight, and promised as the reward for that day's gallantry that he should remain his own knight for ever, and receive five hundred marks yearly from the royal treasury. then, when poor sir james, too spent and faint to remain longer, had been carried hence by some of the bystanders, the prince turned to the twin brothers and grasped them by the hand. "i greatly rejoice that ye have come forth unhurt from that fierce strife in the which ye so boldly plunged. what can i do for you, brave comrades, to show the gratitude of a king's son for all your faithful service?" "sire," answered gaston, "since you have asked us to claim our guerdon, and since your foes are at your feet, your rival a prisoner in your royal hands (if he be not a dead corpse), and the whole land subject to you; since there be no further need in the present for us to fight for you, and a time of peace seems like to follow upon this glorious day, methinks my brother and i would fain request your royal permission to retire for a while each to his own home, to regulate our private concerns, and dwell awhile each with the wife of his choice. thou knowest that i have a wife but newly made mine, and that my brother only tarries to fly to his betrothed bride till you have no farther need of his sword. if ever the day dawns when king or prince of england needs the faithful service of gascon swords, those of raymond and gaston de brocas will not be wanting to him. yet in the present --" "ay, ay, i understand well: in the present there be bright eyes that are more to you than glittering swords, and a service that is sweeter than that of king or prince. nay, blush not, boy; i like you the better for that the softer passions dwell in your breast with those of sterner sort. ye have well shown many a day ere now that ye possess the courage of young lions, and that england will never call upon you in vain. but now that times of peace and quiet seem like to fall upon us, get you to your homes and your wives. may heaven grant you joy and happiness in both; and england's king and prince will over have smiles of welcome for you when ye bring to the court the sweet ladies of your choice. do i not know them both? and do i not know that ye have both chosen worthily and well?" a tumult without the tent now announced the approach of the french king, those who brought him disputing angrily together whose prisoner he was. the prince stepped out to receive his vanquished foe with that winning courtesy so characteristic of one who so longed to see the revival of the truer chivalry, and in the confusion which ensued gaston and raymond slipped away to their own tent. "and now," cried gaston, clasping his brother's hand, "our day of service is for the moment ended. now for a space of peaceful repose and of those domestic joys of which thou and i, brother, know so little." "at last!" quoth raymond, drawing a long breath, his eyes glowing and kindling as he looked into his brother's face and then far beyond it in the direction of the land of his adoption. "at last my task is done; my duty to my prince has been accomplished. now i am free to go whither i will. now for england and my joan!" chapter xxxiii. "at last!" "at last, my love, at last!" "raymond! my own true lord -- my husband!" "my life! my love!" at last the dream had fulfilled itself; at last the long probation was past. raymond de brocas and joan vavasour had been made man and wife by good master bernard de brocas in his church at guildford, and in the soft sunlight of an october afternoon were riding together in the direction of basildene, from henceforth to be their home. raymond had not yet seen basildene. he had hurried to joan's side the moment that he left the ship which bore him from the shores of france, and the marriage had been celebrated almost at once, there being no reason for farther delay, and sir hugh being eager to be at the court to receive the triumphant young prince when he should return to england with his kingly captive. all the land was ringing with the news of the glorious victory, of which raymond's vessel was the first to bring tidings. he himself, as having been one of those who had taken part in the battle and having won his spurs on the field of poitiers, was regarded with no small admiration and respect. but raymond had thoughts of nothing but his beloved; and to find her waiting for him, her loving heart as true to him as his was to her, was happiness sweeter than any he had once dreamed could be his. the time had flown by on golden wings. he scarce knew how to reckon its flight. he and joan lived in a world of their own -- a world that reckons not time by our calendar, but has its own fashion of computation; and hours that once had crept by leaden footed, now flew past as if on wings. he and his love were together at last, soon to be united in a bond that only death could sunder. and neither of them held that it could be broken even by the stern cold hand of death. such love as theirs was not for time alone; it would last on and on through the boundless cycles of eternity. and now the holy vows had been spoken. at last the solemn ceremony was over and past. raymond and joan were man and wife, and were riding side by side through the whispering wood in the direction of basildene. joan had not changed much since the day she and raymond had plighted their troth beside the dying bed of john de brocas. as a young girl she had looked older than her years; as a woman she looked scarce more. perhaps in those great dark eyes there was more of softness; weary waiting had not dimmed their brightness, but had imparted just a touch of wistfulness, which gave to them an added charm. the full, curved lips were calmly resolute as of old, yet touched with a new sweetness and the gracious beauty of a great happiness. raymond had changed more than she, having developed from the youth into the man; retaining in a wonderful way the peculiar charm of his boyhood's beauty, the ethereal purity of expression and slim grace of figure, yet adding to these the dignity and purpose of a more advanced age, and all the stateliness and power of one who has struggled and suffered and battled in the world, and who has come forth from that struggle with a stainless shield, and a name unsullied by the smallest breath of slander. joan's eyes dwelt upon her husband's face with a proud, joyous light in them. once she laid her hand upon his as they rode, and said, in low tones very full of feeling: "methinks i have found my galahad at last. methinks that thou hast found a treasure as precious as the holy grail itself. methinks no treasure could be more precious than that which thou hast won." he turned his eyes upon her tenderly. "the treasure of thy love, my joan?" "i was not thinking of that," she answered; "we have loved each other so long. i was thinking of that other treasure -- the love which has enabled thee to triumph over evil, to forgive our enemies, to do good to those that have hated us, to fight the christian's battle as well as that of england's king. i was thinking of that higher chivalry of which in old days we have talked so much. perchance we should give it now another name. but thou hast been true and faithful in thy quest. ah, how proud i am of the stainless name of my knight!" his fingers closed fast over hers, but he made no reply in words. raymond's nature was a silent one. of his deepest feelings he spoke the least. he had told his story to joan; he knew that she understood all it meant to him. it was happiness to feel that this was so without the need of words. that union of soul was sweeter to him than even the possession of the hand he held in his. and so they rode on to basildene. but was this basildene? raymond passed his hand across his eyes, and gazed and gazed again. joan sat quietly in her saddle, watching him with smiling eyes. basildene! yes, truly basildene. there was the quaint old house with its many gables and mullioned casements and twisted chimneys, its warm red walls and timbered grounds around it; but where was the old look of misery, decay, neglect, and blight? who could look at that picturesque old mansion, with its latticed casements glistening in the sun, and think of aught but home-like comfort and peace? what had been done to it? what spell had been at work? this was the basildene of his boyhood's dreams -- the basildene that his mother had described to them. it was not the basildene of later years. how had the change come about? "that has been our uncle's work these last two years," answered joan, who was watching the changes passing over her husband's face, and seemed to read the unspoken thought of his heart. "he and i together have planned it all, and the treasure has helped to carry all out. the hidden hoard has brought a blessing at last, methinks, raymond; for the chapel has likewise been restored, and holy mass and psalm now ascend daily from it. the wretched hovels around the gates, where miserable peasants herded like swine in their sties, have been cleared away, and places fit for human habitation have been erected in their stead. that fearful quagmire, in which so many wretched travellers have lost their lives, has been drained, and a causeway built across it. basildene is becoming a blessing to all around it; and so long as thou art lord here, my raymond, it will remain a blessing to all who come within shelter of its walls." he looked at her with his dreamy smile. his mind was going back in review over all these long years since first the idea had formed itself in his brain that they two -- gaston and himself -- would win back basildene. how long those years seemed in retrospect, and yet how short! how many changes they had seen! how many strange events in the checkered career of the twin brothers! "i would that gaston were with me now; i would that he might see it." "and so he shall, come next summer," answered joan. "is it not a promise that he comes hither with his bride to see thy home and mine, raymond, and that we pass one of england's inclement winters in the softer air of sunny france? you are such travellers, you brethren, that the journey is but child's play to you; and i too have known something of travel, and it hath no terrors for me. there shall be no sundering of the bond betwixt the twin brothers of basildene. years shall only bind that bond faster, for to their faithful love and devotion one to the other basildene owes its present weal, and we our present happiness." "the twin brothers of basildene," repeated raymond dreamily, gazing round him with smiling eyes, as he held joan's hand fast in his. "my mother, i wonder if thou canst see us now -- gaston at saut and raymond here at basildene? methinks if thou canst thou wilt rejoice in our happiness. we have done what thou biddedst us. we have fought and we have overcome. thine own loved home has been won back by thine own sons, and raymond de brocas is lord of basildene." the end. i if any reader has taken the trouble to follow this story closely, he may observe that the expedition of the black prince has been slightly antedated. in order not to interrupt the continuity of the fictitious narrative, the time spent in long-drawn and fruitless negotiation at the conclusion of the truce has been omitted. [transcriber's note: the spelling inconsistencies of the original have been retained in this etext.] [illustration: sadie had a glimmering of some strange change as she eyed her sister curiously.--_page _.] ester ried by pansy author of "julia ried," "the king's daughter," "wise and otherwise," "ester ried yet speaking," "ester ried's namesake," etc. _illustrated by elizabeth withington_ boston lothrop, lee & shepard co. pansy trade-mark registered in u.s. patent office. norwood press: berwick & smith co., norwood, mass., u.s.a. contents. chapter i. ester's home chapter ii. what sadie thought chapter iii. florence vane chapter iv. the sunday lesson chapter v. the poor little fish chapter vi. something happens chapter vii. journeying chapter viii. journey's end chapter ix. cousin abbie chapter x. ester's minister chapter xi. the new boarder chapter xii. three people chapter xiii. the strange christian chapter xiv. the little card chapter xv. what is the difference? chapter xvi. a victory chapter xvii. stepping between chapter xviii. light out of darkness chapter xix. sundries chapter xx. at home chapter xxi. tested chapter xxii. "little plum pies" chapter xxiii. crosses chapter xxiv. god's way chapter xxv. sadie surrounded chapter xxvi. confusion--cross-bearing--consequence chapter xxvii. the time to sleep chapter xxviii. at last ester ried asleep and awake chapter i. ester's home. she did not look very much as if she were asleep, nor acted as though she expected to get a chance to be very soon. there was no end to the things which she had to do, for the kitchen was long and wide, and took many steps to set it in order, and it was drawing toward tea-time of a tuesday evening, and there were fifteen boarders who were, most of them, punctual to a minute. sadie, the next oldest sister, was still at the academy, as also were alfred and julia, while little minnie, the pet and darling, most certainly was _not_. she was around in the way, putting little fingers into every possible place where little fingers ought not to be. it was well for her that, no matter how warm, and vexed, and out of order ester might be, she never reached the point in which her voice could take other than a loving tone in speaking to minnie; for minnie, besides being a precious little blessing in herself, was the child of ester's oldest sister, whose home was far away in a western graveyard, and the little girl had been with them since her early babyhood, three years before. so ester hurried to and from the pantry, with quick, nervous movements, as the sun went toward the west, saying to maggie who was ironing with all possible speed: "maggie, do _hurry_, and get ready to help me, or i shall never have tea ready:" saying it in a sharp fretful tone. then: "no, no, birdie, don't touch!" in quite a different tone to minnie, who laid loving hands on a box of raisins. "i _am_ hurrying as fast as i _can_!" maggie made answer. "but such an ironing as i have every week can't be finished in a minute." "well, well! don't talk; that won't hurry matters any." sadie ried opened the door that led from the dining-room to the kitchen, and peeped in a thoughtless young head, covered with bright brown curls: "how are you, ester?" and she emerged fully into the great warm kitchen, looking like a bright flower picked from the garden, and put out of place. her pink gingham dress, and white, ruffled apron--yes, and the very school books which she swung by their strap, waking a smothered sigh in ester's heart. "o, my patience!" was her greeting. "are _you_ home? then school is out". "i guess it _is_," said sadie. "we've been down to the river since school." "sadie, won't you come and cut the beef and cake, and make the tea? i did not know it was so late, and i'm nearly tired to death." sadie looked sober. "i would in a minute, ester, only i've brought florence vane home with me, and i should not know what to do with her in the meantime. besides, mr. hammond said he would show me about my algebra if i'd go out on the piazza this minute." "well, _go_ then, and tell mr. hammond to wait for his tea until he gets it!" ester answered, crossly. "here, julia"--to the ten-year old newcomer--"go away from that raisin-box, this minute. go up stairs out of my way, and alfred too. sadie, take minnie with you; i can't have her here another instant. you can afford to do that much, perhaps." "o, ester, you're cross!" said sadie, in a good-humored tone, coming forward after the little girl. "come, birdie, auntie essie's cross, isn't she? come with aunt sadie. we'll go to the piazza and make mr. hammond tell us a story." and minnie--ester's darling, who never received other than loving words from her--went gleefully off, leaving another heartburn to the weary girl. they _stung_ her, those words: "auntie essie's cross, isn't she?" back and forth, from dining-room to pantry, from pantry to dining-room, went the quick feet at last she spoke: "maggie, leave the ironing and help me; it is time tea was ready." "i'm just ironing mr. holland's shirt," objected maggie. "well, i don't care if mr. holland _never_ has another shirt ironed. i want you to go to the spring for water and fill the table-pitchers, and do a dozen other things." the tall clock in the dining-room struck five, and the dining-bell pealed out its prompt summons through the house. the family gathered promptly and noisily--school-girls, half a dozen or more, mr. hammond, the principal of the academy, miss molten, the preceptress, mrs. brookley, the music-teacher, dr. van anden, the new physician, mr. and mrs. holland, and mr. arnett, mr. holland's clerk. there was a moment's hush while mr. hammond asked a blessing on the food; then the merry talk went on. for them all maggie poured cups of tea, and ester passed bread and butter, and beef and cheese, and sadie gave overflowing dishes of blackberries, and chattered like a magpie, which last she did everywhere and always. "this has been one of the scorching days," mr. holland said. "it was as much as i could do to keep cool in the store, and we generally are well off for a breeze there." "it has been more than _i_ could do to keep cool anywhere," mrs. holland answered. "i gave it up long ago in despair." ester's lip curled a little. mrs. holland had nothing in the world to do, from morning until night, but to keep herself cool. she wondered what the lady would have said to the glowing kitchen, where _she_ had passed most of the day. "miss ester looks as though the heat had been too much for her cheeks," mrs. brookley said, laughing. "what _have_ you been doing?" "something besides keeping cool," ester answered soberly. "which is a difficult thing to do, however," dr. van anden said, speaking soberly too. "i don't know, sir; if i had nothing to do but that, i think i could manage it." "i have found trouble sometimes in keeping myself at the right temperature even in january." ester's cheeks glowed yet more. she understood dr. van anden, and she knew her face did not look very self-controlled. no one knows what prompted minnie to speak just then. "aunt sadie said auntie essie was cross. were you, auntie essie?" the household laughed, and sadie came to the rescue. "why, minnie! you must not tell what aunt sadie says. it is just as sure to be nonsense as it is that you are a chatter-box." ester thought that they would _never_ all finish their supper and depart; but the latest comer strolled away at last, and she hurried to toast a slice of bread, make a fresh cup of tea, and send julia after mrs. ried. sadie hovered around the pale, sad-faced woman while she ate. "are you _truly_ better, mother? i've been worried half to pieces about you all day." "o, yes; i'm better. ester, you look dreadfully tired. have you much more to do?" "only to trim the lamps, and make three beds that i had not time for this morning, and get things ready for breakfast, and finish sadie's dress." "can't maggie do any of these things?" "maggie is ironing." mrs. ried sighed. "it is a good thing that i don't have the sick headache very often," she said sadly; "or you would soon wear yourself out. sadie, are you going to the lyceum tonight?" "yes, ma'am. your worthy daughter has the honor of being editress, you know, to-night. ester, can't you go down? never mind that dress; let it go to guinea." "you wouldn't think so by to-morrow evening," ester said, shortly. "no, i can't go." the work was all done at last, and ester betook herself to her room. how tired she was! every nerve seemed to quiver with weariness. it was a pleasant little room, this one which she entered, with its low windows looking out toward the river, and its cosy furniture all neatly arranged by sadie's tasteful fingers. ester seated herself by the open window, and looked down on the group who lingered on the piazza below--looked _down_ on them with her eyes and with her heart; yet envied while she looked, envied their free and easy life, without a care to harass them, so _she_ thought; envied sadie her daily attendance at the academy, a matter which she _so_ early in life had been obliged to have done with; envied mrs. holland the very ribbons and laces which fluttered in the evening air. it had grown cooler now, a strong breeze blew up from the river and freshened the air; and, as they sat below there enjoying it, the sound of their gay voices came up to her. "what do they know about heat, or care, or trouble?" she said scornfully, thinking over all the weight of _her_ eighteen years of life; she hated it, this life of hers, _just_ hated it--the sweeping, dusting, making beds, trimming lamps, _working_ from morning till night; no time for reading, or study, or pleasure. sadie had said she was cross, and sadie had told the truth; she _was_ cross most of the time, fretted with her every-day petty cares and fatigues. "o!" she said, over and over, "if something would _only_ happen; if i could have one day, just _one_ day, different from the others; but no, it's the same old thing--sweep and dust, and clear up, and eat and sleep. i _hate_ it all." yet, had ester nothing for which to be thankful that the group on the piazza had not? if she had but thought, she had a robe, and a crown, and a harp, and a place waiting for her, up before the throne of god; and all they had _not_. ester did not think of this; so much asleep was she, that she did not even know that none of those gay hearts down there below her had been given up to christ. not one of them; for the academy teachers and dr. van anden were not among them. o, ester was asleep! she went to church on the sabbath, and to preparatory lecture on a week day; she read a few verses in her bible, _frequently_, not every day; she knelt at her bedside every night, and said a few words of prayer--and this was all! she lay at night side by side with a young sister, who had no claim to a home in heaven, and never spoke to her of jesus. she worked daily side by side with a mother who, through many trials and discouragements, was living a christian life, and never talked with her of their future rest. she met daily, sometimes almost hourly, a large household, and never so much as thought of asking them if they, too, were going, some day, home to god. she helped her young brother and sister with their geography lessons, and never mentioned to them the heavenly country whither they themselves might journey. she took the darling of the family often in her arms, and told her stories of "bo peep," and the "babes in the wood," and "robin redbreast," and never one of jesus and his call for the tender lambs! this was ester, and this was ester's home. chapter ii. what sadie thought. sadie ried was the merriest, most thoughtless young creature of sixteen years that ever brightened and bothered a home. merry from morning until night, with scarcely ever a pause in her constant flow of fun; thoughtless, nearly always selfish too, as the constantly thoughtless always are. not sullenly and crossly selfish by any means, only so used to think of self, so taught to consider herself utterly useless as regarded home, and home cares and duties, that she opened her bright brown eyes in wonder whenever she was called upon for help. it was a very bright and very busy saturday morning. "sadie!" mrs. ried called, "can't you come and wash up these baking dishes? maggie is mopping, and ester has her hands full with the cake." "yes, ma'am," said sadie, appearing promptly from the dining-room, with minnie perched triumphantly on her shoulder. "here i am, at your service. where are they?" ester glanced up. "i'd go and put on my white dress first, if i were you," she said significantly. and sadie looked down on her pink gingham, ruffled apron, shining cuffs, and laughed. "o, i'll take off my cuffs, and put on this distressingly big apron of yours, which hangs behind the door; then i'll do." "that's my clean apron; i don't wash dishes in it." "o, bless your careful heart! i won't hurt it the least speck in the world. will i, birdie?" and she proceeded to wrap her tiny self in the long, wide apron. "not _that_ pan, child!" exclaimed her mother "that's a milk-pan." "o," said sadie, "i thought it was pretty shiny. my! what a great pan. don't you come near me, birdie, or you'll tumble in and drown yourself before i could fish you out with the dish-cloth. where is that article? ester, it needs a patch on it; there's a great hole in the middle, and it twists every way." "patch it, then," said ester, dryly. "well, now i'm ready, here goes. do you want _these_ washed?" and she seized upon a stack of tins which stood on ester's table. "_do_ let things alone!" said ester. "those are my baking-tins, ready for use; now you've got them wet, and i shall have to go all over them again." "how will you go, ester? on foot? they look pretty greasy; you'll slip." "i wish you would go up stairs. i'd rather wash dishes all the forenoon than have you in the way." "birdie," said sadie gravely, "you and i musn't go near auntie essie again. she's a 'bowwow,' and i'm afraid she'll bite." mrs. ried laughed. she had no idea how sharply ester had been tried with petty vexations all that morning, nor how bitter those words sounded to her. "come, sadie," she said; "what a silly child you are. can't you do _any thing_ soberly?" "i should think i might, ma'am, when i have such a sober and solemn employment on hand as dish-washing. does it require a great deal of gravity, mother? here, robin redbreast, keep your beak out of my dish-pan." minnie, in the mean time, had been seated on the table, directly in front of the dish-pan. mrs. ried looked around. "o sadie! what _possessed_ you to put her up there?" "to keep her out of mischief, mother. she's jack horner's little sister, and would have had every plum in your pie down her throat, by this time, if she could have got to them. see here, pussy, if you don't keep your feet still, i'll tie them fast to the pan with this long towel, when you'll have to go around all the days of your life with a dish-pan clattering after you." but minnie was bent on a frolic. this time the tiny feet kicked a little too hard; and the pan being drawn too near the edge, in order to be out of her reach, lost its balance--over it went. "o, my patience!" screamed sadie, as the water splashed over her, even down to the white stockings and daintily slippered feet. minnie lifted up her voice, and added to the general uproar. ester left the eggs she was beating, and picked up broken dishes. mrs. ried's voice arose above the din: "sadie, take minnie and go up stairs. you're too full of play to be in the kitchen." "mother, i'm _real_ sorry," said sadie, shaking herself out of the great wet apron, laughing even then at the plight she was in. "pet, don't cry. we didn't drown after all." "_well_! miss sadie," mr. hammond said, as he met them in the hall. "what have you been up to now?" "why, mr. hammond, there's been another deluge; this time of dish-water, and birdie and i are escaping for our lives." "if there is one class of people in this world more disagreeable than all the rest, it is people who call themselves christians." this remark mr. harry arnett made that same saturday evening, as he stood on the piazza waiting for mrs. holland's letters. and he made it to sadie ried. "why, harry!" she answered, in a shocked tone. "it's a _fact_, sadie. you just think a bit, and you'll see it is. they're no better nor pleasanter than other people, and all the while they think they're about right." "what has put you into that state of mind, harry?" "o, some things which happened at the store to-day suggested this matter to me. never mind that part. isn't it so?" "there's my mother," sadie said thoughtfully. "she is good." "not because she's a christian though; it's because she's your mother. you'd have to look till you were gray to find a better mother than i've got, and she isn't a christian either." "well, i'm sure mr. hammond is a good man." "not a whit better or pleasanter than mr. holland, as far as i can see. _i_ don't like him half so well. and holland don't pretend to be any better than the rest of us." "well," said sadie, gleefully, "_i_ dont know many good people. miss molton is a christian, but i guess she is no better than mrs. brookley, and _she_ isn't. there's ester; she's a member of the church." "and do you see as she gets on any better with her religion, than you do without it? for _my_ part, i think you are considerably pleasanter to deal with." sadie laughed. "we're no more alike than a bee and a butterfly, or any other useless little thing," she said, brightly. "but you're very much mistaken if you think i'm the best. mother would lie down in despair and die, and this house would come to naught at once, if it were not for ester." mr. arnett shrugged his shoulders. "i _always_ liked butterflies better than bees," he said. "bees _sting_." "harry," said sadie, speaking more gravely, "i'm afraid you're almost an infidel." "if i'm not, i can tell you one thing--it's not the fault of christians." mrs. holland tossed her letters down to him from the piazza above, and mr. arnett went away. florence vane came over from the cottage across the way--came with slow, feeble steps, and sat down in the door beside her friend. presently ester came out to them: "sadie, can't you go to the office for me? i forgot to send this letter with the rest." "yes," said sadie. "that is if you think you can go that little bit, florence." "i shall think for her," dr. van anden said, coming down the stairs. "florence out here to-night, with the dew falling, and not even any thing to protect your head. i am surprised!" "oh, doctor, do let me enjoy this soft air for a few minutes." "_positively_, no. either come in the house, or go home _directly_. you are very imprudent. miss ester, _i'll_ mail your letters for you." "what does dr. van anden want to act like a simpleton about florence vane for?" ester asked this question late in the evening, when the sisters were alone in their room. sadie paused in her merry chatter. "why, ester, what do you mean? about her being out to-night? why, you know, she ought to be very careful; and i'm afraid she isn't. the doctor told her father this morning he was afraid she would not live through the season, unless she was more careful." "fudge!" said ester. "he thinks he is a wise man; he wants to make her out very sick, so that he may have the honor of helping her. i don't see as she looks any worse than she did a year ago." sadie turned slowly around toward her sister. "ester, i don't know what is the matter with you to-night. you know that florence vane has the consumption, and you know that she is my _dear_ friend." ester did not know what was the matter with herself, save that this had been the hardest day, from first to last, that she had ever known, and she was rasped until there was no good feeling left in her heart to touch. little minnie had given her the last hardening touch of the day, by exclaiming, as she was being hugged and kissed with eager, passionate kisses: "oh, auntie essie! you've cried tears on my white apron, and put out all the starch." ester set her down hastily, and went away. certainly ester was cross and miserable. dr. van anden was one of her thorns. he crossed her path quite often, either with close, searching words about self-control, or grave silence. she disliked him. sadie, as from her pillow she watched her sister in the moonlight kneel down hastily, and knew that she was repeating a few words of prayer, thought of mr. arnett's words spoken that evening, and, with her heart throbbing still under the sharp tones concerning florence, sighed a little, and said within herself: "i should not wonder if harry were right." and ester was so much asleep, that she did not know, at least did not realize, that she had dishonored her master all that day. chapter iii. florence vane. of the same opinion concerning florence was ester, a few weeks later, when, one evening as she was hurrying past him, dr. van anden detained her: "i want to see you a moment, miss ester." during these weeks ester had been roused. sadie was sick; had been sick enough to awaken many anxious fears; sick enough for ester to discover what a desolate house theirs would have been, supposing her merry music had been hushed forever. she discovered, too, how very much she loved her bright young sister. she had been very kind and attentive; but the fever was gone now, and sadie was well enough to rove around the house again; and ester began to think that it couldn't be so very hard to have loving hands ministering to one's simplest want, to be cared for, and watched over, and petted every hour in the day. she was returning to her impatient, irritable life. she forgot how high the fever had been at night, and how the young head had ached; and only remembered how thoroughly tired she was, watching and ministering day and night. so, when she followed dr. van anden to the sitting-room, in answer to his "i want to see you, miss ester," it was a very sober, not altogether pleasant face which listened to his words. "florence vane is very sick to-night. some one should be with her besides the housekeeper. i thought of you. will you watch with her?" if any reasonable excuse could have been found, ester would surely have said "no," so foolish did this seem to her. why, only yesterday she had seen florence sitting beside the open window, looking very well; but then, she was sadie's friend, and it had been more than two weeks since sadie had needed watching with at night. so ester could not plead fatigue. "i suppose so," she answered, slowly, to the waiting doctor, hearing which, he wheeled and left her, turning back, though, to say: "do not mention this to sadie in her present state of body. i don't care to have her excited." "very careful you are of everybody," muttered ester, as he hastened away. "tell her what, i wonder? that you are making much ado about nothing, for the sake of showing your astonishing skill?" in precisely this state of mind she went, a few hours later, over to the cottage, into the quiet room where florence lay asleep--and, for aught she could see, sleeping as quietly as young, fresh life ever did. "what do you think of her?" whispered the old lady who acted as housekeeper, nurse and mother to the orphaned florence. "i think i haven't seen her look better this great while," ester answered, abruptly. "well, i can't say as she looks any worse to _me_ either; but dr. van anden is in a fidget, and i suppose he knows what he's about." the doctor came in at eleven o'clock, stood for a moment by the bedside, glanced at the old lady, who was dozing in her rocking-chair, then came over to ester and spoke low: "i can't trust the nurse. she has been broken of her rest, and is weary. i want _you_ to keep awake. if she" (nodding toward florence) "stirs, give her a spoonful from that tumbler on the stand. i shall be back at twelve. if she wakens, you may call her father, and send john for me; he's in the kitchen. i shall be around the corner at vinton's." then he went away, softly, as he had come. the lamp burned low over by the window, the nurse slept on in her arm-chair, and ester sat with wide-open eyes fixed on florence. and all this time she thought that the doctor was engaged in getting up a scene, the story of which should go forth next day in honor of his skill and faithfulness; yet, having come to watch, she would not sleep at her post, even though she believed in her heart that, were she sleeping by sadie's side, and the doctor quiet in his own room, all would go on well until the morning. but the doctor's evident anxiety had driven sleep from the eyes of the gray-haired old man whose one darling lay quiet on the bed. he came in very soon after the doctor had departed. "i can't sleep," he said, in explanation, to ester. "some way i feel worried. does she seem worse to you?" "not a bit," ester said, promptly. "i think she looks better than usual." "yes," mr. vane answered, in an encouraged tone; "and she has been quite bright all day; but the doctor is all down about her. he won't say a single cheering word." ester's indignation grew upon her. "he might, at least, have let this old man sleep in peace," she said, sharply, in her heart. at twelve, precisely, the doctor returned. he went directly to the bedside. "how has she been?" he asked of ester, in passing. "just as she is now." ester's voice was not only dry, but sarcastic. mr. vane scanned the doctor's face eagerly, but it was grave and sad. quiet reigned in the room. the two men at florence's side neither spoke nor stirred. ester kept her seat across from them, and grew every moment more sure that she was right, and more provoked. suddenly the silence was broken. dr. van anden bent low over the sleeper, and spoke in a gentle, anxious tone: "florence." but she neither stirred nor heeded. he spoke again: "florence;" and the blue eyes unclosed slowly and wearily. the doctor drew back quickly, and motioned her father forward. "speak to her, mr. vane." "florence, my darling," the old man said, with inexpressible love and tenderness sounding in his voice. his fair young daughter turned her eyes on him; but the words she spoke were not of him, or of aught around her. so clear and sweet they sounded, that ester, sitting quite across the room from her, heard them distinctly. "i saw mother, and i saw my savior." dr. van anden sank upon his knees, as the drooping lids closed again, and his voice was low and tremulous: "father, into thy hands we commit this spirit. thy will be done." in a moment more all was bustle and confusion. the nurse was thoroughly awakened; the doctor cared for the poor childless father with the tenderness of a son; then came back to send john for help, and to give directions concerning what was to be done. through it all ester sat motionless, petrified with solemn astonishment. then the angel of death had _really_ been there in that very room, and she had been "so wise in her own conceit," that she did not know it until he had departed with the freed spirit! florence really _was_ sick, then--dangerously sick. the doctor had not deceived them, had not magnified the trouble as she supposed; but it could not be that she was dead! dead! why, only a few minutes ago she was sleeping so quietly! well, she was very quiet now. could the heart have ceased its beating? sadie's florence dead! poor sadie! what would they say to her? how _could_ they tell her? sitting there, ester had some of the most solemn, self-reproachful thoughts that she had ever known. god's angel had been present in that room, and in what a spirit had he found this watcher? dr. van anden went quietly, promptly, from room to room, until every thing in the suddenly stricken household was as it should be; then he came to ester: "i will go over home with you now," he said, speaking low and kindly. he seemed to under stand just how shocked she felt. they went, in the night and darkness, across the street, saying nothing. as the doctor applied his key to the door, ester spoke in low, distressed tones: "doctor van anden, i did not think--i did not dream--." then she stopped. "i know," he said, kindly. "it was unexpected. _i_ thought she would linger until morning, perhaps through the day. indeed, i was so sure, that i ventured to keep my worst fears from mr. vane. i wanted him to rest to-night. i am sorry--it would have been better to have prepared him; but 'at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning'--you see we know not which. i thank god that to florence it did not matter." those days which followed were days of great opportunity to ester, if she had but known how to use them. sadie's sad, softened heart, into which grief had entered, might have been turned by a few kind, skillful words, from thoughts of florence to florence's savior. ester _did_ try; she was kinder, more gentle with the young sister than was her wont to be; and once, when sadie was lingering fondly over memories of her friend, she said, in an awkward, blundering way, something about florence having been prepared to die, and hoping that sadie would follow her example. sadie looked surprised, but answered, gravely: "i never expect to be like florence. she was perfect, or, at least, i'm sure i could never see any thing about her that wasn't perfection. you know, ester, she never did any thing wrong." and ester, unused to it, and confused with her own attempt, kept silence, and let poor sadie rest upon the thought that it was florence's goodness which made her ready to die, instead of the blood of jesus. so the time passed; the grass grew green over florence's grave, and sadie missed her indeed. yet the serious thoughts grew daily fainter, and ester's golden opportunity for leading her to christ was lost. chapter iv. the sunday lesson. alfred and julia ried were in the sitting-room, studying their sabbath-school lessons. those two were generally to be found together; being twins, they had commenced _life_ together, and had thus far gone side by side. it was a quiet october sabbath afternoon. the twins had a great deal of business on hand during the week, and the sabbath-school lesson used to stand a fair chance of being forgotten; so mrs. ried had made a law that half an hour of every sabbath afternoon should be spent in studying the lesson for the coming sabbath. ester sat in the same room, by the window; she had been reading, but her book had fallen idly in her lap, and she seemed lost in thought sadie, too, was there, carrying on a whispered conversation with minnie, who was snugged close in her arms, and merry bursts of laughter came every few minutes from the little girl. the idea of sadie keeping quiet herself, or of keeping any body else quiet, was simply absurd. "but i say unto you that ye resist not evil, but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also," read julia, slowly and thoughtfully. "alfred, what do you suppose that can mean?" "don't know, i'm sure," alfred said. "the next one is just as queer: 'and if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.' i'd like to see _me_ doing that. i'd fight for it, i reckon." "oh, alfred! you wouldn't, if the bible said you mustn't, would you?" "i don't suppose this means us at all," said alfred, using, unconsciously, the well-known argument of all who have tried to slip away from gospel teaching since adam's time. "i suppose it's talking to those wicked old fellows who lived before the flood, or some such time." "well, _any_how," said julia, "i should like to know what it all means. i wish mother would come home. i wonder how mrs. vincent is. do you suppose she will die, alfred?" "don't know--just hear this, julia! 'but i say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.' wouldn't you like to see anybody who did all that?" "sadie," said julia, rising suddenly, and moving over to where the frolic was going on, "won't you tell us about our lesson? we don't understand a bit about it; and i can't learn any thing that i don't understand." "bless your heart, child! i suspect you know more about the bible this minute than i do. mother was too busy taking care of you two, when i was a little chicken, to teach me as she has you." "well, but what _can_ that mean--'if a man strikes you on one cheek, let him strike the other too?'" "yes," said alfred, chiming in, "and, 'if anybody takes your coat away, give him your cloak too.'" "i suppose it means just that," said sadie. "if anybody steals your mittens, as that bush girl did yours last winter, julia, you are to take your hood right off, and give it to her." "oh, sadie! you _don't_ ever mean that." "and then," continued sadie, gravely, "if that shouldn't satisfy her, you had better take off your shoes and stockings, and give her them." "sadie," said ester, "how _can_ you teach those children such nonsense?" "she isn't teaching _me_ any thing," interrupted alfred. "i guess i ain't such a dunce as to swallow all that stuff." "well," said sadie, meekly, "i'm sure i'm doing the best i can; and you are all finding fault. i've explained to the best of _my_ abilities julia, i'll tell you the truth;" and for a moment her laughing face grew sober. "i don't know the least thing about it--don't pretend to. why don't you ask ester? she can tell you more about the bible in a minute, i presume, than i could in a year." ester laid her book on the window. "julia, bring your bible here," she said, gravely. "now what is the matter? i never heard you make such a commotion over your lesson." "mother always explains it," said alfred, "and she hasn't got back from mrs. vincent's; and i don't believe anyone else in this house _can_ do it." "alfred," said ester, "don't be impertinent. julia, what is that you want to know?" "about the man being struck on one cheek, how he must let them strike the other too. what does it mean?" "it means just _that_, when girls are cross and ugly to you, you must be good and kind to them; and, when a boy knocks down another, he must forgive him, instead of getting angry and knocking back." "ho!" said alfred, contemptuously, "_i_ never saw the boy yet who would do it." "that only proves that boys are naughty, quarrelsome fellows, who don't obey what the bible teaches." "but, ester," interrupted julia, anxiously, "was that true what sadie said about me giving my shoes and stockings and my hood to folks who stole something from me?" "of course not. sadie shouldn't talk such nonsense to you. that is about men going to law. mother will explain it when she goes over the lesson with you." julia was only half satisfied. "what does that verse mean about doing good to them that--" "here, i'll read it," said alfred--"'but i say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.'" "why, that is plain enough. it means just what it says. when people are ugly to you, and act as though they hated you, you must be very good and kind to them, and pray for them, and love them." "ester, does god really mean for us to love people who are ugly to us, and to be good to them?" "of course." "well, then, why don't we, if god says so? ester, why don't you?" "that's the point!" exclaimed sadie, in her most roguish tone. "i'm glad you've made the application, julia." now ester's heart had been softening under the influence of these peaceful bible words. she believed them; and in her heart was a real, earnest desire to teach her brother and sister bible truths. left alone, she would have explained that those who loved jesus _were_ struggling, in a weak feeble way, to obey these directions; that she herself was trying, trying _hard_ sometimes; that _they_ ought to. but there was this against ester--her whole life was so at variance with those plain, searching bible rules, that the youngest child could not but see it; and sadie's mischievous tones and evident relish of her embarrassment at julia's question, destroyed the self-searching thoughts. she answered, with severe dignity: "sadie, if i were you, i wouldn't try to make the children as irreverent as i was myself." then she went dignifiedly from the room. dr. van anden paused for a moment before sadie, as she sat alone in the sitting-room that same sabbath-evening. "sadie," said he, "is there one verse in the bible which you have never read?" "plenty of them, doctor. i commenced reading the bible through once; but i stopped at some chapter in numbers--the thirtieth, i think it is, isn't it? or somewhere along there where all those hard names are, you know. but why do you ask?" the doctor opened a large bible which lay on the stand before them, and read aloud: "ye have perverted the words of the living god." sadie looked puzzled. "now, doctor, what ever possessed you to think that i had never read that verse?" "god counts that a solemn thing, sadie." "very likely; what then?" "i was reading on the piazza when the children came to you for an explanation of their lesson." sadie laughed. "did you hear that conversation, doctor? i hope you were benefited." then, more gravely: "dr. van anden, do you really mean me to think that i was perverting scripture?" "_i_ certainly think so, sadie. were you not giving the children wrong ideas concerning the teachings of our savior?" sadie was quite sober now. "i told the truth at last, doctor. i don't know any thing about these matters. people who profess to be christians do not live according to our savior's teaching. at least _i_ don't see any who do; and it sometimes seems to me that those verses which the children were studying, _can not_ mean what they say, or christian people would surely _try_ to follow them." for an answer, dr. van anden turned the bible leaves again, and pointed with his finger to this verse, which sadie read: "but as he which has called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation." after that he went out of the room. and sadie, reading the verse over again, could not but understand that she _might_ have a perfect pattern, if she would. chapter v. the poor little fish. "mother," said sadie, appearing in the dining-room one morning, holding julia by the hand, "did you ever hear of the fish who fell out of the frying-pan into the fire?" which question her mother answered by asking, without turning her eyes from the great batch of bread which she was molding: "what mischief are you up to now, sadie?" "why, nothing," said sadie; "only here is the very fish so renowned in ancient history, and i've brought her for your inspection." this answer brought mrs. ried's eyes around from the dough, and fixed them upon julia; and she said, as soon as she caught a glimpse of the forlorn little maiden: "o, my _patience_!" a specimen requiring great patience from any one coming in contact with her, was this same julia. the pretty blue dress and white apron were covered with great patches of mud; morocco boots and neat white stockings were in the same direful plight; and down her face the salt and muddy tears were running, for her handkerchief was also streaked with mud. "i should _think_ so!" laughed sadie, in answer to her mother's exclamation. "the history of the poor little fish, in brief, is this: she started, immaculate in white apron, white stockings, and the like, for the post-office, with ester's letter. she met with temptation in the shape of a little girl with paper dolls; and, while admiring them, the letter had the meanness to slip out of her hand into the mud! that, you understand, was the frying-pan. much horrified with this state of things, the two wise young heads were put together, and the brilliant idea conceived of giving the muddy letter a thorough washing in the creek! so to the creek they went; and, while they stood ankle deep in the mud, vigorously carrying their idea into effect, the vicious little thing hopped out of julia's hand, and sailed merrily away, down stream! so there she was, 'out of the frying-pan into the fire,' sure enough! and the letter has sailed for uncle ralph's by a different route than that which is usually taken." sadie's nonsense was interrupted at this point by ester, who had listened with darkening face to the rapidly told story: "she ought to be thoroughly _whipped_, the careless little goose! mother, if you don't punish her now, i never would again." then julia's tearful sorrow blazed into sudden anger: "i _oughtn't_ to be whipped; you're an ugly, mean sister to say so. i tumbled down and hurt my arm _dreadfully_, trying to catch your old _hateful_ letter; and you're just as mean as you can be!" between tears, and loud tones, and sadie's laughter, julia had managed to burst forth these angry sentences before her mother's voice reached her; when it did, she was silenced. "julia, i am _astonished_! is that the way to speak to your sister? go up to my room directly; and, when you have put on dry clothes, sit down there, and stay until you are ready to tell ester that you are sorry, and ask her to forgive you." "_really_, mother," sadie said, as the little girl went stamping up the stairs, her face buried in her muddy handkerchief, "i'm not sure but you have made a mistake, and ester is the one to be sent to her room until she can behave better. i don't pretend to be _good_ myself; but i must say it seems ridiculous to speak in the way she did to a sorry, frightened child. i never saw a more woeful figure in my life;" and sadie laughed again at the recollection. "yes," said ester, "you uphold her in all sorts of mischief and insolence; that is the reason she is so troublesome to manage." mrs. ried looked distressed. "don't, ester," she said; "don't speak in that loud, sharp tone. sadie, you should not encourage julia in speaking improperly to her sister. i think myself that ester was hard with her. the poor child did not mean any harm; but she must not be rude to anybody." "oh, yes," ester said, speaking bitterly, "of course _i_ am the one to blame; i always _am_. no one in this house ever does any thing wrong except _me_." mrs. ried sighed heavily, and sadie turned away and ran up stairs, humming: "oh, would i were a buttercup, a blossom in the meadow." and julia, in her mother's room, exchanged her wet and muddy garments for clean ones, and _cried_; washed her face in the clear, pure water until it was fresh and clean, and cried again, louder and harder; her heart was all bruised and bleeding. she had not meant to be careless. she had been carefully dressed that morning to spend the long, bright saturday with vesta griswold. she had intended to go swiftly and safely to the post-office with the small white treasure intrusted to her care; but those paper dolls were _so_ pretty, and of course there was no harm in walking along with addie, and looking at them. how could she know that the hateful letter was going to tumble out of her apron pocket? right there, too, the only place along the road where there was the least bit of mud to be seen! then she had honestly supposed that a little clean water from the creek, applied with her smooth white handkerchief, would take the stains right out of the envelope, and the sun would dry it, and it would go safely to uncle ralph's after all; but, instead of that, the hateful, _hateful_ thing slipped right out of her hand, and went floating down the stream; and at this point julia's sobs burst forth afresh. presently she took up her broken thread of thought, and went on: how very, _very_ ugly ester was; if _she_ hadn't been there, her mother would have listened kindly to her story of how very sorry she was, and how she meant to do just right. then she would have forgiven her, and she would have been freshly dressed in her clean blue dress instead of her pink one, and would have had her happy day after all; and now she would have to spend this bright day all alone; and, at this point, her tears rolled down in torrents. "jule," called a familiar voice, under her window, "where are you? come down and mend my sail for me, won't you?" julia went to the window and poured into alfred's sympathetic ears the story of her grief and her wrongs. "just exactly like her," was his comment on ester's share in the tragedy. "she grows crosser every day. i guess, if i were you, i'd let her wait a spell before i asked her forgiveness." "i guess i shall," sputtered julia. "she was meaner than any thing, and i'd tell her so this minute, if i saw her; that's all the sorry i am." so the talk went on; and when alfred was called to get ester a pail of water, and left julia in solitude, she found her heart very much strengthened in its purpose to tire everybody out in waiting for her apology. the long, warm, busy day moved on; and the overworked and wearied mother found time to toil up two flights of stairs in search of her young daughter, in the hope of soothing and helping her; but julia was in no mood to be helped. she hated to stay up there alone; she wanted to go down in the garden with alfred; she wanted to go to the arbor and read her new book; she wanted to take a walk down by the river; she wanted her dinner exceedingly; but to ask ester's forgiveness was the one thing that she did _not_ want to do. no, not if she staid there alone for a week; not if she _starved_, she said aloud, stamping her foot and growing indignant over the thought. alfred came as often as his saturday occupations would admit, and held emphatic talks with the little prisoner above, admiring her "pluck," and assuring her that he "wouldn't give in, not he." "you see i _can't_ do it," said julia, with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, "because it wouldn't be true. i'm _not_ sorry; and mother wouldn't have me tell a lie for anybody." so the sun went toward the west, and julia at the window watched the academy girls moving homeward from their afternoon ramble, listened to the preparations for tea which were being made among the dishes in the dining-room, and, having no more tears to shed, sighed wearily, and wished the miserable day were quite done and she was sound asleep. only a few moments before she had received a third visit from her mother; and, turning to her, fresh from a talk with alfred, she had answered her mother's question as to whether she were not now ready to ask ester's forgiveness, with quite as sober and determined a "no, ma'am," as she had given that day; and her mother had gravely and sadly answered, "i am very sorry, julia i can't come up here again; i am too tired for that. you may come to me, if you wish to see me any time before seven o'clock. after that you must go to your room." and with this julia had let her depart, only saying, as the door closed: "then i can be asleep before ester comes up. i'm glad of that. i wouldn't look at her again to-day for anything." and then julia was once more summoned to the window. "jule," alfred said, with less decision in his voice than there had been before, "mother looked awful tired when she came down stairs just now, and there was a tear rolling down her cheek." "there was?" said julia, in a shocked and troubled tone. "and i guess," alfred continued, "she's had a time of it to-day. ester is too cross even to look at; and they've been working pell-mell all day; and minnie tumbled over the ice-box and got hurt, and mother held her most an hour; and i guess she feels real bad about this. she told sadie she felt sorry for you." silence for a little while at the window above, and from the boy below: then he broke forth suddenly: "i say, jule, hadn't you better do it after all--not for ester, but there's mother, you know." "but, alfred," interrupted the truthful and puzzled julia, "what can i do about it? you know i'm to tell ester that i'm sorry; and that will not be true." this question also troubled alfred. it did not seem to occur to these two foolish young heads that she _ought_ to be sorry for her own angry words, no matter how much in the wrong another had been. so they stood with grave faces, and thought about it. alfred found a way out of the mist at last. "see here, aren't you sorry that you couldn't go to vesta's, and had to stay up there alone all day, and that it bothered mother?" "of course," said julia, "i'm real sorry about mother. alfred, did i, honestly, make her cry?" "yes, you did," alfred answered, earnestly. "i saw that tear as plain as day. now you see you can tell ester you're sorry, just as well as not; because, if you hadn't said any thing to her, mother could have made it all right; so of course you're sorry." "well," said julia, slowly, rather bewildered still, "that sounds as if it was right; and yet, somehow----. well, alfred, you wait for me, and i'll be down right away." so it happened that a very penitent little face stood at her mother's elbow a few moments after this; and julia's voice was very earnest: "mother, i'm so sorry i made you such a great deal of trouble to-day." and the patient mother turned and kissed the flushed cheek, and answered kindly: "mother will forgive you. have you seen ester, my daughter?" "no, ma'am," spoken more faintly; "but i'm going to find her right away." and ester answered the troubled little voice with a cold "actions speak louder than words. i hope you will show how sorry you are by behaving better in future. stand out of my way." "is it all done up?" alfred asked, a moment later, as she joined him on the piazza to take a last look at the beauty of this day which had opened so brightly for her. "yes," with a relieved sigh; "and, alfred, i never mean to be such a woman as ester is when i grow up. i wouldn't for the world. i mean to be nice, and good, and kind, like sister sadie." chapter vi. something happens. now the letter which had caused so much trouble in the ried family, and especially in ester's heart, was, in one sense, not an ordinary letter. it had been written to ester's cousin, abbie, her one intimate friend, uncle ralph's only daughter. these two, of the same age, had been correspondents almost from their babyhood; and yet they had never seen each other's faces. to go to new york, to her uncle's house, to see and be with cousin abbie, had been the one great dream of ester's heart--as likely to be realized, she could not help acknowledging, as a journey to the moon, and no more so. new york was at least five hundred miles away; and the money necessary to carry her there seemed like a small fortune to ester, to say nothing of the endless additions to her wardrobe which would have to be made before she would account herself ready. so she contented herself, or perhaps it would be more truthful to say she made herself discontented, with ceaseless dreams over what new york, and her uncle's family, and, above all, cousin abbie, were like; and whether she would ever see them; and why it had always happened that something was sure to prevent abbie's visits to herself; and whether she should like her as well, if she could be with her, as she did now; and a hundred other confused and disconnected thoughts about them all. ester had no idea what this miserable, restless dreaming of hers was doing for her. she did not see that her very desires after a better life, which were sometimes strong upon her, were colored with impatience and envy. cousin abbie was a christian, and wrote her some earnest letters; but to ester it seemed a very easy matter indeed for one who was surrounded, as she imagined abbie to be, by luxury and love, to be a joyous, eager christian. into this very letter that poor julia had sent sailing down the stream, some of her inmost feelings had been poured. "don't think me devoid of all aspirations after something higher," so the letter ran. "dear abbie, you, in your sunny home, can never imagine how wildly i long sometimes to be free from my surroundings, free from petty cares and trials, and vexations, which, i feel, are eating out my very life. oh, to be free for one hour, to feel myself at liberty, for just one day, to follow my own tastes and inclinations; to be the person i believe god designed me to be; to fill the niche i believe he designed me to fill! abbie, i _hate_ my life. i have not a happy moment. it is all rasped, and warped, and unlovely. i am nothing, and i know it; and i had rather, for my own comfort, be like the most of those who surround me--nothing, and not know it. sometimes i can not help asking myself why i was made as i am. why can't i be a clod, a plodder, and drag my way with stupid good nature through this miserable world, instead of chafing and bruising myself at every step." now it would be very natural to suppose that a young lady with a grain of sense left in her brains, would, in cooler moments, have been rather glad than otherwise, to have such a restless, unhappy, unchristianlike letter hopelessly lost. but ester felt, as has been seen, thoroughly angry that so much lofty sentiment, which she mistook for religion, was entirely lost yet let it not be supposed that one word of this rebellious outbreak was written simply for effect. ester, when she wrote that she "hated her life," was thoroughly and miserably in earnest. when, in the solitude of her own room, she paced her floor that evening, and murmured, despairingly: "oh, if something would _only_ happen to rest me for just a little while!" she was more thoroughly in earnest than any human being who feels that christ has died to save her, and that she has an eternal resting-place prepared for her, and waiting to receive her, has any right to feel on such a subject. yet, though the letter had never reached its destination, the pitying savior, looking down upon his poor, foolish lamb in tender love, made haste to prepare an answer to her wild, rebellious cry for help, even though she cried blindly, without a thought of the helper who is sufficient for all human needs. "long looked for, come at last!" and sadie's clear voice rang through the dining-room, and a moment after that young lady herself reached the pump-room, holding up for ester's view a dainty envelope, directed in a yet more dainty hand to miss ester ried. "here's that wonderful letter from cousin abbie which you have sent me to the post-office after three times a day for as many weeks. it reached here by the way of cape horn, i should say, by its appearance. it has been remailed twice." ester set her pail down hastily, seized the letter, and retired to the privacy of the pantry to devour it; and for once was oblivious to the fact that sadie lunched on bits of cake broken from the smooth, square loaf while she waited to hear the news. "anything special?" mrs. ried asked, pausing in the doorway, which question ester answered by turning a flushed and eager face toward them, as she passed the letter to sadie, with permission to read it aloud. surprised into silence by the unusual confidence, sadie read the dainty epistle without comment: "my dear ester: "i'm in a grand flurry, and shall therefore not stop for long stories to-day, but come at the pith of the matter immediately. we want you. that is nothing new, you are aware, as we have been wanting you for many a day. but there is new decision in my plans, and new inducements, this time. we not only want, but _must_ have you. please don't say 'no' to me this once. we are going to have a wedding in our house, and we need your presence, and wisdom, and taste. father says you can't be your mother's daughter if you haven't exquisite taste. i am very busy helping to get the bride in order, which is a work of time and patience; and i do so much need your aid; besides, the bride is your uncle ralph's only daughter, so of course you ought to be interested in her. "ester, _do_ come. father says the inclosed fifty dollars is a present from him, which you must honor by letting it pay your fare to new york just as soon as possible. the wedding is fixed for the twenty-second; and we want you here at least three weeks before that. brother ralph is to be first groomsman; and he especially needs your assistance, as the bride has named you for her first bridesmaid. i'm to dress--i mean the bride is to dress--in white, and mother has a dress prepared for the bridesmaid to match hers; so that matter need not delay or cause you anxiety. "this letter is getting too long. i meant it to be very brief and pointed. i designed every other word to be 'come;' but after all i do not believe you will need so much urging to be with us at this time. i flatter myself that you love me enough to come to me if you can. so, leaving ralph to write directions concerning route and trains, i will run and try on the bride's bonnet, which has just come home. "p.s. there is to be a groom as well as a bride, though i see i have said nothing concerning him. never mind, you shall see him when you come. dear ester, there isn't a word of tense in this letter, i know; but i haven't time to put any in." "really," laughed sadie, as she concluded the reading, "this is almost foolish enough to have been written by me. isn't it splendid, though? ester, i'm glad you are _you_. i wish i had corresponded with cousin abbie myself. a wedding of any kind is a delicious novelty; but a real new york wedding, and a bridesmaid besides--my! i've a mind to clap my hands for you, seeing you are too dignified to do it yourself." "oh," said ester, from whose face the flush had faded, leaving it actually pale with excitement and expected disappointment, "you don't suppose i am foolish enough to think i can go, do you?" "of course you will go, when uncle ralph has paid your fare, and more, too. fifty dollars will buy a good deal besides a ticket to new york. mother, don't you ever think of saying that she can't go; there is nothing to hinder her. she is to go, isn't she?" "why, i don't know," answered this perplexed mother. "i want her to, i am sure; yet i don't see how she can be spared. she will need a great many things besides a ticket, and fifty dollars do not go as far as you imagine; besides, ester, you know i depend on you so much." ester's lips parted to speak; and had the words come forth which were in her heart, they would have been sharp and bitter ones--about never expecting to go anywhere, never being able to do any thing but work; but sadie's eager voice was quicker than hers: "oh now, mother, it is no use to talk in that way. i've quite set my heart on ester's going. i never expect to have an invitation there myself, so i must take my honors secondhand. "mother, it is time you learned to depend on me a little. i'm two inches taller than ester, and i've no doubt i shall develop into a remarkable person when she is where we can't all lean upon her. school closes this very week, you know, and we have vacation until october. abbie couldn't have chosen a better time. whom do you suppose she is to marry? what a queer creature, not to tell us. say she can go, mother--quick!" sadie's last point was a good one in mrs. ried's opinion. perhaps the giddy sadie, at once her pride and her anxiety, might learn a little self-reliance by feeling a shadow of the weight of care which rested continually on ester. "you certainly need the change," she said, her eyes resting pityingly on the young, careworn face of her eldest daughter. "but how could we manage about your wardrobe? your black silk is nice, to be sure; but you would need one bright evening dress at least, and you know we haven't the money to spare." then sadie, thoughtless, selfish sadie, who was never supposed to have one care for others, and very little for herself--sadie, who vexed ester nearly every hour in the day, by what, at the time, always seemed some especially selfish, heedless act--suddenly shone out gloriously. she stood still, and actually seemed to think for a full minute, while ester jerked a pan of potatoes toward her, and commenced peeling vigorously; then she clapped her hands, and gave vent to little gleeful shouts before she exclaimed "oh, mother, mother! i have it exactly. i wonder we didn't think of it before. there's my blue silk--just the thing! i am tall, and she is short, so it will make her a beautiful train dress. won't that do splendidly!" the magnitude of this proposal awed even ester into silence. to be appreciated, it must be understood that sadie ried had never in her life possessed a silk dress. mrs. ried's best black silk had long ago been cut over for ester; so had her brown and white plaid; so there had been nothing of the sort to remodel for sadie; and this elegant sky-blue silk had been lying in its satin-paper covering for more than two years. it was the gift of a dear friend of mrs. ried's girlhood to the young beauty who bore her name, and had been waiting all this time for sadie to attain proper growth to admit of its being cut into for her. meantime she had feasted her eyes upon it, and gloried in the prospect of that wonderful day when she should sweep across the platform of music hall with this same silk falling in beautiful blue waves around her; for it had long been settled that it was to be worn first on that day when she should graduate. no wonder, then, that ester stood in mute astonishment, while mrs. ried commented: "why, sadie, my dear child, is it possible you are willing to give up your blue silk?" "not a bit of it, mother; i don't intend to give it up the least bit in the world. i'm merely going to lend it. it's too pretty to stay poked up in that drawer by itself any longer. i've set my heart on its coming out this very season just as likely as not it will learn to put on airs for me when i graduate. i'm not at all satisfied with my attainments in that line; so ester shall take it to new york; and if she sits down or stands up, or turns around, or has one minute's peace while she has it on, for fear lest she should spot it, or tear it, or get it stepped on, i'll never forgive her." and at this harangue ester laughed a free, glad laugh, such as was seldom heard from her. some way it began to seem as if she were really to go, sadie had such a brisk, business-like way of saying "ester shall take it to new york." oh, if she only, _only_ could go, she would be willing to do _any thing_ after that; but one peep, one little peep into the beautiful magic world that lay outside of that dining-room and kitchen she felt as if she must have. perhaps that laugh did as much for her as any thing. it almost startled mrs. ried with its sweetness and rarity. what if the change would freshen and brighten her, and bring her back to them with some of the sparkles that continually danced in sadie's eyes; but what, on the other hand, if she should grow utterly disgusted with the monotony of their very quiet, very busy life, and refuse to work in that most necessary treadmill any longer. so the mother argued and hesitated, and the decision which was to mean so much more than any of those knew, trembled in the balance; for let mrs. ried once find voice to say, "oh, ester, i don't see but what you will _have_ to give it up," and ester would have turned quickly and with curling lip, to that pan of potatoes, and have sharply forbidden any one to mention the subject to her again. once more sadie, dear, merry, silly sadie, came to the rescue. "mother, oh, mother! what an endless time you are in coming to a decision! i could plan an expedition to the north pole in less time than this. i'm just wild to have her go. i want to hear how a genuine new york bride looks; besides, you know, dear mother, i want to stay in the kitchen with you. ester does every thing, and i don't have any chance. i perfectly long to bake, and boil, and broil, and brew things. say yes, there's a darling." and mrs. ried looked at the bright, flushed face, and thought how little the dear child knew about all these matters, and how little patience poor ester, who was so competent herself, would have with sadie's ignorance, and said, slowly and hesitatingly, but yet actually said: "well, ester, my daughter, i really think we must try to get along without you for a little while!" and these three people really seemed to think that they had decided the matter. though two of them were at least theoretical believers in a "special providence," it never once occurred to them that this little thing, in all its details, had been settled for ages. chapter vii. journeying. "twenty minutes here for refreshments!" "passengers for new york take south track!" "new york daily papers here!" "sweet oranges here!" and amid all these yells of discordant tongues, and the screeching of engines, and the ringing of bells, and the intolerable din of a merciless gong, ester pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd, almost panting with her efforts to keep pace with her traveling companion, a nervous country merchant on his way to new york to buy goods. he hurried her through the crowd and the noise into the dining-saloon; stood by her side while, obedient to his orders, she poured down her throat a cup of almost boiling coffee; then, seating her in the ladies' room charged her on no account to stir from that point while he was gone--he had just time to run around to the post-office, and mail a forgotten letter; then he vanished, and in the confusion and the crowd ester was alone. she did not feel, in the least, flurried or nervous; on the contrary, she liked it, this first experience of hers in a city depot; she would not have had it made known to one of the groups of fashionably-attired and very-much-at-ease travelers who thronged past her for the world--but the truth was, ester had been having her very first ride in the cars! sadie had made various little trips in company with school friends to adjoining towns, after school books, or music, or to attend a concert, or for pure fun; but, though ester had spent her eighteen years of life in a town which had long been an "express station," yet want of time, or of money, or of inclination to take the bits of journeys which alone were within her reach, had kept her at home. now she glanced at herself, at her faultlessly neat and ladylike traveling suit. she could get a full view of it in an opposite mirror, and it was becoming, from the dainty vail which fluttered over her hat, to the shining tip of her walking boots; and she gave a complacent little sigh, as she said to herself: "i don't see but i look as much like a traveler as any of them. i'm sure i don't feel in the least confused. i'm glad i'm not as ridiculously dressed as that pert-looking girl in brown. i should call it in very bad taste to wear such a rich silk as that for traveling. she doesn't look as though she had a single idea beyond dress; probably that is what is occupying her thoughts at this very moment;" and ester's speaking face betrayed contempt and conscious superiority, as she watched the fluttering bit of silk and ribbons opposite. ester had a very mistaken opinion of herself in this respect; probably she would have been startled and indignant had any one told her that her supposed contempt for the rich and elegant attire displayed all around her, was really the outgrowth of envy; that, when she told herself _she_ wouldn't lavish so much time and thought, and, above all, _money_, on mere outside show, it was mere nonsense--that she already spent all the time at her disposal, and all the money she could possibly spare, on the very things which she was condemning. the truth was, ester had a perfectly royal taste in all these matters. give her but the wherewithal, and she would speedily have glistened in silk, and sparkled with jewels; yet she honestly thought that her bitter denunciation of fashion and folly in this form was outward evidence of a mind elevated far above such trivial subjects, and looked down, accordingly, with cool contempt on those whom she was pleased to denominate "butterflies of fashion." and, in her flights into a "higher sphere of thought," this absurdly inconsistent ester never once remembered how, just exactly a week ago that day, she had gone around like a storm king, in her own otherwise peaceful home, almost wearing out the long-suffering patience of her weary mother, rendered the house intolerable to sadie, and actually boxed julia's ears; and all because she saw with her own common-sense eyes that she really _could_ not have her blue silk, or rather sadie's blue silk, trimmed with netted fringe at twelve shillings a yard, but must do with simple folds and a seventy-five-cent heading! such a two weeks as the last had been in the ried family! the entire household had joined in the commotion produced by ester's projected visit. it was marvelous how much there was to do. mrs. ried toiled early and late, and made many quiet little sacrifices, in order that her daughter might not feel too keenly the difference between her own and her cousin's wardrobe. sadie emptied what she denominated her finery box, and donated every article in it, delivering comic little lectures to each bit of lace and ribbon, as she smoothed them and patted them, and told them they were going to new york. julia hemmed pocket handkerchiefs, and pricked her poor little fingers unmercifully and uncomplainingly. alfred ran of errands with remarkable promptness, but confessed to julia privately that it was because he was in such a hurry to have ester gone, so he could see how it would seem for everybody to be good natured. little minie got in everybody's way as much as such a tiny creature could, and finally brought the tears to ester's eyes, and set every one else into bursts of laughter, by bringing a very smooth little handkerchief about six inches square, and offering it as her contribution toward the traveler's outfit. as for ester, she was hurried and nervous, and almost unendurably cross, through the whole of it, wanting a hundred things which it was impossible for her to have, and scorning not a few little trifles that had been prepared for her by patient, toil-worn fingers. "ester, i _do_ hope new york, or cousin abbie, or somebody, will have a soothing and improving effect upon you," sadie had said, with a sort of good-humored impatience, only the night before her departure. "now that you have reached the summit of your hopes, you seem more uncomfortable about it than you were even to stay at home. do let us see you look pleasant for just five minutes, that we may have something good to remember you by." "my dear," mrs. ried had interposed, rebukingly, "ester is hurried and tired, remember, and has had a great many things to try her to-day. i don't think it is a good plan, just as a family are about to separate, to say any careless or foolish words that we don't mean. mother has a great many hard days of toil, which ester has given, to remember her by." oh, the patient, tender, forgiving mother! ester, being asleep to her own faults, never once thought of the sharp, fretful, half disgusted way in which much of her work had been performed, but only remembered, with a little sigh of satisfaction, the many loaves of cake, and the rows of pies, which she had baked that very morning in order to save her mother's steps. this was all she thought of now, but there came days when she was wide-awake. meantime the new york train, after panting and snorting several times to give notice that the twenty minutes were about up, suddenly puffed and rumbled its way out from the depot, and left ester obeying orders, that is, sitting in the corner where she had been placed by mr. newton--being still outwardly, but there was in her heart a perfect storm of vexation. "this comes of mother's absurd fussiness in insisting upon putting me in mr. newton's care, instead of letting me travel alone, as i wanted to," she fumed to herself. "now we shall not get into new york until after six o'clock! how provoking!" "how provoking this is!" mr. newton exclaimed, re-echoing her thoughts as he bustled in, red with haste and heat, and stood penitently before her. "i hadn't the least idea it would take so long to go to the post-office. i am very sorry!" "well," he continued, recovering his good humor, notwithstanding ester's provoking silence, "what can't be cured must be endured, miss ester; and it isn't as bad as it might be, either. we've only to wait an hour and a quarter. i've some errands to do, and i'll show you the city with pleasure; or would you prefer sitting here and looking around you?" "i should decidedly prefer not running the chance of missing the next train," ester answered very shortly. "so i think it will be wiser to stay where i am." in truth mr. newton endured the results of his own carelessness with too much complacency to suit ester's state of mind; but he took no notice of her broadly-given hint further than to assure her that she need give herself no uneasiness on that score; he should certainly be on time. then he went off, looking immensely relieved; for mr. newton frankly confessed to himself that he did not know how to take care of a lady. "if she were a parcel of goods now that one could get stored or checked, and knew that she would come on all right, why--but a lady. i'm not used to it. how easily i could have caught that train, if i hadn't been obliged to run back after her; but, bless me, i wouldn't have her know that for the world." this he said meditatively as he walked down south street. the new york train had carried away the greater portion of the throng at the depot, so that ester and the dozen or twenty people who occupied the great sitting-room with her, had comparative quiet. the wearer of the condemned brown silk and blue ribbons was still there, and awoke ester's vexation still further by seeming utterly unable to keep herself quiet; she fluttered from seat to seat, and from window to window, like an uneasy bird in a cage. presently she addressed ester in a bright little tone: "doesn't it bore you dreadfully to wait in a depot?" "yes," said ester, briefly and truthfully, notwithstanding the fact that she was having her first experience in that boredom. "are you going to new york?" "i hope so," she answered, with energy. "i expected to have been almost there by this time; but the gentleman who is supposed to be taking care of me, had to rush off and stay just long enough to miss the train." "how annoying!" answered the blue ribbons with a soft laugh. "i missed it, too, in such a silly way. i just ran around the corner to get some chocolate drops, and a little matter detained me a few moments; and when i came back, the train had gone. i was so sorry, for i'm in such a hurry to get home. do you live in new york?" ester shook her head, and thought within herself: "that is just as much sense as i should suppose you to have--risk the chance of missing a train for the sake of a paper of candy." of course ester could not be expected to know that the chocolate drops were for the wee sister at home, whose heart would be nearly broken if sister fanny came home, after an absence of twenty-four hours, without bringing her any thing; and the "little matter" which detained her a few moments, was joining the search after a twenty-five-cent bill which the ruthless wind had snatched from the hand of a barefooted, bareheaded, and almost forlorn little girl, who cried as violently as though her last hope in life had been blown away with it; nor how, failing in finding the treasure, the gold-clasped purse had been opened, and a crisp, new bill had been taken out to fill its place; neither am i at all certain as to whether it would have made any difference at all in ester's verdict, if she had known all the circumstances. the side door opened quietly just at this point and a middle-aged man came in, carrying in one hand a tool-box, and in the other a two-story tin pail. both girls watched him curiously as he set these down on the floor, and, taking tacks from his pocket and a hammer from his box, he proceeded to tack a piece of paper to the wall. ester, from where she sat, could see that the paper was small, and that something was printed on it in close, fine type. it didn't look in the least like a handbill, or indeed like a notice of any sort. her desire to know what it could be grew strong; two tiny tacks held it firmly in its place. then the man turned and eyed the inmates of the room, who were by this time giving undivided attention to him and his bit of paper presently he spoke, in a quiet, respectful tone: "i've tacked up a nice little tract. i thought maybe while you was waiting you might like something to read. if one of you would read it aloud, all the rest could hear it." so saying, the man stooped and took up his tool-box and his tin pail, and went away, leaving the influences connected with those two or three strokes of his hammer to work for him through all time, and meet him at the judgment. but if a bomb-shell had suddenly come down and laid itself in ruins it their feet, it could not have made a much more startled company than the tract-tacker left behind him. a tract!--actually tacked up on the wall, and waiting for some human voice to give it utterance! a tract in a railroad depot! how queer! how singular! how almost improper! why? oh, ester didn't know; it was so unusual. yes; but then that didn't make it improper. no; but--then, she--it--well, it was fanatical. oh yes, that was it. she knew it was improper in some way. it was strange that that very convenient word should have escaped her for a little. this talk ester held hurriedly with her conscience. it was asleep, you know; but just then it nestled as in a dream, and gave her a little prick; but that industrious, important word, "fanatical," lulled it back to its rest. meantime there hung the tract, and fluttered a little in the summer air, as the door opened and closed. was no one to give it voice? "i'd like dreadful well to hear it," an old lady said, nodding her gray head toward the little leaf on the wall; "but i've packed up my specs, and might just as well have no eyes at all, as far as readin' goes, when i haven't got my specs on. there's some young eyes round here though, one would think." she added, looking inquiringly around. "you won't need glasses, i should say now, for a spell of years!" this remark, or hint, or inquiry, was directed squarely at ester, and received no other answer than a shrug of the shoulder and an impatient tapping of her heels on the bare floor. under her breath ester muttered, "disagreeable old woman!" the brown silk rustled, and the blue ribbons fluttered restlessly for a minute; then their owner's clear voice suddenly broke the silence: "i'll read it for you, ma'am, if you really would like to hear it." the wrinkled, homely, happy old face broke into a beaming smile, as she turned toward the pink-cheeked, blue-eyed maiden. "that i would," she answered, heartily, "dreadful well. i ain't heard nothing good, 'pears to me, since i started; and i've come two hundred miles. it seems as if it might kind of lift me up, and rest me like, to hear something real good again." with the flush on her face a little hightened, the young girl promptly crossed to where the tract hung; and a strange stillness settled over the listeners as her clear voice sounded distinctly down the long room. this was what she read. solemn questions. "dear friend: are you a christian? what have you done to-day for christ? are the friends with whom you have been talking traveling toward the new jerusalem? did you compare notes with them as to how you were all prospering on the way? is that stranger by your side a fellow-pilgrim? did you ask him if he _would_ be? have you been careful to recommend the religion of jesus christ by your words, by your acts, by your looks, this day? if danger comes to you, have you this day asked christ to be your helper? if death comes to you this night, are you prepared to give up your account? what would your record of this last day be? a blank? what! have you done _nothing_ for the master? then what have you done against him? nothing? nay, verily! is not the bible doctrine, 'he that is not for me is against me?' "remember that every neglected opportunity, every idle word, every wrong thought of yours has been written down this day. you can not take back the thoughts or words; you can not recall the opportunity. this day, with all its mistakes, and blots, and mars, you can never live over again. it must go up to the judgment just as it is. have you begged the blood of jesus to be spread over it all? have you resolved that no other day shall witness a repeatal of the same mistakes? have you resolved in your own strength or in his?" during the reading of the tract, a young man had entered, paused a moment in surprise at the unwonted scene, then moved with very quiet tread across the room and took the vacant seat near ester. as the reader came back to her former seat, with the pink on her cheek deepened into warm crimson, the new comer greeted her with-- "good-evening, miss fannie. have you been finding work to do for the master?" "only a very little thing," she answered, with a voice in which there was a slight tremble. "i don't know about that, my dear." this was the old woman's voice. "i'm sure i thank you a great deal. they're kind of startling questions like; enough to most scare a body, unless you was trying pretty hard, now ain't they?" "very solemn questions, indeed," answered the gentleman to whom this question seemed to be addressed. "i wonder, if we were each obliged to write truthful answers to each one of them, how many we should be ashamed to have each other see?" "how many would be ashamed to have _him_ see?" the old woman spoke with an emphatic shake of her gray head, and a reverent touch of he pronoun. "that is the vital point," he said. "yet how much more ashamed we often seem to be of man's judgment than of god's." then he turned suddenly to ester, and spoke in a quiet, respectful tone: "is the stranger by my side a fellow-pilgrim?" ester was startled and confused. the whole scene had been a very strange one to her. she tried to think the blue-ribboned girl was dreadfully out of her sphere; but the questions following each other in such quick succession, were so very solemn, and personal, and searching--and now this one. she hesitated, and stammered, and flushed like a school-girl, as at last she faltered: "i--i think--i believe--i am." "then i trust you are wide-awake, and a faithful worker in the vineyard," he said, earnestly. "these are times when the master needs true and faithful workmen." "he's a minister," said ester, positively, to herself, when she had recovered from her confusion sufficiently to observe him closely, as he carefully folded the old woman's shawl for her, took her box and basket in his care, and courteously offered his hand to assist her into the cars for the new york train thundered in at last, and mr. newton presented himself; and they rushed and jostled each other out of the depot and into the train. and the little tract hung quietly in its corner; and the carpenter who had left it there, hammered, and sawed, and planed--yes, and prayed that god would use it, and knew not then, nor afterward, that it had already awakened thoughts that would tell for eternity. chapter viii. the journey's end. "yes, he's a minister," ester repeated, even more decidedly, as, being seated in the swift-moving train, directly behind the old lady and the young gentleman who had become the subject of her thoughts, she found leisure to observe him more closely. mr. newton was absorbed in the _tribune_; so she gave her undivided attention to the two, and could hear snatches of the conversation which passed between them, as well as note the courteous care with which he brought her a cup of water and attended to all her simple wants. during the stopping of the train at a station, their talk became distinct. "and i haven't seen my boy, don't you think, in ten years," the old lady was saying. "won't he be glad though, to see his mother once more? and he's got children--two of them; one is named after me, sabrina. it's an awful homely name, i think, don't you? but then, you see, it was grandma's." "and that makes all the difference in the world," her companion answered. "so the old home is broken up, and you are going to make a new one." "yes; and i'll show you every _thing_ i've got to remember my old garden by." with eager, trembling fingers, she untied the string which held down the cover of her basket, and, rummaging within, brought to light a withered bouquet of the very commonest and, perhaps, the very homeliest flowers that grew, if there _are_ any homely flowers. "there," she said, holding it tenderly, and speaking with quivering lip and trembling voice. "i picked 'em the very last thing i did, out in my own little garden patch by the backdoor. oh, times and times i've sat and weeded and dug around them, with him sitting on the stoop and reading out loud to me. i thought all about just how it was while i was picking these. i didn't stay no longer, and i didn't go back to the house after that. i couldn't; i just pulled my sun-bonnet over my eyes, and went across lots to where i was going to get my breakfast" ester felt very sorry for the poor homeless, friendless old woman--felt as though she would have been willing to do a good deal just then to make her comfortable; yet it must be confessed that that awkward bunch of faded flowers, arranged without the slightest regard to colors, looked rather ridiculous; and she felt surprised, and not a little puzzled, to see actual tears standing in the eyes of her companion as he handled the bouquet with gentle care. "well," he said, after a moment of quiet, "you are not leaving your best friend after all. does it comfort your heart very much to remember that, in all your partings and trials, you are never called upon to bid jesus good-by?" "what a way he has of bringing that subject into every conversation," commented ester, who was now sure that he was a minister. someway ester had fallen into a way of thinking that every one who spoke freely concerning these matters must be either a fanatic or a minister. "oh, that's about all the comfort i've got left." this answer came forth from a full heart, and eyes brimming with tears. "and i don't s'pose i need any other, if i've got jesus left i oughtn't to need any thing else; but sometimes i get impatient--it seems to me i've been here long enough, and it's time i got home." "how is it with the boy who is expecting you; has he this same friend?" the gray head was slowly and sorrowfully shaken. "oh, i'm afraid he don't know nothing about _him_." "ah! then you have work to do; you can't be spared to rest yet. i presume the master is waiting for you to lead that son to himself." "i mean to, i mean to, sir," she said earnestly, "but sometimes i think maybe my coffin could do it better than i; but god knows--and i'm trying to be patient." then the train whirred on again, and ester missed the rest; but one sentence thrilled her--"maybe my coffin could do it better than i." how earnestly she spoke, as if she were willing to die at once, if by that she could save her son. how earnest they both were, anyway--the wrinkled, homely, ignorant old woman and the cultivated, courtly gentleman. ester was ill at ease--conscience was arousing her to unwonted thought. these two were different from her she was a christian--at least she supposed so, hoped so; but she was not like them. there was a very decided difference. were they right, and was she all wrong? wasn't she a christian after all? and at this thought she actually shivered. she was not willing to give up her title, weak though it might be. "oh, well!" she decided, after a little, "she is an old woman, almost through with life. of course she looks at everything through a different aspect from what a young girl like me naturally would; and as for him, ministers always are different from other people, of course." foolish ester! did she suppose that ministers have a private bible of their own, with rules of life set down therein for them, quite different from those written for her! and as for the old woman, almost through with life, how near might ester be to the edge of her own life at that very moment! when the train stopped again the two were still talking. "i just hope my boy will look like you," the old lady said suddenly, fixing admiring eyes on the tall form that stood beside her, patiently waiting for the cup from which she was drinking the tea which he had procured for her. ester followed the glance of her eye, and laughed softly at the extreme improbability of her hope being realized, while he answered gravely: "i hope he will be a noble boy, and love his mother as she deserves; then it will matter very little who he looks like." while the cup was being returned there was a bit of toilet making going on; the gray hair was smoothed back under the plain cap, and the faded, twisted shawl rearranged and carefully pinned. meantime her thoughts seemed troubled, and she looked up anxiously into the face of her comforter as he again took his seat beside her. "i'm just thinking i'm such a homely old thing, and new york is such a grand place, i've heard them say. i _do_ hope he won't be ashamed of his mother." "no danger," was the hearty answer; "he'll think you are the most beautiful woman he has seen in ten years." there is no way to describe the happy look which shone in the faded blue eyes at this answer; and she laughed a softly, pleased laugh as she said: "maybe he'll be like the man i read about the other day. some mean, old scamp told him how homely his mother was; and he said, says he, 'yes, she's a homely woman, sure enough; but oh she's such a _beautiful_ mother!' what ever will i do when i get in new york," she added quickly, seized with a sudden anxiety. "just as like as not, now, he never got a bit of my letter, and won't be there to get me!" "do you know where your son lives?" "oh, yes, i've got it on a piece of paper, the street and the number; but bless your heart, i shouldn't know whether to go up, or down, or across." just the shadow of a smile flitted over her friend's face as the thought of the poor old lady, trying to make her way through the city came to him. then he hastened to reassure her. "then we are all right, whether he meets you or not; we can take a carriage and drive there. i will see you safe at home before i leave you." this crowning act of kindness brought the tears. "i don't know why you are so good to me," she said simply, "unless you are the friend i prayed for to help me through this journey. if you are, it's all right; god will see that you are paid for it." and before ester had done wondering over the singular quaintness of this last remark there was a sudden triumphant shriek from the engine, and a tremendous din, made up of a confusion of more sounds than she had ever heard in her life before; then all was hurry and bustle around her, and she suddenly awakened to the fact that as soon as they had crossed the ferry she would actually be in new york. even then she bethought herself to take a curious parting look at the oddly matched couple who were carefully making their way through the crowd, and wonder if she would ever see them again. the next hour was made up of bewilderment to ester. she had a confused remembrance afterward of floating across a silver river in a palace; of reaching a place where everybody screamed instead of talked, and where all the bells were ringing for fire, or something else. she looked eagerly about for her uncle, and saw at least fifty men who resembled him, as she saw him last, about ten years ago. she fumbled nervously for his address in her pocket-book, and gave mr. newton a recipe for making mince pies instead; finally she found herself tumbled in among cushions and driving right into carriages and carts and people, who all got themselves mysteriously out of the way; down streets that she thought must surely be the ones that the bells were ringing for, as they were all ablaze. it had been arranged that ester's escort should see her safely set down at her uncle's door, as she had been unable to state the precise time of her arrival; and besides, as she was an entire stranger to her uncle's family, they could not determine any convenient plan for meeting each other at the depot. so ester was whirled through the streets at a dizzying rate, and, with eyes and ears filled with bewildering sights and sounds, was finally deposited before a great building, aglow with gas and gleaming with marble. mr. newton rang the bell, and ester, making confused adieus to him, was meantime ushered into a hall looking not unlike judge warren's best parlor. a sense of awe, not unmixed with loneliness and almost terror, stole over her as the man who opened the door stood waiting, after a civil--"whom do you wish to see, and what name shall i send up?" "whom _did_ she wish to see, and what _was_ her name, anyway. could this be her uncle's house? did she want to see any of them?" she felt half afraid of them all. suddenly the dignity and grandeur seemed to melt into gentleness before her, as the tiniest of little women appeared and a bright, young voice broke into hearty welcome: "is this really my cousin ester? and so you have come! how perfectly splendid. where is mr. newton? gone? why, john, you ought to have smuggled him in to dinner. we are _so_ much obliged to him for taking care of _you_. john, send those trunks up to my room. you'll room with me, ester, won't you? mother thought i ought to put you in solitary state in a spare chamber, but i couldn't. you see i have been so many years waiting for you, that now i want you every bit of the time." all this while she was giving her loving little pats and kisses, on their way up stairs, whither she at once carried the traveler. such a perfect gem of a room as that was into which she was ushered. ester's love of beauty seemed likely to be fully gratified; she cast one eager glance around her, took in all the charming little details in a second of time, and then gave her undivided attention to this wonderful person before her who certainly was, in veritable flesh and blood, the much-dreamed over, much-longed for cousin abbie. a hundred times had ester painted her portrait--tall and dark and grand, with a perfectly regal form and queenly air, hair black as midnight, coiled in heavy masses around her head, eyes blacker if possible than her hair. as to dress, it was very difficult to determine; sometimes it was velvet and diamonds, or, if the season would not possibly admit of that, then a rich, dark silk, never, by any chance, a material lighter than silk. this had been her picture. now she could not suppress a laugh as she noted the contrast between it and the original. she was even two inches shorter than ester herself, with a manner much more like a fairy's than a queen's; instead of heavy coils of black hair, there were little rings of brown curls clustering around a fair, pale forehead, and continually peeping over into the bluest of eyes; then her dress was the softest and quietest of muslins, with a pale-blue tint. ester's softly laugh chimed merrily; she turned quickly. "now have you found something to laugh at in me already?" she said gleefully. "why," said ester, forgetting to be startled over the idea that she should laugh at cousin abbie, "i'm only laughing to think how totally different you are from your picture." "from my picture!" "yes, the one which i had drawn of you in my own mind. i thought you were tall, and had black hair, and dressed in silks, like a grand lady." abbie laughed again. "don't condemn me to silks in such weather as this, at least," she said gaily. "mother thinks i am barbarous to summon friends to the city in august; but the circumstances are such that it could not well be avoided. so put on your coolest dress, and be as comfortable as possible." this question of how she should appear on this first evening had been one of ester's puzzles; it would hardly do to don her blue silk at once, and she had almost decided to choose the black one; but abbie's laugh and shrug of the shoulder had settled the question of silks. so now she stood in confused indecision before her open trunk. abbie came to the rescue. "shall i help you?" she said, coming forward "i'll not ring for maggie to-night, but be waiting maid myself. suppose i hang up some of these dresses? and which shall i leave for you? this looks the coolest," and she held up to ester's view the pink and white muslin which did duty as an afternoon dress at home. "well," said ester, with a relieved smile, "i'll take that." and she thought within her heart: "they are not so grand after all." presently they went down to dinner, and in view of the splendor of the dining-room, and sparkle of gas and the glitter of silver, she changed her mind again and thought them very grand indeed. her uncle's greeting was very cordial; and though ester found it impossible to realize that her aunt helen was actually three years older than her own mother, or indeed that she was a middle-aged lady at all, so very bright and gay and altogether unsuitable did her attire appear; yet on the whole she enjoyed the first two hours of her visit very much, and surprised and delighted herself at the ease with which she slipped into the many new ways which she saw around her. only once did she find herself very much confused; to her great astonishment and dismay she was served with a glass of wine. now ester, among the stanch temperance friends with whom she had hitherto passed her life, had met with no such trial of her temperance principles, which she supposed were sound and strong; yet here she was at her uncle's table, sitting near her aunt, who was contentedly sipping from her glass. would it be proper, under the circumstances, to refuse? yet would it be proper to do violence to her sense of right? ester had no pledge to break, except the pledge with her own conscience; and it is most sadly true that that sort of pledge does not seem to be so very binding in the estimation of some people. so ester sat and toyed with hers, and came to the very unwarrantable conclusion that what her uncle offered for her entertainment it must be proper for her to take! do ester's good sense the justice of understanding that she didn't believe any such thing; that she knew it was her own conscience by which she was to be judged, not her uncle's; that such smooth-sounding arguments honestly meant that whatever her uncle offered for her entertainment she had not the moral courage to refuse. so she raised the dainty wine-glass to her lips, and never once bethought herself to look at abbie and notice how the color mounted and deepened on her face, nor how her glass remained untouched beside her plate. on the whole ester was glad when all the bewildering ceremony of the dinner was concluded, and she, on the strength of her being wearied with her journey, was permitted to retire with abbie to their room. chapter ix. cousin abbie. "now i have you all to myself," that young lady said, with a happy smile, as she turned the key on the retreating maggie and wheeled an ottoman to ester's side. "where shall we commence? i have so very much to say and hear; i want to know all about aunt laura, and sadie, and the twins. oh, ester, you have a little brother; aren't you so glad he is a _little_ boy?" "why, i don't know," ester said, hesitatingly; then more decidedly, "no; i am always thinking how glad i should be if he were a young man, old enough to go out with me, and be company for me." "i know that is pleasant; but there are very serious drawbacks. now, there's our ralph, it is very pleasant to have him for company; and yet--well, ester, he isn't a christian, and it seems all the time to me that he is walking on quicksands. i am in one continual tremble for him, and i wish so often that he was just a little boy, no older than your brother alfred; then i could learn his tastes, and indeed mold them in a measure by having him with me a great deal, and it does seem to me that i could make religion appear such a pleasant thing to him, that he couldn't help seeking jesus for himself. don't you enjoy teaching alfred?" poor, puzzled ester! with what a matter-of-course air her cousin asked this question. could she possibly tell her that she sometimes never gave alfred a thought from one week's end to another, and that she never in her life thought of teaching him a single thing. "i am not his teacher," she said at length "i have no time for any such thing; he goes to school, you know, and mother helps him." "well," said abbie, with a thoughtful air, "i don't quite mean teaching, either; at least not lessons and things of that sort, though i think i should enjoy having him depend on me in all his needs; but i was thinking more especially of winning him to jesus; it seems so much easier to do it while one is young. perhaps he is a christian now; is he?" ester merely shook her head in answer. she could not look in those earnest blue eyes and say that she had never, by word or act, asked him to come to jesus. "well, that is what i mean; you have so much more chance than i, it seems to me. oh, my heart is so heavy for ralph! i am all alone. ester, do you know that neither my mother nor my father are christians, and our home influence is--; well, is not what a young man needs. he is very--gay they call it. there are his friends here in the city, and his friends in college,--none of them the style of people that _i_ like him to be with,--and only poor little me to stem the tide of worldliness all around him. there is one thing in particular that troubles me--he is, or rather he is not--," and here poor abbie stopped, and a little silence followed. after a moment she spoke again: "oh, ester, you will learn what i mean without my telling you; it is something in which i greatly need your help. i depend upon you; i have looked forward to your coming, on his account as well as on my own. i know it will be better for him." ester longed to ask what the "something" was, and what was expected of her; but the pained look on abbie's face deterred her, and she contented herself by saying: "where is he now?" "in college; coming next week. i long, on his account, to have a home of my own. i believe i can show him a style of life which will appear better to him than the one he is leading now." this led to a long talk on the coming wedding. "mother is very much disturbed that it should occur in august," abbie said; "and of course it is not pleasant as it would be later; but the trouble is, mr. foster is obliged to go abroad in september." "who is mr. foster? can't you be married if he isn't here?" "not very well," abbie said, with a bright little laugh. "you see he is the one who has asked me to marry him." "why! is he?" and ester laughed at her former question; then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, she asked: "is he a minister?" "oh dear no, he is only a merchant." "is he a--a christian?" was her next query, and so utterly unused was she to conversation on this subject, that she actually stammered over the simple sentence. such a bright, earnest face as was turned toward her at this question! "ester," said abbie quickly, "i couldn't marry a man who was not a christian." "why," ester asked, startled a little at the energy of her tone, "do you think it is wrong?" "perhaps not for every one. i think one's own carefully enlightened conscience should prayerfully decide the question; but it would be wrong for me. i am too weak; it would hinder my own growth in grace. i feel that i need all the human helps i can get. yes, mr. foster is an earnest christian." "do you suppose," said ester, growing metaphysical, "that if mr. foster were not a christian you would marry him?" a little shiver quivered through abbie's frame as she answered: "i hope i should have strength to do what i thought right; and i believe i should." "yes, you think so now," persisted ester, "because there is no danger of any such trial; but i tell you i don't believe, if you were brought to the test, that you would do any such thing." abbie's tone in reply was very humble. "perhaps not--i might miserably fail; and yet, ester, _he_ has said, 'my grace is sufficient for thee.'" then, after a little silence, the bright look returned to her face as she added: "i am very glad that i am not to be tried in that furnace; and do you know, ester, i never believed in making myself a martyr to what might have been, or even what _may_ be in the future; 'sufficient unto the day' is my motto. if it should ever be my duty to burn at the stake, i believe i should go to my savior and plead for the 'sufficient grace;' but as long as i have no such known trial before me, i don't know why i should be asking for what i do not need, or grow unhappy over improbabilities, though i _do_ pray every day to be prepared for whatever the future has for me." then the talk drifted back again to the various details connected with the wedding, until suddenly abbie came to her feet with a spring. "why, ester!" she exclaimed penitently, "what a thoughtless wretch i am! here have i been chattering you fairly into midnight, without a thought of your tired body and brain. this session must adjourn immediately. shall you and i have prayers together to-night? will it seem homelike to you? can you play i am sadie for just a little while?" "i should like it," ester answered faintly. "shall i read, as you are so weary?" and, without waiting for a reply, she unclasped the lids of her little bible. "are you reading the bible by course? where do you like best to read, for devotional reading i mean?" "i don't know that i have any choice?" ester's voice was fainter still. "haven't you? i have my special verses that i turn to in my various needs. where are you and sadie reading?" "no where," said ester desperately. abbie's face expressed only innocent surprise "don't you read together? you are roommates, aren't you? now i always thought it would be so delightful to have a nice little time, like family worship, in one's own room." "sadie doesn't care anything about these things, she isn't a christian," ester said at length. "oh, dear! isn't she?" what a very sad and troubled tone it was in which abbie spoke. "then you know something of my anxiety; and yet it is different. she is younger than you, and you can have her so much under your influence. at least it seems different to me. how prone we are to consider our own anxieties peculiarly trying." ester never remembered giving a half hour's anxious thought to this which was supposed to be an anxiety with her in all her life; but she did not say so, and abbie continued: "who is your particular christian friend, then?" what an exceedingly trying and troublesome talk this was to ester! what _was_ she to say? clearly nothing but the truth. "abbie, i haven't a friend in the world." "you poor, dear child; then we are situated very much alike after all--though i have dear friends outside of my own family; but what a heavy responsibility you must feel in your large household, and you the only christian. do you shrink from responsibility of that kind, ester? does it seem, sometimes, as if it would almost rush you?" "oh, there are some christians in the family," ester answered, preferring to avoid the last part of the sentence; "but then--" "they are half way christians, perhaps. i understand how that is; it really seems sadder to me than even thoughtless neglect." be it recorded that ester's conscience pricked her. this supposition on abbie's part was not true. dr. van anden, for instance, always had seemed to her most horribly and fanatically in earnest. but in what rank should she place this young, and beautiful, and wealthy city lady? surely, she could not be a fanatic? ester was troubled. "well," said abbie, "suppose i read you some of my sweet verses. do you know i always feel a temptation to read in john? there is so much in that book about jesus, and john seemed to love him so." ester almost laughed. what an exceedingly queer idea--a _temptation_ to read in any part of the bible. what a strange girl her cousin was. now the reading began. "this is my verse when i am discouraged--'wait on the lord; be of good courage and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, i say, on the lord.' isn't that reassuring. and then these two. oh, ester, these are wonderful! 'i have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions, and, as a cloud, thy sins; return unto me; for i have redeemed thee.' 'sing, o ye heavens; for the lord hath done it; shout, ye lower parts of the earth; break forth in singing, ye mountains, o forest, and every tree therein; for the lord hath redeemed jacob, and glorified himself in israel.' and in that glorious old prophet's book is my jubilant verse--'and the ransomed of the lord shall return and come to zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'" "now, ester, you are very tired, aren't you? and i keep dipping into my treasure like a thoughtless, selfish girl as i am. you and i will have some precious readings out of this book, shall we not? now i'll read you my sweet good-night psalm. don't you think the psalms are wonderful, ester?" and without waiting for reply the low-toned, musical voice read on through that marvel of simplicity and grandeur, the st psalm: "i will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. my help cometh from the lord which made heaven and earth. he will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. behold, he that keepeth israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. the lord is thy keeper, the lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. the sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. the lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. the lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth, and even for evermore." "ester, will you pray?" questioned her cousin, as the reading ceased, and she softly closed her tiny book. ester gave her head a nervous, hurried shake. "then shall i? or, dear ester, would you prefer to be alone?" "no," said ester; "i should like to hear you?" and so they knelt, and abbie's simple, earnest, tender prayer ester carried with her for many a day. after both heads were resting on their pillows, and quiet reigned in the room, ester's eyes were wide open. her cousin abbie had astonished her; she was totally unlike the cousin abbie of her dreams in every particular; in nothing more so than the strangely childlike matter-of-course way in which she talked about this matter of religion. ester had never in her life heard any one talk like that, except, perhaps, that minister who had spoken to her in the depot. his religion seemed not unlike abbie's. thinking of him, she suddenly addressed abbie again. "there was a minister in the depot to-day, and he spoke to me;" then the entire story of the man with his tract, and the girl with blue ribbons, and the old lady, and the young minister, and bits of the conversation, were gone over for abbie's benefit. and abbie listened, and commented, and enjoyed every word of it, until the little clock on the mantel spoke in silver tones, and said, one, two. then abbie grew penitent again. "positively, ester, i won't speak again: you will be sleepy all day to-morrow, and you needn't think i shall give you a chance even to wink. good-night." "good-night," repeated ester; but she still kept her eyes wide open. her journey, and her arrival, and abbie, and the newness and strangeness of everything around her, had banished all thought of sleep. so she went over in detail everything which had occurred that day but persistently her thoughts returned to the question which had so startled her, coming from the lips of a stranger, and to the singleness of heart which seemed to possess her cousin abbie. "_was_ she a fellow-pilgrim after all?" she queried. if so, what caused the difference between abbie and herself. it was but a few hours since she first beheld her cousin; and yet she distinctly _felt_ the difference between them in that matter. "we are as unlike," thought ester, turning restlessly on her pillow. "well, as unlike as two people can be." what _would_ abbie say could she know that it was actually months since ester had read as much connectedly in her bible as she had heard read that evening? yes, ester had gone backward, even as far as that! farther! what would abbie say to the fact that there were many, many prayerless days in her life? not very many, perhaps, in which she had not used a form of prayer; but their names were legion in which she had risen from her knees unhelped and unrefreshed; in which she knew that she had not _prayed_ a single one of the sentences which she had been repeating. and just at this point she was stunned with a sudden thought--a thought which too often escapes us all. she would not for the world, it seemed to her, have made known to abbie just how matters stood with her; and yet, and yet--christ knew it all. she lay very still, and breathed heavily. it came to her with all the thrill of an entirely new idea. then that unwearied and ever-watchful satan came to her aid. "oh, well," said he, "your cousin abbie's surroundings are very different from yours. give you all the time which she has at her disposal, and i dare say you would be quite as familiar with your bible as she is with hers. what does she know about the petty vexations and temptations, and bewildering, ever-pressing duties which every hour of every day beset your path? the circumstances are very different. her life is in the sunshine, yours in the shadow. besides, you do not know her; it is easy enough to talk; _very_ easy to read a chapter in the bible; but after all there are other things quite as important, and it is more than likely that your cousin is not quite perfect yet." ester did not know that this was the soothing lullaby of the old serpent. well for her if she had, and had answered it with that solemn, all-powerful "get thee behind me, satan." but she gave her own poor brain the benefit of every thought; and having thus lulled, and patted, and coaxed her half-roused and startled conscience into quiet rest again, she turned on her pillow and went to sleep. chapter x. ester's minister. ester was dreaming that the old lady on the cars had become a fairy, and that her voice sounded like a silver bell, when she suddenly opened her eyes, and found that it was either the voice of the marble clock on the mantel, or of her cousin abbie, who was bending over her. "do you feel able to get up to breakfast, ester dear, or had you rather lie and rest?" "breakfast!" echoed ester, in a sleepy bewilderment, raising herself on one elbow, and gazing at her cousin. "yes, breakfast!"--this with a merry laugh "did you suppose that people in new york lived without such inconveniences?" oh! to be sure, she was in new york, and ester repeated the laugh--it had sounded so queerly to hear any one talk to her about getting up to breakfast; it had not seemed possible that that meal could be prepared without her assistance. "yes, certainly, i'll get up at once. have i kept you waiting, abbie?" "oh no, not at all; generally we breakfast at nine, but mother gave orders last night to delay until half-past nine this morning." ester turned to the little clock in great amazement; it was actually ten minutes to nine! what an idea! she never remembered sleeping so late in her life before. why, at home the work in the dining-room and kitchen must all be done by this time, and sadie was probably making beds. poor sadie! what a time she would have! "she will learn a little about life while i am away," thought ester complacently, as she stood before the mirror, and pinned the dainty frill on her new pink cambric wrapper, which sadie's deft fingers had fashioned for her. ester had declined the assistance of maggie--feeling that though she knew perfectly well how to make her own toilet, she did _not_ know how to receive assistance in the matter. "now i will leave you for a little," abbie said, taking up her tiny bible. "ester, where is your bible? i suppose you have it with you?" ester looked annoyed. "i don't believe i have," she said hurriedly. "i packed in such haste, you see, and i don't remember putting it in at all." "oh, i am sorry--you will miss it so much! do you have a thousand little private marks in your bible that nobody else understands? i have a great habit of reading in that way. well, i'll bring you one from the library that you may mark just as much as you please." ester sat herself down, with a very complacent air, beside the open window, with the bible which had just been brought her, in her lap. clearly she had been left alone that she might have opportunity for private devotion, and she liked the idea very much; to be sure, she had not been in the habit of reading in the bible in the morning, but that, she told herself, was simply because she never had time hardly to breathe in the mornings at home; there she had beefsteak to cook, and breakfast rolls to attend to, she said disdainfully, as if beefsteak and breakfast rolls were the most contemptible articles in the world, entirely beneath the notice of a rational being; but now she was in a very different atmosphere; and at nine o'clock of a summer morning was attired in a very becoming pink wrapper, finished with the whitest of frills; and sat at her window, a young lady of elegant leisure, waiting for the breakfast-bell. of course she could read a chapter in the bible now, and should enjoy it quite as much as abbie did. she had never learned that happy little habit of having a much-used, much-worn, much-loved bible for her own personal and private use; full of pencil marks and sacred meanings, grown dear from association, and teeming with memories of precious communings. she had one, of course--a nice, proper-looking bible--and if it chanced to be convenient when she was ready to read, she used it; if not, she took sadie's, or picked up julia's from under the table, or the old one on a shelf in the corner, with one cover and part of revelation missing--it mattered not one whit to her which--for there were no pencil marks, and no leaves turned down, and no special verses to find. she thought the idea of marking certain verses an excellent one, and deciding to commence doing so at once, cast about her for a pencil. there was one on the round table, by the other window; but there were also many other things. abbie's watch lay ticking softly in its marble and velvet bed, and had to be examined and sighed over; and abbie's diamond pin in the jewel-case also demanded attention--then there were some blue and gold volumes to be peeped at, and longfellow received more than a peep; then, most witching of all, "say and seal," in two volumes--the very books sadie had borrowed once, and returned, before ester had a chance to discover how faith managed about the ring. longfellow and the bible slid on the table together, and "say and seal" was eagerly seized upon, just to be glanced over, and the glances continued until there pealed a bell through the house; and, with a start, and a confused sense of having neglected her opportunities, this christian young lady followed her cousin down stairs, to meet all the temptations and bewilderments of a new day, unstrengthened by communion with either her bible or her savior. that breakfast, in all its details, was a most bewitching affair. ester felt that she could never enjoy that meal again, at a table that was not small and round, and covered with damask nor drink coffee that had not first flowed gracefully down from a silver urn. as for aunt helen, she could have dispensed with her; she even caught herself drawing unfavorable comparisons between her and the patient, hardworking mother far away. "where is uncle ralph?" she asked suddenly, becoming conscious that there were only three, when last evening there were four. "gone down town some hours ago," abbie answered. "he is a business-man, you know, and can not keep such late hours." "but does he go without breakfast?" "no--takes it at seven, instead of nine, like our lazy selves." "he used to breakfast at a restaurant down town, like other business-men," further explained aunt helen, observing the bewildered look of this novice in city-life. "but it is one of abbie's recent whims that she can make him more comfortable at home, so they rehearse the interesting scene of breakfast by gas-light every morning." abbie's clear laugh rang out merrily at this. "my dear mother, don't, i beg of you, insult the sun in that manner! ester, fancy gas-light at seven o'clock on an august morning!" "do you get down stairs at seven o'clock?" was ester's only reply. "yes, at six, or, at most, half-past. you see, if i am to make father as comfortable at home as he would be at a restaurant, i must flutter around a little." "burns her cheeks and her fingers over the stove," continued aunt helen in a disgusted tone, "in order that her father may have burnt toast prepared by her hands." "you've blundered in one item, mother," was abbie's good-humored reply. "my toast is _never_ burnt, and only this morning father pronounced it perfect." "oh, she is developing!" answered mrs. ried, with a curious mixture of annoyance and amusement in look and tone. "if mr. foster fails in business soon, as i presume he will, judging from his present rate of proceeding, we shall find her advertising for the position of first-class cook in a small family." if abbie felt wounded or vexed over this thrust at mr. foster, it showed itself only by a slight deepening of the pink on her cheek, as she answered in the brightest of tones: "if i do, mother, and you engage me, i'll promise you that the eggs shall not be boiled as hard as these are." all this impressed two thoughts on ester's mind--one, that abbie, for some great reason unknown to, and unimagined by herself, actually of her own free will, arose early every morning, and busied herself over preparations for her father's breakfast; the other, that abbie's mother said some disagreeable things to her, in a disagreeable way--a way that would exceedingly provoke _her_, and that she _wouldn't endure_, she said to herself, with energy. these two thoughts so impressed themselves, that when she and abbie were alone again, they led her to ask two questions: "why do you get breakfast at home for your father, abbie? is it necessary?" "no; only i like it, and he likes it. you see, he has very little time to spend at home, and i like that little to be homelike; besides, ester, it is my one hour of opportunity with my father. i almost _never_ see him alone at any other time, and i am constantly praying that the spirit will make use of some little word or act of mine to lead him to the cross." there was no reply to be made to this, so ester turned to the other question: "what does your mother mean by her reference to mr. foster?" "she thinks some of his schemes of benevolence are on too large a scale to be prudent. but he is a very prudent man, and doesn't seem to think so at all." "doesn't it annoy you to have her speak in that manner about him?" the ever-ready color flushed into abbie's cheeks again, and, after a moment's hesitation, she answered gently: "i think it would, ester, if she were not my _own mother_, you know." another rebuke. ester felt vexed anyway. this new strange cousin of hers was going to prove painfully good. but her first day in new york, despite the strangeness of everything, was full of delight to her. they did not go out, as ester was supposed to be wearied from her journey, though, in reality, she never felt better; and she reveled all day in a sense of freedom--of doing exactly what she pleased, and indeed of doing nothing; this last was an experience so new and strange to her, that it seemed delightful. ester's round of home duties had been so constant and pressing, the rebound was extreme; it seemed to her that she could never bake any more pies and cakes in that great oven, and she actually shuddered over the thought that, if she were at home, she would probably be engaged in ironing, while maggie did the heavier work. she went to fanning most vigorously as this occurred to her, and sank back among the luxurious cushions of abbie's easy chair, as if exhausted; then she pitied herself most industriously, and envied abbie more than ever, and gave no thought at all to mother and sadie, who were working so much harder than usual, in order that she might sit here at ease. at last she decided to dismiss every one of these uncomfortable thoughts, to forget that she had ever spent an hour of her life in a miserable, hot kitchen, but to give herself entirely and unreservedly to the charmed life, which stretched out before her for three beautiful weeks. "three weeks is quite a little time, after all," she told herself hopefully. "three weeks ago i hadn't the least idea of being here; and who knows what may happen in the next three weeks? ah! sure enough, ester, who knows?" "when am i to see mr. foster?" she inquired of abbie as they came up together from the dining-room after lunch. "why, you will see him to-night, if you are not too tired to go out with me. i was going to ask about that." "i'm ready for anything; don't feel as if i ever experienced the meaning of that word," said ester briskly, rejoiced at the prospect of going anywhere. "well, then, i shall carry you off to our thursday evening prayer-meeting--it's just _our_ meeting, you see--we teachers in the mission--there are fifty of us, and we do have the most delightful times. it is like a family--rather a large family, perhaps you think--but it doesn't seem so when we come on sabbath, from the great congregation, and gather in our dear little chapel--we seem like a company of brothers and sisters, shutting ourselves in at home, to talk and pray together for a little, before we go out into the world again. is thursday your regular prayer-meeting evening, ester?" now it would have been very difficult for ester to tell when _her_ regular prayer-meeting evening was, as it was so long ago that she grew out of the habit of regularly attending, that now she scarcely ever gave it a thought. but she had sufficient conscience left to be ashamed of this state of things, and to understand that abbie referred to the church prayer-meeting, so she answered simply--"no; wednesday." "that is our church prayer-meeting night. i missed it last evening because i wanted to welcome you. and tuesday is our bible-class night." "do you give three evenings a week to religious meetings, abbie?" "yes," said abbie with softly glee; "isn't it splendid? i appreciate my privileges, i assure you; so many people _could not_ do it." "and so many people _would not_" ester thought. so they were not in to dinner with the family, but took theirs an hour earlier; and with david, whom abbie called her body-guard, for escort, made their way to abbie's dear little chapel, which proved to be a good-sized church, very prettily finished and furnished. that meeting, from first to last, was a succession of surprises to ester, commencing with the leader, and being announced to abbie in undertone: "your minister is the very man who spoke to me yesterday in the depot." abbie nodded and smiled her surprise at this information; and ester looked about her. presently another whisper: "why, abbie, there is the blue-ribboned girl i told you about, sitting in the third seat from the front." "that," said abbie, looking and whispering back, "is fanny ames; one of our teachers." presently ester set to work to select mr. foster from the rows of young men who were rapidly filling the front seats in the left aisle. "i believe that one in glasses and brown kids is he," she said to herself, regarding him curiously; and as if to reward her penetration he rose suddenly and came over, book in hand, to the seat directly in front of where they were sitting. "good evening, abbie," was his greeting. "we want to sing this hymn, and have not the tune. can you lead it without the notes?" "why, yes," answered abbie slowly, and with a little hesitation. "that is, if you will help me." "we'll all help," he said, smiling and returning to his seat. "yes, i'm sure that is he," commented ester. then the meeting commenced; it was a novel one. one person at least had never attended any just like it. instead of the chapter of proper length, which ester thought all ministers selected for public reading, this reader read just three verses, and he did not even rise from his seat to do it, nor use the pulpit bible, but read from a bit of a book which he took from his pocket. then the man in spectacles started a hymn, which ester judged was the one which had no notes attached from the prompt manner in which abbie took up the very first word. "now," said the leader briskly, "before we pray let us have requests." and almost before he had concluded the sentence a young man responded. "remember, especially, a boy in my class, who seems disposed to turn every serious word into ridicule." "what a queer subject for prayer," ester thought. "remember my little brother, who is thinking earnestly of those things," another gentleman said, speaking quickly, as if he realized that he must hasten or lose his chance. "pray for every one of my class. i want them all." and at this esther actually started, for the petition came from the lips of the blue-ribboned fanny in the corner. a lady actually taking part in a prayer-meeting when gentlemen were present! how very improper. she glanced around her nervously, but no one else seemed in the least surprised or disturbed; and indeed another young lady immediately followed her with a similar request. "now," said the leader, "let us pray." and that prayer was so strange in its sounding to ester. it did not commence by reminding god that he was the maker and ruler of the universe, or that he was omnipotent and omnipresent and eternal, or any of the solemn forms of prayer to which her ears were used, but simply: "oh, dear savior, receive these petitions which we bring. turn to thyself the heart of the lad who ridicules the efforts of his teacher; lead the little brother into the strait and narrow way; gather that entire class into thy heart of love"--and thus for each separate request a separate petition; and as the meeting progressed it grew more strange every moment to ester. each one seemed to have a word that he was eager to utter; and the prayers, while very brief, were so pointed as to be almost startling. they sang, too, a great deal, only a verse at a time, and whenever they seemed to feel like it. her amazement reached its hight when she felt a little rustle beside her, and turned in time to see the eager light in abbie's eyes as she said: "one of my class has decided for christ." "good news," responded the leader. "don't let us forget this item of thanksgiving when we pray." as for ester she was almost inclined not to believe her ears. had her cousin abbie actually "spoken in meeting?" she was about to sink into a reverie over this, but hadn't time, for at this point the leader arose. "i am sorry," said he, "to cut the thread that binds us, but the hour is gone. another week will soon pass, though, and, god willing, we shall take up the story--sing." and a soft, sweet chant stole through the room: "let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense; and the lifting of my hands as evening sacrifice." then the little company moved with a quiet cheerfulness toward the door. "have you enjoyed the evening?" abbie asked in an eager tone, as they passed down the aisle. "why, yes, i believe so; only it was rather queer." "queer, was it? how?" "oh, i'll tell you when we get home. your minister is exactly behind us, abbie, and i guess he wants to speak with you." there was a bright flush on abbie's face, and a little sparkle in her eye, as she turned and gave her hand to the minister, and then said in a demure and softly tone: "cousin ester, let me make you acquainted with my friend, mr. foster." chapter xi. the new boarder. "i don't know what to decide, really," mrs. ried said thoughtfully, standing, with an irresolute air, beside the pantry door. "sadie, hadn't i better make these pies?" "is that the momentous question which you can't decide, mother?" mrs. ried laughed. "not quite; it is about the new boarder. we have room enough for another certainly, and seven dollars a week is quite an item just now. if ester were at home, i shouldn't hesitate." "mother, if i weren't the meekest and most enduring of mortals, i should be hopelessly vexed by this time at the constancy with which your thoughts turn to ester; it is positively insulting, as if i were not doing remarkably. do you put anything else in apple-pies? i never mean to have one, by the way, in my house. i think they're horrid; crust--apples--nutmeg--little lumps of butter all over it. is there anything else, mother, before i put the top on?" "sometimes i sweeten mine a little," mrs. ried answered demurely. "oh, sure enough; it was that new boarder that took all thoughts of sweetness out of me. how much sugar, mother? do let him come. we are such a stupid family now, it is time we had a new element in it; besides, you know i broke the largest platter yesterday, and his seven dollars will help buy another. i wish he was anything but a doctor, though; one ingredient of that kind is enough in a family, especially of the stamp which we have at present." "sadie," said mrs. ried gravely and reprovingly; "i never knew a young man for whom i have a greater respect than i have for dr. van anden." "yes, ma'am," answered sadie, with equal gravity; "i have an immense respect for him i assure you, and so i have for the president, and i feel about as intimate with the one as the other. i hope dr. douglass will be delightfully wild and wicked. how will dr. van anden enjoy the idea of a rival?" "i spoke of it to him yesterday. i told him we would't give the matter another thought if it would be in any way unpleasant to him. i thought we owed him that consideration in return for all his kindness to us; but he assured me that it could make not the slightest difference to him." "do let him come, then. i believe i need another bed to make; i'm growing thin for want of exercise, and, by the way, that suggests an item in his favor; being a doctor, he will be out all night occasionally, perhaps, and the bed won't need making so often. mother, i do believe i didn't put a speck of soda in that cake i made this morning. what will that do to it? or, more properly speaking, what will it _not_ do, inasmuch as it is not there to _do_? as for ester, i shall consider it a personal insult if you refer to her again, when i am so magnificently filling her place." and this much enduring mother laughed and groaned at nearly the same time. poor ester never forgot the soda, nor indeed anything else, in her life; but then sadie was so overflowing with sparkle and good humor. finally the question was decided, and the new boarder came, and was duly installed in the family; and thence commenced a new era in sadie's life. merry clerks and schoolboys she counted among her acquaintances by the score. grave, dignified, slightly taciturn men of the dr. van anden stamp she numbered also among her friends; but never one quite like dr. douglass. this easy, graceful, courteous gentleman, who seemed always to have just the right thing to say or do, at just the right moment; who was neither wild nor sober; who seemed the furthest possible remove from wicked, yet who was never by any chance disagreeably good. his acquaintance with sadie progressed rapidly. a new element had come to mix in with her life. the golden days wherein the two sisters had been much together, wherein the christian sister might have planted much seed for the master in sadie's bright young heart, had all gone by. perchance that sleeping christian, nestled so cosily among the cushions in cousin abbie's morning-room, might have been startled and aroused, could she have realized that days like those would never come back to her; that being misspent they had passed away; that a new worker had come to drop seed into the unoccupied heart; that never again would sadie be as fresh, and as guileless, and as easily won, as in those days which she had let slip in idle, aye, worse than idle, slumber. sadie sealed and directed a letter to ester and ran with it down stairs. dr. douglass stood in the doorway, hat in hand. "shall i have the pleasure of being your carrier?" he said courteously. "do you suppose you are to be trusted?" sadie questioned, as she quietly deposited the letter in his hat. "that depends in a great measure on whether you repose trust in me. the world is safer in general than we are inclined to think it. who lives in that little birdsnest of a cottage just across the way?" "a dear old gentleman, mr. vane," sadie answered, her voice taking a tender tone, as it always did when any chance word reminded her of florence. "that is he standing in the gateway. doesn't he look like a grand old patriarch?" as they looked dr. van anden drove suddenly from around the corner, and reined in his horses in front of the opposite gateway. they could hear his words distinctly. "mr. vane, let me advise you to avoid this evening breeze; it is blowing up strongly from the river." "is dr. van anden the old gentleman's nurse, or guardian, or what?" questioned sadie's companion. "physician," was her brief reply. then, after a moment, she laughed mischievously. "you don't like dr. van anden, dr. douglass?" "i! oh, yes, i like him; the trouble is, he doesn't like me, for which he is not to blame, to be sure. probably he can not help it. i have in some way succeeded in gaining his ill-will. why do you think i am not one of his admirers?" "oh," answered this rude and lawless girl, "i thought it would be very natural for you to be slightly jealous of him, professionally, you know." if her object was to embarrass or annoy dr. douglass, apparently she did not gain her point. he laughed good humoredly as he replied: "professionally, he is certainly worthy of envy; i regard him as a very skillful physician, miss ried." ere sadie could reply the horses were stopped before the door, and dr. van anden addressed her: "sadie, do you want to take a ride?" now, although sadie had no special interest in, or friendship for, dr. van anden, she did exceedingly like his horses, and cultivated their acquaintance whenever she had an opportunity. so within five minutes after this invitation was received she was skimming over the road in a high state of glee. sadie marked that night afterward as the last one in which she rode after those black ponies for many a day. the doctor seemed more at leisure than usual, and in a much more talkative mood; so it was quite a merry ride, until he broke a moment's silence by an abrupt question: "sadie, haven't your mother and you always considered me a sincere friend to your family?" sadie's reply was prompt and to the point. "certainly, dr. van anden; i assure you i have as much respect for, and confidence in, you as i should have had for my grandfather, if i had ever known him." "that being the case," continued the doctor, gravely, "you will give me credit for sincerity and earnestness in what i am about to say. i want to give you a word of warning concerning dr. douglass. he is not a man whom _i_ can respect; not a man with whom i should like to see my sister on terms of friendship. i have known him well and long, sadie; therefore i speak." sadie ried was never fretful, never petulant, and very rarely angry; but when she was, it was a genuine case of unrestrained rage, and woe to the individual who fell a victim to her blazing eyes and sarcastic tongue. to-night dr. van anden was that victim. what right had he to arraign her before him, and say with whom she should, or should not, associate, as if he were indeed her very grandfather! what business had he to think that she was too friendly with dr. douglass! with the usual honesty belonging to very angry people, it had not once occurred to her that dr. van anden had said and done none of these things. when she felt that her voice was sufficiently steady, she spoke: "i am happy to be able to reassure you, dr. van anden, you are _very_ kind--extremely so; but as yet i really feel myself in no danger from dr. douglass' fascinations, however remarkable they may be. my mother and i enjoy excellent health at present, so you need have no anxiety as regards our choice of physicians, although it is but natural that you should feel nervous, perhaps; but you will pardon me for saying that i consider your interference with my affairs unwarrantable and uncalled for." if dr. van anden desired to reply to this insulting harangue, there was no opportunity, for at this moment they whirled around the corner and were at home. sadie flung aside her hat with an angry vehemence, and, seating herself at the piano, literally stormed the keys, while the doctor re-entered his carriage and quietly proceeded to his evening round of calls. what a whirlwind of rage there was in sadie's heart! what earthly right had this man whom she _detested_ to give _her_ advice? was she a child, to be commanded by any one? what right had any one to speak in that way of dr. douglass? he was a gentleman, _certainly_, much more of a one than dr. van anden had shown himself to be--and she liked him; yes, and she would like him, in spite of a whole legion of envious doctors. a light step crossed the hall and entered the parlor. sadie merely raised her eyes long enough to be certain that dr. douglass stood beside her, and continued her playing. he leaned over the piano and listened. "had you a pleasant ride?" he asked, as the tone of the music lulled a little. "charming." sadie's voice was full of emphasis and sarcasm. "i judged, by the style of music which you were playing, that there must have been a hurricane." "nothing of the sort; only a little paternal advice." "indeed! have you been taken into his kindly care? i congratulate you." sadie was still very angry, or she would never have been guilty of the shocking impropriety of her next remark. but it is a lamentable fact that people will say and do very strange things when they are angry--things of which they have occasion to repent in cooler moments. fixing her bright eyes full and searchingly on dr. douglass, she said abruptly: "he was warning me against the impropriety of associating with your dangerous self." a look as of sadness and deep pain crossed dr. douglass' face, and he thought aloud, rather than said: "is that man determined i shall have no friends?" sadie was touched; she struck soft, sweet chords with a slow and gentle movement as she asked: "what is your offense in his eyes, dr. douglass?" then, indeed, dr. douglass seemed embarrassed; maintaining, though, a sort of hesitating dignity as he attempted a reply. "why--i--he--i would rather not tell you, miss ried, it sounds badly." then, with a little, slightly mournful laugh--"and that half admission sounds badly, too; worse than the simple truth, perhaps. well, then, i had the misfortune to cross his path professionally, once; a little matter, a slight mistake, not worth repeating--neither would i repeat it if it were, in honor to him. he is a man of skill and since then has risen high; one would not suppose that he would give that little incident of the past a thought now; but he seems never to have forgiven me." the music stopped entirely, and sadie's great truthful eyes were fixed in horror on his face. "is it possible," she said at length, "that _that_ is all, and he can bear such determined ill-will toward you? and they call him an earnest christian!" at which remark dr. douglass laughed a low, quick laugh, as if he found it quite impossible to restrain his mirth, and then became instantly grave, and said: "i beg your pardon." "for what, dr. douglass; and why did you laugh?" "for laughing; and i laughed because i could not restrain a feeling of amusement at your innocently connecting his unpleasant state of mind with his professions of christianity." "should they not be connected?" "well, that depends upon how much importance you attach to them." "dr. douglass, what do you mean?" "treason, i suspect, viewed from your standpoint; and therefore it would be much more proper for me not to talk about it." "but i want you to talk about it. do you mean to say that you have no faith in any one's religion?" "how much have you?" "dr. douglass, that is a very yankee way of answering a question." "i know; but it is the easiest way of reaching my point; so i repeat: how much faith have you in these christian professions? or, in other words, how many professing christians do you know who are particularly improved in your estimation by their professions?" the old questioning of sadie's own heart brought before her again! oh, christian sister, with whom so many years of her life had been spent, with whom she had been so closely connected, if she could but have turned to you, and remembering your earnest life, your honest endeavors toward the right, your earnest struggles with sin and self; the evident marks of the lord jesus all about you; and, remembering this, have quelled the tempter in human form, who stood waiting for a verdict, with a determined--"i have known _one_"--what might not have been gained for your side that night? chapter xii. three people. as it was she hesitated, and thought--not of ester, _her_ life had not been such as to be counted for a moment--of her mother. well, mrs. ried's religion had been of a negative rather than of a positive sort, at least outwardly. she never spoke much of these matters, and sadie positively did not know whether she ever prayed or not. how was she to decide whether the gentle, patient life was the outgrowth of religion in her heart, or whether it was a natural sweetness of disposition and tenderness of feeling? then there was dr. van anden, an hour ago she would surely have said him, but now it was impossible; so as the silence, and the peculiar smile on dr. douglass' face, grew uncomfortable, she answered hurriedly: "i don't know many christian people, doctor." and then, more truthfully: "but i don't consider those with whom i am acquainted in any degree remarkable; yet at the same time i don't choose to set down the entire christian world as a company of miserable hypocrites." "not at all," the doctor answered quickly. "i assure you i have many friends among that class of people whom i respect and esteem; but since you have pressed me to continue this conversation i must frankly confess to you that my esteem is not based on the fact that they are called christians. i--but, miss ried, this is entirely unlike, and beneath me, to interfere with and shake your innocent, trusting faith. i would not do it for the world." sadie interrupted him with an impatient shake of her head. "don't talk nonsense, dr. douglass, if you can help it. i don't feel innocent at all, just now at least, and i have no particular faith to shake; if i had i hope you would not consider it such a flimsy material as to be shaken by any thing which you have said as yet. i certainly have heard no arguments. occasionally i think of these matters, and i have been surprised, and not a little puzzled, to note the strange inconsistency existing between the profession and practice of these people. if you have any explanation i should like to hear it; that is all." clearly this man must use at least the semblance of sense if he were going to continue the conversation. his answer was grave and guarded. "i have offered no arguments, nor do i mean to. i was apologizing for having touched upon this matter at all. i am unfortunate in my belief, or rather disbelief; but it is no part of my intention to press it upon others. i incline to the opinion that there are some very good, nice, pleasant people in the world, whom the accidents of birth and education have taught to believe that they are aided in this goodness and pleasantness by a more than human power, and this belief rather helps than otherwise to mature their naturally sweet, pure lives. my explanation of their seeming inconsistencies is, that they have never realized the full moral force of the rules which they profess to follow. i divide the world into two distinct classes--the so-called christian world, i mean. those whom i have just named constitute one class, and the other is composed of unmitigated hypocrites. now my friend, i have talked longer on this subject than i like, or than i ought. i beg you will forget all i have said, and give me some music to close the scene." sadie laughed, and ran her fingers lightly over the keys; but she asked: "in which class do you place your brother in the profession, doctor?" dr. douglass drew his shoulder into a very slight though expressive shrug, as he answered. "it is exceedingly proper, and also rather rare, for a physician to be eminent not only for skill but piety, and my brother practitioner is a wise and wary man, who--" and here he paused abruptly--"miss ried," he added after a moment, in an entirely changed tone: "which of us is at fault to-night, you or myself, that i seem bent on making uncharitable remarks? i really did not imagine myself so totally depraved. and to be serious, i am very sorry that this style of conversation was ever commenced. i did not intend it. i do not believe in interfering with the beliefs, or controverting the opinions of others." apparently sadie had recovered her good humor, for her laugh was as light and careless as usual when she made answer: "don't distress yourself unnecessarily, dr. douglass; you haven't done me the least harm. i assure you i don't believe a word you say, and i do you the honor of believing that you don't credit more than two-thirds of it yourself. now i'm going to play you the stormiest piece of music you ever heard in your life." and the keys rattled and rang under her touch, and drew half a dozen loungers from the halls to the parlor, and effectually ended the conversation. three people belonging to that household held each a conversation with their own thoughts that night, which to finite eyes would have aided the right wonderfully had it been said before the assembled three, instead of in the quiet and privacy of their own rooms. sadie had calmed down, and, as a natural consequence, was somewhat ashamed of herself; and as she rolled up and pinned, and otherwise snugged her curls into order for the night, scolded herself after this fashion: "sadie ried, you made a simpleton of yourself in that speech which you made to dr. van anden to-night; because you think a man interferes with what doesn't concern him, is no reason why you should grow flushed and angry, and forget that you're a lady. you said some very rude and insulting words, and you know your poor dear mother would tell you so if she knew any thing about it, which she won't; that's one comfort; and besides you have probably offended those delightful black ponies, and it will be forever before they will take you another ride, and that's worse than all the rest. but who would think of dr. van anden being such a man? i wish dr. douglass had gone to europe before he told me--it was rather pleasant to believe in the extreme goodness of somebody. i wonder how much of that nonsense which dr. douglass talks he believes, any way? perhaps he is half right; only i'm not going to think any such thing, because it would be wicked, and i'm good. and because"--in a graver tone, and with a little reverent touch of an old worn book which lay on her bureau--"this is my father's bible, and he lived and died by its precepts." up another flight of stairs, in his own room, dr. douglass lighted his cigar, fixed himself comfortably in his arm-chair, with his feet on the dressing-table, and, between the puffs, talked after this fashion: "sorry we ran into this miserable train of talk to-night; but that young witch leads a man on so. i'm glad she has a decided mind of her own; one feels less conscience-stricken. i'm what they call a skeptic myself, but after all, i don't quite like to see a lady become one. _i_ shan't lead her astray. i wouldn't have said any thing to-night if it hadn't been for that miserable hypocrite of a van anden; the fellow must learn not to pitch into me if he wants to be let alone; but i doubt if he accomplished much this time. what a witch she is!" and dr. douglass removed his cigar long enough to give vent to a hearty laugh in remembrance of some of sadie's remarks. just across the hall dr. van anden sat before his table, one hand partly shading his eyes from the gaslight while he read. and the words which he read were these: "o let not the oppressed returned ashamed: let the poor and needy praise thy name. arise, o god, plead thine own cause: remember how the foolish man reproacheth thee daily. forget not the voice of thine enemies; the tumult of those that rise up against thee increaseth continually." something troubled the doctor to-night; his usually grave face was tinged with sadness. presently he arose and paced with slow measured tread up and down the room. "i ought to have done it," he said at last. "i ought to have told her mother that he was in many ways an unsafe companion for sadie, especially in this matter; he is a very cautious, guarded, fascinating skeptic--all the more fascinating because he will be careful not to shock her taste with any boldly-spoken errors. i should have warned them--how came i to shrink so miserably from my duty? what mattered it that they would be likely to ascribe a wrong motive to my caution? it was none the less my duty on that account." and the sad look deepened on his face as he marched slowly back and forth; but he was nearer a solution of his difficulties than was either of those others for at last he came over to his chair again, and sank before it on his knees. now, let us understand these three people each of them, in their separate ways, were making mistakes. sadie had said that she was not going to believe any of the nonsense which dr. douglass talked; she honestly supposed that she was not influenced in the least. and yet she was mistaken; the poison had entered her soul. as the days passed on, she found herself more frequently caviling over the shortcomings of professing christians; more quick to detect their mistakes and failures; more willing to admit the half-uttered thought that this entire matter might be a smooth-sounding fable. sadie was the child of many prayers, and her father's much-used bible lay on her dressing-table, speaking for him, now that his tongue was silent in the grave; so she did not _quite_ yield to the enemy--but she was walking in the way of temptation--and the christian tongues around her, which the grave had _not_ silenced, yet remained as mute as though their lips were already sealed; and so the path in which sadie walked grew daily broader and more dangerous. then there was dr. douglass--not by any means the worst man that the world can produce. he was, or fancied himself to be, a skeptic. like many a young man, wise in his own conceit, he had no very distinct idea of what he was skeptical about, nor to what hights of illogical nonsense his own supposed views, carried out, would lead him; like many another, too, he had studied rhetoric, and logic, and mathematics, and medicine, thoroughly and well; he would have hesitated long, and studied hard, and pondered deeply, before he had ventured to dispute an established point in surgery. and yet, with the inconsistent folly of the age, he had absurdly set his seal to the falsity of the bible, after giving it, at most, but a careless reading here and there, and without having ever once honestly made use of the means by which god has promised to enlighten the seekers after knowledge. and yet, his eyes being blinded, he did not realize how absurd and unreasonable, how utterly foolish, was his conduct. he thought himself sincere; he had no desire to lead sadie astray from her early education, and, like most skeptical natures, he quite prided himself upon the care with which he guarded his peculiar views, although i could never see why that was being any other than miserably selfish or inconsistent; for it is saying, in effect, one of two things, either: "my belief is sacred to myself alone, and nobody else shall have the benefit of it, if i can help it;" or else: "i am very much ashamed of my position as a skeptic, and i shall keep it to myself as much as possible." be that as it may, dr. douglass so thought, and was sincere in his intentions to do sadie no harm; yet, as the days came and went, he was continually doing her injury. they were much in each other's society, and the subject which he meant should be avoided was constantly intruding. both were so constantly on the alert, to see and hear the unwise, and inconsistent, and unchristian acts and words, and also, alas! there were so many to be seen and heard, that these two made rapid strides in the broad road. finally, there was dr. van anden, carrying about with him a sad and heavy heart. he could but feel that he had shrunken from his duty, hidden behind that most miserable of all excuses: "what will people think?" if dr. douglass had had any title but that particular one prefixed to his name, he would not have hesitated to have advised mrs. ried concerning him; but how could he endure the suspicion that he was jealous of dr. douglass? then, in trying to right the wrong, by warning sadie, he was made to realize, as many a poor christian has realized before him, that he was making the sacrifice too late, and in vain. there was yet another thing--dr. douglass' statements to sadie had been colored with truth. among his other honest mistakes was the belief that dr. van anden was a hypocrite. they had clashed in former years. dr. douglass had been most in the wrong, though what man, unhelped by christ, was ever known to believe this of himself? but there had been wrong also on the other side, hasty words spoken--words which rankled, and were rankling still, after the lapse of years. dr. van anden had never said: "i should not have spoken thus; i am sorry." he had taught himself to believe that it would be an unnecessary humiliation for him to say this to a man who had so deeply wronged him! but, to do our doctor justice, time had healed the wound with him; it was not personal enmity which prompted his warning, neither had he any idea of the injury which those sharp words of his were doing in the unsanctified heart. and when he dropped upon his knees that night he prayed earnestly for the conversion of sadie and dr. douglass. so these three lived their lives under that same roof, and guessed not what the end might be. chapter xiii. the strange christian. "abbie," said ester, wriggling herself around from before an open trunk, and letting a mass of collars and cuffs slide to the floor in her earnestness, "do you know i think you're the very strangest girl i ever knew in my life?" "i'm sure i did not," abbie answered gaily. "if it's a nice 'strange' do tell me about it. i like to be nice--ever so much." "well, but i am in earnest, abbie; you certainly are. these very collars made me think of it. oh dear me! they are all on the floor." and she reached after the shining, sliding things. abbie came and sat down beside her, presently, with a mass of puffy lace in her hands, which she was putting into shape. "suppose we have a little talk, all about myself," she said gently and seriously. "and please tell me, ester, plainly and simply, what you mean by the term 'strange.' do you know i have heard it so often that sometimes i fear i really am painfully unlike other people. you are just the one to enlighten me." ester laughed a little as she answered: "you are taking the matter very seriously. i did not mean any thing dreadful." "ah! but you are not to be excused in that way, my dear ester. i look to you for information. mother has made the remark a great many times, but it is generally connected in some way with religious topics, and mother, you know, is not a christian; therefore i have thought that perhaps some things seemed strange to her which would not to--_you_, for instance. but since you have been here you have spoken your surprise concerning me several times, and looked it oftener; and to-day i find that even my stiff and glossy, and every way proper, collars and cuffs excite it. so do please tell me, ought i to be in a lunatic asylum somewhere instead of preparing to go to europe?" now although ester laughed again, at the mixture of comic and pathetic in abbie's tone, yet something in the words had evidently embarrassed her. there was a little struggle in her mind, and then she came boldly forth with her honest thoughts. "well, the strangeness is connected with religious topics in my mind also; even though i am a professing christian i do not understand you. i am an economist in dress, you know, abbie. i don't care for these things in the least; but if i had the money as you have, there are a great many things which i should certainly have. you see there is no earthly sense in your economy, and yet you hesitate over expenses almost as much as i do." there was a little gleam of mischief in abbie's eyes as she answered: "will you tell me, ester, why you would take the trouble to get 'these things' if you do not care for them in the least?" "why because--because--they would be proper and befitting my station in life." "do i dress in a manner unbecoming to my station in life." "no," said ester promptly, admiring even then the crimson finishings of her cousin's morning-robe. "but then--well, abbie, do you think it is wicked to like nice things?" "no," abbie answered very gently; "but i think it is wrong to school ourselves into believing that we do not care for any thing of the kind; when, in reality, it is a higher, better motive which deters us from having many things. forgive me, ester, but i think you are unjust sometimes to your better self in this very way." ester gave a little start, and realized for the first time in her life that, truth-loving girl though she was, she had been practicing a pretty little deception of this kind, and actually palming it off on herself. in a moment, however, she returned to the charge. "but, abbie, did aunt helen really want you to have that pearl velvet we saw at stewart's?" "she really did." "and you refused it?" "and i refused it." "well, is that to be set down as a matter of religion, too?" this question was asked with very much of ester's old sharpness of tone. abbie answered her with a look of amazement. "i think we don't understand each other," she said at length, with the gentlest of tones. "that dress, ester, with all its belongings could not have cost less than seven hundred dollars. could i, a follower of the meek and lowly jesus, living in a world where so many of his poor are suffering, have been guilty of wearing such a dress as that? my dear, i don't think you sustain the charge against me thus far. i see now how these pretty little collar (and, by the way, ester, you are crushing one of them against that green box) suggested the thought; but you surely do not consider it strange, when i have such an array of collars already, that i did not pay thirty dollars for that bit of a cobweb which we saw yesterday?" "but aunt helen wanted you to." a sad and troubled look stole over abbie's face as she answered: "my mother, remember, dear ester, does not realize that she is not her own, but has been bought with a price. you and i know and feel that we must give an account of our stewardship. ester, do you see how people who ask god to help them in every little thing which they have to decide--in the least expenditure of money--can after that deliberately fritter it away?" "do you ask god's help in these matters?" "why, certainly--" with the wondering look in her eyes, which ester had learned to know and dislike--"'whatsoever therefore ye do'--you know." "but, abbie, going out shopping to buy--handkerchiefs, for instance; that seems to me a very small thing to pray about." "even the purchase of handkerchiefs may involve a question of conscience, my dear ester, as you would realize if you had seen the wicked purchases that i have in that line; and some way i never can feel that any thing that has to do with me is of less importance than a tiny sparrow, and yet, you know, he looks after them." "abbie, do you mean to say that in every little thing that you buy you weigh the subject, and discuss the right and wrong of it?" "i certainly do try to find out just exactly what is right, and then do it; and it seems to me there is no act in this world so small as to be neither right nor wrong." "then," said ester, with an impatient twitch of her dress from under abbie's rocker, "i don't see the use in being rich." "nobody is rich, ester, only god; but i'm so glad sometimes that he has trusted me with so much of his wealth, that i feel like praying a prayer about that one thing--a thanksgiving. what else am i strange about, ester?" "everything," with growing impatience. "i think it was as queer in you as possible not to go to the concert last evening with uncle ralph?" "but, ester, it was prayer-meeting evening." "well, suppose it was. there is prayer-meeting every week, and there isn't this particular singer very often, and uncle ralph was disappointed. i thought you believed in honoring your parents." "you forget, dear ester, that father said he was particularly anxious that i should do as i thought right, and that he should not have purchased the tickets if he had remembered the meeting. father likes consistency." "well, that is just the point. i want to know if you call it inconsistent to leave your prayer meeting for just one evening, no matter for what reason?" abbie laughed in answer. "do you know, ester, you wouldn't make a good lawyer, you don't stick to the point. it isn't a great many reasons that might be suggested that we are talking about, it is simply a concert." then more gravely--"i try to be very careful about this matter. so many detentions are constantly occurring in the city, that unless the line were very closely-drawn i should not get to prayer-meeting at all. there are occasions, of course, when i must be detained; but under ordinary circumstances it must be more than a concert that detains me." "i don't believe in making religion such a very solemn matter as that all amounts to; it has a tendency to drive people away from it." the look on abbie's face, in answer to this testily spoken sentence, was a mixture of bewilderment and pain. "i don't understand"--she said at length--"how is that a solemn matter? if we really expect to meet our savior at a prayer-meeting, isn't it a delightful thought? i am very happy when i can go to the place of prayer." ester's voice savored decidedly of the one which she was wont to use in her very worst moods in that long dining-room at home. "of course i should have remembered that mr. foster would be at the prayer-meeting, and not at the concert; that was reason enough for your enjoyment." the rich blood surged in waves over abbie's face during this rude address; but she said not a single word in answer. after a little silence, she spoke in a voice that trembled with feeling. "ester, there is one thought in connection with this subject that troubles me very much. do you really think, as you have intimated, that i am selfish, that i consult my own tastes and desires too much, and so do injury to the cause. for instance, do you think i prejudiced my father?" what a sweet, humble, even tearful, face it was! and what a question to ask of ester! what had developed this disagreeable state of mind save the confused upbraidings of her hitherto quiet conscience over the contrast between cousin abbie's life and hers. here, in the very face of her theories to the contrary, in very defiance to her belief in the folly, and fashion, and worldliness that prevailed in the city, in the very heart of this great city, set down in the midst of wealth and temptation, had she found this young lady, daughter of one of the merchant princes, the almost bride of one of the brightest stars in the new york galaxy on the eve of a brilliant departure for foreign shores, with a whirl of preparation and excitement about her enough to dizzy the brain of a dozen ordinary mortals, yet moving sweetly, brightly, quietly, through it all, and manifestly finding her highest source of enjoyment in the presence of, and daily communion with, her savior. all ester's speculations concerning her had come to naught. she had planned the wardrobe of the bride, over and over again, for days before she saw her; and while she had prepared proper little lectures for her, on the folly and sinfulness of fashionable attire, had yet delighted in the prospect of the beauty and elegance around her. how had her prospects been blighted! beauty there certainly was in everything, but it was the beauty of simplicity, not at all such a display of silks and velvets and jewels as ester had planned. it certainly could not be wealth which made abbie's life such a happy one, for she regulated her expenses with a care and forethought such as ester had never even dreamed of. it could not be a life of ease, a freedom from annoyance, which kept her bright and sparkling, for it had only taken a week's sojourn in her aunt helen's home to discover to ester the fact that all wealthy people were not necessarily amiable and delightful. abbie was evidently rasped and thwarted in a hundred little ways, having a hundred little trials which _she_ had never been called upon to endure. in short, ester had discovered that the mere fact of living in a great city was not in itself calculated to make the christian race more easy or more pleasant. she had begun to suspect that it might not even be quite so easy as it was in a quiet country home; and so one by one all her explanations of abbie's peculiar character had become bubbles, and had vanished as bubbles do. what, then, sustained and guided her cousin? clearly ester was shut up to this one conclusion--it was an ever-abiding, all-pervading christian faith and trust. but then had not _she_ this same faith? and yet could any contrast be greater than was abbie's life contrasted with hers? there was no use in denying it, no use in lulling and coaxing her conscience any longer, it had been for one whole week in a new atmosphere; it had roused itself; it was not thoroughly awake as yet, but restless and nervous and on the alert--and _would not_ be hushed back into its lethargic state. this it was which made ester the uncomfortable companion which she was this morning. she was not willing to be shaken and roused; she had been saying very unkind, rude things to abbie, and now, instead of flouncing off in an uncontrollable fit of indignation, which course ester could but think would be the most comfortable thing which could happen next, so far as she was concerned, abbie sat still, with that look of meek inquiry on her face, humbly awaiting her verdict. how ester wished she had never asked that last question! how ridiculous it would make her appear, after all that had been said, to admit that her cousin's life had been one continual reproach of her own; that concerning this very matter of the concert, she had heard uncle ralph remark that if all the world matched what they did with what they said, as well as abbie did, he was not sure but he might be a christian himself. then suppose she should add that this very pointed remark had been made to her when they were on their way to the concert in question. altogether, ester was disgusted and wished she could get back to where the conversation commenced, feeling certain now that she would leave a great many things unsaid. i do not know how the conversation would have ended, whether ester could have brought herself to the plain truth, and been led on and on to explain the unrest and dissatisfaction of her own heart, and thus have saved herself much of the sharp future in store for her; but one of those unfortunate interruptions which seem to finite eyes to be constantly occurring, now came to them. there was an unusual bang to the front door, the sound of strange footsteps in the hall, the echo of a strange voice floated up to her, and abbie, with a sudden flinging of thimble and scissors, and an exclamation of "ralph has come," vanished. chapter xiv. the little card. left to herself, ester found her train of thought so thoroughly disagreeable that she hastened to rid herself of it, and seized upon the new comer to afford her a substitute. this cousin, whom she had expected to influence for good, had at last arrived. ester's interest in him had been very strong ever since that evening of her arrival, when she had been appealed to to use her influence on him--just in what way she hadn't an idea. abbie had never spoken of it since, and seemed to have lost much of her eager desire that the cousins should meet. ester mused about all this now; she wished she knew just in what way she was expected to be of benefit. abbie was evidently troubled about him. perhaps he was rough and awkward; school-boys often were, even those born in a city. very much of ralph's life had been spent away from home, she knew; and she had often heard that boys away from home influences grew rude and coarse oftentimes. yes, that was undoubtedly it. shy, too, he was of course; he was of about the age to be that. she could imagine just how he looked--he felt out of place in the grand mansion which he called home, but where he had passed so small a portion of his time. probably he didn't know what to do with his hands, nor his feet; and just as likely as not he sat on the edge of his chair and ate with his knife--school was a horrid place for picking up all sorts of ill manners. of course all these things must annoy abbie very much, especially at this time when he must necessarily come so often in contact with that perfection of gentlemanliness, mr. foster. "i wish," thought ester at this point, growing a little anxious, "i wish there was more than a week before the wedding; however i'll do my best. abbie shall see i'm good for something. although i do differ with her somewhat in her peculiar views, i believe i know how to conduct myself with ease, in almost any position, if i have been brought up in the country." and by the time the lunch-bell rang a girl more thoroughly satisfied with herself and her benevolent intentions, than was this same ester, could hardly have been found. she stood before the glass smoothing the shining bands of hair, preparatory to tying a blue satin ribbon over them, when abbie fluttered in. "forgive me, a great many times, for rushing off in the flutter i did, and leaving you behind, and staying away so long. you see i haven't seen ralph in quite a little time, and i forgot everything else. your hair doesn't need another bit of brushing, ester, it's as smooth as velvet; they are all waiting for us in the dining-room, and i want to show you to ralph." and before the blue satin ribbon was tied quite to her satisfaction, ester was hurried to the dining-room, to take up her new role of guide and general assistant to the awkward youth. "i suppose he hasn't an idea what to say to me," was her last compassionate thought, as abbie's hand rested on the knob. "i hope he won't be hopelessly quiet, but i'll manage in some way." at first he was nowhere to be seen; but as abbie said eagerly: "ralph, here is cousin ester!" the door swung back into its place, and revealed a tall, well-proportioned young man, with a full-bearded face, and the brightest of dancing eyes. he came forward immediately, extending both hands, and speaking in a rapid voice. "long-hoped-for come at last! i don't refer to myself, you understand, but to this much-waited-for, eagerly-looked-forward-to prospect of greeting my cousin ester. ought i to welcome you, or you me--which is it? i'm somewhat bewildered as to proprieties. this fearfully near approach to a wedding has confused my brain. sis"--turning suddenly to abbie--"have you prepared ester for her fate? does she fully understand that she and i are to officiate? that is, if we don't evaporate before the eventful day. sis, how could you have the conscience to perpetrate a wedding in august? whatever takes foster abroad just now, any way?" and without waiting for answer to his ceaseless questions he ran gaily on. clearly whatever might be his shortcomings, inability to talk was _not_ one of them. and ester, confused, bewildered, utterly thrown out of her prepared part in the entertainment, was more silent and awkward than she had ever known herself to be; provoked, too, with abbie, with ralph, with herself. "how _could_ i have been such a simpleton?" she asked herself as seated opposite her cousin at table she had opportunity to watch the handsome face, with its changeful play of expression, and note the air of pleased attention with which even her uncle ralph listened to his ceaseless flow of words. "i knew he was older than abbie, and that this was his third year in college. what could i have expected from uncle ralph's son? a pretty dunce he must think me, blushing and stammering like an awkward country girl. what on earth could abbie mean about needing my help for him, and being troubled about him. it is some of her ridiculous fanatical nonsense, i suppose. i wish she could ever talk or act like anybody else." "i don't know that such is the case, however," ralph was saying, when ester returned from this rehearsal of her own thoughts. "i can simply guess at it, which is as near an approach to an exertion as a fellow ought to be obliged to make in this weather. john, you may fill my glass if you please. father, this is even better wine than your cellar usually affords, and that is saying a great deal. sis, has foster made a temperance man of you entirely; i see you are devoted to ice water?" "oh, certainly," mrs. ried answered for her, in the half contemptuous tone she was wont to assume on such occasions. "i warn you, ralph, to get all the enjoyment you can out of the present, for abbie intends to keep you with her entirely after she has a home of her own--out of the reach of temptation." ester glanced hurriedly and anxiously toward her cousin. how did this pet scheme of hers become known to mrs. ried, and how could abbie possibly retain her habitual self-control under this sarcastic ridicule, which was so apparent in her mother's voice? the pink on her cheek did deepen perceptibly, but she answered with the most perfect good humor: "ralph, don't be frightened, please. i shall let you out once in a long while if you are very good." ralph bent loving eyes on the young, sweet face, and made prompt reply: "i don't know that i shall care for even that reprieve, since you're to be jailer." what could there be in this young man to cause anxiety, or to wish changed? yet even while ester queried, he passed his glass for a third filling, and taking note just then of abbie's quick, pained look, then downcast eyes, and deeply flushing face, the knowledge came suddenly that in that wine-glass the mischief lay. abbie thought him in danger, and this was the meaning of her unfinished sentence on that first evening, and her embarrassed silence since; for ester, with her filled glass always beside her plate, untouched indeed sometimes, but oftener sipped from in response to her uncle's invitation, was not the one from whom help could be expected in this matter. and ester wondered if the handsome face opposite her could really be in absolute danger, or whether this was another of abbie's whims--at least it wasn't pleasant to be drinking wine before him, and she left her glass untouched that day, and felt thoroughly troubled about that and everything. the next morning there was a shopping excursion, and ralph was smuggled in as an attendant. abbie turned over the endless sets of handkerchiefs in bewildering indecision. "take this box; do, abbie," ester urged. "this monogram in the corner is lovely, and that is the dearest little sprig in the world." "which is precisely what troubles me," laughed abbie. "it is entirely too dear. think of paying such an enormous sum for just handkerchiefs!" ralph, who was lounging near her, trying hard not to look bored, elevated his eyebrows as his ear caught the sentence, and addressed her in undertone: "is foster hard up? if he is, you are not on his hands yet, sis; and i'm inclined to think father is good for all the finery you may happen to fancy." "that only shows your ignorance of the subject or your high opinion of me. i assure you were i so disposed i could bring father's affairs into a fearful tangle this very day, just by indulging a fancy for finery." "are his affairs precarious, abbie, or is finery prodigious?" abbie laid her hand on a square of cobwebby lace. "that is seventy-five dollars, ralph." "what of that? do you want it?" and ralph's hand was in his pocket. abbie turned with almost a shiver from the counter. "i hope not, ralph," she said with sudden energy. "i hope i may never be so unworthy of my trust as to make such a wicked use of money." then more lightly, "you are worse than queen ester here, and her advice is bewildering enough." "but, abbie, how can you be so absurd," said that young lady, returning to the charge. "those are not very expensive, i am sure, at least not for you; and you certainly want some very nice ones. i'm sure if i had one-third of your spending money i shouldn't need to hesitate." abbie's voice was very low and sweet, and reached only her cousin's ear. "ester, 'the silver and the gold are _his_,' and i have asked him this very morning to help me in every little item to be careful of his trust. now do you think--" but ester had turned away in a vexed uncomfortable state of mind, and walked quite to the other end of the store, leaving abbie to complete her purchases as she might see fit. she leaned against the door, tapping her fingers in a very softly, but very nervous manner against the glass. how queer it was that in the smallest matters she and abbie could not agree? how was it possible that the same set of rules could govern them both? and the old ever-recurring question came up to be thought over afresh. clearly they were unlike--utterly unlike. now was abbie right and she wrong? or was abbie--no, not wrong, the word would certainly not apply; there absolutely _could_ be no wrong connected with abbie's way. well, then, queer!--unlike other people, unnecessarily precise--studying the right and wrong of matters, which she had been wont to suppose had no moral bearing of any sort, rather which she had never given any attention to? while she waited and queried, her eye caught a neat little card-receiver hanging near her, apparently filled with cards, and bearing in gilt lettering, just above them, the winning words: "free to all. take one." this was certainly a kindly invitation; and ester's curiosity being aroused as to what all this might be for, she availed herself of the invitation, and drew with dainty fingers a small, neat card from the case, and read: i solemnly agree, _as god shall help me_: . to observe regular seasons of secret prayer, it least in the morning and evening of each day. . to read daily at least a small portion of the bible. . to attend at one or more prayer-meetings every week, if i have strength to get there. . to stand up for jesus always and everywhere. . to try to save at least one soul each year. . to engage in no amusement where my savior could not be a guest. had the small bit of card-board been a coal of fire it could not have been more suddenly dropped upon the marble before her than was this, as ester's startled eyes took in its meaning. who could have written those sentences? and to be placed there in a conspicuous corner of a fashionable store? was she never to be at peace again? had the world gone wild? was this an emanation from cousin abbie's brain, or were there many more cousin abbies in what she had supposed was a wicked city, or--oh painful question, which came back hourly nowadays, and seemed fairly to chill her blood--was this religion, and had she none of it? was her profession a mockery, her life a miserably acted lie? "is that thing hot?" it was ralph's amused voice which asked this question close beside her. "what? where?" and ester turned in dire confusion. "why that bit of paper--or is it a ghostly communication from the world of spirits? you look startled enough for me to suppose anything, and it spun away from your grasp very suddenly. oh," he added, as he glanced it through, "rather ghostly, i must confess, or would be if one were inclined that way; but i imagined your nerves were stronger. did the pronoun startle you?" "how?" "why i thought perhaps you considered yourself committed to all this solemnity before your time, or willy-nilly, as the children say. what a comical idea to hang one's self up in a store in this fashion. i must have one of these. are you going to keep yours?" and as he spoke he reached forward and possessed himself of one of the cards. "rather odd things to be found in our possession, wouldn't they be? abbie now would be just one of this sort." that cold shiver trembled again through ester's frame as she listened. clearly he did not reckon her one of "that sort." he had known her but one day, and yet he seemed positive that she stood on an equal footing with himself. oh why was it? how did he know? was her manner then utterly unlike that of a christian, so much so that this young man saw it already, or was it that glass of wine from which she had sipped last evening?--and at this moment she would have given much to be back where she thought herself two weeks ago, on the wine question; but she stood silent and let him talk on, not once attempting to define her position--partly because there had crept into her mind this fearful doubt, unaccompanied by the prayer: "if i've never loved before, help me to begin to-day"-- and partly, oh poor ester, because she was utterly unused to confessing her savior; and though not exactly ashamed of him, at least she would have indignantly denied the charge, yet it was much less confusing to keep silence, and let others think as they would--this had been her rule, she followed it now, and ralph continued: "queer world this? isn't it? how do you imagine our army would have prospered if one-fourth of the soldiers had been detailed for the purpose of coaxing the rest to follow their leader and obey orders? that's what it seems to me the so-called christian world is up to. does the comical side of it ever strike you, ester? positively i can hardly keep from laughing now and then to hear the way in which dr. downing pitches into his church members, and they sit and take it as meekly as lambs brought to the slaughter. it does them about as much good, apparently, as it does me--no not so much, for it amuses me, and serves to make me good-natured, on good terms with myself for half an hour or so. i'm so thoroughly rejoiced, you see, to think that i don't belong to that set of miserable sinners." "dr. downing does preach very sharp, harsh sermons," ester said at last, feeling the necessity of saying something. "i have often wondered at it. i think them calculated to do more harm than good." "oh _i_ don't wonder at it in the least. i'd make it sharper yet if i were he; the necessity exists evidently. the wonder lies in _that_ to my mind. if a fellow really means to do a thing, what does he wait to be punched up about it everlastingly for? hang me, if i don't like to see people act as though they meant it, even if the question is a religious one. ester, how many times ought i to beg your pardon for using an unknown tongue--in other words, slang phrases? i fancied myself talking to my chum, delivering a lecture on theology, which is somewhat out of my sphere, as you have doubtless observed. yet such people as you and i can't help having eyes and ears, and using them now and then, can we?" still silence on ester's part, so far as defining her position was concerned. she was not ashamed of her savior now, but of herself. if this gay cousin's eyes were critical she knew she could not bear the test. yet she rallied sufficiently to condemn within her own mind the poor little cards. "they will do more harm than good," she told herself positively. to such young men as ralph, for instance, what could he possibly want with one of them, save to make it a subject of ridicule when he got with some of his wild companions. but it transpired that his designs were not so very wicked after all; for as they left the store he took the little card from his pocket, and handed it to abbie with a quiet: "sis, here is something that you will like." and abbie read it and said: "how solemn that is. did you get it for me, ralph? thank you." and ralph bowed and smiled on her, a kind, almost tender smile, very unlike the roguish twinkle that had shone in his eyes while he talked with ester. all through the busy day that silent, solemn card haunted ester. it pertinaciously refused to be lost. she dropped it twice in their transit from store to store, but ralph promptly returned it to her. at home she laid it on her dressing-table, but piled scarfs and handkerchiefs and gloves over it as high as she might, it was sure to flutter to the floor at her feet, as she sought hurriedly in the mass of confusion for some missing article. once she seized and flung it from the window in dire vexation, and was rewarded by having maggie present it to her about two minutes thereafter, as a "something that landed square on my head, ma'am, as i was coming around the corner." at last she actually grew nervous over it, felt almost afraid to touch it, so thoroughly had it fastened itself on her conscience. these great black letters in that first sentence seemed burned into her brain: "i solemnly agree, as god shall help me." at last she deposited the unwelcome little monitor at the very bottom of her collar-box, under some unused collars, telling herself that it was for safe keeping, that she might not lose it again; not letting her conscience say for a moment that it was because she wanted to bury the haunting words out of her sight. chapter xv. what is the difference? ester stood before her mirror, arranging some disordered braids of hair. she had come up from the dining-room for that purpose. it was just after dinner. the family, with the addition of mr. foster, were gathered in the back parlor, whither she was in haste to join them. "how things do conspire to hinder me!" she exclaimed impatiently as one loose hair-pin after another slid softly and silently out of place. "this horrid ribbon doesn't shade with the trimming on my dress either. i wonder what can have become of that blue one?" with a jerk sadie's "finery-box" was produced, and the contents tumbled over. the methodical and orderly ester was in nervous haste to get down to that fascinating family group; but the blue ribbon, with the total depravity of all ribbons, remained a silent and indifferent spectator of her trials, snugged back in the corner of a half open drawer. ester had set her heart on finding it, and the green collar-box came next under inspection, and being impatiently shoved back toward its corner when the quest proved vain, took that opportunity for tumbling over the floor and showering its contents right and left. "what next, i wonder?" ester muttered, as she stooped to scoop up the disordered mass of collars, ruffles, cuffs, laces, and the like, and with them came, face up, and bright, black letters, scorching into her very soul, the little card with its: "i solemnly agree, as god shall help me." ester paused in her work, and stood upright with a strange beating at her heart. what _did_ this mean? was it merely chance that this sentence had so persistently met her eye all this day, put the card where she would? and what was the matter with her anyway? why should those words have such strange power over her? why had she tried to rid herself of the sight of them? she read each sentence aloud slowly and carefully. "now," she said decisively, half irritated that she was allowing herself to be hindered, "it is time to put an end to this nonsense. i am sick and tired of feeling as i have of late--these are all very reasonable and proper pledges, at least the most of them are. i believe i'll adopt this card. yes, i will--that is what has been the trouble with me. i've neglected my duty--rather i have so much care and work at home, that i haven't time to attend to it properly--but here it is different. it is quite time i commenced right in these things. to-night, when i come to my room, i will begin. no, i can not do that either, for abbie will be with me. well, the first opportunity then that i have--or no--i'll stop now, this minute, and read a chapter in the bible and pray; there is nothing like the present moment for keeping a good resolution. i like decision in everything--and, i dare say, abbie will be very willing to have a quiet talk with mr. foster before i come down." and sincerely desirous to be at peace with her newly troubled conscience--and sincerely sure that she was in the right way for securing that peace--ester closed and locked her door, and sat herself down by the open window in a thoroughly self-satisfied state of mind, to read the bible and to pray. poor human heart, so utterly unconscious of its own deep sickness--so willing to plaster over the unhealed wound! where should she read? she was at all times a random reader of the bible; but now with this new era it was important that there should be a more definite aim in her reading. she turned the leaves rapidly, eager to find a book which looked inviting for the occasion, and finally seized upon the gospel of john as entirely proper and appropriate, and industriously commenced: "'in the beginning was the word, and the word was with god, and the word was god. the same was in the beginning with god.' now that wretched hair-pin is falling out again, as sure as i live; i don't see what is the matter with my hair to-day. i never had so much trouble with it--'all things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. in him was life: and the life was the light of men.'--there are mr. and miss hastings. i wonder if they are going to call here? i wish they would. i should like to get a nearer view of that trimming around her sack; it is lovely whatever it is.--'and the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.'" now it was doubtful if it had once occurred to ester who this glorious "word" was, or that he had aught to do with her. certainly the wonderful and gracious truths embodied in these precious verses, truths which had to do with every hour of her life, had not this evening so much as made an entrance into her busy brain; and yet she actually thought herself in the way of getting rid of the troublesome thoughts that had haunted her the days just past. the verses were being read aloud, the thoughts about the troublesome hair and the trimmings on miss hastings' sack were suffered to remain thoughts, not to put into words--had they been perhaps even ester would have noticed the glaring incongruity. as it was she continued her two occupations, reading the verses, thinking the thoughts, until at last she came to a sudden pause, and silence reigned in the room for several minutes; then there flushed over ester's face a sudden glow, as she realized that she sat, bible in hand, one corner of the solemnly-worded card marking the verse at which she had paused, and that verse was: "he came unto his own, and his own received him not." and she realized that her thoughts during the silence had been: "suppose miss hastings should call and should inquire for her, and she should go with aunt helen to return the call, should she wear mother's black lace shawl with her blue silk dress, or simply the little ruffled cape which matched the dress! she read that last verse over again, with an uncomfortable consciousness that she was not getting on very well; but try as she would, ester's thoughts seemed resolved not to stay with that first chapter of john--they roved all over new york, visited all the places that she had seen, and a great many that she wanted to see, and that seemed beyond her grasp, going on meantime with the verses, and keeping up a disagreeable undercurrent of disgust. over those same restless thoughts there came a tap at the door, and maggie's voice outside. "miss ried, miss abbie sent me to say that there was company waiting to see you, and if you please would you come down as soon as you could?" ester sprang up. "very well," she responded to maggie. "i'll be down immediately." then she waited to shut the card into her bible to keep the place, took a parting peep in the mirror to see that the brown hair and blue ribbon were in order, wondered if it were really the hastings who called on her, unlocked her door, and made a rapid passage down the stairs--most unpleasantly conscious, however, at that very moment that her intentions of setting herself right had not been carried out, and also that so far as she had gone it had been a failure. truly, after the lapse of so many years, the light was still shining in darkness. in the parlor, after the other company had departed, ester found herself the sole companion of mr. foster at the further end of the long room. abbie, half sitting, half kneeling on an ottoman near her father, seemed to be engaged in a very earnest conversation with him, in which her mother occasionally joined, and at which ralph appeared occasionally to laugh; but what was the subject of debate they at their distance were unable to determine, and at last mr. foster turned to his nearest neighbor. "and so, miss ester, you manufactured me into a minister at our first meeting?" in view of their nearness to cousinship the ceremony of surname had been promptly discarded by mr. foster, but ester was unable to recover from a sort of awe with which he had at first inspired her, and this opening sentence appeared to be a confusing one, for she flushed deeply and only bowed her answer. "i don't know but it is a most unworthy curiosity on my part," continued mr. foster, "but i have an overwhelming desire to know why--or, rather, to know in what respect, i am ministerial. won't you enlighten me, miss ester?" "why," said ester, growing still more confused, "i thought--i said--i--no, i mean i heard your talk with that queer old woman, some of it; and some things that you said made me think you must be a minister." "what things, miss ester?" "everything," said ester desperately. "you talked, you know, about--about religion nearly all the time." a look of absolute pain rested for a moment on mr. foster's face, as he said: "is it possible that your experience with christian men has been so unfortunate that you believe none but ministers ever converse on that subject?" "i never hear any," ester answered positively. "but your example as a christian lady, i trust, is such that it puts to shame your experience among gentlemen?" "oh but," said ester, still in great confusion, "i didn't mean to confine my statement to gentlemen. i never hear anything of the sort from ladies." "not from that dear old friend of ours on the cars?" "oh yes; she was different from other people too. i thought she had a very queer way of speaking; but then she was old and ignorant. i don't suppose she knew how to talk about any thing else, and she is my one exception." mr. foster glanced in the direction of the golden brown head that was still in eager debate at the other end of the room, before he asked his next question. "how is it with your cousin?" "oh she!" said ester, brought suddenly and painfully back to all her troublesome thoughts--and then, after a moment's hesitation, taking a quick resolution to probe this matter to its foundation, if it had one. "mr. foster, don't you think she is _very_ peculiar?" at which question mr. foster laughed, then answered good humoredly: "do you think me a competent witness in that matter?" "yes," ester answered gravely, too thoroughly in earnest to be amused now; "she is entirely different from any person that i ever saw in my life. she don't seem to think about any thing else--at least she thinks more about this matter than any other." "and that is being peculiar?" "why i think so--unnatural, i mean--unlike other people." "well, let us see. do you call it being peculiarly good or peculiarly bad?" "why," said ester in great perplexity, "it isn't _bad_ of course. but she--no, she is very good, the best person i ever knew; but it is being like nobody else, and nobody _can_ be like her. don't you think so?" "i certainly do," he answered with the utmost gravity, and then he laughed again; but presently noting her perplexed look, he grew sober, and spoke with quiet gravity. "i think i understand you, miss ester. if you mean, do i not think abbie has attained to a rare growth in spirituality for one of her age, i most certainly do; but if you mean, do i not think it almost impossible for people in general to reach as high a foothold on the rock as she has gained, i certainly do not. i believe it is within the power, and not only that, but it is the blessed privilege, and not only that, but it is the sacred duty of every follower of the cross to cling as close and climb as high as she has." "_i_ don't think so," ester said, with a decided shake of the head. "it is much easier for some people to be good christians than it is for others." "granted--that is, there is a difference of temperament certainly. but do you rank abbie among those for whom it was naturally easy?" "i think so." this time mr. foster's head was very gravely shaken. "if you had known her when i did you would not think so. it was very hard for her to yield. her natural temperament, her former life, her circle of friends, her home influences were all against her, and yet christ triumphed." "yes, but having once decided the matter, it is smooth sailing with her now." "do you think so? has abbie no trials to meet, no battles with satan to fight, so far as you can discover?" "only trifles," said ester, thinking of aunt helen and ralph, but deciding that abbie had luxuries enough to offset both these anxieties. "i believe you will find that it needs precisely the same help to meet trifles that it does to conquer mountains of difficulty. the difference is in degree not in kind. but i happen to know that some of abbie's 'trifles' have been very heavy and hard to bear. however, the matter rests just here, miss ester. i believe we are all too willing to be conquered, too willing to be martyrs, not willing to reach after and obtain the settled and ever-growing joys of the christian." ester was thoroughly ill at ease; all this condemned her--and at last, resolved to escape from this net work of her awakening conscience, she pushed boldly on. "people have different views on this subject as well as on all others. now abbie and i do not agree in our opinions. there are things which she thinks right that seem to me quite out of place and improper." "yes," he said inquiringly, and with the most quiet and courteous air; "would you object to mentioning some of those things?" "well, as an instance, it seemed to me very queer indeed to hear her and other young ladies speaking in your teachers' prayer-meeting. i never heard of such a thing, at least not among cultivated people." "and you thought it improper?" "almost--yes, quite--perhaps. at least _i_ should never do it." "were you at mrs. burton's on the evening in which our society met?" this, to ester's surprise, was her companion's next very-wide-of-the-mark question. she opened her eyes inquiringly; then concluding that he was absent-minded, or else had no reply to make, and was weary of the subject, answered simply and briefly in the affirmative. "i was detained that night. were there many out?" "quite a full society abbie said. the rooms were almost crowded." "pleasant?" "oh very. i hardly wished to go as they were strangers to me; but i was very happily disappointed, and enjoyed the evening exceedingly." "were there reports?" "very full ones, and mrs. burton was particularly interesting. she had forgotten her notes, but gave her reports from memory very beautifully." "ah, i am sorry for that. it must have destroyed the pleasure of the evening for you." "i don't understand, mr. foster." "why you remarked that you considered it improper for ladies to take part in such matters: and of course what is an impropriety you can not have enjoyed." "oh that is a very different matter. it was not a prayer-meeting." "i beg pardon. i did not understand. it is only at prayer-meetings that it is improper for ladies to speak. may i ask why?" ester was growing vexed. "mr. foster," she said sharply, "you know that it is quite another thing. there are gentlemen enough present, or ought to be, to do the talking in a prayer-meeting." "there is generally a large proportion of gentlemen at the society. i presume there were those present capable of giving mrs. burton's report." "well _i_ consider a society a very different thing from a gathering in a church." "ah, then it's the church that is at fault. if that is the case, i should propose holding prayer meetings in private parlors. would that obviate your difficulty?" "no," said ester sharply, "not if there were gentlemen present. it is their business to conduct a religious meeting." "then, after all, it is religion that is at the foundation of this trouble. pray, miss ester, was mrs. burton's report irreligious?" "mr. foster," said ester, with flushing cheeks, and in a whirl of vexation, "_don't_ you understand me?" "i think i do, miss ester. the question is, do you understand yourself? let me state the case. you are decidedly not a woman's rights lady. i am decidedly not a woman's rights gentleman--that is, in the general acceptation of that term. you would think, for instance, that abbie was out of her sphere in the pulpit or pleading a case at the bar. so should i. in fact, there are many public places in which you and i, for what we consider good and sufficient reasons, would not like to see her. but, on the other hand, we both enjoy mrs. burton's reports, either verbal or written, as she may choose. we, in company with many other ladies and gentlemen, listen respectfully; we both greatly enjoy hearing miss ames sing; we both consider it perfectly proper that she should so entertain us at our social gatherings. at our literary society we have both enjoyed to the utmost miss hanley's exquisite recitation from 'kathrina.' i am sure not a thought of impropriety occurred to either of us. we both enjoyed the familiar talk on the subject for the evening, after the society proper had adjourned. so the question resolves itself into this: it seems that it is pleasant and proper for fifty or more of us to hear mrs. burton's report in mrs. burton's parlor--to hear ladies sing--to hear ladies recite in their own parlors, or in those of their friends--to converse familiarly on any sensible topic; but the moment the very same company are gathered in our chapel, and mrs. burton says, 'pray for my class,' and miss ames says, 'i love jesus,' and miss hanley says, 'the lord is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever,' it becomes improper. will you pardon my obtuseness and explain to me the wherefore?" but ester was not in a mood to explain, if indeed she had aught to say, and she only answered with great decision and emphasis: "_i_ have never been accustomed to it." "no! i think you told me that you were unaccustomed to hearing poetical recitations from young ladies. does that condemn them?" to which question ester made no sort of answer, but sat looking confused, ashamed and annoyed all in one. her companion roused himself from his half reclining attitude on the sofa, and gave her the benefit of a very searching look; then he came to an erect posture and spoke with entire change of tone. "miss ester, forgive me if i have seemed severe in my questionings and sarcastic in my replies. i am afraid i have. the subject is one which awakens sarcasm in me. it is so persistently twisted and befogged and misunderstood, some of the very best people seem inclined to make our prayer-meetings into formidable church-meetings, for the purpose of hearing a succession of not _very_ short sermons, rather than a social gathering of christians, to sympathize with, and pray for and help each other, as i believe the master intended them to be. but may i say a word to you personally? are you quite happy as a christian? do you find your love growing stronger and your hopes brighter from day to day?" ester struggled with herself, tore bits of down from the edge of her fan, tried to regain her composure and her voice, but the tender, gentle, yet searching tone, seemed to have probed her very soul--and the eyes that at last were raised to meet his were melting into tears, and the voice which answered him quivered perceptibly. "no, mr. foster, i am not happy." "why? may i ask you? is the savior untrue to his promises, or is his professed servant untrue to him?" ester's heart was giving heavy throbs of pain, and her conscience was whispering loudly, "untrue," "untrue;" but she had made no answer, when ralph came with brisk step toward where they sat. "two against one isn't fair play," he said, with a mixture of mischief and vexation in his tone. "foster, don't shirk; you have taught abbie, now go and help her fight it out like a man. come, take yourself over there and get her out of this scrape. i'll take care of ester; she looks as though she had been to camp-meeting." and mr. foster, with a wondering look for ralph and a troubled one for ester, moved slowly toward that end of the long parlor where the voices were growing louder, and one of them excited. chapter xvi. a victory. "this is really the most absurd of all your late absurdities," mrs. ried was saying, in rather a loud tone, and with a look of dignified disgust bestowed upon abbie, as mr. foster joined the group. "will you receive me into this circle, and enlighten me as regards this particular absurdity," he said, seating himself near mrs. ried. "oh it was nothing remarkable," that lady replied in her most sarcastic tone. "at least it is quite time we were growing accustomed to this new order of things. abbie is trying to enlighten her father on the new and interesting question of temperance, especially as it is connected with wedding parties, in which she is particularly interested just at present." abbie bestowed an appealing glance on mr. foster, and remained entirely silent. "i believe i can claim equal interest then in the matter," he answered brightly. "and will petition you, mrs. ried, to explain the point at issue." "indeed, mr. foster, i'm not a temperance lecturer, and do not consider myself competent to perform the awful task. i refer you to abbie, who seems to be thoroughly posted, and very desirous of displaying her argumentative powers." still silence on abbie's part, and only a little tremble of the lip told a close observer how deeply she felt the sharp tones and unmotherly words. mrs. ried spoke at last, in calm, measured accents. "my daughter and i, mr. foster, differ somewhat in regard to the duties and privileges of a host. i claim the right to set before my guests whatever _i_ consider proper. she objects to the use of wine, as, perhaps, you are aware. indeed, i believe she has imbibed her very peculiar views from you; but i say to her that as i have always been in the habit of entertaining my guests with that beverage, i presume i shall continue to do so." mr. foster did not seem in the mood to argue the question, but responded with genial good humor. "ah but, mrs. ried, you ought to gratify your daughter in her parting request. that is only natural and courteous, is it not?" mrs. ried felt called upon to reply. "we have gratified so many of her requests already that the whole thing bids fair to be the most ridiculous proceeding that new york has ever witnessed. fancy a dozen rough boys banging and shouting through my house, eating cake enough to make them sick for a month, to say nothing of the quantity which they will stamp into my carpets, and all because they chance to belong to abbie's mission class!" ralph and ester had joined the group in the meantime, and the former here interposed. "that last argument isn't valid, mother. haven't i promised to hoe out the rooms myself, immediately after the conclusion of the solemn services?" and mr. foster bestowed a sudden troubled look on abbie, which she answered by saying in a low voice, "i should recall my invitations to them under such circumstances." "you will do no such thing," her father replied sharply. "the invitations are issued in your parents' names, and we shall have no such senseless proceedings connected with them when you are in your own house you will doubtless be at liberty to do as you please; but in the meantime it would be well to remember that you belong to your father's family at present." ralph was watching the flushing cheek and quivering lip of his young sister, and at this point flung down the book with which he had been idly playing, with an impatient exclamation: "it strikes me, father, that you are making a tremendous din about a little matter. i don't object to a glass of wine myself, almost under any circumstances, and i think this excruciating sensitiveness on the subject is absurd and ridiculous, and all that sort of thing; but at the same time i should be willing to undertake the job of smashing every wine bottle there is in the cellar at this moment, if i thought that sis' last hours in the body, or at least in the paternal mansion, would be made any more peaceful thereby." during this harangue the elder mr. ried had time to grow ashamed of his sharpness, and answered in his natural tone. "i am precisely of your opinion, my son. we are making 'much ado about nothing.' we certainly have often entertained company before, and abbie has sipped her wine with the rest of us without sustaining very material injury thereby, so far as i can see. and here is ester, as stanch a church member as any of you, i believe, but that doesn't seem to forbid her behaving in a rational manner, and partaking of whatever her friends provide for her entertainment. why can not the rest of you be equally sensible?" during the swift second of time which intervened between that sentence and her reply ester had three hard things to endure--a sting from her restless conscience, a look of mingled pain and anxiety from mr. foster, and one of open-eyed and mischievous surprise from ralph. then she spoke rapidly and earnestly. "indeed, uncle ralph, i beg you will not judge of any other person by my conduct in this matter. i am very sorry, and very much ashamed that i have been so weak and wicked. i think just as abbie does, only i am not like her, and have been tempted to do wrong, for fear you would think me foolish." no one but ester knew how much these sentences cost her; but the swift, bright look telegraphed her from abbie's eyes seemed to repay her. ralph laughed outright. "four against one," he said gaily. "i've gone over to the enemy's side myself, you see, on account of the pressure. father, i advise you to yield while you can do it gracefully, and also to save me the trouble of smashing the aforesaid bottles." "but," persisted mr. ried, "i haven't heard an argument this evening. what is there so shocking in a quiet glass of wine enjoyed with a select gathering of one's friends?" john now presented himself at the door with a respectful, "if you please, sir, there is a person in the hall who persists in seeing mr. foster." "show him in, then," was mr. ried's prompt reply. john hesitated, and then added: "he is a very common looking person, sir, and--" "i said show him in, i believe," interrupted the gentleman of the house, in a tone which plainly indicated that he was expending on john the irritation which he did not like to bestow further, on either his children or his guests. john vanished, and mr. ried added: "you can take your _friend_ into the library, mr. foster, if it proves to be a private matter." there was a marked emphasis on the word _friend_ in this sentence; but mr. foster only bowed his reply, and presently john returned, ushering in a short, stout man, dressed in a rough working suit, twirling his hat in his hand, and looking extremely embarrassed and out of place in the elegant parlor. mr. foster turned toward him immediately, and gave him a greeting both prompt and cordial. "ah, mr. jones, good evening. i have been in search of you today, but some way managed to miss you." at this point abbie advanced and placed a small white hand in mr. jones' great hard brown one, as she repeated the friendly greeting, and inquired at once: "how is sallie, to-night, mr. jones?" "well, ma'am, it is about her that i'm come, and i beg your pardon, sir (turning to mr. foster), for making so bold as to come up here after you; but she is just that bad to-night that i could not find it in me to deny her any thing, and she is in a real taking to see you. she has sighed and cried about it most of this day, and to-night we felt, her mother and me, that we couldn't stand it any longer, and i said i'd not come home till i found you and told you how much she wanted to see you. it's asking a good deal, sir, but she is going fast, she is; and--" here mr. jones' voice choked, and he rubbed his hard hand across his eyes. "i will be down immediately," was mr. foster's prompt reply. "certainly you should have come for me. i should have been very sorry indeed to disappoint sallie. tell her i will be there in half an hour, mr. jones." and with a few added words of kindness from abbie, mr. jones departed, looking relieved and thankful. "that man," said mr. foster, turning to ester, as the door closed after him, "is the son of our old lady, don't you think! you remember i engaged to see her conveyed to his home in safety, and my anxiety for her future welfare was such that my pleasure was very great in discovering that the son was a faithful member of our mission sabbath-school, and a thoroughly good man." "and who is sallie?" ester inquired, very much interested. mr. foster's face grew graver. "sallie is his one treasure, a dear little girl, one of our mission scholars, and a beautiful example of how faithful christ can be to his little lambs." "what is supposed to be the matter with sallie?" this question came from ralph, who had been half amused, half interested, with the entire scene. the gravity on mr. foster's face deepened into sternness as he answered: "sallie is only one of the many victims of our beautiful system of public poisoning. the son of her mother's employer, in a fit of drunken rage, threw her from the very top of a long flight of stairs, and now she lies warped and misshapen, mourning her life away. by the way"--he continued, turning suddenly toward mr. ried--"i believe you were asking for arguments to sustain my 'peculiar views.' here is one of them: this man of whom i speak, whose crazed brain has this young sad life and death to answer for, i chance to know to a certainty commenced his downward career in a certain pleasant parlor in this city, among a select gathering of friends, taking a quiet glass of wine!" and mr. foster made his adieus very brief, and departed. ralph's laugh was just a little nervous as he said, when the family were alone: "foster is very fortunate in having an incident come to our very door with which to point his theories." abbie had deserted her ottoman and taken one close by her father's side. now she laid her bright head lovingly against his breast, and looked with eager, coaxing eyes into his stern gray ones. "father," she said softly, "you'll let your little curly have her own way just this time, won't you? i will promise not to coax you again until i want something very bad indeed." mr. ried had decided his plan of action some moments before. he was prepared to remind his daughter in tones of haughty dignity that he was "not in the habit of playing the part of a despot in his own family, and that as she and her future husband were so very positive in their very singular opinions, and so entirely regardless of his wishes or feelings, he should, of course, not force his hospitalities on her guests." he made one mistake. for just a moment he allowed his eyes to meet the sweet blue ones, looking lovingly and trustingly into his, and whatever it was, whether the remembrance that his one daughter was so soon to go out from her home, or the thought of all the tender and patient love and care which she had bestowed on him in those early morning hours, the stern gray eyes grew tender, the haughty lines about the mouth relaxed, and with a sudden caressing movement of his hand among the brown curls, he said in a half moved, half playful tone: "did you ever ask any thing of anybody in your life that you didn't get?" then more gravely: "you shall have your way once more. abbie, it would be a pity to despoil you of your scepter at this late day." "fiddlesticks!" ejaculated mrs. ried. before she had added anything to that original sentiment abbie was behind her chair, both arms wound around her neck, and then came soft, quick, loving kisses on her cheeks, on her lips, on her chin, and even on her nose. "nonsense!" added her mother. then she laughed. "your father would consent to have the ceremony performed in the attic if you should take a fancy that the parlors are too nicely furnished to suit your puritanic views and i don't know but i should be just as foolish." "that man has gained complete control over her," mrs. ried said, looking after abbie with a little sigh, and addressing her remarks to ester as they stood together for a moment in the further parlor. "he is a first-class fanatic, grows wilder and more incomprehensible in his whims every day, and bends abbie to his slightest wish. my only consolation is that he is a man of wealth and culture, and indeed in every other respect entirely unexceptionable." a new light dawned upon ester. this was the secret of abbie's "strangeness." mr. foster was one of those rare and wonderful men about whom one occasionally reads but almost never meets, and of course abbie, being so constantly under his influence, was constantly led by him. very few could expect to attain to such a hight; certainly she, with her social disadvantages and unhelpful surroundings, must not hope for it. she was rapidly returning to her former state of self-satisfaction. there were certain things to be done. for instance, that first chapter of john should receive more close attention at her next reading; and there were various other duties which should be taken up and carefully observed. but, on the whole, ester felt that she had been rather unnecessarily exercised, and that she must not expect to be perfect. and so once more there was raised a flag of truce between her conscience and her life. chapter xvii. stepping between. they lingered together for a few minutes in the sitting-room, abbie, ester, ralph and mr. foster. they had been having a half sad, half merry talk. it was the evening before the wedding. ere this time to-morrow abbie would have left them, and in just a little while the ocean would roll between them. ester drew a heavy sigh as she thought of it all. this magic three weeks, which had glowed in beauty for her, such, as she told herself, her life would never see again, were just on the eve of departure; only two days now before she would carry that same restless, unhappy heart back among the clattering dishes in that pantry and dining-room at home. ralph broke the little moment of silence which had fallen between them. "foster, listen to the sweet tones of that distant clock. it is the last time that you, being a free man, will hear it strike five." "unless i prove to be an early riser on the morrow, which necessity will compel me to become if i tarry longer here at present. abbie, i must be busy this entire evening. that funeral obliged me to defer some important business matters that i meant should have been dispatched early in the day." "it isn't possible that you have been to a funeral to-day! how you do mix things." ralph uttered this sentence in real or pretended horror. "why not?" mr. foster answered gently, and added: "it is true though; life and death are very strangely mixed. it was our little sabbath-school girl, sallie, whom we laid to rest to-day. it didn't jar as some funerals would have done; one had simply to remember that she had reached home. miss ester, if you will get that package for me i will execute your commission with pleasure." ester went away to do his bidding, and ralph, promising to meet him at the store in an hour, sauntered away, and for a few moments abbie and mr. foster talked together alone. "good-by all of you," he said smiling, as he glanced back at the two girls a few moments later. "take care of her, ester, until i relieve you. it will not be long now." "take care," ester answered gaily; "you have forgotten the 'slip' that there may be 'between the cup and the lip.'" but he answered her with an almost solemn gravity: "i never forget that more worthy expression of the same idea, we know not what a day may bring forth; but i always remember with exceeding joy that god knows, and will lead us." "he is graver than ten ministers," ester said, as they turned from the window. "come, abbie, let us go up stairs." it was two hours later when abbie entered the sitting-room where ester awaited her, and curled herself into a small heap of white muslin at ester's feet. "there!" said she, with a musical little laugh, "mother has sent me away. the measure of her disgust is complete now. dr. downing is in the sitting-room, and i have been guilty of going in to see him. imagine such a fearful breach of etiquette taking place in the house of ried! do you know, i don't quite know what to do with myself. there is really nothing more to busy myself about, unless i eat the wedding cake." "you don't act in the least like a young lady who is to be married to-morrow," was ester's answer, as she regarded her cousin with a half amused, half puzzled air. "don't i?" said abbie, trying to look alarmed. "what _have_ i done now? i'm forever treading on bits of propriety, and crushing them. it will be a real relief to me when i am safely married, and can relapse into a common mortal again. why, ester, what have i been guilty of just now?" "you are not a bit sentimental; are you, abbie?" and at this gravely put question abbie's laugh rang out again. "now don't, please, add that item to the list," she said merrily. "ester, is it very important that one should be sentimental on such an occasion? i wish you were married, i really do, so that i might be told just how to conduct my self. how can you and mother be so unreasonable as to expect perfection when it is all new, and i really never practiced in my life?" then a change, as sudden as it was sweet, flushed over abbie's face. the merry look died out, and in its place a gentle, tender softness rested in the bright blue eyes, and her voice was low and quiet. "you think my mood a strange one, i fancy, dear ester; almost unbecoming in its gayety. perhaps it is, and yet i feel it bright and glad and happy. the change is a solemn one, but it seems to me that i have considered it long and well. i remember that my new home is to be very near my old one; that my brother will have a patient, faithful, life-long friend in mr. foster, and this makes me feel more hopeful for him--and, indeed, it seems to me that i feel like repeating, 'the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places.' i do not, therefore, affect a gravity that i do not feel. i am gloriously happy to-night, and the strongest feeling in my heart is thankfulness. my heavenly father has brimmed my earthly cup, so that it seems to me there is not room in my heart for another throb of joy; and so you see--ester, what on earth can be going on down stairs? have you noticed the banging of doors, and the general confusion that reigns through the house? positively if i wasn't afraid of shocking mother into a fainting fit i would start on a voyage of discovery." "suppose i go," ester answered, laughing. "inasmuch as i am not going to be married, there can be no harm in seeing what new developments there are below stairs. i mean to go. i'll send you word if it is any thing very amazing." and with a laughing adieu ester closed the door on the young bride-elect, and ran swiftly down stairs. there did seem to be a good deal of confusion in the orderly household, and the very air of the hall seemed to be pervaded with a singular subdued excitement; voices of suppressed loudness issued from the front parlor and as ester knocked she heard a half scream from mrs. ried, mingled with cries of "don't let her in." growing thoroughly alarmed, ester now abruptly pushed open the door and entered. "oh, for mercy's sake, don't let her come," almost screamed mrs. ried, starting wildly forward. "mother, _hush_!" said ralph's voice in solemn sternness. "it is only ester. where is abbie?" "in her room. what is the matter? why do you all act so strangely? i came to see what caused so much noise." and then her eyes and voice were arrested by a group around the sofa; mr. ried and dr. downing, and stooping over some object which was hidden from her was the man who had been pointed out to her as the great dr. archer. as she looked in terrified amazement, he raised his head and spoke. "it is as i feared, mr. ried. the pulse has ceased." "it is not possible!" and the hollow, awestruck tone in which mr. ried spoke can not be described. and then ester saw stretched on that sofa a perfectly motionless form, a perfectly pale and quiet face, rapidly settling into the strange solemn calm of death, and that face and form were mr. foster's! and she stood as if riveted to the spot; stood in speechless, moveless horror and amaze--and then the swift-coming thoughts shaped themselves into two woe-charged words: "oh abbie!" what a household was this into which death had so swiftly and silently entered! the very rooms in which the quiet form lay sleeping, all decked in festive beauty in honor of the bridal morning; but oh! there was to come no bridal. ester shrank back in awful terror from the petition that she would go to abbie. "i can not--i _can not_!" she repeated again and again. "it will kill her; and oh! it would kill me to tell her." mrs. ried was even more hopeless a dependence than ester; and mr. ried cried out in the very agony of despair: "what _shall_ we do? is there _nobody_ to help us?" then ralph came forward, grave almost to sternness, but very calm. "dr. downing," he said, addressing the gentleman who had withdrawn a little from the family group. "it seems to me that you are our only hope in this time of trial. my sister and you are sustained, i verily believe, by the same power. the rest of us seem to _have_ no sustaining power. would you go to my sister, sir?" dr. downing turned his eyes slowly away from the calm, moveless face which seemed to have fascinated him, and said simply: "i will do what i can for abbie. it is blessed to think what a helper she has. one who never faileth. god pity those who have no such friend." so they showed him up to the brightly-lighted library, and sent a message to the unconscious abbie. "dr. downing," she said, turning briskly from the window in answer to maggie's summons. "whatever does he want of me do you suppose, maggie? i'm half afraid of him tonight. however, i'll endeavor to brave the ordeal. tell miss ester to come up to me as soon as she can, and be ready to defend me if i am to receive a lecture." this, as she flitted by toward the door; and a pitying cloud just then hid the face of the august moon, and vailed from the glance of the poor young creature the white, frightened face of maggie. with what unutterable agony of fear did the family below wait and long for and dread the return of dr. downing, or some message from that dreadful room. the moments that seemed hours to them dragged on, and no sound came to them. "she has not fainted then," muttered ralph at last, "or he would have rung. ester, you know what maggie said. could you not go to her?" ester cowered and shrunk. "oh, ralph, don't ask me. i _can not_." then they waited again in silence; and at last shivered with fear as dr. downing softly opened the door. there were traces of deep emotion on his face, but just now it was wonderful for its calmness. "she knows all," he said, addressing mr. ried. "and the widow's god is hers. mrs. ried, she makes special request that she need see no living soul to-night; and, indeed, i think it will be best. and now, my friends, may i pray with you in this hour of trial." so while quick, skillful fingers prepared the sleeper in that front parlor for his long, long rest, a group such as had never bowed the knee together before, knelt in the room just across the hall, and amid tears and moans they were commended to the care of him who waits to help us all. by and by a solemn quiet settled down upon that strangely stricken household. in the front parlor the folding doors were closed, and the angel of death kept guard over his quiet victim. from the chamber overhead came forth no sound, and none knew save god how fared the struggle between despair and submission in that young heart. in the sitting-room ester waited breathlessly while ralph gave the particulars, which she had not until now been able to hear. "we were crossing just above the store; had nearly got across; he was just saying that his preparations were entirely perfected for a long absence. 'it is a long journey,' he added, 'and if i never come back i have the satisfaction of thinking that i have left everything ready even for that. it is well to be ready even for death, ralph,' he said, with one of his glorious smiles; 'it makes life pleasanter.' i don't know how i can tell you the rest." and ralph's lips grew white and tremulous. "indeed, i hardly know how it was. there was an old bent woman crossing just behind us, and there was a carriage, and a wretch of a drunken driver pushing his way through. i don't know how foster came to look around, but he did, and said, 'there is my dear old lady behind us, ralph; she ought not to be out with a mere child for a companion.' and then he uttered an exclamation of terror, and sprang forward--and i know nothing clearly that followed. i saw him drag that old woman fairly from under the horses' feet. i heard the driver curse, and saw him strike his frightened horses, and they reared and plunged, and i saw him fall; but it all seemed to happen in one second of time--and how i got him home, and got dr. archer, and kept it from abbie, i don't seem to know. oh god help my poor little fair darling." and ralph choked and stopped, and wiped from his eyes great burning tears. "oh ralph!" said ester, as soon as she could speak. "then all this misery comes because that driver was intoxicated." "yes," said ralph, with compressed lips and flashing eyes. * * * * * "and that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed." rom. : . * * * * * chapter xviii. light out of darkness. slowly, slowly, the night wore away, and the eastern sky grew rosy with the blush of a new morning--the bridal morning! how strangely unreal, how even impossible did it seem to ester, as she raised the curtains and looked drearily out upon the dawn, that this was actually the day upon which her thoughts had centered during the last three weeks what a sudden shutting down had there been to all their plans and preparations! how strangely the house looked--here a room bedecked in festive beauty for the wedding; there one with shrouded mirrors, and floating folds of crape! life and death, a wedding and a funeral--they had never either of them touched so close to her before; and now the one had suddenly glided backward, and left her heart heavy with the coming of the other. mechanically, she turned to look upon the silvery garment gleaming among the white furnishings of the bed, for she was that very morning to have assisted in arraying the bride in those robes of beauty. her own careful fingers had laid out all the bewildering paraphernalia of the dressing-room--sash and gloves, and handkerchief and laces. just in that very spot had she stood only yesterday, and talking the while with abbie; had altered a knot of ribbons, and given the ends a more graceful droop, and just at that moment abbie had been summoned below stairs to see mr. foster--and now he was waiting down there, not for abbie, but for the coffin and the grave, and abbie was----. and here ester gave a low, shuddering moan, and covered her eyes with her hands. why had she come into that room at all? and why was all this fearful time allowed to come to abbie? poor, poor abbie she had been so bright and so good, and mr. foster had been so entirely her guide--how could she ever endure it? ester doubted much whether abbie could ever bear to see _her_ again, she had been so closely connected with all these bright days, over which so fearful a pall had fallen. it would be very natural if she should refuse even to _see_ her--and, indeed, ester almost hoped she would. it seemed to her that this was a woe too deep to be spoken of or endured, only she said with a kind of desperation, "things _must_ be endured;" and there was a wild thought in her heart, that if she could but have the ordering of events, all this bitter sorrow should never be. there came a low, tremulous knock as an interruption to her thoughts, and maggie's swollen eyes and tear-stained face appeared at the door with a message. "if you please, miss ester, she wants you." "who?" asked ester, with trembling lips and a sinking at her heart. "miss abbie, ma'am; she asked for you, and said would you come to her as soon as you could." but it was hours after that before ester brought herself to feel that she _could_ go to her. nothing had ever seemed so hard to her to do. how to look, how to act, what to say, and above all, what _not_ to say to this poor, widowed bride. these questions were by no means answered, when she suddenly, in desperate haste, decided that if it must be done, the sooner it was over the better, and she made all speed to prepare herself for the visit; and yet there was enough of ester's personal self left, even on that morning, to send a little quiver of complacency through her veins, as she bathed her tear-stained face, and smoothed her disordered hair. abbie had sent for _her_. abbie wanted her; she had sent twice. evidently she had turned to her for help. miserably unable as she felt herself to give it, still it was a comfort to feel that she was the one selected from the household for companionship. ester knew that mrs. ried had been with her daughter for a few moments, and that ralph had rushed in and out again, too overcome to stay, but ester had asked no questions, and received no information concerning her. she pictured her lying on the bed, with disordered hair and swollen eyes, given over to the abandonment of grief, or else the image of stony despair; and it was with a very trembling hand that at last she softly turned the knob and let herself into the morning room, which she and abbie had enjoyed together; and just as she pushed open the door, a neighboring clock counted out twelve strokes, and it was at twelve o'clock that abbie was to become a wife! midway in the room ester paused, and, as her eyes rested on abbie, a look of bewildering astonishment gathered on her face. in the little easy chair by the open window, one hand keeping the place in the partly closed book, sat the young creature, whose life had so suddenly darkened around her. the morning robe of soft pure white was perfect in its neatness and simplicity, the brown curls clustered around her brow with their wonted grace and beauty, and while under her eyes indeed there were heavy rings of black, yet the eyes themselves were large and full and tender. as she held out the disengaged hand, there came the soft and gentle likeness of a smile over her face; and ester, bewildered, amazed, frightened, stood almost as transfixed as if she had been one of those who saw the angel sitting at the door of the empty tomb. stood a moment, then a sudden revulsion of feeling overcoming her, hurried forward, and dropping on her knees, bowed her head over the white hand and the half-open bible, and burst into a passion of tears. "_dear_ ester!" this said abbie in the softest, most soothing of tones. the mourner turned comforter! "oh abbie, abbie, how can you bear it--how _can_ you live?" burst forth from the heart of this friend who had come to comfort this afflicted one! there was a little bit of silence now, and a touching tremble to the voice when it was heard again. "'the lord knoweth them that are his.' i try to remember that. christ knows it all, and he loves me, and he is all-powerful; and yet he leads me through this dark road; therefore it _must_ be right." "but," said ester, raising her eyes and staying her tears for very amazement, "i do not understand--i do not see. how _can_ you be so calm, so submissive, at least just now--so soon--and you were to have been married to-day?" the blood rolled in great purple waves over neck and cheek and brow, and then receded, leaving a strange, almost death-like, pallor behind it. the small hands were tightly clasped, with a strange mixture of pain and devotion in the movement, and the white lips moved for a moment, forming words that met no mortal ear--then the sweet, low, tender voice sounded again. "dear ester, i pray. there is no other way. i pray all the time. i keep right by my savior. there is just a little, oh, a very little, vale of flesh between him and between my--my husband and myself. jesus loves me, ester. i know it now just as well as i did yesterday. i do not and can not doubt him." a mixture of awe and pain and astonishment kept ester moveless and silent, and abbie spoke no more for some moments. then it was a changed, almost bright voice. "ester do you remember we stood together alone for a moment yesterday? i will tell you what he said, the last words that were intended for just me only, that i shall hear for a little while; they are _my_ words, you know, but i shall tell them to you so you may see how tender christ is, even in his most solemn chastenings. 'see here,' he said, 'i will give you a word to keep until we meet in the morning: the lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from another.' i have been thinking, while i sat here this morning, watching the coming of this new day, which you know is his first day in heaven, that perhaps it will be on some such morning of beauty as this that my long, long day will dawn, and that i will say to him, as soon as ever i see his face again: 'the word was a good one; the lord has watched between us, and the night is gone.' think of it, ester. i shall _surely_ say that some day--'some summer morning.'" the essence of sweetness and the sublimity of faith which this young christian threw into these jubilant words can not be repeated on paper; but, thank god, they can in the heart--they are but the echo of those sure and everlasting words: "my grace is sufficient for thee." as for ester, who had spent her years groveling in the dust of earth, it was the recital of such an experience as she had not deemed it possible for humanity to reach. and still she knelt immovable and silent, and abbie broke the silence yet again. "dear ester, do you know i have not seen him yet, and i want to. mother does not understand, and she would not give her consent, but she thinks me safe while you are with me. would you mind going down with me just to look at his face again?" oh, ester would mind it _dreadfully_. she was actually afraid of death. she was afraid of the effect of such a scene upon this strange abbie. she raised her head, shivering with pain and apprehension, and looked a volume of petition and remonstrance; but ere she spoke abbie's hand rested lovingly on her arm, and her low sweet voice continued the pleading: "you do not quite understand my mood, ester. i am not unlike others; i have wept bitter tears this past night; i have groaned in agony of spirit; i have moaned in the very dust. i shall doubtless have such struggles again. this is earth, and the flesh is weak; but now is my hour of exaltation--and while it is given me now to feel a faint overshadowing of the very glory which surrounds him, i want to go and look my last upon the dear clay which is to stay here on earth with me." and ester rose up, and wound her arm about the tiny frame which held this brave true heart, and without another spoken word the two went swiftly down the stairs, and entered the silent, solemn parlor. yet, even while she went, a fierce throb of pain shook ester's heart, as she remembered how they had arranged to descend the staircase on this very day--in what a different manner, and for what a different purpose. apparently no such thought as this touched abbie. she went softly and yet swiftly forward to the still form, while ester waited in almost breathless agony to see what would result from this trial of faith and nerve; but what a face it was upon which death had left its seal! no sculptured marble was ever so grand in its solemn beauty as was this clay-molded face, upon which the glorious smile born not of earth rested in full sweetness. abbie, with clasped hands and slightly parted lips, stood and almost literally drank in the smile; then, sweet and low and musical, there broke the sound of her voice in that great solemn room. "so he giveth his beloved sleep." not another word or sound disturbed the silence. and still abbie stood and gazed on the dear, dead face. and still ester stood near the door, and watched with alternations of anxiety and awe the changeful expressions on the scarcely less white face of the living, until at last, without sound or word, she dropped upon her knees, a cloud of white drapery floating around her, and clasped her hands over the lifeless breast. then on ester's face the anxiety gave place to awe, and with softly moving fingers she opened the door, and with noiseless tread went out into the hall and left the living and the dead alone together. there was one more scene for ester to endure that day. late in the afternoon, as she went to the closed room, there was bending over the manly form a gray-haired old woman. by whose friendly hands she had been permitted to enter, ester did not stop to wonder. she had seen her but once before, but she knew at a glance the worn, wrinkled face; and, as if a picture of the scene hung before her, she saw that old, queer form, leaning trustfully on the strong arm, lying nerveless now, being carefully helped through the pushing throng--being reverently cared for as if she had been his mother; and _she_, looking after the two, had wondered if she should ever see them again. now she stood in the presence of them both, yet what an unmeasurable ocean rolled between them! the faded, tearful eyes were raised to her face after a moment, and a quivering voice spoke her thoughts aloud, rather than addressed any body. "he gave his life for poor old useless me, and it was such a beautiful life, and was needed, oh so much; but what am i saying, god let it be him instead of me, who wanted so to go--and after trusting him all along, am i, at my time of life, going to murmur at him now? he came to see me only yesterday"--this in a more natural tone of voice, addressed to ester--"he told me good-by. he said he was going a long journey with his wife; and now, may the dear savior help the poor darling, for he has gone his long journey without her." ester waited to hear not another word. the heavy sense of pain because of abbie, which she had carried about with her through all that weary day, had reached its height with that last sentence: "he has gone his long journey without her." she fled from the room, up the stairs, to the quiet little chamber, which had been given to her for her hours of retirement, locked and bolted the door, and commenced pacing up and down the room in agony of soul. it was not all because of abbie that this pain knocked so steadily at her heart, at least not all out of sympathy with her bitter sorrow. there was a fearful tumult raging in her own soul; her last stronghold had been shattered. of late she had come to think that abbie's christian life was but a sweet reflection of mr. foster's strong, true soul; that she leaned not on christ, but on the arm of flesh. she had told herself very confidently that if _she_ had such a friend as he had been to abbie, she should be like her. in her hours of rebellion she had almost angrily reminded herself that it was not strange that abbie's life could be so free from blame; _she_ had some one to turn to in her needs. it was a very easy matter for abbie to slip lightly over the petty trials of her life, so long as she was surrounded and shielded by that strong, true love. but now, ah now, the arm of flesh had faltered, the strong staff had broken, and broken, too, only a moment, as it were, before it was to have been hers in name as well as in spirit. naturally, ester had expected that the young creature, so suddenly shorn of her best and dearest, would falter and faint, and utterly fail. and when, looking on, she saw the triumph of the christian's faith, rising even over death, sustained by no human arm, and yet wonderfully, triumphantly sustained, even while she bent for the last time over that which was to have been her earthly all--looking and wondering, there suddenly fell away from her the stupor of years, and ester saw with wide, open eyes, and thoroughly awakened soul, that there was a something in this christian religion that abbie had and she had not. and thus it was that she paced her room in that strange agony that was worse than grief, and more sharp than despair. no use now to try to lull her conscience back to quiet sleep again; that time was past, it was thoroughly and sharply awake; the same all-wise hand which had tenderly freed one soul from its bonds of clay and called it home, had as tenderly and as wisely, with the same stroke, cut the cords that bound this other soul to earth, loosed the scales from her long-closed eyes, broke the sleep that had well-nigh lulled her to ruin; and now heart and brain and conscience were thoroughly and forever awake. when at last, from sheer exhaustion, she ceased her excited pacing up and down the room and sank into a chair, her heart was not more stilled. it seemed to her, long after, in thinking of this hour, that it was given to her to see deeper into the recesses of her own depravity than ever mortal had seen before. she began years back, at that time when she thought she had given her heart to christ, and reviewed step by step all the weary way, up to this present time; and she found nothing but backslidings, and inconsistencies, and confusion--denials of her savior, a closed bible, a neglected closet, a forgotten cross. oh, the bitterness, the unutterable agony of that hour! surely abbie, on her knees struggling with her bleeding heart, and yet feeling all around and underneath her the everlasting arms, knew nothing of desolation such as this. fiercer and fiercer waged the warfare, until at last every root of pride, or self-complacence, or self-excuse, was utterly cast out. yet did not satan despair. oh, he meant to have this poor sick, weak lamb, if he could get her; no effort should be left unmade. and when he found that she could be no more coaxed and lulled and petted into peace, he tried that darker, heavier temptation--tried to stupefy her into absolute despair. "no," she said within her heart, "i am not a christian; i never have been one; i never _can_ be one. i've been a miserable, self-deceived hypocrite all my life. i have had a name to live, and am dead. i would not let myself be awakened; i have struggled against it; i have been only too glad to stop myself from thinking about it. i have been just a miserable stumbling-block, with no excuse to offer; and now i feel myself deserted, justly so. there can be no rest for such as i. i have no savior; i have insulted and denied him; i have crucified him again, and now he has left me to myself." thus did that father of lies continue to pour into this weary soul the same old story which he has repeated for so many hundred years, with the same old foundation: "_i--i--i_." and strange to say, this poor girl repeated the experience which has so many times been lived, during these past hundreds of years, in the very face of that other glorious pronoun, in very defiance, it would seem, to that old, old explanation: "surely _he_ hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows." "_he_ was wounded for our transgressions; _he_ was bruised for our iniquities. the chastisement of our peace was upon _him_: and with _his stripes_ we are healed." yes, ester knew those two verses. she knew yet another which said: "all we, like sheep, have gone astray. we have turned every one to his own way: _and the lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all_." and yet she dared to sit with hopeless, folded hand, with heavy despairing eyes, and repeat that sentence: "i _have_ no savior now." and many a wandering sheep has dared, even in its repenting hour, to insult the great shepherd thus. ester's bible lay on the window seat--the large, somewhat worn bible which abbie had lent her, to "mark just as much as she pleased;" it lay open, as if it had opened of itself to a familiar spot. there were heavy markings around several of the verses, markings that had not been made by ester's pencil. some power far removed from that which had been guiding her despairing thoughts prompted her to reach forth her hand for the book, and fix her attention on those marked verses, and the words were these: "for thus saith the high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is holy; i dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones. for i will not contend forever, neither will i be always wroth: for the spirit should fail before me, and the souls which i have made. for the iniquity of his covetousness was i wroth, and smote him: i hid me, and was wroth, and he went on frowardly in the way of his heart. i have seen his ways, and will heal him: i will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him and to his mourners. i create the fruit of the lips; peace, peace to him that is afar off, and to him that is near, saith the lord; and _i will heal him_." had an angel spoken to ester, or was it the dear voice of the lord himself? she did not know. she only knew that there rang through her very soul two sentences as the climax of all these wonderful words: "peace, peace to him that is afar off"--and--"i will heal him." a moment more, and with the very promise of the crucified spread out before her, ester was on her knees; and at first, with bursts of passionate, tearful pleading, and later with low, humble, contrite tones, and finally with the sound in her voice of that peace which comes only to those to whom christ is repeating: "i have blotted out as a cloud thy transgressions, and as a thick cloud thy sins," did ester pray. "do you know, dear ester, there must have been two new joys in heaven to-day? first they had a new-comer among those who walk with him in white, for they are worthy; and then they had that shout of triumph over another soul for whom satan has struggled fiercely and whom he has forever lost." this said abbie, as they nestled close together that evening in the "purple twilight." and ester answered simply and softly: amen. chapter xix. sundries. meanwhile the days moved on; the time fixed for ester's return home had long passed, and yet she tarried in new york. abbie clung to her, wanted her for various reasons; and the unselfish, pitying mother, far away, full of tender sympathy for the stricken bride, smothered a sigh of weariness, buried in her heart the thought of her own need of her eldest daughter's presence and help, and wrote a long, loving letter, jointly to the daughter and niece, wherein she gave her full consent to ester's remaining away, so long as she could be a comfort to her cousin. two items worthy of record occurred during these days. the first time the family gathered at the dinner table, after the one who had been so nearly a son of the house had been carried to his rest in that wonderful and treasured city of greenwood, ralph, being helped by john, as usual, to his glass of wine, refused it with a short, sharp, almost angry "_no_. take it away and never offer me the accursed stuff again. we should have had him with us to-day but for that. i'll never touch another drop of it as long as i live." which startling words mr. and mrs. ried listened to without comment, other than a half-frightened look bestowed on abbie, to see how she would bear this mention of her dead; and she bore it this way. turning her eyes, glistening with tears, full on her brother's face, she said, with a little quiver of tender gladness in her voice: "oh, ralph, i knew it had a silver lining, but i did not think god would let me see it so soon." then mr. and mrs. ried concluded that both their children were queer, and that they did not understand them. the other item was productive of a dissertation on propriety from mrs. ried. ralph and his father were in the back parlor, the former standing with one arm resting on the mantel while he talked with his father, who was half buried in a great easy chair--that easy chair in his own elegant parlor, and his handsome son standing before him in that graceful attitude, were mr. ried's synonyms for perfect satisfaction; and his face took on a little frown of disappointment, as the door opened somewhat noisily, and mrs. ried came in wearing a look expressive of thoroughly-defined vexation. ralph paused in the midst of his sentence, and wheeled forward a second easy chair for his mother, then returned to his former position and waited patiently for the gathered frown to break into words, which event instantly occurred. "i really do not think, mr. ried, that this nonsense ought to be allowed; besides being a very strange, unfeeling thing to do, it is in my opinion positively indecent--and i _do_ think, mr. ried, that you ought to exercise your authority for once." "if you would kindly inform me what you are supposed to be talking about, and where my authority is specially needed at this time, i might be induced to consider the matter." this, from the depths of the easy chair, in its owner's most provokingly indifferent tone, which fortunately mrs. ried was too much preoccupied to take special note of, and continued her storm of words. "here, it is not actually quite a week since he was buried, and abbie must needs make herself and her family appear perfectly ridiculous by making her advent in public." mr. ried came to an upright posture, and even ralph asked a startled question: "where is she going?" "why, where do you suppose, but to that absurd little prayer-meeting, where she always would insist upon going every thursday evening. i used to think it was for the pleasure of a walk home with mr. foster; but why she should go to-night is incomprehensible to me." "nonsense!" said mr. ried, settling back into the cushions. "a large public that will be. i thought at the very least she was going to the opera. if the child finds any comfort in such an atmosphere, where's the harm? let her go." "where's the harm! now, mr. ried, that is just as much as you care for appearances _sometimes_, and at other times you can be quite as particular as _i_ am; though i certainly believe there is nothing that abbie might take a fancy to do that you would not uphold her in." mr. ried's reply was uttered in a tone that impressed one with the belief that he was uttering a deliberate conviction. "you are quite right as regards that, i suspect. at least i find myself quite unable to conceive of any thing connected with her that could by any twisting be made other than just the thing." mrs. ried's exasperated answer was cut short by the entrance of abbie, attired as for a walk or ride, the extreme pallor of her face and the largeness of her soft eyes enhanced by the deep mourning robes which fell around her like the night. "now, abbie," said mrs. ried, turning promptly to her, "i did hope you had given up this strangest of all your strange whims. what _will_ people think?" "people are quite accustomed to see me there, dear mother, at least all the people who will see me to-night; and if _ever_ i needed help i do just now." "i should think it would be much more appropriate to stay at home and find help in the society of your own family. that is the way other people do who are in affliction." mrs. ried had the benefit of a full, steady look from abbie's great solemn eyes now, as she said: "mother, i want god's help. no other will do me any good." "well," answered mrs. ried, after just a moment of rather awe-struck silence, "can't you find that help any where but in that plain, common little meeting-house? i thought people with your peculiar views believed that god was every-where." an expression not unlike that of a hunted deer shone for a moment in abbie's eyes. then she spoke, in tones almost despairing: "o mother, _mother_, you _can not_ understand." tone, or words, or both, vexed mrs. ried afresh, and she spoke with added sharpness. "at least i can understand this much, that my daughter is very anxious to do a thing utterly unheard of in its propriety, and i am thoroughly ashamed of you. if i were ester i should not like to uphold you in such a singularly conspicuous parade. remember, you have no one _now_ but john to depend upon as an escort." ralph had remained a silent, immovable listener to this strange, sad conversation up to this moment. now he came suddenly forward with a quick, firm tread, and encircled abbie's trembling form with his arm, while with eyes and voice he addressed his mother. "in that last proposition you are quite mistaken, my dear mother. abbie chances to have a brother, who considers himself honored by being permitted to accompany her any where she may choose to go." mrs. ried looked up at her tall, haughty son in unfeigned astonishment, and for an instant was silent. "oh," she said at last, "if you have chosen to rank yourself on this ridiculous fanatical side, i have nothing more to say." as for mr. ried, he had long before this shadded his eyes with his hand, and was looking through half-closed fingers with mournful eyes at the sable robes and pallid face of his golden-haired darling, apparently utterly unconscious of or indifferent to the talk that was going on. but will ralph ever forget the little sweet smile which illumined for a moment the pure young face, as she turned confiding eyes on him? thenceforth there dawned a new era in abbie's life. ralph, for reasons best known to himself, chose to be released from his vacation engagements in a neighboring city, and remained closely at home. and abbie went as usual to her mission-class, to her bible-class, to the teacher's prayer-meeting, to the regular church prayer-meeting, every-where she had been wont to go, and she was always and every-where accompanied and sustained by her brother. as for ester, these were days of great opportunity and spiritual growth to her. so we bridge the weeks between and reach the afternoon of a september day, bright and beautiful, as the month draws toward its closing; and ester is sitting alone in her room in the low, easy chair by the open window, and in her lap lies an open letter, while she, with thoughtful, earnest eyes seems reading, not it, but the future, or else her own heart. the letter is from sadie, and she has written thus: "my dear city sister,--mother said to-night, as we were promenading the dining-room for the sake of exercise, and also to clear off the table (maggie had the toothache and was off duty): 'sadie, my dear child, haven't you written to ester yet? do you think it is quite right to neglect her so, when she must be very anxious to hear from home?' now, you know, when mother says, 'sadie, my dear child,' and looks at me from out those reproachful eyes of hers, there is nothing short of mixing a mess of bread that i would not do for her. so here i am--place, third story front; time, : p.m.; position, foot of the bed (julia being soundly sleeping at the head), one gaiter off and one gaiter on, somewhat after the manner of 'my son john' so renowned in history. speaking of bread, how abominably that article can act. i had a solemn conflict with a batch of it this morning. firstly, you must know, i forgot it. mother assured me it was ready to be mixed before i awakened, so it must have been before that event took place that the forgetfulness occurred; however, be that as it may, after i was thoroughly awake, and up, and _down_, i still forgot it. the fried potatoes were frying themselves fast to that abominable black dish in which they are put to sizzle, and which, by the way, is the most nefarious article in the entire kitchen list to get clean (save and excepting the dish-cloth). well, as i was saying, they burned themselves, and i ran to the rescue. then minie wanted me to go to the yard with her, to see a 'dear cunning little brown and gray thing, with some greenish spots, that walked and spoke to her.' the interesting stranger proved to be a fair-sized frog! while examining into, and explaining minutely the nature and character and occupations of the entire frog family, the mixture in the tin pail, behind the kitchen stove, took that opportunity to _sour_. my! what a bubble it was in, and what an interesting odor it emitted, when at last i returned from frogdom to the ordinary walks of life, and gave it my attention. maggie was above her elbows in the wash-tub, so i seized the pail, and in dire haste and dismay ran up two flights of stairs in search of mother. i suppose you know what followed. i assure you, i think mothers and soda are splendid! what a remarkable institution that ingredient is. while i made sour into sweet with the aid of its soothing proclivities, i moralized; the result of which was that after i had squeezed and mushed and rolled over, and thumped and patted my dough the requisite number of times, i tucked it away under blankets in a corner, and went out to the piazza to ask dr. douglass if he knew of an article in the entire round of materia medica which could be given to human beings when they were sour and disagreeable, and which, after the manner of soda in dough, would immediately work a reform. on his acknowledging his utter ignorance of any such principle, i advanced the idea that cooking was a much more developed science than medicine; thence followed an animated discussion. "but in the meantime what do you suppose that bread was doing? just spreading itself in the most remarkable manner over the nice blanket under which i had cuddled it! then i had an amazing time. mother said the patting process must all be done over again; and there was abundant opportunity for more moralizing. that bread developed the most remarkable stick-to-a-tive-ness that i ever beheld. i assure you, if total depravity is a mark of humanity, then i believe my dough is human. "well, we are all still alive, though poor mr. holland is, i fear, very little more than that. he was thrown from his carriage one evening last week, and brought home insensible. he is now in a raging fever, and very ill indeed. for once in their lives both doctors agree. he is delirious most of the time; and his delirium takes the very trying form which leads him to imagine that only mother can do any thing for him. the doctors think he fancies she is his own mother, and that he is a boy again. all this makes matters rather hard on mother. she is frequently with him half the night; and often maggie and i are left to reign supreme in the kitchen for the entire day. those are the days that 'try men's souls,' especially women's. "i am sometimes tempted to think that all the book knowledge the world contains is not to be compared to knowing just what, and how, and when, to do in the kitchen. i quite think so for a few hours when mother, after a night of watching in a sick room, comes down to undo some of my blundering. she is the patientest, dearest, lovingest, kindest mother that ever a mortal had, and just because she is so patient shall i rejoice over the day when she can give a little sigh of relief and leave the kitchen, calm in the assurance that it will be right-side up when she returns. ester, how _did_ you make things go right? i'm sure i try harder than i ever knew you to, and yet salt will get into cakes and puddings, and sugar into potatoes. just here i'm conscience smitten. i beg you will not construe one of the above sentences as having the remotest allusion to your being sadly missed at home. mother said i was not even to _hint_ such a thing, and i'm sure i haven't. i'm a _remarkable_ housekeeper. the fall term at the academy opened week before last. i have hidden my school-books behind that old barrel in the north-east corner of the attic. i thought they would be safer there than below stairs. at least i was sure the bread would do better in the oven because of their ascent. "to return to the scene of our present trials: mr. holland is, i suppose, very dangerously sick; and poor mrs. holland is the very embodiment of despair. when i look at her in prospective misery, i am reminded of poor, dear cousin abbie (to whom i would write if it didn't seem a sacrilege), and i conclude there is really more misery in this world of ours than i had any idea of. i've discovered why the world was made round. it must be to typify our lives--sort of a tread-mill existence, you know; coming constantly around to the things which you thought you had done yesterday and put away; living over again to-day the sorrows which you thought were vanquished last week. i'm sleepy, and it is nearly time to bake cakes for breakfast. 'the tip of the morning to you,' as patrick o'brien greets maggie. "yours nonsensically; sadie." chapter xx. at home. over this letter ester had laughed and cried, and finally settled, as we found her, into quiet thought. when abbie came in after a little, and nestled on an ottoman in front of her, with an inquiring look, ester placed the letter in her hands, without note or comment, and abbie read and laughed considerably, then grew more sober, and at last folded the letter with a very thoughtful face. "well," said ester, at last, smiling a little. and abbie answered: "oh, ester." "yes," said ester, "you see they need me." then followed a somewhat eager, somewhat sorrowful talk, and then a moment of silence fell between them, which abbie broke by a sudden question: "ester, isn't this dr. douglass gaining some influence over sadie? have i imagined it, or does she speak of him frequently in her letters, in a way that gives me an idea that his influence is not for good?" "i'm afraid it is very true; his influence over her seems to be great, and it certainly is not for good. the man is an infidel, i think. at least he is very far indeed from being a christian. do you know i read a verse in my bible this morning which, when i think of my past influence over sadie, reminds me bitterly of myself. it was like this: 'while men slept his enemy came and sowed tares--.' if i had not been asleep i might have won sadie for the savior before this enemy came." "well," abbie answered gently, not in the least contradicting this sad statement, but yet speaking hopefully, "you will try to undo all this now." "oh, abbie, i don't know. i am so weak--like a child just beginning to take little steps alone, instead of being the strong disciple that i might have been. i distrust myself. i am afraid." "i'm not afraid for you," abbie said, speaking very earnestly. "because, in the first place you are unlike the little child, in that you must never even try to take one step _alone_. and besides, there are more verses in the bible than that one. see here, let me show you mine." and abbie produced her little pocket bible, and pointed with her finger while ester read; "when i am weak, then am i strong." then turning the leaves rapidly, as one familiar with the strongholds of that tower of safety, she pointed again, and ester read: "what time i am afraid, i will trust in thee." almost five o'clock of a sultry october day, one of those days which come to us sometimes during that golden month, like a regretful turning back of the departing summer. a day which, coming to people who have much hard, pressing work, and who are wearied and almost stifled with the summer's heat, makes them thoroughly uncomfortable, not to say cross. almost five o'clock, and in the great dining-room of the rieds sadie was rushing nervously back and forth, very much in the same manner that ester was doing on that first evening of our acquaintance, only there was not so much method in her rushing. the curtains were raised as high as the tapes would take them, and the slant rays of the yellow sun were streaming boldly in, doing their bravest to melt into oil the balls of butter on the table, for poor, tired, bewildered sadie had forgotten to let down the shades, and forgotten the ice for the butter, and had laid the table cloth crookedly, and had no time to straighten it. this had been one of her trying days. the last fierce look of summer had parched anew the fevered limbs of the sufferer up stairs, and roused to sharper conflict the bewildered brain. mrs. ried's care had been earnest and unremitting, and sadie, in her unaccustomed position of mistress below stairs, had reached the very verge of bewildered weariness. she gave nervous glances at the inexorable clock as she flew back and forth. there were those among mrs. ried's boarders whose business made it almost a necessity that they should be promptly served at five o'clock. maggie had been hurriedly summoned to do an imperative errand connected with the sick room; and this inexperienced butterfly, with her wings sadly drooping, was trying to gather her scattered wits together sufficiently to get that dreadful tea-table ready for the thirteen boarders who were already waiting the summons. "what _did_ i come after?" she asked herself impatiently, as she pressed her hand to her frowning forehead, and stared about the pantry in a vain attempt to decide what had brought her there in such hot haste. "oh, a spoon--no, a fork, i guess it was. why, i don't remember the forks at all. as sure as i'm here, i believe they are, too, instead of being on the table; and--oh, my patience, i believe those biscuits are burning. i wonder if they are done. oh, dear me!" and the young lady, who was mr. hammond's star scholar, bent with puzzled, burning face, and received hot whiffs of breath from the indignant oven while she tried to discover whether the biscuits were ready to be devoured. it was an engrossing employment. she did not hear the sound of carriage wheels near the door, nor the banging of trunks on the side piazza. she was half way across the dining-room, with her tin of puffy biscuits in her hands, with the puzzled, doubtful look still on her face, before she felt the touch of two soft, loving arms around her neck, and turning quickly, she screamed, rather than said: "oh, ester!" and suddenly seating her tin of biscuit on one chair and herself on another, sadie covered her face with both hands and actually cried. "why, sadie, you poor dear child, what _can_ be the matter?" and ester's voice was full of anxiety, for it was almost the first time that she had ever seen tears on that bright young face. sadie's first remark caused a sudden revulsion of feeling. springing suddenly to her feet, she bent anxious eyes on the chair full of biscuit. "oh, ester," she said, "_are_ these biscuits done, or will they be sticky and hateful in the middle?" _how_ ester laughed! then she came to the rescue. "_done_--of course they are, and beautifully, too. did you make them? here, i'll take them out. sadie, where is mother?" "in mr. holland's room. she has been there nearly all day. mr. holland is no better, and maggie has gone on an errand for them. why have you come? did the fairies send you?" "and where are the children?" "they have gone to walk. minie wanted mother every other minute, so alfred and julia have carried her off with them. say, you _dear_ ester, how _did_ you happen to come? how shall i be glad enough to see you?" ester laughed. "then i can't see any of them," she said by way of answer. "never mind, then we'll have some tea. you poor child, how very tired you look. just seat yourself in that chair, and see if i have forgotten how to work." and sadie, who was thoroughly tired, and more nervous than she had any idea she could be, leaned luxuriously back in her mother's chair, with a delicious sense of unresponsibility about her, and watched a magic spell come over the room. down came the shades in a twinkling, and the low red sun looked in on them no more; the table-cloth straightened itself; pickles and cheese and cake got out of their confused proximity, and marched each to their appropriate niche on the well-ordered table; a flying visit into well-remembered regions returned hard, sparkling, ice-crowned butter. and when at last the fragrant tea stood ready to be served, and ester, bright and smiling, stationed herself behind her mother's chair, sadie gave a little relieved sigh, and then she laughed. "you're straight from fairy land, ester; i know it now. that table-cloth has been crooked in spite of me for a week. maggie lays it, and i _can not_ straighten it. i don't get to it. i travel five hundred miles every night to get this supper ready, and it's never ready. i have to bob up for a fork or a spoon, or i put on four plates of butter and none of bread. oh there is witch work about it, and none but thoroughbred witches can get every thing, every little insignificant, indispensable thing on a table. i can't keep house." "you poor kitten," said ester, filled with very tender sympathy for this pretty young sister and feeling very glad indeed that she had come home, "who would think of expecting a butterfly to spin? you shall bring those dear books down from the attic to-morrow. in the meantime, where is the tea-bell?" "oh, we don't ring," said sadie, rising as she spoke. "the noise disturbs mr. holland. here comes my first lieutenant, who takes charge of that matter. my sister, miss ried, dr. douglass." and ester, as she returned the low, deferential bow bestowed upon her, felt anew the thrill of anxiety which had come to her of late when she thought of this dangerous stranger in connection with her beautiful, giddy, unchristian sister. on the whole, ester's home coming was pleasant. to be sure it was a wonderful change from her late life; and there was perhaps just the faintest bit of a sigh as she drew off her dainty cuffs and prepared to wipe the dishes which sadie washed, while maggie finished her interrupted ironing. what would john, the stylish waiter at uncle ralph's, think if he could see her now, and how funny abbie would look engaged in such employment; but sadie looked so bright and relieved and rested, and chatted so gayly, that presently ester gave another little sigh and said: "poor abbie! how very, _very_ lonely she must be to-night. i wish she were here for you to cheer her, sadie." later, while she dipped into the flour preparatory to relieving sadie of her fearful task of sponge setting, the kitchen clock struck seven. this time she laughed at the contrast. they were just going down to dinner now at uncle ralph's. only night before last she was there herself. she had been out that day with aunt helen, and so was attired in the lovely blue silk and the real laces, which were aunt helen's gift, fastened at the throat by a tiny pearl, abbie's last offering. now they were sitting down to dinner without her, and she was in the great pantry five hundred miles away, a long, wide calico apron quite covering up her traveling dress, sleeves rolled above her elbows, and engaged in scooping flour out of the barrel into her great wooden bowl! but then how her mother's weary, careworn face had brightened, and glowed into pleased surprise as she caught the first glimpse of her; how lovingly she had folded her in those dear _motherly_ arms, and said, actually with lips all a tremble: "my _dear_ daughter! what an unexpected blessing, and what a kind providence, that you have come just now." then alfred and julia had been as eager and jubilant in their greeting as though ester had been always to them the very perfection of a sister; and hadn't little minie crumpled her dainty collar into an unsightly rag, and given her "scotch kisses," and "dutch kisses," and "yankee kisses," and genuine, sweet baby kisses, in her uncontrollable glee over dear "auntie essie." and besides, oh besides! this ester ried who had come home was not the ester ried who had gone out from them only two months ago. a whole lifetime of experience and discipline seemed to her to have been crowded into those two months. nothing of her past awakened more keen regret in this young girl's heart than the thought of her undutiful, unsisterly life. it was all to be different now. she thanked god that he had let her come back to that very kitchen and dining-room to undo her former work. the old sluggish, selfish spirit had gone from her. before this every thing had been done for ester ried, now it was to be done for christ--_every thing_, even the mixing up of that flour and water; for was not the word given: "_whatsoever_ ye do, do all to the glory of god?" how broad that word was, "whatsoever." why that covered every movement--yes, and every word. how _could_ life have seemed to her dull and uninteresting and profitless? sadie hushed her busy tongue that evening as she saw in the moonlight ester kneeling to pray; and a kind of awe stole over her for a moment as she saw that the kneeler seemed unconscious of any earthly presence. somehow it struck sadie as a different matter from any kneeling which she had ever watched in the moonlight before. and ester, as she rested her tired, happy head upon her own pillow, felt this word ringing sweetly in her heart: "and ye are christ's, and christ is god's." chapter xxi. tested. ester was winding the last smooth coil of hair around her head when sadie opened her eyes the next morning. "my!" she said. "do you know, ester, it is perfectly delightful to me to lie here and look at you, and remember that i shall not be responsible for those cakes this morning? they shall want a pint of soda added to them for all that i shall need to know or care." ester laughed. "you will surely have _your_ pantry well stocked with soda," she said, gayly. "it seems to have made a very strong impression on your mind." but the greeting had chimed with her previous thoughts and sounded pleasant to her. she had come home to be the helper; her mother and sadie should feel and realize after this how very much of a helper she could be. that very day should be the commencement of her old, new life. it was baking day--her detestation heretofore, her pleasure now. no more useful day could be chosen. how she would dispatch the pies and cakes and biscuits, to say nothing of the wonderful loaves of bread. she smiled brightly on her young sister, as she realized in a measure the weight of care which she was about to lift from her shoulders; and by the time she was ready for the duties of the day she had lived over in imagination the entire routine of duties connected with that busy, useful, happy day. she went out from her little clothes-press wrapped in armor--the pantry and kitchen were to be her battle-field, and a whole host of old temptations and trials were there to be met and vanquished. so ester planned, and yet it so happened that she did not once enter the kitchen during all that long busy day, and sadie's young shoulders bore more of the hundred little burdens of life that saturday than they had ever felt before. descending the stairs, ester met dr. van anden for the first time since her return. he greeted her with a hurried "good-morning," quite as if he had seen her only the day before, and at once pressed her into service: "miss ester, will you go to mr. holland immediately? i can not find your mother. send mrs. holland from the room, she excites him. tell her _i_ say she must come immediately to the sitting-room; i wish to see her. give mr. holland a half teaspoonful of the mixture in the wine-glass every ten minutes, and on no account leave him until i return, which will be as soon as possible." and seeming to be certain that his directions would be followed, the doctor vanished. for only about a quarter of a minute did ester stand irresolute. dr. van anden's tone and manner were full of his usual authority--a habit with him which had always annoyed her. she shrank with a feeling amounting almost to terror from a dark, quiet room, and the position of nurse. her base of operations, according to her own arrangements, had been the light, airy kitchen, where she felt herself needed at this very moment. but one can think of several things in a quarter of a minute. ester had very lately taken up the habit of securing one bible verse as part of her armor to go with her through the day. on this particular morning the verse was: "whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." now if her hands had found work waiting for her down this first flight of stairs instead of down two, as she had planned, what was that to her? ester turned and went swiftly to the sick room, dispatched the almost frantic wife according to the doctor's peremptory orders, gave the mixture as directed, waited patiently for the doctor's return, only to hear herself installed as head nurse for the day; given just time enough to take a very hurried second table meal with sadie, listen to her half pitiful, half comic complainings, and learn that her mother was down with sick headache. so it was that this first day at home drew toward its closing; and not one single thing that ester had planned to do, and do so well, had she been able to accomplish. it had been very hard to sit patiently there and watch the low breathings of that almost motionless man on the bed before her, to rouse him at set intervals sufficiently to pour some mixture down his unwilling lips, to fan him occasionally, and that was all. it had been hard, but ester had not chafed under it; she had recognized the necessity--no nurse to be found, her mother sick, and the young, frightened, as well as worn-out wife, not to be trusted. clearly she was at the post of duty. so as the red sun peeped in a good-night from a little corner of the closed curtain, it found ester not angry, but _very_ sad. _such_ a weary day! and this man on the bed was dying; both doctors had _looked_ that at each other at least a dozen times that day. how her life of late was being mixed up with death. she had just passed through one sharp lesson, and here at the threshold awaited another. different from that last though--oh, _very_ different--and herein lay some of the sadness. mr. foster had said "every thing was ready for the long journey, even should there be no return." then she went back for a minute to the look of glory on that marble face, and heard again that wonderful sentence: "_so_ he giveth his beloved sleep." but this man here! every thing had not been made ready by him. so at least she feared. yet she was conscious, professed christian though she had been, living in the same house with him for so many years, that she knew very little about him. she had seen much of him, had talked much with him, but she had never mentioned to him the name of christ, the name after which she called herself. the sun sank lower, it was almost gone; this weary day was nearly done; and very sad and heavy-hearted felt this young watcher--the day begun in brightness was closing in gloom. it was not all so clear a path as she had thought; there were some things that she could not undo. those days of opportunity, in which she might at least have invited this man to jesus, were gone; it seemed altogether probable that there would never come another. there was a little rustle of the drapery about the bed, and she turned suddenly, to meet the great searching eyes of the sick man, bent full upon her. then he spoke in low, but wonderfully distinct and solemn tones. and the words he slowly uttered were yet more startling: "am i going to die?" oh, what _was_ ester to say? how those great bright eyes searched her soul! looking into them, feeling the awful solemnity of the question, she could not answer "no;" and it seemed almost equally impossible to tell him "yes." so the silence was unbroken, while she trembled in every nerve, and felt her face blanch before the continued gaze of those mournful eyes. at length the silence seemed to answer him; for he turned his head suddenly from her, and half buried it in the pillow, and neither spoke nor moved. that awful silence! that moment of opportunity, perhaps the last of earth for him, perhaps it was given to her to speak to him the last words that he would ever hear from mortal lips. what _could_ she say? if she only knew how--only had words. yet _something_ must be said. then there came to ester one of those marked bible verses which had of late grown so precious, and her voice, low and clear, filled the blank in the room. "god is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." no sound from the quiet figure on the bed. she could not even tell if he had heard, yet perhaps he might, and so she gathered them, a little string of wondrous pearls, and let them fall with soft and gentle cadence from her lips. "commit thy way unto the lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass." "the lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him--the lord is gracious, and full of compassion." "thus saith the lord, your redeemer, the holy one of israel, i, even i, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins." "look unto me and be ye saved, all ye ends of the earth; for i am god, and there is none else." "incline your ear, and come unto me; hear, and your soul shall live." silence for a moment, and then ester repeated, in tones that were full of sweetness, that one little verse, which had become the embodiment to her of all that was tender, and soothing and wonderful: "what time i am afraid i will trust in thee." was this man, moving toward the very verge of the river, afraid? ester did not know, was not to know whether those gracious invitations from the redeemer of the world had fallen once more on unheeding ears, or not; for with a little sigh, born partly of relief, and partly of sorrow, that the opportunity was gone, she turned to meet dr. van anden, and was sent for a few moments out into the light and glory of the departing day, to catch a bit of its freshness. it was as the last midnight stroke of that long, long day was being given, that they were gathered about the dying bed. sadie was there, solemn and awe-stricken. mrs. ried had arisen from her couch of suffering, and nerved herself to be a support to the poor young wife. dr. douglass, at the side of the sick man, kept anxious watch over the fluttering pulse. ester, on the other side, looked on in helpless pity, and other friends of the hollands were grouped about the room. so they watched and waited for the swift down-coming of the angel of death the death damp had gathered on his brow, the pulse seemed but a faint tremble now and then, and those whose eyes were used to death thought that his lips would never frame mortal sound again, when suddenly the eyelids raised, and mr. holland, fixing a steady gaze upon the eyes bent on him from the foot of the bed, whither ester had slipped to make more room for her mother and mrs. holland, said, in a clear, distinct tone, one unmistakable word--"pray!" will ester ever forget the start of terror which thrilled her frame as she felt that look and heard that word? she cast a quick, frightened glance around her of inquiry and appeal; but her mother and herself were the only ones present whom she had reason to think ever prayed. could she, _would_ she, that gentle, timid, shrinking mother? but mrs. ried was supporting the now almost fainting form of mrs. holland, and giving anxious attention to her. "he says pray!" sadie murmured, in low, frightened tones. "oh, where is dr. van anden?" ester knew he had been called in great haste to the house across the way, and ere he could return, this waiting spirit might be gone--gone without a word of prayer. would ester want to die so, with no voice to cry for her to that listening savior? but then no human being had ever heard her pray. could she?--must she? oh, for dr. van anden--a christian doctor! oh, if that infidel stood anywhere but there, with his steady hand clasping the fluttering pulse, with his cool, calm eyes bent curiously on her--but mr. holland was dying; perhaps the everlasting arms were not underneath him--and at this fearful thought, ester dropped upon her knees, giving utterance to her deepest need in the first uttered words, "oh, holy spirit, teach me just what to say!" her mother, listening with startled senses as the familiar voice fell on her ear, could but think that _that_ petition was answered; and ester felt it in her very soul, dr. douglass, her mother, sadie, all of them were as nothing--there was only this dying man and christ, and she pleading that the passing soul might be met even now by the angel of the covenant. there were those in the room who never forgot that prayer of ester's. dr. van anden, entering hastily, paused midway in the room, taking in the scene in an instant of time, and then was on his knees, uniting his silent petitions with hers. so fervent and persistent was the cry for help, that even the sobs of the stricken wife were hushed in awe, and only the watching doctor, with his finger on the pulse, knew when the last fluttering beat died out, and the death-angel pressed his triumphant seal on pallid lip and brow. "dr. van anden," ester said, as they stood together for a moment the next morning, waiting in the chamber of death for mrs. ried's directions--. "was--did he," with an inclination of her head toward the silent occupant of the couch, "did he ever think he was a christian?" the doctor bent on her a grave, sad look, and slowly shook his head. "oh, doctor! you can not think that he--" and ester stopped, her face blanching with the fearfulness of her thought. "shall not the judge of all the earth do right?" this was the doctor's solemn answer. after a moment, he added: "perhaps that one eagerly-spoken word, 'pray,' said as much to the ears of him whose thoughts are not as our thoughts, as did that old-time petition--'remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.'" ester never forgot that and the following day, while the corpse of one whom she had known so well lay in the house; and when she followed him to the quiet grave, and watched the red and yellow autumn leaves flutter down around his coffin--dead leaves, dead flowers, dead hopes, death every-where--not just a going up higher, as mr. foster's death had been--this was solemn and inexorable death. more than ever she felt how impossible it was to call back the days that had slipped away while she slept, and do their neglected duties. she had come for this, full of hope; and now one of those whom she had met many times each day for years, and never said jesus to, was at this moment being lowered into his narrow house, and, though god had graciously given her an inch of time, and strength to use it, it was as nothing compared with those wasted years, and she could never know, at least never until the call came for her, whether or not at the eleventh hour this "poor man cried, and the lord heard him," and received him into paradise. dr. van anden moved around to where she was standing, with tightly clasped hands and colorless lips. he had been watching her, and this was what he said: "ester, shall you and i ever stand again beside a new-made grave, receiving one whom we have known ever so slightly, and have to settle with our consciences and our savior, because we have not invited that one to come to jesus?" and ester answered, with firmly-drawn lips "as that savior hears me, and will help me _never_!" chapter xxii. "little plum pies." ester was in the kitchen trimming off the puffy crusts of endless pies--the old brown calico morning dress, the same huge bib apron which had been through endless similar scrapes with her--every thing about her looking exactly as it had three months ago, and yet so far as ester and her future--yes, and the future of every one about her was concerned, things were very different. perhaps sadie had a glimmering of some strange change as she eyed her sister curiously, and took note that there was a different light in her eye, and a sort of smoothness on the quiet face that she had never noticed before. in fact, sadie missed some wrinkles which she had supposed were part and parcel of ester's self. "how i _did_ hate that part of it," she remarked, watching the fingers that moved deftly around each completed sphere. "mother said my edges always looked as if a mouse had marched around them nibbling all the way. my! how thoroughly i hate housekeeping. i pity the one who takes me for better or worse--always provided there exists such a poor victim on the face of the earth." "i don't think you hate it half so much as you imagine," ester answered kindly. "any way you did nicely. mother says you were a great comfort to her." there was a sudden mist before sadie's eyes. "did mother say that?" she queried. "the blessed woman, what a very little it takes to make a comfort for her. ester, i declare to you, if ever angels get into kitchens and pantries, and the like, mother is one of them. the way she bore with my endless blunderings was perfectly angelic. i'm glad, though, that her day of martyrdom is over, and mine, too, for that matter." and sadie, who had returned to the kingdom of spotless dresses and snowy cuffs, and, above all, to the dear books and the academy, caught at that moment the sound of the academy bell, and flitted away. ester filled the oven with pies, then went to the side doorway to get a peep at the glowing world. it was the very perfection of a day--autumn meant to die in wondrous beauty that year. ester folded her bare arms and gazed. she felt little thrills of a new kind of restlessness all about her this morning. she wanted to do something grand, something splendidly good. it was all very well to make good pies; she had done that, given them the benefit of her highest skill in that line--now they were being perfected in the oven, and she waited for something. if ever a girl longed for an opportunity to show her colors, to honor her leader, it was our ester. oh yes, she meant to do the duty that lay next her, but she perfectly ached to have that next duty something grand, something that would show all about her what a new life she had taken on. dr. van anden was tramping about in his room, over the side piazza, a very unusual proceeding with him at that hour of the day; his windows were open, and he was singing, and the fresh lake wind brought tune and words right down to ester's ear: "i would not have the restless will that hurries to and fro, seeking for some great thing to do, or wondrous thing to know; i would be guided as a child, and led where'er i go. "i ask thee for the daily strength, to none that ask denied, a mind to blend with outward life, while keeping at thy side; content to fill a little space if thou be glorified." of course dr. van anden did not know that ester ried stood in the doorway below, and was at that precise moment in need of just such help as this; but then what mattered that, so long as the master did? just then another sense belonging to ester did its duty, and gave notice that the pies in the oven were burning; and she ran to their rescue, humming meantime: "content to fill a little space if thou be glorified." eleven o'clock found her busily paring potatoes--hurrying a little, for in spite of swift, busy fingers their work was getting a little the best of maggie and her, and one pair of very helpful hands was missing. alfred and julia appeared from somewhere in the outer regions, and ester was too busy to see that they both carried rather woe-begone faces. "hasn't mother got back yet?" queried alfred. "why, no," said ester. "she will not be back until to-night--perhaps not then. didn't you know mrs. carleton was worse?" alfred kicked his heels against the kitchen door in a most disconsolate manner. "somebody's always sick," he grumbled out at last. "a fellow might as well not have a mother. i never saw the beat--nobody for miles around here can have the toothache without borrowing mother. i'm just sick and tired of it." ester had nearly laughed, but catching a glimpse of the forlorn face, she thought better of it, and said: "something is awry now, i know. you never want mother in such a hopeless way as that unless you're in trouble; so you see you are just like the rest of them, every body wants mother when they are in any difficulty." "but she is my mother, and i have a right to her, and the rest of 'em haven't." "well," said ester, soothingly, "suppose i be mother this time. tell me what's the matter and i'll act as much like her as possible." "_you_!" and thereupon alfred gave a most uncomplimentary sniff. "queer work you'd make of it." "try me," was the good-natured reply. "i ain't going to. i know well enough you'd say 'fiddlesticks' or 'nonsense,' or some such word, and finish up with 'just get out of my way.'" now, although ester's cheeks were pretty red over this exact imitation of her former ungracious self, she still answered briskly: "very well, suppose i should make such a very rude and unmotherlike reply, fiddlesticks and nonsense would not shoot you, would they?" at which sentence alfred stopped kicking his heels against the door, and laughed. "tell us all about it," continued ester, following up her advantage. "nothing to tell, much, only all the folks are going a sail on the lake this afternoon, and going to have a picnic in the grove, the very last one before snow, and i meant to ask mother to let us go, only how was i going to know that mrs. carleton would get sick and come away down here after her before daylight; and i know she would have let me go, too; and they're going to take things, a basketful each one of 'em--and they wanted me to bring little bits of pies, such as mother bakes in little round tins, you know, plum pies, and she would have made me some, i know; she always does; but now she's gone, and it's all up, and i shall have to stay at home like i always do, just for sick folks. it's mean, any how." ester smothered a laugh over this curious jumble, and asked a humble question: "is there really nothing that would do for your basket but little bits of plum pies?" "no," alfred explained, earnestly. "because, you see, they've got plenty of cake and such stuff; the girls bring that, and they do like my pies, awfully. i most always take 'em. mr. hammond likes them, too; he's going along to take care of us, and i shouldn't like to go without the little pies, because they depend upon them." "oh," said ester, "girls go, too, do they?" and she looked for the first time at the long, sad face of julia in the corner. "yes, and jule is in just as much trouble as i am, cause they are all going to wear white dresses, and she's tore hers, and she says she can't wear it till it's ironed, cause it looks like a rope, and maggie says she can't and won't iron it to-day, _so_; and mother was going to mend it this very morning, and--. oh, fudge! it's no use talking, we've got to stay at home, jule, so now." and the kicking heels commenced again. ester pared her last potato with a half troubled, half amused face. she was thoroughly tired of baking for that day, and felt like saying fiddlesticks to the little plum pies; and that white dress was torn cris-cross and every way, and ironing was always hateful; besides it _did_ seem strange that when she wanted to do some great, nice thing, so much plum pies and torn dresses should step right into her path. then unconsciously she repeated: "content to fill a _little_ space if _thou_ art glorified." _could_ he be glorified, though, by such very little things? yet hadn't she wanted to gain an influence over alfred and julia, and wasn't this her first opportunity; besides there was that verse: "whatsoever thy hand findeth to do--." at that point her thoughts took shape in words. "well, sir, we'll see whether mother is the only woman in this world after all. you tramp down cellar and bring me up that stone jar on the second shelf, and we'll have those pies in the oven in a twinkling; and that little woman in the corner, with two tears rolling down her cheeks, may bring her white dress and my work-box and thimble, and put two irons on the stove, and my word for it you shall both be ready by three o'clock, spry and span, pies and all." by three o'clock on the afternoon in question ester was thoroughly tired, but little plum pies by the dozen were cuddling among snowy napkins in the willow basket, and alfred's face was radiant as he expressed his satisfaction, after this fashion: "you're just jolly, ester! i didn't know you could be so good. won't the boys chuckle over these pies, though? ester, there's just seven more than mother ever made me." "very well," answered ester, gayly; "then there will be just seven more chuckles this time than usual." julia expressed her thoughts in a way more like her. she surveyed her skillfully-mended and beautifully smooth white dress with smiling eyes; and as ester tied the blue sash in a dainty knot, and stepped back to see that all was as it should be, she was suddenly confronted with this question: "ester, what does make you so nice to-day; you didn't ever used to be so?" how the blood rushed into ester's cheeks as she struggled with her desire to either laugh or cry, she hardly knew which. these were very little things which she had done, and it was shameful that, in all the years of her elder sisterhood, she had never sacrificed even so little of her own pleasure before; yet it was true, and it made her feel like crying--and yet there was rather a ludicrous side to the question, to think that all her beautiful plans for the day had culminated in plum pies and ironing. she stooped and kissed julia on the rosy cheek, and answered gently, moved by some inward impulse: "i am trying to do all my work for jesus nowadays." "you didn't mend my dress and iron it, and curl my hair, and fix my sash, for him, did you?" "yes; every little thing." "why, i don't see how. i thought you did them for me." "i did, julia, to please you and make you happy; but jesus says that that is just the same as doing it for him." julia's next question was very searching: "but, ester, i thought you had been a member of the church a good many years. sadie said so. didn't you ever try to do things for jesus before?" a burning blush of genuine shame mantled ester's face, but she answered quickly: "no; i don't think i ever really did." julia eyed her for a moment with a look of grave wonderment, then suddenly stood on tiptoe to return the kiss, as she said: "well, i think it is nice, anyway. if jesus likes to have you be so kind and take so much trouble for me, why then he must love me, and i mean to thank him this very night when i say my prayers." and as ester rested for a moment in the arm-chair on the piazza, and watched her little brother and sister move briskly off, she hummed again those two lines that had been making unconscious music in her heart all day: "content to fill a _little_ space if thou be glorified." chapter xxiii. crosses. the large church was _very_ full; there seemed not to be another space for a human being. people who were not much given to frequenting the house of god on a week-day evening, had certainly been drawn thither at this time. sadie ried sat beside ester in their mother's pew, and harry arnett, with a sober look on his boyish face, sat bolt upright in the end of the pew, while even dr. douglass leaned forward with graceful nonchalance from the seat behind them, and now and then addressed a word to sadie. these people had been listening to such a sermon as is very seldom heard--that blessed man of god whose name is dear to hundreds and thousands of people, whose hair is whitened with the frosts of many a year spent in the master's service, whose voice and brain and heart are yet strong, and powerful, and "mighty through god," the rev. mr. parker, had been speaking to them, and his theme had been the soul, and his text had been: "what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" i hope i am writing for many who have had the honor of hearing that appeal fresh from the great brain and greater heart of mr. parker. such will understand the spell under which his congregation sat even after the prayer and hymn had died into silence. now the gray-haired veteran stood bending over the pulpit, waiting for the christian witnesses to the truth of his solemn messages; and for that he seemed likely to wait. a few earnest men, veterans too in the cause, gave in their testimony--and then occurred one of those miserable, disheartening, disgraceful pauses which are met with nowhere on earth among a company of intelligent men and women, with liberty given them to talk, save in a prayer-meeting! still silence, and still the aged servant stood with one arm resting on the bible, and looked down almost beseechingly upon that crowd of dumb christians. "ye are my witnesses, saith the lord," he repeated, in earnest, pleading tones. miserable witnesses they! was not the lord ashamed of them all, i wonder? something like this flitted through ester's brain as she looked around upon that faithless company, and noted here and there one who certainly ought to "take up his cross." then some slight idea of the folly of that expression struck her. what a fearful cross it was, to be sure! what a strange idea to use the same word in describing it that was used for that blood-stained, nail-pierced cross on calvary. then a thought, very startling in its significance, came to her. was that cross borne only for men? were they the only ones who had a thank-offering because of calvary? surely _her_ savior hung there, and bled, and groaned, and died for her. why should not she say, "by his stripes _i_ am healed?" what if she should? what would people think? no, not that either. what would jesus think? that, after all, was the important question. did she really believe that if she should say in the hearing of that assembled company, "i love jesus," that jesus, looking down upon her, and hearing how her timid voice broke the dishonoring silence, would be displeased, would set it down among the long list of "ought not to have" dones? she tried to imagine herself speaking to him in her closet after this manner: "dear savior, i confess with shame that i have brought reproach upon thy name this day, for i said, in the presence of a great company of witnesses, that i loved thee!" in defiance of her education and former belief upon this subject, ester was obliged to confess, then and there, that all this was extremely ridiculous. "oh, well," said satan, "it's not exactly _wrong_, of course; but then it isn't very modest or ladylike; and, besides, it is unnecessary. there are plenty of men to do the talking." "but," said common sense, "i don't see why it's a bit more unladylike than the ladies' colloquy at the lyceum was last evening. there were more people present than are here tonight; and as for the men, they are perfectly mum. there seems to be plenty of opportunity for somebody." "well," said satan, "it isn't customary at least, and people will think strangely of you. doubtless it would do more harm than good." this most potent argument, "people will think strangely of you," smothered common sense at once, as it is apt to do, and ester raised her head from the bowed position which it had occupied during this whirl of thought, and considered the question settled. some one began to sing, and of all the words that _could_ have been chosen, came the most unfortunate ones for this decision: "on my head he poured his blessing, long time ago; now he calls me to confess him before i go. my past life, all vile and hateful, he saved from sin; i should be the most ungrateful not to own him. death and hell he bade defiance, bore cross and pain; shame my tongue this guilty silence, and speak his name." this at once renewed the struggle, but in a different form. she no longer said, "ought i?" but, "can i?" still the spell of silence seemed unbroken save by here and there a voice, and still ester parleyed with her conscience, getting as far now as to say: "when mr. jones sits down, if there is another silence, i will try to say something"--not quite meaning, though, to do any such thing, and proving her word false by sitting very still after mr. jones sat down, though there was plenty of silence. then when mr. smith said a few words, ester whispered the same assurance to herself, with exactly the same result. the something _decided_ for which she had been longing, the opportunity to show the world just where she stood, had come at last, and this was the way in which she was meeting it. at last she knew by the heavy thuds which her heart began to give, that the question was decided, that the very moment deacon graves sat down she would rise; whether she would say any thing or not would depend upon whether god gave her any thing to say--but at least she could stand up for jesus. but mr. parker's voice followed deacon graves'; and this was what he said: "am i to understand by your silence that there is not a christian man or woman in all this company who has an unconverted friend whom he or she would like to have us pray for?" then the watching angel of the covenant came to the help of this trembling, struggling ester, and there entered into her heart such a sudden and overwhelming sense of longing for sadie's conversion, that all thought of what she would say, and how she would say it, and what people would think, passed utterly out of her mind; and rising suddenly, she spoke, in clear and wonderfully earnest tones: "will you pray for a dear, dear friend?" god sometimes uses very humble means with which to break the spell of silence which satan so often weaves around christians; it was as if they had all suddenly awakened to a sense of their privileges. dr. van anden said, in a voice which quivered with feeling: "i have a brother in the profession for whom i ask your prayers that he may become acquainted with the great physician." request followed request for husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, and children. even timid, meek-faced, low-voiced mrs. ried murmured a request for her children who were out of christ. and when at last harry arnett suddenly lifted his handsome boyish head from its bowed position, and said in tones which conveyed the sense of a decision, "pray for _me_" the last film of worldliness vanished; and there are those living to-day who have reason never to forget that meeting. "is it your private opinion that our good doctor got up a streak of disinterested enthusiasm over my unworthy self this evening?" this question dr. douglass asked of sadie as they lingered on the piazza in the moonlight. sadie laughed gleefully. "i am sure i don't know. i'm prepared for any thing strange that can possibly happen. mother and ester between them have turned the world upside down for me to-night. in case you are the happy man, i hope you are grateful?" "extremely! should be more so perhaps if people would be just to me in private, and not so alarmingly generous in public." "how bitter you are against dr. van anden," sadie said, watching the lowering brow and sarcastic curve of the lip, with curious eyes. "how much i should like to know precisely what is the trouble between you!" dr. douglass instantly recovered his suavity. "do i appear bitter? i beg your pardon for exhibiting so ungentlemanly a phase of human nature; yet hypocrisy does move me to--" and then occurred one of those sudden periods with which dr. douglass always seemed to stop himself when any thing not quite courteous was being said. "just forget that last sentence," he added. "it was unwise and unkind; the trouble between us is not worthy of a thought of yours. i wish i could forget it. i believe i could if he would allow me." at this particular moment the subject of the above conversation appeared in the door. sadie gave a slight start; the thought that dr. van anden had heard the talk was not pleasant. she need not have feared, he had just come from his room, and from his knees. he spoke abruptly and with a touch of nervousness: "dr. douglass, may i have a few words with you in private?" dr. douglass' "certainly, if miss sadie will excuse us," was both prompt and courteous apparently, though the tone said almost as plainly as words could have done, "to what can i be indebted for this honor?" dr. van anden led the way into the brightly lighted vacant parlor; and there dr. douglass stationed himself directly under the gas light, where he could command a full view of the pale, somewhat anxious face of his companion, and waited with that indescribable air made up of nonchalance and insolence. dr. van anden dashed into his subject: "dr. douglass, ten years ago you did what you could to injure me. i thought then purposely, i think now that perhaps you were sincere. be that as it may, i used language to you then, which i, as a christian man, ought never to have used. i have repented it long ago, but in my blindness i have never seen that i ought to apologize to you for it until this evening. god has shown me my duty. dr. douglass, i ask your pardon for the angry words i spoke to you that day." the gentleman addressed kept his full bright eyes fixed on dr. van anden, and answered him in the quietest and at the same time iciest of tones: "you are certainly very kind, now that your anger has had time to cool during these ten years, to accord to me the merit of being _possibly_ sincere. now i was more _christian_ in my conclusions; i set you down as an honest blunderer. that i have had occasion since to change my opinion is nothing to the purpose but it would be pleasanter for both of us if apologies could restore our friend, mrs. lyons to life." during this response dr. van anden's face was a study. it had passed in quick succession through so many shades of feeling, anxiety, anger, disgust, and finally surprise, and apparently a dawning sense of a new development, for he made the apparently irrelevant reply: "do you think _i_ administered that chloroform?" dr. douglass' coolness forsook him for a moment "who did?" he queried, with flashing eyes. "dr. gilbert." "dr. gilbert?" "yes, sir." "how does it happen that i never knew it?" "i am sure i do not know." dr. van anden passed his hand across his eyes, and spoke in sadness and weariness. "i had no conception that you were not aware of it until this moment. it explains in part what was strangely mysterious to me; but even in that case, it would have been, as you said, a blunder, not a criminal act however, we can not undo _that_ past. i desire, above all other things, to set myself right in your eyes as a christian man. i think i may have been a stumbling-block to you. god only knows how bitter is the thought i have done wrong; i should have acknowledged it years ago. i can only do it now. again i ask you. dr. douglass, will you pardon those bitterly spoken words of mine?" dr. douglass bowed stiffly, with an increase of hauteur visible in every line of his face. "give yourself no uneasiness on that score, dr. van anden, nor on any other, i beg you, so far as i am concerned. my opinion of christianity is peculiar perhaps, but has not altered of late; nor is it likely to do so. of course, every gentleman is bound to accept the apology of another, however tardily it may be offered. shall i bid you good-evening, sir?" and with a very low, very dignified bow, dr. douglass went back to the piazza and sadie. and groaning in spirit over the tardiness of his effort, dr. van anden returned to his room, and prayed that he might renew his zeal and his longing for the conversion of that man's soul. "have you been receiving a little fraternal advice?" queried sadie, her mischievous eyes dancing with fun over the supposed discomfiture of one of the two gentlemen, she cared very little which. "not at all. on the contrary, i have been giving a little of that mixture in a rather unpalatable form, i fear. i haven't a very high opinion of the world, miss sadie." "including yourself, do you mean?" was sadie's demure reply. dr. douglass looked the least bit annoyed; then he laughed, and answered with quiet grace: "yes, including even such an important individual as myself. however, i have one merit which i consider very rare--sincerity." sadie's face assumed a half puzzled, half amused expression, as she tried by the moonlight to give a searching look at the handsome form leaning against the pillar opposite her. "i wonder if you _are_ as sincere as you pretend to be?" was her next complimentary sentence. "and also i wonder if the rest of the world are as unlimited a set of humbugs as you suppose? how do you fancy you happened to escape getting mixed up with the general humbugism of the world? this mr. parker, now, talks as though he felt it and meant it." "he is a first-class fanatic of the most outrageous sort. there ought to be a law forbidding such ranters to hold forth, on pain of imprisonment for life." "dr. douglass," said sadie, speaking with grave dignity, "i would rather not hear you speak of that old gentleman in such a manner. he may be a fanatic and a ranter, but i believe he means it, and i can't help respecting him more than any cold-blooded moralist that i ever met. besides, i can not forget that my honored father was among the despised class of whom you speak so scornfully." "my dear friend," and dr. douglass' tone was as gentle as her mother's could have been, "forgive me if i have pained you; it was not intentional. i do not know what i have been saying--some unkind things perhaps, and that is always ungentlemanly; but i have been greatly disturbed this evening, and that must be my apology. pardon me for detaining you so long in the evening air. may i advise you, professionally, to go in immediately?" "may i advise you unselfishly to get into a better humor with the world in general, and dr. van anden in particular, before you undertake to talk with a lady again?" sadie answered in her usual tones of raillery; all her dignity had departed. "meantime, if you would like to have unmolested possession of this piazza to assist you in tramping off your evil spirit, you shall be indulged. i'm going to the west side. the evening air and i are excellent friends." and with a mocking laugh and bow sadie departed. "i wonder," she soliloquized, returning to gravity the moment she was alone, "i wonder what that man has been saying to him now? how unhappy these two gentlemen make themselves. it would be a consolation to know right from wrong. i just wish i believed in everybody as i used to. the idea of this gray-headed minister being a hypocrite! that's absurd. but then the idea of dr. van anden being what he is! well, it's a queer world. i believe i'll go to bed." chapter xxiv. god's way. be it understood that dr. douglass was very much astonished, and not a little disgusted with himself. as he marched defiantly up and down the long piazza he tried to analyze his state of mind. he had always supposed himself to be a man possessed of keen powers of discernment, and yet withal exercising considerable charity toward his erring fellow-men, willing to overlook faults and mistakes, priding himself not a little on the kind and gentlemanly way in which he could meet ruffled human nature of any sort. in fact, he dwelt on a sort of pedestal, from the hight of which he looked calmly and excusingly down on weaker mortals. this, until to-night: now he realized, in a confused, blundering sort of way, that his pedestal had crumbled, or that he had tumbled from its hight, or at least that something new and strange had happened. for instance, what had become of his powers of discernment? here was this miserable doctor, who had been one of the thorns of his life, whom he had looked down upon as a canting hypocrite. was he, after all, mistaken? the explanation of to-night looked like it; he had been deceived in that matter which had years ago come between them; he could see it very plainly now. in spite of himself, the doctor's earnest, manly apology would come back and repeat itself to his brain, and demand admiration. now dr. douglass was honestly amazed at himself, because he was not pleased with this state of things. why was he not glad to discover that dr. van anden was more of a man than he had ever supposed? this would certainly be in keeping with the character of the courteous, unprejudiced gentleman that he had hitherto considered himself to be; but there was no avoiding the fact that the very thought of dr. van anden was exasperating, more so this evening than ever before. and the more his judgment became convinced that he had blundered, the more vexed did he become. "confound everybody!" he exclaimed at length, in utter disgust. "what on earth do i care for the contemptible puppy, that i should waste thought on him. what possessed the fellow to come whining around me to-night, and set me in a whirl of disagreeable thought? i ought to have knocked him down for his insufferable impudence in dragging me out publicly in that meeting." this he said aloud; but something made answer down in his heart: "oh, it's very silly of you to talk in this way. you know perfectly well that dr. van anden is not a contemptible puppy at all. he is a thoroughly educated, talented physician, a formidable rival, and you know it; and he didn't whine in the least this evening; he made a very manly apology for what was not so very bad after all, and you more than half suspect yourself of admiring him." "fiddlesticks!" said dr. douglass aloud to all this information, and went off to his room in high dudgeon. the next two days seemed to be very busy ones to one member of the ried family. dr. douglass sometimes appeared at meal time and sometimes not, but the parlor and the piazza were quite deserted, and even his own room saw little of him. sadie, when she chanced by accident to meet him on the stairs, stopped to inquire if the village was given over to small-pox, or any other dire disease which required his constant attention; and he answered her in tones short and sharp enough to have been dr. van anden himself: "it is given over to madness," and moved rapidly on. this encounter served to send him on a long tramp into the woods that very afternoon. in truth, dr. douglass was overwhelmed with astonishment at himself. two such days and nights as the last had been he hoped never to see again. it was as if all his pet theories had deserted him at a moment's warning, and the very spirit of darkness taken up his abode in their place. go whither he would, do what he would, he was haunted by these new, strange thoughts. sometimes he actually feared that he, at least, was losing his mind, whether the rest of the world were or not. being an utter unbeliever in the power of prayer, knowing indeed nothing at all about it, he would have scoffed at the idea that dr. van anden's impassioned, oft-repeated petitions had aught to do with him at this time. had he known that at the very time in which he was marching through the dreary woods, kicking the red and yellow leaves from his path in sullen gloom, ester in her little clothes-press, on her knees, was pleading with god for his soul, and that through him sadie might be reached, i presume he would have laughed. the result of this long communion with himself was as follows: that he had overworked and underslept, that his nervous system was disordered, that in the meantime he had been fool enough to attend that abominable sensation meeting, and the man actually had wonderful power over the common mind, and used his eloquence in a way that was quite calculated to confuse a not perfectly balanced brain. it was no wonder, then, in his state of bodily disorder, that the sympathetic mind should take the alarm. so much for the disease, now for the remedy. he would study less, at least he would stop reading half the night away; he would begin to practice some of his own preaching, and learn to be more systematic, more careful of this wonderful body, which could cause so much suffering; he would ride fast and long; above all, he would keep away from that church and that man, with his fanciful pictures and skillfully woven words. having determined his plan of action he felt better. there was no sense, he told himself, in yielding to the sickly sentimentalism which had bewitched him for the past few days; he was ashamed of it, and would have no more of it. he was master of his own mind, he guessed, always had been, and always _would_ be. and he started on his homeward walk with a good deal of alacrity, and much of his usual composure settling on his face. oh, would the gracious spirit which had been struggling with him leave him indeed to himself? "o god," pleaded ester, "give me this one soul in answer to my prayer. for the sake of sadie, bring this strong pillar obstructing her way to thyself. for the sake of jesus, who died for them both, bring them both to yield to him." dr. douglass paused at the place where two roads forked and mused, and the subject of his musing was no more important than this: should he go home by the river path or through the village? the river path was the longer, and it was growing late, nearly tea time; but if he took the main road he would pass his office, where he was supposed to be, as well as several houses where he ought to have been, besides meeting probably several people whom he would rather not see just at present. on the whole, he decided to take the river road, and walked briskly along, quite in harmony with himself once more, and enjoying the autumn beauty spread around him. a little white speck attracted his attention; he almost stopped to examine into it, then smiled at his curiosity, and moved on. "a bit of waste paper probably," he said to himself. "yet what a curious shape it was as if it had been carefully folded and hidden under that stone. suppose i see what it is? who knows but i shall find a fortune hidden in it?" he turned back a step or two, and stooped for the little white speck. one corner of it was nestled under a stone. it was a ragged, rumpled, muddy fragment of a letter, or an essay, which rain and wind and water had done their best to annihilate, and finally, seeming to become weary of their plaything, had tossed it contemptuously on the shore, and a pitying stone had rolled down and covered and preserved a tiny corner. dr. douglass eyed it curiously, trying to decipher the mud-stained lines, and being in a dreamy mood wondered meanwhile what young, fair hand had penned the words, and what of joy or sadness filled them. scarcely a word was readable, at least nothing that would gratify his curiosity, until he turned the bit of leaf, and the first line, which the stone had hidden, shone out distinctly: "sometimes i can not help asking myself why i was made--." here the corner was torn off, and whether that was the end of the original sentence or not, it was the end to him. god sometimes uses very simple means with which to confound the wisdom of this world. such a sudden and extraordinary revulsion of feeling as swept over dr. douglass he had never dreamed of before. he did not stop to question the strangeness of his state of mind, nor why that bit of soiled, torn paper should possess so fearful a power over him. he did not even realize at the moment that it was connected with this bewilderment, he only knew that the foundation upon which he had been building for years seemed suddenly to have been torn from under him by invisible hands, and left his feet sinking slowly down on nothing; and his inmost soul took suddenly up that solemn question with which he had never before troubled his logical brain: "i can not help asking myself why i was made?" there was only one other readable word on that paper, turn it whichever way he would, and that word was "god;" and he started and shivered when his eye met this, as if some awful voice had spoken it to his ear. "what unaccountable witchcraft has taken possession of me?" he muttered, at length. and turning suddenly he sat himself down on an old decaying log by the river side, and gave himself up to real, honest, solemn thought. "where is dr. douglass?" queried julia, appearing at the dining-room door just at tea time. "there is a boy at the door says they want him at judge beldon's this very instant." "he's _nowhere_" answered sadie solemnly, pausing in the work of arranging cups and saucers. "it's my private opinion that he has been and gone and hung himself. he passed the window about one o'clock, looking precisely as i should suppose a man would who was about to commit that interesting act, since which time i've answered the bell seventeen times to give the same melancholy story of his whereabouts." "my!" exclaimed the literal julia, hurrying back to the boy at the door. she comprehended her sister sufficiently to have no faith in the hanging statement, but honestly believed in the seventeen sick people who were waiting for the doctor. the church was very full again that evening. sadie had at first declared herself utterly unequal to another meeting that week, but had finally allowed herself to be persuaded into going; and had nearly been the cause of poor julia's disgrace because of the astonished look which she assumed as dr. douglass came down the aisle, with his usual quiet composure of manner, and took the seat directly in front of them. the sermon was concluded. the text: "see i have set before thee this day life and good, death and evil," had been dwelt upon in such a manner that it seemed to some as if the aged servant of god had verily been shown a glimpse of the two unseen worlds waiting for every soul, and was painting from actual memory the picture for them to look upon. that most solemn of all solemn hymns had just been sung: "there is a time, we know not when a point, we know not where, that marks the destiny of men 'twixt glory and despair. "there is a line, by us unseen, that crosses every path, the hidden boundary between god's mercy and his wrath." silence had but fairly settled on the waiting congregation when a strong, firm voice broke in upon it, and the speaker said: "i believe in my soul that i have met that point and crossed that line this day. i surely met god's mercy and his wrath, face to face, and struggled in their power. your hymn says, 'to cross that boundary is to die;' but i thank god that there are two sides to it. i feel that i have been standing on the very line, that my feet had well-nigh slipped. to-night i step over on to mercy's side. reckon me henceforth among those who have chosen life." "amen," said the veteran minister, with radiant face. "thank god," said the earnest pastor, with quivering lip. two heads were suddenly bowed in the silent ecstasy of prayer--they were ester's and dr. van anden's. as for sadie, she sat straight and still as if petrified with amazement, as she well-nigh felt herself to be, for the strong, firm voice belonged to dr. douglass! an hour later dr. van anden was pacing up and down the long parlor, with quick, excited steps, waiting for he hardly knew what, when a shadow fell between him and the gaslight. he glanced up suddenly, and his eyes met dr. douglass, who had placed himself in precisely the same position in which he had stood when they had met there before. dr. van anden started forward, and the two gentlemen clasped hands as they had never in their lives done before. dr. douglass broke the beautiful silence first with earnestly spoken words: "doctor, will you forgive all the past?" and dr. van anden answered: "oh, my brother in christ!" as for ester, she prayed, in her clothes-press, thankfully for dr. douglass, more hopefully for sadie, and knew not that a corner of the poor little letter which had slipped from julia's hand and floated down the stream one summer morning, thereby causing her such a miserable, _miserable_ day, was lying at that moment in dr. douglass' note-book, counted as the most precious of all his precious bits of paper. verily "his ways are not as our ways." chapter xxv. sadie surrounded. "oh," said sadie, with a merry toss of her brown curls, "_don't_ waste any more precious breath over me, i beg. i'm an unfortunate case, not worth struggling for. just let me have a few hours of peace once more. if you'll promise not to say 'meeting' again to me, i'll promise not to laugh at you once after this long drawn-out spasm of goodness has quieted, and you have each descended to your usual level once more." "sadie," said ester, in a low, shocked tone, "_do_ you think we are all hypocrites, and mean not a bit of this?" "by _no_ means, my dear sister of charity, at least not all of you. i'm a firm believer in diseases of all sorts. this is one of the violent kind of highly contagious diseases; they must run their course, you know. i have not lived in the house with two learned physicians all this time without learning that fact, but i consider this very nearly at its height, and live in hourly expectation of the 'turn.' but, my dear, i don't think you need worry about me in the least. i don't believe i'm a fit subject for such trouble. you know i never took whooping-cough nor measles, though i have been exposed a great many times." to this ester only replied by a low, tremulous, "don't, sadie, please." sadie turned a pair of mirthful eyes upon her for a moment, and noting with wonder the pale, anxious face and quivering lip of her sister, seemed suddenly sobered. "ester," she said quietly, "i don't think you are 'playing good;' i _don't_ positively. i believe you are thoroughly in earnest, but i think you have been through some very severe scenes of late, sickness and watching, and death, and your nerves are completely unstrung. i don't wonder at your state of feeling, but you will get over it in a little while, and be yourself again." "oh," said ester, tremulously, "i pray god i may _never_ be myself again; not the old self that you mean." "you will," sadie answered, with roguish positiveness. "things will go cross-wise, the fire won't burn, and the kettle won't boil, and the milk-pitcher will tip over, and all sorts of mischievous things will go on happening after a little bit, just as usual, and you will feel like having a general smash up of every thing in spite of all these meetings." ester sighed heavily. the old difficulty again--things would not be undone. the weeds which she had been carelessly sowing during all these past years had taken deep root, and would not give place. after a moment's silence she spoke again. "sadie, answer me just one question. what do you think of dr. douglass?" sadie's face darkened ominously. "never mind what i think of _him_," she answered in short, sharp tones, and abruptly left the room. what she _did_ think of him was this: that he had become that which he had affected to consider the most despicable thing on earth--a hypocrite. remember, she had no personal knowledge of the power of the spirit of god over a human soul. she had no conception of how so mighty a change could be wrought in the space of a few hours, so her only solution of the mystery was that to serve some end which he had in view dr. douglass had chosen to assume a new character. later, on that same day, sadie encountered dr. douglass, rather, she went to the side piazza equipped for a walk, and he came eagerly from the west end to speak with her. "miss sadie, i have been watching for you. i have a few words that are burning to be said." "proceed," said sadie, standing with demurely folded hands, and a mock gravity in her roguish eyes. "i want to do justice at this late day to dr. van anden. i misjudged him, wronged him, perhaps prejudiced you against him. i want to undo my work." "some things can be done more easily than they can be undone," was sadie's grave and dignified reply. "you certainly have done your best to prejudice me against dr. van anden not only, but against all other persons who hold his peculiar views, and you have succeeded splendidly. i congratulate you." that look of absolute pain which she had seen once or twice on this man's face, swept over it now as he answered her. "i know--i have been blind and stupid, _wicked_ any thing you will. most bitterly do i regret it now; most eager am i to make reparation." sadie's only answer was: "what a capital actor you would make, dr. douglass. are you sure you have not mistaken your vocation?" "i know what you think of me." this with an almost quivering lip, and a voice strangely humble and as unlike as possible to any which she had ever heard from dr. douglass before. "you think i am playing a part. though what my motive could be i can not imagine, can you? but i do solemnly assure you that if ever i was sincere in any thing in all my life i am now concerning this matter." "there is a most unfortunate 'if' in the way, doctor. you see, the trouble is, i have very serious doubts as to whether you ever were sincere in any thing in your life. as to motives, a first-class anybody likes to try his power. you will observe that 'i have a very poor opinion of the world.'" the doctor did not notice the quotation of his favorite expression, but answered with a touch of his accustomed dignity: "i may have deserved this treatment at your hands, miss sadie. doubtless i have, although i am not conscious of ever having said to you any thing which i did not _think_ i _meant_. i have been a _fool_. i am willing--yes, and anxious to own it. but there are surely some among your acquaintances whom you can trust if you can not me. i--" sadie interrupted him. "for instance, that 'first-class fanatic of the most objectionable stamp,' the man who dr. douglass thought, not three days ago, ought to be bound by law to keep the peace. i suppose you would have me unhesitatingly receive every word he says?" dr. douglass' face brightened instantly, and he spoke eagerly: "i remember those words, miss sadie, and just how honestly i spoke them, and just how bitterly i felt when i spoke them, and i have no more sure proof that this thing is of god than i have in noting the wonderful change which has come over my feelings in regard to that blessed man. i pray god that he may be permitted to speak to your soul with the tremendous power that he has to mine. oh, sadie, i have led you astray, may i not help you back?" "i am not a weather-vane, dr. douglass, to be whirled about by every wind of expediency; besides i am familiar with one verse in the bible, of which you seem never to have heard: whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. you have sowed well and faithfully; be content with your harvest." i do not know what the pale, grave lips would have answered to this mocking spirit, for at that moment dr. van anden and the black ponies whizzed around the corner, and halted before the gate. "sadie," said the doctor, "are you in the mood for a ride? i have five miles to drive." "dr. van anden," answered sadie, promptly, "the last time you and i took a ride together we quarreled." "precisely," said the doctor, bowing low. "let us take another now and make up." "very well," was the gleeful answer which he received, and in another minute they were off. for the first mile or two he kept a tight rein, and let the ponies skim over the ground in the liveliest fashion, during which time very little talking was done. after that he slackened his speed, and leaning back in the carriage addressed himself to sadie: "now we are ready to make up." "how shall we commence?" asked sadie, gravely. "who quarreled?" answered the doctor, sententiously. "well," said sadie, "i understand what you are waiting for. you think i was very rude and unladylike in my replies to you during that last interesting ride we took. you think i jumped at unwarrantable conclusions, and used some unnecessarily sharp words. i think so myself, and if it will be of any service to you to know it, i don't mind telling you in the least." "that is a very excellent beginning," answered the doctor, heartily. "i think we shall have no difficulty in getting the matter all settled now, for my part, it won't sound as well as yours, because however blunderingly i may have said what i did, i said it honestly, in good faith, and with a good and pure motive. but i am glad to be able to say in equal honesty that i believe i was over-cautious, that dr. douglass was never so little worthy of regard as i supposed him to be, and that nothing could have more rejoiced my heart than the noble stand which he has so recently taken. indeed his conduct has been so noble that i feel honored by his acquaintance." he was interrupted by a mischievous laugh. "a mutual admiration society," said sadie, in her most mocking tone. "did you and dr. douglass have a private rehearsal? you interrupted him in a similar rhapsody over your perfections." instead of seeming annoyed, dr. van anden's face glowed with pleasure. "did he explain to you our misunderstanding?" he asked, eagerly. "that was very noble in him." "of _course_. he is the soul of nobility--a villain yesterday and a saint to-day. i don't understand such marvelously rapid changes, doctor." "i know you don't," the doctor answered quietly. "although you have exaggerated both terms, yet there is a great and marvelous change, which must be experienced to be understood. will you never seek it for yourself, sadie?" "i presume i never shall, as i very much doubt the existence of any such phenomenon." the doctor appeared neither shocked nor surprised, but favored her with a cool and quiet reply: "oh, no, you don't doubt it in the least. don't try to make yourself out that foolish and unreasonable creature--an unbeliever in what is as clear to a thinking mind as is the sun at noonday. you and i have no need to enter into an argument concerning this matter. you have seen some unwise and inconsistent acts in many who are called by the name of christian. you imagine that they have staggered your belief in the verity of the thing itself. yet it is not so. you had a dear father who lived and died in the faith, and you no more doubt the fact that he is in heaven to-day, brought there by the power of the savior in whom he trusted, than you doubt your own existence at this moment." sadie sat silenced and grave; she was very rarely either, perhaps. dr. van anden was the one person who could have thus subdued her, but in her inmost heart she felt his words to be true; that dear, _dear_ father, whose weary suffering life had been one long evidence to the truth of the religion which he professed--yes, it was so, she no more doubted that he was at this moment in that blessed heaven toward which his hopes had so constantly tended, than she doubted the shining of that day's sun--so he, being dead, yet spoke to her. besides, her keen judgment had, of late, settled back upon the belief that dr. van anden lived a life that would bear watching--a true, earnest, manly life; also, that he was a man not likely to be deceived. so, sitting back there in the carriage, and appearing to look at nothing, and be interested in nothing, she allowed herself to take in again the firm conviction that whatever most lives were, there was always that father--safe, _safe_ in the christian's heaven--and there were besides some few, a very few, she thought; but there were _some_ still living, whom she knew, yes, actually _knew_, were fitting for that same far-away, safe place. no, sadie had stood upon the brink, was standing there still, indeed; but reason and the long-buried father still kept her from toppling over into the chasm of settled unbelief. "blessed are the dead which die in the lord from henceforth: yea, saith the spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them." but something must be said. sadie was not going to sit there and allow dr. van anden to imagine that she was utterly quieted and conquered; she would rather quarrel with him than have that. he had espoused dr. douglass' cause so emphatically, let him argue for him now; there was nothing like a good sharp argument to destroy the effect of unpleasant personal questions--so she blazed into sudden indignation: "i think dr. douglass is a hypocrite!" nothing could have been more composed than the tone in which she was answered: "very well. what then?" this question was difficult to answer, and sadie remaining silent, her companion continued: "mr. smith is a drunkard; therefore i will be a thief. is that miss sadie ried's logic?" "i don't see the point." "don't you? wasn't that exclamation concerning dr. douglass a bit of hiding behind the supposed sin of another--a sort of a reason why you were not a christian, because somebody else pretended to be? is that sound logic, sadie? when your next neighbor in class peeps in her book, and thereby disgraces herself, and becomes a hypocrite, do you straightway declare that you will study no more? you see it is fashionable, in talking of this matter of religion, to drag out the shortcomings and inconsistencies of others, and try to make of them a garment to covet our own sins; but it is very senseless, after all, and you will observe is never done in the discussion of any other question." clearly, sadie must talk in a common-sense way with this straightforward man, if she talked at all. her resolution was suddenly taken, to say for once just what she meant; and a very grave and thoughtful pair of eyes were raised to meet the doctor's when next she spoke. "i think of these things sometimes, doctor, and though a great deal of it seems to be humbug, it is as you say--i know _some_ are sincere, and i know there is a right way. i have been more than half tempted many times during the last few weeks to discover for myself the secret of power, but i am deterred by certain considerations, which you would, doubtless, think very absurd, but which, joined with the inspiration which i receive from the ridiculous inconsistencies of others, have been sufficient to deter me hitherto." "would you mind telling me some of the considerations?" and the moment sadie began to talk honestly, the doctor's tones lost their half-indifferent coolness, and expressed a kind and thoughtful interest. "no," she said, hesitatingly. "i don't know that i need, but you will not understand them; for instance, if i were a christian i should have to give up one of my favorite amusements--almost a passion, you know, dancing is with me, and i am not ready to yield it." "why should you feel obliged to do so if you were a christian?" sadie gave him the benefit of a very searching look. "don't _you_ think i would be?" she queried, after a moment's silence. "i haven't said what i thought on that subject, but i feel sure that it is not the question for you to decide at present; first settle the all-important one of your personal acceptation of christ, and then it will be time to decide the other matter, for or against, as your conscience may dictate." "oh, but," said sadie, positively, "i know very well what my conscience would dictate, and i am not ready for it." "isn't dancing an innocent amusement?" "for _me_ yes, but not for a christian." "does the bible lay down one code of laws for you and another for christians?" "i think so--it says, 'be not conformed to the world.'" "granted; but does it anywhere say to those who are of the world, '_you_ have a right to do just what you like; that direction does not apply to you at all, it is all intended for those poor christians?'" "dr. van anden," said sadie with dignity, "don't you think there should be a difference between christians and those who are not?" "undoubtedly i do. do _you_ think that every person ought or ought _not_ to be a christian?" sadie was silent, and a little indignant. after a moment she spoke again, this time with a touch of hauteur: "i think you understand what i mean, doctor, though you would not admit it for the world. i don't suppose i feel very deeply on the subject, else i would not advance so trivial an excuse; but this is honestly my state of mind. whenever i think about the matter at all, this thing comes up for consideration. i think it would be very foolish for me to argue against dancing, for i don't know much about the arguments, and care less. i know only this much, that there is a very distinctly defined inconsistency between a profession of religion and dancing, visible very generally to the eyes of those who make no profession; the other class don't seem so able to see it; but there exists very generally among us worldlings a disposition to laugh a little over dancing christians. whether this is a well-founded inconsistency, or only a foolish prejudice on our part, i have never taken the trouble to try to determine, and it would make little material difference which it was--it is enough for me that such is the case; and it makes it very plain to me that if i were an honest professor of that religion which leads one of its teachers to say, 'he will eat no meat while the world stands if it makes his brother to offend,' i should be obliged to give up my dancing. but since i am not one of that class, and thus have no such influence, i can see no possible harm in my favorite amusement, and am not ready to give it up; and that is what i mean by its being innocent for me, and not innocent for professing christians." dr. van anden made no sort of reply, if sadie could judge from his face; he seemed to have grown weary of the whole subject; he leaned back in his carriage, and let the reins fall loosely and carelessly. his next proceeding was most astounding; coolly possessing himself of one of the small gloved hands that lay idly in sadie's lap, he said, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone: "sadie, would you allow me to put my arm around you?" in an instant the indignant blood surged in waves over sadie's face; the hand was angrily withdrawn, and the graceful form drawn to an erect hight, and it is impossible to describe the freezing tone of astonished indignation in which she ejaculated, "dr. van anden!" "just what i expected," returned that gentleman in a composed manner, bestowing a look of entire satisfaction upon his irate companion. "and yet, sadie, i hope you will pardon my obtuseness, but i positively can not see why, if it is proper and courteous, and all that sort of thing, i, who am a friend of ten years' standing, should not enjoy the same privilege which you accord to fred kenmore, to whom you were introduced last week, and with whom i heard you say you danced five times." sadie looked confused and annoyed, but finally she laughed; for she had the good sense to see the folly of doing any thing else under existing circumstances. "that is the point which puzzles me at present," continued the doctor, in a kind, grave tone. "i do not understand how young ladies of refinement can permit, under certain circumstances, and often from comparative strangers, attentions which, under other circumstances, they repel with becoming indignation. won't you consider the apparent inconsistency a little? it is the only suggestion which i wish to offer on the question at present. when you have settled that other important matter, this thing will present itself to your clear-seeing eyes in other and more startling aspects. meantime, this is the house at which i must call. will you hold my horses, miss sadie, while i dispatch matters within?" chapter xxvi. confusion--cross-bearing--consequence. but the autumn days were not _all_ bright, and glowing, and glorious. one morning it rained--not a soft, silent, and warm rain, but a gusty, windy, turbulent one; a rain that drove into windows ever so slightly raised, and hurled itself angrily into your face whenever you ventured to open a door. it was a day in which fires didn't like to burn, but smoldered, and sizzled, and smoked; and people went around shivering, their shoulders shrugged up under little dingy, unbecoming shawls, and the clouds were low, and gray, and heavy--and every thing and every body seemed generally out of sorts. ester was no exception; the toothache had kept her awake during the night, and one cheek was puffy and stiff in the morning, and one tooth still snarled threateningly whenever the slightest whisper of a draught came to it. the high-toned, exalted views of life and duty which had held possession of her during the past few weeks seemed suddenly to have deserted her. in short, her body had gained that mortifying ascendency over the soul which it will sometimes accomplish, and all her hopes, and aims, and enthusiasms seemed blotted out. things in the kitchen were uncomfortable. maggie had seized on this occasion for having the mumps, and acting upon the advice of her sympathizing mistress, had pinned a hot flannel around her face and gone to bed. the same unselfish counsel had been given to ester, but she had just grace enough left to refuse to desert the camp, when dinner must be in readiness for twenty-four people in spite of nerves and teeth. just here, however, the supply failed her, and she worked in ominous gloom. julia had been pressed into service, and was stoning raisins, or eating them, a close observer would have found it difficult to discover which. she was certainly rasping the nerves of her sister in a variety of those endless ways by which a thoughtless, restless, questioning child can almost distract a troubled brain. ester endured with what patience she could the ceaseless drafts upon her, and worked at the interminable cookies with commendable zeal. alfred came with a bang and a whistle, and held open the side door while he talked. in rushed the spiteful wind, and all the teeth in sympathy with the aching one set up an immediate growl. "mother, i don't see any. why, where is mother?" questioned alfred; and was answered with an emphatic "shut that door!" "well, but," said alfred, "i want mother. i say, ester, will you give me a cookie?" "no!" answered ester, with energy. "did you hear me tell you to shut that door this instant?" "well now, don't bite a fellow." and alfred looked curiously at his sister. meantime the door closed with a heavy bang. "mother, say, mother," he continued, as his mother emerged from the pantry, "i don't see any thing of that hammer. i've looked every-where. mother, can't i have one of ester's cookies? i'm awful hungry." "why, i guess so, if you are really suffering. try again for the hammer, my boy; don't let a poor little hammer get the better of you." "well," said alfred, "i won't," meaning that it should answer the latter part of the sentence; and seizing a cookie he bestowed a triumphant look upon ester and a loving one upon his mother, and vanished amid a renewal of the whistle and bang. this little scene did not serve to help ester; she rolled away vigorously at the dough, but felt some way disturbed and outraged, and finally gave vent to her feeling in a peremptory order. "julia, don't eat another raisin; you've made away with about half of them now." julia looked aggrieved. "mother lets me eat raisins when i pick them over for her," was her defense; to which she received no other reply than-- "keep your elbows off the table." then there was silence and industry for some minutes. presently julia recovered her composure, and commenced with-- "say, ester, what makes you prick little holes all over your biscuits?" "to make them rise better." "does every thing rise better after it is pricked?" sadie was paring apples at the end table, and interposed at this point-- "if you find that to be the case, julia, you must be very careful after this, or we shall have ester pricking you when you don't 'rise' in time for breakfast in the morning." julia suspected that she was being made a dupe of, and appealed to her older sister: "_honestly_, ester, _do_ you prick them so they will rise better?" "of course. i told you so, didn't i?" "well, but why does that help them any? can't they get up unless you make holes in them, and what is all the reason for it?" now, these were not easy questions to answer, especially to a girl with the toothache, and ester's answer was not much to the point. "julia, i declare you are enough to distract one. if you ask any more questions i shall certainly send you up stairs out of the way." her scientific investigations thus nipped in the bud, julia returned again to silence and raisins, until the vigorous beating of some eggs roused anew the spirit of inquiry. she leaned eagerly forward with a-- "say, ester, please tell me why the whites all foam and get thick when you stir them, just like beautiful white soapsuds." and she rested her elbow, covered with its blue sleeve, plump into the platter containing the beaten yolks. you must remember ester's face-ache, but even then i regret to say that this disaster culminated in a decided box on the ear for poor julia, and in her being sent weeping up stairs. sadie looked up with a wicked laugh in her bright eyes, and said, demurely: "you didn't keep your promise, ester, and let me live in peace, so i needn't keep mine and i consider you pretty well out of the spasm which has lasted for so many days." "sadie, i am really ashamed of you." this was mrs. ried's grave, reproving voice; and she added, kindly: "ester, poor child, i wish you would wrap your face up in something warm and lie down awhile. i am afraid you are suffering a great deal." poor ester! it had been a hard day. late in the afternoon, as she stood at the table, and cut the bread, and cake, and cheese, and cold meat for tea; when the sun had made a rift in the clouds, and was peeping in for good-night; when the throbbing nerves had grown quiet once more, she looked back upon this weary day in shame and pain. how very little her noble resolves, and efforts, and advances had been worth after all. how far back she seemed to have gone in that one day--not strength enough to bear even the little crosses that befell in an ordinarily quiet life! how she had lost the so-lately-gained influence over alfred and julia by a few cross words! how much reason she had given sadie to think that her attempts at following the master were, after all, only spasmodic and visionary! but ester had been to that little clothes-press up stairs in search of help and forgiveness, and now she clearly saw there was something to do besides mourn over her failures. it was hard to do it, too. ester's spirit was proud, and it was very humbling to confess herself in the wrong. she hesitated and shrank from the work, until she finally grew ashamed of herself for that; and at last, without turning her head from her work, or giving her resolve time to falter, she called to the twins, who were occupying seats in one of the dining-room windows, and talking low and soberly to each other: "children, come here a moment, will you?" the two had been very shy of ester since the morning's trials, and were at that moment sympathizing with each other in a manner uncomplimentary to her. however, they slid down from their perch and slowly answered her call. ester glanced up as they entered the storeroom, and then went on cutting her cheese, but speaking in low, gentle tones: "i want to tell you two how sorry i am that i spoke so crossly and unkindly to you this morning. it was very wrong in me. i thought i never should displease jesus so again, but i did, you see; and now i am very sorry indeed, and i want you to forgive me." alfred looked aghast. this was an ester that he had never seen before, and he didn't know what to say. he wriggled the toes of his boots together, and looked down at them in puzzled wonder. at last he faltered out: "i didn't know your cheek ached till mother told me, or else i'd have shut the door right straight. i'd ought to, _any how_, cheek or no cheek." this last in a lower tone, and more looking down at his boots. it was new work for alfred, this voluntarily owning himself in the wrong. julia burst forth eagerly. "and i was very careless and naughty to keep putting my elbows on the table after you had told me not to, and i am ever so sorry that i made you such a lot of trouble." "well, then," said ester, "we'll all forgive each other, shall we, and begin over again? and, children, i want you to understand that i _am_ trying to please jesus; and when i fail it is because of my own wicked heart, not because there is any need of it if i tried harder; and i want you to know how anxious i am that you should love this same jesus now while you are young, and get him to help you." their mother called the children at this moment, and ester dismissed them each with a kiss. there was a little rustle in the flour-room, and sadie, whom nobody knew was down stairs, emerged therefrom with suspiciously red eyes but a laughing face, and approached her sister. "ester," said she, "i'm positively afraid that you are growing into a saint, and i know that i'm a sinner. i consider myself mistaken about the spasm--it is evidently a settled disease." while the bell tolled for evening service ester stood in the front doorway, and looked doubtfully up and down the damp pavements and muddy streets, and felt of her stiff cheek. how much she seemed to need the rest and help of god's house to-night; and yet-- julia's little hand stole softly into hers. "we've been talking about what you said you wanted us to do, alfred and i have. we've talked about it a good deal lately. _we_ most wish so, too." ere ester could reply other than by an eager grasp of the small hand, dr. douglass came out. his horses and carriage were in waiting. "miss ried," he said, pausing irresolutely with his foot on the carriage step, and finally turning back, "i am going to drive down to church this evening, as i have a call to make afterward. will you not ride down with me; it is unpleasant walking?" ester's grave face brightened. "i'm so glad," she answered eagerly. "i _did_ want to go to church to-night, and i was afraid it would be imprudent on account of my tooth." alfred and julia sat right before them in church; and ester watched them with a prayerful, and yet a sad heart what right had she to expect an answer to her petitions when her life had been working against them all that day? and yet the blood of christ was all-powerful, and there was always _his_ righteousness to plead; and she bent her head in renewed supplications for these two, "and it shall come to pass, that before they call i will answer, and while they are yet speaking i will hear." into one of the breathless stillnesses that came, while beating hearts were waiting for the requests that they hoped would be made, broke julia's low, trembling, yet singularly clear voice: "please pray for me." there was a little choking in alfred's throat, and a good deal of shuffling done with his boots. it was so much more of a struggle for the sturdy boy than the gentle little girl; but he stood manfully on his feet at last, and his words, though few, were fraught with as much meaning as any which had been spoken there that evening, for they were distinct and decided: "me, too." chapter xxvii. the time to sleep life went swiftly and busily on. with the close of december the blessed daily meetings closed, rather they closed with the first week of the new year, which the church kept as a sort of jubilee week in honor of the glorious things that had been done for them. the new year opened in joy for ester; many things were different. the honest, straightforward little julia carried all her earnestness of purpose into this new life which had possessed her soul; and the sturdy brother had naturally too decided a nature to do any thing half-way, so ester was sure of this young sister and brother. besides, there was a new order of things between her mother and herself; each had discovered that the other was bound on the same journey, and that there were delightful resting-places by the way. for herself, she was slowly but surely gaining. little crosses that she stooped and resolutely took up grew to be less and less, until they, some of them, merged into positive pleasures. there were many things that cast rays of joy all about her path; but there was still one heavy abiding sorrow. sadie went giddily and gleefully on her downward way. if she perchance seemed to have a serious thought at night it vanished with the next morning's sunshine, and day by day ester realized more fully how many tares the enemy had sown while she was sleeping. sometimes the burden grew almost too heavy to be borne, and again she would take heart of grace and bravely renew her efforts and her prayers. it was about this time that she began to recognize a new feeling. she was not sick exactly, and yet not quite well. she discovered, considerably to her surprise, that she was falling into the habit of sitting down on a stair to rest ere she had reached the top of the first flight; also, that she was sometimes obliged to stay her sweeping and clasp her hands suddenly over a strange beating in her heart. but she laughed at her mother's anxious face, and pronounced herself quite well, quite well, only perhaps a little tired. meantime all sorts of plans for usefulness ran riot in her brain. she could not go away on a mission because her mission had come to her. for a wonder she realized that her mother needed her. she took up bravely and eagerly, so far as she could see it, the work that lay around her; but her restless heart craved more, more. she _must_ do something outside of this narrow circle for the master. one evening her enthusiasm, which had been fed for several days on a new scheme that was afloat in the town, reached its hight. ester remembered afterward every little incident connected with that evening--just how cozy the little family sitting-room looked, with her for its only occupant; just how brightly the coals glowed in the open grate; just what a brilliant color they flashed over the crimson cushioned rocker, which she had vacated when she heard dr. van anden's step in the hall, and went to speak to him. she was engaged in writing a letter to abbie, full of eager schemes and busy, bright work. "i am astonished that i ever thought there was nothing worth living for;" so she wrote. "why life isn't half long enough for the things that i want to do. this new idea just fills me with delight. i am so eager to get to work--" thus far when she heard that step, and springing up went with eagerness to the door. "doctor, are you in haste? haven't you just five minutes for me?" "ten," answered the doctor promptly, stepping into the bright little room. in her haste, not even waiting to offer him a seat, ester plunged at once into her subject. "aren't you the chairman of that committee to secure teachers for the evening school?" "i am." "have you all the help you want?" "not by any means. volunteers for such a self-denying employment as teaching factory girls are not easy to find." "well, doctor, do you think--would you be willing to propose my name as one of the teachers? i should so like to be counted among them." instead of the prompt thanks which she expected, to her dismay dr. van anden's face looked grave and troubled. finally he slowly shook his head with a troubled-- "i don't think i can, ester." such an amazed, grieved, hurt look as swept over ester's face. "it is no matter," she said at last, speaking with an effort. "of course i know little of teaching, and perhaps could do no good; but i thought if help was scarce you might--well, never mind." and here the doctor interposed. "it is not that, ester," with the troubled look deepening on his face. "i assure you we would be glad of your help, but," and he broke off abruptly, and commenced a sudden pacing up and down the room. then stopped before her with these mysterious words: "i don't know how to tell you, ester." ester's look now was one of annoyance, and she spoke quickly. "why, doctor, you need tell me nothing. i am not a child to have the truth sugar-coated. if my help is not needed, that is sufficient." "your help is exactly what we need, ester, but your health is not sufficient for the work." and now ester laughed. "why, doctor, what an absurd idea in a week i shall be as well as ever. if that is all you may surely count me as one of your teachers." the doctor smiled faintly, and then asked: "do you never feel any desire to know what may be the cause of this strange lassitude which is creeping over you, and the sudden flutterings of heart, accompanied by pain and faintness, which take you unawares?" ester's face paled a little, but she asked, quietly enough: "how do you know all this?" "i am a physician, ester. do you think it is kindness to keep a friend in ignorance of what very nearly concerns him, simply to spare his feelings for a little?" "why, dr. van anden, you do not think--you do not mean that--tell me _exactly what_ you mean." but the doctor's answer was grave, anxious, absolute _silence_. perhaps the silence answered her--perhaps her own heart told the secret to her, for a sudden gray palor overspread her face. for an instant the room darkened and whirled around her, then she staggered as if she would have fallen, then she reached forward and caught hold of the little red rocker, and sank into it, and leaning both elbows on the writing-table before her, buried her face in her hands. afterward ester called to mind the strange whirl of thoughts which thrilled her brain at that time. life in all the various phases that she had thought it would wear for her, all the endless plans that she had made, all the things that she had meant to _do_ and _be_, came and stared her in the face. nowhere in all her plannings crossed by that strange creature death; someway she had never planned for that. could it be possible that he was to come for her so soon, before any of these things were done? was it possible that she must leave sadie, bright, brilliant, unsafe sadie, and go away where she could work for her no more? then, like a picture spread before her, there came back that day in the cars, on her way to new york, the christian stranger, who was not a stranger now, but her friend, and was it heaven--the earnest little old woman with her thoughtful face, and that strange sentence on her lips: "maybe my coffin will do it better than i can." well, maybe _her_ coffin could do it for sadie. oh the blessed thought! plans? yes, but perhaps god had plans too. what mattered hers compared to _his_? if he would that she should do her earthly work by lying down very soon in the unbroken calm of the "rest that remaineth," "what was that to her?" presently she spoke without raising her head. "are you very certain of this thing, doctor, and is it to come to me soon?" "that last we can not tell, dear friend. you _may_ be with us years yet, and it _may_ be swift and sudden. i think it is worse than mistaken kindness, it is foolish wickedness, to treat a christian woman like a little child. i wanted to tell you before the shock would be dangerous to you." "i understand." when she spoke again it was in a more hesitating tone. "does dr. douglass agree with you?" and the quick, pained way in which the doctor answered showed her that he understood. "dr. douglass will not _let_ himself believe it." then a long silence fell between them. the doctor kept his position, leaning against the mantel, but never for a moment allowed his eyes to turn away from that motionless figure before him. only the loving, pitying savior knew what was passing in that young heart. at last she arose and came toward the doctor, with a strange sweetness playing about her mouth, and a strange calm in her voice. "dr. van anden, i am _so_ much obliged to you. don't be afraid to leave me now. i think i need to be quite alone." and the doctor, feeling that all words were vain and useless, silently bowed, and softly let himself out of the room. the first thing upon which ester's eye alighted when she turned again to the table was the letter in which she had been writing those last words: "why life isn't half long enough for the things that i want to do." very quietly she picked up the letter and committed it to the glowing coals upon the grate. her mood had changed. by degrees, very quietly and very gradually, as such bitter things _do_ creep in upon a family, it grew to be an acknowledged fact that ester was an invalid. little by little her circle of duties narrowed, one by one her various plans were silently given up, the dear mother first, and then sadie, and finally the children, grew into the habit of watching her footsteps, and saving her from the stairs, from the lifting, from every possible burden. once in a long while, and then, as the weeks passed, more frequently, there would come a day in which she did not get down further than the little sitting-room, but was established amid pillows on the couch, "enjoying poor health," as she playfully phrased it. so softly and silently and surely the shadow crept and crept, until when june brought roses and abbie. ester received her in her own room, propped up among the pillows in her bed. gradually they grew accustomed to that also, as god in his infinite mercy has planned that human hearts shall grow used to the inevitable. they even told each other hopefully that the warm weather was what depressed her so much, and as the summer heat cooled into autumn she would grow stronger. and she had bright days in which she really seemed to grow strong, and which deceived every body save dr. van anden and herself. during one of those bright days sadie came from school full of a new idea, and curled herself in front of ester's couch to entertain her with it. "mr. hammond's last," she said. "such a curious idea, as like him as possible, and like nobody else. you know that our class will graduate in just two years from this time, and there are fourteen of us, an even number, which is lucky for mr. hammond. well, we are each, don't you think, to write a letter, as sensible, honest, and piquant as we can make it, historic, sentimental, poetic, or otherwise, as we please, so that it be the honest exponent of our views. then we are to make a grand exchange of letters among the class, and the young lady who receives my letter, for instance, is to keep it sealed, and under lock and key, until graduation day, when it is to be read before scholars, faculty, and trustees, and my full name announced as the signature; and all the rest of us are to perform in like manner." "what is supposed to be the object?" queried abbie. "precisely the point which oppressed us, until mr. hammond complimented us by announcing that it was for the purpose of discovering how many of us, after making use of our highest skill in that line, could write a letter that after two years we should be willing to acknowledge as ours." ester sat up flushed and eager. "that is a very nice idea," she said, brightly. "i'm so glad you told me of it. sadie, i'll write you a letter for that day. i'll write it to-morrow, and you are to keep it sealed until the evening of that day on which you graduate. then when you have come up to your room and are quite alone, you are to read it. will you promise, sadie?" but sadie only laughed merrily, and said "you are growing sentimental, ester, as sure is the world. how can i make any such promise as that? i shall probably chatter to you like a magpie instead of reading any thing." this young girl utterly ignored so far as was possible the fact of ester's illness, never allowing it to be admitted in her presence that there were any fears as to the result. ester had ceased trying to convince her, so now she only smiled quietly and repeated her petition. "will you promise, sadie?" "oh yes, i'll promise to go to the mountains of the moon on foot and alone, across lots--_any thing_ to amuse you. you're to be pitied, you see, until you get over this absurd habit of cuddling down among the pillows." so a few days thereafter she received with much apparent glee the dainty sealed letter addressed to herself, and dropped it in her writing-desk, but ere she turned the key there dropped a tear or two on the shining lid. well, as the long, hot summer days grew longer and fiercer, the invalid drooped and drooped, and the home faces grew sadder. yet there still came from time to time those rallying days, wherein sadie confidently pronounced her to be improving rapidly. and so it came to pass that so sweet was the final message that the words of the wonderful old poem proved a siting description of it all. "they thought her dying when she slept, and sleeping when she died." into the brightness of the september days there intruded one, wherein all the house was still, with that strange, solemn stillness that comes only to those homes where death has left a seal. from the doors floated the long crape signals, and in the great parlors were gathering those who had come to take their parting look at the white, quiet face. "ester ried, aged ," so the coffin-plate told them. thus early had the story of her life been finished. only one arrangement had ester made for this last scene in her life drama. "i am going to preach my own funeral sermon," she had said pleasantly to abbie one day. "i want every one to know what seemed to me the most important thing in life. and i want them to understand that when i came just to the end of my life it stood out the most important thing still--for christians, i mean. my sermon is to be preached for them. no it isn't either; it applies equally to all. the last time i went to the city i found in a bookstore just the kind of sermon i want preached. i bought it. you will find the package in my upper bureau drawer, abbie. i leave it to you to see that they are so arranged that every one who comes to look at _me_ will be sure to see them." so on this day, amid the wilderness of flowers and vines and mosses that had possession of the rooms, ranged along the mantel, hanging in clusters on the walls, were beautifully illuminated texts--and these were some of the words that they spoke to those who silently gathered in the parlors: "and that knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep." "but wilt thou know, o vain man, that faith without works is dead?" "what shall we do that we might work the works of god?" "whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest." "i must work the work of him that sent me while it is day: the night cometh when no man can work." "awake to righteousness and sin not." "awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and christ shall give thee light." "redeeming the time, because the days are evil." "let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch, and be sober." chiming in with the thoughts of those who knew by whose direction the illuminated texts were hung, came the voice of the minister, reading: "and i heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, write, blessed are the dead which die in the lord from henceforth: yea, saith the spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them." so it was that ester ried, lying quiet in her coffin, was reckoned among that number who "being dead, yet speaketh." chapter xxviii. at last. the busy, exciting, triumphant day was done. sadie ried was no longer a school-girl; she had graduated. and although a dress of the softest, purest white had been substituted for the blue silk, in which she had so long ago planned to appear, its simple folds had swept the platform of music hall in as triumphant a way as ever she had planned for the other. more so, for sadie's wildest flights of fancy had never made her valedictorian of her class, yet that she certainly was. in some respects it had been a merry day--the long sealed letters had been opened and read by their respective holders that morning, and the young ladies had discovered, amid much laughter and many blushes, that they were ready to pronounce many of the expressions which they had carefully made only two years before, "ridiculously out of place" or "absurdly sentimental." "progress," said mr. hammond, turning for a moment to sadie, after he had watched with an amused smile the varying play of expression on her speaking face, while she listened to the reading of her letter. "you were not aware that you had improved so much in two years, now, were you?" "i was not aware that i ever was such a simpleton!" was her half-provoked, half-amused reply. to-night she loitered strangely in the parlors, in the halls, on the stairs, talking aimlessly with any one who would stop; it was growing late. mrs. ried and the children had long ago departed. dr. van anden had not yet returned from his evening round of calls. every body in and about the house was quiet, ere sadie, with slow, reluctant steps, finally ascended the stairs and sought her room. arrived there, she seemed in no haste to light the gas; moonlight was streaming into the room, and she put herself down in front of one of the low windows to enjoy it. but it gave her a view of the not far distant cemetery, and gleamed on a marble slab, the lettering of which she knew perfectly well was--"ester, daughter of alfred and laura ried, died sept. , --, aged . asleep in jesus--awake to everlasting life." and that reminded her, as she had no need to be reminded, of a letter with the seal unbroken, lying in her writing-desk--a letter which she had promised to read this evening--promised the one who wrote it for her, and over whose grave the moonlight was now wrapping its silver robe. sadie felt strangely averse to reading that letter; in part, she could imagine its contents, and for the very reason that she was still "halting between two opinions," "almost persuaded," and still on that often fatal "almost" side, instead of the "altogether," did she wait and linger, and fritter away the evening as best she could, rather than face that solemn letter. even when she turned resolutely from the window, and lighted the gas, and drew down the shade, she waited to put every thing tidy on her writing-table, and then, when she had finally turned the key in her writing-desk, to read over half a dozen old letters and bits of essays, and scraps of poetry, ere she reached down for that little white envelope, with her name traced by the dear familiar hand that wrote her name no more. at last the seal was broken, and sadie read: "my darling sister: "i am sitting to-day in our little room--yours and mine. i have been taking in the picture of it; every thing about it is dear to me, from our father's face smiling down on me from the wall, to the little red rocker in which he sat and wrote, in which i sit now, and in which you will doubtless sit, when i have gone to him. i want to speak to you about that time. when you read this, i shall have been gone a long, long time, and the bitterness of the parting will all be past; you will be able to read calmly what i am writing. i will tell you a little of the struggle. for the first few moments after i knew that i was soon to die, my brain fairly reeled; it seemed to me that i _could_ not. i had so much to live for, there was so much that i wanted to do; and most of all other things, i wanted to see you a christian. i wanted to live for that, to work for it, to undo if i could some of the evil that i knew my miserable life had wrought in your heart. then suddenly there came to me the thought that perhaps what my life could not do, my coffin would accomplish--perhaps that was to be god's way of calling you to himself perhaps he meant to answer my pleading in that way, to let my grave speak for me, as my crooked, marred, sinful living might never be able to do. my darling, then i was content; it came to me so suddenly as that almost the certainty that god meant to use me thus, and i love you so, and i long so to see you come to him, that i am more than willing to give up all that this life seemed to have for me, and go away, if by that you would be called to christ. "and sadie, dear, you will know before you read this, how much i had to give up. you will know very soon all that dr. douglass and i looked forward to being to each other--but i give it up, give him up, more than willingly--joyfully--glad that my father will accept the sacrifice, and make you his child. oh, my darling, what a life i have lived before you! i do not wonder that, looking at me, you have grown into the habit of thinking that there is nothing in religion--you have looked at me, not at jesus, and there has been no reflection of his beauty in me, as there should have been, and the result is not strange. knowing this, i am the more thankful that god will forgive me, and use me as a means to bring you home at last. i speak confidently. i am sure, you see, that it will be; the burden, the fearful burden that i have carried about with me so long, has gone away. my redeemer and yours has taken it from me. i shall see you in heaven. father is there, and i am going, oh _so_ fast, and mother will not be long behind, and alfred and julia have started on the journey, and you _will_ start. oh, i know it--we shall all be there! i told my savior i was willing to do any thing, _any thing_, so my awful mockery of a christian life, that i wore so long, might not be the means of your eternal death. and he has heard my prayer. i do not know when it will be; perhaps you will still be undecided when you sit in our room and read these words. oh, i hope, i _hope_ you will not waste two years more of your life, but if you do, if as you read these last lines that i shall ever write, the question is unsettled, i charge you by the memory of your sister, by the love you bear her not to wait another _moment_--not one. oh, my darling, let me beg this at your hands; take it as my dying petition--renewed after two years of waiting. come to jesus now. "that question settled, then let me give you one word of warning. do not live as i have done--my life has been a failure--five years of stupid sleep, while the enemy waked and worked. oh, god, forgive me! sadie, never let that be your record. let me give you a motto--'press toward the mark.' the mark is high; don't look away from or forget it, as i did; don't be content with simply sauntering along, looking toward it now and then, but take in the full meaning of that earnest sentence, and live it--'press toward the mark!' "and now good-by. when you have finished reading this letter, do this last thing for me: if you are already a christian, get down on your knees and renew your covenant; resolve anew to live and work, and suffer and die, for christ. if you are not a christian--oh, i put my whole soul into this last request--i beg you kneel and give yourself up to jesus. my darling, good-by until we meet in heaven. "ester ried." the letter dropped from sadie's nerveless fingers. she arose softly, and turned down the gas, and raised the shade--the moonlight still gleamed on the marble slab. dr. van anden came with quick, firm tread up the street. she gave a little start as she recognized the step, and her thoughts went out after that other lonely doctor, who was to have been her brother, and then back to the long, earnest letter and the words, "i give him up"--and she realized as only those can who know by experience, what a giving up that would be, how much her sister longed for her soul. and then, moved by a strong, firm resolve, sadie knelt in the solemn moonlight, and the long, long struggle was ended. father and sister were in heaven, but on earth, this night, their prayers were being answered. "blessed are the dead which die in the lord from henceforth: yea, saith the spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them." the end. the island of gold a sailor's yarn by gordon stables illustrations by allan stewart published by thomas nelson and sons, london, edinburgh and new york. the island of gold, by gordon stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the island of gold, by gordon stables. book --chapter one. two mitherless bairns. ransey tansey was up much earlier than usual on this particular morning, because father was coming home, and there was a good deal to do. as he crawled out of his bed--a kind of big box arrangement at the farther end of the one-roomed cottage--he gave a glance towards the corner where babs slept in an elongated kind of basket, which by courtesy might have been called a bassinette. yes, babs was sound and fast, and that was something ransey tansey had to be thankful for. he bent over her for a few seconds, listening as if to make sure she was alive; for this wee three-year-old was usually awake long before this, her eyes as big as saucers, and carrying on an animated conversation with herself in lieu of any other listener. the boy gave a kind of satisfied sigh, and drew the coverlet over her bare arm. then he proceeded to dress; while bob, a beautiful, tailless english sheep-dog, lay near the low hearth watching his every movement, with his shaggy head cocked a trifle to one side, as if he had his considering cap on. in summer time--and it was early summer now--dressing did not take ransey long. when he opened the door at last to fetch some sticks to light the fire, and stood for a moment shading his brow with his hand against the red light of the newly-risen sun, and gazing eastwards over a landscape of fields and woods, he looked a strange little figure. moreover, one could understand now why he had taken such a short few minutes to dress. the fact is, ransey tansey hadn't very much to wear just then. barely eight years of age was tansey, though, as far as experience of the world went, he might have been called three times as old as that; for, alas, the world had not been over-gentle with the boy. ransey wore no cap, just a head of towy hair, which was thick enough, however, to protect him against summer's sun or winter's cold. the upper part of his body was arrayed in a blue serge shirt, very much open at the neck; while below his waist, and extending to within nine inches of his bare feet, where they ended in ragged capes and promontories like a map of norway, he wore a pair of pants. it would have been difficult, indeed, to have guessed at the original colour of these pants, but they were now a kind of tawny brindle, and that is the nearest i can get to it. they were suspended by one brace, a bright red one, so broad that it must have belonged to his father. i think the boy was rather proud than otherwise of this suspender, although it had a disagreeable trick of sliding down over his shoulder and causing some momentary disarrangement of his attire. but ransey just hooked it back into its place again with his thumb, and all was right, till the next time. a rough little tyke you might have called ransey tansey, with his sun-burnt face, neck, and bosom. yet there was something that was rather pleasing than otherwise in his clear eyes and open countenance; and when his red and rather thin lips parted in a smile, which they very often did, he showed a set of teeth as clean and white as those of a six-months-old saint bernard puppy, and you cannot better that. had this little lad been a town boy, hands and face and feet would have been far from clean; but ransey lived away down in the cool, green country, in a midland district of merrie england, and being as often in the water as a duck, he was just as clean as one. away went ransey tansey now, and opened a rough old door in a rock which formed part of the hill by the side of which the humble cottage stood. the door opened into a kind of cave, which was a storehouse for all kinds of things. he was soon back again, and in five minutes' time had lit the fire, swept the hearth as tidily as a girl could have done it, and hung the kettle on a hook and chain. by this time another member of this small family came in, a very large and handsome tabby cat, with a white chest and vandyked face. murrams, as he was called, was holding his head very high indeed. in fact he had to, else the nice young leveret he carried would have trailed on the ground. bob jumped up to meet him, with joy in his brown eyes. had bob possessed a tail of any consequence, he would have wagged it. bob's tail, however, was a mere stump, and it was quite buried in the rough, shaggy coat that hung over his rump. but though honest bob had only the fag-end of a tail, so to speak, he agitated this considerably when pleased. he did so when he saw that leveret. "oh, you clever old murrams!" bob seemed to say. "what a nice drop of soup that'll make, and all the bones for me!" murrams walked gingerly past him, and throwing the leveret on the hearth, proceeded to wash his face and warm his nose at the blaze. ransey put away the young hare, patted pussy on his broad, sleek forehead, then took down a long tin can to go for the morning's milk. he left the door open, because he knew that if babs should awake and scramble out of her cot, she would toddle right out to clutch at wild flowers, beetles, and other things, instead of going towards the fire. ransey tansey happened to look round when he was about thirty yards from the cottage. why, here was bob coming softly up behind. murrams himself couldn't have walked more silently. his ears disappeared backwards when he was found out, and he looked very guilty indeed. ransey tansey shook his finger at him. "back ye goes--back ye goes to look after babs." bob lay down to plead. "it ain't no go, bob, i tell ye," continued ransey tansey, still shaking his finger. "back to babs, bob--back to babs. we can't both on us leave the house at the same time." this latter argument was quite convincing, and back marched bob, with drooping head and with that fag-end of a tail of his drooping earthwards also. there grew on the top of the bank a solitary brown-stemmed pine-tree. very, very tall it was, with not a branch all the way up save a very strong horizontal limb, which was used to hang people from in the happy days of old. the top of this tree was peculiar. it spread straight out on all sides, forming a kind of flat table of darkest green needled foliage. had you been sketching this tree, then, after doing the stem, you could easily have rubbed in the top of it by dipping your little finger in ink and smudging the paper crosswise. when not far from this gibbet-tree, as it was generally called, ransey looked up and hailed,-- "ship ahoy! are ye on board, admiral?" and now a somewhat strange thing happened. no sooner had the boy hailed than down from a mass of central foliage there suddenly hung what, at first sight, one might have taken for a snake. it was really a bird's long neck. "craik--craik--crik--cr--cr--cray!" "all right," cried ransey, as if he understood every word. "ye mebbe don't see nuthin' o' father, do ye?" "tok--tok--tok--cr--cray--ay!" "well, ye needn't flop down, admiral. i'll come up myself." no lamplighter ever ran quicker up a ladder than did ransey tansey swarm up that pine-tree. in little over two minutes he was right out on the green roof, and beside him one of the most graceful and beautiful cranes it is possible to imagine. the boy's father had bought the bird from a sailor somewhere down the country; and, except on very stormy nights, it preferred to roost in this tree. the neck was a greyish blue, as was also the back; the wings were dark, the legs jet black, the tail purple. around the eyes was a broad patch of crimson; and the bill was as long as a penholder, more or less slender, and slightly curved downwards at the end. [a species of what is popularly known an the dancing crane.] the admiral did all he could to express the pleasure he felt at seeing the boy, by a series of movements that i find it difficult to describe. the wings were half extended and quivering with delight, the neck forming a series of beautiful curves, the head at times high in air, and next moment down under ransey's chin. then he twisted his neck right round the boy's neck, from left to right, then from right to left, the head being laid lovingly each time against his little master's cheek. "now then, admiral, when ye're quite done cuddlin' of me, we'll have a look for father's barge." from his elevated coign of vantage, ransey tansey could see for many miles all around him. on this bright, sunny summer morn, it was a landscape of infinite beauty; on undulating, well-wooded, cultivated country, green and beautiful everywhere, except in the west, where a village sheltered itself near the horizon, nestling in a cloudland of trees, from which the grey flat tower of a church looked up. to the left yonder, and near to the church, was a long strip of silver-- the canal. high on a wooded hill stood the lord of the manor's house, solid, brown, and old, with the blue smoke therefrom trailing lazily along across the tree-tops. but the house nearest to ransey's was some distance across the fields yonder--an old-fashioned brick farm-building with a steading behind it, every bit of it green with age. "so ye can't see no signs o' father, or the barge, eh? look again, admiral; your neck's a bit longer'n mine." "tok--tok--tok--cray!" "well, i'm off down. there's the milk to fetch yet; and if i don't hurry up, bob and babs are sure to make a mess on't afore i gets back. mornin' to ye, admiral." and ransey tansey slid down that tree far more quickly even than he had swarmed up it. scattering the dew from the grass and the milk-white clover with his naked feet, the lad went trotting on, and very quickly reached the farm. he had to stop once or twice by the way, however. first, towsey, the short-horned bull, put his great head over a five-barred gate, and ransey had to pause to scratch it. then he met the peacock, who insisted on instant recognition, and walked back with him till the two were met by snap, the curly-coated retriever. "i don't like snap," said the peacock. "i won't go a bit further. the ugly brute threatened to snap my head off; that's the sort of snap he is." the farmer's wife was fat and jolly looking. "well, how's all the family?" "oh, they're all right, ye know; especially babs, 'cause she's asleep. and we kind of expect father to-day. but even the admiral can't see 'im, with _his_ long neck." she filled his can, and took the penny. that was only business; but the kindly soul had slyly slipped two turkey's eggs into the can before she poured in the milk. when he got back to his home, the first thing he saw was that crane, half hopping, half flying round and round the gibbet-tree. the fact of the matter is this: the bird did not wish to go far away from the house just yet, as he generally followed his little master to the brook or stream; but, nevertheless, on this particularly fine morning he found himself possessed of an amount of energy that must be expended somehow, so he went hopping round the tree, dangling his head and long neck in the drollest and most ridiculous kind of way imaginable. ransey tansey had to place his milk-can on the ground in order to laugh with greater freedom. the most curious part of the business was this: crane though he was, wheeling madly round like this made him dizzy, so every now and then he stopped and danced round the other way. the admiral caught flies wherever he saw them; but flies, though all very well in their way, were mere tit-bits. presently he would have a few frogs for breakfast, and the bird was just as fond of frogs as a frenchman is. ransey tansey opened the door of the little cottage very quietly, and peeped in. bob was there by the bassinette. he agitated that fag-end of a tail of his, and looked happy. murrams paused in the act of washing his ears, with one paw held aloft. he began to sing, because he knew right well there was milk in that can, and that he would have a share of it. babs's blue eyes had been on the smoke-grimed ceiling, but she lowered them now. "oh," she said, "you's tome back, has 'oo?" "and babs has been so good, hasn't she?" said ransey. "babs is dood, and bob is dood, and murrams is dooder. 'ift [lift] me up twick, 'ansey." two plump little arms were extended towards her brother, and presently he was seated near the fire dressing her, as if he had been to the manner born. there was a little face to wash presently, as well as two tiny hands and arms; but that could be done after they had all had breakfast. "oh, my!" cried ransey tansey; "look, babs! two turkey's eggs in the bottom of the can!" "oh, my! 'ansey," echoed the child. "one tu'key's egg fo' me, and one fo' 'oo." the door had been left half ajar, and presently about a yard of long neck was thrust round the edge, and the admiral looked lovingly at the eggs, first with one roguish eye, then with the other. this droll crane had a weakness for eggs--strange, perhaps, but true. when he found one, he tossed it high in air, and in descending caught it cleverly. next second there was an empty egg-shell on the ground, and some kind of a lump sliding slowly down the admiral's extended gullet. when it was fairly landed, the bird expressed his delight by dancing a double-triple fandango, which was partly jig, partly hornpipe, and all the rest a highland schottische. "get out, admiral!--get out, i tell ye!" cried the boy. "w'y, ye stoopid, if the door slams, off goes yer head." the bird seemed to fully appreciate the danger, and at once withdrew. ransey placed the two turkey's eggs on a shelf near the little gable window. one pane of glass was broken, and was stuffed with hay. well, the admiral had been watching the boy, and as soon as his back was turned, it didn't take the bird long to pull out that hay. "o 'ansey, 'ook! 'ook!" cried babs. it was too late, however, for looking to do any good. for the same yard of neck that had, a few minutes before, appeared round the edge of the doorway, was now thrust through the broken pane, and only one turkey's egg was left. babs looked very sad. she considered for a bit, then said solemnly,-- "'oo mus' have the odel [other] tu'key's _egg_. you is dooder nor me." but ransey didn't have it. he contented himself with bread and milk. and so the two mitherless bairns had breakfast. book --chapter two. life in the woods. i trust that, from what he has already seen and heard of ransey tansey, the reader will not imagine i desire this little hero of mine to pose as a real saint. boys should be boys while they have the chance. alas, they shall grow up into men far too soon, and then they needn't go long journeys to seek for sorrow; they will find it near home. and now i think, reader, you and i understand each other, to some extent at all events. though i believe he was always manly and never mean, yet, as his biographer, i am bound to confess that there was just as much monkey-mischief to the square inch about ransey tansey, as about any boy to whom i have ever had the honour of being introduced. it was said of the immortal george washington that when a boy at school he climbed out of a bedroom window and robbed a wall fruit tree, because the other boys were cowards and afraid to do so. but george refused to eat even a bite of one of these apples himself. i think that ransey tansey could have surpassed young washington; for not only would he have taken the apples, but eaten his own share of them afterwards. to do him justice, however, i must state that on occasions when his father went in the barge to a distant town on business, as he had been now for over a week, ransey being left in charge of his tiny sister and the whole establishment, the sense of his great responsibility kept him entirely free from mischief. now a very extraordinary thing happened on this particular morning-- ransey tansey received a letter. the postman was sulky, to say the least of it. "pretty thing," he said, as he flung the letter with scant ceremony in through the open doorway; "pretty thing as i should have to come three-quarters of a mile round to fetch a letter to the likes o' you!" "now, look 'ee here," said ransey, "if ye're good and brings my letters every day, and hangs yer stockin' out at christmas-time, i may put somethin' in it." "gur long, ye ragged young nipper!" ransey was dandling babs upon his knee, but he now put her gently down beside the cat. then he jumped up. "i'se got to teach you a lesson," he said to the boorish postman, "on the hadvantages o' civeelity. i ain't agoin' to waste a good pertater on such a sconce as yours, don't be afeard; but 'ere's an old turmut [turnip] as'll meet the requirements o' the occasion." it was indeed an old turnip, and well aimed too, for it caught the postman on the back of the neck and covered him with slush from head to toe. the lout yelled with rage, and flew at ransey stick in hand. next moment, and before he could deal the boy a blow, he was lying flat on the grass, with bob standing triumphantly over him growling like a wild wolf. "call off yer dog, and i won't say no more about it." "oh, ye won't, won't ye? i calls that wery considerate. but look 'ee here, i ain't agoin' to call bob off, until ye begs my parding in a spirit o' humility, as t'old parson says. if ye don't, i'll hiss bob on to ye, and ye'll be a raggeder nipper nor me afore bob's finished the job to his own satisfaction." well, discretion is the better part of valour, and after grumbling out an apology, the postman was allowed to sneak off with a whole skin. then ransey kissed bob's shaggy head, and opened his letter. "dear sonnie,--can't get home before four days. look after babs. your loving father." that was all. the writing certainly left something to be desired, but it being the first letter the boy had ever received, he read it twice over to himself and twice over to babs; then he put it away inside his new testament. "hurrah, babs!" he cried, picking the child up again, and swinging her to and fro till she laughed and kicked and crowed with delight--"hurrah, babs! we'll all away to the woods. murrams shall keep house, and we'll take our dinner with us." it was a droll procession. first walked bob, looking extremely solemn and wise, and carrying ransey's fishing-rod. close behind him came the tall and graceful crane, not quite so solemn as bob; for he was catching flies, and his head and neck were in constant motion, and every now and then he would hop, first on one leg, and then on the other. ransey tansey himself brought up the rear, with a small bag slung in front of him, and babs in a shawl on his back. away to the woods? yes; and there was a grand little stream there, and the boy knew precisely where the biggest fish lay, and meant to have some for supper. the leveret could hang for a few days. arrived at his fishing-ground, where the stream swept slowly through the darkling wood, ransey lowered his back-burden gently on the moss, and lay down on his face in front of her to talk babs into the best of tempers. this was not difficult to do, for she was really a good-natured child; so he gave her his big clasp-knife and his whistle, and proceeded to get his rod in order and make a cast. bob lay down beside the tiny mite to guard her. she could whistle herself, but couldn't get bob to do the same, although she rammed the whistle halfway down his throat, and afterwards showed him how she did it. well, there are a few accomplishments that dogs cannot attain to, and i believe whistling is one of them. the fish were very kind to-day, and ransey was making a very good bag. whenever he had finished fishing in about forty yards of stream, he threw down his rod and trotted off back for babs, and placed her down about twenty yards ahead of him, fished another forty yards and changed her position again, bob always following close at the boy's heels and lying down beside his charge, and permitting himself to be pulled about, and teased, and cuddled, and kissed one moment, and hammered over the nose with that tin whistle the next. even when babs tried to gouge his eye out with a morsel of twig, he only lifted his head and licked her face till, half-blinded, she had to drop the stick and tumble on her back. "you's a funny dog, bob," she said; "'oor tisses is so lough [rough]." of course they were. he meant them to be, for bob couldn't afford to lose an eye. i think the admiral enjoyed himself quite as much as any one. he chose a bit of the stream for himself where the bank was soft, and there he waded and fished for goodness only knows what--beetles, minnows, tiny frogs, anything alive and easy to swallow. i don't think, however, that the admiral was a very good judge of his swallowing capabilities. that neck of his was so very, very long, and though distensible enough on the whole, sometimes he encountered difficulties that it was almost impossible to surmount. tadpoles slid down easily enough, so did flies and other tiny insects; but a too-big frog, if invited to go down head-foremost, often had a disagreeable way of throwing his hind-legs out at right angles to the entrance of the admiral's gullet. this placed the admiral in a somewhat awkward predicament. no bird can look his best with its beak held forcibly agape, and the two legs of a disorderly frog sticking out one at each side. the crane would hold his head in the air and consider for a bit, then lower his face against the bank and rub one leg in, then change cheeks and rub the other in; but lo! while doing so, leg number one would be kicked out again, and by the time that was replaced out shot leg number two. it was very annoying and ridiculous. so the admiral would step cautiously on to the green bank, and stride very humbly down the stream to ransey tansey, with his neck extended and his head on a level with his shoulders. "you see the confounded fix i'm in," he would say, looking up at his master with one wonderfully wise eye. then ransey would pull out the frog, and the little rascal would hop away, laughing to himself apparently. "crok--crok--cray--ay!" the admiral would cry, and go joyfully back to his fishing-ground. but sometimes mr crane would swallow a big water-beetle, and if this specimen had a will of its own, as beetles generally have, it would catch hold of the side of the gullet and hang on halfway down. "i ain't going another step," the beetle would say; "it isn't good enough. the road is too long and too dark." so this disobliging beetle would just stop there, making a kind of a mump in the poor admiral's neck. when ransey saw his droll pet stride out of the pool and walk solemnly towards a tree and lean his head against it, and close his eyes, the lad knew pretty well what was the matter. there is nothing like patience and plenty of it, and presently the beetle would go to sleep, relax its hold, and slip quietly down to regions unknown. there would be no more mump now, and the crane would suddenly take leave of his senses with joy. "kaik--kaik--kay--ay?" he would scream, and go madly hopping and dancing round the tree, a most weird and uncanny-looking object, raising one leg at a time as high as he could, and swinging his head and neck fore and aft, low and aloft, from starboard to port, in such a droll way that ransey tansey felt impelled to throw himself on his back, so as to laugh without bursting that much-prized solitary suspender of his, while bob sat up to bark, and babs clapped her tiny hands and crowed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ransey got tired of fishing at last, and made up his rod. there was some sort of silent joy or happiness away down at the bottom of the boy's heart, and for a moment he couldn't make out what was causing it. the big haul of fish he had caught? oh, no; that was a common exploit. having smashed the postman with a mushy turnip? that was capital, of course, but that wasn't it. ah! now he has remembered--father was coming home in four days. hurrah! he must have some fun on the head of it. ransey loved to have a good time. but, duty first. babs was a good little girl--or a "dood 'ittle dirl," as she phrased it--but even good girls get hungry sometimes. babs must be fed. she held her arms straight out towards him. "babs is detting tired," she lisped. so he took her up, kissed her, and made much of her for a minute, then set her against a tree where the moss was green and soft. with a bit of string and a burdock leaf he made her a beautiful bib; for though ransey himself was scantily attired, the child was really prettily dressed. and now the boy produced a pickle bottle from the luncheon bag, likewise a small horn spoon. the pickle bottle contained a pap of bread and milk; and with this he proceeded to feed babs somewhat after the manner of cramming turkeys, until she shook her head at last, and declared she would _never_ eat any more--"never, never, _never_!" there was a turnip-field not far off. now bob was as fond of raw turnips as his master. he knew where the field was, too. "off ye go for a turmut, bob; and mind ye bring a big 'un. i'll look after babs till ye comes back." bob wasn't long gone. he had obeyed his master's instructions to the very letter--in fact, he had pulled more than six turnips before he found one to please him. [it is easy to teach a dog this trick, only stupid farmer folks sometimes don't see the fun of it. farmer folks are obtuse.--g.s.] that "turmut" made bob and ransey an excellent luncheon, and babs had a slice to amuse herself with. the day was delightfully warm, and the wind soft and balmy. the sunshine filtered down through a great beech-tree, and wherever it fell the grass was a brighter green or the dead leaves a lighter brown. now and then a may beetle would go droning past; there were flies of all sorts and sizes, from the gnats that danced in thousands over the bushes to the great rainbow-like dragonfly that darted hither and thither across the stream; grasshoppers green and brown that alighted on a leaf one moment, gave a click the next, and hurled themselves into space; a blackbird making wild melody not far off; the bold lilt of a chaffinch; the insolent mocking notes of a thrush; and the coo-cooing of wood-pigeons sounding mournfully from a thicket beyond the stream. high up in that beech-tree myriads of bees were humming, though they could not be seen. no wonder that under such sweet drowsy influences babs began to wink and wink, and blink and blink, till finally her wee head fell forward on her green-bough bib. babs was sound asleep. book --chapter three. "o eedie, i've found a child." ransey tansey took his tiny sister tenderly up and spread her, as it were, on the soft moss. "she's in for a regular forenooner, bob," said the boy, "and i'm not sure i don't like babs just as well when she is asleep. seems so innercent-like, you know." bob looked as if he really did understand, and tried by means of his brown eyes and that fag-end of a tail to let his master know that he too liked babs best asleep, because then no attempts were made to gouge his eyes out with pieces of stick, or to ram the business end of a tin whistle halfway down his throat. "bob!" said ransey. "yes, master," said bob, raising his ears. "babs is a sailor's darter, ye know." bob assented. "well, she ought'er sleep in a hammock." "to be sure. i hadn't thought of that," said bob. "i can make one in a brace o' shakes, and that's sailor langwidge. now just keep your eyes on me, bob." ransey tansey was busy enough for the next five minutes. he took that shepherd-tartan shawl, and by means of some pieces of string, which he never went abroad without, soon fashioned it into a neat little hammock. two saplings grew near, and by bending a branch downward from each, he slung that hammock so prettily that he was obliged to stand back for a little while to smile and admire it. when he lifted babs and put her in it, and fastened the two sides of the hammock across her chest with some more string and a horse-shoe nail, so that she could not fall out, the whole affair was complete. "hush-a-bye, baby, upon the tree-top, when the wind blown the cradle will rock." well, the wind did blow, but ever so softly, and the little hammock swayed gently to and fro. and the blackbird's voice seemed to sound more melodiously now; the thrush went farther away; only the wild pigeons continued to coo, coo, and the bees to hum, high, high up in the green beech-tree. no wonder that the baby slept. "come along now, bob. we've a whole hour at least." the boy placed his rod and bag on the branches of a tree. "a whole hour, bob, to do as we likes. no good me askin' that idiot of an admiral to watch babs. he'd only begin scray-scrayin' and hopping around the hammock, and babs would wake. i'm goin' to run wild for a bit, are you?" and off he bounded, with bob at his heels. the admiral, whose feet were getting cold now, hopped out of the stream, stretched out his three-foot neck, and looked after them. "they think they're going to leave me behind, do they? tok--tok-- tok,"--which in craneish language means "no--no--no." so away _he_ went next, with his head and his long neck about a yard in front of him, and his wings expanded. it would have puzzled any one to have told whether the admiral was running or flying. if ransey tansey climbed one tree he climbed a dozen. ransey walked through the wood with upturned face, and whenever he saw a nest, whether it belonged to magpie, hawk, or hooded crow, skywards he went to have a look at it. he liked to look at the eggs best, and sometimes he brought just one down in his mouth if four were left behind, because, he thought, one wouldn't be missed. but even this was sinful; for although birds are not very good arithmeticians, every one of them can count as far as the number of its eggs--even a partridge or a wren can. sometimes the admiral wanted to investigate the nests, but ransey sternly forbade him. he might dance round the tree as much as he liked, but he must not fly up. bob used to bark at his master as he climbed up and up. indeed, when perched on the very, _very_ top of a tall larch-tree ransey himself didn't look much bigger than a rook. yet i think the ever-abiding sorrow with bob was not that he had not a tail worth talking about, but that he could not climb a tree. different birds behaved in different ways when ransey visited their nests. thus: a linnet or a robin, flying from its sweet, cosy little home in a bush of orange-scented furze, would sit and sing at no great distance in a half-hysterical kind of way, as if it really didn't know what it was about. a blackbird from a tall thorn-tree or baby spruce, would go scurrying off, and make the woods resound with her cries of "beet, beet, beet," till other birds, crouching low on their nests, trembled with fear lest their turn might come next. a hooded crow would fly off some distance and perch on a tree, but say nothing: hooded crows are philosophers. a magpie went but a little distance away, and sat nodding and chickering in great distress. a hawk would course round and round in great circles in the air, uttering every now and then a most distressful scream. but one day, i must tell you, a large hawk played the lad a very mischievous trick. ransey was high up near the top of a tall, stone-pine-tree, and had hold of a sturdy branch above, being just about to swing himself in through the needled foliage, when, lo! the stump on which one foot was resting gave way, leaving him suspended betwixt heaven and earth, like mohammed's coffin--and kicking too, because he could not for some time swing himself into the tree. now that hawk needn't have been so precious nasty about it. but he saw his chance, and went for ransey straight; and the more the boy shouted at the hawk, and cried "hoosh-oo!" at him, the more that hawk wouldn't leave off. he tore the boy's shirt and back, and cut his suspender right through, so that with the kicking and struggling his poor little pants came off and fluttered down to the ground. ransey tansey was only second best that day, and when--a sadder and a wiser boy--he reached the foot of the tree, he found that bob had been engaged in funeral rites--obsequies--for some time. in fact, he had scraped a hole beneath a furze bush and buried ransey's pants. whether bob had thought this was all that remained of his master or not, i cannot say. i only state facts. but to hark back: after ransey tansey had seen all the nests he wanted to see, he and his two companions rushed off to a portion of the wood where, near the bank of the stream, he kept his toy ship under a moss-covered boulder. he had built this ship, fashioning her out of a pine-log with his knife, and rigged her all complete as well as his somewhat limited nautical knowledge permitted him to do. in ransey's eyes she was a beauty-- without paint. before he launched her to-day he looked down at bob and across at the admiral, who was quite as tall as the boy. "we're going on a long and dangerous voyage, bob," he said. "there's no sayin' wot may happen. we may run among rocks and get smashed; we may get caught-aback-like and flounder,"--he meant founder--"or go down wi' all han's in the bay o' biscay--o." bob tried to appear as solemn and sad as the occasion demanded, and let his fag-end drop groundwards. but the crane only said "tok," which on this occasion meant "all humbug!" for he knew well enough that ransey tansey was seldom to be taken seriously. never mind, the barque was launched on the fathomless deep, the summer breeze filled her sails--which, by the way, had been made out of a piece of an old shirt of the boy's father's--and she breasted the billows like a thing of life. then as those three young inseparables rushed madly and delightedly along the bank to keep abreast of the ship, never surely was such whooping and barking and scray-scraying heard in the woods before. but disaster followed in the wake of that bonnie barque on this voyage. i suppose the helmsman forgot to put his helm up at an ugly bend of the river, so the wind caught her dead aback. she flew stern-foremost through the water at a furious rate, then her bows rose high in air, she struggled but for a moment ere down she sank to rise no more, and all on board must have perished! when i say she sank to rise no more i am hardly in alignment with the truth. the fact is, that although ransey tansey could easily have made another ship with that knife of his, he was afraid he could not requisition some more shirt for sails. "oh, i ain't agoin' to lose her like that, bob," said ransey. bob was understood to say that _he_ wouldn't either. "admiral, ye're considerabul longer nor me in the legs and neck; couldn't ye wade out and make a dive for her?" the crane only said, "tok!" by this time ransey was undressed. "hoop!" he cried, "here goes," and in he dived. "wowff!" cried bob, "here's for after," and in _he_ sprang next. "kaik--kaik!" shrieked the crane, and followed his leader, but he speedily got out again. the water was deep, and as a swimmer the admiral was somewhat of a failure. but the barque was raised all and whole, and after a good swim ransey and bob returned to the bank. bob shook himself, making little rainbows all round him, and the boy rolled in the moss till he was dry, but stained rather green. then he dressed himself, and looked at his watch--that is, he looked at the sun. "why, bob," he cried, "it is time to go back to babs." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was such a lovely forenoon that day that the elderly miss scragley thought a walk in the woods and wilds--as she phrased it--would do her good. so she took her little six-year-old niece eedie with her, and started. the butler wanted to know if he would send a groom with her. but she declined the service. "it is ever so much better," she told eedie, "going all alone and enjoying things, than having a dressed-up doll of a flunkey dawdling behind you carrying wraps." i think miss scragley was right. the scragleys were a very old family, and that was their mansion i have already mentioned as standing high up on the hill in a cloudland of glorious trees. but excepting miss scragley herself, and this little niece, miss eedie moore, the rest of the scragleys were all dead and away. though the family estates were intact and financially secure, afflictions of all sorts had decimated the scragleys. no less than two had died on the hunting-field; one, a soldier, had fallen on the field of fame in far afghanistan; another, a captain in the royal navy, had succumbed to fever at sea; and still another had sailed away in a ship that never returned. others had died in peace and at home. so miss scragley was indeed a relic of the past, but she was lord of the manor for the time being. her heart was bound up in little eedie; and the girl would have to change her name when of age, as she would then be heir to all the scragley estates. even if she married, her husband must become a scragley. it would never do to let the glorious name of scragley die out. but miss scragley was somewhat antiquated though not very old; somewhat set up and starchy in manner too. she preferred to import good people from london to mixing with the residents around, with the exception of the kindly-faced, white-haired old rector, captain weathereye, r.n., and dr fairincks. in bygone ages it was currently believed that this rough old sea-dog of a captain, weathereye would lead the then graceful miss scragley to the altar, and the lady herself still believed that the happy event would yet come off. and she was quite gay when she thought of it. at christmas-time, when she imported more good people from london than usual, and turned on the family ghost for the occasion, when she had the special brand of port decanted that old weathereye so dearly loved, and when scragley hall resounded with mirth and laughter, and was lighted up from basement to attics, miss scragley nursed the fond hope that the captain was almost sure to pop the question. old captain weathereye praised the port. but--well, he loved to hear corks popping, only he wouldn't pop himself. poor miss scragley! "i wonder will he _ever_?" she used to remark to herself, when she had finished saying her prayers and was preparing to undress--"ever--_ever_?" "never--never," old weathereye would have unfeelingly replied had he heard her. on this particular occasion miss scragley extended her walk far into the very wood--forest, she romantically called it--where ransey tansey and his pets were enjoying themselves. she and her niece wandered on and on by the banks of the stream, till they came to the place where little babs lay, still sound asleep in her hammock, and this was swaying gently to and fro in the summer wind. "o eedie!" cried miss scragley, "why, i've found a child!" "oh, the wee darling!" exclaimed eedie; "mayn't i kiss it, auntie?" "if you kissed it," said the lady, as if she knew all about babies and could write a book about them--"if you kissed it, dear, it would awake, and the creature's yells would resound through the dark depths of the forest." "but there is no one near," she continued; "it must be deserted by its unfeeling parents, and left here to perish." she went a little nearer now and looked down on the sleeping child's face. a very pretty face it was, the rosy lips parted, the flush of sleep upon her face; and one wee chubby hand and arm was lying bare on the shawl. "oh dear!" cried miss scragley, "i feel strangely agitated. i cannot let the tiny angel perish in the silvan gloom. i must--_you_ must, eedie--well, _we_ must, dear, carry it home with us." "oh, will ye, though?" the voice was close behind her. "just you leave babs alone, and attend to yer own bizness, else bob will have somethin' till say to ye." miss scragley started, as well she might. "oh," she cried, looking round now, "an absurd little gipsy boy!" "_yes_," said ransey tansey, touching his forelock, "and i'm sorry for bein' so absurd. and ashamed all-so. if a rabbit's hole was handy, i'd soon pop in. but, bless yer beautiful ladyship, if i'd known i was to 'ave the perleasure o' meetin' quality, i'd 'ave put on my dress soot, and carried my crush hat under my arm. "don't be afeard, mum," he continued, as the crane came hopping out of the bush. "that's only just the admiral; and this is bob, as would die for me or babs." "and who is babs, you droll boy?" "babs is my baby, and no one else's 'cept bob's. and bob and i would make it warm for anybody as tried to take babs away. wouldn't us, bob?" just then his little sister awoke, all smiles and dimples as usual. ransey tansey went to talk to her, and for a time the boy forgot all the world except babs. book --chapter four. "ransey, fetch jim; we're goin' on." "i'se glad 'oo's tome back, 'ansey. has i been afeep [asleep], 'ansey?" "oh, yes; and now i'm goin' to feed babs, and babs'll lie and look at the trees till i cook dinner for bob and me." "that wady [lady] won't take babs away, 'ansey?" "no, babs, no." ransey tansey fed babs once more from the pickle bottle with the horn spoon, much to miss scragley's and little eedie's astonishment and delight. then he commenced to build a fire at a little distance, and laid out some fish all ready to cook as soon as the blazing wood should die down to red embers. "you're a very interesting boy," said miss scragley politely. "may i look on while you cook?" "oh, yes, mum. sorry i ain't got a chair to offer ye." "and oh, please, interesting boy," begged eedie, "may i talk to babs?" "cer--tain--lee, pretty missie.--babsie, sweet," he added, "talk to this beautiful young lady." "there's no charge for sittin' on the grass, mum," said ransey the next minute. and down sat miss scragley smiling. the boy proceeded with the preparation of the meal in real gipsy fashion. he cooked fish, and he roasted potatoes. he hadn't forgotten the salt either, nor a modicum of butter in a piece of paper, nor bread; and as he and bob made a hearty dinner, he gave every now and then the sweetest of tit-bits to babs. eedie and the child got on beautifully together. "may i ask you a question or two, you most interesting boy?" said miss scragley. "oh, yes, if ye're quite sure ye ain't the gamekeeper's wife. the keeper turned me out of the wood once. bob warn't there that day." "well, i'm sure i'm not the gamekeeper's wife. i am miss scragley of scragley hall." the boy was wiping his fingers and his knife with some moss. "i wish i had a cap on," he said. "why, dear?" "so as i could take her off and make a bow," he explained. "and what is your name, curious boy?" "ransey; that's my front name." "but your family name?" "ain't got ne'er a family, 'cepting babs." "but you have a surname--another name, you know." "ransey tansey all complete. there." "and where do you live, my lad?" "me and babs and bob and murrams all lives, when we're to home, at hangman's hall; and father lives there, too, when 'ee's to home; and the admiral, yonder, he roosts in the gibbet-tree." "and what does father do?" "oh, father's a capting." "a captain, dear boy?" "no, he's not a boy, but a man, and capting of the _merry maiden_, a canal barge, mum. an' we all goes to sea sometimes together, 'cepting murrams, our pussy, and the admiral. we have such fun; and i ride jim the canal hoss, and babs laughs nearly all the time." "so you're very happy all of you, and always were?" "oh, yes--'cepting when father sometimes took too much rum; but that's a hundred years ago, more or less, mum." "poor lad! have you a mother?" "oh, yes, we has a mother, but only she's gone dead. the parson said she'd gone to heaven; but i don't know, you know. wish she'd come back, though," he added with a sigh. "i'm so sorry," said miss scragley, patting his hand. "oh, don't ye do that, mum, and don't talk kind to me, else i'll cry. i feels the tears a-comin' now. nobody ever, ever talks kindly to me and babs when at home, 'cepting father, in course, 'cause we're on'y common canal folks and outcasts from serciety." ransey tansey was very earnest. miss scragley had really a kind heart of her own, only she couldn't help smiling at the boy's language. "who told you so?" "w'y, the man as opens the pews." "oh, you've been to church, then?" "oh, yes; went the other sunday. had nuthin' better to do, and thought i'd give babs a treat." "and did you go in those--clothes?" "well, mum, i couldn't go with nuthin' on--could i, now? an' the pew-man just turned us both out. but babs was so good, and didn't cry a bit till she got out. then i took her away through the woods to hear the birds sing; and mebbe god was there too, 'cause mother said he was everywhere." "yes, boy, god is everywhere. and where does your mother sleep, ransey?" "sleep? oh, in heaven. leastways i s'pose so." "i mean, where was your gentle mother buried?" "oh, at sea, mum. sailor's grave, ye know." ransey looked very sad just then. "you don't mean in the canal, surely?" "yes, mum. father wouldn't have it no other way. i can't forget; 'tain't much more'n a year ago, though it looks like ten. father, ye know, 'ad been a long time in furrin parts afore he was capting o' the _merry maiden_." the lad had thrown himself down on the grass at a respectable distance from miss scragley, and his big blue, eyes grew bigger and sadder as he continued his story. "'twere jest like this, mum. mother'd been bad for weeks and so quiet like, and father _so_ kind, 'cause he didn't never touch no rum when mother was sick. we was canal-ing most o' the time; and one night we stopped at the `bargee's chorus'--only a little public-house, mum, as perhaps you wouldn't hardly care to be seen drinkin' at. we stopped here 'cause mother was wuss, and old dad sent for a doctor; and i put jim into the meadow. soon's the doctor saw poor mother, he sez, sez he, `ye'd better get the parson. no,' he sez, `i won't charge ye nuthin' for attendance; it's on'y jest her soul as wants seein' to now.' "well, mum, the parson came. he'd a nice, kind face like you has, mum, and he told mother lots, and made her happy like. then he said a prayer. i was kind o' dazed, i dussay; but when mother called us to her, and kissed me and babs, and told us she was goin' on to a happier land, i broke out and cried awful. and babs cried too, and said, `an' me too, ma. oh, take babs.' "father led us away to the inn, and i jest hear him say to the parson, `no, no, sir, no. no parish burial for me. she's a sailor's wife; she'll rest in a sailor's grave!' "i don't know, mum, what happened that night and next day, for me and babs didn't go on board again. "only, the evenin' arter, when the moon and stars was ashinin' over the woods and deep down in the watur, father comes to me. "`ransey,' sez father, `fetch jim; we're goin' on.' and i goes and fetches jim, and yokes him to and mounts; and father he put babs up aside me, 'cause jim's good and never needs a whip. "`go on, ransey,' sez he, an' steps quietly on board and takes the tiller. "away we went--through the meadows and trees, and then through a long, quiet moor. "father kep' the barge well out, and she looked sailin' among the stars--which it wasn't the stars, on'y their 'flection, mum. well, we was halfway through the moor, and babs was gone sound asleep 'cross my arm, when i gives jim his head and looks back. "an', oh, mum, there was old dad standin' holdin' the tiller wi' one hand. the moon was shinin' on his face and on his hair, which is grey kind, and he kep' lookin' up and sayin' somethin'. "then there was a plash. oh, i knew then it was dead mother; and--and-- i jest let jim go on--and--and--" but ransey's story stopped right here. he was pursing up his lips and trying to swallow the lump in his throat; and miss scragley herself turned her head away to hide the moisture in her eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ grief does not stay long at a time in the hearts of children. it comes there all the same, nevertheless, and is quite as poignant while it does last as it is in the breasts of older folks. children are like the traditional april day--sunshine and showers. "i think, mum," said ransey after a while, "it is time for us to bundle and go." miss scragley watched the lad with considerable interest while he struck his little camp. first he scattered the remains of his fire and ashes carefully, so that there should be no danger to the wood. then he prepared to hide his ship. "did you make that pretty ship?" said eedie. "oh, yes; i can make beautiful ships and boats, 'cause i seed lots on 'em w'en father took me to southampton. oh, that seems millions and millions o' years ago. and ye see, miss," he added, "i'm goin' to be a sailor anyhow, and sail all over the wide world, like father did, and by-and-by i'll be rich enough to have a real ship of my own." "oh, how nice! and will babs go with you?" "as long as babs is quite little," he answered, "i can't go to sea at all, 'cause babs would die like dead mother if i went away." he had babs in his arms by this time, and it was evident enough that the affection between these two little canal people was very strong indeed. seated on his left shoulder, and hugging ransey's head towards her, babs evidently thought she was in a position to give a harangue. she accordingly addressed herself to eedie:-- "my bloder 'ansey is doin' to drow a big, big man. as big as dad. my bloder 'ansey is doin' to be a sailor in s'ips, and babs is doin'. 'oo _mufn't_ [mustn't] take my bloder away from babs. 'oor mudder mufn't, and noboddy mufn't." meanwhile her brother was nearly strangled by the vehemence of her affection. but he gently disengaged the little arm and set her on the moss once more. he speedily enveloped her in the shawl, and then hoisted her on his back. next he hung his bag in front, and handed the fishing-rod to bob. "we must all go now, lady." "oh, yes, and we too must go. we have to thank you for a very interesting half-hour." ransey wasn't used to such politeness as this little speech indicated. what to say in reply did not readily occur to him. "wish," he said awkwardly and shyly, "i could talk as nice like as you and t'other young lady." miss scragley smiled. she rather liked being thought a young lady even by a little canal boy like ransey. "oh, you will some day. can you read?" "ye-es. mother taught me to read, and by-and-by i'll teach babs like one o'clock. i can read `nick o' the woods' and the `rev'lations o' saint john;' but babs likes `jack the giant killer' better'n the bible. an' oh," he added, somewhat proudly, "i got a letter to-day, and i could read that; and it was to say as how father was comin' home in four days. and the postman cheeked us, and shook his head, threat'nin' like, and i threw a big turmut and broke it." "what! broke his head?" "oh, no, mum, only jest the turmut. an' bob went after him, and down went postie. ye would have larfed, mum." "i'm afraid you're a bad boy sometimes." "yes, i feels all over bad--sometimes." "i like bad boys best," said eedie boldly, "they're such fun." "babs," said ransey, "you'll hang me dead if you hold so tight." "well, dears, i'm going to come and see you to-morrow, perhaps, or next day, and bring babs a pretty toy." "babs," said the child defiantly, "has dot a dolly-bone, all dlessed and boo'ful." this was simply a ham-bone, on the ball of which ransey had scratched eyes and a mouth and a nose, and dressed it in green moss and rags. and babs thought nothing could beat that. as she rode off triumphantly on ransey's back, babs looked back, held one bare arm on high, and shouted, "hullay!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "what strange children!" said miss scragley to her niece. "they're not at all like our little knights of the gutter down in the village where we visit. this opens up life to me in quite a new phase. i'm sure captain weathereye would be much interested. there is good, in those poor canal children, dear, only it wants developing. i wonder how we could befriend them without appearing officious or obtrusive. consult the captain, did you say?" "i did not speak at all, aunt." "didn't you? however, that _would_ be best, as you suggested." miss scragley did not call at hangman's hall next day--it looked showery; but about twelve o'clock, while ransey tansey was stewing that leveret with potatoes and a morsel of bacon, and babs was nursing her dolly-bone in the bassinette, where ransey had placed her to be out of the way, some one knocked sharply and loudly at the door. the admiral, swaying aloft in the gibbet-tree, sounded his tocsin, and bob barked furiously. "down, bob!" cried ransey, running to the door. he half expected the postman. he was mistaken, however, for there stood a smart but pale-faced flunkey in a brown coat with gilt buttons. now ransey could never thoroughly appreciate "gentlemen's gentlemen" any more than he could gamekeepers. the flunkey had a large parcel under his arm, which he appeared to be rather ashamed of. "aw!" he began haughtily, "am i right in my conjecture that this is 'angman's 'all?" "your conjecture," replied ransey, mimicking the flunkey's tone and manner, "is about as neah wight as conjectures gener'ly aw. what may be the naychure of your business?" "aw! an' may i enquiah if you are the--the--the waggamuffin who saw miss scwagley in the wood yestah-day?" "i'm the young _gentleman_" said ransey, hitching up his suspender, "who had the honah of 'alf an hour's convehsation with the lady. i am ransey tansey, esq., eldest and only son of captain tansey of the _mewwy maiden_. and," he added emphatically, "this is my dog _bob_." bob uttered a low, ominous growl, and walked round behind the flunkey on a tour of inspection. the only comfort the flunkey had at that moment arose from the fact that his calves were stuffed with hay. "aw! beautiful animal, to be shuah. may i ask if this is the doag that neahly killed the postman fellah?" "that's the doag," replied ransey, "who _would_ have killed the postman fellah dead out, if i had tipped him the wink." "aw! well, my business is vewy bwief. heah is a pawcel from miss scwagley, of which she begs your acceptance." "ah, thank you. dee--lighted. pray walk in. sorry my butler is out at pwesent. but what will you dwink--sherry, port, champagne--wum? can highly wecommend the wum." "oh, thanks. then i'll have just a spot of wum." ransey brought out his father's bottle--a bottle that had lain untouched for a long time indeed--and his father's glass, and the flunkey drank his "spot," and really seemed to enjoy it. ransey opened the door for him. "convey my best thanks to miss scwagley," he said, "and inform her that we will be ree--joiced to receive her, and that miss tansey and myself will not fail to return the call at a future day. good mo'ning." "good mawning, i'm shuah." and the elegant flunkey lifted his hat and bowed. ransey ran in, gave the leveret stew just a couple of stirs to keep it from burning, then threw himself into his father's chair, stretched out his legs, and laughed till the very rafters rang. book --chapter five. "oh, no! i'll never leave 'ansey till we is bof deaded." the day had looked showery, but the sun was now shining very brightly, and so ransey tansey laid dinner out of doors on the grass. as far as curiosity went, babs was quite on an equality with her sex, and the meal finished, and the bones eaten by bob, she wanted to know at once what the man with the pretty buttons had brought. ransey's eyes, as well as his sister's, were very large, but they grew bigger when that big parcel was opened. there was a note from miss scragley herself right on the top, and this was worded as delicately, and with apparently as much fear of giving offence, as if ransey had been the son of a real captain, instead of a canal bargee. why, here was a complete outfit: two suits of nice brown serge for ransey himself, stockings and light shoes, to say nothing of real baltic shirts, a neck-tie, and sailor's cap. "she's oceans too good to live, that lady is!" exclaimed ransey, rapturously. "me see!--me see! babs wants pletty tlothes." "yes, dear babs, look! there's pretty clothes." that crimson frock would match babs's rosy cheeks and yellow curly hair "all to little bits," as ransey expressed it. after all the things had been admired over and over again, they were refolded and put carefully away in father's strong locker. i think that the admiral knew there was gladness in the children's eyes, for he suddenly hopped high up the hill, and did a dance that would have delighted the heart of a pawnee indian. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "no," said miss scragley that same day after dinner, as she and her friends sat out in the great veranda, "one doesn't exactly know, mr davies, how to benefit children like these." the parson placed the tips of his fingers together meditatively, and looked down at miss scragley's beautiful setter. "of course," he said, slowly and meditatively, "teaching is essential to their bodily as well as to their spiritual welfare." "very prettily put, mr davies," said miss scragley; "don't _you_ think so, dr fairincks?" "certainly, miss scragley, certainly; and i was just wondering if they had been vaccinated. i'd get the little one into a home, and the boy sent to a board school. and the father--drinks rum, eh?--get him into the house. let him end his days there. what should you propose, weathereye?" "eh? humph! do what you like with the little one. send the boy to school--a school for a year or two where he'll be flogged twice a day. hardens 'em. so much for the bodily welfare, parson. as to the spiritual, why, send him to sea. too young, miss scragley? fiddlesticks! look at me. ran away to sea at ten. in at the hawse-hole, in a manner o' speaking. just fed the dogs and the ship's cat at first, and emptied the cook's slush-bucket. got buffeted about a bit, i can tell you. when i went aft, steward's mate kicked me for'ard; when i got for'ard, cook's mate kicked me aft. no place of quiet and comfort for me except swinging in the foretop with the purser's monkey. but--it made a man of me. look at me now, miss scragley." miss scragley looked. "staff-commander of the royal navy. three stripes. present arms from the sentries, and all that sort of thing. ahem!" and the bold mariner helped himself to another glass of miss scragley's port. "but you won't go to the wars again, captain weathereye?" ventured miss scragley. the captain rounded on her at once--put his helm hard up, so to speak, till he was bows on to his charming hostess. his face was like a full moon rising red over the city's haze. "how do _you_ know, madam? not so very old, am i? war, indeed! humph!--i'll be sorry when that's done," he added. "what! the war, captain weathereye?" said the lady. "fiddlesticks! no, madam, the _port_--if you will have it." "as for the father of these children," he continued, after looking down a little, "if he's been a sailor, as you say, the house won't hold him. as well expect an eagle to live with the hens. rum? bah! i've drunk as much myself as would float the _majestic_." "but i say, you know," he presently remarked as he took eedie on his knee; "little sweetheart here and i will run over to see the children to-morrow forenoon, and we'll take the setter with us. anything for a little excitement, when one can't hunt or shoot. and we'll take you as well, madam." miss scragley said she would be delighted; at the same time she could not help thinking the gallant captain's sentences might have been better worded. he might have put _her_ before the setter, to say the least. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ next morning was a very busy one at hangman's hall. ransey tansey was up betimes, but he allowed babs to sleep on until he had lit the fire, hung on the kettle, and run for the milk. ransey was only a boy, and boys will be boys, so he could not help telling kind mrs farrow, the farmer's wife, of his luck, and how he expected real society people to visit himself and babs that day, so he must run quickly home to dress. "certainly, dear," said mrs farrow; "and here are some lovely new-laid eggs. you brought me fish, you know; and really i have so many eggs i don't know what to do with them all. good-bye, ransey. of course you'll run across and tell me all about it to-night, and bring babs on your back." babs was a "dooder dirl" than usual that morning, if that were possible. ransey was so glad that the sun was shining; he was sure now that the visit would be paid. but he had babs to wash and dress, and himself as well. when he had washed babs and combed her hair, he set her high up on the bank to dry, as he phrased it, and gave her the new doll to play with. very pretty she looked, too, in that red frock of hers. well, away went ransey to the stream, carrying his bundle. bob was left to mind babs. ransey was gone quite a long time, and the child grew weary and sighed. "bob!" said babs. "yes, babs," said bob, or seemed to say. "tiss my new dolly." bob licked the doll's face. then he licked babs's hand. "master'll soon be back," he tried to tell her. she was quiet for a time, singing low to her doll. "bob!" she said, solemnly now; "does 'oo fink [think] 'ansey 'as fallen in and dlowned hisself?" "oh, look, look, bob," she cried the next moment, "a stlange man toming here!" bob started up and barked most savagely. he was quite prepared to lay down his life for his little charge. but as he rushed forward he quickly changed his tune. it was ransey tansey right enough, but so transformed that it was no wonder that babs and bob took him for a stranger. even the admiral must fly down from the gibbet-tree and dance wildly round him. murrams, the great tom-cat, came out and purred aloud; and babs clapped her tiny hands and screamed with delight. "'oo's a zentleman now," she cried; "and i'se a lady. hullay!" ransey didn't feel quite comfortable after all, especially with shoes on. to go racing through the woods in such a rig as this would be quite out of the question. the only occupation that suggested itself at present was culling wild flowers, and stringing them to put round bob's neck. but even gathering wild flowers grew irksome at last, so ransey got his new testament, and turning to revelation, read lots of nice sensational bits therefrom. babs was not so well pleased as she might and ought to have been; but when her brother pulled out "jack the giant killer," she set herself to listen at once, and there were many parts she made ransey read over and over again, frequently interrupting with such questions as,-- "so jack killed the big ziant, did he? 'oo's _twite_ sure o' zat?" "and ze axe was all tovered wi' blood and ziant's hair? my! how nice!" "six 'oung ladies, all stlung up by ze hair o' zer heads? boo'ful! 'oo's _twite_ sure zer was six?" "an' the big ziant was doin' to kill zem all? my! how nice!" ransey was just describing a tragedy more ghastly than any he had yet read, when from the foot of the slope came a stentorian hail:-- "hangman's hall, ahoy! turn out the guard!" the guard would have turned out in deadly earnest--bob, to wit--if ransey hadn't ordered him to lie down. then, picking up babs, he ran down the hill, heels first, lest he should fall, to welcome his visitors. miss scragley was charmed at the change in the lad's personal appearance, and eedie frankly declared him to be the prettiest boy she had ever seen. captain weathereye hoisted babs and called her a beautiful little rogue. then all sat down on the side of the hill to talk, babs being perfectly content, for the time being, to sit on the captain's knee and play with his watch and chain. "and now, my lad," said bold weathereye, "stand up and let us have a look at you. attention! that's right. so, what would you like to be? because the lady here has a heart just brimful of goodness, and if you were made of the right stuff she would help you to get on. a sailor? that's right. the sea would make a man of you, lad. and if you were in a heavy sea-way, with your masts gone by the board, bothered if old jack weathereye wouldn't pay out a hawser and give you a helping hand himself. for i like the looks of you. glad you paid the postman out. just what i'd have done myself. ahem!" ransey felt rather shy, though, to be thus displayed as it were. it was all owing to the new clothes, i think, and especially to the shoes. "now, would you like to go to school?" "what! and leave babs? no, capting, no. i'd hate school anyhow; i'd fight the small boys, and bite the big uns, and they'd soon turn me adrift." "bravo, boy! i never could endure school myself.--what i say is this, miss scragley, teach a youngster to read and write, with a trifle of 'rithmetick, and as he gets older he'll choose all the knowledge himself, and tackle on to it too, that's needed to guide his barque across the great ocean of life. there's no good in schools, miss scragley, that i know of, except that the flogging hardens them.--well, lad, you won't go to school? there! and if you'll get your father to allow you to come up to the grange, just close by the village and rectory, i'll give you a lesson myself, three times a week." "oh, thank you, sir! i'm sure father'll be pleased to let me come when i'm at home and not at sea." "eh? at sea? oh, yes, i know; you mean on the barge, ha, ha, ha! well, you'll live to face stormier seas yet." "an' father's comin' to-morrow, sir, and then we're goin' on." "going on?" "he means along the canal," said miss scragley. "to be sure, to be sure. what an old fool i am! and now, lad, let me think what i was going to say. oh, yes. don't those shoes pinch a bit?" "never wears shoes and stockin's 'cept in winter, sir. i keeps 'em in dad's locker till snow time." "now, in you go to your house or hut and take them off." "ha!" said weathereye, when ransey returned with bare feet and ankles, "that's ship-shape and bristol fashion. now, lad, listen. if miss scragley here asks you to come and see her--and i'm sure she will, for she's an elderly lady, and likes to be amused,"--miss scragley winced a little, but weathereye held on--"when you're invited to the ancestral home of the scragleys, then you can wear them togs and your shoes; but when you come to the grange, it'll be in canvas bags, bare feet, a straw hat, and a blue sweater--and my own village tailor shall rig you out. ahem!" captain weathereye glanced at miss scragley as if he owed her a grudge. the look might have been interpreted thus: "there are other people who can afford to be as generous as you, and have a far better notion of a boy's requirements." "and now, babs," he continued, kissing the child's little brown hand, "i've got very fond of you all at once. will you come and live with me?" "tome wiz 'oo and live! oh, no," she replied, shaking her yellow curls, "i'll never leave 'ansey till we is bof deaded. never!" and she slid off the captain's knee and flew to ransey with outstretched arms. the boy knelt on one knee that she might reach his neck. then he lifted her up, and she looked defiantly back at the captain, with her cheek pressed close to ransey's. weathereye glanced towards miss scragley once again, and his voice was a trifle husky when he spoke. "miss scragley," he said, "old people like _you_ and me are apt to be faddy. we will both do something for these poor children, but, bless them, there's a bond of union betwixt their little hearts that we dare not sever. the bairns must not be parted." book --chapter six. chee-tow, the red chief of the slit-nosed indians. during the time the memorable visit lasted no one took much notice of ransey tansey's pets. yet each one of the three of them was interested, and each showed his interest in his own peculiar way. the admiral had flown gracefully down from the gibbet-tree, and alighted on the ground not more than a dozen yards from the group. "craik--a-raik--a--r-r-r--a--cray--ay!" he said to himself, which being interpreted seemed to signify, "what do _they_ want here, anyhow? that's about the same gang i saw in the woods. curr-r-r! well, they haven't guns anyhow, like the beastly biped called a keeper, who tried to shoot my hind-legs off because i was a strange bird. i was only tasting some partridge's eggs, nothing else. shouldn't i have liked just to have gouged out his ugly eyes, thrown 'em one by one into the air, caught 'em coming down, and swallowed 'em like eggs." all the time the talking was going on the admiral stood twisting his body about, sometimes crouching low to the ground, his neck stretched straight out towards them, the head on one side and listening, the next moment erect as a bear pole, and seeming to look surprised and angry at what he heard them saying. bob had rushed to see about the setter. he lay down at some distance off, with his nose between his paws, and the setter _set_, and finally _sat_. "not a yard nearer, mr sportsman, if _you_ please," said bob; "i'm a rough 'un to look at, and a tough 'un to tackle. i suppose you call yourself a gentleman's dog; you live in marble halls, sleep on skins, and drink from a silver saucer. i'm only a poor man's doggie; i sleep where i can, eat what i can get, and drink from bucket or brook. but i love my master maybe more than you love yours. yonder is my home, and yonder is our cat in the door of it; but my humble home is my master's castle. just try to come a yard or two nearer, if you're tired of your silly life." but dash preferred to stay where he was. murrams the cat behaved with the utmost dignity and indifference. he sat in the doorway washing his face, with dreamy, half-shut eyes. to have seen him you would have said that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, so cool was he; yet if mr dash had come round that way, murrams would have mounted his back and never ceased clawing the dog till he had ridden him half a mile at least from hangman's hall. it wasn't, however, until the visitors had taken their departure that the grand jubilee commenced. "_they're_ gone!" said bob, running up and licking the pussy's ear. "that's a jolly good job!" "_they're_ gone!" said pussy in reply, as he rubbed shoulders with bob. "_they're_ gone!" cried the crane, hopping madly round the pair of them. and as she nestled closer in her brother's arms, babs sighed and said just the same thing. "hurrah!" cried ransey tansey; "let's run off to the woods." "let's wun off to ze woods at wance," echoed babs. had little eedie seen ransey five minutes after this, i question whether she would have pronounced him the prettiest boy she had ever known. ransey was himself again, old shirt, ragged pants, and all. i think that the children and bob, not to mention the gallant admiral, enjoyed themselves that afternoon in the woods as much as ever they had done in their young lives. babs insisted on taking her ragged old dolly-bone with her, and leaving the new one at home upside down in a corner. well, ransey fished for just an hour, but had glorious luck and a good string to take to mrs farrow. this was enough, so he put away his rod, and read some more horrors to babs from "nick o' the woods." the torture scenes and the scalping took her fancy more than anything else. so ransey tansey invented a play on the spot that would have brought down the house in a twopenny theatre if properly put on the stage. he, ransey tansey, was to be a wild indian, babs would be the white man, bob the bear, and the admiral the spirit of the wild woods and ghost of the haunted canon. the play passed off without a hitch. only ransey tansey himself required to dress for his part. this he did to perfection. he retired to a secluded spot by the river's bank for the purpose. he divested himself of his pants and his solitary suspender. these were but the evidences of an effete civilisation. what could such things as these have to do with the red man of the wild west, the solitary scalp-hunter of the boundless prairie? but a spear and a tomahawk he must have, and these were quickly and easily fashioned from the boughs of the neighbouring trees. he tied a piece of cord around his waist, and in this he stuck his knife, open and ready for every emergency. he fuzzed up his rebellious hair, and stuck rooks' feathers in it; he thrust his feet into the darkest and grimiest of mud to represent moccasins, and streaked his face with the same. when enveloped in his blanket (the big shawl) he stalked into the open in all the ghastliness of his wur-paint, and said "ugh!" he was ransey tansey no longer, but chee-tow, the red chief of the slit-nosed indians. on beholding the warrior, babs's first impulse was to scream in terror; her next--and this she carried out--was to roll on her back, her two legs pointing skywards, and scream with laughter. "oh," she cried delightedly, "'oo _is_ such a boo'ful wallio! [warrior]; be twick and tell somefing." for the time being babs was only the audience. when she became an actor in this great forest drama she would have to behave differently. and now the red chief went prowling around, and presently out from a bush darted a grizzly bear. the bear was bob. chee-tow uttered his wildest war-cry, and rushed onwards to the charge. the grizzly held his ground and scorned to fly. "then began the deadly conflict, hand to hand among the mountains; from his eerie screamed the eagle [the crane] ...the great war-eagle, sat upon the crags around them, wheeling, flapped his wings above them. * * * * *. "till the earth shook with the tumult and confusion of the battle. and the air was full of shoutings, and the thunder of the mountains starting, answered `baim-wa-wa.'" this fierce fight with the terrible grizzly was so realistic that the audience sat silent and enthralled, with its thumb in its mouth. but it ended at last in the victory of the red chief. the bear lay dead, and the first act came to a close. in act two an indian maiden has been stolen, and borne away by a white man across the boundless prairie to his wigwam in the golden east. the red chief squats down on the moss with drooping head to bewail the loss of his daughter, during which outburst of grief his streaks of war-paint get rather mixed; but that can't be helped. then the spirit of the wild woods appears to him--the ghost of the haunted canon (that is, between you and me, the admiral comes hopping up with his neck stretched out, wondering what it is all about)--and whispers to him, and speaks in his ear, and says:-- "listen to me, brave chee-tow-wa, lie not there upon the meadow; stoop not down among the lilies, lest the west wind come and harm you. follow me across the prairie, follow me across the mountains, i will find the maiden for you, the maid with hair like sunshine, who has vanished from your sight." so chee-tow gets up, seizes his arms, and follows the spirit, who goes hopping on in front of him in a very weird-like manner indeed. meanwhile babs, knowing her part, has hidden herself in a bush, and in due time is led back in triumph as the white man who stole the maiden. he is tied to a tree, scalped, and tortured. then a fire is lit, and thither the white man is dragged towards it to be burned alive. but another bear (bob again) rushes in to his assistance and enables him to escape. the same fire built to burn the white man (babs) is being utilised to roast potatoes for supper; only this is a mere detail. and the play ends by the spirit of the wild woods bringing the maiden back (babs again) to the camp fire in the forest, and--and by a supper of baked potatoes with salt. all's well that ends well. and shortly after the denouement there may be seen, wending its way in the calm summer gloaming up the little footpath that leads through the green corn, the following procession. first, bob solemnly carrying the fishing-rod; then ransey tansey with a string of red-finned fish in front of him, and babs on his back, wrapped in the indian's blanket; and last, but not least, the admiral himself, nodding his head not unlike a camel, and lifting his legs very high indeed, because the dew was beginning to fall. babs had gone soundly to sleep by the time they reached the farm, but she was lively enough a few minutes after this. and mrs farrow made them stay to supper, every one of them, including even the admiral, although he said "tok--tok--tok" several times, out of politeness, perhaps when first invited in. the kitchen at the farm was in reality a sitting-room, and a very jolly, cosy one it was; nor did the fire seem a bit out of place to-night. it took ransey quite a long time to tell all his adventures, and dilate upon the kindness of his visitors, especially rough but kindly captain weathereye. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was almost dark before they got to the little cot at the foot of the hill that they called their home; and here a fresh surprise awaited them, for a light was shining through the little window, and through the half-open door as well. babs herself was the first, i believe, to notice this. "o 'ansey," she cried, struggling with excitement on the boy's back, "o 'ansey, look! fazer [father] has tomed! be twick, 'ansey, be twick." and ransey quickened his pace now, while bob ran on in front. "wowff, wowff," he barked, "wowff--wowff--wow!" but it was in a half-hysterical kind of way, as if there were a tear of joy mixed up with it, joy at the hope of seeing a kind old master again. even the crane felt it his bounden duty to indulge in an extra hop or two, and to shout, "scray--scray--scray--ay--ay!" it was the admiral's voice that caused honest tom tandy to get up from his chair, lay down his pipe, and hurry to the door. "hill--ll--o!" he shouted. "here we all are, ransey tansey, babs, and bob, and all. why, this _is_ a merry meeting. come, babs. hoist away, ransey. hee--hoy--ip! and there she is safely landed in harbour. so you missed your old father, little lass, did you? bless it. but we're all going on to-morrow, and the _merry maiden_ has got a new coat o' paint, and new furniture for the cuddy, and it's no end of a jolly time we'll all have." yes, it _was_ a merry meeting, and a right happy one. i only wish that both miss scragley and captain weathereye had seen it. "why," the former would have said to herself, "this good fellow could surely never have been a slave to the bottle!" mr tandy had never really been a constant imbiber of that soul-killing curse of our country--drink; but some years gone by, like many another old sailor, he was liable to slide into an occasional "bout," as it is called, and it was with sorrow he thought of this now. but miss scragley and many others have yet to learn that it is often the best-hearted and the brightest that fall most easily into temptation. as for weathereye, had he been a witness of this little reunion, he too would have given his opinion about the sturdy old sailor. "why!" he would have cried frankly to mr tandy, [pronounced tansey only by the children] "why, my good fellow, miss scragley, who is faddy and elderly, and myself, old fool that i am at the best, were considering what best we could do for your children. we were to do all kinds of pretty things. the boy was going to a school, the child to a home, and you--ha, ha, ha--you, with your bold face and your sturdy frame, a man of barely forty, were going to be sent to the house. ha, ha, no wonder i laugh. but tip us your flipper, tandy, you're a man every inch--a man and a sailor." that is what weathereye would have said had he seen tandy sitting there now. they are right in saying that those whom animals and children love are possessed of right good hearts of their own. and here was this old sailor--the word "old" being simply a term of endearment, for none but the sickly are old at forty, and they've been old all the time--sitting erect in his chair, babs on one knee, the great cat on the other; ransey on the hearth looking smilingly up at father's bronzed face, silver-sprinkled hair and beard; the admiral standing on one leg behind the chair; and poor bob asleep before the fire, with his chin reposing on his old master's boot. it was a pretty picture. "children," says tandy at last, "it is getting late, and--just kneel down. i think we'll say a bit of a prayer to-night." book --chapter seven. on silent highways. it was early next morning when ransey tansey ran off through the fields for a double allowance of milk. "double allowance to-day, mrs farrow," he shouted. "oh, yes, father's come; and we're goin' on to-day. isn't it just too awfully jolly for anything?" "well, i'm sorry to lose you and babs." "back in a month, mrs farrow. it'll soon pass, ye know. but i--i am a kind o' sorry to leave you too, for ye've been so good to babs and bob and me." there was a tear in ransey's eye as he took the milk-can and prepared to depart. "the admiral can take care o' his little self," he said, "but there's murrams." "yes, dear boy, and our nipper shall go over every morning, and put murrams's bowl of milk in through the broken pane." "oh, now i'm happy, just downright happy." "well, off you run. mind never to forget to say your prayers." "no; and i'll pray for murrams, for the admiral, for you, and all." he waved his hand now, and quickly disappeared. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the world wasn't a very wide one just yet to these poor children, ransey and babs. it was chiefly made up of that little cottage which went by the uncanny name of hangman's hall, and of the carrying barge or canal-boat yclept _ye merry maiden_. but when at home, at the hut, they had all the sweet, green, flowery fields around them, the stream, and the wild woods. these formed the grand seminary in which ransey studied nature, and moreover, studied it without knowing he was studying anything. to him every creature, whether clad in fur or in feather, was a friend. he knew all their little secrets, and they _knew_ that he knew them. not a bird that sang was there that he did not know by its eggs, its nest, or its notes; not a rabbit, hare, vole, or field-mouse that he could not have told you the life-story of. his was a-- "knowledge never learned at schools, of the wild bee's morning chase. of the wild flowers' time and place; flight of fowl, and habitude of the tenants of the wood; how the tortoise bears his shell; how the woodchuck digs his cell, and the ground mole makes his well; how the robin feeds her young; how the oriel's nest is hung; of the black wasp's cunning way, mason of his walls of clay; and the architectural plans of grey hornet artisans." it is true enough that this family was poor in the eyes of the world. i am sure they were not ashamed of it, however. the poverty that goes hand in hand with honesty may hold up its head before the queen. "is there, for honest poverty, that hangs his head, and a' that? the coward slave, we pass him by; we dare be poor for a' that! for a' that, and a' that, our toils obscure, and a' that; the rank is but the guinea stamp, the man's the gowd for a' that?" so sang the immortal robert burns. but could any boy, or girl either, be really poor who had so many friends in field and forest, and by the winding stream? no; and such a one as this, who has been in touch with nature in his or her early days, may grow up, grow old, but never forget the days of youth, and never, never lose faith in heaven and a happy beyond. the cottage and the surrounding country, however, did not constitute all the children's world. there was the ship--as i have said--the barge that went to sea, and in which they so often sailed. for to them as yet the barge was a brig, and the canal the ocean wide and wild. well, i might on second thoughts withdraw those "wee wordies," _wide_ and _wild_. the canal was not a very wide one, nor was it ever very wild, in summer time at all events. never mind, to the imagination of ransey, babs, and bob, the _merry maiden_ was-- "a gallant ship, with a crew as brave as ever sailed the ocean wave." the crew of the _merry maiden_, i may tell you at once, was a very small one indeed, and consisted--all told, that is--of the captain himself, who was likewise cook, boatswain, and bedmaker all combined; one sturdy, great boy of sixteen, strong enough to lift almost any weight, sammy by name, who was first lieutenant, supercargo, and chief engineer, and who often took his trick at the wheel--that is, he took the tiller and relieved his captain, or mounted jim and relieved ransey; ransey himself, who was second engineer--jim, the stout old bay nag, being the engine itself, the moving power when no fair wind was blowing; and bob, whose station was at the bows, and his duty to keep a good look-out and hail those aft if any other ship hove in sight or danger was near. the _merry maiden_ rejoiced in one mast, which had to be cleverly lowered when a bridge had to be negotiated. the sail was a fore-and-aft one, though very full at times. picturesquely reddish-brown it was, and looked so pretty sometimes against the green of the trees that, as the craft sailed slowly on in the sunshine, dreamy artists, seated smoking at their out-door easels, often made the _merry maiden_ part and parcel of the landscape they were painting. i think that tandy himself liked being on board. the barge was his own, and carrying light wares or parcels from village to village, or town to town, his trade. things had gone backwards with tandy as long as he looked upon the rum when it was red; he had got into debt. but now he was comfortable, jolly once more, because his keel was clear, as he phrased it; and as he reclined to-day on the top of the cuddy, or poop, with the tiller in his hand, babs nestling near him, with the greenery of the woods, the fields, and little round knolls floating dreamily past him in the silvery haze of the sunshine, he looked a picture of health, happiness, and contentment. ransey and babs took their canal life very easily. they never knew or cared where they were going to, nor thought of what they might see. even the boy's knowledge of the geography of his own country was very limited indeed. he had some notion that his father's canal--he grandly termed it so occasionally--was somewhere away down in the midlands. and he was right. he hadn't learned to box the compass, however; and even had he possessed the knowledge, there wasn't a compass on board the _merry maiden_ to box or be boxed. besides, the ship's head was seldom a whole hour in any one particular direction. the canal was a very winding one, its chief desire seeming to be to visit all the villages it could reach without being bothered with locks. these last were few and far between, because the country was rather a level one on the whole. nevertheless the fact of their not knowing exactly where they were going to, or what they would see next, lent an additional charm to the children's canal life. it was like the game children play on moonlight nights in scotland. this is a very simple one, but has a great fascination for tiny dwellers in the country, and, besides, it gives excellent scope for the imagination. one child blindfolds another, and leads him here, there, and everywhere, without going far away from home--round the stackyards, over the fields by the edge of the woods, or across bridges, the blindfolded wondering all the time where he is, but feeling as if he were in fairyland, till at last his eyes are free, and he finds himself--well, in the very last place he could have dreamt of being. there is no reason why canal life in england should not be most pleasant, and canal people just as happy as was the crew, all told, on board the _merry maiden_. the saloon of the _maiden_, as tandy grandly called it, was by no means very large. it was simply a dear little morsel of a doll's-house, but the taste of the owner was shown in many different ways. by day the beds were folded up and were prettily draped with bright curtains. there were a lounge, an easy-chair, a swing-lamp, a beautiful brass stove, and racks above and at both sides of it for plates and mugs and clear, clean tin cooking utensils; there were tiny cupboards and brackets and mirrors, and in almost every corner stood vases of wild flowers, culled by babs and ransey whenever they had a chance. and this was often enough, for really jim was so wise a horse that he never required any urging to do his duty. he was never known to make either break or stumble. but when sail was on the ship, jim had nothing to do except to walk after her and look about him. sometimes the oats or the wheat grew close to the path, and then, although a very honest horse, jim never failed to treat himself to a pluck. so he was as sleek and fat as any nag need be. the weather was not always fine, of course, but on wet days babs could be sent below, with bob to mind her, to play with her picture-books, her lady doll, and her dolly-bone. ransey's father had made him discard now, for ever and ay, his ragged garments, although the boy had not done so without a sigh of regret-- they were so free and easy. his best clothes, presented by miss scragley, were stowed away for high days and holidays, and the suit his father bought him and brought him was simply neat and somewhat nautical. let us take a little cruise in the _merry maiden_. shall we, reader? it will be a cruise in imagination certainly, but very real for all that, because it is from the life. it is very early, then, in the joyous month of june, and the _merry maiden_ is lying alongside a green bank. there is no pier here. it is a country place. yonder on the right is a pretty little canal-side inn, the "jolly tapsters." you can read its name on the sign that is swinging to and fro beneath a wide-spreading elm-tree. under this tree is a seat, and a table also; and on fine evenings, after their day's work is done, honest labourers, dressed in smocks, who have been haymaking all day, come here to smoke long clays, to talk to their neighbours, and now and then beat the table with their pewters to ask for "another pint, landlord, if _you_ please." tandy lay in here last night and left a whole lot of parcels and things at that cosy hostelry; for the country all about is an agricultural one, beautifully wooded with rolling hills, with many a smiling mansion peeping grey or red above the trees, and many a well-tilled farm. the parcels will all be called for in due time. the barge-master is up before even ransey is stirring. he has lit the fire and made ready for breakfast. before going on shore by the little gangway, he stirs sammy up. sammy, the sixteen-year-old boy, has been sleeping among the cargo with a morsel of tarpaulin for a blanket. he rubs his eyes, and in a few seconds pulls himself up, and begins, lazily enough, to sort and arrange the parcels and make notes for the next stop in a small black book, with a very thick pencil that he sticks in his mouth about once every three seconds to make it write more easily. "what a lovely morning!" thinks tandy, and bob, who has come bounding after him, thinks so too. the sun is already up, however. from every copse and plantation comes the melody of birds. flocks of rooks are flying heavily and silently away to the distant river, where among the reeds they will find plenty to eat. swimming about in the canal yonder are half a score of beautiful ducks. no, not wild; wild birds seldom build on a busy canal side. they are the innkeeper's rouens, and that splendid drake is very proud indeed. he lifts himself high out of the water and claps his wings in defiance as bob passes. yonder is a lark lilting loudly and sweetly high above the green corn. there are linnets and greenfinches in the hedges, and warblers among the snow-white blossoms of the may. there is a wealth of wild flowers everywhere--blue-eyed speedwells, the yellow celandine, the crimson of clover, the ragged robin, and ox-eye daisies weeping dew. so balmy is the air and fresh that the barge-master has wandered further than he had intended. hunger warns him to beat a retreat. canal people, like caravan folks, have excellent appetites. but here he is on board again. ransey has already cooked and laid the breakfast, dressed babs, and folded up the beds. with the ports all open the tiny saloon is sweet and clean. "for what we are about to receive," the father begins, and little ransey's head is bent and babs's hands are clasped till grace is said. those eggs are fresh. the fish was caught but yesterday. butter and beautiful bread are always to be had cheap all along the canal. sammy's breakfast and bob's are duly handed up the companion-way, and in half an hour after this the horse is yoked, the landlord has wished them all good luck, and they have gone on. but the wind, though slight, is dead ahead for miles, and jim has a heavy drag. jim doesn't mind that a bit. he jingles his light harness, strains nobly to his work, and jogs right merrily on. gradually the country wakens up to newness of life. smoke comes curling up from many a humble cottage; cocks are crowing here and there; and busy workman-like dogs are hurrying to and fro as they drive cattle or sheep to distant pasture lands. there are houses dotted about everywhere, some very close to the canal side, from the doors of which half-dressed children rush out to wave naked arms and "hooray" as the barge goes slowly floating past. to these babs must needs wave her wee hands and give back cheer for cheer. many of those cots, humble though they be, have the neatest of gardens, with flowers already blooming in beds and borders, in tubs and in boxes; neat little walks all sanded and yellow; and strings along the walls, up which, when summer is further advanced, climbers will find their way and trail in their loveliness over porch and windows. there are orchards behind many of these, the gnarled trees snowed over with bloom, many clad in pink or crimson. all this brings to one's mind snatches from mrs hemans:-- "the cottage homes of england, by thousands on her plains, they are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, and round the hamlet-fanes. through glowing orchards forth they peep, each from its nook of leaves, and fearless there the lowly sleep as the bird beneath their eaves." the sun climbs higher and higher, and the mists have disappeared from the far-off hills, and now you can tell it is school time. well-dressed children, in groups, are wending their way all in one direction. but they find time to cull wild flowers for teacher; and see, a bold, bright-faced lad comes near to the edge of the canal. perhaps he is charmed by the innocent beauty of little babs. who can tell? one thing we _are_ sure of--he has learned a little french, and is proud to air it. "_bon voyage_," he shouts. and next moment a bonnie bunch of flowers falls right into the child's lap. "kiss your hand to him, dear," says father. babs smilingly does as she is told. no actress could do so more naturally. then the boy runs off, looking happy, and the barge floats on. book --chapter eight. "poor mary! she has gone on." the barge floats on, and soon the village appears in sight. yes, thoroughly english, and therefore pretty: the old grey houses only half seen in the midst of the foliage; the wreaths of blue smoke; the broad, squat steeple; wooded hills behind, and amongst these latter here and there a tall elizabethan house sheltering itself in a hollow, for wildly in winter do the winds sweep through the leafless oaks and elms now clad in all the glory of summer's green. the canal makes a sweep just before it comes up to the village, as if it had entertained some thoughts of going past without calling. but it hasn't the heart to do so, and presently the barge is close alongside a kind of wooden platform which is dignified by the name of wharf. ransey dismounts to water his horse and slip on the nose-bag. then, while sammy is busy with his note-book, handing out cargo and taking fresh orders, he takes delighted babs and bob on shore to look at the shops. these visits to villages are much appreciated by her tiny ladyship, but if the streets are steep ransey tansey must take her on his back, and thus the two go on. no fear of the "ship" leaving without them; and why, here is father himself, his hands deep in the pockets of his pilot jacket, and smoking. a penny to ransey and a halfpenny to babs secure them additional happiness; but in less than an hour the anchor is weighed, and the _merry maiden_ is once more going on. the wind changes, or the canal, or something; anyhow sail can now be set, and jim thinks himself about the happiest horse in all creation. on and on through the quiet country, by the most silent of all thoroughfares, goes the barge. babs is getting drowsy; father makes her a bed with a bundle of sacks, shading her face from the sun; and soon she is in the land of forgetfulness. were it not for the breeze that blows freshly over the meadows, the day would be a warm and drowsy one. no fear of sammy falling asleep, however, for as the canal winds in and out he has to tighten or loosen the sheet according to the shift. just at present the sounds that are wafted towards the barge are all lulling and dreamy: the far-off singing of birds; the sound of the woodman's axe in the distant wood; the rattle of a cart or carriage on a road that is nowhere visible; the jangle of church bells from a village that may be in the sky for anything any one can tell; and now the merry laughter of young men and maidens making hay, and these last come in sight just round the next green bend. it suddenly occurs to jim that a dance wouldn't be at all a bad idea. ransey is some distance behind his horse, when he sees him lower his head and fling his heels high in air. this is merely preparatory; next minute he is off at a gallop, making straight for that meadow of fragrant hay, the wind catching mane and tail and blowing it straight out fore and aft. when tired of galloping round the field, jim bears right down upon the haymakers themselves. "that stuff," he says, with distended nostrils, "smells uncommonly nice. give us a tuft." he is fed handsomely by both lads and lasses gay. but they get gayer than ever when jim throws himself down on his back, regardless of the confused entanglement of bridle and traces. but jim knows better than to roll on the bare ground. he has thrown down a hay-cock for himself, and it is as good as a play to witness the girls bury him up till there is nothing to be seen of him except his four legs kicking skywards. he gets up at last, and looks very sober and solemn. one girl kisses him on the muzzle; another is busy doing something that ransey cannot make out, but a minute or two after this, when jim comes thundering back, there is a huge collar of hay around his neck. ransey mounts him bareback, and, waving his hand to the haymakers, goes galloping off to overtake the barge, and throw the hay on board. a nice little snack it will make for jim some time later on! to-day mr tandy has bought a newspaper. he had meant to read it, but he is too fond of country sights and sounds to bother about it now. in the evening, perhaps, over a pipe. on, ever on. there are locks to get through now, several of them, and lockmen are seldom, if ever, more than half awake; but everybody knows tandy, and has a kindly word to say to ransey tansey, and perhaps a kiss to blow to babs, who has just awakened, with eyes that shine, and lips and cheeks as red as the dog-roses that trail so sweetly over a hedge near by. the country here is higher--a bit of wales in the midlands, one might almost say. and so it continues for some time. sammy takes his trick at the wheel, and prefers to steer by lying on his back and touching the tiller with one bare foot. sammy is always original and funny, and now tells babs wonderful stories about fairies and water-babies that he met with a long time ago when he used to dwell deep down beneath the sea. babs has never seen the real sea, except in pictures, and is rather hazy about it. nevertheless, sammy's stories are very wonderful, and doubtless very graphic. the sail is lowered at last, and the saucy _merry maiden_ moored to a green bank. the dinner is served, and all hands, including jim, do justice to it. i said the barge was "moored" here. literal enough, for a wide, wild moor stretches all around. sheep are feeding not far off, and some droll-looking ponies that jim would like to engage in conversation. there are patches of heath also, and stunted but prettily-feathered larch-trees now hung with points of crimson. great patches of golden gorse hug the ground and scent the air for yards around. linnets are singing there, and now and then the eye is gladdened by the sight of a wood-lark. sometimes he runs along the ground, singing more sweetly even than his brother musician who loves to soar as high as the clouds. here is a cock-robin, looking very independent and lilting defiance at everybody. robins do not always live close to civilisation. this robin comes close enough to pick up the crumbs which ransey throws towards him. he wants ransey to believe that all the country for miles and miles around belongs to him--cock-robin--and that no bird save him has any real business here. there are pine-trees waving on the hills yonder, and down below, a town much bigger than any they yet have arrived at. but see, there is a storm coming up astern, so, speedily now, the _merry maiden_ is once more under way. babs is bundled down below, and bob goes with her. presently the air is chilly enough to make one shiver. a puff of high wind, a squall we may call it, brings up an army of clouds and darkness. thunder rolls, and the swift lightning flashes--red, bright, intense-- then down come the rain and the big white hailstones. these rattle so loudly on the poop deck, and on the great tarpaulin that covers the cargo, that for a time the thunder itself can scarcely be heard. but in twenty minutes' time the sun is once more shining, the clouds have rolled far to leeward, the deck is dry, and but for the pools of water that lie in the hollows of the hard tarpaulin, no evidence is left that a summer storm had been raging. but away with the storm has gone the wind itself, and jim is once more called into requisition. then onwards floats the barge. through many a bridge and lock, past many a hamlet, past woodlands and orchards, and fields of waving wheat, stopping only now and then at a village, till at last, and just as the sun is westering, the distant town is reached. oh, a most unsavoury sort of a place, a most objectionable kind of a wharf, at which to pass a night. tandy sends babs and bob below again; for a language is spoken here he does not wish the child to listen to, sights may be seen he would not that her eyes should dwell upon. yonder is an ugly public-house with broken windows in it, and a bloated-faced, bare-armed woman, the landlady, standing with arms akimbo defiantly in the doorway. ah! there was a time when tandy used to spend hours in that very house. he shudders to think of it now. there is one dead tree at the gable of this inn, which--half a century ago, perhaps--may have been a country hostelry surrounded by meadows and hedges. that tree would then be green, the air fresh and sweet around it, the mavis singing in its leafy shade. now the sky is lurid, the air is tainted, and there is smoke everywhere. not even the bark is left on the ghastly tree. it looks as if it had died of leprosy. but the work is hurried through, and in a comparatively short time the _merry maiden_ is away out in the green quiet country. what a blessed change from the awful town they have just left! the sun has already gone down in such a glory of crimson, bronze, and orange, as we in this country seldom see. this soon fades away, however, as everything that is beautiful to behold must fade. the stars come out now in the east, and just as gloaming is merging into night the boat draws near to a little canal-side inn, and jim, the horse, who is wiser far than many a professed christian, stops of his own accord. for ransey had gone to sleep--oh, he often rode thus and never fell. he awakes now, however, with a start, and gazes wonderingly around him. his eyes fall upon the sign. and there, in large white letters, the boy can read easily enough though the light is fading--the "bargee's chorus." and not only could he read, but he could remember: it was here they lay that sad, sad night--what a long time ago it seemed--when mother died. here was the landlord himself with his big apron on, a burly fellow with a kindly face, and as tandy stepped on shore he was welcomed with a hearty handshake. "ah: cap'en tandy, and 'ow's you. and here is ransey tansey, bright and bobbish, and little babs, and bob, and everybody. how nice you all look! but la!" he added, "it do seem such a long, long time since you were here before." "i've not had the heart to come much this way, mr shirley. i've been trading at the southern end o' the canal." "and ye've never been here once since you put up the bit of marble slab to mark the spot where _she_ lies?" ransey knew his mother was referred to, and turned aside to hide the tears. "never since," says tandy. "ah, cap'en, many's the one as asks me about that slab. and the old squire himself stopped here one day and got all the story from me. and when i'd finished, never a word he said. he just heaved a biggish sort of a sigh, and went trotting on. "but come in, ransey, babs, and bob, and all. the night's going to be chilly, and an air of the fire will do the children good. "sammy, just take the horse round to the stable. we'll have a bit o' frost to-night, i thinks." ransey runs on board for a few minutes to touch up the fire, put on the guard, and make down the beds; then he joins the group around the cosy parlour fire. the kindly landlady, as plump and rosy as her husband, makes very much of the children, and the supper she places before them is a right hearty one, nor is bob himself forgotten. a very quiet and pleasant evening is spent, then good-nights are said, and the seafaring folks, as they humorously call themselves, go on board to bed. sammy is already sound asleep beneath the tarpaulin, and ransey takes his little sister below to bed at once. but father stops on deck a little while, to think and muse. how still the night is! not a breath of wind now; not a sound save the distant melancholy hooting of an owl as he flies low across the fields, the champ-champing of the horse in the stable, and an occasional plash in the canal as some great frog leaps off the bank. nothing more. but high above shine god's holy stars. there may be melancholy in the old sailor's heart as he gazes skywards, but there is hope as well, for these little points of dazzling light bear his thoughts away to better worlds than this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it is early morning again, and soon the barge is well on its way. but when it is stopped in the middle of a somewhat lonesome moor, and tandy takes his children on shore, the boy knows right well where they are going, though innocent little babs doesn't. "father," he says presently, as they are near to a clump of tall trees, "isn't it just _here_ where mother was laid?" the rough weather-beaten old sailor uncovers his head. he points to a spot of the canal that is gleaming bright in the rays of the morning sun. "just down there, dear boy," he says. "the coffin was leaded; it could never rise." the last words are spoken apparently to himself, as he turns sadly away towards the trees. still holding ransey's hand, and with babs in his arms, he points to the tallest, strongest tree of all. it is a beautiful beech. and there, about eight feet from the ground, and evidently let deeply into the tree, is a small and lettered slab of marble. the bark has begun to curl in a rough lip over its edge all round as if to hold it more firmly in its place. poor mary. she has gone on. _feby. th-- _. the letters were not over-well formed. perhaps they were cut by tandy's own hand. what mattered it? the little tablet was meant but for _his_ eyes. simplicity is best. "poor mary! she has gone on." and the words are written not only there upon the marble, but upon the honest sailor's heart. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ end of book one. book --chapter one. "just three years since ransey went to sea." "o father," said babs one autumn evening, "aren't _you_ frightened at the roaring of the sea?" tandy and his child were sitting together, that autumn evening, in the best parlour. they were waiting for the postman to come round the corner; and as the waves were making a clean breach over the black, smooth rocks down yonder, and the spray was dashing high over the road and rattling like hail upon the panes of glass in the little cottage window, the postman would be wearing his waterproof cape to-night to keep the letters dry. babs had been watching for a man in a glittering oilskin, very anxiously, too, with her little face close to the glass, when a bigger wave than any she had yet seen rolled green and spumy and swiftly across the boulders, till meeting the resistance offered by the cliff it rose into the air for twenty feet at least, then broke like a waterfall on the asphalt path which was dignified by the name of esplanade. no wonder she rushed back from the window, and now stood trembling by her father's side. he took her gently on his knee. though five years have elapsed since the night they had visited mother's tree, and she is now eight years of age, she is but a little thing. ay, and fragile. as she sits there, with one arm about his neck, he looks at her, and talks to her tenderly. she has her mother's eyes. but how lonely he would be, he cannot help thinking, if anything happened to his little nelda--to babs. the thought causes him to shiver as he sits there in his easy-chair by the fire, for chill is the breeze that blows from off the sea to-night. "daddy!" "yes, dear." "to-morrow, when it comes, will make it just three years since ransey went to sea." "three years? yes, babs, so it will. oh, how quickly the time has flown! and how good your memory is, darling!" "flown quickly, father? oh, i think every one of those years has been much, much longer than the other. and i think," she added, "lazy postie will never come to-night. but i dreamt, daddy, we would have a letter from ransey, and it is sure to come." three years. yes, and years do fly fast away when men or women get elderly. those years though--ay, and the whole five--had been very busy ones with ransey tansey, very eventful, i might almost say. old captain weathereye had proved a right good friend to ransey. nor did he take the least degree of credit to himself for being so. "the boy has got the grit in him," he told miss scragley, "and just a spice of the devil; and without that, i can assure you, madam, no boy is going to get well on in this world." miss scragley didn't care to swallow this doctrine quite; but eedie, whom ransey looked upon as a kind of fairy, or goddess, immeasurably better than himself, took the captain's view of the matter. "oh, yes," she astonished miss scragley by exclaiming, "the devil is everywhere, auntie. mr smith himself said so in the church. he is in roaring lions and in lambs when they lie down together, and in little boys, and then they are best and funniest." miss scragley sighed. "it is a world of sin and sorrow," she murmured. "a world of fiddlesticks, madam!" cried weathereye. "i tell you, it is a splendid world, a grand old world; but you've got to learn how to take your own part in it. take my word for it, miss scragley, the world wasn't made for fools. fools have got to take a back seat, and just look on, while men of grit do the work and enjoy the reward. ahem!" "i've got to make a man of that lad," he went on, "and, what's more, i'm doing it. he needs holy-stoning--i'm holy-stoning him. he may want a little polishing after, but rubbing against the world will do that." "you're very good, captain weathereye; you will be rewarded, if not in this world, in the next--" "tut--tut--tut," cried the old sailor impatiently, and it must be admitted somewhat brusquely, "women folks will talk, especially when they don't know what to say; but pray keep such sentiments and platitudes as these for your next dorcas meeting, madam. reward, indeed! next world, forsooth! i tell you that i'm having it in _this_. i live my own early days over again in the boy's youth. it is moral meat and drink for the old--well, the middle-aged, like myself, ahem!-- to mingle with the young and get interested, not so much in their pursuits, because one's joints are too stiff for that, but in their hopes and aspirations for the future which is all before them. ever hear these lines, miss scragley? "`in the lexicon of youth that fate reserves for a bright manhood, there is no such word as fail.' "i'd have them printed on the front page of every copybook laid before a child in school, and i'd have him to learn them as soon as he can lisp." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ well, right happy years these had been for ransey tansey, and little babs as well, to say nothing of gentle eedie. as the world began to smile upon tandy himself, he tried to do all he could for his children's comfort. even the little cottage at the foot of the hill was made more ship-shape, and furnished with many a comfort it had previously lacked. tandy was a man of a speculative turn of mind, and moreover inventive. his speculations, however, did not succeed so well as he could have wished. i am never sorry for the downfall of speculators; for, after all, what is speculation but a species of gambling--gambling for high stakes? and supposing that a man wins, which once in a way he may; supposing even that he is strong enough in pocket to establish a "corner," as it is called in yankee-land, to buy up the whole of some great commodity, and shut it up until the people are starving for it and glad to pay for it at three times the original value, well, the corner knight becomes a millionaire. yes; and very often a miser, and miserable at that. can a millionaire enjoy sport or play any better than you or i, reader? no, nor so much. has he a better appetite from the fact that he can afford to coax it with every costly dainty that cash can purchase? more likely a worse. is he more healthy? that were impossible. is he more happy? ah, here we come to the test question. well, he can have a larger and a finer house than most people, and it may be furnished like a palace. pictures of the old masters may adorn its walls; musical instruments of rare value, works of art and vertu, may meet the eye at every turn; the gardens, and rose lawns, and conservatories may be more gorgeous than the dream of an eastern prince. but can he live in more than one room at a time, or enjoy anything around him a bit better than the friends do whom he invites to his home that they may admire everything and envy _him_? but even the millionaire tires of home. he is satiated with the good things his gold has brought him; and if he travels abroad he will not find half the enjoyment in those beauties of nature--which even the millionaire's gold cannot deprive the poorest man of--that the poet or the naturalist does. i think there is one thing that most of us have to be thankful for-- namely, that we are not over-ambitious, and have no desire to become millionaires. yes, but tandy's ambition was not a morbid one; it was not selfish. he felt that he could die contentedly enough, could he make as sure as any one can be sure that his boy and girl would not become waifs and strays on the great highway of life. how to make sure? that had been the question he had tried to answer many and many a time as he lay on the poop of his little craft and sailed slowly through the meadows and moors. i have said he was inventive. his inventive faculties, however, took him far too high at first, like a badly ballasted balloon. he thought of ministering to governments of nations--of putting into their hands instruments for the destruction of his fellow mortals that should render war impossible, and many other equally airy speculations. he failed, and had to come down a piece. there is no use in soaring too high above the clouds if one would be a useful inventor and a benefactor to mankind. darning-needles are of more service to the general public than dynamite guns, and they are more easily manufactured. so tandy failed in all his big things. that balloon of his was still soaring too high. "i guess," he said to himself, "i'll have to come a little lower still before i find out just what the world wants, and what _all_ the world wants." food? physic? fire? ha! he had it. fire, of course. how many a poor wretch starves to death in a garret just because coals are too dear to purchase. "and why?" he asked himself; and the answer came fast enough, "because coals are wasted by the rich." then tandy set his brains on to simmer, and invented one of the simplest contrivances in the world for saving waste. yes, he had it at last, and in two years' time he began to gain a competence, which was gradually increasing. this little cottage down by the sad, sad sea, as sentimental old maids call it, was his own. he and babs--or little nelda, as we may now call her--had only been here for six months. the place was by no means a fashionable one, although many people came here in summer to seek for health on the glorious sands and rocks, and among the fields and woods that stretched northwards into the interior. as for ransey tansey, captain weathereye had really done his best to secure the welfare of this half-wild lad, just as miss scragley tried to assist his wee sister. impressionable children learn very quickly, and in a year's time ransey was so much improved in manners that miss scragley rather encouraged his visits to the hall than otherwise, especially when the admiral and bob came along with him. grand old lawns and shrubberies surrounded the hall, and these ended in woods. there were artificial lakes and islands in them too. these islands were the especial property of many beautiful ducks; but one was so large, and surrounded by such a big stretch of water, that the only thing to make it perfect--so ransey thought--was a boat or skiff. eedie was of the same opinion; so was babs and bob. "isn't it possible to build one?" thought ransey. he felt sure it was; so did eedie. before two months had passed, that skiff, with the assistance of weathereye, was a _fait accompli_; and the old captain was just as proud of it as the children themselves. the ducks didn't have it all their own way now on the island. for here a wigwam was built, and almost every fine day--that is, when ransey was not at his lessons--the children played at crusoes and wild indians, and i don't know what all. there was no end to tansey's imagination, no end to his daring, no end to his tricks, and in these last, i fear, eedie encouraged him. she was but two years younger than ransey, but she was four years older as far as worldly wisdom was concerned; and with her assistance the dramas, or theatrical performances, carried out on the island were at times startling in the extreme. when eedie brought children friends of hers to see these plays, ransey would have felt very shy indeed had he not had, figuratively speaking, eedie's wing to shelter under. encouraged by her, he soon found out that real talent can make its own way, and be appreciated, however humble its possessor may be. when tandy first met captain weathereye, he wanted to be profuse in his thanks to this kindly staff-commander. but the latter would have none of this. "tandy," he said, "i know by your every action that you are a true sailor, like--ahem!--myself. perhaps what you call kindness to your boy is only a fad of mine, and therefore selfishness after all." "no, no." "but i can say `yo, yo,' to your `no, no.' besides, we are all of us sailing over the sea of life for goodness knows where, and we are in duty bound to help even little boats we may sight, if we see they're in distress." tandy and weathereye had soon became good friends, and smoked many a pipe together; nor did tandy hesitate to tell the navy sailor about all his inventions and little speculations, to which account the latter listened delightedly enough. "i say," he said to tandy one day, "your lad is now over ten, and we should send him right away to sea. i tell you straight, tandy, i'd get him into the royal navy if it were worth while. but he'd never be a sailor, never learn seamanship." "confound their old tin-kettles," he added, bringing his fist down on the table with a force that made the glasses jingle, "there isn't a sailor on board one of them; only gunners and greasers. [greaser, a disparaging name for an engineer in the royal navy.] let ransey rough it, mr tandy, and you'll make a man of him." an apprenticeship in a dundee trader, owned in belfast, and sailing from cardiff, this was secured; though what use a lad not yet eleven might be put to on board such a craft, i confess i hardly know. but this i _do_ know, that the sooner a boy who is to be a british sailor goes to sea the better. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ babs ventured back to the window at last, and glanced once more out into the now gathering gloom. far away beyond selsea bill the sun had set behind lurid coppery clouds, that boded little good for ships that were toiling up the channel. "o daddy, here is postie at long, long last, and he's all, all dressed in oilskins! he is coming to the door! oh!" she could not say another word for a few moments, but flew toward her father. "it is--it is--o daddy! _it's ransey_!" book --chapter two. "ship-shape and seaman-fashion." there wasn't a doubt about that, and no lad surely ever got a happier welcome home. bob and murrams knew him, and the admiral too, who danced for joy in the back-garden when ransey tansey went to see him. everybody, with the exception of the father, seemed to walk on air that night. mr tandy was simply quietly happy. ransey was quite a man, babs told him, and she felt sure he would soon have a moustache. indeed, she brought a small magnifying-glass to strengthen her convictions on this point. what a lot lads have to tell when they return from sea for the first time! and their friends cannot give them greater pleasure than by listening to all their adventures and "hairbreadth scapes;" sympathising with them in sorrows past and gone, and dangers encountered, and thanking providence that they have been spared to come safely home from off the stormy ocean. ransey had gone to the old cottage first, not knowing anything about the change. he had found strangers there, and his heart had sunk to zero. "perhaps," he thought, "they are dead and gone." no bob to meet him! no babs! no dancing crane! he hadn't had the heart to go in; he just ran right away to captain weathereye's, and he told him all. ransey had had to sling his hammock here the first night, and visit miss scragley's next day. and eedie was now ten years of age, and shy, but welcomed ransey with a soft handshake and a bonnie blush, and in her little secret morsel of a heart admired him. "didn't i tell you i'd make a man of him, miss scragley? see how tall he is. look at those bold blue eyes of his, and the sea-tan on his cheeks," said the captain. no wonder that it was ransey's turn to blush. "tell your father, dear boy, that in four or five days i'm coming down to b--to see him. a breath of the briny will do an old barnacle like me a power of good." "that i will," the boy had replied. then, after saying good-bye, ransey went off to see mrs farrow; and that good lady was indeed pleased, for she had always had an idea that those who went to sea hardly ever returned. she had to put the corner of her apron to her eyes now; but, if she did shed a tear, it was one of joy and nothing else. well, it would have done your heart good to have witnessed the happiness of ransey and babs, as they wandered hand in hand along the golden sands. bob, too, was so elated that he hardly knew what to do with himself at first. this joy, however, settled down into a watchful kind of care and love for his young master; and he used to walk steadily behind him on the beach as if afraid that, if he once let him out of sight, he might be spirited away and never be seen again. the admiral was quite a seafarer now, and wonderful and sweet were the morsels he found or dug up for himself on the wet stretches of sand. the sea-gulls at first had taken him for something uncanny; but they now took him for granted, and walked about quite close to him, although at times, when this marvellous bird took it into his long head that a dance would do him good and increase his circulation, they were scared indeed, and flew screaming seawards. but the admiral didn't mind that a bit; he just kept dancing away till there really didn't seem to be a bit more dance left in him. then he desisted, and went in for serious eating once more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ one beautiful day, while the dancing crane was holding a levee of sea-gulls, with a sprinkling of rooks, far seawards on the wet sands, while mr tandy was seated, smoking as usual, on a bench with his children near him, bob uttered a defiant kind of a growl, and stood up with his hair on end from ears to rump. a gentleman dressed in blue, with sailor's cap on his head, and reading a newspaper, was approaching the seat, on which there was plenty of room for one more. but it was not at him that bob was growling. no, but at a beautiful scottish collie which was walking by his side. bob rushed forward at once, and the two met face to face and heads up. scottie carried his tail defiantly high. young england would have done the same with his, had he had anything to show. the conversation seemed to be somewhat as follows:-- "you and i are about the same size, aren't we?" said bob. "there isn't much to figure on between us, i think," replied scottie. "lower your flag, then, or i'll shake you out of your skin." "scotland never lowered flag to a foreigner yet. why don't you raise your standard? why, because you haven't got one to raise. ha, ha! what a fright you are! i only wonder your master lets you go about like that." "yah--ah--r-r--r-r--r-r!" "waugh--r-r--r-r--r-r--r!" and there _was_ war next second. tandy rushed to the scene of action. "i'm very sorry, sir," he said. "which dog, do you think, began the fight?" "i think they both began it," said the newcomer, laughing. scotland and england were having a terrible tulzie, as scotland and england have often had in days long, long gone by. they were rolling over each other, sometimes bob above, sometimes bob below, and the yellow sands were soon stained with blood. little nelda was in tears, and the admiral scray-scraying and dancing with joy. "i think," said the stranger, "they've both had enough of it, and my proposal is this--i'll pull my dog off by the tail, and you do the same by yours." "i'd gladly do so," said tandy, laughing, "but, my dear sir, the fact is that my dog is like tam o' shanter's mare after she escaped from the witches-- "`the ne'er a tail has he to shake.'" dogs are just like men, however, and these two, seemingly satisfied that neither could kill the other, soon made it up, and presently they went galloping off together to the sea to wash the sand out of their shaggy jackets. down sat the stranger between ransey and his father. he rolled up his paper and lit his pipe, and soon the two were engaged in a very animated conversation. sailors all three. no wonder that the acquaintance thus brought about by their honest dogs ripened into friendship in a few days. captain halcott--for so this new friend was named--had, some months before this, reached england after a very long and strangely adventurous cruise. "are you like me, i wonder?" he said to tandy, as they sat smoking the calumet of peace together on a breezy cliff-top, while ransey and his sister were fishing for curios in the pools of water left among the rocks by the receding tide. "are you like me, i wonder? for i am no sooner safely arrived in merrie england than i begin once more to long for life on the heaving billows." "you're a free man, captain halcott; i've got a little family; and you're a somewhat younger man, as well." "yes, yes; granted. but, before going further, tell me what is your christian name?" "dick." "well, and mine's charlie. we're both seafarers; don't let us `mr' each other, or `captain' each other either. you're tandy or you're dick, i'm halcott or i'm charlie, just as, for the time being, the humour may suit us. is that right?" "that's right--ship-shape and seaman-fashion." two brown fists met and were shaken--no mincing landlubber's shake, but a firm and hearty grip and wholesome pressure; a grip that seemed to speak and to say,--"thine, lad, thine! thine in peace or war; in calm or tempest, thine!" how is it that sailors so often resemble one another? i cannot answer the question. but it is none the less true. tandy and halcott appeared to have been cast in the same mould; the same open, bronzed, and weather-beaten faces, the same eyes--eyes that could twinkle with merriment one moment and be filled with pity the next. even captain weathereye himself, although older than either, and somewhat lighter in complexion, might easily have passed as brother to both. "well," said halcott, "i daresay you have a story to tell." "i've had strange experiences in life, and some were sad enough. for the sake of that dear boy and girl, i thank god i am no longer in the grip of poverty; but, my friend, i've seen worse days." "tell us, tandy." tandy told him, sitting there, all the reader already knows and much more, receiving silent but heartfelt sympathy. "so you've sold the _merry maiden_!" "yes; although some of the happiest years of my life were spent on board of her, and in the little cottage. heigho! i wish i could bring back the past; but if i live to be able to afford it, i shall build a house where the old cot stands, and will just end my days there, you know. and now for your story." "oh, that is a strange and a sad one; but as your friend is coming down to-morrow, i propose postponing it. this captain weathereye must, from all you say, be a real jolly fellow." this was agreed to; and next morning tandy met bluff old weathereye at the little railway station. "i'll stay a week, tandy, a whole week. yes, my hearty, i'll gladly make your house my home, and shall rejoice to see your friend, and hear the yarn he has got to spin." book --chapter three. a quarterdeck dream. "once a sailor, gentlemen," began halcott, as he filled his pipe, gazing thoughtfully over the sea, "always a sailor. "that's a truism, i believe. why, the very sight of the waves out yonder, with the evening sunlight dancing and playing on their surface, makes me even at this moment long to tread the deck again. "and there are, perhaps, few seafarers who have more inducements to stay at home than i, charlie halcott, have. "i have a beautiful house of my own, and some day soon, i hope, you will both come and see it, and judge for yourselves. "my house has a tower to it. many a night, while walking the quarterdeck keeping my watch, with no companions save the silver-shining stars, i have said to myself--`charlie halcott,' i have said, `if ever you leave off ploughing the ocean wave, and settle down on shore, you must have a house with a tower to it.' "and now i've got it. "a large, square, old-fashioned tower it is, with a mullioned window on each side of it; and up the walls the dense green ivy climbs, with just enough virginia creeper to cast a glamour of crimson over it in autumn, like the last red rays of the setting sun. "one window looks up the valley of the thames, where not far off is a little niagara, a snow-white weir: i can hear the drowsy monotone of its foaming waters by night and by day, and its song is ever the same. another window looks away down the valley, and the river here goes winding in and out among the meadows and the green and daisied leas, till, finally, it takes the appearance of a silver string, and loses itself, or is lost to me, amidst the distant trees. a third window, from which i dearly like to look early on a summer's morning, while the blackbirds are yet in fullest, softest song, shows an english landscape that to me is the sweetest of the sweet. as far as eye can reach, till bounded by the grey horizon's haze, are woods and wilds and meadows green, with the red gables or the roofs of many a stately farm peeping up through the rolling cloudland of foliage; and many a streamlet too, seen here and there in the sunbeams, as it goes speeding on towards the silent river. "but though this house of mine has a tower to it, it is not a castle by any means, apart from the fact that every englishman's house is his castle. i have a tower, but no donjon keep. my castle is a villa--`a handsome modern-built villa,' the agent described it when i commenced correspondence with a view to its purchase. it is indeed a beautiful villa, and it is situated high up on the brow of a hill, all among the dreamy woods. "though i have been but a short spell on shore, my town friends already call me the `sailor hermit,' because i stick to my castle and its woods and gardens. not for a single day can they prevail upon me to exchange it for the bustle and din of hideous london. but i retaliated on my city friends by bringing them down to my `castle' in spring time, when the early flowers were opening their petals in the warm sunshine, and the very tulips seemed panting in the heat, and when there was such a gush of bird-melody coming from grove and copse and hedgerow that every leaf seemed to hide a feathered songster. and i rejoiced to see those friends of mine struck dumb by the wealth of beauty they beheld around them. for philomel was making day melodious with a strange, unearthly music. "all through the darkness the bird sang to his mate, and all through the day as well. no bolder birds than our nightingales live. they sing at our side, at our feet; they sing as they fly, sing as they alight, sing _to_ us, ay and _at_ us defiantly. no wonder we all love this sweet bird, this sweet spirit of the spring. "so my quarterdeck dream has become a dear reality. "strange to say, it is always at night that i think most of the ocean. and on nights of storm--then it is that i lie awake listening to the wind roaring through the stately elms, with a sound like the sough of gale-tossed waves. it is then i long to tread once more the deck of my own bonnie barque, and feel her move beneath me like a veritable thing of life and reason. my house with the ivied tower is well away among the midlands; and yet on nights of tempest, sea-birds--the gull, and the tern, and the light-winged kittywake--often fly around the house and the trees. i can hear their voices rising shrill and high above the roar of the wind. "`kaye--kay--ay--ay,' they scream. `come away--come away--ay,' they seem to cry. `why have you left us? why have you left the seas? we miss you. come away--come away--ay--ay.' "never into my quarterdeck dreams, gentlemen, had there come, strange to say, a companion fair of womankind. my house with the tower to it should be just as it is to-day, just what--following out my dreams--i have made it. its gardens all should bloom surpassing fair, my woods and trees be green; the rose lawns should look like velvet; my ribboned flower-beds like curves of coloured light; the nightingales in spring should bathe in the spray of my fountains,--there should be joy and loveliness and bird-song everywhere, but a wife?--well, i had somehow never dreamt of that. if any of the officers--for i was captain and part owner of the good barque _sea flower_--had been bold enough to suggest such a thing--i mean such a _person_, i should have laughed at him where he stood. `who,' i should have said, `would many a simple sailor like me, over thirty, brown-red in face, and hard in hands. who indeed?' "but into my quarterdeck dreams companions had come. should i not have jolly farmers and solid-looking red-faced squires to dine with me, and to smoke with me out of doors in the cool of midsummer evenings, or in the cosy red parlour around the fire in the long forenights of winter, and listen to my yarns of the dark blue sea, or talk to me of the delights of rural life? well, it was a pretty dream, it must be admitted. "but it never struck me then, as it does now, that all the joys of life are tame indeed, unless shared by some one you love more than all things bright and fair. "a pretty dream--and a beautiful dream. a piece of ice itself is beautiful at times; but perhaps, as we stand and admire it, the sunshine may steal down and melt it. then we find that we love the sunshine even more than we loved the ice. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "it is not every sailor who has the luck to be captain, or, to speak more correctly, master, of so fine a sailing craft as the _sea flower_, at the age of twenty-six. but such had been my fortune; and i had sailed the seas in her for six long years, and, with the exception of the few accidents inseparable from a life at sea, i had never had a serious mishap. many a wild gale had we weathered in her, my mate and i; many a dark and tempestuous night had we staggered along under bare poles; more than once had we sprung a leak, and twice had we been on fire. "but all ended well, and during our brief spells on shore, either in england or in some foreign port, though james and i always managed to enjoy ourselves in our own quiet way, yet neither he nor i was sorry when we got back home again to our bonnie barque, and were once more afloat on the heaving sea. "james was perhaps more of a sailor than i. well, he was some years my senior, and he was browner and harder by far, and every inch a man. and though a very shy one, as far as female society is concerned, he was a very bold one nevertheless. but for his courageous example on the night of our last fire, the _sea flower_ would have helped to swell the list of those ships that go to sea and are heard of no more. "when we were taken aback in a white squall in the indian ocean, and it verily seemed that we had but a few minutes to float, james was here, there, and everywhere, his manly voice, calm and collected, ringing high above the roaring of the wind and the surging of the terrible seas. the very fire of his bravery on that occasion affected the men, and they worked as only bold men can work in face of death and danger, till our craft was once more righted and tearing along before the wind. "and just as brave on shore as afloat was sturdy james malone. "when our steward was attacked by fifty spear-armed savages on shore at the looboo island, my mate seized a club that a gorilla could hardly have wielded, and fought his way through the black and vengeful crowd, till he reached and saved our faithful steward. "and, that day, it was not until he had almost reached the ship that he told me, with that half-shy and quiet smile of his, that he believed he was slightly wounded. then he fainted dead away. "i nursed poor james back to health. yes, but more than once, both before and after that event, he nursed me, and i doubt if even a brother could have been half so kind as my mate james. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "for many a long year, then, james and i had sailed the salt seas together. without james sitting opposite me at the table at breakfast or at dinner, the neatly painted and varnished saloon, with all its glittering odds and ends, wouldn't have seemed the same. without james sitting near me on the quarterdeck on black-dark evenings in the tropics, i should have felt very strange and lonesome indeed. "but james and i didn't agree on every subject on which we conversed. had we done so, conversation would have lost its special charm. no, he aired his opinions and i shook out mine. there were times when i convinced james; there were times when james convinced me; there were times when neither convinced the other, and then we agreed to differ. "`very well, sir,' james would say, `you has your 'pinions, and i has mine. you keeps to your 'pinions, and i sticks to mine.' "it will be noted that james's ordinary english would scarcely have passed muster in the first families of europe. but, like many of his class, james could talk correctly enough when he set himself the task. but there was no better sailor afloat for all that, and on the stormiest night or squalliest day i always felt safe when my first mate trod the planks. "james could tell a good story too, and i used to keep him at it of an evening--any evening save sunday. on sunday, james did nothing in the intervals of duty except read the bible--the `good book,' as he called it. this new testament was one of those large type editions which very old people use. "his mother--dead and gone--had left him that book, and also her gold-rimmed specs, and it was interesting, on a sunday afternoon, to see james sitting solemnly down to the book, and shipping those specs athwart his nose. "`what on earth,' i said once to him, `do you use the specs for, my friend?' "when james looked up at me, half-upbraidingly, those eyes of his, seen through the powerful lenses, looked as big and wild and round as a catamount's. it was unearthly. "`my mother bade me. would you disobey your mother?' "this was a bombshell, and i said no more. "but there was one subject on which james and i never disagreed--namely, `the ladies,' as he called women folks. `they are deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked,' james would say, `and i means to steer clear on 'em.' and james always did. "there was one pleasure james and i had in common--namely, witnessing a good tragedy on the boards of liverpool theatre. you see this was our port of destination on our return from the far, far south. mind, we wouldn't go to see a drama, because there might be too much nonsensical love business in it, and too many of `the frivolous antics of women'-- james's own words. but in a tragedy the women often came to grief, which james thought was only natural. "so we chose tragedy. "now, one night at this same theatre, i had one of the strangest experiences of my life; and never yet have i found any one who could explain it. "james and i had gone early that evening, because there was something specially tragic on, and we desired to secure good seats. we sat in the front row, and at the left end of the row, because we wished to leave the theatre between each act to enjoy a few whiffs of tobacco. "the play was well begun, and my eyes were riveted on the stage. there was a momentary silence, and during this time i was sensible, from a slight rustling noise, that the private box behind and above me was being occupied. "did you ever hear psychologists mention the term or feeling `ecstasy'? that was what stole over me now. for a few minutes i saw nothing on the stage; only a feeling of intense happiness, such as i have seldom experienced since that night, stole over me, occupying, bathing, i may say, my whole soul and mind. "i turned at last, and my eyes met those of a young lady in that private box. never before had i seen such radiant beauty. never had i been impressed with beauty of any kind before. my heart almost stood still. it was really an awful moment--that is, if intense happiness can ever be awful. "well, if it is possible for a sailor, with a face as brown as the back of a fiddle, to blush, i blushed. she, too, i think, coloured just a little. "what was it? what could it mean? "i know not how i sat out the act. when i rose with james to go out, i dared one other glance towards the box. the lady had gone, and a feeling of coldness crept round my heart. i felt as depressed now as i had recently felt happy. "`james,' i said, `take me home, i--i believe i'm ill.' "`why,' said james, `you look as though you had seen a ghost.' "i got home. something, i knew not what, was going to happen; but all that night dream after dream haunted my pillow, and of every dream, the sweet young face i had seen in the private box was the only thing i could remember when daylight broke athwart the eastern sky." book --chapter four. "dear, unselfish, but somewhat silly fellow." "i never had a secret from james malone; no, not so much as one. had i known what was the matter with me on the evening before, i should have told james manfully and in a moment. "but when he came to my rooms in the morning, to share my humble breakfast, and consult about the duties of the day, we being just then fitting out for sea,-- "`james,' i began-- "and then--well, then i told him all the story, even down to my strange dreams and the sweet young face that had haunted them. "`why, james,' i concluded, `i have only to close my eyes now to see her once again, and i can neither read nor write without thinking of her.' "james sat silently beholding me for fully a minute. his face was clouded, and pity and anxiety were in every lineament of his manly features. "`i'm taken aback,' he stammered at last. `white squalls is nothin' to it. charlie halcott, you're _in love_. it's an awful, fearful thing. no surgical operation can do anything for you. it's worse by far than i thought. a mild touch of the cholera would be mere moonshine to this. a brush wi' yellow jack wouldn't be a circumstance to it. o halcott, halcott! o charlie! what _am_ i to do with you?' "`james,' i interrupted, `light your pipe. did _you_ see the beautiful vision--the lovely child?' "`i followed your eyes.' "`and what saw you, james?' i asked, leaning eagerly towards him. "`i saw what appeared to be--a woman. nothin' more and nothin' less.' "`james, did you not notice her blue and heavenly eyes, that seemed to swim in ether; her delicately pencilled eyebrows; the long lashes that swept the rounded rosy cheeks; her golden hair like sunset's glow; her little mouth; her lips like the blossom of the blueberry, and the delicate play of her mobile countenance?' "`delicate play of a mobile marling-spike!' cried james, jumping up. he rammed a piece of paper into his pipe and thrust it into his pocket. "`charles halcott, i'm off,' he cried. "`off, james?' "`yes, off. every man jack shall be on board the _sea flower_ to-day, bag and baggage. we'll drop down stream to-morrow morning early, ship a pilot, and get away to sea without more ado.' "he was at the door by the time he had finished but he stopped a moment with a look of wondrous pity on his handsome face, then came straight back and clasped my hand in brotherly affection, and so, without another word, walked out and away. "now, i was master of the _sea flower_, but in the matter of sailing next day--three or four whole days before i had intended--i should no more have thought of gainsaying honest james malone than of disobeying my father had he been alive. james was acting towards me with true brotherly affection, quite disinterestedly in my behalf, and--_quien sabe_?--probably saving me from a lifetime's misery. "i would be advised by james. "so after he had left, and i had smoked in solitary sadness for about an hour, i rose with a sigh, and commenced throwing my things together in the great mahogany sea-chest that while afloat stood in my state-room, and which on shore i never travelled without. "for the whole of that forenoon i wandered about the streets of liverpool, looking chiefly at the photographers' windows. i was bewitched, and possessed some faint hope of seeing a photograph of her who had bewitched me. i even entered the shops under pretence of bargaining for a likeness of my sailor-self, and looked over their books of specimens. "had i come across her picture, the temptation to purchase it would, i fear, have proved irresistible. "suddenly i pulled myself taut up with a round turn, and planked myself, so to speak, on my mental quarterdeck before commander conscience. "`what are you doing, or trying to do, charles halcott?' said commander conscience. "`only trying,' replied charles halcott, `to procure a photograph of the loveliest young lady on earth, whose eyes shine like stars in beauty's night.' "`don't be a fool, charles halcott. are you not wise enough to know that, even if you procure this photograph, you will have to keep it a secret from honest james malone? his friendship is better far than love of womankind. besides,' added commander conscience, `you need no photograph. is not the image of the lady who has bewitched you indelibly photographed upon your soul? charles halcott, i am ashamed of you!' "i stood at a window for a few minutes, looking sheepish enough; then i threw temptation to the winds, put about, and sailed right away back to my chambers, studding-sails set low and aloft. "i finished packing, saw my owners in the afternoon, and when james came off to the ship he found me quietly smoking my biggest pipe in the saloon of the _sea flower_. "he smiled now. "`better already,' he said; `his name be praised!' "james was a strange man in some ways. this was one: he thanked heaven for every comfort, even the slightest, and did nothing without, in a word or two, asking a blessing thereon. "in three days' time we were staggering southwards, and away across biscay's blue bay, with every inch of canvas set. and a pretty sight we were--our white sails flowing in the sunshine--the sea as blue as the sky, and the waves sparkling around us as if every drop of water contained a diamond. "all the way to the cape, and farther, james treated me as tenderly and compassionately as if i had been an invalid brother. he never contradicted me even once. he used to keep me talking and yarning on the quarterdeck, when he wasn't on watch, for whole hours at a stretch; and in the evenings, when tired spinning me yarns, he would take his banjo and sing to me old sea-songs in his bold and thrilling voice. and james could sing too; there were the brine, and the breeze, and the billows' roll in every bar of the grand old songs he sang, and indeed i was never tired of listening to them. sometimes i closed my eyes as i sat in my easy-chair; then james's banjo notes grew softer and softer, and ever so much farther away like, till at last it was ghostly music, and i was in the land of dreams. "when i awoke, perhaps it would be four bells or even six, and there would be james, with his specs athwart his great jibboom of a nose, poring earnestly over his mother's bible. "`you've had a nice little nap,' he would say cheerfully. `now you'll toddle off to your bunk, and when you're safe between the sheets i'll bring you a tiny little drop of rum and treacle.' "poor james! rum and treacle was his panacea for every ill; and yet i don't believe any one in the wide world ever saw james the worse of even rum and treacle. "when we got as far as to madeira, he proposed we should anchor here for a few days and dispose of some of our notions. notions formed our cargo; and notions must be understood to mean, captain weathereye, all kinds of jewellery and knick-knacks, including table-knives and forks, watches, strings of bright beads, cotton cloths, parasols, and guns. now i knew very well that we could easily dispose of all our cargo at the cape and other parts; but i also knew very well that james's main object in stopping at madeira was to give me a few delightful days on shore. "this was part of the cure, and i had to submit with the best grace i could. "we had, at that time, as handy and good a second mate as any one could wish on the weather side of a quarterdeck. so it was easy enough for myself and james to leave the ship both at the same time, though this had very seldom been our custom, except when in dock or in harbour. "to put it in plain language, james did not seem to know how good to be to me, nor how much to amuse me. the honest, simple soul kept talking and yarning to me all the while, and pointing out this, that, and the other strange thing to me, until i was obliged to laugh in his face. but james was not offended; not he. he was working according to some plan he had formulated in his own mind, and nothing was going to turn him aside from his purpose. "about midday we entered the veranda of a cool and delightful hotel, and seating ourselves at a little marble table, james called for cigars and iced drinks. then he proposed we should luncheon. no, he would pay, he said; it was not often he had the honour or pleasure of lunching with his captain, in a marble palace like this. so he pulled out an old sock tied round with a morsel of blue ribbon, and thrusting his big brown paw into it, brought forth money in abundance. "`never been here before?' he asked me quietly. "`no,' i said; `strange to say i've touched at nearly every port in the world except this place.' "`well, i have,' said james, `and i'm going to put you up to the ropes.' "`now,' he continued, when we stood once more under the greenery of the trees that bordered the broad pavement, `will you have a hammock or a horse?' "not knowing quite what he meant, i replied that i would leave it to him. "`well,' he said, `this must be considered a kind of picnic, them's my notions, and as you're far from well yet, i'll have a horse and you a hammock.' "both horse and hammock were soon brought round to the door. the hammock was borne by two perspiring half-caste portuguese, and was attached to a pole, and on board i swung, while james got on board the horse. the saddle was a hard and horrid contrivance of leather and wood, the stirrups a pair of old slippers, and the horse himself--well, he was a beautiful study in equine osteology, and i really did not know which to pity most, james or his rosinante. but in my hammock i felt comfortably, dreamily happy. "we passed through the quaint old town of funchal, then upwards, and away towards the mountains. the day was warm and delightful--hot indeed james must have found it, for he soon divested himself of coat and waistcoat, and even then he had to pause at times to wipe his streaming brow. the peeps at the beautiful gardens i caught while being carried along were charming in the extreme; the verandaed and trellised villas, canopied with flowers of every hue and shape, the bright green lawns where fairy-like children played, and the flowering trees--the whole forming ever-changing scenes of enchantment--i shall never forget. then the soft and balmy air was laden with perfume. "`how nice,' i thought, `to be an invalid! how kind of james to treat me as one! and he jogging along there on that bony horse's back, with the boy holding fast by the tail! dear, unselfish, but somewhat silly fellow!' "upwards still, steeper and steeper the hill. and now we seemed to have mounted into the very sky itself, and were far away from the tropics and tropical flora. "we came at last to a table-land. for the life of me i could not help thinking of the story of `jack and the bean-stalk.' here gorgeous heaths and heather bloomed and grew; here birds of sweet song flitted hither and thither among the scented and the yellow-tasselled broom; and here solemn weird-like pine-trees waved dark against the far-off ocean's blue. "under some of these trees, and close to the cliff, we disembarked to rest. we were fully half a mile above the level of the sea. yet not a stone's throw from where we sat was the edge of the awful cliff that led downwards without a break to that white line far beneath where the waves frothed and fumed against the rocks. "but far as the eye could reach, till lost in distance and merged into the blue of the sky, lay the azure sea, with here and there a sail, the largest of which looked no bigger than a white butterfly with folded wings. "a delicious sense of happiness stole over me, and for the first time, perhaps, since leaving england i forgot the sweet young face that had so completely bewitched me. "i think i must have fallen asleep, for the next thing i was sensible of was james tuning a broad guitar. "then his voice was raised in song, and i closed my eyes again, the better to listen. "poor james, he played and sang for over an hour; no wild, wailing sea-songs this time, however, but verses sweet and plaintive, and far more in harmony with the notes of the sad guitar. the romance of our situation, the stillness of our surroundings, unbroken save in the intervals of song by the flitting of a wild bird among the broom, and the low whisper of the wind through the pine-trees overhead, with the balmy ozonic air from the blue ocean, continued to instil into my soul a feeling of calm and perfect joy to which i had hitherto been a stranger. "just as the sun was sinking like a great blood orange through a purple haze that lay along the western horizon, james laughingly handed the guitar to the boy who had carried it. then laughing still--he was so strange and good this james of mine--he pulled out a silver-mounted flask and poured me out a portion of its contents. "it was a little rum and treacle. "`the dews of night isn't going to harm you after that,' said james. "lights were glimmering here and there on the hills like glow-worms, and far beneath us in the town, long before we reached the streets of funchal. "we went straight to the hotel and discharged both horse and hammock. "then we dined. "i thought i should be allowed to go on board after this. not that there was the slightest hurry. "however, i was mistaken for once. james had not yet done with me for the night. i had still another prescription of his to use; and as i knew it was part and parcel of james's love cure, i could not demur. he had given me so much pleasure on that day already, that when he asked me to get up and follow him i did so as obediently as the little lamb followed mary. "but that he, james malone, who feared womankind, if he did not positively hate them, should lead me to a portuguese ballroom of all places in the world, surprised me more than anything. "i could hear the tinkling of guitars, the shuffling of feet, and the music of merry, laughing voices, long before we came near the door. "i stopped short. "`james,' i said, `haven't you made some mistake?' "his only answer was a roguish laugh. "i repeated the question. "`not a bit of it,' he answered gaily. "`charlie halcott,' he added, `if you were simply suffering from yellow jack i'd hand you over to a doctor, but, charles halcott, it takes a _man_ to cure love. and you've been sorely hit.' "this had been a day of surprises, but when i entered that ballroom there came the greatest surprise of all. those here assembled were not so-called gentle-folks. they were the sons and daughters of the ordinary working classes; but the taste displayed, the banks of flowers around the orchestra, the gay bouquets and coloured lights along the walls, the polished and not overcrowded floor, the romantic dresses of the gallants that transported one back to the middle ages, the snow-white costumes of the ladies, and, above all, their innocent, ravishing beauty, formed a scene that reminded me strongly of stories i had read in the arabian nights' entertainments. "i was almost ashamed of my humble attire, but the courtesy of the master of ceremonies was charming. would the strangers dance? surely the stranger sailors would dance? he would get us, as partners, the loveliest senoritas in all the room. "so he did. "i forgot everything in that soft, dreamy waltz--everything save the thrilling music and the sylph-like form of my dark-eyed partner, who floated with me through the perfumed air, for surely our feet never touched the floor. "but the drollest thing of all was this--james was dancing too. james with his--well, i must not say aversion to, but fear and shyness of womankind, was dancing; and i knew he was only doing so to encourage me. a handsome fellow he looked, too, almost head and shoulders taller than any man there, and broad and well-knit in proportion. the master of ceremonies had got him a partner `for to match,' as he expressed it; certainly a beautiful girl, with a wealth of raven hair that i had never seen equalled, far less surpassed. i daresay she could dance lightly; but james's waltzing was of a very solid brand indeed, and he swung his pretty partner round the room in a way that seemed to indicate business rather than pleasure. several couples cannoned off james and went ricochetting to the farther end of the room, and one went down. james swung past me a moment after, apparently under a heavy press of canvas, and as he did so i heard him say to his partner, referring to the couple he had brought to deck,-- "`they should keep out o' the way, then, when people are dancing.' "the hours sped quickly by, as they always do in a ballroom, and by the time james and i got on board the _sea flower_ four bells in the middle-watch were ringing out through the still, dark night. but all was safe and quiet on board. "i took a turn on deck to enjoy a cigar before going below, just by way of cooling my brow. when i went down at last, why, there was james seated at the table, his mother's bible before him, and, as usual, the awful specs across his nose. "poor james, he was a strange man, but a sincere friend, as the sequel will show." book --chapter five. "till the sea gives up its dead." from madeira, where we stayed for many days, going on shore every forenoon to sell some of our cargo to the shopkeepers, and every afternoon for a long ride--horse and hammock--over some part or other of this island of enchantment, sometimes finishing up with a dance--from all this pleasure and delight, i say, we sailed away at last. "south and away we sailed, and in due time we reached and anchored off saint james's town, saint helena. "now, saint helena had not figured in our programme when we left merry england. but here we were, and a most delightful place i found it. hills and dells, mountains and glens; wild flowers everywhere; and the blue eternal sea dotted with many a snow-white sail, engirdling all. this, then, was the `lonely sterile rock in the midst of the wild tempestuous ocean,' to which napoleon had been banished. "james had been here before, although i had not, so everything was of interest to me, and everything new. and my good mate determined to make it as pleasant for me as possible. he seemed to know every one, and every one appeared delighted to see him. such remarks as the following fell upon our ears at every corner:-- "`well, you've got back again, james?' "`what! here you are once more, james, and welcome.' "`dee--lighted to see you, certain--lee!' "`ah! jeames,'--this from a very aged crone, who was seated on a stone dais near her door, basking in the warm, white sunshine--`ah! jeames, and sure the lord is good to me. and my old eyes are blessed once more wi' a sight o' your kindly face!' "`glad to see you alive, frilda. and look, i have got a pound of tea for you. and i'll come to-night and read a bit out of my mother's good book to you.' "`bless you, jeames--bless you, my boy.' "we went rambling all over the island that day. we visited the fort, where james had many friends; then we went up a beautiful glen, and on reaching the top we struck straight off at right angles, and a walk of about half a mile took us to one of the most pleasantly situated farms i have ever seen. it was owned by the farmer, a scotsman of the name of macdonald. nothing flimsy about this fine house. the walls were built of sturdy stone, and must have been some feet thick, so that indoors in the cheerful parlour it was cool and delightful, especially so with the odour of orange blossom blowing through the open window and pervading the whole room. "`man, james, i'm so pleased. here! hi! mrs mac, where are you? here's james malone, the honest, simple sumph come back again. jamie, man, ye must stop all night and give us a song.' "`we--ll--i--' "`no _wells_ nor _i's_ about it. and your friend here too.' "mrs mac was a very little body, with rosy cheeks, a merry voice, and blue eyes that looked you through and through. "a little girl and boy came running in, and james soon had one on each knee; and while i and macdonald talked in the window recess, he was deep in the mysteries of a mermaid story, his tiny audience listening with wondering eyes and rosy lips apart. "mrs mac had gone bustling away to send in a dram of hollands, cunningly flavoured with seeds and fruit rind. she disappeared immediately again, to send orders down to james's town for fish and fowl. "of course we would stay all night? "`well,' i said, `the ship is safe, unless a tornado blows.' "`there will be no tornado, sir,' said farmer mac. "`i'll send off, then, and tell the second mate.' "`my henchman is at your service, captain halcott.' "`and look, see,' cried james, `just tell your henchman to bring my good book and specs. i haven't the heart to disappoint old mother banks.' "`and the guitar,' i added. "`well--well, yes.' "the children clapped their hands with glee, and maggie, the girl, pulled james's face towards her by the whiskers and kissed him. "we started next for longwood and napoleon's tomb. maggie and jack--ten and nine years old respectively--came with us, and a right pleasant day we spent. there were bright-winged birds flitting hither and thither in the dazzling sunshine, and singing sweet and low in trees of darkest green; but the happy voices of the children made sweeter music far to my ears, and i'm sure to james's too. "all along the roadsides at some parts grew the tall cacti; they were one mass of gorgeous crimson bloom, and here and there between, the ground was carpeted with trailing blossoms white and blue; yet, in my opinion, the laughing rosebud lips of maggie and jack's saucy eyes of blue were prettier far than the flowers. "and here, on the top of the dingle or glen, and overlooking the sea, were napoleon's house and garden. "`why, james,' i cried, `this isn't a dungeon any more than saint helena is a rock. it strikes me--a simple sailor--that nap must have had fine times of it.' "`no, sir, no,' said james, shaking his head. `plenty to eat and drink, plenty o' good clothes to wear, but ah! charles halcott, he wasn't free, and there burned inside him an unquenchable fire. when in action, on the field, or on the march, he had little time to think; but here, in this solitude, the seared conscience regained its softness, and in his thoughts by day and in his dreams at the dead hours o' night, charles halcott, rose visions of the terrible misery he brought on europe, and the black and awful deeds he did in egypt. o sir, if you want to punish a man, leave him alone to his conscience!' "james malone was in fine form that evening at farmer mac's. he sang and he yarned time about--the songs for the children, the yarns for us. parodying tam o' shanter, i might say:-- "`the nicht drave on wi' sangs and clatter, wi' childish glee, wi' bairnies' patter; the sailor tauld his queerest stories, the farmer's laugh was ready chorus; till, hark! the clock strikes in the hall the wee short oor ayont the twal.' "before dinner that evening simple james had gone to see old mother banks, and he spent a whole hour with her. "`good-bye, dear laddie,' she said, when he rose to leave; `i'll pray for ye on the ragin' sea, but i know the lord will never let me behold ye again.' "and simple james's eyes were wet with tears as he held her skinny hand for a moment, then dropped it and bore away up the street, never once looking back, so full was his heart. "when the clock struck one, james shyly proposed a few moments' devotion. then he mounted the awful specs and opened the good book. "half an hour after this, all in the great house were asleep, and not a sound could i hear--for i lay long awake thinking--save the sighing of the wind in the trees above my open jalousies, to me a very sweet and soothing sound. "`heigho!' i murmured to myself. `will i _ever_ have a home on the green earth, i wonder, or shall i die on the blue sea?' "then i began to doze, and mingling with my waking thoughts came dreams which proved that poor james's prescriptions had not yet been entirely successful. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "just three weeks after this we were far away in the centre of the south atlantic ocean, and bearing up for rio de janeiro. the sea around us was of the darkest blue, but sparkling in the sunshine, and there was just sufficient wind to gladden the heart of a sailor. "what induced james and me to change our plans and sail west instead of south and east, i never could tell, though i have often thought about it. a friend of mine says it was fate, and that fate often rules the destinies of men, despite all that can be done to alter her plans and intentions. this line of reasoning may be right; my friend is so often right that i daresay it must be. "but one thing now occurred to me that at times rendered me rather uneasy, and which, when i tried to describe it to james, caused that honest sailor some anxiety also. i have spoken of it more than once to so-called psychologists and even to so-called mediums; but their attempted explanations, although seemingly satisfactory enough to themselves, sounded to me like a mere chaos of words, the meaning of which as a whole i never could fathom. but the mystery with me was this: i seemed at times to be possessed of a second self, or rather, a second soul. "i struggled against the feeling all i could, but in vain. james read his mother's bible to me, and otherwise, not in a spiritual way, he did all he could to cheer me up, as he phrased it. but--and here comes in the most curious part of it--i did not feel that i wanted any cheering up. i was happy enough in the companionship of my second self. this was not always present. sometimes absent for days indeed, and never as yet did it talk to me in my dreams. at other times it came, and would be with me for hours; and it spoke to my mind as it were, i being compelled to carry on a conversation, in thought, of course, but never once did i have any notion beforehand as to what the remarks made were to be. they were simple in the extreme, and usually had reference to the working or guidance of the ship, the setting or shortening of sail, and making the good barque snug for the night. "we called at rio. the harbour here could contain all the war fleets in the world; grand old hills; a city as romantic as edinburgh--that is, when seen from the sea--quaintness of streets, a wealth and beauty of vegetation, of treescape and flowerscape, that i have never seen equalled anywhere, and a quaintly dressed, quiet, and indolent people. "we landed much stores here and filled up with others. on the whole, james and i were not sorry we had come, we drove such excellent bargains. "again, at buenos ayres, with its fine streets and public buildings, and its miles upon miles of shallow sea all in front, we did trade enough to please us. "`when i retire from sailing the salt seas, sir,' said james, `it's 'ere and nowhere else i'm goin' to make my 'ome; and i only wish the old lady were livin', for then i'd retire after the very next voyage.' "shortly after resuming our voyage southwards towards the stormy cape horn, we encountered gale after gale of wind that taxed all the strength of our brave barque, as well as the skill of the officers and seamen. again and again had we to lie to for long dark days and nights; and when we ventured to run before the storm, we had literally to stagger along under bare poles. "but when we reached the cape at last, and stood away to the west around the bleak and inhospitable shores of tierra del fuego, or the land of fire, never before in all the years i had been to sea had i encountered weather so fearful or waves so high and dangerous. so stormy, indeed, did it continue, that hardly did either james or i dare to hope we should ever double the cape. but we both had a sailor's aversion to turning back, and so struggled on and on. "the danger seemed to culminate and the crisis come in earnest, when one weird moonlight midnight we suddenly found ourselves bows on to a huge iceberg, or rather one vast island of ice that appeared to have no horizon either towards the north or towards the south. the barrier presented seemed impassable. we could only try, so we put about on the port tack, the wind blowing there with great violence from the west and north. "this course took us well off the great ice island. it took us southwards, moreover. "`but why not steer northwards?' said james. `we'd have to tack a bit, it is true, only we'd be lessening our danger; leastways that's my opinion. this berg may be twenty or thirty miles long, and every mile brings us closer to great bergs that, down yonder, float in dozens. before now, charles halcott, i've seen a ship sunk in the twinkling of a marling-spike by a--' "`by striking against a berg, james?' i interrupted. `so have i.' "`no, sir, no; you're on the wrong tack. wherever big bergs are there are small ones too--little, hard, green lumps of ice, not bigger than the wheel-house, that to hit bows on would scarcely spill your tea. but, friend, it is different where there are mountain seas on. these little green bergs are caught by a wave-top and hurled against the ship's side with the strength of a thousand titans. and--the ship goes down.' "there was something almost solemn in the manner james brought out the last four words. it kept me silent for minutes; and shading my eyes with my hand, i kept peering southwards into the weird-like moonshine, the ice away on the right, a strange white haze to leeward, and far ahead the foam-tipped waves, wild-maned horses of the ocean, careering along on their awful course. "`james,' i said at last, `danger or not danger, southwards i steer. something tells me to do so; everything bids me. "steer south--steer south," chimes the bell when it strikes; "steer south," ticks the clock. james malone, my very heart's pulse repeats the words; and i hear them mournfully sung by the very waves themselves, and by the wind that goes moaning through the rigging. and--i'm going to obey.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "for nights i had hardly slept a wink, but now i felt as if slumber would soon visit my pillow if i but threw myself on the bed. the moon, a full round one, was already declining in the west when i went below and turned in all standing, and in three minutes' time i had sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep. "james told me afterwards that it had taken him one long minute of solid shaking and shouting to arouse me, but he succeeded at last. "`anything wrong, james?' i said anxiously, as i sat up in my cot. "`can't say as there's anything radically wrong, sir,' he replied slowly. `leastways, our ship's all right. wind and sea have both gone down. we've doubled the berg at last, and a good forty mile she was, and now we're nearing another. but the strange thing is this, sir. there is men on it, a-waving their coats and things, and makin' signs. i can just raise 'em with our mons meg glass.' "`some natives of tierra del fuego, perhaps,' i said. `anyhow, james,' i added, `keep bearing up towards them.' "`ay, ay, sir.' "in ten minutes' time i was on deck, glass in hand. "it was a grey uncertain morning, the sun just rising astern of us, and tingeing the wave-tops with a yellow glare. "i could see the people on the ice with the naked eye. but i steadied mons meg on the bulwark, and had a look through that. "`mercy on us, james!' i cried, `these are no savages, but our own countrymen or americans. i can count five alive, and oh, james, three lie at some little distance stretched out dark and stiff. shake another reef out--those people want us. a sad story will be theirs to tell.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "we got them all on board at last, though with difficulty, for the surf was beating high above the snow-clad ice, and twice our boat was dashed against the hard, green edge of the monster berg, her timbers cracking ominously. we brought off the dead too, and buried them in a christian way, james himself reading over them the beautiful service of the english church. though they were strangers to us, yet, as their bodies dropped down into the darkling sea, many a tear was shed that our fellows scarce took pains to hide. "`and there they'll sleep,' said a voice behind me, `till the sea gives up its dead.' "i turned slowly round, and the eyes of the speaker met mine. hitherto i had paid most attention to the lifeless, and scarce had noticed the living. "but now a strange thrill went through me as this man, who was the skipper of the lost ship, advanced with a sad kind of smile on his face and held out his hand. "`we have met before,' he said. "`we seem to have met before,' i answered falteringly, `but where i cannot tell. perhaps you--' "`yes, i can; i have seen you in a dream. we must both have dreamt.' "i staggered as if shot, and pressed my hand to my brow. "`you seem puzzled,' he continued, `yet i am not. i am a man who has studied science somewhat. i am often called a visionary on account of my theories, yet i am convinced that there are times when, in answer to prayer, the mind during sleep may be permitted to leave the body. you, sir, have saved the few poor fellows of my ship's crew who have escaped death, and i thank you. think nothing strange, sir, in this world simply because you do not understand it. but you have an errand of mercy yet to perform. heaven grant you may be as successful in that as you have been in taking our poor helpless men from off the ice.' "`come below,' i said, `captain--a--' "`smithson,' he put in. "`come below, captain smithson, and tell your story. james, will you bear us company?' "i and james sat on one side of the table, our guest, with his thin, worn face and dark eyes that seemed to pierce us with their very earnestness, on the other. he told his story rapidly--ran over it, as it were, as a school-boy does something he has learned by heart. "`it is but little more than five weeks since the good yacht _windward_ cleared away from san francisco--' "`james,' i said, interrupting him, `how long have we been at sea?' "`wellnigh four months, sir.' "`how the time has flown! pray, sir, proceed.' "`i have never known a quicker passage than we had. the wind was fair all the way, and our little craft appeared to fly with it. but it fell dead calm about the latitude of degrees south of the line. my only passengers--in fact, it was they who had chartered the _windward_ to take them to monte video--a lady and her daughter, began to be very uneasy now. they had heard so much about the fleetness of the _windward_ that they never expected a hitch. no wonder they were uneasy. their business in monte video was a matter of life or death. the doctor there had assured them that if they were not out by a certain time, the husband and father would never again be seen by them alive. "`but the calm was not of long duration. worse was to come--a tornado burst upon us with awful fury, and all but sunk us. we were carried far to the west out of our course. fierce gales succeeded the tempest; and when the wind once more sank to rest we found ourselves surrounded by a group of islands that, although i have sailed the south pacific for many a long year, i had never seen before. "`that the natives of the largest and most beautiful of these islands are savages and man-hunters i have not the slightest doubt. the king himself came off, evincing not the slightest fear of us; but both he and his people remained so strangely pacific that it excited our suspicions for a time. we were glad, however, to be able here to repair damages and to take on board fresh water; and the kindness of the natives was so marked that our suspicions were entirely lulled, and for days we lived almost among them, even going on shore unarmed in the most friendly way. "`i must tell you, sir, that, owing to the heat and closeness of the atmosphere, a screen-berth or tent had been rigged for the ladies close to the bulwark on the port side, and almost abreast of the main-mast. the first part of the night of the tenth was exceedingly dark, and it was also hot and sultry. the ladies had retired early, for a thunderstorm that had been threatening about sunset broke over us with tropical fury about ten by the clock, or four bells--the first watch. "`and now, sir, comes the mystery. the moon rose at twelve and silvered all the sea, shedding its earth light upon the green-wooded hills of the mainland till everything looked ethereal. not a sound was to be heard, except now and then the plaintive cry of a sea bird, and the dull, low moan of the breakers on the coral sand. "`as was her custom just before turning in, the ladies' maid drew aside their curtain to see if they wanted anything, and to say good-night. "`i was walking the quarterdeck smoking, when pale and scared she rushed toward me. "`oh!' she almost screamed, `they are gone! the ladies have gone!' "`no one thought of turning in that dreadful night; and when in the morning the sun, red and flaming, leapt out of the sea, arming a boat as well as i could, i rowed on shore and demanded audience of the king. "`but we were not allowed to land. the savages had assumed a very different attitude now, and a shower of spears was our welcome. one poor fellow was killed outright, another died of his wounds only an hour afterwards. in fact, we were beaten off; and in an hour's time, observing a whole fleet of boats coming off to attack our vessel, we were forced to hoist sail and fly. "`that is my story, and a sad one it is. i was on my way to the nearest town to seek assistance, when our vessel was crushed in the ice and sank in less than twenty minutes, with all on board except those you have seen.' "smithson was silent now. with his chin resting on his hand he sat there looking downwards at the deck, but apparently seeing nothing. for many minutes not a word was spoken by any one. the vessel rose and fell on the long, rolling seas; there was the creak of the rudder chains; there was occasionally the flapping of a sail; all else was still. "james malone was the first to speak. "`charles halcott,' he said--and i think i hear the earnest, manly tones of his voice at this moment--`charles halcott, we have a duty to perform, and it leads us to the northward and west.' "i stood up now, and our hands met and clasped. "`james malone,' i replied, `heaven helping us, we will perform that duty faithfully and well.' "`amen, sir! amen!'" book --chapter six. "o my friend, my brother," i cry. "that same forenoon," continued halcott, "the wind went veering round to the southward and east. the sea was darkly, intensely blue all day. the sky was intensely blue at night, and the stars so big and bright and near they seemed almost to touch the topmasts. but here and there in the darkness, on every side of us, loomed white icebergs like sheeted ghosts, and every now and then there rolled along our beam--thudding against the timbers as they swept aft--the smaller bergs or `bilts' we could not avoid. "james was on deck, and determined to remain there till morning, in order, as he said, to give me the quiet and rest my health so much required. "in two days' time we had weathered the stormy cape, bidden farewell to the ice, and, with every stitch of canvas set which it was possible to carry safely, were sailing westward and north, away towards the distant islands of the south pacific. "in a few days we got into higher latitudes, and the weather became delightfully warm and pleasant. the sky was more than italian in its clear and cloudless azure; the rippling waves were all a-sparkle with light; they kissed the bows of our bonnie barque, and came lapping and laughing aft along our counter, their merry voices seeming to talk to us and bid us welcome to these sunny seas. "birds, too, came wheeling around our ship--strange, swift gulls, the lonesome frigate-bird, and the wondrous albatross, king of storms, great eagle of the ocean wave. "had we not been upon the strange mission on which we were now bound, and the outcome of which we could not even guess, both james and i would have enjoyed this delightful cruise; for, like myself, he was every inch a sailor, and loved his ship as a landsman may love his bride. "`in five days' time,' said captain smithson to me one forenoon, `if it holds like this, we ought to reach the unfortunate islands.' "`is that what you call them, captain?' i said, smiling; `well, my first mate and i mean to change their name.' "`heaven grant you may,' he answered. `o sir, the loss of this yacht, clipper though she was, and a beauty to boot, is nothing to mourn for-- she was well insured; even the death of my poor men is but an accident that we sailors are liable to at any moment; but the fate of those two innocent ladies--the mother so good and gentle, the daughter so childlike and beautiful--is one that, if it is to remain a mystery, will cloud my whole life. think of it, sir. the savages must have crept on board in the midst of the thick darkness and the storm, crept on board like wet and slimy snakes, gagged their poor victims, and borne them silently away--to what?' "`it is all very terrible,' i said. "`well, now,' said james, `it strikes me talkin' about it isn't goin' to help us. charles halcott, i served on board a man-o'-war for seven years.' "`yes, james.' "`well, sir, i know what they'd do now in a case like this.' "`yes, james.' "`they'd muster their forces, and prepare for 'ventualities.' "`you see, gentlemen,' he added, `we may have a bit o' good, solid fightin' to do. heaven knows that, if it would do any good, i'd gird up my loins and go all unarmed, save with the word o' god--my mother's bible--among those poor, benighted heathens, and try to bring 'em to their senses. but i fear that would do but little good. when we go among the more humble and simple savages of lonely islands in the sea, or on the mainland of africa itself, our work o' conversion is easy, because the creatures have no form o' religion to place against the gospel. but these head-hunters--and i know them of old--have their own ghastly, blood-stained rites and sacrifices--i cannot call it religion, sir--and these they set up as an awful barrier against the glad tidings we fain would bring to their doors, to their lives. "`no, gentlemen, we may have to crack skulls before we get the word in. but to save those helpless ladies is a duty, a sacred duty we owe to our own white race, as well as to our own consciences, for we'd ne'er be happy if we didn't try.' "`heaven grant,' i said, `they may still be alive!' "`that we must find out,' said james. `now, sir, shall we call all hands, and see to rifles and ammunition?' "james's suggestion was at once acted upon. "the _sea flower_ was a very large barque, and once had been a full-rigged ship. and our hands were more numerous than are generally carried, for many were working their voyage out, and might have been called passengers. "so now forty bold fellows, including two strong and sturdy black men, and the negro boy we called the cook's mate, put in an appearance, and drew shyly aft. there were, in addition to these, captain smithson and his four men. "but these latter we determined the savages must not see, else their suspicions would at once be raised, and, instead of our being able to act peacefully and by strategy, we should have at once to declare red-eyed war. "`will you speak first?' i said to captain smithson. "without a word he strode forward, and, when he held up his hand, the men came crowding round him. "`men of the _sea flower_!' he began, `i am going to tell you a story. it is short and simple, but also a very sad one. maybe you know most of the outs and ins and particulars of it already. my men must have told you all about our voyage and our lady passengers.' "`repeat, repeat!' cried the men; `we would have it all again from your own lips, sir.' "briefly and pathetically smithson did so, relating to them all the particulars we already know. "`men,' he continued, `you are christians, and you are englishmen. it is on this latter fact i rely chiefly, in case we have to fight with the savages of those unfortunate islands. the elder of the two ladies we are going to try to save is english, though she married an american, though her home was on the pacific slope, and her innocent and beautiful daughter was born in san francisco. they are your country-people, then, as much as ours. but, apart from that, when i say they are women in bondage and distress, i have said enough, i know, to appeal to the brave heart of every englishman who now stands before me.' "a wild, heroic shout was the only reply. "`thank you,' said smithson, `for that expression of feeling! and i will only add that these ladies, especially the younger, were, all the way out, the light and life of our poor, lost yacht, and that, by their winning ways, they made themselves beloved both fore and aft.' "`now, lads,' cried james, and as he spoke he seemed a head taller than i had ever seen him, `if we've got to fight, why, then, we'll fight. but against these terrible savages we can't fight with porridge-sticks. luckily, in our cargo we have a hundred good rifles, and that is two for each of us; and we have revolvers, too, and plenty of ammunition. all good, mind you; for i chose the whole cargo myself. so now, bo's'n, pipe up the guns; and this afternoon, men, and every day till we touch at the unfortunate islands, i'll put you through your drill--which, bein' an old navy man, i fancy i'm capable of doing. are you all willing?' "the cheer that shook the ship from stem to stern was a truly british one. it was their only answer, and the only answer needed or required. "so the drilling was commenced, and entered into with great spirit. after all, this drill was merely preparation for `possible 'ventualities,' as honest james called it, for fighting would be our very last resort, and we earnestly prayed that we might not be driven to it. "at last, and early one morning, just as the sun was beginning to pencil the feathery clouds with gold and green and crimson, land was discovered on the lee bow. "i brought the big telescope which james had named mons meg to bear upon it. then i handed meg to smithson. he looked at the land long and earnestly, and glanced up at me with beaming face. "`that's the principal island, captain halcott,' he said; `the king's own. how well we have hit it!' "that same forenoon we cast anchor in treachery bay, close to the spot where the yacht had lain not many weeks before. "our sails were furled in quite a business-like way. we wanted to show the savages that we were not one whit afraid of them, that we had come to stay for a short spell, and hadn't the remotest intention of running away. "that you may better understand the shape or configuration of this strange island, gentlemen, here i show you a rough sketch-map. this will enable you also to follow more easily our subsequent adventures in the fastnesses of these terrible savages. "rude and simple though this plan is, a word or two will suffice to explain it. the island trends west and east, and is not more than sixteen miles long by about ten to twelve in width. it is divided into two almost equal parts by a very rapid and dark-rolling river, which rushes through rocky gorges with inconceivable speed, forming many a thundering cataract as it fights its way to the sea. it is fed from the waters that flow from the mountains, and, probably, by subterranean springs. the whole western portion of the island, with the exception of some green woods around the bay, is pretty low, but covered throughout with the remains of a black and burned forest. this forest is supposed by the natives to be inhabited by fearsome demons and witches, and is never visited, except for the purpose of sorcery by the medicine-men of the tribe, and to bury the dead. in the centre of the eastern portion of the island, which is beautifully clad with woodlands, and rugged and wild in the extreme, is a lake with one small, lonely isle; and around this the mountains tower their highest, but are clad to their very summits with forest trees, many of them bearing the most luscious of fruits, and all draped with wild flowers, and sweetly haunted by bird and bee. "the only things else in the map i wish to draw your attention to, gentlemen, are the parallel lines. these mark the spot where was the only bridge leading into the fastnesses of these savages, and the only mode of communication with the lower land and bay, without walking round by the head of the river, or following its course to the sea and crossing in a boat. "this bridge was primitive in the extreme, consisting merely of three straight tree stems, and a rude life-line composed of the twisted withes of a kind of willow. "i have sad reason to remember that bridge, and shall not forget it while life lasts. "i have said nothing in my story yet about lord augustus fitzmantle. but it is time to do so. lord augustus was our cook's mate. it is well to give a nigger boy a high-sounding name, and, if possible, a title. he always tries to act up to it. lord augustus was very, very black. the other niggers were black enough certainly, but they looked brown beside his merry, laughing little lordship. yes, always laughing, always showing those white teeth of his and rolling his expressive eyes, and good-tempered all day long. even a kick from the cook only made him rub a little and laugh the more. lord augustus wore a string of sky-blue beads about his neck, and on warm days he wore very little else. but if lord augustus was black, he was also bright. the sunshine glittered and glanced on his rounded arms and cheeks, and he had sunshine in his heart as well. it goes without saying he was the pet of the _sea flower_ and everybody's friend, and though all hands teased as well as petted him, he took it all in good part. "so long as lord fitzmantle kept his mouth shut, and didn't show those flashing teeth of his, he was as invisible as jack the giant killer on a dark night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "seeing our independence, the savages for hours held aloof. at last a white-headed, fearful-looking old man paddled alongside in a dug-out. from the fact that he had a huge snake coiled around his chest and neck, i took him to be the medicine-man, or sorcerer, of the tribe, and i was not mistaken. "he was certainly no beauty as he sat there grinning in his dark dug-out. his face was covered with scars in circles and figures, so, too, was his chest; his eyes were the colour of brass; his teeth crimson, and filed into the form of triangles. but he climbed boldly on board when beckoned to, and we loaded him with gifts of pretty beads, and engirdled his loins with red cloth, then sent him grinning away. "this treatment had the desired effect, and in half an hour's time the bay was alive with the boats and canoes of the head-hunters. each of their tall, gondola-like prows bore a grinning skull, the cheek bones daubed with a kind of crimson clay, and the sockets filled with awful clay eyes--not a pretty sight. "presently the king himself came off, and we received him with great ceremony, and gave him many gifts. to show our strength, james drew up his men in battle array, and to the terror of all in the boats, they fired their guns, taking aim at some brown and ugly kites that flew around. when several of these fell dead, the alarm of the king knew no bounds. but he soon recovered; and when, a little later on, i with a dozen of my best men went on shore, the king placed a poor slave girl on the beach and made signs for us to shoot. i would sooner have shot the king himself. "lord augustus came with us, and we soon found that he understood much that the king said, and could therefore act as our interpreter. "it is needless to say that the men of the lost yacht were kept out of sight. "our walk that day was but a brief one. the king did not seem to want us ever to cross the bridge. on climbing a hill, however, i could see all over the wild and beautiful country. i pointed to the lake and little island, and was given to understand that the medicine-men dwelt there. but from the shiftiness of the savage's eyes, i concluded at once that, if they were alive, that was the prison isle of the unhappy ladies. the king dined with us next day, and we considered it policy to let him have a modicum of fire-water. his heart warmed, and not only did he permit our party to cross the bridge, but to visit his palace. the sights of horror around it i will not dare to depict, but, much to my joy, i noticed from the king's veranda the flutter of white dresses on the little prison isle. "my mind was made up, and that night i dispatched lord augustus on shore with a note. it was a most hazardous expedition, and none save the boy could have undertaken it with any hope of success. in my letter i had told the ladies to be of good cheer; there would be a glimmer of moonlight in a week's time, and that then we should attempt their rescue; anyhow they were to be prepared. "three whole days elapsed, and yet no lord augustus appeared, but on the night of the fourth, when we had given him up for lost, he swam off to the ship. poor boy, he had hardly eaten food, save fruit, since he had left, and his adventure had been a thrilling one. yet he was laughing all over just the same. "yes, he had managed to give the note, and had brought back a message. the ladies had not, strange to say, been subjected to either insult or injury by the king. they were well fed on fruit and milk and cooked fowls, but were guarded day and night by priests. "the most startling portion of the message, however, was this: in a fortnight's time a great feast and sacrifice were to take place, and during that they knew not what might occur. they begged that the boy might be sent again, and with him a sleeping-powder, which they might administer to the priests on the night of the attempted rescue. i confess my heart beat high with anxiety when the boy told us all this, for not one word of his message had he forgotten. "i consulted now with james and smithson. would it not be as well, i advanced, to attempt to rescue the ladies by force? "this was at once vetoed. both james and the captain of the yacht knew more of savage nature than i did, and they most strongly affirmed that any show of force would assuredly result in the putting to death of the two unhappy ladies we had come to rescue. "so it was finally agreed that stratagem, not force, must be resorted to, in the first place, at all events. so a night was chosen, and on the previous evening faithful lord fitzmantle was dispatched once more, taking with him a powder for the medicine-men, or priests. "to our great joy and relief, the messenger returned before daylight with the news that all would be ready, and that they, the ladies, would be found at midnight in a cave by the banks of the lake, if they were successful in escaping in a canoe from the island. "`and you know this cave, fitz?' i asked. "fitz's eyes snapped and twinkled right merrily. "`i done know him, him foh true, sah!' he said, which signified that he had a perfect knowledge of the position of the cave. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "as i speak to you even now, gentlemen, a portion of the anxiety i felt on that terrible night when, with muffled oars, our boat left the ship, comes stealing over my senses. i could not tell then why my feelings should be worked up to so high a pitch, for i'd been in many a danger and difficulty before. but so it was. "the king had dined with us, and we sent home with him a supply of fire-water, which has worked such ruin among many savage races. but surely on this occasion we were partially justified in doing so. we knew, therefore, that the king and some of his principal officers were safe enough for one night. "the largest boat was cautiously lowered about an hour before midnight, when everything was still as the grave on the island; a long and plaintive howl, however, being borne on the gentle breeze towards us every now and then, telling us that sentries were here and there in the woods. "we were fifteen men in all, including james and myself, and excluding our little black guide, lord fitzmantle. during the nights of terror he had spent in hill and forest he had surveyed the country well, and so we could safely trust to him. "we rowed with muffled oars to the beach near the haunted forest, and drew up our boat under some banana-trees; then, silent as the red men of the north american forests, we made our way towards the bridge. "the moon was about five days old, and served to give us all the light we desired. we took advantage of every bush and thicket, and finally, when within seventy yards of the river--the hustling and roaring of which we could distinctly hear--we dispatched little fitz to reconnoitre. "he returned in a few minutes and reported all safe, and no one on watch upon the bridge. "we marched now in indian file, taking care not even to snap a twig, lest we should arouse the slumbering foe. i do not know how long we took to reach the cave. to me, in my terror and anxiety, it seemed a year. they were there, and safe. "we waited not a moment to speak. i lifted the young lady in my arms. how light she was! james escorted the elder, sometimes carrying her, sometimes permitting her to walk. "then the journey back was commenced. "but in the open a glimmer of moonlight fell on the face of the beautiful burden i bore. she had fainted. that i could see at a glance. "but something more i saw, and, seeing, tottered and nearly fell; for hers was the same lovely and childlike face i had seen that evening, which now appeared so long ago, in the liverpool theatre. "i felt now as if walking in the air. but i cannot describe or express my feelings, being only a sailor, and so must not attempt to. "we might have still been a hundred yards from the bridge and river, when suddenly there rang out behind and on each side of us the most awful yells i had ever listened to, while the beating of tom-toms, or war-drums, sounded all over the eastern part of the island. "`on, men, on to the bridge!' shouted brave james. no need for concealment now. "it was a short but fearful race, but now we are on it, on the bridge! "on and over! "all but james! "where is he? the moon escapes from behind a cloud and shines full upon his sturdy form, still on the other side, and at the same time we can hear the sharp ring of his revolver. then, oh! we see him tearing up the planks of the bridge, and dropping them one by one into the gulf beneath. we pour in a volley to keep the savages back. "`fly for your lives!' shouts brave james. `save the ladies; i'll swim.' "next minute he dives into the chasm! for one brief moment we see his face and form in the pale moonlight. then he disappears. he is gone. "`o my friend, my brother!' i cry, stretching out my arms as if i would plunge madly into the pool that lies far beneath yonder, part in shade and part in shine. "but they dragged me away by main force. they led me to the boat. the savages could not follow. but i seemed to see nothing now, to know nothing, to feel nothing, except that i had lost the dearest friend on earth. he had sacrificed himself to save us!" book --chapter seven. "i think you're going on a wild-goose chase." halcott paused, and gazed seawards over the great stretch of wet beach. so wet was it that the sun's parting rays lit it up in great stripes of crimson chequered with gold. and yonder are the children coming slowly home across these painted sands. a strange group, most certainly, but united in one bond of union--oh, would that all the world were so!--the bond of love. the brother's arm is placed gently around his sister's waist; the admiral is stepping drolly by ransey's side, with his head and neck thrust through the lad's arm. something seems to tell the bird that fate, which took away his master before, might take him once again. bob brings up the rear. his head is low towards the sands, but he feels very happy and satisfied with his afternoon's outing. halcott once more lit his pipe. the two others were silent, and mr tandy nodded when halcott smiled and looked towards him. "yes," he said, "there is a little more of my story yet untold; there is a portion of it still in the future, i trust. with this, however, destiny alone has to do. suffice it to say, that as far as doris and myself--my simple sailor-self--are concerned, we shall be married when i return from my next cruise, if all goes well, and, like two vessels leaving the harbour on just such a beautiful night as this, sail away to begin our voyage of life on just such a beautiful sea. "you must both know doris before i start. but where, think you, do i mean to sail to next? no, do not answer till i tell you one thing. neither doris nor her mother received, while in that little lake island, the slightest injury or insult." "then there is some good in the breast of even the wildest savage," put in weathereye. "i always thought so; bother me if i didn't. ahem!" "ah, wait, captain weathereye, wait! i fear my experience is different from yours. those fiendish savages on that isle of misfortune were reserving my dear doris and her mother for a fate far more terrible than anything ever described in books of imagination. "we rescued them, by god's mercy, just in time. they were then under the protection of the awful priests, or medicine-men, and were being fed on fruits and on the petals of rare and beautiful flowers. their hut itself was composed of flowers and foliage. "the king, no, not even he, could come near them, until the medicine-men had propitiated the demons that live, according to their belief, in every wood and in every ravine and gully in the island. "then, at the full of the moon, on that tiny islet i have marked on the map, the king and his warriors would assemble at midnight, and the awful orgies would commence. "i shudder even now when i think of it. i happily cannot describe to you the tortures these poor ladies would have been put to before the final, fearful act. but the king would drink `white blood.' he would then be invulnerable. no foe could any more prevail against him. "while the blood was still flowing, the stake-fires would-be lit, and-- "but i'll say no more; a cannibal feast would have concluded the ceremonies." "you mean to say," cried weathereye, bringing his fist, and a good-sized one it was, down with a bang on the sill of the open window by which he sat--"do you mean to tell me that these devils incarnate would have burned the poor dear ladies alive, then? oh, horrible!" "i said that they meant to; but look at this!" he handed weathereye a small yellow dagger. "what a strange little knife! but why, i say, halcott, tandy, this knife is made of gold--solid, hammered gold!" "yes," said halcott; "and it is this dagger of hammered gold that would have saved my poor doris and her mother from the torture and the stake. "but," he added, "not this dagger only, but every implement in the cave of those fearsome priests was fashioned from the purest gold." "this is indeed a strange story," said tandy. "and now, gentlemen," added halcott, "can you guess to what seas my barque shall sail next?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ tandy rose from his seat and took two or three turns up and down the floor. he was a man who made up his mind quickly enough, and it is such men as these, and only such, who get well on in the world. weathereye and halcott both kept silence. they were watching tandy. "halcott," said the latter, approaching the captain of the _sea flower_--"halcott, have you kept your secret?" "secret?" "yes. i mean, do many save yourself know of the existence of gold on that island of blood?" "none save me. no one has even seen the knife but myself and you." "good. you love the _sea flower_?" "i love the _sea flower_ as every sailor loves, or ought to love, his ship. i wish i could afford to buy her out and out." "the other shares are in the market then?" tandy was seated now cross-legged on a chair, and leaning over the back of it, bending towards halcott with an earnest light, in his eyes, such as few had ever seen therein. "the other shares _are_ for sale," said halcott. it was just at this moment that ransey tansey and little nelda came, or rather burst into the room. both were breathless, both were rosy; and bob, who came in behind them, was panting, with half a yard of tongue-- well, perhaps, not _quite_ so much--hanging red over his alabaster teeth. "o daddy," cried babs, as father still called her, "we've had such fun! and the 'ral," (a pet name that the crane had somehow obtained possession of) "dug up plenty of pretty things for us, and he wanted bob to eat a big white worm, only bob wouldn't." one of his children stood on each side of him, and he had placed one arm round each. thus tandy faced halcott once more, smiling, perhaps, a little sadly now. "_i_ can buy those shares, halcott. do not think me ambitious. a money-grabber i never was. but, you see these little tots. ransey here can make his way in the world.--can't you, ransey?" "rather, father," said ransey. "but, halcott, though i am not in the flower of my youth, i'm in the prime of my manhood, and i'd do everything i know to build up a shelter for my little babs against the cold winds of adversity before i--but i must not speak of anything sad before the child." "you have a long life before you, i trust," said weathereye. tandy seemed to hear him not. "i'd go as your mate." the two sailors shook hands. "you'll go as my friend, and keep watch if you choose." "agreed!" "bravo!" cried weathereye. "shiver my jib, as sailors say in books, if i wouldn't like to go along with both of you!" "why not, captain weathereye?" the staff-commander laughed. "not this cruise, lads, though i'm not afraid for my life, or the little that may be left of it, and you must take care of yours. i think myself you are going on a kind of wild-goose chase, and that the goose--that is, the gold--will have the best of it, by keeping out of your way. well, anyhow, i'll come and see you both over the bar. where do you sail from?" "southampton." "good! and the last person you'll see as you drop out to sea will be old weathereye in a boat waving his red bandana to wish you luck. good-night! "good-night, little babs! how provokingly pretty she is, tandy! better leave her at scragley hall, and the crane too. she'll be well looked after, you may figure upon that. come and give the old man a kiss, dear." but nelda hung her head. "not if you say that, captain weathereye. wherever _ever_ daddy goes, i go with him. i'm _not_ going to let my brother run away to sea and leave me again." "and you won't give me bob?" said weathereye. "oh, _no_!" "nor the admiral?" nelda looked up in the old captain's face now. "i'm just real sorry for you," she said; "but the hal's going and all--_you_ may figure on that." weathereye laughed heartily. then he drew the child gently towards him and kissed her little sun-browned hand. "may god be with you, darling, where'er on earth you roam! and with you all. good-night again." and away went honest captain weathereye. book --chapter eight. at sea--mermaids and mermen. so long as the wind blew free, even though it did not always blow fair, there was joy, and jollity, too, in every heart that beat on board the saucy _sea flower_, fore as well as aft. she looked a bonnie barque now, in every sense of the word. tandy and halcott had spared neither expense nor pains in rigging her well out. had not her timbers been stanch and sound they certainly would not have done so. she had new sails, a new jibboom, and several new spars; and before she got clear and away out of the english channel the crew of many a homeward-bound ship manned their riggings and gave her a hearty cheer. halcott had left the whole rig-out of the _sea flower_ to mr tandy, and had not come near her for six long weeks. he was better employed, perhaps, and more happy on shore. but pleased enough he was on his return. "why, tandy, my dear fellow, this isn't a ship any more; it's a yacht?" "a pot of paint and a bucket of tar go a long way," tandy replied smiling. "ah! there's a good deal more than tar here; but how you've managed to get her decks and spars so white and beautiful, bother me if i can tell. and her ebony is ebony no longer, it is polished jet, while her brass work is gold." down below the two had now gone together. tandy could not have made the cabin a bit bigger if he had tried, but he had removed every morsel of her lumbering old lockers and tables, and refurnished it with all he could think of that was graceful and beautiful. mirrors, too, were everywhere along the bulk-heads, and these made the saloon look larger. the only wonder is that, in a lit of absent-mindedness, some one did not walk right through a mirror. hanging tables, beautiful crystal, brackets, and artificial flowers gave a look that was both lightsome and gay. on the port side, when you touched a knob, a mirrored door opened into the captain's cabin--small but pretty, and lighted by an airy port that could be carried open in good weather, and all along in the trades. the other state-room was larger. this halcott had insisted upon tandy taking; and it contained not only his own bunk, but a lower one for nelda, and was better decorated and furnished than even the captain's. "oh, gaily goes the ship when the wind blows free." and right gaily she had gone too, as yet. halcott was a splendid sailor and navigator. it might have been thought, however, that tandy, from his long residence on shore, had turned a little rusty in his seamanship. if he had, the rust had not taken long to rub off; and as he trod the ivory-white quarterdeck in his duck trousers, neat cap, and jacket of navy blue, he really looked ten years younger than in the days when he sailed the _merry maiden_ up and down the canal. the crew were well-dressed, and looked happy and jolly enough for anything. i need hardly say that nelda was the pet of the _sea flower_, fore and aft. there was no keeping the child to any one part of the ship. in fine weather--and, with the exception of a "howther" in the bay, it had up till now been mostly fine--she was here, there, and everywhere: in the men's quarters; down below in the forecastle; at the forecastle-head itself, when the men leaned over the bows there, smoking, yarning, and laughing; and in the cook's galley, helping to make the soup. but she ventured even further than this, and more than once her father started to find her in the foretop, and standing beside her that tall, imperturbable admiral. the bird was pet number two; but bob made an equal second. at first the 'ral was inclined to mope. perhaps he was sea-sick. it is a well-known fact that if a cape pigeon, as a certain gull is called, is taken on board, it can fly no more, but walks slowly and stupidly round the deck. sea-sickness had not troubled bob in the slightest. when he saw the 'ral standing in the lee-scuppers, with his neck hitched right round till the head lay right on the top of his tail, bob looked at him comically with _his_ head cocked funnily to one side. then he seemed to laugh right away down both sides, so to speak. bob was a droll dog. "my eyes, admiral," he said, "what a ridiculous figure you do cut, to be sure! why, at first i couldn't tell which was the one end of you and which was the other." "i don't care what becomes of me," the admiral replied, talking over his tail. "it is a very ordinary world. i'll never dance again." but, nevertheless, in three days' time the hal did dance, and so droll and comical were his capers on the heaving deck that the crew lay aft in a body and laughed till they nearly burst their belts. the admiral took kindly to his meal-worms after that, and didn't despise potted salmon and morsels of mutton. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ now it must not be supposed that the _sea flower_ was going out in ballast, on the mere chance of filling up with gold. they might never see the isle of misfortune, and all their dreams of gold might yet turn out as dreams so often do. halcott and tandy were good sailors, and but little likely to trust overmuch to blind chance. they took out with them, therefore, a good-paying cargo of knick-knacks and notions to barter with the natives along the coast of africa. having made a good voyage--and they knew they should--and having filled up with copal, nutmegs, arrowroot, spices, ivory, and perhaps even gold-dust and ostrich feathers from the far interior, they would stretch away out and over the broad atlantic, and rounding the horn, make search for the isle of misfortune, which they hoped to find an island of gold. if unsuccessful, they should then bear up for the northern pacific islands, taking their chance of doing something with pearls or mother-of-pearl, and so on and away to san francisco, where they were sure of a market, even if they wished to sell the _sea flower_ herself. but the best of sailors get disheartened far sooner in calms than even in tempests. in the latter, one has all the excitement of a battle with the elements; in the former, one can but wait and think and long for the winds to blow. "the fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, the furrow followed free." yes; but although in the region of calms some ships seem to have luck, the _sea flower_ had none. "down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'twas sad as sad could be; and they did speak only to break the silence of the sea." a week, a fortnight, nearly three weary weeks went past like this. there was no singing now forward among the men. even little fitz the nigger, who generally _was_ trolling a song, at times high over the roar of the wind, was silent now. so, too, was ransey tansey. he and nelda had been before the life of the good ship. it seemed as if they should never be so again. bob took to lying beside the man at the wheel. as far as the latter was concerned, there might just as well have been no man there at all. the sea all round was a sea of heaving oil. the waves were houses high--not long rollers, but a series of hills and valleys, in which the _sea flower_ wallowed and tumbled; while the fierce heat of the sun caused the pitch to melt and bubble where the decks were not protected by an awning. the motion of the good ship was far indeed from agreeable. any seaman can walk easily even when half a gale of wind is roaring through the rigging. there is a method in the motion of a ship in such a sea-way. there is no method in the motion of a vessel in the doldrums; and when one puts one's foot down on the quarterdeck, or, rather, where it seemed to be a second before, it finds but empty space. the body lurches forward, and the deck swings up to receive it. a grasp at a stay or sheet alone can avert a fall. in such a sea-way there is no longer any leeward or windward. the sails go flapping to and fro, however: they are making wind for themselves as the vessel rolls and tumbles; and if this wind carries her forward a few yards one minute, it hurls her back again the next. no wonder nelda often asked her father if the wind would never, never blow again, or whether it would be always, always like this. no birds either, save now and then a migrant gull that floated lazily on a wave to rest, or perched on the fin of a basking shark. so day after day passed wearily on, and you could not have told one day from the other. but when, at six o'clock, the sun hurriedly capped the great heaving waves with crimson, leaving the hollows in deepest purple shade, and soon after sank, then, in the gloaming that for a brief spell hung over the ocean, the stars came out; and very brightly did they shine, so that night was even more pleasant than day. banks of clouds sometimes lay along the horizon. by day they appeared like far-off, snow-capped, serrated mountains; at night they were dark, but lit up every few moments by flashes of lightning, which spread out behind them and revealed their form and shape. no thunder ever followed this lightning; it brought no wind; nor did the clouds ever rise or bring a drop of rain. phantom lightning; phantom clouds! there were times on nights like these when ransey took his sister on deck to look at the sky, and wonder at the lightning and that strange mountain-range of clouds. she was not afraid when ransey was with her. but she would not have gone "upstairs," as she called it, with even the stewardess herself. ransey, i may mention, lived in the saloon with his father and the captain, the second and third mates having comfortable quarters in the midship decks. a stewardess only was carried on the _sea flower_, and she acted in another capacity--that of maid to nelda. a black girl she was, but clean, smart, and tidy and trim, full of merriment and good-nature. her assistant was fitz, and with him alone she deemed it her duty to be a little harsh now and then. because fitz wouldn't keep his place, so she said. poor janeira, she always forgot she was a nigger herself, seeing so many white faces all around her. but when she looked into the little mirror that hung in her pantry, she used to go into fits of laughter at her face therein displayed. she was a funny girl. ransey used to take nelda up on these nights, and hoist her on to the grating abaft the quarterdeck, and she would cling to his arm, while he held on to the bulwark. thus they would stand, silent and awed, for long minutes at a time. was there nothing to break the dread stillness? there was occasionally the flap of a sail, or a footstep forward; but no song from the men, no loud talking--they hardly cared to speak above a whisper. but more than once a plash was heard, and a great dark head would appear from the side of a billow, seen distinctly enough in the gleam of the starlight, then sink and disappear. "oh, the awful beast, 'ansey! can it climb up and swallow us?" "no, dear silly, no." but older people than nelda have been frightened by such dread spectres appearing close to a ship at night while in the doldrums, and wiser heads than hers have been puzzled to account for them. are they sharks? no, no. five times as large are they as any shark ever seen. whales? no, again. a whale lives not under the water but on it. in the ocean wild and wide, reader, we sailors find many a strange mystery, see many a fearsome sight at night we can neither describe nor explain. and if we talk of these when we come on shore, you landsmen look incredulous. but after a time the child became accustomed to scenes like these. indeed the sea by night appeared to have a kind of fascination for her. in beholding it, she appeared to be looking through it into some strange land, the abode of the fairies and elves and mermaids with which her imagination had peopled it. "deep, deep down among the rocks," she would say to ransey, "who lives there? tell us, tell us." ransey had therefore to become the story-teller whether he would or not. he spoke to her then of mermaid-land deep down below the dark, heaving ocean. "deep, deep, _deep_ down, 'ansey?" "very, very deep. you see only a glimmer of light below you as you sink and sink; and this light is greenish and clear, and the farther down you get the brighter and more beautiful does it become." "and you're not drowned?" "no! oh, no! not if you're good. well, then you come to--oh, ever so beautiful a country! the trees are all of sea-weed, and underneath them is the yellow, yellow sand; but here and there are beautiful rockeries, and beds of such bright and lovely flowers that they would dazzle your eyes to look upon. and the strange thing about these flowers is this, babs, they are all alive." "all alive? my! and can they talk to you?" "yes, and sing too. a sailor man who had been there told me. and he said their voices were so low and sweet that you had to put your ear quite close down before you could hear and understand; for at a little distance, he said, it was just like the tinkling of tiny silver bells. the danger is in stopping too long, and being enchanted or slain." "enchanted? whatever is that, 'ansey?" "oh, you stay so long listening that you feel like in a dream, and before you know what has happened you are a flower yourself; and then, though you can see and hear everything that goes on around you, you cannot move away from the rock you are growing on, and you never get back again out of the water." "never, never, 'ansey?" "never, never, babs." "but in the deep, dark, beautiful woods that you come to and enter there is many a terrible monster living--horned, shelly, warty monsters. and they are all waiting to catch you." "terrible, 'ansey!" "are you afraid, dear?" "oh, no, 'ansey! be terrible some more." "well, there is danger all around you now, for some of these monsters are quite hidden among the sand, with only one eye protruding, and this looks like a flower because it grows on a stalk. but when you go to look at it, suddenly the sandy ground gives way under you. you are caught and killed, and know no more. "some of these monsters, nelda, live in caves, and if you go too near the entrance a great, long, skinny arm is thrust out, and you are dragged into the dark and devoured." "but i would turn quickly away out of that terrible wood, 'ansey," said nelda. "yes, that is just what the sailor did." "and then he was saved?" "not yet. he came to a lovely wide patch of clear, hard sand, and he was looking down to admire it. he had taken up some to examine, and was pouring it from one hand into the other--for the sand was pure gold mixed with pearls and rubies--when all at once it began to get dark, and looking up he saw a creature that was nearly all one horrible, cruel, grinning head, with eight long arms round it. it stopped high up, just hovering, nelda, like a hawk over a field. the sailor man was spell-bound. he could only stare up at it with starting eyes and utter a long, low, frightened moan. but from the creature above a tent was lowered, just like a huge bell, and he knew it would soon fall over him and he would be sucked up to the sea-demon's body and slowly eaten alive. "but at that very moment, sissie, the creature uttered a terribly wild and mournful cry, and darted off through the water, which was all just like ink now." "and the sailor was dead?" "no; a voice that sounded like the sweetest music ever he had heard in his life was heard, and a hand grasped his. "`quick, quick,' she cried, for it was a mermaid, `i will lead you into safety. stay but another moment here and you are doomed.' "`i'll follow you to the end of the world, miss,' said the gallant sailor. "it did seem queer to call a mermaid miss, but jack reid couldn't help it. "`you won't have to follow so far,' she said, with a sweet smile that put jack's heart all in a flutter. "and in five minutes' time they were out of danger, and there was jack with his hat in his hand, which he had taken off for politeness' sake, being led along by the most charming young lady he had ever clapped eyes on. "`her beauty,' he said to me, `was radiant, and her long yellow hair floated behind her in the water till i was ravished; on'y the wust of it was, that all below the waist wasn't lady at all, but ling or some other kind of fish.' "but jack wouldn't look at the ling part at all, only just at the mermaid's face and hair and hands. "however dark it might have been, you could have seen to read by the light of the diamonds around her brow and neck. "they soon came to a rock of quartz and porphyry, and next minute jack found himself in a hall of such dazzling delight that he had to rub his eyes and pinch himself hard to make sure he was not in a dream. this was the mermaids' and sea-fairies' great ballroom. "tier upon tier of galleries rose up towards the beautiful, star-studded ceiling, and every gallery was filled with beautiful ladies. jack knew that they all ended in ling, but the tails could not be seen. "there was light and loveliness everywhere, and flowers everywhere--" "go on, 'ansey. your story is better than the revelations, better even than `jack the giant killer.'" "i must stop, siss, because even _i_ don't know much more, only that the music was so ravishing that jack himself danced till he couldn't dance a bit more." "and did he sit down?" "no; he thought he would like a smoke, so he floated away down to the entrance to a cave at the far, far end. "`that must be the smoking-room,' he thought to himself, so he pushed aside the curtain and floated boldly in. "but lo and behold, this inner cave was filled with little shrivelled-up old men, uglier far in the face than toads. "these, sissie, were the mermen, and they were all sitting on rough blocks of coral, which must have hurt them dreadful, nursing their tails. these mermen sat there swaying their yellow, wrinkled bodies back and fore, to and fro, but taking not the slightest notice of jack. the sailor stood staring at them; and well he might, for whatever motion one made the others all made the same. if one lifted a skeleton hand to rub its bald head, every hand was raised, every bald head was rubbed; whichever way one swayed all the rest swayed; sometimes every blear eye was directed to the ceiling, or lowered towards their tails, as the case might be; and when one gaped and yawned they all gaped and yawned, and jack told me that he had never seen such a set of ugly, toothless mouths in his life before. "but as _they_ wouldn't speak, jack reid himself--and he was a very brave sailor, sissie--did speak. "`ahoy, maties!' he cried, `ye don't seem an over-lively lot here, i must say, but has e'er a one o' ye got sich a thing as a bit o' baccy?' "jack told me, babs, that when he made this speech he got a fearful fright. every merman stood up straight on its stool, its skinny arms and claw-like hands held straight above its head, and a yell rang through the hall that jack says is ringing in his ears till this day. "`oh!' he cried, `if that's your little game, here's for off.' "jack must have been glad enough to get back to the ballroom, but this was now deserted. no one was there at all except the lovely mermaid who had saved him from being devoured by the terrible devil-fish. "she smiled upon him as sweetly as ever. "`i'm going to guide you,' she said, `to the nursery grotto; it is time that all sailor boys went to by-by.' "`go on, missie,' jack said, `go on, yer woice is sweeter far than the song of--of a mother carey's chicken. wot a lovely lady ye'd be, miss, if ye didn't end in ling!' "she smiled, and combed her hair with her long white fairy fingers as she glided on. "`going to by-by am i? well, the mum did used to call it that like, miss, but we grown-up sailor lads calls it a bunk or an 'ammock. ain't got ne'er a bit o' baccy about ye, has ye, miss?' "but the fairy mermaid only smiled. "so soft and downy was the bed that jack fell asleep singing low to himself-- "`all in the downs the fleet was moored.' "and that is the end of the story, siss." "oh, no! what did he see when he woke up again?" "well, when he awoke in the morning, much to his amazement, he found himself in his own bed in his mother's little cottage at home. "he rubbed his eyes twice before he spoke. "`what! mother?' he cried. "`yes, it is your own old mother, dearie, and i've been sittin' up with you, and sich nonsense you has been a-talkin', surely.' "`i'm not a merman, or anything, am i, mother? i don't end in ling, do i, mother?' "`no, jack reid, you end in two good strong legs; but strong as they are, my boy, they weren't strong enough to keep you from tumbling down last night. o jack, jack!'" book --chapter nine. wonderful adventures of the dancing crane. hardly had ransey finished his story ere a bright flash of lightning lit up the ship from stem to stern--a flash that seemed to strike the top of every rolling wave and hiss in the hollows between; a flash that left the barque in cimmerian though only momentary darkness, for hardly had the thunder that followed--deep, loud, and awful--commenced, ere flash succeeded flash, and the sea all around seemed an ocean of fire. for a time little nelda could not be prevailed upon to go below. she was indeed a child of the wilds, and a thunderstorm was one of her chief delights. ah! but this was going to be somewhat more than a thunderstorm. "hands, shorten sail! all hands on deck!" it was tandy's voice sounding through the speaking trumpet--ringing through it, i might say, and yet it scarce could be heard above the incessant crashing of the thunder. the men came tumbling up, looking scared and frightened in the blue glare of the lightning. "away aloft! bear a hand, my hearties! get her snug, and we'll splice the main-brace. hurrah, lads! nimbly does it!" swaying high up on the top-gallant yards they looked no bigger than rooks, and with every uncertain lurch and roll the yard-ends seemed almost to touch the water. it was at this moment that the stewardess came staggering aft. "don't go, 'ansey--don't go," cried nelda. "duty's duty, dear, and it's `all hands' now." he saw her safely down the companion-way, and next minute he was swarming up the ratlines to his station. but he had to pause every few seconds and hang on to the rigging, with his back right over the water-- hang on for dear life. the sails were reefed, and some were got in, and not till the men had got down from aloft did the rain come on. for higher and higher had the clouds on the northern horizon banked up, till they covered all the sky. so awful was the rain, and so blinding, that it was impossible to see ten yards ahead, or even to guess from which direction the storm would actually come. the wind was already whirling in little eddies from end to end of the deck, but hardly yet did it affect the motion of the ship, or give her way in any one direction. the men were ordered below in batches, to get into their oilskins, for right well tandy knew that a fearful night had to be faced. the men received their grog now, and well did they deserve it. another hand was put to the wheel (two men in all), and near them stood the bold mate tandy, ready to give orders by signal or even by touch, should they fail to hear his voice. all around the deck the men were clinging to bulwark or stay. waiting for the inevitable! ah! now it came. the rain had ceased for a time. so heavy had it been that the waves themselves were levelled, and tandy could now see a long line of white coming steadily up astern. he thanked the god who rules on sea as well as on dry land that the squall was coming from that direction. had it taken the good ship suddenly aback she might have gone down stern-foremost, even with the now limited spread of canvas that was on her. as it was, the first mountain wave that hit the good barque sent her flying through the sea as if she had been but an empty match-box. that wave burst on board, however--pooped her, in fact--and went roaring forward, a sea of solid foaming water. the good vessel shivered from stem to stern like a creature in the throes of death. for a few minutes only. next minute she had shaken herself free, and was dashing through the water at a pace that only a yacht could have beaten. the thunder now went rolling down to leeward, and the rain ceased, but the gale increased in force, and in a short time she had to be eased again, and now she was scudding along almost under bare poles. it would be hours before mate tandy could get below; but ransey's watch was now off deck, so he went down to ask janeira, the stewardess, if nelda was in bed. she was in bed most certainly, but through the half-open doorway she could hear ransey's voice, and shouted to him. "i fink, sah," janeira said, "she am just one leetle bit afraid." there was no doubt about that, and the questions with which she plied her brother, when he took a seat by her bunk to comfort her, were peculiar, to say the least. "daddy won't be down for a long, long time?"--that was one. "the poor men, though, how many is drownded?"--another. "the ship did go to the bottom though, didn't it, 'cause i heard the water all rush down?"--a third. "you are quite, quite sure father isn't drownded? and you are sure no awful beasts have come up with long arms? well, tell us some stories." _nolens volens_, ransey had to. but babs got drowsy at last, the white eyelids drooped and drooped till they finally closed; then ransey went quietly away and turned into his hammock. young though he was, the heaviest sea-way could not frighten him, nor the stormiest wind that could blow. the sound of the wind as it went roaring through the rigging could only make him drowsy, and the ship herself would rock him to sleep. the barque was snug, too, and it was happiness itself to hear his father's footsteps, as he walked the quarterdeck, pausing now and then to give an order to the men at the wheel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "behaved like an angel all through, halcott!" that was what tandy told the skipper next morning at breakfast. "i knew she would, tandy. i'm proud of our _sea flower_, and, my friend, i'm just as proud of you. i'd have stopped on deck to lend a hand, but that wouldn't have done any good. "jane," he cried. jane was the contraction for "janeira." "iss, sah; i'se not fah off." "is there no toast this morning?" "no, sah; lord fitzmantle he done go hab one incident dis mawnin'. he blingin' de toast along, w'en all same one big wave struckee he and down he tumble, smash de plate, and lose all de toast foh true." "oh, the naughty boy!" said nelda, who was hurrying through her breakfast to go on deck to "see the sea," as she expressed it. "no, leetle meess tandy, lord fitzmantle he good boy neahly all de time. it was poorly an incident, meesie, for de big sea cut his legs clean off, and down he come." "well, i'm sorry for fitz," said nelda with a sigh; "i suppose it was only his sea-legs though. and i'm going to have mine to-day. i asked the carpenter, and he said he would make me some soon, and it wouldn't be a bit sore putting them on." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ with varying fortunes the good ship _sea flower_ sailed south and away, till at last the cape of good hope was reached and rounded. here they experienced very heavy weather indeed, with terrible storms of thunder and lightning, and bigger seas than tandy himself had ever seen before. but by this time little nelda was quite a sailor, and a greater favourite fore and aft than ever. sea-legs had, figuratively speaking, been served out to all the green hands. nelda had a capital pair, and could use them well. fitz had to make his old ones do another time; but bob had received two pairs from neptune, when he came aboard that starry still night when crossing the line. as for the hal, it must be confessed that there wasn't a pair in neptune's boat long enough to fit him. however, in ordinary weather he managed to run along the deck pretty easily, his jibboom, as the sailors called his neck, held straight out in front of him, and helping himself along with his wings. sometimes on the quarterdeck it would suddenly occur to the 'ral that a step or two of a highland schottische would help to make time pass more quickly and pleasantly. the 'ral wasn't a bird to spoil a good intention, so, with just one or two preliminary "scray--scrays" he would start. bother the deck though, and bother the heaving sea, for do what he would the bird could no longer dance with ease and grace; so he would soon give it up, and go and lean his chin wearily over the lee bulwark, and thus, with his drooping wings, he did cut rather a ridiculous figure as seen from behind. he looked for all the world like some scraggy-legged little old man, who had got up in the morning and put nothing on except a ragged swallow-tailed coat. the men liked the 'ral though. he made them laugh, and was better than an extra glass of rum to them. so, as the bird seemed always rather wretched in dirty weather, the carpenter was solicited to make him some sort of shelter. the carpenter consulted the sailmaker. the carpenter and sailmaker put their heads together. something was sure to come of that. "he's sich an awkward shape, ye see," said old canvas. "that's true," said chips; "and he won't truss hisself, as ye might call it." "no; if he'd on'y jest double up his legs, chips, and close reef that jibboom o' his, we might manage some'ow." "a kind o' sentry-box would just be _the_ thing, old can." "humph! yes. i wonder why the skipper didn't bring a grandfather's clock with 'im; that would suit the 'ral all to pieces." but a sort of sentry-box, with a tarpaulin in front of it, was finally rigged up for the 'ral, and placed just abaft the main-mast, to which it was lashed. the 'ral didn't take to it quite kindly at first, but after studying it fore and aft he finally thought it would fit him nicely. it would be protection from the sun on hot days, and when it blew a bit the men would draw down the tarpaulin, and he would be snug enough. but in sunny weather it must be confessed that, solemnly standing there in his sentry-box, the admiral did look a droll sight. the 'ral was a very early riser. he always turned out in time to go splashing about while the hands were washing decks, and although they often turned the hose on him he didn't mind it a bit. one very hot day, the poor 'ral was observed standing pensively up against the capstan. his head was out of sight, thrust into one of the holes. this was unusual, but the bird did so many droll things that, for an hour or more, nobody took much notice; but ransey came round at last, carrying babs, who was riding on his shoulders. "hillo!" cried babs, "here's the 'ral with his head buried in a hole." "which he stowed hisself away there, missie, more'n an hour ago," said a seaman. "afraid o' gettin' sunstroke, that's my opinion." "poor hallie," cried babs, sympathisingly, "does your headie ache?" the admiral drew out his head, and looked at the child very mournfully indeed. "he's got some silent sorrow hevidently, i should say," remarked another of the crew. there was quite a little circle now around the capstan. "cheer up," cried ransey tansey. "come along and have a dance, 'rallie." "i don't feel like dancing to-day," the crane replied, or appeared to reply. "fact is, i don't feel like moving at all." no wonder, poor bird; the truth is, he was glued to the deck with melted pitch. what a job it was getting him clear too--or "easing him off," as chips called it. but with the help of putty knives the 'ral got free at last, though it took a deal of orange-peel to clean his poor feet. then they were found to be so red and swollen that a hammock was slung for him forthwith atween decks, and the admiral was laid at full length in it--his head on a pillow at one end, his feet away down at the other, his body covered with the carpenter's lightest jacket. very funny he did appear stretched like that, but he himself appreciated, not the joke, but the comfort. he lay there for days, only getting up a little in the cool of the evening, if there was any cool in it. ransey fed him, and attended to his feet twice a day, so he was soon on deck again, as right as a trivet. but the admiral had learned a lesson, and ever after this, on hot days, to have seen the bird coming along the deck, you would have sworn he was playing at hop-scotch, so careful was he to hop over the seams where the pitch was soft, his long neck bent down, and one eye curiously examining the planks. yes, the 'ral was a caution, as old canvas said. but one of the bird's drollest adventures occurred one day when the ship was lying becalmed in the indian ocean, or rather in the mozambique channel. the _sea flower_ was within a measurable distance of land; for though none was in sight, birds of the gull species flew around the ship, tack and half-tack, or floated lazily on the smooth surface of the sea. the 'ral slowly left his sentry-box, stretched his wings a bit, uttered a mild scray--scray--ay or two, then did a hop-scotch till he got abreast of the man at the wheel. this particular sailor was somewhat of a dandy, and had a morsel of red silk handkerchief peeping prettily out from his jacket pocket. the 'ral eyed it curiously for a moment, then cleverly plucked it out and jumped away with it. he dropped it on a portion of the quarterdeck where the pitch was oozing, kicked it about with his feet to spread it out, as a man does with a handful of straw, and stood upon it. "well, i do call that cheek! my best silk handkerchief, too," cried the man at the wheel. the crane only looked at him wonderingly with one eye. "you've no idea," he told this man, "how soft and nice it feels. i--i-- yes, i verily believe i shall dance. craik--craik--cray--ay--y!" and dance he did, nelda and half the crew at least clapping their hands and cheering with delight. the 'ral was just in the very midst of his merriment, when the man, after giving the wheel an angry turn or two to port, made a dart to recover his favourite bandana. with such a rush did he come that the 'ral took fright, and flew to the top of the bulwark. there was some oiled canvas here, and this was so hot that the bird had to keep lifting one foot and putting down the other all the time, just like a hen on a hot griddle. "how delightfully sweet it must be up there," he said to himself, gazing at the gulls that were screaming with joy as they swept round and round in the blue sky. "i think i'll have a fly myself. scray--ay!" and greatly to every one's astonishment away he flew high into the air. alarmed at first, the gulls soon regained courage, and made a daring attack on the 'ral. but he speedily vanquished the foe, and one or two fell bleeding into the water. a gull was perched on the back fin of a shark. the 'ral flew down. "it's nice and snug _you_ look," said the 'ral. "get off at once, the king's come. get off, i say, or i'll dig both your impudent eyes out." and next moment the admiral was perched there, as coolly as if he had been used to riding on sharks ever since his babyhood. but nelda was in tears. she would never see the 'ral again, and the awful beast would eat him, sea-legs and all. so a boat was called away to save him. none too soon either. for the 'ral had commenced to investigate that fin with his long beak. no respectable basking shark could be expected to stand that, so down he dived, leaving the bird screaming and swaying and scrambling on the top of the water. "scray--scray--craik--craik-- cray!" but for the timely aid of the boat, the admiral would have met with a terrible fate, for his screaming and struggling brought around him three sharks at least, all eager to find out what a long-legged bird like this tasted like. every fine day the crane now indulged himself in the pleasure of flight, but he never evinced the slightest inclination to perch again on the back of a basking shark. it wasn't good enough, he would have told you, had you asked him. "as regards the backs of basking sharks," he might have said, "i'm going to be a total abstainer." up the east coast of africa went the bonnie barque _sea flower_. tandy knew almost every yard of the ground he was now covering, and could pilot the vessel into creeks and over sand-banks or bars with very little danger indeed. but still the coast here is so treacherous, and the sands and bottom change so frequently, that, night and day, men had to be in the chains heaving the lead. the natives, also, across the line in somaliland, are as treacherous as the coral rocks that guard their clay-built towns, and more treacherous than either are the semi-white, slave-dealing arabs. book --chapter ten. a brush with the somalis--the derelict. all along the somali coast was tandy's "chief market ground," as he called it. here he knew he could drive precisely the kind of bargains he wished to make; and as for the somalis, with their shields, spears, ugly broad knives, and grinning sinister faces, this bold seaman did not care anything. nor for the arabs either. he soon gave both to understand that he was a man of the wide, wide world, and was not afraid of any one. he had come to trade and barter, he told the arabs, and not to study their slave-hunting habits; so if they would deal, they had only to trot out their wares--_he_ was ready. and if they didn't want to deal, there was no harm done. he even took ransey with him sometimes, and once he took nelda as well. the savages just here were a bad, bloodthirsty lot, and he knew it, but he had with him five trusty men. not armed--that is, not visibly so. but on this particular day there was blood in those natives' eyes. tall, lithe, and black-brown were they, their skins oiled and shining in the sun. but smiling. oh, yes, these fiends will smile while they cut a white man's throat. every eye was fixed hungrily on the beautiful child. what a present she would be for a great chief who dwelt far away in the interior and high among the mountains! the bartering went on as usual, but tandy kept his weather eye lifting. leopards' skins, lions' skins and heads, ostrich feathers, gum-copal, ivory tusks, and gold-dust. the boat was already well filled, nelda was on board, so was tandy himself, and his crew, all save one man, who was just shoving her off when the rush was made. the prow of the boat was instantly seized, and the man thrown down. pop--pop--pop--pop--rang tandy's revolver, and the yelling crowd grew thinner, and finally fled. a spear or two was thrown, but these went wide of the mark. human blood looks ghastly on white coral sands, but was tandy to blame? nelda was safe, and in his arms. "o daddy," she cried, kissing his weather-beaten face, "are we safe?" "yes, darling; but i mustn't land here again." salook was the village king here, a big, burly brute of an arab, with a white, gilded turban and a yellow, greasy face beneath it. tandy had known some of his tricks and manners in days gone by. at sunset that very same evening salook was surrounded by his warriors. "everything yonder," he said in swahili, as he pointed to the _sea flower_, "is yours. the little maiden shall be my slave. get ready your boats, and sharpen your spears. even were the ship a british man-of-war i'd board her." at sunset that evening tandy was surrounded by _his_ men, and pistols and cutlasses were served out to all. "we'll have trouble to-night, men," he said, "as soon as the moon rises. if there was a breath of wind off-shore i'd slip. we can't slip--but we'll fight." a cheer rose from the seamen, which tandy quickly suppressed. "hush! let us make them believe we suspect no treachery. but get up steam in the donkey engine, and connect the pipes." this is a plan of defence that acts splendidly and effectively against all kinds and conditions of savages. boiling water on bare skins causes squirming, so tandy felt safe. the ship carried but one big gun, and this was now loaded with grape. there wasn't a sound of life to be heard on board the barque, when about seven bells that night a flood of moonlight, shining softly o'er the sea, revealed the dark boats of the somalis speeding out to the attack. but every man on board was at his station. this was to be a fight to the very death, and all hands knew it. nearer and nearer they come--those demon boats. the biggest boat of all is leading, and, sword in hand, salook stands in the prow. it is crowded with savages, their spear-heads glittering in the moonbeams. on this boat the gun is trained. the rocks re-echo the crash five seconds after, but the echo is mingled with the yelling of the wounded and the drowning. ah! a right merry feast for the sharks, and salook goes down with the bottomless boat. the fight does not end with this advantage. those somalis are like fiends incarnate. not even the rifles and revolvers can repel their attack. see, they swarm on the bulwarks round the bows, for the ship has swung head on to the shore with the out-flowing tide. "give it to them. the water now, boys. warm them well!" oh, horror! the shrieking is too terrible to be described. in their boats the unwounded try to reach the shore; but the rifles play on these, and they are quickly abandoned, for the somalis can swim like eels. "now for loot, lads," cries tandy. "they began the row. man and arm the boats." when the _sea flower's_ men landed on the white sands, led on by tandy and ransey, the conquest was easy. a few volleys secured victory, and the savages were driven to their crags and hills. "let us spoil the egyptians," said tandy, "then we shall return and splice the main-brace." the loot obtained was far more valuable than the cargoes they had obtained by barter, and i need hardly say that the main-brace _was_ spliced. towards morning the wind came puffing off the land. it ought to have died away at sunrise, but did not. so the _sea flower_ soon made good her offing, and before long the land lay like a long blue cloud far away on the weather-beam. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the ship was reprovisioned at zanzibar, and one or two sick hands were allowed to land to be attended to at the french hospital. in less than a fortnight she once more set sail, and in two months' time, everything having gone well and cheerily, despite a storm or two, the _sea flower_ was very far at sea indeed, steering south-west, and away towards the wild and stormy cape horn. on going on deck one morning, halcott found tandy forward, glass in hand, steadying himself against the foremast, while he swept the sea ahead. "hallo! tandy. land, eh?" "no, it isn't land, halcott. a precious small island it would be. but we're a long way to the west'ard of the tristan da cunha, and won't see land again till we hail the falklands. have a squint, sir." "what do you make of her, sir?" asked tandy. "why, a ship; but she's a hulk, tandy, a mere hulk or derelict." "there might be some poor soul alive there notwithstanding." "i agree with you. suppose we overhaul her," said halcott, "and set her on fire. she's a danger to commerce, anyhow, and i'll go myself, i think." so the whaler was called away, and in a few minutes the boat was speeding over the water towards the dismantled ship, while the _sea flower_, with her foreyard aback, lay floating idly on the heaving sea. it was early summer just than, in these regions--that is, december was well advanced, and the crew were looking forward to having a real good time of it when christmas came. alas! little did they know what was before them, or how sad and terrible their christmas would be. "pull easy for a bit, men," cried halcott; "she is a floating horror! easy, starboard! give way, port! we'll get the weather gauge on her, for she doesn't smell sweet." not a living creature was there to answer the hail given by halcott. abandoned she evidently had been by the survivors of her crew, for the starboard boats still hung from her davits, while the ports were gone, and at this side a rope ladder depended. the boat-hook caught on; with strange misgivings halcott scrambled on board followed by two men. he staggered and almost fell against the bulwark, and no wonder, for the sight that met his eyes was indeed a fearful one. on the lower deck was a great pile of wood, and near it stood a big can of petroleum. it was evident that the crew had intended firing the ship before leaving her, but had for some reason or other abandoned the idea. halcott, however, felt that he had a duty to perform, so he gave orders for the paraffin to be emptied over the pile and over the deck. as soon as this was done lighted matches were thrown down, and hardly had they time to regain the boat and push off, ere columns of dark smoke came spewing up the hatchways, followed high into the air by tongues and streams of fire. before noon the derelict sank spluttering into the summer sea, and only a few blackened timbers were left to mark the spot where she had gone down. a few days after this the wind fell and fell, until it was a dead calm. once more the sea was like molten lead, and its surface glazed and glassy, but never a bird was to be seen, and for more than a week not a cloud was in the sky as big as a man's hand. nor was the motion of the ship appreciable. by day the sun shone warm enough, but at night the stars far in the southern sky shone green and yellow through a strange, dry haze. on saturday night tandy as usual gave orders to splice the main-brace. he, and halcott also, loved the real old saturday nights at sea, of the poet dibdin's days. and hitherto, in fair weather or in foul, these had been kept up with truly british mirth and glee. there was no rejoicing, however, on this particular evening, for two of the hands lay prostrate on deck. halcott himself ministered to them, sailor fashion. first he got them placed in hammocks swung under a screen-berth on deck. this was for the sake of the fresh air, and herein he showed his wisdom. then he took a camp-stool and sat down near them to consider their symptoms. but these puzzled him; for while one complained of fierce heat, with headache, and his eyes were glazed and sparkling, the other was shivering and blue with cold. he had no pain except cramps in his legs and back, which caused him an agony so acute that he screamed aloud every time they came on. halcott went aft to study. he studied best when walking on his quarterdeck. hardly knowing what he did, he picked up a bone that honest bob had been dining off, and threw it into the sea. there was still light enough to see, and the man at the wheel looked languidly astern. when three monster sharks dived, nose on, towards the bone, he looked up into the captain's face. "seen them before?" said halcott, who was himself superstitious. "bless ye, yes, sir. it's just four days since they began to keep watch, and there they be again. ah, sir! it ain't ham-bones they's a-lookin' arter. they'll soon get the kind o' meat they likes best." "what mean you, durdley?" "i means the chaps you 'as in the 'ammocks. listen, sir. there's no deceivin' jim durdley. we've got the plague aboard! i've been shipmate with she afore to-day." halcott staggered as if shot. "heaven forbid!" he exclaimed. no one on board cared much for this man durdley. nor is this to be wondered at. in his own mess he was quarrelsome to a degree. poor little fitz fled when he came near him, and many a brutal blow he received, which at times caused fierce fights, for every one fore and aft loved the nigger boy. durdley was almost always boding ill. his only friends were the foreigners of the crew, men that to make a complement of five-and-twenty tandy had hired in a hurry. mostly finns they were, and bad at that, and if there was ever any grumbling to be done on board the _sea flower_ these were the fellows to begin it. halcott recovered himself quickly, gave just one glance at durdley's dark, forbidding countenance--the man was really ugly enough to stop a church clock--and went below. he met tandy at the saloon door, and told him his worst fears. alas! these fears were fated to be realised all too soon. the men now stricken down were those who had boarded the derelict with halcott. one died next evening, and was lashed in his hammock and dropped over the bows a few hours afterwards. no doubt, seeing his fellow taken away, the other, who was one of the best of the crew, lost heart. "i'm dying, sir," he told halcott. "no use swallowing physic, the others'll want it soon." by-and-by he began to rave. he was on board ship no longer, but walking through the meadows and fields far away in england with his sister by his side. "i'll help you over the old-fashioned stile," fitz, who was nursing him, heard him say--"yes, the old-fashioned stile, lizzie. oh, don't i love it! and we'll walk up and away through the corn-field, by the little, winding path, to the churchyard where mother sleeps. look, look at the crimson poppies, dear siss. how bonnie they are among the green. ah-h!" that was a scream which frightened poor fitz. "go not there, sister. see, see, the monster has killed her! ah, me!" fitz rushed aft to seek for assistance, for the captain had told him to call him if corrie got worse. alas! when the two returned together, corrie's hammock was empty. no one had heard even a plash, so gently had he lowered himself over the side, and sunk to rise no more. book --chapter eleven. mutiny on board--far to the south'ard. "nothing certain at sea except the unexpected." the truth of this was sadly exemplified by the terrible calamity which had befallen the _sea flower_--and befallen her so suddenly, too! only one week ago she was sailing over a rippling sea on the wings of a favouring breeze, every wavelet dancing joyously in the sunlight. on board, whether fore or aft, there was nothing but hope, happiness, and contentment. till-- "the angel of death spread his wings on the blast." now all is terror and gloom--a gloom and a terror that have struck deep into the heart of every one who knows what death and sorrow mean. a breeze has sprung up at last, and both halcott and tandy have reluctantly come to the conclusion that it will be better to steer for colder weather. so southward the _sea flower_ flies, under every stitch of canvas, with studding-sails low and aloft. shall the plague be stayed? heaven alone can tell! as it is, the depression hangs like a dark, foreboding cloud over the ship. no one cares to talk much by day or by night. the men sit silently at their meals, with lowered brows and frightened looks. they eye each other askance; they know not who may be the next. they even avoid each other as much as possible while walking the decks. hardly will a man volunteer to nurse the sick. the hammocks containing these hang on the lee side, and the crew keep far away indeed. but they smoke from morn till night. halcott himself and little fitz are the only nurses, and both are worn out for want of rest. with their own hands they sew up the hammock of the dead, unhook it, lift the gruesome burden on to the top of the bulwark, and, while the captain with uncovered head raises his eyes to heaven and utters a prayer, the body is committed to the deep, to be torn in pieces next minute by the tigers of the sea. poor little nelda! she is as merry as ever, playing with bob or the 'ral on the quarterdeck, and it is strange, in this ship of death, to hear her musical voice raised in song or laughter in the midst of silence and gloom! no wonder that, hearing this, the delirious or the dying fancy themselves back once more in their village homes in england. nelda wonders why the captain, who used to romp and play with her, tries all he can now to avoid her; and why little fitz, the curious, round-faced, laughing, black boy, with the two rows of alabaster teeth, never comes aft. halcott himself never goes below either. he insists upon taking his meals on deck. nor will he permit tandy or ransey to come forward. if _he_ can, he means to confine the awful plague to the fore part of the ship. they say that in a case of this kind it is always the good who go first. in this instance the adage spoke truly. terrible to say, in less than a fortnight no less than thirteen fell victims to the scourge. but still more, more awful, the crew now became mutinous. luckily, all arms, and ammunition as well, were safely stored aft. durdley was chief mutineer--chief scoundrel! out of the fourteen men left alive, only four were true to the captain, the others were ready to follow durdley. this fellow became a demon now--a demon in command of demons; for they had found some grog which had been in charge of the second mate--who was dead--and excited themselves into fury with it. durdley, the dark and ugly man, rushed to the screen-berth where halcott was trying to ease the sufferings of a poor dying man. he was as white as a ghost; even his lips were pale. beware of men, reader, who get white when angry. they are dangerous! "here, halcott," cried durdley, "drop your confounded mummery, and listen to _me_. lay aft here, my merry men, lay aft." nine men, chiefly finns and other foreigners, armed with ugly knives and iron marline-spikes, quickly stationed themselves behind him. "now, halcott, your game's up. you brought this plague into the ship yourself. by rights you should die. but i depose you. i am captain now, and my brave boys will obey me, and me alone. "you _hear_?" he shouted, for halcott stood a few paces from him, calmly looking him in the face. "i _hear_." "then, cusses on you, why don't ye speak? you'll be allowed to live, i say, both you and tandy, on one condition." "and that is--?" "that you alter your course, and steer straight away to the nearest land--the falkland isles--at once." "i refuse. back, you mutinous dog! back! i say. would you dare to stab your captain? your blood be,"--here the captain's revolver rang sharp and clear, and durdley fell to the deck--"on your own cowardly head." there was a wild yell and a rush now, and though the captain fired again and again, he was speedily overpowered. the revolver was snatched from his hand, and he was borne down by force of numbers. but assistance was at hand. "now, lads, give it to them! hurrah!" it was tandy himself, with the four good men and true, who had run aft between decks to inform the mate of the mutiny. all were armed with rifles, but these they only clubbed. so fiercely did they fight, that the mutineers speedily dropped their knives and iron marline-spikes, and were driven below, yelling for mercy like the cowards they were. the captain, though bruised, was otherwise intact. nor was durdley dead, though he had lost much blood from a wound--the revolver bullet having crashed through the arm above the elbow, and through the outside of the chest as well. but two finns lay stark and stiff beside the winch. even to tragedy there is always a ridiculous side or aspect, and on the present occasion this was afforded by the strange behaviour of bob and the admiral during the terrible _melee_. it is not to be supposed that bob would be far away from his master when danger threatened him. seeing ransey tansey, rifle in hand, follow his father to join in repelling the mutineers, it occurred to him at once that two might be of some assistance. it did not take the faithful tyke a moment to make up his mind, but he thought he might be of more use behind the mutineers than in front of them. so he outflanked the whole fighting party, and the attack he made upon the rear of durdley's following was very effective. the 'ral could not fight, it is true, but his excitement during the battle was extreme. round and round the deck he ran or flew, with his head and neck straight out in front of him, and his screams of terror and anger added considerably to the clamour and din going on forward. the poor bird really seemed to know that men were being killed, and seeing his master engaged, he would fain have helped him had he been able. of the ten men then who had mutinied three were wounded, including the ringleader, two were dead, and the remaining five were now taken on deck and roped securely alongside the winch to await their sentence. the deck was quickly cleared of the dead, and all evidences of the recent struggle were removed. durdley resembled nothing more nearly than a captured bird of prey. he was stern, silent, grim, and vindictive. had he not been utterly prostrate and powerless, he would have sprung like a catamount at the throats of the very men who were dressing his wounds, and these were tandy and halcott himself. yet it was evident that he was not receiving the treatment he had expected, nor that which he would have dealt out to halcott had he fallen into his hands. "why don't you throw me overboard?" he growled at last, with a fearful oath. "sharks are the best surgeons; their work is soon over. i'd have served you so, if my lily-livered scoundrels had only fought a trifle better, hang them! "ay, and you too, mr tandy, with your solemn face, if you hadn't consented to take us straight to land!" "keep your mind easy," said halcott, quietly. "i'll get rid of you as soon as possible, you may be well sure." "do your worst--i defy you. but if that worst isn't death, i'll bide my time. i'd rather die three times over than lie here like a half-stuck pig." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ during the fight little nelda was in terrible distress, and, but for janeira, she would doubtless have rushed forward, as she wanted to do, in order to "help daddy and 'ansey." bob was the first to bring her tidings of the victory. he came aft at full gallop, almost threw himself down the companion-way, and next moment was licking the child's tear-bedewed cheeks. she could see joy in the poor dog's face. he was full of it, and trying as much as ever dog did try to talk. perhaps he never fully realised till now how awkward it is for a doggie to want a tail. but he did what he could, nevertheless, with the morsel of fag-end he had. "don't cry, little mistress," he was trying hard to say, "don't cry. it's all right now. and it was such fun to see them fighting, and i fought too. oh, didn't i bite and tear the rascals just." even the 'ral seemed to know that the danger was past and gone for a time, and nothing would suffice to allay his feelings save executing a kind of wild jig right on the top of the skylight--a thing he had never done before. but although quieted now, nelda was not quite content, till down rushed ransey tansey himself. with a joyful cry she flew to his arms, and he did all he could to reassure her; so successfully, too, that presently she was her happy little self once more, playing with bob on the quarterdeck, as if nothing had happened. blissful childhood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the condition of affairs, after the ship had penetrated into the regions of ice and snow, was not an enviable one, although there was now a rent in the dark cloud that hovered over the _sea flower_--a lull in the terrible storm. durdley was progressing favourably, and making so rapid a recovery that, in case he might cause more mischief, he was put in irons. but the other wounded men, probably owing to their weak condition, had died. the five others were allowed to go on duty. halcott refused to accept their offered promise to behave leal and true. what is a promise, even on oath, from such bloodthirsty villains as these? "i do not wish either promise or apology," he told them plainly. "your conduct from this date will in some measure determine what your future punishment may be. remember this, we do not trust you. the four good englishmen, who fought for myself and mate, are all armed, and have orders to shoot you down without one moment's grace if they observe a suspicious movement on your part, or hear one single mutinous word. there! go." the ship's course was altered now, and all sail made to round cape horn. no doubt the cold had been the means of eradicating the dreadful plague. yet halcott was a man whom no half-measures would satisfy. there was plenty of clothing on board, so a new suit was served out to every seaman, the old being thrown overboard. then the bedding and hammocks were scoured, and when dry fumigated. sulphur was burned between decks, and hatches battened down for a whole day. every portion of the woodwork was afterwards scrubbed, and even the masts were scraped. this work was given to the mutineers, and a cold job it was. the men sat each one in the bight of a rope, and were lowered up or down when they gave the signal. halcott was very far indeed from being vindictive, but long experience had taught him that mutinous intentions are seldom carried out if active occupation be found for body and mind. "i breathe more freely now," said the captain, as tandy and he walked briskly up and down the quarterdeck. "heigho!" said tandy, "we no doubt have sinned--we certainly have suffered. but," he added, "i thank god, halcott, from my inmost soul, first that you are spared, and secondly, that my little innocent child here and my brave boy ransey tansey are still alive and happy." "amen! and now, tandy, we've got to pray for fine weather. we are rather underhanded--those wretched finns may break out again at any moment. they will, too, if not carefully watched." "you have a kinder heart than i have, halcott, else you'd have made that scoundrel durdley walk the plank, and hanged the rest at the yardarm, one by one." "the worst use you can put a man to is to hang him," said halcott, laughing. "but will you care to land on the island we are in search of, with these fellows?" asked tandy. "mind," he added, before halcott could answer, "i take no small blame to myself for having engaged such scoundrels. want of time was no excuse for me. better to have sacrificed a month than sail as shipmates with such demons as these." "keep your mind easy, my dear friend; i'll get rid of them, by hook or by crook, before we reach our island." "it relieves me to hear you say so, but indeed, halcott, 'twixt hook and crook, if i had my way, i should choose the crook. i'd give the beggars a bag of biscuit and a barrel of pork, and maroon them on the first desert island we come in sight of." i do not know that halcott paid much attention to the latter part of tandy's speech. he was at this moment looking uneasily at a bank of dark, rock-like clouds that was rising slowly up to the north and east. "have you noticed the glass lately, tandy?" he said quietly. "i'll jump down and see it now." "why," he said, on returning, "it is going tumbling down. i'll shorten sail at once. we're going to have it out of that quarter." there was little time to lose, for the wind was already blowing over the cold, dark sea in little uncertain puffs and squalls. between each there was a lull; yet each, when it did come, lasted longer and blew stronger than those that had preceded it. the barque was snug at last. very little sail indeed was left on her; only just enough to steer by and a bit over, lest a sail or two should be carried away. of the four trustworthy men, one was chips the carpenter, the other old canvas the sailmaker. the latter kept a watch, the former had been placed in tandy's. it was hard times now with all. watch and watch is bad enough in temperate zones, but here, with the temperature far below freezing-point, and dropping lower and lower every hour, with darkness and storm coming down upon them, and the dangers of the ice to be encountered, it was doubly, trebly hard. it takes a deal to damp the courage of a true british sailor, however, and strange as it may seem, that very courage seems to rise to the occasion, be that occasion what it may. but now, to quote the wondrous words of coleridge's "ancient mariner--" ... "the storm-blast came, and he was tyrannous and strong; he struck with his o'ertaking wings, and chased us south along. "with sloping masts and dipping prow. as who pursued with yell and blow still treads the shadow of his foe, and forward bends his head. the ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, and southward ay we fled. "and now there came both mist and snow, and it grew wondrous cold; and ice, mast-high, came floating by, as green as emerald. "and through the drifts the snowy clifts did send a dismal sheen: * * * * *. "the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled, and roared and howled, like noises in a swound!" yes, the good barque _sea flower_ was driven far, far to the southward, far, far from her course; but happily, before they reached the icy barrier, the wind had gone down, so that the terrible noises in the main pack which the poet so graphically describes had few terrors for them. the wind fell, and went veering round, till it blew fair from the east. a very gentle wind, however, and hardly did the barque make five knots an hour on her backward track. others might be impatient, but there was no such thing as impatience about nelda, and little about ransey tansey either. everything they saw or passed was as fresh and new to them as if they were sailing through a sea of enchantment. the cold affected neither. they were dressed to withstand it. the keen, frosty air was bracing rather than otherwise, and warm blood circulated more quickly through every vein as they trod the decks together. how strange, how weird-like at times were the snow-clad icebergs they often saw, their sides glittering and gleaming in the sunshine with every colour of the rainbow, and how black was the sea that lay between! the smaller pieces through which the ship had often to steer were of every shape and size, all white, and some of them acting as rafts for seals asleep thereon--seals that were drifting, drifting away they knew not, cared not whither. sometimes a great sea-elephant would raise his noble head and gaze curiously at the passing barque, then dive and be seen no more. shoals of whales of a small species afforded our little seafarers great delight to watch. but these went slowly on their way, dipping and ploughing, and looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. the porpoises were still more interesting, for they seemed to live but to romp and play and chase each other, sometimes jumping right out of the water, so that it is no wonder nelda imagined they were playing at leap-frog. nelda, when told that these were schools of porpoises, said,-- "oh, well, and school is just let out, i suppose; no wonder they are happy. and the big whales are their mothers! they are not happy because they are all going to church, quiet and 'spectable like." the myriads of birds seen everywhere it would be impossible here to describe. suffice it to say that they afforded nelda great delight. bob was as merry as ever; but when one day the 'ral walked solemnly aft wearing a pair of canvas stockings right up as far as his thighs, both tandy and halcott joined with the youngsters in a roar of hearty laughter. there was no more dance in that droll bird, and wouldn't be for many a long day. "a sail in sight, sah! a steamer, sah!" it was little fritz who reported it from the mast-head one morning, some time after the _sea flower_ had regained her course, had doubled the cape, and was steering north-west by west. the stranger lay to on observing a flag of distress hoisted, and soon a boat was seen coming rapidly on towards the _sea flower_. the steamer was the _dun avon_, homeward-bound from san francisco, with passengers and cargo. the captain himself boarded her with one of his men, and to him was related the whole sad story as we know it. "we have a clean bill of health now though," added halcott; "but we are short-handed--one man in irons, and five more that we cannot trust." "well," said the steamer captain, "i cannot relieve you of your black hats, but i'll tell you what i can do: i shall let you have four good hands if they'll volunteer, and if you'll pay them well. and i should advise you to set your mutineers on shore at the entrance to the strait of magellan, and let them take their chance. you're not compelled to voyage with mutineers, and risk the safety of yourselves and your ship. now write your letters home, for my time is rather short." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the four new hands were four hearties, as hard as a mainstay, as brown as bricks, and with merry faces that did one's heart good to behold. was it marooning, i wonder? well, it doesn't matter a great deal, but just ten days after this the mutineers were landed, bag and baggage, on the north cape of desolation island, not far from the route through the far-famed strait. with them were left provisions for six weeks, guns, ammunition, and tools. i never heard what became of them. if they were picked up by some passing ship, it was more than they deserved. "at last," said halcott, when the boat returned--"at last, friend tandy, an incubus is lifted off my mind, and now let us make-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "all sail for the island of gold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ end of book two. book --chapter one. "a sight i shall remember till my dying day." captain halcott sat on the skylight, and near him sat tandy his mate, while between them--tacked down with pins to the painted canvas, so that the wind might not catch it--lay a chart of a portion of the south pacific ocean. at one particular spot was a blue cross. "i marked it myself," said halcott; "and here, on this piece of cardboard, is the island, which i've shown you before--every creek and bay, every river and hill, so far as i know them, distinctly depicted." "the exact longitude and latitude?" said tandy. "as near as i could make them, my friend." "and yet we don't seem to be able to discover this island. strange things happen in these seas, halcott; islands shift and islands sink, but one so large as this could do neither. come, halcott, we'll work out the reckoning again. it will be twelve o'clock in ten minutes." "everything correct," said halcott, when they had finished, "as written down by me. here we are on the very spot where the island of misfortune should be, and--the island is gone!" there was a gentle breeze blowing, and the sky was clear, save here and there a few fleecy clouds lying low on a hazy horizon. nothing in sight! nor had there been for days and days; for the isle they were in search of lies far out of the track of outward or homeward-bound ships. "below there!" it was a shout from one of the new hands, who was stationed at the fore-topgallant cross-trees. "hallo, wilson!" cried tandy running forward. "here we are!" "something i can't make out on the lee bow, sir." "well, shall i come up and bring a bigger glass?" "one minute, sir!" "it's a steamer, i believe," he hailed now; "but i can't just raise her hull, only just the long trail of smoke along the horizon." tandy was beside the man in a few minutes' time. "this will raise it," he said, "if i can focus aright. why!" he cried next minute, "that is no steamer, tom wilson, but the smoke from a volcanic mountain or hill." down went tandy quickly now. "had your island of gold a chimney to it?" he said, laughing. he could afford to laugh, for he felt convinced this was _the_ island and none other. "there wasn't a coal mine or a factory of any kind on it, was there? if not, we will soon be in sight of the land of gold. volcanic, halcott--volcanic!" "keep her away a point or two," he said to the man at the wheel. "there were hills on the island of misfortune, but no signs of a volcano." "not then; but in this mystery of an ocean, halcott, we know not what a day or an hour may bring forth. "let me see," he continued, glancing at the cardboard map; "we are on the east side of the island, or we will be soon. why, we ought soon to reach your treachery bay. ominous name, though, halcott; we must change it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ nearer and nearer to the land sailed the _sea flower_. the hills came in sight; then dark, wild cliffs o'ertopped with green, with a few waving palm-trees and a fringe of banana here and there; and all between as blue a sea as ever sun shone on. "it is strangely like my island," said halcott; "but that hill, far to the west yonder, from which the smoke is rising, i cannot recognise." "it may not have been there before." "true," said halcott. but still he looked puzzled. then, after bearing round to the north side of the island, past the mouth of a dark gully, and past a rocky promontory, the land all at once began to recede. in other words, they had opened out the bay. "but all the land in yonder used to be burned forest, tandy." tandy quietly handed him the glass. the forest he now looked upon was not composed of living trees, but of skeletons, their weird shapes now covered entirely by a wealth of trailing parasites and flowery climbing plants. "i am satisfied now, and i think we may drop nearer shore, and let go the anchor." in an hour's time the _sea flower_ lay within two hundred yards of the beach. this position was by no means a safe one were a heavy storm to blow from either the north or the west. there would be nothing for it then but to get up anchor and put out to sea, or probably lie to under the shelter of rocks and cliffs to the southward of the island. the bay itself was a somewhat curious one. the dark blue which was its colour showed that it was deep, and the depth continued till within seventy yards of the shore, when it rapidly shoaled, ending in a snow-white semicircle of coral sands. then at the head of the bay, only on the east side, stretching seawards to that bold promontory, was a line of high, black, beetling cliffs, the home of those wheeling sea-birds. these cliffs were of solid rock of an igneous formation chiefly, but marked here and there with veins of what appeared to be quartz. they were, moreover, indented with many a cave: some of these, it was found out afterwards, were floored with stalagmites, while huge icicle-like stalactites depended from their roofs. rising to the height of at least eight hundred feet above these cliffs was one solitary conical hill, green-wooded almost to its summit. the western side of the bay, and, indeed, all this end of the island, was low, and fringed with green to the water's edge; but southwards, if one turned his eye, a range of high hills was to be seen, adding materially to the beauty of the landscape. the whole island--which was probably not more than sixteen miles in length, by from eight to nine in width--was divided by the river mentioned in captain halcott's narrative into highlands and lowlands. the day was far advanced when the _sea flower_ dropped anchor in this lovely bay, and it was determined therefore not to attempt a landing that night. halcott considered it rather an ominous sign that no savages were visible, and that not a single outrigger boat was drawn up on the beach. experience teaches fools, and it teaches savages also. just a little inland from the head of the bay the cover was very dense indeed; and though, even with the aid of their glasses, neither halcott nor tandy could discover a sign of human life, still, for all they could tell to the contrary, that green entanglement of bush might be peopled by wild men who knew the _sea flower_ all too well, and would not dare to venture forth. the wind went down with the sun, and for a time scarce a sound was to be heard. the stars were very bright, and seemed very near, the southern cross sparkling like a diamond pendant in the sky. by-and-by a yellow glare shone above the shoulder of the adjacent hill, and a great round moon uprose and sailed up the firmament as clear and bright as a pearl. it was just after this that strange noises began to be heard coming from the woods apparently. they were intermittent, however. there would be a chorus of plaintive cries and shrieks, dying away into a low, murmuring moan, which caused nelda, who was on deck, to shiver with fear and cling close to her brother's arm. "what on earth can it be?" said tandy. "can the place be haunted?" "haunted by birds of prey, doubtless. these are not the cries that savages utter, even during an orgie. but, strangely enough--whatever your experience may be, tandy--i have seldom found birds of prey on the inhabited islands of the south pacific." "nor i," said tandy. "look yonder!" he added, pointing to a balloon-shaped cloud of smoke that hovered over a distant hill-top, lit up every now and then by just such gleams of light as one sees at night penetrating the smoke from some village blacksmith's forge. but yonder was vulcan's forge, and jupiter was his chief employer. "yes, tandy, that is the volcano. but i can assure you there was no such fire-mountain, as savages say, when i was here last." "to-morrow," said the mate, "will, i trust, make every thing more plain to us." "to-morrow? yes, i trust so, too," said halcott, musingly. "shall we go below and talk a little?" "i confess, my friend," halcott continued, after he had lit his pipe and smoked some time in silence--"i confess, tandy, that i don't quite like the look of that hill. have you ever experienced the effects of a volcanic eruption in any of these islands?" "i have not had that pleasure, if pleasure it be," replied the mate. "pleasure, tandy! i do not know of anything more hideous, more awful, in this world. "when i say `any of these islands,' i refer to any one of the whole vast colony of them that stud the south pacific, and hundreds of these have never yet been visited by white men. "years ago," he continued, "i was first mate of the _sky-raker_, as bonnie a brig as you could have clapped eyes upon. it afterwards foundered with all hands in a gale off the coast of australia. when i trod her decks, second in command, i was a bold young fellow of twenty, or thereabouts; and i may tell you at once we were engaged in the queensland black labour trade. and black, indeed, and bloody, too, it might often be called. "we used to go cruising to the nor'ard and east, visiting islands here and islands there, to engage hands for working in the far interior. we arranged to pay every man well who would volunteer to go with us, and to land them again back home on their own islands, if they _did_ wish to return. "on these expeditions we invariably employed `call-crows.'" "what may a `call-crow' be, halcott?" "well, you know what gamblers mean on shore by a `call-bird' or `decoy-duck.' your `call-crow' is the same, only he is a black who has lived and laboured in queensland, who can talk `island,' who can spin a good yarn in an off-hand way, and tell as many lies as a recruiting-sergeant. "these are the lures. "no matter how unfriendly the blackamoors among whom we may land may be, our `call-rooks' nearly always make peace. then bartering begins, and after a few days we get volunteers enough." "but they do attack you at times, these natives?" "that's so, tandy; and i believe i was a braver man in those days than i am now, else i'd hardly have cared to make myself a target for poisoned arrows, or poisoned spears, so coolly as i used to do then." nelda, who had come quietly down the companion-way with her brother, seated herself as closely to captain halcott as she could. she dearly loved a story, especially one of thrilling adventure. "go on, cap'n," she said, eagerly. "never mind me. `poisoned spears,'--that is the prompt-word." "these black fellows were not of great height, tandy," resumed halcott. "savages," said nelda. "please say savages." "well, dear, savages i suppose i must call them. they were almost naked, and many of the elder warriors were tattooed on cheeks, chest, and arms. all had bushy heads of hair, and were armed with bows and arrows, spears and clubs, and tomahawks. "but," he added, "it was generally with the natives of those islands from which we had already obtained volunteers that we had the greatest trouble. the ship i used to sail in, tandy, was as honest as it is possible for such a ship to be, and i never saw natives ill-treated by any of our crew, though more than once we had to fight in self-defence. the reason was this. many ships that had agreed to bring the blacks back home, broke their promise, which, perhaps, they had never intended to keep. when they returned to the islands, therefore, to obtain more recruits, bloodshed was almost certain to ensue. if one white man was killed, then the revenge taken was fearful. at a safe distance the whites would bring their rifles and guns to bear upon the poor savages, and the slaughter would be too dreadful to contemplate. if the unhappy wretches took shelter in their woods or jungles, these would be set on fire, till at last a hundred or more of them would fling their arms away, hold up the palms of their hands in token of submission, or as on appeal for mercy, and huddle together in a corner like fowls, and just as helpless. the whites could then pick and choose volunteers as they pleased, and it is needless to tell you there was nothing given in exchange. "our trouble took place when we returned to an island, having found it impossible to bring the natives we had taken off back with us. this they looked upon as cheating, and they would rush to arms, compelling us to fire upon them in self-defence. "well, we were constantly on the search for new islands. the natives on these might threaten us for a time, but the `call-crows' soon pacified them. the beads and presents we distributed, coupled with the glowing accounts of life in queensland which the `crows' gave these poor heathen, did all the rest, and we soon had a cargo." "and this species of trade was, or is, called black-birding, i think," said tandy. "it was, and _is_ now, _sub rosa_. "but i was going to tell you of a volcanic eruption. before i do so, however, i propose that we order the main-brace to be spliced. for this is an auspicious night, you know, and i have not heard a jovial song on board the _sea flower_ for many and many a day. "janeira!" "yes, sah. i'se not fah away, sah." and janeira entered, smiling as usual, and as daintily dressed as a stage waiting-maid. "pass the word for fitz, janeira, like a good girl." "oh, he's neah too, sah. at you' service, sah!" fitz had been in the pantry eating plum-duff, or whatever else came handy. the pantry was a favourite resort with lord fitzmantle, and janeira never failed to put after-dinner tit-bits away in a corner for his especial delectation. "now, jane, you shall draw some rum, and, fitz, you must take it for'ard. here is the key, jane; and, fitz, just tell them for'ard to drink the healths of those aft, and sing as much as they choose to-night." "far away then, tandy and nelda," said halcott, resuming his narrative, "to the west of this island, farther away almost than the imagination can grasp, so solitary and wide is this great ocean, there used to be a small island called saint queeba. who first found it out, or named it, i cannot tell you, tandy, but i believe our own brig was the first that ever visited it in a black-birding expedition. "the population seemed to be about three thousand, and of these we took away at least one hundred and fifty. the poor creatures appeared to have no fear of white men, and so we concealed our revolvers and entered into friendly intercourse with them. "the island was a long way from any other, and this probably accounted for its never having been black-birded before. "we returned from australia almost immediately again after landing our recruits, and i for one felt sure the natives would welcome us. "so we brought extra-showy cloth and the brightest beads we could procure. "they did welcome us, and we soon had about half a cargo of real volunteers. "we were only waiting for others to come from the interior; for the wind was fair just then, and we were all anxious to proceed to sea. "the very evening before the arrival of the blacks, however, the wind went suddenly down, although, strangely enough, at a great altitude we could see scores of small black clouds scurrying across the sky. finally, some of these circled round and round, and combined to form a dark blue canopy that gradually lowered itself towards the island. "soon the sun went down, a blood-red ball in the west, and darkness quickly followed. it was just then that we observed a fitful gleam arise from the one and only mountain the island possessed. over this a ball of cloud had hung all day long, but we had taken little notice of it. "`i've never seen the like of that before, mate,' said the skipper to me, pointing at the slowly descending pall of cumulus. "`nor i either, captain,' i replied. "i couldn't keep my eyes off it, do what i would, for dark though the night was that strange cloud was darker. it seemed now to be sending downwards from its centre a whirling tail, or pillar, which the gleams that began to rise higher and higher from the developing volcano lit up, and tongues of fire appeared to touch. "`it's going to be a storm of some kind, halcott,' said my skipper. `oh, for a puff of wind, for, heaven help us, lad! we are far too near the shore.' "`i have it,' he cried next minute. `lower the boats and heave up the anchor.' "i never saw men work more willingly in my life before. even the blacks we had on board lent a hand, and no sooner was the anchor apeak than away went the boats, and the ship moved slowly out to sea. "we had got about three knots off-shore, when, happening to look back, i saw a sight which i shall remember to my dying day. "the black and awful whirling cloud had burst. if one ton of water came down like an avalanche, a million must have fallen, with a deafening roar like a thousand thunders. "it seemed as if heaven and earth had gone to war and the first terrific shot had been fired. "for a time the mountain was entirely enveloped in darkness; then up through this blackness rose high, high into the air a huge pillar of steam. this continued to rise for over an hour, with incessant thunder and lightning around the base of the hill. rain, almost boiling hot, fell on our decks, and hissed and spluttered on the still water around the ship, compelling us to fly below or seek the shelter of tarpaulins. "this ceased at last, and now we could see that the volcanic fire had gained the mastery; for the flames, with huge pieces of stones and rocks, were hurled five hundred feet at least into the starry sky. "for many hours the thunderings and the lightnings over that devoted island and around the hill were such, tandy, as i pray god i may never see or hear again. there were earthquakes, too; that was evident enough from the strange commotion in the water around us, and this was communicated to the ship. the best sailors on our brig could scarcely stand, far less walk. towards morning it had partially cleared, although the lightning still continued to play, fork and sheet, above the base of the volcanic hill. we could now see streams of molten lava pouring down the mountain's side, green, crimson, and violet. "very lovely indeed they were. but ah! then i knew the fate of those unhappy inhabitants was to be a terrible one. it would be a choice of deaths, for in less than half an hour the isle was one vast conflagration. we saw but little more of it even next day, for the lava was now pouring into the sea and a cloud of steam enveloped the scene of tragedy. "our decks were covered with dust and scoriae, and this fell steadily all that day. "we had managed by means of the boats to work off and away fully fifteen miles. this was undoubtedly our salvation; for presently we were struck by a terrible tornado, and it required all our skill to keep out of the vortex. "while it was still raging around us, an explosion away on our port quarter, where the island would be just then, seemed to rend the whole earth in pieces. many of our crew were struck deaf, and remained so for days. our ship shook, tandy, fore and aft, quivering like a dying rat. she seemed to have no more stability in her then than an old orange box. "an immense wave, such as i had never seen before, rose in the sea and swept on towards us. the marvel is that it did not swamp us. "as it was we were carried sky-high, and our masts cracked as if they were about to go by the board. smaller waves followed, and the gale that brought up the rear drove us far away from the scene of the terrible tragedy before the sun rose, redder than ever i had seen it before, for it was shining through the dust and debris of that broken up island. "i left the trade soon after this, tandy. i was tired and sick of black-birding. "but in my own ship, two years after this, i visited the spot. the island was gone; but for more than a mile in circumference the sea was strangely rippled, and gases were constantly escaping that we were glad enough to work to windward of. "but listen! our good little crew is singing. well, there is something like hope in that--and in the sweet notes of tom wilson's violin. he's a good man that, tandy, but he has a history, else i'm a hottentot. "well, just one look at the sky, and then i'll turn in, my friend. we don't know what may be in store for us to-morrow." and away up the companion-way went captain halcott. book --chapter two. "i see a beach of coral sand, dark figures moving to and fro." next morning broke bright and fair. not a cloud in all the heaven's blue; not a ripple on the water, just a gentle swell that broke in long lines of snow-white foam on the crescent shore--a gentle swell with sea-birds afloat on it. ah! what would the ocean be to a sailor were there no birds. the sea-gulls are the last to leave him, long after all other friends are gone, and the land, like a pale blue cloud far away on the horizon, is fading from his view. "adieu! adieu! away! away?" they shriek or sing, and as the shades of evening are merging into darkness they disappear. but these same birds are the first to welcome the mariner back, and even should there be no land in sight, or should clouds envelop it, the sight of a single gull flying tack and half-tack around the ship sends a thrill of hope and joy to the sailor's heart. on the deep, lone sea, too, jack has ay a friend, should it be but in the stormy petrel, the frigate-bird, or that marvellous eagle of the ocean, the albatross itself. those birds floating here around the _sea flower_ so quietly on the swell of the sea looked as happy as they were pure and lovely. no whiteness, hardly even snow itself, could rival the whiteness of their chests, while under them their pink legs and feet looked like little twigs of coral. the morning was warm, the sun was bright; they were moving gently with the tide, careless, happy. as he stood there gazing seawards and astern--for the ship had swung to the outgoing tide--halcott could not help envying them. "ah!" he said half aloud, "you are at home, sweet birds; never a care to look forward to, contentment in your breasts, beauty all around you." then his thoughts went somehow wandering homewards to his beautiful house, his house with a tower to it, and his lovely gardens. they would not be neglected though. it was autumn here. it would be spring time in england, with its buds, its tender green leaves, its early flowers, and its music of birds. then he thought of his dog. fain would he have brought him to sea. the honest collie had placed his muzzle in his master's hand on that last sad evening of parting, and glanced with loving, pleading eyes up into his face. "take me," he seemed to say, "and take _her_." _her_ was doris. his--halcott's--own doris; the lovely girl for whom he had risked so much, for whom he would lay down his life; the girl that would be his own fair bride, he told himself, if ever he returned. ah! those weary "ifs!" but he had looked into the dog's bonnie brown eyes. "friend," he had said, "you will stay with doris. you will never leave her side till i come back. you will watch her for me." and he remembered now how doris had at that moment thrown herself into his arms, and strained him to her breast in a fit of convulsive weeping. and this had been the parting. "what, halcott," cried tandy's cheerful voice, "up already! and--and-- why, halcott, old man, there is moisture in your eyes!" "i--i was thinking of home, and--well, i was thinking of my dog." "and your doris. heigho! i have no doris, no beautiful face to welcome me home. but look yonder," he added, taking halcott's arm. little nelda stood at the top of the companion-way, the sunlight playing on her yellow hair, one hand held up to screen her face, delicate, pink, yet so shyly sweet, and her blue eyes brimful of happiness. just one look she gave, then, with arms outstretched, rushed gleefully towards her father. next moment she was poised upon his shoulder, and tandy had forgotten that there was any such thing as danger or sorrow in the world. the two men walked and talked together now for quite an hour. indeed, there was very much to talk about, for although they had made the island at last, they had no idea as yet how they should set about looking for the gold which they were certain existed there. they had not made up their minds as to what they should do, when janeira rang the bell for breakfast, and with fitz was seen staggering aft with the covered dish. "jane, you look happier than ever this morning. what is the matter? has some beautiful bird brought you a letter from home?" "de bootiful bird, sah, is lawd fitzmantle, and see, sah, dat is de letter from home." she lifted the dish cover as she spoke. beautiful broiled fish caught only that morning over the stern, but oh, the delicious odour would have revived the heart of a dying epicure! "babs is going to be very good to-day," said tandy to his little daughter after breakfast. "better than ever, daddy?" "yes, much, because i'm going on shore with captain halcott here and two men." "and _me_?" "no, not to-day, dear. we're going to climb that high hill and look all round us, and perhaps put up a flag; and ransey will let you look through a spyglass to see us, and we'll wave our hands to you. now will you be better than usual?" "ye-es, i think i'll try. and oh, i'll make the admiral look through the spyglass too, and when you see him looking through, you must wave your hand and fire your gun. then we'll all--all be happy and nicer than anything in the whole world." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was not without a feeling of misgiving that halcott and tandy left the boat that had taken them on shore, and took their way cautiously towards the bush. there was hard work before them and the two sturdy fellows, chips and tom wilson, whom they had brought with them--hard work to penetrate through the jungle and to effect an ascent of the hill they had already named the observatory--hard work and danger combined. the crew of the boat stood gun in hand until they saw the party safe into the bush, then, more easy in their minds now, rowed slowly back to the ship. for if savages had been hiding under cover, the attack would have been made just as the party was stepping on shore. the exploring party kept to the extreme edge of the bush after penetrating and searching hither and thither for a time, but neither track nor trail of savages could they find. but they came across several little pathways that led here and there through the jungle, and at first they could not make out what these were. they learned before long, however; for bob, who had gone on ahead a little way, came suddenly and excitedly rushing out from a thicket. in his mouth he held something that tandy imagined was a rat, but the shrieking and yelling behind the dog soon undeceived him, and, lo! there now rushed into the open a beautiful little boar and a sow. the former flashed his tusks in the sunlight. he wanted the baby back. it was his, _his_, he said, and his wife's. he felt full of fight, and big enough to wage war against the whole world for that baby. tandy made bob drop it, which he did, and it ran squealing back to its mother. the boar, or king pig, said he accepted the apology, and would now withdraw his forces. and he accordingly did so by scuttling off again into the bush. these wild dwarf-pigs and a species of rock-rabbit were, they found afterwards, about the only animals of any size the island contained. after this trifling adventure they fought their way through a terrible entanglement of bush, till they reached the foot of the hill. the men had brought saws and axes with them, and were thus enabled by cutting here and whacking there to make a tolerably good road. when they reached the hill they found themselves in a woodland of beautiful trees. walking was now easy enough, and in about an hour's time they reached the summit of the hill and sat down to luncheon. eager eyes were watching their progress from the ship, for the upper part of this mount was covered only with stunted grass and beautiful heaths, among which they noticed many a charmingly-coloured lizard-- green with crimson markings, or pale blue and orange--but they saw no snakes. tandy turned his glass now upon the barque, and there sure enough was nelda with the admiral by her side. he waved his coat, and twice he fired his gun. from the hill on which they stood the view was lovely beyond compare. they could see well into the highland part of the island, with its rolling woods, on which the fingers of autumn had already traced beauty tints; its bosky glens; its rugged rocks and hills; its streaks of silvery streams; the lake lying down yonder in the hollow, with something like a floating garden in its centre; and afar off the vast expanse of ocean. look which way they would, that sea was all before them, only dotted here and there far to the northward with islands much smaller than the one on which they stood. high up on the top of the volcanic hill a white cloud was resting, and its dark sides were seamed with many a waving line, the channels down which lava must have run during some recent eruption. "ha!" said halcott presently, "now i can understand the mystery of the burned forest. at first, when we landed here, we believed that the black-birders had been ahead of us; but no, tandy, no, it was nothing but the lava that fired the forest." but strangely enough, however, not a sign of human life was anywhere visible. was there any way of accounting for this? "what is your theory, halcott?" said tandy. halcott was lying on the green turf, fanning himself with his broad hat. but he now lit his pipe. like most sailors, he was capable of calmer and more concentrated thought when smoking. "tandy," he said slowly, after a few whiffs of the too seductive weed--"tandy, we have luck on our side. those blackamoors have fled helter-skelter at the first signs of the eruption. nothing in the world strikes greater terror to the mind of the ordinary savage--and precious ordinary most of them are--than a sudden convulsion of nature." another whiff or two. "what think you, men," he said, looking round him, "came up with the fire and the smoke from the throat of that volcanic hill?" "stones and ashes," ventured chips. "stones and ashes? yes, no doubt, but demons as well--so the dusky rascals who inhabited this island would believe--demons with fire-fierce eyes, tusks for teeth, and blood-red lolling tongues; only the kind of demons that at home nurses try to frighten children with, but more dreadful to those natives than either falling stones or boiling rain. "that is it, tandy; they have fled. heaven grant they may not come back. but if they do, we must try to give them a warm reception, unless they are extra civil. meanwhile, i think that old vulcan, at his forge in yonder hill, has not let out his fires. they are merely banked, and he is ready to get up steam at a moment's notice. "why, tandy, what see you?" the mate of the _sea flower_ was lying flat on the green hill-top, with his telescope resting on bob's back. "i see--i--see," he said, without taking his eye from the glass, "a little island far away, a level island it is." "yes. go on." "i see a beach of coral sand, dark canoes like tree-trunks are lying here and there, and i see dark figures moving to and fro, and many more around a fire. the beach is banked behind by waving plantain or banana-trees, and cocoa palms are nodding in the air." "then," said halcott, "i was right, and those savages you see, tandy, are the natives of this island of gold--for we shall call it the isle of misfortune never again--the very natives, tandy, who fled from this place when vulcan's thunders began to shake the earth." slowly homewards now they took their way, and just as the sun was westering stood once more upon the coral beach. the boat was speedily sent for them, and they were not sorry to find themselves once more on board. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ fine weather continued, with scarcely ever a breath of wind, for a whole week. but this could not always be so. the ocean that stretches from the shores of south america far across to new zealand and australia is pacific by name, but not always pacific by nature, and terrible indeed are the gales and circular storms that sometimes sweep over its surface. so, knowing this, halcott and tandy determined to seek, if possible, a safer anchorage or harbour. it was with this view that they extended their explorations, and made little boat excursions round the rocky coast. these last nelda, much to her joy, was permitted to join. looking over the boat's gunwale, far down into the depths of the clear, transparent water, she could see marine gardens more lovely than any she had ever dreamt of. "oh," she cried, "look, daddy, look! that is fairyland. oh, i _should_ like to go down and see a mermaids' ball." after rounding the promontory, with its bold, bluff cliffs frowning darkly over the deep, they came to the entrance to the river. this river was fed by springs that rose far inland, and so wide was it at its mouth that the mariners hoped it would make a most excellent shelter and harbour for the _sea flower_. alas, greatly to their disappointment, they found it barred across. and no other spot could be found around the island coast. by paying out the anchors; however, which, getting a firm hold of the coralline bottom, were almost bound to hold, halcott believed the _sea flower_ could weather almost any storm. in this he was sadly mistaken, as the sequel will show. it was determined now to penetrate into the highland part of the isle itself, and make their first grand plunge for gold. if this could be found in sufficient quantities, their stay on the island need be but very brief. book --chapter three. "we shall always be brothers now--always, always." "just there, tandy," said halcott, as the two stood together a day or two after on the brink of a rocky chasm, at the bottom of which the river swept slowly along, dark and deep, because confined by the wet and perpendicular rocks--"just there it was where my friend, my almost brother, plunged over. he had torn up the bridge, as i told you, to save us from the black men's axes, and so doing sacrificed his life. ah, james! poor james! "see," he added, "the bridge has never yet been repaired." then they went slowly and sadly away, for tandy felt sorry indeed to witness the grief of his companion. "how he must have loved him!" he thought. but he remained silent. grief is sometimes far too deep for sympathy. they saw many little pigs to-day and rabbits also, as well as a species of pole-cat. but having still plenty of provisions on board they did not hamper themselves by making a bag. higher up the stream now they went, and after a time found a place that could be easily forded, the river meandering through a green and pleasant valley, studded here and there with fragrant shrubs and carpeted with wild flowers. monster butterflies darted from bloom to bloom--as big as painted fans they were, and radiantly beautiful; but still more beautiful were the many birds seen here and there, especially the kingfishers. so tame were these that they scarce moved even when the travellers came within a yard of them. asleep you might have believed them to be till one after another, with a half-suppressed scream of excitement, they left their perches to dive into a pool, so quickly too that they looked like tiny strips of rainbow. dinner was partaken of by the side of the stream, and after a time they crossed the ford. the country was rough and rolling and well-wooded, though few of the birds that flitted from bough to bough had any song; they made love in silence. the beauty of the colours is doubtless granted them for sake of the preservation of species, for there are lizards large enough here to prey upon them, did the birds not resemble the flowers. their want of song, too, is a provision of nature for the same purpose. they found the country through which they passed on their way to the lake so covered with jungle, here and there, that they had to climb hills to save themselves from being lost, having brought no compass with them. "ha! yonder is the lake," cried halcott; "and now we shall see the place where my dear girl and her mother were imprisoned; and, tandy," he added, "we may find gold." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ close here, by the green banks of the little lake, and in a grove, much to their astonishment, they found a canoe. to all appearance it had been recently used, for there were the marks of feet on the grass, and in the canoe--a black dug-out--were a native tomahawk, a kind of spear or trident, and fishing-hooks of bone, most curiously formed, and evidently only recently used. "look to your guns now, lads," said halcott, "and keep out of sight; that island is inhabited." just at that moment, as if in proof of what he said, a slight wreath of smoke came curling up through the foliage of a large-leaved banana grove on the tiny island. a council of war was immediately held. the question to be debated was: should two of their number enter the canoe and row boldly off to the grass hut, the top of which could be seen peeping grey over the green of the trees? this had been tom wilson's proposition. he and chips, he said, would run the risk. there could not be many savages on the island. with revolvers in their hands they need not fear to advance under cover of the rifles of captain halcott and mr tandy. "poisoned arrows," said halcott, shaking his head, "speed swiftly from a bush. spears, too, fly fast, and the touch of either means death! "no, my good fellows, we must think of some other plan. i cannot afford to have you slain. if one or two savages would but appear, we could make signs of peace, or hold them up with our rifles." from his position at this moment halcott alone commanded a view of the islet, which was barely seventy yards away. the three others were sitting on the edge of the canoe. "oh!" this was a sudden exclamation of half-frightened surprise, and when tandy looked up, behold! there stood halcott in a position which seemed to indicate a sudden attack of catalepsy. halcott's shoulders were shrugged, his clenched fists held somewhat in advance, his head bent forward, eyes staring, brows lowered, and lips parted. halcott was a brave man, and tandy right well knew it. the sight of a score of spear-armed savages could not have affected him thus; he might be face to face with a tiger or a python, yet feel no fear. thinking his friend was about to fall, tandy sprang up and seized his arm. halcott recovered almost at once, and a smile stole over his bold, handsome, sailor face. but he spoke not. he could not just then. he only pointed over the bush towards the island, and tandy looked in the same direction. slowly from out the plantain thicket tottered, rather than walked, the tall figure of a white man. his long hair flowed unkempt over his shoulders; he was clothed in rags, and leaned upon a long, strong spear. he stood there for a moment on a patch of greensward, and, shading his eyes from the sunlight, gazed across the lake, and as if listening. then he knelt just there, with his right hand still clutching the spear, as if engaged in prayer. and tandy knew then without being told that the man kneeling yonder on the patch of greensward was the long-lost james malone himself. but no one moved, no one spoke, until at last the crusoe staggered to his feet. this he did with difficulty, moving as one does who has aged before his time with illness or sorrow, or with both combined. james had turned to go, when, with a happy cry, halcott sprang out from his hiding-place, dragging with him the small canoe and her paddles. "ship ahoy! james! james!" he shouted, "your prayers are heard. i'm here--your old shipmate, halcott. you are saved!" the captain sprang into the canoe as he spoke, and soon shoved her off. they could see now, in a bright glint of sunshine, that james's hair was long and had a silvery sheen. he gazed once more across, but shook his head. it was evident he would not credit his senses. then he turned round and moved slowly and painfully back into the bush. tandy had not attempted to go with halcott, though the canoe could easily have held two. "that meeting," he said to himself, "will be a sacred one. i shall not dare to intrude." it was quite a long time after he reached the island and disappeared in the grove before anything more was seen of halcott. tandy had thrown himself on the beach in a careless attitude, just as he used to lounge on summer days on the poop of the _merry maiden_ while slowly moving along the canal, and smoking now as he used to smoke then--smoking and thinking. but see, halcott is coming at last. he is leading james by the hand and helping him towards the boat, and in a few minutes' time both are over and standing on the bank of the lake. "tandy, this is james. but you know the strange story, and this is the strangest part of all." tandy took the hand that was offered to him. how cold and thin it felt! "god sent you here," said james slowly, and speaking apparently with some difficulty. "_his_ name be praised. it was for this happy meeting i was kept living on and on, though i did not know it. it has been a weary, terrible time. it is ended now, i trust." here a happy smile spread over his sadly-worn face, and once more he extended his hand to halcott. "heaven bless you, friend--nay, _brother_!" "yes, james, and we shall always be brothers now--always, always." book --chapter four. prisoner among savages--shipwreck. not a word about gold was spoken that night. to halcott had been restored that which is better far than much fine gold--the friendship of a true and honest heart. for many days james malone was far too weak to talk much, and he told them his story only by slow degrees as he reclined on the couch in the _sea flower's_ cabin, as often as not with little nelda seated on a camp-stool beside him, her little hand in his. she had quite taken to james, and the child's gentle voice and winning manners appeared to soothe him. his story was one of suffering, it is true, but of suffering nobly borne. hope had flown away at last, however. he found himself too ill to find his own living. at the very time halcott spied him, he had come forth expecting to look his last at sun and sky, just to pray, and then creep back into the cooler gloom of his hut to die. how he had been saved from the savages, in the first instance, is soon told. he had leaped, after he had seen every one safely over the bridge, into the deep pool with the intention of swimming down stream, hoping thus to avoid the natives, and, gaining the beach, make his way along the coast or across the promontory to join his friends on the other side. he had got almost a mile on, and was feeling somewhat exhausted, when the river suddenly narrowed again, and before he could do anything to help himself, he was caught in the rapids and hurried along at a fearful rate. sick and giddy, at last, and stunned by repeated blows received by contact with stones or boulders, he suddenly lost consciousness. "darkness, dearie," he said, as if addressing nelda only, "darkness came over me all at once, and many and many a day after that i lived to wonder why it had not been the darkness of death. "when i recovered consciousness--when i got a little better, i mean, dearie--and opened my eyes, i found myself lying in a clearing of the forest, pained, and bruised, and bleeding. "pained i well might be, for feet and hands were tightly bound with a species of willow. but i was alone. i thanked god for that. i had no idea how long i had lain there, but it was night, and the stars that brightly shone above me were, for a time, my only companions. they gave me hope--oh, not for this world, but for the next. i felt my time would soon come, and that, baulked in their designs on the ladies, the savages would torture and sacrifice me. in spite of my sores and sufferings, some influence seemed to steal down from those holy stars to calm me, and i fell fast asleep once more. it could not have been for long, though. i had a rude awakening. all around me, but some distance off, was a circle of dusky warriors, spear-armed. i could see their eyes and teeth gleaming white in the starlight, as they danced exultingly round and round me, brandishing their weapons and uttering their wild yells, their savage battle-cries. "but every now and then the circle would be suddenly narrowed, as a dozen or more of the fiercest and most demon-like rushed upon me with levelled spears, and it was then i thought my time had come. but the bitterness of death was past, and now, as if mad myself, i defied them, laughed at them, spat at them. my voice sounded far-off. i could hardly believe it was my own. "but, as if by magic, suddenly every warrior disappeared, and into the clearing stalked a savage taller than any i had yet seen. his spear was like a weaver's beam, as says the bible. with hair adorned with feathers, with face, chest, and arms disfigured by tattooing--the scars in many places hardly yet healed--with awful mouth, and gleaming, vindictive eyes, he looked indeed a fearsome figure. "at each side of him marched three men carrying torches, and close behind two savages bearing a litter, or rude hammock, of branches. on to this i was roughly lifted, and borne away through the dark woods. "but whither? i hardly dared guess at the answer to that question. to death, i felt certain--death by torture and the stake. the chief would yet, he doubtless believed, have `white blood' to drink, and that blood should be mine. "it was to the small lake island, however, on which you found me, that i was carried, more dead than alive, and here i was to be kept a prisoner until the full of another moon. "i need not tell you how i gradually ingratiated myself into favour, first with the medicine-man, and afterwards with the king himself, whom i taught much that was of use to him in the arts of peace, till he came to consider me far more useful alive than dead. nor am i willing to speak before this dear child of the awful rites, the mummeries, and fearful human sacrifices that my eyes have witnessed. the wonder is, that instead of living on as i did--though life has been in reality but a living death--i did not become insane, and wander raving through the woods and forests. "but the savages have been driven from the island at last, terrorised by the demons of the burning mountain, and i do not think that they are likely to return during the few weeks we shall be here. "they fled in their canoes precipitately on the first signs of eruption. the boats were terribly overcrowded, and although they lightened them by throwing women and children overboard to the sharks, at least three great war-canoes were sunk before my eyes. "it was a fearful sight! may no one here ever live to have such experiences as i have passed through." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ as soon as he could bear to listen to it, halcott told james all his own story and that of the _sea flower_ since she left the shores of england. "like myself," said james, "you have been mercifully preserved. "as to gold," he continued, "i am fully aware that the medicine-man had many utensils of the purest beaten gold. they were used for sacrificial purposes; and, at one time, when the king and his warriors returned from utterly wiping out the inhabitants of an island to the nor'ard of this, and brought with them a crowd of prisoners, these golden utensils were filled over and over again with the blood of the victims, and drunk by the excited warriors. after this i never troubled myself about gold in any shape or form; but just before the exodus, i believe these vessels were hurriedly buried on the little island. if not, they have been thrown into the lake." "is it in your power to tell us, james, where these vessels of gold were made, or where the gold was obtained?" "they were fashioned, dear brother, by the spear-makers, with chisels and hammers of hard wood and stone. "even the medicine-man himself knew nothing of the value of the metal. it was easy to work, that was all, else iron itself would have been preferred. you ask me whence the gold was obtained. i can only inform you that the secret lay and lies with the magician himself, and that the mine is a cave at the foot of the burning mountain, probably now entirely filled up with lava. once, and once only, was i permitted to accompany this awful wretch to the grove near which this cave is situated. i was not allowed to go further. here i waited for a whole hour, during which time i now and then heard muffled shrieks and yells of pain and agony that made me shudder." "what could these have been, think you, james?" "can you not guess? at least, you may, when i tell you that a poor boy was forced to enter the cave with the medicine-man, but never again saw the light of day. "i had learned by this time to talk the language of these savages, and all the information i received, when i questioned the monster, was that the demons of the fiery hill had to be propitiated. "but he brought back with him two huge nuggets that i could see were gold. "this was the price, he told me, that he had been paid for the _kee-waaee_. [youth]. "i never saw those nuggets again, but believe they were fashioned into spear-heads for the king." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ while halcott and james were talking quietly down below, tandy was walking the deck with considerable uneasiness. there was a strange appearance far away in the north that he did not like. no banks of clouds were rising, only just a curious black, or rather purple, haze. it had been so very clear all round up till an hour ago, that danger would have been the last thing tandy would have thought about. he looked towards the distant island through his glass at three o'clock, and it was then visible; but now, though the dog-watch had only just begun, it was wiped out, swallowed up in the mysterious haze. but when a bigger wave than usual rolled in, and others and others followed, and when the surface became wrinkled here and there with cat's-paws, he hesitated no longer. "all hands on deck!" he shouted, stamping loudly on the planks to arouse those below. "hands loosen sail! man the winch, lads! it must be up anchors, and off!" there was wind enough shortly to work to windward till they were quite clear of the bay, then they kept the barque away on the starboard tack, until well clear of the island. they now worked northwards as far as possible, till the wind got too strong, when they were obliged to lie to, almost under bare poles. neither tandy, halcott, nor james could remember having encountered so terrible a storm before. no one thought of turning in that night, for, being so short-handed, every man was needed on deck. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ about midnight this fearful gale was evidently at its worst. the sea was then making a clean breach over the ship from fore to aft. the darkness was intense; hardly any light was there at all from the sky, save now and then a bright gleam of lightning that lit up mast, rigging, and shrouds, and the pale faces of the men as they clung in desperation to bulwark or stay. each lightning flash was followed by a peal of thunder that sounded high above even the incessant roaring of the wind. surely it was every one for himself now, and god for all who put their trust in him. it was probably about five bells in the middle-watch, the hatches being firmly battened down, when ransey tansey crept under the tarpaulin that covered the after companion, and lowered himself down as well as the terrible motion of the ship permitted him. he staggered into the saloon. a light was burning in his father's state-room, the light of a candle hung in gimbals. towards the door he groped his way, hoping against hope that he would find his little sister asleep and well. "o jane, are you here?" he said; "so glad." janeira rose as he entered, clinging to the edge of the upper bunk in the endeavour to steady herself. "iss, i'se heah, sah. been praying heah all de night to de good lawd to deliber us. been one big night ob feah, sah. but de sweet child, she go to sleep at last." "did she cry much?" "no; she much too flighten'd to weep." ransey bent low over his sister, and felt relieved when certain that she was breathing and alive, for she slept almost like one in a trance. ransey had long since become "sea-fast," as sailors call it. no waves, however rough, could affect him, no ship's motion however erratic. but just at that moment his head suddenly swam; he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, that he was being lifted into the clouds; next moment a crash came that extinguished the light and hurled him to the deck. for a moment he felt stunned and unable to move; and now, high above the shrieking of the storm-wind, came the sound of falling and breaking timber, and ransey knew the ship was doomed. book --chapter five. fortifying the encampment. the sound was that of falling masts. a sailor of less experience than ransey could have told that. the barque had been dashed stern-foremost upon the rocks. she had been lifted by one of those mighty waves, or "bores," that during a storm like this sometimes rise to the height of fifty feet or more, and hurrying onwards sweep over islands, and pass, leaving in their wake only death and destruction. after the masts had gone clean by the board, there were loud grating noises for a short time, then the motion of the ship ceased--and ceased for ever and ay. nelda's voice, calling for her father, brought the boy to himself. "i'm here, dear," he sang out. "it is all right; i'll go and get a light; lie still." "oh, don't leave me. tell me, tell me," wept the wee lass, "is the ship at the bottom? and are we all drowned?" luckily, janeira now managed to strike a light, and poor nelda's mind was calm once more. bob had slept on the sofa cushions all throughout this dreadful night; but ransey was now very much astonished, indeed, to see the stately 'ral walk solemnly in at the door, and gently lower his head and long neck over nelda, that she might scratch his chin. "oh, you dear, droll 'rallie," cried the child, smiling through her tears, "and so you're not drowned?" but no one could tell where the 'ral had spent the night. under the influence of great terror, the admiral was in the habit of "trussing" himself, as the sailors called it--that is, he close-reefed his long neck till his head was on a level with his wings, and his long bill lying downwards along his crop. then he drew up his thighs, and lowered himself down over his legs. he was a comical sight thus trussed, and seemed sitting on his tail, and no taller than a barn-door fowl. it was convenient for him, however, for he could thus stow himself away into any corner, and be in nobody's way. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ daylight came at last, and it was now found that the _sea flower_ had been lifted by the mighty wave, and after being dashed into a gully in the barrier of rocks that stretched along the eastern side of treachery bay, had been left there high and dry. the marvel is that, although several of the hands had been more or less shaken and bruised, no one was killed. the position of the wrecked barque was indeed a strange one. luckily for her the sea had risen when the tide was highest, so that she now lay on an even keel upon the shelf of rocks, twenty feet above the bay at low water. the monster wave seemed to have made a clean breach of the lowland part of the island, and gone surging in through the dead forest, smashing thousands of the blackened trees to the ground, and quite denuding all that were left of their beautiful drapery of foliage, climbing flowers, and floral parasites. at each side of the gully the black rocks towered like walls above the hulk, but landwards, a green bank, of easy ascent, sloped up to the well-wooded table-land above. as speedily as possible the main part of the wreckage was cleared away. this consisted of a terrible entanglement of ropes and rigging. but the spars were sawn up into lengths that could be easily moved, and so, in a few hours' time, the unfortunate _sea flower_ was simply a dismantled hulk. when the work was finally accomplished, the men were permitted to go below, to cook breakfast, and sleep if they had a mind to. but not till prayers were said, and thanks, fervent and heartfelt, offered up to the god who, although he had seen fit to wreck the ship, had so mercifully spared the lives of all. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ strange, indeed, was now the position of these shipwrecked mariners, and it was difficult for halcott, tandy, and james malone to review it with even forced calmness. the three men walked up together to the table-land to hold a council, taking no one with them. the storm had gone down almost as quickly as it had arisen, and sea and sky were blue and beautiful once again. said james, as they all sat smoking there,-- "brother halcott, my first words are these--and i'm an older man than either of you--we must not despair!" "we must not despair!" repeated both his shipmates. but they did not smile, and their voices sounded almost hollow, or as if they came up out of a phonograph. james laid his hand on his friend's knee. "our prospects are bad, i allow," he said, "the future looks dark and drear. we are far, far beyond the ordinary track of ships; ships seldom, if ever, come this way, unless driven out of their course by stress of weather. i think, then, brother, that we may dismiss from our minds, as useless, all hope from that direction. but dangers loom ahead that we must not, dare not, try to minimise. we are here with but limited supplies of food and ammunition, and these can hardly last for ever. the nearest land is hundreds and hundreds of miles away, the wild, inhospitable shores of northern patagonia. we are but eleven all told, excluding the boys ransey and fitz, the dear child, and janeira-- eleven working hands. could we expect or dare, as a last resource, to reach the far-off land in two open boats? did we attempt this, we should have to reckon, at the outset, upon opposition from the wild natives of that north island; then on the dangers of the elements during this long, forlorn cruise. worst of all, if not an-hungered, we might perish from thirst. tandy, you would go mad were you to see the anxious, fevered face and dry, parched lips of your child upturned to the sky, weak and weary, and praying for the drop of water you could not find to give her." "hush, james, hush!" cried tandy; "sooner far we should all die where we are." "i do not mention these matters to worry you, men, but that, knowing our dangers, we may be prepared to face them. "then," he continued, "there is the king of this island and his warriors to be thought about. fools, indeed, were we did we not reckon on these, for they constitute the danger that presses most, now that we are wrecked--the danger, probably, first to be faced." "you think, then, they will return?" james malone pointed to the far-off volcanic hill, which was once more belching forth smoke. "they will return," he said, "when yonder cloud rests no longer on the mountain top. "yes, brother, it might be possible to make friends of them. but i doubt it. treachery is written on every lineament of their black and fearsome faces. i should never, never trust them. "and now, men," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "i have painted our situation in its darkest colours. let us see, then, where the light comes in. the light and the hope." as he spoke he took from his bosom a little bible and those big horn "specs" that halcott mentioned in his story. these last he mounted on his nose, and turning over the leaves read solemnly as follows:-- "`god is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. "`therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. "`the heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; he uttered his voice, the earth melted. "`the lord of hosts is with us; the god of jacob is our refuge. amen!' "in these words," said james closing the book, "and in many such promises, do i place my hope and confidence. god heard _my_ prayers before, gentlemen. he will hear _ours_ now. i think our deliverance will come about in some strange way. just let us trust." but james malone's religion was of a very practical kind. "trust in god, and keep your powder dry," are words that have been attributed to cromwell. they are to the point. "_fortuna favet fortibus_," (fortune favours the brave), you know, reader; and it is wrong to expect god to help us to do that which he has given us the power to do for ourselves. "and now, gentlemen," said james, rising to his feet, "let us work." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "the first thing to be considered, then," said halcott, "is, i think you will agree with me, james, our defence." "that is so," said james quietly. "the savages will come sooner or later, i fear, and it is but little likely they will come prepared to shake us by the hand and make friends with us. even if they did, i should be prepared to fight them, for you never know what might happen." "right, james, right. we may be thankful anyhow that as yet we are all spared and well. now, you just have the hands lay aft, and tell them, brother, in your convincing way, how matters stand. speak to them as you spoke to us." james answered never a word, but went straight down the green declivity and boarded the vessel. he did not ask the men to come to the quarterdeck--james was non-demonstrative in all his methods. he would have no "laying aft" business. this was too much man-of-war fashion for him, so he simply went forward to the forecastle and beckoned the few hands around him. a minute or two after this halcott and tandy, still lying at ease on the brow of the embankment, heard a lusty cheer. from their position they could command a view of the deck, and now, on looking down, behold! the brave little crew were taking off their jackets and tightening their waist-belts, and a mere tyro could have told that that meant business. halcott got up now; he plucked a pinch of moss, and after plugging his pipe therewith he placed it carefully away in his jacket pocket. that meant business also. "come, tandy," he said, and both descended. the position, it must be admitted, was one which it would be rather difficult for so small a garrison to defend successfully. the vessel, as i have already said, had been dashed stern on to the rocks and into the gully, and the jibboom hung over a black, slippery precipice that descended sheer down into the sea. this cliff, however, was not so slippery but that it might afford foothold for naked savages. it must be included, therefore, in the plan of defence. but from the cliffs that rose on each side of the ship an enemy could attack her, and the deck below would then be quite at the mercy of their poisoned spears and their clouds of arrows, while the bank astern which sloped upwards to the table-land could easily be rushed by a determined foe. an outer line of defence was therefore imperative; in fact this would be of as much service to these crusoes as the channel fleet is to the british islands. this part of the work was therefore the first to be commenced, and merrily indeed the men set to work. they began by clearing away the bush all round the gully where the _sea flower_ lay, to the extent of forty yards, being determined to leave not a single shrub behind which a savage might conceal himself. everything cut down was hauled to the top of the cliff and trundled into the sea. to have lit a fire and burned it would have invited the attention of the natives on that far-off island, and a visit of curiosity on their part would have ended disastrously for the shipwrecked party. it took days to clear the bush away, and not only the men but the officers as well bore a hand and slaved away right cheerfully. no one was left on board except ransey tansey himself, the nigger boy, and janeira. nelda insisted on going on shore with the working party, the marvellous crane flew down from the hulk, and bob was always lowered gently over the side. these three were the superintendents, as halcott called them; they had nothing to do but play about, it is true, but their very happiness inspired the men and made the work more easy. the other three--those left on board--had work to do, for on them devolved the duty of preparing the meals for all hands; and in this duty they never failed. well, the jungle was cleared at last, and this clearance, it was determined, should be extended and made double the width at least. and now began the hard labour and toil of erecting the stockade, and in this strength was of very great importance. but it was not everything. the wooden wall must be built on scientific principles, so that a volley could be fired on an enemy attacking from any direction. the building of this fortification, with its strong-barred gate, took our crusoes quite a month. no one can marvel at this, if they bear in mind that the trees had to be cut down in the woods, and dragged all the way to the cliff before they could be fashioned and put into place; that the rain sometimes put a stop to work entirely, so heavy and incessant was it; and, moreover, that the men suffered a good deal from the bites of poisonous and loathsome insects, such as centipedes and scorpions. the wounds made by either of these had to be cauterised at once, else serious results would have followed. at last the palisade and gate were finished, loopholed, and plentifully studded with sharp nails and spikes outside. after this the little garrison breathed more freely. there was much to be done yet, however, before they could sleep in security. book --chapter six. an awful secret of the sea. having finished the first line of defence, attention was turned to the inner works. how best could the crusoes repel boarders if the palisade were carried, and a rush made down the embankment with the view of attacking the ship? it was some time before this question could be answered with any degree of satisfaction. i think that the plan finally adopted was the best under the circumstances. during such an attack, not only would the defenders have to do all they could to stop a rush down the sloping bank, but protect themselves also from the spears that would be hurled at them from the cliffs above. an inner palisade was therefore erected, not so strong as the other; and right over the after part of the quarterdeck, and round a portion of its bulwarks, a shed was erected, under which the men could work their rifles and the great gun with comparative safety. if the outer line should be broken through, the savages would no doubt attack in their fullest force, and a gun loaded with grape-shot would play awful havoc in their ranks; and boiling water from the donkey engine would in all probability suggest to the enemy the advisability of a quick retreat. nevertheless, the outlook, even should they be thus repelled, would be a black one, and a state of siege could only have one sad ending. but let me not be "too previous," as humourists say. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ so quickly does time slip away when a person is busy that when, one morning at breakfast, james malone said quietly, "men, we have been here for just two months to-day," halcott could scarcely credit it. but a reference to the log, which was still most carefully kept, revealed the truth of what james had said. two months! yes; and as yet the weather and the work had prevented them from penetrating inland in search of nature's hidden treasures. but the rain ceased at last; and though clouds still hung around, and mists often obscured the sea for days at a time, the glorious spring time had come again, and the island was soon a veritable land of flowers. the first visit inland was made to the lake of the lonely isle, as it was called. but a bridge had to be built over the chasm, to replace that torn up by the hands of brave james malone. this was easily formed of trees, with a rail at each side, and this bridge shortened the distance to the little lake by several miles. the working party carried picks and spades and axes, for it was determined to thoroughly overhaul the island in search of the utensils used by the priests during their awful human sacrifices. the isle was a very small one, but, nevertheless, it took three whole days to thoroughly search it. and every evening they returned to the ship unsuccessful, but certainly not disheartened. halcott told his brave fellows that if more gold were found than simply enough to pay the expenses of the voyage, not including the loss of the ship, for that was insured, they would have a good percentage thereof, and something handsome to take home to wives and sweethearts. so, although they knew in their hearts that they might never live to get home, they worked as willingly and as merrily as british sailors ever did "for england, home, and beauty," as the dear old song has it. i may as well mention here, and be done with it, that lord fitzmantle, the nigger boy, very much to his delight, was appointed signalman-in-chief to the forces. observatory hill was not a difficult climb for fitz, and here a flag-staff had been erected. an ensign hoisted on this point could be seen not only over all the island but over a considerable portion of the sea as well. but fitz received strict orders not to hoist it unless he saw a passing ship. bob was allowed to accompany the boy every day. dinner was therefore carried for two, and fitz, who could read well, never went without a book. one day, while james and halcott were wandering, somewhat aimlessly it must be confessed, in a wood not far from the lake, they came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a solitary, strange, weird-looking dead tree. it was a tree of considerable dimensions, and one side of it was much charred by fire. "it was just here," said james quietly, pointing to the spot, "where i should have been burned, had not providence mercifully intervened to save my somewhat worthless life." both walked slowly toward that tree, and acting like a man in deep thought, halcott carelessly kicked it. it may sound like a sentence read out of a fairy book when i say that a little door in that part of the tree suddenly flew open inwards; but it is nevertheless true. "the treasure must be hidden here!" said halcott. he was just about to plunge his hand into the hole when james restrained him. "stay, for heaven's sake, stay!" he cried excitedly. "the treasure, brother, may be there. i never thought of this before; but," he added, "if the treasure is there, something else is there also, and we have that to deal with first." as he spoke, he took from his pocket a small piece of flint and some touch-paper. then he gathered a handful of withered grass, struck fire with the back of his knife against the flint--james was very old-fashioned--placed the smoking paper in the grass, shook it, and soon had it in fire. then he thrust this into the hole, and ran quickly back a few yards. "keep well away," he cried to his companion. next minute the head and neck of a huge crimson snake was protruded-- hissing. james fired at once. it was an ugly sight to see that headless serpent wriggling and leaping on the clearing. "that," said james, as he seized it by the tail and flung it far into the bush, "was the chief medicine-man's familiar. there are no snakes on the island, so where he procured it was always a mystery to me. but its possession gave the man great power over even the king himself, all believing it to be an evil spirit. and no wonder, for this `red devil,' as the natives called it, although the medicine-man could handle it safely enough, was often permitted to bite a boy or a girl in the king's presence, and the child invariably died in convulsions." "horrible!" said halcott. "was there only one?" "there was only one, and--it will never bite again." they walked back now towards the lake, and soon returned in company with chips and wilson armed with axes. it was hard work, and an hour of it, too, cutting through that tree; but it fell with a crash at last--"carried away close by the board," as halcott phrased it. "now, men," said james, "search among the debris in the hollow stump and see what you can find." james and halcott stood quietly by leaning on their rifles. but they laughed with very joy as the men pulled out bowl after bowl of beaten gold, to the number of seven in all. these were far from artistic, but they were large and heavy. inside they were black with blood. chips stood up and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "my eye and betty martin! captain halcott, here's a go. why, we'll be all as rich as water-cresses." and he joyfully tossed his hat in the air, and kicked it up again as it descended. chips was a queer chap. but having now relieved his feelings, the search was proceeded with. and when it was all over, and nothing further to be found, the inventory of the treasure now exposed to view, every article of purest gold, was as follows:-- a. seven bowls, weighing about twelve pounds each. b. thirty-five spear-heads, solid and very heavy. c. fifteen gold daggers, similar to that brought away from the island by doris herself. d. fifteen larger and curiously shaped knives. e. one hundred or more fish-hooks. f. nineteen nuggets of gold of various sizes--one immense nugget weighed pounds! [the largest nugget ever found weighed over pounds. it was dug up, i believe, at ballarat.--g.s.] no wonder these two men were excited. "i say, sir," said chips, "i guess you'll splice the main-brace to-night." "that we will with pleasure," replied halcott. "and," cried tom wilson, "i'll fiddle as i've never fiddled before. i'll make all hands laugh one minute, and i'll have them all crying the next." poor wilson! it was noted that this man never touched rum himself, but invariably gave his share to another. the main-brace _was_ spliced that night, and that, too, twice over. it happened to be saturday night. it could not be called saturday-night-at-sea, but it was saturday night on board a ship; and despite the fact that the vessel was but a wreck and a hulk, it was spent in the good old fashion. an awning was always kept spread over the fore part of the ship, and it was under this that the crew smoked and yarned in the evenings. to-night the officers had gone forward to hear tom wilson play. he did make them laugh. i do not know that his pathetic pieces caused many tears to flow, beautifully executed though they were, but late in the evening--and ten o'clock was considered late on board the hulk--when halcott asked for a favourite air of his, tom hesitated for a moment, then took up the violin. there was a beauty of expression and sadness about tom's interpretation of this beautiful melody that held everybody spell-bound; but when at last the poor fellow laid his instrument on the table, and with bent head burst into tears, the astonishment of every one there was great indeed. jack, however, is ever in sympathy with sorrow, and chips, rough old chips, got up and went round behind tom wilson. "come, matie," he said, patting him gently on the shoulder. "what is it, old heart? music been too much for you? eh? come, come, don't give way." tom wilson threw back his head and lifted his face now. "thank you, chips; thank you, lad, and bless you. nay, nay, i will not tell you to-night the reason of my stupid tears. i'm not the man to sadden a saturday night. come, lads, clear the decks. i'll play you the grandest hornpipe you ever listened to." and play he did. every note, every tone was thrilling. a dance was soon got up, and never before, not even in a man-of-war, did men foot the deck more merrily than those shipwrecked crusoes did now. but the queerest group there was just amidships, where janeira herself and fitz--all white eyes and flashing teeth--were madly tripping it on the light fantastic toe; while little nelda and that droll old crane danced a fandango, that caused all hands, including even tom himself, to shout with laughter when they beheld it. the very solemnity of the crane as he curved his neck, hopped, and pirouetted, was the funniest part of the performance. but next day all hands knew tom's pathetic story. "that air i played," he told them, "was my little daughter fanny's favourite. fanny is dead. georgie too. he was my boy. i was rich once, but drink ruined me, and--oh, may god forgive me!--led indirectly to the graveyard gate, where wife and children all lie buried!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ two long months more had gone by, during which the exploring party had been busy enough almost every day at the distant hill, prospecting, excavating here and there, and searching in every likely nook for the cave of gold. but all in vain. during all the time they had now been on the island--more than six months--never a ship had been seen, nor had any boat or canoe ventured near the place. "surely, surely," they thought, "some day some ship will find us out and rescue us." one day as they were returning earlier in the afternoon than usual, for it was very hot, and they were all somewhat weary and disheartened, they went suddenly almost delirious with joy to see, on looking towards the hill-top, that the ensign was hoisted upside down on the pole, and little fitz dancing wildly round it, and pointing seaward. tired though they all were, there was no talk now of returning to the wreck. but straight to the hill they went instead. to their infinite joy, when they reached the top at last, they could see a brig, with all available sail set, standing in for the island. i say all available sail, for her fore-topmast was gone, she was cruelly punished about the bulwarks, and had evidently been blown out of her course during the gale that had raged with considerable violence a few days before. every heart beat high now with hope and joy, and as the vessel drew nearer and nearer, they shook hands with each other, and with tears in their eyes some even talked of their far-off cottage homes in england. nearer and nearer! a flag was flying at her stern, but to what country she belonged could not yet be made out. but they could now, by aid of the glass, see the hands moving about the deck, and some leaning over the bows pointing towards the island. but, "oh, cruel! cruel!" cried the poor men, and grief took the place of joy, when the vessel altered its course and went slowly away on the other tack. so great was the revulsion of feeling now that some of the crusoes threw themselves on the ground in an agony of grief and disappointment. they watched the ship sail away and away, hoping against hope that she might even yet return. they watched until the stars shone out and darkness brooded over the deep, and then a strange thing happened: a great gleam of light was seen on the distant horizon, and above it clouds of rolling smoke through which tongues and jets of flame were flashing. the brig was on fire and burning fiercely! her very masts and rigging were seen for a time, darkling through the blaze. no one thought of leaving the hill now; they would see the last of that mysterious ship. yes, and the last came within an hour. an immense fountain of fire rose high into the air, lighting the sea up in one broad crimson bar from horizon to shore--then darkness. nothing more. nor were any signs of that unfortunate brig seen next day. no boat floated towards the island, nor was a single spar ever picked up along the beach. it would be impossible to describe the feelings of the crusoes as they went slowly homeward through the jungle, guided by fitz and bob. "the lord gave, and the lord hath taken away." that was all the remark that james malone made. and the mystery of that unhappy brig none can ever unravel. to the end of time it must remain one of the awful secrets of the sea. book --chapter seven. strange adventures in a crystalline cave. ten months more, and not another ship was seen. it was now two years and over since the beautiful barque _sea flower_ had sailed away from southampton. not a very long time, it may be said. no; and yet it seemed a century to look back upon, so many strange events and adventures had been crowded into those four-and-twenty months, and so much sorrow and suffering too. "hope deferred maketh the heart sick." ah! the hearts of all were sad and sick enough by this time. "some day, some day a ship will come!" every one fore and aft was weary with repeating these words. they went not now so often to the foot of fire hill, as the volcano had come to be called, in search of the buried cave. a buried cave it doubtless was, covered entirely by the flow of lava from the crater, and lost, it would seem, for ever. but whole days would be spent in rambling about in search of the only kind of game the lonely island afforded, those small black pigs and the rock-rabbits, or in fishing by stream or at sea. when i say "at sea," it must not be imagined that they fished in treachery bay. no; for to have done so would doubtless have invited the attention of the savages, and they might have paid the island a visit that would have been very little relished. natives of those south pacific islands have keen eyesight. but the dinghy boat had been hauled right across the island and launched in a little bay there. a cave was found, and this formed a capital boat-house, for it rose so high behind that the tide could not reach it. the time had come when fishing was very necessary indeed, for well "found" though the _sea flower_ had been, especially with all kinds of tinned provisions and biscuits, these had been nearly all consumed, and for some months back the crusoes had depended for their support almost entirely on rod and gun. i say _almost_ advisedly; for many kinds of vegetables and roots grew wild in this lonely island, not to mention fruits, the most wholesome and delicious that any one could desire. ah, reader, do not imagine that because you have eaten bananas, or even guavas, which you have purchased in this country, that you can form a perfect idea of the flavour and lusciousness of those fruits when gathered from the trees in their native wilds. moreover, there are fruits in the woods of the pacific islands so tender that they could not be carried by sea, nor kept for even a day in the tropics; and these are the best of all. so that on misfortune island there was no danger of starvation, unless indeed the crusoes should have the misfortune to be surrounded by the savages and placed in a state of siege. it was against such an eventuality that the last of the tinned meats was so carefully reserved: and the last of the coals too, because these latter would be needed for the donkey engine, to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water. three times a week, at least in good weather, did a little band set out for the fishing cove, and this consisted of ransey tansey himself, nelda, and little fitz, to say nothing of bob. now the cove was quite six miles away. six miles going and six coming back would have been too long a journey for nelda; but as the child liked to accompany the boys, and they were delighted to have her company, the two lads consulted together and concluded they must carry her at least half the way. this was a capital plan for nelda, and quite romantic, for the _modus portandi_ was a grass hammock suspended from a long bamboo pole, one end resting on ransey's shoulder, the other on fitz's. nelda would be talking or singing all the way. but on the return journey she got down more often, because she never went back without a basket well filled with fruit and flowers. bob used to trot on in front always. this he deemed it his duty to do. was he not a guard? on rare occasions the admiral also formed part of the expedition, but he preferred not going to sea in that wobbly boat. when invited to embark, he would simply look at babs or ransey with one wise red eye, and say, "no, thank you, dear. a sea life doesn't quite suit my constitution; and if it is all the same to you, i'll just hop about the beach here until you all return." it did not take a very long time for the children, as i may still call them, to find all the fish they could conveniently carry. then they returned to the beach, entered the cave, and cooked their dinner. they invariably started to go back two or three hours before sunset. about this cave there was a kind of mystery to the imaginative mind of little nelda, and she peopled the gloom and darkness far beyond with all sorts of strange beings. but when one day ransey tansey proposed exploring it, she evinced very much reluctance to going herself. "i'm afraid," she said; "the giants might catch me and kill me." fitz laughed, and ransey assured her that the cave was not inhabited by even a single giant. it was all imagination. "there might be snakes," she persisted, "or awful alligators." fitz laughed again, and nelda felt more assured. "you see me go, sah!" he said; "is'e not afraid. ha, ha! it take one much big giant and plenty big 'gator to flighten dis chile." he ran out of the cave now, but soon came back carrying a heap of withered grass and foliage. then he snatched up a burning brand. "now!" he cried, "dis chile done go to 'vestigate." fitz was fond of exploiting a big word, although he never succeeded in pronouncing much more than three-quarters of it. presently the brave little lad disappeared, for the darkness had swallowed him up. the cave at its other end turned to the right and then to the left, so that although fitz lit his fire it could not be seen by those left behind. ransey and nelda were becoming quite uneasy about him, when suddenly his voice was heard in the dark distance, coming nearer and nearer every moment, till he once more stood in the broad glare of day at the main entrance to the cave. "so glad you've come back, fitz," cried ransey, "for we had almost given you up; we thought the 'gators had swallowed you." nelda, too, was glad, and so was honest bob. he ran round and round him, barking. the echo of the far interior took up the sound and gave back "wowff" for "wowff," much to the dog's astonishment. he made quite sure that another dog was hiding away in the darkness somewhere, and promised himself the infinite pleasure of shaking him out of his skin some day. but the story of exploration that fitz had to tell was indeed a wonderful one. he had found an interior cave, and when he lit his fire, the sight of it, he declared to ransey, was far more beautiful than paradise. all around him, he said, was a mass of icicles, but all of crystal, and on the floor were hundreds and hundreds of great crystal candles. "i not can splain [explain] propah," he said. "too much foh one leetle niggah boy to splain, but all about me dat cave sparkle and shine wid diamonds, rubies, and rainbows." so before they got home that night they made up their minds to explore the marvellous cave in company. nothing was said to any one else about their intention; only when they set out some days after this to go to the cave as usual, ransey tansey took with him several blue, red, and white lights. he determined in his own mind that this stalactite cave should be turned into a kind of fairy palace for once in a way. he also carried a small bull's-eye lantern, so that when lights went out they should not be plunged into darkness altogether. they had been rather longer than usual in starting on this particular morning, and as the day was very beautiful, and the trees and flowers, butterflies and birds, all looking bright and gay, they must have lingered long on the road. at all events, it was quite one o'clock before they arrived at the cove, reached the cave, and launched their boat. the fish, moreover, seemed to-day anxious to be caught, and excellent sport was enjoyed. it only wanted two hours to sunset when they regained the mouth of the cave. there would be moonlight to guide them home, however, even if they should be half an hour late. yes, and it was a full moon too. mark this, reader, for with each full moon comes a spring tide! i have no words to convey to any one the glorious sight they beheld when they at last entered the stalactite cave and lit their fire of wood and grass. fitz had described it well--crystal icicles all around hanging from the vaulted roof, and raised high above the snow-white floor; walls of crystal, and strange, weird statues of a kind of marble. they sat there in silent admiration until the fire began to burn low; then ransey tansey lit up the cave, first with a dazzling white light, then with blue, and finally with crimson. and this ended the show, but it was one that nelda would dream about for weeks to come. how long they had stayed in this wondrous cave they could not tell, but, lo! to their dismay, when they reached the place where they had drawn up the boat, it was gone, and the waves were lapping up far inside. the dinghy had been floated away, and they were thus imprisoned for the night. the moon, too, had gone down, for in these seas it neither rises nor sets at the same time it does in britain. little nelda was afraid to spend the night near to the dark water. some awful beast, she said, might come out and drag her in, so back they went to the crystal cave. alas! it had lost its charm now. what a lonesome, weary time it was, and they dared not leave before daylight! the fearless boy fitz, after many, many hours had passed, went away, like a bird from the ark, to see if the waters were yet assuaged. he brought back word that the sun was rising, but that the water was still high. the truth is, they had all slept without knowing it, and during this time the tide had gone back and once more risen, or, in other words, it had ebbed and flowed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the anxiety of tandy and the others on board the hulk may be better imagined than described when night fell and the wanderers did not return. for a time they expected them every minute, for the moon was still shining bright and clear in the west and tipping the waves with silver. tandy set out by himself at last, hoping to meet the little party. he walked for fully two miles along the track by which they most often came. again and again he shouted and listened, but no answering shout came back to his, though he could hear now and then the dreary cry of a night-bird as it flew low over the woods in the gauzy glamour that the moon was shedding over everything. but the moon itself would shortly sink, and so, uncertain what to do next, he returned, hoping against hope that the children might have reached the hulk before him. what a long, dreary night it was! no one slept much. of this i am sure, for the lost ones were friends both fore and aft. but the greatest sorrow was to come, for, lo! when next morning at daybreak they reached the cave, the first thing that caught their eyes was the dinghy--beached, but bottom uppermost. fishing gear and the oars were also picked up; but, of course, there was no sign of the children. with grief, poor tandy almost took leave of his senses, and it was indeed a pitiable sight to see him wandering aimlessly to and fro upon the coral beach, casting many a hopeless glance seawards. good, indeed, would it have been for him had tears come to his relief. but these were denied him. even the consolations that honest james malone poured into his ears were unheeded; perhaps they were hardly even heard. "death comes to all sooner or later. we do wrong to repine. ah, my dear tandy, god himself knows what is best for us, and our sorrows here will all be joys in the land where you and i must be ere long." well-meant platitudes, doubtless, but they brought no comfort to the anguished heart of the poor father. it was noticed by one of the men that the strange bird admiral, who had accompanied the search party, seemed plunged in grief himself. he walked about the beach, but ate nothing. he perched upon the keel of the upset boat, and over and over again he turned his long neck downwards, and wonderingly gazed upon the fishing gear and oars. then he disappeared. we must now return to the cave where we left our smaller heroes. ransey tansey's greatest grief was in thinking about his father. it would be quite a long time yet before the tide ebbed sufficiently to permit them to leave the cave and scramble along the beach to the top of the cove. well, there was nothing for it but to wait. but this waiting had a curious ending. they had returned to the stalactite cave, and ransey had once more lit his lamp, when suddenly, far at the other end, they heard something that made poor nelda quake with fear and cling to her brother's arm. "oh, it is a ghost!" she cried--"an old woman's ghost!" i cannot otherwise describe the sound than as a weary kind of half sigh, half moan, on a loud falsetto key. no wonder nelda thought it emanated from some old lady's ghost; though what an old lady's ghost could possibly be doing down here, it would have been difficult indeed to guess. bob took another view of the matter. he barked loudly and lustily, and rushed forward. it was no angry bark, however. next minute he came running back, and when ransey tansey turned the light on him he could see by the commotion among the long, rough hair which covered his rump that the fag-end of a tail he possessed was being violently but joyfully agitated. "come on," he seemed to say; "follow me. you will be surprised!" without fear now, the children followed the dog, and, lo! not far off, standing solemnly in a kind of crystalline pulpit, was the admiral himself. no wonder they were all astonished, or that the bird himself seemed pleased. but off the crane hopped now, the dog and the children too following, and there, not thirty yards from the place where they had been all night, was a landward opening into the cave. it was surrounded with bush, and how the admiral had found it must ever remain a mystery. ten minutes after this poor tandy was clasping his children to his breast. innocent wee babs was patting his cheek, and saying, "never mind, daddy--never mind, dear daddy." childish consolation certainly, but, oh, so sweet! no wonder his pent-up feelings were relieved by tears at last. the crane allayed _his_ feelings by dancing a _pas de joie_ on the coral sand. bob gave vent to his by rushing about and barking at everything and everybody, but especially at the boat, which he seemed to regard as the innocent cause of all the trouble. "wowff--wowff--wow! why did it run away anyhow?" that is what bob wanted to know. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ but the tide had ebbed sufficiently to permit of a visit to the cave of delight, as ransey called it. james and tandy, with ransey and fitz, embarked, the others remaining on shore. both men were as much delighted and astonished at what they saw as the children themselves had been. a large quantity of withered branches and foliage had been taken in the boat, to make a fire in the crystalline cave. "but oh, father," said ransey, "you should have seen it last night when we lit it up with crimson light!" "we'll come again, lad," replied his father. they then made their way to the outer opening, and back once more to the inner, where they had left the boat. it was noticed that james malone was somewhat silent all the way back to the wreck. and so he continued during breakfast. after this he slowly arose. "brother," he said, laying his hand on halcott's shoulder, "i have something strange to tell you. come to the cliff-top, and you too, tandy, and bring your pipes." book --chapter eight. entombed alive. it was a very lovely day now. the sea all round towards the eastern side of the island was deep and blue; but the waters to the west were here and there more shallow, so that the ocean here was patched with splendid colouring--tints of opal, tender green, and crimson were set off by the deep dark-brown of a rocky bottom, whereon masses of sea-weed waved with the ebb or the flow of the tide. there was not a breath of wind to-day, not a whisper in the woodlands; scarce a sound was to be heard, save the drowsy hum of the waves as they broke far below on the beach of snow-white sand, or the occasional screaming of the sea-birds sailing round and round the beetling crags where their nests were. in very joy they seemed to scream to-day. happy birds! there was no one to molest them on this far-off beautiful isle of the ocean. no gun was ever levelled at them, not a pebble ever thrown even by fitz; and so tame were they that they often ran about the cliff-top, or even alighted on the ship itself. but slowly indeed to-day does james malone walk towards the cliff. out through the inner, out through the great outer gate; for he will not feel comfortable until he is clear of the encampment, and seated near to the very brink of that great wall of rocks. "gentlemen," he said, when at last he had filled and lit his pipe with all the coolness of a north american indian--"gentlemen, hitherto all our efforts to find the gold mine have been in vain, but mere chance has revealed to us the secret that has been hidden from us so long--" "james," said tandy, excitedly, "you don't mean to say--" "but," interrupted james, "i do mean to say it, tandy. halcott there knows that i seldom make an assertion till i have well-considered the matter on all sides." "you never do, brother." "that cave, gentlemen, which in so strange a way the children have found, is a gold mine--_the_ gold mine! "the land entrance i can now remember, although it is somewhat changed. show me the map of the island, brother." halcott spread it out before him. he pointed out fire hill, then drew his finger along until it rested on the spot where the cave was. "the fault has been all mine, gentlemen; i alone led you astray, for appearances deceived me. but it is not yet too late. "and so you see, tandy, that, after all, providence has changed our mourning into joy. i do not now despair of anything. god moves in a mysterious way, brothers, and you may rest assured we shall yet return in peace to enjoy the fruits of our labours in the land of our birth." halcott was silent; so too was tandy for a time. need i tell you what they were thinking about? if they could but return with enough gold to give them an independence, how pleasant would be their prospects for the future! well, this world is not all sorrow, and it is only right we should enjoy it. i think i can honestly go further, reader, and say it is a sin not to make the best of the beautiful world we live in, a sin to look always at the darkest side when clouds surround us. let us not believe in the pessimism of burns when he wrote his dirge "man was made to mourn," a verse or two of which run as follows:-- "look not alone on youthful prime, or manhood's active might; man then is useful to his kind, supported is his right: but see him on the edge of life, with cares and sorrows worn; then age and want--oh! ill-matched pair!-- show man was made to mourn. "a few seem favourites of fate, in pleasure's lap carest; yet think not all the rich and great are likewise truly blest. but, oh! what crowds in every land are wretched and forlorn! through weary life this lesson learn-- that man was made to mourn." tandy had risen to his feet, and was looking somewhat anxiously towards observatory hill. the seaman who took day and day about with fitz in watching was at this moment signalling. "he wants us to come up," said tandy. "who knows," said james, with far more cheerfulness in his voice than usual--"who knows but that our deliverance is already at hand? the man may have seen a ship!" halcott and tandy, about an hour after this, stood beside the man on the brow of the hill, with their glasses turned towards the far-off island. they could see the beach with far greater clearness than usual to-day. it was crowded with savages running to and fro, into the bush and out of it, in a state apparently of great excitement. at this distance they resembled nothing more than a hive of bees about to swarm. independent of innumerable dug-outs drawn up here and there were no less than five huge war-canoes. tandy turned away with a slight sigh. "just as the cup of joy," he said, "was being held to our lips, ill-fortune seems to have snatched it away." "heigho!" sighed halcott, "how i envy honest james for the hopefulness that he never appears to lose, even in the very darkest hours, the hours of what we should call despair. "but look," he continued, pointing towards fire hill. "not a cloud to be seen!" "the volcano is dead!" said tandy, with knitted brows; "and now, indeed, we shall have to fight." halcott took tandy's hand, while he looked calmly into his face. "my friend," he said, "we have come through many and many a danger side by side, and here we are alive and well to tell it. if fighting it must be with these savages, neither you nor i shall be afraid to face them. but we may succeed in making peace." "ah, halcott, i fear their friendship even more than their enmity. but for my dear boy and my little girl, i should care for neither." and now all haste back to the camp was made. all hands were summoned, and the case laid plainly before them. the story of the cave was told to them also, and it did halcott's heart good to hear the ringing cheer with which their words were received. the next thing halcott ordered was a survey of stores. alas! this did not take long; and afterwards the defences were most carefully inspected. on the whole, the outlook was a hopeful one, even if the savages did come in force and place the strange little encampment in a state of siege. their provisions and even their ammunition would last for three weeks at least. and--and then? ah! no one thought of an answer to that question. they meant to do their best, and trust in providence for everything else. but the expected arrival of these warlike natives was not going to prevent them from finding gold, if gold there were in the medicine-man's cave, as it was now named. so early next morning the discovery party had reached the landward opening. they were provided with lamps to light and hang, with tools, and with provisions for the day. at the mouth of the cave fitz was stationed with glass in hand, to watch for a signal to be given from observatory hill, in case the boats should start from the distant island. the lamps were lit at the entrance to the cave, which was gloomy enough in all conscience. "surely," cried tom wilson, when they reached the interior and saw the great stalactites, the candles and icicles of glass, and the walls all shining with "rubies and rainbows,"--"surely this is the cave of aladdin. ah, it is diamonds as well as gold we ought to be able to collect here, maties!" and now hours were spent in a fruitless search for the mine. even the floor of the seaward cave was dug up and its walls tapped, but all in vain. it was not until they were preparing to leave, that, chancing to hear bob whining and scraping not ten yards from the outer entrance, halcott turned his attention in that direction. a ghastly sight met their gaze! for here lay a pile of human bones half covered with dust, and half buried in the debris that had fallen from the roof. and near this awful heap, but above it, was a hole about five feet high, and wide enough to admit two men at a time. the excitement now was intense, but for a time all stood spell-bound with horror. "here," said james, slowly, "is the spot where that fiend, the medicine-man, murdered the boys as an offering to the great fire-fiend. now we shall find the gold. come, follow me, men!" he took a lamp from tom wilson's hand as he spoke, and boldly entered the cave. it was far from an inviting place where they now stood. what did that signify to those determined gold-seekers? for hardly had they dug two feet down ere they were rewarded by finding one large, rough nugget of pure gold and several small ones. they forgot all about the savages now, and nothing could exceed the eagerness with which the men laboured. but fatigue, at last, overcame them, and they were obliged to retire, carrying with them more of the precious ore than many an australian digger has found during a whole lifetime. it was very dark as they made their way through the bush; but fitz was an excellent guide, so they got back in time for supper. a very happy evening this was, fore and aft, and tom wilson seemed the gayest of the gay. the poor fellow had sinned and fallen, it is true, but surely god had already forgiven him. tom believed so, and it was this belief, he told james more than once, that made him forget his sorrow. "i'll meet my wife and children on the other shore," he said once, with a sad smile, "and they'll forgive me too." in a week's time the gold fever was at its height. and no wonder, for in whatever direction they dug nuggets were found in this marvellous cave. the fortune of every man there was made. but would the gold be of any use to them? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ one day, about a fortnight after the wonderful discovery, something very startling occurred. almost every hour while digging they had heard strange sounds, like the rumbling of heavy artillery along a rough road, with now and then a loud but muffled report, as of a great gun fired in the distance. no wonder james had remarked that the heathen minds of the savages believed that a great fire-fiend dwelt deep down here, and must be propitiated with human sacrifice. but on this particular day, after a terrible report, the earth shook and quivered, great masses of soil fell crashing down here and there, and the lamps were all extinguished. the noise died away like the muttering of a thunderstorm in the far distance. "keep quiet and cool, men; we are all right. we can relight the lamps." it was halcott who spoke. yes, and so they quickly did; but judge of their horror when, on making their way to what had been the entrance to the cave, they found no exit there! then the terrible truth revealed itself to them--they were entombed alive! at first the horror of the situation rendered them speechless. was it the heat of internal fires, or was it terror--i know not which-- that made the perspiration stand in great beads on their now pale faces? "what is to be done?" cried one of the men. "never despair, lad!"--and halcott's manly voice was heard once more--"never despair!" his voice sounded hollow, however--hollow, and far away. book --chapter nine. "on swept the war-canoes towards the coral beach." "it was just here, was it not," said halcott, "where the entrance was? keep up your hearts, boys, we shall soon dig ourselves clear." cheered by his voice, every one set himself bravely to the task before him. but a whole hour went by, and they were now nearly exhausted. one or more had thrown themselves on the ground panting. the heat increased every minute, and the atmosphere became stifling. the thirst, too, was almost unendurable. even james himself was yielding at last to despair, and already the lights were burning more dimly. but hark! the sound of the dog barking. his voice seemed ever so far away, but every heart was cheered by it. again, lads, again! up with your spades; one more effort. the men sprang up from the floor of the cave and went to work now with a will. nearer and nearer the dog's anxious barking sounded every minute. at last, with a joyous cry, bob burst through, and with him came a welcome rush of pure air. they were saved! is it any wonder that when they found themselves once more out in the jungle, with flowers and foliage all around them and the breath of heaven fanning their faces, james malone proposed a prayer of thankfulness? they rose from their knees at last. "we have been taught a lesson," said this honest fellow; "our ambition was far too overweening. our lust for gold all but found us a grave." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ they had arrived early at camp, so tandy and halcott determined to make another visit to observatory hill, for the man had once more signalled. extra activity was apparent among the savages in the northern island. it was evident enough now that they would not long delay their coming. the sun set, and soon afterwards darkness fell, but still the man lingered on the hill-top. and now they could see a great fire spring up, just a little way from the water's edge, and soon the savages were observed dancing wildly around it in three or four great circles. it was evident that some horrible orgie was taking place, and they might easily presume that the medicine-man was busy enough, and that a human sacrifice was being offered up to appease the fiends of war, in which those benighted beings so firmly believed. next day, and just after breakfast, on looking towards the hill-top, behold the red british ensign afloat on the flag-pole! shortly after this the signalman himself ran in. "they are coming!" he cried; "they are coming!" "and their strength?" asked halcott calmly. "five great war-canoes, and each one of them contains at least thirty armed warriors." "and there may be more to follow. humph! well, we shall have to reckon with between two and three hundred at least. what about making overtures of peace to them, brother james?" now brother james, as has already been said, was a very practical kind of a christian. "well," he said, slowly and thoughtfully, "i think, charlie halcott, that in this case our duty lies straight and clear before us, and we've got to go for it. we shall just be content to make war first, and leave the peace to follow." every man heard him, and the hearty british cheer they gave was re-echoed even from the hill itself. it was agreed by all, however, that to fight these savages in the open would be but to court death and destruction to all hands. other tactics must be adopted. the enemy would no doubt land on the beach, and so the big gun was dragged towards the cliff-top. here they would make their first stand, and, if possible, sink some of the war-canoes before they had a chance to land. in savage warfare cover is considered of very great importance. it was determined, therefore, to deprive the invaders of this at any cost, so heaps of withered branches and foliage were collected and placed here and there all around the bay and close to the edge of the wood; and not only there, but on the table-land itself, between the encampment and observatory hill. one of the most active young men was told off to fire those heaps, beginning at the farther side of the bay. his signal to do so would be a rifle, not the gun, fired from the top of the cliff. in less than three hours' time the great war-canoes were quite in view, slowly approaching the land. they were still ten miles away, however, and it was evident to every one that they meant to time themselves so as to land on the beach at treachery bay about an hour after sunset. another hour went slowly by. through the glasses now a good view could be had of the cannibal warriors. one and all were painted in a manner that was as hideous as it was grotesque. in the first boat, standing erect in the bows, with a huge spear in his hand, the head of which was evidently of gold, for it glittered yellow in the sun's rays, was a stalwart savage, whom james malone at once pronounced to be the king. beside him squatted two deformed and horrible-looking savages, and they also were far too well-known to james. they were the king's chief medicine-men. at the bow of each war-canoe, stuck on a pole, was a ghastly human head, no doubt those of prisoners taken in battles fought with tribes living on other islands. there was no doubt, therefore, that their intentions in visiting the crusoes were evil and not good, and that james malone's advice to fight first and make peace afterwards was wise, and the only one to be pursued. at sunset they were within two miles of the land, and lying-to, ready to make a dash as soon as darkness fell. the gun belonging to the _sea flower_ was a small breechloader of good pattern, and could carry a shell quite as far as the boats. it was trained upon them, and great was the terror of the king when in the air, right above his head, the shell burst with a terrible roar. they put about and rowed further off at once. and now, after a short twilight, the night descended quickly over land and sea. it was very still and starry, and in a very short time the thumping and noise of the oars told those on watch that the boats were rapidly approaching. and now the rifle was fired. sackbut, the young sailor, had been provided with a can of petroleum and matches, and hardly had the sound of the rifle ceased to reverberate from the rocks ere those on the cliff saw the first fire lighted. running from heap to heap he quickly set fire to them one by one. up on to the table-land he came next, and so in less than twenty minutes the whole of this part of the island presented a barrier of rolling fire towards the sea. the fire lit up the whole bay until it was as bright almost as if the sun were shining on it. but the savages were not to be deterred or denied, and so on swept the great war-canoes towards the coral beach. yet, although they succeeded at last in effecting a landing, they had paid dear for their daring. seven rifles played incessantly on them, and the howls and yells that rose every now and then on the night air told that the firing was not in vain. only a few shots were fired from the gun, there being no time, but a shell crashed into the very midst of one of the war-canoes, and the destruction must have been terrible. she sank at once, and probably not more than ten out of the thirty succeeded in swimming ashore. the sharks had scented the battle from afar, and were soon on the field enjoying a horrid feast. with that bursting shell the war might be said to have commenced in earnest, and it was to be a war _a outrance_, knife to knife, and to the death. the yelling of the savages now, and their frantic gestures as they rushed in mass to the shelter of the rocks, mingling with the crackling and roaring of the flames and the frightened screams of myriads of sea-gulls, was fearful--a noise and din that it would be difficult indeed to describe. all haste was now made to get the gun inside the first line of defence, load it with canister, and place it where it would be most handy. and nothing more could be done now until the savages should once more put in an appearance. so tandy hurried on board, a sadly anxious man indeed. his anxiety was, of course, centred in his little daughter. janeira was the first to meet him. "miss nelda?" he said quickly; "where is she, and how is she, jane?" "oh," replied jane, "she cry plenty at fuss, sah, cry and dance, but now she done go to bed, sah; come, sah, come." and down below she ran. poor nelda! there she lay in her bunk, pale and frightened-looking. no tears now though; only smiles and caresses for her father. she had one arm round bob, who was stretched out beside the child, as if to guard her from threatened danger. but strange and earnest were the questions she had to ask. were the savages all killed, and shot, and drowned? would they come back again? would ransey, and bob, and the 'rallie, and poor daddie be killed and roasted if the awful men came with their spears and knives, and their bows and arrows? tandy did all he could to assure her, and if in doing so he had to equivocate a little, surely he would be forgiven. as they were still talking, in at the door stalked the admiral himself. he looked more solemn than any one had ever seen him before. poor fellow! he too had received a terrible fright, and i suppose he felt that he would never, never care to dance again. the child called to him, and he came to the bunk-side at once, and lowering his long, beautiful neck, laid his beak across her neck. this was 'rallie's way of showing affection. then he went slowly and sadly away to the other end of the cabin, and "trussed" himself in a corner. tandy stopped for two whole hours with nelda. she promised to be very good, and not to cry, even if the bad men did come back again. then she fell soundly asleep, holding her father's finger. he kissed her now and quietly left the cabin, and janeira herself slipped in and took the camp-stool tandy had just vacated. the fire was by this time a long distance away, only the trees that had not been destroyed stood at one moment like black spectres in the starlight, but like rugged pillars of crimson and gold when a puff of wind swept through the woods. waiting and watching! ah, what a weary thing it is! hours and hours passed by, and if the men of this little garrison slept at all, it was on the bare ground, and with only their elbows for pillows. but not until far on in the morning watch did the enemy show signs of activity, or give a single token of their presence. the fire was now too far back for the crackling of the flames to be heard, though its red glare and the cloud of rolling smoke that obscured the sky told that it was still blazing fiercely. the sea-birds had gone to rest once more in the rocks, and everything around the encampment was as silent as the grave. a dread silence--a stillness like that which precedes the outbreaking of some fearful storm! and all too soon the storm burst. book --chapter ten. "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth." with a yell that once more scared the sea-birds, and sent them screaming in terror across the waves, a yell that seemed to awaken the echoes in every rock and hill from end to end of the island, the savages sprang to their feet, and rushing towards the palisade, made their first fearful onset. not twenty yards away were they when they had given voice. so quickly, too, did they rush across the intervening ground, that scarce was there time to fire a rifle volley, far less to train the gun upon the spear-armed mass, before it was close alongside and had surrounded the stockade. in their hundreds, these fearsome savages attempted to scale it; but their bodies were frightfully torn with the spikes, and cries of pain now mingled with those of anger. the defenders ran from one part of the stockade to another, firing from the loopholes; and so densely massed together was the foe that every bullet must have found a billet. in spite of all this, several managed to get over, but were immediately shot down with revolvers, or cut down with sword or cutlass. small though the loopholes were, spears were several times thrust through, and as each of them was poisoned, a single scratch would have resulted in the agonised death of the receiver. dark enough it was, and with nothing now but the stars to direct their aim, yet the little band fought well and determinedly, and at last the foe retired, leaving scores of their dead behind--drew off, dragging the wounded away. at that black mass, just as it was nearing the woods, and while the rifles still played upon it, the breechloader, grape-loaded, was trained and fired. so close together were the natives that the carnage must have been terrible. but twice again ere morning they attacked the fort, receiving the same treatment, and being obliged at last to withdraw. when morning broke, the defenders were completely wearied out, and so the little garrison, after two sentries were set, lay down to snatch a few hours' much needed rest. there was no fear of the attack being renewed before sunset, for darkness seemed best to suit the tactics of these sable warriors. in the afternoon of this first day of siege a sally was made from the great gate, and seven men stood ready with their rifles, while four began to remove the dead. each was dragged to the edge of the cliff and thrown over into the sea. when all were cleared away the gate was once more shut and barred. but though the burial must have been witnessed, no rush was made by the savages to attack them. the afternoon was spent in taking pot-shots at every figure that could be seen in the burned bush. the next attack was made at midnight, and in a manner quite as determined as the first. one of the _sea flower's_ men was killed by a spear. it had been thrust with tremendous force through a loophole, and pierced the poor fellow's brain. tandy himself had a narrow escape. he was about to fire, but, stumbling, fell, and next moment a poisoned arrow whizzed past and over him. there was surely a providence in this, for only fools believe in blind chance. with the exception of the death of poor ross, who was an able seaman, there was no other casualty that night. the savages withdrew, but when, next day, the men of the _sea flower_ sallied forth to remove the enemy's dead, which they succeeded in doing, it was noticed that many of the spike-nails had, during the fight, been removed. these, however, were easily replaced by others, and many more were added. there was no attack this evening. the savages had determined to endeavour once more to propitiate their "fiend of war," and an immense fire could be seen burning at midnight in the centre of their camp, not more than half a mile from the stockade. the big gun was trained upon this, and a shell planted right in the centre of the dusky mob seemed to work great destruction, and quickly put an end to the orgie. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the terrible siege was kept up for three whole weeks, and, harassed beyond measure with the constant night attacks, affairs were becoming very desperate indeed, and the little garrison was already almost worn out. day after day it was becoming more apparent to all that utter annihilation was merely a question of time. a council of war was held now, at which every man was present, and various proposals were made, but few indeed were feasible. the number of the defenders was so small, compared to the hundreds of armed savages opposed to them, that a "sally in force," as tom wilson who proposed this called it, was out of the question. to attempt to make peace would only be to give themselves away. the savage king would be ready enough to promise anything, but in a few weeks afterwards not one of the poor crusoes would be left alive. should they get the largest boat ready, provision her, and put to sea? surely the ocean itself would be less cruel at its very wildest than those bloodthirsty savages. the question had been put by tandy himself. he was hoping against hope; he was like a drowning man clutching at straws. for himself he had no thought. he was brave almost to a fault, and, like any other brave man, was willing to die, sword in hand, fighting the foe. "and where can man die better, than in facing fearful odds?" but his children, especially innocent wee nelda--ah! that was what softened that heart of his. "my dear tandy," said halcott, "the idea of being once more away out on yonder beautiful and peaceful ocean, even if only in an open boat, is one that commends itself to us all, but, alas, it would in this case be but a choice of death. even if we should succeed in eluding the savages and escaping, which i believe would be almost impossible, we could never reach the mainland." so the council ended, and the little garrison remained precisely as before. it was evident to all, however, that the end could not be far distant, for not only provisions, but ammunition itself, would soon give out. all hands saving nelda were therefore put on short allowance. coals were carefully saved, no more being used than was necessary to make steam to be condensed and used as drinking water; and not an unnecessary shot was to be fired. but now there came a lull which lasted for three whole days and nights. two things were evident enough: first, that the enemy were making some change in their mode of warfare; secondly, that the final struggle would soon take place--and indeed, as regards that, many of the men within the little encampment would have preferred to rush forth, cutlass in hand, and finish the fighting at once. most of the country was devastated by the fire that had been kindled, with the exception of a patch away south and east at the foot of observatory hill, on which the proud ensign was still floating, as if to give the besieged some hope and comfort. but one day this patch of jungle, like the famous birnam wood, seemed to be slowly advancing towards the camp. tandy was gazing at it, and looking somewhat puzzled, when halcott came up. "that is more of their fiendish tactics," he said; "and the scheme, i fear, will be only too successful. you see," he added, "they are piling up heaps of branches; these will defy our rifle bullets, and unfortunately we have no shells left to fire them. gradually these heaps will be advanced, and under cover of them they will make their next and, i fear, final attack, and it will be made by day." halcott was right, and in a few days' time the savages were within a hundred yards of the palisade. they no doubt meant to advance as near to it as possible during the hours of darkness, and with might and main attack at sunrise. it was midnight when the movement on the part of the besiegers began, and the cover was then slowly advanced. a gentle breeze had begun to blow away from the camp, and the night was moonless and dark. presently a hand was laid on halcott's shoulder. he had been lying near the outer stockade quietly talking with james; while tandy was in the ship's state-room keeping his little girl company. the poor child was sadly uneasy to-night, and the father was trying his best to comfort her. "what! you here, lord fitzmantle?" said halcott. "i'se heah, sah." it was probably well he said so, for excepting his flashing teeth and rolling eyes, there wasn't much else of him to be seen. "and you're pretty nearly naked, aren't you?" "i'se neahly altogedder naked, sah. i'se got noddings much on, sah, but my skin. i go on one 'spedition [expedition] all same's dabid of old go out to meet de giant goliah. dabid hab sling and stone though; fitz hab no sling, on'y one box ob matches. you open dat gate, sah, and i go crawl, crawl, all same's one snake, and soon makee one big fire to wahm de hides ob dose black niggahs." "brave and generous little fellow!" cried halcott, shaking the boy's hand. "but i fear to risk your life." "you no feah foh me, sah, all i do. i jes' done gone do foh de sake ob dat pooh deah chile babs. "good-night, ge'men. you soon see big fire, and you heah de niggahs fizz. suppose dey killee me, dey no can kill de soul. dis chile findee his way to hebben all the same, plenty quick." they let the little lad out. whether the acute ears of the savages had heard the bolts drawn or not will never be known. certain it is, however, that fitz was discovered and wounded. but wounded as he was, he had the determination to light the pile. the savages threw themselves at it, and tore at the burning branches, but this only helped to scatter the flames about. fitz crawled back, just in time to die inside the stockade. "i go to hebben now," he said faintly to james, who was kneeling beside him holding his hand. "i'se dun my duty i fink--heah below. i see my pooh old mudder to-night--she--she--" he said no more, and never spoke again. the noble little fellow had indeed done his duty, and doubtless would receive his reward. james malone was like a wild man now. "brother halcott," he cried, "summon all hands to arras, and let us sally forth and give these fiends a lesson. they have done to death this noble little fellow. come, halcott, come. an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!" he waved his sword aloft as he spoke. so sudden and determined was the sally now made by ten resolute men that, taken thus unexpectedly, the savages became at once unmanned and demoralised. the men of the _sea flower_ advanced in a semicircle, and well spread out. after the first volley, the blacks threw a few spears wildly into the darkness, for the terrible conflagration blinded their eyes; but, huddled together as they were, they made an excellent target for the riflemen. volley after volley was poured into their midst with terrible effect, increasing their confusion every minute. "lay aft here now, lads!" shouted james. "down with your guns! charge with cutlass and revolver. hurrah!" high above the demoniacal shrieks of the savages and the roaring of the flames rose that wild british cheer. next moment the revolvers poured upon the foe a rain of death. again a cheer. sword and cutlass flashed in the firelight. right and left, left and right, the men struck out, and blood flowed like water. towering above all was james himself, with flashing eyes and red-stained blade, his long hair streaming behind in the breeze that fanned the flames. short but fearful was that onslaught. in the eyes of the terror-stricken savages every man must have seemed a multitude. and no wonder. it was death or victory for the poor crusoes; and never before did soldier on battlefield, or sailor on slippery battle-deck, fight with greater fury than they did now. but, lo! james has seen the king himself, with his golden-headed spear, which he tries in vain to poise, so crushed and crowded is he in the midst of his mob of warriors. "it is i," shouts james, in the native tongue, "i, whose blood you would have drunk. drink it now if you dare!" nothing can withstand him, and soon he has fought his way towards the chief, and next moment the savage throws up his arms and falls dead where he stands. as if moved now but by a single thought, the enemy, with a howl of terror, go rushing away and disappear in the darkness. the victors are left alone with the dead! but, alas! the victory has cost them more than one precious life. here, stark and stiff, lies the brave young fellow sackbut, who had fired the bush on the first landing of the savages. and not far off poor tom wilson himself. at first they can hardly believe that tom is dead. he is raised partly on his elbow, and his eyes are fixed on a portrait he has taken from his bosom. tandy, who found him, had seen that picture before. it was that of his wife. ah, well, he had sinned, he had suffered, but his sorrows were all past now. another man is wounded--honest chips himself. is this all? ah, no, for james himself, as he turns to leave the scene of carnage, leans suddenly on his sword, his face looks ghastly pale in the firelight, and halcott springs forward only in time to prevent him from falling. book --chapter eleven. death of james. the morning of the victory was a sad enough one in the camp of the crusoes. the enemy was routed, the king was slain. for a time, at least, there would be a cessation of strife. for how long no one troubled himself to consider; sorrow seemed everywhere, on board and in the camp around. poor james lay on a mattress on deck. perhaps he was the only man that smiled or seemed happy. _he_ knew, and halcott knew too, that he could not last for many days, so grievously was he wounded. halcott, i need not say, was constant in his attendance on him, and so too was little nelda. the girl would sit for hours beside him, sometimes reading childish stories to him, which she felt certain, in her own mind, would help to make him better. or she would gently pat his weather-beaten face, saying, as she did so, "poor uncle james! poor dear uncle! never mind! never mind!" the dead were tenderly wrapped in hammocks which were heavily loaded. theirs would be a sailor's grave. halcott himself read the beautiful words of the english church service, the few that were now left of the brave crew of the _sea flower_ kneeling bareheaded beside the bodies of their late comrades; more than one was weeping. "we commit their bodies to the deep, and their souls to him who gave them." their shipmates just patted the hammocks, before they let them slide, in a way that was very pathetic; then down, one by one, over the cliff they dropped-- "to lie where pearls lie deep." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ when halcott returned one day from the cliff-top, some time after this sad funeral, there was a shade of greater uneasiness than usual on his face. james was quick to note it. "they are coming again?" he said quietly. "you have guessed aright," said halcott. "and they are using the same tactics--coming up under cover of brushwood. there is no fitz now to fire the heap, and our strength is terribly reduced." "be of good cheer, halcott--be of good cheer; it is god himself who giveth the victory. but death cometh sooner or later to all." "amen!" said halcott; "and oh, james, i for one am almost tired of life." "say not so, brother, say not so, 'tis sinful." how terrible is war, reader! the accounts that we read of this scourge, in papers or in books, seldom show it up in its true colours. we are told only of its glory--its tinsel show of glory. but that glory is but the gilded shell that hides the hideous kernel, consisting of sorrow, misery, murder, and rapine. i am not poor tandy's judge, and shall not pretend to say whether the resolve he now made was right or wrong. just under the saloon was the magazine, and when the worst should come to the worst, and the savage foe burst through the outer barrier with yells and howls of victory, his child, he determined, should not be torn from his grasp, to suffer cruelty unspeakable at the hands of the foe. _he would fire the magazine_! "my friends," said halcott, a morning or two after this, as he stood talking to his garrison of five, "the enemy is advancing in even greater force than on any previous occasion. i have but little more to say to you. let us bid each other `good-bye' just before the fight begins, and die with our swords in our hands-- "`like true-born british sailors.'" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the time came at last--and the enemy too. it was one of the brightest days the crusoes had ever witnessed on this isle of misfortune. even from the cliff-top, or over the barricade, the distant islands could be seen, like emeralds afloat between sea and sky. the volcanic mountain--so clear was the air--appeared almost within gunshot of the camp. for hours and hours there had not been a sound heard anywhere. the monster pile of brushwood, behind which those dusky, fiendish warriors hid, had been advanced to within seventy yards of the palisade, but all was silence there. even the sea-birds had ceased their screaming. all nature was ominously hushed; the bare and blackened country around the camp lay sweltering in the noon-day heat; and the ensign on observatory hill had drooped, till it appeared only as a thin, red line against the upper end of the pole. no one spoke save in a whisper. but with a little more excitement than usual, halcott advanced to the place where tandy stood, rifle in hand, his pistols in his belt, waiting like the others for the inevitable. halcott did not even speak. he simply took his friend by the arm and pointed westward. a cloud lay like a dark pall on the very summit of fire hill. tandy knew the meaning of it. he only shook his head, however. "too late, i fear!" that was all he said. but hardly had the last word been spoken, before a stranger thing than that cloud on the mountain attracted attention. a huge, smooth, house-high billow was seen gradually approaching the bay from seaward. it gathered strength, and speed too, as it came onwards, and finally it broke on the beach in one long line of curling foam, and with a sound as loud as distant thunder. wave after wave succeeded it, though they were neither so high nor so swift; then silence once more prevailed, and the sea was as quiet and still as before. not for long though. for a few minutes' time every man's senses seemed to reel, and a giddy, sickly feeling passed through the brain, such as only those who have visited countries like japan or south america have ever experienced. it was the first shock of an earthquake! peal after peal of strange subterranean thunder accompanied it, and a kind of hot wave spread suddenly over the island, like a breeze blowing over a burning prairie. the effect of these manifestations on the enemy was marvellous. for a few moments they were dumb and silent with terror; then yells of fear arose, and they fled indiscriminately away towards the sea beach, throwing away bows, arrows, and spears, and even their scanty articles of apparel, in their headlong, hurried flight. "the fire-fiend! he comes! he comes!" that was their cry now, and their only cry. in a marvellously short time they were seen swarming on the beach, and in all haste dragging down and launching their great war-canoes; and in less than twenty minutes' time they were, to the immense relief of the little garrison, afloat on the now heaving bosom of the deep. when halcott ran on board the hulk, i do not think he knew quite what he was doing or saying. he seemed beside himself with joy. "oh, live, brother james! live! do not die and leave us now that our safety is assured. the savages have fled, they will never return. live, brother, live?" "oh, live, poor uncle! live!" cried nelda; "live for _my_ sake, dear uncle!" tandy was the next to rush on board, and his first act was to catch his little daughter up, cover her face with kisses, and press her to his breast. "and now, halcott," he cried at last, "there is just one more shot in the big gun. come, let us drag her to the cliff. if i can sink but a single boat, i shall be satisfied." but the dying man lifted his hand, and halcott and tandy both drew near. "no, brothers, no," he murmured. "fire not the gun--the battle is the lord's. he alone--hath given us the victory." and the men knelt there, with bent heads, as if ashamed of the deed they had been about to commit. ah! but the tears were flowing fast from their eyes. poor james was dead! book --chapter twelve. leaves from first mate tandy's log. like all the other dead, poor james malone received the honours of a sailor's burial on the very next day. but, unlike the rest, he was not slipped over the cliff. on the contrary, halcott determined he should rest far out in the blue, lone sea, where nothing might disturb his rest until "the crack of doom." the last words were those of halcott himself. so the lightest boat was dragged all the way to the beach, and there, with the body sewn up in a hammock and covered with a red flag, it was launched. there had been no return of the earthquake, but all the previous night flames and smoke had issued from fire hill, and no one doubted that an eruption on a vast scale was imminent. there was, however, no danger in leaving little nelda and her brother alone in the hulk with janeira and chips--who was already able to walk--for the savages were far away, indeed, by this time. so tandy accompanied halcott, and with them went the others--only five in all. not a word was spoken until the boat was beyond the bay and in very deep water. "way enough!" cried halcott. "in oars!" all sat there with bent, uncovered heads while the captain read the service; but his voice was choked with emotion, and when the shotted hammock took the water with a melancholy boom and disappeared, he closed the book. he could say no more for a time. as a rule seafarers are not orators, though what they do say is generally to the point. halcott sat for fully a minute like one in a trance, gazing silently and reverently at the spot where the body had disappeared. the bubbles had soon ceased to rise, and there was nothing now to mark the sailor's cemetery. though-- "he was the loved of all, yet none on his low grave might weep." "my friends," said halcott, "there in peace rests the body of my dearest friend, my adopted brother. i never had a brother save him. how much i loved him none can ever know. the world and the ship will be a deal more lonesome to me now that james has gone. for many and many a long year we sailed the seas together, and weathered many a gale and storm. sound, sound may he sleep, while wind and waves shall sing his dirge. unselfish was he to the end, and every inch a sailor. his last word was `victory;' and well may we now add, `o death, where is thy sting? o grave, where is thy victory?' "out oars, men! give way with a will!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ they reached the shore in safety, and drew up the boat high and dry. but none too soon; for, before they got on board once more, a terrible thunderstorm had come on, with lightning more vivid than any one on the hulk ever remembered. i have tandy's log before me as i write, and i do not think i can do better than make a few extracts therefrom. "_the lost barque, sea flower_.--on the rocks, in treachery bay, isle of misfortune, latitude --, longitude --, august , --. buried poor james malone to-day. halcott terribly cut up. doesn't seem to be the same man. but we all miss james; he was so gentle, so kind, and true. we miss fitz also. his merry ways and laughing face made him a favourite with us all. and honest tom wilson; we shall never again hear his sweet music. thank heaven that, though the thunder is now rolling, the lightning flashing, and a rain that looks like mud falling, i have my darlings both beside me! in the darkest hours i have ever spent in life, i've always had something to comfort me. yes, god is good. "the sun is setting. i never saw a sun look so lurid and red before. the thunder continues, but the rain has ceased. there are frequent smart shocks of earthquake. "_august _.--two awful days and nights have passed, and still we are all alive. the days have been days of darkness; the ashes and scoriae have been falling constantly, and now lie an inch at least in depth upon our deck. nights lit up by the flames that spout cloud-high from the volcano, carrying with them rocks and stones and steam. there is a terribly mephitic vapour over everything. how long this may last heaven alone can tell." "_august _.--four more fearful days. the eruption continues with unabated horror--the thunderings, the lightnings, the showers of stones and ashes, and the rolling clouds of dust through which, even at midday, the sun glares like a ball of crimson fire. "poor chips is dead; we buried him yesterday. more of us are ill. halcott himself is depressed, and my wee nelda cares for nothing save lying languidly on the sofa all day long. the thought that she may die haunts me night and day." "_august _.--almost at the last of our provisions. the biscuit is finished; the very dust has been scraped up and eaten. not more than a score of tins of _soupe en bouille_ left in the ship, and about one gallon of rum. served out to-day what remained of the salmon, and gave double allowance of rum to-night. "not a green thing seems to be left on the island." "_august _.--feel languid and weary. went to prayers to-day. all our hopes must now centre in the life to come; we have none for this." "_august _.--the strange crane lies trussed in a corner of the saloon. we force him to eat a little, and bob sits near him and licks his face. "to-day bob went off by himself. he was away for hours, and we thought we should never see him again; but in the afternoon he returned, driving before him five little black pigs. thin and miserable are they, but a godsend nevertheless. "lava pouring down the hill-side all night long, shimmering green, red, and orange through the sulphurous haze." "_august _.--men more cheerful to-day. the clouds have cleared away, and we can see the sea, and the sun is less red. "halcott and i climbed observatory hill. what a scene! the once beautiful island is burnt as it were to a cinder. trees are scorched; all, all is dead. we could not bear to look at it. but we cut down the flag-pole, and brought away the ensign. they are useless now. "who will be the next to die? `o father,' i cry in my agony, `spare my life while my little one lives, that i may minister to her till the last! then take my boy and me!'" "_august _.--four bells in the middle-watch. i awoke an hour ago with a start. halcott, too, had rushed into the saloon. "`did you hear it?' he cried wildly. "yes, i had heard. "the unusual sound awoke us all--the sound of a ship blowing off steam in the bay yonder, far beneath us. the sound of anchor chains rattling out, the sound of voices--the voices of brave british sailors! "`halcott! halcott!' i cried; `we are saved!' "i'm sure i have been weeping. nelda is on my knee at this moment while i write, her cheek pressed close to mine. oh, how good god has been to me! we have fired off guns, and raised our voices in a feeble cheer, and the people have replied. "it is no dream then. "surely i am not mad! "oh, will the morning never come? and will the sun never shine again? i--" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the log breaks off abruptly just here, and all that i have further to say was gleaned from halcott and tandy themselves. the steamer, then, that had arrived so opportunely to save the few unhappy survivors of the lost _sea flower_ was the trader _borneo_. the very first to welcome them when they went on board at early dawn was honest weathereye himself. he had a hand for halcott and a hand for tandy--a heart for both. "god bless you!" he hastened to say. "ah! do not tell me your sad story now--no, never a bit of it. the _dun avon_ brought your letters, and i could not rest till i came out. "but run below, halcott; some one else wants to welcome you. you'll be surprised--" halcott never knew rightly whether he had descended to the saloon on wings or on his feet, or whether he had jumped right down through the skylight. a minute afterwards, however, doris was weeping in his arms--ah! such glad, glad tears--and doris's mother arose from a couch with a happy smile. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ that same day, after taking all that was valuable out of the dear old _sea flower_--and that _all_ included a fortune in gold--the hull was set on fire. in the evening the steamer left the island, but not before tandy and halcott had taken the bearings of the hidden mine. in that cave lies an immense fortune for some one some day. some hard work and digging will be required, however, before the fortune is finally brought to bank, and those who go to seek it must go fully prepared to fight as fiendish a tribe of man-eating savages as ever yet has been faced in the south pacific ocean. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ideal voyages by sea are still to be made, although not in torpedo-boats or in _majesties_, and this was one of them. the crusoes of the island of gold, once fairly afloat on the briny ocean, soon waxed healthy and strong again, and all hands on board the saucy _borneo_ were just as happy as happy could be. i must admit, however, that "saucy _borneo_" is simply a figure of speech. there wasn't, really, a trace of sauciness about the dear, old rumble-tumble of a ship. the skipper was about as rough as they make them; so was his mate--and so were all hands, for that matter. _but_ if they were rough, they were _right_, and just as dibdin describes a seaman:-- "though careless and headstrong if danger should press, and ranked 'mongst the free list of rovers, he'll melt into tears at a tale of distress, and prove the most constant of lovers. "to rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, he's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave-- and this is a true british sailor." as before, bob and nelda were the pets of the ship; and 'rallie, who now did the drollest antics any bird ever attempted, kept all hands laughing from binnacle to bowsprit. happiness is catching. i gather this from the fact that, after watching halcott and doris walking arm-in-arm up and down the quarterdeck one lovely day, with pleasure and love beaming in the eyes of each, bold captain weathereye said to himself,-- "how jolly they look! he makes _her_ happy, and she makes _him_. blame me if i don't make somebody happy myself as soon's i get to port. i'm not so old yet, and neither is miss scragley. ahem!" well, the reader can guess how it turned out. many years have passed since the voyage home of the old _borneo_. doris is mrs halcott now. a pleasant home they have, and tandy often visits there. tandy built himself a beautiful house on the very spot where the humble cottage stood; but it isn't called hangman's hall. bob is there, and murrams is there--good mrs farrow kept him while our heroes were at sea; and little nelda--not so little now--is there, too; while, high and dry, in the gibbet-tree still roosts the droll old admiral. ransey tansey is a man now, and walks his own quarterdeck; but i did hear, only yesterday, that he will soon marry eedie. there is no miss scragley any longer, however. but there is a mrs weathereye. ahem! yes; and weathereye and tandy are almost inseparables, and many a yarn they spin together over their pipes. as the canal yonder, with the sunlight glinting on its breast, goes calmly meandering through the woods and meadows green, so gently pass their lives along. good-bye, lads! please, may i come again? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the end. stan lynn, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ stan lynn, by george manville fenn. chapter one. "can you use a sword?" "yes! what is it?" "hist, boy! jump up and dress." "oh, it's you, father!" said the newly aroused sleeper, slipping out of bed--or, rather, off his bed, for the heat of an eastern china night had made him dispense with bedclothes. he made a frantic dash at his trousers, feeling confused and strange in the darkness, and hardly knowing whether he was dreaming or awake, as he whispered: "is anything the matter?" there was no reply, and the lad became conscious of the fact that his father had passed out of the room after awakening him. dressing in the darkness is not pleasant. buttons have a habit of making for the wrong holes, socks and collars and ties of slipping off the bedside chair and hiding underneath anywhere; while if it is very dark, elbows come in contact with pieces of furniture, and the back of the hair-brush is liable to come rap against the skull, instead of the yielding, bristly front. stanley lynn went through divers experiences of this kind as he hurried on his clothes, wondering what was the matter the while, and coming to the conclusion that uncle jeff must have been taken ill and wanted the doctor. the lad had just come to this decision when a faint click told him that the door had been reopened--proof of which came in the shape of a whisper: "dressed, boy?" "yes, father. is uncle jeff ill?" "hi? no, my boy. but be very quiet; they don't know that we are stirring." "who don't, father?" "bah! don't ask questions, boy," said his father in an impatient whisper. "there, there! of course you want to know. here, stan, can you fight?" "a little, father," said the boy in a tone full of surprise. "i had two or three sets-to at school." "pooh! absurd! look here, boy; your uncle jeff was alarmed by sounds down by the warehouse entry, and looking out cautiously, he saw men at work by the big doors." "robbers, father?" said the boy excitedly. "yes, robbers--river pirates." "and you want me to go for the police?" "no, boy; i want you to help us to keep the wretches at bay. we shall be only three with you, and we can't afford to reduce our numbers to two. can you load and fire a pistol?" "yes, father; tom dicks and i used to go rabbit-shooting with one--" "then you ought to be able to hit a man if you can shoot rabbits." the thought flashed across the boy's brain that, though he and his fellow-pupil had gone shooting on the clovelly cliffs times enough, they had never once hit a rabbit; but there was no time to communicate this fact to his father. "and besides," he thought, "i dare say firing the pistol will be enough; the noise will frighten the men away." "can you use a sword, stan?" "yes, father. you know i had fencing lessons." "bah!" muttered his elder impatiently. "poking about a square skewer with a leather-covered button at the end! i mean a service sword--cut and thrust. there! you must try. catch hold and come along. loaded, mind." the last words were uttered as the boy felt the butt of a revolver thrust into one hand, the handle of a sword into the other. "tread softly, boy," whispered his father. "this way." stanley lynn felt more confused than ever, for he had only returned from england two days before, after six years' absence and work at a big school; and the home he had now come to in hai-hai was a very much larger and more important place than that he had quitted at canton years before. everything had seemed strange, even by day, in the big, roomy, lightly built place connected with the great warehouse and wharf, while the lower part of the former building was used as offices and sampling-rooms. he had not half mastered the intricacies of the place by the previous evening, while now in the darkness--woke up from a deep sleep--everything seemed puzzling in the extreme. "got him?" said a familiar voice out of the darkness. "yes." "that's right. don't be alarmed, stan. the rascals are breaking into the office, but i think if we keep up a little revolver-shooting they'll soon go back to their boats." "eh?" cried stanley's father. "then they came in boats?" "i've not seen them; but of course they came in boats. hist!" there was no need for the warning, for all held their breath and listened to a low, scratching, tearing noise suggestive of some tool being used to break open a door. "they're at the big side-entry," said stanley's father. "no; it's the little office door, i'm sure," said the gentleman whom stanley's father addressed as jeff. "now then, what shall we do? go down and fire through the door, or give them a dose out of one of these windows?" "it all comes of building a place so far from help," said stanley's father, ignoring his brother's question. "don't grumble, man," was the reply. "why, in another year we shall be quite shut in." "will that save us now?" said stanley's father bitterly. "no, noll, old fellow," said his brother cheerfully. "we shall have to save ourselves this time--independently.--like fighting, stan?" he continued, turning to the boy. "no, uncle; hate it," said the lad laconically. "ha! i dare say this is not the only time you will be called upon to do things you don't like.--now, now, what is it to be--downstairs, and a few shots through the panels?" "i suppose so--take care, stan; they are savage beasts to deal with." "yes, the brutes!" said uncle jeff; "but he need not expose himself. we'll do the work if he hands us the tools." "that i shan't!" muttered the boy, gripping sword and pistol tightly. "father doesn't wish me to do that." "come along," said uncle jeff. "shall i lead, noll?" "yes; go on.--take care how you come, stan. and mind this, boy: if the enemy do begin to fire, throw yourself flat on your face at once." "yes, father," was the reply; and the next minute, as stan judged, they were standing in a wide passage, listening to the scraping, tearing noise, which sounded dull and smothered, till all at once, after a faint rustling which indicated that uncle jeff had unlocked, unbarred, unbolted, and thrown open a door, the cracking and tearing sounded quite loud. "bless 'em!" whispered uncle jeff, "they mean silk. never mind; we'll give them lead instead. be ready! silence! they don't know we're here." as he spoke uncle jeff moved towards the spot from which the noise came, and stan felt his arm grasped above the elbow by his father and guided in one particular direction till he touched his uncle in the dark. in the brief moments which ensued, stan, now fully awake not only to what was going on but to the danger of his position, seemed to see a group of rough-looking, semi-savage chinese--with whose stolid, half-cunning, half-treacherous countenances he had become acquainted during his short sojourn in port--standing just outside the office door, looking on while three or four were plying crowbars and trying to prise open the stout door, which seemed to be bravely resisting their efforts, till all at once there was a sharp crack and the falling inside of a piece of wood. as the wood fell with a soft, clattering sound all became silent, the attacking party evidently listening for the occupants of the house to raise an alarm, or at all events to make some sign. but no one inside stirred until, after quite ten minutes--which seemed to stan like sixty--the cracking and breaking of wood was heard again. then uncle jeff turned to his brother and whispered: "hold your hand. i'll try what a shot by way of warning will do. if we fire and wound the wretches they will be furious, and we are very weak." stanley's father whispered back two words which did not in the least accord with the position of the listeners, for he said: "very well." the next moment stan saw a bright flash of light cut the darkness, showing by its diagonal direction that the pistol had been fired towards the ceiling. the report sounded loud, and was followed once more by perfect silence. the lad's heart gave a leap, and a feeling of profound relief and satisfaction came over him. "frightened them away!" he said to himself; and the horrible thoughts which had attacked him like a nightmare, of the atrocities of which the marauding chinese were reported to have been guilty, were dying slowly away, when the lad's spirits sank again to zero, and he felt as cold, for all at once a savage burst of yells arose, followed by a fierce attack upon the door. all attempt at concealment was now at an end, and the attempt became perfectly open. "won't this bring help, father?" said stan in a voice that sounded rather choking. "no," said uncle jeff shortly. "people will think it is some chinese row, and by the time the right sort of help comes it will be too late if we don't take care.--now then, oliver, it means business. we must hold the place till help does come. make ready, and let's give them three shots through the door. i don't suppose it will do any harm to them, but it may scare them off. now then!--you will fire too, stan?" "yes, uncle." "quick, then! aim straight at the spot where the noise is loudest. ready!--fire!" three revolver-shots sounded almost like one, and this was followed by a low, fierce snarl. the beating and breaking of the woodwork ceased, and there was an angry, passionate cry, with a deep, hurried growling as of many voices. "some one hit," said stanley's father. "and serve the wretch right!" cried uncle jeff fiercely. "come, oliver, old fellow, it is no time for being squeamish; it's our lives or theirs." "yes," said stanley's father firmly. "forgive me if i had a few minutes' hesitation. we must fight, jeff, and do our best. help must come at last." "but can't i go and fetch help, father--uncle?" "no, boy--no," said his uncle impatiently. "do you want to be hacked to pieces?" "no, uncle. they wouldn't see me in the dark." "perhaps not, boy, but they'd feel you. there are dozens of them, and you may rest assured that they have surrounded the place. help must come from without. all we can do is to hold out and fight as savagely as they do." "hush! what's that?" said stanley's father sharply. "i can hear it: hammering somewhere at the back," said stanley excitedly. "it's what i expected," said his uncle. "they are trying to break in there. let's give them a couple of rounds, and then get out of here and barricade the door." "i don't like giving up till they force a way in," said stanley's father; and the lad felt that he was right, until his uncle spoke. "are we fit to meet such an onslaught as they will make?" he said angrily. "they'll rush in with spear and sword--you know their reckless way. we should be overpowered at once. come, oliver, leave all to me. firing is our only chance." "yes," said stanley's father. "give the word." it was given, and another little volley was delivered, filling the office with light for a moment, and the dense, dank smell of burnt gunpowder for long enough. this volley did more mischief, for much of the woodwork of the panels had been cut away; but the result was only to enrage the attacking party more and more, making them hack furiously at the door, and with such effect that the proximity of the sounds indicated that it could not be long before it was broken right away. "be ready for the retreat," said uncle jeff. "can you find your way, stan?" "yes, uncle." "then, when i give the word, pass through first and stand aside while i bolt and bar the inner door.--ah! it's time to move. now then, fire, and then dash through into the lobby." it was none too soon, for all at once, after a thundering crack or two, the remains of the door gave way. the marauders rushed in with a yell, but to be met with another little volley; and as they came on, yelling savagely, and making a rush for the position occupied by the defenders, as indicated by the flashes of the revolvers, yet another volley was fired, checking them for the moment, and giving uncle jeff time to slam the inner door in their faces, and to lock and bolt it rapidly in the black darkness. "there!" he said; "that will take them some time to get through, and every minute is of value now." stan could hear the enemy raging round the office they had just quitted; and then, after a little shouting, the shape of the door became visible, marked out as it was by faint lines of light, while from the keyhole came a vivid ray which cut through the black passage and formed a dull spot upon the wall at the end. "let's go up now," said uncle jeff, "and do a little firing from one of the upstair windows." "do you mean to come down here again?" asked stanley's father. "not while these ruffians are near.--what do you say, stan?" "it would be like throwing our lives away, uncle." "quite right, my boy. no; we will lock the door at the top of the stairs and then barricade it. we shall be pretty safe then from attack made below." "they will try to reach us by one of the first-floor windows." "yes; but they will only be able to come up one at a time, and so long as the ammunition lasts i think we can keep them back.--why, stan, my lad, this is a queer experience for you," continued uncle jeff as, taking everything quite coolly, he helped his brother to lock and carefully secure what was literally the front-door of their dwelling, although it was entered by means of a flight of steps, and was on the first floor of the newly built house. "yes, uncle, it is strange," said the boy quietly: "but it seems very horrible for you and my father." "eh?" said uncle jeff dryly. "well, yes, it is rather horrible, but mostly so for the chinamen. there! let's get to one of the windows, and--" "yes, uncle--quick! that one to the left. oh, pray make haste!" "why?" said stan's father, impressed by his son's sudden display of excitement. "i saw the top of a ladder faintly showing against the sky." as the lad finished speaking, proof of his assertion came in the shape of a little shower of splintered glass driven out of one of the window-sashes to fall tinkling into the dark room. almost at the same moment stan obeyed the first dictates of his common-sense as called forth by the emergency; for, without waiting to be told, he raised the pistol he held and took a quick aim in what he considered to be the right direction. a loud yell was the result, and as stan's father rushed to the window to follow up the shot with another, he held his hand, and stood looking down into the dimly seen group below. he was just in time to make out faintly the top of a ladder describing an arch above the crowd beneath, while, clinging to it and crying for help, there, like a bundle of clothes, was the figure of the man who had first attempted the escalade. stanley caught a glimpse of the figure too, and rushed to the window, just in time to see the crowd in motion and the luckless, already wounded chinaman come heavily down among his friends. "will they try again, father?" whispered stan, as if in fear of his words being heard through the broken window. "unless help comes," was the reply, given in a tone which seemed to stanley to suggest that the enemy would be sure to return, and before long. "but if they do try to raise the ladder again, stan, my boy," said uncle jeff cheerily, "why, you must show your skill with the pistol once more. why, boy, i couldn't have shot like that!" "jeff," said stan's father hurriedly, "i can hear them busy below." "trying to get up? well, they have got their work cut out. but, hullo! what's that? smashing up the office furniture." "yes; that's it, uncle. listen; you can hear it quite plainly." "poor, child-like beggars!" said uncle jeff contemptuously. "how i should like to have the lot trapped by a company of foot, and then see them thoroughly caned like schoolboys! yes, they are smashing things up pretty well. bad job, oliver, for we shall have to furnish the whole office again, and rebuild it, too, with the rest of the place." "oh, not so bad as that, jeff!" said stanley's father. "yes, my lad; you may make up your mind for the worst. don't you grasp why they are breaking up the things?" "fire?" cried stanley excitedly. "right, my lad. they're going to burn us out." stanley's father stamped heavily upon the floor in the impotent rage he felt. "what's to be done, jeff?" he said. "they'll beat us now." "fire for fire, brother oliver," said uncle jeff through his teeth.--"here, stan, my lad, don't you begin thinking that your uncle is a bloodthirsty wretch, because all he asks for here is to be let alone to make his living and a bit to spare.--do you hear, sir?" "yes, uncle," said stan, who had more ears for the sounds below than for his uncle's words. "that's right, then. the chinese can run away if they like, but if they don't they must take their chance of getting bullets through them.--now, oliver, old lad, set the example. we can't stand here to be roasted to death, for it would be very unpleasant; so shoot as many of the wretches as you can.--and you, stan, my boy, help him. ah, look out! they're raising the ladder again." both stan and his father saw the peril at the same moment, and they rushed forward, stan following his father's example and beating out a pane of glass with the butt of his revolver so as to make room to fire. they were invisible to the attacking party, but the noise made by the falling glass directed the attention of the mob to their presence, and they were saluted by a savage burst of yelling and a shower of missiles, which did no more harm than to destroy a pane or two of glass. it was different with the fire the enemy drew: for, feeling that they were regularly fighting for their lives, and growing desperate, stan and his father watched the moving ladder, whose end came with a sharp rap against the sill of the window. as soon as the upper part was darkened by the figure of a man, oliver lynn fired, there was a yell, and the man stood fast. but another rushed up to his support, and this time stanley fired. the new arrival let go his hold of the ladder-sides, jerked himself back, and fell headlong on to the people watching his progress. but the sight of their falling friends only enraged the attacking party, and another man or two rushed up the ladder, just as uncle jeff seized and threw the window wide-open, waited his time, and feeling more than seeing that the men were crowding up, stepped out on the sill, seized the top of the ladder, and raising it up a little, made one tremendous heave and thrust, forcing it outward till it was perfectly perpendicular. then he gave a final thrust and sent it outwards, the mob below yelling, and some of those on the rungs of the ladder beginning to leap off before it went over backwards with a loud crash, but unfortunately taking uncle jeff with it, for he found it impossible to recover his balance. chapter two. "keep up the firing." "gone!" gasped stan as he looked down into the seething darkness. "don't stand talking, boy!" cried his father angrily. "fire--fire to keep the enemy off. be careful--be quick!" he set the example, keeping up a steady delivery of shots from his revolver, stan giving shot for shot, but with his hand trembling so that he could not take aim. then all at once, to his intense delight, the firing seemed to be answered from out of the darkness below, but against the enemy, it being plain after the first shot that uncle jeff had regained his feet and had joined in the pistol practice with such effect that for the moment the enemy took to flight. "keep up the firing," shouted uncle jeff from out of the darkness; and his order was obeyed, while the speaker seized the ladder lying upon the ground and succeeded in raising it erect and then letting the top lean against the window. in another minute the sill was reached; and this time, being more upon his guard, uncle jeff succeeded in maintaining his balance as he thrust the ladder away again, for it to fall with a heavy, splintering crash which broke it quite in two, just as the mob of assailants came rushing back again, ready to attack the besieged with all their might. "howl away, you ruffians!" cried uncle jeff as he climbed in again, for just then a yell of disappointment arose from the enemy as they found the ladder broken. but directly after they had seized the longer piece and reared that up, to begin mounting afresh; but, to the great relief of the attacked, it was too short, and the first man could only hold on by the window-sill and try to drag himself up. he managed to get a good hold with one hand, while with the other, from which a great knife hung by means of a piece of cord, he, after gripping his weapon, smashed in the lower panes of glass, and then began hacking at the window-bars. "stand back, stan," cried uncle jeff, "or he'll get a cut at you with that knife. do you hear?" stan heard, but too late, for in his excitement he had seized his revolver by the muzzle so as to use the butt like a club, and rushed forward to the rugged opening. he could see the big chinaman as he hacked away, but for the moment the man did not see him. then, with an angry snarl, he threw back the blade of his heavy knife till the top of it touched his shoulder, and struck with all his might at the lad's unguarded head. for the moment it seemed as if stan's career was at an end. but first blow in fighting means a great deal, and certainly it did here, for the butt of the pistol came down with a crash on the fingers of the chinaman's left hand, which was snatched away completely numbed. the cut from the knife fell short, its deliverer dropping sharply downward on to the man close below him, making him give way in turn, and sending the weight of two men upon the third, who involuntarily joined in loading the fourth, who in turn helped to sweep the fifth from the ladder, which the next moment was quite clear. "bravo, stan!" cried uncle jeff.--"now, oliver, old lad, let's get the dining-table up edgeways against the window and fire from behind it-- quick!--that's the way; let it rest with its legs sideways on the floor." the heavy wood table made a splendid breastwork, though as soon as it was reared up across the window it shut out half the dim light, which was just enough to enable the defenders to see their way. and now, in obedience to uncle jeff's hurriedly issued command, exhausted cartridge-cases were withdrawn, and the barrels rested upon the edge of the table so as to steady the aim the next time a head appeared. "what's to be the next thing?" said uncle jeff. "fire," said his brother grimly. "i hope not," whispered stan; "but they're chopping again below. hark! you can hear them plainly." "yes, it sounds bad, my boy; but help must come soon. i say, stan." "yes, uncle." "i thought you were done for, and i hardly know now how you managed to escape." "it was close, uncle; but i'm afraid i must have crushed the man's fingers horribly." "poor fellow!" said uncle jeff dryly. "here, jeff," said his brother hoarsely; "do you smell that?" "oh yes, i can smell it; i did a minute ago. look! that's smoke rising past the window." "yes, i thought it was," said stan huskily; "but i was in hopes that it was from our firing." "no," said uncle jeff; "it's from their firing, my lad; and with such an ally we shall be done for.--oliver, old fellow, we must beat a retreat." "how can we? the wretches are at back and front." "yes, it is awkward, oliver, but we shall not be able to stay here long." "we must make for the next floor." "all the farther to jump when the bad time comes." "look out, father!--they're coming up again, uncle." the table proved invaluable now, for as the enemy made a fresh attack, swarming up the broken ladder, shots were delivered steadily, and the blows struck by the savage wretches fell vainly upon the stout, hard wood. three men fell headlong, but their places were taken directly by others, who were maddened by disappointment, and made the table quiver with the blows they managed to strike with the clumsy axes and swords they bore, till the sharp crack of one of the revolvers tumbled the savage wretches back upon their comrades below, who uttered a chorus of savage yells and threats at every fresh mishap. but still they came on, till after four final discharges there was a sharp, cracking sound below; glass had evidently been shivered in one of the lower windows, and a rush of flame illumined the smoke that now floated up thickly, while for the first time the besieged had a view of their fierce enemies who paused from their attack and stood back watching the progress of the mischief they had done. "don't show yourselves in the light, either of you," said uncle jeff, doing at once that which he had forbidden. "then don't you!" cried stan's father. "keep back, man--keep back!" "directly, old fellow," said his brother. "i only want to see what they are about to do next. they're busy about something." "i can see," cried stan excitedly from where he crouched with one eye over the edge of the table. "they're carrying the men who have fallen away out of the light." "what!" cried uncle jeff. "why, so they are--thirty of them at least, hard at work. well, they have some humanity in them after all." "it's almost too good to be true, jeff," said stan's father, "but i believe they are giving us up for a bad job." "you're right, oliver," was the excited reply. "that's it; they find us too hard nuts to crack." "they feel that the fire will bring help, and that it is time to be off. come and help to remove the barricade; we must escape before the fire takes a firmer hold." "wait a moment, both of you," cried uncle jeff. "yes. hurrah in a whisper. don't shout. it's all right; they are making off, and we are saved." "you forget the fire, jeff," said stanley's father sadly. "not i. let's hurry down and see what mischief has been done." "no, no," cried stan excitedly as the glow from beneath increased; "they are coming back again." "what!" cried uncle jeff. "no, you are wrong this time; it is a fresh mob from the busy part of the town, coming to see what plunder they can get from the fire." "yes, i think you're right," said stanley's father--"come to see our ruin." "who's that talking about ruin?" said uncle jeff scornfully as, with stan's help, he took down the barricade and unfastened bar and bolt. "let's see what mischief the fire has done before we talk of that." "think of saving our lives," said stan's father excitedly. "never mind the rest." "but i do mind the rest," cried uncle jeff. "come along, stan. never say die! i don't believe the fire has had time to take much hold." "what are you going to do?" cried stan's father. "make a dash for the outer office, where the buckets hang. they're all full." "for heaven's sake take care! don't run any risks." uncle jeff did not seem to hear him, but ran down the stairs, to find the lobby full of smoke. his first act was to dash out the panes of glass in a fanlight to admit the fresh air, while directly after he threw open the door, whose fastenings stan had by his instructions loosened. "keep back," cried stan's father; "it is madness." "bah!" said uncle jeff, who had a better view of the state of affairs. "take a long breath and follow me." in his excitement stan had just one glimpse of the office interior, where towards the window a great bonfire-like heap was blazing away, licking the side about the opening, and forming a column of fire and smoke which went wreathing and darting out, many-tongued, to rise high in the night air, spreading out towards the wharf, and making the water of the river beyond gleam, while a busy hum of many voices greeted them from beyond the flame and smoke. "we can do nothing, jeff," cried stan's father; "only escape for our lives. it is madness to try and do anything." "then let's be mad, old fellow.--bah! nonsense! the draught carries all the fire from us, and we can breathe easily. rouse up, man!" "i am roused up," cried stan's father angrily; "but i must think of my boy." "don't!" roared uncle jeff; "he's big enough to think for himself.--now, stan, out through this door and get a bucket of water. do as i do.-- come on, oliver." "but the ceiling's catching. the place will be all in flames directly." "of course it will if we stand still and watch it. come on." he led the way through the door before him, making a sudden rush past the blazing heap, and the other two followed, each lifting down a bucket of water from the dozen hanging in a row on the pegs where uncle jeff's foresight had had them placed ready for such an emergency. as soon as he had seized his pair of buckets he stepped back through the brightly illuminated door; and as stan quickly followed him, the two stood together, the boy feeling the scorching glow of the flames upon his face. "let me do the throwing, stan," said uncle jeff calmly, as he set one bucket on the floor. "stand back, and look out for the choking steam." then, with a clever whirl of the bucket, he sent its contents in a curve, spreading as it were so much golden liquid metal over the flames, a good sprinkling striking the woodwork on both sides of the window; and in an instant the sharp hissing of the encounter between fire and water was accompanied by a change, the fire still blaring furiously, but a great cloud of steam being formed, the odour of which struck stan as abominable. "bravo!" cried uncle jeff. "smell the hydrogen, my lad?" as he spoke he set down his empty bucket, took up the full one at his feet, and scattered its contents in the same way and with a similar effect to that which had preceded it. "now," he cried, "set down your two buckets, my lad; take back my empty ones, and bring two more.--set yours down too, oliver," he continued coolly, "and do as the boy does--unless you want to play fireman." "no, no; go on," said stan's father. "splendid, my dear boy! go on." "yes, i'll go on," said uncle jeff coolly; "only one mustn't waste a drop." as he spoke he scattered the contents of both stan's buckets, and then those of his brother, so deftly over the blazing woodwork that by the time the first six had been emptied the heart of stan's father rose with relief, for the change was wonderful. then, as the second six bucketfuls were being thrown, the first two right upward to the ceiling, whence they began to drip in a steady shower whose drops hissed and crackled where they fell, it became evident that very little further effort would be needed to master the flames. in fact, now that the twelve buckets were nearly all exhausted, stan found himself able to throw out the empty ones to some of the men who had gathered outside, plenty of willing hands being ready to catch them; and under the directions given in english by a loud voice outside, the men--coolies, most of them--hurried down to the edge of the wharf where the river ran muddily, and a second dozen buckets nearly finished the task. "stitch in time saves nine--eh, stan?" cried uncle jeff merrily; "and a tumblerful of water at the beginning of a fire is better than a hogshead at the end.--h'm! there's plenty of help now, oliver. we're not ruined yet, old man." "thank heaven, no, jeff!" said his brother. "i wish i had your coolness and nerve." "and i wish i had your nous, old fellow," replied his brother quietly. "but there! we won't have the place flooded. i'll scatter about a couple of dozen more buckets over the smoking and charred wood; and then, as the mob gathering out there must be thirsty, we will distribute a few strings of copper money among them to make up for the chance of plunder that they have missed." friendly voices by the score were now heard making inquiries; the help was plentiful, and in less than an hour clever carpenters were hammering away, replacing the broken and burned windows with a lattice-work of bamboo. soon after a late-arriving party of the city guard were pursuing the marauders, while a certain number were posted about the offices and warehouse to protect the rich stores within from "friendly" and unfriendly attack. but there was no sleep for the lynns that night, and daylight made such a display of the effects of the night's business that stan's first disposition was to burst out laughing in his uncle's face. "eh? what is it? why are you grinning at me, sir?" said the object of stan's mirth. "i couldn't help it, uncle," said the lad apologetically. "go and have a wash, and just look at your face." "blackened a bit? well, it does smart." "why, jeff," cried stan's father, "your eyebrows, eyelashes, and beard are completely burned away." "what!" cried uncle jeff angrily. "my beautiful great beard? oh! that comes of trying to save this wretched old house and store.--why, you heartless young ruffian," he roared as he met his nephew's mirthful eyes, "you are laughing at my misfortune. do you know what a loss like this means to me?" "yes, uncle," replied stan: "waiting until it grows again." uncle jeff's countenance was a study as he stood staring at his nephew, his forehead all in wrinkles, eyes screwed up, and lips compressed, till all at once the muscles relaxed, his eyes opened widely, and a frank, pleasant smile of satisfaction began to make him look genial and sunny. "why, of course!" he cried. "i was going to put it down as a dead loss. i never thought of that, stan. to be sure, it's only a bit of waiting for it to grow again. here, i can't go out in this state. call sin the wicked, stan." "yes, uncle," was the reply, and stan hurried out. chapter three. "a bloodthirsty young ruffian." stan had been long enough in the great port to know something of the habits of the people, and he was in nowise surprised to find that not one of the employees had put in an appearance that morning; nor yet that pi sin, the general man-of-all-work of the household, who slept in the house, was nowhere to be found, for the simple reason that he had dropped from one of the windows and made off at the first alarm. the lad was balked, then, at the offset, and had to return to his uncle for instructions. "gone--eh?" said uncle jeff. "of course he would go. it doesn't take much to scare one of his kind. you'll have to fetch the barber for me, stan. know where he lives?" "no," said stan. "keep along the wharf-side till you come to the big pagoda half and mile along the river, and then go down the narrow lane under the pagoda walls till you come to his place, just opposite the gate. you'll see his shop. tell him to come at once." "can he speak english?" "after a fashion; and half-a-dozen other languages too. tell him he must come back with you. he'll say he can't leave home, but you say the one word `dollar' and he'll come at once." "i understand, uncle," was the reply; and the boy started off, feeling as if all the previous night's experience had been a dream, and as if he were still only half-awake. he was glad to escape from the dwelling over the offices, with their black, dismantled look, where all was charred wood, wet with the little deluge of water that had been poured thereon. the lad sniffed two or three times involuntarily as he made his way out to pass through a crowd of staring idlers of all sorts and sizes, dressed in blue cotton jackets and trousers, save those whose costume half-way down was a pigtail only, the other half to the ground consisting of a pair of baggy, much-washed cotton trousers, tight at the ankles, and tucked into clumsy shoes with thick white soles. they were all staring vacantly at the damaged office and shattered windows; while the broken ladder, propped up in two pieces, was placed against the front of the house, and formed the greatest attraction of all, till stan appeared, when about two hundred and fifty pairs of beady, piggish eyes were turned upon him, and there was a quiver of pigtails of all lengths, from a few inches to those of the finest growth, which tapped against the owners' heels as they walked. "i suppose i shall get to know one face from another in time," thought stan as the crowd made way for him, "but at present they all seem to be alike. my word! i do feel glad to get out. the place smelt like a school bonfire put out for fear of risk, or as the kitchen did when the cook upset part of the soup into the fire and made the rest taste just the same as this smells.--oh, do get out of the way, some of you!" he said aloud impatiently. "can't you see that i'm in a hurry?" "you wantee sin?" said a high-pitched voice close behind; and stan stopped short to face a particularly meek-looking, full-moon-countenanced chinaman in the cleanest of cotton clothes, and without a wrinkle of trouble in his placid face. "wantee you? yes," said stan angrily, for wakefulness, over-exertion, and hunger combined had put his nerves in a state of compound irritation. the sight of the man, too, brought up ideas of breakfast, as well as bitter annoyance against him for his desertion of them in their time of peril. "why did you run away last night?" "lun away? sin no lun away. dlop down flat and clawl away so lobbee man not see." "well, it's all the same," cried stan. "oh, you were a coward to desert us like that!" the chinaman smiled feebly, and there was a look of apology in his eyes as he said meekly: "plentee bad man makee sin all aflaid. one man enough one man fight. one man can'tee fight gleat many. only one sin takee big knife and chop off head." "but you went away instead," growled stan sourly. "look here, sir, i've a good mind to kick you." "what good? stan-lee kick sin, sin go 'way and cly. no good cookee bleakfast." "then i won't kick you," said the boy, who felt mollified by the suggestion of hot tea and cake contained in the man's speech. "here! run off and fetch the barber. bring here." "no come. shavee many man." "you say `dollar,' and bring him along." the chinaman grinned and nodded. "come now," he said, and turned to go, but stopped short directly to look curiously at his young master. "well," said stan, "why don't you go?" "wantee go? stan-lee wan tee man to shave him?" "to shave me? nonsense! to shave my uncle." "what good shave uncle? uncle killee. all loasted 'way in big fi'." "nonsense! he wasn't hurt." "not killee?" "no." "not mistee lynn killee?" "what! my father?" the man nodded quickly. "no; we fought the enemy and beat them off." "sin velly glad," said the man, smiling. "all say mistee jefflee and mistee lynn allee kill dead and loast black. velly good job fo' sin. no go find new mastee. sin lun fas' now." he set off at a very slow dog-trot, and the lad looked after him for a few moments before walking back through the staring crowd, who had caught from sin the refutation of their news, and were chattering eagerly, and, as it seemed to stan, looking disappointed at the fact that neither of the english merchants had been killed. in fact, the information just received had reduced a serious catastrophe into nothing better than a pitiful fire and the breaking of a few windows; but the crowd stopped and stared all the same, just as persistently as a london gathering would round a house where something or another had happened. "you've been pretty quick, stan," said his father as the lad entered the room where the brothers were discussing the night's proceedings, with their loaded revolvers lying upon the table. uncle jeff turned sharply and stared. "you haven't been?" he said as he passed his hand slowly over his singed face. stan told of his meeting with their chinese cook and general man. "the cowardly ruffian!" cried uncle jeff angrily. "did he say anything about leaving us in the lurch last night?" stan told him. "of course. velly much aflaid. just like a chinaman; but they're brave enough when they're fifty to one, as they were last night. he ought to have stood by us, stan. we've behaved well to him." "he's a very good servant, jeff," said stan's father, "and works well for us. don't bully the man for what he cannot help." "i'm not going to, oliver. i know, and i'll forgive him if he'll only make haste back, bring that precious barber, and get us some breakfast. i'm starving." as it happened, the unhappily named man came hurrying back with the razor-wielder; and soon after the latter had performed his task, turning uncle jeff into a bluff-looking middle-aged man with closely cut hair, smooth chin, and a short, fierce moustache, sin made his appearance at the door, to smilingly announce that "bleakfast" was "leady," and then stood fast, wide-open of eyes, extended of lips, and shaking gently. "you scoundrel!" cried uncle jeff. "if you dare to laugh at my misfortunes i'll kick you downstairs." "pi sin no laugh at mistee jeff's misfoltunes," said the man piteously. "him laugh see mast' look so 'live and well when sin tink um dead and bellied. gleat pity didn't make shave all head and weah long tail." "oh, that's it, is it?" said uncle jeff, who was mollified by the man's words, "well, what's for breakfast?" "coffee, hot cake--" "what!" cried uncle jeff. "you've had no time to make hot cakes." "pi sin buy um all leady at bakee when he go fetch shave-man." "oh, that's how you managed--eh?" said uncle jeff sin smiled. "make poke-pie yes'day. nice cold." "that'll about do--eh, stan?" said uncle jeff. "capitally, uncle." "got any appetite after your fighting?" "oh yes, uncle; it has made me terribly hungry." "then come along." "hah!" said uncle jeff, about a quarter of an hour later, as he wiped his lips with a paper napkin. "who'd ever have thought we should be having such a breakfast as this in the old place--eh, oliver?" "i for one fully expected that we should be buried in its ashes," said stan's father. "humph!" said uncle jeff; "then next time you think such dolorous things keep them to yourself, and don't say them to spoil your son's breakfast." "they don't spoil my breakfast a bit, uncle jeff. more pie, please." "you're right, stan. sin is a good cook, even if he is no use as a fighting-man." "splendid, uncle." "and we'll forgive him--eh?" "certainly, uncle." five minutes later the object of these remarks appeared, to say that a party of gentlemen had arrived. it was a deputation from the foreign merchants of the port, to offer condolences and help to their brethren; and on finding how little the lynns had suffered, they did not hesitate to tell them that they might have expected the fate that befell them, which was like a judgment upon them for erecting their warehouse and stores so far away from their brother-merchants, and prophesied more evil to them if they failed now to remove to a safer position. "likely!" said uncle jeff. "who's going to pull a great place like this down and build another?" this after their friends had gone. "it is impossible, of course, jeff," said stan's father sadly. "we must content ourselves with strengthening this a little more, and hope to escape by being more ready for an attack." by this time clerks and warehousemen--the latter chinese--were busy at work over their daily avocations, just as if nothing had happened, though the remarks among themselves were many. the native craftsmen, too--carpenters, painters, and glaziers--were busy repairing damages, just as if, stan thought, it was a town in old england, instead of in the far east of asia, when a chinese messenger arrived, a round-faced, carefully dressed, middle-aged man, who had come in charge of a consignment of silk from the collecting _hong_ of lynn brothers' house down south on the mour river; and one of the passages in the letter the man brought from their manager was the cause of a good deal of perplexity at such a time. stan entered the room after a quiet inspection of the messenger, who smiled at him blandly and then began to carefully trim and polish the nails of his forefingers, each of which was long and sharp and kept in a thimble-like sheath of silver; while, to indicate his higher position in life than the cook, the new arrival's dark-blue frock was of silk. "it's very, very awkward," said stan's father. "very," said his brother. "quite impossible for me to go now." "it is not so much help he asks for as a companion," said stan's father. "some one trustworthy whom he can leave in charge for a short time while he is away buying or visiting at one or other of the _hongs_ up the river." "yes, that is the sort of man; but how are we to get such a person without sending to england?" "but he wants him now, by return boat," said uncle jeff testily. "the fellow must be mad. here, i have it," he whispered, leaning across the table. "you are busy, father. shall i go?" said stan, who noticed the movement. "no," cried uncle jeff sharply, answering for his brother. "sit down a bit. perhaps we shall want you.--here, oliver," he whispered; "why not send stan?" "what! oh, he's too young and inexperienced." "not a bit too young, and the experience will come." "but it's so far away, and there may be risks." "risks? do you think it's going to be half so risky as staying here? because if you do, i don't." "there is something in that," said his brother. "of course there is; and we can't slave blunt to death. i meant to have stayed with him a couple of months to lighten his work; but, as we have said, it is quite impossible. stan would be the very fellow." the lad's father tapped the table with the tips of his fingers and frowned. "very well," he said suddenly. "he proved that he could play the man last night.--here, stan." "yes, father." "your uncle and i want you to go south to the mour river--to our branch collecting-house there, under the charge of our mr blunt." "very well, father," said the lad, the news coming like a shock after the events of the past night. "you'll find blunt rather rough--such a man as ought to be named blunt-- but a good fellow at bottom," said uncle jeff. "i'm afraid you'll find it rather solitary, my boy," said stan's father; "but it will be a fine lesson in business, and you'll learn a great deal." "very well, father," said the lad again coldly. "hullo, young man!" cried his uncle. "what's the meaning of this? you ought to be jumping for joy at the thought of going to a new place, and you look as if you don't want to go," said uncle jeff. "i don't, uncle," said the lad. "and pray why?" said his father. "because you are going to send me away, father, as you don't think it is safe for me here; and i don't want to leave you both in trouble." there was a dead silence, and the brothers exchanged glances, the eyes of both looking dark, before the senior spoke, holding out his hand to grasp that of his son. "on my word of honour, no, stan," he said in a voice slightly affected by the emotion he felt. "indeed, it is because we are--your uncle and i--in a difficulty about responding to our mour manager's demand. your uncle was to go, but after last night's attack it would be impossible for him to leave me here alone." stan gazed sharply from his father to his uncle and back again, with doubt shining out of his eyes; then he said in an eager, excited way: "then it isn't because i seemed cowardly last night, father?" "cowardly!" cried the brothers in a breath. "and because you want to send me where i shall be safe?" "no, my dear boy--no," cried his father warmly. "not a bit of it, stan, old chap," cried uncle jeff. "why, we'd give anything to keep such a proved soldier with us. it's because we can't help ourselves that we want to send you." "yes, stan; your uncle is speaking the simple truth. but we will not press you if you feel that you would rather stay here with us." "yes, father," said the boy. "i know it is dangerous, but i would rather stay here with you." "hark at the bloodthirsty young ruffian!" cried uncle jeff, with something like a tremble in his voice. "he wants to stop here and shoot down pirates by the score." "i don't, uncle!" cried the boy angrily.--"i want to be of use to you now, father, and not to think only of myself. i'm going to this place on that river, wherever it is, but i'm afraid i shan't be of so much use as you expect. i haven't learnt to be business-like at school, and i don't think classics and mathematics will do much good where you want me to go." "don't you be too sure of that, my lad," said uncle jeff. "your school studies have made you more business-like than you think, boy, and a chap who is good at mathematics can't help being good and exact over a merchant's books. then you mean to go for us, sir?" "of course, uncle. when does the boat start?" "just hark at him!" cried uncle jeff. "he's ready to be off at once." "but he isn't going so soon as that," said stan's father, wringing the boy's hand warmly, and seeming loath to let it go.--"i dare say you'll not start for three or four days. there are plenty of vessels sailing, but it isn't every one that touches at the port from which you must go up the river in a trading-junk. but wing will see to all that, and get you both passages in the first steamer that suits. wing is a very good man for arrangements of that kind. in the meantime you must pack a portmanteau with just the necessaries you require--the simpler the better." "and before you go, my young pepper-pod, we'll try if we can arrange for another piratical display with fireworks on the same scale as last night's. will that do you?" "now you're beginning to laugh at me again, uncle," said stan in a reproachful tone. "no, no, no, my dear boy," cried uncle jeff warmly; "if i talk lightly it is only to hide what i feel. i'd been looking forward to all kinds of expeditions up-country with you, whenever your father would let two such idlers go out for a run; but now we must wait till you come back with one of our boatloads of silk and tea and dyewoods.--here, oliver, we're in luck to have such a representative.--but i say, stan, don't take any notice of my face being so bare, but set to work and grow a respectable beard of your own." "i shan't do that for years yet, uncle," replied stan, laughing. "what! you don't know, boy. it's a wonderful climate out here for making your hair grow. look at the chinamen's tails!" "oh, but a lot of that's false, isn't it?" "in some cases, my boy, but generally it is all real; and if it were unplaited it would be longer. but don't you imitate john chinaman. you don't want a long tail. you turn the hair-current from the back of your head on to your chin and let it grow there, so as to make you look big and fierce, ready for dealing with the chinese merchants." "but i shall seem boyish for years to come, i'm afraid," said stan sadly. "i look very young." "and a splendid thing, too," said uncle jeff. "who wouldn't be you, to look young and feel young?--eh, oliver?--oh, you young masculine geese who are always wishing that you were men, if you only knew what you are treating with contempt, how much better it would be for you! why, i'd give--that'll do; i've done. here, i'm coming with you to your room to go over your togs and odds and ends with you. i think i can give you a bit of advice as to what to take and what to leave behind. perhaps, too, i can give you two or three useful things. haven't got a revolver of your own, i suppose?" "no, uncle." "then i'll give you that one--mine. it hits anything, to a dead certainty, if you hold it straight. got any fishing-tackle?" "yes, uncle; hooks and lines with leads." "that's right. you may like to catch a few fish to make a change in your diet when it grows too regular. wing cooks a little, but nothing like so well as sin.--i suppose we can't spare him to go with stan here, can we, oliver?" "no; it would not be possible," said the latter, smiling; but his voice had a suggestion of sternness in its tones as he added, "and i'm sure that stan will be quite content to rough it for a while with mr blunt, and as long as he gets plain, wholesome food, will not worry himself about the cook." "hear him, stan?" cried uncle jeff. "that's the way your father snubs me because i like nice things, and refuse to insult my inside by giving it any kind of hugger-mugger mess that is put before me.--well, i confess i do like a good dinner, oliver, and i don't see much harm in it. well, of course stan will do his best for us. the lynns always try to do their best--they can't help it. there i come along and let's see to your kit." "don't be in a hurry, jeff," said stan's father. "let's have in wing and ask him about the return boat. he's a very methodical fellow, and i dare say his plans are already made." "to be sure; let's have him," replied uncle jeff, who rose, went to the door, and called to one of the clerks to send the chinaman in. "i dare say that he has something up his sleeve about starting. plenty of room there for any amount of plans--eh, stan?" he added; with the result that when the man entered, bowing and smiling in his apologetic way, stan's eyes immediately sought and searched the long, soft, blue silk appendages which hung well over the hands, revealing just the tips of the fingers, while from one hung out the corner of a pocket-handkerchief, and from the other the end of a fan. a little conversation ensued, in which the chinaman announced that he had arranged for two berths in the steamer on its return journey--either on its first, which would be in three days' time, or, if stan were not able to go then, on the second, which would be in a month--allowing for its sailing to the mour river, loading up, and returning again. "it is a very short time," said stan's father, with a sigh; "but he must not wait for a month, jeff." "certainly not," was the reply, followed by an echo of the brother's sigh.--"you'll have to be off, stan, short as the time is.--as for you, wing, your people say they hate us foreign devils, as they call us." "wing no fool, mistee jefflee," said the chinaman coolly. "i know that, wing. you are more of a rogue than fool, as the old saying goes. but what do you mean?" "wing no fool 'nuff call good mastee foleign devil. that what fool say." "that's true, wing. we have always behaved well to you and paid you honestly." "why wing stay. mastee olivey, mastee jefflee good man. topside mastee. wing stop long time. you wantee wing takee plop' ca'e young lynn?" "yes; help him, and fight for him if it is necessary," said stan's father. "light. wing bling him back some day. mind nobody bleak him." "there, stan!" cried uncle jeff bluffly, as he roared with laughter. "wing's going to take as much care of you as if you were a piece of choice china." "yes; takee gleat ca'e young lynn, young mastee. bling him back some day." "yes," said uncle jeff; "but mind this, my fine fellow: if you come back some day without him, and say you couldn't bring him because you've got him broken, why, then--" he stopped short as if to think out what punishment he would award, while the chinaman's face expanded in a broad grin. "wing not fool, mastee jefflee," he said. "no come back no young lynn, fo' mastee killee wing." then, turning very serious: "young lynn bloken, wing bloken allee same. young lynn killee, bad man killee wing too." "i see what you mean, my man," said stan's father gravely. "you will fight for my son to the end." "no," said the chinaman, shaking his head and frowning; "wing can'tee fightee. wing tly helpee young lynn lun away. pl'aps bad man killee both. plentee bad man on mou' livah. wing takee gleat ca'e young lynn." "yes; that's all right, wing. we always trust you." the chinaman nodded, smiled, and then approached stan, taking his hand, bending down, and holding the back against his forehead. "there, stan," said his father; "you will find wing a faithful servant, and you can trust him to help you out of difficulties, for his knowledge of his fellow-countrymen will enable him to give you warning of things which would be hidden from you.--do you fully understand, wing, what i am saying to my son?" the chinaman bowed, and was soon afterwards dismissed. the next three days were pretty well taken up in watching the repairs of the lower part of the great warehouse, and in making the final preparations for the start to mour river; and during that time stan had the satisfaction of learning that the principal merchants of hai-hai had joined in asking for better protection of their property in the great port--a demand which was responded to by those in authority arranging for a section of the military police force being stationed nightly within easy reach of the hitherto unprotected up-river part where the lynns' warehouse was situated. and this was talked over on the morning when stan and his chinese attendant and guide stood on the deck of the steamer talking to the brothers lynn, uncle jeff telling the lad that he was to take care of himself and not fidget about them, for they would be safe enough now, a pistol-shot out of a window being warning enough to bring armed assistance in a very few minutes. "we shall be all right, stan," said uncle jeff heartily; "it is we who will have to fidget about you." "yes, he is quite right, stan, my boy," said the lad's father, grasping his hand warmly. "send us a line as often as a boat loads up at the _hong_." "and you will write to me, father?" said stan, whose heart was sinking now that the time of parting was so near. "of course--regularly, my boy." "and you too, uncle jeff?" "i mean to keep a journal, stan, and post it up regularly like a day-book, all for your benefit. there! the time will soon slip by, and you'll be coming home again. ah! there goes the last bell." "so soon?" said stan excitedly. his words were almost rendered inaudible by the shouts of "all for the shore!" it was a hurried scene of confusion then for a few minutes, with repeated warm pressures of the hand in silence, and then stan's eyes were being strained after a boat that had suddenly seemed to glide away when the steamer quivered and throbbed and threw up a chaos of foaming water astern. in that boat the brothers lynn were standing up waving their hats, and the little craft seemed to go faster and faster though the two rowers had not yet lowered their oars. stan leant over the rail of the steamer, waving his hat in return, while the boat grew less and less, his father's features blurred and indistinct, and the great wharf seemed to be flying now while the steamer stood still. then the boats that had taken people to the shore were all mixed up together in one patch, and the lad felt that his hat-wavings were all in vain, and that it was impossible for them to be seen. there was something like a solid sigh in stan's throat, but he choked it down as he turned his head and looked inboard, to find that wing the chinaman, dressed now in blue cotton, was squatted down on the deck close behind him; and apparently he had been watching his actions all the time, for he nodded now and smiled compassionately in his young master's face. "young lynn velly solly go 'way?" he said. "of course i don't like it--at first," said stan hurriedly, and feeling ready to resent the compassion of the man who was to be his servant. "wing not likee leave him fadee, modee, one time long time off. don'tee mind now. young lynn, wing mastee, not mind soon. you likee eatee dlinkee?" "not now," said stan shortly. "no?" said the chinaman, as the steamer began to rise and fall steadily. "young lynn go velly sickee? you likee lie down? wing fetch bundle put undee head." "no, no," said stan quickly. "i'm not going to be ill if it keeps like this. i don't think i should be bad if it were to come on rough." "no?" said wing. "young lynn velly good sailor. good like wing. wing velly glad. not nicee be velly sick when steamship go up, and velly much baddee when steamship go down. wait see." wing did "wait see," and as the steamer passed well out of the estuary, and began to run down the coast, they had a little of the vile chinese weather that takes the form of a gale which piles the water well up and hurls it in cascades over a vessel's bows, making her quiver through and through, and putting her officers' seamanship well to the test. but even at the very worst, during the following day, stan displayed no disposition to keep below, but went about the deck, holding on, and rather enjoying the grandeur of the scene; while wing was always close at hand watching him, ready to smile in his face from time to time, and more than once gave vent to his satisfaction by saying: "young lynn velly fine sailoh; 'most good as wing. you feel leady to go down eatee big dinnee?" "yes," said stan eagerly; "this cool wind gives me a good appetite;" and he made for the cabin stairs, closely followed by his attendant, who had seen a little, careful procession going on from the galley, a sign that the midday meal was ready for such of the passengers as were ready for it. chapter four. "here! you'd better come ashore." foul weather extended the voyage of the steamer to a length of five days before she reached the little port of destination, where, in the midst of a glorious change, stan followed his conductor into a great clumsy junk, which was sailed when the windings of the fine, broad mour river made the wind favourable, and tracked by coolies hauling upon a huge twisted bamboo cable when the breeze was adverse for a couple of days more. the up-river trip was most enjoyable, through a highly cultivated country teeming with an industrious population and glowing with abundant crops; while the scenery was so glorious, and the novelty of the continuous panorama so great, that stan felt a chill of disappointment at sunset one glowing evening when wing, who had crept quietly up behind him, touched his shoulder, and stood pointing towards a village at the foot of a grand stretch of cliff, the houses rising up the beautiful terraced slope, while at the foot was a group of new-looking buildings, at the back of a wharf to which some half-dozen trading-boats were moored. "nang ti," said wing, with a broad smile. "young lynn big _hong_ full silk, full tea, full nicee piecee chop chop all along young lynn. see big blunt soon. young lynn savee big managee blunt?" "no, i have never seen him," said stan as he sheltered his eyes from the ruddy orange sunlight and scanned the place. "velly big stlong man. velly good man. velly big shoutee tongue say `ho!' and `ha!' flighten stlong coolie man; makee wuck. coolie go dlink much _samshu_, lie down, go sleepee; blunt come behind, takee pigtail, pullee up, and kickee velly much. makee coolie cly `oh!' makee loll ovey and ovey, and say leady to go wuck and nevey dlink _samshu_, no mo'." "indeed!" said stan, who began to picture in his own mind what sort of a personage the manager in charge might be. "and then, i suppose, after being kicked for getting tipsy on _samshu_, the men never drink any more?" "no," said wing, grinning more widely. "velly much flighten. nevey dlink any mo' till next time. poh! gleat big silly boy, coolie. gleat stlong man up to head--head like big baby chile. much flighten when big blunt come shout `ho! ha!' big piecee man, big blunt. mastee managee. young lynn mastee managee now. flighten big blunt." "indeed!" said stan, smiling. "well, we shall see." "yes, young lynn see soon. lookee! big blunt." wing pointed again, and following the direction of the extended index-finger, stan saw a tall figure in white step out of one of the buildings, make its way to where a crane stretched out its diagonal arm, from which a chain with heavy ball and hooks was suspended over the river, and then stop to gaze at the junk upon whose high stern stan and his companion were on the lookout. just then the _tindal_, or master of the junk, began to shout to his men, one of whom ran forward and began to thump a gong hanging in the bows, sending forth a booming roar whose effect was to bring a little crowd of half-naked coolies out of the buildings ashore, and three or four europeans in white, while the crew of the junk began to swarm about the great clumsy vessel like bees. the wind was favourable, and the great matting sails creaked and rustled, while their yards groaned as they rubbed against the bamboo masts as their sheets were tightened and pulled home, sending the heavy boat gliding up-river at an increased pace, soon getting abreast of the wharf, and then gliding along up-stream and leaving it behind. "what does this mean?" said stan excitedly. "doesn't the captain know we are to stop there?" "young lynn soon see," replied wing. "velly fast lun watey big stleam. young lynn wait. go 'long bit way. captain know." he did know perfectly how to manage his clumsy craft, which, in obedience to his signs to the steersman, was run on in a diagonal course which took it in nearer to the bank from which the cliff ran up. then, as a few yells were uttered, some of the men seized the ropes, others got out great sweeps, there was a bang on the gong, the two great sails came rattling down upon the deck, the long sweeps began to dip as the junk's pace grew slower and slower, till she finally stopped and began to go back, but so slowly and well-directed that she glided close alongside the wharf, whence men threw ropes; and in a wonderfully short time, considering the clumsiness of the craft and equipage, the junk was moored alongside so closely that it was possible to run a gangway aboard for the occupants to go ashore. stan was making ready to approach the gangway, when the figure in white approached the side, and without taking any notice of him, nodded to the chinese captain shortly, and then turned to wing. "hullo, you, sir!" he shouted in a big, vigorous voice, as if he meant himself to be heard back at the stern. "yes. come back again," said wing. "what made you so long?" "velly bad wind blow velly much indeed. steamship no get 'long fast." "humph! bring me any letters?" "yes, bling big pack letteys. got lot." "come along, then, ashore; i've no time to waste." "i shall never like you," thought stan to himself as he waited patiently for the manager to address him in turn. but the big, keen, masterful-looking fellow did not seem even to glance in the lad's direction, keeping his eyes fixed upon wing, who seemed to be quite afraid of him, and did not venture to speak till the manager said loudly and sharply, as if to annoy the stranger: "who's that boy you've got on board there?" wing looked troubled, and glanced first at stan and then at the speaker. "well, sir, why don't you answer?" continued the manager. "young lynn. come 'long flom hai-hai." "oh!" said the manager gruffly. "whose son is he--mr oliver's or mr jeffrey's? oh, i remember; mr jeffrey isn't married." then turning his eyes full upon stan with a searching stare, he said shortly, "how do? here! you'd better come ashore." chapter five. "he's a regular brick." "this is pleasant!" thought stan as he stepped on to the gangway. "if this man is our servant he oughtn't to speak to me like that. here! i shall have a to go back by the next boat. father and uncle jeff don't want me to be treated like this." it was a cheerless welcome to the place that was to be his new home for the time, and a feeling of resentment began to grow up within him as he stepped on to the wharf, meeting the manager's eyes boldly, and gradually feeling more and more determined to maintain his position and not allow himself to be, as he termed it, "sat upon" by this bullying sort of individual. a fierce stare was exchanged for some moments before the manager spoke again, more gruffly than ever, just as wing handed him the packet of letters he had brought. "better come in here," he said.--"you, wing, tell the skipper to make all fast. i won't have any unloading till the morning." he led the way to what seemed to be the office of the great warehouse, for there were desks, stools, and writing implements, while maps hung from the wall, and bills of lading in files decorated the place in a way which made it look more grim and showed up its bareness. as soon as they were inside, the manager perched himself on a high stool, took a big ebony ruler off the desk, and began rolling it to and fro upon his knees, before opening the principal letter of the batch, one which stan could see plainly had been written by his uncle. this missive the manager read through twice before laying it flat upon the table and giving it a bang with his open hand. "bah!" he growled. "stan lynn--stan lynn. what a name for a boy! why did your people christen you that?" "they didn't," said stan coolly, though he could feel a peculiar twitching going on along his nerves. "what!" cried the manager fiercely--quite in the tone he would have used to a contradictory coolie. "why, look here," he continued, bringing his hand down on the packet of letters with another heavy bang which made the ink start out of the well. "why, i have it here, in your father's handwriting. um--um--um! where is it? oh, here: `my son stan'." "nonsense! let's look," said the boy sharply, and quickly stepping forward to look at the writing. "'tisn't; it's `stanley,' only my father has contracted the `ley' into a dash. it's a way he has." "then it's time he began to write plainly. who's to know what he means?" "any one," said stan quite as fiercely. "and look here; you wouldn't speak of my father's writing like that if he were here." "what!" roared the manager, giving the desk a tremendous bang with the big ebony ruler to frighten stan, who began to perspire profusely, but not from alarm. his temper, that had been fast asleep, was aroused by the reception he was having, and feeling at once that life with this man would be unbearable, he spoke out at once boldly and defiantly. "i spoke plainly enough," he said haughtily, "and you know what i said." "well," cried the manager, "of all the insolent young coxcombs i ever encountered, you take the prize. do you know who i am?" "yes," said stan; "my father's manager." "yes, sir, i am," he roared; "and i know how to manage men, let alone cocky, conceited boys. don't you think you are coming here to lord it and set up your feathers, and crow and grow scarlet in the comb. i shall soon cut that for you, so just get ready to take your proper place at once. i'd have you to know that i have as much authority and am as much master in this solitary, out-of-the-way place as if i were a king." "over the chinese coolies, perhaps," said stan firmly, "but not over me." "what i--why, the boy's mad with conceit." "no, i'm not," said stan--"not conceited at all; and if you behave properly to me you'll find that i shall help you in every way i can." "behave properly! oh, come! this is rich. here's a boy who ought to be at school, where he would get the cane if he did not behave himself, vapouring about as if he had come to be master here. there! the sooner we understand each other the better--mr stanley--sir." there was a mocking sarcasm in the delivery of these last words that made the boy writhe. but he mastered his temper bravely enough, and said coolly: "i don't want to be called `mr stanley' and `sir.' i was christened stanley, but my friends looked upon it as being too pretentious. they always call me stan." "oh, i see! thank you for the kind explanation," said the manager sarcastically. "well, here you are; and now you are here, what do you want? i see you've brought a gun. come snipe and duck shooting?" "my father has fully explained in his letter, i believe." "explained? perhaps so; but i have not had time to read it yet, so perhaps you will speak." "that is easily done. you wrote to the firm asking for help and companionship." "of course i did; and i took it for granted that mr jeffrey lynn would come and share the burden of my enormously increasing work." "it is all explained in the letters, as i told you," said stan. "uncle was coming, but the chinese made an attack on the place." "eh? what's that?" cried the manager excitedly; and stan gave him a brief account of what had passed, while every word was listened to eagerly. "it was quite out of the question for my father to be left," ended stan at last, "and so i am sent to help instead." "humph!" said the manager, looking grave. "it has come to that, has it? restless, uncontrolled savages. well," he added, changing his tone again, "so they've sent a boy like you?" "yes." "and for want of decent help and companionship, i'm to make the best of you?" "i suppose so," said stan coldly, and wishing the while that he was back at hai-hai, home, or anywhere but at this solitary _hong_. "but i don't think you'll like the life here, young fellow," said the manager, with an unpleasant smile. "there's a very savage, piratical lot of chinese about on this river. it has an awful character. if you'll take my advice--will you?" "of course," said stan quietly. "you must know better, from your experience here, than i do." "that's right; i do. well, then, you take it: go back by the next boat. it doesn't look as if things are very safe at hai-hai, but it's a paradise to this place here." "i'm sorry to hear that," said stan, "but i certainly can't go back; i have come to stay." "oh, very well!" said the manager. "i've warned you. i wash my hands of the whole affair. but i'll promise you this: i'll get your remains together." "my remains?" said stan, aghast. "of course; they are sure to hack you to pieces--it's a way they have. and there'll be some difficulty, perhaps, in recovering your head. they generally carry that off as a trophy; but i'll do my best to get you back to the old folks in a cask of chinese palm-spirit. will that do?" during the past few moments stan had felt a sensation as if cold steel of wondrously sharp edge were at work upon his back and across his neck; but the tone of the question brought him back to himself, and he replied calmly: "capitally. but, by the way, if the savage pirates come and treat me like that, where will you be?" "eh?" said the manager, staring. "where shall i be?" "yes. isn't it just as likely that i should have to do this duty for you?" "oh, i see! yes, of course; but--ha, ha, ha! come! you have got something in you after all. you are pretty sharp." "just sharp enough to see that you are trying to frighten me." "humph!" ejaculated the manager, with a dry smile. "but you've had a sample of what these people can do, and i won't answer for it that they don't try some of their capers here. then you mean to risk it?" "of course," said stan. "my father and uncle sent me to help you." "well, don't blame me if you get your head taken off." "no," said stan coolly, and with a peculiar smile; "i don't think i shall do that--then." "more do i," said the manager grimly. "well, here you are, and i suppose i must make the best of you." "i suppose so," said stan. "you'll have to work pretty hard--make entries and keep the day-book. i suppose you can do that?" "i suppose so," said the lad, "but i can't say for certain till i try." "all right; then the sooner you try the better, because i've got enough to do here in keeping things straight; and if you find that you can't, i shall just pack you off back to your father and uncle. you're too young, and not the sort of chap i should have chosen for the job." "indeed! what sort of a lad would you have chosen?" "oh, not a dandified, pomatumed fellow like you, who is so very particular about his collar and cuffs, and looks as if he'd be afraid to dirty his hands." "i don't see that because a fellow is clean he is not so good for work," said stan. "oh, don't you? well, i've had some experience, my lad. i want here a fellow who knows how to rough it. you don't." "but i suppose i can learn." "learn? of course you can, but you won't. there! you've come, and i suppose, as i said before, i must make the best of you; but next time you see the heads of the firm, perhaps you'll tell them that i don't consider it part of my business as manager of this out-of-the-way place to lick their cubs into shape." "hadn't you better write and tell them so?" said the lad warmly. "what!" roared the man. "now just look here, young fellow; you and i had better come to an understanding at once. whether it's clerk, warehouseman, or chinese coolie, i put up with no insolence. it's a word and a blow with me, as sure as my name's sam blunt." "sam!" said the lad quietly. "what a name! why did your people christen you that?" the manager tilted his stool back till he could balance himself on two of its legs and let his head rest against the whitewashed wall of the bare-looking office, staring in astonishment at his visitor. then leaning forward again, he came down on all four legs of his tall stool, caught up the big ebony ruler, and brought it down with a fresh bang upon the desk, which made the ink this time jump out of the little well in a fountain, as he stared fiercely at the lad, who returned his gaze perfectly unmoved. "well, of all,"--he said; he did not say what, but kept on staring. "what sort of a fellow do you call yourself?" he cried at last. "i don't know," was the cool reply. "no; i don't suppose you do. but look here; i'm going to look over that and set it down to ignorance, as you are quite a stranger; and so let me tell you there's only one man whom i allow to call me sam blunt, and i'm that man. understand?" the lad nodded. "there! as you're the son of one of the principals, and don't know any better, i won't quarrel with you." "that's right," said the lad coolly; and the man stared again. "because," he continued, "i'm thinking that we shall have plenty of quarrelling to do with john chinaman." "is there any likelihood of our going to war?" said the lad quickly. "every likelihood," said the man, watching his visitor keenly; "and if i were you i'd have a bad attack of fever while my shoes were good." "i didn't know one could have, or not have, fever just as one liked." "i suppose not," said his companion. "but you take my advice: you catch a bad fever at once. and then, as there is no doctor anywhere here, and i'm a horribly bad nurse, i'll send you back to hai-hai at once for your people to set you right." "you mean sham illness?" said stan sharply. "what! why, hang me if you're not a smarter fellow than i took you for! yes, that's it; and then you'll go back and be safe." "safe from what?" "being made into mincemeat by the first party of chinese pirates who come this way. they're splendid for that, as i hinted to you before. nothing they love better than chopping up a foreign devil like you." "hadn't you better have a fever too?" said the lad quietly. "oh, come! better and better!" cried the other. "you're not such a fool as you look, young fellow! no: i've got too much to do to go away from this go-down, and your people know it. that's why they've sent you to get in my way and put me out of temper. i say, though; you've heard nothing about the breaking out of war?" "not a word since i've been in china. i heard something on my voyage." "of course you haven't, or your father and uncle wouldn't have sent you down here. but you may take my word for it, there's trouble coming--and that, too, before long. did you see many piratical-looking war-junks as you came up the river?" "n-no," said stan. "i saw several big mat-sailed barges with high sterns, and great eyes painted in their bows; but i thought they were trading-boats." "so they are, my lad--one day; they're pirates the next. and perhaps on the very next they're men-o'-war. anything, according to circumstances, for i've found out that _artful_ is the best word for describing a chinaman. but there! you'll soon know. look here; after what i've told you, do you mean to stay?" "certainly," said stan. "very well, then. come and have a look at my quarters. they're a bit rough, but you say you won't mind roughing it." "no," said stan; "i've come here to do the best i can." "oh!" said the manager in a tone full of surprise; "that's what you've come for, is it?" "of course," said stan, wondering at the tone the man had taken. "very well, then, we may as well shake hands. i was just thinking of sitting down to dinner when the junk came in sight, so you'll come and join me--eh?" "yes," said stan; "i am getting hungry." "that's right. i say, though, squire; you think me a regular ruffian, don't you?" "yes," said the lad quietly. "oh, come! that's frank, anyhow." "it makes you rough and disposed to bully, living a solitary life like this, i suppose." "humph!" said the manager, frowning; "but i don't know what you mean by solitary. i have english clerks and checking-men, and a whole gang of coolies. do you call that solitary?" "but they are under you. i suppose you live a good deal by yourself." "humph! yes," said the manager. "and that, of course, makes you rough." "p'raps so. but you won't find me so rough when you get used to me. there! come along and let's see what my cook has got for us this evening. you'll have to take pot-luck. wing will contrive something better. come on." there was a grim, satisfied smile in the manager's countenance as he rose, took a great stride such as his long legs enabled him to do with ease, and clapping stan on the shoulder, swung him round and looked him straight in the face. "why, youngster," he said, "your father must have been wonderfully like you in the phiz when he was your age; but in downright style of speaking and ways you put me wonderfully in mind of your uncle jeffrey." "do i?" said stan quietly. "you do; but he's a regular brick of a man." "that he is," cried stan warmly; "but that means i'm not a bit like him there." "oh, i don't know," said the manager slowly. "one can't say at the end of half-an-hour, but i'm beginning to think you will not be so very bad after all." "i hope not," said stan, smiling. "i thought at first that you would be a regular stuck-up cub. but i don't think so now. look here, youngster; can you be honest?" "i hope so." "then tell me what you thought of me." "that you were a disagreeable bully." "hah! that's pretty blunt," said the manager, frowning. "so that's what you think of me, is it?" "you asked me what i thought of you, not what i think." "right; so i did. then what do you think of me?" "that you're going to prove not so bad as i thought." "dinnee all getting velly cold, cookee say, mistee blunt," said wing in a deprecating voice; and they both started to see that the chinaman had entered quietly upon his thick, soft boot-soles. "all right, wing; coming," cried the manager shortly.--"come along, captain; you and i are going to be great friends." chapter six. "he's just like a chestnut." "don't think we are going to be great friends," said stan to himself as he sat down that night upon the edge of his clean, comfortable-looking chinese bed, in a perfectly plain but very clean little room adjoining that occupied by the manager. "he was very civil, though, and took great care that i had a good dinner. he didn't seem to mind in the least my having spoken as i did. "perhaps i oughtn't to have spoken so," he continued after a few minutes' thought about his position. "i don't know, though; i didn't come here as a servant, and he was awfully bullying and rude. phew! how hot it is!" he rose and opened the window a little wider, to look out on the swiftly flowing river, across which the moon made a beautiful path of light, that glittered and danced and set him thinking about the home he had left, wondering the while whether father and uncle were thinking about him and how they were getting on. "i shall write and tell them exactly how mr blunt treated me; but perhaps it would be only fair to wait and see how he behaves to-morrow and next day. i couldn't complain about how he went on to-night. `be great friends,' he said half-aloud after a pause. perhaps we may; but oh, how sleepy i am! better leave the window as it is. i'll lie down at once. i can think just as well when i'm in bed." this was not true, for the only thing stan lynn thought was that the pillow felt quite hot. then he was fast asleep, without so much as a dream to deal with; and the next time he was conscious, he opened his eyes in wonder and stared at the open window and the sunshiny sky, fancying he heard a sound. "do you hear there, squire?" came, with a sharp rapping at the boarded walls of the room. "time to get up. there's a tub in the next room, and plenty of cold water." "yes. thank you. all right i won't be long." "don't," came back, in company with the sound of gurgling and splashing. "breakfast early. busy day for us." _bur-r-r_! "what did he mean by that?" said stan. the _bur-r-r_! was repeated, and then there was a rattle which explained the meaning of the peculiar noise. "cleaning his teeth," muttered stan as he sprang out of bed. he sought and found the tub and other arrangements which proved that the manager had surrounded himself with the necessaries for living like a civilised englishman, even if he was stationed in a lonely place in a foreign land, and he was just putting the finishing touches to his dress when there was a heavy thump from a big fist on the door. "look sharp, squire lynn! i'm going to tell them to bring in the coffee." "nearly ready," cried stan; and a few minutes later he descended the plain board stairs, which were scrubbed to the whitest of tints. there was a white cloth on the table, with a very english-looking breakfast spread; and plain and bare as the place was, with nothing better than chinese mats to act as a carpet, curtain, and blind, there was the appearance of scrupulous cleanliness; and rested by a good night's sleep, and elastic of spirit in the fresh air of a beautiful morning, stan felt ready to make the best of things if his host proved to be only bearable. there he sat--his host--reading hard at a letter, and he made no sign for a few moments, and paid no heed to stan's "good-morning!" but read on, till he suddenly exclaimed, "`very faithfully yours, jeffrey lynn,'" and doubled the letter up and thrust it in his pocket. "morning, squire," he continued. "rested? i read all the correspondence before i turned in, and i've just run through your uncle's letter again. i say, he gives you an awfully good character." "does he?" said stan. "splendid. ah! here's old wing. i'm peckish; aren't you?" "yes; i'm ready for my breakfast," replied the boy as wing entered, smiling, with a big, round lacquer tray loaded with the necessaries for a good morning meal. "that's right. we'll have it, then, and afterwards see to the unloading. there isn't much consigned to me this time. after that you'd like to see the warehouses and what we've got there, and learn who the different fellows are, before we have an hour or two in the counting-house--eh?" "yes; i'm ready," said stan, smiling, and having hard work to keep from looking wonderingly at the man who had given him so unpleasant a reception the previous evening. "is he a two-faced fellow," thought stan, "and doing all this to put me off my guard? why, he's as mild as--" stan was going to say "mild" again, but at that moment a wild hubbub of angry voices in fierce altercation burst out, the noise coming through the open window from the direction of the wharf beyond which the junk was moored. "yah!" roared the manager, springing from his seat and rushing to the open window, his face completely transformed, as he roared out a whole string of expletives in the chinese tongue. he literally raged at the disputants, whose angry shouts died out rapidly, to be succeeded by perfect silence; and then the manager turned from the window, with his face looking very red and hot, and took his place again. "that's the only way to deal with them," he cried, "when you're not near enough to knock a few heads together. you'll have to learn." "what was the matter?" said stan, who felt in doubt about acquiring the accomplishment, and whose better spirits were somewhat damped by this sudden return to the previous evening's manner. "matter? nothing at all. there! peg away, my lad. make a good breakfast. i always do. splendid beginning for a good day's work.-- what!" he roared, as there was the merest suggestion of a fresh outburst, which calmed down directly, "yes, you'd better tear me away from my bones! you do, and i'll turn tiger. ah! you've thought better of it. lucky for you!--nice row that; just as i said, about nothing. divide themselves into two parties; my coolies on one side, the junk's crew on the other. if i hadn't gone and yelled horrid chinese threats at them there would have been a fight, and half the men unfit to work for the rest of the day. you'll get used to them, though, i dare say. not bad fellows, after all, when they've got some one over them who won't let them bite, kick, and scratch like naughty children. well, how did you leave the governors?" "oh, very well, considering what a scare we had the other night. i thought the villains would kill us." "yes, but you wouldn't let them. i told your uncle the last time i saw him that he didn't take precautions enough, but he said he didn't believe any one would dare to attack a place so near the city. revolvers are all very well at close quarters, but not heavy enough for a horde of savages who think nothing of fighting to the death. got a revolver?" "yes," said stan; "and a gun." "that's right. and after what you said, i suppose you know how to use the pistol?" "i can shoot with it a little," said stan, colouring slightly. "i suppose you have one?" "what! living out in this unprotected place? well, rather! i'll show you my little armoury after breakfast." "have you ever been attacked?" "not yet; but it's safe to come some time or other, so i hold myself ready. it's not quite so bad as i said last night." "no; i didn't think it was," replied stan coolly; and he was conscious that his host was watching him keenly. "but without any nonsense, you may have to fight, my lad, if you stay here." "i hope not," said stan, breaking the top of an egg. "so do i," said the manager. "i don't want my people scared, and the place knocked to pieces or burned. that's the worst of a wooden building like this. ah! it's a risky trade, and your people deserve to make plenty of profit for their venture." little more was said till the breakfast was at an end, when the _ting_ of a table-gong brought wing into the room. "take away," said the manager sharply; "and as soon as you have done, i want you to hire a boat and go up-river to stop at all the villages that were not touched at before you went away. we must do more business with the places higher up. you go and see the headmen of some of the tea-plantations there who have never dealt with us yet. understand?" the man nodded sharply, and the manager turned to stan. "now then," he said; "let's look at the tools." he led the way into a warehouse-like place, one end of which was furnished with an arms-rack holding a dozen rifles, bayonets, and bandoliers. in a chest beside them were a dozen revolvers; and after displaying these, every weapon being kept in beautiful order, a trap-door in the floor was pointed out, regularly furnished with keyhole and loose ring for lifting. "key hangs in my room, if you want it when i'm out," said the manager meaningly. "i'm not likely to want the key of the cellar," said stan, smiling. "cellar? nonsense! that's the little magazine. oh no! the cases down there are not cases of wine, but of cartridges for rifle and revolver." "oh!" said stan thoughtfully, for the announcement was of a very suggestive nature--one which brought up the night of the attack in hai-hai. "there we are, then, if we have to fight," said blunt. "with whom?" asked stan sharply. "ah! who knows?" said blunt, laughing. "river pirates; wandering bands of chinese robbers; disbanded soldiers of the government; anybody. china's a big country, my lad, and abominably governed, but a splendid land all the same, teeming with a most hard-working, industrious population, eager to engage in trade, and on the whole good, honest folk who like dealing with us, and are free from prejudices, excepting that they look upon us as a set of ignorant barbarians--foreign devils, as they call us. but it doesn't matter much. we know better--eh?" "of course," said stan, laughing. "but you have a good many chinese at work for you here; don't you ever feel afraid of them rising against you and the english clerks?" "one way and another, there are about ten of them to one of us; and as in the case of a row the whole countryside would take part with them, you might say they would be a hundred or a thousand to one against us and still be within bounds." "it seems very risky," said stan thoughtfully; "and of course you and the clerks dread a rising against you." "against us, you ought to say now, my lad," said blunt, smiling. "but we are not a bit afraid, and when you have been here a few months you won't be either." stan flushed a little, and said hurriedly: "of course, it is excusable for me to feel a bit nervous at first. you see, i had such a nasty experience the other night." "to be sure," said blunt. "and mind, i don't say but what we live in a constant state of alarm about an attack like that, but not of our own people. they wouldn't go against us." "why?" said stan. "because the round, smooth-faced beggars like me." the thought of what he had heard from wing, and learnt from his own observation of the manager, had such a perplexing effect upon the lad that his countenance assumed an aspect of so ludicrous a nature that blunt burst into a roar of laughter. "i see," he cried; "you can't digest that. it doesn't fit with my roaring and shouting at them just now? well, it doesn't seem to, but it does. you'll see. you'll soon find out that the men all like me very much, and i believe that if we were in great trouble they'd fight to the death for me--to a man. like to know why?" "of course," said stan. "well, then, i'll tell you. i'm master, king, magistrate, doctor, everything to them. they come to me about their quarrels and their ailments; to get their money, and then bank it with me; and the reason i believe in them and they believe in me is because i am just as fair as in me lies. if i find a man skulking and kick him, do you think the others side with him?" "i should expect them to," said stan. "then you're wrong. they roar with laughter, and enjoy seeing their fellow punished. they're shrewd enough, and know that the idler is putting his share of work upon them. if there's a quarrel amongst them they come to me to settle it. if a man's sick he comes to me, and i try to set him right. nurse him up sometimes. when they want a treat they come to me to draw out part of their earnings that i have banked for them. bah! i'm not going to preach a sermon about what i do. i'm just to them, i tell you, and they know it. i trust them, and they trust me. come along; let's go and see how they're getting on with the unloading. let's go in here, though, first." he led the way by stacks of bales and piles of tea-chests, all neatly arranged like a wall--a great cube built up from floor to ceiling--and passing through an opening, went down a narrow alley in the great store-room, with a wall of half-chests built up on either side, and entered an open doorway to where half-a-dozen clerks and warehousemen were busy. the former were making out bills of lading and entries in books, the latter sampling teas--one with little piles of the dried leaves in cardboard trays, which he was testing in rotation; while another sat at a table upon which was a copper contrivance standing upon a slab of granite, with a glowing charcoal fire burning beneath a bright urn, the fumes and steam being carried off by a little metal tube funnel which passed out through the top of an open chimney. right and left of this employee was a row of little earthenware chinese teapots, and as many cups and saucers; the pots being labelled as they were used with cards attached to the handles, and marked with letters and numbers corresponding with those on the little cardboard trays containing the dried tea. "mr stanley lynn, gentlemen," said the manager sharply. "he has come in his uncle's place to stay with us for a time." the introduction was brief, and then the lad was hurried out on to the wharf, where the manager made his appearance suddenly. his presence acted like a stimulus, setting every one working at a double rate of speed, in spite of the scorching sun, which was beginning to glow with so much fervour that the strange gum used to caulk the seams of the great junk in process of being unloaded began to ooze out and form brown globules like little tadpoles with tails. everything was new and interesting to stan, and the day passed very quickly, the manager seeming eager to explain everything to his new colleague; and, saving when now and then he burst out into fierce invectives against offending coolies and the _tindal_ of the junk, he was mildness itself. stan could hardly believe it when closing-time came and the men ceased work. "didn't think it was so late?" said blunt, laughing. "no; the time has gone like lightning." "but don't you want your dinner?" "no," said stan promptly; "i don't feel--yes, i do," he cried. "i didn't till you mentioned it." "shows that you have been interested, my lad. there! come along; let's have a wash and brush up, and then we'll see what the cook has for us. i'm afraid you'll have to put up with a makeshift meal again, as wing is on the wing, as one may say, and i don't expect him back till to-morrow night, for he has a good way to go, and the boat will sail slowly against stream. when he comes back with his report, i expect it will be necessary for me to go up and see some of the little native growers. we might take our guns and get a bit of sport among the snipes in the paddy-fields; what do you say?" "i shall be delighted," cried stan eagerly. "like big-game shooting?" said the manager carelessly, but with a twinkle in his observant eye. "i never had the chance to try," replied stan; "and i'm no hand at all with a gun. i had two days' rabbit-shooting in england just before i came away; that's all." "hit any of the rabbits?" "five." "out of how many shots?" "about twenty," said the lad, colouring; "but, you see, i've had no practice." "you'll get plenty here, and i'll teach you the knack of bringing down snipe." "but you said something about big game," said stan hesitatingly. "what did you mean--pheasants--turkeys?" "pheasants--turkeys!" cried the manager scornfully. "there are plenty of pheasants in the woods, but i mean tigers." "tigers?" "yes, my lad, tigers; hungry savages who carry off a poor chinese labourer working in the fields now and then. there! wait a bit, and we'll mix up a bit of sport with our work." that night stan went to his bedroom and stood looking at the moon silvering the river, thinking that perhaps after all he might end by being good friends with the manager. "he's just like a chestnut," thought the boy--"all sharp, prickly husk outside; good, rich brown skin under the husk; and inside all hard, firm, sweet nut. i say, it doesn't do to judge any one at first sight. i wonder what he thinks of me. i hope he likes me, but i'm afraid not, for he seems disposed to sneer at me now and then." chapter seven. "you'll soon learn your lesson." it seemed to be directly after he had lain down that the thumping at the wooden partition-wall came again, and stan leapt out of bed to hurry to his bath. then came a friendly meeting and breakfast, with quite a procession of boats, _nagas_ and _sampans_, with an occasional junk, going up and down the river heavily laden with produce, or returning to the plantations bordering the river-bight. breakfast ended, blunt proposed another walk through the warehouses to begin marking off the stock that was to form part of the return cargo in the loading up of the vessel by which stan had come. "i want you to get to be at home with all these things," said the manager quietly, "so that i can leave you in charge while i run up the river now and then on such a journey as i have sent wing upon this time. by the way, i wonder whether he'll be back to-day?" stan shook his head. "what makes you think not?" "i did not mean that," said stan quickly. "i was thinking that it will be some time before i am fit to trust with such an important charge as you say." "oh, i don't know, mr modesty. it all depends upon whether you take an interest in the work," replied blunt. "there! come along; you'll soon learn your lesson, i dare say." "i shall try hard," said stan gravely. "everything here is so interesting!" "glad you find it so, youngster. for my part, it took a precious lot of resolution to make me stick to the work as i have done. my word! it has been dull and lonely sometimes. it has quite spoiled my temper. i might tell you that i was a nice, pleasant, mild-speaking young fellow like you when i was your age, but you wouldn't believe it," said the manager, with a laugh. "no, i don't think i should," said stan as they crossed an open enclosure and entered the warehouse, where the men were busy arranging the packages brought up the river by the _tindal's_ boat. the manager began giving his orders for a fresh arrangement of certain of the packages, while stan stood looking on, an opening just in front giving him a good view of all that was being done. that day went like magic, and the following one too; everything was so fresh and animated, so full of interest; while when blunt was not falling foul of some of the men, or, as one of his principal overlookers--a bluff, straightforward, manly fellow, who informed the new-comer that his name was lawrence and his duties that of a jack-of-all-trades--expressed it to stan, in a state of eruption, the lad found him most agreeable, and always willing to explain anything. stan thanked blunt in the evening for the trouble he was taking to make him fully acquainted with the routine of the business. "humph!" he grunted, with a curiously grim smile; "that's just like me. i always was an idiot." stan stared. "i don't understand you," he said. "i thought i talked plainly enough," was the reply. "i say that's just like me, to be such an idiot as to tell you everything." "why?" said stan quietly. "because i'm showing you all about the management of the men that it has taken me much study and patience to acquire." "i'm sure it must have," said stan eagerly. "well, then, am i not a donkey to teach you till you know as much as i do?" "certainly not," said stan warmly. "then i think i am, my fine fellow; but we will not quarrel about it." "no; for one can't," said stan, laughing, "and i shall not." "nor i, my lad, but i shall think a great deal; but it's weak all the same. as soon as i have made you fit to manage here, i shall be packed off and you'll be pitchforked into my post." "i don't think it is likely that my father would put an inexperienced boy to perform the duties of one like you," said stan quietly; "and i'm sure neither father nor uncle would behave unfairly to any one." "good boy!" said the manager sharply, and with one of his half-mocking smiles. "always stick up for your own people. but, to be fair, i think just the same as yourself. they wouldn't, and i know them better than you do. but to change the conversation. look here; as soon as old wing comes back, i'm going to send him right up the country among our trading people upon another expedition. you have to learn, and i've been thinking that you may as well begin to pick up business and the knowledge of the people at once. what do you say to going up the river lands and gardens along with him?" "i should like it," said stan. "but i'm afraid that i should be no use to him. what should i have to do?" "nothing," said the manager, laughing. "only keep your eyes open. you could do that?" "oh yes, i could do that," replied stan. "wing would do the judging of the crops. one does not want to buy tea blindfold." "i thought you bought it by tasting." "yes; but we look at it first. that's settled, then. i tell you what you shall do: sail up the river to the extreme of your journey, and come back overland so as to visit some of the plantations right away from the stream." "and stop at hotels of a night?" "certainly. capital plan," said the manager dryly, "if you can find them." "i meant inns, of course," said stan, flushing. "and i shouldn't advise that. they would not be comfortable. no, no," added the manager, with a laugh; "you made a mistake, and i began to banter. you will find some of our customers hospitable enough. it is only the ignorant common people who are objectionable." "and the pirates," cried stan, smiling. "oh yes, they're bad enough," said blunt. "the difficulty is to tell which are pirates and which are not. you see, there are so many unemployed or discharged soldiers about. they get no pay, they've no fighting to do, and they must live, so a great number of them become regular banditti, ready to rob and murder." "this seems a pleasant country," said stan. "very, if you don't know your way about. but you are not nervous, are you?" "what! about going up the country? not at all." "that's right. make your preparations, then, just as slight as you can, and it will make a pleasant trip, in which you will have a good view of a beautiful land, and learn a good deal about the people." the next morning, to stan's surprise, he found that a fresh boat was moored to the wharf--one that resembled a miniature junk--a boat manned by three or four men, and just large enough to display a good cabin aft, with windows and sleeping accommodation, while the crew had an enclosure forward to themselves. "the boss's boat," said the chief warehouseman, lawrence, as he saw the lad examining the outside. "nice, comfortable boat for up-river work. mr blunt goes up in her sometimes to visit the plantations. our man wing came back in her during the night." "oh, has he come back?" cried stan eagerly. the words had hardly passed his lips before the pleasant, smiling face of wing appeared, as he slid back a window and came out of the cabin, looking particularly neat and clean in his blue frock and white trousers, and ready to salute his young master most deferentially. "morning, mr lynn," came the next minute in the manager's harsh voice. "so you're beforehand with me. have you arranged with wing?" "no; of course not," was the reply. "i have not said a word." "that's right.--here, wing!" the chinaman stepped on to the wharf, and a short conversation ensued, during which stan stepped forward with lawrence, who chatted with him about the boat and its capabilities. "very little room," he said; "but there are arrangements for cooking, and any one could spend a month in her up the river very comfortably." "wing," shouted the manager, "we've done our business, so we may as well chat over the arrangements for your start." "yes. when will it be?" asked stan. "the sooner the better. wing here is always ready. i should suggest an early dinner, and then making a start so as to get as high up the river as you can before night." wing smiled assent, and then played the part of captain by leading the way on board and doing the honours of the boat. after this there was a little discussion about stores, which the chinaman was ordered to obtain, and in half-an-hour stan found himself within measurable distance of making a start. that afternoon there was a hearty send-off, and stan was waving his cap in answer to the cheers of the party gathered upon the wharf, while the light boat glided along in obedience to the action of its tall, narrow matting sail, the big building rapidly beginning to look dwarfed; while as soon as the chinese boatmen had got their sails to draw well they squatted down in the forepart of the boat, one keeping a lookout, and their chief, aft behind the cabin, holding the long steering-oar. stan had the main deck (if a portion of the boat in front of the cabin door that had no deck could be so called) all to himself, for wing was inside, evidently intent upon making his arrangements for his young chief perfect before it was time for the evening meal. the space was very small, but there was plenty to be seen, and a movement or two on the part of one of the boatmen squatting forward with an earthen pot between his knees taught the lad that he was looking down at the kitchen, and also that the earthen pot was the range--the man, who was arranging some scraps of charcoal in a little basket, being evidently the cook--while soon after the men were doing feats with chopsticks in getting rice into their mouths. stan had had some experience of wing's catering while on the up-river journey coming from the port, and had seen the man play what seemed to be conjuring tricks with a melon-shaped piece of chinaware which was plaited all over with bamboo basket-work. this came out of its basket jacket, and disgorged cups, saucers, and a sugar-basin, before turning into a teapot; and a glance at another squarish box with rounded angles was very suggestive of its being fitted up for dinner use, as was afterwards proved. all in good time, as they glided onward to the glowing west, stan saw as if in rapid succession, so great was the novelty, his own tea made ready, the men forward seated round a steaming heap of rice, his own supper prepared, and then the night coming on as they made for a wooded part of the bank, off which the sails were lowered and the boat moored; and soon after all was painfully still, only the faint gurgling of the water breaking the silence as it rippled beneath the bows. then, almost before the lad could realise his position, all was dark beneath the glistening stars, and he felt ready to ask himself whether it was true that he, who used to watch the stars out of the dormitory windows of his school in far-away england, could be now in such a helpless position, right away there on the swift waters of one of the great rivers of the mighty chinese empire. "it doesn't seem real," he said. "i could almost fancy that it was all a dream." he felt the same soon after, when, for want of something to relieve the monotony of his position, he went into the cabin and lay down on the stuffed bamboo shelf which formed his bed. "suppose one of the great dragon-eyed junks coming down the river should run us down," he thought, after lying awake for some time. and then he began to think of the consequences, and whether he could manage to reach the surface and strike out for the shore. next he began to think of his father and uncle jeff; then of the manager, who did not seem such a bad fellow after all; then of himself and his lonely position; and then of wing, who gave him a broad hint that he was sharing his cabin. lastly, the lad began to think of nothing at all, not even the huge forces of the mighty river, for a listener would have come to the conclusion that he was trying to mock the remarks made by wing. then it seemed to the lad that it was only a few minutes since he lay down in the darkness. but it could not have been, for all at once something in a great reed-bed cried "quack, quack!" and stan knew that it was once more morning, with the sun shining brightly, and the boat gliding swiftly up the stream; the men being clever enough in their management, in spite of their stupid looks, and steering close inshore where the current was slack. chapter eight. "come cuttee head off." the night's rest had chased away all the dull feelings that had troubled stan, and he woke up bright, elastic, and eager for the adventures of the day. look where he would on either shore, everything was attractive. the country was highly cultivated, and dotted with farms and dwellings belonging to what seemed to be a large and peaceable population. but his wondering gaze was soon checked by wing, who came out of the cabin smiling, with the announcement that "bleakfas'" was ready--an announcement as pleasant in the confines of asia as in homely britain; and, to the lad's delight, he found everything quite as civilised and good. wing played the part of body-servant as ably as that of agent at the _hong_; and after the meal was over, and the lad had returned outside to watch the glorious panorama spread on either side of the river, his guide came deprecatingly behind him rubbing his hands. "young lynn wantee wing?" he asked. "yes; tell me," said stan, "how far have we to go up the river?" "velly long way," replied the chinaman, holding up his left hand with the digits spread out, and using his right index-finger for a pointer as he counted, "one, two, flee, fow, fi'. plap sick if wind no blow." "and is it all beautiful?" "yes; allee velly beautiful. wing countly velly fine place." "but are we going to sail right on up the river like this?" asked stan. "yes. 'top many time. buy cake--buy egg--buy fluit--buy duck--buy chicken--buy lil pig. plenty good to eat. got lice, tea, suga'. you likee have gun shoot duck?" "no," said stan; "there's too much to look at without bothering about a gun." "you likee ketchee fishee? boy get line leady, put bait hook, young lynn ketchee fish? velly good eat." "not to-day," replied stan. "i want to use my eyes." "yes; velly good. young lynn use long eyes." and before the lad had half-grasped the man's meaning, wing had shuffled back into the cabin, to return directly with his young master's black leather binocular-case. "wing load long eyes--nocklah--leady to shoot?" "not yet," said stan, smiling, as he took the case, and then seated himself in a squeaking cane chair placed ready for his use, and sat back to continue watching what at times looked to him like so much beautifully painted china on a large scale. finding that his services were not required, wing settled himself down upon a stool just inside the cabin entrance, and at once became busy without attracting his young master's notice, till the boat came abreast of a beautifully shaped pagoda, evidently built with blue and white tiles, and having a marvellously striking effect in the bright sunshine, as it rose from a verdant gorge half-way up a rugged mountain-side whose slope ran steeply down to the river, which bathed its rocky foot. "what a landmark!" thought stan. "if one were lost, how easy it would be to look out for that tall temple and make for it!" the glittering tiers of glazed earthenware rose one above the other, each with its wavy, puckered eaves and points bearing little bells, the topmost stories looking as if the builders had possessed ambitious ideas of making the highest pinnacle pierce the soft blue sky; and as the new-comer kept his admiring eyes fixed upon the beautiful work, the boat glided on, forcing him to turn his head a little more and a little more, till it was wrenched round so much that wing began to appear at the left-hand corners of his eyes, and interested the lad so much by the busy interest he took in his work that stan's gaze became gradually transferred from the temple to the man, who went on with what he was about in profound ignorance of being observed. it was something fresh to stan, who more than ever realised the fact that, in spite of being heavy and plain of feature, wing was a bit of a buck in his way, and one who took great pains to impress upon the common coolies with whom he came in contact that he belonged to a higher grade of native--one of a class who never dreamed of defiling their hands with hard work, and kept up at great trouble by many signs, in the shape of finger-nails, of their being head and not hand craftsmen. when stan first caught sight of him, wing was very carefully taking off what looked like a wooden thimble, which had been formed by scraping and filing down a suitable portion of a joint of bamboo; and as this thimble-like piece was removed, the man again laid bare a long, curved finger-nail, whose point, carefully polished and smoothed, was quite an inch above the quick, and evidently "still growing." "what silly nonsense!" thought stan. "what an absurd idea! why, if he caught that nail in anything it would break down and become a painful hang-nail." but it soon became evident that wing did not mean to break down that nail, for after a certain amount of scraping and polishing it was carefully covered with its thimble-like sheath, before the index-finger on his left hand was uncovered to go through the same process as its fellow. as stan watched he became aware of the fact that the left middle finger-nail had met with a mishap, having in all probability been broken right down, and was now being nursed up again to an aristocratic height. all at once the man raised his eyes as if to see how his young master was getting on, and started as he saw that he was being watched. "are we likely to see any pirates up the river here?" said stan quietly. the man shook his head. "wing no tell," he said gravely as he began to cover up his much-petted nails. "plaps many bad man--plaps not none 'tall. plenty pilate evely-wheah. plenty bad soljee. wing hope nevah see none no mo'. velly glad leave boat and begin walk back. plenty pilate on livah; plenty bad soljee way flom livah." "then the discharged soldiers are worse than the pirates, wing?" said stan, smiling. "not laugh at," said the man solemnly. "allee dleadful bad man. killee people and takee evely-thing away. lun fass?" "what do you mean--can i run fast?" "yes; lun velly fass?" "yes; i think so. do you think we shall have to run away from some of these men?" "yes. lun away and hide." "oh, i suppose i could run well enough," replied stan; "but of course i don't want to." "no; wing don't want lun away, but pilate--soljee makee him. velly fass; come cuttee head off." "this is pleasant!" thought stan. "it sounds like jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire." the consequence of this conversation was that whenever stan could tear his eyes from the beauty and novelty of the shore on either side he was narrowly scanning the various vessels which came into sight, the greater part being small sailing-boats. but every now and then in the course of the day the tall matting sails of some towering junk would come gliding round a bend, partially hidden, perhaps, by the trees which fringed the banks; and as soon as this was seen, stan noted that there was a little stir among the quiet, placid-looking boatmen, who began to whisper among themselves. then, if wing had not seen the stranger, one of them moved to where he stood and drew his attention to the distant object. the guide seemed to be gifted with wonderfully powerful sight, which he generally used with the result that every man was placed at his ease at once. but not always. to use a nautical phrase, wing was not upon every occasion satisfied with the cut of the stranger's jib, and upon these occasions he turned to his young master. "young lynn lettee wing look flou' double eyeglass?" the binocular was handed at once, and after a great deal of focussing, handed back. "no pilate. tea-boat. allee good man." or he might speak with a greater tone of reverence as he shaded his eyes: "big junk muchee fullee silk. wing think junk go down whalf see misteh blunt." "not enemies, then?" said stan. "no; velly good fliend." "but there are the big eyes painted on each side of the bows." "yes," said wing, smiling; "but good boat. no cally stink-pot to flow on boat and set fi'. no big bang gong and lot fighting-man all ovah. no. that velly good boat, and not hu't people. wing tell when he sees bad boat. lun away then." "on shore?" "tly go down livah get away. pilate come too fass. lun to side and go light away." "but what will become of the boat?" asked stan. "pilate send man. take allee good thing. set fi'." "mr blunt would not like that." "no. velly angly. kick up big low and say wing gleat fool." "and what would you say?" asked stan. "say velly solly. gleat pity lose nice topside boat b'long blunt." "of course." "but much gleat pity let pilate man choppee off wing head and all men head. can makee nicee boat again; can'tee makee velly good boatman." stan agreed that this was a perfectly sound argument, and during the rest of the little voyage up the river he always felt greatly relieved when his guide was able to announce that the boats they passed were men of peace and not men-o'-war. but as day succeeded day in lovely weather, and the journey continued through a glorious country, the bugbear pirates died out of the lad's thoughts; and on the last evening, when wing announced that they would land at a big city in the morning, and leave the boat to go back to the _hong_, stan was ready to believe that his guide had been playing alarmist a great deal more than was necessary, and told him so. but wing shook his head. "no," he said; "pilate velly bad sometime." "but we shall find the land journey no worse--there will be no discharged soldiers wandering about ready to interfere with us?" "wing hope allee gone, but can'tee tell. plenty fliend people heah. tell wing when soljee come. young lynn and wing lun away." chapter nine. "a fierce struggle ensued." stan altered his opinion the next day when they reached a busy city built on both sides of the river, for wing gave him a quiet hint to look, and upon turning, the lad found that they were gliding by a towering junk whose deck swarmed with villainous-looking men all well armed, while at intervals they passed four more. "allee bad," whispered wing. "no lookee; pletend can't see pilate ship." five more were passed, all of which were given a bad character; but their occupants were lying about, smoking and sleeping, eating and drinking; and being close up to the quays and warehouses of the teeming city, the men were upon their best behaviour, and not disposed to seize and plunder such small fry as the little boat from the _hong_. hence it was that stan's _sampan_ remained untouched, and reached the disembarking place in safety. here, evidently so as not to draw attention to his young chief, wing slung a few necessaries, scale fashion, at either end of a bamboo, balanced his load across his left shoulder, and after giving the boatmen a few instructions which led to their setting off at once on the return journey, he led stan away from the riverside, right into the busy part of the city, where no notice was taken of them. a short time after the lad found himself at the house of one of the chinese merchants, who gave him a warm welcome, and talked with him in pidgin-english about his father and uncle. stan noticed that he exhibited no little inquisitiveness about his further proceedings, shaking his head and looking very solemn as he hinted that the country was in a very disturbed state. "but mr wing will know how to take care," he said. "he will know, too, that the farther you keep from the river the less likely you are to meet with pirates or wandering bands of soldiers. you must take care." wing evidently meant to take care, for that evening, after dark, he laid his hand upon stan's shoulder and drew him away from the window. "too many bad man," he said, directing the lad's attention to the rough-looking armed people lounging about the street. "see young lynn and say, `foleign devil. what want heah?' no look out window. go to bed. sleep." stan laughed at the ultra-precautions taken, but obeyed, and for want of something to occupy himself, lay down quite early, to listen to the shuffling of feet and the loud conversation going on below his window, thinking the while that he would most likely lie awake all night. but before he could make an effort to combat the drowsiness that had seized upon him he was fast asleep, and the next thing he knew was that wing was shaking his arm. "what is it?" he cried. "coming to bed?" "get-up time," replied the chinaman. "mollow molning. come 'long." "but,"--began stan. he said no more, his mouth stretching wide in a portentous yawn; and, still half-asleep, he suffered himself to be led out of the house and along a dark, uneven street, the air of which felt chilly, as if the morning was close at hand. twice over he began to question wing, but received a hurried whisper to be silent, and by degrees it dawned upon him that their land journey had commenced, and that wing was nervously anxious lest their departure should become known. "soljees," he whispered, and put his hand to his lips. "why, there's not a soul about," said stan to himself, feeling sleepy, and out of temper to a degree that made him ready to quarrel with his guide for taking such unnecessary precautions. but he remained silent, and trudged on close behind his companion, stumbling every now and then in the darkness, and longing the while for the coming of broad daylight, so that he could avoid the rough stones and mud-holes which seemed to be always in his way. he was surprised, too, at the extent of the city, for no sooner was one devious street passed than they plunged into another, their wanderings lasting for what must have been close upon half-an-hour, before they plunged into a narrower passage than ever--one where the overhanging eaves on either side seemed to nearly touch--while right in front a huge wall towered up, looking jetty black, all but a square patch on a level with their feet. "why, this must be a big house into which we are going," he thought. but the idea had no sooner crossed his mind than he felt his arm gripped, and wing checked him so suddenly that he came heavily against his guide's chest. "what's the matter?" whispered stan. "st! big gate. plentee soljee fass sleepee," whispered wing. "now come 'long, quick, quick." he slipped his hand down to the lad's waist as he spoke, and drew him along past where stan dimly made out a group of men sitting and lying upon a big bench beneath a great shadowy house. there was no time to see more before they were out on the other side, with the great building reared up in the gloom behind them, and a feeling of freedom as of an open space in front. so great a sense of relief came over the lad that he felt bound to speak; but certain sounds behind checked him once more, and he turned cold at the proximity of the danger they had escaped. for a deep, gruff voice growled out something he could not interpret, and this was replied to by another voice, evidently that of a man newly aroused from sleep. the brief conversation was carried on angrily, and interrupted again and again as if the speakers kept listening. this was proved to stan by the firm pressure of wing's hand, and the twitches it kept on giving as he stood otherwise quite motionless. stan's heart beat till a feeling of suffocation began to oppress him, while with straining eyes he tried to penetrate the dark shadows behind. at last, however, the talking ceased, and he felt the hand which wing had at liberty pressing upon the top of his head as if to make him stoop down. grasping his guide's wishes, he bent low, and immediately felt himself drawn onward, the pair stealing along softly in the darkness as silently as possible, and as quickly, for before they had gone many yards stan was conscious of the fact that there was a long, pale line of light right ahead, and that it was not so dark; for on glancing over his shoulder he could dimly see the gate through which they had come, a huge structure with curving roof and vast eaves, dominating a high wall which went off into the darkness right and left. "velly neah ketchee ketchee," said wing, with a sigh of relief. "but suppose they had caught us," said stan; "i am an english subject, and you are my attendant. they dared not have kept us." wing uttered a funny little squeak. "eh?" he cried. "wheah englis' sailoh? no englis' man-o'-wha, and big gun go bang two time. chinaman velly much aflaid when englis' soljee-- sailoh heah. not heah now; chinaman laugh; say, `don't ca'e mandalin button.' chinese soljee ketchee young lynn--wing. say, `don't ca'e nobody.' puttee in plison. p'l'aps nevah come out again. velly bad." "ah, well! they didn't see us," said stan, "so let's go on faster." "yes; go fastee now. go long way, have bleakfast. don'tee want see soljee. plentee don't ca'e lobbah. steal dollah. takee young lynn gold watch. velly bad, wicked man." "we shan't meet any of them now, i suppose?" said stan as he gave an uneasy look round at the fast-broadening dawn. "wing no know. velly likely bad soljee come. velly likely no bad soljee come. allee same pilate on livah. don't know quite safe till get home. wing velly glad get home to _hong_. s'pose get home and no young lynn. misteh blunt say, `where young lynn?' and wing say been gone lose young lynn. misteh blunt call wing dleadful name. nea'ly kill wing." "then you must not lose me, wing." "no; no must lose young lynn. takee gleat ca'e young lynn." he nodded and smiled as he hurried his companion along, till the great gateway began to grow small in the distance, and the glazed tiles of the roof glittered and flashed and grew confused; while in the distance, far down the rough track, a temple seemed to rise out of a clump of trees, at whose edge a few humble-looking houses appeared beyond where the regularity of the enclosures told of cultivation. a short time later wing's next words sent a thrill of satisfaction through stan, for he laughed, chuckled, and rubbed his hands. "good bleakfast," he said. "plenty eat, plenty tea. wing know allee people." before they had gone much farther stan was in possession of the information that the place they were approaching was a large tea-farm, with its warehouses, and sheds where tea-chests were made; and that for a long time past the produce of this farm had been sent down regularly to the _hong_ by one or other of the trading-junks that bore the up-country produce to the stores of the foreign merchants. this was interesting enough, and suggestive of the journey now becoming perfectly peaceful. but stan's main ideas at this time were in connection with the expected meal, so that plenty of energy was brought to bear to get over the intervening distance; while, to make matters better, it soon became evident that they were seen. people came out to stand in the sunshine, shading their eyes and watching the coming visitors. wing's signals were answered, and a couple of young men came running and recognised the guide, when the visitors were eagerly welcomed to join the morning meal that had been prepared. the troubles of the early morning were soon forgotten, while, but for the strangeness of his surroundings, there were moments when stan could have fancied that he was enjoying the hospitality of some farmer's family thousands of miles away in old devon. but the satisfaction was only short-lived, for the meal was hardly at an end before the door and windows were darkened prior to being thrown open by a crowd of rough-looking men bearing clumsy weapons. wing was seated with his back to the door, and at first saw nothing, for stan, who had the fresh-comers in full view, felt that the best plan would be to sit perfectly calm and unconcerned. and this he did till wing, startled by the darkening of the window, looked quickly round and sprang to his feet. "lun! lun!" he whispered sharply to his young charge; and catching at his wrist, he tried to drag him towards the door in the back of the place. he was too late. a rush was made by the rough-looking soldiers, several of whom literally pounced upon stan, hurling him down to the floor; and as he, naturally enough, made a brave dash for liberty, a fierce struggle ensued, in which the lad had ample proof of the futility of a half-grown boy trying to resist the united efforts of half-a-dozen heavily built men. of course, the struggle did not last many minutes before stan found himself upon the earthen floor of the chinese house, with four men seated upon him, leaving him hard work to get his breath, as he stared wildly round to see how his companion had fared. but he looked in vain, for in the noise and confusion wing had managed to get behind some of the people of the house, who willingly helped him to pass outside, leaving stan to his fate. "a coward!" muttered the boy as soon as he had satisfied himself that wing had gone. "no," he added after a few moments' thought; "he couldn't help it, poor fellow! i know: he has escaped. he'll go down the river to warn mr blunt, and he'll get help from the port. they'll send men up from one of the ships to get me set at liberty. for these people will not dare to hurt me. i'll be bound to say that mr blunt will soon get to know, and if these scoundrels are not punished severely for this it is strange to me." chapter ten. "cowardly brutes!" stan had the stout old tea-farmer who owned the place to thank for the rescue from his extremely awkward position. for, making tremendous use of his tongue, in words which, if interpreted, undoubtedly would have proved to mean, "let the lad get up, you brutes; can't you see that you are nearly stifling him?" the farmer supplemented his fierce verbal abuse with blows and thrusts which, in spite of being armed, the invaders made no attempt to resist. they gave way good-humouredly enough, evidently being quite satisfied with their capture; and after taking the precaution to station a spearman at each door and window, they allowed stan to rise, and then bound him hand and foot to the framework of a cane chair, which they planted full in sight in the middle of the room, before crowding to the well-spread table and making a raid upon the food. this evoked another torrent of abuse, in which the farmer was stoutly aided by two sturdy young fellows--apparently his sons--his fat wife, and a couple of men. the farmer seemed to be blessed with a grand vocabulary, and to be well skilled in giving volleys of abuse; but he might have spared his breath for all the effect his words had upon stan's captors. they listened calmly enough, and as the boy looked on it seemed to him that all the bullying did was to give the rough party of soldiers an excellent appetite. in fact, the more the farmer raved the more they ate and gave orders for the big teapot to be filled; while, when the farmer ceased shouting, the visitors ceased eating and took out their pipes to a man. a few minutes later the table had been cleared by the tea-farmer's people, and a couple of the biggest soldiers rose at an order from their leader, seized the chair by its two sides, and then heaved together, lifting it on high and dropping it upon the table, where stan had the misery of finding himself the observed of all observers; being treated as a newly captured foreign devil planted there for inspection, every man staring hard after precisely the stupid, open-mouthed fashion of some of our own country louts. now and then a remark would be passed by some smoker which brought the angry blood to the lad's cheeks; for, though not to be exactly interpreted, its meaning was evidently derisive, and afforded amusement to the lookers-on at stan's expense. "cowardly brutes!" he muttered; and that was the only satisfaction he could get, save that of indulging in hopes that wing was well on his way to the big city, where he would be sure to get into communication with some one or other of the principal traders, and from them obtain an audience with the chief mandarin, who, as a government official, would feel himself bound to interfere on behalf of the young englishman who had been seized. and so a couple of hours dragged slowly along, at the end of which time the prisoner began to come to the conclusion that he had allowed wing time to get to the river city, and that when he had patiently waited another two hours wing would have fulfilled his mission and be on his way back with some of the mandarin's guards. but, to his dismay, stan found that he was not to wait there till wing returned; for all at once the man in command of the rough soldiery growled out an order, which resulted in a clumsy tumbling together of the party and the production of two very large, thick bamboo poles. these were laid right in front of the farmhouse, and then the chair was seized and lifted down, to be carried out to where the bamboos lay, these being passed between the legs and there lashed. "am i to be turned into a guy fawkes?" muttered stan angrily, as he gave himself a wrench in his seat to try and loosen his bandages. but the result was vile. the captain of the party uttered a furious growl and made-believe to draw his sword, while a couple of his men seized the prisoner, holding him down fast, and a third dropped upon his knees and proceeded to tighten the thongs with such savage violence that the pain turned the lad faint, making him hang back quite lax, with the great drops of perspiration gathering on his forehead. it was while everything seemed to be sailing round him that he became conscious of a peculiar, shaking motion which sharpened the pain he suffered. but the sickening sensation passed off, and he became fully conscious, to his great disgust, that he was being made the principal figure--carried shoulder-high as he was--in a triumphal procession on its way, so far as he could judge, back towards the great gate, which he could dimly see towering up in the distance. they were right out in the country, with rice-fields and plantations in all directions, so that the inhabitants were scarce; but the people of the farm closed up as near as his captors would allow, and as they tramped slowly along, stan from his elevated, swaying perch could see men at a distance throwing down the tools with which they were working, and trotting along with their tails bobbing between their shoulders, some to overtake, others to meet, and all to join in the procession. "why, they treat it as if it were some show--the wretches!" said stan to himself. "ugh! how i should like to give it to some of them! grinning at me! yes, actually grinning at me! why, i believe they look upon me as a newly caught foreign devil, and they're following to see me executed, or--oh, surely they won't do that!" a sudden thought had flashed across his brain--an echo or reflection of something he had read or seen in connection with some poor wretch being kept as a captive by the chinese and exhibited in a great bamboo cage. the first effect of the thought was to send a shiver through him, chilling him to the bone; the following minute a sensation of heat made him flush to the temples, and he ground his teeth. "yes," he said to himself, "they'd better! no, they daren't. they're pig-headed enough, but they must know that i'm an englishman--well, an english boy, then," he added correctively. "oh, they daren't! i'm only my father's son--plain stanley lynn--but as soon as they knew at headquarters they'd send a gunboat to demand me; and--of course--yes, it's a fine thing to be a british subject, for even if i am only a boy, our english minister wouldn't have a hair of my head injured--if he could help it." stan thought this addition to his musings in a very different spirit to that which had preceded it. one minute he was proud and elated at the idea that he was an englishman, with a general touch-me-if-you-dare sort of sensation making his eyes flash and sparkle and his cheeks glow; the next he was fully awake to the fact that he was a tightly bound prisoner, having a most abominable ride to some cage, alone and helpless among an inimical race of ignorant people who were delighted to see the predicament he was in--so much alone that, failing wing, not one would raise a hand in his behalf. he was quite right about consul and minister and the stupendous machinery that would be set in motion to rescue his insignificant self, but there was the setting it in motion. all depended upon wing. "but where is wing?" he said half-aloud, and he wrenched his head round to look back along the procession, half-expecting to see the poor fellow aloft in another chair, a prisoner, bound as well. there was a savage growl at his movement, which made the chair sway, and _bang_! one of the soldiers brought the spear he shouldered heavily against the cane frame, making stan start and then dart an angry glance at the man. _bang_! came the shaft again, and stan winced once more, but bit his lips with annoyance, for his captors yelled with laughter, and others struck at the chair. they struck in vain now. "its to make me squirm--to make the foreign devil squirm," muttered stan; "but i'm not going to now. i'd die first." whether stan would have gone as far as he mentally asserted is open to question, but he was able to maintain sufficient control over himself to sit fast; not even flinching when, after several heavy blows had been given, without result, to the chair, one of the most facetious of the guards--a big, broad-faced, smooth-headed fellow--lowered his spear and gave the young prisoner a prog with it in the back. it hurt, for stan's white flannels were thin; but the poke was not given with sufficient force to go through the material, and further manifestations of the kind were put a stop to by a fierce shout from the captain, though the men all joined in a hearty laugh. "brutes!" muttered stan; and he sat forward, sweeping the country before him, as he devoted himself to wondering what had become of wing. it was evident that he had not been made a prisoner, for he was nowhere to be seen; and now, as the chair went on, jig, jog--jig, jog, stan's brain was agitated by the terrible thought that his poor attendant might have been struck down badly wounded, if not killed, in the sharp struggle, for he had no reason to hope that he had escaped. "if i could only ask!" thought stan. but he could not. he had picked up a few words and sentences since he had been in the country, but felt very doubtful about making himself understood; while, when he did at last make up his mind for the effort, and leant forward to venture a question to one of his bearers, all he elicited was a derisive burst of laughter, interspersed with mocking imitations of his attempts at the chinese tongue. "brutes!" he muttered again; and he rode on in silence for some time, till his anxiety to know more of wing's fate proved too much for him, and this time he appealed to the soldier who had used his spear. but the only reply was a menacing gesture, accompanied by a scowl, for the man had not forgiven him for being the cause of a sharp reproof from the captain, though it is doubtful whether stan could have made himself understood. fortunately for the prisoner, the pain he suffered from his blows and bonds grew more bearable as the procession jogged slowly on; for the sun was hot, pauses had to be made from time to time to exchange bearers, and nobody seemed to be in the slightest hurry. the result was that after a couple of hours' tramp the great gate-tower seemed to be nearly as far off as ever, and stan had sunk into a gloomy state of thinking, in which he divided his time between determining to make the best of things and forcing himself to take as much notice as he could of the devious track they followed through the rice-fields, whose beautiful, tender green seemed to refresh the poor fellow's weary eyes. "yes," he said to himself, "i may be able to escape, and i might do worse than make straight for the farmhouse. the people there are friendly, and i could reckon upon their helping me to the river and some boat. once in a boat with some provisions, i could float down to the _hong_ easily enough, even if it took days or a week or two because of my being forced to hide in the reeds by day and only go on by night. but why go to the farm first when, if i could get to the river from the town, i could start on at once? i shall see," he muttered; "and there can be no harm in noticing the country along here. it might be useful to know. but i wonder what has become of poor old wing." he sat on all through the heat of the day, drooping as well as wondering, but growing more low-spirited as he swayed forward, jog, jog, jog, jog, in wearisome fashion, and having hard work at times to sit erect. and but for a couple of halts that were made for the men to rest and smoke as they lay about in the thick grass at the edge of some paddy-field, he would have sunk forward as far as his bonds allowed and fallen into the stupor of exhaustion. after the last halt, which was greatly prolonged, the way led along a much more beaten road; and now the great gate seemed to have loomed up with wonderful suddenness through the hot haze of the asiatic afternoon. the sight of the huge building and the walls seemed to give the prisoner more energy, making him gaze excitedly at what he could see of the dwarf buildings beyond the encompassing walls, and wonder where the prison would be situated that was to be his halting-place. he now recalled, too, the tramp through the darkness of the early morning with wing, the way up to the sleeping guards from inside, and the narrow escape from being taken when the great gate was approached. it now seemed certain to the lad that they must, after all, have been seen by some one of the guards, and quietly pursued and trapped at the farm; and after settling this in his own mind, he turned once more as he swayed along on his bearers' shoulders to wonder where he would be imprisoned, questioning himself as to what sort of a place it would be-- whether very strong, high up in a tower, or low down in a dungeon. where? "if poor old wing were only here!" he groaned to himself as they approached and passed under the gate. "we could perhaps escape together. but he must have been killed.--oh, if i only knew where they are going to put me!" his head was feverish from his hot and weary ride, which was fast bringing on a strange delirium which made him feel as if it were only a dream after all. then it was no dream. everything was wakeful and a fact, for he knew where he was to be imprisoned, the bearers halting and setting down his chair at the beetle-browed entrance of what proved to be the great guard-room of the gateway tower. chapter eleven. "tchack! tchack!" "they'll give me some tea," thought stan as, with head throbbing so that he could not hold it up, he sank down in the place to which he had been led, too much exhausted by all he had gone through to do more than glance round and see that it was literally a cage, whose floor and bars were of thick bamboos, opening upon a kind of yard from which came a sickening odour. that was all he could note in the gloom, feeling only too glad to sink down against one side, which also seemed to be formed of bars. then his eyes closed and he fell into a kind of stupor, in which the whole of the day's adventures passed before him, from the earliest start till he staggered into his prison and heard the door banged to and fastened behind him. there it all was again, seeming to be beaten into his head with some great mallet with sickening reiteration, till sleep came after burning hours of misery, and the beating upon his brain ceased in oblivion. mingled with the thump, thump, thump, thump, as of his troubles being driven into his head so that he should never forget them, he had some consciousness of a door opening and a great red paper lantern appearing through the wall, shining like the moon seen through a thick fog. then there was a bang as of some heavy pot being placed on the floor, followed by another which splashed over his hand. some one seemed to be speaking to him in a hoarse, deep, guttural voice, followed by a surly grunt; but he could not rouse himself sufficiently to answer what seemed in his dream-like state to be questions in the chinese tongue; while directly after there was a tremendously loud rattling, such as might have been produced by a great staff being drawn over bars. then further rattling, with shouts as if some one yelled the syllables "ho, yo fi yup, yup, yup!" close by his head, with the effect of producing other sounds full of rage, snarling, squeaking, and squealing, while _bang! bang! bang_!--it was as if some great cat, a tiger or leopard, were bounding heavily about its cage. then came the rattling as of the great staff being drawn across the bars again, a grunt or two, the banging of the heavy door, and silence. it was to stan as if he had been roused out of his trance-like sleep to hear all this, as the great, ruddy, moon-like lantern burned more hotly into his eyes; and then all was closed in darkness, silence, and oblivion once more. _cock-a-doodle-doo--oo--oo_! a long-drawn crow, hoarse and croaky as ever cochin-china fowl uttered after heavily flapping its wings, and stan was back in old england, dull, aching, stupidly drowsy, and in a confused way feeling that he was by a farmyard with the window open. but his eyelids did not part, and those of his brain seemed to be quite dark still, for he had not the most remote conception of anything more. and so he lay in a hutched-up, awkward position, with the back of his head against some upright bamboos, without stirring. it was almost dark, but the cool grey of the coming morning was filtering down into a vile, close yard, and spreading slowly in through the bars of a great cage, divided in two by the uprights against which the lad had sunk; and as slowly as the light stole into the great cage, so stole in the prisoner's power to think. at last it began to seem--it can be called nothing else--that something was fidgeting his hair about. at first there was a gentle touch or two as if it were parted, and then something tickled close up to the crown, and stan gave his head a twitch, but he did not open his eyes. the tickling sensation ceased, however, and he was slowly sinking back into oblivion, when the fidgeting and tickling began again, making him jerk his head. again the fidgeting feeling passed off, and he was nearly unconscious once more, when he was aroused, and this time he opened his eyes wonderingly, to grasp some notion of there being a softly diffused and faint light gradually coming down in a sloping way through thick bars; and then there was the tickling, and the stirring of his hair. wakefulness and reason were slowly asserting themselves now, making the lad turn his head slightly on one side and try to look up. he did so in a dreamy kind of belief that he was somewhere in a place with a huge spider, one far bigger than he had ever imagined before; that it was hanging from the ceiling; that it kept on lowering its legs till they were near enough to touch his head; and that then it began to softly stir his hair. so stan, after screwing his head sideways, raised one eye to the fullest extent and looked wonderingly up for that great spider. but he did not see it, for the simple reason that the spider was not there. but he saw something else, which brought his full senses back in an instant, making him utter a hoarse cry, and, scrambling up, bound right across to the other side of the great bamboo cage into which he had been thrust. it was sufficiently startling, and must have had a similar effect upon one older and sturdier than he. for as he brought his eye to bear, there, just above his scalp, was suspended what at the first glance through the dim light seemed to be the head and neck of a large snake, softly dancing up and down before descending to touch his hair. but that was only his first idea, for the second glance was sufficient to make him grasp the fact that it was no snake, but a long, thin-fingered hand with quivering, pliable fingers, smooth below but hairy at the back, and at the end of a very long, thin, hairy arm which had been thrust between two upright bamboos. it was only momentary, for as stan uttered his hoarse cry the hand darted out of sight as rapidly as if it had been made of india-rubber, to be followed by the sound of a bump as if its owner had made a bound across the part of the divided cage in which stan now stood with every nerve quivering, and his brain actively at work bringing back the incidents of the previous day. "another prisoner," thought stan, and he shuddered with horror, for slight as was the glance he had obtained, it was enough to raise up plenty of horrors. the hand and arm were frightfully attenuated, and he felt that if this were a fellow-prisoner, the poor creature must have suffered the most terrible starvation to bring him to such a state. he was a prisoner too, and so horrible were his feelings for the next few moments that the confusion and semi-delirium of the previous night threatened to return. but after he had rested, his thoughts grew calmer again in the silence and the soft grey light. he was a prisoner, but an english prisoner, he felt, and the chinese guard would not dare to injure him. he gazed rather wildly at the place from which he had leaped, to see upright bamboos very close together, but with space enough between for a very thin hand and arm to be thrust through; and now the disposition to speak to one who must, whoever he was, be a fellow-sufferer came uppermost. but he did not speak; his thoughts took another direction, and he mastered his position. he was, in fact, in a great cage--such a one as might have been used by a keeper of wild beasts for the dwelling of some animal. the floor was, as before stated, composed of bamboo bars similar to those which formed the front; and as the light broadened slightly, stan could just make out that there was a light wall only a few feet away, and that the wall was continued upward some ten or a dozen feet. turning his eyes to the spot from which he had leaped, stan swept the open division again, noting the while that all was perfectly still. but he could see nothing, till all at once he fancied that he detected the tip of one of the thin fingers again; but at the slightest movement he made, the finger, if it had been there, was withdrawn. it was impossible to help a shuddering sensation creeping through him, for there was something strangely uncanny about that hand seen in the dim twilight; and the thought of being so close a fellow-prisoner of so weird a personage grew more and more repellent as the utter silence continued. but there was one satisfactory thing to make matters more bearable, and that was the fact that the light was steadily increasing; and as, after trying hard to penetrate the mysterious screen, stan once more looked about his prison, and above all examined the doorway through which he had been thrust, he caught sight of two clumsy-looking pots, which, though the produce of the land which gave us porcelain, were of such rough, coarse earthenware that it would have been considered too rough for flower-pots at home. but the prisoner's throat felt parched and his lips hot and cracked, while a rapid inspection proved to him that one of the vessels contained water. it was no time for being nice. obeying the natural craving, stan sank upon his knees, raised the pot with both hands, and the next minute he was drinking deeply of the cool, grateful fluid, which trickled down with a sensation that was delightful, and he had drunk long and deeply before the questioning thought came: "is it clean?" he set the pot down again close to the wall, and shuddered slightly, for the dank, cool morning air was distinctly tainted with a horrible odour which he believed came from the yard. putting all suggestive thoughts from him, he turned his attention to the other pot, and saw that a couple of sticks rose above one side; and to test whether his surmise was correct, he took them both in hand, raised them towards the faint light, and found that he had judged rightly, for he brought up a lump of boiled rice adhering to the chopsticks, which he dropped suddenly on hearing a faint noise to his left. there was no doubt about the cause; for there, looking more weird and strange than at first, was the limb which had first startled him, with the long, thin hand outstretched, and the fingers twitching in a most unmistakable fashion. a sense of relief came over stan now, for he saw at once that this was not the half-mummified hand of some starving prisoner, but that of a large ape; and without hesitation the lad stooped down again, seized the chopsticks, and scooping up with them as much of the wet rice as would stay on, he stepped across to the extended hand, which closed round the food on the instant and disappeared between the bars. _tchack_! came in a low, quick utterance, followed by other sounds which plainly indicated what was becoming of the rice. "i can't eat that stuff," thought stan; and visions of one of his customary breakfasts floated before his eyes, in company with wondering ideas about how long it would be before any one came and he would have an opportunity to appeal or order the man to put him in communication with some one in authority. "it's out of ignorance," he said to himself. "they dare not keep me here." _tchack_! came again, this time in quite a cheerful tone, and stan's thoughts were again diverted. his face crinkled into a smile, for he felt that this was a fellow-prisoner with whom he could make friends at once; and without hesitation he dug out some more rice with the chopsticks, and dabbed the lump into the once more extended hand. "is it good, old chap?" he said in a friendly tone; and for response came: _tchacker_! "monkey pidgin--eh?" said stan as the hand disappeared, leaving some wet grains sticking to the bamboo bars, a fact which resulted in another hand appearing on the prisoner's side and the attenuated fingers cleaning off every grain with wonderful celerity before it disappeared. "let's see what you're like," said stan, putting his face to the bars, to find that there was light enough now to show him a similar division to his own, with a dumpy, solidly built monkey squatting down on the far side, nursing the handful of rice against its broad chest, and picking it up rapidly grain by grain. as stan looked through, the creature raised its head, which seemed joined without neck to its chest, and displayed a pair of keen-looking, very human eyes, peering at him from beneath their straight, overhanging brows; and as they twinkled brightly, there was a third flash from a double set of very white teeth, which were displayed in a grin. then the eating went on as if there were not a moment to lose, till stan fell back half-startled, for as the last white grain disappeared behind the thin, tightly drawn lips, the animal rose upon a pair of short, crooked legs, sprang at the bars, to hold on with its feet, and once more a long, thin, spidery arm and hand came through. "hungry--eh?" said stan, half-annoyed with himself for his display of dread. _tchack_! was the reply, and the fingers curved upward in so suggestive a way that stan raised the pot and poured into the palm as much as it would hold. in went the hand again, and stan stood holding the pot against his breast, listening to the sound made by the monkey eating. the natural result was that the odour given off by the wet rice rose to the prisoner's nostrils; and it was not enticing, for it was not unlike that of wet clay. but the holder knew that it was rice, and that it was eatable, though unappetising, and it awakened in him a feeling of longing consequent upon its being many hours since he had touched food; so, taking up some of the sticky grains on one of the chopsticks, he raised it to his lips, with the result that they curled slightly in disgust. but nature was hungry, and not to be disappointed from any fastidiousness displayed by a pair of lips, nor yet by the disgust of a tongue. it was only the first step that cost, and after making an attempt to eat, stan went on, to find that the mess, though anything but nice, was satisfying; and he was busy at the second suggestion of a mouthful when he had to draw back sharply, for like a flash the weird hand darted out, grabbed the edge of the pot, and tugged it towards the bars. but stan's arm was round the vessel, and his withdrawal carried it away out of the animal's reach. "manners!" cried stan; and he was at once attacked by what seemed to be meant for a volley of reproaches, in tones which somehow seemed familiar and connected with the troubles of the past night, especially as they were accompanied by sounds caused by the animal bounding backwards and forwards, hurling itself from the division bars to those which faced the yard, till _bang! bang! bang_! came a tremendous beating against the door, followed by one angry roar of chinese adjurations. _wow_! came in a piteous tone from beyond the bars, as the noise outside ceased; and directly after the hand was thrust out, palm upwards, and the fingers twitching. stan paid no heed for a few moments, but stood waiting for the door to be opened, ready to attack his jailer, whoever he might be, with such chinese as he knew; but all remained silent, and a feeling of angry indignation swept over the lad, enraged now as the knowledge of his position flashed through him. "insolent brutes!" he said half-aloud. "i'm a foreign devil, am i? and i'm to be shut up in the next cage to a great monkey, am i? what do you mean? to make a show of me? oh, it's unbearable!" _tchack_! "you think so too, do you?" cried stan aloud. _tchacker_! "you think it's worse? well done. you're a wiser monkey than i thought, then. there, old chap--fellow-prisoner--you shan't find me a bad friend. here, peg away!" and half-laughing the while--a laugh full of mocking indignation--stan thrust the pot down close to the bars. in an instant one long arm was holding it tight against them like a band of bone and muscle, and the other was working to and from it like an animated spoon. "poor brute!" said stan softly, and he raised one hand with extended index-finger to touch the hook-like arm. _ur-r-r-r-r_! came in a savage, malicious snarl, and the free hand came down spang upon his wrist, seizing it with startling violence, and snatching it towards the bars, against which it struck heavily. there was a momentary struggle, during which in imagination the lad saw his fingers being crushed between two trap-like jaws, and then he was free. "why, you savage beast!" he cried fiercely. _tchack_! said the monkey; and the hand was going and coming calmly enough now, and almost without a sound. "humph!" grunted stan. "my fault, i suppose. thought i was going to take away its food;" and he stood rubbing his wrist gently where it had been bruised against the bamboo bar, and watched the monkey's hands till the last grain had been cleared out of the pot, which was released and allowed to fall over upon its side. "finished?" said stan, good-humouredly now, for the pain had passed away. _tchack_! the sound--cry, ejaculation, whatever it may be called--was evidently a reply, and as it was uttered the hand came out towards the prisoner once more. "why, you hungry brute!" said stan. "no more. all gone," he cried; and he stooped down to take away the pot. it was incautiously done, and in an instant the animal's fingers had closed round his hand tightly. for the moment stan was about to obey his natural instinct and tear his hand away, but it struck him that the grasp was not meant inimically, and that even if it were he must be the stronger of the two, and could prevent his strange adversary from dragging his arm sufficiently through the bars to make use of its teeth. so he stood fast, and found that, in place of tearing hard and trying to drag the hand it had secured through the bars, it was contenting itself with pressing the hand firmly and nestling its own fingers within his grasp, as if the sensation were satisfactory and it enjoyed the proximity of a companion. "want to be friends?" said the lad quietly. _snar-r-r-r-r_! went the animal savagely, snatching its hand away, and with one bound leaping to the other side of its cage. the reason was made plain the next moment. its hearing was the keener, and it first heard approaching footsteps. the next minute great bars were being rattled down from the door, which was thrown open, and three rough-looking chinese soldiers entered; the first going straight to the barred division and drawing the shaft of his spear cleverly along the bamboos before thrusting the butt through and making prods and savage thrusts with it at the wretched monkey, which shrieked and chattered and bounded about, with noise and turmoil which brought back vividly now the strange sounds stan seemed to have dreamed in the confused and feverish wanderings of the night. chapter twelve. "i wish you were a dog." while one of the soldiers teased and brutally ill-used the monkey, which fought savagely with its aggressor, ending by getting hold of the spear-shaft with teeth and all four hands, and displaying an amount of strength that was wonderful in so small a creature, the other two looked on and laughed till their comrade was tired and merely held on to his spear. then they condescended to turn their attention to their new prisoner, examining and giving him credit for the empty rice-pot; and after a glance at the other pot, which was half-full of water, one of them, watching for an opportunity, threw its contents all over the monkey, with the result that the poor brute uttered a shriek, loosened its hold of the spear-shaft, and contented itself with dodging the thrusts made at it by its aggressor. he too now turned to stan, and made a thrust at him with the spear-butt, and then stared with astonishment at the result. for stan's temper boiled over at once. "you insolent hound!" he roared, striking the bamboo aside, as he sprang at the man. "how dare you!" stan's aspect was tragic, for, in spite of the disproportion between him and his enemy, the man started back, and the scene became a farce. the great cowardly brute fell against one of his comrades, who responded by giving him a heavy thrust which sent him against the third, who raised his knee so suddenly that stan's assailant cannoned off and fell heavily against the cage-like partition. "hergh!" he growled savagely as he began to gather himself up slowly, glowering at stan the while and muttering threats. but the next minute he uttered a yell and sprang to his feet, but only to fall back, with his head giving a heavy, resounding rap against the bamboo uprights, where stan saw that it was held tightly, while his big, round face, turned towards the spectators of his trouble, was wrinkled up into distortions caused by fear and pain. for the moment stan was puzzled, and the more so at seeing the other two begin roaring with laughter as their companion continued to yell for help, while they stamped about the prison, thumping the butts of their spears upon the open floor. "why doesn't he get up?" thought stan. a strange, snarling, growling noise gave the explanation. it was just such a sound as would be given out by a hound worrying a fox, and now it was that stan grasped what had happened. for the enraged monkey had seen its opportunity when its tormentor had fallen and the back of his head struck the partition; it had darted its long, sinewy hand and arm through, and snatched them back, drawing soldier's pigtail into the den. then, with a snarl of triumph, a grab was made with the other hand and feet, the steel-trap-like jaws closed upon the thickest part of the plait, and holding on with bulldog-like tenacity, and more than double that animal's strength, the fierce little creature growled and worried and tore away till stan's rage evaporated in something very much like enjoyment of the victim's discomfiture. "well done, monkey!" he said to himself, and then waited to see the termination of the encounter. one thing was very evident, and that was the impossibility of the man freeing himself, for at every struggle to draw the tail from the little animal's grasp, and any increase of the distance between the imprisoned head and the bars, there was a fierce, worrying noise, and the monkey made a bound back which drew the head against the bars with a heavy thump, to the increase of the man's agony, as it forced from him fresh yells for help and more laughter from his companions. this went on and on, the sufferer running up and down a whole gamut of appeals, cries that were doubtless chinese oaths hurled at his friends, threats of what he would do to the monkey, and orders to stan--at least they seemed to be, for he stared furiously at the lad as he shouted, and at last so piteously in the midst of a savage worrying, which sounded as if the monkey was beginning to tear at the sufferer's head, that stan's compassion was moved, and he went forward to try and get the man free. but the others dashed at him at once, and holding their spears horizontally, thrust him back, growling out what evidently meant "no, no, no!" and completely debarring the lad from giving any aid. at last, not from good fellowship, but from growing tired of the sport, the two soldiers began to lend an ear to their comrade's appeals; and after a little banter from one, and a few shouts from the other to the monkey, which seemed to stan to be incitements to the animal to go on worrying, a word or two passed between them, resulting in one picking up the water-pot, putting his spear in a corner, and stepping out into what seemed to be a passage. seeing this, a wild idea crossed stan's mind that now would be his time--that is, to seize the spear and make a dash for liberty. but he made no attempt, for he felt that a better chance must come, and he waited, to see the man step back directly with the heavy pot brim full. this he bore towards the sufferer, who yelled at him savagely, words which stan felt certain were a bullying, insulting order to make haste, for he saw the chinese aquarius exchange a malicious grin with his comrade, who stood leaning on his spear; and then the whole of the contents of the pot were discharged full at the partition, but with so mischievous an aim that the imprisoned head received a larger share than the monkey on the other side. but the result was freedom. once more the monkey uttered a shriek at the unexpected bath, and darted away, while its victim scrambled up, feeling at his tail, which was ragged and torn frightfully about six inches or a foot from his head. as the gallant warrior felt how terribly the noble appendage had been damaged, he burst forth into a piteous howl, and then literally blubbered with misery like a great, fat-headed booby of a boy. "oh, how-w!" he cried--"oh, how-w!" and once more his comrades stamped about and thumped the floor with their spear-ends in the exuberance of their delight. "i wish i thoroughly understood chinese," said stan to himself as, quite forgetting his own troubles, he listened to the crying soldier's string of reproach poured out upon his comrades, till, after wiping the water from his head and clothes, and feeling his tail again from end to end, the pause he made over the gnawed and tattered portion was too much for him. uttering a howl of rage, he dashed at his spear, seized it from where it leaned, made for the partition, and thrust the sharp point through. the monkey took this for a challenge, and uttered a chattering yell of defiance, while stan saw it advance bravely to meet the fresh assault. this could only have had one result, but the poor beast found an unexpected ally in stan, who stepped forward just in time. the spear was half its length through the bars, and on a level with the monkey's broad breast, as the soldier made his thrust, one which must have spitted the little, dwarfish creature through had not stan made a thrust at the same moment, diverting the man's aim. the result was that the spear met with no opposition, and the fierce energy with which the stroke at the monkey was made carried the soldier crash against the partition and within reach of the animal's hands, which passed through the bars, caught him by the ears, and held on for a moment or two--not more. for the man threw himself back with a yell of dismay, escaped, and, now more enraged than ever, turned upon stan with his spear. it would have gone hard with the lad, for the soldier was furious, but his comrades interfered with angry word and action, dragged the spear from him, and bundled him out of the place, before refilling the water-pot and half-filling the other vessel with cold boiled rice. while these proceedings were taking place stan attacked the two soldiers verbally with the best chinese he could command, assuring them that they had made a great mistake in arresting him, an englishman, bidding them find out what had become of wing, and ordering them to go straight to the merchant's house at the other side of the town to tell him of what had happened, and then inform the mandarin of the city, so that the speaker might be released at once. all of this the prisoner emphasised with great volubility. the two soldiers smiled and listened and nodded their heads, before going out and fastening the door after them, leaving poor stan with the determination upon him to wait patiently until the messages were delivered, but all the time with his heart sinking and his common-sense telling him that his present jailers had not grasped a word he said. "oh dear!" he cried bitterly; "they didn't understand a word. oh, dear! why didn't the doctor teach me chinese instead of all that latin and greek? they would have understood me then; while now i'm perfectly helpless, the brutes treating me just as if i were some newly discovered wild beast. whatever shall i do? "i know," thought the lad at last: "wait till it's dark. these bars are only bamboo, and it will be strange if i can't get through as soon as i set to work. and what then? why, the river! i must be able to find some boat or another. pooh! i'm not going to despair. "no," he added gloomily after a few moments' thought; "i can't go alone, and leave poor old wing in the lurch. he wouldn't leave me, i know. i will make for the farm. perhaps wing is over there after all, and for aught i know he may be following me up, and is perhaps hunting for me even now. there, i'm not going to be heart-sick and despairing. i shall get away back to the _hong_ after all." "tchack!" as stan talked to himself he was gazing at the prison door, but this sound brought him round in the other direction, to see a pair of bright brown eyes watching him, and the fierce chinese mountain monkey with its long, thin arm stretched through the bars. "hullo, savage!" cried stan aloud. "i'd forgotten you. nice game this, making me your companion. what do the contemptible brutes mean? to send us both to their wretched zoological gardens in peking? i should like to catch them at it! well, you're not handsome, but, my word, you are a plucky little chap! think of your tackling that great hulking john chinaman as you did! i say, though, it was nearly all over with you with that spear." "_tchack_!" said the monkey coolly. "say jack, if that's your name," said stan, smiling. "_tchack_!" "oh, very well! tchack! i say, though, who'd ever think that there was so much strength in that skinny arm? what do you want? you can't be hungry. want to shake hands?" "_tchack_!" said the monkey quietly, and it strained out its fingers as far as it could, while its fellow-prisoner could see that it was clinging to the upright bar with the hand-like feet. "want to shake hands?" said stan. "now, i wonder whether monkeys have sense enough to know the difference between friends and enemies. dogs do, of course, but you look a risky one. i've no tail for you to grab, but you might get hold of me and give me an uncomfortable grip. you might drag my hand through and bite and tear it horribly. perhaps, though, i'm as strong as you are, if it came to a tussle. yet i don't know; you are wonderfully powerful for such a little chap." "_tchack_!" "does that mean shake hands? well, i'm just in the humour to risk it. perhaps you do know i'm friendly, after all, for you don't look so fierce as you did." stan took a step or two nearer, bringing himself so close that he had only to raise his hand to take that of the fierce-looking little animal; while it was now light enough for him to see every twitch and wrinkling of its restless forehead as its eyes searched his keenly. then he waited, occupying the time in calculating his chances. "if i do let him grip my hand," he said to himself, "and he tries to drag it between the bars, i have only to plant a foot against the bars and hold back. he can't get at me to bite unless i let him drag my hand right through, and i'm not going to be such a coward as to shrink. i've been kind to the little brute, and fed him. all animals are ready to be friends with those who feed them, so here goes." but here did not go, for another thought struck the lad, and he gave utterance to it. "what nonsense!" he said. "i'd better think of making my escape instead of trying experiments with monkeys. i might give him a little more to eat, though. perhaps that's what he wants after all." stan stood blinking his eyes at the monkey, and the monkey blinked its eyes at him. "hungry?" he said aloud. "_tchack_!" was the reply. "not much of a conversationalist for a fellow-prisoner," said stan, laughing; and stooping quickly, he caught up the two chopsticks, dug a portion of the rice from the pot, and held it out. "here you are," he said. the twitching of the animal's face was wonderfully quick, and its eyes twinkled as it stared at its new companion, but for a few minutes it made no offer to take the rice. "aren't you hungry?" cried stan. "_tchack_!" was the reply, as the hand moved delicately, a couple of fingers pinching off a few grains, which were raised to the animal's nostrils, snuffed at, and then crumbled so that they fell to the floor, while the hand remained outstretched. "not hungry? what does it mean, then--a trap?" there was no reply, and after pitching back the chopsticks into the pot, stan looked the animal full in the eyes, stood well on the alert, quite ready to plant his right foot against one of the bamboo bars, and then very slowly let his hand go down till it lay in the long, narrow, outstretched palm. it was the crucial moment then, and hard work to keep from snatching it away, for the long, thin fingers closed over it gently but tightly. but that was all. the animal breathed heavily--it sounded like a sigh--but there was no sharp flashing of the keen brown eyes, only a softened look as they blinked gently; and the fierce little beast just held on as if it enjoyed having company and being talked to, for, perhaps oddly enough, the satisfied feeling began to be mutual, and in what followed the english lad seemed as if he were taking his fellow-prisoner into his confidence in an apologetic way. "seems stupid to make friends with a savage monkey," he said slowly; and as he spoke he began to softly manipulate the long, thin fingers. "i don't see why. a fellow would not be long in taking up with a strange dog if he were locked up alone as i am. he'd be precious glad of the chance, and you seem ever so much more intelligent than a dog. like that?" "that" was a gentle pressure of the hand; but there was no reply, so stan went on talking gently: "i wish you were a dog, old chap--our dog, so that i could write a note, tie it to your collar, and send you off with it to the _hong_. as a monkey, you must have more gumption than a dog; but if i did tear a leaf out of my pocket-book, write a message on it, and then tie it to your neck, do you know what you'd do?--no, you don't.--well, i'll tell you. you'd take it and pick it all into little pieces, and perhaps chew them up. that's about what you'd do; but i dare say i could teach you in time. "well," continued stan after a short pause, "i don't believe you mean to bite. let's see if i can't make you feel that you can trust me." it was venturesome, and stan half-expected to see the hand snatched away, for he did see the eyes open more widely and begin to flash; but he went on with what he purposed doing, slowly and quietly raising his left hand, noticing that he was carefully watched, till it was just beneath the one he held. then he supported it with his left hand, and began to stroke it gently with his right, smoothing the long, hairy fingers; and as this went on there was another soft, long-drawn sigh, and the animal's eyes nearly closed. "there!" said stan suddenly; "that's lesson the first. now i'm going to see if there is a way out of this horrible dog-hole." he released the hand, and walked quickly away along the front bars, peering through into the yard, but seeing nothing but blank wall, and then crossed to the door, to stand listening. but he had not been there many seconds before the monkey uttered an uneasy whine, bounded up the bars of the partition, sprang across to those at right angles, bounded back again higher up, and then, with wonderful activity, lowered itself down, clung fast, and thrust a hand through again. "oh, but i can't keep on with that game!" said stan cheerily. "here, i'll take hold again for a minute. then i must sit down and think. no; i'll try if i can eat some of that horrible rice." he went boldly up to the partition this time, and without hesitation took hold of the monkey's hand, saw that it was supporting itself by clutching the bars with its feet, and the next moment two hands were thrust through, ready to be patted and held, a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction being uttered; and as stan gazed in the intelligent brown eyes, he was ready to declare that the animal smiled. "well, it hasn't taken long to get to be friends with you, old chap," he said. "there! that will do. i'm going to have my breakfast now." dropping the two hands, he stepped back to the two pots; and as soon as his fellow-prisoner was released it began to bound about the great cage with marvellous agility, snuffling, panting, and snorting, and ending by leaping at the partition, clutching the bars, and holding on, while it watched in perfect silence as stan took a hearty draught of the water and then sat down with the rice-pot between his knees and began to eat the tasteless, unsatisfactory mess. a few minutes later, when the prisoner looked up, his wild companion in adversity was out of sight--but not out of hearing, for from somewhere, apparently at the top, a peculiar tearing and crackling sound began. sometimes it was a mere gnawing such as might have been made by a rat; then there would be a pause, followed by a sharp crack as a piece of cane was being ripped off. but stan could see nothing, and coming to the conclusion that the monkey was amusing itself by tearing at some piece of board, he went on with his wretched breakfast, paying no heed till a couple of loud cracks came in succession, followed by quick footsteps and the unfastening of the door. at the first sound of steps the noise ceased; and as the door was flung open and a couple of soldiers stepped hurriedly in, the prisoner looked up from his mess of rice to find that they were looking at him curiously, then round the place, till, apparently satisfied by seeing how peacefully their charge was employed, they drew back and shut the door, when silence once more reigned. chapter thirteen. "the uproar was tremendous." that day passed wearily away, but there were a couple more visits from the jailers, who looked at the prisoner curiously before going back. at the second visit they brought more rice and water--nothing more--and to all stan's questions about wing, the mandarin, and the merchant to whom he had sent a message, there was nothing but a dull, stolid, exasperating stare, and then once more he was left. twice over there was the cracking and tearing sound as if the monkey was working away at the wood, but with darkness all was silent within the gate-tower. plenty of sounds arose from outside, but the prison was evidently right at the back, and the trampling and voices heard from time to time seemed far away. that night sleep was long in coming, for stan had much thinking to do, and he carefully examined his prison while the monkey clung to the bars asleep. as far as he could make out, there was not much prospect of escape. by working hard stan felt that he could perhaps have succeeded in getting through into the monkey's partition, but nothing would apparently be gained by that, and he sank into a moody fit, full of discontent at his ill-fortune, wishing that he had refused to come up the country, and that he had stayed with father and uncle; ending by working himself up into a low, despondent state, from which he was released by sleep. three days dragged their slow course along without change. plenty of soldiers came in with the jailers to stare at him, and from time to time parties of men and women were admitted to the narrow yard, where they divided themselves between staring at him and the monkey, till the lad grew at times half-maddened. "oh," he groaned to himself, "the miserable, conceited brutes! to be treated like a curiosity! i believe they look upon me as no better than that monkey. well," he added mockingly, "it's only fair. i don't look upon them as being as good. poor wretch! how every one teases and ill-uses it! i wish he'd do one of the miserable cowardly wretches some harm." but as time went on in a horribly monotonous state of imprisonment, stan noted that, in spite of the way in which the soldiery prodded and struck at the poor beast with their spear-shafts, it seemed less vicious. when he and the monkey were free from interruption, its great delight was to come to the bars of the cage and thrust out its long, thin arm, while if stan would take its hand it was perfectly still and happy. what it was doing up by the top of the bamboos stan could not make out, but from the beautifully white, sharp state of its two great rows of teeth, the lad came to the conclusion that it was following the example of carnivorous animals and sharpening and cleaning them upon the woodwork; but after that hurried visit from the men when stan first heard the cracking and splintering noise, they came no more save at regular times, when they made sure that he was safe, and treated all his attempts to make himself understood as if he were some lower-class animal kept for show. and during the next two days this seemed to be more and more the case, for the soldiers kept on ushering in common-looking country-people, till at one time the yard was nearly full of gaping spectators, for whose delectation the monkey would be sent bounding about its cage, flying up the bars in front to avoid the shaft of some spear thrust in brutally, but, in spite of rapid strokes, rarely striking it. for the active little creature made prodigious leaps, or swung itself from side to side by its long, thin, muscular arms; and as often as not it scrambled up the partition bamboos to take refuge in the corner farthest from the front, to hold on in full view of stan, keeping itself in position close to the roof by clinging with both arms round a couple of the bamboos, its head being thrust away in the extreme angle. there it would stick, well out of reach of the soldier who played showman, till the spectators were turned out of the yard, when it would suddenly snatch its head out of its nook, turning it sharply to look down and listen, keeping quite motionless and on the _qui vive_ to hide itself ostrich fashion if there was another sound; but if not, it would hold on by the two bamboos with all four hands and shake them savagely, making them rattle again, snarling and chattering savagely at its fellow-prisoner, and snapping its sharp ivory trap-jaws as if to show how it would bite if it had a chance, before uttering its favourite cry, _tchack_! "poor old chap!" stan always said. "i should like to see you get loose among them." no sooner had he spoken than the quaint-looking little creature loosened its hold slightly and slid down the two bars, to squat at the bottom and thrust one hand into stan's compartment, reaching in as far as possible for it to be taken, when it held on tightly, drooping its head as if enjoying the sympathy shown for it. but not for long. suddenly drawing its hand back, it began to trot like a dog about its cage, to keep on picking up, examining, and smelling the scraps of food and fruit that had been thrown in by the people, stopping to eat some tempting piece, before scrambling up the bars again to the corner nearest the front, where the cracking and tearing noise went on again in the part of the cage beyond the reach of stan's eyes. there had been more visitors than usual, with a fresh jailer to play the part of showman, and while some of the people stood gaping stupidly at stan, the monkey was hunted about till those who watched it were tired, when it took refuge out of reach, refusing to come down. upon this the party shifted their attention to stan, joining the rest in their miserably stupid, gaping stare, which exasperated the lad into imitating the monkey's tactics and turning his back in the far corner, but of course on the floor. instead of doing good, stan found it result in harm, for a most irritating form of annoyance began, the people beginning to take aim and pelt him with oranges, bananas, and pieces of bread-cake; all of which the prisoner, who was simmering with wrath, ignored, declining to make a spectacle of himself, and remaining quite motionless till he felt a heavy dig in his back. this made him turn sharply, to find that his fresh custodian was reaching in as far as he could, holding his spear by the extreme end of the shaft, and poking at him with his cheek close against the bars and one hand extended to the full extent of his arm. "beast!" growled stan, with a jerk forward, as he flung out his arm; and the next moment, as much to his own surprise as to that of his jailer, he had caught hold of the spear-head and jerked the weapon out of the man's hand. the little crowd uttered a yell of delight and excitement, while the soldier burst forth into a torrent of bad--chinese--language, leaping about, shaking his fist at the prisoner, and evidently threatening what he would do if the spear was not handed back on the instant. but this last affront had made stan regularly boil over, and a fresh yell came in chorus from the crowd as they saw him swing the spear round to make a thrust at the owner, who shrieked aloud as he darted back, while the swift drawing of the spear-shaft across the bamboos made every one in the yard utter a yell of dismay and begin tumbling one over the other to reach the yard door; an example followed by the gallant warrior, whose speed was hastened, and who began thumping the backs of those who hindered, when stan thrust the spear out between the front bars and gave him a few digs in the back. the uproar was tremendous, and increased by the excitement of the monkey, who, upon seeing his friend armed with the instrument used for torturing him, began to bound about, leaping at and shaking the bars, and chattering savagely, till the last of the occupants of the yard had escaped by the door, which was banged to. then, seeing that stan had drawn in the spear again to stand upon his guard, the monkey stopped short too, watching him, and, like his companion, gazing hard at the inner door, beyond which there was a fierce buzz of voices, the shuffling of feet, and other sounds which announced the coming of more soldiers to disarm the prisoner. but stan felt in no humour for being disarmed. there was something invigorating in feeling possessed of a weapon, and at the first indications of the prison door being opened he stepped back, drove the head with a thud into the wood, snatched it back, and then, after a step to the rear, he brought the stout elastic shaft across the door with an echoing bang, which had the double effect of silencing and putting to flight the braves in the passage and making the monkey shriek, chatter, and rattle the bars in a way that helped the retreat. "hah!" ejaculated stan as he stood with the spear-head lowered ready to make a thrust at the first man who appeared. "let them come. i don't care now." this was a fact, for the lad had grown reckless, and determined to attack, extra nerved as he was by the thought that if he made a bold charge with the spear the chinese soldiers would turn tail, and if he followed them up he might in the confusion escape. but he neither charged nor escaped, for the simple reason that the door was not unfastened; and after waiting for some time stan came to the conclusion that the chinese braves would not attack, but would probably try to starve him into a state of submission--thoughts which became strengthened later on. after waiting some time, watching the inner door alternately with that which opened out of the yard, stan turned to speak to the monkey. "hullo, tchack! did i frighten you?" he said. but there was no reply, and no fellow-prisoner in sight, the poor beast being so much alarmed by seeing the torturing spear in the hands of its friend that it had climbed up the bars into its favourite place out of sight, and declined to be coaxed down. the time went on, and no one returned to the yard, or even ventured, as far as stan could make out, into the passage; so that the afternoon and evening were passed with the prisoner in the novel position of guard, playing sentry, and waiting for the next jailer to attack. chapter fourteen. "it's all over!" night had long taken the place of day, and sound after sound in the great gate-house had put stan on the alert; but no one had come to the door, and as he rested upon the spear-handle the prisoner underwent pains which endorsed his ideas that he was to be starved into submission. in fact, he grew so hungry that all his pride died out, and in the darkness he humbled himself so that he was glad enough to allay his starving pains by seeking for and picking up some of the fruit and scraps of cake that had been thrown to the strange foreign devil, or wild beast, that the guard of the gate had on view. "oh, it's horrible to come down to this!" muttered stan as, tired out with standing in spite of the support from the spear-shaft, he sat down and ate sparingly just enough, as he put it, to keep himself from feeling faint. but he was terribly hungry, and cake, bread, bananas, and an orange proved, in spite of being gleaned from the cage floor, not bad; so that he did not content himself with enough to keep him from feeling faint, but unconsciously ate heartily, and felt much better. his spirits began to rise, and after a good, hearty draught from the water-pot, which, fortunately, he had not exhausted, he was so far from being starved into submission that he cut something very much like a caper as he threw himself into an attitude with the spear, looked in the direction of the doorway, and crying, "come on!" muttered afterwards, as he made a thrust at an imaginary enemy, "oh, how i should like to serve some of you out for this!" he listened, but there was not a sound to be heard. then he seated himself with his back to the side-wall, so that he commanded the open partition facing him, the door being to his right, and the front of the cage to his left, while he held the spear ready for action across his knees. "they'll wait till they think i'm asleep," he muttered, "and then pounce on me. but i'm not going to sleep, and if any one does come sneaking in he'll have a prick from this spear that will send him out quicker than he came in. wonder what father would think if he could see me now! and uncle jeff. i wish he were here. no, i don't. i shouldn't like any one i know to be in such a predicament. i say, i don't feel frightened, for they are cowards and no mistake. fancy their being ready to run from a boy like me! they won't dare to hurt me, because i'm english. i'd give something, though, to have poor old wing here. i do hope he has escaped--'scaped--i'd--'scape--hah-h-h-h!" this last very softly, and then stan heard no more, for weariness and his large meal had proved too much for him. he was fast asleep. he was not wide awake when he sprang to his feet with spear levelled, ready to drive it at the first chinese soldier who made a rush at him from the door he believed to have been burst open with a sharp, crackling sound. the thrust was not delivered, because no one made a rush; in fact, all was perfectly still. and when, after a long pause, during which his imagination had been very busy peopling the dark cage with crouching enemies in various corners waiting for their opportunity to spring at him, he began cautiously to make little pushes with the steel point here and there, without result and ended by advancing softly towards the open door, to be checked by the spear bringing him up short with the point in the wood, it began to dawn upon him not only that the door was shut, but that he must have been asleep. "how queer!" he muttered. "i was perfectly certain that the door was burst open, and i'm sure i heard a crackling sound." thoroughly satisfied, after a little feeling, that the door was close shut, he turned round to face the bars, finding that while all elsewhere was pitch-dark, there was a faint suggestion of light there; inasmuch as he could just make out the black bamboo bars with the darkest of grey streaks between them, clearly enough cut save in one place, where, high up, there was a big blur. he stood with his heart still beating heavily, consequent upon the startling manner in which he had been awakened. and as he stood gazing with eyes whose pupils were dilated in the darkness, that blur, high up towards the top of the bars, seemed to wear a familiar shape, which idea grew and grew upon him to such an extent that he tried to give it a name, and said softly: "tchack!" he was right, for in an instant it began to glide down the bars like a couple of the beads on a scholastic numeration frame, reaching the bottom lightly, to utter the same word. "why, however did you get out there?" said stan excitedly. "what nonsense! i'm looking at the side instead of the front." he turned sharply, extended his hand, and the next moment touched the partition bars, and grew more confused. "it isn't the side," he muttered; "this is the side; and that is the front, by the light coming there. have you got out, tchack?" stan's heart beat fast at the idea, for it was full of suggestions of escape. but a soft, peculiar sound changed the current of his thoughts, and looking to his left, he was conscious of the dark blur passing quickly up to the top of the bamboo bars, and passing horizontally along; then, as the blur died out in the darkness, he heard the monkey come closer, working itself high up from bar to bar of the partition against which he stood, and glide swiftly down, brushing his breast with one hand as it dropped to his feet. _tchack_! it said softly, and the next moment the thin, sinewy hand was foraging about him to get at his, into which it nestled, and the poor animal uttered a low, heavy sigh of content. for some minutes stan could only think in a puzzled, confused way, feeling that he must be dreaming; but at length things settled themselves in an orderly way in his brain, till it became perfectly clear to him that the monkey must have some way out of the top of its cage which enabled it to pass along to his place. if so, he reasoned, the yard must be open to it; and if it could get into the yard, it was quite possible that it could get through the doorway or over the wall; and if so, it was probable that it could get into some court or lane by the gate-house. if the monkey could do this, he argued directly after, why could not he? and now he could think clearly, his reason suggested that the crackling and splintering noise he had so frequently heard must have been caused by the animal trying to gnaw its way out, the noise which woke him having been made during the final efforts. stan's heart began to beat faster and his ideas to flow more freely. he wondered now why it had not all seemed clear to him at once, for it was evident that if he could get through the partition and into the monkey's cage, there was the way open for him also to escape. he had never troubled himself about the bars between him and his fellow-prisoner. why should he have done so? he did not want to escape from one cage to the next. but now he recalled that the bamboos were smaller than those in front; a few touches of his hand confirmed this, and withdrawing the other from the monkey's grasp, he seized two of the bars, and the animal sprang up them at once. "oh, if i could only climb like you!" said stan to himself as he went from bar to bar, trying them and giving them a shake, when, after a few trials, to his surprise he heard one of those he held creak in a peculiar way; and upon seizing it with both hands, to his astonishment and delight he found it give way with a sharp crack, the middle having been gnawed through, while, climbing up a little, he was able to use it lever fashion and wrench it so much on one side that in another minute he managed to force himself through and stand in the place from which the monkey had escaped. it is only the first step that costs, the french say in their proverb, and stan found it so here. after a time he was able to make out what the monkey did to escape, for, close up in the left corner, he made out that instead of the bars looking regular black streaks against the grey light, there was one large, ragged patch of grey; and upon climbing up, by clinging leg helped, to a couple of the bars, he soon reached the top, where one had been gnawed right through and was now a splintery, sharp mass of fibres. here, after some difficulty and a good deal of tearing, stan managed to get through and slide down outside the bamboos, to drop the next minute into the yard. it seemed too good to be true, and he paused in doubt to look round for and speak to the monkey; but he could not make out where it was, and he had no time to spare. there was no sound of sentry near, no sign of danger; so, making for the gateway, he found it possible to climb, and soon reached the top of the wall in which it was placed. still no sound--nothing but darkness around; and thoroughly strung up now, the lad lay flat on the wall for a few moments, before lowering his legs, hanging at full length, and then dropping, to come down heavily upon rough paving-stones, but with the delight thrilling through him contained in the thought that to some extent he was now free. he hesitated for a few moments, listening and looking to right and left, thinking of the dark and devious lane along which he had passed with wing upon that unlucky morning, and wondering whether he could retrace his steps. but he felt that it would be madness to attempt it; and besides, his one great idea was to reach the river, feeling sure that sooner or later he would find an empty boat moored somewhere, and once on board that, he felt that he would be safe. he had determined to start off and follow the first turning he came to, in the hope of reaching the riverside before daylight, when something seemed to induce him to look up. his blood began to turn cold, for there on the wall above, dimly seen in the darkness, he could make out the head of some one intently watching his every movement. it was for life and liberty that, giving a violent start, he dashed off; breathing freely the next minute, for he realised the fact that he had been watched by his dumb fellow-prisoner, the monkey starting as violently as he did at the first movement, and disappearing instantly into the precincts of the prison. for the moment stan felt as if, owing so much as he did to the quaint-looking animal, he would have liked to coax it to follow him; but common-sense told him that he would be wasting valuable time, and perhaps sacrificing the liberty he was on the point of securing, so he kept right on, feeling damped by the fresh thought that perhaps he was on the wrong side of the great city-wall. "can't help it," he said; "there is no choice. this one may turn out the best." in the spirit of this thought he hurried along the narrow lane, which was so dark that he could hardly pick his way, and seeing nothing but that it was shadowed by low-roofed, overhanging houses, whose occupants were so far silently asleep; but from the way in which house and _hong_ followed one another, he felt what he had noted when with wing, that the city must be densely populated, and that he must find some hiding-place before daybreak. he tramped on for quite a couple of hours through what seemed to be a deserted city, doubling here and there, but without a sign of the main artery he sought, till, just as he was in despair and ready to sink with weariness and the thought that all his toil had been in vain--for the tops of the houses were beginning to show clearly against the grey sky-- he came upon a wider turning. glancing hesitatingly down it to see if it offered anything like a hiding-place, he rushed forward at once; for there, stretching to right and left, was the black, flowing river, with big junks moored close together, and beyond them and the smaller boats crowding the stream were the house-boats and dwellings by the farther shore. a couple of minutes later stan was on the hither bank, hurrying by boat after boat, but all too big to be manageable; and he kept on and on, feeling that he had not a minute to spare, for at any moment early risers might be on the move, and the sight of a fugitive english lad would be sufficient to raise a shout--and a hue and cry to hunt him down. "it's all over!" he groaned to himself suddenly; and he made a dart forward to get in the shelter of a great junk aground right up to the bank, for all at once he heard the splash of an oar, and a boat was being pushed off from the far side, looking wonderfully plain now in the fast-broadening dawn. it was for liberty, so there was no time to put in practice the familiar old proverb of "look before you leap," stan was running as he placed the stranded junk between him and the rowers, so he made a bound as he reached the lowest part midway between the high bows and the towering stern, springing from a rough kind of wharf on to the junk's deck, which seemed to be about a couple of feet lower than the wharf. the leap was nerved by despair; he had a good take-off, and for a brief moment or two he saw flowing water below him; then he came down on the rough bamboo deck. there was a soft, crushing sound, and he went through some of the rotten wood down into darkness, to fall upon his side and lie motionless, looking up at the grey, ragged patch he had made, and holding his breath as he listened for the coming of the boatmen, who must have heard the noise. chapter fifteen. "chinese men-of-war." stan lynn lay holding his breath and straining his ears, till he uttered a hoarse gasp, and all the while the murmur of voices and the plashing of an oar came nearer and nearer. then the sounds were so close that he raised himself a little to look round for some hiding-place in the depths of the vessel, and then dared not stir. but all at once, just as he felt that the boat must be alongside, relief came in a hearty laugh uttered by one of the boatmen, the plash, plash, plash of the oar grew more distant, and he let nerve and muscle relax till he felt limp and helpless ready to do nothing but lie panting amongst the rotten wood, resting and trying to recover his failing powers. the light overhead increased, and as his eyes wandered here and there he could see bright cracks and rifts in the deck and high up in the sides, all evidences that he had found a sanctuary in some dilapidated, half-rotten junk which had been drawn close inshore ready for breaking up, its services being evidently at an end. the morning grew brighter, and fresh sounds of plashing came near, tempting him to creep through the half-darkness to where the first gleams of the morning sun streamed through a rift in the side. upon reaching it and applying his eyes, he found that he could command a good view of the river to right, left, and across, with the water becoming animated, boats large and small passing and repassing, the opposite shore waking up, and smoke beginning to rise from the house-boats moored close to the bank, and all the morning business of a great city appearing around. if only the old junk were left alone, stan felt that he might lie in hiding till night. there might be a possibility of his marking down some boat, and as soon as it was dark wading or swimming to it, when, if he could loosen it from its moorings and secure the mast, sails, or oars, escape would be simplicity itself. but, as the lad argued, there were so many _ifs_. "but i oughtn't to grumble," he muttered. "i have got out of the prison, and i am here in a capital hiding-place where nobody is likely to come." just about the time when he had come to this conclusion a waft of some peculiar odour from food being cooked seemed to float down the river and reach his nostrils, producing a sensation that was repeated again and again with increasing violence, till the poor fellow uttered a low moan of misery. "if this goes on i shan't be able to bear it," he muttered; and then, setting his teeth hard, he groaned out through them, "i must--i must. oh, what a coward i am! i've only got to wait till it's dark, and then surely i can land and find something somewhere." but even as he tried to console himself with these words, he felt more and more hopeless, not seeing for a moment where he was to search, and all the time suffering more and more keenly. for in all directions smoke was rising from the hundreds upon hundreds of house-boats that lined the shores, as well as from the many one-storied houses clustering together, and a strange mingling of the most maddening scents came floating around--literally maddening to one whose sole sustenance for many hours had been a couple of bananas and a piece of cake. it was all so horribly civilised, too. the fugitive was in far-away asia, but his nostrils were assailed with the steam of fragrant tea, freshly roasted coffee, newly baked bread, frying fish, and appetising bacon. no wonder the starving lad called it maddening as he crouched down in the darkness and tried to think of other things. before long, however, he had something else to take his attention, for a procession of nearly a dozen huge junks came slowly down the stream, each with its leering, painted eyes and gay dragon-like gilded ornamentations. they were full of men armed with spear, fork, and trident, besides in parts bristling with matchlock barrels, while fore and aft the watcher could see that they carried big service-guns. "chinese men-of-war, full of soldiers!" stan mentally exclaimed; but only to alter his opinion directly, for he had some little experience of the government troops, and knew that the men all wore a grotesque kind of uniform. they were not merchant-vessels, he thought, for though many of the trading-junks carried armed men, those before his eyes were out of all proportion. "could they be pirates?" he asked himself; but the sight of the leading junk casting anchor in midstream--an example followed by the rest--put an end to his surmises, for they were evidently at peace with the people in the vessels about them and on shore, many landing and mingling with the men who came to the sides and crowded in boats about the anchored vessels to supply them with food. so much was going on all about him in this latter way that every now and then stan felt that, come what might, he must land and seek for something, even if it was only a loaf of bread, to appease his hunger; but he knew it meant surrendering his liberty, for there would be a crowd round him at once; while doubtless by this time it was known that the foreign devil had escaped: stan watched till the morning was well advanced, longing for the night to come even though the sun was not yet at its height, while now a fresh agony assailed him; the rugged deck overhead began to get hotter and hotter, and the air about him suffocating, till at last he felt that at all hazards he must crawl up and trust to his not being seen while he crept to some spot where the remains of the lofty stern would act the double part of shading him from the sun and the curious eyes of those who passed. there are limits to human endurance. stan had not slept for above an hour during the previous night, and the bodily and mental toil he had gone through were tremendous. hence it was that when his sufferings were at the worst, the faintness produced by his hunger and the heat more than he could bear, a half-delirious kind of insensibility stole over him--half-stupor, half-sleep--which tided him over the hottest part of the day, rendering him oblivious to all that was going on, till he awoke suddenly, to find, to his amazement, that it was twilight in his hiding-place, and on looking out through a rift he could see the river glowing like blood from the reflection of the sunset clouds. in his excitement at the beauty of the scene which met his eyes lower down the river, he clapped his hands together, and had hard work to refrain from shouting aloud, merely standing gazing out through the open rift in the planking, and feeling giddy now in his joy. hunger and heat were forgotten, and he gazed out till his eyes grew dim and he had to make an effort to avoid yielding to the giddiness and swimming which attacked his head. strange that one in such a terrible position should feel such ecstasy upon seeing a glorious vision in the sunset beauties of that far-eastern river? not at all. stan lynn was in no sentimental mood to be moved to such excitement by a few orange-and-gold clouds reflected in the water, or the gay aspect of the thronging people haunting the great warlike junks still moored higher up. stan's beautiful vision was something far more simple. it was that of a lad of about his own age seated in a _sampan_ which he had moored about a hundred yards lower down the stream. there he was, sitting alone, unnoticing and unnoticed save by the watcher in the crumbling junk's hull, who saw him pull up a silvery fish, and then, after putting it into a basket between his feet, proceed to rebait his hook and cast it in again. was it hunger, then, which produced a longing for a few raw fish? again nothing of the kind. as stan's eyes lighted upon that small boat, which seemed to have a little mast and matting sail laid with the oars and pole projecting over the stern, the idea had struck him that this was exactly the kind of boat for which he longed. could he but gain possession thereof and get rid of the boy who was fishing, while retaining his lines and bait, the _hong_, no matter how many days' journey distant, was within easy reach; and hence when stan clapped his hands it was after coming to the determination that he would have that boat at all costs. but how? chapter sixteen. "oh!--hah!" "where there's a will there's a way," says the old proverb. it is not quite true, but there's a great deal of truth in it; and stan had made up his mind how to gain possession of the boat almost before the boy had caught another fish. the first idea was to wait till it was quite dark, so that his proceedings might not be seen by people in the many boats or from either shore; but he dared not wait, for at any moment the boy might be satisfied with the fish he had caught--scores, for aught stan could tell--pull up his anchor, and row ashore, and the chance of getting the means of reaching the _hong_ would be gone. what he did must be done at once, stan concluded, and he prepared to act. fortune was favouring him, for the boat swung by a rope from the bows, and the boy was at the other end, facing the stern, over which he hung his line. and consequently he was sitting with his back to him who was planning the onslaught upon his peace. stan's thoughts ran fast as he watched through the gap in the side of the junk and completed his plans, getting them so compact and clear that at last, as the boy fished on, it seemed as if he had nothing to do but make a start and succeed; but when at last he was quite strung up to the sticking-point, obstacle after obstacle began to appear and suggest impossibilities. he was safely hid in the hold of the junk, but the moment he appeared on deck in his white flannels he would be a mark for every eye, from the crews on the high poops and sterns of the great junks to the people on the house-boats and shore, as well as the busy folk paddling here and there in the little _sampans_ which were constantly on the move up, down, and across the river. he seemed to hear the shout raised, "foreign devil!" and to see the fishing boy, warned thereby, jumping up in his boat, pulling up the little wooden anchor, and rowing out of his reach, while scores of eager people joined in to hunt him down. stan's venture seemed to become more and more mad, and he breathed hard, feeling that he must give it up. but there was the river before him, one wide-open way, flowing down and ready to bear him onward night and day toward his friends. but he wanted the boat, and the only way was to seize it--steal it, he told himself, though he comforted himself with the thought that he was a prisoner trying to escape from his enemies, and that such a reprisal would be just. "i must--i will do it," he panted. "oh, i wish i wasn't such a coward to hesitate like this!--and there's another fish. he must have caught enough to leave me a good meal, and i am so, so hungry! now then! once to be ready!" he muttered, with his old school-games rising before him. "twice to be steady!" he paused here long enough to see the boy hook and draw in another fish, then bait again, and-- stan was in agony, for the boy hesitated, paused to pick up a basket and examine its contents, and then he seemed as if he were satisfied and about to haul up his anchor and make for the shore. "too late!" groaned stan. "i ought to have tried before. it's all over. i must look out for another boat." he was casting his eyes in other directions, when, with a feeling of relief that is impossible to describe, he saw the boy drop down again and continue fishing. stan's nerves and muscles were now like steel, and he began to crawl for the broken portion of the deck, got well hold of a cross-piece of bamboo with both hands, and commenced swinging himself to and fro from his hands till he could get one foot up, then the other, level with his face; and by a clever effort he raised himself so that he could, thanks to old gymnastic games at school, fling himself on to the unbroken part, where, after a few moments' pause, he began to crawl to the edge of the deck where the bulwarks had broken and rotted away. then, feeling that he must dare everything now, he lowered himself down, his feet sinking, and the water rising about him as he stretched his arms out till it was up to his hips. and there he hung, a white figure in the evening glow, right in view for a few moments, as he hesitated before making the final effort. "suppose he shows fight," he thought to himself. "well, i must show fight too. i've licked english chaps as big as myself, and it will go hard if i can't lick a chinese." at this point he straightened his fingers, which were crooked over a ragged piece of bamboo, and _plosh_! he went down feet first with a heavy, sucking noise; the water closed over his head with a deep, thundering roar, and keeping himself quite rigid and his eyes wide-open, he waited till, after what seemed an immensely long time in darkness, his head rose above the ruddy surface of the water, and he found that he had turned as the current carried him along, so that he was looking at the rotten old vessel he had left. stan was skilful swimmer enough to reverse his position, and found it none too soon, for there was the boat he sought to reach some forty yards away, and so much out of the course he was taking that he had to begin swimming till he was well in a line with his goal, but so much nearer that as he ceased striking out he was close upon the anchor-line. the next minute he had touched it gently, and at the happiest moment for his success, the boy having hooked a fish--a large one--which took up his attention so much that stan softly seized the bow with both hands, let his legs float on the swift current, and then by a quick effort drew himself well up and rolled over into the bottom of the boat, where he lay quite still beside the folded-up little matting sail. the boat rocked so that the owner looked sharply over his left shoulder, but not far enough to see the invader of his boat; and probably attributing the movement to his own exertions, he went on playing his big fish; while, reaching up his hands, stan got hold of the painter and began to haul, till, to his great delight, he weighed the little anchor, and saw that the stream was carrying them down. still the boy did not turn, but hauled away at his line and gave it out again, as if afraid that if he were too hard upon his prize it would break away. this went on for a good five minutes, till, apparently satisfied, the boy sank upon his knees and reached over the stern, hanging down so as to get a shorter hold, and ended by bringing the fish's head well within reach, and while holding on with his left hand, he crooked his right finger ready, so as to turn it into a gaff-hook. stan saw a part of what was going on, and suspected the rest, as he seized his opportunity to get hold of the anchor-stock. the next moment the fisher had raised himself up and swung a fish of some five pounds weight flop into the boat; while, as if acting by a concerted motion, stan reached over and swung in the little grapnel--the actions of the lads bringing them round, from being back to back, now face to face. _flop! flap! flap_! went the fish. _bang! bang_! went the anchor. "oh!" ejaculated the chinese lad, opening his mouth wide. "hah!" ejaculated stan, springing up to seize his adversary. but the latter did not wait to be seized. grasping the fact that the boat was gliding down-stream, and that he was face to face with a foreign devil, he raised his hands together well above his head and dived over the side in the easiest, most effortless way, gliding over like a blue seal blessed with a bald head and a big tail; when, as stan dropped down in the boat, keeping only his head over the side, he saw him rise again far enough behind, and begin swimming with all his might for the shore. stan had something else to do besides watch the boy. he had some knowledge of boat management, and felt that he must risk everything now in the way of being seen; so, seizing the little mast, he stepped it, hauled up the yard and with it the matting sail, found it easy enough to get in position, and in five minutes more, as he drifted rapidly down with the stream, he had the mat sheeted home, and an oar over the stern for rudder. with the evening breeze quite sufficient for the purpose, he found himself gliding rapidly down the river, able to steer while lying down upon his back pretty well out of sight, and not a sound behind announcing that there was any pursuit. "hah!" he panted out at last. "they'll have to come fast to catch me now. i wonder how far that poor fellow has to go before he can get help and another boat. oh! if it would only turn dark, i could escape. "what's that?" he ejaculated, raising his head; for there was a loud smack as if something had struck one of the planks of the boat, and he turned cold with a despairing feeling, being sure that something had happened to check his flight. but three or four more sharp spangs on the bottom of the craft enlightened him directly after, and he bore smilingly upon his oar so as to give a junk anchored in the river a wide berth, thinking the while of the shore lower down and a fire, if it was to be had, at which he could try his hand at cooking; for he knew with joy in his heart that the noise was made in the expiring efforts of what he meant to be his supper trying to leap over the side and failing dismally. "hah!" sighed stan again. "i never saw it turn dark so rapidly before. in another few minutes it will be impossible for any one to see me from the shore." in fact, as he glided abreast of the anchored junk he saw a man busy at work hoisting a great round yellow paper lantern to the mast-head, too busy to pay any heed to him; and soon after he could see light after light beginning to dot the broad surface of the stream. "i'm going to escape," cried the poor fellow exultantly. "oh, if i only can!" _flap_! said the fish softly, turning his thoughts into another groove. "yes, i hear you," said stan. "fish--roast fish must be as good as fried. i wonder whether there's a lantern anywhere on board. if there is there'll be--hooray! i've got my little silver box of matches in my revolver-pocket. i only wish i had my pistol too. but even if i hadn't got the matches, i could glide up quietly to one of those boats, lower down and steal a lantern in the dark, and slip away. "steal! yes, steal," he said, laughing bitterly. "that's the way these things grow. i begin by stealing the chinese soldiers' prisoner; then i steal a boat with a lot of fish; and now i'm thinking quite coolly of stealing a lantern. who'd ever have thought that i should turn out such a thief?" the fish gave one more flap, and lay still in the bottom of the boat like something of silver very dimly seen. "i'm horribly hungry," muttered stan; "but the boat goes splendidly, and i'll eat some of that fish raw before i'll run her ashore to make a fire. why not? i dare say it wouldn't taste bad, and i only want just enough to keep me alive. i shall eat a piece as soon as it's quite dead." an hour later he was tasting raw fish for the first time, and finding that it tasted very fishy indeed, but not more so than a big oyster just torn from its newly opened shell. chapter seventeen. "what's the matter?" the night proved to be brilliant, for the moon was nearly at its full, so that, the wind being favourable and the current swift, sunrise the next morning found the fugitive far beyond pursuit. there was not a boat in sight, and as far as he could see on either side stretched the wide-open country, from the winding river's banks right away to the distant hills; and when at times as the day wore on, with the boat gliding down fast, any craft came in sight, stan had his choice of sides to take on the great river, and naturally he hugged the shore opposite to that taken by the trading-junk or smaller boat. now and then he could see farm-buildings or clusters of village cottages, with an occasional pagoda. once he passed a more pretentious collection of houses, like a small town, but it was some distance up a stream that joined the river; and as he sailed farther on, it was into cultivated land where traces of inhabitants were very few. towards evening he took advantage of the fact that there was neither house nor boat in sight to run his little craft ashore where a patch of woodland came right down to the stream; and here in an opening he collected sufficient dead branches and twigs to make a fire, whose smoke was diffused among the boughs overhead, feeding it well till there were plenty of glowing embers, over which he roasted the best of his fish. he spent an hour or so in eating heartily and, after roasting, cooling down enough in a pot he found in the boat so as to have an ample supply for the next two days. grilled fish and cold river water seemed to ask for something else, but stan had plenty of strong young appetite, and he was ready to congratulate himself upon having done so well; and in excellent spirits he quenched the fire with the water-pot when he had done, and pushed off at once. that late afternoon and evening he sailed on till the moon was right overhead, when, feeling more secure, he made fast to a tree; and utterly unable to battle against an overpowering feeling of drowsiness, he slept in the bottom of the boat, with the matting sail for cover, till the morning sun was well up. that day, as he was passing a solitary house about a hundred yards from the bank, where he could see a couple of women at work in an enclosed field, he ran the boat inshore, the women in answer to his signs coming to the bank to stare at him. then by means of the little chinese he knew, and the offer of the figured white silk neckerchief he wore in exchange, he not only obtained a good supply of cake-bread and some eggs, but the women made him some tea before he pushed off again. encouraged by his success, he fished the next day, had excellent sport, and bartered some of his prizes at a house for a couple of dozen fine potatoes, whose fate it was later on to be roasted in the embers of one of his fires. and in this fashion, without any noteworthy experience, stan dropped down the river, losing count of the days in the monotony of the journey, but always obtaining a sufficiency of provisions of some kind or another in exchange for the plentiful supply of fish he caught in the evenings after sundown, or else for some portion of his clothes--for his watch, money, and knife had disappeared in the prison, he never knew how. in fact, the escape down the river, under the happy circumstances which fell to his lot, was simple in the extreme, it being easy enough to avoid the boats and junks he met, as well as the more inhabited parts of the shore. he kept a sharp lookout during the last three days, expecting every hour to catch sight of the great _hong_ towering up by the right bank of the river; but it was far longer than he expected before it appeared, and even then proved to be much more distant than he could have believed. at last, however, there it was, with a river-boat drawn up to the wharf, and by degrees he made out one of the big coolies; then lawrence, the foreman, came out of the office door, but he took no notice of the white figure in the little native boat when stan stood up and waved his hand. "why, i should have thought he would have known me directly," grumbled stan to himself. "ah! now we shall see," he cried joyously as a tall familiar figure came out, crossed the wharf, and stood talking to some one in the river-boat. stan waved his hand so excitedly now that he was seen, and he noted that the tall figure shaded its eyes and then turned to speak to one of the boatmen, who hurried in through the door of the warehouse and returned with something which the tall figure held up to its eyes. "he'll see me now," said stan to himself. he was right, for the next minute a hand was being waved by the manager, who stood ready to exchange grips with stan as he ran his boat up alongside the wharf and stepped ashore. that evening was passed in the relation of adventures and a discussion about the fate of wing. "i'm afraid--very much afraid--that he was killed by the savages," said stan sadly at last. "savages--cowardly savages!" cried blunt angrily. "but i don't know; old wing is a very slippery gentleman, and knows his way about pretty well. i'm not going to give him up for a bad job yet." "you think he has escaped?" said stan excitedly. "i hope so," was the reply. "things are not so bad as they might have been. you see that amongst the soldiery there is a feeling of respect for the english name." "respect!" cried stan indignantly. "you don't fully grasp how they treated me." "yes, i do, lynn; for they didn't kill you, and with people who hold life so cheaply that is saying a great deal. well, my lad, it has been an adventure that you will never forget, and i'm very glad you have escaped so well. you don't feel much the worse for it all?" "not in the least. but it's delightful to get to civilisation again, and i'm looking forward to lying in a clean bed once more. i shall sleep to-night after what you have said about wing." "i suppose so. but i say," continued blunt dryly; "wouldn't you have liked to bring that monkey away with you?" "i should," cried stan eagerly. "yes, of course; but it's as well not. i know those chaps. they're wonderfully strong and vicious. only safe in a cage. we couldn't have done with him here. i say, shouldn't you like to make one with me in an expedition to knock that prison to pieces?" "yes," cried stan eagerly. "could it be done?" "yes, if we went to war; but i dare say if proper application were made we could get compensation. we shall see i say, though, what about that gathering of war-junks you saw? not piratical craft, were they?" "i don't know," replied stan. "i had thought no more of them. i thought more, however, of that poor boy's boat that i took." "ah! that was a bit of an annexation. never mind; i'll send it back to the chinese merchants we deal with; they'll find out whom it belongs to." "'longs to," said stan slowly. "hullo!" cried blunt. "what's the matter? feel ill?" "hi? i--oh, i can't help it; i'm so stupidly sleepy i can't keep my eyes open, and i could hardly understand what you said last--so dreadfully drowsy i don't know what to do." "i'll tell you," said blunt, smiling. "do, please. go and bathe my face?" "no," said blunt. "off with you and tumble into bed." chapter eighteen. "not a bit dead." "what will you do about poor wing?" said stan the morning after his return, when he was out on the wharf, all the better for bed, bath, and breakfast. "wait," said blunt, frowning. "wait? in such an emergency, with the poor fellow regularly murdered?" "we don't know that yet, youngster," said the manager. "you did not see him murdered, and you did not see his body." "no; but--" "exactly; but i've known wing longer than you have. he is a very quiet fellow, but he is full of resource, and being amongst his fellow-countrymen, i think it very doubtful about his having been killed." "i only hope you are right," said stan; "but there was a desperate fight." "no--not desperate. you see that though you were one they looked upon as an enemy they did not kill you, and evidently never intended anything of the kind." "well, no; i don't think they meant to kill me." "i'm sure they did not. if they had, they would have done it. in fact, i hardly know why they took you at all. it seems to me more out of idle recklessness than anything else; a party of rough soldiery with nothing to do, and under very little control. they have some discipline, but it is very slight. it's a rarity for them to get any pay, even when they are on duty. there seems to have been a detachment hanging about the gate of the city, doing as they pleased, and dependent upon the people coming in to the market for their supplies. they saw you, a stranger, passing the place; and as there was no one to check them, they followed and pounced upon you." "but what for?" "ah! what for? i can only place one construction upon the act." "and what is that?" asked stan. "the one you suggested." "i? i suggested none." "yes--by your words. what did you say they did?" "nothing but behave to me in a very insulting way, and refuse to carry a message or fetch help." "yes, they did." "yes, i see what you mean. the insolent creatures! they treated me just as if i were another monkey." "to be sure; and made a show of you." "yes," said stan, beginning to swell with indignation. "brought no end of people into the yard beyond the bars of the prison grating." "and who were the people?" "oh, i don't know. rough-looking country-folk." "to be sure. people coming in from the country; and if we knew the truth of the matter, depend upon it, they took some toll in some kind of provisions for giving them a peep at the tchili monkey and the foreign devil they had caught." "oh, i say, mr blunt, don't!" cried stan quickly. "it's horrible. it's so degrading." "well, it was not pleasant, my lad," said the manager, smiling; "but you couldn't help its being degrading, and you gave them the slip." "but you'll send a report to my father and uncle, so that they can lay the matter before the consul?" "i will if you like; but if i do, it will be a very long business. it will be to maintain the english dignity, but only at the expense of a few poor wretches in a distant part of the country, who will be taken and bastinadoed--perhaps decapitated." "oh! i don't wish that," cried stan quickly. "whether you wish it or not it will be done, to quiet the foreign settlers and traders and to keep up our prestige. it may be right, only the mischief is that the right men will not be punished." "what! not the soldiers?" "no," said blunt; "they'll escape for certain. the mandarins will never catch them." "then i shouldn't like to feel that i had been the cause of the punishment of innocent people. but i do feel that such a crime as the murder of poor wing ought not to go unpunished." "so do i," said blunt; "and it must not. but, as i say, we don't know that he is dead yet." "but where is he?" "i don't know: let's wait a bit and see. it is quite possible that he is making his way back by land, as the boat was sent home, and it may be days yet before we see him. it is quite as possible that we may not see him for a long time, for he will be afraid to show his face here on account of losing you." "but he'll get to know that i escaped," cried stan. "some day, perhaps. then he'll come--delighted. let's wait, for it may be some days or weeks, hanging about as he will be in the country, which is terribly unsettled, as i have just learned, by a fresh incursion of pirates and disbanded soldiers. wait, my lad--wait. by-and-by perhaps i may be able to come down heavily upon one of the up-country mandarins for compensation; but we shall see. china is a place where matters move very slowly, and law and order are very seldom at home. i don't like the news at all that i have been hearing about what is going on up-country. it hinders trade, too. i'm very glad, however, that you are safely back, instead of being weeks wandering about from plantation to plantation." "then you feel pretty sure that wing is not dead?" "no, not pretty sure," replied blunt; "only very hopeful about his being alive. what do you think of that?" "that i feel much better satisfied. it would have been bad enough if any poor servant of the _hong_ had suffered, but horrible for wing to have come to so sudden an end. i liked wing." "so did--so do i," said blunt, correcting himself. "cheer up. he'll come along smiling some day, as soon as he hears you are back." something happened much sooner than either of the europeans at the _hong_ anticipated. the next day stan talked a good deal with lawrence, the foreman of the coolies, and several of the clerks about wing's absence, and could not find one who believed that the man was dead. "unless he has fallen amongst pirates," said lawrence. "that would be different. he had charge of you, and he lost you. _ergo_, as the old fellow in shakespeare says, he's afraid to meet mr blunt. i should feel just the same if i were mr wing." stan felt more encouraged still; and the very next morning, as he was going through the big warehouse, his attention was suddenly caught by a figure stepping out of a small _sampan_ which had just reached the side after crossing the river. "hi! mr blunt!" cried stan. "look through that window. isn't that wing?" "wing?" replied the manager thoughtfully as he bent down to examine the chinese brand on one of a stack of tea-chests. "not likely yet. he has a long way to come overland." "but i'm sure i saw him step out of a boat on to the wharf." "hardly likely. these fellows look so much alike in their blue frocks and glazed hats. where did you see him?--why, hullo! well done! it is he after all." for just then the object of their conversation came slowly in through the open door, ragged, worn out, and dejected, the very shadow of the trim, neat chinaman familiar to stan. coming out of the bright sunshine, he stood with puckered face blinking and looking about, and so weak and weary that he seemed to be glad to hold on by the first pile of bales he reached. there he stood, peering about till he dimly made out the tall, upright, unmistakable figure of the manager in his white garb, when he made a deprecating movement with his hands as if about to salaam like a hindu, and he was in the act of bending down when he suddenly saw stan. in an instant the man's whole manner was changed. throwing up his hands, he uttered a hoarse cry, and ran forward to throw himself upon his knees at the lad's feet, flinging his arms about his legs, and then burst forth into a fit of sobbing, crying like a woman, and the next minute laughing hysterically. "wing t'ink young lynn go dead. wing t'ink bad soljee man killee dead young lynn. oh deah! oh deah! come along. walkee allee way tellee misteh blunt. ha, ha, ha! allee light now. give poo' wing eatee dlinkee. feel dleadful bad. allee light now. oolay! oolay! oolay!" the poor fellow began his cheer fairly, but ended it in a miserable squeak, and then loosened his grasp of lynn, and pressing his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to stifle the hysterical cries struggling to escape, he began to rock himself to and fro; while stan, who felt touched by the poor fellow's display of emotion, stood patting his shoulder and trying to calm him. "no, no, wing; not a bit dead," he said, with a husky laugh. "they took me prisoner and shut me up. why, i've been thinking you were killed. what became of you? how did you get away from the brutes?" "wing tellee soon. wing tellee soon. allee chokee chokee. got floatee velly full. makee cly like big boy so glad young lynn allee 'live." "well, it makes me ready to laugh to find you're alive," said stan, though his features did not endorse his words. "here, tell us where you have been." "evelywheh," said the poor fellow. "bad soljee put big pitchfolks to wing, makee lun away. keep folly wing. wing tly come back. soljee put pitch-folk to wing back and dlive light away. makee lun velly fass. come light away tell misteh blunt. allee way soljee, allee way pilate. wing wantee lie down and die. wantee come tellee young lynn plisneh. wing t'inkee nevah get back to _hong_. come at las' find young lynn allee 'live. wing leady lie down die now." the poor fellow sank over sideways as he said the last words very feebly, and it was quite evident that he was not very far from death's door through his exhaustion. "poor beggar!" said blunt gruffly. "there's no deception here. get something out for the poor fellow at once, lawrence. look at him; he must have suffered horribly. he looks as if he has been travelling night and day. my word! i'll never think him a coward again. fancy coming to meet me with such news as that! i should have been ready to kill him if it had been true." chapter nineteen. "big junk boat." poor wing lay for about a couple of hours, during which everything possible was done, and then he began to recover rapidly, when, after superintending, the manager insisted upon the poor fellow doing nothing but try and sleep. "wing wantee tell misteh blunt evelyting," he said, with a piteous look. "not now," said blunt sharply. "get well first." "allee velly dleadful," said the poor fellow feebly. "yes, i know; but i'm not going to blame you, my man. you did your best. get strong again, and tell me all about the troubles then." wing gave him a horrified look, glanced at stan and then back at blunt, his countenance looking drawn and his complexion more sallow than ever, while his lips moved as if he was speaking, but no sound came. "well, why don't you rest?" cried blunt. "what's the matter with you? been so much frightened?" wing nodded sharply, and gave stan a look full of horror and despair. "why, what's the matter with the fellow? not been wounded, have you?" wing shook his head. "why don't you speak?" cried blunt, so roughly that the man held out his hands in a gesture evidently intended to mean deprecation. it was as if he meant to say, "don't be angry with me; it is not my fault." "well, i see you're upset, my man," cried the manager, softening his manner. "perhaps you had better ease your mind. speak out. now then, what's the matter? have you lost the money i gave you?" "no, no, no," cried wing, shaking his head violently. "velly solly-- velly solly," he murmured. "very sorry for what?" cried blunt, catching the man's arm and looking at him sternly. wing, who seemed weak in the extreme, shivered as he shrank from the manager's eyes, and turned appealingly to stan as if begging him to intercede. "the poor fellow doesn't seem to know what he is saying," said stan quietly, "and he's frightened of you." "humph!" replied blunt. "i thought i spoke gently enough to him.--here, wing, don't look at me in that scared way. i told you that i was not going to blame you. speak out. what is it? you have something else to say?" the man nodded. "bad news?" wing nodded again sharply. "out with it, then, and let's know the worst." the trembling chinaman hesitated for a few moments more, and then pressed up towards his chief and whispered something quickly in his ear. "what!" roared the manager, catching him fiercely by the shoulders and making the poor fellow utter a piteous wail as he turned to stan as if for help. "wing can't help," he cried. "wing no want tell baddee news." "then you've brought bad news?" said stan excitedly. "velly bad news. wing can't help. t'ink bes' come tell misteh young lynn dead and allee bad news." "yes, yes," said stan impatiently.--"the poor fellow's half-frightened out of his wits, mr blunt. you're too harsh with him now he's in such a weak state.--look here, wing; it's all right. you see matters are not so bad. i'm not hurt, and mr blunt does not blame you." "but wing can't help," pleaded the poor fellow. he waved his hands and looked round at the clerks and warehousemen, who were drawing up wondering why their chief had seized the returned agent so fiercely; while some of his fellow-countrymen also began to draw near, the sight of "the boss," as they called him, apparently about to punish one of them being irresistible, and whispers ran round in two languages, anglo-saxon and the base alloy known as "pidgin," inquiring what wing had done. there was silence now for quite half-a-minute, during which time the pressure of the manager's hands, or that of poor wing's feelings, had the effect of squeezing out a few tears, which swelled and swelled till they were big enough to roll over the man's eyelashes and find their way into a couple of curved creases which made his mouth look as if it had been placed between parentheses. down these gullies in the chinaman's skin the tears ran till they dripped from his chin, and possibly it was the sight of them that brought blunt out of his stern fit of thinking, for he suddenly loosed his hold and dropped his hands to his sides, saying hoarsely: "now then, say that out aloud for every one to hear." "wing speakee quitee loud?" said the chinaman, rolling his head slowly like a ball in its socket, as if he were trying to find out where any damage had been done to the mechanism. "yes; let's have it. look sharp." evidently satisfied that none of his vertebra were damaged, a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles in wing's face, which became round again, and in place of the painful parenthetic curves, pleasantly mirthful lines began to appear; his eyes became two diagonal slits with something twinkling between the edges, and he reached up both hands to take hold of his ribbon-tied pigtail, which he gave a whisk to right and left before he let it fall down between his shoulders. "misteh blunt wantee wing tell evelybody whole tluth?" "yes; and be sharp about it," was the angry reply. "misteh blunt no knockee wing head on tea-box, makee sore?" "no, i shall not touch you again, however bad the news is," said the manager gravely. "misteh blunt plomise like gentleman no killee poo' chinaman?" "no, i tell you! now then, out with it! but mind this: if what you say is not true, sir, you may make tracks out of this place, and never show your face here again." "yes," said wing calmly enough. "make tlack an' lun away velly fass." "for look here, sir; if you create a bad scare to frighten every one here you deserve to be hung." "flighten me too. flighten velly much. but misteh blunt no hang poo' chinaman?" "as sure as i'm here, i will, sir--by your pigtail--" wing's hand went up to the black appendage, and he took hold and gave it a gentle pull as he glanced at stan, to say softly: "make poo' chinaman cly. oh deah! oh deah! misteh blunt hang wing up so?" "yes, to the crane, and give you a few dips in the river to wash the lies out of you." "wing no got tell lie. allee velly tlue. gleat tlouble come. soljee gleat many up livah-side; pilate man gleat many up livah. big junk. allee buln missionaly house, killee foleign devil, killee evelybody. buln village, pull up tea-bush, stealee tea-box, buln go-down. gleat many fightee; cuttee float, dlown. oh, velly, velly dleadful up livah! wing lun away, come tell misteh blunt, evelybody. come down livah velly soon." "nice bit of news this, mr lynn," said blunt, turning his frowning face to stan, who noted that there was a fierce, lowering glow in the half-shut eyes. "yes," replied the lad; "but perhaps very much exaggerated.--here, wing, is all this quite true?" "oh, allee quitee tlue. wing nevah tellee big thumpy. too much 'flaid misteh blunt find out. knock down." "one reason for telling the truth," said blunt bitterly. "but that is quite true; i should if i found him out." "plenty man lun away up to mountain; soljee, pilate come lob house, buln evelyting up. shoot bang. wing, only lun away like evelybody." "i'm afraid it's all true," said blunt sombrely. "eh? no!" cried wing excitedly. "blunt tell big lie now; not 'flaid a bit. makee chinee pilate muchee flighten. makee lun away." "perhaps," said the manager grimly. "but how far away are these people, wing?" "come velly soon. big junk sail down livah. wing see um." "well, you all hear?" said the manager sternly. "no; you are not all here. call every one. i want everybody to hear how we stand.--you, wing, if you're well enough, get all the chinamen together." wing went off to the far end of the warehouse and wharf, one of the clerks to the offices, and in a few minutes every man, european and asiatic, was present, and heard of the threatened attack; after which the manager looked in stan's direction and said sharply: "there! you have all heard how we stand, and there are two courses open. one is to crowd on board the river-boat and set all sail down to the port, and get out to sea and coast along north for hai-hai." "no gettee big junk boat," cried wing excitedly. "capen velly muchee flight. pull up anky. lun away. misteh blunt lookee." the manager glanced sharply at the window, and, true enough, there was the junk with all sail set, gliding down the river, and now a quarter of a mile away. "hah!" ejaculated the manager, giving one foot an angry stamp. "that settles one plan. no; we could collect some small boats if we had time. but the other course is to barricade the place, leaving loopholes, and fight to the last. we might beat them off. now, i am manager here, and responsible for everything, but i feel that i have no right to call upon any man to risk his life against these murderous wretches. but i should like to hear mr lynn's opinion.--this place is the property of your uncle and father, sir, and if we give it up without striking a blow, by to-morrow morning the valuable store of tea and silk, with the building, will be only a heap of ashes. what is your opinion about the matter, mr lynn?" "it seems very horrible," said stan, with something like a shudder. "very, sir," replied blunt rather sarcastically. "if we escape in boats we shall save all our lives." "perhaps," said blunt bitterly. "likely enough, though, we shall be pursued by half-a-dozen junks or so, and shot down or sunk before we could reach the banks; while if we took refuge ashore--" "pilate lun afteh evelybody, choppee head off." "most probably," said the manager, smiling.--"now, mr lynn, you hear the state of affairs." "yes," said stan, speaking with a slight quiver in his voice; "but i don't like to give my opinion. there was, as you know, an attack made upon our place, and my father and uncle fought hard to save it, even when the enemy set it on fire. they held out--" "they? didn't you help them, sir?" "yes, a little," replied stan; "and the enemy were kept off till help came from the city. if we defend this place for a time, is it likely that help will come?" "not a bit," said the manager. "there is no help to be got here for above a week." "but i don't think my father and uncle would wish these people here to run such a fearful risk as to fight for the place against terrible odds." "sooner lose about ten thousand pounds' worth of tea, dyewoods, and silk that i have been hard at work collecting with the help of mr wing here?" "yes," said the chinaman, nodding his head like an image. "velly much money. velly dleadful let pilate man come and buln. aha, ha, ha! ayah, ayah, ayah!" stan stared. it seemed as if the poor fellow had suddenly gone mad; for after uttering a series of piercing yells, evidently intended for a war-whoop, he clapped his hands together as hard as he could, and then made a run at a big, half-nude coolie, whom he caught by the waist, twining his arms round him, and, to the astonishment of all present, lifted him from the floor and tried to throw him. but wing had reckoned without his host. he was a plump, soft man, unaccustomed to hard work, while the adversary he sought to overthrow was tough-muscled and hard, besides proving to be an adept at wrestling. instead of falling, he came cleverly down upon his feet, attacked in turn, and before any one had time to interfere in poor wing's favour, there was defeat, the latter being hurled staggering backward; while with a yell the man who had freed himself made a dash, vaulted through the window, ran across the wharf, jumped down into a boat, cut the rope which held it swinging in the river, and thrust it forth into the stream, where he seized a long oar and began to paddle the boat along. as wing recovered himself he shouted to the coolies to follow, and made for the door. "no; stop!" said the manager sternly. "the fellow would have got too long a start before we could get a boat off. let him go. why, it's that new man i took on a few days ago." "yes," said wing, shaking his fists in the air. "baddee man, got blue malk on aim. come spy, see how muchee tea, silk in go-down. lun away now tell pilate. misteh blunt no askee wing whetheh new man good man. wing su'e spy pilate come to see." "yes; i made a mistake there," said blunt bitterly; and as stan watched the escaped man and saw him lay down his oar and hoist a matting sail, which filled at once and sent the boat gliding away up-stream, he suddenly became aware of the fact that blunt had disappeared. but the next minute he was back with a rifle in his hand, busily thrusting in a cartridge. "are you going to shoot him?" said stan huskily as he saw the manager drop on one knee, lay the rifle-barrel across the window-sill, and take aim. "if i can," said the manager gruffly. "why not?" "it seems so cold-blooded: an unarmed man." "it may mean our lives or his, sir." "yes, but--" "very well," said the manager roughly; "but we needn't argue the point. look there at the man's artfulness. or rather, don't look, for you can't. i shouldn't hit him if i tried. it takes a good shot to hit so small a mark as a hand in a fast-sailing boat--eh?" "yes," said stan, with a feeling of relief, for he felt a horror of seeing the poor wretch flying for his life shot down. "an englishman wouldn't have thought of that," continued blunt as he rose from his knee and let the butt of his rifle rest upon the floor, while all watched the cunning of the escaped spy, who was now lying down in the boat, holding the sheet of the sail with his left hand, and the steering-oar with his right, nothing of him being visible but the fingers which grasped the oar. "now then," said blunt sternly, "we have settled nothing. what is it to be, mr lynn? you are the governor's son: is it to be run for our lives like cowards and, if we escape, face the principals with the best tale we can tell, or fight?" "if we defend the place and are not able to beat them off, i suppose they will burn the _hong_ and us in it?" "most likely," said blunt savagely; "but some of them will not live to see the flames rising. i'm afraid you don't want to fight, mr lynn." "i don't," said stan frankly. "the idea of shedding a fellow-creature's blood is horrible." "yes, of course," said blunt, with something like a sneer. "you ought to jump into one of the boats yonder and run down-stream as hard as you can to fetch help if the warehouse is to be saved." yes, that would be grand. i could have a boat? "oh yes, you can have a boat." "wing get boat, wing hoise sail, stee' boat beautifully." "i could bring back a lot of armed men to your assistance," said stan eagerly. "to be sure," said blunt coolly. "only you'll have to be pretty sharp about it." he turned his back upon the lad and took a step towards the excited group of men, who were talking hurriedly in whispers. "now, my lads," he said, "we can't give up this place to a mob of savages without making a bold defence for the sake of our employers. some of you will, i hope, stick to me, but others will like to get out of the scrimmage. so those of you who have no stomach for a fight had better join mr lynn here, who is going off to hai-hai to fetch help." "no, i am not," said stan quietly. "what! why, you said you were." "i said i should like to," said stan, "but i said so without thinking of the distance. i see now that it would be impossible to get help in time." "quite, sir," said the manager, staring at the lad. "well, at all events you are going off in the boat with wing." "indeed i am not," said stan, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "it seems to me that we must make as brave a defence as we can. we may be able to beat off the enemy." "then you mean to stay?" cried the manager, his eyes lighting up. "of course." "and fight?" "as well as i can," said stan rather sadly; "but i don't think i shall--" he got no farther, for his words were drowned by a loud cheer given heartily by the little band of european employees; while the strong gang of sturdy coolies and native workpeople, taking it for granted that they ought to follow their white fellow-workers' example, cheered lustily as well. "do i understand you to mean that you will stop with us and fight it out?" said blunt. "yes." "don't be deceived. do you understand the danger?" "i think i do." "you don't, my lad, and i will not keep it back from you. fight with europeans, and if you are beaten you are taken prisoners; fight with the lower order chinese, and you will have a set-to with some of the most savagely unmerciful people on the face of the earth. you had better think again. it may mean lying wounded and seeing the flames creeping towards you while you can't raise hand or foot to get away." "don't talk like that, mr blunt, please," cried the lad, "or you'll make me a greater coward than i feel i am." "i want you to know what you may expect to meet," said the manager coldly. "but i don't want to know. i know more now than i can bear." "then you will go?" "yes, if you do," cried stan eagerly. "i'm going to stay and do my best to save the place and goods i have in my charge, mr lynn," said the manager sternly. "and i'm going to help you, then," said stan quietly. "do you mean it, in spite of all i have said?" cried blunt. "yes." stan's hand was seized in such a grip that he flinched and the blood flushed into his cheeks. "thank you, my lad," cried the manager hoarsely. "i can't say thank you," said stan, whose face was twitching from the pain he felt. "i say, don't shake hands again like that." "hurt?" "horribly." "i beg your pardon, then. but look here: 'pon my word, mr lynn, i don't understand you a bit. for the last ten minutes i've been thinking that you were a downright coward." "that's quite right," said stan quietly; "i am. my hands are all of a tremble." "well, then, all i can say is that you're the most curious coward i ever saw." "that's because you are right in what you said, mr blunt. you don't understand me a bit." "ah, well! perhaps i shall by-and-by," said the manager. wing had disappeared during the above little verbal passage, but just then he reappeared, in time to be of use. "you, wing, come here," cried the manager. "i shall want you directly.--now, gentlemen," he continued, turning to the european employees, "you have been here long enough to know what a fight with a party of chinese pirates means--hard blows and no quarter. now's your time: any of you who feel that you have not stomach for such an encounter will only be in our way here. there's a boat ready to take you down-stream. step out, all who want to go." quite half the men took a step or two forward, but the others stood fast. then after a whisper and several uneasy glances back at their companions, one of the forward party acted as spokesman. "you see, mr blunt, sir," he said, "we don't feel that we should be at home fighting. we are clerks and writers, warehousemen. we all think--" "no, we don't," growled one of the men who had stood fast. "but you all agreed just now that it would be better to chance it and go." "yes, a bit back," said another of the men; "but six of us here, after seeing you step out, feel as if it would be un-english to sneak off and leave mr blunt and the young partner in the lurch. you fellows look as if you are ashamed of yourselves." "that's about what i am," said one of the party with the spokesman. "i'm going to stop." as he said these words he stepped back into the rear rank. "same here," said another; and he too dropped back. "oh, i say," said another; "it's shabby to leave us here like this." "shabby? it's dirty," cried the spokesman. "i wouldn't have said what i did for all of you if i'd known. hang me if i'm going almost alone!" "nor i--nor i," cried two others. "in for a penny, in for a pound," cried another man. "i'm not going in the boat." stan forgot his own nervousness, and burst out laughing, at which the whole party of europeans broke out into a cheer. "thank ye, my lads," said the manager in his grimmest way. "i did feel a bit puzzled.--now then, wing, tell the coolies and the rest that we're in for a big fight. they'll understand you better than they will me. tell them that every one who doesn't mean to stand by us can go off in the boat with you. be fair with them, and tell them that there'll be a lot of bad fighting." wing nodded, and made a most animated speech to his yellow-looking, sun-tanned audience, who received it with a series of grunts. "what do they say, my man?" "say wantee big fight. shalpen knives and cuttee lot heads off." "you didn't make them understand how dreadful it is going to be." "yes; said velly dleadful--pilate kill plenty men." "tell them again." wing spoke to the little crowd, and as he finished the coolies set up a tremendous shout. "what do they say now?" cried blunt. "say don'tee ca'e half mandalin button fo' all pilate on livah." "well done!" cried the manager. "what else?" "allee wantee fight velly bad. knife all cuttee cuttee like lazo'. wantee shave bad man head off." "then they mean to stop and back me up?" "yes. say kill plenty mo'e pilate. no habbee big fightee long time ago, and say wing go in boatee all alonee and get out way." "off with you then, my man," cried blunt; "they're quite right. you'll be in the way.--well, do you hear?" wing nodded. "not go 'long till misteh young lynn quite leady." "but don't you understand? mr lynn is going to stop and fight." "yes. wing stop take ca'e of um." "what!" cried stan, laughing. "yes. wing tellee old lynn and uncle jeffley takee gleat ca'e young lynn. how takee gleat ca'e if wing lun away in boat? wing go 'top along takee ca'e young lynn." "no, no, wing. you had better go and get out of danger," said stan warmly. "young lynn talkee talkee big piecee nonsense stuff. wing go back in boat hai-hai; uncle jeff say, `hullo, you! what double dickens you do along young lynn?' what wing say? `'top topside house fightee fightee.' misteh olivee say, `why wing not 'top topside house fight too, kill pilate, bling young lynn quite safe?' misteh olivee old lynn quite light. wing no go lun away in boat. young lynn come, wing go. young lynn no go, wing 'top along takee ca'e young lynn." "stop, then," cried the manager abruptly, "and let's see whether you can fight." "yes," said the chinaman coolly enough. "'top 'long young lynn. fight muchee. kill plenty pilate." "there! we've all talked enough," cried the manager, turning up his sleeves. "now then for work.--you, wing, go right up to the top of the big warehouse and watch the river. as soon as you see the tip of a junk-sail you'll give us warning." "misteh blunt lendee wing two-eye pull-out glass?" "my double telescope? yes, take it; and mind you let us know in time.-- now, stan lynn, we've got some man's work to do. you can't afford to be a boy any longer. this way.--now, my lads, follow on. if the bloodthirsty wretches will only give us plenty of time they shall have such a reception as will open their diagonal slits of eyes." five minutes later wing was perched at the very top of the great warehouse, with his eyes glued to blunt's lorgnette, and his blue cotton frock filling out in the breeze and shrinking again in the most grotesque fashion. one minute the chinaman was blown out like a man in the transition state of turning into a balloon. the next minute he was convex one side, concave the other, while directly after he seemed to have been furnished with an enormously huge bun upon his shoulders. but he noticed neither wind nor sunshine; his eyes were strained up the main reach of the river, and the glass was sweeping bend after bend in search of the coming danger in the shape of the top of some tall matting junk-sail seen across the country where the great river pursued its serpentine course. chapter twenty. "now then, cartridges!" there was an end to peaceful mercantile pursuits at the great warehouse and wharf, and all was hurry and bustle, but with little confusion, for blunt had suddenly become military in his orders and issue of directions; while, full of excitement now, stan dashed at the task in hand, proving himself a worthy lieutenant to the fighting manager. the men began busily handling boxes and bales, and at first sight it seemed as if they were preparing to load a trading-junk with the contents of the storehouse, so actively were they engaged in bearing out silk-bales and tea-chests; but the pleasant herb which cheers but does not inebriate was to be put to a very different purpose. "you take that job in hand, lynn," cried blunt, "and make the fellows plant the chests down right along the front, just as if you were building a wall of blocks of stone; but after the second row is placed, leave a loophole between every second and third chest so that we can fire through, while i set to work and make a breastwork with the silk-bales at every door and window. no bullets or shot that the enemy can fire will go through the soft, elastic silk.--work away, my lads." englishmen and chinamen cheered together, and worked with might and main, every one feeling that it was a race against time, but growing lighter-hearted as they went on, the materials being so close at hand; and as they were brought down from above or taken from the huge stacks on the ground-floor, they were rapidly formed outside into a light but strong loopholed wall extending along the wharf and facing the sea. one easy enough to tear down, no doubt, if the enemy determinedly faced the storm of bullets poured upon them from the loopholes, but good enough to protect the defenders and keep the assailants in check for a time; while, when it began to yield, the besieged party had only to rush into the warehouse offices and dwelling, close and barricade the doors, to help to defend what formed the keep or stronghold of the mercantile fort, and continue the firing from behind the silk-bales advantageously placed as breastworks behind the first-floor windows, where they could fire down upon any of the pirates who tried to shelter themselves behind the tea-chest wall. it was wonderful with what rapidity the wall and breastworks rose, while the chinese carpenters, whose general work was the making of the chests, sawed and hammered away, barricading the lower windows, and placing planks ready for closing up the two doors that were left for temporary use. "they'll never get past the chest wall," panted stan excitedly as blunt came down from where he had been showing his men how to wedge the silk-bales together so as to stand tightly in the windows. "don't you be too sure, my boy," said blunt. "they are regular fiends, these half-wild chinamen, and they'll come swarming over the wall like monkeys." "and i thought it so strong that nothing but fire would have any effect upon it," said stan gloomily. "fire would have hardly any effect upon it," said blunt, "unless there was a strong wind. the chests might burn, but the tea would only smoulder away." "i am disappointed," said stan, wrinkling up his forehead. "not a bit. i'm delighted with what you have done. it is strong, but a party of our sappers and miners would laugh at it all and say it was as weak as so much cobweb." "but i say, if they come, how will they attack?" "like civilised savages: pour in a hail of swivel-gun balls, scrap-iron, and pebbles from the junks till they land, and then come on with spears, pitchforks, tridents, and swords. some of them will have long _jingals_--matchlocks, you know--and no doubt muskets and rifles as well. then, too, i dare say they will bring plenty of stink-pots to throw--earthen jars full of burning pitch. we shall have a high old time of it, stan, my lad, as soon as the fight begins." "oh!" exclaimed stan suddenly, with a look of dismay. "hullo!" cried blunt, looking at his companion in a peculiar way. "beginning to think it will be too much of a good thing?" "no-o-o-o!" cried stan angrily. "that i wasn't. i was thinking of the stink-pots." "well, of course they'll stink, as 'tis their nature to," said blunt merrily. "of course they will; but burning pitch--it will stick." "pitch has a habit of doing so, my son," said blunt mockingly. "oh, you don't see what i mean," cried stan excitedly. "the warehouse-- wood--they'll set the whole place on fire and burn us out." _phee-ew_! blunt gave forth a long-drawn whistle. "by saint jingo, the great fighting-man," he cried, "i never thought of that stan lynn, you're a regular todleben--a prince of engineering defence. why, of course! they'd roast us out, and it would hurt horribly, without reckoning how they would poke us back with their tridents to go on cooking if we tried to run away." "you see now, then?" said stan. "see? yes. i can almost feel. i am glad you thought of that. all right. we'll have half-a-dozen casks in the middle of the big office, and i'll set a line of men to work across the wharf with buckets to fill the casks from the river." "so as to nip any little fire in the bud?" cried stan eagerly. "i don't see how you can nip a fire in the bud," said blunt, with sham seriousness. "oh yes, you can," cried stan laughingly. "nip it in the bud before it blossoms out into a big blaze." "good boy, stan! but the old people ought to have called you solomon. come on; let's get the men at work filling the water-casks, and then we'll serve out the firearms." in very few minutes the empty casks were in place, and two lines of coolies at work dipping water from the edge of the wharf, passing it from hand to hand along one line to where it was emptied into the open casks, and sending the empty buckets back along the other line to be refilled. "goes like clockwork," said stan as he watched the men. "thanks to you, my lad," said blunt. "now then, let us consult the oracle." "eh?" asked stan. "old wing," replied blunt; and stepping outside, he hailed the chinaman where he was perched upon the extremity of one gable, using the glass most energetically. "ahoy, there! hullo, wing!" shouted the manager. "how many junks can you see, and how many pirates in each?" "no see not one yet while," cried wing, lowering his glass. "velly, velly long time coming." "and a good job too, my man. have you looked right out yonder where the river bends round?" "yes; wing look evelywheh. no junk come yet." "that's right. keep on looking out." "you think junk full o' pilate come now?" "of course i do. didn't you say they were coming?" "yes. wing think allee junk come long ago." "which means he is getting very tired of sitting perched up there," said stan, laughing. "yes; and we're getting very tired of working down here, but it has to be done," responded blunt. then aloud: "never mind what you expected, wing; keep a sharp lookout all round, and don't miss the enemy unless you want to have a sharp something round your neck, and your head off before you know it." "yes, wing look all alound. no wantee head choppee off by pilate man." "that's right," said blunt, turning away.--"well, we are getting into a good state of defence even now, and of course we are bound to have a couple of hours' notice, unless the enemy make their attack in the dark." "in the dark?" said stan, whom the idea quite appalled. "yes; they may wait till dark, and then drop down slowly with the stream. it will be bad for us if they do, but we must take things as they come; but i should like it to be daylight for our job." stan felt ready to shiver, but he suppressed it. "you see it is of no use to be nice about this bit of business, my lad," said blunt gravely. "there'll be no compunction on the part of the enemy. they'll come on with the intention of massacring us all, and they'll do it if they can." "but they can't," said stan hoarsely. "they shan't," said blunt; "for, as i said, it will be no time for being nice. we've got to kill every one of the wretches if we can." "for the benefit of humanity," said stan eagerly. "i suppose so, my lad, but principally for the benefit of ourselves. we want to live out our time, and we'll do it too, so we must shoot them when the game begins. there! don't let us talk about what may be; the pirates haven't arrived yet. all we've got to do is to be ready for them if they do come." "then you think that perhaps, after all, they may not attack us?" "no, i don't," said blunt in the roughest manner. "i trust wing--as far as one can trust a chinaman--but it is always on the cards that the scare is not so bad as he made out. now then, let's see about the shooting-tackle." blunt led the way quickly, and with a decision in his step that showed how much he was in earnest, to the portion of the warehouse set apart for the arms-rack, chest, and the magazine. "this is the sort of thing your people at hai-hai ought to set up," said blunt. "i hinted at it when i was over there, but your father said so plainly that he preferred to trust to the police there that i said no more, only made up my mind that, as we have no police or protection of any kind here, i was quite right in being prepared for the worst. what do you say?" "i hate the idea of using such things," said stan gravely, "but it must be right here." "of course; and you won't mind using a rifle?" "i shall mind very much," replied stan, "but i'm going to use one." "that's right. here we are," said blunt, unlocking and raising the trap-door in the floor by its ring, and descending half-a-dozen steps into a bricked-in place with something resembling a wine-bin of three shelves on one side, in which were stacked a few boxes not unlike cases of wine. "here! let's have them out at once," said blunt, and he handed up to his young companion case after case. "set them on that big table," he said. "mind be careful. i don't know whether if one were dropped the cartridges would explode, but i shouldn't like to try it. there you are; two cases for the rifles, and one for the revolvers. we'll leave the rest here, with the key in ready if wanted. now for the tools themselves." he stepped out, closed the trap, and turned to the arms-rack. "you, stan, take to the arms-chest and open it ready. i'll serve out the rifles; you do the same with the revolvers.--hi, you!" was shouted to one of the clerks busy helping to pass out more tea-chests for the continuation of the wall-building; "pass the word for the men to come for their rifles." the order was given, and as the men filed up each received a martini-henry, bandolier, and revolver, afterwards proceeding to the big table to wait till the weapons were supplied to all who needed them. "there you are," said blunt as the last one was supplied. "splendid new weapons that shoot perfectly straight if you hold them so. now then, cartridges!" packets of large and small cartridges were handed to the men for rifle and revolver, several of them receiving instructions how to fit the little rolls of powder and lead into the clips of the bandoliers, before they marched out, ready for the great emergency, keeping their weapons with them now as they went on with their several duties of finishing the defences. chapter twenty one. "why, he's asleep!" "the enemy do not come, lynn," said blunt a short time later, when they had both filled their bandoliers and pistol-pouches. "and a good thing too, for we're hardly ready yet." "what! with our defences? well, let's take a good look round and see what more there is to be done." it was getting late in the afternoon, and the westering sun was pouring down its rays with a violence peculiar to a chinese summer, though the winters are so intensely cold that the people go about with clothes piled upon clothes, so that a wealthy man often resembles an animated feather-bed, and in fact has his garments so quilted with feathers and down that if picked to pieces, though he might not furnish enough for a bed, he could respectably fill a bolster and pair of pillows. there was very little breeze, and blunt and his companion were longing for that which would come in the evening. "only there'll be a great drawback to it," said stan--"the darkness will come too." "yes, the darkness will come too," said blunt thoughtfully, for his eyes were wandering over the tea-chest defence-wall inside which they were walking; "but," he added in words which proved that his thoughts were not upon the darkness, "i don't like that ending off. it's weak." "what! where it turns round the end of the warehouse?" replied stan. "yes; the enemy might make for that corner and come round." "and attack us in the flank, as soldiers would say," exclaimed blunt. "it won't do.--here, three or four of you, get some more tea-chests out and build this end up higher. there ought to be quite a dwarf tower here." "no more chests, sir," said the clerk addressed. "we've used them all as far as they'd go." "then use bales. call up a dozen coolies, and build up a rounded corner as quickly as you can." "yes, sir," was the eager response, and the man addressed trotted off, followed by his comrades. "odd that we shouldn't have noticed that before. the corner at the other end is strong, and i meant in my hurried mental plans for this to be like it. stopped, of course, by the material running out. our weak spot, lynn; and they say a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. our chain of defences--eh?" "i hope we shall not find any more weak points," replied stan. "then we had better not look round any farther, my lad, for in this hasty knocking up of our defences we shall find plenty." "let's know the worst," said the lad warmly. "yes; we'll have no falser confidence," replied blunt; and they continued their inspection of the ground-floor with its two doors and the ample material ready for barricading them if the defenders were driven in. then they ascended to the first floor, after standing aside for a few minutes to allow the bearers of the bales to pass along with their loads ready for making the little extemporised bastion at the end. but they found no weak places upstairs. every window had its protecting breastwork where a man could use his rifle in comparative safety and well cover the spots likely to be attacked. "capital," said blunt; "far better than i expected. if the enemy do come, all i can say is that they will be mad to attack us, for they must leave scores of their party shot down before they could carry our outer wall. now then, we'll go down and see how the corner is getting on; then hail wing, and if he has nothing to report, we'll call the men together for a good hearty meal, and over it i'll tell off the different stations they are to occupy." "what are you going to do about giving orders when the firing begins?" said stan. "there'll be the noise of the guns and shouting." "this," said blunt, taking a large silver whistle from his pocket. "i shall explain that when this whistle is blown all are to run towards the place from which the sound comes, so as to command plenty of strength in hardly-pressed places. two shrill whistles mean, make for the upper windows." "retreat?" "yes." "and what about barricading the two doors?" "i shall station the two carpenters and four men at those doors, ready to close them up when necessary. tut, tut, tut!" "what's the matter?" said stan, startled by his companion's ejaculations. "in the hurry and excitement i haven't found time to say a few words to the chinamen about fighting for us. never mind; i'll have a few words with them over the supper, dinner, or whatever it is." they passed down and went outside on to the wharf, where, before inspecting the addition to their defences, they both looked up, and blunt hailed wing, who was still seated astride the gable, shading his eyes from the ardent sun and slowly sweeping the horizon. "well, wing," cried blunt; "see anything of the enemy?" "no. not come yet. velly long time." "and a good job, too," said blunt to his companion, who, after another good look at the patient figure in the blue frock, crouching all of a heap and looking like a very amateurish beginner astride of a huge razor-backed horse, said: "don't let us forget to send the poor fellow up some tea and bread-cake. he must be half-famished." "so must everybody be," said blunt. "i know i am. here, how are you getting on, my lads?" he continued, turning to the working party. "i think we've got on as far as we can, sir," replied the clerk. "i was hoping that you'd come soon and tell us what more to do. we've packed in nearly fifty bales, as you see." blunt inspected the work in silence, with its double wall loopholed, and with extra shelters for the men who would be firing therefrom, and finally stood thinking. "well," he said to the men who were watching him anxiously, "i can suggest nothing more. you have done your work admirably. so now knock off and come into the big store-room for refreshments." the men cheered and followed into the great place, which, minus its piles of tea-chests carried out to build the wall, looked vast; but the trestle and boards spread ready, and pretty well covered with a substantial tea by blunt's chinese servants, made the place look welcome in the extreme; and upon the men being bidden to fall to, europeans and asiatics set to work eagerly, talking, laughing, eating, and drinking, and more resembling a strange picnic party than a number of men expecting to be engaged at any hour in a desperate fight for their lives against a savage foe. there were only two of those present who looked moody and were silent. these were blunt and stan, the former washing down his food with draughts of tea as with frowning brow he cogitated over his plans; the latter, now that the excitement of preparation was over, feeling a strange sense of sinking which the bread and tea did not remove. he wanted to preserve his firmness and show blunt that he was no coward, but there was what seemed to be a dark mental cloud ahead, and in spite of every attempt to pierce it, there it hung ominously like a portent of what was to come, and as if fate was kindly hiding from him the horrors in store. stan set his teeth hard and made a tremendous effort at last. "i must eat," he said to himself, "or i shall be as weak as a child, and i must drink to quench this horrible feeling of delirious thirst. oh, i wish i wasn't such a weak coward! i'm sure no other fellows of my age can be like me." forcing himself then, he began to eat and drink hurriedly, all the while recalling old school fights into which he had entered with fear and trembling, but without recalling how he had come out. then all that he had read of chinese horrors, and the indifference of these people to life, came floating before his eyes--anecdotes that he had read of their atrocities and savage treatment of their enemies-- there they all were, till, instead of seeing any longer that black, cloud-like curtain, the lad now seemed to be seeing red, and he started violently when his companion brought him to himself by suddenly rising and blowing his silver whistle. then in the silence that immediately ensued blunt explained his plans to his listeners, and had his words well interpreted to such of the chinese workers as were not perfect in their knowledge of english. blunt spoke briefly, but every word of his instructions was to the point, and the listeners rose from their rough benches at last well drilled in their duties as to the places they were to occupy, the europeans finding a leader to reply and declare how to a man they would fight to the death; while, when the manager had done, the head of the chinamen rose and declared that his comrades thoroughly hated all pirates and murderers, and that to a man they too would fight for the good, just master who always behaved to his men as if he were their father. blunt smiled and nodded, and then said a few words to the leader about his comrades having rifles. but these were declined, the chinaman declaring that he and his fellows could do more good with their long knives and hatchets when the enemy came to close quarters; and this he said, as stan noticed, with a fierce glow in his eyes which proclaimed that, in spite of the speaker being as a rule a mild-spoken, peaceful carpenter, there was chinese asiatic savage instinct beneath the skin-- showing, too, that he and his fellows were going to prove themselves dangerous foes to the bloodthirsty enemy when they approached. "then now we all understand each other," said blunt sternly. "i have only this more to say--that as soon as it is dark three parts of you will lie down to sleep. i shall place sentries to give the alarm if the enemy come on in the night. then every man will run to his post, and heaven help us all to do our best!" a tremendous cheer greeted the close of blunt's speech, and after giving all present a sharp gratified look, with a nod of the head, blunt turned to his young companion. "come along," he said. "you and i will go and order poor wing down, and keep a lookout from the little bastion while he comes and has his tea." "yes, quick!" said stan; "my conscience has been smiting me all the time you were talking, but of course i could say nothing then." "of course not i had quite forgotten him. i had so much else to think about. now then, take your rifle. here's mine. we must make these our companions now." stan obeyed the order he had received, following his companion's example as blunt took his rifle from the corner where he had placed it; and together they stepped out into the shelter behind the wall, then climbed over on to the wharf, looked at the broad, clear river, bright in the evening glow, but with nothing visible to mar its peaceful beauty, and then as they reached the end of the wall-- "we shall have no enemy to-night," said blunt. "why do you say that?" "because we can see for miles, and there is not a sign of danger. they will not surprise us; they want daylight for their attack.--ahoy, there! wing! see anything?" there was no reply. "look at that," said blunt, smiling. "nice sort of a sentry that!" "why, he's asleep!" whispered stan. asleep the poor fellow was, and no wonder. duty to his employers had a strong hold, but nature and exhaustion, after hours of baking and fasting upon the roof with straining eyes, were stronger; and but a very short time before the appearance of his european masters, wing's head, in spite of a desperate struggle to keep it firm, had begun to nod, then to make long, slow, graceful bows at the western sky, till at last, as if the strain upon his eyes in watching had affected the poor fellow's brain with an uncontrollable drowsiness, his head went right down, to rest between his knees. there he crouched as if in a saddle; and then he was motionless, and looking wonderfully like a beautifully carved finial placed by a cunning builder as an ornament to the great gable-end. "poor beggar! it was too bad to leave him so long," said blunt. "i suppose i mustn't bully him. but suppose the enemy had been coming down the river and had surprised us." "we should have been to blame for not having more sentries on the lookout." "right, my young solon," said blunt; "but it would have been a startler for him, and a lesson too, if he had been woke up by a shot." "yes, that's right," said stan, smiling at a thought which flashed across his brain. "what are you laughing at?" said blunt sharply. "i was thinking how it would make him jump if i fired a shot now." "ah, to be sure! slip a cartridge into your rifle and fire in the air." "i am loaded," said stan, who began to repent of his words. "of course. fire away." "no, no; it would be too bad." "fire--away!" said blunt in a stern, angry tone; and feeling at once the impulse to obey, the lad held his rifle up pistol-wise at arm's-length, drew the trigger, and then, as the report rang out, winced at the kick the piece gave, and as the smoke rose, stared in horror at the result of his shot. stan lynn--by george manville fenn chapter twenty two. "'top littlee!" stan lynn had good reason to stare, for at the sharp report of the rifle poor wing's aspect of being a part of the gable disappeared instantly. he sprang to his feet with one hand clapped to his chest, the other reaching round to his back, both busily searching for his wound, as he uttered a dismal cry. the next moment both hands were in the air clutching for something to hold on by so as to save himself, but clutching in vain. for his foot as he stood erect had slipped on the sharp slope of the tiled gable-end, and in far less time than it has taken to describe the catastrophe, the poor fellow had fallen upon his back and was sliding rapidly down. but he had not quite lost his presence of mind. making a tremendous effort he wrenched himself round so as to bring his chest underneath; and as he went on gliding down, stan could see him striving hard to get a hold with his crooked fingers, which he vainly tried to drive in between the interstices of the tiles. they were too closely fitted, however, and it was not till he was three parts down that he was able to check his downward course. "that's right!" shouted blunt hoarsely, for, though stan strove to speak, no sound came from his parched lips. "hold on; we'll soon help you." then, turning to the first of the men, whom the report of the rifle had brought rushing out to make for their posts to repel the imaginary attack: "run up, some of you, with a rope. get up on to the roof-ridge and lower one of the men down to get hold of him." there was a rush back into the warehouse, but before half the men were inside, wing's weight had proved to be too much for his fragile hold. he slipped suddenly and glided down sideways till one foot caught beneath the eaves, and he made here a desperate effort to save himself, brought his other foot alongside the first, with his soft heels in the gutter, and then tried to turn over to plant his toes where his heels rested; but he only succeeded in dislodging them, so that he came down with his crooked fingers clutching in the hollow, and there he held on. "that's right; hold tight!" cried blunt again. "help coming." stan would have added his voice could he have found utterance, but he could only think and stand half-paralysed at the sight of the poor fellow swinging by his crooked fingers to the frail gutter. had he remained perfectly still, it is possible that he might have hung till some one descended to him with a rope; but most probably the chinaman felt his fingers giving way, and before they were dragged from their hold by his weight he made one more desperate effort to perform an impossibility. for, contracting his muscles, he slowly drew himself up by his arms till his chin was on a level with his hands, and meanwhile his toes were tearing at the wall to find a footing--trying, but finding not, for the soft boot-toes kept gliding over the wall beneath the eaves. once by a desperate struggle he got what seemed to be a firm footing, but it was only to hasten the disaster, for all at once as those below gazed upward they saw that the poor fellow's knees were close up to his chest, and he hung like a stout package by his arms. at the same moment there was an encouraging shout, and one of the most active of the clerks, bearing a coil of rope, and followed by several more, appeared on the ridge. "that's right," roared blunt. "be smart! let yourself be lowered down. hold hard, wing!" his words were supplemented by a shout from below, where half the employees of the warehouse were assembled, all impotent to render any assistance to the unfortunate sentry. instantly following the shout, which sounded to stan as if meant derisively, the end came, for, as suggested, wing's desperate effort only meant putting greater strain upon the fingers in the guttering, forcing them right off, so that he fell like a light bundle rapidly through the air fully thirty feet, and as he reached the bottom, passing out of sight behind the wall, but really to rebound about a couple of feet, and then lie all of a heap just inside the little bastion so lately made. the dull thud which struck heavily upon stan's ears acted like magic. the moment before the lad had stood looking upward feeling quite paralysed. then every nerve and muscle quivered, and, rifle in hand, he bounded to the bale wall, climbed over, and, wild with excitement, dashed to where poor wing lay, to drop upon one knee by the sufferer, whom he fully expected to find lying dead. the same thought was shared by those who followed the lad and climbed to the top of the wall, for directly after blunt said hoarsely: "lift his head gently, lynn. is he dead?" "no--not bit dead," said the poor fellow in a plaintive voice as he slowly turned his face towards the questioner and opened his eyes. "only velly bad indeed. bloken all to bit. poo' wing! i velly solly fo' him." the removal of the painful tension suffered by the lookers-on was so sudden that to a man they broke out into a loud laugh. not a mirthful-sounding explosion of mirth, for it was painful and hysterical. every one had expected to hear stan answer "yes" to the manager's question, while the supposed-to-be-dead man's statement sounded inexpressibly droll, and his next words, in spite of a strong feeling of commiseration, only brought forth another burst that really was now one of merriment. for the poor fellow said piteously: "not'ing to laugh at. wing velly, velly bad." "they don't mean it," whispered stan, whose own face was still convulsed. "they laugh because they are so glad you are not killed." "here, let me come," cried blunt. "i am a bit of a doctor in my way;" and he too bent down on one knee. "now, wing, my lad, cheer up. let's see what's the matter with you." "plea' don't touch, misteh blunt," cried the poor fellow piteously. "tumble down such long way. come all to piecee." "no, no; not so bad as that. come, come; i'll be gentle with you. i want to see where you're hurt before i have you lifted up." "no, no; plea' don't," sobbed the poor fellow, with the tears running down his cheeks. "not quite dead yet." "no, no; of course not." "don't let the boys buly me yet a bit. velly dleadful; makee poo' man flighten." "bury you? nonsense! who's going to bury a live man?" "only half alive. oh deah! oh deah! oh-h-h!" "come, come; be a man," said blunt gently as he softly raised the poor fellow's head, manipulating it gently the while, and laying it down again. "does that hurt very much?" "n-no," sighed the sufferer. "not head bleak. all to piecee evely place, not head." "then you're not going to die, i hope," said blunt. "your skull is not fractured, and the hinges of your neck are not broken." "you suah?" "quite sure, my lad. you wouldn't be talking like that if your neck was broken." "p'l'aps not," sighed wing. "bleak to bit evelywheh, no alm, no leg. oh deah! oh deah!" "now then, i want to lay you out straight so as to feel your body all over." "lay stlaight?" cried the poor fellow, with more animation. "leady to buly poo' wing?" "nonsense!" cried stan warmly. "no one thinks of such a thing. let me lay that arm close beside you." "no, no," sighed the poor fellow. "wing don't wantee see aim come off." "it won't come off, my man," said blunt kindly.--"that's right, lynn. well done! it's not broken. neither is this," he continued as, with the patient still groaning, the other arm was tenderly examined and laid straight.--"hurt you very much, wing?" "not velly much. bloken off. wing can't feel." stan glanced at blunt, and saw him frown and look more stern as he met his companion's eyes to exchange a look full of intelligence. "now his legs," said blunt then. "both together. lay them out straight." this was done, wing groaning softly the while. "bones all right," said blunt half to himself; "joints move easily--no dislocation. that hurt you very much, wing?" "n-no. hultee evelywheh else." "does that mean the spine is injured?" whispered stan anxiously. "i'm afraid so," was the reply. wing looked sharply from one to the other. "young lynn say bote leg bloke light off?" "no," said blunt, smiling; "he didn't say anything of the kind. they're quite sound. now then, i will not hurt you much. i'm going to feel whether your ribs are broken." "no, no; much betteh let be. all bloke littlee bit." "i don't think so," said blunt, passing his hands softly down the man's sides over and over again from armpits to hips. "now breathe, wing." "wing keep on bleathe lil bit longeh. not dead yet." "`not dead yet: see the _quiver_,'" said blunt softly to himself, as, incongruously enough, there came to his mind the words on one of the great bills which appeared upon nearly all the hoardings in london many years ago. "breathe again, wing," continued blunt. "draw in as long a breath as you can.--well, do you hear me?" "wing 'flaid," was the reply. "afraid? what of?" "'flaid nevah bleathe again; so bad." "stuff! do as i tell you." "oh deah! oh deah!" sighed the poor fellow as he obeyed, and retained his breath for some time. "well, does that hurt you very much?" "n-no, n-no," sobbed the man. "not velly much." "then there are no broken ribs, lynn. look here." as he spoke blunt passed his hands firmly about the sufferer's chest, even going so far as to press the ribs inward, without eliciting more than a faint groan. "there!" said blunt; "nothing is broken. the injury must be to the back." "yes," said wing, uttering a whimper. "back. velly, velly bad." "come, let's see," said blunt. "we'll have you carried into the big office now, and knock you up a bed of some kind. give me your hand.-- take the other, lynn, and let's raise him up into a sitting posture. gently, mind." "no, no; plea', plea' don't!" "why not?" said blunt, who was watching the man keenly. "back bloke. come in two bit. bleak light off. leave poo' wing leg lie all alone." "well, well!" said blunt gently; "never mind; be a man. if you come right in two we'll fasten you up tightly again with sticking-plaster. you'll soon grow together again." "eh?" exclaimed wing, looking sharply from one to the other, but looking in vain, for stan took his cue from his companion and preserved a perfectly serious countenance. "now," said blunt; "both together. lift." wing uttered a louder groan than ever as he was drawn right up into a sitting posture and lowered down again. "did that hurt much?" "oh, velly, velly much!" said wing, with the tears trickling down his plump face. "yes, you are a good deal shaken, wing, my man, but you are not broken in half." "misteh blunt suah?" "yes, quite," replied blunt. "you have had a wonderful escape from being killed. you are hurt, of course, but i believe that if you were helped you could stand right up." "wing velly much 'flaid." "i suppose so, but you are going to try." "must?" "yes, you must.--now, lynn, take one side; i'll take the other.--come, wing; just for a minute. up with you like a man." wing gave each a piteous look, but said nothing, as he was again raised into a sitting position, and then allowed his arms to be drawn over his helpers' shoulders as they bent down over him and rose together, brought him up standing, and held him there. "now then, you can feel that you are not broken to bits, wing?" said blunt. "yes; but hult velly bad." "of course it hurt, wing; but you'll soon get better." "get betteh? no go die and be bulied?" "you'll not die and be buried this time.--do you see what saved him, lynn?" "yes--of course. i see now. he must have come down upon those piled-up silk-bales." "to be sure; and they are so yielding and springy that they threw him off again so that he fell on to the stones inside." "yes," said wing piteously; "tumblee all togetheh. come bump, bump on silk-bales. flow um off again on to stones and bang back dleadful bad." "yes; a very narrow escape for you," said blunt firmly.--"bring a board here, some of you." two of the coolies hurried off, to return in the fast-increasing gloom with a broad plank, which was set down and wing then lifted carefully upon it, bearing the moving very well, and only uttering a groan or two. "now carry him into the office.--we'll make that the hospital, lynn." "'top littlee! 'top littlee!" cried wing. "what's the matter?" said blunt sharply, speaking as if he felt that he had spent enough time on his patient. "wing wantee say much 'blige, t'ank you. um feel deal betteh now." "that's right," said blunt. "wing velly much 'flaid when he fall. much mo' 'flaid when come down bump, bang on stones. misteh blunt, young lynn, makee feel velly happy. not bloke all bits. going to live long time." "that's right," said blunt brusquely. "but look here; all your trouble came from your going to sleep when you were on sentry." "yes," said wing dolefully. "velly muchee solly. sun hot--velly hungly--velly dly mouth. can't help go 'sleep. misteh velly angly poo' chinaman?" "not very, wing, for you have been severely punished." "wing nevah do so no mo'e." "that's right," said blunt, who hurried away as soon as he had seen the injured man lying comfortably; and stan was about to follow, but wing caught his sleeve and signed to him to bend down. "young lynn know who shot wing?" he whispered. "yes," said the lad frankly. "young lynn tell wing." "yes, some day," replied the lad, who felt the blood flush to his face, but it was now so dark in the office with the blocked-up windows and the coming night that the questioner could not see. "young lynn tell wing some day. wing betteh now. thought bloken allee piecee. not bloken allee piecee. don't ca'e mandalin button now." "that's right," said stan. "look, they're bringing you some bread and tea. think you can eat and drink?" "velly much indeed," said the chinaman. "begin at once, then," said stan. "here, i must go." he hurried after blunt, and as he went to where the latter was standing sweeping the dimly seen surroundings with his glass, it suddenly occurred to him that after firing the shot to startle wing he had not replaced the empty cartridge. he opened the breech, and at the sound of its being closed upon the cartridge blunt turned upon him suddenly. "hullo, young fellow!" he cried. "going to fire again to startle me?" "no," replied stan. "i was thinking that i might have to shoot again, and it would not do to find that my rifle was not loaded." "no," said blunt thoughtfully. "i'm sorry, though, that i gave you that order. for a time i was quite under the impression that you had aimed at and hit the poor fellow. but he'll soon be right again." "i hope so," said stan. "can you see anything with the glass?" "just the dim country, that's all. there! we'll set our sentries and let all who can be spared lie down for a rest till we change guard, for we must be military now. i shall take the first part of the night for visiting the posts every hour; you will have to take the second half. mind, you will have to visit each sentinel and see that he is awake and watchful. you understand?" "quite," was the reply, given in a firm voice, though the lad could not help shrinking a little from the great responsibility about to be placed upon his shoulders. "come along, then." stan followed, and a short time after half-a-dozen sentries were leaning upon their rifles in different places, keeping a strict watch upon the river, the direction from which danger was most likely to come; while, his part of the duties performed, the lad went to lie down on the bare boards in the office, near to where wing was sleeping soundly. as he listened to the man's hard breathing a feeling of envy came over him. he wished that he too could sleep and forget the danger, if only for an hour. he was completely fagged with the day's exertions; the heat was great, and his brain was in a state of wild activity which made him feel that he had never been so wakeful before in his life. all was very still without, and as he turned upon the hard boards it seemed that every one must have gone off to sleep at once, while he was growing more and more wakeful. now and then he started up on one arm to listen to a strange cry that suggested the approach of the enemy; but after two or three repetitions he came to the conclusion that it must have come from some riverside bunting, heron, or crane, and he lay down again, but only to ask himself whether he might not just as well get up and join blunt, to share the night-watch, for he was more sure than ever that it was impossible to sleep under such circumstances as these. "yes," he said to himself, with a feeling of satisfaction, "i'll do that;" and it seemed to him that he got up to go and join the manager out on the dark wharf, where he could see him standing on a pile of stones close to the river-edge, leaning upon his rifle and gazing up-stream for the first sight of the enemy who might at any moment come. blunt turned upon him at once in the darkness, looked down, stretched out one hand and caught him by the shoulder, to say in a sharp whisper: "now then, my lad, time's up!" chapter twenty three. "am i going mad?" stan made no reply, but stared straight up at him, to feel the grasp upon his shoulder tighten, while blunt said again: "now then, my lad, time's up!" but this time there was an addition--"do you hear?" "yes--of course," whispered back the lad; "but i don't know what you mean. what time's up?" "why, your time. hang it all! you take it pretty coolly, when at any moment some hundreds of savage cut-throats may be down upon us. i couldn't have slept like that." "like what?" said stan sharply. "in the way you have done." "i? i've not been asleep." "oh, haven't you? why, you're asleep now." "if i'd been asleep, how--oh, what nonsense! if i was asleep, how could i have come out here to keep you company?" "what!" cried blunt, with a soft, chuckling laugh. "well, you are a rum fellow! do you know where you are?" "yes; standing out here on the wharf, with the river flowing softly down at our feet." "stoop down and put your hand in it, then." stan stretched out his right hand at once, and felt the rough boards, while at the same moment wing drew one of those deep breaths which are so like snores. the next moment stan was sitting up feeling for his rifle. "here, i say, i haven't been asleep?" "of course not. you said you hadn't, and i can't doubt the word of a gentleman." "oh, how stupid!" said stan in a hoarse whisper, as he felt his rifle, and sprang up at once. "what time is it?" "just struck two by the american clock in the big warehouse." "then i have been asleep." "i think it's very likely," said blunt dryly. "then i must have been dreaming that i came out to you on the wharf because i couldn't sleep." "and instead of your coming to me, my lad, i came to you. there! come along outside in the cool air; that will wake you up thoroughly; and i want to give you a few instructions and then lie down for an hour or two to get a little rest before the enemy come in the morning." "then you think they will come?" "most likely," said blunt dryly. "come along." stan was wide enough awake now, and proved it as soon as they were out on the wharf, where a pleasantly fresh breeze came off the water. "did you visit all the six posts?" he said. "yes, every one." "regularly?" "of course." "find any one asleep?" "no; everybody was keenly on the watch." "how did you know when the hours were up?" "guessed it," said blunt quickly. "are you wide awake enough now, my lad? you know where all the men are stationed?" "oh yes." "repeat the places." stan ran rapidly through the posts--east, west, north, south, back and front--and blunt grunted his satisfaction. "good!" he said. "the fresh men have relieved those who watched with me, and there is a new password. don't forget it. as soon as you approach you'll be challenged with `who goes there?'" "yes; i understand," said stan eagerly. "no, you don't. what word will you give to prove that you are a friend?" "don't know." "of course not. remember it, then. `cartridge.' understand?" "yes, perfectly." "then i'm off. i'm dead-beat, my lad. every hour, mind, as near as you can guess. take hold of my whistle, and keep a sharp lookout up the river from where i did." "what! from up on that pile of stones at the edge of the wharf?" "eh?" said blunt sharply. "how did you know i watched from that heap of stones at the edge of the wharf?" "i saw you there." "what! when did you come?" stan was silent, feeling quite confused, "did you come and look at me before you went to sleep?" "no," said stan slowly--"no; i'm sure now that i did not." "but you said you saw me there, and i never told you nor any one else that i was going to make that my post of observation." "you didn't tell me," said stan; "and it seems very strange. i thought i came out to you and you caught me by the shoulder." "you did not, and i did not catch you by the shoulder till i came and shook you to wake you up." "then i must have dreamed it," said stan, "for i certainly seemed to see you there in the darkness." "yes, you must have dreamed it; but it seems very strange." "horribly," said stan. "don't you get dreaming any more of that sort of stuff, then," said blunt shortly. "here, catch hold of this whistle; but mind, you are not to use it unless the enemy come in sight. then blow as if you wanted to bring the place down. pleasant watch to you. i'm off. if i don't go and lie down i shall fall down and sleep on these stones." "good rest to you," said stan quietly. "one moment: where are you going to lie down?" "on the planks that formed your bed. they're nice and soft now, i suppose." "no; horribly hard. put some bags under you." "not i," said blunt gruffly. "i could sleep now on a row of spikes. good-night--morning, or whatever it is." the manager walked quickly to the nearest opening in the wall of chests and passed through it, leaving stan to his watch, which he commenced by giving a good searching look up river and down, and then placing his hand behind his ear to listen, before, feeling satisfied that all was right, he stepped to the bottom of the piled-up block of stones, mounted it carefully, rested the butt of his rifle at his feet, felt whether his revolver was within easy reach of his hand, and then began to think about his dream and the strangeness of his imagining that he had walked out to get to the wharf and had then seen his brother-officer, as blunt seemed to have become now, standing exactly where he had taken his own place. "all imagination," he said to himself at last, for he could make nothing else of it, and forcing himself to think of something fresh, he began to peer into the darkness in every direction, and long for his first hour to pass so that he could have something more active to employ his time and go and visit the different posts. "let me see," he mused; "they will challenge me by saying, `who goes there?' and i shall answer, `stranger, quickly tell'--nonsense! `a friend.' no, no; that's wrong. what did mr blunt tell me to say? why, i've forgotten the word. i remember that he told me something, but it seems to have gone right out of my head. how stupid, to be sure! i couldn't have been half-awake after all. "what shall i do?" thought stan again, after striving vainly to recall the word. "i must go and ask him again, and that means waking him up. why, he'll call me an idiot. i know; i'll go to the nearest sentry and ask him." the lad stopped short in his musings, for a cold chill ran through him at the thought of the risk he would have to run--the idea of the risk coming to his brain with the thought: "why, if i can't give the answer just when he challenges me, he'll fire and send a bullet through my head." the more the lad thought and strove to recall the password, the more confused his brain seemed to grow. hundreds of words flowed through, but not one which suggested that which was correct. time, too, was gliding steadily on, and in imagination he felt that he must be getting very near the end of the hour when his duty would lead him to the first post--for what? he felt ready to groan as he told himself that it was to be shot at. "whatever shall i do?" he said at last, when he stood on the stone pile fully believing that the time was past, and that if he did not visit the posts the sentries would grow uneasy and give some alarm, the result of which would be that blunt would wake up; and how could he meet him after being guilty of such a contemptible lapse of duty? "he'll look upon me as a complete idiot," thought the lad; "just, too, when i was trying so hard to behave in a manly way, and making him begin to believe in me. it's dreadful; it's horrible! am i going mad?" in utter despair, stan let his rifle-barrel sink into the crook of his left arm, and turning his hands into a binocular, gave a long, careful look up the river, half-expecting to see some tall-sailed junk dropping quietly down the stream. in his excitement he turned trees into masts, and projections from the banks and a solitary long low hut into vessels; but after further inspection he was bound to believe that there was no sign of danger, and at last, with a sigh of weariness, he sank down into a sitting position, with his legs hanging over the side of the pile and his rifle across his knees, to make one more desperate effort to recall the password from the black depths of his brain into which it seemed to have sunk down. but all his efforts were in vain; his head seemed to grow more and more dense, and he felt that he must rouse himself and run all risks. he determined to walk towards the first sentry, and the moment he was challenged in the darkness call out loudly who he was and say frankly that he had forgotten the password. "the sentry will think i'm half-mad, and i believe i am. it's the excitement, i suppose, and the risk and dread. i never felt anything like it before. it's dreadful. yes, it is the excitement." but he did not give the true cause, for he did not grasp the position-- to wit, that it was due to brain weariness from the overstrain of thought and want of proper rest. for if, when his inability was at its worst, he had been able to lie down and sleep soundly for a few hours, he would have wakened up with his mind perfectly clear and the missing word ready to come quite readily. "there! it is of no use," he said to himself at last; "the time must have gone by ever so long ago. i must get up and go. it's very risky, but i am bound to risk everything so as to do my duty. here goes; and if i am shot at, i am shot at. it's a hundred to one that the sentry couldn't hit me in the darkness, hurry, and confusion, and before he could reload and fire again i might rush up to him and explain. oh, horrible, to have to tell the fellow what a weak-minded muff i am!" grown perfectly desperate now, as he felt the minutes seem to gallop away, stan took up his rifle, rose to his feet once more, and descended to the level of the wharf, perplexed by another thought which had come to torment him. "he'll fire at me, of course," he said, "and i must run in before he can reload, as i said; but what about his revolver? well, i can't help it," he muttered; "i must risk it. and perhaps i can make him understand before he can draw the pistol out of the holster." drawing a deep breath, he nerved himself for the encounter, and began to walk steadily for the corner where the first sentry was stationed, and in the effort of action felt stronger and firmer. "i may find him asleep," he thought, "and pounce upon him before he wakes up to challenge. "not likely. our men here are not like poor wing; but--ah! that's possible," he said to himself excitedly. "i forgot to do so; why shouldn't he have done the same? he may not have loaded, and if he has forgotten to slip in a _cartridge_--oh! think of that!" he cried half-aloud, for the missing word had come. just in the nick of time, too, for the lad's ejaculation had been heard, and in an instant the challenge came out of the darkness: "who goes there?" "`cartridge,'" said stan promptly; and the next moment he was conversing with the first sentry, feeling as if a tremendous load had been taken off his mind. the man had nothing whatever to report, and stan went on towards the next. "mustn't let that cartridge go off again," he said to himself, with a little laugh. "how stupid it seems now! cartridge--cartridge! how could i have forgotten it like that?" there was nothing to report at either of the other posts, and stan returned to his old station, feeling calm and refreshed, to pass the rest of the hours, which did not prove weary, though there was nothing more exciting than the occasional cry of a bird, a rustling of wings overhead, and now and then a splash in the river which suggested the possibility of part of a night spent in a boat with fishing-rod and line. he found himself wondering what chinese river fish would be like, and whether they bore much resemblance to those of old england--thoughts which brought up memories of days spent by pond and lake in school excursions. but whenever the lad's ideas wandered off like this, they were brought up short again by the stern aspect of the present, and he felt ready to blame himself for letting his thoughts go astray when possibly a terrible fate might be awaiting them all, and he was bound to keep his attention fixed upon the broad stream in front. fortunately it was a beautiful night, and before the watcher could think it possible the stars grew faint, a long, pale, soft line of light began to appear in the east, and soon after as it broadened there was a twittering and whistling in the belt of reeds across the river where all was rural, half-woody, half-cultivated land, with waving corn and sugar-grass. then a loud flapping and splashing began in the river, whose farther side proved to be a perfect colony of ducks; while after a time the trees, which had during the night been visible only where seen against the lighter parts of the horizon, grew plainer and plainer, till they gradually showed in their natural green. for high up orange flecks were appearing, and before long, as stan watched, it seemed impossible that anything horrible could be on the way, so grand was the transformation taking place from night to a glorious day. "poor old wing must have taken fright at nothing at all," said stan to himself; and with the terrors of the night seeming to have passed away like a dream, he visited his posts and chatted with the men, joining in the general anxiety whose subject was common to all--namely, how long would it be to breakfast, and would a good, hearty one be spread? in due time the party were relieved by a couple of men who were sent up with glasses to the roof of the warehouse, after being duly cautioned not to meet with such a fate as that of poor wing; and as soon as they were stationed blunt made his appearance, looking eager, refreshed, and ready for anything that might come. he greeted stan warmly, and they went together to see how wing was, the injured man having been fast asleep when blunt arose. "well," said the latter, as they found him now awake, "how are the broken pieces?" "allee quite wellee," said the man, with a broad smile. "wing going get up to bleakfas'." "that's good news," said stan. "shall i help you?" "help? no; wing get up all 'lone." he tried to rise as he spoke, smiling the while, but his whole aspect changed, his face wrinkling up like that of an old man, as he sank back groaning with pain. "muchee achee all oveh," he said piteously. "t'ink all bleaky af' all." "oh no," said blunt, smiling. "you're stiff and bruised, and naturally you'll feel pain as soon as you move; but do you know what you've done, sir?" "yes; fallee down. almos' bleak all to piecee." "no, no; i mean, giving us all such a scare. where are your chinese pirates?" "allee up livah. long way." "yes; and a very long way, too. they won't come to attack us." "you t'inkee?" said wing softly. "ah! you wait lil bit, you see. wing see velly hollible t'ing. pilate fight, kill. suah come soon." "why are you sure?" said blunt quickly. "pilate in junk. come flom up livah. mus' come pas' lynn blothee _hong_. no othey way." "unless they go back," said blunt. "well, we shall soon see. can you eat some breakfast?" "wing velly 'ungly, sah. quite empty. no eat nothing allee day yes'day." "hungry--eh? that's a capital sign. well, you lie still for a day or two, and your stiffness and pain will soon go off." "no wantee wing come fightee?" "no; we can kill all the pirates who are likely to come." wing smiled very feebly, and then winced, for in making a deprecating movement with his hands he brought bruised muscles of his back into play, giving himself an agonising pain. "that's his conscience pricking him for deceiving us about the attack, lynn," said blunt dryly. "there! let's see if this coffee is hot.--you, wing; we'll send you something to eat. and you understand, you are to lie still. oh, here comes some one to say breakfast's ready. i told them to set it in the long store." for as he was addressing wing one of the chinese servants hurried in to say that all was waiting. "we must drop ceremony now, lynn, and feed together, coolies and all. be thankful to get anything at all under the circumstances. it isn't a scare. the enemy are on the way." "what! you've seen them?" "no; but i've seen that wing's tale is true, for not a boat has come down here with provisions this morning. things are all wrong up-river or we should have had boats with vegetables, fruit, fish, poultry, butter, milk, and bread, while now--" bang! chapter twenty four. "dutch courage." it was the report of a rifle in the clear morning air, fired from the warehouse gable occupied by the two lookout men. "the pilates!" shouted wing exultantly. "it's our breakfast knocked over, lynn," cried blunt. "come along, lad." he led the way out at the double, and the next minute was hailing the men on the roof. "see them coming?" he shouted, with his hand to the side of his mouth. "yes, sir; half-a-dozen big junks yonder, right across the land there, in the second great bend of the river, i think." "miles away, then?" "yes, sir; four or five." "then the wind will be sometimes with them, sometimes against. that's good news, lynn; we shall be able to have our breakfast in peace, and digest it in war. come along in." "oh, i couldn't eat now!" cried stan excitedly, for his heart was giving big thumps as he gazed right away overland towards where the river curved round the end of a mountain-spur. "i thought you meant to help us to beat the enemy off." "of course i do," cried stan. "well, a steam-engine won't work without coal, and a human being can't fight unless you feed him. come! no nonsense. all our preparations were made yesterday, so we've nothing to do but man our works." "so as to be ready?" panted stan, whose breath came short from excitement. "we don't want to be ready two hours too soon, and tire the men out with anxious watching before the enemy come near. we're going to have a regular good hearty meal to put strength and courage into us." "dutch courage," said stan rather contemptuously. "can't be dutch courage, because we are all english who are not chinese. but that's a stupid old expression, my lad, meaning, of course, that the dutch are cowardly. now, i don't know much about history, but whenever i've read anything about the dutch in war, it has gone to prove that the hollanders are a thoroughly sturdy, brave, and obstinate set of men. there! don't get in a nervous state of flurry; it will spoil your shooting, and i shall want you to fire steadily and well. why, you don't want to go into action with your veins jumping and your nerves all of a slack quiver." "of course not," said stan huskily. "that's right. you want every string screwed up tight and in the best of tune, so that you can play an air that will make the savage scoundrels dance a figure that is quite new to them. eh?" "yes, that's what i want to do," said stan; "but--" "never mind the butting; leave that to the pirates. let them come and butt their heads against our wharf. here, i'm captain of the good ship lynn brothers, and you're only lieutenant, so obey orders.--it's all right, gentlemen," he continued coolly and pleasantly the next moment to the little crowd of his people who had hurried out and were waiting for their orders; "the enemy are coming, just when it seemed as if, after all our preparations, they had got wind of what was waiting for them and had made up their minds to disappoint us." he was interrupted here by a loud cheer, in which the chinese employees joined with a peculiar yell, which did not improve the heartiness of the cheer, but gave it a fierce, rasping, savage tone. but it evidently meant business, all the same, and altogether seemed to thrill stan from top to toe and make him feel, as he put it to himself, in better heart. "that sounds right," said blunt as the cheers died out into what was a series of vocal chinese exclamations. "now listen; we've got a sharp fight before us, in which we are going to show those savage scoundrels that they have made the greatest mistake they ever made in their lives." there was another cheer at this, one in which stan found himself joining and waving his cap, just as if it were at home and the cheering had something to do with a football victory. "now," continued blunt, "i reckon that we have two hours of waiting to do before the music begins to play, so we'll spend part of the time in enjoying the breakfast i have ordered to be ready for every one here. in the name, then, of our employers' son and nephew, i ask you to come and breakfast with him--all but you two gentlemen up yonder. you must stay and continue your lookout, but my chinese servants will bring you up all you want." there was another cheer at this--one that threatened to be terribly prolonged--but blunt held up his hand. "that will do for the present; keep the rest of the shouts till we have driven off the enemy. now then, pile arms and file in to breakfast. no ceremony; we must all be equal over this meal, as we shall be when we are fighting the enemy." "yes, sir! yes, sir!" came in chorus, and the men began to flock in. "stop a minute," cried stan excitedly, catching at his captain's arm. "what is it?" "the men on the roof want to say something." "do they?--ahoy, there! what is it?" "can't we have a big bamboo up here, sir?" said the clerk who had been waiting to speak. "a big bamboo?" cried blunt. "do you want to bastinado your comrade?" "no, no, sir. one of the biggest down yonder in the yard. if you sent us up a rope, sir, we could haul the great pole up and lash it to this chimney-stack. we feel as if we ought to have a union-jack hoisted up here." "why, of course," cried stan excitedly. "yes--of course," cried blunt. "i'm glad you mentioned it. i never thought of that. but there's plenty of time. breakfast first, and the flag afterwards. come along, lynn." "oh, don't--pray don't take things so coolly," whispered stan as they climbed in over the tea-chest wall. "why not? we must be cool, my lad, if we wish to win." "yes; i suppose so. but hadn't we better get the flag up first, and then it will be done?" "no," said blunt shortly. "i'm not going to do anything till all our men have had a good meal. i'm not going to drive my team till every horse has had his corn, so in with you." "i suppose he's right," thought stan; "but i couldn't take matters like that with the enemy coming slowly and surely on." right or wrong, blunt took the head of the table, and made ready for stan to sit on his right. directly after the rattle of knives and forks began, the chinese servants placed great steaming mugs of coffee at every man's side, and the thick slices of bread-and-butter which kept coming in relays seemed to melt off the dishes as if they were a confection of ice, while the tall coffee-urns ran more and more dry, till there was a general falling-off in the demands for more, and the manager's stores had shrunk to the lowest ebb. "now then," he cried suddenly, rising and beating the side of his coffee-mug with a spoon, "there's plenty of time, so file off quietly; but every man will now take his place. all of you remember this, however--that mr lynn and i want prudence, not rashness. when the firing begins every man is to make as much use as he can of his shelter. some of us must be hit, but the fewer the better." there was a cheer at this. "no more cheering," cried blunt firmly. "this is business, not pleasure. now, one more thing i want you all to remember. when you aim at a man and draw trigger, it is not for the sake of making a noise, but for every one to prove his marksmanship and get rid of one enemy. that is all; now in silence, please, every man to his appointed station." the men, europeans and asiatics, filed out quietly, each man taking his rifle from where he had leaned it against the wall, and stan turned to blunt's chief servant. "have you taken breakfast to mr wing?" he said. the man smiled and nodded. "did he eat it?" "yes; eat and dlink muchee," replied the man, with a broad smile, just as blunt turned to the lad. "i've got a flag about as big as a moderate tablecloth," he said. "we'll send that up to the roof by one of the stoutest chinamen, along with a rope. come and let us make two of the others pick out a large bamboo." this was all quickly done. the rope was lowered from where the two sentries and the sturdy picked chinaman were standing by the chimney-stack, and directly after a stout twenty-foot pole was made fast, hauled up, and the flag secured to the end; and as there were no halyards attached, it was raised against the chimney-stack and secured by the big chinaman, the rope having been cut in half so as to lash the bamboo in two places, and wedges driven in afterwards to tighten the rope to the greatest extent. another cheer which arose was not checked, for it was when the light morning breeze made the folds open out to float well over the centre of the big building, even blunt and stan joining in the salute of the flag whose united crosses seemed to promise victory for the brave defenders of the solitary _hong_. "that's a good job done, lynn," said blunt; "and i'm very glad it was suggested. the men will fight all the better for it. i almost feel as if i shall." "yes; it seems to put courage and confidence into one," said the lad warmly; and then he coloured a little, for it seemed to him just then, as he met his leader's eye, that blunt was watching in a curiously inquiring way, looking, stan thought, as if he felt a good deal of doubt as to how the lad was going to behave. and all this time the great junks came slowly and steadily on, growing more and more distinct from the defences, but still seeming as if they were sailing right through the waving fields of growing grain. blunt had his glass in hand now where he stood in the little bale-made bastion, and after a good look he handed it to his companion. "have a good squint, my lad," he said. "i make it that it will be quite half-an-hour before the leading junk comes round the bend into the straight part of the river, and even then it will take another half-hour before they have run down to us." "yes; i can see the matting sails very clearly now," said stan after a good look, "but the hulls are quite hidden by the fields." "yes, and will be till they reach the straight reach of the river. but i expect they are all crammed with men. how many junks can you make out?" "six," said stan. "yes, that is what i saw. now let us have a quiet walk round amongst the men and see if anything is needed to better the defence." stan followed his leader, whose first examination was of the two doorways through which the defenders must pass when they gave up or were driven from their fragile wall. everything was as it should be; the doors were wide-open, but ready for closing, and half-a-dozen short, stout pieces of plank were standing in sight, waiting for placing and securing inside the door after it was closed. even the holes were made ready for the insertion of big screws instead of nails, and all was in charge of two chinese carpenters, with assistants ready to hold the plank while it was being screwed tightly to the door-posts. both doors were in the same state of preparation, and blunt nodded his satisfaction. "capital," he cried. "if the men are not scared away by a rush of the enemy," said stan thoughtfully. "that we must chance," said blunt. "but i do not think we shall be troubled that way, for the men who are retiring from the wall must keep the enemy in check. i propose being at the farther door: do you feel as if you could stand your ground with some of the men to hold this door till all is safe?" "i haven't much confidence in myself," said stan rather excitedly, "but i will try my best." "you can't do better," replied blunt quietly. "you see, i am not a man," added stan. "no, not in years; but you can try to act like one." "yes, i'll do that," said stan. "and here's a bit of encouragement for you. i shall have four of our best fellows at each of the windows over these two doors. they'll keep up such a rifle-rattle as is bound to check the chinamen for a bit, besides which the men with you will keep on shooting till the last board is in its place." "and what about fire?" "ah! that's the weak spot, my lad," said blunt, with a sigh. "they may not think of burning us out, but if they do--well, we have our supply of water and the buckets all ready. we can do no more. if they do start a blaze we must put it out. that is all that need be said: _must_ put it out; and we will." a look round on the first floor showed everything ready for the defence that could be devised, and after inspecting this, with the open windows and breastworks ready for firing over, blunt descended with his young lieutenant to inspect the cartridge supplies, one of the most trusted clerks being in charge of these. and then, to stan's intense satisfaction, for he had long been all of a fret, blunt led the way out to the wharf, where the lad started in wonder, if not in alarm, to see the progress the junks had made: for there they were, six in all, well in the strait, and sailing steadily down like gigantic, great-eyed water-dragons making for the victims it was their mission to destroy. for clearly enough now, as they were seen end-on by the watchers, each displayed on either bow a huge, grotesque, but cleverly painted eye, giving them the aspect of fabled monsters of the deep which had risen to the surface in search of prey, and were now leering with malicious satisfaction as they glided on. chapter twenty five. "kill allee pilate." "this will be your station, lynn," said blunt as they passed along inside the thickest wall till they reached the bale bastion, where the manager halted. "you take that wide loophole shelter yourself at the side; there's a capital place for resting your rifle, and with such a steady support, and as you will be able to cover so wide a sweep of the enemy's advance, i shall expect you to make a good score." "a good score!" said stan in a tone of voice full of disgust. "any one would think i was going to shoot at a target." "at a good many targets," said blunt. "yes, human beings. you don't really mean to say you want me to kill as many of those unfortunate wretches as i can?" "unfortunate? they haven't proved to be unfortunate until they are badly beaten. yes, that is what i mean. i want you to kill or disable every one of the enemy at whom you can get a shot." "and do you think i could be so bloodthirsty?" "i think you know us all pretty well here, and would be sorry to see us cut to pieces by a set of savages who are coming down in full force to the attack." "cut to pieces!" said stan contemptuously. "yes," continued blunt sternly; "cut to pieces--literally. i am making use of no high-flown figure of speech. i know from what i have heard and seen that these piratical chinamen, after shooting down the people they attack, finish by spearing or beheading every fallen man; and then the braves, as they call themselves, go round with their big razor-edged swords and hack their victims to pieces." "ugh!" ejaculated stan, with a shudder of horror. "i think you will see that it is better for you to help us to the best of your ability with your rifle and bring down as many as possible. mercy is a fine thing, and i dare say i should be content with taking a man prisoner who dropped upon his knees and threw down his arms; but chinese pirates neither drop upon their knees nor throw down their arms. now look here, my lad; you are young and naturally shrink from shedding blood, but this is no time for being squeamish. you are not going to fight against ordinary human beings, but against a set of fiends who live by robbery and the murder of their victims--men, women, and innocent children." stan was silent for a few moments, and in that short period his face grew so lined that he looked years older. "is this perfectly true, mr blunt?" he said at last in a husky voice that did not sound like his own. "on my word as a man who is about to stand up and face death, and may before an hour is over be lying on his back with his dead eyes gazing straight up beyond the clouds. you hear me?" "yes," said stan firmly. "and you'll do your best for the sake of those who would be ready to encourage you if they were here, for our sake, and for your own?" "yes, i'm quite ready now," replied stan firmly. "that's right. then shake hands, my lad." "what for?" asked stan. "because," was the reply, given in a grave, solemn tone, "we may never have the chance again." "you think it is as bad as that?" "quite," was the reply as hand pressed hand. "there! we shall be at it soon, and i'm sorry, lynn. when you first came i thought i should always detest you as a young meddler sent here to be in my way." "but you don't think so now?" said stan, smiling. "quite the contrary, my lad. there! we've talked enough. only one word or so more. keep cool, load steadily, and fire only when you feel sure of your man. never hurry. recollect that one carefully taken shot is worth a score of bad ones, which mean so much waste of ammunition. there! i'm off now to talk to the rest. i'll come and be with you as much as i can." "thank you; but i can see what you have done. you've put me in one of the best-sheltered places, and you are going to expose yourself in the most dangerous." "you are only partly right, my lad. i have not put you in one of the best-sheltered places, but i am going to expose myself in one of the worst as much as i can, and that is here--the place where i have stationed you." stan's next words slipped out unconsciously: "why have you put me in the most risky place?" "because i saw that you liked shooting since you brought your gun and revolver, and i gathered so, too, from your conversation and the way in which you handled that rifle. now are you satisfied?" stan nodded, and the next minute he was alone, but with men at all the loopholes near. as soon as he was left to himself a peculiar chill came creeping over him. blunt's words seemed to be ringing in his ears about being face to face with death, and in imagination he pictured the aspect of his newly made friend lying stark and stiff gazing up into the skies. he would have given anything in those brief minutes to have seen him come back, not to act as a shield from the firing too soon to begin, but so as to have his companionship; for, near though the others were, the little bastion seemed to be horribly lonely, and the silence about the great warehouse too oppressive to bear. but as the boy--for he was a mere boy after all--stood at the opening with his hand grasping the barrel of the rifle whose butt rested between his feet, and gazing out at the glittering river, his image-forming thoughts became blurred; the figure of blunt passed away, and another picture formed itself upon the retina of his eyes. there before him were the smoking ruins of a native village, and, so horribly distinct that he shuddered and turned cold again, there lay in all directions and attitudes the slaughtered victims of the pirates' attack, and all so ghastly that the lad uttered a peculiar sibilant sound as he sharply drew in his breath between his teeth. the next instant the chill of horror had been swept away with the imaginary picture--imaginary, but too often real in a country where the teeming population hold human life to be cheap as the dirt beneath their feet--and stan, with his brows knit, was carefully cocking and uncocking his rifle to see if the mechanism worked accurately, before throwing open the breech to take out and replace the cartridge, when he closed it smartly and looked out at the coming junks, which glided nearer and nearer like fate. they were so nearly within ken now that stan could see that they were crowded with men, each a desperate and savage enemy. "i wonder whether i can hit the first one who takes aim at me. i must or he'll hit me," muttered the lad. "but i shall have to be quick or he may hit me first." he had hardly dwelt a moment upon this thought before he heard blunt's voice in the long, narrow opening between the tea-chest wall and the buildings proper of house, offices, and stores, where the soft, shuffling sounds of feet could be plainly heard--sounds which stan, who had been long enough in china to recognise them, knew to be caused by the collecting of the coolies. proof was afforded the next minute by blunt's brisk voice addressing them with-- "now, my lads, i want you to fight your best for us. how many of you can manage rifles?" there was a few moments' silence, and then a deep voice said: "no wantee lifle. takee big ilon clowba', sha'p chip-chop knifee. kill allee pilate, evely one." "that will do. wait, then, till the wretches rush in, and then use the bars and your knives. i see you mean to fight." there was further shuffling of soft feet, and though he could see nothing, stan knew that the big picked chinamen, whose muscles were hardened by their tasks of handling and running to and fro over gangways with heavy bales, casks, and chests, were being posted in places of vantage ready to receive the enemy when they landed at the wharf and made their first onslaught. stan turned to watch the junks, whose sails were now lowered as unnecessary and stowed lengthwise to be out of the way, while great sweeps had been passed out, not to urge on the vessels, but to keep a little way on and make them answer the steering-gear, the force of the current being enough for the enemy's purpose, which was to lay them alongside the wharf after--as was proved ere long--a sharp discharge from their clumsy artillery. "how long they seem in coming!" thought stan, though in reality the time was very short; and then he started, for blunt had come close up behind him unperceived. "here i am," he said. "we are all ready, and our people are waiting for you to open the ball." "for me?" cried stan, who felt startled. "you. you will fire the first shot when i give the word. that will be the signal that i consider the enemy sufficiently close, and the men will begin picking the wretches off. i say, look; clumsy as the great craft seem, they come on very steadily and well. there is no confusion. see what a line they keep of about a couple of hundred yards apart. their captains are not bad sailors after all." "yes, they come on slowly and surely," said stan in a sombre tone.--"i wish i didn't feel so nervous." "it's quite natural," said blunt. "i feel just as bad as you." "you do?" cried stan, staring. "nonsense!" "indeed i do," said blunt. "i'm in what schoolboys call a regular stew. every one in the place feels the same, i'll venture to say. it's really quite natural; but as soon as the game begins--" "game!" cried stan bitterly. "oh, very well; drama, if you like. i say as soon as it begins we shall all be too busy to feel fear, and be working away like britons. here, it's going to begin sooner than i expected. by your leave, as the porters say, i want a look through my glass. yes," he continued as he carefully scanned the leading junk, "they've got a big brass swivel-gun there, and they're loading it. how's your rifle sighted now?" "for two hundred yards." "that will do nicely. you shall have a shot soon. but they're going to let us have it. keep well in cover. i hope the lads are all doing the same." "yes, they're going to begin," said stan excitedly. "bravo, good eyes! how do you know?" "because i can see a man going along the deck with something smoking." "that's right. yes: i can see it. it's the linstock or slow-match. keep under cover, for we shall have a hail of ragged bullets of all kinds directly. they've laid the gun, and the man is waiting to apply the match." "yes: i can see that too. look out: here it comes. i saw the smoke seem to make a dart downwards." "quite right; and i can see with the glass that the burning end is resting on the touch-hole." "but it doesn't go off," said stan excitedly. "no; the priming must have been knocked off, or be damp or badly made. it's a failure, certainly. there! i wish you could see with the glass; it's all as clear as if it was close to us. one of the men close to the breech of the long piece is priming it again." "i can't see that--only that the men are busy," said stan as the great leading junk, with its leering eyes, glided onward till it was somewhere about a hundred and fifty yards from the wharf and being swept closer inshore. "now then," cried stan; "look out!" for he could just distinguish the downward movement of the smoking match, which was followed directly after by a couple of puffs of smoke, one small from the breech, the other large and spreading, followed by a bellowing roar, almost following a strange rattling and crash as of stones about the face and surface of the wharf. there was a dull pattering, too, over the head of the watchers, and dust and scraps of stones ran down the front of the building. stan made some remark, but it was drowned by a deafening roar--nothing to do with barbaric artillery, but coming from the throats of hundreds of men, beginning with those in the first junk, right along from those which followed, to the very last; and to make the sounds more ear-stunning, men began belabouring gongs in every junk with all their muscle brought to bear. "nice row that, lynn," said the manager coolly. "just shows what fools these barbarians are. of course, you know why they beat these gongs?" "to frighten us, i suppose," said stan. "that's it; and i don't feel a bit alarmed. do you?" "pooh! no; but i did feel scared when the charge of that big swivel-gun came rattling about us." "yes, and with reason, too," said blunt quietly. "their ragged bits of lead and scraps of iron make horribly painful wounds. i don't want to get a touch of that sort of thing." the moment the booming of the gongs ceased, blunt drew back and shouted to know if any one had been hurt by the discharge of the great swivel; but though he waited and called again, he had good proof in the silence that no one was injured. "do you hear there?" he cried again. "is any one--" his words were drowned by a roar from the enemy's gun, almost accompanied by the snarl-like noise made by its great charge, which came hurtling against the chests and bales this time, though a good half spattered angrily over the front of the stones. "we mustn't let them have it all their own way, lynn, my lad, or they'll come on with a rush full of confidence and do too much mischief. now then, the distance is easy. look yonder in the front of the junk: what can you see?" "two men pulling out the rammer of the long swivel-gun, and another pointing it, as it seems to me, exactly at this loophole." "i don't believe he is, my lad, but it looks like it." "now he's taking the--linstock--don't you call it?--from the man who is holding it, and is going to fire." "don't let him," said blunt sharply. "take aim. ready? fire!" in obedience to his companion's orders, stan had dropped on one knee, taken a long and careful aim, and then drew trigger. for a few moments the soft grey smoke hung before the lad's eyes and hid what was going on; but he did not waste time. throwing out the empty cartridge, he began to fit in another, and as with trembling fingers he reclosed the breech he whispered sharply: "did i hit?" "i fancy so; the man sprang up in the air and fell backwards. you've no time to look, so take it from me. they are carrying the man away." stan drew in his breath with a hissing sound, but no time was given him to think of what he had done, for blunt's voice made him start, as he was bending over him. "loaded?" he said. "yes." "take aim, then, at that man with the match. he is shifting the gun a little to allow for the distance the junk has floated with the stream." "yes; i see." "let him have it, then. sharp! he must not fire that piece." stan's rifle rang out, and the chinaman dropped behind the high bulwark and was seen no more. "load again, stupid!" cried blunt, for stan half-knelt behind the opening from which he had aimed, looking stunned and motionless, impressed as he was by his terrible success. but he started into active life again under the spur of his companion's fierce words. "keep on firing slowly and steadily, lynn," said blunt in tones which made the lad feel that he must obey, though the compunction was dying and he knew how necessary it was to render the big piece useless by checking the efforts of the gunners. he fired again just in the nick of time, and the man who now held the linstock dropped it and stood gesticulating to his companions. "you've missed him, lynn," said blunt angrily. "look! he has picked it up again." stan needed no telling that he had only startled the gunner by sending a bullet close to his head, and before he could fire again a puff of smoke darted from the mouth of the piece, and blunt struck him sharply across the back, spoiling his aim so that the bullet from his rifle went anywhere. "why did you do that?" he cried sharply, for the blow stirred him into making an angry retort, as he gazed through the smoke at his comrade. "i've done the best i could. i'm not used to this sort of--why--what-- mr blunt!" he cried, as he saw a peculiar look in the manager's face, and that he was leaning sideways against the wall of bales. "oh! you're hurt!" the manager tightened his lips and nodded sharply before letting himself subside, gliding down half-resting against the defensive building, and saving himself from falling headlong in his faintness. "here," cried stan, letting his rifle rest on the top of the bale from which he had fired, "let me bind up the wound. where are you hurt?" "hah!" exclaimed blunt, as if mastering a spasm of pain. "never mind me. go on firing, my lad. don't you see how close they are in? fire away, and shout to the others to keep it up. stop them from loading if you can; it may scare the next junk from coming on.--ah, that's better!" for the sounds he heard were pleasant to his ears. there was no need for stan to shout, and he took up his rifle again in obedience to his orders and went on aiming at the men on the junk who seemed to be most prominent. firing was going on all around, and from the upper windows of the warehouse as well, the consequence being that the men at the sweeps fell one by one; and then the two men handling the huge steering-oar dropped away, with the result that, instead of the great junk being laid alongside of the wharf for the pirates crowding her to leap ashore, they were carried on down-stream, with her captain and officers raging frantically, till the chief man received a bullet through one of his upraised arms and sank back into the arms of a subordinate. chapter twenty six. "fire away!" the leading junk was soon some distance down the river, the confusion on board from the steady rifle-fire, which caused man after man to drop, checking all efforts to recover the lost ground; but the second junk had taken its place, and those on board were pouring in a hot fire from two clumsy swivel-guns, consisting of showers of rough missiles, bullets, broken iron, and the like. but little damage was done to the sheltered defenders, who, animated by the example set from the little bastion, kept up a steady, regular fire, with certainly more than half the shots telling among the chinamen working the guns or giving orders. in the intervals of his firing, however, stan kept on imploring blunt to let him summon help, or cease firing and attend to the injury. "go on firing, as i told you," cried the wounded man in an angry snarl. "can't you see that you are helping me by what you are doing." "but you must be getting faint." "i am," said blunt fiercely, "with the hard work to keep you at work. do you think i want our men to be put out of heart because i am bowled over?" "no," said stan, with his cheek against his rifle-stock, and he pulled the trigger, sending a leaden messenger at one of the enemy who was about to lower his smoking linstock, which produced a savage yell by its effect; for the man with the burning match flung up his hands, the linstock went flying overboard, and stan's frown deepened as he felt that he had desperately wounded the gunner, who was being borne away before the lad's rifle was again charged. "that was another hit, wasn't it?" said blunt anxiously. "i think so," was the reply, "but i'm not sure that it was my shot." "never mind so long as it's one murderer the less. keep on firing, my lad, while you can get so good a chance. i can't see what the rest are doing. it seems to me that they are only wasting powder." "oh no," said stan; "men on the junk keep on falling. but there are two more junks coming close up." "and you haven't checked them. fire away! try and hit the steersmen." "it's hard work to see them so as to pick them out," said stan, "but i'll do my best." the lad's best was to aim carefully at the men holding the steering-oars of the second and fourth junks, but excitement combined with the distance affected the steadiness of his aim, and he uttered an impatient ejaculation as he saw the two great crowded vessels coming steadily onward. "we shall be having all three close in together," he muttered. "it's impossible to keep them off." but better fortune had attended his efforts than he had given himself credit for. in each case his carefully aimed shot had taken effect, and they were supplemented by the shattering fire kept up by the defenders at the other loopholes. certainly the third and fourth junks were coming in fast, but it was in an ungoverned way, and their action soon after produced a savagely furious volley from the captain of the second junk; for its companions came on to crash into it, with the accompaniment of falling masts and sails, and the confusion of top-hamper, a good deal of which came down upon the men, who yelled shrilly and angrily until they were extricated or able to get free. in spite of the faintness and sinking caused by his wound, blunt held tightly on by the cord binding the bale against which he had propped himself, and watched everything that took place with swimming eyes, but an intense feeling of satisfaction as he witnessed the disasters of the attacking pirates. and every now and again when the noise grew less overpowering he hurriedly went on giving his companion instructions to take careful aim at this one and that of the enemy's force, and did not fail to give praise when the shot was successful. "bravo! well done, lieutenant!" he said hoarsely. "that's a murderer the more put out of action. don't shudder; three parts of them will unfortunately get better, but they're done for this time." then: "keep it up, my lad. you take my place now and lead the fighting. nobody knows yet that i'm down. you'll have to give the order soon to withdraw into the warehouse." "not fight it out here?" cried stan eagerly, for he was fast growing intoxicated with the wild excitement of the fray, and had forgotten all about the danger of his position. "no; it is impossible. you are only hindering them now and crippling them as much as is possible, but before long they will come like a wave over the sides of the junks, and swarm up to the defence here, and you will not be able to resist them." "but we should all have a much better chance to shoot them down then." "of course; and a dozen or two would be struggling on the stones. but if a hundred were shot down it would make no difference; they would come on all the same in their blind, savage fury, for they think nothing of those who fall. here, leave your rifle where it is for a few moments. that's right. now take this whistle. put it in your vest-pocket, where you can get at it easily, and after they have made their first rush, use it." "yes," said stan huskily as he thrust the little instrument into his watch-pocket; "but about you? hadn't i better call a couple of the coolies to come and lift you into your room?" "no!" snapped out blunt, as if he were maddened by the pain he suffered. "do you want to turn a brave resistance into a panic?" "no; of course not, but--" "silence!" cried the poor fellow sternly. "the men are fighting splendidly now, and i want them to go on till such time as it is necessary to get inside and continue the defence from the upper windows. do you hear?" "yes; and i'll do all you wish, but i must have time to get you safe inside." "leave that to me," said blunt slowly and in a more gentle tone. and then, as if warned by his sensations, he continued: "if i faint, use your own common-sense. don't hesitate: fight till it seems folly to hold on longer here; then blow the whistle with all your might. some of them are sure to rush to your help. then let a couple take me by the hands and drag me--don't let them stop to carry me--drag me in through the first doorway." "i'll take one hand myself." "you'll do nothing of the kind," cried blunt passionately. "i order you to take my place as captain, and as your father's son save us all from this murderous scum. you're captain now--do you hear?" stan nodded. "then act sensibly. do you want to give up directing and turn yourself into a coolie to save one helpless man, and perhaps sacrifice your own life?" "but you are--" "only one," snapped the manager; "and the most useless one here. now back to your place, and go on firing as the captain should, to bring down more of the miscreants and encourage our brave fellows. if you fail now i'm not able to strike, the rest will be out of heart at once." "you are giving me more than i can do," half-groaned stan. "i'm only a boy." "forget that, stan," said his wounded comrade harshly. "i say you're acting like a man. now fire at that giant of a fellow standing in the gangway waving his great broad-bladed sword--" there was the sharp crack of stan's rifle, and the big, showily dressed chinaman followed the direction in which he waved the sword--that is, shoreward--and literally dived off the junk into the river, to be seen no more by those in the bastion. "well done--for a boy!" cried blunt mockingly as he passed his left hand over his streaming brow. "i only hope every man at the back and right and left is doing as well. mind when you retreat that the doors are well barricaded.--reloaded?" "yes," cried stan, who felt as if his companion's words were goading him to act in a way contrary to his nature, and without further urging he fired again and again. "good--good!" panted blunt. "i daren't turn to look back, because i should expose myself--and i know that if i stirred i should faint--but tell me, how are the fellows behaving?" "keeping up a steady fire, just as you told them. i can see the poor wretches falling killed or wounded. there goes another into the river." "hah!" sighed blunt. "i can't tell the difference between their firing and ours. it seemed, though, as if our fire was dropping off." "it isn't that," said stan, passing his reloaded rifle into his left hand so as in turn to wipe his streaming face with his right, quite unconscious of the fact that he had covered it with the wet, black, exploded powder fresh from the breech of his piece and his used cartridges, and now leaving a broad black smudge across his forehead and down each cheek--"it isn't that. i'm sure our men are firing splendidly, but the enemy are using their clumsy pieces now from the junks." "yes, that's it," said blunt slowly. "but what are they doing now? i can't see for this cloud of smoke." "getting the junks closer in with poles. they're going to leap ashore, i think, and make a rush.--but there is no cloud," he muttered to himself; "the wind is driving it away." "be ready, then," said blunt. "fire once more right into the thick of them, reload--and--then be ready--to sound retreat--to--sound--" stan took a quick aim, fired, threw open the breech of his piece with his fingers trembling, and then closed it again, using stern resolution to carry out his orders, though all the time he felt sure that blunt was as he found him when he looked round--that is to say, lying motionless on the floor of the bastion, but with his fingers still crooked in the cord of the bale. "it must be nearly time," groaned stan to himself, as he felt half-stunned for the moment. but a moment only. the next he was grinding his teeth as he again passed his rifle into his left hand to feel for his knife with the right, take it out, and open the blade. for he foresaw a terrible difficulty as he glanced first at blunt's hand still clinging to the cord, and in dread lest the desperate clutch might prove a hindrance, he bent down and, as quickly as he could, sawed through the tightly strained cord, which quivered and then, as the last strand was severed, sprang apart with a sharp crack, springing out of the wounded man's fingers and leaving the arm free to fall across his breast. stan sighed as he replaced the knife and turned to fire once more; but he saw at once that if the retreat was to be made and a fatal hand-to-hand conflict, which could only terminate in their all being borne down, avoided, the signal must be given at once. the time had come. in fact, as he placed the whistle to his lips he felt that the call had been deferred too long, for there was a furious yelling, accompanied by a deafening beating of gongs, and with a roar a human torrent came pouring out of the gangways and off the sides of the two nearest junks; while the crews of two more, which were interlocked with their companions, rushed on to the nearer decks to cross and supplement the attack. "they'll never hear it!" thought stan as he blew with all his might, just as every holder of a rifle was making it spit its deadly cones of lead right into the thick of the enemy's advance. but he was wrong. at the first shrill chirrup of the silver whistle, its keen, strident tones cut through the heavy roar of the gongs and voices, and as the firing from the junks had ceased so as to allow the enemy to advance, so did that of the defence; and while stan was drawing breath to repeat the piercing call, there was the quick sound of footsteps, and two of the clerks appeared at the back. "dead?" shouted one as he saw blunt lying motionless. "no," shouted stan. "quick! a hand each, and drag him in. off!" the last words acted like an electric shock, and in less time than it takes to tell it the manager's hands were seized, and with his head just clear of the ground, the two bearers doubled with him along the back of the tea-chest wall and in through the open doorway. stan followed them till he too reached the opening, and then stood back against the chests waiting while man after man dashed up to this and the farther door, till the last had passed in, and then with unconscious, bravery the lad followed. it was none too soon, for as he reached the lintel the hands of a score of savages, armed with swords and spears, appeared above the frail defence, assisted to the top by their fellows. directly after they began to tumble over, heedless of the firing now being opened upon them again from the upper windows of the warehouse; and then, wild with fury as several dropped, they made a dash at the doorway into which some of them had seen stan dive. chapter twenty seven. "the dangerous task." it was none too soon, but soon enough, for as stan rushed through, still blowing the whistle--for no reason at all save that he had forgotten to take it from his lips--the plan enforced by blunt in his instructions acted like clockwork and the door was clapped to in the faces of the enemy with a sharp bang; half-a-dozen of the defenders stood fast with rifles presented ready to fire past the carpenters if there were need, and a doubt was rising in the breathless lad's breast. it was this: "oh, if the others don't secure that farther door!" the doubt was quelled by a second sharp bang, and a cheery voice--that of another doubter--cried: "it's all right there." "yes," cried stan as he thrust the whistle back into his pocket. "splendidly done!" there was no further talking, for the noise outside was deafening. the enemy, maddened at their check, were hard at work chopping frantically at the door with their heavy swords, and stabbing at the panelling with spears in a way which threatened to make short work of it. but all the time the right work was going on, the two great chinese carpenters placing the prepared short lengths of timber in their places as coolly as if nothing was the matter, and screwing them tightly with wonderful celerity, till the highest piece was being adjusted, when stan pushed quickly past the men waiting to fire if the need arose, and made his way to the farther door, to find, to his great delight, that the barricading was even further advanced than at the one he had left. "well done!" he shouted, to make his voice heard above the horrible din without. "now one man will be enough to stay on guard here ready to raise the alarm if the enemy begin to get through; the rest off at once to man the windows. mind, don't waste a cartridge." stan actually blushed in the semi-darkness as he gave the order in an imperative voice, and then felt ashamed of himself for daring to order these men. but a strange feeling of exultation ran through him the next moment, and he felt the pride of power, for there was a hearty cheer, and his command was obeyed with such alacrity that he ran back, and found the little party he had left waiting still as if for a similar order. this was given loudly and quite as a matter of course, and from that moment stan felt as if he really was in command, ready to do his best to protect the place, and as if he had only to speak to find the defenders ready to fight for him to the death. it is a strange thing, that natural readiness of the human being to follow the lead of the one who leaps to the front and displays his contempt of danger, and it has often done work that history is proud to record. "what next?" thought stan as the last man dashed off, rifle in hand, to augment the dropping fire from the carefully protected windows. the answer came from his heart quite silently: it was to go and see how blunt had fared, and where he had been placed. but the intent was crushed out by the orders that had been given him--by blunt's own words about his only being _one_, and that stan was not to do anything to sacrifice many lives for the sake of looking after one wounded. his place, he knew the next moment, was to be on the upper floor, watching and directing, ready to send men here and there where the danger was most pressing, and above all to be on the watch for the great peril; and to this end he made his way to where the great water-casks stood ready filled, wishing to make sure that if the emergency arrived the coolies were at their posts ready to run here or there with buckets of water. to his great delight, there they all were, every man stripped to the waist and with a great ready-bared knife stuck through his girdle, ready to salute him with a broad smile and seize a bucket to plunge into the open-ended casks. "no, no--not yet!" cried stan authoritatively. "be ready." a grunting murmur of satisfaction followed him as he hurried back towards the broad stairs, at the foot of which the big carpenters and their two assistants stood, knife-armed like the rest, and having a great moving crowbar resting with one end upon the floor. stan was about to spring up the stairs with the intention of sending one of the clerks to the office to report upon his chief's state, when he heard a shrill cry, and turning sharply, he became aware that wing, in spite of his injuries, was up and dressed, and limping painfully in his efforts to overtake him. "ah, wing!" he cried. "up? you ought to be lying down out of danger." "wing not lil bit 'flaid," said the man quickly. "wing look see if young lynn allee light, quite well, casee you wantee know allee 'bout misteh blunt." "yes, yes; i was going to send. i can't come yet," cried stan eagerly. "wing t'ink muchee jus' come tell young lynn misteh blunt lie on back. tablee. close wing. wing see what matteh." "yes, yes. is he very bad?" cried stan. "dleadful bad," said the man solemnly. "gottee big hole light floo heah." the position he denominated "heah" was pointed out by the chinaman with his two thumbs, one placed on his shoulder-blade, the other on the upper part of his right chest. "oh! that must be dangerous," cried stan wildly. "yes, velly bad," said wing, frowning and shaking his head. "wing findee bullet lead inside py-yama." "and you have tried to bind it up?" wing nodded importantly. "bad place," he said. "wind come out flont, blood lun out behind." "there must be a big bandage put over the place. go and tear up a sheet." "no," said wing, still more importantly. "gettee clean tablee-cloff-- cuttee long piecee." "you have done that?" "yes," said wing, rather pompously now, as if exceedingly proud of his knowledge. "wing know allee 'bout it. mend bloken leg oncee. big tub fallee flom clane when wind um up. fall on coolie leg. poo' chinaman. wing mend leg. misteh blunt got hole floo heah,"--the thumbs illustrating again--"wing get softee cotton, pushee piecee in flont hole, 'top wind come out; pokee piecee in back, keepee blood in. allee blood lun out, masteh blunt die velly fast." "but have you bandaged the place well?" "bandage? yes; tie velly long piece tablee-cloff lound and lound and oveh shouldeh. 'top wind, 'top blood. get well now." "go and stop with him, wing," cried stan excitedly. "i can't come." "wing know. got tellee men how to fight." "yes. stop with mr blunt. you're a splendid fellow, wing," cried stan excitedly. "young lynn glad wing 'top place?" "yes, i tell you. capital! off with you back." "yes, wing go back. t'ink young lynn like know." stan only heard a part of this, for the firing was going on furiously, the enemy were battering at the doors, and just then there was a crash and a heavy report. "they've begun to use the guns again," panted the lad as he sprang up the broad warehouse stairs two at a time, to see half-way down the great store one of the windows wrecked as to its defences, bales and boards lying some feet in, the former tumbled over and the latter in splinters, while the two defenders who had been stationed there lay upon the floor. "they've got one of the biggest guns to bear on the window," said one of the defenders of the next window excitedly. stan nodded and ran to the weakened place, to go down on one knee and look out. he was not cautious enough, for he was seen from the deck of one of the junks and saluted by a yell, followed directly after by the discharge of some half-dozen _jingals_, whose ill-directed bullets whistled by his ears. "take care!" shouted three or four voices. "i should think i will," muttered stan, dropping on his face, his rifle striking the floor with a bang. then quickly drawing back, he got behind one of the bales that had been driven in, rested his rifle upon it, and raising his head cautiously, prepared to fire. for at his first look out he had seen all he wanted, and following almost directly upon the sharp clicking of his rifle-lock, the man nearest to him heard the lad draw a deep breath and fire. stan's fresh companion peered from his side to see the object of the lad's shot, and he uttered a loud "bravo!" for stan had continued his former luck, as, seeing that the gun on board the biggest junk was being reloaded, and that the firing-match was just about to be applied, he steadied himself, took the long breath the young clerk had heard, and then drew trigger, with the result that there was no heavy report and crash of another of the defences. another attempt was made to fire the gun, but a second man went down. a third fared no better, and amidst cheers from the different windows, joined in by the two injured men, who were stunned by the woodwork driven in upon them but not seriously hurt, one of the officers of the junk was to be seen raging about giving orders, which produced a ragged volley from the clumsy chinese firelocks, bullets and pieces of iron hurtling through the window; but no more harm was done, except to the officer, who fell pierced by a shot from farther along the great goods floor. while the party who had landed, quite seventy strong, were raging and tearing round the building, battering at door and barricaded window, and every now and then making a vain thrust with their spears at the firing party quite beyond their reach at the upper windows, and frequently getting a bullet in return which laid a desperate aggressor low, some of the more cautious sheltered themselves on the outside of the wall of bales and chests to begin firing up at the defenders. but with no advantage to themselves, for while crouching down behind the wall they could only bring their heavy, clumsy matchlocks to bear at such an angle that the charge went up high above the defenders' heads. and whenever a man who had grown furious from several disappointments rose up to get a better aim, he went down to a certainty, riddled by a bullet sent home by one or other of the watchful clerks. and all the while effort after effort was made by the leaders of the pirates to bring the swivel-guns of their junks to bear, but without avail; for, with a strong desire to emulate the success of stan's shots, quite half-a-dozen of the clerks and warehousemen who commanded the dangerous spots waited patiently and watchfully with presented piece and finger on trigger for the opportunities that were not long in coming. man after man of those working the guns was shot down, till, in spite of yells and blows from their leaders, not a single pirate could be induced to carry out the dangerous task of loading, laying, or firing the heavy swivel-guns. chapter twenty eight. "fiery missiles." the desperate fight had been going on for quite an hour from the time of the landing of the attacking party, and the men who had gained an entrance into the first defence had grown exhausted by the vain efforts they had made to break a way through, and contented themselves, such as could, with getting back outside to the shelter of the walls and, crouched there, watching their companions' fire, while turning a deaf ear, and then sullen looks, towards their leaders on the junks, who kept on furiously yelling to them to go on. they did not seem inclined to risk it, but scowled at those who ordered the attack, and waited. after a short consultation among the junk captains--a consultation carried on by shouts and yells from vessel to vessel, delivered through hands held trumpet fashion to the lips--it became evident to stan and his little garrison that an attack was to be made upon a larger scale. for the crews of the junks manned the sweeps, and while those close in strove to lay their craft alongside the wharf above and below the spot where their three junks were grappled together, the other two began to creep up inshore as if to land their men where they could get right round to the back of the great _hong_ and the outbuildings; while, to add to the peril, one of the men on the far side of the roof-ridge--a point of vantage from which several successful shots had been sent into the vessels--shouted the bad news that the first junk, which had been carried down the river till she had disappeared round a bend, was coming up again full sail, evidently to rejoin the others. "it looks very bad now, mr lynn," said lawrence, the foreman, who had distinguished himself by the way in which he had maintained his coolness. "they're going to make a grand attack now in force." "yes," replied stan quietly, "it does look very bad. they're too many for us." "but you won't give in?" cried another anxiously. before stan could reply another broke out with: "they don't want to kill us; only to plunder the hong. why not take advantage of this lull and quietly get out on the other side, so as to get right away from the river? i don't believe that they would pursue us." "then you have a great deal more faith in the chinese character than i have," said the first speaker, "i believe that as soon as they saw our confession of weakness--" "we should make no confession of weakness," retorted another. "we should only retire." "they would think we were beaten, and come after us for certain," said another bitterly. "yes," said the first speaker sharply, "and follow us till we were surrounded and overwhelmed out yonder in the marsh, or paddy-fields." "but why should they take all that trouble for nothing?" "for nothing? they wouldn't call it for nothing when they would get all our rifles and ammunition, in addition to having the profound satisfaction of spearing and hacking to pieces a party, of what they call foreign devils. what do you say, mr lynn?" "only this," said stan quietly, "that if we are to be killed it would be better to fall fighting to the last in our own defence." "then you will fight?" cried lawrence eagerly. "of course," was the reply. "i am obeying mr blunt's instructions to defend the place to the last." "but isn't this the last, sir?" said the clerk who had proposed the retreat. "oh no. we are as safe or safer than ever, and though there are going to be a great many more to make the attack, it does not follow that any of them will get in." "hear, hear!" shouted lawrence. "and besides," continued stan, "when it does come to their beginning to break in, we have all our big, strong coolies to join us and help with their knives and bars. i feel sure that they will fight bravely." "so do i, mr lynn," said lawrence warmly. "but they are brother natives," said the objector. "that's the very reason why they will fight all the fiercer for us. they hate pirates like poison, and will enjoy sending them out of the world far more than we shall. it is only fair, though, mr lynn, that you should give any one who likes to make the attempt to escape free leave to go." "yes," said stan; "it is not fair to force any one to fight who wishes to escape." to stan's surprise, there was a dead silence; and after waiting a few moments listening to the storm of voices without, stan continued: "then we're all going to stand by one another?" "yes, to a man, sir," said the objector. "i dare say i'm wrong in my ideas, and i give way." there was a cheer at this. every man went back to his shelter and examined his rifle, afterwards taking out and examining his revolver before thrusting it back in its holster, while stan went from man to man to inspect his supply of cartridges, and ended by having a fresh box up and himself seeing to the refilling of every bandolier. while this was in progress those who kept a strict watch found that no further attack was being made. the matchlock firing had ceased, and the men beneath the outer defence lay crouched close as if waiting for further orders. but the preparations on board the junks were being made with a determination that augured a serious encounter at the next attack. men were collecting, armed with spears and the great heavy curved chinese swords which widened out in the blade from about an inch and a half at the handle to more than double that width near the point; while something fresh suddenly took stan's attention, and he pointed it out to those with him in the great store. "yes, sir," said his chief backer in the late debate; "that's the ugliest thing we've seen yet." "why, it looks like the preparation for a procession. every hatch on the different junks has seven or eight great chinese lanterns; but they're not yet lit, so far as i can tell in this bright sunshine." "they mean it for a procession," said lawrence, "and they think it is for our funeral." "what!" cried stan. "but look; what's that smoke?" "they're lighting stink-pots to throw, sir. those and the lanterns are to burn us out." "think so?" "i feel sure," was the reply. "but why didn't they use the stink-pots before?" "because they thought they could drive us out without. they didn't want to set fire to the place for fear of damaging the loot they mean to take. they can find a market fast enough for tea and silk; but they're getting savage now, and mean to make an end of us, even if they have to burn the place down." "well," said stan coolly, "we must not let them. i'll go down now and fetch up the warehousemen and coolies to do nothing else but pick up and hurl back the fire-pots, for of course they will try and fling them in at these open windows." "you couldn't do a better thing, sir." "no," said stan thoughtfully. then raising his voice, he cried: "if any one here can suggest anything more to be done, pray speak out." "nothing more could be done, sir," said a clerk. "your arrangements are excellent." "mr blunt's are, you mean," said stan, smiling. "very well, then; i want to stay up here and watch. you, mr lawrence, go down and bring up the coolies, and tell them what they are wanted to do; but you had better leave half below to be ready to help with the water-buckets." the messenger went down, and returned with the sturdy body of chinese labourers, who were placed at intervals from end to end of the great open space, well back in shelter; and as soon as this disposition of the defensive force had been carried out, and the young chief had satisfied himself that the men thoroughly grasped the duties they had to perform, stan gave orders for all who handled rifles to be in readiness to take good aim and mark out for punishment every prominent leader amongst the enemy, so as to try and bring him down, and thus throw confusion amongst the men who were being led to the next attack. then began a weary wait, evidently caused by the leaders of the expedition holding their men in hand until the first junk had beaten up against the wind till she was some distance beyond the _hong_, when the watchers saw the sails suddenly begin to glide down and the great junk slacken and stop in its upward course; while directly after, with the sweeps on either side thrust out, she began, after hanging upon the current for a few moments, to drop down again, the huge oars being plied vigorously, so as to run her ashore just below the edge of the wharf. "now," cried stan suddenly, "four of you, fire at the steersmen." three shots rang out simultaneously, with the result that the two steersmen went down. but two more sprang to their places, seized the great rudder oar, and the rowers toiling hard, the progress of the junk was apparently not checked, and she came steadily on. two more shots rang out, mere cracks in the vast space, but the junk still kept on, till her bows touched the ground and her stern swung round parallel with the wharf, while her crew uttered a fierce yell and crowded to the side; but they were some fifteen feet away from the wharf-edge. "hah!" said stan to himself. "they mean business now;" for once more there was silence for a few moments before the old tactics were carried out, a signal was given, and full warning afforded to the defenders that the enemy was coming on. for on each junk men rushed forward and aft to begin belabouring the great hanging gongs with all their might, and this formed the accompaniment to a terrific chorus of yells. "i should have liked to go down and see poor mr blunt once more," said stan to himself; "but i dare not go now." then he started, for his words suddenly assumed a strange significance. it seemed to him as if his seeing blunt once more meant that it would be for the last time, and something like a shudder ran through him. he made an effort, however, and it was gone, leaving him firm and ready to an extent that startled him, for he could not believe that in the face of such terrible danger it would last. there was no more thinking then. the enemy, keeping up the horrible din which was evidently intended to terrify the defenders of the _hong_ into submission, came pouring now from the various junks, some over the sides to leap down from bulwark to wharf, some through the regular gangway, and those from the freshly returned junk making no scruple about dropping from the rail at the nearest point down into the river, to wade or swim ashore. the manoeuvre resulted in several unfortunates being crowded down, to rise after an interval, and in several instances to be swept away by the sharp current now running between the side of the junk and the wharf, where, as fast as the assailants gathered, they rushed yelling to the tea-chest barrier and began to climb. all was wild excitement on the part of the assailants, who, as they pushed one another up, to be pulled up in turn by those at the top, kept up a continuous chorus of savage abuse and threats of the way that they would treat their victims as soon as they got them down; but the furious outburst seemed to have not the slightest effect upon the defenders, who, crouching well below their barricades, remained perfectly calm and firm. they knew their cut-out task, and contented themselves with the delivery of a well-directed shot now and again. there would be a well-concealed loophole, with nothing visible to the attacking pirates, giving them perfect confidence that the defenders were hiding away from them, and then all at once there followed a sharp, pale spurt of flame, a little puff of smoke, and some leading man of the attacking party would go down from the top of the wall, where he had been urging his followers on, while as he fell it was as often as not to lie perfectly motionless, unnoticed by his people; though upon some occasions, after staggering and falling, he would struggle to his hands and knees and crawl out of the hurrying crowd, to try and creep back to one or other of the junks. but as fast as one man went down several came on in his place, and in a very short space of time the whole of the narrow alley between wall and store was full of hurrying fighting-men, carrying on the former tactics of battering with their weapons at door and window, some of the storming party holding their ground and keeping on thrusting their spears in savagely wherever there was a loophole to which they could gain access. "keep cool," shouted stan, though for his own part he seemed on fire. "they'll get tired of hammering at the place in time." "hadn't we better try and shoot more of them, sir?" said one of the clerks. "no; you must only shoot their leaders. if we went on firing at the crowd we should soon have no cartridges left.--what does that shouting mean?" he raised himself a little to try and see the reason for a fresh burst of shouting below the window where he was watching. the answer came at once, after a peculiar odour, and in the shape of a blazing earthenware pot of inflammable material which was thrown from the top of the tea-chest wall with such accuracy that it came flaring and fuming right in through the narrow opening, to fall heavily beyond stan. one such blazing missile, it was plain to all, would be sufficient to commence the destruction of the place, and in his excitement the young leader forgot his status of chief and director, for he made a dash towards the blazing pot, to stoop, seize it, and hurl it out. but just as he was holding his breath to avoid the smoke and flame, he was sent backward by a sharp concussion, sitting down involuntarily, and then trying to recover himself; but before he could get upon his knees he saw the burning pot travelling back through the window-opening with so good an aim that it fell on the far side of the wall, just where the enemy were thickest. the man who had thrown it back after upsetting his leader turned upon stan with hands blackened with the horrible resinous compound, and a deprecating look on his countenance as he murmured something in his native language, before ending up with his version of the english word "sorry." "all right," shouted stan, smiling, as he clapped the coolie on the shoulder. "bravo! capital! go on." the coolie's face lit up with satisfaction, and he turned sharply to field another blazing pot and return it as sharply as a clever wicket-keeper would a ball to the stumps which it had passed, and with such splendid effect that it struck and broke on one of the enemy, who was standing on the wall in the act of hurling another of the hideous missiles. the effect was startling. in an instant the pirate's blue cotton frock was covered with the blazing resin, and uttering frightful yells, he leapt down into the crowd of his comrades in the shelter of the wall beneath, forcing several to share in his misfortune as they were lighting up more of the horrible missiles to hand up to him for throwing. there was a burst of flame through a cloud of smoke, out of which stan-- fascinated into looking out--saw something alive flaring as it rushed here and there, making for a party of its fellows dashing up with more of the pots. it was all done in a few seconds, and had any of the assailants been ready and noticed the lad watching, he would have been shot down. but every eye was directed at the blazing figure, and, to his horror, stan saw the end of the tragedy. for the instinct of self-preservation had made them doubly callous to their comrade's sufferings. the man rushed on as if seeking help or in a blind effort to reach the river and plunge in; but he did not reach it of his own volition, being received upon the lowered spears of three or four of his comrades, and then he was thrust, shrieking horribly, over the edge of the wharf, a sullen puff of smoke from the surface of the water telling that the tragedy was at an end. a frightful sensation of sickness made stan's head swim as he dropped back to the floor just in time to escape being struck by another of the fiery missiles; but the faintness was driven off by excitement, and it was with perfectly clear brain that the lad saw the burning asiatic grenade hurled back amongst the yelling assailants. this proved to be with an effect that checked further effort for the moment and sent two of the pirates running to the edge of the wharf, to plunge in and climb out again dripping, but with no worse injury than a few smarting burns. stan was awake to the danger that was rapidly increasing, for after seeing that the smoking patches of pitchy resin on the floor were innocuous, he ran on towards where the far end of the great room was full of smoke, dreading greater mischief there; but, to his great relief, he found that, though quite half-a-dozen stink-pots had been hurled in through the windows, the coolies there had dashed them back at once. and here, too, he found that the enemy had suffered so painfully from their own weapons that the throwing had ceased. any doubt that might have lingered in the brains of the british defenders respecting the amount of confidence that might be placed in the chinese labourers was now completely driven away; for though the men had been burned about the hands by the missiles they had returned, they made very light of the pain, laughing and congratulating one another upon the retaliation they had been able to inflict, for stan soon gathered that here no less than three of the enemy had been seen to rush shrieking to the edge of the wharf and plunge in. there was a brief cessation now from the attack, and the defenders, whose vision was a good deal obscured by the smoke that hung in the place, made out that the throwers were hanging back from where several stink-pots were burning away in the shelter of the wall, some of the men protesting loudly as one of their leaders furiously urged them on, and ended by trying to set his followers an example by stepping forward, seizing one of the vessels, coming back into sight again with the pot flaming as he held it by its loose handle, and then making a rush to a breach where a portion of the tea-chest wall had been torn down. the act was one of barbaric bravery, and stan saw him reach the top, swinging the pot to and fro and making the flames roar as they rushed away from his hands. then as his arm was reached out backwards to its fullest extent, and he was about to launch the horrible missile at the opening in front, there was the sharp crack of a rifle, and he fell forward, pitching headlong to the ground beneath the window, while the blazing pot struck the stonework close to the foundation of the building, broke up, and went on blazing and sending up a dense cloud of pitchy smoke. "dead?" said the man who had fired, for stan had reached forward to look out, but drew back again coughing. "it's impossible to see," he cried. "the smoke is blinding." "and it will be setting something on fire," said another voice out of the smoke. "ah! that's right," cried stan, for the big coolie who had taken his place near them pressed forward with a bucket of water, which he set down while he thrust out his head to see exactly where the danger lay, before picking up the bucket again, reaching out, and dribbling the water down a little at a time, producing a cloud of steam to mingle with the black smoke, and putting an end to all danger of a fire starting at the lower barricaded windows. as the cloud of steam and smoke passed off, one of the clerks risked thrusting out his head from the next window, but withdrew it sharply, for it resulted in a hasty discharge of _jingals_ from the deck of the nearest junk. "hurt?" cried stan, rushing to where the clerk had staggered back. "yes, sir, horribly," was the reply. "something--a piece of iron--or-- a--a bullet--caught me--here--and--" the words came at short intervals, and sounded confused. for the speaker was feeling about his head and neck, and drawing in his breath with pain. "one moment," cried stan, reaching out a hand to take something from where it had lodged just within the poor fellow's collar. "yes, that must have been it," he said wonderingly. "bit of stone. hit me on the side of the head. but that couldn't have come out of one of their matchlocks." "no," said stan; "it must have been chipped off the side of the window." "and there's only a lump coming here. doesn't bleed, does it, sir?" "no," replied stan. "you had a lucky escape." "what a close shave! never mind; a miss is as good as a mile," added the young fellow cheerily. "i saw the captain, though, or whatever he is, lying down at the foot of the warehouse quite dead." "are you sure?" asked stan, with his face contracted. "oh yes--quite. he wouldn't be lying doubled up as he is if he were only wounded. i say, mr lynn, that wasn't a bad shot." "no; excellent, and just in the nick of time. who fired it?" "well," said the young man, hesitating and speaking as if he were not so proud of the effort after further consideration, "i fired straight at him, as i thought, just as he was in the act of flinging that blazing pot; but i can't say i am sure that i hit him." "but you are sure that he is dead?" replied stan quietly. "pray be cautious, though. don't run such a risk by looking out again." "you may take my word for it i won't, sir," said the young clerk, patting the side of his head softly as he spoke. "one taste like this will act as a reminder for some time.--hullo! look out. they've begun again." there was proof of a renewal of the attempt to destroy the place by fire in the presence of another of the pirates' hand-shells, for one came sailing in through the farthest window, to break up with a crash about the middle of the flooring; and the defenders had a fine exemplification of the dangers to which they were exposed in seeing the half-liquid contents of the pot begin to flow, blazing steadily, in all directions. one of the coolies rushed up at once to spread the contents of a bucket of water all over the burning patch, while another, regardless of the pain, ran here and there catching up the flame-licked fragments of the pot from where they had fallen, and kept on hurling them like little smoke-tailed comets back through the window-opening. "more water," shouted stan, as the burning patch began to add another odour to its own, a fine, pungent smoke beginning to mingle with the dense black fume, indicating that the floor boards were beginning to catch. "no, no, sir; this will be best," said one of the warehousemen, and he dragged one of the silk-bales away from the nearest window. "but that will catch fire," said stan. "too closely pressed together, sir," was the reply.--"here, you two, draw that backwards and forwards over the fire to smother it out." the two coolies caught at the suggestion, and seizing the bale together, they began to push it here and there over the burning place, with the effect of rapidly smothering out the flaming pitch, dense black smoke alone rising wherever the bale was passed; but unfortunately a heated gas kept on ascending from the blackened boards, and that caught fire again with a little explosion as the bale glided away. perseverance won, however, but none too soon, for all danger had hardly been swept away before another of the pots came hissing and fuming in, but without breaking; and this was jerked out, sending the attacking party flying from the place where it was expected to fall, the painful examples they had seen making the assailants pretty careful now. this one was followed by several more, and then, to the great relief of the defenders, there was a cessation, and the assailants could be seen gathering together as if to listen to a mandarin-like officer who was risking his life while talking vehemently to his followers, who had now drawn away from the walls and were collected close to the edge of the wharf, many glancing at the junks as if disposed to rush on board. "they're beginning to turn tail now," said stan to the warehouseman who had spoken out so firmly. "i think we had better give them a volley and start them off with a run." "i'm afraid that it would be just as likely to enrage them all the more." "yes, sir," said lawrence, stan's lieutenant; "perhaps we had better wait; but my fingers are itching to bring down that captain, or chief, or whatever he is." "he seems to be urging them on," said stan thoughtfully--very thoughtfully, for he had an idea in his head, one that would give the man a chance for his life, which might not be the case if he told his lieutenant to fire. for now that the attack had ceased and the pirates' fiery missiles had left off making his nerves quiver at the prospect of the fire gaining the mastery and driving them out of their stronghold, the lad felt anything but bloodthirsty; while he thought that if this leader, who seemed now to be the most prominent of all, were disabled, his followers might set the example of taking to flight. "look here," said the lad suddenly; "i think i could hit that man from here." "of course you could, sir," cried his lieutenant eagerly. "i saw how you were firing at first and never seemed to miss. will you have a try?" stan made no reply, but stood fingering his rifle for a few moments before, to the great delight of the party of defenders, he sank down on one knee, resting the barrel of his piece upon a bale, and then waited and watched the chinaman who was haranguing his men wildly as he stood just at the edge of the wharf, now and then raising his arms as he pointed again and again at the great store. as he finished there was a tremendous shout, and every man of the crowd of listeners began to wave his spear or sword. just then the crowd opened out as if to form in two parties for a rush at the warehouse, leaving their leader standing out quite clear, his tall, commanding figure looking huge in the sunshine. "here they come! look out!" arose from within, and the whole body were in motion, when-- _crack_! the sharp report of stan's rifle was heard, followed by the floating up of a puff of grey smoke, and the sound seemed to act like magic, for the attacking party stood fast, staring in amazement at their chief, whose legs suddenly doubled up beneath him, and he fell back into the arms of two men who rushed forward to his help. "good shot!" cried several of the defenders. "a dead man," said stan's lieutenant. "i was afraid i could not do it," said stan, smiling; "but he's not a dead man, for i only fired at his legs. look! they're carrying him on board the junk." it was as the lad said: several of the men from the crowd went back to help, while the rest stood fast watching and waiting as if, losing their heads, they had suddenly been struck with a feeling of indecision. all the wild, savage desire for destruction had been discharged like so much electricity at the touch of a rod, and a feeling of hopefulness sprang up amongst the defenders as they could see that the whole of the attacking party were now gathered into groups talking eagerly, so that there was a low, buzzing hum instead of the chorus of savage yells and threats. "where's wing?" said stan suddenly, as a thought struck him respecting taking advantage of the lull. "i know: he is with mr blunt. one of you go and tell him to send the servants with anything he can get together in the way of food. another of you bring a bucket of drinking-water up here." the orders were carried out, and with watchful eyes and rifles ready to hand, the whole party partook of the rough refreshments passed round, the water proving, in their excited state, the principal object to which they directed their attention. wing limped up to stan as soon as he had performed his task, to announce that mr blunt had gone "fas' 'sleep. velly weak; can'tee sit up. dlinkee big lot wateh." stan longed to go and see his chief, but duty kept him there watching the actions of the men still crowding the wharf, till some one in authority began to shout, when his followers crept up together as if for a fresh attack. this brought the refreshing to a hasty end, every man hurrying at once to his post, but only to set up a subdued cheer, for, to stan's intense delight, the next order seemed to be one for making the fighting-men separate into half-a-dozen different parties, as if drilled to certain movements; but it only proved to be for forming up in the divisions belonging to each junk, on to which they now began to file, either direct from the wharf or across the nearest vessels to their own. "they've had enough of it, sir," said one of the clerks excitedly. "hadn't we better give them a cheer and a few parting shots?" "no," said stan thoughtfully; "it would only be wasting ammunition. i can't quite believe in their giving up so easily." "easily!" said another to one of his companions. "not much of that. look at the dead and wounded." there was no need to draw attention to the poor wretches lying about, for their horrible presence was a burden to every one in the warehouse. many were lying dead where they had received the fatal bullets, but many more lay where they had crawled painfully so as to get into shelter, evidently in the full expectation that if they did not get under cover they would be made the mark for fresh bullets. and oddly enough, as it seemed to the defender the cover most affected was the tea-chest wall, where those who crawled up lay close, with only a leg or arm visible to the watchers at the windows. they were, of course, so near that their groans came floating in through the openings, and now that they were _hors de combat_ stan became exercised in his mind as to whether he ought not to take some steps to give the poor wretches water, and he suggested it to his lieutenant. "yes," said the latter, "i've been thinking something of the kind, sir; but it would be terribly risky work. they are savages to a man, and as likely as not they would turn upon the hand that came to their help. you see, they're sure to have their knives and swords with them, and some of them their rifles. there, for instance," he continued, pointing through the window where they stood to the stock of a _jingal_ whose barrel was out of sight, being close under the wall where its owner lay. "yes, i'm afraid it would be risky; but if i went with a bucket of water and a tin dipper they never could be such wretches as to turn upon me." "my dear sir," was the reply, "if one didn't another would. but you couldn't possibly do it." "i could, and i should feel plenty of confidence in their seeing what i meant." "then your confidence would be misplaced, sir," said the man decisively. "they'd all think you had gone out to poison them, and would turn upon you at once." "oh, impossible!" cried stan. "they'd be bound to see." "they'd see, sir," said the man firmly, "but they wouldn't understand. men who go about getting their living by slaughtering their fellow-creatures can't grasp the meaning of an act of self-denial. besides, you couldn't go." "i could: why not?" "because you are captain, and can't leave your men." stan made an impatient gesture. "but i could, sir," continued lawrence quietly; "and if you order me i'll go." stan looked at him sharply. "i mean it, sir," said the man, with a peculiar smile; "but all the same i hope you will not send me." "i can't," said stan. "how can i send you where i hold back from going myself?" at that moment the man stretched out his hand sharply and caught the lad by the arm. "what's that for?" said stan sharply. "look in that first junk." "yes; i'm looking. they're getting ready to hoist sail and go--no! i see now. they're afraid to come to close quarters. they're loading that gun." "that's right; and the crews of the other junks are at the same game." chapter twenty nine. "one cartridge left." there was no doubt about the matter, for as they were speaking a tiny curl of smoke began to rise from the middle of the group of busy men on the nearest junk, and stan's voice rose, sounding hoarse and deep: "begin firing again, slow and careful shots, at the men carrying the matches. stop; i'll begin." he took aim across the bale of silk behind which he was kneeling, and-- though he did not see it, others did plainly--the linstock flew up, jerked from the holder's hand, described a curve, and fell overboard to be extinguished. there was a yell at this, and half-a-dozen men or so began discharging their matchlocks at the window from which the accurate shot had come; while directly after there was a roar from another junk, whose men had charged their brass gun unseen, and the contents went crashing and spattering about the opening, making a great uproar, but doing very little harm. it was a disillusionment for the defenders which roused them to a feeling of bitterness and nerved every one present with determination, and the duel between the junks and the _hong_ went on fiercely, but with no serious harm to the defenders. the attacking party, however, suffered terribly, man after man of the crews, if they can be so called, of the guns falling killed or wounded from the slow, steady, accurate fire which picked off with almost unerring precision those who loaded and those who fired the junks' artillery, till the pirates yelled with rage and fury, crowding over one another to take the disabled men's places. meanwhile, in spite of the nerve-shattering discharges whenever the swivel-guns were fired, stan's followers kept up their slow, steady, irregular reply. sometimes minutes passed without a rifle being fired, for want of what was looked upon as a good opportunity; and then shot after shot would snap out from one or another window, giving the enemy the work of carrying off as many dead or disabled men. again and again stan deluded himself into the belief, caused by the cessation of the firing, that the enemy were once more out of heart; but the pauses proved to be only due to the failure of ammunition or a difficulty in bringing up the lighted match, and the firing recommenced, and more gunners were in retaliation shot down. "at last!" cried stan exultantly, after the hottest passage of the attack yet endured, when all at once the firing ceased. "look! they've had some accident; that big junk is on fire." he pointed needlessly to a great body of smoke which seemed to be rising amidships of the first-coming junk but the last to be moored. "yes, there's something wrong there," said his lieutenant excitedly. "no, no, no! look out! here they come." to a man the defenders drew a deep breath, and their hands went to their bandoliers to feel for cartridges. for it was plain enough: discouraged but enraged by the ill-success of their firing, the chinese leaders had given their orders to their men, who needed no inciting, but began pouring over the sides of the vessels again, many of them bearing their abominable fire-pots, of which a number had been made ready in the hold of one of the junks; and, without leaders or any formation beyond that of a yelling, surging crowd, the enemy began running up to the _hong_ to gain the shelter of the wall of chests. here there was a halt for a few seconds till the front wall was crowded, while not a shot was fired by the defenders, who, in full expectation of what was coming, had seen their young leader order up two-thirds of the coolies, one half to deal with the fire-pots, and return them blazing amongst the enemy, and the other to be ready with buckets and bales to smother out any fire which might arise. the smoke of the pots was rising in a cloud, from the front of the wall, and though they could not see, the defenders surmised correctly enough that the bearers of the direful missiles were swinging them in the air to get them into a high state of combustion before beginning the assault; and all waited with knitted brows, wondering how long it would be before the bewildering roar of the gongs began again, for the delay seemed, in their over-excited state, to be long and strange. just when the excitement of waiting was becoming unbearable, there was a diversion, the quaint-looking, pig-tailed head of wing rising slowly from the stairway, followed by the rest of him, and he began to limp painfully towards where stan crouched rifle in hand, with its deadly charge waiting to bring down the first prominent leader upon whom he could bring the sight to bear. he was about the only one of the defenders who did not see the coming of wing, and he started as he felt the man's soft fingers touch his arm. "ah, you, wing!" he cried sharply. "what do you want here?" "misteh blunt send wing young lynn." "hah! then he is awake?" wing nodded. "is he better?" "no. velly bad. say smokee chokee. tell wing come say you takee ca'e fi' no get to magazine and blow up allee ca'tlidge." "yes, yes; i'll take care. tell him we are doing our best, wing, and that i can't come down to see him." "no; can'tee come down. b'long warehouse. mustee stop kill big lot pilate." "go down now, wing," said stan impatiently. "you'll only be in the way here." "yes, go down soon fight begin." "and stay with mr blunt; he may want water." "no stay 'long misteh blunt--no. say wing makee 'self useful. b'long wa'ehouse now. stop see if fi' begin to buln, and put um out 'gain with bucketee wateh." "very well; do that, then." "yes, wing go stand 'longside ca'tlidge place. see no stinkee-pot come floo." "yes; good. be off; i'm going to fire." "go fi'?" said wing. "yes; no shootee wing. get 'way now." it was quite time, as the chinaman felt. limping along the floor, he made for the stairway, and had just reached it when, with a roar and dash, the fierce enemy climbed to the top of the little wall and began to discharge their _jingals_ and fire-pots, no less than three of these latter falling inside at the first discharge. it was a repetition of the first assault, but earned on with more savage energy, in spite of the calm, steady reply in single shots from the defenders, who kept to their former tactics, with the result that nearly every time a rifle sent forth its jet of flame and faint puff of smoke it meant a message of death or temporary disablement to some miscreant who was more prominent than his fellows in the assault. but they were as far, apparently, as ever from carrying the place, and when, enraged by their ill-success, about a score of the most desperate dropped from the wall to try and batter in the doors, covered by a fierce discharge of the fire-pots through the windows above, stan, terrible as the time was, felt an old incident of schoolboy life flash across his brain. it was no time of fire, although it was mimic battle royal, for it was an episode of snowballing when the weaker side were driven to take flight and shelter themselves behind the dwarf wall of the covered-in portion of the playground, where no snow had of course fallen, while just outside it lay piled up consequent upon the roof having been swept after a heavy fall. stan and his fellows were therefore in the position of being without ammunition, while their adversaries were standing knee-deep in the midst of abundance. there seemed to be nothing left but ignominious surrender, when the idea occurred to stan which enabled his party to turn the tables. it was merely to catch the ready-made balls of snow and return them instantly to the throwers. and with this memory coming to him in the emergency, just when the stink-pots were coming thickest and the doors below threatened to give way to the battering and hacking they received from the furious party beneath the windows, stan brought his coolies together and gave his orders, which were to raise the blazing pots with crowbars and carry them to the openings over the threatened doors, after the barricading bales had been dragged away; and then, just when the attack was at its worst, two half-dozens of the blazing grenades were quietly dropped at once amongst the constituents of the chinese forlorn-hope. the effect was as instantaneous as it was horrible. several of the men at each door were splashed with the burning resinous material, while one or two were in an instant blazing. there was a wild yelling of pain and despair, and, as much to avoid their fellows as the missiles flung after them, the whole of the attacking party took to flight to gain the other side of the wall, such of them as were burning making for the river. this stopped the assault upon the doors, but only increased the fury of the enemy's firing from their shelters, while more blazing pots were being brought rapidly down from the junks, to be handed up to the throwers and then hurled in as before. "never mind," shouted stan; "we've checked them a bit. fire away at the men who bring the stink-pots.--eh--what? getting to the last cartridges? plenty more.--here, mr lawrence," he continued, turning to his lieutenant; "there's a whole case in the magazine; fetch them up." "is the trap-door locked?" said the man thoughtfully. "no--only shut down. quick! we must not slacken our fire now." lawrence placed his rifle against the breastwork from behind which he had been bringing down enemy after enemy, ran along the great store floor, and narrowly escaped being hit by one of the fiery missiles which came flying in; but he reached the broad stairway in safety, plunged down, and returned in a marvellously short space of time with an open case of ammunition in his hands. "here, cartridges--cartridges!" shouted two of his fellows as he hurried by where they were firing; but he paid no heed to their cries, trotting on to where stan was as busy as the rest, and with a fierce growl banged the case at his feet. "well done!" shouted stan. "quick! hand the packets round. what!" he cried. "dripping wet?" "yes!" cried the bearer of the case and the most dire news that could be carried to men in so sore a strait--treachery. "the trap-door was thrown back, and some cursed scoundrel had emptied a bucket into the open chest. look! the cases are saturated. i had to pour a gallon of water out into the iron bucket that was standing just below." stan's jaw dropped, and he stared for a moment or two helplessly at lawrence. the cry of "cartridges--this way!" brought him back to himself. "patience!" he shouted as loudly as he could, and throwing open the breech of his rifle, he took out the full cartridge waiting to be fired and replaced it in his bandolier. then, to break open one of the little packets in which the contents of the fresh case were wrapped, he snapped the string and tore off the sodden paper, which, as he crushed it in his hand and then dropped it, fell with a soft dab on the floor. the next instant he had placed one of the new cartridges in the chamber of his rifle, closed the breech, turned, took aim at once at the most active of the _jingal_ bearers, and drew trigger. _click_! just the falling of the hammer, and nothing more. "that is the last case," said stan softly, and without showing the slightest emotion, as he merely withdrew the little cylinder, to whose detonator the water had evidently penetrated, though part of the powder might still have remained unspoiled. "yes, sir, the very last. what's to be done now?" "one moment," said stan quietly as he once more put in the dry cartridge from his bandolier. "just you try one from another packet," he whispered.--"halt!" he shouted down the room. "cease firing.--now try one." another packet from the next layer was tried, but the wrapper was if anything wetter, and a _click_! was the result. "oh, they're all spoiled," said lawrence bitterly. "the game's up, so only let us die fighting." "of course," said stan coolly enough; "but we've not used our revolvers yet. we'll give them a volley from our rifles, and then we must take to our pistols and wait till they come to close quarters." "what do you say to retreating to the office after the volley, and then defending the door as the brutes try to get at us? the revolvers will tell splendidly there, too, as we shall be firing into the dense mob who crowd into the passage." "the very thing," said stan; "and we shall be defending mr blunt at the same time. of course; and we must set the coolies at work then to help us with their knives." "yes," said stan's lieutenant, "the coolies--chinamen. mr lynn," he cried in a hoarse whisper, "it must have been one of those dogs who were to be ready to stop the fire with their buckets." "it couldn't have been," said stan. "they were all up here." "then it was that cunning chinese fox, wing," growled lawrence angrily; "and if we're to die he shall go first." "oh, impossible!" said stan excitedly. "i've got but one cartridge left," shouted a man at the far end of the room. "and i,"--"and i,"--"and i," cried others, while some of the rest confessed to having two or three. "and the enemy are coming on for a fresh attack of some kind. there's quite a mob making for your window, mr lynn." "and they've got about a dozen stink-pots with them, sir," cried another. stan glanced round, and there was the situation plainly enough. some ten men were in the front of a cluster of about forty of the enemy, who were coming steadily on with levelled _jingals_, obviously making for the centre of the building. "now's your time, sir," whispered the lieutenant. "let's give them one good roar." "yes," said stan, and he shouted to the occupants of the other windows to close up round him and bring the coolies to stand ready for the fire-pots close behind. the evolution, if such it can be called, was performed at once, the little party of riflemen placing themselves in three rows behind their barricade, the first kneeling, the second stooping a little to fire over their fellows' heads, and the back row perfectly upright, with the barrels of their rifles resting on the shoulders of the second line. "we must risk the fire-pots, gentlemen," said stan; "but i hope to give the wretches one good, startling volley before they are able to throw. right into the thick of them, mind, and then, before the smoke rises, every man must dash down below and into the office. i mean to hold that now." "but hadn't we better fill up our belts first, sir, with cartridges?" "they have all been soaked with water," said stan quietly. "there has been treachery here." his words were received with a groan. "then it's all over," said one young fellow piteously. "not while we have our revolvers," said stan. "we can stop them from reaching the office, i think, and our chinese helpers will have a chance to do something then." a hearty cheer arose at this, for the cloud of despondency that was gathering had been chased away, and once more every eye was bright and nerves strung for the final effort. "they're nearly close enough," said stan quietly. "when they are at the densest, and the order is given to advance, i shall utter the word. then fire right into the centre; never mind the fire-pot throwers. let's try to startle them if we can." there was a low murmur of assent, and then all waited, glaring past the bristling barrels of their rifles at the coming enemy, who, contrary to their former action, now crowded closely together as they came in something like discipline, their movements pointing to the fact that they were about to deliver fire from their _jingals_ and then to make a rush. what they intended with the stink-pots which were being carried was not evident until they were closer in, when the fire-bearers struck off suddenly to the left as if to deliver them from a fresh point. at this moment, as if to excite and drive the party on into making a more desperate attack, and to fill the defenders with dismay, the gongs on every junk suddenly boomed out with a terrific din; the fresh party uttered a yell, and then stopped short to fire. stan's voice was almost drowned, but not quite. there was enough of his order heard to animate his little body of defenders. trigger was drawn before a single match could be lowered upon the powder-pans of the _jingals_, and the rifles made almost one report, their bullets tearing through the group of pirates, who were not twenty yards away. then, blind to the effect of their volley, screened as everything was by the smoke, the defenders started back from the window and hurried down the stairway to make for the office, where blunt, to the surprise of all, was found sitting back in a cane chair, with wing assiduously operating to keep him cool with a palm-leaf fan. "wouldn't stop lying down," began wing to the nearest man; but his explanation was not heeded, the men preparing to barricade their keep, only leaving space for the rest to file in. chapter thirty. "to certain death?" in the minutes that elapsed before the enemy could make their way into the deserted portion of the defences stan and his englishmen worked hard, making the coolies bring in a sufficiency of water for the hot and thirsty, while watch and ward was kept, and wonder was expressed as to what had been done with the stink-pots. "i'm expecting," said the lieutenant, "that we shall know by the crackling of burning wood what has become of them." but there was nothing to break the silence, no rush to indicate that the enemy had climbed in, and all attempts made to take an observation from the chinks of the boarded-up windows of the office were useless; for these latter only resulted in the examiners seeing the far-stretching verdant country, no sweep of the river being visible from that portion of the building. "what does it mean?" said stan at last. "some trap?" all listened again for some minutes before stan, pistol in hand, led the way to the foot of the warehouse stairs, where they stood listening for a few minutes before the lad planted his foot on the first step. "no, no, sir; let me lead," whispered his lieutenant--"let me go this time. the first thing you'll hear will be the swish of one of their great swords. they're lying ready to take off the heads of all who begin to show." "but we must get to know what they're doing," said stan. "then let the carpenters take down the top plank of one of the doors, sir; it's only screwed, and we can see everything then. if they begin with their spears, a volley from our pistols will drive them back till the board is screwed on." "but i don't believe that any one can be upstairs after all," cried stan impatiently. "how foolish to have all the windows closed up without leaving a hole!" "hasn't proved very foolish, sir," said the lieutenant dryly, "according to my ideas. holes for us to peep out at mean places for the enemy to send spears through. where we could reach from inside they could get at from outside." "listen," said stan; and for nearly five minutes silence was maintained, without a sound being heard. "there!" whispered stan triumphantly; "do you mean to tell me that the enemy would be able to keep as still as that if they were up there?" "i'm afraid they would if they had laid a trap for us." "oh, impossible!" replied stan. "perhaps you are right, sir," said the lieutenant; "but i've been working out here in china for the last twenty years, mixing with the people and learning their ways, and i'm ready to say that they're about the most artful beggars under the sun." "then you really believe that they are upstairs in hiding?" "i do, sir. what is it they want to do?" "murder us, of course." "exactly; and they've been trying to do that for the last hour, losing men heavily all the time. force has done no good, and now they're trying some artful trick to get hold of us without losing any more men." "then why don't they burn us out? that seems to be the most likely thing to do." "yes; only they'd burn all the rich loot they want to take. they haven't attacked us here for nothing. of course, they'd go back rejoicing after hacking us to pieces, but they don't want to sail away back with empty junks." "there's something in that," said stan thoughtfully. "it's a trap, sir, and if you want any proof of their cunning, you've just had one over those cartridges." stan frowned and looked sharply in the speaker's eyes. "you don't doubt that it was chinese work?" "no," whispered back stan; "we must have a traitor among us." "yes; one who felt that the enemy would get the upper hand." "do you know who did it?" "i think so, sir," was the reply; "and did at first, though i've had my doubts since." "well, that's all over. what we want to see now is whether the enemy are on the upper floor." "i say they are, sir; and if one of us goes up, the next thing we shall hear will be a horrible thud from one of their swords, and we shall be a man short." stan stood listening in silence again for a few moments, gazing up the stairs from out of the semi-darkness into the light which came down from above. "i don't care," he said at last; "there's something more in this than you say." "perhaps so, sir; but the grim death i can see is quite enough for me." "you're all wrong, and i'm going up to see what's the meaning of this silence." "what's the good, sir?" "the good?" cried stan. "what an absurd question! to know, of course." "and what's the good of your knowing when you won't be able to tell us?" "you mean i should be killed at a blow, and not be able to come back and say what i had seen?" "of course, sir." "ah, well!" said stan bitterly, "that wouldn't matter. if you didn't hear me cry out, you'd know you were right by my not coming back. now then, lend me another pistol, and i'll rush up at once." the lieutenant glanced round at those who were with him, and then stepped before the lad. "you're not going to run such a risk, sir," he said. "what! who's going to stop me?" "i am, sir; and the rest are going to help me." "mr blunt put me in command, for all of you to obey me." "yes, sir, to defend the place--fight for it with us." "and you are beginning a mutiny," cried stan angrily. "no, sir; only going to stop you from doing a mad thing." "mad?" "yes; going to throw your life away, when we want you to help us." stan hesitated. "i don't want to do anything mad," he said more quietly. "but we must know the meaning of what is going on upstairs and outside. the enemy may be laying a mine to blow us all up." "no, they may not, sir. in their selfish cunning they will not do anything to destroy the place." "absurd!" cried stan. "why, they've been trying since the beginning to burn the place down." "oh no, sir; there you're wrong. only to drive us out--stifle us with their stink-pots. as soon as they had done that they would have been the first to drown out any fire that had taken hold. come, sir; i've fought my best and tried to prove to you that i was staunch, so take my advice--wait." "no one could have been more brave and true," cried stan warmly. "forgive me if i have spoken too hotly, but don't try and stop me now. i must make a dash for it." "it's your duty to mr blunt and your people, sir, to stand fast and order us to go up." "to certain death?" "yes, if it means it, sir." "then you have your doubts," cried stan. "there! i'm going to make a rush up. who'll follow?" "all of us," came in a burst. "ready, then," cried stan, cocking his pistol. "now then; once more-- ready?" no one spoke, but there was a sharp clicking of pistol-locks, and then a pause, while stan stood with his left foot on the second stair, ready to bound up, but listening intently. "no one there," he said in a sharp whisper, and rushed up into the light. chapter thirty one. "a traitor." no movement above him, no swish and horrible thud of a great two-handed sword, but a free course for the lad to spring from the last step into the long room, its blackened, pitch-besmirched floor covered with charred patches, and pieces of pitch, broken pots, and, above all, scores of empty cartridge-cases lying scattered about, and all lit up by the bright sunshine which streamed in through the open barricaded windows, stan stopped short, with his follower crowding up and pressing upon him, pistol in hand, and gave a sharp look at every barricade to see if any of the enemy were crouching behind the holes in the window-opening; and, satisfied that the place was free, he waved one of the revolvers he held above his head and led off in a wild and excited--"hip! hip! hip! hurrah!" the shout was taken up and repeated with all the force of his companions' lungs, while as the lad made a rush to the nearest window and gazed out on to the river, his lips parted for another cheer and his revolver-armed hand rose for a fresh wave. but his lips closed again, his hand dropped to his side, and nothing but a hoarse, murmuring sound came forth in the words: "i can't--i can't; i'm dead-beat now." "hold up, my lad!" cried the lieutenant wildly as he sprang forward just in time to catch stan as he reeled, and eased him down into a sitting position upon one of the bales, supporting the lad's head against his breast. "where are you hurt?" "nowhere," said stan in half-suffocated tones. "done up, i suppose--too much for me. water, please. here," he added feebly, "give the cowards one more cheer. no, no," he added huskily and with more animation; "we've all done enough. thank you!" he took the tin of water dipped for him from one of the buckets brought up for extinguishing fire, drank with avidity, and then rose and staggered to the bucket-side, dropped upon his knees, and bent over to bathe his burning temples and smarting eyes. "hah!" he ejaculated as he rose and began drying his face with his blackened handkerchief. "it was very weak and cowardly, but i couldn't help it. sort of reaction, i suppose, after such a strain. i can't help feeling a bit ashamed." "of being so cowardly, sir?" said the lieutenant dryly. "yes; it was very weak," replied stan. "oh yes, very," said the lieutenant, with a curious croak in his throat. "i never saw such a cowardly lot as we all are in my life.--eh, lads?" a wild, half-hysterical laugh arose from the party, and the next minute a most absurd performance was gone through, the men all beginning to shake hands with one another, the biggest fellow present with tears running down his cheeks. "shocking cowards, all of us, mr lynn," said the lieutenant huskily; "but we've sent them flying with fleas in their ears." "yes, yes," cried stan excitedly now, as he fast recovered from his weakness. "oh! it was bravely done, but you ought to have had a man to lead you. here, we must go down and let mr blunt hear the news." "yes, directly," said the lieutenant; "but when i tell him--i mean, _we_ tell him--all that has been done, i think i know what he'll say." "say?" cried stan, staring at the speaker. "what will he say?" "that he couldn't have done it better himself." a tremendous cheer arose at this, and the colour began to return to the young leader's face, while to turn the conversation, which was growing painful, stan suddenly said, addressing all: "why, it must have been that last volley!" "yes," said the lieutenant; "that was too much for them. they stopped, though, to carry off all their wounded." this last was said as they stood gazing out of the windows at the six great junks gliding slowly up against the current with all sail set, but no remark was made about the way in which the broad river was dotted with ghastly-looking objects floating away with the stream and, fortunately for those at the _hong_, fast growing more distant; but all knew how busy the defeated enemy must have been plunging those who had fallen into the river before they sailed away. "now let us go down, sir, and see if mr blunt is well enough to hear the news." "yes; he ought to have been told before." "we left him half-asleep," said the lieutenant meaningly. "i wouldn't wake a wounded man, sir, even to give him the best of news." "perhaps it would be best to wait," said stan wearily, and looking as if all the spirit in him before had completely gone. "feel done up, sir?" "yes, horribly," replied stan as they reached the head of the stairs, and both glanced round and then looked in each other's eyes. "what were you looking round for?" said stan. "to see that there was no sign of fire anywhere about. weren't you?" "yes," said stan. "how horribly the place smells!" then, with his thoughts reverting to the late engagement: "i say, the enemy must have lost very heavily." "awfully, sir," said the man; and then meaningly, "didn't you see the crows?" stan's brave companion was alluding to a long line of dusky birds that were following the dismal objects floating in direful procession down the river, and coming up from all directions to join their friends. "yes," said the lad, with a shudder, "i saw them;" and at the same minute a voice came from behind, one of the party calling the attention of another to the same strange piece of animal instinct. "i say," he said, "look how the crows are coming up. how can they know when there is a fight?" he called them crows--the common term--but he meant vultures, the scavengers of the chinese villages and towns. blunt was sleeping heavily, or rather, he was lying back in a state of semi-stupor, the result of his wounds and the exertion of moving when in so weak a state. wing was at his side, busily wafting the fan to and fro, but closing it quickly from time to time to make a blow at some troublesome, obtrusive fly, but never hitting once. "still asleep?" said stan in a whisper. "yes, sleep velly fast," replied the man. "velly bad indeed. hot in head now. keep talkee. say silly pidgin nonsense. wanted get up and go 'way while all fight. heah pilate shout. wanted go see. wing tly to 'top him. say knock wing down not get out o' way.--you been killee all pilate?" "all? nonsense," said stan wearily. "but we've driven them away." "dlive allee 'way? yes," said wing, nodding his head a good deal. "shoot, killee, flighten. fly 'way like clows when shoot. but soon fo'get. come back again like clows." "come back like the crows?" said stan. "yes. shoot gun, all fly 'way. fo'get soon; come back again to get good t'ings." "do you mean you think the pirates will come back and attack?" "yes. wing suah. some day." "do you think he is right?" said stan, turning to his lieutenant. "yes, i'm afraid so," was the reply. "not for some days, of course; but they have been disappointed of the plunder, and knowing it is here, they'll come again to try and get it and to pay us out for the number we have killed and wounded. there! don't talk about it now. let's see about a meal being got ready.--you, wing, i think you could leave mr blunt as he is. he can't do better than sleep." "no do betteh," said the chinaman. "you say, go get dinneh leady? wing glad. do evelybody muchee good." "see about it, then," said stan, "while we go and say a few words to the coolies--eh? don't you think they ought to be praised for what they have done?" "yes," was the lieutenant's reply; "come and say a few words to them-- not many--and tell them you are pleased with the way they fought. but tell them, too, that you'll have a good supper got ready for them by-and-by. that'll please them better than any amount of words." stan led the way to where the chinamen were chatting together about the fight and the way in which the enemy had been driven off; but they were eager enough to turn and listen to the lad's words. their round faces brightened upon hearing the announcement about the feast they were to have, and they indulged in a hoarse cheer when their visitors left to join their companions. then, after one of the doors had been opened, the little party stepped out into the bloodstained alley between the building and the impromptu wall, which, besides being splashed with molten pitch and charred here and there, was horribly blotched in places by the gore of some wretched pirate who had been wounded or met his end. "after what has been said, then," said stan sadly, "it will not be safe to pull down these chests?" "well, i don't know yet. i think i'd leave them up till mr blunt has had a word or two to say to-morrow. i hope he'll be well enough to take a little interest in matters by then. there's no hurry. we'll have them put straight here and there to repair damages, but they may very well wait afterwards, as there's not likely to be any rain. but i say, mr lynn, what do you think about that bit of treachery? i was of opinion that it was wing." "so was i at first, but he seems so calm and innocent." "ah, yes! but you mustn't think a chinaman innocent because he looks so. he's a mystery, you know. but still i have my doubts, and it worries me lest it should be one of the coolies. it would be so much worse then." "why?" said stan, looking wonderingly at his companion. "because they all belong to the same gang--are all members of one club-- and if one of them proves to be a traitor, the bad sheep corrupts the whole flock." "what is to be done?" said stan after a short, thoughtful pause. "nothing now, sir. we know there is a traitor amongst our men, but there is nothing to fear from that until the enemy come again. on further thought, however, i don't think it was wing." "i'm very glad," said stan, "for i believed in him, and i'm sure my father and uncle did. it must be one of the coolies, then. how are we to find out?" "by going on quietly and not appearing to suspect. as i say, there is no immediate danger, and we have other things to think about. what do you propose doing first?" "asking your advice about mr blunt. i want to send for a doctor at once." "ah, yes! but you ask my advice. well, it is that you wait till the morning." "wait till the morning? i want to send a boat with a messenger down the river to the port to bring back a doctor." "he could only bring a native one, and he has one now." "what! wing? he is not a surgeon." "no; but he knows a great deal of that sort of thing. he has helped mr blunt to doctor the men often enough here, and i'd as soon trust him if i were wounded as i would an ordinary native surgeon. you see how well he has treated the governor already." "roughly bandaged him up," said stan impatiently; "but he may bleed to death in the night." "not likely, sir. wing plugged his wounds, and i looked to see that the bleeding had stopped." "but he may be bleeding internally." "no; i'm sure of that." "how can you tell without a proper examination?" "by the state he is in." "then you are a hit of a doctor?" said stan rather dubiously. "more of a surgeon, sir. we're obliged to be in these out-of-the-way places," said his lieutenant, smiling. "i know nothing, but i'm horribly anxious. how can you tell?" "simply enough, sir," said the other. "where is his wound?" "right through the shoulder." "very well; where would he bleed if it was not outside?" "why, inside, of course," said stan. "certainly; but where?" "as i said--inside." "inside is rather a vague term, sir. well, look here; the wounds are quite high up?" "yes, very." "then if he bled anywhere, it would be into the cavity of the chest." "i don't know anything about cavities, but of course it must be into the chest." "exactly. well, we know his heart isn't touched." "how?" said stan. "because if it had been he would be a dead man." "i see." "then no big arteries or veins are wounded. if they had been he would have been suffocated by the blood long enough ago." "would he?" "of course. his lungs would have been choked with blood, so we know that they are not injured." "i see," said stan; "but it's very horrible, isn't it?" "i think not. any one who learns things like this may find them very useful in an emergency. i do; and it gives a man confidence. i don't think mr blunt's wound is dangerous at all." "i do," said stan shortly. "see how delirious he seems to have been." "that's only natural, sir. fever sets in generally after a wound." "oh, but you make too light of it," cried stan. "he is shot right through the shoulder." "so much the better." "what!" cried stan angrily. "how can that be so much the better?" "there is no fear of dangerous inflammation caused by the presence of the bullet, for we know that it isn't in him, and nature has set to work before now to begin healing him up." "without a doctor?" "to be sure. she's a splendid surgeon, sir." "i wish i could feel as confident as you do," said stan. "well, learn all you can; you soon will." "then you think we might wait till the morning?" "certainly. you and i will take it in turns to watch him through the night, and in the morning we shall see." "very well," said stan; "perhaps you are right, but i feel very anxious about mr blunt." "so do i, sir; but i feel sure that we are doing right." right or wrong, a little thought taught the lad that he was helpless. night was at hand, and it would have been impossible to despatch a message till morning, for the presence of the pirates and the sound of the firing had put every owner of a boat to flight. hence it was, then, that the inevitable was cheerfully accepted. that night darkness soon hid the towering sails of the retreating pirates; and in the morning watch, when stan left blunt's side to go to the roof and look out in the grey dawn, glad to breathe the fresh, cool air after some hours in the heated office where he had shared the watch by blunt's rough couch, there was no sign of danger, scan the distant windings of the river how he would, while sunrise endorsed the fact that the enemy had sailed on all through the night for their rendezvous, scores of miles away. chapter thirty two. "shot silk." it was the next evening when, after a whole day's rest passed in a deep sleep quite free from fever--as stan was made to notice by wing the chinaman, who drew his attention to the calmness of the sleep, the absence of all fever and restlessness, and, above all, the soft, fine perspiration which bedewed the patient's skin--blunt slowly opened his eyes in the office, now made light and airy by the removal of the barricades, and lay looking up at the ceiling. as wing pointed out the fact to stan, the movement he made startled the sufferer, who looked at him sideways and said: "what's the matter? where am i?" stan bent over him and replied. "to be sure. yes; i remember now. ah, how weak i am! but tell me, lynn; how are things going?" stan explained the position briefly. "good!" said blunt. "excellent! thoroughly thrashed them?" "for the present; but we all believe that they'll come back." "no, no, lynn," replied blunt faintly; "not for long enough, if they ever do. tell me again; how many did they lose?" "ought you to talk now?" "well, no, i suppose not much; but i'm all right, only very weak. i'm not going to die, my lad. there! i will not talk much. go on telling me. i must hear." stan told him, but made no allusion to the bit of treachery; and when he had ended the manager smiled his approval. "just what i expected," he said. "brave lads, all of them." hearing the talking, stan's lieutenant in the defence came softly in, but not so quietly as to be unheard by the wounded man, who raised his hand on the uninjured side. "ah, lawrence!" he said. "i've heard all about it. bravely done, all of you. i'm better, you see. all that feverish muddle i felt in the head is gone." "that's right, sir. i came in to see how you were." "couldn't be going on better." "but what about sending down to nang ti for a native doctor?" "what for?" "to attend you, sir." "pooh! absurd! wing can do anything that a native doctor would suggest. he knows as much as i do, and i know by my symptoms that i'm going on all right." "but we thought that as soon as you came to it might be better to send for help." "no need, my man. i must be kept a bit low and quiet, not worried nor allowed to get up too soon, and i shall soon be as well as ever. now tell me quietly, what have you done about our breastworks and the wall?" "nothing, sir." "what! not got the boxes and bales under cover again?" "we thought it better to leave things as they were in case the enemy returned." "bah! they will not come. but look here; the ammunition must be getting very low." "very, sir," said lawrence, with a meaning look at stan. "to be sure.--here, lynn, first thing to-morrow morning write a despatch to your father, telling him of the attack and asking for a fresh supply of cartridges. it must be sent off by wing in the first boat you can get hold of. at nang ti he will soon find a steamer bound for hai-hai-- you, lawrence, start the first thing in the morning all hands at work to restore everything that is not damaged." "yes, sir." "that will do. i must not talk any more. good-night." to stan's surprise, the patient had no sooner closed his eyes than he seemed to be asleep; and it was late morning, just as stan's long letter was finished, and wing, who declared himself well enough, came in to announce that he had picked up a boat from among those which had come stealing back, when blunt opened his eyes again. busy days followed, with confidence returning as no further news was heard of the pirates, while the way in which the people of the nearest villages came back to their homes and work in the fields seemed to act as an endorsement of the idea that the terrible raid was over, and the likelihood of there being another attack seemed to be past. the men worked hard; the traces of the fiery trial disappeared from the great storehouse, save that the charring and the pitch-stains refused to be scraped out; barricades disappeared, and partitions and stacks of chests and bales rose again in their old places; the carpenters cut out damaged wood, and with the exception of new-looking patches the place assumed its former aspect, while the business in the office and counting-house went on again as if the whole ugly blood-shedding had been only a feverish dream. wing had not yet returned, but one afternoon stan was busy in the office talking to blunt about a boatload of tea which had come down from the interior--for the manager had progressed so rapidly that he was well on the high-road to complete recovery. naturally he was a good deal pulled down, hollow of cheek and sunken of eye, and compelled to assist his steps by means of a stout bamboo cane, while the arm nearest to the injury was supported by a silken scarf used as a sling. but he was bright and cheerful, and busy in the office some hours every day, working, as he called it, vicariously, stan being his deputy, who superintended a great deal of the correspondence that went on. "no news yet of wing," he was saying. "seems a very long time, lynn." "oh no; it's a long way, and there might be some delay over getting the supplies you want." "s'pose so," said blunt abruptly. "good job our piratical friends don't know of it or they'd come down at once. hullo! what's that?" lawrence rose and went to the window to see what was the meaning of a loud gabble of voices coming from the wharf. "it's a boat coming in," he said. "oh, wing at last!" said blunt. "well, i'm very glad. a good supply of ammunition is just the tonic that will pull me round." "it may be, sir, but i hardly think so," replied lawrence. "it's the _chee-ho_ come back." "with that miserable sneak mao. cowardly hound to slip off as he did. here, i'll have a talk with him when he comes ashore. no more boatloads for him, he'll find.--what say, lynn? i'm weak yet--not get in a passion?" "it wouldn't be wise," whispered stan. "well, perhaps not; but the thought of that fat, smooth, comfortable-looking poodle coming in here smiling and rubbing his hands puts me in a perspiration." "perhaps he'll be ashamed to show himself." "what!" cried blunt. "mao ashamed? you don't know him. you see if he doesn't come cringing in, just as if nothing had happened, to ask if there is a load ready for him to take down to the port.--what do you say, lawrence?" "the same as you do, sir." half-an-hour later the matter discussed was put to the proof, for there was the soft, shuffling sound of a chinaman's boots in the passage, and the _tindal_ of the boat in which stan had arrived with wing gave a gentle tap, pushed the door, and entered, smiling profusely and bowing to blunt and stan, before taking up his post half-way to the desks, hat in hand, waiting to be addressed. blunt heard him, but paid no heed for a minute or so; then looking up sternly, he saluted the man with a deep-toned-- "well, sir, what do you want?" "come see when load leady fo' _chee-ho_ boat." "how dare you come and ask after deserting us as you did? why, we might have been all massacred, you cowardly scoundrel, for all you'd have done to save us. what have you got to say for yourself?" "me t'ink _chee-ho_ b'long me. if stop, pilate man flow 'tink-pot. set fi' and cuttee mao float," said the man deprecatingly. "and so you set sail and got out of the way?" "yes. velly fast. _chee-ho_ nicee big boat b'long me. takee ca'e. hold plenty tea-box, plenty silk. bluntee want--" "look here, you scoundrel," cried the manager angrily; "i am mr blunt, your employer, and if you call me bluntee again i'll throw this ruler at you." as he spoke the manager caught his big ruler from the desk and made so fierce an "offer" with it that the chinese boat-captain dropped upon his knees and bowed his head almost to the floor. "get up!" shouted the manager. "no flow t'ick stick?" whined the man. "i will if you don't get up this moment. stand up like a man." "oh deah!" said the shivering chinaman, getting up slowly and painfully, and displaying a couple of great tears running down his fat cheeks. "misteh blunt wantee mao stop havee float cut?" "no, but to stay and help us, sir. how did you know but what we might want to escape in your boat down to nang ti?" "mao quite suah not do so. know misteh blunt big man. velly angly. can'tee flighten um and makee lun away. mao know he stop fightee." "and so you sailed away and left us in the lurch." "yes. pilate man velly dleadful. killee evelybody and cut mao head off. cut all men and flow um ove'boa'd." "and so you ran away--eh?" "yes. velly much aflaid. mao tly save boatee fo' misteh blunt. boat b'long mao." "ah, well! you saved it." "yes. tookee long way. sail up cleek. hide till mao quitee suah pilate junk allee gone 'way. then come again. you got plenty bale plenty tea-box fo' mao take down livah--eh?" "be off!" said blunt shortly. "i'll think about it." "yes, misteh blunt t'ink gleat deal. see mao 'blige lun away. _chee-ho_ boat b'long mao. no do let pilate buln, sink. b'long mao-- b'long misteh blunt--b'long evelybody." "be off!" shouted blunt; and the man went away, nodding and smiling, to join his crew upon the wharf. "shall you employ him any more?" said stan as the door closed and the captain's blue frock was seen to balloon out in the pleasant breeze as he marched complacently along the river-front. "oh yes," replied blunt. "he's a very honest fellow, and can't help being a thorough coward. suppose i dismiss him, i shall have to engage another, who would possibly turn out dishonest and a greater humbug than this one." "but he seems to be utterly without courage." "pooh! we all are at first. i was horribly frightened when we were attacked." "it didn't seem like it," said stan, smiling. "oh no, of course not. i wasn't going to let any one see what a stew i was in. that's the result of education and one's love of keeping up appearances. you owned to being frightened too--at first." "i was," said stan frankly. "enough to make one." "of course it was. but, you see, we're britons, and when a job of this sort comes to a head, why, we say, `well, it's no use to make any bones about it; the thing has to be done;' and we do it as well as we can. and, as you see, the job was done." "only half-done," said stan, with a sigh. "what! i think it was splendidly well done. what do you mean by your `half-done'?" "why, you said the enemy would come back again." "ye-es; so i did; but i don't feel so sure now." "how is that?" asked stan, impressed by his companion's manner. "well, you see, one often judges how the weather is going to be by the behaviour of the animals about one. birds, cattle, reptiles, insects, fish, if one studies them, give one hints of what sort of a season one is going to have. chinese, too, are not slow in that way. you see mao has come back." "yes; but what has that to do with it?" "a good deal. he has a sort of instinctive as well as experienced knowledge that the trouble is at an end, or else he wouldn't have shown his nose here now. i shouldn't wonder if he had a hint that the enemy were coming, some time before they arrived." "but if he had he would have warned you." "so he did, in a quiet sort of way, but i didn't believe him. yes, i begin to think that you gave the enemy such an awful thrashing--" "i?" cried stan. "why, i only carried out your orders." "and well, too, my lad; and as i was about to say when you interrupted me so rudely, you gave them such an awful thrashing that in the future they will look out for some nut to crack that has a thinner shell and leave us most carefully alone. mao has come back, and that means the storm is well over." "but you'll be well prepared in case they do come again?" "trust me, my lad. you and i will begin to play chess of an evening in future." "have you a set of chess-men?" "no; nor do i want them. we'll make the _hong_ our chess-board, and play the game of defiance with our brains." "i have some idea of what you mean," said stan, laughing, "but it is not quite clear." "i mean, we'll set to and scheme how to meet our friends if they do come again. you see, one is sure to have warning. they can't come down the river without; and i can't help thinking that you and i ought to be able to contrive some kind of floating dodge which we could let down amongst the junks, and which would blow them up or set fire to them." "yes; i see," cried stan eagerly. "or why not try something with a big kite that we could drop down to explode on their decks. but of course i don't know how." "there you are!" cried blunt, clapping him on the back. "bravo! the very thing!" "oh no," said stan quickly. "that was just the ghost of an idea." "true; but we'll set to and make it something solid. the people here have wonderful kites, and i'll be bound to say that you and i could contrive something chemical that we could send up and manage with a string till it was just over them, and then drop it where it would explode, so that it would scare them off even if it did not set fire to their junks. but wait a bit. we'll see." "yes; if you take it like that, i think we might contrive something. i say, why not some kind of torpedo that we could sink just off the wharf, connect it here with a wire, and have an electric battery to fire the charge? why, if i had had such a thing here when the junks were all together off the place, i could have--" "blown them to smithereens, my lad," cried blunt. "bravo! and we'll have a little gun, too, that we can work easily--one that will send explosive shells. there! that will do. i'm going to fill up an order for one battery of cells, thirteen as twelve torpedoes, so many yards of insulated wire, and--here, i say, we ought out of common humanity to send word up the river to all pirates to make their wills before they come for their next attack." "or put up a big hoarding with a notice written in chinese for all who come up and down the river to read." "what about?" "new patent steel traps and spring-guns are set in these grounds," said stan, laughing. "all right, my lad. joke away; but i'm on my mettle, and if we can't contrive something better than walls and barricades of tea-chests and silk it's very strange." "well, we ought to, certainly." "and we will. just think of what a lot of good stuff has been made absolutely worthless. there is, i should say, a couple or three hundred pounds' worth of tea and silk--more perhaps--perfectly unsaleable." "couldn't you send it to market under another name?" said stan, laughing. "name? what name?" growled blunt contemptuously. "you can't sell tea that has been exposed to fire. what would you call it--coffee?" "no; gunpowder tea," cried stan merrily. "one to you," said blunt, with a grim laugh. "but what about your silk?" "oh, that's easy!" said stan. "call that shot silk." "good gracious!" cried blunt, with mock solemnity. "the poor fellow is going wrong. overstrain, i suppose, from the excitement of the fight. there! try and be calm. it's a bad sign when a fellow begins to make feeble jokes. don't try again, lynn. keep on with some nice, light, playful idea or two, such as the flying kites and contriving busters for the chinese junks. those would be gentle, innocent pursuits. but seriously, though, the more i think of what you say the more i am taken by it. you see, it would be quite new and startling for the enemy. those junks are as fragile as can be, and a very little would send them to the bottom. here, i say, i think i have it. isn't there a chemical that we could squirt over them from an engine of some kind?" "what for?" "to burn them. i once saw a chemical experiment in which such stuff was thrown on to some light wood, and it burst into flame at once. that's the stuff we want. if we can set one junk on fire, it will set more in the same condition. what do you say to that?" "splendid, if it could be done." "could be done? it must be done, and we're going to do it. oh, there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it. let the pigtails come. they shall find that i'm not going to have any more of our chests and bales spoiled. i think--" "so do i," said stan firmly--"that you've been talking twice as much as you ought to do; so now have a rest." "well, i am a bit husky," said blunt, "but not like the same man to-day. humph! perhaps you are right." chapter thirty three. "wing's a--chinaman." several anxious days were passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept for the return of wing with the ammunition; but still it did not come, and, as blunt reasonably said, they could not settle down comfortably to invention and forms of defence by schemes until they could feel prepared temporarily for an emergency. "once we have two or three cases of cartridges in hand we'll go to work at our plans. but this waiting takes it out of a man." "it is giving you time to get a little stronger," replied stan. "oh, bother that! i could grow stronger fast enough if my mind were quite at rest i'm beginning to think that poor old wing has come to grief, and if he doesn't reach here by to-morrow night i shall make up a little cargo and send mao with an urgent despatch to the principals. it's growing serious. here, come and let us plan what to send." "you had better rest patiently," said stan. "who's to rest patiently with not a dozen rifle-cartridges on the premises?" "you," said stan, smiling. "what! do you know the enemy may even now be on their way to make a fresh attack?" "no, they mayn't," replied stan. "what! how do you know?" "by seeing your weather-glass point to fine weather." "my weather-glass?" "yes--old mao. he seems to be as satisfied as possible, sitting smoking his opium-pipe and watching his men caulk and varnish the _chee-ho_." "well, he does look pretty well content; but it's weary work waiting, and i feel convinced that the message has never reached the principals." "i can see a proof," cried stan excitedly, "that you are only looking on the black side of things." "what do you mean?" said blunt, staring at the way in which the lad had sprung to his feet to run to the open window looking down the river. "here's the boat in sight, sir," cried lawrence, hurriedly opening the door. "what! our boat?" cried blunt excitedly. "yes, sir, with wing showing his signal. try the glass, sir." blunt snatched the glass offered to him, but before he could get to the window and focus it with his trembling hands, stan had taken down his own binocular and was leaning out, bringing the matting-sailed boat close into the room, as it were. "yes," he cried, "there's wing holding up a little flag so that it blows straight out." "a pocket-handkerchief union-jack?" cried blunt. "yes, that's it; and there's some one else on board beside the boatmen. why--yes--no--yes--no.--oh, do stand still, whoever you are! i can't see if you bob about so.--yes, it is. look, mr blunt--look! here's uncle jeff come so as to see everything for himself." "right, lynn, right," cried the manager; "so it is. three cheers for him. we'll give them when he's close up. well, hurrah for one thing! we're not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with our burnt bodies." "ugh!" cried stan. "what a gruesome idea! let's get out and have the flag hoisted on the pole." "ah! and we'll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome. but are you quite sure it is your uncle?" "certain," cried stan proudly. "you never saw anybody but uncle jeff standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn't care a snap of the fingers for the whole world." "yes, that's mr jeffrey," said blunt, lowering his glass and drawing in a deep breath; "the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good. out with you, lynn, and send lawrence to hail the boys. we'll all turn out and man the edge of the wharf. i want your uncle to see that i haven't lost a man." a few minutes later clerks, warehousemen, and coolies were all standing at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole; while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance lawrence acted as fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. these, in spite of the admixture of chinese squeak from the throats of the coolies--a squeak which ended with a hoarse croak--sounded so pleasant to uncle jeff's anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty british hurrah, while, not to be outdone, wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed head to wave his lacquered, shining black hat, and echoed the shout with his alto pipe. in another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat glided up against the wharf, stan sprang on board, to have his hands grasped by his big, manly relative. "why, stan, boy," he cried, "we never thought we were going to send you out of the hai-hai frying-pan into the nang ti fire. but you were not burnt?" he held the lad back at arm's-length and uttered a loud puff like a whale getting rid of its confined breath. "no, i can see you were not. eyes bright, colour fresh, and hearty as can be. hah! that's a comfort. we shouldn't have sent you if we had known.--here, blunt," he continued, "do you call this management, bringing down all the ruffians of the river to attack the place! why, hang it, man! you do look as if you have had more than your share of trouble. you've lost pounds since i saw you last. coming round again, though, i can see." "yes; there's nothing much wrong now," was the reply as the pair shook hands heartily. "the wound's healing up nicely, thanks to wing here.-- well, wing, how are you?" "badly," was the reply. "been fletting." "fretting? what about?" "misteh blunt and young lynn. s'posee pilate come back and wing not bling ca'tlidge." "but you've brought them now?" said blunt eagerly. "yes, plenty big box full. bling misteh jeffley too. all leady fightee when pilate come." "and a very welcome recruit if needed," said blunt, smiling. "but we don't want any more of that work--at any rate till i get strong again.-- you've heard, mr lynn, how i caved in and left your nephew to fight the battle?" "oh yes. i've heard all about it from wing," said uncle jeff dryly. "i gave him a lesson in the use of the revolver before he left home, but i didn't know he was going to turn out such an awful fire-eater as he has." "don't you think you had better come in and have something to eat, uncle?" said stan quietly. "it will do you more good than making fun of me." "fun, stan, my lad? oh! i don't call this fun. wing says you've become quite a general." "wing's a--chinaman," said stan, with a laugh full of annoyance, which made the two men exchange glances--looks which the lad interpreted to mean, "hadn't we better leave off?" and in this spirit uncle jeff clapped his hand upon the boy's shoulder and said heartily: "take me round and show me the damage done by the enemy, my boy." "there's very little to see, uncle, but the chipped stone and the leaden bullets and pieces of iron the enemy poured in." "the bullets--eh? what! in the stone?" "no, no, uncle," cried the lad. "stuck in the door-posts and woodwork." "what about the windows where the stink-pots came flying in as if all the stars in the sky had broken loose?" "oh, they must have been flying across the office, uncle, when wing was nursing mr blunt. we didn't see those upstairs." "but a great many did come in?" "yes, uncle, and burned great patches in the floor." "come, that's something; you must take me up and show me." "i can't show you much, uncle," was the reply, "for the bales have been stacked in their places again." "oh, come! this is disappointing," cried uncle jeff. "no ruins; no wounds but mr blunt's; no burnt-out warehouses! why, after such a scare i expected to find the whole place crippled. where's wing?" "oh, i must have a word here," said blunt. "i dare say master wing painted the affair up pretty well, but it was as bad as it could be." "why, i thought you were bowled out at the first ball," said uncle jeff sharply. "so i was; but the other players had their innings, and told me all about it afterwards. old lawrence says it was awful." "so it was, uncle," cried stan; "nothing could have been worse." "well, all i can say is," said uncle jeff some time later, "that you have cleared away wonderfully. but there's one thing i don't like. it sticks in my memory very tightly, and it seems to me that it is the one weak spot in our armour if we are again attacked." "and what's that, uncle?" asked stan, for there was a pause. "the traitor in the camp, my lad. you can't go on like this. what is the use of making all kinds of preparations when there is an enemy in the midst who is ready to spoil all and, as it were, sell you to the enemy?" "you mean about the water poured over the ammunition?" said blunt, speaking rather excitedly. "yes--of course. now whom do you suspect?" "at first i thought wing might be the guilty party." "wing!" cried uncle jeff, starting. "ah, to be sure!" he continued after but a few moments' thought. "he was my informant, and very eager to tell me all about it. tried hard, i remember now, to make me understand it must have been some one at the _hong_. here, stan, it's a long time since i was at school; you've only just come away. what's that french proverb about the man who tries to clear himself making matters worse?" "he who excuses himself accuses himself," said stan promptly. "humph! yes. but it sounds better in french. here, i don't like to think old wing guilty; he has been such a true and faithful servant to the `foreign devils,' as they call us. besides, he is so much one of us, and has been so well paid and treated. you've had no quarrel with him, blunt?" "not the slightest. always the best of friends. of course, you know my way--short, sharp, and decisive." "yes; you always were a bit of a bully, blunt." "but i'm always just, sir." "perfectly; and i believe the people like you at bottom, even if you have a rough side to your tongue." "oh yes, uncle," put in stan eagerly, to be rewarded by a grateful glance. "i'm sure there isn't a man here who wouldn't fight to the death for mr blunt." "i wouldn't go so far as that, lynn," said blunt, with the hot blood colouring his pallid, sunken cheeks. "but they've proved it," cried stan energetically. "i'm thinking it was more for you, lynn," said blunt quietly. "well, let that rest," cried uncle jeff; "and let's go on with the trial of master wing. you have been good friends with him, blunt?" "excellent." "no sudden quarrel?" "oh no." "given him no cause of offence? these asiatics are rather fond of nursing up a bit of revenge." "oh no," repeated blunt. "what about the coolies, then? any knocking down or punishing any of them?" "nothing of the kind, sir. i am quite at a loss to think of anything that could have prompted a chinaman here to retaliate.--you can think of nothing, can you, lynn, in the short time you have been here?" lynn remained silent and looked very conscious, while uncle jeff watched him sideways. "hah!" he said at last. "dumb. now, stan, lad, what are you thinking of? out with it." the lad tried to clear his throat, but in vain, for his voice sounded husky as he said: "i was thinking about wing being on the watch, uncle--about my shooting at him, mr blunt, and his tumble." "puss! puss! puss! puss! puss!" said uncle jeff softly, and he looked towards the door. it was the turn of stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind. but he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks. "what are you staring at, stan?" he said at last. "i--i couldn't make out what you meant, uncle. do you want the cat? she's generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of the river-bank." "oh no; i wasn't alluding to that one, but to the other." "there is no other cat on the premises, sir," said blunt, staring in turn. "oh yes, there is. i mean the metaphorical cat. she's out of the bag now, and i was calling her back. why, hang it, man! there's the cause of the plot. tell us all about it." the incident was repeated to the end. "a great pity," said uncle jeff gravely. "yes, sir, it was," said blunt. "i acted on the impulse of the moment, and of course i alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner i insisted upon your nephew firing. of course, i only meant, in my annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. but i've felt sorry ever since." "i am sorry too," said uncle jeff. "and i too, uncle." "you are, i know, stan. well, it's of no use to cry over spilt milk. the thing's done and can't be undone. but there's the motive, and now the poor weak fellow has gratified his revengeful bit of spite let us hope he is satisfied and that all will go smoothly. still, it is a painful thought that we have had a traitor in the camp." "i don't care," said stan firmly. "it is of no use to care, my lad; but if we have the enemy back i should certainly lock master wing where he could do no mischief." "you misunderstand me, uncle," said stan. "i didn't finish what i meant to say." "let's have it, then, boy." "i meant to say, i don't care; i don't believe wing would do such a thing." "neither do i," said blunt warmly. "the poor fellow is too true. he was quite affectionate to me in attending to my wounds, and nothing could have been better than the plucky way in which he ran all risks through the fight, and afterwards undertook the commission to go and fetch the cartridges. no; i say wing was not the guilty party." "well," said uncle jeff, "i want to be with you, for i like old wing. there's a something about him that puts me in mind of a faithful dog. we'll agree that it was not he, and that drives us to suspect the coolies." "yes," said blunt; "and i don't like suspecting them, for a better set of fellows never lived." "there couldn't be," said stan. "they almost worship mr blunt, uncle." "hah!" said the latter. "it's a puzzle, then, and i can't help thinking that the best way will be to drop the matter and be watchful. if we begin investigating we may not find out the guilty, but we're bound to upset the innocent by our suspicions. i say, blunt, i wouldn't wake up sleeping chinese again with the rifle." "you may depend upon it i shall not, sir," said blunt frankly. "and now, if i may change the subject, i want to be put out of my misery." "with a rifle, blunt?" said uncle jeff dryly. "no, no; not in that way, though i do want it done with cartridges. i shall be in misery till we get those ashore and in the magazine." "quite right; we'll have them seen to at once. we must be ready if the enemy do come." "i say, uncle," cried stan merrily, "how you keep on _we_ing! any one would think you meant to stop." "i do mean to stop, my boy," said uncle jeff sharply.--"no, no, no, no, blunt; don't take it like that," he continued as he saw the change in the manager's countenance. "i have not come to supersede you, only as a humble recruit, ready if wanted, which i fervently hope i shall not be. i should have brought half-a-dozen good fighting-men with me, only there are none in stock at hai-hai. it is getting to be every man for himself, too, and we shall be very unsettled until our government makes a move and puts a few men-of-war on the station for the protection of the mercantile folk. my brother and several more are bestirring themselves, however, and i hope something will be done before long." "but you will take the lead, sir, while you stay, of course," said blunt rather coldly. "as you see, i am weak." "i shall do nothing of the kind, blunt. my brother and i are only too well satisfied with your management. i have come here to help to take care of nephew stanley, and when the care is not necessary i am going to have a rest, fishing, botanising, and shooting--in other words, to have a spell of idleness, for i don't think you will be attacked again after the taste you have given the miscreants of our quality here at the _hong_. now then, blunt," he added, "are you satisfied?" the manager hesitated and still looked doubtful, but the look that accompanied uncle jeff's outstretched hand was sufficient, and he brightened up at once. "yes, sir," he said warmly--"quite." chapter thirty four. "wait till the wretches come." the landing and stowing away of the cases of ammunition did not last long, for every one joined in it, four men without orders taking charge of a box that one could have carried with ease. in fact, they looked more like a party of schoolboys bringing boxes of fireworks for a fete than stern, energetic men fighting for the privilege of either carrying or simply watching the little chests, the possession of which turned them from helpless, unprotected beings, at the mercy of the next piratical crew that came down the river, to strong, vigorous folk ready for a fleet of junks and eager to fight to any desperate end. the last case was placed in the little magazine, the trap-door shut down and locked, and then there was a burst of cheering which sounded stifled in the great stack-filled store. "why, i thought at one time," said uncle jeff merrily when the whole party had filed out and the speaker was seated in blunt's private room, "that they were all going to break out in a triumphal war-dance." stan coloured and laughed. "well, uncle," he said, "the men were so excited that i don't see that i, a boy, need mind owning how i felt. it was something like what one used to experience when one had a present years and years ago." "what!--ready to jump for joy, stan?" "yes, uncle." "i know the feeling," said uncle jeff, chuckling. "i remember just as well as if it was yesterday. ready to jump for joy; just, too, when i was so weak from some fever that if i had been out of bed my legs wouldn't have borne me, let alone jumped. i remember it was fine summer weather, and my father had come down from london and brought me a new fishing-rod--a perfect marvel to my young eyes--reddish-yellow bamboo, with brass ferrules, and having one joint fitting beautifully into the other so as to form a walking-stick; and in addition, just as he had brought them and had them bundled up together in a parcel, there was quite a heap of treasures tangled up together on the big sheet of paper spread out upon the white counterpane, while i sat up with two pillows to support my weak back. oh, it was grand! "ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the great stalwart fellow, with his eyes lighting up. "didn't i have the window opened so that i could pull joint out from joint and put them together, making the rod grow till i sat holding it out through the drawn-up sash. all the time i was seeing in imagination the great pond sheltered by the willows where the water-lilies grew and the carp and tench sailed about underneath, every now and then lifting a broad dark-green leaf or thrusting a stem aside, with the glistening beetles gliding about on the surface as if they were playing at engine-turning and describing beautiful geometric figures as the big dragon-flies rustled their gauzy wings and darted here and there in chase of flies. "then, too, i remember that i cried out against the window being shut, because three parts of my rod stood out in the open while i was busy examining a hank of indian twist, beautiful steel-blue hooks of all sizes, from tiny ones on gut to big, quaintly shaped large ones, loose, but with eyes for attachment to the whipcord-like eel-line." uncle jeff stopped short and turned with a droll look at his nephew. "here, stan," he said, "you had better stop me or i shall go on with my rigmarole about that line with the blue-and-white cork float and the other with a quill, besides the one with the sharp-pointed porcupine which stuck through the bedclothes into my leg. then there was the box of split shot with the lid which stuck, and when i got it off the contents jumped out, to go everywhere, over the bed, into it, under it, rattling between the jug and basin, and had to be hunted out. then there was that lovely landing-net that was so rarely required for a big fish, but did splendidly to catch butterflies. and the fishing-creel, too, and--here, blunt, my dear fellow, where's your box of manilla cigars?--stan, get me a light. i must put something in my mouth or i shall begin to tell you both about that little pike that i didn't catch and that big carp that i did--i mean the one that seemed to my boyish eyes as if he wore a suit of armour made of young half-sovereigns overlapping one another from tail to head. ah, stan!" cried uncle jeff, "you're a lucky young dog to be a boy, though you don't know it, and never will till you grow up to be a man." "why, uncle," cried stan, "haven't i just had to play at being a man and handle the rifle?" "i'm sorry to say yes, my lad, and i'd a great deal rather have heard that you had spent your time wandering on the banks of this splendid river, catching nothing, perhaps, but filling your young mind with things to remember when you grow old. ah! life's a very lovely thing if human beings would not spoil it as they do." stan smiled at his uncle's words, but he did not see life in the same light after his experiences at hai-hai and at the _hong_; though he was quite ready to agree as to the way in which men spoil the world, and he did say this, very tersely, later on: "especially chinese pirates, uncle." "just so, my boy. but really it is all so beautiful here," said uncle jeff, "that now i have been refreshed and feel rested, it is more than ever hard to believe what a desperate fight you have had. i wish i had been here." "so do i, uncle," said stan merrily; but he turned serious the next moment. "no, i do not, uncle. it was very horrible, and you might have been shot." "oh, i don't know, stan. you and your men escaped pretty well. however, matters were best as they were--eh, blunt?" "certainly," said the manager. "the defence could not have been in better hands." "oh, don't!" cried stan, speaking like a pettish girl. "now you are both sneering at me." this was of course denied, but the lad was only half-convinced, and too glad to hear the conversation take a different turn. "we must achieve some better means of defence, blunt," said uncle jeff. "you ought to have a good little piece of artillery here--something that would tell well on a junk--sink her if it was necessary." "that's what we were planning, uncle," cried stan; "only we had some rather peculiar notions." the natural result of this remark was that the lad had to explain and give a full account of his ideas, which was received with a grunt. "there's a lot in it that sounds well, stan," said uncle jeff after listening for some time in silence, "but too much of the toy-shop and fifth of november about the rest. that kite-flying would never do." "why, it would be so simple, uncle!" "very simple indeed, my boy--simple simony. why, stan, how do you think you are going to fly kites with the enemy in front?" "but they're only to raise burning things like the pirates' stink-pots." "i should have a deal more faith in something of that sort. but how would you guide your kite with a fiery tail over the junk you meant to destroy?" "by means of the string. i could easily manage one, by pulling in and letting out till it was just over a junk; and then i should pull the second string, for of course there would be two; and then i should let one go, and down would fall the fiery shell right upon the junk's deck." "if it didn't go down splash into the river--eh?" "oh, i should manage it better than that," said the lad confidently. "so i suppose," said uncle jeff sarcastically; "and of course the wind would be setting in the right direction--that is to say, straight from you and over the enemy's junks." "of course, uncle," said stan confidently. "of course! why, you too sanguine young enthusiast, the chances would be five-and-twenty to one that the wind would not be right on the day the enemy came. won't do, stan. try again." "oh, i can't if you go on like that, uncle," said the lad in an aggrieved tone. "you're not half such a good listener as mr blunt. he thinks a good deal of my ideas." "then it was quite time i came. he'd spoil you. i will not, you may depend. now then, let's have a better idea than that." "well, uncle," said the boy rather grumpily, "i did think something of having a boat always moored among the reeds--one filled with dangerous combustibles--that i could steal up to after the junks had stopped to kill and plunder us, apply a match, and, after lashing the rudder, cause it to float down with the stream right amongst the junks and set them on fire." "splendid idea!" cried uncle jeff, clapping his hands. "you like that, then?" said stan, brightening up. "i think the idea would be glorious. deadly in the extreme to the enemy, but--" "oh uncle! don't say _but_," cried the lad, growing crestfallen again. "very well, my boy; i will not if you do not wish it. all the same, however, there's a defect in it that would be fatal." "what's that?" said the boy rather dismally. "the chinese are very weak-minded, but they're not idiots." "no--of course not; but tell me what you mean." "pooh! can't you see for yourself? the enemy would see that the fire-boat was coming, and of course they'd either heave anchor or cast their cables and slip away, if they didn't send your fire-boat to the bottom with a shot from one of their swivel-guns. try again." "oh, it's of no use to try, uncle." "yes, it is. you've got gumption enough to make a pot without a hole in the bottom. you're last idea is manageable; the kite-flying was not. now then, you've got a better idea than that up your sleeve or in that noddle of yours, i'm sure.--hasn't he, blunt?" "yes--a far better one." "i thought so.--now then, boy, let's have it." stan stood looking gloomy and silent. "well, why don't you go on?" said uncle jeff. "because i feel as if you are laughing at me for trying to invent something." "i am not, stan--honour bright!" cried uncle jeff. "but even if i was laughing, what right have you to kick against it? every inventor gets laughed at if he brings out something new, and then stupid people who grinned because they had never seen anything like it before are the first to praise. there! out with it, stan; the third shot must be a good one." the gloom passed off the lad's countenance, and he laid bare his idea of contriving a kind of torpedo to sink off the wharf and connect by means of a wire with an electric battery in the office, ready for firing as soon as one of the junks was well over it. "ah! that sounds better," cried uncle jeff eagerly; "but could it be done?" "oh yes," said blunt. "i think the idea is capital." "so do i," said uncle jeff; "but there's an old proverb about the engineer being hoist with his own petard, and however willing i might be to blow up a junk full of murderous pirates, i shouldn't like to go up with them." "oh, that would be easy enough, uncle," said stan. "we should have to fill a big, perfectly waterproof canister with powder or some other combustible, make a hole in the side or top, and pass a copper wire through so that it is right in the powder, then solder up the hole, and after the canister has been sunk, bring the wire ashore ready." "yes, and what then? i must confess that i know nothing about electricity." "i'll tell you," said stan. "you fetch the copper wire ashore and bring it in, say, through that window. there! like this piece of string," continued the lad, illustrating his plans with a string-box which he took from the office table, and after drawing out a sufficiency of the twine, he dropped the string-box outside the window. "now, uncle," he said, "that thing represents the canister of blasting-powder, and the string is the wire. you see, i shut down the window to hold the wire fast, and bring the end here on to the office table." "i see," said uncle jeff; "but what next?" "i'll show you directly," continued stan, with his forehead puckered up in lines as if it were a mental clapham junction. "now then, this stationery-case is my battery of cells, each charged with acid and stuff." "we don't want to put a dangerous battery on mr blunt's table to blow him up," said uncle jeff. "he's too useful." "of course he is, uncle; but we couldn't blow him up, because the battery isn't dangerous." "then what's the good of it?" "ah! you don't see yet; you will directly," cried the boy. "there's no danger at all till it is connected with the wire; and the wire, you know, is connected with the canister of explosive, uncle. and don't you see that it will be sunk right away there off the wharf? when we connect the wire with the battery, it is not that which goes off, but the powder in the canister under the junk." "oh, i see!" said uncle jeff. "good; but when it is connected what does it do?" "sends a current of electricity along the wire." "of course; i do understand that. sends an electric spark through the powder and blows it up." "that's right, uncle; only, instead of sending a spark along the wire, it sends a current to the end of the wire, and that end begins to glow till it turns white-hot. but long before that it has set the powder off, and if all goes right we should have a great junk blown all to pieces." "bravo!" cried uncle jeff. "three cheers for our inventor, blunt!" "nonsense, uncle! i didn't invent that. it's only what one has read in books on electricity. now you can see, of course, that there is no danger at the battery end of the wire." "if you tell me there is no danger, stan, of course i am bound to believe it; but i don't quite see why the wire should not carry us the message of the blow-up, and blow us up into the bargain." "ah! but that would be outside the bargain, uncle," said stan, laughing. "it would be a good bargain for us." "and a horribly bad one for the chinamen," said uncle jeff.--"look here, blunt, this seems to be quite feasible." "quite," was the reply. "there is only one risk in it that i see." "and that is--" "making a mistake: some one connecting the wire at the wrong time for the friendly junk instead of an enemy. it wouldn't do to blow up mao or old wing." "no, uncle," said stan quietly; "and it wouldn't do to take down rifles and shoot either of them. there would be no danger so long as we took care of the electric battery; nothing else would fire the canister." "all right," cried uncle jeff in his cheeriest way. "then the next thing to be done is to get so many tins." "they ought to be copper," said stan. "very well, then, coppers--ready to `sky,' stan--eh? you remember skying the copper--the old charwoman putting the gunpowder in the copper flue, as she said, to `burn up by degrees'?" "yes, i remember," said stan, laughing; "and when it had exploded she said, `where is the powder blue?'" "exactly. the result of meddling with explosives which she did not understand. i don't understand these things, so i feel nervous about handling them; but with the proviso that you two are careful, i shall send an order for all the materials you want, so that we shall have so many mines ready for war-junks which come to meddle with us. but it must take time." "yes," said blunt, "it will take some months, for everything will have to come from england, i expect. but i honestly believe that it will be long before the enemy get over the defeat they have had, and meanwhile i feel quite happy, for you have brought me four times as large a supply of cartridges as we had before, and yourself as reinforcement. besides, our men are all veterans now, ready for the savage brutes if they do venture to come." "well, the longer they keep off the better," said uncle jeff, "for you will not be out of hospital for a month, blunt." "what!" cried the manager fiercely. "let them come, and they'd find me ready for action now." uncle jeff glanced at him and shook his head. "but i am, i tell you," cried blunt excitedly. "my eyes are clear, and my hand is pretty steady. i could manage a rifle now as well as when i practised at a mark.--what do you say, stan? don't you think i could fight?" "i believe you'd try." "try: yes. i want to pay off old scores." "ah, well!" said uncle jeff, "we have no need to fidget about that. wait till the wretches come and then we'll see." chapter thirty five. "quite safe till dawn." "it seems rather absurd for us to settle down to talk about making what people call infernal machines, stan," said uncle jeff, and he pointed through the open window of the office to the scene being enacted on the wharf, with a lovely background of river, cultivated ground covered with corn, rice, and fruit-trees, and beyond these hill and mountain of every shade of delicious blue. "why, everything looks as peaceful as can be. look at those trading-craft with the stores they are bringing in, and the village boats piled up with fruit, vegetables, and grain. hullo! what's that next one?" "oh, that's the one that brings milk and eggs, poultry and little pigs," said stan, smiling. "we call it the _dairy_." "i really cannot realise the horrors you talked about, stan, and in the midst of such a beautiful scene of peace and content i can't talk about torpedoes. here, i want some of those bright golden bananas from that boat." stan's forehead puckered up again, and he did not even glance at the boat with golden bananas, oranges, and scarlet tomatoes. "but you wouldn't say it was absurd to talk about umbrellas because we'd had three or four lovely days, uncle. storms are sure to come." "snubbed!" exclaimed uncle jeff. "uncle!" "well, i am, stan--regularly snubbed; and i deserve it, boy. never mind your umbrella simile; let's have a better one. suppose we say it's foolish to build a house on the slope of a volcano because the mountain has been quiet for a few years. that's better. yes, it would be foolish to settle down in the belief of there being peace when that lady of the doves doesn't seem to be indigenous to chinese soil. we'll see about the torpedoes at once, stan; but let us moderate our transports, and begin with a couple. they'll be easier to manage, and we might find that we could improve upon them." "yes, that is most likely, uncle," said stan. "let it be two, then." "take a sheet of paper, and we'll make out a list of the things we want sent out." "yes, uncle," said the lad eagerly; and he took a big sheet of ruled foolscap, dipped a pen, and sat ready to take down his uncle's words. but none came, for uncle jeff was filling a pipe now and looking thoughtfully before him in silence. "it seems to me," he said at last, "that--hullo, blunt! we're jotting down some notions for our torpedoes." "you haven't any ready, i suppose?" "ready?" said uncle jeff, staring. "of course not." "then they'll be of no use to us this time." "is anything the matter, mr blunt?" said stan, whose late experiences had made him ready to take alarm. "yes, lynn; a tea-grower from up-country has come down to warn me that some junks have been prepared, filled with men, and are coming down the river again." "a false alarm, perhaps." "no; i have too much faith in my informant, one of those with whom i have done most business since i have been here. he tells me that he had a hint that the pirates were on the way again so as to have revenge for their late defeat, and he came across country to warn me." "then we can't be ready for them this time, stan," said uncle jeff. "never mind; put your paper away, and we'll prepare for our visitors. we'll take it out again and finish it when they have gone." the evil news was unexpected; there had been no warning giving time for preparation, and upon further inquiry it proved that the enemy were not coming slowly down the river, plundering villages on their way, but were making straight for the _hong_, bent upon revenge. every one there felt this, and knowing full well the mercilessness of the foe, all set to work in desperate earnest. there was no time for building up the outwork of chests and bales, but stan declared that to be of no consequence, for all it did on the last occasion was to delay the enemy for a while, and when they did make a rush it did more harm than good, as it provided shelter for the attacking party, close up to the warehouse, from which they could assail in security, as well as supplying a platform from which to hurl the stink-pots. "but it must have been a splendid place from which to fire," said uncle jeff. "yes, uncle; but it was horrible when the assault came, and i was in doubt as to whether we could all get in and close up the two doors." "oh yes, let it go," said blunt glumly. "i hated the place. didn't i get shot down there? don't speak up for it, mr lynn. we can barricade all the lower windows and the doors, and be all shut in here safely before the enemy can land, while all our fighting can be done from the first floor, quite out of reach of their spears." "i give up," said uncle jeff; and he worked hard with the rest in securing all the lower windows, and holding planks for the chinese carpenters to screw up, before wedging up the windows with a lining of tea-chests. the doors were blocked up as on the previous occasion; water-casks were got on to the upper floor, as well as placed in the lower, and an ample supply of the fire-quenching element brimmed them, as well as every bucket that could be obtained. there was plenty of time for this, the labour that would have been bestowed upon the outwork being utilised here in strengthening the keep, as uncle jeff called it, and making it as secure as it was possible to be. there was a curious look in blunt's eyes as he opened the cartridge-boxes and placed a couple of them on tables and chests in the lower floor, as far apart as he could to be handy. "i haven't forgotten my dreamy fancy about the stink-pots rolling down the stairs, lynn," he said. "if one should come and by any strange accident fire one box, i'm not going to have that set off the rest." "but suppose a burning pot did happen to fall into an open chest of cartridges," said stan, "what would happen?" "i never had the ill-fortune to be by when such an event occurred," said blunt rather sarcastically, "but you may depend upon it something would." "well, i know that," cried stan; "but what? cartridges wouldn't go off like so much loose powder." "of course not." "what i want to know is, would they go off one at a time?" "there's only one way of knowing for certain, lynn: stand by and watch." "but the cartridges couldn't do much mischief unless one stood opposite to the bullet-ends." "i shouldn't like to try, my lad. it seems to me that, according to how the cartridges are packed, one would have to undergo the fusillade of what would seem like so many tiny guns, each loaded with a conical bullet; and i think we shall spare no pains to keep fire away." "how are you getting on here?" said uncle jeff, coming up, wiping his wet brow. "oh, pretty well, sir," replied blunt. "i have been arranging the other cases ready for supplying the men's bandoliers when empty, and your nephew and i have been discussing what would be the consequences if a fire-pot came down into an open case." "never mind discussions now," said uncle jeff. "i want to know if there's anything more that i can do to strengthen the upper works." "i'll come round with you now," said blunt. "come along, then.--come too, stan, my lad.--but let us have a word with the lookout man." they passed out through the nearest doorway to hail the watch, which once more proved to be wing, who this time was keenly on the alert, and ready to announce that the enemy were not yet in sight. "what a change!" said uncle jeff as he paused upon the wharf to look round. the scene was the same as he had gazed upon when seated at the table with stan making plans; but the river was deserted, every boat being hurried away in panic as soon as the coming danger was known. the little party turned in again, noting that the planks and chests for screwing up and barricading the door through which they passed were ready for use as soon as the necessity came. the other door had already been closed up, after the last window. a visit then to the upper floor showed everything in readiness for receiving the attack, and nothing was left but to wait; while, the last shades of evening showing no sign of the approaching enemy, it was concluded that no attack need be expected till morning. "they are bound to be some hours coming down after being sighted," said blunt. "of course, with the river winding as it does; but we'll be ready all the same. i say, though, blunt, is there any possibility of an attack being made from the shore?" "i don't think so," was the reply; "but we'll be prepared all the same, every one sleeping with his arms by his side. but it would mean a tremendous march along dikes and through swampy paddy-fields. no, i do not think it is likely. the enemy are boatmen, and do not care to tramp." "then you can feel safe for some hours," said uncle jeff. "yes, quite safe till dawn." "then i vote for every one getting as good a sleep as possible before then, so that we may be in good fighting trim by the morning." "sleep, uncle!" cried stan. "who could possibly sleep at a time like this?" "i could, and will if i have the chance. i want steady hands for aiming to-morrow." "you had better sleep, sir," said blunt. "lynn here and i will divide the watch between us." "no," said uncle jeff; "i don't mean to be left out in the cold. i shall divide the watch, taking one-third. you're weak, blunt, so you and stan go and lie down. in three hours i'll wake stan, and he shall have his three hours' watch and then come and rouse you. then you ought to be fresher and stronger. there! no arguing; i'm going to be master over this. you send all the fellows off but two to keep watch with me, and do so at once." uncle jeff's tones endorsed his words, being masterful in the extreme. very shortly after the great building was silent as could be, and the only sounds that broke the night were the cries of distant wild birds, the splashings of feeding fish, and the steady tramp of the chief watcher. his big burly figure loomed up as he walked to and fro along the paved wharf, his two companions preferring to pass their time whispering together, straining their eyes for any dark, shadowy vessel that might come stealing down the river, the subject of their discussion being the desperate fight through which they had gone so short a time before, while they wondered what would have happened by that time the next night. the three hours passed away, and to the minute uncle jeff sent his companions to rouse stan and the two men who were to take their places. three more hours passed, and in turn stan sent one man to rouse up the two next sentries and went himself to awaken blunt. "yes, lynn; all right. hah! i've had such a sleep. what of the night?" "all calm and still. it's getting misty now, though, and a bit chilly." "that means a greatcoat for this poor weak invalid. there! turn in and have another sleep till breakfast-time." stan did not stop to enter into any discussion, but the moment he had seen the manager take his place with his followers he threw himself upon the rough couch so lately vacated, and dropped asleep at once. the next minute he was awake again, or so it seemed to him, to find blunt's hand upon his arm. "up with you," he said, "and help to rouse the rest. every man is to go to his station without a sound." "are the enemy upon us, then?" "no," said blunt shortly. "you said it was misty, and that has gone on, till the river is covered by a white fog so dense that it looks as if you could cut it. you can see nothing half-a-dozen yards away, and i was wondering whether it would disperse when the sun rose, when wing came close up behind me. `see, misteh?' he whispered, and he pointed down the river into the thick white fog. `no,' i said. `what is it?' he pointed again down-stream, and at that moment the mist, which floated like smoke on the surface of the water, lifted a little. lynn, i felt stunned, for there were six junks in sight." "so close?" whispered stan. "yes; and the next minute the mist shut in again and they were gone as silently as they had come." "but they had seen the _hong_?" "no, i think not, or they would have set to and used their sweeps. we must wait now till they begin to come back, unless we are so lucky that they run aground on the other side. quick! i'm going back to the wharf." stan made no reply, but hurried to where uncle jeff was sleeping soundly. he sprang up at a touch. "come?" he said sharply. "yes. i'm going to rouse up the others. blunt wants you on the wharf." so well had the plans been made that in an incredibly short space of time the whole of the defenders had gathered in silence, to find that the place was completely shut in by the thick white mist, neither warehouse nor river being visible, even those who were two yards distant being quite invisible to their friends. chapter thirty six. "all in to begin." with so great a danger at hand not a bound was made, every man, weapon in hand, listening and waiting for the next phase of the pirates' approach; while many a heart that had sunk low in the presence of the peril began to beat less heavily as the minutes glided on, with the veil of mist which hid them from their enemies growing thicker. "are we saved?" said uncle jeff at last in a whisper--"i don't want to fight." "nor do i, uncle," whispered back stan; "but it seems to be too good to be true." "what are you talking about?" asked blunt from out of the mist close at hand--"the pirates going by?" "yes," replied uncle jeff; "we've got off, haven't we?" "till the fog clears away; and that will not be long. they won't give us up. it's only a question of time and their having to beat up against wind and stream. no," he added, holding his hand up on high; "only against stream. i can feel the breeze rising, and that will carry off the fog before long." "then you will not be disappointed of your savage desires, stan," said uncle jeff good-humouredly. "what a fellow you are to fight!" "oh! don't try to make jokes now, uncle; it's too horrible." "for the enemy, stan, my lad; and i don't pity them a bit. they have the means in their hands to escape all fighting by leaving us carefully alone; but they will come on these murdering expeditions, to let's give them all the bullets we can." "yes, here comes the breeze," whispered stan. "i can see the mist gliding by." "yes, there it goes," said blunt, endorsing the lad's words. "we shall be clear by sunrise." quite half-an-hour passed before the air was much lighter, and blunt ventured to give forth the hope that the enemy might have glided on so far down the river that they would be out of sight, when, almost before he had done speaking, the fog seemed to grow thinner, and directly after to turn to a deep orange, golden hue. "sun's rising," said uncle jeff. "i hope the junks are well out of sight. it will give us time for a good breakfast before they come back." "no breakfast," said stan bitterly, for he was thinking of hot coffee, and his appetite was suddenly damped by what he saw. for the lightening of the mist before the breeze meant that they were close to the edge of the moving bank of rolling mist-clouds, and as if the veil had been suddenly drawn aside, there were the horizontal rays of the sun shining right across the clustering men on the wharf and turning the grey fog-bank to one of gold. to their left the river was hidden, while to their right it was dazzlingly bright, with only a few golden wreaths floating here and there--a glorious scene, but having one of threatening horror behind; for close inshore, about half a mile down-stream, were the piratical junks with grapnels out, holding on to keep from being carried lower, two on the right bank, and four on the left; and as the crews caught sight of them when the mist glided off they set up a yell of savage exultation, and a busy scene ensued as some began to haul in their grapnels, some to hoist sail, while others thrust the long sweeps overboard, and the watchers saw them dip. "humph!" grunted uncle jeff in a low voice to his nephew; "it's a long time since i was at school, stan, but i am going to give an order that used to be very familiar to me in the old days." "what's that, uncle?" said stan wonderingly. "all in to begin, my boy." "to be sure," said blunt grimly. "all in to begin it is; not that we need hurry, for it will be a full half-hour before they can get up here against the sharp current. we'll have it all in--not to begin fighting, but breakfast. in with you, my lads," he cried smartly; "breakfast." the defenders gave a cheer, and in less than five minutes the chinese servants were handing round bread-cake, biscuits, and mugs of coffee to all, while the principals carried theirs out to take on the wharf and watch as well. in a quarter of an hour blunt gave orders to the carpenters, and the last open doorway was, being closed up, while the men rose from what all felt might be their last meal to take their places for the defence, the narrow slits at the windows between the closely packed chests and bales looking very ominous, the more so in their desertion, not the barrel of a rifle nor a glittering watchful eye being seen. "all ready?" said blunt as soon as he reached the upper floor, after seeing to the last strengthenings being given to the two doors. a cheer was the answer, and he turned to uncle jeff. "there's plenty of time, sir," he said. "will you say a few encouraging words to the men?" "i'd rather not," replied uncle jeff. "i came up here to fight, not talk." "but it will encourage them, sir--put heart into them. it does not matter how few words so long as they are to the point." "very well," said uncle jeff, flushing, as he drew in a deep breath and filled out his chest.--"just a word, my lads, all of you, english and chinese, for we have to fight like brothers to-day." there was a hearty cheer, and uncle jeff seemed to be encouraged by this, and spoke out more firmly as he went on. "there's our duty before us," he continued, "to kill or wound as many of these murderous savages as we can, for the sake of being left at peace to earn our livings like men." there was another cheer at this, and as it died out uncle jeff continued: "then all i have to say more to you is this, that we are going to share all dangers with you, and in return we ask you to behave like men." that was all, and the echo of the final words was drowned by a burst of applause and cries of "we will! we will!" "now," shouted blunt; "once more: no random shots. every cartridge used ought to mean one enemy the less, every miss a mistake. don't fire, then, till you are sure.--now then, coolies, you with knife, club, and bar will always be ready to come to the first window to help to beat down the enemy if they try to get in. when not wanted for that, half of you are to be ready to hurl back the stink-pots thrown in, and the others to keep to the buckets and dash out any fire that threatens to take hold. now then, every man in his place." there was a rush, and uncle jeff, who was watching the coming junks, cocked his rifle. it was like a clicking signal for every one to do the same, the sounds running strangely along the stack-encumbered floor. then all was silent till blunt, who was once more taking the lead, his thin, sunken lineaments giving him a fiercely haggard aspect, spoke again. "here they come," he said; "but no firing until the first men land. save only for us," he added in a low voice. "you, mr lynn--you, lynn junior--will do as i do: keep our best marksmanship for the leaders and the men working and firing the guns." a low, growling whisper was the reply, and then all watched the coming ships with their grotesque heads and listened to the buzzing booming of the gongs. "you gave them a severe lesson last time, stan," said blunt after watching the manoeuvres of the enemy for a few minutes, not a swivel-gun nor _jingal_ being fired as the junks were worked up in a double line close alongside of the wharf, where great hooks were thrown ashore, as well as from junk to junk. "they're not going to waste time, but are coming on for a big assault all at once." "yes, that's it," said uncle jeff calmly. "well, we must shoot down their leaders, and if the rest come on they'll have a hard job to get in at any of the windows." the gongs kept on their monotonous booming, while the watchers with bated breath noted that the previous losses had made no perceptible difference, the decks of the clumsy vessels being as thronged as ever, while more discipline was visible, parties of men working together under leaders, and with a wonderful absence of confusion. "they mean mischief, uncle," said stan, who found it hard to bear the waiting, his young blood being full of excitement, and he was longing to begin. "so do we, my boy," said uncle jeff coolly; "more than they expect. i don't want to brag, but i learnt to be a good shot, and i feel as if i can't miss a man at this short distance. you feel the same, don't you?" "no, uncle; i feel my hands all of a shake, and as if i should miss every one i shot at." "never mind. fire away steadily when you begin, boy. as i said before, they are so close that it will not matter; if you miss one man you are sure to hit another." "but it does seem so murderous, uncle," whispered stan passionately. "a mistake, boy: not murderous; it's only justice. we are playing the parts of executioners to criminals." "ah! i thought so," said blunt suddenly. "thought what?" cried stan, who felt glad that the discussion was at an end. "look at that smoke rising out from the middle of every junk." "stink-pots!" cried stan excitedly. "the fire to light them from," was the reply. blunt was rights for in a few minutes scores of wreaths of black smoke were rising out of the little fleet, and as soon as the horrible missiles were well alight the sounding of the gongs stopped for a minute. then three heavy bangs were given from the nearest boat, and directly after the decks were seen clear of the horrible smoke, and seemed to have suddenly begun to bristle with matchlock barrels, pitchforks, tridents, and spears, while every now and then a gleam of sunlight flashed from some heavy sword-blade. the scene was weird and strange, for the rapid motion of the crowding crews set the smoke wreathing and floating here and there, while the soft morning breeze wafted the clouds, one minute revealing the deadly preparations, the next hiding all in smoke. "a grand sight, stan," said uncle jeff. "yes, and such a lovely morning, too," replied the lad. "ah! the more fools the enemy not to go peaceably to work or play, and enjoy it, instead of coming out a-murdering for the sake of a few bales of silk and chests of tea. they will have it, so it is not our fault. i'm in hopes, however, that they'll soon have had enough of it when we give them a taste of what we can do. hullo! look out! here they come." "ah-h!" came like a gasp from stan's chest as he let the breath he had been holding escape. for the enemy, in answer to six heavy booms from one gong, were now waiting motionless, as if they had been carefully drilled to perform some special evolution. then one loud resounding bang, and there was a yell from every junk. _crash_! went a dozen gongs then, with their beaters toiling furiously, and every junk was full of motion, their occupants pouring over the sides of the three first on to the wharf, while their places were taken by those in the three outer junks lashed to the inner, and a rush was made for the wharf as fast as room was made. the yelling continued, but there was no firing as yet, all waiting till the whole of the pirate force was on shore ready. meanwhile the movements had augmented the thick smoke of the stink-pots, whose contents now began to burn fiercely, sparks and flashes of flame darting through the black fumes. "now," cried blunt suddenly after literally torturing those he commanded by his reticence; "leaders only." for several showily dressed, red-hatted men began to marshal their forces previous to a general advance, sending the stink-pot bearers to the front, ready for the orders for an advance, which seemed to be imminent. blunt's command was given just as the leaders began to wave their swords and the bearers of the barbaric hand-grenades took a step forward; but no sooner was the order to fire given than three rifles rang out, and three of the leaders went down; while, as directly after a ragged volley came from the warehouse loopholes, down went the other three leaders, in company with several of the stink-pot bearers, and with them all the carefully inculcated discipline. for with a savage yell of fury the whole body of men dashed across the wharf towards the barricaded windows, shaking their weapons, firing at random, and finally making way for the companions who were bearing the fuming earthenware vessels, eager to hurl them in at the first opening they could see. they rushed on bravely enough, and in a few moments the whole building was resounding and echoing with the casting of the fuming pots, blows from bill-hook, hatchet, and spear, shots from _jingals_, and the shouts of the attacking force. in reply a steady fire was kept up by the defenders at the most prominent of the attacking party, and uncle jeff's remarks had plain illustration, for the enemy were literally so thick that where one was missed another was hit. but it seemed to make very little difference. the pirates dashed up to the front, and then dividing, went off to right and left, to hurry yelling round to the back, meet there, and then rush back again, keeping up a fierce hacking and beating at door and barricaded window; firing too, and hurling the blazing pots wherever there seemed to be a chance to make one lodge, but always to find the lower openings invulnerable, and the grenades fall back among them in company with deadly shots. in the midst of the wild excitement in front men were raised up on their fellows' shoulders to get height before hurling in the pots, or to enable others to reach and make deadly thrusts with their spears through the loopholes. vain effort, for the bearers could not reach high enough, and after a few efforts the coolies within served back such of the stink-pots as reached the inside, and returned them on the heads of the spearmen and their bearers, sending the pirates back covered with the blazing material, and yelling with rage and pain, to follow the example set them by others at the former attack and plunge off the wharf into the river. this assault was kept up for fully ten minutes, the steady resistance sprinkling the level wharf with wounded and dead; but though little impression was made, the enemy, in their fierce fury, seemed to be in nowise rebuffed. they kept on, their voices and gesticulations combining with their savage faces to enforce upon the defenders what must be their fate should they not succeed in beating their foemen back. the pressure was kept up without effect till the supply of fiery grenades was exhausted, when, utterly baffled by the calm, steady fire, and discouraged by their utter inability to make an impression, the pirates made a sudden rush back to their vessels. in an instant the firing ceased, the defenders gladly accepting the respite to see to such injuries as had been inflicted, and to extinguish the fire at a couple of spots where the blazing resin was gradually creeping up one corner of the building at a place the coolies had been unable to reach it with the water without exposing themselves to the spears of the enemy. the damage proved to be slight, and the personal injuries trifling in the extreme, merely calling for a little plastering and a bandage, both being dexterously applied by wing, who seemed quite at home repairing damages, as uncle jeff termed it, the injured coming back to their posts quite as a matter of course, ready for the next onslaught if one came. stan clung to the hope that the enemy had learned enough and would now go. but he was soon undeceived, for freshly lit pots began to appear amidships of the junks, and as soon as they were blazing well they were raised, and the men came on again. then the fight raged once more, being kept on for nearly half-an-hour without a sign of yielding on either side, while, fast growing weary, stan began to look anxiously from one to the other of his two leaders. it was not till he had glanced at them for the second time that uncle jeff caught his eye, and said quietly as he went on loading and firing: "they're tough, stan, but they must give up soon, for they are losing men fast." "but what about us, uncle?" "eh? oh, we're all right, my lad. ah! fire at those two mandarin-like fellows who are hounding the men on." their two rifles went off together, and the one stan fired at stopped short and then staggered back towards the nearest junk, while the other made a dash forward and disappeared round the corner of the building. "both badly hit, stan," said uncle jeff. "let us hope that fellow's too much hurt to do any more mischief." their attention was taken off again to another party who were making desperate efforts to force one of the windows, but without effect. at last their success looked likely, for one of the men managed to climb high enough to get a knee on the sill of the opening; and help from his companions coming at the right moment, he raised himself up, spear in hand, and was just about to spring in, while others were following, when thrusts were made with a couple of rifle-barrels and the man's balance was destroyed, making him leap backward to avoid a heavy fall, and being caught by his companions, who were surging about beneath the windows. an exultant yell told the defenders that the enemy were satisfied that this was nearly an accomplishment of their desires, and encouraged now with the thought that the task was possible, the men came on like a furious wave, literally hurling themselves frantically against the walls and, regardless of life, swarming up at every opening. "getting warm," shouted uncle jeff to blunt. "try and keep your men cool; the enemy can't carry this on long." "i'm doing my best with them," said blunt, shouting to make his voice heard in the frightful din, and having a narrow escape, for one of the flaming pots came full in his face, to be avoided by a sharp wince, and then crashed down on the floor, where a coolie pounced upon it and dashed it flaming back. "good, stan!" shouted uncle jeff in his nephew's ear. "i saw you bring down the fellow who flung that wretched thing. quick, boy! fire faster.--fire, all of you; they're coming on more and more. how many are there of the wretches?" "i'm firing as fast as i can, uncle," cried stan; "but i'm afraid that they're doing something round at the back." "then don't be afraid--don't be afraid of anything," growled uncle jeff. "we don't want imagination to help the real. that is bad enough.--hah! that has settled you, my bloodthirsty scoundrel!" he growled as he reached out and shot a man down. but a spear came darting up and scratched the side of his face, making him utter an angry snarl, while his eyes lit up with rage as he glared through a loophole at the swarming enemy raging about beneath as if nothing but the defenders' blood would suffice. "not going to be too much for us, are they?" thought stan, whose blood was well up; but a slight feeling of dread attacked him as to their future. for the enemy seemed, in spite of their losses, by no means quelled, only spurred on to fresh attacks, which grew fiercer as the moments glided by. "eh? what?" cried uncle jeff suddenly, as a blue-frocked, particularly clean and tidy-looking individual forced his way amongst the powder-and-pitch-smoke blackened party of four defending stan's window. "you here, wing?" cried stan, turning from taking aim, and feeling a hand grasp his arm. "come, quick!" cried the chinaman, with a highly pitched squeak. "pilate got in bottom. plenty lot come 'long fast; cuttee allee float." "quick, all!" roared blunt at that moment. "the stairs--the stairs!" a rush was made towards the opening, and uncle jeff sprang to the head of the broad stairs, just in time to bring his rifle-butt down on the head of a big chinaman who, holding a great sword in both hands, was reaching forward to cut under the arms of blunt, who was swinging his piece round, clubbed, to beat back three or four of the enemy who were crowding up. down came blunt's rifle, and with it two of the enemy; but half-a-dozen more were springing up ready to receive a tremendous blow from uncle jeff--a too tremendous blow, for though it tumbled one man down upon those beneath, the stock of the rifle went after him, and the barrel had to be used as a weapon alone. meanwhile stan had dropped upon one knee, and waiting his opportunity, fired and brought down the next swordsman who reached up to cut at his uncle. they were desperate moments, but those three held the pirates in check by their efforts till they were reinforced by the coolies who had dealt with the fire-pots, these flinging themselves bravely forward in defence of their masters; and the check grew more severe, giving the defenders time to improve their position. stan was the first to make a suggestion, and it was to wing. "bring me a bale here," he said, "to fight over." "yes, and let's have more and more," cried uncle jeff. wing showed no signs of his old injury, and as he jabbered fiercely to the coolies, they followed his example, and in an incredibly short space of time bales and tea-chests were thrust to the edge of the broad opening, forming something of a defence against the attacking party, who were checked but not damped, for three of the defenders of the windows came to stan's help, firing with him from behind the new breastwork, over which uncle jeff raged like an angry lion; while blunt, whose strength was failing fast, only struck at intervals as opportunities came. "it's all over," thought stan as he kept on loading and firing mechanically, for it was plain enough that somehow or another the enemy had forced a way into the lower floor, through which they were shouting defiance and fulminating threats; but they made no farther progress, for heads had only to be shown up the stairs for their owners to be beaten down by rifle-barrel or pistol-butt, and their supporters to stumble back or be riddled by one or other of the bullets that were fired with unerring aim. "oh deah!" came in a whining voice close to stan's ear in a momentary pause between two attacks; and turning his head sharply as his fingers were busy with the breech of his piece, there, bent over him, was wing, with a tremendous knife in his hand. "wing wish to be fighting-man. allee fall downee. pilate come fastee fastee. look, look! going buln evelybody up." wing's eyes and nostrils had been busier than stan's, for, engrossed as he was with his firing, he had seen nothing but those who were about to attack his uncle, and the greatest peril of all had escaped his notice. but now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up. "see that, uncle?" he panted. "yes, my boy; they're going to make our fall warm for us." "but the water-buckets!" "no good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here." "fire!" cried blunt hoarsely. "yes, fire," said uncle jeff; "but don't slacken your efforts, man. keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. if not, i hope they will be caught in their own trap." "but us--your nephew--escape?" "i don't see how," said uncle jeff.--"do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, stan?" "are you all coming too, uncle?" said the lad. "no, my boy; it is impossible. we must fight to the last." "yes," said stan quietly; "of course it's impossible. i should only jump into a crowd and be hacked to pieces. i'd rather stay here." uncle jeff was silent, but he lowered one hand to squeeze his nephew's. "bless you, my boy!" he said hoarsely. "it's very hard, but there's nothing for it unless help comes." "and no help will come that i can see," panted blunt, who was reeling with weakness. "ah-h-h! takee ca'e!" shrieked wing, bringing down his big knife with all his might, as, regardless of flame and smoke rising with stifling fumes through the square opening of the stairs, some half-dozen of the enemy made a rush to get at the defenders. and once more a desperate struggle ensued, which was repeated till the suffocating wreaths were too much even for the much-diminished attacking party, who now drew back to make way for a strong force of their companions. these rushed to the foot of the stairs to hurl about a dozen of the flaming missiles up at the defenders, and then dashed away again, just in time to escape a furious burst of flame which indicated that the fire was beginning to rage below; in fact, within five minutes the staircase was perfectly impassable, the flames roaring up being augmented with fresh fuel by the enemy, who hurled in pot after pot. "no escape there, stan," said uncle jeff as they drew back from the scorching heat. "but no more attack, uncle," replied stan. "we are safe from that." "and safe to be burned out." "yes," said blunt bitterly; "but we can't die like this.--come, my lads, back to the windows, and let us make the wretches feel that they will have to go on paying for our lives to the last." "yes," said uncle jeff solemnly; "it has all been bravely done, and so we have done our duty. i suppose we could not make a dash from one window and fight our way to some boat?" "no," said blunt as he shared the old window with them again, the men going back to their former stations--"no; it would be utter madness to try it. ah i look below." "yes; swarming with their spears," said uncle jeff. "to catch us as we spring out from the fire," cried stan. "oh uncle, can we do nothing?" "nothing but kill a few more of the wretches before we go, my boy. i should be acting the part of a coward now if i did not own that we have reached the worst." "oh uncle," cried stan passionately, "why did you come?" "to help you, boy; and i am sorry i've failed. there! shake hands, my dear lad; life is always short, but this is too short for you." "fire! fire!" cried blunt passionately. "my rifle's useless, and in another ten minutes we shall be too late." stan looked wildly round as he raised his rifle to fire through the loophole again at the wretches waiting to catch them on bristling trident forks and spears, and it seemed a mockery, though the rifle-shots were fast pattering down, for him to think of destroying still more life when so near the termination of his own; but blunt was his captain to the last, and his eye was on the sight, his finger on the trigger, and almost by instinct he was marking down one of the wretches right in front. once more his nerves were tensely strained, and in another instant the enemy before him would have fallen, dangerously wounded if not dead, when there was a sudden shock, as if the fire had reached the little magazine and the cartridges had proved how they would act under the circumstances. the place literally rocked, there was a deafening roar, and the savage yelling of the attacking force was drowned. chapter thirty seven. "but we weren't beaten." stan looked round, and the man at whom he had aimed escaped. "what's that?" he shouted as he looked for the crumbling down of the walls. the answer to his question came in the shrill, piping voice of wing: "um t'inkee gleat englis' man-o'-wa come 'long." the chinaman spoke as he rushed away across the wide floor, to begin climbing the narrow ladder on one side--the steps leading to the roof and the trap-door through which he had passed to play the part of lookout. "oh, impossible!" cried uncle jeff hoarsely.--"don't believe him, stan, boy; it's too good to be true." _boom_! _thud_! and a sound like a crash, followed by a cessation of the yelling for a perceptible space, and then a peculiar murmuring, with the enemy outside becoming wildly excited, and then as if by one volition swarming for the edge of the wharf. "wing's right," cried blunt. "it must be a gunboat, and they are firing shell." "yes, yes," shouted stan, and there was a peculiar hysterical ring in his voice. "look, uncle! that junk to the right is torn open; the poop is smashed. there's the smoke of the shell rising, and--hurrah! she's going down!" stan's triumphant cry was taken up three times over, the defenders crowding the narrow slits to get a glimpse of what was going on--for the first shot had checked the attack, literally paralysing the pirates with astonishment; the second turned the assault into a retreat, while as the fierce hurrahs of the people in the _hong_ went on, the gangways of the junks were being crowded in the rush for safety. "hoolay! hoolay! hoolay!" came from the ceiling of the great room; while as stan turned, there was wing's head visible as he thrust it down, and as soon as he saw that he was observed the chinaman shouted, "big englis' ship fi'e two-bang shot." _boom_! came another report, and, almost at the same moment, _crash_! another shell had burst just over the second junk close up to the wharf, the splintering of fragments causing terrible havoc, which was trampled out of sight directly by the men crowding aboard. for the moment stan forgot all about their own perilous position, for the air rushing in through the barricaded windows was cool and refreshing; but blunt had had eyes for what was going on below and within, where the air was growing stifling with smoke and heat. "here, lynn," he shouted. "quick! that whistle! blow, lad, blow!" the shrill note rang out, and brought every one crowding up to one end of the great stacked-up floor. "ah! that's right," cried uncle jeff. "nothing to fear from the enemy now, lads; clear this window." "yes; and throw the bales down the staircase. it will block the way," cried blunt. the men cheered, and worked with all their might, bale after bale being tossed into the wide opening and filling it up so that the great draught of heat was checked and the place rendered more bearable as the flame and smoke ceased to rush up as if through some great flue. this done, blunt gave a fresh order, and the party began to drop one after another through the window, those behind covering them with their rifles in case of an attack. but the precaution was needless, for the enemy had but one aim now--to get all on board their vessels, cast them off from the wharf, and make sail. hence it was that the defenders reached the outside of the burning _hong_ uninterrupted, and while the pirates were busy their intended victims followed the whistle once more, being led by blunt and uncle jeff round to the broken-down window at the back which the enemy had forced. here blunt leapt in, followed by stan and uncle jeff, marshalling his men for that which he had in view--the saving of the great warehouse before it was too late. lucky it was that such precautions against fire had been taken and the coolies and warehousemen were so drilled. for there was only the smoke to fear now. the great casks stood full, and the buckets ready to be seized and passed along to uncle jeff and lawrence, who, all soiled like the rest, and half-suffocated, sent the water streaming over the parts where the fire was eating its way along the woodwork and up the stairs, till in ten minutes flames and sparks began to give place to smoke and steam to such an extent that it was safe for some of the clerks to assist the carpenters, who, by blunt's orders, began to tear down the planks over the windows and let in air that could be breathed. it was none too soon, for even uncle jeff of the mighty muscles began to feel that he must crawl out or stifle, while as the first puff of wholesome air rushed in lawrence dropped, and he was being raised to be carried out into the open air, but began to struggle and make signs that he should be set down. five minutes later he was vigorously swinging a bucket again. "hurrah, stan!" shouted uncle jeff at last. "there's nothing more to fear.--do you see, blunt? a splash here and a splash there. keep the coolies at it and the mischief will not be so bad after all. here, i must see what they're doing outside." "me know--i know," piped wing, who always seemed to be ready for everything but heavy manual labour such as might break his nails. "wing been gone look outside off _hong_ whooff. big ship come all steam up livah. shoot, shoot topside big junk. numbee one topside junk go bottom. numbee two topside junk float down livah go close 'longside. allee ovey--junk lun 'way up livah. steamship shoot, shoot, shoot two-bang gun." poor wing in his excitement suffered to such an extent from incoherency that his speech was hard to grasp; but helped by a lookout from the wharf, where the enemy was represented only by the dead, the state of affairs was fully grasped. for the masts and parts of the sails of two junks rose from the river a few yards from the wharf-edge; the wreckage of another lying over on its side was floating down-stream, while in response to the fire of a grim-looking grey gunboat, whose shells went through her sides as if they were papier-mache, a fourth was settling down a couple of hundred yards away, and her late occupants were swimming for the farther bank across the river. as stan shaded his eyes, which were dim and painful from the effect of the smoke, he saw enough to prove that the fate of the other junks was sealed. they were sailing up-stream, but the grey gunboat was churning up the water astern as she stole after them like fate, every now and then sending forth a great ball of white smoke with a roar, followed by a stinging crack-like echo when a shell burst with unerring precision, the result being that the river seemed in the distance to be dotted in all directions with strange specks, all of which drifted for the farther shore. "ah, uncle jeff!" cried stan suddenly, as he heard a sharp scratch, and turned to see a match burning in the bright sunshine. "yes, stan, uncle jeff it is: come out to breathe and have a cigar. i've used up all my stuff, boy. pumped out. here we are, you see; safe, though, after all.--my word, how those jacks can shoot! did you see?" "yes, uncle. why, that junk must be half a mile away." "yes, splendid practice; but she'll go no farther than to the bottom, and the lads will have a shell into that other directly." uncle jeff was right. it took two more shells as he sat smoking, and then the last of the six pirate junks was so much bamboo chip floating down the stream. "poor wretches!" he said. "it seems very terrible; but it would have been much worse if the poor warehouse had been smoking ashes now, and our bones beneath." "yes," said stan, shuddering. "i say, uncle, this is a horrible place.--ah, wing! you there?" "yes; come see you like cup tea." "what! can you get some?" cried stan. "yes, plenty tea. wateh nea'ly boil." "oh! i should," cried stan huskily, "for i feel quite sick at heart." there were a few rifle-shots fired at fugitives on the banks, but the object of the gunboat's crew was more to scatter the savage miscreants than to add to their destruction; for the commander on board was satisfied with the blow at the pirates' power, and he said so half-an-hour later, when his vessel had steamed back and was moored to the wharf. he had landed to inspect the place and congratulate its defenders warmly. "as brave a defence as i know of, gentlemen," he said. "and it seems to me that i only just came up in time." "only just," said uncle jeff; "but we weren't beaten." "beaten--up!" said the officer sharply. "you'd have kept the miserable brutes off, but i'm afraid that the fire would have been rather too much--eh?" "yes," said uncle jeff; "we should have had to strike our colours to that. but there i don't talk about it. we've had an awful escape." "you have, and no mistake. here! come on board and have a wash while something to eat is made ready." "a wash!" cried stan. "oh yes.--i say, uncle, you look awful." "do i, my boy? humph!--i say, captain, do you carry a pocket-mirror?" "no; but there's a looking-glass or two in the cabins. do you want to shave?" "what! cut off my growing beard?" said uncle jeff fiercely. "no, nor my head either. i wanted my nephew to see his face." "my face?" cried stan, colouring invisibly--that is to say, the red was hidden by the black. "is it very bad?" he glanced at blunt as he spoke. "well," was the reply, "did you ever see a sweep?" the hospitality on board the gunboat embraced the attentions of a doctor as well as refreshments, and he had a busy hour with cuts and burns before the night closed in, with sailors to keep the watch over those who slept the sleep of utter exhaustion; though ward was needless, for the remnants of the piratical gang were scattered far and wide, completely crushed. chapter thirty eight. "suppose we leave them there." month later the people at the _hong_ had repaired all damages, and paint and varnish had hidden unpleasantly suggestive marks; while in two months the loss was almost forgotten in the increase of trade consequent upon the peace existing in the district, maintained by an occasional visit of the gunboat upon the station, ready always to quench every piratical spark that appeared. at first stan had declared that he should never be able to feel settled up the river; but he did, for there was always something animated and new about the station to which the peaceful traders flocked, knowing as they did that all transactions with the english merchants meant perfect faith and nothing akin to dealings with the squeezing mandarins. in fact, the lad began to think that his busy life to and fro was, after all, one of the most happy, and that he might pick out his father and uncle as fine specimens of what english merchants might be. "i begin to think, uncle jeff," he said one day, "that a young fellow might do worse than become a merchant out here." "well, yes," said uncle jeff, with a smile; "he might--yes, certainly he might." it was one evening when uncle jeff, blunt, and stan were talking over the old trouble of the past--that is to say, about the traitor in the camp. "well, for my part," said uncle jeff, "i give all my votes--plumpers-- for poor old wing. he never tried to destroy the ammunition. he's true as steel." "i second that," said blunt.--"now, lynn, what do you say?" "that it's cruel to the poor fellow even to think of such a thing. i'd trust him anywhere." "same here," said uncle jeff. "same here," said blunt. "it must have been one of those fellows who had charge of the water-casks, but which we shall never know, for they will not split upon one another. anyhow, they've fought well for us, and the only thing to be done is to let the matter drop." "as far as we can," said uncle jeff very gravely. "it's a serious thing, though." "very," replied blunt; "and i've dwelt upon it time after time, till my head has been all in a whirl. you see, it was just when i was at my worst, and i can remember in my half-delirious state being in a terrible fright lest one of those stink-pots should come in, roll down the stairs, and then go bounding down and reach the magazine. it was like a nightmare to me.--and you remember, stan, that, bad though i was, i sent wing up to tell you of the need for being careful." "oh yes, i remember," said stan. "and even then i didn't feel at rest," continued blunt, talking quickly, and seeming as if every incident connected with the first attack had come vividly back to his mind. "it was horrible, and what with the torture of my wound and that caused by anxiety lest any accident should happen to the powder, i felt as if i didn't know what i was about. now it was the wound, and now it was my head, and altogether it was like a terrible dream, all worry and bewildering excitement, till the pain and feverishness of my hurt were as nothing to the agony and dread lest the place should be blown up. it was then that i felt that something more must be done or the place would go, and i sent wing to warn you, lynn." "yes; of course. i thought that you must be in a great state of fidget--and no wonder." "fidget doesn't express it, lynn. i was--bless me! how strange! how--" blunt stopped short, looking in a bewildered way from one to the other, and ending by clapping his hand to his forehead and holding it there. "what's the matter, blunt?" said uncle jeff quietly. "nothing--nothing--only it seems so strange--so queer. my head--my head!" "lie back in that chair.--stan, fill a glass with water." "no, no; nonsense!" cried blunt impatiently. "i'm all right now, only it's my head. so strange!" "yes; you've been talking a little too much. you see, you are still weak." "rubbish!" cried blunt angrily. "you don't understand. it's my head. something seems to have broken or fallen there so that i can see quite clearly." "drink that water," said uncle jeff sternly; and in obedience to the command the manager took the glass stan handed to him, drained it, and set it down. "refreshing?" "yes, very.--but how strange!" "is it?" said uncle jeff quietly. "yes. it's almost awful," said blunt excitedly. "only a little while ago." "here, i say, hadn't you better leave off talking?" said uncle jeff gruffly. "lie down on the mats for a few minutes," said stan. "i'll roll one up for a pillow." "absurd!" cried blunt. "you two are fancying that i am ill, when something that has been clogging my brain has broken or been swept away--i can't tell which; i only know that i'm quite well again once more, and see everything clearly in connection with that business. i remember--yes: that's it." stan glanced at uncle jeff, who frowned and looked puzzled as to what was best to be done. in his eyes the manager was going quite off his head. for blunt had begun to pace the office rapidly, and went on muttering to himself as he gazed straight before him, ending by stopping short at the office table and bringing one hand down with a heavy bang which made the ink leap in the stand. "have another glass of water," said uncle jeff; and stan started to get it, but stopped short. "don't run away, lynn," cried blunt. "this is interesting. how some doctors would like to know! it has all come back now, but i must have been off my head or i shouldn't have acted so, of course. half-an-hour ago i didn't know i had done it, but i do know now. talking about the matter seems to have cleared away the last of the mental cobwebs that have been worrying me." "yes, yes, yes," said uncle jeff impatiently; "but you really had better have a nap." blunt smiled as he looked at the speaker. "you think i'm a little queer still," he said. "oh no," replied uncle jeff; "only tired and over-excited." "not a bit," replied blunt, "i'm all right, i tell you, and i can see clearly now how that trouble came about the cartridges being wet." "indeed!" said uncle jeff. "well, how did it come about?" "i drowned them with water, of course." "you did?" said stan, staring. "nonsense!" "yes, nonsense!" said uncle jeff. "you wouldn't have done such a thing as that!" "if i had been in my senses--no. but i was not. i was wildly excited and delirious from my wound, and there was that idea pressing upon me that one of the stink-pots would roll down blazing from the upper floor and explode the cartridges. it was while i was more sane that i sent wing to you, lynn, with that message, but as soon as he had gone the trouble increased. i felt that he would not get there in time, and i got up and went round to the back of the warehouse, picked up one of the buckets of water, and while the men in charge of the casks were on the stairs watching you and the others keeping up the firing, i poured the water into the last case of cartridges, chuckling to myself at my cleverness, and saying that there was no fear now." "you laughed and said that?" cried stan sceptically. "i did. i remember it perfectly now, even to my feeling of satisfaction at having saved the place from all risk of destruction in that way. yes, and i can remember lying down again and shutting my eyes because i heard wing coming. yes, there it all is, as plain as if i were looking at myself now. i can remember, too, the feeling of rest and content that came, and with it the return of the throbbing pain, till i fainted or fell asleep, to wake with my mind quite blank, knowing nothing whatever of my acts, and being ready to join in accusing poor old wing. but there! it was the act of a man quite off his head, doing about as double-edged an act as was ever committed. queer--eh, lynn?" "queer? well, i don't know what to call it," said stan, "but i hope you'll never do such a thing again." "i promise you i will not so long as i escape being shot through the shoulder," said blunt, smiling; "but if i am wounded like that i will not answer for the consequences." suppose we leave them there. [illustration] _the gun-boat series._ frank, the young naturalist, frank on a gun-boat, frank in the woods, frank before vicksburg, frank on the lower mississippi. price, $ . per volume, or $ . per set, in a neat box, forming a most excellent and interesting library for young folks. _the gun-boat series._ frank before vicksburg. by h. c. castlemon, "the gun-boat boy." with illustrations. cincinnati: r. w. carroll & co., publishers, opera-house building, _ west fourth street_. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by r. w. carroll & co., in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of ohio. stereotyped at the franklin type foundry, cincinnati, o. contents. page chapter i. home again chapter ii. harry on a scout chapter iii. on duty again chapter iv. the fight in the woods chapter v. in the hands of the "johnnies" again chapter vi. an old acquaintance chapter vii. a close shave chapter viii. taking down the captain chapter ix. a practical joke chapter x. new messmates chapter xi. a good night's work chapter xii. in the trenches chapter xiii. the scout's story chapter xiv. running the batteries chapter xv. a race for the old flag chapter xvi. the rival sharp-shooters chapter xvii. the smuggler's cave--conclusion frank before vicksburg. chapter i. home again. after all the tragic adventures which frank nelson had passed through, since entering the service of his country, which we have attempted to describe in the preceding volume of this series, he found himself surrounded by his relatives and friends, petted and fêted, enjoying all the comforts of his old and well-beloved home. only those who have been in similar circumstances can imagine how pleasant that quiet little cottage seemed to frank, after the scenes of danger through which he had passed. he looked back to the memorable struggle between the lines; the scene in the turret during the first day's fight at fort pemberton; the privations he had undergone while confined in the prison at shreveport; his almost miraculous escape; and they seemed to him like a dream. all his sufferings were forgotten in the joy he felt at finding himself once more at home. but sorrow was mingled with his joy when he looked upon the weeds which his mother wore, and when he saw the look of sadness which had taken the place of her once happy smile. she seemed ten years older than she looked on that pleasant morning, just fifteen months before, when, standing in the door, she had strained her son to her bosom, and uttered those words which had rung in frank's ears whenever he felt himself about to give away to his feelings of terror: "good-by, my son; i may never see you again, but i hope i shall never hear that you shrank from your duty." frank shuddered when he thought how intense must have been the suffering that could work so great a change. but now that he was safe at home again, there was no cause but for rejoicing. his presence there afforded abundant proof that he had _not_ been shot while attempting to run the guards at shreveport, as had been reported. and how great must have been the joy which that mother felt at beholding him once more! although he did not move about the house in his accustomed noisy, boyish way, and although his cheek had been paled by his recent sickness, from which he had not yet wholly recovered, he was still the same lively, generous frank whom she had so freely given up to the service of his country. during the short time that they had been separated, he had been placed in situations where his courage and determination had been severely tested, and had come safely through, never forgetting his mother's advice; and that mother could not suppress the emotions of pride that arose in her heart, for she knew that her son had done his duty. numerous were the questions that were asked and answered, on both sides. frank was obliged to relate, over and over again, the story of his capture and escape, until aunt hannah thrust her head into the room, with the announcement that supper was ready. when the meal was finished, frank removed his trunk into his study. every thing there was just as he left it: the fore-and-aft schooner, and the box inclosing the scene at sea, still stood upon the bureau; his sporting cabinet hung on the frame at the foot of the bed; the little clock on the mantel-piece ticked as musically as in days of yore; and the limb of the rose-bush that covered his window flapped against the house just as it did the night when it was broken off by the storm. after he had taken a fond, lingering look at each familiar object, he went into the museum, accompanied by his mother and sister, while brave ran on before. julia opened the door, and there stood the wild-cat, just as he looked when the young naturalist had encountered him in the woods. frank remembered how the cold sweat had started out from every pore in his body when he first found himself face to face with this "ugly customer," and he could not help smiling when he thought how terrified he was. as he walked slowly around the museum, examining all the specimens, as though he had never seen them before, he thought over the little history of each. there was the buck that he and archie had killed in the lake, when they lost their guns, and the latter had wished they "had never seen the deer." then came the owl, which frank had shot on that rainy morning when archie had felt so certain of his prize. then there was the white buck, which the boys had rescued from the wolves only to have him killed by a panther. next came the moose with which frank had struggled so desperately in the woods, and from which he had been rescued by the trapper and his dog. the skin of the bear, which he had trapped, and followed to the cave, and that of the panther that killed the white buck, still hung on a nail behind the door, where he had left them after his return from the woods. after examining every thing to his satisfaction, he went into the shanty behind the museum, where he kept his pets. the raccoons, which had become so tame that julia allowed them to run about, started away at his approach; but the squirrels and otter recognized him at once; and while one ran down into his pockets in search for nuts, the other came toward him, uttering a faint whine, and looked up as if expecting the piece of cracker which frank, in former days, had always taken especial care to provide for him. while frank was caressing the little animal, the king-birds and crow flew into the shanty. the former were now five in number, the old birds having raised a nestful of young ones, which were no less efficient in driving every bird from the orchard, or less lenient to the crow, than their parents. the old king-birds lit on frank's shoulders, while daw seemed to prefer his master's uniform cap, and was about to take possession of it, when his enemies straightway commenced a fight, and the poor crow, after a desperate resistance, was driven from the shanty. perhaps the reader would like to know what has become of the young moose and the cubs which frank captured during his visit at the trapper's cabin. well, they have good quarters, and are well provided for at uncle mike's, the same who assisted the young naturalist on the morning when we saw him trying to get his scow up to his work-shop. the moose has about an acre of pasture allowed him. he is as tame and gentle as ever, never attempting to escape. uncle mike has put this entirely out of his power, for he is surrounded by a ten-rail fence. the animal more than pays for his keeping, and many a load of wood has he drawn up to mike's door for the use of his family. the cubs, which are considerably larger than when we last saw them, are a source of a great deal of annoyance to the honest irishman. they are still as playful as ever, and amuse themselves all day long in turning somersaults and wrestling with each other; but mike has learned to "stand from under." he can generally defend himself against the attacks of one of the cubs, but the other is always ready to lend assistance, and the irishman is invariably worsted. he keeps them confined in a building that once served as a smoke-house; and not daring to trust himself within reach of their paws, he gives them their food through the window. it was dark before frank had seen and heard enough to satisfy him to return to the cottage. the evening was spent in listening to his stories of gun-boat life on the mississippi, and it was midnight before he retired to his room. the newfoundlander, which had been close at his master's side ever since he returned, scarcely leaving him for a moment, followed him into his study, and took possession of the rug before the door. after winding up the clock that stood on the mantel, and setting the alarm, frank put out the light, and tumbled into bed. although he was pretty well tired-out, he did not hesitate a moment to answer the summons of the little bell that rang at four o'clock, but was out on the floor almost before the notes of the alarm had ceased. in a few moments he was dressed; and taking his fish-pole and basket, which hung on the rack at the foot of the bed, accompanied by brave, set out with the intention of paying a visit to the lake in the swamp, which had been the scene of the fight with the buck. as he walked along up the road, the associations connected with each locality were recalled to his mind. here was the place where the black fox, which had so long held possession of reynard's island, had crossed the creek with sport--"the dog that had never lost a fox"--following close on his trail. there was the tree leaning out over the creek, behind which archie had crept for concealment when in pursuit of the canvas-backs; and a little further on was the bridge which they had crossed on that rainy morning that the geese had taken refuge in the swamp. frank feasted his eyes on each familiar object as he walked along, until he arrived at the end of the road, where stood uncle mike's rustic cottage. as he approached, that individual appeared at the door, shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed at our hero for a moment, and then sprang out, and greeted him with-- "arrah, master frank! is this you, me boy?" "yes, uncle mike, it's i," answered frank, extending his hand to the man, who shook it heartily, while tears of genuine joy rolled down his cheeks. "i'm back again, safe and sound." "it's me ownsilf that's glad to see you," said mike. "i heered you was kilt intirely by the rebels; bad luck to the likes o' them. but come with me, master frank; ye's been fightin' rebels, but i've been fighting them varmints ye ketched in the woods." the irishman led the way to the building in which the cubs were confined, and opened the blind which protected the window, to allow frank to look in. he could scarcely recognize in the large, shaggy forms that were tumbling about over the floor, the small, weak cubs which he had carried for twenty miles in the pocket of his overcoat. as soon as the window was opened, they raised themselves on their haunches, and endeavored to reach uncle mike's red-flannel cap, an article he had worn ever since frank could remember. "aisy, aisy, there, you blackguards!" exclaimed mike, endeavoring to ward off the blows which the cubs aimed at him. "can't yees be aisy, i say? that's the way they always do, master frank; me old cap seems to give 'em a deal of throuble." after amusing himself for some time in watching the motions of the clumsy animals, frank followed uncle mike to the pen in which the moose was kept. he had grown finely, was nearly as large as a horse, and his head was furnished with a pair of wide-spreading antlers, the sight of which made frank shudder, and recall to mind that desperate fight in the woods, and his narrow escape from death. the moose was very gentle, and allowed his young master to lead him about the yard, and would come at his call as readily as a dog. after seeing the animal "shown off" to his best advantages, frank got into uncle mike's skiff, and pulled up the creek toward the lake. half an hour's rowing brought him to the point behind which he and his cousin had captured the eider-ducks, and where they had first caught sight of the buck. after making his skiff fast to a tree on the bank, he rigged his pole, baited his hook, and dropped it into the water. almost instantly a sudden jerk showed him that the "old perch-hole" had still plenty of occupants, and in a moment more a fish lay floundering in the bottom of the boat. we need not say that frank enjoyed himself hugely during the hour and a half that he remained in the lake. the fish bit voraciously, and the sport was exciting, especially as it had been so long since frank had had an opportunity to engage in his favorite recreation. but his conscience would not allow him to "wantonly waste the good things of god," and, when he had caught enough for his breakfast, he unfastened his skiff and pulled toward home. frank spent the forenoon in recounting some of his adventures to his mother and julia, of which they seemed never to grow weary. when aunt hannah announced that dinner was ready, he lingered for a moment on the portico to watch the movements of a flock of ducks, which, in company with the old ones, the same that he and archie had captured in the lake, were swimming about in the creek in front of the house; but, as he was about to follow his mother into the dining-room, he heard a loud scream, which seemed to come from above him, and looked up just in time to see a bald eagle swoop down upon the ducks. the old ones uttered their notes of alarm, and, rising from the water, flew over the cottage toward the barn, while the ducklings darted under the leaves of the lilies. but one was too late; for, as the eagle arose in the air, he bore off his prize. frank immediately ran into the house for his gun, determined that the life of the eagle should pay for that of the duck; but on his return he found that the robber was already being severely punished for the mischief he had done. daw and the king-birds, which seemed to have an idea that something unusual was going on, had attacked him with a fury that frank had never before witnessed. the eagle was flying, zigzag, through the air, but was met at every point by his tormentors. frank, who dared not fire for fear of wounding his pets, ran down the walk, sprang over the fence, and awaited the issue of the fight, hoping that the eagle would be compelled to take refuge in one of the trees that grew on the bank of the creek. nor was he mistaken; for the robber, finding that he could not escape his enemies, settled down on a limb but a short distance off, and, after deliberately folding his wings, snapped his beak, as if defying them to keep up the contest. the king-birds seated themselves on the branches above his head, and commenced their angry twittering, and daw joined in with a loud "caw, caw." this seemed to be the first intimation that the king-birds had received of his presence, for they straightway flew at him, and daw, although he had lent effective assistance in fighting the eagle, did not stop to resist, but beat a hasty retreat toward the cottage. this seemed a favorable moment for the eagle; he leaped from his perch, and was flying off with his booty, when the report of frank's gun brought him to the ground. the young naturalist shouldered his prize, and was starting toward the house, when a voice called out: "halloo, there! at your old tricks again so soon?" frank looked up, and saw harry butler coming toward him. neither had dreamed of the presence of the other in the village, and the cordial manner in which the two friends greeted each other proved that their long separation had not lessened their affection. but frank noticed at once that his friend was greatly changed. he looked haggard and careworn; he was no longer the wild, impetuous harry; he had grown more sedate; and his face, which had once beamed with a smile for every one, now wore a look of sorrow, for which frank could not account. it is true that he noticed that harry carried his arm in a sling, but he knew that it was not bodily suffering that had caused that look of sadness. "harry, what is the matter with you?" was his first question. "you look completely worn out." "so i am," was the answer. "let us sit down on this log, and i'll tell you all about it. i've often been here to visit your folks," he continued, "never expecting to see you again, as i learned that you had been captured, and afterward shot, while trying to escape. you say i look worn out; so would you if your only brother was a prisoner in the hands of the rebels, held as a hostage, and every moment expecting to be hung. george is in that situation, and i look upon his death, not only as a possible, but a very probable thing. it has been a hard task for me to convince myself that, if i should live to return home after the war, i should be alone, as i certainly thought i should be when i heard that you had been shot, and that george was not much better off. i had made up my mind to pass my furlough in the house, for i didn't want to have any one near me; but, now that you are here, i want to visit all our old haunts again. let us take a walk in the woods. bring your dinner along with you; i haven't had mine yet." in accordance with harry's suggestion, a basket was filled with eatables, and the boys bent their steps through the orchard toward the meadow that lay between the cottage and the woods. as they walked along, frank related some of the interesting incidents of his life in the service, and harry finally began to recover his usual spirits. at length they reached the cabin in the woods, that had been the scene of the camp on the day of the raccoon hunt, and here they stopped to rest and eat their dinner. chapter ii. harry on a scout. when they had finished every thing in the basket, the boys threw themselves on the grass in front of the cabin, and harry said: "i shall never forget the last time we made our camp here--on the day we had that 'coon-hunt, and archie fell into the creek. i've thought of it a great many times since i left home to go into the service, and it makes me feel sad to see how things have changed. from school-boys and amateur hunters, who started and turned pale when we heard the howl of a wolf or the hooting of an owl, you and i have grown pretty well on toward manhood; have become experienced in scenes of danger, and have had more narrow escapes than when we climbed up that tree to get out of the reach of the wolves that were in pursuit of the white buck. but there are some who have not been as fortunate as ourselves. there has been a thinning out of our ranks, and two good fellows who have hunted with us in these woods, and slept under the same blankets with us in this cabin, we shall never see again; and the probabilities are, that, if we live to return home again, after peace has been restored, and we go tramping around through these woods, to visit all our old hunting and fishing-grounds, we shall miss a third. ben lake and william johnson are dead; my brother is suffering in a rebel prison, and, from what i have seen and heard of the manner in which union prisoners are treated at the south, i never expect to see him again, even if he is not executed. ben lake, you know, was a quiet, good-natured fellow, scarcely ever saying any thing unless he was first spoken to, and i had an idea that he would be a little cowardly when he heard the bullets whistling around him; but i was never more mistaken in my life, for he won his promotion in the very first battle in which our regiment was engaged. when i was made captain of our company, he received the appointment of first lieutenant, and an excellent officer he made. he was a splendid rider, and when mounted on his horse--'thunderbolt' he called him--he made a fine appearance. he was no band-box officer, however, for he never shrank from his duty, and he was above ordering one of his men to do what he was afraid to undertake himself. he and i were prisoners once for about forty-eight hours, and the way it happened was this: "our regiment, after the battle of pittsburg landing, was detached from the western army and ordered to the potomac. we had scarcely been there a week before we were sent out on a scout, with orders to capture mosby, who was constantly harassing us, and scatter his command. we were out about ten days, without accomplishing our object. not a single glimpse did we get of a reb, and finally we turned our faces toward the camp. our horses, as well as ourselves, were nearly jaded, and the way we do there, when a horse gives out, is to put a bullet through his head, shoulder our saddles, and trudge along after the column on foot, until we can find another animal to ride. i had command of the rear guard; and when we had arrived within a day's march of camp, my horse suddenly gave out--laid right down in the middle of the road, and couldn't go a step further. i was in something of a fix, and my feelings were none of the pleasantest when i found myself sprawling in the dusty road, and saw that my horse was used up. it was something of an undertaking to find my way back to camp, through a country infested with guerrillas, and with which i was entirely unacquainted. it is true that i could have had a horse, as several were at once offered me by my men; but i could not be mean enough to save my own bacon by leaving one of those brave fellows behind; so i told ben to go ahead with the company, keeping a good look-out for a horse, and if he could find one, to send it back to me. i then shot my animal; and it was a job i hated to do, i tell you, for he was as fine a horse as ever stepped; he had carried me many a long mile, and being my constant companion for almost a year and a half, i had become very much attached to him. but there was no help for it; our orders were strict; and i shouldered my saddle, and marched after the column, which was soon out of sight. "i walked along at a pretty lively pace, keeping a good look-out on each side of the road for horses, and now and then looking behind, half expecting to see a squad of mosby's cavalry in pursuit, until i was startled by the report of a pistol directly in front of me, and, coming suddenly around a bend in the road, i found ben sitting beside his horse, which had also given out, waiting for me to come up. as i approached, glad enough that i was not left to find my way back to camp alone, ben picked up his saddle, and glancing sorrowfully at the work he had done, said: "'there's an end of poor thunderbolt--the best horse in the regiment. it has no doubt saved him many a long scout, but i never felt so sorry for any thing in my life.' "it was hard work, walking along that dusty road, carrying our heavy saddles, and we anxiously scanned every field which we passed, in hopes that we should find some stray horse; but without success. about three o'clock in the afternoon we reached a cross-road, and then we knew where we were. we had frequently been there on short scouts; so, without stopping to keep any further look-out for horses, we quickened our pace, and about two miles further on, arrived at the house of a lady with whom we were well acquainted, and who, as we had always considered her loyal, had been allowed to remain in undisturbed possession of her property, which our regiment had once defended against mosby's men. here we halted, and asked the lady if she could furnish us with some dinner. she replied in the affirmative, and we deposited our saddles in one corner of the room, while the woman began to bustle about. in half an hour as good a dinner as i ever tasted in that part of the country was served up, and ben and i sat down to it with most ravenous appetites. before sitting down, i should mention, we took off our belts, to which were fastened our sabers and revolvers, and laid them in the corner with our saddles; a very foolish trick, as it afterward proved; but, as we were within fifteen miles of camp, we did not apprehend any danger. "after our hostess had seen us fairly started, she said: "'you will excuse me for a few moments, gentlemen, as i would like to run over to see my sister, who is very sick. will you keep an eye on the baby?' she continued, pointing to the small specimen of humanity in question, which lay fast asleep in the cradle. "'yes,' answered ben, 'i'll see to him;' and the woman started off, leaving us to finish our dinner and attend to the child. "she hadn't been gone two minutes before the young one awoke, and, of course, began to yell. we didn't know what to do, for it was new business to us. after trying in vain to make it hush, ben took it out of the cradle, and began to trot it up and down on his knee. but it was no use, and he finally put it back, determined to let it cry until it got ready to stop, when i happened to think of the sugar-bowl. that was just the thing. ben took good care to keep its mouth so full of sugar that it couldn't yell, and we succeeded in keeping it pretty still. "in about half an hour the woman returned, and, in reply to our inquiries, informed us that her sister was considerably better, and she hoped would be well in a few days. she then commenced talking on indifferent subjects; and we finally finished every thing on the table, and were thinking about starting for camp, when some one suddenly called out: "'here! here! get up, you yanks. get up from that table.' "we looked up, and there, standing in the door-way, with their revolvers leveled at our heads, were two rebels--colonel mosby and a corporal. "'i've fixed you!' exclaimed the woman, triumphantly. 'you didn't think that while you were stealing my chickens, and abusing me, that i would ever have the power on my side.' "the old hag had betrayed us. she had invented the story of her sick sister, in order that her absence might not cause us any suspicions, and had left the child for us to take care of, so that we should be obliged to remain until she returned. the story of stealing her chickens, and abusing her, was a mere pretext; for our orders to respect her property were strict, and we had not dared to disobey them. "'there's only one thing that i am sorry for, madam,' said ben, coolly, 'and that is, that i didn't choke that young one of yours.' "'come, come, there!' interrupted the colonel. 'get up from behind that table at once, or you are dead men!' "'we're gobbled easy enough, harry,' said ben, in his usual careless manner, as we arose from our chairs. 'well, i suppose there's no help for it, seeing that we have no weapons. what do you intend to do with a fellow, johnny?' "'take you direct to richmond,' was the encouraging answer, made by the corporal, as he walked across the room and took possession of our arms. 'come out here!' "we had no other alternative; so we marched out in front of the house, our captors mounted their horses, and we trudged along before them on foot toward centerville. "you have been a prisoner, and can easily imagine the thoughts that passed through our minds. we saw before us a long, fatiguing march, with hard fare, and harder treatment, and the dreaded libby looming up in the background. but we were not allowed much time to commune with our own thoughts, for mosby immediately began to question us in relation to the forces we had in different parts of the country. of course we told him some of the most outrageous stories, but he seemed to put some faith in them; and when we reached the cross-road he left us, after ordering the corporal to take us to culpepper. "as soon as the colonel had got out of sight, the corporal began to abuse us in the worst kind of a manner, swearing at us, and calling us abolitionists and the like; and said that if he could have his own way he would hang us on the nearest tree. we told him that it was a mean trick to treat prisoners in that way, and advised him to keep a civil tongue in his head, as the tables might be turned on him some day; but he paid no attention to us, and kept on jawing, until finally, just before night, we reached centerville. "we stopped at a house near the middle of the town, where we were treated very kindly by the people, who gave us plenty to eat, but told us that we were fighting on the wrong side. after supper, the corporal took us out to the barn, where he proceeded to 'go through' us pretty thoroughly. he robbed me of twenty dollars in greenbacks, a watch, comb, several letters--in short, he did not leave me any thing. after overhauling ben's pockets, he ordered him to 'come out of his coat,' which he did without a grumble; and after cutting off the shoulder-straps--because ben 'wouldn't need 'em any more,' he said--he put the coat on his own back, locked the barn, and left us to our meditations. as soon as the sound of his footsteps had died away, i said: "'ben, i'm going to get out of here, if i can.' "'all right,' said he; 'feel around on the floor and see if you can't find something to force that door open with. how i wish i had that young one here! i wouldn't feed it with sugar, i tell you.' "we commenced groping about in the darkness, but not a thing in the shape of a club could be found. then we placed our shoulders against the door, and pressed with all our strength; but it was too strong to be forced from its hinges, and the floor was so securely fastened down, that it could not be pulled up; so, after working until we were completely exhausted, we sat down on the floor to rest. "'we're in for it,' said ben. "'but i'm not going to libby, now i tell you,' i answered. 'to-morrow we shall probably start for culpepper, under guard of that corporal; and the very first chance, i'm going to mizzle.' "ben made no reply, but i well knew what he was thinking about. after a few more ineffectual attempts, we then lay down on the hard boards, and tried to go to sleep; but that was, for a long time, out of the question. "our situation was not one calculated to quiet our feelings much, and as we rolled about the floor, trying to find a comfortable position, i could hear ben venting his spite against 'that brat.' he did not seem to think of the woman who had betrayed us. "we passed a most miserable night, and at daylight were awakened with: "'come out here, you yanks. it's high time you were moving toward libby.' "that rascally corporal seemed to delight in tormenting us; but there was only one thing we could do, and that was to 'grin and bear it.' after a hasty breakfast, we again set out, the corporal following close behind us on his horse, with a revolver in his hand, ready to shoot the first one that made an attempt at escape. we kept on, stopping only once or twice for water, until we reached the bull run bridge. here the corporal stopped, and called out: "'come here, one of you fellers, and hold my horse.' "i did as he ordered, and the rebel dismounted, bent down on one knee, and commenced fixing his spur. my mind was made up in an instant. it was now or never. giving a yell to attract ben's attention, i sprang at the rebel, caught him around the neck, and rolled him over on his back. he kicked and swore furiously, and if i had been alone, he would most likely have got the better of me; but ben, being close at hand, caught up the revolver, which the rebel had laid on the ground beside him, and in a moment more i had secured his saber. he saw that further resistance was useless, and bawled out: "'don't shoot, yank. don't shoot me, for mercy's sake!' "'nobody's going to hurt you if you behave yourself,' said ben. 'get up.' "the rebel raised himself to his feet, and i at once began to 'sound' him, as we call it. i got back my watch, money, and every thing else he had taken from us the night before. we then ordered him to travel on ahead of us, and, as ben's feet were so badly swollen that he could scarcely move, i told him to get on the horse, while i walked along by his side. we passed back through centerville, keeping a good look-out for rebel scouts, which we knew were in the vicinity, but we did not meet with any of them until along toward night, when we heard a yell, and, looking up, saw half a dozen cavalry charging across the field toward us. "'i guess we're gobbled again, captain,' said ben. "'not if our legs hold out,' i answered. 'get down off that horse, quick. we must foot it, now.' "ben hastily dismounted, and, catching our prisoner by the arm, we pulled him over a fence, through the woods, and into a swamp, where we fastened him to a tree. we then tied a handkerchief over his mouth, to prevent him from making his whereabouts known to his friends, and made the best of our way to the camp, which we reached about daylight. we at once reported to the colonel, who sent us back with our company after the prisoner; but he was gone. his friends had doubtless discovered him, and released him from his unpleasant situation. the woman who betrayed us paid the penalty of her treachery. her house was burned over her head, and her husband, whom she had reported to us as dead, but who was found concealed in the barn, was taken back to the camp a prisoner." chapter iii. on duty again. by the time harry had finished his story, it was almost sundown. putting the cabin in order, and fastening the door, the boys then started for home. after a hearty supper at the cottage, different plans for their amusement were discussed and determined upon. if time would allow, we might relate many interesting incidents that transpired during the month they spent together; how, one day, the young moose ran away with uncle mike's wood wagon and upset the boys in the road. we might, among others, tell of the hunting and fishing expeditions that came off, and the trials of speed that took place on the river, when the speedwell showed that she had lost none of her sailing qualities during the year and a half that she had remained idle in the shop; but one incident that happened will suffice. it was on the morning of the last day that they were to pass together, as frank's sick-leave had expired, and he must soon bid adieu to home and friends again, perhaps forever. this day had been set apart for a fishing excursion; and, bright and early, frank was at captain butler's boat-house, where he found harry waiting for him. when the bait and every thing else necessary for the trip had been stowed away in the skiff, the boys pulled into the river, and after spending an hour in rowing about the bass-ground, during which time they secured half a dozen fine fish, they started toward the perch-bed, and anchored outside the weeds. although they were remarkably successful, they did not seem to enjoy the sport. frank's thoughts were constantly dwelling on the parting that must come on the morrow. it could not be avoided, for duty called him; and although the idea of disregarding the summons never once entered into his head, he could not help condemning the circumstances that rendered that call necessary. harry, on the other hand, was impatient to recover his health, as he wished to rejoin his command. while he was free, and enjoying the delights of home, his brother was languishing in a southern dungeon--held as a hostage for a notorious guerrilla, who had been sentenced to death--not knowing at what moment he might be led forth to execution. often, during the time that he and frank had been together, living over the scenes of their school-days, had harry's thoughts wandered to that brother, and it had done much to mar the pleasure he would otherwise have enjoyed. he imagined he could see him, seated in his loathsome cell, loaded with chains, pale and weak, (in consequence of the systematic plan of starvation adopted by the brutal authorities at richmond to render our brave fellows unfit for further service, if they should chance to live until they were exchanged,) but firm in the belief that he had done his duty, and ready at any moment--for george was far from being a coward--to be sacrificed. harry's thoughts, we repeat, often wandered to the dreaded libby, and especially did they on this morning. and as he pictured to himself the treatment that his brother was daily receiving at the hands of the enemies of the government, is it to be wondered if he indulged in feelings of the deepest malice toward the inhuman wretches who could be guilty of such barbarity? "there's only this about it, frank," he said, suddenly breaking the silence that had continued for half an hour; "there's only this about it: if one hair of george's head is injured, company 'm' of our regiment never takes any more prisoners; and if i have no friendship for a traitor, neither have i for such men as these who are now approaching." frank looked up, and saw charles morgan and william gage rowing toward them. "here is the very spot," continued harry, "where we met morgan when you first became acquainted with him, on the morning when he told such outrageous stories about the fishing there was in new york harbor, and about his fighting indians in the adirondack mountains, in the northern part of michigan. william gage, you know, used to be first lieutenant of the "midnight rangers." "yes, i remember them both," answered frank. "but it seems to me that i heard some one say that mr. morgan is a rebel sympathizer; and charley, of course, not having brains enough to think for himself, is following in his father's lead." "so i have heard; but he has never said a word against the government, and he'd better not, for i feel just like choking somebody this morning; and if i hate a rebel, i hold a domestic traitor in the most profound abhorrence." "hullo, boys!" exclaimed charles, at this moment, coming alongside and stretching out a hand to each of them, "how are you? i'm glad to see you back again, frank. but why haven't you been around to see a fellow? you've kept yourselves very close since your return." "yes, harry and i have spent most of our time in the woods," answered frank. "but we part again to-morrow." "going back to your ship, eh? well, when do you suppose you will be home again for good?" "i don't know. if i live, however, i'm going to see this war settled before i come back to civil life again." "you've had some pretty hard times since you have been in the service, from what i hear." "rather tough," answered harry. "well now, you see bill and i were too sharp to go into any such business as that," said charles, knowingly. "the old man said, from the start, that you never could whip the south." "well, your father was never more mistaken in his life," answered frank. "we _are_ going to bring back the seceded states, if it takes every man and every dollar at the north. but i don't see why you don't volunteer. how can you stay at home?" "o, it is the easiest thing in the world," answered charles, with a laugh. "in the first place, i think too much of my life; and then again, i don't care a snap which whips. i am not interested either way--i'm neutral." "you're no such thing," answered harry, angrily. "you never saw two dogs fight in the street, without wanting one or the other of them to whip, and your sympathies are either one way or the other. there's no such thing as a neutral in this war." "besides," said frank, "if i were in your place, i should be ashamed to say that i was neutral. but i hope that you will be compelled to go into the army. since you have neither the intelligence to determine which side is in the right, nor the courage to fight for that side, i hope that you will be drafted, and that you can't find a substitute." "thank you," replied charles, sneeringly. "you are very kind. but i, of course, know that this is a free country, and a man has a right to talk as he pleases." "you have no right to utter treasonable sentiments," said harry; "and another thing, i am not going to sit here and listen to them." "you are not, indeed! i don't see how you can hinder it," replied charles. "i say now, and it makes no difference who hears me, that i hope the south will whip, unless the north will allow her to go out of the union peaceably. i haven't any thing against the south." "well, _i_ have," answered harry, scarcely able to control himself. "my brother is now starving in a rebel prison." "i can't help it. i have not the least sympathy for him. the south said, at the commencement, that they only wanted to be let alone; and if george hasn't any more sense than to meddle with them, i say, let him take the consequences;" and, as charles ceased speaking, he dropped the oars into the water, and was about to row off, when frank seized the gunwale of his boat. "avast heaving, there, for a moment," he said, quietly. "charley, take back what you have said." "no, sir; i sha'n't do it. i mean what i have said, and i won't take back any thing. let go of that boat, or i'll hit you," and he raised his oar as if about to strike frank. but harry was too quick for him. springing lightly into charles's skiff, he easily wrested the oar from him, and then, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed: "take back every word you have said, or i'll wash some of the vile rebel sentiment out of you. i'll dump you overboard. come, take it all back--quick." "help! help! bill," whined charles, writhing like an eel in harry's strong grasp, "are you going to sit there and see me abused in this manner? help, i tell you." william looked first at harry, then at frank, who had grown exceedingly tall and muscular since the last time he had measured strength with him in friendly contest, and made no reply. "come, take it back," urged harry. "no, i won't," replied charles, who, finding that he was left to fight his own battles alone, now began to struggle desperately. "i tell you i won't take back any thing." "then overboard you go," said harry. "i'll see what effect cold water will have on you;" and, easily lifting charles from his feet, in spite of his struggles, he threw him headlong into the water. "how is it now?" he coolly inquired, as charles appeared at the surface, looking very forlorn, indeed. "any more rebel sentiment in you that wants washing out? come in here, you young traitor;" and, as he spoke, he again seized him by the collar, and drew him into the boat. "unhand me," shouted charles, as soon as he could regain his feet; "i'll fix you for this." "are you ready to take back what you said?" demanded harry, tightening his grasp. "no; nor shall i ever be," was the stubborn answer. "well, then, down you go again." "no, no! don't," screamed charles, who now began to be really frightened; "i take it all back." "what do you take back?" asked harry. "i don't want to see the northern prisoners all starved." "well, what else?" "i don't want to see the union destroyed." "go on; what next?" "but i _do_ wish the south could be whipped to-morrow, and be made to stay in the union." "well, now you are talking sense," said harry, releasing his hold of charles's collar. "of course, i know you don't mean what you say, but i was bound to make you say a good word for the union before i let you off. i have one more favor to ask of you, and then i am done. will you oblige me by giving three cheers for the boys who are fighting our battles--every day risking their lives in defense of the old flag?" charles hesitated. "i sha'n't ask you but once more, then," and here harry pointed to the water, in a very significant manner. charles, knowing that he was in earnest, and that there was no escape, gave the required cheers with as good a grace as he could command. "that's right," said harry, approvingly. "now i have done with you, and you can thank your lucky stars that you have got off so easily. if you had been in the army when you said what you did a few moments since, the boys would have hung you to the very first tree they could have found. now, take my advice, and don't let me hear of your uttering any more such sentiments as long as i remain in the village; if you do, i'll duck you as often as i can get my hands on you." harry then sprang into his own skiff, and charles sullenly picked up his oars, and pulled toward home. "there," exclaimed harry, "i feel better now. i worked off a little of my indignation on that fellow. the rascal! to tell us that george ought to be starved for helping to maintain the government, and that he didn't care whether the union went to ruin or not. now that i think of it, i'm sorry that i let him off so easily." "he was pretty well punished, after all," said frank. "it will have the effect of making him a little more careful." at noon, the fish stopped biting, and the boys started for home. they parted at the boat-house, after frank had promised to call and say "good-by" before he left in the morning. when the latter reached home he found his trunk packed, and every thing in readiness for the start, so that he had nothing to do but roam about the premises, and take a last look at every thing, as he had done on a former occasion. his mother and sister tried to look cheerful, but it was a sorry failure, for frank could easily read what was passing in their minds. morning came at length, and at eight o'clock, to frank's great relief--for he wished the parting over as soon as possible--he saw the carriage approaching which was to take him to the steamer. a few embraces and hastily-spoken farewells, and frank was whirling away from his home. at captain butler's he stopped for harry, who met him at the gate with an open letter in his hand; and, as he sprang into the carriage, he exclaimed, joyfully: "it's all right, frank. here's a letter from george. he has been exchanged, and is now in the hospital at washington. the rebels, he says, tried to starve him to death, but couldn't make it. he is only waiting until he gets strong enough to travel, and then he's coming home. he's pretty well used up. when i get back to the army, with company 'm' to back me up, i'll make somebody smart for it." by the time harry had finished venting his anger against the enemies of the government, the carriage reached the wharf, as the steamer was moving out into the river. frank had just time to get on board, and a few moments afterward the julia burton carried him out of sight of the village. he stopped only a short time at portland; and, four days after leaving that place, found archie waiting for him as he sprang off the train at cairo. he reported to the fleet captain, who ordered him to "take passage down the river on the united states dispatch steamer general lyon," which was to sail at four o'clock that afternoon. the cousins passed the day together. when four o'clock came, archie returned to his high stool with a sorrowful countenance, and frank waived his adieu from the steamer that was to carry him back--to what? it is well that the future is hidden from us, for frank would not have trod that deck with so light a heart had he known what was in store for him. in a few days he arrived at his vessel, which he found anchored at white river. time makes changes in every thing, and frank saw many new faces among the ship's company. the old mate was still on board, and greeted him in his hearty sailor style as he came over the side. after he had reported to the captain, and had seen his luggage taken to his room, he was joined by one of his old messmates, whose name was keys; and who, in answer to frank's inquiry, "how is every thing?" proceeded to give him a statement of the condition of affairs. "the ship still floats on an even keel," said he, pulling off his boots, and taking possession of frank's bed. "the old man is as eccentric and good-natured as ever, sometimes flying off into one of his double-reefed topsail hurricanes, which don't mean any thing. all goes right about decks, but you will find some things changed in the steerage. there are only five officers left in our mess that were here when you went away, and we have three new johnny master's mates. they all came down in the same box; and the express man must have left them out in the damp over night, for they are the softest fellows i ever saw. they must have been brought up in some country where such a thing as a steamboat is unknown, for they don't know the starboard from the port side of the ship, call on deck 'up stairs,' and the captain's cabin goes by the name of the 'parlor.' it wouldn't be so bad if they would only try to learn something, but they are very indignant if any one undertakes to volunteer advice; and, besides, they stand on their rank." at this moment supper was announced, and frank and his friend repaired to the steerage, where they found the mates of whom the latter had spoken. while they were eating, the whistle of a steamer was heard, and one of the new mates (whose name was french, but who was known as "extra," from the fact that he was perfectly useless as an officer,) ordered the waiter to "go up stairs and see what boat it was." the boy did not move, for it was a regulation of the mess that when there was only one waiter in the room to attend to the table, he was not to be sent away. besides, the mate had no right to give such an order without first obtaining the permission of the caterer. "do you hear what i tell you?" he inquired, in a rage. "mr. french," said the caterer, quietly, "you can find out the name of that boat after supper, by asking the officer of the deck, or the quarter-master on watch." "but i choose to send this boy to find out for me," replied mr. french. "come, go on, there, and do as i tell you, or i will see if you can not be made to obey the orders of your superiors." "stay where you are," said the caterer, addressing the waiter, "and don't start until i tell you to." then, turning to the mate, he continued, "you have no right to order him to do any thing in this mess-room without first consulting me." "i haven't, eh? i wonder if this darkey ranks me? my appointment reads that i 'am to be obeyed by all persons under me in this squadron.'" "that boy is not subject to your orders, as long as i am in the mess-room." "well, i shall take pains to inform myself on that point. i'll ask the captain." "do so," said the caterer, quietly; "and if you don't get the worst raking-down that you have had since you have been on board this vessel, then i am greatly mistaken." the mate made no reply, but, after he had finished his supper, went on deck. "now, frank," whispered keys, "just come with me, and i will show you some fun." frank, always ready for any mischief, followed his companion on deck, where they found mr. french in animated conversation with his two friends. "see here, french," said keys, approaching the latter in a confidential manner, "are you going to put up with such abuse as you received from that caterer?" "i'd see, if i were in your place, whether or not i had authority to command my inferiors," chimed in frank. "certainly, so would i," said keys. "go and report the matter to the old man." "that caterer ought to be brought down a peg or two," said frank. "well," said the mate, "i know that i have got the right on my side; but i'm afraid, if i report the matter, the captain will give me a blowing up." "o, that's only one of that caterer's stories," said keys, contemptuously. "you see he's afraid you will report him, and he told you what he did to frighten you. every body on board the ship is trying to run down us mates; they don't seem to care a fig for our orders; even the men laugh at us, and the sooner they find out that we have some authority here, the better it will be for us. i wish i had as good a chance as you have; i'd report the whole matter." "i believe i will report it," said the mate, encouraged by the sincere manner in which mr. keys and frank spoke. "i can't have a man trample on my authority, when it comes from the admiral. is the captain in the parlor?" "yes," answered frank, making use of his handkerchief to conceal his laughter; "i saw him go in there just a moment since." the mate accordingly walked aft, and without waiting to speak to the orderly, who stood at the gangway, he opened the door without knocking, and entered the cabin. as soon as he had disappeared, frank and his companion ran on to the quarter-deck, and took a position at a grating directly over the captain's cabin, where they could hear all that went on below. "my eyes!" whispered keys; "i wouldn't be in extra's boots for the whole squadron. won't he get his rations stuffed into him?" the captain, who was at supper, looked up in surprise, as mr. french entered unannounced; and, after regarding him sharply for a moment, said: "well, sir!" "i came here, sir," began the mate, "to tell you"---- "take off your cap, sir!" vociferated the captain. the mate, not in the least embarrassed, did as he was ordered, and again commenced: "i came here, sir"---- "do you know what that marine is standing out there for?" again interrupted the captain. "if you don't, your first hard work will be to go to the executive officer and find out. now, don't you again ever come into my cabin in this abrupt manner. always send in your name by the orderly. it seems impossible to teach you any thing. but what were you going to say?" "i came here, sir," began the mate again, "to see if i have any authority to command my inferiors in rank. my appointment says"---- "o, hang your appointment!" shouted the captain. "come to the point at once." "well, sir, while at supper, i ordered our steward to go up stairs and execute a commission for me, and he wouldn't go." "are you caterer of your mess?" "no, sir." "then sir, allow me to inform you that you have no more authority over those waiters in that mess-room than you have to break open my trunk and take out my money. if you should need the services of one of the boys, go to the caterer and get his consent. but i wish you would try and learn something. you have been on board this ship now three weeks, and are of no more use than an extra boiler. go to somebody else in future with your foolish complaints. you may go, sir." the mate left the cabin, feeling very cheap, and wondering what was the use of having any rank, if he couldn't use it, and more than half inclined to believe that the captain had no right to address him in so rude a manner. "well, what did the old man say?" inquired keys, who, with frank, had hurried forward to meet him at the gangway. "he says he will fix it all right," replied mr. french, averting his face, for he knew that he was uttering a falsehood. "i knew i would get satisfaction." so saying, he walked off, shaking his head in a very knowing manner, while the two friends retreated to the steerage, where they gave full vent to their feelings. the circumstance was related to the caterer, who came in a few moments afterward, and after enjoying a hearty laugh at the mate's expense, frank retired to his room and turned in. about two o'clock in the morning a steamer came down and reported that a regiment of rebels had posted themselves behind the levee at cypress bend, and were holding the position in spite of the efforts of three gun-boats to dislodge them, rendering navigation impossible. the matter was reported to the captain, who, after making himself acquainted with the facts, ordered the ticonderoga to be got under way and headed up the river. chapter iv. the fight in the woods. on the next day they arrived at cypress bend, where they found three "tin-clads" anchored, paying no attention to the perfect storm of bullets which the concealed rebels rained upon their decks from behind the levee. as soon as the ticonderoga came within range, the guerrillas directed a volley against her; but, although her decks were crowded with men, the fire was without effect. the boatswain's whistle, and the order, "all hands under cover," rang sharply through the ship, and the decks were instantly deserted. the second division--the one which frank commanded--was at once called to quarters, and as soon as the gun could be cast loose and pointed, an eleven-inch shell went shrieking into the woods. it burst far beyond the levee. the rebels sent back a taunting laugh, and their bullets fell faster than ever. the levee which lines both banks of the mississippi forms a most excellent breastwork; and behind this, a party of determined men can easily hold twice their number at bay, unless a position can be obtained where they can be brought under a cross-fire. the formation of the river rendered it impossible for such a position to be taken, and it was evident that to anchor before the levee and attempt to dislodge them with big guns, was worse than useless; neither could they be beaten back with their own weapons, for the rebels were very expert in "bushwhacking," exposing but a very small portion of their persons, and the best marksman would stand but a poor chance of hitting one of them. some more decisive steps must be taken. so thought the captain of the ticonderoga, as he paced up and down the turret, while frank, divested of his coat, was issuing his commands with his usual coolness, now and then catching hold of a rope and giving a pull at the gun, all the while sending the shells into the levee, making the dirt fly in every direction. "cease firing, mr. nelson," said the captain, at length. "it is useless to think of driving them off in this manner." "cease firing, sir," repeated frank, showing that he understood the order. "run the gun in, lads, and close those ports." the captain then ordered his vessel to be run alongside of the rover, (one of the tin-clads,) and, after a few moments' consultation with her commander, some plan seemed to have been determined upon, for frank was again ordered to open a hot fire on the levee. under cover of this, signal was made for the other two vessels to get under way, and proceed down the river. "mr. nelson," said the captain, as soon as he had seen the signal obeyed, "give the command of your division to the executive officer, and come down into the cabin for orders." as soon as the executive could be found, frank gave up the command to him, and as he entered the cabin, the captain said to him: "i have ordered the tin-clads to go down the river and land as many men as they can spare, to get around in the rear of those rebels, and get them out from behind that levee. they must be got out of that, if possible, for navigation is virtually closed as long as they remain there. i shall also send our two howitzers and forty men, of which you will take command. i need not tell you to do your best." the captain then went on deck, selected the men, and frank succeeded in getting them and the howitzers safely on board the rover, which still lay alongside. the smoke from the gun of the ticonderoga completely concealed their movements, and the rebels were entirely ignorant of what was going on. as soon as the men were all on board, the rover steamed down the river and joined the other vessels, which were waiting for her to come up. about five miles below was a point which completely concealed them from the view of the rebels, and behind this point the vessels landed; the crews disembarked, and commenced marching through the woods toward the place where the rebels were posted. they numbered two hundred and fifty men, and were commanded by the captain of the rover, who, although a very brave man and an excellent sailor, knew nothing of infantry tactics. the second in command was mr. howe, an ensign belonging to the same vessel. he had never been in a fight; and when he first entered the navy he knew no more about a vessel than he did about the moon. his appointment had been obtained through some influential friends at home. he had served in a company of state militia, however, before the breaking out of the war, and considered himself quite a military genius. the sailors marched in line of battle--with skirmishers in front and on each flank, and frank, with his battery, was in the center. in this manner they marched for about an hour, and then a halt was ordered, and the captain, with several of his officers, went forward to reconnoiter, while mr. howe, who was left in command, ordered the men to "stack arms." frank was astounded when he heard this command, and, approaching the officer, saluted him, and said: "i object to this, mr. howe. i think it would be much better, sir, to keep the men under arms; for it is by no means certain that all the rebels we shall be obliged to fight, are in front of us." "i believe you were put in command of that battery, sir," replied mr. howe, haughtily, "while i was left in charge of these men. i would thank you, then, to attend to your own business, and to let me alone." "very good, sir," answered frank. "i did not intend to give any offense, sir, but merely to offer a suggestion. but if i command that battery, i intend to have it in readiness for any emergency. cut loose those guns, lads, and stand to your quarters!" the reports of muskets in their front proved that the rebels were yet keeping a hot fire directed against the ticonderoga. but still frank was not deceived; he knew that all the fighting would not be done at the front. scarcely had these thoughts passed through his mind, when there was a rapid discharge of fire-arms in their rear, and two of the men fell. as frank had expected, the rebels had been informed of what was going on, and had sent part of their force to cut the sailors off from the river. for a moment the greatest confusion prevailed. the men, who had been lying about in the shade of the trees, made a general rush for their weapons, and after delivering a straggling and ineffectual fire, hastily retreated, with the exception of frank's men, and a few of the more courageous of the infantry. the latter concealed themselves behind trees and logs, and deliberately returned the fire of the rebels, while the former, who were old seamen, and had long been accustomed to the discipline of the service, stood at their guns awaiting orders. mr. howe, for a moment, stood pale and trembling, and then, without waiting to give any orders, disappeared in the bushes. frank, who was left alone with but sixty men, was astounded when he witnessed this cowardly conduct of his superior, and he had hardly time to recover from his surprise, when the rebels, after firing another volley, broke from their concealments, with loud yells, and charged toward the guns. this brought frank to his senses. with the handful of men he had left, he could at least cover the retreat of his timid support. "steady there, lads!" he shouted. "aim low--fire!" the howitzers belched forth their contents, and, as frank had taken the precaution to have them loaded with canister, the slaughter was awful. the muskets had also done considerable execution, and the rebels recoiled when they witnessed the havoc made in their ranks. frank, who was always ready to take advantage of such an opportunity, immediately ordered a counter-charge. the sailors sprang at the word, with a yell, and, led by frank, who fixed his bayonet as he ran, threw themselves upon the rebels, who at once fled precipitately, leaving their dead and wounded on the field. "back to your guns, lads," shouted frank, "and give 'em a shot before they get out of range." the men worked with a yell, sending the shells rapidly in the direction in which the rebels had retreated, until a loud roar of musketry at the front told them that they had other enemies with which to deal. while this fight at the rear had been going on, the sailors who had retreated had been met by the captain and his officers, who were returning from their reconnoissance, and, as soon as order could be restored, an attack had been made on the rebels who were still posted behind the levee. in a few moments mr. howe came running up, and addressing himself to frank, exclaimed: "what are you doing here, sir--shooting into the woods where there are no rebels? why are you not at the front, where you belong? if you are afraid to go there, you had better give up the command of that battery." frank thought this was a nice way for mr. howe to talk, after the manner in which he had behaved a few moments before, but, without stopping to reply, he ordered the guns to be secured, and the men, catching up the trail-ropes, commenced dragging the battery toward the place where the fight was raging, while mr. howe again suddenly disappeared. when frank arrived at the front, he found the rebels were still behind the levee, where they were exposed to a galling fire from the sailors who were concealed among the trees, evidently preferring to run the risk of being driven out by the musketry than to brave the shells from the ticonderoga, which now began to fall into the woods just behind them, and bursting, threw dirt and branches in every direction. without waiting for orders, frank immediately took up a sheltered position, and straightway opened upon the rebels a hot fire of canister. by the exertions of the officers, the stragglers were all collected, and, while the line was being formed for a charge, frank was ordered to move his battery out of the woods, into the open field. the young officer's blood ran cold when he heard this command, for the rebels, who greatly outnumbered the sailors, and who were deterred from making a charge and overpowering them only through fear of the shells from the ticonderoga, were sending a perfect shower of bullets into the bushes where the howitzers were stationed. even in his present protected position, frank had lost five of his men, and when he thought what a slaughter there would be when he should move out of his concealment, it made him shudder. but he had always been taught that the success of the navy was owing to "strict discipline;" and once, when he had been reported to the captain for disobeying an order which he had considered as unjust, that gentleman had told him--"always obey whatever orders you may receive from your superiors, and, if you are aggrieved, you can seek redress afterward." in the present instance, this seemed very poor policy; for what good would it do to make objections to the order after his men had been sacrificed? he had no alternative, however, but to obey. the men, too, were well aware of the danger they were about to incur, but hesitated not a moment when frank repeated the order to advance. they at once pushed the guns out into the open ground, and the effect was as they had expected. the whole fire of the rebels was directed against them, and every volley left frank with less men to handle his battery. in fact, it soon became impossible to load the guns; for, as fast as the men picked up a rammer or sponge, they were shot down. it was evident that they could not remain there. "jack," said frank at length, turning to the old boatswain's mate, "go and ask the captain if i can't be allowed to move back to my old position. i can do more execution there. besides, we'll all be dead men in less than five minutes, if we remain here." the man bounded off to execute the order, and just then the captain of one of the guns was killed. frank immediately seized the priming-wire which had fallen from his hand, and worked with the rest. his fear had given place to a reckless determination to do his duty, for, let the consequences be what they might, no blame could be attached to him. impatiently, however, he waited for the return of the mate, and his impatience increased when word was brought him that the ammunition was failing. at length, after a delay which seemed extraordinary, a charge was ordered. the rebels seemed to have an idea of what was going on, for, a few moments before the order was given, their fire slackened considerably; but, as soon as the sailors, in obedience to the command, issued from the woods, they were met with a terrific fire, which threw them into confusion. in vain their officers urged and commanded; the men refused to advance, but remained standing in full view of the rebels, while every moment their comrades were falling around them. at length the enemy made a counter-charge, and the sailors, without waiting to resist, broke and fled in every direction. frank and his men remained at their posts until the last moment; but they soon found themselves completely deserted, and were obliged to fall back into the woods. by the exertions of the officers, a few of the men were rallied in the edge of the timber, and, bravely standing their ground, the rebels were met with a murderous fire, and the shells from the ticonderoga, which now began to burst in their very midst, completed their confusion, and they, in turn, were compelled to retreat. in an instant, frank and several of his men sprang out and attempted to recover the howitzers, which had been left between the lines, but the rebels were on the watch, and, after the loss of three of his men, he was obliged to order a retreat. for two hours a severe a fight was maintained, the rebels making several charges, which were easily repulsed by the sailors; and each time frank made unsuccessful attempts to recover his battery, but was as often compelled to retreat, leaving some of his men dead on the field, or prisoners in the hands of the enemy. the left of the line rested on the bank of the river, where a full view of the ticonderoga could be obtained. after the fight had raged nearly three hours, without any advantage being gained on either side, one of the men reported that the ship was making signals. the commander of the expedition hurried along the line, calling out-- "mr. howe! where's the signal officer, mr. howe?" but he received no answer. no one had seen mr. howe since he had so ingloriously retreated at the commencement of the fight. "pass the word along the line for mr. howe!" shouted the captain. the order was obeyed, and finally a faint voice, some distance in the rear, replied, "here, sir." "what are you doing there, sir?" demanded the captain, in a voice of thunder. "why are you not at your post? get out there with your flag, and answer the ticonderoga's signals." and the captain began to consult his signal-book. mr. howe looked first at the rebels, then at the captain, then down at the flag which he held in his hand, but he did not move. it was a dangerous undertaking; for, in answering the signals, he would be obliged to stand on the bank of the river, where there was nothing but bushes to protect him, and where the rebels would be certain to see him; but the rattling of the musketry, the sharp whistle of the bullets as they flew thickly about among the trees, and the roar of the ticonderoga's guns--sounds which he had never before heard--so worked upon the imagination of the terrified man, that the danger seemed tenfold worse than it really was. in a few moments the captain had made out the signal, which was, "how do you succeed?" and exclaimed: "mr. howe, make the answer that we don't succeed at all--no advantage on either side; that our ammunition is getting scarce; and that----. why don't you start, sir?" he shouted, seeing that mr. howe did not move. "captain," faltered the man, in a scarcely audible voice, "i should be very happy, sir; very glad, indeed, sir; but--, but--" "no remarks, sir, but do as you are ordered, instantly." "really, captain, i--, i--" the man could go no further, but stood trembling like a leaf, with the utmost terror depicted in every feature. "you're a coward, sir!" shouted the captain, in a terrible rage--"a mean, contemptible coward." "i know it, sir," replied the man, so terrified that he scarcely knew what he was saying; "but the fact is"---- [illustration] "go to rear!" shouted the captain, "and stay there. here, sir," he continued, turning to frank, who happened to be the nearest officer, "can you make those signals?" "yes, sir," answered frank, promptly. his face was very pale, for, accustomed as he was to the noise and confusion of battle, he well knew there was danger in the step he was about to take. but his features expressed determination instead of betraying terror. his duty must be done, whatever the consequences might be; and hastily picking up the flag which mr. howe, in his fright, had dropped, he sprang out in view of the ticonderoga, made the required signals, and retreated in safety. the rebels had seen the flag waving above the bushes, and had directed a hot fire against it, but, although his frail protection was riddled with bullets, frank escaped unhurt. in a quarter of an hour, during which time the fire was warmly sustained by both parties, the ticonderoga again made signals, ordering the captain of the expedition to make the best of his way back to his vessels. frank answered the signal, and again retreated in safety. the word had already been passed along the line to fall back slowly, when frank, approaching the captain, said: "i do not wish to go back to the ship without my battery, sir. will you give me men enough to recover it?" "no, sir; i can't send any one out there to be shot at. it is certain death, sir." frank, who thought that the captain had suddenly grown very careful of his men, made no reply, but hastened back to the spot where he had left his battery. to his joy and surprise he found one of the howitzers safe in the hands of his men; and, as he came up, a shell went crashing toward the rebel line, followed by a triumphant shout from the sailors. the boatswain's mate, who had managed to secure the gun, by throwing a rope around the trail-wheel, was endeavoring, in the same manner, to obtain possession of the other. after a few ineffectual attempts, he succeeded, and the gun was pulled back safely into the bushes. when they had secured the remainder of the ammunition, the men caught up the trail-ropes, and, without delay, frank took his old position in the center of the retreating line. the rebels followed them so closely that the sailors were frequently compelled to halt and drive them back. during one of these halts, the captain of the expedition was killed. as if by magic, mr. howe appeared on the scene, and, without waiting to recover the body of his officer, gave the command to fall back more rapidly. at length, just before they reached the bank where they had disembarked, the ammunition for the howitzers being exhausted, frank requested permission to retreat still more rapidly, and get his guns on board the nearest vessel. "that request is in perfect keeping with your conduct during the fight," returned mr. howe, sneeringly. "the plea of saving your battery is a very handy one; but if you are afraid to remain here with us, you may run as fast as you wish. i'd be ashamed to hold up my head after this, if i were in your place." "i am not afraid to remain here, sir," answered frank, with a good deal of spirit; "and if you say that i have acted the part of a coward during this fight, i defy you to prove the charge. the idea that i am afraid, because i wish to retreat in order to save my battery, is absurd. run those guns along lively, lads." frank succeeded in getting his howitzers on board one of the tin-clads, which still lay alongside of the bank, without the loss of another man. a moment afterward the sailors came pouring down the bank. as soon as they were all on board, the vessels moved out into the stream, and commenced shelling the woods. while thus engaged, the ticonderoga came down the river, and, after dropping her anchor, signaled for the officer in command of the expedition to repair on board. mr. howe at once put off in a boat to obey the order, while the vessel in which frank had taken refuge ran alongside of the ticonderoga, and as soon as the battery had been taken off, the men, covered with dust and blood, and their faces begrimed with powder, stood silently around the guns, while the remainder of the crew gathered on the opposite side of the deck, and regarded their comrades with sorrow depicted in every feature of their sun-burnt faces. frank knew that the fight had been a most desperate one, and that he had lost many of his men; but he could scarcely believe his eyes, when he found that out of the forty brave fellows who had started out with him in the morning, but _fifteen remained_--more than half had been left dead on the field, or prisoners in the hands of the rebels. in a scarcely audible voice he called the roll, and his emotion increased when, at almost every third name, some one answered: "not here, sir." in a few moments the captain appeared on deck. the report of the commander of the expedition had, of course, been unfavorable, and the captain's face wore a look of trouble. hastily running his eye over the line of dusty, bleeding men that stood before him, he said, in a low voice, as if talking to himself: "only fifteen left. i could ill afford to lose so many men. you may go below, lads. doctor, see that the very best care is taken of the wounded." after delivering this order, the captain, who was evidently ill at ease, turned and walked down into his cabin. chapter v. in the hands of the "johnnies" again. as soon as the men had disappeared, frank, with a heavy heart, repaired to his room to dress for supper. he thought over all the little incidents of the day, and frequently detected himself in saying: "only fifteen men left; fifteen out of forty!" what a slaughter--a useless slaughter--there had been! and all had been occasioned by the ignorance of the commanding officer of the expedition. had frank been allowed to retain the sheltered position which he had at first taken up, the result would have been far different. and how had he escaped without even a scratch? he had stood beside his men during the whole of the fight--freely exposing himself, and, rendered conspicuous by his uniform, had signaled the vessel twice; and each time the flag had been riddled by bullets, but not a shot had touched him! it seemed but little short of a miracle that he had come off unscathed, when so many men had fallen around him. he was interrupted in his meditations by the entrance of the orderly, who informed him that his presence was wanted in the cabin. frank hastily pulled on his coat and repaired thither. as he entered, the captain said: "take a chair, mr. nelson. i wish to have a few moments' serious conversation with you." frank, surprised at the captain's tone and manner, seated himself, and the latter continued: "are you aware, sir, that you have this day destroyed all the confidence i have hitherto placed in you, and have rendered yourself liable to severe punishment?" the effect of this question, so abruptly put, was astounding, and frank could only falter-- "sir? i--i--don't understand you, sir." "mr. nelson, i am surprised at you, sir," said the captain, sternly. "i shall have to refresh your memory, then. you have this day been guilty of misdemeanors, any one of which renders you liable to a court-martial, and to a disgraceful dismissal from the service. in the first place, you have shown gross disrespect to your superior officer, and"---- "i guilty of disrespect, sir!" repeated frank, scarcely believing his ears. "there must be some mistake, sir, for"---- "don't interrupt me, sir. i repeat, you have been guilty of disrespect to your superior officer, and of cowardice, having been found with your battery far in the rear at a time when your services were very much needed at the front; and then, after the fight had fairly commenced, as if waking up to a sense of your duty, and, no doubt, wishing to make amends for what you had done, you, contrary to orders, recklessly exposed your men, and, as a consequence, out of forty of the bravest fellows that ever trod a ship's deck--which were placed under your command this morning--you had but fifteen left when you returned on board. the energy displayed by you in working your battery, and the manner in which you obtained possession of it, after you moved out from your sheltered position, and had been compelled to retreat, were feats of which any officer might be justly proud, and which i should have been most happy to reward with your promotion, had you not spoiled every thing by your infamous conduct at the commencement of the fight. hitherto, since you have been on board this ship, you have been a good officer, have always attended to your duties, and it pains me to be obliged to talk to you in this manner. i never thought that you, after what you did at cypress bend, while you were on board of the milwaukee, would ever have been guilty of such misdemeanors. however, as your conduct heretofore has always been such as i could approve, i shall see that no charges are made against you; and i sincerely hope that what you have learned to-day will be a lesson that you will never forget. i shall give you sufficient opportunities to make amends for what you have done, and i shall commence by sending you ashore with a flag of truce, to ask permission of the rebels to bury our dead. you may start at once, sir." this was a hint that his presence in the cabin was no longer desirable, and frank, who, in his confusion and bewilderment scarcely knew what he was doing, made his best bow and retired. what his feelings were as he listened to this reprimand, administered by the captain, who never before had spoken a harsh word to him, it is impossible to describe. he again thought over every thing he had done during the fight; how he had, at the commencement of the action, beaten back the rebels, with a mere handful of men; how he had, in obedience to orders, taken the exposed position where he had lost so many of his gun's crew, and which he had held in spite of the storm of bullets that rained around him, until the whole line had been compelled to retreat, and he was left unsupported; how he had twice risked his life in signaling the ship; and how, when the retreat was ordered he had brought back his guns in safety: he thought of all these things, and wondered where the charge of cowardice could be brought in. and then, when and how had he been guilty of disrespect to his superior officer? certainly not in remonstrating against ordering the men to stack their arms, for that was a privilege to which he, as one of the commanding officers of the expedition, was entitled. in regard to recklessly exposing his men, the case was not quite so clear. it was true that, in the beginning of the fight, he had ordered a charge upon the rebels, who greatly outnumbered his own men, and had easily driven them, without loss to himself: perhaps it was there that the third charge had been brought in. but although he was conscious that he had endeavored to do his whole duty, the words of the captain had cut him to the quick. it had been an unlucky day for him. the expedition had proved a failure, and he had been accused of misdemeanors of which he had never dreamed. it seemed as if fate was against him. "i believe, as archie used to say," he soliloquized, "that i am the unluckiest dog in existence. troubles never come singly." "the captain wishes to see you, sir," said one of the men, stepping up and interrupting his meditations. "all right," answered frank, who was so completely absorbed in his reverie that he was entirely unconscious of what was going on around him; "call all hands to quarters immediately." "sir--i--i don't mean--sir--the captain wishes to speak with you, sir," repeated the sailor, half inclined to believe that frank was getting crazy. this aroused the young officer to a sense of his situation; as he approached the quarter-deck, where the captain was standing, the latter said: "mr. nelson, do you intend to go ashore with that flag of truce, sir?" "i beg your pardon, sir," faltered frank, "i forgot all about that. will you have the kindness to call away the first cutter?" he continued, approaching the quarter-master, and saluting him as the officer of the deck. "mr. nelson," shouted the captain, "what are you doing? are you crazy, sir?" "i believe i am, captain, or pretty near it," answered frank. "the charges that have been brought against me have well-nigh upset me. they are false, sir, and i don't deserve the reprimand i have received." in his next attempt to find the officer of the deck frank met with more success. while the cutter was being manned, he ran down into the steerage, and seizing a pen, hastily dashed off the following: united states steamer ticonderoga, } off cypress bend, _oct. , _. } sir: having been reported, by the officer in command of an expedition--sent ashore this day for the purpose of dislodging a body of rebels posted behind the levee--for cowardice, disrespect to my superior officer, and for recklessly exposing my men to the fire of the rebels, and knowing, sir, that these charges are utterly groundless, i respectfully request that a court of inquiry may be convened to examine into my behavior while under the enemy's fire. i am, sir, very respectfully your obedient servant, frank nelson, _acting master's mate_. acting rear-admiral d. d. porter, u. s. n., _commanding miss. squadron_. while he was sealing the envelope the messenger boy entered and reported the cutter ready. frank ran on deck, and, after giving the communication to the captain, with a request that it might be approved and forwarded to the admiral, he sprang into the boat, and gave the order to shove off. the old boatswain's mate, who was acting as the coxswain of the cutter, had rigged up a flag of truce. as they pulled toward the shore, frank waved this above his head until he elicited a similar response from the bank; then, throwing down the flag, he seated himself in the stern sheets, and covered his face with his hands. the old mate, mistaking his emotion for sorrow at the death of so many of his men, said: "yes, it is a hard case. not a few of us are left without our chums; but we all know it wasn't your fault. there would have been more of us left if you had been allowed to have your own way." "then i did not expose you needlessly, did i, jack?" "why, bless you, no, sir. who says you did, sir?" inquired one of the crew. "but tell me one thing, jack," said frank, his face still covered with his hands, "am i a coward?" "no, sir," answered the mate, indignantly; "'cause if you was, you wouldn't have held on to them guns as long as you did, and you would not have pitched into that rebel atween the lines, as you did about a year ago, at this very place. in course you ain't no coward." this was some consolation. the men whom he commanded, and who had always cheerfully followed where he had dared to lead, thought very differently from the man who had retreated almost before the fight had commenced, and who, to screen himself, had brought those charges against one whose conduct had always been above reproach. "yes, as you say, it is a hard case, jack," said frank, uncovering his face, and glancing toward the rebels who thronged the levee. "it is a hard case, indeed, but i will come out at the top of the heap yet." "what's the matter, sir?" inquired the mate. "any one been wrongin' you, sir? he'd better not show his ugly figure-head when what's left of the first division has shore liberty. we'll douse his top-lights for him." by this time the cutter had reached the shore, and frank, taking the flag of truce, sprang out, and walked up the bank to where a group of officers was standing. "wal, yank, what do you want now?" inquired a man dressed in the uniform of a colonel. how frank started when he heard that voice. could he be mistaken? he had certainly heard it before, and he remembered the time when it had given an order which still rang in his ears: "stiles, you stay here until this man dies." he looked at the men, some of whom were lying on the ground about the levee, and others standing at a little distance, waiting to hear what was going to be the result of the interview, and what had at first appeared a vague suspicion, now forced itself upon frank as a dread reality. he was in the presence of _colonel harrison and the louisiana wild-cats_. nothing but a bold front could save him, for he knew that these men paid very little respect to a flag of truce, unless it was likely to further their own interests; and if he should be recognized, his recapture was certain, and then, what would be his fate? would not summary vengeance be taken upon him, in retaliation for the manner in which he had treated the sentinel on the night of his escape, and the way he had served the man who had overtaken him in the woods? brave as frank was, and accustomed as he had become to look danger in the face, he could not but regard his situation as critical in the extreme. "what did you say your business was, yank?" inquired the colonel again. "i wish to see the commanding officer," said frank, steadily meeting the rebel's searching glance. "i wish permission to bury our dead." "well, that's a fair request," said the colonel, carelessly. "i don't know as i have any objection to it. want your prisoners also?" "yes, sir," answered frank, with a smile. "i should like to take them back to the ship with me. but you know that i have none to exchange for them." "that's what i thought. i couldn't afford to give your men back for nothing." "i didn't suppose you would. but have we your permission to come ashore and bury our dead?" inquired frank, who was anxious to bring the interview to an end. "yes," answered the colonel, "and we will leave the field in your possession. you will send that message by one of your men, for i don't think, youngster, that you can go back. if i am not very much mistaken, i've got a better right to you than any one else." "yes, colonel," shouted one of the men, "i'll be dog-gone if i didn't think he was the chap that give us the slip at shreveport." "i didn't think i could be mistaken," said the colonel. "so, youngster, just consider yourself a prisoner." "what do you mean, sir? you have no claim whatever upon me, and never had!" exclaimed frank, indignantly. "i am acting in obedience to orders, and am under the protection of this flag of truce." "very well spoken. but what do you suppose we care for that dish-rag? besides, i say we _have_ a good claim upon you, for you have never been exchanged. here, jim!" he shouted to one of his men, "put this little yank with the rest, and don't give him a chance to get away this time." the man advanced to obey the order, and when he came up to the place where frank was standing, he seized him by the hair and shook him until every tooth in his head rattled. "avast heavin' there, you land-lubber!" shouted the mate, who until this time had remained in the boat with the crew; and, springing ashore, he ran up the bank, and with one blow of his fist felled the rebel to the ground. "here we have it," said the colonel, who, instead of defending frank, seemed to consider the manner in which he was treated a good joke. "boys, secure this blue-jacket also." "no you don't, johnny!" exclaimed the mate, as one of the men sprang forward to seize him. "if you think that one of you is as good as five yankee sailors, now is your chance to try it on. it'll take more'n one of you to put the bracelets on me;" and, as he spoke, he planted another of his tremendous blows in the face of the advancing rebel, which lifted him completely off his feet. but before he had time to repeat it, he was overpowered by half a dozen rebels, who had run to the assistance of their comrade. after a hard struggle, he was secured, and his hands were bound behind his back. "now, you fellows," said the colonel, addressing himself to the men in the boat, "get back to your vessel; tell the captain how matters stand, and also that he may come ashore and bury his dead as soon as he chooses." "tell the first division," said the mate, "that the next time they go into action they must give one shot for jack waters. if you fellers don't pay for this," he continued, turning to the rebels, "then blast my to'-gallant top-lights." "tell the captain," chimed in frank, "that he had better not trust these men again, for they are not sufficiently civilized to know what a flag of truce is." "you are very complimentary, young man, to say the least," said a rebel, who was standing near the colonel. "i am telling the plain truth," answered frank, "and you will find that your barbarous mode of warfare will never succeed; and that the crew of that vessel will never allow the mean action of which you have been guilty to pass unnoticed." "douse my top-lights but that's the truth," said the mate, making an effort with his confined hands to salute his officer. "see that these prisoners are well secured," said the colonel, "and be sure and take special care of that youngster, for if you allow him the least chance, he'll escape," and the colonel turned on his heel and walked away. in obedience to these instructions, frank and the mate were delivered into the charge of a sergeant, who at once conducted them toward the place where the prisoners which had been taken during the fight were confined under guard. as they passed along through the rebels, they were insulted at every step, and finally a man drew his ramrod out of his gun, and seizing frank by the collar, proceeded to give him a severe thrashing. frank immediately appealed to the sergeant, who, instead of offering to defend him, stood at a little distance, watching the operation, as if not at all concerned. the mate was fairly beside himself with rage, and struggled desperately to free his hands, all the while venting his anger by "dousing" his "top-lights" and "shivering" his own "timbers." the rebel continued his punishment amid the cheers of his companions, and at every stroke of his ramrod he exclaimed: "shot the best blood-hound in louisiana, did ye! stick a bayonet into young davis, won't ye!" until frank, smarting with the pain, determined to defend himself. "unhand me, you scoundrel!" he shouted; "i've had just about enough of this." turning fiercely upon his persecutor, he snatched the ramrod from his hand, and commenced laying it over his head and shoulders. the rebel, after trying in vain to defend himself, retreated precipitately, amid the jeers of his comrades, and shouts of derision from the mate. the sergeant here thought it time to interfere, and frank and the mate were not again molested. chapter vi. an old acquaintance. they found that the rebels had captured nearly twenty of their men, several of them badly wounded, and, as there was no surgeon with the enemy, the poor fellows were suffering intensely. frank shuddered when he thought of the inhuman treatment to which his wounded companions had been subjected by the very men in whose power they now were, on the march from vicksburg to shreveport; and he knew, from the scenes through which he had just passed, that the wild-cats had not grown more lenient in their treatment of those who were so unfortunate as to fall into their power. as soon as they were placed under guard, jack's hands were unbound, and he seated himself on the ground beside his officer, in no very amiable mood. "it isn't for myself that i care, sir," said he; "but i am afraid that the treatment you will receive will be a heap worse nor keel-haulin' on a cold winter's mornin'." "don't talk so loud, jack," whispered frank, glancing toward the guard, who was walking his beat but a short distance from them. "i've been in just such scrapes as this before, and i'm not going to be strung up. if they give me the least chance for life, i'm going to take advantage of it." "there comes a boat from the ship, sir," said the mate. "if we could only give them the slip now." "no, sit still; we are watched too closely; wait until to-night." in a short time the cutter reached the shore, and an officer, whom they recognized as the gunner, sprang out with a flag of truce in his hand. he walked straight up to colonel harrison. after a short conversation with that individual, he handed him a letter, and, accompanied by a rebel officer, approached the place where frank was sitting. "well, old fellow," he said, as he came up, "i'm sorry to see you in this fix. but i've got good news for you. the colonel has given me permission to inform you that you will be well treated as long as you remain a prisoner. you see, we happen to have a prisoner who belongs to this regiment on board the flag-ship, and the captain is going to ask the admiral to exchange him for you. so keep a stiff upper lip. don't think of trying to escape, and we shall see you on board of the ship again in less than a week. good-by." frank and the mate shook hands with the gunner, who walked back to the place where he had left his men, and set them to work collecting and burying the dead. after considerable trouble, an agreement was entered into between captain wilson and the colonel, and all the prisoners, with the exception of frank and the mate, were paroled and allowed to return on board the vessel, after which the wild-cats mounted their horses and commenced marching back into the country. while the fight had been raging, their horses were safely hidden in the woods, out of range of the ticonderoga's guns; and when they were brought out, frank, although he had not seen either a dead or wounded rebel, was able to judge pretty accurately of the number that had been disabled in the struggle, by counting the empty saddles. what had been done with the dead and wounded he could not ascertain; but the probability was, that the latter had been carried on in advance of the main body of the regiment, and the former hastily buried on the field. the prisoners were each given a horse, and frank was a good deal surprised to find that although the mate was closely watched, scarcely any attention was paid to himself; his captors, no doubt, thinking that he would prefer waiting to be exchanged, rather than run the risk of the punishment that had been threatened in case he was detected in any attempt at escape. he was given to understand that it was useless to think of flight, for he would certainly be recaptured, even if he succeeded in getting outside of the pickets, and that he would be shot down without mercy. but frank, who well knew that the rebels would not willingly lose an opportunity of regaining one of their officers, was not at all intimidated by these threats; and, as he had not bound himself to remain a passive prisoner, he commenced laying his plans for escape, intending to put them into operation at the very first opportunity which offered. just before dark the column halted in front of a plantation, and commenced making its camp on each side of the road. while the men were making their preparations for the night, the colonel, who evidently preferred more comfortable quarters than could be found in the open air, repaired to the house, where he was cordially greeted by its inmates. frank and the mate lay down on the ground by the side of the road, and were talking over the incidents of the day, when a dashing young lieutenant stepped up, and inquired: "yanks, don't you want something to eat? come into our mess; we want to talk to you. i'll hold myself responsible for their safe return," he continued, turning to the guard. this individual, after a few moments' consideration, concluded that the "yanks could pass," and the prisoners followed the lieutenant to the place where the members of the mess to which he belonged were seated on the ground, eating their suppers. "sit down, yanks, at the very first good place you can find," said their host. "our chairs have been sent on board one of your gun-boats to be repaired, and the sofa hasn't come in yet. do you ever have as good a supper as this on board your men-o'-war?" "o yes," replied frank, glancing at the different dishes that were scattered about over the ground, which contained corn-bread just raked out from the ashes, salt pork, onions, and boiled chicken, the latter evidently the fruits of a raid on some well-stocked hen-roost. "o yes, we live very well on board our boats. there is nothing to hinder us, if we have a caterer worth a cent." "where do you get your grub?" asked the lieutenant. "we steal every thing along the shore that we can lay our hands on, just to keep it away from you, and there are no provisions at the north." "well, you need not believe any such story as that," answered frank, who could not help laughing outright at the idea of the people at the north having no provisions to spare. "i never knew a gun-boat to be short of rations, except down the yazoo pass." "well, then, some of our folks tell what is not the truth," said one of the officers, who had not yet spoken. "but, to change the subject, how many men did you lose in the action to-day?" "i am not able to tell," replied frank. "i see that you have taken good care to hide your loss. i haven't seen a single wounded man since i have been with you, and i know i saw several drop during the fight." "yes, we did lose a few men," said the lieutenant; "how many, you will never know. but, to change the subject again, what did you come down here to fight us for?" "now, see here," said frank, setting down his plate, which had been plentifully supplied by the lieutenant, "you were kind enough to ask me here to get some supper, and i don't want to spoil a good meal by entering into a political discussion; for, if i answer your question, i shall tell you some pretty plain things, and i know you will get provoked at me." "o no, we are not as unreasonable as that," replied the man. "answer my question." "well, then," said frank, "i will make the same reply as i once did to that question in the prison at shreveport. it is this: i believe that if ever there was a lot of men in the world who need a good, sound thrashing, you rebels do." "that's the truth, sir," said jack, talking as plainly as a mouthful of salt pork would permit. "stand up for the old flag, sir." the discussion thus commenced was maintained for an hour, the rebels evincing the utmost ignorance in regard to the principles for which they were fighting; and the manner in which frank knocked their flimsy arguments right and left, and the fearlessness with which he upheld the course the government has pursued, and predicted the speedy overthrow of the rebellion, excited their respect and admiration. at length bedtime came, and, just as frank and the mate were about to be conducted back to the guard, colonel harrison, accompanied by two ladies and a strange officer, walked up. "here, yank," he exclaimed, addressing frank, "here's an old acquaintance of yours. come here." as frank obeyed the order, the strange officer advanced to meet him, and he recognized lieutenant somers. he was not at all pleased to see him, for the lieutenant, doubtless, had not forgotten the circumstances connected with his capture, and although he could not remember of ever having treated him badly, still he feared he might harbor some feelings of malice, and might see fit to take a summary revenge upon him. to his surprise, however, the rebel eagerly advanced to meet him, and, extending his hand, greeted him with: "how are you, nelson? you're in a fix, i see. i am the free man now, and you the prisoner." "yes," answered frank, "i'm in for it again. although i was captured in violation of all the rules of war, i suppose i must submit to it for awhile." the lieutenant passed nearly an hour in conversation with him, talking over all the little incidents that had happened while he was a prisoner in the hands of frank and his fellow-fugitives, and was compelled to pilot them through the country, and ended by saying: "although you were sometimes obliged to use me rather roughly, you did the best you could under the circumstances, and i shall let you see that i don't forget favors. i'll speak to the colonel, and get him to furnish you with quarters at the plantation to-night." the lieutenant then left them, and shortly afterward a corporal and his guard came up, and conducted frank and the mate to the plantation, where they were confined in a deserted negro cabin. a few blankets had been spread out on the floor to serve as a bed, and, had they been among friends, they could have passed a very comfortable night. as soon as the corporal had locked the door and retired, the mate, who had been examining their quarters, said: "i wish, sir, that lieutenant hadn't taken so much interest in you, 'cause we're in darby now, sure." "we are much better off than we would be out in the camp," answered frank. "try that window-shutter--carefully, now." the mate did as he was ordered, and, to frank's joy, reported that it was unfastened. "now," said the latter, "the next thing is to ascertain where the sentries are posted." "there's one out aft here," replied the mate, "'cause i can see him; and there's one at the gangway for'ard, 'cause i heered the corporal tell him to keep a good look-out." "we must wait until the camp is still," said frank, "and then we will make the attempt." for two long hours the prisoners sat on their rough bed--the mate, in accordance with the discipline to which he had been accustomed from boyhood, waiting for his officer to speak, and frank listening for the advent of that silence which should proclaim that the time for action had arrived. eleven o'clock came at length, when, just after the sentry's cry of "all's well," frank arose to his feet, and cautiously approaching the window, pushed open the shutter and looked out. the sentry was seated on the ground at the corner of the cabin, holding his musket across his knees, now and then stretching his arms, and yawning. jack remained seated on the bed, while frank debated long and earnestly with himself as to what course it was best to pursue. should they spring out and overpower the sentry where he sat? this could not be accomplished without a fight, for the sentry was a large, powerful-looking man, and, without doubt, possessed of great strength; besides, if a struggle did ensue, the noise would attract the attention of the guard at the other side of the cabin, who would lend prompt assistance, and, with these two men opposed to them, escape would be impossible. still, there seemed to be no other course for them to pursue, and frank had already proposed the plan to the mate, and was about to push open the shutter and make the attempt, when he noticed that the sentinel had leaned his head against the cabin, and was sleeping soundly. "jack," he whispered, "get out of this window quickly, and make the best of your way into those bushes," pointing to a thicket that stood about twenty feet from the cabin. "as soon as i see you safe, i will follow. don't make any noise now." the mate touched his cap, lingered for an instant to press frank's hand, then mounted lightly into the window, reached the ground without arousing the rebel, and, in a moment more, disappeared in the bushes. frank was about to follow when the sentry suddenly awakened, rubbed his eyes, gazed vacantly about him, and then sank back to his former position. as soon as frank felt certain that he was asleep, he again opened the shutter, descended noiselessly to the ground, and, after carefully closing the window, sprang into the bushes. "shiver my timbers, sir," whispered jack, seizing his officer's hand, "that was well done. won't the johnnies be surprised when they call all hands in the morning, and find us missin'?" but the fugitives were by no means safe, neither had their escape been accomplished. they were still inside of the lines, and might, at any moment, stumble upon a picket. but it was necessary that they should get as far away from the camp as possible before their escape became discovered, and frank, without waiting to receive the congratulations of the mate, who now looked upon their escape as a certain thing, threw himself on his hands and knees, and moved slowly across a field that extended a mile back of the cabin, and which must be crossed before they could reach the woods. their progress was slow and laborious, and it was two hours before they reached a road which ran in the direction in which they supposed the river to lie. not having seen any pickets, and now feeling quite certain that they were outside of the lines, they arose to their feet, and commenced running at the top of their speed. the road ran through a thick woods, but they had no difficulty in following it, as the moon was shining brightly. just before daylight, they arrived at the mississippi. it was a pleasant sight to their eyes, and both uttered a shout of joy when they found themselves standing on its banks. but their spirits fell again, when, on glancing up and down the river as far as their eyes could reach, they could not see a vessel of any kind in sight. they were not yet at their journey's end. there might be a gun-boat close by, hid behind one of the numerous points that stretched out into the river, or there might not be one within a hundred miles. they must not linger, however, for they were not free from pursuit until they were safe on board some vessel. sorrowfully they bent their steps down the river, listening for sounds of pursuit, and eagerly watching for signs of an approaching steamer; but the day wore away, and the fugitives, who began to feel the effects of hunger, halted, and were debating upon the means to be used in procuring food, when, to their joy, they discovered smoke around a bend, and, in half an hour, a transport, loaded with soldiers, appeared in sight. they at once commenced waving their hats, to attract the attention of those on board, who evidently saw them, but being suspicious that it was a plan of the rebels to decoy them into shore, turned off toward the opposite bank. "i should think they ought to see us," said frank, and he commenced shouting at the top of his lungs. a moment afterward a puff of smoke arose from the forecastle, and a twelve-pounder shot plowed through the water, and lodged in the bank at their very feet. it was then evident to them that they had been taken for rebels. after watching the boat until it disappeared, they again turned their faces down the river. night overtaking them without bringing any relief, the fugitives, hungry and foot-sore, lay down in the woods and slept. chapter vii. a close shave. when the morning came they bent their steps down the bank, keeping in the edge of the woods to prevent surprise, but not far enough from the river to allow any boat that might chance to pass to escape their observation. they again began to feel the fierce pangs of hunger, which they endeavored to alleviate by chewing twigs and roots. but this affording them no relief, the mate finally proposed that they should turn back into the country and ask for food at the first house they could find. recapture was preferable to starving to death. frank easily turned him from his purpose by assuring him that they would certainly be picked up during the afternoon, or on the following morning. but night came, without bringing them any relief, and the tired and hungry fugitives again lay down in the woods and slept. about noon, on the next day, they found themselves on the banks of a wide and deep ravine, that ran across their path. to climb up and down those steep banks was impossible; their wasted strength was not equal to the task. their only course was to follow the ravine back into the woods until they could find some means of crossing it. after wearily dragging themselves for two hours over fallen logs, and through thick, tangled bushes and cane-brakes that lay in their path, they emerged from the woods, and found before them a small log-hut, standing close to a bridge that spanned the ravine. hastily drawing back into the bushes, they closely examined the premises, which seemed to be deserted, with the exception of a negro, whom they saw hitching a mule to a tree at the back of the cabin. "i don't see any white men there, jack," said frank. "i think we may safely ask that negro for something to eat. i hardly think there is any danger, for, if he should attempt mischief, we could soon overpower him. what do you say? shall we go up?" "just as you say, sir," answered the mate. "but let us first get something to use as a belaying-pin, in case any body should run foul of our hawse." the fugitives procured two short clubs, and moved out of the woods toward the cabin. the negro immediately discovered them. at first, he rolled up his eyes in surprise, and acted very much as if he was about to retreat; but, after finding that the two sailors were alone, his face assumed a broad grin, which the fugitives took for a smile of welcome. when they had approached within speaking distance, frank inquired: "well, uncle, is there any chance for a hungry man to get any thing to eat in here?" "plenty ob it, massa," answered the negro. "go right in de house." the fugitives, far from suspecting any treachery, were about to comply; but frank, who was in advance, had scarcely put his foot on the threshold, when two rebel soldiers sprang out of the cabin, and one of them, seizing him by the collar, flourished a huge bowie-knife above his head and demanded his surrender. so sudden was the assault that frank, for a moment, was deprived of all power of action. but not so with the mate, who, retaining his presence of mind, swung his club about him with a dexterity truly surprising, and brought it down with all the force of his sturdy arms upon the head of the rebel, who, instantly releasing his hold, sank to the ground with a low groan. but before he could repeat the blow, three more soldiers sprang from the cabin, and, in spite of their struggles, overpowered them; not, however, until the mate had been stunned by a blow from the butt of a pistol. "wal, i'll be dog-gone!" exclaimed one of the rebels, "but this is a lucky haul of yankees. tom, get some water and throw it into the captain's face," pointing to their prostrate companion, "an' fetch him to. the rest of you, get some ropes an' tie these fellers' hands behind them." while the men were executing these orders, frank had time to scan the countenances of his captors. they evidently did not belong to the wild-cats, for, although that regiment was composed of most ferocious-looking men, they appeared like gentlemen compared with those in whose power he now found himself. these were a dirty, ragged, blood-thirsty looking set of men, and, unless their countenances belied them, they were capable of any atrocity. presently, the men who had gone into the cabin returned with some pieces of cord, with which they proceeded to confine the hands of their prisoners, who offered no resistance. by the time this was accomplished, the man whom the mate had handled so roughly had been restored to consciousness, and supported himself against the cabin to collect his thoughts, while the others stood silently by, as if awaiting his orders. "get every thing ready," he said, at length, "and let the job be done at once. it needs no judge or jury to decide the fate of these men, knowing, as we do, what has befallen those of our number who were so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of the federals." the rebels, in obedience to the order, brought out of the cabin two pieces of rope, which they took to a tree that stood close by, and, coiling them up in their hands, threw one end over a limb that stretched out about six feet from the ground, and fastened them there. "douse my top-lights," exclaimed the mate, as he witnessed these proceedings, "but it is all up with us, sir. they're going to swing us to the yard-arm." the horrid truth was too apparent, and frank was so completely unnerved that he was compelled to lean against the cabin for support. he was soon aroused by the voice of the leader of the rebels, who said: "this is to be done in retaliation for an order issued by admiral porter, stating that he would hang all 'guerrillas,' as he termed them, who might be caught firing into transports along the river. you can see the effect of that order right here. out of a company of a hundred of us who entered the army at the commencement of the war, you see all that are left. the remainder have been killed or captured by you gun-boat men. those captured have suffered the penalty of that order. they were no more guerrillas, however, than you are, but were regularly sworn into the service, and were detailed to harass the enemy in every possible manner; and, for obeying our orders, some of us have been strung up like dogs. we shall continue to retaliate on you until our government receives notice that the order has been countermanded. i will give you an hour, and at the end of that time you must swing." "if you must execute us," said frank, in a husky voice, "why not let us die like men, and not like criminals?" "my men would have preferred to be shot," said the rebel, "but were not allowed the privilege of choosing." so saying, the captain turned on his heel and walked away, while frank seated himself on the threshold of the cabin, and repeated his sentence with a calmness that made him think his senses were leaving him. could it be possible that he had heard aright, and that he was in reality a condemned man? when he had entered the service, the thought that he should be killed had never once occurred to him. he had fully and confidently expected that he would be permitted to live to see the end of the war, and to return home to enjoy the society of his friends once more. could it be possible, then, that, after indulging in such bright anticipations, he must end his life in that desolate place, away from home and friends, in so terrible a manner? he could not convince himself that it was a reality. but there was the tree, with the ropes, and the fatal noose at the end, dangling from the limb; and there were those blood-thirsty looking men lounging in the shade, and only waiting until the hour granted by their leader should expire to begin their horrid work. o, the agony of that moment, when he could look forward and count the very seconds he had to live! an hour! how often and how lightly had he spoken of it! for an hour in the life of one moving about at freedom in the world, not knowing when death will come, and, as is too often the case, scarcely giving the matter a moment's thought, is a space of time of very little importance; is carelessly spoken of, and, when passed, no notice is taken of its flight. but an hour to a person condemned to die, who has heard his sentence, and who is bound, and watched over by armed men, that he may not escape from that sentence; who is in the full possession of all his faculties; who can look abroad upon the beauties of nature, and feel the soft breeze of heaven fanning his cheek, but who knows that, at the end of that time, he will be deprived of all these faculties; that his life will be suddenly and terribly terminated--in the case of such a person, who can describe the thoughts that "make up the sum of his heart's fevered existence?" it seemed to frank that scarcely five minutes of the allotted time had passed, when the leader of the guerrillas arose from the ground where he had been sitting. the signal was understood by his men, two of whom approached the prisoners, and conducted them toward the scaffold. the mate had been encouraged by the example set him by his officer, and both walked with firm steps; their faces, although pale as death itself, being as expressionless as marble, and bearing not the slightest trace of the struggle that was going on within them. without the least hesitation they took their stand on a log under the tree, and the fatal ropes were adjusted. their farewells had been said, and the leader of the rebels had made a signal for the log to be removed from under their feet, when suddenly there was a sound of approaching horsemen, and the next moment a party of the wild-cats galloped up, headed by colonel harrison and lieutenant somers. a few harshly-spoken orders rung in frank's ears; he saw the leader of the guerrillas fall, pierced by a dozen bullets, and then all was blank to him. * * * * * let us now return to the wild-cats, whom frank and the mate had so unceremoniously deserted. the escape was not discovered until morning, when the orderly sergeant went to the cabin to call them. it was scarcely daylight, and quite dark inside of the cabin, and as the sergeant opened the door, he vociferated: "come, yanks! get out of this and get your grub!" the echo of his own voice was the only reply he received. after waiting a moment, he repeated the summons in a louder tone, and still received no answer. "i'll be dog-gone if them ar yanks don't sleep at the rate of more'n forty miles an hour," said the sergeant to himself, as he entered the cabin and commenced feeling around in the dark to find his prisoners. "come now, yanks!" he exclaimed, "none of your tricks. i know you heered me. get up, i say, and get your grub, for it is high time we were movin'." still no answer. the rebel finally threw open the window-shutter, and by the straggling rays of light that came in, he found, to his utter amazement, that his prisoners were gone. with one bound he reached the open air, and without paying any attention to the inquiries of the guard as to what was the cause of his strange behavior, he started for the house, where he hurriedly asked for the colonel. "what's the matter now, sergeant?" inquired that gentleman, appearing at the door with his boots in his hand. "the prisoners, sir," began the sergeant---- "well, what's the trouble with them?" asked the colonel, who was very far from guessing the facts of the case. "won't the lazy yankees get up? punch 'em with your bayonet a little if they get unruly; that will put life into them, and keep them civil at the same time." "i could manage them easy enough, sir, if they were here," answered the sergeant; "but, sir, they"---- "if they were _here_," repeated the colonel, who now began to suspect the truth. "if they were here! have you allowed them to escape?" "no, sir, we didn't _let_ them; they went without asking us!" "a plague on you lazy scoundrels," shouted the colonel, in a rage. "let loose that blood-hound at once, and pursue them. no; stop! tell the officer of the day that i want to see him." the sergeant started off to execute the order; and the colonel, after pulling on his boots, entered the house, where lieutenant somers and the people of the plantation were assembled, awaiting breakfast. "what's the matter, colonel?" inquired the lieutenant. "any thing wrong?" "don't bother me with your foolish questions now," replied the colonel roughly, pacing up and down the floor with angry strides. "it's enough to upset any one's patience. that little yankee has escaped again." "escaped!" repeated all in the room, holding up their hands in astonishment. "yes; escaped--gone--mizzled--cleared out," said the colonel, frantically flourishing his arms above his head; "and unless i catch him, which i don't expect to do, i'm short a captain, for he was to have been exchanged for one of my officers." at this moment the officer of the day entered, and the colonel, turning to him, continued: "that rascally little yankee has escaped again. i thought i had him safe this time, but he has succeeded in giving me the slip when i least expected it. that sailor that we captured with him has gone too. send a squad in pursuit of them at once. use the blood-hound, but hold him in the leash, and don't injure either of the prisoners if you can avoid it." the officer bowed, and left the room; and the colonel, after giving orders that the case should be investigated, in order to see who was to blame in allowing the prisoners to escape, mounted his horse, and, accompanied by lieutenant somers, set out in pursuit of the squad, which had already started and was following the trail of the fugitives, led by a large blood-hound, which was kept in check by a chain held by one of the men. in a couple of hours they arrived at the place where frank and the mate had been fired upon by the steamer, and here the trail was lost. after several hours spent in unavailing search, the squad separated, and, for two days, scoured the country every-where, looking in vain for traces of the fugitives. at the end of that time, the colonel, completely disheartened, collected his forces, and was returning to the plantation, when they were met by a negro, in a great state of excitement, who anxiously inquired for the commanding officer. "get away from me, boy," shouted the colonel, impatiently, "and don't bother me now." "but, sar," persisted the negro, "massa thorne done kotched two white gemman, an' be gwine to kill 'em, shore." "bill thorne in this part of the country again!" said the colonel. "he'd better keep clear of me. he and his pack of horse-thieves are more injury to us than a yankee gun-boat;" and the colonel, without waiting to hear any more, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. "these two white men he caught," said lieutenant somers, "what were they? yankees?" the negro replied in the affirmative, and then proceeded to give a full and complete description of the prisoners, so that the lieutenant knew in a moment that they were frank and the mate. after questioning him as to the locality where the execution was to take place, he galloped down the road, and soon overtook the colonel, to whom he related the circumstance. the latter at once ordered part of his men to follow him, (directing the others to keep on the trail, so that, in case the negro was misleading them, no time would be lost.) as we have seen, he arrived just in time to save his prisoners; one moment more, and he would have been too late. the guerrillas were so completely surprised at the approach of the cavalry, and so dismayed at the death of their leader, that they did not think of retreat until it was too late. the wild-cats had surrounded them, and the sight of half a dozen revolvers leveled at their heads caused them to throw down their weapons and cry for quarter. chapter viii. taking down the captain. when frank's consciousness returned, he found himself lying on the floor of the cabin, where the fight had taken place which resulted in his capture by the guerrillas, his head supported by a dirty blanket, rolled up to serve as a pillow, and the mate sitting on a three-legged chair beside him. through the open door could be seen a squad of the wild-cats, lounging under the shade of the trees. slowly the recollection of the scenes through which he had passed, the sentence he had heard pronounced, the preparations he had seen made for his execution, came to his mind, and he instinctively put his hand to his throat, as if expecting to find it encircled by the fatal rope. "are you on an even keel now, my hearty?" asked the mate. "where are the guerrillas, jack?" asked frank. "are we safe?" "o yes, we're safe from them, but we are still prisoners." at this moment a shaggy head, nearly covered up with a slouch hat, was thrust in at the door, and a voice inquired: "are you all right now, yank? if you are, come out here, for we must be off." frank, although very weak, was able, with the assistance of the mate, to walk out of the cabin, where they found several of the rebels mounted, and waiting for them. they were each given a horse, after which the wild-cats closed about their prisoners, as if to put all further attempts at escape out of the question, and conducted them down the road at a rapid gallop. as soon as frank's ideas had fairly returned, he began to make inquiries in regard to the singular manner in which he and the mate had been rescued, and learned that the men by whom they had been captured were guerrillas, in spite of what they had said to the contrary; that they made war on rebel as well as union people, and being especially obnoxious to colonel harrison--from whom they had stolen several horses--they had been summarily disposed of. at first frank could scarcely credit the statement that they had been rescued through the agency of the very negro to whom they owed their capture; but, after being assured that such was the case, it occurred to them that their approach had first been discovered by the rebels in the cabin, and that the negro, to save his own life, had acted in obedience to their orders; and then, to make amends for what had at first appeared to be an act of treachery, he had conveyed the news of their capture to colonel harrison. as soon as they had fairly started, the orderly sergeant galloped up beside frank, and inquired: "yank, how did you get out of that cabin that night? nobody don't seem to know nothing about it." "i have already told him, sir," said the mate, "that we walked by the sentinel when he was asleep; but he don't believe it." frank then proceeded to give an account of the manner in which their escape had been effected, and as it corresponded with the mate's story, the sergeant was compelled to believe it. "purty well done," said he. "but, mind you, don't go to tryin' it on agin, 'cause, if you do, it's the colonel's orders that you both go in double irons." having delivered this piece of information, the sergeant rode up to the head of the column. the prisoners did not again attempt to escape, for they knew that it would be an impossibility. they were closely watched, not a single movement escaping observation. wherever they went, two stalwart rebels were at their heels; and when they slept, their guards stood over them with loaded muskets. that same evening they overtook the main body of the regiment, and on the sixth day after their rescue from the guerrillas, they arrived opposite the village of napoleon, where the exchange was to take place. the ticonderoga was not there, but two days afterward she made her appearance; and, as soon as she had dropped her anchor, a boat was seen approaching the shore with a flag of truce flying in the bow. the colonel waved his handkerchief in reply. as the boat drew near, frank saw two men in rebel uniform seated in the stern-sheets, and he knew, from the remarks made by the wild-cats, that one of them was the officer for whom he was to be exchanged. as soon as the boat touched the shore, the executive officer sprang out, followed by the two rebels. after a moment's conversation with the colonel, the former advanced toward frank and the mate, and, after greeting them cordially, exclaimed: "come aboard the ship, boys; you belong to uncle sam once more." the mate could scarcely believe that he, too, was exchanged. he had expected nothing less than a long confinement in vicksburg, or perhaps a march to shreveport; but, as it happened, the captain of the ticonderoga had found a rebel soldier on board the flag-ship, and had obtained permission from the admiral to exchange him for the mate. "yes, yanks," said the colonel, "you are at liberty to make yourselves scarce as soon as you choose." the prisoners lingered only to shake hands with lieutenant somers, who had treated them very kindly, and had often found means to procure them many little privileges and comforts, and then ran down the bank and sprang into the boat, which at once pushed from the shore and started toward the ticonderoga. as frank came over the side, the officers crowded around him, asking innumerable questions in relation to the treatment he had received while in the hands of the rebels; but he was scarcely allowed time to answer one-half of their inquiries before he was summoned into the presence of the captain. that gentleman greeted him in the most cordial manner, requesting him to be seated and relate his adventures. frank gave a minute description of the manner in which he had transacted the business intrusted to him with the flag of truce, his recapture by the wild-cats, and the circumstances that had led to the retention of the boatswain's mate; recounted the plans he had laid for their escape, their reception by the guerrillas, and, finally, the rescue from a horrible death, to all of which the captain listened attentively. after frank had finished, the captain said: "it is, of course, needless to say that i am overjoyed to see you safe on board the ship again, mr. nelson, and that you have returned none the worse for your sojourn among the rebels. i am especially glad, because i wish to make you an explanation. you have been misrepresented to me, and i was very hasty in reprimanding you as i did on the day that you behaved so gallantly in the fight at cypress bend. it was on account of the report of mr. howe, who assumed command of the expedition after the captain had been killed. his report showed that we had been severely whipped; and when i learned what a slaughter there had been of the men i placed under your command, and which i find, upon inquiry, was caused by the ignorance of your superior officer, and not by any fault of your own--i say, when i heard of this, i was so completely disheartened that i scarcely knew what i was about. it was the first time that ever an expedition that i had planned failed, and also the first time in my life that i ever gave the order to retreat; and as i had every reason to hope for success, you can have some idea of how i felt. after you had gone, many facts came to light, of which no mention was made in mr. howe's report, and with which i was, of course, unacquainted, and i find that i have done you a great injustice. if ever a man earned a shoulder-strap, you did at that fight. i have, however, sent in your application for a court of inquiry, and have also represented the case to the admiral. as soon as we arrive at the flag-ship, you will report to him, and he will investigate the case." frank, as can easily be imagined, listened to this statement with a much lighter heart than when he had received that unjust reprimand. after the captain had finished questioning him in relation to incidents that had transpired during his captivity, he left the cabin, and went forward into the steerage, where he found his mess just sitting down to dinner. "well, frank," exclaimed keys, as the former entered and took his place at the table, "was the captain glad to see you?" "yes, he appeared to be," replied frank. "i thought as much. he has been as uneasy as a fish out of water ever since you were captured. he told the executive officer that if there was any thing he had ever done that he regretted, it was that he had given you that blowing up. he said that he had no right to talk to you as he did, and that he would make amends for it at the very first opportunity." "did he?" inquired mr. french, eagerly. "i was certain that the navy regulations state distinctly that the captain of a vessel has no right to reprimand an officer, and that, if he does do it, he can be made to apologize. he once gave me a blowing up, and said that i was of no more account on this ship than an extra boiler; and, if he has apologized to mr. nelson, he must do the same by me. i'll go and see him immediately after dinner." the effect of this speech on the older members of the mess can be easily imagined. they looked at mr. french for a moment, to see if he was really in earnest, and then burst into a fit of the most uproarious laughter. the idea of forcing the captain of a gun-boat to apologize to one of his subordinate officers for administering a reprimand that he really deserved, was ludicrous in the extreme. mr. keys was the only one who could keep a straight face. he, with his ready wit, at once saw that here was a capital chance to satisfy his love of mischief. he dropped his knife and fork, looked first at one, then at another, and, when the noise had subsided, said, quietly: "i don't see where the laugh comes in. perhaps some of you gentlemen think that an officer has no right to demand an apology from a superior! then i can tell you that you are very much mistaken, for i have got the whole thing in black and white, copied from the navy regulations; and, if i was in mr. french's place, i would make the captain take back what he said, or i would report him." we must pause here, for a moment, to say that the result of mr. french's interview with the captain, when the former had complained that his rank was not respected, had become known. mr. keys, who had overheard every word of it, and who was one of those uneasy, mischief-loving fellows who always liked to see some one in hot water, considered the joke as too good to be kept, and had told it, confidentially of course, first to this officer, then to that one, until every person on board the ship had become acquainted with the particulars; and thus far mr. french had been compelled to bear the jokes of his messmates without any chance of obtaining redress. however, he had discovered it at last. the captain had apologized to frank, and he must do the same by him, if he wished to keep out of trouble. he was certain that he should succeed this time, for he knew that keys had been in the service long enough to become well acquainted with its rules and regulations, and there was such apparent truthfulness and sincerity in what he said, that mr. french was certain of bringing the captain to terms. "yes, sir," repeated keys; "if my superior officer abuses me, i shall seek redress. because a man wears three or four stripes of gold lace around his arms, he has no right to impose upon me." "i shall see the captain about it as soon as i have finished my dinner," said mr. french, decidedly. "you had better let that job out," said the caterer, who, being a very quiet, staid sort of a person, did not wish to see any disturbance. "you will remember that you got a blowing up once for not taking my advice. i have been in the navy longer than you, and you had better listen to me." "i know that you have more experience than myself," answered french; "but that experience doesn't tell you that a captain can use me as he pleases. i have rank as well as he has. besides, you see, i have the advantage this time." "yes, sir," chimed in keys, winking at frank, who struggled hard to suppress a laugh, "and, if you will only push the matter, you will see some fun on this ship." here the subject was dropped. immediately after dinner was finished, as usual, the officers all congregated under the awning on the main-deck. mr. french walked up and down the deck, conversing earnestly with his two friends, who, entirely ignorant of what might be the consequences of such a step, were urging him to seek an interview with the captain, to demand an apology, which would certainly be given, and would show the ship's company that they _had_ rank, and that it must be respected. frank had for some time missed keys, and was wondering what had become of him, when he discovered that individual on his hands and knees behind the pilot-house, beckoning eagerly. frank walked toward him carelessly, so as not to attract the attention of mr. french and his friends, and, as he came up, keys said, in a hurried whisper: "see here, nelson; you know i told french that i had the rules and regulations all copied down in my order-book. now, it has just occurred to me that he might want to see them; so i want to write something to show him. i can't get to my room without his seeing me, so i wish you would lend me your key." frank accordingly produced it; but his conscience reproved him when he thought in what an unpleasant position his friend was endeavoring to place mr. french. "look here, keys," said he, "i propose that you don't carry this joke any further. it will get the poor greenhorn in a bad fix." "i can't help it," returned keys. "i have often volunteered to give him advice, and have tried to convince him that if he ever wants to understand his business he must make use of somebody's experience besides his own. but he has always snapped me up very short. now, if he wants to learn by experience, i'll help him all i can." so saying, keys crawled off on his hands and knees toward frank's room, where he locked himself in, and the latter returned to the main-deck. about an hour afterward keys made his appearance, walking rapidly across the deck, as if searching for something that he was in a great hurry to find, and thus attracted the attention of mr. french and his two friends, who took him familiarly by the arm and led him forward, out of ear-shot of the other officers, who were still seated on the main-deck. "see here, keys," said french, "i understood you to say that you had the regulations in relation to the treatment of subordinate officers, copied in your order-book. will you allow me to look at them?" "ah, yes," said keys, "i remember. here's something that relates to it;" and he produced his memorandum-book, and pointed to an article hastily written in lead pencil, which ran as follows: "_and be it further enacted_: that, as in the maintenance of his authority over his officers on shipboard, it is rendered necessary that the commanding officer should, in all cases, treat his subordinates as gentlemen, all harsh words from a commanding officer to an officer of lower grade are hereby strictly prohibited; and in all cases where the commander is guilty of a violation of this act, the person aggrieved shall be, and is hereby, authorized to seek redress." "there, gentlemen," exclaimed mr. french, after he had carefully read the article, "is an act of the american congress, which authorizes me to seek redress. all harsh words in the navy are strictly forbidden; and if the captain does not apologize for what he said to me, i'll report him." "you will please excuse me, gentlemen, for the present," said keys, who was finding it exceedingly difficult to control himself. "the turret must be got ready for inspection at sundown;" and, thrusting the book in his pocket, he walked rapidly below. mr. french immediately moved aft, and, drawing himself up very stiffly, said to the orderly: "tell the captain that i have business with him." the marine disappeared, and soon returned with a request that he would walk into the cabin. the captain was seated at his table, writing; but, as the mate entered, he dropped his pen, turned in his chair, and waited for him to make known his wants. "captain," began mr. french, hesitatingly, for he scarcely knew how to commence the conversation, "i--i--i--have been reading the navy regulations, and i find that i have been abused." "who has abused you, sir?" "well, you see, sir," began the mate---- "i asked you who had been abusing you, sir," interrupted the captain. "answer my question, and make your explanations afterward." "well, sir, to come to the point, you have abused me, sir." the captain started back in surprise, and looked at the mate for several moments, as if to make sure that he was in his right mind, and then quietly asked: "how have i abused you, sir?" "in reprimanding me, sir. the navy regulations distinctly state that a commanding officer has no right to use harsh words to his subordinates; and i demand an apology." "can you furnish me with a copy of those regulations?" "yes, sir; mr. keys has them," replied the mate; and he left the cabin, and commenced searching for that individual. we should remark that mr. keys was pretty well aware that he would be likely to get himself into hot water. wishing to delay the interview between himself and the captain as long as possible, he had retreated to the hold, where he appeared to be very busily engaged; but, as soon as mr. french made known his errand, he readily produced his book, glad indeed that he was to be let off without seeing the captain. the mate carried it into the cabin. the captain read over the article several times, and then arose from his seat, and, going to one of the after-ports, appeared to be busily engaged with his own thoughts. mr. french stood watching him with a smile of triumph, certain that the captain had been worsted, and that he would soon receive the required apology; but, had he been a keen observer, he would have seen that the captain was convulsed with laughter, which he was vainly endeavoring to conceal. he easily saw through the trick, and it reminded him of the days when he was a midshipman, and had been implicated in similar jokes. "mr. french," said he, at length, "you may retire for a few moments. i will send for you presently. orderly, tell mr. keys that i wish to see him." chapter ix. a practical joke. mr. keys, who began to be really afraid that the plan he had adopted for assisting his green messmate to "learn by experience" was about to rebound with redoubled force on his own head, was found by the orderly in earnest conversation with frank, to whom he always went for advice. "it's getting hot, nelson," said he. "what shall i do? i'm in for my share of the rations this time, sure." "make a clean breast of it," replied frank. "you will only get yourself in trouble if you do not, for the captain knows exactly how the matter stands." the mate had already determined to make a full confession; but, nevertheless, his feelings, as he entered the cabin, were not of the most pleasant nature. his reception, however, was far different from what he had expected. the captain, as we have seen, was one of the most reasonable men in the world, if approached in the proper manner, and if he saw that an officer endeavored to do his duty, he was very patient with him; if he found that a reprimand was necessary, it was administered in the most friendly manner; but if he once took it into his head that an officer had willfully, or through negligence, omitted a portion of his duty, then, as the ship's company used to remark, it was "stand from under." mr. keys was a great favorite with the captain, as he was with all his brother officers, who admired his dashing style and his good-natured disposition. he was never idle, but was always hurrying about the ship, as if the well-being of every person on board depended upon himself, and, as a consequence, his duty was always done, and the deck of which he had charge was kept in the nicest order. as he entered the cabin the captain greeted him with a smile. pointing to a chair, he inquired, as he commenced turning over the leaves of the memorandum-book: "mr. keys, is this some of your work?" "yes, sir," answered the mate. "well, what in the world possessed you to hoodwink mr. french in this manner?" "because, sir, he has often informed me, when i have undertaken to instruct him, that he wishes to learn every thing by experience, sir. i have been assisting him." "do you think he has improved any with your help?" "yes, sir; he has learned that his authority in the mess-room is not equal to that of the caterer." "well, i thought you had a hand in that affair," said the captain, "and now i wish to give you a piece of advice. i, myself, have often been in such scrapes as this, and have been brought up with a round turn. this reminds me of a little incident that happened while i was a midshipman on the colorado. the story has grown old by this time, but it will be considered a good one as long as the navy shall exist. there were eight of us in the mess, and while we were lying at the navy-yard we had nothing to do but to play tricks upon each other, and upon every one who came in our way. our ship was commanded by a commodore who never bothered his head about us so long as we remained within bounds. as is always the case, we abused our privileges, grow's bolder by degrees, until finally the commodore taught us a lesson that we never forgot. "one pleasant afternoon, as we were lounging about the decks, waiting for something to turn up, we saw a green-looking specimen of humanity come over the side, and, in an instant, were on the alert. he, probably, had never been on board of a man-o'-war before, for he stared with open mouth at every thing he saw. here was a chance for us, and as soon as the officer of the deck had walked aft, out of sight, we collared the countryman, and led him back to our mess-room. "'by gum, but you have got every thing nice here,' said he. 'i'd like this better than workin' on a farm.' "'ah, you ought to go up in the commodore's cabin if you want to see something nice,' said a midshipman, who was our leader in all sorts of mischief. 'but, look here, my friend, if you wish to remain with us, you must have on a uniform. no civilians are allowed to stay here.' "we all took this as a hint, and commenced rigging the yankee out in our clothes. one furnished him with a coat, another a pair of pants, another a cap, and i gave him a sword that had just been presented to me. "'now,' said our leader, 'do you want a good dinner--one of the very best?' "'sartin,' replied the countryman. 'got any?' "'no; but the commodore has, and it is just about his dinner time.' "we then explained to him that he must go up to the cabin and tell the commodore that he had just been ordered to the ship; and, in accordance with his usual custom, the old gentleman would be certain to invite him to dinner. "'he is very cross sometimes,' said we, 'but don't be at all afraid of him--he doesn't mean any thing. talk to him as though he was your father.' "'by gum, i kin do that,' said the yankee, and off he walked, while we took up a position where we could hear and see all that passed. "the commodore was seated at his desk, writing, and the countryman at once walked up to him, slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and shouted: "'hullo, ole hoss! how de do? shake hands with a feller, won't ye?' "the commodore looked up in surprise, and ejaculated: "'eh! what do you want here? get out of this. away you go.' "'o no, ole hoss, not by a long shot,' replied the yankee, coolly seating himself in the nearest chair. 'them ar young fellers down stairs told me to come up here and git some dinner; and, by gravy, i ain't goin' till i git it; so fetch it on.' "of course, it was as plain as daylight to the commodore that we were at the bottom of the whole affair, for the countryman never would have had the audacity to act in such a manner, unless some one had put him up to it, and he determined to punish us in a manner that we had not thought of. "'look here, my man,' said he, 'do you see that soldier out there?' pointing to a marine that was pacing back and forth before the gangway. 'well, he has got a loaded musket, and unless you get off this ship instantly, he will shoot you. now, away you go, you land-lubber, and don't stop to talk to any body.' "we saw our victim moving off, and were convulsed with laughter at what we considered to be the best joke we had ever perpetrated. we supposed, of course, that he would return with our clothes, but you can imagine our astonishment when we saw him walk down the gang-plank and out on to the wharf. we held a hurried consultation, and then i started for the cabin, and, making my best bow, asked permission to step ashore for a moment. "'no, sir,' replied the commodore; 'no shore liberty is to be granted to-day.' "in short, we all lost our clothing--every thing that we had loaned the countryman--and a more crest-fallen set of midshipmen one never saw. we endeavored to keep the affair a secret, but the commodore told it to the first lieutenant, and from him it soon spread, until the entire ship's company were acquainted with the particulars. we were very careful after that, and never undertook to play any more jokes on the commodore. there are many things objectionable in this custom--for i can call it nothing else--which is so general among young officers, of playing off tricks upon each other; and your jokes are getting a little too practical. if you must indulge in them, i wish you would endeavor to keep them out of the cabin, for i don't like to be bothered. that will do, sir." mr. keys retired, highly pleased with the result of his interview with the captain, and went straight to frank, to whom he related every thing, and showed him the sham "regulation" in his memorandum-book, which had been the cause of so much merriment. mr. french was soon afterward seen to emerge from the cabin, where he had listened to a lengthy lecture, containing advice which, if followed, would in future prevent all difficulty. of course, all the officers were soon made acquainted with the affair, and many were the inquiries, in mr. french's hearing, as to what kind of an apology the captain had made. it is needless to say that he was fully convinced that "experience is a hard taskmaster," and that it is well enough, especially on shipboard, to take advice. a few days after the events which we have just been relating transpired, the ticonderoga arrived at yazoo river. in obedience to his orders, frank reported on board the flag-ship. owing to a press of business, it was nearly a week before the court of inquiry was convened. scarcely an hour was passed in the examination of the witnesses, during which time the main facts of the case were developed, frank completely vindicated, and mr. howe, who had reported him, was sent on board of ship in disgrace. the same evening the former received his promotion as acting ensign, accompanied by orders to report on board of the trenton for duty. "i am very glad, for your sake, mr. nelson," said the captain, "to be able to give you this promotion, but very sorry for my own. i regret exceedingly that you are detached from this vessel, but it is something over which i have no control. i am perfectly satisfied with your conduct since you have been with me. if you will attend to your duties in future as well as you have since you have been here, i will answer for your rapid advancement." chapter x. new messmates. the next morning, immediately after quarters, the second cutter was called away; and frank, after seeing his luggage safely stowed away in her, shook hands with his brother officers, who had gathered on the quarter-deck to see him off, and started toward his new vessel. the cutter had made, perhaps, a dozen yards from the ticonderoga, when frank observed a commotion among the crew assembled on the main-deck, and the old mate, mounting one of the boat-davits, shouted: "three cheers for mr. nelson!" the cheers were given with a will, and frank answered them by taking off his cap. it was one of the happiest moments of his life. he knew that while attached to the ticonderoga he had endeavored to do his whole duty. the shoulder-straps which he wore showed that his services had been appreciated by the captain, and the hearty expression of good feeling which had just been exhibited by the men, afforded abundant proof that he had left no enemies among them. when he arrived alongside of the rover, he found the officer of the deck, boatswain's mate, and side-boys standing on the after-guard, and frank was "piped over the side" with all the ceremony due his rank. it made him feel a little embarrassed at first, for never before had so much respect been shown him. but he knew that he had won the uniform he wore by hard knocks, and was more entitled to this honor than those who sported ensign's shoulder-straps which had been obtained, not by any skill or bravery of their own, but by the influence of friends at home. frank made known his business, and was immediately shown down into the cabin. the captain, who had often met him on board of the ticonderoga, and who had heard of his exploits, greeted him cordially, and was glad to learn that he had received such an acquisition to his crew. when he had endorsed frank's orders, he sent for the chief engineer, to whom he introduced him, with a request that he might be made acquainted with the other officers of his mess; after which frank was shown to his room, whither his luggage was soon conveyed. just before supper he was introduced to the officers belonging to the ward-room mess; but when he had seated himself at the table, and listened a few moments to the conversation that followed, he found that some of his new messmates went by names very different from those by which they had been introduced. one of the ensigns, whose name was andrews, was known as count timbertoes, from the very dignified manner in which he always conducted himself, and from his wooden-leg style of progression. the executive officer, whose name was short, answered to its opposite--long; and sometimes, behind his back, he was called "windy." frank was not long in discovering why it was that such a name had been given him, for he was certainly the most talkative man he had ever met; and when asked the most simple question, instead of answering it by a plain yes or no, he would "beat about the bush," and deliver a regular oration on the subject. he had a great command of language, and seemed desirous of making every one whom he met acquainted with the fact. the paymaster went by the name of young methuselah. he was a man about twenty-seven years of age, but the account kept by one of the engineers, who messed in the steerage, made him about two hundred and eighty years old. there was scarcely a trade or profession in the world that, according to his own account, he had not followed for five or ten years. he had been a shoemaker, a painter, a grocer, a horse-jockey, and an editor; had practiced medicine, traveled in europe, and, when a mere boy, had been master of as fine a vessel as ever sailed out of boston. he was a "self-made man," he said, and early in life had started out with the intention of seeing the world. this was the reason he gave for following so many different occupations. unlike the rest of the officers, he disliked very much the name they had given him, and had often complained to the caterer of the mess, and finally to the captain. the former took no measures to correct it, and the latter "didn't want to be troubled with mess affairs," and so the paymaster was compelled to bear his troubles, which he did with a very bad grace, that only made matters tenfold worse. it was a noticeable fact, however, that, whenever any of the officers were in need of money, he was always addressed as _mr._ harris, but as soon as the money had been obtained, or the safe was empty, he was plain methuselah again. the chief-engineer's name was cobbs, but he went by the name of gentleman cobbs, from the fact that he was always dressed in the height of fashion, sported his gold-headed cane and patent-leather boots about decks, and had never been known to "do a stitch of work" since he had been on board the vessel. these names were, of course, applied only in the mess-room, for the captain was a regular naval officer, a very strict disciplinarian, and any such familiarity on deck would have brought certain and speedy punishment on the offender. on the whole, frank was very well pleased with his new messmates; they seemed to be a set of generous, good-natured men, and, aside from the grumbling of the paymaster, which was kept up without intermission from morning until night, but which received no attention from the other members of the mess, every thing passed off smoothly. the ward-room was kept scrupulously clean and neat, and the manner in which all the delicacies of the season were served up bore testimony to the fact that, although gentleman cobbs was very much averse to work, he well understood the business of catering, and was fond of good living. after dinner, the officers belonging to both the steerage and ward-room messes congregated on the main-deck, under the awning, to smoke. during the conversation the carpenter, who went by the name of "chips," remarked, as he wiped the big drops of perspiration from his forehead: "this boat is intolerable. i would like to be where i was six years ago this summer." "where was that?" "i was in a whale-ship, off the coast of greenland. i was tired enough of it then, but now i'd like to have just one breath of air off those icebergs." "so would i," said the paymaster. "it would be so refreshing." at this, a little, dumpy man, who had sat lolling back in his chair, with his hat pushed down over his eyes, and his cigar, which he had allowed to go out, pointing upward toward his left cheek, started up, and carelessly inquired: "were you ever there, sir?" "yes, when i was a youngster. i went up there just to see the country. i spent five years on the voyage." the dumpy man made no answer, but there was a roguish twinkle in his eye, as he drew a little memorandum-book from his pocket, and, after deliberately placing it on his knee, proceeded to make the following entry, on a page which was headed "chronological tables," and which was covered on one side with writing, and on the other by a long column of figures: paymaster spent on voyage to greenland years. after adding up the column of figures, he closed the book and returned it to his pocket. then, turning to the paymaster, he quietly remarked: "four hundred and eighty-five years old! that's doing well-extremely well. you don't look as old as that, sir. you won't find one man in five hundred hold his age as well as you do." the effect of this speech on the officers sitting around was ludicrous in the extreme, and had the party been in the mess-room the dumpy man might possibly have been obliged to "run a race" with a boot-jack, or any other missile that came handy to the paymaster; but as it was, the latter was compelled to choke down his wrath, and leave the deck. frank also found that these strange cognomens were common in the steerage; one, in particular, he noticed. it was a master's mate, who went by the name of "nuisance." he was as "green" as he could possibly be, and, although he seemed to try hard to learn his duty, was continually getting himself into trouble. he had a room off the quarter-deck, (the same that frank was to occupy,) but seemed to prefer any other room than his own; for, when off watch, he would take possession of the first bunk that suited his fancy; and, not unfrequently, boots, neck-ties, collars, etc., which had been missed, were found upon his person. it was not his intention to _steal_ them, for the articles were always returned after he had worn them to his satisfaction. if an officer went into his room to write, or to engage in any other business at which he did not wish to be disturbed, the mate was sure to be on hand, and hints were of no avail; nothing but a direct "clear out--i don't want you in here," would have the desired effect. it was this habit that had given him the name he bore. one would suppose that after receiving so many rebuffs he would cease to trouble his brother officers; but he seemed to be very dull of comprehension. the executive officer scolded him continually. finding that it did no good, the officers were obliged, as a last resort, to keep their rooms locked. had the mate been of a surly, unaccommodating disposition, he would not have got off so easily; but no one could have the heart to report him, for every one liked him. he was always cheerful, ready to do any one a favor, and was generous to a fault. frank at once took a liking to his new room-mate, but, having been duly instructed by the others, he took particular pains to keep all his wearing apparel, when not in use, safely locked in his trunk. chapter xi. a good night's work. frank's past history soon became known to every one on board the trenton, for several of the crew had acquaintances on board of the ticonderoga, and when they were allowed liberty, had taken pains to inquire into the character of their new officer. he was scarcely allowed time to become settled down in his new quarters, before he was given an opportunity to establish his reputation among his messmates. information was received that the rebels were intending to cross a large body of cavalry about twenty miles above the yazoo river, and the trenton was ordered up the mississippi to prevent it, if possible. for several days they patrolled the river near the suspected point, but nothing unusual was seen; neither could any intelligence of the contemplated move be obtained from the people on shore. there were several houses on the beat, and in one of them lived a frenchman, who, as he said, having claimed the protection of his own country, was not compelled to bear arms; neither was he at all interested in the war. it was near his house, however, that the crossing of the cavalry was to take place, and the captain of the trenton thought that this neutral frenchman would bear watching. although there were several white women on the premises, he was the only man who had been seen; and he seemed to be in constant anxiety lest the rebels should confiscate a large drove of cattle he had at a pasture back in the country, and was in the habit of riding out twice each week to "see to them," as he said. there was something suspicious in this, for persons as much in want of provisions as the rebels were reported to be--as they had gathered up all the stock in the country for miles around vicksburg--would not be likely to respect such property, although it did belong to a neutral. the captain and his officers mingled freely with the people, who appeared to be eager to communicate all the plans of the rebels with which they had become acquainted. frank, as usual, was on the watch; and if he sometimes paid a visit to the house, he was more frequently seen questioning the negroes--of whom there were about half a dozen on the plantation, the others having been compelled to leave their master to work on the fortifications--who were either profoundly ignorant of what was going on, or else were true rebels. there was one negro, in particular, in whom the young officer was interested. he was a tall, muscular fellow, black as midnight, about whom there was a kind of sneaking, hangdog look that frank did not like. he always accompanied his master on his trips to attend his cattle, and frank felt confident that if any one about the plantation knew of any thing suspicious going on, it was this negro; but, in spite of his efforts, he could not find an opportunity to talk with him, for the negro was generally in the company of his master, and, when alone, seemed to take particular pains to avoid the young officer. this was enough to arouse his suspicions, and he determined to watch him closely. he reported the matter to the captain, who readily granted his request that he might be allowed to spend his time, when off watch, on shore. a week passed, but nothing had been developed. at length, one morning the frenchman prepared to pay his usual visit to the country. the negro was to accompany him, and as frank saw them about to move off, he inquired, carelessly: "haven't you got another horse? if you have, i should like to go with you." "o, no," answered the man, quickly, "i have no other horse; and if i had, it wouldn't do for you to go, for you would certainly get captured." this set frank to thinking. the frenchman had often told him that there were no rebels in that section of the country, and now his excuse for not wanting company was that frank would be captured. there was something suspicious in this. after seeing the man depart, he hailed the ship for a boat, and as soon as he arrived on board, sought an interview with the captain. "i do not believe, sir," said he, "that this frenchman owns any stock in the country. it is my opinion that he goes out there to hold communication with the rebels. he's a sort of spy and messenger-boy, and relies on his nationality to protect him from suspicion." frank then related the particulars of what had transpired at the house, and the captain readily agreed with him. but the question was, how to proceed, in order to ascertain what was going on, and what kind of information was furnished the rebels. it was impossible to follow the men on their trips without being discovered; neither was it policy to seize the man, accuse him of treachery, and compel him to confess the truth, for the plot, whatever it was, might not be completed, and it might be necessary to keep the frenchman in ignorance of the fact that his complicity with the rebels had become known, in order that, when the work was completed, it might be finished up entirely. "well, to tell the truth," said the captain, rising from his chair and pacing up and down the cabin, "i really don't know how to act. that something is wrong, i have long been satisfied; but i don't know how to go to work to find out what it is." "i believe i can find it out, sir," said frank, who, with his usual promptness, had determined upon a plan. "they will return this afternoon about three o'clock, and, with your permission, i'll see what i can do." "very well," replied the captain, in a tone which showed that he did not anticipate his success. "go ahead; but be careful not to excite their suspicions." such a commission as this--something requiring skill and judgment--was just what suited frank, and, having laid his plans, he felt confident of success. at half-past two a boat was called away, and he, in company with the mate--both armed with revolvers--went on shore. frank walked up to the house and seated himself on the portico, while the mate, previously instructed, strolled off toward the barn. there were two officers in the house belonging to the vessel, and frank had spent but a few moments in conversation with them, when the frenchman and the negro rode up. the former dismounted and greeted the officers with apparent cordiality, but frank scarcely noticed him, for his eyes were upon the negro, who rode off toward the barn to put up the horses. frank arose from his seat and followed slowly after him. as the officers were accustomed to roam wherever they pleased about the plantation, no notice was taken of his movements. when he reached the barn where the negro was unsaddling the horses, he entered and closed the door behind him. the negro became terrified when he found himself thus confronted, for suspicions that he and his master had been discovered instantly flashed across his mind. "ah, i know that you are guilty, you rascal," said frank, triumphantly, as he noticed the man's trepidation. "come here; i want to have a few moments' conversation with you on a very important subject. come here." the negro dropped the saddle which he had just taken from one of the horses, and stood for a moment undecided how to act; then springing forward like a tiger, he thrust the officer aside, and endeavored to open the door. quick as thought, frank grappled with him, but the negro was a most powerful fellow, and would no doubt have succeeded in escaping, had not the mate sprang from a manger, where he had lain concealed, and felled him to the floor with a blow from the butt of his revolver. for some time he lay insensible, in spite of the buckets of water which were dashed over him; but at length he began to recover. when he was able to sit up, the mate stationed himself at the door to guard against surprise, and frank proceeded to interrogate the negro. "in the first place," said he, "i guess you have found that we are in earnest, haven't you?" the negro felt of his head, but made no reply. "now," continued frank, "unless you answer every question i ask you, i'll take you on board the ship as a prisoner. what do you and your master go out into the country for, twice every week?" the negro still remained silent, and frank, finally growing impatient, exclaimed, "here, jack, take this scoundrel on board the ship; i guess we can find means to make him open his mouth." "o, my master will kill me," whimpered the negro, trembling violently. "if i don't tell you every thing, you will kill me; and if i do, my master will kill me, too; so i shall die any way." "no you won't; just tell me the truth, and i'll see that no one harms you. your master need know nothing about it; we shall not be likely to tell him. now, what is there out in the country that you go to see so often?" "torpedoes," replied the negro, in a low voice, gazing about the barn with a frightened air, as if he expected to see his master appear before him in some magical manner. "torpedoes!" repeated frank. "where are they?" "in a little creek about six miles from here." "who is making them? are there any rebels there?" "yes; there is a colonel, major, and lieutenant there; but my master's black men are doing the work." by adroit questioning--for the negro was very careful to answer no further than he was asked--frank finally gleaned the whole particulars. one piece of information troubled him not a little, and that was, an attempt was soon to be made to blow up the trenton. he also learned the number of the torpedoes, the manner of operating with them, and other particulars that will soon appear. he was then as much puzzled as ever, and paced the floor of the barn, undecided how to act. the time set for the sinking of the trenton was friday night, (it was then thursday), and as information of her movements was every day conveyed to the rebels, the question was, how to keep them in ignorance that their plot had been discovered, so that the work might be carried on as usual. there was, apparently, but one way, and that was to hold out inducements to the negro. "see here," frank suddenly exclaimed, "you are between two fires now." "i know that," replied the negro, well aware that he was in a most precarious situation; "i know that. but what am i to do?" "well, this is what you must do," answered frank; "go off and attend to your business, just as you did before. of course you won't be foolish enough to say a word about this meeting to any one around the plantation; but if every thing does not transpire to-morrow night just as you said it would, i shall think that you have been telling some one, and that the plot is discovered, and then you're a goner. but if you will assist me, i will take care of you; i will take you on board the ship, and make a free man of you." the negro, who had been worked up to the highest pitch of terror at the turn affairs were taking, brightened up when the words "free man" struck his ear, and frank, who was a pretty good judge of human nature, could easily read what was passing in his mind, and knew that in the negro he had a faithful coadjutor. "now, if you are certain that you understand what i mean," said he, "be off. go out the back door, so that no one will see you from the house; and remember that your freedom depends upon the manner in which you behave yourself." the negro arose from the floor, and speedily made his exit. after waiting long enough to allow him to reach the house, frank and the mate slipped out of the front door. giving the negro quarters a wide berth, they approached the house in a different direction from that in which they had left it. the mate had been instructed to keep the affair a profound secret, for, now that they had succeeded in working out so much of the plot, they wished to have the honor of completing it. after a few moments' conversation with the frenchman at the house, they repaired on board the vessel. "i have returned, sir," said frank, as he entered the cabin. "so i see," replied the captain, good-humoredly, "and have, i suppose, accomplished nothing." "no, sir; i can't say that," answered frank, guardedly. "i have accomplished considerable. i know that the frenchman is a spy; that he has daily communication with the rebels, and that his story of visiting his stock in the country is nonsense. he has about as many cattle there as i have." "have you indeed succeeded?" inquired the captain, in surprise. "well, no, sir, not entirely," replied frank, who did not know how much it was best to tell the captain. "i have learned more than that, but it takes time to complete the work. before i go further, sir, i should like authority to manage the affair myself. after i have gone as far as i have, i shouldn't like to be superseded." "that was not my intention. no one shall be placed over you. if you can accomplish any thing more, do it. but what else did you hear?" frank then related the result of the interview between himself and the negro, and then left the cabin, with repeated assurances that his plans for capturing the rebels should not be interfered with. the next day, it seemed to frank, moved on laggard wings; but afternoon came at length. he then went on shore, and after having learned from the negro that every thing was working as nicely as could be wished, returned, and commenced making his preparations for the night's work. at eight o'clock he again left the vessel in a small skiff, with two negroes for a crew, and the mate shortly followed in the cutter, with twenty men, all well armed. the former held up the river, and the cutter pulled in an opposite direction. the officers of the ship were, of course, very much surprised at these movements. as they had not been informed of what was going on, they thronged the forward part of the deck, watching the expedition as long as it remained in sight. the night was dark as pitch, but it could not have been better for their purpose; and frank was highly delighted at the handsome manner in which all his plans were working, and which promised complete success. he held his course up the river until he arrived at a small creek whose mouth was almost concealed by thick bushes and trees. he boldly entered this creek, but had not proceeded far when a voice hailed: "who comes there?" "death to the yankees," promptly replied frank. "why, you're half an hour ahead of time," said the voice. "didn't the yanks see you as you came up?" "i'll wager a good deal they did," said another voice. "it would be just our luck to have the whole affair knocked in the head. but we'll make the attempt, any way. come up here." it was so dark in the creek that frank could scarcely see his hand before him; but he knew pretty well who it was addressing him. pulling up the creek, in obedience to the order, he came in sight of a boat lying close to the bank, in the shade of the bushes that hung out over the water. in this boat were seated three men, two of whom were holding in their hands several ropes that led to a dark object that lay in the water astern of the skiff. "here's the torpedo," said one of the men, as frank came alongside, and as he spoke he passed the ropes over to the young officer. "just drop silently down the river as far as you can without being discovered, and then cast off the torpedo, and let it float down on to the trenton. we'll go up on the bank and watch the experiment." "gentlemen," said frank, suddenly pulling a brace of revolvers from his pocket, "you are my prisoners." as he spoke, the negroes threw down their oars and sprang into the skiff. before the rebels could draw a weapon, they were powerless in the strong grasp of frank's sable coadjutors. the prisoners were the colonel and major of whom the negro at the plantation had spoken. the third person in the boat was one of the frenchman's slaves, who had rowed the boat down the creek for the rebels. he had jumped to his feet as if about to escape, but had been collared by one of frank's negroes, and thrown into the bottom of the boat, where the fear of the revolvers kept him quiet. "what's the meaning of all this?" asked the colonel, as he struggled furiously to free himself. [illustration] "it means," replied frank, coolly, "that you are prisoners in the hands of those you sought to destroy. so surrender yourselves without any more fuss. make their hands fast, boys." the negroes, who seemed to be well prepared, drew from their pockets several pieces of stout cord, with which they proceeded to tie the arms of the rebels, who, finding that escape was impossible, submitted to the operation without any further resistance. as soon as they were secured, frank made the torpedo fast to the bank, after which he and his men, with the prisoners, disembarked, and commenced marching toward the house. they had proceeded but a short distance when they received a challenge, to which frank replied, when they were joined by three of the crew, who had been stationed on the bank by the mate, to capture the rebels, in case they should escape from his officer. the prisoners were given into their charge, and frank continued his march toward the house, congratulating himself that, although his work was but half done, he had succeeded beyond his expectations. the field about the house was silent as death, but he knew that the mate had neglected none of his instructions, and that trusty men were hidden all around him, ready at any moment to lend effective assistance. arriving at the door, he pounded loudly upon it with the butt of his revolver. the summons was answered by the frenchman, who gazed upon our hero with surprise, not unmingled with a feeling of alarm. "i'm glad to see you," said frank. "you're just the chap i want." the frenchman comprehended at once that he had been betrayed. drawing a pistol, he leveled it full at frank's head, but before he had time to fire, a blow from a saber in the hands of one of the negroes, who had followed close behind frank, knocked the weapon from his grasp. the next moment the back door of the room was suddenly opened, and the frenchman was clasped in the sturdy arms of the mate. "give him to some of the men, jack," said frank, "and then follow me quick, or we may be too late." the order was obeyed, and the mate, accompanied by the two negroes, followed frank, who led the way back to the creek where the torpedo had been captured. they were just in the "nick of time," for, as they approached, they distinctly heard a voice inquire: "where's the colonel? here's the torpedo, made fast to the bank. i wonder if there is any thing wrong?" frank and the mate at once became more cautious in their movements, but their approach had already been discovered, for the lieutenant called out: "who goes there?" "yankees," replied frank, stepping out from the bushes, with a revolver in each hand. "come out here, and surrender!" the rebel was taken so completely by surprise that he seemed deprived of all power of action. he could hardly realize that he was a prisoner, until frank repeated his order in a more decided manner, adding, "i'm a good shot at that distance." the lieutenant evidently did not doubt this, for he arose to his feet, and sprang out upon the bank. the prisoners having now all been secured, frank collected his men and returned on board his vessel. we will now pause to explain. frank, as we have seen, had learned from the negro that one of the torpedoes would be finished by friday night; that it was to be towed down the creek to the river by the colonel and major, who were to put it in working order, and deliver it to the lieutenant, who, with two negroes to row his boat, was to leave the plantation at half-past eight o'clock, to note the exact position of the trenton, so that, after getting the torpedo into position, he could allow it to float down upon the vessel. the frenchman was to be on board, and, with the assistance of the negroes, was to capture any who might escape the explosion. frank had laid his plans to capture the lieutenant first; but, through fear of creating a disturbance, or being seen from the house, he had been compelled to abandon the idea, and had started half an hour earlier, that he might secure the lieutenant after the capture of the others had been effected, and before he would have time to discover that any thing was wrong. his plans had all worked so admirably, that he was not a little elated with his success. it was a happy moment for him when he brought his prisoners over the side of the vessel, and conducted them to the quarter-deck, where the captain and all the officers were waiting to receive them. the necessary explanations were soon given, after which the prisoners were ordered below, and frank retired to his room, well satisfied with his night's work. the next morning an expedition went ashore, accompanied by the captain. after destroying the torpedo which had been captured the night before, they were conducted by the negro to the place where several more were in process of completion. these also were demolished. while thus engaged, one of the sentinels, which frank had posted a short distance up the road, fired his gun, and commenced retreating. frank at once formed his men in line, in readiness for an attack. shortly afterward a company of cavalry came galloping around a bend in the road, and fired their carbines at the sentinel, who ran for dear life. they halted, however, on seeing the preparations made to receive them, and the captain, taking advantage of this, ordered frank to fire. the muskets cracked in rapid succession, and, when the smoke cleared away, the sailors saw several riderless horses galloping about, showing that their fire had been effective. the rebels scattered in all directions, and, dismounting, concealed themselves behind logs and bushes, and commenced fighting in their regular indian fashion. the captain, knowing that such an action would not result advantageously to him, and having accomplished the work for which he had set out, ordered the sailors to fall back slowly. as they obeyed, the rebels commenced pursuing; but the expedition reached the river without the loss of a single man. the officer in command of the vessel, hearing the firing, commenced shelling the woods, and under cover of this fire the sailors reached the ship in safety. the work which had been assigned the trenton had not been accomplished, but as the time allotted for her stay had expired, she started the next morning to join the fleet at yazoo river. the prisoners were delivered over to the commanding naval officer--the admiral being below the batteries--to whom a flattering mention was made of frank, and the skillful manner in which he had performed his work. the young officer received the assurance that his gallant exploit should not be overlooked. chapter xii. in the trenches. the day after their arrival at yazoo river an officer from the flag-ship came on board. after holding a short consultation with the captain, the order was given to get the ship under way, when, as soon as the anchor was weighed, they steamed down the river. what could be the meaning of this new move? were their services needed below vicksburg, and were they about to imitate the queen of the west, and run by the batteries in broad daylight? that hardly seemed to be the case, for the men were not called to quarters, and the officers were allowed to remain on deck. every one was excited, and many were the speculations indulged in as to what was to be the next duty the trenton would be called on to perform. to the impatient men, the seven miles that lay between yazoo river and vicksburg seemed lengthened into a hundred; but at length they rounded the point above the mouth of the canal, and saw before them the sebastopol of the rebellion. it was the first time frank had ever seen the city, and it was a sight that he would not have missed for a good deal. on the heights above the city, and even in the streets, the little mounds of earth thrown up showed where rebel cannon were mounted, and now and then a puff of smoke would rise from one of these mounds, and a shell would go shrieking toward the solid lines of the besiegers, which now completely inclosed the rebels, while an occasional roar of heavy guns told them that the iron-clads still kept close watch on the movements of the enemy below. the right of the army rested on the river, above the city, and here the trenton landed, just out of range of the batteries. preparations were at once made to move some of the guns on shore. the ones selected were those belonging to frank's division, and they were to be mounted in the batteries above the city, and about a quarter of a mile from the river. it was something of a task to move the battery that distance, but frank and his men worked incessantly, and on the second night the guns were brought to the place where it was proposed to mount them. the sailors, although almost exhausted, at once commenced throwing up a battery; but as soon as the day dawned, a couple of shells, whistling over their heads, admonished them that it was time to cease. after a hearty breakfast on the rations they had brought with them, the men lay down in the trenches, and, wearied with their night's work, slept soundly, in spite of the roar of cannon and the rattling of musketry that had commenced as soon as it became light enough for the combatants to distinguish each other. but life in the trenches was a new thing to frank, and he walked through the rifle-pits, every-where cordially greeted by the soldiers, who liked the looks of these big guns, with which they knew he had something to do, and who made their boasts that, as soon as the "beauties" were mounted and in position, they would "square accounts" with the rebels. there was one gun in particular that annoyed the soldiers exceedingly, and prevented them from working on the trenches. every time a shell flew over their heads, they would exclaim, "shoot away there, for this is your last day;" and frank was obliged to promise, over and over again, that his first care should be to dismount that gun. frank found that, the further he went, the nearer the rifle-pits approached to the city; and finally he came to a group of soldiers who appeared to be conversing with some invisible persons. as he approached, he heard a voice, which seemed to come from the ground, almost at his side, exclaim: "i say, yank, throw over your plug of tobacco, won't you?" "can't see it, johnny," replied one of the soldiers. "you wouldn't throw it back again." "yes, i will, honor bright," answered the rebel. "why," exclaimed frank, in surprise, "i didn't know that you had pushed your lines so close to the enemy's works!" "yes," said a lieutenant, who at this moment came up, "there's a rebel rifle-pit not four feet from you." "here," said a soldier, handing frank his gun, "put your cap on this bayonet and hold it up, and you'll soon see how far off they are." frank did as the soldier suggested. the moment he raised his cap above the rifle-pit, a bayonet was suddenly thrust out, and when it was drawn in, his cap went with it. "now, look at that!" exclaimed frank. "it's very provoking!" "aha, yank! you're minus that head-piece," shouted a voice, which was followed by a roar of laughter from the rebels, and from all the soldiers in the rifle-pit who had witnessed the performance. "i'm sorry, sir," said the soldier. "i did not want you to lose your cap." then, raising his voice, he shouted--"johnny, throw that cap back here!" "o, no," answered the rebel; "but i'll trade with you. a fair exchange is no robbery, you know," and as he spoke a hat came sailing through the air, and fell into the rifle-pit. it was a very dilapidated looking affair, bearing unmistakable proofs of long service and hard usage. "say, yank," continued the rebel, "do you see a hole in the crown of that hat?" "do you call this thing a hat?" asked frank, lifting the article in question on the point of his sword, and holding it up to the view of the soldiers. "it bears about as much resemblance to a hat as it does to a coffee-pot." "i don't care what you call it," returned the rebel; "i know it has seen two years' hard service. that hole you see in the crown was made by one of your bullets, and my head was in the hat at the time, too." "well, throw me my cap," said frank; "i don't want to trade." "what will you give?" "we will return your hat, and give you a big chew of tobacco to boot," said the lieutenant. "that's a bargain," said the rebel. "let's have it." "we are not doing a credit business on this side of the house," answered frank. "you throw over my cap first." "you're sure you don't intend to swindle a fellow? upon your honor, now." "try me and see," replied frank, with a laugh. "here you are, then;" and the missing cap was thrown into the rifle-pit, and a soldier restored it to its owner. it was rather the worse for its short sojourn in the rebel hands, for there was a bayonet hole clear through it. "say, you rebel," exclaimed frank, "why didn't you tell me that you had stuck a bayonet into my cap?" "couldn't help it, yank," was the answer. "come now, i've filled my part of the contract, so live up to your promise. remember, you said honor bright." "well here's your hat," replied frank; and he threw the article in question over to its rebel owner. "and here's your tobacco, johnny," chimed in a soldier, who cut off a huge piece of the weed, and threw it after the hat. "yank, you're a gentleman," said the rebel, speaking in a thick tone, which showed that the much coveted article had already found its way into his mouth. "if i've got any thing you want, just say so, and you can have it; any thing except my weapons." frank, who was so much amused at what had just taken place that he laughed until his jaws ached, returned his mutilated cap to his head, and, in company with the lieutenant, continued his ramble among the rifle-pits, the latter explaining the operations of the siege, and the various incidents that had transpired since it commenced. the rifle-pits, the entire length of general sherman's command, were close upon those of the rebels, and the soldiers of both sides were compelled to suspend operations almost entirely. if a man raised his head to select a mark for his rifle, he would find a rebel, almost within reach, on the watch for him. the soldiers were very communicative, and all along the line frank saw groups of men holding conversation with their invisible enemies. after viewing the works to his satisfaction, frank accompanied the lieutenant to his quarters--a rude hut, which had been hastily built of logs and branches, situated in a deep hollow, out of reach of the enemy's shells. here he ate an excellent dinner, and then retraced his steps, through the rifle-pits, back to the place where his battery was to be mounted. throwing himself upon a blanket, he slept soundly until night. as soon as it became dark, the work of mounting the guns commenced, and was completed in time to allow the weary men two hours' rest before daylight. frank had charge of one of the guns, and an ensign attached to one of the iron-clads commanded the other. the whole was under the command of the captain of the trenton. as soon as the enemy's lines could be discerned, frank, in accordance with the promises made the day before, prepared to commence the work of dismounting the battery which had given the soldiers so much trouble. he pointed his gun himself, and gave the order to fire. with the exception of now and then a musket-shot, or the occasional shriek of a shell as it went whistling into the rebel lines, the night had been remarkably quiet, and the roar that followed frank's order awoke the echoes far and near, causing many a soldier to start from his blanket in alarm. a shell from the other gun quickly followed, and the soldiers, as soon as they learned that the "gun-boat battery" had opened upon the rebel works, broke out into deafening cheers. they had great confidence in the "beauties," as they called the monster guns, for they had often witnessed the effect of their shells, and knew that those who worked them well understood their business. frank had opened the ball, and in less than half an hour the firing became general all along the line. the gun against which their fire was directed replied briskly; but after a few rounds the battery got its exact range--an eight-inch shell struck it, and it disappeared from sight. cheers, or, rather, regular "soldier-yells"--a noise that is different from every other sound, and which can not be uttered except by those who have "served their time" in the army--arose the whole length of the line, as the soldiers witnessed the effect of the shot, and knew that their old enemy would trouble them no more. in obedience to the captain's order, the fire of the battery was then directed toward different parts of the rebel works. the "beauties" performed all that the soldiers had expected of them, for they were well handled, and the huge shells always went straight to the mark. at dark the firing ceased, and frank, tired with his day's work, ate a hearty supper, and threw himself upon his blanket to obtain a few moments' rest. the soldiers from all parts of the line at length began to crowd into the battery, examining every part of the guns, and listening to the explanations given by the old quarter-gunner, who, although almost tired out, was busy cleaning the guns, and could not think of rest until the battery had been put in readiness for use on the morrow. at length a man approached the spot where frank was reposing, and, seating himself at his side, commenced an interesting conversation. frank soon learned that his visitor was one of the most noted scouts in the union army. he was a tall, broad-shouldered man, straight as an arrow, and evidently possessed a great deal of muscular power. though ragged and dirty, like his companions, there was something about him that at once attracted frank. his actions were easy and graceful, and he had an air of refinement, which was observed by every one with whom he came in contact. he was serving as a private in his regiment, and, although frequently urged to accept a command, always declined, for he despised the inactivity of camp life, and delighted in any thing in which there was danger and excitement. it was hinted that he had seen some hard times during his career as a scout. at length, when the conversation began to flag, one of the soldiers asked for a story, and the scout, after lighting his pipe, settled back on his elbow, and began as follows: chapter xiii. the scout's story. "boys, the life of a scout is the most fascinating, as well as the most dangerous one that i know of. it is a responsible one, too, for not unfrequently the safety and well-being of the entire army depends upon our reports. if, while we are roaming about the enemy's camp, we are deceived in regard to their numbers and position, and our commanding officer, judging by our reports, thinks himself able to surprise and defeat them, and if, upon making the attack, he finds that he has been misled, we are responsible; at least that is the way i have always looked at the matter; and many a time i have misrepresented cases, and have, no doubt, been the cause of allowing the rebels to escape, when they might easily have been beaten, knowing that our hot-headed commander would order an attack, no matter how small the chance for success might be. "just before we started on the campaign that resulted in the capture of fort donelson, i was detailed to scout for head-quarters; and one day, while lying in my tent, heartily wishing that a move would be made which would put an end to the lazy life i was compelled to lead, one of the general's staff-officers entered, accompanied by a youth, whom he introduced to me as mr. henderson, and informed me that he was to be my 'partner.' "'he my partner!' i ejaculated. 'is he a scout? what does he know about soldiering?' "the new-comer was rather below the medium height, very slimly built, with soft, white hands, that looked as though they had never been accustomed to hard work, and a smooth, beardless face. he seemed very much out of place among our rough soldiers. "'i don't know much about scouting, that's a fact,' said he, with a laugh. 'but i know every inch of the country, and can use a rifle. i have been knocked about considerably since the war commenced, and my father was hanged in tennessee for being a union man, and i suffered all sorts of hardships before i succeeded in making my escape.' "the officer left us together, and, in spite of the chagrin i felt that a mere stripling had been sent to me for an associate, i was soon deeply interested in him, for with his almost childlike simplicity there was mingled an air of confidence in his own powers which drew me irresistibly toward him. he told me his history, and when he dwelt on the cruelty with which the rebels had treated union men in tennessee, and related, in a subdued voice, the particulars of his father's death, his slight frame quivered with excitement, and his fingers twitched convulsively, as if he felt the perpetrators of the deed in his grasp. he seemed to have the real grit in him, and i finally came to the conclusion that i had mistaken my man. i soon learned it was so, for, the very first time we got on a scout together, i found that he was made of the right stuff, and i began to have a great deal of confidence in my youthful companion. i don't believe he knew what fear was. he was a splendid shot and an excellent rider; in fact, he seemed to be out of his element unless he was in the saddle. "the first time that sam (for that was my companion's name) had a chance to show his qualities was after the battle of pittsburg landing. one night, just after dark, we set out on horseback to watch the movements of the enemy. we were dressed in our rebel uniform, and provided with passes which would carry us through our lines. the night was dark and cloudy, but sam, who knew the road like a book, took the lead. we had proceeded in this manner about four miles, scarcely saying a word to each other, when suddenly, as we came around a bend in the road, we found ourselves close upon a picket station. several men were lying around a fire, eating their supper; and the reason why we had not discovered them sooner was on account of the thick trees and bushes, which completely concealed the glare of the fire from any one coming down the road. how we had succeeded in passing the sentries, which were posted some distance from the station, is still a mystery to me. either our advance had been so still that they had not heard us, or else the sentries were asleep; at any rate, we were in the enemy's lines before we knew it, and in something of a scrape. if we undertook to retreat, besides running the risk of being shot by the men at the fire, we should be obliged to pass the sentries, and we might not succeed, for the clatter of our horses' hoofs would certainly alarm them. the only way was to ride up to the fire and put a bold face on the matter, which we did, the rebels supposing that, as we had passed the sentries, we were all right. they at once took us for some of their scouts, and one of them inquired: "'how are the yanks?' "'they're there,' i replied. 'and you'll have to haul in these picket posts before long, or i am mistaken.' "'how is that sentry out there?' asked the lieutenant in command. "'o, he's all right,' i answered, and seating myself at the fire, began to pitch into the eatables. sam followed my example, and we enjoyed a very good meal, after which we smoked a pipe, and talked with our companions about the probability of soon thrashing the yankees soundly, and wishing that we were in the eastern army, that we might have the honor of carrying the secesh rag into philadelphia and all the other large cities at the north. we also received some very valuable information in regard to the rebels and their intended movements; and finally, concluding that the general must be looking for us, we bade the pickets good-by, mounted our horses, and galloped down the road toward the rebel camp. as soon as we thought we had gone far enough to deceive the pickets, we turned off from the road and started through the woods, intending to take a wide circuit, pass the pickets, and start back for our own camp. we stumbled about through the woods for nearly an hour, and finally struck a road that appeared to run at right angles with the one we had just left. this we followed at a rapid gallop for about a mile, when sam pointed out a light that appeared to be shining in the window of a house ahead of us. we at once determined to reconnoiter, and rode slowly forward for that purpose, walking our horses on the grass at the side of the road, so that our advance would be noiseless. we had gone but a short distance when we were halted. to the challenge, 'who comes there?' sam replied, 'scouts,' and throwing me his rein, he swung himself from his saddle, whispering: "'hold on a minute, bill! let me manage that fellow;' and before i could say a word he had disappeared in the darkness. "several moments passed, when i again heard his voice, and riding forward, wondering how he had 'managed' the sentinel, i was surprised to see him with a musket in his hand, pacing back and forth across the road. i instantly understood what had transpired, and leading the horses cautiously into the bushes at the side of the road, i fastened them there, and then returned to sam. "'i couldn't help it, bill,' he whispered, as i came up. 'i meant to capture him, and compel him to give us some information; but he fought so desperately that i had to settle him to save myself.' "'it can't be helped; such things are not uncommon in war times. now you play the part of sentry here until some one passes, and you can find out what the countersign is. then i'll go up to the house and reconnoiter.' "i then lay down by the side of the road, and in a few moments sam whispered: "'bill, i wonder what's the number of this post?' "'i'm sure i don't know,' i replied. "'well, how am i going to find out?' he inquired. 'if some one should happen to come along without the countersign, and i should want to call the corporal, i would be in a nice fix, wouldn't i?' "sam said this in such a perfectly cool and unconcerned manner, that i could not help admiring him. "just then i heard a faint shout: "'twelve o'clock! number one. all's well.' "'there,' i whispered; 'the sentries are passing the call. now look sharp.' "the call passed the round of the sentinels, until number eight was called, but a short distance from us. then came a pause. "'sam, you're number nine,' i hurriedly whispered. "'number nine; and all's well!' shouted sam at the top of his lungs. 'so far, so good,' he continued, in a low voice. 'now i guess we're all right. halt!' he shouted, hearing the sound of horses' hoofs rapidly advancing. the horseman at once drew rein, and at sam's challenge, answered: "'colonel peckham.' "'dismount, colonel peckham, and give the countersign.' "'look here, my man, just let me pass, will you? don't detain me, for i am on important business, and am in a great hurry.' "'halt,' shouted sam again; 'dismount.' "'i tell you i am colonel peckham, commanding----' "'i don't care what you command. just climb down off that horse instantly, or i'll fire on you. you shouldn't go by me if you were president davis himself.' "the colonel, seeing that entreaty was in vain, reluctantly dismounted and gave the countersign, 'virginia.' "'the countersign is correct. pass, colonel peckham,' said sam, bringing his musket promptly to a shoulder arms. "after the rebel had mounted and disappeared, i whispered: "'now, sam, i'm going up to that house. keep a sharp look-out.' "after shaking his hand i started toward the place where i had seen the light. walking carelessly up toward a group of soldiers who were lounging about on the ground, i glanced in at the window, and saw several officers seated around a table, apparently engaged in earnest debate. i listened for a few moments to the conversation of the men, and found that i was two miles inside of the rebel lines. this knowledge was something that would not have pleased me had i been alone, for i was wholly unacquainted with the country, but, knowing that i had a friend on whom i could rely, i looked upon it as merely a little difficulty, from which i could extricate myself as soon and as easily as i pleased. "i lounged about, picking up a good deal of information, until i heard the relief called, and knowing that, unless we beat a hasty retreat, we would be discovered, i hastened back to the place where i had left sam, and found him industriously pacing his beat. i was about to bring out the horses, when we heard the clatter of hoofs coming up the road from toward the house, and i at once concealed myself. the answer to the challenge was colonel peckham, who was returning to his command. as he was about to pass, i, thinking that it would not look well to go back to the camp empty-handed, sprang out of my concealment and seized his reins, while sam, who instantly comprehended what was going on, placed his bayonet against his breast. "'what means this?' asked the colonel. "'don't talk so much,' replied sam. 'a blind man could see that you are a prisoner. so hand over your weapons, and don't make any fuss.' "as sam spoke, he proceeded to 'sound' the colonel, and the search resulted in the transfer of two revolvers to his belt. then, throwing away his musket and cartridge-box, he sprang upon his horse, which i had by this time brought out, and, seizing the colonel's reins, we started down the road at a full gallop. "we had proceeded scarcely a quarter of a mile when we heard several musket-shots behind us, and we knew that the relief had found no. post vacant, and were alarming the camp. sam, still holding fast to the colonel's horse, at once turned off into the woods, through which we with difficulty worked our way. at length, however, we reached an open field, which we crossed at a gallop, and, leaping our horses over the fence, found ourselves in the road again. we had struck it just outside of the rebel pickets, who, hearing us gallop away, fired at us; but the bullets all went wide of the mark, and in less than an hour we reached our own camp, and the prisoner was delivered over to the general." * * * * * "i could relate many other adventures to you, but, as i have to go on guard at midnight, i must bid you good-night." so saying, he arose from the ground, where he had been lying, and walked off toward his quarters. one by one the soldiers, who had gathered about to listen to his story, followed his example, and finally frank and the ensign who had assisted him in managing the battery, were left alone. although they had been together but two days, they were on excellent terms with each other; and as frank had learned that his companion had run by the batteries at vicksburg, he was naturally anxious to hear the details. the ensign, at his urgent solicitation, then told the story of his thrilling adventures, which here follows. chapter xiv. running the batteries. "in obedience to orders from the admiral," began the ensign, "the concord, with the iron-clads, commenced making preparations to run the batteries, by greasing the casemates to glance shot, and by protecting the machinery with heavy timbers and bales of hay. when every thing was ready, the long-looked-for signal was made. the vessels took their stations in accordance with a general order that had been issued a few days previous--the concord, with a coal-barge in tow, being the fourth in advance. "as soon as the anchors were weighed, all hands were called to quarters, the ports closed, and every light on board the ship, except those in the magazine and shell-rooms, was extinguished. i took my station beside my men, who stood at their guns as motionless as so many statues, and in that darkness awaited the issue of events, with feelings that can not be described. the moment i had so long been dreading was fast approaching. would i survive the experiment? "as soon as the vessels were fairly under way, the engines were stopped, and we drifted along with the current. not a sound was heard, except the creaking of the wheel as the pilot guided the vessel down stream. i became more and more excited each moment, until finally my suspense seemed greater than i could bear. that awful silence was worse than the fight itself. i became impatient, and strode up and down the deck, anxiously waiting for the first roar of a gun that should announce that our approach had been discovered. how i longed to look out and see what progress we were making! but the ports had been closed, with imperative orders that they must not be opened without the captain's command, and i was obliged to remain in ignorance of what was going on outside. "at length, after remaining at our quarters for nearly an hour--to me it seemed an age--the loud roar of a gun burst upon our ears. the pilot at once rang the bell to 'go ahead strong,' and the puffing of the engines told us that we were rapidly nearing the city. soon, from another direction, came a second report, accompanied by a shell from 'whistling dick,' which went directly over our heads, and exploded far behind us. this was followed, not by the report of a single cannon, but by a crash, as if all the artillery of heaven had been let loose at once, and shells and solid shot, with a noise that was almost deafening. it did not seem possible that we could succeed in running by the batteries; besides, i was very much averse to being shut up in that manner, without the privilege of returning shot for shot. the idea of allowing my vessel to be made a target of, when so many brave hearts were waiting impatiently to give as good as they received, did not at all suit me. "until we reached the city, the concord escaped unhurt, and i began to think that our danger was not so great as i had at first supposed, when, just as we arrived opposite the upper batteries, a shot came crashing through the sides of the vessel. the deck was lighted up for an instant with a flash, and the groans and shrieks that followed told that it had been too well directed. confined as the men were, in total darkness, where it was impossible for a person to distinguish those who stood next to him, such an occurrence was well calculated to throw them into confusion. i believe that every one on deck was frightened, but the order, 'stand to your guns, lads!' delivered in a firm voice by the executive officer, at once put an end to the confusion. "'on deck, there!' came thundering through the trumpet. 'open the ports, and return their fire!' "how my heart bounded when i heard that order! and the men, too, anxious to be on more equal terms with the enemy, sprang at the word, the port-shutters flew open with a crash, and the city of vicksburg burst upon our astonished view. "the rebels had profited by their experience, and instead of finding the city shrouded in total darkness, as i had expected, a glare equal to the noonday sun lighted up both the river and the city, the latter seeming one blaze of fire. the vessels in advance of us were rapidly answering the fire of the batteries, and the waters of the river, usually so quiet and smooth, were plowed in every direction by the shrieking, hissing shells. it was a magnificent sight, one upon which i could have gazed with rapture, had i been a disinterested person; but, as it was, i had no time to dwell upon it. "'out with those guns--lively!' shouted the captain. 'give the rascals as good as they send.' "for half an hour the fight continued, the rebels sending their shells thick and fast about our devoted vessel, and we directing our fire against the water-batteries, which lined the shore as far as the eye could reach, when suddenly the pilot rung the bell to stop, which was followed by a command shouted down through the trumpet to 'back her--quick!' i scarcely noticed the circumstance, until one of my men exclaimed, in a frightened voice, 'we are drifting into the bank, sir, right under the batteries!' "the appalling fact was too evident. we were fast approaching the shore, and the engines appeared to be working in vain against the strong current. a cry of horror burst from the lips of the men, who deserted their guns, and made a general rush for the after part of the vessel. i was astounded. had the concord been disabled, and was the captain about to run her ashore and surrender? but i was not allowed much time to ask questions. the conduct of the men recalled me to my senses, and, after considerable difficulty, i succeeded in bringing them all back to their quarters. "'the vessel must have been surrendered, sir,' said one of the men. "'i can't help that. i've received no orders to cease firing. let them have it. powder-boy, bring two eight-inch canister as soon as possible. run away lively, now.' "the vessel still continued to approach the bank, and several of the nearest batteries ceased firing, while the rebels, supposing that she was about to surrender, came running down the bank in crowds, calling out: "'have you struck your flag?' "'no!' came the answer, in a clear, ringing voice, which i knew belonged to the captain. 'that flag floats as long as one plank of this vessel remains above water!' "this reply was followed by a shell from one of our broadside guns, which burst in the very midst of a crowd that was preparing to board the vessel the moment we touched the bank; and by this time the concord began to mind her helm, and commenced moving from the bank. the astonished rebels hastily retreated to the cover of their breastworks, and i succeeded in getting my guns loaded in time to use the canister upon them. the vessel soon got headed down the river again, and at two o'clock in the morning we rounded to, out of reach of the batteries. the passage had been effected without material damage to us, and it was with a light heart that i repeated the order, 'secure your guns, lads!' the battle was over, and after the decks had been cleared, and the wounded taken care of, the dead were laid out in the engine-room, and covered with the flag in defense of which they had delivered up their lives. the weary sailors then gladly answered to the order, 'all hands stand by your hammocks,' and i retired to my room almost exhausted, but highly elated at our glorious success." chapter xv. a race for the old flag. "the next day," continued the ensign, "the squadron again got under way and steamed down the river, and came to anchor above, and almost within range of, the heights of grand gulf. a casual observer would hardly have thought that the bluffs which arose so majestically, like grim sentinels watching over the lesser heights around them, were bristling with hostile batteries, ready to dispute the further advance of the union fleet; for, so carefully had they been concealed, that nothing suspicious could be discovered. but we were not deceived. we knew that the trees which covered the bluffs, and waved so gently back and forth in the breeze, concealed fortifications of the most formidable kind, and that union blood must be shed before they could be wrested from the traitorous hands that had constructed them. "during the week of inactivity that followed, many an impatient eye was directed toward the heights which, now so quiet, were soon to be disturbed by the noise and confusion of battle. at length the flag-ship was seen approaching, and every one was on the alert. two more days of inactivity passed, however; but on the third morning, just after the crews had finished their breakfast, signal was made to commence the attack. the anchors were weighed, the men called to quarters, and the fleet bore down upon the rebel stronghold, which was soon enveloped in the smoke of battle. "the concord led the advance. for two hours the battle raged with great fury on both sides, the rebels stubbornly holding their ground, in spite of the storm of shells that thinned their ranks and tore up the ground about them. during this time the concord had again become unmanageable, on account of the strong eddies in the river, and had worked into a position scarcely two hundred yards from the batteries, from which she could not be extricated. it was impossible either to advance or retreat without running into the bank, and if she attempted to round-to, her destruction was certain. of course, we below, being busy fighting our guns, knew nothing of our danger; but the captain, although as brave a man as ever trod a ship's deck, was not a little dismayed when he found himself in this perilous situation. he did not expect to bring his vessel safely out of the action, but he stood in the pilot-house and issued his orders with as much coolness as though he were going through the regular daily exercise, instead of being under the hottest fire the enemy could rain upon his vessel. "in the mean time, i had been sending my shells as rapidly as possible toward the rebel gunners, whom i could see moving about in the batteries. up to this time not one of my men had been injured; but, just as i was in the act of sighting one of my guns, there was a stunning crash, and a vivid light shone for an instant in my eyes, accompanied by a terrific explosion. i saw the air filled with smoke and splinters, heard appalling cries of terror and anguish, and then all was blank. a shell had entered the casemate above the port, killing and wounding several of my crew, and a piece of heavy timber, which had been detached from the bulk-head by the explosion, struck me on the head, and laid me out senseless on the deck. "when i was restored to consciousness i was lying on a mattress in the engine-room, and anxious faces were bending over me. i remember of mistaking the doctor and his attendants for the men belonging to my gun's crew, and imagining myself still in battle, i gave the order to 'train that no. gun a little further to the left, and fire;' then i became insensible again. "about the middle of the afternoon i awoke from a refreshing slumber, but, of course, could not imagine how i came to be in that situation. i felt of my head, which was covered with bandages, and of my arm, which was done up in a sling, and finally the remembrance of the scenes through which i had passed came back to me like a dream. "while i was wondering how the fight had terminated, and who had come out victorious, a sailor, who had been appointed to act as my nurse, entered the engine-room, and approached the bed on tip-toe. from him i learned that the concord had been under fire for five hours and thirty-five minutes; that we had been only partially successful, not having silenced all the batteries; that the fleet, with the exception of one vessel, which was lying a short distance above the bluff, and occasionally sending a shell into the batteries to prevent the rebels from repairing the damage which they had suffered, were at their old anchorage again; that the concord had been struck thirty-five times by heavy shot, but, although quite badly cut up, was not permanently injured; and that our vessel would soon be ready for action again, the entire crew being busily engaged in repairing the damages she had sustained. "my head and arm pained me considerably; but, being under the influence of some powerful medicine which the doctor had administered, i soon fell asleep, from which i was awakened by the rolling of a drum. hastily starting up, i found the engineers at their stations, and i knew, by the tramping of feet on the deck above me, that the men were hurrying to their quarters. the 'ruling passion' was strong with me. i had grown so accustomed to yield prompt obedience to the call to quarters, that i quite forgot i was wounded. springing up, i at once pulled on my clothes--an operation which i found rather difficult on account of my wounded arm--seized my sword, which lay at the head of the bed, sprang up the stairs that led to the main-deck, and ran forward to take command of my division. as i passed the door of the dispensatory, i was confronted by the surgeon, who, holding up his hands in dismay, exclaimed: "'mr. morton! do you know what you are about? where are you going?' "'going to quarters, doctor. didn't you hear that drum?' "'get below, sir, instantly,' was the doctor's answer. 'get below! and don't let me catch you on deck again until i give you permission. get below, i tell you, sir!' he continued, in a louder tone, seeing that i hesitated. 'haven't you got sense enough to know that you are dangerously wounded? i am surgeon of this ship, and have authority to enforce my commands.' "of this i was well aware, and i was obliged to retrace my steps to the engine-room, where i lay down upon the bed. "the morning's fight having convinced the admiral that, although the batteries had been partially silenced, they could not be completely reduced, without the co-operation of the land forces, he returned to his old anchorage, for the purpose of convoying the transports which were to run by the batteries and ferry the troops across the river below. the latter followed close in the wake of the gun-boats, on which the batteries opened quite as briskly as in the morning. the iron-clads replied, and under cover of their fire the transports passed the batteries in safety, after which the gun-boats also ran by, and assisted in carrying the troops across the river. in this fight the concord was struck but twice, and no one was injured. as soon as she had been brought to an anchor, the doctor entered the engine-room, and, after regarding me for a moment with an expression that i could not understand, said: "'you're a nice one, ain't you?' "'why, doctor, what's the matter?' i asked. "'you don't wish to get well, i guess.' "'o, yes, i do! but i am not badly hurt; there was nothing to hinder me from taking my station.' "'you will allow me to be the judge of that, if you please,' returned the doctor. 'but i have got a room fixed up for you on deck. do you feel able to walk up there?' "'certainly. i am not hurt, i tell you, doctor,' i repeated. 'i can outrun, outjump, or outlift you; and yet you take as much care of me as though i was badly wounded.' "'well, you've got a big hole in your head anyhow,' said the doctor, as he took my arm, and assisted me up the stairs, in spite of my assertions that i was 'able to walk alone.' 'it's an ugly-looking wound. just take my advice now; let me put you on the sick-list for a day or two, and you will be all right.' "'well, don't keep me on the list any longer than is necessary,' i answered, knowing that i would be compelled to submit to the doctor's requirements, whether i wanted to or not. 'i do detest a life of inactivity. i want to be doing something.' "i was furnished with a bed in the ward-room, for my own quarters had been almost demolished during the late fights, and during the two days that followed, i passed the time miserably enough. every able-bodied man on board the ship was engaged in repairing damages, while i, being closely watched by the doctor, was obliged to remain quiet. my wounds troubled me very little. on the third day after the fight, to my immense relief, my name was taken off the sick-list, and i was allowed to return to duty. "the next morning after this, signal was made from the flag-ship to get under way, and resume the attack upon the batteries at grand gulf. as we approached the heights, a column of smoke, which was seen arising over the trees, told us that the rebels had abandoned their fortifications. the gun-boats touched the bank at the foot of the hill at about the same moment; and, as the concord's bows touched the shore, the captain thrust his head from the pilot-house, and shouted: "'get ashore there, you sea-cooks! get ashore there, and hoist the concord's flag over that fort on the top of the hill! off you go--run like quarter horses!' "the sailors did not need a second bidding, but, leaving their quarters, they made a general rush for the place where the boat-ensigns were stowed, and if one of the men succeeded in securing a flag, he was instantly seized by half a dozen others, who desperately struggled to wrest it from him, that they might have the honor of planting it upon the rebel heights, while he struggled as furiously to retain it. all discipline was at an end. the sailors, wild with excitement, were struggling and shouting below, while the captain stood on the quarter-deck, almost beside himself, for fear that his men would be behind, for the crews of each vessel were jumping ashore, bearing in their hands the flags which they had determined to plant upon the deserted fortifications. "i stood at the hatchway, looking down upon the struggling crew beneath, regretting that my wounded arm--which still continued to pain me at intervals--prevented me from entering as a competitor, when i was aroused by: "'mr. morton! i know you want this, sir.' "i turned, and found one of the quarter-masters holding out a flag to me. "'certainly i want it,' i answered. 'thank you;' and seizing the flag, i sprang upon the hammock-nettings. at this moment the doctor discovered me, and shouted: "'mr. morton, what are you about, sir? remember, i only put you on light duty. it will be the death of you, if you attempt to run up that hill.' "but i was excited, and, without waiting to answer, sprang overboard. i was so anxious to be first, that i could not waste time to go below, and leave the ship in a proper manner. the moment i touched the water, i struck out for the shore, and as i clambered up the bank, i found crowds of men from each vessel running at the top of their speed toward the hill, all bent on planting the glorious old flag on the pinnacle, for the possession of which they had fought so long and desperately. but far in advance of all of them i saw one of the engineers of the concord. i was both pleased and annoyed at this--pleased that the ship to which i belonged should have the honor of hoisting the stars and stripes over the rebel stronghold, and annoyed that i could not be the person who was to raise it. but it was not my disposition to be discouraged. as i had few equals in running, i determined to overtake the engineer, and, if possible, to beat him. "as soon as i reached the top of the bank, i commenced running, and was soon ahead of many of those who were far in advance of me when i started. the engineer, in the mean time, also proved that he was no mean runner; and the little flag which he carried over his shoulder moved far up the mountain, dancing about among the rocks and bushes like a will-o'-the-wisp, seeming to recede as i advanced. soon i had passed all of my competitors with the exception of this one, and the race was now between us. up, up we ran. i soon discovered that i was gaining at every step. presently i was so close to him that i could hear his quick, heavy breathing. we were rapidly nearing the fort that crowned the crest of the hill, and i redoubled my exertions. the engineer did likewise. it seemed as though the sight of those battered fortifications had infused new life into him, for he ran at a rate that astonished me; and when i reached the top of the hill the little banner had been planted on the breastworks, and my rival lay on the ground, panting and exhausted. cheers, long and loud, burst from the gallant band standing at the foot of the hill, who had been interested spectators of our movements, and their shouts were answered with redoubled energy by the crew of the concord, who, in their joy at seeing their own flag planted on the fort by one of their own officers, forgot all the sacrifices they had made to accomplish that end. "in a short time the heights were covered with men, who busied themselves in completing the destruction which the rebels had commenced. at dark all returned on board their respective vessels, which moved out into the stream a short distance, and anchored. i paid dearly for my foolishness in jumping overboard, and then running that distance in the hot sun; for two days after that i was confined to my bed, and finally, at the doctor's suggestion, i was dumped into an ambulance and sent by land to the hospital-ship. i was well again in two weeks, and learning that a naval battery was to be mounted on shore, volunteered to assist in working it, received permission, and am ready to face any new dangers for the sake of the old flag." the next day, while frank and his companion were fighting the battery, the former was surprised by the appearance of a strange officer, who brought orders for him to report on board his vessel without delay. he obeyed the summons, and found that the trenton had been ordered up the yazoo river, and that he had been sent for to take charge of a division whose commanding officer had been sent to the hospital. as soon as he arrived on board, the vessel was got under way, and, in company with the flag-ship and several gun-boats, which they found waiting for them at the mouth of the yazoo river, they started toward haines' bluff. the report was, the attack was to be a 'feigned' one, but frank thought, from the pounding the trenton received, that it might as well have been a _real_ one. the fight was continued until dark, when the vessels dropped down out of range of the batteries and anchored. chapter xvi. the rival sharp-shooters. about half-past four o'clock, on the succeeding morning, just after frank had come off watch, and was dozing in his berth, he was awakened by a loud crash. starting up, he discovered his looking-glass in fragments, and the pieces scattered about over the floor. while he was wondering what could have been the cause of the accident, he happened to discover that the bulk-head behind the looking-glass was splintered, which looked very much as though it had been done by a musket-shot; and, at the same instant, he heard a shrill whistle, with which he was perfectly familiar. he also heard a rustling in the bunk above him, and mr. williams, his room-mate, sprang suddenly upon the floor, exclaiming: "my goodness, mr. nelson! the rebels are shooting at _us_." "i see they are," answered frank, coolly, as he slowly arose from his berth and commenced drawing on his pants; "just see our looking-glass! but where are you going?" he asked, finding that his room-mate was frantically gathering up his clothing. "i'm going to get below as soon as i can," was the answer. "don't you know that this room isn't iron-clad?" "yes, i know that. but what's your hurry?" mr. williams did not stop to reply, but, having collected all his clothing, opened the door and sprang out on deck. one bound carried him to the gangway that led to the main-deck, and in a moment more he had disappeared. frank was laughing heartily at the comical figure his timid room-mate had cut, when another shot came crashing through the bulk-head, and lodged in the mattress in the berth above him, showing how narrow had been mr. williams's escape. this made him think that he also had better be getting below. he waited, however, until he was entirely dressed, and then walked slowly out on the quarter-deck, and took refuge behind the wheel-house, intending to make himself acquainted with the nature of the attack before going below. the officer of the deck and the quarter-master on watch were the only persons in sight, and they, too, were standing behind the wheel-house for protection. "what seems to be the matter, mr. martin? are we likely to have a brush?" "o no," answered the latter; "a few rebels have taken possession of the battery from which we drove them yesterday, and are trying to pick some of us off. did you see 'nuisance' when he came out of his room? he ran like a streak, but came very near being winged, for a ball struck the deck not six inches from him." at this moment the captain appeared, and went into the pilot-house, that he might investigate matters without running the risk of being struck by the bullets. he had scarcely closed the door, when a ball carried away the latch. had he been a moment later, he would certainly have been killed. "a close shave," said he, with a laugh. then raising one of the windows of the pilot-house, he shouted, "on deck, there!" "ay, ay, sir," answered mr. martin. "get under cover as quickly as possible; and, mr. nelson, see if you can throw a few shells among those fellows, and drive them out of there." it was not an easy task to get under cover, for, the moment they showed themselves, the bullets whistled about them like hail-stones. but, after dodging from one stanchion to another, using even the sky-lights for concealment, they succeeded in reaching the main-deck, where they were safe. frank ran into the turret, while mr. martin and the quarter-master dived down the hatchway, and ran up into the pilot-house. "turn out, you first division, and cast loose that no. gun," shouted frank, as he reached the gun-deck, where the crew were still sleeping soundly in their hammocks. "turn out lively, lads." the men at once sprang out of their comfortable beds, and, as soon as the deck was cleared of the hammocks, the gun was cast loose. a moment afterward, a hundred-pound shot plunged into the battery, raising a cloud of dust; but the rebels had seen the flash of the gun in time to throw themselves behind the embankment and escape. "on deck, there," shouted the captain, through the trumpet. "that was very well done. try them again, and fire a little higher, and a trifle further to the left." "very good, sir," shouted frank, in reply; and the gun was again pointed, and another breach was made in the battery, but a loud, derisive shout was sent back in reply, showing that the shot had been without effect. for nearly an hour the fight was kept up, frank using his gun as rapidly as possible, and the rebels replying with their bullets, which rattled harmlessly against the trenton's iron mail, until the captain, finding that it was impossible to dislodge them, gave the order to cease firing. as soon as frank had seen the gun secured, he left the deck and went into the ward-room. it was filled with officers, who had been awakened by the firing, and were engaged in an animated conversation on the probabilities of having breakfast. "if the rebels continue to shoot at us, i don't know what you can do, gentlemen," said the caterer. "you know that the galley is on deck, and i can't send the cook up there, where he will be in danger of his life. when you get hungry you will find plenty of hard-tack and pickles in the paymaster's store-rooms." "o no," said the executive officer, "i am not going without my breakfast. there's no danger." "if you will go on deck, and remain there five minutes," said the caterer, "i'll agree to cook some breakfast for you." the proposition was accepted by the executive officer, and the two men went on deck, and walked toward the galley. they reached it in safety, when the executive said, triumphantly: "what do you think now? i told you there was no danger." a loud crash cut short his words, and a bullet entered the galley, and glancing from the stove, struck the opposite bulk-head, where it remained firmly embedded in the wood. "that will do, i guess," said the executive, hastily retreating toward the hatchway. "you needn't mind about sending the boys up here to cook breakfast." the two officers made the best of their way back to the ward-room, where they enjoyed a very good meal on some provisions that had been brought up out of the paymaster's store-rooms. they then went into the pilot-house to watch the movements of the rebels in the battery. the latter, finding that their fire was no longer returned, took no precautions to conceal themselves, but arose to their full height when they fired their muskets, and even stood on the battery, waving their hats, as if inviting a shot. frank watched them until he could stand it no longer, and then ran down below, to ask the captain's permission to return the fire. "look out there!" exclaimed that gentleman, as frank entered the cabin. "the first thing you know"---- he was interrupted by the report of a musket, so loud that it seemed scarcely a stone's throw distant. a bullet came whistling into one of the ports, barely missing frank, and lodged in the captain's pantry, where a crashing among the crockery told that the ball had not been altogether thrown away. another shot followed close after it, but frank had dodged behind the bulk-head, and was safe. the captain was emphatically in a state of siege. his cabin was in the extreme after-part of the vessel, and in it were two port-holes, which were open. two sharp-shooters had taken up a position on the bank, where they could see into the cabin, and had compelled the captain to leave the desk where he had been writing, and take refuge behind the bulk-head. he was taking matters very coolly, however, being stretched out on a sofa, engaged in reading a newspaper. "mr. nelson," said he, with a laugh, "if many more of you officers enter this cabin, i shall be a ruined man. every shot that comes in here goes slap into that pantry, and i don't suppose i have a whole piece of crockery left. what did you wish?" "i came, sir, to ask permission to take one of your spencer rifles," answered frank. "i believe i can drive those rascals away from there," he added, glancing through the port. "very well, you may try. but i don't bother my head about them. they can't shoot through this bulk head, that's certain. however, it makes me feel rather uncomfortable to know that i can't get out of here without running the risk of being shot;" and the captain stretched himself on the sofa again, and resumed his reading. after considerable dodging, during which two more bullets were lodged in the captain's pantry, to the no small disgust of that gentleman, frank succeeded in securing a rifle and cartridge-box from one of the racks in the cabin, and concealing himself behind the bulk-head, thrust his gun carefully out of the port, and waited for a shot. the bank was scarcely fifty feet distant, but for a long time not a rebel showed himself, and frank had about come to the conclusion that they had given up the fight, when he noticed a small gully, scarcely a foot wide, that ran down to the water's edge, and in that gully he saw the top of a head, and afterward discerned a pair of eyes that were looking straight into the port. it was a small mark to shoot at, but frank had killed squirrels at that distance many a time; so, carefully raising his rifle, he took a quick aim, and fired, confident that there was one rebel less in the world. the ball landed in the bank, and raised a cloud of dust that for a moment concealed the effect of the shot; but it had scarcely cleared away, when a puff of smoke arose from the gully, and another bullet whizzed past frank's head, and landed among the captain's crockery, showing that the rebel still maintained his position. frank cautiously looked out, and saw the rebel hastily reloading his gun; but, before he could give him another shot, the deadly rifle was thrust over the bank, in readiness for another trial. "o, i'm here yet, yank!" shouted the rebel, as he saw frank regarding him as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. "i'm here! and you want to keep close, or down comes your meat-house. this 'ere rifle shoots right smart." as he ceased speaking, frank again fired at him, but with no better success than before, for the rebel answered the shot, and dodged back into the gully to reload. for two hours this singular contest was maintained, and frank was both astonished and provoked at his poor workmanship; still he would have continued the fight, had not the rebel coolly announced--"it's grub-time, yank. we'll try it again this afternoon." the fellow's impudence was a source of a great deal of merriment on the part of the captain, who laughed heartily at his remarks, and forgot the loss he had sustained in his crockery. "captain," said frank, as soon as he was certain that the rebel had gone, "it's a good time to close those ports now." "don't go near them. i won't trust the villains. tell the officers that they are at liberty to return the fire, but that they must not waste too much ammunition." frank went into the ward-room, and, after delivering the captain's order, deposited his gun in the corner. while making a hearty dinner on hard-tack and salt pork, he related the incidents of his fight with the rebel, which was listened to with interest by all the officers present. after finishing his meal he went on deck to get a letter which he had commenced writing to his cousin, intending, as soon as the firing recommenced, to renew the battle. not a shot had been fired since the rebel left the gully, and when frank walked across the deck and entered his room, not a rebel was in sight. he took the letter from his trunk, and was preparing to return below, when a bullet crashed through the bulk-head, and, striking his wash-bowl, shivered it into fragments. this seemed to be a signal for a renewal of the fight, for the bullets whistled over the ship in a perfect shower. frank sprang to his feet, and waited rather impatiently for an opportunity to make his way below; but none offered. as he opened the door of his room, he heard a sharp report, that he could easily distinguish from the rest, accompanied by a familiar whistle, and a bullet, which seemed to come from the stern of the vessel, sped past him, striking the pilot-house, and glancing upward with a loud shriek; at the same instant several more from the battery whistled by, too close for comfort. it was evident that the rebels had seen him enter his room, and knowing that his only chance for escape was across the deck, had determined to keep him a close prisoner. but why did they not fire through the bulk-head? perhaps they thought that it, like the rest of the ship, was iron-clad, and preferred waiting for him to come out, rather than to waste their lead. but frank, who knew that the sides of his room were only thin boards, which could afford him no protection whatever from the bullets of his enemies, was not blessed with the most comfortable thoughts. to go out was almost certain death, for, although he might escape the bullets of the rebels in the battery, there was his rival of the morning in the gully, who handled his rifle with remarkable skill. to remain was hardly less dangerous, for a bullet might at any time enter his room and put an end to his existence. "well, i'm in a nice fix," he soliloquized; "i've often heard of treeing bears, raccoons, and other animals, but i never before heard of an officer being treed in his own room, and on board his own ship. i don't like to go out on deck, and have those bullets whizzing by my head and calling me 'cousin;' besides, i shall certainly be shot, for there's that fellow in the gully, and i know he's an excellent marksman. i've got to stay here for awhile, that's evident. if i ever get out, i'll make somebody sweat for this. i wish i had my gun; but, as i am here unarmed, i must find some kind of a protection." so saying, he snatched the mattresses from the beds, and, lying on the floor, placed one on each side of him as a barricade. he remained in this position until almost night, the bullets all the while shrieking over the deck, and making music most unpleasant to his ears. at length the firing began to slacken, and frank determined to make another effort to get below. it was not a long distance to the gangway that led to the main-deck, but there was that fellow in the gully who still maintained the fight, as an occasional crash in the pantry proved, and frank had a wholesome fear of him. he resolved, however, to make the attempt, and, waiting until the rebel had fired his gun, he threw open the door, when a few hasty steps carried him below. he heard a loud shout as he ran, and knew that the rebel had seen him. at dark the firing ceased altogether; and after supper--the only cooked meal they had during the day--the officers assembled on deck to enjoy the cool breeze, for the heat below had been almost intolerable. it was late when they retired, but it is needless to say that those who had rooms on the quarter-deck slept in the mess-rooms. the next morning, just as every one had expected, the firing was again renewed by the rebels in the battery, and it was at once answered by some of the younger officers of the ship, who cracked away, whether an enemy was in sight or not. frank had not been able to get the thought of that rebel sharp-shooter out of his mind. the audacity he had displayed in taking up a position so close to the vessel, and the skill with which he handled his rifle, excited his admiration, and he determined that, should he again take up the same position, he would renew his attempt to dislodge him. he, however, took no part in the fight until he came off watch at noon. he then provided himself with a rifle, and, after considerable trouble, succeeded in getting into the wheel-house, the lower part of which, being built of thick timbers, would easily resist a bullet, and here he settled down, determined to fight his enemy as long as he had a charge of powder left. the rebel was in his old position, concealed as usual, and, as the cabin ports had been closed, he was directing his fire toward the pilot-house. he was, of course, not aware that frank had changed his base of operations; but he did not long remain ignorant of the fact, for the latter commenced the fight without ceremony. as nearly every officer on board the vessel was engaged in fighting the rebels, the one in question could not determine whence the shot came. he drew back for a moment, and then thrust his head carefully out, to reconnoiter. frank, who could fire seven shots without stopping to reload, was ready for him, and another bullet sped toward the mark, but, as usual, with no more effect than throwing up a cloud of dust. this time, however, the rebel saw where it came from, and a moment afterward a ball was buried in the thick timbers, scarcely an inch from the place where frank was cautiously looking out, watching the motions of his rival. from his new position, frank found that the rebel, after he had fired his gun, was obliged to turn over on his back to reload, and he determined that, if he could not dislodge him, he would at least put it out of his power to do any further mischief. so, when the rebel exposed his arm, as he was in the act of ramming down the charge, he fired at him again. the latter, ignorant of the fact that his opponent had a seven-shooter, now redoubled his efforts, and made all haste to reload his gun; but again did a bullet strike in the bank close beside him, and cover him with a shower of dust. this seemed to puzzle the rebel, for he raised his head and gazed intently toward the place where his enemy was concealed. that move was fatal to him. scarcely three inches of his head was exposed; but the bullet went straight to the mark--the rebel rolled down the bank, and the deadly rifle fell from his hands. chapter xvii. the smugglers' cave--conclusion. "tom," said frank, addressing himself to the quarter-master, as the two were standing their watch that evening, "how came you to go to sea?" "i was born a sailor, sir," answered the man. "my father, and my grandfather before him, followed the sea for a livelihood. they were smugglers, living among the rocks and crags on the southern coast of england. "my home was not such a one as would have suited you, sir; but it was a pleasant place to me, and i often look back to the days of my boyhood, although passed amid scenes of danger, as the happiest ones of my life. our house, as we called it, was a cave in the side of a high mountain, at the foot of which was a long, narrow, and rocky passage, that led to the ocean. at the end of this passage, next to the mountain, was a small but deep bay, where a vessel could ride at anchor in safety without being seen by any one outside. in front of the cave was a small grass plot, which overlooked a vast extent of sea and land, and from which the distant shores of france could be seen. this was my post, where i sat many a night, watching for the return of my father, who was the captain of the smugglers. it was my business to watch for revenue-cutters, and to give the signal of danger in case any appeared off the coast at the time father was expected to return. "it would have been a lonely watch in that cave for one who was not accustomed to it, for i never had a companion; but, having been brought up to that kind of a life, i was never at a loss to know how to pass away the time. the fishing in the basin was excellent, and i had a small boat, the exact model of my father's little schooner, with which i sometimes amused myself for hours together in running in and out of the channel, which, owing to its rocky nature, was very difficult of passage. it was here that the cutters were always given the slip. father never approached the coast except during the night, and many a time have i seen the swift little schooner come bounding over the waves, with every stitch of her canvas stretched, followed close in her wake by a cutter. the latter would be certain of his prize when he saw the schooner heading straight toward the rocks; but, the first thing he knew, the smuggler would be out of sight in the channel. no light was necessary, for father knew every inch of the ground, and before the man-o'-war could lower his boats and discover the place where his prize had so mysteriously disappeared, father would have his goods landed, and, ere the cutter was aware of it, he would run out of the channel under his very nose, and make all sail for france. no one outside of the band was ever known to enter the channel; for, even in broad daylight, a person would have declined making the trial, as the waves dashed and roared among the rocks in a manner that seemed to threaten destruction to any thing that came within their reach. "the schooner was several times overhauled and boarded while at sea, but father never lost a cargo. he always succeeded in fooling the revenue chaps in some manner. i remember one time in particular, when i made a trip on board the schooner as mate. we made the run in our usual time, easily eluding the cutters that were watching us, and arrived off the coast of france with every thing in order. one dark night we landed our goods, and, after receiving our money, we ran down to a little town, to purchase some necessary articles, and to take in our return supply. a lot of jabbering french policemen sprang on board of us, almost before we had touched the wharf, and commenced rummaging the hold; but they, of course, went away disappointed in their hopes of finding something to condemn us. we lay in port alongside of a little dutch trading vessel, that was our exact model and build in every particular, until night, when we received our goods, ran by the police, and stood out to sea. we got along nicely until just before daylight, when an 'irish-man's hurricane,' as we call a calm, set in, accompanied by a heavy fog, and we lay motionless on the water, with the sails flapping idly against the masts. it was provoking, and a more uneasy set of men than that schooner's crew i never saw. we remained becalmed for nearly an hour, anxiously waiting for the wind to spring up, when i happened to step for'ard, and heard a noise like the washing of the waves against the side of a vessel. i hastily ran aft and reported the matter to father, who silently stationed his men, and walked for'ard, with his speaking-trumpet in his hand, while we stood at our posts, almost fearing to breathe, lest it should be heard on board of the strange vessel, which was still concealed from our view by the thick fog. "at length, to our inexpressible relief, we felt a puff of wind; then came another and another, each one increasing in force, until the sails began to draw, and the schooner commenced moving slowly through the water. we stood off on the starboard tack, intending to give our invisible neighbor a wide berth; but he had also caught the wind, and we could hear him moving along almost in front of us. at length the fog lifted a little, and we saw a large revenue-cutter standing directly across our bows, scarcely a cable's length distant. we luffed, to allow him to pass, when a hail came from his deck: "'schooner ahoy!' "'yah,' shouted father through his trumpet. "'what schooner is that?' "'dis? dis is my schooner. you know it.' "we all held our breath in suspense, wondering what would be the result of this strange answer, when we distinctly heard the voice say: "'it's that rascally dutchman again.' then, in a louder tone, came the question, 'did you keep a good look-out for that smuggler, as we requested?' "'yah! but i haven't saw him.' "'o, shiver your ugly figure-head,' was the answer. 'i've a good notion to put a six-pound shot into you, you wooden-headed sour-krout eater. this makes twice that we have been fooled by you. now off you go, and don't you cross our hawse again.' "father made no reply, and the cutter put her helm down, and started off. we passed under her stern, and in a few moments she disappeared in the fog. the next night we entered the channel, and landed our goods in safety. we afterward learned that the cutter, which had been closely watching our movements, had boarded the dutch schooner, (which i have before mentioned, and which sailed about two hours in advance of us,) and so certain were they that they had at last gobbled the smuggler, that they seized the vessel, and unceremoniously slapped the captain and his crew in double irons. the skipper was so terrified that he forgot his english, and jabbered away in dutch; and it was not until the ship's papers had been overhauled, that the cutter discovered her mistake. when the revenue fellows ran foul of us, they were again deceived by the resemblance between the two vessels, and the manner in which father had imitated the dutch skipper's language. about a year after that we had a stopper put on our operations, by one of our own men. "the cave had two entrances--one by a rope ladder from the basin below, which we could draw up in times of danger, and the other by a path through the mountains, which was known only to a few of the band whom father thought he could trust. but his confidence was abused. there is a black sheep in every flock, and we had one among us--a man who, tempted by the offer of reward that was held out for our apprehension, betrayed us, and broke up our harboring-place. "it was this man's business to go to bath, a small town about two miles from the cave, to dispose of our goods to the merchants in that place, and receive the funds. young as i was, i almost knew that the fellow would one day get us into trouble. he was a short, powerfully-built man, with a most villainous countenance. he was always silent and morose; could not bear to have you look him in the eye; in short, he was just the man that i would have picked out from among a hundred as a traitor. father seemed to repose entire confidence in him, and always asked his advice in times of danger; but, as much as i respected his judgment, i could not conquer the feeling with which i had always regarded the man, and i was constantly on the watch. "one night the schooner sailed as usual, but this man, under pretense of sickness, remained behind, with instructions from father, in case he got better, to go to the village and collect some money due him for goods. "'all right,' answered the mate; 'i'll attend to it.' then, as soon as father had got out of hearing, he muttered, 'i'll collect something for you that you won't expect.' "as soon as the schooner had cleared the channel, and was fairly out to sea, the rapidity with which that man got well was astonishing. he staid about the cave all day, scarcely saying a word to me, and at night departed by the secret path for the village. i was very uneasy, for a dread of impending evil constantly pressed upon me, and i determined to watch the path, and be ready for any emergency. "on the cliff, at the entrance of the channel that led to the bay, was a pile of dry wood, that was to be lighted in case of danger. this i replenished, placing materials for striking a light close at hand, and then returned to the cave to keep watch of the path. "two days passed without the occurrence of any thing unusual, and the night came on which the schooner was expected to return. i divided my attention between the secret path and the offing, and at length a blue light, moving up and down in the darkness, told me that the schooner was approaching. i answered the signal, and stood peering through the darkness to get a glimpse of the approaching vessel, when i heard a rustling behind me, and looking down the path i discovered, to my dismay, a party of armed men approaching, headed by the traitor, who said, in a low voice: "'it's all right now. catch that brat before he has time to light the signal of danger, and let the schooner once get into the channel, and we have got them fast.' "the person spoken of as 'that brat' was myself, and i knew that the salvation of the schooner depended upon my exertions. in an instant i had determined upon my course, and, springing from the cave, i ran toward the rope ladder that led to the basin below, and commenced descending. a moment afterward the mouth of the cave was filled by the burly form of the traitor, who exclaimed: "'there he is--shoot him!' and, suiting the action to the word, he leveled his pistol and fired. i felt a sharp pain shoot through my shoulder; a faintness seized upon me, and, being unable longer to retain my hold upon the ladder, i disappeared in the basin. my sudden immersion in the cold water revived me, and, being an excellent swimmer, i struck out, intending to climb the cliff on the opposite side, and fire the pile. i exerted myself to the utmost, for i could see by the lights in the mouth of the cave that the traitor and his men were preparing to follow me; but, it seemed, in my hurry and excitement, that i scarcely moved through the water. at length, however, i reached the opposite shore, and after climbing the cliff, (which i did with the utmost difficulty, for my wounded arm was hanging almost useless at my side, and i had not stopped to look for the path,) i ran at the top of my speed toward the pile. the schooner having seen my signal, and supposing, of course, that all was right, was still standing toward the mouth of the channel. a moment more, and i would have been too late. "i had considerable difficulty in finding my flint, and then it seemed impossible to strike a light; but, just as the foremost of my pursuers reached the top of the cliff, i succeeded in catching a spark; in a moment more, the whole pile was in a blaze. i could not refrain from giving a shout of triumph as i saw the flames shooting upward toward the sky, lighting up the whole face of the rocks, until every object was as clearly defined as in broad daylight. i heard an exclamation of surprise on board the schooner, followed by a few hastily-spoken orders; then i knew that i had succeeded, and the schooner was safe. but i was not a moment too soon, for the little vessel was rapidly nearing the mouth of the channel, and once enclosed by those rocky walls, once under the influence of those waves that dashed so madly over the rocks, retreat would have been impossible. "i was allowed scarcely a moment to congratulate myself upon my success, for my pursuers, finding themselves foiled, determined to wreak their vengeance upon me. they could plainly see me by the light of the burning pile, and the quick discharge of half a dozen pistols sent the bullets thickly around me. it was death to remain where i was, so, taking a last look at the cave, i threw myself over the cliff, and struck out for the schooner. "my father, having seen me when i took the leap, laid the schooner to, and lowered a boat to pick me up. i tell you, sir, i was a proud youngster when i stood on that deck, receiving the thanks and the congratulations of those i had saved. i forgot the pain of my wound, and the dangers from which i had escaped, in the joy i experienced at finding myself once more safe among my friends." their watch ending with tom's interesting reminiscence, they then turned in for the night. the next morning the attack upon the bluffs was renewed, without resulting to the advantage of either side, and at night the vessels again withdrew, and retreated down the river. the trenton returned to her old landing, and frank, at his request, was again placed in command of one of the guns of the battery. but he was not destined to hold the position long, for, now that the "beauties" had dismounted that troublesome gun, general sherman had advanced his works until he could go no further without getting into the enemy's line. at length, one morning, a flag of truce was raised within their fortifications, and hostilities were at once suspended. then came that celebrated interview between the generals, during which the soldiers on both sides clambered out of the rifle-pits, and conversed face to face with the men with whom they had so long been engaged in deadly conflict. "how are you now, johnny?" inquired frank, seating himself on one of the guns, and waving his hat to a rebel officer who stood in the rifle-pits, gazing at the battery with great interest. "what does that flag of truce mean? are you going to surrender?" "don't know," replied the rebel; "but, i say, yank, will you let a fellow come over there?" "certainly. come on." the rebel accordingly laid aside his weapons, and walked over to the battery, where, after examining the guns very curiously, he entered into conversation with frank, in the course of which he informed him that they were a "played-out concern," and could not possibly hold out more than a week longer. but they did not "hold out" so long; for, on the next day, the fourth of july, the victorious army entered the city, and raised the stars and stripes over the "sebastopol of the rebels." here we leave our hero, reposing before vicksburg on his well-earned reputation as a gallant young officer, waiting to be ordered to new scenes of excitement and danger further down the mississippi and up her tributary streams. through these scenes we shall conduct our readers in a concluding volume, which will close frank's career on our western waters. the end. r. w. carroll & co., publishers, booksellers, and stationers, west fourth street, opera-house building, cincinnati, ohio call attention to their list of standard, useful, and interesting works: =the works of shakespeare.= complete. vo., shp. $ . turkey antique, $ . =vagaries of van dyke browne.= an autobiography in verse. by wm. p. brannan. vol., mo., $ . . =lights and shadows of army life=; or, pen pictures from the camp, the battlefield, and the hospital, by rev. w. w. lyle, chaplain u. s. a. vol., mo., $ . . =discourses from the pulpit.= by rev. wm. m. daily, a. m., ll.d., late president indiana university. with portrait. vol., mo., $ . . =the mystic circle and american hand-book of free-=masonry. by george h. gray. vol., mo., illus. _new edition._ $ . =the illustrated book of manners=; a manual of good behavior and polite accomplishments. by robert de valcourt. illustrated, mo., $ . . =the odd-fellows' minstrel=; a collection of odes for all occasions, for the use of the fraternity. by j. fletcher williams, p. g. s. of grand lodge of minnesota. vol., flexible cloth, cents. =the heroes of the war for the union=, and their achievements. with a portrait of general grant. by rev. p. v. ferree, m. d. vol., mo., $ . =the gun-boat series.= by h. c. castlemon, "the gun-boat boy." comprising: frank, the young naturalist. illustrated, $ . . frank in the woods. illustrated, $ . . frank on a gun-boat. illustrated, $ . . frank before vicksburg. illustrated, $ . . frank on the lower mississippi. illustrated, $ . . =incidents of the war=: humorous, pathetic, and descriptive. by alf. burnett, comic delineator, army correspondent, etc. vol., mo., illustrated. cloth, $ . . =the sioux massacre in minnesota=: a history of the great massacre by the sioux indians in minnesota; including the personal narratives of many who escaped. by charles s. bryant, a. m., and a. b. murch. vol., mo., pages, cloth, $ . . =trial of clement l. vallandigham= by a military commission, and the proceedings in _habeas corpus_. vol., vo. paper, cents; law sheep, $ . =internal rules and regulations= for vessels of the mississippi fleet. issued by order of rear-admiral david d. porter. vo., stitched, cents. =thrilling adventures of pauline cushman=, the famous federal spy. vol., mo., stitched, cents. =poems.= by alice mcclure griffin. from the riverside press. vol., mo., cloth, gilt tops, $ . =lawson on consumption.= a practical treatise on phthisis pulmonalis. by l. m. lawson. m. d., professor of the theory and practice of medicine in the medical college of ohio, etc. vol., vo., sheep, $ . . =a history of the discovery of the circulation of the= blood. by p. flourens, sec. of the academy of sciences, paris. translated from the french by j. c. reeve, m. d. vol., mo., cl., $ . =a popular manual of practical microscopy.= by john king, m. d. illustrated with cuts. vo., $ . . =the eclectic practice of medicine.= by william byrd powell, m. d., and r. s. newton, m. d. vol., vo., sheep, $ . =the concordia.= by a. d. fillmore. a splendid book of church music, with ample lessons for schools, in round notes, containing over pages. $ . per copy; $ per dozen. =the polyphonic=; or, juvenile choralist. by a. d. and c. l. fillmore, containing a great variety of music and hymns, new and old, designed for schools and youth generally, and adapted to use in religious meetings and in the home circle. three parts, in vol., pages. paper covers, cents per copy; $ per dozen. stiff covers, cents per copy; $ . per dozen. teachers and sabbath-schools supplied by the dozen or hundred, at a liberal discount. =nelson's mercantile arithmetic=, for commercial schools and colleges. by richard nelson. vol., cloth, $ . . =the little speaker.= by j. c. zachos. cents. =the high school speaker.= by j. c. zachos. $ . [symbol: hand] liberal discounts to the trade. any work on our list sent, post-paid, on receipt of price. r. w. carroll & co., _ west fourth street, cincinnati._ to physicians and medical students. r. w. carroll & co. keep at all times a complete stock. -of- medical books, to which the attention of physicians and students is directed. among them will be found the latest editions of all the leading authors in the use as text-books in the colleges, comprising works on materia medica and pathology, works on surgery, works on mechanical and operative dentistry, anatomical books, domestic medicine, etc., etc., etc., recently issued: a new and complete medical catalogue, (prices attached,) which will be sent on receipt of a postage stamp. the trade supplied on liberal terms. r. w carroll & co., publishers, _ west fourth street, cincinnati._ a new and stirring set of juveniles each volume handsomely illustrated. these are the only works published relating to adventures in the gun-boat service on our western waters. the author speaks from actual experience. frank, the young naturalist, frank in the woods, frank on a gun-boat, frank before vicksburg, frank on the lower mississippi. by h. c. castlemon, the "gun-boat boy." these works are the productions of a young officer, who has been serving his country in the gun-boat service on our western waters. they are written in a chaste style, filled with stirring adventures, and are admirably adapted to interest and improve the rising generation. the tone of the entire series is healthy, while it takes a wide range, detailing the adventures, amusements, and exploits of frank and his cousin archie, from early boyhood to the end of the rebellion, against which they both fought. volumes, elegantly printed and bound, in a neat box, $ . . any volume sold separately, price $ . . sent by mail, post paid, on receipt of price. for sale by all booksellers in the united states. r. w. carroll & co., publishers, west fourth st., (opera-house building,) cincinnati, o. shakespeare r. w. carroll & co. call attention to their edition of the complete works of wm. shakespeare. one vol., large octavo, elegantly illustrated. sheep, $ ; turkey antique, $ . this is the handsomest one-volume edition published. it is printed from clear, bold type, illustrated with steel engravings, and comprises the complete dramatic and poetical works, from the text of the late george steevens, with a glossary and notes, and a memoir by alexander chalmers. 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[symbol: hand] a standard work on freemasonry. just ready, a new edition of the mystic circle, and american hand-book of masonry by george h. gray, sr. this excellent work contains a brief history of freemasonry in europe and america--symbolic chart--ancient constitution of the grand lodge of england--abiman rezon--constitutional rules--resolutions, decisions, and opinions of grand lodges and enlightened masons, on questions liable to arise in subordinate lodges, and a code of by-laws for subordinate lodges--instructions, suggestions, and forms for secretaries of lodges. one vol., illustrated, handsomely bound, $ . . sent by mail, post-paid. r. w. carroll & co., publishers, west fourth street. new poems by wm. p. brannan. vagaries of vandyke browne, an autobiography in verse. by wm. p. brannan, author of "the harp of a thousand strings" vol., elegantly printed on laid paper, and exquisitely bound in new style cloth, $ . . _sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of price_. mr. brannan is well known, to the people of the west especially, as an artist, and an occasional contributor of poetry to the press. his "harp of a thousand strings," a burlesque sermon, has been long recognized as the best of its class. the present volume is one of superior merit for the wit and humor of the autobiography, the pathos, imagination and smooth versification of the occasional pieces scattered in profusion throughout. this work is destined to place mr. brannan high in the rank of american poets, and to give him position as a leader among the bards of the west. _notices of the press_. "the breezy freshness of the prairie pervades his thought, and breathes in many of his lines."--_portland daily press._ "the collection of poems does honor to the author, whose name is so familiar to western people, that the mere announcement of the work will be sufficient to secure a host of readers."--_cincinnati gazette._ "this autobiographic verse is made to link together a number of fugitive poems which have the true gold of poetry, without alloy."--_cincinnati commercial._ "the poems display a tender and refined sensibility, and the book is one to buy."--_boston saturday evening gazette._ "the author manifests more than ordinary skill in versification."--_salem register._ r. w. carroll & co., publishers, west fourth st., opera-house building, cincinnati. musical works of a. d. fillmore. r. w. carroll & co. call attention to the following list of mr. fillmore's works, which are published by them: _harp of zion_: a large book of church music, in figure-faced notation on the staff. the work contains a concise course of lessons, and a series of practical exercises for schools; also, a number of fine secular pieces, designed for social and school practice. $ . per copy; $ per dozen. (in preparation--entirely new.) _concordia_: a splendid book of church music, with ample lessons for schools, in round notes, containing over _four hundred pages_. $ . per copy; $ per dozen. _polyphonic_: designed for sunday-schools. bound in boards, cents per copy; $ . per dozen. paper covers, cents per copy; $ per dozen. liberal discounts, on the above works, to sunday-schools, teachers, and the trade. sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. a pleasant volume for the fireside. humorous, pathetic, and descriptive incidents of the war. by alf. burnett, humorist and army correspondent. with a sketch of his life; and humorous illustrations, from original designs, by thee. jones. vol., mo., cloth. $ . . mr. burnett has a reputation, throughout the entire country, as a first-class humorist. in this volume he has gathered incidents both grave and gay, to convulse with laughter, and to subdue with tears. it is a book which will be readily welcomed by a large class of readers, and contains much worthy of preservation. sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. r. w carroll & co., publishers, _ west fourth street, cincinnati_. opera-house bookstore, cincinnati, o. wholesale department. r. w. carroll & co., wholesale booksellers and stationers, keep constantly on hand the largest and best assorted stock of books and stationery, of every imaginable kind, to be found in any one house in the mississippi valley. they offer these at reduced prices, and will always sell on as favorable terms as the market will permit, or as any other house can give. among the great variety of articles sold by r. w. carroll & co. are the following: school books of every kind, used in the west, law books, medical books, scientific books, theological books, agricultural books, and all varieties of miscellaneous books, including histories, biographies, travels, novels, and illustrated works; 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their position under the blacks was far worse and more precarious, than it had been under the whites. the negroes gained a nominal liberty. nowhere were the slaves so well treated as by the french colonists, and they soon discovered that, so far from profiting by the massacre of their masters and families, they were infinitely worse off than before. they were still obliged to work to some extent to save themselves from starvation; they had none to look to for aid in the time of sickness and old age; hardships and fevers had swept them away wholesale; the trade of the island dwindled almost to nothing; and at last the condition of the negroes in hayti has fallen to the level of that of the savage african tribes. unless some strong white power should occupy the island and enforce law and order, sternly repress crime, and demand a certain amount of labour from all able-bodied men, there seems no hope that any amelioration can take place in the present situation. g. a. henty. contents chapter page i. a fight with a bloodhound ii. rejoined iii. a slave depot iv. a sharp fight v. a pirate hold vi. the negro rising vii. in hiding viii. a time of waiting ix. an attack on the cave x. afloat again xi. a first command xii. a rescue xiii. two captures xiv. the attack on port-au-prince xv. the attack on port-au-prince xvi. toussait l'ouverture xvii. a french frigate xviii. another engagement xix. home illustrations page "i have heard a great deal of you, mr. glover," the admiral said _frontispiece_ "headed by nat, the crew of the gig leapt down on to the deck" the guns on the rampart send a shower of grape into the pirate "it was not long before he came across the figure of a prostrate man" "he fell like a log over the precipice" the journey to the coast the rescue of louise pickard "four shots were fired and as many negroes fell" "the captain of the pirates shook his fist in defiance" a message from toussaint l'ouverture "drop it!" nat repeated "nat sprang on to the rail" a roving commission chapter i a fight with a bloodhound "now, look here, nathaniel--" "drop that, curtis, you know very well that i won't have it. i can't help having such a beast of a name, and why it was given me i have never been able to make out, and if i had been consulted in the matter all the godfathers and godmothers in the world wouldn't have persuaded me to take such a name. nat i don't mind. i don't say that it is a name that i should choose; still, i can put up with that, but the other i won't have. you have only just joined the ship, but if you ask the others they will tell you that i have had at least half a dozen fights over the name, and it is an understood thing here that if anyone wants a row with me he has only got to call me nathaniel, and there is no occasion for any more words after that." the speaker was a pleasant-faced lad, between fifteen and sixteen, and his words were half in jest half in earnest. he was a general favourite among his mess-mates on board h. m. frigate _orpheus_. he was full of life and fun, exceptionally good-tempered, and able to stand any amount of chaff and joking, and it was understood by his comrades that there was but one point that it was unsafe to touch on, and that sore point was his name. it had been the choice of his godmother, a maiden aunt, who had in her earlier days had a disappointment. nat had once closely questioned his father as to how he came by his name, and the latter had replied testily: "well, my boy, your aunt eliza, who is, you know, a very good woman--no one can doubt that--had a weakness. i never myself got at the rights of the matter. anyhow, his name was nathaniel. i don't think there was ever any formal engagement between them. her own idea is that he loved her, but that his parents forbade him to think of her; for that was at a time before her aunt lydia left all her money to her. anyhow, he went abroad, and i don't think she ever heard of him again. i am inclined to think it was an entire mistake on her part, and that the young fellow had never had the slightest fancy for her. however, that was the one romance of her life, and she has clung to it like a limpet to a rock. at any rate when we asked her to be your godmother she said she would be so if we would give you the name of nathaniel. i own it is not a name that i like myself; but when we raised an objection, she said that the name was very dear to her, and that if you took it she would certainly make you her heir, and more than hinted that if you had any other name she would leave her money to charitable purposes. well, you see, as she is worth thirty thousand pounds if she is worth a penny, your mother and i both thought it would be folly to allow the money to go out of the family for the sake of a name, which after all is not such a bad name." "i think it beastly, father, in the first place because it is long." "well, my boy, if you like we can shorten it to nathan." "oh, that would be a hundred times worse! nathan indeed! nat is not so bad. if i had been christened nat i should not have particularly minded it. why did you not propose that to aunt?" his father shook his head. "that would never have done. to her he was always nathaniel. possibly if they had been married it might some day have become nat, but, you see, it never got to that." "well, of course, father," the boy said with a sigh, "as the thing is done it cannot be helped. and i don't say that aunt isn't a good sort--first-rate in some things, for she has always tipped me well whenever she came here, and she says she is going to allow me fifty pounds a year directly i get my appointment as midshipman; but it is certainly hard on me that she could not have fallen in love with some man with a decent name. nathaniel is always getting me into rows. why, the first two or three years i went to school i should say that i had a fight over it once a month. of course i have not had one lately, for since i licked smith major fellows are more careful. i expect it will be just as bad in the navy." so when he first joined nat had found it, but now that he was nearly sixteen, and very strong and active, and with the experience of many past combats, the name nathaniel had been dropped. it was six months since the obnoxious christian name had been used, as it was now by a young fellow of seventeen who had been transferred to the _orpheus_ when the frigate to which he belonged was ordered home. he was tall and lanky, very particular about his dress, spoke in a drawling supercilious way, and had the knack of saying unpleasant things with an air of innocence. supposing that glover's name must be nathaniel, he had thought it smart so to address him, but although he guessed that it might irritate him, he was unprepared for an explosion on the part of a lad who was proverbially good-tempered. "dear me," he said, in assumed surprise, "i had no idea that you objected so much to be called by your proper name! however, i will, of course, in future use the abbreviation." "you had better call me glover," nat replied sharply. "my friends can call me nat, but to other people i am glover, and if you call me out of that name there will be squalls; so i warn you." curtis thought it was well not to pursue the subject further. he was no coward, but he had the sense to see that as nat was a favourite with the others, while he was a new-comer, a fight, even if he were the victor, would not conduce to his popularity among his mess-mates. the president of the mess, a master's mate, a good-tempered fellow, who hated quarrels, broke what would have been an awkward silence by saying: "we seem to be out of luck altogether this trip; we have been out three weeks and not fired a shot. it is especially hard, for we caught sight of that brigantine we have been in search of, and should have had her if she hadn't run into that channel where there was not water enough for us to follow her." "yes, that was rough upon us, and one hates to go back to port royal without a prize, after having taken so many that we have come to be considered the luckiest ship on the station," another said. "still, the cruise is not over yet. i suppose by the way we are laying our course, marston, we are going into cape françois?" the mate nodded. "yes; we want fresh meat, fruit, and water, and it is about the pleasantest place among these islands. i have no doubt, too, that the captain hopes to get some news that may help him to find out where those piratical craft that are doing so much mischief have their rendezvous. they are all so fast that unless in a strong breeze a frigate has no chance whatever of overhauling them; there is no doubt that they are all of spanish build, and in a light breeze they sail like witches. i believe our only chance of catching them is in finding them at their head-quarters, wherever that may be, or by coming upon them in a calm in a bay. in that case it would be a boat affair; and a pretty sharp one i should think, for they all carry very strong crews and are heavily armed, and as the scoundrels know that they fight with ropes round their necks they would be awkward customers to tackle." "yes, if we happened to find them all together, i don't think the captain would risk sending in the boats. one at a time we could manage, but with three of them mounting about fifty guns between them, and carrying, i should say, from two hundred to two hundred and fifty men, the odds would be very great, and the loss, even if we captured them, so heavy that i hardly think the captain would be justified in attempting it. i should say that he would be more likely to get out all the boats and tow the frigate into easy range. she would give a good account of the whole of them." "yes, there is no doubt about that; but even then we should only succeed if the bay was a very narrow one, for otherwise their boats would certainly tow them faster than we could take the frigate along." it was glover who spoke last. "i don't think myself that we shall ever catch them in the frigate. it seems to me that the only chance will be to get hold of an old merchantman, put a strong crew on board and a dozen of our guns, and cruise about until one of them gets a sight of us and comes skimming along to capture us." "yes, that would be a good plan; but it has been tried several times with success, and i fancy the pirates would not fall into the trap. besides, there is very little doubt that they have friends at all these ports, and get early information of any movements of our ships, and would hear of what we were doing long before the disguised ship came near them. it can hardly be chance, that it matters not which way we cruise these fellows begin their work in another direction altogether. now that we are here in this great bay, they are probably cruising off the west of cuba or down by porto rico or the windward islands. that is the advantage that three or four craft working together have: they are able to keep spies in every port that our ships of war are likely to go into, while a single vessel cannot afford such expenses." "i don't think that the expenses, low, would be heavy; the negroes would do it for next to nothing, and so would the mulattoes, simply because they hate the whites. i don't mean the best of the mulattoes, because many of them are gentlemen and good fellows; but the lower class are worse than the negroes, they are up to any devilment, and will do anything they can to injure a white man." "poor beggars, one can hardly blame them; they are neither one thing nor the other! these old french planters are as aristocratic as their noblesse at home, and indeed many of them belong to noble families. even the meanest white--and they are pretty mean some of them--looks down upon a mulatto, although the latter may have been educated in france and own great plantations. the negroes don't like them because of their strain of white blood. they are treated as if they were pariahs. their children may not go to school with the whites, they themselves may not sit down in a theatre or kneel at church next to them, they may not use the same restaurants or hotels. no wonder they are discontented." "it is hard on them," glover said, "but one can't be surprised that the whites do fight shy of them. great numbers of them are brutes and no mistake, ready for any crime and up to any wickedness. there is lots of good in the niggers; they are merry fellows; and i must say for these old french planters they use their slaves a great deal better than they are as a rule treated by our planters in jamaica. of course there are bad masters everywhere, but if i were a slave i would certainly rather be under a french master than an english one, or, from what i have heard, than an american." "very well, glover, i will make a note of that, and if you ever misbehave yourself and we have to sell you, i will drop a line to the first luff how your preference lies." early the next morning the frigate dropped anchor at cape françois, the largest and most important town in the island, with the exception of the capital of the spanish portion of san domingo. the _orpheus_ carried six midshipmen. four of these had been ashore when on the previous occasion the _orpheus_ had entered the port. nat glover and curtis were the exceptions, curtis having at that time belonged to the frigate for but a very few weeks, and nat having been in the first lieutenant's bad books, owing to a scrape into which he had got at the last port they had touched at. after breakfast they went up together to the first lieutenant, whose name was hill. "please, sir, if we are not wanted, can we have leave for the day?" the lieutenant hesitated, and then said: "yes, i think the other four will be enough for the boats. you did not go ashore last time you were here, i think, mr. glover," he added with a slight smile. "no, sir." "very well, then, you can go, but don't get into any scrape." "i will try not to, sir," nat said demurely. "well, i hope your trial will be successful, mr. glover, for if not, i can tell you that it will be a long time before you have leave again. these people don't understand that sort of thing." "he is a nice lad," mr. hill said to the second lieutenant as the two midshipmen walked away, "and when he has worked off those animal spirits of his he will make a capital officer, but at present he is one of the most mischievous young monkeys i ever came across." "he does not let them interfere with his duty," the other said. "he is the smartest of our mids; he is well up in navigation, and has any amount of pluck. you remember how he jumped overboard in port royal when a marine fell into the water, although the harbour was swarming with sharks. it was a near touch. luckily we threw a bowline to him, and the two were hauled up together. a few seconds more and it would have been too late, for there was a shark within twenty feet of them." "yes, there is no doubt about his pluck, playford, and indeed i partly owe my life to him. when we captured that piratical brigantine near santa lucia i boarded by the stern, and she had such a strong crew that we were being beaten back, and things looked very bad until he with the gig's crew swarmed in over the bow. even then it was a very tough struggle till they cut their way through the pirates and joined us, and we went at them together, and that youngster fought like a young fiend. he was in the thick of it everywhere, and yet he was as cool as a cucumber. oh yes, he has the making of a very fine officer. although i am obliged to be sharp with him, there is not a shadow of harm in the lad, but he certainly has a genius for getting into scrapes." the two midshipmen went ashore together. "i don't know what you are going to do, curtis, but after i have walked through the place and had a look at it, i shall hire a horse and ride out into the country." "it is too hot for riding," the other said. "of course i shall see what there is to be seen, and then i shall look for a seat in some place in the shade and eat fruit." "well, we may as well walk through the town together," nat said cheerfully. "from the look of the place i should fancy there was not much in it, and i know the fellows who went on shore before said that the town contained nothing but native huts, a few churches, and two or three dozen old french houses." half an hour indeed sufficed to explore the place. when they separated nat had no difficulty in hiring a horse. he had been accustomed, when in england, to ride a pony, and was therefore at home in the saddle; he proceeded at a leisurely pace along the road across the flat plain that surrounded cape françois. on either side were plantations,--sugar-cane and tobacco,--and he occasionally passed the abode of some wealthy planter, surrounded by shady trees and gardens gorgeous with tropical plants and flowers. he was going by one of these, half a mile from the town, when he heard a loud scream, raised evidently by a woman in extreme pain or terror. he was just opposite the entrance, and, springing from his horse, he ran in. on the ground, twenty yards from the gate, lay a girl. a huge hound had hold of her shoulder, and was shaking her violently. nat drew his dirk and gave a loud shout as he rushed forward. the hound loosed his hold of the girl and turned to meet him, and, springing upon him with a savage growl, threw him to the ground. nat drove his dirk into the animal as he fell, and threw his left arm across his throat to prevent the dog seizing him there. a moment later the hound had seized it with a grip that extracted a shout of pain from the midshipman. as he again buried his dirk in the hound's side, the dog shifted his hold from nat's forearm to his shoulder and shook him as if he had been a child. nat made no effort to free himself, for he knew that were he to uncover his throat for a moment the dog would seize him there. though the pain was terrible he continued to deal stroke after stroke to the dog. one of these blows must have reached the heart, for suddenly its hold relaxed and it rolled over, just as half a dozen negroes armed with sticks came rushing out of the house. nat tried to raise himself on his right arm, but the pain of the left was so great that he leant back again half-fainting. presently he felt himself being lifted up and carried along; he heard a lady's voice giving directions, and then for a time he knew no more. when he came to himself he saw the ship's doctor leaning over him. "what is the matter, doctor?" he asked. "you are badly hurt, lad, and must lie perfectly quiet. luckily the messenger who was sent to fetch a doctor, seeing mr. curtis and me walking up the street, ran up to us and said that a young officer of our ship was hurt, and that he was sent in to fetch a doctor. he had, in fact, already seen one, and was in the act of returning with him when he met us. of course i introduced myself to the french doctor as we came along together, for we fortunately got hold of a trap directly, so that no time was lost. the black boy who brought the message told me that you and a young lady had been bitten by a great hound belonging to his master, and that you had killed it. now, my lad, i am going to cut off your coat and look at your wounds. the frenchman is attending to the young lady." "mind how you touch my arm, doctor! it is broken somewhere between the elbow and the wrist; i heard it snap when the brute seized me. it threw me down, and i put my arm across over my throat, so as to prevent it from getting at that. it would have been all up with me if it had gripped me there." "that it would, glover. i saw the dog lying on the grass as i came in. it is a big bloodhound; and your presence of mind undoubtedly saved your life." by this time he had cut the jacket and shirt up to the neck. nat saw his lips tighten as he caught sight of the wound on the shoulder. "it is a bad bite, eh, doctor?" "yes, it has mangled the flesh badly. the dog seems to have shifted his hold several times." "yes, doctor, each time i stabbed him he gave a sort of start, and then caught hold again and shook me furiously. after the first bite i did not seem to feel any pain. i suppose the limb was numbed." "very likely, lad. now i must first of all see what damage was done to the forearm. i am afraid i shall hurt you, but i will be as gentle as i can." nat clenched his teeth and pressed his lips tightly together. not a sound was heard as the examination was being made, although the sweat that started out on his forehead showed how intense was the pain. "both bones are broken," the surgeon said to his french colleague, who had just entered the room and came up to the bedside. "the first thing to do is to extemporize some splints, and of course we shall want some stuff for bandages." "i will get them made at once," the doctor replied. "madame demaine said that she put the whole house at my disposal." he went out, and in a few minutes returned with some thin slips of wood eighteen inches long and a number of strips of sheeting sewn together. "it is very fortunate," the surgeon said, "that the ends of the bone have kept pretty fairly in their places instead of working through the flesh, which they might very well have done." very carefully the two surgeons bandaged the arm from the elbow to the finger-tips. "now for the shoulder," the doctor said. they first sponged the wounds and then began feeling the bones again, giving exquisite pain to nat. then they drew apart and consulted for two or three minutes. "this is a much worse business than the other," dr. bemish said when he returned to the bedside; "the arm is broken near the shoulder, the collar-bone is broken too, and the flesh is almost in a pulp." "don't say i must lose the arm, doctor," nat said. "well, i hope not, glover, but i can't say for certain. you see i am speaking frankly to you, for i know that you have pluck. the injury to the collar-bone is not in itself serious, but the other is a comminuted fracture." "what is comminuted, doctor?" "it means that the bone is splintered, lad. still, there is no reason why it should not heal again; you have a strong constitution, and nature works wonders." for the next half-hour the two surgeons were at work picking out the fragments of bone, getting the ends together, and bandaging the arm and shoulder. nat fainted under the pain within the first few minutes, and did not recover until the surgeons had completed their work. then his lips were wetted with brandy and a few drops of brandy and water were poured down his throat. in a minute or two he opened his eyes. "it is all over now, lad." he lay for sometime without speaking, and then whispered, "how is the girl?" "her shoulder is broken," dr. bemish replied. "i have not seen her; but the doctor says that it is a comparatively simple case." "how was it the dog came to bite her?" "she was a stranger to it. she is not the daughter of your hostess. it seems her father's plantation is some twelve miles away; he drove her in and left her here with madame demaine, who is his sister, while he went into town on business. madame's own daughter was away, and the girl sauntered down into the garden, when the hound, not knowing her, sprang upon her, and i have not the least doubt would have killed her had you not arrived." "are you going to take me on board, doctor?" "not at present, glover; you need absolute quiet, and if the frigate got into a heavy sea it might undo all our work, and in that case there would be little hope of saving your arm. madame demaine told the french doctor that she would nurse you as if you were her own child, and that everything was to be done to make you comfortable. the house is cool, and your wound will have a much better chance of getting well here than in our sick-bay. she wanted to come in to thank you, but i said that, now we had dressed your arm, it was better that you should have nothing to disturb or excite you. when the girl's father returns--and i have no doubt he will do so soon, for as yet, though half-a-dozen boys have been sent down to the town, they have not been able to find him--he must on no account come in to see you at present. here is a tumbler of fresh lime-juice and water. doctor lepel will remain here all night and see that you have everything that you require." the tumbler was held to nat's lips, and he drained it to the bottom. the drink was iced, and seemed to him the most delicious that he had ever tasted. "i shall come ashore again to see you in the morning. dr. lepel will go back with me now, and make up a soothing draught for you both. remember that above all things it is essential for you to lie quiet. he will put bandages round your body, and fasten the ends to the bedstead so as to prevent you from turning in your sleep." "all right, sir; i can assure you that i have no intention of moving. my arm does not hurt me much now, and i would not set it off aching again for any money." "it is a rum thing," nat thought to himself, "that i should always be getting into some scrape or other when i go ashore. this is the worst of all by a long way." a negro girl presently came in noiselessly and placed a small table on the right-hand side of the bed. she then brought in a large jug of the same drink that nat had before taken, and some oranges and limes both peeled and cut up into small pieces. "it is lucky it was not the right arm," nat said to himself. "i suppose one can do without the left pretty well when one gets accustomed to it, though it would be rather awkward going aloft." in an hour dr. lepel returned, and gave him the draught. "now try and go to sleep," he said in broken english. "i shall lie down on that sofa, and if you wake up be sure and call me. i am a light sleeper." "had you not better stay with the young lady?" "she will have her mother and her aunt with her, so she will do very well. i hope that you will soon go to sleep." it was but a few minutes before nat dozed off. beyond a numbed feeling his arm was not hurting him very much. once or twice during the night he woke and took a drink. a slight stir in the room aroused him, and to his surprise he found that the sun was already up. the doctor was feeling his pulse, a negro girl was fanning him, and a lady stood at the foot of the bed looking at him pitifully. "do you speak french, monsieur?" she asked. "a little," he replied, for he had learned french while at school, and since the frigate had been among the west indian islands he had studied it for a couple of hours a day, as it was the language that was spoken in all the french islands and might be useful to him if put in charge of a prize. "have you slept well?" she asked. "very well." "does your arm hurt you very much now?" "it hurts a bit, ma'am, but nothing to make any fuss about." "you must ask for anything that you want," she said. "i have told off two of my negro girls to wait upon you. of course they both speak french." half an hour later dr. bemish arrived. "you are going on very well, glover," he said after feeling the lad's pulse and putting his hand on his forehead. "at present you have no fever. you cannot expect to get through without some, but i hardly expected to find you so comfortable this morning. the captain told me to say that he would come and see you to-day, and i can assure you that there is not one among your mess-mates who is not deeply sorry at what has happened, although they all feel proud of your pluck in fighting that great hound with nothing but a dirk." "they are useless sort of things, doctor, and i cannot think why they give them to us; but it was a far better weapon yesterday than a sword would have been." "yes, it was. the room is nice and cool, isn't it?" "wonderfully cool, sir. i was wondering about it before you came in, for it is a great deal cooler than it is on board." "there are four great pans full of ice in the room, and they have got up matting before each of the windows, and are keeping it soaked with water." "that is very good of them, doctor. please thank madame demaine for me. she was in here this morning--at least i suppose it was she--and she did not bother me with thanks, which was a great comfort. you are not going to take these bandages off and put them on again, i hope?" "oh, no. we may loosen them a little when inflammation sets in, which it is sure to do sooner or later." captain crosbie came to see nat that afternoon. "well, my lad," he said cheerfully, "i see that you have fallen into good hands, and i am sure that everything that is possible will be done for you. i was talking to the girl's mother and aunt before i came in. their gratitude to you is quite touching, and they are lamenting that dr. bemish has given the strictest orders that they are not to say anything more about it. and now i must not stay and talk; the doctor gave me only two minutes to be in the room with you. i don't know whether the frigate is likely to put in here again soon, but i will take care to let you know from time to time what we are doing and where we are likely to be, so that you can rejoin when the doctor here gives you leave; but mind, you are not to dream of attempting it until he does so, and you must be a discontented spirit indeed if you are not willing to stay for a time in such surroundings. good-bye, lad! i sincerely trust that it will not be very long before you rejoin us, and i can assure you of a hearty welcome from officers and men." three days later, fever set in, but, thanks to the coolness of the room and to the bandages being constantly moistened with iced water, it passed away in the course of a week. for two or three days nat was light-headed, but he woke one morning feeling strangely weak. it was some minutes before he could remember where he was or how he had got there, but a sharp twinge in his arm brought the facts home to him. "thank god that you are better, my brave boy," a voice said in french, as a cool hand was placed on his forehead; and turning his head nat saw a lady standing by his bedside. she was not the one whom he had seen before; tears were streaming down her cheeks, and, evidently unable to speak, she hurried from the room, and a minute later doctor lepel entered. "madame duchesne has given me the good news that you are better," he said. "i had just driven up to the door when she ran down." "have i been very bad, doctor?" "well, you have been pretty bad, my lad, and have been light-headed for the past three or four days, and i did not for a moment expect that you would come round so soon. you must have a magnificent constitution, for most men, even if they recovered at all from such terrible wounds as you have had, would probably have been three or four times as long before the fever had run its course." "and how is the young lady?" "she is going on well, and i intended to give permission for her to be carried home in a hammock to-day, but when i spoke of it yesterday to her mother, she said that nothing would induce her to go until you were out of danger. she or madame demaine have not left your bedside for the past week, and next to your own good constitution you owe your rapid recovery to their care. i have no doubt that she will go home now, and you are to be moved to monsieur duchesne's house as soon as you are strong enough. it lies up among the hills, and the change and cooler air will do you good." "i have not felt it hot here, doctor, thanks to the care that they have taken in keeping the room cool. i hope now that there is no fear of my losing my arm?" "no; i think that i can promise you that. in a day or two i shall re-bandage it, and i shall then be able to see how the wounds are getting on; but there can be no doubt that they are doing well, or you would never have shaken off the fever so soon as you have done." "of course the _orpheus_ has sailed, doctor?" "yes. she put to sea a week ago. i have a letter here that the captain gave me to hand to you when you were fit to read it. i should not open it now if i were you. you are very weak, and sleep is the best medicine for you. now, drink a little of this fresh lime-juice. i have no doubt that you will doze off again." almost before the door closed on the doctor nat was asleep. a fortnight later he was able to get up and sit in an easy-chair. "how long shall i have to keep these bandages on, doctor?" "i should say in another fortnight or so you might take them off the forearm, for the bones seem to have knit there, but it would be better that you should wear them for another month or six weeks. there would indeed be no use in taking them off earlier, for the bandages on the shoulder and the fracture below it cannot be removed for some time, and you will have to carry your arm in a sling for another three months. i do not mean that you may not move your arm before that, indeed it is desirable that you should do so, but the action must be quiet and simple, and done methodically, and the sling will be necessary at other times to prevent sudden jerks." "but i shall be able to go away and join my ship before that, surely?" "yes, if the arm goes on as well as at present you may be able to do so in a month's time; only you will have to be very careful. you must remember that a fall, or even a lurch against the rail, or a slip in going down below, or anything of that kind, might very well undo our work, for it must be some time before the newly-formed bone is as strong as the old. as i told you the other day, your arm will be some two inches shorter than it was." "that won't matter a rap," nat said. that afternoon nat had to submit to what he had dreaded. the doctor had pronounced that he was now quite convalescent, and that there was no fear whatever of a relapse, and monsieur and madame duchesne therefore came over to see him. he had seen the latter but once, and then only for a minute, for she found herself unable to observe the condition on which alone the doctor had allowed her to enter, namely, to repress all emotion. madame demaine came in with them. since her niece had been taken away, she had spent much of her time in nat's room, talking quietly to him about his english home or his ship, and sometimes reading aloud to him, but studiously avoiding any allusion to the accident. monsieur duchesne was a man of some thirty-five years of age, his wife was about five years younger, and they were an exceptionally handsome couple of the best french type. madame duchesne pressed forward before the others, and to nat's embarrassment bent over him and kissed him. "you cannot tell how we have longed for this time to come," she said. "it seemed so cold and ungrateful that for a whole month we should have said no word of thanks to you for saving our darling's life, but the doctor would not allow it. he said that the smallest excitement might bring on the fever again, so we have been obliged to abstain. now he has given us leave to come, and now we have come, what can we say to you? ah, monsieur, it was our only child that you saved, the joy of our lives! think of the grief into which we should have been plunged by her loss, and you can then imagine the depth of our gratitude to you." while she was speaking her husband had taken nat's right hand and pressed it silently. there were tears in his eyes, and his lips quivered with emotion. "pray do not say anything more about it, madam," nat said. "of course i am very glad to have saved your daughter's life, but anyone else would have done the same. you don't suppose that anyone could stand by and see a girl mauled by a dog without rushing forward to save her, even if he had had no arm of any kind, while i had my dirk, which was about as good a weapon for that sort of thing as one could want. why, harpur, our youngest middy, who is only fourteen, would have done it. of course i have had a good deal of pain, but i would have borne twice as much for the sake of the pleasure i feel in having saved your daughter's life, and i am sure that i have had a very nice time of it since i have begun to get better. madame demaine has been awfully good to me. if she had been my own mother she could not have been kinder. i felt quite ashamed of being so much trouble to her, and of being fanned and petted as if i had been a sick girl. and how is your daughter getting on? the doctor gave me a very good account of her, but you know one can't always quite believe doctors; they like to say pleasant things to you so as not to upset you." "she is getting on very well indeed. of course she has her arm in a sling still, but she is going about the house, and is quite merry and bright again. she wanted to come over with us to-day, but dr. lepel would not have it. he said that a sudden jolt over a stone might do a good deal of mischief. however, it will not be long before she sees you, for we have got leave to have you carried over early next week." chapter ii rejoined four days later monsieur duchesne came down with six negroes and a cane lounging chair, on each side of which a long pole had been securely lashed. nat's room was on the ground floor, and with wide windows opening to the ground. the chair was brought in. nat was still shaky on his legs, but he was able to get from the bed into the chair without assistance. "i shall come over to see you to-morrow," madame demaine said, as he thanked her and her husband for their great kindness to him, "and i hope i shall find that the journey has done you no harm." four of the negroes took the ends of the poles and raised them onto their shoulders, the other two walked behind to serve as a relay. monsieur duchesne mounted his horse and took his place by nat's side, and the little procession started. the motion was very easy and gentle. it was late in the afternoon when they started, the sun was near the horizon, and a gentle breeze from the sea had sprung up. in half an hour it was dusk, and the two spare negroes lighted torches they had brought with them, and now walked ahead of the bearers. it was full moon, and after having been so long confined in a semi-darkened room, nat enjoyed intensely the soft air, the dark sky spangled with stars, and the rich tropical foliage showing its outlines clearly in the moonlight. presently monsieur duchesne said: "i have a flask of brandy and water with me, mr. glover, in case you should feel faint or exhausted." nat laughed. "thank you for thinking of it, monsieur, but there is no fatigue whatever in sitting here, and i have enjoyed my ride intensely. it is almost worth getting hurt in order to have such pleasure: we don't get such nights as this in england." "but you have fine weather sometimes, surely?" monsieur duchesne said. "oh yes, we often have fine weather, but there are not many nights in the year when one can sit out-of-doors after dark! when it is a warm night there are sure to be heavy dews; besides, the stars are not so bright with us as they are here, nor is the air so soft. i don't mean to say that i don't like our climate better; we never have it so desperately hot as you do, and besides, we like the cold, because it braces one up, and even the rain is welcome as a change, occasionally. still, i allow that as far as nights go you beat us hollow." the road presently began to rise, and before they reached the end of the journey they were high above the plain. as they approached the house the negroes broke into a song, and on their stopping before the wide verandah that surrounded the house, madame duchesne and her daughter were standing there to greet them as the bearers gently lowered the chair to the ground. the girl was first beside it. "ah, monsieur," she exclaimed as she took his hand, "how grateful i am to you! how i have longed to see you! for i have never seen you yet; and it has seemed hard to me that while aunt and the doctor should have seen you so often, and even mamma should have seen you once, i should never have seen you at all." "there is not much to see in me at the best of times, mademoiselle," nat said as he rose to his feet, "and i am almost a scarecrow now. i wanted to see you, too, just to see what you were like, you know." he took the arm that monsieur duchesne offered him, for although he could have walked that short distance unaided, he did not know the ground, and might have stumbled over something. they went straight from the verandah into a pretty room lighted by a dozen wax candles. he sat down in a chair that was there in readiness for him. the girl placed herself in front of him and looked earnestly at him. "well," he said with a laugh, "am i at all like what you pictured me?" "you are not a scarecrow at all!" she said indignantly. "why do you say such things of yourself? of course you are thin, very thin, but even now you look nice. i think you are just what i thought you would be. now, am i like what you thought i should be?" "i don't know that i ever attempted to think exactly what you would be," nat said. "i did not notice your face; i don't even know whether it was turned my way. i did take in that you were a girl somewhere about thirteen years old, but as soon as the dog turned, my attention was pretty fully occupied. madame demaine said your name was myra. i thought that with such a pretty name you ought to be pretty too. i suppose it is rude to say so, but you certainly are, mademoiselle." the girl laughed. "it is not rude at all; and please you are to call me myra and not mademoiselle. now, you must get strong as soon as you can. mamma said i might act as your guide, and show you about the plantation, and the slave houses, and everywhere. i have never had a boy friend, and i should think it was very nice." "my dear," her mother said with a smile, "it is not altogether discreet for a young lady to talk in that way." "ah! but i am not a young lady yet, mamma, and i think it is much nicer to be a girl and to be able to say what one likes. and you are an officer, monsieur glover!" "well, if i am to call you myra, you must call me nat. monsieur glover is ridiculous." "you are very young to be an officer," the girl said. "oh, i have been an officer for more than two years," he said. "i was only fourteen when i joined, and i am nearly sixteen now." "and have you been in battles?" "not in a regular battle. you see england is not at war now with anyone, but i have been in two or three fights with pirates and that sort of thing." "and now, myra, you must not talk any more," her father said. "you know the doctor gave strict orders that he was to go to bed as soon as he arrived here." at this moment the door opened and a slave girl brought in a basin of strong broth. "well, you may stop to take that." nat spent a delightful month at monsieur duchesne's plantation. for the first few days he lay in a hammock beneath a shady tree, then he began to walk, at first only for a few minutes, but every day his strength increased. at the end of a fortnight he could walk half a mile, and by the time the month was up he was able to wander about with myra all over the plantation. monsieur duchesne, on his return one day from town, brought a letter for him. it was from the captain himself: _dear mr. glover,--i hope you are getting on well, and are by this time on your legs again. as far as i can see, we are not likely to be at cape françois again for some time, therefore, when you feel quite strong enough, you had better take passage in a craft bound for jamaica, which is likely to be our head-quarters for some time. of course if we are away, you will wait till our return. i have spoken to a friend of mine, mr. cummings--his plantation lies high up among the hills--and he has kindly invited you to make his place your home till we return, and it will be very much better for you to be in the pure air up there than in this pestilential place._ nat would have started the next day, but his host insisted upon his staying for another week. "you are getting on so well," m. duchesne said, "that it would be folly indeed to risk throwing yourself back. every day is making an improvement in you, and a week will make a great difference." at the end of that week the planter, seeing that nat was really anxious to rejoin his ship, brought back the news that a vessel in port would sail for port royal in two days. "i have engaged a cabin for you," he said, "for although we shall be sorry indeed to lose you, i know that you want to be off." "it is not that i want to be off, sir, for i was never happier in all my life, but i feel that i ought to go. it is likely enough that the ship may be short of middies, one or two may be away in prizes, and it will be strange if no one falls sick while they are lying in port royal. it would be ungrateful indeed if i wanted to leave you when you are all so wonderfully kind to me." m. duchesne drove nat down to the port the next morning. the midshipman as he left the house felt quite unmanned, for myra had cried undisguisedly, and madame duchesne was also much moved. they passed m. demaine's house without stopping, as he and his wife had spent the previous evening at the duchesnes', and had there said good-bye to him. "it is quite time that i was out of this," nat said to himself as he leaned on the rail and looked back at the port. "that sort of life is awfully nice for a time, but it would soon make a fellow so lazy and soft that he would be of no use on board ship. of course it was all right for a bit, but since i began to use my arm a little, i have wanted to do something. still, it would have been no good leaving before, for my arm is of no real use yet, and the doctor said that i ought to carry it in a sling for at least another month. but i am sure i ought to feel very grateful to our doctor and lepel, for i expect i should have lost it altogether if they hadn't taken such pains with it at first. well, it will be very jolly getting back again. i only hope that the captain won't be wanting to treat me as an invalid." to nat's delight he saw, as he entered port royal, the _orpheus_ lying there, and without landing he hailed a boat and went on board. as soon as he was made out there was quite a commotion on board the frigate among the sailors on deck and at the side, while those below looked out of the port-holes, and a burst of cheering rose from all as the boat came alongside. as he came up on to the deck the midshipmen crowded round, shaking him by the hand; and when he went to the quarter-deck to report his return, the lieutenants greeted him as heartily. the captain was on shore. nat was confused and abashed at the warmth of their greeting. "it is perfectly ridiculous!" he said almost angrily, as he rejoined the midshipmen; "as if there was anything extraordinary in a fellow fighting a dog!" "it depends upon the size of the dog and the size of the fellow," needham, the senior midshipman, said, "and also how he got into the fight." "the fact is, needham, if i had killed the dog with the first stroke of my dirk nobody would have thought anything about the matter, and it is just because i could not do so, and therefore got badly mauled before i managed it, that all this fuss is made! it would have been much more to the point if you had all grumbled, when i came on board, at my being nursed and coddled, while you had to do my duty between you, just because i was such a duffer that i was a couple of minutes in killing the dog instead of managing it at once." "well, we might have done so if we had thought of it, but, you see, we did not look at it in that light, nat," needham laughed; "there is certainly a good deal in what you say. however, i shall in future look upon my dirk as being of more use than i have hitherto thought; i have always considered it the most absurd weapon that was ever put into anyone's hand to use in action. not, of course, that one does use it, for one always gets hold of a cutlass when there is fighting to be done. how anyone can ever have had the idea of making a midshipman carry about a thing little better than a pocket-knife, and how they have kept on doing so for years and years, is most astonishing! for the lords of the admiralty must all have been midshipmen themselves at one time, and must have hated the beastly things just as much as we do. if they think a full-sized sword too heavy for us--which it certainly isn't for the seniors--they might give us rapiers, which are no weight to speak of, and would be really useful weapons if we were taught to use them properly. "well, we won't say anything more about your affair, nat, if you don't like it; but we sha'n't think any the less, because we are all proud of you, and whatever you may say, it was a very plucky action. i know that i would rather stand up against the biggest frenchman than face one of those savage hounds. and how is the arm going on? i see you still have the arm of your jacket snipped open and tied up with ribbons, and you keep it in a sling." "yes; the doctor made such a point of it that i was obliged to promise to wear it until bemish gives me permission to lay it aside." he took it out of the sling and moved it about. "you see i have got the use of it, though i own i have very little strength as yet; still, i manage to use it at meals, which is a comfort. it was hateful being obliged to have my grub cut up for me. how long have you been in harbour here?" "three days; and you are in luck to find us here, for i hear that we are off again to-morrow morning. you have missed nothing while you have been away, for we haven't picked up a single prize beyond a little slaver with a hundred niggers on board." when the captain came off two hours later with dr. bemish he sent for nat. "i am heartily glad to see you back again, mr. glover, and to see you looking so vastly better than when i saw you last; in fact, you look nearly as well as you did before that encounter." "i have had nothing to do but to eat, sir." "well, the question is, how is your arm?" "it is not very strong yet, sir, but i could really do very well without this sling." "well, you see i have to decide whether you had better go up to the hills until we return from our next cruise or take you with us." "please, sir, i would much rather go with you." "yes; it is not a question of what you like best, but what the doctor thinks best for you. you had better go to him at once, he will examine your arm and report to me, and of course we must act on his decision." nat went straight to the doctor. "well, you are looking better than i expected," the latter said, holding the lad at arm's-length and looking him up and down; "flesh a good deal more flabby than it used to be--want of exercise, of course, and the result of being looked after by women. now, lad, take off your shirt and let me have a regular examination." he moved the arm in different directions, felt very carefully along each bone, pressing rather hard at the points where these had been broken, and asking nat if it hurt him. he replied "no" without hesitation, as long as the doctor was feeling the forearm, but when he came to the upper-arm and shoulder he was obliged to acknowledge that the pressure gave him a bit of a twinge. "yes, it could hardly be otherwise," the doctor said; "however, there is no doubt we made a pretty good job of it. stretch both arms out in front of you and bring the fingers together. yes, that is just what i expected, it is some two and a half inches shorter than the other; but no one will be likely to notice it." "don't you think, doctor, that i can go to sea now? the captain said that you would have to decide." "i think a month up in the hills would be a very desirable thing, glover. the bones have knit very well, but it would not take much to break them again." "i have had quite enough of plantations for the present, doctor, and i do think that sea air would do me more good than anything. i am sure i feel better already for the run from cape françois here." the doctor smiled. "well, you see, if you did remain on board you would be out of everything. you certainly would not be fit for boat service, you must see that yourself." "i can't say that i do, sir; one fights with one's right arm and not with one's left." "that is so, lad, but you might get hit on the left arm as well as the right. besides, even on board, you might get hurt while skylarking." "i would indeed be most careful, doctor." "well, we will see about it, and talk it over with the captain." all that evening nat was in a state of alarm whenever anyone came with a message to any of his mess-mates; but when it was almost the hour for lights out he turned into his hammock with great satisfaction, feeling sure that if it had been decided that he must go ashore next morning a message to that effect would have been sent to him. the sound of the boatswain's whistle, followed by the call "all hands to make sail!" settled the question. he had already dressed himself with needham's assistance, but had remained below lest, if the captain's eye fell on him, he might be sent ashore. as soon, however, as he heard the order he felt sure that all was right, and went up on deck. here he took up his usual station, passing orders forward and watching the men at work, until the vessel was under sail. the want of success on the last cruise made all hands even keener than usual to pick up something worth capturing. "i suppose there is no clue as to the whereabouts of those three pirates," he said to needham as the latter, after the vessel was fairly under weigh, joined him. "no; twice we had information from the captains of small craft that they had seen suspicious sail in the distance, but there is no doubt that the niggers had been either bribed or frightened into telling us the story, for in each case, though we remained a fortnight cruising about, we have never caught sight of a suspicious sail. when we returned here we found to our disgust that they must have been at work hundreds of miles away, as several ships were missing, and one that came in had been hotly chased by them, but being a fast sailer escaped by the skin of her teeth. that is the worst of these negroes, one can never believe them, and i think the best way would be when anyone came and told a yarn, to go and cruise exactly in the opposite direction to that in which he tells us he has seen the pirates." "it is a pity we cannot punish some of these fellows who give false news," nat said. "yes; but the difficulty is proving that it is false. in the first place, one of these native craft is so much like another that one would not recognize it again; besides, you may be sure that the rascals would give port royal a wide berth for a time. on our last cruise we did take with us the negro who brought the news, but that made the case no better. he pretended, of course, to be as anxious as anyone that the pirates should be caught, and as he stuck to his story that he had seen a rakish schooner where he said he did, there was no proof that he was lying, and he pretended to be terribly cut up at not getting the reward promised him if he came across them. "i have no doubt that he was lying, but there was no way of proving it. you see, the idea of getting hold of a trader and fitting her up with a few guns and some men is all well enough when you have only got to deal with a single schooner or brigantine, but it would be catching a tartar if these three scoundrels were to come upon her at once. of course they are all heavily armed and carry any number of men, nothing short of the frigate herself would be a match for them. and one thing is certain, we can't disguise her to look like a merchantman. do what we would, the veriest landlubber would make her out to be what she is, and you may be sure the pirates would know her to be a ship of war as soon as they got a sight of her topsails." "you have not heard, i suppose, where our cruising ground is going to be this time?" nat asked. "no, and i don't suppose we shall know for a few hours. you may be sure that whatever course we take now will not be our real course, for i bet odds that after dark some fast little craft will sneak out of harbour to take the pirates news as to the course we are following, and to tell them that we have not taken a negro this time who would lead us a dance in the wrong direction. i should not be surprised if we are going to search the islands round cuba for a change. we were among the bays and islets up north on our last cruise, and the captain may be determined to try fresh ground." needham's guess turned out to be correct, for after darkness fell the ship's course was changed, and her head laid towards cuba. after cruising for nearly three weeks without success, they were passing along the coast of the mainland, when nat, who had now given up his sling, went aloft with his telescope. every eye on deck was turned towards the island, but their continued failures had lessened the eagerness with which they scanned the shore, and, as there was no sign of any break in its outline, it was more from habit than from any hope of seeing anything that they looked at the rugged cliffs that rose forty or fifty feet perpendicularly above the water's edge, and at the forest stretching up the hillsides behind them. "you have seen nothing, i suppose, tom?" he asked the sailor stationed in the main-top. "not a thing, mr. glover." nat continued his way up, and took his seat on the yard of the topsail. leaning back against the mast, he brought his telescope to bear upon the land, and for half an hour scanned every rock and tree. at last something caught his eye. "come up here, tom," he called to the sailor below. "look there, you see that black streak on the face of the cliff?" "i see it, yer honour." "well, look above the first line of trees exactly over it: isn't that a pole with a truck on the top of it?" "you are right, sir! you are right!" the sailor said, as he got the glass to bear upon the object nat had indicated, "that is the upper spar of a vessel of some sort, sure enough." "on deck there!" nat shouted. "what is it, mr. glover?" the first lieutenant answered. "i can make out the upper spar of a craft in among the trees over there, sir." "you are sure that you are not mistaken?" "quite sure, sir. with the glass i can make out the truck quite distinctly. it is certainly either the upper spar of a craft of some kind or a flag-staff, of course i cannot say which." the first lieutenant himself ran up the ratlines and joined nat. the breeze was very light, and the _orpheus_ was scarcely moving through the water. nat handed his telescope to mr. hill. "there, sir, it is about a yard to the west of that black streak on the rock." "i see it," the lieutenant exclaimed after a long gaze at the shore. "you are right, it must be, as you say, either the spar of a ship or a flag-staff; though how a ship could get in there is more than i can say. there, it has gone now!" "the trees were rather lower at the point where we saw it, and the higher trees have shut it in." he descended to the deck followed by nat. "well, what do you make of it, mr. hill?" enquired the captain, who had come out of his cabin on hearing nat's hail. "there is no doubt that mr. glover is right, sir, and that it is the upper spar of a craft of some kind, unless it is a flag-staff on shore, and it is hardly the sort of place in which you would expect to find a flag-staff. it is a marvel mr. glover made it out, for even with his glass i had a great difficulty in finding it, though he gave me the exact bearing." "thank you, mr. glover," the captain said. "at last there seems a chance of our picking up a prize this cruise. the question is, how did she get there?" "i am pretty sure that we have passed no opening, sir. i have been aloft for the past half-hour, and have made out no break in the rocks." "that is quite possible," the captain said, "and yet it may be there. we are a good three-quarters of a mile off the shore, and some of these inlets are so narrow, and the rocks so much the same colour, that unless one knows the entrance is there, one would never suspect it. at any rate we will hold on as we are for a bit." the hail had set everyone on deck on the _qui vive_, and a dozen telescopes were turned upon the shore. "unlikely as it seems, mr. hill," the captain said, after they had gone on half a mile without discovering any break in the line of rock, "i am afraid that it must have been a flag-staff that you saw. there may be some plantation there, and the owner may have had one put up in the front of his house. however, it will be worth while to lower a boat and row back along the foot of the cliff for a mile or so, and then a mile ahead of us; if there is an opening we shall be sure to find it. tell mr. playford to take the gig; mr. glover can go with him as he is the discoverer." the boat was lowered at once, and as soon as the officers had taken their place the six men who composed the crew bent their backs to the oars, the coxswain making for a point on the shore about a mile astern of the frigate, which was lying almost becalmed. the men had taken muskets and cutlasses with them, for it was probable enough that a watch might have been set on the cliff, and that, should there be an inlet, a boat might be lying there ready to pounce out upon them as soon as they reached it. every eye was fixed upon the boat as she turned and rowed along within fifty yards of the foot of the rocks. "i thought i could not have been so blind as to pass the entrance without seeing it," one of the sailors who had been on watch aloft said, in a tone of satisfaction. "now, i don't mind how soon the boat finds a gap." but when the boat had paddled on for another mile without a pause, a look of doubt and dissatisfaction showed itself on every face. "you are quite sure, mr. hill," the captain asked, "that it was a staff of some kind that you saw, and not, perhaps, the top of a dead tree whose bark had peeled off?" "i am quite certain, sir. it was too straight and even for rough wood; and i made out a truck distinctly: but it is certainly strange that no entrance should be discovered. i am afraid that 'tis but a flag-staff after all." "i can hardly imagine that," the captain said. "i have often seen flag-staffs in front of plantation houses, but never one so high as this must be to show over the trees. if it had been nearer to the edge of the cliff it might have been a signal-post, but they would hardly put it a mile back from the edge of the cliff and bury it among trees. at any rate, if we find no entrance i will send a landing-party ashore to see what it really is, that is to say if we can find any place where the cliff can be scaled." "what is it, mr. needham?" as the midshipman came up and touched his hat. "the boat is rowing in to shore, sir." the two officers went to the side. "they have either found an entrance or some point at which the rock can be scaled--ah, there they go!" he went on, as the boat disappeared from sight, "though from here there is no appearance whatever of an opening." it was some minutes before the boat again appeared. it was at once headed for the frigate. "mr. playford has news for us of some sort," the captain said, "the men are rowing hard." in a few minutes the boat came alongside. the second officer ran up the accommodation ladder. "well, mr. playford, what is your news?" "there is an inlet, sir, though if we had not been close in to those rocks i should never have noticed it. it runs almost parallel with the coast for a quarter of a mile. i thought at first that it ended there, but it makes a sharp angle to the south-east, and continues for a mile or so, and at the other end there is a large schooner, i have no doubt a slaver. i fancy they are landing the slaves now. there is a barracoon on the shore and some storehouses." "did they see you?" "no, sir; at least i don't think so. directly i saw that the passage was going to make a turn, i went close in to the rocks on the other side, and brought up at the corner where i could get a view without there being much fear of our being seen, and indeed i don't think that it would have been possible to make us out unless someone had been watching with a glass." "we shall soon know whether they saw you, mr. playford. if they did they will probably set all hands to work to tow the schooner out, for though there is not wind enough to give us steerage-way, these slavers will slip along under the slightest breath. they can hardly have made the frigate out. they probably thought the hiding-place so secure that they did not even put a watch on the cliffs. of course if there was anyone up there they could have seen the boat leave our side, and would have watched her all along. "did you see any place at which the cliff could be climbed?" "no, sir, and up to the turn the rocks are just as steep inside as they are here, but beyond that the inlet widens out a good deal and the banks slope gradually, and a landing could be effected anywhere there, i should say." "we will send the boats in as soon as it gets dark, mr. hill. if they saw us coming they would drive off the slaves into the woods before we could get there, so the best plan will be to land a strong party at the bend, so that they can get down to the barracoon at the same time that the others board the schooner. no doubt this is a regular nest of slave-traders. it has long been suspected that there was some depot on this side of the island. it has often been observed that slavers when first made out were heading in this direction, and more than once craft that were chased, and, as it seemed, certain to be caught in the morning, have mysteriously disappeared. this hiding-place accounts for it. "you did not ascertain what depth of water there was at the mouth of the creek, mr. playford?" "yes, sir, i sounded right across with the boat's grapnel; there is nowhere more than two and a half fathoms, but it is just about that depth right across." "then it is evident that we cannot take the frigate in. what is the width at the mouth?" "about thirty yards." an hour later the _orpheus_ anchored opposite the mouth of the inlet, which, however, was still invisible. "i think that, as this may be an important capture, mr. hill, it would be as well for you to go in charge of the boats. mr. playford will take the command of the landing-party. i should say that twenty marines, under lieutenant boldero, and as many blue-jackets, would be ample for that. he had better take the long-boat and one of the gigs, while you take the launch, the pinnace, and the other gig. if they have made us out, we may expect a very tough resistance, and it may be that, although mr. playford saw nothing of them, they may have a couple of batteries higher up." "likely enough, sir." "you had better let the landing-party have a start of you, so that if they should unmask a battery on the side on which they are, they can rush down at once and silence it." "very good, sir." the sun was now approaching the horizon; as soon as it dipped behind it the boats were lowered, and the sailors, who had already made all preparations, at once took their places in them. needham was in command of the gig that carried a portion of the landing-party, nat was in charge of the other gig, and low was in charge of the pinnace, mr. hill going in the launch. nat had first been told off to the gig now commanded by needham, but the captain said to the first lieutenant, "you had better take glover with you, mr. hill, and let needham go with mr. playford. scrambling along on the shore in the dark, one might very well get a heavy fall, and it is as well that glover should not risk breaking his arm again." chapter iii a slave depot night fell rapidly as soon as the sun had set, and by the time the boats reached the mouth of the inlet it was already dark. the two boats under the second officer entered first, rowed up the inlet to the bend, and landed the marines and sailors on the opposite side; the boarding-party lay on their oars for five minutes and then followed. the oars were muffled, and the men ordered to row as noiselessly as they could, following each other closely, and keeping under the left bank. they were about half-way up when the word "fire!" was shouted in spanish, and six guns were simultaneously discharged. had the spaniards waited a few seconds longer, the three boats would all have been in line with the guns. as it was, a storm of grape sent the water splashing up ahead of the pinnace, which, however, received the contents of the gun nearest to them. it was aimed a little low, and fortunately for the crew the shot had not yet begun to scatter, and the whole charge struck the boat just at the water-level, knocking a great hole in her. "we are sinking, mr. hill," low said. "will you come alongside and pick us up?" although the launch was but a length behind, the gunwale of the pinnace was nearly level with the water as she came alongside. its occupants were helped on board the launch, which at once held on her way. half a minute later six guns were fired from the opposite bank. the boats were so close under the shore that their position could not be made out with any certainty. three men were hit by the grapeshot, but beyond this there were no casualties. "keep in as much as you dare," mr. hill said to the coxswain; "the battery opposite will be loaded again in a couple of minutes, but as long as we keep in the shadow of the shore their shooting will be wild." the battery, indeed, soon began to fire again, irregularly, as the guns were loaded. the shot tore up the water ahead and astern of the boats, but it was evident that those at the guns could not make out their precise position. another five minutes and the boats were headed for the schooner. "you board at the bow, mr. glover, i will make for her quarter. now, lay out, lads, as hard as you can, the sooner you are there the less chance you have of being hit." a moment later a great clamour arose behind them. first came a british cheer; then rapid discharges of pistols and muskets, mingled with the clash of cutlasses and swords; a minute or two later this ceased, and the loud cheer of the marines and seamen told those in the boats that they had carried the battery. the diversion was useful to the boats. until now the slavers had been ignorant that a party of foes had landed, and the fact that a barracoon full of slaves, and the storehouses, were already threatened, caused something like consternation among them. the consequence was that they fired hastily and without taking time to aim. before they could load again the boats were alongside, unchecked for an instant by the musketry fire which broke out from the deck of the schooner as soon as cannon had been discharged. boarding-nettings had been run up, but holes were soon chopped in these by the sailors. headed by nat, the crew of the gig leapt down on to the deck, for the greater part of the slaver's crew ran aft to oppose what they considered the more dangerous attack made by the occupants of the crowded launch. the defence was successfully maintained until the crew of the gig, keeping close together and brushing aside the resistance of the few men forward, flung themselves upon the main body of the slavers, and with pistol and cutlass hewed their way through them till abreast of the launch. the slavers attacked them furiously, and would speedily have annihilated them, but the crew of the launch, led by mr. hill, came swarming over the bulwarks, and, taking the offensive, drove the slavers forward, where, seeing that all was lost, they sprang overboard, striking out for the shore to the right. severe fighting was now going on opposite the schooner, where the landing-party were evidently attacking the barracoon and storehouses. [illustration: "headed by nat, the crew of the gig leapt down on to the deck."] "to the boats, men!" mr. hill shouted, "our fellows are being hard pressed on shore; mr. glover, you with the gig's crew will remain in charge here." indeed, it was evident that the resistance on shore was much more obstinate than had been expected. nat stood watching the boat. just as it reached the shore one of the sailors shouted, "look out, sir!" and he saw a big mulatto rushing at him with uplifted sword. his cutlass was still in his hand, and throwing himself on guard he caught the blow as it fell upon it, and in return brought his cutlass down on his opponent's cheek. with a howl of pain the man sprang at him, but nat leaped aside, and his cutlass fell on the right wrist of the mulatto, whose sword dropped from his hand, and, rushing to the side, he threw himself overboard. in the meantime a fierce struggle was going on between the sailors and seven or eight of the slavers who, being unable to swim, had thrown themselves down by the guns and shammed death, as had nat's antagonist, who was first mate of the schooner. the fight was short but desperate, and one by one the slavers were run through or cut down, but not before three or four of the sailors had received severe wounds. "get a lantern, mate," one of these growled, "and see that there are no more of these skulking hounds alive." the sailors, furious at what they considered treachery, fetched a light that was burning in the captain's cabin, and without mercy ran through two or three unwounded men whom they found hiding among the fallen. it was soon clear that the reinforcement that had landed had completely turned the tables. gradually the din rolled away from the neighbourhood of the storehouses, there was some sharp firing as the enemy fled towards the wood behind, and then all was quiet. presently there was a shout in mr. hill's voice from the shore: "schooner ahoy!" "ay, ay, sir." "load with grape, mr. glover, and send a round or two occasionally into that wood behind the houses; i am going to leave thirty men here under mr. playford, and to take the rest over to the opposite side and carry the battery there." "ay, ay, sir." and as the guns pointing on that side had not been discharged, he at once opened fire on the wood. a minute later the launch and gig rowed past the schooner and soon reached the opposite side. ten minutes passed without any sound of conflict being heard, and nat had no doubt that the battery had been found deserted. it was not long before the boats were seen returning. they rowed this time to the schooner. "mr. glover," the first lieutenant said as he reached the deck, "do you lower the schooner's cutter, put all the wounded on board, take four of your men and row out to the frigate and report to the captain what has taken place. tell him that mr. playford carried the battery on the right in spite of the guns, and that i have spiked those in the battery on the left, which i found deserted. say that we have had a sharp fight on shore with a large number of negroes led by two or three white men and some mulattoes, and that i believe there must be some large plantations close at hand whose owners are in league with the slavers. you can say that we found a hundred and twenty slaves in the barracoon, evidently newly landed from the schooner, and that i intend to find the plantations and give them a lesson in the morning. how many wounded have you here?" "there are fourteen altogether, sir; ten of them were wounded in the first attack, and four have been wounded since by some of the slavers who shammed death." "there are eight more in the launch, happily we have only two men killed. you had better give all the wounded a drink of water; i have a flask, and i dare say you have one: empty them both into the bucket." there was a barrel half full of water on deck; a bucketful of this was drawn, and the two flasks of spirits emptied into it, and a mug of the mixture given to each of the wounded men. they were then assisted down into the schooner's boat; four of the gig's crew took their places in it, and nat, taking the tiller, told them to row on. half an hour later they came alongside the frigate. a sailor ran down the ladder with a lantern. nat stepped out and mounted to the deck. the captain was standing at the gangway. "we have been uneasy about you, mr. glover. we heard a number of reports of heavier guns than they were likely to carry on board a slaver, and feared that they came from shore batteries." "yes, sir, there were two of them mounting six guns each. mr. playford, with the landing-party, captured the one on the eastern side; mr. hill, after the schooner was taken and the enemy on shore driven off, rowed across and took the other, which he found unoccupied." "what is the loss?" "only two killed, sir, but there are twenty-two wounded, two or three of them by musket-shots, and the rest cutlass wounds. they are all in the boat below, sir." a party was at once sent down to carry up such of the wounded as were unable to walk. as soon as all were taken below, and the surgeon had begun his work, the captain asked nat to give him a full account of the proceedings. "i cannot tell you much of what took place ashore, sir," he said, "as mr. hill left me in charge of the schooner. after we had carried her, he went ashore with the crews of the launch and pinnace to help mr. playford." "tell me all you know first." nat related the opening of the two batteries, and how one had been almost immediately captured by mr. playford. "so the pinnace was sunk?" "yes, sir, the enemy's charge struck her between wind and water, and she went down at once; her crew were picked up by the launch. i hear that none of them were injured." then he told how they had kept under the shelter of the shore, and thus escaped injury from the other battery, and how the schooner had been captured. "it was lucky that your men got a footing forward, mr. glover. you did well to lead them aft at once, and thus assist mr. hill's party to board." nat then related the sudden attack by the slavers who had been feigning death. "it was lucky that it was no worse," the captain said. "no doubt they were fellows who couldn't swim, and if there had been a few more it would have gone hard with you. and now about this fight on shore; it can hardly have been the crew of the schooner, for, by the stout resistance they offered, they must have been all on board." "yes, sir." nat then gave the message that mr. hill had sent. "no doubt, mr. glover; i dare say this place has been used by slavers for years. probably there are some large barracoons where the slaves are generally housed, and planters who want them either come or send from all parts of the island. i will go ashore myself early to-morrow morning. there is no question that this is an important capture, and it will be a great thing to break up this centre of the slave-trade altogether. now that their hiding-place has once been discovered, they will know that our cruisers will keep a sharp look-out here, and a vessel once bottled up in this inlet has no chance whatever of escape. you can go with me, it is thanks to the sharpness of your eyes that we made the discovery." the sun had not yet shown above the eastern horizon when the captain's gig passed in through the mouth of the inlet, and ten minutes later rowed alongside the wharf in front of the barracoon. "there is another wharf farther along," the captain said; "we may take that as proof that there are often two of these slavers in here at the same time. ah, there is mr. hill! i congratulate you on your success," he went on, as the first lieutenant joined him; "there is no doubt that this has been a regular rendezvous for the scoundrels. it is well that you attacked after dark, for the cross fire of those batteries, aided by that of the schooner, would have knocked the boats into matchwood." "that they would have done, sir. i was very glad when i saw the boat coming, as i thought it was probable that you were on board her, and we are rather in a difficulty." "what is that, mr. hill?" "well, sir, as soon as we had settled matters here we followed the enemy, and found a road running up the valley; and as it was along this that most of the fellows who opposed us had no doubt retreated, i thought it as well to follow them up at once. we had evidently been watched, for a musketry fire was opened upon us from the trees on both sides. i sent mr. boldero with the marines to clear them out on the left, and mr. playford with twenty seamen to do the same on the right, and then i pressed forward with the rest. presently a crowd of negroes came rushing down from the front, shouting, and firing muskets. we gave them a volley, and they bolted at once. we ran straight on, and a hundred yards farther up came upon a large clearing. "in the middle stood a house, evidently that of a planter. a short distance off were some houses, probably inhabited by the mulatto overseers, and a few huts for his white overseers, and some distance behind these were four large barracoons. we made straight for these, for we could hear a shouting there, and had no doubt that the mulattoes were trying to get the slaves out and to drive them away into the wood. however, as soon as we came up the fellows bolted. there were about a hundred slaves in each barracoon. no doubt the fellows who attacked us were the regular plantation hands. i suppose the owner of the place made sure that we should be contented with what we had done, and should not go beyond the head of the inlet; and when the firing began again he sent the plantation men down to stop us until he had removed the slaves. i left mr. playford in command there, and brought twenty men back here; and i was just going to send off a message to you saying what had taken place, and asking for instructions. you see, with the slaves we found here, we have over five hundred blacks in our hands. that is extremely awkward." "extremely," the captain said thoughtfully. "well, i will go back with you and see the place. as to the houses--the plantation house and the barracoons--i shall have no hesitation in destroying them. this is evidently a huge slaving establishment, and, as the blacks and their overseers attacked us, we are perfectly justified in destroying this den altogether. if i could catch their owner i should assuredly hang him. the difficulty is what to do with all these unfortunate creatures; the schooner would not hold more than two hundred if packed as close as herrings. however, the other thing is first to be thought of." nat followed his commander and the lieutenant to the plantation, or, it should rather be said, to the depot; for the clearing in the valley was but a quarter of a mile long and a few hundred yards wide. it was evident that if the owner had a plantation it was at some distance away, and that the men with whom they had fought were principally mulattoes and negroes employed about the place, and in minding the slaves as they were brought in. they passed straight on to the barracoons. the sailors had already brought the slaves out and knocked off their irons. the poor creatures sat on the ground, evidently bewildered at what had taken place, and uncertain whether they were in the hands of friends or enemies. "some of the men have found the cauldrons in which food is cooked," mr. hill said, "and are now preparing a meal for them; and as we found some hogsheads of molasses and stores of flour and rice they will get a better meal than they are accustomed to. i have set some of the strongest slaves to pump water into those big troughs there; the poor beggars will feel all the better after a wash." "they will indeed. i don't suppose they have had one since they were first captured in africa." in half an hour a meal was served. as an effort of cooking it could hardly be termed a success, but was a sort of porridge, composed of flour and rice sweetened with molasses. there was some difficulty in serving it out, for only a few mugs and plates were found at the barracoons. these were supplemented by all the plates, dishes, and other utensils in the houses of the owner and overseers. by this time the negroes had been taken in parties of twenties to the troughs, where they had a thorough wash. "this is all very well, mr. hill," the captain said, "but what are we to do with all these people? of course we must move them down to the water, and burn these buildings, in the first place because the scoundrels who are at the bottom of all this villainy should be punished, and in the second place because in all probability they will collect a large number of negroes and mulattoes and make an attack. we cannot leave a force here that could defend itself; therefore, whatever we decide upon afterwards, it is clear that all the slaves must be taken down to the houses on the inlet. i should set the men to open all the stores, and load the negroes with everything that can be useful. i expect you will find a good deal of cotton cloth and so on, for no doubt the man here dealt in other articles besides slaves, and he would, moreover, keep cottons and that sort of thing for sending them up the country into market. however, take everything that is worth taking in the way of food or otherwise, and carry it down to the storehouses by the water, then set all the houses and sheds here on fire. when you see them well alight you can bring the men down to the shore; then we must settle as to our course. it is a most awkward thing our coming upon all these slaves. if there were only those who had been landed from the schooner there would be no difficulty about it, as we should only have to put them on board again, but with four hundred others on our hands i really don't know how to manage. we might stow a hundred in the frigate, though i own i should not like it." "no, indeed," mr. hill murmured; "and four hundred would be out of the question." the captain returned to the inlet and made an examination of the storehouses there. they were for the most part empty. they were six in number, roughly constructed of timber, and some forty feet long by twenty wide, and consisted only of the one floor. they stood ten feet apart. the barracoon was some twenty yards away. in a short time the slaves began to pour in, all--men, women, and children--carrying burdens proportionate to their strength. they had now come to the conclusion that their new captors were really friends, and with the light-heartedness of their race laughed and chattered as if their past sufferings were already forgotten. mr. playford saw to the storing of their burdens. these filled one of the storehouses to the roof. there was, as the captain had anticipated, a large quantity of cotton cloth among the spoil. some of these bales were placed outside the store, twenty of the negroes were told off to cut the stuff up into lengths for clothing, and by mid-day the whole of the slaves were, to their delight, attired in their new wraps. among the goods that had been brought down were a number of implements and tools--axes, hoes, shovels, and long knives. captain crosbie had, by this time, quite made up his mind as to the plan to be pursued. "we must hold this place for a time, mr. hill," he said as the latter came down with the last body of sailors, after having seen that all the buildings in the valley were wrapped in flames. "i have been thinking over the question of the slaves, and the only plan that i can see is to go for a two or three day's cruise in the frigate, in hopes of falling in with some native craft with which i can make an arrangement for them to return here with me, and aid in carrying off all these poor creatures. these five storehouses and the barracoon will hold them all pretty comfortably. two of the storehouses had better be given up to the women and children. we will make a stockade round the buildings, with the ends resting in the water, and get the guns from those batteries and put them in position here. with the help of those on board the schooner, a stout defence can be made to an attack, however formidable. i shall leave mr. playford in command with forty men on shore; mr. glover will be in charge of the schooner with five-and-twenty more. the frigate will remain for a couple of days at her present anchorage, and i will send as many men as we can spare ashore to help in finishing the work before she sails. "in the first place there must be a barrack run up for the men on shore between the barracoon and the storehouses. it must be made of stout beams. i don't mean squared, but young trees placed side by side so as to be perfectly musket-proof. the palisades should be made of strong saplings, wattled together, say, ten feet high. a hundred and fifty sailors, aided by three hundred and fifty able-bodied negroes, should make quick work of it. the schooner's crew can see to the removal of the guns from the batteries and their establishment upon platforms behind the palisade. i should divide the twelve guns into four batteries, three in each. the armourer shall come off in the morning to get out the spikes, and the carpenters shall come with their tools." "there are a dozen cross-cut saws among the things that we have brought down, sir." "that is good. how many axes are there?" "four dozen, sir." "good! i will send all the hatchets we have on board. i think, mr. hill, that you had better take up your position on board the schooner until we sail. how about water? that is a most important point." "the slaves have brought down a large number of staves, sir. they are evidently intended for sugar hogsheads; they are done up in separate packets. i should say there were a hundred of them." "that is satisfactory indeed. i will send the cooper ashore, and with a gang of the black fellows he will soon get them all into shape. i see that they have relied upon the stream that comes down from the hills for their supply. one of the first moves of anyone attacking the place would be to divert its course somewhere up in the hills. however, with such a supply as these hogsheads would hold, we could do without the stream for weeks. the twenty marines who came ashore with lieutenant boldero will remain as part of the garrison." the work was at once begun. the sailors looked upon it as a pleasant change from the ordinary routine of life on board ship, and threw themselves into it vigorously, while the blacks, as soon as they understood what was wanted, proved themselves most useful assistants. accustomed in their african homes to palisade their villages, they knew exactly what was required. some, with their hoes, dug a trench four feet deep; others dragged down the poles as the sailors cut them, erected them in their places, and trod the earth firmly round them. others cut creepers, or split up suitable wood, and wove them in and out between the poles; and, by the time darkness fell, a surprising amount of work had been accomplished. one of the storehouses was turned over to those who could not be berthed on board the schooner, most of the slaves preferring to sleep in the open air, which to them was a delightful change after being cooped up for weeks in the crowded hold of a ship, or in the no less crowded barracoons. sentries were posted as soon as it became dark, but the night passed off without an alarm, and at daybreak all were at work again. the launch returned to the frigate when work was knocked off, and came back with a fresh body of men in the morning, and with the carpenters, coopers, and all the available tools on board. by the evening of the third day the work was completed. four banks of earth had been thrown up by the negroes against the palisade, and on each of these three guns were mounted. the hut for the garrison had been completed. the hogsheads were put together and filled with water, and a couple of hundred boarding-pikes were put ashore for the use of the negroes. nat had been fully employed, with the schooner's crew, in removing the guns from the batteries, and placing them on the platforms constructed by the carpenters on the top of the earthworks. "it is quite possible," the captain said to mr. playford, "that this creek is used by pirates as well as slavers. they may come in here to sell goods they have captured suitable for use in the islands, such as cotton cloths and tools, and which it would not pay them to carry to their regular rendezvous. it will be great luck if one or two of them should put in here while i am away. it would greatly diminish the difficulty we have of getting the slaves away." "that would be fortunate indeed, sir. even if two came in together we could give a good account of them, for as the palisade is mostly on higher ground than the huts, we should only have to slue the guns round and give them such a warm welcome that they would probably haul down their flags at once." "yes. you had better tell mr. glover to run up the spanish flag if any doubtful-looking craft is seen to be making for the entrance, and i should always keep a couple of signallers up on the cliff, so as to let you know beforehand what you might have to expect, and to see that there is nothing showing that could excite their suspicions, until it is too late for them to turn back." doubtless what was going on in the inlet had been closely watched from the woods, for in the evening of the day on which the frigate sailed away scattered shots were fired from the forest, and the sound of the beating of tom-toms and the blowing of horns could be heard in the direction of the plantation whose buildings they had destroyed. the lieutenant had gone off to dine with nat, and they were sitting on deck smoking their cigars when the firing began. "i almost expected it," he said. "no doubt they have been waiting for the frigate to leave before they did anything, as they would know that at least half of those who have been ashore would re-embark when she left. i have no doubt the scoundrels whose place we burnt have sent to all the planters in this part of the islands to assemble in force to attack us. if they have seen us making the palisade and mounting the guns, as no doubt they have done, they certainly will not venture to assault the place unless they are in very strong force, but they can make it very unpleasant for us. it is not more than eighty yards to the other side of the creek, and from that hill they would completely command us. you will scarcely be able to keep a man on deck, and we shall have to stay in the shelter of the huts. of course on this side they would scarcely be able to annoy us, for they would have to come down to the edge of the trees to fire, and as we could fire through the palisade upon them they would get the worst of it." "we might row across in the boats, sir, and clear the wood of them if they became too troublesome." "we should run the risk of losing a good many men in doing so, and a good many more as we made our way up through the trees and drove them out, and should gain nothing by it, for as soon as we retired they would reoccupy the position. no; if they get very troublesome i will slue a couple of guns round and occasionally send a round or two of grape among the trees. that will be better than your doing so, because your men at the guns would make an easy mark for them, while we are farther off, and indeed almost out of range of their muskets." the firing soon died away, but in the morning it was reopened, and it was evident that the number in the wood had largely increased. bullet after bullet struck the deck of the schooner, and nat was obliged to order the greater part of the crew to remain below, and to see that those who remained on deck kept under the shelter of the bulwark. presently a sharp fire broke out from the trees facing the palisade, and this was almost immediately replied to by the blue-jackets and marines. the fire of the assailants soon slackened, and nat thought that it had only been begun with the object of finding out how strong a force had been left behind. presently two of the guns on shore spoke out, and sent a volley of grape into the wood in which his own assailants were lurking. it had the effect of temporarily silencing the fire from that quarter. this, however, was but for a short time. when it began again it was taken up on the other side also, the party which had made the demonstration against the palisade evidently considering that the schooner, which lay midway between the two shores, was a safer object of attack than the stockade. as the bulwark now offered no shelter, all went below. two of the men were about to pull up the boat which was lying at the stern, and nat went to the ladder to take his place in it, when he was hailed from shore. "you had better stay where you are, mr. glover, until it gets dusk. you would only be a mark for every man with a musket, up in the trees above us, and, so far as i can see, there is nothing we can do until they begin work in earnest." "very well, sir," nat shouted back, "i will come off after it gets dusk." firing continued all day, but died away at sunset, and soon afterwards nat went ashore. "this is very awkward," the lieutenant said. "it is most unpleasant being potted at all day by fellows who won't show themselves, but i can't see that we can help it. by the noise and jabbering that breaks out at times, i should think that there must be some hundreds of them on this side alone, and we shall have to wait till they begin in earnest. their leaders must know that they can be doing us no harm by their distant fire, and they must sooner or later make an attack on us. you see they have a strong temptation. they must have seen that none of the slaves have been taken away, and as there are five hundred of them, and i suppose they are worth from twenty to forty pounds a head, it is a big thing, to say nothing of the stores. then i have no doubt they are thirsting for revenge, and although they must see that they will have to fight very hard to take the place, they must try without delay, for they will know that the frigate will be back again before very long, and will probably bring some craft with her to carry away the slaves. so i think we must put up with their fire till they harden their hearts and attack us in earnest. they will make the attack, i expect, about the centre of the palisade, for your guns would cover both our flanks. if we are hard pressed i will light a port fire, and you had better land with twenty of your men, leaving five to take care of the ship and work a gun or two should they try to take us in flank." "i should not be surprised if they tried to-night. shall i bring ten of the men on shore at once, sir?" "well, perhaps it would be as well. forty men are not a very large force for this length of palisade and to work some of the guns at the point where they may attack us, and i expect their first rush will be a serious one, and we shall have all our work cut out for us. there is one thing; we can rely, in case of their making a way in, on the slaves. by this time they quite understand that we are friends and that the people who had been firing on us are their enemies, and i believe they would fight like demons rather than fall into their hands again. i have torn up a bale of white calico and have given a strip of it to each man to tie round his head, so that we can tell friend from foe and they can recognize each other in the dark. the enemy won't reckon on that, and will think that they have only a small body of whites to deal with. do you notice how silent the woods are now? i think we may take that as a sign that they are preparing for mischief." "the sooner it comes the better. have you plenty of port fires, mr. playford?" "yes, a large boxful came on shore with the last boat yesterday." nat went off again, and picked out ten men to land with him. "get the other boat down," he said to the petty officer. "you will understand that if any attack is made on the flanks of the work you are to open fire at once upon them with grape. if a blue light is burned at the edge of the water ten men are to land instantly. you will remain in charge of the other five. so far as we know they have no boats, but they may have made a raft, and may intend to try and take the schooner, thinking that the crew will probably be on shore. so you must keep a sharp look-out on the other side as well as this. light a blue light if you see a strong party coming off, and we will rejoin you at once." he again landed with the ten men he had chosen. "i have six men on watch," the lieutenant said, "and have put one of the blacks with each. i fancy their ears are sharper than ours are, and they will hear them coming before our men do." having nothing to do, nat went into the barracoon and the other houses in which the slaves were placed. the contrast between their condition now and when he had seen them four days before, when they had first been found, was striking indeed. now they were clean, and looked picturesque in their bright calico clothes. the look of dull and hopeless misery had passed away, and it seemed to him that with the good and plentiful food they had received they were already perceptibly plumper. they would have risen as he entered, but he signed to them to keep their places. they now had room to lie down in comfort, and while some sat chatting in groups others moved about. they were evidently proud of their arms, and some of them, seizing their pikes or hatchets, made signs how they would fight their enemies. a ship's lantern was burning in each hut. in the women's huts the scene was still more interesting. the little children ran up to nat with a new-born confidence in white men. some of the women brought up babies to show him, and endeavoured to make him understand that these would soon have died had it not been for the sailors. the windows and doors stood open, and the evening breeze cleared the huts of the effluvium always present where a number of negroes congregate together. the sight of the poor creatures enraged nat still more against the slavers, and made him long for them to begin their attack. "it is quite pleasant to see them," he said as he joined mr. playford. "they are wonderfully changed in this short time. one would hardly have thought it possible. what will become of them?" "i expect we shall take them to jamaica, and that there they will be let out as free labourers to the planters. you see there is no law against the slave-trade, though public opinion is so strong on the subject at home that i have no doubt such a law will be passed before long. so, of course, we have not captured the slaves because of their being slaves, but simply as we should capture or destroy other property belonging to an enemy. then, too, many of the slavers act as pirates if they get the chance, and there can be little doubt that a considerable quantity of the goods we found are the proceeds of piracy. besides, you must remember that they fired at us before we fired at them. so we have plenty of good reasons for releasing these poor beggars. you see these seas swarm with scoundrels of all kinds, and it is quite safe to assume that all ships that cannot show that they are peaceful traders are engaged in nefarious business of some kind or other." chapter iv a sharp fight mr. playford and nat were still talking when a sailor came up to him with one of the negroes. "what is it, tomkins?" the lieutenant asked. "well, sir, this 'ere black seems to hear something; he keeps pointing up into the wood and whispering something in his own lingo and looking very excited, so i thought i had better bring him here to you." "quite right, tomkins; no doubt he does hear something, their ears are a good deal better than ours are. i will go up with you." accompanied by nat, mr. playford went up on to the bank of earth that had been thrown up against the palisade, and found that the negroes there were all in a state of excitement, pointing in various directions and shaking their pikes angrily. "they are coming, there is no doubt of that," he said. "i should say, by the motions of the blacks, that they are scattered through the wood. well, we are ready for them. you had better get your slow matches alight, my lads; don't take the covers off the vents until the last moment, the dew is heavy." they were joined now by lieutenant boldero. "i think i can hear them," he said. "yes. i should not have noticed if it had not been for the blacks, but there is certainly a confused noise in the air." listening attentively, they could hear a low rustling sound, with sometimes a faint crack as of a breaking stick. "as soon as we think that they have got to the edge of the trees we will throw a fireball out in that direction, and then let them have it. we must keep them from getting closer if we can; when they once get near the foot of the palisade we shall not be able to depress our guns enough to fire upon them." in a short time there was no question that a large number of men were making their way down through the wood. the blacks were now brought out from the houses and ranged along at the foot of the bank, where they were ordered to stay for the present, as were they to man the line they would be exposed to the assailants' bullets, while powerless to do any service until the latter began to attempt to scale the stockade. "they must be gathering at the edge of the trees now," the lieutenant said at last. "now, tomkins, light that fireball and heave it over." the ball, which was formed of old junk, was about the size of a man's head. the material had been smeared with tar mixed with sulphur, and tomkins held in his hand the lanyard attached to it. he applied a slow match to it, and it broke into a blaze at once. swinging it round his head, he hurled it far in front of him. by its light as it fell a crowd of figures could be seen gathered along the edge of the forest. a fierce yell broke from them, and loud shouts were raised by the leaders ordering them to charge, but before they could get into motion four guns poured a storm of grape among them, followed directly afterwards by the contents of four others. an appalling din of yells and shrieks was heard, but without an instant's hesitation a score of figures in european dress darted forward, followed by a mass of blacks, behind whom came another thirty or forty europeans or mulattoes driving the negroes before them. "pick off the whites!" lieutenant boldero shouted to the marines, and a dropping fire of musketry was at once opened. the distance, however, from the edge of the trees to the palisades was but some fifty yards; the light was dim and uncertain, and in a minute from the first shot being fired the assailants were swarming along the foot of the palisade. there was no hesitation, and it was evident that the men who led the attack had made every preparation. a number of the assailants carried ladders; these were placed against the wall, and the whites and mulattoes swarmed up, closely followed by the negroes. so sudden and unexpected was this assault that in several places they obtained a footing inside the palisades, but with a wild yell the slaves at once rushed up the bank and fell upon them. at the same moment the boom of the schooner's guns told that they had made out parties of the enemy advancing against the flanks of the works. the arrival of the slaves soon changed the position. the assailants were cut down, run through, or forced to leap down over the stockade that they had just crossed. in spite of the shouts of the lieutenant, the slaves, thirsting for vengeance, leapt down after them, and fell with such fury upon the assailants that these, seized with a panic, fled. at the edge of the trees, however, the efforts of the whites checked the flight. guns and pistols were discharged for the first time, and a fierce fight presently raged. "we must go down and lend them a hand," the lieutenant said. "keep your men here, mr. glover, to get the guns loaded again; i will take my blue-jackets and the marines. light a port fire or two, else, in spite of their white head-gear, we shall be hurting our friends." the sailors and marines soon scrambled down the ladders, and, led by their officers, rushed forward with loud cheers. their arrival at once decided the fortune of the fray. rushing through their black allies, they fell with sword and cutlass, musket and bayonet, upon the europeans, whose pistols had given them a decided advantage over the slaves, but who could not stand the charge of the marines and seamen. these pursued them for some little distance, but when beyond the range of the lights of the stockade lieutenant playford halted them. the slaves, however, continued the pursuit for some time, and then they, too, returned, having overtaken and killed many of their flying enemies. "there is nothing more to be done till daylight," mr. playford said. "indeed, i do not think that we shall hear any more of these fellows, who, to do them justice, fought well. our guns must have done a good deal of execution, though they would have done much more had they not been so close; the bullets had hardly begun to scatter. however, we shall see in the morning. it is lucky that we armed the slaves, or it would have gone very hard with us. you see, we had half our men at the guns, and the others were too thinly scattered along the line to be able to defend it against so determined an attack. i expect they never calculated on the slaves being armed, and thought that they had only forty or fifty men to deal with. after the lesson that they have had i don't think they will molest us again, unless there are any troops in the neighbourhood that they can bring up." the palisades were recrossed and sentries set; grog was served out to the seamen and marines; the slaves were mad with delight, and danced and sang songs of triumph for some time. as soon, however, as the lieutenant motioned them to return to their huts they did so at once. many of them were wounded more or less severely, but they seemed to think nothing of this, being too much pleased with the vengeance they had taken to care aught for the pain. nat prepared to return to the schooner with his men, none of whom were, however, seriously hurt, as they had been held in reserve. altogether, three sailors and a marine had been killed and six severely wounded. "are you going on board, mr. playford?" "no; i shall stay ashore till morning. i do not think that there is the remotest chance of the attack being renewed; however, it is clearly my duty to stay here." as soon as it was daylight nat went on shore again, and with ten of his own men, ten marines, and a hundred of the slaves, went over the ground to collect the wounded, and learn the loss of the assailants. all the wounded sailors had been carried into the fort when the fight ceased. six spaniards and nine mulattoes lay dead either on the earthen rampart or at the foot of the palisade. all of them were pierced in several places by pikes, or mutilated with blows of axes. round them lay some twenty plantation negroes, and thirty others had fallen at the edge of the wood, shattered by the discharges of the cannon or killed in the hand-to-hand conflict; among them were twelve of the released slaves. not a single white or mulatto was found alive. the party pursued their way for a quarter of a mile into the wood. here and there were scattered the bodies of the assailants who had been overtaken by their pursuers. the latter had done their work thoroughly, for not a single man was found to be breathing. when they came to a point beyond which the slaves by signs apprised them that they had not gone, they returned, collecting and carrying down the bodies of the dead as they went. they found on their return that two trenches, four feet deep and thirty feet long, had already been dug, at the edge of the forest and as far from the camp as possible. in one of these the bodies of the spaniards and mulattoes were laid, and in the other that of the negroes. the earth was then filled in. "it has been an unpleasant job, but a necessary one," lieutenant playford said, when he knew that the work was done, and the whole party re-entered the fort. "in a climate like this the place would have been uninhabitable in a couple of days if we had not buried them all." in the afternoon two fresh graves were made, and the fallen sailors were reverently laid to rest in one, the dead slaves in the other. water was brought up in buckets by the negroes from the edge of the creek, and all signs of the conflict on the rampart and at the foot of the palisade either washed away or covered with earth. then matters resumed their former aspect. early the next morning the look-out on the cliff ran down and reported that a large brigantine was just entering the inlet. mr. playford shouted the news to nat. "i will send off the marines to you," he said. "i will remain here with the blue-jackets." the spanish flag was at once run up to the peak. in two or three minutes the boat with the marines came alongside. they and the greater part of the sailors at once lay down on the deck, while the few who remained on foot took off their straw hats and white jumpers, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and gave themselves as unseamanlike an appearance as possible. ten minutes later the brigantine appeared round the point; there was scarce a breath of wind, and she had two boats towing her. a flag hung from her mast-head, and as nat turned his glass upon it he exclaimed to boldero, who, having removed his coat and cap, was standing by his side: "it is the black flag; the fellow must be pretty sure of his welcome or he would never venture to haul it up." in the meantime the guns ashore had been slued round, and were now pointed on a spot somewhat ahead of the schooner. she came slowly along until within some four or five lengths of the latter, then there was a sudden shout on board, followed by a tremendous hubbub. it was clear that the line of palisades surrounding the huts had been noticed and the guns seen. the brigantine was crowded with men. she carried twelve guns in her ports, and a long swivel eighteen-pounder in her bow. there was now no longer any motive for concealment, the marines and seamen leapt to their feet with a cheer, and a moment later the schooner's two foremost guns, which would alone bear on the boats, spoke out, while almost at the same moment two of those on the rampart sent a shower of grape into them. both boats sank immediately, those of the crews who were uninjured swimming to the brigantine. contradictory orders were shouted on board the pirate. one by one her guns on the port side answered those on the ramparts. "get ready, my lads!" nat shouted, "she will be alongside directly." the impetus of the schooner's way was indeed sufficient to take her slowly but surely forward, and the pirate slightly changed his course so as to bring her outside the schooner. playford saw what his object was, and the remaining guns poured their charges of grape across the deck of the brigantine, committing terrible havoc. before they could be loaded again she was alongside the schooner, and so covered by her from the fire of the guns on shore. as the vessels came abreast of each other at a distance of two or three feet only, nat and the young marine officer leapt on to the pirate's deck followed by their men. the resistance of the pirates was desperate. although they had suffered much loss from the fire of the guns, they were still numerically stronger than their assailants, and, fighting as they did with the desperation of despair, they not only held their ground, but pushed their assailants back towards the bulwark. [illustration: the guns on the rampart send a shower of grape into the pirate.] for three or four minutes the fight continued without any marked advantage to either party; the pistols of the seamen and pirates and the muskets of the marines were empty, and they were fighting hand to hand. then slowly the advantage turned against the pirates, but the issue was still undecided when there was a loud cheer, and mr. playford with fifteen sailors leapt on the deck of the pirate from the other side, the approach of the boat having been unnoticed in the heat of the fray. the pirates now broke; their captain had fallen, and, outnumbered and hopeless, some threw down their arms, while others jumped overboard. those who surrendered were at once bound and battened down in the hold of the schooner, some eight or ten only gained the opposite shore and took to the woods. the victory had not been a bloodless one. five of the frigate's crew had been killed, and there were few among nat's command who were not more or less severely wounded. "it was a sharp fight, mr. glover," mr. playford said. "it was indeed, sir. at one time they fairly drove us back, but i think that we should have beaten them even if you had not brought help to us." "i am sure you would," the lieutenant said warmly. "i could see as i boarded that although the men in front were fighting hard, those in the rear were hanging back as if they had had enough of it. still, you might have lost more men than you did before you finished with them if we had not turned up. you see, fighting with pirates is quite a different thing from fighting with any other opponents. these fellows know well enough that there is no mercy for them, and that they have nothing before them but to fight until they die, or to be tried and hanged. the veriest coward would fight till the last with such an alternative as that before him. i would rather fight a hundred and fifty french or spanish seamen than a hundred pirates. she is a fine roomy craft that we have taken, and i think we shall now be able to carry off all these blacks. no doubt it will be a close pack for them, but for a short voyage that will not matter. now let us see to our wounded. after that is done we can get off the hatches and have a look round below. of course she may have come in here for water, but it is likely that she has at least some booty in her hold." this proved to be the case. she was half full of goods of a more or less valuable kind, and these, by the marks on the bales and boxes, had evidently formed part of the cargoes of three ships. two days later the _orpheus_ was seen returning along the coast, and nat was at once sent off by the lieutenant with his written report of what had taken place since she had sailed. the gig reached the side of the frigate just as the anchor was let go. "i see your right arm is in a sling, mr. glover," the captain said as he handed him the report, "so i suppose that you have had some fighting." "yes, sir, we have had some pretty sharp fighting." "what is your wound?" "only a chop with a cutlass, sir." "oh, you came to hand-to-hand work, did you?" nat gave no answer, for the captain had opened the report and was now running his eye down it. "very satisfactory," he said, as he handed it to the first lieutenant. "an attacking force handsomely repulsed and a pirate captured. very good work indeed, very good. i see mr. boldero was wounded, mr. glover." "yes, sir, he was hit on the head with a pistol-shot. fortunately the ball glanced off the skull. he was stunned for a time, but is now nearly himself again." "here is some work for you, dr. bemish," the captain said. "mr. playford reports that ten of the cases are serious. i am going ashore in my gig at once, and will take you with me. you had better send the cutter at once, mr. hill, to bring off the wounded. you may as well return in your own boat, mr. glover, mr. curtis can go in charge of the cutter. mr. needham can go with me." nat at once returned to his boat. he was overtaken by the captain's gig when half-way up the inlet. he rowed to the schooner, while the gig made straight for the landing-place where the lieutenant was standing. "i congratulate you, mr. playford," the captain said as he stepped ashore. "you seem to have had a pretty busy time of it since we have been away. i certainly did not think they would attempt to attack you when you had those guns in position, and i did not reckon on the pirate. she is a fine brigantine; the schooner looks quite small beside her." "yes, sir, she is over three hundred tons. her broadside guns are all twelve-pounders, and she carries an eighteen-pounder as a swivel. she had a crew of seventy men, of whom only eight or ten got ashore, the rest were all accounted for except twelve, who are in irons below. the credit of capturing her, sir, really belongs to mr. glover, for although i went off to his assistance he would have taken her without my aid, though the pirates were still fighting strongly." "well, it has been a very successful business altogether, mr. playford. the capture of the brigantine is specially fortunate, as i have failed to come across any native craft as i had hoped to do, but with this extra accommodation we shall be able to manage to carry off all the slaves. i see by your account that mr. glover had the marines as well as his own twenty men." "yes, sir, i sent lieutenant boldero and fourteen marines on board; he had lost six either killed or seriously wounded in the attack here. i own that i had hardly calculated upon the brigantine getting alongside the schooner. i thought that when we had smashed up her boats, which i made certain we should do, she would be so completely at our mercy that, being becalmed, she would haul down her flag; but she had sufficient way on her to take her alongside the schooner, and her captain put her there so cleverly that i could not fire at her except through the schooner. i saw at once that the whole position was changed, for if he had captured the schooner he might have put all his men into the boats and made a dash for shore; and as i had so few men fit for work it would have been awkward, though with the aid of the blacks i have no doubt i should have driven them off." "then i suppose your discharge of grape did not do him very much harm?" "not so much as it ought to have done, sir. you see the first two guns we fired destroyed his boats. the other guns were all too weakly handled to be trained on the pirate as he forged ahead, and as far as i could see not one of them did any serious execution among his crew. yesterday i told off four negroes to each gun, and kept them at work all day learning how to train them under the direction of the sailors. if i had thought of that before we should have swept his decks with such effect that when she got alongside the schooner mr. glover's party would have had easy work of it." "you could hardly think of everything, mr. playford, and you certainly did right in sending the marines off to the schooner directly you had news that this brigantine was entering the inlet. no doubt if you had wished to sink her it would have been better to have kept them on shore to help work the guns, but as she is a valuable prize, and we wanted her badly to help carry away the slaves, you were quite right not to try to damage her. you say she is half full of plunder?" "yes, sir, and there were nearly eight hundred pounds in money and thirty-four watches and some jewellery found in the captain's cabin." "she is a valuable capture, and i should think the admiral would buy her into the service. she is just the sort of craft that we want. the schooner would be too small to tackle one of these heavily-armed pirates with their crowds of men. so your slaves fought well?" "that they did, sir. if it had been daylight i doubt whether any of the whites who led the attack would have escaped. of course they had no particular animosity against the negroes, but i believe that they would have followed the whites and mulattoes half across the island." "well, do you think that the two craft will carry all the slaves?" "hardly, sir; the schooner can stow a hundred and fifty. of course it will be close work, but there will be room for that number to lie down, and with the hatches both open they will be all right. by rearranging the cargo a bit, two hundred could sleep in the hold of the brigantine. that would still leave rather over one hundred and fifty." "well, we must give up part of the hold of the frigate to them," the captain said, "there is no help for it. there are about that number of women and children, are there not?" "yes, sir." "they had better go off in the frigate, then. of course, the prisoners will be sent off too--i will pay a visit to the brigantine, and then go off myself, and will send the boats in as soon as i get there. you may as well be getting the men on board at once. as soon as they are all off, you will, of course, set fire to all the sheds here, but you may as well send off a boat-load of stores suitable for them to the frigate, and will, of course, victual these two craft. i shall send you another forty men to fill up the vacancies that have been caused, and to furnish a crew for the brigantine, of which, of course, you will take the command. you and the schooner will keep in close company. the marines will return to the ship. mr. needham will be your second on the brigantine." "how about the guns, sir? they are all old pieces, and scarcely worth carrying away." "yes, but i won't leave them here to be used for defending this place again. you had better take them off their carriages, spike them, get them into the boats, and heave them overboard, well out in deep water. do you think that you will be able to get everything done before dark, mr. playford?" "yes, sir, it is only nine o'clock now, and if you will send a strong working party, in addition to those who will be taking the slaves on board, to help with the stores and guns, i have no doubt that i shall be able to get the work done well before sunset." "very well. mr. hill will come on shore as soon as i return to the frigate." the work went on without ceasing all day, and the pinnace, which had been recovered and repaired before the frigate sailed, and the launch, went backwards and forwards to the frigate with the women, children, and stores, while the boats of the brigantine and schooner carried the men to those craft, as soon as the stores for the voyage, and the bales of cotton and other goods that would be useful, had been taken off. when the two large boats had finished their work they were employed in carrying out the guns, which had, before the slaves embarked, been brought down by them to the edge of the water. by three o'clock all was finished, and the last boat-load of the sailors rowed out to the prizes, after having set fire to all the huts. these were soon in a blaze, to the delight of the negroes, who danced and shouted for joy. half of these were sent below at once, as they crowded the decks to such an extent as to render it impossible for the sailors to work. those who remained were ranged in rows by the bulwarks from end to end of the craft; then the anchors were got up, and the sails dropped and sheeted home. the wind was very light, but was sufficient to give steerage-way, and with the british ensign flying at the peak the two vessels sailed out of the inlet and joined the frigate, which began to make sail as soon as they were seen issuing from the narrow mouth. glad indeed were all on board the three vessels when, after a voyage unmarked by any adventure, they entered port royal, for although the negroes, feeling confident that they were in good hands, had been docile and obedient, they were still terribly in the way. though all had been made to take a bath every morning, the odour in the crowded prizes was almost overpoweringly strong. on arrival, the negroes were landed and lodged in some large government storehouses near the fort. each was presented with ten yards of cloth on leaving for the shore, and they were, before being housed, permitted to sort themselves, so that families and friends might be together. interpreters explained to them that it would be impossible to send them back to their friends in africa, but that they would be apportioned out among the plantations of the island. the wages they were to receive were explained to them, and they were told that a government official would visit each plantation in turn, and would listen to any complaints that might be made as to their food and treatment, and at the end of three years all who wished it could either change masters or take up a piece of land, build a hut, and cultivate it on their own account. the poor creatures were well satisfied with this. they were overjoyed at being united to their relations and friends, and to know that they would still be together; and were assured that they would be well cared for, and in time be as much their own masters as if at their villages in africa. the schooner was sold; the brigantine was, as the captain had expected, bought into the service; mr. playford was offered and accepted the command of her. mr. normandy took his place as second lieutenant of the _orpheus_, and mr. marston received his promotion and the post of third officer. as the _cerf_--which was the name of the brigantine--was to be considered as a tender of the frigate, those on board her were still borne on her books. curtis and glover were appointed to her, with a petty officer and forty men. the pirates were tried and executed, with the exception of one, who was a mere lad. he had, he asserted, been forced to join the pirates--being spared by them when the rest of his comrades had been murdered, as they had lost their cook's mate, and required someone to fill his place. this, however, would not have saved his life had he not promised to lead his new captors to the chief rendezvous of the pirates, which had so long eluded the search that had been made for it. he acknowledged, however, that he was not acquainted with its exact position. he had sailed in and out four or five times, and had only a general idea of its position, but asserted that he should certainly know the island if he saw it. a fortnight after reaching port royal, the frigate and brigantine sailed in company. the indications given by the boy pointed to an island lying a short distance off the northern coast of venezuela. there were originally, he said, four vessels working together, three brigantines and a large schooner, one of which had arrived from france only a short time before the _cerf_ sailed on her last voyage. the entrance to the pirates' stronghold was on the south side of the island, and was, he said, so well concealed that vessels might sail past the place a thousand times without noticing it. there were two batteries at the water's edge, inside the entrance, each mounting twelve eighteen-pounder guns that had been taken from prizes. the channel here was not more than fifty yards across. a very heavy boom was at all times swung across it just above the batteries, and this was opened only when one of the craft entered or left. there was, however, he said, a spot on the outer side of the island where a landing could be effected, at a little ravine that ran down to the shore. this was thickly wooded, and some large trees growing at its mouth almost hid it from passing vessels. at other points the shore was steep, but there was so much vegetation on every ledge where trees or bushes could obtain a foothold, that from the sea it would seem that the cliffs were not too steep to scale. the prisoner had been placed on board the _cerf_, which, as soon as she was fairly at sea, was altered as far as possible in appearance by a white band with ports painted along her sides; a false stem of an entirely different shape from her own was fastened to her, her light upper spars sent down and replaced by stumpy ones, and other changes made that would help to alter her appearance. were she recognized by the pirates as she sailed past their island it would at once be suspected that one of the men recently captured had revealed the rendezvous, and that she was cruising near it to obtain an exact idea of the best mode of attack before other craft came up to assist her. they had no doubt that the pirates had already received news of the surprise and capture of the brigantine. some of the men who escaped would doubtless have made for the nearest port, and hired a negro craft to take them to their own island, which they would have reached before the _orpheus_ arrived at port royal with her prizes. the pirates would therefore be on their guard, and would either have deserted their head-quarters altogether or have added to their defences. the sight of their late consort would confirm their fears that their whereabouts had become known, and it was therefore of importance that her identity should not be suspected. changed as she now was, she might be taken for a man-of-war brigantine. her height out of water had been increased by four feet by painted canvas fastened to battens. she had ten ports painted on each side, and looked a very different craft from the smart brigantine that had sailed away from the island. it had at first been suggested by mr. playford that she should be disguised so as to look like a trader, but captain crosbie had decided against this. "there are," he said, "three of these pirates, and even two of them might together be more than a match for you. by all accounts they are each of them as strong as you are in point of armament, and would carry at least twice as many men as you have. even if you beat them off it could only be at a very great cost of life, and i certainly should not like you to undertake such an enterprise unless you had at least double the strength of men, which i could not spare you. by going in the guise of a vessel of war they would not care to meddle with you. they would know that there would be no chance of booty and a certainty of hard fighting, and of getting their own craft badly knocked about, so that it will be in all respects best to avoid a fight. they may in that case not connect you with us at all, but take you to be some freshly-arrived craft. you had best hoist the stars and stripes as you pass along the coast." when the changes were all effected the ships parted company. the brigantine was to sail east until within a short distance of grenada, then to cruise westward along the coast of the mainland; thus going, there would be less suspicion on the part of those who saw her that she was coming from jamaica. a rendezvous was appointed at the island of oruba, lying off the mouth of the gulf of venezuela. their prisoner was french, and he was very closely questioned by lieutenant playford, who spoke that language well. he said that they always sailed north to begin with, then sometimes they kept east, and certainly he heard the names of guadeloupe and st. lucia. at other times, after sailing north they steered north-west, and came to a great island, which he had no doubt was san domingo. it was not in this craft that he sailed, he was only transferred to her with some of the others for that cruise only. after they had once made either the western islands or san domingo, they cruised about in all directions. "the great point is," mr. playford said to the midshipmen after a long talk with the prisoner, "that at starting they generally hung about these islands, guadeloupe, st. lucia, and so on, for some time, and it was considered their best cruising ground, though also the most dangerous one, as we have always some cruisers in those waters. that would certainly place the island somewhere off the north coast of caracas. he declared that the first day out they generally passed the western point of an island of considerable size with some high hills. the only island that answers to that account is, as you see in the chart, margarita. therefore i feel convinced that the pirate hold is in one of these groups, off caracas, either chimana, borrshcha, or these two islets called piritu islands. altogether, you see, there are over a dozen of these islands scattered along near the mainland. "it is quite out of the general course of trade, as nothing would go into that bay except a craft bound for san diego, or this place marked barcelona, lying a short distance up the river. they would take care not to molest any of the little traders frequenting these ports, and might lie in an inlet in one of these islands for years without their being ever suspected, unless perhaps by some of the native fishermen, who probably supply them with fish and fruit from the mainland. anyhow, i don't suppose a british cruiser is seen along that coast once a year." chapter v a pirate hold a fortnight later the _cerf_ passed along under easy sail between the island of margarita and the mainland. she was now getting very close to the spot where, if the prisoner was right, the pirates' hold lay. the stars and stripes was hanging from the peak, and with her high bulwarks and ten ports on each side no one would have suspected that she was not, as she seemed, an american man-of-war, heavily armed. passing close to another island, they headed more south into the bay as they neared caracas. every foot of the islands was closely scanned. five miles farther, they came abreast of the chimana isles, and pointing to one of these that lay nearer the shore than the others, the prisoner exclaimed that he was certain that that was the island. "i am sure of it," he exclaimed, "both from the look of the island itself, and from that high range of mountains on the mainland to the south-east." "you are quite sure?" "certain, captain; there are the large trees i spoke of growing down close to the water. it is behind them that there is a little ravine by which one can climb up." no alteration was made in the ship's course, but she continued her way until sunset, when she dropped anchor off the mouth of the river la pasqua, some twenty miles west of the islands. as soon as it was dark curtis was sent off in a gig manned by six rowers. the oars were muffled; the orders were to row round the island within an oar's length of the shore, and to find the entrance to the channel, which, if the prisoner was right as to the place, should be on the side facing the mainland. pierre, the french lad, was taken with them. it was a long row to the island, but the gig was a fast one, and, at three o'clock in the morning, she returned with the news that pierre's information had been correct. they had found the opening but had not entered it, as mr. playford had given strict orders on this point, thinking it probable that there would be a sharp look-out kept in the batteries, especially as the supposed cruiser would certainly have been closely watched as she passed. an hour later the anchor was got up and the _cerf_ sailed for oruba, off which she arrived three days later. there were no signs of the frigate, and indeed the _cerf_ had arrived at the rendezvous before the time fixed. at daybreak on the third morning the topsails of the _orpheus_ were made out from the mast-head, and four hours later she and the _cerf_ met, and mr. playford went on board the frigate to report. "this is good news indeed," the captain said when he heard that the haunt of the pirates had been discovered. "of course you have taken the exact position of the island, for we must, if possible, take them by surprise?" "yes, sir; it lies as nearly as possible in ° ' west longitude and ° ' north latitude." "we will lay our course east, mr. playford, for, of course, you will keep company with us. the water is deep all along the coast, and there seems to be from thirty to thirty-eight fathoms to within a mile or two of the coast. i shall lay my course outside the windward islands as far as blanquilla, thence an almost due south course will take us clear of the western point of margarita and down to this island. we will discuss our plan of attack later on." on the morning of the third day after leaving oruba the island of blanquilla was sighted. the frigate made the signal for mr. playford to go on board, and on entering the captain's cabin he found him and mr. hill examining the chart. "you see, mr. playford, we are now as nearly as possible a hundred miles north of the island; with this wind we should pass the point of margarita at about four o'clock in the afternoon; if it freshens we will take in sail, i want to be off the island say three or four hours before daybreak. you will send that french lad on board when you go back; as soon as we anchor he will go in the gig with mr. hill to reconnoitre and make sure that there is no mistake about the place. when he finds that it is all right he will come back. the boats will be in the water, and the men on board in readiness, and will at once start, so that the landing may, if possible, be effected just at daybreak at this ravine on the north of the island. at the same hour you will sail in and take up your place opposite the mouth of the harbour, and fight anything that tries to come out. "it is quite possible that as soon as our party attack the place on the land side any craft there may be there will cut their cables and try to make off. on no account try to enter; the batteries would blow you out of the water. you will start as soon as the boats leave the ship, and will therefore have light enough for you to go in and to avoid making any mistake, for you see there are half a dozen islands lying close together. there is no objection to their seeing you, and indeed i should be rather glad if they do, for in that case they are the less likely to discover the landing-party, and though they must see the frigate they will think that she is only lying there to cut them off if they try to escape. they will be manning their batteries and getting everything ready to give you a warm reception, and i hope that we shall drop upon them as if out of the clouds. "mr. hill will command the landing-party, which will consist of a hundred and fifty seamen and the thirty marines, which, with the advantage of surprise, ought to be sufficient. as you report that the island is less than a mile long and not much more than half a mile across, the landing-party will soon be at work. after they have landed, mr. hill will divide them into two parties, and will endeavour to make his way round the inlet, keeping up among the trees, and then rush down upon the batteries. when he has captured these he will fire three guns as a signal to you. you will have your boats in readiness, and will at once tow the schooner in, and, on reaching the boom, bring her broadside to bear upon any craft there, and generally aid the landing-party with your guns. if, by good luck, the three craft we have been so long looking for are all there you will have a strong force to tackle; you may certainly take it that their crews will together mount up to three hundred men, and it is likely that there may be a hundred others who form what we may call the garrison of the place when they are away." "very well, sir." the two vessels headed south under easy canvas, passed the point of margarita at the hour that had been arranged, and then taking in still more sail proceeded slowly on until, about one o'clock in the morning, the island could be made out with the night-glasses. then both were laid to, captain crosbie having forbidden anchoring, in the first place owing to the great depth of water, and in the next because, although the island was three miles away, the chain-cable running out might be heard at night if the pirates had anyone on watch on the hill. nat, whose watch it was, saw the gig shoot away from the side of the frigate. an hour later and there was a bustle and stir on board the _orpheus_, and all her boats were lowered. at five bells the crew began to take their places in them, and soon afterwards the gig returned. the watch below were called up and sail was made, and at half-past three the boats started, and the _cerf_ was headed towards the land. dawn was just breaking when they reached the island. all was still. it had been arranged that, unless discovered, the attack on the batteries was not to be made until five o'clock, and just at that hour the _cerf_ arrived off the narrow entrance to the port. half an hour before, a musket had been discharged on the hill above them, and it was clear that their coming had been observed; but as no sound of conflict could be heard inland there was every reason to suppose that the pirates had no suspicion of a landing having been effected on the other side. "that is what i call being punctual," nat said to curtis as two bells rang out just as they opened the passage. a light kedge anchor was dropped, and as this was done a patter of musketry broke out from the hill above them. their action showed that the arrival of the brigantine was no matter of chance, but that she was there expressly with the intention of attacking the pirates' stronghold, and those who had been watching her, therefore, saw that any further attempt at concealment was useless. in the night the canvas band had been taken down, as there was no longer any reason for concealing the identity of the brigantine. the musketry fire only lasted for a minute, for suddenly a roar of battle broke out within a hundred yards of the mouth of the entrance. the sailors burst into a loud cheer. it was evident that the landing-party had met with complete success so far, and had approached the batteries unobserved, and that a hand-to-hand fight was going on. above the cracking of pistols the cheers of the seamen could be plainly heard, but in two or three minutes the uproar died away, and then three guns were fired at short intervals. the boats were already in the water, the kedge lifted, and the crews bending forward in readiness for the signal. "take her in, lads!" the lieutenant shouted, and the schooner's head at once began to turn towards the inlet. a moment later two broadsides were fired. "there are two of their craft in there!" curtis exclaimed. "now our fellows have carried the batteries they have opened fire on them." as he spoke there was another broadside, which was answered by a hurrah from all on deck. it was clear that they had had the good luck to catch all the pirates at once. three minutes' rowing and the boom was in sight. mr. playford called to one of the boats to take a rope from the stern to the battery on the right-hand side, and ordered the others to cease rowing. "we have way enough on her!" he shouted. "as soon as you get near the boom take her head round to port, and carry the rope to shore. you can fasten it to the chain at the end of the boom." as he gave the order a gun spoke out from the battery on the right, followed almost immediately by one on the left. "they are slueing the guns round!" nat exclaimed. "we shall be having our share of the fun in another minute or two." they could now obtain a view into the piece of water inside the passage. it was nearly circular, and some three hundred yards across. two brigantines and a schooner were lying in line, within fifty yards of the opposite shore. a large range of storehouses stood by the water's edge, while the hillsides were dotted with huts, and dwelling-places of larger size. by the time that the brigantine was got into position by the side of the boom the pirates had loaded again, and several shots struck her. her guns were already loaded, and those on board poured a broadside into the brigantine at the end of the line. the sailors in the battery were working with might and main to slue all the guns round to bear upon the pirates. on the hillsides above them a scattered fire of musketry was being kept up, and mr. hill hailed the schooner. "mr. playford, will you land a party of fifteen men on each side to clear the hills of those rascals? i don't think there are many of them, but they are doing us a good deal of damage, for they can hardly miss us closely packed as we are here." "ay, ay, sir. you hear the orders, gentlemen. mr. curtis, you land with fifteen men on the starboard side, and do you, mr. glover, take the party that lands to port. clear the scoundrels out--give no quarter!" the boats had just returned. the two midshipmen leapt into them, and a few strokes took them ashore. "up the hill, lads!" nat shouted. "don't fire until you are at close quarters. give them one volley if they are together, then sling your guns, and go at them with the cutlass!" there was but little fighting, however, for there were only ten or twelve pirates on either side, as their main force was distributed between the batteries and the ships. they were therefore very easily driven off, five or six of them being killed and the rest flying with all speed towards their village, where those who had escaped from the batteries were already going off in boats to the ships. the two midshipmen therefore returned to the schooner. "don't come on board!" mr. playford shouted. "see if you can free one end of the boom. if so we will go in and engage one of those craft." it was found that the boom was fastened at nat's side, and the chain was soon unwound from the stump of a large tree. then the two boats together got hold of the end of the boom and swung it round so that the schooner could pass. the enemy kept up a heavy fire upon them while they were doing this, and just as the job was completed, curtis's boat was smashed to pieces by a round shot. the breeze was very light, but it was in the right direction. "shall we tow, sir?" nat called to his commander. "certainly not. get your men on board at once." the sails, which had been loosely furled, were dropped again, and the brigantine stole past the batteries, which saluted her with a rousing cheer, while the guns were worked with redoubled energy to keep down the fire of the pirates. the _cerf_ was swept with round shot and grape by the guns of the three piratical craft, but the distance to be traversed was so small, and the fire from the battery to which the pirates working their guns were exposed was so heavy, that the men fired wildly, and the _cerf_ suffered less than might have been expected while crossing the intervening two hundred yards of water. she was steered straight for the schooner, and as her bowsprit ran in between the pirate's masts the crew, who had been crouching forward, leapt down on to her deck, headed by their commander and the two midshipmen. the pirates, although they had suffered heavily, were still in sufficient force to offer an efficient resistance, but their courage had been shaken by the suddenness of the attack. they had lain down to sleep with the assurance that the port was unknown and unsuspected, that the batteries that guarded it could sink any hostile ship that attempted to enter, and their dismay when these batteries were attacked and carried by an enemy who seemed to spring out of the earth, and their only retreat cut off, was overwhelming. already the heavy guns of the battery had done terrible execution. two of the guns on that side had been dismounted, and a third of the crew killed; consequently, although a small portion of the number led by their captain fought desperately, and were killed to the last man, the majority leapt overboard at once and swam ashore. leaving ten men in charge of the prize, the lieutenant called all the rest back on board the _cerf_, which remained in the position in which she had run head on to the schooner, and she was now able to bring her broadsides into play upon the brigantines, the pieces forward raking them from stem to stern, while the batteries continued their terrible fire. in a few minutes the pirates began to take to the boats, which were lying by their sides just as they had come off from the shore. once begun, the movement spread rapidly. the boats were soon crowded, and those who could not find places in them leapt overboard. "take the boat and a dozen men, mr. curtis, and haul down the black flag of the craft to starboard; and you, mr. glover, take one of the prize's boats and do the same to the other brigantine." they turned to execute the order when all on board the _cerf_ were hurled to the deck--one of the brigantines had blown up with a tremendous explosion, that brought most of the huts on the hillside to the ground, carried away both masts of the _cerf_, and drove fragments of wreckage high into the air, whence they fell partly in the pool, partly on shore. fortunately for the _cerf_ only a few fragments of any size struck her deck, the pieces for the most part falling in a wider circle. numbers of the pirates who had just landed from their boats were killed, and many more were injured by being hurled down on to the rocks, dazed and half-stunned. those on board the _cerf_ who had escaped severe injury rose to their feet. not more than twenty-five did so. lieutenant playford lay dead, crushed under a mast; curtis had been hurled against one of the guns and his brains dashed out; ten of the sailors had been killed either by the falling masts or by being dashed against the bulwarks; twelve had fallen under the enemy's fire as the _cerf_ crossed the pool; twelve others were hurt more or less either by the enemy's missiles or by the shock. it was three or four minutes before the silence that followed was broken. then mr. hill hailed across the water: "_cerf_ ahoy! have you suffered much?" "terribly," nat shouted back; "lieutenant playford and mr. curtis are both killed. we have only twenty-five men in any way fit for service left." "if you have got a boat that will swim send it ashore." nat looked over the side, the boat had been stove by a falling fragment; then he crossed to the prize, and found that one of the boats was uninjured. four men were just getting into it, when mr. hill hailed again: "let them bring a rope with them, mr. glover; we will tow you over here." the end of a hawser was put into the boat, and the men rowed with it to the battery. "mr. glover!" the lieutenant again hailed. "yes, sir." "i am sending the boat back again. i think that had they put a slow match in the magazine of the other brigantine it would have exploded before this. however, you had better remain where you are for a quarter of an hour, to be sure; then, before you move, board the brigantine and flood the magazine. otherwise, as soon as you have left, some of these desperadoes might swim off to her and put a match there." "very well, sir, i will go at once if you like." "no, there is no use running any unnecessary risk. you had better flood the schooner's magazine first." "ay, ay, sir." taking half a dozen hands with buckets, nat went on board the prize and soon flooded the magazine; then he and those who were able to help did all they could for the wounded, several of whom, who had only been stunned, were presently on their legs again. when the quarter of an hour had passed he asked for volunteers. all the survivors stepped forward. "four men will be enough," he said. "bring buckets with you." it was not without a feeling of awe that nat and the four sailors stepped on to the deck of the brigantine, for although he was convinced that had a match been lighted the explosion would have taken place long before, as it was now five-and-twenty minutes since the crew had deserted her, neither he nor the men had entirely recovered from the severe shock of the explosion. he led the way below; all was quiet; the door of the magazine was open, but there was no smell of burning powder, and they entered fearlessly. "all right, lads; now as quick as you like with your buckets." an abundance of water was thrown in; then, to make quite certain, nat locked the door of the magazine, and put the key in his pocket. a cheer broke from the men in the battery as he and his companions again took their places in the boat and rowed to the _cerf_. he was hailed again by mr. hill. "i have changed my mind, mr. glover; now that i know there is no risk of another explosion, i think perhaps you had best remain where you are. we will give you a pull to get you free of the schooner, then you had better range the _cerf_ alongside of her; keep your guns and those of the brigantine both loaded with grape; send your boat ashore to fetch off the wounded." "i have two boats now, sir; one of the brigantine's was left behind, and is uninjured." "then send them both ashore, the sooner we get the wounded off the better. i am going to move forward with all my men; we have spiked the guns here, and if they should come down into the batteries again you can clear them out. you will, of course, help us, if we meet with strong resistance, with your guns on the shore-side." "ay, ay, sir." the two boats were sent ashore, and the wounded came off with dr. bemish. as soon as they all came on board nat said: "i will leave you with the wounded here, doctor, with four of my men to help you. we are so littered up that we could hardly work the guns, and as you see, three of them were dismounted by the explosion; besides, the prize alongside would hamper us, therefore i will take the rest of the men on board the brigantine." "i think that will be a very good plan, my lad," the doctor replied. "i quite agree with you, that with the spars and wreckage on one side and the prize on the other, you are practically helpless." the men were at once set to work bringing up powder cartridges from the magazine; grape and round-shot they would find on board the brigantine. in ten minutes the guns of that craft were reloaded. the two bodies of men from the batteries had by this time reached the storehouses. not a shot had been fired, but a minute later there was a loud word of command, followed by a fierce yell, and in a moment both parties were engaged, a heavy fire being opened upon them from every spot of vantage on the hillside in front of them. "now, my lads, give them a dose of grape!" nat shouted. "i expect they are two to one to our fellows still. train them carefully." gun after gun sent showers of grape among the hidden foe, who were for the most part lying behind the cactus hedges of the gardens that surrounded the huts. the three forward guns assisted mr. hill's party, while the others aided that commanded by needham. although but four men to a gun, the sailors worked so hard that the pieces were discharged as rapidly as if they had been manned by a full complement, and their effect was visible in the diminution of the enemy's fire, and by the line of smoke gradually mounting the hill, showing that the pirates were falling back, while the cheers of the sailors and marines as they pressed steadily upwards, rapidly plying their muskets, rose louder and louder. near the upper edge of the cleared ground the pirates made a stand, but the fire of the guns proved too much for them, and they took to the forest. presently a sailor ran down to the shore. "the first lieutenant says, sir, will you please continue your fire into the forest. he is going to cut down all the hedges and fire the huts, so that they will have to pass over open ground if they attack again." "tell mr. hill i will do so," nat shouted back. it was not long after the fire had been turned in that direction before the puffs of smoke that darted out from the edge of the forest ceased altogether. the sailors could now be seen slashing away with their cutlasses at the lines of cactus hedge, while the huts that still stood were speedily in flames. numbers of women and children now came down to the shore, where they were placed in charge of six of the marines and a non-commissioned officer. a quarter of an hour later, while nat was watching what was going on on shore, one of the men touched him. "look, sir, they are going down to the batteries!" the men were at once ordered across to the guns on the other side, and these opened with grape upon two bodies of pirates, each some seventy or eighty strong, who were rushing down to the batteries. the discharge of the six guns did terrible execution, but the survivors without pausing dashed down to the works. cries of disappointment and rage broke out from them on finding the guns spiked, and before they could be reloaded they ran up the hill again, and were in shelter in the forest. "i fancy that is about the end of it," nat said to the petty officer standing by his side. "i don't think that above fifty of either party got safely away." "not more than that, sir. i expect it has taken the fight out of them." "it was a hopeless attempt, for although, if the guns had been loaded, they might have sunk us, our fellows on shore would soon have been upon them again, and it would have come to the same thing." "yes, sir, the same thing to the pirates, but not the same thing to us." "no, you are right there; those twenty-four guns loaded with ball would have sent us to the bottom in no time. you see, our men only used grape before, and aimed at the decks." mr. hill now hailed from the shore again: "mr. glover!" "ay, ay, sir!" "have the goodness to send your boat ashore, i want to send a note off to the captain. on their way the men must stop at the boats on the other side of the island, and tell the boat keepers to bring them round here at once." four men were sent ashore in the boat, and one of the petty officers took his place in the stern, with a hasty note which the first lieutenant had written in pencil stating that the loss had been very heavy, that the work of rooting out the pirates had not yet been completed, and that he should be glad of some more men to occupy the village while he searched the woods. the boat started at once, and twenty minutes later the captain's gig shot into the cove. as soon as the report of the first gun was heard on board the frigate, and there was no longer any motive for remaining at a distance, her head had been turned to the island, and the boat had met her but half a mile away from the entrance. after reading the note, captain crosbie sent one of the gigs to order the boats round to the inlet, and proceeded in his own boat to investigate the state of affairs, ordering the _cerf's_ boat to row ahead of the frigate, which was to work in under very reduced sail, sounding as she went, and was, if the water was deep enough, to anchor off the mouth of the cove. "then you found all the pirates here, mr. hill?" the captain said as he landed. "yes, sir, but they blew up one of their craft when they left her." "yes, of course we heard the report; it shook the frigate as if she had struck on a rock. it must have been tremendous here." "yes, sir, she must have had an immense deal of powder in her magazine; the shock was something terrible. although we were over there in that battery, every one of us was thrown to the ground and several were killed. two of the guns were dismounted." "it was a veritable battle for a time, mr. hill. it sounded like a naval engagement on a large scale." "yes, we had twenty-four guns in the batteries all at work, and the guns of the _cerf_, while the three pirates had the same number in their broadsides, besides two heavy swivel-guns." "you say the loss is heavy. what does it amount to?" "i cannot tell you exactly, sir. there were twenty-five killed on board the _cerf_, in addition to mr. playford and mr. curtis. the two officers and about half the men were, mr. glover reported, killed by the explosion, which, as you see, dismasted her." "dear me! that is heavy indeed, and i most deeply regret the death of the two officers." "so do i indeed, sir. mr. playford was an excellent officer, and as good a fellow as ever walked. mr. curtis would have made, i am sure, a good officer in time. i hardly thought he would when he first joined, but he was improving greatly, and he showed great courage in working to remove the boom under a very heavy fire from the pirates, which sunk his boat under him." "your division, mr. hill--what are your casualties?" "we took the batteries almost without loss, sir, but in the duel with the pirates we lost in the two batteries fourteen killed; nine more were killed by the explosion; we sent eighteen off to the _cerf_ all seriously wounded; as to contusions and minor hurts, i should say that there is not a man who escaped them." "well, well, that is a heavy bill indeed; forty-eight men killed and two officers--why, we should probably have lost less in an action against a frigate of our own size! however, we have destroyed this nest of pirates, and have captured three of their four ships, the other is blown up. now, what is the state of things here?" "there are, i believe, some hundred and fifty or two hundred of the pirates still on the island. they are divided into two parties, and the last firing you heard was when they rushed down into the batteries, thinking, no doubt, to take revenge by sinking the brigantine and the two prizes. mr. glover opened fire upon them with grape with great effect. when they got into the battery they found that i had spiked the guns, which i did when i left them, thinking they might make just such a move. i sent off to you, sir, in order that the storehouses and buildings might be held while we cleared the wood on one side down to the mouth of the cove. when we have done that we can do the same on the other side." "did you have any casualties in taking the village?" "several wounded, sir, none killed. mr. glover drove them out with grape, and so rendered our work comparatively easy. i am sorry to say that almost the last shot fired by them hit mr. needham high up in the left arm. the doctor came ashore a few minutes ago, after attending to the wounded sent on board the _cerf_. he examined the arm, and tells me that the bone is completely smashed, and that he must amputate it half-way between the elbow and shoulder." "that is bad indeed. however, it is better than if it had been his right arm. mr. harpur," said the captain to the midshipman who had come ashore with him, "take the gig off and meet the boats. tell the launch and pinnace to go alongside the frigate, and request mr. normandy to send mr. marston ashore with fifty more men. what on earth are we to do with these poor creatures?" he went on to the first lieutenant as the gig rowed away. "of course we must take them to jamaica. theirs is a terrible position. no doubt they have all been captured in the prizes the villains have taken, and most of them must have seen their husbands or fathers murdered before their eyes. some of them may have been here long enough to become accustomed to their lot, many of them may have been captured lately. what is to become of them i don't know. "you have not opened any of the storehouses yet?" "no, sir, we have been pretty busy, you see. we cut down all the cactus hedges round the huts high up on the hill, so as to keep the pirates from working down and making a fresh attack upon us. as to the other houses, i have given strict orders that no one is to enter them. the men have piled arms and are lying down by them; many of them have not completely recovered from the shock of the explosion, and all are bruised more or less by being hurled on to the rocks or against the guns. i fancy the doctor will have his hands full for many a day." "well, you must pick out twenty or so from those most fit for duty. they can join the men i sent for and finish the business. the rest can be on guard here, in case the party on the other side take it into their heads to make an attack." chapter vi the negro rising while waiting for the arrival of the reinforcements, captain crosbie went on board the _cerf_. the wounded had all been carried below, where cots had been slung for them. after their wounds were dressed, he went round saying a few words to each, enquiring into the nature of their injuries. no attempt had been made to remedy the confusion on deck, except that the bodies of those that could be moved had been laid side by side. that of mr. playford and the others who had been crushed by the falling masts still lay beneath them, as the four men left on board were unable to do anything to extricate them until help arrived. the captain then went on board the prize. "mr. hill has spoken in the highest terms of the service that you have rendered, mr. glover, though i have not yet heard the full details. as the only surviving officer of the _cerf_, you had better, when you have time, draw out a full report for me of the work done by her. it will be another half-hour before we again commence operations against the pirates, and i shall be obliged if you will go on board the _cerf_ with your men and endeavour to get the body of mr. playford and the others from underneath the masts. nothing more can be done at present, but it is painful that they should be lying there. i fancy that with hand-spikes you will have no very great difficulty in raising the butt of the mast high enough to draw the bodies from under it. as soon as you have done that, bring the men back here. when the advance begins you will shell the wood ahead of it." "we will put you ashore first, sir; this is the only boat we have that will float." captain crosbie on landing went among the women, who were between seventy and eighty in number. some burst into tears when he spoke to them, others seemed dazed and quite unconscious that they were being addressed. feeling almost unmanned by the moving spectacle, captain crosbie was relieved when the two boats filled with men entered the mouth of the cove. as soon as they came alongside, the men leapt out in high spirits at the prospect of having a share in the fray. mr. hill had already picked out twenty of his own party. "i will myself take the command here, mr. hill. i don't wish to interfere with the credit that you will gain by this affair, therefore i leave the arrangement of your party in your hands." mr. hill marched the seventy men straight up the hill. "you will march straight on, mr. marston, until you reach the edge of the cliff, then you will return. see that the men are placed at regular intervals. you will then face to the right and the line will advance. no quarter will be given, except to men who throw down their arms and beg for it. i do not suppose that many will do so, as they know what their fate will be if they are taken to port royal. we have reason to believe that there cannot be more than eighty or so on this side, but if they keep in a body and make a rush at the line they will no doubt be able to break through. however, that we must risk, and i hardly think that they will attempt it, for they know that they must sooner or later fall into our hands. they will only starve if they conceal themselves. some may prefer death in that way, or may think that after we have left they may manage to get taken across to the mainland in native fishing-boats. however, search the ground closely. these men are steeped in blood; they have been the scourge of these seas for the past five or six years, and have never yet shown mercy." mr. hill then placed himself in the centre of the line, while mr. marston again took his place on the right. it was not until they had worked round nearly to the entrance that opposition was met with; then they came upon a spot where a mass of rock cropped up among the trees, and as they approached this a sharp fire of musketry broke out. mr. hill ordered the two ends of the line to advance so as to form a semicircle round the rock. when they were in position he gave the word to charge, and with a cheer the sailors dashed forward. led by their officers, they scrambled up the rocks like cats, discharged their muskets into the pirates grouped on its summit, and then threw themselves upon them cutlass in hand. in three minutes all was over; not a man asked for mercy, but all died fighting desperately to the end. four of the sailors were killed, several severely wounded. these were carried or helped down to the shore, and the rest of the party then scattered through the woods; but the closest search failed to discover a single man in hiding, although only some fifty of them had been accounted for. returning to the point from which they had started, the party then proceeded to search the forest at the other side of the cove. here, however, they met with no resistance. a few dead were found, but the forest was deserted. after searching in vain for some time it was concluded that the survivors had probably gone down the face of the cliff and hidden there in caves or in thickets in places that could only be reached by men well acquainted with the ground. after two hours' vain search, mr. hill led the party down to the shore again. while he had been away the captain had had the storehouses opened. these were filled with booty of all kinds, the plunder of at least fifty ships, as they judged by the chronometers, the marks on bales, and other articles. here were thousands of cases of wine, ranges of barrels of rum, hogsheads of sugar, coffee, and other colonial produce, quantities of bales of cotton cloths used for the slaves, furniture of all kinds, enormous numbers of trunks and boxes containing wearing apparel, bales of silks and satins, and an immense amount of table-linen. in the centre of one of the storehouses was a chamber constructed of stone four feet thick with an arched roof. the entrance was closed by two iron doors, one within the other, and these were so strong that it was necessary to drag up a six-pounder cannon to batter them in. when at last an entrance was forced, the strong-room was found to contain upwards of seventy thousand pounds in coin, hundreds of watches, and a large amount of jewellery, much of which was of spanish manufacture, and a great many church vessels and ornaments of silver. it was evident that, although no doubt a certain proportion of the spoil had been divided at the time of capture, the main bulk had been stored there for division some day when the haunt should be finally abandoned. the sailors now set about examining the bodies of the pirates who had been killed on the shore by the explosion. it was found that in almost every case they wore belts under their clothes, and that these contained from ten to a hundred pieces of gold. a systematic search was then made, and, in all, the money found upon the dead pirates amounted to six thousand pounds, which was added to the store taken from the treasury. the work of emptying the storehouses, getting up jury-masts on board the _cerf_, and doing the absolutely necessary repairs to her and the prizes occupied three days. the women had been placed in the brigantine after the craft had been thoroughly washed down and scoured, and she had been taken out and anchored near the frigate, to which the wounded had all been conveyed as soon as the fight was over. on the evening of the third day the storehouses and other buildings still standing were all burned, the cannon were taken on board the frigate, and the next morning the four vessels got up sail and started in company for jamaica. nat was left in command of the _cerf_ with fifteen men. low was in command of the schooner with twelve men. mr. marston had charge of the captured brigantine with fifteen men, all that could be spared from the diminished crew of the frigate. nat had had time, when the long day's work was over, to row off every evening to see needham, whose arm had been amputated an hour after the fight was ended. he was, the doctor said, going on well, and was in very good spirits. "this is sure to give me my step," he said to glover. "i shall have served my time in six months, and marston's rank will of course be confirmed, now that poor playford's death has made the vacancy permanent. you have another year to serve, have you not, glover?" "yes, rather more. however, of course this affair will help me too, as soon as i have passed." "it ought to, old fellow, considering you were the only officer left on board the _cerf_, and that you unfastened the boom under that tremendous fire, to say nothing of carrying the schooner and running the risk of being blown up when you went on board the brigantine. you will get your swab as soon as you have passed. you see it has been a big thing; fifty-eight men killed and a hundred and four put down as wounded; and the breaking up of this pirate's nest makes it the most important affair there has been out here for years. the other ships on the station will all feel quite jealous of us. there will be a goodish bit of prize-money, too, which is not to be despised. over eighty thousand pounds in gold and, i should say, over twenty thousand pounds in goods, makes even a midshipman's share something considerable. how is your arm, glover?" "well, it has been hurting me a bit. i am not conscious of having used it particularly, but i suppose when i was thrown down by that explosion it must have got wrenched somehow." "well, if i were you i would ask dr. bemish to have a look at it." glover did so. it was black and blue from the shoulder down to the elbow, and very tender to the touch. "i don't think anything is broken," the doctor said, "but it has been a very close shave. at any rate, it is just as well that i should put on splints and bandage it, and you must take to your sling again and keep to it for some time. it is not tender above the shoulder, is it?" "no, doctor; i think it is all right there." "that is lucky. you ought to go on the sick-list." "i cannot do that, sir. it would be giving up the command of the brigantine, and i would put up with anything rather than that." they had fine weather and a leading wind to jamaica, and their arrival there with the two captured prizes and the news that the piratical haunt had been completely destroyed, created quite a sensation, which was heightened by the rescue of so many females from the hands of the pirates. some fifteen of these found friends in the island, and the scene when they were handed over to them was painful in the extreme. a third of the number were french, and there were also some eighteen spaniards. all were temporarily taken in and cared for by families at port royal, and were sent off as soon as opportunity offered either to the islands for which they had been bound when captured, or to their friends in europe. mr. hill, in his report, had done full justice to the work done by the _cerf_, and had mentioned nat's going on board the brigantine to drown her magazine, and the great service that he had rendered in covering the advance of the sailors by the guns of that craft, and in inflicting such heavy punishment upon the two parties that had attempted to possess themselves of the batteries, and the admiral sent for him and personally congratulated him on his work. "i will see that as soon as you have passed, mr. glover, you shall have your commission as acting lieutenant. i have not forgotten what captain crosbie told me of your gallant action at cape françois." mr. hill was at once appointed to the command of a frigate whose captain had died of yellow fever, and received the rank of commander pending its confirmation from home; and mr. philpot, second lieutenant of that frigate, was appointed first lieutenant of the _orpheus_ in his place. the schooner and the _cerf_ were sold, for the latter had suffered so much damage forward by the fire concentrated upon her by the pirates' ships that she was considered unfit for further service. the other brigantine was bought into the service. the plunder taken was sold by auction, and the proceeds, together with the sum fetched by the three prizes, brought the total up to one hundred and five thousand pounds, a larger sum than had ever been captured by any vessel on the station. the new brigantine was re-christened the _falcon_, and mr. low was placed in command, with two midshipmen from other ships on the station under him. she was not, like the _cerf_, a tender to the _orpheus_, as the frigate could no longer spare a crew for her, having, in addition to the loss in action, been obliged to send thirty men to hospital on shore. the brigantine was therefore manned by drafts from other ships of war on the station. needham was also left on shore, being promoted at once to the rank of lieutenant, which left nat for the time senior midshipman of the _orpheus_, which was now directed to cruise in the neighbourhood of hayti, where complaints had been received of vessels being missing. two months after leaving jamaica the _orpheus_ again put in to cape françois. nat was still wearing his arm in a sling. there had been a good deal of swelling and inflammation, but this had now abated, and in his opinion his arm was perfectly well again, but the doctor insisted that he should as a precautionary measure still use the sling. the frigate needed some repairs, having carried away some spars in a hurricane a week previously, and on the day of their arrival the captain sent for nat, and said kindly: "we shall be here for a week, mr. glover, and the doctor thinks that another run among the hills will do you good, therefore you can go and stay with your friends there until we sail again. if you return this day week that will do. you have stuck to your work well, for doctor bemish said that for the first month at least you ought to have been on the sick-list, and at any rate you deserve a holiday for your share in that fight." on landing nat went first to monsieur duchesne's office. the planter had but just driven in, and his horse and trap were still standing at the door. the negro driver gave a friendly grin as he saw him. "glad to see you, sah, bery glad; eberyone will be glad. hope you all well, sah?" "thank you, cæsar. all well at the plantation, i hope?" and he went into the office, where he was most warmly received by monsieur duchesne. "i had been told that your ship came into port at daybreak, my dear monsieur glover, and i should have come off to ask after you as soon as i had answered my letters, and to carry you off if the captain would give you leave. but i see your arm is still in a sling. you have not hurt it, i hope?" "i hurt it in that fight we had with the pirates. i dare say you heard of it." "everyone has heard of it," the planter said. "it was splendid, and there is not one here who does not feel grateful indeed to your ship for having rid us of all those scoundrels, who have been doing us so much harm for years. you have not hurt it much, i hope?" "it was bad for a bit, but it is all right again now. the doctor orders me to keep to the sling for some time longer, though i am sure there is not the least necessity for it." "and now about your leave, shall i go off to the ship, think you?" "the captain himself gave me leave this morning for a week without my even asking for it." "that is good news indeed. my carriage is at the door; i fortunately told cæsar to wait, as there are some things to take back. my wife and myra will be delighted to see you, they talk of you always, and will be glad indeed to have you with them again. my boy has gone out to buy the matters required by madame, he will be back in a few minutes." a quarter of an hour later nat was on his way out to the plantation, where he was received with a welcome of the warmest kind by madame duchesne and her daughter. both were greatly concerned at finding that his arm had again been injured. "it is hard indeed," myra said, "that i should be so well and strong again, and that you should still be suffering for what you did for me." "i do not think," he said, "that that business has really anything to do with the last one. a pirate ship blew up close to us; the shock was tremendous. the masts of the brigantine i was in snapped off as if they had been carrots, everyone on deck was thrown down, twelve were killed outright, and the rest of us were all a great deal bruised and hurt. the doctor said that he thought my arm might very well have been broken even had it not been for that accident, and as i came off better than most of the others, i certainly have no reason to complain. it is really quite well again now, and i can use it for almost all purposes. i consider it absurd that i should wear this sling, and would take it off at once, only the doctor made me promise that i would generally wear it; indeed, on board i always took my arm out when i wanted to use it, and he said himself that a certain amount of exercise was good for me." monsieur duchesne came home as usual just at sunset. nat noticed that at dinner he was evidently preoccupied, though he endeavoured to join in the conversation as cheerily as usual. after the ladies had left the table he said: "you may have noticed that i am _distrait_, monsieur glover, but it is an anxious time for all of us on the island, and has been so, indeed, for some time. you see we are divided into three classes: there are the pure whites, the mulattoes, and the negroes, and even these are subdivided. there are the old settlers, men who, like myself, belong to noble french families, and who, i hope, keep up the best traditions of our country; there are the poor whites, landless men who are discontented with their position, and hate those who are better off, while they stand aloof from the mulattoes. these, again, are equally divided. many of them are rich men with plantations. they send their sons and daughters over to france to be educated, and take it much amiss that we, who are of pure blood, do not associate with them. then, again, there are the negroes, who number no fewer than five hundred thousand, while we whites are but forty thousand. we went on well enough together until the states general met in france. it was a bad affair that, for us as well as for france. from that time there has been a ferment. we sent over deputies, eighteen of them, but the assembly only allowed six to take their seats, and while they snubbed us, the young mulattoes were treated with the greatest favour. "then came the news that the assembly had passed a declaration asserting all men to be free and equal. you may imagine what a shock this was to us. some of the mulattoes, in their excitement, took up arms to show that they were free, but they were easily put down. however, when the national assembly heard of the excitement and dissatisfaction caused among the french in all their colonies, they made another decree authorizing each colony to elect its own legislative assembly. our assembly here lost their heads on finding power in their hands, and passed a constitution which practically renounced all allegiance to france. some riots broke out, and things would have been very serious had not, on the eleventh of october last year ( ), a decree been passed by the national assembly modifying the former one. however, on the fifteenth of may they passed another, declaring all people of colour in the french colonies, born of free parents, entitled to vote for members of the colonial assembly, and to be elected to seats themselves. "when the news came here six weeks ago, you can imagine the excitement. meetings were held, and it was even proposed to throw off allegiance to france and to hoist the british flag instead of ours. happily calmer thoughts came, and matters cooled down, but there can be no doubt that the state of affairs is critical. the mulattoes, who outnumber the whites, do not know how to contain themselves with joy, and disputes between them and the whites take place daily. then there are the negroes. you see, the decree does nothing for them. it is hard to know what the negroes think, even whether they care that they are not to have a vote is not known to us. it is clear that it would be of little advantage to them, and, you see, no one who was not out of his mind could think of giving a vote to them, for their vote would be five times as large as that of the whites and mulattoes together. we should have an assembly composed entirely of slaves, and these slaves would at once vote that all the land and property in the island should be divided among themselves. what think you of that, monsieur glover?" "it would be madness indeed," nat agreed. "then, you see, even if they did not do that they would declare themselves free, and we should all be ruined. _sapristi!_ it makes one's blood cold to think of such a thing. but, nevertheless, the negroes are like children, they can be led by a little talk, and among them there are men of some intelligence who could work the rest up to a state of madness. i do not say that this will come--heaven defend us from such a calamity!--still, monsieur, you will comprehend that we all feel as if we were sitting on the edge of a volcano. such strange things happen. what may not occur next? you will understand that i do not talk of these things before my wife and child. they, of course, know about the past, but as for the future they do not trouble themselves at all. i have spoken to some of my friends, and they laugh at the idea of the slaves rising. they say, truly enough, that they are far better treated here than in your british colonies. but then there has been no revolution in england. people have not been stirred up to a state of excitement. the nation has not lost its head, as in france. i say that it is possible there may be trouble with the slaves." "not here, surely, monsieur? your negroes seem to me to be contented and happy, and i am sure they are well treated." "that is undoubtedly so; but, as i told you, the negroes are like children, they will laugh one minute and scream with rage the next. there is never any saying what they may do. i can hardly bring myself to think that such a thing could happen, but i have taken to carrying pistols in my pockets, and i have stored some arms in that closet in the hall; at least i should have them handy, and i doubt not that the house servants will remain true, and i hope many of my slaves. it is for this that i have gathered the arms together." "but surely you would have warning?" "at the first whisper i should, of course, drive my wife and child down to the town, where we should be safe, for there the whites are strong, and we have no fear of an attack. however, we must trust that such a thing may never happen, or that if it does, it may be in the far distance. but come when it will, everyone should receive warning in plenty of time to make all preparations. it seems to me impossible that a plot of any magnitude could be passed from end to end of this island, and be known to so vast a number of negroes, without some of them warning their masters of the danger, for there are tens of thousands who are almost like members of their masters' families." "i should say it is quite impossible that any extensive plot could be hatched without its being known in a very short time to everyone," nat agreed; "and in any case, although those who live far in the interior of the island might have reason to fear, should the negroes break out, i can hardly think that, within little more than an hour's drive from the city, you need feel any uneasiness whatever." "no, i feel that there ought to be no trouble here, at any rate unless there is a successful insurrection in other parts of the island; no doubt that would be infectious elsewhere. but the negroes near the town would be the last to join in such a movement, for they might be sure that the whites there would take speedy vengeance on all within their reach. however, let us think no more of it at present; my wife and myra will be wondering what we can find to talk about so long." nat lay awake for some time that night thinking of what monsieur duchesne had said. he had heard vaguely, while he was there before, of the manner in which the revolution in france had affected the island, but it was a subject that was little discussed at the planter's. having all the feelings and prejudices of the old _noblesse_ of france, he had from the first been opposed to the popular movement in paris, and had held himself altogether aloof from the demonstration on the island. the subject was painful to him, and he had seldom alluded to it in his family circle. it seemed to nat inconceivable that any general movement could be planned among the blacks without warning being received by the planters. when he went out next day he looked with more attention than before at the slaves working on the plantations. it seemed to him that their demeanour was quieter than usual; the mulatto overseers seemed to pay less attention to them, and he was surprised to come upon three of them talking earnestly together, whereas, hitherto, he had always seen them on different parts of the estate. on the following morning, the rd of august, monsieur duchesne started as usual soon after seven o'clock, for the heat was now intense, and it was dangerous to be out after the sun had obtained its full power. an hour later nat was sitting in the verandah behind the house with madame duchesne and myra, when an old negress ran out; her eyes were wide open with terror and excitement, and her face was almost pale. "madame and mam'selle must fly and hide themselves!" she exclaimed. "nigger come in half an hour ago wid news dat slabes rise last night in many places all ober de country and kill all de whites. dinah hear dat all people expect dat, only not for anober two days. oberseers de leaders now. dey come here quick wid all de field hands. not a moment to be lost. fly for your libes!" "impossible!" madame duchesne exclaimed, as she and myra sprang to their feet alarmed, but incredulous. "it may be true, madame," nat exclaimed. "for god's sake run with myra in among the shrubbery there; i will join you in a moment. if it is a false alarm all the better; but it may be true, and there is not a moment to lose. do you hear those shouts?" a burst of yells and shouts rose in the air a short distance away. "run! run!" nat exclaimed as he dashed into the house, rushed to the closet in the hall, seized two brace of pistols, a sword, and half a dozen packets of cartridges for the pistols, and then ran out into the verandah just in time to see the white dresses of the ladies disappear into the shrubbery close to the entrance of the verandah. some wraps which they sometimes put on to keep off the evening dew when they were sitting out of doors were hung up close by him. hastily snatching these off their hooks, he dashed off at full speed, for the tumult was now approaching the front of the house. the ladies had stopped just within the cover of the bushes. "run!" he cried; "there is not a moment to lose. they will be searching for us as soon as they find that we are not in the house." the belt of foliage extended all round the garden, and, keeping inside, they ran to the other end. fortunately, adjoining the garden was a plantation of sugar-cane which had not yet been cut, for although the greater portion of the cane is cut in april, freshly made plantations planted at that time are not fit to cut until the autumn of the following year. the canes were ten feet high, and as the rows were three feet apart, there was plenty of room to run between them. scarcely a word was spoken as they hurried along. the plantation was some four hundred yards across; beyond it stretched another of equal size, extending to the edge of the forest. the canes here, which had been cut four months before, were three feet high; at other times many negroes would have been at work hoeing the ground round the roots, but when nat looked out cautiously from the edge of the higher canes not a soul was to be seen. "i think it is perfectly safe," he said; "but you had better put on the dark wraps, your light dresses would be seen a long distance away. we had better move a short distance farther to the right before we attempt to go straight on. if you will walk one after the other, treading in each other's steps, i will take off my shoes and follow you; that will destroy your traces, and the marks of my bare feet might be taken for those of a negro. please do not lose a moment," he said, as he saw that madame duchesne was about to speak; "there will be time to talk when we get into the forest and settle what we had best do." they had gone but a few yards when nat's eye caught sight of a hoe lying on the ground a short distance along one of the rows of the young canes. he ran and fetched it, the others stopping while he did so. then as he went along he carefully obliterated his footsteps, and continued to do so until when, after walking thirty or forty yards farther, he turned into the young plantation. the surface of the ground was almost dust-dry, and between the rows of the growing canes a track had been worn by the feet of the slaves, who every two or three days hoed round the roots; here, therefore, there was no occasion to use the hoe, as the ground was so hard that his feet left no marks upon it. in a few minutes they entered the wood and went in some little distance; then they stopped. they could still hear the yells of the negroes, who, nat doubted not, were engaged in plundering the house, after which he felt sure that there would be an eager search for the fugitives. the ground had been rising all the way. "i see you need a few minutes' rest," he said to madame duchesne, who was so much shaken that it was evident she could walk but little farther. "i will go back to the edge of the wood and see if there are any signs of their following us." just as he reached the open ground there was a louder outburst than usual of exulting cries; he saw a column of smoke rising from the trees, and knew that the negroes had set the house on fire. he returned at once to the ladies. madame duchesne had sunk on the ground. myra was kneeling beside her. "we must go on, madame," he said; "the scoundrels have fired the house." she rose to her feet. "i am better now," she said with a calmness that greatly pleased nat. "it seemed a dream at first. what does it all mean, nat?" for she as well as her daughter had come to address him by that name. "i fear it is a general rising of the blacks throughout the island," he replied. "monsieur duchesne told me last night that he thought such an event might possibly take place, but he made sure that if it occurred we should have ample warning. by what your old nurse said it must have been an arranged thing, to take place on the twenty-fifth, but something must have hurried it. i think, to begin with, we had better go half a mile farther into the forest. we can talk as we go." "had we not better make straight for the town?" "i think not, though of course i will do whatever you believe to be best; but there are a score of plantations between us and the town, and i have no doubt that the slaves will have risen everywhere. besides, if your own negroes fail to follow our track, they will make sure that we have gone in that direction, and will be on the look-out for us; therefore i think that for the present we had better remain in the forest." "but how can we live here?" she asked. "there will be no difficulty about that," he replied; "there are plenty of plantations of yams, and i can go down and dig them up at night. the young canes will quench your thirst if we fail to hit upon a spring, but we know that there are several of these among the hills, for we pass over five or six little streamlets on our way to the town." "i am sure nat will look well after us," myra said confidently; "besides, mamma, i am certain that you could not walk down there. you know you never do walk, and i cannot recollect your walking so far as you have done to-day." this indeed had been the chief reason why nat had decided that they had better stay in the forest at present, although he had not mentioned it. like all creoles--as whites born in the islands were called in the french west indies--madame duchesne was altogether unaccustomed to exercise, and beyond a stroll in the garden when the heat of the day was over, had not walked since her childhood. the heat, indeed, rendered a journey of any kind next to impossible during the greater part of the day. they had slaves to do their bidding, to wait on them, fetch and carry, and consequently even in the house they had no occasion for the slightest personal exertion. madame duchesne, being of a naturally more energetic temperament than are creoles in general, was less indolent than the majority of the ladies of the island, but was wholly incapable of taking a walk of which english ladies would have thought nothing. she was already greatly exhausted by the excitement and the fatigue of their hasty flight, and to nat it seemed at once that it was hopeless for her to think of attempting the journey of fifteen miles across a rough country. the forest grew thicker as they advanced, and after walking for half an hour madame duchesne declared that it was impossible for her to go farther. nat was indeed surprised that she had held on for so long. she had been leaning on his arm, and he felt the weight becoming heavier and heavier every step. she was bathed in perspiration, her breath came in gasps, and he himself proposed a halt, feeling that she was at the end of her strength. chapter vii in hiding "the first thing to do," nat said, after he had seen that madame duchesne was as comfortably seated as possible, "is to find some sort of hiding-place. we may be sure that the negroes will search everywhere for you, and that, released from work and having nothing to do, they will wander about the woods, and one of them might come upon us at any moment. therefore, unless we can find some sort of shelter, i dare not leave you for a minute." "but why should you leave us?" myra asked. "we must eat and drink," he said. "i must endeavour to discover what is going on elsewhere; i must, if possible, obtain a disguise, and endeavour to find out what are the intentions of the blacks, and ascertain whether it will be possible to obtain help from the town; and i can begin to do nothing until i feel that you are at least comparatively safe. there is no doubt, madame duchesne, that our position is a very painful one, but we have a great deal to be thankful for. if the rising had taken place in the night, as no doubt it did at the plantations where the negroes began their work, we should all have been murdered without the chance of resistance. now, we have escaped with our lives, and have the satisfaction of knowing that monsieur duchesne is safe in the town, and will assuredly do his best to rescue us; but that can hardly be yet. cape françois is no doubt in a state of wild panic, and will in the first place be thinking of how it can best defend itself." "there are, of course, many other planters there in the same position as your husband. each will be thinking of his own people; nothing like a general effort will be possible. at any rate, it seems to me that it must be some time before any operations can take place to put down the insurrection. if one could but get hold of some messenger one could trust, and could let monsieur duchesne know that you are for the present safe, it would be an immense relief to him; but so far as we know at present that old nurse is the only one of your slaves who is faithful, and even if i could find her and get her to carry a note or a message, it is unlikely in the extreme that she would be permitted to pass on into the town. however, as i say, the first thing is to discover a hiding-place where you would be comparatively safe, and before i go to find a messenger i will look round for some clump of undergrowth where nothing but close search could find you. i think that those bushes we see across there would do for the moment. you cannot remain here, for you would be seen at once by anyone who came along within fifty yards of you. i will go and see at once whether it would do." without waiting for an answer he hurried away. on examination he found that the place was more suitable than he had expected. a great tree had once stood there, and had been sawn off close to the ground. round this a clump of bushes had sprung up, growing so thickly that it was impossible to see into the centre save by pushing aside the bushes and entering the little circle. he hastened back. "it will do excellently for our hiding-place for the present," he said, "and the sooner we are inside the better." he assisted madame duchesne to her feet, led her to the bushes, and then bent some of them very carefully aside. the ladies made their way in, and he followed them, seeing that each of the saplings fell back in its natural position. "there, madame," he said, "unless anyone took it into his head to push in as we have done we are absolutely safe. but it will be better that you should keep your dark cloaks on. i do not think that anyone could see through this thick screen of leaves, but it is as well to be on the safe side." "you won't leave us at present?" "certainly not," he said. "after it gets dark i shall make my way down to the house. i must get a disguise of some sort; it does not matter much what it is, for i expect the slaves will be dressing up in the clothes they have stolen, no matter what they are. with some charred wood i can blacken my face and hands. no doubt anyone would see at once on looking at me closely that i was not a negro, but at a distance i should pass." "you would make a better mulatto than you would a negro," myra said. "so i should; as they are all shades of colour, i should not have to be very particular." "if we had dinah here with us," myra said, "she could make you some dye. she knows all about berries and roots, and generally doctors any of the women who may be ill; she would know for sure of some berries that would stain your skin." "well, i must see if i can find her, myra. if not, i must use the charcoal, but certainly the other would be much the safer; and, you see, thanks to my long stay with you before, i have got to speak french very fairly now." the day passed slowly. occasionally they heard shouts lower down in the forest, but these did not come near them, and after a time died away. "i thought they would hardly come up as far as this," nat said; "negroes are not given to work unless they are obliged to, and they will find it so pleasant doing nothing that they are hardly likely to give themselves the trouble to search very far for us. besides, doubtless they have other things to think about. they will know that their work has only begun when they have burnt their masters' houses, and killed all the white people they can lay their hands upon, and that until they have taken possession of the towns they are not masters of the island. no doubt, too, they carried out the wine before they burnt the house." "besides," myra said, "there is the rum store; there are at least a hundred barrels there." "yes, i did not think of that. well, i expect that before this the greater part of them are drunk, and i don't suppose there will be a sober man left to-night. that will make it an easy business for me to find out what they are doing, and to get hold of the things that will be useful to you. i am more afraid of the mulattoes than of the negroes." "do you think that they would join the blacks?" "i have no doubt at all about it--i feel sure they have done so. i saw three of them talking together yesterday; they were paying no attention to the slaves, and i thought then that it was rather peculiar. besides, we know that these lower class of mulattoes are as hostile to the whites as the negroes are, if not more so, and i have no doubt they have had a good deal to do with exciting the slaves to revolt. and now, madame duchesne, i will go down through the woods and get you some sugar-cane, and look for a stream." madame duchesne protested, but she was accustomed to have every want supplied as soon as expressed, and she was suffering much from thirst after the excitement and effort. "you really require something," nat went on. "you see, if i go down after dark i may be away for two or three hours, and were you to wait till then you would be in a fever with thirst. it is evident that the negroes have all left the wood, therefore there can be no risk in my going down and cutting a dozen of the young canes." "if you go," she said firmly, sitting up as she spoke, "you must leave me two of your pistols--they are double-barrelled, are they not?" "yes, madame." "well, leave two. if the negroes come and begin to search this place i shall shoot myra first and then myself, for death would be a thousand times preferable to falling into the hands of these wretches." "i think you are right there," nat said gravely, "and if i thought that there would be the slightest fear of their coming i would not leave you. i shall not be away a quarter of an hour. i will leave my jacket and cap here, and tie a handkerchief round my head, so that should i by any chance come across a searcher, he will not recognize me until i am close enough to silence him. i shall take the sword as well as the other brace of pistols; it will be useful for cutting down the canes." taking off his jacket and waistcoat, and tying his handkerchief round his head, he made his way through the bushes, and then started at a fast run down the hill, keeping, however, a sharp look-out as he went. as he expected, there were no signs of the blacks. as he reached the edge of the wood, and cut the canes, he could hear the sound of distant yells in the direction of the house. "the brutes have got at the rum," he said. "if i had but half a dozen blue-jackets, i believe i could clear the lot out. i do hope," he went on, as he started on his way back, "i shall be able to lay my hand on something to eat, and get hold of a bottle or two of wine. madame will never be able to get on on yams and sugar-canes, accustomed as she has been to every luxury. myra will be all right, she is a regular young brick." as he neared the clump of bushes he cried out cheerily: "all right, madame, i have got the canes, and have not caught sight of a negro." an exclamation of relief followed. madame duchesne and myra were both standing as he entered, each with a pistol in her hand. "i was not alarmed by your footstep," she said, "for anyone who was searching for us would come along slowly and stealthily; but i thought you might be pursued." "if i had been," nat laughed, "you may be very sure i should not have brought them this way, but would have given them a dance all over the place, and then slipped away and come back here." "i know that," she said earnestly, "but i am nervous and shaken." "very naturally, too," nat said: "you felt very much as i did when, after that explosion, i went on board the other pirate to drown the magazine. i believe that if anyone had given a shout close to me i should have tumbled headlong down on the deck. i think, now, we are perfectly safe till to-morrow. by the noises i heard down by the house i should say that most of the slaves are drunk already, and you may be sure that they will not think of starting to look for us till to-morrow. now, if you will take my advice, you will try to sleep a bit." accustomed to sleep for two or three hours during the heat of the day, madame duchesne was indeed feeling so drowsy that she could with difficulty keep her eyes open, and she now in the course of a few minutes was breathing quietly and regularly. "now, myra, do you watch by your mother while i go and look for water. that tiny stream that crosses the road a quarter of a mile above your house must come down not far from here, and it is essential that we should be near it." "but it is near water that they are most likely to look for us." "i did not think of that, myra; of course it is. well, then, we must move over this hill and hide up in the next little valley we come to. there is a road that turns off half a mile above your house. i never went far along it, but it seems to go right up into the heart of the hills." "i never went up it either, nat, but i have heard my father say there were a good many small clearings up among the hills, some with twenty slaves, some with only two or three." "then, when i come back from seeing how things are going on at the house, we had better make for that road, keeping along down at the end of the plantation until we come to it. it will be much better to keep straight along there till we pass some little valley where there is a stream, than to wander about in the wood; and we shall be farther away from those who may be looking after us. if your mother sleeps for two or three hours she will be able to go some little distance to-night." myra shook her head doubtingly. "we must get her on," he added, "even if we have to carry her. it is all very well for us, because i am as hard as nails, and you do a lot of walking for a white girl here, but your mother is not strong. you saw how terribly exhausted she was when she got here, and it is quite likely that she may knock up altogether; therefore it is essential to get her into shelter. we are safe for to-day, but to-morrow we may have the negroes all over the hills, and it will have to be a wonderfully good hiding-place to escape their search." "but do you feel sure that they have risen on all the other plantations?" "i have not the least doubt that they have risen on every plantation in this neighbourhood. your slaves were wonderfully well treated, and would not have joined unless they had known that it was a general rising. you know the old nurse said that it was to have been on the twenty-fifth, which means, of course, that it was a great plot all over the island. of course in some places they may not have got the news yet, and may not rise for a day or two, but you may be sure that all around here it has been general." "but why should they want to kill us?" "because they are really nothing but savages. though they have in many cases been slaves for generations, still there are always fresh slaves arriving; and the others know that their fathers, like these, were captured and sold to the whites, that they had terrible times in the slave-ships, and are on some plantations treated like dogs, and are bought and sold just like cattle. i don't wonder at it that, now they have got a chance, as they think, they should take vengeance for all the ills they have suffered. when they are at war with each other in africa they kill or enslave all who fall into their hands--men, women, or children--and you may be sure that they will show no mercy here. when i was down at the edge of the wood to cut those canes i could see smoke rising from a dozen points lower down. it is possible that some besides ourselves got warning in time, but i am afraid very few can have escaped; for you see, once beyond the line of wood, which does not go more than a mile or two further, there will be no hiding-places for them. there is only one comfort, and that is, the news must have got down to the town in a very short time, and there is no fear of your father driving out and being taken by surprise. my greatest hope lies in that old nurse of yours. she could do more in the way of helping us than we could do ourselves. she could go and get things, and hear what is going on. she is old, but she is a strong woman still, and could help to carry your mother, and attend to her if she is ill." "do you think she is going to be ill?" myra asked anxiously, looking at her mother. "i sincerely trust not, myra, but i own that i am afraid of it. she is breathing faster than she did, and she has moved restlessly several times while we have been talking, and has a patch of colour on each cheek, which looks like fever. however, we must hope for the best. anyhow, i shall bring dinah up here if possible." so they talked till the sun went down. madame duchesne still slept, but her breathing was perceptibly faster. she occasionally muttered to herself, and scarcely lay still for a moment. "i will be going now," nat said at last; "it will be pitch dark by the time i get down to the house; it is dark already here. you have the pistols, myra, but you may be quite sure that no one will be searching now. i may have some difficulty in finding these bushes when i come back, but i will whistle, and when i do, do you give a call. i hope i shall bring dinah back with me." "oh, i do hope you will. she would be a comfort to us." nat heard a quaver in her voice, which showed that she was on the point of breaking down. "you must not give way, myra," he said. "you have been very plucky up to now, and for your mother's sake you must keep up a brave heart and hope always for the best. i rely upon you greatly. we may have many dangers to go through, but with god's help we may hope to rejoin your father. but we must be calm and patient. we have been marvellously fortunate so far, and shall, i hope, be so until the end. when i find out what the negroes intend to do we shall be able to decide upon our course. it may be that they will pour down from all the plantations within thirty or forty miles round and attack the town, or it may be that they will march away into the mountains in the interior of the island, in which case the road to the town will be open to us. now, good-bye; i will be back as soon as i can." "do not hurry," she said. "i will try to be brave, and i don't mind waiting, because i shall know that you are trying to get nurse, and of course it may be difficult for you to find her alone." "good-bye, then," he said cheerfully, and passing through the bushes he went rapidly down the hill. on reaching the cane-field he again took off his shoes. he did not hurry now. it was a tremendous responsibility that he had upon his shoulders. he thought nothing of the danger to himself, but of how madame duchesne and her daughter were to be sheltered and cared for if, as he feared, the former was on the edge of an attack of fever, which might last for days, and so prostrate her that weeks might elapse before she would be fit to travel. "i must get dinah at all costs," he said to himself. "she knows what will be wanted, and will be a companion to myra when i have to be away." as he neared the place where the house had stood he heard sounds of shouting and singing coming from a spot near the storehouses, where a broad glow of light showed that a great bonfire was burning. he kept in the shrubbery until near the house, and then stepped out on to the grass. the house was gone, and a pile of still glowing embers alone marked where it had stood. nat approached this, found a piece of charred timber that had fallen a short distance from it, and proceeded to blacken his face and hands. then he turned towards the fire. as he had expected, it was not long before he came across the figure of a prostrate man, who was snoring in a drunken sleep. the stars gave sufficient light for him to see as he bent over him that he was a negro. he had attired himself in what when he put them on were a clean nankeen jacket and trousers, a part of the spoil he had taken in the sack of the house. without ceremony nat turned him over, and with some trouble removed the garments and put them on over his own. then he took the red handkerchief that the negro had bound round his head and tied it on, putting his own bandana in his pocket. "now," he said to himself, "i shall do, provided i keep away from the light of that fire. the first point is to find where dinah has gone. i know she has a daughter and some grandchildren down at the slaves' huts. i should think i have most chance of finding her there." turning off, he went to the huts, which lay two or three hundred yards away from the house. as he did so he passed near the houses in which the mulatto overseers lived. there were lights here, and he could hear the sound of voices through the open windows. "i will come back to them later on," he said, "i may hear something of their plans; but dinah is the most important at present." he was soon among the slave huts. no one was about, the women being mostly up at the fire with the men. he looked in at the door of each hut he passed. as he was still without shoes his movements were noiseless. in a few of them women were cooking, or putting their children to bed. at the last hut of the first row which he visited an old negro woman was rocking herself in great grief, and two or three children were playing on the floor. nat knew that he had come to the end of his search, by the blue cotton dress with large white spots that the woman wore. he went in and touched her. "dinah," he whispered, "come outside!" she gave a little start of surprise, and then said to the children: "now, you stop here, like good childer, aunt dinah is agoing out. if you keep quiet she tell you story when she comes in." [illustration: "it was not long before he came across the figure of a prostrate man."] then she went out with nat without any appearance of haste. by long connection with the family she spoke french fairly well, whereas the negro patois, although mostly composed of french words, was almost unintelligible to him. "tank de lord dat you hab come back, marse glober. dinah fret terrible all day. am de ladies well? whar you hide dem?" "they are up in the wood, dinah. i am greatly afraid that madame duchesne is going to have fever, and you are sorely wanted there. myra said she was sure that you would come when you knew where they were." "for suah me come, massa," she said. "what madame and mam'selle myra do widout dinah? so you black your face?" "yes, but i want some juice to make my face yellow like a mulatto. anyone could see that i was not a negro in the daylight." "dat so. me bring 'tuff wid me. what you want beside?" "we shall want a bottle or two of wine if you can get them, and a jug of fresh water, and anything you can get in the way of eatables, and i should say a cooking pot. those are the principal things." "dere am plenty ob boxes of wine up near house. dis black trash like rum better, leave wine for de mulattoes; dey bery bad man dose. where you go now, marse glober? me take some time to get de tings." "it would be a good thing, too, if you could get hold of enough cotton cloth to make dresses for them." the old woman nodded. "plenty ob dat, sah. storehouses all broke open, eberyone take what him like. dis dreadful day, almost break dinah's heart." "it has been a terrible day, dinah, and i am afraid that the same bad work is going on everywhere." "so dey say, marse, so dey say. where you go now, sah?" "i am going to the overseers' huts to hear what their plans are. where shall i meet you, dinah?" "me take tings to bush just where you and de ladies ran in. me make two or tree journeys, but me be as quick as can." "do; it is anxious work for myra there, and i want to get back as soon as i can. her mother is asleep, and even if she wakes i do not think she will be able to talk much." "me hurry, sah, but can't get 'tuff to stain you skin to-night. find berries up in de wood to-morrow." "there is one other thing, dinah. can you tell me where to find a hand-barrow? i expect we shall have to carry your mistress." "me know de sort ob ting dat you want, sah, dey carry tobacco leabes on dem. dere are a dozen ob dem lying outside de end store." "all right, dinah, i will take one as i go past. now i will go." so saying, he turned and made his way to the overseers' house. he crept softly along to a lighted window. when in a line with it he stood up for a minute, knowing that those inside would not be able to see him, there being a screen of trees just behind him. the three mulattoes whom he had seen talking together in the field on the previous day were seated round a table. on it were placed two or three wine-glasses. all were smoking. "to-morrow we must get those drunken black hogs to work," one said, "and have a regular search through the woods. everything has gone well except the escape of madame and her gal. someone must have warned them. the house niggers all agree that they were in the verandah behind just before we came up, talking with that english lad. of course they will be found sooner or later, there is nowhere for them to run to. the thing is, we want to find them ourselves. if anyone else came upon them they would kill them at once." "yes, and you will have some trouble if you find them, monti," one of the other men said. "these blacks have been told that every white must be killed. it is easy enough to work these fellows up into a frenzy, but it is not so easy to calm them down afterwards." "no, i am quite aware of that, christophe, and that is why i did not press the search to-day, and why i was not sorry to find that they had got away." "you see, we have arranged that when the whites are all killed i am to marry madame, that paul is to take the young one, and that we are to divide the place equally between the three of us." "if the negroes will let us," the one called monti said. "i expect they will want to have a say in the business." "yes, of course, that is understood. no doubt there will be trouble with them, and there is no saying how things will turn out yet. at any rate we will make sure of the women. i have gone into this more for the sake of getting the girl than for anything else." "we have made a good beginning everywhere, as far as we have heard, but you must remember that it is only a beginning. even suppose the whites of the town do nothing, and i fancy we shall hear of them presently, they will send over troops from france." "they can do nothing against us up in the mountains," christophe said scornfully. "that may be," the other said quietly; "but at any rate there are the blacks to deal with. they have risen against the whites, but when they have done with them we need not suppose for a moment that they are going to work for us. luckily, here it has been the order that no slave is to be flogged without duchesne's approving of it, and the result is that we are for the present masters of this plantation, but we have heard that at some of the other places the overseers as well as the whites have been killed. the order has gone through the island that all the whites, including women and children, are to be killed, and if we were to come across the women when we have forty or fifty of the blacks with us i don't think there would be a chance of our saving them. these negroes are demons when their blood is up. they know, too, that they have gone too far to be forgiven, and will believe that their safety depends upon carrying out the orders faithfully. it seems to me that we are in a rather awkward fix. if we don't take the blacks out to-morrow we sha'n't find them, if we do take them out they will be killed." "we ourselves may find them," paul said. "yes; and if you do, they will have that english lad with them." "we can soon settle him," christophe growled. "well, i don't say we couldn't; but you know how he fought that hound, and there was a report two days ago, from the town, that they have attacked the red pirate's stronghold, taken it, and destroyed his four ships. i grant that as we are three to one we shall kill him, but one or two of us may go down before we do so. now, i tell you frankly that as i have no personal interest in finding those two women, i have no idea of running the risk of getting myself shot in what is your affair altogether. any reasonable help i am willing to give you, but when it comes to risking my life in the matter i say, 'no, thank you.'" the others broke into a torrent of savage oaths. "well," he went on calmly, "i am by no means certain that the english boy would not be a match for the three of us. we should not know where he was, but he would see us, and he might shoot a couple of us down before we had time to draw our pistols. then it will be man against man; and i know that girl has practised shooting, so that the odds would be the other way. now, i ask you calmly, is it worth it?" "what do you propose, then?" paul asked sulkily, after a long silence. "i say that we had better wait till we can get hold of some of these blacks; a little money and a little flattery will go a long way with them. we can tell them that we have private orders that, although most of the whites have to be put to death, a few are to be kept, among them these two. we shall elect a president and generals, and it is right that they should have white women to wait on them, just as the whites have been having blacks. that is just the sort of thing that will take with these ignorant fools. then with, say, ten men we might search the woods thoroughly, find the women, and hide them up somewhere under your charge; but we must go quietly to work. a few days will make no difference. we know that they can't get away. the men of the plantations lower down have undertaken to see that no whites make their way into the town. but it will not do to hurry the negroes, they are sure to be either sullen or arrogant to-morrow. some of them, when they get over their drink, will begin to fear the consequences, others will be so triumphant that for a time our influence will be gone." "that is the best plan," christophe said. "you have the longest head of us three, monti. for a time it will be necessary to let the blacks have their own way." nat, while this conversation went on, had been fingering his pistol indecisively. his blood was so fired by the events of the day, and the certainty that hundreds of women and children must have been murdered, that he would have had no hesitation in shooting the three mulattoes down. indeed he had quite intended to do so, in the case at any rate of paul and christophe, when he learned their plans; the advice, however, of the other, who was evidently the leading spirit, decided him against this course. it was unlikely that he would be able to shoot the three, for at the first shot they would doubtless knock the candle over; besides, it was better that they should live. evidently they would in some way persuade the great mass of the negroes not to trouble themselves to search the wood, and some days must elapse before they could get a party together on whom they could rely to spare the women and take them as prisoners. if they did so, and, as they proposed, put them in some hut in charge of paul and christophe, he would have a fair chance of rescuing them, if he succeeded in getting away at the time they were captured. at any rate, if they carried out their plans they would have some days' respite, and he could either take madame duchesne and myra a good deal further into the hills, or might even be able to get them into the town. the mulattoes now began to talk of other matters--how quickly the insurrection would spread, the towns that were to be attacked, and the steps to be taken--and he therefore quietly made off, and waited for dinah at the place agreed on. it was not long before she arrived with her first load. "i am here," he said as she came up. "now, what can i do? i had better come and help you back with the other things. we can carry them in the hand-barrow." "yes, sah. i'se got dem all together, de tings we talked of, and tree or four blankets, and a few tings for de ladies, and i'se taken two ob de best frocks i could find in de huts. i'se got de wine and de food in a big basket." "all right, dinah; let us start at once, i am anxious to be back again as soon as possible." in ten minutes they returned with all the things. the basket of wine and provisions was the heaviest item. the clothes and blankets had been made up into a bundle. "me will carry dat on my head," dinah said, "and de barrow." "no, i can take that, dinah, that will balance the basket; besides, you have that great jug of water to take. now let us be off." after twenty minutes' walking they approached the spot where the ladies were in hiding, but it was so dark under the trees that nat could not determine its exact position; he therefore whistled, at first softly and then more loudly. then he heard a call some little distance away. he went on until he judged that he must be close, and then whistled again. the reply came at once some thirty yards away. "here we are, myra," he said; "nurse is with me." an exclamation of delight was heard, and a minute later he made his way through the bushes. "mamma is awake," the girl said, "but she does not always understand what i say; sometimes i cannot understand her, and her hands are as hot as fire. i am glad dinah is here." "you can't be gladder'n me, mam'selle. i hab brought some feber medicine wid me, and a lantern and some candles." "would it be safe to light the lantern?" myra asked. "quite safe," nat said; "there is no chance whatever of anyone coming along here; besides, we can put something round the lantern so as to prevent it from being seen from outside. you have brought steel and tinder, i hope, dinah?" "of course, marse, lamp no good widout; and i hab got sulphur matches, no fear me forget them." "give them to me, dinah, i will strike a light while you attend to your mistress." dinah poured some water into a cup and then knelt down by madame duchesne. "here, dearie," she said, "dinah brought you water and wine and tings to eat. here is a cup of water, i am sure you want it. let me lift you up to drink it." she lifted her and placed the cup in her hands, and she drank it off eagerly. "is that your voice, dinah?" she said after a pause. "yes, madame; i'se come up to help to take care ob you. marse glober come and tell me whar you were, so you may be suah that me lose no time, just wait to get a few tings dat you might want and den start up." "i think i am not very well, dinah." "jess a little poorly you be. bery funny if you not poorly abter sich wicked doings. now de best ting dat you can do is to go to sleep and not worry." "give me another drink, dinah." "here it is, dis time a little wine wid de water and a little 'tuff to make you sleep quiet. den me double up a blanket for you to lie on and put anober over you, and a bundle under your head, and den you go to sleep firm. no trouble to-night; to-morrow morning we go on." madame duchesne drank off the contents of the cup. she was made as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and it was not long before her regular breathing showed that the medicine that dinah had administered had had the desired effect. "now, myra," nat said, "we will investigate the contents of the basket. i am beginning to get as hungry as a hunter, and i am sure that you must be so too." "i am thirsty," the girl said, "but i do not feel hungry." "you will, directly you begin. now, dinah, what have you brought us?" "dere am one roast chicken dar, marse glober. dat was all i could get cooked. dere are six dead ones. i caught dem and wrung their necks jest before i started. dey no good now. dere is bread baked fresh dis morning before de troubles began, and dere is two pine-apples and a big melon." "bravo, dinah! you have got knives?" "yes, sah, four knibes and forks." "we could manage without the forks, dinah, but it is more comfortable having them. now we will cut the chicken up into three. it looks a fine bird." "i'se had my dinner, sah; no want more." "that is all nonsense, dinah," he said. "i am quite sure that you did not eat much dinner to-day, and you will want your strength to-morrow." dinah could not affirm that she had eaten much, and indeed she had scarcely been able to swallow a mouthful in the middle of the day. the meal was heartily enjoyed, and they made up with bread and fruit for the shortness of the meat ration. "now you two lie down," nat said after they had chatted for an hour. "i am accustomed to night watches and can sleep with one ear open, but i am convinced that there is not the slightest need for any of us keeping awake. when the lantern is out, which it will be as soon as you lie down, if all the negroes came up into the woods to search for us i should have no fear of their finding us." dinah, however, insisted upon taking a share in watching, saying that she was constantly sitting up at night with sick people. finding that she was quite determined, nat said: "very well, dinah. it is ten o'clock now. i will watch till one o'clock, and then you can watch till four. we shall be able to start then." "it won't be like light till five. no good start troo wood before that. i'se sure to wake at one o'clock. i'se accustomed to wake any hour so as to give medicines." "very well, dinah; i suppose you must have your way." myra and the nurse therefore lay down, while nat sat thinking over the events of the day and the prospects of the future. he had said nothing to the negress of the conversation that he had overheard, as on the way from the house they had walked one behind the other and there had been no opportunity for conversation, and he would not on any account have myra or her mother know the fate that these villains had proposed for them. he wondered now whether he had done rightly in abstaining from shooting one of them, but after thinking it over in every way he came to the conclusion that it was best to have acted as he did, for they clearly intended to do all in their power to save mother and daughter from being massacred at once by the negroes. "even if the worst comes to the worst," he said to himself, "they have pistols, and i know will, as a last resource, use them against themselves." chapter viii a time of waiting dinah woke two minutes before one o'clock, and nat at once lay down and, resolutely refusing to allow himself to think any more of the situation, was soon fast asleep. "it am jess beginning to get light, marse glober," the negress said when, as it seemed to him, he had not been five minutes asleep. however, he jumped up at once. "it is very dark, still, dinah." "it am dark, sah, but not so dark as it was. bes' be off at once. must get well away before dem black fellows wake up." "how is madame duchesne?" "she sleep, sah; she no wake for another tree or four hours. dinah give pretty strong dose. bes' dat she should know noting about it till we get to a safe place." "but is there any safe place, dinah?" "yes, massa; me take you where dey neber tink of searching, but good way off in hills." myra by this time was on her feet also. "have you slept well, myra?" "yes, i have slept pretty well, but in spite of the two blankets under us it was awfully hard, and i feel stiff all over now." "how shall we divide the things, dinah?" "well, sah, do you tink you can take de head of de barrow? dat pretty heaby weight." "oh, nonsense!" nat said. "madame duchesne is a light weight, and if i could get her comfortably on my back i could carry her any distance." "dat bery well before starting, marse glober, you tell anoder story before we gone very far." "well, at any rate, i can carry a good deal more than one end of the barrow." "well, sah, we put all de blankets on de barrow before we put madame on it, and put de bundle of clothes under her head. den by her feet we put de basket and oder tings. dat divide de weight pretty fair." "but what am i to carry, nurse, may i ask?" "you just carry yourself, dearie; dat quite enough for you. it am a good long way we hab to go, and some part of it am bery rough. you do bery well if you walk dat distance." "that is right, myra," nat agreed. "we don't want to have to carry both you and your mother, and though you have walked a good deal more than most of the girls of your own class you have never done anything like this." in a few minutes the preparations were completed. madame duchesne was laid on the barrow, and the basket and other things packed near her feet. dinah took up the two front handles, nat those behind, and, with myra walking by the side, they started. "which way are we going, dinah?" "me show you, sah. we go up for some way, den we come on path; two miles farder we cross a road, and den strike into forest again by a little valley wiv a tiny stream running down him. after walk for an hour we cross ober anoder hill all cohered wiv trees and find soon anoder stream, quite little dere; hab a mile we follow him, den we find a place where we 'top. we long way den from any plantation, dat quite wild country." "then how do you know the place, dinah?" "me'se not been dere for thirty years, marse glober, me active wench den, twenty year old, me jest marry my husband, he dead and gone long ago. he hab a broder on anoder plantation; dere bery bad oberseer, he beat de slabes bery much. jake he knock him down with hoe, and den take to de hills; my husband know de place where he hide, and took me to it one night, so dat i could find it again and carry food to him, cause he not able to get away, hab to work on plantation. me had a little pickanniny and could 'teal away widout being noticed, and me went dere seberal times; den oberseer killed by anoder slabe, and de master, who was good man, he come out to enquire about it. when he heard how de slabe had been treated, he bery angry and say it sarbe oberseer right. when i heard dat i spoke to de ole marse, de grandfather ob dis chile you know, he bery good man, like his son, and he went to de plantation and got de marster to promise dat if jake came back to work again he should not be punished. and he kept his word. dat is how me came to know ob dis place. since dat time me know dat many slabes hab hidden dere. now dat de slabes are masters, for suah dey not want to go near dat place, and neber dream dat madame and mam'selle myra know of dat place and go and hide dere." by the time that they reached the path daylight had fairly broken. "we are not likely to meet anyone here, i hope, dinah?" "no, sah, de blacks in de plantations dey go down by the road we shall cross--suah to do dat to get quick the news ob what am going on in oder places. if one come along here, dey see you black, and tink you nigger like demselves. mam'selle must slip into de bush, now she got dat gown on, no one s'pect her being white a little way off. den if dere is only one or two, you shoot dem as soon as dey come up, if dar many of them--but dere no chance ob dat--must make up some story." "i am afraid that no story would be any good, dinah; if they came close they would see at once that i am not a negro. however, we must hope that we sha'n't meet anyone." nat felt his arms ache a good deal before they arrived at the road they had to cross, and he would have proposed a halt, but he was ashamed to do so while dinah was going on so steadily and uncomplainingly, though he was sure that her share of the weight was at least as much as his. he was pleased when, as the path approached the road, she said: "put de barrow down now, marse glober. you go down on de road and see dat no one is in sight, but me not tink dere am any danger. i know dat dey rose at all dese little plantations up here yesterday; dere is suah to be rum at some ob dem, and dey will all drink like hogs, just as dey did at our place, and won't be stirring till de sun a long way up." in a minute he returned. "there is no one in sight, dinah." "dat is all right, sah, now we hurry across; once into de wood on de ober side we safe, den we can sit down and rest for a bit." "i sha'n't be sorry, dinah. you were quite right, my arms have begun to ache pretty badly." the negress laughed. "me begin to feel him too; dese arms not so young as dey were. de time was i could hab carried de weight twice as far widout feeling it." when a few hundred yards in the wood they stopped for a quarter of an hour, had a drink of wine and water, and ate a slice of melon and a piece of bread. "now we manage better," dinah said as they stood up to continue the journey. "we hab plenty of blankets," and taking one she tore off a strip some six inches wide and gave it to nat, and then a similar strip for herself. "now, sah, you lay dat flat across your shoulders, den take de ends and twist dem tree or four times round de handle, just de right length, so dat you can hold dem comfor'ble. i'se going to do de same. den you not feel de weight on your arm, it all on your shoulders; you find it quite easy den." nat found, indeed, that the weight so disposed was as nothing to what it had been when it came entirely upon his arms. they soon descended into the little valley dinah had spoken of, and she at once emptied the rest of the water out of the jug. "no use carry dat," she said, "can get plenty now wheneber we want it." "how are you feeling, myra?" nat asked presently. "i am beginning to feel tired, but i can hold on for a bit. don't mind about me, please, i shall do very well." she was, however, limping badly. after going to the end of the little dip they crossed the dividing spur, and presently struck the other depression of which dinah had spoken. "there is no water here, dinah; i hope it has not dried up." "no fear ob dat, sah. in de wet season water run here, but not now; we find him farder down." the little valley deepened rapidly, the sides became rocky and broken, and to nat's satisfaction they presently came to a spot where a little rill of water flowed out from a fissure in the rock. "how much farther, dinah?" "a lillie quarter ob a mile." the sides of the valley closed in rapidly, and in a few minutes they entered a ravine where the rocks rose perpendicularly on each side, the passage between being but seven or eight feet wide. "we jest dere now, dearie," dinah said to myra, who was now so exhausted that she could scarce drag her feet along. another three or four minutes and she stopped. "here we are," she said. nat looked round in surprise; there was no sign of any opening in the rock. "it up dere," dinah went on, pointing to a clump of bushes growing on a ledge. "up there, dinah?" "yes, sah; easy for us to climb up. you see where dere are little steps made?" a casual observer would not have noticed them. they were not cut but hammered out of the rock, and appeared like accidental indentations. "i see that we can climb up," he said, "but how we are to get the litter up i have no idea." "no, sah, dat difficult. i'se been tinking it ober. only possible way is to take madame off de barrow and carry her up. you go up once or twice, and you see dat it am not so hard as it seems. dese lower holes not deep, but dose higher up much deeper, can get foot well into dem." "i had better go up and have a look, dinah," and nat started to ascend. he found that, as she had said, it was much easier than it looked. the first four or five steps, indeed, were so shallow that he could not get much foothold, but above there were holes for the feet some six or eight inches deep, and three or four feet apart, these being hidden from the sight of anyone passing below by a projecting ledge beneath. the holes were much wider than necessary, the corners had been filled with earth and tufts of coarse grass planted there, and these completely hid the openings from sight. he soon reached the clump of bushes. behind them was a fissure some three feet wide and four feet high. he crawled into this, and found that it widened into a cave. he was here able to stand up, remaining motionless for a minute or two until his eyes became accustomed to the dim light. then he saw that it was of considerable height, some twelve feet wide and about twenty feet deep. this was indeed an admirable place of refuge, and he felt sure that no one, unless previously acquainted with its existence, would be likely to discover it. he went to the entrance and looked out. myra was sitting down by the side of a little pool. she had taken her shoes and stockings off, and was bathing her blistered feet. "this is a splendid place, myra," he said; "certainly nobody is ever likely to find us here. the only difficulty is to get your mother up." he at once rejoined them below. "the difficulty, dinah, is that the face of the rock is so steep that one cannot stoop forward enough to keep one's balance with the weight on one's back. the only possible way that i can conceive is to fasten madame duchesne firmly to the barrow by these strips of blanket that we have been using. we can tear several more from the same blanket. it will want at least half a dozen lashings to keep her firmly down, then we must knot the other blankets to make a strong rope. i will go up with the end and pull when i get to the top. you can take the lower handles, and by holding them on a level with your shoulders you can steady the thing as it comes up. you won't want to lift, i can pull her weight up easily enough, all that you have to do is to steady it." "dat will do bery well, sah." six strips of blanket were wound round madame duchesne as she lay on the hand-barrow; one was across her forehead so as to prevent her head from dropping forward, one was under the arms, and two more round the body, the other two were over her legs. the baskets and other things had been taken from the barrow. it was now lifted on to one end to see if there was any sign of the body slipping. however, it remained firm in its upright position. the blankets had already been knotted by nat, whose training enabled him to fasten them so securely that there was no risk of their slipping. then he ascended to the top of the steps and took his place on the little platform on which the bushes were growing. "now," he said, "i will raise it a few inches to see that it is properly balanced." he had already seen that the proposal that dinah should steady it from below was not feasible. although the first step was immediately below the bushes, the others varied considerably, some being almost in the same line as those next to them, so that two-thirds of the way up the holes were six feet to the right of the spot from which they had started, having evidently been so constructed that from below, had anyone noticed them, they appeared to go away from the bushes, to which, from the last hole that could be seen from below, there was no communication whatever. the ledge, however, although scarce noticeable from the bottom of the ravine, was really some eight inches wide, and from this but one step was necessary to gain a footing on the platform. dinah, standing below, steadied the barrow as high as she could reach the ends of the handles, and nat then, leaning over, managed to raise it to his level without doing more than scraping the face of the rock as it rose. dinah was on the ledge to receive it and pass it up to him, and nat had soon the satisfaction of seeing it laid safely down in the cave. myra was then got up without any difficulty. she clapped her hands as she entered the cave. "this is splendid, nat! i never dreamt that there could be such a safe hiding-place." "it had to be, mam'selle," dinah said, "for dey hunt runaway slabes with blood-hounds. slabes dat escape here keep all de way in de water. de bit between de pools is all bare rock, not nice to walk on, but bery good for scent, dat pass off in very short time, den walk down here in dis water dat you see below us. eben blood-hounds cannot smell track in water. if dey came down here might smell de steps, but neber come here." "could they come up the other way, dinah?" "you go and look for yourself, sah, but mind you be careful." the wrappings had now been taken off madame duchesne, and the blankets replaced beneath her. she was still apparently sound asleep. dinah took up the jug and went to the entrance, nat followed her. "you have not given her too strong a dose i hope, dinah?" "no, sah, no fear ob dat, she soon wake now. i shall sprinkle water in her face, and pour a lillie wine down her troat, you see she wake den." "will she be sensible, dinah?" "not at first, sah. she 'tupid for a bit, abter dat it depend on feber. if feber strong, she no sensible, talk to herself just as if dreaming; if feber not very strong she know us, but more likely not know us for some time. me got feber medicine, neber fear. feber come on too quick to be bery strong. when feber come on slow, den it seem to poison all ober, take long time to get well; when it come on sudden like this, not like to be bery bad." "well, we must have patience, dinah, and hope for the best. now i will go down with you and fetch all the things up." as soon as these were all housed in the cave, nat said to myra, "i will explore down the stream and see what chance there is of anyone coming up that way. dinah evidently thinks that there is no fear of it, but i should like to see for myself." fifty yards farther on there was a sharp widening of the ravine, and here some trees and thick undergrowth had taken root, and so overhung the little stream that nat had difficulty in making his way through them. he remembered dinah's warning, and advanced cautiously. suddenly he stopped. the stream fell away abruptly in front of him, and, advancing cautiously to that point, he stood at the edge of an abrupt fall. a wall of almost perpendicular rock rose on each side, and the streamlet leaped sheer down fifty feet into a pool; as far as he could see the chasm remained unbroken. "splendid," he said to himself; "no one coming up here would be likely to try farther. the bushes regularly interlace over the water, and there seems no possible way of climbing up, at any rate, within a quarter of a mile of this place, and for aught i know this ravine may go on for another mile. any party coming up would certainly conclude that no slave could approach this way, and they would have to make a tremendous detour over the hills and get to the point where the valley comes down to the cave. it is certainly a grand hiding-place. i suppose when it was first discovered those bushes did not grow in front of it; likely enough they were planted on purpose to hide the entrance, and the place may have been used by escaped slaves ever since the spaniards first landed on the island and began to persecute the unfortunate natives. unless some of the negroes who know of it put the mulattoes up to the secret, they may search as much as they like but will never find us. i must ask dinah whether there are many who know of it." on returning to the cave he found that madame duchesne had wakened from her long sleep. she was, however, quite unconscious; her eyes were opened, and she was muttering rapidly to herself. myra was sitting beside her with the tears streaming down her cheeks. "you must not be alarmed," he said. "dinah told me she would be so when she woke up, but she thinks that though the attack of fever will be a sharp one, it will not last very long. it is not, as is the case with new-comers on the island, the result of malaria, or anything of that sort, but of agitation and fatigue." "hab you been down de stream, marse glober?" dinah asked. "yes, and you were quite right. there is no fear whatever of any one coming to look for us from that direction. are there many negroes who know the secret of this place?" "bery few," she said. "it am tole only to men who are going to take to de hills, and who can't go farder, 'cause perhaps dey been flogged till dey too weak to travel many miles. each man who is tole has to take a great oath dat he suah tell no one except anober slabe running away, or someone who hab to go to take food to him; dat is how i came to know. jake had been tole when dey knew he going to run away. he tole his broder, my husband, cause he had been flogged so bad he could not go to de mountains. den my husband tole me, 'cause he could not get away wid de food. i neber tell anyone till now, cause dere no occasion for it; slabes treated too well at our plantation to want to run away. but dere am no doubt dat dere am slabes in oder plantations dat know of him, but me no tink dey tell. in de first place dey take big oath, and dey suah to die ef dey break dat; in de next place, because dey no tell dem mulattoes, because some day perhaps dese will be oberseers again, and den de secret of de cave be no longer ob use." "that is good, dinah; those scoundrels i overheard talking the other night will no doubt ask if any of the negroes know of any place where we should be likely to hide, and if no one knows it but yourself they would be able to get no information, and it is hardly likely that they would ask the negroes of another plantation. now, what is the first thing to be done, dinah?" "de first ting, sah, is to gader sticks to make fire." "all right. i will go up the ravine and bring down a bundle of dry sticks from the forest. i will get them as dry as possible, so as not to make a smoke." "no fear of anyone see smoke, massa. we no want great fire, and smoke all scatter before it get to top of de trees up above." "well, i will get them at once," he said. "i will pluck two of the fowls while you are away," myra said. "i want to be doing something." "when you come back, sah, i will go out and gader berries to make colour for your face. when you hab got dat done, not much fear of your being known." "you will have to get something to colour my hair, too," nat said. "i never could pass as a mulatto with this yellowish-brown hair." "dat for true," dinah assented. "i'se brought 'tuff to make dat, but had no time to look for berries for skin. when you come back we make fire first; me want boiling water for de med'cine me make for madame." "yes, of course, that is the first thing," nat said. "and when you go anywhere to get provisions, dinah, it would be a good thing if you could get us a few yards of cord; it would be very handy for tying up faggots, and would be useful in all sorts of ways." "me will see about dat, sah. me forgot 'im altogeder when me came away, else would have brought a length; but you will find plenty ob creepers dat will do bery well to tie up faggots." "so i shall, dinah; i forgot that," and nat started at once. in an hour he was back again with a huge bundle of dry wood. "where would you light it?" he asked. "jest inside entrance, sah. dis good wood dat you hab brought, make bery lillie smoke." after a little water had been boiled and dinah had stewed some herbs and chips of wood she had brought up with her, the two fowls were cut up and the joints spitted on the ramrod of a pistol and grilled over the fire, as in this way they would cook much more rapidly than if whole. as soon as they were ready the party made a hearty meal. the medicine was by this time cool, and madame duchesne was lifted up and the cup held to her lips. she drank the draught without difficulty. her face was now flushed, and her hands burning hot. "what will that do, dinah?" "dat most de bark of a tree dat will get de feber down, sah. i'se going to gib her dat ebery two hours; den when we see dat de feber abate, we give her oder stuff to trow her into great sweat; abter dat she get better. now, while i am away, mam'selle, you boil water, cut up half ob one of dem pine-apples, and when de water boil take 'im off de fire and put de pine-apple in; and let 'im cool, dat make bery nice drink for her. now me go and find dem berries." dinah was away two hours, and returned with an apronful of brown berries; and with these, after nat had washed all the black from his face and hands, he was again stained, as was myra also. she had rather a darker tinge given to her than that which was considered sufficient for nat. "it make you too dark, sah; yo' light eyes show too much. mam'selle hab brown eyes and dark hair, and me make her regular little mulatto girl. when get handkerchief round her head, and wid dat spot gown on, no one 'spect her ob being white." "you have brought in a great supply of berries, dinah?" "yes, sah; put on stain fresh ebery two or tree days." when it became dusk the candle was taken out of the lantern, lighted, and stuck against the side of the cave. dinah opened a bag and took out a handful of coffee berries, which she roasted over the fire in a small frying-pan which she had brought in addition to the pot. when they were pounded up between two stones, some sugar was produced, and had it not been for madame duchesne's state myra and nat would have really enjoyed their meal. then dinah took from the basket a bundle of dried tobacco leaves, rolled a cigar for nat and one for herself. "dat is what me call comfort," she said, as she puffed the weed with intense enjoyment. "bacca am de greatest pleasure dat de slabes hab after their work be done." "it is a nasty habit, dinah. i have told you so a great many times." "yes, mam'selle, you tink so. you got a great many oder nice tings a slabe not got, many nice tings; but when dey got bacca dey got eberyting dey want. you no call it nasty, marse glober?" "no; i like it. i never smoked till after i got that hurt from the dog, but not being able to do things like other fellows, i took to smoking. i like it, and the doctor told me that it was a capital preventive against fever." "do they allow smoking on board ship, nat?" "well, of course it is not allowed on duty, and it is not allowed for midshipmen at all; but of an evening, if we go forward, the officers on watch never take any notice. and now about to-morrow, dinah. of course i am most anxious to know what the news is, and whether this rising has extended over the whole of the island, and if it is true that everywhere they have murdered the whites." "yes, sah, me understand dat." "then i want, if it is possible, to send a line down to monsieur duchesne to let him know that his wife and daughter have escaped and are in a place of safety. he must be in a terrible state. the question is, how would it be possible to send such a note?" "me tink dat me could manage it, sah. my grandson pete bery sharp boy. me tink he might manage to get down to de town, but de letter must be a bery lillie one, so dat he can hide it in him woolly head. he might be searched, and dey kill 'im for suah if dey find he take letter to white man. he sharp as a needle, and often take messages from one of our slabes to anoder on plantation eber so far away. me quite suah dat he bery glad to carry letter for mam'selle--make him as proud as peacock. when dey in der senses all de slabes lobe her because she allus speaks kindly to dem. he go suah enough, and bring message back." "it is lucky that i have a pencil with me," nat said, and drawing out a pocket-book he tore out a leaf. "now, if you will tell me what to say, myra, i will write in your name." he went over to the candle. "you must cut it very short, you know. i will write it as small as i can, but you must not send more than one leaf." _dearest papa_, myra dictated, _we have got away. dinah warned us in time, and mamma, nat, and i ran up through the shrubbery and the cane-fields to the forest. when it got dark--"after dark_" nat put in, "you must not use more words than is necessary "--_nat went down, found dinah, and brought her up, and they brought lots of things for us, and next morning carried mamma to this place, which is in the mountains and very safe. mamma has got fever from the fright we had, but dinah says she will not be ill long. we are both dressed up in dinah's clothes, and nat and i have been stained brown, and we look like mulattoes. do not be anxious about us; the negroes may search everywhere without finding us. nat has a brace of pistols, and mamma and i have one each, and he will take care of us and bring us down safe as soon as dinah thinks it can be done. i hope to see you again soon._ _your most loving_ _myra._ "that just fills it," nat said as he rolled it up into a little ball. dinah looked at it doubtfully. "i'se feared dat too big to hide in him wool," she said; "it bery kinky." "never mind that. he must manage to straighten it out and sew it somewhere in his clothes. what time will you start, dinah?" "me start so as to get down to de plantation before it get light. me can find de way troo de wood easy 'nuff. it bery different ting to walk by oneself, instead ob having to carry madame and to take 'tickler care dat she goes along smoove and dat de barrow doesn't knock against anyting. best for me to be back before anyone wake up. me don't suppose anyone tink of me yesterday. me told my darter chloe dat she say noting about me. if anyone ask her, den she say: 'mover bery sad at house being burnt down and madame and mam'selle run away. i tink she hab gone away to be alone and hab a cry to herself, cause as she nurse both ob dem she bery fond of dem, and no like to tink dat perhaps dey be caught and killed.' but me no 'spect dat anyone tink about me; dey hab oder tings to tink of. if i had run into wood when you run dere, dey know dat i give you warning and perhaps show you some place to hide, but abter you had gone i ran in again and met dem outside wid de oder house servants. i top dere and see dem burn de house, and den walk down to chloe's house and talk to oder women; so no one tink dat i know more 'bout you dan anyone else." "that was very wise, dinah. now mind, what we particularly want to know is not only what the negroes have done, but what they are going to do. are they going to march away to the hills, or are they going to attack the town?" dinah nodded. "me see all about dat, sah. now, mam'selle, don't you forget to gib your mamma de medicine ebery two hours!" "i sha'n't forget, dinah." dinah took up the basket. "me bring up bread and more chicken, and more wine if dey hab not drunk it all. now keep up your heart, dearie; eberyting come right in de end," and with a cheerful nod she started on her errand. "your nurse is a trump, myra," nat said. "we should feel very helpless without her, though of course i should do what i could. when she comes back to-morrow i will go out myself. i hate to sit here doing nothing when all the island is in a blaze." "i wish i knew what has become of the family of madame bayou. her daughter julie is my greatest friend. you know them well, nat, for we drove over there several times when you were with us, and madame bayou and julie often spent the day with us. of course they were not quite of our class, as monsieur bayou is only superintendent to the count de noe, who has been in france for some years; but he is a gentleman by birth, and, i believe, a distant relation of the count's, and as they were our nearest neighbours and julie is just my age we were very intimate." "yes, of course i remember them well, and that coachman of theirs. i generally had a talk with him when they were over at your place. he was a wonderfully intelligent fellow for a negro. he told me that he had been taught by another black, who had been educated by some missionaries. he could read and write well, and even knew a little latin." "yes, i have heard papa say that he was the most intelligent negro he had ever met, and that he was very much respected by all the negroes round. i know m. bayou had the greatest confidence in him, and i can't help thinking that even if all the others broke out he would have saved the lives of the family." "if you like i will go down and see to-morrow evening. i agree with you that it is likely he would be faithful, but he may not have been able to be so. however much he may be respected by the other blacks, one man can do very little when a crowd of others half mad with excitement are against him; and i suppose after all that it would be only natural that his sympathies should be with men of his own colour, and being so exceptionally well educated and intelligent he would naturally be chosen as one of their leaders. however, he may have warned the family, and possibly they may be hiding somewhere in the woods just as we are. i should hope that a great many families have been saved that way." "will it be necessary to keep watch to-night, nat?" "no, i do not think there is any risk. even the negroes who know of this cave will not think of looking for us here, as they would not imagine we could be acquainted with its existence. i think we can safely take a good night's rest, and we shall be all the better for it." it was not till nearly daylight on the second day after starting that dinah returned. "me not able to get away before," she said. "in de first place me hab to wait till boy come back wid answer. here 'tis," and she pulled a small pellet of paper from her hair. myra seized it and flattened it out. _thank god for the good news. i have been nearly mad. at present can do nothing. we expect to be attacked every hour. god protect you both._ there was no signature. monsieur duchesne was evidently afraid that, were the note to fall into the hands of the revolting leaders, a fresh search would be instituted by them. "dat boy bery nearly killed," dinah said. "he creep and crawl troo de blacks widout being seen, and get close to de white men out guarding de place. dey seize him and say he spy, and bery near hang him; den he took out de paper just in time, and said it for massa duchesne; den dey march him to town, woke up massa, and den, ob course, it was all right. it too late to come back dat night, but he crawl out and lie close to where dose black rascals were watching. directly it get dark he get up, he crawl troo dem, and run bery hard back, and directly he gib me paper i start back here." "that was very good of him," myra said; "when these troubles are over, dinah, you may be sure that my father will reward him handsomely." "me suah of dat, mam'selle. he offer him ten louis, but jake say no, if he be searched and dat gold found on 'im dey hang 'm up for suah. marse say bery good, do much more dan dat for him when dese troubles ober. and now, dearie, how is madame going on?" and she went to the side of madame duchesne, put her hand on her forehead, and listened to her breathing. she turned round with a satisfied nod. "feber nearly gone," she said; "two or tree days she open eyes and know us." "and how did you get on, dinah?" "me hab no trouble, sah; most ob de black fellows drunk all de day long. nobody noticed dat dinah was not dere. some of de women dey say, 'what you do all day yesterday, dinah?' and me say, 'me ill, me no like dese doings.' dey talk and say, 'grand ting eberyone be free, eberyone hab plenty ob land, no work any more.' i say, 'dat so, but what de use ob land if no work? where dey get cloth for dress? where dey get meal and rice? dey tink all dese things grow widout work. what dey do when dey old, or when dey ill? who look after dem?' some ob dem want to quarrel; oders say, 'dinah old woman, she hab plenty sense, what she say she say for true.' me tell dem dat me no able to 'tand sight ob house burnt, no one at work in fields, madame and darter gone, no one know where--perhaps killed. dinah go and live by herself in de wood, only come down sometimes when she want food. she say dat to 'splain why she go away and come back sometimes." "a very good idea, very good," nat said warmly; "the women were not wrong when they said you had plenty of good sense. and now, dinah, what is the news from other parts of the island?" the old nurse was at the moment standing partly behind myra, and she shook her head over the girl's shoulder to show that she did not wish to say anything before her, then she replied: "plenty ob talk, some say one ting some anoder; not worf listen to such foolishness." chapter ix an attack on the cave dinah lay down for a short sleep. it was far too late for nat to start for count de noe's plantation, and when it was broad daylight, he went down to the pool for a bathe. when he returned, dinah was standing at the entrance. she held up her hand to signal to him to stay below. she came down the steps, and sat down with him on a stone twenty or thirty yards up the stream. "mam'selle hab gone to sleep again," she said; "now we can talk quiet." "and what is your news, dinah?" he asked. "marse glober, it am jest awful. it seem to dinah dat all de black folk in dis island am turned into debils--from eberywhar de same story--eberywhar de white massas and de ladies and de childer all killed. dat not de worst, sah, dey not content wid killing dem, dey put dem to horrible tortures. me can't tell you all de terrible tings dat i'se heard; me jest tell you one, dat enough for you to guess what de oders are. dey caught one white man, a carpenter, dey tied 'im between two planks and dey carry 'im to his saw-pit and dey saw 'im asunder. in one place de niggers march to attack town, and what you tink dey take for dere flag? a lilly white baby wid a spear run troo him. as to de ladies, me can no speak of de awful tings me hab heard. you quite right to gib pistol to madame and mam'selle, dey do well shoot demselves before dese yellow and black debils get hold of dem. me neber tink dat me hab shame for my colour, now i hab shame; if me could lift my hands and ebery mulatto and black man in dis island all fall dead, me lift dem now, and me glad me fall dead wid de rest." "this is awful, indeed, dinah; as you say the negroes seem to have become fiends. i could understand it in plantations where they are badly treated, but it is certain that this was quite the exception, and that, on the whole, they were comfortable and happy before this trouble began. i know they were on monsieur duchesne's estate, and on all those i visited when i was here before. i do not say they might not have preferred to be free." "what good dat do dem, sah? if free, not work; dey worse off dan when slabes. where dey get close? where dey get food? what dey do when dey get old? look at dinah, she allus comfor'ble and happy. she could work now tho' she old, but she hab no work to do 'cept when she like to dust room; she get plenty ob good food, she know well dat howeber old she live, massa and madame make her comfor'ble. suppose she like de oders, and stop down at de huts, what den? who gib de ole woman food? who gib her close? who gib her wine and medicine? no, sah, dis am bad business all troo--terrible bad for white men, terrible bad for black men, terrible bad for eberyone. "next you see come de turn of de white man. dey come out from de towns, plenty guns and powder, dey attack de blacks, dey shoot dem down like dogs, dey hunt dem troo de hills; dey show dem no mercy, and dey don't deserve none, massa. it would hab been better had big wave come swallow dis island up, better for eberyone; white man go to white man's heaben, good black man go to heaben, either de same heaben, or de black man's heaben. now, suah enough, dere no heaben for dese black men who hab done dese tings, dey all shut out; dey no let dem in 'cause dey hab blood on dere hands, me heard priest say dat st. peter he sit at de gate. well, sah, you bery suah dat st. peter him shake him head when black fellow from dis island come up and ask to go in. all dis dreadful, massa;" and the tears ran plentifully down the old nurse's cheeks. "it won't be as bad as that, dinah," nat said soothingly. "there must be a great many who have taken no part in this horrible affair, and who have only risen because they were afraid to hang back." "don't you whisper word to mam'selle myra 'bout dese tings, marse glober." "you may be sure that i shall not do so, dinah; but certainly i shall, whenever i leave her, tell her not to hesitate to use her pistol against herself." "if de negroes find dis cave, you trust to me," the negress said firmly. "i'se heard dat it bery wicked ting to kill oneself. bery well, sah, me won't let madame and mam'selle do wicked ting. dinah got long knife hidden, if dey come dinah kill bofe ob dem, den dey no do wicked deed. as to dinah, she poor ole negro woman. better dat st. peter say to her, 'you no come in, dere blood on hands,' dan dat he should say dat to de two white ladies she hab nursed." nat's eyes were moist, and his voice shook at this proof of the old woman's devotion, and he said unsteadily: "st. peter would not blame you, dinah. he would know why there was blood on your hands, and he would say, 'come in, you have rendered to your mistresses the last and greatest services possible.'" after breakfast dinah washed his shirt, his white nankeen trousers, and jacket, and, as he had not a red sash to wind round his waist, he took the ornaments and slings from his sword-belt and put this on. "you pass bery well, sah, for mulatto man; de only ting am de hat. dat red handkerchief bery well when you pretend to be negro, but not suit mulatto, and dinah will go see what she find at dose plantation on de hills." "no, dinah, you must not run risks." "no risk in dat, sah. dinah known bery well at most of de plantations round. i'se got a name for hab good medicines for febers, and ointments for sores, and women dat hab childer ill bring dem down to me from all parts. bery simple for me to go round and say dat now de house gone and de ladies and all, me not like to stay down dere and be trouble to my darters. plenty for 'em to do to keep demselves and der childer. me going to trabel round de country and nurse de sick and sell my medicines. suah to meet some woman whose child me hab cured; ask her if she know anyone who hab got straw-hat--dere suah to be straw-hats in planters' houses--me say dat a mulatto hab lost his, and not able to go down to town to buy one, and told me would gib me dollar if i could get him good one. me try to get someting for sash too." "that would be almost as difficult as the hat, dinah." dinah shook her head. "plenty ob women got red shawl, sah; most all got red handkerchief. buy one shawl or six handkerchief, bring dem home, cut dem up, and sew dem together; dat make bery good sash. you no trouble, massa; you keep quiet here all day and look abter madame. i'se sure to be back before it time for you to start." dinah indeed returned just as the sun was sinking. she carried a small bundle in one hand, and a broad-brimmed straw-hat in the other. "well done, dinah!" nat exclaimed as he returned after sitting for a couple of hours on the rocks near the fall, and found her in the cave. "how did you get the hat?" "jess as i said, sah; me found one woman who allus bery grateful to me-for sabing her chile. i tell her i want straw-hat. she said she could get me one, two, or tree hats in de house ob mulatto oberseer. she 'teal one for me. most of de men down in de plain, so she take basket and go up to de house garden--ebery one take what dey want now. she get some green 'tuff, as if for her dinner; den she go round by mulatto man's house, she look in at window and see hats; she take one, put 'im in basket and cober 'im ober, den bring um back to me. she had red shawl; she gib it me, but i make her take dollar for it. me hide de hat under my dress till me get away into de woods again, den me carry um. now, sah, put um on. dat suit you bery well, sah; you pass for young mulatto man when i got dis shawl cut up and sewn togeder. you please to know dat madame open her eyes lillie time ago, and know mam'selle and dinah. me gib her drink ob pine-apple juice wid water in which me boil poppy seeds; she drink and go off in quiet sleep; when she wake to-morrow i 'spect she able to talk." "i don't like your going, nat," myra said when, the shawl having been converted into a sash, he put his pistols into it. "we have heard, you see, that the bayous were not killed in the first attack, and i do not see that you can learn more." "i should not run the risk, such as it may be, merely to ask that question. but i think that their coachman, toussaint, must have saved them. i want to see him; possibly he may have made some arrangements for getting them down to the coast, and he might be willing to allow you and your mother to go down with them. of course she would have to be carried, but that might not add much to the difficulty." receiving general instructions from dinah as to the shortest route, he started, without giving time for myra to remonstrate further. after two hours' walking he approached the plantation of count noe. the house was, of course, gone. seeing a negro girl, he went up to her. "which is the house of toussaint?" he asked. she pointed to a path. "it am de first house you come to," she said; "he used to live at de stables, but now he hab de house ob one of de oberseers who was killed because he did not join us." on reaching the house indicated he looked in at the window, and saw the person he was looking for sitting at a table reading. he was now a man of forty-eight years old, tall in stature, with a face unusually intelligent for one of his race. his manners were quiet and simple, and there was a certain dignity in his bearing that bespoke a feeling that he was superior to the race to which he belonged and the position he occupied. nat went round to the door and knocked. toussaint opened it. "have you a letter for me?" he asked quietly, supposing that his visitor had come with a message to him from one of the leaders of the rebellion. nat entered and closed the door behind him. "then you do not remember me, toussaint?" the negro recognized the voice, and the doubtful accent with which his visitor spoke french. "you are the young english officer," he exclaimed, "though i should not have known you but for the voice. i heard that you were at monsieur duchesne's, and it was believed that you had fled to the woods with his wife and daughter. i am glad that they escaped." "i have come from them, toussaint--at least from the daughter, for the mother has had an attack of fever. she heard that the family here had also escaped, and she said at once that she felt sure you had aided them." "i did so," the negro said quietly; "they were the family i served, and it was my duty to save them; moreover, they had always been kind to me. they are safe--i saw them down to the coast last night. i risked my life, for although the slaves round here respect me and look upon me as their leader, even that would not have saved me had they suspected that i had saved white people from death." "but you are not with them, toussaint, surely?" the negro drew himself up. "i am with my countrymen," he said; "i have always felt their position greatly. why should we be treated as cattle because we differ in colour from others? i did my duty to my employers, and now that that is done i am free, and to-morrow i shall join the bands under françois and biassou. i regret most deeply that my people should have disgraced their cause by murders. of the two thousand whites who have fallen fully one half are women and children, therefore there could have been but one thousand men who, if they had been allowed to go free down to the town, could have fought against us; and what are a thousand men, when we are half a million? it has been a mistake that may well ruin our cause; among the whites everywhere it will confirm their opinion of our race that we are but savages, brutal and bloodthirsty, when we have the opportunity. in france it will excite those against us who were before our friends, and french troops will pour into the islands, whereas, had the revolution been a peaceful one, it would have been approved by the friends of liberty there. it is terrible, nevertheless it makes it all the more necessary that those who have some influence should use it for good. now that the first fury has passed, better thoughts may prevail, and we may conduct the war without such horrors; but even of that i have no great hope. we may be sure that the whites will take a terrible vengeance, the blacks will retaliate; it will be blood for blood on both sides. however, in a case like this the lives of individuals are as nothing, the cause is everything. i have myself no animosity against the whites, but many of my countrymen have just cause for hatred against them, and were any to try to interfere to prevent them from taking the vengeance they consider their right, it would cause dissension and so prejudice our chances of success. you can understand, then, that i shall hold myself aloof altogether from any interference. i am sorry for the ladies, but now that i have done my duty to my late employers, i have a paramount duty to discharge to my countrymen, and decline to interfere in any way." "then all i can say is," nat said sternly, "that i trust that some day, when you are in the power of your enemies, there will be none to give you the aid you now deny to women in distress." so saying, he turned and went out through the door, and before morning broke arrived again at the cave. not wishing to disturb the others, he lay down outside until the sun was up, then he went along the stream for some distance and bathed. as he returned, myra was standing on the ledge outside the entrance. "welcome back!" she called out. "what news have you brought?" "good news as far as your friends are concerned. toussaint has got them down to the coast, and sent them to cape françois in a boat." "that is good news indeed," she cried. "oh, i am glad! now, what is the bad news?" "the only bad news is that the negro declined to help you in the same way. he is starting this morning to join some bands of slaves up in the hills." "that is hardly bad news," she said, "for i never supposed that he would help us. there was no reason why he should run any risks for our sake." "i hoped that he would have done so, myra; but at the same time, as he evidently regards the success of the blacks as certain, and expects to become one of their leaders, one can understand that he does not care to run any risk of compromising himself." "mamma is better this morning," myra said; "she has asked after you, and remembers what happened before her fever began." "that is good indeed. as soon as she gets strong enough to travel we will begin to think how we can best make our way down to the town." four days later, dinah, on her return from a visit to the plantations, said that there had just been some fighting between the whites coming out from cape françois and the slaves. they said that a ship had arrived with some french troops, and that all the white men in the town were coming out, and that they were killing every negro they found. the women and children from the plantations in the plains were all flying into the woods. "then it strikes me, dinah, that our position here is a very dangerous one. you may be sure that the slaves will not be able to stand against the whites and the soldiers, and that numbers of them will go into hiding, and it is very likely that some who know the secret of this place will come here." "yes, sah, i'se not thought ob dat; but, sure enough, it am bery likely dat some ob dem may do so. what you tink had best be done? if de slabes all running into de wood de danger of passing troo would be much greater dan it hab been. and eben if madame could walk, it would be bery great risk to go down--great risk to 'top here too. what you tink?" "i don't know what to think, dinah; there is one thing, it is not likely that many of them would come here." "no, sah; dose who know about de cave would know dat not more dan eight or ten could hide here--no use to bring a lot ob people wid dem." "that is what i think, dinah; they will keep the secret to themselves. now against eight or ten of them, i am sure that i could hold this place, but some of them, when they found they could not get in, would go back again and might lead a strong party here, or might keep watch higher up, and starve us out. and even if the whites beat them out of all the plantations, they would not know where to look for us, and would have too much on their hands to scatter all over the hills. if we are to join them it must be by going down." "dinah might go and tell dem, sah." nat shook his head. "i am afraid, dinah, that their passions will be so much aroused at the wholesale murder of the whites that they will shoot every black they come across, man or woman, and you would be shot long before you could get close enough to explain why you had come. no, i think the only thing to be done, as far as i can see, is that you should go down from time to time to let us know how things are going. i do not think that the whites are likely to get very far along the road. you may be sure that when the troops started from the town news was sent at once to the leaders, and it is likely that they will move a great number of men down to oppose them, and will likely enough drive them back. however, the great thing for us is to know where they are and what they are doing. it is likely that now the whites have advanced there will no longer be any watch kept to prevent people, in hiding like ourselves, from going down to the town; if you find out that that is so, we will put madame on her barrow again, and carry her down. of course we should have to chance being met when going through the forest, but we must risk that." "yes, i tink dat de only plan, sah." accordingly, dinah started again the next morning. nat felt very anxious, and took up his place near the entrance to the cave. myra was busy seeing to the cooking and in attending upon her mother. about four o'clock he thought he heard voices, and, crawling cautiously to the mouth of the cave, he looked out through the bushes. eight men were coming along; six of them were negroes, and the other two were the mulatto overseers whose conversation he had overheard. he called softly to myra: "don't be alarmed, myra, we are going to have a fight, but i have no fear whatever of their taking us. only one can attack at once, and he can only come slowly. there are eight of them; you may as well bring me the two other pistols. i would not take them if i thought there was the smallest chance of these fellows getting up here. go and tell your mother not to be frightened, and then do you come and sit down behind me. i will hand the pistols to you to load. there are only eight of these fellows, and if there were eighty, we could hold the cave; even if they got up to the platform they could only enter, stooping, one at a time. go at once to your mother, they will be here directly." "how much farther is this place?" the mulatto christophe asked. "right dar behind dat bush," the negro said; "you go up by dem steps." "it is a splendid hiding-place, paul." "yes. no one who did not know of it would have a chance of finding it. there is someone there now; don't you see a light smoke rising behind the bush?" "so there is! i should not be surprised if the woman duchesne and her daughter are there. it is certain that someone must have helped them off, or we should have found them long ago." "well, it will be a rare piece of luck if they are there." the negroes had already noticed the smoke, and were talking excitedly together. it had not occurred to them that any fugitives could have discovered the place, and they were only concerned at the thought that the cave might be already fully occupied. "hullo, dar!" one of them shouted. "how many ob you up dar?" no answer was returned. he shouted again, but there was still silence. "i s'pect dar only one man," he said to his comrades. "most likely him gone out to look for food. bery foolish leab fire burning;" and he at once proceeded to climb the steps, followed by two others. nat grasped the handle of his pistol. he determined that in the first place he would make sure of the two mulattoes. they were by far the most dangerous of his foes, and if they escaped they would, he had no doubt, keep watch higher up, capture dinah on her return, and cut off all retreat from the cave. it was time to act at once, and, taking a steady aim at paul, he fired. with a shriek the mulatto fell backwards. before the others could recover from their surprise nat fired again, and christophe fell forward on his face in the water. he passed the pistol back to myra, and grasped another. he had expected that the negroes would at once fly, and two of them had turned to do so, when the highest climber shouted down: "come on, all ob you! what you want run away for? perhaps only one man here, he want to keep de cabe all to himself; we soon settle with him. dis cabe de only safe place." nat could easily have shot the man, but he determined to direct his fire against those below. if he shot those climbing the others would escape, and it was of the greatest importance that no one should do so. the negroes had snatched the pistols from the belts of the fallen mulattoes, and several shots were fired at the bush. nat drew back for a moment as the negroes raised their arms, and then discharged the two barrels of his pistol with as deadly an effect as before, and seized the third weapon. the remaining negro below dropped behind a fallen rock. at the same moment the man who was evidently the leader of them sprang on to the ledge. nat's pistol was ready, and as the negro bounded forward he fired. the ball struck him in the chest, and he fell like a log over the precipice. in his fall he struck one of his comrades, and carried him down on to the rocks below. the other seemed paralysed with fear, and uttered a shriek for mercy as nat, who from his position could not see him, sprang to his feet; but the tales that he had heard from dinah of the atrocities perpetrated had steeled his heart to all thoughts of mercy, and taking a deliberate aim nat shot him through the head. he had still a pistol left charged. myra had not yet loaded the first he had handed to her, for it was but some twenty seconds from the time that the first shot had been fired. nat caught up the sword, and at once made his way down the steps. he ran towards the rock behind which the last of the negroes had thrown himself. as he did so the man leapt to his feet, and the two pistols cracked at the same moment. nat felt a sharp pain in his side. his own shot had missed, and a moment later the negro was rushing at him with uplifted knife. [illustration: "he fell like a log over the precipice."] for the moment nat forgot that he had another shot left, and, dropping the pistol, shifted his sword to the right hand, and before the negro's knife could fall he ran him through the body. there was now but one foe left. he lay stunned below his fallen comrade, and nat saw from the manner in which one of his legs was doubled under him that it was broken. he could do no harm, but he would assuredly die if left there alone. nat pressed his lips together, and having picked up his pistol, he put it close to the man's head and fired. looking up, he saw myra run out with a pistol in her hand. "it is all right, myra. thank god none of them have got away." "are you hurt?" she asked, breathlessly. "i will come up," he said; "i am hit in the side, but i don't think that it is at all serious." he found, however, as he ascended the steps, that it gave him acute pain every time he moved. the girl was white and trembling when he joined her. "don't be frightened, myra," he said, "i am sure that it is nothing serious. it struck a rib and glanced off, i think, and at the worst it has only broken the bone. you go in and attend to your mother." "i shall not do anything of the sort," she said. "you come in, and i will look at it; it must want bandaging, anyhow." nat felt that this was true, and, following her into the cave, he let her take off his jacket. the wound was a few inches below the arm. "it is lucky that it was not a little more to the right," he said; "it would have done for me. don't look so white, myra, a miss is as good as a mile. it is as i thought, is it not?--just a glancing wound." "yes," the girl said. he felt along the rib. "yes," he said, "there is no doubt that it is broken; i can feel the ends grate, and it hurts me every time i breathe. this is where it is, just where the cut begins; the wound itself is nothing." "what shall i do?" she asked quietly. "tear a strip or two off the bottom of your petticoat, then sew the ends together to make a long bandage, and roll a little piece, so as to make a wad about an inch wide. is the wound bleeding?" "yes, very much." "fold a piece four or five thick, and lay over that the other wad so as to go up and down across the rib. now, if you will give me a little warm water and a piece of rag, i will bathe the wound while you are making the bandage." "i will bathe it," the girl said. "i am sure it would hurt you to get your hand round." in ten minutes the operation was completed. "i am so sorry that i cannot help," madame duchesne murmured, as myra sat down to sew the strips together. "there is nothing that you could do, thank you," nat said cheerfully. "myra is getting on capitally. i shall soon be all right again." when everything was done, he said, "you are a trump, myra, you have done it first-rate." then the girl, who had gone on as quietly as if she had been accustomed to such work all her life, broke down, and, bursting into a fit of crying, threw herself down by the side of her mother. nat would have attempted to soothe her, but her mother said, "leave her to me, she will be all the better for a good cry." nat went down again to the stream, picked up the four pistols the creoles had carried and unwound their sashes, thinking that these would be better than the make-shift that he wore. as he did so two small bags dropped out. he opened them; both contained jewels, some of which he had seen madame duchesne wearing. "that is a bit of luck," he said to himself. "no doubt directly they entered the house these scoundrels made one of the women show them where madame's jewel-case was, and divided the contents between them. when dinah comes we must get these bodies down the stream. i could do it myself were it not for this rib, but it would not be safe to try experiments. what a plucky girl myra is! most girls would have been ready to faint at the sight of blood. i will wait a few minutes before i go up so as to give her time to pull herself together." in ten minutes he went up again. "madame," he said, "i have something that i am sure you will be very glad to get back again. i took off the sashes of those rascally mulattoes, and these two bags fell out of them. what do you think they contain? some of your jewels." madame duchesne and myra both uttered exclamations of pleasure. "they are family jewels," myra said, "and my father and mother both prize them very much. how strange they should have been on these men!" "the two mulattoes were two of your overseers, and no doubt ran straight up and seized them directly they entered the house." she saw that her mother wished to speak, and leaned down over her, for madame duchesne could not as yet raise her voice above a whisper. "turn them out," she said, "and see how many are missing." although nat had seen madame duchesne in full evening dress two or three times when parties of friends had assembled at the house, and had noticed the beauty of her jewels, he was surprised at the number of bracelets, necklaces, brooches, and rings that poured out from the bags. some of the larger articles, which he supposed were ornaments for the hair, were bent and crumpled up so as to take up as little space as possible. myra held them up one by one before her mother's eyes. "they are all there, every one of them," the latter whispered. "your father will be pleased." "the greater part of these," myra said to nat, "were brought over when the baron duchesne, our ancestor, came over here first, but a great many have been bought since. i have heard mamma say that each successor of the name and estate has made it a point of honour to add to the collection, of which they were very proud, as it was certainly the finest in the island; and besides, it was thought that if at any time hayti should be captured, either by the spanish or your people, or if there should be trouble with the blacks, it would be a great thing to have valuables that could be so easily hidden or carried away." "then they have thought all along that there might be a rising here some day?" "yes. i have heard my father say that when he was a boy he has heard his grandfather talk the matter over with others, and they thought that the number of slaves in the island was so great that possibly there might some day be a revolt. they all agreed that it would be put down, but they believed that the negroes might do terrible damage before enough troops could be brought from france to suppress it." "they thought rightly," nat said, "though it has been a long time coming; and the worst of it is that even if it is put down it may break out again at any time. it is hardly reasonable that, when they are at least ten to one against the whites and mulattoes together, men should submit to be kept in slavery." "but they were very well off," myra said. "i am sure they were much better off than the poorer whites." "from what i have seen of them i think they were," nat replied, "but you see people do not know when they are well off. i have no doubt that if the last white man left the island, and slavery were abolished for ever, the negroes would be very much worse off than they were before, and i should think they would most likely go back to the same idle, savage sort of life that they live in africa. still, of course, at present they have no idea of that. they think they will be no longer obliged to work, and suppose that somehow they will be fed and clothed and have everything they want without any trouble to themselves. you see it is just the same thing that is going on in france." "well, now, what are you going to do next, nat?" "i shall load the pistols. i have got four more now. then i shall take my place at the mouth of the cave again. i hope that when dinah comes she will bring us news that will enable us to move away. the fact that this party was coming here for refuge shows that the blacks are growing alarmed, and perhaps have already suffered a defeat, in which case the way will be clear for us. if not, i must get her to help me clear the place down below, it will not be difficult. what have you got on the fire?" "there is a fowl that i have been stewing down to make the broth for mother. i have another cut up ready for grilling." two hours later nat, to his surprise, saw dinah hurrying down the ravine, for he had not expected her until evening. he stood up at once. she paused when she caught sight of the bodies lying below the cave. "it is all right, dinah," he shouted. "we have had a bit of a fight, but it only lasted for a minute or two, and except that i got a graze from a pistol-ball, we are unhurt." "de lord be blest, sah!" she said as she came up. "eight ob dem, and you kill dem all, sah?" "yes; one could hardly miss them at that distance. i am glad to say that none of them got away. you are back earlier than i expected." "yes, sah; me found out all de news in good time, and den, as eberyone say hurricane come on, i hurry all de way to get here before he come." "well, come up, dinah. madame is going on very well. you know those two mulattoes?" "me know dem, sah; dey bery bad men, dey lead de black fellows to de attack." "well, it is well that they came up here, for they had, hidden in their sashes, all madame's jewels." "dat am good news, sah," the old woman said as she joined him, "dat powerful good news. madame didn't say anyting about jewels, but dinah tought of dem, and what a terrible ting it would be if she had lost dem! dat good affair." "so you think that we are going to have a storm, dinah?" "sartin suah, sah; bery hot las' night, bery hot dis morning, and jest as me got to top of hill me saw de clouds coming up bery fast." "i didn't notice the heat particularly. of course it is very shady in this deep gorge, and one does not see much of the sky." "dis bery good place, sah--better dan house, much better dan forest. me was despate frighted dat storm would come before me got here." "i was wanting you to help me put the bodies into the stream, dinah." "no need for dat, sah; when storm come wash dem all down--no fear ob dat." she went into the cave, and nat followed her. "me hab good news for you, ma'am. de whites come out strong from de town wid regiment of troops and de sailors from english ship; de blacks hab a fight down in de plain, but dey beat dem easy. den yesterday de bands of françois come down from de mountains, get to our plantation in de evening; dey bery strong, dey say dar am ten thousand ob dem. dey s'pect de whites to come and attack to-morrow. to-day dey clearing out all de plantations on de plain. de black fellows say dey cut dem all to pieces." "there is no fear of that," nat broke in. "so you think that they will fight in the morning?" "no, sah, me no tink dat; me suah dat as soon as de whites see de hurricane coming dey march back fast to de town; no can stand hurricane widout shelter. you had better light de lantern, it am getting as dark as night." nat went to the entrance. looking up, he saw a canopy of black cloud passing overhead with extraordinary rapidity. almost instantaneously there came a flash of lightning, nearly blinding him, accompanied by a tremendous clap of thunder. he turned hastily back into the cave. "it is lucky that you arrived in time, dinah; if you had been ten minutes longer you would have been caught." he stopped speaking, for his voice was drowned in a tremendous roar. he was about to go to the mouth of the cave again, but dinah caught hold of his jacket. "no, sah, you mustn't go; if you show your head out beyond de cabe, de wind catch you and whirl you away like leaf, nobody neber see you no more. we safe and comfor'ble in here. we just got to wait till it all over. dat wind strong enough to trow down de strongest trees, blow down all de huts, take de roof off de strongest house. we not often hab hurricanes in dis island, but when dey come, dey come bery bad. dose ten tousand black fellows down at de plantation dey hab a bery bad time ob it to-night, dey wish demselves dead afore morning." "it is very bad for the women and children too, dinah." "yes, sah, me hab not forgotten dat; but most ob dem will hab gone, dey run away when dey hear dat de whites coming out of town. dey know bery well dat de whites hab good cause to be bery angry, and dat dey shoot eberyone dey catch." "but they will be just as badly off in the woods as they would be in their huts, dinah. have your daughter and her children got away?" "no, sah, dey wur going jest as i started, but i told dem dat hurricane coming, and dat dey better stay in de clearing; and dey agreed to hide up in de little stone hut at end of garden where dey keep de tools and oder tings. de roof blow off, no doubt, but de walls am low and strong. dey hab bad time dere, but dey safe." with dinah's assistance, nat fixed a blanket at the point where the narrow entrance widened out, to keep out the swirls of wind which from time to time rushed in, propping it in its place by the hand-barrow on which madame duchesne had been brought up. myra had finished cooking the fowls just as her nurse arrived, and they sat down to their meal heedless of the terrific tempest that was raging outside. chapter x afloat again "there will be no occasion to keep watch to-night, dinah." "not in de least, sah; de water six feet deep, no one could get in." as talking was out of the question, the party lay down to sleep soon after they had finished their meal. it was some time, however, before nat closed his eyes. it seemed to him that as soon as the storm was over, and the water low enough for them to pass up the ravine, no time should be lost in attempting to make their way down into the town. the troops would no doubt set out again as soon as possible, and a battle might be fought before nightfall. that the negroes would be beaten he had no doubt, and in that case other parties of fugitives might make for the cave. it was likely that, until the battle was fought, there would be but few negroes in the forest; those who had remained there during the storm would go down into the full glare of the sun to dry and warm themselves. doubtless, too, françois, the negro leader, would have sent messengers off as soon as he arrived, ordering all able-bodied men in the plantations for miles round to come in to take part in the battle, and their chances of meeting with any foes as they descended to the plain would be slight. it would undoubtedly be a serious matter to carry madame duchesne for so long a distance; for they had ever since leaving the plantation been going farther away from the town, and he calculated that it must be at least twenty-five miles distant. he did not think that it would be possible to do the journey in a day; but once down on the plains they might find some building intact, in which they could obtain shelter for the night. at last he fell off to sleep. when he awoke the din outside had ceased, and the silence seemed almost oppressive. he got up, pushed aside the blanket, and looked out. the stars were shining, and the wind had entirely lulled. the bottom of the ravine was still full of water, but he felt sure that this would speedily drop; for the depression above the gorge was not an extensive one, and the water that fell there would speedily find its way down. he lit a fresh candle and placed it in the lantern, as the last, which had been renewed by dinah early in the night, was burning low. he pulled down the blanket, for although the air was fresh and cool at the entrance, the cave was oppressively warm. it was two hours before day began to break; by this time the torrent had subsided and the stream ran in its former course, and it was clear that in another hour it would be possible to make their way along by the side. as he was turning to go in, dinah joined him. "i tink, marse glober, de sooner we go de better." "that is just what i have been thinking. there are not likely to be many of the slaves about in the wood to-day; you see a number of trees have blown down from above, and just below, the ravine is almost choked with them." "no, sah, many will be killed in the forest, and de rest frighted 'most out of der lives. if de whites come out and fight to-day, and de black fellows are beaten, all dose who know of dis place suah to come to hide here." "that was just my idea." "how your side, sah?" "it seems rather stiff and sore, dinah. however, that can't be helped. that sash you made me will come in very handy for carrying madame, and we sha'n't have the weight of the other things we brought up. i am afraid it will be impossible to do the journey in one day, but i dare say we shall light upon a shelter down on the plains." "yes, sah. me put de pot on de fire at once, and as soon as we hab breakfast we make a start; but before we go me must stain you all again--got glenty ob berries left." madame duchesne had already been consulted. she would much rather have remained until strong enough to walk, but on her old nurse's showing her that it would be at least a fortnight before she could walk even a mile, and pointing out the danger there was in delay, she agreed to start whenever they thought fit. the jewels were placed in dinah's capacious pocket, as, if they fell in with any strong party of negroes, she would be less likely to be searched than the others. in an hour all the preparations were completed; one pistol was given to madame duchesne and another to her daughter. dinah took charge of a brace, and nat wore the other two brace in his sash. he still wore his uniform under his nankeen suit, and his naval cap was in the bundle that formed madame duchesne's pillow. she lay down on the hand-barrow, all the blankets being placed under her, with the exception of one which was thrown over her, and she was let down the precipice in the same way as she had been brought up. dinah this time followed nat's example, and used one of the mulattoes' sashes as a yoke to take the weight off her arms. madame duchesne was placed as far forward on the barrow as possible, so as to divide the weight more equally between her bearers. on raising her, nat found to his satisfaction that it hurt him but little. in the week that had elapsed since she was seized with the fever, madame duchesne had lost a good deal of weight, the store of provisions had, too, greatly diminished, and the sash took so much of the weight off his arms, that as he walked in a perfectly erect position there was little strain thrown upon the broken bone. it was only when he came to a rough place and had to step very carefully that he really felt his wounds. myra looked anxiously at him from time to time. "i am getting on capitally," he said. "do not worry about me; at present i scarcely feel that unfortunate rib." "mind, if you do feel it, nat, you must give up. dinah will take your place, and i will take hers. i am sure that i can carry that end very well for a time." "i will let you know when i want a change," nat said. "now, you go on ahead, and as soon as we get out of this hollow use your eyes sharply." they saw no one going up the valley or crossing the open ground. when, however, they entered the forest on the other slope, they saw for the first time how terrible had been the force of the hurricane. in some places over acres of ground every tree had fallen, in others the taller trees only had been levelled or snapped off, while others again had boughs wrenched off, and the ground was thickly strewn with fallen branches. all this added greatly to the fatigue of travelling. detours had to be constantly made, and the journey down took them double the time that had been occupied in the ascent. when approaching the road they had to cross, they sat down and rested for half an hour. "you are looking very white, nat," myra said; "i am afraid that your side is hurting you terribly." "it certainly hurts a bit, myra, but it is of no consequence. it was going on very well until i stumbled over a fallen branch that gave it rather a twist." "you let me bandage 'im again, marse glober. we will go off and set dis matter right." when a short distance away nat stripped to the waist. myra had done her best, but the old nurse possessed considerable skill in such matters, and strength enough to draw the bandage much tighter than she had done. "better make it a bit longer," she said, and taking a pair of scissors from her pocket cut off a strip some fifteen inches wide from her ample petticoat, and wound this tightly round the other bandage. "dere, sah, dat make you 'tiff and comf'able." "it does make me stiff," nat said with a smile; "i almost feel as if i had got a band of iron round me. thank you; i shall do very well now." the old nurse dressed him carefully again, and they rejoined the others. "that is ever so much better," nat said to myra; "the bandage had shifted a little, and dinah has put it on fresh again, and added a strip of her own petticoat." the journey was then resumed, and, with an occasional halt, continued until late in the afternoon, by which time they were well down on the plain. during the latter part of the day they had heard at first scattered shots and then a roar of musketry about a couple of miles on their right. it continued for half an hour, and then the heavy firing ceased; but musket shots could be heard occasionally, and higher up on the hill than before. "the negroes have been beaten," nat said, "and our men are pursuing them. perhaps they will make another stand at the point where the road runs between two steep banks." this indeed seemed to be the case, for half an hour later a heavy fire broke out again. it was but for a short time--in ten minutes it died away, and no further sound was heard. darkness was now falling, and they presently arrived at some buildings that had been left standing. they were storehouses, and had not been fired at the time when the planter's house was burned, but had probably been used by the negroes as a barrack, until the advance of the troops on the previous day had compelled them to take a hasty flight. the litter was now laid on the ground. madame duchesne had dozed off many times during the day, and was now wide awake. "are you going to light a fire, dinah?" "no, madame; marse glober and me tink it too dangerous. not likely any ob dese black fellows 'bout, but dere might be some hiding, best to be careful. we hab a cold chicken to eat, and dere is some chicken jelly in de lillie pot for you, and we hab bread, so no need for fire to cook, and sartin no need for him afterward, we all sleep first-rate. madame not heaby, but road bery rough, and little weight tell up by end ob de day. dinah getting ole woman, marse glober got rib broken--both bery glad when journey done. mamzelle she tired too; twelve mile ober rough ground a long journey for her." "my feet ache a little," myra said, "but otherwise i do not feel tired. i felt quite ashamed of myself walking along all day carrying nothing, instead of taking turns with you." there was but little talking as they ate their meal in the darkness. neither nat nor the old nurse had said a word as to their feelings as they walked, but both felt completely exhausted, and it was not many minutes after they had finished their supper before they were sound asleep. at daybreak they were on their feet again, feeling better after the long night's rest, and happy at the thought that this day's walk would take them to home and safety. nat now threw off his disguise, placed his cap upon his head, and appeared as a british officer, though certainly one of considerably darker complexion than was common; but he thought there was less danger now from slaves than from parties of maddened whites, who had been out to their former homes and might shoot any negroes they came upon without waiting to ask questions. myra also discarded the negro gown. "i think that i looked more respectable in that," she said with a laugh, "than in this draggled white frock." "it has not been improved, certainly, by its week's wear, myra; but just at the present moment no one will be thinking of dresses. now let us be off. we shall be on the road soon, and in an hour or two will be in the town." [illustration: the journey to the coast.] it seemed easy work after the toil of the previous day. they bore to the right until they fell into the main road, both because it would be safer, and because nat hoped that he might meet someone who could inform monsieur duchesne--who he had no doubt would have gone out with the column--that his wife and daughter were in safety, and that he would find them at his house in the town. they had, indeed, gone but a short distance along the road when four men on horseback galloped up. they drew rein suddenly as they met the little party, astonished to see, as they thought, a mulatto girl in front, a negro woman carrying a litter on which was another mulatto woman, and which was carried behind by a young mulatto in the uniform of a british naval officer. had they met them out in the country they would probably not have troubled to ask questions, but, travelling as they were along the road towards the town, and from the direction where the column had been fighting, it was evident that there must be some mystery about it. "who are you?" one of them asked nat in a rough tone. "i am an officer of his britannic majesty's frigate _orpheus_, at present, i believe, in the port; this lady on the stretcher is madame duchesne; this young lady is her daughter, mademoiselle myra duchesne; this negress, the faithful nurse of the two ladies, has saved their lives at the risk of her own." one of the horsemen leapt from his saddle. "pardon me for not recognizing you, mademoiselle," he said to myra, lifting his straw-hat; "but the change that you have made in your complexion must be my excuse for my not having done so. i trust that madame, your mother, is not seriously ill." "she has been very ill, monsieur ponson," she replied. "she has just recovered from an attack of fever, but is very weak indeed." "i saw your father three days ago. he had then just received your message saying that you were in safe hiding. he was, of course, in a state of the greatest delight. he went out with the troops yesterday." "if you see him, sir, will you be kind enough to tell him that you have met us, and that he will find us at his house in town?" "i will certainly find him out as soon as i reach the troops. is there anything else that i can do?" "nothing, thank you, sir. is there, nat?" "no, unless one of the gentlemen would ride back with us, so as to prevent us from being stopped by every party we meet and having to explain who we are." "i will do so, sir," the youngest of the horsemen said. "i dare say i shall be able to join our friends at the front before there is any more fighting, for the messenger who came in yesterday evening brought the news that the blacks had been so completely defeated, that it was thought likely they would make straight off into the mountains in the interior." "thank you very much, sir; it will be a great comfort to us to go straight on. we are anxious to get madame duchesne into shelter before the sun gets to its full power. my name is glover. may i ask yours?" "it is laurent." the other three horsemen, after raising their hats in salute, had now ridden on. "how did you get on through the hurricane, monsieur glover?" "we scarce felt it. we were in a cave with a very small entrance, and after the first outburst slept through it in comfort." "it is more than any of us did in the town," the other said with a laugh. "it was tremendous. i should say that half the houses were unroofed, and in the poor quarters many of the huts were blown down, and upwards of twenty negroes were killed." "do you think, monsieur laurent," myra said, moving across to him, "that we are likely to meet any people on foot whom we could hire?" "no, i hardly think so, mademoiselle. all the gentlemen in the town who could get away rode out with the troops, and the rest of the whites are patrolling the streets armed, lest the negroes employed in the work of the port should rise during the absence of the troops. why do you ask, mademoiselle?" "because monsieur glover had a rib broken by a pistol-ball the day before yesterday, and i am sure it hurts him very much to carry my mother." the young man leapt from his horse. "monsieur," he exclaimed, "pray take my horse. i will assist in carrying madame duchesne." "i do not like"--nat began, but his remonstrance was unheeded. "but i insist, monsieur. please take the reins. you can walk by the side of the horse or mount him, whichever you think will be the more easy for you." so saying, he gently possessed himself of the handles of the litter, placed the sash over his shoulders, and started. it was indeed an immense relief to nat. the rough work of the preceding day had caused the ends of the bone to grate, and had set up a great deal of inflammation. he had been suffering acutely since he started, in spite of the support of the bandage, and he had more than once thought that he would be obliged to ask myra to take his place. he did not attempt to mount in the young frenchman's saddle, for he thought that the motion of the horse would be worse for him than walking; he therefore took the reins in his hand, and walked at the horse's head behind the litter. the pain was less now that he was relieved of the load, but he still suffered a great deal, and he kept in the rear behind the others, while myra chatted with monsieur laurent, learning from him what had happened in the town, and giving him a sketch of their adventures. as they passed the house of madame duchesne's sister, the invalid said that she would be taken in there, as she had heard from monsieur laurent that their own house was partially unroofed. myra ran in to see her aunt, who came out with her at once. "ah, my dear sister," she cried, "how we have suffered! we had no hope that you had escaped until your husband brought us the joyful news three days ago that you were still in safety. come in, come in! i am more glad than ever that our house escaped without much damage from the storm." although the house was intact, the garden was a wreck. the drive up to the house was blocked by fallen trees, most of the plants seemed to have been torn up by the roots and blown away, the lawn was strewn with huge branches. two of the house servants had now come out and relieved those carrying the litter. "ah, monsieur glover," continued madame duchesne's sister, "once again you have saved my niece; my sister also this time! of course you will come in too." "thanks, madame, but if you will allow me i will go straight on board my ship. i am wounded, though in no way seriously. still, i shall require some medical care, for i have a rib broken, and the journey down has not improved it." "in that case i will not press you, monsieur. dr. lepel has gone out with the column, and may not be back for some days." "good-bye, madame duchesne!" nat said, shaking the thin hand she held out to him. "i will come and see you soon, and hope to find you up by that time. now that your anxiety is at an end you ought to gain strength rapidly." "may heaven bless you," she said, "for your goodness to us!" "that is all right," he said cheerfully. "you see, i was saving my own life as well as yours; and it is to you, dinah," he said, turning and shaking her hand, "it is to you that we really all owe our lives. first you warned us in time, then you took us to a place of safety, and have since got us food and news, and risked your own life in doing so. "good-bye, myra; i hope that when i see you again you will have got that dye off your face, and that you will be none the worse for what you have gone through." the girl's lip quivered. "good-bye, nat. i do so hope your wound will soon heal." "you are fortunate, indeed, in having escaped," monsieur laurent said as they turned away. "from all we hear, i fear that very few of the whites, except in plantations quite near the towns, have escaped. it is strange that the house servants, who in most cases have been all their lives with their masters and mistresses, and who have almost always been treated as kindly as if they were members of the family, should not have warned them of what was coming." "i should think that very few of them knew," nat replied. "they were known to be attached to their masters and mistresses, and would hardly have been trusted by the others. i cannot think so badly of human nature as to believe that a people who have been so long in close connection with their masters should, in almost every case, have kept silent when they knew that there was a plot to massacre them." "well, i will say good-morning," monsieur laurent said. "i want to be back with the troops. i was detained yesterday, to my great disgust, to see to the getting-off of a freight, and i should not like to miss another chance of paying some of the scoundrels off." nat made his way slowly and carefully--for the slightest movement gave him great pain--to the wharf. one of the frigate's boats was ashore. the coxswain looked at him with surprise as he went down the steps to it. "well, i'm jiggered," the man muttered, "if it ain't mr. glover!" then he said aloud: "glad to see you back, sir. the ship's crew were all glad when they heard the other day that the news had come as how you were safe, for we had all been afraid you had been murdered by them niggers. you are looking mighty queer, sir, if i may say so." "my face is stained to make me look like a mulatto. whom are you waiting for?" "for mr. normandy." "well, how long do you expect he will be?" "i can't say, sir. it is about a quarter of an hour since he landed, and he said he would be back in half an hour; but officers are generally longer than they expect." "well it won't take you above ten minutes to row off to the ship and back. i will take the blame if he comes down before that. i have been wounded, not badly, but it is very painful. i want to get it properly dressed." "all right, sir, we will get you on board in no time." "give me your arm. i must get in carefully." the men stretched to their oars, and in five minutes nat was alongside the _orpheus_. he had heard, as he expected, that dr. bemish had gone with the party that had been landed, but his assistant was on board. the first lieutenant was on deck. he saw by nat's walk as he went up to report his return that something was the matter. "are you ill or wounded, mr glover?" "i am wounded, sir. i had a rib broken by a pistol-ball, and i have had a long journey, which has inflamed it a good deal." "go down at once and have it seen to; you can tell me your story afterwards. have the ladies who were with you got safely down also?" "yes, sir." the lieutenant nodded, and nat then went below and placed himself in the hands of the assistant surgeon. "my word, glover, you have got your wound into a state!" the latter said after he had examined him. "what on earth have you been doing to it? it seems to have been a pretty clean break at first, and it wouldn't have bothered you above three weeks or so, but the ends have evidently been sawing away into the flesh. why, man alive, what have you been doing?" "i have been helping to carry a sick woman down from the hills," nat said quietly. "if it had been level ground it would not have hurt so much, but on rough ground strewn with branches one could not avoid stumbling occasionally, and although it had been bandaged before i started the wad slipped and the thing got loose, and after that it was like walking with a red-hot needle sticking into me." "so i should say. well, i will put you into a berth in the sick-bay at once. fortunately we have some ice on board and i will put some of it on the wound and try to get the inflammation down." in a short time he returned with a basin of ice and a jugful of iced lime-juice. nat took a long drink, and then turned so that the ice could be applied to the wound. "you must keep yourself as still as you can. i sha'n't attempt to bandage you at present, there is really nothing to be done till we have got the inflammation down." "i will lie quiet as long as i am awake, but i cannot answer for myself if i go off to sleep, which will not be long, for i am as tired as a dog. to-day's walk would have been nothing if i had been all right, it was the pain that wore me out." "i don't suppose you will move. you may be sure that that rib will act like an alarm, and give you warning at once if you stir in the slightest." having seen nat comfortable, the young surgeon went up on deck. "how do you find mr. glover?" the first lieutenant asked. "he says that it is only a broken rib." "well, sir, it was only a broken rib at first, now it is a broken rib with acute inflammation round it. there is a flesh wound about four inches long where the bullet struck, broke the rib, ran along it, and went out behind. that would not have been anything if he had kept quiet; as it is, it is as angry as you could want to see a wound. but that is not the worst, the two ends of the bone have been rubbing against each other with enough movement to lacerate the flesh, with the natural result that a wonderful amount of inflammation has been set up round it." "but how did he manage it?" "it seems, sir, that he has been carrying, or helping to carry, a sick woman down from the mountains, and he says the ground was very rough and strewn with boughs, so that one can understand that he got some terrible shakes and jolts, which would quite account for the state of his wounds." "i should think so. when monsieur duchesne came off with the news that his wife was safely hidden, and that glover was with her, he said that his daughter, who had written the note, reported that her mother was ill. no wonder he has got his wound in such a state if he has, as you say, aided to carry her down all that distance. he must have had a brush with the negroes." "that must have been before he started, sir; for he said that the bandage shifted, so his wound must have been bound up before he set out." "it was a gallant thing for a lad to undertake--a most gallant action! why, it must have been torture to him." "it must indeed, sir." "he is not in any danger, i hope?" "not unless fever intervenes, sir. no doubt with rest and quiet and the use of ice we shall succeed in reducing the inflammation; but it is likely enough that fever may set in, and if so there is no saying how it may go. i shall be glad to have doctor bemish back again to take the responsibility off my hands." late that afternoon monsieur duchesne came on board to thank nat. he was not allowed to see him, as the doctor said that absolute quiet was indispensable. he had had a full account from myra of the adventures through which the little party had gone, and he retailed this to the lieutenant and doctor in the ward-room. "a most gallant business altogether," the first lieutenant said when he had finished, "and certainly the most gallant part of it was undertaking to carry madame duchesne when practically disabled. but i can understand, as you say, that directly the negroes were defeated by the force that went out against them, some of them would have made for that cave, and it was therefore absolutely necessary to get away before they came. however, i hope that we need not be anxious about him; he has gone through three or four scrapes, any of which might have been fatal. there was that fight with the dog; then he was in the thick of that business with the pirates, and was blown up by the explosion, and half his crew killed. he has had some marvellous escapes, and i think we may feel very hopeful that he will get over this without serious trouble. it was lucky indeed his finding your family jewels on two of those scoundrels that he shot." "it would have been a great loss, but it is such a little thing in comparison to the saving of my wife and daughter, that i have scarcely given it a thought. i shall do myself the pleasure of calling again to-morrow morning to know how he is." "do so, monsieur; you will probably find captain crosbie here. i had a note from him an hour ago, saying that he was returning, and would be here by eight o'clock. the negroes having been defeated, and the safety of the town being ensured for a while, he does not consider that he would be justified in joining in the pursuit of the blacks among the hills." nat was not aware of the return of the landing-party until the next morning, when on opening his eyes he saw dr. bemish by his side. "you young scamp," the latter said, shaking his finger at him, "you seem determined to be a permanent patient. as soon as you recover from one injury you are laid up with another. so here you are again." "it is only a trifle this time, doctor." "umph, i am not so sure about that. macfarlane tells me that, not content with getting a rib broken, you go about carrying one end of a stretcher with a woman on it across ground where it was difficult, if not impossible, to move without ricking and hurting yourself. so that not only have you set up a tremendous amount of inflammation round the wound, but you have so worn the ends of the bone that they will take three times as long knitting together as they would have done had they been left alone." "i am afraid that is all true, doctor," nat replied with a smile; "but, you see, i thought it better to run the risk of inflammation, and even this terrible rubbing of the end of the bones you speak of, than of being caught by these fiendish negroes, and put to death by the hideous tortures with which they have in many cases slowly murdered those who fell into their hands." "it must have hurt you badly," dr. bemish said, as, after removing the dressing that had, late the evening before, been substituted for the ice, he examined the wound. "it did hurt a bit, doctor, but as four lives depended upon my being able to hold on, there was nothing for it but to set one's teeth hard and keep at it. how does it look this morning?" "what do you think, macfarlane? you can form a better opinion than i can, as i have not seen it before." "the inflammation seems to have abated a good deal." "in any case we will syringe the wound thoroughly with warm water. there are doubtless some particles of bone in it, and until these are got rid of we can't hope that it will heal properly. i will get that large magnifying-glass from my cabin." for half an hour the wound was fomented and washed. "as far as i can see it is perfectly clean now," dr. bemish said, after carefully examining it with the glass. "we will put a compress on, with a wet cloth over it, which must be damped with iced water every half-hour. when we quite get the inflammation down, glover, which will, i hope, be in two or three days, we will bandage it tightly, and i will buy you a pair of stays on shore, and lace you up so that there shall be no chance of your performing any more pranks with it, and then i fancy you will be able to come up on deck, if you will promise to keep yourself quiet there." "well, that is better than i expected, doctor." "have you any message to send to your friends? because i am going ashore now to see them. monsieur duchesne was off yesterday afternoon, but macfarlane very properly refused to let him see you." "tell him he can't see me for some days, doctor. i do so hate being made a fuss over." "i will keep him away for a day or two anyhow," the doctor laughed. "he gave the ward-room a full history of your affair, so you won't have the trouble of going over it again." "that is a comfort," nat growled. "how long is the _orpheus_ likely to stop here, doctor?" "ah, that is more than i can say! at any rate the captain will not leave until he gets orders from jamaica. the _Æolus_ has just come into port, and the captain will send her off at once with despatches to the admiral, saying what has taken place, and how he landed a force to protect the town, and went out with a party to attack the insurgent blacks. he will ask for instructions, as they have no french vessel of war here, and the land force is insufficient to defend the place if attacked in earnest, especially as there is a considerable negro population who would probably rise and join the insurgents if these made an assault upon the town. the general hope on board is that we shall get orders to stay here, or at least to cruise on the coast. now that we have broken up that nest of pirates, things are likely to be dull here for some time, though i have little doubt that ere very long we shall be at war with the french. according to the last news, which arrived since you left us, that national assembly of theirs is going farther and farther, and its proceedings are causing serious alarm throughout europe, for they are altogether subversive of the existing state of things. it is to its measures that this terrible insurrection here is due, and the first consequence of what is really a revolution in france will be the loss of her most valuable colony. i suppose you have heard that something like two thousand whites have been murdered. i have no doubt that now they have recovered from the first shock, the french here will take a terrible vengeance; but though they may kill a great number of the negroes, i doubt if it will be possible to reduce half a million blacks to submission, especially in an island like this, with mountain ranges running through it where cannon would be absolutely useless, and the negroes could shelter in the almost impenetrable forests that cover a large portion of it." chapter xi a first command for another couple of days no one was permitted to see nat, but at the end of that time the wound assumed a healthy aspect, and he was allowed to receive visits. captain crosbie himself was the first to come down. "i am very glad to hear so good an account of you, mr. glover," he said cordially; "you have done us credit again, lad, and have rendered an inestimable service to monsieur duchesne and his family. although it can hardly be considered as in your regular course of duty, i shall certainly forward a narrative of your adventures to the admiral. the next time we go to port royal you had better go in for your examination, and if you pass i have very little doubt that acting rank will be given to you at once. your aiding to carry down that lady, when yourself wounded, was really a very fine action, for doctor bemish tells me that you must have suffered intensely. monsieur duchesne is most anxious to see you, but the doctor has told him that it will be better for him to wait until you are well enough to go ashore, when you can go and see them all together." "thank you, sir, i would much rather do that. but really the person to be thanked is the old negress who gave us warning in time to escape, went down and fetched food, despatched a message to monsieur duchesne, and got an answer back, and who did as much as i did in carrying her mistress down." "doubtless she behaved very well, mr. glover, but that does not alter the fact that you did so also. and, as even you will admit, she had no hand in the fight in which you killed eight of these scoundrels." "it was not much of a fight, sir. i had such an advantage in position that i really did not like shooting them, in spite of what i had heard of their doings; but it was our lives or theirs, and i knew that if one of them got away he would bring down a score of others, and they would speedily have starved us out." "at the present time," the captain said sternly, "mercy to these villains would be misapplied; the lesson must be a terrible one, or there will speedily be an end to white rule in the island. another thing is, that were this revolution to succeed, we might expect similar outbreaks in our own islands. now i will leave you. your comrades will come in to see you, but their visits must, for the present, be short." nat progressed rapidly. in three days the water-dressings were given up and he was tightly bandaged, and over this, rather to his disgust, the doctor insisted upon his wearing a pair of stays. "it is all very well, glover," doctor bemish said in answer to his remonstrances, "but we know what you are. you are as active as a cat, and would be constantly forgetting yourself, and springing to do something; but these things laced tightly on will act as a reminder, and will also bind you so closely together that, while you will have the free use of your limbs, your ribs will be held as if in a vice. you will have to keep them on until the bone has fairly knit, and you have every reason to be thankful that this is the only inconvenience you have to suffer from an expedition which might have cost you your life." four days later doctor bemish said: "i think you can go ashore to-day. of course you must be careful, especially, getting in and out of the boat, but if you do that and walk slowly, i do not think it will do you any harm. madame duchesne is up and going on nicely, and they are most anxiously expecting you, and indeed duchesne said yesterday, that if i did not let you go on shore to-day, he would come on board to see you." "but i feel like a hog in armour in these stays, doctor." "never mind that, lad, you would be almost as bad if you took them off, for i should have to put on twice as many bandages, and to pull them ever so much tighter. i have told the captain that i am letting you go ashore, and have also told mr. philpot, so that is all settled. i shall be going off myself in an hour, and will take you with me, and keep an eye over you until you get to their gate." "one would think that i was a small boy going to be taken to school," nat laughed, stopping, however, abruptly. "there! you see," the doctor said, "that gave you a twinge, i know; you must be careful, lad, you must, indeed. there is no objection to your smiling as much as you like, but there is nothing that shakes one up more than a hearty laugh. that is why at other times laughing is a healthy exercise, but with a rib in the process of healing, it is better not to indulge in it." "well, i shall be ready when you are." nat accomplished the journey without pain. "won't you come in, doctor?" he asked when they arrived at the gate. "no, glover; this will be a sort of family party. i have warned duchesne not to throw himself on your neck, and have told him that you are to be looked at and not touched." with an uneasy smile nat left him at the gate and walked up the drive. they were evidently on the watch for him, for the door opened almost immediately, and monsieur duchesne ran down. "mon cher!" he exclaimed, "the doctor has said that i must not touch you, but i can scarce refrain from embracing you. how can i thank you for all that you have done?" "but, monsieur, i have done next to nothing. i shot some negroes who had not a chance of getting at me, and i helped dinah to carry madame down. we owe our safety to dinah, who was splendid in her devotion, making journeys backwards and forwards, to say nothing of giving us the warning that enabled us all to escape in time." "dinah was splendid!" monsieur duchesne admitted. "but i can do nothing for her. i have told her that she shall have a house and plenty to live on all her days, but she will not leave us. i have made out her papers of freedom, but she says, 'what use are these? i have been your servant all my life, and should be no different whether i was what you call a free woman or not.' what pleased her most was that i have given freedom to her grandson who brought the message down here, and am going to employ him in my stable, and that she has received a new black silk gown. she has got it on in honour of your visit, and if it had been a royal robe she could not be more proud of it." they had by this time arrived at the door, and monsieur duchesne led nat to the drawing-room, where his wife was lying on a sofa, and myra standing beside her. the yellow dye had now nearly worn off their faces. madame duchesne was still pale, but she looked bright and happy. nat went up to her and took her hand. "i am truly glad to see you up again," he said. "it has all ended well," she replied with tears in her eyes. "it seems like a bad dream to me, especially that journey. how good and kind you were! and i know now how terribly you must have suffered." "it hurt a bit at the time, madame, but one gets accustomed to being hurt, and it all went on so well that it was not worth grumbling about." "ah, you look more yourself now, myra!" and he held out his hand to her. "embrace him, my dear, for me and for yourself. twice has he saved your life, and has been more than a brother to you." myra threw her arms round nat's neck and kissed him heartily twice, while her eyes were full of tears. "i have not hurt you, i hope," she said as he drew back. "not a bit, and i should not have minded if you had," nat said. then he sat down, and they talked quietly for some time. "i am going out to-morrow again," monsieur duchesne said, "it is the duty of every white to join in punishing these ungrateful fiends. i hear that they have been beaten badly near port-au-prince. some of the negroes are, we find, remaining quietly on the plantations, and these, unless they have murdered their masters, will be spared. no quarter will be given to those taken in arms. at any rate we shall clear all of them out of the plains near the bay, and drive them into the mountains, where we cannot hope to subdue them till a large number of troops arrive from home." so vigorously, indeed, did the whites pursue the negroes, that in a fortnight after the outbreak it was calculated that no fewer than ten thousand blacks had fallen, many of them being put to death by methods almost as cruel and ferocious as those they had themselves adopted. they were still in such vast numbers that it was evident that it would be impossible to overpower them until troops arrived from france; and, indeed, the farther the french columns penetrated into the mountains, the more severe was the resistance they met with, and on several occasions the whites were repulsed with heavy loss. a truce was therefore agreed upon, it being arranged that neither party should attack the other until its expiration. there being, therefore, no occasion for the _orpheus_ to remain longer at cape françois, she sailed for jamaica. nat's wounds continued to go on well. he was still stiff, and felt the advantages of the encircling stays so much that he no longer objected to wear them. as it was likely that, until matters were finally settled, the _orpheus_ would be constantly cruising on the coast of hayti, and that he would ere long see his french friends again, the parting was not a sad one; and, indeed, nat was by no means sorry to get under way again to escape the expressions of gratitude of monsieur duchesne and his wife. two days after arriving at port royal, nat received notice that a court, composed of three captains of vessels then in port, would, on the following day, sit to examine midshipmen who had either served their time or were within a year of completing it. he at once sent in his name. as he had read hard during the time he had been unfit for service, he had no fear of not passing the ordeal, and at the conclusion of his examination he was told by the president of the court that he had passed with great credit. on returning to the frigate, he found a note from the admiral requesting him to call upon him on his return from the court, and he at once proceeded to the flag-ship. "i have heard a great deal of you, mr. glover," the admiral said when he was ushered into his cabin. "first of all i heard the story from your captain of the gallant manner in which you, at the risk of your own, saved a young lady's life at cape françois, when attacked by a savage hound, and were seriously injured thereby. then i received captain crosbie's official report of the share you took in the attack upon that formidable nest of pirates, the report being supplemented by his subsequent relation to me of the whole facts of the affair. your conduct there also did you very great credit, and, had you passed, i should at once have given you acting rank. now you have again distinguished yourself, though scarcely in a manner which comes under my official knowledge. i should be glad to hear from you a detailed account of the affair." when nat had finished his narration, he said, "you have scarcely done justice to yourself. your captain and dr. bemish were dining with me last night, and the latter said that, wounded as you were, the work of carrying that french lady down to the coast must have been an intensely painful one, as was shown by the state of your wound when he examined it. in all these matters you have shown courage and conduct, and as i hear that you have now passed, i shall take the first opportunity of giving you acting rank. you speak french fluently?" "i speak it quite fluently, sir, but as i have only picked it up by ear, i cannot say that i speak it well." "however, the fact that you speak it well enough to converse freely may be useful. hayti is likely to be in a very disturbed state for some time. there can be little doubt that the negroes in the other islands are all watching what takes place there with close attention, and that there is a possibility of the revolt spreading. at present there is no saying what the course of events may be. already the governor here has received letters from several french residents expressing their desire that we should take the island, as they believe that the french revolutionary government will make no serious effort to put down the rising. of course, at present, as we are at peace with france, nothing whatever can be done. at the same time, it is important that we should obtain accurate information as to what is going on there, and what is the feeling of the negroes and of the mulatto population, and we shall probably have several small vessels cruising in those waters. the _falcon_, under the command of lieutenant low, who also belonged to the _orpheus_, has been for some weeks on the southern coast of the island. i intend to have three or four other craft at the same work soon, and on the first opportunity i shall appoint you to one of them." nat expressed his warm thanks, and retired. three or four days later he received an intimation that the prize _arrow_, a schooner of a hundred and fifty tons, would at once be put into commission, and that the admiral had selected him for her command. this was far more than nat had even hoped for. from the manner in which the admiral had spoken, he thought that he would be appointed to a craft of this description, but he had no expectation whatever of being given the command. with the intimation was an order for him to again call upon the admiral. "it is a small command," the admiral said when nat expressed his thanks for the appointment. "we cannot spare you more than twenty-five hands, a quarter-master, and two midshipmen. you will have mr. turnbull of the _leander_ as your first officer, and mr. lippincott of the _pallas_. she has carried six guns hitherto, but you will only take four. these, however, will be twelve-pounders; before, she had only nines. naturally, it is not intended that she shall do any fighting. of course, if you are attacked you will defend yourself, but you are hardly a match for any of these piratical craft except quite the smaller class--native boats manned by bands of desperadoes. your mission will be to cruise on the coast of hayti, to take off white fugitives should any show themselves, and to communicate if possible with the negroes, find out the object they propose to themselves, and report on their forces, organization, and methods of fighting. in all this great care will be necessary, for they have shown themselves so faithless and treacherous that it is impossible to place any confidence in their promises of safe-conduct. in such matters it is impossible to give any advice as to your conduct, you must be guided by circumstances; be prudent and careful, and at the same time enterprising. the schooner is a very fast one. she has been a slaver, and has more than once shown her heels to some of our fastest cruisers. therefore, if you come across any piratical craft too big to fight, you will at least have a fair chance of outsailing her." greatly delighted, nat returned to the _orpheus_. "so, you are going to leave us, mr. glover," the captain said when he came on board. "i congratulate you, but at the same time we shall be very sorry to lose you, and i hope that when there is a vacancy we shall have you back again. you fully deserve your promotion, and have been a credit to the ship." the next day nat moved his effects ashore. there was but little leave-taking between him and his comrades, for it was certain that they would often meet at port royal. he spent his time for the next fortnight in the dockyard seeing to the refitting of the schooner. the superintendent there had heard of the affair with the dog, and of the manner in which he had saved the lives of the french lady and her daughter, dr. bemish being an old friend of his. he was, therefore, much more complaisant than dockyard officials generally are to the demands made upon them by young lieutenants in command of small craft. indeed, when the schooner was ready for sea nat had every reason to be proud of her. she had been provided with a complete suit of new canvas, all her woodwork had been scraped and varnished, the running rigging was new, and the standing rigging had also been renewed wherever it showed signs of wear. her ballast, which had before been almost entirely of iron ore, was now of pig-iron, and in view of the extra stability so given she had had new topmasts ten feet higher than those she had before carried. "i should advise you to keep your weather eye lifting, mr. glover," captain crosbie said when nat paid his farewell visit to the frigate; "that craft of yours looks very much over-sparred. if you were caught in a squall with your topsails up the chances are you would turn turtle." "i will be very careful, sir," nat said; "although, now she has iron ballast, i think that even with the slight addition in the height of the spars she will be as stiff as she was before in moderate breezes, while she will certainly be faster in light winds." "that is so," the captain agreed; "and of course it is in light winds that speed is of the most importance. there can be no doubt that in the hands of a careful commander a large spread of canvas is a great advantage, while in the hands of a rash one a craft can hardly be too much under-sparred." turnbull, nat's first officer, was a quiet young fellow, a few months junior to nat. he was square in build, with a resolute but good-humoured face, and nat had no doubt that the admiral had selected him as being likely to pull better with him than a more lively and vivacious young fellow would be. from the first day they met on board he was sure that he and turnbull would get on extremely well together. the latter carried out his suggestions and orders as punctually as he would have done those of a post-captain, going about his work in as steady and business-like a way as if he had been accustomed for years to perform the duties of a first officer. one evening nat had asked him and lippincott to dine with him at an hotel, and ordered a private room. "i think," he said when the meal was over and the waiter had placed the dessert and wine on the table and had retired, "that we are going to have a very pleasant cruise. i am afraid we sha'n't have much chance of distinguishing ourselves in the fighting way, though we may pick up some of those rascally little craft that prey on the native commerce and capture a small european merchantman occasionally. with our small crew we certainly cannot regard ourselves as a match for any of the regular pirates, who would carry vastly heavier metal, and crews of at least four times our strength. the admiral expressly warned me that it was not intended that the _arrow_ should undertake that sort of business. our mission is rather to gain news of what passes in the interior, pick up fugitives who may be hiding in the woods, and act in fact as a sort of floating observatory. any fighting, therefore, that we may get will be if we are attacked. in that case, of course, we shall do our best. i am sure we shall be a pleasant party on board. of course in a small craft like this we shall mess together. it is necessary, for the sake of discipline, that when we are on deck we should follow the usual observances, but when we are below together we shall be three mess-mates without any formality or nonsense." the two juniors remained on their ships until the schooner was out of the hands of the dockyard men. according to custom, nat did not join until they and the crew had gone on board and spent a day in scrubbing the decks and making everything tidy and ship-shape; then the gig went ashore to fetch him off. as he rowed alongside he could not help smiling at seeing the sentries at the gangway and the two young officers standing there to receive him. however, with an effort he recovered his gravity, mounted the short accommodation ladder, saluted the flag, and returned the salutes of his officers and men. on board the frigate he had been an inconsiderable member of the crowd, now he was monarch of all he surveyed. then the crew were formed up, and according to custom he read his commission appointing him to the command, and the articles of war. "now, my men," he said when he had brought the meeting to an end, "i have, according to rule, read the articles of war, a very necessary step when taking command of a vessel of war with hands collected from all parts, and many of them coming on board one of his majesty's ships for the first time; but it is a mere formality to a crew composed of men like yourselves, who will, i am perfectly sure, do your duty in storm and calm, and who will, should there be any occasion for fighting, show that, small as our number is, we are capable of taking our own part against a considerably larger force. i and my officers, will do all in our power to make the ship a comfortable and pleasant one, and i rely upon you to show your zeal and heartiness in the service." the men replied with a hearty cheer. most of them belonged to the _orpheus_. these had already told the others of their captain's doings in hayti and in the attack on the pirate island, and said how popular he was on board. "i think we are going to have a good time," one of the others said as they went forward. "we ain't likely to capture anything very big in this cockle-shell, and i look upon it as a sort of pleasure ship." "you will see, if he gets a chance he will take it," one of the men from the _orpheus_ said. "i was with him in that fight against the pirates, and i tell you i have never been in anything hotter. i was one of those who volunteered to go with him to drown the magazine of the brigantine next to us, and i tell you i never felt so scared in my life. he was just as cool as a cucumber, though he had been knocked silly by that explosion a quarter of an hour before. he is the right sort, he is; and though i expect he has got orders not to tackle anything too big for us--he is not the sort of chap to run away if he can find the smallest excuse for fighting." in the meantime nat had gone below with the two midshipmen. the accommodation for officers was excellent. there was a large cabin aft which had been handsomely fitted up by the late captain. off this on one side was his state-room, on the other those for the two officers; beyond these were the steward's cabin and pantry on one side, and a spare cabin which had been given to the quarter-master on the other. nat had engaged a negro as cook, and his son, a lad of seventeen or eighteen, as cabin steward, and had sent on board a small stock of wines. he ordered the boy to open a bottle and to put glasses on the table, and they drank together to the success of the cruise. they had just finished when the quarter-master came down. "the admiral is signalling for us to send a boat to him, sir." "lower the gig at once!" and he and the officers followed the quarter-master on deck. "mr. lippincott, you had better go with it." in half an hour the midshipman returned with a despatch. nat broke the seal. it had evidently been dictated by the admiral to his clerk, his signature being at the foot. _news has just arrived that the french assembly has cancelled the act placing the mulattoes on the same footing as the whites, and the former have in consequence risen and have joined the blacks. the situation must be most precarious for whites in the island. get up sail at once and make for cape françois. cruise between that port and the south-eastern limit of hayti. do what you can to aid fugitives._ "we are to be off at once," he said to mr. turnbull. "please get up the anchor and make sail. there is fresh trouble in hayti; the mulattoes have joined the blacks." the quarter-master's whistle sounded, and the crew sprang into activity. the capstan was manned, and the men ran to loosen the sails, and in ten minutes the _falcon_ was on her way. "matters were bad enough before," nat said when, having seen that the sails were all set and everything in good order, his two officers came aft. "a few mulattoes, overseers and that class, rose with the negroes, but the great bulk of them, having got what they wanted, joined the whites or stood neutral; but now that they have thrown in their lot with the blacks the prospect seems almost desperate. however it turns out, there is no doubt that the island is ruined, and the whites who were lucky enough to escape with their lives will find that instead of being rich men they are penniless. it is a horrible business altogether. i shall be glad when we get to cape françois and can get news of what is really going on." nat was delighted at the speed shown by the schooner. the breeze was light, and she felt the full advantage of her added spread of canvas. she was a very beamy craft of light draught, and scarcely showed a perceptible heel under the pressure of the wind, fully justifying his opinion as to the improvement to be effected by the substitution of iron ballast for that which she had before carried. turnbull and lippincott were no less pleased, and the whole crew felt proud of their little craft. "she can go, sir, and no mistake!" turnbull said, as they stood aft looking upwards at the sails and down into the water glancing past her sides. "it would take a fast craft indeed to overhaul her; her sails are splendidly cut!" "yes, i tipped the man who is at the head of the sail-making gang a five-pound note to take special pains with them, and the money would have been well laid out if it had been fifty times as much; for it will make the difference of a point at least when she is close-hauled, and that means getting away from a fellow too big for us, instead of being overhauled by him." "yes," turnbull said with a smile, "and might enable us to keep out of reach of his bow-guns, while we hammered him with our stern-chaser." "yes, it might have that effect," nat replied with an answering smile. "what is she going through the water now, quarter-master?" "a good seven knots, sir." "that is fast enough. the _orpheus_ would not be making more than six in such a light breeze as this." towards sunset the wind fell until it scarcely seemed that there was a breath on the water, but the schooner still crept along at two and a half knots an hour, although her sails scarcely lifted. the crew had already been divided in watches. turnbull took the starboard, and lippincott the larboard watch. "i hardly know myself," nat laughed, as they sat together in the cabin after dinner. "except when i was on the sick list, this is my first experience of not having a night watch to keep. however, i expect i shall be up and down, and at any rate call me if there is the slightest change in the weather. we know what she can do in a light wind now, but we won't risk anything until we have seen how she carries her sails in a sharp blow." somewhat restless under the extent of his responsibility, nat was on deck several times during the night. there was, however, no sign of change. the _arrow_ was still stealing through the water with the wind abeam. the two midshipmen, equally impressed with the responsibility of being in command of a watch, were on the alert, and the look-out was vigilant. the wind freshened again when the sun rose. at noon there were white-heads on the water, and the schooner, heeling over a bit now, was doing nearly nine knots. the three officers all took an observation, and to their satisfaction found that they were within half a mile of each other. at the present moment, however, there was no doubt as to their situation, for the high land near cape dame marie lay clearly in sight over the bowsprit, while behind them the hills over morant point lay like a dim haze. "if we had had this wind the whole way," nat said regretfully, "we should have been well in the bay by this time. still, we must not grumble; we have made a hundred knots. the mid-day gun fired just as we got under way, and, considering that for twelve hours we had no wind worth speaking of, i think we have done very well. indeed, if the wind will hold like this, we shall be near port by noon to-morrow; but we can't reckon on that, it is sure to fall before sunset, and besides, the winds are generally baffling and shifty when we once get into the bay." by three o'clock the wind had already begun to fall, and by five they were lying almost becalmed off the westerly point of the island. for the next two days the wind was very light, and it was late in the afternoon of the second when they dropped anchor off cape françois. nat at once went ashore, and as usual received a warm welcome from the duchesnes. madame had now quite recovered from the effect of her adventure, as also had myra. "i did not know that the _orpheus_ was in port, or else we should have been expecting you." "she is not in port, madame. i arrived in his majesty's schooner _arrow_, which i have the honour to command." "then you are captain glover now? i must be very respectful," and myra made a deep curtsy. "it will be a good many years before i shall have the right to be addressed by that title. i have passed my examination as lieutenant, and have now acting rank, which will no doubt be confirmed by the authorities at home, and i may be addressed as lieutenant without any breach of etiquette. still, of course, it is a grand thing to get a command, and so much greater chance of distinguishing oneself. however, as she is but a small craft, and carries only twenty-five men, we are not in a position to do any great thing in the way of fighting, though of course we may overhaul and capture some of these native craft that are nominally traders, but are ready to capture any small vessel they may come across. my mission really is to obtain news of what is passing in the island. we have received word at kingston that the mulattoes have risen and joined the blacks, and i have been sent off at once to learn the real state of things." "unhappily the news is true," monsieur duchesne said. "there have already been several fights, in some of which we have got the best of it, in others we have been driven back to the towns. it is impossible for the look-out to be darker than it is. it seems to us that our only hope is that england will consent to take over the sovereignty of the island, and send a force large enough to put down the insurrection. some of the planters here have already lost heart, and have sailed for jamaica, bermuda, and other british ports. i have no intention of following their example at present. i am, as you know, a merchant as well as a planter, and although, of course, all trade is at an end now, it must spring up again in time. fortunately, we feel confident that this town can resist any assault. the french man-of-war that came in after you sailed landed a dozen of her guns, and we have erected four batteries. there were, too, a good many old guns in the town, which have also been put into position; and as we have half a french regiment here, and fully five hundred whites who can be relied on, we have small fear of being overpowered. i am glad to say that before the man-of-war left, the great majority of the negroes were expelled from the town and their quarter burnt down, so that we have no fear of being attacked from within as well as from without. that was really our greatest danger, and has been hanging over us night and day ever since the beginning of the rising." "are the mulattoes and negroes acting together?" "in some cases, but as a rule they keep apart. there is no love lost between them, and the only bond of union is hatred of us. the blacks, curiously enough, have declared against the republic, and call themselves the royalist army. they consider, and very naturally, that the republic, while giving rights to the mulattoes, has done nothing for them, and therefore, as the republic has declared against the king, they have declared for him. do you think that the english government will accept our offer to transfer ourselves to british rule?" "i do not see that they could do so, sir. at present we are nominally at peace with france, although everyone sees that war must come before long, but until it is declared we could scarcely take over a french possession; nor do i think there are anything like troops enough in our islands to undertake such a serious operation as this would be. your people could not give us much help. the negroes, though calling themselves royalists, are fighting only for liberty, and would gain nothing by a mere change of masters, knowing as they do that the slaves are certainly no better treated in our islands than in those of france." "that is what i thought," monsieur duchesne said. "certainly nothing short of an army of thirty thousand strong could hope for success, and i doubt, indeed, whether in so large and mountainous an island even that number could do much. of course fully half of it is spanish, which complicates matters a great deal; but we may be sure that if the negroes of this end are successful, those under the spaniards will very soon follow their example. if the worst comes to the worst, i shall of course leave the island. whether i should settle in one of your islands or make england my residence i cannot say. some of my countrymen have gone to america, but i should put that out of my mind. i think i should prefer england to remaining out here, for there might be similar risings in jamaica and elsewhere; as to france, it is out of the question. "france has gone mad. i know that many of our good families have sought refuge in england, and we should at least find society congenial to us. happily, we are in a condition to choose for ourselves; my ancestors have been wise men, and have long foreseen that what has actually occurred might possibly take place. each in succession has impressed his views upon his son, and it has become almost a family tradition among us, and one upon which we have often been rallied. for with few exceptions all here seem to have regarded the state of things as being as unchangeable as scripture says were the laws of the medes and persians. if this had been only a tradition, and had not been acted upon, it would not have benefited us now, but for six generations each of my ancestors has regarded it as a sacred duty to set aside nearly a tenth of his revenues as a provision when the troubles should come. this money has been chiefly invested in england and holland, and the interest on the accumulations of all these years has been reinvested. i believe that, although i regard such investments as were made in france as lost, we shall, when we reckon up matters, find that our income will be fully as large as that which i have drawn from my property and trade here." "i am very glad to hear it, monsieur duchesne. i have indeed, while i have been away, thought very often of what would happen to you and your family if you were forced to finally abandon your estate and leave the island." "i have reason to be grateful indeed, nat, to the forethought of those who have gone before me; it is strange that the same idea did not occur to others. one can see now that our people here have been living in a fool's paradise, totally oblivious of the fact that a volcano might at any moment open under their feet. are you going to remain here?" "oh, no! i am only making this a starting-place. my orders are to cruise along the southern coast, to render any assistance i can to the refugees, and if possible, to open communications with some of the chiefs of the insurgents and endeavour to find out what their plans are, and, should it be decided to accept the cession of the island when war with france breaks out, what the attitude of the blacks and mulattoes would be." "you will not be likely to pick up any refugees, for the whites are exterminated except in the towns; but should any of the smaller places be attacked you might render good service by receiving at least the women and children on board." that evening monsieur duchesne asked his brother-in-law, the doctor, and several other leading inhabitants, to his house, in order that nat might gather their views. he found that these in the main agreed with those of his host, except that they were hopeful that france would, as soon as the news arrived, despatch an army of sufficient force to put down the insurrection. after the last of the guests had departed, monsieur duchesne shook his head. "france will ere long require every soldier to defend her own frontiers; the saturnalia of blood in which she is indulging will cause her to be regarded as the common enemy of europe. i hear that already the emigrant nobles are pressing the various european courts to march armies into france to free the king and royal family from their imprisonment by the mob of paris, and ere long there will assuredly be a coalition which france will need all her strength to resist. england is certain to join it; and even had france troops to spare, she would find a difficulty in sending them here. so you will not change your mind and stay with us for the night?" "it is already nearly eleven, and i ordered the gig to be alongside at that hour. i certainly should not like to sleep out of the ship, though i have no doubt that my two young officers would see that everything went on right." on reaching the schooner, nat found that both turnbull and lippincott were still up. "it was such a lovely night that we have been smoking on deck until a few minutes ago; we were, of course, anxious to hear the news." at nat's order the steward brought hot water and glasses; three tumblers of grog were filled, and they sat for a couple of hours discussing the strange situation in the island. chapter xii a rescue the _arrow_ was one morning lying at anchor in a small bay on the south coast, when one of the sailors called nat's attention to a boy who had run down and was wildly waving his arms. nat caught up his telescope. "it may be a white boy," he said. "lower the gig! i will go myself in her. quick! he may be pursued." it took but a very short time to cross the quarter of a mile of water. the lad rushed in up to his chin to meet them, and was quickly hauled into the boat. his hands and face had been blackened, but this had so worn off that he merely presented the appearance of a sooty-faced white boy. he burst into a fit of convulsive sobbing as he found himself among friends. nat saw that it was useless to question him at the moment, so he told the men to row back at once to the schooner; then he half-carried him down to his own cabin, brought out a glass of wine, and gave it to him. "drink that up, lad," he said, "then you can tell me something about yourself." the boy put the glass with shaking hands to his lips and drank it down. "that is right, lad; now tell me something about yourself. what is your name?" "i am a girl, monsieur; my name is louise pickard. we have been hiding in the forest for six weeks--my father and mother, my sister, and ten frenchmen, who worked for us. we lived on fruit and what provisions the men could obtain by going down to the plantations at night. two days ago the negroes found us; they killed one of the men at once, and the rest of us they took. my sister and i were dressed as boys. they were going to kill us one by one; they burnt one of the men to death yesterday, and tied us to trees round and made us look on. this morning they killed another; they cut off his arms at the elbows and his legs at the knees, and then cut him about with knives till he died. then they shut us up together again. there was a little window, and my father pushed me through it. he had heard the negroes say that there was a vessel in the bay with white men in it. the hole was in the back of the house, and there were trees there, so that i managed to get off without being seen by the negroes. my father tried to get valerie through the same window, but she was too big. she is two years older than i am, and i could not have squeezed through had not my father pushed me. he told me to come down to the shore and take refuge with you." "how many of these black scoundrels are there?" nat asked. [illustration: the rescue of louise pickard.] "two or three hundred. the negroes are going to attack you to-night--there are some fishermen's boats at a village a mile or two along the shore. father told me to warn you. i did not like coming away, i would have liked to have died with the others; but it was so awful to look on at the tortures. if they would but have killed us at once, i would not have minded; but oh, monsieur, it was too terrible! can you not do something for them?" and she again burst into tears. "i will see what can be done," nat said, putting his hand kindly on her shoulder. "i am going up on deck now. this is my cabin," and he opened the door of his berth. "the steward will bring you some hot water, then you had better have a wash and get rid of that charcoal, for i suppose it is charcoal on your face. we can do nothing for you in the way of dress at present. but if you will take off your things and put them outside the door, i will get them washed at once, and you can lie down in my berth until they are dry. they won't take very long in this hot climate." the steward by his orders brought in a can of hot water. the girl retired with it to the cabin, and nat went on deck and told turnbull and lippincott what he had heard from her. "it is awful," the latter said. "can we do nothing, sir?" "that is the point, mr. lippincott. i feel that it is impossible for us to remain quiet while such devilry is being carried on among those woods. but you see the matter is rendered all the more difficult by the fact that we ourselves are going to be attacked to-night. our crew is weak enough already. if three or four boat-loads full of blacks were to fall upon us, we could not spare a man; while if we were to land, we should need every man for the job, and even then should be terribly weak. something has to be done, that is evident, and we have to hit upon a plan. now, let us all set our wits to work." at this moment the black steward came up from the cabin with a bundle. "the boy am put dese things outside him door, sah. wat am me to do wid dem?" "bring them along to the galley, sam. i must get your father to wash them. pomp," he went on to the cook, "have you got plenty of hot water?" "yes, sah; allus hab hot water." "well, look here, i want you and sam to set to work and wash these clothes at once. the boy i brought on board turns out to be a french girl, the daughter of a planter who is in the hands of the negroes up there. we must see to-morrow what we can do in the way of rigging her out properly, but for to-day we must manage with these things. get them as white as you can, and then hang them up to dry. i want her on deck again as soon as possible to give us information as to where her friends are confined." "all right, sah, we soon gets dese clean." "and you may as well heat up a basin of that turtle-soup we had yesterday. i expect she has had little enough to eat of late." then he went back to the quarter-deck. "it seems to me, sir," turnbull said, "that if the girl would go ashore with us as a guide, we might succeed. after it gets dark, put me and one of the hands on shore, with a saw and a bottle of oil to make it work noiselessly. then we could crawl up to this little window by which she got out, and cut away the wood--for no doubt it is a wooden hut--till the hole is large enough for all of them to get out." "that seems a good plan, turnbull, certainly; the only drawback is that probably before it gets dark the negroes will have discovered that the boy, as they consider her, has escaped, and will keep a sharp look-out on the others. then, too, although one or two might get out noiselessly and make their escape, the chances of ten people doing so would be much smaller, and if the attempt were detected you might only share their fate. if we had all the crew close at hand to cover their retreat it might be managed, great as would be the odds against us, but you see there is this boat attack to be guarded against. i don't think that i could allow you to run such a risk, turnbull." "still, something must be done, sir." "yes, we are agreed as to that," nat said, and going to the rail he stood there gazing at the shore for some minutes. "i have an idea," he said, suddenly turning round. "you see that point near the mouth of the bay, where the rock rises eight or ten feet straight out from the water's edge; there are trees behind it. it will be a dark night, and if we could get the schooner over there without their noticing it, as i think we could, we could probably lay her pretty close alongside, and when the boats came, the betting is that they would never find her. they would row about for a bit looking for us where we are anchored, and, not finding us, would come to the conclusion that we had got up sail and gone away after dark. in that way we could land our whole party." "i think that would do first-rate, sir." "of course there is a certain amount of risk of their discovering her," nat went on, "but we must chance that. we will send her topmasts down as soon as it is dark, so that they won't show against the sky-line, and boats might then row within twenty yards of her without noticing her, especially if we can get her in pretty close. it is just possible that we may be able to lay her right against the rock. the water is deep pretty close in, even opposite to us, for the girl was not more than four or five yards from the shore when she was up to her neck in water, and no doubt it is a good deal deeper than that, at the foot of those rocks. as soon as it is dark, mr. lippincott, you had better take the boat and sound along there. of course you will muffle your oars. it would be a great thing if we could get alongside. in the first place, the nearer she gets in the less likely that she would be to be seen, and in the next place it would be very important, if we are hotly pursued, to be able to get on board without having to use boats." "certainly," turnbull agreed. "when we have got her in her place," nat went on, "we will take a light anchor out fifty fathom or so, and put the hawser round the windlass, so that the instant we are on board, four men, told off beforehand, can run forward and set to work. once we are three yards out we should be safe from boarding, however strong their force may be. we will have the guns on that side loaded with a double charge of grape before we land, and once out we will give them a dose they will remember for a long time. now, we may as well tell the crew; they will be delighted at the prospect of a fight." the men were clustered together forward discussing whether anything was likely to take place, for the arrival of the boy, the fact that he had been taken down to the cabin aft and had not reappeared, and the evident anxiety of their officers, sufficed to show them that something unusual was on hand. when they came aft nat said, "my men, we are about to undertake an enterprise that will, i am sure, be after your own heart. the apparent boy we brought on board is a young french lady. her parents, sister, and seven white men are in the hands of the negroes, who each day murder one with horrible torture. now we are going to rescue them." a cheer broke from the men. "the job will be a pretty tough one, men, but you won't like it any the worse for that. there are, i hear, two or three hundred of those murderous brutes up there. of course, if we can get the prisoners out without a fight we shall do so, but i hardly think we shall be able to manage that. the matter is somewhat complicated by the fact that i hear that a boat attack is going to be made upon us to-night. now, we are certainly not strong enough to carry off this party and at the same time to leave enough men on board to defend the schooner. after it is dark, therefore, i intend to take her across to that rock over there, moor her as close to it as i can, and strike the topmasts. in that way we may hope that on a moonless night, as this will be, the boats will not find her, but will suppose that we have sailed away. however, of that we must run the risk. i shall take every man with me. of course, we shall batten the hatches down, and fasten them so that if they do find her it will give them as much trouble as possible, and we may possibly catch them at work as we return. "you will, of course, take muskets and a brace of pistols each, and your cutlasses. i have no doubt that we are being watched from the shore, therefore go about your work as usual. do not gather together talking, or give them any cause to suppose that we are intending to do anything. it is not likely that the escape of the girl has yet been discovered, for if they were watching among the trees up there they would hardly have noticed that the boat took an extra person from the shore. grease the falls of the gig, so that she can be lowered noiselessly, and muffle the oars. as soon as it is quite dark mr. lippincott will take soundings, in order to see how close into the rock it will be safe to take her." with another low but hearty cheer, expressing the satisfaction they felt at the prospect of a fight with the negroes, the crew went forward again. one of them set to work to grease the falls not only of the gig but of the other boats, in case these should also be required, two others cut up some old guernseys and lashed them round the gig's oars at the point where they would touch the thole-pins, others resumed their occupation of polishing the brass-work, while the rest sat down under the shelter of the bulwark and talked over the adventure on which they were about to engage. in an hour the girl's clothes were washed and dried. one of the crew who had served as an assistant sail-maker had at once, under nat's instructions, set to work to sew half a dozen flags together, and with these he had constructed a garment which, if primitive in design, was at least somewhat feminine in appearance. round the top was a deep hem through which was run a thin cord. by the aid of this it could be drawn together and gathered in at the neck. six inches from the top, two of the seams between the flags were left open, these were for the arm-holes. this primitive pinafore was to be drawn in at the waist by a belt. the man had chosen from among the signal flags those whose colours went best together, and though the result was extremely motley, it was yet a very fair substitute for a dress. the three officers could not help laughing as he brought it aft to show them. "that is very well contrived, jenkins," nat said. "i have no doubt the young lady will greatly prefer it to going about dressed as a boy." as the clothes were by this time dry, nat told sam to take them below with the new garment, to lay them down outside his state-room door, and then to knock and tell the young lady that they were there in readiness for her, and that as soon as she was dressed lunch would be ready. when he had done this he was to come up on deck again. a quarter of an hour later nat himself went down. the clothes had disappeared, and the girl, who was about thirteen years of age, came out. she had, with the exception of the coat, donned her former garments, and over these had put the flag pinafore. her arms were covered by those of the light flannel shirt, and the dress hung straight down all round. "it is a queer-looking thing," he said with a smile, "but it is the best we can manage in the emergency. here is a belt, if you strap that round your waist it will make the thing look more comfortable." the girl smiled wanly. now that her face and hands were clean, nat saw that she was a pretty little thing, and would have been prettier had not her hair been cut quite short. "we are going this evening," nat went on, "to try to rescue your parents and sister from those black fiends." she clasped her hands before her. "oh, sir, that is good of you!" "not at all. you don't suppose that we are going to remain here quietly, knowing that close by there are white people in the hands of those scoundrels. we shall want you to act as our guide. we are going to take a saw with us and cut away the wood round that hole you escaped by, and hope to get your friends out without the negroes seeing us. if they do, so much the worse for them. now, will you sit down while the steward lays the cloth for lunch?--it will be ready in two or three minutes; then i will bring the other two officers down to introduce them to you." he raised his voice: "sam! luncheon as soon as possible." the young negro was expecting the order, and ran in at once with a table-cloth and a plate-basket, and in two or three minutes the table was laid; then he went out and returned with the plates. "eberyting ready, sah; me bring down de soup when you gib de word." "give my compliments to mr. turnbull and mr. lippincott, and ask them to come down to lunch." the girl looked anxious and shy as she heard the footsteps coming down the companion, but an expression of relief came over her face as she saw that they were even younger than the officer she had already seen. "these are my officers, mademoiselle--mr. turnbull and mr. lippincott. their french is not of the best, but you must make allowance for them." the girl smiled and held out her hand to the two middies. the news that her parents and sister might yet be rescued had already greatly raised her spirits. "i do look funny, do i not?" she said. "i am sure you look very nice," turnbull replied. "it is quite a novelty for us to have a lady on board." "and are you both going to help bring my friends down?" "yes, we are all going. we will get them down, and i hope we shall have a chance of punishing some of the murderous niggers." "you mean you hope that there will be a fight?" she asked in a tone of surprise, as she took her seat on nat's right hand. "that i do," turnbull said heartily. "there is not a man on board who would not be sorry if we were to get down again without an opportunity of having a slap at the beggars." "mr. turnbull is a very bloodthirsty character," nat said gravely. "i don't know whether you have in french a history of jack the giant killer?" "i never saw such a book," she said, looking a little puzzled. "did he really kill giants?" "yes, jack did; he was wonderful that way. mr. turnbull has never been able to find any giants, but he means to take it out of the blacks." "i am sorry to say, mademoiselle," turnbull said, "that although when on the quarter-deck our captain's word may be received as gospel, he permits himself a very wide latitude of speech in his own cabin. the fact is, that whatever my disposition may be, i have never yet had any opportunity for performing any very desperate actions, whereas lieutenant glover has been killing his enemies by scores, fighting with wild beasts, attacking pirates in their holds, has been blown up into the air, and rescued ladies from slaughter by the negroes." the french girl turned her eyes wonderingly towards nat. "you need not believe more than you like, mademoiselle," he said with a laugh. "i am afraid that we are all given to exaggerate very much, but mr. turnbull is the champion fabricator." "but is it quite true that you are going to try to get my father and mother and sister away from the negroes?" "that is quite true," nat said earnestly. "we are certainly going to try to get them, and i think that we have a good chance of doing so. much will depend, of course, upon whether we can reach the hut where they are confined before being discovered. you see, we have only twenty-five men, or, counting us all, including the quarter-master, steward, and cook, thirty-one. it is a small force, and though we might bring all the prisoners off in safety if we once got them into our hands, it would be a serious thing if the negroes had time to rally round the hut before we got there. how does it stand, is it surrounded by trees?" "no, it is at the edge of the forest. there is a large indigo field in front, and it is there most of the negroes are. there may be some in the forest, but i did not see any as i came down here." "that is good. how many do you say there are?" "seven men, without counting my father." "we will tell eight of the sailors to carry up boarding-pikes, turnbull. unfortunately we have no spare firearms. however, boarding-pikes are not bad weapons, and as no doubt only a small portion of the negroes have guns, it will add a good deal to our strength if it comes to a hand-to-hand fight." "that it will," turnbull agreed. "that will bring us up to thirty-nine, and thirty-nine whites ought to be able to fight their way easily enough through this black mob, especially as we shall take them by surprise, and they won't know how many of us there are." as soon as it became dark, lippincott went off in the gig, and returned in half an hour with the news that there were six feet of water at the foot of the rock, and twelve feet ten yards away. "i think, sir," he said, "that we could get her in within three or four yards of the rock." "that would do excellently," nat said. "the carpenter had better set to work at once and nail three planks--we have got some down below fifteen feet long--side by side. let two of the hands help him. tell him, if he does not think that it will be stiff enough, to nail one of the spare oars on each plank." he had learned from the girl that many of the negroes sat up by their fires nearly all night, and that therefore there was no advantage in delaying the landing, and he was anxious to move the schooner as soon as possible, as the boats might appear at any time. everything was in readiness--the arms had been brought on deck, the muskets and pistols loaded, and as soon as the gangway was knocked together, which did not take many minutes, lippincott went off in the gig with a long hawser. as soon as he returned and reported that he had fastened it to a tree above the rock, the crew tailed on, and the schooner was noiselessly towed to her place. another hawser was taken on shore, and she was hauled broadside on until she lay, with only a few inches of water under her keel, within ten feet of the line of rock. the hatchways had all been securely fastened down, and an old chain was taken round the trunk of a large tree, and its ends shackled round the mainmast. this could be loosed almost instantaneously by the crew when they returned, but would much increase the difficulty that the negroes would encounter in getting the vessel away if they discovered her. the edge of the rock was but some three feet higher than the rail, and there was therefore no difficulty in ascending the gangway. when all had crossed, this was pulled up and pushed in among the bushes. they followed the shore till they reached the spot at which the girl had come down, as she would more easily find her way from there than from the place where they had landed. telling the others to follow in single file, nat took his place with the girl, at their head. "how far is it?" he said to her in low tones. "it is just at the top of the hill. we shall be there in less than a quarter of an hour." the sailors had been warned to walk with the greatest caution, and especially to avoid striking any of their weapons against the trees. they went slowly, for it was very dark in the forest. beyond the fact that she had come straight down the hill when she escaped, she could give no information about the way. "i did not look," she said; "i ran straight down. but i am sure that if we go as straight as we can up from the water, we shall come upon the plantation, and then i shall be able to tell you exactly where the hut is." keeping therefore upward, they went on until they reached level ground, and saw by the faint light ahead that they were nearing the edge of the forest. they stepped even more cautiously then until they arrived at the open ground. a dozen great fires blazed in various places in front of them, and they could hear the laughing and talking of the negroes. "it is more to the right," the girl said. "it is nearly in the corner of the field where you see that fire; that is close to the hut. they always keep a big fire there, and the leaders sleep round it. there are always two negroes on guard in front of the hut." "i expect they have got one behind now. of course they have found out by this time that you have escaped, and they must have known that it could only have been by that window." keeping well inside the line of trees, they crept along to the corner of the clearing. the two negroes had been instructed in the part they were to play, and as soon as they got well round behind the house the others halted, and knife in hand they crept through the trees, and then upon their hands and knees crawled forward. the others listened intently. the gabble of voices continued on the other side of the hut, and when a louder yell of laughter than usual broke out they saw a figure appear at one corner and look round, as if anxious to hear what was going on. suddenly two arms appeared from the darkness behind him. he was grasped by the throat and disappeared suddenly from sight. two minutes later sam came through the trees. "dat chile no gib de alarm, sah. can go on now and cut him window." the carpenter and the man told off to assist him at once ran forward, accompanied by the girl and nat, who went straight to the little window. he had told her that she must not speak, for her mother or sister might utter a sudden exclamation which would alarm the sentries on the other side. putting his face to the window, he said in a low voice, "i pray you be silent, the slightest sound might cost you your lives. we are here to rescue you; your daughter is safe and sound with us. now we are going to enlarge the window." low exclamations of delight told him that he was heard. the carpenter at once set to work, the man with him oiling his saw very frequently; nevertheless it seemed to nat to make even more noise than usual. suddenly, however, one of the prisoners began to utter a prayer in a loud voice. "that is papa," the girl whispered; "he used to say prayers every night." "it was a very good idea to begin now," nat said. "what with the row by the fires, and his voice inside, the guard are not likely to hear the saw." in ten minutes the window had been enlarged to a point sufficient for a full-sized person to get through. "now, madam, will you come first," nat said. "we will pull you through all right." one by one the captives were got out. there were still two men left when the door opened, and three or four negroes appeared with blazing brands. "we have come to fetch one of you out to give us a lillie fun. bake 'im some ober de fire." then he broke off with a shout of astonishment as he saw that the hut was almost untenanted, and he and the others were about to rush forward at the two men still there when nat thrust his arm through the opening. two shots cracked out, one after the other. the two leading negroes fell, and the others with a yell of terror rushed out of the hut. "quick, for your lives!" he said to the two men, one of whom was already half through the window. "we shall have them all on us in a few minutes." in a few seconds the men were out, and nat and the two seamen ran with them to the edge of the wood, to which the other captives had been passed on as soon as they were freed. by this time the air was ringing with yells and shouts. "now, men, move along a little farther so as to get a view of the fire, and then we will give them a volley." the negroes were rushing forward, yelling and shouting, when twenty-five muskets rang out with deadly aim, for the blacks were not more than thirty yards away. "load again, lads! that will sicken them for a bit," he shouted; and indeed the negroes with yells of astonishment and fear had run back, leaving some fourteen or fifteen of their number on the ground. "are you all loaded?" "ay, ay, sir." "then down the hill you go. have the three ladies gone on?" "yes, sir; the two blacks went down with them." "have the frenchmen got their pikes? that is good; now keep as close as you can together. they are coming up by scores, and will make a rush in a minute or so." as fast as they could the sailors and the rescued men made their way down the hill, but owing to the thickness of the trees it was impossible to run. they had gone but a short distance when there was an outburst of yells round them, and, looking back, nat saw a number of blazing brands. "you had better have kept in the dark," he muttered. "you would not have come so fast, but more of you would go back alive. don't hurry, men," he said; "take it coolly. take care of the trees. they are sure to come up to us, for they can see their way; but they won't be in such a hurry when we open fire again." they were half-way down the hill when he gave the order: "you four men next to me turn round and pick off some of those fellows with torches. the rest halt in case they make a rush." the four shots were fired one after the other. as many negroes fell. "are you ready, lads? four more fire!" the shots had an equal success. many of the negroes at once took refuge behind trees. "that will do, men; on you go again! don't make more noise than you can help. with all that yelling they won't be sure that we have moved." [illustration: "four shots were fired and as many negroes fell."] it was not, indeed, until they were down on the shore that the negroes again came up with them. then they burst out at several points from the trees, being uncertain of the exact course the retreating party had taken. "now, keep together in a body, men!" nat shouted in english, and repeated the same order in french. "march steadily forward. we have got to fight our way through them." now that the negroes saw how comparatively small was the number of their foes, they rushed upon them. "don't throw away a shot!" nat shouted. "now, let them have it!" the men who had already fired had loaded again, and as the negroes came up, a crackling fire broke out from the little party. "now, lads, at them with pistol, cutlass, and pike! we must get through these fellows ahead before others come up." with a loud cheer the sailors rushed upon the blacks, cutting and thrusting, the men who had been released fighting with desperate fury with their pikes, mad with the thirst for revenge for the horrible atrocities that they witnessed and the thought of the fate they had escaped. pistols cracked out continually, and it was not long before the negroes lost heart; and the sailors, at nat's order, flung themselves upon them and cut a way through. "straight on now, men! show them that you can run as well as fight. we shall have a hundred more of them down on us directly." there was no doubt of this; the yells that rose from the forest and the light of many brands showed that the whole of the negroes were hastening to join their comrades. nat had previously begged the two officers and the quarter-master not to use their pistols, and he, with them, ran in the rear line. a few only of the negroes pressed closely behind them; the rest, dismayed by the slaughter that had taken place, awaited the arrival of their comrades. "now, turn and let them have both barrels!" nat said; and the four men, facing round, levelled their pistols, and six of the leading negroes fell, while the others halted at once. "keep your other pistols," nat said; "we shall want them at the gangway." there was a shout of satisfaction as the men in advance caught sight of the schooner. the two negroes had already placed the gangway in position, and had crossed it with the three ladies and monsieur pickard, who had accompanied them. "over you go, men!" nat shouted; "they are close behind us." most of the men were across when a crowd of blacks came rushing along. sam and pomp had taken their station at the taffrail, and as the head of the mob came on their muskets flashed out, and the two leading men fell. then they opened fire with their pistols, and at the same moment nat and his three companions discharged their remaining pistols and then ran down the gangway, the sailors having by this time all passed over. the planks were at once pulled on board. "now, unshackle the chain and round with the capstan!" nat shouted. "the rest of you lie down behind the bulwarks." a moment later the chain was unshackled, and as the capstan rapidly revolved, the schooner's head receded from the shore. yells of rage broke from the negroes, and a scattered fire of musketry was opened. "now, turnbull, do you and lippincott each go to a gun, and when we are far enough off for them to bear on those rascals let them have it." a minute later the bow-gun was fired. it was too near for the shot to spread properly, but it cut a lane through the crowd, and half a minute later the second gun crashed out. by this time the sailors had all loaded their muskets again. "now for a volley!" nat shouted; "that will finish them; or i am mistaken." it was indeed decisive, and with yells of rage and pain the negroes darted into the forest behind them. as fast as the guns could be loaded, round after round of grape was fired among the trees. by this time the schooner was close to the kedge; this was hauled up and sail set, but the breeze was so light that the vessel scarcely moved through the water. the guns were again loaded with grape, and a keen watch was kept, as it was possible that the boats might not yet have arrived, having delayed putting off until it was thought that all on board would be asleep. in the meantime the wounds were examined. none of these was serious. only a small proportion of the negroes were armed with muskets, and these being among the crowd had for the most part been unable to fire; consequently only one man had been hit in the arm by a ball, while six or eight had received gashes more or less deep from the knives and other weapons of the negroes. "even if the boats have not been here," nat said to lippincott, "i don't think we shall have any trouble with them; they will have heard our guns, and, i dare say, the musketry firing, and will know that, now we are awake and on our guard, we should probably sink them before they reached us." half an hour passed, and then, as they got beyond the shelter of the island, they caught a little breeze, and the schooner began to slip through the water. nat called the men from the guns. "i don't think that we shall have any more fighting to-night," he said. "you have all done very well. we have certainly killed three times our own number, and we have successfully carried out the main object of our adventure. i have ordered the steward to serve out a good ration of rum all round, but i should advise you who have got wounds to keep your share for a few days." "it won't hurt us, sir," one old sailor said, and three or four other voices were raised in assent. "i did not suppose that my advice would be taken," nat said with a laugh to turnbull, "still, it was as well to give it; and i don't suppose that an extra allowance of grog will go far towards heating their blood." "not it," the middy replied; "rum is cheap out here, and i don't suppose that half a bottle would be considered by them as an excessive drink. how are you going to stow our passengers away? of course we will give up our cabins to the ladies." "i think the best plan will be for us to turn out altogether, turnbull; there will be our three state-rooms for the ladies, and the father can sleep on the sofa of the main cabin. we will have a screen put up forward of the steward's cabin, and have cots slung for ourselves there. of course we will take our meals with them aft. i don't think there are any spare hammocks, and the eight white men must make a shift to sleep on some old sails--it won't be for many days. well, sam, what is it?" "supper am ready, sah." leaving the quarter-master to take charge of the watch, they went below. they had not expected to see the ladies up, but they were all there. "monsieur pickard, i must introduce myself and my officers." "it needs no introductions, sir," the frenchman, a tall, thin man some fifty years of age, said in a broken voice; "my daughter louise has told me your names, and how good you have been to her. ah, monsieur, no words can express our obligations to you all! it was not death we feared, but such a death. even now we can scarce believe that this is all true, and that we have escaped from those fiends. in the name of my wife and my daughters and myself, i thank you with all my heart for what you have done for us. little, indeed, did we think, when we helped louise through that narrow window in order that she might warn you that you were going to be attacked, and with the hope that she might escape from the awful fate that awaited us there, that it would be the means of saving us all. we heard the negroes saying that the schooner was flying the british flag, but we had no idea that she was a vessel of war, thinking it was a small trader they were about to attack. but even had we known it, it would not have raised any hopes in our minds, for we should not have thought that, with so small a force as such a vessel could carry, her commander would think of attacking so great a number of men as, louise would have told you, had us in their power." "we are only too glad to have an opportunity of being of service to you and your family, monsieur pickard. indeed, had there been only these two officers and myself on board, i am sure that we should have made an attempt to release you; and should, i have no doubt, have succeeded in doing so without being discovered, as would have been the case to-night, had not they taken it into their heads to come into the hut just at that moment. and now, monsieur, for the sleeping arrangements. my cabin is at the service of madame, those of mr. turnbull and mr. lippincott, of the young ladies. we shall have cots slung for ourselves elsewhere; that sofa must serve for you, monsieur pickard. to-morrow, madame, we will place at your disposal whatever there is on board the ship for fabricating dresses for your daughters that will be less striking than that now worn by mademoiselle louise. we have a roll of white duck, from which, i have no doubt, they will be able to contrive a couple of white dresses." for the eldest girl, as well as louise, was in boy's clothes, as the pickards had fortunately had warning before the outbreak took place on their plantation, one of the men with them having overheard what was said at a meeting of the negroes, and in consequence they, the overseers, two white superintendents of the indigo works, a carpenter and mechanic, had during the night taken to the woods, madame pickard dressing her daughters in some clothes that they had in store, and which were cut down to fit them. "and now, ladies," nat went on, "i know that you will above all things be longing for bed, but i hope that you will each take a basin of soup and a glass of wine before you turn in, you must need them sorely. the steward will get your cabins ready for you. i am sure that mademoiselle louise will set you a good example; she recovered her appetite as soon as she learned that we intended to get you out." chapter xiii two captures the meal was a very short one, but the ladies, to please their rescuers, took a few spoonfuls of soup and a glass of wine. madame pickard and her elder daughter were too much worn out by anxiety and emotion to talk, monsieur pickard was no less moved, and the conversation was supported entirely by the three officers and louise. the young men hurried through their meal, and then, saying good-night to the others, went up on deck. "well, never did a thing turn out better," nat said as he lit his pipe; "it is a tremendous satisfaction that we have not lost a single man in the affair." "and it is no less a satisfaction," turnbull said, "that we have given a good many of those black brutes their deserts. it was a good fight for a bit." as they were smoking, the seven white men came up in a body. "we could not lie down, monsieur," one of them said, "till we had come to thank you for saving us from the most frightful deaths. we had given up all hopes even of obtaining a weapon and putting an end to ourselves, which we should certainly have done could we have got hold of a knife, after having been obliged to witness the tortures of two of our comrades. had you been but ten minutes later another of us would have been their victim. ah, monsieur! your voice, when you spoke at the window, seemed like that of an angel who had come to our relief." "how long had you been in the woods?" nat asked. "six weeks, monsieur, before the negroes found us. we had carried off some provisions with us, but these were all consumed, and we were obliged to go down to the plantation to search for food. we suppose that we were seen and followed, and the next night we were surrounded by the band you saw." "well, we are all very glad to have got you out of their hands, and you rendered good service when the blacks came down on us." "we had our revenge to take," the man said, "and not one of us but would have fought until he was killed." "you have had something to eat, i hope?" "yes, thank you, sir." "you had better turn in now. i don't suppose you have had much sleep of late." "poor beggars," turnbull said as the men walked away, "i wonder myself that they did not strangle each other, or hang themselves, or something. i am sure i should have done so rather than wait day after day till my turn came to be burnt alive, or to be cut to pieces gradually, or put to death by any other means of slow torture." "yes, turnbull, if one were quite sure that there was no possible hope of rescue or escape; but i suppose a man never does quite give up hope. this was an example, you see, of the unlikely happening." "what are you going to do next, glover?" "i don't know, i have hardly thought it out yet. you see, we can manage with this lot we have on board without much difficulty, and i don't know that i should be justified in going round to cape françois on purpose to land them. so far we have not been able to bring any news of value, and at any rate i think we might as well cruise about here a little longer. there is one thing, if we should fall in with anyone bigger than ourselves and have to fight for it, those fellows who have just gone below will be a valuable addition to our strength. when it comes to a hand-to-hand fight seven stout fellows might turn the scale." "yes, there is something in that, and i am glad you mean to keep them on board for a bit. i think the girls will be very good fun when they have a little got over what they have gone through. the young one is a jolly little thing, and her sister is very pretty, in spite of her short hair and boy's dress, though one had not much opportunity of forming an idea as to whether she had any fun in her." "i fancy it will be some time before she will feel inclined for a flirtation, turnbull," nat laughed. "what she has gone through, and what she has seen in the way of horrors, is enough to damp a girl's spirits for a very long time." in the morning the ladies did not appear at breakfast. "my wife is completely prostrated," monsieur pickard said, "and the two girls are shy and do not like showing themselves until they have made up a couple of dresses. your steward gave them the roll of white cotton early this morning and needles and thread, and both are very hard at work. i hope you will excuse them, they will come out and have breakfast here after we have done. may i ask where we are sailing now?" "we are sailing east, monsieur. i hope that it will not inconvenience you to be a few days on board. my orders are to cruise up and down the coast, and i wish therefore to go east as far as the boundary between the french and spanish portions of the island; after that i can go round into the bay of hayti and land you at port-au-prince or cape françois, whichever you would prefer." "it will make no difference whatever to us, and indeed i am sure that a cruise on your beautiful little ship will be the very best thing for my wife and daughters. they will have perfect rest and sea air, and it will not be necessary for them to tell over and over again the stories of their sufferings; but i lament that we should be putting you to such personal inconvenience." "i can assure you, monsieur, that you are putting us to no inconvenience whatever. we sleep just as well in our cots as in our berths, and the society of the ladies and yourself will be a very great pleasure to us, for as a rule we have very small opportunity in that way." "you speak our language very fluently, monsieur glover." "i am afraid that i speak it more fluently than grammatically. i had the opportunity of picking it up by ear last year, when i was staying for six weeks at the house of monsieur duchesne at cape françois." "we know him well, and his charming wife and daughter," monsieur pickard said, "for we have a house there, and generally go there for three months every winter. can it be that you are the officer who saved their daughter's life, when she was attacked by a fierce hound?" "yes, i had that good fortune." "i fear that they have fallen in this terrible insurrection. we have had no direct news from cape françois, but we heard that in their district all the plantations have been destroyed and the owners murdered." "i am happy to be able to tell you that they were saved. i was staying there at the time when the revolt broke out we were warned just in time by an old nurse, dinah." "i remember her," monsieur pickard broke in, "a tall old woman." "yes, monsieur duchesne himself was in town, and madame, myra, and i had just time to gain the forest. there we were joined by dinah, who did everything for us. madame was attacked by fever, but fortunately dinah knew of a very safe place of refuge. she did everything for us, fetched up provisions, concocted medicine, and after being ten days in hiding, we were able to get them down to the town." both the midshipmen had a fair knowledge of french, though they were not able to speak it with nat's ease and fluency. when the latter had finished, turnbull broke in: "mr. glover does not tell you, monsieur, that the cave they were in was attacked by six negroes, led by two mulattoes, and he shot them all, nor that he and the nurse carried madame duchesne down in a litter some twenty miles to the town, although he had one of his ribs broken by a pistol shot." "what is the use of talking about that?" nat said angrily. "the thing was done and there was an end of it. there has been a lot too much said about it as it is." monsieur pickard smiled. "monsieur glover is like my daughters at present, he is shy. he should not be so. it is right that we, his friends,--for we are his friends, now and for the rest of our lives,--should know what he is. ah, my wife and the girls will be pleased indeed to hear that their friends have escaped! they have often said how sorry they were that they had not seen the young officer who rescued their friend myra from the dog. it is strange indeed that he should afterwards have saved her and her mother from the negroes, and should now have so rescued us." that evening the girls appeared on deck in snowy-white dresses, simply made, but fitting admirably. "we have always been accustomed to cut out our own dresses," valerie said, laughing, when nat complimented her on the work. "the slaves did the sewing, but we fitted each other. of course at cape françois we had our dresses made for us, but on the plantation we were obliged to trust to ourselves." one morning, three days later, as they were at breakfast, nat stopped as he was raising a cup to his lips. "that is a gun!" he exclaimed. "there is another!" and with the two middies he ran up on deck. "there is a fight going on somewhere," he said as the sound of firing was again heard. "it must be six or seven miles away, somewhere beyond that headland. at any rate we will hold on and have a look at them. with this light wind it will take us from an hour and a half to two hours before we are up with them, so we may as well finish our breakfast in comfort." "what is it, monsieur glover! are those noises really the sound of guns?" "there is no doubt about it. there is a fight going on seven or eight miles away. we should hear the sound more plainly were it not that there is a headland between us and the vessels engaged." "who can they be?" madame pickard said. "a pirate and a merchantman, no doubt. none of the european nations are at war, but the seas swarm with piratical craft of one kind or another. the small ones content themselves with plundering native coasting vessels, the larger ones attack ships from or to europe. the _orpheus_, to which i belonged at that time, last year rooted out one of their worst nests. they had no fewer than four ships. we were lucky enough to catch one of them, and learned where the rendezvous was, and fortunately found the other three at home, and destroyed them and their storehouses." "are you going on in that direction now?" valerie asked. "yes, we are going to have a look at them. if the trader is making a good fight of it, our arrival may turn the scale; if we arrive too late and find the enemy too big for us, we can run away; in a light wind like this there are very few vessels that could catch us. it is probable that we should not interfere were it not for the possibility that we may be in time to save some of the passengers and crew of the merchantman. she must be a vessel of some size, judging from the sound of her guns. even if she has surrendered before we get there, and we find that we are in any way a match for the pirate, we might, after defeating her, save at least some of the captives. as a rule, these scoundrels, when all opposition has ceased, confine the prisoners in the hold, and after emptying the prize of everything valuable, scuttle her, and of course drown all on board. in that way all traces of their crime are lost, whereas if they killed them some of the bodies might float inshore, or if they burnt the ship the smoke might bring down any cruiser that happened to be in the neighborhood. "i am sorry that you are on board, ladies." "oh, do not think of us!" madame pickard exclaimed. "after the wonderful deliverance that we have had, i am sure that none of us would mind any risk if there is a chance of saving others in as dire peril as we were." the two girls and monsieur pickard warmly agreed. "please put us altogether out of consideration," the latter said. "even if we knew that it was probable we should all lose our lives we should not hesitate. we are not, i hope, any of us, afraid of death. it was the kind of death that we were terrified at." "i thank you all," nat said gravely. "i shall not fight unless i think that there is at any rate a fair chance of victory." on going on deck when breakfast was finished, nat ordered the magazine to be opened and ammunition brought up. the wind had freshened a little, and the schooner was going faster through the water; and in three quarters of an hour after hearing the first gun they neared the promontory. "i am afraid it is all over," nat said to the ladies, who had also come on deck; "there has not been a gun fired for the past two or three minutes. however, we shall soon see." on rounding the point they saw two vessels lying side by side, a mile and a half distant, and about a mile from shore. one was a barque, evidently a large merchantman; the other a brigantine. there was no question that the latter was a pirate, and the other her prize. the sailors, after a glance at them, turned their eyes anxiously towards nat for orders. the latter stood quietly examining the ships through his glass. "she mounts five guns a side, and i should say that they are about the same weight as our own," he said to turnbull; "and from the men swarming on her deck and that of her prize she must have nearly, if not quite, three times our strength, even counting the frenchmen in." "she is too big to fight squarely, sir," turnbull reluctantly agreed. "i am afraid she is altogether too tough a customer for us; and yet one hates the thought of leaving them to complete their devil's work on their prize." "yes, we can't think of doing that, mr. turnbull. the first thing to do will be to draw them off from her." "but they would be sure to leave some of their men in possession of her." "well, if they do, there will be so many the fewer for us to fight. we are within a mile now, i should say?" "yes, sir." "then train the two forward guns on them, and let them see that we mean fighting." a cheer broke from the sailors clustered round the guns as turnbull gave the order. "now, ladies," nat said, "you can stop to see the effect of our first shot, and then i must ask you to go down on to the lower deck. sam will show you the way and take some cushions down for you; you will be out of danger there." as he spoke, the two guns which were already loaded were fired, and the men gave a cheer as two white patches appeared on the side of the brigantine. "please hurry down, ladies," nat said, checking the entreaty which he saw they were going to make. "it won't be long before they answer us." "give them another round, lads!" he said, as they reluctantly obeyed his orders. "get them in if you can before he is ready." busy as they were, the pirates had not observed the schooner until her guns were fired. with shouts of alarm they ran back to their own ship, but these were succeeded by exclamations of anger and surprise when they saw how small was the craft that had thus intruded into the affair. by the captain's orders twenty of the crew, under his first mate, returned to the deck of the prize; a portion of the men ran to the guns, others threw off the grapnels fastening them to the prize. before they were ready to fire, two more shots from the schooner crashed into the brigantine, one passing through the bulwarks, killing three men and wounding several others with the splinters. the other struck her within a few inches of the water-line. the schooner at once bore up, discharging the guns on the starboard side as she came round, and laying her course as close to the wind as she could be jammed, showed her stern to the pirate. two of his guns forward were fired, others could not be brought to bear. the arrow was now almost retracing her course, for the wind was west-nor'-west, and she could just follow the line of coast. "here they come after us!" turnbull said, rubbing his hands, "as savage as bees whose hive has been disturbed." "now, mr. turnbull, get the two guns right aft, so as to fire over the taffrail. we must see if we cannot knock some of her spars away. as soon as you have moved the guns let all hands, except those serving them, go forward and lie down there. the weight of the guns will put her rather by the stern, and i don't want to let that fellow come any nearer to us. she is in her best trim now." as soon as the guns were ready they opened fire. the brigantine answered with her bow-chaser, but, as she was obliged to yaw each time she brought it to bear, she presently ceased firing. "we are gaining on her, sir," lippincott said, as he watched the pirate through his glass. "yes, and sailing fully a point nearer to the wind than she does. get a stay-sail fastened to a rope, and drop it over close to the bow. i don't want to run away from her. if she found that we were too fast for her she would give up the chase, and go back to the prize. i want her to gain just enough to encourage her to keep on. she is a fast craft, but we are faster. we shall be able to manage her, providing she does not knock away any of our spars." the start the schooner had made had at first widened the distance between them, and there was now a mile and a quarter of water separating them. the brigantine was hulled several times and her sails pierced, but her spars were still intact. she was permitted to gain until she was little more than half a mile astern, but the schooner had weathered on her, and was now nearly half a mile to windward. "if we had an open sea on this side instead of the land," turnbull said, "and were to cut away that sail, they would not see us again." "no; they must have come to the same conclusion. as it is, they no doubt think that our clawing out to windward is of no advantage to us. now, get another gun over to the larboard side. it is lucky that there is a spare port there. we must make an effort to knock one of his spars out, or he may cripple us." for by this time the brigantine had again opened fire. "let the three best shots we have got lay the guns on her mainmast. tell them to train them rather high, so that if they miss the mark they may cut one of the halyards, which will give us all the start we want." the guns were run into their position on the broadside. "don't hurry over it," nat said; "let each fire as his gun comes to bear." there was a crash and a cry as he spoke; a ball had gone through the arrow from side to side, tearing jagged holes through her bulwarks, one of the sailors being struck to the deck by a splinter. no one spoke, every eye being fixed on the guns. these were fired almost together. there was a pause for a second or two, and then a burst of cheering as the gaff of the great mainsail of the brigantine was seen to collapse. "it is hit close to the jaws," turnbull, whose glass was levelled on the pirates, exclaimed. "cut away that sail in the water!" nat shouted. "up with your helm, men, and bring her round. that is right," he went on as the schooner came up into the wind and payed off on the other tack. "now, slack away her sheets!" three guns were vengefully fired by the pirate, but the sudden change in the schooner's position disconcerted their aim, and the shot flew wide. without waiting for orders, the seamen at two of the guns ran them over to the starboard side, and, all working at the highest pressure, poured shot after shot into the brigantine, which answered but slowly, as numbers of the men had run aloft to get the sail down to repair damages. before she was under way again the schooner had left her a mile behind. she was now on her best point of sailing, while the brigantine was to some extent crippled by the mainsail setting badly, and by the time the headland was again passed the schooner was fully two miles ahead. her crew had for some time been puzzled at the action being so abruptly concluded, and turnbull had even ventured to say: "i should think, sir, we should have a fair chance with her now." "not a very good chance. we have been lucky, but with ten guns to our four, and her strong crew of desperate men, she would be a very awkward customer. we can think of her later on. my plan is to retake the prize before she can come up. it is not likely that they have killed the crew yet, and i expect the captain told those left behind to leave things as they were until he returned. we may scarcely be a match for the brigantine, but the prize and we together should be able to give a good account of ourselves." "splendid, sir!" turnbull exclaimed joyously; "that is a grand idea." "have the guns loaded with grape," nat said quietly, "and run two of them over to the other side. we will go outside the prize, bring our craft up into the wind, and shoot her up inside her, and give them one broadside and then board. tell the men to have their pistols and cutlasses ready, and distribute the boarding-pikes among the frenchmen." as soon as they rounded the point they could see by their glasses that there was a sudden commotion on the deck of the merchantman. "they did not expect to see us back first," lippincott laughed. "even now, i should think, they are expecting to see the brigantine close behind us in chase, and don't suspect what we are up to. don't head straight for her," he said to the helmsman, "take us a couple of lengths outside her." the pirates, indeed, were completely deceived, but when at last they saw that the brigantine did not appear, they ran over to the guns. it was, however, too late. two or three of these were discharged as the schooner passed, but beyond making holes in her sails no damage was done, and one of the schooner's guns poured in a volley of grape. when she was two or three lengths ahead her helm was put hard down. she flew round and just caught the wind on the other tack, gliding up alongside the merchantman, the three guns being discharged in succession as the two vessels touched. the grapnels were thrown, and the sailors and frenchmen leapt on to her deck headed by the three officers. nearly half the pirates had been killed or wounded by the four discharges of grape. the remainder made but a poor fight of it, and were cut down to a man. "off with the hatches, men!" nat shouted. "run down and release the crew." he himself ran aft into the saloon. here six gentlemen and eight or ten ladies were lying bound hand and foot. several of the men were wounded. nat at once cut the cords. [illustration: "the captain of the pirates shook his fist in defiance."] "you are safe," he said. "the ship has been retaken by his majesty's schooner _arrow_, but we have not done with the brigantine yet, and any of you who have weapons and can use them may lend a hand." without waiting to listen to the chorus of cries of gratitude, he ran out again. a minute later a number of seamen poured up on deck. many of them were wounded. "how many are there of you?" he asked an officer among them. "there are thirty of us," he said; "we had lost nearly half our crew before they boarded us. the captain was killed early in the fight, as was the first officer." "well, sir, set your men to load the guns at once. there is the brigantine just coming round the point. monsieur pickard, will you remain here with your party and help the sailors? get your sails sheeted home, sir!" he went on to the ship's officer. "is your vessel a fast one?" "yes, but she is not so fast as that brigantine." "that is of no consequence," nat said. "get every sail you can on her. now get twenty of our men on board again, mr. lippincott, and on second thoughts i will take five of the frenchmen. mr. turnbull, you will remain on board in command of this ship with the other five of our men. my endeavour will be to knock away one of her masts. do you keep as close as you can to us, and we will board her together, one on each side. if she knocks away one of our spars, i shall as far as possible come back to meet you, and if she follows us we will fight her together." "i understand, sir." "the moment we push off, get your head sails aback and put her on the wind so as to get out of our way. i shall fill her off on the other tack and then come round and join you. we will keep together until we see whether she means to fight or run. remember, the great thing is to knock a spar out of her." so saying, he leapt on to the deck of the schooner, and turnbull's voice was at once heard shouting the order, "haul aft the weather sheets of the jibs;" and in a minute the two vessels were gliding away from each other on opposite tacks. then the _arrow_ was brought round and followed the _thames_, which was the name of the merchantman. the brigantine was now three quarters of a mile away. suddenly she was seen to change her course. as she wore round she presented her broadside to the two vessels, and her five guns puffed out together. the reply, both from the merchantman and the _arrow_, followed almost simultaneously, and a cheer rang out from both ships as the pirate's bowsprit was seen to snap off. "place yourself two or three cables' length from his larboard quarter," nat shouted. turnbull, who had leapt on to the rail to see the result of the broadside, waved his hand. "down topsails!" nat shouted, "she will be handier without them." in a moment the two great sails came fluttering down. turnbull followed the example, and the men ran up the ratlines and furled some of the upper sails. deprived of her head sails, the pirate was unmanageable, and the two vessels speedily ran up and laid themselves a couple of hundred yards from his quarters and opened a steady fire. the pirates endeavoured to drag two of their guns right aft, but the volleys of grape poured into them were too much for them, and although their captain was seen to shoot two of the men, the rest ran forward. the helmsman deserted his now useless post. "give her one more broadside," nat shouted to turnbull, "and then run in and board." the captain of the pirates, mad with rage, leapt on to the taffrail and shook his fist in defiance. at that moment two rifles cracked out from the merchantman, and he fell forward into the sea. the effect of the storm of grape from the three guns of the schooner, and the four from the trader, among the men huddled up in the bow of the pirate was terrible, but knowing that their lives were forfeited if they were taken prisoners, none made a movement aft to haul down the black flag that still floated from the peak. in two or three minutes their antagonists were alongside; a volley of musketry was poured in, and then the crews of both ships leapt on to the deck. the pirates, who were now reduced to about thirty men, rushed to meet them, determining to sell their lives dearly. but the odds were against them; they missed the voice of their captain to encourage them, and when twenty of their number had fallen, the remainder threw down their arms. "let no man stir a foot to go below," nat shouted, remembering the explosion in the pirate's hold, and fearing that one of them might make straight for the magazine. he had not used his pistols in the fight, and now stood with one in each hand pointing threateningly to enforce the order. "mr. lippincott, take four men below and close and securely fasten the magazine." the middy ran down, and returned in two or three minutes to report that he had executed the order. "tie those fellows' feet and hands," nat said, "and carry them down into the hold." when this was done he was able to look round. the deck was a perfect shambles. the brigantine, as he afterwards heard, carried originally eighty hands. ten of these had been either killed or seriously wounded in the fight with the _thames_, and twenty had been killed on board that barque when she was retaken. forty lay dead or dying on the deck. one of the frenchmen had fallen, six of the sailors and three frenchmen had been severely wounded, turnbull somewhat seriously wounded, and lippincott slightly. monsieur pickard, and the male passengers on board the _thames_, had all joined the boarders. two of them had previously done good service with their rifles. had not the pirate leader been killed, the fight would have been even more desperate. one of the passengers was, fortunately, a surgeon. he at once set to work attending to the sailors' wounds, and after he had bandaged them he examined those of the pirates. these had for the most part been killed outright, and of the wounded there were but four or five with any prospect of recovery. these he first attended to, while the other passengers carried water to the dying men. "now, my lads," nat said, "clear the decks of the dead, and get up an awning and carry those who are alive into the shade." all the dead pirates were thrown over without ceremony, the body of the frenchman being laid down by his compatriots by one of the guns for proper burial in the evening. as soon as the fight was over, monsieur pickard--who, after the capture of the _thames_, had gone below to assure his wife and daughters that all was going on well, and that they had saved nine ladies and six gentlemen from the hands of the pirates--hurried down with the welcome news that the fight was over and the brigantine captured. "you can go up to the cabin," he said, "but don't come on deck till i come down and tell you that everything has been made clean and tidy. you will be glad to hear that, although we have several wounded, françois amond is the only man that has been killed." one of the passengers of the _thames_ had carried similar news to the ladies there. the crews of both were at once set to work to wash decks, and in an hour the holy-stones had obliterated the worst signs of the conflict, though it would require many more scrubbings before the stains of blood entirely disappeared. all this time the vessels had remained side by side, and the ladies now ventured on to the decks of the _thames_ and _arrow_. "what do you intend to do, sir?" one of the passengers asked nat. "i shall sail at once for jamaica," he said. "we shall want some more hands, and i must at present borrow a few from you, for my own men are not sufficiently strong to navigate my own craft and the prize. the wind is favourable, and if it holds as it is we shall be at kingston in forty-eight hours, so there will be no great loss of time." he then crossed to the _arrow_. "i must congratulate you most heartily on your success," madame pickard said. "it is wonderful indeed that you should have taken both these vessels. the pirate ship is, i should think, three times as big as you are, and the other looks a giant by her side." "yes, she is six hundred tons, and the brigantine is about three hundred. however, it has all gone very fortunately. in the first place, we have rescued some fifteen gentlemen and ladies, and twice as many seamen, from the death that they would certainly have met with; and in the next place, we have thrashed this pirate; we shall get both credit and prize-money, and a good sum for the recapture of the _thames_, which the chief officer has just told me carries a very valuable cargo. lastly, i am happy to say that, although several of the crew are injured, i have not lost a single life among them. i am sorry that one of your men fell in the fight." "but they have sadly spoiled the appearance of your ship," valerie pickard said. "there are three or four great holes along the side, and a ball has gone through your cabin, and the sails, which were so white and pretty, have lots of holes in them." "yes, we shall want a good many new cloths," he said; "but that is a very minor matter." "monsieur turnbull is hurt, i hear!" "yes, madame; happily it is not very serious--a blow which he only partly parried struck him on the shoulder. it looks a very serious wound, but the doctor says there is no need for any great uneasiness about him; and being seriously wounded in action has its advantages, as it always counts towards promotion. mr. lippincott has had one of his ears nearly slashed off, and is not pretty to look at at present, with his head done up in bandages, but the surgeon thinks that, as it was attended to so soon, it is likely that it will heal up." "and you have escaped altogether, monsieur glover?" louise said. "yes, for once i have had good luck. hitherto i have always come out of a fight more or less damaged; this time i have escaped without a scratch." "i should feel very proud if i were you," the girl said, "at having done so much with such a small ship--and you so young, too! why, you do not look more than a year or two older than valerie, and you have rescued us and all the people on the other ship, and taken a pirate and the vessel they had captured. it seems almost impossible. and you look so quiet and nice, too." "louise, you should not talk like that," her mother corrected. nat said gravely: "mademoiselle, do you know that you are talking to the commander of one of his majesty's ships on his own quarter-deck, where he is, as it were, the monarch of all he surveys, and might inflict all sorts of terrible punishments upon you for your want of respect?" the girl laughed merrily. "i am not afraid," she said, "not one little bit, and i don't see why you should mind being told that you are young and quiet-looking and nice, when you are." "i do not mind in the least," he said, "and certainly i am young; but i can assure you that my former captain would not tell you that i was quiet, for i had the reputation of being the most troublesome middy on board his frigate. but, you see, responsibility has sobered me, and i can assure you that there is a great deal of responsibility in commanding a small craft like this, which has nothing but her speed and her luck to rely on if she happens to fall in with a strongly-armed vessel." "how can you say that, monsieur," valerie said indignantly, "when you have taken this pirate, which is ever so much stronger than you are?" "there may be a little good management in it, but more luck, mademoiselle. if one of his shot had damaged me instead of one of mine damaging him, we should all have had our throats cut two hours ago." "i don't believe it," she said. "i believe that you would have beaten him anyhow." "ladies very often think what they wish," he said with a laugh, "and no doubt we should have fought to the last; but i can assure you that we should have had no chance with them, and the best i could have done for you would have been to have fired the last shot of my pistol into the magazine." "please don't talk about it," madame pickard said with a shudder. "and now i suppose that you have had fighting enough, and are going to carry us quietly into port?" "yes, madame, to jamaica; but if you would prefer to be landed at cape françois or port-au-prince i shall be happy to give you a passage back again." "we do not want to go there at all, but my husband will go to wind up his affairs, and sell his house there. we have been talking it over, and agree that we should never like to go back to the estate again. even if things did quiet down the memories are too terrible; and, besides, having once broken out, the blacks might do so again at any time." "i think you are perfectly right, madame; but i am afraid you will not get much for your estate." "my husband thinks that, although no white man would buy it, there are plenty of mulattoes who would give, not its real value, but a certain amount, for it. many of them are rich men who have already large plantations. ours was one of the most valuable on the island, and with the title from us a purchaser would not be afraid of being disturbed when the soldiers arrive and put down the insurrection; while, even if this should never be done, the negroes, with whom the mulattoes are now friends, would not interfere with him. my husband thinks that perhaps he will get a third of its value, which would be sufficient to keep us all comfortably in france, or wherever we may settle; but our best resource is that we have the whole of last season's produce stored in our magazines at port-au-prince." it was not until the next afternoon that the absolutely necessary repairs to the three vessels were completed, the holes near the water-line covered by planks over which pitched canvas was nailed, the ropes shot away replaced by new ones, and the brigantine's gaff repaired. then sail was hoisted again, and the three vessels set sail for kingston, where they arrived on the evening of the third day after starting. no little excitement was caused in the harbour when the _arrow_, with her sails and sides bearing marks of the engagement, sailed in, followed by the brigantine flying the british ensign over the black flag, and the _thames_ with the same flags, but with the addition of the merchant ensign under the black flag, following her. there were two or three ships of war in the port, and the crews saluted the _arrow_ with hearty cheers. the flag-ship at once ran up the signal for her commander to come on board, and, leaving lippincott to see to the operation of anchoring, nat ordered the gig to be lowered, and, taking his place in it, was rowed to the flag-ship. chapter xiv the attack on port-au-prince on mounting to the deck nat was at once taken to the admiral's cabin. "so you have been disobeying orders, lieutenant glover," he said gravely. "i hope not, sir. i am not conscious of disobeying orders." "i fancy you were directed not to engage more heavily-armed craft than your own." "i was, sir, but the circumstances were peculiar." "i never knew a midshipman or a young lieutenant, mr. glover, who did not find the circumstances peculiar when he wanted to disobey orders. however," he added with a smile, "let me hear the peculiar circumstances, then i shall be able to judge how far you were justified. give them in full. have you a written report?" "yes, sir, i have brought it with me," nat said, producing the document. "well, lay it down on the table. i don't suppose it is very full, and i am somewhat curious to hear how you brought in a pirate brigantine and a recaptured merchantman--so i understood your flags." nat related how he had heard the sound of guns on rounding a headland, and had seen the brigantine lying by the side of the barque she had evidently just captured; how he drew her off in pursuit of the schooner, partially crippled her, returned and retook the _thames_, released her crew, placed mr. turnbull in command, and how, between them, they had captured the brigantine. "a very smart action," the admiral said cordially when he had brought the narrative to a conclusion. "it does you very great credit, and fully justifies my appointing you to an independent command. what metal does the brigantine carry?" "five guns each side, all twelve-pounders like my own." "and you have only four?" "yes, sir." "very good indeed, very good! by the way, do you know any of the passengers on board the _thames_ personally? i observed three ladies on the deck as you came in. i should have thought that they would have had very much better accommodation on the trader than on board your little craft." "yes, sir; but they were on board the _arrow_ before our fight with the brigantine, and although the first mate of the _thames_ offered them a state cabin they preferred to stay on board, as it was such a short run here." "who are they, then?" "they are refugees, sir. i got them out of the hands of the negroes--three ladies, the husband of the elder one, and seven other white men." "is there any story attached to it, mr. glover? let me see, what do you say about it in your report?" and he opened it and read aloud: _i have the honour, sir, to report that, learning there was a white family in the hands of the negroes, i landed with a party and brought them off. they consisted of monsieur and madame pickard and their two daughters, and seven of their white employees. casualties--eight seamen wounded, none of them seriously._ "then comes the account of the other affair. now, please give me the details of this rescue business as minutely as possible." this nat did. "a very risky business, mr. glover, though i don't see how you could have acted in any other way. no british officer, i hope, could have been deaf to such an appeal; but if those boats had found the schooner when you all were away, your position would have been well-nigh desperate." "it would, sir, i quite felt that, but it seemed to me the only possible thing to do. of course, if i had known that the boats would have come early in the evening, i should have remained on board and beat them off before making a landing, although our chances of success would then have been much smaller. the party who were to attack in the boats were to have been composed of men from the plantation. their comrades would doubtless have come down to the shore to see us captured, and when they saw their friends beaten off they would have been on the watch, and not improbably, in their fury and disappointment, have massacred all the captives in their hands at once. but i thought it likely that the boats would not put off before they believed us to be asleep, and that i should therefore have time to go up to the plantation and fetch the captives down before they arrived. at any rate, by moving the schooner close inshore i hoped that the boats might not find her. there was no moon, and under the shadow of the rock it was next to impossible to see her, unless a boat happened to pass within a few paces. having struck the topmasts, the forest behind on steep ground prevented the masts from showing above the sky-line. it was, of course, the choice of two evils, and i took the one that seemed to me to give the greater promise of success." "you did excellently, the oldest officer in the service could not have done better. i shall be obliged if you will write as full and detailed an account of both affairs as you have given me. i shall send it home with your official report, and with my own remarks upon them. and now about the merchantman; she looks a fine barque. what is her tonnage?" "six hundred tons, sir. she is a nearly new vessel, and sails fast for a ship of that kind. her first mate told me that she has a very valuable cargo on board, principally, i think, tobacco, sugar, coffee, wax, copper, mahogany, and cedar from cuba. her passengers are all spanish." "she seems to be a valuable prize, and as recaptured from the pirates there will be a handsome sum to be divided, and it is fortunate for you and your officers that the little craft was commissioned independently, not as a tender to one of the frigates. as it is, except the flag's share, it will all fall to yourselves and your crew. how many men have you lost?" "none at all, sir; though, as you will see by my report, in the two affairs the greater part of them received more or less severe wounds. mr. turnbull was somewhat severely wounded, mr. lippincott nearly lost an ear, and i escaped altogether." "well, it was your turn, lieutenant glover. you have come back three times more or less severely hurt already. you say that the brigantine is fast?" "yes, sir. she is not so fast as the schooner in a light wind, nor so weatherly, but in anything like strong winds i have no doubt that she would overhaul us." "was there anything in her hold?" "there are a good many bales and cases, sir. i have not opened them, but by their marks they come from three different ships, which she had no doubt captured and sunk before we fell in with her. i questioned one of the prisoners, and he told me that it was only a month since she came out, and he declared that they had not yet chosen any place as their head-quarters. as others questioned separately told the same story, i imagine that it was true." "where did she hail from?" "she came from bordeaux. they said that she had taken out letters of marque to act as a privateer in case of war breaking out with us, but i fancy that she was from the first intended for a pirate, for it seems that she had only forty hands when she started, and picked up the others at various french ports at which she touched before sailing west. i should say, from the appearance of her crew, that they are composed of the sweepings of the ports, for a more villainous set of rascals i never saw." "well, it is fortunate that you should have stopped their career so soon. she might have given us a great deal of trouble before we laid hands on her. we have had comparatively quiet times since the _orpheus_ destroyed that nest of them, and if she had confined her work to homeward-bound ships it might have been months before we had complaints from home, and found that there was another of these scourges among the islands. i shall row around presently, mr. glover, and have a look at your two prizes. when you see my gig coming i shall be obliged if you will meet me on the deck of the brigantine." at four o'clock in the afternoon the watch on deck reported that the admiral's gig was being lowered, and nat immediately got into his own boat and was rowed to the brigantine, whose name was the _agile_. when the admiral approached, instead of making straight for the accommodation ladder, he rowed slowly round the vessel, making a very careful examination of the hull. when he came on deck, he said: "except for a few shot that hit her low down, and the general destruction of her bulwarks, no damage has been done to her." "no, sir, we aimed high, our great object being to knock away some of her spars. i don't think that her square sails will be of any use in the future, they are riddled with balls from our stern-chasers." "a new gaff and bowsprit, a new suit of sails, new bulwarks, and a few patches, and she would be as good as ever. what damage have you suffered?" "the schooner has half a dozen holes in her bow, sir, and a dozen or so in her sails, nothing that the dockyard could not set right in a fortnight." he then went below. "excellent accommodation," he said, after going round, "that is for a fair crew, but she must have been crowded indeed with eighty men. what should you consider to be a fair crew for her, mr. glover?" "twenty men, sir, if she were a simple trader; i should say from thirty-five to forty would be none too much if she were going to fight her guns." "now we will have a look at your craft. you may as well take a seat in my gig. yes," he went on, as he rowed round her as he had done with the brigantine, "now that the sails are furled she does not seem any the worse for it, except in the bow and those two holes in the bulwarks." monsieur pickard and the ladies were seated on the deck, and rose as the admiral came on board. "please introduce me to your friends, mr. glover." nat did so, and the admiral shook hands with them all. "i think i may congratulate you on your escape from a very terrible position." "yes, indeed," madame pickard said. "no words can express the gratitude we feel to monsieur glover, his two officers, and the crew. our position seemed hopeless, the most terrible of deaths and the worst of atrocities stared us in the face." "i have heard all about it, madame, and consider that lieutenant glover managed the whole business with great discretion as well as bravery. he has a bad habit of getting into scrapes, but an equally good one of getting out of them with credit to himself. this is the third time he has rendered signal services to ladies in distress, and i suppose i should add that he has in addition saved the lives of the ladies on board the barque lying astern. if there were a medal for that sort of thing he would assuredly deserve it. he ought to have been born six or seven hundred years ago, he would have made a delightful knight-errant. "what are the ladies like in the other ship, mr. glover?" "i have no idea, sir. i only saw them for a moment when i ran into the cabin and cut their bonds. i have only seen the gentlemen for a minute or two when they joined the boarders from the _thames_ under mr. turnbull, and i was much too busy to notice them." "have you not gone on board since?" "no, sir, i had nothing to go on board for, and i don't speak any spanish." "we tried to persuade him, monsieur l'amiral," valerie said, "but monsieur is modest, he has never let us thank him yet; and although he pretended that he only kept ahead of the other two because his ship was a faster sailer, it was really because he did not wish to be thanked." "but other people are modest too," the admiral said with a smile. "i have heard of two young ladies who came on board, and who would not stir out of their cabins until they had made themselves new dresses." the two girls both coloured up at the allusion, and monsieur pickard laughed. "now i will go below, mr. glover. she is very small by the side of the brigantine," he said, as he completed his visit of inspection. "i am not surprised that the pirates chased you after your impudence in firing at them, and that they thought they could eat you at a mouthful. now, we will pay a visit to the barque." to nat's great relief, he found that the passengers had all gone ashore. it was certain that they would be detained for some little time, as there would be legal formalities to be gone through, and repairs to be executed, and additional hands to be obtained; and, all feeling terribly shaken by the events that had taken place on board, and the loss in some cases of near relations, they had been glad to land until the ship was again ready for sea. the mate in charge handed to the admiral the ship's manifest and papers. "you have no seriously wounded on board?" the latter asked him. "because if so, i should advise you to send them ashore to the hospital at once." "no, sir. all who fell on the deck were thrown overboard by the pirates as soon as they obtained possession of the ship. i believe that they fastened shot to their feet to make them sink at once." the admiral nodded. "that is likely enough. dead bodies drifting ashore might cause inquiries to be made; their intention no doubt was to take all the most valuable part of the cargo out of the ship, and then to scuttle her with all on board." "are we likely to be detained here long, sir?" "not as far as we are concerned. we shall require you to sign in the presence of a magistrate here a formal document acknowledging that the vessel was absolutely captured, and in possession of the pirates, and that she was recaptured by his majesty's schooner the _arrow_, and to sign a bond on behalf of the owners to pay the legal proportion of the value of the ship and cargo to the admiralty prize court in london. you will, of course, take her home yourself, but i shall send a naval officer with you, as the ship and its contents remain the property of government until the charges upon her are acquitted. if we were at war with france we should retain her here until she could sail under convoy of a vessel of war homeward-bound, but there is no occasion for doing that now. i do not suppose that you will find much difficulty in obtaining mates and enough sailors to make up your complement here. scarcely a ship sails from the port without some of her men being left behind, either as deserters or through having been too drunk to rejoin. at any rate you had better be careful whom you pick, and if you should find a difficulty in obtaining men whose discharge-books show that they have hitherto borne a good character, i should advise you to ship eight or ten stout negroes. they are good hands at managing their own craft, and although they might not be of much use aloft, they are as a rule thoroughly trustworthy fellows, and quite as good for work on deck as our own men. i will give you an order on the dockyard for any repairs that you cannot get executed elsewhere. they will of course be charged for, but need not be paid for here, as they will go down in the account against the ship." fortunately the dockyard was not busy, and the _agile_ and the _arrow_ were the next morning taken into dock, and a strong gang of men at once set to work upon them. three days later a signal was made for nat to go on board the flagship. "i have received the report from the dockyard people, mr. glover," the admiral said. "they confirm our opinion that the _agile_ has not suffered any serious damage; that she is a new and well-built vessel, and well fitted for our service, and she will therefore be retained at the valuation they set upon her. here is your commission as her commander. having done so well in the little _arrow_, i have no doubt as to your ability and fitness for the post. she will carry forty hands. i shall give you two petty officers, a boatswain's mate and a gunner's mate. i had thought of giving you another midshipman, but i think it would be better that you should take a surgeon. three or four assistant surgeons came out last week, and i can very well spare you one. "i shall not give you one of the new arrivals, for it is better that these for a time should serve on larger ships, get accustomed to naval work, and learn the ordinary routine of duty on board. i shall, therefore, send you one from either the _theseus_ or the _limerick_, and fill up his place with a new-comer. your duties will be precisely the same as those assigned to you in the _arrow_, except that i shall not impress upon you the necessity for giving a wide berth to suspicious vessels. you will cruise on the coast of hayti, take off refugees, communicate, if possible, with chiefs of the insurgents, and see if there is any strong feeling among them in favour of annexation to england. you will be authorized, in case it is absolutely necessary in order to save the inhabitants of any coast town from slaughter from the blacks, either to help the garrison with your guns or to land a portion not exceeding half your crew to aid in the defence." "i am indeed greatly obliged to you, admiral, and assure you that i will do my best to merit your kindness and confidence." "it is to yourself rather than to me that you are indebted for what is virtually a step towards promotion. just at present i do not think that you are likely to have any opportunity of taking advantage of your increased force, as we have heard no complaints of pirates of late. we may hope that these scoundrels, finding that the islands are growing too hot for them, have moved away to safer quarters. at any rate, if there are any of them in these waters, they are likely to be among the northern cays, and are probably confining their depredations for a time to ships trading between europe and florida, or to vessels from here which have passed beyond the general limit of the seas we patrol." on nat's return to the dockyard, he delighted lippincott with the news of the exchange that they were to make. turnbull was in hospital, but the surgeons had reported that his wound was not so serious as it seemed at first, and that a fortnight's rest and quiet would go far to render him convalescent. the sailors, too, were glad to hear that they were going to be transferred to a craft in which they would be able to meet an enemy with confidence. they were also pleased to hear that there was to be no change in their officers, for they had unbounded trust in their young commander, and had from the first agreed that they had never sailed in a more comfortable ship. after seeing turnbull and acquainting him with the news, nat paid a visit to the pickards. they had landed on the evening of their arrival, and, after stopping a day in an hotel, had established themselves in a pretty house outside the town, which monsieur pickard had hired from a merchant who was on the point of sailing for england, and would be absent several months. monsieur pickard had, on arriving, gone to a merchant with whom he had business connections, and to whom he had frequently consigned produce for shipment to england or france when there happened to be no vessel in port-au-prince sailing for europe. he had obtained from him a loan on the security of the season's produce, which had, fortunately, been sent down to be warehoused at port-au-prince two or three weeks before the insurrection broke out. nat's friends, too, heartily congratulated him on obtaining the command of a larger vessel. "after the troubles and anxiety we have of late gone through, monsieur glover, we feel the comfort of being under the protection of the british flag, and shall enjoy it all the more now that we know that you are not going to sea again in that pretty little vessel, for if you fell in with another large corsair you might not be so fortunate as you were last time. as you have said, if an unlucky shot had struck one of your spars, you would have been at her mercy, and we know what that mercy would mean. i intend to stay here for a short time, till madame and the girls get quite accustomed to their new home, before sailing for port-au-prince; but whether i am at home or away you know how welcome you will be here whenever you happen to be in port. how long do you think it is likely to be before you are off?" "i was speaking to the superintendent of the dockyard before i came out, and he says that he will get the _agile_ ready for sea in three weeks' time. he cannot possibly manage it before; the hull could be ready in a week, but the suit of sails will require three times as long, though he has promised to take on some extra hands if he can get them. orders have, however, been given by the _thames_ to the chief native sail-maker of the place to patch some of the sails and to make several new ones, and he has taken up some of the best hands in the town. then, no doubt, whoever gets the command of the _arrow_ will be wanting her sails pushed forward, though that is not certain, for it is not unlikely that, now the _agile_ has been bought into the service, the _arrow_ will be sold. indeed, one of the principal merchants here would be glad to buy her as a private yacht if he had the chance, as he often has business at the other islands, and she is just the craft that would suit him. he said that by putting up shorter topmasts twelve men would be enough to sail her, and that he would exchange the guns for eight-pounders, as from what he had heard she could outsail almost any craft she was likely to meet with, and small guns would be quite sufficient to prevent any of these little native piratical craft from meddling with her. however, i think the superintendent will keep his word, and that in three weeks' time i shall be off." "i may possibly be at port-au-prince before you, then," monsieur pickard said. "i am thinking of chartering a small brig and going in her to port-au-prince, and bringing my goods back from there. now that the mulattoes are up in arms, the place cannot be considered as absolutely safe; and as i calculate they are worth from eight to ten thousand pounds, i think it will be well to get them over as soon as possible." "i quite agree with you, monsieur pickard, and should certainly advise you to lose no time. unless i get instructions to the contrary, i shall, in the first place, cruise round the shore of the bay of hayti." ten days later, indeed, monsieur pickard sailed in the brig that he had chartered. nat had called to say good-bye the evening before, and, to his embarrassment, was presented by him with a very handsome gold watch and chain, the former bearing the inscription that it was a small token of the deepest gratitude of eugene pickard, his wife and daughters, for having saved them from the most terrible fate. "it is only a little thing, monsieur glover," the planter said--"a feeble token of our gratitude, but something which many years hence will recall to your memory the inestimable service that you have rendered us." the superintendent of the dockyard kept his word, and in three weeks the _agile_ was afloat again, and the next morning twenty men drafted from the war-ships in the port were transferred to her. those of the _arrow_, with the exception of five still in the hospital, had shifted their quarters to her a fortnight previously. turnbull had rejoined the evening before. his arm was still in a sling, but otherwise he was quite convalescent. lippincott had that morning given up the bandage round his head, which had kept him almost a prisoner until now, for he had refused to go into the town until after nightfall with his head bound up, although nat had many times assured him that an honourable wound would not be regarded as any disadvantage by the young ladies at kingston. the assistant surgeon, james doyle, a cheery young irishman, also joined that morning. "it is glad i am to be out of all the ceremony and botheration on board the frigate," he said as he shook hands with nat, "and to be afloat on my own account, as it were. saunders, the surgeon, was enough to wear one out with his preciseness and his regulations; faith, he was a man who would rather take off a man's leg than listen to a joke, and it put me on thorns to hear him speak to the men as if they were every one of them shamming--as if anyone would pretend to be ill when he had to take the bastely medicines saunders used to make up for them." "i don't think you will find much shamming here, doctor, especially if the new hands are as good as the others; and i hope that your services will not often be required except in the matter of wounds." "no fighting means no wounds, and i am afraid that there is no hope of fighting," the surgeon said, shaking his head mournfully; "you and the _orpheus_ have pretty well cleared out the pirates, and it was a case of pure luck that you came across this craft the other day. but there is no doubt that the _orpheus'_ men have had all the luck, and the big ships' turn won't come till we have war with france. however, it may be that the luck will stick to you for a bit yet, for, by my faith, i shall before long have forgotten how to take off a limb or to tie up an artery for want of practice. we all envied you when you came in the other day with the two prizes behind you, both big enough to have eaten you up, and though we cheered, there was many a man who grumbled, 'bad cess to them, the _orpheus_' men have got all the luck.'" "but the _orpheus_ had nothing to do with it," nat laughed. "no, i know that; but you had been one of their men, and had, as i have heard, more than your share already of adventures." nat had received no further orders, and sailed that afternoon; two days later he was off the entrance of the great bay. he coasted along the shore as near as he could venture, always keeping a man on watch for signals made by anyone anxious to be taken off. when it became dark the anchor was dropped, so that no part of the shore could be passed without the ship being observed. it was on the seventh day after sailing that he arrived at port-au-prince. half an hour after he had anchored, monsieur pickard came off in a boat. "it is lucky that i lost no time," he said after the first greetings were over; "i got my last bale of goods on board the brig an hour ago, and we are going to warp her out at once so as to be under shelter of your guns." "why, what is the matter?" "there is news that a large force of mulattoes and negroes are coming down from the hills and will be here probably to-morrow morning. luckily a great part of the negroes were turned out of the town a fortnight ago. there are only two hundred soldiers here, and about as many white volunteers--little enough to defend the place if they attack us. no doubt they chose the moment because there is not a french war-ship of any kind in port. however, i think that all the white women and children are on board the ships. they are all crowded. i have about twenty on board the brig, and have rigged up a sail as an awning, and on such a warm night as this they will sleep better there than they would in a cabin. i can assure you that there was the greatest satisfaction when you were seen coming in. several of the captains had talked of towing their vessels out three or four miles into the bay, but as soon as it was certain that you were an armed ship, the idea was given up, as many of them were only half-laden; and it was felt that, of whatever nationality you were, you would prevent the negroes from coming off in boats to murder the women and children. of course i did not know that it was you until i made out your figure from the shore, but as soon as i did so, i told all i knew that they need not trouble about the safety of those on board ship, for i could answer for it that you would not hesitate to turn your guns on any boats that went out to attack them." "well, monsieur pickard, i cannot believe that the town will be taken, but at any rate i congratulate you on having got all your produce an board." "yes, it is a very important matter to us; we cannot calculate upon finding a purchaser for our house at cape françois at anything approaching its value at ordinary times. i have a couple of thousand pounds lying at my banker's, and although six months ago i would not have taken forty thousand for the estate and the slaves upon it, i suppose i may consider myself fortunate if i get half that sum, or even less, now. anyhow, if i get my crop here safe to jamaica, i need not worry myself as to the future." "if the place is attacked in the morning, monsieur, i have the admiral's authority to land half my men to aid in the defence; and though twenty men is but a small number, they may render some assistance. i intend to hold them in reserve, and to take them to any spot at which the insurgents may be pressing back the defenders. i shall be obliged if you will inform the officer in command of the troops and the civil authorities that they can count on my assistance to that extent. will you give them my advice to get all the available boats ranged along by the quay opposite to us, so that in case of the worst all can retreat there. i will cover their embarkation with my guns. lastly, i should advise the captains of all the ships in port to tow their vessels out and range them behind us, so that there may be nothing to interfere with our line of fire." "i will inform the committee of defence directly i go ashore, and they will doubtless send off at once to order the various ships to anchor at the spot you indicate. it will be a relief, indeed, to them all to know that you have undertaken their protection." "i will go ashore with you," nat said; "though i have landed here more than once i do not know the place well enough to be able to act quickly. i should like to see exactly where your batteries are placed, and where it is most likely that the negroes will make their chief attack." they went ashore and landed together, and walked to the house where the principal men of the town were assembled. "will you come in with me?" monsieur pickard asked. "no, i will leave you to explain what i propose to do and what i recommend that they should do. there is sure to be a lot of talk and discussion, and i do not wish to lose time. the sun will be setting in another hour, so i will make my round at once." passing through the town, nat visited the various batteries that had been erected, and decided that if the blacks were well led they would work round and attack the remains of the native town. the batteries had principally been erected round the european quarter, as if any enemy coming from the hills would be certain to make a direct attack, while the native quarter was almost entirely undefended, although with this once in the possession of the enemy the whole town would lie open to them. "it is clear that this is the real point of danger," he muttered. "fortunately, from where we are lying our guns can sweep the widest street that runs down through this quarter. i shall mention my ideas to pickard. no doubt he is still talking away at the meeting." he went back to the house. m. pickard and half a dozen other gentlemen were standing at the door. m. pickard at once introduced them to him. "my object in coming round here, gentlemen, is to tell you that in my opinion your defences, which are quite strong enough to protect the town against any body of negroes coming down on the easterly side, are wholly insufficient to repel an attack if made on the native town. i trust, therefore, that when the troops man the defences a considerable number of them at least will be so placed as to be ready to meet an attack from that side. there is practically nothing to prevent the negroes from entering there, and, as many of the mulattoes with them must be perfectly aware of the position of the batteries, they are scarcely likely to propose to make an attack upon them, knowing that the negroes would not be able to face an artillery fire, but would lead them round to attack the almost defenceless native portion of the town." "we have always reckoned upon their coming upon us by one of the main roads from the hills," one of the gentlemen said. "so i see, monsieur; but some of the mulattoes with them are men of considerable intelligence, and would be hardly foolish enough to try to break down the door that you have closed against them when they know that there is an open entrance at the back. if there is a man with the smallest spark of military genius about him he will commence the attack by a feint in considerable force against the batteries, and then, under cover of the smoke of your guns and his own--for i hear from monsieur pickard that they are said to have fifteen or twenty guns which they have taken at small places on the coast--will send round the main body of his force to fall on the native town. that is my opinion, gentlemen. i know very little of military matters, but it seems to me that is the course that any man of moderate intelligence would pursue, and i therefore should strongly advise that at least half your volunteer force should take post to defend the native town, and so give time to the remainder to come up and assist in the defence. i shall post my sailors in a position where they can best aid in the defence in this direction, and shall have the guns of my ship in readiness to open fire on the native town if you are driven back." "thank you, sir. we shall have another meeting late this evening, and i shall do my best to urge the committee to act as you suggest." nat returned on board the _agile_. already most of the ships in the port had anchored a short distance outside the brigantine, and a few that had kept on until the last moment taking their cargo on board were being towed by their boats in the same direction. turnbull and lippincott were anxiously awaiting nat's return. retiring into the cabin, he told them the result of his investigation of the defences and the position on shore. "i think we shall have hot work to-morrow," he went on. "if the negroes are not absolute fools they will not knock their heads against the batteries. there are twenty cannon in position, for the most part ships' guns, and as i hear that they have plenty of ammunition, and especially grape, they would simply mow the niggers down if they attacked them. there is only one battery with three guns covering the native town, and the blacks ought to have no difficulty in carrying this with a rush. we have learnt by experience that, whatever their faults, they can fight furiously, and are ready enough to risk their lives. thus, this battery may be taken in a few minutes. if a hundred of the volunteers held the huts behind it they might check them for a time, but as the negroes are several thousands strong the resistance cannot be long. the best point of defence will be that street facing us here. our guns will come into play, and it is there that i shall join the french as they fall back. "i shall get you, mr. lippincott, to row round this evening to all these craft near us, and to request the captains, in my name, to send all the men provided with muskets they may have, on board us, as soon as firing is heard. you will remain on board in charge, turnbull; with your arm in a sling, you are not fit for fighting on shore. with your twenty men you ought to be able to work the guns pretty fast. between their shots the men with muskets would aid. of course you would use grape. if their attack lulls in the least send a few round-shot among the houses on their side. pomp and sam had better go ashore with us and act as boat-keepers. i will take the boat higher up than those of the townspeople, for if a panic seizes them there would be a mad rush to get on board. we will go a couple of hundred yards farther, and the boat will lie a short distance out, and not come in close till they see us running towards it. in that way we can make sure of being able to get on board." "i should certainly have liked to land," turnbull said, "but i know that i am not fit yet for hard fighting." "i suppose you will be taking me along with you?" doyle said. "by all means come if you like, but i was not thinking of doing so." "it is not often that we get a chance of taking a share in the fun. as a rule, as soon as the guns are loaded and ready for action we have to go below, and to stop there bandaging and dressing wounds, with not a chance of seeing what is going on. this is just one chance in a hundred. i should be no good here, for there is no one to look after. i will take with me two or three tourniquets and some bandages, and perchance i may be the means of saving some poor boy's life; and while not so engaged i may have a slap at these murdering blacks. i am a pretty good shot, and when a man can bring down ten snipe out of every dozen, as i have done time after time in the ould country, he ought to be able to put a bullet into a black man's carcass." "if you are bent upon going, by all means do so. as you say, a tourniquet clapped on directly a man is wounded may save his life, and every additional musket will be a valuable addition to our strength." chapter xv the attack on port-au-prince it was just getting light on the following morning when the sound of a cannon was heard, and it was followed by several other shots, mingled with the rattle of distant musketry. the town woke up with a start. drums beat in the streets, and in a minute or two men armed with rifles and muskets poured out from their houses, and hurried to the rendezvous settled upon the night before. the firing came from the eastern side of the town, and the three batteries in that direction were all engaged. mingled with the report of the guns came the sound of a more distant cannonade, showing that the insurgents' artillery was also at work. among the shipping there was as great an excitement as in the town. on board every ship men were running up the ratlines to see if a view of the scene of action could be obtained from aloft. on the decks numbers of women, who had hastily thrown on their upper clothing, or wrapped themselves in shawls, listened anxiously to the sound of firing. scarce one but had a husband, brother, or son among the defenders of the place. there were ten vessels lying outside the _agile_, and from each of these boats presently put off to the brigantine, some with three or four men, others with as many as ten, all armed with muskets. "you will soon see how matters go, turnbull, and whether this is a real or only a feigned attack." the landing-party were in a few minutes ready to embark. each man carried fifty rounds of ammunition for his musket, and a dozen additional cartridges for his pistols. their water-bottles were slung over their shoulders, and each had a hunch of bread and of cold meat that had been boiled in the galley the night before in readiness. they took their places in the cutter and gig, and were soon rowed ashore to the point which nat had fixed on the previous evening. the various boats and lighters used in loading the ships had all been gathered at the quay facing the _agile_, and nat was pleased to see that his advice in this respect had been followed. the orders to sam and pomp, who were to remain one in each boat, were that they should push the boats out as far as the head-ropes--which had been lengthened for the occasion--would allow them, drop a small grapnel over the stern, and should then keep a sharp look-out. the moment the party were seen returning they were to pull up the grapnels, and haul on the head-ropes till the boats were alongside. both were armed, and the orders were that they were to shoot anyone who should try to force himself into either boat before the sailors came up. nat led his party to an empty house close to the street commanded by the _agile's_ guns. six of the sailors were placed as sentinels at the ends of streets running into this, the rest piled arms. "now, mr. lippincott, i shall be obliged if you will go and ascertain how the affair is proceeding, and whether the batteries are keeping the insurgents well in check. i am about to start for the battery on this side, where i shall get a fair view of the country round, and see how matters stand. "you will remain here, mr. thompson," he went on to the boatswain, "in charge of the party. i shall take newman with me in case i have any orders to send to you. will you come with me also, doyle?" the two officers, followed by an active young seaman, started. on arriving near the end of the native town, nat was glad to see a group of the volunteers in front of him. they saluted as he came up. "what force have you here, gentlemen?" he asked. "fifty men, captain." "it would have been better if it had been a hundred and fifty. if they come here in force you will not be able to keep them at bay long. where is your main body?" "they are gathered in front of the municipal offices in readiness to move wherever their services may be most required." "that is quite satisfactory. i was afraid that most of them might be at the batteries at the other side of the town, where the troops ought to be quite able to hold their own against the blacks." at this moment another gentleman, with a red sash over his shoulder, came up. he was the commander of the company stationed there. "i am afraid that we are rather out of it, monsieur," he said, after exchanging salutes with nat. "i am still more afraid, sir, that you are by no means out of it. i think that you will find that before many minutes are over you will be hotly engaged. i have come forward to tell you that my men are placed just on the other side of royal street, and to beg that if you are not able to maintain yourselves here--and if you are attacked, i am convinced that it will be in such force that you will be unable to do so--you will not endanger your force by holding on here too long, but will retreat to royal street, and there make a stand, occupying the houses on the other side of the street. the guns of my vessel are loaded and in readiness to sweep the street with grape as the negroes try to cross it; and we shall have in addition some forty or fifty men from the merchantmen outside her, who will aid in keeping them in check. if i might advise you, i should say that it would be well for you to write a note, now that you have time to do so, saying that you are attacked in overwhelming force, and are about to fall back to royal street, which you will, aided by my sailors and guns, hold to the last, and begging your commander to send his whole force up to support you. this you will, of course, keep until the attack comes, and will send off as soon as you perceive that your position here is untenable." "i think that is a very good suggestion," the officer said, "and shall carry it out at once." "i will go on to the battery," nat said; "from there i shall get a better idea of the situation." they had scarcely gone beyond the line of houses when a french soldier came running in. "what is your news?" nat asked him. "a great crowd of the enemy are coming, sir. the captain has sent me to beg the commander of the volunteers here to bring up his force to support him." "you will find him a hundred yards farther on. now, doctor, you will go forward and have a look." arriving at the battery, which was manned by twenty french soldiers under a young lieutenant, nat and the doctor mounted the parapet. the enemy were still half a mile away. they were in no sort of order, but were coming on in a confused mass. "there must be three or four thousand of them, lieutenant," nat said quietly. "you may check them a little, but you will never keep them out of the town if they come on with a rush. i suppose you are loaded with grape?" "yes, monsieur," the young frenchman said. he felt relieved at the arrival of the commander of the british ship of war, for he was feeling the responsibility of his position greatly. "i should let them get within four or five hundred yards," nat said quietly, "then fire your guns singly, loading as rapidly as possible. here come the volunteers; place five-and-twenty of them on each side of your battery. let them lie down, and open fire when the enemy are within two hundred and fifty yards. if they come on in spite of the fire, i should say that you had best all retire at the double. it will be of no use trying to hold the houses; they would only outflank you and cut you off. i have already arranged with the volunteers that they shall make a stand at royal street. i have a party of my sailors there in readiness to help them, and as the guns of my ship will sweep the street we should certainly be able to hold it until help arrives." "thank you, monsieur, i will do as you suggest." at this moment the volunteers came up at a run. "where do you wish me to place my men?" the captain said to the french lieutenant. "i shall be obliged if you will put half of them on each side of the battery. let them lie down there, and open fire when the enemy are within two hundred and fifty yards. if when they get within a hundred yards, your fire and ours does not stop them, we will then retreat together at the double. if we were once surrounded we should have no chance whatever. give your guns an elevation of five hundred yards," he said to his men. when this was done he looked inquiringly at nat. the other nodded. "yes, i think it is about five hundred yards." then he turned to the seaman: "go back as quickly as you can, newman, and tell mr. thompson that the blacks are coming, and that we shall probably be with him five minutes after you arrive. tell him also to send a man down as we had arranged to the wharf, to signal to the ship to be in readiness." as he spoke the first of the guns boomed out. a few seconds later the second was fired, and this was followed by the third at a similar interval. the cannon were old ship guns, and had been heavily charged with grape, and the destruction wrought upon the crowded mass of negroes was so great that they stopped suddenly. several of their leaders were seen to rush to the front waving and gesticulating, and with a wild yell the negroes again advanced. they had gone but fifty yards when the gun that was first fired spoke out again, followed quickly by the others. this time there was no pause in the advance. yelling furiously the negroes, who were armed with guns, discharged them at random. two more rounds were fired, and then the crakle of the rifles and muskets of the volunteers broke out. the centre of the negro line paused indecisively, but the flanks continued on their way without a check. "it is just as i thought," nat said to the doctor, who was loading and firing his piece rapidly. "do you see how their flanks are extending? one more round, lieutenant, and then we had best be going, or we shall be cut off from the town." again the three guns were discharged. the execution was terrible in the centre of the black line, but the flanks still kept on. "now, captain, get your men together," nat said to the civilian officer who was standing beside him; "if you go to the right i will go to the left. they won't hear our voices in this din." another half-minute and the soldiers and volunteers were running at the top of their speed, but keeping well together, towards the town. they had a hundred and fifty yards' start, and also the advantage that the blacks had been coming forward at a run for over half a mile. therefore, although the latter came on with yells of triumph and exultation, they did not gain on the little party. indeed, when they once entered the native town the french considerably increased their distance, for the negroes, fearing that they might fall into an ambush, came along more carefully. "post your men at the windows of the houses opposite to you," nat said to the french lieutenant. "did you send your messenger on?" he asked, as he ran up to the volunteer officer. the latter gave an exclamation of horror. "no, i forgot all about it." "so did i, or i should have reminded you of it. give it to one of the men now, and tell him to take it as hard as he can run. tell your men off in threes and fours to the houses opposite. i have no doubt we can keep them in check till help comes." thompson was waiting in the street as the party ran up. "where have you posted your men?" nat asked him. "i thought most likely that they would come down this street, so i put four men in each of the two houses facing it, seven are in the two houses facing the next street coming down, the rest are here." nat hurried up to the french officer. "my men are in the two houses facing this and the next street, will you occupy the houses next them, and tell the officer of the volunteers to scatter his men in twos and threes in the other houses. doctor, you had better join the party in the house facing the next street; and do you, mr. thompson, place yourself with five men in the house facing the street beyond. we shall have the brunt of it, for they are more likely to come by these streets than by those near the harbour, knowing, as they do, that our ship is lying anchored off there." it was three or four minutes before nat, from the window at which he had posted himself, saw a great body of negroes and mulattoes coming along the street facing him. "open fire at once, lads," he said. "take good aim; every shot ought to tell in that crowd, and our fire will let them know on board that the blacks are close at hand." yelling, shouting, and brandishing their weapons, the insurgents poured down. the fire from the next two parties had showed that the negroes were also advancing by the streets above. a minute later three black columns poured into royal street, and as they did so a fire broke out from every window facing them. then came a deep roar, and a storm of grape swept along the street; another and another followed, and with yells of surprise and fear the rioters rushed back into shelter, leaving the streets strewn with dead and dying. it was some minutes before they could rally, and in the meantime three of the guns of the _agile_ sent ball after ball among the houses to the west of the street. three times did the negroes attempt to cross the fatal road, but each time they fell back with heavy loss, which was specially severe in their last attempt, as the main body of the volunteers had now come up, entered by the backs of the houses and joined the defenders, and the fire of two hundred and fifty muskets played terrible havoc among the assailants. there was a pause in the fight now, and the ship's broadside continued to sweep the native town with balls while an occasional spurt of musketry fire broke out when the blacks showed themselves in any of the streets. suddenly from a score of houses in the native town smoke, followed speedily by flames, mounted up. "the scoundrels have fired the town," exclaimed doyle, who had now joined nat. "they see they have no chance of crossing here, and as they cannot plunder the place they have made up their mind to destroy it." "yes, and they are likely to succeed, doctor, the wind is blowing this way. half the native houses are roofed with palm leaves, and will burn like tinder. our only chance now is to drive the blacks out altogether and then fight the fire." he at once sent a sailor down with a flag to signal to the ship to stop firing, then he went out into the street. as soon as he was seen he was joined by the french lieutenant and the commander, with several officers of the volunteers, together with monsieur pickard. "i think, gentlemen," nat said, "that unless we take the offensive and drive the blacks out of the town there will be little hope of extinguishing the fire. the wind is blowing strongly in this direction, and there is not a moment to be lost if we are to save the town. the negroes must be thoroughly demoralized, they must have lost over a thousand men here and three or four hundred before they entered the town. it is quite likely that they have retreated already, but in any case i do not anticipate any serious resistance." the others at once agreed. the drums were beaten, and the volunteers, soldiers, and sailors poured out from the houses, and then, dividing into three columns, advanced down the streets through which the blacks had retired. they met with no resistance. a few negroes who had entered houses to gather plunder were shot down as they issued out, but with these exceptions none of the enemy were seen until the columns issued from the town, when the negroes could be seen retreating at a run across the plain. the french officer at once ran forward with his men to the little battery, and sent shot after shot among them, for they were still less than half a mile away. the sailors and volunteers slung their muskets behind them, and, running back, endeavoured to check the course of the flames. this, however, was impossible. the fire spread from house to house with extraordinary rapidity. the wind hurled the burning flakes on ahead, dropping many upon the inflammable roofs, and in twenty minutes the whole quarter west of royal street was in flames. nat was now joined by turnbull and all the crew, the two negroes, who had been sent off to the ship with the boats, alone remaining in charge of the vessel. "we have beaten the negroes, turnbull, but the fire will beat us. if this wind continues it will sweep the whole town away. it is useless to try and save any of these native houses. look at the burning flakes flying over our heads!" after a short consultation with the french officers they agreed that the only chance was to arrest the fire at the edge of the european quarter, and that the whole force should at once set to work to pull down the native houses adjoining them. the sound of cannon on the other side of the town had continued until now, but it gradually ceased, as the news reached the negroes there that the main attack, of whose success they had felt sure, had hopelessly failed, and it was not long before the troops from the batteries came up to assist the workers. their labours, however, were in vain. a shout of dismay called the attention of the men who, half-blinded with the dust and smoke, were working their utmost. looking round, they saw that the flames were mounting up from several of the houses behind them. the wood-work was everywhere as dry as tinder, and the burning flakes, which were falling thickly upon them, had set the houses on fire in a dozen places. "we can do nothing more, sir," the officer in command of the troops said. "the business part of the town is doomed. all that we could even hope to save are the detached houses standing in gardens and shrubberies." so it turned out. the flames swept onward until the business quarter, as well as the native town, was completely burnt out, and it needed all the efforts of the soldiers and inhabitants to prevent the private residences of the merchants and planters from being ignited by the burning fragments scattered far and wide by the wind. it was noon when the officers and crew of the _agile_, accompanied by m. pickard--who was, like all the rest blackened by the dust and smoke--returned on board. "well, that has been as hot a morning's work as i ever went through," turnbull said. "it is hard to believe that a battle has been fought and a town destroyed in the course of about five hours." "yes; i think on the whole we may be very well satisfied, turnbull, though i suppose the people who have lost their houses and stores will hardly see it in the same light. still, they saved their lives, and at any rate, monsieur pickard, you can be congratulated on having got all your goods on board just in time." "i am thankful indeed that it is so," the planter said. "i hope, of course, to get something for my estate. as to the house, after what we have seen here i cannot set much value on it. what has happened this morning may happen at cape françois to-morrow. they might not be able to take it, but a dozen negroes choosing their time when a strong wind is blowing, and starting the fires in as many places, might level the town to the ground. at any rate, i shall direct the captain of the brig to sail at once for kingston, and to deliver the cargo to my agent there, and shall proceed myself to cape françois. i wish to learn whether the bank there has sent off its funds and securities to some safer place, or is retaining them. in the latter case i shall withdraw them at once, and shall put up my estates for sale." "i will give you a passage, monsieur pickard. i have nothing more to stay here for, and shall sail up the coast to-morrow morning." "thank you very much; i accept your offer with gladness. i am anxious to close all my connection with this unfortunate island as soon as possible." in the afternoon the governor of the town, with the officer commanding the troops, the maire, and a deputation of the leading citizens, came off to thank nat for the assistance that his crew and guns had rendered. they brought with them an official document rehearsing these services, and saying that had it not been for the assistance they had rendered, the town would undoubtedly have been captured by the blacks, and probably all the whites on shore massacred, together with their wives and families, who had taken refuge on board the shipping. the commandant stated that this document would be sent to the british admiral at kingston. nat replied very modestly, saying that both the officers and men on board had rejoiced at being able to render a service in the cause of humanity, and that he was only acting in accordance with the orders he had received from the admiral to afford every aid in his power to the white population of the island. after this official visit many of the merchants, planters, and military officers came off individually to thank him for having saved their wives and families by the protection that he had afforded to the shipping, and by the aid given by his guns and the landing-party, which had alone saved the town from capture. at daybreak next morning the _agile_ got up her anchor and started for the north. the brig containing monsieur pickard's property had sailed the previous afternoon, and the rest of the shipping were preparing to start at the time the _agile_ got up anchor. all of them were crowded with fugitives, the women and children being now joined by many of their male relatives, who had lost almost all they possessed by the destruction of their homes and warehouses. the next morning the brigantine arrived at cape françois. the news she brought of the destruction of port-au-prince caused great excitement, as it was felt that the fate that had befallen one town might well happen to another. monsieur pickard at once went to the bank, where he found that the greater portion of the specie and all valuable documents had already been sent for safety to jamaica, and he received an order upon the bank there for the payment to him of the money he had placed on deposit in the bank, and of the various securities and documents that had been held in safe-keeping for him. he then went to pay a visit to monsieur duchesne, to whose house nat, who had landed with him, had gone direct. the family were delighted to see him. "you may expect another visitor shortly," he said. "monsieur pickard has come on shore with me; he has gone to the bank now, but said that he would come on here later." "then he has escaped," madame duchesne exclaimed. "we had hardly even hoped that he and his family had done so, for we knew that the blacks had risen everywhere in that part of the island." "yes, i am happy to say that he, madame pickard, and his two daughters, all got safely away; in fact, they all came off to my craft--not the _agile_, you know, but to the _arrow_; and i had the pleasure of taking them as passengers to jamaica, where the ladies still are." "that is good news indeed," myra said. "valerie is a great friend of mine. of course louise is younger, but i was very fond of her too. the year before last i spent a couple of months with them at their plantation; and, as i daresay they told you, they are always here for three or four months in the winter season." nat then told them what had taken place at port-au-prince, and how he and his men had taken part in the fight. "it is terrible news indeed," said m. duchesne; "and one can scarcely feel safe here. port-au-prince is the largest town in hayti, with the exception only of this, which is quite as open to the danger of fire. i think this will decide us on leaving. matters seem going from bad to worse. i don't know whether you know that three commissioners have arrived from france. so far from improving the state of things, they are making them worse every day. as far as can be seen, they are occupied solely in filling their own pockets; they have enormously increased the taxation, and that at a time when everyone is on the verge of ruin. no account is given of the sums they collect, and certainly the money has not been spent in taking any measures either for the safety of the town or for the suppression of the insurrection. i have wound up all my affairs here, and have disposed of our plantations. there are many who still believe that in time everything will come right again; i have myself no hope. even if we got peaceful possession of our estates, there would be no hands to work them. the freedom of all the blacks has been voted by that mad assembly in paris; and if there is one thing more certain than another, it is that the negroes will not work until they are obliged to, so the estates will be practically worthless. therefore i have accepted an offer for a sum which is about a quarter of what the estate was worth before, and consider that it is so much saved out of the fire." "monsieur pickard is of exactly the same opinion as you are," nat said, "and has come here principally for the purpose of disposing of his estate on any terms that he can obtain." "well, i do not think he will find any difficulty in getting about the same proportion of value as we have done. the rich mulattoes are buying freely, and, as i say, some of the whites are doing the same. ah, here he is! "ah, my dear pickard, we are glad indeed to see you, and to learn from our friend here that your wife and daughters are safe in jamaica." "we have been very anxious about you," madame duchesne said; "and myra has been constantly talking of your family." "it was the same with us, i can assure you, madame; and it is strange that we should first have obtained tidings of your safety from monsieur glover, and that you should also have obtained news of ours from him. still more so that while he has, as he said to us, been of some little service to you--but which, we learnt from one of his officers, seems to have been considerable--it is to him that we also owe our lives." "little service!" madame duchesne repeated indignantly. "however, we know monsieur glover of old. first of all he saved myra's life from that dog, and certainly he saved both our lives from the negroes. and did he save yours? he has just told us that you came on board with him, and that he took you to jamaica. still, that is not like what he did for us." "that is one way of putting it, madame," monsieur pickard said with a smile; "but as you say you know him of old, you will not be surprised at the little story that i have to tell you." "not now, monsieur pickard," nat said hastily, "or if you do i shall say good-bye to madame duchesne at once, and go straight on board." "you must not do that," madame duchesne said as he rose to his feet; "you have only just arrived, and we are not going to let you off so easily." "we will compromise," her husband said. "now, monsieur glover, you know that my wife and daughter will be dying of curiosity until they hear this story. suppose you take a turn down the town with me. i will go and enquire whether there is any ship likely to sail in the course of a few days or so for jamaica. then monsieur pickard can tell his story, and my wife can retail it to me later on. you see, monsieur pickard's wife and daughters are great friends of ours, and madame and myra naturally wish to hear what has happened to them during this terrible time." "very well," nat said with a laugh, "i don't mind accepting that compromise; but really i do hate hearing things talked over which were just ordinary affairs. but remember that monsieur pickard naturally will make a great deal more of them than they are worth, since, no doubt, the outcome of them was that he and his family did get out of the hands of the blacks in consequence. now, monsieur duchesne, i will start with you at once, so that madame and myra's curiosity may be satisfied as soon as possible." monsieur duchesne took nat first to call upon the three commissioners, who happened to be gathered in council. the commandant at port-au-prince had asked him to convey the report he had hastily drawn up of the attack on the town. this he had sent ashore as soon as he anchored; and the commissioners were discussing the news when nat and monsieur duchesne were shown in. "i thought, gentlemen," nat said, "that you might perhaps like to ask me questions upon any point that was not explained in the commandant's report, which was, as he told me, drawn up in great haste; for with four-fifths of the town laid in ashes, and the population homeless and unprovided with food, his hands were full indeed." "thank you, lieutenant glover. the report does full justice to your interposition in our favour, and indeed states that had it not been for the assistance rendered by yourself and the ship of war you command, the town would unquestionably have been carried by the insurgents, and that the whole of the whites, including the troops, would probably have been massacred. had this been done, it would undoubtedly have so greatly encouraged the rioters that we could hardly have hoped to maintain our hold even of this city." "i was only carrying out the orders that i received in landing to protect the white inhabitants from massacre, gentlemen." "in your opinion, is anyone to blame for the course events took?" "even had i that opinion," nat said, "i should certainly not consider myself justified in criticising the action of the officers and authorities of a foreign power. however, the circle of the town was too large to be defended by the force available, of whom half were volunteers, ready to fight most gallantly, as i can testify, but not possessing the discipline of trained troops. i do not think, however, that even had batteries been erected all round the town, the insurgents could have been prevented from effecting an entrance at some points, and setting fire to the houses. they advanced with great determination, in spite of the destructive grape fire maintained by the three guns of the battery. undoubtedly had the batteries been placed together on that side, as on the one at which it was thought probable that the attack would be made, the insurgents might have been repulsed, but it would have needed a much larger force than that in the town to man all those batteries. and i think it is by no means improbable that even in that case the town might have been burnt; for there were still a large number of negroes employed on the wharves and in the warehouses, and you may take it as certain that some of these were in close communication with the insurgents, and probably agreed to fire the town should their friends fail to effect an entrance. i can only say, sir, that the citizens enrolled for defence fought most gallantly, as did the small party of soldiers manning the battery on that side, and that when the fighting was over all laboured nobly to check the progress of the flames." several questions were put to him concerning the details of the fighting, and the measures that had been taken for the safety of the women and children, the part his own men played, and the manner in which the insurgents, after gaining a footing in the town, had been prevented from obtaining entire possession of it. at the conclusion of the interview, which had lasted for upwards of two hours, the commissioners thanked nat very cordially. "you see," monsieur duchesne said, when they left the governor's house, "they asked no single question as to whether you thought there was any danger of a similar catastrophe taking place here." "yes, i noticed they did not. if they had, i could have told them very plainly that, although the negroes suffered very heavily, yet the news that the second town in hayti had been almost destroyed would be sure to raise their hopes, and that i consider it extremely probable that some day or other this town will also be attacked, and no time should be lost in putting it into a state of thorough defence. i can't say that they impressed me at all favourably." "short as is the time that they have been here, they have managed to excite all parties against them. they have issued an amnesty, pardoning even those who have committed the most frightful atrocities upon us. they have infuriated a portion of the mulattoes by announcing the repeal of the decree in their favour. without a shadow of legal authority they have extorted large sums of money from those mulattoes who have remained quiet and are resident here, and seem bent upon extracting all that remains of their late fortune from the whites. one of them is frequently drunk and leads a scandalous life; another appears bent solely upon enriching himself; the third seems to be a well-meaning man, but he is wholly under the control of his drunken companion. if this is the sort of aid we are to receive from france, our future is hopeless indeed. and, indeed, no small portion of my friends begin to see that unless england takes possession of the island the future is altogether hopeless. the general opinion here is that it is impossible that peace can much longer be maintained between england and france, and they hope that one of the first steps england will take after war is declared will be to land an army here." "if the english government were persuaded that the mulattoes and negroes as well as the whites were favourable, i should think that the island might be annexed without difficulty; but unless all parties are agreed i cannot think that a force could be spared that could even hope for success. it would have been an easy task before the mulattoes and the slaves learned their own strength, but it is a very different thing now; and i should say that it would need at least five-and-twenty thousand men, and perhaps even twice that number, to reduce the island to submission and to restore peace and order. i cannot think that, engaged in a war with france, england would be able to spare anything like that force for a difficult and almost certainly a long series of operations here." by this time they had arrived at monsieur duchesne's house. "our friend has only just finished his story," madame duchesne said, as he entered. "what a story! what frightful sufferings! what horrors! and," she added with a smile, though her eyes were full of tears--"what 'little' service rendered by you and your brave crew! he has told it all, and of your fight afterwards with that terrible pirate, and how you have added to the list of those you have saved from terrible deaths some eighteen or twenty spanish gentlemen and ladies, and twice as many sailors." "yes, i have had wonderful luck," nat said; "and you see i have been well rewarded. i am only just out of my time as a midshipman, and i am in command of a fine ship, which, in the ordinary course of things, i could not have hoped for for another eight or ten years. i have gained a considerable amount of prize-money, and best of all, the friendship of yourselves and the family of monsieur pickard. and the real author of all this is mademoiselle myra, who was good enough to have that little quarrel with her aunt's dog just at the time that i happened to be passing." this raised a laugh, which in myra's case became almost hysterical, and her mother had to take her out of the room. "now, monsieur duchesne, i will take this opportunity of returning on board. i promised you that i would come ashore and dine with you this evening, but i must really make its fulfilment conditional upon your assuring me that there shall be no allusion to any of my adventures." [illustration: a message from toussaint l'ouverture.] "at any rate, i will impress upon my wife and daughter that the subject must be tabooed, and i have no doubt that they will do their best to avoid it, if they can keep away from the topic that cannot but be present in their minds. after hearing monsieur pickard's story--of which, as you must remember, i am at present wholly ignorant--you see that, intimate as the two families have been, it is not surprising that they should have been greatly affected by it, especially as for the last month they have been mourning for them as dead." chapter xvi toussaint l'ouverture the _agile_ only remained for two days at cape françois, but in that time nat had learned enough of the doings of the french commissioners to see that the position was becoming hourly more and more hopeless, and nought short of the arrival of a powerful army from france under a capable commander, without political bias and with supreme authority, or the taking over of the island by the english, could bring back peace and prosperity. he was, however, rejoiced to know that monsieur duchesne had already taken passages for himself, his wife and daughter, and the old nurse, to jamaica, and would leave in a few days; and that monsieur pickard had received and accepted an offer for his estate, which was at least as good as he had hoped for, and would also return to kingston as soon as the necessary documents could be prepared and signed. for some weeks the _agile_ cruised backwards and forwards along the coast of hayti without adventure. nat had endeavoured, but unsuccessfully, to open communication with the blacks under biassou and françois, the two chief negro leaders. it was seldom, indeed, that he caught sight of a human being except when cruising in the bay. the mountains along both the north and the south coast were thinly populated. the white planters and employees had perished to a man, and all the smaller villages had been deserted. st. louis, jacmel, fesle, and sale trou were occupied by small bodies of french troops, but most of the settlers had left; and the whole of the negroes had from the first taken to the mountains. the same was the case at port dauphin, port de paix, le cap, and st. nicholas on the north. it was at st. nicholas that he was for the first time able to open communication with the negroes. he had anchored in the bay, and, among the native boats that came off to sell fruit and fresh meat, was one in which a mulatto of shabby appearance was seated in the stern. as the boat came alongside he stood up, and said to turnbull, who was leaning on the rail watching the sailors bargaining with the negroes: "can i speak with the captain, sir? i have a message for him." "yes, i have no doubt that he will see you. come on deck." the man climbed up the side, and followed turnbull aft to where nat was sitting. "this man wants to speak to you, sir." "i am the bearer of a letter," he said, "to the english officer commanding this ship," and he handed him a very small note. it was as follows:-- _sir,--as there are rumours that some of the people of this island have opened negotiations with the governor of jamaica, we, who represent the coloured people of this country, will be glad to have a conversation with you, and to learn from you what would probably be the conditions on which your country would be likely to accept the sovereignty of this island. what would be the condition of the coloured people here if they did so? should we be guaranteed our freedom and rights as men, or would it mean merely a change of masters? if you are willing to accede to this invitation, i will personally guarantee your safety, and that, whatever the result of our conversation might be, you shall be escorted in safety back to your ship. we are willing that you should be accompanied by not more than six of your sailors, for whose safety i would be equally responsible. the bearer of this will arrange with you as to the point and hour at which you would land._ this was signed "toussaint." nat remembered the name. "is the writer of this the man who was the coachman of monsieur bayou, the agent of the count de noé?" "the same, sir. he is now next in command to biassou and françois. he is greatly respected among the negroes, and is their chief doctor." "i have met him, and know that he is worthy of confidence. this is just what we have been wanting, turnbull," he said, handing the letter to him. "then you know this man?" turnbull said, after he had read it, and stepped a few paces away from the messenger, so as to be able to converse unheard by him. "yes, he is one of the few who remained faithful at the rising, concealed his master and family in the woods, and got them safely off. i had an interview with him, and endeavoured to get him to do as much for madame duchesne, but he refused, saying that he had done his duty to his master and must now do it to his countrymen. i had frequently spoken with him before. he bore a very high character, and was much respected by all the negroes in the plantations round. as you see, he writes and expresses himself well, and has, indeed, received a very fair education, and is as intelligent as an ordinary white man. i am quite sure that i can place confidence in him." "perhaps so, but the question is not whether he would be willing, but whether he would have the power, to ensure your safety. biassou is, by all accounts, a perfect monster of cruelty." "yes, they say he is the most fiendish of all these savage brutes. of course i must risk that. my instructions, as you know, are to open communication with the negroes, if possible, and ascertain their intentions. this is the first opportunity that has offered, and i can hardly expect a more favourable one." "you will take one of us with you, i hope." "no; if anything happens to me the _agile_ must have a captain, and you would want at least one officer." he returned to the mulatto. "shall i give you a message in writing, or will you take it by word of mouth?" "i do not want writing, sir; if i were searched, and it were found that i was an agent of toussaint, i should be hung at once. you give me a message, and i will repeat it." "tell toussaint that the commander of this ship is mr. glover, whom he will remember to have seen at monsieur duchesne's plantation and elsewhere, and who knows him to be an honourable man, and will therefore trust himself in the mountains relying upon his promise of protection. you understand that?" "yes, sir." "please repeat my words." the man did so. "how far is toussaint from here?" "six hours' journey among the hills." "then tell him that i will land to-morrow night, or rather the next morning, an hour before daybreak--that is to say, at about half-past four. that time will be best, because the boat will return to the ship before it is light enough for it to be seen. where do you propose that i shall go?" "you see that rock near the end of the point to the south?--it is about three miles from there. to the left of that rock is a sandy beach, which is a good place for landing. your escort will be there waiting for you." the mulatto bowed, and at once went over the side and got into his boat, while the two men who had rowed him out were still busy selling fruit to the crew. nat told sambo to go and buy some fruit, not because they really wanted it, for a supply had already been bought, but in order that, should any of the negroes in the other boats have noticed the mulatto coming on board, it would be supposed that he had done so in order to persuade the steward to deal with him. the next day four picked men were chosen to accompany nat. they were to take no muskets with them, but each was to carry, in addition to his cutlass, a pistol in his belt, and another concealed in the bosom of his shirt. the absence of muskets was intended to show the negroes that the party had no fear as to their safety. nat himself intended to carry only his sword, and a double-barrelled pistol in his belt. at four o'clock on the following morning, he and the four men took their places in the gig, and were rowed ashore to the point agreed on. as they landed a negro came down to meet them. "toussaint charged me to tell you, sir, that he has sent twelve men down, and that he has done so lest you should meet other parties of our people who might not know of this safe-conduct that he has given you." and he handed a document to nat. "he has done well," nat said. "i know that i can rely upon toussaint, but i myself have thought it possible that we might fall in with men of other bands, and i have therefore brought four of my sailors with me. i am ready to start with you whenever you choose." "we will go on at once. the hills are very close here, but it is best that we should be well among them before it is daylight, or we might be noticed by someone in the town. they would not concern themselves much with us, but your dress and that of the sailors would be sure to cause talk and excite suspicion among the soldiers." he went up to some negroes standing a short distance away and gave them an order. they at once started. he himself took his place by nat, and the sailors followed close behind. "you talk french very well," nat said. "yes, sir, thanks to toussaint. you do not remember me, though i should know you were it daylight, for i have seen you several times when you have been over at our plantation with mademoiselle duchesne. i was chief helper in monsieur bayou's stables. of an evening toussaint had a sort of school, and four or five of us always went to him, and i learned to read and write, and to talk french as the whites talk it and not as we do. he is a good man, and we all love him. there are many who think he will one day be king of the island; he knows much more than any of the others. but it may be that he will be killed before that, for biassou hates him because he does not like his cruel ways and speaks boldly against them, which no one else dare do, not even françois, whom we all regard as equal in rank to him. "there have been many quarrels, but biassou knows well enough that if he were to hurt toussaint there would be a general outcry, and that he and the men who carried out his orders would assuredly be killed. for all that no one doubts that he would get toussaint removed quietly if there was a chance of doing so, but we do not mean to give him the chance. there are twenty of us who keep guard over him. as for toussaint, he is not like the others, who, when there is nothing else to be done, spend their time in feasting and drinking. he is always busy attending to the wounded who are brought up to him, or the sick, of whom there are many, for the cold air in the mountains has brought down great numbers with the fever, especially those whose plantations lay on the plain, and who were accustomed to sleep in huts. very many have died, but toussaint has saved many, and were it needed he could have two hundred for his guard instead of twenty. "but indeed he thinks not of danger, his whole thoughts are taken up with his work; and he is often without regular sleep for nights together, so great is the need for his services." the ground at once began to rise rapidly, and before the day fairly broke they were high among the hills. when it became light nat examined the document toussaint had sent to him. it ran as follows:-- _i, toussaint, do give notice to all that i have given this safe-conduct and my solemn promise for his safety to monsieur glover, a british officer, with whom i desire to converse on matters of importance._ then followed his signature and a great seal in red wax. "it was the one monsieur bayou used," the negro said. "toussaint brought it and the wax from his office, and uses it often, so that we may all recognize it when we see it--for, as you know, sir, there are scarcely any of our people who can read." after three hours' walking the man pointed out a wood near the crest of a high hill a mile distant. "toussaint is there," he said. "he accompanied us to that point in order that you should have less distance to travel." nat was by no means sorry at the news. the way had been very steep and difficult, and the sun had now gained great power. as they neared the edge of the wood, toussaint came out to meet him. "i am glad to see you, monsieur glover," he said quietly. "i learned from our people at cape françois that you had returned there with madame duchesne and her daughter, and i rejoiced indeed at your escape, which seemed to me marvellous, for how you avoided the search made for you i could not tell. they told me that madame duchesne was carried down on a litter, which must have greatly added to your difficulties. i hardly thought, monsieur, when i saw you last that we should thus meet again, i as one of the leaders of my people, you as commander of an english ship." "no; things change quickly, toussaint." the negro led the way to a rough hut constructed of boughs and trees in the centre of the clump. "you must need breakfast, and, as you see, it is ready for you. your men will be cared for." the breakfast was rough, but nat enjoyed it greatly. toussaint remarked that he himself had breakfasted an hour before, and he talked while his guest ate. "it is as well," he said, "that you should be down near the spot where you landed before it is dark, for the track is far too rough to travel after dark. i suppose you have ordered your boat to come to fetch you?" "yes, i ordered it to be there as soon as it could leave the ship without being seen from the shore; but i hardly thought that i should be able to return this evening, as your messenger told me that your camp was six hours' journey among the hills." "yes, my camp is there, and i too would like to return before nightfall. there are many who need my care, and i have already been too long away. now, monsieur glover, as to the subject on which i asked you to come to converse with me. we have heard that some of the planters have sent a deputation to jamaica asking the governor to send troops to take this island for england. we, as you doubtless know, are not for the republic. we call ourselves the royal army, seeing that the national assembly of france refuse to do anything for us. it is true that their commissioners at cape françois have issued a proclamation offering a free pardon to all who have been concerned in the insurrection, and freedom and equal rights to men of all colour. we do not believe them. the assembly care nothing for us. they passed a decree giving rights to the mulattoes, but in no way affecting us; and then, directly they found that the mulattoes were exercising their rights, they passed another decree reversing the first. one cannot expect good faith in men like these; they would wait till we had laid down our arms and returned to our plantations, and then they would shoot us down like dogs, just as they are murdering all the best men of their own country and keeping their king a prisoner. therefore we do not recognize the republic, but are for the king." "i fear there will soon be no king for you to recognize," nat said; "everything points to the fact that they are determined to murder him, as they have murdered every noble and every good man in the country." "i see that," toussaint said gravely, "but the number of those who know what is passing in france is small. however, we who do know, and are responsible for the mass who trust in us, must consider what is the best thing to do. do you think there will be a war between france and england?" "i think that if the king is murdered the indignation in england, which is already intense, will be so great that war is certain." "so much the better for us," toussaint said. "the more they fight against each other, the less will they be able to pay attention to hayti; but on the other hand the more likely will it be that the english will endeavour to obtain possession of this island. now, between the french and the english we have no great choice. we regard ourselves as french; we speak the french language, and have, ever since the colony was first formed, lived under the french flag. then, on the other hand, the french have been our masters, and we are determined that they shall never again be so. now as to your people. in their own islands they have slaves just as the french have here, and we have no intention of changing slavery under one set of masters for slavery under another. now, sir, do you think that if the english were to come here they would guarantee that slavery should never exist again in the island?" "that i cannot say," nat said. "i cannot answer for what the british parliament would do in that matter. the feeling against slavery is growing very fast in england, and i feel convinced that before long a law will be passed putting a stop altogether to the transportation of negroes from africa; but whether that feeling will, at any rate for a long time, so gain in strength as to cause parliament to pass a law abolishing slavery altogether in british dominions, is more than i can say. it would be a tremendous step to take. it would mean absolute ruin to our islands; for you know as well as i do that your people are not disposed for work, and would never make steady labourers if allowed to live in their own way. then you see, were slavery abolished altogether in this island, it would be difficult in the extreme to continue it in others." "but they would not find us as slaves here," toussaint said. "they would find us a free people, without masters, unattached to any plantation or to any regular toil; we should be like the caribs in jamaica. it would be as if they came to a land which foreigners had never visited. they would find a people with arms in their hands, and perfectly capable of defending themselves, but ready to accept the sovereignty of england on the condition that our personal liberty was in no way interfered with." "there is a great deal in what you say, toussaint, and to-morrow i shall sail for jamaica and explain exactly the line you take to the admiral. i may say that in coming to see you i do so in accordance with the orders that i received, to ascertain if possible the views of the leaders of this movement." "if these terms are refused," toussaint went on, "and your people invade the island, we shall leave you and the french to fight it out until we perceive which is the stronger, and as soon as we do so, shall aid the weaker. i do not say that we shall stand aloof up to that time, we shall fight against both, they would be equally our enemies; but if one were so far getting the better of it as to be likely to drive the other out, then in self-defence we should unite our forces against it. i may say that although we and the mulattoes are both fighting against the french, the alliance is not likely to be a long one. we all know that if they got the upper hand they would be far more cruel and more tyrannous than the whites have been. they have ever looked down upon us, and have treated us with far greater contempt than have the whites, who, to do them justice, were kindly masters, and especially treated their house servants well. there will therefore be four parties here all hostile to each other. you and the french will be striving for mastery, we for liberty, the mulattoes for the domination of the island and for their personal interest. the way i have pointed out is, in my opinion, the only one that can bring about peace. if your government and people will give us a solemn undertaking that in no case shall slavery ever be re-established, and that all men shall have equal rights, we will join you heart and soul. when i say equal rights i do not mean that they shall have votes. we are at present absolutely unfit to have votes or to exercise political power. i only mean that the law shall be the same for us as for the whites, that we shall be taxed on the same scale in proportion to our means, that the assembly shall have no power to make separate laws concerning us, and that, should they attempt to make such laws, they should be at once dissolved by the white authorities of the island." "i think your proposal a perfectly fair one, toussaint, and i have no doubt that any one who has, as i have, a knowledge of the situation here, would not hesitate to accept it. but i doubt whether public opinion at home is ripe for a change that would be denounced by all having an interest in the west indian islands, and declared by them to be absolutely destructive to their prosperity. however, you may be assured that i shall represent your offer in the most favourable light. i must ask, however, are you empowered by the other leaders to make it?" "i have talked the matter with françois, who is wholly of my opinion," toussaint said. "it is useless to talk to biassou; when he is not murdering someone he is drinking; but his opposition would go for little, except among the very worst of our people. he is already regarded with horror and disgust, and you may be assured that his career will ere long come to an end, in which case françois and i will share the power between us. at the same time i do not blind myself to the possibility that other leaders may arise. the men of one district know but little of the others, and may elect their own chiefs. still, i think that if i had the authority to say that the proposal i have made to you had been accepted, i could count on the support of the great majority of the men of my colour, for already they are beginning to find that a life of lawless liberty has its drawbacks. already we have been obliged to order that a certain amount of work shall be done by every man among the plantations beyond the reach of the towns, in order to ensure a supply of food. "the order has been obeyed, but not very willingly, for there can be no doubt that a portion of the men believed that when they had once got rid of the masters there would be no occasion whatever for any further work, but that they would somehow be supplied with an abundance of all that they required. the sickness that has prevailed has also had its effect. there are few, indeed, here who have any knowledge of medicine, and the poor people have suffered accordingly. when in the plantations they were always well tended in sickness, while here they have had neither shelter nor care. it is all very well to tell them that liberty cannot be obtained without sacrifices, and that it must be a long time before things settle down and each man finds work to do, but the poor people, ignorant as they are, are like children, and think very little of the future. the effect of centuries of slavery will take many years to remedy. for myself, although i believe that we shall finally obtain what we desire, and shall become undisputed masters of the island, i foresee that our troubles are only beginning. we have had no training for self-government. we shall have destroyed the civilization that reigned here, and shall have nothing to take its place, and i dread that instead of progressing we may retrograde until we sink back into the condition in which we lived in africa." at this moment a negro ran up. "doctor," he said, "there are a large number of our people close at hand, and i think i can make out biassou among them." "i fear that we may have some trouble, monsieur glover," toussaint said quietly, "but be assured that i and those with me will maintain my safe-conduct with our lives. biassou must have arrived at my camp after i left, and he must have heard there that i was going to meet an english officer, and has followed me. he was present when françois and i arranged to send a messenger to propose a meeting to you, and he then assented, but as often as not he forgets in the morning what he has agreed to overnight." he went apart and spoke to his men. twenty of them had accompanied him from his camp, and with the twelve who had formed the escort, and nat and the sailors, there were in all thirty-eight, and from the quiet way in which they took up their arms nat had little doubt that they would, if necessary, make a stout fight against biassou's savages. these arrived in two or three minutes. they had evidently travelled at the top of their speed, for their breath came fast, and they were bathed in sweat. their aspect was savage in the extreme. most of them wore some garment or other the spoil of murdered victims, some of them broad panama-hats, others had women's shawls wrapped round their waists as sashes, some had jackets that were once white, others were naked to the waist. a few had guns, the rest either axes or pikes, and all carried long knives. conspicuous among them was biassou himself, a negro of almost gigantic stature and immense strength, to which he owed no small part of his supremacy among his friends. he came on shouting "treachery! treachery!" words that were re-echoed in a hoarse chorus by his followers, who numbered about a hundred and fifty. at the threatening aspect of the new-comers, toussaint's men closed up round him, but he signed them to stand back, and quietly awaited the coming of biassou. the calmness of toussaint had its effect on biassou. instead of rushing at him with his axe, as it had seemed was his intention, he paused and again shouted "treachery!" "what nonsense are you talking, biassou?" toussaint said. "i am carrying out the arrangement to which you and françois agreed the other night, and am having an interview with this british officer." "when did i agree to such a thing?" the great negro roared. "last friday night we agreed that it was well that we should learn the intentions of the english, and that we should ascertain the position in which we should stand were they to come here." "i remember nothing about it, toussaint." "that is possible enough," the latter replied. "you know that it is no uncommon thing for you to forget in the morning what was arranged overnight. this officer has come here on my invitation and under my safe-conduct, and no man shall touch him while i live." "it is agreed," biassou said, "and all have sworn to it, that no white who falls into our hands shall be spared. such is the case, is it not?" he said to his followers; and they answered with a loud shout and began to press forward. "these men have not fallen into our hands," toussaint said, "they have come here on our invitation, and, as i have told you, with our safeguard." "it is all very well for you to talk, toussaint; i know you. you pretend to be with us, but your heart is with the whites, and you are here to conspire with them against us," and he raised his axe as if about to rush forward. "this is madness, biassou," toussaint said sternly. "have we not enough enemies now that we should quarrel among ourselves? you have done enough harm to our cause already by your horrible cruelties, for which every coloured man who falls into the hands of the whites has to suffer severely. beware how you commence a conflict; you may be more numerous than we are, but we are better armed, and even if you overpowered us in the end, you would suffer heavily before you did so." "i wish you no harm, toussaint, but for the last time i demand that these white men shall be given up to me." "and for the last time i refuse," toussaint said; and his men without orders moved up close to him. biassou stood for a moment irresolute, and then, with a shout to his men to follow him, sprang forward. in an instant nat threw himself before toussaint, and when biassou was within a couple of yards of him threw up his arm and levelled his pistol between the negro's eyes. "drop that axe," he shouted, "or you are a dead man!" the negro stood like a black statue for an instant. the pistol was but a foot from his face, and he knew that before his uplifted axe could fall he would be a dead man. "drop it!" nat repeated. "if you don't before i count three, i fire. one--two--" and the negro's axe fell to the ground. "stand where you are!" nat exclaimed, "the slightest movement and i fire! come up here, men!" the four sailors came up, cutlass in one hand and pistol in the other. "this man is your prisoner," he said. "keep him between you, one on each side and the other two behind. if he makes the slightest movement to escape, or if the blacks behind approach any nearer, send your four bullets into his brain." the men took up their stations as directed. "now, biassou," he went on, lowering his own pistol, "you can continue your conference with toussaint." [illustration: "drop it!" nat repeated.] "you see, biassou," toussaint said, "you have only rendered yourself ridiculous. i repeat what i said before, this officer is here in answer to my invitation sent to him after françois and you had agreed that it was advantageous to learn what the objects of the english were. if you question him you will find that it is as i say. we have had our conference, have expressed our views, and he will repeat what i have said to the british governor of jamaica; and i think that, whatever the result may be, it is well that the english should understand that we have resolved that, whether they or the french are the possessors of this island, slavery is abolished for ever here. he will return at once to the coast, and will then sail direct for jamaica. now, if you have any observation to make, i shall be glad to hear it." "i do not doubt what you say," biassou replied sullenly; "but it must be settled by what françois says when we rejoin him." "so be it," toussaint said. "and now, i pray you, let there be no quarrel between us. i have been forced to withstand you, because i was bound by a sacred promise. any divisions will be fatal to our cause. for the moment you may be in superior force, but another time those who love and follow me might be the more numerous. you well know that i am as faithful to the cause as you are, and we must both set an example to our followers, that while we may differ as to the methods by which success is to be gained, we are at one in our main object." "i admit that i was wrong," the great negro said frankly. "i drank more than was good for me before i started, and my blood has been heated by the speed with which we followed you. i am sober now, for which i have to thank," he added with a grim smile, "this young officer; though i own that i do not like his method. let us think no more of it;" and he held out his hand to toussaint, which the latter took. a shout of satisfaction rose from the negroes on both sides. the determined attitude of toussaint's men, the fact that they had four whites among them, and that almost all of them had muskets, had cooled the courage of biassou's followers, who, as soon as their leader was captured, saw that even if they gained the victory, it would be at the cost of at least half their number. there was no prospect of plunder or of any advantage, and they knew that, beloved and respected as toussaint was, it was very possible that those who did survive the fight would fall victims to the indignation that would be aroused at the news of an attack being made upon him. "now that it is all settled we may as well be starting for the coast, toussaint," nat said. "there is nothing more for us to arrange, and as our presence here might possibly lead to further trouble, the sooner we are off the better." "i will not ask you to stay," the negro said. "i do not think that we shall have any more trouble, but there is no saying. several of biassou's men have wine-skins with them, and a quarrel might arise when they had drunk more. i will send you down under the same escort as before." "i do not think that we shall need so many. i should not like to weaken you so far." "there is no fear for me," toussaint said decidedly. "arriving in hot blood they might have attacked me, but i am sure they will not do so now. they know well enough that i should be terribly avenged were they to do so. it is quite necessary that you should take as many men as before, for it is possible that some of biassou's men might steal away and follow you." a few minutes afterwards nat set out with his men and his guard of twelve blacks. it was still some hours before the time at which he was to be met by the boat. they therefore halted when within a mile of the shore, and there waited until it was dark. then he went on alone with the four sailors to the beach, and in a few minutes after they arrived there they heard the sound of the oars of the gig. "i am heartily glad to see you back again," turnbull said as nat stepped on to the deck. "lippincott and i have been horribly uneasy about you all day. did everything go off quietly?" "yes, except for two or three minutes, when that bloodthirsty scoundrel biassou came upon the scene with a hundred and fifty of his followers. there was very nearly a shindy then, but it passed off; for he did not like looking down the muzzle of my pistol at a few inches from his head, and my four men made him a prisoner until affairs had taken a friendly turn, which was not long after. for when the leader of a party is a prisoner, and his guards have orders to shoot him instantly if there is any trouble, it is astonishing how quick people are in coming to an understanding." "yes, i should say so," turnbull laughed. "however, as it has turned out well, and you have fulfilled your mission, it doesn't matter to us; and i hope that we have now done with this creeping alongshore work." chapter xvii a french frigate on arriving at kingston nat went on board the flag-ship, and reported to the admiral the particulars of his visit to toussaint. "he is evidently a long-headed fellow," the admiral said, "and from his point of view his proposal is a fair one; but i am afraid our people at home would never give such an undertaking. it would be impossible for us to have one island where the blacks were free, while in all others they would remain slaves. it would be as much as saying to them, 'if you want freedom you must fight for it;' and even if the people at home could bring themselves to pay the immense amount of money that would be required to emancipate the slaves by indemnifying their owners, it would nevertheless be the ruin of the islands, and all connected with them. however, i will take you ashore to the governor, after my clerk has made a copy of your report." "i have made two copies, sir." "all the better. then we will go at once." the governor heard nat's story, and received his report. "it is at least satisfactory," he said, "to have learnt from one of themselves what the views of the principal leaders are, and i consider that you have performed your commission exceedingly well, lieutenant glover, and, undoubtedly, at a great deal of risk to yourself. as to the matter of the communication, it will of course receive serious attention. it is far too important a business for anyone to give off-hand an opinion upon it. i fancy, sir, that you are likely to have more active work before long, for i think there is no doubt that war will very shortly be declared with france, and her privateers will be swarming about these seas." it was nearly six months before any special incident took place. no vessel had been missing since the capture of the _agile_, and it was evident that any pirates there might have been among the islands had moved to waters where they could carry on their trade with less interruption. the _agile_ cruised about among the islands, and although she had a pleasant time, officers and men alike grew impatient at the uneventful nature of their work. things were but little changed in hayti. biassou had been deprived of his command, and it was surmised that he had been murdered, but at any rate he was never heard of again. françois and toussaint commanded, but the former came to be so jealous of toussaint's popularity that the latter was obliged to retire, and to cross the frontier into the spanish part of the island. there he was well received, and showed great ability in various actions against the french, with whom spain was then at war. he and many other negroes had declared for spain, upon the singular ground that they had always been governed by a king, and preferred to be ruled by the king of spain rather than by a republic. with only six hundred men toussaint drove fifteen hundred french out of a strong post which they occupied in the spanish town of raphaelita, and afterwards took several other posts and villages. it was for these successes that he gained the name of l'ouverture, or opener, and the marquis d'hermona gave him the rank of lieutenant-general. the three french commissioners had returned to france, and had been succeeded by two others, santhonax and poveren, the former a ruffian of the same type as those who were deluging the soil of france with its best blood, and who made themselves odious to both parties by their brutality and greed. at last, at the end of february, , came the news of the execution of the king of france, and the certainty that war was imminent. "now we shall have more lively times," turnbull said. "it has been dull enough of late." "there has been nothing to grumble at," the surgeon said. "what would you have? haven't we been sailing about like gentlemen, with nothing to do but to drink and sleep, and look at the islands, and take things easy altogether?" "don't you talk, doyle," turnbull said, laughing. "there is no one who has grumbled more than yourself." "that is in the cause of science," the irishman retorted. "how can i ever become a distinguished man, and show what is in me, and make all sorts of discoveries, if there is never a chance that comes in my way? there are my instruments all ready for use, they might as well be at the bottom of the sea. i hone them once a week, and well-nigh shed tears because of the good work they ought to be doing. it is all very well for you, turnbull, you won't forget how to kill a man when the time comes; but let me tell you that any fellow who doesn't know his a b c can kill a man, whereas it takes a man of science to cure him." "there is a good deal in that, doyle," nat said, when the laugh had subsided, "though i don't know that i considered it in that light before; but that, perhaps, is because i have tried one and never tried the other." "it's a fine thing," doyle said, "to be a surgeon. there you see a man with his legs shot off. if it was not for you he would die. you take him in hand, you amputate a bit higher up, you make him tidy and comfortable, and there he is walking about almost as well as if he had two legs; and although he is not fit for ship service again, he would be as good a man in a fight with a cudgel as ever he was. now i ask you fairly, what is there that you can do to compare with that?" "nothing in that way, i must admit," nat laughed, "well, you may be having an opportunity of showing your superiority before long. this is just the ground the french privateers are likely to choose. there are plenty of french ports for them to put into, hundreds of bays where they could lie hidden, and lots of shipping to plunder. no doubt they will be thick in the channel and down the straits, but our merchantmen will not think of going there unless in large fleets or under convoy of ships of war; while here, though they might be guarded on their way across the atlantic, they would have to scatter as soon as they were among the islands. well, we must look out that we are not caught napping. of course, until we get news that war is declared we can't fire upon a frenchman; while if one arrived with the news before we got it, he might sail up close by us and pour in a broadside." "at any rate we are likely to take some prizes," lippincott said, "for the instant we get the news we can pounce upon any french merchantman." "yes; those homeward-bound could hardly hear the news as soon as we do, while of those coming out many slow sailers will have left before war is declared, and may not be here for weeks after we hear of it. the great thing will be for us to put ourselves on the main line of traffic. as we have received no special orders we can cruise where we like. i should say that coming from france, they would be likely to keep down the coast of spain and on to madeira before they strike across, as in that way they would be altogether out of the line of the gulf stream. then, if they were making for hayti, they would probably be coming along west on or about the th parallel north; while, if making for guadeloupe or martinique, they would be some three or four degrees farther south. probably privateers would follow the same lines, as before commencing operations they would want to take in provisions and water, to learn where our cruisers are likely to be, to pick up pilots, and so on. so i should say that we can cruise about these waters for another fortnight safely, and then go through the caribbean islands and cruise some seventy or eighty miles beyond them, carefully avoiding putting into any of our own islands as we pass." "why should you do that?" turnbull asked. "because the chances are that we should find, either at barbados or st. lucia or dominica--or, in fact, at any of the other islands, one of our frigates, or at any rate, some officer senior to me; and in that case, as we have no fixed orders from the admiral, we might be detained or sent off in some direction that might not suit us at all." "good!" doyle said. "it is always a safe rule to keep out of the way of a bigger man than yourself. i have always observed that a captain of a man-of-war or of a frigate is sure to be down on small craft, if he gets a chance. it is like a big boy at school fagging a little one; he could do quite as well without him, but it is just a matter of devilment and to show his authority. heaven protect us against falling in with a frigate. if she were a frenchman she would sink us; if she were a britisher she would bully us." they reached the ground on which nat had decided to cruise. three days later the look-out at the mast-head shouted "sail ho!" the words acting like an electric shock to those on deck. "how does it bear?" "about east by north, sir. there are three vessels; i can only see their topsails at present. two of them are a bit bigger than the third. they look to me to be merchantmen. i should say the other, by the cut of his sails, is a frenchman." a low cheer broke from the men. "now, if that fellow brings news that war is declared, we are in luck," nat said. "either he is convoying two french merchantmen he has overtaken, or he has two british prizes he has picked up. if they are english, we shall not get so much prize-money; but then we shall have less difficulty with the privateer, if privateer she is, because she must have put a good many of her hands an board the prizes. so we can in either case count upon doing well. at any rate they are not likely to suspect that we are english, being french-built and french-rigged. even if they have a doubt, they will be satisfied as soon as they see the name on our bows. we will not get up any more sail." "i will go up and have a look at her," turnbull said; and slinging his glass over his shoulder he went aloft. "i think," he called down, after a long look at them, "that the middle ship is a good deal larger than she looks; and the others are carrying every stitch of canvas, but she has neither royals nor topgallant-sails. her yards have a wide spread, and i am inclined to think that she is a frigate or a large corvette--certainly a french one. as to the others, i cannot say with certainty, but i rather fancy they are english; in which case she has captured them on the way, and, being much faster than they are, has to go under easy sail to keep with them." "well, i hope she is not too big for us," nat said, as turnbull rejoined him. "what should you call too big, sir?" turnbull asked with a smile. "well, i should say that a fifty was too big." "i should think so indeed. a twenty-gun sloop would be a pretty formidable opponent." "yes, a twenty would about suit us, especially as she may have fifty of her men on board the other craft--that is, if they are her prizes. it is the men that i am more afraid of than the guns. two to one are no great odds in guns, especially as we generally work ours faster than the french do; but when it comes to a hundred and fifty men or so against forty, it may be very unpleasant if we get a spar knocked away and they come alongside of us. we may as well get the french flag up at once. with a good glass they could make it out a long way off. let the men have their breakfast, it is a bad thing to fight fasting." the men were not long over their meal; by the time they came on deck again the strangers were within five or six miles. the wind was in the north-east, and the _agile_ was almost close-hauled, while the others had the wind broad on their quarters. there was now no longer any doubt that the outside vessels were two large british west indiamen, and the fact that they were in company with what was undoubtedly a french frigate was regarded as absolute proof that war had been declared, and that the french ship of war on her way out to the colonies with the news had overtaken and captured the two british ships, which were probably sailing in company. as they approached, the _agile_ was luffed up more into the wind in order to pass between the frenchman and the prize within a few cables' length to starboard of him. "how many guns do you make her out to be, mr. lippincott?" "i think that she has eighteen guns on a broadside." "the odds are pretty strongly against us," nat said; "but we shall have the weather-gauge, that counts for a good deal. anyhow, we shall be able to annoy her, and possibly, if we hang on to her, the sound of firing will bring up one of our cruisers from barbuda or antigua." an awning which was stretched over the quarter-deck had not been taken down, and as the brigantine approached the french frigate, there was no sign that her intentions were not of a peaceable nature. the french ensign floated from the peak, the sailors on deck were lounging about, some with their jackets on, others in their shirts, and only a few with hats on seemed to be watching with idle curiosity the approaching vessels. nat and the officers retained their uniforms, for as only their heads and shoulders showed over the rail, there was nothing to distinguish them from those of a fine french privateer, for these generally adopted a regular naval dress. the two vessels were but fifty yards apart as they met. nat sprang on to the rail, and in reply to the hail from the frenchman, "what ship is that?" raised his cap in salute and shouted: "the _agile_ of bordeaux. have you any news from france, sir?" "yes, war has been declared with england." [illustration: nat sprang on to the rail.] "thank you, that is good news indeed," and he leapt down on to the deck. the vessels were both travelling at a speed of about eight knots an hour, and were already passing one another fast, when, as nat waved his hand, the french flag was run down, an english ensign already fastened to the halyards was simultaneously run up, and a moment later the five guns, which had previously been trained to bear aft and double-shotted, poured their broadside into the quarters of the french frigate. shouts of surprise and fury rose from her; no thought that the little craft so fearlessly approaching her was an enemy had crossed the mind of any on board, still less that if british she would venture to fire upon so vastly superior a foe. "about ship!" nat said, the instant the guns had been fired. the sail-trimmers were at their places, the _agile_ shot up into the wind, her head paid off, and she swept round on the other tack, crossing the stern of the frenchman, her guns on the starboard side sending their shot in through his stern windows, and raking his whole length as they were brought to bear; then she wore round on her heel, the guns on the larboard side were reloaded, and she again raked the frenchman. so far not a single shot had been fired in return. the din on board the frigate was prodigious, as the guns had to be cast loose, magazines opened, powder and shot carried up, and the sails trimmed to enable her to bear up so as to show her broadside to her puny foe. before she could do so the _agile_, true to her name, was again round. the frenchmen, confused by the variety of orders issued, were slow at their work, and as their opponent came up into the wind the brigantine was again astern of them, and raked them this time with heavy charges of grape. a chorus of shrieks and cries from the frigate told how terrible was the effect. "by st. patrick," the surgeon exclaimed to lippincott, "it is grand! but it looks as if the captain wasn't going to give me a chance, and all me instruments laid out ready for action." "never mind, doctor, you will be able to practise on the frenchmen," lippincott laughed. but the french captain knew his business, and putting his helm over again, ran off the wind, so that the two vessels were now on the same tack, with the _agile_ on her opponent's quarter. several of the french guns were now brought to bear, but their discharge was too hurried, and owing to the brigantine lying so much lower in the water, the shot flew between her masts or made holes in her mainsail. in a moment she was round again, and crossed her opponent's stern at a distance of some thirty yards, the word being passed along that the gunners were to aim at the rudder-post and to double-shot the guns. a loud cheer rose as two of the shots struck the mark. the frenchman replied with a volley of musketry from the marines gathered on her poop. three of the sailors fell, and several others were hit. the frenchman was, when the _agile_ delivered her last broadside, running nearly before the wind, and it was speedily evident that the injury to her rudder had been fatal, for although she attempted by trimming her sails again to bear up, each time she fell off, though not before some of her shot had hulled her active opponent. seeing, however, that he must now be easily outmanoeuvred, the frenchman made no further effort to change his course, but continued doggedly on his way, the topmen swarming aloft and shaking out more canvas. the _agile_ followed the frigate's example, and placing herself on her stern quarter, kept up a steady fire, yawing when necessary to bring all her guns to bear, the french replying occasionally with one of their stern guns. owing to the accelerated speed at which both vessels were now going, the indiamen had been left behind. half an hour later the frigate's mizzen-mast, which had been severely wounded by the first broadside, went over her side. cheer after cheer rose from the _agile_; her opponent was now at her mercy. she had but to repeat the tactics with which she had begun the fight. just as nat gave the order to do so, musket shots were heard in the distance. the crew of one of the merchantmen had been allowed to remain on deck, as, being under the guns of the frigate, there was no possibility of their attempting to overpower their captors. as soon, however, as it became evident that the frigate was getting the worst of it, they had been hurried below, and the hatches dropped over them. from the port-holes, however, they could obtain a view of what was going on ahead of them, and as soon as they saw the frigate's mast go by the board, they armed themselves with anything that would serve as weapons, managed to push up the after-hatch, and rushed on deck. the prize crew were all clustered forward watching the fight; a shout from the helmsman apprised them of their danger, and they rushed aft. they were, however, less numerous than the british sailors, and no better armed, for, believing that the frigate would easily crush her tiny assailant, they were unprepared to take any part in the fight. the contest was a very short one. knowing that the frigate was crippled, and that the brigantine would soon be free to return to them, the frenchmen saw that they must eventually be taken, and the officer in command being knocked senseless with a belaying-pin, they threw down their knives and surrendered. the other indiaman at once put down her helm on seeing that the british flag was being run up on her consort. "we must not let that fellow get away," nat said; "we can leave the frigate alone for half an hour. we will give him two more broadsides with grape through his stern windows, and then bear up after that lumbering merchantman. we shall be alongside in half an hour." in less than that time they were within pistol-shot of the west indiaman, and the prize crew at once hauled down their flag. the _agile_ went alongside, released the prisoners, who had been securely fastened in the hold, and replaced them by the french crew. the indiaman's officers had been allowed to remain on deck. "now, captain," nat said to the english master, "please keep every sail full and follow us. it will not be long before we settle with the frigate, and we shall then run down to barbados." the master, who was greatly surprised at the youth of the officer who had so ably handled his ship against an immensely superior foe, said: "allow me to congratulate you on the splendid way in which you have handled your vessel. i could scarcely believe my eyes when you opened fire on the frigate. it seemed impossible that you should have thought of really engaging such an opponent." "you see, we had the weather gauge of her, captain, and the brigantine is both fast and handy. but i must be off now before they have time to get into fighting trim again." in another half-hour he was in his old position under the frigate's quarter, and was preparing to resume his former tactics, when the french flag fluttered down amid the cheers of the _agile's_ crew, which were faintly repeated by the two merchantmen a mile astern. "i am heartily glad that they have surrendered," nat said to turnbull; "it would have been a mere massacre if they had been obstinate. now, will you go on board and see what state she is in. do not accept the officers' swords. they have done all that they could, but they really never had a chance after we had once got in the right position. order all unwounded men below. as soon as you return with your report as to the state of things, i will send you off again with twenty men to take command. you had better bring the officers back with you. mr. lippincott, hoist a signal to the merchantmen to lie to as soon as they get abreast of us." mr. turnbull returned in twenty minutes. "it is an awful sight," he said. "the captain and the two senior lieutenants are killed, and it was the third lieutenant who ordered the flag to be lowered. her name is the _spartane_. she carried a crew of three hundred men, of whom fifty were on board her prizes. she has lost ninety killed, and there are nearly as many more wounded, of whom at least half are hit with grape, and i fancy few of them will recover; the others are splinter wounds, some of them very bad. there are two surgeons at work. i told them that ours would come to their assistance as soon as he had done with our own wounded." the third lieutenant and three midshipmen, who were the sole survivors of the officers of the _spartane_, soon came on board. "gentlemen," nat said, "i am sorry for your misfortune, but assuredly you have nothing to reproach yourselves with. you did all that brave men could do, and did not lower your flag until further resistance would have been a crime against humanity." the officers bowed; they were too much depressed to reply. their mortification was great at being overpowered by a vessel so much inferior in strength to their own, and the feeling was increased now by seeing that their conqueror was a lad no older than the senior of the midshipmen. turnbull's cabin was at once allotted to the lieutenant, and a large spare cabin to the midshipmen. leaving lippincott in charge, with ten men, nat went with turnbull and the doctor on board the frigate, and the boat went back to fetch the rest of the crew. the merchantmen had been signalled to send as many men as they could spare on board the frigate, and not until these arrived did nat feel comfortable. of his own crew three had been killed and ten wounded; three of these were fit for duty, and formed part of lippincott's party, and the twenty he had with him seemed lost on board the frigate. although turnbull had had hawsers coiled over the hatches, the thought that there were nearly a hundred prisoners there, and that there were enough comparatively slightly wounded to overpower the two men placed as sentries over each hatchway, was a very unpleasant one. the arrival, however, of thirty of the merchant sailors, armed to the teeth, altered the position of affairs. the first duty was to clear the decks of the dead. these were hastily sewn up in their own hammocks, with a couple of round shot at their feet, and then launched overboard. those of the wounded able to walk were then mustered, and one of the french surgeons bandaged all the less serious wounds. after being supplied with a drink of wine and water, they were taken below, and placed with their companions in the hold. then the wreck of the mizzen was cut away, and the frigate was taken in tow by the _agile_, her own sails being left standing to relieve the strain on the hawsers. the two merchantmen were signalled to reduce sail, and to follow, and on no account to lose sight of the stern light of the frigate after it became dusk. nat returned, with four of his crew, to the _agile_, and four days later towed the _spartane_ into the anchorage off bridgetown, the chief port of barbados, the two west indiamen following. the _isis_, a fine fifty-gun frigate, was lying there. she had arrived on the previous day, having been despatched with the news of the outbreak of war. as her captain was evidently the senior officer on the station, nat was rowed on board. "are you the officer in command of that brigantine?" the captain asked in surprise. "yes, sir; my name is glover." "well, lieutenant glover, what part did your ship bear in the fight with that frenchman? i see by her sails that she was engaged. whom had you with you?" "we were alone, sir." "what!" the captain said, incredulously, "do you mean to say that, with that little ten-gun craft, you captured a thirty-six-gun frigate single-handed?" "that is so, sir." "well, i congratulate you on it heartily," the captain exclaimed, shaking nat by the hand with great cordiality. "you must tell me all about it. it is an extraordinary feat. how many men do you carry?" "we have forty seamen, sir, and two petty officers." "and what are your casualties?" "three killed and ten wounded." "what were the casualties of the frenchmen?" "ninety killed, including the captain and the first and second lieutenants and five midshipmen, and eighty-three wounded." "and how many prisoners?" "in all, a hundred and thirty, sir, of whom five-and-twenty are on board each of those merchantmen, which had been captured by the frigate. the crew of one rose and mastered their captors as soon as they saw the frigate's mizzen-mast fall, and knew that we must take her. the prize crew in the other struck their flag as soon as we came within pistol-shot of her. i shall be glad to receive orders from you as to the disposal of the prisoners. i have had thirty men from the merchantmen on board the _spartane_, for i could spare so few men that the prisoners might, without their assistance, have retaken her." "i will go ashore with you presently and see the governor, and ask whether he can take charge of them. if he cannot, you can hand over the greater part of them to me. i shall sail for jamaica this evening. as to the prize, i should advise you to see if you cannot get some spars and rig a jury-mast; there are sure to be some in the dockyard. while that is being done you can go through the formalities of inspecting the indiamen, for whose salvage you will get a very handsome sum. at any rate, if i were you i should keep them here until i was ready to sail, and then go with them and your prize to kingston. i should go in in procession, as you did here. it is a thing that you have a right to be proud of." "we need lose no time about the mast, sir. we stripped the gear off and got it on board the _spartane_, and towed her mast behind her, thinking that perhaps we might not get a suitable spar here. of course the lower mast will be short, but that will matter comparatively little. what is more serious is that her rudder is smashed." "i doubt whether you can get that remedied here. i should advise you to rig out a temporary rudder. i'll tell you what i will do--i will send a couple of hundred men on board at once under my second officer. that will make short work of it, and i am sure that there is not a man on board who would not be glad to lend a hand in fitting up a prize that has been so gallantly won." he called his officers, who had been standing apart during this conversation, and introduced nat to them, saying: "gentlemen, i never heard lieutenant glover's name until a few minutes ago, but i can with confidence tell you that no more gallant officer is to be found in the service; and when i say that, with that little ten-gun brigantine and a crew of forty men, he engaged the french frigate that you see behind her and forced her to strike, after a fight in which she had a hundred and seventy men killed or wounded, that he took a hundred and thirty prisoners, and recaptured those two west indiamen which were her prizes, i think you will all agree that i am not exaggerating. he is naturally very anxious to be off. the frigate's mizzen-mast is lying astern of her, and will make an excellent jury-mast, as all the gear is on board, and only requires shortening. her rudder is smashed, and a temporary one must be rigged up; and, knowing that all on board will be ready and glad to help when they hear what i have told you, i am going to send two hundred men off at once to lend a hand. will you take command, mr. lowcock? you will take with you, of course, the boatswain and his mates and the carpenters." "i should be glad to go too, sir," the first lieutenant said. "you and i will go together, mr. ferguson, after we have had a glass of wine and heard from mr. glover the details of this singular action." the order was at once given to lower the boats. the story that the french frigate and her two prizes had been captured single-handed by the brigantine speedily circulated, and the men hastened into the boats with alacrity. with them went the surgeon and his assistant to see if they could be of any help on board, while the captain, his first lieutenant, and nat went into the cabin, and the latter related the details of the action. "skilfully managed indeed, mr. glover!" the captain said when he had finished; "no one could have done better. it was fortunate indeed that your little craft was so fast and handy, for if that frigate had brought her guns to bear fully upon her she ought to have been able to fairly blow you out of the water with a single broadside. may i ask if this is your first action?" "no, sir; i was in a tender of the _orpheus_ frigate when she captured a very strong pirate's hold near the port of barcela in caracas, destroying the place and capturing or blowing up three of their ships." "i remember the affair," the captain said, "and a very gallant one it was; for, if i am right, the frigate could not get into the entrance, but landed her men, captured two of the pirates' batteries, and turned the guns on their ships, while a schooner she had captured a few days before sailed right in and engaged them, and was nearly destroyed when one of the pirates blew up. the officer in command of her was killed, and a midshipman was very highly spoken of, for he succeeded to the command, and gallantly went on board another pirate and drowned their magazine." "much more was said about it than necessary," nat said. the captain looked surprised. "by the way," the lieutenant broke in, "i remember the name now. are you the mr. glover mentioned in the despatches?" "yes, sir; but, as i said, the captain was good enough to make more of the affair than it deserved." "i expect that he was the best judge of that," the captain said. "well, after that?" "after that, sir, i had the command of a little four-gun schooner which was cruising along the coast of hayti to pick up fugitives, when i came across the brigantine i now command in the act of plundering a merchantman she had just captured. she left her prize and followed me. i was faster and more weatherly than she was, and having had the luck to smash the jaws of her gaff after a running fight of seven or eight miles, was able to get back to the prize and recapture her before the pirate came up. the crew of the prize came up and manned their guns, and between us we engaged the brigantine and carried her by boarding. on taking her into kingston the admiral gave me the command, and raised my crew from twenty to forty. we have now been cruising for four or five months, but not until we sighted the frigate and her prizes have we had the luck to fall in with an enemy." "well, sir," the captain said, "even admitting that you have had some luck, there is no question that you have utilized your opportunities and have an extraordinary record, and if you don't get shot i prophesy that you will be an admiral before many officers old enough to be your father. now, i am sure you must be anxious to get on board your prize as soon as possible, so we will take you to her at once." in a few minutes they were on the deck of the _spartane_. it was a scene of extraordinary activity. the lower mast had already been parbuckled on to the deck, where sheer-legs had been erected by another party. the mast was soon in its place, and the wedges driven in, the shrouds had been shortened, and men were engaged in tightening the lanyards. the topmast was on deck ready to be hoisted. the carpenters were busy constructing a temporary rudder with a long spar, to one end of which planks were being fixed, so that it looked like a gigantic paddle. as soon as this was completed, the other end of the spar was lashed to the taffrail. strong hawsers were then to be fastened to the paddle, and brought in one on each quarter and attached to the drum of the wheel. "now, mr. glover," the captain said, after watching the work for some little time, "i will go ashore with you to the governor; you ought to pay your respects to him. fortunately you will not require any assistance from him, for unless i am greatly mistaken these jobs will be finished this evening; the masts and rigging will certainly be fixed before dusk, and the carpenters must stick to their job till it is done. like all make-shifts, it will not be so good as the original, but i think it will serve your turn, for there is little likelihood of bad weather at this time of year. i suppose you intend to keep the merchant seamen on board? if not, i will spare you some hands." "i am much obliged, sir, but i think we shall do very well. it is a fine reaching wind, and we shall scarcely have to handle a sail between this and jamaica." "very well, i understand your feeling, you would like to finish your business without help. that is very natural; i should do the same in your place." "how about the merchantman's papers, sir?" "i shall tell the governor that i have ordered them to be taken to kingston, where there is a regular prize court, and therefore it will not be necessary to trouble with their manifests here." "then, if i have your permission, captain, i will row off to them at once and tell them to get under sail now; we shall overhaul them long before they get to jamaica. they mount between them six-and-twenty guns, and, keeping together, no french privateer, if any have arrived, would venture to attack them, especially as they cannot have received news yet that war is declared." "i think that would be a very good plan," the captain said, "for if you were to start with them it is clear that you would only be able to go under half sail. it is evident by your account that you are faster than the frigate, but with a reaching wind i suppose there is not more than a knot between you, and if the wind freshens you would find it hard to keep up with her." the visit was paid. the governor agreed that it would be better that the indiamen should sail at once. indeed, they had already started, and were two or three miles away before nat and the captain arrived at the governor's house. when on shore nat ordered two or three barrels of rum to be sent off in another boat to the frigate, and on its arrival an allowance was served out to all the workers. before nightfall, save that the mizzen-mast was some twenty feet lower than usual, and that her stern and quarters were patched in numerous places with tarred canvas, the _spartane_ presented her former appearance. when the majority of the crew had finished their work, the prisoners were transferred to the _isis_. two hours later the carpenters and boatswain's party had securely fixed the temporary rudder, and at daybreak the next morning the two frigates and the brigantine started on their westward voyage. chapter xviii another engagement the three vessels kept company until, on the third day after sailing, they overtook the two merchantmen. nat, supposing that the _isis_ would now leave them, went on board to thank the captain for the great assistance that he had given him. "i shall stay with you now, mr. glover. the news of the outbreak of war will be known at jamaica by this time, for the despatches were sent off on the day before we sailed from home, by the _fleetwing_, which is the fastest corvette in the service. she was to touch at antigua and then go straight on to port royal. i was to carry the news to barbados, so that it does not make any difference whether i reach kingston two hours earlier or later. there is a possibility that the french may have sent ships off even before they declared war with us, and as it is certain that there are several war-ships of theirs out here, one of these might fall in with you before you reach jamaica. therefore as my orders are simply to report myself to the admiral at kingston, i think it is quite in accordance with my duty that i should continue to sail in company with you." "thank you, sir. there certainly is at least one french frigate in the bay of hayti, and if she has received the news she is quite likely to endeavour to pick up some prizes before it is generally known, just as the _spartane_ picked up those merchantmen, and though possibly we might beat her off, i should very much prefer to be let alone." "yes, you have done enough for one trip, and i should much regret were you to be deprived of any of your captures." the _agile_ was signalled to prepare to pick up her boat, and nat was soon on board his own craft again. he ran up to within speaking distance of the _spartane_, and shouted to turnbull that the _isis_ was going to remain in company with them. turnbull waved his hand, for although he had not entertained any fear of their being attacked, he felt nervous at his responsibility if a sudden gale should spring up and the temporary rudder be carried away. it was a comfort to him to know that, should this happen, the _isis_ would doubtless take him in tow, for in anything like a wind the _agile_ would be of little use. however, the weather continued fine, and in five days after leaving barbados they entered kingston harbour. three hours before, the _isis_ had spread all sail, and entered, dropping anchor half an hour before the _agile_ sailed in in charge of the three large ships. the brigantine was heartily cheered by the crews of all the vessels in port, but it was naturally supposed that it was the _isis_ that had done the principal work in capturing the _spartane_. her captain, however, had rowed to the flag-ship directly they came in port, leaving mr. ferguson to see to the _spartane_ being anchored, and had given him a brief account of the nature of the procession that was approaching three or four miles away. "he is a most extraordinary young officer," the admiral said. "he first distinguished himself nearly three years ago by rescuing the daughter of a planter in hayti, who was attacked by a fierce hound, and who would have been killed had he not run up. he was very seriously hurt, but managed to despatch the animal with his dirk. since that time he has been constantly engaged in different adventures. he was in that desperate fight when the _orpheus_ broke up a notorious horde of pirates on the mainland, and distinguished himself greatly. he was up country in hayti when the negroes rose, and he there saved from the blacks a lady and her daughter, the same girl that he had rescued from the dog, and shot eight of the villains, but had one of his ribs broken by a ball. in spite of that, he carried the lady, who was ill with fever, some thirty miles across a rough country down to cape françois in a litter. "then i gave him the command of a little cockle-shell of a schooner mounting four guns, carrying only twenty men. hearing of a planter and his family in the hands of the blacks, he landed the whole of his crew, while expecting himself to be attacked by boats, and rescued the planter, three ladies, and six white men, and got them down on board, although opposed by three hundred negroes. then he captured the brigantine he now commands, and a valuable prize that she had taken, and you say he has now captured a french thirty-six-gun frigate, after a fight in which she lost in killed and wounded half her crew, and recovered two indiamen she had picked up on her way out." they went out on the quarter-deck, where the admiral repeated to his officers the story that he had just heard, and from them it soon circulated round the ship. some of the crew had just cleaned the guns with which they had returned the salute fired by the _isis_ as she entered the port on arriving for the first time on the station, but they were scarcely surprised when, as the brigantine approached, the first lieutenant gave the order for ten more blank cartridges to be brought up, and for the crew to prepare to man the yards. but the surprise of those on board the other ships of war and the merchantmen was great when they saw the sailors swarming up the ratlines and running out on the yards. "it is an unusual thing," the admiral remarked to the captains of the _isis_ and his own ship, "and possibly contrary to the rules of the service, but i think the occasion excuses it." the brigantine did not salute as she came into the port, as she was considered to be on the station. "what can they be doing on board the flag-ship?" nat said to lippincott. "i think they are going to man the yards. it is not the king's birthday, or anything of that sort, that i know of; but as it is just eight bells it must be something of the kind." as they came nearly abreast of the flag-ship, the signal, "well done, _agile_!" was run up, and at the same moment there was a burst of white smoke, and a thundering report, and a tremendous cheer rose from the seamen on the yards. "they are saluting us, sir," lippincott exclaimed. the ensign had been dipped in salute to the flag, and the salute had been acknowledged by the admiral five minutes before. lippincott now sprang to the stern, and again lowered the ensign. the admiral and all his officers were on their quarter-deck, and as he raised his cocked hat the others stood bareheaded. nat uncovered. he was so moved that he had difficulty in keeping back his tears, and he felt a deep relief when the last gun had fired, and the cheers given by his own handful of men and by those on board the prizes had ceased. for the next quarter of an hour he was occupied in seeing that the four vessels were anchored in safe berths. then, as the signal for him to go on board the flag-ship was hoisted, he reluctantly took his place in the gig, and went to make his report. the admiral saw by his pale face that he was completely unnerved, and at once took him into his cabin. "i see, mr. glover," he began kindly, "that you would much rather that i did not say anything to you at present. the welcome that has been given to you speaks more than any words could do of our appreciation of your gallant feat. i do not say that you have taken the first prize since war was declared, for it is probable that other captures have been made nearer home, but at any rate, it is the first that has been made in these waters. i was surprised indeed when captain talbot told me that he had a hundred french prisoners on board, and some fifty wounded. as he had not the mark of a shot either in his sails or in his hull, i could not understand, until he gave me an outline of what had taken place--of how he had become possessed of them. is your prize much injured?" "she has a good many shot-holes on each quarter, sir, and the stern lights and fittings are all knocked away. she suffered no very serious damage. she requires a new mizzen-mast; but there is not a hole in her canvas, which is all new, for we fired only at the stern, and it was just below the deck that her mast was damaged." "you have, i hope, written a full report of the engagement?" nat handed in his report. it was very short, merely stating that, having fallen in with the thirty-six-gun french frigate the _spartane_, convoying two prizes, he had engaged her, and after placing himself on her quarter, had raked her until her mizzen-mast fell, and her rudder was smashed; that, seeing that she could not get away, he had then returned to the prizes, which turned out to be the _jane_ of liverpool, of eight hundred tons burden, and the _flora_ of london, of nine hundred and thirty. the crew of the latter, on seeing that the _spartane_ was crippled, had risen and overpowered the prize crew. the other struck her colours when he came up to her. he then returned to the _spartane_, which struck her flag without further resistance. "i desire to bring to your notice the great assistance i received from lieutenant turnbull, whom i afterwards placed in charge of the prize, and from mr. lippincott. it is also my duty to mention that assistant-surgeon doyle has been indefatigable in his attentions to my own wounded and those of the _spartane_." then followed the list of his own casualties, and those of the _spartane_. "a very official report, mr. glover," the admiral said with a smile, when he had glanced through it. "however, the admiralty will wish to know the details of an action of so exceptional a character, and i must therefore ask you to send me in as complete an account of the affair as possible, both for my own information and theirs. now, i think you had better take a glass of wine. i can see that you really need one, and you will have to receive the congratulations of my officers. by the way, do you know anything of the cargoes of the two ships you retook?" "no, sir, i have really not had time to enquire. till we left barbados i was constantly employed, and on my way out i have kept close to the _spartane_ in order to be able to assist at once if anything went wrong with the steering-gear. i should wish to say, sir, that i feel under the deepest obligations to captain talbot for the great assistance that he and his crew have rendered me in getting up the jury-mast, and fitting up the temporary rudder. had it not been for that i might have been detained for some time at barbados." having drunk a glass of wine, nat went out with the admiral on to the quarter-deck. the officers pressed round, shook hands, and congratulated him. it did not last long, for the admiral said kindly: "the sound of our cannon, gentlemen, has had a much greater effect upon mr. glover's nerves than had those of his prize, and i think we must let him off without any further congratulations for to-day. besides, he has a long report to write for me, and a good many other things to see to." nat was glad indeed to take his place in the gig, and to return to the _agile_. he spent two hours in writing his report in duplicate. when he had done this he went ashore to the prize agent to enquire what formalities were needed with regard to the recaptured merchantmen; and having signed some official papers, he went up to monsieur duchesne's. monsieur pickard and his family had sailed months before for england, but the duchesnes were still in possession of the house they had hired. they enjoyed, they said, so much the feeling of rest and security that they were by no means anxious for a sea voyage; and indeed madame duchesne was still far from well, and her husband was reluctant to take her to the cold climate of england until summer had well set in. "ah, my dear nat," madame duchesne said, "we were hoping that you would be able to spare time to call to-day. my husband would have gone off to see you, but he knew that you had a great deal to do. all the town is talking of your capture of the french frigate, and the recapture of the two prizes that she had taken. several of our friends have come in to tell us about it; but of course we were not surprised, for your capturing the frigate with the _agile_ was no more wonderful than your taking the _agile_ with the _arrow_." "it was a lucky affair altogether, madame duchesne." "i knew that you would say so," myra said indignantly. "whatever you do you always say it is luck, as if luck could do everything. i have no patience with you." "i will endeavour not to use the word again in your presence, myra," nat laughed. "but i have no time for an argument to-day, i have only just run in for a flying visit to see how you are. i have no end of things to see to, and i suppose it will be some days before all the business of the prizes is finished, the frigate formally handed over, and the value of the indiamen and their cargo estimated. however, as soon as i am at all free i will come in for a long talk. you know that there is nowhere that i feel so happy and at home as i do here." it was indeed three days before he had time to pay another visit. "it is too bad of you, not coming to dinner," myra said as he entered. "we really did expect you." "i hoped that i should be able to get here in time, but ever since i saw you i have been going backwards and forwards between the ships and the shore, calling at the dockyard and prize court. to-day there has been a regular survey of the spartane. they were so long over it that i began to think i should not be able to get away at all." "you will be becoming quite a millionaire," monsieur duchesne said, "if you go on like this." "well, you see, we were lucky--i beg your pardon, myra--i mean we were fortunate. we had a very small crew on board the _arrow_, and as it was an independent command, the whole of the prize-money for the capture of the _agile_ and her prize was divided among us, with the exception of the flag share; and i found, to my surprise, that my share came to £ . without knowing anything of the cargoes of the prizes that i have recaptured now, and what will be paid for the _spartane_, i should think that my share would come to twice as much this time, so that i shall be able before long to retire into private life--that is, if i have any inclination to do so." "but i suppose," madame duchesne said, "that if you marry you will want to settle down." "i am too young to think of such a matter, madame," nat laughed. "why, i am only just nineteen, and it will be quite soon enough to think of that in another eight or ten years. but there is no doubt that when the time comes i shall give up the sea. i don't think it is fair to a wife to leave her at home while you are running the risk of being shot. it is bad enough for her in time of peace, but in war-time it must be terrible for her, and it strikes me that this war is likely to be a long one. it seems to me that it is a question for a man to ask himself, whether he loves his profession or a woman better. if he cares more for the sea, he should remain single; if he thinks more of the woman, let him settle down with her." "that sounds very wise," monsieur duchesne said with a smile, "but when the time comes for the choice i fancy that most men do not accept either alternative, but marry and still go to sea." "that is all right when they have only their profession to depend upon," nat said. "then, if a woman, with her eyes open to the fact that he must be away from her for months, is ready to take a man for better or for worse, i suppose the temptation is too strong to be withstood. happily it won't be put in my way, for even if i never take another ship i shall have enough to live on quietly ashore." "now, you must tell us the story of the fight," myra said. "the story is told in twenty words," he replied. "she did not suspect that we were an enemy until we had passed her, and our broadside told her what we were. as the _agile_ is faster and much more handy than the frigate, we managed to keep astern of her, and, sailing backwards and forwards, poured our broadsides in her stern, while she could scarce get a gun to bear on us. we managed to cripple her rudder, and after this the fight was virtually over. however, she kept her flag flying till we shot away her mizzen, after which, seeing that she was at our mercy, and that her captain, two lieutenants, and more than half her crew were killed or wounded, she lowered her colours. now, really that is the whole account of the fight. if i were telling a sailor, who would understand the nautical terms, i could explain the matter more clearly, but if i were to talk for an hour you would understand no more about it than you do now." an hour later, nat went out with monsieur duchesne to smoke a cigar on the verandah, myra remaining indoors with her mother, who was afraid of sitting out in the cool evening breeze. "going back to our conversation about marriage, nat," monsieur duchesne said, "it is a question which my wife and i feel some little interest in. you see, it is now more than three years since you saved myra's life, after which you rendered her and my wife inestimable service. now, i know that in your country marriages are for the most part arranged between the young people themselves. with us such an arrangement would be considered indecent. if your father and mother were out here, the usual course would be for your mother to approach my wife and talk the matter over with her. my wife would consult with me, and finally, when we old people had quite come to an understanding, your father would speak to you on the subject. all this is impossible here. now, it seems to my wife and myself that, having rendered such inestimable services to us, and having been thrown with my daughter a good deal--who, i may say, without any undue vanity, is a very attractive young lady--you could scarcely be indifferent to her. "as you said, according to your british notions you are too young to think of marrying; and, at any rate, my wife has sounded myra, and the girl has assured her that you have never said a word to her that would lead her to believe you entertained other than what i may call a brotherly affection for her. now, i can tell you frankly, that one of our reasons for remaining here for the past six months has been that we desired that the matter should be arranged one way or the other. it has struck us that it was not your youth only that prevented you from coming to me and asking for myra's hand, but a foolish idea that she is, as is undoubtedly the case, a very rich heiress. before i go farther, may i ask if that is the case, and if you really entertain such an affection for my daughter as would, putting aside all question of money and of your youth, lead you to ask her hand?" "that i can answer at once, sir. ever since i first met her, and especially since i saw how bravely she supported that terrible time when she might fall into the hands of the blacks, i have thought of your daughter as the most charming girl that i have ever met. of course, i was but a lad and she a young girl--no thought of marriage at that time even entered my mind. during the past three years that feeling has grown, until i have found that my happiness depends entirely upon her. i felt, monsieur, that my lips were sealed, not only by the fact that she was an heiress and i only a penniless lieutenant, but because it would be most unfair and ungenerous were i, on the strength of any services i may have rendered, to ask you for her hand." "it is not on account of those services, much as we recognize them, that i offer you her hand, but because both her mother and herself feel that her happiness, which is the great object of our lives, is involved in the matter. in most cases, a young lady well brought up does not give her heart until her father presents to her an eligible suitor. this is an exceptional case. i do think that any girl whose life had been saved, as hers was, at the risk of that of her rescuer, and who, during a most terrible time, came to look up to him as the protector of herself and her mother, and who, moreover, was constantly hearing of his daring actions, and to whom her dearest friends also owed their lives, could not but make him her hero. i need not say that the subject has not been mooted to her, and it was because i desired the matter to be settled before we left for europe that we have lingered here. i am glad indeed that i now know your feeling in the matter. i am conscious that in giving her to you we are securing her happiness. i have, of course, ever since the day when you saved her from that dog, watched your character very closely, and the result has been in all respects satisfactory. now, i will go in and tell her that i will take her place by her mother's side, and that she may as well come out here and keep you company." in a minute myra stepped out on to the verandah. "it is cool and nice here, nat. i think it would do mother more good out here than keeping in the house, where in the first place it is hot, while in the second place it gives me the horrors to see the way the moths and things fly into the lights and burn themselves to death." "no doubt it is pleasanter here," nat said, wondering how he ought to begin. "that was very soberly said, nat," myra laughed. "one would think that it was a proposition that required a good deal of consideration." "it was a proposition that received no consideration. in point of fact, just at present, dear, my head is a little turned with a conversation that i have just had with your father." "what do you mean?" she asked. "i mean that i see before me a great and unlooked-for happiness, a happiness that i had hardly ventured even to hope for, but at present it is incomplete; it is for you to crown it if you can do so. your father has given his consent to my telling you that i love you. i do love you truly and earnestly, myra, but i should not be content with anything less than your love. i don't want it to be gratitude. i don't want any thought of that business with the dog, or of the other business with the blacks, to have anything to do with it." "they must have something to do with it," she said softly, "for it was owing to these that i first began to love you. it was at first, no doubt, a girl's love for one who had done so much for her, but since then it has become a woman's love for the one man that she should choose out of all. i love you, nat, i love you with all my heart." ten minutes later they went hand in hand into the house. monsieur duchesne had told his wife what had occurred in the verandah, and as they came in she rose and threw her arms round myra's neck and kissed her tenderly. "you have chosen wisely, my child, and have made us both very happy. we can give her to you, monsieur glover, without one misgiving; we know that in your hands her life will be a happy one. and now," she went on with a smile, "you will have to face that terrible problem you were discussing an hour since. you will have to choose between a wife and the sea." "the problem may be settled at once, madame," nat said with a smile. "at any rate, there is no occasion to choose at present," madame duchesne went on. "myra is but just past sixteen, and her father and i both think that it is as well that you should wait at least a couple of years before there is any talk of marriage, both for her sake and yours. after your brilliant services, especially in capturing the frigate, you are sure of rapid promotion, and it would be a pity indeed for you to give up your profession until you have obtained the rank of captain, when you could honourably retire. we shall leave for england very shortly, france is out of the question. as you said, you and my daughter are both young, and can well afford to wait." "that is so, madame, we quite acquiesce in your decision. as to your going to england, it is likely that i may be going there myself very shortly. the admiral hinted to-day that, as the dockyard people say that the _spartane_ can be ready for sea in ten days or so, he will probably send me home in her. he very kindly kept back my report of the action, and merely stated that the french frigate _spartane_ had been brought in in tow by his majesty's brigantine _agile_, together with two merchantmen she had captured on her way out, which had also been retaken by the _agile_, and said that he thought it was only fair that i should carry back my own report and his full despatch on the subject. of course i may be sent out again, or i may be employed on other service. at any rate i shall be able to get a short leave before i go to sea again. i have been out here now six years, and feel entitled to a little rest. i would certainly rather be employed in the mediterranean than here, for there is more chance of seeing real service." the next day nat received an order from the admiral to hand over the command of the _agile_ to lieutenant turnbull. lippincott, who would pass his examination and receive his step, was to act as first lieutenant, and a midshipman from one of the ships on the station was to be second officer. nat himself was ordered to superintend the repairs and fitting out for sea of the _spartane._ "i am awfully sorry that you are going, glover," turnbull said. "of course it is a great pull for me being appointed to the command, but i was very jolly and happy as i was. i don't think there ever was a pleasanter party on board one of his majesty's ships. however, of course it is a great lift for me. i shall try to keep things going as comfortably as you did." "i have no doubt that you will do that, turnbull, and you have an able ally in doyle." "doyle was inconsolable when i came on board yesterday and told him that you were going home in the _spartane_, and that i was to have the command." "it is the worst news that i have heard for many a day," doyle had said. "you are very well, turnbull, and i have no sort of complaint to make of you, but i am afraid that the luck will go with glover. it is his luck and not the ship's; whatever he has put his hand to has turned out well. i don't say that he has not done his work as well as it could be done, but there is no doubt that luck is everything. if one of the _agile's_ guns had knocked away a mast or spar from the _arrow_ it would have been all up with you; and again, had a shot from the frigate crippled us, she would have been after taking the _agile_ into a french port instead of our bringing her in here." "yes, but then you see that upon both occasions glover put his craft where it was difficult to get their guns to bear on her." "yes, yes, i know that; but that does not alter it a bit. if there had been only one shot fired, and had we been an unlucky boat, it would, sure enough, have brought one of the spars about our ears." "well, doyle, it may be that it was my luck, and not glover's, that pulled us through. you see, i should have been shot or had my throat cut by the pirates if we had been taken by them, so possibly i am the good genius of the boat; or it may be lippincott." "botheration to you!" the irishman said, as he saw by a twinkle in turnbull's eye that he was really chaffing him; "there is one thing certain, if you get wounded and fall into my hands, you will not regard that as a matter of luck." "well, at any rate, doctor, glover told me half an hour ago of a piece of luck in which none of us here can share. he is engaged to that very pretty french girl whom he is always calling on when we are in port." "i thought that was what would come of it, turnbull," lippincott said; "it would be rum if she hadn't fallen in love with him after all that he did for her." "i was greatly taken with her myself," the doctor said, "the first time she came on board, but i saw with half an eye that the race was lost before i had time to enter. besides, i could not afford to marry without money, and one of these poor devils of planters, who have had to run away from hayti with, for the most part, just the clothes they stood up in, would hardly make the father-in-law yours faithfully would desire. i wonder myself how they manage to keep up such a fine establishment here, but i suppose they had a little put away in an old stocking, and are just running through it. they are shiftless people, are these planters, and, having been always used to luxuries, don't know the value of money." turnbull burst into a fit of laughter in which lippincott joined, for in the early days of the cruise on the _arrow_ they had heard from nat how his friends had for generations laid by a portion of their revenues, and allowed the interest to accumulate, so that, now that the time had come for utilizing the reserve, they were really much richer people than they had been when living on their fine plantation. doyle looked astonished at their laughter. "my dear doyle," turnbull went on, "it is too comical to hear you talking of a shiftless planter--you, belonging as you do to the most happy-go-lucky race on the face of the earth. now, i will ask you, did you ever hear of a family of irish squires who for generations put aside a tenth part of their income, and allowed the interest to accumulate without touching it, so that, when bad times came, they found that they were twice as well off as they were before?" "begorra, you are right, turnbull; never did i hear of such a thing, and i don't believe it ever happened since the first irish crossed the seas from somewhere in the east." "well, at any rate, doyle, that is what the duchesnes have done, and i should think, from what glover says--though he did not mention any precise sum, for he did not know himself--but i should say that it must come to at least a hundred thousand pounds." "mother of moses!" the doctor exclaimed; "it is a mighty bad turn you have done me, turnbull, that you never gave me as much as a hint of this before. i should have been sorry for glover, who is in all ways a good fellow; still i should have deemed it my duty to my family, who once--as you know, is the case of almost every other family in the ould country--were kings of ireland. i should have restored the ancient grandeur of my family, built a grand castle, and kept open house to all comers--and to think that i never knew it!" "then you think, doctor," lippincott said, with a laugh, "that you only had to enter the lists to cut glover out?" "i don't go quite so far as that; but, of course, now the thing is settled for good, it would be of no use trying to disturb it, and it would hardly be fair on glover. but, you see, as long as it was an open matter, i might have well tried my luck. i should have had great advantages. you see, i am a grown man, whereas glover is still but a lad. then, though i say it myself, i could talk his head off, and am as good as those who have kissed the blarney stone at bewildering the dear creatures." "those are great advantages, no doubt, doyle; but, you see, glover had one advantage which, i have no doubt, counted with the lady more than all those you have enumerated. he had saved her life at the risk of his own, he had carried her, and her mother, through terrible dangers." "yes, yes, there is something in that," doyle said, shaking his head; "if the poor young fellow is satisfied with gratitude i have nothing more to say. at any rate, i have lost my chance. now, perhaps, as you know all about this, you might put me up to some other lady in similar circumstances, but with a heart free to bestow upon a deserving man." "i should not be justified in doing so, doyle. after what you have been saying about building a baronial castle, and keeping open house, it is clear that you would soon bring a fortune to an end, however great it might be; and, therefore, i should not feel justified in aiding you in any way in your matrimonial adventures." "it's a poor heart that never rejoices," the doctor said. "the tumblers are empty. sam, you rascal, bring us another bottle of that old jamaica, fresh limes, and cold water. it is one of the drawbacks of this bastely climate that there is no pleasure in taking your punch hot." one of the negroes brought in the materials. "now, doctor," turnbull said, "i know that in spite of this terrible disappointment you will drink heartily the toast, 'nat glover and mademoiselle duchesne, and may they live long and happily together!'" "that is good," doyle said as he emptied his tumbler at a draught; "nothing short of a bumper would do justice to it. hand me the bottle again, lippincott, and cut me a couple of slices off that lime. yes, i will take two pieces of sugar, please, turnbull. now i am going to propose a toast, 'the new commander of the _agile_, and may she, in his hands, do as well as she did in those of nat glover.'" three days later the _agile_ started on another cruise. nat spent his time in the dockyard, where he was so well known to all the officials that they did everything in their power to aid him to push matters forward, and a week after the brigantine had left the _spartane_ was ready for sea. nat had seen the admiral several times, but had heard nothing from him as to who were the officers who were to take the _spartane_ home, nor whether he was to sail as a passenger bearing despatches or as one of the officers. when he went on board the flag-ship to report that all was ready for sea, the admiral said: "mr. winton, first lieutenant of the _onyx_, is invalided home. he is a good officer, but the climate has never agreed with him, and, as his father has lately died and he has come into some property, he will, i have no doubt, go on half-pay for a time until he is thoroughly set up again. i shall therefore appoint him as first lieutenant of the _spartane_; mr. plumber, second lieutenant of the _tiger_, will go second. "i have decided, mr. glover, to give you the rank of acting commander. you captured the ship, and it is fair that you should take her to england. mind, i think it probable enough that the authorities at home may not be willing to confirm your rank, as it is but little over two years since you obtained your present grade. i feel that i am incurring a certain responsibility in giving you the command of a thirty-six-gun frigate, but you have had opportunities of showing that you are a thorough seaman, and can fight as well as sail your ship." "i am immensely obliged, sir," nat said hesitatingly, "but i have never for a moment thought of this, and it does seem a tremendous responsibility. besides, i shall be over two officers both many years senior to myself." "i have spoken to both of them," the admiral said, "and pointed out to them that, after you had captured the frigate with the little brigantine you commanded, i considered it almost your right to take her home. i put it frankly to them that, if they had any objection to serving under one so much their junior, i should by no means press the point, but that at the same time i should naturally prefer having two experienced officers with you instead of officering her entirely with young lieutenants junior to yourself. i am glad to say that both of them agreed heartily, and admitted the very great claim that you have to the command. mr. winton is anxious to get home, and knows that he might have to wait some time before a ship of war was going. mr. plumber is equally anxious for a short run home, for, as he frankly stated to me, he has for three years past been engaged to be married, and he has some ground for hope that he may get appointed to a ship on the home station. so as these gentlemen are perfectly willing to serve under you there need be no difficulty on your part in the matter. we will therefore consider it as settled. "i have made out your appointment as acting commander. i sincerely hope that you will be confirmed in the rank. at any rate, it will count for you a good deal that you should have acted in that capacity. here are your instructions. you will be short-handed; i cannot spare enough men from the ships on this station to make up a full complement. a hundred and fifty are all that i can possibly let you have, but i have told the masters of these two indiamen that they will have to furnish a contingent. i have been on board both the ships to-day. i addressed the crews, and said that you were going to take home the _spartane_ and were short of hands. i said that i did not wish to press any men against their will, but that i hoped that five-and-twenty from each ship would come forward voluntarily; that number had aided to bring the _spartane_ in here; they knew you, and might be sure that the ship would be a comfortable one; and i told them that i would give them passes, saying that they had voluntarily shipped for the voyage home on my guaranteeing that they should, if they chose, be discharged from the service on their arrival. more than the number required volunteered at once, but i asked the captain to pick out for me the men who had before been on board the _spartane_, and of whose conduct you had spoken highly. three merchantmen will sail under your convoy." nat went ashore after leaving the admiral, and naturally went straight to the duchesnes. "who do you suppose is going to command the _spartane_?" he asked as he went in. "i know who ought to command her. you took her, and you ought to command her." "well, it seems absurd, but that is just what i am going to do." myra clapped her hands in delight. "have they made you a real captain, then?" "no," he said with a laugh, "i shall be acting commander. that gives one the honorary rank of captain, but it may be a long time before i get appointed to that rank. the admiral has been awfully kind, but the people at home are not likely to regard my age and appearance as in any way suitable for such a position." "i am happy to say, nat, that we shall sail under your convoy. i have been settling all my affairs and making my arrangements for leaving, and have this morning definitely taken cabins in the _myrtle_. as the furniture is not ours, and we have not accumulated many belongings, knowing that we might be sailing at any moment, we can get everything packed by to-night and go on board to-morrow morning. the captain could not tell me at what hour we should sail. he said that it would depend upon the frigate." "i should like to start at eight if i could, but i cannot say whether everything will be quite ready. however, you had better be on board at that hour. it will be jolly indeed having you all so close to me." "shall we be able to see each other sometimes?" myra asked. "many times, i hope; but of course it must depend partly on the weather. if we are becalmed at any time you might come on board and spend a whole day, but if we are bowling along rapidly it would scarcely be the thing to stop two ships in order that the passengers might go visiting." it was twelve o'clock on the following day when the _spartane_ fired a gun, and at the signal the anchors, which had all been hove short, were run up, the sails shaken out, and the _spartane_ and the three vessels under her charge started on their voyage. chapter xix home the voyage home was a pleasant but not an exciting one. no suspicious sails were sighted until they neared the mouth of the channel. then two or three craft, which bore the appearance of french privateers, had at different times approached them, but only to draw off as soon as they made out the line of ports of the _spartane_. there had been sufficient days of calm and light winds to enable the duchesnes to frequently spend a few hours on board the frigate. nat had felt a little uncomfortable at first, but it was not long before he became accustomed to the position. of course he could not be on the same familiar terms with his officers as he had been on board the _agile_, but he insisted upon the first and second lieutenants dining with him regularly. "it will really be kind of you if you will," he said, "for i shall feel like a fish out of water sitting here in solitary state." and as he had drawn something on account of his prize-money and kept an excellent table, the two officers willingly agreed to the suggestion. "i have always thought, mr. winton," he said, "that there is a good deal more stiffness than is at all necessary or even desirable on board a ship of war. it is not so in the army. i dined several times at regimental messes at kingston, and although the colonel was, of course, treated with a certain respect, the conversation was as general and as unrestrained as if all had been private gentlemen; yet, of course, on the parade ground, the colonel was as supreme as a captain on his quarter-deck. at sea, the captain really never gets to know anything about his officers, except with regard to their duties on board a ship, and i don't think it is good, either for him or the officers in general, that he should be cut off from them as much as if he were an emperor of china." "i agree with you so far," mr. winton said. "i do think the reins of discipline are held too tautly, and that where the captain is a really good fellow, life on board might be much more pleasant than it now is; but with a bad-tempered, overbearing sort of man your suggestion would act just the other way." "well, we could easily put a stop to that," nat said, "if the admiralty would refuse to appoint bad-tempered and overbearing men to any command." the other laughed. "that would help us out of the difficulty, certainly; but i think that any change had better be deferred until they perceive, as every junior officer in the service perceives, that such men are a curse to themselves and everyone else, that they are hated by the whole crew, from the ship's boys to the first lieutenant, and that a ship with a contented and cheerful crew can be trusted at all times to do her duty against any odds." sailing south of the isle of wight, the _spartane_ came in through the nab channel. there she left her convoy, who anchored on the mother bank, while she sailed into portsmouth harbour, with the white ensign flying over the tricolour. as she entered she was greeted with loud cheers by the crews of the ships of war. as soon as she had picked up moorings nat landed at the dockyard, and, proceeding to the admiral's, reported himself there. "the admiral is away inspecting the forts in the needles passage," a young officer said. "captain painton might be able to give you any information that you require." "i only want formally to report myself before taking post-chaise to london." "perhaps you had better see him," the other said, a little puzzled as to who this young officer could be who was in charge of despatches. "i think i had." "what name shall i say?" "glover." the flag-captain was a short, square-built man, with keen eyes, and a not unpleasant expression, but bluff and hasty in manner. "now, mr. glover, what can i do for you?" he asked shortly. "well, sir, i hardly know the course of procedure, but as i want to start with despatches for london in a quarter of an hour i shall be glad to be able to hand over the ship i command, or, if it cannot be taken over in that summary way, to know whether my first officer is to retain charge of her until i can return from town." "and what is the vessel that you have the honour to command, sir?" captain painton said with a slight smile. "the _spartane_ frigate, a prize mounting thirty-six guns, that entered the harbour a quarter of an hour ago." the captain had an idea that this was an ill-timed joke on the part of the young lieutenant. "do you wish me to understand, sir," he said sternly, "that you are in command of that prize?" "that certainly, sir, is what i wish you to understand. i have brought her home from jamaica, and have the honour to hold the appointment of acting commander. there, you see, are the official despatches of which i am the bearer, addressed to the admiralty, and with the words 'in charge of acting commander glover.'" "and your officers, sir?" suppressing with difficulty an explosion of wrath at what he considered a fresh sign that the service was going to the dogs. "the first officer is lieutenant winton, the second lieutenant plumber." "very well, sir, i will go off myself at once. i will detain you no longer." nat at once hurried off, while captain painton went into the office of another of the officials of the dockyard. "the service is going to the dogs," he said. "here is a young lieutenant, who from his appearance can't have passed more than a year, pitchforked over the head of heaven knows how many seniors, and placed as acting commander of a thirtysix-gun frigate, french prize, sir. just look up the records of the lieutenants under him." "one is a lieutenant of fifteen years' service, the other of twelve." "it is monstrous, scandalous. this sort of thing is destructive of all discipline, and proves that everything is to go by favouritism. just at the outbreak of the war it is enough to throw cold water on the spirits of all who are hoping to distinguish themselves." ignorant of the storm that had been excited in the mind of the flag-captain, nat was already on his way, having as soon as he landed sent his coxswain to order a post-chaise to be got ready for starting in a quarter of an hour. it was eight o'clock when he dropped anchor, by nine he was on the road, and by handsomely tipping the post-boys he drew up at the admiralty at half-past four. "what name shall i say, sir?" the doorkeeper asked. "acting commander glover, with despatches from jamaica." the admiral looked up with amazement as nat was announced. the latter had not mounted the second epaulette to which as commander he was entitled, and the admiral on his first glance thought that the attendant must have made a mistake. "did i understand, sir, that you are a commander?" "an acting one only, sir. i have come home in command of the _spartane_, a prize mounting thirty-six guns. the admiral was good enough to appoint me to the acting rank in order that i might bring her home with despatches, and the report respecting her capture by the brigantine _agile_, of ten guns, which i had the honour to command." "yes, i saw a very brief notice of her capture in the _gazette_ ten days ago, but no particulars were given. i suppose the mail was just coming out when she arrived." "that was partly the reason, no doubt, sir; but i think the admiral could have written more, had he not in his kindness of heart left it to me to hand in a full report. i may say that i had the good fortune to recapture two valuable west indiamen that the _spartane_ had picked up on her way out." the admiral rose from the table and took down a thick volume from the book-case. at the back were the words, "records of service." it was partly printed, a wide space being left under each name for further records to be written in. "glover, nathaniel. is that your christian name, captain glover?" nat bowed. "an exceptionally good record. 'distinguished himself greatly in the attack by the frigate _orpheus_ on three piratical craft protected by strong batteries. passed as lieutenant shortly afterwards. appointed to the command of the schooner _arrow_, four guns, charged to rescue white inhabitants off hayti, and if possible to enter into communications with negro leaders and learn their views. in the course of the performance of this duty he landed with all his crew of twenty men, took off a french planter and family and eight other whites in the hands of a force estimated at three hundred and fifty blacks, and fought his way on board his ship again. later on engaged a pirate brigantine, the _agile_, of ten guns, which had just captured a spanish merchantman. after a sharp fight, took possession of the prize, and with the aid of her crew capture the _agile_.' and now with the _agile_ you have taken the _spartane_, a thirty-six gun frigate, to say nothing of recapturing two valuable west indiamen, prizes of hers. and i suppose, commander glover, if we confirm you in your rank and command, you will go forth and appear next time with a french three-decker in tow. from a tiny schooner to a frigate is a greater distance than from a frigate to a line-of-battle ship." "yes, sir," nat said with a smile; "but the advantage of quick manoeuvring that one gets in a small craft, and which gives one a chance against a larger adversary, becomes lost when it is a frigate against a line-of-battle ship. the _spartane_ is fairly handy, but she could not hope to gain much advantage that way over a bigger vessel." "i wonder the admiral had men enough to spare to send her home." "he could hardly have done so, sir, but fifty of the merchant sailors belonging to the recaptured prizes volunteered for the voyage, and were furnished by the admiral with discharges on arrival at portsmouth." "a very good plan, for it is hard work to get men now that we are fitting out every ship at all the naval ports. now, commander glover, i will detain you no longer. i shall carefully read through these despatches this evening, and shall discuss them with my colleagues to-morrow. i shall be glad if you will dine with me to-morrow evening at half-past six; here is my card and address." "i beg your pardon, sir, but i am altogether ignorant of such matters--should i come in uniform or plain clothes?" "whichever would suit you best," the admiral replied with a smile. "as you have only just arrived to-day from the west indies, and doubtless have had little time for preparations before you sailed, it is more than likely that you may not have had time to provide yourself with a full-dress uniform." "i have not, sir; and indeed, had i had time i should not have thought of buying one of my acting rank, which would naturally terminate as soon as the object for which it was granted was attained." "very well, then, come in plain dress. i may tell you for your information, that when invited by an admiral to his official residence you would be expected to appear in uniform, but when asked to dine at his private residence it would not be considered as a naval function, and although i do not at all say that it would be wrong to appear in uniform, there would be no necessity for doing so." as everyone dressed for dinner in the west indies for the sake of coolness and comfort, nat was well provided in this way. after his dinner at the golden cross he went to a playhouse. he had posted a letter to his father, which was written before he landed, directly he reached town, saying that he was home; that of course he could not say how long it would be before he would be able to leave his ship, but as soon as he did so he would run down into somersetshire and stay there until he received orders either to join another vessel or to return to the west indies. the next afternoon the papers came out with the official news, and news-boys were shouting themselves hoarse: "capture of a french frigate by a ten-gun british brig! thirty-six guns against ten! three hundred and fifty frenchmen against fifty englishmen! nearly half the monsieurs killed or wounded, the rest taken prisoners! glorious victory!" and nat was greatly amused as he looked out of the window of the hotel at the eager hustling that was going on to obtain one of the broadsheets. "it sounds a big thing," he said to himself, "but there was nothing in it, and the whole thing was over in less time than it takes to talk about it. well, i hope i shall either get off to portsmouth again to-morrow or go down to the dear old pater. i wish this dinner was over. no doubt there will be some more of these old admirals there, and they will be wanting to learn all the ins and outs, just as if twenty words would not tell them how it was we thrashed them so easily. they know well enough that if you have a quick handy craft, and get her under the weather quarter of a slow-moving frigate the latter hasn't a shadow of a chance." although not an official dinner, all the twelve gentlemen who sat down were, with the exception of nat, connected with the admiralty. the first lord and several other admirals were there, the others were heads of departments and post-captains. "before we begin dinner," the first lord said, "i have pleasure in handing this to you, commander glover. there is but one opinion among my colleagues and myself, which is that as you have captured the _spartane_ and have come home as her commander, we cannot do less than confirm you in that rank and leave her in your charge. you are certainly unusually young for such promotion, but your career has been for the past four years so exceptional that we seem to have scarcely any option in the matter. such promotion is not only a reward you have gallantly won, but that you should receive it will, we feel, animate other young officers to wholesome emulation that will be advantageous both to themselves and to the service in general." nat could scarcely credit his ears. that he might be appointed second lieutenant of the _spartane_ or some other ship of war was, he thought, probable; but the acme of his hopes was that a first lieutenancy in a smart sloop might possibly be offered to him. his two officers on the way home had talked the matter over with him, and they had been a little amused at seeing that he never appeared to think it within the bounds of possibility that his rank would be confirmed, although, as the admiral before sailing told them, he had most strongly recommended that this should be done, and he thought it certain that the authorities at home would see the matter in the same light. he had asked them not to give the slightest hint to nat that such promotion might be awarded to him. "you never can tell," the admiral said, "what the admiralty will do, but here is a chance that they don't often get of making a really popular promotion, without a suspicion of favouritism being entertained. beyond the fact that he has been mentioned in despatches, i doubt if anyone at whitehall as much as knows the young fellow's name, and the service generally will see that for once merit has been recognized on the part of one who, so far as patronage goes, is friendless." nat returned to portsmouth the following morning, and spent some hours in signing papers and going through other formalities. "the _spartane_ will be paid off to-morrow, captain glover," the port admiral said; "she will be recommissioned immediately. i hope you will be able to get some of the men to re-enter, for there is a good deal of difficulty about crews. so great a number of ships have been fitted out during the past four or five months that we have pretty well exhausted the seafaring population here, and even the press-gangs fail to bring many in." going on board, nat sent for the boatswain and gunners, and informed them that as he was to recommission the _spartane_ he was anxious to get as many of the hands to reship as possible. "i have no doubt that some of them will join, sir," the quarter-master said. "i heard them talking among themselves, and saying that she has been as pleasant a ship as they had ever sailed in, and if you was to hoist your pennant a good many of them would sign on." "i would not mind giving a couple of pounds a head." "i don't think that it would be of any use, sir. if the men will join they will join, if they won't they won't. besides, they have all got some pay, and most of them some prize-money coming to them, and it would be only so much more to chuck away if they had it. and another thing, sir, i think when men like an officer they like to show him that it is so, and they would rather reship without any bounty, to show that they liked him, than have it supposed that it was for the sake of the money." after the men had been paid off the next morning, he told them in a short speech that he had been appointed to recommission the _spartane_, and said that he would be glad to have a good many of them with him again. he was much gratified when fully two-thirds of the men, including the greater part of the merchantmen, stepped forward and entered their names. "that speaks well indeed for our young commander," the port admiral, who had been present, said to his flag-captain. "it is seldom indeed that you find anything like so large a proportion of men ready to reship at once. it proves that they have confidence in his skill as well as in his courage, and that they feel that the ship will be a comfortable one." it was expected that the _spartane_ would be at least a month in the hands of the shipwrights, and the men on signing were given leave of absence for that time. as soon as all this was arranged, nat took a post-chaise and drove to southampton. there he found the duchesnes at an hotel. their ship had gone into the port two days previously, but all their belongings were not yet out of the hold, and indeed it had been arranged that they would not go up to town till they saw him. they were delighted to hear that his appointment had been confirmed, and that he was to have the command of the _spartane_. "now, i suppose you will be running down to see your people at once?" myra said with a little pout. "i think that is only fair," he said, "considering that i have not seen them for six years. i don't think that even you could grudge me a few days." "yeovil is a large place, isn't it?" she asked. "yes; why do you ask?" she looked at her mother, who smiled. "the fact is, nat, myra has been endeavouring to persuade her father and me that it would be a nice plan for us to go down there with you and to form the acquaintance of your parents. of course we should stay at an hotel. we are in no particular hurry to go up to london; and as while you are away we shall naturally wish to see as much as we can of your people, this would make a very good beginning. and perhaps some of them will come back to london with us when you join your ship." "i think it would be a first-rate plan, madame, the best thing possible. of course i want my father and mother and the girls to see myra." "when will you start?" "to-morrow morning. of course we shall go by post. it will be a very cross-country journey by coach, and many of these country roads are desperately bad. it is only about the same distance that it is to london, but the roads are not so good, so i propose that we make a short journey to-morrow to salisbury, and then, starting early, go through to yeovil. we shall be there in good time in the afternoon. i shall only be taking a very small amount of kit, so that we ought to be able to stow three large trunks, which will, i suppose, be enough for you. of course we could send some on by a waggon, but there is no saying when they would get there, and as likely as not they would not arrive until just as we are leaving there; of course dinah will go on the box." at four o'clock, two days later, the post-chaise drove up to the principal hotel at yeovil. rooms were at once obtained for the duchesnes, and nat hired a light trap to drive him out to his father's rectory, some three miles out of the town. as he drove up to the house, three girls, from sixteen to two-and three-and-twenty, ran out, followed a moment later by his father and mother. for a few minutes there was but little coherent talk. his sisters could scarcely believe that this tall young officer was the lad they had last seen, and even his father and mother agreed that they would scarce have recognized him. "i don't think the girls quite recognize me now," he laughed. "they kissed me in a very feeble sort of way, as if they were not at all sure that it was quite right. indeed, i was not quite sure myself that it was the proper thing for me to salute three strange young ladies." "what nonsense you talk, nat," his eldest sister mary said. "i thought by this time, now you are a lieutenant, you would have become quite stiff, and would expect a good deal of deference to be paid to you." "i can't say that you have been a good correspondent, nat," his mother said. "you wrote very seldom, and then said very little of what you had been doing." "well, mother, there are not many post-offices in hayti, and i should not have cared to trust any letters to them if there had been. there is the advantage, you see, that there is much more to tell you now than if i had written to you before. you don't get papers very regularly here, i think?" "no, we seldom see a london paper, and the bath papers don't tell much about anything except the fashionable doings there." "then i have several pieces of news to tell you. here is a _gazette_, in which you will see that a certain nathaniel glover brought into portsmouth last week a french thirty-six-gun frigate which he had captured, and in another part of the _gazette_ you will observe that the same officer has been confirmed in the acting rank of commander, and has been appointed to the _spartane_, which is to be recommissioned at once. therefore you see, sisters, you will in future address me as captain." there was a general exclamation of surprise and delight. "that is what it was," the rector said, "that dr. miles was talking to me about yesterday in yeovil. he said that the london papers were full of the news that a french frigate had been captured by a little ten-gun brigantine, and had been brought home by the officer who had taken her, who was, he said, of the same name as mine. he said that it was considered an extraordinarily gallant action." "we shall be as proud as peacocks," lucy, the youngest girl, said. "now as to my news," he went on. "doubtless that was important, but not so important as that which i am now going to tell you. at the present moment there is at yeovil a gentleman and lady, together with their daughter, the said daughter being, at the end of a reasonable time, about to become my wife, and your sister, girls." the news was received with speechless surprise. "really, nat?" his mother said in a tone of doubt; "do you actually mean that you have become engaged to a young lady who is now at yeovil?" "that is the case, mother," he said cheerfully. "there is nothing very surprising that a young lady should fall in love with me, is there? and i think the announcement will look well in the papers--on such and such a date, myra, daughter of monsieur duchesne, late of the island of hayti, to nathaniel, son of the rev. charles glover of arkton rectory, commander in his majesty's navy." "duchesne!" ada, the second girl, said, clapping her hands, "that is the name of the young lady you rescued from a dog. i remember at the time mary and i quite agreed that the proper thing for you to do would be to marry her some day. yes, and you were staying at her father's place when the blacks broke out; and you had all to hide in the woods for some time." "quite right, ada. well, she and her father and mother have posted down with me from southampton in order to make your acquaintance, and to-morrow you will have to go over in a body." "does she speak english?" mrs. glover asked. "oh, yes, she speaks a good deal of english; her people have for the past two years intended to settle in england, and have all been studying the language to a certain extent. besides that, they have had the inestimable advantage of my conversation, and have read a great many english books on their voyage home." "is miss duchesne very dark?" lucy asked in a tone of anxiety. nat looked at her for a moment in surprise, and then burst into a fit of laughter. "what, lucy, do you think because myra was born in hayti that she is a little negress with crinkley wool?" "no, no," the girl protested almost tearfully. "of course i did not think that, but i thought that she might be dark. i am sure when i was at bath last season and saw several old gentlemen, who, they said, were rich west indians, they were all as yellow as guineas." "well, she won't be quite so dark as that, anyhow," nat said; "in fact i can tell you, you three will all have to look your best to make a good show by the side of her." "but this talk is all nonsense, nat," the rector said gravely. "your engagement is a very serious matter. of course, now you have been so wonderfully fortunate, and are commander of a ship, you will, i have no doubt, have an income quite sufficient to marry upon, and, of course, you are in a position to please yourself." "we are not going to be married just at present, father. she is three years younger than i am, and i am not far advanced in years; so it has been quite settled that we shall wait for some time yet. by then, if i am lucky, my prize-money will have swelled to a handsome amount, and indeed, although i don't know the exact particulars, i believe i am entitled to from eight to ten thousand pounds. moreover as the young lady herself is an only child, and her father is a very wealthy man, i fancy that we are not likely to have to send round the hat to make ends meet." the visit was duly paid the next day, and was most satisfactory to all parties, and, as the rectory was a large building, mr. and mrs. glover insisted upon the duchesnes removing there at once. "we want to see as much of nat as we can," his mother urged, "and if he is to divide his time between yeovil and the rectory, i am afraid we should get but a very small share of him." "i suppose your brother has told you all his adventures," myra said the next morning, as she and all the party, with the exception of mr. glover and nat, were seated in the parlour after breakfast was over. "no, he is a very poor correspondent. he just told us what he had been doing, but said very little about his adventures. i suppose he thought that girls would not care to hear about midshipmen's doings. he did tell us, though, that he had had a fight with a dog that had bitten you." myra's eyes opened wider and wider as the eldest, mary glover, spoke. her face flushed, and she would have risen to her feet in her indignation had not her mother laid her hand upon her arm. "i do not think, miss glover," monsieur duchesne said gravely, "that you can at all understand the obligation that we are under to your brother. the bite of a dog seems but a little thing. a huge hound had thrown myra down, and had rescue been delayed but half a minute her death was certain. your brother, riding past, heard her cries, and rushed in, and, armed only with his dirk, attacked the hound. he saved my daughter's life, but it was well-nigh at the cost of his own, for although he killed it, it was not until it had inflicted terrible injuries upon him--injuries so serious that for a time it was doubtful whether he would live. this was the first service to us. on the next occasion he was staying with us when the blacks rose. thanks to our old nurse, there was time for them to run out into the shrubbery before the negroes came up, and then take refuge in the wood. my wife was seized with fever, and was for days unconscious. "the woods were everywhere scoured for fugitives. six blacks, led by two mulattoes, discovered their hiding-place. your son shot the whole of them, but had one of his ribs broken by a pistol-ball. in spite of that, he and dinah carried my wife some thirty miles down to the town across rough ground, where every step must have been torture to him, and brought her and myra safely to me. equal services he performed another time to a family, intimate friends of ours, composed of a gentleman and his wife and two daughters, who, with six white men, were prisoners in the hands of the blacks, and would assuredly have suffered deaths of agonizing torture. though he had but twenty men with him, he landed them all, marched them up to the place, rescued the whole party, and made his way down to his boat again through three hundred and fifty maddened blacks. no less great was the service he rendered when he rescued some fifteen ladies and gentlemen who had been captured by a pirate, and whose fate, had he not arrived, would have been too horrible to think of. as to his services at sea, the official reports have testified, and his unheard-of promotion shows the appreciation of the authorities. never were more gallant deeds done by the most valiant naval captains who have ever lived." myra had held her father's hand while he was speaking; her breath had come fast, and her eyes were full of tears. "thank you, monsieur duchesne," mrs. glover said, gently; "please remember that all this is quite new to us. now that we know something of the truth, we shall feel as proud of our boy as your daughter has a right to be." "excuse me, mrs. glover," myra said, walking across to her, and kissing her, "but when it seemed to me that these glorious deeds nat has achieved were regarded as the mere adventures of a midshipman, i felt that i must speak." "it is quite natural that you should do so," mrs. glover said; "for, if fault there is, it rests with nat, who always spoke of his own adventures in a jesting sort of way, and gave us no idea that they were anything out of the common." "they were out of the common, madame," myra said; "why, when he came into port royal, with the great frigate in tow of his little brigantine, and two huge merchantmen he had recaptured from her, the admiral's ship and all the vessels of war in the harbour saluted him. i almost cried my eyes out with pride and happiness." "myra does not exaggerate," her mother said; "your son's exploits were the talk of jamaica, and even the capture of the french frigate was less extraordinary than the way in which, with a little craft of four guns, he captured a pirate which carried ten, and a crew four times as numerous as his own." "i hope you will tell us in full about all these things, madame duchesne," mrs. glover said, "for i fear that we shall never get a full account from nat himself." myra went across to mary. "you are not angry with me, i hope," she said; "we are hot-tempered, we west indians. when it seemed that you were speaking slightingly of the action to which i owe my life, i don't know what i should have said if my father had not stopped me." "i am not in the slightest degree angry," mary said; "or, rather, if i am angry at all it is with nat. it is too bad of him keeping all this to himself. you see, he was quite a boy when he left us, and he used to tell us funny stories about the pranks that the midshipmen played. although we felt very proud of him when he told us that he had gained the rank of commander, we did not really know anything about sea matters, and could not appreciate the fact that he must have done something altogether out of the way to obtain that rank. but, of course, we like you all the better for standing up for him. i am sure that in future we girls shall be just as angry as you were if anyone says anything that sounds like running him down." the time passed rapidly, and, as the girls were never tired of listening to the tales of nat's exploits, and myra was never tired of relating them, nat would have come in for any amount of hero-worship had he not promptly suppressed the slightest exhibition in that direction. it was but a few days after his arrival in england that monsieur duchesne learned by a letter from a friend, who was one of the few who escaped from the terrible scene, that their fears had been justified, and that cape françois, the beautiful capital of hayti, had ceased to exist. santhonax and poveren had established a reign of terror, plunder, and oppression, until the white inhabitants were reduced to the most terrible state of suffering. the misery caused by these white monsters was as great as that which prevailed in france. at last general galbaud arrived, having been sent out to prepare for the defence of the colony against an attack by the british. the two commissioners, however, refused to recognize his authority. not only this, but they imperatively ordered him to re-embark, and return to france. each party then prepared for fighting. the commissioners had with them the regular troops, and a large body of blacks. the governor had twelve hundred sailors, and the white inhabitants of the city, who had formed themselves into a body of volunteers. the fighting was hard; the volunteers showed the greatest bravery, and, had they been well supported by the sailors, would have gained the day. the seamen, however, speedily broke into the warehouses, intoxicated themselves with rum, and it was with difficulty that their officers could bring them back into the arsenal. the commissioners had, the night before, sent to a negro chief, offering pardon for all past offences, perfect freedom, and the plunder of the city. he arrived at noon on the st of june, and at once began the butchery of the white inhabitants. this continued till the evening of the rd, by which time the whole of the whites had been murdered, the city sacked, and then burned to the ground. before nat sailed in the _spartane_, the duchesnes had taken a house at torquay. here the climate would be better suited to madame, the summer temperature being less exhausting and the winter so free from extremes that she might reasonably hope not to feel the change. for five years nat commanded the _spartane_. if he did not meet with the exceptional good fortune that he had found in the west indies, he had, at least, nothing to complain of. he picked up many prizes, took part in several gallant cutting-out adventures, and captured the french frigate _euterpe_, of forty-six guns. for full details of these and other actions a search must be made in the official records of the british navy, where they are fully set forth. after a long and hard-fought battle, for which action he received post rank, he retired from the service, and settled down with myra near plymouth, where he was within easy reach of his own relations. as soon as he was established there, her father and mother took a house within a few minutes' walk of his home. he congratulated himself that he had not remained in the west indies, for had he done so he would, like all the naval and military forces in the islands, have taken part in the disastrous attempt to obtain possession of the island of san domingo. the spaniards had ceded their portion to the french, and although the whites, mulattoes, and blacks were at war with each other, they were all ready to join forces against the british. the attempt to conquer an island so populous and strongly defended, and abounding with mountains in which the enemy could maintain themselves, was, if undertaken by a force of anything less than a hundred thousand men, foredoomed to failure. the force at first sent was ridiculously inadequate, and although it received reinforcements from time to time, these were not more than sufficient to fill the gaps caused by fever. consequently, after four or five years' fighting, and the loss of fully thirty thousand men, by fatigue, hardship, and fever, the effort was abandoned, after having cost some thirty millions of money. at the end of the war, toussaint was virtually dictator of hayti. he governed strongly and well, but as he was determined to admit no interference on the part of the french, he was finally treacherously seized by them, carried to france, and there died, it is said by starvation, in prison. his forebodings as to the unfitness of the blacks for self-government have been fulfilled to the letter. civil wars, insurrections, and massacres have been the rule rather than the exception; the island has been gradually going down in the scale of civilization, and the majority of the blacks are as savage, ignorant, and superstitious as their forefathers in africa. fetish worship and human sacrifices are carried on in secret, and the fairest island in the western seas lies sunk in the lowest degradation--a proof of the utter incapacity of the negro race to evolve, or even maintain, civilization, without the example and the curb of a white population among them. * * * * * "wherever english is spoken one imagines that mr. henty's name is known. one cannot enter a schoolroom or look at a boy's bookshelf without seeing half-a-dozen of his familiar volumes. mr. henty is no doubt the most successful writer for boys, and the one to whose new volumes they look forward every christmas with most pleasure." --_review of reviews._ a list of books for young people by g. a. henty, kirk munroe, james whitcomb riley, ernest thompson seton, and others published by charles scribner's sons to fifth avenue new york * * * * * other volumes of the henty books uniform with this popular edition in freedom's cause with lee in virginia with wolfe in canada the lion of st. mark in the reign of terror no surrender under wellington's command with frederick the great at aboukir and acre both sides the border a march on london with moore at corunna at agincourt cochrane the dauntless on the irrawaddy through russian snows a knight of the white cross the tiger of mysore in the heart of the rockies when london burned wulf the saxon st. bartholomew's eve through the sikh war a jacobite exile condemned as a nihilist beric the briton in greek waters the dash for khartoum redskin and cowboy held fast for england * * * * * by g. a. henty "among writers of stories of adventures for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank."--_academy_ (london). the treasure of the incas a tale of adventure in peru. with full-page illustrations by wal paget, and map. $ . net. peru and the hidden treasures of her ancient kings offer mr. henty a most fertile field for a stirring story of adventure in his most engaging style. in an effort to win the girl of his heart, the hero penetrates into the wilds of the land of the incas. boys who have learned to look for mr. henty's books will follow his new hero in his adventurous and romantic expedition with absorbing interest. it is one of the most captivating tales mr. henty has yet written. with kitchener in the soudan a story of atbara and omdurman. with full-page illustrations. $ . net. mr. henty has never combined history and thrilling adventure more skillfully than in this extremely interesting story. it is not in boy nature to lay it aside unfinished, once begun; and finished, the reader finds himself in possession, not only of the facts and the true atmosphere of kitchener's famous soudan campaign, but of the gordon tragedy which preceded it by so many years and of which it was the outcome. with the british legion a story of the carlist uprising of . illustrated. $ . net. arthur hallet, a young english boy, finds himself in difficulty at home, through certain harmless school escapades, and enlists in the famous "british legion," which was then embarking for spain to take part in the campaign to repress the carlist uprising of . arthur shows his mettle in the first fight, distinguishes himself by daring work in carrying an important dispatch to madrid, makes a dashing and thrilling rescue of the sister of his patron, and is rapidly promoted to the rank of captain. in following the adventures of the hero the reader obtains, as is usual with mr. henty's stories, a most accurate and interesting history of a picturesque campaign. * * * * * stories by g. a. henty "his books have at once the solidity of history and the charm of romance."--_journal of education._ to herat and cabul a story of the first afghan war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. mo, $ . net. the greatest defeat ever experienced by the british army was that in the mountain passes of afghanistan. angus cameron, the hero of this book, having been captured by the friendly afghans, was compelled to be a witness of the calamity. his whole story is an intensely interesting one, from his boyhood in persia; his employment under the government at herat; through the defense of that town against the persians; to cabul, where he shared in all the events which ended in the awful march through the passes from which but one man escaped. angus is always at the point of danger, and whether in battle or in hazardous expeditions shows how much a brave youth, full of resources, can do, even with so treacherous a foe. his dangers and adventures are thrilling, and his escapes marvellous. with roberts to pretoria a tale of the south african war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. $ . net. the boer war gives mr. henty an unexcelled opportunity for a thrilling story of present-day interest which the author could not fail to take advantage of. every boy reader will find this account of the adventures of the young hero most exciting, and, at the same time a wonderfully accurate description of lord roberts's campaign to pretoria. boys have found history in the dress mr. henty gives it anything but dull, and the present book is no exception to the rule. at the point of the bayonet a tale of the mahratta war. by g. a. henty. illustrated. mo, $ . net. one hundred years ago the rule of the british in india was only partly established. the powerful mahrattas were unsubdued, and with their skill in intrigue, and great military power, they were exceedingly dangerous. the story of "at the point of the bayonet" begins with the attempt to conquer this powerful people. harry lindsay, an infant when his father and mother were killed, was saved by his mahratta ayah, who carried him to her own people and brought him up as a native. she taught him as best she could, and, having told him his parentage, sent him to bombay to be educated. at sixteen he obtained a commission in the english army, and his knowledge of the mahratta tongue combined with his ability and bravery enabled him to render great service in the mahratta war, and carried him, through many frightful perils by land and sea, to high rank. * * * * * by g. a. henty "mr. henty might with entire propriety be called the boys' sir walter scott."--_philadelphia press._ in the irish brigade a tale of war in flanders and spain. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon. mo, $ . . desmond kennedy is a young irish lad who left ireland to join the irish brigade in the service of louis xiv. of france. in paris he incurred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of absorbing interest. captured in an attempted jacobite invasion of scotland, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. as aid-de-camp to the duke of berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in flanders. transferred to the army in spain, he was nearly assassinated, but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardon and having recovered his estates. the story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. out with garibaldi a story of the liberation of italy. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey, r.i. mo, $ . . garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. from the time the hero, a young lad, son of an english father and an italian mother, joins garibaldi's band of , men in the first descent upon sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large neapolitan armies, until the end, when all those armies are beaten, and the two sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. with buller in natal or, a born leader. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey. mo, $ . . the breaking out of the boer war compelled chris king, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from johannesburg to the sea coast. they were with many other uitlanders, and all suffered much from the boers. reaching a place of safety for their families, chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. in this service they were with gen. yule at glencoe, then in ladysmith, then with buller. in each place they had many thrilling adventures. they were in great battles and in lonely fights on the veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the english forces. the story is a most interesting picture of the war in south africa. * * * * * by g. a. henty "surely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."--_the times._ won by the sword a tale of the thirty years' war. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon, and four plans. mo, $ . . the scene of this story is laid in france, during the time of richelieu, of mazarin and anne of austria. the hero, hector campbell, is the orphaned son of a scotch officer in the french army. how he attracted the notice of marshal turenne and of the prince of conde; how he rose to the rank of colonel; how he finally had to leave france, pursued by the deadly hatred of the duc de beaufort--all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest. a roving commission or, through the black insurrection at hayti. with illustrations by william rainey. mo, $ . . this is one of the most brilliant of mr. henty's books. a story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adventures on land. so it holds the keenest interest until the end. the scene is a new one to mr. henty's readers, being laid at the time of the great revolt of the blacks, by which hayti became independent. toussaint l'overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. no surrender the story of the revolt in la vendée. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo, $ . . the revolt of la vendée against the french republic at the time of the revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. leigh stansfield, a young english lad, is drawn into the thickest of the conflict. forming a company of boys as scouts for the vendéan army, he greatly aids the peasants. he rescues his sister from the guillotine, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of la vendée is lost, he escapes to england. under wellington's command a tale of the peninsular war. with illustrations by wal paget. mo, $ . . the dashing hero of this book, terence o'connor, was the hero of mr. henty's previous book, "with moore at corunna," to which this is really a sequel. he is still at the head of the "minho" portuguese regiment. being detached on independent and guerilla duty with his regiment, he renders invaluable service in gaining information and in harassing the french. his command, being constantly on the edge of the army, is engaged in frequent skirmishes and some most important battles. * * * * * by g. a. henty "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."--_sword and trowel._ at aboukir and acre a story of napoleon's invasion of egypt. with full-page illustrations by william rainey, and plans. mo, $ . . the hero, having saved the life of the son of an arab chief, is taken into the tribe, has a part in the battle of the pyramids and the revolt at cairo. he is an eye-witness of the famous naval battle of aboukir, and later is in the hardest of the defense of acre. both sides the border a tale of hotspur and glendower. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. mo, $ . . this is a brilliant story of the stirring times of the beginning of the wars of the roses, when the scotch, under douglas, and the welsh, under owen glendower, were attacking the english. the hero of the book lived near the scotch border, and saw many a hard fight there. entering the service of lord percy, he was sent to wales, where he was knighted, and where he was captured. being released, he returned home, and shared in the fatal battle of shrewsbury. with frederick the great a tale of the seven years' war. with full-page illustrations. mo, $ . . the hero of this story while still a youth entered the service of frederick the great, and by a succession of fortunate circumstances and perilous adventures, rose to the rank of colonel. attached to the staff of the king, he rendered distinguished services in many battles, in one of which he saved the king's life. twice captured and imprisoned, he both times escaped from the austrian fortresses. a march on london a story of wat tyler's rising. with full-page illustrations by w. h. margetson. mo, $ . . the story of wat tyler's rebellion is but little known, but the hero of this story passes through that perilous time and takes part in the civil war in flanders which followed soon after. although young he is thrown into many exciting and dangerous adventures, through which he passes with great coolness and much credit. * * * * * by g. a. henty "no country nor epoch of history is there which mr. henty does not know, and what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly."--_new york times._ with moore at corunna a story of the peninsular war. with full-page illustrations by wal paget. mo, $ . . terence o'connor is living with his widowed father, captain o'connor of the mayo fusiliers, with the regiment at the time when the peninsular war began. upon the regiment being ordered to spain, terence gets appointed as aid to one of the generals of a division. by his bravery and great usefulness throughout the war, he is rewarded by a commission as colonel in the portuguese army and there rendered great service. at agincourt a tale of the white hoods of paris. with full-page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story begins in a grim feudal castle in normandie. the times were troublous, and soon the king compelled lady margaret de villeroy with her children to go to paris as hostages. guy aylmer went with her. paris was turbulent. soon the guild of the butchers, adopting white hoods as their uniform, seized the city, and besieged the house where our hero and his charges lived. after desperate fighting, the white hoods were beaten and our hero and his charges escaped from the city, and from france. with cochrane the dauntless a tale of the exploits of lord cochrane in south american waters. with full-page illustrations by w. h. margetson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story accompanies cochrane as midshipman, and serves in the war between chili and peru. he has many exciting adventures in battles by sea and land, is taken prisoner and condemned to death by the inquisition, but escapes by a long and thrilling flight across south america and down the amazon. on the irrawaddy a story of the first burmese war. with full page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, having an uncle, a trader on the indian and burmese rivers, goes out to join him. soon after, war is declared by burmah against england and he is drawn into it. he has many experiences and narrow escapes in battles and in scouting. with half-a-dozen men he rescues his cousin who had been taken prisoner, and in the flight they are besieged in an old, ruined temple. * * * * * by g. a. henty "boys like stirring adventures, and mr. henty is a master of this method of composition."--_new york times_. through russian snows a story of napoleon's retreat from moscow. with full-page illustrations by w. h. overend and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, julian wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the french, regains his freedom and joins napoleon's army in the russian campaign. when the terrible retreat begins, julian finds himself in the rearguard of the french army, fighting desperately. ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to england. a knight of the white cross a tale of the siege of rhodes. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock, and a plan. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . gervaise tresham, the hero of this story, joins the order of the knights of st. john, and proceeds to the stronghold of rhodes. subsequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of moorish corsairs. during one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in tripoli. he succeeds in escaping, and returns to rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. the tiger of mysore a story of the war with tippoo saib. with full-page illustrations by w. h. margetson, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . dick holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of tippoo saib, goes to india to help him to escape. he joins the army under lord cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign against tippoo. afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of savandroog. the hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. in the heart of the rockies a story of adventure in colorado. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by g. c. hindley. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, tom wade, goes to seek his uncle in colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger, and he is discovered, after many dangers, out on the plains with some comrades. going in quest of a gold mine, the little band is spied by indians, chased across the bad lands, and overwhelmed by a snowstorm in the mountains. * * * * * by g. a. henty "mr. henty is one of the best story-tellers for young people."--_spectator_. when london burned a story of the plague and the fire. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the troublous times of the commonwealth. during the great plague and the great fire, cyril was prominent among those who brought help to the panic-stricken inhabitants. wulf the saxon a story of the norman conquest. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a young thane who wins the favor of earl harold and becomes one of his retinue. when harold becomes king of england wulf assists in the welsh wars, and takes part against the norsemen at the battle of stamford bridge. when william of normandy invades england, wulf is with the english host at hastings, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. st. bartholomew's eve a tale of the huguenot wars. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. j. draper, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, philip fletcher, has a french connection on his mother's side. this induces him to cross the channel in order to take a share in the huguenot wars. naturally he sides with the protestants, distinguishes himself in various battles, and receives rapid promotion for the zeal and daring with which he carries out several secret missions. through the sikh war a tale of the conquest of the punjaub. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by hal hurst, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . percy groves, a spirited english lad, joins his uncle in the punjaub, where the natives are in a state of revolt. percy joins the british force as a volunteer, and takes a distinguished share in the famous battles of the punjaub. * * * * * by g. a. henty "the brightest of the living writers whose office it is to enchant the boys."--_christian leader_. a jacobite exile being the adventures of a young englishman in the service of charles xii. of sweden. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by paul hardy, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . sir marmaduke carstairs, a jacobite, is the victim of a conspiracy, and he is denounced as a plotter against the life of king william. he flies to sweden, accompanied by his son charlie. this youth joins the foreign legion under charles xii., and takes a distinguished part in several famous campaigns against the russians and poles. condemned as a nihilist a story of escape from siberia. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story is an english boy resident in st. petersburg. through two student friends he becomes innocently involved in various political plots, resulting in his seizure by the russian police and his exile to siberia. he ultimately escapes, and, after many exciting adventures, he reaches norway, and thence home, after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. beric the briton a story of the roman invasion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story deals with the invasion of britain by the roman legionaries. beric, who is a boy-chief of a british tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under boadicea; and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in a. d. ) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. ultimately beric is defeated and carried captive to rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. at length he returns to britain, where he becomes ruler of his own people. in greek waters a story of the grecian war of independence ( - ). by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. s. stacey, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . deals with the revolt of the greeks in against turkish oppression. mr. beveridge and his son horace fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for greece. they rescue the christians, relieve the captive greeks, and fight the turkish war vessels. * * * * * by g. a. henty "no living writer of books for boys writes to better purpose than mr. g. a. henty."--_philadelphia press._ the dash for khartoum a tale of the nile expedition. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schÖnberg and j. nash. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the record of recent british history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue general gordon. for, in the difficulties which the expedition encountered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tragic disappointments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. redskin and cow-boy a tale of the western plains. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of an english lad, who seeks employment as a cow-boy on a cattle ranch. his experiences during a "round-up" present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cow-boy; while the perils of a frontier settlement are vividly set forth in an indian raid. held fast for england a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story deals with one of the most memorable sieges in history--the siege of gibraltar in - by the united forces of france and spain. with land forces, fleets, and floating batteries, the combined resources of two great nations, this grim fortress was vainly besieged and bombarded. the hero of the tale, an english lad resident in gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, resource, and tenacity the rock was held for england. * * * * * a list of books by kirk munroe a son of satsuma or, with perry in japan. by kirk munroe. with illustrations by harry c. edwards. $ . net. this absorbing story for boys deals with one of the most interesting episodes in our national history. from the beginning japan has been a land of mystery. foreigners were permitted to land only at certain points on her shores, and nothing whatever was known of her civilization and history, her romance and magnificence, her wealth and art. it was commodore perry who opened her gates to the world, thus solving the mystery of the ages, and, in this thrilling story of an american boy in japan at that period, the spirit as well as the history of this great achievement is ably set forth. in pirate waters a tale of the american navy. illustrated by i. w. taber. mo, $ . . the hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy just at the time of the war with tripoli. his own wild adventures among the turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stirring history of that time. with crockett and bowie or, fighting for the lone star flag. a tale of texas. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by victor pÉrard. crown vo. $ . . the story is of the texas revolution in , when american texans under sam houston, bowie, crockett, and travis fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the mexican santa aña. the hero, rex hardin, son of a texan ranchman and graduate of an american military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the alamo, and the final triumph at san jacinto. through swamp and glade a tale of the seminole war. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by v. pÉrard. crown vo, $ . . coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of philip, the chieftain of the seminoles. he grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the indians being driven from the north of florida down to the distant southern wilderness. at war with pontiac or, the totem of the bear. a tale of redcoat and redskin. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo, $ . . a story when the shores of lake erie were held by hostile indians. the hero, donald hester, goes in search of his sister edith, who has been captured by the indians. strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but contrives to escape. in the end all things terminate happily. the white conquerors a tale of toltec and aztec. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . this story deals with the conquest of mexico by cortez and his spaniards, the "white conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where montezuma reigned in splendor. midshipman stuart or, the last cruise of the essex. a tale of the war of . illustrated. mo, $ . . this is an absorbing story of life in the american navy during the stirring times of our war of . the very spirit of the period is in its pages, and many of the adventures of the essex are studied from history. * * * * * by ernest thompson seton lives of the hunted being a true account of the doings of four quadrupeds and three birds. with illustrations. $ . net. (postage, cents.) "should be put with kipling and hans christian andersen as a classic."--the athenÆum (london). wild animals i have known with illustrations. $ . . mr. ernest thompson seton's first and most famous book. more than , have been sold so far. by james whitcomb riley the book of joyous children profusely illustrated. the sweetness, the grace, the laughter, and the tenderness of mr. riley's best verse are found to the full in this book of delightful poems for and about children. the illustrations have been made under the author's supervision, and portray the scenes and the little heroes and heroines of the poems with artistic fidelity. by cyrus townsend brady in the wasp's net the story of a sea waif. illustrated. $ . net. (postage, cents.) a vigorous story of the war of . the hero, a midshipman, serves gallantly aboard two famous american ships, each bearing the name of wasp, having many adventures of storm, battle, and capture. by thomas nelson pace a captured santa claus illustrated in colors. this exquisite story of childhood is one of the most delicate that even mr. page has written. it is an episode of the civil war in which children are the little heroes. the period is the christmas time, and the scene is between the lines of the union and confederate armies. * * * * * jeb hutton, a georgia boy by james b. connolly. illustrated. $ . net. (postage, cents.) a thoroughly interesting and breezy tale of boy-life along the savannah river by a writer who knows boys, and who has succeeded in making of the adventures of jeb and his friends a story that will keep his young readers absorbed to the last page. king mombo by paul du chaillu. author of "the world of the great forest," etc. with illustrations. $ . net. (postage, cents.) the scene is the great african forest. it is a book of interesting experiences with native tribes, and thrilling and perilous adventures in hunting elephants, crocodiles, gorillas and other fierce creatures among which this famous explorer lived so long. a new book for girls by lina beard and adelia b. beard. authors of "the american girl's handy book." profusely illustrated. an admirable collection of entirely new and original indoor and outdoor pastimes for american girls, each fully and interestingly described and explained, and all designed to stimulate the taste and ingenuity at the same time that they entertain. sea fighters from drake to farragut by jessie peabody frothingham. illustrations by reuterdahl. $ . net. (postage, cents.) drake, tromp, de reuter, tourville, suffren, paul jones, nelson and farragut are the naval heroes here pictured, and each is shown in some great episode which illustrates his personality and heroism. the book is full of the very spirit of daring and adventurous achievement. bob and his gun by william alexander linn. with illustrations. the adventures of a boy with a gun under the instruction of his cousin, an accomplished sportsman. the book's aim is to interest boys in hunting in the spirit of true sport and to instruct in the ways of game birds and animals. general nelson's scout [illustration: as lightly as a bird he cleared the fence.] general nelson's scout by byron a. dunn [illustration: decoration] chicago a. c. mcclurg and company copyright by a. c. mcclurg & company a. d. _all rights reserved_ to milton, my little son, who was greatly interested in the story of "general nelson's scout," while being written, and who gave me many valuable hints, this volume is affectionately dedicated. introduction. throughout the following pages the threads of history and fiction are closely interwoven. the plot of the story is laid in the dark and stormy days of , amid the waving trees and blue grass fields of central kentucky. no state wept more bitter tears at the commencement of the dreadful struggle between the north and the south than kentucky. with loving arms she tried to encircle both, and when she failed, in the language of one of her most eloquent sons, "so intense was her agony that her great heart burst in twain." resolutions of neutrality did little good. sympathies and beliefs are not controlled by resolutions or laws, and never can be. kentucky was divided into two great hostile camps. the secession element was very active, and the union men saw the state slowly but surely drifting into the arms of the confederacy. then it was that lieutenant william nelson of the united states navy, a well-known and very popular kentuckian, asked the privilege of raising ten regiments of kentucky troops. the request was granted, and nelson at once commenced his task. only a man of iron determination and the highest courage would have dared to undertake such a work. he became the object of the fiercest hatred and opposition,--even from many who professed to love the union. but he never wavered in his purpose, and established a camp for his recruits at dick robinson, a few miles east of danville. here it is that the story opens, and nelson is the chief historic figure--a figure with many imperfections, yet it can be said of him as it was of king james v., in "the lady of the lake": "on his bold visage middle age had slightly pressed its signet sage, yet had not quenched the open truth and fiery vehemence of youth; forward and frolic glee was there, the will to do, the soul to dare." all military movements chronicled in the story are historically correct. the riot in louisville, the fight for the arms, the foiling of the plot, the throwing of the train from the track, are all historical incidents. every real character in the story is called by his true name. in this class belong colonel peyton and his son bailie. the high character of the one and the eloquence of the other are not overdrawn. the story of shiloh, as told, may be contradicted, but, the author believes, cannot be successfully controverted. had it not been for general nelson, buell's army would never have reached the battlefield of shiloh sunday night. fred shackelford and calhoun pennington, the heroes of the story, are children of the imagination, as well as their relatives and friends. with this brief introduction, the author sends forth this little volume, hoping that the rising generation may not only read it, but enjoy it, and be somewhat enlightened by it. through bitter tears and dreadful carnage the union was preserved; and through it all there has come a great blessing. thoroughly united, the north and the south are vying with each other in upholding the honor of the flag. shoulder to shoulder they stand, battling that the last remnant of tyranny may be driven from the new world. b. a. d. waukegan, ill., june, . contents chapter page i. the quarrel and the oath ii. the meeting with nelson iii. the day after bull run iv. the trip to nashville v. father and son vi. the fight for the arms vii. the foiling of a plot viii. a daring deed ix. a leap for life x. in the hands of the enemy xi. crazy bill sherman xii. a desperate encounter xiii. the meeting of the cousins xiv. the battle of mill springs xv. a fight with guerrillas xvi. fort donelson xvii. after the battle xviii. "we both must die" xix. shiloh xx. "my son! my son!" illustrations. as lightly as a bird he cleared the fence _frontispiece._ he plunged forward, and passed the goal half-a-length ahead _facing page_ he dealt the ruffian such a blow that he fell like a log as quick as a flash fred snatched a revolver from the holster "you here!" gasped the major, and he made a grab for his collar "fire! fire!" thundered a colonel who had just sprung out of the foremost car fred raised his head, "ferror! ferror!" he cried the federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down the battle now raged along the entire line with great fury fred drew his revolver, and the guerrilla dropped from his horse "why, boys, they are trying to get away; we mustn't let them" "for god's sake, don't shoot! i promise" springing from his horse, he bent over the death-like form general nelson's scout. chapter i. the quarrel and the oath. a short distance from danville, kentucky, on the afternoon of july , , two boys might have been seen seated by the roadside under the branches of a wide-spreading oak. near by, tethered to the stout rail fence which ran along the side of the road, were two spirited thoroughbred horses that champed their bits and restlessly stamped their feet, unnoticed by their young owners, who seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion. the two boys were nearly the same age and size, and were cousins. calhoun pennington, who was the more excited of the two, was very dark, and his black hair, which he wore long, was flung back from a broad and handsome forehead. his countenance was flushed with anger, and his eyes fairly blazed with suppressed wrath. his companion, frederic shackelford, was not quite as large as calhoun, but his frame was more closely knit, and if it came to a trial of strength between the two, it would take no prophet to tell which would prove master. frederic was as fair as his cousin was dark. his eyes were deep blue, and his hair had a decided tinge of red. the firm set lips showed that he was not only a boy of character, but of decided will. while his tones expressed earnestness and deep feeling, his countenance did not betray the excitement under which his cousin labored. young as frederic was, he had learned the valuable lesson of self-control. so earnest did the discussion between the two boys become, that calhoun pennington sprang to his feet, and raising his clenched hand, exclaimed in passionate tones: "do you mean to say that kentucky is so sunk in cowardice that she will not enforce her proclamation of neutrality? then i blush i am a kentuckian." "i mean to say," calmly replied frederic, "that it will be impossible for kentucky to enforce her ideas of neutrality. kentuckians are no cowards, that you know, calhoun; but it is not a question of courage. the passions aroused are too strong to be controlled. the north and the south are too thoroughly in earnest; the love of the union on one side, the love of the rights of the states on the other, is too sincere. we could not remain neutral, if we wished. as well try to control the beating of our hearts, as our sympathies. we are either for the old flag, or against it." "i deny it," hotly cried calhoun; "you fellows who are always preaching about the old flag are not the only ones who love the country. it is we who are trying to keep it from becoming an instrument of oppression, of coercion, who really love the old flag. but i know what is the matter with you. owing to the teachings of that yankee mother of yours, you are with the abolitionists, nigger-stealers, the mud-sills of creation, lower and meaner than our slaves. you had better go back to those precious yankee relatives of yours; you have no business in kentucky among gentlemen." frederic's eyes flashed. he raised his clenched hand convulsively; then, with a tremendous effort, he controlled himself and slowly replied: "calhoun, we have always been friends and companions, more like brothers than cousins; but if you value my friendship, if you do not wish me to become your deadliest enemy, never speak disrespectfully of my mother again. if you do, young as i am, i shall demand of you the satisfaction one gentleman demands of another. this refused, i shall shoot you like a dog." for a moment calhoun gazed in the countenance of his cousin in silence. in the stern, set features, the dangerous gleam of the eye, he read the truth of what he had heard. he was fully as brave as his cousin, and for a moment a bitter and stinging reply trembled on his lips; then his better nature conquered, and extending his hand, he said: "there, fred; i didn't mean to hurt your feelings, much less reflect on the memory of your mother. from the north though she was, she was one of the best of women, and you know i loved her almost as much as you did yourself, for in many ways she was a mother to me. forgive me, fred." fred grasped the extended hand, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed, "i might have known you did not mean it, cal. you are too noble to say aught of one who loved you as my mother did. forgive my hasty words." "there is nothing to forgive, fred; you did just right." for a moment the boys remained silent, and then fred resumed: "cal, we must both try to be charitable. simply to be for the north or the south does not make one a gentleman. true manhood is not measured by one's political belief. your father is none the less a gentleman because he is heart and soul with the south. calhoun, dark and fearful days are coming--have already come. father will be against son, brother against brother. members of the same family will become the deadliest enemies. our beloved kentucky will be rent and torn with warring factions, and the whole land will tremble beneath the shock of contending armies. ruined homes will be everywhere; little children and women will flee to the mountains for safety." "not if kentucky enforces her position of neutrality," broke in calhoun. "the picture you draw is one you unionists are trying to bring about. we, who would enforce neutrality, would avoid it." "calhoun, don't be deceived. you know that in many parts of kentucky it is dangerous now for a union man to express his sentiments. hundreds of kentuckians have left to join the confederate army. they do so boldly with colors flying and drums beating. on our southern border, armies are gathering ready to spring over at a moment's notice. kentucky cannot, if she would, remain neutral. i feel, i know, evil times are coming--are now here. calhoun, a few moments ago we came near having a deadly quarrel. i shudder as i now think of it. what if we had quarreled! what if one of us had killed the other, we who are like brothers! oh, calhoun! let us swear eternal friendship to each other. let us promise to be careful and not say anything to each other that will rankle and hurt. we know not what will come, what the future has in store for us, or whither we shall be led. let us swear to succor and save each other, even at the peril of our lives, if necessary. wherever we may meet, let us meet as friends--each ready to protect the life and honor of the other. let us swear it." "fred," slowly replied calhoun, "it is a very strange compact you ask. it sounds like some old story of knight-errantry. you must be getting romantic. but when i think of how near we came to flying at each other's throats, if you are willing to make such a solemn compact, i am." and there, on that july evening, under the spreading oak, the boys clasped hands and took a solemn oath to stand by each other, come what might; even unto death would they be true to each other. little did either think what would be the outcome of that strange compact. little did they realize that the day would come when that oath, if kept, would lead both into the very jaws of death--an ignoble and terrible death. that oath, under the spreading oak, on that july evening between two boys, was to become the pivot around which the fate of contending armies depended. calhoun was the first to speak after the making of the solemn compact. "fred," he exclaimed, "now that we have sworn eternal friendship, it will not do for us to quarrel any more. like the man and his wife they tell about, 'we agree to disagree.' but see how restless our horses are. they must be disgusted with our loitering. let us have a race. see that tree yonder, nearly a mile away, where the danville and nicholasville roads cross? i can beat you to that tree, and if i do, the south wins." "done," cried fred, for he had all the love of a true kentucky boy for a horse race. "now, prince," said he, as he unhitched his horse, and patted his glossy neck, "you hear. this race is for the old flag. win, or never hold up your head again." "selim," cried calhoun, "how do you like that? it is the cause of the sunny south that is at stake. win, selim, or i will sell you to the meanest abolitionist in the north." both boys vaulted into their saddles, and at the word their steeds were away like the wind. chapter ii. the meeting with nelson. never was there a hotter race run in kentucky. neck and neck the horses ran, neither seemingly able to gain an inch on the other. the goal grew alarmingly near. each rider bent over the neck of his flying steed, and urged him on with word and spur. the tree was scarcely twenty yards away. "now, prince, if ever," cried fred. the horse seemed to understand. with a tremendous effort, he plunged forward, and passed the goal half a length ahead. [illustration: he plunged forward, and passed the goal half-a-length ahead.] "won!" cried fred, but his huzzah died on his lips. the excitement of the race had made the boys careless, and they ran into a squad of horsemen who were passing along the other road. fred came nearly unhorsing the leader of the squad, a heavy-set, red-faced man with bushy hair that stood up all around his large head. he was dressed in the uniform of an officer of the united states navy. as for calhoun, he entirely unhorsed a black groom, who was bringing up the rear of the squad. the darky scrambled to his feet unhurt, and forgetting his fright in his enthusiasm, shouted: "golly, massa, dat was a race, suah. dat a hoss woth habin'." like a true kentucky negro, he loved a fine horse, and gloried in a race. but with the officer, it was different. as soon as he could quiet his horse, he let fly such a volley of oaths that the boys sat on their horses too dumfounded to say a word. the officer swore until he was out of breath, and had to stop from sheer exhaustion. at the first opportunity, fred took off his hat and politely said: "we beg a thousand pardons, sir, but i was racing for the old flag, and had to win, even if i had had to run over the commander-in-chief of the army, instead of a lieutenant of the navy." "lieutenant of the navy! lieutenant of the navy!" roared nelson, for it was he, "i will show you, young man, i command on dry land, as well as on the water," and the air once more grew sulphurous. "really," dryly remarked fred, "if you fight as well as you swear, kentucky will soon be clear of rebels." nelson's companions roared with laughter. as for nelson, his face twitched for a moment, and then he, too, commenced to laugh. "it is a good thing for you, young man," he exclaimed, "that you don't belong to the army or i would have you tied up by the thumbs. as it is, will you tell me what you meant by saying that you were racing for the old flag and had to win?" "why, sir, my cousin, here, challenged me for a race, saying if he won the south would triumph; but if i won, the old flag would be victorious. so you see, sir, i had to win, even if i had had to run clear over you. you ought to thank me for winning the race, instead of swearing at me for jostling your dignity a little." nelson chuckled. all of this time calhoun, after soothing his horse, had been a quiet spectator of the scene. he felt nettled over losing the race, and was not in the best of humor. "so," said nelson, turning to calhoun, "you ran for the south to win, did you? might have known you would have been beaten. what have you got to say for yourself, anyway, you ---- little rebel?" calhoun's eyes flashed. drawing himself proudly up, he said: "i am no rebel. i am a kentuckian, and am for the neutrality of kentucky." "neutrality of kentucky," sneered nelson; "of whom did you learn that twaddle, youngster? neutrality is a plea of cowards to hide their disloyalty." calhoun grew deadly pale. he forgot everything in his passion, as he fairly hissed: "and you are lieutenant nelson, are you? that recreant son of kentucky, who, in spite of her pledge of neutrality, the pledge of a sovereign state, is violating that pledge by raising troops to subjugate a brave and heroic people. you are the benedict arnold of kentucky. if i had my way, you would hang from the nearest tree. cowards are they who would keep the pledge of neutrality given by the state? you lie, and boy that i am, i hurl defiance in your face," and tearing a riding glove from his hand, he hurled it with all the force he could summon into the face of the astonished nelson. for a moment nelson was speechless with rage; then mechanically he reached for the pistol in his holster. with a sharp exclamation, fred spurred his horse between the angry man and calhoun, and striking down nelson's arm, cried: "how dare you! for shame, to shoot a boy!" then turning to calhoun, he gave the sharp command, "go! go at once!" calhoun obeyed, and boy and horse were off like a shot; without a word of apology, fred followed. nelson made a movement as if to pursue, but at once reined up his horse. the look of anger soon passed from his face; he began to chuckle, and then to laugh. turning to one of his staff, he exclaimed: "gad! lieutenant, i came nearly forgetting myself and shooting that boy. it would have been an outrage. he has the grit, the true kentucky grit. i am proud of both of those boys. i shall keep my eye on them. what soldiers they would make!" such was general william nelson, fiery, erratic, and oftentimes cruel, but at all times ready to acknowledge true courage and manliness in his worst enemy. to him, more than to any other one man, does the government owe the fact that kentucky was saved to the union. in the face of the fiercest opposition he never faltered in his purpose of raising troops, and the most direful threats only nerved him to greater exertion. the two boys looking back, and seeing that they were not pursued, brought their horses to a trot and began to talk of their adventure. "fred," said calhoun, "you are the first to get in your work on that oath. i believe the brute would have shot me if it had not been for you." "you certainly gave him great provocation, cal. it was very ungentlemanly in him to attack you, a boy, as he did, but these are war times. my! but you did go for him, cal; you really looked grand in your fiery indignation. i could not help admiring you, even if you were foolish. it is a wonder he did not shoot you, for nelson is a man of ungovernable temper when aroused." "he would have shot me, fred, if it had not been for your brave interference. come to think about it, i could not blame him much, if he had shot me; for i could not have offered him a greater insult than i did. i was hasty and excited; you were cool and collected. fred, i thank you." "no more of that, my boy. but, cal, try and govern your tongue. your hasty speech and temper will get you in serious trouble yet." "i gave the villain no more than he deserved. there is no other man in kentucky doing as much as nelson to overthrow the sovereignty of the state; there is no other man doing as much to array one portion of our people against the rest; and if bloodshed comes, no man will be more to blame than he. he should be arrested and hanged as a traitor to kentucky, and i am glad i told him so." "calhoun," answered fred, "you have heard neutrality talked so much you are blind to the real facts. nelson was right when he said neutrality was but a blind for secession. if kentucky is saved to the union, it will be saved by the efforts of such men as he. there can be no middle ground; you must be for or against the union." "i confess," answered calhoun, "while i have been talking neutrality, my real sympathy has been with the south. down with coercion, i say, and death to all renegades like nelson." fred smiled. "how about renegades like myself, cal? but i am glad to hear you expressing your true sentiments; it shows you are honest in them, at least." "fred, why can't you think as i do? you are too honest, too brave, to side with abolitionists and mudsills. they are a dirty, low, mischievous set, to say the least. there can be but one issue to the war. the whole dirty crew will run like cravens before the chivalric gentlemen of the south." "don't be too sanguine, cal, about the running. do you think such men as nelson, fry, bramlette, woodford, and a host of others i might name, are cowards?" "oh! i didn't mean the few kentuckians who are espousing the union cause, but the riff-raff and scum of the north." "you will find the men you call the 'riff-raff and scum of the north,' are just as earnest, just as brave, as the sons of the south." "do you think so?" "why not? are we not of the same blood, the same language? this idea that the people of the south are a superior race to the people of the north is one simply born of our pride and arrogance. but you ask me why i side with the north. because the north battles for the old flag; because it loves freedom. cal, do you think a just god will ever let a confederacy be successful whose chief corner-stone is human slavery?" calhoun flushed and muttered: "they are nothing but niggers, and the bible upholds slavery." "we will not argue that. my great-grandfather on my mother's side fell on bunker hill. our great-grandfather fought at yorktown; our grandfather was with jackson at new orleans. all fought under the old flag; all fought for freedom, not for slavery. now, do you think i can raise my hand to help destroy the union they helped to found, and then to perpetuate? i cannot do it. you think differently, but let us remember our oaths and be friends, even unto death." "do you think i can forget it, after what you have just done for me? but see, the sun is getting low; let us stop this discussion and hurry up." judge pennington, the father of calhoun, resided in danville, and the two boys soon cantered up to his door. fred did not put up his horse, as he was to return home. after tea the boys sauntered down to the hotel to see what was going on. there they met nelson and his party. their first impulse was to go away, pretending not to notice him, but that would have been cowardly; so they walked up to him, apparently unconcerned as to what might happen. to their surprise, nelson held out his hand, and laughingly said: "how are you, my young hotspurs; and so you want to see me hanged, do you?" addressing calhoun. "well, my boy, better men than i may be hanged before this trouble is over; and many as brave a boy as you will kiss mother for the last time. my boy, if it needs be that we must die, would it not be better to die under the folds of the old flag than under the bastard stars and bars?" calhoun turned away; he dared not trust himself to speak, so fred, not to have his cousin appear rude, said: "lieutenant, let me once more apologize for running into you. i am very sorry we were so careless." "no apology is necessary, my son. a boy who runs a race for the union and wins need not apologize. i would know you better, lad; kentucky has need of all such as you." just then an orderly rushed up to nelson and excitedly said something in a low tone. nelson uttered an exclamation of surprise, turned abruptly, and rapidly walked to the telegraph office, where a dispatch was placed in his hands. he glanced at it, turned pale, and brave man though he was, his hand shook as though stricken with palsy. silently he handed the dispatch to colonel fry, who stood by his side. as the colonel read it, great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "great god!" was all that he said. "fry," said nelson, huskily, "see colonel bramlette, who is fortunately in danville; gather up all other union officers that you may see, and meet me at once in my room at the hotel." it was a group of panic-stricken officers who gathered in nelson's room at the hotel. here is the dispatch that had created such consternation: cincinnati, july , p. m. lieutenant wm. nelson: our army has been disastrously beaten at bull run, and are in full retreat for washington. that city may be in possession of the enemy before morning. anderson. when the dispatch was read, not a word was spoken for a moment, and then colonel fry asked if it was not possible to keep the dispatch secret. "no use," replied nelson; "it has already passed through the hands of a score of disloyal operators." "i knew," spoke up a young lieutenant, "that those miserable eastern yankees would not stand up before the southern soldiers. we might as well disband and go home; all is lost." "lost! lost!" thundered nelson, turning on the young lieutenant like a tiger. "go home, you craven, if you want to; all is not lost, and will not be lost until every loyal son of kentucky is slain. we have enough men at dick robinson, poorly armed and equipped as they are, to hold central kentucky. with such colonels as fry, bramlette, garrard wolford, and the host of gallant officers under them, i defy the devil and all the secessionists in the state to wrest central kentucky from us." and with loud huzzahs the officers present swore to stand by nelson, and come what might, they would hold central kentucky for the union. how well that pledge was kept history tells. "it is not for central kentucky, i fear," continued nelson; "it is for louisville. can we save that city for the union? it must be saved. the loyal men there must save it, at all hazards. they must know that we are standing firm in central kentucky. but how? the telegraph is in the hands of the enemy. any word i sent would be known at once. oh! i have it, fry; send for that light-haired boy i was talking with at the hotel. have him here right away." fred shackelford was found just as he was mounting his horse to return home. wondering what nelson wanted with him, he accompanied the messenger to that officer's room, where they found him pacing up and down the apartment like a caged lion. "where is your companion?" abruptly asked nelson of fred. "at home; he lives here," answered fred. "where is your home?" "a few miles out on the richmond road." "your name?" "frederic shackelford." "frederic, you have a good horse?" "yes, sir; one of the best and fastest in kentucky." "good; now frederic, you told me that you loved the union." "yes, sir. i promised my mother on her deathbed ever to be faithful to the old flag." "would kentucky had more such mothers. a boy like you never breaks a promise to a mother. frederic, do you want to do your country a great service, something that may save kentucky to the union?" "what is it, sir?" "to take some important dispatches to louisville. can you make nicholasville by ten o'clock? a train leaves there at that hour for lexington, thence to louisville, arriving early in the morning." fred looked at his watch. "it is now seven," he said. "yes, i can make nicholasville by ten o'clock, if i have the dispatches right away." "they will be ready in ten minutes," said nelson, turning away. in less than ten minutes the dispatches were given to fred with instructions to place them at the earliest possible moment in the hands of james speed, garrett davis, j. t. boyle, or any one of a score of loyal louisvillians whose names were handed him on a separate sheet of paper. fred mounted his horse and rode away, and soon the swift beating of his horse's hoofs on the dusty turnpike died away in the distance. chapter iii. the day after bull run. could frederic shackelford reach nicholasville in less than three hours? "yes, it can be done, and i will do it," thought he as he urged his steed onward, and left mile after mile behind him. it was the test of speed and bottom of the best horse in kentucky against time. while fred is making this desperate ride, our young readers may wish to be more formally introduced to the brave rider, as well as to the other characters in the story. frederic shackelford was the only son of richard shackelford, a prosperous kentucky planter and a famous breeder of horses. mr. shackelford was a graduate of harvard, and while in college had become acquainted with laura carrington, one of the belles of boston, and a famous beauty. but miss carrington's personal charms were no greater than her beauty of mind and character. after the completion of his college course, mr. shackelford married miss carrington, and transplanted her to his kentucky home. the fruits of this union were two children, frederic, at the opening of this story a sturdy boy of sixteen, and belle, a lovely little girl of twelve. mrs. shackelford was very happy in her kentucky home. she was idolized by her husband, who did everything possible for her comfort. yet, in the midst of her happiness and the kindness shown her, mrs. shackelford could not help feeling that there was a kind of contempt among native kentuckians for new england yankees. as the strife over slavery grew fiercer, the feeling against the north, especially new england, grew stronger. many a time she felt like retorting when she heard those she loved traduced, but she hid the wound in her heart, and kept silent. but she could never accustom herself to the institution of slavery. she was a kind mistress, and the slaves of the plantation looked upon her as little less than an angel; but she could never close her eyes to the miseries that slavery brought in its train. she died a few days after fort sumter was fired upon. a few hours before she passed away she called frederic to her bedside, told him how his great-grandfather had died on bunker hill, and asked him to give her a solemn promise to ever be true to the flag of his country. "remember, my son," she said, "that a just god will never prosper a nation whose chief corner-stone is human slavery." these words sank deep into frederic's heart, and were ever with him during all the dark and terrible days which followed. he readily gave his mother the promise she requested, and a few hours afterward she sank peacefully to rest. as much as frederic loved his mother, and as deeply as he grieved for her in the months and years that followed, he thanked god that she had been spared the misery and agony that would have been hers if she had lived. mr. shackelford was so prostrated by the death of his wife that for some weeks he paid no attention to the turmoil going on around him. he was an old line whig in politics, but a stout believer in the rights of the state. he deplored the war, and hoped against hope that some way might be found to avert it. judge horace pennington, the father of calhoun, was one of the most honored citizens of danville. he was a veritable southern fire-eater, and had nothing but contempt for anything that came from the north. but his integrity was as sterling as his politics were violent. he was the soul of honor and truth, and despised anything that looked like deception. he had no words too strong in which to express his contempt for the part kentucky was taking in the great drama that was being enacted. when the state refused to join the southern confederacy his rage knew no bounds. he would have nothing to do with the plotting that was going on. "let us go out like men," he would say, "not creep out like thieves." when the state declared for neutrality, he said: "the state is sovereign; she can do as she pleases, but it is a cowardly makeshift; it will not last." the mother of calhoun was a sister of mr. shackelford, but she died when calhoun was a baby, and for years another mrs. pennington had presided over the judge's household. for this reason much of the childhood of calhoun had been spent at the home of his uncle, and thus it was that he and frederic were more like brothers than cousins. the position of kentucky, at the beginning of the great civil war, was peculiar. she refused to furnish troops for the suppression of the rebellion; she refused to secede. her governor was an ardent secessionist; the majority of the members of the legislature were for the maintenance of the union. her people were nearly equally divided. as a last resort the legislature passed resolutions of neutrality, and both the federal and confederate governments were warned not to invade her sacred soil. for a time both governments, in part, respected her position, and sent no troops from other states into her territory. but the citizens of kentucky were not neutral. they violently espoused the cause of one side or the other. thousands of kentuckians left the state and joined the armies of the confederacy. all through the state the secession element was very active, and the federal government saw it must take some action or the state would be lost to the union. so lieutenant william nelson of the united states navy, and a native kentuckian, was commissioned to raise ten regiments of kentucky troops for service in the union army. this movement met with the most violent opposition, even from many professed union men, who claimed that kentucky's position of neutrality should be respected. the militia of the state, known as "state guards," was mostly officered and controlled by the southern element. in opposition to the "state guards," companies were organized throughout the state known as "home guards." the "home guards" were union men. thus kentucky was organized into two great hostile camps. such was the condition of affairs at the opening of this story. it lacked just five minutes of ten o'clock when fred reined in his reeking horse before the hotel at nicholasville. placing the bridle in the hands of the black hostler, and handing him a ten-dollar bill, fred said: "i must take the train. this horse has been ridden fast and long. see that he has every attention. you know what to do in such cases." "trus' ole peter fo' dat," answered the darky, bowing and scraping. "youn' massa will hab his hoss bac' jes as good as ebber." fred just had time to catch the train, as it moved out from the depot. when lexington was reached he had to make a change for louisville. the news of the defeat of the federal forces at bull run had reached lexington, and late as it was the streets were thronged with an excited crowd. cheers for beauregard and the southern confederacy seemed to be on every tongue. if the union had friends, they were silent. in the estimation of the excited crowd the south was already victorious; the north humbled and vanquished. it was now but a step before washington would be in the possession of the southern army, and lincoln a prisoner or a fugitive. that the union army had been defeated was a surprise to fred. he now knew why nelson was so urgent about the dispatches, and realized as never before that the nation was engaged in a desperate conflict. the cries of the mob angered him. "i wonder where the union men are," he growled; "are they cowards that they keep silent?" and fred was about to let out a good old-fashioned yell for the union, regardless of consequences, when he recollected the mission he was on. it must not be; he must do nothing to endanger the success of his journey, and he bit his lip and kept silent, but his blood was boiling. just before the train started two gentlemen came in and took the seat in front of him. they were in excellent humor, and exulting over the confederate victory in virginia. one of them fred knew by sight. he was a prominent politician, and an officer of the state guards. the other gentleman was not so distinguished looking as his companion, but his keen eyes gave his clear-cut features a kind of dare-devil expression. but beyond this, there was something about the man that would give one the impression that he was not only a man of daring, but of cool, calculating judgment, just the man to lead in a movement that would require both daring and coolness. as soon as they had seated themselves, the first gentleman, whom we will call major hockoday, turned to his companion and said: "well, morgan, isn't this glorious news? i knew those truckling yankees could never stand before the gentlemen of the south. i hardly look for much war now. washington will fall, and lincoln will be on his knees before a week, begging for peace." major hockoday's companion was no less a personage than john h. morgan, afterward one of the most daring raiders and dashing cavalry leaders produced by the south. morgan did not answer for a moment, and then slowly replied: "major, i think that you politicians, both north and south, ought to show more sense than you do. there are those northern politicians who have been declaring the war would not last for ninety days. the time is up, and the war has hardly begun. now you fellows who have been associating so long with the dough-faces of the north, think the whole north is a truckling, pusillanimous set. in my business i have met another class in the north--thrifty and earnest. they are not only earnest, but brave; and not only brave, but stubborn. they will hold on like bulldogs. i fear the effects of this victory will be just opposite to what you think. it will make our people overconfident; it will tend to unify the north and nerve her to greater exertion." "nonsense, morgan," replied major hockoday, "what ails you? you will hardly hear a peep from the union men of kentucky after to-morrow. the only thing i regret is that kentucky has not taken her rightful place in the southern confederacy. we have talked neutrality so much, it is hard to get away from it." "hockoday, like you, i think kentucky has played the rôle of neutral too long--so long that she is already lost to the confederacy, only to be retaken at the point of the bayonet. central kentucky is already in the hands of that devil, nelson. poorly organized as he is, he is much better organized than we. gods! how i would like to be at the head of a cavalry regiment and raid that camp at dick robinson; and i would do it, too, if i had my way. but you politicians, with your neutrality, have spoiled everything." "look here, morgan," replied major hockoday, a little nettled, "be reasonable. it was neutrality or worse. look at the union sentiment we had to contend with. the state absolutely refused to secede. the elections all went against us. the legislature is against us. we had to take neutrality to keep the state from going bodily over to the yankees----" "that's it," broke in morgan, "with your twaddle about state rights you allowed your hands to be tied. the legislature should have been dispersed at the point of the bayonet, the election annulled, and kentucky declared out of the union. if we had done this two months ago, we would have been all right." "that is what we propose to do now," said the major. "see here, morgan," and he lowered his voice to a whisper. fred yawned, and leaned his head forward on the seat apparently for a good sleep, but his ears were never more alert. he could only now and then catch a word something like this: "send message--tompkins--louisville--knights golden circle--take louisville--stop at frankfort--send captain conway--all excitement--bull run--louisville ours." fred leaned back in his seat, shut his eyes, and commenced to think hard. what did it mean? and this is the conclusion that he reached: that major hockoday was going to send a message from frankfort to some one in louisville; that there was to be an uprising of the secessionists with the intention of capturing the city. "oh!" thought fred, "if i could only get hold of that message. can i?" and again he fell to thinking. in the rear of the car sat two men, one dressed in the uniform of a federal officer; the other a sharp, ferret-looking man who would readily pass for a detective. an idea came to fred. he thought a moment, and then said to himself, "i don't like the deception, but it is the only way. if i have the opportunity, i will try it. i must have that message if possible. it may mean much to the union cause; it may mean much to louisville." the train stopped at frankfort, and major hockoday and morgan alighted. on the platform stood a short, stumpy man with a very red face and a redder nose. "how do you do, captain," said major hockoday, stepping up to him and shaking hands, at the same time slipping an envelope into his other hand, and whispering some hurried instructions into his ear. "trust me," said the captain; "i will see that your letter reaches the right person and in time." fred had followed major hockoday out of the car, took note of every movement, and heard every word that could be heard. the bell rang, and the captain entered the car. there was a little delay, and fred, who had got on the rear of the car, said to himself, "this little delay is a blessed thing for me, for it helps me carry out my plan." he waited until the train was getting under good headway, and then entered the car puffing and blowing and dropped into the seat beside the captain, where he sat panting as if entirely exhausted. "you seem to have had a hard run for it, my boy," said the captain. "y-e-s,--had--to--make--it. had--to--see--you," panted fred, speaking in gasps. "had to see me!" exclaimed the startled captain. "i reckon there must be some mistake." "no--mis-mistake. wa-wait--until--i--catch--my--breath," and fred sat puffing as if he had run a mile race. his companion eyed him not only in surprise, but with suspicion. after fred had let sufficient time elapse to regain his breath, he said in a low tone: "you are captain conway of the state guards, are you not?" "yes, but what of that?" "you have just received an important letter from major hockoday to be delivered in louisville." captain conway stared at fred in astonishment; then said in a fierce whisper, "how do you know that?" "don't get excited," whispered fred; "don't attract attention, or all is lost. listen! hardly had the major placed the letter in your hands before he received the startling intelligence that he had been watched, and you spotted. do you see those two men in the rear of the car, one in the uniform of a federal officer, the other a keen looking fellow?" captain conway turned quickly and saw the men, both of whom happened to be looking at him, and as the captain imagined with sinister designs. "what of it?" he asked in a trembling voice. "the gentleman seated by the side of the officer," continued fred, "is a noted detective from danville. the plan is to declare you a celebrated thief, and arrest you and take you off the cars at eminence. once off, they will search you, get your dispatches, and let you go." "but there may be some on the train who know me." "that will make no difference; they will claim they are not mistaken, and that you must prove you are not the person wanted before some magistrate." "what can i do? what did major hockoday say for me to do?" asked the now thoroughly frightened captain. "he said that you should give me the letter, and for you to leave the train before it reached eminence, thus giving them the slip." "boy, you are an impostor. it is simply a plot to get hold of the letter. why did not major hockoday write me this order?" "he had no time." "i shall not give you the letter." "refuse at your peril. what do you think will happen when you are arrested and major hockoday's letter gets in the hands of his enemies. he will shoot you at sight for betraying him." "how do i know you tell the truth?" asked the captain, visibly weakening. "how did i know about the letter of major hockoday, if he had not sent me?" retorted fred. the captain grasped at the last straw. "to whom am i to deliver this letter?" he asked. he was in hopes that fred could not answer. "tompkins," answered fred, trembling, thinking his answer might be wrong. the captain was convinced, yet sat silent and undecided. he glanced back; the men were still looking at him. he shivered, and then slyly slipped the letter into fred's hand. the train stopped, and the captain arose and went forward as for a drink of water. at the door he hesitated as if still undecided. fred's heart beat fast. would he fail after all. no, he would jump from the train himself first. the bell rang for the train to start, and the captain turned as if to come back, at the same time glancing at the two gentlemen in the rear of the car. the detective-looking individual had arisen to his feet, and was reaching for his hip pocket. captain conway waited to see no more; he turned, bolted from the car, and plunged from the now moving train into the darkness. the detective-looking gentleman drew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his perspiring face, and sat down again. on such little incidents do great events sometimes depend. fred drew a long breath. he had taken desperate chances, and won. for a moment he felt exultant, and then his face grew serious. he had always been the soul of truth and honor. "and now," he thought, bitterly, "i have been lying like a pirate." had he done right? he hardly knew, and the wheels of the cars seemed to say, as they rattled along, "you are a liar, you are a liar," over and over again, until he leaned his head on the seat in front of him, and his tears fell thick and fast. poor fred! he had yet to learn that deception was one of the least evils of war. the dawn of the long summer day was just beginning to brighten the east when the train rolled into the station at louisville. early as it was, the streets were full of excited men and boys, cheering for jeff davis and the south. fred at once found his way to the home of one of the best known union men of the city, whom we will call mr. spear. the household was already astir, and fred's ring was at once answered by a servant, who cautiously opened the door and asked, "who is dar?" "is mr. spear at home?" inquired fred. "yes, sah." "tell him a messenger from lieutenant nelson wishes to see him." the servant withdrew, and in a moment returned, and throwing open the door, said, "massa says, come right in, sah." fred was ushered into a large drawing-room, where to his surprise he met the inquiring gaze of more than a score of serious looking men. they were the prominent union men of the city, conferring with a number of the city officials as to the best method of preserving peace and order during the day. the danger was great, and how to meet it without precipitating a conflict was the question which confronted them. now all were interested in the message brought by fred, and his youthful appearance caused them to wonder why nelson had chosen so young a messenger. "you have a message from lieutenant nelson, i understand," said mr. spear. "i have." "when did you leave nelson?" "last evening a little after seven," answered fred. "where?" "at danville." "impossible; you are an impostor." "you are mistaken. i rode to nicholasville in time to catch the ten o'clock train to lexington, thence to louisville." those present looked at each other in surprise. the feat to them seemed scarcely possible. "your message," said mr. spear, "must be important to demand such haste. where is it?" "here, sir," replied fred, handing him the letter. mr. spear hastily tore it open and read: danville, ky., july , : p. m. to the union men of louisville: i have just received news of the defeat of our forces at bull run. even if washington falls, we must not despair. kentucky must be held for the union. thank god, i have organized enough troops to hold central kentucky against any force the disorganized rebels can bring against us. our great danger is your city. hold louisville, if her streets run red with blood. do not let the loyal officials be driven from power. call on indiana troops if necessary. don't hesitate. dare anything to save the city. nelson. "gentlemen," said mr. spear, "the advice of lieutenant nelson should be followed to the letter. the city must be saved, peaceably if possible, by force if necessary." there had been a few in the assembly who had hesitated on the expediency of using force, but the ringing words of nelson had completely won them over. louisville was to be held for the union, come what might. "and now," said mr. spear, "in the name of the loyal citizens of our city, let us thank this brave boy." fred blushed, and then stammered, "this is not all, gentlemen." then in a modest way, he told of his overhearing the conversation between major hockoday and morgan, of his plan to get possession of the letter, and how well he had succeeded. "and here, gentlemen," he continued, "is the letter." there was a murmur of astonishment, and mr. spear, taking the letter, broke it open and read: lexington, ky., july st, p. m. j. t. tompkins, louisville, ky. honored sir:--the news of the great victory in virginia will kindle a flame from one end of kentucky to the other. by the time this reaches you, i trust washington will be in the hands of the confederate army, and lincoln a prisoner or a fugitive. now is the time to strike. the state guards are eager, but owing to the stand of the state regarding neutrality, it would not be wise for them to begin a revolution in favor of the south, as that action would bring the federal troops down on us, and we are not strong enough yet to resist them. with you it is different. you are at the head of a powerful secret order known as "the knights of the golden circle." the state is not responsible for your acts or those of your organization. during the excitement of to-morrow organize your order, and hurl the cowardly and traitorous city officials of louisville from power. the state guards will not do anything to prevent you, and many, as individuals, will help you. act promptly fearing nothing. see that not a single union rag is left waving in louisville by to-morrow night. signed: major c. s. hockoday, _state guards_. for a moment the men looked into each other's faces without a word; then there came a storm of indignation. "the cowardly, traitorous wretch!" was the exclamation heard on all sides. "forewarned is forearmed," said mr. spear, grimly. "gentlemen, i think we shall be fully prepared for mr. tompkins and his 'knights of the golden circle,' what say you?" "that we will!" was the cry of all. "mr. tompkins will get a warm reception." then they crowded around fred and nearly shook his hand off. but he sat silent, and at last looking up with burning cheeks, stammered: "but--but, i lied--to conway." he said this so earnestly, and looked so dejected that the company at first did not know what to say; then they all burst out laughing. this hurt fred worse than a reprimand, and the tears came into his eyes. mr. spear seeing how it was, at once commanded attention, and said: "gentlemen, our levity is ill-advised. this boy is as truthful as he is brave. as he looks at it, he has been guilty of an untruth." then turning to fred, he took him gently by the hand, and said: "your action is but a fitting testimonial to your truthful nature. but be comforted. what you have done, instead of being wrong, was an act of the greatest heroism, and you deserve and will receive the thanks of every union man." "do you think so?" asked fred, faintly. "i know so, and not only this, but your action may save hundreds of lives and our city from destruction. let the good that you have done atone for the deception you practiced towards captain conway." fred felt relieved. then he was told he must have some rest after his terrible ride and the exciting events of the night. he was ushered into a darkened chamber, and not until after he had lain down, and the excitement under which he had labored began to pass away did he realize how utterly exhausted he was. tired nature soon asserted itself, and he slept the peaceful sleep of the young. when fred awoke, the house was very still. he looked at his watch, and to his surprise found it was after ten o'clock. hurriedly dressing, he went downstairs, where he met mrs. spear, and when he apologized for sleeping so late, she told him she had orders not to awake him, but to let him sleep as long as he would. "but come," she said, "you must be nearly famished," and she led him into the dining-room where a tempting meal was spread. what puzzled fred was, that although it was so near midday, the house was darkened and the gas burning. every shutter was closed tight. mrs. spear appeared nervous and excited, and the servants looked as though frightened out of their wits. although everything was so still in the house, from out-of-doors there arose a confused noise as of the tramping of many feet, the mingling of many voices, and now and then the sound of wild cheering as of an excited mob. fred looked inquiringly at mrs. spear. she smiled sadly and said: "this promises to be a terrible day for louisville. but for the forbearance of the union men, there would have been bloody fighting before this. the news of the confederate victory in virginia has crazed the rebel element. it is thought an effort will be made to overthrow the city government. if there is, there will be bloody work, for the union element is prepared. companies of men are in readiness all over the city to spring to arms at a moment's notice. i fear for my husband, i fear for all of our lives, for mr. spear is a marked union man." she stopped, choked back a sob, and drawing herself proudly up, continued with flashing eyes: "but louisville will be saved, if husband, house and everything go." of such metal were the loyal women of kentucky. fred hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, ate enough to appease his hunger, and announced his intention of going out on the street. "you must not," said mrs. spear; "my husband left special word for you to remain indoors. there is danger out." fred smiled. "that is just the reason i shall go out," he answered, quietly. "then, if you must go," replied mrs. spear, "here is a weapon," and she handed him a superb revolver. "you may need it, but do not use it except to protect your own life, or the life of a union man. this is the order given to all loyal citizens. do nothing to provoke a quarrel; keep silent even if insulted, but if a conflict comes, protect yourself." fred thanked her, promised to be careful, and went forth into the city. through the principal streets, vast throngs were sweeping, acting as if bereft of reason. everywhere the confederate flag was waving. union flags were being trailed in the dust and stamped in the mire. cries for jeff davis, and groans for lincoln were heard on every hand. as time went on, the mob grew more violent. "down with the yankees!" "kill the nigger-stealers!" "kentucky is no abolition state!" "death to the lincoln hirelings!" were the cries which echoed and re-echoed through the streets. soon stories of outrages, of private grounds being entered and flags torn down, of brutal beatings began to be heard. the unionists began to gather in knots and resent insult. yet each side seemed to dread the beginning of a real conflict. chief among those exciting the people was tompkins, the head of the "knights of the golden circle." he raged through the streets, defying all authority. fred looked on the growing excitement with the blood swiftly coursing through his veins. his eyes blazed with fury when he saw the stars and stripes trailed in the dust of the street. he trembled with suppressed rage when he saw union men reviled, insulted. "it is true," he said, bitterly, to himself, "that union men are cowards, miserable cowards, or they would resent these insults." but fred was mistaken; braver men never lived than the union men of louisville, who endured the taunts and insults of that day, rather than provoke a conflict, the end of which no man could tell. after a time fred found himself on a residence street where there was a break in the mob, and the street was comparatively quiet. during this quiet a young lady came out of a house, and hurriedly passed down the street. suddenly a fragment of the mob drifted through the street, and she was caught in the vortex. on her bosom was pinned a small union flag. a burly ruffian in the mob espied it, and rushing up to her, shouted: "off with that dirty rag, you she-lincolnite!" "never," she exclaimed, with a pale face but flashing eye. "then i will take it," he exclaimed, with a coarse oath, and snatched at the flag so roughly as to tear her dress, exposing her pure white bosom to the gaze of the brutal mob. there was a howl of delight, and the wretch made bolder, cried: "now for a kiss, my beauty," and attempted to catch her in his smutty arms. but the avenger was at hand. fred had seen the outrage, and picking up a brick that happened to lie loose on the pavement, he sprang forward and dealt the ruffian such a blow on the side of the head that he fell like a log, striking the pavement with such force that the blood gushed from his nose and mouth. [illustration: he dealt the ruffian such a blow that he fell like a log.] "kill the young devil of a lincolnite!" was the cry, and the crowd surged towards fred. but those in advance drew back, for they looked into the muzzle of a revolver held by a hand that did not tremble, and gazed into young eyes that did not waver. "the first man that attempts to touch her or me, dies," said fred, in a clear, firm voice. the mob shrank back; then a fierce cry arose of "kill him! kill him!" "take the young lady to a place of safety," said a low voice by fred's side; then to the mob, "back! back! or come on at your peril." fred looked, and by his side stood a stalwart policeman, a glistening revolver in his hand. near him stood other determined men, ready to assist. "come," said fred, taking the young lady's arm, and the two quickly made their way out of the mob, which, balked of its prey, howled in futile rage. "i live here," said the young lady, stopping before a palatial residence. "my name is mabel vaughn. you must come in and let my mother thank you. how brave you were, and policeman green, too. how can i thank you both enough for what you did!" "you must excuse me now," replied fred, politely raising his hat; "but to-morrow, if possible, i will call, and see if you have experienced any ill effects from the rough treatment you have received. but i must go now, for i may be of some further use," and with a bow, fred was gone. "if he were only older, i would have a mind to throw bob overboard," said the young lady to herself, as she entered the house. going back to the scene of his adventure, fred found that a great crowd had gathered around the place where he had knocked the ruffian down. "what is this?" yelled tompkins, coming up at the head of a multitude of followers. "shure," cried an irish voice, "big jim is kilt intoirely, intoirely." "who did it?" demanded tompkins, with an oath. no one knew. by this time big jim, with the aid of two companions, had staggered to his feet, and was looking around in a dazed condition. "he will come around all right," said tompkins. "to the city hall, boys. down with the rag floating there! down with the city officials; let's throw them into the ohio," and with frightful cries, the mob started for the city hall. but the brave, loyal policeman, g. a. green, the one who had assisted fred, was before them. "stop," he cried, "the first man who tries to enter this building dies." with a curse, tompkins rushed on with the cry, "down with the lincolnites!" there was the sharp crack of a revolver, and tompkins staggered and fell dead. his followers stood dumfounded. before they could rally there stood around the brave policeman a company of armed men. this was not all; as if by magic, armed home guards appeared everywhere. the mob stood amazed. then a prominent officer of the home guard came forward and said: "we do not wish to shed more blood, but the first blow struck at the city government, and these streets will run red with the blood of secessionists. we are fully prepared." cowed, muttering, cursing, the mob began to melt away. the crisis was passed. the sun went down on one of the most exciting days louisville ever saw--a day that those who were there will never forget. the city was saved to the union, and never afterward was it in grave danger. chapter iv. the trip to nashville. "quite an adventure," said mrs. spear, to whom fred had been relating his experience. "i am proud of you. why, you are a regular hero." "hardly that," replied fred, blushing. "i am so glad it has ended well," continued mrs. spear; "you ran a terrible danger, and i should never have forgiven myself for letting you go out, if any evil had befallen you." "i should never have forgiven myself if i had not been there to protect that brave young lady," answered fred, firmly. "of course, a true knight must protect a fair lady," said mrs. spear. "and you were fortunate, sir knight, for mabel vaughn is one of the fairest of louisville's daughters. it was just like her to brave any danger rather than conceal her colors. she is loyal to the core." "she seems to be a very nice young lady," replied fred, "and she is extremely pretty, too." "what a pity you are not older," said mrs. spear, "so you could fall in love with each other and get married, just as they do in well-regulated novels." "how do you know that i am not in love with her now?" answered fred, his eyes sparkling with merriment; "and as for my youth, i will grow." "oh! in that case, i am really sorry," replied mrs. spear, "for i think she is spoken for." fred assumed a tragic air, and said in bloodcurdling tones: "where was the recreant lover that he did not protect her? never shall my good sword rest until it drinks his craven blood." mrs. spear laughed until she cried. "you will call on your lady love before you return?" she queried. "most assuredly, and it must be an early morning call, for i leave for home at ten o'clock." the warmth of welcome given fred by the vaughns surprised him, and, to his astonishment, he found himself a hero in their eyes. miss mabel vaughn was a most charming young lady of eighteen, and when she grasped fred's hand, and, with tears in her eyes, poured out her thanks, he felt a curious sensation about his heart, and as he looked into her beautiful face, he could not help echoing the wish of mrs. spear, "oh, that i were older." but this fancy received a rude shock when a fine looking young man, introduced as mr. robert marsden, grasped his hand, and thanked him for what he had done for his betrothed. "and to think," said marsden, "that mabel was in danger, and that you, instead of me, protected her, makes me insanely envious of you." "as for that, bob," archly said miss mabel, "i am glad you were not there. i dare say mr. shackelford did far better than you would have done." marsden flushed and said nothing. seeing he looked hurt, miss vaughn continued: "i mean you would have been so rash you might have been killed." "which would have been far worse than if i had been killed," said fred, meekly. "oh! i didn't mean that, i didn't mean that!" cried miss vaughn, bursting into tears. "which means i ought to be kicked for uttering a silly joke," answered fred, greatly distressed. "please, miss vaughn, let us change the subject. how did you happen to be on the street?" "i had been calling on a sick friend a few doors away, and i thought i could reach home in safety during the few moments of quiet. my friend wanted me to remove the little flag from the bosom of my dress before i ventured out, but i refused, saying, 'i would never conceal my colors,' and i was caught in the mob, as you saw." "and i shall consider it the happiest day of my life i was there," gallantly answered fred. "and we must not forget the brave policeman." "that i will not," replied miss vaughn. "there is one good thing it has brought about, anyway," said marsden. "mabel has at length consented that i shall enter the army. she would never give her consent before. i shall wear this little flag that she wore yesterday on my breast, and it will ever be an incentive to deeds of glory, and it shall never be disgraced," and the young man's eyes kindled as he said it. "oh! robert, if you should be killed!" and the girl sobbed piteously. had a shadow of the future floated before her? months afterward that little flag was returned to her bloodstained and torn. "come, come!" said mrs. vaughn, "this will never do, rather let us rejoice that we are all alive and happy this morning. mabel, give us some music." two or three lively airs dispelled all the clouds, and fred took his leave with the promise that he would never come to louisville without calling. fred's return to nicholasville was without adventure. he wondered what had become of captain conway, and laughed when he imagined the meeting between the captain and major hockoday. he found prince none the worse for his fast riding, and jumping gaily on his back, started for home, returning by way of camp dick robinson. here he met lieutenant nelson, who warmly grasped his hand, and thanked him for his services in delivering his message. "but," continued nelson, "i have heard rumors of your performing a still more important part, and securing papers of the greatest value to us. tell me about it." when fred related his meeting with major hockoday and morgan, and how he had wrung the dispatch from captain conway, nelson nearly went into an apoplectic fit from laughter. then he stood up and looked at the boy admiringly. "fred," he said, "you have done what one man in a hundred thousand could not have done. the government shall know of this. not only this; but if you will enter my service, not as a spy, but as a special messenger and scout, i will see that you are enrolled as such with good pay." fred shook his head. "you must remember, sir, i am but a boy still under the control of my father. i accepted the mission from you, which i did, on the impulse of the moment; and i fear when i return home, i shall find my father very much offended." "is your father a union man?" asked nelson. "i do not know. my mother died but a few weeks ago, and since her death father has taken no interest in the events going on around him. i have never heard him express any opinion since the war really began. before that he was in hopes it could be settled peaceably." "well, my boy, whatever happens, remember you have a friend in me. not only this, but if you can arrange it amicably with your father, i may call on you, if at any time i have a very delicate mission i wish to have performed." fred thanked him, and rode on to his home. he found his father in very earnest conversation with his uncle, judge pennington, and colonel humphrey marshall, a well-known kentuckian. the trio were earnestly discussing the war, judge pennington and colonel marshall trying to convince mr. shackelford that it was his duty to come out boldly for the south, instead of occupying his position of indifference. when mr. shackelford saw fred, he excused himself a moment, and calling him, said: "where in the world have you been, fred? i thought you were with your cousin calhoun, and therefore borrowed no trouble on account of your absence. but when your uncle came a few moments ago, and informed me you had not been there for three days, i became greatly alarmed, and as soon as i could dismiss my visitors i was going to institute a search for you." "i am all right, father," answered fred. "i have been to louisville. i will tell you all about it when you are at leisure." "very well," replied mr. shackelford, and went back and resumed the conversation with his guests. in the evening, when father and son were alone, fred told where he had been, and who sent him. mr. shackelford looked grave, and said: "fred, this is a bad business. since the death of your mother, i have taken but little interest in passing events. i have just awakened to the fact that there is a great war in progress." "yes, father," said fred in a low tone, "war on the old flag. which side should one be on?" mr. shackelford did not answer for a moment, and then he said, with a troubled countenance: "i had almost as soon lose my right arm as to raise it against the flag for which my fathers fought. on the other side, how can i, a man southern born, raise my hand against my kindred? kentucky is a sovereign state; as such she has resolved to be neutral. the south is observing this neutrality, the north is not. even now the federal government is raising and arming troops right in our midst. this lieutenant nelson, to whom you have rendered such valuable services, is foremost in this defiance of the wishes of kentucky. the raising and arming of federal troops must be stopped, or the whole state will be in the throes of a fratricidal strife. your uncle and colonel marshall are for kentucky's seceding and joining the south. for this i am not prepared, for it would make the state the battleground of the contending armies. but the neutrality of kentucky must be respected. let me hear no more of your aiding nelson, or you are no son of mine." "father, you say kentucky is a sovereign state. is it right then for those who favor the south to try and force kentucky into the southern confederacy against the will of a majority of her people?" mr. shackelford hesitated, and then said: "as much right as the unionists have to force her to stay in. but i do not ask you to aid the south, neither must you aid nelson." mr. shackelford drew a deep sigh, and then continued: "your mother being a northern woman, i suppose you have imbibed some of her peculiar ideas. this war is a terrible thing, fred. oh, god! why must the two sections fight?" and he turned away to hide his feelings. under the circumstances, fred thought it best not to say anything about his adventure with captain conway, or what happened in louisville. but he readily promised his father he would do nothing to aid either side without consulting him. "now, fred," said mr. shackelford, "this business being settled, i have another matter i wish to talk about. my business is in such shape it is of the utmost importance that i get some papers to your uncle charles in nashville for him to sign. mail, you know, is now prohibited between the two sections. to travel between the two states is becoming nearly impossible. it will soon become entirely so. even now, the journey may be attended with great danger; and i would not think of asking you if it was not so important for your uncle charles to sign the papers. but as much as i would like to have you make the journey, i shall not command you, but let you exercise your own pleasure." "just the thing!" shouted fred, his boyish enthusiasm and love of adventure aroused. "i shall enjoy it. you know a spice of danger adds enjoyment to one's journey." "well," said his father, "it is all settled, then, but be very careful, for they tell me the whole country is in a state of fearful ferment. one thing more, fred; if you have any union sentiment, suppress it entirely while you are gone. it will not do in middle tennessee; there are no union men there." the next morning, after kissing his little sister good-bye, and promising his father to be very careful, fred started on his journey. nashville was about one hundred and sixty miles away, and he calculated he could reach it in three days. from danville he took the main road to liberty, thence to columbia, where he stopped for the night. his next day's ride took him to glasgow, then south to scottsville. he found the whole country in a state of the greatest excitement; and passed numerous companies of kentuckians going south to join the confederate army. after leaving columbia, he saw nothing but the confederate flag displayed. if there were any unionists, they did not let the fact be known. just over on the tennessee side, as he passed into that state, was a large encampment of confederate troops; and fred was repeatedly asked to enlist, while many a covetous eye was cast on his horse. it was afternoon before he reached gallatin, where he stopped for refreshments for himself and horse. he found the little city a perfect hotbed of excitement. the people were still rejoicing over the victory at bull run, and looking every day for washington to fall. to them the war was nearly over, and there was joy on every countenance. when it became known at the hotel that fred was from kentucky, he was surrounded by an eager crowd to learn the news from that state. in reply to his eager questioners, fred said: "gentlemen, i do not know that i can give you anything new. you know that kentucky has voted to remain neutral, but that does not prevent our people from being pretty evenly divided. many of our most prominent men are advocating the cause of the south, but as yet they have failed to overcome the union sentiment. the day after the battle of bull run there was a riot in louisville, and it was thought that the friends of the south might be able to seize the city government, but the movement failed." "where did you say you were from?" asked one of the bystanders. "from danville," answered fred. "you are all right in that section of the country, are you not?" "on the contrary," replied fred, "a lieutenant nelson has organized a camp at dick robinson, but a few miles from where i live, and is engaged in raising ten regiments of kentucky troops for the federal army." the news was astounding, and a murmur of surprise ran through the crowd, which became a burst of indignation, and a big red-faced man shouted: "it's a lie, youngster; kentuckians are not all cowards and abolitionists. you are nothing but a lincolnite in disguise. hang him, boys! hang him!" "you are right," said fred, advancing on the man, "when you say all kentuckians are not cowards. some of them still have courage to resent an insult, especially when it is offered by a cur," and he dealt the man a blow across the face with his riding-whip with such force as to leave an angry, red mark. the man howled with pain and rage, and attempted to draw a revolver, but stout hands laid hold of him, and he was dragged blaspheming away. meanwhile it looked as if there might be a riot. some were hurrahing for the boy; others were shaking their heads and demanding that fred further give an account of himself. he had been called a lincolnite, and that was enough to damn him in the eyes of many. "what is all this fuss about?" cried a commanding looking young man, dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the confederate army, pushing his way through the crowd. "oh, this hyear young feller struck bill pearson across the face with his ridin'-whip for callin' him a lincolnite and a liah," volunteered a seedy, lank looking individual. "which seems full enough provocation for a blow. bill is fortunate he hasn't got a hole through him," responded the young lieutenant. "but maybe he is a lincolnite," persisted the seedy individual. "he said kentuck wouldn't 'cede, and that they was raisin' sogers to help whip we 'uns." "how is it, my boy?" asked the lieutenant, turning to fred. "who are you, and where did you come from?" fred explained what had happened; how he had been asked for news from kentucky, and that he had told them only the truth. he then gave his name, and said he was on his way to nashville to visit his uncle, charles shackelford. "fellow-citizens," said the young officer in a voice that at once commanded attention, "this young man informs me that he is a nephew of major charles shackelford of nashville, who is now engaged in raising a regiment for the confederate service. no nephew of his can be a lincolnite. (here fred winced.) as for the news he told, unfortunately it's true. kentucky, although thousands of her gallant sons have joined us, still clings to her neutrality, or is openly hostile to us. it is true, that a renegade kentuckian by the name of nelson is enlisting troops for the yankees right in the heart of kentucky. but i believe, almost know, the day is not distant, when the brave men of kentucky who are true to their traditions and the south will arise in their might, and place kentucky where she belongs, as one of the brightest stars in the galaxy of confederate states. in your name, fellow-citizens, i want to apologize to this gallant young kentuckian for the insult offered him." the young lieutenant ceased speaking, but as with one voice, the multitude began to cry, "go on! go on! a speech, bailie, a speech!" thus abjured, lieutenant bailie peyton, for it was he, mounted a dry-goods box, and for half an hour poured forth such a torrent of eloquence that he swayed the vast audience, which had gathered, as the leaves of the forest are swayed by the winds of heaven. he first spoke of the glorious southland; her sunny skies, her sweeping rivers, her brave people. he pictured to them the home of their childhood, the old plantation, where slept in peaceful graves the loved ones gone before. strong men stood with tears running down their cheeks; women sobbed convulsively. "is there one present that will not die for such a land?" he cried in a voice as clear as a trumpet, and there went up a mighty shout of "no, not one!" he then spoke of the north; how the south would fain live in peace with her, but had been spurned, reviled, traduced. faces began to darken, hands to clench. then the speaker launched into a terrific philippic against the north. he told of its strength, its arrogance, its insolence. lincoln was now marshaling his hireling hosts to invade their country, to devastate their land, to desecrate their homes, to let loose their slaves, to ravish and burn. "are we men," he cried, "and refuse to protect our homes, our wives, our mothers, our sisters!" the effect was indescribable. men wept and cried like children, then raved and yelled like madmen. with clenched hands raised towards heaven, they swore no yankee invader would ever leave the south alive. women, with hysterical cries, beseeched their loved ones to enlist. they denounced as cowards those who refused. the recruiting officers present reaped a rich harvest. as for fred, he stood as one in a trance. like the others, he had been carried along, as on a mighty river, by the fiery stream of eloquence he had heard. he saw the southland invaded by a mighty host, leaving wreck and ruin in its wake. he heard helpless women praying to be delivered from the lust of brutal slaves, and raising his hand to heaven he swore that such things should never be. then came the reaction. his breast was torn with conflicting emotions, he knew not what to think. in a daze he sought his horse. a pleasant voice sounded in his ear. "i think you told me you were going to nashville." it was bailie peyton who spoke. "yes, sir." "it is getting late. will you not go with me to my father's and stay all night, and i will ride with you to nashville in the morning?" fred readily consented, for he was weary, and he also wanted to see more of this wonderful young orator. colonel peyton, the father of bailie peyton, resided some three miles out of gallatin on the nashville pike, and was one of the distinguished men of tennessee. he opposed secession to the last, and when the state seceded he retired to his plantation, and all during the war was a non-combatant. so grand was his character, such confidence did both sides have in his integrity, that he was honored and trusted by both. he never faltered in his love for the union, yet did everything possible to save his friends and neighbors from the wrath of the federal authorities. it was common report that more than once he saved gallatin from being burned to the ground for its many acts of hostility to the union forces. war laid a heavy hand on colonel peyton; and his son the apple of his eye was brought home a corpse. even then colonel peyton did not complain. he bound up his broken heart, and did what he could to soothe others who had been stricken the same as he. fred was given a genuine southern welcome at the hospitable mansion of colonel peyton. as for bailie, the younger members of the household went wild over him, even the servants wore a happier smile now "dat massa bailie had cum." after supper the family assembled on the old-fashioned porch to enjoy the cool evening air, and the conversation, as all conversations were in those days, was on the war. bailie was overflowing with the exuberance of his spirits. he believed that the victory at bull run was the beginning of the end, that washington was destined to fall, and that president davis would dictate peace from that city. he saw arise before him a great nation, the admiration of the whole world; and as he spoke of the glory that would come to the south, his whole soul seemed to light up his countenance. throughout bailie's discourse, colonel peyton sat silent and listened. sometimes a sad smile would come over his features at some of his son's witty sallies or extravagant expressions. bailie seeing his father' dejection, turned to him and said: "cheer up, father; i shall soon be back in nashville practicing my profession, the war over; and in the greatness and grandeur of the south you will forget your love for the old union." the colonel shook his head, and turning to fred, began to ask him questions concerning kentucky and the situation there. fred answered him truthfully and fully to the best of his knowledge. colonel peyton then said to his son: "bailie, you know how dear you are to me, and how much i regret the course you are taking; yet i will not chide you, for it is but natural for you to go with the people you love. it is not only you, it is the entire south that has made a terrible mistake. that the south had grievances, we all know; but secession was not the cure. bailie, you are mistaken about the war being nearly over; it has hardly begun. if beauregard ever had a chance to capture washington, that chance is now lost by his tardiness. the north has men and money; it will spare neither. you have heard what this young man has said about kentucky. he has told the truth. the state is hopelessly divided. neither side will keep up the farce of neutrality longer than it thinks it an advantage to do so. when the time comes, the federal armies will sweep through kentucky and invade tennessee. their banners will be seen waving along this road; nashville will fall." "what!" cried bailie, springing to his feet, "nashville in the hands of the lincolnites. never! may i die before i see the accursed flag of the north waving over the proud capitol of my beloved tennessee." he looked like a young god, as he stood there, proud, defiant, his eye flashing, his breast heaving with emotion. his father gazed on him a moment in silence. a look of pride, love, tenderness, passed over his face; then his eyes filled with tears, and he turned away trembling with emotion. had he a dim realization that the prayer of his son would be granted, and that he would not live to see the union flag floating over nashville? that night frederic shackelford knelt by his bedside with a trembling heart. bailie peyton's speech, his enthusiasm, his earnestness had had a powerful influence on him. after all, was the north wrong? was the south fighting, as bailie claimed, for one of the holiest causes for which a patriotic people ever combated; and that their homes, the honor of their wives and daughters were at stake? "oh, lord, show me the right way!" was fred's prayer. then there came to him, as if whispered in his ear by the sweetest of voices, the words of his mother, "_god will never permit a nation to be founded whose chief corner-stone is human slavery._" he arose, strong, comforted; the way was clear; there would be no more doubt. the next morning the young men journeyed to nashville together. on the way bailie poured out his whole soul to his young companion. he saw nothing in the future but success. in no possible way could the north subjugate the south. but the silver tones no longer influenced fred; there was no more wavering in his heart. but he ever said that bailie peyton was one of the most fascinating young men he ever met, and that the remembrance of that ride was one of the sweetest of his life. when a few months afterward, he wept over peyton's lifeless body stretched on the battlefield, he breathed a prayer for the noble soul that had gone so early to its creator. fred found nashville a seething sea of excitement. nothing was thought of, talked of, but the war. there was no thought of the hardships, the suffering, the agony, the death that it would bring--nothing but vain boasting, and how soon the north would get enough of it. the people acted as though they were about to engage in the festivities of some gala day, instead of one of the most gigantic wars of modern times. it was the case of not one, but of a whole people gone mad. although fred's uncle and family were greatly surprised to see him, he was received with open arms. mr. shackelford was busily engaged in raising a regiment for the confederate service, and as bailie peyton had said, had been commissioned as major. fred's cousin, george shackelford, although but two years older than he, was to be adjutant, and fred found the young man a little too conceited for comfort. not so with his cousin kate, a most beautiful girl the same age as himself, and they were soon the closest of friends. but kate was a terrible fire-eater. she fretted and pouted because fred would not abuse the yankees with the same vehemence that she did. "what if they should come here?" asked fred. "come here!" echoed kate, with the utmost scorn. "we women would turn out and beat them back with broomsticks." fred laughed, and then little bess came toddling up to him, with "tousin fed, do 'ankees eat 'ittle girls?" "bless you, bessie, i am afraid they would eat you, you are so sweet," cried fred, catching her in his arms and covering her face with kisses. "no danger," tartly responded kate; "they will never reach here to get a chance." "don't be too sure, my pretty cousin; i may yet live to see you flirting with a yankee officer." "you will see me dead first," answered kate, with flashing eye. it was a very pleasant visit that fred had, and he was sorry when the four days, the limit of his visit, were up. the papers that he had brought were all signed, and in addition he took numerous letters and messages back with him. when leaving, his uncle handed him a pass signed by the governor of the state. "there will be no getting through our lines into kentucky without this," said his uncle. "tennessee is like a rat-trap; it is much easier to get in than to get out." fred met with no adventure going back, until he approached the kentucky line south of scottsville. here he found the road strongly guarded by soldiers. "where are you going?" asked the officer in charge. "to my home near danville, kentucky," answered fred. "no, you don't," said the officer; "we have orders to let no one pass." "but i have permission from the governor," replied fred, handing out his pass. the officer looked at it carefully, then looked fred over, for he was fully described in the document, and handed it back with, "i reckon it's all right; you can go." and fred was about to ride on, when a man came running up with a fearful oath, and shouting: "that's you, is it, my fine gentleman? now you will settle with bill pearson for striking him like a nigger!" and there stood the man he had struck at gallatin, with the fiery red mark still showing across his face. as quick as a flash fred snatched a revolver from the holster. "up with your hands," said he coolly but firmly. pearson was taken by surprise, and his hands went slowly up. the officer looked from one to the other, and then asked what it meant. [illustration: as quick as a flash fred snatched a revolver from the holster.] bill, in a whining tone, told him how on the day he had enlisted, fred had struck him "just like a nigger." fred, in a few words, told his side of the story. "and bailie peyton said ye were all right, and bill here called ye a coward and a liah?" asked the officer. "yes, sir." "well, bill, i reckon you got what you deserved. let the gentleman pass." with a muttered curse, pearson fell back, and fred rode on, but had gone but a few yards when there was the sharp report of a pistol, and a ball cut through his hat rim. he looked back just in time to see bill pearson felled like an ox by a blow from the butt of a revolver in the hands of the angry officer. once in kentucky fred breathed freer, but he was stopped several times and closely questioned, and once or twice the fleetness of his horse saved him from unpleasant companions. it was with a glad heart that he found himself once more at home. chapter v. father and son. fred's journey to nashville and back had consumed eleven days. it was now august, a month of intense excitement throughout kentucky. it was a month of plot and counterplot. the great question as to whether kentucky would be union or confederate trembled in the balance. fred found conditions changed. those who had been neutral were becoming outspoken for one side or the other. thus it was with mr. shackelford. he was fast becoming a partisan of the south. letters which fred brought him from his brother in nashville confirmed him in his opinion. in these letters his brother begged him not to disgrace the name of shackelford by siding with the lincolnites. he heard from fred a full account of his journey, commended him for his bravery, and said that he did what every true kentuckian should do, resent an insult; but he should not have sent him had he known he would have been exposed to such grave dangers. "now, fred," he continued; "you and your horse need rest. do not leave home for a few days." to this fred readily assented. his cousin calhoun came to see him, and when he told him how he had served the fellow in gallatin who called him a liar, calhoun's enthusiasm knew no bounds. he jumped up and down and yelled, and clapped fred on the back, and called him a true kentuckian, even if he didn't favor the south. "it seems to me, fred, you are having all the fun, while i am staying here humdrumming around home. i can't stand it much longer." "it isn't all fun, cal. i might have been killed. look at that hole through my hat." "that's what i envy, fred; i must be a soldier. i long to hear the singing of bullets, the wild cheering of men, to be in the headlong charge," and the boy's face glowed with enthusiasm. "i reckon, cal, you will get there, if this racket keeps up much longer," answered fred. "speed the day," shouted cal, as he jumped on his horse and rode away, waving back a farewell. during these days, fred noticed that quite a number of gentlemen, all prominent southern sympathizers, called on his father. it seemed to him that his father was drifting away, and that a great gulf was growing between them; and he resolved to open his whole heart and tell his father just how he felt. the opportunity came sooner than he expected. one evening his uncle, judge pennington, came out from danville, accompanied by no less distinguished gentlemen than john c. breckinridge, humphrey marshall, john a. morgan and major hockoday. breckinridge was the idol of kentucky, a knightly man in every respect. they had come to discuss the situation with mr. shackelford. ten thousand rifles had been shipped to cincinnati, to be forwarded to camp dick robinson, for the purpose of arming the troops there; and the question was should they allow these arms to be sent. the consultation was held in the room directly below the one fred occupied, and through a friendly ventilator he heard the whole conversation. morgan and major hockoday were for calling out the state guards, capturing camp dick robinson, then march on frankfort, drive out the legislature, and declare the state out of the union. this was vigorously opposed by breckinridge. "you must remember," said he, "that state sovereignty is the underlying principle of the southern confederacy. if the states are not sovereign, the south had no right to secede, and every man in arms against the federal government is a traitor. kentucky, by more than a two-thirds vote, declined to go out of the union. but she has declared for neutrality; let us see that neutrality is enforced." "breckinridge," said morgan, "your logic is good, but your position is weak. what about those arms?" "their shipment in the state would be a violation of our neutrality; the whole power of the state should be used to prevent it," answered breckinridge. "oh! that general buckner were here!" exclaimed major hockoday. "now that he is gone, the state guard is virtually without a head." "where is general buckner?" asked mr. shackelford. "hobnobbing with president lincoln in washington, or with president davis in richmond, i don't know which," answered marshall, with a laugh. "oh! buckner is all right," responded breckinridge; "but he ought to be here now." it was finally agreed that a meeting should be called at georgetown, in scott county, on the th, at which meeting decisive steps should be taken to prevent the shipment of the arms. all of this fred heard, and then, to his consternation, he heard his father say: "gentlemen, before you go, i want to introduce my son to you. i am afraid he is a little inclined to be for the union, and i think a meeting with you gentlemen may serve to make him see things in a different light." so fred was called, and nerving himself for the interview, he went down. as he entered the room, major hockoday stared at him a moment in surprise, and then exclaimed: "great god! shackelford, that is not your son; that is the young villain who stole my dispatch from conway!" "the very same," said fred, smiling. "how do you do, major; i am glad to see you looking so well. i see that the loss of that dispatch didn't worry you so much as to make you sick." "w-h-y why!" stammered the major, choking with rage, "you--you impudent young----" here the major did choke. he could say no more. fred rather enjoyed it, and he continued: "and how is my friend captain conway? i trust that he was not injured in his hurried exit from the cars the other night." all the rest of the company looked nonplused, but morgan, who roared with laughter. "what does this mean?" sternly asked mr. shackelford of fred. "it means," answered fred, "that i got the major's dispatches away from captain conway, and thus saved louisville from a scene of bloodshed and horror. and, major, you should thank me, for your scheme would have failed anyway. the union men were too well prepared. i really saved any number of your friends from being killed, and there you sit choking with rage, instead of calling me a good boy." "leave the room, fred," commanded mr. shackelford; "that you should insult a guest here in my own house is more than i can imagine." bowing, fred retired, and the company turned to major hockoday for an explanation of the extraordinary scene. the major told the story and ended with saying: "i am sorry, shackelford, that he is your boy. if i were you, i should get him out of the country as soon as possible; he will make you trouble." "i will settle with him, never fear," replied mr. shackelford, grimly. "look here, major," spoke up morgan; "you are sore because that boy outwitted you, and he did you a good turn, as he said. if your program had been carried out, louisville would be occupied by federal troops to-day. thank him because he pulled the wool over conway's eyes. ha! ha! two old duffers fooled by a boy!" and morgan enjoyed a hearty laugh, in which all but major hockoday and mr. shackelford joined. "and, shackelford," continued morgan, after he had enjoyed his laugh, "i want you to let that boy alone; he is the smartest boy in kentucky. i want him with me when i organize my cavalry brigade." "i am afraid, morgan," said breckinridge, "that you will be disappointed in that, though i hope not for mr. shackelford's sake. the boy looks to me as if he had a will of his own." "oh, he will come around all right," responded morgan. after making full arrangements for the meeting to be held in scott county on the th, the company dispersed. hours after they had gone fred heard his father restlessly pacing the floor. "poor father!" thought he, "like me, he cannot sleep. i wonder what he will say to me in the morning; but come what may, i must and shall be for the union." at the breakfast table mr. shackelford was silent until the close of the meal, when he simply said, "fred, i would like to see you in the library." fred bowed, and replied, "i will be there in a few moments, father." when fred entered the library, his father was seated at the table writing. there was a look of care on his face, and fred was startled to see how pale he was. pushing aside his writing, he sat for some moments looking at his son in silence. at last he said: "fred, you can hardly realize how pained i was last night to hear what i did. i would not have thought it of you. but the past is gone. you are old enough to realize something of the desperate nature of the struggle in which the two sections of the country are engaged. for the past two weeks i have thought much of what was the right thing to do. i love my country; i love and revere the old flag. as long as the slightest hope remained of restoring it as it was, i was for the union. but this is now hopeless; too much blood has been shed. neither would the south, if granted her own terms, now go back to a union she not only hates, but loathes. the north has no lawful right to use coercion. kentucky, in her sovereign right as a state, has declared for neutrality; and it has been contemptuously ignored by the north. nelson, a man to be despised by every patriot, has not only organized troops in our midst, but now seeks to have the federal government arm them. such true men as breckinridge, marshall, buckner, morgan, and a host of other loyal kentuckians have sworn that this shall never be. general buckner is now in washington. if he ascertains that the lincoln government will not respect the neutrality of the state by withdrawing every federal officer and soldier, he is going to proceed to richmond and offer his services to the confederate government. once accepted, he will immediately form the state guards into an army, and turn them over to the confederacy. regiments must be formed, and i have been offered the colonelcy of one of these regiments." fred was startled, and stammered, "you--father--you?" "yes, my son, why not? if your mother had lived, it would have been different, but now i can go far better than many who have gone. i have arranged all of my business. i shall place belle in school in cincinnati. john stimson, who has been our overseer for so many years, will remain and conduct the plantation. my only trouble has been to dispose of you satisfactorily. my wish is to send you to college, but knowing your adventurous disposition, and how fond you are of exciting and, i might add, desperate deeds, i am afraid you would do no good in your studies." "you are right, father," said fred, in a low voice. "this being the case," continued mr. shackelford, "i was going to offer to take you with me in the army, not as an enlisted soldier, but rather as company and aid to me. but from what i heard last night, i do not see how this is possible, unless what you have done has been a mere boyish freak, which i do not think." "it was no freak," said fred, with an unsteady voice. "so i thought. therefore, the only thing i can do is to send you away--to europe. what do you say, an english or a german university?" "and you are really going into the confederate army, father?" "yes, my son." "and you want me to play the coward and flee my country in this her hour of greatest peril? oh, father!" mr. shackelford looked astonished, and then a smile of joy passed over his features; could it be that fred was going with him? "not if you wish to go with me, my son." fred arose and tottered to his father, sank beside his knee, and looking up with a tear-stained face, said in a pleading voice: "don't go into the confederate army, father; don't turn against the old flag." and the boy laid his head on his father's knee and sobbed as if his heart would break. mr. shackelford was deeply moved. he tried to speak, but a lump arose in his throat and choked him; so he sat in silence smoothing the hair of his son with his hand as gently as his mother would have done. "what would mother say," at length sobbed the boy. mr. shackelford shivered as with a chill; then said brokenly: "if your mother had lived, child, my first duty would have been to her. now it is to my country. neither would your mother, it mattered not what she thought herself, ever have asked me to violate my own conscience." "father, let us both stay at home. we can do that, you thinking as you do, and i thinking as i do. we can love each other just the same. we can do good by comforting those who will be stricken; and mother will look down from heaven, and bless us. we cannot control our sympathies, but we can our actions. we can both be truly non-combatants." "don't, fred, don't tempt me," gasped mr. shackelford. "my word is given, and a shackelford never breaks his word. then i cannot stand idly by, and see my kindred made slaves. i must draw my sword for the right, and the south has the right. fred, the die is cast. i go in the confederate army--you to europe. so say no more." fred arose, his face as pale as death, but with a look so determined, so fixed that it seemed as if in a moment the boy had been transformed into a man. "father," he asked, "i have always been a good son, obeying you, and never intentionally grieving you, have i not?" "you have, fred, been a good, obedient son, god bless you!" "just before mother died," continued fred, "she called me to her bedside. she told me how my great-grandfather had died on bunker hill, and asked me to always be true to my country. she asked me to promise never to raise my hand against the flag. i gave her the promise. you would not have me break that promise, father?" "no, no, my son! go to europe, stay there until the trouble is over." "she said more, father. listen, for i believe her words to be prophetic: 'god will never prosper a nation whose chief corner-stone is human slavery.'" "stop, fred, stop, i can't bear it. your mother did not understand. this war is not waged to perpetuate slavery; it is waged to preserve the rights of the states guaranteed to them by the constitution." "do not deceive yourself, father; slavery has everything to do with it. no state would have thought of seceding if it had not been for slavery. slavery is the sole, the only cause of the war. it is a poor cause for noble men to give up their lives." "we will not argue the question," said mr. shackelford, pettishly; "you will forget your foolishness in europe." "i shall not go to europe." "what!" "i shall not go to europe." "do you dare to disobey me?" "i shall not only not go to europe, but i shall enter the army." "the army! the army! what army?" asked mr. shackelford, dismayed. "the union army." the father staggered as if a knife had pierced his heart. he threw out his hands wildly, and then pressed them to his breast and gasped: "fred, fred, you don't mean it!" "i was never more in earnest in my life." mr. shackelford's feelings underwent a sudden change. his face became purple with rage; love for his son was forgotten. "do that," he thundered, "do that, and you are no son of mine. i will disown you, i will cast you out, i will curse you." "father," said fred, in a low tremulous voice, "if part we must, do not let us part in anger. never have i loved you better than now; you do what you believe to be right; i do what i believe to be right. we both perform our duty as we see it. god will hold the one who blunders blameless. let us then part in peace." mr. shackelford, with white, drawn face, pointed to the door, and uttered the one word, "go!" "oh, father, father, do not send me away with a curse. see, father," and he turned to his mother's portrait which hung on the wall, "mother is looking down on us; mother, who loved us both so well. how can you account to her that you have turned away her only son with a curse, and for no crime, but the one of loving his country." "boy, boy, have you no mercy that you will not only break my heart, but tear it out by the roots." "i am the one who asks for mercy, who pleads that you send me not away with a curse." "fred, for the sake of your mother, i will not curse you, but i will, if you remain in my sight. here," and he went to his safe, opened it, and took out a package of money. "here is $ , , take it and prince, and begone. go to that man, nelson, who has seduced you. it is a heavy account i have to settle with him. go before i forget myself and curse you." for a moment fred gazed in his father's face; there was no wrath, nothing but love in his look. then he took the money and said: "father, i thank you; i not only thank you, but bless you. may god protect you in the midst of dangers. not a day shall pass but i shall pray for your safety. good-bye, father." he turned and went out. mr. shackelford staggered towards the door. "fred!" it was the cry of a repentant soul. the boy's footstep echoed outside along the hall, fainter and fainter. the father groped blindly, as if about to fall. "fred, fred, come back!" the outer door closed; his boy was gone. mr. shackelford staggered backward and groaned, as if in mortal agony. then his eye caught the portrait of his wife looking down on him. raising his arms beseechingly, he cried: "oh, laura! laura! what have i done? don't look at me so; i didn't curse him. i would have called him back. my boy! my boy! oh, god! oh, god!" it was with a heavy heart that fred left the house. as he shut the door, he thought he heard his father call. he stopped and listened, but hearing nothing, he went on. getting his horse, he rode to danville. his little sister was visiting at judge pennington's, and he wanted to see her, as well as to bid farewell to his uncle, and see calhoun. he had no idea but that his uncle would forbid him the house when he heard of his being cast off by his father. he found judge pennington at home, and frankly told him what had happened, shielding his father as much as possible, and not sparing himself. the judge went into a fearful passion. "why, why, you young jackanapes," he roared; "it's a horse-whipping you want, and you would get it if you were a boy of mine! disowned you, did he? and drove you away? well, he is a fool, too. a good tanning is what you need, and, by jove! i have a mind to give it to you," and he shook his cane threateningly. "going to join the yankee army, are you? join and be hanged, you idiot! a shackelford in the yankee army! i'll, i'll--" but the judge was too angry to say more. "now, uncle, don't get in a rage; it's no use. my mind is fully made up. i shall join the union army in some capacity." "get out of my sight, you young idiot, you!" thundered the judge. just then calhoun came in. "what's the row?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "row, row!" sputtered the judge. "if you were as big a fool as your cousin there, i would skin you alive." "glad you have at last come to a full appreciation of my worth," coolly replied calhoun. "for years i have had the virtues of my cousin held up to me as a shining mark to follow. now, i find i am saving my skin by surpassing him in the wisdom of this world. congratulate me, dear father." "why, this fool says he is going to enlist in the yankee army," foamed the judge, pointing at fred. "and this fool says he is going to enlist in the southern army," answered calhoun, pointing to himself. the judge was sobered instantly. "calhoun, you don't mean it?" he asked. "yes, i do mean it," stoutly replied the boy. "why not? haven't you been talking for years of the rights of the south? are you not doing everything possible to take kentucky out of the union? haven't you encouraged the enlistment of soldiers for the south? then why not i? why am i better than others? father, i don't want to quarrel with you as fred has with his father, but i am going into the southern army, and i hope with your blessing." the judge was completely sobered. having his son go to war was so much different from having some one else's son go. "do not do anything rash, my son," he said to calhoun. "when the time comes if you must go, i will see what can be done for you. as for you, fred," he said, "you stay here with calhoun until i return. i am going to see your father," and calling for his horse, the judge rode away. it was afternoon before the judge came back. calling the boys into a room for a private interview, he said: "fred, i have been to see your father, and he is very much chagrined over your disobedience. his fierce anger is gone, and in its place a deep sorrow. he does not ask you to give up your principle, but he does ask that you do not enter the federal army. you are much too young, to say nothing of other considerations. you should accept his proposition and go to europe. we have come to this conclusion, that if you will go i will send calhoun with you. that will be an even stand off. calhoun wants to enter the southern army, you the northern, so neither section loses anything. you have both done your duty to your section, and both will have the pleasure and advantage of a university course in europe. what do you say, boys?" "that it is a mean underhanded way to prevent me from entering the army," flared up calhoun. "i hope fred will not accept." "be careful, boy," said the judge, getting red in the face. "you will not find me as lenient as mr. shackelford has been with fred. you will go where i say." calhoun's temper was up, and there would have been a scene right then and there if fred had not interfered. "uncle," said he, "there is no use of calhoun and you disagreeing over this matter. i shall not go to europe; so far as i am concerned, it is settled. as for calhoun entering the army, you must settle that between you." calhoun pressed fred's hand, and whispered, "good for you, fred; you have got me out of a bad scrape. i think father will consent to my going in the army now." the judge stared at the boys, and then sputtered: "both of you ought to be soundly thrashed. but if fred's mind is made up, it is no use pursuing the matter further." "i am firmly resolved," answered fred. "then," answered the judge, "i will say no more, only, fred, my house is open to you. when you get sick of your foolish experiment you can have a home here. your father refuses to see you unless you consent to obey." "i thank you, uncle," said fred, in a low voice, "but i do not think i shall trouble you much." in justice to mr. shackelford, it must be said it was by his request that judge pennington made this offer to fred. mr. shackelford's heart had softened towards his son, and he did not wish to cast him off entirely. but the destiny of father and son was to be more closely interwoven than either thought. fred remained at his uncle's until the next day. he and calhoun slept together or rather occupied the same bed, for they had too much talking to do to sleep. both boys were romantic and fond of adventure. both longed for the fierce excitement of war. they did not talk as enemies. they did not realize that they might face each other on the field of battle. they talked of their oath, and again promised to keep it to the letter. they were like two brothers, each going on a long journey in different directions. their parting the next morning was most affectionate, and when fred rode away he turned his horse's head in the direction of camp dick robinson. chapter vi. the fight for the arms. the soldiers that nelson had gathered at camp dick robinson were a nondescript set, not only in clothing, but in arms. squirrel rifles and shotguns were the principal weapons. when he first began organizing his troops, nelson had ordered guns and ammunition from the federal government, and his impetuous spirit chafed at their non-arrival. consequently he was not in the best of humor, and was mentally cursing the government for its exceeding slowness when fred rode up to his headquarters. fred's ride had been anything but a pleasant one. that he had taken a desperate step for a boy of his age, he well knew. he passionately loved his father, and the thought that he had been disowned for disobedience was a bitter one. he strove to fight back the lump that would rise in his throat; and in spite of all his efforts to keep them back, the tears would well up in his eyes. but he never faltered in his determination. he had given himself, heart and soul, to the cause of the union, and had no thought of turning back. even if nelson did not receive him, if it came to the worst he would enlist as a private soldier. serve the union he would. "a boy to see me," snapped nelson, when an orderly reported that a boy was outside and wished to see him. "tell him to go to the ----." the orderly reported to fred nelson's kind wish. "tell him," replied fred, rather indignantly, "that fred shackelford wishes to see him." the orderly soon returned, and ushered fred into the presence of the irate officer. "it is you, fred, is it?" said nelson, as our hero entered and saluted him. "i am sorry i told you to go where i did, but the truth is i am out of sorts. have you any news to cheer me up?" "news, general, yes; and quite important, if you do not already know it. but first," continued fred, glancing at the star which glistened on nelson's shoulder, "let me congratulate you. i see you are no longer lieutenant nelson of the navy, but general nelson of the army." "yes," replied nelson, with a twinkle in his eye, "i now command on land; so, young man, be careful how you try to ride over me." fred laughed as he thought of his first meeting with nelson, and replied: "i shall never so forget myself again, general." "now," continued nelson, "give me the news. you said you had something important to communicate." "so i have if you are not already informed. you are expecting arms for your men, are you not?" "i am, and i am all out of patience because i do not receive them. they should have been here days ago. but what do you know about this?" "i know that you will never receive them, if the friends of the south can prevent it; and that they are taking active measures to do." "tell me all about it," said nelson, manifesting the greatest interest. fred then related all that he had heard at the meeting which took place at his father's house. nelson's face grew very grave. then he asked, "where did you learn of all this?" "please do not ask me," replied fred, in a low voice. "i can only say the information is absolutely correct." "never mind," said nelson, kindly. "i think i understand. your news is, indeed, important. the enemy must have spies watching every movement. you have again rendered me important service, fred. how i wish you could take up with that offer i made you." "that is what i have come for, general, if you will accept my poor services." "what! has your father consented?" asked nelson, in surprise. fred colored, and then replied: "i have no home; my father has cast me out." "for what?" "i had my choice to accompany him in the confederate army or to go to europe to attend some university. i refused to do either." nelson knitted his brows a moment as if in thought, and then replied: "you were certainly right in refusing the first; i wonder at your father making you the proposition. the last was a very reasonable proposition, and a wise one. you should have accepted it. i am afraid i am to blame for your folly--for such it is. the offer i made you appealed to your boyish imagination and love of adventure, and caused you to go against the wishes of your father. four or five years at some foreign university is a chance not to be idly thrown away, to say nothing about obeying the wishes of your father. as much as i would like your services, fred, be reconciled to your father; go to europe, and keep out of this infernal war. it will cost the lives of thousands of just such noble youths as you before it ends; and," he continued, with a tinge of sadness in his tone, "i sometimes think i shall never live to see it end. i am surrounded by hundreds of enemies who are hungering for my life." "your advice, general, is most kindly given," answered fred, "and i sincerely thank you for what you have said; but it is impossible for me to accept it. it is all over between father and myself. he gave me $ , and my horse, and told me to go my way. i love my father, but if i should now go back after what has passed, he would despise me, as i would despise myself. father is the soul of honor; if i should play the craven after all that i have said, he would not only despise, but loathe me. now i can hope that time may once more unite us. be assured that though his heart may be filled with anger towards me now, if i prove myself worthy, he will yet be proud of his son." nelson's heart was touched. he grasped fred's hand, and exclaimed with much feeling: "you must have a noble father, or he could not have such a son. yes, fred, i will take you. consider yourself attached to my staff as confidential scout and messenger. i do not wish you to enlist; you will be more free to act if you are not an enlisted soldier." fred warmly thanked the general for his expression of confidence, and announced himself as ready for orders. nelson smiled at his ardor, and then said: "i believe you stated that that meeting is to take place in scott county the th?" "yes, sir." "this is the th. you can make it all right. how would you like to go there, and see what you can learn?" fred's eyes kindled. "i can make it all right, but i am afraid some of them may know me." "we will fix that all right," responded nelson. the next morning, a boy with jet black hair and hands and face stained brown rode away from general nelson's headquarters. it would have been a close observer indeed that would have taken that boy for fred shackelford. it was on the evening of the th that fred reached georgetown. he found the little city full of excited partisans of the south. at the meeting the next day many fierce speeches were made. the extremists were for at once calling out the state guards, and marching on camp dick robinson, and capturing it at the point of the bayonet. but more pacific advice prevailed. governor magoffin was instructed to protest in the strongest language to president lincoln, and to call on him at once to disband the troops at dick robinson. as for allowing the arms to be shipped, it was resolved that it should be prevented at all hazards. when fred arrived at georgetown, he found at the hotel that he could procure a room next to the one occupied by major hockoday, and believing that the major's room might be used for secret consultations of the more violent partisans of the south, he engaged it, hoping that in some manner he might become possessed of some of their secrets. while the room engaged by major hockoday was unoccupied he deftly made a hole through the plastering in his room, and then with the aid of a sharpened stick made a very small opening through the plastering into the next room. he then rolled up a sheet of paper in the shape of a trumpet. by placing the small end of the paper in the small opening, and putting his ear to the larger end, he was enabled to hear much that was said, especially if everything was still and the conversation was animated. the result exceeded his most sanguine expectations. after the close of the public meeting, a number of the more prominent actors gathered in major hockoday's room. a heated discussion arose as to how kentucky could the most quickly throw off her neutrality, and join her fortune to that of the confederacy. "gentlemen," said major hockoday, "i believe every one present is a true son of the south, therefore i can speak to you freely. the first thing, as we all agree, is to prevent the shipment of these arms. then if lincoln refuses to disband the troops at dick robinson, the program is this: you all know that general buckner has been in washington for some time talking neutrality. in a measure he has gained the confidence of lincoln, and has nearly received the promise that no federal troops from other states will be ordered into the state as long as the confederate troops keep out. buckner has secretly gone to richmond, where he will accept a commission from the confederate government. he will then come back by way of the south, and issue a proclamation to loyal kentuckians to join his standard. the state guards should join him to a man. then, if lincoln refuses to disband the soldiers at dick robinson, the confederate government will occupy the state with troops, claiming and justly, too, that the federal government has not respected the neutrality of the state. the coming of the confederate troops will fire the heart of every true kentuckian, and all over the state confederates will spring to arms, and the half-armed ragamuffins of nelson will be scattered like a flock of sheep. by a dash louisville can be occupied, and kentucky will be where she belongs--in the southern confederacy. what think you, gentlemen, of the program?" a wild cheer burst from those present. strong men embraced each other with tears streaming down their cheeks. they believed with their whole hearts and souls that the south was right, and that kentucky's place was with her southern sisters, and now that there seemed to be a possibility of this, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. as for fred, he drew a long breath. he knew that he had gained information of the greatest value to the federal cause. "it is time for me to be going," he said to himself. "nelson must know of this as soon as possible." as he passed out of the room, he came face to face with major hockoday. the major stared at him a moment, and then roughly asked: "what is your name, and what are you doing here?" "i see no reason why i should report to you," replied fred. "i am a guest at this hotel, and am minding my own business. i wish i could say as much for you," and he walked away. the major looked after him, his face red with anger, and muttered: "strange! but if that boy didn't have black hair and was not dark, i should swear it was fred shackelford. i must find out more about him." but a gentleman came along just then and engaged him in conversation. as soon as he could disengage himself, the major examined the hotel register to find who occupied room . opposite that number he found written in a bold, boyish hand: "f. carrington.... louisville." fred's full name was fred carrington shackelford, and he had registered his given names only. major hockoday made careful inquiry about the boy, but no one knew him. he had paid his bill, called for his horse, and rode away. more the people could not tell. major hockoday was troubled, why he hardly knew; but somehow he felt as if the presence of that black-haired boy boded no good to their cause. all of this time fred was riding swiftly towards lexington. general nelson listened to his report not only with attention, but with astonishment. "fred," said he, "you are a marvel; you are worth a brigade of soldiers. i have been reporting all the time to the authorities at washington that buckner was heart and soul with the south; but they wouldn't believe me. neither will they believe me now, but i can act on your information." "fred," continued the general, walking rapidly up and down the room, "i sometimes think there is a set of dunderheads at washington. they think they know everything, and don't know anything. if kentucky is saved, it will be saved by the loyal men of the state. just think of their listening to buckner instead of me," and the general worked himself into a violent rage, and it took him some time to cool off. then he said: "i will try once more to hurry up those arms. i will send you to-morrow to cincinnati as a special messenger. i will write what you have told me, and i want you to impress it on general anderson's mind. tell him to hurry, hurry, or it will be too late." the next morning fred was on his way back to nicholasville. from there he took the train for cincinnati, at which place he arrived in due time. he delivered his dispatches to general anderson, who, after reading them, looked at him kindly and said: "general nelson sends a young messenger, but he tells me of the great service you have performed and the valuable information you have gathered. it is certainly wonderful for so young a boy. tell me more about it." fred modestly related what had occurred at georgetown. general anderson listened attentively, and when fred had finished, said: "you certainly deserve the credit general nelson has given you. the information you received is of the greatest importance, and will be at once forwarded to washington. in the mean time, we must do the best we can. general nelson may think i am slow, but there is so much to do--so much to do, and so little to do with," and the general sighed. fred observed him with interest, for he realized that he was talking to the hero who had defended fort sumter to the last. the general was broken in health, and looked sick and careworn, and not the man to assume the great burden he was bearing. it was with joy that fred heard that the arms would be shipped in a day or two. but when the train carrying them was ready to start, fred saw, to his amazement, that it was not to be guarded. "that train will never get through," he thought. "it is funny how they do things." fred was right; the enemies of the government were not idle. spies were all around, and they knew when the train was to start to a minute, and the news was flashed ahead. at a small station in harrison county the train was stopped by a large mob, who tore up the track in front, making it impossible for it to proceed. there was nothing to do but to take the train back to cincinnati, and with it a communication to the officials of the road that if they attempted to run the train again the whole track would be torn up from covington to lexington. the railway officials, thoroughly frightened, begged general anderson not to attempt to run the train again. the southern sympathizers were jubilant over their success, and boldly declared the arms would never be shipped. as for fred, he was completely disgusted, and expressed himself so. "well, my boy, what would you do?" asked general anderson, smiling. "do! do!" answered fred, excitedly. "i would send a regiment and a battery on a train ahead of the one carrying the arms, and if the mob interfered i would sweep them from the face of the earth." "well said, my lad," replied anderson, his face lighting up and his eyes kindling. "i feel that way myself, but a soldier must obey orders, and unfortunately i have different orders." "what is the next move?" asked fred. "i have orders to load them on a steamboat, and send them up the kentucky river to hickman bridge." fred looked his disgust. "you don't seem pleased," said the general. "pleased!" blurted out fred; "excuse me, general, but it is all foolishness. have i not heard those fellows plotting? the boat will be stopped the same as the train." the general turned away, but fred heard him say, as if to himself: "i am afraid it will be so, but the government persists in tying our hands as far as kentucky is concerned." general anderson's position was certainly an anomalous one--the commander of a department, and yet not allowed to move troops into it. according to his orders, fred took passage on the boat with the arms, but he felt it would never be permitted to reach its destination. his fears proved only too true. when the boat reached the confines of owen county they found a great mob congregated on the banks of the river. "turn back! turn back!" was the cry, "or we will burn the boat." the captain tried to parley, but he was met with curses and jeers. fred went on shore, and mingling with the mob, soon learned there was a conspiracy on the part of the more daring to burn the boat, even if it did turn back. hurrying on board, fred told the captain his only salvation was to turn back at once, and to put on all steam. he did so, and the boat and cargo were saved. once more the confederate sympathizers went wild with rejoicing, and the union men were correspondingly depressed. but the boat made an unexpected move, as far as the enemy were concerned. instead of proceeding back to cincinnati, it turned down the ohio to louisville. here the arms were hastily loaded on the cars, and started for lexington. fred was hurried on ahead to apprise general nelson of their coming. fred delivered his message to the general, and then said: "the train will never get through; it will be stopped at lexington, if not before." "if the train ever reaches lexington i will have the arms," grimly replied nelson. "lexington is in my jurisdiction; there will be no fooling, no parleying with traitors, if the train reaches that city." then he turned to colonel thomas e. bramlette, and said: "colonel, take a squadron of cavalry, proceed to lexington, and when that train comes, take charge of it and guard it to nicholasville. i will have wagons there to transport the arms here." colonel bramlette saluted, and replied: "general, i will return with those arms or not at all." the general smiled; he understood. "may i accompany the colonel?" asked fred. "certainly, if you wish," answered nelson. "you have stayed by the arms so far, and it is no more than right that you should be in at the finish." the enemy was alert, and the news reached lexington that the train loaded with the arms and ammunition for the soldiers at dick robinson was coming. instantly the little city was aflame with excitement. the state guards under the command of john h. morgan gathered at their armory with the avowed intention of seizing the train by force. john c. breckinridge made a speech to the excited citizens, saying the train must be stopped, if blood flowed. in the midst of this excitement colonel bramlette with his cavalry arrived. this added fuel to the already intense excitement. "drive the lincoln hirelings from the city!" shouted breckinridge, and the excited crowd took up the cry. a demand was at once drawn up, signed by breckinridge, morgan and many others, and sent to colonel bramlette, requesting him to at once withdraw from the city, or blood would be shed. colonel bramlette's lips curled in scorn as he read the demand, and turning to the messenger who brought it, said: "go tell the gentlemen they shall have my answer shortly." writing an answer, he turned to fred, saying: "here, my boy, for what you have done, you richly deserve the honor of delivering this message." right proudly did fred bear himself as he delivered his message to breckinridge. major hockoday, who was standing by breckinridge, scowled and muttered, "it's that ---- shackelford boy." captain conway heard him, and seeing fred, with a fearful oath, sprang towards him with uplifted hand. he had not seen fred since that night he plunged from the train. his adventure had become known, and he had to submit to any amount of chaffing at being outwitted by a boy; and his brother officers took great delight in calling out: "look out, conway, here comes that detective from danville!" this made captain conway hate fred with all the ardor of his small soul, and seeing the boy, made him so forget himself as to attack him. but a revolver flashed in his face, and a firm voice said: "not so fast, captain." the irate captain was seized and dragged away, and when the tumult had subsided breckinridge said: "i am sorry to see the son of my friend, colonel shackelford, engaged in such business; but it is the message that he brings that concerns us." he then read the following laconic note from colonel bramlette: lexington, aug. --, . to hon. john c. breckinridge, john h. morgan and others. gentlemen:--i shall take those arms, and if a drop of union blood be shed, i will not leave a single secessionist alive in lexington. thomas e. bramlette, _colonel commanding_. there was a breathless silence; faces of brave men grew pale. there were oaths and muttered curses, but the mob began to melt away. the victory was won. the train arrived, and colonel bramlette took charge of it without trouble. just as the troop of cavalry was leaving lexington, a boy came out and thrust a note into fred's hand. he opened it and read: to fred shackelford: boy as you are, i propose to shoot you on sight, so be on your guard. capt. p. c. conway. fred smiled, and handed the note to colonel bramlette, who read it and said: "fred, you will have to look out for that fellow." the journey back to dick robinson was without incident. the long looked for arms and ammunition had come. what rejoicing there was! what wild hurrahs! plenty of arms and ammunition! it meant everything to those men surrounded as they were with enemies on every side. in the midst of the rejoicing, fred was not forgotten. he and colonel bramlette were the heroes of the hour. the fight for the possession of the arms was over. general nelson had won. chapter vii. the foiling of a plot. camp dick robinson was all excitement. general nelson, the man of iron nerve, who, in the face of opposition from friends, the most direful threats from foes, saved central kentucky to the union, had been relieved of his command and assigned to another field of labor. the new commander to take his place was general george h. thomas. to fred the news that _his_ general, as he had come to look upon nelson, had been assigned to another command, was anything but pleasing. "but where nelson goes, there will i go," was his thought. "after all," he said, bitterly, "what does it matter where i go. i am homeless and an outcast." general thomas, like nelson, was a heavy, thickset man, but there the likeness ended. thomas never lost his temper, he never swore, he never complained, he never got excited. he was always cool and collected, even under the most trying circumstances. he afterwards became known to his soldiers as "pap thomas," and was sometimes called "slow-trot thomas," for the reason he was never known to ride his horse off a trot, even in the most desperate battle. when general thomas reported to camp dick robinson he and nelson held a long consultation. finally fred was called into their presence. "this, general, is fred shackelford, the boy of whom i spoke," said nelson. fred saluted the new commander, and then respectfully remained standing, awaiting orders. "fred," continued general nelson, "general thomas and i have been discussing you, and i have been telling him how valuable your services have been. i fully expected to take you with me to my new command, but both general thomas and myself feel that just at present your services are very much needed here. this camp is very important, and it is surrounded with so many dangers that we need to take every precaution. you are not only well acquainted with the country, but you seem to have a peculiar way of getting at the enemy's secrets no other one possesses. there is no doubt but you are needed here more than at maysville, where i am going. but we have concluded to leave it to you, whether you go or stay. you may be sure i shall be pleased to have you go with me. what do you say, fred?" fred looked at general thomas, and thought he had never seen a finer, grander face; but he had grown very fond of the fiery nelson, so he replied: "general nelson, you know my feelings towards you. i appreciate your kindness. if i consulted simply my own wishes i should go with you. but you have pointed out to me my duty. i am very grateful to general thomas for his feelings towards me. i shall stay as long as i am needed here, and serve the general to the best of my ability." "bravely said, fred, bravely said," responded nelson. "you will find general thomas a more agreeable commander than myself." "there, general, that will do," said thomas quietly. so it was settled that fred was to stay for the present with general thomas. the next day generals thomas and nelson went to cincinnati to confer with general anderson, and fred was invited to accompany them. once more he was asked to lay before general anderson the full text of the conversation he had overheard at georgetown. this he did. "what do you think, general?" asked thomas, who had listened very closely to the recital. "i am afraid," replied general anderson, "that the authorities at washington do not fully realize the condition of affairs in kentucky. neither have they any conception of the intrigue going on to take the state out of the union. no doubt, general buckner has been playing a sharp game at washington. he seems to have completely won the confidence of the president. it is for this reason so many of our requests pass unheeded. if what young shackelford has heard is true, general buckner is now in richmond. he is there to accept a command from the confederate government, and is to return here to organize the disloyal forces of kentucky to force the state out of the union. now, in the face of these facts, what do you think of this," and the general read the following: executive mansion, aug. th, . hon. secretary of war. my dear sir:--unless there be reason to the contrary, not known to me, make out a commission for simon b. buckner as a brigadier-general of volunteers. it is to be put in the hands of general anderson, and delivered to general buckner, or not, at the discretion of general anderson. of course, it is to remain a secret unless and until the commission is delivered. a. lincoln. during the reading, general thomas sat with immovable countenance, betraying neither approbation nor disgust. but nelson exploded like a volcano. "great god!" he roared, "are they all idiots at washington? buckner a federal general! oh! the fools, the fools! give him his commission, anderson, give him his commission, and then let lincoln invite jeff davis to a seat in the cabinet. it would be as sensible," and then he poured forth such a volley of oaths that what he really meant to say became obscure. when he had blown himself out, general thomas quietly said: "now, general, that you have relieved yourself, let us again talk business." "i don't believe you would change countenance, thomas, if beauregard was placed in command of the federal armies," replied nelson, pettishly. "perhaps not," calmly replied thomas. "but central kentucky needed just such fire and enthusiasm as you possess to save it from the clutches of the rebels, and if i can only complete the grand work you have begun i shall be content, and not worry over whom the president recommends for office." "you will complete it, general; my work could not be left in better hands," replied nelson, completely mollified. in a few moments nelson excused himself, as he had other duties to perform. looking after him, general anderson said: "i am afraid nelson's temper and unruly tongue will get him into serious trouble yet. but he has done what i believe no other man could have done as well. to his efforts, more than to any other one man, do we owe our hold on kentucky." "his lion-like courage and indomitable energy will cover a multitude of faults," was the reply of general thomas. fred returned to camp dick robinson with general thomas, and he soon found that the general was fully as energetic as nelson, though in a more quiet way. the amount of work that general thomas dispatched was prodigious. every little detail was looked after, but there was no hurry, no confusion. the camp began to assume a more military aspect, and the men were brought under more thorough discipline. september saw great changes in affairs in kentucky. according to the program which fred had heard outlined at georgetown, the confederates began their aggressive movements. hickman, on the mississippi river, was occupied by the confederate army under general polk on the th. as swift as a stroke of lightning, general grant, who was in command at cairo, illinois, retaliated by occupying paducah on the th. general polk then seized the important post of columbus on the th. a few days afterward general buckner moved north from tennessee, and occupied bowling green. at the same time general zollicoffer invaded the state from cumberland gap. all three of these confederate generals issued stirring addresses to all true kentuckians to rally to their support. it was confidently expected by the confederate authorities that there would be a general uprising throughout the state in favor of the south. but they were grievously disappointed; the effect was just the opposite. the legislature, then in session at frankfort, passed a resolution commanding the governor to issue a proclamation ordering the confederates at once to evacuate the state. governor magoffin, much to his chagrin, was obliged to issue the proclamation. a few days later the legislature voted that the state should raise a force of , men, and that this force be tendered the united states for the purpose of putting down rebellion. an invitation was also extended to general anderson to assume command of all these forces. thus, to their chagrin, the confederates saw their brightest hopes perish. instead of their getting possession of the state, even neutrality had perished. the state was irrevocably committed to the union, but the people were as hopelessly divided as ever. it was to be a battle to the death between the opposing factions. shortly after his return to dick robinson, fred began to long to hear from home, to know how those he loved fared; so he asked general thomas for a day or two of absence. it was readily granted, and soon he was on his way to danville. he found only his uncle and aunt pennington at home. his father had gone south to accept the colonelcy of a regiment, and was with buckner. his cousin calhoun had accompanied colonel shackelford south, having the promise of a position on the staff of some general officer. his little sister bessie had been sent to cincinnati to a convent school. the adherents of the opposing factions were more bitter toward each other than ever, and were ready to spring at each other's throats at the slightest provocation. neighbors were estranged, families were broken, nevermore to be reunited; and over all there seemed to be hanging the black shadow of coming sorrow. kentucky was not only to be deluged in blood, but with the hot burning tears of those left behind to groan and weep. fred was received coldly by his uncle and aunt. "you know," said judge pennington, "my house is open to you, but i cannot help feeling the keenest sorrow over your conduct." "i am sorry, very sorry, uncle, if what i have done has grieved you," answered fred. "no one can be really sorry who persists in his course," answered the judge. "fred, rather--yes, a thousand times--had i rather see you dead than doing as you are. if my brave boy falls," and his voice trembled as he spoke, "i shall have the satisfaction of knowing that he fell in a glorious cause. but you, fred, you----" his voice broke; he could say no more. fred was deeply moved. "uncle," he softly said, "i admit you are honest and sincere in your belief. why can you not admit as much for me? why is it a disgrace to fight for the old flag, to defend the union that washington and jefferson helped form, and that jackson defended?" "the wrong," answered judge pennington, "consists in trying to coerce sovereign states. the constitution gives any state the right to withdraw from the union at pleasure. the south is fighting for her constitutional rights----" "and for human slavery," added fred. the judge's cheeks flamed with anger. "look out, fred," he exclaimed, choking with passion, "lest i drive you from my door, despite my promise to your father. don't go too far. you are not only fighting against the south, but you are becoming a detested abolitionist--a nigger worshiper." fred felt his manhood aroused, but controlling his passion he calmly replied: "uncle, i will not displease you longer with my presence. the time may come when you may need my help, instead of my needing yours. if so, do not hesitate to call on me. i still love my kindred as well as ever; they are as near to me as ever. there is no dishonor in a man loyally following what he honestly believes to be right. i believe you and my father to be wrong--that your sympathies have led you terribly astray; but in my sight you are none the less true, noble, honest men. as for me, i answer for myself. i am for the union, now and forever. good-bye, uncle! may god keep all of those we love from harm," and he rode away. judge pennington gazed after him with a troubled look, and then murmured to himself: "after all, a fine boy, a grand boy! a kentuckian all over! would that he were on the right side!" upon fred's return to headquarters he found general thomas in deep consultation with his staff. circulars had been scattered all over the state and notices printed in newspapers calling for a meeting of the state guards at lexington on the th. ostensibly the object of the meeting was to be for a week's drill, and for the purpose of better preparing the guards to protect the interests of the state. but general thomas believed there was a hidden meaning in the call; that it was conceived in deceit, and that it meant treachery. what this treachery was he did not know, and it was this point he was discussing with his staff when fred entered. the sight of the boy brought a smile to his face. "ah, my boy!" he exclaimed, "i am glad to see you. we have a hard problem; it is one rather in your line. i trust you can solve it." he then laid the circular before fred, and expressed his opinion that it contained a hidden meaning. "there is no end to those fellows' plottings," he said, "and we are still weak, very weak here. with general zollicoffer moving this way from cumberland gap, it would not take much of a force in our rear to cause a great disaster. in fact, a hostile force at lexington, even if small, would be a serious matter." fred read the circular carefully, as if reading between the lines, and then asked: "it is the real meaning of this call that you wish?" "by all means, if it can be obtained," answered the general. "i will try to obtain it," replied fred, quietly. "general you may not hear from me for two or three days." "may success attend you, my boy," replied the general, kindly, and with this he dismissed his staff. "it has come to a pretty pass," said a dapper young lieutenant of the staff to an older member, "that the general prefers a boy to one of us," and he drew himself proudly up, as if to say, "now, if the general had detailed me, there might have been some hopes of success." the older member smiled, and answered: "i think it just as well, lieutenant, that he chose the boy. i don't think either you or me fitted for that kind of work." the lieutenant sniffed and walked off. again a black-haired, dark-skinned boy left headquarters at dick robinson, this time for lexington. arriving there, fred took a room at the leading hotel, registering as charles danford, cincinnati, thinking it best to take an entirely fictitious name. he soon learned that the leading southern sympathizers of the city were in the habit of meeting in a certain room at the hotel. he kept very quiet, for there was one man in lexington he did not care to meet, and that man was major hockoday. he knew that the major would recognize him as the boy he met at georgetown, and that meant the defeat of his whole scheme. fred's first step was to make friends with the chamber maid, a comely mulatto girl. this he did with a bit of flattery and a generous tip. by adroit questioning, he learned that the girl had charge of the room in which the meetings of the conspirators were held. could she in any manner secrete him in the room during one of the meetings? the girl took alarm. "no, youn' massa, no!" she replied, trembling. "not for five dollars?" "not fo' fiv' 'undred," answered the girl. "massa kill me, if he foun' it out." fred saw that she could not be bribed; he would have to try a new tack. "see here, mary," he asked, "you would like to be free, would you not, just like a white girl?" "yes, massa, i woul' like dat." "you have heard of president lincoln, have you not?" the girl's eyes lit up with a sudden fire. "yes, massa linkun good; he want to free we 'uns. all de niggers talkin' 'bout dat." "mary, i am a friend of lincoln. one of his great men sent me here. the men who meet in that room are his enemies. they want to kill him." the girl's eyes opened wide with terror. "i am here trying to find out their plans, so we can keep them from killing mr. lincoln. mary, you must help me, or you will be blamed for what may happen, and you will never be free." the girl began to cry. "massa will whip me to death, if he foun' it out," she blubbered. "your master will never find it out, even if i am discovered, for i will never tell on you." "dat so, massa?" "yes; i will swear it on the bible." like most of her race, the girl was very superstitious, and had great reverence for the bible. she went and brought one, and with his hand on the book fred took a most solemn oath never to betray her--no, not if he was torn to pieces with red-hot pincers. along toward night she came and whispered to fred that she had been told to place the room in order. there was, she said, but one place to hide, and that was behind a large sofa, which stood across one corner of the room. it was a perilous hiding place, but fred resolved to risk it. "they can but kill me," thought he, "and i had almost as soon die as fail." it was getting dark when mary unlocked the door of the room and let fred slip in. he found that by lying close to the sofa, he might escape detection, though one should glance over the top. the minutes passed like hours to the excited boy. the slightest noise startled him, and he found himself growing nervous, and in spite of all his efforts, a slight tremor shook his limbs. at last he heard foot-falls along the hall, the door was unlocked, and some one entered the room. it was the landlord, who lit the gas, looked carefully around, and went out. soon the room began to fill. fred's nervousness was all gone; but his heart beat so loudly that he thought it must be heard. it was a notable gathering of men distinguished not only in state but national affairs. chief among them was john c. breckinridge, as knightly and courteous as ever; then there were colonel humphrey marshall, john h. morgan, colonel preston, and a score of others. these men had gathered for the purpose of dragging kentucky out of the union over the vote of her citizens, and in spite of her loyal legislature. in their zeal they threw to the winds their own beloved doctrine of state rights, and would force kentucky into the southern confederacy whether she wanted to go or not. yet they were men of the highest character. they believed the south was right, that it was their duty to defend her, and that any means were lawful to bring about the desired end. fred, as he lay in his hiding place, hardly dared to breathe. once his heart ceased to beat when he heard morgan say: "there is room behind that sofa for one to hide." colonel marshall glanced behind it, and said: "there is no one there." then they commenced to talk, and fred lay and listened to the whole plot. the state guards were to assemble, professedly, as the circular stated, for muster and drill, but really for one of the most daring of _coups-de-main_. the state arsenal at frankfort was to be taken by surprise, and the arms secured. the loyal legislature was then to be dispersed at the point of the bayonet, a provisional legislature organized, and the state voted out of the union. the force was then to attack camp dick robinson, in conjunction with general zollicoffer, who was to move up from cumberland gap; and between the two forces it was thought the camp would fall an easy prey. in the mean time, buckner was to make a dash for louisville from bowling green. if he failed to take it by surprise, all the forces were to join and capture it, thus placing the whole state in the control of the confederates. it was a bold, but admirably conceived plan. in an eloquent speech, mr. breckinridge pointed out that the plan was feasible. he said the ball once started, thousands of kentuckians would spring to arms all over the state. the plan was earnestly discussed and fully agreed to. the work of each man was carefully mapped out, and every detail carefully arranged. at last the meeting was over, and the company began to pass out. fred's heart gave a great bound. he had succeeded; the full details of the plot were in his possession. waiting until all were well out of the room, he crawled from his hiding place, and passed out. but he had exulted too soon in his success. he had scarcely taken three steps from the door before he came face to face with major hockoday, who was returning for something he had forgotten. the surprise was a mutual one. "you here!" gasped the major. "now i have you, you young imp of satan," and he made a grab for his collar. but fred was as quick and lithe as a cat, and eluding the major's clutch, he gave him such a blow in the face that it staggered him against the wall. before he recovered from the effects of the blow fred had disappeared. [illustration: "you here!" gasped the major, and he made a grab for his collar.] "murder! murder!" the major bawled. "stop the villain!" from all directions the guests came running. the major's face was covered with blood, and he truly presented a gory appearance. it was some time before the excitement subsided so the major could tell his story. it was that a young villain had assaulted and attempted to murder him. by his description, the landlord at once identified the boy as the one who occupied room . but a search revealed the fact that the bird had flown. it was also ascertained that the major had received no serious injury. by request of the major the meeting was hastily re-convened. there, in its privacy, he gave the true history of the attempted murder, as the guests of the hotel thought it. the major expressed his opinion that the boy was a spy. he was sure it was the same boy he had met in the hotel at georgetown. "you know," he said, "that the landlord at georgetown found a hole drilled through the plastering of the room that this boy occupied, into the one which was occupied by me and in which we held a meeting. i tell you, the boy is a first-class spy, and i would not be surprised if he was concealed somewhere in this room during the meeting." "impossible! impossible!" cried several voices, but nevertheless a number of faces grew pale. "there is no place he could hide in this room, except behind the sofa, and i looked there," said marshall. "are you sure you looked well?" asked morgan. "quite sure." "gentlemen," said the landlord, "this room is kept locked. no one could have got into it." "all i know," said the major, "i met him about three paces from the door, just as i turned the corner. when i attempted to stop him, he suddenly struck the blow and disappeared. if it was not for his black hair, i should be more than ever convinced that the boy was fred shackelford." "in league with the devil, probably," growled captain conway. "for if there was ever one of his imps on earth, it's that shackelford boy. curse him, i will be even with him yet." "and so will i," replied the major, gently feeling of his swollen nose. "gentlemen," said john h. morgan, "this is no time for idle regrets. whether that boy has heard anything or not, we cannot tell. but from what major hockoday has said, there is no doubt but that he is a spy. his assault on the major and fleeing show that. so it behooves us to be careful. i have a trusty agent at nicholasville, who keeps me fully informed of all that transpires there. i will telegraph him particulars, and have him be on the watch for such a boy." it was an uneasy crowd that separated that night. it looked as if one boy might bring to naught all their well-laid plans. the next morning morgan received the following telegram from nicholasville: john h. morgan: early this morning a black-haired, dark-skinned boy, riding a jaded horse, came in on the lexington pike. without stopping for refreshments he left his horse, and procured a fresh one, which the same boy left here a couple of days ago, and rode rapidly away in the direction of camp dick robinson. smith. "that means trouble," muttered morgan. "i must put all the boys on their guard." late in the afternoon of the th the following telegram was received by morgan from nicholasville: john h. morgan: colonel bramlette with his regiment has just forcibly taken possession of a train of cars, and will at once start for lexington. you are in danger. smith. that night breckinridge, marshall, morgan and half a score of others fled from lexington. their plottings had come to naught; instead of their bright visions of success, they were fugitives from their homes. it would have fared ill with that black-haired boy if they could have got hold of him just then. when fred escaped from major hockoday, he lost no time in making his way to the home of one of the most prominent union men of lexington. telling him he had most important dispatches for general thomas, a horse was procured, and through the darkness of the night fred rode to nicholasville, reaching there early in the morning. leaving his tired horse, and taking his own, which he had left there, he rode with all speed to camp dick robinson, and made his report to general thomas. the general was both astonished and delighted. he warmly congratulated fred, saying it was a wonderful piece of work. "let's see," said he, "this is the th. i do not want to scare them, as i wish to make a fine haul, take them right in their treasonable acts. it's the only way i can make the government believe it. on the th i will send colonel bramlette with his regiment with orders to capture the lot. i will also have to guard against the advance of general zollicoffer. as for the advance of general buckner on louisville, that is out of my department." "and there," said fred, "is where our greatest danger lies. louisville is so far north they are careless, forgetting that buckner has a railroad in good repair on which to transport his men." "do you think he will try that?" asked thomas. "why not?" answered fred, and then he asked for a map. after studying it for some time, he turned to thomas and said: "general, i have a favor to ask. i would like a leave of absence for a week. i have an idea i want to work out." thomas sat looking at the boy a moment, and then said: "it is nothing rash, is it, my boy?" "no more so than what i have done," answered fred. "in fact, i don't know that i will do anything. it is only an idea i want to work on; it may be all wrong. that is the reason i can't explain it to you." "you are not going to enter the enemy's lines as a spy, are you? if so, i forbid it. you are too young and too valuable to risk your life that way." "no, general, at least i trust not. the rebels will have to get much farther north than they are now if i enter their lines, even if i carry out my idea." "very well, fred; you have my consent, but be very careful." "i shall try to be so, general. i only hope that the suspicions i have are groundless, and my journey will prove a pleasure trip." thus saying, fred bade the general good day, and early the next morning he rode away, taking the road to danville. chapter viii. a daring deed. fred did not stop in danville; instead, he avoided the main street, so as to be seen by as few of his acquaintances as possible. he rode straight on to lebanon before he stopped. here he put up for the night, giving himself and his horse a good rest. the country was in such a disturbed condition that every stranger was regarded with suspicion, and forced to answer a multitude of questions. fred did not escape, and to all he gave the same answer, that he was from danville, and that he was on his way to elizabethtown to visit his sick grandfather. one gentleman was exceedingly inquisitive. he was especially interested in prince, examining him closely, and remarking he was one of the finest horses he ever saw. fred learned that the man's name was mathews, that he was a horse dealer, and was also a violent sympathizer with the south. he was also reputed to be something of a bully. fred thought some of his questions rather impertinent, and gave rather short answers, which did not seem to please mathews. leaving lebanon early the next morning, he rode nearly west, it being his intention to strike the louisville and nashville railroad a little south of elizabethtown. it was a beautiful september day, and as fred cantered along, he sang snatches of songs, and felt merrier and happier than at any time since that sad parting with his father. where was his father now? where was his cousin calhoun? and he thought of that strange oath which bound calhoun and himself together, and wondered what would come of it all. but what was uppermost in his mind was the object of his present journey. was there anything in it, or was it a fool's errand? time would tell. as he was riding along a country road, pondering these things, it suddenly occurred to him that the landscape appeared familiar. he reined up his horse, and looked around. the fields stretching away before him, the few trees, and above all a tumbled down, half-ruined log hut. it was all so familiar. yet he knew he had never been there before. what did it mean? could he have seen this in a dream sometime? the more he looked, the more familiar it seemed; and the more he was troubled. a countryman came along riding a raw-boned spavined horse; a rope served for a bridle, and an old coffee sack strapped on the sharp back of the horse took the place of a saddle. having no stirrups, the countryman's huge feet hung dangling down and swung to and fro, like two weights tied to a string; a dilapidated old hat, through whose holes stuck tufts of his bleached tow hair, adorned his head. "stranger, you 'uns 'pears to be interested," he remarked to fred, as he reined in his steed, and at the same time ejected about a pint of tobacco juice from his capacious mouth. "yes," answered fred, "this place seems to be very familiar--one that i have seen many times; yet to my certain knowledge, i have never been here before. i can't understand it." "seen it in a picter, i reckon," drawled the countryman. "what's that?" quickly asked fred. "i have seen it in a picture? where? what do you mean?" "nothin', stranger, only they do say the picter of that air blamed old shanty is every whar up no'th. blast the ole place. i don't see anything great in it. i wish it war sunk before he war born." "why, man, what do you mean? you talk in riddles." "mean!" replied the native, expectorating at a stone in the road, and hitting it fairly. "i mean that the gol-all-fir'-est, meanest cuss that ever lived war born thar, the man what's making war on the south, and wants to put the niggers ekal to us. abe lincoln, drat him, war born in that ole house." fred reverently took off his hat. this then was the lowly birthplace of the man whose name was in the mouths of millions. how mean, how poor it looked, and yet to what a master mind it gave birth! the life of lincoln had possessed a peculiar fascination for fred, and during the presidential campaign of the year before the picture of his birthplace had been a familiar one to him. he now understood why the place looked so familiar. it was like looking on the face of one he had carefully studied in a photograph. "reckon you are a stranger, or you would have knowed the place?" queried the countryman. "yes, i am a stranger," answered fred. "then this is the place where the president of the united states was born?" "yes, an' it war a po' day for ole kentuck when he war born. oughter to ha' died, the ole abolitioner." fred smiled, "well," he said, "i must be going. i am very much obliged to you for your information." "don't mention it, stranger, don't mention it. say, that's a mighty fine hoss you air ridin'; look out or some of them fellers scootin' round the country will get him. times mighty ticklish, stranger, mighty ticklish. have a chaw of terbacker?" and he extended a huge roll of kentucky twist. "no, thank you," responded fred, and bidding the countryman good day, he rode away leaving him in the road staring after him, and muttering: "mighty stuck up! don't chaw terbacker. wonder if he aint one of them abolitioners!" it was the middle of the afternoon when fred struck the railroad at a small station a few miles south of elizabethtown. there was a crowd around the little depot, and fred saw that they were greatly excited. hitching his horse, he mingled with the throng, and soon learned that the train from the south was overdue several hours. to add to the mystery, all telegraphic communication with the south had been severed. strike the instrument as often as he might, the operator could get no response. "it's mighty queer," said an intelligent looking man. "there is mischief up the road of some kind. here louisville has been telegraphing like mad for hours, and can't get a reply beyond this place." here the operator came out and announced that telegraphic communication had also been severed on the north. "we are entirely cut off," he said. "i can learn nothing. we will have to wait and see what's the matter, that's all." just then away to the south a faint tinge of smoke was seen rising, and the cry was raised that a train was coming. the excitement arose to fever heat, and necks were craned, and eyes strained to catch the first glimpse of the train. at length its low rumbling could be heard, and when at last it hove in sight, it was seen to be a very heavy one. slowly it drew up to the station, and to the surprise of the lookers-on it was loaded down with soldiers. "hurrah for louisville!" shouted the soldiers, and the crowd took up the cry. it was buckner's army from bowling green en route for louisville by train, hoping thereby to take the place completely by surprise. so far, everything had gone well. telegraphic communications all along the line had been severed by trusty agents; the federal authorities at louisville were resting in fancied security; the city was lightly guarded. already general buckner's hopes were high. in fancy, he heard his name on every tongue, and heard himself called the greatest military genius of the country. when the crowd caught the full meaning of the movement, cheer after cheer made the welkin ring. they grasped the soldiers' hands, and bade them wipe the yankees from the face of the earth. fred took in the situation at a glance. this was the idea of which he spoke to general thomas. he had an impression that general buckner might attempt to do just what he was now doing. it was the hope of thwarting the movement, if made, that had led fred to make the journey. his impressions had proven true; he was on the ground, but how to stop the train was now the question. he had calculated on plenty of time, that he could find out when the train was due, and plan his work accordingly. but the train was before him. in a moment or two it would be gone, and with it all opportunity to stop it. the thought was maddening. if anything was done, it must be done quickly. the entire population of the little village was at the depot; there was little danger of his being noticed. dashing into a blacksmith shop he secured a sledge; then mounting his horse, he rode swiftly to the north. about half a mile from the depot there was a curve in the track which would hide him from observation. jumping prince over the low fence which guarded the railroad, in a few seconds he was at work with the sledge trying to batter out the spikes which held a rail in position. his face was pale, his teeth set. he worked like a demon. great drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and his blows rang out like the blows of a giant. the train whistled; it was ready to start. fred groaned. would he be too late? between his strokes he could hear the clang of the bell, the parting cheers of the crowd. he struck like a madman. the heads of the spikes flew off; they were driven in and the plates smashed. one end of a rail was loosened; it was driven in a few inches. the deed was done, and none too soon. the train was rounding the curve. so busy was fred that he had not noticed that two men on horseback had ridden up to the fence, gazed at him a moment in astonishment, then shouted in anger, and dismounted. snatching a revolver from his pocket, fred sent a ball whistling by their ears, and yelled: "back! back, as you value your lives!" jumping on their horses quicker than they dismounted, they galloped toward the approaching train, yelling and wildly gesticulating. the engineer saw them, but it was before the day of air brakes, and it was impossible to stop the heavy train. the engine plunged off the track, tore up the ground and ties for a few yards, and then turned over on its side, where it lay spouting smoke and steam, and groaning like a thing of life. it lay partly across the track, thus completely blocking it. the engineer and fireman had jumped, and so slowly was the train running that the cars did not leave the track. for this fred was devoutly thankful. he had accomplished his object, and no one had been injured. jumping on his horse, he gave a shout of triumph and rode away. but the frightened soldiers had been pouring from the cars. the two men on horseback were pointing at fred and yelling: "there! there goes the villain who did it." "fire! fire!" thundered a colonel who had just sprung out of the foremost car. a hundred rifles blazed. fred's horse, was seen to stumble slightly; the boy swayed, and leaned forward in his seat; but quickly recovering himself, he turned around and waving his hat shouted defiance. [illustration: "fire! fire!" thundered a colonel who had just sprung out of the foremost car.] "great heavens!" shouted a boy's voice. "that is fred shackelford, and that horse is prince." it was calhoun pennington who spoke. the colonel who had given the order to fire turned pale, staggered and would have fallen if one of his officers had not caught him. "merciful god!" he moaned. "i ordered my men to fire on my own son." the officers gathered around general buckner, who stood looking at the wrecked engine with hopeless despair pictured in every feature. his visions of glory had vanished, as it were, in a moment. no plaudits from an admiring world, no "hail! the conquering hero comes." utter failure was the end of the movement for which he had hoped so much. surprise was now impossible. it would take hours to clear away the wreck. he groaned in the agony of his spirit, and turned away. his officers stood by in silence; his sorrow was too great for words of encouragement. then a most pathetic incident occurred. colonel shackelford tottered up to general buckner, pale as death, and trembling in every limb. "general," he gasped, "it was my boy, my son who did this. i am unworthy to stand in your presence for bringing such a son into the world. cashier me, shoot me if you will. i resign my command from this moment." the soul of the man who refused to desert his soldiers at fort donelson, when those in command above him fled, who afterwards helped bear general grant to his tomb, with a heart as tender as that of a woman, now asserted itself. his own terrible disappointment was forgotten in the sorrow of his friend. grasping the hand of colonel shackelford, he said with the deepest emotion: "colonel, not a soldier will hold you responsible. this is a struggle in which the noblest families are divided. if this deed had been for the south instead of the north, you would be the proudest man in the confederacy. can we not see the bravery, the heroism of the deed, even though it has dashed our fondest hopes to the ground, shattered and broken? no, colonel, i shall not accept your resignation. i know you will be as valiant for the south, as your son has been for the north." tears gushed from colonel shackelford's eyes; he endeavored to speak, but his tongue refused to express his feelings. the officers, although bowed down with disappointment, burst into a cheer, and there was not one who did not feel prouder of their general in his disappointment than if he had been successful. how was it at louisville during this time? general thomas had warned general anderson, who had moved his headquarters to that city, that general buckner was contemplating an advance. but it was thought that he would come with waving banners and with the tramp of a great army, and that there would be plenty of time to prepare for him. little did they think he would try to storm the city with a train of cars, and be in their midst before they knew it. when the train was delayed and telegraphic communications severed, it was thought that some accident had happened. there was not the slightest idea of the true state of affairs. as hours passed and nothing was heard of the delayed train, a train of discovery was sent south to find out what was the matter. this train ran into buckner's advance at elizabethtown, and was seized. not hearing anything from this train, an engine was sent after it. still there was no idea of what had happened, no preparations to save louisville. this engine ran into buckner's advance at muldraugh hill. the fireman was a loyal man and at once grasped the situation. he leaped from his engine and ran back. what could this one man do, miles from louisville, and on foot! he proved a hero. meeting some section hands with a handcar, he shouted: "back! back! the road above is swarming with rebels." the car was turned and started for louisville. how those men worked! great streams of perspiration ran down their bodies; their breath came in gasps, and still the fireman shouted: "work her lively, boys, for god's sake, work her lively!" at last louisville was reached, and for the first time the facts known. at once all was excitement. there was hardly a soldier in the city. once more the devoted home guards, the men who saved the city from riot and bloodshed on july d, sprang to arms. general rousseau was ordered from across the river. he had but , men. these, with the home guards, made a force of nearly , men. these men were hurried on board the cars, and sent forward under the command of general w. t. sherman. through the darkness of the night this train felt its way. on reaching rolling fork of salt river the bridge was found to be burnt. despairing of reaching louisville, general buckner had destroyed the bridge to delay the advance of the federal troops. the danger was over. louisville was once more saved. but how many american boys and girls know the name of the daring young man who tore up the track, or the brave fireman who brought back the news?[a] but how was it with fred; had he escaped unhurt from that volley? the stumble of his horse was caused by stepping into a hole, yet slight as the incident was, it saved fred's life, for it threw him slightly forward, and at the same moment a ball tore through the crown of his hat. another ball struck the crupper of his saddle, and another one bored a hole through prince's right ear. as soon as he was out of sight fred stopped, and, ascertaining that no damage had been done, excepting the perforating of prince's ear and his hat, he patted his horse's neck and said: "ah, prince, old boy, you are marked now for life, but it is all right. i shall always know you by that little hole through your ear." fred stopped that night at a planter's house, who at first viewed him with some suspicion; but when he was told of buckner's advance, he was so overjoyed, being an ardent secessionist, that there was nothing good enough for his guest. the next day, when fred rode into lebanon, the first man that he saw was mathews, who sauntered up to him, and said in a sarcastic tone: "it seems, young man, that you made a short visit to your poor sick grandfather. how did you find the old gentleman?" fred shrugged his shoulders. "i changed my mind," he replied. "i didn't see the old gentleman; i concluded to come back. things are getting a little too brisk up there for me. buckner has advanced, and there may be some skirmishing around elizabethtown." "and so you run," exclaimed mathews in a tone which made fred's blood boil. all of this time mathews had been carefully looking over the boy and horse, and quite a crowd had collected around them. "ah!" continued mathews; "a round hole through your horse's ear, been bleeding, too; your saddle torn by a bullet, and a hole through your hat. boy, you had better give an account of yourself." "not at your command," replied fred, hotly. "and i deny your right to question me." "you do, do you, my fine young fellow? i will show you," and he made a grab for prince's bridle. a sharp, quick word from fred, and the horse sprang, overthrowing mathews, and scattering the crowd right and left. mathews arose, shaking the dust from his clothes and swearing like a trooper. a fine-looking man had just ridden up to the crowd as the incident occurred. he looked after the flying boy, and nervously fingered the revolver in his holster. then a smile came over his face, and he spoke to mathews, who was still swearing and loudly calling for a horse to pursue fred. "no use, jim; you might as well chase a streak of lightning. that is the fastest horse in kentucky." mathews looked at the man a moment in surprise, and then exclaimed: "heavens! morgan, is that you? how came you here?" "made a run for it night before last," replied morgan with a laugh, "to keep from being nabbed by old thomas. but what was the fuss between you and that boy? i wonder what he was doing out here any way? but, mathews, he did upset you nicely; i think you rolled over at least six times." "i will be even with him yet," growled mathews. "oh! i have heard half a dozen men say that, myself included. but let's hear what the rumpus was about." when morgan heard the story, he said: "so buckner is at elizabethtown, is he? well, that changes my plan. i was going to bowling green, but now i will change my course to elizabethtown. but i would like to know what that boy has been doing. from what you say he must have been in a skirmish. trying to throw a train off the track, perhaps; it would be just like him." "but, mathews," he continued, "the boy is gone, so let us talk business. i am going to raise a regiment of cavalry for the confederate service, and i want you to raise a company." "that i will, john," said mathews. "there is no other man i had rather ride under." fred laughed heartily as he looked back and saw mathews shaking the dust from himself. finding that he was not pursued he brought prince down to a walk. "i could almost swear," he said to himself, "that i caught a glimpse of morgan as i dashed through the crowd. thomas surely ought to have him before this time. i wonder what it means." as he was riding through danville he met his uncle, judge pennington, who, to his surprise, greeted him most cordially, and would insist on his stopping a while. "where have you been, fred?" asked the judge. "over towards elizabethtown to see my sick grandfather," replied fred, gravely. "fred, what do you mean?" asked his uncle, somewhat nettled. "well, uncle, i have been over towards elizabethtown ostensibly to see my grandfather, but really to see what i could find over there." "and what did you find?" "i found buckner's men as thick as hops, and i found a warm reception besides. look here," and he showed his uncle the hole through his hat. "if you will go out and look at prince, you will find a hole through his ear, and you will also find the saddle torn with a bullet. oh, yes, buckner's men were glad to see me; they gave me a warm reception." judge pennington looked grave. "fred, are you telling the truth?" "yes, uncle." "what did they fire on you for?" "oh, i side-tracked one of their trains." the judge looked still graver. "fred," said he, "you are engaging in dangerous business. take care, or you will hang yet. i have heard of some of your doings. i had a visitor last night." "what! not father, surely!" "no, john h. morgan." "then it was he i saw at lebanon. i could hardly believe it." "why not, fred?" "because--because--i thought--i thought he was in lexington." "it was because," answered the judge, severely, "that you thought he was a prisoner at camp dick robinson. ah, fred, you were not as sharp as you thought. you foiled their plans; but, thank god! they have all escaped. one good has been accomplished. all pretense of neutrality is now at an end. these men will now be found in the ranks, fighting for the liberty of the south. as for morgan, he will be heard from, mark my word." "i rather like morgan," said fred. "he is a daring fellow, and sharp, too; yes, i believe he will be heard from." "fred, morgan thinks you have had more to do with finding out their plans than any other one person." "morgan does me too much honor," replied fred, quietly. the judge remained quiet for a moment, and then said: "my boy, i wish you could have seen morgan before you had so thoroughly committed yourself to the other side. he has taken a great fancy to you. he believes if he could talk with you, you might be induced to change your mind. he says in the kind of work in which he expects to engage, you would be worth a brigade of men. fred, will you, will you not think of this? you are breaking our hearts with your course now." "dear uncle," replied fred, "i thank morgan for his good opinion, and i reciprocate his opinion; for of all the men i have met, i believe he, most of all, has the elements of a dashing, successful leader. but as for his offer, i cannot consider it for a moment." the judge sighed, and fred saw that his further presence was not desirable, so he made his adieus, and rode away. "so mr. morgan wants to win me over," thought fred, "and that was the reason uncle was so nice. i think this last scrape has burnt the bridges between us, and they will trouble me no more." fred made his report to general thomas, who heard it with evident satisfaction. "this, then, was your idea, fred?" "yes, general, i in some way conceived the notion that buckner would try to surprise louisville just as he did try to do. i knew that trains were running regularly between nashville and louisville, and thought that a surprise could be effected. but the idea was so vague i was ashamed to tell you, for fear of exciting ridicule. so, i got my leave of absence and stole off, and if nothing had come of it, no one would have been the wiser." general thomas smiled, and said: "it was an idea worthy of a great general, fred. general anderson has much to thank you for, as well as the people of louisville. but you must take a good rest now, both you and your horse. from appearances, i think it will not be many days before general zollicoffer will give us plenty to do." footnote: [a] the name of the gallant young man who tore up the track was crutcher; the author does not know the name of the fireman. chapter ix. a leap for life. on october th general anderson, at his own request, was relieved of the command of the department of kentucky, on account of continued ill-health. the next day general w. t. sherman, a man destined to fill an important place in the history of the war, was appointed to the position. both the federal and the confederate governments had now thrown aside all pretense of neutrality. kentucky echoed to the martial tread of armed men. at maysville under general nelson, at camp dick robinson under general thomas, at louisville under general sherman, and at paducah under general grant, the federal government was gathering its hosts; while the confederate government with its troops occupied columbus, bowling green, cumberland gap, and the mountains of eastern kentucky. general albert sydney johnston, one of the ablest of the confederate generals, was in supreme command, with headquarters at bowling green. general zollicoffer marched from cumberland gap early in the month, and assumed offensive operations. when general sherman took command, fred was sent by general thomas to louisville with dispatches. general sherman had heard of some of the exploits of the young messenger, and he was received very kindly. sherman, at that time, was in the prime of life. straight as an arrow, of commanding presence, he was every inch a soldier. he was quick and impulsive in his actions, and to fred seemed to be a bundle of nerves. in conversation he was open and frank and expressed his opinion freely, in this resembling general nelson. but the rough, overbearing nature of nelson he entirely lacked. he was one of the most courteous of men. he would have fred tell of some of his exploits, and when he gave an account of his first journey to louisville, and his adventure with captain conway, the general was greatly pleased. fred's account of how he discovered the details of the plot at lexington was received with astonishment, and he was highly complimented. but the climax came when he told of how he had thrown the train from the track, and thus brought buckner's intended surprise to naught. the general jumped up, grasped fred's hand, and exclaimed: "that, young man, calls for a commission, if i can get you one, and i think i can." "general," replied fred, "i thank you very much, but i do not wish a commission. i am now comparatively free. it is true, i am hired privately by general nelson, and if i understand rightly i am getting the pay of a lieutenant; but i am not bound by oath to serve any length of time, neither could i have accomplished what i have if i had been a regular enlisted soldier." "you are right," said the general. "but remember, if you are ever in need of any favor, do not hesitate to call on me." this fred readily promised, and left the general, highly elated over the interview. before leaving louisville, fred did not forget to call on the vaughns. he found miss mabel well, and he thought her more beautiful than ever. a sad, pensive look on her face but added to her loveliness. only the day before she had bidden her betrothed farewell, and he had marched to the front to help fight the battles of his country. as she hung weeping around his neck, he pointed to a little miniature flag pinned on his breast--it was the same flag that mabel wore on that day she was beset by the mob--and said: "dearest, it shall be worn there as long as my heart beats. never shall it be touched by a traitorous hand as long as i live. every time i look upon it, it will be an incentive to prove worthy of the brave girl who wore it on her breast in the face of a brutal mob." then with one fond clasp of the hands, one long lingering kiss, he was gone; and to mabel all the light and joy of the world seemed to go with him. but the coming of fred brought new thoughts, and for the time her eyes grew brighter, her cheeks rosier and laugh happier. the bright, brave boy who saved her from the mob was very welcome, and to her he was only a boy, a precious, darling boy. they made fred relate his adventures, and one minute mabel's eyes would sparkle with fun, and the next melt in tenderness. in spite of himself, fred's heart beat very fast, he hardly knew why. but when he told with trembling voice how he had parted from his father, and how he had been disowned and driven from home, the sympathy of the impulsive girl overcame her, and with eyes swimming in tears, she arose, threw her arms around him, imprinted a kiss on his forehead, and murmured: "poor boy! poor boy!" then turning to her mother, she said, "we will adopt him, won't we, mother, and i will have a brother." then remembering what she had done, she retired blushing and in confusion to her seat. that kiss finished fred; it thrilled him through and through. yet somehow the thought of being a brother to mabel didn't give him any satisfaction. he knew mabel looked upon him as only a boy, and the thought made him angry, but the next moment he was ashamed of himself. he took his leave, promising to call the next time he was in the city, and went away with conflicting emotions. fred was really suffering from an attack of first love, and didn't know it. it was better for him that he didn't, for it was the sooner forgotten. on his return to camp dick robinson fred found that general thomas had advanced some of his troops toward cumberland gap. colonel garrard was occupying an exposed position on the rock castle hills, and fred was sent to him with dispatches. fred found the little command in considerable doubt over the movements of general zollicoffer. one hour the rumor would be that he was advancing, and the next hour would bring the story that he was surely retreating. colonel garrard feared that he would be attacked with a greatly superior force. fred resolved that he would do a little scouting on his own account. colonel garrard offered to send a small party with him, but fred declined the offer, saying that a squad would only attract attention, and if he ran into danger he would trust to the fleetness of his horse to save him. riding east, he made a wide detour, and at last came to where he thought he must be near the enemy's lines. in his front was a fine plantation; near by, in the woods, some negroes were chopping. these negroes he resolved to interview. his appearance created great consternation, and some of them dropped their axes, and looked as if about to run. "don't be afraid, boys," said fred, kindly. "i only want to know who lives in yonder house." "massa johnson, sah." "is he at home?" "not now, sah; he down to zollicoffer camp." "oh, then general zollicoffer is camped near here?" "yes, sah; 'bout two mile down de road." "do any of the soldiers ever come this way?" queried fred. "yes, sah; 'bout twenty went up de road not mo' than two hours ago. den a capin man, he cum to see missy alice most ebber day." "thank you," said fred, as he rode away. "i think i will pay a visit to missy alice myself." riding boldly up to the house, he dismounted. before entering the house he accosted an old negro who was working in the yard, and slipping a dollar into his hand, said: "uncle, if you see any one coming either way, will you cry, 'massa, your horse is getting away?'" "trus' me fo' dat," said the old man, grinning from ear to ear. "i jess make dat hoss jump, and den i yell, 'massa, hoss gittin' way.'" "that's it, uncle, you are all right," and fred turned and went into the house, where he introduced himself as a mr. sandford, from lexington. he had friends in zollicoffer's army, and had run the gauntlet of the federal lines to visit them. could they tell him how far it was to general zollicoffer's camp. the ladies received him coldly, but told him the distance. but fred was not to be repulsed. he was a good talker, and he tried his best. he told them the news of the outside world, and what the yankees were doing, and how they would soon be driven from the state. this at once endeared him to the ladies, especially the younger, who was a most pronounced little rebel. miss alice was a comely girl, somewhere between twenty and twenty-five years of age, and by a little but well directed flattery fred completely won her confidence. she inquired after some acquaintances in lexington, and by a happy coincidence fred knew them, and the conversation became animated. at length fred remarked: "i hope it will not be long before general zollicoffer will advance. we are getting anxious up at lexington; we want to see the yankees driven into the ohio." "you will not have to wait long," replied the girl. "captain conway tells me they are about ready, and will advance on the th or st----" she stopped suddenly, bit her lip, and looked scared. in all probability she had told something that captain conway had told her to keep secret. fred did not appear to notice her confusion, and at once said: "conway, conway, captain conway. is it captain p. c. conway of whom you speak?" "yes, sir," replied the girl, brightening up. "why, i know him, know him like a book; in fact, we are old friends--special friends, i may say. he would rejoice to find me here," and then he added mentally, "and cut my throat." "a brilliant soldier, and a brave one, is captain conway," continued fred, "and if he is given an opportunity to distinguish himself, it will not be long before it will be major or colonel conway." this praise pleased miss alice greatly, and she informed fred that he would soon have the pleasure of meeting his friend; that she expected him every moment. fred moved somewhat uneasily in his chair. he had no desire to meet captain conway, and he was about to make an excuse of going out to see how his horse was standing, when they were startled by the old negro running toward the house and yelling at the top of his voice: "massa, massa, yo' hoss is gittin' away." the sly old fellow had thrown a stone at prince, and the horse was rearing and plunging. fred dashed out of the house; a party of horsemen was coming up the road, in fact, was nearly to the house. it was but the work of a moment for fred to unhitch his horse and vault into the saddle, but the party was now not more than fifty yards away. at the head rode captain conway. they had noticed the horse hitched at the gate, and were coming at full speed to try and surprise the owner. the moment conway saw fred he knew him. "gods!" he cried, "fred shackelford, what luck!" and snatched a pistol from the holster and fired. the ball whistled past fred's head harmlessly, and he turned in the saddle and returned the fire. it was the first time he had ever shot at a man, and even in the heat of excitement he experienced a queer sensation, a sinking of the heart, as though he were committing a crime. fairly and squarely the ball from his revolver struck the horse of captain conway in the forehead, and the animal fell dead, the rider rolling in the dust. immediately all was excitement. his men stopped the pursuit, and, dismounting, gathered around the captain, thinking he was killed. but he sprang to his feet, shouting: "a hundred dollars to the one who will take that young devil, dead or alive. here, corporal smith, you have a fleet horse, let me take him," and jumping into the saddle, he was in pursuit, followed by all his men, except corporal smith, who stood in the road looking after them. "what does it mean? what does it mean?" asked the two ladies, who stood on the veranda, wringing their hands, and very much excited. "blamed if i know," answered the corporal. "the sight of that young chap seemed to make the captain kinder crazy. the moment he caught sight of him, he called him by name, and banged away at him." "you say the captain called him by name?" "yes." "well, he said he knew the captain, and that he was one of his best friends. i can't understand it." the corporal had no explanation to offer, so went and took a look at the captain's horse. "bang up shot," he remarked. "right between the eyes." in the meantime the pursued and the pursuers had passed out of sight up the road, enveloped in a cloud of dust. "remember, boys," shouted conway, "a hundred dollars to the one who brings him down. don't attempt to take him alive. shoot him! shoot him!" but it was nothing but play for fred to distance them, and he laughed to think that they expected to catch him. but the laugh suddenly died on his lips; he turned pale, and glanced hurriedly to the right and left. a high rail fence ran on each side of the road. the scouting party of which the negroes spoke was returning. fred was between the two parties. captain conway saw the other party, and shouted in triumph. "now, boys, we have him," and he spurred his horse forward, revolver in hand. there was a look of malignant hatred on his face, and he muttered: "now, my boy, i will settle scores with you. i shall never take you back to camp. 'captured a spy, killed while trying to escape.' ha! ha! how will that sound!" as for fred, even in his extremity, his courage or his presence of mind never deserted him. he felt that to be captured by conway was death, for had not the captain sworn to kill him on sight? his mind was made up; he would wheel and charge the captain's party. he would at least die fighting. just as he was about to do this, he espied an opening in the fence on the left. as quick as thought he dashed through it, thinking it might afford a chance of escape. too late he saw his mistake. the field was a perfect cul-de-sac, bounded on all sides by a high rail fence, the only opening the one he had come through. through this opening the enemy poured, and when they saw the trap which fred had entered, their shouts made the welkin ring. they were sure of their prey. their shouts rang in fred's ears like the tolling of a funeral bell. so must the bay of hounds sound in the ears of the hunted quarry. fred looked at the fence ahead of him. it was built of heavy rails, and full seven feet high. he rode straight for it. bending over his horse's neck, fred said: "prince, it is a question of life or death. do your best, old fellow; we can but fail." the horse seemed to understand. he never faltered, never swerved. with distended nostrils, eyes flashing with excitement, and every muscle quivering, he gathered himself for the mighty spring. as lightly as a bird he cleared the fence, staggered as he struck the ground on the other side, then on again like the wind. fred turned in his saddle, and uttered a yell of defiance. "fire!" shrieked conway. but the hands of his troopers were unsteady, and the shots went wild. before his men could dismount and throw down the fence, fred was beyond pursuit. captain conway fairly foamed at the mouth. he raved and swore like a madman. "it's no use swearing, captain," said a grizzled lieutenant. "i thought i knew something about horses, but that beat any leap i ever saw. gad! i would rather have the horse than the boy." "howly virgin! it's the divil's own lape," said an irishman in the company, and he crossed himself. the baffled troopers returned crestfallen and cross. captain conway was so out of temper that even when the ladies asked him if his fall hurt him, he answered angrily. "captain," said alice, somewhat ruffled by his manner, "what is it between that boy and you? he said he knew you, was in fact a dear friend of yours, but you no sooner saw him than you shot at him; and corporal smith says you called him by name, so you did know him." "alice," replied the captain, "i do not intend to be rude, but i am all put out. that boy is a spy, a mean, sneaking spy. he should be hanged. it was he that discovered our plot at lexington." the girl held up her hands in dismay. "and i told him----" she stopped suddenly. "told him what?" demanded conway. "oh! nothing, nothing; only what a good fellow you were." the captain looked at her sharply, and said: "it is well you gave away no secrets." fred made his way back to camp with a thankful heart. he told colonel garrard of the intended attack, and then started back for the headquarters of general thomas. it was a long and hard ride, and it was well in the small hours of the night when he arrived. the general was aroused and the news of the expected attack told. he quietly wrote a couple of orders, and went back to his bed. one order was to general schoepf to at once march his brigade to the relief of colonel garrard at rock castle. the other was sent to colonel connell at big hill to move his regiment to rock castle, instead of advancing toward london as ordered. both orders were obeyed, and both commands were in position on the th. general zollicoffer made his expected attack on the st, and was easily repulsed. the battle was a small one; nothing but a skirmish it would have been called afterwards; but to the soldiers engaged at that time, it looked like a big thing. it greatly encouraged the federal soldiers, and correspondingly depressed the soldiers of zollicoffer's army. fred got back to rock castle in time to see the battle. it was his first sight of dead and wounded soldiers. and as he looked on the faces of the dead, their sightless eyes upturned to heaven, and the groans of the wounded sounding in his ears, he turned sick at heart, and wondered why men created in the image of god would try to kill and maim each other. and yet, a few moments before, he himself was wild with the excitement of battle, and could scarcely be restrained from rushing into it. the next day the army advanced, and passed the place where fred met with his adventure, and he thought he would make another visit to miss alice johnson. but that young lady gave him a cold reception. she called him a "miserable, sneaking yankee," and turned her back on him in disgust. he didn't hear the last of his call on miss johnson. fred pointed out the place where his horse had leaped the fence, and officers and men were astonished, and prince became as much a subject of praise as his rider. it was a common saying among the soldiers as he rode by, "there goes the smartest boy and best horse in kentucky." when fred returned to camp dick robinson, he found a letter awaiting him from general nelson. the general was making a campaign against a portion of the command of general humphrey marshall in the mountains of eastern kentucky, and wrote that if fred could possibly come to him to do so. "of course; go at once," said general thomas, when the letter was shown him. "i am sorry to lose you, but i think zollicoffer will be rather quiet for a while, and general nelson has the first claim on you. i shall always be grateful to you for the service you have rendered me. i trust that it is but the beginning of still closer relations in the future." it was fated that general thomas and fred were to be much together before the war closed. chapter x. in the hands of the enemy. to his dismay, fred noticed that the letter of general nelson was dated the th of october, and it was now the last of the month. for some reason the letter had been greatly delayed. it was known that nelson was already in the mountains of eastern kentucky; therefore no time was to be lost if fred joined him. much to his regret, fred had to leave prince behind. afterwards he blessed his stars that he did, for if he had taken the horse he would have lost him forever. fred traveled to cincinnati by rail, and then by boat up the ohio to maysville. he found that nelson had not only been gone from maysville for some days, but that there was no direct line of communication with his army. nothing daunted, he determined to follow, and procuring a horse, he started on his journey alone and unattended, and against the advice of the officer in command at maysville. "wait," said that officer, "until we send forward a train. it will be strongly guarded, and you will escape all danger of capture." but fred would not wait. he believed it to be his duty to join nelson as soon as possible. by hard riding, he reached hazel green on the evening of the second day, and without adventure. here he learned that nelson's command had left the place only two days before, and was now supposed to be at or near prestonburg, and there were rumors of fighting at that place. the next morning fred pressed forward in high spirits, thinking he would overtake at least the rear of nelson's army by night. along in the afternoon four cavalrymen suddenly confronted him, blocking the road. as they all had on the blue federal overcoat, fred had not the remotest idea but that they belonged to nelson's army, and riding boldly up to them asked how far the command was in advance. "what command?" asked one of the party, who appeared to be the leader. "why, nelson's command, of course," replied fred, in surprise. but the words were hardly out of his mouth before four revolvers were leveled on him, and he was commanded to surrender. there was no alternative but to submit as gracefully as possible. "now, boys," said the leader, "we will see what we have captured. examine him." it must be borne in mind that fred was dressed in civilian clothes, and therefore could not be taken prisoner as a soldier. the soldiers, after going through his pockets, handed the contents to their leader. "ah," said that personage with a wicked grin, "young man, you may go along with us to colonel williams. for aught i know, these letters may hang you," and filing off from the prestonburg road, they took a rough mountain road for piketon. fred afterward found that the four soldiers were a scouting party that had got in the rear of nelson's army in the hopes of picking up some stragglers, their only reward being himself. as was said, the party consisted of four. the leader, captain bascom, was a hooked-nosed, ferret-eyed man, who frequently took deep draughts from a canteen containing what was familiarly known as "mountain dew"--whisky distilled by the rough mountaineers. being half-drunk all the time added intensity to a naturally cruel, tyrannical disposition. one of the soldiers named drake was a burly, red-faced fellow, who seemed to be a boon companion of the captain; at least one took a drink as often as the other. another of the soldiers answered to the name of lyle; he was a gloomy, taciturn man, and said little. the remaining one of fred's captors was a mere boy, not older than himself. he was a bright-eyed, intelligent looking fellow, tough and muscular, and from his conversation vastly above the station in life of his comrades before he enlisted. it was not long before fred discovered that captain bascom took delight in worrying the boy, whose name was robert ferror. in this he was followed to a greater or less extent by drake. not only this, but when they stopped for the night at the rude home of a mountaineer, fred noticed that bob, as all called him, was the drudge of the party. he not only had to care for the captain's horse, but to perform menial service, even to cleaning the mud from the captain's boots. as he was doing this, bob caught fred looking at him, and coloring to the roots of his hair, he trembled violently. it was evident that he felt himself degraded by his work, but seeing a look of pity in fred's eyes, he fiercely whispered, "my mother's niggers used to do this for me," and then he cast such a look of hate on captain bascom that fred shuddered. there was murder in that look. it was not until the evening of the second day of his capture that piketon was reached. along in the afternoon, away to the left, firing was heard, and every now and then, the deep boom of cannon reverberated through the valleys and gorges. nelson was advancing on piketon. it made fred sick at heart to think that his friends were so near, and yet so far. the knowledge that the confederates were being driven seemed to anger bascom, and he drank oftener than usual. noticing that bob was talking to fred as they were riding along, he turned back and struck the boy such a cruel blow in the face that he was knocked from his horse. by order of bascom, drake and lyle dismounted, picked bob up, wiped the blood from his face, and after forcing some whisky down his throat, placed him on his horse. at first he seemed dazed and could not guide his horse. he gradually came to himself, and when he looked at bascom fred saw that same murderous look come over his face which he had noticed once before. "bascom has cause to fear that boy," thought fred. when the party rode into piketon they found everything in the utmost confusion. preparations were being made to evacuate the place. the soldiers who had been in the fight came streaming back, bringing with them their wounded and a few prisoners. they reported thousands and thousands of yankees coming. this added to the confusion and the demoralization of the troops. the prisoners were thrown, for the night, in a building used as a jail. it was of hewn logs, without windows or doors, being entered through the roof, access being had to the roof by an outside stairway, then by a ladder down in the inside. when all were down, the ladder was drawn up, and the opening in the roof closed. the place was indescribably filthy, and fred always wondered how he lived through the night. when morning came and the ladder was put down for them to ascend, each and every one thanked the lord the rebels were to retreat, and that their stay in the noisome hole was thus ended. with gratitude they drank in mouthfuls of the fresh air. the whole place was in a frenzy of excitement. commissary stores they were not able to carry away were given to the flames. every moment the advance of nelson's army was expected. but as time passed, and no army appeared the panic somewhat subsided and something like order was restored. that night, the retreating army camped in a pine forest at the base of a mountain. the night was cold and rainy. black clouds swept across the sky, the wind howled mournfully through the forest, and the cold pitiless rain chilled to the bone. huge fires were kindled, and around them the men gathered to dry their streaming clothes and to warm their benumbed limbs. just before the prisoners were made to lie down to sleep, the boy, robert ferror, passed by fred, and said in a low whisper: "i will be on guard to-night. keep awake! lie down near the guard." fred's heart beat high. was robert ferror going to aid him to escape? he watched where the guard over the prisoners was stationed, and lay down as close to him as possible. soon he was apparently fast asleep, but he was never wider awake. at eleven o'clock robert ferror came on guard. he looked eagerly around, and fred, to show him where he was slightly raised his head. the boy smiled, and placed his finger on his lips. slowly ferror paced his beat, to and fro. the minutes dragged slowly by. midnight came. the officer of the guard made his rounds. ferror's answer was, "all is well." another half-hour passed; still he paced to and fro. fred's heart sank. after all, was ferror to do nothing, or were his words a hoax to raise false hopes? the camp had sunk to rest; the fires were burning low. then as ferror passed fred, he slightly touched him with his foot. instantly fred was all alert. the next time ferror passed he stooped as if he had dropped something, and as he was fumbling on the ground, whispered: "crawl back like a snake. about fifty yards to the rear is a large pine tree. it is out of the range of the light of the fires. by it you will find arms. stay there until i come." again the sentinel paced to and fro. it would have taken a lynx's eye to have noticed that one of the prisoners was missing, so silently had fred made his way back. one o'clock came, and ferror was relieved. five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still fred was waiting. had anything happened to ferror? there had been no alarm. "i will wait a little longer," thought fred, "and then if he does not come, i will go by myself." soon a light footstep was heard, and fred whispered, "here." a hand was stretched out, and fred took it. it was as cold as death, and shook like one with the palsy. "he is quaking with fear," thought fred. "have you got the revolver and cartridge belt?" asked ferror, in a hoarse whisper. "yes." "then come." he still seemed to be quaking as with ague. silently ferror led the way, fred following. slowly feeling their way through the darkness, they had gone some distance when they were suddenly commanded to halt. "who comes there?" asked a stern voice. ferror gave a start of surprise, and then answered: "a friend with the countersign." "advance, friend, and give the countersign." ferror boldly advanced, leaned forward as if to whisper the word in the ear of the guard. then there was a flash, a loud report, and with a moan the soldier sank to the ground. "come," shrieked ferror, and fred, horrified, sprang forward. through the woods, falling over rocks, running against trees, they dashed, until at last they had to stop from sheer exhaustion. the camp was in a wild commotion. shouts and oaths filled the air. men were heard crashing through the forest, escaping as they thought from an unseen foe. but when no attack came, and no other shot was heard, the confusion and excitement began to abate, and every one was asking, "what is it?" no one knew. "the sound of the shot came from that direction," said the soldier who had taken the place of ferror as guard. "there is where i stationed drake," said the officer of the guard. "i discovered a path leading up the mountain, and i concluded to post a sentinel on it. sergeant, make a detail, and come with me." the detail was made, and they filed out in the darkness in the direction that drake was stationed. "we must have gone far enough," said the officer. "it was about here i stationed him. drake! drake!" there was no response. "strange!" said the officer. "it is not possible he has deserted, is it?" he was groping around when he stumbled over something on the ground. he reached out his hand, and touched the lifeless body of drake. a cry of horror burst from him. the body was taken up and carried back to camp. the officer bent over and examined it by the firelight. "shot through the heart," he muttered; "and, by heavens! his clothes are powder burned. drake was shot not by some prowler, but by some one inside the lines. sergeant, count the prisoners." the prisoners, who had all been aroused by the commotion, were huddled together, quaking with fear. the sergeant soon reported: "lieutenant, there is one missing; the boy in citizen's clothes." colonel williams, who had been looking on with stern countenance, now asked: "who was guarding the prisoners?" the colonel's tones were low and ominous. "scott, sir," replied the sergeant of the guard. "scott, here!" poor scott came trembling in every limb. "colonel," said scott, shaking so he could hardly talk, "before god, i know nothing about the escape of the prisoner. i had not been on guard more than ten or fifteen minutes before the shot was fired. up to that time, not a prisoner had stirred." "did you notice the boy?" "no, colonel, i did not. i do not know whether he escaped before i came on guard or after the alarm. the sergeant will bear me witness that during the alarm i stayed at my post and kept the prisoners from escaping. the boy might have slipped away in the confusion, but i do not think he did." "whom did you relieve?" asked the colonel. "robert ferror." "call ferror." the sergeant soon returned with the information that ferror could not be found. the colonel bit his lip. he cast his eye over the group of officers standing around him, and then suddenly asked: "where is captain bascom?" the officers looked blank, then inquiringly into each other's faces. no one had seen him during or since the alarm. the sergeant of the guard hurriedly went to a rude tent where the captain slept. pulling aside a blanket which served as a door he entered the tent. a moment, and he reappeared with face as white as a sheet. "he is dead!" his ashen lips shaped the words, but they died away in a gurgle in his throat. captain bascom had been stabbed through the heart. the whole turmoil in camp was heard by fred and robert ferror, as they stood panting for breath. fred shuddered as the horrified cry of the officer of the day was borne to his ears when he stumbled on the dead body of the guard. the boys were bruised and bleeding, and their clothing was torn in shreds from their flight through the forest. "it is all right now," said ferror. "they can never find us in the darkness, but some of the frightened fools may come as far as this; so we had better be moving." the boys slowly and painfully worked their way up the mountain, and at last the roar of the camp was no longer heard. they came to a place where the jutting rocks formed a sort of a cave, keeping out the rain, and the ground and leaves were comparatively dry. the place was also sheltered from the wind. "let us stay here," said fred, "until it gets a little light. we can then more easily make our way. we are entirely out of danger for to-night." to this ferror assented, and the two boys crept as far back as they could and snuggled down close together. fred noticed that ferror still trembled, and that his hands were still as cold as ice. the storm had ceased, but the wind sobbed and moaned through the trees like a thing of life, sighing one moment like a person in anguish, and then wailing like a lost soul. an owl near by added its solemn hootings to the already dismal night. fred felt ferror shudder and try to creep still closer to him. both boys remained silent for a long time, but at length fred said: "ferror, shooting that sentinel was awful. i had almost rather have remained a prisoner. it was too much like murder." "i did not know the sentinel was there," answered ferror, "or i could have avoided him. as it was, it had to be done. it was a case of life or death. fred, do you know who the sentinel was?" "no." "it was drake; i saw his face by the flash of my pistol, just for a second, but it was enough. god! i can see it now," and he shuddered. "fred, do you despise me? you know i helped you to escape." "no, ferror; if i had been in your place, i might have done the same, but that would have made it none the less horrible." "fred, you will despise me; but i must tell you." "tell what?" "drake is not the first man i have killed to-night." fred sprang up and involuntarily drew away from him. "ferror! ferror! what do you mean?" "after i was relieved from guard, and before i joined you, i stabbed captain bascom through the heart." a low cry of horror escaped fred's lips. "listen to my story, fred, and then despise me as a murderer if you will. you saw how captain bascom treated me. no slave was ever treated worse. my mother is a widow, residing in tazewell county, virginia. i am an only son, but i have two lovely sisters. i was always headstrong, liking my own way. of course, i was humored and petted. when the war broke out i was determined to enlist. my mother and sisters wept and prayed, and at last i promised to wait. but about two months ago i was down at abingdon, and was asked to take a glass of wine. i think it was drugged, for when i came to myself i found that i was an enlisted soldier. worse than all, i found that this man bascom was an officer in the company to which i belonged. bascom is a low-lived, drunken brute. he used to live in our neighborhood. mother had him arrested for theft and sent to jail. when he got out, he left the neighborhood, but swore he would have revenge on every one of the name. he surely has had it on me. i think he was in hopes that by brutal treatment he could make me desert, so he could have me shot if captured. when he struck me the other day, when i spoke to you, i resolved then and there to kill him." "i know," replied fred, in a low tone. "i saw it in your face." "god only knows what i have suffered from the hands of that man during the last two months. i have had provocation enough to kill him a thousand times." "i know, i know," replied fred; "but to kill him in his sleep. i would not have blamed you if you had shot him down when he gave you that blow. i should have done so." "it would have been best," sobbed ferror, for the first time giving way to his feelings. "oh, mother, what will you think of your boy!" then he said, chokingly: "fred, don't desert me, don't despise me; i can't bear it. i believe if you turn from me now, i shall become one of the most desperate of criminals." "no, ferror," said fred; "i will neither desert nor judge you. you have done something i had rather lose my life than do. but for the present our fortunes are linked together. if we are captured, both will suffer an ignominious death. therefore, much as i abhor your act, i cannot divorce myself from the consequences. then let us resolve, come what may, we will never be taken alive." ferror grasped fred's hand, and pressing it fervently, replied: "if we are captured, it will only be my dead body which will be taken, even if i have to send a bullet through my own heart." after this the boys said little, and silently waited for the light. with the first gleam of the morning, they started on their way, thinking only of getting as far as possible from the scene of that night of horror. as the sun arose, the mountains and then the valleys were flooded with its golden light. at any other time the glorious landscape spread out before them would have filled fred's soul with delight; but as it was, he only eagerly scanned the road which ran through the valley, hoping to catch sight of nelson's advancing columns. but no such sight greeted him. "they will surely come before long," said fred. "by ten o'clock we should be inside of the federal lines and safe." but if fred had heard what was passing in the rebel camp he would not have been so sanguine. lieutenant davis, officer of the guard, and colonel williams were in close consultation. "colonel," said the lieutenant, "i do not believe the yankees are pursuing us. those boys will take it for granted that we will continue our retreat, and will soon come down off the mountains into the road. let me take a couple of companies of cavalry, and i will station men in ambush along the road as far back as it is safe to go. in this way i believe we stand a chance to catch them." the colonel consented, and, therefore, before the sun had lighted up the valley, pickets had been placed along the road for several miles back. the boys trailed along the mountain side until nearly noon, but the sides of the mountain were so seamed and gashed they made slow progress. gaining a high point, they looked towards piketon, and in the far distance saw an advancing column of cavalry. the sight filled them with delight. "there is nothing to be seen to the south," said fred. "i think we can descend to the road in safety." so they cautiously made their way down to the road. "let us look well to our arms," said fred. "we must be prepared for any emergency." so their revolvers were carefully examined, fresh caps put in, and every precaution taken. they came out on the road close to a little valley farm. in front of the cabin stood a couple of horses hitched. after carefully looking at the horses, ferror said: "fred, one of those horses belongs to lieutenant davis. he has ridden back to see if he could not catch sight of us. nelson's men will soon send him back flying." then a wild idea took possession of the boys. it was no less than to try and get possession of the horses. wouldn't it be grand to enter the federal lines in triumph, riding the horses of their would-be captors! without stopping to think of the danger, they at once acted on the idea. from the cabin came sounds of laughter mingled with the music of women's voices. the men inside were being pleasantly entertained. getting near the horses, the boys made a dash, were on their backs in a twinkling, and with a yell of triumph were away. the astonished officers rushed to the door, only to see them disappear down the road. then they raged like madmen, cursing their fortunes, and calling down all sorts of anathemas on the boys. "never mind," at last said sergeant jones, who was the lieutenant's companion in misfortune, "the squad down the road will catch them." "poor consolation for the disgrace of having our horses stolen," snapped the lieutenant. the elation of the boys came to a sudden ending. in the road ahead of them stood a squad of four horsemen. involuntarily the boys checked the speed of their horses. they looked into each other's faces, they read each other's thoughts. "it can only be death," said fred. "it can only be death," echoed ferror, "and i welcome it. i know, fred, you look on me as a murderer. i want to show you how i can die in a fair fight." fred hardly realized what ferror was saying; he was debating a plan of attack. "ferror," he said, "let us ride leisurely forward until we get within about fifty yards of them. no doubt they know the horses, and will be nonplused as to who we are. when we are close we will charge. it will be all over in a moment--safety or death." ferror nodded. he was as pale as his victims of the night before, but his eyes blazed, his teeth were set hard, every muscle was strained. just as fred turned to say, "now!" ferror shouted, "good-bye, fred," and dashed straight for the horsemen. the movement was so sudden it left fred slightly behind. the revolvers of the four confederates blazed, but like a thunderbolt ferror was on them. the first man and horse went down like a tenpin before the ball of the bowler; the second, and boy and man and both horses went down in an indistinguishable mass together. as for fred, not for a second did he lose command of himself or his horse. he saw what was coming, and swerved to the right. here a single confederate confronted him. this man's attention had been attracted for a moment to the fate of his comrades in the road, and before he knew it fred was on him. he raised his smoking revolver to fire, but fred's revolver spoke first, and the soldier reeled and fell from his saddle. the road was now open for fred to escape, but he wheeled his horse and rode back to see what had become of his comrade. one confederate still sat on his horse unhurt. seeing fred, he raised his pistol and fired. fred felt his left arm grow numb, and then a sensation like that of hot water running down the limb. before the soldier could fire the second time, a ball from fred's pistol crashed through his brain, and he fell, an inert mass, in the road. the fight was over. of the two confederates overthrown in the wild charge of ferror, one was dead, the other was untouched by bullets, but lay groaning with a broken leg and arm. fred turned his attention to ferror. he lay partly under his horse, his eyes closed, his bosom stained with blood. fred raised his head. "ferror! ferror!" he cried, with burning tears. [illustration: fred raised his head, "ferror! ferror!" he cried.] the boy opened his eyes and smiled. "it's all right, fred--all right," he gasped. "that was no murder--that was a fair fight, wasn't it?" "oh, ferror! ferror!" moaned fred. "you must not die." "it is better as it is, fred. i will not have that to think of." he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again it was with a far-away look. he tried to raise himself. "yes, mother," he whispered, and then his eyes closed forever. the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the clang of sabers were now heard. fred looked up; a party of federal cavalry was bearing down upon him. they looked on the bloody scene in astonishment. a dashing young captain rode up. fred pointed to young ferror's lifeless body, and said: "bring his body back to piketon with you. he gave his life for me. i am one of general nelson's scouts." then everything grew black before him, and he knew no more. he had fainted from the loss of blood. the rough troopers bound up his arm, staunched the flow of blood, and soon fred was able to ride to piketon. general nelson received him with astonishment; yet he would not let him talk, but at once ordered him to the hospital. as for robert ferror, he was given a soldier's burial. a year after the war closed, frederic shackelford, a stalwart young man, sought out the home of mrs. ferror. he found a gray-haired, brokenhearted mother and two lovely young ladies, her daughters. they had mourned the son and brother, not only as dead, but as forever disgraced, for they had been told that robert had been shot for desertion. fred gave them the little mementoes he had kept through the years for them. he told them how robert had given his life to try and save him, and that the last word that trembled on his lips was "mother." the gray-haired mother lifted her trembling hands, and thanked god that her son had at least died the death of a soldier. learning that the family had been impoverished by the war, when fred left, he slipped $ , in mrs. ferror's hand, and whispered, "for robert's sake;" and the stricken mother, through tear-dimmed eyes, watched his retreating form, and murmured: "and robert would have been just such a man if he had lived." chapter xi. crazy bill sherman. fred's wound was not a dangerous one. the ball had gone through the fleshy part of the arm, causing a great loss of blood; but no bones were broken, and it was only a question of a few weeks before he would be as well as ever. the story of the two boys charging four confederate cavalrymen, killing three, and disabling the fourth was the wonder of the army. but fred modestly disclaimed any particular bravery in the affair. "it is to poor bob ferror that the honor should be given," he would say; "the boy that knowingly rode to his death that i might be saved." fred gave general nelson the particulars of his capture and escape, and the general looked grave and said: "if i had known i was going to place you in such extreme danger, i should not have sent for you. on account of the crime of young ferror, you would have met with a most ignominious death if you had been recaptured; yet the charging on those four cavalrymen was one of the pluckiest things i have heard of during the war. you deserve and shall have a good rest. i have just finished making up some dispatches for general sherman, and you shall be my messenger. a dispatch boat leaves in the morning, and you shall go with it. when you get to catlettsburg, you can take an ohio river steamer for louisville. the trip being all by water, will be an easy one, and as a number of sick and wounded will be sent away on the same boat, you will have good surgical attendance for your wounded arm. here is a paper that will admit you to the officers' hospital when you get to louisville. take a good rest, you need it. i do not think it will be long before i, with my command, will be ordered back to louisville. the enemy has retreated through pound gap into virginia, and there is nothing more for me to do here. stay in louisville until you hear from me." the next morning found fred on his way down the big sandy. the whole voyage was uneventful, and after a quick trip fred once more found himself in louisville. the rest and quiet of the voyage had almost cured the ill-effects of his experience, and with the exception of his wounded arm, which he was compelled to carry in a sling, he was feeling about as well as ever. once in louisville, he lost no time in turning over his dispatches to general sherman. he found the general surrounded by a delegation of the prominent union men of the city. they seemed to be arguing with sherman about something, and as for the general, he was in a towering rage, and was swearing in a manner equal to general nelson in one of his outbreaks of anger. fred was surprised to find the usually mild and gentlemanly officer in such a passion, but there was no mistake, he was angry clear through. "there is no use talking, gentlemen," he was saying, as he paced the room with quick nervous tread, "i am not only going to resign, but i have already sent in my resignation. i will not remain in command of the department of kentucky another day; the command of the armies of the united states would not induce me to remain and be insulted and outraged as i have been." "we are very sorry to hear it, general," replied the spokesman of the delegation. "we had great hopes of what you would accomplish when you were appointed to the command of the department, and our confidence in you is still unabated." "i am thankful," replied the general, "for that confidence, but what can you expect of a man bound hand and foot. they seem to know a great deal better in washington what we need here than we do who are on the ground. this, in a measure, is to be expected; but to be reviled and insulted is more than i can stand. but if i had not resigned, i should be removed, i know that. just let the newspapers begin howling at a general, and denouncing him, and every official at washington begins shaking in his boots. what can be expected of a general with every newspaper in the land yelping at his heels like a pack of curs? if i wanted to end this war quickly, i would begin by hanging every editor who would publish a word on how the war should be conducted. it would be a glorious beginning." "are you not a little too severe on the newspaper fraternity, general?" mildly put in one of the citizen delegates. "severe! severe! not half as severe as the idiots deserve. they think they know more about war, and how to conduct campaigns than all the military men of the country combined. not satisfied with telling me how and when to conduct a campaign, they attack me most unjustly and cruelly, attack me in such a manner i cannot reply. just listen to this," and the general turned and took up a scrapbook in which numerous newspaper clippings had been pasted. "here is an editorial from that esteemed and influential paper, _the cincinnati commerce_," and the general read: "'it is a lamentable fact that many of our generals are grossly incompetent, but when incipient insanity is added to incompetency, it is time to cry a halt. right here at home, the general who commands the department of kentucky and therefore has the safety of our city in his hands, is w. t. sherman. we have it on the most reliable evidence that he is of unsound mind. not only do many of his sayings excite the pity of his friends and ridicule of his enemies, but they are positively dangerous to the success of our cause. the government should at least put the department in charge of a general of sound mind.' "now, if that is not enough," continued the general, with a touch of irony in his tones, "i will give you a choice clipping from the great _new york tricate_. "'it is with sorrow that we learn that general w. t. sherman, who is in command of the department of kentucky, is not in his right mind. it is said that the authorities at washington have been aware of this for some time, but for political reasons fear to remove him. he is a brother of john sherman, one of the influential politicians of ohio, and united states senator-elect. while the affair is to be regretted, the government should not hesitate on account of political influence. general sherman should be at once removed. that he is mentally unsound is admitted, even by his best friends. let the administration act at once.'" the whole company was smiling at the absurdity of the affair. even the general had to laugh. "i will read once more," said the general. "it is from the _chicago timer_, and hits others as well as myself. here it is: "'general bill sherman, in command of the department of kentucky, is said to be insane. we don't doubt it. in our mind the whole lincoln government, from president down, is insane--insane over the idea that they can coerce the south back into the union. the only difference that we can see is that bill sherman may be a little crazier than the rest; that's all.' "there," continued the general, "are only a few of the scores of extracts which i have from the most influential papers in the land. of course the smaller papers have taken their cue from the larger ones, and now the whole pack of little whiffets are after me, snapping at my heels; and the good people believe the story because it is published. hundreds of letters are being received at washington, asking for my removal. my brother writes that he is overwhelmed with inquiries concerning me. i believe the war department more than half believes i am of unsound mind. they are only waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, and i know that my resignation will be received with joy." "general," asked one of the citizens present, "have you any idea of how the story of your insanity started?" "oh, yes!" replied the general. "when secretary of war cameron was here, i laid before him the wants of kentucky, and among other things said that i needed , men for defensive work, but for offensive operations i should need , . the secretary spoke of it as an 'insane request.' some reporter got hold of it, and then it went. the secretary has never taken the pains to correct the impressions." "were you not a little extravagant in your demands?" asked another citizen. "not at all. the politicians at washington have never yet recognized the magnitude of the war in which we are engaged. then their whole life is office, and they are afraid of doing something that will lose them a vote. as for the newspapers, they would rather print a sensation than have us win a victory. my god! they have called me crazy so much they have alarmed my wife," and the general again indulged in another burst of anger. when he became calmer, he said: "gentlemen, i thank you for your expressions of sympathy and confidence. i trust my successor will be more worthy than i," and he bowed the delegation out. fred remained standing. the general noticed him, and asked: "well, my boy, what is it? why, bless my soul, it's fred shackelford! just from general nelson, fred?" "yes, general, with dispatches," and he handed them to him. "i will read them when i cool off a little; i have been rather warm. i see your arm is in a sling; been in a skirmish?" "yes, general, a small one. the wound didn't amount to much; it is nearly well." "you should be thankful it is no worse. come in in the morning, fred; i will have the dispatches read by that time." fred called, as requested, the next morning, and found the general calm and courteous as ever. the storm had passed away. "general nelson writes good news," said sherman. "he reports he has entirely driven the rebels out of the valley of the big sandy. he also tells me in a private letter of your capture and escape. he speaks of the desperate conflict that you and your comrade had with four rebel cavalrymen. it was a most remarkable adventure. my boy, i shall keep my eye on you. i surely should ask for your services myself if i were going to remain in command of the department." "general, i am sorry to have you resign," answered fred, hardly knowing what to say. the general's face darkened, and then he answered lightly: "i do not think they will be sorry at washington." and they were not; his resignation was gladly accepted, and the general who afterward led his victorious army to atlanta, and then made his famous march to the sea, and whose fame filled the world, retired under a cloud. and the injustice of it rankled in his breast and imbittered his heart for months. chapter xii. a desperate encounter. the general appointed to succeed sherman was don carlos buell, a thorough soldier, and, like mcclellan, a splendid organizer; but, like that general, he was unsuccessful in the field, and during what is known as the "bragg-buell campaign" in kentucky in the fall of , he entirely lost the confidence of his soldiers. buell's first attention was given to the organization of his army and the drilling of his soldiers. his labors in this direction were very successful, and the "army of the cumberland" became famous for its _esprit de corps_. general nelson, according to his predictions, was ordered back with his command to louisville. fred, now entirely well, was greatly rejoiced to once more see his old commander. but there was little prospect of active service, for the division was ordered into camp for the purpose of drilling and being perfected in military duties. idleness was irksome to fred, so he asked and obtained permission to join general thomas, and remain until such time as nelson might need his services. general thomas gave fred a most cordial reception. there was something about the handsome, dashing boy that greatly endeared him to the staid, quiet general. just now, fred's presence was very desirable, for zollicoffer was proving very troublesome, threatening first one point and then another, and it was almost impossible to tell which place was in the most danger. general thomas' forces were greatly scattered, guarding different points, and he feared that at some of these places his troops might be attacked and overpowered. he had asked permission of buell time and again to be allowed to concentrate his forces and strike zollicoffer a telling blow, but each and every time had met with a refusal. instead of being allowed to concentrate his force, he was ordered to move portions of his command here and there, and the orders of one day might be countermanded the next. being december, the roads were in a horrible condition, and it was almost impossible to move trains, so that his army was being reduced by hard service which did no good. fred could see that the general was worried. he would sit for hours buried in thought or poring over maps. all this time, zollicoffer was ravaging the middle southern counties of kentucky, threatening first london, then somerset, then columbia, then some intermediate point. the outposts of the army were often attacked, and frequent skirmishes took place. in the midst of this activity, fred found congenial employment. he was kept busy carrying dispatches from one post to another, or on scouting expeditions, trying to gain information of the movements of the enemy. he frequently met squads of the enemy, and had many narrow escapes from capture; but the fleetness of his horse always saved him. of all general thomas' scouts, fred obtained the most valuable information. while not venturing into the enemy's lines, he had a way of getting information out of the inhabitants friendly to the south that surprised even the general. fred hardly ever made a mistake as to the movements of the opposing army. if there was one thing that he loved more than another it was his horse. he had trained him to do anything that a horse could do. at a word he would lie down and remain as motionless as if dead. he would go anywhere he was told without hesitating, and his keen ear would detect the presence of an enemy quicker than the ear of his master. fred had also perfected himself in the use of a revolver until he was one of the best shots in the army. he could ride by a tree at full gallop, and put three balls in a three-inch circle without checking his speed. "my life," he would say, "may depend on my being able to shoot quickly and accurately." on some of his scouts fred would take a party with him, and there was not a soldier who did not consider it one of the greatest honors to be thus chosen. one day near the close of the year fred was scouting with a picked force of five men a few miles to the east and south of somerset. as they were riding through a piece of wood, prince suddenly stopped, pricked up his ears, listened a moment, and then turned and looked at his master, as if to say, "danger ahead!" "to cover, boys," said fred, in a low tone. "prince scents trouble." the party turned aside into the wood, and was soon completely hidden from view. "steady now," said fred; "no noise." "are you sure your horse is as wise as you think?" asked one of the men. "perfectly sure; prince never makes a mistake. hark!" the trampling of horses, and the jingling of sabers could plainly be heard, and soon a party of nine confederate cavalrymen came riding by. they had no thought of danger, and were laughing and talking, thinking not that death lurked so near them. "the old traitor lives right ahead," they heard one say. "we will learn him to harbor east tennessee bridge-burners," said the leader with a coarse laugh. "will it be hanging or shooting, sergeant?" asked a third. "i hope it will be hanging. it's such fun to see a lincolnite hanging by the neck and dancing on air. never shoot a man if you can hang him, is my motto." fred's men heard this conversation with lowering brows, and the muttered curses were deep if not loud, and five carbines were raised, but with a gesture fred motioned them down. his men looked at him in astonishment, and there was disappointment on every face. as soon as the confederates were out of hearing, so it was safe to speak, one of the men said with a sigh: "capt'in,"--the soldiers always called fred captain when they were out with him--"i would hev give five dollars for a shot. i would hev fetched that feller that loved to see hangin', sure." "i have strict orders," replied fred, "to avoid fighting when i am out on these scouting expeditions. it is the part of a good scout never to get into a fight except to avoid capture. a scout is sent out to get information, not to fight; a conflict defeats the very object he has in view." "that's so, capt'in, but it goes agin the grain to let them fellers off." "i may have made a mistake," replied fred, "in letting those fellows off. come to think about it, i do not like what they said. it sounded like mischief." "worse than that, capt'in." "we will follow them up," said fred, "as far as we can unobserved. you remember we passed a pretty farmhouse some half a mile back; that may be the place they were talking about. we can ride within three hundred yards of it under cover of the forest." riding carefully through the wood, they soon came in sight of the place. surely enough, the confederates had stopped in front of the house. four of them were holding the horses, while the other five were not to be seen. as they sat looking the muffled sound of two shots were heard, and then the shrieking of women. "boys," said fred, in a strained voice, "i made a mistake in not letting you shoot. hear those shrieks? there is devil's work there. there are nine of them; we are six. shall we attack them?" "aye! aye!" shouted every one, their eyes blazing with excitement. "look well to your weapons, then. are you ready?" "we are ready. hurrah for the young capt'in!" they all shouted. "then for god's sake, forward, or we will be too late!" for the frenzied shrieks of women could still be heard. they no sooner broke cover, than the men holding the horses discovered them, and gave the alarm. the five miscreants who were in the house came rushing out, and all hastily mounting their horses, rode swiftly away. the federals, with yells of vengeance, followed in swift pursuit; yet in all probability the confederates would have escaped if it had not been for the fleetness of prince. fred soon distanced all of his companions, and so was comparatively alone and close on the heels of the enemy. they noticed this, and conceived the idea that they could kill or capture him. this was their undoing. fred was watching for this very thing, and as they stopped he fired, just as the leader's horse was broadside to him. then at the word, prince turned as quick as a flash, and was running back. the movement was so unexpected to the confederates that the volley they fired went wild. as for the horse of the confederate leader, it reared and plunged, and then fell heavily, pinning its rider to the ground. two of his men dismounted to help him. when he got to his feet, he saw that fred's companions had joined him and that they all were coming on a charge. "here, simmons!" he yelled. "let me have your horse. you take to cover. now, boys, stand firm; there are only six of them. here is for old tennessee!" but it takes men of iron nerve to stand still and receive a charge, and the federals were coming like a whirlwind. the confederates emptied their revolvers at close range, and then half of them turned to flee. it was too late; the federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down. the fight was short and fierce. when it was over, eight confederates lay dead or desperately wounded. of the six federals, two were dead and two were wounded. only one confederate had escaped to carry back the story of the disaster. [illustration: the federals were among them, shooting, sabering, riding them down.] one of the wounded confederates lay groaning and crying with pain, and fred going up to him, asked if he could do anything for him. the man looked up, and then a scowl of hate came over his face. "it's you, is it?" he groaned, and then with an oath said: "i will have you if i die for it," and attempted to raise his revolver, which he still clutched. as quick as a flash fred knocked it out of his hand, and as quick one of fred's men had a revolver at the breast of the desperate confederate. fred knocked the weapon up, and the shot passed harmlessly over the head of the wounded man. "none of that, williams," said fred. "we cannot afford to kill wounded men in cold blood." "but the wretch would have murdered you, capt'in," said williams, and then a cry went up from all the men. "kill him! kill him!" "mercy! mercy!" gasped the wretch. fred looked at the man closely, and then said: "you are bill pearson, the man i struck with my riding-whip at gallatin." "yes; mercy! mercy!" "you miserable wretch," said fred, contemptuously. "by good rights i ought to blow your brains out, but your carcass is not worth the powder. live, if you can." just then fred noticed a countryman who had been attracted by the sound of the firing, and motioned to him to approach. he came up trembling, and looked with wonder on the dead men and horses. "my good man," said fred, "here are some wounded men that should be looked after. can you not do it, or get word to their command?" "i reckon i kin," slowly replied the countryman. "must had quite a fought." "yes," replied fred; "and this reminds me, boys, we had better get away from here. we do not know how many of the enemy may be near." the wounds of the two federals who had been hurt were bound up, and they were helped on their horses. the bodies of the two dead were then tenderly placed on two of the confederate horses which were unhurt, and the mournful cavalcade slowly moved away. going back to the house which the confederates had entered, a distressing sight met their view. on a bed, the master of the house lay dead, shot to death by the murderers. by the bedside stood the wife and two daughters, weeping and wringing their hands. the face of the widow was covered with blood, and there was a deep gash on her head where one of the wretches had struck her with the butt of his revolver, as she clung to him imploring him not to murder her husband. the pitiful sight drove fred's men wild, and he had all that he could do to prevent them from going back and finishing the wounded murderers. "you did wrong, capt'in, in not letting me finish that red-handed villain who tried to shoot you," said williams. with broken sobs the woman told her story. her husband had a brother in east tennessee, who had been accused by the confederate authorities of helping burn railroad bridges. he escaped with a number of union men, and was now a captain in one of the tennessee regiments. "they came here," said the woman, "and found my husband sick in bed, so sick he could not raise a finger to help himself. they accused him of harboring his brother, and of furnishing information, and said that they had come to hang him, but as he was sick they would shoot him. and then," sobbed the woman, "notwithstanding our prayers, they shot him before our eyes. oh, it was dreadful!" and the stricken wife broke completely down, and the daughters hung over the body of their murdered father, weeping as if their hearts would break. fred was deeply moved. he told the sobbing women that he would at once report the case, and have her husband's brother come out with his company. "we will also," said fred, "leave the bodies of our two dead comrades here. if you wish, i will send a chaplain, that all may have christian burial. and, my poor woman, your wrongs have been fearfully avenged. of the nine men in the party that murdered your husband, but one escaped. the rest are dead or terribly wounded." "thank god! thank god!" said the women, raising their streaming eyes to heaven. even the presence of death did not take away their desire for revenge. such is poor human nature, even in gentle woman. "war makes demons of us all," thought fred. the story of that fight was long a theme around the camp fire, and the three soldiers who survived never tired of telling it. as for fred, he spoke of it with reluctance, and could not think of it without a shudder. fifteen men never engaged in a bloodier conflict, even on the "dark and bloody ground" of kentucky. chapter xiii. the meeting of the cousins. general thomas sat in his headquarters at lebanon looking over some dispatches which fred had just brought from general schoepf at somerset. his face wore a look of anxiety as he read, for the dispatches told him that general zollicoffer had crossed to the north side of the cumberland river and was fortifying his camp at beech grove. "i may be attacked at any moment," wrote general schoepf, "and you know how small my force is. for the love of heaven, send me reinforcements." the general sat with his head bowed in his hands thinking of what could be done, when an orderly entered with dispatches from louisville. thomas opened them languidly, for he expected nothing but the old story of keeping still and doing nothing. suddenly his face lighted up; his whole countenance beamed with satisfaction, and turning to fred he said: "my boy, here is news for us, indeed. general buell has at last consented to advance. he has given orders for me to concentrate my army and attack zollicoffer at the earliest possible moment." fred could not suppress a hurrah. "general," he exclaimed, "i already see zollicoffer defeated, and hurled back across the cumberland." general thomas smiled. "don't be too sanguine, fred," he said; "none of us know what the fortune of war may be; we can only hope for the best. but this means more work for you, my boy. you will at once have to return with dispatches to general schoepf. everything depends on his holding his position. somerset must be held at all hazards." "i am ready to start this minute with such tidings," gayly responded fred. "prince, poor fellow, will have it the hardest, for the roads are awful." "that is what i am afraid of," replied the general. "i hope to be with schoepf within a week, but, owing to the condition of the roads, it may take me much longer." within an hour fred was on his way back to somerset. it was a terrible journey over almost impassable roads; streams, icy cold, had to be forded; but boy and horse were equal to the occasion, and in three days reached somerset. how was it with general thomas? his week lengthened into three. he commenced his march from lebanon on december st; it was january th before he reached his destination. the roads seemed bottomless. the rain poured in torrents, and small streams were turned into raging rivers. bridges were swept away, and had to be rebuilt. the soldiers, benumbed with chilling rain, toiled on over the sodden roads, cheerful in the thought that they were soon to meet the enemies of their country. general schoepf received the news of general thomas' advance with great satisfaction. "if i can only hold on," he said, "until thomas comes, everything will be all right." "we must show a bold front, general," replied fred, "and make the enemy believe we have a large force." "it's the enemy that is showing a bold front nowadays," replied general schoepf, with a faint smile. "they have been particularly saucy lately. they have in the last few days, cut off two or three small scouting parties. but what worries me the most is that there is hardly a night but that every man on some one of our picket posts is missing. there is no firing, not the least alarm of any kind, but the men in the morning are gone. it is a mystery we have tried to solve in vain. at first we thought the men had deserted, but we have given that idea up. the men are getting superstitious over the disappearance of so many of their comrades, and are actually becoming demoralized." "general, will you turn this picket business over to me?" asked fred, quietly. "gladly," replied the general. "i have heard much of your ability in ferreting out secret matters. your success as a scout i am well acquainted with, as you know. i hope you will serve me as well in this matter of the pickets, for i am at my wits' end." "well, general, to-morrow i will be at your service, and i trust you will lose no more pickets before that time," and so saying fred took his leave, for he needed rest badly. the next morning, when fred went to pay his respects to the general, he found him with a very long face. "another post of four men disappeared last night," he said. fred gave a low whistle. "well, general, if possible, i will try and solve the problem, but it may be too hard for me." "have you any idea yet how they are captured?" asked the general. "none at all. i must first look over the ground carefully, see how the men are posted, talk with them, and then i may be able to form an idea." fred's first business was to ride out to where the post had been captured during the night. this he did, noting the lay of the ground, carefully looking for footprints not only in front, but in the rear of where the men had been stationed. he then visited all the picket posts, talked with the men, learned their habits on picket, whether they were as watchful as they should be--in fact, not the slightest thing of importance escaped his notice. on his return from his tour of inspection, fred said to general schoepf, "well, general, i have my idea." "what is it?" asked the general, greatly interested. "your pickets have been captured from the rear, not the front." "what do you mean?" excitedly asked the general. "i mean that some of the pickets are so placed that a wary foe could creep in between the posts and come up in the rear, completely surprising the men. i think i found evidence that the men captured last night were taken in that way. i found, at least, six posts of which i believe an enemy could get in the rear without detection, especially if the land had been spied out." "you astonish me," said the general. "but even if this is so, why does not the sentinel give the alarm?" "he may be in such a position that he dare not," answered fred. "what do you propose?" "that a double force be put on the posts, half to watch the rear. it will be my business to-night to see to that." "very well," replied general schoepf. "i shall be very curious to see how the plan works, and whether your idea is the correct one or not." "i will not warrant it, general," replied fred, "but there will be no harm in trying." just before night fred made a second round of the picket posts, and made careful inquiry whether any one of the posts had been visited during the day by any one from the outside. all of the posts answered in the negative save one. the corporal of that post said: "why, a country boy was here to sell us some vegetables and eggs." "ah!" replied fred. "was he a bright boy, and did he seem to notice things closely?" "on the contrary," said the corporal, "he appeared to be remarkably dull and ignorant." "has the same boy been in the habit of selling vegetables to the pickets?" asked fred. come to think about it, the corporal believed he had heard such a boy spoken of. then one of the men spoke up and said: "you know rankin was on the post that was taken in last night. he had a letter come yesterday, and i took it out to him, and he told me of what a fine supper they were going to have, saying they had bought some eggs and a chicken of a boy." "jerusalem!" suddenly exclaimed the corporal, "that boy to-day walked to the rear some little distance--made an excuse for going; he might not have been such a fool as he looked." "thank you," replied fred. "corporal, i will be here a little after dark with a squad of men to help you keep watch. in the mean time keep a sharp lookout." "that i will," answered the corporal. "do you think that boy was a spy?" he then asked, with much concern. "i don't know," answered fred. "but such a thing is possible. but if any trouble occurs on the picket line to-night, it will be at this post." that night fred doubled the pickets on six posts which he considered the most exposed. but the extra men were to guard the rear instead of the front. the most explicit instructions were given, and they were cautioned that they were to let no alarm at the front make them relax their vigilance in the rear. thirty yards in the rear of the post where he was to watch fred had noticed a small ravine which led down into a wood. it was through this ravine that he concluded the enemy would creep if they should try to gain the rear of the post. fred posted his men so as to watch this ravine. to the corporal who had charge of the post, he said: "my theory is, that some one comes up to your sentinel, and attracts his attention by pretending to be a friend, or perhaps a deserter. this, of course, will necessitate the sentinel's calling for you, and naturally attract the attention of every man awake. while this is going on, a party that has gained the rear unobserved will rush on you and be in your midst before you know it, and you will be taken without a single gun being fired." the corporal and his men looked astonished. "zounds!" said one, "i believe it could be done." "now," continued fred, "if you are hailed from the front to-night act just as if you had not heard of this. i will take care of the rear." when everything was prepared the soldiers, wrapped in their blankets, sat down to wait for what might come. so intently did they listen that the falling of a leaf would startle them. the hours passed slowly away. there was a half-moon, but dark clouds swept across the sky, and only now and then she looked forth, hiding her face again in a moment. once in a while a dash of cold rain would cause the sentinels to shiver and sink their chins deeper into the collars of their great coats. midnight came, and still all was quiet. the soldiers not on guard lay wrapped in their blankets, some of them in the land of dreams. off in the woods the hoot of an owl was heard. instantly fred was all attention. a few minutes passed, and again the dismal "whoo! whoo!" this time much nearer. fred aroused his men. instantly they were all attention, and every sense alert. "have you heard anything?" whispered the sergeant, next to him. "nothing but the suspicious hooting of an owl," whispered back fred. then to the soldiers, "perfectly still, men; not a sound." so still were they that the beatings of their hearts could be heard. again the dismal hoot was heard, this time so near that it startled them. then from the sentinel out in front came the short, sharp challenge, "who comes there?" he was answered immediately. "a deserter who wishes to come into the lines and give himself up." "stand! corporal of the guard!" the corporal went forward to receive the deserter. now there came the sound of swiftly advancing footsteps in front of the rear post, and dim figures were seen through the darkness. "fire!" shouted fred. seven rifles belched forth their contents, and for a moment the flashes of the guns lighted up the scene, and then all was dark. there were cries of pain, hoarse yells of surprise and anger, and then a scattering volley returned. "use your revolvers," shouted fred, and a rapid fire was opened. "fall back!" shouted a voice from the darkness. there were a few more scattering shots, and all was still. the deserter, who was so anxious to give himself up, the moment the alarm was given fired at the sentinel and vanished in the darkness. the sound of the firing created the wildest commotion in camp. the long roll was beaten; the half-dressed, frightened soldiers came rolling out of their tents, some without their guns, others without their cartridge boxes; excited officers in their night clothes ran through the camp, waving their bare swords and shouting: "fall in, men, for god's sake, fall in." it was some minutes before the excitement abated, and every one was asking, "what is it? what is it?" the officer of the day, with a strong escort, came riding out to where the firing was heard. being challenged, he gave the countersign, and then hurriedly asked what occasioned the firing. "oh," cheerfully responded fred, "they tried to take us in, and got taken in themselves." an examination of the ground in front of where fred's squad was stationed revealed two confederates still in death, and trails of blood showed that others had been wounded. "you can go to your quarters," said fred to his men. "you will not be needed again to-night; and, lieutenant," said he, turning to the officer of the day, "each and every one of these men deserves thanks for his steadiness and bravery." "i hardly think, general," said fred, the next morning, as he made his report, "that your pickets will be disturbed any more." as for general schoepf, he was delighted, and could not thank fred enough. for three or four days things were comparatively quiet. then a small scouting party was attacked and two men captured. the next day a larger party was attacked and driven in, with a loss of one killed and three wounded. the stories were the same; the leader of the confederates was a young lieutenant, who showed the utmost bravery and handled his men with consummate skill. "i wish," said general schoepf to fred, "that you would teach this young lieutenant the same kind of a lesson that you taught those fellows who were capturing our pickets." "i can try, general, but i am afraid the job will not only be harder, but much more dangerous than that one," answered fred. "this same young lieutenant," continued the general, "may have had a hand in that picket business, and since he received his lesson there has turned his attention to scouting parties." "in that case," replied fred, "it will take the second lesson to teach him good manners. well, general, i will give it to him, if i can." the next morning, with eight picked men from wolford's cavalry, fred started out in search of adventure. "don't be alarmed, general," said fred, as he rode away, "if we do not come back to-night. we may take a notion to camp out." many of their comrades, with longing eyes, looked after them, and wished they were of the number; yet they did not know but that every one was riding to death or captivity. yet such is the love of adventure in the human breast that the most dangerous undertakings will be gladly risked. after riding west about three miles fred turned south and went about the same distance. he then halted, and after a careful survey of the country ahead, said: "i think, boys, it will be as well for us to leave the road and take to the woods; we must be getting dangerously near the enemy's country." the party turned from the road and entered a wood. working their way through this, skirting around fields, and dashing across open places, after making a careful observation of the front, they managed to proceed about two miles further, when they came near the crossing of two main roads. here they stopped and fed their horses, while the men ate their scanty fare of hard bread and bacon. they had not been there long before a squadron of at least confederate cavalry came from the south, and turning west were soon out of sight. "i hardly think, boys," said fred, "it would have paid us to try to take those fellows into camp; we will let them go this time," and there was a twinkle in his eye, although he kept his face straight. "just as you say, capt'in," replied one of the troopers, as he took a chew of tobacco. "we would have gobbled them in if you had said the word." a little while after this a troop of ten horsemen came up the same road, but instead of turning west they kept on north. at the head of the troop rode a youthful officer. one of the soldiers with fred was one of the number that had been attacked and defeated two days before by the squad of which they were in search. "that's he, that's the fellow!" exclaimed the soldier, excitedly. fred's breath came thick and fast. what he had come for, fate had thrown in his way. "they are only one more than we!" he exclaimed. "if they were double, we would fight them," cried the men all together. "let them pass out of sight before we pursue," said fred. "the farther we get them from their lines the better." "now," said fred, after they had waited about five minutes. a ride of a few minutes more brought them into the road. halting a moment, fred turned to his men and said: "men, i know every one of you will do your duty. all i have to say is obey orders, keep cool, and make every shot count. forward!" with a cheer they followed their gallant young leader. after riding about two miles, fred reined up and said: "they have not dodged us, have they, boys? we ought to have sighted them before this. here is where we turned off of the road. by heavens! i believe they noticed that a squad of horsemen had turned off into the woods, and are following the tracks. let's see," and fred jumped from his horse, and examined the tracks leading into the woods. "that's what they did, boys," said he, looking up. "i will give that lieutenant credit for having sharp eyes. now, boys, we will give him a surprise by following." they did not go more than half a mile before they caught sight of the confederates. evidently they had concluded not to follow the tracks any farther, for they had turned and were coming back, and the two parties must have sighted each other at nearly the same moment. there was the sharp crack of a carbine, and a ball whistled over the federals' heads. "steady, men," said fred. "they are coming." but he was mistaken. the young lieutenant who led the confederates was far too careful a leader to charge an unknown number of men. instead of charging the confederates dismounted, and leaving their horses in charge of two of their number the rest deployed and advanced, dodging from tree to tree, and the bullets began to whistle uncomfortably close, one horse being hit. "dismount, and take the horses back," was fred's order. "we must meet them with their own game." the two men who were detailed to take the horses back went away grumbling because they were not allowed to stay in the fight. telling them to keep well covered, fred advanced his men slightly, and soon the carbines were cracking at a lively rate. but the fight was more noisy than dangerous, every man being careful to keep a tree between himself and his foe. "this can be kept up all day," muttered fred, "and only trees and ammunition will suffer. i must try something else." orders were given to fall back to the horses, and the men obeyed sullenly. a word from fred, and their faces brightened. mounting their horses, they rode back as if in disorderly retreat. as soon as the confederates discovered the movement, they rushed back for their horses, mounted, and with wild hurrahs started in swift pursuit of what they thought was a demoralized and retreating foe. coming to favorable ground, fred ordered his men to wheel and charge. so sudden was the movement that the confederates faltered, then halted. "forward!" cried their young leader, spurring his horse on, but at that moment a chance shot cut one of his bridle reins. the horse became unmanageable, and running under the overhanging branches of a tree, the gallant lieutenant was hurled to the ground. his men, dismayed by his fall, and unable to withstand the impetuous onslaught of the federals, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving their commander and two of their number prisoners in the hands of their foes. two more of their men were grievously wounded. three of the federals had been wounded in the mêlée. fred dismounted and bent over the young lieutenant, and then started back uttering an exclamation of surprise and grief. he had looked into the face of his cousin, calhoun pennington. hurriedly fred placed his hand on the fallen boy's heart. it was beating. there was no sign of a wound on his body. "thank god! he has only been stunned by the fall," exclaimed fred. in the mean time the five remaining confederates had halted about a quarter of a mile away, and were listening to what a sergeant, now in command, was saying. "boys," he exclaimed, "it will be to our everlasting shame and disgrace if we run away and leave the lieutenant in the hands of those cursed yankees. some of them must be disabled, as well as some of us. let us charge and retake the lieutenant, or die to a man in the attempt." "here is our hand on that, sergeant," said each one of the four, and one after the other placed his hand in that of the grim old sergeant. but just as they were about to start on their desperate attempt, they were surprised to see fred riding towards them, waving a white handkerchief. when he came in hailing distance, he cried: "men, your gallant young leader lies over here grievously hurt. we are going to withdraw," and wheeling his horse, he rode swiftly back. fred hastily made preparations to withdraw. one of his men was so badly wounded that he had to be supported on his horse; therefore their progress was slow, and it was night before they reached camp. fred made his report to general schoepf and turned over his two prisoners. the general was well pleased, and extended to fred and the soldiers with him his warmest congratulations. "if you had only brought in that daring young lieutenant with you your victory would have been complete," said the general. "i hardly think, general," said fred, "that you will be troubled with him any more. he was still insensible when we left, and with my three wounded men and the two prisoners it was well-nigh an impossibility for us to bring him in." "i know," replied the general, "and as you say, i think we have had the last of him." "i sincerely hope so," was fred's answer as he turned away, and it meant more than the general thought. fred had a horror of meeting his cousin in conflict, and devoutly prayed he might never do so again. he slept little that night. every time he closed his eyes he could see the pale face of his cousin lying there in the wood, and the thought that he might be dangerously hurt, perhaps dead, filled him with terror. "why," he asked himself over and over again, "did the fortune of war bring us together?" let us return to the scene of the conflict, and see how calhoun is getting along. the confederates received fred's message with surprise. "that lets us out of a mighty tough scrape," remarked the sergeant. "we must have hurt them worse than we thought." "don't know about that," answered one of his men who was watching the federals as they retired. "there is only one of them who appears to be badly hurt; and they have poor moon and hunt in limbo, sure." "better be prisoners than dead," answered the sergeant. "but, boys, let us to the lieutenant. it's strange the yanks didn't try to take him back." when they reached calhoun, he was already showing signs of returning consciousness, and in a few minutes he was able to sit up and converse. "where are the yankees?" was his first question. "gone." "then we whipped them after all," and his face lighted up with joy. "can't say that we did, lieutenant," answered the sergeant; "but they left mighty sudden for some reason." calhoun looked around on his men with a troubled countenance. "i see only five of you," he said; "where are the rest?" "two are back nursing wounds," answered the sergeant. "sheldon is hit, so hard hit i am afraid he is done for. as for moon and hunt, they have gone off with the yanks." "prisoners?" the sergeant nodded. the tears rolled down the cheeks of the young officer. "boys," he said, chokingly, "i believe i have lost my grip. there was that last picket affair that went against us, and now we are all broken up in a fair combat." "don't take on, lieutenant," said the sergeant, soothingly. "it was that chance bullet that cut your bridle rein that did the business. if it hadn't been for that we would have wiped them out, sure. as it is, we are thankful they didn't take a notion to lug you off." "perhaps they thought i was dead." "no, they didn't," replied the sergeant, and then he told calhoun what had happened. "what kind of a looking man was the leader of the yanks?" asked calhoun. "he was a boy, no older than yourself. he was mounted on a magnificent bay horse with a star in the forehead. "i see it all," sighed calhoun. "the leader of that party was my cousin, fred shackelford. he knew me, and he spared me. boys, help me on my horse. i am badly shaken up, but not seriously hurt. we will square accounts with those fellows one of these days." and the little party, bearing their wounded, sadly wended their way back to the confederate camp. for the next few days the weather was so bad and the roads in such a terrible condition that both armies were comparatively quiet. nothing as yet had been heard from the advance of general thomas, and general schoepf began to be very uneasy. at last fred offered to ride toward columbia, and see if he could not get some tidings of the missing column. the offer was gladly accepted, and fred set out. he met with no adventure until about fifteen miles from somerset, when he suddenly came face to face with a young soldier, and he supposed a federal, as he wore a blue great coat. but a second look caused a cry of surprise to burst from fred's lips, and at the same time the supposed federal soldier snatched a revolver from the holster. the cousins were once more face to face. "put up your revolver, calhoun," cried fred. "is that the way you greet your cousin?" for a moment calhoun gazed on fred in silence, then raising his hand in courtly salute, he suddenly turned his horse, and jumping him over a low fence, disappeared in a copse of wood. fred was on the point of raising his voice to call him back, when it flashed upon him that calhoun had been playing the spy, and that he dare not stop, even for a moment. "he was only stunned after all, when he was hurled from his horse," thought fred. "i am so glad; a heavy load has been lifted from my mind. i am also glad he has gone now. it would have been extremely awkward for me to have found out he was a spy, and then let him go." it was with a lighter heart that he pursued his journey, but he had gone but a short distance when he met a courier from general thomas with dispatches for general schoepf. he was informed that the advance of general thomas was but a short distance in the rear. a few moments more and fred was in the presence of his general. "ah, shackelford!" said thomas, "i am glad to see you. how is everything at somerset?" "all right, general, only general schoepf has been sorely worried over your non-appearance." "i do not wonder. the march has been an awful one, and has taken three times as long as i expected. but we will be at logan's cross roads to-night, where i shall halt to concentrate my army. if the enemy does not retreat, we may look for a lively time in about three days." "the lively time, general, may come before three days," answered fred, significantly. "how is that?" asked thomas, looking surprised. "the rebels may conclude," answered fred, "to attack you before you can bring up the rest of your force, or get aid from somerset. fishing creek is very high; i had to swim it. it will be almost impossible to get infantry or artillery over." "i have thought of that," replied the general, smiling. "i shall try and be ready for them if they come." chapter xiv. the battle of mill springs. fred was right in his surmise that calhoun had been acting the part of a spy. he had been playing a very dangerous game, and had been successful. disguised as a country boy, he had boldly entered columbia, and in a great measure had fathomed the plans of general thomas. it was a matter of common report that as soon as the army could be concentrated, general zollicoffer would be attacked. calhoun had made a careful estimate of the strength of thomas' army, and when met by fred he was taking an observation of his order of march, and how long it would take the rear brigade to reinforce the advance brigade, if it should be attacked. the sudden meeting with fred was a surprise to him. but when he heard fred's voice he knew his life was in no danger; yet he dare not tarry, even for a moment, and so escaped as we have seen. no sooner was he out of sight of fred than he checked his horse. "that was a lucky escape," he said to himself. "if i had to meet any one, it was fortunate i met fred. poor fellow! i wonder what he thought of me! i would so much like to have a talk with him, but it would have been madness to have stopped, and then it would have placed him in a very awkward predicament. selim, old boy," continued he, patting his horse's neck, "we have work yet before us; we must see where general thomas camps." it was early on the morning of january th that calhoun rode into the confederate camp at beech grove. without changing his mud-bespattered garments, he at once sought the quarters of major-general g. b. crittenden, who had been placed in chief command of the army. "ah, lieutenant," exclaimed the general, "i am glad to see you. i have been thinking of you, and blaming myself for permitting you to go on your hazardous adventure. he who acts as a spy takes his life in his hands." "it is an old saying that 'all is well that ends well,'" calhoun answered, smiling. "you ought to have seen what a splendid country bumpkin i made; and i have succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations. i have very important news for you, general. general thomas is now encamped at logan's cross roads, only ten miles away. he will wait there for his rear brigade, and also for reinforcements from somerset. he has only one brigade with him, numbering not much over , men." calhoun then went on and gave general crittenden the full details of the strength of the federal army, saying that he thought the rear brigade of thomas' army could not reach logan's cross roads for at least two days, and that owing to the height of water in fishing creek he believed it impossible for thomas to receive reinforcements from somerset. "if these forces all combine, general," continued calhoun, "they will so far outnumber us that it would be madness to risk a battle. to-morrow thomas will be isolated; his force is inferior to yours. i believe he can be crushed." "you think that your information as to numbers and position is absolutely correct, do you?" asked the general. "i do, general," answered calhoun. "if you attack general thomas in the morning i am confident you will attack with a superior force." "it is either that or a disastrous retreat," said the general, gravely. "i will call a council of my officers at once. i wish you to appear before them." "as soon as i can get off some of this mud i will be ready," answered calhoun. the council was called, and general crittenden laid the facts before his officers. calhoun was asked a great many questions, to all of which he gave full and sufficient answers. the council, without a dissenting voice, voted to attack thomas the next morning. it was nearly midnight when the confederates marched out of their entrenchments, general zollicoffer's brigade having the advance. calhoun acted as aid on the staff of general crittenden. the distance, ten miles, made a fearful night march, considering the roads. calhoun afterwards said that it was one of the worst marches he ever made. the night was dark and gloomy. a cold drizzling rain fell that chilled the soldiers to the very bone. through the rain and the mud for hour after hour the brave men of the confederacy toiled on, animated by the hope that they would soon meet and hurl back in inglorious defeat the men whom they considered ruthless invaders of their soil. it took nearly seven hours to march that ten miles, every step being taken through mud and water, sometimes nearly knee deep. just as the gray shadows in the east betokened the ushering in of the short january day, the crack! crack! of guns in front told that the federal pickets had been alarmed. the sharp reports of those guns as they echoed back along the mud-stained ranks caused the weary soldier to forget his weariness. the cold was no longer felt, the excitement of the coming battle sent the blood tingling through the veins. it is time to turn now to general thomas and his little army that lay encamped at logan's cross roads in the darkness and shadows of that gloomy night. couriers had been sent back to hurry up the rear brigade; orders had been sent to general schoepf to at once forward three regiments, but general thomas well knew if he was attacked in the morning none of these reinforcements would reach him. the general sat in his tent, listening to fred giving an account of what had happened at somerset during the three weeks he had been there. he was especially interested in the account fred gave of his picket fight. "that, shackelford," said the general, "was strategy worthy of a much older head. your little fight was also admirably managed." "i had rather it had been against any one than my cousin," answered fred. "such things cannot be avoided," answered thomas, with a sigh. "this is an unhappy war. i am a virginian, and must fight against those who are near and dear to me." fred did not answer; he was thinking of his father. the general sat as if buried in deep thought for a moment, and then suddenly looking up, said: "shackelford, you know when we were going into camp this evening that you said you feared an attack in the morning." "i am almost positive of it, general," was fred's reply. "will you give me your reasons?" "because the enemy is well posted and must know that you mean to attack them when your forces are consolidated, and your army will be so strong they cannot hope to stand before it. i am also of the opinion that they are well informed of your isolated position here; that one of your brigades is two days' march in the rear, also that owing to the high stage of water in fishing creek it will be impossible for general schoepf to reinforce you for a day or two. i also believe that the enemy has a fair estimate of your exact strength." during this speech of fred's the general listened intently, and then said: "you have a better idea of my actual position than i trust most of my officers have, but you said some things which need explaining. on what grounds do you base your belief that the enemy are so well acquainted with my situation and strength?" "no positive proof, general, but an intuition which i cannot explain. but this impression is also based on more solid ground than intuition. yesterday, just before i met your advance, i met a man in our uniform. when he saw me he jumped his horse over a fence and disappeared in a wood. i am almost certain he was a spy. to-day i caught a glimpse of that same man in the woods yonder on our right." thomas mused a moment, and then said: "if the confederate general fully knows our situation and strength, he is foolish if he does not attack me. but if he does, i shall try and be ready for him." the general then once more carefully examined his maps of the country, gave orders that a very strong picket should be posted, and that well in advance of the infantry pickets cavalry videttes should be placed, and that the utmost vigilance should be exercised. then turning to fred, he said: "if your expectations are realized in the morning, you may act as one of my aids. and now, gentlemen," said he, turning to his staff, "for some sleep; we must be astir early in the morning." in the gray light of the early morning, from away out in front, there came the faint report of rifles. nearer and more rapid grew the firing. early as it was, general thomas and staff had had their breakfast, and every soldier was prepared. general manson, in command of the advance regiments, came galloping back to headquarters. "general," he said, "we are attacked in force." "go back," replied general thomas, without betraying any more excitement than if he were ordering his men out on review, "form your men in the most advantageous position, and hold the enemy until i can bring up the rest of the troops." in a trice aids were galloping in every direction. fred found enough to do. the fitful reports of guns in front had become a steady roll of musketry. the loud mouth of the cannon joined in, and the heavy reverberations rolled over field and through forest. in an incredibly short time every regiment was in motion towards where the heavy smoke of battle was already hanging over the field. of all the thousands, the general commanding seemed the most unconcerned. he leisurely mounted his horse and trotted toward the conflict. his eye swept the field, and as the regiments came up they were placed just where they were needed. his manner inspired every one who saw him with confidence. to fred the scene was inexpressibly grand. this, then, was a battle. the wild cheering of men, the steady roll of musketry, the deep bass of cannon, thrilled him with an excitement never felt before. the singing of the balls made strange music in his ears. now and then a shell or solid shot would crash through the forest and shatter the trees as with a thunderbolt. soon a thin line of men came staggering back, some holding up an arm streaming with blood, others hobbling along using their guns as crutches. a few, wild with fear, had thrown away their guns, and were rushing back, lost to shame, lost to honor, lost to everything but an insane desire to get out of that hell of fire. fred was a born soldier. at first there was a lump in the throat, as if the heart was trying to get away, a slight trembling of the limbs, a momentary desire to get out of danger, and then he was as cool and collected as if on parade. through the storm of balls he rode, delivering his orders with a smiling face, and a word of cheer. general thomas noticed the coolness of his aid, and congratulated him on his soldierly qualities. on the left, in front of the fourth kentucky regiment, the battle was being waged with obstinate fury. colonel fry, seeing fred, rode up to him, and said: "tell general thomas i must have reinforcements at once; the enemy is flanking me." away went fred to deliver the order. "say to colonel fry," said thomas, "that i will at once forward the aid required. until the reinforcements come, tell him to hold his position at all hazards." the message was delivered. fry compressed his lips, glanced along his line, saw the point of greatest danger, and quickly ordered two of his left companies to the right, leading them in person, fred going with him. an officer enveloped in a large gray coat suddenly rode out of the wood, and galloping up to them shouted: "for god's sake, stop firing! you are firing on your own men." just then two other officers rode up to the one in a gray cloak. seeing colonel fry and fred, they at once fired on them. colonel fry was slightly wounded, but fred was untouched. as quick as thought both returned the fire. the officer at whom fred fired reeled in his saddle, then straightened up and galloped to the rear. colonel fry fired at the officer in the gray cloak. he threw up his arms, and then plunged headlong to the ground. the bullet from colonel fry's pistol had pierced the heart of general zollicoffer. the battle now raged along the entire line with great fury. the lowering clouds grew darker, and the pitiless rain, cold and icy, fell on the upturned faces of the dead. the cruel storm beat upon the wounded, and they shivered and moaned as their life's blood ebbed away. the smoke settled down over the field and hid the combatants from view, but through the gloom the flashes of the guns shone like fitful tongues of flame. then the federal line began to press forward, and soon the whole confederate army was in full retreat. [illustration: the battle now raged along the entire line with great fury.] it was at this time that fred's attention was attracted to a young confederate officer, who was trying to rally his men. bravely did he strive to stay the panic, but suddenly fred saw him falter, sway to and fro, and then fall. once more did the confederates try to rally under the leadership of a young mounted officer, but they were swept aside, and the battle was over. fred's first thought was for the young confederate officer whom he saw fall while trying to rally his men. there was something about him that seemed familiar. could it be calhoun? fred's heart stood still at the thought. fred soon found the object of his search. he was lying on his side, his head resting on his left arm, his right hand still grasping his sword, a smile on his face. as fred looked on the placid face of the dead, a groan burst from him, and the tears gushed from his eyes. with his handkerchief he wiped away the grime of battle, and there, in all his manly beauty, bailie peyton lay before him. fred's thoughts flew back to that day at gallatin. no more would those eloquent lips hold entranced a spellbound audience. no more would his fiery words stir the hearts of his countrymen, even as the wind stirs the leaves of the forest. tenderly did fred have him carried back and laid by the side of his fallen chieftain. both were given the honor due them. as soon as possible the remains of both were forwarded through the lines to nashville. it was not the city that fred saw in august. then it was wild and hilarious with joy, carried away with the pomp and glory of war. zollicoffer was the idol of the people of tennessee; bailie peyton of its young men. that both should fall in the same battle plunged nashville in deepest mourning. when the bodies arrived, it was a city of tears. flags floated at half-mast; women walked the streets wringing their hands and weeping bitter tears. their idols lay dead. poor nashville! she was to drink still deeper of the bitter cup of war. chapter xv. a fight with guerrillas. back over the ten miles that they had marched through the darkness and rain, the confederate army fled in the wildest confusion. swift in pursuit came the victorious army of thomas. before night his cannon were shelling the entrenchments at beech grove. there was no rest for the hungry, weary, despondent confederates. in the darkness of the night they stole across the river, and then fled, a demoralized mob, leaving everything but themselves in the hands of the victors. the next morning an officer came to fred and said one of the prisoners would like to see him. "one of the prisoners would like to see me," asked fred, in surprise. "what for?" "i don't know," answered the officer. "but he is a plucky chap; it's the young lieutenant who headed the last rally of the rebs. he fought until he was entirely deserted by his men and surrounded by us; he then tried to cut his way out, but his horse was shot and he captured." "good heavens!" exclaimed fred. "it must be calhoun," and he rushed to where the prisoners were confined. "calhoun!" "fred!" and the boys were in each other's arms. "cal, you don't know how glad i am to see you," exclaimed fred. "bonds and all?" answered calhoun, with a dash of his old spirits. "no," said fred; "like st. paul, i will say 'except these bonds.' but calhoun, i must have a good long talk with you in private." "not much privacy here, fred," said calhoun, looking around at the crowd that was staring at them. fred went to general thomas and told him that his cousin was among the prisoners, and asked permission to take him to his quarters. the permission was readily given, and the boys had the day and night to themselves. how they did talk, and how much they had to tell each other! first fred had to tell calhoun all about himself. when he had finished calhoun grasped his hand and exclaimed: "fred, i am proud of you, if you are fighting with the yanks. how i would like to ride by your side! but of all your adventures, the one with poor robert ferror touches me deepest. poor fellow! he should have lived. he must have had a great deal of pure gold about him, notwithstanding his cowardly crime." "he did," sighed fred, "he did; and yet i can never think of the assassination of captain bascom without a shudder. on the other hand, i can never think of ferror's death without tears. as i think of him now, i am of the opinion that the indignities heaped upon him had, in a measure, unbalanced his mind, and that the killing of bascom was the act of an insane person. but, cal, i hate to talk about it; that night of horrors always gives me the shivers. so tell me all about yourself." "there is not much to tell," answered calhoun. "you know i left danville with your father for bowling green. owing to the influence of my father, i was commissioned a second lieutenant and given a place on the staff of governor johnson. you know a provisional state government was organized at bowling green, and g. m. johnson appointed governor. when general buckner tried to capture louisville by surprise, and you objected by throwing the train off the track, i was one of the victims of the outrage. i recognized you, just as your father ordered the volley fired." "my father!" gasped fred. "my father! did he order that volley fired at me?" "yes; but he did not know it was you when he gave the order. when i called out it was you, he nearly fainted, and would have fallen if one of his officers had not caught him. he wanted to resign then and there, but general buckner would not hear of it. really, fred, i think he would have ordered that volley even if he had known you; but if you had been killed, he would have killed himself afterward." "poor father!" sighed fred. "he loves me even if he has disowned me." "well," continued calhoun, "to make a long story short, i became prodigiously jealous of you. you were covering yourself with glory while i was sitting around doing nothing. it was awful dull at bowling green. as zollicoffer appeared to be the only one of the confederate generals who was at all active, i asked and received permission to join him, where i was given a roving commission as a scout. if i do say it, i made it rather lively for you fellows. at length i hit upon a nice little plan of capturing your pickets, and was quite successful until you found it out and put an end to my fun." "calhoun," exclaimed fred, in surprise, "was it you with whom i had that night fight?" "it was, and you came near making an end of your hopeful cousin, i can tell you. out of seven men, i had two killed and four wounded. only one man and myself escaped unhurt, and i had three bullet holes through my clothes. that put an end to my raids upon your pickets, and i confined myself to scouting once more. then came that unlucky fight with you in the woods. fred, i must congratulate you on the way you managed that. your retreat showed me your exact strength, and i thought i could wipe you off the face of the earth. your sudden wheel and charge took us completely by surprise, and disconcerted my men. that shot which cut my bridle rein took me out of the fight, and perhaps it was just as well for me that it did. when i came to and found out what had been done, i at once knew you must have been in command of the squad, and if i could i would have hugged you for your generosity." "cal," replied fred, his voice trembling with emotion, "you can hardly realize my feelings when i saw you lying pale and senseless there before me; it took all the fight out of me." "i know, i know," answered calhoun, laying his hand caressingly on fred's shoulder. "i was badly shaken up by that fall, but not seriously hurt. now, comes the most dangerous of my adventures. when i met you in the road, i----" "stop!" broke in fred, "not another word. of course you were on one of your scouting expeditions." a curious look came over calhoun's face, and then he said, in a low voice: "you are right, fred; i was on one of my scouting expeditions," and he shuddered slightly. "fred," suddenly asked calhoun, "is there any possible way for me to keep from going to prison?" "sometimes prisoners give their parole," answered fred. "i will see what can be done." the next morning general thomas sent for fred, and said that he was about to send some dispatches to general buell at louisville. "and," continued he, "owing to your splendid conduct and the value of the services you have rendered, i have selected you as the messenger. then, in all probability, it will be very quiet in my front for some time, and general nelson may have more active work for you. you know," he concluded with a smile, "i only have the loan of you." fred heartily thanked the general for the honor bestowed, and then said: "general, i have a great boon to ask." "what is it?" asked the general, kindly. "if possible i will grant it." "you know my cousin is here a prisoner. he is more like a brother than a cousin--the only brother i ever knew. the boon i ask is that you grant him a parole." "bring him here," said the general. calhoun was sent for, and soon stood in the presence of the general. "an officer, i see," said the general, as he glanced calhoun over. "yes, sir; lieutenant calhoun pennington of governor johnson's staff," answered calhoun, with dignity. "what were you doing up here if you are one of johnson's staff?" asked the general. "i was here on special duty." "lieutenant, your cousin has asked as a special favor that you be granted a parole. he says that you reside in danville, and as he is going to louisville, he would like to have you accompany him as far as your home." "general," answered calhoun, "you would place me under a thousand obligations if you would grant me a parole; but only on one condition, and that is that you effect my exchange as quickly as possible." the general smiled. "i see," said he, "that you and shackelford are alike; never satisfied unless you are in the thickest of the fray. i think i can satisfy you." the parole was made out, and fred and calhoun made preparations to start for danville. never did two boys enjoy a ride more than they did. in spite of bad roads and bad weather, the exuberance of their spirits knew no bounds. they were playmates again, without a word of difference between them. as far as they were concerned, the clouds of war had lifted, and they basked in the sunlight of peace. "i say, fred," remarked calhoun, "this is something like it; seems like old times. why did this war have to come and separate us?" fred sighed. "the war, calhoun," he answered, "has laid a heavier hand on me than on you, for it has made me an outcast from home." "don't worry, fred; it will come out all right," answered calhoun, cheerily. on the morning of the second day the boys met with an adventure for which they were not looking. even as early in the war as this, those roving bands of guerrillas which afterward proved such a curse to the border states began to appear. it was somewhat of a surprise to the boys when four men suddenly rode out of the woods by the side of the road, and roughly demanded that they give an account of themselves. "by whose authority do you stop us?" indignantly demanded fred. "by my authority," answered the leader, with a fearful oath. "and your authority i refuse to acknowledge," was the hot answer. "see here, young man, you had better keep a civil tongue in your head," and as the leader said this he significantly tapped the butt of his revolver. calhoun here interposed. "what is it you wish?" he asked. "i wish to know who you are, and where you are going, and that ---- quick." "that is easily answered," replied calhoun. "as you see by my uniform, i am a confederate officer. i am on parole, and am on my way to my home in danville, there to wait until i am regularly exchanged." "a fine story," said the leader. "and i suppose your companion is also in the confederate service." "not at all," replied fred, quietly. "i am in the service of the united states." "you are, are you?" sneered the man. "i think both of you are lincolnites. we will have to search you, and i think in the end shoot you both." "here is my parole," said calhoun, his face growing red with anger. the man took it, glanced it over, and then coolly tore it in two, and flung it down. "any one can carry such a paper as that. now, climb down in a hurry. we want them horses, and we want you. boys, it will be fun to try our marksmanship on these youngsters, won't it?" and he turned to his companions with a brutal laugh. but the guerrillas made a great mistake; they thought they were only dealing with two boys, and were consequently careless and off their guard. with a sharp, quick look at calhoun which meant volumes, fred quickly drew his revolver. there was a flash, a report, and the leader of the guerrillas dropped from his horse. with a startled oath, the others drew their revolvers, but before they could raise them there were two reports so close together as almost to sound as one, and two more of the gang rolled from their horses. the remaining one threw up his hands and began to beg for mercy. [illustration: fred drew his revolver, and the guerrilla dropped from his horse.] "you miscreant you," exclaimed calhoun, covering him with his revolver. "i ought to send a ball through your cowardly carcass, to be even with my cousin here; for he got two of you, while i only got one." "oh, mercy! mercy!" begged the trembling wretch. "i have a wife and children." "you have; then so much the worse for the wife and children." "i am not fit to die," he blubbered. "that is plain to be seen," answered calhoun. "now off that horse!" the fellow obeyed with alacrity. "now hand me your weapons--butts first, remember." the pistols were handed over. "now pick up that parole your leader tore and threw down, and hand it to me." this was done. calhoun sat eyeing him a moment, and then continued: "i ought to shoot you without mercy, but i believe in giving a dog a chance for his life, and so i will give you a chance. you mount your horse, and when i say 'go,' you go. after i say 'go' i shall count five, and then shoot. if i miss you, which i don't think i shall, i shall continue shooting as long as you are in range; so the faster you go, the better for you. now, mount." the man looked appealingly at calhoun, but seeing no mercy, mounted his horse as quick as his trembling limbs would let him. his face was white with fear, and his teeth fairly rattled they chattered so. calhoun reined his horse around so he was by the fellow's side. then he shouted "go!" the man gave a yell of terror, bent low over his horse's neck and was off like a shot. calhoun with a chuckle fired over him, and the fellow seemed to fairly flatten out. four times did calhoun fire, and at each report the flying horseman appeared to go the faster. as for fred, he was convulsed with merriment, notwithstanding the grewsome surroundings. "leave these carrion where they are," said calhoun in response to a question from fred as to what disposition they should make of the dead. "that live companion of theirs will be back when we are gone." they rode along in silence for a while, and then calhoun suddenly said: "fred, how i wish i could always fight by your side. it's a pity we have to fight on different sides." "just what i was thinking of, cal," answered fred; "but we have the satisfaction of knowing we have fought one battle together." "and won it, too," shouted calhoun. they reached danville in due time and without further adventure. to say that judge pennington was surprised to see them riding up together would be to express it mildly; he was astounded. then he had his arms around his boy, and was sobbing, "my son! my son!" "and fred, too," said the judge, at last turning from welcoming his son. "i am truly glad to see you, my boy. but how in the world did you two happen to come together?" and so the whole story had to be told, and the judge listened and wondered and mourned over the defeat of the confederates at mill springs. "my boy," said the judge, with tears glistening in his eyes, "at least i am glad to know that you did your duty." "aye! he did that, uncle," exclaimed fred. "if all the confederates had been like calhoun, we might not have won the victory." "unless all the federals had been like you," responded calhoun gallantly. the judge would have both boys tell him the full particulars of their adventures, and listened to their recital with all the pleasure of a schoolboy. but when they were through, he shook his head sadly, and said: "boys, you can't keep that pace up. you will both be killed. but i am proud of you, proud of you both, if fred is fighting for that horrible lincoln." it was a happy day fred spent at his uncle's. it seemed like old times. if bitterness was felt towards him it was not shown. when it was noised about that both calhoun and fred had returned, they were besieged with callers. the story of the battle of mill springs had to be told again and again. colonel fry was one of the influential citizens of the city, and especially were they eager to hear the particulars of his killing general zollicoffer. fred concluded to ride his horse to louisville, instead of riding to nicholasville or lebanon and taking the cars from one of those places. "i must have prince wherever i go after this," he said. "hello! my boy, is that you?" asked general nelson, as fred rode up to his headquarters after a very prosaic journey of three days. "it is no one else, general," laughed fred, as he dismounted. "here i am, here is my good horse, prince, and here is a letter to you from general thomas." nelson took the letter, read it, and looking up smiling, said: "i see you still keep up your habit of doing something unusual. thomas speaks in the highest terms of your work. then you were at mill springs?" "yes, general." "glorious victory! glorious victory! the first real victory we have gained. did you bring full dispatches with you?" "yes, general; i have voluminous dispatches for general buell. i was so eager to see you i stopped before delivering them." "ah, my boy, i believe you do think something of bluff old nelson after all, even if he has a devil of a temper," and the general kindly patted the boy on the head. fred's eyes filled with tears. "you know, general," he said, brokenly, "that you took me in, when my father cast me out." "for the good of the country, my boy, for the good of the country," said the general brusquely. "but, come, fred, i will ride over to general buell's headquarters with you. i would like to see general thomas' full report of the battle." they found general buell in the highest of spirits, and fred was given a warm welcome. he looked over general thomas' report, and his whole face beamed with satisfaction. he asked fred a multitude of questions, and was surprised at the knowledge of military affairs which he showed in his answers. "i think, general," said general buell, turning to nelson, after he had dismissed fred, "that you have not overestimated the abilities of your protégé. in a private note general thomas speaks in the highest terms of him. i shall do what you asked." "thank you, general," said nelson. "somehow i have taken wonderfully to the boy." what it was general buell was to do for fred, that individual was in ignorance. while in louisville many of fred's leisure moments were spent at the hospitable home of the vaughns. mabel's betrothed was now at the front, and it was astonishing how much note paper that young lady used in writing to him. "you don't write that often to your brother," said fred, smiling. "my brother?" asked mabel, looking up in surprise. "yes, your humble servant; didn't you adopt me as a brother?" mabel burst out laughing. "oh!" she replied, "one doesn't have to write so often to a brother. lovers are like babies; they have to be petted. but to change the subject, where does my knight-errant expect to go for his next adventure?" "i don't know," answered fred. "things appear to be rather quiet just now." but events were even then transpiring that were to take fred to a different theater of action. chapter xvi. fort donelson. commodore foote and general u. s. grant sat conversing in the headquarters of the latter at cairo, illinois. the general was puffing a cigar, and answered in monosyllables between puffs. "you have heard nothing yet, have you, general," the commodore was asking, "of that request we united in sending to general halleck?" "nothing," answered grant, moodily. there was silence for some time, the general apparently in deep thought. the commodore broke the silence by asking: "you went to see him personally once on this matter, did you not?" "he ungraciously gave me permission to visit st. louis in order to see him, after i had begged for the privilege at least half a dozen times," grant answered. "and you laid the matter before him in all its bearings?" "i tried to." "what did he say?" "say! he struck me." "struck you?" asked the commodore, starting in surprise. grant smiled. "i mean," said he, "that he struck me metaphorically. i don't believe he would have hurt me as badly, if he had really struck me. i was never so cut in all my life. i came away feeling that i had committed an unpardonable sin from a military standpoint." "then he would not hear to the proposition at all?" "hear it! he would not listen to me. i came away resolving never to ask another favor of him. yet so anxious am i to make this campaign that, as you know, i swallowed my pride and united with you in making the request that we be allowed to make the movement." "it is strange," replied the commodore, "that he should ignore both our requests, not favoring us even with a reply. yet it seems that he must see that fort henry should be reduced at once. if we delay, both the cumberland and the tennessee will be so strongly fortified that it will be almost impossible to force a passage. everything is to be gained by moving at once. everything may be lost by delay." "even a civilian ought to see that," replied grant, as he slowly blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth, and watched it as it lazily curled upward. "the truth of it is," grant continued slowly, as if weighing every word, "too many of us are afraid that another general may win more honor than we. then there are altogether too many separate commands. now, here are buell and myself; each with a separate command, yet both working for the same object. i should either be subject to the command of buell, or he should be subject to my orders. we are now like two men trying to lift the same burden, and instead of lifting together, one will lift and then the other. such a system can but prolong the war indefinitely." "general," said the commodore, earnestly, "i sincerely wish you had the supreme command here in the west. i believe we would see different results, and that very soon." grant blushed like a schoolgirl, fidgeted in his seat, and then said: "commodore, you do me altogether too much honor. but this i will say, if i had supreme command i should not sit still and see the tennessee and cumberland rivers fortified without raising a hand to prevent it. neither do i believe in letting month after month go by for the purpose of drilling and organizing. the government seems to forget that time gives the enemy the same privilege. what is wanted is hard blows, and these blows should be delivered as soon as possible. sherman was right when he asked for , men to march to the gulf, yet he was sneered at by the war department, hounded by every paper in the land, called insane, and now he is occupying a subordinate position. the war could be ended in a year. no one now can tell how long it will last." just then a telegram was placed in grant's hands. he read it, and his whole face lighted up with pleasure. "you look pleased," said the commodore. "the telegram must bring good news." without a word grant placed the telegram in the hands of the commodore. it was an order from general halleck to move up the tennessee as soon as possible and capture fort henry. "at last," said the commodore, his face showing as much pleasure as did grant's. "at last," responded grant; and then, quickly, "commodore, we may have done an injustice to general halleck. there may be good reasons we know not of why this order should not have been made before. commodore, be ready to move with your fleet to-morrow." "that soon?" asked the commodore. "that soon," responded grant. "general, i shall be ready; and now good-bye, for both of us have much before us. but before i go, let me congratulate you. i believe that success and great honor await you," and with these words the commodore withdrew. the next day, with , men, general grant was steaming up the tennessee. general buell sat in his headquarters at louisville. general nelson, accompanied by fred, had dropped in to see his general, and at the same time to give vent to some of his pent-up feelings. "it's a shame, a shame!" he fumed, "for us to sit here and let the rebels fortify bowling green and dover and columbus, and build forts to blockade the tennessee, and we not raise a finger to prevent it." buell smiled at his irate general, and asked: "and what would you do, nelson?" "do!" roared nelson, "do! i would strike, and strike hard. i would give them precious little time to build forts." before general buell could answer, an orderly entered with a telegram. he read it, and turning to nelson, said: "well, general, you can cease your fuming. this telegram is from general halleck. he tells me he has ordered general grant up the tennessee to reduce fort henry, and he wants me to co-operate as much as possible in the movement." nelson was on his feet in an instant. "general," he exclaimed, "i have a favor, a great favor to ask of you." buell smilingly answered: "i think i know what it is without your asking. you want me to send your division." nelson bowed. "i do not see how i can spare so many men; you know we have johnston at bowling green to look after." "but general," answered nelson, "the tennessee and cumberland must be defended. in all probability the most of johnston's army will be transferred there." "in that case, general," answered buell, "i will remember you. your division shall be the first one sent." "thank you, general, thank you," replied nelson. "i only wish i knew i was going." "as it is now," continued buell, "i shall order general crittenden to send cruft's brigade. that brigade is near the mouth of green river. there is no force of the enemy, in any number, before them, and the brigade can well be spared. i shall send no more men unless it is absolutely necessary. i shall at once dispatch an officer to general crittenden with necessary orders." "general," now spoke up fred, "like general nelson, i have a request to make, and by your kindness i hope to meet with better success." "ah!" said buell, "you wish to carry the orders. if nelson has no objection, i think i can grant that request. the general has told me something of your history, mr. shackelford. general thomas also speaks in the highest terms of you." "you can go if you wish, fred," answered nelson. "i only hope i shall soon be with you." so it was settled, and before night fred and his good horse prince were on their way down the ohio. fred not only carried dispatches to general crittenden, but he had personal letters both from general buell and general nelson to general cruft commending him to the latter officer. disembarking at owensboro, fred made a swift ride to calhoun, the headquarters of general crittenden. he delivered his dispatches to the general, and at once sought the headquarters of general cruft. the general read fred's letters, and then said: "you are very welcome, mr. shackelford; you may consider yourself as one of my staff until such time as general nelson may join us." soon orders came to general cruft to at once prepare to join grant. it was nearly noon on february the th when the fleet on which general cruft's brigade had embarked arrived at fort donelson. the place had already been invested two days, and some severe fighting had taken place. the weather, from being warm and rainy, had suddenly turned cold on the afternoon of the th, and fred shivered as he emerged from the comfortable cabin of the steamboat and stepped out on the cold, desolate bank of the river. the ground was covered with ice and snow, and the scene was dreary in the extreme. now and then the heavy reverberation of a cannon came rolling down the river, and echoed and re-echoed among the hills. a fleet of gunboats lay anchored in the river, the mouths of their great guns looking out over the dark sullen water as though watching for their prey. general cruft's brigade was assigned to the division of general lew wallace, which occupied the center of the federal army. back in the rear little groups of soldiers stood shivering around small fires, trying to warm their benumbed limbs, or to cook their scanty rations. the condition of the soldiers was pitiable in the extreme. there were no tents; but few had overcoats, and many on the hard, muddy march from fort henry had even thrown away their blankets. in the front lines no fires could be lighted, and there the soldiers stood, exposed to the furious storm of sleet and snow, hungry, benumbed, hardly knowing whether they were dead or alive. such were the heroes who stood for three days before donelson. as fred looked on all this suffering, he wondered at the fortitude with which it was endured. there were few complaints from the soldiers; they were even cheerful and eager to meet the foe. about three o'clock the gunboats came steaming up the river and engaged the confederate batteries. it was a most sublime spectacle, and held fred spellbound. the very heavens seemed splitting, and the earth shook and trembled from the heavy concussions. nearer and nearer the gunboats came to the batteries until it seemed to fred the great guns were vomiting fire and smoke into each other's throats. during the fight fred noticed a small, thickset man sitting on his horse intently watching the fight. his countenance was perfectly impassive, and one could not tell by watching him whether he sympathized with friend or foe. for two hours the conflict raged. the boilers of the essex had been blown up, the other boats were bruised and battered and torn by the great shots which had struck them, and were helplessly drifting down the stream. the gunboats had been defeated. from the federal side there went up a great groan of disappointment, while from the confederate lines there arose the wild cheers of victory. the silent man on horseback turned and rode away. not a sign, not a word that he was disappointed. "who is that man?" asked fred of an officer standing by him. "that, young man," was the answer, "is general grant. he must be awfully cut up, but he does not show it." fred turned and looked after grant as he rode slowly away. "there," thought fred, "is a man who is going to make his mark in this war. in some of his actions he reminds me of general thomas. nothing seems to excite him." night and darkness came. on the frozen ground, without tents or fire, the soldiers once more made their beds. the wind sighed and moaned through the bare branches, as if weeping at the suffering it caused. many, to keep from freezing, never lay down, but kept up a weary march, so that the blood might circulate. the long hours dragged slowly along. over in the confederate lines all was activity. a council of war was held, and it was resolved that in the morning they would cut their way through the lines of steel which grant had thrown around them. all preparations were made, every order given, and then they waited for the light of morning--the last morning that hundreds would ever see. it was hardly light when fred was awakened by the fitful sound of musketry over on the right. in front of wallace's division only the report of a rifle of a picket was heard now and then. hurriedly eating a little breakfast, he mounted his horse and reported to general cruft for duty. the men were all standing at arms, but there was nothing for them to do. but over on the right the rattle of musketry grew more intense, the roll of heavy volleys began to be heard, and then the deep-voiced cannon joined in the chorus. louder and louder grew the din of the conflict. the smoke of battle began to ascend above the treetops like smoke from a burning coal-pit. the sound of battle came nearer, the roll of musketry was incessant, the thunder of cannon never ceased. an officer wild with excitement came spurring his foaming horse up to general wallace. "general mcclernand wants help," he gasped. "the whole rebel army has attacked his division." "i have orders from general grant to hold this position at all hazards," replied wallace. "i must have orders from him." to grant's headquarters the officer rides in frantic haste. the general was away; he had started at five o'clock to see commodore foote, who had been wounded in the battle of the night before, and was on board of one of his gunboats, and the boats lay some five or six miles below. would not some one of his staff give orders to send reinforcements to mcclernand. no; none would take the responsibility. the officer groaned, and rode back to mcclernand with the heavy tidings. minutes go by, the thunder of battle is terrific. the federals are being driven. the exultant cheering of the advancing foe is heard above the roar of conflict. another officer, with his horse bleeding from wounds, his hat gone, and tears streaming down his face, rides to general wallace. "for god's sake, help!" he gasps, "or everything is lost; we are flanked, we cannot hold out longer." then general wallace said: "i will take the responsibility; help you shall have." and with his face lighted up with joy the officer dashed back to tell mcclernand that help was coming. an order comes to general cruft to at once march his brigade to the scene of action. no sooner is the command given than the brigade is on the way. soon shot and shell are crashing overhead, and singing bullets begin to cut the twigs of the bushes around. now and then a soldier falters and goes down. a smooth-faced, florid man rides up to general cruft. "i am colonel oglesby," he says; "my brigade is being flanked on the right. let me lead you in position; my men are nearly out of ammunition." and then as calmly as if on parade colonel dick oglesby leads cruft's brigade to the relief of his men. soon the brigade is in the midst of the conflict. here and there fred rides carrying orders. the excitement of battle is on him, and he feels no fear. oglesby's brigade is out of ammunition. sullenly his men fall back, leaving over of their number dead and wounded on the field, but his left regiment refuses to go. the colonel, a large, dark man, with hair as black as midnight, eyes like flaming stars, rages up and down the line like a lion. fred gazes on him in admiration. he is typical of war incarnate. "who is he?" fred asks of a wounded soldier hobbling back. "colonel john a. logan," is the answer. at last his men are out of ammunition, and logan, bleeding from two wounds, is obliged to lead his regiment back. another regiment takes its place, and after a dreadful conflict, is compelled to fall back, leaving over of their number dead and wounded. cruft's brigade was now on the extreme right, cut off from the rest of the army. the enemy pressed upon them; a withering volley sent them reeling back. "charge!" was the order. fred spurred forward, and seizing the colors of a kentucky regiment, shouted: "now, boys, for the honor of old kentucky." the enemy flew before them like frightened sheep. but on either flank the enemy pressed, and the brigade, combating every foot, was forced back. the enemy had gained the desired end; mcclernand's division was out of the way, the road to retreat was open. why was it not taken advantage of? because of the imbecility of generals floyd and pillow. broken, and with a third of its number dead and wounded, mcclernand's division is driven back on lew wallace. officers, stunned with the disaster, come wildly galloping through wallace's lines, shouting, "all is lost! all is lost!" wallace changes front to meet the exultant, advancing foe. firm as adamant his lines stand. in the faces of the charging confederates his men pour their crushing volleys. the enemy waver, reel, then go staggering, bleeding back. where is grant all of this time? in conference with commodore foote on board of a gunboat six miles down the river. he is too far away to hear the roll of musketry, and the thunder of artillery he thinks but cannonading between the two lines. it is past noon when the conference is ended and he is rowed ashore. there stands a staff officer with bloodless face and shaking limbs. in a few words the story of the disaster is told. without a word grant listens, and then mounts his horse. the iron shoes of his steed strike fire on the frozen ground as he gallops back. he arrives just as the foe is repulsed by wallace's division. his eye sweeps the field. "why, boys," he cries, "they are trying to get away; we mustn't let them." [illustration: "why, boys, they are trying to get away; we mustn't let them."] the words act like magic as they are borne along the lines. cartridge boxes are replenished, and the soldiers, who a few moments before were in retreat, are now eager to advance. the lines are re-formed and the army sweeps forward. this time it is the confederates who are pressed back, and soon the open road is closed. the chance to escape is forever gone; fort donelson is doomed. darkness once more came, and with it another night of cold and suffering. the early morning light showed a white flag floating from the ramparts of the fort. donelson had surrendered. cold and hunger were forgotten, as the soldiers in their joy embraced each other, and their shouts of victory rose and fell like the swells of the ocean. the first great victory of the war had been won. fifteen thousand confederates were prisoners. chapter xvii. after the battle. the sun arose once more on donelson. the storm of the elements, as well as of battle, had passed away. but the horrors of war remained. on the frozen ground lay the dead with white, pinched faces. scores of the wounded had perished from cold and exposure. some who still breathed were frozen to the ground in their own blood. the cold had been more cruel than the bullets. fred rode over the battlefield seeking the body of an officer in one of the kentucky regiments whom he had seen fall. the officer was a friend of his father's. where the last fierce struggle took place before the brigade fell back, fred found him. he was half-reclining against a tree, and from its branches the snow had sifted down, as though trying to blot out the crimson with a mantle of white. the officer had not died at once, for the frozen hand held a photograph in its iron grasp--that of a happy, sweet-faced mother holding a cooing babe. it was the photograph of his wife and child. with a sob fred turned away, sick--sick at heart. he was choking with the horror that he saw. fred's gallant act in leading the charge had been noticed by general cruft, and at the first opportunity he highly complimented his youthful aid. but to fred it now all seemed like a dream--something not real. could it be that only yesterday he was in that hell of fire, eager only to kill and maim! he sickened at the thought. in the afternoon he went to see the prisoners mustered. as they marched along with downcast eyes, fred saw a well-known form among the officers which sent every particle of blood from his face. quickly recovering himself, he sprang forward, exclaiming, "uncle charles!" major shackelford looked up in surprise, a frown came over his face, but he held out his hand, and said, "fred, you here?" "is--is father--a--prisoner--or--killed?" fred's voice trembled, then broke; he could not articulate another word. "your father is not here, thank god!" replied his uncle. "he is with johnston at bowling green." "thank god!" echoed fred. he now noticed for the first time a young lieutenant, his neat uniform soiled and torn, and his eyes red with watching. "why, cousin george, you here, too?" exclaimed fred, holding out his hand. the young lieutenant drew back haughtily. "i refuse," said he, "to take the hand of a traitor to his state and kindred." the hot blood flew to fred's face, and he was on the point of making an angry retort, but controlling himself, he replied, "as you please," and turned away. "uncle charles," he said, "i know you will not be so foolish. i am sorry--so sorry--to see you here. can i do anything for you?" the major groaned. "no, fred, no. i am heartbroken. oh! the disgrace of it! the disgrace of it!" "of what, uncle?" "of the surrender." "you surely fought like heroes," gently replied fred. "there is no disgrace in brave men bowing to the inevitable." "and that fight was the worst of it," bitterly replied the major. "every noble life lost was a useless sacrifice, sacrificed to the imbecility of our generals. but, fred, this surrender means more; it means the giving up of nashville. oh, my family! my family! what will become of them? they will be wild with fear; they will flee penniless--flee i know not where." fred remained in deep thought for a moment, then looking up, said: "uncle, do you really fear for aunt jennie and the children?" "i do. nashville will be wild--terror-stricken; there is no knowing what will happen." "uncle, if you wish, i will go to nashville. even if the city is taken, there will be no danger. your property will be safe if not deserted. as you say, the greatest danger is in flight." "can you reach nashville, fred?" "i think i can." "then go, and god bless you. i will write a letter to jennie." "also write a statement for me," said fred, "saying i am your nephew, and that i am trying to reach your family in nashville. it may be useful to me." a little later the letters were placed in fred's hands, and bidding his uncle a most affectionate farewell, he went to make preparations for his journey. the next morning, provided with an order from general grant giving him permission to pass outside of the lines, he started. when he was well beyond the pickets, he tore up his pass, thus destroying any evidence that he was ever connected with the federal army. he had not ridden many miles before he began to overtake straggling confederate soldiers who had escaped from donelson. along in the afternoon he suddenly came upon three cavalrymen. the horse of one had given out, and the three were debating what was best to do. seeing fred, and noticing that he was well mounted, one of them said: "there comes a boy, a civilian, on a fine hoss. why not confiscate him for the good of the cause?" "just the thing!" exclaimed the other two. without warning, fred found himself covered by three revolvers. "come, young man," said one of the soldiers, threateningly, "off of that hoss, and be quick about it, too." "what does this mean?" said fred, trying to keep cool. "it means the confederate states of america have use for that hoss; so climb down quick, and none of your lip." "but, gentlemen----" "no buts about it," broke in the soldier fiercely. "do you mean to say you refuse to contribute a hoss to the cause? you ought to be in the ranks yourself instead of whining about a hoss. you must be a lincolnite or a coward. get off, or i will let daylight through your carcass." there was no use parleying; so without saying a word fred dismounted. the soldier in great glee, congratulating himself on his good fortune, mounted. prince laid back his ears, and a wicked gleam came into his eyes, but as fred said nothing, the horse made no objection. "say, boy," exclaimed the soldier, "you can have my hoss there; it's a fair trade, you see," and with a laugh and a jeer they rode away. fred let them go a short distance, when he suddenly gave a peculiar short whistle. prince gave a great bound, then wheeled as quick as lightning. his rider was thrown with prodigious force, and lay senseless in the road. at full speed the horse ran back and stopped by the side of his owner, quivering with excitement. fred vaulted into the saddle, and with a yell of defiance dashed back in the direction he had come. coming to a cross road, he followed it until he came to a road leading in the direction he wished to go. "hi! prince, old fellow, that was a trick those fellows weren't on to," said fred, patting the glossy neck of his horse. "you did it capitally, my boy, capitally." prince turned his head and whinnied as if he knew all about it. towards evening fred fell in with some of forest's troopers who had escaped from donelson and were making their way to nashville. the officer in command asked fred who he was and where he was going, and was frankly told. "i know major shackelford well," replied the officer, "an honorable man and a gallant soldier. i shall be happy to have you accompany us to nashville." fred preferred to make more haste, but remembering his adventure, resolved to run no more risk, and so gladly accepted the invitation. the news of the surrender of fort donelson had become known, and the whole country was wild with terror. consternation was depicted in every countenance. for the first time the people of the south began to realize that after all they might be defeated. when fred entered nashville the scene was indescribable. the whole city was terror-stricken. women walked the streets wringing their hands in the agony of despair. every avenue was blocked with vehicles of all kinds, loaded with valuables and household goods. the inhabitants were fleeing from what they considered destruction. sobs and groans and piteous wails were heard on every side. could this be the same people he had seen a few months before? through the wild confusion, fred rode until he reached the door of his uncle's house. he found the family preparing for hasty flight. "aunt jennie, how are you?" exclaimed he, holding out his hand. mrs. shackelford gave a shriek, and then exclaimed: "fred shackelford! where did you come from?" "from donelson and uncle charles," replied fred. mrs. shackelford turned as white as death, tottered, and would have fallen if fred had not caught her. "is--is--charles killed?" she gasped. "calm yourself, aunt jennie; both uncle charles and george are well." "why--why did you come then? what has happened?" "they are prisoners." "prisoners!" wailed mrs. shackelford, and tears came to the relief of her pent-up feelings. "oh! they will die in some northern prison, and i shall never see them again." "cheer up, aunt jennie. in all probability they will be exchanged in a few weeks or released on parole. here is a letter from uncle charles. it will do you good to read it," and he handed her the letter her husband had written. when she had read it, she became calmer, and said, "he wishes me to stay here." "by all means, aunt jennie," replied fred. "stop these preparations for flight; be discreet, and you will be as safe in nashville with the northern soldiers here as if they were a thousand miles away." just then kate came in, her vivacity all gone, and her eyes red with weeping. "why fred, you here?" she asked in surprise and with some hauteur. "i thought you had turned yankee. when i heard of it i vowed i would never speak to you again." "but you see you have," replied fred, smiling. "are you sure the yankees are coming?" she asked, ignoring fred's remark. "perfectly sure." "oh! oh! oh! what will we do?" "drive them back with broomsticks," replied fred, mischievously. "what!" asked kate, opening her eyes in astonishment. "my pretty cousin, didn't you tell me when i was here that if the yankees ever dare come near nashville the women would turn out and beat them back with broomsticks?" "you horrid thing!" exclaimed kate. "i will never speak to you again; so there!" and she turned her back on him. but when kate learned that fred had just come from her father and brother she was eager enough to talk, and fred had to tell the story of donelson over and over again. as they were talking, the clatter of horse's hoofs attracted the attention of the family, and fred, glancing out of the window, saw his father dismounting before the door. the sight completely unnerved him. he arose trembling in every limb, and gasped: "aunt jennie, my father! i cannot meet him; he has forbidden it," and he passed into another room. colonel shackelford entered, and was warmly greeted by his sister-in-law. he had but a moment to stay, as his regiment was on the retreat, and the federals were reported in close pursuit. "i see," said he, "you have prepared for flight. i trust that you will accompany my command until you reach a place of safety." "we were going," replied mrs. shackelford, "but have changed our minds. i have just received a letter from charles, who is a prisoner, and he has advised me to stay." "charles a prisoner, and a letter from him! how did you receive it?" colonel shackelford asked in surprise. mrs. shackelford hesitated a moment, and then answered, "fred brought it." the colonel started violently, and then asked in a broken voice, "fred here?" "yes." "how did he come? tell me all about it." so mrs. shackelford had to tell all she knew. "i will see him," said the colonel. fred was told his father wished to see him; his heart gave a great bound, as he rushed into the room with the cry of "father!" on his lips, and was about to spring into his arms when the stern command of "stop!" rooted him, as it were, to the floor. "before you call me father," said the colonel, sternly, "i want to know whether you have repented of your folly, or whether you are here as a spy. if i thought the latter, as sure as there is a god in heaven i would be tempted to give you up to the authorities to be hanged." if a dagger had pierced fred's heart it would not have caused him keener pain than the words of his father. he stood for a moment as if deprived of the power of speech. then the angry surges of an outraged nature came to his relief, and his whole soul arose in protest to the indignity put upon him. "i have neither repented of my folly, as you call it," he replied fiercely, "nor am i here as a spy. i came here on an errand of mercy at the earnest request of uncle charles. denounce me as a spy if you choose; the act can be no more cruel than your words," and fred turned and left the room. "richard," sobbed mrs. shackelford, "are you not too severe with the boy? at extreme peril to himself he brought a letter from charles, and his coming has been a great comfort to me." colonel shackelford passed his hands before his eyes, and then groped for a chair as if he had been smitten with blindness. "jennie," he replied in a low voice, trembling with emotion, "you do not know the agony the course of that boy has caused me. perhaps i was too severe just now. tell him i did not mean it. but i am half-crazed over the terrible disaster at donelson. in a few days, at the most, the northern horde will be here in nashville. but," and his face lighted up with enthusiasm, "all is not lost, jennie; we will soon be back. i know something of the plans of general johnston. the army will concentrate somewhere along the line of the memphis and charleston railroad, probably at corinth, and then before grant and buell can combine we will crush them in detail. they think donelson has broken our spirit; they will find out differently." fred being only in the next room, heard these words, and they made a deep impression on his mind. colonel shackelford soon took his leave, bidding his sister-in-law keep up courage, as the northern army would soon be hurled back. the panic in nashville kept up until february th, when, to fred's joy, general nelson's division came steaming up the river, and the city was occupied by the federal army. the stars and stripes once more floated over the state capitol, and never again were they hauled down. the alarm in nashville in a great measure subsided, and business once more resumed its way. as for fred, his delight at meeting general nelson so soon was unbounded. he had come to look upon him almost as a father, and the fiery old fellow returned his affection. fred told the general of his aunt, and received the promise that he would see that she was not molested or annoyed in any manner, and this promise was religiously kept. as long as he remained in nashville fred made his home at the house of his aunt, and, notwithstanding his yankee proclivities, became as great a favorite with his cousin kate as ever. when the time came for buell to advance, the family parted with fred almost as affectionately as though he had been one of them; and their sincere prayers followed him that he might be preserved from the dangers of war. chapter xviii. "we both must die." a few days after the surrender of fort donelson general grant was relieved of his command, and was even threatened with arrest. general halleck, in his headquarters at st. louis, had worked himself into a fit of what he considered most righteous anger. general buell had ordered one of grant's divisions to nashville, and grant had taken a trip to that city to find out the reason for the order. during his absence some irregularities had occurred at donelson, and grant was most viciously attacked by some anonymous scribbler, and then by the press. he was accused of being absent from his command without leave, of drunkenness, of maintaining no discipline, and of refusing to forward reports. there was some ground for the last complaint. the telegraph operator at fort henry was a confederate in disguise. he coolly pocketed halleck's dispatches to grant. he held his position for some days, and then fled south with his pocket full of dispatches. general grant was relieved of his command, and general c. f. smith, a gray-haired veteran, who smoked a cigar as he led his men in the charge at donelson, was appointed in his place. the feeling against grant was so bitter at headquarters, that general mcclellan telegraphed to general halleck to arrest him if he thought best. the hero of donelson deeply felt his disgrace, yet wrote to general smith: "allow me to congratulate you on your richly deserved promotion, and to assure you that no one can feel more pleasure than myself." even general halleck was at length convinced of the injustice he had done grant, and restored him to his command on march th. in the mean time grant's army, under smith, had been gathering at pittsburg landing, and buell's army had been concentrated at nashville. the two armies were to concentrate at pittsburg landing, and then move on corinth, where the confederates were gathering in force. not a thought seemed to have entered the minds of the union generals that the army at pittsburg landing might be attacked before buell could come up. halleck, grant, buell, smith, sherman--all seemed to rest in fancied security. if the possibility of an attack was ever spoken of, it was passed by as idle talk. general buell commenced his forward movement from nashville on march th. general a. d. mccook's division had the advance, general nelson's division came next. the bridge over duck river near columbia was found burned. buell set to work leisurely to rebuild it. it took days. but to return to fred. just before the army left nashville, general nelson placed in his hands a parchment. "this," said nelson, "is what general buell and myself were talking about in louisville as a small reward for your service. take it, my boy, for you richly deserve it." it was a commission as captain, and detailed him as an independent scout, subject to the orders of general william nelson. "why, general," stammered fred, "i didn't want this. you know, you told me it was better for me not to enlist." "i know," responded nelson, "but as you are with the army so much, it is better for you to wear a uniform and have a rank that will command respect." so fred became "captain" in earnest. during his conversations with nelson, fred told him what he had heard his father say to his aunt about grant and buell being crushed in detail, and the general became thoroughly imbued with the idea that the army at pittsburg landing was in grave danger. no other general shared this fear. he chafed like a caged tiger at the delay in crossing duck river. at length he sought buell, who laughed at his fears, and said that he would not move until the bridge was completed. in vain nelson begged and pleaded. "why, nelson, what's the matter with you any way?" at length asked buell. "matter? i will tell you," snapped nelson. "here we have been puttering with this bridge for nearly a week, and all this time the force at pittsburg landing is in danger of being attacked and annihilated." buell leaned back in his chair, and looking quizzically at nelson, said: "you seem to know more about it, general, than either halleck or grant. halleck telegraphed me that there is no danger of the force at pittsburg landing being attacked." "i don't care what halleck telegraphs," roared nelson, now thoroughly aroused. "i tell you there is; i feel it, i know it." "how do you know it?" asked buell, showing considerable interest. "why sense tells me. look at the situation. a small force encamped only twenty miles from corinth, where johnston is concentrating his army. johnston is a fool if he doesn't attack, and no one yet has ever accused him of being one. general, give my division the advance; let me ford duck river." buell was really fond of nelson, despite his rough, overbearing ways, and after some hesitation gave him the required permission. the life of general grant might not read as it does now, if that permission had been withheld. on the morning of march th nelson's division forded duck river, and started on its forced march for savannah, on the tennessee river. on this march nelson showed no mercy to stragglers, and many were the curses heaped upon his head. he was no favorite with his troops. one day fred found a boy, no older than himself, lashed behind a cannon. the lad belonged to an indiana regiment that in some manner had incurred the displeasure of the general, and he was particularly severe on members of this regiment if found straggling. the boy in question had been found away from his command, and had been tied by his wrists to a cannon. behind this gun he had to march through the mud, every jolt sending sharp pain through his wrists and arms, and if he should fall life itself would be imperiled. it was a heartless, and in this case, cruel punishment. fred noticed the boy, and rode up to him and asked him his name, and he gave it as hugh raymond. he was a fine-looking fellow, and seemed to feel deeply his humiliation. he was covered with mud, and the tears that he could not hold back had left their dirty trail down his cheeks. fred went to nelson, begged for the boy's release, and got it. it was but few requests that nelson would not grant fred. when nelson started on his march to savannah he expected to reach that place on april th. but once on the march his eagerness increased, and he resolved to reach savannah, if possible, by the th, or at least the th of the month. on the morning of the third day's march fred met with an adventure that haunted him for years afterward. he never thought of it without a shudder, and over and over again he lived it in his dreams, awaking with a cry of agony that sounded unearthly to those who heard it. general nelson and staff had put up at the commodious house of a planter named lane. they were most hospitably entertained, although mr. lane made no secret of the fact that he was an ardent sympathizer with the south. in the morning, as fred was about to mount his horse to resume the march, he discovered that he had left his field-glass in the room he had occupied during the night. on returning for it, he heard voices in the next room, one of which sounded so familiar that he stopped a moment to listen, and to his amazement recognized the voice of his cousin calhoun. what could it mean? what was he doing there? one thing was certain; he had been exchanged and was once more in the army. calhoun and mr. lane were engaged in earnest conversation, and fred soon learned that his cousin had been concealed in the house during the night. "have you learned what you wished?" fred heard mr. lane ask. "i have," replied calhoun, "thanks to your kindness. i heard nelson say he would rush his division through, and that he wanted to be in savannah by the th. that is two days sooner than we expected. johnston must, shall strike grant before that time. i must be in corinth within the next twenty-four hours, if i kill a dozen horses in getting there. is my horse where i left him, at the stable in the woods?" "he is," replied mr. lane; "and well cared for and groomed. but breakfast is ready; you must eat a hearty meal before you start." fred realized that the fate of an army was at stake. something must be done, and that something must be done quickly. slipping out of the house, he took a look around. back of the house about a half a mile distant was a thick piece of wood. a lane led through the fields to this wood. no doubt it was there that calhoun's horse was concealed. fred quickly made up his mind what to do. mounting his horse, he rode rapidly away until out of sight of the house; then, making prince jump the fence, he rode through the field until he reached the wood, and then back nearly to the lane he had noticed. tying his horse, he crept close to the path, and concealed himself. he had not long to wait. he soon saw calhoun coming up the path with quick, springing steps. to fred's great joy he was alone. he let him pass, and then stealthily as an indian followed him. calhoun soon reached the rude stable, and went in. "now, my hearty," said he, as he patted his horse, "we have a long hard ride before us. but we carry news, my boy--news that may mean independence to the sunny south." strong arms were suddenly thrown around him, and despite his desperate resistance and struggles, he soon found himself lying on his face, his hands held behind his back and securely tied. his ankles were then firmly bound together. when all this was done he was raised to his feet and a voice said: "sorry, cal, but i had to do it," and to calhoun's amazement his cousin stood before him, panting from his exertion. for a moment calhoun was speechless with astonishment; then his rage knew no limit, and bound as he was, he tried to get at his cousin. "i reckon," said fred, quietly, "that i must make you more secure," and taking a stout strap he lashed him securely to a post. "is this the way you keep your oath?" hissed calhoun, and he spat at fred in his contempt. "loose me, you sneaking villain, loose me at once, or i will raise an alarm, and mr. lane and his men will be here, and they will make short work of you." just then the notes of a bugle, sweet and clear, came floating through the air. "do you hear that, cal?" answered fred. "you had better raise no alarm; mccook's division is passing, and i have but to say a word and you swing." calhoun ground his teeth in impotent rage. at last he asked: "fred, what do you want? why do you use me so? have you not sworn to guard my life as sacredly as your own?" fred stood looking at his cousin a moment, as if in deep thought; then an expression of keenest pain came over his face, and he said in a strained, unnatural voice: "calhoun, believe me, i would i were dead instead of standing before you as i do now." "i should think that you would, if you have a vestige of honor left," answered calhoun, with a sneer. "an oath, which an honorable man would hold more sacred than life itself seems to be lightly regarded by you." "i shall come to that directly," replied fred, in the same unnatural tone. to him his voice sounded afar off, as if some one else were talking. "now, calhoun, listen; you have a secret, a secret on which the fate of an army depends." "how do you know that?" asked calhoun. "i know. i heard you and mr. lane talking. calhoun, you have been playing the spy again. hark! do you hear the tramp of mccook's columns. if i did my duty i would cry, 'here is a spy,' and what then?" calhoun's face grew ashen; then his natural bravery came to his rescue. "i defy you," he exclaimed, his eyes flaming with wrath. "hang me if you will, and then in the sight of god behold yourself a murderer worse than cain." "calhoun, once more i say, listen. the information that you have you shall not take to johnston. now, see how i trust you. what i do now would hang me instead of you, if buell knew. but i trust you with more than life; i trust you with my honor. give me your sacred word that you will keep away from corinth until after buell and grant have joined forces; promise as sacredly that you will not directly or indirectly divulge in any manner to any person the knowledge you have gained, and i will release you." calhoun looked fred in the face, hesitated, and then slowly answered: "you seem to think i have more honor and will keep an oath better than yourself. i shall make no such promise." fred staggered back. "calhoun," he cried, "you do not, you cannot mean it. you do not know what you say. promise, for the love of heaven, promise!" "i will not promise, i will die first," replied calhoun, doggedly. a faint hope was arising in his mind that fred was only trying to frighten him; that he had only to remain firm, and that, at the worst, fred would only try to keep him a prisoner. calhoun's words were to fred as a sentence of death. he sank on his knees, and lifted his hands imploringly. "calhoun," he moaned, "see me, see me here at your feet. it is i, not you, who is to be pitied. for the love we bear each other"--at the word "love" calhoun's lips curled in contempt--"for the sake of those near and dear to us, for the honor of our names, promise, oh, promise me!" "i tell you i will not promise. see, i spit on you, i despise you, defy you." "then you must die," replied fred, slowly rising to his feet. again calhoun's face grew ashen. "fred, you will not give me up to be hanged?" he asked, tremulously. "no, calhoun, your dishonor would be my dishonor. i cannot keep my oath, and have you hanged as a spy." "what will you do then?" asked calhoun. "i shall shoot you with my own hand." "great god, fred!" gasped calhoun, shuddering. "you do not, cannot mean that?" "it is the only way i can keep my oath and still prevent you from carrying the news that would mean destruction to grant's army." "fred! fred! you are a demon; you mock me. how can you keep your oath by murdering me?" "calhoun, i swore to consider your honor as sacred as my own, to value your life as highly as my own, to share with you whatever fate might come. i shall keep my oath. after i put a bullet through your heart, i shall put one through my own brain. _we both must die._" calhoun's face seemed frozen with horror. he gasped and tried to speak, but no words came. "calhoun," continued fred, in a tone that sounded as a voice from one dead, "would that you had promised, for it can do no good not to promise. forgive me, as i forgive you. now, say your prayers, for in a moment we both will be standing before our maker." fred bowed his head in silent prayer; but calhoun, with his horror-stricken face, never took his eyes from off his cousin. "good-bye, calhoun," said fred, as he raised his revolver. "for god's sake, don't shoot! i promise." the words seemed to explode from calhoun's lips. [illustration: "for god's sake, don't shoot! i promise."] for a moment fred stood as motionless as a statue, with the revolver raised; then the weapon dropped from his nerveless hand, and with a low moan he plunged forward on his face. so long did he lie in a swoon that calhoun thought he was dead, and called to him in the most endearing tones. at last there was a slight quivering of the limbs, then he began to moan; finally he sat up and looked around as one dazed. seeing calhoun, he started, passed his hand across his brow as if to collect his thoughts, and said, as if in surprise: "why, calhoun----" then it all came back to him in its terror and awfulness, and he fell back sick and faint. rallying, he struggled to his feet, tottered to calhoun, and cut the bonds that bound him. "go, go, cal!" he whispered. "it will not do for us to be found here together." the two boys clasped hands for a moment, then each turned and went his separate way. when fred joined nelson an hour later the general looked at him sharply, and asked: "what's the matter, fred? are you sick? you look ten years older than you did yesterday." "i am not really sick, but i am not feeling well, general," replied fred; "and i believe, with your permission, i will take an ambulance for the rest of the day." "do, fred, do," kindly replied nelson, and for the rest of the day fred rode in an ambulance, where he could be alone with his thoughts. that evening he asked general nelson when he expected the division would reach savannah. "by the th, if possible, on the th anyway," answered the general. "make it the th, general; don't let anything stop you; hurry! hurry!" and thus saying, fred walked away. nelson looked after him and muttered: "i wonder what's the matter with the boy; he hasn't appeared himself to-day; but it may be he will be all right in the morning. i shall take his advice and hurry, anyway." the next day nelson urged on his men with a fury that caused the air to be blue with oaths. and it was well that he did, or shiloh would have never been reached in time to aid the gallant soldiers of grant. buell saw no need of hurrying. he thought it would be a fine thing to concentrate his whole army at waynesborough and march into savannah with flying colors, showing grant what a grand army he had. he telegraphed general halleck for permission to do so, and the request was readily granted. in some manner it became known to the confederate spies that buell's army was to halt at waynesborough, and the glad tidings were quickly borne to general johnston, and when that general marched forth to battle he had no expectation that he would have to meet any of buell's men. general buell hurried forward to stop nelson at waynesborough, according to his plan; but to his chagrin he found that nelson, in his headlong haste, was already beyond waynesborough, and so the plan of stopping him had to be given up. when general nelson's advance was a little beyond waynesborough, a party engaged in the construction of a telegraph line from savannah to nashville was met. a telegram was handed their general, which read: to the officer commanding buell's advance: there is no need of haste; come on by easy stages. u. s. grant, major-general commanding. nelson read the telegram, and turning to fred said: "this is small comfort for all my hurry. i wonder if i have made a fool of myself, after all. buell will have the joke on me, sure." "better be that way than have you needed and not there," answered fred. "if we are needed and are not there, grant can only blame himself," was nelson's reply. at noon on april th ammen's brigade, the advance of nelson's division, marched into savannah. colonel ammen reported his arrival, and said: "my men are not tired; we can march on to pittsburg landing if necessary." the answer was: "rest, and make your men comfortable. there will be no battle at pittsburg landing. boats will be sent for you in a day or two." there was to be a rude awakening on the morrow. chapter xix. shiloh. "the sun of austerlitz" was neither brighter nor more glorious than the sun which arose over the field of shiloh sunday morning, april , . around the little log chapel, wont to echo to the voice of prayer and song of praise, along the hillsides and in the woods, lay encamped the federal army. the soldiers had lain down the night before without a thought of what this bright, sunny sabbath would bring forth. a sense of security pervaded the whole army. from commander down to private, there was scarcely a thought of an attack. "i have scarcely the faintest idea of an attack," wrote grant to halleck on april th. on the evening of the same day sherman wrote to grant: "i do not apprehend anything like an attack upon our position." yet when these words were written the confederate army was in battle array not much over three miles distant. but there was one general in the federal army who was uneasy, he hardly knew why. he was little known at the time, he never held a distinguished command afterward; yet it was by his vigilance that the federal army was saved from surprise, perhaps from capture. this general was prentiss. a vague idea that something was wrong haunted him. the ominous silence in front oppressed him, as something to be feared. then on saturday a curious fact occurred. an unusual number of squirrels and rabbits were noticed dodging through the line, and they were all headed in one direction--toward pittsburg landing. what had startled them? it set general prentiss thinking. to guard more surely against surprise prentiss posted his pickets a mile and a half in front of his lines, an unusual distance. at three o'clock sunday morning he sent three companies of the twenty-fifth missouri out on a reconnoitering expedition. these three companies followed a road that obliqued to the right, and a little after daylight met the enemy's advance in front of sherman's division. thus the battle of shiloh opened. when the first shots were fired, preston johnston, son of the confederate commander, looked at his watch, and it was just fourteen minutes past five o'clock. this little advance band must have made a brave fight, for major hardcastle, in command of the confederate outposts, reports that he fought a thousand men an hour. it was after six o'clock when the general advance of the whole confederate army commenced, and the pickets along the line of prentiss' and sherman's divisions were driven in. preston johnston states that it was seven o'clock when the first cannon shot was fired. it was eight o'clock before the engagement became general along the whole line, and at that time portions of prentiss' division had been fighting for nearly three hours. general grant was at breakfast in savannah, nine miles away, when he was startled by the booming of cannon in the direction of shiloh. hastily writing an order to general nelson to procure a guide and march his division up the river to a point opposite pittsburg landing, grant left his breakfast half-eaten, and boarding his dispatch boat was soon steaming up the river. his fear was that the isolated division of general lewis wallace, which lay at crump's landing, had been attacked. finding this not to be the case when he reached crump's, he bade wallace hold his division in readiness and to await orders, and steamed on. the roar of cannon had become almost continuous. turning to rawlins, his chief-of-staff, grant said: "rawlins, i am afraid this is a general attack. i did not expect it. prentiss' and sherman's divisions are in front, and both are composed of raw troops; but if we can hold them until wallace and nelson come we are all right." "it is a pity you did not order wallace up when you were there," answered rawlins. "yes," answered grant, "but i couldn't make up my mind it was a general attack. i am not entirely sure yet." "it sounds very much like it," replied rawlins, grimly. when grant reached the landing the battle was raging furiously, and all doubts as to its being a general attack were removed from his mind. already the vanguard of what was afterward an army of panic-stricken men had commenced gathering under the river bank. a staff officer was sent back immediately to order general wallace to come at once. grant then set to work quickly to do what he could to stem the tide, which was already turning against him. two or three regiments which had just landed he ordered to points where they were the most needed. he then rode the entire length of the line, encouraging his generals, telling them to stand firm until wallace and nelson came, and all would be well. he found sherman engaged in a terrific conflict. some of his regiments had broken at the first fire, and fled panic-stricken to the landing. sherman was straining every nerve to hold his men firm. oblivious of danger, he rode amid the storm of bullets unmoved, encouraging, pleading, threatening, as the case might be. grant cautioned him to be careful, and not expose himself unnecessarily, but sherman answered: "if i can stem the tide by sacrificing my life, i will willingly do it." then turning to grant, he said, with feeling: "general, i did not expect this; forgive me." "forgive you for what?" asked grant, in surprise. "i am your senior general," answered sherman. "you depended on me for reports; i quieted your fears. i reported there was no danger of an attack. i couldn't believe it this morning until my orderly was shot by my side, and i saw the long lines of the enemy sweeping forward. forgive me." grant was greatly moved. "there is nothing to forgive," he said, gently. "the mistake is mine as well as yours. neither did i expect this attack. if i had, i could have had buell here. as it is, wallace and nelson will soon be here, and we will whip them; never fear." "god grant it!" fervently replied sherman. by ten o'clock prentiss had been pushed back clear through and beyond his camp, and had taken position along a sunken road. general w. h. l. wallace's division came up and joined him on the right. this part of the field was afterward known as the "hornet's nest." here grant visited them, and seeing the strength of the position, told them to hold it to the last man. "we will," responded both wallace and prentiss. bravely did they keep that promise. for hours the confederate lines beat against them like the waves of the ocean, only to be flung back torn and bleeding. the roar of battle was now terrific. both flanks of the federal army were bent back like a bow. every moment the number of panic-stricken soldiers under the bank grew larger. noon came, but no lew wallace, no nelson. turning to an aid, grant said: "go for wallace; bid him hurry, hurry." everywhere, except in the center, the confederates were pressing the union lines back. but the desperate resistance offered surprised johnston; he had expected an easier victory. many of his best regiments had been cut to pieces. thousands of his men had also fled to the rear. the afternoon was passing; the fighting must be pressed. a desperate effort was made to turn the federal left flank, and thus gain the landing. like iron hurlbut's men stood, and time after time hurled back the charging columns. at last the confederates refused to charge again. then general johnston placed himself at their head and said: "i will lead you, my children." the effect was electrical. with wild cheers his men pressed forward; nothing could withstand the fury of the charge. the federal left was crushed, hurled back to the landing in a torn, disorganized mass. but the brave leader fell mortally wounded. for a time the confederate army stood as if appalled at its great loss. the thunder of battle died away, only to break out here and there in fitful bursts. but the respite was brief, and then came the final desperate onslaught. with features as impassive as stone, grant saw his army crumbling to pieces. officer after officer had been sent to see what had become of general lew wallace; he should have been on the field hours before. with anxious eyes grant looked across the river to see if he could catch the first fluttering banner of nelson's division. there was no aid in sight. an officer rides up, one of the messengers he had sent for wallace. grant's face lights up. wallace must be near. but, no. the officer reports: "wallace took the wrong road. i found him five miles further from the landing than when he started. then he countermarched, instead of hurrying forward left in front. he lost much precious time. then he is marching so slow, so slow. he will not be here before night." for an instant a spasm of pain passed over grant's face. "he countermarched; coming slow," he said, as if to himself, "great god, what does he mean?" and then all was calm again. turning to colonel webster, he said: "plant the siege guns around the landing. see that you have every available piece of artillery in position." and it was only this frowning line of artillery that stood between grant's army and utter rout. "have you any way of retreat mapped out?" asked general buell of grant. buell had come up from savannah on a boat, and was now on the field, viewing with consternation and alarm the tremendous evidences of demoralization and defeat. turning to him as quick as a flash, grant replied: "retreat! retreat! i have not yet despaired of victory." both the right and left wings of grant's army were now crushed back from the center. around the flanks of w. h. l. wallace's and prentiss' divisions the exultant confederates poured. well had wallace and prentiss obeyed the orders of grant to hold their position. from ten o'clock in the forenoon until nearly five o'clock in the afternoon their lines had hurled back every attack of the enemy. the hornet's nest stung every time it was touched. but now the divisions were hemmed in on every side. the brave wallace formed his men to cut their way out, and as he was cheering them on he fell mortally wounded. no better soldier than wallace fell on that bloody field. as for the two divisions, they were doomed. general grant sits on his horse, watching the preparations for the last stand. an officer, despair written in every lineament of his face, rides up to him. "general," he says, "sherman reports that he has taken his last position. he has but the remnant of one brigade with him and what stragglers he has gathered. his slender line cannot withstand another attack." "go back," quietly said grant, "and tell sherman to hold if possible; night is most here." mcclernand's division had been standing bravely all day, and had furnished fewer stragglers than any other division in the army, but now an orderly with a pale face and his left arm resting in a bloody sling, came spurring his reeking horse up to grant, and exclaimed: "general mcclernand bade me report, that after his division had most gallantly repulsed the last charge of the enemy, for some unaccountable reason, the left regiments broke, and are fleeing panic-stricken to the landing." "go tell mcclernand," said grant, "that he has done well, but he must hold out just a little longer. wallace will be here shortly." general hurlbut, his face black with the smoke of battle, rode up. "general," he said, in a broken voice, "my division is gone, the whole left is gone; the way to the landing is open to the enemy." "general," replied grant, without a quiver, "rally what broken regiments and stragglers you can behind the guns, close up as much as possible on mcclernand, and hold your position to the last man." now there came roaring past a confused mass of white-faced officers and soldiers commingled, a human torrent stricken with deadly fear. "all is lost! all is lost!" they cry. "prentiss and wallace have surrendered." grant's face was seen to twitch. "oh, for lew wallace, for nelson, or for night," he groaned. from across the river there came to his ears the sound of cheering. grant looked, and there among the trees he saw the banners of nelson's regiments waving. hope came into his eyes; his face lighted up. "go, go!" he cried to his aids, "go to sherman, to mcclernand, to hurlbut. tell them to hold! hold! hold! help is near." but if grant had known it the danger had already passed; for beauregard had given orders for his army to cease fighting. night was coming on, the capture of w. h. l. wallace's and prentiss' divisions had disarranged his lines, and thinking that he was sure of his prey in the morning, he had given orders to withdraw. one brigade of the confederate army did not receive this order, and when nelson's advance crossed the river this brigade was charging the line of cannon on the left. these cannon were entirely unprotected by infantry, and grant himself placed nelson's men in line as they arrived. the confederate brigade was advancing with triumphant shouts, when they were met with a withering volley and sent reeling back. then, to his surprise, the commander found that of all of the confederate army his brigade was the only one continuing the fight, and he hastily fell back. the battle for the day was over. alone and practically unaided the brave soldiers of the army of the tennessee had fought the battle of sunday and saved themselves from capture. to them belongs the glory. the battle of monday was mainly the fight of the army of the ohio. without its aid grant could never have been able to turn defeat into victory, and send the confederate hosts in headlong flight back to corinth. there would have been no advance monday morning if buell had not been on the field. the whole energy of grant would have been devoted to the saving of what remained of his army. the terrible conflict of the day had left its impress on the army of the tennessee. there was but a remnant in line capable of battle when night came. the generals of divisions were so disheartened that the coming of buell failed to restore their spirits. even the lion-hearted sherman wavered and was downcast. grant found him sitting in the darkness beside a tree, his head buried in his hands, and his heart full of fears. he had fought as generals seldom fight. three horses had been shot under him, and he had received two wounds. when grant told him there was to be an advance in the morning, he sadly shook his head and said: "no use, general, no use; the fight is all out of the men. i do not possibly see how we can assume the offensive." "look here, sherman," replied grant. "remember how it was at donelson. if we assume the offensive in the morning a glorious victory awaits us. lew wallace is here; buell will have at least , fresh troops on the field. the confederates, like ourselves, are exhausted and demoralized. if we become the aggressors, success is sure." sherman became convinced; his fears were gone, his hopes revived. why was it that the fiery and impetuous nelson was so late in getting on the field? he was only nine miles away early in the morning, and had received orders from grant to move his division opposite pittsburg landing. if there had been any roads there would have been no excuse for his delay. but a heavily timbered, swampy bottom lay between him and his destination. the river had been very high, overflowing the whole bottom, and when the water had receded it left a waste of mud, from which all vestige of a road had disappeared. to plunge into that waste of mud and wilderness without a guide would have been madness. a guide, though grant said one could easily be found, could not be secured. so nelson sent a staff officer to see if he could find a practicable route. this officer did not return until noon. all of this time the division lay listening to the booming of cannon and eager to be led to the fray. as for nelson, he fretted and fumed, stormed and swore at the delay. "the expected has come," he growled, "and here i am doing no more good than if i were a hundred miles away. might have been on the field, too, if grant had not kept saying, 'no use hurrying!' i knew they were a set of fools to think that johnston would sit down at corinth and suck his thumbs." at length a guide was found who said he could pilot the division through the bottom, but that the route was passable only for horsemen and infantry; the artillery would have to be left behind. the division started at one o'clock, the men keeping step to the music of the thunder of cannon. "this beats donelson," remarked fred, as the roar of artillery never ceased. "my boy," replied nelson, "the greatest battle ever fought on this continent is now being waged. god grant that we may get there in time. it was rumored at savannah that the confederates were sweeping everything before them." "your division will surely give a good account of itself," said fred, looking back, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "see how eager the men are, and how well they keep closed up, notwithstanding the mud. half of them are mourning because they think the battle will be over before they get there." "no danger of that," replied nelson. "the question is, shall we be in time." soon the roll of musketry began to be heard; then the cheers of the combatants. a quiver of excitement ran along the lines, and every soldier grasped his musket with a firmer hold. as they approached the river cannon balls began to crash through the treetops above them; then was heard the peculiar whir of the minie ball when it is nearly spent--so close was the fighting to the river. to fred's surprise, he saw numerous skulkers dodging through the timber on the same side of the river as himself. in some manner they had managed to get across the river; not only this, but the boats which came to ferry nelson's troops over were more or less crowded with these skulkers, who would have died rather than be driven off. in the river were seen men on logs making their way across, and some of these men wore shoulder straps. so incensed were nelson's soldiers at the sight of such cowardice that they begged for permission to shoot them. as they landed, fred stood aghast at the sight before him. cowering beneath the high bank were thousands upon thousands of trembling wretches. it was a dense mass of shivering, weeping, wailing, swearing, praying humanity, each one lost to shame, lost to honor, lost to everything but that dreadful fear which chained him soul and body. as nelson's advance brigade forced its way through the panic-stricken throng, they were greeted with, "you are all going to your death! you are all going to your death!" "back! back!" roared nelson, purple with rage. "don't touch my men; you contaminate them; don't speak to them, you cowards, miscreants, you should be swept from the face of the earth." and in the fury of his wrath, nelson begged for the privilege of turning cannon on them. with firm, unwavering steps, and well closed up, the division pressed their way up the bank, and there were soldiers in the ranks who looked with contempt on the shivering wretches below the hill, who themselves, the next day, fled in terror from the awful destruction going on around them. so little do we know ourselves and what we will do when the supreme moment comes. afterward the great majority of the soldiers who cowered under the bank at shiloh covered themselves with glory, and hundreds of them laid down their lives for their country. fred always remembered that night on the battlefield. from the landing came the groans and shrieks of the wounded, tortured under the knives of the surgeons. the night was as dark and cloudy as the day had been bright and clear. about eleven o'clock a torrent of rain fell, drenching the living, and cooling the fevered brows of the wounded. fred sat against a tree, holding the bridle of his horse in his hand. if by chance he fell asleep, he would be awakened by the great cannon of the gunboats, which threw shells far inland every fifteen minutes. at the first dawn of day nelson's division advanced, and the battle began. fred acted as aid to nelson, and as the general watched him as he rode amid the storm of bullets unmoved he would say to those around him: "just see that boy; there is the making of a hero." about eleven o'clock one of nelson's brigades made a most gallant charge. wheeling to the right, the brigade swept the confederate line for more than half a mile. before them the enemy fled, a panic-stricken mob. a battery was run over as though the guns were blocks of wood, instead of iron-throated monsters vomiting forth fire and death. in the thickest of the fight, fred noticed robert marsden, the betrothed of mabel vaughn, cheering on his men. "ah!" thought fred, "he is worthy of mabel. may his life be spared to make her happy." on, on swept the brigade; a second battery was reached, and over one of the guns he saw marsden fighting like a tiger. then the smoke of battle hid him from view. on the left fred saw a mere boy spring from out an indiana regiment, shoot down a confederate color-bearer, snatch the colors from his dying grasp, wave them defiantly in the face of the enemy, and then coolly walk back to his place in the ranks. general nelson saw the act, and turning to fred, said: "i want you to hunt that boy up, and bring him to me after the battle." but the brigade paid dearly for its daring charge. a strong line, lying down, let the frightened fugitives pass over them; then they arose and poured a deadly volley into the very faces of the charging column. cannon in front and on the flank tore great gaps through the line. the brigade halted, wavered, and then fled wildly back, leaving a third of its number dead and wounded. by three o'clock the battle was over; the confederates were in full retreat, and the bloody field of shiloh won. as the firing died away, fred sat on his horse and shudderingly surveyed the field. the muddy ground was trampled as by the feet of giants. the forest was shattered as by ten thousand thunderbolts, while whole thickets had been leveled, as though a huge jagged scythe had swept over them. by tree and log, in every thicket, on every hillside, dotting every field, lay the dead and wounded. many of the dead were crushed out of all semblance of humanity, trampled beneath the hoof of the warhorse or ground beneath the ponderous wheels of the artillery. over , men lay dead and wounded, confederate and federal commingled. but grant's army was saved. the fondest hopes of the confederates had been blasted; instead of marching triumphantly forward to nashville, as they hoped, they retreated sullenly back to corinth. but the battle brought the war to the hearts of the people as it had never been brought before. from the stricken homes of the north and the south there arose a great wail of agony--a weeping for those who would not return. chapter xx. "my son! my son!" on monday morning, just as the first scattering shots of nelson's skirmishers were heard, calhoun pennington presented himself before the hon. g. m. johnson, provisional governor of kentucky, on whose staff he was. when the confederates retreated from bowling green governor johnson accompanied the kentucky brigade south, and although not a soldier he had bravely fought throughout the entire battle of the day before. the governor and general beauregard were engaged in earnest conversation when calhoun came up, and both uttered an exclamation of surprise at his forlorn appearance. he was pale and haggard, his eyes were sunken and his garments were dripping with water, for he had just swum the tennessee river. "great heavens! is it you, lieutenant?" cried johnson, and he caught calhoun's hand and wrung it until he winced with pain. "it is what is left of me," answered calhoun, with a faint smile. "you don't know," continued johnson, "how glad i am to see you. i had given you up for lost, and bitterly blamed myself for allowing you to go on your dangerous undertaking. where have you been? what has kept you so long?" "first," answered calhoun, "i must speak to general beauregard," and, saluting, he said: "general, i bring you heavy news. buell has joined grant." beauregard started and turned pale. "i feared it, i feared it, when the federals opened the battle this morning. i was just telling the governor as you came up that grant would never have assumed the offensive if he had not been reinforced." "oh!" said calhoun, "if i had only been a couple of days earlier; if you had only attacked a couple of days sooner!" "that was the calculation," answered beauregard, "but the dreadful roads retarded us. then we did not expect buell for two or three days yet. our scouts brought us information that he was to halt at least a couple of days at waynesborough." "so he was," answered calhoun, bitterly; "and he would have done so if it had not been for that renegade kentuckian, general nelson. he it was who rushed through, and made it possible for buell to be on the field to-day." "do you know how many men buell has?" anxiously inquired beauregard. "three strong divisions; i should say full , ." beauregard groaned. all visions of victory were dissolved. "i thank you, lieutenant, for your information, although it is the knell of defeat. yesterday we fought for victory; to-day i shall have to fight to save my army." so saying he mounted his horse and galloped rapidly to the scene of action. "this is bad news that you bring, lieutenant," said the governor, after beauregard had gone. "but tell me about yourself; you must have been in trouble." "yes, governor, serious trouble. at first i was very successful, and found out that nelson expected to be in savannah by april th. i was just starting back with this important information, information which meant victory for our cause, when i was suddenly set upon and captured before i had time to raise a hand. i was accused of being a spy, but there was no proof against me, the only person who could have convicted me being a cousin, who refused to betray me; but he managed to hold me until my knowledge could do no good." "it looks as though the hand of god were against us," solemnly responded johnson. "if you had not been captured, we would surely have attacked a day or two earlier, and a glorious victory would have awaited us. but now----" the governor paused, choked back something like a sob, and then continued: "there is no use of vain regrets. see, the battle is on, and i must once more take my place in the ranks and do my duty." "must do what, governor?" asked calhoun in surprise. "must fight in the ranks as a private soldier, as i did yesterday," replied the governor calmly. "i shall go with you," replied calhoun. so side by side the governor and his aid fought as private soldiers, and did yeoman service. just before the battle closed, in repelling the last furious charge of the federals, governor johnson gave a sharp cry, staggered, and would have fallen if he had not been caught in the arms of calhoun. loving hands carried him back, but the brave spirit had fled forever. thus died the most distinguished private soldier that fell on the field of shiloh. one of the first acts of fred after the battle was over was to ride in search of robert marsden. he found him lying in a heap of slain at the place where the battery had been charged. a bullet had pierced the center of the miniature flag, and it was wet with his heart's blood. reverently fred removed the flag, closed the sightless eyes, and gave orders that the body, as soon as possible, be sent to louisville. as he was returning from this sad duty, he thought of the errand given him by general nelson to hunt up the boy whom they saw capture the colors. riding up to the regiment, he made inquiry, and to his surprise and delight found that the hero was hugh raymond. "hello, hugh! don't you remember me?" asked fred, when the boy presented himself. "yes, sir," replied hugh, respectfully. "you are the young officer who got me released when general nelson tied me to the cannon. i have never ceased to feel grateful towards you." "well, hugh, general nelson wants to see you again." hugh opened his eyes in wonder. "don't want to tie me up again, does he?" he asked, with a shiver. "i expect so. he saw you capture that flag and he is awful mad; so come along." "general," said fred, when he had found nelson, "here is the brave boy who captured the colors." "that was a gallant act, my boy," kindly remarked nelson, "and you deserve the thanks of your general." "it was nothing, general," replied hugh. "it just made me mad to have them shake their dirty rag in my face, and i resolved to have it." this answer pleased nelson immensely. he noticed hugh more closely, and then suddenly asked: "have i not seen you somewhere before, my boy?" "yes, general," replied hugh, trembling. "where?" "on the march here, when you tied me by the wrists to a cannon for straggling." nelson was slightly taken back by the answer; then an amused look came into his face, and he said, in a bantering tone: "liked it, didn't you?" "liked it! liked it!" exclaimed hugh, with flaming eyes. "i was just mad enough at you to kill you." "there is the boy for me," said nelson, turning to his staff. "he not only captures flags, but he tells his general to his face what he thinks of him." then addressing hugh, he continued: "i want a good orderly, and i will detail you for the position." so hugh raymond became an orderly to general nelson, and learned to love him as much as he once hated him. now occurred one of those strange psychological impressions which science has never yet explained. a feeling came to fred that he must ride over the battlefield. it was as if some unseen hand was pulling him, some power exerted that he could not resist. he mounted his horse and rode away, the course he took leading him to the place where trabue's kentucky brigade made its last desperate stand. suddenly the prostrate figure of a confederate officer, apparently dead, attracted fred's attention. as he looked a great fear clutched at his heart, causing it to stand still. springing from his horse, he bent over the death-like form; then with a cry of anguish sank on his knees beside it. he had looked into the face of his father. [illustration: springing from his horse, he bent over the death-like form.] "oh! he is dead, he is dead!" he moaned. bending down, he placed his ear over his father's heart; a faint fluttering could be heard. "it beats! he lives! he lives!" he cried, joyously. with eager eyes he searched for the wound. a ball had shattered colonel shackelford's leg, and he was bleeding to death. for fred to cut away the clothing from around the wound, and then to take a handkerchief and tightly twist it around the limb above the wound was the work of a moment. the flow of blood was stopped. tenderly was colonel shackelford carried back, his weeping son walking by his side. the surgeon carefully examined the wounded limb, and then brusquely said: "it will have to come off." "oh! no, no, not that!" cried fred, piteously. "it's that, or his life," shortly answered the surgeon. "do it then," hoarsely replied fred, as he turned away unable to bear the cruel sight. when colonel shackelford came to himself, he was lying in a state-room in a steamboat, and was rapidly gliding down the tennessee. fred was sitting by his side, watching every movement, for his father had been hovering between life and death. "where am i? what has happened?" colonel shackelford faintly asked. "dear father," whispered fred, "you have been very sick. don't talk," and he gave him a soothing potion. the colonel took it without a word, and sank into a quiet slumber. the surgeon came in, and looking at him, said: "it is all right, captain; he has passed the worst, and careful nursing will bring him around." when the surgeon was gone fred fell on his knees and poured out his soul in gratitude that his father was to live. when colonel shackelford became strong enough to hear the story, fred told him all; how he found him on the battlefield nearly dead from the loss of blood; how he bound up his wound and saved his life. "and now, father," he said, "i am taking you home--home where we can be happy once more." the wounded man closed his eyes and did not speak. fred sank on his knees beside him. "father," he moaned, "father, can you not forgive? can you not take me to your heart and love me once more?" the father trembled; then stretching forth his feeble arm, he gently placed his hand on the head of his boy and murmured, "my son! my son!" and they mingled their glad tears together. in the old kentucky home fred nursed his father back to health and strength. but another sad duty remained for fred to perform. as soon as he felt that he could safely leave his father, he went to louisville and placed in mabel vaughn's hands the little flag, torn by the cruel bullet and crimsoned with the heart's blood of her lover. the color fled from her face, she tottered, and fred thought she was going to faint, but she recovered herself quickly, and leading him to a seat said gently: "now tell me all about it." fred told her of the dreadful charge; how marsden, in the very front, among the bravest of the brave, had found a soldier's death; and when he had finished the girl raised her streaming eyes to heaven and thanked god that he had given her such a lover. then standing before fred, her beautiful face rendered still more beautiful by her sorrow, she said: "robert is gone, but i still have a work to do. hereafter i shall do what i can to alleviate the sufferings of those who uphold the country's flag. in memory of this," and she pressed the little blood-stained flag to her lips, "i devote my life to this sacred object." and binding up her broken heart, she went forth on her mission of love. she cooled the fevered brow, she bound up the broken limb, she whispered words of consolation into the ear of the dying, and wiped the death damp from the marble brow. her very presence was a benediction, and those whose minds wandered would whisper as she passed that they had seen an angel. calhoun pennington bitterly mourned the death of his chief. he afterward joined his fortune with john h. morgan, and became one of that famous raider's most daring and trusted officers. for some weeks fred remained at home, happy in the company and love of his father. but their peace was rudely disturbed by the raids of morgan, and then by the invasion of kentucky by the confederate armies. after the untimely death of nelson, fred became attached to the staff of general george h. thomas, and greatly distinguished himself in the numerous campaigns participated in by that famous general. but he never performed more valiant service than when he was known as "general nelson's scout." the end. transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. [illustration: "wheel about, and march back to the house, or i shall shoot," said the tory. page .] sarah dillard's ride. a story of the carolinas in . by james otis. [illustration] with six page illustrations by j. watson davis. a. l. burt company, publishers, - duane street, new york. copyright, , by a. l. burt. copyright, , by a. l. burt. sarah dillard's ride. by james otis. note. "they were men admirably fitted by their daily pursuits for the privations they were called upon to endure. they had neither tents, baggage, bread, nor salt, and no commissary department to furnish regular supplies. potatoes, pumpkins, roasted corn, and occasionally a bit of venison supplied by their own rifles, composed their daily food. such were the men who were gathering among the mountains and valleys of the upper carolinas to beat back the invaders."--_lossing's "field-book of the revolution."_ contents. chapter i. page a britisher's threat chapter ii. the tory's purpose chapter iii. a desperate venture chapter iv. the struggle chapter v. sarah dillard chapter vi. greene's spring chapter vii. at watuga chapter viii. the prisoner chapter ix. king's mountain chapter x. a hot chase chapter xi. success list of illustrations. page "you are grown timorous indeed, evan, if you can imagine that noise to be caused by the redcoats." "take your hands off! i am not to be treated as a prisoner," ephraim cried. nathan did as his comrade suggested, and save for a slight creaking now and then, the work was carried on. the colt darted forward at full speed with mrs. dillard. "wheel about, and march back to the house, or i shall shoot," said the tory. nathan and evan crept within three feet of the tory. sarah dillard's ride. chapter i. a britisher's threat. in the year there was in north carolina, west of broad river, and near the site of what is now known as rutherfordton, a settlement called gilbert town. within five or six miles of this village on a certain september day in the year above mentioned, two lads, equipped for a hunting trip, had halted in the woods. one was nathan shelby, a boy sixteen years of age, and nephew of that isaac shelby whose name is so prominent in the early history of north carolina; the other, evan mcdowells, son of colonel charles mcdowells, was one year younger than nathan. but for the fact that these two lads were sorely needed at their homes, both would have been enrolled either among the american forces, or with those hardy pioneers who were then known as mountain men, for the time was come when the struggling colonists required every arm that could raise a musket. on the previous month the american forces under general gates had been defeated by cornwallis at camden. tarleton had dispersed sumter's forces at rocky mount, and the southern colonists appeared to have been entirely subdued by the royal troops. general cornwallis, now at camden, was bending his efforts to establish the king's government in south carolina, and in punishing those "rebels" who, despite their many reverses, were yet among the mountains awaiting a favorable opportunity to strike another blow in behalf of freedom. it was at this time, and especially in the carolinas, as if the attempt to free the colonists from the oppressive yoke of the british had utterly failed, and even the most sanguine despaired of being able to accomplish anything in that section until general washington should lend them some assistance. nathan and evan, lads though they were, understood full well the situation of affairs, and as they sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree, resting from the labor of seeking food--for this hunting trip had been made for serious purposes, rather than in pursuit of sport--the two spoke concerning the reverses which had been visited upon the patriots. "it is as if we were already whipped into submission," evan said sadly, "for how is it possible our people shall gather in such force as to be able to offer successful resistance?" "that seems indeed true," nathan replied, "and yet will colonel william campbell of virginia remain idle? do you believe my uncle, colonel shelby, or lieutenant-colonel john sevier, have laid down their arms? or even if those three are subdued, is it likely, think you, that your father will rest content while the king's forces overrun the country at their pleasure?" "there are matters which cannot be mended, however brave men may be, and it seems to me that now has come the time when we must say that the struggle for liberty can no longer be continued." "if all who have for four years opposed the king's will were as faint-hearted as you, evan, then indeed had the rebellion been crushed before it was well begun." "but tell me, nathan, how may the americans, with but few men, scanty equipments, and little or no money, even attempt to hold their own against the royal forces, which outnumber us mayhap ten to one?" "that i cannot do, and perchance even your father might find it difficult to make reply to such question, but this much i believe to be a certainty. the desire for freedom has not been crushed out from the hearts of the american people, and while it remains strong as at present, some way will be found whereby we shall have at least the semblance of an army again." "i would i could believe you." "is your mother thus despondent?" "i cannot say, nathan. it is now near two weeks, as you know, since i have seen her." "but think you she has lost all hope? she, who has dared to burn charcoal in the fireplace of her own home, while the britishers were about, in order to carry it to your father, who was making gunpowder in a cave among the mountains." "my mother is brave, which is more, mayhap, than can be said for her son." "ay; had she not been, when your father's cattle were driven off by the british skirmishers, she had hardly called the neighbors together, and by such show of strength recovered the property. with women like your mother, and men such as your father and my uncle isaac, i tell you, evan, the cause of liberty is not lost." "but it would seem as if we were further from our purpose now than four years ago, when a declaration of our independence was read throughout the colonies. then we had more money, and it was not as difficult to find recruits. now ten dollars in paper is hardly worth two cents--in fact, i am told that even the troops consider it too cumbersome for its value to repay them for carrying it around." "that is the case only with the paper money." [illustration: "you are grown timorous indeed, evan, if you can imagine that noise to be caused by the redcoats."--page .] "ay, nathan; and as for gold and silver, we still trust to that on which is stamped the king's image. but it is not for you and i to talk of political matters, when both are really in the same way of thinking; the only difference between us is that i, who was never so courageous as you, have grown faint-hearted." evan ceased speaking very suddenly, for at that instant both the lads heard the hoof-beats of horses in the distance, and started up in what was very like alarm as they listened, while exchanging inquiring glances. "it must be that the british are coming this way," evan said, turning as if to flee; but his companion clutched him by the arm, saying with a laugh: "you are grown timorous indeed, evan, if you can imagine that noise to be caused by the redcoats. surely there are none nearabout here, and even though there were, it is not likely they would attempt to make their way through this wood." evan ceased his efforts to flee, but turned as if unwilling, with a forced smile upon his face. "of course it must be as you say, nathan, for the britishers would have no business here; yet it is even true they may be nearabout, for we have heard that general cornwallis was bent on sending a force into this section, and he is not wise who refuses to take heed of any warning in these times." "you need not set me down as one who makes light of the information which has been brought by those whom we could trust; but i refuse to be alarmed without cause, and the idea that the britishers would ride into this thicket is--they _are_ redcoats! it is _i_ who am playing the fool by setting myself up as an authority on those matters of which i know nothing!" the foremost of a mounted band had come into view, causing this sudden change in nathan's speech, and the two boys gazed in alarm at the rapidly advancing horsemen, for now was it too late to make any attempt at flight. both knew, from reports which had been spread through the country, of outrages committed among even those who were not in arms, what it might mean to fall into the hands of the enemy, who were bent on subjugating the country by any means, however harsh, and they had good reason to expect brutal treatment once they were caught in the clutches of the king's troops. involuntarily the lads clasped hands. although armed, there was no thought in the mind of either that resistance might be offered, and indeed it would have been in the highest degree foolhardy to have done other than they did at this moment--quietly await that foe from which escape was impossible. where they stood the forest was open and free from underbrush, therefore while the troopers were yet a quarter of a mile away they were in full view, their red coats showing in vivid contrast among the green leaves, and before the advance squad were yet arrived at where the boys were standing, the entire company could be seen. fully two hundred men, a goodly portion of whom were tories, clad in the ordinary garb of the country, and the remainder wearing the king's uniform, made up the party. among the foremost of the riders was one clad in the habiliments of a major, and from what had been told by those who brought the information of general cornwallis' movements, the boys knew at once that this must be patrick ferguson of the seventy-first royal regiment. it was this officer who accosted the frightened lads, by asking in a loud voice which had in it much of menace: "what are you two doing here armed? rebel spawn no doubt, who lie in wait to do mischief when it may be accomplished without danger to yourselves." "we are out hunting, and if it please you, sir, in order to get meat for the family," nathan replied, speaking stoutly, although he was inwardly quaking with fear. "tell me no lies or it shall go the worse with you. how long has it been that you of the carolinas must search for food in the forests?" "since his majesty's troops overrode the colony, quartering themselves upon those whose store of provisions was already scanty." "be careful how you speak! i am not in a mood to hear insolence from those who rebel against their lawful king," and the major made a threatening gesture, bending from his horse as if he would strike the boys. evan stepped back a pace in fear; but nathan boldly held his ground as he asked bravely: "think you, sir, that two lads like us may do the king harm?" major ferguson's face reddened with rage, and motioning for one of the troopers to advance, he said: "disarm and bind these insolent cubs who dare bandy words with their betters. they shall talk in a different strain before i am done with them." "would you make prisoners of us who are not soldiers?" nathan asked even as the man seized him by the arm. "would you carry away from their homes two boys upon whom a family is depending for food?" "where are your fathers?" major ferguson asked sharply. "i have none," nathan replied. "my mother is a widow." "and yours?" he continued, turning toward evan. "colonel charles mcdowells." "as rank a rebel as lives in the carolinas. see that you bind them well, my man, for i doubt not these two, innocent as they would appear, have already had their fingers in the rebel broth." "since you are bent on making us prisoners, sir, it is useless to deny that we have done aught against the king, save it be a crime to perform our share in feeding those dependent upon us." "if those who make up the ragamuffin following of _mister_ washington could not depend on such as you to provide for the women and children, they might be forced to remain at home where they belong, instead of hatching treason, and i could then, perhaps, clear this portion of the colonies of every male inhabitant who is old enough to be of service in any capacity. before i have performed my mission you of the carolinas shall understand what rebellion means, for it is my purpose to teach you a lesson." having said this the valiant major turned his horse that he might speak with some of his followers, and the trooper who was bidden to disarm and bind the lads had well-nigh finished with the task. nathan and evan were rudely searched, and with such effect that even their spare flints were taken from them. their hands were bound behind their backs securely with leathern straps; the fowling pieces and the scanty store of ammunition were taken charge of by one of the troopers, and he who had been detailed to seize them stood as if awaiting orders of his commander. "keep up a brave heart, evan," nathan whispered courageously. "do not give yonder redcoated brute the satisfaction of seeing that we are afraid." "we are likely to be carried very far from home, nathan, and it may be that much suffering is in store for us." "of that there can be little doubt; but no good will come to us by showing the white feather, for of how much weight, think you, tears and prayers be upon such as our captor. it would please him were we to give free rein to our sorrow, and i am not minded he shall have such gratification from me." "but surely there is no reason why you should anger him by bold speaking--that will not avail us." "no more than it would if we pleaded for mercy, and there is much satisfaction to be gained by depriving him of the pleasure that would come with the sight of our tears. hold firm, evan mcdowells, as your father and your mother would do were they in like situation, and mayhap the time will come when this major ferguson's grasp will be so far lessened that we shall see a chance of slipping through his fingers." "i have little hope of any such good fortune," evan replied, with a long-drawn sigh, and then both the boys fell silent. the horsemen had dismounted, and it was evident that a prolonged halt would be made. the major gave no further orders concerning his prisoners, and the trooper stood guard over them four or five paces away, giving no apparent heed to the conversation in which they had been indulging. during half an hour the situation remained unchanged, and then came into view two hundred or more men on foot, the greater number wearing scarlet uniforms, the remainder being evidently tories. at first glance the boys believed this last body of britishers had come by accident upon the halting-place; but as the men exchanged salutations with the members of the advance party, it could be seen that they all formed one company under the leadership of major ferguson, and had been temporarily separated because of the more rapid traveling of the horsemen. when another half-hour had been spent here the order was given to resume the march, and an officer in the uniform of a captain brought word from the major to the man who was guarding the boys, that he would be relieved from duty, one of the foot-soldiers taking his place. when the change of guards had been effected, nathan and evan were ordered into line midway of the column, and thus hemmed in on every side they were forced to advance, traveling with difficulty, and even pain, because their arms were fettered. as a rule, the men gave very little attention to these young prisoners, save when one or the other of the boys fell slightly in the rear, and then a blow from the butt of a musket would warn him that he must keep pace with the remainder of the troop or suffer because of inability to do so. now that the lads were completely surrounded by foes, no conversation of a private nature was possible, and in silence they marched on, with ample food for unpleasant thoughts. the only question in the minds of both was as to the destination of this body of britishers, for there seemed little reason why so many men should penetrate this mountainous portion of the carolinas, where there was no important stronghold to be captured. until five o'clock in the afternoon the troop advanced steadily, and then the foot-soldiers were arrived at a small valley where the horsemen had already apparently halted for the night. fires were kindled here and there; some of the soldiers were engaged in cooking, others in caring for the horses, and all so intent upon making themselves comfortable that it was as if the prisoners had been forgotten by everyone save him who was charged with their custody. when an hour had passed the lads were still standing where they had been halted, and nathan said with a mirthless laugh: "it looks as though we might be forced to keep our feet until morning, for so nearly as i can make out food has been served to all save ourselves and our guard." "i am counting on being relieved before many more moments pass," the soldier said petulantly, for nathan had spoken so loudly that he could not fail to hear the remark. "and are we to be starved because we neither wear red coats nor are willing to march shoulder to shoulder with them?" "it matters not to me what disposition may be made of you, so that i am given an opportunity of getting my rations," the soldier said, and a moment later one of his comrades came up, musket in hand, to relieve him. to this last guard nathan repeated his question as to the probability of their being provided with supper, and the soldier replied carelessly: "i am not the quartermaster of this detachment, and if i was i question whether much time would be spent over such as you." then he fell to pacing to and fro, watching his comrades as they lounged around the campfire; but all the while keeping close guard over the two lads, who were so weary from the hunting of the forenoon and the march of the afternoon that it is questionable whether they could have fled even if the opportunity presented itself. "i had expected to be ill-treated," nathan said with an assumption of carelessness to his comrade; "but did not count on being starved. it is a pity, since we were to be made prisoners, that this gallant major ferguson could not have come up after we had partaken of dinner, for it seems as if many hours had passed since we ate breakfast." evan was on the point of making some reply to this mournful remark when from the distance he observed a lad, who, coming directly across the valley, was halted by the sentinels stationed around the encampment. "look there!" he said, in a low tone of excitement. "if i mistake not, it is ephraim sowers, and what may he be doing here among the redcoats?" "it is as i have always believed," nathan cried, forgetting that the man who acted as their guard could hear every word he spoke. "ephraim is neither more nor less than a tory, and i venture to say he comes now to give information concerning our friends." "it is not the first time he has met this detachment of men," evan added, "see! he speaks now with one of the soldiers as to an old acquaintance." "who may say for how long he has acted the spy? when it was told on the day before yesterday that he had gold in his possession, i would not believe it; but now it is plain to be seen that there was truth in the statement, and we can say how he earned it." this ephraim sowers was the son of one who claimed to be "a man of peace;" one who by many a loud word had declared that he believed it a sin to resort to arms, whatever the provocation, and, living a near neighbor to the mcdowells, was in a position, if it so pleased him, to give much of valuable information to the enemy. until this moment, however, there had been no suspicion that he might be tempted to play the part of spy, and his son's arrival at this encampment told the boys as plainly as words could have done how it was general cornwallis had reliable knowledge concerning that portion of the colony, for he had given good proof that he knew who among the inhabitants favored the king or the "rebels." ephraim advanced leisurely, and with the air of one who believes he is expected, until his eyes rested upon the prisoners; then he started suddenly, a flush as of shame came over his face for the instant, and straightening himself defiantly, he walked up with a vindictive smile until he was within half a dozen paces of the two lads. "i had thought that the sight of a redcoat was so displeasing that it went against your stomachs," he said tauntingly, "and yet i find you hobnobbing with major ferguson's men." "it seems that you know who commands this detachment," evan said sternly, forgetting all his fears now in the anger he felt that this lad whom he had once trusted should have been all the while a tory. "i'll warrant you two know as much." "ay; but we are here as prisoners, and you have come as a visitor--one who has seen these men before, to judge from the manner in which you accosted them." "well, what does that prove?" ephraim asked, an evil look coming into his eyes. "it proves you to be a spy, and when we shall make known what has been seen this night, i am thinking neither you nor your peace-loving father will find the carolinas a pleasant abiding place." "and i am thinking that when such rebels as you have the chance to tell what has been seen, the rebellion will have been crushed out, for now that you are here, if my words go for anything, you will not soon be set at liberty." chapter ii. the tory's purpose. until the moment when ephraim sowers had revealed his true self by coming into the british camp as a spy, neither nathan nor evan had felt any grave anxiety regarding the future. they knew full well that the redcoats were not given to being friendly in their intercourse with the so-called rebels, and that such persons as they took were treated with roughness, if not absolute harshness. such treatment as had previously been dealt out to captured americans the boys could endure without a murmur, therefore there was no painful anxiety regarding the outcome of the matter; but when ephraim sowers appeared, the situation of affairs seemed to be decidedly changed. now that he had been recognized by these two, the news that he was a tory and in league with the britishers would be carried to all that country roundabout where he lived, whenever nathan and evan were set free. it was only reasonable to suppose he had some slight degree of influence in the camp, having served major ferguson as a spy, and these two lads might safely count on his doing whatsoever was in his power to have them held prisoners, even if worse did not follow, and it was evident nathan feared this last possibility, for he said in a low tone to his comrade, when the young tory had walked away with a swagger in the direction of major ferguson's tent: "no good will come to us through having seen that villain." "on such a point there need be little discussion, for i am of the same mind, and it will be exceedingly fortunate if he leaves this encampment without having worked us some harm, although i cannot say in what way it might be done." "for his own safety, should he ever count on returning home, we must be silenced, evan, and i am thinking ephraim sowers knows in this encampment enough of his own kidney who would aid him in thus doing." "do you mean that he would dare to kill us?" and now evan looked up in alarm. "he would dare do anything when there was no danger of his receiving bodily injury. but don't let me play upon your fears, for there is no reason why we should look abroad for trouble when we have sufficient of it close around us. we will trust to the chances that that young tory is powerless, or too much occupied just at present, to give evil heed to us." "the last is what we should not take into consideration, for however actively engaged he may be it is necessary for his own safety, should he ever return among his neighbors, to prevent us from telling what we have just learned." "if you refuse such comfort as i try to give, then we will put it that he will be content so long as we are held prisoners here, and who shall say that we may not soon find an opportunity for escape? captives while on the march are not like to be kept under overly strict guard." "where did the tory go? i was so bewildered both by seeing him here and realizing what his coming might mean, as to be almost in a daze while he was making his threats." "i fancied i saw some one nearabout major ferguson's tent beckoning for the scoundrel, and he hurried away as if bent on visiting the commander. i venture to predict we shall see him again before he leaves this locality." then the lads fell to speculating as to how long young sowers had been engaged as a british spy; what might be the result of major ferguson's march through the mountains, and in other ways discussing the situation as if they were to be spectators rather than participants in whatever might occur. when half an hour had passed, much to their surprise, for the boys had come to believe they would not be given food that night, rations were served out to them, and they were partaking of the limited meal with such keenness of appetite and eagerness as to be unaware of ephraim sowers' return until he stood close beside them. "well, have you finished giving major ferguson all the information he desired?" nathan asked curtly, only glancing toward the newcomer sufficiently to discover his identity. "i may have told him some things that wouldn't be pleasant for you to hear," the tory replied surlily. "of that i have no question, for it is easy to guess that you have done all the injury to your neighbors of which your tongue was capable." "i have given the major such a good account of you two that he won't be likely to part company with you for some time to come." "we are not surprised, because it was only what might have been expected after we found you were playing the part of spy," evan said, determined to so far hide his fears that this vicious enemy should not suspect what was in his heart. "i am ready to do whatsoever i can against the enemies of the king," evan replied, assuming what he intended should be a dignified attitude. "his majesty must rest content now, if he knows that you stand ready to aid his officers by playing the spy upon those who have befriended you when you were in need." nathan spoke distinctly and deliberately, in a tone so loud that all might hear, and ephraim's face crimsoned with mingled rage and shame, for he knew full well that but for the aid afforded him by nathan's uncle during the previous winter his sufferings might have been great indeed. "i shall do all in my power to overthrow the wicked plans of the rebels, and more particularly will i exert myself against the mountain men," he cried, in a fury of passion, whereat evan added quietly: "we can well fancy that, for master isaac shelby is a mountain man, and but for him you would have starved. let me see: vipers have been supposed to be the only living things that would sting the hand which feeds them." "i shall sting you even worse than i have already done!" ephraim cried, shaking his clinched hand in impotent rage, and so threatening was his attitude that the soldier on guard seized him, as if fearing the boy would strike the helpless prisoners. "take your hands off!" ephraim cried, literally trembling with passion. "i am not to be treated as a prisoner in this camp after all i have done." "very true," the soldier replied quietly. "you shall not be deprived of your liberty save when it becomes necessary to prevent you from striking helpless captives, and that i would not allow my own comrade to do." "i had no idea of touching them." "your actions told a different story, and even though these two lads be rebels, they shall be treated decently while i am on guard over them." "i will see them hanged, and that before long!" ephraim screamed. the soldier released his hold of the infuriated tory, but took the precaution of stepping directly in front of nathan and evan, as if to afford protection; while ephraim, standing a few paces away, poured out a flood of invective, during the course of which much information was gained by those whom he menaced. [illustration: "take your hands off! i am not to be treated as a prisoner," ephraim cried.--page .] "i didn't come to this place empty-handed!" he cried, "nor will my visit be of little concern to the rebels! i brought major ferguson information that clarke and his men are in camp at greene's spring, and to kill and capture them all will be a simple matter for this troop." "you have dared bring the enemy down upon your mother's own cousin," evan cried in astonishment. "he is no cousin of mine once he raises his hand against the king." "i'll venture to say there will be little desire on his part to claim relationship after he knows the part you have been playing," nathan replied with a laugh, which yet further increased the tory's wrath. "but have a care, ephraim sowers. the men in this colony are not easily whipped into submission, nor do they readily forget an enemy, and if it should so chance, as it has many times since ' , that the king's forces were driven out of the carolinas, your life would not be an enviable one." "if anything of that kind should happen, and i am ready to wager all i possess it never will, you won't be here to know what comes to me, for before then i will take good care you are put where all rebels should be--under the sod." "if the king's officers will commit, or permit, murder at your request, then must they give up all claim to the name of soldiers," and now evan was rapidly becoming as excited as the tory. "it may be you can succeed in having us killed; but the reckoning will come, ephraim sowers, and the longer it is deferred the more must you pay." "i will settle with you first after my own fashion, and when that has been done we will see what your ragamuffin friends are able to do about it." ephraim would doubtless have indulged in further threats, but just at that instant a soldier came up from the direction of major ferguson's tent, and the vindictive lad was summoned to the commander's quarters. "it seems that his footing here is not so secure that he can give his tongue free rein many minutes at a time," nathan said in a tone of relief as the spy walked reluctantly away, literally forced so to do by the messenger who had come in search of him. "it is not his words which trouble me," evan said mournfully. "just now he is in a position to work us great injury, and by yet further provoking his wrath we have made of him even a more bitter enemy than he naturally was." "i question if that could be possible." "yet you cannot dispute his power to work us harm." "neither do i. if he be willing, as it appears he has shown himself, to betray the whereabouts of colonel clarke's forces, knowing full well that this troop can readily cut them down, it is certain we stand a good show of learning how great is his power for mischief." "for myself i have little concern at this moment, because of the knowledge that our friends are in such peril." "and yet there is nothing we can do to aid them." "unless it might be we could escape." evan said suddenly, lowering his voice to a whisper lest the sentinel should overhear his words. "it is only needed that you look about in order to see how much hope there is of such a possibility," nathan said despondently. "even though we were fresh, instead of so weary that i question if we could travel a single mile further, and if we might so far elude the sentinel as to gain the cover of the thicket, it would be impossible to continue the flight two miles, for the tories in this troop know the country as well, if not better, than we." "i was not so foolish as to believe that escape might be possible, but only spoke because my thoughts were with those who are threatened, and my desire is to aid them." "i wish it might be done," nathan replied with a long-drawn sigh, and then the two fell silent, each occupied with his own gloomy thoughts. an hour passed, and nothing more had been seen or heard of the tory spy. even though they were in such desperate straits, the boys began unconsciously to yield themselves up to slumber, and after a time, bound as they were, both were reclining upon the green turf in at least partial repose. when morning came they ached in every limb, with arms so benumbed that it was as if those useful members had been paralyzed. they had slept fitfully, and were hardly more refreshed than when the halt was called after the day's march. scanty rations were served out to them, and to the intense relief of both the lads a captain, more humane that his commander, ordered that the bonds be taken from their arms. they were to be tied together in such manner that any attempt at flight would be useless, and yet the labor of marching would be much lightened. the prisoners had expected another visit from the tory before the troop started; but in this they were happily disappointed, and when the march was begun they almost believed ephraim sowers had been left behind, until shortly before noon they saw him riding with the mounted detachment. "he is most likely guiding the force to greene's spring," nathan said bitterly. "he counts on seeing those who have played the part of friends to him shot down, and even though their blood will be upon his head, he is well pleased." to the relief of both the boys, their enemy did not come near where they were, and it was reasonable to suppose major ferguson, although not prone to be overcareful of the feelings of his "rebel" prisoners, had given sowers orders to put a check upon his tongue. when noon came the detachment of foot soldiers arrived at martin drake's plantation, where the cavalry had already halted and were actively engaged in wantonly destroying property. outbuildings were torn down, lambs, chickens, and geese were being slaughtered although they were not needed for food, and the household furniture which, rude though it was, represented all that went to make up the interior of the home, was thrown about the grounds, or chopped into kindlings, from sheer desire to work destruction. the horsemen could not have been at this place more than an hour when the foot soldiers came up, and yet in that short time they had completely wrecked the dwelling portion of the plantation, and caused such a scene of devastation as would lead one almost to believe that a desperate conflict had raged at that point. "all this must be pleasing to ephraim sowers," evan said bitterly, "for it was martin drake's wife who tended him when he was ill with the fever, and this may be a satisfactory way of requiting her." "have you seen him since we halted?" "no, and i am hoping he has gone ahead with the advanced detachment, for it seems certain all of the horsemen are not here." although master blake's live stock had been slaughtered in such quantities that there was treble the amount of food the troop could consume, the boys were given nothing more than cornbread for dinner, and hardly so much of that as would suffice to satisfy their hunger. not until everything portable had been destroyed, the doors torn from the house, and the windows shattered, was the march resumed, and then the prisoners heard the tory who was acting as guide say that at nightfall they would camp on captain dillard's plantation. there was in this information a ray of hope, so far as warning colonel clarke's men of what threatened, for captain dillard was in his command, and if information could be conveyed to the mistress of the house it was possible she might send a message ahead. this much in substance nathan had suggested to his comrade; but evan failed to see any possibility that good might be effected so far as the friends of the cause were concerned. "even though mrs. sarah dillard can be told all that we know, it is not likely she will have an opportunity of sending a messenger from the plantation. ephraim sowers knows full well where the captain may be found, and will warn major ferguson against permitting any person to leave the place." "if dicey langston, a girl only sixteen years old, could baffle cunningham's band, who gave themselves the name of the bloody scouts, as she did on that night when alone she crossed the ennoree, swollen though the waters were, what may sarah dillard do when she knows her husband's life hangs in the balance?" "it is not a question of what she would do, but of what she can," evan replied gloomily. "thanks to ephraim sowers, the commander of this force will know only too well how eager she must be to send news ahead of his whereabouts, and will take precautions accordingly." "that is as may be. we can at least hope for the best," nathan replied bravely, and then word was given for the troop to resume the march. during the afternoon the british soldiery came upon two plantations, the buildings of which they utterly wrecked, shooting from sheer wantonness the live stock that could not be run down without too much labor, and seeming eager in every way to mark their trail by destruction. it was an hour before sunset when the boys saw in the distance the buildings of the dillard plantation, and knew that the time was near at hand when, if ever, they must get word to that little band whose lives were in such deadly peril. ephraim sowers was nowhere to be seen; but slight comfort could be derived from this fact, for it seemed reasonable to suppose he was making himself obnoxious in the dwelling of those people whom he had once claimed as his friends, but was now visiting as their bitterest enemy. "keep your wits about you for the first opportunity to gain speech with sarah dillard," nathan whispered to his comrade, and evan sighed as he nodded in reply, for it seemed to him there was little chance they would be permitted to hold a conversation with any acquaintance, because of the probable fact that ephraim sowers would guard against such a proceeding. the prisoners were marched directly up to the dwelling, and there, with the windows and doors flung wide open, they had a full view of the entire interior, but their enemy was nowhere to be seen. this, to evan, unaccountable absence, troubled him not a little, for he believed it betokened yet more mischief on the part of the vindictive tory, but nathan was not so ready to take alarm. "it may be that he is keeping out of sight, hoping sarah dillard will still look upon him as a friend, and, in case the captain should succeed in escaping, confide the secret of his whereabouts to him." the mistress of the house was doing all in her power to satisfy the exacting demands of the officers who had quartered themselves upon her, as the boys could see while they remained halted near the doorway. it appeared that such servants as she had were not sufficient in numbers to please these fastidious red-coated gentlemen, and they had insisted that mrs. dillard should perform her share of waiting upon them. now one would call out some peremptory order, and then follow it with a demand that the mistress of the house give it her especial attention, while, despite such insolence, sarah dillard moved with dignity here or there, as if it were pleasure rather than necessity which caused her to so demean herself. on the outside roundabout the soldiers were engaged in their customary diversion of killing every animal which came within range of their guns, and a huge bonfire had been built of the corncribs, near which a score or more of men were preparing the evening meal. a spectator would have said that the dwelling itself was spared only because in it the officers had taken up their quarters, and once they were ready to depart it would be demolished as the other structures surrounding it had been. during half an hour or more the boys stood close by the door under close guard, and then one of the officers appeared to have suddenly become conscious of their existence, for he called in a loud tone to mrs. dillard: "we desire of you, madam, some apartment which will serve as a prison for two rebel cubs that we have lately taken. can the cellar be securely fastened?" "there is only a light lattice-work at the windows, which might readily be broken out if your prisoners made an effort at escape," mrs. dillard replied. "but surely you have some apartment which will answer our purpose? if not, the men can speedily nail bars on the outside of one of the chamber windows." "there is a room above, the window of which is already barred, that may serve your purpose," mrs. dillard said, as she glanced toward the boys with a certain uplifting of the eyes, as if to say that they should not recognize her as an acquaintance. "show it to me and we will soon decide if that be what is required, or whether we shall call upon our troopers to turn carpenters," the officer said with a laugh, as if believing he had given words to some witticism, and in silence mrs. dillard motioned one of the servants to lead the way to the floor above. the brief survey which he made appeared to satisfy the britisher, for on his return he said to major ferguson, who was seated at the head of the table, giving his undivided attention to the generous supply of food which the mistress of the house had been forced to bring out: "there is but one window in the room of which our fair hostess spoke, and that overlooks the stable-yard; it is barred on the outside with oaken rails stout enough to resist the efforts of any three of our troopers, i should say. the door can be not only bolted, but locked on the outside, and in my opinion there should be no need of a sentinel stationed inside the building." "if such is the case, why spend so much breath in describing the dungeon," major ferguson said with a laugh. "it is enough for our purpose if the lads cannot break out, and the sooner they are lodged within the sooner you will be ready to hold your peace, thus giving me an opportunity of enjoying this admirable game pie. put the rebels away and sit down here, for it may be many days before another such chance presents itself." word was passed to the soldier who had the prisoners in charge for him to take them to the upper floor, and this trifling matter having been arranged, the gallant british officers turned their attention once more to converting their hostess into a servant. chapter iii. a desperate venture. the meaning look which mrs. dillard had bestowed upon the prisoners, brief though it was, sufficed to revive their spirits wonderfully. not that there was any promise in it; but it showed they were recognized by the hostess and, knowing her as they did, the boys knew that if there was a loophole of escape for them she would point it out. while preceding the soldier up the stairs it was much as though they were guests in sarah dillard's home, and there came with the fancy a certain sense of relief and security such as had not been theirs for many hours. the apartment selected to serve as prison was by no means dismal; it was cleanly, like unto every other portion of sarah dillard's home, and sufficiently large to permit of moderate exercise, with a barred window overlooking the stable-yard which allowed all that took place in the rear of the dwelling to be seen. "i shouldn't mind being a rebel myself for a few hours in order to get such quarters as these," the soldier said as he followed the boys into the chamber. "not a bad place in which to spend the night." "with a couple of blankets a body might be very comfortable," nathan replied in a cheery tone, for despite the dangers which threatened that little band at greene's spring, despite ephraim sowers' avowed enmity and probable ability to do harm, despite the fact that he was a prisoner, this enforced visit to captain dillard's house was so much like a home-coming that his spirits were raised at once. "and you have the effrontery to ask for blankets after getting such a prison as makes a soldier's mouth water," the britisher said with a certain rough good-nature in his tone. "you rebels have a precious queer idea of this sort of business, if you can complain because of lack of blankets." "i am not complaining," nathan replied with a laugh. "of course there is no situation which cannot be bettered in some way, and i was simply speaking of how this might be improved. we are satisfied with it, however, as it is." "and so you had better be, for i am thinking there are not two rebel prisoners as comfortably bottled up, and by this time to-morrow night you will be wishing yourselves back," replied the guard. then the soldier locked and barred the door on the outside, trying it again and again to make certain it could not readily be forced open, and a few seconds later the sound of his footsteps told that the boys were comparatively alone for the time being. now was come the moment when they should make known the danger which threatened the friends of freedom through ephraim sowers' perfidy, for every second might be precious if a warning message could be sent, and involuntarily both the lads ran to the window, looking eagerly out through the bars in the hope of seeing some member of the household whose attention might be attracted. major ferguson's subordinates were not so careless as to allow their prisoners many opportunities of such a nature. all the servants, and in fact every person on the plantation, was kept busily engaged waiting upon the redcoats, a goodly number of whom could be seen in the stable-yards, which knowledge caused evan to say mournfully: "we are not like to get speech with any one who could carry word to greene's spring. it stands to reason ephraim sowers has warned the britishers that such an attempt might be made, and you may be certain, nathan, no one can leave the plantation without major ferguson's permission." "it is possible he can prevent a message being carried; but i shall not give up hope yet awhile." "before many hours have passed the troop, or at least a portion of it, will set out to slaughter our friends. i would i knew where that tory spy was at this moment!" "most likely he has gone ahead to make sure his victims do not escape. we shall hear of him again 'twixt now and daybreak." "i am afraid so," evan replied with a long-drawn sigh, and then, leaning his forehead against the wooden bars, he gazed out longingly in the direction his feet would have taken had he been at liberty. with two hours' start he might save the lives, perhaps of a hundred men, all of whom could be accounted his friends, and yet because of one lad's wickedness that little band of patriots was in imminent danger of being massacred. from the apartments below the coarse laugh and coarser jest of a britisher could be heard, telling that the enemy were still bent on making themselves as obnoxious to the inmates of the household as was possible, while now and then from the outside came sounds of the splintering of wood or the cackling of poultry as the soldiery continued their work of wanton destruction. both officers and men grew more nearly quiet as the shadows of night began to lengthen. the britishers were weary with asserting their pretended right as victors, and the stable-yard was well-nigh deserted of its redcoated occupants. the young prisoners were standing near the window in silence, when a slight noise as of some animal scratching at the door attracted their attention, and instantly the same thought came into the mind of each. sarah dillard, freed for the time being from the exacting demands of the unwelcome visitors, had come, perchance, to point out some way of escape. now was arrived the moment when they might reveal to this brave woman the dangers which threatened, and yet for the instant nathan hesitated so to do, because it appeared to him that he would be distressing her needlessly, since it was hardly probable she could find means of conveying the warning to those in peril. by making her acquainted with all that threatened he would be doing no more than to increase her distress of mind. evan, however, was not looking so far into the future. he only realized that perhaps now was the moment when he would make known ephraim sowers' perfidy, and crept noiselessly toward the door, whispering eagerly: "is that you, mistress dillard?" "yes, boys, and i have come in the almost vain hope that it may be possible to serve you, although i know not how. when did you fall into the hands of the enemy?" "have you seen ephraim sowers here?" evan asked, heeding not the question. "no. has he also been made prisoner?" "it is far worse than that. he is a spy in the service of the redcoats, and has revealed to them the whereabouts of colonel clarke's band." "that is impossible, for the entire company were here not more than eight hours ago, and with them was my husband." "then the miserable spy is mistaken, and these britishers will have their journey for their pains," nathan whispered in a tone of intense relief. "ephraim has told major ferguson that they were encamped at greene's spring, and there----" "and it is to greene's spring they are going!" mrs. dillard cried unconsciously loud. "how could any spy have learned of their intended movements?" "you must remember that ephraim sowers has not been looked upon as a spy. perchance no one except the britishers knew it until we two saw him coming into the camp where we were prisoners," and nathan spoke hurriedly. "it is not for us to speculate how our friends have been betrayed; but to give the warning to them without loss of time." mrs. dillard did not reply immediately, and the prisoners could well fancy that she was trying to decide how the danger might best be warded off. "is it not possible for you to release us?" nathan asked after a brief pause. "if either evan or i were at liberty we might be able, by rapid running, to cover the distance between here and greene's springs before the redcoats could arrive there, for it is not likely they will start very early in the night." "to escape from the window while the soldiers are in the stable-yard is impossible," mrs. dillard replied, much as though speaking to herself, "and as for getting you out by this way i am powerless. one of the officers has a key to the door, and even if it was in our possession, there is little chance you could make your way through the house secretly." "but something must be done, and at once," nathan whispered in an agony of apprehension, and at that moment the sound of footsteps on the floor below caused mrs. dillard to beat a retreat. the boys could hear the swish of her garments as she ran through the hallway, and it was as if the good woman had no more than hidden herself from view before the heavy footsteps of a man on the stairs told that some one of the britishers was coming to make certain the prisoners were securely confined. creeping noiselessly away from the door lest the redcoat should enter and find them in a position which betokened that they had been holding converse with some one on the outside, the lads remained silent and motionless until the noise of footsteps told that this cautious britisher, having satisfied himself all was as it should be, had returned to the floor below. then the lads stole softly back near the door where they awaited the coming of the woman whom they hoped might show them the way to freedom, even though at the time it seemed impossible she could do so. the moments passed like hours while she remained absent, and then once more they heard a faint scratching at the door which told of her return. "tell me all you know regarding this boy sowers being a spy," mrs. dillard whispered when she was once more where private conversation could be carried on, and nathan said nervously: "why speak of him at a time when every moment is precious? instead of giving such as that villain a place in our thoughts we should be trying to form some plan whereby the lives of our friends may be saved." "it is yet too early in the night for us to make any move," the brave woman replied as if her mind was already made up to a course of action. "until the men have quieted down somewhat we cannot so much as cross the yard without being challenged, and i would know all that may be told before setting out for greene's spring." "do you count on making such a venture?" evan asked in surprise. "some one must do it, and since i cannot set you free, i must act as messenger." "but there is hardly one chance in a hundred you will succeed." "yet i shall try to take advantage of that hundredth chance." "but how may you get there? it is twenty miles over a rough mountain road." "even though it were ten times as far, and the peril greater an hundredfold, do you not think i would brave it in the hope of saving the lives of those brave men?" evan ceased to find objections to her plan; but asked how she might be able to make the journey. "there is in the stable a colt which the britishers will hardly attempt to drive away because he has not yet been broken. i shall do my best at riding him, and trust in the good god for protection." nathan was not a cowardly lad; his acquaintances spoke of him as one having much courage, and yet he trembled at the thought of this woman attempting to bridle an unbroken colt, and then ride him twenty miles over the rough mountain roads where only the steadiest of horses might safely be used. he would have said something in the hope of dissuading her from her purpose; but it was as if his tongue refused its office, for sarah dillard would ride that night not only to save a hundred or more friends of freedom, but to save the life of her husband. "tell me all you know of the spy, so that i may warn our people against him with fair proof." neither evan nor nathan made any attempt at giving advice; the woman's courage so far eclipsed theirs that it was as if she should command and they obey--as if they had no right even to offer a suggestion. obedient to her wishes they repeated all they had heard the vindictive tory say, and described in detail his reception at major ferguson's camp. "if you could only take us with you, or what would be better, so manage it that we might go in your stead," nathan said when his account of ephraim sowers was brought to an end. "i would willingly do so if it might be possible; but i can see no way to accomplish such a purpose." "yet there are many chances against your being able to ride the colt, however willing you may be," evan said, as if hoping such suggestion might cause her to devise another means of forwarding the warning. "i know full well how many chances there are against success, and yet because it is the only hope, i shall venture." but little conversation was indulged in after this assertion, which seemed prompted by despair. nathan told the brave woman all he knew regarding the most direct path through the thicket to the american encampment, and evan warned her to be on the alert for sowers nearabout the spring, where both he and his comrade believed the spy had gone to make certain his intended victims did not escape. then all fell silent as if awed by the dangers which were to be voluntarily encountered, and presently the boys knew from the faint sounds that sarah dillard had stolen swiftly away without so much as a word of adieu. "she will never be able to get an unbroken colt out of the stable, even if she succeeds in bridling him," evan whispered, and nathan replied with a certain hopefulness in his tone, although he was far from believing the venture might succeed: "it is possible the task may be accomplished. i have more faith in her gaining the mastery of the colt for a certain time than i have of her being able to keep him on the trail. there are many places 'twixt here and greene's spring where a single misstep, such as an untrained animal is likely to make, will send them both into eternity." as if by a common impulse the boys moved toward the window, and there stood gazing out, waiting for the appearance of the brave woman who had not only to master an untamed horse, but to keep herself concealed from view while surrounded by enemies. the troopers' steeds had been stabled in the huge barns to the right of the dwelling, where were kept the draft animals, and, as the boys well knew, captain dillard's saddle horses and the colt to which his wife had referred, were housed in the small building directly across the stable-yard from the improvised prison. this particular portion of the plantation appeared to be entirely abandoned by redcoats; but the officers in the dwelling were so near at hand that any unusual noise in or around the yard would immediately attract their attention, even though the sentinels were remiss in their duty, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that sarah dillard could so much as lead the most steady animal out into the open without betraying her movements to the enemy. "she won't be able to bridle the colt without something of a fight," evan said half to himself, and nathan added as if he would find some ray of hope in the gloom which surrounded them: "it is fortunate that the stable has no floor, and the colt may do considerable prancing around without giving an alarm." "yet it is not likely she can ride him out without a certain amount of noise." "i know the venture is a desperate one," nathan replied mournfully; "but i am forcing myself to believe it may succeed." at this instant a dark form was seen moving cautiously around the corner of the house in the direction of the small stable, and the boys knew that the desperate venture was begun. although the night had fully come it was not so dark but that surrounding objects could be seen with reasonable distinctness, and from the moment sarah dillard thus came in view the prisoners were able to follow her every movement. no frontiersman could have made his way across the yard with less noise than she did; not so much as the breaking of a twig betrayed her movements, and if this stealing out of the house had been the only difficult part of her task, then one might say she would accomplish it readily. the boys hardly dared to breathe as she came from the shadows of the building, moving with reasonable rapidity across the yard until she was lost to view in the gloom of the stable, and then, although no creaking of hinges betrayed her purpose, both knew she had effected an entrance. it was only the easiest portion of the work which had been accomplished, however, and the prisoners stood with every nerve strained to its utmost tension as they listened for what would betoken that the struggle with the untamed animal had begun. once, just for an instant, they saw her form at the door, and then she suddenly disappeared as if the colt had pulled her back; but as yet, even though on the alert, they could hear nothing unusual, and unless the british officers grew suspicious because of her absence, she was yet in safety. one, two, three moments passed almost as if they were hours, and then the brave woman could be seen fondling and petting the colt, who already wore the bridle, as she peered out from the doorway to learn if the coast was yet clear. "she has bridled him, and without making a noise," evan whispered in a tone of astonishment. "it was easier to do that in the darkness than it would have been in the light, and if she is wise she will mount inside, instead of trying to do so out here." it was as if nathan had no more than spoken when with a bound the colt, bearing on his back the woman who was risking her life to save her husband, came over the threshold, rearing straight up on his hind feet until there seemed every danger he would topple backward; but yet his rider kept her seat. "i had never believed a woman could do that," evan exclaimed in a whisper. "perhaps this one might not have been able to but for the necessity. it hardly seems possible she can get out of the yard without detection, for the sound of his hoofs as he rears and plunges must of necessity bring the redcoats out in the belief that their own horses have been stampeded." the colt struggled desperately to free himself from the strange burden upon his back, and yet, singularly enough, never once did he come down upon the ground with sufficient force to cause alarm. he alternately reared and plunged while one might have counted ten, his rider clinging to him meanwhile as if she had been strapped securely down, and then with a bound he cleared the stack of brush which was piled just behind the stable, disappearing an instant later amid the forest, which on this side the plantation had been left standing within a hundred yards of the dwelling. "she is off, and headed in the right direction," nathan said in a tone of amazement, as if it was almost incredible the feat had been accomplished, and the words were no more than uttered before out of the house came trooping half a dozen men, alarmed by the thud of the animal's hoofs. "they have heard her," evan cried in an agony of apprehension, "and now the chase will begin, for they must understand what her purpose is in thus running away." fortunately for the safety of that little band at greene's spring, the britishers were not so well informed by the noise of all that had taken place as evan believed. the thud of the colt's feet had simply caused them to believe there might be a disturbance among their own animals, and they were very far from suspecting the real truth of the matter. they went hurriedly toward the barns wherein their horses were stabled, however, and seeing this both the boys believed that chase was about to be given. "if she can keep the colt straight on the course, i have no fear they will overtake her," nathan said, much as though speaking to himself; "but it is not probable the beast will be so tractable." now the prisoners watched in anxious suspense to see the first of the troop ride out in pursuit, and as the moments passed their spirits increased almost to bewilderment because no such move was made. finally, one by one, the redcoats returned to the house as if satisfied everything was as it should be, and evan whispered, as if doubting the truth of his own statement: "it must be that they fail to suspect anything is wrong. there is yet a possibility, nathan, that sarah dillard will accomplish the task which half an hour ago i would have said was absolutely beyond her powers." "and if she can bridle and mount the beast, i am tempted to believe she may reach greene's spring in time, for certain it is that up to this moment no one suspects that she has left the plantation." "i could----" evan ceased speaking very suddenly, and it was with difficulty he could repress a cry of fear, for at this instant the key was turned in the lock, the door flung open, and as the prisoners suddenly faced around, they saw before them ephraim sowers, looking satisfied and triumphant. chapter iv. the struggle. the first and most natural thought that came into the minds of the boys, as they turned to see their enemy standing in the doorway, was that he had discovered the flight, and, perhaps, counted on doing something toward checking it even now, when sarah dillard must have been a mile or more away. almost as soon as this idea presented itself, however, both realized that if the grinning tory had even so much as a suspicion of the real state of affairs he would be urging the troopers on in pursuit, rather than standing idly there. the young scoundrel remained for an instant in the doorway enjoying his triumph, and nathan found it difficult to repress a smile of satisfaction as he saw the spy thus unsuspicious, while sarah dillard was speeding toward greene's spring to carry the warning which, if told, would most likely save the lives of a hundred men. ephraim, firmly convinced that nothing could avert the fate shaped by him for colonel clarke and his force, was enjoying the situation as pictured in his mind, to the utmost of his mean nature, and the boys almost forgot they were prisoners in the pleasure born of the knowledge that the tory might yet be outwitted. "what are you fellows doing over there by the window?" ephraim asked peremptorily after surveying the two in silence fully a moment. "have the britishers any law or rule which forbids one deprived of liberty from seeking fresh air whenever he may be so fortunate as to get an opportunity?" nathan asked sharply. "hark you, nathan shelby, i am tired of hearing your long-winded speeches, and we will have done with them from this out--at least, so long as i am the master." "so long as you are the master!" evan repeated in a tone of contempt. "we haven't been aware that such was the case." "then you may know it now for a certainty. i am counting on you two trying to escape, and therefore have come to stand guard in this room." "and a valiant guard you will be, ephraim sowers, if your courage is no greater than it was one year ago, when you fled in hot haste from what proved to be a turkey-cock, thinking you saw the head of an indian among the weeds," nathan said jeeringly, and the spy retorted angrily: "have a care over your tongue, my bold rebel! matters have changed now from what they were forty-eight hours ago. you are among those who obey the king, and do not allow sedition-breeders free rein of their tongues." "and now hark you, master sowers," nathan cried, losing his temper somewhat because of the air of authority which this fellow assumed. "'rebels and sedition-breeders' are names which have too much meaning in these days for you to let them fall so trippingly from your tongue! have a care, you tory sneak, lest even while acting the part of guard over your betters, you come to grief! i'm not minded to take many threats from a coward and a spy." "in this case, however, you will take whatsoever i choose to give, nathan shelby, for it needs only that i raise my voice to bring here those who would shoot you down did you so much as lift your hand against me." "and it is such knowledge which makes you so wondrous brave," evan said with a laugh of scorn which did more to rouse the young spy's anger than words could have done. he struggled for an instant to speak; but stammered and hesitated as the blood rushed into his face until, losing the last semblance of patience, he motioned for them to move back toward the window from which they had just come. "if this is what you mean, we are willing to take our stations here without your running the risk of bursting because of your own sense of importance," nathan said as he moved back a few paces, evan following the example. "have a care, however, that you do not attempt to give such orders as we shall be indisposed to obey, lest it seem as if your authority amounted to nothing." by this time ephraim so far regained the mastery over himself as to be able to speak, and he cried in a fury: "we'll soon see whether you dare disobey, and to that end i will keep you busy for an hour or more, until you have learned that i am really the master. now then, you rebels, remember that the king's troops are near at hand to shoot you down at the first sign of insubordination, and take good heed to move exactly as i command." ephraim straightened his body with a consequential air, and stood for an instant as if reflecting upon how he had best prove his authority, while the two prisoners gazed at him in astonishment that he should thus dare trust himself unarmed alone with them. "stand straight and look me in the face!" he commanded. "if the day's march was not enough to break your spirits, we will see what a little exercise will do for you now. keep step, and travel around this room until i give you permission to stop." "do you think we are to be bullied by such as you?" nathan asked in great astonishment. "if you think it is wise, refuse to do as i say, and before five minutes have gone by you will learn the result of disobedience." neither evan nor nathan moved, but stood looking inquiringly into each other's eyes with an expression on their faces which would have warned the tory of mischief had he been less deeply occupied with his own fancied importance. "fall into line and march, or it will be the worse for you!" he cried, advancing threateningly with upraised hand until he was within striking distance of the prisoners, and for an instant it appeared as if he intended to inflict punishment then and there. whatever idea may have been in his mind cannot be said, yet it hardly seems possible he would have attempted personal violence while alone with those whom he had wronged, even though the soldiers were so near at hand. it is certain, however, the boys fully believed he would carry out the implied threat, and without thinking of the possible consequences, or stopping to realize what might be the result if this spy was roughly handled, as if with one accord they leaped upon him, nathan taking the precaution of clapping his hand over the bully's mouth at the first onset in such manner that it was impossible for him to speak or make an outcry. even a stronger lad than ephraim sowers would have gone down before this sudden attack as quickly as did he, and in a twinkling the prisoners held him upon the floor in such fashion that only one arm remained free. evan sat upon his feet, while nathan, in addition to covering his mouth, held his right arm firmly. with his left hand ephraim struck out to the best of his ability, but without accomplishing anything whatsoever, and he was permitted to thus thrash around, doing no harm to any save himself, until he had been thoroughly wearied by the struggle. "i reckon we have got time enough to teach you quite a lesson," nathan whispered with but slight show of anger. "you are supposed to be guarding us prisoners, and the redcoats will give little heed to you for some hours to come. while we are alone you shall get a taste of what you would deal out to others." as a matter of course ephraim made no reply, because it was impossible so to do; but his captors could read in his eyes the threats his tongue was powerless to utter. "i know what you would say, my fine tory spy. you have in your mind the thought that we must in time let you up, and then it shall be your turn, for the soldiers will be called in to perform what you fail in doing. how well would that plan work if we did our duty, and killed you here and now? it is what should be done to a lad who, having received nothing but favors in this section of the colony, betrays to their death a hundred or more of his neighbors." anger had rapidly died out of ephraim's eyes as nathan spoke, for by the tone of the latter, one would have said that he was in deadly earnest, and really questioned whether or no it was not his duty to take this worthless life. "it would not be a hard matter to let his life-blood out," evan added, intent only on doing his share toward frightening the spy, "and perhaps it will be best even though he had not betrayed colonel clarke and his men, for we can have a very fair idea of what he will be, once power is his." "find something with which to tie his feet and hands, and then we will contrive a gag so that it is not necessary to sit over him in this fashion." evan obeyed the command by tearing from the lad's hunting-shirt two or three strips of material sufficiently stout to resist all his struggles, and in a comparatively short space of time the tory was bound hand and foot, with one sleeve of his own garment stuffed inside his mouth as a gag. he was powerless now either to move or speak, and only when the work was accomplished did the boys fully realize that they had, perhaps, injured themselves by thus temporarily turning the tables. "it would have been better had we let him go his own gait," evan said in a whisper as he drew nathan toward the window where the helpless tory could not overhear his words. "of course we cannot hope to keep him here longer than morning, and it is hardly likely the redcoats will suffer him to be absent so many hours without making certain he is safe. once the troopers come we shall suffer for this bit of pleasantry." "they are not like to put in an appearance for several hours yet, more especially if the villain gave out that he would stand guard until weary of the sport." "yet the end must finally come." nathan started as if a sudden thought had flashed upon him, and turned quickly toward the window as he seized one of the heavy bars. "have you any idea that it might be possible to pull that down?" evan asked wonderingly. "hark you, lad," and now nathan appeared like one laboring under great excitement. "why might we not escape? the britishers will have no care for us while it is believed that sneak is acting as sentinel, and if one of these bars could be removed, we might count on at least an hour's start." "but there is no hope of our being able to remove the barrier." "who shall say until it has been tried?" "i am certain that with our bare hands we might tug and strain until morning without so much as loosening one of the fastenings." it was as if this suggestion excited nathan to a yet more brilliant flight of fancy in the line of escape, for suddenly he darted toward the door where he stood a moment in the attitude of a listener, and then retracing his steps, whispered to evan: "it is almost certain the britishers are on the floor below. this tory has the key of the door in his pocket----" "surely you are not thinking of attempting to make your way down past all those who have taken possession of the house?" "by no means; yet what will prevent our venturing into some of the chambers nearby, where perchance we shall find what will serve as a lever to remove these bars." evan seized his comrade's hands ecstatically. there was every reason to believe such a venture might be made, and without waiting to discuss it he began searching ephraim's pockets for the key. this was soon found. a bulky iron instrument fashioned by hand, and mostlike brought from the mother country, it could not well be concealed. cautiously, lest the slightest grating of the iron should give the alarm, the boys shot the bolt back; the door was opened, and they were at last free of the upper portion of the house. it was not safe to loiter in their work, however, for at any moment some one might come from below to ascertain what ephraim was doing, and the boys moved as swiftly as they did noiselessly until, when hardly more than a minute had elapsed, they had in their possession such tools as it seemed positive would enable them to effect the purpose. an old musket barrel, and a strip of oak which went to make up a quilting-frame, were the articles which the lads brought into the room, carefully barring the door behind them and replacing the key in ephraim's pocket. these implements would serve to pry off the bars of the window, but whether it might be done silently or not was a matter that could only be determined by experiment. the helpless spy was watching their every movement, and by bending over him now and then the lads could see, even in the gloom, an expression of anger in his eyes. he must have realized now that the chances in favor of their escape were brought about wholly through his desire to gloat over those whom he believed were in his power. it can readily be believed, however, that the two lads did not spend much time upon the spy. had there been a possibility of taking him with them, they would have run many risks in order to accomplish such a purpose; but since that was out of the question, and he powerless for harm during a certain time at least, they could not afford to waste precious moments upon him. "i will use this bar as a lever, and do you stand by with the musket-barrel to hold such advantage as may be gained," nathan said. "it is reasonable to suppose there will be some creaking as the nails are forced out; but that we cannot prevent." "work as cautiously as may be possible, for we have ample time." the lower bar was within three inches of the window-ledge, and upon this nathan determined to direct his efforts, since it would probably be the most easily removed. the stout quilting-frame was inserted beneath it edgewise, which brought one end some distance into the room, the window-ledge serving as a fulcrum. evan stood near at hand, ready with the musket-barrel in case a shorter lever could be used to better advantage, and, after listening for an instant to make certain that none of the enemy were nearabout on the outside, the boys began that work which it was hoped would open the door to freedom. slowly and steadily the bar was raised upward as the hand-fashioned nails bent under the strain, and then came a creaking as the iron was drawn through the wood; not loud, but sounding in the ears of the anxious lads to be of such volume that it seemed positive an alarm would be given. both ceased their efforts, and stood near the window listening. no unusual sounds betokened that the redcoats had heard the warning noise. all was still save for the sounds of revelry in the apartment below, and the hum of the soldiers' voices nearabout the stables on the other side of the dwelling. "try it again," evan whispered with feverish eagerness. "we have raised it half an inch already, and as much more of a strain will leave it in such shape that it can be readily pushed aside." [illustration: nathan did as his comrade suggested, and save for a slight creaking now and then, the work was carried on.--page .] nathan did as his comrade suggested, and save for a slight creaking now and then, the work was carried on in almost perfect silence until the bar hung only by the points of the nails. it remained simply to force it outward with their hands, at the same time preventing it from falling to the ground. with this removed, the aperture would be sufficiently large to admit of their crawling through, and the time had come, thanks to the spy who would have taken their lives had his power been sufficient, that they might follow on the trail of sarah dillard to greene's spring, if her mad ride had not led her to death elsewhere. "there is no reason why we should waste any time here," evan said hurriedly, nervous now that the moment for action had arrived. "the redcoats may come at any moment to see how their spy is faring, and it would be a grievous disappointment to find ourselves checked at the instant when it seems as if we were freed." "i have got just one word to say to that tory villain, and then i am ready," nathan replied. "do you push off the bar, taking good care that it does not drop from your hands, while i warn him of what will surely be his fate if he continues on the road he has chosen." evan acted upon this suggestion as nathan kneeled by the side of ephraim and whispered: "you can have the satisfaction of knowing that we would yet be fast prisoners but for your having come to bully us. until the moment you threatened to strike i had no idea escape would be possible; but the opportunity has arrived, and we shall take advantage of it. now hark you, master sowers, and remember all i say, for there be more than evan and i who will carry out this threat. continue your spying upon the americans, serve the britishers longer, and you shall be marked for what may be worse than death. when the life of such as you is necessary in the cause of freedom no one would hesitate to take it, coward and sneak though you be. turn about from your ways this moment, or expect that the hand of every mountain man and every american soldier will be against you." ephraim twisted about as if it would have pleased him right well could he have spoken at that moment, but the gag choked his words, and he perforce remained silent however much he would have liked to use his voice. then all was ready for the flight. the bar had been removed, and evan stood beside the window impatient to be off, fearing each instant lest one of the enemy should ascend the stairs. "go you ahead," nathan whispered, "and if when you reach the ground the redcoats appear, do your best to make good your escape, thinking not of me." "i will never desert a comrade." "you must in this case, if it so be opportunity for flight presents itself. it is not your life nor mine, evan, which is of moment now. we must remember only those who are in such great peril, for i have many doubts as to whether sarah dillard can force that colt over the mountain road. hesitate no longer; but set out, and from this instant cease to think of anything save that you are to arrive at colonel clarke's encampment without loss of time." thus urged, evan delayed no longer than was necessary, but a certain number of seconds were spent in the effort to force his body through the narrow aperture, because of the awkward position which the circumstances demanded. with nathan's help he pushed his feet through first, and when half his body was outside, allowed himself to slip down at the expense of severe scratching from the bar, which yet remained in position above, until he hung by his hands on the window-ledge. "the distance is not great," nathan whispered encouragingly, "and you should be able to drop without making much noise. do not speak once you are on the ground; but get behind the smaller stable as soon as may be, and if in five minutes i do not join you, push on toward greene's spring alone." "you will not delay?" "not so much as a minute. now drop." a slight jar, such as might have been made by a child leaping from a height of ten feet, was all that came back to the anxious listener at the window to tell of his comrade's movements, and then he in turn set about following the example. now it was that ephraim made strenuous efforts to free himself. he writhed to and fro on the floor as if bending all his energies to break the bonds which confined his limbs, and so fearful was nathan lest the tory spy should succeed in his purpose, that he turned back to make certain the boy was yet helpless. "i am almost tempted to pay off the score 'twixt you and i before leaving; but it would be cowardly to strike one who is helpless, i suppose," the lad said half to himself, and then turned resolutely, as if finding it difficult to resist the temptation, setting off on the road to freedom. it was not as easy to force himself out between the ledge and the bar as in the case of evan, because of his being considerably larger, and the clothing was literally torn from his back before he was finally in a position where nothing more was required than to drop to the ground. it appeared to him as if he made double as much noise as had his comrade, and before daring to creep across the stable-yard to the rendezvous agreed upon, he remained several seconds on the alert for the slightest sound betokening the movements of the britishers. no unusual noise came upon his ear, and saying to himself that it was hardly possible he and evan had succeeded in making their escape with so little difficulty, he pushed cautiously forward until, when he was within the gloom of the building, his comrade seized him by the hands. this was no time for conversation, nor was it the place in which to loiter. advantage must be taken of every second from this instant until they had carried the warning to colonel clarke's men, or learned that sarah dillard had succeeded in her ride, and nathan pressed evan's hand in token that they should push forward without delay. the direct trail was well defined, and the boys struck into it an hundred yards or more from the stable, when nathan whispered triumphantly: "now that we have succeeded in making our escape, evan, it is only a question of endurance, and we must not think of self until after having met sarah dillard, or had speech with colonel clarke." chapter v. sarah dillard. nathan and evan had good cause for self-congratulations. the escape had been accomplished almost as if the enemy themselves contributed to its success, and so long as the two remained within earshot of the plantation, nothing was heard to betoken that their flight had been discovered. thanks to the fact that ephraim sowers had taken it upon himself to wreak a little private revenge simply because the lads had discovered his true nature, the britishers would rest content, believing their prisoners were secure under his guard, and it might be several hours before any member of major ferguson's party had sufficient curiosity to inquire regarding the young tory's absence. unless, perchance, he was to act as guide for the party who would march to greene's spring, neither englishman nor tory would have use for the spy before daylight, and it was quite within the range of possibility that he might remain gagged and bound upon the floor of the improvised prison until the troop was ready to resume the march next morning. once they were clear of the dwelling nathan and evan wasted little thought on ephraim. when the time should come that they might make known his true character among those who had befriended the lad, then would they remember him to some purpose; but while they were pressing forward through the thicket at full speed, now catching a glimpse of the footprints of sarah dillard's horse, and again being convinced that he had left the trail, it was as if ephraim had no existence. many times before the first three miles of distance had been traversed did they speculate as to the probable time when major ferguson would send forward those men who were to butcher or capture the little band of americans at the spring; but without arriving at any definite conclusion. from the dillard plantation to the encampment concerning which ephraim had given information, was no less than twenty miles, and in case the horsemen should be selected to do the bloody work, about three hours would be required for the journey. if the foot-soldiers were chosen for the task, then six hours would be none too long; but neither of the boys believed the infantry would take part in the proposed maneuver, otherwise the men would most likely have set out before dark. "we can hold certain that the horsemen will make the attack, and i am guessing they will not start before eleven o'clock to-night. they may then fall upon our men between two and three in the morning, when it is said sleep weighs heaviest upon the eyelids, and if neither sarah dillard nor we succeed in getting through to give the alarm, there is little doubt but that all under colonel clarke's command will fall victims." "we _must_ get through," evan cried with energy, and nathan added: "we shall do it, lad; never you fear, for there is like to be nothing that can stop us, unless by some unfortunate chance the troopers begin their journey before we have reckoned on." then once more the boys trudged on in silence until, perhaps ten minutes later, they were brought to a sudden standstill by sounds in the distance which seemed to proclaim the movement of some heavy body through the underbrush. unarmed as they were, flight was their only defence, and the two bent forward in the attitude of listeners, keenly on the alert for the first indication as to the character of this noisy traveler. at one moment nathan would announce positively that the disturbance was caused by some animal, and again he felt equally certain he could hear in the distance the sound of human voices. "there is only one thing of which i am fully convinced," he said after being thus forced to change his opinion several times. "whoever may be out there yonder is a stranger in this section of the colony, otherwise he would be more careful in proclaiming his whereabouts in such fashion." "in that case we may safely venture to creep up nearer," evan suggested. "so far as i can make out, that disturber of the peace neither lessens nor increases his distance, and we might wait here until the troopers come up without being any the wiser." to this nathan agreed, and the two advanced cautiously pace by pace until suddenly, and at the same instant, a low exclamation of surprise burst from the lips of both. they had recognized sarah dillard's voice, and knew without waiting for further proof that her mad ride had come to a sudden and untimely end. now the two pressed forward at a run, slackening not the pace until they were where such a view could be had of the struggling animal and the courageous woman as was possible in the gloom. "who is it?" she called, hearing the advance of the boys, and there was a ring of alarm in her tone which told that she feared the redcoats might have pushed forward to make the attack. "it is nathan shelby and evan mcdowells," the former cried, and gained some idea of the good woman's surprise when she failed for a moment to speak. "step out here where i may see you; but take care not to further alarm the colt," she said, distrusting the announcement even though she recognized the voice. the boys obeyed, and when mrs. dillard had the proof of her own eyes as to their identity, she demanded to be told how they had succeeded in escaping. "the britishers must have left the plantation, otherwise how could you be here?" "if major ferguson's troop had gone we should have been forced to accompany them, else ephraim sowers has less influence than he believes." then, without waiting for further questioning, and in as few words as possible, nathan explained all, so far as he knew, that had taken place at the plantation immediately after the departure of mrs. dillard, asking as he concluded the story: "was it not possible for you to keep the colt on the trail?" "he threw me when he got nearabout this point; but i contrived to retain hold of the bridle, and have kept him with me, although thus far it has availed me little, since i am unable to remount." "suppose you let either evan or i ride him? there will be less likelihood of his throwing one of us." "i question if you could come so near doing it as i can, for he is acquainted with me, and would not allow either of you to approach him." "i can ride any horse that another can bridle," nathan replied confidently, as he went toward the colt, who during this brief conversation had been standing comparatively quiet. it was much as if he had heard the rash assertion, and was determined to prove it false, for the boy had no sooner begun to advance than he reared and plunged in such a frantic manner that mrs. dillard well-nigh lost her hold of the bridle. "it is useless for you to attempt it," she said as soon as the animal had quieted down somewhat. "he has been accustomed to no one but me, and because i had been able to lead him by the halter, did i venture to put on the bridle." "there seems little chance you will be able to mount," evan said after a brief pause, "and every moment increases the danger to those at greene's spring. no one can say how soon the britishers may set out, and there are not less than eighteen miles to be traversed." "i know it," mrs. dillard cried like one nearly frantic with apprehension. "i know it, and yet what may be done? it is certain neither of you boys can come as near managing the horse as i, and yet, i am unable to remount." "would you venture to lead him back?" "to what end?" "evan and i might push forward on foot, trusting to getting through in time." "and there is little chance you could succeed, lads. eighteen miles over this rough road would require certainly no less than six hours, and before that time has passed the redcoats must have overtaken you." then mrs. dillard turned her attention to soothing the colt, and during five minutes or more the boys waited with ill-concealed impatience as he alternately advanced to receive her caresses, and then reared and plunged when she attempted to throw her arm over his neck. "it is better we push ahead, trusting to the poor chance of arriving in time, than to stand here idle," nathan said at length. "i do not believe you could force him to keep the trail even though you succeed in remounting." "it must be done," mrs. dillard cried sharply. "there is no other means by which we may be certain of warning those who are in danger, and the colt shall be made to perform his part." "how can we help you?" the anxious woman looked about her an instant as if trying to decide how the task might be accomplished, and then she said in the tone of one who ventures upon an experiment: "suppose you two come up gently toward him, one on each side, with the idea of seizing him by the bridle. if that could be done, and you were able to hold him a few seconds, i promise to get upon his back." "and perhaps only to have your brains dashed out the next instant." "there is no reason why we should speculate as to the result. i must mount him, boys, and he must be made to go forward. it is our only hope, and when so many lives hang in the balance it surely seems as if the good lord would permit that i should do what at this moment appears to be impossible." neither evan nor nathan believed they could on foot traverse the distance which lay between them and greene's spring before the britishers should arrive, and yet at the same time they had little hope the restive animal would be brought into submission; but at the moment it seemed to be the only alternative, and without delay they set about acting upon mrs. dillard's suggestion. making a short detour through the bushes, they came up on his flank, on either side, while the animal reared and plunged until it seemed certain he would shake off the woman's hold upon the bridle. then with a sudden dash both boys gained his head at the same instant, and this much of the work was accomplished. now the animal redoubled his efforts to escape, frightened by the touch of strangers; but the boys held bravely on, at times raised high from the ground, until it became a question as to whether the bridle would stand the strain which was put upon it. "don't let go," nathan cried as the colt made a more furious leap, forcing evan to jump quickly aside lest he be struck by the animal's hoofs. "don't let go, and we may possibly so far tire him out that mrs. dillard can mount." "she could not ride this beast even though he was saddled," evan muttered, now losing all hope that the message might be delivered in time. during such while as the boys had been struggling with the colt, mrs. dillard stood dangerously near his flanks, watching for an opportunity, and evan had no more than uttered his gloomy prediction when, clutching the animal's mane with her left hand, she vaulted on to his back, seizing the bridle as she leaped. "now if you can head him up the trail, you may let go," she said hurriedly; but nathan was not minded captain dillard's wife should ride to what seemed almost certain death without another protest from him. "the colt is maddened by his struggles with us, and in far more dangerous a condition than when you first mounted. it is madness to think of attempting to make your way through the thicket in the darkness. i implore you to give over the attempt, and let us press on as best we may afoot." "now you are asking that i leave these brave men, and among them my husband, to be surprised by an enemy that knows no mercy, for it is positive you could not get through in time. turn the colt, if it so be you can, and once he is headed in the right direction, jump aside." "shall we do it?" evan asked, for even now it was in his mind to disobey the brave woman's commands. [illustration: the colt darted forward at full speed with mrs. dillard.--page .] "ay, i see no other course," nathan replied, and then he devoted all his energies toward carrying out her instructions. not less than five minutes were spent in the battle between the boys and the animal, and then the former were the conquerers so far as having turned him around was concerned. "now stand ready to let him go, and leap back out of the way," mrs. dillard cried. "then do you press on at your best speed in case i am thrown again, and forced to give over this method of traveling." "are you ready?" evan cried. "ay, when you say the word." "let go!" as the boys leaped back the colt darted forward at full speed, wildly lashing out with his hind feet, and in a twinkling the animal and his rider were lost to view in the gloom. "she will have earned captain dillard's life, whether it be saved or not; but it will be at the expense of her own, for there is not a man in the carolinas who can keep that beast on this mountain trail." "it would have been better if we had not met her," evan said gloomily, "for then she would have been forced to go back, instead of riding to her death as she is now doing." to this nathan made no reply, and while one might have counted twenty the two lads stood on the trail in the darkness as if there was nothing more for them to do this night. it was evan who first aroused himself to a full realization of the situation, and he said, much like one who awakes from a troubled dream: "it is not for us to waste precious time here, nathan. believing that sarah dillard cannot gain greene's spring, we must press forward at the best of our ability, for there is a slight hope we may arrive in time to give the alarm, although it hardly seems possible at this moment." "you are right, evan, and from this instant there shall be no halting," nathan cried, as he set out with a regular, swinging gait, which promised to carry him at a speed of not less than three miles an hour. now, being fully convinced that the safety of colonel clarke's men depended entirely upon themselves, they hastened onward without thought of fatigue, making no halt save now and then when they stopped to refresh themselves with water from a mountain stream. the gloom was now so dark that it was impossible to distinguish any imprints on the trail, and, consequently, the lads could form no idea as to whether sarah dillard was yet keeping in the direct course, or if the colt swerved from one side to the other, carrying her amid the underbrush, where she must inevitably be killed. until they believed midnight was come nathan and evan had pressed steadily forward, and then came that sound which told them all their efforts were vain. from the rear could be heard faintly the sound of horses' hoofs, and involuntarily the two halted. "the britishers are coming!" evan whispered, and nathan's voice was tremulous as he replied: "they started even sooner than i feared, and all our efforts are vain so far, for it is not less than six miles from here to greene's spring." "and our friends will be butchered!" "there is hardly one chance in a hundred but that the surprise will be complete, in which case we know what must be the result." they had ceased to believe in even the possibility that sarah dillard might have accomplished the journey in safety, and accepted it as a fact that the plans of the enemy, laid on information brought by ephraim sowers, would be carried through successfully. nearer and nearer came the horsemen until the two lads could hear the hum of conversation among the men before they realized the necessity of concealing themselves. no good could be accomplished, so far as those at greene's spring were concerned, by their capture, and it was reasonable to suppose much harm might come to themselves after they were carried back to where ephraim sowers might wreak his vengeance upon them. until this evening the young tory had had no cause for enmity save on account of their having discovered his true character; but now, after remaining gagged and bound a certain number of hours, he must be panting for revenge, and it might be that major ferguson would not check him. so long had they thus remained as if dazed that there was hardly time to conceal themselves in the underbrush a few feet distant from the trail before the foremost of the horsemen came into view. the enemy were riding in couples, and from his hiding-place evan counted ninety pairs of riders before the whole of the troop had passed. then it seemed as if fortune was determined to play her most scurvy trick upon these two lads, whose one desire was to save the lives of their friends. evan, who had crouched on one knee when he first sank behind the bushes, endeavored to change his position in order to relieve the strain upon his limb, and by so doing slipped on a rotten branch, which broke beneath his weight with a report seemingly as loud as that of a pistol-shot. instantly the troopers halted immediately opposite, and before the boys could have taken refuge in flight, two having dismounted, plunged into the underbrush. all this had been done so quickly that the fugitives literally had no time to flee, and hardly more than thirty seconds elapsed from the breaking of the twig until each lad was held roughly and firmly in the clutch of a soldier. "what's wrong in there?" an officer from the trail shouted, and one of the captors replied as he dragged his prey out into the open: "we have found a couple of young rebels, and they look much like the two we left behind us at the plantation." word was passed ahead for the entire troop to halt, and an officer whom the boys afterward recognized as a tory by the name of dunlap, who held the king's commission as colonel, came riding back. "who are you?" he asked as the troopers forced their prisoners in front of them on the trail where they might most readily be seen. "nathan shelby and evan mcdowells." "how is it you are here? are you not the same who were taken prisoners this evening and confined in the dillard house?" "we are," nathan replied without hesitation. "how did you escape?" "ephraim sowers was sent, or came of his own will, to make us march around the room by way of punishment." "no such orders as that could have been given by major ferguson." "i know not how that may be; but ephraim acted the part of jailer, and commanded us to do his bidding, which was none other than that we march around the room even though we had been afoot all day." "that doesn't explain how you escaped?" "ephraim was unarmed, but threatened to strike us when we refused. the result was the same as if almost any one else had been in our position. we made ephraim a prisoner, and then, by forcing off one of the wooden bars, slipped out of the window." "then the boy is yet there?" the colonel said, as if in surprise that such should be the case. "ay, if he has not been released. we left him safely enough." nathan believed that he and evan would be roughly treated so soon as that which they had done was made known; but the troopers appeared to think it a laughing matter, and even the colonel who was in charge of the detachment did not look upon it with any great degree of severity, for he said after a brief pause: "ephraim must remain where he is until our return, and perhaps after this night he will be more careful when he puts himself into the power of his enemies. you who have taken the prisoners shall guard them until we have finished our work, and then it is likely we will have more to keep them company. mount, and see to it that the rebels do not make their escape again." the troopers obeyed, pulling the two lads after them into the saddle, with many a threat as to what would be the result if there was any resistance, until nathan said, but without show of temper or impatience: "we are willing to ride, and shall not be so foolish as to resist when the odds are so strongly against us." "we are not in the humor to put up with any more rebel tricks this night, and at the first show of an attempt to escape i shall use my knife in a way that won't be pleasant," the trooper replied as he put spurs to his horse, and the detachment rode three or four miles further before slackening pace. then they were come in the vicinity of greene's spring, and the boys who had already braved so much in the hope of being able to warn their friends in danger, believed that the time was very near at hand when they must perforce see colonel clarke's men ruthlessly cut down or captured. chapter vi. greene's spring. many wild plans came into nathan's mind during the short time the main body of the detachment were halted while skirmishers went ahead to ascertain if ephraim had correctly described the situation of affairs. it seemed to him at this moment as if he must do something toward warning the friends of freedom of the danger which menaced, and was ready to act, whatever might be the cost to him. once he said to himself that he would wait until they were come nigh to the encampment, and then he and evan should cry aloud at the full strength of their lungs, even though the britishers killed them an instant later--their lives would count for but little if these others who were so necessary to the colonists might be saved. a moment's reflection served to convince him that such a plan was impracticable, and in casting it aside he came to believe that possibly he and evan might succeed in getting hold of one of the troopers' muskets sufficiently long to discharge it. anything which would make noise enough to arouse the sleeping men might answer his purpose, and yet he racked his brain in vain to hit upon that which should give promise of being successful. neither he nor evan had an opportunity for private conversation. the two troopers held the lads six or eight feet from each other, as if suspecting they might plot mischief if allowed freedom of speech, and therefore it was they had no opportunity of comparing plans which had for their end only the welfare of colonel clarke's forces. at the expiration of ten minutes word was passed along the line for the men to advance slowly, and every precaution was taken as the command was obeyed, to prevent even so much as the rattle of their accoutrements, lest by such means the americans be apprised of the horrible fate in store for them. soon the detachment was come within a quarter of a mile, as nearly as evan and nathan could judge, of the spot colonel clarke had selected for the encampment, and now no man spoke above a whisper. "this is serious business on which we are bent this night," the trooper who held nathan captive whispered threateningly, and standing so near evan that he also might overhear the words, "and the lives of two boys like you would not be allowed to come betwixt us and our purpose. therefore take heed, lads, that our orders are to kill you in cold blood rather than allow any alarm to be given. now if it so chanced that you struck your foot against my musket, or shouted, or did anything to break the silence, i should consider it my duty to obey the commands, and as soon as might be one or both of you would be past all danger. take an old soldier's advice, and make the best of a bad matter. it is no longer possible you can warn your friends, and the most you could accomplish would be your own death." there was little need for the trooper to make this plain statement of the situation, for both the boys understood full well how summarily they would be dealt with in case they failed to obey any orders given by the men. now whispered commands came down the line for the soldiers to dismount, and for every fifth trooper to remain in the rear to care for the horses. when this command had been obeyed, and the animals tied with their heads together in groups of five, it was found that the man who held evan prisoner was thus detailed to care for the animals, while his comrade belonged to the force which would advance. therefore it was that nathan's captor turned him over to the other trooper, saying as he did so: "if you have any doubts as to being able to keep these young rebels in proper subjection, i will truss them up before leaving; but it seems to me one englishman can care for five horses and two boys, without any very great amount of difficulty." "i am not afraid but that it can be done after some sort of fashion, yet i had rather not kill a lad even though he be a rebel, so if it is all the same to you, pass a couple of those saddle-straps over their arms, and i'll be more certain of keeping them here without using a bullet." the trooper did as he was requested, and the boys were fettered in such a manner as precluded all possibility of escape. with both arms stretched to their sides flight was out of the question, and the hearts of the lads were heavy in their breasts, for they must remain in the rear while the redcoats went on to do the slaughtering. "i could kill ephraim sowers and never believe i had committed a murder," nathan whispered when the two, placed back to back, were fastened to a convenient tree. "all the blood spilled this night will be upon his head, and that brave men should meet their death through such as him makes it all the more pitiful." "there is a chance sarah dillard succeeded in getting through to the spring," evan whispered in a tremulous tone. "i cannot believe it. the captain himself would never have made such a doubtful venture, and surely a woman could not succeed where he must have failed." now those of the troopers who had not been detailed to the care of the horses, were ordered forward, and soon only the animals, with perhaps twenty men to guard them, remained in this portion of the thicket. not a sound betrayed the movements of the redcoats as they advanced to do what seemed little less than murder. even the boys, knowing how many were making their way through the underbrush, listened in vain for the slightest noise which should tell of the progress. a band of indians could hardly have moved more stealthily, and unless the members of the little encampment were already on the alert, the doom of all was sealed. the suspense of the boys became so great as the moments passed that they could not carry on a conversation. speculations were vain when in a few seconds the dreadful reality would be upon them, and their hearts beat so violently that it was as if the blood must burst from their veins. the seconds passed like moments, and yet all too swiftly as the lads realized what time must bring to their friends. it seemed to nathan as if they had remained there silent and motionless fully an hour listening for the first sound of the conflict, or the massacre, whichever it might be, and yet all was as silent as when the troopers left. he began to fancy that both sarah dillard and ephraim sowers had been mistaken in believing colonel clarke's men were encamped at the spring, and when this thought had grown in his mind until it was almost a well-defined hope, the first musket-shot rang out. "the murderers have begun," he said to his comrade in a voice so choked by emotion that the words sounded strange and indistinct. then came a volley--a second and a third, and the troopers who held the horses started in astonishment, perhaps fear, for this was not the absolute surprise on which they had counted. now the rattle of musketry increased until there could be no question but that it was a conflict, and not a massacre, which was taking place. by some means the patriots had been warned in due season, and were ready to meet the foe, as they ever had been. "it is sarah dillard's ride that has saved them!" evan exclaimed as if questioning the truth of his own statement, and straightway nathan fell to weeping, so great was the relief which came upon him as he realized that the friends of freedom had been prepared for the foe. the troopers nearabout the boys were so excited and astonished, because what they had counted on as being a complete surprise proved to have been a failure, that no one heard evan's remark, and the prisoners could have shouted for very joy when the men began speculating one with the other as to how word might have been sent to the patriots. "it is certain they were ready to receive us," one man said as if in anger because the plan was miscarrying. "that firing is being done by men who were ready for battle as were ours. there has been a traitor in the camp." "how might that be?" another asked fiercely. "at the last halting-place we were twenty miles from the rebel encampment, and certain it is no one could have ridden ahead of us." "these two boy did succeed in escaping, despite the fact that major ferguson believed them to be safe in the chamber of the dwelling." "ay; but what does that prove? we overtook them on the way, and surely you cannot claim that they might have walked twenty miles from the time of escaping until they were recaptured?" the rattle of musketry increased, and to the eager ears of the boys it seemed as if the noise of the conflict was approaching, which would indicate that the britishers were being driven back. "does it appear to you as if we heard those sounds more clearly?" nathan asked, hoping he had not been mistaken, and yet feeling almost certain the patriots could do but little more than hold their own. "i am positive of it!" evan cried with a ring of joy and triumph in his tone. "now and then i can hear voices even amid the tumult, and that was impossible five minutes ago." one of the troopers, overhearing this remark, said to his comrade gloomily: "the rebels are getting the best of us, who counted on taking them completely by surprise." "there is no doubt of that," the other soldier replied, and straightway the men began making the horses ready for departure, as if they expected their comrades would come back in full flight, and need the means of continuing it. when five minutes more had passed there was no longer any question as to the result of the combat. by this time the british were so near where the horses had been left that now and then stray bullets whistled among the branches above the heads of the prisoners, and the two lads began debating how it might be possible for them to escape when the troop should be in full flight. however kind fortune had been to the americans on this night, she was not so indulgent as to give the lads their liberty. as could be told from the rattle of musketry, the british made a stand after fifteen minutes' or more of hot fighting, and the americans, having accomplished as much, and, perhaps, even more than they had expected, were willing the invaders should draw off if such was their disposition. in less than half an hour from the time they set out to massacre the supposedly sleeping encampment, the redcoats had returned, and, standing by their horses, awaiting the command to mount. now it was that even in the gloom the boys could see how many of the animals were without riders. there had been no empty saddles when the troop rode up, and now on looking around there was hardly a squad of horses where more than two out of five had a man standing by his side. "the slaughter was not wholly among our friends," evan whispered to nathan, and the latter, bent only on trying to escape, said hurriedly: "think of nothing but yourself just now. there must be a chance for us to give them the slip amid all this confusion." he had no more than spoken before one of the officers came up and asked of those standing near by: "who had charge of these lads?" the two troopers who had made the capture replied to the question, and then came the order: "see to it that you hold them fast. there is no reason why your own beasts should carry double while there are so many spare horses; but lash them firmly to the saddles, for major ferguson must have speech with them by daylight." "we are to suffer because the britishers have been repulsed," evan whispered, and nathan replied manfully: "much can be endured, knowing as we do all that has taken place this night. while i am not hankering to come into the power of ephraim sowers again, as most like we shall, it will be less painful now this bloody plan has gone awry." considerable time was spent before the remnants of the detachment began the return march. there were many wounded to be cared for, and a number so badly injured that they must remain behind. some of the dead were to be buried, and the soldiers who had fallen nearest the encampment must have the last office performed for them by those whom they would have massacred. finally all was in readiness. nathan and evan, each on a trooper's horse with his feet tied beneath the saddle, were given a place just in advance of their captors and about midway of the troop. colonel dunlap and his officers set out in advance. the command to "march" was given, and the crestfallen redcoats turned their faces toward captain dillard's plantation. now it was impossible for the prisoners to speak one with the other; during four hours they endured a most painful journey, bound in such manner that their limbs became cramped, and it was as if all the blood in their bodies had been forced toward their heads. the lads were hardly conscious during the last hour of that painful march, and when, arriving at the plantation, the ropes were unloosed, they would have fallen to the ground but for the assistance of those who guarded them. ephraim sowers was awaiting the return of those who had gone out because of the information he brought, and he gave vent to a loud cry of vindictive joy when he saw them bringing the two he most desired to see. he was near at hand when the prisoners reeled helplessly in the saddles, and as they were laid upon the ground the young spy advanced as if to kick them; but was forced back by one of the soldiers, who said sharply: "none of that, you young renegade. we who wear the king's uniform are not a band of painted savages; but men who fight fairly, never disgrace themselves by striking a helpless or an unarmed man." "these rebels belong to me. i was in charge of them when they escaped, and shall work my will on them!" ephraim cried in a rage as he attempted to force himself past the soldier. "not while i am standing nearby, unless you have major ferguson's written permission, and that i much misdoubt you will get." it was useless for ephraim to insist that these lads were his special property, and after learning that some of the men looked with favor upon his intention of torturing them as punishment for their having escaped, he went post haste to the commander. some of the redcoats had given the prisoners water, and in a short time they revived sufficiently to be conscious of all that was going on about them. it was at the moment ephraim returned that they sat upright, and to their surprise he made no attack upon them, but contented himself by saying threateningly: "before this day comes to an end i will have got even with you for last night's work, and you may be certain i shall settle the score with full measure." "since you failed in sending death to those at greene's spring, we can well afford to listen to your threats," nathan replied, and then refused to so much as look toward the spy. from the fact that ephraim lingered nearby it seemed positive he must have received some promise regarding the custody of the prisoners from major ferguson; but yet as the time passed he made no effort to interfere with them, and when the detachment had been at the plantation an hour or more, a messenger came with orders that the two lads be taken into the house, where the commander would have speech with them. "now has come the time when we shall see how far that tory sneak may be allowed to go," nathan whispered to his comrade. "do not give him the satisfaction of knowing that we suffer, whatever he may find an opportunity of doing." "i shall keep my thoughts on sarah dillard's ride and its result, and then all pain will be blunted," evan replied, after which the two followed limpingly (for the blood was not yet circulating properly in their veins) the messenger who had come for them. major ferguson, colonel dunlap, captain depuyster, and four or five other officers were in the dining-room of captain dillard's home when the boys entered, and from the conversation which was being had at that moment nathan believed they were discussing the question of how colonel clarke might have been warned. this supposition seemed to be correct when the major asked abruptly: "after you lads escaped from this building, did you meet any one on the road to greene's spring?" for an instant nathan hesitated to tell that which was a falsehood; but it must be done unless he would betray the woman whose brave ride of the night previous had saved so many lives, and there was only the slightest pause before he replied: "from the time we got away from ephraim sowers until your men recaptured us, we saw no person save those who belonged to the plantation." "when did you last see the mistress of the house, mrs. dillard?" "we saw her when we were taken upstairs." "did you have any further communication with her?" "she spoke with us while we were in the room--she standing on the outside of the locked door." "will you swear that she did not enter the room?" "yes; for if she had been able to do that much, i have no doubt she would have aided us to escape." "did you have no assistance when you got out of the room which had been converted into a prison?" "none except from your spy, ephraim sowers," nathan replied, and then he told of the circumstances of the affair, showing that but for the young tory's vindictiveness the boys would yet have remained in confinement. "will you swear that you sent no word to colonel clarke's forces?" "yes, sir," both the lads replied at the same instant, and with such emphasis that there could be no question but that they were telling the truth. then the officer questioned them concerning where they would have gone but for having been overtaken by the troopers; inquired concerning their families, and such other seemingly unimportant matters, to all of which they gave truthful replies. perhaps twenty minutes had thus been spent when major ferguson turned his head from them as if the interview was at an end, and nathan, with a mind fully made up to make known the threats in which ephraim had indulged, asked: "is it to be, sir, that the boy who would have ill-treated us when we were supposed to be powerless, will have an opportunity now to take his revenge?" "who gave you to understand anything of the kind?" "he himself, sir. he has already boasted that we shall suffer for what we did to him, although it was no more than one soldier might do to another. he was in our power, and we could have abused him; yet we stayed our hands, save so far as to put him in such condition that an alarm could not be given." "i ought to have you hanged offhand." "but we have done nothing, sir, save to escape from one who would have tortured us." "you are rebels, and that is sufficient reason why you merit death; but there is work i would have you do, and for that reason your lives will be spared. i wish to send a message to all those rebels round about who are now in arms against the king, and if you swear to faithfully repeat my words, you shall go free from this plantation within an hour." the boys could hardly believe their ears were not deceiving them. that they should be set free at so small a price, and in face of all the threats ephraim sowers had made, was news so joyful as to be incredible, and their astonishment was such that neither made reply until the major asked impatiently: "well, well, do you refuse to do even that much in order to earn your liberty?" "indeed we do not, sir," nathan cried eagerly. "we are willing to repeat whatsoever you desire, and to as many as you shall say, no matter how far it may be necessary to travel." "are you acquainted with all the rebel leaders hereabouts?" "with nearly all of them, sir; and i promise that captain dillard, colonel mcdowells, or colonel campbell--all three gentlemen with whom we have acquaintance--will put us on the way to find those others in this section." "and you swear faithfully to repeat every word of the message i give you, to each of those rebels who is in command of a dozen or more men?" "yes, sir." "mind, i am saying that you deserve to be hanged; but at the same time i am in need of messengers, and believe that even though you are among the enemies to the king, i can trust you two." "we will perform all that we promise, sir." "and see to it that you do. i am sent into this portion of the carolinas by general cornwallis to crush the spirit of rebellion, and here i shall stay until my work be finished. therefore if you lads attempt to play me false there will come a reckoning, for we shall meet again." "even though we be rebels in the sight of the king, we hold to our word, and that both of us have given. we will swear to it in whatsoever manner may be most convincing to you, sir." "i shall take your word, knowing that the time will speedily come when i can punish you to the fullest extent if you break it. now say to all the rebels in and about this section of the colonies, even though you are forced to travel many a day, that i have come from general cornwallis' army unhampered by any orders other than those to crush out the spirit of rebellion, and that if they do not desist from their armed resistance to the king's commands and take protection under my standard, i will march my army over the mountains, hang their leaders, and lay waste their country with fire and sword." these words he required the boys to repeat for him twice over, and that done, he added: "remember what will be the result if you attempt to deceive me. now go, and see to it that you rest not until the message be delivered to all those in rebellion within a circle of fifty miles. captain depuyster, will you take care that they have safe conduct outside our line of sentinels. if the boy sowers chooses to follow them in the hope of getting his revenge, it will not be in my power to prevent him." then with a gesture nathan and evan were dismissed, and they walked out of the room as if in a daze, for it did not seem to them possible they had thus been dismissed from captivity. chapter vii. at watuga. captain depuyster, who had been charged by major ferguson with seeing that the boys were passed through the line of sentinels surrounding the encampment, lingered behind for a moment to speak with the commander, and the newly-released prisoners were still in such a maze of bewilderment at having been given their liberty that they failed to realize there might be necessity for a captain's escort. they went out of the dwelling, past the sentinels at the door in silence; it was as if neither dared to speak lest the sound of his voice might cause the british commander to reconsider his determination. without so much as looking behind them to learn if captain depuyster was following, for as a matter of fact they hardly heard the command which major ferguson gave relative to their departure, they went straight from the door toward the trail which led to greene's spring; but before having advanced twenty paces they were brought to a halt as ephraim sowers stepped in front of them. "have a care you rebels!" the tory cried threateningly. "don't get the idea that you can run away whenever the fancy takes you, for i am not to be caught at a disadvantage every hour in the day, as i was last night." "if we come in contact with you again there will be more damage done than when we contented ourselves with making you prisoner," nathan said sharply. "stand aside, or it will be the worse for you." ephraim looked up in surprise that the prisoners should have retained such an independent bearing after their interview with the major, for he counted upon their having been reduced to abject submission. he was not to be frightened by their threats, however, now that he was in the open air with the redcoated soldiery all around him; and instead of obeying nathan's command he brandished his fists as he cried: "get back to the house until i can learn what is to be done with you." "we will give you the information without any necessity for your returning," evan said with a laugh, which only served to irritate the tory. "we have major ferguson's permission to depart, and count on doing so without allowing ourselves to be delayed by such as you." "major ferguson's permission to depart!" ephraim repeated stupidly. "step aside, or we may be called upon to put you out of our path with more force than is agreeable." "you lie when you say the major has released you!" "hark you, ephraim sowers; i am not minded to get into a brawl hereabouts; but so much as repeat that word, and i shall give no heed as to the consequences," nathan said sternly. "you and i have a long reckoning to be settled, and i do not desire to begin it now; yet i shall if you are not choice of your words." ephraim looked from one to the other questioningly, as if trying to decide how he might best reduce these lads to the proper state of submission, and then called peremptorily to a soldier who was passing near by: "hello there! here are two prisoners who count on escaping by pretending that major ferguson has given them permission to depart. come and take them in charge." "are these your orders, or do you repeat some other's words?" "don't stop to talk; but lay hold of these two rebels, lest by sheer boldness they succeed in making off." "best keep a quiet and civil tongue in your head, youngster, for i am not minded to take orders from one who does such dirty work as you," the soldier said surlily, and passed on, leaving ephraim crimson with rage. near by where the boys had been halted was a stack of muskets, and running quickly up to them the tory seized one, regardless of the fact that by so doing he allowed all the others to fall to the ground. then, turning suddenly, he aimed the weapon full at the two lads, crying as he did so: "wheel about, and march back to the house, or i shall shoot. don't think you can get the upperhand of me as readily as you did last night, for i am not minded to deal gently with you now." "ho, there! guard!" a voice cried. "seize that lad and let him be deprived of his liberty until he has sense enough to keep in his own station." the soldier who had refused to obey ephraim wheeled about suddenly upon receiving this command from captain depuyster, who had just come from the dwelling, and before the young tory was well aware of the change in the position of affairs, he was being marched toward the stables, the trooper's hand clutching his collar so tightly as to render breathing a difficult operation. "you can go on now, and see to it that you do not loiter, until you have repeated major ferguson's words to the rebels round about." once more the boys set their faces toward greene's spring, and as they marched rapidly away the captain followed them until they were past the line of sentinels. then he turned on his heel, and the two who had so lately been prisoners slackened not their pace until a mile or more was traversed, when as if with one accord they came to a halt, in order to congratulate each other upon the fortunate and unexpected turn of affairs. it is not necessary to repeat here what they said, for one can well fancy how extravagant were their words and demonstrations of joy at finding themselves free when it had seemed positive they were doomed to a long term of imprisonment, during which time ephraim sowers might often play the part of jailer. they hugged each other as if the thankfulness in their hearts could be thus shown better than by words, and laughed loud and long at the discomfiture of the tory spy, who had counted so certainly on making them atone for their treatment of him. in fact, so elated were the lads that their words as well as gestures were extravagant; perhaps half an hour had thus been spent before either bethought himself that it was necessary they should push ahead with all speed, for no rations had been served since the night previous, and food was not to be obtained until they were among friends once more. once the boys were well on the journey, and after the first excess of joy had passed away, both realized their extreme weariness. the previous day was spent in marching. no sleep had come during the night, and much excitement had tended to increase their fatigue. now twenty miles must be traversed, without food, before they could gain the needed rest, and it is not strange that when another hour passed they found it difficult to continue the advance. more than once evan urged that a halt be made for two or three hours, lest they should not be able to hold out until the end; but nathan steadily refused to listen to any suggestions, and they toiled painfully on, stumbling here or staggering there, hardly conscious of their movements. it was as if in a dream that they finally saw that band of americans who had repulsed the british forces a few hours previous, and then all was a blank, for consciousness literally deserted them. during the remainder of the day and all of the following night the weary lads slept. the sun was rising, and colonel clarke's men were making ready for a change of camp, when captain dillard awakened the lads by shaking each gently by the arm, as he cried in a cheery tone: "rise up, or sleep will wear your eyes out. unless i am much mistaken you are more in need of food just now than of additional slumber, and it is time you were stirring." the boys sprang to their feet refreshed by the long repose, and ravenously hungry, but so eager were they to learn the particulars of the combat which they had heard from the distance that neither realized his need of food. "you shall hear it all very shortly; but it will be on full stomachs, for i am not minded to have you starve yet awhile, and it is sarah's right to tell the story." "then mrs. dillard _did_ get here in time?" nathan cried. "ay, lads, else were we like to have been murdered while we slept. and a brave ride it was; but i am not the one to tell it. come over by the fire, and after you have filled yourselves up i will put you in the way to listen to all which i know you are eager to hear." half an hour later, after they had literally obeyed the injunction to "fill themselves up," the boys and captain dillard were pressing on in advance of the american force, to the dwelling where mrs. dillard had sought shelter, and before noon they had arrived at their destination. there was much to be told on both sides, and as the quickest method of gaining the information he desired, nathan first explained how they had left the british camp, and gave all the details of their advance from the time of parting with mrs. dillard on the mountain trail. then it was his turn to act the part of listener, and eagerly did he and evan drink in the vivid account of that night ride, and the combat which ensued. it seemed as if the colt recognized the uselessness of struggling further against the determined woman who was bent on riding him, for when the boys had let go their hold he darted forward straight as an arrow over the trail, and at full speed. there were many places where the narrow road ran along the side of the mountain, when a single misstep would have thrown him headlong over the cliffs, and yet no mountaineer's steed ever traveled with a surer footing, and at so swift a pace. once only did he make any effort at throwing his rider. then, fortunately, it was in a valley where there were no trees, and sarah dillard was sufficiently expert an equestrienne to baffle him. during ten minutes or more the steed plunged and kicked, and then, as if again becoming convinced that he must carry the life-saving message, he darted onward, slackening not the pace until they were arrived in the midst of the encampment. the amazement of the patriots at seeing the hostess from whom they had so lately parted at such an hour, can well be fancied, and it may also be readily understood that, having accomplished the dangerous journey, sarah dillard lost no time in making known the fateful news which she brought. one word was sufficient to these men who were inured to hardships of every kind and accustomed to face danger in every form. within five minutes after mrs. dillard's arrival they were prepared to give major ferguson's force a warm reception, and so sure were the men in their ability to hold the encampment against the enemy, that a squad of four was sent, as escort to the brave rider, a dozen miles or more away where dwelt one in whose fidelity to the cause there could be no question. the colt, so captain dillard said, had done his share in saving the lives of an hundred men, and he should be called upon to perform no meaner work so long as he might live, than that of bearing on his back the woman who had literally taken her life in her hands when she set out on that perilous ride. as to the combat, the captain dismissed it with few words: "we were ready for the redcoats when they came up, and had been for two hours or more. when the horses were picketed our scouts brought us word, and then it was only a question of figuring in our own minds how long it would take them to creep up on us. "we could see the britishers as they surrounded the encampment; but never a man raised his gun until they had their muskets at their shoulders, and then we sent a volley among them that mowed down a full half of those in the front rank. i thought at the moment that they would retreat without so much as firing a shot, because of the astonishment which must have come over them. fancy, every redcoat there felt certain in his own mind that we would be taken wholly by surprise--that they had simply to fire into a crowd of sleeping men, and it would have staggered the best of soldiers to have a shower of bullets sent among them thus suddenly. "they did give us a volley, however--perhaps half a dozen of them during fifteen minutes that passed from the time we first opened fire until the last musket was discharged, and then i can say truthfully that fully half their number was left behind, for, as we figured it, not more than two hundred came out, and we found dead and wounded ninety-eight. as for ourselves, but one man was harmed by british lead, and he got a bullet through his arm in such fashion that he will not be off duty a single day." "we have buried the dead, sent the disabled over the mountains where they will be well cared for, and now stand prepared to meet major ferguson's force again. but tell me what is the message which he charged you to deliver to all the rebels within fifty miles?" "we are to say to those who fight in the cause of freedom, that major ferguson has come from cornwallis' army unhampered by any orders other than those to crush out the spirit of rebellion, and if you do not desist from your armed resistance to the king's commands, and take protection under his standard, he will march his army over the mountains, hang your leaders, and lay waste the country with fire and sword." "the gentleman has considerable to say for himself, eh?" and captain dillard indulged in a hearty laugh. "i wonder if major ferguson of the seventy-first regiment thinks the men hereabout are of such milk-and-water natures that he can disperse them with a word. if i am not mistaken he tried to lay waste greene's spring with fire and sword, and got decidedly the worst of the attempt. it may so chance that he will fail the next time he tries the same game. however, it is not for you to question his method of making war until after you have paid the price of your release. get you gone as soon as may be, lads, and we will utilize the gallant major's paroled prisoners to the calling together of our men, at the same time his threatening words are repeated. you shall be supplied with horses, and i will write down a list of those 'rebels' holding command nearabout, so that each and every one of them may be visited. having repeated the threat, you shall then say that colonel clarke has heard the message, and gone on to watuga, where he awaits the coming of those who resist the king's commands. in other words, lads, we will make watuga a rendezvous, and the time for all to be there is not later than the th of september." "now get you gone, for there be many miles of traveling, and many days to be spent ere your mission is ended and you have the right to call yourselves free lads once more. ride with all speed, and waste not an hour, for the time has come when general cornwallis shall be taught a lesson, or i am mistaken in my neighbors." thus it was that nathan and evan set off on their long and devious journey with no more of a halt than was necessary to relate their story and hear that which captain and mrs. dillard had to tell. to repeat in detail all their wanderings would form dry reading, therefore let us simply recount what was done from that day until the twenty-fifth of september, when, as captain dillard had arranged, the patriots assembled at watuga. they repeated major ferguson's message to colonel william campbell of washington county, in virginia, and he promised to join the patriots with four hundred men. they had speech with nathan's uncle, colonel isaac shelby, who agreed to bring two hundred and forty from sullivan county in north carolina. lieutenant-colonel john sevier, who received them most hospitably, declared that he, with two hundred and forty of his neighbors from washington county, in north carolina, would start at once for watuga. colonel charles mcdowells, evan's father, returned answer that he, with an hundred and sixty from the counties of burke and rutherford, would join the force, and colonel cleaveland answered for three hundred and fifty from the counties of wilkes and surry; but agreed to join force with the other americans somewhere on the catawba river. colonel james williams urged that the force march to the cowpens, on broad river in south carolina, where he would add four hundred trained soldiers to the command. it was not until the morning of the th of september that nathan and evan completed their work of repeating major ferguson's message and summoning the mountain men to the rendezvous. then they were free, so far as the british officer could have any claim upon them, and believed themselves entitled to a place in the ranks by virtue of what they had done for the cause. many miles had been traversed, some on horseback, many in boats, and not a few afoot. they were received everywhere with the utmost hospitality, and perhaps never were two lads shown more respect than they, because of the fact that they were doing, and had done, the work of men, although only boys. they were justly proud on the day of their arrival at watuga, to be received by these sturdy patriots like equals, and to be besieged on every side with questions as to the general feeling among the people of the districts which they had visited. evan's father gave them a place in his troop, and when some of the men insisted that the boys should be allowed to play the part of officers because of the particular and difficult work they had performed, colonel mcdowells replied: "if it is the purpose of the lads to serve their country, they can best do so with muskets in their hands, but if they simply desire to parade themselves before the people in fine feathers, the carolinas is no place for them. they had better go where they can have better fare and more opportunity for admiration." it troubled the boys but little that, after having been intrusted with important business, they were to have no more responsible part than that of private soldiers, for they knew full well that neither was fitted for a command, and it sufficed that the privilege was given them to serve the cause in howsoever humble capacity. they were in the ranks on that th day of september when the little force went out from watuga down the catawba river, and by the th of october, when the patriots had arrived at the cowpens where colonel williams kept his word by marching up with twenty men more than he had promised, it was said among the men as well as the officers that there were no more promising soldiers in the force than these two lads whose first experience in military matters had been gained as prisoners. during this time they made diligent inquiries of all who might have such information concerning ephraim sowers, but without learning anything whatsoever. "don't let that fret you, lads," captain dillard said when they went into camp at the cowpens, and learned from the scouts that major ferguson's force was encamped not more than thirty miles distant near the cherokee ford of broad river. "don't let that fret you. unless i am very much mistaken, we shall not remain here many hours, for there is a council of war being held, and from what i know of our commanding officers, we shall give the gallant major all the hot work he can desire. then, if your tory spy be not weak-kneed, you will have an opportunity of coming face to face with him, for once we have met this gentleman who proposes to lay waste our country with fire and sword, we shall not leave him until after having made the acquaintance of a goodly number of his men." "but ephraim sowers is not a soldier," evan said with a laugh, "and i am of the opinion that he is weak-kneed." "even then the chances are he yet remains with ferguson's troop, for hark you, lad, the tories have joined the major in such numbers that hereabouts in the carolinas are none left at their homes. the spy must stick to his red-coated friends whom he served so well, or have a mighty lonesome time of it by himself. if i had played his part, doing all in my power to bring about the death of those who had befriended me, i should make it my business to keep ever within sight of a red uniform, lest some of those whose death i had sought to compass might fall upon me. you shall see ephraim sowers and have a long talk with him." "you speak, captain, as if there could be no question of the result, once we are come up with the force." "neither is there, lad. we of the carolinas have each a home to protect, and so many wrongs to avenge that there can be no backward move on our part once the fight is opened." "how many men think you major ferguson can muster?" "in regulars and tories from fourteen to fifteen hundred." "and our own forces?" "not far from seventeen hundred." "then we are the stronger?" "not so, nathan, my boy. did we number two thousand the force would hardly be equal, because of disparity of weapons. the king's troops are well equipped, and they bring with them muskets and ammunition in plenty for the tories who join them. we have only such as each man can provide, and some of us so poorly armed that half a dozen rounds would see the powder-horns and shot pouches emptied. but we are fighting for the cause, and they for the king. in that you have the whole story, and therefore this i say: when we come face to face with major ferguson, as i believe we shall within twenty-four hours, we will stay with him so long that you will have ample time in which to seek out this spy who would have compassed the death of us at greene's spring." chapter viii. the prisoner. nathan and evan were enjoying to the utmost this conversation with captain dillard. it is true they had seen him seldom since the first greeting after sarah dillard's ride; but on each occasion he had appeared much as if trying to show the world that he had espoused respect and admiration for these two lads. this was particularly pleasing to the boys, because captain dillard was one who was choice of his associates, and it was often said that "dillard's friendship was given only to brave men." nathan and evan were proud at being seen with this gallant carolinian as if they were his bosom friends, and when a messenger came from colonel mcdowells summoning them to an interview with the commander of the forces from burke and rutherford, they were not well pleased at being obliged to part company from the man who among all the troops they most admired. with evident reluctance they rose to their feet, and while walking toward colonel mcdowells' quarters, nathan said: "i don't think we did any very gallant deed, evan, when we turned the tables on ephraim sowers, or aided sarah dillard to remount the colt. neither have we done anything of which to boast in repeating major ferguson's message, or summoning friends of the cause to the rendezvous; but yet because of all those adventures have we been marked out before the entire camp as lads with whom captain dillard is pleased to hold conversation, and even though we had suffered much, such a reward would be sufficient." "the captain believes we shall come up with the britishers within twenty-four hours," evan said, as if he had not heard his comrade's remark. "ay, and it is said they are only twenty miles away, eager to meet us." "then there is like to be battle." "ay; how else could it be when both sides are ready to fight?" "and shall you rejoice at finding yourself standing musket in hand before the foe?" "of a verity i shall! why not? would you avoid the encounter if it could be done honorably?" and halting suddenly, nathan looked his comrade full in the face. "it is a shameful thing for a lad to say, of that i am well aware," evan replied hesitatingly; "but i grow timorous at the thought, and have great fear lest i shall betray some signs of cowardice." nathan laughed long and loud. "when captain charles mcdowells' son, he whose grandmother has proven herself on more than one occasion to be as brave as the most courageous men, speaks of showing cowardice, there is reason for laughing." "but i have never stood in line with soldiers during the heat of battle, and fear much lest i should shame my father." "you never have done so yet, lad, and i will answer for it that he has no cause to blush in your behalf. put such idle fancies from your mind, and when the hour comes that we meet major ferguson's force, never fear but that you will be foremost among the friends of freedom." evan would have said more regarding this sudden timorousness which had come upon him, but for the fact that they were then arrived at colonel mcdowells' tent, and the subject of the interview for which he had summoned them was so startling and unexpected as to drive all other thoughts from the boy's mind. "you two, who claim the right to be called soldiers, although never having marched in the ranks until the day we left watuga, know full well that the britishers are within thirty or forty miles of us at this moment." the colonel paused as if for reply, and evan said: "we have heard it so spoken among the men, sir." "you understand, also, that we are like to measure strength with them before many hours?" "yes, sir." "while i cast no discredit on your courage, i am free to say that men who have had more experience in this business will be of greater service to us in time of battle than you lads." "but surely, father, you won't say that we shall not bear our share in the combat," evan cried, suddenly forgetting the fears of which he had made mention to his comrade. "it is not my purpose to prevent you from bearing your full share of danger, and in fact i now propose to place you in a position more perilous than, perhaps, would be your regular stations in the regiment. i simply wish to explain why i called upon you for a certain service, rather than men who may be needed elsewhere." the boys looked in bewilderment at the colonel, trying in vain to understand the meaning of this vague explanation, and after a brief pause he continued: "it has been proposed that we send out a certain number of men to gain all possible information regarding the strength and disposition of the enemy. to such suggestions i have argued that we could ill afford to spare even two soldiers, and yet i know it is necessary we should have such knowledge. therefore have i said to those who are associated with me in the command, that we would hold those who had already proven themselves, and send out such as yet had a name to win. the mission is one of extreme danger, and requires most careful work. if you lads shrink not from the task, i would have you volunteer to set about it, for this is a service to which i would not order any person. go, if you can, of your own free will; but if the undertaking seems too dangerous, no one shall taunt you for having refused." "where are we to go, sir?" evan asked. "as near to major ferguson's encampment as may be necessary in order to learn exactly the number and disposition of his men." "when are we to start?" "as soon as may be. there is no time for delay, since we must push forward steadily, and not allow it to be believed that we shrink from the battle." "then it would be best evan and i did not spend any further time in asking questions," nathan interrupted. "we will be off at once." "and you have no hesitation about the matter, young shelby?" colonel mcdowells asked as he gazed at the boys sharply. "both evan and i are ready to do all that may be in our power, and even though the task was one which we shrank from, both of us have too much pride to allow that fact to become known. however, this doesn't seem as dangerous as when we set out about making our escape from the dillard plantation, and there is no reason why we should falter. my only fear is lest we may not be sufficiently well versed in military matters to bring such information as is required." "keep your eyes and ears open, remembering everything which is seen and heard, and i doubt not but that you can perform the mission as well as the ablest soldier among us. it is necessary you exercise great prudence, however, for should major ferguson detect you in loitering around his encampment, he would be justified in hanging you as spies with but scant ceremony." "have you any further orders, sir?" evan asked nervously, for this reminder of the peril they were about to incur was not pleasing. "none," and the colonel rose to his feet as he held out both hands to the boys. a fervent hand-clasp was the only token of parting, and the lads went directly from this interview to prepare themselves for the journey. captain dillard came up as they were refilling the powder horns, and counting out an additional store of bullets. "so the colonel has sent his son rather than risk the life of one of the men," he said half to himself, and evan looked up with a smile as he replied: "when favors are to be bestowed, captain, it is right the father should remember first his son." "and this is a favor with a vengeance," dillard muttered, after which, realizing he had been imprudent in thus voicing his apprehensions, he whistled a cheery tune as if there was no reason why he or any other in the encampment should be gloomy. in less than ten minutes the boys had made their preparations for the scout, and were debating as to the best course to be pursued. "make straight for cherokee ford, lads, and trust to luck for all the remainder. i do not mean that you are to go blindly ahead without taking due precautions; but it seldom pays at such times to map out an elaborate plan, for much depends upon accident." then the captain turned abruptly away, most likely to avoid a leave-taking, and the two boys marched side by side out of the encampment, the men following them with their eyes but speaking no word, for each understood upon what a perilous venture they were embarked. it was nightfall, and the young scouts were unfamiliar with the country over which it would be necessary to travel. they knew, however, that a well-defined trail led from the cowpens to cherokee ford, and along this they advanced at a smart pace, for it seemed necessary the journey should be performed during the hours of darkness. neither felt inclined for conversation. the silence of the men as they left the encampment struck them much like predictions of evil, and they were weighted down by a sense of danger in the air everywhere around them. at near midnight they made the first halt, and up to that time not more than half a dozen words had been exchanged. now it was as if the nearness of the foe revived their courage rather than depressed them, and they discussed the situation as calmly as they might have spoken of the most ordinary affair. "we must have been five hours on the march, and covered no less than seventeen or eighteen miles," nathan suggested. "surely we are that far from the encampment, and it stands us in hand to have an eye out for redcoats, because they or the tories will likely be scouting nearabout their halting place." "and by going blindly ahead we may come upon them sooner than would be pleasant," nathan added with a laugh. "now it is my proposition that we tarry here until daybreak, rather than run our noses into trouble." "father said we were to perform the mission as quickly as might be." "true; but yet he did not propose that we discover the foe by running into their very midst." "we are yet a good dozen miles from cherokee ford, and by waiting here until daybreak will be forced to spend three or four hours before we can hope to see the main body." "if it is your belief that we should push on yet further, i am ready," nathan replied in a tone of content, and thus it was decided that they should not make camp until having arrived at least six miles nearer the supposed location of the britishers. after fifteen minutes had been spent in resting the lads set forward again, and, as nearly as they could judge, it was two o'clock in the morning when evan announced that he was ready to make a lengthy halt. creeping into the thicket a few yards from the trail where they could remain concealed from view, and yet be enabled to see any who might pass, the boys set about gaining such repose as might be possible. one slept while the other watched, and every half-hour they changed positions, so that by daybreak each had had his share of slumber. when the first grey light of dawn appeared they set out for the final and most perilous stage of the journey, advancing cautiously, halting to listen at every unfamiliar sound, and oftentimes making a detour through the thicket when there was a sharp bend in the trail which might have led them suddenly upon a scouting party of the foe. by such method their progress was exceedingly slow, and by sunrise they had advanced no more than three miles. now if the information brought to the american encampment was correct, they were close upon the britishers, and might at any moment expect to see a scarlet coat through the foliage. "we must take some chances in order to push ahead more rapidly, or we shall not be able to return before to-morrow morning," nathan whispered impatiently, after they had literally crawled through the thicket half an hour more, and the words were hardly uttered when the sounds of footsteps upon the beaten path a short distance in advance of them, caused both to suddenly seek a hiding-place. it is well the lads were on the alert, for within a few seconds four britishers came down the trail in a leisurely fashion, as if out for no other purpose than that of a stroll, and evan gripped nathan's arm hard as he saw in the rear of these men none other than ephraim sowers. the young tory was walking slowly, as if displeased with himself for having ventured away from the camp, while the britishers were in the best of spirits, laughing and chatting merrily without paying any attention to their gloomy-visaged companion. it was when he arrived at a point directly opposite the hidden scouts that ephraim stopped, leaned his musket against a rock, and seated himself upon a fallen tree-trunk, as he said petulantly: "i am tired of this wandering around when we are like to come upon a party of rebels at any minute." "then why do you follow? no person prevents you from returning to the camp," one of the soldiers said with a laugh. "i am minded to go back alone, and you know full well the orders were that no man should stray very far from the mountain." "then you are not disobeying, since i'll go bail there's little of the man about you." "how dare you speak in that way when major ferguson is nearby to overhear the words?" and now ephraim displayed anger. "don't pride yourself, lad, on being the especial pet of the major. he is not given to much affection for cowards, even though they be spies, and i am willing to wager considerable that no member of the command would be reproved for speaking harshly to such as you." during this brief conversation the soldiers had continued to advance, while ephraim remained sitting upon the log, and when the last remark was made the redcoats were hidden from view by the foliage. the young tory kicked idly at the earth in front of him, looked up and down the trail as if in search of something entertaining, and then leaned lazily back against a convenient bush. the footsteps of the soldiers sounded fainter and fainter in the distance, telling that the men were continuing to advance, until finally all was silent. the two lads were within forty feet of the boy who would have done the cause of freedom such grievous wrong, and each instant those who might lend him a helping hand were drawing further away. nathan glanced at evan with a question in his eye, and the latter understood it as well as if he had spoken. "it might be done," he whispered cautiously; "but we should not neglect the work which was set us." "it is not safe to advance while these men are between us and major ferguson's force, therefore unless we make him prisoner it is necessary to remain idle." "what could be done with him?" "i'll venture to say he might be frightened into telling all we would know." nathan hesitated an instant. they had been sent out solely to gain some knowledge of the enemy's force and disposition. to take this boy a prisoner, even though he was their bitterest foe, seemed to be deviating from the course colonel mcdowells had marked out, but yet, as nathan said, they must remain idle there until these four men should return. therefore it would not be such a woeful waste of time. "if we can do it without giving the alarm, i am ready," evan whispered, and instead of replying, nathan began creeping cautiously in the direction of the tory, who sat with his back turned toward them. many a time had these two lads crept quietly upon a flock of wild turkeys without alarming the shy birds, and to go through the same maneuvers when a dull boy like ephraim sowers was the game to be stalked did not prove difficult. side by side they advanced with hardly so much as disturbing a single twig, and had gained the cover of a bush within three feet of him before he so much as changed his position. then he started to his feet, and the two in hiding crouched yet closer to the ground, fearing lest he had grown suspicious; but it was merely to change his position, and after looking up and down the trail, muttering threats against the soldiers because they continued their stroll when it was not to his liking, he reseated himself without having so much as touched his musket. [illustration: nathan and evan crept within three feet of the tory.--page .] it was possible the redcoats might even now be retracing their steps, and whatever the lads counted on doing must be done without loss of time. nathan pressed evan's hand in token that he was ready for the venture, and the latter nodded his head. the two rose to their feet, standing motionless a single instant, and then, darting forward with a sudden spring, they landed directly upon the unsuspecting tory. nathan had counted upon covering the spy's mouth with his hand; but missed the aim, and ephraim was enabled to utter one shrill cry, after which he was powerless to do more than breathe. "work quickly now, for the soldiers may have heard that, and we are like to be prisoners ourselves instead of capturing this sneak," nathan whispered. "we must tie his hands again, and contrive something for a gag quickly." as deftly, and yet more rapidly than on that night when sarah dillard rode the unbroken colt, evan bound the prisoner, and from the time they first leaped upon him until ephraim's hands were tied and his mouth choked by a portion of his own garments, no more than three minutes had passed. "take his musket, for it must appear as if he had gone back to the camp, and see to it that you wipe out all traces of a struggle, while i carry him into the thicket." then the boy lifted ephraim to his shoulder as if he had been no more than a package of bulky merchandise, and while evan carried out the instructions to the best of his ability, the spy was taken an hundred yards or more into the thicket. here nathan halted until his comrade joined him, when the two continued the flight until they were fully half a mile from the trail, and all this while ephraim sowers was unable to give vent to his anger or his fears. "that was a neat job, and one that need not interfere with the purpose of our journey," nathan said in a tone of exultation, as he wiped the perspiration from his face and sat down where he could look full at the discomfited tory. "by this means we have made certain of coming face to face with ephraim sowers again, for i misdoubt if he would have been found in the battle unless peradventure the britishers were getting much the best of it." "now that we have got the sneak, what is to be done with him?" "tie him up here until we have concluded our work, and then carry him back to the men of colonel clarke's command, who have a score to settle because of his efforts to deliver them over to their butchers." the expression in ephraim's eyes gave good token of the terror which was in his heart, and in furtherance of the plan he had lately conceived nathan took the gag from the boy's mouth. "those men would murder me!" ephraim screamed as soon as his mouth was freed from the gag. "ay, so it appears to me, else will they be more forgiving than i can well believe," nathan replied calmly, as if in his mind the spy was already doomed. "would you take me, who has never done you any wrong, to where i shall be killed?" he whined. "how much wrong would you have done had we not set upon you the night the force at greene's spring were to be massacred?" evan asked sternly. "when we were again captured was it in your mind to treat us as friends?" "i would not have killed you." "then you lied in order to frighten us." "i did want to make you weaken, but had no thought of doing you a wrong." "such a controversy is useless, and we have not the time to spend upon it," nathan interrupted. "colonel clarke's men are doubtless eager to meet with this tory who devoted so much of his time to them, and if it so be we are forced to continue on in order to gain information concerning the britishers, we can do no other than deliver him up to them." "what is it you want to know?" ephraim asked, a ray of hope coming into his eyes. "we are sent to learn concerning the british forces. how many there are, where they are encamped, and such other matters as may be necessary for the guidance of those who direct the attack." "is there to be a battle?" ephraim asked eagerly. "not before we have had time to deliver you over to those who will thank us for so doing." the gleam of hope died away very suddenly, and the spy, knowing full well what would likely be his fate, did he fall into the hands of the men who would have been killed or captured had his plans not failed, now gave evidence of the liveliest terror. "if you will save my life, i swear to tell you all i know about major ferguson's forces, and none can give the information better, for i have been with them every hour since you were allowed to leave dillard's plantation." "it might be that we could take advantage of the offer, if it was possible to believe a single word you uttered," nathan said, as if debating whether to accept the proposition or not. "i swear to you that every word shall be true, and if you hold me prisoner it will be easy to know whether i have told the truth or not," ephraim pleaded. "promise that if i give all the information needed you will save my life, and you shall have such a description of the camp as could not be gotten by scouting around it for a week." "shall we accept the offer, evan?" nathan asked, as if it was a matter of indifference to him, and ephraim cried imploringly: "give me one chance! don't turn me over to those who have good reason for murdering me! i will answer every question truly, and you shall keep me prisoner until it has been proven that all i said was correct." chapter ix. king's mountain. having brought ephraim sowers into that frame of mind where he could be utilized, nathan made the pretense of consulting with evan as to the advisability of accepting the spy's information. "if evan will agree to it, we may promise that you shall not be given up to colonel clarke's men, although, as a matter of course, we have no intention of setting you at liberty." "all i ask is that you put me under the charge of colonel charles mcdowells, you promising me in his name that i shall receive the same treatment as any other prisoner." "it is a great deal you are asking, ephraim sowers, after all you have done and tried to do; but it may be that we can arrange it. come this way, evan," and nathan stepped aside a few paces to give the tory an idea that considerable argument would be necessary in order to induce his comrade to enter into the agreement. "can we believe what he says?" evan asked when he and nathan stood at such a distance from the prisoner that their words could not be overheard. "i do not understand how he would dare to tell a lie. when our men advance it will be known if he has given the correct information, and we will make it plain that should he tell us anything which was proven to be incorrect, then our promises are withdrawn." "go on, and arrange the matter as soon as you can, for no one can say when some of the redcoats may come this way on a scout, and if we should chance to fall into the hands of the enemy now, i think that tory sneak would kill us, if the murder could be compassed." the two remained as if in conversation a moment longer, and then returning to the terrified spy, nathan said in a solemn tone: "we have agreed that if you give us all the information in your power concerning major ferguson's force, and you claim to know everything regarding it, we will carry you as prisoner to evan's father, promising in his name that you shall be treated the same as any britisher that might be captured. should, however, it be discovered that you played us false in the slightest detail, it will be the same as if our promise had not been given, and you will be turned over to colonel clarke's men." "i am not likely to tell that which is not true when my life depends upon the truth," ephraim said in a tone which convinced his hearers that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he was resolved to make a correct statement. "well," evan said impatiently after a brief pause. "why don't you begin?" "what shall i tell you?" "how many men has major ferguson?" "i must not be held as to the truth of numbers, for i only know what i heard a commissary sergeant say, which was that there were eleven hundred and twenty all told upon the mountain." "what mountain?" "the force is encamped on the summit of king's mountain, which is about twelve miles north of the cherokee ford." "how far from here?" "i should say less than an hour's march." "have the troops any other weapons than muskets?" "no." "how many are the king's soldiers, and how many tories?" "there are not above two hundred of his majesty's troops." "have you any idea why the major chanced to take that place as an encampment?" "our scouts have brought in the word that the rebels were gathering in large numbers, and the major established his camp where it could not well be attacked." "how long has he been there?" "two days." "do you know if he intends making a move soon?" "i have heard it said in the camp that we were like to stay there a long while--at least until reinforcements can be sent by general cornwallis." "beside the men who came out with you on the trail, how many are scouting around in this neighborhood?" "there are perhaps twenty who set out this morning." "are they soldiers or tories?" "i suppose you would call them tories, but nevertheless they are royalists." "there is a distinction without a difference in those terms, ephraim," nathan said grimly, "but i'll venture to say there are very few who are both tory and spy, with an inclination to bring death upon those who had befriended them." "in taking to major ferguson information as to colonel clarke's force i only did my duty, for i was serving the king, and should look upon all those who offer armed resistance to his laws as enemies." "you were not so strict in your allegiance last winter, when you begged for food." ephraim winced but made no reply, and evan said thoughtfully: "it appears to me we have gotten all the information he has to give, and it stands us in hand to return to camp as soon as may be, if you think we are justified in pinning our faith upon his statements." "i swear that i have told you only the truth," ephraim cried, beginning to fear lest his captors might recede from the position they had taken. "if there are twenty britishers scouting around the mountain i do not believe we can learn any more than he has told us," nathan said half to himself, "and it appears to me as if we had good reason for believing our mission had been fulfilled." "then let us lose no time in retracing our steps, for there yet remains twenty-six or twenty-seven miles to be traversed nightfall." "where are your forces encamped?" ephraim asked. "at the cowpens, on broad river. i heard captain depuyster say, when it was told him that some of the rebels--i mean your friends--were gathered there, that it was twenty-eight miles away." "then you know the exact distance it is necessary for you to walk before sunset," nathan replied. "we shall not be so cruel as to confine your arms, but you must march not more than three paces in advance of us, and remember, ephraim sowers, if you make any movement which has the appearance as if you were trying to give us the slip, we shall fire with intent to kill, and at such short range there can be little doubt as to the accuracy of our aim. are you ready, evan?" "yes, and the sooner we set out the better i shall be pleased." but for the fact that the young tory was dependent upon these two for his life, he would have remonstrated against being forced to make so long and hurried a journey; but under the circumstances he did not dare say a single word which might sound like a complaint. he waited meekly until nathan pointed out the direction to be pursued, and then set off as if eager to arrive at the destination, his captors meanwhile keeping their eyes upon him and being on the alert for any attempt at escape. there is little to tell regarding this long tramp, a portion of which was made through the thicket, and the remainder over the trail, save to say that both the prisoner and his captors were nearly exhausted before it came to an ending. twice only did they halt, and then not more than ten minutes at a time, lest by remaining quiet too long their wearied limbs should become stiffened. evan and nathan had brought with them a scanty supply of food, and this they shared with ephraim; but it was so small in quantity that it served hardly more than to whet their appetites, and when, shortly after sunset, they were arrived at the american encampment, it seemed to all three as if they were literally on the verge of exhaustion. the coming of the boys was hailed with shouts of joy by the men, and when it was learned who they brought with them as prisoner, it appeared much as if the promise ephraim's captors had made would avail him nothing. before they could make their way to colonel mcdowells' quarters the three were surrounded by a throng of hungry men, who insisted that the tory should be hanged offhand for his crime; and but little attention was paid to the entreaties of nathan and evan, who announced again and again that they had pledged their word for his safety. "we have sworn that he shall be put into the custody of colonel charles mcdowells, and trusting in our word he has given us valuable information concerning the enemy," nathan cried at the full strength of his lungs, when the throng became so great that they were forced to come to a halt. "hang the spy! he is one who brought ferguson's troopers down to greene's spring that clarke's men might be massacred. hang him!" ephraim kneeled upon the ground, clinging to the legs of the boys, alternately praying that they would guard him and reminding them of the promises made. "although he merits death we will keep faith with him, and he who lays a hand on the tory must first dispose of us!" evan cried. the men were in no mood to listen to reason, and it is more than likely the boys would have failed in their purpose but that colonel william campbell, hearing the tumult, came quickly up to learn the cause. hurriedly and in the fewest possible words nathan explained the situation of affairs, and ephraim's life was saved for the time being, for the colonel, calling for the virginia force, formed a guard around the prisoner and his captors, holding the mob in check until all were arrived at colonel mcdowells' quarters. here ephraim was delivered to evan's father and colonel james williams, and these two officers decided that the young scouts had acted wisely in returning, for they placed every dependence in the statements made by ephraim, who, as colonel williams said, "had for the first time the truth frightened out of him." the lads were directed to go in search of food, and when, an hour later, they returned to colonel mcdowells' quarters, ephraim was nowhere to be seen. "what have you done with the tory?" evan asked, fearing for the instant lest his father had forgotten that their word was pledged for his safe keeping. "it was best he should not remain in camp, for the men were grown so excited that i doubt if i could have held them in check. your spy has been sent away where we can make certain he will be held in safe custody." then the colonel asked for the details of the journey just ended, and when this had been given, he startled them by saying: "since receiving the information from ephraim sowers, it has been decided that we will set out at once in pursuit of the enemy, lest major ferguson change his plans, and lead us a long chase. we have nine hundred men well mounted, and these will start within an hour, continuing the march until they shall come up with the enemy; meanwhile the footmen, and those whose animals are not in the best of condition, will follow as fast as possible." "do you intend to attack the britishers, intrenched as they are on the mountain?" evan asked in surprise. "ay, lad, we will set upon them wherever they may be found, and whip them too, till there shall be no more left of this force which has come to lay waste the country with fire and sword." "but what of nathan and i?" evan asked anxiously. "are we to be left behind?" "it is time you had some rest, lads, and better you should follow with those who march afoot." "in that case, sir, we might miss the battle," nathan interrupted. "perhaps it were better if you did." "we have thought, sir, evan and i, that because of working hard for the cause, we would be given the first opportunity to show what we might do." "and you are eager to go into the combat?" colonel mcdowells asked of his son. "it would sadden me if i was not allowed to do so, sir, although, as i have confessed to nathan several times, i fear my courage may fail me." "if it does, you will be the first mcdowells who has shown the white feather, and perhaps it is time we should know whether you are of the right strain. you shall ride with the advance forces," colonel mcdowells said decidedly, and then turned away. chapter x. a hot chase. the two lads were well content with the assurance given by colonel mcdowells, even though each would have been forced to admit, in event of close questioning, that, while eager to bear a full share of all the dangers, the prospect of taking part in a pitched battle brought with it a certain degree of nervous apprehension. it was known because of what ephraim sowers had told, and could have been well understood even though the tory lad had not chosen to purchase safety by revealing the secrets of those whom he claimed as friends, that major ferguson's force was intrenched after such fashion as was possible, and, in addition, the position was rendered yet stronger by being on the mountain, up which the "rebels" must climb in order to make an attack. another advantage which the britishers had, was in point of weapons and ammunition. they were thoroughly well equipped with the best quality of arms, with powder and ball in abundance, while the friends of liberty had but a scanty supply of either. despite such facts, however, not a man among those who had sworn to relieve the colonies from the yoke of the oppressor counted the odds. the only thought was that at last the britishers were where a battle could not be avoided, and the mountain men were determined that the conflict should result in a victory for the "rebels." the troop did not begin the march as soon as colonel mcdowells had proposed, however. although the colonists were few in numbers and with scanty outfit, there was much to be done by way of preparation for the unequal struggle, and when an hour had elapsed they were yet in camp, but nearly ready to set out. during such time nathan and evan had nothing to do save watch the movements of those around them, without being able to take any part in the work, and although both were in need of repose, it was impossible to rest at a time when they were laboring under the mental excitement caused by the knowledge of what was before them. now and then one or another of the men would question the lads regarding their reconnoissance of major ferguson's camp, when ephraim sowers was captured, and in the course of such conversations the two boys soon learned where their prisoner had been taken. one of the squad which had been charged with conveying the young tory beyond reach of those who would have hanged him without loss of time, returned to camp in order to accompany his comrades on the march which it was believed would be ended by a battle, and displayed no little curiosity as to how ephraim had been captured. "to hear the young villain talk, one would think a dozen men couldn't overpower him. he declared that his reluctance to shed the blood of former playmates saved you lads from death." "it would seem that he has recovered somewhat from his fears," nathan replied with a hearty laugh. "when i last saw him he was playing the part of coward to perfection." "he insists that you took advantage of his former friendship, and while calling for assistance, basely fell upon him when he was giving the aid you begged for." to nathan there was something extremely comical in such a story as told by ephraim sowers, who never displayed the slightest semblance of courage save when there was no possible chance he could come to any harm. evan's anger was aroused, however, and without delay he not only explained how they had captured the tory, but gave additional details concerning the incident at captain dillard's house, when ephraim suddenly found the tables turned upon him. "he could not have attempted to do a more deadly wrong than when he gave information which he fully believed would result in the death or capture of colonel clark's force at greene's springs," evan said in conclusion, "and while nathan and i have given our word that he shall be held safe from personal harm, i hope careful watch will be kept upon him. insignificant though the lad is, he may be able to do us very much injury." "joseph abbott has been detailed to guard him," the trooper said thoughtfully, "and perhaps a more steady man should have been assigned to the work. abbott means well; but is inclined to be careless, although it's certain he understands how necessary it is the tory be held safely this night." "yes, and for many a long day to come," nathan added gravely. "until the britishers have been driven from the carolinas, ephraim must be held close prisoner, because it is in his power to give them all needful information as to our probable movements. there can be no question but that his father aids in the work, and while it is not generally understood that such is the case, much harm can be done." the trooper felt confident that abbott could be relied upon for twenty-four hours at least, because he would remain at his own home, and surely there he should be able to make certain the prisoner did not escape. then the conversation turned upon the probable battle, and this was of such vital interest to the boys that, for the moment, they almost forgot such a lad as ephraim sowers ever had an existence. it was fated, however, that they were to drop him from their thoughts for some time to come, and soon there was more reason than ever before to fear his power of working mischief. word had been passed for the horses to be saddled preparatory to beginning the march toward king's mountain, and nathan and evan were attending to the steeds which had been provided for them, when a sudden commotion on the outskirts of the encampment caused every member of the troop to look about him in alarm. the sound of voices in loud, angry conversation could be heard; but it was not possible for the lads to distinguish any words save these: "he should have been hanged! it was little less than a crime to allow him to live!" "of whom are they speaking?" evan asked in surprise. "it can be none other than ephraim, and yet i had supposed he would be forgotten, until after the battle." "the men must have learned more of his doings, for certain it is that no one has given him a thought during the last half-hour." a moment later it became evident that whatever had caused this last outburst against the tory spy was of considerable importance, for the cries of anger were redoubled as a full third of the little army ceased their work of preparation to gather around the officers' quarters. "something has gone wrong!" nathan exclaimed as the confusion increased. "when the command has been given for us to saddle, the men would not spend valuable time crying out against such as ephraim sowers. can it be possible he has escaped?" "that is an idle proposition, for joseph abbott could not have been so careless," evan replied; but there was a sudden tremor of his voice which told that he was not as confident as the words implied. the boys no longer gave any heed to their steed; but pressed on toward the throng which was surging around the officers' quarters, until it was possible to hear yet more of that which the excited men said. "abbott was the last man in the carolinas who should have been trusted with such a duty!" "if we had hanged the villain it would not now be possible for him to do us so much mischief!" "now that the britishers are certain to be warned of our movements, there is little hope of taking them by surprise!" these and similar remarks gave the eager, perturbed boys a fair idea of what had occurred; but yet nathan would not credit that which appeared to be a fact until having more definite assurance that the young tory was in a condition to work wrong to the patriots of the carolinas. "what has happened?" he asked of a man who was insisting that the officers were guilty of a great crime when they prevented the men from hanging the prisoner. "happened?" the man repeated angrily. "that young tory whose neck should have been stretched an hour ago, has given joseph abbott the slip, an' is most likely on his way to king's mountain in order to inform major ferguson of what we would have done this night!" "ephraim escaped?" evan repeated in dismay, and immediately there came to him the knowledge of all it might be possible for the tories to effect. it was certain that once major ferguson had been warned of the proposed attack, it would be so guarded against that a heavy loss of life on the part of the americans must inevitably be the result, and prudence would dictate that the movement be abandoned. insignificant though ephraim sowers was, he now had it in his power to save the king's troops from severe loss, and could, most likely, thwart the patriots at the very moment when they might strike such a blow as would free the carolinas from the invaders. the escape of the tory was the most disastrous happening that could have been brought about by the enemies of the colonies, and the knowledge that it was possible only by sheer carelessness on the part of a true friend to the cause, served to aggravate the offense which had been committed. here and there a man swore to hang joseph abbott if he dared to show himself in this section of the country again, and the more hot-headed demanded that colonel campbell and colonel mcdowells should suffer in some way because of having interposed to save the prisoner's life when there were troopers standing by ready to execute him. during ten minutes or more the tumult was great; all discipline had been lost sight of, and there seemed every danger much mischief would be done by those justly angry men who believed themselves thus prevented from breaking the rule of the king in the carolinas at the very moment when it might have been successfully accomplished. during this time nathan and evan had been forcing their way toward that point where colonel mcdowells and colonel campbell were facing the angry soldiers, believing for the moment that an attack was about to be made upon them, and then it was evan's father spoke for the first time since the lads had come within earshot. "i am ashamed that men of the carolinas will thus cry out for the death of a boy, how ever much injury he may have done, or can yet do us. we war against the representatives of the king, not with children." "it was he who would have compassed our death!" one of colonel clark's men shouted vindictively. "very true, and it is right that he be deprived of his liberty; but more than that would have been a stain upon your honor such as could never be rubbed out." "if he had been held prisoner we should have remained silent," another soldier cried. "now he is turned lose to carry major ferguson such information as will put to naught all our efforts." "is abbott here to say how the lad escaped?" colonel campbell asked. "his wife came with the news that her husband has gone on the trail of the viper." "then who shall say that such mischief has been done?" colonel mcdowells cried, his voice taking on a more hopeful ring. "to hear such bewailing as you men are indulging in, one would say there is no remedy left us. it is probably true the tory has escaped; but he cannot have very much of a start, since no more than three hours are passed since he was led from this camp. there are twenty-eight miles between us and king's mountain. we are ready to set out at once. will you admit that such horses as are owned by you may not cover that distance before a boy can do so on foot? shame upon you for thus showing the white feather when there is a possibility of repairing the mischief!" some of the throng stepped back a few paces as if regretting that they had been so loud spoken; but the greater number remained in front of the two officers in a defiant and angry attitude. "where is evan mcdowells?" the colonel cried, raising his voice that the question might be heard throughout the encampment, and he had no sooner spoken than evan and nathan forced their way through the crowd until standing directly before the officer, who added to the insubordinate men, "my son and nathan shelby--the same lads who captured the tory--shall go out in search of him. half a dozen more will be sent in as many different directions, and instead of standing here indulging in vain words, we may repair the mischief. this, however, i demand, and will consider him my personal enemy who disobeys what is a positive command: when the spy is retaken, see to it, each and every one, that his life be held sacred! these boys gave him an assurance, in return for certain information, that he should not come to harm, and i will never allow such pledge to be broken." "we shall only be safe when he is dead!" a trooper cried in a surly tone. "and you are willing, angus mcleod, to admit that you are afraid of a boy!" "ay, colonel mcdowells, of such a boy as is that young tory. while he lives we know full well all our doings will be carried to the king's officers." "how may that be now that we have come to know him for what he is? a month ago it was different, because you allowed him in and around your encampment; but to-day, with full knowledge of his character, how can he do you harm? when he is taken, as i feel certain he must be within a short time, turn him over to me; i will be personally responsible that he no longer has the power to work us an injury." then turning from the discontented men as if he had done with them, the colonel said to evan and nathan: "lads, now has come the time when you may perform such a service for the carolinas as, perhaps, is not within the power of any other. i do not hold that you are more skillful or keen on the trail than your companions; but there is in my mind the belief that you will succeed where older searchers may fail. set out immediately; spare not your horses, nor yourselves, until ephraim sowers is once more your prisoner." "but in event of our being so fortunate as to come upon him, sir, we shall be deprived of taking part in the battle," evan said mournfully, and his father replied quickly, but in a whisper: "there will be no battle if he escapes to carry information to major ferguson." "there will be in case we shall make him prisoner within a few hours." "in that event you may leave him with abbott, whom, i dare venture to say, will not give way to carelessness again, or in the custody of any whom you know to be true. we shall ride the direct trail to king's mountain, and you should be able to overtake us if the work be performed quickly." there was no thought in the mind of either lad that such an order as the colonel had given could be slighted, and while it would have grieved them to the heart had an engagement come off while they were absent from the troop, neither hesitated. as they turned to leave, colonel campbell gave orders to several of the men that they ride at once in pursuit of the late prisoner, and nathan whispered to his comrade while they walked as quickly as the throng would permit toward where their horses had been left: "i am not positive, evan, how we might carry ourselves in the midst of a battle. while neither of us would admit to being cowardly, it is possible we showed a certain amount of fear when brought face to face with the king's troops. now we have one more opportunity of proving ourselves equal to the part of men, without chance of displaying the white feather." "i fail to understand the meaning of so many words," evan replied petulantly. "to me the only thing certain is, that we may not follow where much honor is to be won." "if it should so chance that we come upon ephraim sowers, when others failed of finding him, we will gain more credit than if we rode in the front ranks of those whom i hope will charge major ferguson's force before to-morrow night. let us give over repining at what cannot be changed, and set ourselves about the task of running that miserable tory down!" evan was not disposed to look at the matter in such a light, although never for a moment did he dream of disobeying his father's commands. to him this setting off on a blind search for the young spy was simply shutting themselves out from all chance of riding with the men of the carolinas when they charged the enemy, and it seemed for the moment as if no greater misfortune could befall them. however, he made no protest against whatever his comrade suggested, although confident that with a start in his favor of even one hour, it would be impossible for them to overtake ephraim sowers, more particularly since half a dozen men were to join in the hunt, and without loss of time the two lads made ready for the search. there was no thought of making provisions for any lengthy absence; the work, to be of any avail, must be done before midnight, and if at that time the tory was yet at liberty, then might the searchers return to their comrades, for it would be good proof ephraim had succeeded in eluding them so far as to be able to give major ferguson information of what was afoot. therefore the only care was to make certain their supply of ammunition would be sufficient for a spirited attack or resistance, after which they rode through the encampment, and half a mile beyond were halted by mrs. abbott, who was returning slowly to her home. "are you young gentlemen setting out in search of the tory?" she asked when the two lads halted in response to her signal. "we are, and many others will ride on the same errand." "the soldiers were so angry with joseph that i had no opportunity to repeat all the message he sent. it was not through the fault of my husband that the prisoner escaped; he was left bound by the hands as when brought to our house, while we made ready a room in which he could be safely kept, and by some means managed to free himself." "we have no time for such unimportant particulars," nathan interrupted. "the main fact is that he is free, and we are among those charged with the search for him." "joseph set out on the same errand within five minutes after his escape was discovered, and he bade me say to whosoever might come, that the trail led over the hills to the westward. you will have no difficulty in following it, and should come up with my husband before riding very far." "we thank you for the information, and would ride ahead if you are able to direct us to your home," nathan replied. mrs. abbott, who appeared to be in deepest distress because the prisoner intrusted to her husband's keeping had made his escape, gave the boys ample directions for finding the house and as the two rode rapidly forward nathan said in a hopeful tone: "there is yet a chance, evan, that we shall succeed where the others failed, thanks to our having met abbott's wife. if the trail is well-defined, we shall be able to ride it down, capture the spy, and return to the encampment before our people have set out. "that is what we should do, but whether we can or not is quite another matter," evan replied gloomily. "it is a pity we promised the tory our protection, otherwise he would have been beyond all power for harm long ere this." "and would you like to remember that we captured a lad who was once our friend, for others to hang in cold blood?" "almost anything would be better than that we were shut out from following those with whom we should ride this night." "i am counting that we will yet bear them company," nathan replied cheerily. "even a tory cannot make his way across the country without leaving a trail, and now that we know where it may be taken up, the rest ought to be easy." "unless he has suddenly lost his senses, we cannot follow him on horseback. if i was trying to escape from mounted men, it would not be difficult to strike such a course as should be impossible for them to follow." "that he did not do so at the start is positive, else abbott would never have sent such word by his wife," nathan replied, heeding not the petulance of his comrade. "if we hold to it that ephraim sowers has made his escape, then is he the same as free, but i shall continue to claim we have fair chance of overtaking him, until we know beyond a peradventure that he cannot be found. every second is of value to us now, and we'll waste no more time in idle talk." with this remark, which evan might well have construed as a rebuke, nathan struck his horse sharply with the spurs, and the two quickly left mrs. abbott far in the rear. chapter xi. success. in silence the two lads rode on at the full speed of their horses until they were come to the home of the man who had caused so much trouble through his carelessness, and here nathan dismounted, leading his steed by the bridle as he made a complete circuit of the building. to boys who had been taught the art of woodcraft because it was absolutely necessary they should be expert in following a trail or hiding one, it was a simple matter to ascertain where the tory had made his escape from the house, and at what point he struck into the woods, although a person ignorant of such matters might have looked in vain for any token of the flight. "there's no need of spending much time over such a plain sign as that," evan said, now recovered somewhat from his petulance, for hope that they might soon recapture the spy had sprung up in his heart. "i never would have believed ephraim sowers was such a simple as to thus give information regarding his movements! surely he knew abbott would set out at once in pursuit, and yet has made no attempt to hide his trail." "he is a coward who allows his fears to blind him from anything except immediate danger. having seen an unexpected opportunity to escape, he takes advantage of it, and thinks only of putting a great distance between himself and his enemies. we shall soon ride him down!" "unless he gathers his wits, and takes to the thicket where we cannot follow." "then it will be necessary to make our way on foot, and i'll warrant that we travel as fast as he can. but i'm not allowing he'll gather his wits until having come to a british camp." during this brief conversation nathan remounted, and the two rode along the trail, having no difficulty in keeping well in view the signs left by both the pursued and the pursuer. abbot had taken good care not to cover the footsteps of the tory, and to leave ample token of the course he was following; therefore it was certain the lads must soon come upon one or the other, since they were well mounted. there was one danger evan had failed to realize, but which was strong in nathan's mind. if ephraim could retain his liberty until night came, then would it be well-nigh impossible to follow him during the hours of darkness; and this very important fact may have been in the spy's mind when he pushed on regardless of thus giving good proof as to his whereabouts to those who might come in pursuit. therefore it was nathan rode on at the best speed of his horse, and his comrade found it difficult to maintain the pace, consequently there was no opportunity for conversation during twenty minutes or more, at the end of which time they were come up with abbott. that the trooper was suffering keenest mental distress because of his carelessness, which had permitted of the spy's escape, could readily be seen even during the hurried interview they held with the man. "you are come in good time, for the tory can't be more than a mile ahead of us," he said with a sigh of relief. "the sun will not set for two hours, and long before then you should have him in your keeping once more." "you will follow as close as may be, for we count on turning him over to you again in order that we may ride to king's mountain with the american force," nathan replied, not averse to giving his horse a brief breathing spell. "you may be certain he won't get out of my sight again! any other might have had the same misfortune as i. his hands were bound, and i left him in an upper room while i made ready the chamber that was to serve as prison." "why did you not keep him with you?" evan asked sharply. "that is what should have been done, as i now know full well; but at the time it seemed as if the lad was as secure as if surrounded by a troop of soldiers. certain it is he can't free his hands, and, therefore, must necessarily travel slowly. i suppose every man at the camp bears down heavily upon me?" nathan would have evaded this question; but evan was minded that the careless soldier should be made to realize how great was his offence, therefore he answered bluntly: "i believe of a verity you would have been hanged had it been possible for the men to get hold of you when the news of the escape was first brought in. if ephraim sowers succeeds in remaining at liberty, the attack upon king's mountain will be abandoned, and that at a time when it might have been a success but for your carelessness." "see here, abbott," nathan added soothingly, "it is not for me to deny the truth of what evan says; but he is describing that first moment of disappointment. your comrades have grown more calm by this time, and if it so be we overhaul the tory, it is colonel mcdowell's orders that he be given into your custody again." "i'll shoot the villain rather than let him get a dozen yards from me, if he falls into my clutches once more, an' i've sworn not to go home inside of forty-eight hours without him." it was in evan's mind to say that it would have been better had abbott kept a close watch of his prisoner, in which case such desperate measures would not now be necessary; but he realized in time to check his speech, that harsh words were of no avail now the mischief was done, and contented himself with the caution: "it will be well to remember how much trouble has been caused, if we are so fortunate as to catch the tory. my fear is that he may succeed in giving us the slip after all, in which case the attack on major ferguson's force is frustrated even before being made." the horses had been allowed as long a resting spell as nathan thought necessary, and he brought the interview to an end by saying as he tightened rein: "we shall ride the trail at our best pace, and do you follow on until finding that we are forced to leave the steeds, when it will be known that there is no longer a hope of taking him in time to set the fears of our people at rest before the hour for making an advance. in event of our coming upon him, we shall be glad to turn him over to your keeping once more, as soon as may be possible." "i'll keep mighty near your horses' heels, unless you ride at a better gait than i believe will be possible. don't hesitate to shoot him down if you get within range and find there's a chance of his getting the best of the chase." "there's no need to give us such advice," evan replied grimly. "do your part at holding him, if it so be you have another chance." nathan had urged his steed forward, and the two spurred on at a sharp trot, each rider's eyes fastened upon the ground where could be plainly seen, by those accustomed to such work, the footprints of the tory. evan was rapidly recovering from the fit of petulance which had seized upon when it appeared most likely they would be shut out from riding into battle with the american force. now it began to seem possible they might perform the task set them and return to the encampment before the advance was begun, unless it so chanced that ephraim sowers suddenly showed sufficient wit to seek refuge in a thicket where the horses could not follow. something of this kind evan said to his comrade as they rode on the trail nearly side by side, and the latter replied cheerily: "the miserable tory don't dare do anything of the kind lest he lose his way. i venture to say his only thought is that abbott will set out in pursuit of him, rather than spend time by going to the encampment, therefore he has only to fear what one man afoot may be able to do. it hasn't come into his thick head that the woman could be sent with a message, while her husband took to the trail, therefore he will hold to the open path until hearing the hoof-beats of our horses." and this was indeed what ephraim sowers did, as his pursuers soon learned. nathan and evan rode swiftly and in silence during twenty minutes or more after leaving abbott, understanding full well that the trail was growing fresher each instant; and then the former saw a certain suspicious movement of branches at one side of the path some distance away. "he has seen us!" the lad cried excitedly, spurring his horse forward until he came to that point where the trail suddenly branched off toward the thicket. there could be no question but that the tory had failed of hearing the noise of the pursuit until his enemies were close upon him, and then he did what he should have done an hour before. there was not a second to be lost, for once the lad was so far in advance that his movements could not be followed by the motion of the foliage, it would be like the proverbial hunt for a needle in a haystack to find him. "look after the horses!" nathan cried, reining in his steed and leaping to the ground musket in hand, and even before evan could come up, although but a few paces in the rear, isaac shelby's nephew had disappeared in the thicket. young mcdowells was not disposed to obey this command strictly. he cared for the steeds by hurriedly tying their bridles to the trunk of a tree, and after a delay of no more than half a minute, followed his comrade into the forest, with musket in hand ready to be discharged at the first glimpse of the fugitive. so close behind nathan was evan, that he could readily follow his movements by the commotion among the underbrush, and, with a sudden burst of speed, regardless of possible accident, he succeeded in coming close to his comrade's heels. "have you lost sight of him?" he asked breathlessly. "not a bit of it!" was the cheery reply. "there is little fear he can give us the slip now we are so near!" "why don't you fire on the chance of winging him? i can give you my loaded musket when yours is empty." "there's no need of wasting a cartridge upon him; we shall soon bring the villain in sight." it was not possible to carry on any extended conversation while running at full speed among the foliage, at great risk of falling headlong over a projecting root, or being stricken down by a low-hanging limb. they were gaining in the chase as could readily be seen, and when perhaps ten minutes had passed the lads were so near that it seemed certain ephraim could be no more than a dozen yards in advance. "no one can say what accident may happen at any moment to give him an advantage!" evan said sharply, speaking with difficulty because of his heavy breathing. "you must bring him down soon, or we may get back to the encampment too late!" no suggestion could have been made which would have had greater weight than this; and, raising his voice, at the same time priming the musket as he ran, nathan cried: "come to a halt, ephraim sowers, or i shall fire! at this short range there is little danger but that my bullet will strike its target, with such good token of your whereabouts as you are giving us." the tory made no reply; and the waving of the bushes could still be seen, thus showing that he had not obeyed the command. "do not delay, but shoot at once, and then exchange muskets with me!" evan cried in an agony of apprehension, lest some unforeseen chance give the fugitive such an advantage as they could not overcome. nathan hesitated no longer. raising the weapon he fired in a line with the moving foliage, and the report of the musket was followed by a scream as of pain. "i'm sorry i didn't wait a few minutes longer!" the lad cried, in a tone of deepest regret. "of course we were bound to stop him; but it might have been done without killing!" evan shared his comrade's regrets, believing ephraim had been seriously if not dangerously wounded, and the two ran forward with all speed, fully expecting to find their enemy disabled or dead. therefore was their surprise all the greater when the swaying of the branches told that the tory was yet able to keep his feet, and once more nathan shouted, this time in a tone of anger: "halt, or i shall fire again! give me your musket, evan, and do you load this one! work quickly, for i'm not minded to linger over the task of stopping him!" the exchange of weapons was made without delay, and once more nathan fired. again came a scream as of pain from the fugitive; but this time the pursuers were not troubled in mind lest they had needlessly inflicted pain. nathan leaped forward as he discharged the musket, and an instant later stood face to face with ephraim sowers, who, with a rotten branch upraised as a club, stood at bay where a perfect network of trees, that had most likely been overturned by the wind, barred his further passage. "i'll beat your brains out!" ephraim screamed viciously, brandishing his poor apology for a weapon. "don't make the mistake of thinkin' i'll be carried back among them rebels!" "you had better give in peaceably, for we shan't spend much time in arguing the matter," nathan said decidedly; but yet he did not advance for the very good reason that he was virtually unarmed, having dropped his musket at the moment of emptying it, in order that he might not be impeded in his movements. because he remained motionless, ephraim believed the lad was afraid, and pressed his supposed advantage by crying, in a tone that was very like the snarl of a cat: "keep your distance or i'll kill you! this club will stand me as good a turn as the empty muskets do you, an' i count on using it!" by this time evan came into view carrying both weapons, and, seeing that the game was brought to bay without opportunity of continuing the flight, said quietly: "keep your eye on him, nathan, and i'll soon put in a charge that will bring him to terms." he had begun to load the musket as he spoke, doing so with deliberation as if there was no good reason why he should make haste; and such leisurely movements had even more effect upon the tory than did the show of ammunition. "i didn't count you had more than a single charge," he said, with a whine. "it seemed odd to me that you should suddenly have plucked up so much courage," nathan replied scornfully. "even though our ammunition had been exhausted, you could not have held us back with that rotten club. load carefully, evan, for i don't want to make any mistake as to aim!" "are you countin' on killin' me?" ephraim cried, in an agony of terror, flinging down his poor weapon and holding out both hands in supplication. "would you murder a fellow who never did you any harm?" "you are the veriest coward in the carolinas;" and nathan spoke in a tone of such contempt that even the thick-skinned tory winced. "come out here, and we'll make certain of taking you back to broad river!" the tory meekly obeyed, making no show of protest lest he might bring down the anger of his captors upon himself; and evan said, as he finished loading both weapons: "do you walk ahead, nathan, and let him follow. i'll come close at his heels, and we'll spend no more time over this job than may be necessary. abbott should be near at hand by the time we get back to the trail." ephraim obeyed in silence and, because he neither begged nor whined, the boys feared lest he had some plan of escape in his mind. "do not take your eyes from him for a single instant," nathan cried warningly as he led the way in the manner suggested by evan, "and shoot at the first suspicious move he makes. we have done this work in short order, and now it will be because of our own carelessness if the troop sets off without us." "don't think that i'm going to be so foolish as to make another try at gettin' away," ephraim said sulkily. "there's no show for me in this section of the country while the king's troops are so far away, an' i ain't countin' on takin' the chances of bein' shot." "we shan't be so foolish as to take your word for it," evan replied. "i'll admit that you won't make much of a fist toward escaping; but time is precious with us just now, and we can't afford to waste any in chasing you." from that moment until they were come to the trail where the horses had been left, no word was spoken; and then the lads were greeted by a cry of joy and triumph from abbott, who had just come into view. "i knew you'd overhaul him!" the trooper said exultantly; "and if he gives me the slip again there'll be good reason for my bein' hanged!" "do you think it will be safe for us to leave him here with you?" nathan asked, as if undecided what course he ought to pursue. "i'll answer for him with my life! don't think there is any chance of slipping up on the work again, after all that's been in my mind since he got away." after a brief consultation the two lads concluded it would be safe to leave the prisoner with abbott, particularly since colonel mcdowells had so instructed them; and in less than two hours from the time of leaving the encampment, they were riding back at full speed, hoping it might be possible to arrive before the force had started on the march toward king's mountain. and in this they were successful. the soldiers were on the point of setting out when the lads arrived, and the reception with which they were met can well be imagined. as soon as their story could be told, and it was generally understood there was no longer any reason to fear that ephraim sowers might carry information of their movements to major ferguson, the command was in motion, with nathan and evan riding either side of colonel mcdowells. * * * * * in the report of the battle, which is signed by colonel benjamin cleaveland, colonel isaac shelby, and colonel william campbell, is the following account: "we began our march with nine hundred of the best men about eight o'clock the same evening, and, marching all night, came up with the enemy about three o'clock p.m. of the seventh, who lay encamped on the top of king's mountain, twelve miles north of the cherokee ford, in the confidence that they could not be forced from so advantageous a post. previous to the attack, on our march, the following disposition was made: colonel shelby's regiment formed a column in the center, on the left; colonel campbell's regiment another on the right, with part of colonel cleaveland's regiment, headed in front by major joseph winston; and colonel sevier's formed a large column on the right wing. the other part of colonel cleaveland's regiment, headed by colonel cleaveland himself, and colonel williams' regiment, composed the left wing. in this order we advanced, and got within a quarter of a mile of the enemy before we were discovered." evan and nathan rode by the side of the latter's uncle, and as colonel shelby's and colonel cleaveland's regiments began the attack, they were the first in action. "i am growing timorous," evan whispered to nathan as the troops began the ascent of the hill, and the latter replied: "a fellow who spends twenty-four hours in walking, and twenty-four hours in riding, without repose, can well be forgiven for losing some portion of his courage. my own knees are not oversteady, and i am beginning to wonder whether they will bear me out when we are within range of british lead." five minutes later major ferguson's force opened fire, and colonel isaac shelby had no cause to complain of the lads' behavior. as evan afterward admitted, he was hardly conscious of what he did from the moment he saw the first man fall. one of the troopers reported to colonel mcdowells, who asked concerning his son after the engagement was at an end: "the two boys fought side by side, and like veteran soldiers. i saw them making their way up the hill when the shot was flying around them like hail, and it was as if neither realized the peril, or, realizing it, as if he heeded not the possibility that death might come at any instant. never faltering, they continued the ascent, pressing close on isaac shelby's heels until they were the foremost, fighting hand to hand with the britishers. "they were within a dozen feet of colonel williams when he received his death wound, and then the redcoats were pressing us so hotly that no man dared step aside to aid the officer. yet these two went out of their course to give him succor, and, finding that he was already unconscious, pressed forward once more. i was just behind them when we arrived at the spot where major ferguson lay dead." "evan feared his courage might fail him when in the heat of action," the colonel said half to himself, and the trooper replied with emphasis: "it must have increased rather than failed, colonel, for those two lads shamed many a man of us during the hour and five minutes which we spent grappling with the britishers. twice were we forced to fall back; but they remained in the front line, and each time when we rallied they were first to take the forward step. not until colonel depuyster hoisted the white flag did i see them cease their efforts, and then, the excitement being gone, it was as if both of them collapsed, and little wonder, colonel, for if you will stop to think, these lads spent forty-eight hours riding and walking before going into as hot an engagement as we in the carolinas have ever experienced." the battle of king's mountain came to an end as the trooper had said, in one hour and five minutes after it began, and when the american forces were drawn up in line it was found that of the nine hundred, only twenty were killed; but more than five times that number had been wounded. of the king's soldiers, four officers and fifteen privates were killed, and thirty-five privates seriously wounded. eighteen officers and fifteen privates were taken prisoners. of the tories, five officers and two hundred and one men were killed; one officer and one hundred and twenty-seven men wounded, while forty-eight officers and six hundred men were taken prisoners. according to the official report of that engagement, only twenty of major ferguson's force escaped, and among that number, one--ephraim sowers--could be accounted for as already a prisoner in the hands of the americans. the historian, lossing, writes regarding this engagement: "no battle during the war was more obstinately contested than this; for the americans were greatly exasperated by the cruelty of the tories, and to the latter it was a question of life or death. it was with difficulty that the americans, remembering tarleton's cruelty at buford's defeat, could be restrained from slaughter, even after quarter was asked. "on the morning after the battle a court-martial was held, and several of the tory prisoners were found guilty of murder and other high crimes and hanged. colonel cleaveland had previously declared that if certain persons, who were the chief marauders, and who had forfeited their lives, should fall into his hands, he would hang them. ten of these men were suspended upon a tulip tree, which is yet standing--a venerable giant of the forest. this was the closing scene of the battle on king's mountain, an event which completely crushed the spirits of the loyalists, and weakened, beyond recovery, the royal power in the carolinas. intelligence of the defeat of ferguson destroyed all cornwallis' hopes of tory aid. he instantly left charlotte, retrograded, and established his camp at winnsborough, in fairfield district, between the wateree and broad rivers." it was because of sarah dillard's ride that the battle of king's mountain became possible, and consequently it was through her indirectly that the royal power in the carolinas was "weakened beyond recovery." in telling the story of her brave act, it has been necessary to introduce the two lads who bore so honorable a part in that brief campaign, and also the tory spy, but it is not possible within the limits of this tale to follow the adventures of the two young americans who, before the independence of the united states was gained, made for themselves most enviable records among most gallant men. at some time in the future, when the reader shall be ready to go into the more important engagements with evan and nathan, a further account of their deeds will be set down, and then can be described all which ephraim sowers finally did to clear his name of the taint which had been put upon it by his own deeds. it suffices now to say that the spy was held as prisoner by colonel mcdowells for two months or more, when, agreeably to his sworn promise that he would never do aught against the cause of freedom, he was released with the understanding that he should leave the carolinas forever. within one week after the battle of king's mountain nathan and evan were regularly enrolled among the soldiers under colonel charles mcdowells' command, and when general cornwallis surrendered were among the troops who had contributed to that officer's discomfiture. it was on the day set for the formal surrender at yorktown when the two lads were standing side by side in the ranks, that evan whispered to his comrade: "who ever dreamed on that night when ephraim sowers lorded it over us at captain dillard's home that we should stand here waiting to see the proudest general among all the britishers give up his sword to the 'rebel' commander?" "do you know that this victory was really begun when sarah dillard rode over the mountain trail to greene's spring, for from that moment all general cornwallis' power in the south began to wane." the end. a. l. burt's catalogue of books for young people by popular writers, - duane street, new york books for boys. =joe's luck=: a boy's adventures in california. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . the story is chock full of stirring incidents, while the amusing situations are furnished by joshua bickford, from pumpkin hollow, and the fellow who modestly styles himself the "rip-tail roarer, from pike co., missouri." mr. alger never writes a poor book, and "joe's luck" is certainly one of his best. =tom the bootblack=; or, the road to success. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . a bright, enterprising lad was tom the bootblack. he was not at all ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better himself. the lad started for cincinnati to look up his heritage. mr. grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. the plan failed, and gilbert grey, once tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable fortune. this is one of mr. alger's best stories. =dan the newsboy.= by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . dan mordaunt and his mother live in a poor tenement, and the lad is pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of new york. a little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the mordaunts. the child is kidnapped and dan tracks the child to the house where she is hidden, and rescues her. the wealthy aunt of the little heiress is so delighted with dan's courage and many good qualities that she adopts him as her heir. =tony the hero=: a brave boy's adventure with a tramp. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of rudolph rugg, a thorough rascal. after much abuse tony runs away and gets a job as stable boy in a country hotel. tony is heir to a large estate. rudolph for a consideration hunts up tony and throws him down a deep well. of course tony escapes from the fate provided for him, and by a brave act, a rich friend secures his rights and tony is prosperous. a very entertaining book. =the errand boy=; or, how phil brent won success. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth illustrated, price $ . . the career of "the errand boy" embraces the city adventures of a smart country lad. philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper named brent. the death of mrs. brent paved the way for the hero's subsequent troubles. a retired merchant in new york secures him the situation of errand boy, and thereafter stands as his friend. =tom temple's career.= by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . tom temple is a bright, self-reliant lad. he leaves plympton village to seek work in new york, whence he undertakes an important mission to california. some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. the tale is written in mr. alger's most fascinating style. =frank fowler, the cash boy.= by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . frank fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for himself and his foster-sister grace. going to new york he obtains a situation as cash boy in a dry goods store. he renders a service to a wealthy old gentleman who takes a fancy to the lad, and thereafter helps the lad to gain success and fortune. =tom thatcher's fortune.= by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . tom thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. he supports his mother and sister on meagre wages earned as a shoe-pegger in john simpson's factory. tom is discharged from the factory and starts overland for california. he meets with many adventures. the story is told in a way which has made mr. alger's name a household word in so many homes. =the train boy.= by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . paul palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother and sister by selling books and papers on the chicago and milwaukee railroad. he detects a young man in the act of picking the pocket of a young lady. in a railway accident many passengers are killed, but paul is fortunate enough to assist a chicago merchant, who out of gratitude takes him into his employ. paul succeeds with tact and judgment and is well started on the road to business prominence. =mark mason's victory.= the trials and triumphs of a telegraph boy. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . mark mason, the telegraph boy, was a sturdy, honest lad, who pluckily won his way to success by his honest manly efforts under many difficulties. this story will please the very large class of boys who regard mr. alger as a favorite author. =a debt of honor.= the story of gerald lane's success in the far west. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . the story of gerald lane and the account of the many trials and disappointments which he passed through before he attained success, will interest all boys who have read the previous stories of this delightful author. =ben bruce.= scenes in the life of a bowery newsboy. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . ben bruce was a brave, manly, generous boy. the story of his efforts, and many seeming failures and disappointments, and his final success, are most interesting to all readers. the tale is written in mr. alger's most fascinating style. =the castaways=; or, on the florida reefs. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this tale smacks of the salt sea. from the moment that the sea queen leaves lower new york bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward. the adventures of ben clark, the hero of the story and jake the cook, cannot fail to charm the reader. as a writer for young people mr. otis is a prime favorite. =wrecked on spider island=; or, how ned rogers found the treasure. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . ned rogers, a "down-east" plucky lad ships as cabin boy to earn a livelihood. ned is marooned on spider island, and while there discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and finds a considerable amount of treasure. the capture of the treasure and the incidents of the voyage serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire. =the search for the silver city=: a tale of adventure in yucatan. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . two lads, teddy wright and neal emery, embark on the steam yacht day dream for a cruise to the tropics. the yacht is destroyed by fire, and then the boat is cast upon the coast of yucatan. they hear of the wonderful silver city, of the chan santa cruz indians, and with the help of a faithful indian ally carry off a number of the golden images from the temples. pursued with relentless vigor at last their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. the story is so full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with the novelty and realism of the narrative. =a runaway brig=; or, an accidental cruise. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this is a sea tale, and the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with harry vandyne, walter morse, jim libby and that old shell-back, bob brace, on the brig bonita. the boys discover a mysterious document which enables them to find a buried treasure. they are stranded on an island and at last are rescued with the treasure. the boys are sure to be fascinated with this entertaining story. =the treasure finders=: a boy's adventures in nicaragua. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . roy and dean coloney, with their guide tongla, leave their father's indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. the boys eagerly explore the temples of an extinct race and discover three golden images cunningly hidden away. they escape with the greatest difficulty. eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. we doubt if there ever was written a more entertaining story than "the treasure finders." =jack, the hunchback.= a story of the coast of maine. by james otis. price $ . . this is the story of a little hunchback who lived on cape elizabeth, on the coast of maine. his trials and successes are most interesting. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force. =with washington at monmouth=: a story of three philadelphia boys. by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . three philadelphia lads assist the american spies and make regular and frequent visits to valley forge in the winter while the british occupied the city. the story abounds with pictures of colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of washington's soldiers which are given show that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. the story is wholesome and patriotic in tone, as are all of mr. otis' works. =with lafayette at yorktown=: a story of how two boys joined the continental army. by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . two lads from portmouth, n. h., attempt to enlist in the colonial army, and are given employment as spies. there is no lack of exciting incidents which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with, and while the reader is following the adventures of ben jaffrays and ned allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain in his memory long after that which he has memorized from textbooks has been forgotten. =at the siege of havana.= being the experiences of three boys serving under israel putnam in . by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . "at the siege of havana" deals with that portion of the island's history when the english king captured the capital, thanks to the assistance given by the troops from new england, led in part by col. israel putnam. the principal characters are darius lunt, the lad who, represented as telling the story, and his comrades, robert clement and nicholas vallet. colonel putnam also figures to considerable extent, necessarily, in the tale, and the whole forms one of the most readable stories founded on historical facts. =the defense of fort henry.= a story of wheeling creek in . by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . nowhere in the history of our country can be found more heroic or thrilling incidents than in the story of those brave men and women who founded the settlement of wheeling in the colony of virginia. the recital of what elizabeth zane did is in itself as heroic a story as can be imagined. the wondrous bravery displayed by major mcculloch and his gallant comrades, the sufferings of the colonists and their sacrifice of blood and life, stir the blood of old as well as young readers. =the capture of the laughing mary.= a story of three new york boys in . by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "during the british occupancy of new york, at the outbreak of the revolution, a yankee lad hears of the plot to take general washington's person, and calls in two companions to assist the patriot cause. they do some astonishing things, and, incidentally, lay the way for an american navy later, by the exploit which gives its name to the work. mr. otis' books are too well known to require any particular commendation to the young."--=evening post.= =with warren at bunker hill.= a story of the siege of boston. by james otis. mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . "this is a tale of the siege of boston, which opens on the day after the doings at lexington and concord, with a description of home life in boston, introduces the reader to the british camp at charlestown, shows gen. warren at home, describes what a boy thought of the battle of bunker hill, and closes with the raising of the siege. the three heroes, george wentworth, ben scarlett and an old ropemaker, incur the enmity of a young tory, who causes them many adventures the boys will like to read."--=detroit free press.= =with the swamp fox.= the story of general marion's spies. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this story deals with general francis marion's heroic struggle in the carolinas. general marion's arrival to take command of these brave men and rough riders is pictured as a boy might have seen it, and although the story is devoted to what the lads did, the swamp fox is ever present in the mind of the reader. =on the kentucky frontier.= a story of the fighting pioneers of the west. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . in the history of our country there is no more thrilling story than that of the work done on the mississippi river by a handful of frontiersmen. mr. otis takes the reader on that famous expedition from the arrival of major clarke's force at corn island, until kaskaskia was captured. he relates that part of simon kenton's life history which is not usually touched upon either by the historian or the story teller. this is one of the most entertaining books for young people which has been published. =sarah dillard's ride.= a story of south carolina in . by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "this book deals with the carolinas in , giving a wealth of detail of the mountain men who struggled so valiantly against the king's troops. major ferguson is the prominent british officer of the story, which is told as though coming from a youth who experienced these adventures. in this way the famous ride of sarah dillard is brought out as an incident of the plot."--=boston journal.= =a tory plot.= a story of the attempt to kill general washington. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "'a tory plot' is the story of two lads who overhear something of the plot originated during the revolution by gov. tryon to capture or murder washington. they communicate their knowledge to gen. putnam and are commissioned by him to play the role of detectives in the matter. they do so, and meet with many adventures and hairbreadth escapes. the boys are, of course, mythical, but they serve to enable the author to put into very attractive shape much valuable knowledge concerning one phase of the revolution."--=pittsburgh times.= =a traitor's escape.= a story of the attempt to seize benedict arnold. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "this is a tale with stirring scenes depicted in each chapter, bringing clearly before the mind the glorious deeds of the early settlers in this country. in an historical work dealing with this country's past, no plot can hold the attention closer than this one, which describes the attempt and partial success of benedict arnold's escape to new york, where he remained as the guest of sir henry clinton. all those who actually figured in the arrest of the traitor, as well as gen. washington, are included as characters."--=albany union.= =a cruise with paul jones.= a story of naval warfare in . by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "this story takes up that portion of paul jones' adventurous life when he was hovering off the british coast, watching for an opportunity to strike the enemy a blow. it deals more particularly with his descent upon whitehaven, the seizure of lady selkirk's plate, and the famous battle with the drake. the boy who figures in the tale is one who was taken from a derelict by paul jones shortly after this particular cruise was begun."--=chicago inter-ocean.= =corporal lige's recruit.= a story of crown point and ticonderoga. by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "in 'corporal lige's recruit,' mr. otis tells the amusing story of an old soldier, proud of his record, who had served the king in ' , and who takes the lad, isaac rice, as his 'personal recruit.' the lad acquits himself superbly. col. ethan allen 'in the name of god and the continental congress,' infuses much martial spirit into the narrative, which will arouse the keenest interest as it proceeds. crown point, ticonderoga, benedict arnold and numerous other famous historical names appear in this dramatic tale."--=boston globe.= =morgan, the jersey spy.= a story of the siege of yorktown in . by james otis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "the two lads who are utilized by the author to emphasize the details of the work done during that memorable time were real boys who lived on the banks of the york river, and who aided the jersey spy in his dangerous occupation. in the guise of fishermen the lads visit yorktown, are suspected of being spies, and put under arrest. morgan risks his life to save them. the final escape, the thrilling encounter with a squad of red coats, when they are exposed equally to the bullets of friends and foes, told in a masterly fashion, makes of this volume one of the most entertaining books of the year."--=inter-ocean.= =the young scout=: the story of a west point lieutenant. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . the crafty apache chief geronimo but a few years ago was the most terrible scourge of the southwest border. the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the incidents of geronimo's last raid. the hero is lieutenant james decker, a recent graduate of west point. ambitious to distinguish himself the young man takes many a desperate chance against the enemy and on more than one occasion narrowly escapes with his life. in our opinion mr. ellis is the best writer of indian stories now before the public. =adrift in the wilds=: the adventures of two shipwrecked boys. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . elwood brandon and howard lawrence are en route for san francisco. off the coast of california the steamer takes fire. the two boys reach the shore with several of the passengers. young brandon becomes separated from his party and is captured by hostile indians, but is afterwards rescued. this is a very entertaining narrative of southern california. =a young hero=; or, fighting to win. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this story tells how a valuable solid silver service was stolen from the misses perkinpine, two very old and simple minded ladies. fred sheldon, the hero of this story, undertakes to discover the thieves and have them arrested. after much time spent in detective work, he succeeds in discovering the silver plate and winning the reward. the story is told in mr. ellis' most fascinating style. every boy will be glad to read this delightful book. =lost in the rockies.= a story of adventure in the rocky mountains. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . incident succeeds incident, and adventure is piled upon adventure, and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced breathless enjoyment in this romantic story describing many adventures in the rockies and among the indians. =a jaunt through java=: the story of a journey to the sacred mountain. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . the interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of two cousins, hermon and eustace hadley, on their trip across the island of java, from samarang to the sacred mountain. in a land where the royal bengal tiger, the rhinoceros, and other fierce beasts are to be met with, it is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. there is not a dull page in the book. =the boy patriot.= a story of jack, the young friend of washington. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $ . . "there are adventures of all kinds for the hero and his friends, whose pluck and ingenuity in extricating themselves from awkward fixes are always equal to the occasion. it is an excellent story full of honest, manly, patriotic efforts on the part of the hero. a very vivid description of the battle of trenton is also found in this story."--=journal of education.= =a yankee lad's pluck.= how bert larkin saved his father's ranch in porto rico. by wm. p. chipman. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . "bert larkin, the hero of the story, early excites our admiration, and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst the story of his numerous adventures is very graphically told. this will, we think, prove one of the most popular boys' books this season."--=gazette.= =a brave defense.= a story of the massacre at fort griswold in . by william p. chipman. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . perhaps no more gallant fight against fearful odds took place during the revolutionary war than that at fort griswold, groton heights, conn., in . the boys are real boys who were actually on the muster rolls, either at fort trumbull on the new london side, or of fort griswold on the groton side of the thames. the youthful reader who follows halsey sanford and levi dart and tom malleson, and their equally brave comrades, through their thrilling adventures will be learning something more than historical facts; they will be imbibing lessons of fidelity, of bravery, of heroism, and of manliness, which must prove serviceable in the arena of life. =the young minuteman.= a story of the capture of general prescott in . by william p. chipman. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this story is based upon actual events which occurred during the british occupation of the waters of narragansett bay. darius wale and william northrop belong to "the coast patrol." the story is a strong one, dealing only with actual events. there is, however, no lack of thrilling adventure, and every lad who is fortunate enough to obtain the book will find not only that his historical knowledge is increased, but that his own patriotism and love of country are deepened. =for the temple=: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by s. j. solomon. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "mr. henty's graphic prose picture of the hopeless jewish resistance to roman sway adds another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world. the book is one of mr. henty's cleverest efforts."--=graphic.= =roy gilbert's search=: a tale of the great lakes. by wm. p. chipman. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . a deep mystery hangs over the parentage of roy gilbert. he arranges with two schoolmates to make a tour of the great lakes on a steam launch. the three boys visit many points of interest on the lakes. afterwards the lads rescue an elderly gentleman and a lady from a sinking yacht. later on the boys narrowly escape with their lives. the hero is a manly, self-reliant boy, whose adventures will be followed with interest. =the slate picker=: the story of a boy's life in the coal mines. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this is a story of a boy's life in the coal mines of pennsylvania. ben burton, the hero, had a hard road to travel, but by grit and energy he advanced step by step until he found himself called upon to fill the position of chief engineer of the kohinoor coal company. this is a book of extreme interest to every boy reader. =the boy cruisers=; or, paddling in florida. by st. george rathborne. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . andrew george and rowland carter start on a canoe trip along the gulf coast, from key west to tampa, florida. their first adventure is with a pair of rascals who steal their boats. next they run into a gale in the gulf. after that they have a lively time with alligators and andrew gets into trouble with a band of seminole indians. mr. rathborne knows just how to interest the boys, and lads who are in search of a rare treat will do well to read this entertaining story. =captured by zulus=: a story of trapping in africa. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this story details the adventures of two lads, dick elsworth and bob harvey, in the wilds of south africa. by stratagem the zulus capture dick and bob and take them to their principal kraal or village. the lads escape death by digging their way out of the prison hut by night. they are pursued, but the zulus finally give up pursuit. mr. prentice tells exactly how wild-beast collectors secure specimens on their native stamping grounds, and these descriptions make very entertaining reading. =tom the ready=; or, up from the lowest. by randolph hill. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . this is a dramatic narrative of the unaided rise of a fearless, ambitious boy from the lowest round of fortune's ladder to wealth and the governorship of his native state. tom seacomb begins life with a purpose, and eventually overcomes those who oppose him. how he manages to win the battle is told by mr. hill in a masterful way that thrills the reader and holds his attention and sympathy to the end. =captain kidd's gold=: the true story of an adventurous sailor boy. by james franklin fitts. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . there is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. a vision arises before his eyes of swarthy portuguese and spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes. there were many famous sea rovers, but none more celebrated than capt. kidd. paul jones garry inherits a document which locates a considerable treasure buried by two of kidd's crew. the hero of this book is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water new england ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. =the boy explorers=: the adventures of two boys in alaska. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . two boys, raymond and spencer manning, travel to alaska to join their father in search of their uncle. on their arrival at sitka the boys with an indian guide set off across the mountains. the trip is fraught with perils that test the lads' courage to the utmost. all through their exciting adventures the lads demonstrate what can be accomplished by pluck and resolution, and their experience makes one of the most interesting tales ever written. =the island treasure=; or, harry darrel's fortune. by frank h. converse. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . harry darrel, having received a nautical training on a school-ship, is bent on going to sea. a runaway horse changes his prospects. harry saves dr. gregg from drowning and afterward becomes sailing-master of a sloop yacht. mr. converse's stories possess a charm of their own which is appreciated by lads who delight in good healthy tales that smack of salt water. =guy harris=: the runaway. by harry castlemon. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . guy harris lived in a small city on the shore of one of the great lakes. he is persuaded to go to sea, and gets a glimpse of the rough side of life in a sailor's boarding house. he ships on a vessel and for five months leads a hard life. the book will interest boys generally on account of its graphic style. this is one of castlemon's most attractive stories. =julian mortimer=: a brave boy's struggle for home and fortune. by harry castlemon. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . the scene of the story lies west of the mississippi river, in the days when emigrants made their perilous way across the great plains to the land of gold. there is an attack upon the wagon train by a large party of indians. our hero is a lad of uncommon nerve and pluck. befriended by a stalwart trapper, a real rough diamond, our hero achieves the most happy results. =by pike and dyke=: a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by maynard brown. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students in spite of themselves."--=st. james's gazette.= =st. george for england=: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "a story of very great interest for boys. in his own forcible style the author has endeavored to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvellous results; and that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness."--=pall mall gazette.= =captain bayley's heir=: a tale of the gold fields of california. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by h. m. paget. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "mr. henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of john holl, the westminster dustman, dickens himself could hardly have excelled."--=christian leader.= =budd boyd's triumph=; or, the boy firm of fox island. by william p. chipman. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . the scene of this story is laid on the upper part of narragansett bay, and the leading incidents have a strong salt-water flavor. the two boys, budd boyd and judd floyd, being ambitious and clear sighted, form a partnership to catch and sell fish. budd's pluck and good sense carry him through many troubles. in following the career of the boy firm of boyd & floyd, the youthful reader will find a useful lesson--that industry and perseverance are bound to lead to ultimate success. =lost in the canyon=: sam willett's adventures on the great colorado. by alfred r. calhoun. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . this story hinges on a fortune left to sam willett, the hero, and the fact that it will pass to a disreputable relative if the lad dies before he shall have reached his majority. the story of his father's peril and of sam's desperate trip down the great canyon on a raft, and how the party finally escape from their perils is described in a graphic style that stamps mr. calhoun as a master of his art. =captured by apes=: the wonderful adventures of a young animal trainer. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ . . philip garland, a young animal collector and trainer, sets sail for eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. the vessel is wrecked off the coast of borneo, and young garland is cast ashore on a small island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapes death. mr. prentice is a writer of undoubted skill. =under drake's flag=: a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "there is not a dull chapter, nor, indeed, a dull page in the book; but the author has so carefully worked up his subject that the exciting deeds of his heroes are never incongruous nor absurd."--=observer.= =by sheer pluck=: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. "mr. henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'by sheer pluck' will be eagerly read."--=athenæum.= =with lee in virginia=: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "one of the best stories for lads which mr. henty has yet written. the picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story."--=standard.= =by england's aid=; or, the freeing of the netherlands ( - ). by g. a. henty. with illustrations by alfred pearse. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "it is an admirable book for youngsters. it overflows with stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of the scene are finely reproduced. the illustrations add to its attractiveness."--=boston gazette.= =by right of conquest=; or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. s. stacey. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "the conquest of mexico by a small band of resolute men under the magnificent leadership of cortez is always rightfully ranked among the most romantic and daring exploits in history. 'by right of conquest' is the neatest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that mr. henty has yet published."--=academy.= =for name and fame=; or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabitants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for englishmen, as being the key to our indian empire."--=glasgow herald.= =the bravest of the brave=; or, with peterborough in spain. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by h. m. paget. mo cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and loving kindness, as indispensable to the making of a gentleman. boys will read 'the bravest of the brave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."--=daily telegraph.= =the cat of bubastes=: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated."--=saturday review.= =bonnie prince charlie=: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'quentin durward.' the lad's journey across france, and his hairbreadth escapes, makes up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. for freshness of treatment and variety of incident mr. henty has surpassed himself."--=spectator.= =with clive in india=; or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "he has taken a period of indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume."--=scotsman.= =in the reign of terror=: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by j. schÃ�nberg. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. henty's best."--=saturday review.= =the lion of the north=: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by john schÃ�nberg. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "a praiseworthy attempt to interest british youth in the great deeds of the scotch brigade in the wars of gustavus adolphus. mackey, hepburn, and munro live again in mr. henty's pages, as those deserve to live whose disciplined bands formed really the germ of the modern british army."--=athenæum.= =the dragon and the raven=; or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by c. j. staniland. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "in this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between saxon and dane for supremacy in england, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. the story is treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader."--=athenæum.= =the young carthaginian=: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by c. j. staniland. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "well constructed and vividly told. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."--=saturday review.= =in freedom's cause=: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "it is written in the author's best style. full of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put one side."--=the schoolmaster.= =with wolfe in canada=; or, the winning of a continent. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "a model of what a boys' story-book should be. mr. henty has a great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement."--=school guardian.= =true to the old flag=: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against american emancipation. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile red-skins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawkeye and chingachgook."--=the times.= =a final reckoning=: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. b. wollen. mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $ . . "all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest. the episodes are in mr. henty's very best vein--graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honorable, manly, and even heroic character."--=birmingham post.= for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, =a. l. burt, - duane street, new york=. available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/inhandsofcavedwe hentiala in the hands of the cave-dwellers by g. a. henty author of "with roberts to pretoria" "won by the sword" "to herat and cabul" &c. illustrated by wat. miller blackie and son limited london glasgow and dublin [illustration: "four indians stepped from among the trees"] contents chap. page i. a midnight attack ii. a hearty welcome iii. an ambush iv. a great ranch v. an indian raid vi. hopeful news vii. the pursuit viii. the cave-dwellers ix. rescued in the hands of the cave-dwellers chapter i a midnight attack it was late in the evening at san diego, in the autumn of the year ; there was no moon, but the stars shone so brightly in the clear, dry atmosphere that it was easy to distinguish objects at some little distance. a young fellow, in the dress of a sailor, was making his way through the narrow streets that bordered the port, when he heard a sudden shout, followed by fierce exclamations and mexican oaths. without pausing to consider whether it was prudent to interfere, he grasped tightly a cudgel he had that day cut, and ran to the spot where it was evident that a conflict was going on. it was but some forty yards away, and as he approached he made out four figures who were dodging round a doorway and were evidently attacking someone standing there. the inequality of the combat was sufficient to appeal to the sailor's sympathies. the sand that lay thick in the street had deadened his footsteps, and his presence was unmarked till his stick descended with a sharp crack on the up-lifted wrist of one of the assailants, eliciting a yell of pain, while the knife the man held flew across the street. one of the man's companions turned upon the new-comer, but the sailor's arm was already raised, and the cudgel lighted with such force on the man's head that he fell stunned to the ground. this unexpected assault caused the other two fellows to pause and look around, and in an instant the defender of the doorway bounded forward and buried his knife in one of their bodies, while the other at once fled, followed by the man whose wrist had been broken by the sailor's first blow. "carambo, señor!" the mexican said. "you have rendered me a service indeed, and i tender you a thousand thanks. i could not have held out much longer, for i had been more than once wounded before you arrived." "you are heartily welcome, señor. it was but a slight business--two blows with my stick and the matter was done." "you are not a countryman of mine, señor," the other said, for the sailor spoke with a strong accent; "you are a stranger, and, as i can see now, a sailor." "that is so. i am an american." "is that so?" the other said, speaking this time in english. "as you see, i know about as much of your tongue as you do of mine. i thought you must be a stranger even before i observed your dress, for street frays are not uncommon in this town, whereas in other ports there are scores of men ready for any villany, and few of my people would care to interfere in a fray in which they have no interest. but do not let us stay here. it is best to get out of this quarter." "shall we do anything with these fellows? the one i hit can only be stunned, and i should think we ought to give him in charge to the watch." the other laughed. "you might wait some time before we found them, and, besides, it would give us a deal of trouble. no; leave them where they lie. the one i struck at least will never get up again. now, señor, may i ask the name of my preserver? mine is juan sarasta." "mine is william harland," the sailor replied. "we are friends for life, señor harland," the mexican said, as he held out his hand and gripped that of the sailor warmly. "where are you staying?" "i am staying nowhere at present," the sailor laughed. "i deserted from my ship three days ago, bought a supply of food, and have been some miles up the country. i knew that the vessel was to sail to-day, and i came back again and watched her go out just before sunset, and have been sitting on a barrel down at the wharf, wondering what i was going to do, and whether, after all, it would not have been wiser of me to have put up with that brute of a captain until we got down to valparaiso." "we will talk all that matter over later," the mexican said. "i am staying with some friends, who will, i am sure, make you welcome when i tell them that you saved my life." "i thank you very much," the sailor said, "but no doubt i shall be able to find some little inn where i can obtain a night's lodging." "such a thing is not to be thought of, señor harland, and i shall feel very much hurt if you do not accept my offer." they were now in a wider street, and, passing a wine-shop from which the light streamed out, harland saw that the mexican was a young fellow but two or three years older than himself, and his dress showed him to belong to the upper class. the mexican's glance had been as quick as his own, for he said, "why, you are younger than i am!" "i am just eighteen." "and i twenty. were you an officer on your ship?" "no. my father is one of the leading citizens of boston; he absolutely refused to allow me to follow the sea as a profession, although he is a large ship-owner himself; however, my mind was made up, and as i could not go as an officer, i came as a sailor. this is not my first voyage, for two years ago he let me sail in one of his ships as an apprentice, making sure that it would have the effect of disgusting me with the sea. however, the experiment failed, and to his anger i returned even fonder of it than when i started. he wanted me to go into his office, but i positively refused, and we had a serious quarrel, at the end of which i went down to the river and shipped before the mast. i know now that i have behaved like a fool. the captain was a brute of the worst sort, and the first mate was worse, and between them they made the ship unbearable. i stood it as long as i could, but three days before we got to this port one of the young apprentices, whom they had pretty nearly killed, jumped overboard, and then i made up my mind that as soon as we landed i would bolt and take my chance of getting a berth on board some other ship." "but you speak spanish very fairly, señor." "well, the last ship i was in traded along the western coast, putting in at every little port, so i picked up a good deal of the language, for we were out here nearly six months. the ship i have just left did the same, so i have had nearly a year on this coast, and having learned latin at school, of course it helped me very much. and you, señor, how do you come to speak english?" "i have been down for the past six months in valparaiso, staying with a relation who has a house there, and my greatest friends there were some young englishmen of my own age, sons of a merchant. my father had spoken of my paying a visit to your states some day, and therefore i was glad of the opportunity of learning the language. this, señor, is the house of my friends." as harland saw that his companion would take no denial, he followed him into the house. the young mexican led the way to a pretty room with windows to the ground, opening on to a garden. "you are late, señor juan," a gentleman said, rising from his seat; but before the young man could reply, a girl of fifteen or sixteen years old cried out: "madre maria, he is wounded!" "it is nothing serious, and i had almost forgotten it till just now it began to smart. i have two, or, i think, three stabs on my left arm; they are not very deep, as i twisted my cloak round it when i was attacked. but it would have been a very serious business had it not been for this gentleman, whom i wish to introduce to you, don guzman, as the saviour of my life. he is an american gentleman, the son of a wealthy ship-owner of boston, but, owing to some slight disagreement with his father, he has worked his way out here as a sailor. i ventured to promise that you would extend your hospitality to him." "my house is at your service, señor," the mexican said courteously. "one who has rendered so great a service to my friend don juan sarasta, is my friend also. christina, ring the bell and tell the servants to bring hot water and clothes, and then do you go to your room while we attend to don juan's injuries." the wounds proved to be by no means serious; they were all on the forearm, and, having to pierce through six or seven inches of cloth, had not penetrated very far. they had, however, bled freely, and although the young man laughed at them as mere scratches, he looked pale from the loss of blood. "a few bottles of good wine, and i shall be all right again." "i must apologize for not having asked you before," señor guzman said to harland, when the wounds were bandaged, "but have you supped?" "yes, thank you, señor. i bought some food as i came through the town, and ate it as i was waiting at the port." "have you any luggage that i can send for?" "i have a kit-bag, which i will fetch myself in the morning. it is out on the plain. i did not care to bring it from the town until i knew that the vessel i came in had sailed." "i can lend you some things for the night," juan said. "you are a little taller than i am, but they will be near enough." some wine and biscuits were now brought in, and some excellent cigars produced. "were they thieves that attacked you, think you, don juan?" his host asked, after the latter had given a detailed account of his adventure. "i cannot say, but i own i have an idea it was my life that they wanted rather than my valuables. i had a fancy that a man was following me, and i went to see the man i had spoken to about the mules. coming back i heard a whistle behind me, and twenty yards farther three men sprang out, and one ran up from behind, so that i don't think it was a chance encounter." "do you suspect anyone?" the young mexican hesitated a moment before he answered. "no, señor; i have no quarrel with anyone." "i do not see how, indeed, you could have an enemy," don guzman said, "seeing that you have been here only for a fortnight; still, it is curious. however, i have no doubt there are plenty of fellows in the town who would put a knife between any man's shoulders if they thought he was likely to have a few dollars in his pocket. your watch-chain may have attracted the eye of one of these fellows, and he may have thought it, with the watch attached to it, well worth the trouble of getting, and would have considered it an easy matter, with three comrades, to make short work of you, though i own that when you showed fight so determinedly i wonder they did not make off, for, as a rule, these fellows are rank cowards." will harland observed that when the don asked if juan had any suspicions as to the author of the attempt, donna christina, who had returned to the room when his wounds were dressed, glanced towards him, as if anxious to hear his answer. putting that and the young mexican's momentary hesitation together, he at once suspected that both he and the girl had a strong idea as to who was at the bottom of this attempt. the subject was not further alluded to, the conversation turning upon the united states, concerning which the mexican asked harland many questions. "it is a pity so great a distance divides us from them," he said. "it is more effectual than any ocean, and yet perhaps if we were nearer neighbours your people would disturb our quiet life here. they are restless, and forever pushing forward, while we abhor changes, and live as our fathers did three hundred years ago. you see, the mountains act as a barrier to us, and we have never even tried to extend the territory we occupy beyond the strip of land between the coast and the mountains, and, indeed, that is ample for us. our population has decreased rather than increased since mexico declared its independence in , and took what i have always considered the ill-advised step of expelling all the spanish residents about six years ago. "not that we in this province took any very active part in the civil wars that for ten years raged in central mexico; but although the spanish authorities were bad masters, it must be granted that, while they were here, there was more trade and commerce than there has since been, and that the advantages all expected to secure from the revolution have by no means been obtained. it is curious that the same has been the case in the other countries that gained their independence. in central america there are constant troubles, in peru things have gone backward rather than forward, and chile alone shows signs of enterprise and advancement. however, these things do not concern us greatly; we live by the land and not by trade; we have all we want, or can desire, and subsist, like the patriarchs of old, on our flocks and herds. "don juan's father, a man of vigour and courage, has shown more enterprise than any of us, for before the beginning of the troubles he moved far up a valley running into the heart of the mountains, and established himself there. he had large flocks and herds, but his land was insufficient to support them, and, in spite of the warnings of all his friends, he determined to move. so far he has proved himself a wise man. he began by making a sort of treaty with the indians of that part, by which he agreed to give them a considerable amount of blankets and other goods if they would bind themselves not to interfere with him in any way. these people have generally proved themselves faithless in such matters, but this has been an exception to the rule, and i believe that he has not lost a single head of cattle since he went out there, and he is now undoubtedly one of the richest men on this coast. the fact that he should send his son on to chile to enlarge his mind and prepare him for a trip to the united states, and even to europe, shows the energy of the man, and how far removed his ideas are from those of the hacienderos in general. i can assure you that juan's departure caused quite a sensation in this part of the province." "does your father often come down here himself, don juan?" "he generally comes down once a year to arrange for the disposal of the increase of his cattle--that is to say, of the tallow and hides; as to the meat, it is practically of no value. of course the bullocks are killed on the estate; the daily consumption is large, for he has upwards of fifty peons and vaqueros, but this is a comparatively small item, for he generally kills from eighteen thousand to twenty thousand animals; the carcasses are boiled down for the fat, and that and the hides are packed on great rafts and sent down to the coast. his place is only a few miles from the colorado river. when he comes down here, he takes up a ship, which he sends round to loreto, and thence up to the mouth of the colorado." "how far is this place from here?" "about two hundred miles." "i should have thought it would have been better to have them here." "no, there is a range of hills about half-way between his place and the coast, across which it would be difficult to get them. another thing is, that there is scarce any food by the way; rain seldom falls here, and although the land is very rich when irrigated, it affords but a scanty growth in its wild state. a herd of twenty thousand bullocks could scarcely exist on the road, and even if they got here, they would have lost so much fat that they would scarce pay for boiling down." they sat smoking in the veranda until nearly midnight, and don guzman then conducted the young sailor to the chamber that had been prepared for him. chapter ii a hearty welcome early as mexican households are awake, in order to enjoy the comparatively cool hours of the morning, william harland was the first up, and, dressing hastily, he started out to fetch his kit-bag. at the bottom of this he had stowed away, before he went on board, the clothes that he had worn when he left home, and also the contents of a small trunk that he had taken with him, buying an outfit for use on board from a slop-shop. he was back in an hour, for he had hidden the bag in a clump of bushes but two miles from the town. the servants were moving about, but, with the exception of juan, none of the others were yet down. the latter met him as he entered. "i have been to your room, and when i found it empty, guessed the errand on which you were away. why did you not tell me last night? you could have had a negro slave to go with you and carry that sack of yours back." "oh, i am not too proud to carry it myself, don juan, and i was really anxious to get it the first thing this morning, for i certainly should feel very uncomfortable sitting down to breakfast with your friends in this rough sailor suit. luckily, i have some decent clothes in my bag, and half a dozen white jean jackets and trousers, which i bought for wearing ashore when i was on my last voyage; for then, as an apprentice and in a ship chiefly belonging to my father, i had a good many privileges in the way of leave when we were in port." "you look desperately hot, and if you would like a swim, there is a pond in that clump of trees at the end of the garden--i have had a dip there myself this morning." "thank you, i should like it extremely, and i can then finish my toilet there." the pond was an artificial one, the sides and bottom being lined with stone; a thick band of trees and undergrowth surrounded it; it had doubtless been formed for the purpose of a bath, and also, as was shown by two or three seats placed around it, as a shady retreat during the heat of the day. in half an hour will rejoined juan, looking cool and comfortable in his white jacket and trousers, and a white flannel shirt, with turn-down collar and black silk handkerchief around his neck. "that is a good deal better," juan said; "you only want a sombrero to complete your costume. sit down here; i told the servant to bring chocolate for us directly i saw you coming out from the trees. don guzman and christina take their chocolate in their room. i don't suppose that we shall see them till breakfast, which will not be served for an hour and a half yet." "how is your arm, don juan?" "drop the don, please; i was always called simply juan by my english friends at valparaiso. it is much more pleasant than our ceremonious way of addressing each other. so call me juan, please, and i will call you will." "now, juan," harland said, as they sipped their chocolate, "who do you believe set those ruffians on to you? i could see plainly enough that both you and the señorita had suspicions, though you did not choose to mention them to her father." "you are a sharp observer," juan laughed. "well, yes, i will tell you frankly upon whom my suspicions fell. i must tell you first that don guzman is a connection of mine, my father having married a first cousin of his. when my father went out to this new ranch of his, twelve years ago, he left me behind, under my cousin's charge, and i lived here for five years, going to the mission to be educated by the fathers. since then i have generally spent a month or two here, and not unnaturally, as you who have seen her will doubtless admit, i have grown to be very fond of christina. of course till lately she has simply looked upon me as her big cousin, but when i was last here, before going down to valparaiso, she was a little changed; she had grown to be shy with me, which she had never been before, and i hoped that she had begun to return my affection. naturally enough, when i returned the other day, i spoke out to her, and learned, to my delight, that this was so, but of course she could say nothing until our parents had been consulted--an indispensable step, as you of course know, for in mexico, although young people may have some voice in the matter, the parents' consent has to be obtained, and the preliminaries are, in fact, settled by them. in this case, happily, there is no fear of difficulty arising on that score. don guzman and my father are firm friends, and the alliance would be a suitable one in all respects, as, although my father may be more wealthy than don guzman, christina is an only child, while i have a sister who is about her age." "but i still do not see, juan, how this explains anyone having an enmity with you." "no, i am just coming to that. you must know that the military commandant of san diego, colonel pedros melos, has a son enriques, who is a captain in the regiment stationed here. christina told me before i went down to chile that captain melos was a frequent visitor, and that he was very attentive to her father, and frequently brought bouquets of choice flowers. she added that, although he was very civil to her, as far as the customs of the country permit a caballero to be civil to any young lady not related to him, she did not like him. well, it happened the other day, that, just as christina and i were coming to an understanding, exactly where we are sitting now, this captain melos stepped out from the window of the drawing-room. i should imagine that he had no great difficulty in understanding the situation. a young couple who have just declared their love for each other are apt to look a little awkward when suddenly interrupted. "the sound of his foot, as he stepped out on the veranda, caused us to look round sharply. as his eye fell on us he turned as pale as if he had received a blow, and if ever man's face wore for a moment an expression of intense rage his did then. however, he checked himself, murmured a word or two about believing that señor guzman was in the veranda, and then turned on his heel and went back into the room. christina caught my arm. 'beware, juan, that man will be your deadly enemy!' and i felt that she spoke truly. she said that his attentions of late had been very marked, and she had been in constant fear that his father would call on hers to ask for her hand for his son. we agreed that i should, without loss of time, speak to her father on the subject of my suit, and i did so on the same day. "he was good enough to say that when a request from my father reached him to that effect, he should most willingly accede to it. colonel melos did, in fact, call the day before yesterday, and formally proposed the alliance, to which don guzman replied that his daughter's affections were already engaged with his perfect consent and approval. the colonel, of course, had nothing to do but to bow himself out with as good a grace as he could muster. i fancy from what i have heard that he is a good officer and an honest man. he has played a part in all the civil wars that we have had here, but, unlike most others, he always stuck to the same side, which, fortunately for him, turned out in the end to be the successful one. his son bears an altogether different character. here, indeed, there has been nothing much against him; the fact of his father being commandant has no doubt acted as a check upon him, and possibly the hope that he may have entertained of winning christina's hand may have helped to render him discreet, but i have heard that in other places where his regiment has been in garrison, he bore the worst of characters. "thus, you see, as a bitterly-disappointed man and as an unscrupulous one, he might well have been the author of this attack upon me; and, as you noticed, the idea occurred to christina as well as myself, remembering as we did the expression of his face when he saw us together. that the affair was his work, however, we have no shadow of proof, and i should not think of whispering my suspicions to anyone. still, i shall take every precaution for the three or four days that i remain here, and shall not be out in the unfrequented streets after nightfall. and now about yourself; tell me, frankly, what are you thinking of doing? do you intend to continue at sea, or are you thinking of returning to your home, where, no doubt, you would be gladly received by your father?" "i have not thought it fully over yet, but i certainly shall not go back to my father with the tale that i found my life unbearable and deserted my ship. when i go it must be with a better record than that. he may have objected most strongly to my taking to the sea, but i think it would be an even greater annoyance to him to find that having, in defiance of his wishes, done so, i had so soon backed out of it. he himself is a man who carries through anything that he undertakes, no matter if he incurs loss in so doing. i do not say that if i saw some other opening and made a success of it, he would mind; but when i do go back it must not be as a returned prodigal, but as a man who has done something, who has in one line or another achieved a certain amount of success. as far as i have thought it over, my ideas have been to take a passage down to valparaiso, which seems to me the most go-ahead place on this coast, and there look round. i have money enough to last for some little time, for my father, on my return from my last voyage, gave me a cheque for five hundred dollars, and, beyond twenty or thirty dollars expended on my sea-kit, i still have it all in my belt." "but what do you think of doing in valparaiso?" "i would take anything that turned up except a clerkship. then, if in two or three months i could see nothing that seemed likely to lead to a good thing, i would ship again." "well, you will not embark on any such wild-goose chase for some time, for i intend to take you off with me to my father's hacienda for a long visit. you will receive the heartiest of welcomes when i tell them what you have done for me. i can promise you, i think, a pleasant time there, and you will see what will be quite a new side of life to you, and learn something of the ranching business, which, let me tell you, is as good as another, though i admit that a considerable amount of capital is required for making a fair start." "i should like it extremely," harland said, "but--" "there are no buts in it, will," the other broke in. "you don't suppose that after what has happened you are going your way and i am going mine in the course of a few days, as if we were but two passengers who had made a short voyage together. my father would never forgive me if i did not bring you up with me. i expect to-morrow or next day we shall have three or four of the men down with horses, blankets, and other necessities for travel. i sent a messenger off on the day i arrived. there is generally a wagon or two that comes down every month for groceries, wine, and other matters, and as i find that it is fully that time since the last trip, i expect that the carts and men will both arrive to-morrow. travelling comfortably, we shall take the best part of a week to get there; of course, with relays of horses it could be done in less than half that time. the wagons take ten days, and that is good travelling, especially as there are three days' heavy work over the first range of hills. here the mules will have a few days' rest and then start again." "you find mules better than horses for wagons?" "beyond all comparison better; the value of a mule is six times that of a horse, except for exceptionally good and fast animals. feed a mule well, and there is no better beast in the world. of course the mules are big animals, being bred from the finest donkeys that can be imported from spain, and can drag as much as oxen and go half as fast again." acting under his friend's advice, will purchased the necessaries for his journey, the principal item being a mexican poncho; this, in appearance, was like a large blanket made of a long, soft wool that was practically water-proof. a hole edged with braid was cut in the middle. this was slipped on over the head, and a long riding-cloak, reaching to the stirrups, was obtained, while at night it served all the purposes of an ordinary blanket. juan presented him with a rifle, a brace of handsomely mounted double-barrelled pistols, and a sword. "we always ride armed across the hills; we are on good terms with the indians near us, but might fall in with some wandering bands, or possibly a party of white cut-throats, fugitives from justice. besides," he added significantly, "there may possibly be dangers on this side of the first range of hills." "you think--" will began. "yes, i think it possible that the organizer of the first attempt on my life may try again. it is not probable that he likes me any better for the failure he then made." some high riding-boots, a couple of pairs of fringed mexican trousers, and a few other necessaries completed the equipment, most of which was to be sent up in the wagon with the kit-bag. will was in high spirits. nothing could be more pleasant than the trip promised to be, and he looked eagerly forward to the start. the wagons had arrived, and with them four mounted men who had overtaken them on the day before they reached san diego. they brought down with them two riding horses, intended for juan's use. "my father always sends two down," juan said, "so that i can have a change each day, and be beyond the reach of such accidents as a horse straining himself or casting a shoe. besides, on more than one occasion i have brought back a friend with me, as i am going to do now." "i suppose you breed a good many up there?" "we breed enough for the wants of our vaqueros, and a few high-class animals for our own riding. we don't care about having more than is necessary, for a good horse is a temptation that an indian can scarcely withstand. cattle they don't care so much for, for up in the mountains feed would be scarce for them; besides, they have no difficulty in getting meat--game is plentiful enough, deer and bear, while at times they go down into the great plains on the other side of the rockies and kill as many buffalo as they please, jerk the meat, and bring it up to their villages. in point of fact, we never refuse half a dozen or a dozen cattle to any party of indians who come down and ask for them. it keeps us on good terms with them, and practically costs us nothing, for they do not often take the hides, preferring greatly deer-skins for their hunting-shirts and leggings, for which bullock hide is too heavy, while for their lariats and heel ropes, and so on, they use buffalo hide, which is stronger and tougher. so practically, you see, it is only the value of the fat that we lose." three days later juan and will said good-bye to señor guzman and his daughter and set out, the four mounted men riding behind them with two led animals carrying provisions and water-skins. "how far is it before we get beyond the settled country?" "the country is cultivated as far as the chocolate hills, as there are several small rivers, whose water is used for irrigating the fields. beyond these hills there are scattered villages and haciendas, their positions being determined by the existence of streams coming down from a great mountain range, for although rain seldom falls near the coast, there are heavy showers there occasionally. except in the rainy season, the beds of these streams are dry, but wells sunk in them at all times yield a plentiful supply of water. it is drawn up by the labour of bullocks, and the ground irrigated; and they grow oranges, bananas, grapes, melons, and all kinds of fruit, in fact, in abundance. some of these irrigated estates are of considerable size. for the last fifty miles we shall come across no settlements until we reach our own hacienda, for the country is too much open to indian forays. though we do not suffer as much as they do on the other side of the colorado; still the risk is great--too great for men who embark their capital, to say nothing of risking their lives. we are fortunate in the fact that the tribe immediately in our neighbourhood is a small one, and far less warlike than many of their neighbours. the goods they receive from us, and the cattle, make them comparatively rich, and they have never shown any signs whatever of enmity against us. we have promised them that if they are attacked by any of their savage neighbours we will, if they come down to us, assist them, and as the hacienda is strongly built and we have a supply of arms sufficient for all our men, we could resist any attack. i think this understanding has quite as much to do with their friendly feeling towards us as the benefits they receive from us." "it must be a large valley to be capable of sustaining so vast a herd as that of your father?" "yes; the valley is not very wide at the lower end near the river, but the hills open out and form a basin some ten miles wide and twenty miles long. beyond that it extends a considerable distance, but narrows fast; a stream runs down the centre, and during the rainy season and at the time of the melting of the snows there are innumerable rivulets coming down from the hills, and in consequence the grass is sweet and long. our herds amount to about forty thousand head, and we do not let them exceed that number. we do not use the upper part of the valley. by our agreement with the indians that is to remain untouched as a hunting-ground for them." that night they slept at the hacienda of some acquaintances of señor sarasta, where they were most hospitably entertained; the next day they halted for a few hours at san felice, and rode on as soon as the sun had lost its full power. they were now beyond the region of general cultivation; the plain was, however, fairly green, as a short time before the unusual circumstance of a heavy rain had occurred, with the result that in the course of a few days the whole face of the country was changed. as soon as the horses were unsaddled the men scattered to collect dead brushwood, and in a short time a fire was blazing, and a slice from a hindquarter of venison that had been presented to them by their host of the night before was skewered on a ramrod and placed over it. they had made sixty-five miles in two days' journey. they had not been following any beaten track, but the men had all made the journey so often that no path was needed. in the morning they would begin the ascent of the lower slopes of the mountains, whose crest rose some thirty miles ahead of them, although, seen in the clear air, they did not seem to will harland to be more than a fifth of that distance. rather to the surprise of the men, juan ordered that a watch should be kept, a precaution they had never taken before. "i have an idea," he said to will, "that we shall be attacked either to-night or while mounting the hill to-morrow. it is just as well to take the precaution to set a guard to-night, but i do not really think that if a party are out after us they will trouble us to-night. they could not know exactly the road we should take, but will be sure that we shall cross the hills and come down on the north side of the great dry lake, and probably stop at martinez. from there the country is better cultivated, as we go along the chatenezonais valley, in which there are several villages. to-morrow's journey is, therefore, the most lonely and dangerous, and they would have no motive whatever in going farther, so i think that for to-night we can sleep tranquilly. to-morrow we shall have to be on our guard." chapter iii an ambush the night passed quietly. the soil was soft and sandy, and, rolled in his poncho, will slept as comfortably as if in a hammock. they were in the saddle early, for the day's ride would be a very long one, and juan intended to give the horses a day's rest at martinez. "we don't consider sixty miles to be a long journey here," juan said, as they started, "and, indeed, if one starts on fresh horses it is a mere nothing; but when one rides the same, day after day, forty is as much as one has a right to expect from them after one is once fairly on his way. we shall meet with no water to-day, and it is specially for this part of the journey that we brought the water-skins with us." "i noticed that you did not fill them half full at the last stream we crossed." "no, it was not necessary; the horses will have a good drink at a stream we shall cross in a couple of hours, and we shall fill the skins there; beyond that we enter the mountains and travel through an extremely difficult pass, or, rather, i should say, passes, till we come down into the valley. the carts do not come this way; they strike the colorado river many miles down and follow its bank. it is at least a third longer, but if it were three times as long they would have to go that way; the passes are difficult enough for horses, but they would be impossible for wheeled carriages." after riding for thirty miles they halted for half an hour; the horses were watered, and the men ate some of the meat they had cooked overnight and some cold pancakes that had been fried in deer's fat. they were now far up on the hillside and following a regular track. "another hour's sharp climbing and we shall be on the top summit of the pass. see to the priming of your rifles and pistols. if we are not attacked before we reach the top i shall admit that i have been wrong, and that the attack upon me was, after all, the work of street ruffians." the four vaqueros were ordered to look to their pistols before remounting; they did not carry guns. "do you expect an attack, master?" one asked. "i have not heard of there being any bands on the road just lately, but of course there may be some, and this bit of road is their favourite lurking-place, as the traffic between san filepi and the chatenezonais valley all comes this way." "i do not know that i expect to be attacked, lopez, but i have grounds for suspecting that it is possible. if we should be ambushed, dismount at once, and take up your position behind the rocks and fight them in their own way. if the road were good enough i should say gallop on, but it is too steep and too rough for that." will harland soon found that his friend had not exaggerated the difficulty of the pass. on both sides the hills sloped very steeply and were covered by boulders. the track in the middle of the ravine was just wide enough for a cart, but at distances of two hundred or three hundred yards apart the rock had been cut away for some twenty yards, so that two or three carts could draw aside there to allow others coming the other way to pass. as it was inconvenient for two to ride abreast, juan said: "we had better go in single file." "yes, and i will ride first," will replied. "if there should be a fellow hiding among these rocks, it will be you they are after, and, riding first, you would present an easy mark for them; whereas, if i am first, they won't be able to aim at you till you are pretty nearly abreast of them." "i don't like that," juan began, but will pushed his horse forward. both had unslung their rifles from their shoulders, and were carrying them in readiness for instant use. "keep your eyes on the rocks," juan said to the men behind him; "if one of you sees the least movement give a shout, and all throw yourselves at once off your horses." it would, however, have been no easy matter to distinguish a man's head among the masses of rock and boulders through which in many places brushwood and small trees had sprung up, and, although all kept scanning the hillsides minutely, nothing suspicious was heard, until suddenly a shot was fired from a spot some forty feet up the rocks on the left-hand side. will instantly swung himself to the ground, gave a sharp slap on his horse's quarters, and ensconced himself behind a rock, while the animal, relieved from the weight of his rider, made his way rapidly along the path. the first shot had been followed by half a dozen others. these came from both sides of the ravine, and a ball striking the rock close to will's head, showed him that his position was no more safe there than it would have been on horseback. he therefore made a rush upward, and took up a position between two rocks which covered him from either side. then he took advantage of some bushes and crawled some yards farther along, until he came to a spot where he could lie in shelter, and yet obtain a view through the bushes both above and below him. "are you all right, juan?" he shouted. the answer came from rocks on the other side. "yes; the ball aimed at me has killed my horse, but i am unhurt. lopez is killed." for some time shots were fired at intervals. juan shouted to the vaqueros not to use their pistols. "you would have no chance of hitting them," he said, "and they would only pick you off one by one. lie quiet for the present; keep your shots till they come to close quarters. now, will," he said in english, "you watch the rocks above me, and i will watch those above you. mark, if you can, where a shot is fired; lie with your rifle pointed at it until the fellow stands up to fire again, and then let him have it." four shots were fired almost together from will's side, the assailants aiming in the direction from which the voice had come, but will had no doubt that juan had foreseen this and was in shelter when he spoke. presently he saw a puff of smoke shoot out from the side of a large rock. he brought his rifle to bear upon it and watched intently. three minutes later a head appeared cautiously round the rock, then a shoulder appeared, and a rifle was pointed towards the spot behind which he had first sheltered. he fired, there was a sharp scream, and the rifle went clattering down, exploding as it fell. the moment that he had fired, will drew back into the shelter of the stone. two other shots rang out, and the balls cut up and scattered the small pebbles on which he had been lying. he was able to observe, however, the position of one of his assailants. while he was reloading he heard the crack of juan's rifle, followed by an exclamation of satisfaction. "that is two of them, will. they will soon get tired of this game." the distances were so short, in fact, that it was almost impossible for even an indifferent shot to miss his aim when he once caught sight of the head of an enemy. presently another shot struck the rock close to will. it was fired some paces from the stone that he was watching, and showed that the assailants were using the same tactics that he had done, and were shifting their positions after firing. he moved a few yards away, and did not answer to the next two or three shots that were fired. "he is done for," he heard one of the men on the other side of the ravine say. they were but some fifty feet away from him, and it was, therefore, easy to catch their words as they shouted from one to the other. "well, then, go down and attack the man we want," another voice said. "no one but the englishman had a rifle over there, so you are quite safe." "you had better come and show us the way. we did not bargain for this sort of thing. you said we should settle it all in one volley." "so you would have done, you fools, if you could have shot straight. who could have supposed that you were all going to miss at that distance. why, a child of ten years old would have fired straighter. however, i am ready to lead the way. you, over there, make a rush when we do." will marked the exact position of the speaker. it was behind a large boulder some fifteen yards up the hill and as much ahead of him; he saw that to join the men who had been firing he would have to pass an open space between that and some other large masses of rock, and he laid his sights on that spot. the speaker, who was evidently confident that he was killed, and that therefore there was no danger of a shot being fired at him while he moved to join the others, appeared half a minute later. he was stooping, and held a pistol in each hand. the moment his body appeared in the line of fire will pressed the trigger, and the man rolled over like a log. a cry of dismay burst from the hillside above harland, where the men had evidently been watching also for their leader to join his comrades and give the signal for a rush. "i have shot melos, juan!" will shouted. "at least if he is, as you suppose, their leader." "well done, indeed! we shall have no difficulty with the rest of them if their paymaster is dead; they will think of nothing now but saving their own wretched lives." the parties on the opposite sides of the ravine now shouted to each other. two or three of them urged their companions to make a general rush, but the majority were altogether against this. "why should we throw away our lives?" one said. "they have all got pistols, and even if we got the better of them, four or five of us would be likely to go down before we had finished with them. indeed, they would shoot us down directly we showed ourselves, and half of us would never reach the bottom." there was a silence which showed that there was a general feeling that he was right. then the same speaker went on: "caballeros, we have been cruelly misled; we are poor men, and have been led into this. two of us have been killed; we ask your mercy." as he ceased there was a general cry of "mercy! mercy!" "you dogs!" juan shouted back, "if it were not that all of your lives are not worth as much as a drop of the honest blood of those with me, i would not move from here until i had put an end to the last of you. however, you have had a lesson now. come down one at a time into the road. when you get there drop your pistols and knives to the ground, and then go down the hill. when one man has started let the next man come down. how many are there of you?" "there are six of us alive," the man answered. "we were eight besides our leader. my brother was killed by you in san diego the other night, and if it had not been for that i should not have come." "look here," juan said, "i shall see every one of your faces plainly as you come down, and when you have thrown down your arms you will stand and face this rock so that i may have a good look at you. i warn you to leave san diego as soon as you get back, for when i return i will have the town searched for you, and any of you found there will pay for this with your lives. now you come down first." one by one the six men came down, placed their weapons upon the ground, turned to the rock where juan was lying, and then went down the pass without a word being uttered. when the last had gone juan stepped down into the road, and was at once joined by will, who had kept his rifle pointed on each man as he reached the road, in case he should intend treachery against juan. two of the vaqueros also stepped out. "where is pedro?" juan asked. "he is dead, sir. he was shot through the body, but had just strength to throw himself in among the rocks. i heard him groaning just at first, but he was soon silent; i could see him from where i lay, and he has not moved since." "see if he is dead, sancho. this is a bad business." the man returned in a minute. "he is quite dead, señor." "where is the man you shot, will? let us see if my suspicions are correct." will led the way to the spot, followed by the others. juan glanced at the dead man. "it is as i thought," he said. then he turned to the vaqueros. "you may as well search him. it is likely he has money upon him." "he has a bag, and a heavy one, sir," one of them said, as he lifted a canvas bag from the dead man's sash. "let us see what he valued my life at," juan replied. the two vaqueros counted over the gold pieces. "there are eighty of them." "ten apiece," juan remarked. "put aside sixty for the widows of pedro and lopez, and take ten each yourselves." "shall we do anything with the body, señor?" "fetch some big stones and pile them over it. there will be no search for him, for you may be sure he has not mentioned to anyone in the town what he was going to do, or where he was going. he probably asked for a week's leave of absence, and would likely enough say that he was going up to los angeles or santa barbara, and when he does not return it will be supposed that he has been murdered on the way. when you have done with him you had better do the same thing with the bodies of your two comrades. the ground is too rocky to dig graves, and they will sleep as well there as elsewhere. it would be impossible for us to carry them home." an hour's labour and the work was finished. will assisted the men in the work. juan did not offer to do so. "i have a bullet in my shoulder," he said. "another fellow fired the instant that i shot his comrade. he luckily hit my shoulder instead of my head. i will get you to fetch pedro's sash and make a sling for my arm. we can do nothing for it until we go down to monterey." "have the horses gone far, do you think, juan?" "no, we shall probably find them a few hundred yards up the pass. they are trained not to go on without riders, and when their first alarm at the firing has ceased they will halt." when the cairns were finished the vaqueros cut down two saplings and made a couple of rude crosses, which they fixed above their fallen comrades. then they all proceeded up the pass, and soon came upon the horses, and, mounting, continued their way down into monterey, where they arrived just as the sun was setting. here juan's wound was attended to. the injury was to the left arm, which had been thrown forward in the act of firing. the ball struck just above the elbow, and had cut a groove from that point nearly up to the shoulder. "this is evidently my unlucky arm at present, will," he said, with a smile; "after having had three gashes below the elbow a week ago, it now gets ploughed with a rifle-bullet." "i should call it a lucky limb, juan, considering that they are nothing but flesh wounds, and that had not the arm received them, both knife and bullet might have given you a vastly more serious wound elsewhere." "yes, that is true enough. there is one comfort in being wounded in this country. you can't go into the smallest village without finding half a dozen people capable of dressing an injury, more especially a knife wound. in fact, knife fights are so common that very little is thought of them unless really dangerous injury is inflicted." "will not this prevent your riding for a day or two, juan?" "not a bit of it. we had intended to stop here to-morrow to give a rest to the horses, but the next day we will push on. happily, we shall not have to be on our guard against danger, for the risk of falling in with marauding red-skins is too slight to be thought of. our next day's ride will be an easy one, across a cultivated country. then we have a long day and a half of mountain work." the passes which they had to traverse before arriving at señor sagasta's ranch astonished harland, who had no previous experience of such scenery. sometimes they were travelling up ravines so deep and rugged that it was almost twilight below, while at others they wound along on natural ledges on the face of precipices where a stumble of the horse would mean certain death to it and its rider. higher and higher they wound, until, crossing a narrow shoulder of bare rock, they looked down into the broad valley owned by juan's father. "do you see that white speck in front of the dark patch of trees? that is the hacienda. as the crow flies, i do not suppose it is more than seven or eight miles away, but by the way we have to go it is five times that distance, and if we are there by this time to-morrow we shall have every reason to be satisfied." when they started the next morning, juan sent one of the vaqueros on with the news that he would arrive two hours after his messenger. "it is just as well to give them notice," he said to will. "i told him to mention that i have my arm in a sling, but that i have no serious injury. it has been hurting me a good bit for the past two days, and as i have not got much sleep i expect that i am not looking what you call very fit, therefore it is as well that they should not think me in a very bad way when i ride up; besides, i dare say they are getting anxious about me. you see, they will have calculated upon my having ridden a good deal faster than we have done, for with the two horses one can push on rapidly, and, knowing when the horses would have arrived at san diego, they have, i am sure, been on the look-out for me for the past three or four days. of course the wound was nothing in itself, but in such rough riding as we have had one gets sudden jerks that do not improve its condition. you have bathed it for me night and morning, but there is no doubt it has become a good deal inflamed, and i shall have to keep quiet for a few days after we get there." will himself was by no means sorry that the journey was approaching its end. wholly unaccustomed to riding, he had been so stiff at the end of the second day's journey that he could scarcely dismount unassisted from his horse. this had to some extent worn off, but he still felt that every bone in his body ached. the last ten miles were performed at a canter. the horses seemed as glad as their riders at being on level ground again, and were doubtless well aware that they were close to their home once more. they were within three miles of the hacienda, when they saw two mounted figures riding to meet them. "it is my father and sister," juan said. "i thought that they would lose no time in starting after antonio arrived with the news that i was close at hand." chapter iv a great ranch antonio had indeed been charged to make light of the fight in the pass. "my father is almost sure to mount and ride out to meet me," juan said to him before starting. "you can say we had a skirmish with some brigands in the hills, and that i have a slight flesh wound in the shoulder, but don't say more about it until he has started to meet us. then you can go to the huts and break the news of the death of lopez and pedro to their wives, but keep them from going anywhere near the house till i arrive. i don't wish my mother to know anything about it till i see her. if she heard that two of the men had been killed she would at once imagine that i had been badly wounded and that you were concealing the truth from her. of course you will tell them, antonio, that i am bringing a friend with me." señor sarasta and his daughter came up. will harland reined in his horse a little so as to allow his companion to meet his friends alone. juan checked his horse and dismounted as they came up to them, and they, too, leaped from their horses. "welcome home again, juan!" his father said, embracing him in spanish fashion; while the girl kissed him with warm affection. "so i hear from antonio that you have had trouble on the way and have lost some blood." "'tis only a flesh wound, sir, but just at present it is smarting a good deal. riding over those mountains is not the best thing in the world, even for a trifling wound. now i wish to introduce you to my friend, don william harland, an american gentleman, who has done me vital service, as i will presently relate to you." will had also dismounted, and was standing by his horse, some fifteen yards away. juan's father walked across to him, and, lifting his sombrero, said: "as the friend of my son, señor, i welcome you most warmly, the more so since he tells me that you have rendered him a signal service, though of what nature i am not aware, but in any case, as his friend you are mine, and i beg you to consider my house as your own. this is my daughter, donna clara." will removed his sombrero and bowed deeply, while the girl made a ceremonious salute. "now let us mount and ride on," señor sarasta said. "your mother will be anxiously expecting you, juan. we have been looking for you for the past two days. but where are your other two men?" "i am sorry to say, father, that they are both killed," juan replied. "killed!" the haciendero repeated; while the girl uttered an exclamation of horror. "why, antonio only spoke of the attack upon you as a trifle!" "i told him to do so, sir. i did not wish for you or my mother to be alarmed. she might well have imagined that the wound was much more serious than he reported; but it was a serious affair. we were ambushed by a party of nine men in the upper part of the pass in the hills beyond monterey. the two men were killed by their first fire. we took to the rocks. my friend here shot their leader and one of the men. i shot another, but should not have been much further use, for one of them fired almost at the same instant that i did, and his bullet cut my arm from the elbow to the shoulder. it is not at all a serious wound, but it disabled the arm for a time. however, the fall of their leader settled the affair. the other six men, finding that they could not get away without a certainty of being shot, surrendered, coming out one by one and throwing down their weapons in the road and then going down the pass singly. i was obliged to let them go, for they were still superior to us in number, and we could no more show ourselves out of shelter than they could. some at least of us might have fallen had the fight gone on." "well, let us mount," the don said. "you must tell me all about it later on. the first thing to do is to have your wound seen to. padre hidalgo is a famous hand at such matters." "well, señor," he went on to will, as they cantered along, "i can quite understand now that the service that you rendered to my son is a valuable one, for had you not shot the leader of these rascals, to say nothing of some of the others, the fight might have terminated very differently." "that is certainly so," juan said, "but that was not the service to which i alluded. don william and i made our first acquaintance in the streets of san diego after nightfall. i was returning through the quarter by the port when i was attacked suddenly by four cut-throats. i was defending myself as well as i could, but should certainly have been killed had not this gentleman, who was an entire stranger to me, ran up and levelled one of my assailants to the ground with a blow from a stick he carried, and broke the wrist of another. the third, turning to defend himself, i disposed of, and the other ran away." "by the saints! you seem to have had a hot time of it, juan, and, indeed, we have all good reason to be most grateful to your preserver. señor harland, my obligations to you are infinite--such as i can never repay." "really, señor, you are making more of the matter than it is worth," will said earnestly. "i was going quietly along when i heard shouts and exclamations, and felt that someone was being attacked. i ran forward, and, seeing four men attacking one, had no difficulty in deciding who were the aggressors, and without hesitation joined in. as i took them by surprise, and, in fact, disposed of two of them before they could attack me, while almost at the same moment juan killed another, the affair was over almost before it began. it was not a quarter of a minute from the time i came up to that in which the fourth man was running off at the top of his speed. i have already benefited very largely by the affair, having gained thereby the friendship of your son, the hospitality of his friend, señor guzman, and the opportunity of making this journey and paying you a visit. as to the affair in the mountains, i was defending my own life also, and our success was as important to me as to him." "it is well for you to make light of it, sir, but whether the first affair lasted a quarter of a minute or a quarter of an hour, the result was the same. your quickness and courage in thus plunging into a street fray on behalf of a stranger saved my son's life, as doubtless did the shot that killed the leader of the party attacking you. it is strange, indeed, that he should have met with two such adventures in the course of a week. possibly, juan, the one was a sequel to the other, and those engaged in it may have been the comrades of the men who attacked you at san diego, and who thus assaulted you to obtain revenge for their mishap there." "that was so, father. both attacks were the work of one man, who, i am happy to say, will trouble me no more, as he was the leader of the second attack--the man whom señor harland shot." "but who is the man, and what could have been his motive for thus attacking you?" "i only suspected the first time, father, and until i looked at the man harland had shot i was not sure of it. happily none of the men who acted for him are likely to open their lips on the matter, and no one else will have a suspicion. had it been otherwise we might have had a good deal of trouble over it, for the man was captain enriques melos." sarasta looked grave. "as you say, that would lead to serious trouble were it known, although, clearly, you were not to blame in the matter; but what was the reason of his enmity against you?" "he was a suitor for donna christina guzman's hand, father." "ah, ah, that explains it! well, we will think no more of it at present; but what did you do with his body?" "we piled rocks over it; there is no fear of his being discovered, and as he certainly would not have mentioned to anyone his intention of murdering me on my way home, no search is likely to be made in that direction." "that is well. of course i received your letter, juan, and sent off a messenger at once to señor guzman, giving my and your mother's hearty consent to the match, which indeed pleased us much." two or three minutes later they arrived at the hacienda, in front of which a number of servants and peons employed in the gardens and stables had gathered to welcome their young master back after his nine months' absence. as they dismounted, donna sarasta appeared at the door. juan ran up the steps and tenderly embraced her; señor sarasta then led will up. "your first welcome, my dear, should have been given to this gentleman, señor william harland, for had it not been for him you would not have juan by your side now. he has twice saved his life." "twice saved his life!" donna sarasta exclaimed incredulously. "is it possible, philip?" "it is quite true," her husband said gravely. "had it not been for him juan would never have returned to us. do not be alarmed; the danger is over, for the author of these attacks has fallen by don william's rifle." the lady held out both hands to will. the tears were streaming down her cheeks. "señor," she said, "i cannot thank you now. remember that it is our only son's life that you have saved. think of what we should have felt had he not returned, and our men had brought us news of his death. may the blessed virgin reward you and bless you! give me your arm, philip, i am faint." her husband and son supported her into the house and placed her on a couch. "look after your mother, clara," the mexican said, as two female attendants came in. "sancho, go and call father hidalgo down from his study. doubtless he is unaware that my son has returned. tell him that he is to bring bandages and salves, for there is a wound to be dressed. he will find my son in the dining-room. do one of you fetch basins of hot water and sponges there. now, señor harland, i will lead you to your room. doubtless a bath will be agreeable to you after your journey." will was glad to be out of the way during this family meeting, and willingly followed his host, who took him to a large chamber on the first floor. a bath stood ready filled, with towels and all conveniences. "i told them to put a suit of juan's clothes in readiness. i did not know whether they would fit, but i have no doubt they will do so. they will save you the trouble of opening your bag till evening. and now, if you will excuse me, i will go down and look at the boy's wound." "well, luck has favoured me, indeed," will said to himself, as he looked round the room before proceeding to undress. "a fortnight ago there was i, a runaway lad without plans, in a strange country, with nothing but my kit-bag and some ninety pounds to rely upon. now i am in clover, with a good friend, a welcome assured as long as i choose to stay here, and an amount of gratitude that seems to me almost ridiculous, considering that it is all the result of my interfering in a street row, just as i might have done in any other port. at any rate, i shall have some new experiences to tell about when i get home. i shall certainly like the señor; he has been so long out here that he has shaken off the indolent air and the formal constraint that almost all these spanish people have, and is much more like an american than an englishman. the mere fact of his having settled in this out-of-the-way valley is a proof that he has a lot of go and pluck. "of course i can't tell much about his wife yet; she is naturally upset at the thought of juan's danger. as to his sister, she is ever so much prettier than his sweetheart, though certainly christina guzman is pretty, too. she hardly said a word after her first welcome to him--i suppose she was too upset to talk, and will brighten up when she finds that juan's wounds are really trifling. well, i expect i shall have a jolly time of it here, and get some shooting and hunting. it will be great fun among all these herds of wild cattle. the first thing to do will be to learn to ride properly. i should not like to have all these mexican fellows laughing at me. at any rate, i have learned something on our way here. i will get juan to go out alone with me for a bit till i can be sure of sticking on. from what he was saying, some of their horses must be brutes to sit, especially those who jump straight up into the air, and keep on doing it until they get rid of their riders." having taken a bath and dressed very leisurely, he went downstairs again, feeling pleased that juan's clothes fitted him so well, and that it was not necessary for him to get out his own, for, although new, they would certainly not look so well after their journey in the kit-bag as did the spotless white garments that had been provided for him. he found clara alone in the patio. this hacienda, like most of its kind, was a large square building with a courtyard in its centre. in this case the patio had been transformed into a shady little garden, with orange-trees, bananas, and other tropical productions. grape-vines climbed round the light pillars that supported the veranda that surrounded it, and covered its roof with a mass of foliage dotted with great purple bunches of grapes. two or three little fountains were half-hidden among the trees, and the air was heavy with the scent of the orange and citron flowers. "my father and mother will be down directly, señor," she said; "the bell will ring for the mid-day meal in a few minutes." "what a lovely little garden this is!" will said cheerfully, for he saw that the girl was nervous and embarrassed. "you would not see anything like this in the east, even under glass." the girl was silent for a few moments, and then broke out: "i hope you do not think me ungrateful, señor, that i have said nothing to thank you for what you did for my brother, but it was not that. it was because i felt that if i were to say a word i should break out crying. we love each other dearly, juan and i, and it was so awful to think that i might never have seen him alive again;" and she stopped, with her eyes full of tears. "i quite understand, señorita," he said; "and, indeed, i have been very much more than sufficiently thanked by your father and mother. as for my share in the matter, it was really not worth talking about. i am a sailor, you know, and i am sorry to say that sailors when in port are often in the habit of getting into rows, and i have half a dozen times at least, when in foreign ports, taken part in a scrimmage when i saw drunken sailors engaged in a broil with others, and have had to fight very much harder than i did at san diego, where, in point of fact, so far as i was concerned, there was really no fighting at all. i do not say that your brother might not have come off very badly if i had not happened to come along, but there was really no shadow of risk to myself. a couple of blows and it was all over; and i do hope that no one will say any more in the way of thanking me." at this moment señor sarasta, his wife, and juan, all came out together. "well, juan, how do you feel now?" will asked, well pleased at their arrival. "i feel a different man altogether," the young mexican replied. "a warm bath first and then the padre's salves have done wonders for me, and in a week i shall have forgotten all about it." the rest of the day was spent in sauntering or sitting in the gardens round the house. they were of the spanish fashion, containing but few flowers except those borne by the fruit-trees, and resembling shrubberies and orchards rather than gardens, shade being the principal object aimed at. during the afternoon will told his friend of his desire to become a good horseman. "i will put you in charge of antonio; we have no better rider on the ranch. he will put you through a course, beginning with comparatively well-broken bronchos, until you can sit the worst buckers on the plains; but you must not mind a few heavy falls at first." "i shall not mind that a bit, juan. sailors have the knack of falling lightly." "ah, well, he will choose a spot where the grass is long and the ground soft for your lessons, and i can tell you it makes a good deal of difference whether you come off on ground like that or on a spot where there is next to no grass, and the ground is as hard as a brick. i have no doubt that in the course of two or three weeks you will, if you stick to it, be able to ride almost anything." "you need not be afraid of my not sticking to it, juan. i certainly should not like to look like a fool to your vaqueros, still less before your mother and sister." accordingly next morning will's lessons began in a meadow close to the stream, and half a mile away from the house. at first he was thrown an innumerable number of times, for he had told antonio to bring with him some fairly restive horses. "it is of no use my spending my time on quiet animals," he said. "i have just had a week's riding on one of them. i may as well begin with a fairly bad one at once; it only means a few more throws. i have got to learn to hold on, and the sooner i begin that the better." "with beginners we sometimes put a strap for them to hold on by, señor." will shook his head. "i don't want anything of that sort," he said. "i want to be able to stick on by my knees." "it is more by properly balancing yourself than by holding on," the man said. "if you always keep your balance you will come straight down again into the saddle, no matter how high he throws you, and there is no doubt that the tighter you hold on by your knees the more heavy are the throws that you will get." "i can understand that, antonio. now i am ready to begin." will had expected to find it difficult, but he was fairly astounded by the rapidity and variety of the tricks by which he was again and again thrown off. after a time antonio urged him to give it up for the day, but he insisted on continuing until he was so absolutely exhausted that he could do no more. "well, señor," the man said, "you have done wonderfully well for a beginner, and i will guarantee that in another week you will be able to ride any ordinary horse, and in a month you will be able to mount fearlessly any animal that you may come across, except, of course, a few brutes that scarcely a vaquero on the ranch would care to back." antonio's opinion was justified. it was ten days before juan was able to ride again, and by that time william harland was so far accustomed to the saddle that he was able to accompany him and his father on their excursions to visit the herds and see that all was going on well. he did not, however, give up his lessons with antonio, devoting three or four hours a day to the work, and at the end of the month he was able to sit any ordinary bucker without difficulty. after that he practised for an hour a day on vicious animals, and at the end of three months antonio said: "now, señor, i can do no more for you; that brute that you have been riding the last week is the terror of the ranch, and after sitting him as you have done for the last three days, without his being able to get rid of you once, you can ride anything without fear." chapter v an indian raid the time passed very pleasantly; will had become a great favourite with both señor sarasta and his wife, and was treated as one of the family. donna clara often accompanied the party on horseback, and when her first shyness with will had worn off, he found that she was lively and high-spirited. accustomed to horses from her infancy, she was an admirable rider, and, although both juan and will were mounted on some of the best horses on the ranch, she could leave them behind on her favourite mare, a beautiful creature that she herself had broken in. at the end of three months will felt that, much as he was enjoying himself, he must not outstay his welcome; but, upon his broaching the subject of leaving, the whole family protested so indignantly against such an idea, that he felt they really desired him to stay with them. juan spoke to him on the subject as soon as they started on horseback together that afternoon. "the idea of your leaving us is altogether preposterous, will; do you think that we should for a moment let you go? where, indeed, would you go? what ideas have you in your mind? are you not one of us completely?" "you are awfully good to me; i was never so happy in my life," will replied, "but there is reason in all things; i cannot spend my life here. i must be doing something for my living. as i told you, i do not want to return home until i can say to my father, i have been a success, i require no favours, and am in a position to keep myself." "i understand that," juan said, "but how do you propose doing it?" "i should do it somehow. i can at least ride now, and have more ways of making a living open to me than i had before." "my dear will, you are talking nonsense, and if you suppose that we are going to let you go out into the world in that sort of way you are altogether mistaken. at any rate, leave the matter alone for the present; we may see our way more clearly in time;" and had will happened to glance at his companion's face, he would have been puzzled by the slight smile that glanced across it. two months later all hands were busy on the ranch. it was the season at which the herds were weeded out, the old bulls and some of the young ones slaughtered, skinned, and boiled down. will only once accompanied señor sarasta and juan to the scene of operations. he was interested in the indians, who, with their squaws and young ones, had come down and established a camp of their own. they were free to take as much meat as they pleased, not only for eating, but for drying for future consumption; broad, thin slices of flesh were cut up and hung on ropes between poles to dry in the sun. three days sufficed for the operation. the meat, now almost as hard as leather, was pounded by the women between heavy stones, and then mixed with a little salt and packed tightly in bags made of skins. in this state it would keep for an indefinite time. will harland often went there, but could not be induced to approach the spot where the animals were slaughtered. he was much rallied by señor sarasta and juan on what they called his faint-heartedness. "i admit all you say," he replied. "i don't mind going into a fight myself, but i cannot stand seeing those poor brutes killed. i know that it is necessary, and that your vaqueros do it almost instantaneously; at the same time, it is not necessary for me to see it. i would very much rather stay away and watch the natives, with the shrivelled old women, and the funny little papooses." clara nodded approvingly. "you are quite right, don william," for although the others all, like juan, called him simply by his christian name, clara still continued the more formal mode of address. "i never go near the yard myself when it is going on." "ah! it is one thing for a girl not to like it," juan said, "but for will, whom i have seen as cool as possible when his life was in danger, and who fired at a man as steadily as if he had been shooting at a target, it seems odd. however, one does not go to see the animals killed; no one can take pleasure in that. the interest lies in the skill and courage of the vaqueros, who are constantly risking their lives; and, indeed, there is scarcely a season passes in which one or two of them are not killed." the work occupied nearly a month; then juan started with his father for san diego, where the formal betrothal of the former was to take place. at this his father's presence was necessary, and the latter would make his usual arrangements for chartering a ship to go down to receive the hides and skins full of tallow at the mouth of the river. will had again proposed that he should accompany them and say good-bye to them there. as before, his proposal was scoffed at. "it will be time enough to think of that when i go down three months hence to be married," juan said; "and now you must take our places here, and look after my mother and sister. you will have to play the part of my younger brother, and keep things straight. when we come back, we will have a serious talk about the future." will was indeed now quite at home in the work of the ranch, and not infrequently rode in one direction to give orders respecting the herds, while juan rode in the other; and the vaqueros all regarded him as being invested with authority by their master. the report of antonio and sancho of what had taken place at san diego and on the road, had greatly predisposed them in his favour, and the manner in which he had succeeded in sitting a horse that few of them would venture to mount had greatly increased their respect for him. don señor sarasta settled the matter by saying, "if you were to go with juan i could not leave at the same time, will, and i particularly wish to be present at his betrothal. it would be strange and contrary to all custom if one of his family were not there; still, we could hardly be away together unless there were someone here to take our place. you know questions are constantly referred to us. one herd strays into the ground allotted to another, disputes arise between vaqueros, and, in fact, someone in authority must be here." "very well, sir. then, if you think that i can be really useful, i shall be only too glad to stay. you know that my own inclinations are all that way. i have already been here five months, and i feel that this delightful life must come to an end before long. however, since you are good enough to say that i can really be of use in your absence, i will gladly remain here until juan goes down again to fetch his bride." two days later the mexican and his son rode off, accompanied by six well-armed horsemen. will found plenty to do, and was out the greater part of the day. two days after the others had started he saw one of the indians talking to antonio. as soon as the latter saw him he left the indian and came up to him. "this indian, who is one of the chiefs of our tribe, señor, tells me that there is a report that the indians on the other side of the river are preparing for an expedition. it is supposed that it is against another tribe farther east. they have not raided on this side of the river for many years, but he thought that it was as well to let us know that they are at present in an unsettled state. he says that he will have some of his warriors down near the river, and that he will let us know as soon as he has any certain news." "is there anything to be done, do you think, antonio?" "no, señor; wars are frequently going on between the indians to the east, but we have never had any trouble with them since we came here. if our indians thought that there was any danger, they would very soon be flocking down here, for they have always been promised that they should be supplied with firearms were anything of that sort to happen, and they know that, with the aid of our people, they could beat off any number of these red-skins." "i have no doubt that we could defend ourselves, antonio; however, you see that in don sarasta's absence i have a very heavy responsibility, and i think that it would be as well to take some precaution. will you ask the chief to send down a dozen of his warriors? they shall be paid, in powder and in blankets, whatever is the usual sum. i want them to establish themselves round the hacienda, to keep guard at night. i don't mean that they shall stay close to the house, but scout down towards the river, so that in case of alarm there would be time to get you all in from the huts. how many sleep there?" "there are about thirty of us who look after the herds in the lower parts of the valley, and eight or ten peons who work in the garden round the house." "well, that force, with the half-dozen servants in the house, would be able to hold the hacienda against almost any number of indians, and you could all be here in ten minutes from the alarm being given." "very well, señor, i will tell the chief." he talked for a few minutes with the indian. "he will send twelve of his braves down to-morrow," he said, when he rejoined will. "very well, let him do so; i shall certainly feel more comfortable. what tribe do these indians on the other side of the river belong to?" "they are a branch of the tejunas, who are themselves a branch of the apaches. the head-quarters of the tribe lie on the east side of arizona, between the gila river and the little colorado. the tejunas lie between them and the colorado; they are just as bad as the apaches themselves, and both of them are scourges to the northern districts of mexico." "what are our indians?" "they are a branch of the genigueh indians. they live among the hills between iron bluff, sixty miles below us, and those hills you see as many miles up. a good many of them hunt during the season on the other side as far east as aquarius mountains, in what is known as the mohave country, but they never go farther south that side than the river santemaria, for the tejunas would be down upon them if they caught them in what they consider their country." "i wish the señor was back," will said; "though i dare say it is all right, and that, as the indians haven't made a raid across here for many years, they will not do so now. how would they get across the river?" "they would swim across, señor. an indian thinks nothing of swimming a wide river; he simply slips off his horse, and either puts his hands on its back, or more generally holds on by its tail." "have these fellows guns?" "a great many of them have. they capture them from the mexicans, or, in peaceable times, trade skins or their blankets or their indian trumpery for them. it is against the law to sell guns to the indians, but most mexicans will make a bargain if they have the chance, without the slightest regard to any law." "how is it that the mexican government does not try and get rid of these indians? i see by the map that the frontier line is a long way north of the gila." "yes, señor; they may put the line where they like, but there is not a white man for a couple of hundred miles north of the gila, except on the santa fé river, and even there they are never safe from the apaches and the navajoes. why, it would want an army of twenty thousand men to venture among the mountains north of the gila, and they would all die of starvation before they ever caught sight of an apache. no, señor; unless there is an earthquake and the whole region is swallowed up, i don't see any chance of getting the better of the red rascals." after entering the house, will said nothing of the news which he had heard. it seemed that there was no real ground for alarm, and yet he could not but feel very uneasy. the next morning he rode down to the river, where a number of peons were engaged in loading the rafts with hides and tallow. he had told donna sarasta that he should be down there all day, as he wanted to get the work pushed on. he had been there but two hours when antonio rode up at a headlong gallop. "what is it, antonio?" will exclaimed, for it was evident from the man's appearance that his errand was one of extreme importance. "the hacienda has been attacked by indians, señor; i was with the herd two miles this side of it when i heard some shots fired. i galloped to see what was the matter, but when i got within a quarter of a mile i saw that the indians were swarming round it. a dozen started in pursuit of me, but they did not follow me far." will stood as one thunderstruck. "but how can they have got there, antonio?" "they must have come by what is called the little gap. you know it, señor,--that valley that runs off from the other nearly abreast of the hacienda. following that and crossing a shoulder, you cross down on to the river some ten miles higher up. they must have crossed there by swimming in the night." "but the chief said he had scouts there." "they could hardly watch thirty miles of the river, señor; besides, the red-skins would have sent over two or three swimmers to silence anyone they found near the place where they were to cross." by this time a dozen other vaqueros, who had been warned by antonio as he came down, joined them. "we must ride for the hacienda at once," will said, leaping into the saddle. "no use, señor, no use. i should say there must be four hundred or five hundred of the red-skins, and we may be sure that there is not a soul alive now at the hacienda or at the huts. they will be here in a short time, of that there is no doubt; probably half will come down the valley and half will go up. we must ride for it, sir; follow the river down till we are past the hills; there is not a moment to be lost." the peons who had gathered round gave a cry of despair. "you can go if you like, antonio; i see we can do nothing at present, but i will not leave the place." "what will you do then, señor?" "we will take the rafts and pole them across the river; there are no signs of indians there, and it is not likely there will be now." then he turned to the peons. "you have heard what i said. get to the rafts at once, there is not a moment to be lost. look at that herd galloping wildly; you may be sure that the red-skins are after them." "the señor's advice is good," antonio said, "and there is not a moment to be lost. get on board all of you, comrades; tie your bridles to the rafts." all hurried on to the rafts, the ropes that held them to the shore were cut, and the peons, putting out the poles, pushed them into the stream. the rafts were already heavily laden, by far the greater portion of the cargo having been placed on board. most of the vaqueros had their rifles slung across their shoulders, as they had heard from antonio what the indian had said, and had, on starting out, taken their guns with them. "one never can tell what will happen," antonio said; "it is always well to be on the safe side." although the peons exerted themselves to the utmost, the rafts moved but slowly, and they were but seventy or eighty yards from the shore when a large band of indians rode down to the bank and at once opened fire. as they approached, will shouted to all the men to take their places on the other side of the piles of hide, and, using these as a breast-work, those having guns at once returned the indian fire. five or six of the red-skins fell, and the plunging of many horses showed that they were wounded. a chief, who seemed to be in command, waved his hand and shouted to his followers, who were evidently about to urge their horses into the river, when will, who had held his fire, took a steady aim at the chief, and the latter fell dead from his horse. "will they take to the water, antonio?" he asked the vaquero, who had taken his place on the raft with him. "i do not think so, señor; it is not in indian nature to run such a risk as that. we should shoot down numbers of them before they reached us, and they would have a tough job then, for the peons would fight desperately with their long knives, and it is no easy matter to climb out of the water on to a raft with two or three men with long knives waiting for you. this band are apaches, señor; they have evidently joined the tejunas in a big raid." the indians for a few minutes continued their fire, but as those on the rafts only showed their heads when they stood up to fire, and every bullet told in the crowded mass, the indians sullenly rode off. the peons then resumed their poles, and in ten minutes reached the opposite shore. will sat down as soon as he had seen the horses landed, with a feeling of despair in his heart. in the hurried arrangements for the safety of those with him he had scarcely had time to think. now that there was nothing to do, the full horror of the situation was felt, and the thought of donna sarasta and of clara being murdered altogether overpowered him, and his cheeks were moistened with tears. what would the señor and juan say on their return? they had left him in charge, and although he could hardly be said to be to blame, yet he might have taken greater precautions. he should not have relied upon the indian scouts, but have kept at least enough of the men up at the house to offer a serious defence. antonio, who was at the head of one of the parties in charge of a herd, came up to him presently. "well, señor, 'tis no use grieving, and assuredly if anyone is to blame it is i rather than you, for i assured you that there was no danger. i shall tell the señor so when he comes. had he been here he would, i feel sure, have waited for further news before regarding the matter as serious. now, señor, what do you propose to do next? you are our leader." "the first thing to do is to go to the hacienda after dark, and to find out what has happened there. how long do you think that the indians will remain in the valley?" "some days, i should say, señor. they will no doubt kill a number of cattle and jerk the meat. then they will drive off as many as they think they can take with them, and probably slay the rest out of pure wickedness." "the principal point is to find out if all at the hacienda have been killed." "that you may be sure of, señor; but still it is right that we should know. there may be one exception, although i can hardly hope." "how do you mean, antonio?" "i mean, señor, that the señorita may have been spared for a worse fate--i mean, may have been carried off by them. the indians, while sparing no one else, old or young, always carry off the young women." "great heavens!" will exclaimed, stepping back, as if he had been struck. "you do not say so! a thousand times better had she been murdered by her mother's side. it is maddening to sit here and be able to do nothing, not even to be able to find out if this dreadful thing is true. how many men have we with guns?" "thirteen besides myself and you, señor." "those who have no rifles will be useless; they had better go down with the rafts as soon as it becomes dark." "yes, señor, that would be best. the indians are sure to swim across to-night, and the four rafts would do well to push off as soon as they can no longer be seen from the other side. the four head men, who will go down with them, are all here." "call them up." the four white men came to him. "as soon as it is dark," he said, "you must push off; do not make the slightest noise; when you get out in the middle of the stream let the current take you down, only using the poles, when it is absolutely necessary to keep you from approaching either bank. the twelve vaqueros who have not guns had better go with you; that will give three to each raft. we will pick out thirteen of the best horses, the others you must kill this afternoon for food. have you fishing-lines?" "yes, señor, we always carry them with us; and we have spears and can fish by torch-light." "good! then you will manage very well. the vaqueros and what peons you do not require must be landed as soon as you have passed the mountains; they had better strike up to monterey and wait there for orders. i will give money to one of them to buy a horse there and ride with the news to don sarasta at san diego." chapter vi hopeful news when all the arrangements had been made for the departure of the raft, will harland said to antonio: "do you think that it will be absolutely impossible to approach the hacienda by daylight?" "it could not be done, señor, and, indeed, i don't see that any good could come of it, for even if we could get in unobserved, there would be no one of whom we could ask questions or find out anything as to what has taken place. it is just possible that in the confusion of the attack some of the peons employed in the house, the stables, or our huts may have escaped and hidden themselves. the indians are good searchers, but just at first they would be anxious to make their success as complete as possible, and doubtless a large party rode up the valley at once while the others started down it. it was important that they should surprise the men with the various herds before they could gather together, for even if twenty or thirty could have rallied they would have made a hard fight of it before they lost their scalps. therefore, any who escaped in the attack on the house may have hidden themselves from the first search, and we may possibly come across them at night. they would assuredly never leave their hiding-places until darkness had fallen. "i have some hopes of sancho. if anyone has got out safe he has. he had a good deal of experience in indian fighting some fifteen years ago, when he was farther east, and is sure to have his wits about him. he was at our hut when i came along this morning. as you know, he got hurt by a young bull in the yard ten days since. he was nearly well again, but the padre said he had better keep quiet for another day or two. i fancy that he was the only man there except the peons, for it is a busy time. at the first war-whoop he heard he would make for shelter, for he would know that it was no use his trying to fight the whole tribe. there is a thick patch of brush twenty or thirty yards from the huts. i expect that he would make for that straight. there is a tank in the middle that was used at one time, but the water was always muddy, and the master had a fresh one made handy to the huts, and since then the path to the old tank has been overgrown, and no one ever goes there. if francisco is alive, he is lying in that pond under the bushes that droop over it all round." "he would not be able to give us any information as to what was done in the house." "no, señor. but he would be of great assistance to us if we follow the red-skins. he is up to all their ways, and is a good shot with the rifle. at any rate, if we go down to the house i should like to try to find him. we have been comrades a good many years now." "certainly, antonio, you shall see if you can find him. he is a good fellow, and, as you say, would be of great assistance to us. do you think that we could make a circuit and come down on the river again two or three miles higher up, and cross there and get anywhere near the house?" "we might do it, señor, but as we cannot get near enough to do any good, i think we should be wrong to move from here. you may be sure that there are some of the red-skins hiding on the opposite bank, keeping a sharp watch on us. if any of us were to ride away, one of them would carry the news at once, and they would be on the look-out for us. if we all stay here till it is dark, they would suppose that we have all gone down with the rafts. that will be good for the rafts, too, for the indians would be unlikely to attack them, believing that there were some fifteen or twenty men with guns on them; and, in the next place, they will think that they are clear of us altogether and be less cautious than they might be if they were to suppose that we were still in their neighbourhood." "you are right, antonio, and i will try and be patient." as soon as it was dark the little party of fifteen men started, moving as noiselessly as possible. they rode two miles up the river to a point where antonio said they were opposite a path by which they could keep along at the foot of the hills until in a line with the hacienda. "you don't think that there is any fear of there being any red-skins on the farther side?" "not the slightest, señor. long before this they will have their fires lighted and be gorging themselves with meat. they know how small our force is, and will never dream of our venturing back into their midst." as they rode into the river they slipped off their horses as the latter began to swim, holding on with one hand, and with the other keeping their guns, pistols, and ammunition above the water. the river at this point was some two hundred yards wide, and flowing with a quiet current. in a few minutes they were across. antonio soon discovered the path, and, following it, they rode in single file for an hour. then they reached a spot where there was an opening among the trees, and antonio said that they were abreast of the hacienda, which was some four miles away; the building itself was not visible, but the number of fires which blazed round it was a sufficient indication of its position. at various other points up and down the valley fires also blazed, but there was none much nearer their side of the valley than those round the hacienda. "do you mean to go with me, señor?" "certainly i mean to go. how had it best be done?" "i should say that we had better ride to within two miles; it would not be safe to go with so large a party nearer than that; then we will take one of the others with us to hold our horses, and, going at a foot-pace, we might get within half a mile of the house without their hearing us. there will be a good deal of movement in the valley; the cattle will be restless, having been chased all day, and the herds broken up, so i think that we can reckon on getting pretty close. then we will go forward on foot. we had better make for the huts first; you see, the indians are thick round the house; i don't think there is any chance of anyone being saved there, because that would be the first point of attack. if we do not find sancho, possibly we may come upon one or two of the peons, who would be likely enough to make for the same shelter; if not, we can try round the stables. still, i am afraid there is no chance of hearing what has happened at the house--i mean, whether the señorita is killed or a prisoner. if there is no other way we must get hold of an indian and kill him; i will then dress up in his clothes, and see if i can get into the house. as there are two tribes engaged, one would have more chance of passing unsuspected than if they all knew each other personally. at any rate, it must be risked. i know the indian ways pretty well, and might pass muster, but you would have no chance, señor." when they dismounted antonio said: "we had better leave our jackets and sombreros here; their outline would show on the darkest night that we were not indians." before leaving the raft will had obtained from one of the head men a pair of the mexican fringed leggings, as their own white trousers would betray him at once, and now, with a dark blanket thrown over his shoulder, he might at a short distance be easily mistaken for an indian. he had already left his riding-boots behind him, and had obtained a pair of moccasins from one of the peons. "i will lead the way, señor, as i know every foot of the ground," antonio said. moving along noiselessly they came down upon the huts of the white employés of the hacienda. as there were no fires burning here, they had but slight fear of encountering any of the indians. each, however, carried a long knife ready for instant action. they had left their rifles and pistols behind them, for if it was necessary to fight, the combat must be a silent one. they crossed to the clump of bushes of which antonio had spoken. "you stop outside, señor; it is of no use two of us making our way into the tangle." as he parted the bushes before entering, a slight sound was heard. "good! there is someone here," he muttered; and then, making his way a few paces forward, he uttered sancho's name. there was no reply, and he repeated it in a louder tone. at once there was a low reply: "here am i. is it you, tonio?" "yes; i have come to look for you. i thought you would have made a bee-line here as soon as you heard the red-skins." "you were right, and there are two peons here. we were just going to start to make our way down to the river. are you alone?" "i have the young señor with me." "that is good. i was afraid that we had all been wiped out." in a couple of minutes the four men emerged from the bushes. "i am glad to see that you are safe, sancho," will said warmly. "now can you tell me what has happened?" "i know nothing whatever, señor. i was eating my breakfast when i heard a sudden yell, and knew that it was the apache war-whoop, and that there must be a big force of them. there was evidently no fighting to be done, so i caught up my rifle and pistols and made for the bush. these two peons who were outside followed me. i told them to hide as best they could, and i went on into the pool, found a good place under some thick bushes, hid my powder-horn and weapons handy for use close by, and lay down with my head out of water, listening. already they were down at the huts, and i heard the cries of the peons they caught there. luckily i was the only mexican above. a few shots were fired up at the hacienda, and i thought i heard screams, but, owing to the yells of the indians, i could not be sure. presently it all died away. i don't fancy they suspected that anyone had got away, the attack being so sudden; at any rate, they made no search here. i made up my mind to lie down till most of them would be asleep and then to make for the river, and i told the peons that we must each shift for ourselves, as we had more chances of getting away singly than if together." all this was spoken in a low voice. "the principal thing that i wanted to ask you is, do you know whether the señorita was killed, or whether they have kept her to carry off? but, of course, you don't know." "they would not kill her," the man said confidently; "but so far as i know, they have not even caught her. i was at the stables maybe half an hour before the señorita came down and had her horse saddled. she had a basket with her, and told me she was going to ride up the valley to that wigwam that remained when the indians went away, carrying as much meat as their ponies could take. there were an old indian and his wife left there--she had got a fever or something, and was too ill to travel, and the señorita was going to take a basket of food and some medicine that the padre had made up for the old man. i have been thinking of her all day. i should say she was coming back when the red-skins rode up the valley after the cattle. she could hardly have helped seeing them, and i wondered whether she would take to the trees and ride on this way until after they had passed, or whether she had turned and ridden on. if she did the first, she is pretty sure to have been captured when she got down near home; if she went the other way, she gave them a mighty long chase, for there is not a horse on the estate as fast as hers, and as for the indian ponies, she could leave them behind as if they were standing still." "thank god, there is a hope, then!" will exclaimed. "now we must move farther off and chat it over." when they had gone a quarter of a mile from the house they stopped. antonio told the two peons that the rafts had started fully two hours before. "the current is only about a mile and a half an hour, and if you cross the river and keep on, you ought to catch them up before morning, and can then swim off to them. don't keep this side of the river, there are red-skins on the bank; but if you stay on this side of the valley, among the trees, down to the river, you will meet none of them. we have come that way." the peons at once started. "now, señor, will you go on to where the horses are? sancho and i will go back to the house; he understands the apache language. we will crawl up near the fires, and i should think that we are pretty certain to hear if they have caught the señorita or not. however, we may be some time, so do not be anxious, and don't move if you hear a sudden row, for we might miss you in the dark. we shall make straight to this tree, and for a bit my horse must carry double; you had better hand your jacket to señor harland, sancho, and take his blanket." "how far are the horses?" "there are three of them about two hundred yards farther on." "i will go there first, then," the man said. "this is a terrible business, señor." "terrible, indeed. i am afraid there is no doubt that donna sarasta has lost her life." "i reckon," the man said, "that except ourselves and any you may have with you, there ain't a dozen alive in the valley; it is a clean wipe out. i never knew a worse surprise. how about the party by the river?" antonio related what had taken place there. "well, that is something saved," he said, "and with sixteen of us all well armed we can manage to make a decent fight of it. we must get another horse, but that won't be very difficult; most of the others are sure to have their lassos with them, there are a score of horses running loose on the plains, and they cannot have roped them all in yet." when they reached the horses he went on: "you had better stop here, tonio; you are not accustomed, as i am, to them injuns, and as you don't know much of their lingo, you would not understand much of their talk. i would much rather go alone." "all right, old man!" the other said. "now for my toilet," sancho went on; and, going up to one of the horses, he pricked it with his knife. "steady, boy, steady!" he said, as the horse plunged. "it is for your good as well as mine, for you would not find life in an indian village as pleasant as the life you have been used to." he dipped his fingers in the blood, drew a broad line across his forehead and round his eyes, placed a patch on his cheek; then he cut off two handfuls of long hair from the animal's tail, tied these together with string and fastened them in his hair, so that the horse-hair fell down on to his shoulder on each side and partially hid his face. "it is rough," he said, "but it will pass in the darkness. it is lucky you have got a 'pache blanket; that will help me wonderfully." "yes; i bought it from the indians when they traded here a few weeks since. the man i got it of said that he had traded a good pony for it when he was hunting in the spring on the other side of the river." "i will take your rifle, tonio," sancho said. "i must either have that or a bow and arrow. now, good-bye!" without another word he turned and strolled away towards the hacienda. it was nearly two hours before he returned. "the señorita has got away so far," he said. "the red-skins came across her half-way up the valley; she turned and rode straight up; a dozen well-mounted men were sent after her. i heard that they sent so many because they were afraid that they might fall in with a party of the genigueh indians, who would certainly attack them at once." "thank god!" will exclaimed fervently. "there is a chance of saving her, after all, for if they overtake her--and they won't do that for some time--we can attack them as they come back again." "now let us join the others at once, and make up the valley." during the time sancho had been away he had been questioning antonio as to the extent of the valley. "it goes a long way into the heart of the mountains, señor, but none of us know it beyond what we have learned from the indians, for we were strictly forbidden to go beyond the boundary for fear of disturbing the game in the indian country. they say that it runs three hours' fast riding beyond our bounds. after that it becomes a mere ravine, but it can be followed up to the top of the hill, and from there across a wild country, until at last the track comes down on a ford on the colorado. from there there is a track leading west at the foot of the san francisco mountain, and coming down on the little colorado, close to the moquis country." "how far would that be from here?" will asked. "i have never been across there, señor, and i doubt whether any white man has--not on that line. i should think that from what the indians say it must be some fifty miles from the end of our part of the valley to the ford of the colorado, and from there to the little colorado it must be one hundred and fifty miles in a straight line, perhaps two hundred by the way the track goes--that is to say, if there is a track that anyone can follow. these tracks mostly run pretty straight, so that i should say that it would be about as far to the moquis country as it would be to san diego from here; however, we may be sure that we are not going to make such a journey as that; the apaches are not likely to follow her farther than the end of this valley, or at most to the colorado ford." as they rode along will learned from sancho how he had obtained the news. "there was no difficulty about that," the other said carelessly. "i waited till the fires were a bit low, and then sauntered about near those of a party of the tejunas, and heard them talking about it. i learned that they had, as they believed, wiped out all our people except those who crossed the river on rafts, and the señorita, though they allowed that a few of the men with the herds might have got away, and they were going to search the valley thoroughly to-morrow. not a soul in the hacienda escaped. the red-skins were exultant over the amount of booty they had taken, and were glad that the cattle were amply sufficient for both tribes, so that there would be no cause for dispute as to the division; and were specially pleased with the stores of flour and goods of all kinds in the magazines." when they joined the main body sancho was heartily welcomed by his comrades, who were delighted to hear that there was at least a chance of saving the señorita, of whom all hands on the estate were fond. it was arranged at once that sancho should ride by turns behind the others, and then they started at a gallop up the valley, keeping close within the edge of the trees that covered the hillside. chapter vii the pursuit but few words were spoken until the party arrived at a spot where the valley began to narrow in near the boundary of the ranch. they were now considerably beyond the indian fires. "there is no fear of our meeting with any of the red devils now," sancho said. "they know well enough that our indians would not venture to attack them, and that there are no other enemies near. a quarter of a mile and we shall be at the wigwam where the señorita went this morning." "we will stop there for a moment," will said; "it is not likely that we shall find anything that will give us useful information, but at any rate the horses may as well have a short rest there as well as anywhere else." they had come fifteen miles now at a smart pace. the men all dismounted. one of them struck a light with his flint and steel, and then lit the end of a short coil of cord that had been soaked in saltpetre, and waved it round his head till it burst into a flame. as they expected, they found the two indians lying dead; both had been tomahawked and then scalped. on the ground lay a broken medicine bottle and a portion of some soft pudding. "that does not tell us much," will said. sancho made no answer, but looked all round the wigwam. "the basket is not here," he said. "i noticed that it was pretty full." "i suppose the red-skins took it, sancho?" "they would not bother about a basket; it is the last thing they would think of taking. my idea is that the señorita came back here. i expect she came to warn the indians. she would, to begin with, if she rode at full speed, have distanced the 'paches, who would not be able to get through the herd, which must have been between them and her when she first saw them. if she were half-way down the valley she might have been here some minutes before them. of course the two old indians knew that there was no escape for them, and made no effort to avoid their fate. i expect they had only taken that pudding and medicine out of the basket when she got back. now, seeing that the basket and all that was in it are gone, it seems to me possible enough that the señorita may have caught it up and ridden off with it, knowing that she had a long ride before her, and through a country where there are no posadas." "i hope, indeed, that it may be so, sancho, for i have been wondering what she would do if she were lost in these mountains. what would she be likely to put in the basket?" "i handed it up to her, señor, when she had mounted; there were two bottles of milk, a bottle of wine, and a pile of cakes. there were a few other things, but i did not notice what they were." "i only hope that your idea is correct, sancho; it would be a great comfort to know that she had enough provisions to last her for two or three days." "i expect you will find that it is so, señor; the señorita is quick-witted and cool. i saw her once when a dozen bulls stampeded when we were trying to drive them into the yard; she was sitting her horse a short distance from the gate, and was just in their line. she didn't try to dash aside across their path, as many would have done, but turned and started, keeping her horse in at first, and then letting him out gradually and edging off out of their line, and she came cantering back laughing as she joined her father, who was looking pale as death at the danger she had been in. i have very little doubt that it has been as i said; she galloped at first at full speed, then when she got near this hut she saw that she was well ahead of the red-skins. she rode up here, jumped off to warn the indians, and when she found they would not go she took the basket, knowing the things could be of no use to them, and might be worth a hundred times their weight in gold to her. maybe the old indian may have suggested it to her; at any rate, i feel sure she took them." "well, we will ride steadily on. is there any place where she could have left the valley?" "not beyond this, señor; at least, i know of none; but, as i told you, we know very little of the valley beyond this point. certainly she could have known no path; no doubt she went straight on. well mounted as she was, she would feel sure that the red-skins could not overtake her, and i expect she did not press her horse much, but contented herself with keeping out of rifle-shot. i don't know whether she knew of the ford across the river, but she would naturally plunge in at the point where the track comes down on it, and would, no doubt, be surprised at finding that the horse was able to cross without swimming." "she would not be able to turn, after she had crossed, and come down on the opposite bank?" "no, señor; that would not be possible; there are high mountains there, and the river at some places runs through deep gorges." "how far do you think the apaches would follow?" "i think that they would keep on for some distance beyond the river; when they found at last that they had no chance of catching her, they might turn and come back and cross the river, and camp on this side. by that time their horses would be done for; you see, they most likely had a long ride yesterday; maybe they were travelling all night, and, of course, it gave the señorita an immense advantage that her horse was fresh, while theirs had anyhow a great deal taken out of them before they set out in pursuit. i should recommend that we halt, as soon as it becomes light, in some clump of trees and wait for them as they come back. we are pretty well matched in numbers, and with the advantage of a surprise we ought to be able to wipe them out altogether. we might go as far as we can up the valley to the point where it becomes a mere ravine, before daylight breaks, and our horses will be all the better for a rest of a few hours. they will have gone over forty miles since they left the river, and we may probably have a very long journey to do again to-morrow. there is no saying how far the señorita may have gone; she would not know whether the red-skins might not follow all night, and i should think that she would keep on till daybreak, though, of course, she would only go at a walk." "it is difficult to say what she is most likely to do." "it is, indeed, señor; if i myself were in her place i should be puzzled. i should reckon that all in the valley had been wiped out. the red-skins would assuredly first make a rush for the hacienda, because it was most important that they should carry that before the men could rally round and make a defence. i should reckon that the red-skins would remain there for four or five days before they had jerked as much meat as they could carry, and that, when they started, a party would like enough be placed in ambush to catch me as i came back. i should know that it was next to hopeless to try and find my way down across such mountains as there are ahead, through which, so far as i know, there are no tracks, and i am not sure that i should not push on in hopes of reaching the moquis, who are peaceful indians, as i have heard, with their villages perched on the top of hills, and having flocks and herds, and being in all ways different from all the other tribes except the zunis. "the red-skins say that these people were here before them, and that they really belong to the tribes of central mexico, and came from there long before the white man ever set foot in america. from there one could travel north, strike the santa fé trail, and possibly make one's way through safely, though the navajoes are pretty nearly as bad there as the apaches are here. whether the señorita has ever heard of the moquis i cannot say, but if she finds that she is on a trail she will follow it, thinking anything better than going back and falling into the hands of the apaches." "are there any other tribes she would have to pass through on the way?" "i think not. it is a great mountain track, where even red-skins could not pick up a living. as far as i have heard, the track from the ford leads through a series of passes between lofty hills. it is not the course of a river, and, therefore, there are not likely to be any villages. i should say that there would be forest on the lower slopes, and we are sure to meet with enough game to keep us." they now proceeded at a walk, for the trees in most places grew thickly, and the ground here and there was broken by boulders that had rolled down from the hillside. at last they came to a point where the valley was but a hundred yards wide. here they halted, took off the horses' bridles to allow them to pick what grass there was, and threw themselves down, and most of them were asleep in a few minutes. "is it necessary to keep watch?" will said. "no, señor, the 'paches will assuredly not start to come back until morning. the country is as strange to them as it is to us. i should say, from what i have heard, it is about ten miles from the river, and in an hour or an hour and a half after daylight they are likely to be here." will took a seat by the trunk of a tree. he had no inclination for sleep. his thoughts were busy with the girl--alone in these mountains with an unknown country before her and a band of relentless savages who might, for aught she knew, be still pressing after her. it was difficult to conceive a more terrible situation. she might lose the trail, which was sure to be a faintly-marked one, and in some places indistinguishable save to an eye accustomed to tracking. if so, her fate was sealed. she must wander about till she died of hunger and thirst. it was maddening to be waiting there even for an hour or two and to know that she was alone. as soon as daylight broke, sancho sent four of the men back to hunt for game. if they did not come upon something in the course of three-quarters of an hour, they were to return. they had been gone, however, half that time when the crack of a rifle was heard, and ten minutes later they rode back, bringing with them a stag they had shot. already a fire had been lighted one hundred yards behind the camping-ground. antonio had collected some perfectly dry wood for the purpose. "there will be no smoke to speak of," he said to will, "and what little there is will make its way out through the leaves. it is unlikely in the extreme that the indians will notice it, and if they do, they will think that it is a fire made by one of our indians." a couple of the hunters at once set about skinning and cutting up the carcass. they were to go on cooking it until a signal was made to them that the indians were approaching. the horses had now been collected, and the men disposed themselves behind trunks of trees, each with his horse a few yards behind him. all these were well trained to stand still when the reins were thrown over their heads. in front of them was a clear space some thirty yards across. after half an hour's anxious waiting, sancho, who was lying with his ear to the ground, raised his hand as a signal that he could hear the indians coming. the men from the fire ran up and took their places with the rest. the rifles were thrown forward in readiness. all could now hear the dull tread of the horses, with an occasional sharper sound as the hoofs fell upon rock. as the apaches rode out from the wood their leader suddenly checked his horse with a warning cry, but it was too late. sixteen rifles flashed out, half the apaches fell, and before the others could recover from their surprise at this unexpected attack the vaqueros charged down upon them. hopelessly outnumbered as they were, the apaches fought desperately, but the combat was short. the pistols of will and sancho were used with deadly effect, and in a couple of minutes the fight was over and the last indian had fallen. "now, let us waste no time," will said. "ten minutes must do for our breakfast; then we will be off." none of the party was seriously hurt, and the wounds were soon bandaged. the joints hanging above the fire were soon taken down, cut into slices, and grilled. they were being eaten when four indians stepped from among the trees, one of them being evidently a chief. "you are breaking the rules," he said to will, whom he recognized as the leader of the party. "we shall lay a complaint before the great master." will did not answer, but antonio, who spoke their language fairly, replied, "have you not heard the news?" "we have heard no news," the chief said. "we heard a gun fire when we were hunting two miles down the valley. we came to see what it was. then we heard many guns, and, not knowing what it could be, hid our horses and came on." "then do you not know that there are three or four hundred apaches and tejunas in the valley below; that the hacienda has been attacked, all within it killed, and that the herds have been destroyed? so far as we know, we alone have escaped." the indians uttered deep exclamations of surprise. "what was the firing?" the chief asked. "if you go on a hundred yards farther up, you will find the dead bodies of twenty apache braves; they have been riding in pursuit of donna clara, the daughter of the señor, who was fortunately at your end of the valley, having gone there with food and medicine for the old indian of your tribe who was too ill to leave with the rest, a fortnight since." "i saw her often then," the chief said, "and this young brave"--and he motioned to will--"he was often in our camp, and the girl visited our wigwams and gave many little presents to our women. did she escape them?" "she did, but where she is we know not. we are going in search of her. if you and your warriors will go with us, we shall be glad, for your eyes are better than ours, and could follow the footmarks of her horse where we should see nothing." "teczuma, with one of his warriors, will go," the chief said. "the other two must go and carry the news to our people, and, though they are not strong enough to fight so large a force, yet they will not be idle, and many of the apaches and tejunas will lose their scalps before they cross the river again." he spoke a few words to the three men, who at once left, and in ten minutes one returned with two horses. the chief had already eaten two slices of deer's flesh, and he mounted and rode on with the others, while his follower waited for a minute to eat the flesh that had already been cooked for him. sancho had chosen the horse that had been ridden by the apache chief, and, without stopping, they rode on until they were, a few minutes later, joined by the other indian. they now pushed on rapidly, ascending the ravine, and on reaching the top will saw with satisfaction that high hills on both sides bordered what was, in fact, a pass between them, and that clara must therefore have kept on straight. the chief with his follower rode a little ahead of the others, will, with antonio and sancho, following closely behind him. once or twice the chief pointed down to marks on the rocks, with the remark, "a shod horse". "that is all right," antonio said. "the indians do not shoe their horses, so we may be sure it was the señorita." the path soon began to descend again, and in an hour from the time of starting they emerged from the pass within one hundred yards of the river; the ground here being soft, a well-marked track was visible. "made by our people," the chief said, turning round. "they often cross ford to hunt on the other side--large forests there, two hours' ride away--good hunting-ground. apache not come there. hills too big to cross." beyond the river the track was for some time perfectly distinct, but it presently became fainter. however, as the indians rode on rapidly, will had no doubt that, although he could not see the tracks on the ground, they were plain enough to the eyes of the indians. "it is a mighty good job we have the chief with us," antonio said. "the trail is plain enough at present, but it is sure to get fainter when we get into these forests they speak of. probably it goes straight enough there, but once among the trees it will break up, as the indians would scatter to hunt. we should have lost a lot of time following it. now we have got these two red-skin fellows, they will pick it up almost as fast as we can ride." the road, indeed, after passing over a rocky plateau, dipped suddenly down into a deep valley running up from the river, and extending as far as one could see almost due east among the hills. the track they were following turned to the right at the foot of the hill. for miles it was clearly defined, then gradually became fainter, as the indians who had followed it turned off in search of game. the footprints of the shod horse continued straight up the valley, until, ten miles from the point at which they had entered it, they turned to the left. "it has been going at a walk for some miles," the chief said, "and the white girl has been walking beside it. i saw her footprints many times. we shall find that she halted for the night at the little stream in the middle of the valley. it must have been getting dark when she arrived here. she must be a good horsewoman and have a good horse under her, for it is nearly eighty miles from here to the hacienda." by the stream, indeed, they found the place where clara had slept. the indian pointed to spots where the horse had cropped the grass by the edge of the stream, and where it had at last lain down near its mistress, who had, as a few crumbs showed, eaten some of the cakes. "i wonder we don't see one of the bottles," will remarked. antonio translated his remarks to the chief, who said, "girl wise; fill bottle with water; not know how far stream come. we halt here; cannot follow trail farther; soon come dark." this was evident to them all; men and horses alike needed rest. they lit a fire and sat around it for a short time; all were encouraged by the success so far, and even the fact that they were supperless did not affect them. "teczuma and wolf go out and find game in the morning," the chief said confidently. "plenty of game here." long before the others were awake, indeed, the chief and his follower were moving. just as daylight broke, the latter ran into camp. "come," he said, "bring gun; grizzly coming down valley. teczuma watch him." the men were on their feet the instant antonio translated the indian's words, and followed the indian on foot. "was the bear too much for the two indians?" will asked sancho. "if they had been alone they would have fought it, but the chief was right to send for us. it was like enough they might have got badly hurt, and that would have been a bad thing for us." presently the indian stopped. it was still twilight under the trees, but they could make out a great gray form advancing towards them. when within twenty yards it scented danger, and stopped with an angry growl. almost at the same moment a rifle flashed out behind a tree near its flank. with a furious growl it turned, exposing its flank to the watchers. antonio had warned five of these not to fire; the other ten rifles were fired simultaneously, and the bear rolled over and over. it scrambled to its feet again, and stood rocking itself, evidently wounded to death. the other five men ran forward together, and when three yards distant poured in their fire, and the bear fell dead. the vaqueros lost no time in skinning it. a portion of the flesh was carried to the fire, cut up into strips, and at once cooked. as soon as the meal was finished, the rest of the meat was cut off and divided between the party, who then mounted and rode on, the two indians again leading the way. chapter viii the cave-dwellers three days later the party stood on the brow of a steep bluff looking down upon the colorado chiquita river. it had been a weary journey. it was evident that the girl had, after the second day's riding, allowed the horse to go its own way, trusting perhaps to its instinct to make for some habitation, should there be any in the region. there had been no difficulty in following its footsteps until the third day, when they were passing over a stony plateau. here even the keen sight of the indians sometimes failed them, and hours were lost in taking up the trail. there was no water to be met with here, and the indians agreed that the horse was going slowly and weakly, and the girl for the most part walking beside it, as they pointed out by a crushed blade of grass or flattened lichen by the side of the horse's track. later in the day the trail was straighter, and the chief said confidently, "the horse smells water; the river cannot be many miles away." it was an hour after starting, on the third morning, that they reached the bluff opposite to them. for a distance of a couple of miles rose a steep island of basalt, some hundreds of feet above the plain around it, and on the summit a large village could be seen. "moquis," the indian said, pointing to it. "then she must have got there in safety!" will exclaimed in delight. the chief shook his head. "horse not able to swim river, must stop a day to eat grass. there horse!" and he pointed to an animal seven hundred or eight hundred feet below them. "that is its colour, sure enough," antonio exclaimed, "but i don't see the señorita." "she may be asleep," will suggested. "likely enough, señor; we shall soon see." dismounting, they made their way down the steep descent. then all leaped into their saddles and galloped forward to the edge of the stream, a quarter of a mile away. the mare, which evidently scented that the new-comers were not indians, cantered to meet them with a whinny of pleasure. there were no signs of the girl, and all dismounted to search among the low bushes for her, will loudly calling her name. presently the indian, who, with his follower, had moved along the bank, called them. "she slept here yesterday," he said, and the level grass close to a shrub testified to the truth of the exclamation. the two indians looked serious. "what is it, chief?" "indians," he said. "white girl come down to river to drink; then she lay down here; then indians come along; you see footprints on soft earth of bank; they catch her when asleep and carry her off. teczuma and the wolf have looked; no marks of little feet; four feet deeper marks than when they came along; indian carry her off." "perhaps they have taken her along the river to some ford, and carried her up to their village." "soon see;" and he and the wolf moved along the bank, the others following at a short distance, having first taken off their horses' bridles, allowing them to take a good drink, and turned them loose to feed. "small men," the chief said, when will with the two chief vaqueros came up to him. "short steps; got spears and bows." "how on earth does he know that?" will said, when the words were translated to him. sancho pointed to a round mark on the ground. "there is the butt end of a spear, and i dare say the chief has noticed some holes of a different shape made by the ends of bows." half a mile farther the bluffs approached the river and bordered it with a perpendicular cliff, which had doubtless been caused by the face of the hill being eaten away by the river countless ages before. the stream was here some thirty yards from the foot of the cliff. more and more puzzled at the direction in which clara had been carried, the trackers followed. they had gone a hundred yards along the foot of the cliff when a great stone came bounding down from above, striking the ground a few yards in front of the indians, who leaped back. almost instantly a shrill voice shouted from above, and, looking up, they saw a number of natives on a ledge a hundred feet above them, with bows bent threateningly. "back, all of you!" sancho shouted. "their arrows may be poisoned." seeing, however, that the party retreated in haste, the indians did not shoot; when a short distance away a council was held, and all returned to their horses, mounted, and swam the river; then they rode along to view the cliff. three or four openings were seen on the level of the ledge on which the indians were posted, and will was astonished to see that above, the cliff, which was here quite perpendicular, was covered with strange sculptures, some of which still retained the colour with which they had in times long past been painted. "they are the old people, the cave-dwellers," sancho said. "i have heard of them; they were here long before the moquis were here. they were a people dwelling in caves. there are hundreds of these caves in some places. they have always kept themselves apart, and never made friends with the moquis. in the early times with the spaniards there were missionaries among the moquis, but they could never do anything among the cave people, who are, they say, idolaters and offer human sacrifices." "how do the people live?" antonio asked. "they fish, and steal animals from the moquis when they get a chance, and they dwell in such inaccessible caves that, once there, they are safe from pursuit. "if you like, señor, i will go up to the moquis village, and try to find out something about them. i don't know the moquis language, but i understand something of the sign language, which is understood by all indians, and i dare say that i shall be able to learn something about these people." will dismounted as the vaquero rode off, and, bidding antonio do the same, told the man to take their horses a quarter of a mile away, and there to dismount and cook a meal. "now, antonio," he said, "we have to see how this place can be climbed." antonio shook his head. "i should say that it was altogether impossible, señor. you see there is a zigzag path cut in the face of the cliff up to that ledge. in some places the rock is cut away altogether, and then they have got ladders, which they would no doubt draw up at once if they were attacked. you see the lower ones have already been pulled up. like enough sentries are posted at each of those breaks when they are threatened with an attack. besides, the chances are that if they thought there were any risk of our getting up, they would kill the señorita." "i see all that, antonio, and i have no thought of making my way up by the steps; the question is, could it be climbed elsewhere? the other end of the ledge would be the best point to get up at, for any watch that is kept would certainly be where the steps come up." antonio shook his head. "unless one could fly, señor, there would be no way of getting up there." "i don't know that," will said shortly; "wait till i have had a good look at it." lying on the ground, with his chin resting on his hands, he gazed intently at the cliff, observing even the most trifling projections, the tiny ledges that here and there ran along the face. "it would be a difficult job and a dangerous one," he said, "but i am not sure that it cannot be managed. at any rate, i shall try. i am a sailor, you know, antonio, and am accustomed, when we have been sailing in the gale, to hold on with my toes as well as my fingers. now, do you go back to the others. i shall want two poles, say fifteen feet long, and some hooks, which i can make from ramrods. do you see just in the middle of that ledge, where the large square entrance is, the cliff bulges out, and i should say the ledge was twenty feet wide; this is lucky, for if there are sentries on the steps they would not be able to see beyond that point. if they could do so, i should not have much chance of getting up, for it will be a bright moonlight night. when i get to the top--that is, if i do get there--i shall lower down a rope. you can fasten the lariats together. they would hold the weight of a dozen men. the lightest and most active of you must come up first. when two or three are up we can haul the rest up easily enough. now you can go. i shall be here another half-hour at least. i must see exactly the best way to climb, calculate the number of feet along each of those little ledges to a point where i can reach the one above with my hook, and get the whole thing well in my mind." antonio went away shaking his head. to him the feat seemed so impossible that he thought that it was nothing short of madness to attempt it. such was the opinion of the rest of the vaqueros and the two indians when, on arriving at the fire, he told them what will proposed doing. their leader, however, when he joined them, had a look of confidence on his face. "i am more convinced than ever that it can be done," he said. when the meal of bear's flesh had been eaten, he lit his pipe and began to smoke quietly. the chief came up and spoke to him. "what does he say, antonio?" "he says that you are a brave man, señor, but that no man could do what you are talking of, and that you will throw away your life." "tell him i will bet my horse against his that i shall succeed, and you shall be witness to the bet in case i don't come back again." the chief nodded gravely when the offer was made to him. indians of all tribes are given to wagering, and as the horse will was riding was a far better one than his own, he regarded the matter rather as a legacy than a bet. an hour later sancho came down, accompanied by several of the moquis indians, leading four sheep as a present, and followed by women carrying pans of milk, baskets of eggs, and cakes of various descriptions. sancho presented the chief to will. "they are quite friendly, señor; they hate the cave-dwellers, who are constantly robbing them, and who compel them to keep guard over the animals at night. i can understand them pretty well; they bid me tell you that they would gladly assist you against the cave-dwellers, but that it is impossible to reach the caves." will shook hands with the chiefs, and asked sancho to explain by signs that he was much obliged for their presents. "tell them, sancho, that i am going to try to scale the cliff to-night." "you are going to scale the cliff?" the vaquero asked incredulously. "i did not say that i was going to scale it, but that i was going to try; and i may add that i hope that i shall succeed. will you ask if the cave-dwellers poison their arrows?" "i have already asked that, señor, but he said no. the cattle have often been wounded by them, and unless the wound is a mortal one, they recover." "that is very satisfactory," will said, "for i own i have more fear of being hit by a poisoned arrow than i have of scaling the cliff." "the chief says that if you will go up to their village he will place a house at your disposal, señor." "tell him that i am much obliged, and that to-morrow i may accept their invitation. our horses will require three or four days' rest before starting back, and i can hardly hope that the señorita will be fit to travel for a good deal longer than that." although they had but just eaten a meal, the vaqueros were perfectly ready to begin another. a number of eggs were roasted in the ashes, and washed down by long draughts of milk. the chiefs then left them, but a number of the villagers came down and watched the proceedings of the strangers with great interest. will at once proceeded to carry out his plan of bending the ramrods: a hot spot in the fire was selected, and two of the vaqueros increased the intensity of the heat by fanning it with their sombreros. three others went down to the river and brought up a large flat boulder and two or three smaller ones, and, using the large one as an anvil, the ends of the hooks were hammered into sharp, broad, chisel-shaped blades. sancho had explained to the chiefs that two poles, some fifteen feet long, were required, and when these were brought down the ramrods were securely bound to them with strips of wetted hide. other strips were, by will's directions, bound round the pole so as to form projections a foot apart. "that will greatly assist me in climbing it," he said. "i don't say i could not do without it, but it will make it very much easier." in order to lull the cave-dwellers into security, the camp was shifted in the afternoon to the foot of the moquis hill, and there will gave his men instructions as to the operations. "we will cross the river on the horses a mile above the cave," he said; "we must use them, or we could not keep our rifles and pistols dry. you must all remove your boots as soon as you dismount, and we will now tear up two or three blankets, and twist strips round the barrels of the guns, so that, should they strike against the rocks, no sound shall be made. you had better do the same with the barrels of your pistols." then he chose the lightest of the vaqueros to follow him. another light-weight was to be third. antonio was to follow him, and then sancho, and the order in which all the others were to go was arranged. lariats were securely knotted together, and the knots tied with strips of hide, to prevent the possibility of their slipping. the men carried out his orders, but it was evident from their manner that they had not the slightest hope that his attempt would be successful. an hour after sunset they started. it was two days after full moon, and they had, therefore, as many hours to reach the foot of the cliffs before it rose. an hour was sufficient to traverse the distance, and they therefore rested for that time, after darkness set in, before starting, swam the river, and after removing their boots made their way noiselessly along, keeping some distance from the river bank until they reached the spot where the cliff rose perpendicularly; then, keeping close to its foot, they held on until they arrived at the spot will had fixed upon. there all lay down among the boulders close to the rock wall, and remained there until the moon rose. there had been several discussions as to the best way to get the lariat up, as it was agreed that, whether carried in a coil over the shoulder or wound round the body, it would hamper the climber's movements. the question was finally solved by his taking a coil of thin hide, which, while little thicker than string, was amply strong enough to support the weight of the lariat. four or five bullets had been sewn up in a piece of skin and attached to one end. a strap was fastened to each pole so that these could be slung behind him, so permitting him the free use of both hands where it was not needful to use them. "the saints watch over you, señor!" antonio whispered, as will prepared to start, and he and sancho gave him a silent grip of the hand, while the indian chief laid his hand on his shoulder and muttered, "ugh, heap brave!" for a short distance the ascent was comparatively easy. then he arrived at the first of the ledges he had noticed. it was some ten inches wide, and, keeping his face to the wall and using his hands to grip the most trifling irregularity, or to get a hold in small crevices, he made his way along until he arrived at a projection which barred farther progress. slipping one of the slings from his shoulder, he reached up until the hook caught the next ledge, and obtained a good hold there. he then climbed the pole until his fingers got a grip of the ledge, when he hauled himself up to it. it was some fifteen inches wide here, and without difficulty he obtained a footing, again slung the pole on his shoulder and went on. the ledge narrowed rapidly, and he was now at one of the points which appeared to him the most difficult, for from where he had been lying the ledge seemed almost to cease, while the next ledge above it was also so narrow that he knew he could not obtain standing room upon it. as he approached the narrow path he took the poles, one in each hand, and obtained a grip of the upper ledge. he now made his way along on tiptoe, having his weight almost entirely on the poles, shifting them alternately. to a landsman this would have been an extraordinary feat, but, accustomed to hang to the ropes by one hand, it was not so difficult for him, especially as he obtained some slight support from his feet. without the poles it would have been impossible for him to have passed, as the ledge in some places was only three inches wide. at the end of some thirty feet it again widened; the next forty or fifty feet upward were comparatively easy, for the rock sloped to some extent inward, and there were many fissures in which he was enabled to get a firm grip with his fingers. then came several difficult places, but he was confident now in the hold the hooks had on the rocks, and, always working with great caution and using sometimes his hands, sometimes the poles, he reached the top in half an hour after starting. chapter ix rescued he threw himself down on the platform, which was entirely deserted, and lay there for five minutes; then he unwound the coil of leather-thong, and threw the weighted end over. he knew that he had allowed ample length, and drew it in until he felt a slight strain; then came three jerks. the party below had hold of the thong; two more jerks told that they had fastened the end of the lariat to it; in a couple of minutes it was in his hands. there was a parapet some eighteen inches high along the edge of the platform, intended doubtless to prevent the children from falling over. seeing no place to which he could fasten the lariat, he tied it round the middle of the two poles, laid these on the ground close to the parapet, put his feet upon them, and then leaned over. two pulls on the lariat told him that the next man was tied on, and he began at once to haul upon it. he found the weight much less than he had expected. not only was the vaquero short and wiry, but he was using both his hands and feet with such effect that in five minutes he stood beside will. the work went on quickly now. one after another the men were pulled up, and in less than an hour all were assembled on the platform, where, save three engaged in pulling their comrades up, they had laid down as soon as they reached it. will had been glad to relinquish the work to others, for his hands were cut and bleeding. he had crawled along, keeping by the wall of rock until he reached the point where the bulge or bend in the face of the cliff enabled him to see to the other end of the platform. to his surprise not a soul was visible, but, peering over the parapet, he saw four figures standing as sentinels at the points where there were breaks in the path, and the moonlight enabled him to make out that the ladders had been pulled up and laid beside them. he could hear a confused hum of voices from the principal cave, but, though most anxious to know what was going on there, he dared not venture farther until all the men were up, as anyone coming out of the cave would at once see him. he therefore rejoined the others. each man as he came up gave him a silent grip of the hand, and the indian chief muttered something which sancho whispered meant "heap great brave". as soon as the last man was up they moved silently forward. every man knew the part he had to play. sancho and three others crept forward on hands and knees, under shelter of the parapet, to the other end of the platform, where they were to await the signal, the rest halting at the front of the main entrance to the cave. here a sight met their eyes that filled them with horror. the entrance opened into a wide hall, which was lighted by a dozen torches. at the farther end was a hideous idol carved from a solid rock; in front of this was a sort of altar, upon which lay a figure, which they at once recognized as that of donna clara. beside her stood two men, naked to the waist, with their bodies painted with strange figures. they had knives in their hands, and, rocking themselves to and fro, were uttering some sort of prayer or incantation. "you take the fellow to the left, antonio, i will take the other." [illustration: the fight in the cave] the shots rang out together--the distance was but sixteen or seventeen yards--and without a cry the two priests or executioners fell dead. a terrible cry of astonishment and dismay broke from the crowd, and before they could recover from their surprise, the vaqueros and the two indians, headed by will, burst their way through them. will had given strict orders that there was to be no general firing, as men, women, and children were likely to be mixed up together, but as they entered they caught the sound of four rifles outside, and knew that the sentries had been disposed of. will caught up the girl, who was evidently insensible, and threw her over his shoulder, and, surrounded by his men, made his way outside the cave. here he handed her over to antonio, who was a very powerfully built man, and the latter, without a word, started for the steps. "now, my men," will shouted, as with cries of fury the indians followed them, "don't spare one of these bloodthirsty wretches, but don't touch the women." the fight was short, half the indians being shot down as they poured out on to the platform; the others, however, maddened by the loss of their expected victim and the capture of their stronghold, fought desperately to the end, the mexicans using the butt ends of their rifles, while the savages fought with knives. after the fight was over, the cave was thoroughly searched; many of the women had fallen, for they had joined in the fight as fiercely as the men, and in the darkness and confusion it was impossible to distinguish them apart. the rest, with the children, were forced to descend the steps. the ladders had been replaced by sancho and his party, who, having finished their work, had run off at once to bring up the horses. clara was still unconscious when they returned. will mounted, and antonio handed her to him. sancho and two of the men accompanied him, while the rest in charge of the captives followed more slowly. fires were blazing high at the moquis village, and it was evident that the attack had been eagerly watched, and that the firing on the platform had shown that the caves had been taken, for on the still night air came the sound of horses, drums, and loud shouting. will at once urged his horse into the water, his companions swimming by their horses close to him so as to render assistance, if necessary; but the distance was short, and it was not long before the horse felt the bottom again. the sudden chill of the water had roused the girl from her faint. "where am i?" she murmured. "you are safe in my arms," will said. "we have got you safely out of the hands of those wretches. all danger is over." "is it will," she asked, "or am i dreaming?" "it is i, sure enough, clara," he said; "and i am glad that for once you have dropped the don. i followed you with antonio and sancho and thirteen other vaqueros. we were joined by the genigueh chief, teczuma, and one of his tribe, who have been invaluable in following your track." "holy virgin, i thank you!" the girl murmured, and then lay silent for a time. "where are you going now?" she asked presently. "to the moquis village, where you will be most kindly received, and where we shall stay till you have got your strength again." "zona, my gallant zona! is she safe?" "yes. she seemed pretty nearly recovered from her fatigue when we found her this morning, and will be ready to carry you back again." as they approached the hill they saw a number of people coming down the zigzag path, with torches, who welcomed will on his arrival with loud cries of triumph. the horses could go no farther, as the path, like that up to the caverns, was at several points cut away, the breaks being in the daytime filled with long planks. as the girl was altogether unable to walk, some of the boys ran up the hill, and in a quarter of an hour returned with some poles, with which a litter was speedily improvised. in this she was laid, and four moquis carried her up the hill, will walking beside her and holding her hand. the whole of the villagers were assembled on the top of the hill, shouting and dancing with joy at the destruction of their enemies, for sancho had already made the chiefs aware that all the men had been killed, and the women and the children were being brought in as prisoners. the moquis houses surprised will, as they had neither windows nor doors on the ground floor, and entrance was only obtainable by a ladder to the upper story. clara was here handed over to the care of the principal women of the village. half an hour later the rest of the party came up with the prisoners. these were for the time confined in one of the houses, two armed moquis keeping guard over them. the women would, sancho explained to will, be used as servants and to fetch water from the springs at the foot of the hill. the children would probably be adopted into the tribe. it was ten days before clara was strong enough to think of starting. she had for twenty-four hours been in a high fever, but the care lavished upon her, and her fine constitution, speedily brought her through this, and two days later she was able to see will. "tell me all that has happened," she said. "i feel sure that mother has been killed, for the valley was full of indians, and i know that there were but few men at home." "i am afraid that there is no doubt about that," will said gently. "we may be thankful, clara, that your father and juan were both away, or they, too, might have fallen." then he related very briefly how those by the river had been saved, how they had learned from sancho that she had been away at the end of the valley, and how they had started in chase; and then, in a few words, told how he had scaled the face of the cliff, had assisted his followers up, and had arrived just in time. "i will tell you about my journey another time," she said. "i do not like to think of the last part of it; we were both worn out, zona and i, and if we had not come down upon the river we should have both died. i took a long drink, and then fell down and went to sleep. i was awakened by being lifted up, and found that i was being carried by two indians, and that others were all round me. i was too weak even to struggle, but i remember being carried up a very steep path on the face of the cliff. as soon as i was laid down i went to sleep, and i suppose slept all night. in the morning they gave me food and water, but left me alone till it was dark again; then they led me into a large cave lit up by torches, with a horrible idol at the end. they laid me down on a great stone in front of it, and two men with knives came beside me. then i suppose i fainted, and i remember nothing more till i woke up feeling strangely cold as we were swimming across that river." almost the whole of the inhabitants of the village paid a visit to the cave on the morning after the fight, and when shown the ropes, still hanging, by which the party had been drawn up, could at first hardly believe sancho and the two indians who assured them that will had climbed up there unaided. after clara's illness had taken a turn, and there was no longer cause for anxiety about her, will was greatly interested in the moquis village. he was taken into one of the underground rooms that served as temples, and was horrified at finding that hundreds of rattlesnakes and other venomous serpents were kept there, and still more astonished when he saw the priests handle them carelessly and take them in their mouths. he could not believe that they had not been rendered harmless until shown that they still retained their poison-fangs. he was told that once a year there was a great festival in which all the men in the village took part and performed dances, holding the snakes in their mouths. the villagers endeavoured to show their thankfulness at the destruction of their enemies by profuse hospitality to their guests, and the latter thoroughly enjoyed their stay. on starting on the return journey clara rode with will, the two vaqueros, and the indian chief to the foot of the cliff, and was shown the spot where will had climbed up. after looking at it for some time she suddenly burst into tears. "it is dreadful even to think of your going up there, will," she said. "i should never have forgiven myself if you had been killed when risking your life in that way to save me." "you would never have known it," he said. "i should have known it," she said earnestly, "when we met in the hereafter." the journey home was conducted in easy stages. wolf, the indian, and one of the vaqueros had been sent off the day after clara rallied from her attack of fever. if they found the apaches still in the valley, they were to return to warn them; if not, they were to ride on until they met señor sarasta and told him of his daughter's safety. when half-way back they met juan with ten well-armed vaqueros. the meeting was a joyful one, although saddened by the loss, now confirmed, of their mother. "ah! will," juan exclaimed, after his first tender embrace of his sister, "you are tenfold my brother now. you have saved clara's life as well as mine; your messengers have told me how you scaled a cliff that seemed to all of them so impossible that none had the slightest hope that you could succeed." "and how are things in the valley?" "better than might have been hoped. the red-skins only remained three days; some ten thousand of the cattle have been recovered; many were found in the woods in the hillsides, more still had gone right up the valley, and when the red-skins tried to follow them they were assailed with such showers of arrows by the geniguehs that they fell back, having indeed already as many cattle as they could drive away. two of the men from the raft brought us the news to san diego, and the commandant at once told off one hundred cavalry to accompany us, and in future a fort is to be built near the hacienda, and fifty soldiers are to be stationed there. the commandant was rather reluctant to agree to this until he had received orders from government, but on our undertaking to supply the garrison with bread and meat, he consented, seeing that it would be a distinct saving of expense. so we need have no fear of the red-skins meddling with us again. my father has already sent down to monterey to arrange for the purchase of ten thousand head of cattle from the ranches there, so in two or three years we shall be in full working order again. we found twenty of the vaqueros assembled at the hacienda; they had taken to the woods at the first attack, and had remained in hiding until they found that the red-skins had gone." a messenger was at once sent on ahead to inform señor sarasta of the time at which the party would arrive, and he met them at the upper end of the valley. the meeting was an affecting one. after embracing his daughter the mexican threw his arms round will with as much affection as if he had been his father. "i did not think," he said, when the first emotion was over, "when i left you in charge that the duty would be such an onerous one, but you have nobly fulfilled your trust, most nobly, and i thank you from the bottom of my heart." on arriving at the hacienda they found that great efforts had been made to remove all signs of the visit of the apaches. donna sarasta had been buried in the little chapel near the house. the broken and torn-up shrubs had been replaced, and although inside the rooms were bare, for the furniture had been hacked to pieces by the red-skins, everything was spotlessly clean. will did not enter with señor sarasta into the house, but went straight to the stables with the vaqueros and saw his horse and zona cared for. when he went to the house, don sarasta and juan went out to him. "we have been talking together, will," the mexican said, "and the result is this: i do not know what your sentiments may be, but i have ascertained those of my daughter. we have been as one family for seven or eight months. we all wish that we shall continue to be so in reality, and i now offer you formally the hand of my daughter, donna clara sarasta, in marriage. i know that i can intrust her happiness to you, and the match will afford both myself and juan the most lively satisfaction." "it would be altogether beyond my hopes, señor," will said, greatly moved. "i will not deny that i have from the first had a profound admiration for your daughter, but i should never have spoken of it, seeing that i am at present a penniless man, and am, indeed, much below the age at which we think of marriage in the states." the mexican smiled. "according to spanish law, and our own policy, the legal age for marriage is fourteen for the man and twelve for the woman, and although it is not often that marriages take place quite so young as that, they are very frequent when the man is sixteen and the girl fourteen or fifteen; therefore, that is no obstacle whatever." "then, señor, i accept your generous offer most gladly and thankfully, and shall consider myself the most fortunate man alive in winning such a bride as donna clara." "well, you had better go in and tell her so," the señor said. "i think that that will be more in accordance with your american customs than for me to go in and formally hand her over to you." three months later a double marriage took place at san diego. don sarasta settled a large sum of money upon his daughter, and, with juan's cordial assent, arranged that at his death the hacienda and ranch, and, indeed, all of his property, should become the joint property of his son and daughter, with power to make any future division of it that they might think fit. after remaining a week at san diego, will sailed with his wife to panama, crossed the isthmus, and took ship to new york, where he astounded his father and mother by presenting to them his wife, and mentioning casually that she had a fortune of $ , , and was joint heiress to estates and property worth at least $ , , , which caused mr. harland, senior, to acknowledge that will's mania for the sea had not turned out so badly after all. * * * * * historical tales by g. a. henty the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. a knight of the white cross: the siege of rhodes. the lion of st. mark: a story of venice in the th century. a march on london: a story of wat tyler. at agincourt: a tale of the white hoods of paris. st bartholomew's eve: a tale of the huguenot wars. by england's aid: or, the freeing of the netherlands. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus. when london burned: a story of the great fire. a jacobite exile: in the service of charles xii. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. at the point of the bayonet: a tale of the mahratta war. with frederick the great: the seven years' war. true to the old flag: the american war of independence. in the reign of terror: the french revolution. a roving commission: a story of the hayti insurrection. at aboukir and acre: napoleon's invasion of egypt. under wellington's command: the peninsular war. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. one of the th: a story of waterloo. on the irrawaddy: a story of the first burmese war. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. out with garibaldi: a story of the liberation of italy. the dash for khartoum: a tale of the nile expedition. with roberts to pretoria: a tale of the south african war. london: blackie & son, limited, old bailey, e.c. wyoming series.--no. . wyoming by edward s. ellis author of "young pioneer series," "log cabin series," etc., etc. philadelphia henry t. coates & co. copyright, . by porter & coates. [illustration: "he was stopped in the most startling manner that can be imagined."] wyoming. chapter i. on the sultry third of july, , fred godfrey, a sturdy youth of eighteen years, was riding at a breakneck speed down the wyoming valley, in the direction of the settlement, from which he saw columns of smoke rolling upward, and whence, during the few pauses of his steed, he heard the rattling discharge of firearms and the shouts of combatants. "i wonder whether i am too late," he asked himself more than once, and he urged his splendid horse to a greater pace; "the road never seemed so long." ah, there was good cause for the anxiety of the lad, for in that lovely wyoming valley lived those who were dearer to him than all the world beside, and whatever fate overtook the settlers must be shared by him as well. he had ridden his horse hard, and his flanks glistened with wet and foam, but though every foot of the winding road was familiar to him, it appeared in his torturing impatience to be double its usual length. fred godfrey had received the promise of his father, on the breaking out of the revolution, that he might enlist in the patriot army so soon as he reached the age of seventeen. on the very day that he attained that age he donned the continental uniform, made for him by loving hands, bade his friends good-bye, and hastened away to where washington was longing for just such lusty youths as he who appeared to be several years younger than he really was. fred was a handsome, athletic youngster, and he sat his horse with the grace of a crusader. although the day was warm, and his face glowed with perspiration, he wore his cocked hat, blue coat with its white facings, the belt around the waist and another which passed over one shoulder ere it joined the one around the middle of his body, knee-breeches, and strong stockings and shoes. his rifle was slung across his back, and a couple of loaded single-barreled pistols were thrust in his belt, where they could be drawn the instant needed. during his year's service in the patriot army fred had proven himself an excellent soldier, and the dash and nerve which he showed in more than one instance caught the eye of washington himself, and won the youth a lieutenancy, at the time when he was the youngest member of his company. the ardent patriot was full of ambition, and was sure, should no accident befall him, of gaining higher honors. when he tramped with several other recruits from wyoming to the camp of the continentals, hundreds of miles away, one of his greatest comforts was the belief that, no matter how the current of war drifted back and forth, there was no danger of its reaching wyoming. that lovely and secluded valley was so far removed from the tread of the fierce hosts that they might feel secure. but behold! news came to washington that the tories and indians were about to march into the valley with torch and tomahawk, and he was begged to send re-enforcements without delay. the father of his country was then on his campaign through the jerseys. the british army had withdrawn from philadelphia, where it spent the winter, and clinton with a part of the force was marching overland to new york, with the continentals in pursuit. the campaign was so important that the commander-in-chief could ill afford to spare a man. he knew that wyoming was not entirely defenseless. colonel zebulon butler of the continental army was marshaling the old men and boys, and there was the strong defense known as forty fort, built by the original settlers from connecticut, not to mention wilkesbarre near at hand, so that it would seem the settlers ought to be able to protect themselves against any force likely to be brought against them. however, washington told several of his recruits from wyoming of the appeal that had been made to him, and gave them permission to go to the help of their friends, though he added that he did not think it possible for them to reach the ground in time to be of service. but a half dozen started on foot toward the threatened point. within a day's tramp of their destination they fell somewhat apart, as each, in his familiarity of the country, believed that he knew a shorter and quicker way home than the others. fred godfrey was almost in sight of his home, when he was both pleased and alarmed by coming upon an estray horse. he was saddled and bridled, and though contentedly cropping the grass at the roadside, the perspiration and jaded look showed that he had come from the battle-ground. it was startling to know that such was the fact, and supplemented as it was by the reports of guns, shouts, and the black volumes of smoke pouring upward, fred was filled with an anguish of misgiving. without stopping to make inquiries or to guess who could have owned the estray steed, the young patriot slipped forward, caught the bridle before the animal had time to scent danger, and vaulting lightly into the saddle, turned the head of the horse toward wyoming, and striking his heels against his ribs, quickly urged him to a dead run. "i am needed there," said fred, urging his spirited animal still more, and peering down the highway; "you're the best horse i ever rode, but i can't afford to spare you now." fred godfrey not only was close to the stirring scenes that marked that memorable massacre, but he was among them sooner even than he anticipated. chapter ii. just here we must turn aside for a minute or two, in order to understand the situation. on the third of july, colonel zebulon butler, of the continental army, had marched forth at the head of his two hundred and odd boys, old men, and a few able-bodied soldiers to meet his cousin, the british colonel butler, with his horde of soldiers, tories, and iroquois indians. "we come out to fight, not only for liberty," said the patriot leader, as the battle was about to open, "but for our lives and that which is dearer than our lives--to preserve our homes from conflagration, and our wives and children from the tomahawk." for a time all went well, and colonel zebulon butler began to hope that the marauders would be driven off, but his force was unsteady, and some of them gave way when they saw their enemies as they swarmed out of the woods and assailed them. the trembling mothers who were prayerfully listening to the sounds of battle on the plain above, heard the regular platoon firing which showed that all was going well; but, by and by, the increasing yells, the dropping shots, the blaze of musketry from the swamp on the left of the fighting settlers, where the iroquois were rushing forth, the panic-stricken fugitives coming into sight here and there, white, panting and wild, told the dreadful truth. the patriots had been overwhelmed by the invaders, who were driving everything before them. but a single hope remained--flight. some might succeed in reaching the mountains on the other side the river, and possibly a few would be able to force their way through the dismal wilderness known as the "shades of death," and reach stroudsburg and the sparse settlements on the upper delaware, many miles away. the moment the patriots began flying before the tories and indians, the panic spread to all. it is a historical fact that in the flight the pursuers shot many of the patriot officers and soldiers in the thigh, so as to disable them from running, and left them on the ground to be finally disposed of afterwards, while the iroquois hastened after the other fugitives. many of these were tomahawked in their flight; others fled down the river banks in the direction of wilkesbarre, on the opposite side of the river; others made for the mountains back of the battle-ground; still others hastened to the protection of the forty fort, while a great many found a temporary refuge in the undergrowth of monocacy island, in the susquehanna. still others got across the river and plunged into the mountainous wilderness and began their toilsome tramp through the section i have named, and which is still known as the "shades of death." it was at this hour that fred godfrey galloped directly into the massacre in his desperate resolve to do all he could to save his friends. he had turned off from the main highway, and was making toward a point whence came the sounds of sharp firing, and such shouts as to show that some unusual conflict was going on. he caught glimpses of figures moving among the trees, but he paid no heed to them, and pressed steadily forward over a half-broken path until he was stopped in the most startling manner that can be imagined--that is, by a rifle-shot. some one fired from the front, and undoubtedly would have struck the youthful rider, had not his horse at the very instant snuffed the danger and flung up his head. the action saved the life of the rider at the expense of the steed, who received the cruel bullet and lunged forward and fell to the ground with such suddenness that but for the dexterity of fred godfrey he would have been crushed. as it was, the youth saved himself by a hair's breadth, leaping clear of the saddle and brute just in the nick of time. the thin wreath of smoke was curling upward from the undergrowth, and the horse was in the act of falling, when a seneca indian, in his war paint and agleam with ferocity, bounded from the cover, and with his smoking gun in his hand and the other grasping the handle of his tomahawk, dashed towards the patriot, whom he evidently believed was badly wounded. "s'render! s'render!" he shrieked, coming down upon him as if fired from a cannon. "i'm not in that business just now," snapped out fred godfrey, leveling and firing his pistol, with the muzzle almost in the face of the fierce warrior. the aim could not have been more accurate. the subsequent incidents of the wyoming massacre were of no interest to that seneca warrior, for the sharp crack of the little weapon was scarcely more sudden than was the ending of his career. chapter iii. fred godfrey did not stop to reload his pistol. he had another ready for use, and he unshipped his rifle in a twinkling, and hurried for the point where he hoped to gain some tidings of his loved ones. everything was in a swirl, and of his own knowledge he could not tell the proper course to take. he ran through the wood toward the point for which he was making at the moment the seneca indian shot his horse, but, short as was the distance, all sounds of conflict were over by the time he reached his destination. among the parties dashing hither and thither, in the blind effort to escape the tories and indians, who seemed to be everywhere, fred recognized several friends and neighbors. indeed, since wyoming was his native place, it may be said that nearly all the fugitives were known to him. "why ain't you with your folks?" suddenly asked a middle-aged farmer, who stopped for a moment in his panting flight to exchange a few words and to gain breath. "can you tell me where they are?" asked fred in turn. "they're well on their way across the susquehanna by this time, if they haven't reached the other shore." "how do you know that?" asked fred, his heart bounding with hope at the news which he was afraid could not be true. "i saw them go down to the river bank before the fighting begun: gravity told me that just as soon as he saw how things were going he meant to run to where they were waiting and take them over in his scow." "how do you know that he has done so?" "i don't know it of a certainty, but i saw gravity making for the river bank a while ago, and i've no doubt he did what he set out to do." this news was not quite so good as fred supposed from the first remark of his friend, but it was encouraging. before he could ask anything more, the other made a break and was gone. "oh, if they only _did_ get across the river," muttered fred, making haste thither; "it is their only hope." and now it is time that you were told something about those in whom the young patriot felt such painful interest. they were maggie brainerd, whose father, a leading settler from connecticut, had gone out with the company to fight the invaders of wyoming; eva, her eight-year-old sister, and aunt peggy carey, the sister of the dead parent, and who had been the best of mothers to the children for the last three years. maggie and eva were the half-sisters of fred godfrey, between whom existed the sweetest affection. maggie was a year younger than fred, and aunt peggy was a peppery lady in middle life, who detested tories as much as she did the father of all evil himself. when mr. brainerd bade each an affectionate good-bye and hurried away with the others to take part in the disastrous fight, they huddled close to the river bank, hoping he would soon return to them with the news that the invaders had been routed and driven away. side by side with the patriotic father marched the servant of the family--gravity gimp, an enormous african, powerful, good-natured, and so devoted to every member of his household that he gladly risked his life for them. gravity went into the battle with his gun on his shoulder and with the resolve to do his part like a man. he loaded and fired many times, but at the first sign of panic he broke and made for the river side, determined to save the women folks there, or die in the attempt. he lost sight of his master, whom he left loading and firing with the coolness of a veteran. it did not occur to gravity that he might do good service by giving some attention to the head of the family, who had not half the strength and endurance of himself. aunt peggy, maggie, and eva waited on the river bank, with throbbing hearts, the issue of the battle. when it became certain that the patriots had suffered a check, they hoped that it was only for a brief time, and that they would speedily regain the lost ground. while they waited, the smoke from blazing fort wintermoot was wafted down the valley, and became perceptible to the taste as well as to the sight. the fugitives were seen to be taking to the river, fields, and woods, and the painted iroquois were rushing hither and thither, gathering in their fearful harvest of death. "aunt," said maggie, taking the hand of eva, "it won't do to wait another minute." "but what will become of your father and gravity?" "they are in the hands of god," was the reverential reply of the courageous girl, who had asked herself the same question. when her loved parent had kissed her good-bye he made her promise that on the very moment she became assured of the defeat of the patriots she would lose no time in getting as far away as possible. she would have felt justified in breaking that pledge could she have believed there was any hope of helping her father, but she knew there was none. eva was in sore distress, for now that she understood, in her vague way, the whole peril, her heart went out to the absent ones. "where's papa and gravity?" she asked, holding back, with the tears running down her cheeks. "they are doing their best to keep the bad indians away," replied maggie, restraining by a great effort her own feelings. "i don't want to go till papa comes," pleaded the broken-hearted little one. "but he wants us to go; he told me so, eva." "did he? then i'll go with you, but i feel dreadful bad." and she ran forward, now that she knew she was doing what her father wished her to do. chapter iv. the scene at this moment was terrifying. the river was swarming with fleeing soldiers, old men, women, and children, struggling to reach the other side and get away from the merciless hordes assailing them. where so many were taking to the river, it would seem that there was little hope for the three, who were moving along the bank toward some point that would take them out of the rush. for a time they attracted no special notice, but it was impossible that this should continue. "oh, the scand'lous villains!" muttered aunt peggy, applying her favorite epithet to the tories; "how i would like to wring their necks! i've no doubt that jake golcher is among them. the idea of his coming to our house to court you--" "there, there," interrupted maggie, "this is no time to speak of such things; jacob golcher is among them, for i saw him a few minutes ago, and we may need his friendship." "i'd like to see me--" "there's gravity!" broke in eva, clapping her hands. the other two, turning their heads, saw that she spoke the truth. the bulky negro servant of the family came limping toward them with his smoking musket in hand. he was bare-headed, like maggie and eva, and his garments were badly torn. he was panting from his severe exertion, and the perspiration streamed down his dusty face. "where's father?" was the first question maggie asked, as he drew near. "can't tell," was the reply; "when i last seed him, he was fightin' like all creation, and graderlly workin' off toward the woods." "then there is hope for him!" exclaimed maggie, looking yearningly at the servant, as if asking for another word of encouragement. "hope for him? course dere am, and so dere am for you if you hurry out ob dis place." "but where can we go, gravity? i promised father to try to get away, but how can we do so?" "i'll soon show you," replied the african, rapidly recovering his wind, and moving along the bank in the direction of the present site of kingston. gravity knew there was no chance for his friends until they reached the other side of the river, but it would not do to enter the stream near where they then stood. a portion of the susquehanna was so deep that it would be necessary for all to swim, and, strange as it may seem, the only one of the party who could do so was maggie brainerd herself. though gravity had lived for years along the river, he could not swim a stroke. it was a wonder that the little party had not already attracted the notice of the horde swarming along the shores. they must do so very soon and gravity hurried his gait. "i'm looking for dat scow ob mine," he explained; "if any ob you happen to cotch sight ob it--" eva brainerd gave utterance to such a shriek that every one stopped and looked toward her. without speaking, she pointed up the bank where a hideously painted iroquois was in the act of drawing back his gleaming tomahawk and hurling it at gravity gimp, who until that moment was unconscious of his peril. the negro held his loaded gun in hand, but the time was too brief for him to turn it to account. in fact, at the very moment he looked at the redskin, the latter let fly. with remarkable quickness, gravity, knowing that the indian was aiming at his head, dropped his shoulders just as the weapon whizzed past, and striking the ground, went bounding end over end for a dozen yards. the iroquois was amazed by his own failure. he stared for a single moment, and then, seeing that the dusky fellow was unhurt, he brought his gun to his shoulder, with the intention of destroying the only protector the women and children had, so as to leave them defenseless. but in the way of raising his gun to his shoulder, taking aim and firing, gravity gimp was five seconds in advance of the noble red man: enough said. "de fust duty arter shootin' off a gun am to load her up agin," remarked gravity, as he began pouring a charge from his powder horn into the palm of his hand, preparatory to letting it run down the barrel of his weapon. "don't wait," pleaded maggie, greatly agitated by what had just taken place, and by the shouts, cries, and reports of guns about them; "if we tarry we are lost." "i reckon i'm too well 'quainted wid dese parts to got lost," said the servant, who was really making all the haste he could in the way of reloading his gun. in a moment he had poured the powder into the pan of his weapon. "now we'll trabbel," he said, hurrying again along the river shore. he took enormous strides, his gait being that peculiar hurried walk which is really faster than an ordinary trot. it compelled the others to run, maggie still clasping the hand of eva, while aunt peggy forgot her dignity in the terrors of the time and held her pace with them. the truth was that though gravity was the owner of a scow which he had partly hidden at the time he saw the possibility of its need, he was afraid it had been taken by others of the fugitives that had stumbled upon it. less than a hundred yards remained to be passed, and, as that was fast put behind them, even the phlegmatic gravity began to show some nervousness. "i thinks we're gwine to make it," he said, recognizing several well-known landmarks; "and, if we does, and gits to de oder shore and has 'bout two hundred and fifty miles start ob de tories and injins, why dat will be sort ob cheerin' like." all this time the sable guide, although walking fast, limped as if he were hurt. "what makes you lame?" asked eva. "i was hit by a cannon-ball on de knee," was the astonishing answer: "it slewed my leg round a little, but i'll soon be all right again." at this moment, when the hearts of all were beating high with hope, a rustling was heard among the undergrowth on their right, and the little company paused and looked up, expecting to see a dozen or more painted iroquois in their war paint. the _click_, _click_ of the african's rifle, as he drew back the flint, showed that he was ready to do everything to defend those who cowered behind him like scared sheep. to the surprise of each, however, a single man came hurriedly forth. all identified him as jake golcher, an old resident of wyoming, but one of the bitterest of tories, whose hatred of his former neighbors and friends seemed as intense as that of queen esther, or katharine montour, one of the leaders of the invaders. he was as much surprised as the fugitives themselves, and he stared at them with open mouth, slouch hat thrown on the back of his head, and the stock of his gun resting at his feet. he was the first to recover his speech, and, with an expletive, he demanded: "where did _you_ come from?" "am you abdressing your remarks to me or to de ladies?" asked gravity of the man whom he detested, and of whom, even then, he had not the slightest fear. "i'm speaking to all of you," said golcher, glancing furtively at the vinegar face of aunt peggy, and bestowing a beaming smile on maggie brainerd. much as the latter despised the tory, she had too much sense to show it at this time. walking toward him, she clasped her hands, and with an emotion that was certainly genuine, she said: "oh, mr. golcher, won't you help us?" "what are you axin' him dat for?" broke in gravity; "we don't want no help from _him_." aunt peggy was evidently of the same mind, for though she said nothing, she gave a sniff and toss of her head that were more expressive than words. the sallow face of the tory flushed, as he looked down in the sweet countenance of maggie brainerd, made tenfold more winsome by the glow of the cheeks and the sparkle of the eyes, arising from the excitement of her situation. bear in mind that the party had gone so far along the bank of the river that they were somewhat removed from the swarm of fleeing fugitives, and therefore no immediate danger threatened; but the call for flight was as loud as ever, and a few minutes' delay was liable to bring down a score of indians and tories. to none was this fact more evident than to maggie brainerd. in truth, she believed that golcher was at the head of a company within call, and she sought to win his good-will before it was too late. gravity stood with his gun at his side, the hammer raised, and ready to fire the instant it became necessary. one foot was thrown forward, and his whole demeanor was that of enmity and defiance. i may as well say that the servant was trying hard to persuade himself that it was not his duty to raise his piece and shoot the renegade without any further warning. it would have been shocking, and yet there would have been some palliation for it. in a short time the african's debate with himself ended in what may be called a compromise. "i'll keep my eye on him while dis foolish conversation goes on, and de minute he winks at miss maggie, or says anyting dat she don't like, i'll pull trigger." chapter v. "do you want me to befriend you?" asked the renegade, bending his head down close to the scared countenance of maggie brainerd, smiling and trying to speak in so low a voice that no one else could catch his words. "of course i do; don't you see what danger we are in? oh, mr. golcher--" "don't _mister_ me," he interrupted, with a reproving grin; "call me _jake_." "oh, jake, have you seen anything of father?" "where would i see him?" "why, he went out with the rest to fight the indians and tories, and you were with them." "oh, yes; i did see him," said golcher, as though the incident was so slight that he had forgotten it for the time: "he fought well." "was he--was he--oh, jake, tell me?--was he _hurt_?" "i don't think he got so much as a scratch; he was with three or four others, and they were getting in the best kind of work; but you know it was no use for any one; i saw that they would be shot down where they stood, so i ran up and told your father to follow me; you know that nobody dare touch him when _i_ took charge. i led him and his friends back toward the mountains and stayed by them till all danger was over, and then i bade them good-bye: if they have taken the least care and done as i told them to do, they are a great deal safer than _you_ are at this very minute." maggie brainerd's heart sank within her. she knew that the story that jake golcher had just told her was without an iota of truth. he had lied so clumsily that he had not deceived her at all. the very question which he had asked about her parent was proof that he had not seen him, and therefore could know nothing of him. the young lady was shocked, but she was helpless. her duty was to do her utmost for the safety of those who were now with her, and she was sure that golcher could give great help, if he chose to do so. "jake," said she, speaking with all the earnestness of her nature, "this is a dreadful day for wyoming; i can hardly realize what has taken place; i do not believe that any one on this side of the river is safe." "of course he isn't--that is, none of the rebels is; _our_ folks are all right." "can you save us?" "i don't know what's to hinder--that is, if i take the notion, but i don't feel like doing much for that spitfire of an aunt, that insulted me the last time that i called at your house." "you musn't mind her peculiarities; she is a good woman, and then, you know, she is my friend." "well, _that_ makes a good deal of difference--that's a fact," remarked golcher, with such a grotesque attempt to look arch and loving, that the watchful african, instead of firing upon him as he had meant to do, smiled. "i'm afeard he don't feel berry well; he'll feel a good deal worse if aunt peggy or me gets hold of him." "and then," added golcher, glancing at gravity, "_you_ heard the impudence of that servant." "because he is a servant you ought to excuse him; i should feel very sorry to have him suffer harm." "i don't mind taking particular care of _you_ and your little sister there, but i would prefer to leave aunt peggy, as you call her, and the darkey to shift for themselves." "then i do not want you to do anything for eva and me," said maggie, resolutely, feeling that she was throwing away invaluable time by holding converse with this man; "god has been better to us than we deserve, and we shall leave all with him." she turned to move off, much to the relief of aunt peggy, who had hard work to hide her impatience, when golcher saw that he had gone too far. catching her arm, he said: "don't be so fast; where will you go, if you don't go with me?" "gravity is our guide." "i haven't told you i wouldn't take care of you, have i?" "but if you are unwilling to include _all_ of us, i do not want your friendship." "then for the sake of _you_ i will save you _all_, though nobody beside me would do so; but, maggie, i'll expect a little better treatment from you when i come to your house again." at this point golcher saw that the patience of the young lady was exhausted. her companions were ready to chide her for halting to speak to him, though the words that passed took but a few minutes. he reached out his hand to lay it on her arm, but she drew back. "maggie," said he, warningly; "when i came down the river bank, i left six seneca warriors among the trees back there; they are tired waiting for me; their guns are loaded, and i have only to raise my hand over my head to have 'em fire every one of 'em; if they do it, they will all be _pointed this way_." maggie brainerd was sure the tory spoke the truth. "you will not do that, jake, i am sure." "not if you act right; follow me." maggie reached out her hand as an invitation for eva to come to her; but aunt peggy grasped one of the little palms in her own, for she had overheard the invitation. when maggie looked around, her aunt compressed her thin lips and shook her head in a most decided fashion. "_no, ma'am_; eva stays here: if you want to go off with that scamp you can do so, but the rest of us _don't_." "but, aunt, what shall we do? there's no escape for us unless we put ourselves in his care; jake has promised to see that no harm befalls us from the indians." "ugh!" exclaimed the aunt, with a shudder of disgust: "i'd rather trust myself with the worst indians that are now in the valley than with _him_." "them's my sentiments," broke in gravity; "we don't want to fool away any more time with _him_." "then you'll take the consequences," said the tory, trembling with anger. "i offered to protect you and you refused to have me; i'll still take care of maggie and eva, but as for you others, you shall see--" chapter vi. the last few sentences that passed between maggie brainerd and golcher, the tory, were heard, not only by aunt maggie, but by the african servant. this was due to the fact that the renegade in his excitement forgot his caution, besides which the servant took occasion to approach quite close to the two. a very brief space of time was occupied in the conversation, but brief as it was, gravity was resolved that it should end. he did not believe the declaration of golcher that he had a party of half-a-dozen senecas within call, though it was possible that he spoke the truth; but beyond a doubt the savages were so numerous that a summons from the tory would bring a number to the spot. when, therefore, jake adjusted his lips for a signal, gravity bounded forward and caught him by the throat. "don't be in a hurry to let out a yawp; if dere's any hollerin' to be done, i'll take charge of it." golcher was as helpless as a child in the vise-like grip of those iron fingers. he not only was unable to speak, but he found it hard work to breathe. dropping his gun, he threw up both hands in a frantic effort to loosen the clutch of those fingers. "why, gravity," said the horrified maggie; "i'm afraid you will strangle him." "and i'm afraid i _won't_," replied the african, putting on a little more pressure. gravity, however, had no intention of proceeding to extremities, though he might have found justification in so doing. he regulated the pressure of his powerful right hand so that his victim, by putting forth his best efforts, was able to get enough breath to save himself. "young man," said gravity, still holding him fast, "i don't think dis am a healthy place for you; de best ting you can do am to leave a little sooner dan possible." "let--me--let--me--go!" gurgled golcher, still vainly trying to free himself. "i don't find dat i've got much use for you, so i'll let you off, but de next time i lays hand onto you, you won't got off so easy, and bein' as you am goin', i'll give you a boost." to the delight of aunt peggy and the horror of maggie brainerd, gravity gimp now wheeled the tory around as though he were the smallest child, and actually delivered a kick that lifted him clear of the ground. not only once, but a second and third time was the indignity repeated. then, with a fierce effort, golcher wrenched himself free from the terrible fingers on the back of his neck, and, plunging among the trees, vanished. "dat ar might come handy," said gravity, picking up the loaded musket which the panic-stricken tory had left behind him and handing it to aunt peggy, who asked, with a shudder: "do you s'pose i would touch it?" "let me have it," said maggie; "i consider it fortunate that we have two guns with us." it was a good thing, indeed, for maggie brainerd, like many of the brave maidens of a hundred years ago, was an expert in handling the awkward weapons of our revolutionary sires. with this at her command, the chances were she would be heard from before the rising of the morrow's sun. but, if jake golcher was a mild enemy before, it was certain he was now an unrelenting one. he would neglect no effort to avenge himself upon all for the indignity he had received. the african understood this, and he lost no time in getting away from the spot with the utmost speed. it was now about five o'clock in the afternoon, but it was the eve of the fourth of july, and the days were among the longest in the year. it would not be dark for three hours, and who could tell what might take place in that brief period? extremely good fortune had attended our friends thus far, but it was not reasonable to expect it to continue without break. the tory was scarcely out of sight when gravity started on a trot down the bank, with the others close behind him. "bus'ness hab got to be pushed on de jump," he said, by way of explanation; "we ain't done wid dat chap yet." it was scarcely a minute later when he uttered an exclamation of thankfulness, and those directly behind saw him stoop down and, grasping the prow of a small flat-boat or scow, draw it from beneath the undergrowth and push it into the water. such craft are not managed by oars, and gimp handed a long pole to maggie, saying: "use dat de best ye kin, and don't lose no time gittin' to de oder shore." "but what are _you_ going to do, gravity?" "i'se gwine wid you, but i'm afeard de boat won't hold us all, and i'll hab to ride on de outside." the susquehanna is generally quite shallow along shore, and it was necessary to push the scow several yards before the water was found deep enough to float it with its load. gravity laid the two guns within the boat, and then, picking up the _petite_ maggie, hastily carried her the short distance and placed her dry-shod within, where she immediately assumed control by means of the pole, which was a dozen feet in length. aunt peggy and eva were deposited beside her, by which time the scow was sunk within a few inches of the gunwales: had the african followed them, it would have been swamped. as it was, the faithful negro was assuming great risk, for, as have stated, he could not swim a stroke; but the circumstances compelled such a course, and he did not hesitate. "you see, folks," said he, as he began shoving the craft out into the river; "dat dis wessel won't carry any more passengers." just then he stepped into a hole, which threw him forward on his face with a loud splash, his head going under and nearly strangling him. he was thoughtful enough to let go the boat, and recovered himself with considerable effort, after causing a slight scream from eva, who was afraid he was going to drown. the freedom from immediate danger ended when the fugitives put out from the shore. the suddenness of the defeat, pursuit, and massacre at wyoming prevented anything like the use of boats by the fleeing patriots, who were beset by a merciless foe. had the scow been near where the main stream of fugitives were rushing into the river and striving to reach the opposite bank, the boat would not have kept afloat for a minute. it not only would have been grasped by a score of the fugitives, but it would have become the target for a number of rifles, which could hardly have failed to kill all the occupants. the stream rapidly deepened, and by and by gimp was up to his neck and moving rather gingerly, with his two broad hands resting on the stern of the boat. maggie brainerd stood erect in the craft, pole in hand, and, bending slightly as she pressed the support against the river bottom, held on until it was almost beyond her reach, when she withdrew it, and, reaching forward, placed the lower end against the bottom again, shoving the awkward vessel with as much skill as the negro himself could have shown. aunt peggy, as trim and erect as ever, was seated near the prow, while eva nestled at her feet with her head in her lap. when they observed how deep the scow sank in the water, naturally enough their fears were withdrawn from the great calamity, and centered upon the one of drowning. the ancient lady glanced askance at the turbid current, while eva turned pale and shivered more than once, as she looked affrightedly at the hungry river that seemed to be climbing slowly up the frail partition which kept it away from the fugitives. suddenly the feet of gravity failed to reach bottom, and, sinking down until his ears and mouth were scarcely above the surface, he bore slightly upon the support and began threshing the water with his feet, so that at a distance the scow looked as if it had a steam screw at the stern driving it forward. this rather cumbersome means of propulsion really accomplished more than would be supposed. despite the fact that the african could not float himself, he managed his pedal extremities with skill, and the boat was quick to respond. chapter vii. meanwhile, lieutenant fred godfrey found himself mixed up in some events of a stirring character. it will be recalled that while hunting for his friends he was told that they had taken to a flat-boat, or scow, and were probably across the susquehanna. if such were the fact, the true course for fred was to follow them without a second's delay. his informant no doubt meant to tell the truth, but he had given a wrong impression. it was true, as has been shown, that the female members of the brainerd family had started across the river under charge of the herculean gravity gimp, but mr. brainerd himself was still on the side where the battle took place, though his son believed he was with the others that had taken to the boat. fred was making his way as best he could to the river side, when he became aware that he had attracted the notice of several indians, who made for him. in the general flurry he did not notice the alarming fact till the party was almost upon him. then he turned and fired among them, threw away his gun, and made for the river at the top of his speed. he was remarkably fleet of foot, and in a fair race would have held his own with any iroquois in wyoming valley; but there was no telling when or where some more of the dusky foes would leap up and join in the pursuit. it was fortunate, perhaps, that the susquehanna was so near, for the pursuit was no more than fairly begun when it was reached. knowing he would be compelled to swim for life, he ran as far out in the water as he could, and then took what may be called a tremendous "header," throwing himself horizontally through the air, but with his head a little lower than the rest of the body, and with his arms extended and hands pressed palm to palm in front. he struck the water at a point beyond his depth, and drawing in one deep inspiration as he went beneath, he swam with might and main until he could hold his breath no longer. when he rose to the surface it was a long way beyond where he went under, and much farther than where the indians were looking for him to reappear. but they were ready with cocked guns, and the moment the head came to view they opened fire; but fred expected that, and waiting only long enough to catch a mouthful of air, he went under and sped along like a loon beneath the surface. every rod thus gained increased his chances, but it did not by any means remove the danger, for it takes no very skillful marksman to pick off a man across the susquehanna, and many a fugitive on that fateful day fell after reaching the eastern shore. working with his usual energy, fred godfrey soon found himself close to monocacy island, covered as it was with driftwood and undergrowth, and upon which many of the settlers had taken refuge. almost the first person whom he recognized was the middle-aged friend, who told him about the escape of the brainerd family in the scow that maggie and the servant had propelled across the susquehanna. this friend was now able to add that he had seen them crossing at a point considerably below the island. he saw them fired at by the indians and tories on shore, but he was satisfied that no one of the little company was struck. to the dismay of the youth, the neighbor assured him that mr. brainerd, his father, was not with the company. this made another change in the plans of the son. quite hopeful that those who had crossed the river were beyond danger, his whole solicitude was now for his beloved parent. despite the danger involved, he resolved to return to the western shore, and to stay there until he learned about his parent. fred was too experienced, however, to act rashly. he carefully watched his chance and swam down the stream until he was well below the swarm of fugitives, and so managed to reach the shore without detection, or rather without recognition, since it was impossible that he should escape observation. finally, he stepped out of the water and went up the bank, without, as he believed, attracting attention, and, suppressing all haste, walked in the direction of forty fort. the battle-field, whereon the famous monument was afterwards erected, was about two miles above forty fort, where a feeble garrison was left when colonel zebulon butler marched up the river bank, and met the tories and indians on that july afternoon. fred had landed at a point near the battle-ground, and he was in doubt whether to make search through the surrounding wood and marsh, or to steal down the river to the fort in the hope of finding his father there. many of the fugitives in their wild flight had thrown away their weapons (as indeed fred godfrey himself had done), so that it was an easy matter for him to find a gun to take the place of the one from which he had parted. the youth made up his mind to visit the fort, and he had taken a dozen steps in that direction, when with whom should he come face to face but his beloved father himself? the meeting was a happy one indeed, the two embracing with delight. the father had no thought that his son had reached wyoming, though he knew that washington had been asked to send them re-enforcements. fred told the good news about the rest of the family: it was joy indeed to the parent, who was on his way to the river bank to look for them at the time he met his son. mr. brainerd said that he had fought as long as there was any hope, when he turned and fled with the rest. it was the same aimless effort to get away, without any thought of the right course to take; but he was more fortunate than most of the others, for he succeeded in reaching the cover of the woods without harm. "the best thing for us to do," said the parent, "is to go up the river so as to get above the point where, it seems, the most danger threatens." "you mean toward fort wintermoot--that is, where it stood, for i see that it has been burned." "yes, but we needn't go the whole distance; night isn't far off, and it will be a hard task to find the folks after we get across." accordingly, father and son moved to the north, that is up the western bank of the river. this took them toward fort wintermoot, which was still smoking, and toward fort jenkins, just above. at the same time they were leaving the scene of the struggle a short time before. mr. brainerd had no weapon, while his son carried the newly-found rifle and his two pistols. he had drawn the charges of these and reloaded them, so that they were ready for use. "there's one thing that ought to be understood," said mr. brainerd, after they had walked a short distance; "and that is what is to be done by the survivor in case one of us falls." "if i should be shot or captured," said fred, impressively, "don't waste any time in trying to help me, but do all you can to get across the river, rejoin the family, and push on toward stroudsburg; for i don't believe you'll be safe at any point this side." "i promise you to do my utmost in that direction; and, if it should be my misfortune to fall into their hands, you must not imperil your life for me." "i shall be careful of what i do," said fred, refusing to make any more definite pledge, after having secured that of his companion not to step aside to befriend him in the event of misfortune. little did either dream that the test was so close at hand. chapter viii. the two were compelled to pick their way with extreme care, for there was no saying when some of the wandering indians would come upon them. it was necessary, as our friends thought, to go considerably farther up, before it would be at all safe to cross the river. they were yet some distance from the point, when a slight disturbance was heard in a patch of woods in front, and they stopped. "wait a minute or two, until i find out what it means," said fred; "it will save time to go through there, but it won't do to undertake it if it isn't safe." and before mr. brainerd could protest, his son moved forward, as stealthily as an indian scout, while the former concealed himself until the issue of the reconnoissance should become known. the old gentleman realized too vividly the horrors of the massacre still going on around them to permit himself to run any unnecessary risk, now that there was a prospect of rejoining his family; and he regretted that his courageous child had gone forward so impulsively, instead of carefully flanking what seemed to be a dangerous spot. but it was too late now to recall him, for he was beyond sight, and mr. brainerd could only wait and hope for the best, while, it may be truly said, he feared the worst. it was not long before fred godfrey began strongly to suspect he had committed an error, from which it required all the skill at his command to extricate himself. the wood that he had entered covered something less than an acre, and was simply a denser portion of the wilderness through which they had been making their way. he had scarcely entered it when the murmur of voices told him that others were in advance, and he knew enough of the indians to recognize the sounds as made by them. it was at that very moment he ought to have withdrawn, and, rejoining mr. brainerd, left the neighborhood as silently as possible, but his curiosity led him on. that curiosity was gratified by the sight of six of his own people held prisoners by a group of twice as many indians, who, beyond question, were making preparations for putting their victims to death. as seems to be the rule, these prisoners, all of whom were able-bodied men, most of them young, were in a state of despair and collapse; they were standing up unbound and unarmed, and looking stolidly at their captors, who were also on their feet, but were talking and gesticulating with much earnestness. the most remarkable figure in the group was a woman. she was doing the principal part of the talking, and in a voice so loud, and accompanied by such energetic gestures, that there could be no doubt that she was the leader. she was attired in indian costume, and was evidently a half-breed, though it has been claimed by many that she was of pure indian blood. she was beyond middle life, her hair being plentifully sprinkled with gray, but she still possessed great strength and activity, and was well fitted to command the indians, as she did when they marched into and took possession of forty fort on the succeeding day. a son of this strange woman had been killed a short time before, and she was roused to the highest point of fury. she demanded not only the blood of those already captured, but that others should be brought in; and she had established a camp in the place named, until a sufficient number could be secured to satisfy, to a partial extent, her vengeful mood. she is known in history as queen esther and as katharine montour. she was queen of the seneca tribe of indians--one of the iroquois or six nations--the most powerful confederation of aborigines ever known on this continent. her home was in central new york, where the six nations had been ruled by sir william johnson, the british superintendent, and, among all the furies who entered wyoming valley on that day in july, there was none who excelled this being in the ferocity displayed toward the prisoners. "that must be queen esther," thought fred godfrey, as he cautiously surveyed the scene; "i have heard of the hecate--" at that instant a slight rustling behind caused him to turn his head, just in time to catch sight of a shadowy body that came down upon him like an avalanche. he struggled fiercely, but other indians joined in, and in a twinkling the lieutenant was disarmed and helpless, and was conducted triumphantly into the presence of katharine montour, whose small, black eyes sparkled as she surveyed this addition to her roll of victims, for whose torture she was arranging at that moment. chapter ix. gravity gimp bore as lightly as he could on the stern of the boat, which was already so heavily laden that a little more weight would have sunk it below the surface. but steady progress was made, and everything was going along "swimmingly," as may be said, when the craft and its occupants began to receive alarming attention from the shore. the reports of guns, and the shouting and whooping were so continuous that the fugitives had become used to them. the whistling of the bullets about their ears, and the call of gimp, notified the ladies of their danger, and caused an outcry from aunt peggy. "they're shooting at us, as sure as you live; stoop down, maggie!" the elderly lady and little eva got down so low that they were quite safe. maggie, however, kept her feet a few moments. looking back toward the shore, she saw six or eight indians standing close to the water and deliberately firing at them. "stoop down," said gravity, in a low voice. "i'll take care ob de boat and you see what you can do wid de gun." the plucky girl acted upon the suggestion. picking up the weapon of the african (with which she had shot more than one deer), she sank upon her knee, and took careful aim at the group on the shore. gravity stopped threshing the water, and twisted around so as to watch the result, while aunt peggy and eva fixed their eyes on the group with painful interest. when the whip-like crack of the gun broke upon their ears, the spectators saw one of the iroquois leap in the air and stagger backward, though he did not fall. "you hit him!" exclaimed the delighted gravity; "dey'll larn dat some oder folks can fire off a gun as well as dey." the shot of the girl caused consternation for a minute or two among the group. they had evidently no thought of any one "striking back," now that the panic was everywhere. they could be seen gathering around the warrior, who was helped a few steps and allowed to sit on the ground. dropping the rifle, maggie brainerd caught up the pole once more and applied it with all the strength at her command, while gravity threshed the water with renewed vigor. hope was now re-awakened that the river might be crossed in safety. in the nature of things, the dismay among the iroquois could not last long. they were joined by several new arrivals, among whom was at least one white man. they saw that the boat was getting farther away, and the fugitives were likely to escape. gravity, who continually glanced over his shoulder, warned maggie and the rest (who, however, were equally alert), so that when the boat was again struck by the whistling bullets no one was harmed. "miss maggie," whispered gravity, peering over the gunwale, his round face rising like the moon under a full eclipse, "you know dere's another loaded gun; try it agin." "i musn't miss," she said to herself, sighting the weapon, "for if ever there was a case of self-defense this is one." all remained quiet while she carefully drew a bead at the foremost figure. before her aim was sure, she recognized her target as jake golcher. she was startled, and for an instant undecided; but she could not shoot him, even though he deserved it. she slightly swerved the point of her piece, hoping to strike one of the indians, with the result, however, that she missed altogether. "maggie," said aunt peggy, with rasping severity, "i've a mind to box your ears; you missed that tory on purpose; you ought to be ashamed of yourself; i'll tell your father what a perjurer you are." "i could not do it," replied maggie, smiling in spite of herself at the spiteful earnestness of her relative. "then load up and try it again." "time is too precious to delay for loading guns and shooting at our old acquaintances, even if they are tories." aunt peggy was wise enough to see that maggie could not be dictated to under such circumstances. she, therefore, held her peace, and watched the young lady, who applied the pole with a vigor hardly second to that of gravity in his efforts of another kind to force the scow through the water. under their joint labors the clumsy craft advanced with considerable speed, every minute taking it farther from the shots that still came from the enemies they were leaving behind. by and by, the african, while kicking, struck bottom with one foot. with the leverage thus obtained, he shoved the boat faster than before. by this time those in the rear had ceased firing, and the interest of the occupants of the craft centered on the shore they were approaching. the water shallowed rapidly, and soon the head and shoulders of gravity gimp rose above the gunwale of the scow. he was now enabled to look beyond the boat and scrutinize the point where they were about to land. he had hardly taken the first glance, when he checked the vessel with such suddenness that maggie nearly lost her balance. looking inquiringly at him, she asked, with alarm. "what's the matter, gravity?" "it's no use, miss maggie," was the despairing reply; "we may as well give up; don't you see we're cotched? the tories hab got us _dis_ time, suah!" chapter x. the scow containing the three fugitives was nearing the eastern shore of the susquehanna, when the negro servant, gravity gimp, stopped, checking the craft by grasping the stern. at that moment the water scarcely reached his waist, and was shoaling at every step, so that the boat was entirely under his control. he had good cause for his alarm, for, only an instant before, he had looked behind him at the group of tories and indians on the western shore, who had stopped firing, and he saw that several had entered the river with the intention of pushing the pursuit through the desolate wilderness already spoken of as the "shades of death." the distance between the pursuer and pursued was slight, for the susquehanna is not a very broad river where it meanders through the wyoming valley, and there remained so much of daylight that the danger of a collision with their enemies was threatening indeed. still the sight increased the efforts to avoid them, and gravity had not lost his heart by any means, when he looked over the heads of his friends to decide where they were to land. it will be recalled that they had started below where most of the fugitives were pushing for the other bank, and the action of the current had carried them still lower, so there was reason for hoping they were outside of immediate peril. but the african had no more than fixed his eye on the point, where there was much wood and undergrowth, than he noticed an agitation of the bushes, and, to his dismay, a tall figure clad in paint and feathers stepped forth to view. he had a long rifle in one hand, and was daubed in the hideous fashion of the wild indian on the war-path. the fact that he advanced thus openly in front of the fugitives, who had been exchanging shots with their foes behind them, was proof to gravity that he was only one of a large party hidden in the bushes, and into whose hands he and his friends were about to throw themselves. thus it was that the little group was caught between two fires. worse than all, the two guns in the scow, with which something like a fight might have been made, were empty, and it was out of the question to reload them at this critical moment. no wonder, therefore, when the faithful negro discovered the trap into which they had run, that he straightened up, checked the boat, and uttered the exclamation i have quoted. the ladies, with blanched faces glanced from one shore to the other, wondering to which party it was best to surrender themselves. at this time, the warrior in front stood calmly contemplating them, as if sure there was no escape, and nothing could be added to the terror of the patriots. "let us turn down the river," said the brave-hearted maggie, thrusting the pole into the water again; "they have not captured us yet, and it is better we should all be shot than fall into----" just then the four were struck dumb by hearing the savage in front call out: "what have you stopped work for? don't turn down the river; hurry over, or those consarned iroquois will overhaul you!" unquestionably that was not the voice of an indian! and yet the words were spoken by the painted individual who confronted them, and whom they held in such terror. he must have suspected their perplexity, for, noticing that they still hesitated, his mouth expanded into a broad grin, as he added: "don't you know me? i'm habakkuk mcewen, and i'm ready to do all i can for you. hurry up, gravity; use that pole in the right direction, maggie; cheer up, eva, and how are you, aunt peggy?" no words can picture the relief of the little party, on learning that he whom they mistook for an indian was a white man and a friend. habakkuk mcewen was a neighbor, as he had called himself, and came from the same section in connecticut which furnished the brainerds and most of the settlers in the wyoming valley. he had enlisted but a few months before, and, though not very brilliant mentally, yet he was well liked in the settlement. excepting two individuals--whose identity the reader knows--it may be safely said there was no one whom the patriots could have been more pleased to see than habakkuk, for he added so much strength to the company that was sorely in need of it, but it may as well be admitted, that the honest fellow, although a volunteer in the defense of his country against the british invaders, was sometimes lacking in the courage so necessary to the successful soldier. however, there he was, and the words were scarcely out of his mouth when the scow ran plump against the bank, the depth of the water just permitting it, and habakkuk cordially shook hands with each as he helped them out, winding up with a fervid grip of the african's huge palm. his tongue was busy while thus engaged. "you took me for an injin, did you? well, i'm pleased to hear that, for it is complimentary to my skill, for that's what i got up this rig for. i knowed what the danger was, and it struck me that if i was going to sarcumvent injins it was a good idea to start out like one." "have you just arrived, habakkuk?" asked maggie. "not more than half an hour ago--you see--but let's get away from this spot, for some of them loose bullets may hit us." this was prudent advice, for their pursuers were at that moment forcing their way through the river in pursuit. "gravity, you know this neighborhood better than i do--so take the lead," said the disguised patriot: "and move lively, for i begin to feel nervous." "i kin move lively when dere's need ob it," replied the servant, "and it looks to me as if there couldn't be a better time for hurryin' dan dis identical one." gimp was familiar with the valley and mountains for miles around, and he threw himself at once in the advance, the rest following with rapid footsteps. as they hastened toward the "shades of death" (and the name was never more appropriate than on that eventful night), habakkuk mcewen explained how it was he arrived as he did. "we fit the battle of monmouth on the th of june, so you kin see i've had to travel fast to git here even as late as i did. but a lot of us heard that trouble was coming for wyoming, and we've been uneasy for a fortnight. three of us went to gineral washington and argufied the matter with him; he seemed to be worried and anxious to do all he could, and he said that connecticut orter lend a hand, as we were her colony, but he was after the britishers just then, and he wouldn't 'low us to go till arter the battle. "wal, we had a first-class battle down there at monmouth in jersey, and we and molly pitcher made the redcoats dance to the tune of 'yankee doodle' as they haven't danced since saratoga and trenton. whew! but wasn't the day hot, and didn't the dust fly along that road! well, i jus' felt when we had 'em on the run, that if the susquehanna could be turned down my throat, i would stand it for a couple of hours. "howsumever, just as soon as the battle was over, and i seen the gineral had 'em, even though gineral lee tried to betray us, why, i just pulled out and started for wyoming. "i didn't wait for the other chaps either, for, somehow or other, i had the feeling strong that there wasn't an hour to spare down in these parts. i traveled hard, and after crossing the upper delaware, i heard rumors that just made my hair stand on end. "i knowed that the tories and iroquois were on their way, and when i stopped at the house of a settler only twenty miles off, i found him packing up and getting ready to move to stroudsburg. "i tried to persuade him to go back with me and help the folks, but he couldn't see why he should desert his own family, even though there was scarcely any danger to 'em. "he was the man, howsumever, who suggested to me that i had better fix up as an injin, and he furnished the paint, feathers, and rig. he helped me to get inside of 'em, too, and when he was through, and showed me a glass, i acterally thought i was a seneca warrior for the time, and, if i'd had a tomahawk, i'd been likely to have tomahawked the settler and his family. "as it was, i jumped into the air and give out a ringin' whoop, and felt mighty savage and peart like; then i struck out for wyoming, and i've done some tall traveling, i can tell you. everybody that saw me took me for an injin, and gave me a wide berth. two men shot at me, and i was just beginning to think there might be less fun in playing injin than appeared at first. "well," added the eccentric individual, "i got here too late to take part in the battle, but i'm ready to do all i can to help you out of your trouble, which looks powerful serious." and the little band, as may well be imagined, were grateful beyond expression to find that what was first taken to be a dreaded enemy was after all a valuable friend. chapter xi. it caused lieutenant godfrey the deepest chagrin to reflect that, after his remarkable escapes of the day, he had been taken prisoner in this fashion. he was in a crouching posture, watching the scene in front, when several seneca warriors returning to camp discovered him, and before he could make an effective resistance, he was borne to the ground, disarmed, and made prisoner. but chagrin was quickly lost in alarm, for there could be no doubt of the intentions of queen esther respecting all her captives. it was characteristic of the youth that his first misgiving was concerning his father, who was but such a short distance behind him, and he expected every minute to see the hapless man brought in as his companion. but as time passed, fred gained hope for him, and, recalling his pledge, believed he would keep beyond danger. katharine montour bent her gaze upon the youth, as he came in front of her escorted by several warriors, and then she broke into a chuckling laugh. this extraordinary creature was once quite popular with civilized people, and she spoke english as well as the seneca tongue. "ha, ha, ha," she added, "you're another yankee, ain't you?" fred had no wish to deny the charge, but he thought best to hold his peace. if she were disposed to enter into a fair argument, he could maintain his own with her; but the relative situation of the two was that of the wolf and lamb in the fable, and, no matter what line he might take, or how skillfully he might try to conciliate her, she would only work herself into a still more furious passion. he therefore did wisely in not making any reply, but with his hand at his side, and with a stolid, drooping, half-vacant gaze like that of the other prisoners, he looked mutely at her. the attractive appearance of the young lieutenant, and his manly bearing when first brought before her, may have suggested to queen esther that a prisoner of more consideration than usual was at her disposal. her exultation, therefore, was the greater, because she would gain this additional means of ministering to her thirst for vengeance. "you yankee officer?" she asked, peering into his handsome face. "i am a lieutenant in the continental army," answered fred. "_all_ the captains were killed," was the truthful declaration of the queen, "and more of you yankees shall be killed; do you see these here?" she asked, making a sweep with her hand toward the captives. "all of them shall die by my hands--yes, by _my_ hands. do you hear?" fred heard, but he did not think it wise to take the negative of the question, and he continued to hold his peace. while the indians were looking on with that apparent indifference which the race can so well assume under the most trying circumstances, queen esther suddenly whipped out from the folds of her gaudy dress a scalp, which she flourished in front of the prisoners. then, with many execrations, she began a weird song and dance up and down in front of them. this shocking scene lasted but a few minutes, when other indians came in with more prisoners, among whom fred recognized several acquaintances. they looked sorrowfully at each other, but said nothing. the lieutenant counted, and saw there were precisely eighteen, besides himself. it must have been that queen esther had stopped in this piece of woods, and, calling in a number of her senecas, had sent them out to bring in all the captives they could. she had now secured enough to satisfy her, and she started up the river with them. the hapless ones walked in a straggling group together, while the indians were on either hand in front, and the queen at the rear, as if she wished to contemplate and enjoy the treat in prospect. whither they were going, fred could only guess, but he was certain that it was to some spot where torture would be inflicted on the patriots. the mixed company had progressed something like an eighth of a mile, when a sudden confusion occurred in the ranks, and those who looked around caught sight of a man dashing through the undergrowth with the speed of a frightened deer. queen esther recognized the figure as that of the young lieutenant, and, with a shriek of rage, hurled her tomahawk, missing him only by a hair's breadth. at the same moment she called upon her warriors to recapture him, and they dashed off with all speed, not needing the incentive of her command. it may be said that in such daring breaks for life as that of fred godfrey, everything depends on the start. he made such a tremendous bound that he was several rods distant before his foes really understood what had taken place. another piece of extremely good fortune lay in the fact that the woods where this was done were quite dense, and in the approaching twilight the start gained by the fugitive actually placed him beyond their sight. this by no means insured his escape, for his pursuers were too close on his heels, but it gave him an advantage, the importance of which cannot be overstated. fred, as you have been told, was fleet of foot, and he now did his utmost, but he could not hope to outrun those who were so close. he had gone a short distance only, when he turned to the right, and threw himself down beside a fallen tree which lay across his path, and he was not a moment too soon. the next instant, two warriors bounded over the log and vanished in the wood. as they were sure to suspect the trick that had been played, fred did not stay where he was. he knew the senecas would speedily return, and he could not elude such a search as they would be sure to make. [illustration: "the next instant, two warriors bounded over the log."] crawling away from the friendly log, he hurried silently off in a crouching posture, and soon reached a point where he felt quite safe from detection, though he did not throw his caution aside. as soon as he felt himself master of his movements he made his way back to the point where he had separated from his father; but, although he cautiously signaled to him, he received no response, and he concluded that he was still in hiding somewhere in the neighborhood, and was afraid to answer the calls, if, indeed, he heard them; or he had managed to cross the susquehanna, and was searching for the rest of his family. in either case it was a great relief to find he had not fallen into the hands of queen esther, who was certain to be doubly savage, now that she had lost the prisoner whom she valued the most. "if those captives would only made a break," said fred, to himself, "some would get off; but, as it is, they are like dumb brutes led to the slaughter, and all will perish miserably--heaven help them!" chapter xii. fred godfrey was not altogether correct in his dismal prophecy. queen esther, when she found that one of her prisoners was gone, gave expressions of fury and resumed the march up the river, her warriors keeping closer watch than before to prevent any other escape. the procession halted near a boulder which rises about eighteen inches above the ground, and which may be seen to-day, as it lies directly east of the battle monument toward the site of burned fort wintermoot, on the brow of the high steep bank, which centuries ago probably marked the shore of the susquehanna. the eighteen prisoners were driven forward until this celebrated boulder was reached, which has been known ever since by the ominous name of "queen esther's rock." here the captives were ranged in a circle around the stone, while the queen, with a death-maul and hatchet, proceeded to wreak vengeance upon her victims for the death of her son, killed by a scouting party, a short time before the battle. one after another, the white men were seated upon the rock, and held by two strong warriors, while the terrible katharine montour chanted a wild dirge, and, raising the death-maul in both hands, dealt the single blow that was all sufficient. occasionally she varied the dreadful ceremony by using a keen-edged hatchet with her muscular arm, which was as effective as the death-maul wielded by both hands. the work went on until eleven victims had been sacrificed, when one of the men, lebbeus hammond, was roused by the sight of his own brother, who was placed upon the rock, and tightly grasped by two warriors. it was impossible to do anything for him, but lebbeus whispered to joseph elliott: "_let's try it!_" on the instant, they wrenched themselves loose from their captors, and bounded down the river bank. they expected to be shot, and they preferred such a death to that which awaited them if they remained. but the very audacity of the attempt, like that of fred godfrey, threw the indians into confusion for the moment, and instead of firing they broke into pursuit, without discharging a weapon. fortunately for the fugitives, instead of keeping together they diverged, hammond heading up the river. the warriors must have concluded that they were making for forty fort, and shaped their course with the purpose of shutting them off. the fort lay to the south and below, and, understanding the aim of the indians, hammond turned more directly up the river. he was fleet-footed, and ran as never before; but, while straining every nerve, he caught his foot in a root, and was thrown headlong down the bank, rolling all in a heap underneath the bushy top of a fallen tree. he started to scramble to his feet, when, like a flash, it occurred to him that there was no safer course than to stay where he was. only a few seconds passed, when the indians approached and began hunting for him. how they failed to discover the young man passes comprehension, and it was only another of the several wonderful escapes which marked the massacre of wyoming. the savages peered here and there, drawing the bushes aside, and looking among the old logs. the poor fellow heard their stealthy footsteps all around him, and caught glimpses of their coppery faces, smeared with paint, as they uttered some exclamation and almost stepped upon him in his concealment. once he was sure he was detected, and he held his breath, fearful that the throbbing of his heart would betray him; but the red men moved away, and shortly after returned to queen esther's rock to help in the executions going on there. hammond stayed where he was until all was still, when he crept cautiously out, and, swimming the river, made his way to the fort at wilkesbarre, where, to his amazement, he found his companion in flight. the escape of this patriot was no less extraordinary than that of hammond. he had also swum the river to the bar on the lower point of monocacy island, going almost the entire distance under water. whenever he threw up his head for a breath of fresh air he was fired upon, and he received a bad wound in the shoulder. although suffering severely from it, he persevered and soon reached the opposite side, where he found a horse wandering loose and without bridle or saddle. with little effort elliott succeeded in catching him, and with a bridle improvised from the bark of a hickory sapling, he rode the animal to wilkesbarre, where the wound was dressed by a surgeon. the next morning he went down the river with his wife and child in a canoe managed by a boy, and joined his friends at catawissa. both hammond and elliott lived many years afterward, and are still remembered by some of the old settlers in wyoming valley. chapter xiii. in the mean time the little party consisting of maggie and eva brainerd, aunt peggy, and the servant gravity gimp, and the eccentric new englander habakkuk mcewen, were improving to the utmost the advantage gained by reaching the eastern bank of the susquehanna. "i don't want to go away without papa," said eva, as she looked longingly across the river, where the massacre was going on, as shown in the smoke of burning buildings, the crack of the rifles, the whoop of the indians, the shouts of fugitives, and the flight of settlers, including women and children, who flocked to the river. despite the danger, maggie shared with her sister the most tender solicitude for her parent. "perhaps he is among them," said she, in a lower voice, to gravity. "there's no telling where anybody is," replied the new englander, "but i notice that the tories and injins right across from us are watching our movements pretty sharp, and it won't do for us to loaf about here many days, if we expect to get out with our lives." "what a pity that jake golcher was not shot when we had the chance!" exclaimed aunt peggy. "we're likely to get dat same chance agin," said gimp, impressively, "and de next time de one dat don't took it has got to be shot for him." "if we could do richard any good," added aunt peggy, more thoughtfully, "we ought to wait here; but can we?" mcewen, who was growing uneasy over this delay, shook his head. "if anybody can show me the way by which we can help him i'm willing to stay, but the woods are full of people fleeing, and the savages are after 'em. i've no doubt a lot are in forty fort, where they'll be safe if they've enough to keep the injins back. there's only one thing left for us to do, and that's to run." he looked inquiringly at maggie, and the brave girl, with a breaking heart, stifled her anguish and nodded her head to signify that she was ready. as courageous as the roman maiden of old, she could walk straight along the line of duty, even though it led over red-hot plow-shares. poor eva put her hands to her face, and the tears streamed through her fingers, but she, too, had something of the high courage of her sister, and when the latter placed her arm about her and drew her head over upon her shoulder, the little girl sobbed for a few minutes only, and then cheered up and bent to her task. "where do you go?" asked maggie of habakkuk. "i think there is an old trail leading through the mountains and wilderness to stroudsburg, ain't there, gimp?" "dar am," was the response, "and i've been over it twice, so dat i knows de way." "does it lead through the 'shades of death?'" "it am." "it's a long road to stroudsburg, for i came from out that way, and it'll be a powerful hard tramp, but i don't think we can do any better. these iroquois have had a taste of victory, and they'll never stop, so long as there's a chance to get any more. they'll trail us all day to-morrow, and it's my opinion we ain't goin' to get to stroudsburg in a hurry, either." "den let's be off," added gravity, who could not fail to see the necessity for such promptness. "if papa comes across the river," said eva, who threatened to yield again; "won't he cross higher up?" it struck all that there was some reason in this suggestion, which was acted upon without delay. they made their way up the western shore until some distance above monocacy island, every eye and ear on the alert. they saw plenty of fugitives, some on horseback, some wounded, all scared half out of their senses, and striving to get as far from the valley as possible. numerous neighbors and acquaintances were encountered, but naught was seen of mr. brainerd, and nothing was known of fred's presence on the other shore. he had left the continental army directly after mcewen, who was unaware, therefore, of his coming. it would not do to tarry any longer. the afternoon was drawing to a close, and the whoops and rifle-shots that every now and then were heard on the eastern shore proved that the little party in whom we are interested were only rendering their situation more perilous by every minute's delay. accordingly an abrupt turn was made to the right, and they plunged into the woods, pushing for the mountains some distance back of the river, and aiming to strike the stroudsburg trail, after reaching the other side of the range, which is about a thousand feet in height. as gravity gimp was better acquainted than any one with the wilderness, he took the lead, the ladies coming next, while habakkuk mcewen brought up the rear--leader and rear guard each, as well as maggie, carrying a loaded rifle, and on the alert. "gravity," said eva, when they had gone but a short distance, "i thought you were lame a while ago?" "wal, what ob it?" "you don't show a bit of lameness now." to the surprise of his friends, the african laughed heartily. "dat war a joke ob mine; i warn't hurt at all, but war jes pretendin'." "why did you do that?" "to fool the injuns: i war thinkin' dat if dey seed i war lame, dey would think i couldn't run, and would lebe me to scoop up arter a while, and den i'd get de start on' em. shouldn't wonder if i done it, too." there was no discussion of this original strategy, which possibly did prove of some benefit to the sable fugitive. the company pressed on until they reached a point perhaps an eighth of a mile from the river, when, as by common consent, a halt was made. no path was followed, but they had scrambled along as best they could, and now paused, where, for the time at least, they were alone. the sun had gone down, and the question was whether they should pause where they were for the night, or whether they should try to get through the mountainous ridge before daylight came again. the question would not have arisen but for the anxiety concerning the missing mr. brainerd. the ladies, including eva, seated themselves on the ground, while gravity gimp and habakkuk mcewen perched themselves on a high, broad boulder, where they could detect the approach of danger. "dar's one thing dat troubles me wery muchly," said the african, with a worried expression. "what's that?" asked habakkuk. "it'll take us two or free days to reach stroudsburg, no matter how fast we trabbel, and whar's we gwine to got de prowisions on de road?" this was a serious matter indeed, and it was one which caused many a death and much suffering among the hapless multitude that pressed through the "shades of death," in the direction of the settlements on the upper delaware. "i've got some bread and meat," said the new englander, "which i brought from a settler's cabin thirty miles away, but i ate a big lot on the road and there ain't much left, but what there is goes to the ladies, of course." "dat's a wery good arrangement," said gimp, "but i don't see dat it am gwine to do dis gemman much good." "you'll have to do the same as i--_sh!_" a crackling of the undergrowth startled every one, and gravity and habakkuk instantly slid off their rocky seats and crouched down, with their cocked guns in their hands. "scrooch low!" whispered the new englander; "it must be injins, and that's worse than having nothin' to eat." the five did their best to screen themselves from observation, for, as has been said, the most dreaded calamity that could befall them would be their discovery by a party of their enemies, numbers of whom, it was known, had crossed the river and were scouring the woods for more victims of their cruelty. chapter xiv. one of the most striking features of the massacre in wyoming valley, in july, , was the number of extraordinary individual escapes on the part of the fleeing patriots and panic-stricken settlers. there is no episode in american history marked by so many singular, and, indeed, almost inexplainable incidents, in this respect, as was that disaster which swept over one of the fairest spots that sun ever shone upon. in the battle there were, on the patriot side, about two hundred and thirty enrolled men, and seventy old people, boys, civil magistrates, and other volunteers, embracing six companies, which were mustered at forty fort, where the families from the east side of the susquehanna had taken refuge. a young man, slight of frame and weak of body, was chased by several indians, one of whom was almost close enough to throw his tomahawk. the fugitive, despite his fleetness, was losing ground, when zebulon butler, one of the last to leave the field, galloped by him on horseback. the fugitive caught the tail of the animal, and thus helped, made good progress. but the warriors, knowing he could not keep his hold long, continued the chase. sure enough, the poor fellow speedily lost his hold, and was about to give up, when he caught sight of a drunken soldier, lying in the wheat-fields. as colonel butler went by, he shouted to the stupid fellow to fire at the indians. he roused up, rubbed his eyes, and pointing his wabbling musket in the direction where he supposed his pursuers to be, let fly. the leading warrior dropped dead, and his companions, supposing there was an ambush in front, turned and ran for life, while the exhausted fugitive pitched forward on the ground and was saved. unfortunately, however, this soldier was not the only intoxicated patriot at wyoming on that day. a wealthy settler, finding a party of indians at his heels, did his utmost to throw them off his trail, but failed, and was in despair. while still struggling forward he came upon the trunk of a large hollow tree, into which he crept. knowing the red men would soon be along, he remained quiet for several hours, scarcely daring to move a limb. by and by he heard footsteps, and to his consternation, several warriors actually sat down on the log itself. the murmur of their voices, as they talked together, was audible, and he saw no way by which he could escape discovery. the opening in the log through which he had crawled was in plain sight of the indians, who stooped down and peered in. the fugitive saw the painted faces, as they strained their eyes to pierce the gloom, and he was certain they would detect him as soon as they became used to the darkness. but shortly after he crawled into the refuge a spider spun his web across the opening, and the quick eye of the warriors noted it. with good reason they accepted it as a proof that no one had taken refuge there, and they accordingly left. the fugitives, whose history we have set out to give, crouched behind the rocks in the woods, and tremblingly listened to the approaching footsteps, that all believed were those of indians. the gathering twilight was already strong enough in the wilderness to hide them from the observation of any who might stray to that section, and a fight was almost certain to be the result of detection. it was noticeable that habakkuk mcewen took more precaution against discovery than the african, or even the ladies. he lay flat on his face, where no one could see him unless he passed directly by the spot. he kept whispering to the others to be quiet, and to "scrooch" lower, for the indians are proverbial for their keen sightedness. the curiosity of the ladies got the better of their prudence, and each one peered cautiously from behind the sheltering rock. aunt peggy besought maggie and eva to keep out of sight, but all the time she was thrusting her own head forward and drawing it back again in a way that was more likely to attract attention to herself than if she remained stationary. "if you girls ain't more careful, some of the scand'lous villains--" at that instant eva brainerd sprang to her feet with a faint scream, and, to the horror of her friends, leaped nimbly upon the rock, then down to the ground, and ran like a fawn in the direction whence came the disturbance, and where the outlines of a dark figure were dimly observed. "oh, it's papa! my own papa!" exclaimed the joyful girl, who was caught in the arms of her no less delighted parent, and pressed to his breast. "heaven be thanked!" exclaimed mr. brainerd, kissing and embracing the fond child again and again, and then, holding her hand in his, he fairly ran toward the bewildered fugitives, who had sprung to their feet as they recognized him. then the laughing, happy maggie's white arms were thrown around her father's neck, and both cried for joy. mr. brainerd was in a sorry plight. his coat, vest, and hat were gone, and his draggling garments were dripping with river water, but it was his own genial self who stood before them. and when he released his daughter, he shook the hand of aunt peggy warmly, as he did that of habakkuk mcewen, who was an old acquaintance, and at whose indian-like disguise he laughed. all were talking, smiling, and congratulating each other for the next few minutes, and nothing was thought of the peril incurred in giving way to their feelings at such a time, and in such a place. but there was one still missing--the loved brother, who had gone so valiantly in search of his parent. when the latter had told his story, maggie asked: "papa, where can fred be?" "i hope he is safe; but we cannot be sure of it for some time yet. he is a brave, noble boy. i will never cease to be grateful, if he is spared to join us." the father, hiding his own misgivings as best he could, only said that he and his son (as he always regarded his step-son), were compelled to separate a short time before, on the other side of the river, and since a man of his age was able to rejoin his friends, there surely must be reason to believe that one so young and active as fred would soon show himself. so all resolved to hope, though their fears made the hope more painful than cheering. "it won't do to stay here," said mr. brainerd, when told that they thought of camping where they were till morning. "is the danger imminent?" asked mcewen. "the tories and indians are continually crossing the river, and there must be at least a hundred on this side; their whole purpose is massacre. i do not think it possible for us to escape discovery if we wait another hour." "then let's be off!" said habakkuk, throwing his rifle over his shoulder, and starting in the direction of the mountains. "hold on!" interposed gimp; "ise de guide ob dis procession, and if you takes my place you'll be lost sartin sure." "all right, go ahead!" assented the other; "only don't be so slow about it." "many of the poor people," explained mr. brainerd, as the party made ready to start, "are following the trails through the woods and mountains, and they are suffering frightfully--hark!" as he spoke, the sharp crack of two guns was heard, so close at hand that all started and looked behind them. nothing however was seen, and the elder added, as they resumed their flight, "others of our friends have done like us and left the trails, but without avoiding danger, though they may lessen it." "but we can't tramp all the way through the woods in this fashion," protested aunt peggy, as she caught her foot in a root and narrowly saved herself from falling forward on her hands. "no; after getting to the other side of the mountains we will work off to the right and strike the regular stroudsburg trail, and keep to it until beyond the reach of the tories and indians." "that's the doctrine i subscribe to," assented habakkuk; "mr. brainerd, you will take charge of the extra gun, which allows one to each man; that's three, and we ought to be able to give a good account of ourselves, though i do hope we shall get through without any more trouble." as before, the african acted the part of guide. he had tramped through these woods so many times that it may be said he was familiar with every acre. in the preceding winter he and mr. brainerd had hunted deer, and both remembered a romantic spot where there was a natural cavern, not very deep, which they availed themselves of for shelter when overtaken by a driving snow-storm. as mr. brainerd recalled the place he directed gimp to conduct them thither, it being his purpose to stay there until night should fully settle upon the wilderness. his reason for what might seem a singular step was that the sounds of firing, and the occasional whoops of indians near at hand, convinced him that, if they attempted to go much farther while it was so light, they would be sure to come in collision with some of these savage bands, in which event it would be hardly possible to escape the loss of several, if not all the party. "we will take advantage of the natural fort," said he, "until it is dark, and then gravity knows the woods so well, he can lead us through the mountains to the other side, where we need not hesitate to take the main trail to stroudsburg." chapter xv. "eva, take the hand of your aunt," said mr. brainerd, who saw that his other daughter was desirous of saying something to him; "and let maggie and me walk together for a few minutes." the child would have preferred to stay by the side of her beloved parent, but she did as requested, and her elder sister slipped back, and, as the ground permitted, ran her own arm beneath her father's, and the two walked together. "well, maggie, what is it?" he asked, tenderly. the brave girl repressed her distress as best she could, but he detected the tremor in the voice which asked the question: "father, have you told us _all_ about fred?" "i saw him a while ago." "do you know whether he is alive or--or--dead?" "be courageous, my child; i cannot answer that question, but i have hope that we shall see him again. he hurried home from the army to help us, but arrived too late. reaching monocacy island, he became so anxious to find out what had become of me, that he returned to the battle-ground at great risk to himself. we met, providentially, and found that neither was hurt--a remarkable piece of good-fortune indeed." "but how did you become separated?" "we started up the river bank in the direction of fort wintermoot, believing we would stand a better chance of getting across without molestation, for he had learned from a fugitive that you had gotten over. fred made me promise, while on the way, that if we became separated i should make no effort to rejoin him--that is, to help him, for he must have felt that i could do him no good. i gave the promise, and then demanded that he should make me a similar pledge-but he actually refused." "just like my noble brother!" exclaimed maggie, with a glowing countenance; "well?" "scarcely five minutes later we approached a dense portion of the forest, in which we feared were some of the indians. fred had assumed the leadership before this, and he told me to stay where i was until he could go forward and learn whether it would do to pick our way through that part of the wood, or whether it was necessary to go around." "well? well?" asked maggie, seeing that her father hesitated. "my boy went forward to reconnoiter--and he didn't come back." "o, father!" wailed maggie, "what became of him?" "you can guess as well as i: there were indians in there, as i learned immediately after, and one of several things may have happened to him. he may have found himself involved in such a network of danger that he was forced to lie still, not daring to withdraw until night; he may have been compelled to go out by another route, or he----" "may have been captured and killed." maggie's eyes were fixed yearningly upon the face of her parent, as she finished his remark in a tremulous whisper. "it may have been so," he added, gravely, "but we cannot be certain. fred is very active, cool, self-possessed, and daring, and i shall not give up hope so long as this uncertainty exists." maggie brainerd attempted to speak, but failed. the human heart at such a time reaches the limit of endurance, and she drew her shawl closer about her, though the afternoon was warm, and the exertion of traveling was great. she had no covering on her head, but, like eva, her wealth of luxuriant tresses, as fine as the golden floss on the ripening corn, flowed down and over her shapely shoulders. "we are in the hands of god," said her father, reverently, as he drew his elbow closer to his side, so as to press the hand of his daughter with it; "i waited as long as i dared, and had i not made the pledge i would have gone forward to fred's assistance." "it was well you did not, for we would have two instead of one to mourn for." "but where is your courage, child?" he asked, reproachfully; "is this the girl who stood up in the flat-boat and used the pole when the bullets were flying about her? is this she who coolly raised her rifle and fired at those who were seeking her life?" "i ought to be thankful, and i _am_ thankful, for god has been tenfold more merciful to me than he has to scores of others. our family as yet is unbroken, and, though the way is long and dark before us, we have cause to hope we shall all be saved." "and there is equal cause to hope for the final escape of fred," her father was quick to add. "i will not murmur anymore," said maggie, helping him over a boulder that obstructed their path; "we have enough on hand, without looking behind us. it may be that fred is one of the fortunate few who shall survive to tell the dreadful story, but i feel as though we shall never see him again." "tut, tut, your feelings have nothing to do with it; when he rejoins us, and learns what a timid creature you were, or rather how strongly you doubted his ability to take care of himself--you will blush to look him in the face." "i pray that i may have the opportunity--" "hello!" broke in her parent, stopping suddenly, as did all the rest; "there's something wrong." and so there was, sure enough. chapter xvi. while the fugitives were pushing their way through the wilderness, and especially after they had entered the more romantic and mountainous section, they had become somewhat separated from each other. gravity gimp, the colored guide, was fully a hundred feet in advance--a piece of imprudence that should never have been permitted, while eva came next, aunt peggy directly behind her, and maggie and her father were less than a rod distant from her. habakkuk mcewen had disappeared! that which caught the attention of father and daughter while they were conversing so earnestly, was a serpent-like "sh!" from the african, who, stopping instantly, turned part way round, and raised his hand in such a warning manner that the four paused, knowing he had made some alarming discovery. gravity remained stationary but a second or two, when, in a stooping posture, he began moving back toward his friends. at this juncture, and before the little party had fully noticed the absence of mcewen, he was seen approaching from the left, with such a terrified look on his painted face that his shock hair seemed to be standing on end. he advanced much faster than the stealthy african, and he had hardly reached his friends when he exclaimed, in a husky whisper: "_we're gone! it's all up!_" "what do you mean?" demanded brainerd. "i saw four thousand injins just now." "where?" "right out there; i believe colonel butler and his villain of a son walter, and brandt, the mohawk chief, and queen esther are at their head." this wild assertion served to lift part of the load from the listeners, but they knew the fellow must have some grounds for his terror. before he could explain, gravity gimp had a word to say. "dere am injuns all about us; de wood am full ob 'em." "tell us the truth, that we may know what to do," commanded mr. brainerd, sternly, while the affrighted females gathered around. "i war pushing along," said the servant, "when i heerd something like de call ob birds in de woods, and i begin to smell a mouse, and i walked slower like, thinking you folks war right onto my heels. all at once i seed two injuns stealing along--" "did they see you?" "no, 'cause dere backs was turned toward me, but i knowed dey war looking fur us, so i wheeled on my heel, and remarked, '_sh!_' jist to stop you from running ober me; as i done so, de injuns wanished in de wood, but you can make up your mind dey'll be back agin mighty soon." "and what was it that _you_ saw, habakkuk?" "i guess it must have been the same savages," replied mcewen, who had begun to regain something of his self-possession. "didn't you see any more?" "no. but when you find two red men, you can feel sartin thar's a big lot more at hand; they're the same as rattlesnakes, in that respect." "it's not so bad as i thought, but the case is bad enough. gravity, how far off is that place in the rocks we're hunting for?" "reckon it can't be fur away now." "we must make all haste to it, then. the indians seem to be, so far as we know, on our right, and you must bear off to the left, so as to avoid them, if we can." "hold on," interrupted mcewen. "gimp seen two injins, didn't he?" "dat's de fac'," replied the negro. "i seen the same number, but in addition, i had a fair glimpse of a white man, too." "did you recognize him?" "i did. he was jake golcher, the tory." "oh, the scand'lous villain!" exclaimed aunt peggy. "i'll get my hands on him yet, and the next time, i'll shake the life out of him." mr. brainerd had heard the story of this man's doings, a comparatively short time before, and he needed no other proof that he had brought a horde across the susquehanna for the purpose of wreaking vengeance upon his family. he knew that the tory, who was more guilty than the fiercest of the iroquois, was a discarded suitor of his daughter, and he was to be dreaded all the more on that account. "quick," said mr. brainerd, addressing his servant; "we haven't a second to spare; bear off to the left, as i told you, and don't let the grass grow under your feet." it need not be said that no one of them lagged. the very peril from which they were fleeing was almost upon them. chapter xvii. there was no attempt to use caution or care in hurrying forward. somehow or other jake golcher had gotten on the track of the little party, and, with a number of seneca warriors, almost as keen of eye and scent as bloodhounds, was following them. fortunately, the distance to the cave was not great, and the fugitives were walking fast, and in the right direction. the heavy figure of gravity gimp kept its place at the front, and with a coolness scarcely to be expected, he looked to the right and left as he advanced, with the sole purpose of preventing any precious moments being lost by going astray. all heard the bird-calls, whistling, and faint whoops uttered with very little intermission, from different portions of the wood, so that it was certain the tories and indians knew of the flight, and were in sharp pursuit. the african, as we have said, maintained his place well in advance, though at times it looked as if habakkuk would take the lead. but both scrambled along, sometimes half falling over the stones which turned beneath their tread, or the briers and vines that almost threw them on their faces. gravity could not afford time to look to his feet, to see where he placed the rather unwilling members, for it required all his training, as a hunter, to keep his reckoning and to make sure he was taking the most direct route to the sheltering cave, upon which all hopes were now fixed. although mcewen had come a long distance to help repel the invasion of the wyoming valley, he was accustomed to fight where there was plenty of support, and he knew enough of aboriginal ferocity to dread the collision that now impended. had he known, therefore, the right course to follow, he would have been in advance of the others; but as it was, he fretted because he was forced to keep on the flank of the negro, whom he was continually urging to greater speed. "as sure as a gun," he said, "those fleet-footed redskins will gobble us up in five minutes, if you don't get up more speed than that, gravity." "i can't conwerse while i'm tumbling over rocks and splitting 'em to pieces wid my head," was the reply. "don't bodder me, but look out for injuns, and if you see one, just run up to him and lamm him." "lamm him!" muttered habakkuk, more to himself than his companion. "that shows the intelligence of his race. he's so dumb at times that he crosses the line, and does smart things." aunt peggy was not far in the rear of the two, for she was much lighter of foot than they. she got along very well, but she held her lips compressed, and her small eyes flashed, when she reflected that the whole party were fleeing from the wrath of a man who had lived in the valley before the war, who had sat at mr. brainerd's table many a time, and had presumed, even, to pay court to pretty maggie. it was an exasperating thought, indeed, that all this persecution was for no cause at all, excepting the depravity of the tories, who, being renegades, were more revengeful than they would have been against a foreign enemy. mr. brainerd compelled his two daughters to continue in advance of him, though only for a short distance. he expected the appearance of the pursuers, and he could not leave the fugitives unguarded in that fashion. he felt that it was the place of habakkuk mcewen to keep him company, and he called to him in a guarded voice. but the fleeing new englander either did not, or would not, hear him. it was impossible for such a flight and pursuit as this to last for any length of time. the advantage was all on the side of the fleet-footed indians, who were so familiar with the woods that they were sure to come up with the patriots in a brief while. the fugitives were hurrying forward, as we have described, when they were startled by the whoop of an indian directly behind them, and so close that every one glanced over his shoulder. as they did so they saw the figure of a seneca warrior in full view and on a rapid run. it was seen, too, that he grasped a gun in one hand and his tomahawk in the other. there could be little doubt that he meant to use one of them on the old gentleman at the rear, who could not hold his own against such a swift pursuer. "s'render! s'render! s'render!" called the savage, as he gained rapidly, uttering the command in such good english that no one could misunderstand him. "s'render! s'render!--me shoot--" mr. brainerd halted, turned quickly, raising his rifle while in the very act of doing so, and when the affrighted but bewildered indian ran almost against the muzzle of his gun, the trigger was pressed. the red man, with an ear-splitting shriek, bounded in the air and stopped pursuing the patriots, while mr. brainerd, as he hurriedly resumed his flight, was so overcome with excitement as to mutter: "now you can shoot and be--!" "the accusing spirit flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, and as she wrote it down, dropped a tear on the word, and blotted it out forever." chapter xviii. the crack of richard brainerd's rifle and the death-shriek of the seneca indian were almost simultaneous, but the redskin was only a slight way in advance of the other savages, who, understanding the meaning of the report and outcry, dashed forward. the startling episode caused some bewilderment on the part of the other fugitives, seeing which, the eldest called out to them impatiently: "push on, there! push on! the indians are right on us." providentially, the advance were so close to the refuge that gravity gimp caught sight of the spot, and without looking around, he swung his hand over his head and exclaimed: "here we am! here we am!" "and that's the trouble," growled habakkuk mcewen, crowding hard after him, "if we were only somewhere else, we'd feel a good deal better--leastways i would." another whoop was heard, then others at the rear, and those who glanced back caught sight of several warriors flitting among the trees and within the toss of a stone of them. brainerd would have fired again had it been in his power, but his gun was unloaded and it was impossible to ram a charge home, and pour the powder in the pan, without coming to a standstill for a minute or two, and such hesitation would be death. had the place of refuge toward which they were hastening been a dozen rods farther, not one of the fugitives would have reached it alive, but, at the critical moment, gimp, the african, told the joyous news that it was at hand, and a general scramble followed. the servant paused at the head of the elevated path, and turning around, beckoned excitedly for the others to hurry, when they were already doing their utmost, while he danced about and waited the few seconds necessary for them to reach him. while he was doing so, habakkuk mcewen suddenly vanished from sight, evidently concluding that the "time for disappearing" had come. he had caught sight of the refuge, and with one bound he went down the declivity and was first to enter. he took a sweeping glance of the interior, and was disappointed, for it was not what he expected, but it was far better than the open wilderness. he dashed for the narrow path on the outside, to take his part in yelling for the others to hurry up, or rather down. "be quick! quick!" it was aunt peggy who came panting into the opening with a rush, and, colliding with mcewen, sent him tumbling backwards. by the time the bewildered new englander was on his feet again, maggie brainerd, eva, her father, and gravity gimp came crowding into the narrow place, all nearly out of breath. there was a general looking around in the semi-gloom, and habakkuk's disappointment was shared by those who had not seen the place before. it was of little account, and, although it might be made to answer as a temporary refuge, it could hardly be expected to furnish secure defense for an extended time. descending a narrow path for twenty feet, and all the time along the face of the ravine, as it may be called, they reached a spot which looked as if it had been scooped out of the solid stone wall. it ran back a dozen feet or more, and was about the same breadth and height, but the difficulty was that the opening was fully as great, so that, viewed from the front, the person or animal who might seek shelter there was in plain sight. the spot was one of the many romantic ones that abound in the mountains fringing the wyoming valley. the rapidly sloping path that the fugitives followed terminated in front of the cave, which, therefore, could only be approached from the single direction. beyond, the path narrowed off to nothing, leaving a perpendicular wall of stone for twenty feet below, and almost as much overhead. the ravine on which this bordered was fifty feet across, but directly opposite was the weak point of the defense. a mass of rocks rose fully as high, if not a few feet higher, than the cavern in which the fugitives had taken refuge; consequently, if an enemy could gain a position behind these boulders, he could fire down into the opening, where our friends had no means of protecting themselves from the shots. but it was no easy matter to reach this monument-like pile, though it could be done at much risk to the one attempting it. the configuration was so peculiar that one man at a time could creep along behind the other stones, until a point was almost reached which commanded the retreat, though the inmates, by pressing close against one side of the cavern, could escape the fire of an enemy. on the other side there was no means of approach to such a position. if a foe would climb up the rocks, and steal forward to a certain point, an active indian could make a leap that would carry him to the cover of the pile, where he could aim and shoot into the cavern without risk to himself, provided he used ordinary caution. furthermore, it was unlikely that the indians, skilled as they were in woodcraft, would fail to see this vulnerable point and their own coigne of vantage. in truth they detected it almost on the same instant the fugitives hurried into the cavern. chapter xix. fortunately both gravity gimp and mr. brainerd knew the peculiar construction of their refuge, and instant precautions were taken. "keep back as far as you can," said the elder, "and stay close to the wall on the right." his order was obeyed, habakkuk mcewen and the african both moving in that direction. "you come too, papa," insisted eva, catching hold of the arm of her father, who smilingly took a step or two. "yes," added maggie, "if we all place ourselves beyond reach, why should not _you_ do the same?" he explained the situation. "if the indians get to that mass of rocks opposite, they can shelter themselves and shoot into the cavern until there is not one of us left." "but is it necessary for you to stay out there, and draw their fire to keep them away from us?" "not exactly, but we must see that they do not creep to the spot; before doing so, they must pass under our aim, and it will require no great marksmanship to prevent them." thereupon, directing gravity and habakkuk to keep strict watch upon the place, with their rifles cocked, mr. brainerd deliberately reloaded his gun, and shifting his position so as to screen himself from the bullets that were certain to be sent into the place, he sat like a cat watching for a rat to come out of its hole. the fugitives talked in low tones, for there was something in the uncertainty that was impressive. now that they were removed from imminent danger, they could breathe with some satisfaction, though sobered by their peril. "it's all that jake golcher's doings," said aunt peggy, who was at the extreme rear of the cavern, with one arm around the neck of eva and the other inclosing that of maggie. "i shouldn't wonder if you are right," replied maggie; "he must be a wicked man indeed." "umph!" exclaimed the maiden, with a sniff, "there ain't a more scand'lous villain that ever drawed the breath of life, and i know what i'm saying, and jus' to think, you had a chance and didn't shoot him." "but, aunty--" "shet up, don't interrupt me," broke in the relative, with a vigorous shake of the arm inclosing the neck of maggie. "how many times have i told you not to interrupt me when i am talking? don't you know what's good manners?" "but, aunty," said maggie, softly, "i don't see how i can talk at _any_ time without interrupting you." eva giggled, but fortunately aunt peggy did not catch the full meaning of the demure remark, and she said, rather sharply: "it's easy enough to tell when i'm talking by just listening, and when i'm talking you must keep still; but i want you to remember that that piece of burglary on your part has got to be settled." "what do you mean, aunty?" "i told you you deserved your ears cuffed, and when we get to a place where i can do it with some comfort to myself, i am going to cuff them, _that_ you can depend on." there could be no question about the earnestness of these words, and maggie, like an obedient child, said nothing, glad to await the time when her aunt should punish her for sparing the wretch who was now trying to hound them to their death. "i don't know but that i deserve it," said the niece to herself, and we may as well confess that we are inclined to agree with the views of the aunt. "oh, that jake golcher," she added, with a shiver, "i'd like to get a chance at him!" and just then she would have made it uncomfortable for the tory, had he been within reach. the truth was, golcher was one of the worst of the invaders of wyoming valley. like many others, he joined a horde of indians in attacking his former neighbors. as we have intimated, he had sat at the same table with the brainerds--he had been given money by mr. brainerd himself, for he was a shiftless scamp, hating work like a veritable tramp, and he had never received an unkind word from the charitable head of the household, who sheltered him many a time when no one else would give him room. with the egotism of his nature, he had ventured to pay court to young maggie brainerd, who could scarcely credit his effrontery until he made a direct proposal of marriage. even then, the high-spirited girl was so touched with compassion for the man, that she refused him with all the kindness of her nature--showing a feeling, indeed, that would have won the respect of any person claiming to be a man. but he stumped off muttering vengeance, and here he was, less then a year later, with a company of red men, seeking the lives of his former friends. among those who figured in the war of the revolution, there were none so utterly inexcusable as the tories, who, like all renegades, were more bitter in the warfare they made upon the american colonies, than were what might be termed our natural enemies. but for the jake golcher named, it may be doubted whether the little band of fugitives would have suffered serious disturbance after fording and swimming the susquehanna. there was enough on the western bank to keep the foe occupied all that night and the succeeding day, without crossing to the wilderness to hunt for victims. chapter xx. the days are long during the season of the year of which we are writing, it being scarcely dark at the hour of eight o'clock. although at the time the little band of fugitives entered the cavern the sun was low in the west, and something like twilight pervaded the romantic scene, yet a full hour of light remained before night would settle on the forest and river. the evening that was approaching was partly moonlight, and the sky was without any vapor, excepting a few clouds in the east, so that it would not be entirely dark, but in the woods the gloom promised to be all that could be desired. no doubt the indians had been quick to detect the vulnerable point, and before long some of them would try to steal up behind the pile of rocks which gave command of the fugitives. for that reason mr. brainerd stood with cocked rifle, and with his eye on the point where such approach must be made, while habakkuk and gimp were watching with scarcely less intentness, knowing as they did that the attainment of the station by a single seneca would render the position of the fugitives "untenable," as the expression goes; that is to say, that same single warrior would be able to load and fire his rifle in absolute safety to himself, while he picked off every man and woman in the hollowed-out portion of the rocks. mr. brainerd impressed this fact on the other two men, and, at his suggestion, they helped guard the point. "it won't do for all of us to fire simultaneously," he said, "for then nothing could prevent the indians charging across, and before we knew it, the whole place would be swarming with them." "how will we know which is to fire?" asked habakkuk. "i'll take the first, gravity the second, and you the third; they are not likely to make a rush, though, if they did, they would be certain to succeed after losing one or two of their number." "won't they take that view any way?" asked the new englander, who felt anything but easy in mind. "i don't apprehend there will be a combined attempt until after dark. all indians are cowards, and the certainty that the first one or two in such a rush are sure to be picked off is likely to keep the whole party back, and compel them to try some other plan." "what will that be?" "i think they will steal up as near as it is safe, and then, after reconnoitering for a time, attempt to get over to the rocks without detection. the worst of the whole business is," added mr. brainerd, with an anxious sigh, "that a single marksman over there will do as much injury as a dozen, though he may be longer about it." "suppose he does get there?" "but he _mustn't_," was the quiet answer. "but suppose he _does_, what then?" mr. brainerd was silent for a moment. "then i shall have to send habakkuk in one direction and gravity in another, to dislodge the indian before he can shoot." "my gracious!" muttered mcewen, "that would be sure death to all concerned." "the chances _would_ be against you--that's a fact, but that would be preferable to huddling in this place and allowing the redskins to pick us off, one after another, without being able to raise a finger in defense." "the state of affairs isn't calculated to raise hilarious laughter on our part," was the doleful remark of habakkuk mcewen. "therefore, you see how important it is that we should prevent the indians getting such advantage over us." there could be no questioning this fact, and the other two renewed their watch, like men who knew the need of vigilance. "i say," remarked the african, as though a new idea had flashed upon him, "why don't the warmints wait till it is dark before dey take a pop at us?" "very likely they will--but it won't do to discount any such probability." "dat's de opinion ob de undersigned," said gimp, with a sigh, only dimly suspecting the meaning of the words. "it's _my_ opinion," said habakkuk, a minute later, "that they won't wait till dark unless they find they've got to do so." "explain." "they will venture on something like a rackynoissance, just as gineral washington does before a battle--and if it looks as though there was a show to do something, they'll try it. if they find there isn't, they'll wait till dark." "you are quite right." the new englander scratched his head in perplexity. "well, i don't see where we are going to make anything by such a course, for when night comes they will have us foul, in spite of all we can do." "we will be at a great disadvantage, but not hopelessly so." "i don't see why we won't, for what will they want better than darkness to help them over?" "there will be some light to-night, and it requires very little to show every portion of the upper part of the rocks--enough light, indeed, to demand only a little closer attention on our part. that pile of rocks there is something like the 'umbrella tree,' over on the top of the western mountains: it stands out in such relief, that we cannot fail to detect any movement near it." "can't they climb up in the rear of them, so as to avoid showing themselves to us?" "it is impossible," replied mr. brainerd, who had investigated the matter only a brief while before, "that is, the thing is out of the question for the present. if we were to be besieged for several days, they would then find the means, if they had to send across the river to get it." "and what's to hinder them keeping us here for a week?" mr. brainerd shook his head, though it was hard for him to tell precisely why he was so positive on that point. "i don't see why they can't do it," added the new englander; "and then what would we do for water?" "and for somefin to eat," interjected gravity, with a shudder, for he was already very hungry: "i say, haberkick, we orter to have all we kin to forterfy us agin such a thing, and, derfore, it's my belief dat we orter swaller dat bread without delay." "and it's my belief that you won't do any such thing," said mr. brainerd, who knew the value of even such a small quantity of nourishment, in view of the long march they expected to make through the wilderness to stroudsburg. "any way you can fix it," pursued mcewen, "it's sartin we're going to have a mighty hot time--" at that very moment, before his words were finished, the whip-like crack of an indian rifle was heard, and all three who were looking out over the ravine caught the red flash of a gun from the extreme left of the opposite side--the point from which the fugitives could protect themselves, though it was the most dangerous spot, with the exception of the pile of rocks directly opposite. "i'm hit and done for!" exclaimed habakkuk mcewen, as he gave a convulsive start and threw himself backward. naturally enough all were terrified, and aunt peggy uttered a scream as maggie sprang forward to the assistance of the wounded man. mr. brainerd was shocked, but he did not lose his presence of mind, and, cautioning them to stay as far back as they could, to escape drawing another shot, he remained at his post, bending low and keeping close to the wall, while he watched the point across the ravine with catlike closeness. "are you badly hurt?" asked maggie, with the natural tenderness of her nature. "oh, i'm done for, dear maggie; i hoped i should be able to live for _your_ sake--but it seems not." this was rather startling, but, under the alarming circumstances, much was to be overlooked. "i hope you are not so seriously hurt as all that," ventured aunt peggy, whose sympathy for the man led her to disregard her own safety, for she placed herself close to him, and necessarily in the same spot where he stood when he fell. "oh, go away," persisted habakkuk, "i don't want anybody near me but maggie; take my hand, dear, and let me--" "see h'ar, dat's enough ob dat," broke in gravity. "you ain't hurt any more dan i am; dere's de bullet, and it nebber touched ye." as he spoke, he picked up a piece of lead, jagged and flattened, which had struck the rocky wall directly over the shoulder of habakkuk, without so much as scratching his skin. the new englander stared at the battered lead held over his face by the grinning african; then he clapped his hand to his breast, where he supposed he was hurt, came suddenly to a sitting position, scrambled to his feet, and picking up his gun, exclaimed: "i should like to see the chap that fired that shot, for it's just as bad to scare a fellow to death as to shoot him." despite the gravity of the situation, a general smile went round the little party, and even mr. brainerd himself, who was closely watching for the appearance of the warrior, preparatory to his leap over the narrow chasm, turned his head with a light laugh and said: "there's enough likelihood of being struck without making any mistake about it." gravity gimp sat down on the flinty floor, and leaning back, opened his mouth tremendously, and laughed till he shook all over. habakkuk glowered on him and said: "if you'll only keep that mouth open in that style, it will catch all the bullets that can be fired into the cavern." at that, gravity spread his great jaws farther apart, until there seemed danger of their absorbing his ears. "yah, yah, dat's de fust time i ever knowed a man killed by a bullet dat nebber touched him." maggie brainerd bit her lips, while aunt peggy gave her usual sniff and said: "it's the easiest thing in the world for some folks to make fools of themselves without knowing it." mcewen sought to divert the ridicule of his friends by his assiduous attention to matters outside. stationing himself close to mr. brainerd, who was lying on his face with his rifle cocked and extended in front, he also raised the hammer of his gun and whispered: "sh! i thought i saw an injin's top-knot then!" "look out he doesn't shoot you wid it," laughed gimp. "dere's no tellin' what dey'll fire wid, and--" "that's enough of that," interposed mr. brainerd, sternly. "this is no time for mirth. there _are_ indians out there, and i saw the head of one but a second ago." "what did i tell you?" demanded habakkuk. "you won't feel like laughing a few minutes from now." at this moment perfect silence fell on all, for they saw that mr. brainerd had discovered something unusual and alarming. more than that, he was taking deliberate aim at some object, only pausing long enough to make sure that when he fired the ball should not miss. chapter xxi. the finger of mr. brainerd was pressing the trigger, and the hammer with its cumbrous flint was on the very eve of descending, when he suddenly released the pressure, and gave utterance to a peculiar half-chuckle. those who were gazing along the line of direction indicated by the gleaming rifle-barrel, saw at the point where the seneca was expected to appear, something which looked very much like the forerunner of that interesting person. it was the top-knot and crown of an indian, with several gaudy feathers projecting slightly beyond the wall of rock, the appearance suggesting that he was gathering himself for a spring. this was the belief of the patriot, and, confident that at such a short distance he could not miss, he was about to fire, when there came a flash of suspicion that a sharp, but by no means original, trick was being tried on him. the action was not precisely that of a real indian while trying to peer around a dangerous point, and most probably was intended to draw the fire of the sentinel. as soon as the bullet should leave the ready rifle, the waiting warrior would either leap or run the few intervening feet, and reach the vantage-ground before the other two rifles in the company could be aimed and fired. "why don't you shoot?" whispered habakkuk, "you've got him dead sure." "_that isn't an indian_," was the response, "but there will be one in sight pretty soon. all of you keep well back out of the way, where there is no danger of being hit, and leave this fellow to me." the situation of the settler was trying. lying flat on his face, with his gun cocked and pointed toward a certain spot, he watched with such intensity that in the fading light his sight threatened to fail him. odd, flickering figures danced before him, and sometimes rock, wood, and sky were so jumbled together, that he had to glance in another direction, until he could recover his visual strength. the wily seneca, having failed to draw his shot, was now likely to attempt some other stratagem. furthermore, the massacre of wyoming was still going on, and this formidable body had not the patience to shut themselves out from their share in it. in one sense it was tying themselves up to remain for hours, besieging a little company of fugitives, and, therefore, they were likely to display less indifference to the passage of time than is the rule with their race. such was the conclusion of mr. brainerd, and we may as well say he was correct. all at once the figure of an indian warrior was seen against the sky, and the next instant he made a leap like a panther, his fine athletic form with his legs and arms gathered being seen for an instant apparently poised in mid-air, as he made his swift bound for the point behind the column of rocks, which, once secured, placed the life of every one of the patriots at his mercy. but, while the lithe seneca hung thus, for one moment, between heaven and earth, he emitted a screech, his limbs were thrown out convulsively, and, striking the point at which he aimed, he rebounded like a ball, and went tumbling to the bottom. mr. brainerd had fired at the very crisis, and his aim was unerring. "let me have your gun," said he, reaching for the weapon in the hand of mcewen, while he kept watch of the point where the seneca had appeared and disappeared with such suddenness. the new englander passed the rifle to the settler, saying: "it won't fail you." "please reload mine." habakkuk did as requested, and they exchanged weapons again. the supposition of mr. brainerd was, that the shot he had fired would keep the indians at bay for a considerable while, though he knew better than to trust to any such probability. the gun that had served him so well was in his grasp again, and a feeling of self-confidence came with it. much less time had passed since the disaster to the patriots on the other side the susquehanna than would be supposed; but, while the settler lay stretched out on the rock, watching for the second indian, he became aware that he was watching by the aid of moonlight and starlight alone. it was all the harder to keep close guard, but it was indispensable, and he doubted not that when he pulled trigger a second time another seneca would take a header down the ravine. some fifteen minutes passed, when mr. brainerd either saw, or fancied he saw, a precisely similar fluttering movement as preceded the leap of him who fell a victim to his marksmanship. he held his gun pointed, the hammer raised, and his finger on the trigger, ready to fire the second it should become necessary. he was not kept waiting; sooner than he anticipated, the crouching figure shot out into the air, as if propelled from a catapult, and, with the same remarkable aim, the patriot pulled the trigger at the moment the warrior was at the arch of the brief parabola. but, to his consternation, the powder flashed in the pan, and no discharge followed the dull click of the flint. chapter xxii. with the body of the seneca covered by the rifle of mr. brainerd the latter pulled the trigger, at the very moment the body was in mid-air, but the gun was undischarged. habakkuk mcewen, in his flurry, had rammed down the bullet first, and the weapon was useless until the ball was extracted. where the elder had shown such vigilance, it was singular that he had forgotten to take a very simple precaution--he should have had the african or new englander covering the same point, and arranged that one should fire with him. the intervening space was so brief there was no excuse for missing, and such a catastrophe could have been averted. but though mr. brainerd's piece failed him, the second indian emitted the same shriek, and went sprawling to the bottom, shot directly through the body. "what the mischief have you done with my gun?" demanded mr. brainerd, flinging the weapon behind him; "let me have the one in your hand; there's something wrong with mine; draw out the charge and fix it." "my gracious!" exclaimed the astounded gimp, "what does _dat_ mean?" "what does _what_ mean?" "why did dat injin turn back summersets, and whoop it up in dat style, when your gun flashed in de pan?" "_somebody_ shot him." "but who was he?" mr. brainerd made no reply, for he had none to make. some unknown friend had fired the second shot, that prevented the warrior obtaining a foothold where it would have been fatal to the whites. as to the identity of the friend, that could not be guessed. the explanation upon which all agreed was, that some other settlers--one or more--had taken shelter somewhere in the vicinity, and had fired, either as a matter of self-protection, or for the benefit of those in the cavern. precisely how it should become necessary for some one to shoot the warrior, as a means of defense, was more than could be explained. another strange fact about it was, that maggie brainerd and aunt peggy insisted that, instead of being discharged from some point beyond and on the other side of the rocks, the marksman was perched directly over the heads of those in the cavern. where there were so many boulders and trees, the short echoes might well produce confusion, but the two ladies were positive that the man was immediately above them. gravity gimp was inclined to the same opinion, and mr. brainerd was puzzled more than ever. "i not only heard the gun," said maggie, with great positiveness, "but i heard the man himself moving up there." "that is impossible, my daughter," protested her father, feeling it had now become safe, for the first time, to relax his vigilance. "not at all," she replied, "you can hear plainly through a solid substance, and i caught a sound made by that man's shoe scraping over the rocks." it was scarcely credible, and yet, knowing maggie for the clear-headed girl that she was, her father could not doubt her assertion. it was a vast relief to discover they had such an ally so close at hand, though there remained the element of doubt as to how much further his help would extend. twilight was ended at last, and the solemn night brooded over the scene. "better to be shot to the death here where we are," was the thought of mr. brainerd, "than to fall into their hands, and such shall be our fate, if it comes to a choice between the two." but for all that, the conviction was strong upon him that the only possible hope for him and his dear ones was to get them all out of that place, and well on the way through the "shades of death," before the rising of the morrow's sun. they could not leave during the daytime, when, under the full glare of the noonday sun, and with such leisure at their command, the indians would find some way of intrenching themselves behind the column of rocks, without being exposed to the fire of the sentinel or sentinels, as the case might be. besides this, it was hardly to be expected that the unknown friend would be able to hold his own position in the daytime. but how to leave the spot was the all-important question. it would not do to move up the path by the way they came, for, even with the protecting shadow, they would be seen and would walk into the web, like so many flies. as the path ended at the front of the cavern, no progress could be made in that direction, but the patriot believed that by picking his way down the rocks to the bottom of the ravine, as he was certain could be done, some new route might be opened. it was necessary, however, to make a reconnoissance before venturing forth. who was the right person to do it? beyond question, habakkuk mcewen was the man. "see here," said mr. brainerd, coming to the point at once, as was his custom, "it may as well be understood that if we remain until the sun rises there will be no hope of our ever getting away." perfect silence followed this remark, and waiting only long enough for it to produce its effect, he added: "some one must steal out of the cavern, and learn whether any path is open by which we can get away. i would not hesitate to go, but our safety depends on guarding this point, where one of them may appear. gravity is too slow, and i must therefore request you, habakkuk, to act as our scout." "well, well!" exclaimed the startled man. "it'll never do for _me_ to go down among the injins." "you needn't go down among them--but are to make sure whether there is a chance for us to steal away, under the protection of the shadow which now incloses us." "i'd like to oblige you, but it won't do--why," he added, starting up with the idea, "it always makes me dizzy to go prowling around in the moonlight. i'd be sure to fall over the rocks and break my leg, and then how would you feel?" "sorry because it wasn't your neck," retorted mr. brainerd, who concluded that the man was not such a re-enforcement after all, as he appeared from his own account to be; "your presence with us is an incumbrance, and i should be highly gratified if you would depart and never show yourself again. i will go myself." he called to gravity to take his place as sentinel, with his gun pointed out where the foe was likely to appear, but eva, maggie, and aunt peggy would not permit any such course. the father had gone to the verge of endurance during the day. he was past fifty, quite bulky in figure, and about the only qualification he possessed for the self-appointed task, was his courage. the three compelled the old gentleman to yield, and maggie, with the shrewdness natural to her sex, turned to habakkuk, who was standing at one side, and laying her pretty hand on his shoulder, said: "habakkuk, you think a good deal of me, don't you?" he held off a second or so, while she turned her winsome face up to his in the gloom. he meant to sulk and compel her to coax him, but his heart gave a big jump at the touch of that hand, and, when he was able to see very faintly that countenance so close to his own, it was more than he or any sensible person could stand. his face suddenly expanded into an all-embracing grin, and he made answer: "think a good deal of you, maggie, you dear, sweet, angelic angel. why, i worship the ground you walk on; all i came here for was to see you. i don't care a blamed cent for the others." "if you think so much of me, then, won't you take some risk for my sake, as well as that of the others?" "of course i will; it will delight me--" "then do as father requested you." "and go prowling outside among the indians and tories?" "of course." "i'll be hanged if i will!" was the response, as habakkuk stepped back; "a chap hain't got but one life, and if i should lose that, what good would i ever be to myself or any one else? you wouldn't be able to become my bride." "but it will be dangerous to stay here, and if you go out and be careful it may be the means of saving us all." "i tell you, dear maggie, i would do so if it wasn't because i know i would become dizzy; it would be sure to come on me; i feel it coming on me now--there! catch me--hold me--" he staggered toward her, throwing out his arms, and trying to measure the distance so as to fling his grasp about her, but she stepped back, and he went to the ground. "keep away from me!" she said, disdainfully; "if there is any creature in this world which i despise, it is that person who speaks a falsehood to escape duty." "you'll be sorry for this some day, dear maggie." she stamped her foot so angrily, and her father showed such a disposition to interfere, that he checked himself. "i don't see why i ain't de gemman after all dat's to do dis thing," said gravity. habakkuk mcewen slapped him on his broad shoulder. "the idee exactly! one reason why i thought best to decline--though i didn't say so--was through the fear of hurting your feelings, gravity--" "dat needn't trouble you; you kin go now, and i won't feel slighted." "you've an advantage over us all, for you're so black that wherever you go you will carry the darkness with you, and the injins will see nothing but so much shadow gliding along." "dat may all be, but s'pose dey should take a notion to fling their tomahawks into de shadder, what will become ob _dis_ person?" "if you are careful, you won't be hurt; if it wasn't for my weakness of dizziness, i would jump at the chance--" "if i hear anymore such stuff," interrupted mr. brainerd, "i'll pitch you neck and heels out of here." "then i guess you won't hear any more," was the prudent thought of habakkuk. as the african was so willing to go, it was decided to permit him to make the attempt. the head of the party based little hope on the venture of his servant, and indeed doubted whether they would ever see him again, but, for that matter, there was little choice between the situation of any one or two of them. calling gravity to him, his employer said: "you show a great deal more courage and manliness than most of your acquaintances give you credit for. i can only tell you to do your best, as you always do." "how shall i got away widout being seed?" "that's the trouble, but you know this side of the ravine is in deep shadow, and i think if you move slowly up the footpath we followed in coming here, you won't be seen." "dat's jis what i'll do, den--good-bye." and before any one suspected it, the african was gone. as the faithful fellow was running such risk, mr. brainerd crept forward, and with some danger to himself thrust his head and shoulders out, so as to watch the actions of his servant. gimp assumed a crouching posture, and began moving up the narrow, sloping path like the shadow that creeps over the face of the dial. "i wonder whether it is possible to see him," the elder one asked himself, with a pang of fear, as he looked across the brief intervening space; "it hardly seems credible that they would leave the door wide open in that manner." but speculation was useless: gimp was outside the cavern, and if really detected by the watchful red men, he was beyond help. mr. brainerd could hear the rustling of the african's body as he slowly glided along, often loosening the dirt and gravel with his hands and knees, and sending it rolling down toward the mouth of the cavern, but there came no sign from the rocks beyond, where it was believed the main body of their enemies was gathered. like a huge turtle the bulky negro climbed the steep path, until his outlines were lost in the gloom as he neared the top, and his master drew back into the cavern and wondered what it could mean. if a man could walk from the cavern in that fashion, why might not the entire party, one after the other, file out in the same manner? this was a natural question, but the settler was too wise to believe the attempt was feasible. there would be nothing extraordinary in the fugitives' going to the top of the path without molestation, but it would be absurd to suppose they could walk off into the woods undisturbed, when such a vigilant foe was in watch for them. the american indian does not prosecute his warfare in that fashion. chapter xxiii. the experience of gravity gimp, after reaching the outside of the cavern, was remarkable in more than one respect. when he found himself creeping up the narrow path, to the high ground above, and realized that he would make a capital target for one or a dozen of the seneca sharpshooters, his teeth fairly rattled, and he would have retreated, but for his affection for the members of the brainerd family. "'spect dere's two hundred ob 'em a-settin' in a row on a log up dere and waitin' for me, and when i come along dey'll each one hit me ober de head wid de butt end ob dere tomahawks, and by de time dey gots frough i'll hab de headache so bad dat i'll be as dizzy as haberkick down dere." gravity paused for a minute, and then resumed creeping forward. within the succeeding ten minutes he had reached the high level ground above, without sight or sound of an indian. no wonder he was mystified, for it occurred to him, naturally enough, that if he could pass out unchallenged in that fashion all the others might do the same, and what seemed to be a very perilous situation might thus resolve itself into nothing of the kind. he came near turning back and inviting his friends to follow him, but fortunately he changed his mind and decided to go farther, before believing that the cloud had lifted. "dere don't seem to be anybody loafing 'bout here," he muttered, "and i'll promenade a little further." he now began cautiously moving over the same ground he and his friends had hurried along when so hotly chased by the indians. only a short distance was passed in the deep shadows of the trees, when he paused, still mystified. the question presented itself as to how he was to accomplish anything that could benefit those whom he had left behind, for if they should seek to leave the cavern during the night, there was no other way, so far as he could judge, excepting that which he himself had taken. "it must be dat the injuns are down on de oder side de ravine, and i think dere's where i'll take an observation." no task could be more delicate than this, and gravity, with all his shrewdness, was unfitted to undertake it. there were scouts, who under the circumstances, would have gathered all the knowledge desired, and would have placed themselves among their enemies without detection, but the african was a different kind of personage. he picked his way along the wood above the cavern, and had gone less than two rods beyond, when he stopped to gaze about him. the gloom was so dense that he could see very little, excepting when he looked across the ravine, where the moonlight fell and where the mass of rocks, so dreaded by the fugitives, was in plain sight. he saw nothing there which could enlighten him, but his heart nearly stood still, when he not only heard a movement behind him near the point where the path to the cavern reached the high ground above, but despite the gloom detected several dark figures moving stealthily about. that these were indians there could be no doubt, and the conclusion was inevitable that they had seen him come out and had allowed him to pass by them without molestation. being now between him and the shelter, his return was cut off, and no matter what important discoveries he might make, he had no means of telling them to his friends. "i might have knowed dere would be some goings on like dis," he said, with a throb of alarm. "de best thing i kin do is to strike out for stroudsburg alone, widout waitin' for de folks." though he might have been justified in this course, yet his conscience would not permit it, and he started again, with the purpose of passing around to the other side of the ravine, and making a closer reconnoissance of the spot where he was certain of finding enemies. this required a long detour, and a full half-hour passed before he got across the short ravine and began climbing up the other side, near where the indians were known to be only a short time before. as might have been anticipated, he went wrong, and got into the worst trouble of his life. he had seen nothing more of the senecas, but several faint whistles he recognized as signals passing between them, and he should have understood, from what had already taken place, that his movements were watched by the wary foe. he was climbing a narrow passage, and was, perhaps, a dozen feet above the bottom of the ravine, when, to his dismay, a sinewy warrior sprang up in front of him, as though leaping out of the ground itself, and with tomahawk raised and a guttural exclamation, made for him. the assault was so sudden that gimp had no time to use his rifle, but he was not taken altogether at fault. dropping the weapon, he recoiled a step or two and escaped the implement as it came down with a vicious whiz. before the warrior could recover or retreat, the african threw both arms about him, and, lifting him as though he were an infant, flung him headlong into the ravine below. "dere! guess dat'll jar you a little--" but, to his amazement, a second brawny indian appeared directly where the other had first shown himself, and he was immediately followed by others, who, it was plain, were pushing up through a narrow passage for the purpose of capturing the african. the latter had succeeded so well a minute before, that he again resorted to the same tactics, and, catching hold of the first warrior he could reach, he hurried him after the first. then the next was treated in the same manner, and, for the time, gravity gimp became a sort of sable geyser or miniature volcano, throwing into the air sprawling seneca indians with a vehemence that was as picturesque as it was amazing. the exercise of hurling full-grown men aloft, regardless of how high they go, and in what posture they strike, is an exhausting diversion, no matter how powerful the gymnast who engages in it. thus it came about that the herculean african speedily found that he had his hands more than full, and his terrific efforts so told upon him that he grew more sluggish in his movements, until at last he was fairly smothered with the crush of warriors, and, despite his fierce resistance, was made prisoner. chapter xxiv. meanwhile the fugitives in the cavern were placed in a situation almost as grave as that of gravity gimp himself. the departure of the latter created a stir that lasted some minutes after mr. brainerd drew back and whispered to his friends the fact that the servant had reached the ground above, and was unmolested. "he must pass over the spot where the man stood who fired the shot," said maggie brainerd, "and he ought to find out who he is." "provided the stranger remains there, which isn't likely." the reader knows that this hope was disappointed, for the negro saw nothing of the man nor did he once think of him, while making the reconnoissance that resulted in his own capture. "now," said the father, who felt as though his responsibility had increased since the departure of the african, "aunt peggy, you must keep yourself and the girls as far back and away from the mouth of the cavern as you can, for there's no telling when a stray bullet may come in." "i will see that we are all out of harm's way, while we are here," said habakkuk mcewen. "there's no doubt of that as far as yourself is concerned, but your personal safety is not a matter of concern to any of us here." "but, richard," ventured aunt peggy, coming close to the elbow of her brother-in-law, "what are _you_ going to do?" "i shall stay where i am, at the mouth of the cave, watching that point yonder. it won't do to relax our vigilance, for a single minute of such neglect may prove fatal." "but you will be struck, if a shot is sent into this place." "no one is safer than i; do you see?" as he spoke he indicated a large, long stone, some twenty or more inches in length and a third as thick. "it's a loose piece of the rock, which i chanced upon. i laid it in front of me across my line of vision to rest my gun upon. that gives me an easy position, while i have a good breast-work." "but don't you have to look over the line of protection, so as to keep good watch?" asked maggie. "there must be a certain amount of danger, no matter how well we are protected." but there was one fact which mr. brainerd, with all his forethought, failed to take note of: his anxiety was so great that he believed he could do without sleep for a week, and yet he should have known that if he undertook to lie down on his face and keep watch, no solicitude nor effort of the will could keep him awake. the only recourse is that of continual motion, as is the case with the sailor on watch or the sentinel on guard at night. in fact, no posture could have been more wooing to the gentle goddess that steals away our senses ere we are aware. the females, as mr. brainerd had suggested, withdrew to the rear of the cavern, placing themselves at one side where no bullet could reach them, unless fired from the mass of rocks that the father was watching with such close attention. habakkuk mcewen, located near them, attempted a conversation, but no one showed any disposition to take part, and aunt peggy invited him so energetically to keep quiet that he complied. as mr. brainerd lay extended on the flat, rocky floor of the cavern, with his gun cocked and pointed outward, he asked himself more than one question which he could not answer. looking as hopefully as he might at the situation, he saw no ground for encouragement. gravity gimp had departed, and he did not believe he would be able to come back. in this belief the settler was correct, for the african never placed foot in the cavern again. he had gone, taking one of the guns with him, and so much power of defense was abstracted from the little party without any possible return. although habakkuk mcewen seemed at first to be an acquisition, yet the cowardice shown a short time before so displeased mr. brainerd that, despite the necessity of union, he forbore almost entirely to have any communication with him. stretched out thus in the rocky shelter, with his gun thrust forward and his eyes fixed on the danger-point, the stillness became oppressive. the deep, hollow roar of the forest, the soft murmur of the river, the distant crack of a rifle, and the shout of some wild indian or flying fugitive--all these came to the listener with impressive distinctness. but, at the same time, as i have shown, the situation was favorable to slumber, and ere the watcher suspected it, his eyes closed and his senses floated away. he breathed so softly that none of his friends suspected he was sleeping. indeed, almost at the same time, habakkuk drifted into dreamland, his loud breathing being audible to all who were awake. eva brainerd, with her head resting in the lap of her loved sister, slept like an infant, but maggie and aunt peggy kept as alert as when they were in the small boat, pushing across the susquehanna. no two persons could realize the peril of their situation more than did these two, who talked in low tones, and speculated as to what was the best thing to do, if, indeed, they could do anything at all. mr. brainerd did not sleep long, his senses coming back to him as softly as they had departed. when fully himself, his position was the same as taken at first. his gun was still pointed toward the column of rocks, that was more plainly visible than before, now that the moon was higher in the sky. he felt as though he had been sleeping for hours, though in reality it was no more than fifteen minutes, and a shudder passed over him at the consciousness that a hundred red men might have leaped across the chasm in front without danger to themselves. he could only hope that such advantage had not been taken of his remissness. hearing the faint murmur of maggie and aunt peggy's voices as they spoke to each other, he was on the point of turning to ask them a question, when something like a shadow flitted across the space which he was guarding. he rubbed his eyes and looked again; another and then another whisked by, like the flight of birds, and then he awoke to the fact that, while he lay there, with his loaded and aimed rifle, three indian warriors had leaped across the opening that separated them from the mass of rocks which commanded the situation. even supposing none had made the leap while the watcher was asleep, it was certain that the number named had secured the shelter, and now they could pick off every one in the cavern at their convenience, without risk to themselves. "i don't see any use of trying to hold out," muttered the watcher, in the bitterness of spirit; "at such a time as this, when the wretches get started, it seems as though everything favors them. i thought since that shot came so opportunely, that we would receive more help from the same source, but he, too, has slumbered, and while he slept--" "father," broke in maggie, "i hear some one overhead, just where that person was when he fired his gun." the girl was right, for her parent detected it at the same moment: it was as if some one were scraping his feet over the upper surface of the rocks, though it was impossible to imagine the meaning of his action. then as the three listened, they thought he was gradually working toward the edge of the ravine, until suddenly the sound stopped. no one spoke, and all were fairly holding their breath, when, to their dismay, a pair of feet, quickly followed by a pair of shapely legs, appeared in front of the cavern, slowly descending, and bringing more of the owner in sight. some one was lowering himself from the top of the ravine, with the purpose of dropping in the path in front and entering the cavern! "it is an injin," called out aunt peggy; "why don't you shoot him, richard, before he kills us all?" at that instant the stranger dropped with a light bound, and, looking around in the gloom, asked: "are you all here?" the moment he spoke, the voice was recognized as that of fred godfrey. chapter xxv. words cannot picture the amazement and delight of the little company in the cavern, when their strange visitor, who descended so suddenly upon them, was recognized as fred godfrey. mr. brainerd, when the fortunate shot was fired some time before, felt just the faintest suspicion that it might be his son; but he said nothing to the others, through fear of exciting hopes that could only be disappointed. maggie, herself, thought of fred, and prayed that it might be he; but she, too, held her peace--and now here, was her daring brother among them. it required but a few minutes, after greeting his relatives, to tell of his extraordinary escape from queen esther, and his prolonged hunt for his friends. from what passed between him and mr. brainerd while making their way up the western shore, he suspected that when he should join his family, some such manner of flight would be adopted. he knew of this romantic place in the rocks, but it never occurred to him until after he had wasted considerable time in hunting for traces of them. he had visited the spot more than once in his hunting excursions through the wyoming valley, and it did not take him long to learn the condition of affairs. he conducted this delicate business with such skill that his presence was never suspected by his enemies, and he did his utmost to keep it concealed. he ventured on one or two signals, with a view of apprising mr. brainerd of his proximity, but, if that gentleman heard him, he suspected the calls were made by the indians, and therefore paid no attention to them. understanding the peril which threatened his friends, fred extended himself on the rocks above the cavern, and held the gun that he had taken from the dead body of a soldier, pointed toward the spot. just before he was ready, mr. brainerd shot the warrior, and then fred leveled his piece for the next one. thus it was that, instead of one rifle, there were two aimed at the second savage, and when the first flashed in the pan, the other completed the business. this was providential, but fred was wise enough to see that nothing like permanent safety could be gained by that kind of defense. he ventured on another reconnoissance, and it was while he was thus engaged that gravity gimp emerged from the cavern, and walked straight into the trap set for him. "how was it you managed to get down here?" asked mr. brainerd. "i used a grape-vine," replied fred; "it took me a considerable while to arrange it, and i came near slipping my hold and dropping to the bottom of the ravine, as it was." "was it a wise proceeding?" continued the father. "i hope so." "why did you not come down the regular path?" inquired maggie; "gravity seemed to have no difficulty in going away by it." "there must be at least half a dozen indians up there; they could have captured him without trouble, but they allowed him to get so far away that they calculated you would not suspect the danger, and might try to follow him, in which case every one of you would be in their hands this minute." this information was startling, and the listeners were silent. fred added: "you can understand how great the risk was which i ran, and it is hard to explain why they didn't discover what i was doing." "perhaps they did." "they would have fired on me had they known it; but there is so much deep shadow above, and they were so unsuspicious of any such proceeding, that i succeeded." "it was a daring act, indeed, but what is to be the issue?" "i saw that it would not do for you to remain until morning. if to-morrow's sun finds you here, you are doomed. you have no means of obtaining any food or water, and they can converge a dozen rifles on you, for they will gain the position from which we kept them a while ago." "they have already done so," said mr. brainerd. "i saw, and was unable to prevent them." "that settles the matter, then; we must get out of this place within the next two hours, and be well on our way toward the delaware by daylight. we can't venture up the path, and, therefore--hello! what's that?" in taking a backward step at that moment, fred placed his foot directly on the stomach of habakkuk mcewen, who lay flat on his back, sound asleep. the new englander emitted a groan, and sprang to his feet. several minutes passed before everything was understood. fred apologized, and shook hands with him, as well as he could in the gloom, and habakkuk then became a listener to the all-important conference that followed. fred, in making his reconnoissance, had discovered that jake golcher was the leader of the indians. the coolness with which fred godfrey discussed the situation had the effect of inspiring his friends with something of his courage. he stood erect while talking, and maggie leaned on one arm, while eva, fully awake now, clung to the other side. even aunt peggy relaxed from her usual reserve, and only expressed displeasure when the young man said that he saw golcher and failed to shoot the "scand'lous villain." habakkuk possessed sense enough to take no part in the conference, feeling that he had forfeited all consideration in such a matter. "the moon is working around in the sky," said mr. brainerd, "so that i am afraid we shall not have the shadow until morning." "consequently we must not wait; nothing is to be expected from gimp, and we may as well venture at once." there could be no disputing this decision, and all waited for fred to make known his plan. it was very simple, though of course attended with peril: he proposed that the grape-vine which had served him so well should now be used to assist each to the bottom of the ravine, where, in the deep shadow that prevailed, they would do their utmost to steal out into the open wood, and so pass over the mountain. it seemed impossible to do this without detection from the indians, who were besieging the fugitives, but desperate as was the risk, no one hesitated. in fact, habakkuk mcewen proposed that he should go first. "i can look around and see whether everything is all right; and if it isn't, i'll let you know, and you needn't come." "instead of being the first, you'll be the last," said mr. brainerd, curtly. habakkuk thought it not worth while to argue the matter, and he replied not to the severe stricture of the elder. fred godfrey now ventured to the mouth of the cavern, where the vine was still dangling, the lower end being invisible in the darkness below. from the platform in front of the cavern to the bottom of the ravine was something like twenty feet--not a very great distance, but too great for any one to let himself drop to the flinty floor below. "the end of the support reaches half-way," said fred, "and each must fall the remaining distance. if we are all careful, no harm will be done." "is it securely fastened above?" "it would not have sustained me were it not. there is one thing that must be borne in mind," added fred, speaking to all, "and that is, that no matter what happens, no noise must be made. the least exclamation will be heard by the indians, some of whom are probably still at the upper end of the path, and if they suspect what is going on, failure is certain." all were so desirous of leaving the place without delay that the directions of fred seemed almost superfluous. when the young man was about to lower himself by the vine, brainerd touched his arm and said: "my recollection of that ravine below is that there is no way out of it; why not, therefore, climb upward instead of going down?" "it won't do; the only ones in this party beside myself who could reach the top in that fashion are maggie and eva. with your age, you couldn't draw yourself half-way up, even with help." as silently as a shadow, the young patriot drew in the crooked vine which still dangled in front of the opening, and, flinging his gun back of his shoulder, where it was held in place, he grasped the support. the next minute those standing in the gloom behind him observed the dark figure, with legs drawn up, slowly descending, as if he were going down a well. chapter xxvi. the suspense was painful; not a whisper was exchanged, and the ear was strained to catch the sounds which they dreaded, and yet which seemed certain to come. even the youngest of the party could not understand why it was some of the senecas could be so near, and fail to detect them. mr. brainerd leaned forward, and peering down into the dense shadow, fancied he saw the crouching figure going lower and lower, until the end of his support was reached. the father was holding the vine, as if to steady it, when it suddenly jarred in his hand, and seemed to draw up as though relieved of a heavy weight. such was the fact; just the faintest possible thump reaching his ear at that moment: manifestly, it was caused by the feet of fred godfrey as he dropped lightly to the bottom. a soft and barely audible "_st, st!_" followed, and told the truth that one of the little company at least had made the descent in safety. the understanding was that mr. brainerd should be the next. he had already secured his gun to his back, so as to leave his arms free, and he now wrapped his legs about the sinuous support and gripped it tightly with his hands, saying not a word to his friends as he began sinking out of sight. his descent was a different matter from that of his predecessor. he was not so strong and active, while his body was more bulky; in fact, fred godfrey, as he looked anxiously upward through the shadows, was oppressed by the misgiving that the vine would give way under the additional weight, and bring woful disaster. but his father did better than was anticipated, even by himself. he blistered his fingers, and wrenched his muscles, but he went downward steadily, and without any break or noise, until he found the end of the vine in his grasp. "it's only a short distance," whispered fred, who was able to touch his hand; "let go." the elder did as directed, and the next second stood erect beside his son, only slightly jarred by his leap. "i'm relieved beyond expression," said fred; "i knew the hardest task would be for you to get down." "i don't know why you should think so," said mr. brainerd, half jocularly, "when you knew my strength and activity." "but you are the heaviest, and i feared your weight would break the vine." "and having sustained me it is good for the rest." "undoubtedly it is; _st, st!_" the signal was understood by aunt peggy, who, a minute later, came down the vine with very little effort. eva was next, and but for the danger, it would have been rare sport to slide down such a frail support in that fashion, and, under similar conditions, maggie would have found it equally jolly. as it was, mr. brainerd and his family let themselves to the bottom of the ravine with much less difficulty and trouble than was feared. only habakkuk mcewen remained above. "there's no use waiting for him," said aunt peggy, in an undertone; "he's no help to us." "it would be cruel to leave him there," interposed maggie. "of course _you'd_ object," snapped the vinegary aunt peggy; "he is as worthless as jake golcher himself." "keep quiet," interposed mr. brainerd; "there's too much talking here." "you are correct," added fred; "all this is out of order--there comes the fellow now." the words spoken had been in whispers, but they were not needed, and nothing now was heard but the scraping of habakkuk's legs against the vine which he was descending. the attenuated limbs were becoming dimly visible, when the new englander seemed to become tired, for he uttered an aspiration now and then as though seeking to hold his breath. fred shuddered, for a listening indian can hear such a noise a long way on a still night. "keep quiet," commanded fred, forced to speak dangerously loud; "hold your breath." mcewen tried to obey, but the explosion, when it came, was worse than before. "he is either a fool, or is seeking to betray us into the hands of the indians," muttered the indignant youth, speaking hot words, that meant more than he intended. the next minute habakkuk reached the limit of the vine, and let go, with the purpose of dropping to the ground; but, as if fate was determined to interfere, he caught his trousers, and was instantly inverted, his head hanging downward, while his feet pointed toward the stars. chapter xxvii. "great cæsar!" exclaimed the terrified mcewen, as he began swinging back and forth, head downward, like a huge pendulum; "won't somebody set me right side up?" "not another word," whispered fred, catching him by the shoulders and jerking him loose, "or i'll dash you head-first on the rocks." with some difficulty, the troublesome new englander was placed on his feet, and finally the whole party stood erect at the bottom of the ravine, unharmed and hopeful. "if we are captured, it will be due to the presence of a natural-born idiot with us," said fred; "listen!" it seemed at that moment as if a dozen owls were calling to each other from different points in the woods. one or two sounds came from the rocks overhead, near where the path terminated its ascent, and must have been uttered by those who were seen there by godfrey a short time before. "they have discovered us," he added, "and it is now do or die." not another word was spoken, and the youth led the way along the ravine without any definite idea of where he was going, or whether there was any chance of escaping what might be the very trap into which their enemies were seeking to lure them. the ground was rough and stony, and they scrambled forward like a party of mountain tourists in a great hurry. fred godfrey maintained his place at the head, maggie and eva close behind, while aunt peggy, mr. brainerd, and habakkuk mcewen followed. when they had gone less then a hundred yards, all were relieved by finding they were steadily rising. if this peculiarity continued, they must soon reach the level ground above, and, in the darkness, would be able to go a good distance before morning. but it was almost idle to hope, for the thought was scarcely in their minds when the whole party were brought to a standstill by coming squarely against the solid wall. "is this the end of the path?" asked brainerd, observing the dilemma that checked them. "i hope not--but let's look. those signals going back and forth across the valley refer to us. i believe the whole indian force know what we have done, and are arranging to capture us." the probabilities pointed that way, and, when several minutes' hurried search failed to find an outlet to the ravine, which now narrowed until the two sides met, something akin to despair took possession of the fugitives. "it's my belief," ventured mcewen, "that the best thing we can do is to open negotiations with the senecas, with a view of obtaining honorable terms. what are your views, mr. brainerd?" "that the best thing for you to do is to hold your peace." "such is my own theory," added fred, who had no patience with the fellow. "hello!" as he spoke he made an upward leap, and catching the slight projecting ledge of rock, to the amazement of the others, drew himself up and secured stable footing. a few seconds were spent in a hasty survey, when he dropped nimbly beside them again. "i think there is a way out," he whispered; "but we can't climb up there alone--that is, all of us: we have got to have help." "and that cannot be obtained." "yes, it can; the grape-vine is just the thing; i can fasten one end of that above, and then assist every one to the top." "but it will be too dangerous for you to go back--" "wait right where you are," broke in fred; "don't move or make any noise; i won't be gone long." and before any more objection could be made he vanished in the shadow. standing thus, with all their senses on the alert, they heard sounds that were anything but reassuring. the notes of the whip-poor-will and the dismal hooting of owls came from different portions of the wood. whether or not the indians knew precisely what the fugitives had done, they were unquestionably aware that something unusual was going on. a minute's reflection could not fail to show to all their hapless situation. it may be said they were literally walled in, with their enemies perched on the rocks on every hand, able to hold them there as long as they chose. however, no one was disposed to give up effort while any grounds for making such effort was open. as there was no saying how long the fugitives would be forced to wait for the return of the lieutenant, they sat down on the rocky seats, taking care that they kept in the dense shadow that had served them so well. eva nestled by her father, and had placed her hand in his, and was in the act of asking a question, when the sharp report of a rifle was heard above their heads, and only a short distance off. the instant thought was, that fred godfrey had either shot some one, or had been fired at himself. but mr. brainerd was sure that the report came from the pile of rocks that commanded the cavern just vacated by them. this was a vast relief, but all shuddered to think what the results would have been had the weapon been discharged only a few minutes before. with the bullet sent from such a point, it could not have failed to do execution, for it will be recalled that the fugitives, while preparing to start, were exposed to any bullet that might be sent into the opening. the supposition was, that though the red men could not see any of the whites on account of the deep shadow to which we have referred more than once, they knew the location of the cavern itself sufficiently well to fire directly into it. it will be seen, as a consequence, that such a shot, sent fifteen minutes earlier, must have caused the death of one, at least, of the company. but, after all, would it have been anything more than anticipating by a few hours their certain fate? chapter xxviii. meanwhile, fred godfrey was making the most of his opportunities, and the grass did not grow under his feet. the distance passed over by himself and friends was so slight, that he was back beneath the cavern within a couple of minutes after bidding them such a hasty good-bye. no one could have been more alive to the situation than he, who halted directly under the place that had sheltered him and his friends for a brief while, and looked and listened. "can it be that they really know nothing of our flight?" he asked himself. "it seems impossible that, after following us and guarding the approaches so closely, such can be the truth." so it appeared, indeed, and fred was not without a pang of apprehension that jake golcher and his indians were playing a game, in which they were sure to win. but it was too late to speculate now, and pausing only a moment, he leaped forward, caught the end of the vine and climbed it hand over hand. his activity and strength enabled him to ascend like a sailor, and a moment later he stood within the cavern that he had left but a short time before. nothing was to be gained there, and grasping the support he went on upward. such a method of ascent is exhausting, and he was tired, when, at last, he stood on the level ground above. as circumstances forbade the use of the vine by which he had come up, and by which he must descend again, he began hunting as best he could for another, which he speedily found. this was carefully cut and trimmed, and then he dropped it over the ravine, and in the stillness he plainly heard the rustling as it struck the bottom. while thus engaged, the rifle was fired from the rocks across the gorge, fred seeing the flash, so that he knew the point it came from. at first he was sure he was the target, but concluded that such was not the case. filled with misgivings, he crept a few steps in the direction of the head of the path that came up from below, and listened. he was afraid to go any closer, but he was as certain as if he saw them, that several of the indians were clustered there, awaiting the occurrence of some expected event. "there's some mystery in this business that i fail to grasp," added fred, as he caught the sound of guns and the faint whoops of the indians and tories on the other side the river. "it is possible that most of them have withdrawn, unwilling to linger when there are so many victims awaiting them in other places, but i can hardly believe it, since jake golcher leads them." moved by an anxiety that forbade him to keep still, he once more swung himself from the rocks, supported by the thick, strong vine that had served them all so well, and it required only a brief time to reach the bottom. everything, so far as he could judge, was in proper form, and he hastened up the ravine, rejoining his friends, who naturally were in a fever of anxiety over what seemed his prolonged absence. "now that you have got the vine," said his father, "i have been puzzling myself ever since you left, to understand how you are going to use it." "it doubtless strikes you as absurd as the idea of using the one by which i had to climb up the rocks and come down again, but i am hopeful there is a way." "i shall be glad to learn it." "but that shot--who fired it?" "one of the indians, i presume." "was it not aimed at you?" "i think not; but, if it was, you see it missed me, so it is a question to which we need give no thought." all drew a breath of relief when fred made known that no trouble had been experienced from the red men, who were believed to be in the immediate vicinity of the upper end of the path. the lieutenant now explained that his plan was to mount the shoulders of habakkuk mcewen, and thus reach a projection on the rocks, by the help of which he hoped to attain a still higher point, or rather shelf, from which it would be an easy matter to climb to the level ground above, and push their way toward the distant delaware river. the feat was too difficult for the rest of the party to accomplish, which explains why the grape-vine became so necessary. with the aid of that, and with fred tugging above, there was reason to hope that the ascent would be made with little trouble. accordingly, habakkuk mcewen, without any protest, stood up against the wall, and fred, with gun and vine secured, so as to leave his limbs free, mounted to his shoulders with the ease of an acrobat. then, straightening himself, he groped about with his hands, and was fortunate in finding a broad ledge within easy grasp. it was a difficult matter, even with such help, to draw himself up, but by great care he managed to do so, and then found that by a similar maneuver he could reach the ground above, where the way was clear to the woods. this was gratifying, and, dropping the end of the vine to his friends, he whispered for mr. brainerd to seize it and to begin to climb. it was a hard task, and, had the support given way, doubtless the old gentleman would have been killed or grievously hurt, but he struggled and was pushed up by habakkuk, and the vine was tugged at by fred above, until at last the panting father reached the ledge and stood beside his son. [illustration: "it was a hard task."] as there were now two to use their strength in lifting, aunt peggy, eva, and maggie had but to grasp the support, when they were drawn up without any effort on their own part. habakkuk came last, and he tried so hard to assist, that it may be said he went up feet first, sawing the air so vigorously with his legs that they appeared on the ledge before his body reached it. but the fugitives were all there at last, and something like genuine hope began to stir every member of the company. "now," said fred, "we have the same experience to go through, and we shall reach solid ground above. i will go up as before." only a small part of the moonlight found its way to the spot where they were crouching, and they felt it would not do to stay longer. slowly and carefully fred went up the rocks, and all saw him safely reach the level ground, where he vanished. at the instant he did so they caught a peculiar sound, as though a slight struggle was going on, but it instantly ceased, and, though the friends were alarmed, they said nothing, thinking that perhaps fred had stumbled over some obstruction in the dark. "_st, st!_" the signal which he made before reassured all, and drove the thought of danger from their minds. the same order was repeated; mr. brainerd grasped the vine, and, helped both above and below, gradually surged upward until he, too, went over the edge of the ravine, as it may be called, and vanished. maggie started, when she again heard a curious movement above, as if made by a scuffle, and her heart throbbed with the suspicion that something was wrong. "i tell you," she whispered, "there's trouble up there." "no, there isn't," replied aunt peggy, "i suppose--there!" the same sibilant call as before was repeated, and the elderly lady showed her faith in her own assertion by catching hold of the vine, and allowing herself to be pulled up as her predecessor had been. maggie and eva were left with habakkuk, who was plainly nervous, though it might be hard for him to explain why. "do you feel skeart?" he asked, in an undertone, as the rope of natural growth came dangling about their heads. "yes," said the elder sister; "didn't you notice a strange noise after fred and father got up?" "i don't know, but there is something queer; they don't seem to show themselves after they reach the top; it looks to me as if they tumbled over into some hole--ah!" as the signal was heard the three looked up and caught the dim outlines of a head. there was not enough light to identify it, but had the moonlight fallen upon it, those who stood below would have observed that the face did not belong to any one of their three friends. with misgiving, maggie grasped the support and went up; then eva followed, and, last of all. habakkuk mcewen stood alone. he paused in doubt a minute or so, but when the vine swung within his reach, he seized it, muttering: "i may as well follow the crowd." and he did. the instant he arrived at the top he was seized by several seneca indians, and the astounding truth then dawned upon him that not only he, but every one of the party, had climbed squarely into the trap set for them, and, without a single exception, were prisoners in the hands of the very red men they were trying with so much skill to avoid. chapter xxix. it will be admitted that the little party of fugitives whose fortunes we are following displayed great skill in escaping the tories and indians, who, on that "day of desolation," wrought such ruin in the wyoming valley. a wonderful good fortune attended them up to a certain point, and yet the humiliating truth must also be admitted, that, from the moment they rushed pell mell into the friendly cavern in the rocks, they were outgeneraled by the senecas, under the leadership of the tory, jake golcher. it looked, for a time, as if the success of the patriots was to be crowned by the most brilliant achievement of all, in stealing out of the ravine under the very noses, so to speak, of their vigilant enemies; and yet, despite their caution and well-directed audacity, which never overreached themselves, every movement, even to the slightest, was known to the redskins, who carried out their own scheme with even greater subtlety and skill. when fred godfrey reached the ground above he detected nothing suspicious, and, making the vine secure, turned and signaled to his friends to follow him. it was at that instant he was seized by two powerful warriors, one of whom threw his arm about his neck, and jerking his head back, nearly strangled him. the lieutenant was caught at such disadvantage that he was helpless, but he struggled with all the strength possible, and attempted to utter a cry of warning to his friends. but his hands were pinioned behind him, a dusky palm was glued over his mouth, and some one said in very good english: "if you speak a word, you're a dead man!" he was dragged back into the wood, where his wrists and elbows were tied with as much care as if he were worth all the other prisoners taken that day in wyoming. it required but a few seconds to complete this performance, and while it was going on two other senecas were tugging away at the vine, to which mr. brainerd was clinging. the old gentleman was altogether unsuspicious, and he came sprawling over on the ground with considerable emphasis. "i don't see the necessity of yanking a fellow out of his boots," he laughed, in a guarded voice. "it will hardly do to be so ardent with the others--" at that point in his remarks he was pounced upon, and served very nearly the same as his son. he fought as fiercely: but the indians were prepared for it. he was run back in the wood behind the lieutenant, and the two condoled with each other--their chagrin being inexpressible. then came aunt peggy, whose figure was so light compared with that of mr. brainerd, that she was literally whisked to the top of the ground, seeming to drop from some point above. "maggie said there was something wrong," remarked the voluble lady; "but i'm sure there wasn't anything very queer that i heard if there are any of them injins anywhere in the neighborhood i'd just like the chance--" the wish of the lady was gratified, for at that moment two figures appeared beside her, as if they had sprung through a trap-door: and one, who was gifted with an exceptional amount of waggery, actually leaned over and kissed her cheek. "you scand'lous villain!" gasped aunt peggy, too much horrified to speak above a whisper: "ain't you ashamed of yourself?" with which exclamation she struck him on the side of the face, with a vicious vigor that gave out a report like the crack of a pistol. "i'll teach you how to insult a lady--" her words were stopped at this point by a dusky hand that was pressed over her mouth and held there despite her frantic struggles, and she was forced back to where her two friends were prisoners. maggie brainerd went up the rocks with much distrust, as will be remembered, and, as it was, she was so suspicious that she would not have gone at all but for the fact that father and brother had preceded her, and no matter what their fate must be, she wished to share it with them. "if they have fallen into the hands of the indians, i have no wish to remain away from them." she peered into the gloom as sharply as she could and was not kept in suspense. she offered no resistance, and quickly joined those who were overtaken by disaster. it was much the same with eva, although she struggled with great energy and narrowly escaped violence, as did aunt peggy, when she chastised the audacious seneca. habakkuk mcewen, as we have stated, was in a quandary, but he ascended, his feet going over the ledge first. such an approach to a foe is not disquieting, and he was caught at greater disadvantage than any of the others. he tried hard to throw himself over the rocks, but was prevented; and thus it was that the capture of the entire party was completed. "great cæsar!" exclaimed habakkuk, as he joined his friends. "the height, and length, and breadth, and depth of this failure is the most stupend'us i ever heerd tell of." and no one said him nay. chapter xxx. it is necessary at this point that some attention should be given to the predecessor of our friends in captivity--gravity gimp. the particulars of his capture will be recalled, it being somewhat similar to that of his followers, inasmuch as he was pounced upon and overwhelmed before he could make any effectual resistance, though, for a time, he kept things "moving." but he was forced to succumb at last, and was led away by those whom he had fought so bravely, and into whose hands he dreaded falling aware as he was what fate awaited him. "be keerful," he called out, limping heavily, "i've got a game leg, and i want yer to play light on it." whether they understood his words or not is a small matter; but the american indian is accustomed to the language of gesture, and when the african limped forward, as though unable to bear half the weight on one limb, they could not mistake what it meant. the gun of the captive was taken from him, and, as he was such a miserable pedestrian just then, his hands were not bound behind him, as was the case with the prisoners afterwards taken. ordinarily, the rough usage given his captors during the struggle would have resulted in serious injury to some of them; but the iroquois were too sinewy, lithe, and graceful on their feet to fare ill, and they gathered about him, with something akin to admiration, when he was conducted farther into the mountain, where they had a large camp-fire burning. "i s'pose eberybody makes mistakes," muttered gravity, moving slowly along; "leastways i'm purty sartin i made a wery big one, when i got too cur'us to know what dese willains was up to." no indignity was offered him on the walk to the fire, which was burning a couple of hundred yards away, but he felt that nothing like mercy was to be expected from his captors. the negro had proven his coolness and courage in more than one instance that day, and maggie brainerd asked herself whether the loyal fellow really knew what fear is. but when gimp reached the camp-fire, and saw jake golcher with other indians grouped around him, his heart gave a throb of terror. he knew that wretch too well to make any mistake concerning him. it was gimp who, but a few hours before, had visited the worst kind of physical indignity on the tory, who now possessed the chance to repay him. jake was sitting on a fallen tree, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands, looking into the glowing embers, and apparently only half listening to the guttural conversation going on among the indians about him. he had spent so much time with the seneca branch of the iroquois, that he understood their tongue quite well. but, as he slowly puffed at his short clay pipe, his thoughts were far away. most likely he was recalling the incidents of the day, that were a source of mixed pleasure and pain to him. "the overthrow of the rebels was complete," he muttered, his face lighting up with passion. "it'll be a good many years before wyoming will get over this, and i've got even with a lot of them that hain't used me well. there's parker, who called me a lazy loafer two years ago, because i wouldn't pay him a little money i had borrowed. well, i settled up with him to-day, and he'll never call anybody else such a disrespectful name agin. "then there's sam williams, that i used to go out hunting with, and who was considered a pretty good chap by some folks. he used to lend me money, and never cared whether i paid him back or not; but he undertook to lecture me once on my dooty, and said, if i didn't go to work, i never would be anybody, i've got too much spirit to stand any such insults as that, and, when i come on him to-day, i settled with him." dreadful thoughts were these to find such expression, and the renegade was silent a minute, until it seemed as if satan got still a stronger hold upon him. "but there's _one_ man close by that i would give a thousand prisoners for," he added, puffing spitefully at his pipe, "and it looks as if i'm going to have him. providence does favor the truly good," added the miscreant. "i've got the whole party penned up in a hole, and if they get away from us it will be the biggest thing of the kind ever done in these parts. "i want to get hold of that gimp, that stole my gun and gave me such a kicking that i feel six inches taller than ever before, and have to be mighty careful about settin' down. he's a sort of giant, but if we lay hands on him there'll be mighty little of him left when we get through. "there's maggie brainerd, the prettiest gal that ever left connecticut and settled in the wyoming valley. i knowed her when she was a little one, and then she was so purty that people used to stop her in the road, to kiss and admire her. "she always acted kind toward me, and i used to think she was kinder tender and loving, and i b'leve now i might have got her, if that half-brother of hers, fred godfrey, hadn't come along and set her agin me." the brows of the tory contracted at the recollection of something that burned in his memory. "a year ago, he was down here in the valley, and i feared there wasn't much chance for me with maggie, so i thought i would shame him before the town to that extent he would never show his face in it again. he was talkin' in the store to a lot of our neighbors, and had enlisted, and he thought every young chap oughter. i said i didn't b'leve he had enough courage to fire a gun at a red coat, when he said he had enough to fire me out, if i didn't keep a civil tongue in my head. "that's just what i wanted, for i had been building up my muscle for two weeks, with the very idee of whalin' him, and i sailed in. "wal," added the tory, with a sigh, "the fight was over afore i'd fairly got into it. i come out of the winder with a sash round my neck, and if i hadn't struck agin aunt peggy, who was walkin' by, my neck would have been broken off short. i didn't get over that lambastin' for a month, but fred godfrey little thought when he jined the crowd in laughin' at me, that he had sealed his doom." the face of the tory flushed, for he was sure that he had the best reason to believe that he spoke the truth. chapter xxxi. "yes," added jake, with a sigh of something like pleasure; "it looks very much as though i've got a chance to even up my accounts with 'em all. the folks are having a good time on t'other side the river, and to-morrer, when forty fort surrenders, wyoming will be wiped out so clean that the only way of telling where it has been will be by the ashes. "i've got a lot of the best senecas that ever took the war-path, and i've promised them the biggest kind of a reward if they succeed in scooping in the whole party. queen esther told 'em to go with me and do just as i directed, so they're bound to show the stuff they're made of. gray panther is their chief, and he's directing 'em, and he beats any injin i ever heard tell of for downright cunning, and is as good as a bloodhound on the trail." thus it was that, although jake golcher was the nominal head of the war party, the renowned chief, gray panther, was guiding operations, and it is to that remarkable seneca indian that the success of the redskins in out-generaling the fugitives was due. "i know that maggie came near pegging out with a broken heart when her mother died, three years ago," continued golcher, "and she is so attached to her father, brother, and sister, that she will do anything in her power to save harm coming to them." this fact could not fail to suggest the course that had taken shape in his mind long before. "we will capture them all; then i'll make known my terms: maggie must agree to marry me; she will do it, too, if she makes the promise, and i'll agree to let all the rest go. i'll keep my word so far as the old man and eva, and i guess the aunt peggy, is concerned; but there's two that i'll wipe out--fred godfrey and that gravity gimp. "i may have to promise to let up on 'em, but i can fix it with gray panther, so they'll be _accidentally_ killed; but i'll never feel easy till they're both underground. as for that nigger--" and taking out his pipe, he ground his teeth together, and clenched the fingers of the free hand, and then, looking up, saw gravity gimp, the african, standing before him. "good-evenin'," said the servant, bowing low, and making a salaam with his broad hand, inasmuch as he was without his hat; "i hopes i finds yer werry well dis ebenin." jake golcher sprang to his feet, and his pipe dropped from his hand. it often happens that the very person of whom we are thinking turns up before us, but, although there was nothing supernatural in the appearance of the african, the renegade was startled for the moment into believing that such was the fact. quickly recovering, he muttered something, and sitting down again on the log, picked up his pipe, took a puff or two, and looking at the lame african, asked: "where did you come from? i thought you was satan." "dat's purty rough on satan; but i's gravity gimp, at your sarvice, and if it am all de same i'll sot down on de log beside yer, being dat i've got a tremenjus game leg." as he spoke, gravity limped to the fallen tree, and took his seat a short distance away, uttering a groan of pain, and nursing the limb as though his torture was great. jake golcher was sure he never saw such impudence, but he concluded to humor the fellow for a while, until he could extract some information from him. he was sorry his leg had been injured, for he would have liked to make him run the gauntlet, and now the suffering to which he should be doomed would have to take a different character. the tory first asked the indians some questions, and gathered how the powerful negro had been captured. it was done under the direction of gray panther, whose hand appeared in many a skillful achievement that evening and the day following. golcher learned from the same chief that every movement of the fugitives had been noted, and that the whites had been deceived to such an extent that they were likely to walk into the trap the senecas had set for them. jake was favorable to making an open attack on the whites, but the sachem assured him they could all be taken without the loss of any more warriors, and so it was left to the chief. there was only one point in which the senecas were at fault, and that was respecting the man who fired the second shot, that killed the indian as he was leaping for the rocks from which to shoot at the fugitives. they supposed it was discharged from within the cavern, and were unaware of the fact that lieutenant godfrey was so near his friends without being with them. they did not learn of his cautious descent, and only discovered his presence among them after the capture of the african and the start made by the fugitives to leave the ravine. golcher was much interested in the news, and he urged gray panther to spare no effort to make his success complete, assuring him of a big reward, in addition to the praise of queen esther, who at that moment was engaged on the other side the river in torturing a number of prisoners. the chief assured him that he had no cause for uneasiness, and then, turning about, withdrew with his warriors, leaving only a single one with jake golcher to guard the prisoner. chapter xxxii. while the conversation was going on between the tory and gray panther, gravity gimp was rubbing and nursing his "game leg," with many sighs and groans, which he took care should be heard by those around him, while at the same time it did not annoy them. "sprained it, i s'pose," remarked golcher, deeming it best to keep back his intentions toward the negro until after he should have extracted all the information he could. "wuss dan a strain," said gravity, looking ruefully down at the limb and rubbing it with one hand. "how can it be worse than a strain?" "it's busted." "you talk like a fool--what do you mean by bustin' a leg?" "i mean dat it ain't no use any more--ain't wuth nuffin to dance de double shuffle wid." "how did you hurt it?" "got struck by a cannon-ball dis arternoon--but i recovered from dat slight inconwenience, and i strained and broke it in two or three places a little while ago." "how?" "in flingin' injins ober de rocks, i wrenched it." the explanation was not very clear to golcher, but he was satisfied the limb was badly sprained, and he cared nothing further. it rendered what might have been a dangerous prisoner comparatively harmless, which was a good thing while the main party of indians were away, engaged in entrapping the fugitives, whose possession was so much more valuable. "all you folks got into the cavern, down among the rocks over there, thinkin' you was safe, didn't you?" "we crept in dar not 'cause we thought it war safe, but 'cause it war the bestest thing we could do." "do you know anything about fred godfrey?" "yes; he hab de honor ob my 'quaintance." "that isn't what i mean: do you know where he is?" "i tink he am ober on de oder side ob de riber slewing injins and tories." it will be recollected that gravity left the cavern before the lieutenant put in his appearance, and the african therefore knew nothing of his presence with his friends. "wal," growled golcher, finding it hard to repress the anger that was gnawing at his heart; "the trouble to-day has been that too many of the rebels got slewed themselves; if it hadn't been for that, things would have gone different; but that godfrey will be with the party up in the rocks afore long." "guess you're 'bout right, massa golcher." "do you know," suddenly asked golcher turning on the negro, "that we're going to have every one of that party afore daylight?" "no, i didn't know it; did you?" "they'll be here inside of two hours, and then there'll be fun." "reckons dere'll be a little fun afore you cotches 'em." "they're in the rocks, but we can rout them out whenever we want to; they think we don't know what they're doing, but gray panther hasn't missed anything." "i noticed that massa brainerd didn't miss either, when he plugged dem injuns dat was trying to sneak in behind the rocks." "see here," exclaimed golcher, turning upon him; "you'd better keep a civil tongue in your head." "dat's all right--i was jes' joking wid you--but, if you hain't any 'bjection, massa golcher, i'd like to know what yer gwine to do wid me? am yer gwine ter take me up in york state and put me to work on a farm?" "if you live a couple of hours longer, you'll be put through the sprouts." "put frough de sprouts," repeated gimp, as if to himself; "wonder what dat means." while this conversation was going on, the indian who was keeping guard was seated on the other side the fire in a lounging attitude, and his head now and then bobbed down on his breast in a way that showed he was partly asleep. gravity gimp did not appear to notice him, but he saw every movement, and, without appearing to do so, hitched a little closer to the tory. the latter seemed to conclude that nothing more was to be gained from the negro, and he ceased asking him questions. the servant groaned and rubbed his leg with every appearance of great pain. "massa golcher," said he, with a groan, "i'd be much obliged to yer, if you'll jes pull off my shoe and rub dat ankle for half an hour." and as he made this astounding request he moved still nearer, and thrust his enormous shoe almost in the face of the renegade, who turned savagely upon him. "i'll teach yer manners, you black--" he rose to his feet and whipped out his knife as he spoke, but gimp also came to the standing position, and he was a little quicker than the tory. golcher had drawn his weapon, but before he suspected the design of his assailant, gimp lowered his head and ran like a steam-engine straight at him. the iron-like skull struck golcher "'midships" and knocked him over backwards, his heels going up in the air, while he described an almost complete somersault, with the breath gone from his body. the drowsy seneca roused up just in time to witness the performance, and to see the same battering-ram charging down upon him. he turned to leap aside until he could draw his tomahawk, but he was a second too late, and the projectile took him in the pit of the stomach, and banged him against a neighboring tree with such violence that the breath left his body also, and there is reason to believe it never returned. chapter xxxiii. there was not a particle of lameness in the movements of gravity gimp as he went through this programme, but his actions were like those of an athlete. catching up the gun of the prostrate indian, he was off like a shot, running with the speed of a deer among the trees, and with great risk, for the darkness was too dense to permit him to see where he was going. "dat ere pertendin' dat i was lame was a stroke ob gen'us," he muttered, with a huge grin, as he slackened his gait somewhat, "and, if it hadn't been for dat lameness, i'd been 'sassinated. "shouldn't wonder if dey did scoop in all de folks," he added, with a pang of fear, "and if dey does, why aunt peggy must go to buttin' de injuns ober de same as i done. _sh!_" he listened for sounds of pursuit, but there was none, and he drew a sigh of relief, hoping that his friends were in as safe a situation as he. gray panther, chief of the senecas, conducted his portion of the programme, as we have already seen, with cunning and skill. fred godfrey, richard brainerd, maggie and eva, aunt peggy, and habakkuk mcewen were his prisoners, and within five minutes after they became such they were started, under the charge of the warriors, for the camp, where jake golcher was expecting them. the hands of the males were tied behind them so securely that they felt there was no possibility of freeing themselves. their weapons were removed, as a matter of course, but no one of the three females was offered any indignity by the indians, who were carrying out the instructions of jake golcher himself. since the captors did not seem to feel any objection, several of the whites ventured on a few words. habakkuk, however, as he stumbled along over the obstructions at the rear, felt in anything but a conversational mood, and for a time held his peace. "these are the most scand'lous purceedings that i ever heard tell of," ventured aunt peggy, in her snappish way. "you are right," said fred godfrey; "it is the most terrible reverse i ever saw." "oh, i don't mean that." "what do you refer to?" "that injin actually tried to kiss me--didn't you see him?" "no, i wasn't aware of it." "i gave him one slap that he'll remember, i reckon!" the situation was too solemn for fred to utter the remark that would have come to his lip at any other time. he therefore directed his next words to maggie, who was close to her father, and holding the hand of eva. "this looks pretty bad, maggie," said he, in a low voice, "and it is hard to find we were mistaken, when i was so hopeful that we had passed all danger." "so it is, but how many of our friends and neighbors have fared still more ill!" "they are to be envied," said mr. brainerd, speaking for the first time, "for their woe is ended, and ours is to come." "there may be hope," remarked the daughter, though it must be confessed she saw none; "we must not despair." "it is well enough to talk about hoping on forever," said her father, who seemed more dejected than the others, "but every man that is born must sooner or later reach the hour when hope is ended: we struck the hour and minute just now." "i'm disposed to hold out as long as any of you," said fred godfrey, "but i must own that i feel about as you do." "and so does every one," added mr. brainerd, "for the days of miracles passed long ago; some of our escapes to-day came about as close to the miraculous as they could well do, and that may have led us to expect unreasonable things." at this juncture gray panther seemed to think there was too much conversation going on, and in broken english he ordered all to keep their tongues still. no one of the prisoners regretted the command, for it was a dismal thing to talk when their hearts were so oppressed. the route they followed was through the wood, that was stony and rocky, and in the deep shadows it was anything but pleasing work. the captors kept close to the captives, so as to prevent any break for freedom on their part. the distance was not far, but it was not yet passed, when something took place which caused some alarm, though none of the prisoners could tell what it was. one of the indians in front uttered a peculiar signal, which caused a halt on the part of every seneca. gray panther hastened forward. it was idle for godfrey to look for any interference in their behalf, but he did feel, for a few brief seconds, something akin to such hope. but gray panther speedily returned, and the march was resumed, with the same stillness and care as before. what the cause of the interruption was, became known to none but the senecas themselves. a few minutes later, the glimmer of a light was seen among the trees, and as the faces of the party were turned in that direction, they knew it was the camp-fire that was their destination. only a few steps more were passed when the entire party, with the exception of the african servant, stood in the presence of jake golcher, the tory. chapter xxxiv. after a courageous struggle against the indians, the fugitives, as i have shown, were taken prisoners. it was a singular scene, as the six whites, the men having their hands bound behind them, came out of the gloom of the wood, and, under the escort of more than a dozen seneca warriors, approached the camp-fire, where jake golcher, the tory, awaited them. mr. brainerd, who walked close to fred godfrey, said, in a low voice, "under heaven, my son, you are our only hope; if you see a chance, no matter how desperate, take it." "i will," was the low answer; "i shall make a break before the last scene comes." as the party emerged into the light thrown out by the burning wood, the chief interest of the captors seemed to center in habakkuk mcewen, for the reason, as the reader will recall, that he was partially disguised as an indian. the fact that such was the case had been noted, of course, by his captors, who seemed to be in some doubt as to the cause, but not until now did they gain a good view of him. the place where the camp-fire was burning was a small natural clearing, with a fallen tree lying extended one side, so as to afford a seat for a score of persons, if they chose to use it. the fugitives were brought up and arranged in front of the log, mr. brainerd standing first, mcewen second, fred godfrey third, while aunt peggy, maggie brainerd, and eva supported each other. even the whites themselves looked at the eccentric new englander with some curiosity, for only the females had seen him by the light of day. his dress was of that mongrel character, worn alike by frontier indians and white scouts, while his face still retained the paint that had been daubed on it by his friend, miles away in the wilderness. the little company were placed in the order named, standing so that the reflection of the firelight revealed every countenance with the distinctness of mid-day, when, as we have intimated, there was a general scrutiny of habakkuk, who stood the ordeal well. he threw his shoulders back, and tried hard to look like an indian warrior, all unconscious of the curious eyes bent upon him. the senecas were grouping themselves in front, when gray panther uttered an exclamation that drew attention to him. he had stumbled over the inanimate figure of the warrior whom he left to guard the colored prisoner for jake golcher. at the same moment the tory himself rose from the farthest end of the log, bent over as though suffering great pain, while his face was pale as ashes. he said to the chief that it had all been caused by the negro, who was supposed to be helplessly lame, but was only feigning it. he developed into an animated pile-driver with such suddenness that the warrior who received his full attentions would never recover, and jake himself felt much doubt whether he should ever feel entirely well again. such creatures as golcher are the most abject of cowards when in the presence of death, and while he lay on the ground, gasping for breath and certain that the blow received from the iron skull of the african had finished him, he became altogether a different man from what he had been during life. he was repentant, and begged heaven not to punish him for his multitudinous sins. he pledged himself that if the little patriot band should fall into his hands he would release every one, and conduct them beyond the dangerous neighborhood. alas, for human resolution! immediately after making the pledge he began to rally, and as he came back to his natural self his good intentions were scattered like thistle-down in the wind. by the time the captives were ranged along the log in front of him he was the same malignant tory that he had always been. the discovery of the dead body of the indian caused some confusion among gray panther's band, and there was considerable lamentation, during which the prisoners were partly forgotten. fred godfrey was watching like a cat for his chance, and twice he was on the point of making a break. had his hands been unfastened he would have done so, but he waited for what he hoped would be a more favorable opportunity. a guard of two warriors took charge of their dead comrade, while the others again centered their gaze upon the new englander, who stood the scrutiny with the same assurance as before. jake golcher, rising to his feet, came painfully down the line, and without paying any attention to the others, stopped in front of mcewen, whom he scrutinized a full minute, both standing motionless and looking squarely in each other's eyes, without uttering a syllable. chapter xxxv. jake golcher and habakkuk mcewen were evidently old acquaintances, and the tory seemed to be trying to identify him through the paint that was daubed over his countenance in such a loose fashion. suddenly the tory broke into a laugh and exclaimed: "it's him, as sure as creation! i thought it when i first set eyes on you. where did you come from, and why are you got up in that flowery style?" "sh! sh! sh!" exclaimed mcewen, contracting his brows and shaking his head; "i don't want these folks to know who i am. don't speak my name." "and why not?" asked the other, with another laugh, as he came closer to the captive. "they think i'm a friend to 'em; they don't know i'm a tory that come into the valley to raise partic'lar mischief with the settlers." jake golcher immediately became very sober and drew still closer to mcewen, still gazing sharply into his face. then he asked in a low voice, which, however, was distinctly heard by the whites, so perfect was the stillness at that moment. "do you expect me to believe that?" "you kin do as you please about it, but i've been with colonel john butler's forces for three days." "where was you during the battle this afternoon?" "_i was there_," was the unblushing response; "i was out yesterday with a scouting party under ke-fi-ke-fa, the son of queen esther, who was shot by a party of settlers." whether habakkuk spoke all truth or not, the tory knew he uttered it so far as concerned the son of katharine montour, queen of the senecas. her son was killed on the day preceding, as declared by the prisoner, and it was that cause, as i have already intimated, which served to excite her to such a pitch of fury during the battle and massacre. jake golcher looked at him again with the same searching gaze, as though he was partly convinced and sought to make sure by reading his countenance. "what made you paint yourself up in this fashion?" "so as to be took for an injin." "what did you want to be took for an injin for?" "wouldn't i have more chance to do hot work?" "i don't see why," was the response. "wal, if you had been near me you would have seen. i scared these folks half to death, but, when they found out who i was, they was dreadful sweet onto me. that give me the chance i wanted with them, and then when the senecas and our own boys seen me, they didn't interfere, so i had a free path to travel." "how comes it you're in this scrape?" "i got in among these folks so as to turn 'em over to you, and if it hadn't been for me you'd never got 'em neither." "how do you make that out?" "i knowed they meant to fight hard in the cavern, as they showed by picking off a couple of your warriors, but i got 'em to come out and move off up the ravine, knowing sartin sure they would walk into the trap that you had sot for 'em." jake golcher seemed to be astounded at this statement, and his manner showed he was half persuaded there was some truth in it. if the fellow was really a tory like himself he had no wish to harm him, but he was not fully persuaded, and he turned to mr. brainerd. "you heard what he said, didn't you?" "not being deaf, i did." "do you know whether he speaks the truth or not?" "i don't know, and what's more i don't care; i know one thing, he didn't render us the slightest help, and in my opinion there is only one bigger coward and scoundrel in the country, and that's yourself." mr. brainerd looked the tory straight in the eye as he uttered these defiant words, and the latter winced under the indignation of an honest man. golcher stood for a moment irresolute, his eye wandering up and down the line, until it happened to rest on aunt peggy. "oh, don't you wink at me that way, you scand'lous villain," she exclaimed, shaking her head; "if you say a word to me, or come any nearer, i'll scratch your eyes out!" the tory moved a little farther off. chapter xxxvi. fred godfrey, as may well be supposed, was amazed at the words of habakkuk mcewen, but he believed the fellow was simply descending to this subterfuge in the hope of saving his life. understanding the nature of the man as well as he did, he could not find fault, and he made an effort to help him, without telling a clear untruth. "i can say that before and after i joined my friends, he behaved very differently from the others." "how?" "he was asked to do several things for their benefit and refused, and he favored this attempt to get away by leaving the place where we had taken shelter in the rocks." "that's because he was too cowardly to do anything else," broke in mr. brainerd. "did lie fire either of those shots that brought down a couple of our men?" "i believe not-did he, mr. brainerd?" "no; he can't shoot well enough to hit a flock of barns ten feet off, and he shivered so with fear he couldn't hold his gun in hand." "that's a lie!" exclaimed habakkuk, who began to feel hopeful; "i had a dozen chances to pick off some of the red men and i wouldn't do it, 'cause i was their friend." "wal, i'll 'tend to you after awhile," said golcher, puzzled by the turn matters had taken. "you folks may sit down on the log a while, and i'll 'tend to another matter." during this curious conversation the senecas were grouped on the other side of the camp-fire, so that the faces of captors as well as captured were shown in the glare of the blaze, upon which more wood was flung. fred godfrey regretted this, having resolved to make a break whenever the chance presented itself, for there was no mercy to be expected for him. the senecas were impatient, and he was well aware that jake golcher hated him with a hatred that would stop at nothing in the way of suffering. if convinced that the death of a soldier would be his, he would have stayed and died, like the brave youth he was. but once away and he might do something for those who were dearer to him than his own life. while he stood listening to the conversation recorded, he sought to finish that which he had tried to accomplish all the way thither--that was, to loosen the bonds that held his elbows and wrists as if they were bound with iron. he could not make any progress, and he began to feel as though he had deferred the step too long. he thought to have overturned his immediate guards, and dashed in the woods, before reaching the camp of the senecas. this was destined to be an eventful night to all concerned. the tory had taken a step toward maggie brainerd, with the manifest intention of addressing her, when a new-comer appeared on the scene, in the person of an indian runner from the other side of the river. it was evident he came from high authorities, with orders. from what followed, it is probable that the leaders of the indians and tories felt there was need of additional forces on the western bank, to complete the work of which much still remained to do. forty fort, which contained many of the settlers, and women and children, had not yet surrendered, and the massacre could not be completed so long as a remnant of the patriots held out. that such was the errand of the runner appeared from the fact that he addressed himself directly to gray panther, who the next moment summoned golcher to his side, and the three held a brief conversation. the captives naturally fixed their attention on them and noticed that they gesticulated, and the tory indulged in a number of expressions in english that were of a vigorous nature. some of the senecas sauntered over in front of the sorrowful group, and looked at them with natural curiosity. habakkuk mcewen, on account of his fantastic dress and paint, still attracted the most notice, and some of the warriors ventured on a remark or two in their own tongue, but he made no answer, and did his utmost to maintain a dignified bearing. "habakkuk," said fred godfrey, in a low voice, "what did you mean by telling that wretch such a story?" "sh! keep quiet," replied mcewen, in an undertone, and without looking toward the one he was addressing; "you know it's my only chance." there was a moment of silence, when both fred and his father were disposed to suspect the fellow of treachery, but second thought convinced them that he meant well enough, and was only making a natural effort to gain the favor of the man who held his life in his hands. it was in accordance with the natural instinct of the fellow, who was more than willing to resort to any artifice that promised to avert the doom hanging over his head. it is scarcely necessary to say that he was the only one who would ask mercy at the hands of jake golcher, or who would pretend any sentiment other than an utter abhorrence of him. chapter xxxvii. the conference between golcher and the chief, gray panther, was vigorous, even if brief. orders of such a positive nature had been sent that it was probable neither dared disregard them. the seneca chief called eight of his warriors about him, said something in his guttural fashion, and then he and they disappeared in the wood. it looked as if they had been commanded to cross the river and join the main force on the western bank in some important enterprise. this left precisely eleven indians, so far as could be seen, with jake golcher to carry out his designs. when fred godfrey realized the size of the force, he said in an undertone to his father: "if we only had our guns now, we could make a good fight against them." "but we haven't--so what's the use of talking of an impossibility?" it was apparent to the fugitives, who were watching everything, that golcher himself was a little uneasy over the shape matters had taken. instead of going to where the captives were sitting on the fallen tree, he stood apart with two of the warriors, discussing something with as much earnestness as he had talked to gray panther. the meaning of this was soon made plain, when he came over, and, addressing habakkuk mcewen, said loud enough for all ears: "we've concluded to move camp." "what's that for?" asked the new englander. "none of your business," was the reply, given with equal promptness. the anxiety of mcewen to gain the good-will of his master, however, would not permit him to hold his peace, and he hastened to interject several questions. "i say, jake, ain't you going to unfasten these twists of wood that are cutting my arms almost in two? i think them injins must have took a couple of hickory saplings to bind me." "i ain't satisfied about you, yet," said the tory, in that hesitating manner that showed he was pretty well convinced that his prisoner, after all, was what he professed to be, although, for some reason, he chose to restrain his indorsement to him. "wal, you orter be," growled habakkuk; "i'm the best tory in the wyoming valley; and this is a purty way to sarve me." the renegade smiled, as if he rather liked that kind of talk, but he did not make any move to relieve his captive of his bonds. within the next three minutes the entire party were moving through the wood toward some point of whose locality the prisoners had no idea. mr. brainerd was glad, for he was hopeful it would give fred the desperate chance for which he was waiting. during the last few minutes the father had regained some degree of hope, and he looked to the daring young lieutenant to give a good account of himself, should any opening appear. as for fred, himself, he was on the alert; but it must have been that the subtle jake golcher suspected the truth, for he took extreme precaution. the ladies walked in front this time, with a couple of indians on either side, mcewen and brainerd came next, while fred was honored with four warriors, who were as wide-awake as cats. the one on his right and the one on his left kept a hand on his shoulder, so as to detect the first move; and, as his wrists and his elbows were securely held together, it was inevitable that the first instant he made a break, no matter how skillfully done, that instant he would be killed. fred could not fail to see this, and he was too wise to give any pretext for violence toward him. "they will not keep such close watch all the way," he thought. "we have a considerable distance to walk, and i shall have the chance after a little while--hello!" to his chagrin the halt was made at that moment. hardly had the shadowy figures come to a standstill, when one of the senecas dropped on his knees and began using a flint and steel, sending out a shower of sparks like that seen from an emery-wheel. in a few seconds a bright fire was under headway. the indians had simply changed their quarters--that was all. the curious thing about it was, the two places were no more than a couple of hundred yards apart, and were so alike that but for the starting of the new fire, the captives would have believed they were the same. the meaning of this movement was a mystery to those chiefly concerned, but they could do nothing less than accept it. when the camp-fire was crackling and threw out a bright glow in every direction, the resemblance to the spot just vacated was found to be still more striking. there was the fallen tree, upon which the companions in captivity seated themselves, looking questioningly in each others' faces, but they now heard the plash and murmur of some small waterfall, that was not in their ears a brief while before. that was about the only proof that they had really made a change of base. under the directions of jake golcher, the fuel was heaped upon the fire, so that it was practically mid-day so far as captors and captives were concerned. mr. brainerd looked reproachfully at fred and said, in a low voice: "i didn't expect to see _you_ here when we stopped." "and i hoped i wouldn't be, but there has not been the ghost of a chance." "i don't see when or where we shall get a better one; i don't propose to sit here and let them tomahawk us to death, as queen esther did with those poor wretches this afternoon." "we may not be able to prevent it; but as i made an effort then, so i will this time, when worst comes to worst." "what in the name of the seven wonders was this change made for?" "i can scarcely form an idea, but there must have been some cause." chapter xxxviii. for a time jake golcher paid no attention to the whites, but watched the senecas, while they plied the roaring fire, as though it gave him a good deal of satisfaction. in counting the indians, fred godfrey saw that two were missing, but before he formed any guess as to the cause of their absence they reappeared, their coming announced by the terrific squealing of a young pig, that they had managed to steal somewhere. as they entered the circle of light, they were seen to be holding a plump little porker between them, while he struggled fiercely and emitted screams like the shriek of a locomotive whistle. it was a piece of good fortune that they were enabled to secure such a prize, when so many of the fugitives from wyoming almost perished with hunger. the cries of the little porker were soon hushed in death, and he was dressed with considerable skill. conveniences not being at hand for scalding him, it became necessary to prepare him for the table without that desirable process. when he was ready for the coals the latter were raked out, and aunt peggy was invited to come forward and display her skill. "i'd like to see me cook for you scand'lous villains," she snapped out; "i would do it if i had a lot of p'ison to put in the meat, but not otherwise." her refusal probably would have ended in serious consequences to herself, but mr. brainerd and maggie urged her to comply, all saying they were extremely hungry, and in no other way would they be able to secure any food. in deference to their wishes she stepped forward, and, being furnished with a keen hunting-knife by one of the warriors, plied it with the skill for which she became famous years before. the pig was in prime condition, and, if properly prepared, would have made an enjoyable delicacy for the table. but time and circumstances did not favor elaborate cookery, and aunt peggy, in grim silence, cut off slices that were nicely broiled by being skewered with green sticks, and held over the glowing coals. in a few minutes a thin steak was browned and ready for the palate. "i'll take that, old woman," said jake golcher, reaching out for it. "i'd like to see you get it," said the lady, whipping it away from him; "you good-for-nothing, scand'lous villain, don't you know that ladies orter be waited on fust?" and with these scarifying words, she walked over to maggie and eva, and, cutting the steak in two, handed half to each. "that's just what i was going to do," growled golcher, annoyed by the broad grin that illuminated caucasian and american faces alike. "you know it's a falsehood," replied aunt peggy, in the same peppery style; "you're too mean ever to think of anything decent and christian-like, you vagabond--oh-h-h-h, how i ache to get hold of you!" the tory fought rather shy of her, for in sooth she was a lady to be dreaded. eva brainerd walked straight to where her father sat, and said: "papa, i shall not eat a mouthful until you do." "i can't eat very conveniently with my hands tied behind me, but i shall never consent to devour that and allow you to go hungry." "but i can get more of aunt peggy." "perhaps so and perhaps not." "then we will eat it between us. there, you take a bite and i will do the same, and we will keep it up until nothing is left." "that _is_ a good arrangement," replied her parent, smiling at the ingenuity of the affectionate child, and complying with her request. he took a good mouthful, and she followed. eva forced the last bit upon her father, who, in spite of himself, was compelled to eat fully two-thirds of the piece, which, after all, was the proper thing to do. before the feast was finished aunt peggy had another slice ready, which was handed over to maggie, who walked directly to where fred godfrey sat on the log. "brother fred, this is for _you_." he consented to share it with her as their parent was doing with little eva, and of course she complied. while this scene was going on the indians were lolling near at hand, smoking their pipes, and exchanging a few guttural grunts. they were all on the ground, evidently in a more patient mood than jake golcher, who stood a short distance back from the camp-fire, scowling and angry, that he should be compelled to stand still and see the captives fed, while he was hungry and unable to obtain a mouthful. even habakkuk mcewen was not forgotten, maggie ministering to his wants, though, of course, she did not alternate the feasting as she did with fred. habakkuk asked her to do so, but she refused so pointedly that he did not repeat the request. "this is interesting," muttered the angered tory to himself, as he looked on; "that pig belongs to us, and we've got to set back and let them rebels swaller it before our eyes. i'll be hanged if i'll stand it." he was fast working up to a dangerous point of anger, which was not mollified when he noticed that aunt peggy herself now and then placed a large piece in her mouth, after which her jaws worked with great vigor. "see here, old woman," he called out, "that pork don't belong to you, and i reckon it's about time the owner got some." he did not approach her, but he looked as savage as a sharpened tomahawk. aunt peggy made no reply and acted as though she heard him not; but, had any one noticed her closely, he would have seen her jaws working more energetically than ever, while her eyes took on a little sharper gleam than before. she, too, was rapidly reaching an explosive mood, although the particular individual against whom she felt the rising anger failed to take warning. "she's the worst hag i ever seen," muttered jake, glancing askance at her, but still keeping a respectful distance. the senecas sat somewhat apart in the same lolling attitudes, and some of them looked as if they anticipated what was coming. a minute later, aunt peggy finished another slice, which she asked maggie to take. "thank you, auntie, we have enough," replied our heroine, eva saying the same. "i think i could eat a few pounds more," remarked habakkuk, "but i would prefer to see mr. golcher get something. he is a good fellow, and orter been sarved first." "if none of you want it, i'll eat it myself," observed the ancient maiden, who thereupon began disposing of it. "that's gone about fur enough!" exclaimed golcher, striding toward her; "some folks haven't got no gratertude, and i'll teach you--" as he uttered this threat, or rather partly uttered it, he was at aunt peggy's elbow in a wrathful mood. all at once, she whirled about, and sprang at him like a tigress. "you'll teach me manners, will you? there! take _that_! and that!" the attack was so unexpected that golcher threw up his empty hands in a weak way, and lowered his head, closing his eyes and trying to retreat, but she had grasped his long, straggling hair, and it came out by the handfuls. instantly all was confusion. mr. brainerd laughed, and the senecas, as they sprang to their feet, made no effort to interfere. indeed, there was strong reason to believe they enjoyed the strange scene. aunt peggy scratched and pulled with the most commendable enthusiasm, and her victim howled with pain. "take her off!" he shouted, "or she will kill me!" eva and maggie ran forward, but the indians actually laughed, and the two girls were unable to restrain her until she had spent her vengeance. her victim was in a sorry plight, and in his blind retreat he tumbled backward over the log, springing instantly to his feet, and actually dashing off in the darkness. "there!" gasped aunt peggy, "i've been aching to get my hands on you, and now i feel better!" at this juncture several of the senecas uttered excited exclamations, for the discovery was made that during the hubbub one of the prisoners had escaped, and his name was fred godfrey. chapter xxxix. aunt peggy carey "builded better than she knew." in her fierce attack on the tory she administered well-merited punishment, leaving him in a demoralized condition, so thoroughly whipped, indeed, that for several minutes he was dazed and not himself. her friends trembled to think of the vengeance he would visit upon her for the act, but the good lady herself seemed to have no apprehensions, and, turning about, she carefully arranged her hair and bonnet, and resumed cooking slices from the carcass of the pig, intending now to wait upon the senecas, who had been kind enough not to interfere while she attended to the other important duty. what the next step would have been was hard to guess, but for the sudden discovery which we have made known. one of the captives was found to be missing, and he was the most important of all, being no less a personage than lieutenant fred godfrey. the instant aunt peggy assailed golcher the youth saw that the opportunity for which he was waiting had come, and he took advantage of it. the uproar for the moment was great. the captives on the log sprang to their feet, and the senecas fixed their attention on the couple, seeing which, mr. brainerd said to his son: "_now's your time, fred!_" he turned as he spoke, and saw the lieutenant vanishing like a shot in the gloom. when the warriors noted his absence, he was at a safe distance in the wood. fully a half-dozen senecas sprang off in the darkness, using every effort to recapture the prisoner, who could be at no great distance, no matter how fast he had traveled. had fred given away to the excitement of the occasion, and lost that coolness that had stood him so well more than once on that dreadful afternoon and evening, he hardly would have escaped recapture before he went a hundred yards; for the iroquois were so accustomed to the ways of the woods, they would have seized such advantage and come upon him while he was in the immediate neighborhood. they believed he would continue running and stumbling in the darkness, and thus betray his whereabouts. and that is precisely what fred godfrey did not do. he ran with all speed through the woods, tripping and picking himself up, and struggling forward, until he was far beyond the reach of the light of the camp-fire, when all at once he caught the signal whoops of the indians, and he knew they were after him. then, instead of keeping on in his flight, he straightened up and stepped along with extreme caution, literally feeling every foot of the way. thus it was he avoided betraying his situation to the cunning warriors, who, in their apparently aimless pursuit, used their ears, and indeed every sense at their command. it was because fred himself did the same that he eluded those on his track. listening, he heard the approach of one of the iroquois. instead of hurrying away he stopped, and backing against a tree, stood as motionless as the trunk itself. the dense summer vegetation overhead prevented a single beam of moonlight reaching him, so that he was secure from observation, so long as he retained his self-possession and made no blunder. his nerves were under a fearful strain within the next three minutes, for, as if guided by fate, not one but two of the senecas dashed through the wood, and instead of going by, halted not more than six feet from where he stood. why they should have stopped thus was more than he could conjecture, unless they really knew where he was and were sure they could place their hands on him when they wished. it was hard to understand how this could be, and fred refused to believe it, though the actions of the indians were certainly remarkable. what more trying situation could there be? it was like some nightmare in which the victim sees the foe swiftly approaching and is without the power to move so much as a finger. but fred did not lose heart. if they had learned where he was, he meant to use his feet and not to yield so long as he could resist. he tugged at his bonds, but they were fastened so securely that he could not start them. to loosen them so as to free his hands must necessarily be the work of some time, and he knew how it could be done, when he should be free of his enemies. but the bonds, when two of the senecas were at his elbow, were torture, and but for his strength of will he could not have avoided an outcry. fortunately, the suspense lasted but a few minutes. the indians stood silent as if listening, and during that ordeal fred scarcely drew his breath. then they exchanged some words in the gruff, exclamatory style peculiar to the red men, and again they paused and listened. the other pursuers could be heard at different points, for most of them uttered several cautions but well-understood signals, some of which were answered by the two at fred's elbow. "why should they stop here," thought he, "when they have every reason to think i am threshing through the wood and getting farther away each minute?" just then they began moving off, and immediately after, he caught the dim outlines of their figures as they crossed an open space and vanished in the woods beyond. fred godfrey did not stir for several minutes, but at the end of that time he became satisfied that his whereabouts were unknown to the senecas ranging through the wilderness in search of him, and he ventured to leave the tree. chapter xl. for a single minute mr. brainerd was on the point of following in the footsteps of fred, and making a break for freedom: that was at the height of the general confusion, when the majority of the indians started in pursuit. possibly such a prompt course might have succeeded, but he allowed the critical moment to pass, through fear that some additional cruelty would be visited on the heads of those whom he left behind. when aunt peggy resumed her culinary operations, the patriots sat down again on the log, excited and fearful that the events of the last few minutes would precipitate the crisis they had been dreading for hours. habakkuk mcewen was alarmed, but he could do nothing more than give expressions to his sympathy for the victim of the old lady's wrath, while he regretted, with an anguish which cannot be described, his failure to get away with fred godfrey, who, as it seemed to the new englander, was the born favorite of fortune. "thank god!" was the fervent exclamation of mr. brainerd, as he compressed his lips, "fred is beyond their reach." "are you sure of that?" asked maggie. "sure of it!" repeated her parent, turning his gaze on her, while he smiled grimly. "of course i am. when he escaped the clutches of queen esther to-day he had no darkness to help him, and the rascals were at his heels. yet he got away safely, and he never would have fallen into their hands again but for his anxiety to help us. now he is out there somewhere in the woods, where it is as dark as egypt, and do you suppose he is the fool to allow them to take him again? not by a long shot." maggie was immeasurably relieved to hear these words of her parent, which, it may be said, removed every fear for her brother from her thoughts. "but, father," she added, "what can he do, with his arms bound?" "faugh! what's that? we are tied with green withes or vines that hurt like the mischief, but it will take only a few minutes to rub them against the corner of a stone or rock and separate them. have no fears about fred," continued her father, "these red skins can whoop and yell, and howl and crack their heels together, but they'll never have another such a chance to scalp fred godfrey as they had a little while ago." relieved of this dread, maggie's anxieties were centered upon her friends. her heart bled for her father, who sat as proudly upright and defiant as though at the head of a brigade of men; but she could only pray and utter brave words, in the hope of cheering him. poor eva was so terrified that she cried continually. she clung to her beloved parent, and, fortunately, as yet none of her captors made any objection. she was determined to stay by him to the last. the american indian admires bravery as much as does his civilized enemy, and it needed no student of human nature to see that the few who remained were as much disgusted as amused with the sorry figure cut by their tory leader in his affray with aunt peggy carey. this was proven by their refusal to interfere, and by the grins that appeared among them when the comedy was going on. but they were under the leadership of the same tory, and, when he came stumbling back from his fall over the log, and the lady resumed culinary operations, the senecas became as owlishly glum as seems to be their nature. they were helped in this feeling by the flight of lieutenant godfrey, the prisoner most prized. as it was, the entire party came near starting for the young man, but, unfortunately, they checked themselves in time to prevent a stampede on the part of the rest of the captives. jake golcher, as we have said, came back dazed and pretty well subdued. a great deal of his straggling hair had been removed by aunt peggy, and his countenance gridironed by her vigorous finger-nails. he dropped down in a collapsed condition at one end of the log, removed from the captives, who, like the indians, looked at him askance, half disposed to laugh outright, despite the alarming danger. in the mean time, aunt peggy was broiling the slices of tender pig with such care that she had a couple finished. "there," she exclaimed, as she tossed the two in the direction of the senecas, "i like to see hog eat hog, and you might as well begin." the facetious red men scrambled, like a lot of school-boys after a handful of marbles, and had they been so many wolves, the food could hardly have disappeared with greater celerity. paying no attention to the tory, who sat on the fallen tree with his head drooping forward and his eyes fixed on nothing, the warriors started a curious scene. approaching quite close to aunt peggy, they crowded and pushed each other, eagerly waiting when she should be ready to fling them the prize for which their stomachs yearned. all were on their feet, and their black eyes, and quick, fidgeting movements, showed that their souls were in the business, or fun, as it might be termed. there can be little question that, incredible as it may seem, the action of aunt peggy had rendered her somewhat of a favorite with the indians. it is just such people who admire the vim and bravery of any one--especially when not expected. there can be no means of knowing, and yet it is safe to suspect, that the most reverential of these senecas was the warrior who had received such a ringing slap in the face when he dared to touch his painted lips to the virgin cheek of aunt peggy. such is human nature the world over. the red men laughed and tumbled about, as they scrambled for the bits of meat, while even aunt peggy's features relaxed into a grim smile, when she looked upon the amusing performance. it was no more than natural that as she had gone up in the estimation of these dusky warriors, the one who had been vanquished sank correspondingly low. strange complications might result from this condition of affairs. perhaps a dozen or more slices of the pig were broiled and tossed among the struggling red men, by which time their appetites were so well attended to that they lost a great deal of the vigor with which in the first place they scrambled for the food. but during this same time, which was only a few minutes, jake golcher was rapidly regaining a correct idea of the situation, and it was not long before he raised his head and surveyed the scene with interest. he straightened up and watched them a brief while, when the stinging scratches on his face reminded him of the episode in which he had cut such a sorry figure. "she beats ten thousand wildcats," he muttered, glaring at aunt peggy, who just then was smiling at the efforts of the indians to seize the slice of young pork she tossed toward them. "i don't understand how it was she knocked the spots out of me in that style; it must have been her awful temper, and because she come at me afore i knowed anything about it." very probably the causes named had much to do with the result. "why didn't some of them senecas pull her off? it's just like 'em to be pleased with it, and i'm sure the rebels busted themselves with laughter to see me catch it." jake golcher seemed to be quite correct in gauging the feelings of those around him. sitting on the fallen tree, he muttered: "these warriors have all been put under me, and they've got to do what i tell 'em to do; we've played the fool too long in sparing 'em. they ought to have been put out of the way before this. let me see--i'll fix it this way." he first looked at aunt peggy, toward whom he felt a hatred inconceivable to any one not in his situation. "i'll settle with _her_ for this; it will be just like the senecas to refuse to burn her at a tree, because she is such a she-panther; but i'll give her a touch of the knife myself, that will prevent her ever pulling out half my hair agin. "i'll keep the two gals there, for they'll stick together, and i'm bound to bring that proud maggie brainerd to terms. if she'll do the right thing by me i'll let up on her father that i hate worse than p'ison. as for that long-legged habakkuk, i don't know what to think of him; it may be he's one of us, though i have my doubts. i'll wait and see; but won't i level things up with that 'ere fred godfrey? wal, i should rather guess so. i'll make sure he's out of the way. i s'pose he's sittin' over there wondering when his turn is comin'. he won't be kept wondering long." wishing to gratify his nature, he leaned forward and peered around mr. brainerd to see how fred godfrey was taking it. but he failed to discover the young man. making sure he was not on the log, golcher rose to his feet and stared here and there in a hurried search for the youth. he was invisible, and, with a vague fear, the tory strode to mr. brainerd. "where's that son of yours?" "well, sir," was the response, "i judge that by this time he's about half a mile away in the woods, and safely beyond the reach of all the warriors and tories that ever had their hair yanked out by an elderly lady not in the enjoyment of very rugged health!" chapter xli. it need not be said that fred godfrey improved his opportunity to the utmost. having eluded the senecas who were so close behind him, it was not likely he would run any risk of being caught on their return. in fact, he might have considered himself beyond danger, and yet the narrowest escape of all occurred only a few minutes afterward. anxious to gain the utmost time possible, he was picking his way with great care, when he stepped upon a stone that turned under his foot, and he narrowly escaped falling. immediately he caught a birdlike call near him, and his quick wit told him it was a signal from one of the warriors searching for him. fred made an abrupt turn, and going a rod or two, halted precisely as before--that is beneath a large tree, and stood close against the trunk. and standing thus, he noticed the same sound once more, this time answered from a point directly behind him. he could do nothing but stand still, and he knew how to do that equal to a living statue. only a few yards in front was an open space, where the moonlight revealed objects without exposing himself to observation. thus it was that the youth detected two indians, who came out of the wood on the other side and stopped, as if they were posing for inspection. they talked for some minutes in their own tongue, gesticulating earnestly and then walked toward him. he quickly shifted his position to the other side of the tree and peered around, but, when they came into the shadow, nothing could be seen of them. "i believe they know where i am," thought he, "and are amusing themselves at my expense." such seemed to be the case, for once more the red men stopped and were actually within reach of him. since the arms of the latter were still fastened behind him, it can well be understood how he dreaded discovery, his chief fear being that the painful throbbing of his heart would betray him. but the good fortune that had attended him on the other side the river did not desert him now. the senecas hovered about him only a minute or two and then moved away, this time taking a direction that led toward the camp-fire--an indication that they had given up the pursuit. pausing only long enough for them to pass beyond hearing, fred resumed his flight, with the same care he had used from the first. he was now more hopeful than ever, but almost instantly received another warning that it is never safe to shout until you are "out of the woods." he judged he was fully two hundred yards from the camp-fire which he had left so hurriedly, when he found himself in such darkness that he once more stopped until he could gather some idea of his location and of the points of the compass. listening closely, he caught the gentle flow of the small waterfall and of the susquehanna on his right, from which direction also came the occasional reports of guns and the shouts of indians. this convinced him he was facing south, and that his back was turned toward his friends. it was no pleasant discovery to find the same ominous sounds proceeding from his own side the river; but, having left them in such a situation, this alarming fact was scarcely noticed. "the first thing for me to do is to get these withes off my arms and wrists," he said, poking around with his feet for some sharp-cornered stone. "i've stood this--" to his dismay, a figure approached in the gloom. there were just enough scattering rays of moonlight to show it, and its movements made certain the fact that he (the stranger) had discovered him. "i shall have to use my feet," was the thought of fred, as he braced himself; "and i will give him a kick that will do something--" "am dat you, leftenant?" came in the form of a husky whisper, as the figure stopped a few feet away and tried to peer through the gloom. fred godfrey almost shouted with delight, for the question revealed the identity of gravity gimp. "thank heaven!" was the exclamation of the young man. "i hadn't the remotest idea of meeting you, gravity." "let's shake on it," chuckled the african, groping forward with his huge palm, which he shoved into the face of the pleased fred, who said: "if you'll be kind enough to cut these bonds that hold my arms immovable, i'll shake both hands." "of course; where am dey?" asked the equally happy negro, poking around with his immense jack-knife. "i'se so glorious dat you mus' 'scuse me if i cut off de wrong things. i can't hold myself. dar, i knowed it!" he added, slashing away; "dat's your leg dat i have hold of, and i do b'leve dat i've cut it half off. begs pardon, leftenant, and i'll hit it after a while." but no such blunder had been committed, and, under the manipulation of the jack-knife, the withes that had bound the arms of fred godfrey were speedily cut, and he swung his hands about and sawed the air with great relief. "my gracious! but that's good!" he exclaimed. "i was so wretched that i believe i would have gone wild if i hadn't been freed." "why didn't you gnaw 'em off?" said gimp. "you've got good 'nough teeth to walk right through anything like dat." "that may be, gravity; but with my hands tied behind me, i couldn't very well get at them with my teeth." "i didn't thunk ob dat--but you could hab fixed it easy 'nough." "in what way?" "jes' stood on your head--dat was de way to reach 'em." chapter xlii. it is idle to attempt to picture the feelings of jake golcher, when he learned from mr. brainerd, one of the captives, that fred godfrey had escaped but a few minutes before. weakly hoping there was some mistake, he turned to one of the indians and demanded the truth. he got it in the shape of information that several of the fleetest warriors were hunting for the fugitive, and there was hope he would be brought in speedily. the renegade stood a few seconds, and then began striding up and down in front of the camp-fire, indulging in imprecations too frightful to be recorded. all this time mr. brainerd was so delighted that he forgot his own grief. he knew how great was the disappointment of the man, and he was pleased thereat, for, recalling the chastisement received from the hands of aunt peggy, it can be safely said that matters had gone ill with golcher, since the lady began cooking for her captors. by and by he exhausted himself, and then paused in front of habakkuk mcewen and demanded: "why didn't you stop him when you seen him running away?" "i didn't see him," was the truthful reply of the fellow, who was mean enough to add: "if i had, you can just bet i'd stopped him, even if my hands was tied." "why didn't you yell for me as soon as you found out he had gone?" "i did yell," was the unblushing answer, "but there was so much confusion nobody noticed me, and the injins was off after him as quick as he started." "just then aunt peggy was attending to you," mr. brainerd remarked, "and you were so badly used up that you wouldn't have noticed an earthquake had it come along." maggie looked beseechingly at her father, while the tory glowered on him like a thunder-cloud. but for his anxiety to win the good will of the pretty maiden, he would have struck down her parent where he stood. the latter acted as though he had given up all hope, and was trying to retaliate to some extent on him whom he detested. "see here," said habakkuk, with a flirt of his head and a confidential air, "ain't you going to cut them things that are tied about my arms?" "what'll we do that for?" "so's to let me loose," was the logical answer; "you know, jakey--" "there, don't call me jakey," interrupted the tory. "well, mr. golcher--" "make it plain 'jake.'" "well, jake, as i was going to say, i'm your friend, and have been ever since i knowed you, and you know it; if you'll let me loose i'll 'list under you; i'm already got up injin style, and will sarve as one of your advanced scouts." "shet up?" interrupted golcher; "i don't b'leve you're anything more than a rebel, and if we'd done as we orter, the whole caboodle of you would have been wiped out before the sun went down." while the tory was indulging in these expressions he continually glanced at maggie brainerd, occasionally taking a step toward her. it is at such times that a woman is quick to perceive the truth, and with the natural instinct of her sex, she looked at him in turn, and with that smile of hers that was really resistless, said: "jake, come here a minute, please." in a flutter of surprise, he approached, with a smirking grin. "what can i do for you, dear maggie?" "i'll be much obliged if you will cut those bonds which trouble father. he has suffered so much to-day that he is irritable, and i hope you will pardon him." this was an audacious request, and took golcher aback somewhat, but there was no refusing the prayer. so, with the best grace possible, he stepped forward, hunting-knife in hand, and cut first the wire-like withes that held habakkuk mcewen fast, and then did the same with those of mr. brainerd. "i'm very much obliged," said the grateful habakkuk; "you're very kind, and after this i'm your servant." angry as was mr. brainerd, he had better sense than to quarrel with his good fortune, and he thanked the man who loosened his arms, while at the same time he concluded to hold his peace for the time. "fred is beyond their reach," he thought, "and so is gravity gimp, and i judge one of them had a gun. true, that isn't much, but there is no saying what will be done with it, for both are as brave men as ever stood in battle. "if fred only had the chance, he would be heard from very soon. but there is none whom he can rally to our help. ah, if he could but pick up a half-dozen soldiers, what a raid he would make through this camp! but wherever there are any of our soldiers they are wounded, killed, or so scared that they are an element of weakness. "i can not help feeling some hope, and yet my reason tells me that there is no ground on which to base it." having complied with the request of maggie brainerd, golcher felt authorized to approach her with a statement of his own proposition. accordingly, he walked to the farther end of the log, and motioned for her to join him. she thought it best to comply, and did so, sitting down within a foot or two of him. "you see," he said, with his smirk, "i've done what you axed me to do." "you have, and i thank you for it." "that's all right; there ain't nothin' mean about me, for all some folks choose to slander me. now, i s'pose you'd like to have your father and the rest of them folks let go?" "i have been praying for that ever since the indians captured us." "wall, i've been thinking 'bout settin' you all loose to take care of yourselves." "oh, if you do, mr. golcher--" "thar, thar," he interrupted, with a wave of the hand; "call me 'jake' when you speak to me." "i'll be grateful to you, jake, as long as i live, and so will they." "that's all very well; but gratertude ain't going to do me much good," said jake, with another grin. "i orter have some reward, maggie." "so you will; the reward of an approving conscience, which is beyond the price of rubies." "i know all 'bout that," said he, slinging one leg over the other, after which he nursed the upper knee and swayed the foot back and forth; "but that don't satisfy me. i want more." "we have a little farm, you know; i'll give you my share in that, and father, i'm sure, will pay you everything he can get together." "yes, but that ain't enough, maggie." "what else can we do?" she asked, despairingly, while her sex's intuition told her what he was hinting at. "i want _you_," he said, bending his head close to her, while she recoiled; "if you'll be my wife, i'll let your father, eva, yourself, and even aunt peggy, go; if you don't, the senecas shall tomahawk them all." maggie brainerd knew this was coming, and she asked herself whether it was not her duty to be offered up as a sacrifice, to save her beloved friends. would there be any more heroism in doing so than had been displayed before by thousands of her sex? she was prayerfully considering the question, when her indignant father, who had heard it all, broke in with: "tell him no--a thousand times no! if you don't, you are no daughter of mine!" chapter xliii. gravity gimp and lieutenant fred godfrey were in high spirits, for each had been highly favored by fortune. they were beyond sight of the camp-fire and had thrown the pursuing iroquois off the track, so that, with ordinary care, they were out of personal danger. but this elation could not last. could they forget that within a stone's throw their friends were in peril, and unless soon rescued would be beyond all help? "we have only one gun between us," said fred, "and i don't see any prospect of getting another." "i thinked maybe we mought find one, somewhar in de woods," said gimp, "but i guess dere ain't much show for dat. you am de best shot, so i'll be wery much obleeged if you'll take charge ob dis rifle." fred accepted the weapon, feeling that before any great harm could befall those in the indian camp, the bullet nestling in the barrel would be heard from. "we will steal up as near as we dare," said he, "and watch our chances." "i doesn't see dat i can assist you, to a wery alarming extent," said gimp, "so if you doesn't object, i'll go on a scout." "go on a scout? what do you mean by that?" "ise an ijee; i'll take a look around, and when i want you i'll just whistle this way, and you'll understand." fred had little faith in the proposal, but fortunately he did not object, and a minute later gimp was gone. left to himself fred stealthily approached the vicinity of the camp, fully alive to the delicacy of his mission. he was resolved that if detected, and this was likely to occur, since a number of the senecas were still absent and would soon be returning, he would not be retaken. "there will not be a shadow of hope, if i fall into their hands again, and i may as well make it lively for a while." a few steps farther and he reached a point from which he obtained a clear view of the indian camp. he saw aunt peggy busy with her culinary duties, while the group of half a dozen indians were as eagerly watching and scrambling for the brown slices as if they were so many wolves. by and by jake golcher cut the withes that bound the arms of habakkuk mcewen and mr. brainerd, and began talking with maggie while fred watched with the deepest interest the singular camp. "i think there'll be some mischief done pretty soon," thought the youth, after watching the scene for a moment; "and, if so, i must take a hand." he had stationed himself by the side of a tree with large spreading limbs, and he now resorted to the odd plan of climbing a short distance and seating himself among the limbs. "i've got just as good a view here," he said to himself, "and, if it becomes necessary to shoot, they won't be apt to look in this place for me." at the same time it occurred to him that if the flash of his gun should be noticed, and his whereabouts discovered, he would be in the worst possible situation. parting the limbs, so as to give him the view he wished, he held his weapon ready to fire any instant, while he closely watched proceedings. no better aim could have been required than that now given him; he could cover every one in the party, and the distance was so short that it was impossible to miss. "i ought to shoot him," he muttered, as he looked at jake golcher, while sitting by maggie brainerd and talking with such earnestness; "it is he who has followed us, and but for him the party would be well out of danger by this time." the young lieutenant was angry enough to shoot a dozen tories, had the chance been his; but when he sighted along the gleaming barrel of his rifle, on which the firelight fell, he could not bring himself to the point. "yes; i ought to do it," he added, "but i can't feel right in picking off a man in that fashion. no; i'll wait till he gives me a better excuse." the watcher knew what passed between maggie, golcher, and mr. brainerd, when the last came up and uttered his indignant protest, almost as well as if he had overheard the words themselves. "jake has proposed to let the whole party off, provided maggie will marry him, and before she can decide (for he knows if she makes the promise she will keep it, if they both live), father is giving the tory a piece of his mind. he's doing it in a style, too, that can't be misunderstood." this little scene lasted but a few seconds, when mr. brainerd resumed his seat on the log, close to his daughter, as if he would protect her from any more such advances. all this was noted and understood by the watcher in the tree, when the latter was recalled to his own situation by a slight rustling below. looking down, he was able to see by the light of the camp-fire the figure of a seneca indian, as he walked softly in the direction of the camp. no doubt he was one of the warriors that had been hunting for fred, and who failed to find him. the latter was so near his enemies that he could follow the motions of the indian until he joined his comrades, or, rather, went up to golcher, who straightway began questioning him about the search for the young patriot. whatever their answers might have been, it is scarcely to be presumed they added much to the peace of mind of mr. jacob golcher. chapter xliv. after the indignant protest of mr. brainerd, jake golcher concluded to let the matter rest for the time. "the old fellow is pretty sassy and independent, but i'll take it out of him before he's two hours older. i wish black turtle would come in." he referred to one of the most treacherous and cruel warriors of the seneca tribe--a savage whose atrocities had given him prominence even among a people noted for their cruelty, and the identical redskin who was in his mind at that moment came out of the wood and approached the tory leader. black turtle was the warrior who passed under the tree in which fred godfrey was perched. golcher now believed that he had been lenient, and he resolved to force the issue that had already been delayed too long. without heeding the other warriors, who were laughing and scrambling for the slices of meat, black turtle at once went up to the white man, with whom he held a brief but pointed conversation. he first told that they had hunted hard for the yengese, or yankee, and had failed to find him--a piece of superfluous information, and then black turtle, who seemed to be a subordinate chief, asked in an angry voice why the whites sitting on the log had been spared so long. on the other side the river the indians allowed few of the yengese to live any longer than they could survive the blows of the tomahawk, and there was no reason why such partiality should be shown these who had crossed the susquehanna. this declaration was supplemented by the warrior drawing his tomahawk, and announcing that he meant to finish the job at once. but this was a little more than jake golcher wished. there was one of the captives, at least, whom he desired to protect until certain, one way or the other, about her disposition toward him. if her father were removed, the tory believed the daughter could be brought to terms through her affection for her sister and aunt. "so long as the old chap is alive," reflected golcher, "so long will he prevent her consent. but, if he is gone, and she finds that the only way to save eva and her aunt is to accept me, she will do it, though there will be a big lot of blubbering and praying and all that sort of stuff. therefore, the best thing is to get her father out of her path: she will be pretty well broke up by that." it was now necessary that black turtle should be appeased in some way, and jake golcher, without hesitation, made known his purpose. it was, in short, that black turtle should move off in the woods, as if he had no thought of evil in his mind, and when beyond sight, make a stealthy circuit, so as to get in the rear of the parties sitting on the log. he was then to steal up and drive his tomahawk into the skull of the unsuspecting mr. brainerd. the indian would utter his whoop, if so inclined (the disposition to whoop at such a time is irresistible with his race), and dart off in the woods. he was to stay until matters should become quiet around the camp-fire, when he might come back and play the innocent warrior, or the avenger, as he chose. black turtle entered upon the dreadful business with the cunning peculiar to his nature. he sauntered off in another direction, passing by the group of senecas on the other side of the fire, without so much as drawing an inquiring look from them. fred godfrey, from his perch in the tree, saw this action of the redskin, but with no suspicion of its meaning. he thought he would probably continue his hunt for the lieutenant, whom he, and all the others, had not been able to find. the conduct of jake golcher was as cruel as that of black turtle. without resenting the indignant words of mr. brainerd, who seated himself beside maggie and tried to cheer her, the tory sauntered off and stood grimly watching the curious actions of some of the warriors, who were still struggling for the crumbs that fell from aunt peggy's aboriginal table. he thought it best not to say anything more to the fugitives. he had made a blunder, and no words of his just then could right it. he had decided that there had been already too much talk, and it was time for action to take its place. the position of the tory was such that he could see every one in camp, but he glowered out from his ugly brows on the mournful party that still sat on the fallen tree, and not only at them, but he was watching the wood immediately behind mr. brainerd. he knew the point where black turtle would be likely to appear, and he did not wish to miss the tragedy. "things look rather curious there," muttered lieutenant godfrey, from his perch in the branches of the tree. "why is jake golcher watching the folks so closely? is there some mischief afloat?" at that instant he detected a movement in the undergrowth behind brainerd, the position of fred being the best possible to see what was going on in that spot. the firelight was thrown over the fallen tree, and reached some distance beyond, so that the figure of black turtle, as he rose like a shadow to his feet, was plainly shown. one glance at the warrior told the whole truth to the watcher, whose gun was already cocked and pointed in that direction. black turtle had selected his own position, and, slowly drawing back his sinewy arm, he aimed straight for him who never dreamed of his peril. the savage gathered his strength for the throw that was to inflict death upon an innocent man. but black turtle made a slight mistake. [illustration: "but black turtle made a slight mistake."] before the weapon could leave his fingers the sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness, followed instantly by the death-shriek of the savage, as he flung his arms aloft and fell forward, almost against the log on which the brainerd family were sitting. the scheme of jake golcher and black turtle was indefinitely postponed. chapter xlv. the shock terrified the whole camp. aunt peggy dropped the piece of meat she was cooking, and sprang back with a gasp. the other indians, accustomed as they were to violence, stared in blank wonder, while those on the fallen tree leaped to their feet and gazed at the figure of the indian as he lay on his face, with his tomahawk clenched in his vise-like grip. jake golcher was dazed, and neither spoke nor stirred until maggie, in the very depths of her agony, ran to him and exclaimed: "what is the meaning of this? was he seeking father's life? if he was, it was _you_ who told him to do it!" the tory looked in the white face of the girl, and said, in a surly voice: "i didn't know anything about it." "oh, jake," she continued, talking rapidly, and in such mental distress that every eye was fixed upon her; "if this is _your_ work, a just god will punish you for it. father has never sought to injure you. we are neighbors, and belong to the same race--" he attempted to turn away, but she caught his arm, and faced him about. "you shall hear me. if you want human lives, take _mine_--take eva's, but spare his gray hairs; do him a wrong, and as sure as our heavenly father reigns above, a punishment shall come to you. show him mercy, treat us as human beings, and you will thank him to your dying day that he led you aright, when you went so far astray." the father would have gone forward and drawn her away, but he was held by her soulful eloquence. she staggered back and would have fallen, had not aunt peggy, who, after all, was the most cool-headed one in the party, seen what was coming and caught her in her arms. half-supporting and half-dragging her, she got her back to the tree, where she gently seated her. poor maggie threw her arms around the good woman's neck and gave way to hysterical sobbing, while her aunt tried to soothe her. mr. brainerd sat like a statue, but his lips trembled, and it required all the power of his will to keep from breaking down as utterly as did maggie herself, who, flinging one of her arms around weeping eva, gathered her and their aunt in an embrace, and surrendered to her tempest of grief. the senecas looked on, but if there was any glimmering of tenderness in their nature it did not struggle to the surface, and the trees around them could not have betrayed less emotion. as for jake golcher, he scanned the picture with darker passions than those of the savages themselves. he did not stir, but, when he saw habakkuk mcewen look inquiringly at him, he beckoned him to approach. the frightened fellow sprang to his feet and hurried across the short space, eager to do anything to win the favor of the other. "do you know who shot that indian?" asked the tory, in an undertone. "i haven't the least idea." "it was fred godfrey; he is somewhere near. the shot sounded out yonder"--pointing in the proper direction--"and, if you want to save your life, you must go out and bring him in." "i'll do it," said mcewen, catching like a drowning man at a straw. he turned about to start upon his strange errand, when golcher commanded him to stop. "how are you going to do it?" "catch him by the neck and heels, and drag him along." "don't you see the senecas are starting off to hunt him up?" it was true. the red men quickly recovered from the shock, and, knowing who fired the shot, were stealing off into the woods in search of the youth, who had given proof of his presence near them. almost every one was able to tell the point whence came the familiar bullet, and it will be understood that fred godfrey took his life in his hand when he interposed to save his father. "i don't believe they will find him," said jake golcher, alluding to the senecas, who were moving off in the darkness; "but you can join him, because he takes you for a friend; go out in the woods, signal to him, and when you find him, get him to come nigh enough to be catched. you can do it, and if you succeed, you shall be spared. don't think," added the tory, significantly, "that because we let you jine in the hunt you can slip off in the dark." "oh, i never thought of such a thing," protested the new englander. "i always keep my promise, and i'll bring him back." "there isn't one of these folks that can get away, for the senecas are all around us. gray panther will soon be here with twenty more, and then we shall have 'em all." if this were the case, habakkuk might well have asked why golcher wished him to join in the search. but if such a question came to the mind of mcewen he did not utter it. "if you try to run away you'll be brought back here and tomahawked inside of half an hour; do your duty, and i'll take care of you; after you get out there in the dark you can signal to him in such a way that he'll show himself, and then you must prove your smartness by getting him to come with you to some p'int where we can pounce onto him. do you understand?" "it's all as plain as the nose on your face," said habakkuk. "then be off with you!" chapter xlvi. habakkuk mcewen entered upon his strange mission with ardor. a few seconds carried him beyond sight of the fire, and he pushed forward until fully two hundred yards distant, when he paused, and listened. he heard nothing of the iroquois, who could not be far away. "over yonder lies the trail that leads to stroudsburg," he said to himself, "and this is the first fair start that i've had since getting into this neighborhood. such a promise as i made ain't binding; the way fred godfrey has been going on, i think he's able to take care of himself, and it's about time i did the same. i'm off for stroudsburg, and nothing short of an earthquake shall stop me _this_ time." and thereupon he started like a frightened deer through the dark woods, with the resolve that when the morrow's sun should rise he would be many a mile to the eastward, and far beyond the reach of jake golcher and his senecas. meanwhile, fred godfrey, having done such good service for his friend, was equally alert in making the most of it. he did not forget that the sound of his rifle would direct the senecas to the spot whence it came, and should he remain five minutes in the tree he would be at their mercy. consequently, the smoke had scarcely risen from the muzzle of his weapon, and the death-shriek of bloody black turtle was yet echoing on the air, when he came down as nimbly as a monkey and hurried from the spot. the shot that he had fired was one of those unexpected things that startled the senecas into temporary inaction, just enough to serve a quick-witted person like fred godfrey. he was loath to leave the vicinity of the camp, but self-preservation commanded it, and he did not pause until a safe distance away. his dread was that the senecas would take revenge upon the whites for the death of their comrade, and the youth meant to return to a position that would enable him to interfere again, even though the risk were tenfold greater than before. but fred had not listened more than a couple of minutes when he was detected by an indian, who must have followed him some distance through the woods. "ugh! s'render--me kill!" growled the savage, bearing down upon him with upraised tomahawk. "surrender, eh? that's the way i surrender!" and, to the terror of the red man, he found the muzzle of a pistol placed against his nose. "ugh! no shoot--me good injun--ugh! good yengese!" and the valiant fellow, ducking his head, and dodging from side to side, like the digger indians of california, in the vain effort to distract the aim of his enemy, went threshing through the wood without any regard to noise or dignity. lieutenant godfrey could have stopped his career without trouble, merely by pressing the trigger; but he did not do so. he was a civilized soldier. "go in peace," laughed fred, putting his weapon away. "heaven knows i do not wish to take human life!" as the youth had now reached a point where he could feel safe from his pursuers, he proceeded to reload his rifle. in the darkness it required care, and was a task compared to which that of breech-loading of to-day is nothing. the few beams of moonlight that had disclosed him and the seneca to each other helped him to pour out the powder from the horn around his waist, and to adjust the quantity in the pan of his flintlock. "if i continue this picking off of warriors, one at a time," muttered fred, "i will be able to thin them out before morning." he was reminded of the delicacy of his position, by hearing low whistling on his right. "doubtless that is the one i drove away," was his reflection. "he wants to call some of his brothers before i leave, so he can reward me as an indian likes to reward one who shows him mercy. but, hello!" like a flash came the thought that the peculiar signals that had been going on for some minutes were not those of an indian, but of his friend, gravity gimp. "i do believe it is he, calling to me," said the lieutenant, as he stationed himself in the shadow of a tree, and, holding his weapon ready for use, cautiously answered the hail, which sounded clear and distinct on the still summer night. instantly came the reply, and then he replied in turn, so that communication was established, and whether the other was a friend or foe, it became evident that he was approaching. the lieutenant did not feel free from fear, for he was aware of the subtlety of the foes against whom he was contending, and nothing was more natural than that they should resort to such a simple artifice to mislead him. he therefore ceased answering the call when it came close, but held himself ready to fire and withdraw the instant he should detect the deception. a figure was dimly seen in a small, moonlit space in front, advancing upon him in a crouching posture. fred fastened his eyes on the shadowy outlines, and he grasped his gun with both hands. just then the half-bent man straightened up, and, with a relief that was delightful, fred recognized the form of gravity gimp, who had been hunting and signaling so industriously for the last fifteen minutes. chapter xlvii. lieutenant godfrey and gravity gimp shook hands warmly, for they were overjoyed to meet in this manner, after their enforced parting a brief while before. "it's a wonder that your signaling did not bring some of the senecas to you," said the young officer. "dat's jist what it done." "and how did you manage it?" "when dey come i left, and i took such a path dat if dey tried to foller, dey run agin de trees, or fell ober de rocks and broke dar necks." "well, gravity, you heard my gun, and i'll tell you how it was." thereupon the lieutenant gave the particulars of the taking off of the vengeful warrior known as black turtle, the seneca, the african listening, meanwhile, with open mouth and staring eyes. "dat's wery cheerin'," said he. "some ob dem senekers am so stupid dat you've got to knock dere heads off afore dey knows anything; but, leftenant, i's got 'portant news to tell you." "what is it?" "dar's somebody out in de woods dat ain't injuns." "explain what you mean?" said godfrey, with a thrill of hope. "afore you fired dat gun, and when eberyting was still, i heerd somebody talking out dare; dey kind ob whistled, like i's been doing, den i heerd whispers, and den de sound ob feet." this was stirring news, indeed, to fred. if it so proved that these strangers were white men, he might be able to rally them to the attack of golcher and his indian allies. but, alas! if they should prove to be that portion of the band which withdrew a short time previous, their presence would settle forever all prospects of a rescue. "how far off are they?" he asked. "only a short distance; foller me." "don't forget, gravity," said the lieutenant, as he started with him, "that we're likely to run afoul of some of the senecas, who are out hunting for me." "i understand dat." a few minutes later the african came to a stop, and said, in a husky undertone: "dis am de spot." it was hard to imagine how the servant could identify it, for it was in the shadow of the trees, though a small, natural clearing was in sight, that itself being the guiding landmark. but nothing was seen or heard that could justify the declaration of gravity, who stood intently listening. "i don't hear nuffin'," said he, a moment later. "i guess dey hab gone to sleep, and am snorin'. you ain't skeered, be you, lieutenant?" "what is there to scare us?" asked fred. "i don't know ob nuffin, but i thought mebbe you knowed." just then gimp got down on the ground, and pressed his ear to the earth. immediately he called out: "i hear footsteps--plain as day--jes' listen!" fred godfrey knelt, and, indian-like, touched his ear to the ground. as he did so, he caught sounds as if made by the feet of persons moving near them. "i believe they are white men--god grant they are! don't make any noise and we will soon find out." although he had little experience as a woodman, fred believed, from the peculiarity of the slight noises that reached his ear, that they were those of his own race. as a quick way to settle it, though it was an act of imprudence, he called out, in a guarded voice: "halloa there, friends!" "halloa; are you white?" "yes--" "what's de use ob lyin' so shamefully as dat?" broke in gimp; "if i'm white den you're black." "i declare, gravity, i forgot all about it!" laughed the lieutenant, and then, raising his voice, he said: "we are one black and one white, fugitives from wyoming, and hunting for friends." "that hits us," was the response; and the next moment, to the surprise and delight of godfrey, seven men came to view in the small moonlit clearing, and waited for him to advance and show himself. he lost no time in doing so, and, as briefly as possible, explained how it was he and the african were there, and how necessary it was that help should be immediately sent their friends, in the custody of jake golcher, the tory, and his senecas. "now you're shouting," was the hearty response of the leader of the seven, who announced his name as dick durkee; "that's what we're here for, though we're a little behind time." "where did you come from?" "i live pretty well back in the country toward stroudsburg, and i heered two days ago that trouble was coming into wyoming valley. you see i got the matter so straight from a friendly indian that i knowed there could be no mistake. it worried me so that i couldn't sleep, and i told my wife that i was bound to take a hand in it. so i scoured through the country and got my six friends, all true and tried, and set out. we got here only a little while ago, when things looked so squally that i concluded to stop and find out something before going furder; that's the way it stands." "then you will help our friends out of their trouble?" "that's just what we come for, and we don't propose to back out now." "give me your hand on that!" exclaimed the delighted fred. while the two were saluting each other in this effusive fashion, gravity gimp walked out in front of them on the clearing, and solemnly pressing the crown of his head against the ground, elevated his enormous feet in the air, and chuckled as he kicked: "reckon dere's gwine to be somethin' like a s'prise party for mr. jacob golcher!" chapter xlviii. a most unexpected piece of good fortune had befallen our friends, in the appearance of dick durkee, with his six sturdy companions, all armed and ready for an encounter with the tories and iroquois. learning that young fred godfrey had been a lieutenant in the continental army, they insisted on putting themselves under him, at least so long as they were engaged in hostilities. "very well," said the youth, "i will accept the responsibility, because i know i have brave men to lead; but the work will be short." as every minute was precious, and there was no saying what form of cruelty the captors of the fugitives might inflict, the plan was speedily arranged. the camp was so near, that they expected to reach it within ten minutes, after which the question between them and the senecas would be decided in one-fifth of that time. they were on the eve of starting in indian file, when a furious threshing was heard, and a panting form plunged directly among them, stopping abruptly with an exclamation of fear, when he saw the figures around him. "can any of you gentlemen tell me whether this is wilkesbarre or stroudsburg?" he asked, recoiling as if uncertain whether he was with friends or foes. "why, habakkuk," said godfrey in return; "why, are you in such a hurry that you can't stop?" "well, well, well," muttered the terrified new englander, recognizing his friend; "i was on my way to stroudsburg, and didn't expect to meet you here, leftenant; what's up?" "what has caused you to take such a sudden start?" "i got the chance and i took it; i thought, from the rate i was going, that i ought to be pretty well nigh there by this time." "the journey is still before you; but, when i left the vicinity of the camp, you were a prisoner." habakkuk was loath to explain the strange cause of his presence in the woods, but, finding he was among friends, he finally told the story. his listeners of course were astonished, for it seemed incredible that jake golcher should do anything of the kind. "since he sent you out to take me back," said lieutenant godfrey, "you must keep your word and produce me before him." "but, leftenant, such a pledge ain't binding on one, is it?" "it is when i help you carry it out, and that is precisely what i will do." the new englander was amazed, as well he might be, and fred, not wishing to trifle with the poor fellow, who had been so buffeted by good and ill fortune during the day, explained how the plan could be executed without risk to him. it cannot be said that habakkuk took kindly to the project, even then, but in the presence of durkee and his woodmen, he could not well refuse. he was assured that he would be well taken care of, and, as time was valuable, the company started without delay. where every one understood the necessity of silence, they moved along like so many phantoms. gravity gimp's knowledge was so thorough, that even in the gloom, relieved only now and then by a few beams of moonlight, he recognized the landmarks, and gave great help to godfrey, who more than once was at fault. after progressing in this labored manner for some distance they came upon a well-beaten path, where it was much easier to travel than in the unbroken wood. they had not far to go, and were beginning to slacken their speed, when all were startled by hearing some one approaching from the front. each man noiselessly stepped out of the path, and, with their guns grasped, awaited the issue. the first supposition was that they were indians, and, excepting through fear of complicating matters in camp, the strangers would have been assailed at once. but at the very moment the two forms, as they proved to be, were immediately opposite, one of them was heard to speak: "by gracious! jim, this is the most dangerous latitude i ever was in." this expression identified them, and fred spoke in a guarded voice: "hold on, friends; don't be alarmed." naturally the strangers were frightened, and showed a disposition to break into headlong flight, but durkee and his comrades quickly stepped into the path and surrounded them. by the time this was done, the couple realized they were among friends, and they made themselves known. they were two men who were in the wilkesbarre fort during the battle and massacre of the afternoon, and they had come up the eastern shore of the river to learn whether they could be of any help to the numerous fugitives at wyoming. they soon found it was too late to do much good, but they lingered in the vicinity and exchanged shots with several parties of tories and indians. they prowled around after dark, when they saw matters going so ill that they concluded there would be no safety in returning to wilkesbarre, where a panic had probably set in. they were now on their way to stroudsburg, which was a haven of hope to so many fugitives in that flaming day and the following one. they gladly agreed to join the rescuers, and, as each had a good rifle and ammunition, they were a most desirable re-enforcement. chapter xlix. by this time the short july night was drawing to a close, and there were signs of the coming dawn in the east. all through the solemn darkness the massacre had continued, and scenes were enacted on both sides of the susquehanna which the pen has never placed on paper, and which to-day come down to us only in the shuddering legends of those who looked upon and survived to tell of them. among the miscreants none was more inhuman than jake golcher, the tory. but for his strong admiration of the pretty maggie brainerd not one of the little party of fugitives would have survived capture for fifteen minutes. he was not the first, as he shall not be the last, bad man who has been restrained from evil by the sweet beauty of some maiden who, unconsciously to herself, has woven her subtle web around him. had she walked up to him and promised to be his wife on condition that every one of her friends should be released, he would have complied, though he might have resorted to treachery afterward to gratify the demand for revenge on the part of his indian allies. but the father of maggie had repudiated his claim, and the point at last was reached when he was forced to see that every one of the fugitives, including maggie herself, looked upon him with unspeakable loathing, and they would die before humbling themselves to him. "what's the sense of my fooling longer?" he growled, standing sullenly apart and glowering upon them; "they hate me worse than satan himself, and if maggie should pledge me her hand, that old father or the brother of her'n wouldn't let her keep her promise. the injins have got so mad at my soft-heartedness that they begin to 'spect me, and they've gone over to t' other side the river to have their fun there, 'cause there ain't much prospect of gettin' it here." the renegade spoke a significant truth, and, looking around, he was able to count precisely six senecas who remained with him. some of the others who were out hunting in the wood might return, but the chances were against it, and more than likely they had gone off to join in the orgies of which we only dare hint. striding across the brief space, jake golcher paused in front of maggie brainerd and said: "you have had more mercy to-night than you had a right to expect, and more than you'll get any longer." "why do you talk to me thus?" asked the scared maiden, who could not fail to understand what he meant; "why do you feel such hatred of us who have never showed aught but kindness to you?" "bah!" interrupted the tory, angrily; "why do you get over that stuff to me? i want no more of it. the time for begging mercy has gone by. if you had treated me right a while ago it would have been well--" "oh, jake, how can you?" the agonized girl was about to rush forward and throw herself on her knees before the man, when her father, with flashing eye, interposed. "maggie, i forbid you to speak a word to such a scoundrel as he. sit down and keep silence." the obedient girl complied, as she would have done had she known that death was to be the penalty. she placed herself beside eva, and the two, wrapping their arms about each other, wept in silence. aunt peggy, as if conscious the crisis had come, ceased her cooking and softly seated herself beside them, without a word. mr. brainerd, proud and defiant as ever, sat bolt upright on the fallen tree, with arms folded, looking as keenly as an eagle in the face of the being whom he execrated above any of his kind. the senecas watched them all, and it was easy to detect the signs of impatience among them, for they had been baffled too long of their prey. as jake golcher retreated a step or two the indians uttered a short exclamation of surprise, as well they might, for two figures strode for-toward out of the gloom in the light of the camp-fire. one of them was habakkuk mcewen, who led by the arm lieutenant fred godfrey, the latter stepping briskly, while a strange half-smile hovered about his handsome mouth. mr. brainerd and the rest of the fugitives were thunderstruck, and totally at a loss to understand the meaning of the spectacle. fortunately, they were not kept long in suspense. the face of habakkuk was wreathed in an all-embracing smile, though there was a certain delicacy in his position that prevented his smile becoming contagious. "well, jake, i've brought you your man!" called out habakkuk, in a voice tremulous with triumph and fear. "you have done well," replied golcher, as soon as he could recover his breath; "you have done better than i expected." "it's all right now, then, ain't it--that is, with me?" "certainly; you've earned your freedom and can go. these injins won't hurt you." golcher made a wave of his hand to the warriors grouped around and uttered an exclamation that insured immunity to the eccentric new englander. the latter wheeled about and walked straight toward the woods where his friends were awaiting him. one of the most difficult things for a brave man to do is to stride deliberately off, without decreasing or augmenting his gait, when he has every reason to believe that someone is taking careful aim at him, and that if he doesn't get beyond range in a brief while he is certain to be punctured. the expectation of receiving a bullet from the rear will make the chills creep over the most courageous person, and give an impetus to his gait like the actual prick of a bayonet. habakkuk mcewen walked only a dozen steps when he was so impressed by the situation, that he forgot his identity. with a howl he sprang several feet from the ground and dashed off at the top of his speed into the woods, muttering: "i'll be hanged if i can stand it; i believe every injin squattin' there was taking aim at me." fred godfrey and jake golcher at last stood face to face, and by the light of the camp-fire looked steadily in the eyes of each other. "i'm here," said the lieutenant, in his ordinary voice, though he carefully measured his words: "habakkuk mcewen has kept his pledge, and now i'd like to know what you are going to do about it." "you would like to know, eh? wal, i can soon tell you. i'm going to turn you over to these senecas you see around you; one of them is throwing wood on the fire now; that's for you. more than one rebel has been roasted, and you are none too good to be served the same way." "so you intend to burn me to death, jacob, do you?" "intend to! i'm going to do so, sartin sure--that is, i'm going to boss the job, but i've promised to let the redskins have the fun of the thing." "that's the idea, is it? and after i'm disposed of, what then? that is, what is to be done with my friends there?" "i've no 'bjection to saying," replied the tory, speaking loud enough for all to hear, "that the old fellow there and that she panther, aunt peggy, will be served the same way. the two girls will be taken back to york state with us, and sort of adopted by the senecas." all the individuals referred to heard these words, but no one moved or stirred. it may truthfully be said that they were so overcome for the moment that they were speechless. "that's an imposing programme, jacob, but, somehow or other, i think there will be a hitch in carrying it out." "you think so, eh? wal, you'll see mighty soon that there ain't no mistake about it. the fire is burning and about ready--" "jacob," said fred godfrey in a low voice, but with such significance that the tory was transfixed, "i hoped that you would say and do something that would give me excuse for believing you less a miscreant than you are, but you have persisted in shutting out all merciful thoughts--" "wh-wh-what d-d-do you m-mean?" stammered golcher, beginning to feel a giving away in his knees. "do you suppose i was such a fool as to allow habakkuk mcewen, one of my best friends, to bring me back a prisoner to you? you showed your idiocy in sending him out for me; but it is scarcely credible that you could really think he would ever show himself again. but he has, and here i am-- "and now, jacob, i have the pleasure of informing you that you are at _my_ mercy, and i have only to raise my hand--so--to have you riddled with bullets." chapter l. as lieutenant fred godfrey slowly raised his hand, as if it were the signal for his friends to open fire, jake golcher collapsed. sinking down on the ground, as limp as a rag, he began begging in the most pitiful tones for his life. indeed, he groveled so in the dirt that all the whites who looked upon him found their feelings of hatred turning to disgust and pity. fred godfrey was disappointed, and, stepping back a pace or two, gazed on the miserable craven as he would upon a dog he had caught stealing sheep, and which was then cringing at his feet. instead of waiting until the patriot had proven the truth of his declaration, the renegade succumbed at once. it is hard to kick the wretch who clasps your knees, and the lieutenant, who was determined to rid the world of the man as soon as he had made the declaration of his purposes respecting the captives, found his resentment gone. mr. brainerd, with an expression of scorn, sprang up from the log and strode over to his son. "in heaven's name, let him go, fred! kick him out of sight, for he hasn't the manhood to stand up and be shot like a man." "get up!" commanded fred, catching him by the collar of his coat, and jerking him to his feet: "i want to speak to you." but golcher was no sooner on his feet than he went to pieces again, groaning and whining, and begging for that mercy that he had so often denied to others. again the lieutenant yanked him to the upright position, and, finding him collapsed as before, he cuffed his ears until they tingled, shouting: "stand up, or you're a dead man!" finally, after wabbling about several minutes, golcher summoned enough strength to keep his feet, though in a shaky condition; and finding he was not to be executed immediately, he managed to grasp the situation. "i was going to say--what do you mean, gravity?" this sudden question was caused by gimp, the african, who, with a chuckle, ran forward from the darkness that was beginning to give away before the approach of day, and, jamming his head down in the ground between godfrey and golcher, threw his huge feet in the air, and began kicking with such recklessness that one of them struck the lieutenant in the breast, nearly knocking him over, while the other sent the tory recoiling some distance. "can't help it!" exclaimed the happy african; "jake golcher's s'prise party dat was to hab arriv, hab arroven, and me and aunt peggy feels like standin' on our heads, and kickin' de limbs off de trees." gravity used his feet rather too vigorously, and, swaying beyond the point of nature's gravity, came down on his back with a resounding thump; but he did not mind it, and leaping up, ran to the fallen tree, where he sat down among his friends with the most extravagant manifestations of joy. it is not to be supposed that the six senecas remained idle spectators of this extraordinary scene. they were quick to comprehend what it meant, and had they but maintained guard for the preceding hour or two with their usual care the surprise could not have been effected. but, if any warriors could feel warranted in believing themselves beyond danger of molestation from white men, it was those indians who took part in the wyoming massacre. when they grasped their guns and glanced around, their eyes encountered a strange sight. it seemed as if a score of men had sprung from the ground like so many visions of the night, and every one of the iroquois who used his eyes saw a gun leveled at him. had the scene occurred in texas to-day, it would have been said that dick durkee and his foresters "had the drop" on the tory and his iroquois. the latter saw they were caught, and they preserved a masterly inactivity, pending the negotiations between the two parties. there was a threatened complication that might turn the tables again, and this time against the patriots. some of the senecas were absent and were likely to come back. gray panther might be among them, and in such an event the whites were likely to find themselves between two fires. "you poor fool," said fred, when golcher got into such shape that he could understand what was said to him; "stand up like a man, or i'll shoot you!" "yes--yes--yes, i--w-w-wi-ll; what do you want?" "i want to make an agreement with you, and it's got to be done mighty quick or not at all." thereupon the tory straightened up wonderfully; but, happening to look about him and to catch sight of the patriots standing, as it seemed everywhere, with their guns leveled, he was seized with another fit of shivering, and it was some time before he could compose himself. "you see," said the lieutenant, "that you are at my mercy, and i'll treat you better than you deserve. i have but to give the signal, as i told you a minute ago, and ten seconds from now there wouldn't be a tory or red indian standing alive in this camp. every one of you is covered, but i'll agree to let you and them withdraw, on condition that you do so without a second's delay." "i'll do it--i'll do it!" gasped golcher; "i'll give you an escort to stroudsburg, or anywhere you want to go." "i rather think you won't," was the reply of godfrey. "you have escorted us altogether too much as it is. thank heaven, we are in shape to take care of ourselves now." "wal, i'm ready to do whatever you want; fact is, leftenant, i never meant one-half i said about you, and i ain't half as mean as--" "not another word!" commanded fred. "we'll attend to business now." chapter li. lieutenant fred godfrey expected such a reception from jake golcher as would give him a suitable excuse for opening fire on the tory and the senecas, but the panic of the leader disarmed his enmity, and really forced the arrangement that was now carried out; one that, it may be said, was intensely disagreeable to dick durkee and his comrades, who were unwilling to spare such miscreants. but the lieutenant was the commander, and there was no rebellion against his orders. "bring your warriors up here," ordered fred, and golcher made a sign for the senecas to approach. they moved forward a few paces, but, mistrusting the purposes of the patriots, refused to come further. golcher berated, and ordered them to advance, telling them--what they already knew--they were covered by the guns of the whites. but they stood sullenly apart, and began moving in the direction of the river. at this moment dick durkee called out: "lieutenant, shall we fire? we've got every wretch of 'em fast." "keep them covered, but don't shoot unless they raise their guns," called fred, who was embarrassed by the unexpected turn. "may i go with 'em?" asked jake golcher, in a cringing voice, beginning to back away from his dreaded master. "yes, go; and i pray heaven none of us may ever look on your face again." fred should have been prepared for what followed, inasmuch as no one understood the treacherous nature of tory and indian better than he, but, as we have intimated, he was confronted by an unexpected condition of affairs, and was caught off his guard, so to speak. he saw the warriors withdrawing, and already entering the wood on his left, while he stood in the full light of the camp-fire, calmly watching the movement. "fred, move away from there," called out his father; "you are too good a mark for them." fortunately, the young man stepped back and to one side, placing himself near dick durkee, who stood with cocked rifle, fairly quivering with rage, because he was forced to hold his fire. fred himself had his pistol at command, but he was without any rifle, having handed his over to one of his friends, when he went forward with habakkuk mcewen. the indians were in the fringe of the wood, when all the former prisoners, who were sitting on the fallen tree, sprang up, and began moving away. at this juncture one of durkee's men shouted: "look out! they're going to shoot!" the words were yet in his mouth, when jake golcher, with unparalleled treachery, raised the gun that he had caught from one of the senecas, and aimed directly at maggie brainerd. his position was such that only her father understood his purpose, and he sprang forward to shield his daughter, throwing himself before her at the very moment the tory discharged his gun. with a groan of pain, the brave parent staggered a few steps and fell heavily to the ground. "just as i expected," exclaimed dick durkee. "give it to 'em, boys! don't spare one!" with incredible celerity the iroquois fired their guns almost simultaneously with the tory, and then darted off like so many shadows through the wood, the dim morning light being insufficient to betray them in the thick undergrowth. but dick durkee and his men returned the volley instantly, and sprang after them. fred godfrey had not noticed the fall of his father, but, with his whole soul aflame at the outrage, he dashed toward the wretches, pistol in hand, determined to wreak vengeance on the party, who, he well knew, were inspired to the deed by golcher himself. on the edge of the wood, where the senecas had stood for a single moment when they fired their guns, two of their number were stretched lifeless, proving that the return volley had done some execution. the settlers charged through the undergrowth without any regard to order and the peril into which they might precipitate themselves. had gray panther and his warriors appeared on the ground at that crisis, in all probability he would have drawn the entire party into ambush, and cut them off to a man. but the fleeing force was too small to attempt a stand, or any such tactics, and they devoted themselves entirely to getting away. they were more expert in this than their pursuers, and scattering--as is the custom of the red men to this day, when closely pressed--each used all his energy and cunning in flight. dick durkee and his men, including fred godfrey, went crashing and tearing ahead, glaring in front and to the right and left in quest of a target, but finding none, until, when the blind pursuit had lasted fifteen minutes or more, it dawned on those concerned that it was idle to attempt anything more. then they stopped for breath, and, turning about, began straggling back toward camp. fred godfrey would have been the last to rejoin his friends had he not been seized with a dread that something might go wrong with those who were left defenseless. he therefore hastened, and in the gray light of the morning came upon a scene of sadness. richard brainerd, his step-father, lay on his back, with his head in the lap of maggie, while eva was weeping over him, and aunt peggy was standing beside them, her face streaming with tears. gravity gimp was rolling on the ground in an agony of sorrow, for he saw what was apparent to the young man--the loved father and master was dying. fred knelt by his side, and taking a whisky flask from the rough but kind-hearted dick durkee, pressed it to the white lips of the sufferer. "it's no use, fred," said he, with a sad smile; "i'm done for. jake golcher fired that shot, but he meant it for maggie, and not for me. i'm close to death." "i hope it isn't as bad as that," said fred, through his tears, his manner showing he could not believe his own words. "it's as well that i should go," said the old man, rallying slightly; "and i'm thankful that the rest of you escaped. good-bye, fred." the youth took the hand that was already growing clammy and limp, and, returning the pressure, could only murmur: "good-bye, good bye; would that it had been i, rather than such a noble father as you have always been to me." gravity gimp, rousing to a sense of the situation, rushed forward with irrestrainable grief, and shook the hand of his master, bending over and kissing his forehead. aunt peggy did the same, and then came the last, sad parting scene between the father and his loved daughters. the murmured words were heard only by maggie and eva, who treasured them up in after-years as the most precious mementos of their lives. when the mild, loving eyes of the parent gradually grew dim, they rested upon the tearful faces of the two girls; and, as he entered the land of shadows, his last memory of the world he left behind was illumined by those two yearning countenances, whose kisses were pressed upon his lips. and the dark angel, reaching out his hand, took that of the patriot, and led him through the shadowy valley into the bright realms beyond. chapter lii. among the most eager pursuers of the treacherous tory and his seneca allies, was habakkuk mcewen, who had withdrawn to the rear of the settlers that held the indians at their mercy during the interview between jake golcher and fred godfrey. the natural timidity of the new englander led him to do this, but he was so infuriated by the act of the party, that he lost all thought of personal danger, and charged through the wood at the very head of the avengers. mcewen had no rifle, but he quickly supplied himself with one. catching sight of a seneca who had fallen before the volley of dick durkee and his comrades, he snatched the weapon from his rigid grasp and sped along like a deer. he had ammunition, and a hasty examination showed that the gun was unloaded. with a coolness hardly to be expected, mcewen stopped in his pursuit and deliberately recharged the rifle, which seemed to be a fine weapon. "i don't want to be catched without anything to help myself with," he said to himself, resuming the chase. this was conducted in such a blind, headlong fashion, that habakkuk speedily found himself not only out of sight of the indians, but of his comrades, who were threshing in different directions, some of them shouting like madmen. "i think they'll make for the river," concluded the new englander, after a moment's pause, "and i'll keep on till i reach the water myself." as the flush of the first excitement wore off, habakkuk began to doubt whether he was doing a prudent thing, in chasing a whole war party in this single-handed style. "i'll take a little pains that they don't get after _me_," he thought, beginning to use more caution in his movements. it was a considerable distance to the susquehanna, but he pushed on, and just as the gray light of the morning was penetrating the wilderness and spreading over the water, he caught the familiar gleam of the beautiful stream. looking across, he paused in silent contemplation of the familiar scene. naturally, he first noticed that landmark so well remembered by old settlers, which was known as the "umbrella tree," on account of its peculiar shape, and which was visible a long distance, standing as it did on the mountains of the western shore. but he was withdrawn from viewing the general features of the landscape, by the sight of the heavy smoke that rested like a pall on the other bank. it partly shut out from sight the straggling houses, most of which were smoldering ashes, and suggested the awful desolation that had been wrought in wyoming valley during the few hours that had passed since the memorable battle was fought near forty fort. "i've no doubt pandemonium was let loose there last night," muttered habakkuk, "and it was a good thing for us that we got across when we did, and a much better thing that dick durkee and his men j'ined us--hello!" he was standing where his body was pretty well screened, and was wondering that he saw no one moving, when he was alarmed by a splash in the water a short distance above him. fearful of being discovered, habakkuk crouched down, and cocked his gun. "it must be some of the scoundrels, who are everywhere; i hadn't orter been quite so rash--" at that moment some one sprang into the river, and, wading out a short distance, began swimming for the other shore. the timid patriot did not dare look out at him until he had gotten some distance away, when he peeped through the undergrowth, and scrutinized the head and shoulders that were moving rapidly across the stream. then, to his amazement, he recognized the man as jake golcher, the tory, who had wrought all this ruin and sorrow; though habakkuk was far from suspecting the whole result of the shot of the renegade. "by the great cæsar! it's him," gasped habakkuk, trembling with excitement; "and that gives me a chance to win some laurels with the other folks, especially with pretty maggie." assuming a kneeling position, he took the most careful aim of his life at the unsuspecting ingrate, and when certain there could be no miss, pulled the trigger. there was no flash in the pan nor miss of aim. the career of jake golcher ended then and there, with a suddenness and freedom from suffering that were mercy compared to what he deserved. habakkuk mcewen lingered long enough to make certain that there was no mistake, and then he stealthily reloaded his rifle before stirring from the spot. he was apprehensive when several indians appeared on the other shore and showed some signs of an intention to cross the stream. this was enough for mcewen, who scrambled out of his hiding-place, and scarcely paused until he reached the camp, where he came upon the sorrowful scene to which we have already referred. mr. brainerd was no more, and the mourning friends, having rallied from their first shock of grief, were preparing to leave the spot, which for a while to come must be one of exceeding great danger to them. after some consultation, fred godfrey, dick durkee, and gravity gimp tenderly lifted the body and carried it to a mass of rocks but a short distance away. had they possessed a shovel they would have given it burial until they could return, but that was impossible. accordingly, it was laid away in a natural sepulchre, and the boulders were so piled around it as to prevent disturbance from animals; then all bade it a tearful adieu, and the faces of the little party were turned toward the far-off settlements of the upper delaware. already the sounds of firing and the shouts of indians were heard from the other side of the susquehanna, while terrified fugitives were continually encountered. some of these were in such sore extremity that they were taken charge of by fred godfrey and dick durkee. maggie and eva brainerd were so melted by their own sufferings that they found it impossible to pass by any of the poor beings without doing their utmost to relieve their distress. and among all the fugitives that hastened in such horror from the wyoming settlements that day, there were many who had been smitten in a more cruel manner than the loving daughters, but there was not one whose woe was deeper than theirs. eva and maggie bore it like the heroines they were, and but for their pale faces and swollen eyes no one would have suspected the depth of their anguish. they said nothing to show it, but were as busy and thoughtful for the others as though all were their brothers and sisters. aunt peggy was silent most of the time, but now and then her hard features quivered with emotion, and she uttered anathemas against those who had wrought all this mischief and sorrow. gravity gimp was the most demonstrative of the company, his sobbing and lamentations more than once bringing tears to the eyes of the others. when habakkuk mcewen made known that he had ended the career of jake golcher there was not one who would believe him; but, fortunately for the new englander's reputation, his declaration was confirmed in an unexpected manner. one of dick durkee's men was late in joining the party that started away that morning, but when he came he said that he, too, was stealing along the river bank, though a considerable distance above where golcher entered it. as soon as he identified the tory he raised his gun to shoot, but when he pulled the trigger he discovered that there was no charge in the weapon. with an expression of impatience he proceeded to correct his mistake, and was in the act of pouring powder in the pan when the crack of some one's else gun sounded just below him. the woodman could not see who fired it, but he saw the tory throw up his arms and disappear, so that a second shot was unnecessary. he tarried, however, some time longer, and observed three indians who swam out into the river in search of the body, showing that they, too, knew who it was. this settled the question; and henceforth habakkuk mcewen became a sort of hero among his comrades, who shook him by the hand and congratulated him on the service done his friends. the vanity of the fellow was flattered, and when he attempted to explain his previous conduct it was accepted good-naturedly; so that, before the day was over, he came to the conclusion that he was in point of fact the bravest and most dashing member of the company, and the one who ought to be the leader. the mountains were passed in safety, and it was not without some misgivings that the party entered that desolate stretch of wilderness several times referred to as the "shades of death." what was dreaded more than anything else was the want of provisions, which was sure to cause suffering. habakkuk mcewen was the only one in the company who had a particle of food, and when that came to be distributed among eight or ten women that had been gathered about them, it was scarcely more than an aggravation of hunger. our own friends, it will be remembered, had eaten a substantial meal of young pig the previous evening, and were in much better form than many who had fled from wyoming, and had partaken of no food during the previous twenty-four hours. the sufferings of the fugitives from wyoming in passing through the "shades of death" were dreadful, as is always the case where such large bodies flee in a panic. many children were born, and perished in the wilderness. strong men lay down and died, and the bones of the victims marked every mile of the way. but there were many who survived, and one bright summer morning all our friends reached the hamlet of stroudsburg, so far removed from the scene of massacre that every cause for alarm had passed. there were fugitives before them, and the hospitality of the villagers was taxed to the utmost, but they gladly met every demand. the weather was so mild that much suffering had been saved the settlers, whose trouble rose mainly from the lack of food. in stroudsburg were old friends and relatives of the brainerds, who did everything in their power for them. it was arranged that maggie, eva, and aunt peggy should stay with them indefinitely until there could be no risk in going back. the anxiety of the brother and sisters was that the body of their father should be laid away in proper form, and fred godfrey and gravity gimp went back to wyoming for that purpose. when the sad duty was finished they once more made their way to stroudsburg, where the young patriot bade his friends a tender adieu, after which he started to join the continental army under washington. habakkuk mcewen went with him, and, despite a manifestation of his natural timidity now and then, made a good record. both he and fred, who had become a captain, were present at the surrender of yorktown, which ended the struggle of the colonies, and established the independence of the united states of america. when they returned to wyoming the settlements had recovered, to a great extent, from the visitation of the tories and indians three years before. the brainerd homestead, which was partly burned, was restored to a substantial condition, and gravity gimp was as big and strong and devoted as ever. the rich soil needed but to be "tickled with a plow" to "laugh a harvest," and it yielded bountifully. there had been several incursions by indians, during one of which the little girl, frances slocum, was taken off by a party of delawares. her wonderful history is part of that of wyoming. but the brainerd family suffered nothing further. eva had grown into a blooming girl when captain fred godfrey came back and joined them at the old homestead. all in due time, he took for his bride one of the blue-eyed lassies of wyoming, and maggie and eva were equally fortunate in securing the best of partners for life. peace folded her gentle wings over the scene of the stirring events that took place more than a century ago, and the thunders of war have never awakened the echoes along that part of the susquehanna since. may it ever be thus throughout our fair land, to the end of time. the end. the next volume of the "wyoming series" will be "storm mountain." the drivers by edward w. ludwig _jetways were excellent substitutes for war, perfect outlets for all forms of neuroses. and the unfit were weeded out by death...._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, february . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] up the concrete steps. slowly, one, two, three, four. down the naked, ice-white corridor. the echo of his footfalls like drumbeats, ominous, threatening. around him, bodies, faces, moving dimly behind the veil of his fear. at last, above an oaken door, the black-lettered sign: department of land-jet vehicles division of licenses he took a deep breath. he withdrew his handkerchief and wiped perspiration from his forehead, his upper lip, the palms of his hands. his mind caressed the hope: _maybe i've failed the tests. maybe they won't give me a license._ he opened the door and stepped inside. the metallic voice of a robot-receptionist hummed at him: "name?" "t--tom rogers." click. "have you an appointment?" his gaze ran over the multitude of silver-boxed analyzers, computers, tabulators, over the white-clad technicians and attendants, over the endless streams of taped data fed from mouths in the dome-shaped ceiling. "have you an appointment?" repeated the robot. "oh. at : p. m." click. "follow the red arrow in aisle three, please." tom rogers moved down the aisle, eyes wide on the flashing, arrow-shaped lights just beneath the surface of the quartzite floor. abruptly, he found himself before a desk. someone pushed him into a foam-rubber contour chair. "surprised, eh, boy?" boomed a deep voice. "no robots at this stage of the game. no sir. this requires the human touch. get me?" "uh-huh." "well, let's see now." the man settled back in his chair behind the desk and began thumbing through a file of papers. he was paunchy and bald save for a forepeak of red-brown fuzz. his gray eyes, with the dreamy look imposed by thick contact lenses, were kindly. sweeping across his flat chest were two rows of rainbow-bright driver's ribbons. two of the bronze accident stars were flanked by smaller stars which indicated limb replacements. belatedly, tom noticed the desk's aluminum placard which read _harry hayden, final examiner--human_. tom thought, _please, harry hayden, tell me i failed. don't lead up to it. please come out and say i failed the tests._ "haven't had much time to look over your file," mused harry hayden. "thomas darwell rogers. occupation: journalism student. unmarried. no siblings. height, five-eleven. weight, one-sixty-three. age, twenty." harry hayden frowned. "twenty?" he repeated, looking up. _oh, god, here it comes again._ "yes, sir," said tom rogers. harry hayden's face hardened. "you've tried to enlist before? you were turned down?" "this is my first application." sudden hostility swept aside harry hayden's expression of kindliness. he scowled at tom's file. "born july , . this is july , . in two days you'll be twenty-one. we don't issue new licenses to people over twenty-one." "i--i know, sir. the psychiatrists believe you adjust better to driving when you're young." "in fact," glowered harry hayden, "in two days you'd have been classified as an enlistment evader. our robo-statistics department would have issued an automatic warrant of arrest." "i know, sir." "then why'd you wait so long?" the voice was razor-sharp. tom wiped a fresh burst of sweat from his forehead. "well, you know how one keeps putting things off. i just--" "you don't put off things like this, boy. why, my three sons were lined up here at five in the morning on their sixteenth birthdays. every mother's son of 'em. they'd talked of nothing else since they were twelve. used to play drivers maybe six, seven hours every day...." his voice trailed. "most kids are like that," said tom. "weren't _you_?" the hostility in harry hayden seemed to be churning like boiling water. "oh, sure," lied tom. "i don't get it. you say you wanted to drive, but you didn't try to enlist." tom squirmed. _you can't tell him you've been scared of jetmobiles ever since you saw that crash when you were three. you can't say that, at seven, you saw your grandfather die in a jetmobile and that after that you wouldn't even play with a jetmobile toy. you can't tell him those things because five years of psychiatric treatment didn't get the fear out of you. if the medics didn't understand, how could harry hayden?_ tom licked his lips. _and you can't tell him how you used to lie in bed praying you'd die before you were sixteen--or how you've pleaded with mom and dad not to make you enlist till you were twenty. you can't--_ inspiration struck him. he clenched his fists. "it--it was my mother, sir. you know how mothers are sometimes. hate to see their kids grow up. hate to see them put on a uniform and risk being killed." harry hayden digested the explanation for a few seconds. it seemed to pacify him. "by golly, that's right. esther took it hard when mark died in a five-car bang-up out of san francisco. and when larry got his three summers ago in europe. esther's my wife--mark was my youngest, larry the oldest." he shook his head. "but it isn't as bad as it used to be. organ and limb grafts are pretty well perfected, and with electro-hypnosis operations are painless. the only fatalities now are when death is immediate, when it happens before the medics get to you. why, no more than one out of ten drivers died in the last four-year period." a portion of his good nature returned. "anyway, your personal life's none of my business. you understand the enlistment contract?" tom nodded. _damn you, harry hayden, let me out of here. tell me i failed, tell me i passed. but damn you, let me out._ "well?" said harry hayden, waiting. "oh. the enlistment contract. first enlistment is for four years. renewal any time during the fourth year at the option of the enlistee. minimum number of hours required per week: seven. use of unauthorized armour or offensive weapons punishable by $ , . fine or five years in prison. all accidents and deaths not witnessed by a jetway 'copter-jet must be reported at once by visi-phone to nearest referee and medical depot. oh yes, maximum speed: miles per." "right! you got it, boy!" harry hayden paused, licking his lips. "now, let's see. guess i'd better ask another question or two. this is your final examination, you know. what do you remember about the history of driving?" tom was tempted to say, "go to hell, you fat idiot," but he knew that whatever he did or said now was of no importance. the robot-training tests he'd undergone during the past three weeks, only, were of importance. dimly, he heard himself repeating the phrases beaten into his mind by school history-tapes: "in the th century a majority of the earth's peoples were filled with hatreds and frustrations. humanity was cursed with a world war every generation or so. between wars, young people had no outlets for their energy, and many of them formed bands of delinquents. even older people developed an alarming number of psychoses and neuroses. "the institution of driving was established in after automobiles were declared obsolete because of their great number. the jetways were retained for use of young people in search of thrills." "right!" harry hayden broke in. "now, the kids get all the excitement they need, and there are no more delinquent bands and wars. when you've spent a hitch or two killing or almost being killed, you're mature. you're ready to settle down and live a quiet life--just like most of the old-time war veterans used to do. and you're trained to think and act fast, you've got good judgment. and the weak and unfit are weeded out. right, boy?" tom nodded. a thought forced its way up from the layer of fear that covered his mind. "right--as far as it goes." "how's that?" tom's voice quavered, but he said, "i mean that's part of it. the rest is that most people are bored with themselves. they think that by traveling fast they can escape from themselves. after four or eight years of racing at per, they find out they can't escape after all, so they become resigned. or, sometimes if they're lucky enough to escape death, they begin to feel important after all. they aren't so bored then because a part of their mind tells them they're mightier than death." harry hayden whistled. "hey, i never heard that before. is that in the tapes now? can't say i understand it too well, but it's a fine idea. anyway, driving's good. cuts down on excess population, too--and with peru putting in jetways, it's world-wide. yep, by golly. yes, sir!" he thrust a pen at tom. "all right, boy. just sign here." tom rogers took the pen automatically. "you mean, i--" "yep, you came through your robot-training tests a- . oh, some of the psycho reports aren't too flattering. lack of confidence, sense of inferiority, inability to adjust. but nothing serious. a few weeks of driving'll fix you up. yep, boy, you've passed. you're getting your license. tomorrow morning you'll be on the jetway. you'll be driving, boy, driving!" _oh mother of god, mother of god...._ * * * * * "and now," said harry hayden, "you'll want to see your hornet." "of course," murmured tom rogers, swaying. the paunchy man rose and led tom down an aluminite ramp and onto a small observation platform some ninety feet above the ground. a dry summer wind licked at tom's hair and stung his eyes. nausea twisted at his innards. he felt as if he were perched on the edge of a slippery precipice. "there," intoned harry hayden, "is the jetway. beautiful, eh?" "uh-huh." trembling, tom forced his vision to the bright, smooth canyon beneath him. its bottom was a shining white asphalt ribbon, a thousand feet wide, that cut arrow-straight through the city. its walls were naked concrete banks a hundred feet high whose reinforced lips curved inward over the antiseptic whiteness. harry hayden pointed a chubby finger downward. "and there _they_ are--the hornets. see 'em, boy? right there in front of the assembly shop. twelve of 'em. brand new deluxe super-jet ' hornets. yes, sir. going to be twelve of you initiated tomorrow." tom scowled at the twelve jetmobiles shaped like flattened tear-drops. no sunlight glittered on their dead-black bodies. they squatted silent and foreboding, oblivious to sunlight, black bullets poised to hurl their prospective occupants into fury and horror. _grandpa looked so very white in his coffin, so very dead--_ "what's the matter, boy? you sick?" "n--no, of course not." harry hayden laughed. "i get it. you thought you'd get to _really_ see one. get in it, i mean, try it out. it's too late in the day, boy. shop's closing. you couldn't drive one anyway. regulation is that new drivers start in the morning when they're fresh. but tomorrow morning one of those hornets'll be assigned to you. delivered to the terminal nearest your home. live far from your terminal?" "about four blocks." "half a minute on the mobile-walk. what college you go to?" "western u." "lord, that's miles away. you been living there?" "no. commuting every day on the monorail." "hell, that's for old women. must have taken you over an hour to get there. now you'll make it in almost thirty minutes. still, it's best to take it easy the first day. don't get 'er over per. but don't let 'er fall beneath that either. if you do, some old veteran'll know you're a greenhorn and try to knock you off." suddenly harry hayden stiffened. "here come a couple! look at 'em, boy!" the low rumbling came out of the west, as of angry bees. twin pinpoints of black appeared on the distant white ribbon. louder and louder the rumbling. larger and larger the dots. to tom, the sterile jetway was transformed into a home of horror, an amphitheatre of death. louder and larger-- _brooommmmmm._ gone. "hey, how'ja like that, boy? they're gonna crack the sonic barrier or my name's not harry hayden!" tom's white-knuckled hands grasped a railing for support. _christ, i'm going to be sick. i'm going to vomit._ "but wait'll five o'clock or nine in the morning. that's when you see the traffic. that's when you _really_ do some driving!" tom gulped. "is--is there a rest room here?" "what's that, boy?" "a--a rest room." "what's the matter, boy? you _do_ look sick. too much excitement, maybe?" tom motioned frantically. harry hayden pointed, slow comprehension crawling over his puffy features. "up the ramp, to your right." tom rogers made it just in time.... * * * * * many voices: "happy driving to you, happy driving to you, happy driving, dear taaa-ahmmm--" (pause) "happy driving to--" (flourish) "--you!" an explosion of laughter. a descent of beaming faces, a thrusting forward of hands. mom reached him first. her small face was pale under its thin coat of make-up. her firm, rounded body was like a girl's in its dress of swishing martian silk, yet her blue eyes were sad and her voice held a trembling fear: "you passed, tom?" softly. tom's upper lip twitched. was she afraid that he'd passed the tests--or that he hadn't! he wasn't sure. before he could answer, dad broke in, hilariously. "everybody passes these days excepts idiots and cripples!" tom tried to join the chorus of laughter. dad said, more softly, "you _did_ pass, didn't you?" "i passed," said tom, forcing a smile. "but, dad, i didn't want a surprise party. really, i--" "nonsense." dad straightened. "this is the happiest moment of our lives--or at least it _should_ be." dad grinned. an understanding, intimate and gentle, flickered across his handsome, gray-thatched features. for an instant tom felt that he was not alone. then the grin faded. dad resumed his role of proud and blustering father. light glittered on his three rows of driver's ribbons. the huge blue ribbon of honor was in their center, like a blue flower in an evil garden of bronze accident stars, crimson fatality ribbons and silver death's-heads. in a moment of desperation tom turned to mom. the sadness was still in her face, but it seemed over-shadowed by pride. what was it she'd once said? "it's terrible, tom, to think of your becoming a driver, but it'd be a hundred times more terrible _not_ to see you become one." he knew now that he was alone, an exile, and mom and dad were strangers. after all, how could one person, entrenched in his own little world of calm security, truly know another's fear and loneliness? "just a little celebration," dad was saying. "you wouldn't be a driver unless we gave you a real send-off. all our friends are here, tom. uncle mack and aunt edith and bill ackerman and lou dorrance--" no, dad, tom thought. not our friends. _your_ friends. don't you remember that a man of twenty who isn't a driver has no friends? a lank, loose-jowled man jostled between them. tom realized that uncle mack was babbling at him. "knew you'd make it, tom. never believed what some people said 'bout you being afraid. my boy, of course, enlisted when he was only seventeen. over thirty now, but he still drives now and then. got a special license, you know. only last week--" dad exclaimed, "a toast to our new driver!" murmurs of delight. clinkings of glasses. gurglings of liquid. someone bounded a piano chord. voices rose: "a-driving he will go, a-driving he will go, to hell and back in a coffin-sack a-driving he will go." tom downed his glass of champagne. a pleasant warmth filled his belly. a satisfying numbness dulled the raw ache of fear. he smiled bitterly. there was kindness and gentleness within the human heart, he thought, but like tiny inextinguishable fires, there were ferocity and savageness, too. what else could one expect from a race only a few thousand years beyond the spear and stone axe? through his imagination passed a parade of sombre scenes: the primitive man dancing about a paleolithic fire, chanting an invocation to strange gods who might help in tomorrow's battle with the hairy warriors from the south. the barrel-chested roman gladiator, with trident and net, striding into the great stone arena. the silver-armored knight, gauntlet in gloved hand, riding into the pennant-bordered tournament ground. the rock-shouldered fullback trotting beneath an avalanche of cheers into the th century stadium. men needed a challenge to their wits, a test for their strength. the urge to combat and the lust for danger was as innate as the desire for life. who was he to say that the law of driving was unjust? nevertheless he shuddered. and the singers continued: "a thousand miles an hour, a thousand miles an hour, angels cry and devils sigh at a thousand miles an hour...." * * * * * the jetmobile terminal was like a den of chained, growling black tigers. white-cloaked attendants scurried from stall to stall, deft hands flying over atomic-engine controls and flooding each vehicle with surging life. ashen-faced, shivering in the early-morning coolness, tom rogers handed an identification slip to an attendant. "okay, kid," the rat-faced man wheezed, "there she is--stall . brand new, first time out. good luck." tom stared in horror at the grumbling metal beast. "but remember," the attendant said, "don't try to make a killing your first day. most drivers aren't out to get a ribbon every day either. they just want to get to work or school, mostly, and have fun doing it." _have fun doing it_, thought tom. _good god._ about him passed other black-uniformed drivers. they paused at the heads of their stalls, donned crash-helmets and safety belts, adjusted goggles. they were like primitive warriors, like cocky roman gladiators, like armored knights, like star fullbacks. they were formidable and professional. tom's imagination wandered. _by jupiter's beard, we'll vanquish attila and his savages. we'll prove ourselves worthy of being men and romans.... the red knight? i vow, mother, that his blood alone shall know the sting of the lance.... don't worry, dad. those damned japs and germans won't lay a hand on me.... watch me on tv, folks. three touchdowns today--i promise!_ the attendant's voice snapped him back to reality. "what you waiting for, kid? get in!" tom's heart pounded. he felt the hot pulse of blood in his temples. the hornet lay beneath him like an open, waiting coffin. he swayed. "hi, tom!" a boyish voice called. "bet i beat ya!" tom blinked and beheld a small-boned, tousled-haired lad of seventeen striding past the stall. what was his name? miles. that was it. larry miles. a frosh at western u. a skinny, pimply-faced boy suddenly transformed into a black-garbed warrior. how could this be? "okay," tom called, biting his lip. he looked again at the hornet. a giddiness returned to him. you can say you're sick, he told himself. it's happened before: a hangover from the party. sure. tomorrow you'll feel better. if you could just have one more day, just one-- other hornets were easing out into the slip, sleek black cats embarking on an insane flight. one after another, grumbling, growling, spatting scarlet flame from their tail jets. perhaps if he waited a few minutes, the traffic would be thinner. he could have coffee, let the other nine-o'clock people go on ahead of him. _no, dammit, get it over with. if you crash, you crash. if you die, you die. you and grandpa and a million others._ he gritted his teeth, fighting the omnipresent giddiness. he eased his body down into the hornet's cockpit. he felt the surge of incredible energies beneath the steelite controls. compared to this vehicle, the ancient training jets were as children's toys. an attendant snapped down the plexite canopy. ahead, a guide-master twirled a blue flag in a starting signal. tom flicked on a switch. his trembling hands tightened about the steering lever. the hornet lunged forward, quivering as it was seized by the jetway's electromagnetic guide-field. he drove.... * * * * * one hundred miles an hour, two hundred, three hundred. down the great asphalt valley he drove. perspiration formed inside his goggles, steaming the glass. he tore them off. the glaring whiteness hurt his eyes. swish, swish swish. jetmobiles roared past him. the rushing wind of their passage buffeted his own car. his hands were knuckled white around the steering lever. he recalled the advice of harry hayden: don't let 'er under per. if you do, some old veteran'll know you're a greenhorn and try to knock you off. lord. six hundred. but strangely, a measure of desperate courage crept into his fear-clouded mind. if larry miles, a pimply-faced kid of seventeen, could do it, so could he. certainly, he told himself. his foot squeezed down on the accelerator. atomic engines hummed smoothly. to his right, he caught a kaleidoscopic glimpse of a white gyro-ambulance. a group of metal beasts lay huddled on the emergency strip like black ants feeding on a carcass. _like grandfather_, he thought. _like those two moments out of the dark past, moments of screaming flame and black death and a child's horror._ swish. the scene was gone, transformed into a cluster of black dots on his rear-vision radarscope. his stomach heaved. for a moment he thought he was going to be sick again. but stronger now than his horror was a growing hatred of that horror. his body tensed as if he were fighting a physical enemy. he fought his memories, tried to thrust them back into the oblivion of lost time, tried to leave them behind him just as his hornet had left the cluster of metal beasts. he took a deep breath. he was not going to be sick after all. five hundred now. six hundred. he'd reached the speed without realizing it. keep 'er steady. stay on the right. if larry miles can do it, so can you. _swooommmm._ god, where did _that_ one come from? only ten minutes more. you'll be there. you'll make a right hand turn at the college. the automatic pilot'll take care of that. you won't have to get in the fast traffic lanes. he wiped perspiration from his forehead. not so bad, these drivers. like harry hayden said, the killers come out on saturdays and sundays. now, most of us are just anxious to get to work and school. six hundred, seven hundred, seven-twenty-- did he dare tackle the sonic barrier? the white asphalt was like opaque mist. the universe seemed to consist only of the broad expanse of jetway. _swooommmm._ someone passing even at this speed! the crazy fool! and cutting in, the flame of his exhaust clouding tom's windshield! tom's foot jerked off the accelerator. his hornet slowed. the car ahead disappeared into the white distance like a black arrow. whew! his legs were suddenly like ice water. he pulled over to the emergency strip. down went the speedometer--five hundred, four, three, two, one, zero.... he saw the image of the approaching hornet in his rear-vision radarscope. it was traveling fast and heading straight toward him. heading onto the emergency strip. a side-swiper! tom's heart churned. there would be no physical contact between the two hornets--but the torrent of air from the inch-close passage would be enough to hurl his car into the jetway bank like a storm-blown leaf. there was no time to build enough acceleration for escape. his only chance was to frighten the attacker away. he swung his hornet right, slammed both his acceleration and braking jet controls to full force. the car shook under the sudden release of energy. white-hot flame roared from its two dozen jets. tom's hornet was enclosed by a sphere of flame. but dwarfing the roar was the thunder of the attacking hornet. a black meteor in tom's radarscope, it zoomed upon him. tom closed his eyes, braced himself for the impact. there was no impact. there was only an explosion of sound and a moderate buffeting of his car. it was as if many feet, not inches, had separated the two hornets. tom opened his eyes and flicked off his jet controls. ahead, through the plexite canopy, he beheld the attacker. it was far away now, like an insane, fiery black bird. both its acceleration and braking jets flamed. it careened to the far side of the jetway and zig-zagged up the curved embankment. its body trembled as its momentum fought the jetway's electromagnetic guide-field. as if in an incredible carnival loop-the-loop, the hornet topped the lip of the wall. it left the concrete, did a backward somersault, and gyrated through space like a flaming pinwheel. it descended with an earth-shaking crash in the center of the gleaming jetway. _what happened?_ tom's dazed mind screamed. _in god's name, what happened?_ he saw the sleek white shape of a referee's 'copter-jet floating to the pavement beside him. soon he was being pulled out of his hornet. someone was pumping his hand and thumping his back. "magnificent," a voice was saying. "simply magnificent!" * * * * * night. gay laughter and tinkling glasses. above all, dad's voice, strong and proud: "... and on his very first day, too. he saw the car in his rear radarscope, guessed what the devil was up to. did he try to escape? no, he stayed right there. when the car closed in for the kill, he spun around and turned on all his jets full-blast. the killer never had a chance to get close enough to do his side-swiping. the blast roasted him like a peanut." dad put his arm around tom's shoulder. all eyes seemed upon tom's bright new crimson fatality ribbon embossed not only with a silver death's-head, but also with a sea-blue circle of honor. tom thought: _behold the conquering hero. attila is vanquished and rome is saved. the red knight has been defeated, and the fair princess is mine. that jap zero didn't have a chance. a touchdown in the final five seconds of the fourth quarter--not bad, eh?_ dad went on: "that devil really _was_ a killer. fellow name of wilson. been driving for six years. had thirty-three accident ribbons with twenty-one fatalities--not one of them honorable. that wilson drove for just one purpose: to kill. he met his match in our tom rogers." applause from uncle mack and aunt edith and bill ackerman and lou dorrance--and more important, from young larry miles and big norm powers and blonde geraldine oliver and cute little sally peters. tom smiled. not only _your_ friends tonight, dad. tonight it's _my_ friends, too. _my_ friends from western u. fame was as unpredictable as the trembling of a leaf, tom thought, as delicate as a pillar of glass. yet the yoke of fame rested pleasantly on his shoulders. he had no inclination to dislodge it. and while a fear was still in him, it was now a fragile thing, an egg shell to be easily crushed. later mom came to him. there was a proudness in her features, and yet a sadness and a fear, too. her eyes held the thoughtful hesitancy of one for whom time and event have moved too swiftly for comprehension. "tomorrow's saturday," she murmured. "there's no school, and no one'll expect you to drive after what happened today. you'll be staying home for your birthday, won't you, tom?" tom rogers shook his head. "no," he said wistfully. "sally peters is giving a little party over in new boston. it's the first time anyone like sally ever asked me anywhere." "i see," said mom, as if she really didn't see at all. "you'll take the monorail?" "no, mom," tom answered very softly. "i'm driving." to herat and cabul [illustration: angus and pottinger watching the fight from the walls of herat. _frontispiece._] to herat and cabul a story of the first afghan war by g.a. henty author of "with buller in natal" "at the point of the bayonet" "the bravest of the brave" "won by the sword" &c. _with eight illustrations by charles m. sheldon_ new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons _published september, _ the caxton press new york. preface in the military history of this country there is no darker page than the destruction of a considerable british force in the terrible defiles between cabul and jellalabad in january, . of all the wars in which our troops have taken part never was one entered upon so recklessly or so unjustifiably. the ruler of afghanistan, dost mahomed, was sincerely anxious for our friendship. he was alarmed at the menacing attitude of russia, which, in conjunction with persia, was threatening his dominions and intriguing with the princes at candahar. our commissioner at cabul, mr. burnes, was convinced of the ameer's honesty of intention, and protested most strongly against the course taken by the indian government, who determined upon setting up a discredited prince, who had for many years been a fugitive in india, in place of dost mahomed. in spite of his remonstrances, the war was undertaken. nothing could have been worse than the arrangements for it, and the troops suffered terribly from thirst and want of transport. however, they reached cabul with comparatively little fighting. dost mahomed fled, and the puppet shah soojah was set up in his place; but he was only kept there by british bayonets, and for two years he was so protected. gradually, however, the british force was withdrawn, until only some five thousand troops remained to support him. well led, they would have been amply sufficient for the purpose, for though the afghan tribesmen were dangerous among their mountains, they could not for a moment have stood against them in the open field. unhappily the general was old and infirm, incapable of decision of any kind, and in his imbecile hands the troops, who in october could have met the whole forces of afghanistan in fight, were kept inactive, while the afghans pillaged the stores with the provisions for the winter, and insulted and bearded them in every way. thus a fine body of fighting men were reduced to such depths of discontent and shame that when the unworthy order for retreat before their exulting enemy was given they had lost all confidence in themselves or their officers, and, weakened by hunger and hampered by an enormous train of camp followers, they went as sheep to the slaughter in the trap the afghans had prepared for them. it would almost seem that their fate was a punishment for the injustice of the war. misfortunes have befallen our arms, but never one so dark and disgraceful as this. the shame of the disaster was redeemed only by the heroic garrison of jellalabad, which, although but one-fourth of the strength of that at cabul, sallied out after a noble defence and routed the army which dost mahomed's son akbar had assembled for their destruction. contents chap. page i. alone in the world ii. an unexpected meeting iii. the siege of herat iv. a sturdy defence v. in candahar vi. an escape vii. in the service viii. the advance ix. just in time x. a mission xi. a dangerous journey xii. troubles thicken xiii. the murder of sir a. burnes xiv. a series of blunders xv. a doomed army xvi. annihilation of the army xvii. jellalabad xviii. the advance on cabul xix. the british captives illustrations angus and pottinger watching the fight from the walls of herat _frontispiece_ page "a man walking just in front of him ... was knocked down" azim surprises the spy "he took down the prop, and thrust it suddenly with all his force through the hole" "there, lying close under a rock, was a young afghan" "as they passed the corner ... some men sprang on them" "angus was half-mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops" angus shows his goods to the prisoners * * * * * map of afghanistan and north-west frontier of india to herat and cabul chapter i alone in the world on the th of september, , a lad was standing before mr. m'neill, the british minister at the persian court. both looked grave, for the interview was an important one. the former felt that it was the turning-point of his life, the opening of a fresh career, the introduction to a service in which he might gain honourable distinction and credit. to the british minister it was of scarcely less importance, for the interests of great britain were gravely involved in the success of the mission that he was now entrusting to this young clerk in the employment of the embassy. it was nothing less than thwarting the designs of persia, aided and instigated by russia, to capture herat and to conquer at least the western portion of afghanistan, the alliance of the princes of candahar having already been secured. angus campbell was now about sixteen years old. his father was a trader, who had for twelve years been settled in tabriz, carrying on business on his own account in some branches of trade, and as agent for a scotch firm in others. the boy had been left with some relations in scotland until he was twelve years old, when his parents had paid a short visit to their friends in scotland, and had brought him back with them. the change of life was not an agreeable one to him. in the eight years that had elapsed since he had last seen his parents, he had, of course, almost forgotten them, and it would be some time before any real affection for them would spring up. it was the companionship of his school-fellows that he missed rather than that of his aunt, a strict woman, who made no allowance whatever for a boy's restlessness and love of fun, and who was continually shocked by the complaints made by members of her chapel as to the conduct of the boys at dr. murray's. it was the principal school in the little town. the teaching was good, the application of the rod frequent, but neither teaching nor thrashing availed to soften the manners of the healthy and somewhat riotous lads, who once out of school threw themselves with all their hearts into their favourite diversions, among which the most conspicuous were fishing in forbidden parts of the river, bird-nesting in woods which were kept strictly private and guarded by keepers, playing hare-and-hounds across the fields of the crustiest of farmers, and above all engaging in desperate battles with the boys of other schools. in all these pastimes angus campbell took as large a share as his age entitled him to, and the state of his clothes and his face when he returned home was a source of continual amazement and irritation to his aunt. she had even endeavoured to arrange for a deputation to wait upon dr. murray with a list of grievances suffered by the townspeople, such as broken windows, the yells and shouts of conflict, and the destruction of the boys' garments caused by the various fights, and to propose that the hours of play should be shortened, and that some sort of supervision should be exercised at all times over the boys. however, although there were many who agreed with her that the present state of things was disgraceful, nothing came of the movement; for the fathers, remembering their own boyhood, were to a man against the idea. "we did just the same in our young days," they said, "and are none the worse for it now. lads cannot be like lassies, and we don't want them to be even if they could; if you were to speak to the doctor, he would just laugh in your faces, and would tell you that he kept a school for boys and not for girls. if you have complaints to make against any of his scholars, make them, and he will punish the lads as they deserve. his boys are no worse than others, and he does not wish to see them better. if they do some mischief occasionally, it is because they are in good health and in good spirits, and a lad of that kind is far more likely to turn out well than one who spends all his spare time in poring over his books." as the doctor's opinions on these subjects were known to all the town, miss campbell's proposal came to nothing. she would herself have gone to him to complain of the doings of her nephew, but there was a strong feeling in the town that while all things connected with the school were under the doctor's charge, parents should take other matters into their own hands, and maintain discipline by the use of the tawse in their own dwellings, and that they had no right to trouble dr. murray about private delinquencies. he had, indeed, sufficient on his hands, for although no actual supervision was maintained when the lads were once dismissed from school, there were bounds set beyond which they were not allowed to go, and when they were caught upon any of their frequent forays beyond these limits, he had to adjudicate and punish the offenders. but it was not often that this happened; for while the boys considered it not only justifiable but meritorious to break bounds, they looked upon anyone caught in the act of showing a want of craft and of judgment, and so, having good legs and lungs, they were generally able to outdistance their pursuers. thus, then, when his parents returned to scotland they found angus a healthy, active, and high-spirited boy, somewhat rough in manners, but straightforward and honourable, for it was a tradition in the school that no boy should ever try to screen himself by a lie. when questioned by his father, he acknowledged that he would like to stay at school for a few years longer. "and i should like you to do so too, angus; but it is a long, long journey, and a difficult one, from tabriz to scotland, and it may be many years before i return home again. it is a journey that it is impossible for a boy to make alone. but this is not the only reason why i wish to take you back. i want to train you to help me in my business, and until you speak persian fluently you will be of no use whatever to me. at your age you will pick it up rapidly, far more rapidly than you could if you did not begin till you were seventeen or eighteen. we will generally speak to you in persian, and you will have many opportunities for practising it. in two years you ought to speak it like a native. arabic will also be very useful to you. i have constant communications with india, with turkey, and with herat. i buy goods from all these countries; and sell persian products to them. in afghanistan, indeed, persian is spoken generally by the trading and upper classes; but arabic is essential to trade with constantinople and smyrna, with bokhara and the turkomans; and it is our chief medium of communication with india traders, who, although speaking several distinct languages, all have more or less knowledge of arabic. it has been a great privation to your mother and myself to be so many years without you. we have no other children, and it would be a great joy and comfort to our lives, as well as a great assistance to me in my business, to have you with me." "i understand, father," the boy said; "i did not think of these things before. i am sure i should be very glad to be able to help you, and i won't say another word about being sorry to leave all my friends." "it is quite natural that you should be sorry, angus; it would be strange indeed if you were not. however, i don't think you will dislike the life out there when you get accustomed to it. we will certainly do our best to make you happy." so angus had returned with them, and soon settled down to his new life. devoting himself earnestly to acquiring the language, at the end of six months he came to speak it fairly, and before he had been out a year could have passed as a persian lad; at the same time he had made considerable progress in arabic. his father had then dressed him in persian fashion. there was a good deal of ill-feeling among the lower class against foreigners, and the pugnacity that had been fostered in angus at school had frequent opportunities of displaying itself; for, in spite of good resolutions to the contrary, he was often goaded into fury by the taunts and abuse with which the boys assailed him when he went out alone, and had thrown himself upon them, and used his fists with such effect that he had sometimes put to flight half a dozen lads of his own age. but in persian costume he could move about the streets unnoticed; and although he did not like the change at first, he acknowledged that it was useful, for his father pointed out to him that it was essential that nothing should take place that could add to the dislike with which foreigners were regarded. already several angry complaints had been made by neighbours of the state in which their sons had come home after an encounter with him. nearly four years after angus arrived at tabriz the plague made its appearance in persia. it spread rapidly, and tabriz was one of the cities which suffered most severely. one evening mr. campbell returned home from a visit to a customer and complained of feeling unwell. the next morning it was too evident that he had caught the infection. before nightfall his wife also sickened. twenty-four hours later both were dead. mr. campbell had a long talk with his son as soon as the disease manifested itself in the case of his wife. "angus," he said, "you must prepare for the worst. the cases of recovery are few indeed. the servants have already fled, and even did i wish you to leave us, i know that it would be too late now. god's will be done, my boy, and i can only hope that you may be spared. however that is in his hands. you have been my assistant now for the past three years, and know how matters stand. i have no debts. the books will show you how much is due to me from the house at home and how much by my agent at bombay. the stock of goods in the warehouse is worth a considerable sum. i am unable to think very clearly now, or to advise you what to do should you be left alone; but it is clear to me that you are too young yet to manage the business, and it is not likely that the firm would entrust their affairs to a lad of your age. i should say, therefore, that you had best dispose of all the goods; the books will show you their prices. as for yourself, i will give you no advice. it will be open to you to return to england or to go to bombay, and i have no doubt my agent there will obtain employment for you, especially as you will have money to embark in any business you may go into. but do not invest a penny until you become of age; you will by that time be able to judge wisely whether the business you are in is that in which you can best employ your mind. "whatever you do, do not remain in tabriz. as is always the case in times of plague or famine, there is sedition and trouble, and foreigners become the object of hatred, for the poor people have some sort of superstitious idea that they are responsible for the scourge. the best thing you can do is to consult our armenian friend, who is also our vice-consul; he will view matters more clearly than i can do at present. put your trust always in god, my boy. my own opinion is that you had better remain in the east. your knowledge of languages would be absolutely useless to you at home, and you could only hope to obtain a place in a counting-house." "i will do as you tell me, father," angus said, trying to speak steadily. "i will try always to be what you would wish me." his grief was terrible when his mother expired two or three hours after his father. he roused himself, however, to see to the simple preparations for their funeral, and late that evening buried them in the garden behind the house. the next day as he was sitting alone he heard a tumult in the street. looking out, he saw that several houses, which he knew belonged to foreign traders, were in flames, and a mob of maddened men were rushing down the street towards his house. resistance would have been madness. he ran to the safe, seized the bag containing the cash, and had just time to run out at the back of the house and escape by the gate in the garden when the rioters burst in. for a few minutes they were engaged in the work of pillage. shawls from cashmere, native embroidered silks, costly goods from india, turkish, persian, turkoman, and heratee carpets, and british goods of all kinds were scrambled and fought for. when the house was sacked from top to bottom it was set on fire, and as a volume of smoke rose from it, angus turned away from the spot where from a distance he had been watching the scene, and made his way to the house of the armenian merchant. the loss of the house and the contents of the warehouse affected him little--although he knew that it had cost him more than half his inheritance--but this was as nothing to what he had so recently suffered. the vice-consul had been an intimate friend of the family. on approaching his house angus stood some distance from the door and called. a servant looked out. "will you tell izaac effendi that i desire greatly to speak to him?" the armenian quickly came to the door. "my poor lad," he said, "i grieve deeply for you. i heard of your losses, and the news has just been brought in of the burning of the house and magazine. but why do you stand so far away?" "because i would not bring contagion near you, effendi. i came to tell you what had happened, and to say that i shall buy some food and go out into the country, and there remain until i die of the plague or can be sure that i have escaped contagion." "you will come in here at once," the armenian said. "does not one in the street run against persons who may be affected. many of my compatriots have come here to ask my advice, and some of them have stricken friends in their houses. since i came to reside here i have four times seen the plague raging, and each time it has passed me over. whether it is the will of god that i should thus be spared i know not, but i am in his hands. come in, lad, i will take no denial. shall i desert my friends when they most need comfort and aid? what is my friendship worth if i should, now in your hour of need, turn my back upon you? come in, i pray you." seeing that the old man was thoroughly in earnest, angus, too greatly touched by his kindness even to speak, silently entered the house. "i will take you through at once to the pavilion in the garden," the merchant said. "although i have no fear myself, there are my servants and clerks. 'tis like enough that some of them may be stricken, for they, like all of us, are liable to be smitten when they go into the streets, and should this be so they might blame me for your presence here; therefore 'tis best that you should for three or four days live in the pavilion; i will bring you out cushions and pillows. but i do not think that you will be attacked; had you taken the plague you would probably have shown symptoms of it ere now. keep your thoughts from dwelling on it. i will bring you out some books; try to fix your mind on them and abstain as much as possible from dwelling on the past. i will bring your food out to you, and we will talk together to-morrow, there is much that you will have to consider." "what are you thinking of doing?" his host asked him when he came in to see him on the morning after his arrival. "i have been trying to think, but i cannot decide on anything. i do not wish to go back to scotland. i have an aunt living there, but she would not welcome me warmly. besides, if i were to do so, i do not see how i could earn my living; for my knowledge of persian and arabic would be of no use to me. if i had been ten years older the firm for whom my father was agent might have appointed me in his place, but of course i am a great deal too young for that. they acted as his agents also, and bought for him the goods in which he dealt outside their business; and he told me when he was taken suddenly ill that they had about a thousand pounds of his money in their hands. that would be of no use to me now, and i should very much prefer not to touch it until i am old enough to set up in trade." "the position is certainly a grave one, angus. i agree with you that it would be better for you on all accounts to remain out here, at any rate for a time. your father had correspondents also in bombay, had he not?" "yes, he made purchases of persian goods for a house there; but he did not do much for them, as the trade is principally in the hands of the parsees." "there is one thing that you might do," the armenian said, after thinking for some time. "i have heard that mr. m'neill is on his way to teheran as british minister there. you might be able to obtain a post in his embassy. you can write both persian and arabic, and might be useful in many ways. it would not be necessary for you to ask a large salary, but, however small, it might lead the way to better things. at present there is much political disturbance. the shah is meditating an attack upon herat, and has already given orders for an army to be collected. certainly the british government will feel jealous of any movement that would extend the power of persia farther towards afghanistan, especially as they are, i hear, about to take steps to interfere in that country by placing a rival of dost mahomed on the throne. then, too, it is no secret that russia is encouraging the shah, and it is probable that russian influence will become predominant in persia. the conquest of herat would matter little to england were it by persia alone, for persia is powerless to damage india; but with persia acting as the tool of russia, which some day or other will assuredly swallow her up, the matter is very much more serious. this being so, there can be little doubt that the new british minister will be charged with a mission to counteract the designs of russia as much as possible, and might be glad to take into his employment one who knows the language well and could gather news for him in the guise of a native--for there are so many dialects spoken in different parts of the country that any imperfection of speech would pass unnoticed." "i think that would be an excellent plan, sir, if it could be carried out." "i will give you a letter stating the circumstances, speaking of the esteem in which your father was held, and vouching for your character. if you decide to take this course, think it would be well for you to leave at once, for from what i hear of the new minister's course you would then arrive at teheran within two or three days of his getting there, and might have a better chance, therefore, of obtaining a post in his office. as to the money you speak of, it seems to me that, as your country is a long way off, it would be better if it could be sent to the house with which you father had dealings at bombay, since there are constantly vessels sailing thither from ports in the persian gulf; and whether you saw an opportunity for doing a trade with india, or thought of going there yourself, it would be an advantage to have your money ready to your hand. you must already know a good deal of trade matters, having, as i know, worked as your father's assistant for the past two years. at any rate a year or two at teheran in the service of the british minister would be an advantage to you in many respects. there is a caravan starting to-morrow, that is why i suggested that you should leave at once. a merchant who travels with it is a friend of mine, and i can recommend you to his care, but it would certainly be best for you to travel as a native." "i thank you, sir, very heartily, and shall certainly do as you advise me, for as an english lad going alone with a caravan i could scarcely hope to escape trouble with camel-drivers and others. if i fail to obtain employment at the embassy, i shall probably travel down with a caravan to bushire, and take ship to bombay. i have plenty of money to do that, for the expense of travelling with a caravan is very small--nothing is needed except for food--and the passage in a native craft would not be more than a pound or two. i have nearly two hundred, so that i could live for a long time in bombay if i failed to obtain employment there. when it is gone, i could at least enlist in one of the british regiments." "it is a poor trade soldiering, lad, though in your case it might not do you harm for a few years, especially if you turned your attention to learning some of the indian languages. with such knowledge you should certainly have no difficulty in making your way with the little capital you will receive from home." and so it was settled, and angus travelled to teheran. the journey did him good. he had bought a donkey, and trotting along by the side of the merchant to whom his friend had introduced him, the novelty of the life, the strangeness of passing as a native among the travellers, and the conversation of the persian merchant kept him from brooding over his sorrows. he felt that, suddenly thrown as he was upon his own resources, and compelled to think and act for himself, when but a fortnight before he had others to think and care for him, he must bear himself like a man. it was only at night, when rolled in a blanket he prepared to sleep, that he gave way and lay for hours weeping over his loss. the merchant, who had been much pleased with his conversation, and had made many enquiries as to the ways of his countrymen, and to whom he had told his plans, invited angus to take up his abode with him at a khan until he found whether he could obtain employment at the british minister's. issuing into the town, after having seen his animals attended to and his goods stowed away, the merchant went to see some friends, and on his return told angus that the new british minister had arrived two days before. the next morning angus went to the envoy's, and sent in the letter with which the armenian had furnished him, together with the translation which he had made and the vice-consul had signed and stamped. he had not waited many minutes when one of the attendants came to him and led him in to the minister's room. "you are mr. campbell, the young gentleman of whom our vice-consul at tabriz writes to me?" "yes, sir." "it is a sad story that he has told me, and i would willingly do anything in my power for a young countryman thus left so sadly and suddenly on his own resources in a foreign land. he tells me that you speak arabic as well as persian, and have some acquaintance with armenian colloquially, though you cannot write it as you can the two former languages. do you know any other language at all?" "i know some kurdish. one of my father's porters was a kurd, and i was able to get on fairly with him." "he tells me that it is your wish to obtain employment of some sort with me, as at present you are not old enough to enter upon trade for yourself, and that you do not wish to return to scotland." "no, sir. i have been away for four years, and were i to go back i should lose the advantage that i have gained in learning these eastern languages." "quite right; very sensibly decided," the minister said. "and i suppose that you know something of trade?" "yes, sir, my father took much pains in instructing me, and for the past two years i have acted as his assistant, and have learned the value of most articles of trade." the minister nodded. "very good; it will doubtless be of value to you hereafter. however, i can at present utilize your services here. i have with me my secretary, and i have the dragoman employed by my predecessor, who speaks half a dozen languages; but in many ways a sharp young fellow like yourself, able if necessary to mix with the people as one of themselves, and to gather me information as to popular opinion, and who can read and write persian fluently, would be a welcome addition to my staff. of course i cannot offer you high pay, as i have an allowance for the expenses of my office upon the same scale as that of my predecessor." "the pay is quite a secondary matter with me, sir. even if there were no pay, i should be glad to accept a temporary post under you, as it would be a great advantage to me afterwards to have been employed by you, and i should at least have time to decide what to do next." "i will think the matter over," the minister said; "at any rate there will be a room assigned to you in the house, and for the present thirty shillings a week for your living. you had better continue to wear your persian attire. have you european clothes with you?" "no, sir, everything was burnt." the next day angus was installed in a small room next to that of the secretary, and set to work translating persian proclamations, edicts, and other matters. a fortnight later the minister decided that he should be dressed as a european when in the house, and a tailor was sent for and ordered to make him clothes of the same style as a suit of the secretary's, which was given him to use as a pattern. the minister nodded approvingly when he entered the little office on the day when angus first wore his new suit. his work was now changed, and while visitors of distinction were ushered in directly to the minister, and others of less importance were first interviewed by the secretary, people coming in with complaints or petitions were shown in to angus, who took down what they had to say, and then dismissed them to call the next day for an answer. he was amused at the general impression prevailing among these people that if the british minister could be induced to take up their cases he could obtain justice and redress for them, and how evidently they disbelieved his assurances that a foreign official could not interfere in such matters. six months passed, the shah had started with his army towards herat, and the evidences that russia was at the bottom of the movement, and that he was acting in accordance with her advice, became stronger and stronger. angus stood high in the minister's good opinion, from the steadiness with which he worked, the tact and good temper that he showed with the natives he interviewed, and the willingness with which he would, after the office was closed, work until late at night at his translations. sometimes he changed his attire again, and slightly darkening his face, and tucking away his light hair, would go out into the streets, mingle with the crowd in busy quarters, and listen to the talk. from the fact that the expedition against herat was seldom spoken of, he gathered that the war was not popular except among the trading class, who thought that the possession of herat would lead to a large increase of trade with afghanistan, and even through candahar to northern india. it was, however, but seldom that he went on these expeditions, for it was certain that any private arrangement that had been made between the shah and russia would be known only to two of the former's principal officers. one evening mr. m'neill summoned him to his own apartment, and said: "i have obtained information from a source i can rely upon that russia is encouraging the shah, and that there are other russian officers besides their accredited envoy in the shah's camp. mr. corbould started half an hour ago, and will carry the news himself to london; it is too important to be trusted to other hands. i have no doubt whatever that orders will be sent to me at once to mediate between the parties, and to put a certain amount of pressure upon the shah. herat is considered the key of afghanistan, and although we could do nothing to assist its defenders, even were a force to start at once from bombay, i fancy that i should be authorized to say to the shah that england would greatly resent the town being permanently occupied; and that she might even go so far as to blockade the ports on the persian gulf, and so put a stop to the whole trade of persia with india. the great question, of course, is how long herat can hold out against the persians. the place has the reputation of being strong, but i hear that the fortifications are much dilapidated. the afghans are likely to fight well up to a certain point, but they might, and probably would, get disheartened after a time. i am anxious to assure them that if they will but hold out, england will do all in her power to induce the persians to give up the siege. the messenger i send must at once be altogether trustworthy, must be able to make his way through the country as a native, and must have a sufficient knowledge of arabic to make himself understood there, although this is less important, as there must be many traders in the town who understand persian." "if you would entrust me with the message, sir, i would gladly undertake to carry it to herat." "that was my purpose in sending for you, mr. campbell. i have the greatest confidence in you, and as your persian is good enough to pass in teheran, it is certainly good enough for the country districts. but it is not only because i should trust you thoroughly, and have every faith in your being able to carry out the mission, but also because i thought that it would be of great utility to you to be engaged in the performance of such a mission. if herat defends itself successfully until relieved either by afghan troops, or as a result of our diplomacy, it will undoubtedly be a feather in the cap of the gentleman i select to undertake the commission of encouraging the heratees to hold out; and, with my report of the valuable services that you have rendered here, might obtain for you a better position in the diplomatic service than i can offer you, or some post in india where your knowledge of persian and arabic would be valuable." "i thank you very much indeed, sir. the change to an active life would not only be very pleasant to me, but i can quite understand that if good comes of it i might benefit greatly. would you wish me to return as soon as i have delivered your message?" "no, i think it would be better for you to remain there. i myself will shortly join the shah in his camp; the office here will be closed." on the following day angus started. the back of his head having been shaved, his hair was completely covered by his turban. he wore wide turkish trousers, a loosely fitting blue embroidered vest, and a long kaftan thickly padded and falling below his knees, a coloured sash, with two long-barrelled pistols, and a curved sword. his attire was that of a persian trader. he rode on a camel, which, although not a handsome animal to look at, was of good blood and fast. slung over his shoulder was a long matchlock; he carried behind him a great bale of goods. accompanying him was a persian boy, whose father was a door-keeper at the mission; the boy himself was a hanger-on there. he was a bright-faced lad of some fifteen years old, who ran messages, and made himself generally useful. between him and angus a sort of friendship had sprung up, and of an evening when the latter went out he often took the boy with him, his shrewdness and chatter being a relief after a long day's work in the office. azim had accepted with delight angus's proposal that he should accompany him, as his attendant, on a journey that he was about to make. the matter was settled in a few minutes, a donkey purchased for him, suitable clothes for travel, and a couple of kurd blankets. angus himself had a large fur-lined coat reaching to his feet, and four blankets, two of which were of very large size and capable of being made into a tent, for he knew that the khans and the houses in the villages swarmed with insects, and was determined that, unless circumstances prevented it, he would always encamp in the open air. azim's camel carried, in addition to a bale of goods, two water-skins, a sufficient supply of flour for the journey, a bag of ground coffee, and another of sugar; meat would always be procurable. it was a long journey, but angus enjoyed it. the road was a frequented one, for a considerable trade was carried on between herat and persia, and traders frequently passed along. azim turned out a bright and intelligent companion, and no suspicion was anywhere entertained that angus was aught but what he seemed. some little surprise, however, was occasionally expressed that he should be making the journey at a time when the persian army was marching against herat. to such remarks he always replied that he should probably stay there but a few days, and hoped to be well on the road to candahar before the army arrived at herat. he was certain that he should arrive in time, for the army with its huge baggage train had already taken nearly six months in accomplishing a journey that he had performed in little over as many weeks. chapter ii an unexpected meeting when near the frontier angus sold the camels. he had already parted with all the goods that he had carried, and he now bought peasant dresses, such as those worn by the afghan cultivators, for himself and azim. it was but some seventy miles on to herat, but the persian army was on the direct road, having just laid siege to ghorian, and it was necessary to make a detour to avoid both the plundering parties of the persians and the afghan horsemen who would be hovering round the enemy's camp. before crossing the frontier he purchased sufficient food to last for four days, as it would be dangerous to enter any place where they might be accosted, as their ignorance of the language would seem to prove that they were persian spies. both carried swords and long knives, as a protection rather from the attacks of village dogs than from trouble with men. as it was now november and the weather was becoming cold at night, they were glad of the long coats lined with sheep-skin. the country through which they were passing was fertile, and when on the afternoon of the third day they came in sight of herat, even azim was struck with the richness and fertility of the country. it was well watered by several small streams; fortified villages were scattered here and there over the plain. round these were gardens, orchards, and vineyards, the intervening spaces being in summer covered by wide expanses of corn. as they neared the city they saw that numbers of people from the villages were making their way towards it, many with bullock waggons carrying stores of grain and household goods, while women and men were alike loaded. they entered the gate of the city unquestioned and unnoticed in the crowd of horse and footmen, cattle, bullock-carts, sheep, and goats. striking as was the appearance of the town without, inside everything showed signs of neglect and poverty. herat contained some forty-five thousand inhabitants; the majority of these were persian sheeahs. once the capital of the great empire of tamerlane, it had greatly fallen from its former splendour, its decline having been rapid since its capture from the persians by the afghans in . it had been retaken by the persians, and recaptured by the afghans, under whose savage rule its prosperity had greatly diminished. it was still an important trading centre, being situated on the one great thoroughfare between india and russia, and being celebrated for the beauty of its carpets and for the temper of its sword-blades. its trade was principally in the hands of hindoos, who numbered no fewer than a thousand, some of whom were traders, while others were occupied in the various branches of work to which they had been accustomed in india. there were several families of armenians and a few jews. the city had for years suffered under the horrible tyranny of shah kamran, now an old and feeble man, and of his wuzeer or minister, yar mahomed khan, who held the post of governor of the city. under these men neither life nor property was respected; men and women were seized and sold into slavery under the smallest pretext, often without any attempt whatever to justify the action. armed bands of ruffians broke into the houses and plundered at their will, and the peaceful portion of the population were in a state of utter misery and despair. on entering the gate, angus proceeded along the bazaar, an arched street about a mile long, which extended from one side of the city to the other. this was crossed at right angles by another bazaar of equal length, and the city, which was built in the form of a square, was thus divided into four quarters. round the wall was a wide ditch, which was at all times kept full of water from springs rising in the town. when he had proceeded some distance, angus heard two traders in one of the shops speaking in armenian. he at once entered. "effendi," he said in that language, "i am a stranger here and but newly arrived. can you tell me where i can procure a lodging?" the two men looked in surprise at this afghan peasant who addressed them in their own tongue, and one of them, after a moment's hesitation, bade him come into his private apartment behind the shop. "who are you?" he said; "and how come you to speak our language?" "i learned it in conversation with some of your people in tabriz, and especially from one who was the british vice-consul there. i also speak persian and arabic." the trader's surprise increased as angus spoke. "but who are you, then, who have travelled so far, and how is it that having learned so many languages you are now here as a peasant?" "it is a disguise," angus said. "my father was a british merchant at tabriz, and i myself am in the service of the british minister at teheran, and am the bearer of a letter from him to shah kamran." "you are young indeed, my son, to be engaged on so difficult and dangerous a mission. surely i can find you a lodging. all trade is at a stand-still now, and we armenians suffer like the rest. my brother, whom you saw in the shop, is a weaver of carpets; but none will buy carpets now. he has a house larger than his needs, and would, i am sure, gladly take you in." he called his brother in from the front, and explained to him who this strange visitor was and what he wanted. "i have money," angus said, "and am prepared to pay well for my accommodation. i have a servant with me, he is the son of a door-keeper at the embassy, and is altogether faithful and trustworthy. unfortunately, i do not speak the afghan tongue." "that will matter little in the town; the majority of the people still speak persian, although they may know pushtoo. it is the same with many of the fugitives who have come in from the plain. you will have difficulty in seeing the prince. he is old and feeble, and for the greater part of his time he is drunk. everything is therefore in the hands of the wuzeer, who is one of the worst of men--cruel, avaricious, and unscrupulous. we have had many tyrants, but he is the worst; and i can assure you that the success of the persians would fill all but the afghan portion of the population with the deepest joy. it will be necessary for you to see him first before you see shah kamran. the hour is getting late, and i shall close my shop shortly. if you will go round with my brother to his house i will join you there presently. we all love and respect the english. they have always been our good friends, and glad indeed should we be were they masters here as they are in india; for i have been there, and know how just is their rule--how they oppress no one, and will not suffer others to do so. this would be a happy city indeed if your people were our masters." a short walk brought angus and azim to the house of the carpet-weaver. it was of some size, but bore a neglected and poverty-stricken aspect, which was not belied by its appearance when they entered. the doors stood open, and it could be seen that looms stood idle now in all the rooms. the man led the way upstairs, and unlocking a door there entered the family apartments. the contrast between these and the floor below was great indeed. afghan carpets covered the passages and floors, well-stuffed divans ran round the rooms, and although there were no signs of wealth, everything pointed to comfort. the armenian led them into a room, where his wife and two daughters were seated. they rose in some surprise at seeing him enter accompanied by an afghan peasant. azim had remained in the passage without. "do not be surprised," the trader said; "this person is not what he looks, but is an english effendi, the bearer of a letter from his minister at teheran to shah kamran. he is going to do us the honour to lodge here for a time. he speaks our language as well as persian." "he is welcome," his wife said courteously; "and indeed his presence here will afford us a protection which we shall need more than ever when the passions of the people are excited by the siege." "as you are accustomed to our ways," the husband said, "you will not be surprised at my bringing you in here or at seeing the women unveiled. as a rule, everywhere in the east we adopt the customs of the country so far that our women veil when they go out, and my wife and daughters would do the same here if they were to walk through the streets. but my daughters have not left the house since they were children; my wife has not done so since we took up our abode here twenty-three years ago." angus uttered an exclamation of surprise. "you would not be astonished if you knew the lawlessness that prevails here. no young woman can venture safely into the streets, for as soon as a report that she was good-looking reached kamran she would be seized and carried off to his harem even in broad daylight. no respectable woman would think of going out save with an armed escort." "that is indeed a terrible state of things." "we are accustomed to it now, effendi, and at any rate we are not molested here. i make a present now and then to yar mahomed khan and also to his principal officer, and i am let alone by them. my brother does the same. they know that i am a carpet-weaver employing eight or ten men, and as they believe i could not be squeezed to any large amount, they are satisfied to let us go on. so as long as we keep quietly at home we are not molested, and we both intend ere long to move from here to teheran or tabriz. we have only been waiting until we can manage to get away with our belongings without attracting notice. we have done very well since we came here, for trade has been good. my brother buys up the products of many other looms, and we have both made good profits, but we take care that we do not keep more money than is necessary here. now i will show you the room that will be at your disposal. you will, i hope, join us at our family meals, so that we shall not have to cook for you separately." "certainly, it would be very much more pleasant for me." the terms were arranged without difficulty, for the armenian felt that it might be a great protection for them to have an englishman in the house. the merchant then arranged to obtain a dress for angus similar to that worn by himself and his brother. this was brought in on the following morning. having put it on, angus went out accompanied by azim. he decided to wait for a day or two before seeing the wuzeer, so as to ascertain the state of things in the town and the preparations for defence. he was going through one of the narrow streets when a loaded camel came along behind him, its paniers nearly touching the houses on each side. its rider did not give the usual shout of warning, and angus had but just time to jump into a doorway when it brushed past him, the afghan driver grinning maliciously at so nearly upsetting one whom he regarded as a sheeah trader. a man walking just in front of him, who was not quick enough to get out of the camel's way, was knocked down. as he got up angus to his astonishment heard him mutter angrily, "confound you! i wish i had you outside this town, i would give you a lesson you would not forget!" astonished to find another englishman here in afghan costume, angus stepped up to him and said, "i did not expect to find an englishman here, sir." the other turned sharply round. "i am as surprised as you can be, sir! but we had better not be speaking english here. i am lodging within fifty yards of this, if you will follow me i will take you there, and we can then introduce ourselves properly." in three minutes they were in the room occupied by the stranger. "as host i will introduce myself first," he said with a smile. "my name is eldred pottinger; i have been travelling through afghanistan on an unofficial mission to explore and report on the country to my uncle, colonel pottinger, resident in scinde. happening to arrive here at the present crisis, and thinking that i might be useful if the city is besieged, i have declared myself to the wuzeer, and although i still retain my disguise there are many who know that i am an englishman." "my name is angus campbell, mr. pottinger. i am in the employment of the british minister at teheran, and am the bearer of a letter from him to shah kamran encouraging him to maintain the defence of the city as long as possible, and holding out hopes that the british government, which would view the attack upon herat with grave dissatisfaction, will endeavour to mediate between him and the shah, and may even take measures to put pressure upon the latter to withdraw his forces." "that is very satisfactory. of course i have had no shadow of authority to speak in that way, and could only assure him generally that he would have the good will of the english, and that as an english officer i would on my own part put any military skill that i possess at his service, and, being myself an artillery officer, might be of considerable assistance to him in the management and working of the guns. but your letter will place me in a more favourable position. what are your instructions? are you going to return to the embassy or remain here?" "mr. m'neill left it to myself. he will join the shah's army, as the russian ambassador is also with it. as he takes the dragoman of the legation down with him, he has no absolute occasion for my services. from what i have seen of the place so far, though i only arrived yesterday, it does not seem to me possible that these mud walls can withstand a battering fire. the place will therefore very likely be taken in a few days; and as i should not care about being in a town sacked by persian troops, i had intended to leave it as soon as i delivered my letter." "there is no doubt about the weakness of the place; a european army would carry it in three days. but the persians have never been remarkable for their courage, while the afghans are undoubtedly a fighting people. i think it is quite possible that the siege may last for months. you know the dilatory way in which these eastern people go to work. of course i can give no opinion whatever as to what would be your best course. it would depend upon so many things--your position at the embassy, your chances of promotion there, and other matters of which i am altogether ignorant. i suppose you speak persian well?" [illustration: a man walking just in front of him ... was knocked down.] "yes, and also arabic, and i can get on in armenian and kurdish. as to my position, it is scarcely an official one. i am the son of a scottish trader who for twelve years carried on business at tabriz. he and my mother were carried off eight months ago by an outbreak of plague, and his house and store were burned in some street riots. i consulted the british vice-consul there, an armenian who was a friend of my father, and we agreed that from my knowledge of languages i ought to be able to get on better in the east than at home, where it would be of no use to me. i had acted as my father's assistant for the last two years of his life, and had therefore acquired a knowledge of trading; and i have a small capital with which, when i get older, i can either enter into business myself or join someone already established. i was very glad to obtain this place in the embassy as a temporary employment until i could see my way, for although mr. m'neill kindly took me on as an extra assistant, of course his successor, whoever he may be, may not want me." "i think you have done very wisely. how old are you now?" "i am a few months over sixteen." "you are young indeed," pottinger laughed, "to be engaged in political affairs. well, i should say that if the afghans really mean to fight, as i believe they will, they can hold the town for some time, and you will therefore be able to learn their language, which would be invaluable to you if you go in for commerce, or in fact whatever you do out here. things are in a disturbed state in afghanistan, and i should be surprised if the indian government does not interfere there before long; and in that case anyone acquainted with pushtoo and with arabic and persian will have no difficulty in finding employment with the army, and through my uncle i might be able to put you in the way of it. and now about your mission. "the wuzeer for some reason or other--i own i don't see why--has been exceedingly civil to me. on my arrival i sent to say that i was a stranger and a traveller, and that, should it be pleasing to him, i would wait upon him. he sent down at once to say that he would see me the next day. of course on occasions of this sort it is usual to make a present. the only thing that i could give him was a brace of detonating pistols. he had never seen any but flint-locks before, and accepted them graciously. finding that i was a british artillery officer, he at once asked my opinion on a variety of matters, and took me round the walls with him, consulting me as to how they had best be strengthened, and so on. "i will go up and see him presently, and tell him that you have arrived and are the bearer of a letter from our minister to shah kamran. i shall of course mention that you have come in disguise, and that you have therefore been unable to bring the customary presents, and i shall point out to him that you possess the confidence of the british minister. i shall say that for that reason i have persuaded you to remain here during the siege, and that i am sure you will act with me, and moreover will endeavour to keep m'neill well informed of everything going on here, and will continually urge him to impress upon the british government the importance of the position and the necessity for interfering to prevent it from falling into the hands of the persians. as to its importance there is no doubt, especially as russia appears to be making persia a cat's-paw in the matter. that is why i feel that while fighting for these heratees--who between ourselves seem to me to be unmitigated ruffians--i am merely fighting for england, for it is of the utmost importance that the gate of india should not be in the hands of persia, especially if, as you say, russian influence is dominant at teheran." "i am sure i shall be delighted if you will accept me as your assistant, though i don't see at present what possible service i can be." "you will be of use. there will be no end of things to see about." then he burst out laughing. "it does seem absurd, doesn't it, that we two, i a young lieutenant and you a lad not yet seventeen, should be proposing to take a prominent part in the defence of a city like this against an army commanded by the shah of persia in person." angus joined in the laugh. "it is not ridiculous for you," he said, "because as an artillery officer you must know a great deal more about the defence of towns than these afghans can do; but it certainly is absurd my having anything to do in it." pottinger went with angus to the house of the armenian in order that he might know where to find him. leaving him there he went up to the citadel, which stood on rising ground at one corner of the town. he returned in an hour, and said that the wuzeer would receive him at once. "he is a good deal impressed," he went on, "with the fact that our minister should have sent a messenger here with the letter. at first he did not see why england should be interested in the matter, and i had to explain to him about the russian intrigue in persia, and that there was no doubt that sooner or later they would invade india, and that this would be rendered comparatively easy by herat being in the hands of their friends the persians. he enquired of me what rank you held. i told him that you were a member of the embassy, acting as assistant-secretary to the minister, and, as was evident by his entrusting you with so important a despatch, were deep in his confidence." on arriving at the citadel they were at once conducted to the apartment of the wuzeer. yar mahomed rose from his seat and greeted them politely. angus walked forward, bowed, and delivered his letter. "you speak persian, your excellency?" the minister said. angus had difficulty in restraining a smile at his new dignity, but said gravely: "yes, your highness, i speak it and arabic." "you journeyed here comfortably, i hope?" "yes; there were a few adventures on the way, but not more than i had expected." yar mahomed opened and read the letter. "you are aware of its contents?" he asked. "yes, i learned them by heart before i left teheran, in case i should be robbed of the letter on the way." the wuzeer sat in thought for a minute. "but how," he said doubtfully, "can your country, which is, as i hear, very far distant, exercise any influence with the shah? surely you could not send an army all that distance?" "not from england, your highness; but we could send a fleet that could shut up all the ports in the persian gulf, and we could send troops from india to occupy those places, and so destroy all their trade. moreover, we could put a stop to all trade passing by land through this town to scinde, and send a great army by sea and invade persia, and, as our soldiers are much better than the persians, might even take tabriz and teheran. the shah knows that they have done great things in india, and will see how they might bring ruin on persia." "yes, what your minister says is true; but will he do this at once?" "that i cannot say," angus replied. "at first, no doubt, the government of england would say, 'herat is very far off; it will fall before we can do anything.' but if they find that it holds out bravely, they will say, 'we must help these people who are fighting so well.' there is another thing. it is said that there are already some russian officers with the shah's army. the english are very jealous of the russians, and when they come to understand that it is russia who has sent the shah to capture herat their anger will speedily be roused, and they will bid their minister say to the shah, 'if you continue to fight against herat, we shall send our ships and our army against you.' the shah knows that we have conquered in india people far more warlike than the persians, and he will say to himself, 'why should i run the risk of losing my kingdom merely to please the russians, who are really much more dangerous neighbours than the english?'" "the words of your excellency are wise," the wuzeer said. "you will see that we shall hold out for months, or even for years if necessary. i can understand now why the british minister has confidence in you though you look so young. how many years has your excellency?" "i am not yet thirty," angus said calmly. the wuzeer looked surprised. "it is because your face is smooth that you look so young. we afghans wear our beards; i see that you do not, for even this brave officer, who has come to fight for us, has no hair on his face. he has told me that you will stay here, and assist with your advice." "so far as i am able to do so, i will; but i am not greatly skilled in such matters. still, i will assist him so far as i can." "it is good," the afghan said. "it would be better, your highness, that it should not be known that i am an agent of the british minister; though of course you can, if you find it necessary, cheer your soldiers by telling them if they fight bravely and well the british minister will try and mediate between you and the shah, and to persuade him to draw off his army. but were the shah to know that the british minister has an agent here, he would be wroth with him, and might not listen so willingly to his representations. let it then, i beg you, be supposed that, like mr. pottinger, i am but an english traveller, who, chancing to be here, is willing to do all that he can to aid in the defence of the town against the persians." "your words are good; so let it be. where are you dwelling now?" "at the house of the armenian carpet-weaver kajar. the times being bad, his looms are at a stand-still, and he was glad to let me an apartment." "he is a good man," the wuzeer said, "a good man and honest, but not rich." angus felt that the last words were rather a question than an assertion, and he said: "surely no. his rooms are very simple, but they are clean, and if a traveller can but find a clean lodging, he cares not how poor it is." "shall you be sending a message to the minister?" "i shall endeavour to do so by a servant lad i have brought with me. i will tell him that his mind may be at ease, for herat can hold out." "the persians are cowards!" the wuzeer said angrily. "my horsemen have been round them for many days, but they give them no chance. they keep together like a flock of sheep, with their guns and their infantry, instead of riding out bravely to bring in plunder and fight with their enemies when they meet them." then turning to pottinger he went on: "i have sent out, as you advised me, to cut down all the trees within half a mile of the town, so that the persians will have no shelter from our guns; and as all the granaries are emptied for miles round, they will have a long way to go to get food. a number of men are also at work at the place where, as you showed me, the wall was rotten; and others are clearing out the ditch, and making the bank steeper where it has slipped down, so that if they should be so mad as to rush forward and try to cross the moat, they will not be able to climb up." "that is important, wuzeer, and still more so is it that the little wall at the foot of the mount of earth that surrounds the city wall should be repaired. that is of the greatest importance. they may manage to fill up the moat and cross it, but as long as the lower wall stands they cannot climb up, even if a breach was made in the main wall." "i will go round now with you," the wuzeer said, "and we will see where the worst places are." angus accompanied them, and found that pottinger's statement as to the weakness of the fortifications was well founded. from a distance the wall had looked imposing, for it was of considerable height and great thickness, but it was entirely constructed of dried mud, and heavy guns could effect a breach anywhere in the course of a day or two. it was evident that if the place was to hold out, it must depend upon the bravery of its troops and not upon the strength of its walls. for the next week the work went on incessantly. every able-bodied man in the town was employed in the repairs of the wall and in cutting down trees, while the work of destroying grain and all kinds of necessaries which could not be brought into the town was performed by the troops. these were all afghans, were in regular pay, and formed the fighting army of the ruler of herat. their discipline was at all times very lax, and the permission to destroy and burn, which naturally included looting everything of value for their own benefit, rendered them even less amenable to discipline than before. eldred pottinger, as far as he could venture, tried to induce the wuzeer to have the work executed in a more regular manner and under strict supervision by officers told off for the purpose, but yar mahomed viewed the matter with indifference. "what does it matter," he said, "whether the soldiers take things or not? it would be all the same to the owners whether they have them, or whether they are destroyed, or fall into the hands of the persians. in a few days the enemy will be here, and it would be foolish to cause dissatisfaction among the soldiers over a matter of no consequence whatever." the country, indeed, was now deserted by all its inhabitants. immense stores of food had been brought into the city, every unoccupied piece of ground between the city walls was crowded with cattle, sheep, and horses, and there was no fear that famine would for a very long period be a serious trouble to the besieged. eldred pottinger's time was principally occupied in seeing to the repair of the guns and their carriages. without any definite rank having been given to him, it was understood that all his orders had the support of the wuzeer, and were to be obeyed as if they came directly from him, and that the young man with him was also an englishman of some importance, and possessed similar powers. while pottinger looked chiefly after the military work performed by the afghans who had come into the town, angus superintended that upon which the sheeahs were engaged. these persian-speaking people carried out his instructions cheerfully, because they were given in their own language, and were not accompanied by the contemptuous haughtiness and animosity which would have characterized the orders of an afghan, the hostility between the two great religious sects of islam being even greater than that entertained by both against the infidel. pottinger had now taken up his abode at the house of kajar, where there were several apartments unoccupied. as he did not speak armenian, and knew but little persian, angus and he arranged to have a mess of their own, engaging a man recommended to them by the armenian as a good cook. this had been rendered the more necessary, as the trader with whom angus had first spoken had also moved with his wife to his brother's house. he had taken this step because he foresaw that as the siege went on the position of the sheeahs would become more and more unbearable, and that the protection the presence of the two englishmen could afford would be most valuable. indeed kajar, as soon as he saw that angus had been favourably received by the wuzeer, had himself suggested that pottinger might also be offered accommodation at his house. "there need be no further talk of payment, effendi, between us. your presence here will be of vastly greater importance than any money you could give us. no one can say what will happen here. it is not only our property, but our lives which will be at stake; but with you as inmates here, no one would dare interfere with us, and we all regard the fact that you should almost accidentally have been brought here as a special blessing that has been sent from heaven to us." the young englishmen thus strangely thrown together soon became fast friends, and it was pleasant indeed to them to enjoy their evenings together, after each had been engaged during the whole day at the duties they had undertaken. a couple of hours, however, were always spent by them, each in his own room. pottinger engaged the services of a mollah, or priest of the sheeah sect, to give him lessons in persian, while angus worked at pushtoo with kajar, who spoke the afghan language perfectly. chapter iii the siege of herat on nd of november, a fortnight after angus arrived at herat, the persian army took up its position on the plain to the north-west of the city. the inhabitants crowded the walls to watch the advancing host--the afghan portion of the population with scowling faces and muttered imprecations, the sheeahs prudently abstaining from all demonstrations of their feelings, but filled with hopes of deliverance from their tyrants. pottinger learned that the afghan horse were going to make a sortie, and he and angus went together to the north-west angle of the wall. "a good deal will depend upon this first fight," pottinger said. "if the persians easily repulse the assault, it will cause a deep depression among the afghans. if, on the other hand, the heratees obtain a fair amount of success, it will so encourage them that they will not fear another time to encounter the enemy, and will fight strongly when the walls are attacked." in a short time the afghan horse were seen pouring out of the western gate. there was but small attempt at anything like military order. it was a mob of horsemen; individually splendid riders, and for skirmishing purposes unsurpassed, but, as pottinger remarked to his companion, quite unfit to stand against a charge of regular cavalry equally endowed with courage. keeping near the city wall until facing the persian position, where a regiment of cavalry were hastily mounting, they wheeled round and rode against the enemy with loud shouts. the persians rode to meet them, but were unable to withstand the impetuosity of the charge, and, amidst the exulting shouts of the afghans on the wall, wheeled round and fled in disorder. the afghans then turning, flung themselves upon a strong body of infantry that was advancing against them in good order. these, however, stood firm, emptying many saddles by a heavy volley they poured in when the afghans were close, and presenting so steady a line of bayonets that the horsemen recoiled. as they did so, the persian artillery opened upon the afghans, who retired until near the wall, and then dismounted and opened fire with their long matchlocks upon the persian gunners. pottinger ran at once to a couple of guns close to where they were standing, and under his directions the afghans in charge of them at once replied to the persian guns. a number of the afghan footmen ran out from the gate on that side, and, joining the dismounted men, kept up a hot fire, while those on the wall also joined in the conflict. as the persian guns could effect little against the infantry lying in shelter, they were now directed against the wall, causing a rapid dispersal of the peaceable portion of the spectators. the effect of their fire showed at once the rottenness of the fortifications. although but light guns, they knocked down portions of the parapet, which crumbled as if it had been made of rotten timber. pottinger shook his head as he and angus walked along to watch the effect of the fire. "if a six-pound shot can effect such damage as this, it is clear that when they get their siege guns to work a few hours will effect a breach in the wall itself." on their side the persians also sent out skirmishers. these pushed forward to a point where they could take the afghans in flank, and cause them to retire nearer to the walls. the fighting was continued until dark, when the persians drew off, and the afghans retired into the city. no material advantage had been gained by either side, but the heratees were well content with the result. they had shown themselves superior to the persian cavalry, and had maintained themselves against the infantry. the persians lost no time, and during the night pushed forward and occupied all the gardens and enclosures on the west of the city, and placed a strong force among the ruins of a village there. in the morning they began to advance against the wall. the afghans sallied out horse and foot; the cavalry, unable to act in such broken ground, moved round, and hanging on the flanks of the persian camp, continually threatened an attack. the infantry, taking advantage of every wall and bush, maintained a heavy fire upon the enemy. the artillery on both sides opened fire, but at the end of the day neither party had gained any advantage. the afghans brought in the heads of several whom they had killed, and a few prisoners. the heads were placed on pikes and exhibited on the walls. the prisoners were bartered as slaves in exchange for horses to the turkomans, of whom a considerable party were encamped at a short distance from the walls. "it is horrible and disgusting," pottinger said to his companion that evening as they sat together, "this custom of cutting off heads, but as it is, i believe, universal in the east, it would be worse than useless to protest against it. it is the custom always to reward a soldier for bringing in a head as a proof of his valour, though, in fact, it is no proof, as he may simply, as he advances, cut it from the body of a man shot by someone else. putting aside the brutality, it operates badly, for instead of following up an advantage hotly, the men stop to collect these miserable trophies, and so give time to an enemy to escape or rally. i have read in the accounts of the campaigns of the turkish conquerors that the heads were always brought in to the general and piled before his tent, and that each soldier was rewarded according to the number he brought in, and i fancy it was the same thing with mohammedan conquerors in india. well, i am afraid that we shall see a number of things that will disgust us before the siege is over. if i were fighting solely for the heratees, i should certainly retire if they continue these barbarities. but i have no interest whatever in them; in fact, i see that the greater portion of the population would be benefited by living under the persian rule. i go into this matter solely because it is one i consider of vital interest to england, and therefore, as an englishman i am willing to do my utmost to keep, not the persians, but the russians from seizing this place." angus had now completely caught the enthusiasm of the young artilleryman. he was perhaps less horrified than his companion, for he had seen so much of eastern modes of punishment, that he had learned to regard them with less horror than that felt by europeans unaccustomed to oriental methods. "i have been accustomed to look on at acts of brutality," he said, "for from the time when i first came out, my father always impressed upon me that we were strangers in this part of the world, and must be very cautious not to show any aversion to its customs. it would lead us into endless trouble if we were to show in any way that what to them seems only natural, was to us revolting; and though i have often been tempted to interfere when i have seen some act of brutality, i have always followed my father's instructions, and walked away without showing any anger or disgust. i agree with you that it is horrid, but it is not like seeing living men tortured; at least, when one is dead it can make no great difference if one is buried with a head or without one." pottinger laughed. "that is certainly one way of looking at it, and i can understand that as the custom has prevailed among these peoples for centuries they can scarcely understand our feelings of abhorrence and indignation. however, i am determined that, whatever i do or feel, i will keep my mouth shut, and not say a word that would anger the wuzeer and shake my influence with him. at present he is well disposed towards me, and i have been of real assistance to him. when things become critical i may be of vital service. from what kajar says there is a strong suspicion that he is not personally brave, which i can quite believe, as very few thorough-paced brutes are. now old shah kamran is, i must own, an exception; an absolutely greater scoundrel than he has proved himself to be probably never existed, but he is known to have been in his earlier days as brave as a lion. if he had been some twenty years younger i should have stronger hopes of eventual success than i have now. personal bravery in a general is of no extraordinary advantage in a european army, where he is not expected to lead men into battle, but with irregular troops like these heratees it is of vital importance. they will follow their leader anywhere, but if he sends them into danger while he himself remains at a distance, they lose their enthusiasm directly, and are half thrashed before the battle begins." "do you not think that kamran will be able at any important moment to come forward and show himself among the defenders of the breach? i hear that only a month or so ago he returned from a campaign." "i am afraid not. i have seen him twice, and although it cannot be said that he is an imbecile, he is next door to it. he understands what is going on, but his nerves are utterly shattered by drink; he is in what may be termed the lachrymose condition of drunkenness. he works himself into a state of childish passion; sometimes he raves, then he whimpers. certainly his appearance would have no inspiring effect upon these rough afghan soldiers. they want a man who would rush sword in hand at their head, call upon them to follow him, and then dash into the middle of the foe, and the miserable old man could scarcely hold a sword in his shaking hand." "well, at any rate, the afghans have fought bravely yesterday and to-day." "excellently; but it is the work they are accustomed to. an afghan battle consists of two sets of men snugly hidden away among the rocks, firing away at each other until one side loses a few men and then retires. so they were quite at home at their skirmishing work, and certainly more than a match for the same number of persians. what they will do when an attack on a breach is made by a column remains to be seen." night and day the heratees worked at their defences, while the persians raised batteries and fortified their camp against sudden attacks. after four or five days of comparative quiet a heavy cannonade broke out. artillery played upon the walls, mortars threw shell into the town, and rockets whizzed overhead. for a time the consternation in the city was prodigious; the rockets especially, which were altogether new to them, appalled the inhabitants, who, as night came on, gathered on the roofs of their houses and watched with affright the sharp trains of light, and shuddered at the sound of the fiery missiles. the sound of lamentation, the cries of fear, and the prayers to allah resounded over the city; but the panic abated somewhat when it was found that comparatively little injury was effected. but while the peaceful inhabitants wailed and prayed, the troops and the men who had come in from the afghan villages laboured steadily and silently at the work of repairing the damages effected by the fire of the persian batteries. but little could be done to the face of the wall, but the crumbling parapets and earth dug up from open spaces were used to construct a fresh wall behind the old one at points against which the persian guns played most fiercely, so that when a breach was formed the assailants would find an unlooked-for obstacle to their entrance into the town. this work was directed by pottinger, who took but little rest, remaining constantly at his post, and only snatching an hour's sleep now and then. angus assisted to the best of his power, always taking his place when his comrade could no longer battle against sleep, and seeing that everything went on well. the afghans yielded a willing obedience to the orders of these young strangers. they saw the utility of the work upon which they were engaged, and laboured well and steadily. the persian artillery were, fortunately for the besieged, badly commanded. instead of concentrating their fire upon one spot, in which case a breach would have been effected in a few hours, each gunner directed his aim as he thought best, and the shot which, if poured upon a single point, would have brought down the crumbling wall, effected no material damage, scattered as it was over a face a mile in length. it was all the less effective, inasmuch as the artillerymen generally aimed at the parapet of the wall instead of the solid portion below it. it was a delight to them to see a portion of the parapet knocked down by their shot, whereas when the wall itself was hit comparatively small show was made. many of the shot flew high and passed over the town into the fields beyond it, and at the end of four days' almost continuous firing, herat was stronger and more capable of resistance than it was when the persians first appeared before the walls. the absence of any tangible result evidently lowered the spirits of the besiegers, while it proportionately raised those of the defenders. moreover, the immense expenditure of projectiles by the persians showed the shah and his generals that, large as was the store of ammunition they had brought with them, it might prove insufficient, and the labour and time which would be entailed in renewing the supply from the magazines at the capital would be enormous. consequently the fire became irregular, sometimes for an hour or two all the batteries would play, while at other times only a few guns would be discharged in the course of an hour. the shells that were thrown into the city did much more damage than the round shot of the batteries. many houses were almost destroyed by them, and whole families killed. these, however, were for the most part peaceable sheeahs, and the matter in no way affected the defenders of the wall, whose spirits rose daily as they perceived that the persian artillery was by no means so formidable as they had anticipated. the persians made no attempt to blockade the city, evidently fearing the sorties the defenders made, and confined their operations to that side of the city before which they were encamped. this was a great advantage to the besieged. three out of the five gates of the city stood open, communications were maintained with the surrounding country, the cattle and other animals went out to graze, and firewood and other commodities passed freely into the town. throughout december the persians were harassed by nightly attacks. the working parties in their entrenchments were driven out, tools carried off, the workmen killed, and the work performed during the day destroyed, the assailants retiring before heavy masses of infantry could be brought up to repel them. upon many days scarce a shot was fired, then for a few hours there would be a lively cannonade, but of the same scattered and wasteful fashion as before. on december th all the persian prisoners who had been captured in the sorties were sent off for sale to the frontier of the turkoman country. the shah retaliated by putting to death in various cruel manners the afghan prisoners who had fallen into his hands. two days later a mine was sprung and a breach effected in the wall. the persians advanced to storm it, but were met with the greatest resolution by the heratees, who repulsed them with considerable loss, their leader being severely wounded, and a deserter from herat, a man of high military reputation among the afghans, killed--a fact that caused almost as much joy to the defenders as the repulse of the assault. the success, however, of the mine, and the knowledge that the persians were engaged in driving several tunnels towards the wall, caused a considerable feeling of uneasiness. nevertheless, the th, which was the day of the termination of the long mohammedan fast, was celebrated with the usual rejoicings, which the besieged were enabled to take part in without fear of an attack, as the day was being celebrated with similar festivities in the persian camp. shah kamran went with his family in procession to the principal mosque, and after the conclusion of the prayers usual to the occasion, observed the custom of scattering sweetmeats to be scrambled for by the priests. to their disappointment, however, he did not follow this up by inviting them to a banquet, but sent extra provisions to the troops and the workers on the walls. there was now a pause in active operations for more than three weeks. the persians laboured at their mines, but either from ignorance of their work, or on account of the water flowing from the moat into their galleries, no damage resulted. the heratees countermined under the advice of pottinger, but beyond proving that the persian galleries were not being driven where they expected, nothing came of it. but on the th of january the afghans determined to give battle to the persians in the open. again the whole population gathered on the walls, and the two young englishmen were also there. "the wuzeer asked me this morning whether i would go out with them," pottinger said to angus, "but i replied that, although acquainted with artillery and siege operations, i did not know enough of the afghan way of fighting to accept even a small command in the field. i am useful here," he went on, "and i should be of no use whatever outside. the afghans have their own ideas as to when to advance and when to retreat; besides, it might offend some of the leaders were i, a stranger, to interfere in any way. there is no jealousy of me at present, at least i think not. they know nothing of sieges, and there is no one who holds any special post in connection with the fortifications. no one therefore feels superseded. in the next place, the work is for the most part carried out by labourers, who get paid for their services, and not by the troops, and it is nothing to them whether they get their orders from an englishman or an afghan. in an attack on a breach i should certainly fight; in the first place, because i consider it my duty, and in the second, because, if the persians get inside the walls, you may be sure that there will be something like a general massacre." the afghan cavalry and infantry poured out from the gate, and spread themselves over the open country to the east of the persian camp. the men on foot took possession of a village, and established themselves in its houses and the gardens surrounding it. from the wall a view could be obtained of the movements in the enemy's camp. the vedettes had fallen back as soon as the afghans issued out, drums were beaten and horns sounded, the troops ran hastily together, and their general, mahomed khan, could be seen galloping about issuing orders. presently a strong column moved out. it was headed by cavalry; and as soon as these made their appearance the afghan horse galloped across the plain, while the crowd on the walls burst into shouts of encouragement, although the troops were too far off to hear them. "it is a pretty sight, angus, but about as unlike modern warfare as could well be. european cavalry seeing a mob of horsemen coming down upon them in such disorder would ride at them, and no irregular horse could withstand the impact of a well-disciplined and compact cavalry charge. there, the persians are forming line; but there is no smartness about it, it is done in a half-hearted sort of way, as if they did not like the business before them. there, they are off; but they are too slow, they won't be fairly in a gallop before the afghans are upon them." for a minute or two the contending bodies were mixed in a confused mass, then the shouts of the spectators rose high as the persians could be seen flying towards their infantry hotly pursued by the afghans. then came the rattle of musketry, the quick reports of cannon, as the infantry and artillery covered the retreat of their cavalry. presently the heratee horse were seen retiring from the village in which the struggle had taken place; another body, which had not yet been engaged, instead of riding forward to support them, also, turned, and for a time all rode off, while the persian cavalry were reinforced from the camp and pursued them. the heratees soon recovered themselves and again charged, but again the leading squadrons were badly supported by those behind. these were under another leader, who was probably influenced by jealousy or by tribal hostility, and the persian horse, well supported by their infantry, gradually gained the advantage, their own infantry coming to the support. the afghan footmen also advanced, and the fight was maintained during the whole day. "it is like playing at war," pottinger said irritably; "except in that first charge they have never really come to blows. it is skirmishing rather than fighting. here there are some ten or twelve thousand men, taking both sides, cavalry, infantry, and a few guns. i don't think that when our men come in again it will be found that they have lost a hundred, and i don't suppose the persians have lost much more. it is a fair field for fighting, and between two european forces of the same strength a long day's battle would probably have caused three or four thousand casualties. one would think that neither party was in earnest. certainly the heratees are, though i don't suppose the persian soldiers have any particular personal interest in the matter." the action was altogether indecisive, and at the end of the day the persians held no ground beyond the village where their infantry first opened fire, while the heratees had gained nothing by their sortie. when the afghans re-entered the walls it was found that pottinger's estimate as to the amount of loss was very near the truth; there were between twenty-five and thirty killed, and some four times as many wounded, more or less seriously. they of course claimed a victory, and were highly satisfied with their own doings, but the operations only tended to show that neither party had any eagerness for real fighting. on the th of february pottinger said: "i have received permission to go into the persian camp to-morrow. kamran has given me a message on his part to the persian king. it is an appeal to him to retire. he says that when khorassan was in rebellion he refused the entreaties of its chief to aid them, although at that time he could have raised ten thousand horsemen, and might, with the rebels of khorassan, have marched to teheran. he had sent one of his highest officers to congratulate the shah on his succession, and now the latter is without provocation marching against him. he prays him therefore to retire, to aid him with guns and men to recover the dominions he has lost in afghanistan, and if he be successful he will hand over herat to him. yar mahomed has also given me a message to the persian minister, just the sort of message i should have expected from him. he declares that he is devoted to the shah and to him, but that he is bound to stand by his master. that whatever might be his own wish, the afghans would never surrender the city, and that he dare not propose such a thing to them, but that he shall ever remain the faithful servant of the shah and of the minister whom he regards as his father. i will take you with me if you wish, but that must be a matter for your own consideration." "i should, of course, like to go," angus said, "but i do not know that it would be wise for me to do so. mr. m'neill may be in the persian camp. it is not probable that i should be recognized, still there must be many officials there who came frequently to see him at the embassy, and who would know me. should one of these declare that i was a member of the mission, it might create a very bad impression against m'neill, as it would seem that he was in secret communication with kamran." "that is just what i was thinking," pottinger said, "and i must say that i agree with you. it certainly would be awkward for him if it were known that one of his suite was in herat. yes, i think it would be better that you should not go. we shall certainly be the centre of curiosity while we are in the camp, and there would be no possibility of private communications between you and m'neill. but should i see him have you any message for him? i think we have agreed that when this business is over it will be much better for you to go with me back to india than to return to teheran." "yes, i have quite settled that," angus said. "with the kind offer you have made to present me to your uncle i should think that the prospect of my obtaining advancement there is very much greater than it is in persia, where i might be left altogether in the lurch if m'neill were recalled. i shall be obliged, therefore, if you will tell him of my intention, and thank him for me very heartily for his kindness. he will, i am sure, approve of the step, for he has several times told me that he was sorry he could see no chance of my obtaining more than a clerkship at the mission, and advised me on no account to think of remaining there if i could see my way to doing better for myself." "i will be sure to give m'neill the message if i see him but i don't expect to be long in the camp. i am charged with such a ridiculous message that there is no likelihood of any discussion taking place. the minister will, of course, scoff at yar mahomed's declarations of respect for the shah and affection for himself, and the shah, after taking the trouble to collect an army and come here himself, is not likely to retire at the request of kamran. my real hope in going is that i may find a british officer with the persians. there is almost certain to be one, as the russians have, it is said, several. through him i may send messages to friends at home and to my uncle in scinde. they must all begin to feel anxious about me." angus saw his companion ride out the next morning with some anxiety as to his reception, but with no particular regret that he did not accompany him. he had often been in the encampments of the persian troops before the army left teheran, and there would therefore be nothing new to him in the scene. pottinger as usual wore the dress of an afghan of some standing, and was accompanied only by one mounted attendant and a runner to hold his horse. a small party of afghans rode with him for some distance beyond the walls, and then, shouting good wishes for his return in safety, left him. angus continued to watch the men at their work for two or three hours, and then took his place on the walls again and watched for his comrade's return. it was not, however, till the th that he came back to herat. on the previous day he was prevented from returning by a violent storm which raged from morning till night, and considerable anxiety was felt in the town. that he had gone on a mission from kamran was generally known, but none save the shah and his wuzeer were aware of its nature. angus was much alarmed, as he thought it too probable that his friend had been shot by the persian outposts as soon as he arrived among them, for there was nothing to show that he came as an envoy. he was therefore greatly relieved when a native brought the news to him that the englishman was returning. as the news spread it caused great excitement. when pottinger rode in at the gate a great crowd had assembled there, and all thronged round him asking for information. he replied that they must enquire of the wuzeer, who alone could deliver it. as he saw angus in the crowd he shouted to him, "as i expected, nothing has come of it; meet me at the house." an hour later pottinger arrived there. "i was getting very anxious about you," angus said, "and was beginning to fear that you had been shot by the persian outposts." "i was a little uncomfortable myself, and i kept a good look-out, as you may suppose. the roads led through those ruined villages, and at any moment i might have a bullet whizzing about my ears. presently i saw some persian soldiers running towards the road, and i told my man to take off his turban and wave it to show that our intentions were peaceable. when they perceived this they came straggling up. i told them that i was an english officer, and the bearer of messages to the shah and his minister. they seemed delighted, chiefly perhaps from the fact of my being an englishman, but also because they hoped that i had come with an offer of surrender. however, they shouted 'welcome, welcome! the english were always friends of the shah.' the officer who commanded the picket turned out to be a major who had served under major hart, and who knew all the english officers who had of late years been in persia. he took me to the major-general commanding the attack, who turned out to be a russian in the persian service commanding a corps of russians--men who had left their own country for doubtless good reasons. at any rate, he received me courteously. we had tea, and smoked a pipe together, and he then sent me on with an escort to the persian camp. [illustration: afghanistan and north west frontier of india] "the news that someone had come in from herat to arrange terms for its submission having preceded me, almost the whole camp came out to see me, and if my escort had not used their iron ramrods most vigorously upon the heads and shoulders of the crowd i should never have got through. when i reached the minister's tent he received me graciously, but we did not enter into business; it was necessary that the shah should first decide whether he would receive me. "i had learned from the russian general that colonel stoddart was in camp. as it was known before i left india that he would accompany the persians i had letters for him, and received permission to go to his tent to deliver them. his astonishment at finding that i was a british officer was, as you may imagine, great. however, i had but little time to talk, for in a few minutes a message came that i was to go back at once to the minister, or, as he is called there as well as here, the wuzeer. stoddart accompanied me. the persian asked me what were the messages that, as he had been informed, kamran and yar mahomed had sent to the shah and himself. i told him that i could only deliver kamran's message to the shah, and that i thought his own message had better be given him privately. "the wuzeer, who is a bilious and excitable little man, sent everyone out from the tent but stoddart and myself, and i then delivered the message. we had a long discussion. the wuzeer declared that the english themselves had put down herat as forming part of the persian dominions in the map that burnes had made. i said that i thought not. he produced the map to convince me, but to the little man's intense disgust he found that he was altogether wrong. he then appealed to stoddart. the latter, as our military representative at the shah's court, replied diplomatically that he had no instructions on the subject, and would refer the case to the envoy at teheran. (m'neill, by the by, has not yet reached the camp.) stoddart said that he was not aware that the persian government had annexed herat, as its ruler had, both with the british government and the late shah, been acknowledged as sovereign in afghanistan; so, as i expected, nothing came of the interview. we went back to stoddart's tent, and shortly afterwards were sent for by the shah. he received us with courtesy, and i delivered kamran's message. "the shah replied, speaking with dignity and calmness, and stating his complaints against kamran, that he had permitted his soldiers constantly to make incursions into persian dominions, robbing and slaying, and carrying off persian subjects to sell as slaves; then gradually warming up as he recited a number of such forays and depredations, he denounced kamran as a treacherous liar, and said that he would not rest satisfied until he had planted a persian garrison in the city of herat. of course there was nothing more to be said. we were formally, though courteously, dismissed, and i went back with stoddart to his tent, where i remained till this morning. i was by no means sorry that the tremendous storm yesterday afforded an excuse for stopping, and i enjoyed my day of quiet talk with stoddart immensely. "he thinks that if the persians do but make an attack with all their strength the town must be taken, in which i entirely agree with him. he said, however, that, as the slackness of their fire for some time past has shown, the persians are heartily sick of the business, and if the shah had some really good excuse for retiring he would gladly do so. i said that the best excuse would be some strong action on the part of our government. he replied that he had himself urged this upon m'neill, and that the envoy had already written urgently home in that sense. of course i told him of your being there. he had already heard from m'neill that he had sent you here to encourage kamran to hold out. he asked a good deal about you, and quite agreed with me that with your knowledge of languages--and i told him that in the three months during which you had been here you had already learned enough pushtoo to converse in it freely--you would be sure to get an appointment in india, as it was extremely probable that an army would shortly be sent into afghanistan to support shah soojah against dost mahomed, especially as the latter had received vickovich, an aide-de-camp to the governor of orenburg, as an envoy at cabul. "of course i had heard about the intention of supporting dost mahomed before i started. i know that my uncle and mr. burnes, who is our agent at cabul, are both strongly opposed to this. dost mahomed has always defeated shah soojah, he is firmly established on his throne, and burnes believes that he is very well disposed towards us. however, that is not our affair; but if there should be such an expedition it much increases your chance of obtaining an official post. i took the opportunity to write to my uncle and to send my report to the indian government, and in both cases i stated that i had received the most valuable assistance from a young gentleman who was temporarily attached to the mission at teheran, and who, speaking as he did, persian, pushtoo, and arabic, would, i considered, be of great service should any difficulties arise with afghanistan. i said that i had seized the opportunity of recommending you, as it was possible that i myself might fall in the defence of herat." "it was awfully kind of you, pottinger, and i am extremely obliged to you." "i felt that i was acting in the interest of the indian government as well as of yourself. the siege may last for another month yet, and by the end of that time you will be able to pass as easily as an afghan as you now can as a persian, and may be invaluable; for as we have as yet had very little contact with afghanistan there are not, i should say, half a dozen officers in our service who can speak pushtoo--probably not one who could do so well enough to pass as a native. i myself knew but little of it when i started, so my disguise was that of a cutch horse-dealer, and i passed through afghanistan as a native of india. even now i do not speak pushtoo as well as you do, having devoted myself to persian, while you have been working at afghan. for your sake i hope that the siege may last for some time yet, as it may be a great advantage to you when you apply for an official post to be able to say that you can pass anywhere as a native." chapter iv a sturdy defence pottinger's belief that the shah was anxious to bring the war to a conclusion was confirmed by the arrival of the major he had met when going into the persian camp, with instructions from the russian general, endorsed by the minister, to endeavour to persuade the afghans to consent to the terms offered by the shah. it was better, he urged, for them to settle their differences among themselves than to employ mediation. he warned them that as the english had come to india under the pretence of trading, and had finally conquered the whole country, they should on no account be trusted. he assured them that the shah had no desire to interfere in the internal administration of herat, the present movement was not an expedition against herat but against hindostan, and that all true mohammedans should join the shah's army, and that he would lead them to the conquest and plunder of all india and turkestan. pottinger was sent for privately, and consulted by the kamran and the wuzeer as to what answer should be sent. his advice was taken, and the next day the envoy returned to his camp with vague assurances of regard, and the suggestion that if the persians were really inclined for peace, the best proof that they could give of the sincerity of their inclination would be the retirement of the besieging force. there was much excitement in the city when the proposals brought by the persian officer became known, and many of the older men began to argue that it did not matter much whether kamran was called prince or king, or whether the supremacy of the persian shah was or was not acknowledged in herat, as long as no persian garrison was placed in the city. the wuzeer, however, remained firm. he declared that he had no confidence in the persians, that he desired to be guided by the advice and be aided by the mediation of the english, and that if the shah would place the conduct of negotiations in the hands of colonel stoddart, he on his part would trust everything to lieutenant pottinger, and would accept whatever was decided upon by the two english officers. "that was his own decision, and not mine," pottinger said, when he returned from an interview with the wuzeer. "there is no doubt that, ruffian as he is in many respects, he is a clever man. you see, he shifts all the responsibility for the continuance of the war off his shoulders on to those of the persians, for their refusal to accept the decision of the british officer in their camp will convince the afghans that the persians will be satisfied with nothing but their destruction." two days later the persian officer returned to herat with a letter stating that the shah had no desire to possess himself of the town, but only claimed that his sovereignty should be acknowledged. the answer was the same as before. kamran was willing to do all that was required if the persian army would but retire. the negotiations were carried on for a day or two longer, but though both parties desired peace, the one would not surrender, the other would not retire and acknowledge failure. hostilities, therefore, continued without intermission, and a fortnight later the persians gained possession of a fortified place three hundred yards from the north-east angle of the wall. the afghans stationed there had made but a poor resistance, and upon entering the town their faces were smeared with mud, and they were sent through the city accompanied by a crier who proclaimed their cowardice. a month passed without any incident of importance, and at the end of that time m'neill arrived at the persian camp. every effort had been made to hinder him on his way from teheran, and he was at first coldly received. a week later he had an audience with the shah, and stated to him that the attack upon herat was an obvious violation of the treaty between great britain and herat, and the british government would therefore be justified in taking active measures to enforce its terms. the shah upon this consented to accept the british mediation. three days later, however, the persians made a serious attack. some new batteries opened against the ramparts near the great mosque. their fire was this time concentrated, and the wall crumbled so rapidly that by the evening a practicable breach had been made. the afghans, however, did not lose heart, declaring that they trusted to themselves, and not to their walls, to defend the city. they had, indeed, gained an advantage in the middle of the day. they blew in a mine that had been carried almost up to the wall, and taking advantage of the alarm caused by the explosion rushed out and furiously attacked the besiegers, carrying the trenches for some distance before a strong persian force came up and drove them back again. so heavy a fire was then opened from the trenches on the musketeers on the walls, that these were completely overpowered, and were unable to show a head above the parapets. as evening came on the persians shouted that an english officer wished to enter the town, but the wuzeer shouted back that no one would be allowed to enter at that hour. the next day major todd, who was attached to the embassy, entered the town. he was in full regimentals, and his appearance excited the most lively admiration of the populace. he announced that the shah was ready to accept the mediation of the british government. he was received with the greatest courtesy by shah kamran, who after the interview took a cloak from his own shoulders and sent it by the wuzeer to major todd, who returned to the persian camp with the assurance of kamran's desire to accept the mediation of the british minister. but though apparently both parties had at last arrived at an understanding, that evening the aspect of affairs became more warlike than ever. the persian trenches were filled with men, the bodies of horse and foot on the line of investment were strengthened, and there were all appearances that an assault would be made that evening; and the afghan chiefs were called together and each had his post assigned to him. but scarcely had they separated when mr. m'neill himself arrived. he was conducted at once to kamran's palace, and the greater part of the night was spent in discussion. it was nearly dawn when the minister accompanied pottinger to the latter's residence. as he had arranged when he arrived that he would sleep at pottinger's, a room had been prepared for him, angus sat up for several hours, but then feeling sure that the minister would at once retire to bed on his return, had lain down. when he awoke it was half-past six, and dressing hastily he went into the sitting-room that he shared with pottinger, and to his surprise found mr. m'neill writing there. the minister greeted him cordially. "i heard all about you from colonel stoddart, and approve highly of your remaining here to give pottinger what aid you can during the siege. i also think that you have done very wisely in determining, as pottinger told stoddart you had done, to go to india. i myself will write to the english government saying what you have done, how intelligently you carried on your work at the mission, and recommending you for an appointment on the northern frontier either with the army or the resident at scinde, or perhaps better still, with mr. burnes at cabul." at this moment pottinger entered the room, and he was as surprised as angus had been at seeing the minister at work after only a couple of hours in bed. there was another meeting with kamran, who placed himself entirely in the hands of the british envoy, and said that he would gladly consent to any terms agreed upon by him. at the conclusion of the meeting mr. m'neill returned at once to the persian camp. to the disappointment of all, major todd rode in two days later with the surprising news that the shah had entirely changed his attitude, and absolutely refused to submit the dispute to british arbitration, and that unless the whole people of herat acknowledged themselves his subjects, he would take possession of the city by force of arms. this sudden change was the result of the arrival of the russian representative, count symonwich, on the morning of the day of m'neill's visit to the city. the russian party at once became ascendant. he himself took the conduct of the operations of the siege, the officers with him taught the persian soldiers how to construct batteries, and russian money was freely distributed among them. pottinger's task of explaining to kamran the news brought by major todd was an unpleasant one; but the old man took the news quietly, and said that he never expected anything else, for the persians had always been noted for their treachery and want of faith. the news, however, caused great discouragement in the town, and it was determined at a meeting of the chiefs that they would send to the russian ambassador and place themselves under the protection of his master. meeting after meeting was held, at all of which pottinger was present. sometimes he was received and listened to with respect, and other times he was treated with marked discourtesy. the influence of mr. m'neill at the persian court declined rapidly, while that of the russians became supreme. for some months past he had failed to obtain any satisfaction for matters of serious complaint. as far back as october a courier bearing despatches from colonel stoddart to him at teheran had been seized by a russian officer, stripped and imprisoned by the persians, and his despatches taken from him. the british resident in the persian gulf had been grossly insulted by the governor of bushire, and the persian government had continued to evade its obligations under the commercial treaty between the two nations. so marked was the indignity with which m'neill was now treated in the persian camp, that on the th of june he left it with colonel stoddart and all his suite and attendants, a step equivalent to a rupture of the relations between great britain and persia. in the meantime the pressure of famine and sickness became more and more intense in herat. the city was altogether without drainage, and the stench from the bodies of those who had died or been killed, and of the dead animals, was dreadful. but although much depressed, the courage of the afghans still sustained them, and when on the th of june the persians surprised the outer works, they held the connecting passage and defended it until assistance came, when the garrison poured out, rushed down the slope, and dislodged the assailants with much slaughter. another attempt on the same day at a fresh point was equally unsuccessful, and the storming party were twice repulsed. pottinger was now armed with an authority that he had not before possessed, for he had been appointed by m'neill british envoy at herat. the news of the departure of the embassy, and pottinger's assurances that this was a prelude to war between england and persia, had but little effect. it was certain that the city could not possibly hold out many weeks, and it might be months before the arrival of a british fleet and army could influence the persians. happily, however, lord auckland, governor-general of india, had not waited for instructions from home, but at the news of the investment of herat, and the outrage upon our resident in the persian gulf, had begun to take steps early in the spring; and on the th of june two transports and some vessels of war left bombay harbour with detachments of two british regiments and a marine battalion, and on the th anchored off the island of karrack in the persian gulf. upon the th of june herat went through the most terrible experience of the siege. at daybreak a heavy fire opened from the persian batteries on all four sides of the city. it ceased suddenly after a time. pottinger, who was at breakfast, exclaimed to angus, as he leapt up from his seat: "they are going to assault; the batteries have done their work. quick, to the wall!" warning the soldiers they came upon as they ran, they made their way to the wall. just as they arrived there another gun was fired, and at the signal the batteries on all sides again broke into life. a storm of rockets carried dismay into the town, the mortars dropped their shells into it, and most conclusive of all, a rattle of musketry broke out, growing every moment in power. against five points was the assault directed. that on the gate of candahar was repulsed, and the enemy chased back to their trenches. that upon the south-west angle was but a feint, and was never pushed home against the western gate. the russian regiment under sampson, and a strong force under a persian officer, pressed up to the breach; but the persian was killed and sampson carried off wounded, and the troops fled after suffering immense loss. the attack on the north-western face was similarly repulsed, but the fifth contest was desperate. the storming party gained the _fausse braye_. the afghans defending it fought desperately, and all fell at their post. the storming party rushed up the slope. the officers and leading men were mown down by a heavy musketry fire, but after a fierce struggle the upper _fausse braye_ was carried, and some of the assailants gained the head of the breach. but now the afghan reserves were brought up, and the persians on the breach were driven back. again and again, the persians fighting this time with desperate courage, struggled to effect a lodgment, only to be repulsed, and fell back in confusion on their comrades behind. for a long time the issue was doubtful; a desperate hand-to-hand conflict raged, the assailants and defenders swayed up and down the breach, which was covered with corpses and slippery with blood. yar mahomed arrived almost at the same time as pottinger and angus, for these, before coming here, had seen that all was going well at the other points attacked. they had observed as they came along men leaving the breach by twos and threes under pretence of assisting wounded comrades, and pottinger saw to his dismay that the men were losing heart. as they came to the breach they found other soldiers coming up. the wuzeer was sitting down close by. pottinger ran up to him. "you must encourage your men, wuzeer; go forward and join them, or all will be lost." the afghan scarcely seemed to hear what he said. "you must come," pottinger repeated loudly; "there is no time to be lost." then he turned to angus: "do what you can," he said. "i must rouse the wuzeer; evidently his nerves have suddenly given way." glad at last to be free to join in the struggle, angus drew his sword and ran down, thrusting back those who were mounting, and pushed his way forward to the front, shouting in pushtoo: "fight, men! fight for your faith, your wives, and your children! everything is going on well elsewhere. are you alone going to fail?" the bearded afghans, astonished at seeing this young englishman rushing forward in advance of them, followed him, and again the persians were beaten back. but although the afghans in front had been animated by the lad's example, those behind were still dropping off. the wuzeer, aroused by the vigorous exhortations of pottinger, had risen up and neared the breach. the persians were renewing their attack, and the wuzeer called upon his men to fight. the fugitives paused irresolute. the wuzeer's heart failed him again, and he turned back, his action still further discouraging the men. pottinger, in the most vehement language, exhorted him to set an example. again he turned and advanced, but again shrank back. pottinger now instead of entreating reviled and threatened him, called him opprobrious names, and at last, seizing him by his arm, dragged him forward to the breach. this astounding treatment maddened the afghan. he shouted to the soldiers to fight, and as they continued to fall back, seized a large staff, and, rushing like a madman upon the soldiers, drove them forward again with a shower of heavy blows, while pottinger sword in hand seconded him. cooped up as they were, and seeing no other outlet of escape, many of them leapt wildly down over the parapet, rushed down the slope, and fell upon the persian stormers. believing that great reinforcements must have arrived, these were seized by a panic, abandoned their position, and fled. herat was saved entirely by the energy and courage of the young english lieutenant. pottinger's first question was as to his companion. he had, while urging the wuzeer to advance, caught sight of him fighting desperately in the midst of the persians, and he at once made his way down to that spot. he was not long in discovering angus, who was lying insensible, bleeding from a number of sabre wounds. calling four afghans, he ordered him to be carried on to the wall. there he bandaged his wounds, and then had him placed on a stretcher and carried to their lodging, taking on himself to send an order to the wuzeer's own medical attendant to go there at once and attend to his wounds. then he turned his attention to the wuzeer. the mind of the minister had been almost unhinged by the terrible events, and he was still wandering about in a confused and bewildered way. several of the other chiefs were similarly affected, and were unable for days afterwards to perform their usual duties. the soldiers themselves, instead of being excited over their victory, were as gloomy and depressed as if they had suffered a defeat. the peril had been so great, the city had been so nearly lost, that there was a general feeling that another such attack would be successful. their confidence hitherto had rested upon the wuzeer, and on the conviction that their courage was infinitely greater than that of the persians, and they had found that the persians could now fight as well and stoutly as they themselves. they were humiliated by knowing that it was to a young english officer they owed it that the persians had failed in their object, and that another young englishman, scarce more than a boy, had led their best and bravest into the thick of the fray, and had himself penetrated beyond them into the midst of the persians and had fallen there. none appreciate bravery more than do the afghans. it was not so much that pottinger had exposed himself recklessly to the shower of bullets with which the persians in their trenches swept the spot where he was standing with the wuzeer, but that he should have ventured to abuse, revile, and even forcibly drag their dreaded leader forward astounded them. all herat felt that it was he who had saved the city, and the fame of the deed spread through the country round, and men when they came in sought him out and kissed his hand with enthusiasm. a deep gloom, however, hung over the city. even the work of repairing the damaged fortifications was carried on apathetically. they had repulsed the persians, but it was felt that nothing but a miracle could enable them to withstand another such assault. food was all but exhausted, the treasury was empty, the inhabitants could not be fed, the soldiers could not be paid. but an equal amount of depression was felt in the persian camp. five assaults had all failed, and some eighteen hundred of their best troops had fallen. the loss of officers had been enormous; the russian general, berowski, had been killed, and two of the principal persian generals. another russian general, sampson, and two pashas had been wounded, and almost all the field officers of the regiments engaged in the attack were hors de combat. pottinger's position was a very painful one. the need for money to pay the troops was absolute, and the wuzeer, when he had recovered from the effects of his scare, instituted a reign of terror even more terrible than anything the wretched inhabitants had ever before felt. the soldiers went from house to house, and all suspected of possessing money were seized and tortured. even ladies of rank were so treated, and the very inmates of kamran's zenana were threatened and had to contribute their jewels. pottinger felt that it was solely owing to his influence that the city had so long held out, and as he went through the streets starving men reproached him as the author of their sufferings. he did all that he could, but that was little. men of all ranks came to him imploring his aid and protection. some he was able to save, but for others he could do nothing. never was a young soldier placed in so terrible a dilemma. as a man he was agonized by the sufferings he saw round him--sufferings he could at once bring to an end by advising the wuzeer to surrender: as a soldier and an englishman, he felt that it was his duty to hold out to the bitter end. his position became still more difficult when, a fortnight after the assault, the persians again opened negotiations, demanding, however, as a first step that he should be expelled from the city. pottinger declared that no thought of personal safety should persuade him to stand in the way of any arrangement conducive to the safety of herat and the welfare of his country, and that if these could be gained by his departure he would willingly leave the town. but yar mahomed was undecided. he felt that the dismissal of the man who had saved herat would be a stain on his character, and, moreover, that the persians having obtained his dismissal, would become still more exorbitant in their demands. he had long expected the arrival of a relieving force of turkomans, and pottinger was convinced that ere long the intervention of england would compel the persians to fall back. the bombardment of the city had not been renewed since the repulse of the attack, and the persians relied now solely upon famine to reduce it, and maintained a strict blockade. in order to mitigate the horrors he saw around him, pottinger undertook that all who voluntarily brought in their money should be reimbursed at his recommendation by the british government. this brought some money in, though slowly, and july passed. then a deserter from the persian camp brought in news that there was a report that a great british army had landed in the persian gulf, had taken bushire, and was advancing. this report had fortunately enormously magnified the strength of the british expedition, and the news gave fresh life to the defenders of herat. the persians again opened negotiations, waiving the question of the expulsion of pottinger, but the wuzeer was less inclined than before to yield to the persian demands. m'neill was on his way to the frontier when he was informed of the arrival of the british expedition to the persian gulf, and at the same time received instructions from the foreign office in anticipation of the refusal of the shah to retire from before herat. fortified by these instructions, he despatched colonel stoddart to the persian camp with a message to the shah. he arrived there on the th of august, and on the next day had an interview with the shah, who welcomed him with cordiality, and listened to the message from the british government. "it means, then," he said, "that if i do not leave herat there will be war?" "it all depends upon your majesty's answer," stoddart replied. two days later stoddart was again summoned to the royal presence. "we consent," the shah said, "to the whole of the demands from the british government. we will not go to war. were it not for the sake of their friendship, we should not return from before herat. had we known that by our coming here we should risk the loss of their friendship, we certainly should not have come at all." in reply, colonel stoddart said he thanked god that his majesty had taken so wise a view of the real interests of persia. but as he left the audience, he hinted to the persian minister that although the shah's answer was very satisfactory, it would be more satisfactory still to see it at once reduced to practice. although rumours reached the city that the persians were about to leave, it was not for another week that the rumours became a certainty. an effort was made to induce the wuzeer to make some concessions that would give a better grace to the withdrawal of the shah. some of the conditions suggested were refused by pottinger's advice; but on the th of september the persian prisoners in the town were sent into camp, and on the th the persian army began their march back to teheran. it was time indeed that they did so, for they had but three or four days' supply of forage remaining, and their flour and grain were almost all exhausted. their failure to capture so weakly fortified a place was, in pottinger's opinion, due to the fact that there was no union of effort. the commanders of the various sections of the army acted independently, and except when, under the command of the russians, they made a simultaneous attack, they never acted in concert with each other. it was his opinion that the shah might have carried the city by assault the very first day that he reached herat. he declared that the persians were equally as brave as and far better soldiers than the afghans, and that they had an ample supply of artillery to capture a strong fortress if properly employed. for a week after the struggle of the th of june angus campbell lay between life and death. he had lost a great quantity of blood, and when first carried to his room his armenian friends believed him to be dead. pottinger, who had hurried back as soon as he saw that there was no chance of a renewal of the assault, went to kamran's and obtained some spirits, and with the aid of these the action of the heart, which had before been so slight that the pulse could not be felt, was stimulated, and respiration grew stronger. kamran's doctor had already declared that none of the wounds were in themselves dangerous, but that he despaired of the patient recovering. pottinger, however, by no means despaired; he procured some fresh meat, and ordered a servant to make the strongest broth possible, and to pour a spoonful between the patient's lips every few minutes. angus was wrapped in warm blankets, and a large bottle of hot water placed against his feet. the wounds had already been carefully dressed and bandaged by the surgeon, for although almost entirely ignorant as to the use of drugs, afghan doctors had abundant practice in the treatment of wounds. pottinger remained two or three hours, and then, seeing that angus was breathing regularly though feebly, and that the pulse could now be felt at the wrist, hurried off to see that the work of repairing the breach had been taken in hand, kajar's wife undertaking to look after the patient. for a week the issue of the struggle was doubtful; then the improvement, although slow, was distinct, and day by day some slight advance was made. the ladies of kamran's zenana were much interested in the young englishman, and frequently sent down presents of fruit and perfumes. both were welcome. the air of herat was very unfavourable to wounds, but a little scent sprinkled on a muslin curtain drawn across the window to some extent neutralized the terrible stenches of the town, and a handkerchief steeped in water to which a little of the perfume had been added, was laid lightly over the bandages. in three weeks angus was able to sit up for a time, and a week later he walked across the room. his progress was now more rapid, and by the end of july he was able to sit on a donkey as far as the city wall, where he could breathe a purer air than that of the city, and by the end of august he could walk freely about the town. but he was listless and without energy. it was now certain that in a very short time the persians would draw off. "you must be out of this as soon as you can, angus," pottinger said to him one evening. "what you want is some mountain air. you will never get better as long as you remain in this pestilential atmosphere. it is enough to kill a healthy dog, and i only wonder that the whole population has not been swept away. when m'neill was here, he told me that if our people interfered and herat was saved he should appoint me officially as the british resident envoy. he said that he was sure the british government would send money and do all that was possible to alleviate the misery that has been suffered by the inhabitants; and although i would infinitely rather have other employment, it seems to me that it is clearly my duty to stay here. it is largely owing to me that these poor people have suffered for ten months the horrors of the siege, and the least i can do is to help them now, for if i did not you may be sure that any money sent by england would simply remain in the coffers of kamran and the wuzeer. it is said, and i quite believe it, that a large proportion of the money wrung by torture from these wretched people has been retained by yar mahomed. it is therefore absolutely necessary, if the people are to be fed, their houses rebuilt, and matters tided over till trade recovers, that a british officer be here to receive and superintend the distribution of british money. but the very day the gate is open you had better be off. you speak afghan now perfectly, and i am glad to see that azim has picked it up too. he is a capital fellow, and has watched over you since you have been ill as if you had been his father. the question is, do you feel strong enough to travel through the mountains? if not, there is nothing for it but for you to return to teheran and stay there till your strength is restored." angus shook his head. "i don't think that i could stand the journey across the plains," he said, "nor that i should pick up much at teheran, while i believe that in the hills i should soon get braced up. there is nothing really the matter with me now, except that i feel lazy. if there had been fighting going on, and there was something i must do, i should soon shake it off; but what with the sight of the misery of the people here, and the stinks, and the heat, i feel myself that i am making no progress. i believe i shall be a different man as soon as i am once out of this place and on my way to the hills. it will soon be getting cold up there, and in a fortnight i shall be fit for anything." "i think you are right, angus; i would give a good deal myself for a few hours in the fresh mountain air. i do think that you are strong enough to travel quietly. of course you will have to do so, as i did, in disguise; and indeed this will be much more necessary now than it was a year ago. it is well known that the chiefs at candahar have been long negotiating with persia, and have offered to place themselves under the shah's protection, and that, encouraged and pushed on by russia, they have meditated an invasion of india. the news of the failure here will no doubt moderate their ardour, but from all that has been learned from afghans who have come into the town during the siege, there is throughout the whole country a feeling of deep excitement at the prospect of another mohammedan invasion of india, and a conviction that the whole country would rise and join the persians were they to advance to candahar. "the afghans consider that russian influence really means persian influence, whereas we know that it is just the other way, and that russia only uses persia as her cat's-paw. as for the persians, we know now what they are worth, and that a british division would be sufficient to smash them up. but the afghans don't know that. they believe that persia is the persia of old, and that with her aid they could assuredly drive the british out of india. this being the state of feeling, your chance of getting through were it discovered that you were british would be small indeed. you must pass as a persian who, having long traded with herat, has learnt the afghan language. it would be a natural story that, finding that herat is ruined, and that there can be no trade between it and persia for a long time, you are travelling south with the intention of fixing yourself at candahar, and of trading between that town and india on the one side and persia on the other. you can account for your not having merchandise with you by saying that owing to the presence of the persian army, and marauders from herat, and the general disturbance of the country, it would not have been safe to travel with merchandise." "i will certainly carry out your plan," angus said. "i don't think there will be any difficulty in getting through. but i do wish that you were coming with me." "i hope it will not be very long before i follow you, for i think there will be some stirring work there soon." angus was well provided with money. he had received from mr. m'neill a sum that would not only cover all the expenses of his journey to herat, but would enable him either to return to teheran or proceed to india, as circumstances might determine. in addition to this, he had received a year's salary in recognition of the risk he incurred. he had this sum still in his possession. the money he had brought from tabriz he had left at the embassy, mr. m'neill promising to send an order for the amount should he write for it from india. chapter v in candahar on the th of september angus started, after a tearful farewell from his armenian friends. their gratitude to him and pottinger was unbounded. the presence and influence of their two english guests had preserved them from the rapacity and cruelty of the wuzeer, while all other merchants and traders in the town had been maltreated and robbed, and in many cases had died under the tortures inflicted to wring from them treasures it was believed they possessed. kajar and his brother and their families alone enjoyed an immunity from persecution. both had determined that they would leave herat, and taking with them their workmen, establish themselves at teheran or tabriz, where the profit of their work might be less, but they would at least be able to enjoy it in security, such as could never be hoped for as long as yar mahomed was the virtual ruler of herat. the period that had elapsed since angus left teheran had changed him much. he was no longer a boy, for he had been doing man's work. he was now nearly eighteen years old, and had attained his full height of nearly six feet. his illness had pulled him down much, and sharpened his features, and except for his lighter colour, he really more closely resembled an afghan than the persian trader he was dressed to represent. the pallor caused by his illness had been succeeded by a deep tan, caused by his passing so many hours daily in the sun during his convalescence. "i am glad to be out of herat," azim said, as he looked back at the walls. "so am i, azim. i thought at one time that i was never coming out at all." "it is a very bad place, master. in persia the governors squeeze the people a bit, and sometimes there is much grumbling, but the worst of them are very much better than yar mahomed, who is a son of sheitan, whom may allah confound." "he is a scoundrel," angus agreed heartily. "i wonder myself that the people of herat have not long since risen and torn him to pieces. i know that if i had been a merchant there i should have tried to stir them up to do it." azim shook his head. "they cannot trust each other, effendi. there are many who would like to do as you have said, but there are many who cannot trust their own neighbours." "then i would do it myself. look how many old men were tortured to death; some of them must have had sons. had my father been so tortured i would have lain in wait for the wuzeer day after day in some empty house--there are plenty of them in one of the streets by which he usually went from his palace to the walls--and as he rode past i would have put a bullet in his head. i would then have escaped from the back of the house if possible. no one would have seen who had fired the shot, and i should have been safe if once away. if i were overtaken i would put a pistol to my head, so as to avoid being tortured to death. i cannot understand thirty or forty thousand people continuing to support the rule of a tyrant, when one bold man could put an end to it." once on his way angus felt new life in his veins, and in a week he had entirely shaken off the feeling of lassitude that had oppressed him in the poisoned air of herat, and felt equal to any ordinary exertion. as he had expected, he met with no difficulties whatever on his way, for on the road between herat and candahar the afghans were accustomed to see persian traders passing, and no suspicion whatever was felt that angus and his attendant were other than they represented themselves to be. the journey was a long one, but angus did not hurry. it was pleasant to him, after being for a year cooped up in the besieged city, to travel quietly in the fresh mountain air. the scenery was all new to him, and though azim felt the cold a good deal, angus enjoyed it immensely. he made short stages, and never exceeded twenty miles a day, and often, when he arrived at a village which offered fair accommodation, he was content to stay when only fourteen or fifteen had been traversed. as this was the great high-road of trade there were khans in almost every village, and there was no difficulty in purchasing the necessaries of life. everywhere the talk was of war. once beyond the territory over which shah mahomed ruled, the news that the persians had failed to take herat and had retired had excited regret. it had been regarded as certain that the place would fall, and all had anticipated the march of a persian and russian army to candahar, to be followed by a grand invasion of india. the mountaineers had felt sure that the army would gladly pay whatever was demanded for permission to pass unmolested; that they would be ready to pay high prices for provisions and the hire of transport animals, so that they would enrich themselves in the first place, and then have a chance of sharing in the plunder of india, and the destruction of the infidels. angus was appealed to by all with whom he conversed to explain how it was that the shah with his great army had failed to take herat. he was eagerly questioned, too, with regard to russia, a country of which they had heard many strange rumours. were they very strong? were they really in alliance with persia? were they infidels? if so, how was it that the shah was friendly with them? to the first of these questions angus could only reply that, not having been in the persian camp, he was unable to give them information. there were certainly russian generals and officers leading the persians at the siege of herat. they were infidels, and neighbours of the persians. for himself, he thought that while no doubt the shah wished to be at peace with such powerful neighbours, he would be wise not to trust them very far. he could not really wish for them to become more powerful, and if they aided him, it could only be for their own objects. as a peaceful man he himself only desired to trade, and left these matters to wiser heads. but at the same time he knew that russia was constantly extending its dominions at the expense of its neighbours; and that, as it was a christian country, it certainly could not be thinking of invading india for the benefit of the mohammedans of that country, or those of afghanistan--certainly not those of persia. whatever the shah and the military officers might think, the trading classes were uneasy at the influence that russia was gaining, and apprehensive of the growing power and proximity of a neighbour possessed of such immense forces, and of ambitious views. two months after leaving herat angus entered candahar. the journey had been wholly without any incident of importance. the appearance of candahar somewhat resembled that of herat. situated in a fertile plain, with a range of craggy hills at no great distance, and surrounded by a wall, it was incapable of offering any prolonged resistance to the attack of a european force provided with siege artillery. the town was a comparatively modern one, being founded in on the site of an ancient city. it was built on a regular plan, the streets all crossing each other at right angles. like herat, it had four principal streets meeting in the centre, each of these feet wide, and lined with shops. streams of water ran down almost every street. the town made a very favourable impression on angus after the ruin and dirt of herat. as a persian he felt at home here, for persian inscriptions and names met his eye everywhere, as throughout afghanistan the whole of the trade is carried on by persians or by natives of india, the afghans themselves deeming the profession of arms the only one honourable. the upper classes among them all habitually spoke persian; which language was generally employed in writing and in all official communications. angus put up at a khan which he learned was frequented by traders passing through the city, and soon made the acquaintance of several merchants lodging there. from them he learned much more of the state of affairs than he had gathered in the afghan villages he had passed through on the journey. the english were, it was said, gathering a great army in scinde with the intention of placing shah soojah on the throne of afghanistan instead of dost mahomed. of all the blunders that have been committed from the time of our first arrival in india, none is comparable, in point of injustice, hopeless blundering, or misfortune, to the policy thus inaugurated in afghanistan. shah soojah was the head of the dooranee tribe, and had been overthrown by the barukzyes, who had gradually attained a power which the dooranee monarch was unable to withstand. the four princes of that tribe divided the kingdom between themselves, and after waging many wars against each other dost mahomed, the youngest of the four brothers, became ruler of cabul. during these wars peshawur had been captured by the great sikh ruler, runjeet sing. in shah soojah made an effort to recover his kingdom, but was defeated, and again became a fugitive in british india. dost mahomed, alarmed at the preparations made by the sikhs for still further dismembering his country, and by the fact that his two brothers, who were lords of candahar, might at any moment take advantage of his troubles with the sikhs to throw off his authority altogether, was anxious to enter into an alliance with the british, all the more so as he had learned of the ever-increasing influence of russia in persia. lord auckland sent captain burnes to cabul; nominally his purpose was to arrange for a larger commercial intercourse between the two countries. he was received with great honour in cabul, but he had come altogether unprovided with the customary presents, and dost mahomed reasonably felt this as a studied slight. nevertheless he exerted himself to the utmost to obtain the alliance of the british. but burnes had no authority whatever to treat with him, and could give him no assurances that aid would be forthcoming if, on the fall of herat, which was considered certain, the persians and russians, aided by the candahar chiefs, who were known to be in correspondence with them, were to invade his territory. nor could he obtain any promise that the british would use their influence with runjeet sing to restore peshawur. burnes saw how sincere was the desire of the ameer for a close friendship with england, and wrote strongly to lord auckland in favour of an alliance with him. he pointed out that dost mahomed was firmly seated at cabul, where he had reigned for ten years, that shah soojah had no adherents, and even if placed on the throne could not maintain himself there. colonel pottinger, the resident in scinde, also gave the same advice, but lord auckland paid no attention whatever to their representations. a weak man, he was guided chiefly by mr. macnaghten, his secretary, a comparatively young man, with great ambition and an unbounded belief in himself, but, as events proved, with few of the qualities required in a man placed in a highly responsible and difficult position in india. burnes was instructed to insist upon the ameer's binding himself to make no alliances whatever without the consent of england, and at the same time he was to refuse to give any pledges in return for such a concession. a more preposterous demand was never made upon an independent sovereign. for a long time the ameer strove in vain to obtain some sort of conditions, and at length, finding this hopeless, he threw himself into the arms of the russian agent, whom he had hitherto treated with great coldness. burnes's position became intolerable, and he was recalled; and lord auckland at once prepared to place shah soojah on the throne by force. runjeet sing was asked to join in the undertaking, and at a great durbar held in the punjaub, the conditions were arranged, under which shah soojah was to pay a large amount to runjeet as well as to the british for the aid they were to give him. as if it was not enough to have united all afghanistan against us, the people of scinde, who had hitherto been on good terms with us, were treated as if they were enemies. they were ordered to furnish provisions and carriage for the army, and to pay large sums of money, although they had, by the terms of a treaty with us, been guaranteed against any claim whatever for money or services. it would seem, indeed, that lord auckland and mr. macnaghten had neglected no step whatever that could ensure the failure of their enterprise. when, after the war, the papers relating to the policy that had occasioned it were published in the form of a blue-book, it is significant that the passages in the letters of burnes and pottinger remonstrating against the course proposed by lord auckland were suppressed, dishonesty being thus added to the terrible blunders of the weakest and most obstinate of the governor-generals of india--blunders that caused not only the utter destruction of a british army, but led to an almost equally unjust war for the conquest of scinde. as far as angus could learn the candahar princes were making no preparations whatever to take part in the war. the general idea was that they would gladly see dost mahomed overthrown and shah soojah placed on the throne, feeling certain that the latter would not be able to retain his position, and that they would have a far better chance of becoming masters of the whole of afghanistan then than they could have so long as their brother remained on the throne. three days after his arrival an officer from the palace called upon angus and requested him to accompany him there, as the princes wished to question him as to the reasons for the persians retiring from before herat. on arriving at the palace he was shown into a small chamber, where kihur-el-khan, with two of his brothers, was sitting. "i have heard that you have arrived here, and that you passed by herat just as your shah had left with his army." "that is so, prince," angus said, bowing deeply. "you have come hither for purposes of trade? from what city do you come?" "from tabriz. i represent one of the largest merchants there." and he mentioned the name of a well-known trader. "when i left it was considered certain that herat would speedily be captured, and that the shah would move forward here, having, it was said, entered into an alliance with you. 'therefore,' my patron said to me, 'go you to candahar. doubtless, in future, trade with northern india will go by that route instead of by sea, and candahar will be a mighty centre of trade. therefore go and see for yourself what are the prospects, and the price at which goods can be carried from the present frontier to that city and thence into scinde. find out for me whether there are any hindrances to trade along the road, what are the charges for permission to travel through the passes held by various tribes, and the disposition of the people towards traders.'" "how was it that you did not turn back when you found that your army was retiring without having captured herat?" "i thought it best still to go on as i had come so far," angus replied. "the shah, it is true, was retiring, but he might return in the spring; and i could not doubt that with your powerful friendship he would the next time succeed, and the information that i should gain would enable my patron to send off without delay a large caravan of merchandise if he found it expedient to do so." "were you in the persian camp?" "no, your highness. an army when it is retiring is best avoided by peaceful men. when all goes well the camp officers see that traders are not meddled with by the soldiers, but when things are not going favourably and there is discontent in camp, discipline is relaxed, and it is useless for those who are robbed or maltreated to make complaints." "that is no doubt true, but doubtless you heard a good deal from those who have been in the camp. how did men say it was that they failed to capture herat, which is but a weak town?" "some say one thing and some another, your highness. some declare that had it not been for a british officer who happened to be there the place would have fallen in a very short time. others say that it could have been taken easily had all the persian generals been of one mind, but that each acted for himself, and that only once did all attack at the same time." the prince nodded. he had seen very many times the evil of divided counsels, and knew how necessary it was that there should be a strong leader who could make himself obeyed by all. "and what do people say about the russians? we know that they had officers there. we hear that they are a great people, and are good friends with persians." "opinions are divided, prince. there are those who believe that their friendship will indeed be a great advantage to persia. there are others, especially among the trading class, who think otherwise, and believe that russia is too strong to be a real friend, and that it would be far better to maintain a close alliance with england, which would support them against russia, and which lies so far away across the seas that it could gain nothing by meddling in her affairs or taking her territory." "but it is reported that it is the english who have now interfered and have saved herat, and are sending a fleet and an army to compel persia to desist." "that is what was reported and generally believed, prince, but i cannot say how truly; i merely heard the common talk on the way." "but why should england have interfered? what does it matter to them whether herat belongs to persia or to the suddozye, prince kamran." "according to the opinion of the traders in tabriz, england would not have cared at all had persia been strong and been fighting only for the conquest of herat, but it was known that england regards with great jealousy the approach of russia to india, and considers that as persia was certainly acting under the influence of russia, it was the latter who would be the real masters of herat, and not the persians. then, too, it was said--though we know that rumour often lies--that russia and persia had many friends in afghanistan, and that the conquest of herat would only be the first step to further advances south." kihur-el-khan frowned. such an undertaking had certainly been made by him and his brothers, but the retreat of the persians from herat at the dictation of the english, and the fact that the latter were now gathering an army with the avowed purpose of placing shah soojah on the throne of afghanistan, gravely altered the position. they had no love for their brother, and had a british force advanced through the khyber passes to cabul, and placed shah soojah on the throne, they would certainly have rendered no assistance to dost mahomed, for they felt sure that soojah would not be able to maintain himself, and saw that there was a good chance that in the confusion which would prevail, they themselves might obtain the mastery of cabul. but as the english army was evidently intending to advance through the bolan pass, it would probably in the first place march on candahar, and they themselves would, in consequence of their intrigues with persia and russia, be regarded as enemies. he was therefore silent for a minute or two, and then said: "if the shah has retired because he is afraid of the english, he will not venture to send another army to aid us against them." "i do not think that he could do so. his army suffered very heavily." "i hear that you speak the language of our country. how is that?" the afghan asked suddenly. "i do not speak it well, your highness," replied angus, who had thought is possible that this question might be asked him. "having known for some time that i should make this journey hither, i studied for a time with a slave who had been bought by a merchant of my employer's acquaintance, who had himself bought him from the turkomans in a journey that he made in their country. but i speak it only well enough to make my way through the country, and to obtain such necessaries as may be required on the journey, and to converse in some fashion with such travellers as i might meet on the road or in the khans." "it was reported to me that you spoke so that all could understand you," he said. "it was this that seemed strange to me that you, a persian, should speak pushtoo. i will speak to you further another day." as angus returned to the khan, he felt that he was an object of suspicion. up to the point when the prince had sharply and suddenly asked how he came to speak pushtoo, his bland manner had led him to believe that he had been simply desirous of obtaining the last news from the frontier. but this showed him unmistakably that the prince had learned something which had excited his suspicions that he was there either as an emissary from kamran, or of russia or persia, desirous of ascertaining the position of affairs at candahar, the forces at the disposal of the princes, and the feeling among the people in general with reference to a protectorate, or occupation by one or other of those powers. angus knew the naturally suspicious character of eastern princes. in persia no one ever ventured to discuss any public affairs openly. in herat, hated as kamran and yar mahomed were, no one dared breathe a word of aught but adulation, for the slightest suspicion of disloyalty sufficed to bring about the ruin and death of the unfortunate man on whom it fell. the last words of the prince were in fact a sentence of imprisonment to the city for an indefinite time. the prince might not send for him again for months. but the mere intimation that he would do so was sufficient. he could not continue his journey without running the risk of being pursued and brought back again, in which case he might first be tortured to extract any secret he might possess, and then be put to death. he might, for aught he knew, be already spied upon, and everything that he said or did reported. consequently, when he reached the khan, he took care to evince no appearance of thoughtfulness or uneasiness, but chatted with the traders there upon commercial matters, respecting the advantages of cabul and candahar as trading centres, the amount of the taxes laid upon goods in the two cities, and other topics that would naturally be of interest to a merchant intending to establish himself in afghanistan. he was under no uneasiness as to azim. he had instructed him carefully in the account he should give of himself, the city from which he came, the merchants whose agent he was, the route he had followed, and other similar matters, so that their stories should correspond in all respects. when all had lain down for the night, angus was able to think over quietly what was to be done. as to remaining where he was, it was clearly out of the question. for aught he knew, the british force said to be gathering to advance on cabul might be months before it was put in motion, or the expedition might be abandoned altogether. even if the advance was made, it might not pass through candahar, and he might be detained in that city for an indefinite time. it was evident, therefore, that he must somehow escape. the question was how this could be managed. what disguise could he adopt, and how could he evade the vigilance of those who were watching him? the matter was rendered all the more difficult by the fact that there were practically but two roads open to him, that through the kojak pass to quettah, and that to the north-east through kelat-i-ghilzye and ghuznee to cabul. if he moved off either of these regular lines of traffic he would be unable to give any reason for his divergence, and in any case would be subject to plunder. even on these roads it was only as a travelling merchant he would be respected, and as a travelling merchant he would be quickly overtaken by the prince's followers. think as he would, no plan occurred to him, and he at last went to sleep determining to consult azim, in whose sharpness he had much faith. in the morning, accordingly, as soon as he was up, he sauntered across the yard to where the boy was watching the horses feed, and preventing other less fortunate animals from robbing them. "azim," he said, "the princes have their suspicions of me, and have as much as ordered me not to leave the town; try and think over some manner in which we may get away, and if overtaken may not be recognized. i do not wish to talk with you now, because for aught we know a spy may be at present watching us, but at mid-day i will come out and speak to you again. in the meantime think it over. now, when the horses have done feeding, take your basket, go into the bazaar, and buy food for our dinner, so that anyone who may be watching us may suppose that i have merely been giving you orders what to purchase." he then went out into the town, and spent the morning looking into the shops, and asking questions as to the prices of the goods, so that he might appear to be ascertaining what profits would be made. he also went to several shops which happened to be untenanted, asked the rent, and made enquiries about the accommodation. at dinner-time he went over to where azim was squatting, attending to two earthenware pots that were simmering over a small charcoal fire, which he was fanning to keep it going. "i can think of nothing, master." "then to-night, azim, after everyone is asleep, get up quietly and go round to the back of the khan. i will join you there, and we will talk it over together. do not be surprised if i keep you waiting some time. some of these people may sit up late talking. i cannot move till all are asleep. it is quite possible that someone who is lodging at the khan may be watching us." it was indeed late before the talk ceased and all lay down to sleep. angus waited for another hour and then got up quietly and went out. two minutes later he joined azim. "well, lad, have you thought of any plan yet?" "nothing, master; unless we leave our animals and goods behind us." "that we could do," angus said. "i can get rid of the goods to-morrow. why leave the animals?" "because, sir, they will be looking for a man with a fair complexion, and a boy, mounted on horses." "that is so; but if we left the horses behind us and walked it would be just as bad." "i did not think of walking, master. i thought that perhaps you might buy a camel and go on that." "that would be better certainly, azim. we might both darken our faces, and in my afghan dress might make our way easily enough, if it were not that we should be hotly pursued, and then a man and boy, however they were dressed, or however they were travelling, would be sure to be closely examined. i have it!" he said after a pause. "you might go as a woman; well wrapped up, little more than your eyes would be seen. you might ride on the camel, and i might lead it. in that way we might pass as natives of some village among the hills. the first difficulty, however, is how to buy a camel. i have my afghan dress, and, if i were sure that i was not watched, could get to some quiet spot, change my persian dress for it, and go boldly into a shop and buy a woman's clothes for you; i could then go down into the quarter where the tribesmen encamp and buy a camel. but if i were caught doing so, it would be almost proof positive that i was going to try to leave the city, and in that case i should no doubt be arrested and thrown into prison at once." "we might steal one," azim suggested. "there are many always grazing outside the wall while their masters are here doing their business." "yes, but they have not saddles. however, i will think it over, azim. your idea about having a camel has certainly shown me a way in which we can get away if it is managed well, and i ought to be able to find some plan by which we can carry it out. it is of no use talking any longer over it, there is no hurry for a day or two; and the longer i appear to be really engaged in looking for a place of business, the more careless the watch may become." angus did not go to sleep that night, but thinking the situation over in every way decided that the first step to be taken was to ascertain for certain whether they were watched. if they were not, the matter would be comparatively easy, but if his every movement were followed, he could see no way out of the difficulty. when he paid his usual visit to azim in the morning, he said: "i want to find out if i am followed. i will walk straight along this street towards the southern gate. when i get to the last turning to the left, i will turn up it; then i shall be out of the crowd. do you keep a good long way behind me. i shall go on for some distance, and then mount the wall and walk along there, looking over the country. i want you to observe if any man follows me. you must be so far off that even if he looks round he will not recognize you. i don't want you to find out this time who he is, we can do that later on; i only want to know if i am followed. each time i turn a corner he is likely to look round before he turns, so when you see him getting near a corner that i have turned, hide yourself if you can." "i understand, master." accordingly, when half an hour later angus came out, the lad waited for a time, and then followed him. his master was out of sight, and azim walked quickly till he saw him looking as usual into one of the shops, and then dropped behind again and followed slowly until angus turned off the street that he had named. azim walked still more slowly, and on reaching the corner saw him a considerable distance ahead. there were but a few people about, for beyond the four principal streets were many large open spaces dotted here and there with ruined walls of houses that had stood there at the time when the city was far more populous than it was at present. angus was walking at a steady pace, as if he had some definite object in view, and of the various people in sight only one, who was about half way between him and azim, was walking at anything like the same rate. a hundred yards farther angus turned to the right. azim kept on until he saw the man he was watching was close to that point; he then stepped aside into an empty piece of ground between two houses. half a minute later he looked out; the man was no longer visible. he walked on fast until he reached the corner, and saw the man again turn off after angus. they were near the wall now, and the boy went forward with greater caution than before. when he got to where he had last seen his master, he caught sight of him on the wall some fifty yards away. the man who had been following him had stopped at a low wall, and over it was watching angus furtively. that settled the point, and azim at once returned to the khan. it was an hour later before angus came in. he did not pay any attention to azim, but went in and engaged in talk as usual with some of the occupants. it was an hour before he came out to the yard. "well, lad?" he asked. "you were watched, master. a man followed you all the way, and hid behind a wall to watch you when you went on the wall. i thought at the time that i might have crept up to him and stabbed him if i had wanted to, but of course i would not without your orders." "no, that would not have done at all till we are ready to go; and i don't like stabbing anyhow. still, i will think it over. come round again to the same meeting-place to-night; by that time i shall have decided what to do." chapter vi an escape "i think, azim," angus said, when they met that night "you must buy some clothes for yourself. you may be pretty sure that no one is watching you. you must not get them at any shop in the main street, because there are always passers-by who stop and listen to the bargains made; but there are some by-streets where there are a few shops. of course you will go into a persian's. if you give a fair price--not too high, you know, so as to seem too anxious to buy--i don't suppose he will trouble much what you may want them for. you must make out some likely story--say, for example, that your master keeps a sharp look-out over you, and that you want to be able to go out sometimes in such a dress that he would not know you if he met you. i don't know that that is a good excuse, but i am unable to think of a better one. all you will want will be a long white robe coming over the head and down to the eyebrows, and falling to the feet; and a white cloth coming across the face below the eyes, and falling down over the throat. there is no occasion to buy other garments. a rug torn asunder and wrapped round the waist, falling to the feet, so as to fill up the outside robe, is all that will be required. but the more i think of it, azim, the greater appears the difficulty about the camel; indeed, now that we have ascertained about this spy, it seems to me hardly possible to make a start without being pursued at once." azim nodded approvingly. "that is just what i think, master. but i could put a knife into him, and then all trouble would be over." "i don't like the idea of killing the man, azim." "you killed many men at herat." "that was in battle, which is a very different thing from stabbing a man to enable us to get away." azim shook his head. this was quite beyond him. "he is fighting against you now, master. if the princes find out that you are english they will put you in a dungeon and most likely kill you, and kill me too, so as to shut my mouth. this man is paid to act as a spy on you. why not kill him? thousands of people were killed or died at herat. i cannot understand why one man should not be killed, when we can perhaps get free away if he is dead." "if he found us escaping and attacked us, we could kill him, azim, but it is not an englishman's way to kill men, except in fight." azim shook his head. to his mind this was very foolish. "perhaps we might make him prisoner, azim." "where could we put him in prison?" azim enquired, with his eyes wide open in surprise. "i don't mean in a prison, azim, i mean in some empty house or some out-of-the-way place; we might tie his arms and legs and gag him." azim's eyes twinkled. "i see, master, you do not like to use a knife. good, we can bind and hide him. perhaps no one would come for a long time, may be a year, and, finding only a skeleton, would not bother about him. he would just say it was some fellow killed by robbers." "no, no, azim," angus said in a tone of horror. "i never thought of such a thing. no doubt someone would come along and let him out." "someone might come, master. he might come a few minutes after we had gone, then they would catch us at once. if someone did not come in an hour, why should he come in a week or a month?" angus was silent. "no, azim, you don't quite understand me. i meant that he should be gagged and bound after dark, and then be left in some place a little distance from the road, where he would not be seen till morning. then the first person who came along would turn aside and look at him, and he would be loosed, but we should have got twelve hours' start." "that would be a good plan, master. but how should we get the camel?" "in that case we should make a start without it, for we might ride fifty miles, perhaps a good deal more than that, before it would be discovered that we had gone. we could do that in our present dress, and then i could put on my afghan clothes and go into a village off the road and say that the horses were tired and that i wanted to go on, and so buy a camel." azim shook his head. "anyone who wanted to go on fast, master, would not buy a camel." angus uttered an exclamation of disgust, and azim struck another blow at his plan by saying, "how would you get the horses out, master? the gates are shut at dark. you could not tie up the spy till after the gates were shut, and in the morning he might be found, and we should be caught as we went out." "i am getting altogether stupid," angus said. "of course you are right; the horses could not be sent out beforehand, for if the spy saw them going out he would at once inform his employers, and i should be arrested. ah, i have an idea! that trader from scinde, who arrived here yesterday, was saying that as he intended to stay here for some time he would sell his horses if he could get a fair price for them. i might say that i would buy two of them, as they are better than mine, and as i wanted to travel fast, i would give him my two and some money for them. i dare say he would be willing to do that, as our horses would sell more easily than his. one can always sell a poor horse, while one might have to wait some time before finding a purchaser for a good one. i don't suppose really there is much difference in value between his and mine, and he would think he was making a good bargain. i should say that for certain reasons, which it would not be necessary to explain to him, it must be a part of the bargain that he should deliver them outside the city, and that one of his men should take them out during the day and wait for us at a spot we could agree upon." "that would be a capital plan, master." "then we will carry it out, azim." "shall i get the woman's dress?" "yes, you may as well do that. we may want all sorts of disguises before we get down. we need not talk any longer now; at any rate we certainly shall not try the plan to-morrow. we must not appear in any hurry with the trader, and there are several things we shall have to talk over when i have struck a bargain with him." the next night angus was able to inform his follower that he had made his arrangements with the scinde trader. "i am to buy his horses," he said, "and he will deliver them in the way i want. without saying it, he evidently understood that i wanted to get quietly out of the city to escape some trouble. he asked a very reasonable price, but he would have nothing to do with my horses. he said that if there should be any trouble about my leaving, the change of horses might be noticed. if he said he had bought them of me, and sold me two of his, he might get into trouble too. however, i afterwards talked to one of the other merchants, who was going away in a day or two, and told him that i might be kept here for a considerable time, and should therefore be glad to get rid of my horses. he said he would be glad to buy them, as he was taking down a number of heratee carpets and other things. so we struck a bargain at once, and he paid me the money and i gave him the receipt. "i said that you would continue to look after the horses as usual until we started, so that matter is quite arranged. the scinde man will keep the horses i have bought with his others till he sends them out through the gate. when he does so, he will put our saddles on them. now for our plans to-morrow. i shall go out as usual in the morning; the spy will of course follow me. while i am away make up our rugs and disguises and fasten them upon the saddles, and take these to the new horses, so that the trader's servant will put them on with the saddles and take them out with the horses before sunset. he is to stop at those three palm-trees that grow by the roadside a quarter of a mile out of the town. even if the spy is looking on as they go out of the yard, he will have no idea that i have anything to do with the horses. "when you have seen to that, you will buy twenty yards of rope for us to get down over the wall. i shall start at about four o'clock. i shall go exactly the same way as i did the last time you followed me. it is a very lonely part there. he is sure to watch me very closely, as he will wonder why i choose that way for my walks. i shall stay there for a bit, and shall lean over the wall as if i were calculating its depth and intended to make my escape there. he is sure to be intent on watching my movements, and will get up as close as he can. then is your time to steal up. do you think that you can do it without his hearing you? if not, i should think that a better plan will be for you to hide close to the way we shall come back. i shall not return till it is beginning to get dark, and he will probably keep closer to me than he would going, so as to better watch my movements. when he comes along you will spring out and knock him down, and i will, as you shout, run back to your assistance." "i shall not want any assistance, master," azim said confidently. "i am sure i am quite as strong as he is, and as i shall take him by surprise i shall have no difficulty in managing him." "don't use your sword, azim." "no, master, i will get a thick stick." "of course you will bring the rope with you, azim; the twenty yards will be ample to spare a length to tie him up with, and to reach to the ground from the top of the wall. you may as well put enough food for a couple of days in the saddle-bags, and a supply of grain for the horses, then we shall not have to stop to buy anything." the day passed quietly. azim bought the heaviest staff that he could find, and brought it back and stowed it away during his master's absence, as he did not think that the latter would approve of its weight. he considered his master's objection to his stabbing the spy to be a weakness which he was quite unable to understand. at four o'clock angus started, and a few minutes later the trader's servant led the two horses he had bought through the streets and out at the southern gate. azim waited till he saw him go, as there was no occasion for him to follow the spy closely, and indeed it had been arranged that he should not do so, lest the spy should this time notice him and perhaps take alarm. he therefore strolled leisurely along until he neared the spot where angus was standing on the wall. the spy had taken up his post nearer to him than before, and was evidently watching narrowly what he was doing. as he might turn round suddenly, azim seated himself behind a ruined hut within a couple of yards of the road, and there patiently waited until, as darkness fell, angus came along. "i am here, master," azim said. "take care of yourself," angus replied without stopping; "he will probably have pistols, and certainly a knife." "all right, master." azim stood up now grasping the heavy staff firmly in both hands. listening intently he heard a minute later a soft footstep, and the spy passed him keeping his eye fixedly on the figure ahead of him. azim sprang out, and swinging his staff round his head, brought it with all his strength against the back of the man's head, just below his turban. he fell without a sound. "he is down, master," the lad cried. angus, who had been listening for the sound of a struggle and had heard the blow, came running back. "why, it was almost like the sound of a pistol," he said, as he saw the motionless figure. "yes, master, i was obliged to hit him hard, because, as you said, he might have pistols." "you have stunned him," angus went on, going up to the prostrate figure. "now, cut off a length of that rope and we will tie him up securely." he tied the man's legs, and then turned him over. the inertness of the body struck him, and he placed his ear over his heart. "he is dead," he said. "he is not breathing, and his heart is not beating. you have hit him too hard." "well, i did hit him hard, master. it is a misfortune, but perhaps it is all for the best. undoubtedly it was allah's will that he should die." "well, it cannot be helped," angus said, "and undoubtedly it will make it safer for us. well, let us move on." "do you go on, master, and i will take his clothes off and drag him into this hut. he may lie there for months before anyone comes along and looks in." "very well, i will walk on to the wall; don't be long." five minutes later azim rejoined him carrying a bundle. "we do not want to be bothered with the clothes," angus said. "no, master; but if we left them there, they might be found to-morrow morning. someone might recognize the man by them, so i thought it would be better to carry them away with us for a few miles, and then throw them in some bushes. i have got his pistols and knife. he was well paid, master; he had ten gold pieces in his sash--here they are." "put them in your own pocket, azim. i do not want to have anything to do with them; they are your spoil." azim, who had no compunction in the matter, at once put the little bag into his sash. the rope was now fastened to the battlement, and they slid down. the wall was about forty feet high, and unprovided with a moat. they started at once for the place where the horses were to be waiting for them; a quarter of an hour's brisk walk took them there. angus made a present to the man in charge of them, who, while they were tightening the girths, at once wrapped himself in the blanket he had brought out and lay down to sleep till morning. [illustration: azim surprises the spy.] "we need not press the horses," angus said as they rode off. "we shall certainly have twelve hours' start, and i hope twenty-four. it all depends on how often the man reports to his employer, who is no doubt an official at the palace. probably he goes once a day, though, as there has been nothing suspicious about our movements and no signs of any intention of leaving, he may have been ordered to go only every two or three days unless he has news to give. of course in that case we are all right; but if he reports every evening, how long a start we shall get depends entirely upon what sort of a man the official is. in any case, he would hardly give a thought to his spy not coming in this evening, but would suppose that i had been out till late. when he does not appear in the morning, if the official is of a suspicious nature he will enquire for the man, and when he is not found will send down to the khan to see if he is there, and to ascertain if things are going on as usual. "when the news is brought him that the man is not there, and that we have been out all night, he will become alarmed. he will go himself and question the traders there, and will doubtless ascertain that i have sold our horses. i don't suppose he will hear that we have bought others. the trader will see that there is going to be trouble about it, and is likely to hold his tongue and tell his servant to be silent on the subject; and as the official could have no reason for imagining that we should sell our horses and buy others, he will conclude that we have made our escape over the wall on foot. that is the report which he will probably make to the prince, and we may safely calculate that it will be afternoon before parties of horse are sent off in pursuit by the herat, ghuznee, and quettah roads, and will probably be instructed to enquire for two young persians on foot. they will lose time by stopping at every village to make enquiries, and after going forty or fifty miles will begin to feel sure that we have not come along that road, but have gone by one of the others, or perhaps hidden up in some village at a distance from the road. "they may have instructions to go as far as quettah; but suppose they get thirty miles before sunset--and they certainly won't get farther than that, as they will have to make enquiries, and will probably halt as soon as it gets dark,--we shall have a start of nearly sixty miles before morning, and will hide up and go on as soon as it is dark, and shall be another thirty or forty before they start next day; so we shall then be some sixty miles ahead of them and within from twenty to thirty from quettah. we will skirt round the town without going into it, and then make down the bolan pass. i don't think there is the least chance of any pursuit being kept up beyond quettah, and we can travel at our own pace down the pass. we shall have to lay in a good stock of provisions at the last village we pass before beginning to descend, and must travel at night, for otherwise we may be plundered by the tribesmen, who have the worst possible reputation." "how long is the pass, master?" "fifty-five miles long, mr. pottinger told me. he says that it is a frightful place. a river runs through it, and in the wet season anyone caught in it would be drowned, for in some places the sides are perpendicular, and the channel is only sixty or seventy feet wide. there are caves along there in which the tribesmen hide, and rush out and plunder, and often kill, travellers. we must get through in two nights, and must be extremely careful where we stop for the day, choosing some place where we can hide ourselves and our horses." "well, master," azim said after a pause, "if it is the will of allah that we are to get through, we shall; if not, not." "that is it, azim. i do not think that there is much fear of our lives. we know that travellers do use that pass. i believe they generally pay so much to one of the chiefs of the tribesmen, and we will do the same if, on arriving at the top of the pass, we find that we can arrange it. we shall want money to take us from dadur across the plain to the indus. it is a barren and desolate country, and we shall have to buy some supplies at dadur. coming down without merchandise, the tribesmen will make sure that we have money, as we should naturally have sold the goods we brought from persia at candahar, and must intend buying a fresh stock in india. therefore, you may be sure, that if captured we should be stripped of every penny we have about us." they rode for eight hours, and reckoned that they had made some fifty miles. they gave the horses a good feed and lay down until daylight, for they were now at the foot of the kojuk, a gorge so steep and difficult that it could not be passed at night. just as they were starting, three tribesmen rode up, and in the name of the local chief demanded two gold tomauns, one for each horse and rider, as tribute for a free passage. as the money was paid without question, they rode off without giving further trouble. the passage was long and difficult, and in many cases they had to lead their horses. once through, they allowed the animals another hour's rest and a feed, and then mounting, rode on briskly again. a few miles farther on they halted in a clump of trees, and slept until nightfall, and then rode another twenty miles. as speed was of less consequence than keeping their horses in fair condition, they turned off at a little stream, followed it for half a mile up, and then halted in a dip through which it ran. here there was good grass for the horses. they remained for the rest of that day, and until within three hours of daybreak next morning. as angus had calculated, they saw at sunrise the mud fort and town of quettah standing on its rocky eminence. they made a detour, and came down upon the road again round the town, and then rode briskly down the shawl valley. the country round was rich and fertile, and dotted with villages, orchards, and vineyards. they stopped late in the afternoon at a village near the entrance to the pass. two armed men came out from a hut as they drew up. the leader said, "our chief is master of the pass, travellers find it wise to pay for right of passage." "that we are ready to do," angus said. "but does your chief guarantee that we shall go unmolested down to dadur?" "the chief cannot guarantee that, he can only guarantee you from hurt or damage from his people. he is lord of the eastern side of the pass, but there are others--men of no account, and who own no chief--among the mountains to the west. they sometimes waylay travellers. our chief punishes them when he can do so; but it is seldom that he is able to catch them. he does all that he can, for he wishes well to traders and others who pass along, for when ill happens to them others are afraid to pass, and he loses his tribute. when a large caravan comes up, and is able to pay handsomely, he furnishes an escort of twenty men or more; but he will not send less than twenty, for a smaller party might not be able to defend the caravan, and he would suffer loss of honour from failing to give protection to those to whom he guaranteed it." "we cannot afford to pay for an escort of twenty men, and have but little to be robbed of, for you see we carry no merchandise, having disposed of what we bought at herat and candahar, and sent the proceeds by sure hands back to persia." as their attire gave no signs of their being men of substance, the tribesman said: "in that case you will only have to pay one tomaun each; that is the price for a man and horse, and the same for each camel- or horse-load of goods; that is the regular toll." "that we can pay. as to the brigands you speak of, we must take our chance." he handed the money to the man, who in return gave him a little white-and-red flag, which he was to show should he encounter any of his tribesmen. they stopped here all day, and purchased food for their journey. "i should think it would be a very good thing, azim," angus said in the afternoon, "if we could engage a guide. we might break our necks making our way down here in the dark. i will speak to those two fellows. i suppose they are on duty here, and cannot go themselves, but there may be others of the tribe in the village; or, if not, some of the people here may be accustomed to going down the pass with caravans." angus went to the hut occupied by the two tribesmen and called them out. "we are intending to travel at night," he said, after offering them a packet of tobacco. "in that way we may escape being seen by these brigands." "it will be almost impossible for you to go at night--quite impossible without a guide." "that is what we came to you about. are there any of your tribe who would act as a guide for us? how long would it take us?" "it would take you four nights' journey. you could do it in two stages if your horses are sure-footed and you travelled in the day, but at night it would take four at least. how much would you be willing to pay?" "how much would be charged?" angus said quietly. "you should have two men," the man answered, "two men who know the pass well. yakoob and i could go with you. we have been here six days, and two others will come to take our places and collect tolls to-morrow, so we shall be free. we know every foot of the pass, having travelled up and down it scores of times. we cannot guarantee your safety, but you would have a better chance with us than with others. we will take you into dadur. we do not promise to fight; when twenty attack four, fighting is foolish. we have our horses; there are parts where the pass opens out and the bottom is level." "well, how much would you charge?" the two men talked together in an undertone, and then the one who had before spoken turned again to angus. "we would take you for three gold pieces each." "it is a large sum," angus said; "but as i hear in the village that it is not safe to go unless with a large caravan, and that it might be three weeks or a month before a sufficiently large number of travellers arrive, we will pay you that." "it is a bargain, then," the man said. "we had best start at four o'clock; the descent here is very steep, and it is not overlooked from the hills to the west. therefore, we can go down there by daylight, and then rest our horses for an hour and move forward again when it is quite dark. you had better buy four black blankets, to cut up and tie round the horses' feet, so that when we are passing the bad points, where the brigands generally lurk, no noise will be made in climbing over the boulders or slipping on smooth rocks. it will be necessary, of course, to get food for us all and for the horses." "i will buy that to-morrow," angus said. "i suppose it would be of no use taking torches?" "you might take some," the man said. "in some places the rocks are so steep that no one could look down from above, and at these points there are no caves where the thieves would be hiding, and we should certainly get on a good deal faster with torches." "i will take some then. have you ever been through by night before?" the man shook his head. "we have not. it is seldom attempted; but it is because you are willing to travel so that we are ready to accompany you, for the brigands would expect no one at that time, and will most likely be asleep." "then, if we are attacked we must be taken prisoners?" "no," the man said; "there are many places where the hills can be ascended by men who know them. should we be attacked near one of these spots we must leave our horses and fly; that is what we should do, and what i should advise you to do also. a man's life is worth more than a horse and saddle. of course in the daytime there would be no escape in that way, for they would bring us down with their matchlocks; but at night we could elude them, and if they did follow us we could defend ourselves, taking shelter and shooting them as they came up." "well, it is a satisfaction, anyhow," angus said, "that there would be a chance for us. our horses are good beasts, but we value our lives more." "i think they are honest fellows," he went on after telling azim the substance of his conversation with the tribesmen. "they say that the afghans have a treacherous disposition, but i believe these men can be trusted to keep their engagements. they did not exaggerate the difficulties of the journey as some would have done, nor did they pretend that they would join in a hopeless fight. in fact, although of course the actual difficulties of the journey would be very much greater in the dark than in daylight, they evidently considered that the danger from the other tribesmen would be by no means great." it was, however, a terrible journey, and angus felt that without the guidance of the tribesmen it would have been an impossible one. they knew exactly where the river was fordable, and on which side the pass was most free from great boulders and obstruction, and where torches could be safely used. but at times progress was terribly slow, their horses having to pick their way among rocks and boulders, and taking more than an hour to cover a mile. at other times they were able to go at a brisk walk, and even break into a trot. whenever they neared spots where the caves frequented by the robbers were situated, the horses' feet were muffled, and they were led with the greatest care. it was indeed comparatively seldom that the riders mounted; where it was dangerous to have torches, they walked along by the side of their horses, allowing the animals to pick their own way, which they were able to do better than they could have done if led. the horses angus had bought having made the ascent of the pass were to some extent accustomed to the work, and not having to carry the weight of the riders were able, save in exceptional places, to get along more easily than angus and azim were able to do. both of these had many falls, and would have had many more had not their guides at such times stood close beside them and rendered them assistance, often warning them of obstacles of which they themselves were unable to make out the faintest outline. several times they saw the glow of fires burning in the caverns. at such points the strictest silence was observed. they had purchased afghan shoes at the village, and round these had wound strips of thick woollen stuff like felt, so that their steps were as noiseless as those of the horses. the stirrups were fastened over the animals' backs so as to avoid contact with rocks; and any slight sound that might be made was to a great extent drowned by the murmur and rattle of the rapid stream. the long halts during the daytime were made at points, carefully chosen by the guides, at the foot of precipitous rocks. fragments that had fallen from above formed a bank at a short distance from the foot, the greater part of the rocks having bounded outwards with the impetus of their fall. between the bank and the cliff there was a depression partly filled with splinters of rock. it was, however, considerably lower than the bank, and the men and horses stationed in it were hid alike from observation from above and from the eye of those passing along the valley. here they slept on beds composed of their saddles and rugs laid on the rough stones, their guides by turn keeping watch. as a whole they got on faster than the guides had anticipated, and were fairly down at the mouth of the pass at daybreak on the fourth morning after their start. here the tribesmen received their pay, angus adding another pound to the amount agreed on, for the care and assistance given. they waited two days at dadur to allow their horses rest. here they were fortunate in finding two men well acquainted with the road. they had so far guided a party who were proceeding up the pass to quettah, and as they were now returning, were glad enough to accept the offer of a couple of pounds to act as guides across the desert. in accordance with their advice two rough ponies were bought to carry water-skins and provisions, while smaller skins were to be taken on their own horses, as the country to be traversed was for a considerable distance a waterless desert. even this part of the journey would not be accomplished without danger, for the belooches of the district were to a man plunderers, and cared nothing for the authority of the khan of khelat. the distance from dadur to shikarpore is nearly a hundred and fifty miles across a flat and dreary country, almost unpopulated; but as they were unencumbered by baggage, and carried sufficient water for their wants and those of their horses, it was performed in seven days. at rojhan they came upon captain thompson, who was in command of a party which had gone forward to examine the state of the water-supply, and if necessary to sink more wells. he was surprised when a young persian trader addressed him in english, and informed him that he had just come through from herat. this was quite enough to assure a warm welcome, and the officer put him up for the night in his own tent and made him in all respects comfortable. after hearing something of the siege of herat, and of his journey, he asked anxiously as to the water-supply in the villages on the way to dadur. on hearing that few of them were much better supplied than rojhan he threw up his hands in despair. "two or three thousand natives ought to have been engaged," he said, "and a couple of hundred set to work to dig deep wells in these villages. a hundred wells would be little enough for the army, its horses and baggage animals, and its native followers. even when they are dug the water runs into them slowly. i have sent down my report from here. there are only three wells, one of which sir alexander burnes sank when he was here a week ago; the others contain such bad water as to be quite unfit for human use. i am really frightened at the thought of what will take place before the army gets to dadur. however, i hear that they will not advance for another month, and that some very energetic steps will be made to secure a water-supply before they come along." on the following day angus passed several working parties who were engaged under the superintendence of major leech, assistant to sir alexander burnes--for captain burnes had been knighted as a reward for his services in cabul. with the exception of these parties they scarcely encountered a human being on the way down, except in the miserable little villages which were situated where the soil permitted the cultivation of a scanty crop, which was for the most part cut when green and sold to passing travellers. angus was heartily glad when shikarpore came in sight. he had learned from captain thompson that shah soojah had arrived there with a native army which he had raised, that the bengal army under general cotton, which had marched down by the indus, was expected to arrive there in a day or two, and that the bombay army under sir john keane was but a few days behind. upon entering the town he was glad to see british uniforms in the street, and addressing in english the first officer he met, he found that the division of general cotton had arrived two days before. "i have just come from herat," angus said. "i left there after the siege was raised. i have some despatches from lieutenant pottinger, which should be given either to colonel pottinger or to sir alexander burnes." "burnes is here. i think that colonel pottinger is at sukkar, he was there a few days ago; you will find burnes at the head-quarters. he is the political officer and so forth of the army; but macnaghten is envoy and commissioner to soojah, and generally at the head of all political business." the army was encamped round the town, and angus had no difficulty in finding the quarters of sir alexander burnes. dismounting a short distance away, he left azim to look after the horses and went towards the tent. he was stopped by a sentry, who on learning that he wished to see sir alexander, called an attendant. the latter, coming up, took angus's name in, and reappearing at the entrance almost immediately, signed to him to enter. chapter vii in the service "i am glad to see you, mr. campbell," sir alexander burnes said as the lad entered his tent. "colonel pottinger was asking me only three or four days ago to keep a look-out for you. he had received a letter from his nephew saying that you were going to travel down _via_ candahar, and that he was afraid that you would not manage to get through. i myself received a letter from lieutenant pottinger speaking very highly of services that you had rendered, and i understand that both he and mr. m'neill, our minister in persia, spoke very favourably of you in their despatches to the governor-general. how have you got through?" "i had very little difficulty, sir, except that i was detained at candahar, and had to effect my escape secretly." and he gave a short account of his journey, and the manner in which he had escaped from candahar and avoided recapture. "you managed it very cleverly, mr. campbell. i will take you in at once to macnaghten, who is supreme here, for shah soojah is at present little more than a puppet. i have no doubt that he will be very glad to learn what is the feeling throughout the country as to shah soojah. i may tell you in confidence that i am convinced that a terrible blunder has been made in taking up his cause. i was, as you no doubt know, several months at cabul, and i am convinced that dost mahomed was sincere in his desire for our friendship, and that he can support himself against his brothers at candahar, who have, as we know, been intriguing with persia and russia. i have all along urged the indian government to give him warm support and to enter into a firm alliance with him. however, the governor-general and his advisers have taken the other view, and i have only to do my best to carry out their orders, although i have strongly represented my own opinion. "i do not think that government has any idea of the difficulties to be encountered. so far as fighting goes there is no doubt whatever that the afghans cannot stand against us, but the operation of feeding the troops and animals will be a troublesome one indeed. the heat will increase every day, and even the march up to quettah will present enormous difficulties, as you who have just descended the pass will readily understand; but the great problem will not be how to place shah soojah on the throne but how to maintain him there. i tell you this because macnaghten, who really knows nothing of the matter, is extremely sanguine. i warn you that it will be as well that you should not express any strong opinion against the enterprise. it is determined upon, and will be carried out, and without in any way shaking his opinion you would only set him against you and might seriously injure your own prospects. as it is, he has much to irritate him. there have already been serious troubles with the ameers of scinde, who have been treated in a very high-handed manner instead of being conciliated in every possible way. this alone has vastly added to the difficulty, by rendering it almost impossible to obtain carriage or provisions. "then he differs greatly from general cotton, who, since his arrival here two days ago, has shown himself an officer who has an immense opinion of his own dignity. as general in command he declines to take any orders, or indeed to listen to any advice, from macnaghten. this is certainly not macnaghten's fault, who, although, as i consider, mistaken in his opinions, is very conciliating in his manner, and would willingly avoid all friction, which can but be disadvantageous to the enterprise on which he has set his heart. cotton's transport is really insufficient for his own army; shah soojah has hardly any transport at all. cotton cares not in the slightest about the shah or the shah's army, and, to say the truth, they are of no great value. "macnaghten, however, attaches, and reasonably from his point of view, great importance to the fact that shah soojah should appear as arriving to claim his throne as an independent prince with his own army, supported by his allies the british, and not as a mere puppet forced upon the afghans by british bayonets; and he is therefore most anxious that he and his force should occupy as prominent a position as possible. it is as well for me to give you these hints as to the situation before you see macnaghten, and to warn you against speaking to him strongly of any hostile opinions as to shah soojah's chances that you may have gathered on your journey. when a man has an open mind it is well to give him both sides of the case, but when he has pledged his reputation and thrown himself heart and soul into one side of the case it is worse than useless to endeavour to turn him, especially when the die is cast and the day for drawing back is past. if my opinion, gathered from nine months' residence in cabul and almost daily interviews with dost mahomed, has been altogether unheeded, certainly yours, gathered in a passing trip through the country, would have no effect whatever beyond setting him against you." "thank you, sir, i will be careful; and indeed my opinion would in any case be of little value. i certainly conversed a good deal with the natives on my way from herat to candahar, but at that city i spoke only to persian merchants, and had no intercourse whatever on my way down, except with my guides in the bolan passes." "well we will call on him now," sir alexander burnes said, taking his cap. mr. macnaghten's tent was next to his own, and he at once took angus in with him. "i have come, mr. macnaghten, to introduce to you mr. angus campbell, who has just come down through candahar from herat. his name was, i know, very favourably mentioned both by lieutenant pottinger and mr. m'neill. he has brought down letters of introduction to me and colonel pottinger." "i know your name well, sir," macnaghten said. "mr. m'neill told us that you had been in his service, and had gone to herat on a mission to induce shah kamran to hold out to the last, and that when the siege was raised you had started from there with the intention of journeying down through afghanistan into scinde, in hopes of obtaining employment in some capacity where your knowledge of persian and arabic would be of service. i also understand, by lieutenant pottinger's last despatch, that you have learned pushtoo. the governor-general was very favourably impressed with these reports, and authorized me to employ you at once as one of the junior assistants. i should think, sir alexander, that you can employ mr. campbell to greater advantage than i can, as the work of making the arrangements for the advance of the army is in your hands." "i shall be very glad of an addition to my staff, for as we get on i foresee that the three officers who now assist me will be altogether insufficient; and the high terms in which mr. m'neill and lieutenant pottinger have written about him, and the fact that he has been able to travel about the country unsuspected, shows his fitness for such work." "you must understand, mr. campbell," macnaghten said, "i cannot guarantee that the position will be a permanent one, as all such appointments in the service must be confirmed by the court of directors; but i shall at once acquaint lord auckland of your arrival here and of your nomination, and i have no doubt that he will himself confirm it so far as this expedition continues, and will strongly recommend the court of directors that your appointment to the service shall be a permanent one, in view of your exceptional knowledge of persian and pushtoo." "i thank you very much indeed, sir, and will do my best to merit your good opinion." as angus left the tent with sir alexander burnes he said: "i am indeed obliged to you, sir. i had hoped that i might obtain an appointment of some sort, but i never hoped for one like this. it is the work, too, of all others that i should like, and you may rely on me to carry out your orders to the full extent of my power." "i have no doubt you will, mr. campbell. i am glad to have one of my officers speak pushtoo, for although both in scinde and afghanistan persian is the language most spoken by the upper classes, it is of no use with the peasants. in the work of digging wells, bargaining for fodder for the horses, and so forth, pushtoo will be very useful, for although it differs from the language of the belooches, it is near enough for them to understand it; and, of course, when we are once through the bolan it is the language of all the countrymen." "may i ask what dress it will be proper for me to wear?" "as it is a civil appointment you will not wear uniform, but either the ordinary civilian dress, or, if you like, a dress of oriental character. i generally dress so, and it certainly has its advantages, and favourably predisposes chiefs you may have to visit. a british uniform they understand, but a purely civilian dress is too simple for them, and does not convey any sense of importance." "very well, sir; i am glad that you have decided so. i have no civilian clothes with me, and should find it very difficult, if not impossible, to get them here." "your appointment will be a thousand rupees a month, so long as the campaign lasts; after that it would, of course, depend upon the future employment you might have. if you would like to draw a month's pay in advance you can do so." "no, thank you, sir; i am fairly provided with money." "i have four officers employed on similar duty, mr. campbell, i will introduce you to them at once; and you will, of course, mess with our party." major leech, the chief assistant, was away on duty, but the other three officers were at once sent for. "captain jones, captain arbuthnot, and lieutenant macgregor, i wish to introduce to you mr. campbell, whom i have just appointed as one of my political assistants. he has distinguished himself greatly under lieutenant pottinger throughout the siege of herat, and was previously an assistant to mr. m'neill, our ambassador at the court of persia. he speaks persian, arabic, and pushtoo, and has been specially recommended to the governor-general by mr. m'neill and pottinger. he has now made his way from herat through candahar, and the fact that he has done so safely shows that he knows how to use these languages to advantage." as lieutenant pottinger's gallant defence of herat was the theme of general admiration throughout india, angus could not have had a better introduction, and he was warmly received by the three officers, who at once took him away with them. "you will share my tent with me," lieutenant macgregor said. "i am alone at present. you have a horse, of course, and a servant, i suppose?" "i have a very fair horse, and an excellent servant, who is a young fellow, a persian, the son of a door-keeper at the embassy. he was with me through the siege, and i found him invaluable. he is a strong fellow, and has plenty of courage and shrewdness; i should never have got away out of candahar had it not been for his assistance. "sir alexander has advised me to get an eastern dress, as i cannot wear uniform; and i must see about that at once, for this persian dress would in any case have been out of place, and my journey down the bolan has ruined it altogether. but in the first place, i shall be obliged if you will tell me where my two horses are to be put up." "your horse will be picketed with ours in our tents; our servants' horses are in the line behind them. is that your man over there with the two horses? i will send an orderly to tell him to take them over and picket them. now, i suppose you want something to eat? we had tiffin an hour ago, but the servants can get something for you." "thank you; i will go down into the town. i had something before mounting this morning, and i own i should not care about going into the mess-tent till i have got something to wear a little more respectable than these clothes." "oh, that is nonsense. besides, you need not go into the mess-tent. i will order them to warm something up at once, and to bring it into my tent. we are all wanting to hear more about herat. the official despatches only give us bare facts." for the next two hours angus was fully occupied in relating his experiences of the siege to the three officers; after that he went down with azim to the town. there he bought for himself a dress such as would be worn by a native of some rank--a white turban, a blue tunic opening at the breast and showing a white cambric shirt, several white robes, and loose white linen trousers tightened in at the ankle. he bought a good supply of under-linen and a couple of pairs of native riding-boots. for azim he bought clothes appropriate to a retainer of a mohammedan gentleman. as he was unable to procure a camp bed of european make, he bought a native charpoy, which could be taken to pieces and conveniently carried. he had found that his fellow-officers had each three native servants--a butler or body servant, a syce for their riding horses, and a man who looked after and led on the line of march two baggage animals. he had no difficulty in engaging a syce, and let the question of the baggage animals stand over until next day. azim would, of course, act as his personal servant. the lad, who had during the past year become imbued with the spirit of adventure, was delighted to hear that his master was to accompany the army. he had, during his stay in herat, picked up the language, and could converse in it as fluently as angus himself was able to do; and although he had no pleasant recollections of the journey from candahar, he felt sure that it would be a very different affair when accompanying a british army. he expressed as much to his master, who said: "i should not make so sure of that, azim. we had no great difficulty in obtaining provisions for ourselves, but it will be a very different thing with an army of thousands of men, with an even larger number of camp followers and five or six thousand camels. except just round one of those little villages, we did not see a blade of grass from the time we left the shawl valley, and how the animals will exist till we get up to quettah i have no idea. once there no doubt we shall do fairly well, but we shall have a very bad time on the journey, unless i am mistaken. if i had the management of affairs, i should send off at once the whole of the camels with a sufficient escort as far as dadur. there they should leave the provisions and forage they took up, and return here to accompany the army with a further supply. no doubt it would cause a month's delay, but it would be better to do that than to lose half our baggage animals and to risk famine for the troops." "i believe," captain arbuthnot said when angus joined the others, "that ten days' supply are ready at dadur, and twenty days' supply at quettah." "certainly there were no supplies at dadur when i came through, but i know nothing about quettah," angus said; "still i think that if any supplies of consequence had been collected there i should have heard about it from the men who guided us through the pass." "there were no troops there, then?" "no, not the slightest sign of them, nor did we pass any on the march down from candahar; but of course the khan of khelat may have collected a great force of belooches, and if he did so, he would naturally keep them at khelat until he heard that the army was approaching, as it would be an immense deal of trouble to victual them in the pass." "i know that mr. macnaghten received news which induced him to believe that a large force would be likely to march down from candahar, and that the attitude of the princes was altogether hostile. it is on account of that news that we are going to advance in two or three days' time, instead of waiting for another three weeks for a larger stock of supplies to be collected. it was but ten days ago that the commissary-general sent off four thousand camels to bring up supplies from the rear. however, they will be useful for the bombay column which is coming up, as it is arranged that we shall collect transport and supplies for them. "therefore the decision has been taken to march at once, so that we can ascend the pass before the enemy send a sufficient force to hold it against us. no doubt the report that we were not going to leave here for another three weeks has been sent up to candahar. the prince is sure to have agents and spies here. we ought to be at the foot of the bolan before it is known in candahar that we have started. as to khelat, the khan has sent in assurances of his friendship, and i expect he will make himself safe by assuming neutrality; but the belooches are a warlike people, and born plunderers, and his authority is very slight, except in khelat and the district near it. we are sure to have trouble with the mountaineers, but beyond having to protect the convoy strongly, i do not suppose we shall have serious fighting with them. i expect that we shall be sent off to-morrow or next day to khelat and quettah, perhaps one of us may even go to candahar. i know that mr. macnaghten thinks that possibly the princes may not take an active part on dost mahomed's side. everyone knows that they have no great love for their brother; which is not surprising, for he, who is the youngest of the family, has managed to secure the sovereignty. besides, they would see that if they took up arms in his favour the whole brunt of the fighting would fall upon them, for cabul could render them no real assistance. they are very shifty gentlemen, and though they may make a show of force at first, it would probably be only for the purpose of securing advantageous terms for themselves." "i saw them when i was at candahar," angus said, "and they, or at least one of them, questioned me closely; but supposing me to be a persian just arrived from herat, he naturally said nothing about a british invasion. his great anxiety was to know what the intentions and power of russia and persia were. no doubt the plans that were formed were entirely disconcerted by the shah's retreat from before herat. i saw no signs whatever of any gatherings of the afghans, nor was the subject ever alluded to in the conversations i had with traders at the place where i lodged." at this moment a native officer came in and said that sir alexander desired to see captains arbuthnot and jones. as they buckled on their swords the latter said: "you have told us about herat, mr. campbell, and this evening i hope you will tell us about your journey down." when the officers returned angus found that arbuthnot was not mistaken as to the probable work they would have to perform, for he was to accompany major todd the next morning with an escort of cavalry for khelat. they were to see the khan and arrange with him for supplies to be sent to dadur. captain jones was to remain there to see that his promises were carried out, and arbuthnot, unless he learned that a force from candahar had arrived at quettah, was to go on there and see to the collection of grain and cattle. "a squadron of cavalry is going forward to-morrow morning, campbell. four hundred labourers are going with it, and you are to be in special charge of half of them. of course, they will have eight or ten headmen, but they will want looking after all the same. they are to dig wells at burshoree; the other half, under you, macgregor, are to do the same thing at meerpoor. it is a thousand pities it was not done before, for the army is to begin its advance the day after to-morrow. however, you will gain a couple of days on them, and that is something. if you meet major leech, who is at work improving the roads, you will, of course, report yourself to him, and he will doubtless be able to advise you as to the best place for the wells." angus heard the news with much satisfaction. in the first place it meant active work, and in the second it would save him from the slow and toilsome march of the army, which would, he felt sure, be accompanied with enormous hardship. the four officers dined together. sir a. burnes was not present, as he was dining with general cotton and mr. macnaghten. after dinner angus related his adventure at candahar; how he evaded pursuit, and his passage through the pass. he had hardly finished when he was sent for to the general's tent. "i have just been telling general cotton, mr. campbell," said mr. macnaghten, "that you arrived this morning from candahar. he wishes to learn as much as you can tell him of the state of the pass at present, and of the country between dadur and this place. i told him that i had not been able to find time to question you on these points." "in the first place," the general said, "what is the state of the bolan?" "as i only travelled during the night i cannot tell you very much about it. the river is not high, and there is no difficulty whatever on that score. the ground is generally extremely rough, and covered not only with rounded boulders, but by rocks that will prove very trying to the feet of the animals. we bandaged very thickly the hoofs of our horses to deaden the sound, and so saved them from being lamed, which they otherwise would certainly have been. the bandages were of felt, and these were completely cut to pieces the first night. after that we cut up one of the water-skins i had with me, and we covered the felt with the leather, but even this was cut to pieces, and had to be renewed the next night. although this is the general character of the pass, there are places at which, by skirting the foot of the hills at points where the pass opens out--and the hills are not precipitous, although everywhere steep--it is possible for mounted men to go along at a fast walk, the stones being much smaller, and like, i should think, what i have heard of a sea-beach, though i never saw one, at least that i can remember." "still, there were no insurmountable difficulties, mr. campbell?" "no, sir, though there were places where certainly not more than two laden camels could pass abreast." "well, next as to the country between this place and dadur. we know about it as far as the edge of beloochee desert; what is it beyond that? did you suffer from want of water?" "no, sir, at the villages where we stopped there was always water; but there were, as far as i saw, but a few small wells, which would seem to me very insufficient for the supply of an army and its train." "well, we are going to dig more wells," mr. macnaghten said rather impatiently. "if the water will run into three or four wells it would run into fifty. now, about forage?" "there were small patches of cultivation round each of the villages; at bhag more than elsewhere, as it lies nearer to the foot of the hills; but at meerpoor, burshoree, and rojhan i should not say there were more than twenty or thirty acres of cultivated land. at bhag i was strongly advised to take the road at the foot of the hills to dundeaver down to larkhanna, and from there to follow the indus up to sukkar; but the guides said that i should be more likely to be troubled by the beloochees along that route, and as it was also twice as far i took the straight way here." "thank you. we will not detain you any longer, mr. campbell, and we are obliged for the information that you have given us." angus bowed and retired. he felt that mr. macnaghten was vexed that he could not report better upon the chances of obtaining sufficient supplies of forage and water. but he felt that it was clearly better that he should give, in the plainest terms, the true state of affairs, for when, as he was sure would be the case, there was immense suffering of men and animals, the blame would fall upon him if he had given a more hopeful account than the facts warranted. sir a. burnes sent for him on leaving the general's tent. "you did quite right in not giving a rose-coloured description of the state of things along the line of march, mr. campbell. of course neither mr. macnaghten nor general cotton liked it. neither of them, in fact, has the slightest idea of the troubles ahead of them, and both were inclined to view me as a pessimist. however, it will not matter to you very greatly whether macnaghten is pleased with you or not, because your reports will be sent in to me. this sort of work will not last very long. i have only undertaken it because major garden, general cotton's quarter-master-general, has been taken ill. major craikie, the adjutant-general, will go forward with me the day after to-morrow to superintend matters generally. i hope by that time to have a thousand more men for well-digging. major leech has gone to sebee to cut a dam there on the river naree, which it is hoped will fill the small water-courses and greatly assist us. i have more fear about forage than water. you can dig wells and cut dams, but you can't get a crop to grow at a day's notice. however, we must hope for the best." the next morning at three o'clock angus and lieutenant macgregor started with the labourers and an escort of fifty native cavalry. "i am very glad to be off, campbell," macgregor said. "it has been disheartening work for some time. somehow or other nothing has gone smoothly since we started. of course i am only a sub, but certainly it seems to me that so far there has been an enormous amount of unnecessary friction, and that the chiefs have not gone the right way to work. i don't believe myself in this shah whom we are going to force upon the afghans. dost mahomed is worth a dozen of him, and no one who knows anything of the affairs of afghanistan is able to understand why lord auckland and macnaghten and the rest of them should ever have conceived the idea of supplanting a man who has shown himself really desirous of our alliance and friendship, and who undoubtedly possesses the support of a majority of his countrymen, by one who has never shown any talent, who has no party whatever in afghanistan, and is a member of a discredited and fallen family. "still, that is their affair; but matters have been complicated by the manner in which the emirs of scinde have been treated. instead of regarding them, as they have always shown themselves, as friendly to us, we have gone out of our way to render them hostile, by the manner in which we have, in absolute contradiction of the terms of their treaty with us, compelled them to furnish carriage, provisions, and money. had they been a conquered country we could not have carried matters with a higher hand. it will be sure to lead to trouble some day, and certainly adds immensely to our difficulties. now, the very fact that, in the days when he was for a short time ruler in afghanistan, soojah advanced all sorts of preposterous claims of suzerainty over a large portion of scinde, was in itself a reason why, if we took the absurd step of placing him on the throne of cabul, we should have advanced from peshawur through jellalabad direct, instead of taking this roundabout journey through scinde. of course there would have been great difficulties in the khyber, and we should have had to encounter fierce opposition from the hill-tribesmen, but that will have to be met in any case. and after installing soojah at cabul, we could have gradually extended his power--or ours, for of course he would be but a puppet in our hands--through ghuznee to candahar. of course you won't hear any talk like this among the officers of the bombay or bengal army. they know and care nothing about the matter. it is just among the men who have been employed here in the north, and who know something about it, that there is any doubt as to the wisdom of the affair. i know burnes considers that the whole thing is a mistake. colonel pottinger, who, as our resident in scinde, knows a great deal about the afghans, says little, but i know that he disapproves of it; and so, i think, do all of us juniors, who have worked either under him, or with burnes, or up in the punjaub, and have, of course, always taken an interest in the affairs of afghanistan, especially since russian influence has become so preponderant in persia. well, we can only hope for the best, and do our best in our own little way. thank goodness, whatever comes of it, we have no responsibility in the affair." "i really know very little about it," angus said; "but i do know that it will be a terrible business getting the army to quettah, and that directly it was determined to come this way arrangements should have been made to dig sufficient wells to ensure a supply of water at every watering-place, and to collect stores of forage and grain. i really don't see how it is to be done now. from all that i could hear as i came down, there will be a lot of trouble with the beloochees." the difficulties of the advance had already been felt. great numbers of camels had died between sukkar and shikarpore, and those that accompanied the party of well-diggers were enfeebled, and looked as if they had accomplished a long forced march instead of the strong and fresh animals one would expect to see setting out on such an enterprise. the first halting-place was jagan. the next day they started at the same early hour and proceeded to janeedera. here they had passed beyond the boundary of the scinde ameers, and had entered the territory over which the khan of khelat held nominal authority. at this place there was a small mud fort, outside of which straw had been collected for the use of the cavalry, and to guard this a small party of shah soojah's troops had been posted. these, however, had been attacked and driven off by a beloochee band, and the straw carried away. however, there was sufficient water in the wells for the men and animals. the next day's march was a long one, but at rojhan a certain amount of forage had been collected, and there was a fair supply of water. the country so far had been barren, with occasional bushes, but beyond rojhan they had nothing but an absolutely flat surface of sand, without a blade of grass or a bush to break the level expanse; across this desert the party toiled on for twenty-seven miles. a little water was carried by the camels, but this supply was soon exhausted, and with parched lips and throats the men plodded on, knowing that until the end of the journey no water could be obtained. scarce a word was spoken during the painful journey. passing over the ground as he came down at a canter, angus had thought but little of it; he had done it in less than four hours, and there was no trouble from the dust. it was very different now. it was fourteen hours from the time of starting before they reached burshoree, the mounted men having to accommodate their pace to that of the labourers, and the dust rose in dense clouds. a part of the cavalry rode ahead, the rest some half a mile behind the main body of the footmen. but before half the journey was done these began to straggle, and the dust had no time to settle before the horsemen came along. fully half the labourers, indeed, threw themselves down on the sand incapable of going farther, and lay there until the cool evening air revived them, and it was long after midnight before many of them reached burshoree. here a considerable number of wells had already been dug by the party under major leech. the water was muddy, and trickled in but slowly. still it was water, and men and horses drank it eagerly as fast as it could be brought up in buckets and emptied into troughs which had been erected. although the village--a mere collection of native huts, surrounded by a wall as a protection against the plundering beloochees--offered a most uninviting prospect, angus was well pleased that he had arrived at the end of his journey, and had not, like macgregor, another day's march to perform. the latter started as usual at three o'clock, and an hour later angus, with some difficulty, roused his two hundred weary men and set them to work, promising them that if they laboured hard he would allow them to rest during the heat of the day. cheered by the promise, the labourers set to work under their headmen. each of these had charge of twenty workmen; these were divided into two gangs and worked wells close together. angus had nothing to do save to exercise a sort of general superintendence. the soil became much more firm a few feet below the surface, and as the sides stood satisfactorily it was not necessary to make the wells of any great depth. it was found that four men only could be employed on each, two working in the bottom and the others bringing up the earth with buckets and ropes, consequently, the number of the wells was largely increased. after three days of prodigious toil, water was reached in the majority of the wells, and by the end of the fourth day fifty had been added to those already dug. the liquid, however, oozed in but slowly, and when a well was emptied it was two or three hours before water could again be drawn from it; thus although the amount that could be obtained altogether was considerable, it was still wholly insufficient for the supply of an army. five-and-twenty of the native cavalry were kept constantly on the alert, for parties of plundering beloochees hovered round, and several of the well-diggers who, in spite of orders, ventured to wander some distance away were robbed and killed. the next morning general thackwell, with a body of cavalry, a small force of infantry, and some irregular horse, rode into the place. he brought with him an order from sir a. burnes for angus to accompany him. the well-diggers were to remain there and continue their work. the general had intended to stop there for two or three days, but finding that no forage could be procured, he started the next morning early and rode through meerpoor to oostar, a distance of twenty-seven miles, where, as had been reported by major leech, there was a small reservoir of water, and a store of straw and grass had been collected. angus stopped for an hour at meerpoor and had a talk with macgregor, whose men had also accomplished a great deal of work, and who bewailed his fate at having to remain there instead of going forward with general thackwell. chapter viii the advance the cutting of the dam of the naree did not afford so much aid as had been hoped for, for the thirsty soil absorbed the water almost as fast as it poured out, and it was not until many days later that it began to fill the little irrigation canals at the villages through which the army passed. after resting two days at oostar, the force proceeded to bhag, a town of some size. here water was found in abundance, and grain in considerable quantities, and also a supply of carrots, which were eagerly purchased by the officers for the use of their horses. at the various places where they halted angus acted as interpreter, and rode out with a small body of cavalry to villages at which they learned a certain amount of forage could be obtained. at bhag, to his great satisfaction, sir alexander burnes joined the party. he had paid a visit to the khan of khelat, and obtained from him stringent orders to the headmen of villages and others to do all in their power to aid the army. the inhabitants were all to be set to work to dig the holes, for which they would receive payments from the british. the khan also promised to despatch to dadur what supplies he could gather, but explained that unfortunately there was a much greater difficulty than usual in collecting provisions, as the previous season had been a very bad one, and in many parts of the country the villagers had not been able to gather sufficient for their own needs. as angus had heard the same at candahar, at the village near quettah, and from his guide, there could be no doubt that this excuse was a genuine one, and indeed the officers who had been engaged in scinde and in the country bordering the indus affirmed that the supplies obtainable there were also vastly smaller than had been anticipated. throughout the next week angus was continually employed in riding among the towns in the khanate, interviewing headmen, and expediting the despatch of convoys. he was always accompanied by a troop of cavalry, for plundering parties of beloochees were making their way on all sides towards the line followed by the army, where they murdered stragglers, captured lagging camels, and were so bold that they ventured close to the outskirts of the villages occupied by the british camps, robbed the natives of the moneys paid them for forage or grain, and rendered it necessary that every convoy should be protected by a considerable escort. after a week of this work, angus received orders to join the force that was gathering at dadur. during the last two days' march the difficulties with regard to water had disappeared. the villages had all been situated on the bolan river, and little irrigation canals enabled the cultivation of a considerable tract of country to be carried on, which supplied forage in sufficient quantity for the first division of the army which came along. dadur, a town of some four thousand inhabitants, stands on the eastern branch of the bolan river, whose banks were fringed with high reeds and groves of dwarf trees. the country round was well cultivated, and the fields were covered with young crops of wheat and barley. close to the town were gardens, and the whole presented an agreeable appearance to the troops, who had for nearly three weeks been painfully making their way across country which, even at its best points, was little more than a sandy desert. here angus again met sir alexander burnes, who had been making the greatest efforts to accumulate supplies at the town. his success, however, had been very small, nor had major leech, who was also at dadur, been more fortunate. it had been reckoned that twenty days' supplies for the whole army would have been accumulated there, but not more than sufficient for two or three days had been gathered, and general cotton, on arriving there with the bengal army, decided that it was necessary for at least a portion of the army to advance without delay. sir alexander burnes started at once with major cureton of the th lancers, with a troop of that regiment, three companies of the native infantry, and a strong party of sappers and miners, to survey the pass up to quettah. major leech was sent to khelat to maintain a strong pressure upon the khan, and it was still hoped that stores might be collected by the time the bombay army came along. the report sent down was satisfactory inasmuch as the physical difficulties of the journey were concerned. in spite of the fact that heavy rains had fallen, the river had not risen sufficiently to interfere seriously with the passage of troops and animals, and on the th of march the horse artillery, nd light cavalry, the th regiment of the line, and the th native infantry, started early in the morning, forded by torchlight the bolan river, and at eight o'clock pitched their camp in the valley, where they were to rest for the day. the road had so far offered no difficulties, except that the river had to be forded no fewer than eight times. the baggage animals which started at midnight had already arrived, but the tents were pitched with some difficulty owing to the rocky nature of the ground, which necessitated the use of iron tent-pegs instead of the wooden ones previously used. fortunately, owing to the pause that had been made by the advance parties at dadur, and the abundance of succulent food they had obtained there, the animals had recovered to a large extent from their previous fatigues and hardships, and the journey through the pass was accomplished with less loss and suffering than had occurred during the march from sukkar. vast numbers of animals, however, died, and the troops, who had started full of life and strength, were sadly changed, many of them being utterly worn out and a mere shadow of their former selves. the rumour that had precipitated the march by three weeks, upset all the transport arrangements, and caused so vast an amount of suffering, proved to be false--no forward movement had been made by the candahar princes, and except for some little trouble with the marauding villagers, the march was entirely unopposed. once in the shawl valley the fatigues of the army were over for the time, but in spite of the efforts of sir a. burnes and his assistants, only a very small amount of food and forage had been collected in readiness for them. so small indeed was the supply that it was necessary to place both the troops and native followers on reduced rations of flour, rice, and ghee. meat, however, was plentiful. the proceedings of the khan of khelat were not of a character to inspire confidence in him. while protesting strongly his friendship for us, he told our officers frankly that he was certain shah soojah would not retain his position for a day after the british troops marched away; that the whole feeling of the country was against him, and that although, had he advanced with only a native army raised by himself, he might have been accepted, the people would never submit to a sovereign thrust upon them by british bayonets. opinions differed much as to his sincerity. those who doubted it pointed to the fact, that although he was said to have large stores of provisions at khelat, he had scarcely sold any to our troops, and had failed in all his promises in that direction. on the other hand, sir a. burnes maintained that the stores of provisions spoken of did not exist; and that in any case, having no belief in the possibility of shah soojah maintaining himself, it was but natural that he should hang back until he saw how matters went, for if he were to give any active aid to the british he would be considered a traitor by his countrymen, and would imperil his khanate and his life when our protection was withdrawn from him. the question was never satisfactorily cleared up. some of those who took part in the proceedings and wrote on the subject regarded him as a very ill-used man, while others considered the measures afterwards taken against him as being fully justified by his conduct. as it was absolutely necessary that food should be obtained, parties were sent into the villages and a rigorous search instituted, and in this way a considerable quantity of hidden grain was discovered. this was taken and paid for at the market price. in quettah itself one very large store was found and taken up for the use of the army. the climate was pleasant, and in spite of reduced rations the men benefited by the halt, which was not without its excitement, for large bands of plunderers hovered round, attacks were frequently made upon parties going out with camels to graze, and expeditions to punish the villages to which the marauders belonged were undertaken. at length general sir john keane, who was in command of the whole expedition, arrived at quettah, to the satisfaction of the army, for it was thought that some decision must now be arrived at. it was evident to all that, unless something were done, famine would ere long stare them in the face. the european troops could indeed exist upon meat, but the native troops and camp followers, the greater portion of whom were not meat-eaters, were already in sore distress, the supply of grain and rice barely sufficing to keep life together. the hope was justified. as soon as the general arrived the heads of the departments were assembled and arrangements were made for an advance. the greater portion of the bombay army arrived soon after their commander, and although the men were still weakened by privation the army was in most respects perfectly capable of carrying out the work successfully. there was, however, one serious drawback which threatened to destroy their efficiency: the horses of the cavalry and artillery and the animals of the transport were so weakened by want of grain and hay that they were altogether unfit for hard work. it was upon the th of april that the army moved forward, seven weeks having elapsed since they started from shikarpore. the march to candahar was long and painful, several passes had to be traversed, food became more and more scarce, and hundreds of animals died daily. beloochee plunderers during the first portion of the journey, and afghan raiders during the second, hung along the line of march, murdering all who straggled, capturing camels, at times even threatening an attack in force. they were able to do this, as our cavalry horses were so broken down that they could scarcely proceed beyond a walk. the candahar princes with a large following came out to give battle; but hajee khan kakur, one of the leading chiefs, had been bribed by our political officers, and deserting, came into our camp with a large body of followers, and this so disheartened the princes, and excited so much fear among them of further treachery, that they withdrew at once to candahar, and a few hours after their arrival there took the northern road. after immense suffering from want of water and food, the army entered the city on the th of april, shah soojah having gone on with hajee kakur and made a formal entry into the town two days previously. angus had had little to do during the march from quettah. the chances of obtaining forage or food at the deserted villages near the line of march were so small that sir john keane decided that it would be useless to endeavour to obtain anything there, especially as an officer leaving the main body had to be accompanied by a strong escort to protect him from the bands of marauders, and it was deemed inadvisable to give the horses any work that could be avoided. angus's own animal, being accustomed to the country, suffered less than those from the plains, and in order to spare it as much as possible, and keep it in such a condition that it would be fit for work were he ordered to make any expedition, he generally walked by its side the greater part of the day, preferring this, indeed, to sitting on horseback and moving at the snail's pace necessitated by the difficulties of the road and the slow progress of the weakened animals of the baggage train. among these the mortality had been terrible, and one writer estimated that no fewer than thirty thousand transport animals died on the road between sukkar and candahar. shah soojah had at first established himself in his camp outside the city, but two days after the arrival of the army he took up his abode at the palace. he was accompanied by his own officials and by macnaghten and burnes and their assistants. "what are you smiling at, campbell?" lieutenant macgregor, who had been his companion and tent-fellow since they left dadur, asked as they rode together into the city. "i am thinking of the difference between my position in this procession, and the fact that i am going to take up my quarters in the palace, and the position i occupied when i was last here--a pretended trader, suspected and watched, and obliged to escape by night." "yes, it is a change, certainly," macgregor said, "and one for the better, though, after what we have gone through and all we may have to go through before we leave this wretched country, i don't think it would be safe to assert that it is less dangerous now than it was then. from the time we left shikarpore till we arrived here three days ago, we have never had a decent meal, we have practically never had enough to eat, we have suffered horribly from thirst, we have never dared to ride a hundred yards beyond the column or camp; we have lived, in fact, dogs' lives--not the life of a respectable dog in england, but of a starving cur in an indian bazaar. we don't know much about the future; i don't suppose we shall suffer from hunger and thirst as we have done, but our dangers of other kinds will certainly not be abated. everything looks smooth enough here. i don't think there is any enthusiasm at all for soojah, but there is no doubt that the princes were hated, and the people heartily glad to be rid of them. i fancy that we shall not have much difficulty in reaching cabul. they say ghuznee is a strong place, but we have taken scores of places in india that the natives considered impregnable. still, considering the way in which these marauding afghans hover round us, i think we shall have a very uncomfortable time of it." as the soldiers were not at first allowed to enter the city, the merchants there speedily established a temporary bazaar outside the walls. here vendors of rose-water, of sherbet, and of a drink concocted of the juice of fruits, took up their stalls. people from the country round brought in loads of lucerne, wheat, barley, wood, and chopped straw. other merchants displayed posteens, pelisses made of sheep-skins, with the wool inside and embroidered outside with blue, red, and yellow thread; fowls, sheep, onions, milk, tobacco, and spices were also on sale, and before long the horse-dealers of herat brought down large numbers of good animals, which were eagerly bought up by officers who had lost their chargers. as soon as the soldiers were allowed to enter the town they poured into it. wheaten cakes, cooked meat, and mulberries tempted their appetite, and a little later plums and apricots were brought in in great profusion. the scenes in the streets were very amusing. the british soldiers and sepoys with their large variety of uniforms mingled with the people of the town and country round. some of these wore long cloaks of chintz or woollen cloth, with large turbans; their hair, beards, and moustaches being allowed to grow very long, and the beards being dyed red. others were closely shaven, and dressed in jackets and trousers of blue linen, and tunics of brown cloth with long hanging sleeves, their heads being protected by skull-caps of various colours. with may the heat, which already had been great, became even more oppressive. water was abundant, but the troops and camp followers were still on short rations of food. the price of grain was enormously high, and there was no chance of the magazines being replenished until the fields were ripe for harvest. it was not until nearly three weeks after possession was taken of the capital that a force was despatched under brigadier sale in pursuit of the princes--a grievous mistake; for shah soojah had entered candahar on the day they left, and as they were greatly encumbered by their baggage train, the ladies of the harems, and a host of camp followers, they might easily have been overtaken; whereas, after their escape, they became the centre of intrigues against the ameer. in june the harvest ripened, large quantities of grain were bought up by the commissariat, and preparations began for the advance to cabul. candahar was quiet and apathetic. so far no signs were visible of any enthusiasm for their new ruler among the people. not only did none of the neighbouring chiefs come in to pay their allegiance, but the shah's orders were everywhere disregarded. marauding bands harassed and sometimes attacked convoys coming up; and even close to the city it was dangerous for the soldiers to move many hundred yards beyond the limits of their camps. the health of the troops was far from good. the plains of candahar, fertile as they are, are unhealthy, as water can be found everywhere six or seven feet below the surface. the native troops suffered comparatively little, but the european soldiers were attacked by dysentery, jaundice, and fever, and large numbers were carried off by these diseases. at the end of june the necessary amount of grain was accumulated by the arrival of a large caravan from mooltan. the army was now to cut itself entirely free from its former lines of supplies, and would have to depend solely, upon the country for food, as the ever-increasing boldness of the beloochees in the bolan pass, and of the afghan marauders between quettah and candahar, had made it impossible for convoys, unless very strongly guarded, to make their way up. the advance began at two o'clock on the morning of the th, and four hours later, after passing through a fertile district, the troops encamped at the village of killa azim. here they obtained barley for their animals, and peasants from other villages brought in an abundance of chopped straw for the camels. at midnight the trumpet sounded, and an hour later the army moved forward again as far as kheil. four days' further march brought them to kelat-i-ghilzye, the chief town of the ghilzye tribes. two or three hundred of their horsemen galloped away as the troops approached. marching ten miles a day, the army followed the valley of the turnak, which afforded an ample supply of water for all their needs. the country was mountainous and desolate, the dreariness being only broken by small villages with their orchards and patches of cultivated ground. grain was brought in in abundance. the force was now far above the plain, the heat ceased to be oppressive even in the middle of the day, and the mornings and evenings were delightfully cool. nevertheless, the number of sick increased, owing to the bad quality of the flour and the absence of vegetables. the country now became more thickly populated, little villages, with the fortified dwellings of their chiefs, being thickly scattered about. the hostile tribesmen followed the march on both flanks, and many skirmishes took place; on one occasion the ghilzye marauders made an attack on the line of march, but were driven off with heavy loss. on the th a nephew of the ameer rode in with fifteen followers. he had gone to ghuznee with his brother to aid in its defence, but suspicions being entertained by mohummed hyder, the governor, of their fidelity, his brother was seized and put to death, and he himself only escaped a similar fate by flight. as they approached ghuznee, sir alexander burnes said to angus: "mr. campbell, i shall be glad if you will resume your afghan costume and ride to-morrow at daybreak with a party of six of hajee khan kakur's men, and ascertain whether the enemy are in strength outside the fortress and intend to oppose our approach. if they do, we shall leave the baggage here under a strong guard and proceed to attack them. if they retire into the fortress, we shall advance as we have been doing, for possibly the siege may last some time, and it would be as well to take our ammunition and stores with us. will you undertake that mission? i do not wish you, of course, to approach the enemy very closely. they will naturally take you for a party coming to join them, and will pay no attention to you. half a mile will be near enough for you to go to the fortress. the disguise is only necessary because they too may have parties out, and should any come suddenly upon you, you would pass without suspicion or question; and indeed should you be stopped, your knowledge of the language is quite good enough to pass in any case. i have requested hajee khan to choose well-mounted men. we shall remain here to-morrow, and the general will send out a troop of cavalry to meet you on your return half-way between this and ghuznee, so that should you be pursued, you will know that you will meet with succour before going many miles. the fortress itself is some twelve miles from this camp." "i will undertake it willingly, sir alexander." accordingly on the following morning angus set out. azim asked leave to accompany him, but he refused. "your horse is not a very fast one," he said. "it is a good beast, but we may have to ride for our lives, and you would soon be left behind. it is not a dangerous expedition, but in a country like this there is always the possibility of a surprise." after riding for two miles the fortress of ghuznee was seen. it was situated on a high rock and surrounded by a wall of great height and strength, and was regarded by the afghans as absolutely impregnable. as they approached, and could make out the strength of the fortifications, it seemed to angus that, except by famine, it would be next to impossible to capture it. the general had left the few heavy cannon he had brought with him at candahar because of the extreme difficulty of getting transport, and the light field-pieces could make but small impression indeed on these massive walls. when he approached within a mile he halted. there were no signs of any afghan force in front of it. it was, of course, possible that they might sally out when they saw the army approaching, but at present there was nothing to show that they meant to do so. he was about to turn, when he was suddenly seized from behind, and in a moment his hands were bound tightly to his side by the sashes of two of his escort. the afghans burst into a shout of triumph. "infidel dog," one said, "did you think because hajee khan kakur is a traitor that all his men are also. you came to see ghuznee. you shall see the inside as well as the outside." angus was brave, but a shudder ran through him as he thought of the fate that awaited him. the afghans never spared those who fell into their hands, and fortunate were those who were speedily killed, for in many cases they were tortured before they were done to death. it had never occurred to him to doubt for a moment the good faith of the men who accompanied him; and yet, now he thought over it, such a possibility should have been foreseen, since there was no reason why the men should be traitors to their race, although for the moment they had obeyed their commander's orders and ridden with him into the british camp. they might even have remained faithful to him had not this opportunity of rejoining their countrymen presented itself. even in the midst of his own deadly peril he was glad to think that, by his refusal to allow azim to accompany him, he had saved him from the fate that awaited himself. he knew well that no entreaties would avail to soften the heart of the afghan commander, and determined that, whatever came, he would maintain a firm countenance and meet his fate bravely. the gate of the fortress stood open. the men as they entered said a few words to the guards stationed there. "we were forced," they said, "to accompany the traitor hajee khan kakur to the camp of the infidel, but we have taken the first opportunity to desert, and have brought with us this man, who is one of their officers, as a prisoner." "why trouble to bring him as a prisoner?" "we thought that mohummed hyder would like to question him, and are bringing him here to show that we are true men." climbing a steep road, they entered a great courtyard. here they dismounted, and their leader, a sub-officer, went forward to the governor's house, followed by two others, between whom angus walked. the leader entered, the others remained outside until he returned. "follow me with the captive," he said, "mohummed hyder will speak to him." a minute later angus stood before the governor. he was seated on a divan, and several other chiefs of importance were standing or sitting round. "they tell me," the governor said, "that you can speak our tongue?" "i can do so," angus said quietly. "where did you learn it?" "in herat, where i fought during the siege, against the persians." "and now you come hither as a spy?" "not as a spy. i came here only to view the fortress from a distance." "is it true that the kafirs are bringing no big guns with them?" as the governor was doubtless well informed as to the strength of the british army and the number of its guns, angus felt that there could be no harm in answering the question. "they are not," he said. "how do they intend to take ghuznee? will they fly over the walls or burrow through the rock?" the governor said scoffingly. "are they madmen, who think they can tear down the walls of ghuznee with their finger-nails?" "i know nothing of the plans of the general," angus replied. "but the british have taken many strong places in india when it seemed that it could not be done." "they will not take ghuznee. when the first shot is fired at its walls we will throw over to them your head and your limbs, to show that we despise them and mock their foolish effort. take him away, yakoob. do you see him safely bestowed." angus was led to a cell in one of the turrets on the wall. his weapons had been taken from him when he was first captured, and when he reached the prison his arms were unbound by the leader of the band, who carried off the sashes to the men to whom they belonged. a massive door was closed behind them, and angus heard two heavy bolts shot--a proof that the tower was often used as a prison. listening, he heard another door at the foot of the turret closed and bolted. the window was a mere loophole, but it commanded a view of the road by which he had been brought up. the cell was circular in shape, and some ten feet in diameter; it was absolutely bare. angus stood for some little time looking through the loophole. it was three feet wide on the inner side, but narrowed to six inches at the outlet; the wall was more than two feet thick, and of solid stone. "it is evident that there is no possibility of escape," he said aloud as he turned away from the loophole. "even if i could widen the hole so to be able to creep through, there is a fall of a hundred feet or so; and there is nothing of which a rope could be made. i have my knife," he said, "fortunately they did not think of looking in my pockets; but though it has a good long blade, and i might at the end sell my life as dearly as possible, and force them to kill me, it can be of no earthly use here, for there is nothing to cut except that rough plank in the corner, which was, i suppose, brought up for some purpose or other and forgotten." the day passed slowly. no one came near him until, just as the sun was setting, two soldiers came in bringing a jug of water and some bread. angus had little sleep that night. he dozed off occasionally, but the hardness of the stone floor and the cold speedily roused him, and he was glad indeed when daylight returned and the sun shone out. an hour later, when looking from his prison window, he perceived a party of horsemen. long before he could distinguish their figures he made sure that they were british troops, from the fact that two or three rode ahead, and the rest, evidently an escort, in a close body behind them. they approached within musket-shot. as soon as they did so a fire of matchlocks broke out from the walls. they drew off a little, and then turned and rode off. there was no doubt that they were a reconnoitring party, who had ridden forward to ascertain the best spot for an attack. two hours later three regiments of infantry came up, followed by a battery. the object of their approach was to discover whether ghuznee was held in force, for reports had reached the camp that the greater portion of the garrison had retired. it answered its purpose, for the guns of the fortress opened fire, and for an hour there was an exchange of shot between them and the battery. the object of the reconnaissance being fulfilled, the british returned to their camp. not until five o'clock was any further movement perceptible; then angus saw a long dark line ascending the pass. on reaching its head the column made a wide detour, so as to keep beyond the range of the guns of the fortress, and then entered a rocky and difficult country to the east. as he knew that the gates had all been walled up with masonry with the exception of that through which the road from cabul entered it, he had no doubt that it was intended to encamp on that side, thus cutting off the fortress from relief by the army assembled under another of the ameer's sons, and at the same time preventing the flight of the garrison. as long as it was light the column was still passing on--a long line of baggage waggons and native followers, guarded by bodies of troops against any sortie that might be made. during the night occasional shots were fired from the fortress, and at various points of the plain and on the surrounding hills fires raised gave indications of gatherings of tribesmen. it had indeed been a painful and difficult march. several streams and water-courses swollen by rain had to be crossed, but with enormous exertions the whole force was established, and on the following morning tents were erected along the position chosen. sir john keane, accompanied by general cotton, ascended the heights, took a survey of the fortress, and decided upon the plan of attack. at two o'clock in the afternoon a body of afghan horse suddenly attacked the camp in the rear, but were beaten off by our own cavalry. angus heard the outburst of firing, and concluded that the governor would ere long carry out his threat. he had no idea what the commander-in-chief's plan was, but he felt certain that the attack when made would be sudden and sharp, and would be in the nature of a surprise, for in no other way did it seem possible that a force, however strong, could without artillery capture the place. in that case there was just a possibility that in the excitement of the moment his existence would be forgotten. "at any rate," he said to himself, "i will do what i can to defer the moment of my execution. i don't suppose it will be of the smallest use, but as i have nothing else to do, i will cut some wedges, and as soon as the attack begins in earnest i will jam them in round the door." for the rest of the day he occupied himself in cutting strips of wood off the plank and fashioning wedges, of which he made about four dozen, the work sufficing to keep his thoughts from dwelling upon his probable fate. he concealed all these in his clothes; then he cut off a stout piece of plank and fashioned it into the form of a short thick bat, with which to drive the wedges into their place. then he laid the plank in its place again, with the freshly-cut side against the wall, swept up the chips, and threw them out of the loophole. he thought it probable that sir john keane would attack without any delay, as it was all-important to capture the citadel before the relieving army from cabul and the forces of three or four great chiefs which were also in the neighbourhood could join hands and attack him in the rear, while the powerful garrison sallied out and fell upon him in front. chapter ix just in time the plan of the british general for the capture of ghuznee was a bold one. he knew that his little guns could make no impression upon the walls, and that it would take weeks before it would be possible to effect a breach. his idea was to blow in the gate and to pour his troops in through the opening. his plans were admirably laid. at midnight six companies of infantry established themselves in the gardens to the right and left of the spot where the assaulting column were to take up their position, ready to advance as soon as the gate was blown in. two hours later three companies of a native regiment made a detour and took up a position to the north of the fortress. the field artillery took up their post on a height. at three o'clock in the morning the infantry on the north opened a musketry fire. at the same moment the artillery on the hills began a brisk cannonade, while a camel battery directed its fire against the walls. the guns of the fortress at once replied, and the walls were fringed with the musketry fire. it was still an hour to daylight when captain thompson, of the royal engineers, with a party of his men, crept forward to the gate, carrying with them nine hundred pounds of gunpowder in twelve sacks. the movement was altogether unobserved by the garrison, who had been taken completely by surprise by the sudden fire. the night had been exceptionally favourable for the attempt. the wind blew so strongly that the tramp of the columns and the sound of the wheels of the guns failed to reach the ears of the sentries on the walls. when the fire broke out the afghans at once burned numbers of blue lights to endeavour to obtain a clear view of the attacking force; but the light failed to pierce the darkness, and the fireworks burned but fitfully owing to the force of the gale. they therefore distributed themselves along the whole circuit of walls instead of concentrating upon the point where the attack was about to take place. the engineers had done their work admirably. they crept silently along the causeway which afforded a passage across the moat, and then up the steep ascent which led to the gate, unnoticed by those who manned the loopholes. two minutes sufficed to place the sacks in position. the fuse was then fired, and the party ran back to such cover as they could find. at this moment the afghans lit a large and brilliant blue light immediately over the gate, but before they could obtain any idea of what was passing below the explosion took place. the gate was blown to pieces, and masses of masonry and fractured beams fell into the passage beyond. then a bugle was sounded by the engineers, and the storming party rushed down and crept into the dark, blocked-up passage. here they were fiercely opposed. the afghans had rallied almost instantly from their first surprise, and rushed down to defend the passage. a desperate struggle took place in the dark, but british valour was triumphant, and the four companies of the nd and th regiments fought their way into the interior of the fortress. had they been at once supported by the column behind them, commanded by brigadier-general sale, the capture of ghuznee would have been comparatively bloodless; but as he was advancing he met one of the engineer officers, who had been terribly bruised and injured by the explosion. upon being questioned, the latter said that the gate had been blown in, but that the passage was blocked with the ruins. as in that case it would have been madness to advance, the general ordered the retreat to be sounded. the call was heard by the leading companies, but not obeyed. instead of the troops retreating, they halted irresolutely, rather than carry out an order the most unwelcome that can be given to british soldiers. fortunately another engineer officer soon came along and assured the brigadier that, although the passage was greatly blocked, the storming party had made their way through; whereupon the column at once rushed forward. the delay, however, had given the garrison time to rally, and large numbers had run down from the wall to take part in the fight. many, however, despairing of successful resistance now that their assailants had won their way into the town, allowed the storming party to pass and then attempted to escape through the gateway. but as they did so, general sale with the head of his column arrived, and another desperate fight took place among the ruins of the gate. the general himself was cut down, and his assailant endeavoured to complete his work. sale succeeded in grasping his sword hand, but, weakened by his wound, must have been overpowered had not an officer run up and severely wounded the afghan. the struggle continued, but the general managed to gain his feet and cut down his assailant. the column was a long time in passing over the heap of ruins, now further encumbered by wounded and dead. as soon as they had entered, the reserve, who had been suffering from the fire of the afghans still on the walls, followed them, and while general sale's division ascended the steep path that led to the citadel, which rose far above the rest of the fortress, the reserve began the work of clearing out the afghans from the houses. large numbers of afghans had taken refuge here as the troops entered, and these, rushing out, flung themselves upon the troops with the fury of despair. many of these who had first entered, exhausted by their exertions, were with the wounded sitting in the courtyard at the foot of the citadel. upon these the fanatics rushed, cutting and slashing with their keen tulwars alike at the soldiers who started to their feet, the wounded on the ground, and their own horses, who, mad with terror, were galloping wildly over the courtyard. a series of desperate hand-to-hand conflicts were waged until the last of the afghans were shot or bayoneted. the walls were cleared with little difficulty, but many soldiers were shot as they passed through the narrow streets of the native town. all resistance ceased at a quarter past five. thus in two hours and a quarter after the first shot was fired, a fortress deemed impregnable and garrisoned by three thousand five hundred men was captured. ghuznee had been provisioned for six months, and so certain was mohummed hyder of the ability of the place to hold out that he had brought with him all the ladies of his zenana. in spite of the desperate nature of the fighting, not one of the afghans who surrendered was injured, nor was the slightest insult offered to the ladies of the zenana or the women in the native town. the troops who had ascended to the citadel found the gates open, the afghan prince having lost all hope as soon as he found the lower fortress in possession of the british. he was found hiding in disguise, and was brought before shah soojah. the latter magnanimously said to him: "what has been has been; you have deserved evil at my hands, but you have this day behaved like a brave man. i forgive thee the past; go in peace." the young prince was then handed over to sir alexander burnes for safe custody. the success had been cheaply purchased. only seventeen non-commissioned officers and privates had been killed, and eighteen officers and a hundred and forty-seven men wounded. of the afghans, five hundred and fourteen bodies were buried next day; more than a hundred fugitives were killed outside the walls; upwards of a thousand horses, a great number of camels and mules, vast quantities of provisions, ammunition, and arms fell into the hands of the conquerors, together with more than fifteen hundred prisoners. over a thousand made their escape. at the first outburst of firing angus had sprung to his feet; as the fight increased in fury he was certain that a night attack was in progress, and he at once proceeded to drive in the wedges he had prepared. just as he had completed this he heard the dull roar of the explosion, followed by loud and excited shouts, but the noise of the gale prevented him from catching the words. he had no doubt, however, that either the gate had been blown in or that a mine had been driven into the wall, and that the explosion of an immense charge of powder had effected a breach. then came the sound of a heavy and continuous rattle of musketry. the cannon of the fortress opened fire, while those of the besiegers answered. by the occasional fall of masses of masonry, and the screams of women, he had no doubt that the british artillery were now directing their fire against the citadel, in order to add to the confusion among the defenders of the fortress. [illustration: he took down the prop, and thrust it suddenly with all his force through the hole.] presently he heard a rush of feet up the staircase, then the bolts of the door were pulled back, and a yell of rage and surprise arose as the door did not yield to the push against it. the staircase was a very narrow one, and but one person could mount at a time. as it terminated at the door, one man only could use his strength against it, and angus felt perfectly sure that it would need a much greater pressure than this to force it open. he had already propped the plank against it, and stood with his foot at the lower end to prevent it from slipping. the man next to the door, finding that it did not yield, began to hammer with the hilt of his sword, but soon desisted, finding that his blows did not even shake it. there was a confused sound of talking, and then silence for a few minutes; then there was a renewed noise, and a heavy blow was struck at the door. evidently a large block of wood had been brought up; but this did not greatly alarm angus. the staircase was a circular one, and at most but two men could work the battering-ram, which on account of the confined space was necessarily short. this proving unsuccessful, there was again silence. after an interval came blows of a sharper sound, an axe of some sort was being used. during the lulls of the wind the sounds of the struggle below could be plainly heard, and as it was now dawn angus could have seen what was going on had not the loophole been on the opposite side, but from the sharpness of the sound he had no doubt that the firing was in the courtyard, and that his countrymen had effected an entrance. the chopping went on regularly. the door was thick and strong, and it was half an hour before the edge of the axe first showed through it; another five minutes and a hole a foot wide appeared some four feet from the ground. at this rate it would be some time before an opening large enough for a man to pass through could be made. he took down the prop, and thrust it suddenly with all his force through the hole, striking the man who was wielding the axe full in the face. there was a terrible cry, mingled with yells of rage from the others. presently a pistol was thrust through the hole and fired; he had expected this, and had stood back. again and again shots were fired. it was evident that there was an unwillingness on the part of his assailants to try the axe again. presently he heard a shout from below. the words came up distinctly, "mohummed hyder's orders are that the attack is to cease," and angus felt that he was saved. the prince, indeed, seeing that all was lost, had sent an officer in great haste to put a stop to the attack on his prisoner's cell. he no longer thought of carrying out his former intentions. the british army was not after all an impotent enemy to be insulted, but a victorious one to be appeased, and as soon as he was informed of the attack on his prisoner's cell he had sent off to put a stop to it. it had not been made by his orders, but was the act of the soldiers on the wall near it, who, seeing that the british had entered, had determined to take vengeance upon the captive. a few minutes later angus heard the triumphant cheers of the troops as they poured in through the open gate of the citadel. it was another hour before the contest in the courtyard below and on the walls of the fortress came to an end. shortly afterwards he heard steps approaching, and through the hole in the door saw a british officer coming up the stair; behind him was azim. "i am glad indeed to see you, campbell," the officer said, as he caught sight of his face. "we had all given you up as dead when we found that none of your escort came back; but your boy, on questioning the prisoners, found out that you were confined here, and came at once to tell me. i see by the state of the door that you have been standing a siege. are you uninjured?" "yes, my rascally troops seized me suddenly and brought me here. i will tell you about it as soon as i have unfastened the door." "it is the first time i ever heard of a prison door having bolts on the inside." "they are not bolts, as you will see directly." it took some minutes to get all the wedges out. macgregor then entered and shook angus warmly by the hand, while azim threw himself on his knees, and seizing his master's hand kissed it again and again, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. "where in the world did you get these wedges?" macgregor asked. "i cut them out of this plank. it took me all day yesterday to make them and this mallet. how the plank came here i don't know, but it certainly saved my life." "that and your wits, campbell. it was a capital idea, first-rate. i see there is blood on the staircase." "the plank came in useful again. i used it as a battering-ram on the fellow who was chopping, and as i caught him full in the face, the blood is accounted for. as you see by the opposite wall, they fired a few shots through the hole afterwards, but of course i took good care to be out of the line of fire." "well, come along. sir alexander has been asking about you, but could get no information, and it might have been some time before you were set free had it not been for your boy." on going down into the body of the citadel, angus was most warmly greeted by sir alexander burnes and the other officers who knew him, for all supposed that he had been murdered. he explained to his chief why his life had been spared. "you had a narrow escape indeed," the latter said, "for i have no doubt whatever that the afghan would have carried out his threat had we attacked in a regular way. it is quite in accordance with their barbarous customs. but i certainly wonder that they did not kill you when we entered the fortress." macgregor then told the manner in which angus had converted his little cell into a fort, and had resisted successfully the attacks made upon it. "a very narrow escape indeed, mr. campbell," sir alexander burnes said. "it was fortunate indeed that that piece of wood had been left in the cell; but the idea of cutting wedges from it and fastening the door would not have occurred to everyone. it was a most happy thought, and certainly was the means of saving your life. it was a treacherous business indeed of hajee khan kakur, for i have no doubt that he was the concocter of the plot. he has given us the strongest grounds for suspicion ever since we left candahar, and has continually been making excuses for lagging behind. we have strong reason for believing that if we had failed here, he would at once have turned against us." "i do not think he knew of this, sir. when i was seized, the trooper said. 'do you think that because our chief is a traitor we are traitors too?'" "these fellows are very crafty, mr. campbell, and hajee has a special reputation that way, having before now turned traitor in spite of promises and vows. he may very well have instructed one of his men to say this, in order that if, contrary to all probability, you ever rejoined the army, he himself might be shielded by your repeating this speech. we have never put any trust in him since he joined us, though of course it was politic to seem to do so, as other chiefs might follow his example. he was questioned very sharply as to the orders he had given his men when you did not return that afternoon. of course he swore by the prophet that he had chosen men in whom he had the greatest confidence, which was, i have no doubt, true. however, as it was possible that you and they might have fallen into an ambush, the matter was dropped for the time. but our suspicions gained ground when, as we came up here, no signs of a fight were discovered, no bodies either of men or horses, and i intended to reopen the matter as soon as things were a little settled down. well, i can assure you i am heartily glad to see you back again safe and sound, and i shall not fail to report the matter to sir john keane, and tell him how cleverly you escaped the fate intended for you." the army remained for a week at ghuznee while preparations were being made for converting the fortress into a base from which further operations could be carried on. it was thought well to pause, so that the full effects of the disaster might be felt throughout the country before the advance began again. the fall of ghuznee had indeed entirely disarranged the plan of campaign that had been decided upon by dost mahomed. the fortress had been provisioned for six months, and it was confidently believed that it could resist all attacks for that time. with the approach of winter, the position of a besieging army would be desperate. the cold would be intense, they would be surrounded on all sides by swarms of fierce tribesmen, would be unable to obtain provisions in the country round, and must either retire through the passes they had ascended, to candahar, or be forced by famine to surrender. in the former case, the disaster that afterwards occurred in endeavouring to retire from cabul would probably have befallen them. this plan was entirely brought to naught by the fall of ghuznee, and six days later the brother of dost mahomed arrived in camp with an offer from the ameer to surrender the government to shah soojah, on condition that he himself should, as the head of the barukzyes, fill the hereditary office of wuzeer, or prime minister. as this would have placed the whole power of the state in his hands, the offer was refused, and on the st of july the army resumed its march. after three days' march, they learned that the kuzzilbashes had mutinied. this body of troops were of persian descent, and had for very many years formed an important part of the military power of cabul, and held a position similar to that of the janizaries of constantinople and the mamelukes of egypt. under but very slight control, they were constantly causing trouble by their insolence and exactions, and they now showed that they entertained no feeling either of loyalty or gratitude towards the dynasty which they served. in spite of the exhortations of the ameer, they insisted upon his granting them a discharge from his service, and as it was evident that the news from ghuznee had so much dispirited the whole army that no reliance whatever could be placed on their fidelity, the unfortunate monarch was obliged to allow the kuzzilbashes to disband, and the rest of the army to disperse, and to take to the mountains as a fugitive, accompanied only by a small party of personal followers. a force was at once sent in pursuit of him; but as the following of the traitor, hajee khan, formed the principal part of this force, the double-faced chief, who desired to make himself safe whatever turn affairs might take, so contrived that dost mahomed and his party were not overtaken. in the meantime the main force marched forward to cabul wholly unopposed. twenty-two guns were found abandoned at the spot where the ameer's army had dispersed. these, placed in a strong defile, and supported by a large force of tribesmen, might have long resisted our advance had the kuzzilbashes and other afghan horsemen swept round on our rear, and although british valour might have finally succeeded, it could only have been after a terrible struggle. but now the ameer was a fugitive, the guns were in our hands, the kuzzilbashes and native tribesmen had come in to salute their new ruler, and nothing remained but to enter the capital in triumph. the entry took place on the th of august. the ceremony was an imposing one. shah soojah, after an exile of thirty years, rode at the head of the cortege, on a white charger with golden trappings. he wore a jewelled coronet, his arms and garments were ornamented with precious stones, and his waist encircled with a broad girdle of gold encrusted with rubies and emeralds. accompanying him were the commander-in-chief, and mr. macnaghten and sir alexander burnes, who were in full diplomatic dress. two of the shah's sons and a few of the principal chiefs rode behind him with a number of staff officers in full uniform. following him came the army that had performed so long and difficult a march to place him on his throne. the surrounding country traversed was rich and fertile in the extreme, and almost covered with orchards of peaches and other fruits; under these crops of all sorts grew luxuriantly. on the eminences commanding the plain immense numbers of tribesmen assembled to witness the martial display. on entering the city, the victors found the inhabitants clustered in the streets through which they passed to the royal residence in the bala hissar, a great citadel situated on a hill commanding the town, and so strongly fortified that it would have been difficult to capture it unless by the aid of a regular siege train. the aspect of the inhabitants was perfectly peaceful; there were no shouts or exclamations of enthusiasm, but it was evident from the expression of satisfaction on their faces that the majority were well satisfied with the termination of the rule of the barukzyes, whose exactions had pressed heavily upon them. dost mahomed himself was popular. he was affable and kindly in disposition; his decisions on all matters brought before him were just and fair; he was accessible to all having complaints to bring before him; and had he possessed a body of trustworthy infantry to overawe the marauding kuzzilbashes and the semi-independent chiefs, there can be no doubt that his rule would have been a wise and beneficial one. shah soojah was the reverse of his rival. haughty and arrogant, he regarded and treated with contempt his new subjects, seldom granted audience, or troubled himself in any way with their affairs, rarely went abroad, and remained in almost constant seclusion in his palace. the shops of cabul excited the admiration of the officers and men of the british force. probably nowhere else in the world could such a display of fruit have been collected. here were piles of peaches equal to the finest product of english hothouses, grapes of five varieties, rosy apples, juicy pears, several delicious kinds of melons, almonds, pistachio nuts, walnuts, quinces, cherries, and red and white mulberries, and vegetables of all kinds. the butchers' shops were cleanly and well arranged; there were public ovens, in which loaves, and the cakes of which the afghans are extremely fond, were baking when the force entered. in the potters' shops were jars and drinking vessels of all kinds; afghan, persian, and russian cloths, cloaks, furs of many kinds, sets of china and dresden porcelain in the shops of the wealthier traders; and behind these open shops were inner apartments with very fine and costly shawls, silks, precious stones, valuable carpets, and tea imported by way of bokhara. conspicuous were the shops of manufacturers of swords and daggers, and makers of scabbards and belts, shields and chain armour, and even of bookbinders, who manufactured covers for manuscript copies of persian poems and stories. unfortunately for the moral of the army, there were also manufactories of spirits. since leaving candahar no spirit rations had been served out, and the troops had greatly benefited in health during their arduous work by the privation, but the power to purchase vile spirits at a very low price now tempted many into drinking to intoxication, and lowered at once their health and discipline. mr. macnaghten and his staff had a fine building in the bala hissar allotted to them. sir alexander burnes with his assistants occupied a house in the city. the position of burnes was an unsatisfactory one. he had a right to expect that after his previous residence in cabul he would be appointed british resident there, and he had only accepted a secondary position upon the understanding that macnaghten's appointment was a temporary one. he had on the way up rendered much valuable assistance, but he had no strictly defined duties. his opinion was seldom asked, and if given, was wholly disregarded. for this he was himself somewhat to blame. his temperament was a changeable one. at times he was full of enthusiasm and saw everything in the rosiest light; at other times he was depressed and despondent, and came to be regarded as a prophet of evil. having no serious work to occupy his mind, he worried over trifles, exaggerated the importance of the bazaar rumours, and was often filled with the gloomiest anticipations. the war had been undertaken altogether in opposition to his advice. he had been most favourably impressed with dost mahomed, and his remonstrances against the attempt to force shah soojah on the afghans had been so strong and persistent, that the home government, in defending themselves from the public indignation excited by subsequent disaster, even went the length of suppressing some of his despatches and garbling others, after he was no longer alive to proclaim the falsification. once at cabul, his opportunities for doing useful service came to an end. macnaghten, who was always sanguine to an extent that, in the light of subsequent events, seemed to border on insanity, was all-powerful with the new ameer. the expression of any opinion which ran counter to his own was in the highest degree distasteful to him, and it was only in negotiations for the supply of the troops, and with the petty chiefs, that burnes and his staff found any employment. although pushtoo was the language of the country-people who came in with goods, the inhabitants of cabul almost universally spoke persian, and angus campbell and azim found themselves quite at home among them. on the rd of september, a force under colonel wade, which had advanced through the khyber pass, arrived at cabul. it was a mixed body composed principally of pathans and sikhs. it had met with comparatively small resistance, but had rendered valuable service, as a large force had been detached from dost mahomed's army to oppose its advance, and thus greatly weakened the army with which the ameer had intended to meet the british advance from candahar. the afghan force had been recalled in haste after the news of the fall of ghuznee, but had not arrived until after the disbandment of the ameer's army and his flight to the bamian pass, when it had also broken up, and wade was therefore able to reach cabul without opposition. it was now necessary to decide what should be done with the army of occupation. macnaghten was pressing by a constant succession of letters that large reinforcements should be sent up in order to win back for shah soojah the territories that had once formed part of the afghan empire. he urged that in order to check russian aggression an army should not only occupy herat, but should extend its operations until it became paramount at bokhara; while, on the other hand, peshawur and the territory wrested from afghanistan by the sikhs should be reconquered, and the sikh nation, which was becoming more and more hostile to us, should be brought into subjection. but fortunately lord auckland, now freed from the pernicious influence of macnaghten and surrounded by discreet counsellors, was by no means disposed to turn a favourable ear to these fantastic projects. the cost of the army of occupation was a heavy drain on the revenue of india, and so far from any assistance being rendered by afghanistan, shah soojah was constantly clamouring for subsidies to enable him to maintain his position. the absence of so many troops was also much felt in india, for they were greatly needed on the frontiers of the beloochees as well as those of the sikhs. macnaghten had so persistently asserted that shah soojah was personally popular with the afghans, that it was decided that only a comparatively small force was needed to uphold his authority in case dost mahomed should make an effort to recover his throne, and orders were given that the greater portion of the bombay army should march down through the kojuk and bolan passes, and most of the bengal troops through the khyber, leaving some six regiments, with a proportion of artillery, at cabul, with garrisons at ghuznee, candahar, quettah, and jellalabad. macnaghten in vain remonstrated and entreated. it was settled that the movement should begin at the end of september, so that the troops could regain the plains before winter set in in earnest. september passed quietly. the climate at this time was perfect, and the troops enjoyed the rest, with the abundance of fruit and vegetables. there were reviews and races. shah soojah established an order of knighthood, and held a grand durbar, at which the principal officers were invested, with great ceremony, with the insignia of the new order. on the th of the month the bombay column started on its march, but news having been brought down from the force that had occupied the bamian pass, that dost mahomed was collecting a formidable army, the authorities were induced to maintain a great portion of the bengal force round cabul. great difficulties arose with reference to provisioning these troops through the winter. there was abundant accommodation for them in the bala hissar and its citadel, but shah soojah strongly objected to the presence of a large body of troops there. macnaghten, with his usual weakness, gave way. on the th of october sir john keane, with that portion of the bengal force that was to return, set out. the ameer left two days later, to spend the winter in the more genial climate of jellalabad, and macnaghten accompanied him. sanguine as he was, he could not help feeling uneasy at the situation. the british occupation had greatly benefited the merchants and traders, the farmers and cultivators of cabul, but it had seriously injured the poorer portion of the community. the natural result of so large an army, well supplied with money, being stationed in the city, was to raise the price of all articles of consumption prodigiously, and to cause wide-spread discontent. the exactions of the native tax-collectors pressed heavily upon all the tribesmen. the british officers, by the terms of the treaty with shah soojah, were unable to interfere in any way with the internal affairs of the country; but when the natives revolted against the unjust exactions it was they who were called upon to suppress them, consequently the infidel supporters of the ameer became more and more hated by the people, and it was soon dangerous for them to go beyond the limits of their camps. the ameer himself resented the state of subjection in which he considered that he was held, though he could not dispense with british bayonets and british money. macnaghten left behind him experienced administrators. burnes, conolly, leech, todd, and lord had all long acquaintance with the country, and if anyone could, under such circumstances, have reconciled the country to foreign occupation, they would have done so. chapter x a mission "i wish that we had trustworthy news of what dost mahomed is doing," sir alexander burnes said one morning when he and his assistants were talking over the work for the day. "of course one hears from the hindoo merchants what rumours are circulating, but these are so contradictory that they are not to be relied upon. one day it is said that dost has retired to bokhara, another that he has already gathered a formidable force. it is certain that if he does not recross the bamian soon he will not give us any trouble till the spring, for i doubt whether even the afghans, hardy as they are, could traverse the passes when winter has fairly set in. still, it would be very useful to us to obtain some sort of inkling as to what his movements and intentions are. he may intend to make a bold stroke to recover his kingdom, he may wait until there is a popular rising here. in the first case, our force here must be maintained at the present strength, and it would be well to warn lord auckland as soon as possible that next spring its strength must be increased rather than diminished. if, on the other hand, dost depends upon a rising here rather than upon any force he may himself gather, there will be no occasion for more troops than we have, for these should suffice to crush any tribal rising." "i should be happy to undertake the mission if you would confide it to me, sir," angus said. "i travelled as a persian without exciting suspicion, and i can do the same again. i might obtain a couple of horse-loads of indian silk and cashmere goods, and travel as a persian trader who has been settled here, but who, fearing that fresh disturbances might occur, had decided to make a trip himself to bokhara with a view of establishing himself there. i see all trade is at present at a stand-still, as the northern traders dare not venture down here. the fact that i can also speak pushtoo will, of course, be an advantage, and would seem to show that i had, as i gave out, resided here for some time." "it would be a dangerous enterprise, mr. campbell." "there would be a certain amount of danger in it, sir, but not, it seems to me, excessive--not more than i met in my journey from herat. there is danger, as you have frequently said, even here; and at any rate, i am ready to take all risks if you think that the mission would be of utility." "that it would certainly be, and i admit that no one would be more likely to carry it to a successful conclusion, but i fear that it would be impossible for you to return before the spring." "i do not think that i could return across the mountains, but i might dispose of my goods to the turkomans. from what we hear, dost mahomed is either at balkh or kunduz, or possibly tashkurgan, half-way between them. balkh would, of course, be more convenient, for it is but a couple of days' journey to kilif, on the other side of the oxus. there i might dispose of my goods, and buy carpets and shawls of bokhara; and then travel across the plains to herat; thence, by the trade route, to candahar; and so back through ghuznee. that would, of course, be a long journey, but there would be no very lofty passes to traverse. i need hardly say that i should not enter herat, as i might be recognized there; but there would be no fear of recognition elsewhere. as my servant is really a persian, and has also picked up pushtoo, he would greatly aid me in preserving my disguise. at any rate, i would rather be doing something than remaining here idle through the winter." "then i accept your offer, mr. campbell. the information you would give as to the feeling of the people on the other side of the mountains would be invaluable. i will myself question one or two of the hindoo merchants as to the goods that are generally sent to bokhara. i know, of course, that the bulk of that trade with india is carried on through candahar and herat, but it would be natural that a trader residing here and wishing to leave should prefer the direct route, however toilsome it might be. i should say easy loads for three animals would be sufficient, and as the merchandise would be of light materials, a considerable value could be carried by three horses. you will need a fourth for a small stock of provisions, for you will have to depend on yourselves until you are on the other side of the passes. you will require two men to look after the four horses. i will obtain two soldiers from one of the pathan regiments. it would be dangerous for you to hire a man in the city; i will get a couple of men of approved fidelity. they will, of course, be in native dress, and will pass as peasants hired for the journey by you. four of you, well armed, should be able to give a good account of yourselves if you should fall in with any small party of freebooters, though that is more likely to happen on your return journey than on your way across the hills." "thank you, sir." "well, to-day is monday; it will take two or three days to make all the preparations and get the sort of men you require. would you be ready to start on thursday?" "certainly, sir. as far as i and my man are concerned, we should be ready to start at a moment's notice, as there will be no difficulty in buying the clothes we require." "very well, then, it shall be settled for thursday. i know i need not tell you to warn your servant to maintain absolute secrecy as to the fact that you are leaving the town." azim was greatly pleased when angus told him of the intended expedition, for, having few duties to perform, he had found the time hang heavily on his hands, and was glad to hear that he was not to spend the long winter at cabul. he purchased in the bazaars all the garments for his master and himself--high boots lined with fur, and cloaks of thick cloth similarly lined, and afghan hats of black lamb's wool. [illustration: there, lying close under a rock, was a young afghan.] on wednesday evening sir alexander burnes said to angus: "it is just as well that you did not make your start this morning, for there has been a sharp skirmish on the road ten miles off between a squadron of our cavalry and a party of afghan horse. i hear the fellows fought well, but were driven off with considerable loss. i have seen the two men who have been selected to accompany you, they have both been some time in our service. their colonel spoke highly to me of them. i explained to them the nature of the duty on which they were going, and gave them the option of declining it, but said that if they carried it through successfully they would on their return receive a present of six months' pay and would at once be promoted. they accepted without hesitation, and i feel certain that you can rely upon them. they were recruited from the border tribes, which have ever held themselves independent of the afghan factions, and have no sympathy whatever either with the kuzzilbashes or soojah himself, and care not a snap who rules over afghanistan. if questioned, their story will be that they came up as camp followers with colonel wade's force, and that on arriving at cabul their work with the army was at an end, and they took service with the persian trader. all the goods and packs have been marked in persian characters, with the prices they would fetch in persia, and those at which they would probably sell at bokhara; so that you will know how to carry on your trading without exciting suspicion either by asking too little or by demanding an unusual price. each man will lead two horses, and i have provided rough ponies for them to ride. i think you will find that no detail has been neglected. i have had a thousand rupees sewn up in the saddle of your horse. i sent for one of the cavalry saddlers, and your man showed him which was your saddle. another five hundred are sewn in the saddle of your servant in case of mishap. here is a letter to lieutenant mackenzie, who commands the troop of horse artillery which is at bamian with the ameer's ghoorka regiment. you may be questioned there, so without giving him any details i have simply requested him to allow the bearer and his party to pass on without question or interference." the start was not made from the house of sir alexander burnes, but from that of the hindoo merchant from whom goods had been purchased. as there was nothing unusual in a trader starting with some horse-loads of merchandise, no attention was attracted, and the party crossed the plain four miles farther up, and skirted the foot of the mountains until they reached the gorge through which the track--for it could not be called a road--led over the mountains to bamian. they had decided to camp here, but they found that it was the scene of the previous day's combat. dead horses and men were scattered about, and it was evident that the afghans had been lying in ambush here, aware that at times parties of our cavalry rode some distance up the pass. they determined to go half a mile farther up the gorge, as there was no danger of disturbance by the afghans, who, after their defeat on the previous day, were not likely to be in the neighbourhood. after proceeding a quarter of a mile angus, who was riding ahead, suddenly stopped his horse, hearing a deep groan. as the ground was strewn with rocks on either side of the track, he concluded at once that some poor fellow had crawled away to die, unnoticed by our cavalry returning from pursuit. knowing what tortures he must be suffering from thirst he dismounted, and filling a pannikin from one of the skins, he bade azim bring some fruit, and then made his way to the spot from which the sound proceeded. there, lying close under a rock, was a young afghan, whose clothes showed that he was a chief of some rank. his eyes were closed, his face pallid and drawn, his lips black and cracked with thirst. angus knelt beside him, and poured a few drops of water between his lips. this he repeated again and again. the wounded man opened his eyes with a deep exclamation of thankfulness. then his face darkened, and he said: "you meant kindly, good friend, but you have done me a cruel service. the worst had passed; i had sunk into unconsciousness, and should have passed into paradise without more pain." "where are you wounded?" angus asked. "perhaps we can do something for you." the afghan slightly shook his head. "nothing can be done for me," he said. "i have a musket-ball in my shoulder, and my right leg is broken above the knee." "at any rate we can make you comfortable. we were going to camp a short way ahead, but we will now do so here." "may allah bless you, but it would be better to leave me to die at once." "that i cannot do. now, have a good drink of water, and then i will cut a melon into pieces for you to suck while we are preparing our camp." the horses' loads were removed and the animals turned loose to graze on the grass growing among the rocks. then the tent was erected and the afghan carried into the shade of a high rock close by. by this time he was able to speak more strongly, and said: "you are persian, i see, by your dress. how comes it that you have entered this lonely gorge with your pack-horses and your goods?" "we are going to make our road to bokhara. there are rumours of disaffection in cabul, and if there is fighting the houses of the traders will be looted. therefore i resolved to leave while i could, and am taking my indian goods for sale there." "it will be a terrible journey," the young chief said. "there is already snow in the upper passes. i wish you success. i shall think of your kindness as i lie here, and pray allah to protect you. before you go i pray you to carry me down to the edge of this stream, so that i may drink when i will." "we will certainly do that, and give you a supply of fruit if we can do no better. now we must look and see to your wounds. i can at least bandage them, and make you somewhat easier." to his surprise angus found no wounds in the leg. "i see no bullet mark," he said. "no, the leg was broken in my fall. my men had fought well, but the feringees were too strong for them, and we fled. i was riding in their rear, when a shot struck me in the shoulder. i fell from my horse, and when i found that my leg was broken i felt my end was at hand; but i heard no more shots nor any further sound of galloping horses, and i knew that by allah's mercy they had ceased their pursuit. my horse had galloped on after the others, and my men might not notice that i had fallen until they had gone some distance, when they would probably conclude that i had been killed. i managed to crawl out of the road to the shelter of that rock where you found me, as the infidels might come up in the morning, and i would rather die quietly there than be shot down." "they would not have injured you," angus said. "they kill many in battle, but it is a rule with them never to touch an injured man; and had they come along they would have taken you back to their camp and have done all they could for you." "i have heard that they were strange in that respect; but i did not think of it--my only wish was to die quietly and alone. i tried several times to crawl to the stream, but the agony was so great that i could not do it." angus while he was speaking was feeling the limb. "the first thing to do," he said, "is to bring the ends of the bone together; the operation will be painful, but it will greatly relieve your sufferings." "do as you will, stranger; allah has sent you to my side, and what you do must be right." "in the first place, i must prepare some splints to keep it in its place." leaving the afghan, angus searched among the bushes until he found a shrub which was thick enough for the purpose. he and azim with their knives cut this down near the root, and then divided it into lengths, split each of these and smoothed the pieces until they were perfectly even. he then tore off several long strips of cloth to form bandages, and calling to the two men, he returned to the wounded afghan. the patient was lifted into another position, where he could place his left foot against a rock. "now, chief," angus said, "you must with that leg prevent yourself from being pulled forward; my servant will hold you round the body, so as to aid you; the other two men will take hold of your right leg and pull it, while as soon as it is sufficiently stretched i shall press the broken ends into their position. i am afraid that the pain will be very severe, but you will be much easier afterwards. at present the ends of the bones are tearing your flesh." "an afghan can bear pain," the chief said quietly; "do as you will." "now," angus said to the soldiers, "take a firm hold above the ankle, and draw as steadily and quietly as you can, but with all your strength." the resistance of the muscles was so great that it was only by exercising their utmost power that the men got them to yield. at last angus felt the end of the bone on which he was pressing suddenly slip into its place. then for the first time he looked round. no sound had escaped the afghan's lips, but the agony had been so intense that he had fainted. "now, give me a long bandage, azim; you need not hold him any longer. double up a cloak or something and lift him and put it under him, so that i can pass the bandage round and round." first a wad of thick material soaked in water was placed round the leg at the point of the fracture, and then bandage was added to bandage, until the limb down to the knee was surrounded by a casing half an inch thick; then the splints were applied, some reaching only down to the knee, others to the ankle. these were held in their place by the three assistants, while angus again firmly bandaged them. the operation being completed, he dashed some water on the afghan's face. the latter soon opened his eyes. "it is all over, chief; the bones are in their place again, and if all goes well, in time the ends may knit firmly together." "it is easier already," the chief said gratefully. "i no longer feel as if an evil spirit from eblis were torturing me with a hot iron." "i will now see to your shoulder. the wound has ceased bleeding; therefore i shall but sponge it with cold water and put a bandage on in case it should break out afresh." this was soon done. some cloths soaked in water were laid over the bandage, then some more fruit was given to the wounded man, and he was left in the shade, and the men set about cooking a meal. angus from time to time went across to see him, and had the satisfaction in the evening of finding that he had fallen asleep. "now, azim," he said when he returned, "the next thing to do is to settle what is to be done with him." "i have been wondering that ever since we found him, master." "there is a choice of two things: one is that i mount my horse, ride back to cabul, report having found a wounded man, and ask that a party with a stretcher may be sent out to fetch him in early in the morning; the other is to take him on with us." azim looked in surprise. "that would be very difficult, master." "no doubt it would be difficult, but i think it might be done. there is no doubt that from his dress and appearance, and from the fact that he speaks excellent persian, he is a chief of considerable standing. in that case his friendship might be invaluable to us, both on our way down to the frontier, and possibly in the future, which sir alexander burnes regards as very threatening. it would be worth while, therefore, to make some sacrifice to carry him down to his friends. i would not do it if i thought the journey would harm him, but i believe the cold air of the mountains would be vastly better for him than the heat of the plains round cabul. he may suffer somewhat from jolting, but i think that we can obviate that if we cut two strong poles about fifteen feet long, attach them to the pack-saddles of two horses, and by securely fastening a blanket between them make a hammock, in which he can ride comfortably. the poles would be elastic enough to save sudden jolts; we can only go at a foot's pace in these passes, and these native horses are so sure-footed that i think the chance of any accident is extremely slight. the horses are but lightly weighted, and as the provisions are consumed we can move a portion of the weight they carry to the one who takes our food." "yes, that would be a good plan, master." "another advantage of it would be," angus went on, "that whereas he would chafe at being in a hospital in care of the people he hates, his spirits would naturally rise as he felt that he was returning to his friends, and this would hasten his recovery. however, i will put the question to him in the morning. if he decides upon being kept in camp, i will send you back with a letter to sir alexander burnes for stretcher-bearers, and you will easily overtake us at our camping-place to-morrow evening." in the morning the young chief was better than angus had even hoped for. once or twice during the night fresh water had been poured gently over the bandages on the wounded shoulder. like all people living chiefly in the open air, accustomed to climbing, and to hard exercise, the afghans suffer less from wounds than europeans do. abstemious in their habits, comparatively small meat-eaters, lithe and sinewy in their figures, they speedily recover from wounds unless of a mortal nature. angus found that the chief's forehead and hands were cool, and there were no signs of fever setting in. "i have been thinking over what would be best for you, and decided to leave the choice to yourself. i am acquainted with burnes sahib, and if i send my servant with a letter i know that he will at once send out a party to carry you into hospital, where you will be well cared for." "i would rather die than accept kindness at their hands," the afghan said firmly. "in that case there seems no other course but for me to construct a litter between two of my pack-horses, and to carry you over the mountains to kundur." "and would you thus burden yourself with a stranger?" the afghan asked in a tone of great surprise. "certainly i would for a wounded stranger," angus said; "but i do not think that there will be any great trouble, and i will try to make the journey as easy for you as possible." he then explained how he intended to carry him. the face of the wounded man lit up. he had permitted angus to set his limb because he believed it was destiny that had sent him to his aid. he felt sure that the man who had taken such trouble with him would leave a store of provisions within his reach, and that possibly some of the natives might come along and carry him to their village, and so tend him until his strength was restored. it was but a faint hope, for now that winter was approaching the men from the upper villages would have come down into the plain, and the chances were but slight that any would enter the gorge. his hope rested chiefly in the belief that, as he had been so unexpectedly saved from death, his final deliverance would also be effected; but that this kind trader should offer to carry him up the passes had never entered his mind, and his pale cheek flushed with pleasure. "certainly i will go with you if you will take me," he said joyfully; "nobly indeed do you carry out the precept of the prophet, to be compassionate to all those who need it." "let us say no more about it, chief. it will be a pleasure to me to see you grow stronger, and i doubt not that the mountain air will benefit you greatly, and i shall have my reward in seeing you regaining your strength. we have meat with us, but it will be better for you to take fruit and a little bread." two soldiers were sent out, and presently returned with poles of the desired length and thickness. breakfast was then eaten. afterwards the poles, a long blanket having been firmly lashed between them, were securely fastened against the horses' flanks under their burdens. in this way a hammock was formed in which, while the body and legs were below the level of the poles, the head was somewhat above them. a cloak was rolled up to make a pillow, and the chief was then gently lifted and laid in it. they started at daybreak, rested in the shade for three or four hours in the middle of the day, and then continued their journey till late in the evening. after two days' travel the halt was no longer necessary, for they were now far above the level of the plain. the air was fresh during the day, and at night all were glad to cover themselves with their long coats lined with sheep-skin. angus had made no attempt to discover the position of the ball in the shoulder of the wounded chief. even if he found it, he had neither the instruments nor the skill necessary for its removal. the only thing he could do was to keep the cloths bathed with cold water to prevent inflammation setting in. the track they were following sometimes disappeared altogether, and angus often congratulated himself upon having the young chief with him, for the latter had twice before crossed the mountains, and was able to tell him which line to take. the day's journey varied much in length, being from fifteen to twenty-five miles, according as they found a suitable halting-place. they always camped where there was water, emptying the skins and filling them afresh as often as possible. at times the ground was covered with snow. this they thawed in a pot over a fire of brushwood, of which they were careful to gather some at every opportunity on the day's march. the chief and angus occupied the little tent, while azim slept with the two soldiers in a shelter composed of blankets. every day there was a visible improvement in the state of the wounded man; the cool air acted as a tonic to his system. the first two or three days his arm pained him a good deal, though he had never once complained of it. it was kept bound to his side, and by means of splints and bandages the shoulder was held in its natural position; more than this angus had not attempted. he believed that the shoulder was broken, but even of this he was not sure, and could only hope that the bone would knit together itself. one day, however, in reply to his questions the afghan admitted that he felt a burning pain just over the left shoulder, and feeling, angus perceived a hard substance apparently but a short distance under the skin. "there is no doubt that this is the ball," he said. "a surgeon would cut down upon it, and get it out easily enough." "then why do you not do it? you seem very skilful." "i have had no practice," he said. "my father was a trader of tabriz. he was a good man and very much respected. the poor often came to him in cases of accidents, and i have many a time seen him bandage broken limbs, that is why i was able to do it; but of bullet wounds i know nothing." "take my dagger and cut down to it at once; the pain of a cut is nothing. cut fearlessly and deeply, so that you can take hold of the ball with your fingers." after some hesitation angus agreed to do so, for, by the pain it was causing, the bullet might set up inflammation. "it is a mere nothing," the afghan said. "i have frequently cut out bullets from my tribesmen." the chief's dagger was as keen as a razor, and seeing that his patient really wished it, angus performed the operation. he had to cut three times before he could manage to get hold of the bullet. the afghan himself did not once flinch. "that is well," he said, when the ball was extracted. "now, bring the edges together again, put a piece of wet rag over them, and then tie a bandage tightly round me; by the end of a week there will be nothing but a scar remaining." two days later they arrived at bamian. as they entered the little town a native officer of a ghoorka regiment came out and demanded their business. for the first time angus was unable to give an answer in the language in which he was addressed. knowing, however, the purport of the question, he showed his letter to lieutenant mackenzie. the native was unable to read english, but called to an english artilleryman, who at once came up. on seeing the letter he motioned to the pretended trader to follow him, and conducted him to the house where lieutenant mackenzie lodged. "there is a man outside who has a letter for you, sir," he said saluting. "an englishman?" "no, sir, one of these traders, i think. he has some horses with packs, and he has a wounded or dead man in a litter." "show him in." angus on entering said in persian, "my orders are to deliver this letter to you when alone, sir." the lieutenant signed to two orderlies, to whom he had at the time been giving orders, and angus then went on in english: "you do not remember me, lieutenant mackenzie. i am angus campbell, on the staff of sir alexander burnes." "oh, yes, i remember you now," the officer said, rising and shaking him by the hand. "of course we have met many times, but in that persian dress i did not know you again. i suppose you have come to see how we are getting on?" "no. i am on a mission across the mountains to see what dost mahomed is really doing there, as you will see by this letter." the officer glanced through it. "i see you do not want the natives here--there are not many of them--to be asking any questions. let me see. we are pretty closely packed, as you may imagine. i could give you a room here, but that would hardly do." "no, it would not do at all," angus said. "it would appear strange indeed to the natives if you were to so honour a travelling merchant. i can do very well without a room, for i have a tent that i have used on my journey. all i wish is that you give an order that we shall not be in any way interfered with." "that i can do easily enough, and will put a sentry over your encampment with orders that no one is to enter into conversation with your followers." "thank you; that is just what i desire." "i hear that one of your men is ill, can anything be done for him? we have a doctor with us, and you could leave the man in hospital, and he could either make his way back when cured, or follow you--though i doubt whether that would be possible, as the passes will soon be completely blocked with snow. as soon as we are sure of this we shall return to cabul, so we are looking forward eagerly, as you may imagine, for the news that they have become impassable." "thank you. the man met with an accident by falling from his horse, but i doctored him as well as i could, and i think in another day or two he will be able to sit a horse; and as he knows the passes, i must keep him with me, for already the paths are in many cases obliterated by snow, and i should fare badly indeed without him." "yes, i see that. how long are you going to stay here?" "i shall start again the day after to-morrow. it is most important that i should push on, for the passes may be closed any day. i will give the horses and men one day's rest, that is all that i can afford now. i will say good-bye, for it would not do for you to be seen speaking to me again." "no, i suppose it would not do for you to come here, but i will after dark to-night come down and have a chat with you. i have had no news from cabul for the last fortnight. there would be no harm in that, would there?" "no; i should be very glad if you would come in that way." half an hour later the tents were erected, and two sentries were placed near them to warn off all intruders. angus went into the little town, and made some purchases from three small traders who had remained there, and had been well rewarded for doing so by the prices they obtained from the troops for their stores. lieutenant mackenzie, on his arrival, had ordered them to send all the liquor they had to his quarters, telling them that unless they agreed to this they would not be allowed to remain, and promising that the liquor should be returned to them when the troops left. their stores were almost exhausted, but angus was able to purchase some rice, a pot of ghee, and a sack of grain for the horses. at eight o'clock mackenzie came down. sadut khan had been apprised of the intended visit, and had willingly consented to be carried for the time into the other tent, so that angus had his to himself. "it is a snug little tent," mackenzie said when he entered it; "not much head room, but that is of no consequence, as it is only a place for sleeping in. i am ashamed to come empty-handed, but i only brought a couple of bottles of spirits with me, and they are both empty long ago. i can't drink this beastly native stuff. and besides, the room in which i stored all there was in the place when i got here is locked up. i made the traders put their seals to it so that there could be no dispute about the quantities when i handed them over." "thank you," angus said; "i don't touch spirits. whatever may be the case in other places, i am convinced that men are better off without them in a country like this. certainly they are best avoided in hot weather; and i think even in the cold weather coffee is infinitely better, and i have brought a good store of that with me. now, make yourself as comfortable as you can. fill your pipe from that jar, it is the best persian tobacco. then when the coffee comes in i will give you the news from cabul." a large jug of coffee, with two silver horns which angus had bought before starting, was soon brought in, and then angus told what had happened at cabul since the last letter mackenzie had received. "then you don't think things are going on well?" mackenzie said when he had concluded. "no, there is much disaffection among the lower class in the city. the tribesmen are restless and discontented. it was a great mistake to allow shah soojah the entire control of all civilian matters; the consequence is that the people are grievously oppressed by the tax-gatherers. the ameer himself is impatient at the slightest attempt to control him. he renders himself intensely unpopular by hardly ever appearing in public, by his refusal to grant audiences, and by his haughtiness and arrogance to those whom he does admit to his presence. i am certain that he could not maintain himself for a day if we were to march away, and i don't see how we can leave him to his fate. altogether the situation is very difficult, and i am afraid it will end badly. they want a strong man at the head of affairs. i do not think that macnaghten is a strong man. keane is a good soldier, but it is said that he will return to england in the spring." "and how about burnes?" "burnes is my chief," angus said with a smile; "but i can say this, i believe that if he were in macnaghten's place things would go on better. at present, however, he has no authority of any kind. he differs from macnaghten on almost every point, and any advice he gives is almost contemptuously neglected." "it is a queer state of affairs," mackenzie said. "however, i suppose we shall get out all right in the end. it is a way we have. we generally make a muddle in the beginning, but our fighting power has pulled us through. well, i will be going now; it is eleven o'clock. i think that it would be better that i should not come again to-morrow." "i think so too. if the afghans here entertained the smallest suspicion that you were visiting me, they would feel sure that i was not the trader i pretended to be, and would find means of sending a message across the mountains, which would result in the failure of my mission and my own certain death." after a hearty farewell, and an expression of the best wishes for the success of his mission, mackenzie said good-bye and left the tent. the afghan chief was carried back into it, and in a few minutes all in the little camp were asleep. chapter xi a dangerous journey angus made every effort to secure the services of a native well acquainted with the passes as guide, but was altogether unsuccessful. the difficulties were, they declared, insurmountable, the danger overwhelming. "i must see what i can do," sadut khan said, when angus informed him that the natives were all of opinion that the snow was too heavy and the danger too great for the pass to be attempted. "we stayed here for some days, when i crossed the hills with dost mahomed. there is a petty chief living in a village two miles away; if he is still there, i think he would accompany you. whether or not, i am certain he would not divulge the secret of my being here to anyone." "i will go myself to see him," angus said. "i hope indeed he will accompany us, for if not, i fear that our journey has come to an end, as the offers i have made would have tempted any of the natives here to go with me if they had thought it possible. shall i mention your name to him?" "say to him only that a chief of the momunds, whom he knew here three months ago, desires to speak to him." angus at once mounted his horse and rode to the foot of the hill upon which the village with the tower of its chief was perched. then fastening the bridle to a stunted shrub, he made his way up the steep ascent on foot. the place did not contain more than a dozen houses. as he passed through these, natives wrapped in sheep-skin jackets came to the door and gazed at him with angry scowls. as he reached the door of the tower four armed men came out. "what would you here, stranger?" one of them said. "i would speak a few words with your chief." "he does not want either to buy or to sell," the man said shortly. "i do not seek to sell," angus said. "i have a message of importance to him." one of them went into the tower, and returning in a minute, motioned to angus to follow him. the chief, a tall and powerful man of middle age, was seated on the floor of a room in the upper story of the tower. near him was a large earthenware pan, in which a charcoal fire was burning. "why come you here, persian?" he said, "and what message can one like you bear to me?" angus repeated the message that sadut khan had given him. the chief rose to his feet suddenly. "you lie!" he said fiercely, "he is dead. the news came to us a week since." "nevertheless, he gave me that message; and if you will come with me to bamian you will see for yourself that he is not dead, though it is true that he has been sorely hurt." "i go not into bamian," the chief said. "i have not put foot in the town since the accursed infidels came there. they have held no communication with me, nor i with them. this may be a trick to lure me there and make me prisoner." "if they had desired to do so," angus said quietly, "they would have sent a hundred men with a gun or two, and not a mere trader. besides, how could they have told that a momund chief had been here with dost mahomed when he passed through?" "many could have told you that," the chief said, "seeing that, next to the ameer himself, he was the most observed of the party." "well, chief, if you will not go, i have nothing to do but to return and inform him that you refuse to come and see him." "how can he be there, in the midst of the enemy, unless indeed he is a prisoner?" "he is not a prisoner; he lies in my tent. you can see him without entering bamian, for my camp is outside the town. what motive, chief, could i have in deceiving you?" "i will go," the chief said suddenly. "it shall not be said that i refused to answer such a call, however improbable it might seem." he threw on a cloak lined with sheep-skins, and telling his men that unless something befell him he would be back by noon, he led the way down the hill. angus mounted his horse when he reached it and rode beside him. for some distance the afghan did not speak. "do you know the name of this chief?" he asked abruptly when half the distance had been traversed. "it is sadut khan, the fighting chief of the momunds, and a nephew by marriage of the ameer." the afghan had not expected this reply. "you must be in his confidence indeed, persian, or he would not thus have disclosed himself when in the midst of those who would hail his capture as one of the most valuable prizes." "he has, as you say, faith in me," angus said quietly, "and will, doubtless, when you see him, give you his reason for that trust in me." "your story must be true, and i believe it; forgive me for at first doubting it. but having heard that the chief had been killed, i thought this was a plot of some kind." "it was natural that you should not believe me," angus said. "you could scarce credit that he was alive, and, what was still more strange, that he should be in a town occupied by the english, and yet not be a prisoner." "this is a fortunate day for me, indeed," the afghan said. "there is no chief whose name is more honoured in the country than that of sadut khan. he is as brave as a lion, good to his people, and faithful to dost mahomed, when so many have fallen away from him. the ameer regards him as if he were a favourite son, and it will gladden his heart indeed, and lessen his troubles, when he learns that he is still alive." avoiding the town they went straight to sadut. angus dismounted and led the way to his little white tent, and, raising the flap, said to the chief, "he is here; enter." the afghan did so; and thinking it best to leave them together for a time, angus strolled away and saw that his horse was, as usual, well wrapped up in a thick felt blanket. it was half an hour before the chief made his appearance at the entrance to the tent and looked round. angus at once spoke to him. "my friend," said the chief, "i again ask your pardon for doubting you for a moment. allah will surely bless you for the good work you have done. sadut khan has told me all, and it passes my understanding why a stranger should have cumbered himself with a wounded man of whom he knew nothing." "does not the koran bid us succour the afflicted?" "that is true, my friend, but there are surely limits. one will do great things for a friend, one may do something for a stranger, but to hinder one's journey and cumber one's self with a wounded stranger is surely more than can be expected of us." angus now entered the tent. "my trust in the chief was not misplaced," sadut khan said. "he will act as our guide across the mountains, though he doubts whether it will be possible to cross the passes. if it is the will of allah, persian, that we should not, we can but die." "that is so," angus said; "but the passes may not be as badly blocked as we expect." "we can hardly hope that," the chief replied, shaking his head. "the last party that came over reported that they had never known it so bad. this was a week ago, and since then the sky has always been dull to the north, and it has surely been snowing there. however, to-day it is lighter, and maybe no more snow will fall for a time. we had best lose not an hour in starting. i shall take four of my men with me. we have no horses, but that matters not at all, for the passage will have to be made on foot. let us move to-morrow at daybreak, and travel as far as we can before it is dark." when the arrangements were all settled, angus went into the village and bought some more grain, cheese, and other food, also a store of extra blankets, and two other native tents; these were to be packed on his horse and azim's. among other things he bought two native lamps for each tent, and a good supply of oil, a roll of flannel for tearing into strips for winding round the feet and legs, and he was then satisfied that he had done all in his power to render the enterprise a success. before daybreak next morning hassan, the afghan chief, arrived with four of his followers, all strong and sinewy men. the animals were speedily packed; sadut's litter was placed between two of the horses which were more lightly loaded than the others, and they set out just as daylight was spreading over the sky. the speed with which the start was effected was in itself a sign that all felt the gravity of the task before them. angus had the evening before explained to the two soldiers that the journey before them was one of tremendous difficulty, and offered to leave them in charge of lieutenant mackenzie till spring, when they could return to cabul and rejoin their regiment; but they would not hear of it. "we are both mountain men," one said, "and if others can get through we can. at any rate, we will risk anything rather than return with blackened faces and say that we had feared to follow our officer." the morning was bitterly cold, but the sky was clear. "we shall do well to-day," hassan said to angus, "and the horses are fresh. as for to-morrow, who can say?" the snow was knee-deep when they got beyond the village. the ascent began almost at once and was heavy work both for men and horses. they continued their journey till it was too dark to go farther, then they halted in a ravine which afforded some shelter from the piercing wind. all set to work to clear away the snow where the tents were to be pitched, but before raising these the horses were attended to. blankets were girded round them from the ears to the tail, and they were picketed touching each other for mutual warmth. a supply of corn was then laid down before each on some square pieces of felt placed on the snow. when the tents were pitched the lamps were lighted and the flaps closed, then snow was scraped up outside until the canvas was covered nearly to the top. in spite of the intense cold all were thoroughly warmed by their hard work before they turned in. angus took azim into his tent, the rest divided themselves among the other two. at other times it would have been unpleasant to be so closely packed, but in such weather it was an advantage. before setting to work to pile the snow against the tents a brass kettle filled with water had been suspended from the ridge-pole over the lamps, and the water was almost boiling by the time the work was finished, and in a few minutes coffee was made. the frozen carcasses of four sheep had been brought, as well as a large quantity of meat that had been cooked on the previous day. some slices of the latter were thawed over the lamp and eaten with bread that had been purchased at bamian. but few words were spoken after the meal was finished, their fatigue and the warmth of the tent rendering it difficult for them to keep awake. in a few minutes all were sound asleep. the next day's march was even more arduous. sadut had given up his litter and again mounted his horse, as it was found impossible for the two animals linked together by the hammock to make their way up the steep place. the work was toilsome in the extreme, but all worked cheerfully. hassan and his four men laboured with the greatest vigour, carrying burdens to places which horses when laden could not have climbed, hauling the animals out of deep drifts into which they frequently fell, carrying sadut khan in his litter at points where the ascent was so steep that, crippled as he still was by his injured leg, he could not have retained his seat in the saddle. the party worked in almost complete silence, but with a stern determination and energy which showed their consciousness that every moment was of importance. twelve miles were the result of as many hours of labour. no signs of a track had been visible since they left bamian, and angus felt how absolutely impossible it would have been to cross the pass had it not been for the intimate knowledge of hassan and his followers; even these were sometimes at fault. none of them had ever passed over the mountains when so deeply covered with snow, and consultations constantly took place between them as to the line to be followed. when they arrived at their halting-place for the night, hassan told angus and the momund chief that they were now within two hundred feet of the top of the pass. "to-morrow's work will be the most dangerous; the north wind sweeps across the plateau with terrible force. moreover, i do not like the look of the sky this evening. we have been fortunate so far, but i think that there will be a change." "it is well, indeed," sadut said as they ate their supper, "that we crossed the highest pass before the snow began in earnest; we certainly could not have supported that journey had we been ten days later. we have got through the hardest part of the work, and everything now depends upon the weather. may allah grant that there be no more snow. the pass to-morrow is but twelve miles across, and if all goes well we shall begin to descend on the following morning. if the snow holds off we shall be able to do that distance easily, for it is almost a level plain that we have to traverse. parts of it will be nearly clear of snow, which the fierce blasts sweep away as fast as it falls, while in other places the surface will be hard enough to walk on, the snow being pressed firmly together by the weight of the wind." they were on foot again next morning even earlier than usual. all were aware of the importance of haste. the tents were pulled down and loaded with the greatest rapidity. the cold was intense, and but few words were spoken until they reached the summit of the ascent, by which time the effort of climbing had restored the heat that had been lost as soon as they left their warm tents. the sky was cloudless, and angus felt hopeful that the day's journey would be accomplished with comparative ease. he noticed, however, that there was an anxious look on the faces of the five tribesmen, who, although they were travelling more rapidly than they had done since they left bamian, were constantly urging horses and men to press forward at a greater speed. angus had expected that they would have to face very strong wind, but scarce a breath was blowing. as sadut had predicted, the rock was in many places completely bare. the fields of snow were so hard that, instead of struggling knee-deep as before, they now seldom sank over their feet, and sometimes left scarcely a track upon the surface. the hills on either side stood up clear and hard, and the silence was almost oppressive. they were, they calculated, half-way across the pass three hours after leaving their camp, when hassan, who was walking beside angus and sadut, stopped suddenly and pointed to the sky. looking up angus saw two or three little wisps of vapour passing overhead with extraordinary speed. "the storm!" hassan exclaimed. "see, others are coming; it will soon be upon us. we can go no farther, but must prepare to meet it instantly or we shall be overwhelmed." knowing that hassan would not have spoken thus unless from the direst necessity, angus at once ordered a halt. the plateau was perfectly flat, and nowhere could any shelter be obtained, and they were now on an expanse of hard snow. urged by the shouts and exclamations of hassan all hastened to unload the animals. as soon as this was done, angus ordered the tents to be pitched. "it is useless," hassan said, "they would be blown down in an instant. let them lie open on the snow. let each man take his two blankets and keep them by him in readiness, and when the storm begins let him wrap himself up in these, and then let those who are tent-fellows lie down together on one side of the tent, pull the other over them, and roll themselves in it. i and my men will be the last to take shelter, and we will pile the sacks and saddles over the ends to keep them down. but first put all the extra blankets over the horses and fasten them over their heads, and let them hang down well behind. they will turn their backs to the wind. make all those that are accustomed to lie down do so. range the others close to them." ten minutes of hard work and all was ready. then they had time to look round. the sky was hidden from view by masses of black clouds streaming along. the men took their places on their tents and wrapped their blankets round in readiness. "lie down at once!" hassan ordered. "it will be upon us almost immediately." the men did so. hassan and his followers pulled the felt covering over them, pushing the edge of the upper side under them as far as possible. then they piled baggage and saddles on the ends. angus, with azim and sadut, remained standing till the last. hassan ran up to them with his men. "quick!" he said, "the storm will be upon us immediately." glancing ahead as he lay down, angus saw what looked like a white mist in the distance, and knew that it must be snow swept up by the force of the wind. half a minute and they were tucked up in the thick felt; this was weighted at both ends. "allah preserve you!" hassan shouted, then all was silent. a minute later the storm struck them with such force that they felt as if pressed down by a heavy weight. had they been inclined to speak they could not have heard each other, so loud was the howl of the wind. wrapped up in their sheep-skin posteens and blankets, they did not feel the cold. for some time angus lay and wondered how long this would last. presently he fell asleep, the warmth, after the bitterly cold air outside, overpowering even the thought of danger. he was lying between sadut and azim, who, like himself, lay without moving. indeed, movement would have been difficult, so tightly was the tent wrapped round them. he slept for many hours vaguely conscious of the roar and fury of the gale. when he awoke at last it was with a sense of suffocation, a heavy weight seemed to press upon him, and the sound of the storm had ceased. "are you awake?" he asked the others, but he had to shake them before he obtained an answer. "something must be done," he went on, as soon as they were capable of understanding him. "we shall be suffocated if we don't let some air in." "that is true," sadut said. "the snow is evidently piled up round us. we must let air in, or we shall perish." but in spite of their efforts they found it impossible to move forward to get to the end of the roll. "we must cut our way out; it is our only chance," angus said, and turning on to his back, he managed to get out his long afghan knife, and cut a slit three feet long in the felt. as he did so, the snow came pouring in through the opening. "do you both put your hands under my shoulders," he said, "and help me to sit up." it was not until he had cut a transverse slit so as to allow the hole to open wider that he was able to do so. "the snow is not packed very hard," he said, as he pressed it aside. "it can't be very deep, for i can see light." it was not long before he was on his feet, and had pushed the snow sufficiently back to enable his companions to get out also. the feeling of suffocation was already relieved, as a sufficient amount of air made its way through the snow, and after five minutes' hard work they clambered out. the gale was still blowing, though not so violently as at first, the snow still falling thickly. two white mounds marked the position of the other tents, elsewhere a wide expanse of level snow was seen. it was evident that, as it drifted, it had first heaped itself against the tent. more had settled beyond it, and so gradually mounds had risen until they were seven or eight feet high. "we must rescue the others at once," angus said. on the windward side the snow was so hard that their hands made no impression upon it, but on the sheltered side it was lighter, and working with their hands they were soon able to clear it away down to the end of the tent beneath which hassan and three of his followers were lying. it was not, like the others, closed there, as its occupants had been unable to place weights on it after they had rolled themselves up. as soon as they had cleared the snow and opened the felt out a little, sadut called-- "are you awake, hassan?" "i am awake," he replied, "but am bound down hand and foot." they cleared the snow off until they saw a foot. taking hold of this together they pulled and gradually drew one of the men out. the other three were extricated more easily. they found that these had not suffered so much from a sense of suffocation as the first party had done, as, the ends of the roll being open, a certain amount of air had found its way through the snow. half an hour's hard work sufficed to rescue the occupants of the other tent. the three were unconscious, but the cold blast speedily brought them round. "what is to be done next?" angus asked hassan. "the gale is still far too severe for us to move," the latter answered. "we had best clear away the snow over the tents, and then take to them again." after two hours' work the tents were cleared. the men had worked from above, throwing out the snow over the sides of the mound, so that when they had finished the tents lay at the bottoms of sloping holes. a meal was then eaten, and lifting the upper covering of felt they lay down again and closed it over them. the sun was in the east, and they knew that some fifteen hours had elapsed since the gale had struck them. a mound of snow had marked where the horses were lying. they did not interfere with these, for hassan said that the horses would be able to breathe through the snow, and probably the heat of their bodies had melted it immediately round them, and they would be much warmer than if the snow were cleared off. before turning in hassan and his men managed to erect the tent of their leaders. lying as it did in a crater of snow, it was sheltered from the force of the wind. holes were made with a dagger on each side of the slit that angus had cut, and the edges tied together by a strip of leather. a couple of lamps and oil were taken from the sack in which they were carried, and also the bag of corn, and the little party after filling their vessels with snow and hanging them over the lamps, and closing the entrance to the tent, soon felt comfortable again. "it has been a narrow escape," sadut said. "had it not been for your thinking of cutting the tent, and so enabling us to make our way out, the whole caravan would assuredly have perished. now, we have only an imprisonment for another day or two at most, and can then proceed on our journey." the next morning the gale had ceased, though the snow continued to fall. by mid-day the sky cleared, and all issuing out from their shelters prepared for a start. it took them an hour's work to extricate the horses; one of these, a weakly animal, had died, the others appeared uninjured by their imprisonment. all the vessels in the camp had been used for melting snow, and a drink of warm water with some flour stirred into it was given to each of the animals, and an extra feed of corn. as soon as they had eaten this, the baggage was packed on their backs, and the party moved forward. it was heavy work. the snow that had fallen since the force of the wind had abated was soft, and the animals sank fetlock-deep in it. but after three hours' travelling, they reached the end of the pass and began to descend. two hours later they halted at a spot where a wall of rock afforded shelter against the wind from the north. "allah be praised that we have reached this point!" hassan said. "now the worst is over. i can see that we shall have another storm before an hour is past, they generally follow each other when they once begin. but here we are safe, and it was for this that i said 'no' when you proposed that we should halt at the mouth of the pass." the tents were soon erected, great stones being placed on the lower edge to steady them against the gusts of wind. then a diligent search was made for wood, and enough bushes were found to make a good fire. strips of meat from one of the frozen sheep were cooked, the kettles were boiled, cakes of flour and ghee were baked, and the travellers made a hearty meal. the horses were each given half a bucket of warm water, thickened with flour, and a double feed of grain. then all sat round the fire smoking and talking until it burned low, when, in spite of their sheep-skin coats, the bitter cold soon made itself felt. they had scarcely turned into their tents when the storm, as hassan had predicted, burst. except for an occasional gust they felt it but little, and slept soundly until morning, when they found that light snow had eddied down, and was lying two feet deep. the day was spent in cooking and attending to their own wants and those of the horses. for two days they were prisoners, then the gale abated, and they continued their journey, and late that evening arrived at the village of chol. here they were received with hospitality by the natives, who were astounded that in such weather the caravan should have made its way over the pass. resting here for two days, they travelled to kala sarkari. sadut now took the lead, for the chief of the village seeing three horses loaded with merchandise demanded toll; but, sadut announcing himself as a nephew of dost mahomed, and saying that the whole party were under his protection, the threatening attitude that the inhabitants began to assume was at once calmed. four days' travel, with halts at small villages, took them to balkh. here, on declaring himself, sadut was received with great honour, and was entertained at the governor's house, where dost mahomed was lying ill. no attention was bestowed upon hassan and his followers, who walked behind him, and were reported as having been the means of his safety. angus with his party kept some little distance in the rear and took up their quarters at a khan unnoticed, but when sadut was seen to call early the next morning upon the persian trader and remain with him for a considerable time, it was understood that they were under his protection, and no enquiries were made by the authorities of the town. on the third day sadut said to angus: "i regret that the ameer is ill. had it not been for that he would have received you. i told him of the services you have rendered me, and that but for you a few hours would have ended my life. he said that he would like to see so noble a man, and to give him a fitting testimonial of gratitude for the service done to his sister's son. he requested me to bring you to him as soon as he is able to rise from his couch; and when he enters cabul in triumph, as he assuredly will do ere long, he hopes that you will establish yourself there. i can promise you that your business shall flourish." "i thank you heartily, khan, for having spoken to the ameer about me," angus said gravely, "but i cannot receive a present from dost mahomed. i have intended many times to tell you more about myself, and i feel that i must do so now. you are my friend, and i cannot remain in a false position with you. as long as we were travelling together, no harm was done; it mattered not to you who was the man who had aided you in your extremity. but the case is different now. you were then a sorely wounded man, who needed what aid i could give you; now you are a close relation of dost mahomed, and a powerful afghan chief, so the case is changed. dost mahomed, and no doubt yourself, know what is passing in cabul by means of your friends there, who see all that is going on. the english general, on the other hand, knows nothing of what is passing beyond the ground patrolled by his cavalry. "it was important for him to learn what was passing on this side of the mountains, and he selected me, an officer in his army, on account of my knowledge of persian and pushtoo, to cross the mountains and ascertain what prospect there was of dost mahomed's returning with an army to cabul in the spring. i confide my secret to you as to a friend. you can see that it would be impossible for me to accept presents from dost mahomed in my character of a persian merchant, and for the same reason i should abstain from questioning you, or even allowing you to give me any information as to the military preparations going on. to do so would be to take an unfair advantage of the chances that enabled me to be of service." angus had thought the matter over, and knew that while such work as he was engaged in would, if discovered, cost him his life, it would be regarded by the afghans as a legitimate means of obtaining information; and although if caught he would be killed as an enemy, his action would be regarded as showing that he was a man of great bravery thus to place himself in the power of an enemy. this was the view, indeed, in which sadut khan regarded it. "you have done well to tell me," he said gravely. "it was truly the act of a brave man not only to risk discovery here, but to undertake the terrible adventure of crossing the passes when winter had fairly set in, in order to obtain information for your general. still more do i wonder that you should have burdened yourself with the care of an enemy, one who was fighting against your people. it was wonderful on the part of a persian trader, it is far more so on the part of one against whom i was fighting, who is not of my religion, who was engaged upon an enterprise of such a nature, and to whom speed was a matter of the greatest importance. had it not been for the slow pace at which you travelled with me, you might have crossed all the passes before they were blocked. i shall fight against your people as before, but i shall respect them now i see that although our religions differ, there are good things in their beliefs as in ours, and that even the koran has no lessons in charity and kindliness stronger than those that you have learned from the teaching of your own religion. "what i thought wonderful on the part of a persian merchant is still more marvellous on the part of an english officer, who could have no possible interest in saving a dying man; and who, indeed, might have gained credit by delivering him into the hands of his countrymen, since so long as i was a prisoner in their hands, i should be a hostage for the quiet behaviour of my people. you can do no harm to us by your enquiries here; it is known by all on this side of the mountains that the ameer will in the spring endeavour to turn out the usurper; it is known already to every sheik from candahar to jellalabad. whether he will come with ten thousand or twenty thousand men matters little; when he appears, all afghanistan will rise. your generals might have been sure that it would be so without sending to make enquiries. i cannot tell you with what force we shall come. it will not be a great army; even in summer a large force could scarcely traverse the passes. it is not on the force that he will take from here that dost mahomed relies; it is on the host he will gather round him when he crosses the mountains. we have learned that the disaffection to soojah is everywhere on the increase. there were many who did not love the barukzyes, but they know now that things are worse instead of better since the change, for the man has made himself hated by his arrogance, his contempt for the people in general, and the extortion exercised by his tax-gatherers. "there is no secret in all this, your own officers must know it. what you will not learn, for the decision will not be made until the spring, is the line by which the ameer will advance. there are many passes by which he may then cross; or he may go round by herat, and gather forces as he advances. or again, he might go east, and crossing by the passes there, come down through chitral to jellalabad." "that i can well understand, khan. of course i have already learned that there is no doubt that dost mahomed is preparing to cross the passes in the spring, and that he is sure of the support of the tribesmen on this side of the mountains." "he could gather a very large army if he chose," sadut said, "but the difficulty of transporting food for so large a body would be very great, i think that ten thousand men will be the utmost he could move with. i am doing no harm in telling you this, because you would soon learn it in the town, and it is certain that your people could not prevent his passing the hindoo koosh, since he has so many routes to choose from. his force is not like your army, which, moving with great trains of baggage, cannon, and ammunition, could only cross by one or two passes; we can move wherever our horses can climb. and now i will leave you, for i have some business to attend to; but i will return this evening." chapter xii troubles thicken angus saw that as he could not hope to obtain further information, however long he might stay, and as he had fulfilled the main object of his mission by discovering that dost mahomed would not be content with remaining master of the northern province, but would certainly advance in the spring, he could do no good by remaining any longer. the information that he could give would enable macnaghten and burnes to show the indian government that their intention of withdrawing more troops in the early spring would be disastrous; and it was with this special object in view that he had been sent. he had on the two previous days sold a portion of his goods, but had held out for the prices with which they were marked. he was now more willing to bargain, as he wished to travel in future as lightly as possible. accordingly, before nightfall he had disposed of nearly half the stock with which he had started; but he had at the same time purchased a certain amount of goods from turkestan, as these would be more appropriate as merchandise when he started from balkh for herat. sadut came again in the evening. "my friend," he said, "i have been thinking over your position. doubtless you might stay here for some time without its being suspected that you were other than you seemed to be, but a chance word from one of your men might betray you, and as you have really learned all that there is to learn, it seems to me that there is no use in your tarrying any longer here. it is true that dost mahomed, for my sake, would protect you, even were you discovered. still, you know the nature of our people, and were it rumoured that you were an infidel, you might be torn to pieces before either the ameer or myself knew aught about it." "i have come to the same conclusion. if i thought i could gain anything by remaining i should do so, whatever the risk; but as it would be useless to stay, i intend to leave to-morrow. i have a long journey to make via herat; the sooner i am off the better. my men are now packing up my goods and preparing for a start at daylight." "i felt so sure that this would be your course that i have brought with me an order from the ameer to the governor and headmen of all towns and villages through which you may pass, enjoining them to give you good treatment, as he holds you in high esteem for having rendered most valuable services to me." "i thank you very heartily," angus replied. "this will greatly facilitate my journey and save me from all small annoyances. i trust that we shall meet again." "i hope so indeed. never shall i forget the debt of gratitude that i owe you. perhaps some day i may be able to repay that debt to a small extent. remember, that in case of need you may rely upon me to the utmost. at any rate, you must not refuse to accept this; it is a present from dost mahomed, not to an english officer, but to a persian merchant who has saved the life of his sister's son. he talks continually while with me of the nobility of your action, and when i told him that you were going he had his turban brought and took out this gem, which was its chief ornament, and bade me hand it you in remembrance of the deed. i told him you had said that you would receive no present for a simple act of humanity. more i could not tell him without revealing your secret, though i know that it would be safe with him. you cannot refuse to take this. as for myself, i am here an exile far away from my own people, and have but this to give you as a token of my love. it is my signet ring. if you send it to me i will go through fire and water to come to you. my tribesmen will all recognize it, and will do anything in their power for its possessor." angus saw that, offered as it was, he should greatly hurt the afghan's feelings if he refused the immense ruby surrounded by diamonds that dost mahomed had sent him. "i will not refuse the gift of the ameer so given to me, and shall cherish it as my most valued possession and the gift of a man whom i for one, and i may say most british officers, consider to be very badly treated by us. i know from sir alexander burnes that dost mahomed was most anxious for our alliance. shah soojah is as unpopular among us as among his own people. of course, as soldiers, it is not our business to concern ourselves with politics; that is a matter for the government only. still we cannot but have our feelings, and i am sure that should the fortune of war ever place dost mahomed in our hands he would receive honourable treatment. your gift i shall prize as highly, as a token of our warm friendship, and trust that the time may never come when i have to put its virtue to the test, though i well know that i could in necessity rely upon any help that you might be able to give me." after talking for some time of the best route to follow, sadut khan took an affectionate leave, and angus started the next morning with his party. before setting out he bestowed handsome gifts upon hassan and his followers, whom he had learned to like greatly for the devotion they had shown to sadut and the energy and courage with which they had worked during the journey. travelling from twenty to five-and-twenty miles a day, with occasional halts, he reached cabul after two months of travel. his journey had been greatly facilitated by the order that he carried from dost mahomed. he had not entered herat, as it was probable that he would be recognized there. avoiding the city, he travelled by the same route as before to girishk, and then took a road running a few miles north of candahar and falling into the main road at kelat-i-ghilzye. his first step was to see sir alexander burnes and to report to him that assuredly dost mahomed would come south with a considerable force as soon as the passes were opened. his following would not itself be very formidable, but he relied upon being joined by all the tribesmen south of the hills. "your news is most opportune," the agent said, "and can hardly fail to induce the governor-general to alter his determination to withdraw the greater part of our force in the spring. already we have not a man too many for contingencies that may arise. now, tell me about your journey. the winter set in so severely directly you left us that i have been seriously uneasy about you. i had only one message from mackenzie after you had left, it was brought by a native; and he told me that you had passed through, but that the weather had changed for the worse the day after you started, and the universal opinion among the natives was that you and your party had perished." angus gave an account of his journey. he had thought over the question whether it would be wise to mention the episode of the wounded afghan, but he concluded that it would be better to do so, as mackenzie, when he rejoined the force, might casually mention that he had a sick man with him; and he therefore told the whole story as it happened. "i admire your humanity, mr. campbell, though it seems almost quixotic to burden yourself with a wounded man. but, as you say, it was evident that if you could manage to carry him through he might be of great service to you. undoubtedly he would have been a valuable prisoner to have in our hands, but his gratitude to you may prove valuable to us, for the momunds are a powerful tribe, and your conduct to him cannot but have inspired him with a better feeling towards us than he has hitherto shown." "he may have less animosity, sir, but i fear that he will still be found fighting against us. on the way he spoke many times of his determination to continue the struggle until afghanistan was free from the infidel; i am convinced that his indignation at the treatment of dost mahomed, and his fanaticism are so strong that no private matter is likely to shake them." the winter passed quietly, and the attention of burnes and macnaghten was turned rather towards the frontier than to the state of things round cabul. yar mahomed, virtual ruler of herat, although he was receiving large sums of money from us, was known to be intriguing with persia, and trying to form an alliance with the shah to expel the british from afghanistan. russia had sent an expedition against khiva, and the conquest of this little state would bring her more closely to the frontier of afghanistan. dost mahomed, however, had gone on a visit to the ameer of bokhara, and had been detained for the present by that treacherous ruler; thus for a time the prospect of an invasion on his part was greatly diminished. in the spring macnaghten and shah soojah returned to cabul. the former continued to ignore the warnings of sir a. burnes, as to the ever-growing hostility of the afghans to the british and the man they had forced upon them. his advice and that of burnes had been so far followed that the force at cabul had not been diminished; but, not content with this, macnaghten continued to urge on the indian government the necessity of sending a great force to occupy herat and another to cross the mountains and thwart the projects of the russians by carrying our arms into bokhara. moreover, he was continually applying for money to meet the expenses of shah soojah's government. as if the drain that these demands would entail upon the indian treasury and upon the indian army were not sufficient, he insisted upon the necessity of conquering the punjaub, where, since the death of runjeet sing, the attitude of the population had been increasingly hostile. it is difficult to understand how any perfectly sane man could have made such propositions. it would have needed the whole army of india to carry them out, to say nothing of an enormous outlay of money. although the governor-general and his council firmly declined to enter upon the wild schemes proposed to them, macnaghten did not cease to send them lengthy communications urging the absolute necessity of his advice being followed. as the summer came on there were everywhere signs of unrest. in april the ghilzyes cut the communications near candahar, but were defeated by a small body of troops sent from that city. the beloochees, whose country had been annexed, were bitterly hostile, and convoys were cut off. candahar was invested by them, quettah besieged, and khelat captured. with the exception of macnaghten himself, there was scarcely an officer in the army but was conscious of the tempest that was gathering round them. shah soojah was as unpopular among them as among the native population. macnaghten was almost as unpopular as the shah. everyone knew that it was his influence that had first induced lord auckland to enter upon this war, and the levity with which he replied to every warning, and the manner in which he deferred to shah soojah in every respect, and allowed him to drive the tribesmen to despair by the greed of the tax-gatherers, incensed the officers of the army to the utmost. in the spring the little garrison of bamian were on the point of being reinforced by a sepoy battalion when dr. lord, who had been sent as political officer, received information that led him to believe that jubbar khan, one of dost mahomed's brothers, who was in charge of dost's family at khooloom, was ready to come in. one of his sons had already done so, and lord thought that by sending forward a force to the fortress of badjah he would quicken jubbar khan's movements. it had the desired effect, and jubbar khan came into bamian bringing with him dost mahomed's family and a large party of retainers. this, however, in no way improved the position of the little party at badjah, for the natives in the vicinity exhibited the greatest hostility. the officer in command sent a detachment under sergeant douglas to escort another officer to badjah. the party was, however, attacked, and although they made a gallant resistance, they would have been destroyed had not two companies of ghoorkas arrived on the spot and beat off the enemy. in august the startling news arrived that dost mahomed had escaped from bokhara. he was received with open arms by the governor of khooloom and a large force speedily gathered round him. early in september he advanced upon bamian with eight thousand men. badjah was attacked, and although the ghoorka regiment kept back the assailants, it was evident that so advanced a post could not be held, and the force retreated, leaving all their baggage behind them. a regiment of afghan infantry had been raised and were stationed at bamian, but on hearing of dost mahomed's approach they deserted to a man, most of them joining the enemy. even macnaghten could no longer shut his eyes to the serious nature of the position. cabul was full of sikh emissaries, who were stirring up the population to revolt, promising them that the sikh nation would join in driving out the infidel. reinforcements under colonel dennie reached bamian on the th of september, and on the th dost mahomed with his army approached the place. ignorant that the whole force was upon him, dennie sent mackenzie with two guns and four companies of native infantry and some four hundred afghan horse, and himself followed with four more companies in support. on joining the advanced party, he found that the whole of dost mahomed's force was in front of him. in spite of the enormous disparity of numbers, he determined to attack; a wise resolution, for although in our indian wars the natives often fought bravely when they attacked us, they seldom offered a vigorous opposition when we took the offensive. mackenzie's two guns opened fire with shrapnel, which had a terrible effect upon the dense masses of the enemy. these were unable to withstand the fire, and soon began to fall back. mackenzie followed them, and again opened fire. before long, dost mahomed's levies broke and fled; and dennie launched the afghan horsemen in pursuit. these cut down great numbers of the enemy, and dispersed them in all directions. the effect of this signal defeat was at once apparent. the governor of khooloom entered into negotiations without delay, and pledged himself not to harbour or assist dost mahomed; the country south of khooloom was divided, he taking half, while the southern portion came under the authority of shah soojah. the victory caused great satisfaction in cabul, but this feeling was short-lived. dost mahomed after his defeat went to kohistan, where there was great discontent among the chiefs, some of whom were already in revolt. general sale sent a force from jellalabad, which attacked a fortified position held by them, but the assault was repulsed with heavy loss. it was about to be renewed, when the kohistanees evacuated the fort and fled. the fact, however, that our troops had met with a repulse had a great effect upon the minds of the natives. for the first time the afghans had successfully withstood an attack by british soldiers. throughout the month of october dost mahomed was busy, and at one time approached within forty miles of cabul, when guns were hastily mounted on the citadel to overawe the town, and orders sent to the force at bamian to return at once. dost, however, moved no nearer. sir robert sale was pursuing him, and it was not until the th that he moved down again towards cabul, and on the th the greater part of the force there marched out to give him battle. on the nd of november the two armies came face to face in the valley of purwandurrah. the ameer at once moved from the village to the neighbouring heights, and the british cavalry galloped to outflank the afghan horse. these were comparatively few in number, but headed by dost mahomed himself, they advanced steadily to meet the indian cavalry. gallantly as indian troops have fought on numberless fields, on this occasion they disgraced themselves utterly. turning rein as the afghans approached, they galloped away in headlong flight, pursued by the afghans until within range of the british guns. their officers in vain attempted to arrest their flight, charging alone into the midst of the enemy. two of them were killed when surrounded by enemies, dr. lord was shot, and the other two cut their way through their assailants and reached the british line covered with wounds. no more disgraceful affair has taken place in the story of our wars in india than this rout of indian cavalry by a third of their number of wild horsemen. but even yet the affair might have been retrieved had an officer like dennie been in command; had the guns opened and the infantry advanced it might still have been a repetition of the victory of bamian. but sir a. burnes was in authority, and, easily discouraged, as was his nature, he gave no orders, but sent off word to macnaghten that there was nothing for it but to fall back to cabul. suddenly, however, the position was changed by dost mahomed himself. as he rode back after the victorious charge he thought over his position. his imprisonment at bokhara had not broken his spirit, but it had affected him by showing him that the mohammedans of central asia could not be trusted to work together or to unite to beat back the ever-advancing wave of infidel aggression by the british on the south, and the russians on the west. but more than this, the defection of his brother at khooloom, and the surrender by him of his family, had convinced him that it would be vain for him to continue to struggle to regain the throne that he had lost. the kohistanees had risen before he joined them, and he had the satisfaction of showing that his bravery was in no way shaken by his misfortune, and of gaining a success of a most striking description. now at least he could lay down his sword with honour. accordingly, without telling anyone of his intention, he rode off the field with a single attendant, and on the following day reached cabul and rode to the british embassy. as he approached it he saw macnaghten returning from his evening ride. his attendant galloped forward and asked if the gentleman was the british envoy, and on macnaghten saying that he was so, he then returned to his master; and dost mahomed riding forward, dismounted, saluted the envoy, and handed him his sword, saying that he had come to surrender and to place himself under his protection. macnaghten returned it to him, and told him to remount, and they rode together into the residency, dost mahomed asking eagerly for news of his family, of whom he had not heard since their surrender. being assured that they were well and were honourably treated, he was greatly relieved. a tent was pitched for him, and he wrote at once to his son, begging him to follow his example. he conversed freely with macnaghten, gave him the history of his wanderings and adventures, and assured him that there was no occasion to place a guard over him, as his mind had quite been made up before he came in, and nothing short of force would compel him to leave. his only anxiety was that he should not be sent to england, and on macnaghten assuring him that this would not be the case, and that an ample maintenance would be assigned to him in india, he became perfectly contented and calm. as a result of his letter, three days later his eldest son, mahomed afzul, came into camp and surrendered. dost remained two days at cabul, where he was visited by many of the british officers, all of whom were impressed most strongly by him, comparing him very favourably with the man for whom we had dethroned him. macnaghten wrote most warmly in his favour to the governor-general, urging that he should be received with honour and a handsome pension assigned to him. he was sent down to india with a strong escort, where he was kindly received by the viceroy, who settled upon him a pension of two lacs of rupees, equivalent to £ , . unfortunately, just at the time that the ex-ameer returned to cabul a european regiment, a battery of horse artillery, and a regiment of native infantry were recalled to india, and with them went sir willoughby cotton, and the command for the time being remained in the hands of sir robert sale. angus campbell had not accompanied sir a. burnes when he left cabul with the force which marched out to encounter dost mahomed, but had been left in charge of the office at cabul. he was now his chief's first civil assistant, his temporary appointment to the civil service having been approved and confirmed by the court of directors at home in consequence of the very warm report in his favour sent by eldred pottinger and mr. m'neill. sir a. burnes, too, had in his letters spoken several times of his energy and usefulness, and on his return from his expedition through the passes, both burnes and macnaghten had reported most highly both of his volunteering to undertake so dangerous a mission, and of the manner in which he had carried it out. in return the directors had sent out an order for his promotion to a higher grade, and had ordered that a present of £ should be given him in token of their recognition of his conduct. "your foot is well on the ladder now," sir a. burnes had said on acquainting him with the decision of the board. "you will now have your name on their books as one of the most promising of the younger officers of the company, and you may be sure that they will keep their eye upon you. macnaghten will shortly return to england, and i have long been promised the succession to his post. i shall certainly request, and no doubt my wishes will be acceded to in such a matter, that you should hold the position of my chief assistant. as such you will have many opportunities of doing good service, as you will naturally proceed on missions to the chiefs of neighbouring peoples, and will so qualify yourself for some important post in the future." macnaghten, indeed, was extremely anxious to leave. bodily and mentally he had suffered from the strain and anxiety. he had been promised a high post in india, probably the succession to the governorship of bombay, but it was considered advisable that he should remain at his present post till the country was more settled. the winter passed quietly. with the submission of dost mahomed and his sons there was now no rival to shah soojah, no head round whom those discontented with the ameer's rule could rally. he was the less unwilling to remain, as he thought that an era of peace had now begun, and that his anxieties were at an end. he was soon, however, undeceived. on shah soojah's first arrival in india he had naturally looked to the dooranees for aid against the barukzyes, who had so long oppressed them, and had made many promises of remission of taxation as an incentive to their zeal. these promises had so far been kept, that no taxes whatever had been exacted from the dooranees; but in view of the absolute necessity of raising an income for the expenses of the government, and for the personal expenditure of the ameer and his favourites, it became necessary that all should contribute to some extent to the revenue. although this tax was but a tithe of that which they had paid under barukzye rule, the dooranees of the district of the north-west of candahar rose in rebellion, and general nott marched out from that city and defeated them in a pitched battle. for a time the movement was crushed, but the discontent remained. this was rendered more formidable by the fact that the heratees had taken up so offensive an attitude that our mission there had been withdrawn, and proofs were obtained that its ruler was fomenting the discontent in the western province, and was encouraging the disaffected by promising them assistance. in may more serious trouble arose, this time with the ghilzyes. it had been determined to restore the dismantled fort of kelat-i-ghilzye. the tribesmen viewed the work with hostility, and assembled in larger numbers, and nott sent a force against them under colonel winder, with four hundred british troops, a sepoy battalion, a battery of horse artillery, and a small body of cavalry. the ghilzyes advanced to the attack in great force. the battle was long and desperate, but the volleys of grape from the guns, and the steady fire from the infantry, at last turned the scale, and after five hours' fighting the ghilzyes retired. the dooranees were again in arms, and three thousand men were assembled under their chief at girishk. a small force, under colonel woodburn, marched out against them and defeated them, but having no cavalry on which he could rely, he could not prevent the rebels from retiring in fair order. major rawlinson, the political officer at candahar, again warned macnaghten that the situation in western afghanistan was extremely threatening, but was answered that this was an unwarrantable view of our position, and that there were "enough difficulties, and enough of croakers, without adding to the number needlessly." but rawlinson was perfectly right, and macnaghten was living in a fool's paradise. the defeated chief of the dooranees was joined by another, and in august a force of eight hundred cavalry, of whom some were regulars, three hundred and fifty infantry, and four guns, under captain griffin, met the insurgents. they were strongly posted in a succession of walled gardens and small forts, but the fire of the guns and infantry drove them from the enclosure, and the cavalry then charged them with great effect and scattered them in all directions. another defeat was inflicted upon the ghilzyes in the same month. for the moment all was quiet again; the only drawback to macnaghten's satisfaction was that akbar khan, dost mahomed's favourite son, was still in the north, and was reported to be gathering troops somewhere near khooloom. in september macnaghten received news of his appointment to the governorship of bombay, and began his preparations for leaving cabul, and burnes looked forward to receiving at last the appointment for which he had so long waited. his position had been in every respect irksome. his views differed from those of macnaghten; he saw the dangers of the position which macnaghten refused to recognize. the reports he addressed to the envoy were generally returned with a few lines in pencil of contemptuous dissent; but he believed that with power to act in his hands he should be able to remedy the blunders that had been made, and to restore peace and contentment in afghanistan. the troops were now commanded by general elphinstone, who had succeeded cotton. he was a brave old officer, but almost incapacitated by infirmities. he obtained the post simply as senior officer, and was wholly unfitted for command in such a critical time and in such a position. probably had it not been for the assurances of macnaghten that all was going on well, and that the trifling risings had been crushed without difficulty, lord auckland would have yielded to the opinion of his military advisers and appointed general nott. had he done so the greatest disaster that ever fell upon the british army might have been avoided. nothing could be worse than the position in which the british camp and mission were established. they were on low ground, commanded on every side by hills, and surrounded by forts and villages. they were nearly a mile in extent, defended only by so contemptible a ditch and rampart, that an english officer for a bet rode a pony across them. the commissariat compound was near the cantonment, and occupied an extensive space with the buildings and huts for the officers. it, too, had a rampart, but this was even less formidable than that which surrounded the camp. things had now settled down. many of the officers had sent for their wives and children, and lady macnaghten, lady sale, and others were established in comfortable houses. the climate was exhilarating, the officers amused themselves with cricket, horse-racing, fishing, and shooting, and lived as if they had been at a hill station in india, instead of in a mountainous country surrounded by bitter foes. october came in quietly, though pottinger, who was now in kohistan, sent unfavourable reports of things there. but these were as usual pooh-poohed by macnaghten. the latter's troubles with the indian government, however, continued unabated. the expenses of the occupation of afghanistan, amounting to a million and a quarter a year, were a terrible drain upon the revenues of india, and it had become necessary to raise a loan to meet the outlay, and the question of a withdrawal from afghanistan was being seriously discussed. none of the good results that had been looked for had been achieved, nor did it appear likely that the situation would improve; for it was evident to all unbiassed observers that the ameer was upheld solely by british bayonets, and that when these were withdrawn the whole fabric we had built up at so enormous an expense would collapse. the uneasiness of the indian government was increased by the fact that a change of ministry was imminent at home, and that the conservatives, who had always opposed the invasion of afghanistan, would at once take steps for the withdrawal of the troops from the country; and the investigation which would be made into the whole affair would create intense dissatisfaction in england, and lead to the recall of the indian politicians responsible for it. the news stirred macnaghten to fury; but he saw that it was necessary to make retrenchments, and accordingly he largely cut down the subsidies paid to the chiefs. the consequence was, that the leaders of the whole of the powerful tribes, including those round cabul, the kohistanees, ghilzyes, and momunds, at once entered into a hostile federation against the british. sale's brigade, that was about to start on its way to india, was ordered to attack the ghilzyes at jellalabad, and on the th colonel monteith was sent with a sepoy regiment, a squadron of cavalry, and a party of sappers and miners, to keep the passes clear. the force was, however, attacked at the first halting-place, and sir robert sale marched with the th regiment to clear the pass from his end. joined by monteith's force, he succeeded in driving the natives from their heights, the sepoys and the british soldiers vying with each other in climbing the almost inaccessible crags. the th retired down the valley, and monteith encamped in the khoord cabul pass. he was attacked at night, the enemy being aided by the treachery of the afghan horsemen, who admitted them within their lines. they were, however, beaten off, and monteith was joined by sale on the following day. negotiations were then opened with the ghilzyes; terms were made, but broken by the treacherous tribesmen a few hours after they had been signed. on his way back to jellalabad sale was attacked more than once in great force, and with difficulty cut his way down. macnaghten, who had determined to leave on the st of october, but had postponed his departure for a short time, wrote on that day that he hoped the business just reported was the expiring effort of the rebels. angus had remained with burnes at cabul. the latter was much depressed by the occurrences that had taken place. he had greatly disapproved of macnaghten's wholesale cutting down of the subsidies of the chiefs. "how unfortunate am i!" he said many times to angus. "had macnaghten gone but two months earlier, this would never have happened. it has been money alone that has kept the tribesmen quiet, and the very worst form of retrenchment has been chosen. had he gone i should have acted in a very different way. in the first place, i should have told the ameer frankly that the troubles were solely caused by the rapacity of the men he had appointed to receive the taxes. these must be dismissed, and honest and faithful ones appointed in their place. it is the abominable tyranny with which the taxes--of which i believe but a small portion ever get into the treasury--are collected that has brought about the trouble. with proper administration the revenue could be doubled, and the taxation would press much more lightly upon the people than it does at present. now the evil is done, and i shall have to take over the administration when everything points to a terrible catastrophe, with which my name will ever be associated." chapter xiii the murder of sir a. burnes october passed quietly, and macnaghten arranged to leave on the nd of november. burnes had received several warnings as to the formidable nature of the confederacy of the chiefs. mohun lal, the principal moonshee, who had been down to sale's camp, told him that if the conspiracy was not crushed in its infancy it would become too strong to be suppressed. burnes replied that he had no power at present, but that as soon as macnaghten left he would conciliate the chiefs by raising their allowances to the former point. on the st of november mohun lal again expressed his opinion of the danger. burnes replied that he feared the time was coming when the british would have to leave the country. he was in one of his moods of depression, but from this he recovered in the evening, and congratulated macnaghten upon leaving when everything was quiet. at the very time he was speaking the hostile chiefs were assembled together, and were discussing the methods that were to be taken to overthrow the british power. they determined that the first step was to forge a document in the ameer's name, ordering all the people to rise, and at the same time to spread a report that it was the intention to seize all the principal chiefs and send them prisoners to england. it was singular that they should not have waited a few days, for the indian government had sent peremptory orders that the whole force at cabul, with the exception of a single brigade, should return with macnaghten to india. the chiefs decided that as a first step a tumult should arise in the city, and this they at once set about exciting. they had no idea that it would succeed, and none of them ventured to take any part in it, as it was only intended to excite the passions of the rabble of the city. early the next morning a friendly afghan brought burnes news that the residency was about to be attacked. he did not believe the intelligence, as the city had of late been as quiet as usual; but on sending out some of his servants into the street they reported that there was certainly an unusual stir and excitement. he wrote to macnaghten saying so, but stating that he did not think the matter at all serious, although at the same time he requested that a military guard should be sent to him in order to overawe any disaffected persons. angus had gone out early with azim. the latter had for some days past spent his time in the city, and each evening had returned with the rumours he had gathered. the talk in the lower quarters was all of the understanding at which the chiefs had arrived, and the general opinion was that in a few days these would pour down with all their forces and annihilate the infidels. angus himself noticed the sullen expression on the faces of the lower class and the manner in which they scowled at him as he passed, and quite agreed with his follower that the troubles he had long foreseen were about to come to a head. when in the streets, too, he had an uneasy consciousness that he was being followed. several times he turned sharply round, but in the throng of natives in the streets he could recognize no face that he knew. this morning the feeling was particularly strong, although, as he had often done before, he assured himself that it was pure fancy on his part. "i am not conscious of feeling nervous," he said to azim, "but i must be getting so. it has been a very anxious time all the year, and i suppose that without my knowing it it must have told upon me. however, i will turn down this quiet street, and if anyone is following us we shall certainly detect him." a hundred yards down another lane crossed the one he had taken. azim had looked several times, but no one else turned down the lane, which was entirely deserted. as they passed the corner of the next lane some men suddenly sprang upon them. cloths were thrown over their heads, and in spite of their struggles they were lifted up and carried along rapidly. in a couple of minutes they stopped. angus heard a door open. they were borne along what he thought was a passage, thrust into a room, and a door was slammed to and locked behind them. they tore off their mufflers and looked around. it was a room of no great size, with strongly-barred windows. there were cushions on a divan that ran along one side. on a low table in the middle of the room were two cold chickens, a pile of fruit, a large jar of water, and two bottles of native wine. "what on earth does this mean?" angus said, "and why have we been carried off?" azim did not attempt to reply. "we are prisoners, that is certain," angus went on; "but it would certainly look as if they meant to make us comfortable, and the room must have been prepared in readiness for our reception. i see no hope of getting away; the windows are very strongly barred, and," he continued as he walked across and looked out, "this little yard is surrounded by houses without windows on the ground floor, and with no door that i can see. i suppose there is one below us; anyhow, if we could get through these bars we should be no nearer liberty, for at best we could only re-enter the house, and possibly the door is fastened on the inside. there are certainly men in the house; i heard voices in the passage just now, and no doubt one of the fellows is stationed there. the only reason i can imagine for their carrying us off is that we are to be kept as hostages. of course i am known to be burnes's chief civilian assistant, and they might think that if i were in their hands he would be willing to make some concessions to get me back again. it is of no use worrying over it; we are not so badly off as we were in that snow-storm in the pass. the best thing we can do for the present is to make a meal, for we did not take anything before we started." [illustration: as they passed the corner ... some men sprang on them.] they had just finished their breakfast when the sound of musketry was plainly heard. "there is fighting going on," angus exclaimed. "what can it mean? there are no troops in the city except the native guards at our house and the treasury next door. it is either a fight between two factions in the city, or they are attacking our place. it is maddening being fastened up here just at this moment. the news brought by that afghan this morning that we were to be attacked must be true, though sir alexander altogether disbelieved it. he was in one of his happiest humours this morning, as to-day he was to obtain the goal of his hopes and to be the resident political officer, with all power in his hands. when he is in that mood he disbelieves all unpleasant tidings, while in his fits of depression he gives credit to every rumour that reaches his ear. still, the house should be able to hold out against a mob until help arrives from the camp; but whether or not, my place should be by his side whatever comes of it." "if there is really a rising in the town, sir, we are certainly safer here than we should be in the streets, or even in the house." "that may be," angus said impatiently, "but my duty is to be there." he paced restlessly up and down the room. presently azim said: "i can't think how the men who seized us knew that we were coming along. it was quite by chance that you turned down the lane." "they must have been close to us when we did so," angus said, "and must at once have run round by another lane and posted themselves at the corner where we were seized. we were not walking fast, and there would have been time for them to get there before us if they had run. but why should they have taken this trouble? and why should they have prepared this place beforehand for our reception? it beats me altogether." after the firing had continued for a few minutes it ceased; then they could hear a confused roar of shouting. "good heavens!" angus exclaimed, "they must have taken the house. the troops cannot have arrived in time, or we should have heard sharp volleys. this is maddening." "well, sir," azim said philosophically, "if we had not been carried off we should have been in the house when they attacked it, and should have shared the fate of the others, whatever it may be." "that is true enough," angus agreed; "still, i ought to have been there. ah!" he broke off suddenly, "they have not taken either your sword or mine, or my pistols"--for although not in military uniform the civilians generally carried swords, a necessary precaution when the whole native population always went about armed; and angus in addition carried pistols also concealed in his dress. "it is extraordinary that they should not have disarmed us." "i do not think that they intended to do us harm," azim said; "they could have cut our throats had they chosen to do so, when they brought us here, without fear of discovery. why should they leave us our swords and provide a good meal for us if they intended to murder us afterwards?" "that is so, azim, and it makes the affair more incomprehensible. i tried to get at my pistols as they carried me along, but they held my arms too tightly for me to do so. it seems to me possible that this is the work of someone who was aware of the intended attack, and who doubted whether the troops would not enter the city and slaughter many of the inhabitants, and so thought that by producing us at the right moment he would not only clear himself, from any charge of taking part in the affair, but would earn a reward for having saved our lives. i certainly have no friend in the city who would be likely to seize me for any other object. of course, i was in communication with most of the important persons here, but it has been simply in an official way." "whoever it is must have been watching you for some days, master, if, as you thought, he has been following you whenever you went out." "i can have no doubt on that subject now, azim," and angus sat thinking for some time. "i think," he said suddenly, "it must be sadut khan; if so, we are safe. we know that he was with the ameer, and rode with him when he defeated our cavalry, and it has been reported that he has since returned to his tribe, though we have no certain information about it. it is possible that, knowing we were about to be attacked by the whole force of the tribesmen, he has borne his promise in mind, and has employed men to watch me and take steps, if necessary, to secure my safety. that certainly would explain what before it seemed impossible to understand." the noise in the town still continued. at one time there was sound of heavy musketry firing. "the troops have entered the city," angus exclaimed; "there will be hard fighting, for in the narrow streets an armed mob can offer a desperate resistance even to the best troops. but in the end they will put down this tumult, and if sir alexander has been murdered, exact a heavy penalty for his death." in half an hour the firing gradually abated, and the musket shots came more faintly through the air. "our men are falling back, azim, there can be little doubt about that by the sound. there cannot be any great number of troops engaged. what on earth can macnaghten and elphinstone be doing?" the roar of shouting in the streets became louder, and there was an occasional sound of firearms. "it is quite evident that the mob are in entire possession of the city, azim. they are looting the traders' quarter, and probably murdering all the whites who have taken up their residence there." these fears were fully justified. the houses of sir alexander burnes and captain johnson, the paymaster of the ameer's troops, adjoined each other. johnson had, fortunately for himself, slept that night in the camp. sir alexander had with him his brother, lieutenant burnes, and lieutenant broadfoot, his military secretary, who had just arrived. curiously enough, it was the anniversary of the disastrous fight at purwandurrah, in which fight broadfoot's eldest brother had been killed. soon after angus had gone out the ameer's minister arrived and repeated the warning already given by the friendly afghan. burnes could no longer doubt that there was danger, but he refused to leave his house, saying that as soon as the news that there was a tumult reached the camp, the troops would be at once despatched to put it down. he, however, wrote urgently to macnaghten for support, and sent messengers to the most powerful native chief in the town begging him to calm the people, and assure them that all grievances should be redressed. one of the messengers was killed on the way, the other managed to return to the house desperately wounded. the gathering in the street increased every moment. burnes with the two officers went out on to a balcony, and from thence harangued the mob. his voice was drowned by yells and curses, weapons were brandished, and an attack was made on the doors of both houses. part of the mob were fanatics, who thought only of slaying the infidels, but a still larger party were animated solely by a desire to share in the sack of the ameer's treasury next door. the native guards both of sir alexander and the treasury opened fire, and for a time maintained themselves with the greatest bravery. of the english officers, broadfoot was the first to fall, shot through the heart. the position became more and more desperate. a party of the insurgents had set fire to the stables and forced their way into the garden. burnes was still attempting to lull the fury of the crowd. long ere this troops should have arrived to his rescue, but there were no signs that they were approaching. at last, seeing that all was lost, he disguised himself and went out into the garden with a man who had sworn by the koran to convey him and his brother safely into camp. no sooner, however, did they issue out than the traitor shouted: "this is burnes." the mob rushed upon the brothers and hewed them to pieces. the defenders of the two houses fought bravely to the last, but were finally slaughtered to a man. sir alexander burnes owed his death to the faults of others rather than his own. having been previously at cabul as the british agent, and speaking the language perfectly, it was to him the people made their complaints, to him they looked for redress. they knew nothing of macnaghten. when they found their condition growing from bad to worse, their taxes increasing, their trade at a stand-still, food extremely dear, and employment wanting, it was on burnes that they laid the blame; and yet he was all the time endeavouring, but in vain, to persuade macnaghten that it was absolutely necessary to compel the ameer to abandon a course that was exasperating for people of all classes, from the most powerful chiefs to the poorest inhabitants of the city. burnes was unquestionably a man of great ability, and had he been in macnaghten's place with full power and responsibility, things would probably have turned out differently. the expedition from the first was a gigantic blunder, undertaken in the teeth of his remonstrances. in any case it was doomed to failure. it was impossible that we could maintain on the throne a man hated by the whole of his subjects--a race of fighting men, jealous to the last degree of their independence, and able to take full advantage of the natural strength of the country. but under the administration of an officer at once firm and resolute, and anxious to conciliate them in every way, the british force might have remained until the indian government could no longer support the expense of the occupation, and could then have withdrawn quietly with the puppet who had proved himself so utterly incapable of conciliating the people upon whom we had thrust him. the great fault in the character of burnes was instability--his alternate fits of sanguine hopefulness and deep depression, and his readiness to believe what suited his mood of the moment. these characteristics were no doubt heightened by the unfortunate position in which he found himself. he had had every reason to expect that in view of his previous residence in cabul and his knowledge of the character of the people, he would have the post of political officer of the afghan capital, and he only accepted a secondary position upon the understanding that macnaghten's appointment was a temporary one, and that he would succeed him. when, however, months and years elapsed, and he was still without any recognized position whatever, when his advice was never adopted and his opinions contemptuously set aside by a man infinitely his inferior, he naturally came to take the worst view of things, and his fits of depression became more frequent. at last he fell, not because his house was isolated, for it could have held out until aid had come, but because the three men whose duty it was to rescue him--macnaghten, the ameer, and elphinstone--were alike vacillating, undetermined, and incompetent. the ameer was the only one of these three to take any steps. when he heard of the riot he sent down a regiment of hindoostanee troops to rescue burnes. instead, however, of marching outside the town to the end of the street in which burnes's house was situated, they entered the city by the nearest gate, and tried to make their way through a maze of narrow lanes. their advance was desperately opposed. from every house and roof a fire of musketry was kept up, and, after losing two hundred of their number, they fled in utter confusion to the shelter of the citadel. elphinstone in his report says that he received the news at half-past seven that the town was in a ferment, and shortly after the envoy came and told him that it was in a state of insurrection, but that he did not think much of it, and expected the revolt would shortly subside. macnaghten suggested that brigadier shelton's force should proceed to the bala hissar to operate as might seem expedient, while the remaining force was concentrated in the cantonment, and assistance if possible sent to sir alexander burnes. it was not, however, until between nine and ten that shelton received his orders; and almost directly afterwards another note arrived telling him not to move, as the ameer had objected. to this shelton replied that in an insurrection of the city there was no time for indecision, and recommended the general at once to resolve upon what measures he would adopt. he was then told to march immediately to the bala hissar, where he would receive further instructions from macnaghten. just as he was marching off, a note came from this officer telling him to halt for further orders. he sent an engineer to ask the reason for this order, but the officer was cut down by an afghan while dismounting just outside the square where the ameer was sitting. soon after this the military secretary himself came with orders for him to enter the citadel. when he arrived there, the ameer asked him who sent him and what he came there for, and he was forbidden to enter the town. all that he could do was to cover the retreat of the ameer's hindoostanee troops. in consequence of all these delays, it was twelve o'clock before shelton moved into the bala hissar, by which time burnes and his friends had been murdered and the riot had spread. houses were burned, shops sacked, and the families of several british officers massacred. it is certain that had the slightest energy been shown, and had a small body of troops been despatched when burnes's first request for help arrived, the riot would have been nipped in the bud, for all accounts agree that for a considerable time not more than three hundred men took part in the attack, and even when shelton urged the necessity for prompt measures burnes might have been saved. except in the case of the rising at meerut in the indian mutiny, never did such disastrous effects result from the incompetence of a british general. the day passed slowly to angus. it was maddening to be helpless when great events were happening. until it became quite dark no one came near them, but at seven o'clock they heard the bolt of the door withdrawn, and a man entered with a torch, by whose light they at once recognized hassan, their guide over the passes. "you here, hassan!" angus exclaimed. "i had always thought of you as back again in your tower near bamian. is it you who has thus made us prisoners?" "we were sorry to use force, effendi, but there was no other way. sadut khan charged us to look after your safety, and we have kept you in sight for some days. he was living in this house in disguise. he was absent yesterday evening to take part in the conference with the other chiefs, and did not return until after midnight. then he said, 'there will be a tumult in the city to-morrow, hassan, and probably the house of the officer burnes will be attacked. what will come of it i do not know. i myself and the other chiefs are leaving at once, so that if things go badly we can disavow any connection with the affair. the young officer, my friend, is, as you know, at burnes's house. he must be rescued. prepare this room for him. if he leaves the house before the attack begins, you must seize him and carry him in here. if his servant is with him, bring him also; he too must be saved. he waited on me kindly, and did all in his power for me. if he should not leave the house, then you and your followers must join the mob and keep together, forcing yourselves to the front, so that you will be the first to enter the house. take long cloaks to throw round them, and get them out, even at the cost of your lives.' "i told him that it should be done. you saved his life, and you also saved ours, for we should have been suffocated in the snow-storm had you not cut your way out and come to our rescue. so it has been done. we were glad indeed when we saw you come out. had you not turned down that lane, i should have come up and accosted you, and, telling you that i had an important message to deliver to you, should have asked you to come with me to a quiet spot, where i might deliver it safely. as it was, directly you turned down, we ran round, and, as you know, captured you without noise and without being observed by you. you will, i trust, pardon me for having laid hands on you; but i had orders from the khan, who told me that i should have to use force, as he was sure you would not, however great the danger, he persuaded to leave burnes." "what has happened?" "the englishman and two others with him have been killed. one of the ameer's regiments entered the town, but was driven back. there is looting going on everywhere. many have been killed, and many houses burnt." "but what is our army doing?" "nothing. there is a force at the bala hissar, the rest are under arms in their camp." "it seems impossible!" angus exclaimed. "however," he went on, stifling his indignation for the time, "i have to thank you deeply, hassan, you and sadut khan, for having saved our lives. assuredly you took the only way to do so; for had you only told me of the danger that threatened sir alexander burnes, i should have returned to warn him and share his fate, whatever it might be. as it was, i cannot blame myself that i was absent. i thank you with all my heart. pray tell the khan when you see him that i am deeply grateful to him. he has nobly redeemed his promise, and i hope some day to thank him in person." "now, sahib, we will start at once," hassan said. "i have clothes for you to put over your own, and there is no fear of our being suspected. we will take you to within shot of your camp." he called out, and his four men entered, bringing with them afghan disguises. when these were put on, they sallied out at once. the five men were fully armed, and long afghan guns were given to angus and azim. the streets were full of people, for the most part in a state of wild excitement, though the better class looked grave at the prospect of the retribution that would probably fall upon the city, perhaps to-morrow or certainly in a day or two. none paid any attention to the group, who differed in no respect from the majority of those around them. issuing from one of the gates, they made their way to the cantonments. when within a few hundred yards the afghans stopped. after a hearty farewell and renewed thanks, angus and azim left them. they had taken off their disguises, and offered them to hassan to carry back, but he said, "you had best keep them; you may want them again. there is no saying what may happen." and they accordingly carried them with them. in a short time they were challenged by a sentry, and halted till the latter had called a sergeant and four men. then they went forward. angus was recognized at once, as he was known by sight to everyone in the camp. in a short time they met an officer, who told them the news of the massacre of burnes, his brother, and broadfoot, and their guard, which was already known, as one man had escaped the general slaughter, and had, after hiding for some hours, come into the camp. angus went at once to macnaghten's house and sent in his name. the envoy came out into the hall. "i am glad to see that you have escaped, mr. campbell. i thought that all had perished, though your name is not specially mentioned as among the victims." "i was not in the house, sir," angus replied. "sir alexander burnes had sent me out to gather information, and i and my servant were suddenly seized and carried into a house, where we were kept as prisoners all day. after it was dark we made our escape, having obtained disguises from a friendly afghan." "well, i am glad," macnaghten said; "but you must excuse me now, for the general is here, and we are holding a council. you had better for to-night take up your quarters in poor burnes's tent. i shall have time to attend to matters to-morrow." although burnes had his residence in the city, he had a large tent not far from the envoy's house. this he occupied when he had business in camp, and it was here that he received natives who brought him news, or who had grievances that they wished to report to him. here angus lay down for the night, with a deep feeling of thankfulness that his life had been spared, mingled with a foreboding that the troubles had only begun, and that there was yet much peril in store before the army were safely out of afghanistan. in the morning angus again went up to the envoy's. "i have been thinking, mr. campbell," macnaghten said when he entered, "as far as i have been able to think on any one subject, how your services can be best utilized temporarily. i think that, if you would not mind, you might be attached to the commissariat, and assist captain boyd and captain johnson." "i will gladly do so, sir," angus said. "i will take up the work at once." "anticipating your consent, i have already written a letter for you to take to those officers." glad to have work before him, angus went at once to the commissariat camp. the two officers were at breakfast. both rose and congratulated him heartily on his escape. "how on earth did you manage it?" he gave as brief an account as he had done to sir william macnaghten, and then handed them the letter he had received from the envoy. "that is good news," captain johnson said heartily. "we shall be glad indeed to have your aid. i will have a tent pitched for you at once by the side of ours. of course you have not breakfasted. sit down with us. what do you think of the state of affairs? you know a good deal more than we do of the disposition of the afghan chiefs." "i think things look very bad," angus said gravely. "after what seems to me the imbecility shown yesterday, to which the death of my chief is due, it is impossible to feel anything like confidence in the general." "that is the universal feeling in camp," captain johnson said. "if we had sale here i believe everything would go right, but poor elphinstone is only fit for a snug armchair in a comfortable club. he is no more able to cope with a crisis like this than an old woman would be. in fact, for choice i would take the average old woman. "orders have been given for an attack upon the town to-day, but it is more than likely that it will be countermanded. if elphinstone can make up his mind to throw his whole force, with the exception of a strong camp guard, against the city, we should certainly carry it. no doubt there might be a considerable loss of life, but that could not be helped. it would certainly be successful. then i should say we ought to turn the whole of the afghan population out of the town, move all our provisions and stores there, and settle down for the winter. we could beat off any attack that the afghans could make against us. as it is, we are terribly anxious about the stores. you know that i originally established all the magazines for the ameer's army in the bala hissar. then macnaghten came up with the ameer from jellalabad, and he told me that the ameer objected to the magazines being there. that was quite enough for macnaghten. he always gives in to the ameer's wishes, however ridiculous. so we had to leave the storehouses i had built and move out bag and baggage. "the only place that i could get was the camel sheds half-way between this and the town, and unless a strong garrison is sent down there the afghans are certain to take possession of them. but boyd's stores are even more important. they are within four hundred yards of the defences of the camp, and contain all our grain, our hospital stores, our wine and beer, our sugar, and everything else. and if his stores and mine are both lost, we shall have starvation staring us in the face at the end of a week. just look out over the plain. since daylight there has been a steady stream of men from the hills, and from all the villages round, flocking into the city; they have heard of the capture of my treasury, and are eager to share in the looting. if they succeed in capturing the stores and provisions, god help us all." chapter xiv a series of blunders numerous as had been the blunders, and great the mismanagement up to the nd of november, matters might yet have been retrieved had the conduct of affairs been in resolute and energetic hands. macnaghten was personally a brave and fearless man. had he at last felt the necessity for strong measures, an attack upon the city would certainly have been attended with success. now that the first burst of hate and passion had passed, the inhabitants were filled with apprehension at the punishment that would fall upon them, and none doubted that the british army would at once attack the town. the army itself expected this, and, furious at the treacherous massacre of sir alexander burnes and his comrades, were burning for the order to attack. the troops were under arms early, but no orders were issued for a forward movement. some hours later the th regiment of native infantry, with two mountain guns, came in from khoord cabul, having brushed aside the opposition it had met with on its march. with this valuable addition to the fighting strength in the camp all opposition could have been easily overcome, and yet until three o'clock in the afternoon nothing whatever was done. by this time what could have been effected with comparative ease in the early morning had become a far more difficult operation. vast numbers of the tribesmen had been pouring into the city since daybreak, and the two miles of plain between the camp and the city, which earlier in the day could have been traversed without a shot being fired, were now covered by a host of fierce enemies; and yet, after wasting so many valuable hours, the general, instead of throwing the whole of the force in the cantonments, and that of brigadier shelton at the bala hissar, against the city, sent only three companies of infantry and two guns to the attack. naturally this handful of men failed; and it was well for them that they did not penetrate into the city, for had they done so they would assuredly have been overwhelmed before they had gone fifty yards. however, the officer in command, seeing the impossibility of the task set him, withdrew his detachment in good order. the result of the day's operation, if it could be so called, was disastrous, the troops, who had until then been eager to be led against the enemy, and confident of success, were irritated and dispirited, and lost all confidence in their commander; while, on the other hand, the afghans were jubilant over what they considered the cowardice of the enemy. the next day the misfortune invited by the passive attitude of our troops happened. only eighty men were in charge of the commissariat fort. the little party were commanded by lieutenant warren. early in the day a threatening force of the enemy approached, and warren sent a messenger urgently asking for reinforcements. but the afghans had already occupied an old fort that commanded the road between the camp and the commissariat fort. considering the enormous importance of the stores, an overwhelming force should have been sent out to drive off the assailants, and to occupy the fort in such strength that it could be held against any assault. instead of doing this, two companies only of the th regiment were sent. the two captains in command were killed by the fire from the afghan fort, other officers were wounded, and the men fell so fast that the officer who was senior in command, seeing the impossibility of reaching the store, drew them off. then an order was issued--which was practically the death-warrant of the army--by general elphinstone, for a party of cavalry to go out and bring in the little garrison. this party suffered even more severely than the preceding one. from every wall, building, and orchard a storm of musketry broke out, and the troopers, after suffering great loss, again retired. the news that the general intended to abandon the store struck dismay into the officers of the commissariat. captain boyd hurried to head-quarters, and urged the general to send a force that would sweep away all opposition, and to hold the fort at all hazards. the general promised to send a reinforcement, but no relief was sent. as night was coming on, captain boyd and captain johnson again went to the general and pointed out in the strongest language the result that would follow the abandonment of the stores. the unhappy old man hesitated, but on a letter being brought in from lieutenant warren saying that the enemy were mining the walls, and some of the sepoys, seeing their position was desperate, were deserting, he promised that a strong detachment should be sent at two o'clock in the morning to storm the afghan fort and relieve the guard at the commissariat stores. orders were accordingly issued, but these were presently countermanded, and it was decided that the force should not move until daylight. by that time it was too late. warren had repulsed an attack on the walls, but seeing that the enemy were preparing to fire the gate and renew the attack, he retired through a passage that had on the previous day been dug under the wall, and reached the camp in safety. but this was not the only disaster that happened that day. captain johnson's store of provisions for the use of the ameer's troops, on the outskirts of the city, was also attacked. captain mackenzie, who was in command of the little garrison there, defended his post throughout the day with the greatest gallantry; but water was scarce, and ammunition failing, and large numbers of women and children were in the fort, with great quantities of baggage. urgent letters were sent asking for reinforcements, but no reinforcements came. had they arrived the situation would have been saved. the kuzzilbashes were ready to side with the british. several of their commanders were with mackenzie, but when they saw that no help was sent, they refused to join a cause that seemed to them lost. all night the fighting went on, and all next day, until his men were utterly worn out, and the ammunition exhausted. no more could be done, and when night came on, he moved out of the fort and fought his way to the cantonments--a brilliant action, which showed what could be accomplished by a mere handful of men well led. while mackenzie was thus fighting for the stores under his charge, the troops in the cantonments were condemned to see crowds of afghans looting the stores within four hundred yards of our camp, carrying off the supplies that had been garnered for their subsistence through the winter, and this without a man being set in motion or a gun brought to bear upon the plunderers. furious at the imbecility of their leaders, the soldiers clamoured to be led against the enemy. unable to resist the demand, the general ordered the th native infantry to move out; but instead of being led straight against the enemy, the officer in command hesitated and halted, and soon fell back with the indignant sepoys. general elphinstone was already talking of making terms with the enemy, and seemed to despair of victory when no attempt had been made to gain a success. on the th, however, a party of the th were again sent out under major griffiths. again it was seen what could be done by an energetic officer. the afghan fort was stormed, the enemy were driven out, and were routed by a party of horse, who dashed at them gallantly. the troops could be no longer restrained, and cavalry, infantry, and artillery poured out; but there was no general plan, and the consequence was, that although desultory fighting went on all day, nothing was accomplished. had any general plan of operation been laid down, and a combined action fought, the enemy would have been utterly unable to withstand our troops, worked up to fury as these were by the disgraceful inaction that had been forced upon them. in the meantime, starvation would have already stared the troops in the face had not captains boyd and johnson, aided by angus and other officers of their department, gone out to the native villages and succeeded in purchasing a certain amount of grain. but already the troops were on half rations, and even these scanty supplies could not long be available. the general, while his troops were out fighting, wrote to macnaghten, urging that negotiations should be opened with the enemy, and saying, "our case is not yet desperate, but it is becoming so very fast." macnaghten himself was conscious of this, conscious that, under such leading, the situation was fast becoming desperate, and he employed the moonshee, mohun lal, who was still in cabul under the protection of the kuzzilbash chief, to endeavour to bribe the chiefs of the ghilzyes. two lacs of rupees were offered. the chiefs gave a favourable reply, and then macnaghten, with his usual instability, was seized with a suspicion that they were not sincere, and abruptly broke off the negotiations, thereby mortally offending the ghilzye chiefs. fresh danger was threatening in another direction. mahomed akbar khan, the second son of dost mahomed, was on his way with a force from the north, and had already advanced as far as bamian. mohun lal suggested that an emissary should be sent to offer him a large allowance if he would join the british. his suggestion was carried out, and money was spent in other quarters lavishly. but it was now too late. a quarter of the sum would, a fortnight earlier, have sufficed to satisfy the demands of all the chiefs of the tribesmen. now that success had encouraged the assailants of our force, and the whole population had taken up arms against us, inspired alike by fanaticism and hatred and thirsting for blood, it was doubtful whether even the chiefs could restrain them had they chosen to do so. in their letters and journals the officers still spoke with kindness and respect of their unfortunate general. he had been a brave and able soldier, but age and terrible infirmities had rendered him altogether incapacitated for action. he had for months been suffering from gout, and had almost lost the use of his limbs. only once or twice, after his arrival to assume the command, had he been able to sit on horseback; for the most part he was wholly unable to walk. sometimes he was confined altogether to his couch; at others he was able to be taken out in a palanquin. his mind was also enfeebled by suffering. on the very day of the first outbreak he had been a little better, and had mounted his horse; but he had suffered a very severe fall, and was carried back to his quarters. it was altogether inexcusable that lord auckland, against the advice of the commander-in-chief and the remonstrances of his other military advisers, should have appointed such a man to a command which, beyond all others in india, demanded the greatest amount of energy and activity. there were many men who might have been worthily selected, men with a knowledge of the political conditions of afghanistan, of the feelings of the people, of their language and of their country. general elphinstone knew nothing of these things, and depended entirely upon the advice of others. had he relied solely upon that of macnaghten, things might have gone differently, but he asked advice from all around him, and took the last that was offered, only to change his mind again when he heard the opinion of a fresh counsellor. he was himself conscious that the position was too onerous for him, and sent down a medical certificate of his incapacity for action, and requested to be relieved. the request had been granted, and he was to have returned to india with macnaghten, but unhappily no other officer had been appointed to succeed him. it is upon lord auckland, rather than upon the unfortunate officer, who, in the teeth of the advice of his counsellors and of all common sense, was thrust into a position for which he was wholly unsuited, that the blame of the catastrophe of cabul should be laid. macnaghten, in hopes that brigadier shelton, a brave officer, but hot-tempered and obstinate, would be able to influence the general and to put an end to the deplorable indecision that paralysed the army, persuaded elphinstone to send for him to come in from the bala hissar to the camp and bring in with him a regiment of the ameer's troops. he came into the cantonment of the th, and his arrival was hailed with the greatest satisfaction, as it was believed that at last something would be done. unfortunately, however, shelton's energy and the general's weakness were as oil on water. no two men were less calculated to pull together. shelton enforced his arguments with a vehemence that seemed to the general insubordinate in the extreme; while the brigadier, on the other hand, was unable to make allowance for the physical and mental weakness of the general, and was maddened by the manner in which orders that had but an hour before been issued were countermanded. on the morning of the th the enemy mustered in great force, and occupying a small fort within musket-shot of the defences, opened a galling fire. macnaghten only obtained the general's consent to a party going out to capture the fort by telling him that unless he gave the order he should himself take the responsibility of doing so, for that at any risk the fort must be captured. thereupon shelton was instructed to take two thousand men and attack it. when they were on the point of starting elphinstone countermanded the orders. shelton, in a fury, laid the case before the envoy, who was as eager as himself, and the general was again persuaded to give the order and the force advanced. it was intended to blow open the gate with powder, but by some accident only a wicket by the side of the main entrance was blown in. led by colonel mackrell the storming party, consisting of two companies of europeans and four of native infantry, advanced. they could with difficulty make their way through the narrow entrance, for they were exposed as they did so to a heavy musketry fire, but two officers and a few soldiers pushed through, and the garrison, believing that the whole column was following them, fled through the opposite gate. but unhappily they were not followed. a body of afghan cavalry threatened to attack the storming party outside, and these, native and british alike, were seized with an unaccountable panic and fled. in vain their officers endeavoured to arrest their flight. the events of the previous week had terribly demoralized them. shelton set them a noble example by remaining on horseback alone, and at last shamed them into returning. again the afghan horse approached, and again they fled. again shelton's expostulations and example brought them back. the guns in the cantonments drove the afghans off, and shelton led his men up to the capture of the fort. in the meantime the handful of men who had entered the fort had been engaged in a desperate struggle for life. the afghans, discovering how small was the number of their assailants, re-entered the fort and fell upon them in overwhelming numbers. when shelton's force entered, colonel mackrell had fallen mortally wounded, and was carried into the cantonments to die. lieutenant bird, with two sepoys, were the sole survivors. they had, when the enemy poured in, taken possession of a stable and barricaded themselves there, and had successfully repulsed every attack. when they were rescued their ammunition was almost exhausted, but they were uninjured, and no fewer than thirty dead afghans lying in front of the stable bore mute testimony to the steadiness and accuracy of their aim. several small forts were abandoned by the enemy, and a quantity of grain was found in them, but as no measures were taken to convey it into the camp, it was lost again when the troops retired. desultory fighting went on all the afternoon without any decisive results, and the next two or three days passed quietly. in the meantime the moonshee was making every effort to bring over some of the chiefs to our side. macnaghten was sending off letter after letter to the political officer with sale, urging the necessity for an instant advance of the force at jellalabad. on the th the enemy occupied a hill within range of the cantonment, and planting two guns there opened a steady fire. macnaghten spent hours in endeavouring to persuade the general and brigadier of the absolute necessity for driving the enemy off the hill, but without success, and it was not until he took the responsibility upon himself that a detachment under shelton was ordered to be sent. it was then four o'clock in the afternoon. the troops advanced in three columns, and the infantry rushed forward with such impetuosity that the two guns with them could not arrive in time to herald their attack. the detachment poured in a volley within ten yards' distance, but they were unsteady from their exertions in mounting the hill, and their fire took no effect. a minute later the afghan cavalry charged down upon them. the attack was unexpected, the men in confusion, and the afghans rode through and through the ranks. the british troops retreated down the slope, where they re-formed behind the reserve; the guns opened fire with great effect, and the infantry again marched up the hill. our cavalry now came into action and drove the enemy before them. the infantry carried the height, and the enemy fled, abandoning their guns. it was now getting dark. a party of the ameer's infantry removed one of the guns; but the afghan marksmen were keeping up a heavy musketry fire, and the troops, british as well as sepoys, were so demoralized that they refused to advance and carry off the other. it was therefore spiked and rolled down the hill, while the smaller gun was brought by the ameer's troops into the cantonment. the enemy, now strongly reinforced, attempted to intercept the retreat, but were beaten off. on the th major pottinger and another officer came in wounded, and reported that the ghoorka regiment that had been retiring from kohistan had been entirely destroyed. they defended themselves courageously against overwhelming forces, and held the barracks they occupied until maddened by thirst; then they rushed to a stream, where the enemy fell upon them and cut them to pieces, the two mounted officers alone escaping after innumerable dangers. on the th macnaghten heard that there was no hope whatever of assistance from sale, who was himself surrounded with difficulties. he now urged that the force should all retire to the bala hissar, behind whose strong walls they could have maintained themselves. but shelton vehemently opposed the step, which would have saved the army from destruction, urging that the abandonment of the cantonments would be an acknowledgment of defeat. on the rd of november the enemy again appeared on the hill from which they had been driven, and a strong force moved out against it. strangely enough, however, they only took one gun with them. the day was disgraceful as well as disastrous, for the british force was signally defeated and the gun was lost, and the troops re-entered the cantonment in headlong flight, hotly pursued by the afghans till they reached the protection of the earthworks. their conduct showed how completely the imbecility and vacillation of their commanders, and the effect of the insufficient rations on which they had to subsist, had destroyed the moral of the troops. the men who a month before could have driven the afghans before them like sheep, were now unable to cope with them even when in superior numbers. on the th elphinstone addressed a letter to macnaghten stating his opinion that their position could no longer be maintained, and that he should at once enter into negotiations with the enemy. he accordingly sent a message to the insurgent chiefs inviting them to send in a deputation to discuss the conditions of the treaty. two of their leaders came in, but as they demanded that the british should surrender at discretion, giving themselves up, with all their arms, ammunition, and treasure, as prisoners of war, macnaghten resolutely rejected the offered terms. angus had been constantly employed from the day he reached the cantonments. his work was to go out with small parties of the natives employed by the commissariat to bring in the grain that boyd and johnson had purchased. there was no slight risk in the work, for although the villagers were glad to sell their corn on good terms, the party who fetched it ran the risk of being cut off by any band of tribesmen they might encounter. of an evening he talked over the situation and prospects with the two officers. absorbed in work as they all were, they were less influenced by the feeling of hopelessness than those who had nothing to do but to rage over the trap into which they had fallen through the incapacity of their leaders. still, they did not attempt to disguise from themselves the magnitude of the danger. "i have no faith in any treaty that could be made," boyd said. "an afghan is only bound by his word as long as it pays him to keep it. they will take macnaghten's money, and will promise that we shall be allowed to go down the passes without molestation; but i am mistaken indeed if we shall not be attacked the moment we enter them. if they do so, few of us will ever get through. the men are weak now from want of sufficient food. they are utterly dispirited and demoralized, as is shown by their shameful flight yesterday. besides, they will be encumbered with a host of camp followers, women, and children. i am still of opinion that our only hope is to take refuge in the bala hissar, and shelton's vehement opposition has already put a stop to that. for myself, i would rather that they attacked us here, even if the attack meant our annihilation. it would be better to die so than cooped up hopelessly in the passes. at best the march would be a terrible one. the cold is severe already, and we hear that the snow is deep in the passes; not so deep as to render them impracticable, but deep enough to render the passage a terrible one." "of course we are bound to stay with the rest and do our best to the end. were it not for that, we three might escape. we all speak the language well enough to pass as natives. you, indeed, have already done so. however, of course that is not to be thought of; indeed, it would probably amount to the same thing in the end, for we could scarcely hope to reach either jellalabad or candahar." "no, it is not to be thought of, johnson," his companion said. "we have to do our duty to the last. i still hope that the general may yet have an hour of inspiration and deliver battle in good order. i believe that the troops would fight well if they did but see that they were properly handled." on the following day they learned that akbar khan had arrived. he was greeted with great enthusiasm and much firing of guns. macnaghten had a faint hope that he would side with us, as his father, mother, and brothers were in our hands in india; but, on the other hand, he had every reason for bitter animosity against the british, who had, without any ground for complaint, invaded the country and dethroned his father. the prince bore the reputation of being frank, generous, and far brighter and more cheerful than the majority of his countrymen; at the same time he was passionate and impulsive, given to sudden bursts of anger. the wrongs that he and his family had suffered were, indeed, at present predominant in his mind. for two years he himself had been an exile from his country. his father, who had tried so hard to gain the friendship of the british, had been dethroned by them; and as it was notorious that their captives were always honourably treated, he felt that no action upon his part would recoil upon their heads. he himself was now the heir to the throne if he could win it. he was extremely popular among the people, who hailed his advent as giving them a leader whom they could rely upon, under whom the chiefs of the tribesmen could lay aside their mutual jealousy and animosity and join in the effort to drive the foe for ever from their country. he did not, however, at once assume the chief authority. the nawab mahomed zemaun khan, a cousin of dost mahomed, had been proclaimed ameer by the tribesmen, and all orders were sent forth in his name. he was a man of humane and honourable nature, of polished manners, and affable address. as soon as he learned the state of affairs, akbar khan took immediate steps to prevent further supplies being taken into camp. he burned the villages where grain had been sold, and placed bands of men to attack any parties coming out from the camp to purchase grain. day after day passed, messengers came and went between macnaghten and the nawab, but nothing was done; the food supply dwindled; only three days' rations remained in camp. the supplies doled out were scarcely sufficient to keep life together. the oxen and other baggage animals were in such a state of starvation as to be wholly unfit for service. the store of fuel had long been used up, some men died of cold, and all suffered much. macnaghten was still hopeful, and early in december again urged a retirement, but in vain. the enemy had now guns planted in several positions, and kept up an almost constant cannonade on the camp. on the th there were but three days' half rations left, and the general informed macnaghten by letter that it was absolutely necessary to surrender upon the best terms that could be obtained; and the three senior officers also signed the letter, saying that they concurred in it. on the th there was but one day's food left for the fighting men, the camp followers were starving. again and again macnaghten urged that a force should sally out and at all costs bring in provisions, but the general knew that the men could not be relied upon to fight. the time had come when even macnaghten saw that all hope had gone save in surrender. he drew out the rough draft of a treaty, and met the leading chiefs of the afghans at about a mile from the river. by this treaty the british were to evacuate afghanistan. they were to be supplied with provisions for the journey, shah soojah was to abdicate, and to have the option of accompanying them; but if he did so, his wife and family were to remain as hostages until dost mahomed and his family were released. the troops at jellalabad were also to retire, as well as those at ghuznee and candahar. four british officers were to be left as hostages, to return to india on the arrival of dost mahomed and his family on the frontier. the conference lasted two hours, and its main stipulations were agreed to. the meeting then broke up, on the understanding that the british troops were to evacuate the cantonments in three days, and that provisions should in the meantime be sent in. the treaty was a humiliating one, but macnaghten was not to blame for it. when the three military chiefs had declared that there was nothing for it but surrender, he was forced to make the best arrangement he could, and the terms of the treaty were as good as could have been expected in the circumstances. when the conference broke up captain trevor, one of macnaghten's staff, accompanied the chief to the city as a hostage for the sincerity of the envoy. on the th the bala hissar was evacuated. akbar khan pledged himself to conduct the garrison safely to the cantonments, and kept his promise, succeeding in inducing the crowds of horsemen who gathered round to let the little detachment pass. the provisions, however, were not sent in as agreed, and the chiefs refused to send them until the garrisons were withdrawn from the forts they occupied round the cantonments. the parties were each suspicious of the other's good faith. on the th snow began to fall heavily. macnaghten tried desperately to win over some of the chiefs, lavishing money among them. the afghans made fresh demands, and demanded more hostages, and lieutenants conolly and airey were handed over to them. on the nd akbar khan sent in fresh proposals, to the effect that the british were to remain in afghanistan till the spring, and then to withdraw as if of their own free-will. shah soojah was to remain as ameer, and akbar as his minister. as a reward for these services akbar was to receive an annuity of £ , and a bonus of £ , . macnaghten accepted the terms, and agreed to meet akbar. the offer was so strange that elphinstone and others thought that it was probably a plot. macnaghten replied that he did not think that it was so, but in any case he would go. after breakfast he sent for the officers of his staff, lawrence, mackenzie, and trevor, who had returned, and begged them to accompany him to the meeting. an hour later they set out with a few horsemen. as they rode on macnaghten admitted to his officers that he was well aware that it was a dangerous enterprise, but that he was playing for a heavy stake and the prize was worth the risk. "at all events," he said, "a thousand deaths are preferable to the life i have of late been leading." the parties met at some hillocks six hundred yards from the cantonments, where some horse-cloths had been spread upon the snow by akbar khan's servants. macnaghten presented to akbar a splendid horse he had admired. they dismounted, and macnaghten took his place on the blankets. trevor, mackenzie, and lawrence sat behind him. suddenly the envoy and his companions were violently seized from behind. the three officers were dragged away, and each compelled to mount horses ridden by afghan chiefs, who rode off through the crowd. trevor unfortunately slipped from his insecure seat, and was instantly cut to pieces, while the other two reached mahomed khan's fort alive. in the meantime the envoy himself was struggling desperately on the ground with akbar khan. exasperated by the resistance of his victim, whom he had only intended to seize, the afghan's passion blazed out, and drawing from his girdle a pistol, which macnaghten had given him the day before, he shot him through the body. instantly his followers closed round and hacked him to pieces. thus died a gentleman who, in other circumstances, might have made a great reputation for himself. possessed of unusual talent, his course was marred by his propensity to believe all that he wished, to disbelieve all that ran counter to his own sanguine projects. during the last month of his life he did all that man could do to avert a catastrophe, but he had been unable to instil his spirit into any of the military commanders, or to induce them to take the only course to redeem the position, by giving battle to the foe that surrounded them. he was the author of the ill-fated expedition to afghanistan, he was its noblest victim. his peculiar temperament was fatal to him. even when there was no longer any ground for hope he still continued to be sanguine. he had all along believed in himself, and scoffed at the warnings of men who knew the country and people--of burnes, rawlinson, pottinger, and others. he was thoroughly sincere; he was always able to convince himself that what he believed must be true, and he acted accordingly. he was not a strong man; had he been so the course of events might have been altered. he deferred in every way to shah soojah's wishes, however much these might be opposed to his own judgment. he allowed him to misgovern the country, to drive the natives to desperation by the exactions of his tax-gatherers, and to excite the bitterest animosity of the chiefs by the arrogance with which he treated them. a strong man would have put a stop to all this--would have intimated to the ameer that he held the throne solely by the assistance of british bayonets, and that unless he followed british counsels he would at once yield to the oft-repeated wishes of the indian government and order the retirement of the troops. chapter xv a doomed army even the murder of the british envoy within sight of the camp failed to arouse the military authorities from their deadly lethargy. sullenly the troops remained in their cantonments. not a man was put in motion to avenge the deed or to redeem the honour of the army. the only idea was to renew the negotiations that had been broken short by the murder of their political chief. the commissariat had nothing to do. beleaguered as they were, it was impossible to collect provisions unless a strong force was sent out, and the military authorities refused to allow a man to be put in motion. they had no confidence in their soldiers, and the soldiers had none in them. it was their leaders who had made them what they were. macnaghten in his wrath had spoken of them as miserable cowards, but they were not cowards. they had at first full confidence in themselves, and if ordered would gladly have attacked the afghan forces in the open and have carried cabul by storm. but kept in enforced inactivity, while fort after fort was wrested from them without an effort being made to relieve the garrisons, while the whole of their provisions for the winter were carried off before their eyes by an enemy they despised, and feeling that on the few occasions on which they were led from their entrenchments there was neither plan nor order--no opportunity for showing their valour, none for engaging in battle, they lost heart. day by day they were exposed to continual insults from their exultant foes, day by day exposed to a heavy cannon and musketry fire, while the food served out was insufficient to maintain their strength--almost insufficient to keep them alive. it is not wonderful that their fighting powers were lost, and that they had become little more than a rabble in uniform. angus had now no official duties to perform, and he spent much of his time with his old friend eldred pottinger, now a major, who, after macnaghten's murder, took his place, by right of seniority as well as of energy and talent, as chief political officer. he had been employed in the west, but had been sent to cabul, and very shortly afterwards had proceeded to kohistan, returning almost the sole survivor of the little force that was stationed there. his counsel since then had always been for energetic measures, but his voice, like that of macnaghten, availed nothing. he had, however, taken no prominent part in affairs, having been confined to his bed by the wound he had received. he was now recovering from it, and took up the work with the same energy as he had displayed at herat. as he said to angus, "it seems to be my fate to have to do with incapable men. at herat it was yar mahomed and kamran, here it is shelton and elphinstone. elphinstone and kamran have both in their younger days been fighting men. both are utterly worn out bodily and mentally by disease and age. "shelton is a brave man, a hard fighter, but his temper overmasters him. when in the field he shows personal gallantry, but no military capacity whatever. at first he was always in opposition to the general; he has given that up as useless, and beyond always endeavouring to thwart his chief when the latter was roused to momentary flashes of energy by macnaghten, he has sunk into a deep gloom, as if he regarded it as absolutely hopeless to struggle further. i would that any other than myself had been placed in the position i now hold. the terms proposed to macnaghten were hard enough, they will be still harder, still more disgraceful, now. but however disgraceful they may be, they will be accepted by the military leaders, and my name will be associated with the most humiliating treaty a british officer has ever been called upon to sign." his previsions were correct. negotiations were renewed without the slightest allusion being made to the murder of macnaghten, and as if such an event had never happened. while these were going on, little food was allowed to enter camp--enough to sustain life, but no more. at last the terms were settled. the afghan chiefs agreed to supply provisions, and to send in baggage animals, upon payment being made for them. six officers were to be handed over as hostages, all muskets and ordnance stores in the magazines, all money in the treasury, and all goods and property belonging to dost mahomed, were to be surrendered, and dost himself and his family to be returned. no provision whatever was made for the safety of the man we had placed upon the throne. pottinger endeavoured in vain to obtain better conditions. he received no support from the military chiefs; and even when at last he agreed to the terms, he did so with little hope that they would be observed. warnings came from friends in the city that no dependence whatever could be placed upon the chiefs, and that in spite of all promises the force would certainly be attacked on its way down through the passes. no step was taken by the chiefs to send in either provisions or carriage animals, and the escort that was to accompany them did not make its appearance. on the th of january the military authorities determined to march out, contrary to the advice of pottinger, who argued that without carriage and provisions, and without the protection of the chiefs as promised, the prospects of four thousand troops and twelve thousand followers being able to make their way down through the passes was small indeed. angus had come to rely very much upon azim for information as to what was passing outside the cantonment. the latter had during the three years come to speak the afghan language perfectly, and in the attire of a peasant often went out after dark, mixed with the insurgents, and entered the city. he had each time he went out brought back a less hopeful report than on the previous one, and angus was the more impressed since the young fellow was generally cheery, and disposed to look on the bright side of things, taking indeed comparatively little interest in what was going on around him, having absolute confidence that his master would find some way out of any difficulty that might confront him. "i quite agree with all you say, azim, but i am powerless to act in any way. if i were here as a private person i should certainly disguise myself and endeavour to make my way down to candahar, but as an officer i must remain at my post, come what may, and share the fate of the rest. but if you are disposed to try and get down, i will not throw any obstacle in your way, and will furnish you with money sufficient to pay your way either back to persia or down into india, where, with your knowledge of languages, you will have no difficulty in finding employment." azim laughed. "no, master, whatever comes, i will stay with you. just as you are in the employment of government and cannot leave, so am i in your employment." angus did not attempt to push the matter further, for he felt that it would be useless; and indeed, although he would have done what he could to procure his follower's safety, he felt that he would be a great loss to him in many ways. they had been so long together, and had gone through so many dangers in companionship, that he regarded azim as a friend rather than as a servant. "when you have been in the city, azim, have you ever seen our friend sadut?" "no, sir; i have heard that he has been in the city many times, and that he was with the afghan horsemen who drove our people in, but i have not seen him. should i speak to him if i do so?" "yes, you might thank him in my name, and your own, for having saved our lives the other day; but on no account say anything to him about the future. i cannot make any overtures for help to a man who, though a friend of my own, is fighting against us. and indeed, however willing he might be to aid me to the best of his power, he could not do so. if we are really attacked in the pass, mixed up as we shall be with the camp followers, we could not be found in the crowd; and you may be sure that the tribesmen and the ghazee fanatics will be mad with bloodshed and hate, and that even a chief would be unable to stand between them and their victims. even if he were to send a messenger to me to say that he and his men would again save me, if i would let him know in which part of the column i shall ride, i should refuse to do so. it would be an act of treachery on my part to others, weaker and less able to take care of themselves than i am." on the afternoon of the day when the force moved out of the cantonments eldred pottinger sent for angus. "are you ready to undertake a hazardous mission?" he asked. "it is so hazardous that i would send no one upon it, were it not that i consider that those who stay here are running as great a risk. after the murder of burnes and macnaghten, i have not the smallest faith in the chiefs keeping to their promises, and the manner in which they have failed now to carry out the terms of the treaty heightens my distrust in them. i do not believe that any of the messengers that have been sent down of late have succeeded in getting through; and indeed, until to-day it was impossible to say whether we should really start or not. the messages sent down were necessarily vague, and were indeed only requests for aid. i know, and no doubt sale knows, that it is as difficult for him to fight his way up the passes as it is for us to make our way down; but now that, in spite of my advice, elphinstone and shelton and the other officers have decided to wait no longer, but to start at once, a specific message must be sent." "i am ready to try to get through," angus said. "i have no doubt that while we have been negotiating here, the tribesmen from all the country round have been gathering in the passes. the only way would be for me to join some party of men from the villages going that way. once fairly in the pass and among the tribesmen, i could leave the party and mingle with others. of course it would be slow work going on afoot, but i should say that it would be quite impossible on horseback." "i have not much hope that the mission will be of any real use, for sale is himself besieged in jellalabad. still, one must make an attempt. i shall enter in my journals--trusting that they will some day be recovered--that as a last hope i have accepted the offer of mr. angus campbell to carry a message to general sale saying that we are starting, and begging him, if it be possible, to make a diversion in our favour by advancing as far as he can to meet us. i will not give you any written document. you are well known to many of the officers who went down with sale, therefore no question can arise as to the message you bear being a genuine one. if you were searched and any letter found upon you, it would be your death-warrant. still, i believe if anyone could get through alive, you can." "i will do my best anyhow," angus said, "and i will start as soon as it becomes dark. it is all easy enough as far as khoord cabul, after that i shall keep a sharp look-out; if i overtake any party of villagers i shall join them." "i shall come and say good-bye to you before you start, campbell." angus returned at once to his tent. "you have my disguise ready and your own, azim?" "yes, sir, i have both ready, and have two of their long guns and some daggers and pistols." "i have my own pistols, azim." "yes, master, and it will be as well to take them; but they would be seen directly if you had them in your girdle." "no doubt they would, azim, but there are a good many english pistols among them now. there were three pairs they got at sir alexander's house, and there have been several officers killed since. i can give out that i took part in the fight at sir alexander's and got these pistols as my share of the plunder." "are you going anywhere, master?" "yes, i am going to try to get down through the passes to jellalabad. we shall start as soon as it is dark. it will be a terribly dangerous journey, but i hardly think it will be more dangerous than going down with the troops." "what are we to take, master? i will get it ready." "there is not much that we can take. i will go down to the store myself and get eight or ten pounds of ground grain. there is not much of it, for the mills have all been smashed, and we have had to serve the grain out whole; but i know that there are two or three sacks left in the stores. there is no meat to be had, nor spirits--not that i would take spirits if i could get them, for if they were found upon me it would excite suspicion at once. another thing, i must stain myself. my face and hands are nearly as brown as those of the afghans, but if we were searched and they took our things off, they would see in an instant that i was a white. i don't know how we are to get stain." "i should think, master, that if we were to bake some grain quite black, and then pound it and pour boiling water over it so as to make it like very strong coffee, it might do." "a very good idea. well, i shall not want you for the next two hours. i shall go round and see some of my friends and say good-bye to them. mind, whatever you do don't say a word to anyone about our leaving." "i will be sure not to do that, master." azim went out to a little tent of thick native blanket a few yards from that of his master. there he sat looking through the entrance until he saw his master leave his tent. five minutes later he issued out in his afghan dress, long coat lined with sheep-skins, black lamb's-wool cap, high boots, and sheep-skin breeches, and at once set off at a brisk walk. there were at all times many afghans in the camp, and indeed many of the camp followers had, since the cold set in, adopted the same dress; therefore no attention was paid to him, and no questions were asked by the sentries as he passed out at the gates. as soon as he got among the gardens and enclosures he broke into a run, which he continued until he reached a village a mile and a half away, and here he entered one of the cottages. "have you news for us?" one of the four men sitting there said. "yes, and good news. my master starts as soon as it is dark. he will be on foot, and he is going to try and make his way down through the passes." "that is good news indeed," the afghan said. "i was afraid that we should never get a chance. which road will he go by?" "i can't say exactly, but he is sure to leave by the western gate. he would have more chance of getting away unnoticed on that side. of course we shall both be in our afghan dress." "we will be on the look-out. i suppose that he will be armed?" "yes, he will carry one of your long guns and a brace of pistols. you had best choose some spot where you can close on him suddenly, for he would certainly fight till the last." "we will be careful," the man said. "i don't want to get a pistol ball in my body. we shall follow at a distance until we find a convenient spot." "he is sure to keep along at the foot of the hill so as to avoid your people on the plain." "it will suit us best also, as we shall not have far to carry him." "mind, you must make a struggle when you seize me as if i was violently resisting. then, when we start you must order me to walk, and threaten to blow out my brains if i try to escape. my master can learn the truth afterwards. if he were to know it now, he would be furious with me; but in a few days, when fighting is going on in the passes, and a great disaster occurs, he will thank me for having prevented him from throwing away his life, especially as he knows perfectly well that the english in jellalabad could not come out to assist those here." when angus returned to the tent he found azim busy roasting the grain. the afghan costume had been laid aside. "everything is ready, master. the grain is nearly done, and it won't take me long to pound it up. i got a few sticks down at the stores and the kettle is just boiling." "then as soon as it is ready i will stain myself, but i sha'n't put on the afghan dress until the last thing. have you cooked some of the flour?" "yes, sir, i have made four cakes. they are baking in the ashes now. i thought perhaps you would eat one before we started, and we can carry the others for to-morrow." "i wish, azim," angus said, "that there was some chance of this journey being useful, but i feel convinced that no good can come of it. the moonshee has sent in a report that confirms the rumours we heard. there can be no doubt that general sale is strongly beleaguered in jellalabad, and will have all his work to do to hold the place, and therefore it will be absolutely impossible for him to fight his way up the pass." "then why should you go, master?" "because i have been asked to go as a forlorn hope; and also because, however great the risk i may run, i do not think that it is greater than it would be if i went down with the army. we have no baggage animals. we have food for only three days more, and it will only last that time by cutting down the rations still further. the unfortunate camp followers are for the most part without warm clothing of any sort, and will die by thousands. as to the troops, i have no doubt that most of them will fight when they know that unless they cut their way through they are doomed, but their chance of victory is small. here in the open plain they might even now, if well led and worked up to enthusiasm by a stirring speech, thrash the afghans, numerous as these may be; but pent up in the passes, under a fire from every hillside by a foe they cannot reach--for in their present weak state they could never scale the mountains--i believe it will be a massacre rather than a fight. at any rate, if we are to be killed, i would rather be shot as a spy than go through such awful scenes as there will be before a bullet finishes me." "i don't want to die at all, master; but if it be the will of allah, so be it. but, as you say, i would rather be killed straight off than struggle on through the snows in the passes and get killed in the end." as soon as it became dusk, angus and his follower put on their disguises. a few minutes later eldred pottinger came in. "well, as far as looks go you will pass anywhere, campbell, and certainly as regards language there is no fear of your being suspected. the real difficulty will be in explaining where you came from. every village has sent its contingent of fighting men, and if it happened that you met anyone from the place you pretended to come from, the consequences would be very awkward." "i intend to give out that i have come down from arcab, which is a little village to the south of ghuznee. i went out there once with a detachment to buy some cattle. it is hardly likely that any of the men from that place would have come here, for they would naturally join the bands that are threatening our garrison there. of course i can invent some story to account for my not doing the same." pottinger nodded. "well, campbell, i hope that you will get well through it. as i told you, i have not a shadow of hope that sale will be able to lend a hand to us. still, although it is but one in a thousand chances, i feel that it ought to be attempted; and in your case i say honestly that i consider there is no greater risk in your going down by yourself, and having your own wits to depend upon, than in going down with the army--if one can call this broken and dispirited soldiery an army--for in that case the bravest and clearest head would share the fate, whatever that may be, of the dullest and most cowardly." "i quite see that, and agree with you that nothing can be slighter than the chances of the army getting down safely. be assured that whatever happens, so far from blaming you, i shall consider that you did the best for me by sending me on this mission." "i will walk with you to the gate," pottinger said. "in the daytime there is no check upon anyone passing in or out, but at night the sentries are on the alert, and as you are both armed, you would certainly be stopped." a minute was spent in packing their scanty stores into the pockets of their coats, then they started for the gate. here pottinger, after seeing them through, shook hands cordially not only with angus but with azim, whom he had learned to like and value for the devotion he showed to his master in herat. they proceeded on their way without meeting any parties of afghans until they neared the foot of the hill, then, as they were passing along a path through an orchard, a party of men suddenly sprang out upon them, and they were thrown down on their faces before either had time to offer any resistance. angus, indeed, had repressed the natural impulse to try to draw one of his pistols. resistance would have meant death, and it seemed to him that these could only be plunderers. "what are you doing, fools?" he exclaimed. "do you not see that we are friends?" no answer was given. his captors were binding his hands tightly to his side; then before raising him they muffled his head in a blanket. he was then lifted to his feet. he heard the men say to azim that he was to accompany them, and that if he attempted escape he would at once be shot. a man on each side of him put his hands on his shoulder, and one said: "you are to walk quietly with us; escape is impossible, and it were well for you not to attempt it." angus indeed felt that escape was out of the question. he was unable to conjecture into whose hands he had fallen. they were not bent upon plunder, for had they been so, they would have taken his arms, searched him, and probably cut his throat afterwards. it seemed impossible to him that they could know he was a british officer, and the only conceivable explanation he could think of was that men had been scattered all round the cantonment to prevent anyone from leaving, or going out with messages to one or other of the chiefs, and that they had seen him and azim come out, had followed and seized them, and were now taking them to some chief to be questioned as to why they were in the british camp after dark, and for what purpose they had left. certainly the affair reminded him of his friendly capture at cabul; but it seemed to him altogether impossible that sadut could have learned that he was about to start on a mission, or that had he even learned it, he could have known that he and azim would have followed the road on which they had been captured. he soon found that the path they were following was an upward one, and as it became steeper and steeper, he was sure that he was being taken into the hills. once or twice he addressed his captors, but received no answer. he walked, as far as he could tell, for two hours. at last there was a pause. he heard a door open, and felt that he was being taken into a hut. then for the first time the pistols and knives were taken from his sash. his captors, after addressing a few whispered words to some men who were already in the hut, retired, closing the door behind them and piling heavy stones against it. the blanket was then taken off his head. a bright fire was burning in the hut, which he saw was some fifteen feet square. four men, armed to the teeth, were standing by the fire. there was no door save the one by which they had been brought in, and it was evident that the hut consisted only of this room. "you are unhurt, i hope," he said to azim. "yes. i was knocked down before i had time to think of doing anything." "do you know where they have brought us?" "no. they threw a cloth over my head." "how could this have happened, azim? i cannot understand it at all." "no more can i, sir." "when we started to fight against the infidels we never thought that we should be attacked by our own countrymen. it seems to me that there must be some mistake." then he turned to the afghans. "why are we brought here? what harm have we done?" "that i know not," the man said. "you must have done something, or our comrades would not have brought you here. that is their business." "it seems to me," angus said angrily, "it is our business too. our tribe are not at war with any others, and it is a new thing that afghans should attack each other when all are uniting to fight the strangers." "i know nothing about it. i only know that our comrades brought you here, and left us to look after you. there are plenty of traitors among the men who have taken the infidel's gold. they will all be reckoned with when we have finished with the white men. well, they did not tell us to keep you bound, and we will take off the cords if you swear by the faith that you will make no attempt to escape." angus hesitated. it seemed to him that if two of the four men slept he and azim could, if unbound, snatch at their weapons, and at least make a fight for it; that chance would be gone if he gave his word. "no," he said; "i will make no bargain with men who have deprived me of my liberty." "well, just as you like," the other said, seating himself by the fire, "it makes no matter to us." "we may as well sit down too," angus said, and advancing near the fire he sat down by the side of the afghans. azim did the same. "where did you say you came from?" the man who had been the spokesman of the party asked. angus briefly named the village he had before decided upon, and then sat looking silently at the fire. he saw that his chance of being able to discover at present any plan for escape was very small. presently one of the men said, "let us have supper," and rising he went to a corner of the hut, where the carcass of a sheep was hanging from the rafters. he cut off a leg, divided this into slices, which he spitted on a ramrod, and then put it over the fire. in the meantime another had unceremoniously placed the four cakes that were taken from the captives in the embers to warm up. when the meat was done, the leader said to angus: "we do not wish to starve you. we will untie the hands of one of you, and let him eat; when he has done, we will fasten him up again, and let the other eat in the same way." this was done. when they were again securely bound angus said in pushtoo: "you may as well lie down now, friend. perhaps in the morning the men who have taken us will find out that they have made a mistake and will let us go, with apologies for having treated friends so roughly." they lay down close together, but angus was afraid even to whisper to his follower, lest it should excite the suspicion of their guard. for an hour he remained watchful, then he saw two of the afghans lie down, but the other two lighted their pipes, and were evidently going to keep watch. he had tried quietly once or twice to see if the cords that bound him could be loosened, but he found that although they had not been tied unpleasantly tight, they were securely fastened, and did not yield in the slightest to his efforts. he therefore gave up the idea of trying to free himself from them; and indeed, even if the guards should all sleep, the prospect was hopeless, for from the noise made in rolling the rocks against the door, it was certain that this could not be opened without waking the sleepers. it would therefore be necessary as a preliminary to kill all of them, and even then he might not be able to break open the door. at any rate, there was nothing to do at present. after trying in vain to discover an explanation of their capture he fell asleep. he woke several times in the night, but found that two men were always on guard. the next morning he heard the stones removed from the door, but no one entered. the afghans breakfasted, and this time permitted their captives to share the meal with them. from time to time one or other of the afghans went to the door and looked out, and at two o'clock one of them said, "the infidels are moving." the others went out. "have you thought of any way of escape?" angus whispered in persian to his follower. "i can think of nothing," azim murmured. as there seemed no obstacle to their going out angus joined his captors. he could see on the snow which covered the plain below, the dark masses of the troops surrounded by a host of camp followers, while beyond these hovered hordes of afghans. from time to time horsemen rode in, evidently delivered some message, and then went off again. the departure of the troops had been fatally delayed. it was ordered to begin at eight o'clock in the morning, and at that hour they stood to their arms. the day was clear and bright, and although four miles from the camp, angus could clearly see what was going on. although it was now two in the afternoon, only a portion of the troops had left the camp, and it was not till six o'clock, when night had already fallen, that the rear-guard left it. already confusion had set in; the ranks of the soldiers were broken up by the terrified camp followers, and presented the appearance of a vast mob rather than an organized army. had they started at the hour fixed they might have reached khoord cabul in safety, but the loss of time was fatal. only six miles were accomplished, and it was two o'clock in the morning before the whole gathered, when it was seen that their numbers were already diminished. the wretched camp followers, accustomed to the heat of the plains of india, and thinly clad, were the first to succumb. hundreds, especially of women and children, sat down in the snow and were frozen to death. already the afghans were hanging on the flanks, and sometimes making rushes and cutting down many of the unresisting multitude. soon after two o'clock a native came up to the hut and delivered an order to the afghans, who at once cut up the remainder of the sheep, and divided it between them. then their leader said, "we are to move." the ropes that bound the prisoners were loosened. one end was tied round the wrist of each captive, the other being wound round the waist of an afghan, allowing a slack of a yard and a half. as soon as this was done the party moved off. they descended the hill for some distance, and then followed the lower slopes in the direction in which the army was moving. they kept on till long after midnight, and then halted at a deserted hut. far behind them they could see the flames of the burning cantonments, which had been fired by the afghans as soon as they had removed everything of the slightest value. in the morning angus saw that their halting-place was high up above the entrance of the khoord cabul pass. there was as yet no sign of the army, but in the afternoon it was seen approaching in a confused mass. the night had been a dreadful one; soldiers and camp followers, horses and baggage and cattle were huddled in a confused mass. no warm clothes had been served out to the followers, and hundreds were frozen to death during the night, while others were so badly frost-bitten that they were unable to walk. as soon as the troops started again the afghan horsemen attacked the rear, seizing the baggage, capturing the guns, and cutting down all they encountered. at noon akbar khan, with six hundred horsemen, rode up. pottinger sent captain skinner with six horsemen to communicate with him. akbar said that he had been sent out by the nawab to protect them from the attacks of the ghazees. his instructions were to demand other hostages as security for the evacuation of jellalabad, and to arrest the progress of the force, supplying it in the meantime with everything it required, until news of the evacuation of jellalabad by sale was received. the troops, however, did not halt until they reached the entrance of the cabul pass. the night was even more dreadful than the preceding day had been. the sepoys burned their caps and accoutrements to obtain a little warmth, and numbers were frozen to death. at daybreak the crowd of soldiers and camp followers began to push forward, their only thought now being how to escape death. akbar khan spent some hours in negotiations. four more hostages were demanded; pottinger volunteered to be one of them, captain lawrence had been specially named, and pottinger chose mackenzie as the third. it was agreed that the force should move down through the khoord cabul pass to tezeen, there to await tidings of the evacuation of jellalabad. chapter xvi annihilation of the army in terrible confusion the crowd of fugitives--they were now nothing more--all entered the terrible pass. the ghilzyes at once commenced their attack. in vain did akbar khan and his chiefs endeavour to restrain the fanatics. from the hillsides, from every rocky crag they opened a murderous fire. that day three thousand men fell, either from the musket fire or from the knives of the afghans. the dooly-bearers had all deserted on the first day, the greater portion of the camels and ponies had been captured. so far the ladies had escaped; they all rode next to the advanced guard, as this was considered the safest point, for the soldiers here maintained some sort of order, and the afghans, therefore, devoted their attention to the helpless crowd in the rear. again the column halted in the snow. in the morning the camp followers made another rush ahead, but the troops, who were ordered to march at ten o'clock, did not move, for in spite of all the remonstrances of the officers, the general countermanded the order, believing that akbar khan would send in provisions and troops to protect them. another terrible night was passed, and then captain skinner rode into camp with a new proposal from akbar khan, namely, that all the english ladies of the force should be placed under his charge, and that they might be accompanied by their husbands. pottinger remembering that akbar khan's family were in the hands of the british, and believing that he was sincere in his wish to save the ladies and children from destruction, sanctioned the proposal. elphinstone at once accepted it. it was the choice of two evils. on the one hand akbar khan had proved faithless, and on the other certain death awaited the ladies. they were insufficiently clad, had scarcely tasted food since they left cabul, and had passed three terrible nights in the snow. undoubtedly it was the wiser course to trust them to akbar khan. accordingly a party of afghan horse rode in, and lady macnaghten, lady sale, and ten other ladies, some twenty children, and eight officers rode away under their escort. the next morning the survivors started. the sepoys had already lost the greater portion of their numbers; the remainder threw away their guns, which they could no longer use owing to their hands being frost-bitten, and joined the disorganized rabble in front. they were attacked in a narrow gorge, and the pass was soon choked with dead and dying. not a single sepoy survived. of the sixteen thousand men, soldiers and camp followers, that had left cabul four days before, not more than a quarter were now alive. akbar khan watched the slaughter that was going on, declaring that he was powerless to restrain the ghilzyes, whom even their own chiefs could not control. he advised that the remnant of the british army should lay down their arms and place themselves under his protection. the general very properly refused the offer, for akbar khan had already acknowledged that he was incapable of restraining the tribesmen. the march was continued. the rear-guard was commanded by shelton, and nobly they did their work, repulsing several attacks of the enemy, and giving time for those ahead to pursue their way. before daybreak they started again in hopes that they might reach jugduluk that day. despair gave the soldiers strength, and they moved off quietly in order to obtain a start of the camp followers, who paralysed their action. the latter, however, were soon on their feet, and as usual endeavoured to push on ahead of the troops. for some miles the retreat was uninterrupted, but presently a heavy fire opened on the rear-guard. the camp followers then rushed in a tumultuous crowd past the troops, and when, a little later, the head of the column was attacked, they again fled to the rear, not only hampering the movements of the soldiers, but carrying many of them away by the impetus of their rush. steadily until day broke the afghan marksmen maintained their fire. soon afterwards the advanced guard reached a village ten miles from jugduluk, and halting only till the rear-guard came up again pushed forward. shelton, with a handful of the rear-guard, kept the afghans at bay, and covered the retreat until all arrived in jugduluk, where they took their post behind some ruined walls. there was, however, little rest for them; the afghans, in ever-increasing numbers, posted themselves on the heights and opened a terrible fire. three bullocks were found among the camp followers; these were instantly killed and served out to the famishing soldiers, who devoured them raw. again akbar's party approached, and captain skinner went out to remonstrate with him for permitting the continued attacks, but the afghan prince declared himself incapable of repressing his men, as his orders were disregarded. a handful of the th regiment issued out and made a gallant rush at the enemy and drove them back, but as the main body did not follow their example, they again retired behind the ruined walls. all night long and through the next day the force remained at jugduluk. akbar khan sent in a message inviting the general, shelton, and captain johnson to a conference, and promised to send in provisions. this promise he as usual broke, and insisted on retaining the three officers as hostages. the conference was resumed the next morning. akbar now seemed in earnest in his desire to put a stop to the slaughter; but the petty chiefs of the tribes between jugduluk and jellalabad were now present, and these would listen neither to his entreaties nor commands, nor to the offer of large sums of money. they thirsted for blood, and were determined to extirpate the infidels. mahomed shah khan, to whose daughter akbar was married, then came forward and asked whether the british would pay two lacs of rupees for safe-conduct to jellalabad. the general agreed to this, and it seemed that at last the safety of the survivors was ensured. at eight o'clock in the evening the survivors, who now numbered but a hundred and twenty of the th and twenty-five artillerymen, again set forth. no provisions had been sent in during the two days' halt, and all were terribly reduced by famine. the afghans rushed down among the camp followers, killing them unresistingly. the soldiers, however, held together, and, bayonet in hand, drove off their assailants until they reached the jugduluk pass. they struggled up the narrow and terribly steep ascent until when near the summit they came upon a barricade composed of bushes and branches of trees. here the column was thrown into great confusion, the camp followers crowding upon the soldiers. the latter fought with desperation, while the afghans massacred the unresisting camp followers. twelve officers fell here. their number was large in proportion to that of the men. they had been no better clothed, and had suffered equally from cold and hunger; but they did not give way to the depression that during the first two marches had reigned among the troops. they were upheld, too, by the feeling of responsibility, and the necessity of keeping up an appearance of cheerfulness and hopefulness in order to encourage the men. after desperate fighting some twenty officers and twenty-five soldiers managed to break their way through the barricade, and at daybreak reached gundamuck. there were but two rounds of ammunition remaining in the men's pouches. most of them were already wounded, but they were resolute not to lay down their arms, and when called upon to do so they refused. then the mob of afghans rushed down upon them. one officer and a few privates were taken prisoners, but seven officers succeeded in cutting their way through, and being mounted, left the afghans behind them, and reached futtehbad, but sixteen miles from jellalabad. here, however, they were attacked by the peasantry. two were cut down at once; the others rode off, but were pursued and overtaken. four of them were killed, and one only, dr. brydon, reached jellalabad alive, the sole survivor of four thousand five hundred fighting men and twelve thousand camp followers, with the exception only of those who had been taken over by akbar as hostages. this, the greatest disaster that ever befell a british army, was due to the vacillation and weakness that had characterized every action since the murder of sir alexander burnes. had the force pressed forward at once on the morning when it left its cantonment, the greater portion would probably have reached jellalabad, but two days had been lost before the army reached khoord cabul pass, about ten miles from the city. there were fresh halts, fresh delays, fresh futile negotiations again and again, and during the time thus thrown away the enemy from all the mountains round were gathering in the passes to oppose them, and building the fatal barricade in the pass of jugduluk. had the force pushed forward with only an occasional halt of a few hours, they would not have been enfeebled by hunger. by slaying the baggage animals an abundance of food could have been obtained for all, the opposition they encountered would have been comparatively feeble, and cold would have been their only formidable antagonist. truly it seemed that a curse had fallen upon the army; that it was divine retribution for a most unjust and iniquitous war. each day angus and his followers had been taken along, always being halted in positions whence they could see the terrible tragedy that was being enacted. angus was half mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops. azim in vain endeavoured to comfort him, by pointing out that it was not his fault that he was not there, but that he had been sent away from the army by the order of his superior; and that even had he not been taken prisoner, he would not be a sharer in what was going on in the pass. "that is true, azim, but it is a poor consolation to me. i feel sure that pottinger foresaw what would happen, and that it was as an act of friendship, in giving me a chance of getting through safely, that he sent me down. it was no doubt kindly meant, but i would a thousand times rather have shared the fate of the rest." "well, master, for my part i own that i am glad we are up here. i have no wish to be killed, especially as it would do no good to anyone. why should a man throw away his life? allah has given it to us, and we shall die when our time comes. but it would be wicked to throw it away uselessly." "it is all very well to talk like that, azim, when one is in safety, but when one sees one's comrades being slaughtered, a man would not be worthy of the name did he not long to be with them and to die fighting by their side. indeed, we know not at present whether our lives are to be saved. we know not into whose hands we have fallen, or why we should thus be taken along to be spectators of this massacre. the whole thing is bewildering to me." [illustration: angus was half mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops] they now generally conversed in persian. their guards, although keeping as strict a watch as ever on them, interfered with them but little. fortunately the worst scenes took place at night, and were therefore hidden from those on the hill, the incessant rattle of musketry alone telling of the relentless pursuit. on the night of the th the roar of fire had been louder than ever. at last it ceased suddenly. angus and his guards alike remained awake, angus listening in agony to the sounds of the combat, the afghans talking together in low tones. "what do you think has happened?" he asked them when some minutes had passed without the sound of a shot being heard. "either akbar khan has succeeded in persuading the ghilzye chiefs to spare what few there are left of the infidels, or the last man has been slain." angus felt that the latter was by far the more probable solution, and throwing himself down on the ground he burst into tears. the eight days of mental suffering had shaken him terribly, and now, feeling that his worst fears had been realized, he broke down altogether. before daybreak his captors moved some distance farther up into the mountains, and by the cautious manner in which they made their way, often pausing to look back and round, angus concluded that they were desirous of avoiding all contact with their countrymen. he had indeed before observed how careful they were to avoid the afghans scattered on the hillside, and he now concluded that they must be taking him to the tower of the chief, to be dealt with as he might direct, either shot at once or held by him as a hostage, for whose delivery he might obtain a handsome sum should the british again advance up the passes. all day they travelled among the hills. at last they came upon a large village. there were no men about, doubtless all had gone to take part in the fray. the women came out and eagerly questioned them as to the fighting on the night before. "we know nothing," the leader said. "we believe that the last of the infidels has fallen, but we know nothing for certain." without pausing they took the two prisoners, whose appearance had created no surprise, as they were taken for natives, to the chief's tower, a much larger building than the abodes of most of the petty chiefs. standing upon a crag of rock, it overlooked the village; entrance was only obtainable by a ladder leading to a door some thirty feet above the rock. their coming had been observed. an old man stood at the door. "so you are back, suffyd?" "yes, as you see. has the chief returned?" "no; it is two weeks since we saw him last. he started then with all the fighting men from here and the other villages; but i expect it will not be long before he returns, for, from what we have heard, the work must be nearly done." the party ascended the ladder, and the leader spoke a word or two with the old man, who looked greatly surprised. the captives were taken into a room, which by its furnishing was evidently one of the chief's private apartments. "you are free to move about the house," the leader said, "but you must not leave it." in a few minutes a woman entered, bringing a dish of boiled grain with portions of mutton in it. she gave the usual afghan salutation. she was followed by another woman with a jug of water, two mugs, and a bottle. these were placed on a low table, and then without another word they left the room. a minute later they returned with a large earthenware dish full of burning charcoal. "this is a good beginning, azim," angus said, his spirits rising at the sight of the hot food; for although they had not been actually starved, they had been on extremely short rations when their supply of flour was exhausted, their captors being, like themselves, reduced to a handful of unground grain each day. "this does not look as if they meant to cut our throats. evidently our afghan is acting under orders. those orders must have been that we were to be well treated." they ate a hearty meal; then angus said: "see what there is in that bottle, azim." the cork had already been taken out, and azim poured some of the liquor into a tin, and handed it to his master. the latter smelt it. "it is afghan spirits," he said, "the same as they sell in the bazaars in cabul." he filled it up with water, and drank it off. "now, azim, do you do the same." azim, who was not a very strict mohammedan, and had more than once tasted the forbidden drink at cabul, needed no pressing. "well, master," he said, as he put the cup down, "after all this is better than lying dead and frozen down in the pass." angus, warmed with the good meal and by the draught that he had taken, could not disagree with his follower. "i begin to think that you are right, azim, though i did not believe so yesterday. it is certain that had i joined my countrymen i should have perished with them, and assuredly i have been saved from eight days of awful suffering and from death--if, indeed, we are saved from death." "i think we can feel certain of that, master. this is not the way the afghans treat a man whose throat they intend to cut. they certainly do not make a pillau for him, or provide him with a bottle of spirits." "do you know, i have been thinking, azim," angus said after a short silence, "that if it had been possible for sadut khan to know that we intended to leave camp in disguise, this might be his work again. but he could not have known it. no one but you and i, and major pottinger, and the three or four officers to whom i said good-bye, knew anything about it. besides, he would have sent the men who captured us before, and who knew us by sight. and even supposing, which seems to be impossible, that this was his doing, why not have sent us here straight, instead of taking eight days to do a journey that could have been made easily in two, and forcing me to witness the awful scenes in the passes? it is all most extraordinary." "however, there is no question, sir, that whoever our captor may be, he has been the means of saving our lives." "there can be no doubt of that, azim; and though i may not feel that at present, i shall in the future be very grateful to him. even if he were to have us shot directly he comes here, i should still be grateful, for it would be a sudden death and not a lingering one, as it has been to those below. well, it is of no use puzzling ourselves over the matter. i suppose we shall learn how it all came about when the chief, whoever he be, returns here. in the meantime we are certainly a great deal better off than we have been for the past two months in cantonments." "that we are, master. to begin with, i am warm for the first time since the winter set in; and in the next place, i have had a good meal, and do not feel that i could grumble at anything. as to your mission, you said yourself that nothing could come of it, even if you succeeded in getting through, so that in that respect nothing has been lost by our journey being so suddenly brought to an end." the next day some of the men who had been away with their chief returned, and the old man in charge told angus that only one man out of all who had started from cabul had reached jellalabad, but that several officers had been taken as hostages, including the two generals, major pottinger and captain johnson, and two others; also, that all the ladies and children, and the ladies' husbands, had accepted the protection of akbar. it was a relief, indeed, to angus to find that his friends pottinger and johnson had been saved, and as captain boyd was one of the married officers, he also must have escaped the massacre. as to the fate of elphinstone and shelton he was indifferent, it was to them that the misfortune that had befallen the army was largely due; but the thought that his three greatest friends had escaped gave him much pleasure. with these exceptions, that but one man out of sixteen thousand five hundred should have escaped was appalling. that the loss had been terrible he was well aware, but he was hardly prepared for the total annihilation of the force. another two days passed. they continued to be well fed and treated, and the women who waited upon them seemed to regard them as guests rather than as captives, talking freely with them, and only being silent when angus endeavoured to find out the name of their chief. it was evident that on this point they had orders to keep silent. on the third day they heard a stir in the village, and shouts of acclamation and welcome. the room in which they were confined was at the back of the house, and they were therefore unable to obtain a view of what was passing. "we shall learn our fate now, azim," angus said. "i have no fear of its being a bad one, master. we cannot doubt that orders were given that we should be well treated. if we are kept prisoners till the spring, for my part i shall not grumble if they continue to treat us as well as they have been doing." they heard the sound of many footsteps and loud talking, then the door opened and sadut khan entered. he advanced with both hands outstretched to angus. "my dear friend," he said, "how thankful i am that you have been saved where so many have perished!" "and so it is you, chief, to whom i owe my life?" angus said, returning the warm grasp of sadut's hand. "i did not thank you at first, for it seemed to me shameful that an english officer should not share in the fate of his comrades." sadut smiled. "but in no case would you have shared their fate. it is not from that i have saved you, but from being killed on your way down. knowing that the passes were full of our people, i was sure that you must have been taken and murdered. no story you could have told would have availed you. you were not a ghilzye, nor a member of any of the tribes there, and you would assuredly have been detected and killed had i not saved you." "that is so, sadut; and although at first i was half-mad at being unable to join my countrymen, i saw before the end came that, had i done so, my life would have been thrown away uselessly." "exactly; and that was why i ordered that you should be enabled to see all that passed. from what i had seen of you, i was sure that at first you would bitterly resent being taken prisoner, and that even if you knew into whose hands you had fallen you would resist; and it was for that reason that i did not this time employ hassan and his followers to seize you, though all through your journey they kept close at hand, to use my name and authority should any party of tribesmen meet you--not that i had much fear of your detection had they done so. the men with you had orders that in case they did meet such a party, they were to treat you both, not as captives, but as forming part of their own band. still, it was as well that hassan should be at hand in case of need." "i thank you with all my heart, sadut. i could not have done so at first, but i can do so now; you have indeed saved my life. a few days ago that seemed to me as nothing, for i felt that i was dishonoured in looking on at the massacre of my countrymen. i have had time to think it over since, and i now know that the view i took was exaggerated. could i have joined them it was plainly my duty to have done so, but if i was a prisoner no blame could attach to me. have you, chief, taken part in this terrible business?" "no. with twenty of my own horsemen i rode with akbar, who is my friend and relative, but i had no intention of drawing my sword against your people. i knew that they had been promised protection, and i thought that akbar and his force were going to escort them. his word had been given, and i did not think he would withdraw it. "i do not think it was his intention to do so. he could have done much more than he did, but he could not have saved the fugitives. the nawab was alone among the afghan chiefs in the sincerity of his assurances. akbar had no influence with the ghilzye chiefs, and even had he influenced them they could not have restrained their tribesmen and the ghazees. the die was cast. it was allah's will that those who had invaded the country without any pretext, dethroned dost mahomed, who had eagerly sought their alliance, and forced a man we all hated upon us, should meet their fate. over and over again we implored akbar, for the sake of his pledge and his word, to assist your people; even if, in his efforts to do so, he fell, then his name would go down as long as our nation existed as one who died in defence of his oath and his honour. he was all along irresolute. at times he did his best short of attacking the ghilzyes, at other times he held aloof altogether from the scene. at any rate, i can feel that my honour is not soiled. i was not one of those who signed the treaty, but i have done my best to prevent that treaty from being violated. had your people sallied out from the cantonments and given us battle, i should have fought against them. but even had there been no treaty, i would not have taken part in the massacre of men who were practically defenceless, and who were in no way responsible for the crime of their government." "i am glad to hear you say so, chief. i should have been grieved indeed had you taken part in so treacherous and terrible a massacre. but how did you learn that i was going to try to make my way down to jellalabad? that i have never been able to understand." "i kept a watch over you the whole time, my friend. either hassan, or one of his men who knew you, was always in the camp, dressed as one of the camp followers." "but even then i cannot imagine how he could have told that i was going. i knew it myself but a few hours before i started, and only major pottinger and three or four of my friends were aware of it." "my watch was a good one," the chief said, "and when two afghans issued from your tent you may be sure the news was quickly brought to the men who had for some days been lying in readiness, and who were prepared to repeat the adventure in the city." suddenly, to the astonishment of angus, azim threw himself on his knees. "master!" he exclaimed, "you can kill me, but i own that it was i who betrayed you. i had met hassan in the camp, and he told me that assuredly no white man would escape alive, that it was settled that all should be attacked and slain in the passes. he said that sadut khan had resolved to save you, but that to do this with certainty it would be necessary that he should be informed as to your movements, and where you would ride when the army started. he said that unless i helped them it might be impossible to save you. then i agreed to do so, and met him or one of his men every day. as soon as you had left the tent after telling me of your expedition, i ran to the spot where i knew i should find hassan, and told him that we were going alone. he said at once that it would be certain death were you to try to go down the pass, and that you must be carried off as soon as you had left the camp. i knew well that you would be greatly angered, and that if you suspected me you would kill me for my treachery; but that was nothing compared to your life, and so i turned traitor to you, and am willing now that you should order me to be taken out and beheaded." angus held out his hand to his faithful follower. "i should have been angry at first--grieved and angry too, but i cannot be angry now. you did what you believed to be best for me, and i acknowledge that it has turned out so. your treachery was but an act of fidelity, and undoubtedly was the means of saving my life. you did wrong, but it was with the best intentions. you ought to have confided in me." "but i knew that if i did so you would not have consented." "that is true enough; still, i was the best judge of what was consistent with my honour. however, next to sadut khan i owe you my life, and it would be but poor gratitude were i to reproach you. let us say no more about it. i shall remember always that you saved my life, and shall forget that you somewhat betrayed my trust. i have for four years past regarded you as my friend rather than as my servant, and i shall esteem you even more so in the future." azim retired with tears of joy in his eyes. sadut and angus had a long talk together. as if by mutual consent, the subject of the late events was avoided, and the conversation was upon their journey across the bamian and sadut's doings since that time. "i stayed at khooloom until the governor, whom we had trusted implicitly, handed over dost mahomed's family and mine to your people. i happened to be away at the time, and on my return two days later was warned by hassan of what had taken place. when dost returned from captivity among the turkomans, of course i joined him and accompanied him to kohistan, and fought by his side in the battle of purwandurrah. the ameer had said no word even to me of his intention to surrender, and i was thunder-struck when i heard that he had given himself up. i remained there, and took part in the attack on the ghoorka regiment, at charekar. after that i returned home. my fortress, as you know, lies far to the west among the momunds. this place does not belong to me, but to the husband of a sister of mine. she is at present at my place with her husband, who is ill; and as i wished to be nearer to the scene of action, he begged me to use his fort as a residence. i desired to hold myself aloof from the negotiations, as i knew that most of the chiefs were open at any moment to betray the cause for british gold. still, i was often down in the city, where i own the house to which you were taken. i no longer hated your people as infidels--your kindness to me showed me that there was goodness in your religion as well as in mine--but i was still ready to fight against them as the invaders of my country." "and now, chief, what do you propose to do with me?" "that is for you to decide, my friend. i know what you will say, but, though i may regret it deeply, i shall certainly offer no opposition. you are my guest, and it is not for me to dictate to you. i should be happy if you would stay with me till these troubles have passed, but i place myself wholly at your disposal, whatever you may decide upon." "thank you, indeed. it is clear to me that if it is in my power i should immediately rejoin our forces." "i was sure that that would be your wish, and i will send you down with a strong escort to peshawur." "i would rather join sale at jellalabad." sadut khan shook his head. "in that case," he said, "i shall have rescued you in vain. sale's force is already besieged, and it will be but a repetition of cabul. by orders of akbar khan, the ghilzye chiefs have all risen. the town is practically without fortifications, though i hear that the white soldiers have been labouring hard to put the place in a state of defence. but if the army at cabul could not withstand us, still less will sale's force, which is only a third of its strength, hold jellalabad." "you forget, chief, that they are commanded by a man, and not by an utterly incapable person. they are not dispirited by forced inaction or want of food. i do not say that jellalabad may not be taken, but i feel sure that it will offer a sturdy resistance, and the news of what has happened in the passes will only fill the soldiers with fury. at any rate, sale's is the only force that remains of the army to which i was attached, and it is there that it is my duty, with your permission, to go. i am sure that were you in my place that would also be your decision." "so be it," sadut said after a long pause. "were you to go to peshawur you might meet your death there also, as doubtless a force will endeavour to relieve jellalabad, and in that case you would certainly go with them. they will never force their way through the khyber pass. from what i hear the sepoys at peshawur are almost in a state of mutiny. the sikhs have sapped their loyalty, and have assured them that they will never be able to force the pass; and when they do move forward they cannot be depended upon to stand by the british troops so that your danger may be as great one way as another. however, jellalabad is your choice and not mine. the citadel there is strong, and when the town is captured, as it certainly will be soon, the troops can retire there, and may hold out until they make terms and are allowed to return to india." "i do not think they will make terms, sadut. they have had a terrible lesson as to the manner in which treaties are respected by the greater portion of your chiefs, and are not likely to trust again to any promises, but will hold out until they have fired their last cartridge." "they cannot hope to defend themselves," sadut said positively. "akbar khan will himself head the army." "i do not think, sadut, that you know yet what a british soldier can do when well led. there has been no great battle fought since we entered afghanistan, and you must not judge them by the small fights that took place round cabul; the soldiers there had lost heart and confidence in their commander. it will be a very different thing when you meet them confident in themselves and in their leaders. believe me, your hosts, however large, do not frighten them. you know how they have overcome many of the best fighting races in india, and that in the teeth of odds as great as can be brought against them here. i say not a word against the courage of your people, but they want discipline and training, and even a host of men fighting each for himself, cannot withstand the charge of well-disciplined soldiers." "why did they not come up the passes, then, to aid their friends." "because they were deficient in carriage, they were in a country altogether hostile to them, they had many sick, and must have left a strong force to guard them. there may have been other reasons of which i know not, but these are sufficient. for a force to enter these passes without animals to carry their food and their wounded would have been madness. and i believe that sale has not more than twelve hundred bayonets, a force sufficient to do wonders in the plains, but which could hardly fight their way up the passes against thousands of good marksmen, as the afghans assuredly are, armed with guns which carry much farther than their own, and firing in safety behind inaccessible rocks. but whether jellalabad can resist all attacks, as i believe, or whether the place falls, is a matter which does not affect my resolution. it is my duty to be there, and if you will afford me means of getting there i will assuredly go." "we will start to-morrow, then, and the sooner we are off the better. the news of what has happened in the passes will spread like flame through the country, and every fighting man will turn out to complete the work. there is a pathway from here which goes straight down to gundamuck. i will ride with you with half a dozen of my followers; there are plenty of ponies on the hills. certainly no questions will be asked, no suspicions can arise. when we get near jellalabad we shall see how you can best enter. i will ride round the place with you. as i am a friend of akbar's, it will be supposed that i am examining the place to see where an attack had best be made. there are many orchards and small villages round. when we are as near the town as we can get, you can slip from your horse as we go through an orchard. keep under cover in the gardens until close to the walls. when you get within musket-shot you can tie a white cloth to your gun, and you will then be safe." this plan was carried out, and two days later, after a grateful parting from his preserver, angus stood at the edge of the moat opposite one of the gates. chapter xvii jellalabad a sentry had already sent down word that two afghans had approached carrying a white flag, and an officer appeared on the wall. "what do you want?" he asked. "we want to come in, thompson. i am angus campbell, and have escaped almost by a miracle." there was a shout of pleasure, and a minute later the gate was opened, and thompson ran out and warmly shook angus by the hand. "i am delighted to see you," he said. "we all thought you among the slain in the passes. what an awful time it has been since we left cabul on our way, as we believed, to india! we can scarcely believe the terrible news even now. we have learnt but little from brydon, who was, he thought, the only survivor, except the hostages who, he tells us, were given over a few days before the end came. he was desperately wounded, and could scarce sit his horse when he arrived, and has been too ill to give us any details." "i can give very little, for i was not with the army. i started the evening before they left camp, on a mission from pottinger to sir robert sale. pottinger did not think that any help could possibly come, but at the same time he thought it right to make one more effort to communicate with your general, and to tell him that they were on the point of starting. i had gone but a short distance when i was captured. fortunately the men who took me were followers of sadut khan. i was taken to his fort. he was absent at the time; when he returned he at once gave me my liberty, and escorted me to within a quarter of a mile of the wall, as a return for a service i had rendered him two years ago." "that was a piece of luck indeed. then you saw nothing of it?" "yes, i saw a great deal. my captors were, i suppose, anxious to see what was going on, and we followed the course of the army, keeping on the hill; and, except for the fighting at night, i saw almost the whole of the tragedy." while they were talking they were approaching the head-quarters of the general. angus was well known to sir robert, to whom he had often carried messages and notes from burnes or macnaghten. when their first greeting was over, he repeated the story he had told captain thompson. he thought it best to say no word of his escape being the result of a preconcerted plan on the part of sadut khan, as he felt that some might suspect that he was privy to the scheme, and had taken advantage of the friendship of the momund chief to make his escape. "i am not so surprised as i might otherwise have been," the general said, "since i received a letter from pottinger yesterday. akbar had allowed him to send it down, thinking that the information that elphinstone, shelton, lawrence, mackenzie, and pottinger himself were all right might induce us to submit to terms. he said, 'i trust that before this you will have heard that we are about to start from mr. angus campbell, who nobly accepted the desperate mission of penetrating through the passes and bringing you word of our intention. should he have arrived safely, i beg to recommend him most strongly to the authorities for accepting the mission, which seemed almost a hopeless one. he has rendered great service during the time the troops have been in cantonments, by aiding the commissariat officers in bringing in grain.' as you had not arrived we naturally feared that you had been murdered on your way down. i am glad indeed that you have escaped. you will now, of course, give your assistance to macgregor, our political officer." "if he cannot utilize my services, sir, and he can have but little political work to do now, i shall be glad if you will attach me to one of the regiments where you think i may be most useful." "you had better talk it over with macgregor first. you know him, of course; and if he does not want you, i will attach you to my own staff. with your knowledge of the afghan language, your services might be invaluable in obtaining information; or, should we make a sortie--and we have already made one with effect--i should be glad, if you wish it, to attach you either to the infantry or cavalry, whichever you prefer. now that you have told us about yourself, please give us any details you can of what you saw of the fighting?" "it can hardly be said that there was any fighting, sir; until the last day the troops were so completely surrounded, and i may say overwhelmed by the camp followers, that they were practically unable to use their arms. general shelton with the rear-guard fought nobly, and covered the retreat into jugduluk, until the time when he was enticed with the general into akbar's camp, and there held as a hostage. by what i heard, the handful of men left, only about a hundred and fifty all told, fought desperately to break their way through a barricade with which the afghans had blocked the top of the pass. only ten officers succeeded in breaking through, and of these all but one were killed on the road. all the soldiers died fighting at the barricade, and many officers. the last sepoy had fallen two days before." "it has been a bad business," general sale said, "bad not only in its terrible result, but in the manner in which affairs were conducted. we here received with astonishment the news that four thousand five hundred british troops were cooped up by a horde of afghans without one single attempt being made to bring on a battle in the open. officers and men alike were astounded when pottinger's first letter arrived, saying that negotiations were continued after the murder of macnaghten. however, all this is a matter for future investigation. and now a personal question. can you tell me how it was that my wife, lady macnaghten, and the other ladies, escaped uninjured? i only know from pottinger that the ladies and children were handed over to the protection of akbar, and that those who had husbands were also accompanied by them." "the ladies were always kept close behind the advanced guard, sir. as these showed an unbroken front, the afghans allowed them to pass without opposition, falling upon the confused mass behind them." "do you think that akbar was a sharer in this treacherous attack?" "i think his conduct was doubtful in the extreme, sir. he certainly did try more than once to persuade the ghilyze chiefs to allow the survivors to pass on unmolested, but by that time the passions of the afghans were absolutely beyond control. i myself have great doubts whether he would have interfered had he not been well aware that his interference would be useless. but this is only my opinion, based upon the facts, that in the first place he himself shot macnaghten, whom he had invited to a conference; in the second place, he took no step whatever to carry out the condition to supply baggage animals and provisions; and lastly, because i know that long before the column set out on its march, he sent out orders to the ghilzye chiefs to attack you." "the case certainly looks very black against him," the general said; "but at least we may hope that, as his family are in our hands in india, he will protect the hostages." "i hope, sir, that he will hand them over to the nawab, who appears to me to be a thoroughly honest man. undoubtedly he did his best to persuade the chiefs to agree to the treaty with us. he certainly did send in some provisions to the camp, and generally we formed a high opinion of his kindness of heart. your fortifications are stronger than i expected to find them, from what i have heard, sir." "yes, the men have worked incessantly at them ever since we came here. the mud walls can scarcely be said to have existed when we marched in. there was no parapet, the ditch was filled in with rubbish, and the walls had so crumbled away that carts could cross over them at almost every point. fortunately the men were in good heart, and all, europeans and sepoys, have worked with an energy beyond praise. the moat has been cleared out and filled with water, the walls have been scarped, and a parapet twelve feet high erected. the bastions have been put in order; and though, had we been seriously attacked at first, we must have retired to the citadel, we are now ready to withstand any assault." angus next went to macgregor, who received him most warmly. "i am glad indeed to see you, campbell. pottinger mentioned you in his reports as doing invaluable service with boyd and johnson. you will not find much in our line here. when the sword is once drawn, there is nothing for us to do until it becomes a question of our dictating terms, a contingency not likely to arise for some time." "had you hard fighting to get here?" angus asked. "no fighting at all. as we marched down from gundamuck, the natives all supposed that we were on our way to peshawur, and when we suddenly turned and marched towards the city, it was too late for them to think of resistance, and they simply bolted on one side of the town as we marched in on the other. we were bitterly disappointed when we saw the state of the walls, and it was a question for some time whether we should not content ourselves with holding the citadel only. but it was at last determined, for a time at least, to hold the town, as our retirement to the citadel would look like weakness. another consideration was, that once in the citadel we should be shut up entirely, for, as you see, it stands in the middle of the town, and with the streets crowded with the enemy, there would be no getting out to obtain provisions. "the result has proved the wisdom of the step we took. the walls are now strong enough to be obstinately defended, and from their extent we have been able to sally out at one gate or another and bring in provisions. we had but two days' food when we arrived here; now we have succeeded in gathering in a sufficient quantity to keep the troops on half rations for two months, and i hope that before it is finished we shall be relieved from peshawur. we gave the natives a handsome thrashing on the day before we got in here. they attacked us in great force, trying especially to carry off our baggage, but the infantry repulsed them splendidly. however, they came on to renew the attack. the cavalry were placed in ambush, and the troops, after at first advancing, suddenly wheeled round and went off at the double. the enemy, believing that they had achieved a great victory, rushed after them. as soon as they reached an open space, the cavalry fell upon them. for months they had been inactive, being of no use among the hills. now was their chance, and in a moment they were in the thick of the afghans. they made terrible havoc among them, and thus it was that we were able to enter the town without further trouble. the next day, the th of november, broadfoot was appointed garrison engineer. he had a small corps of sappers with him, and they soon set to work. "on the morning of the th, the enemy were thick in the gardens round the town, the principal body being on the hillside. it was resolved to give them another lesson. they were, as could be seen from the highest point in the city, some five thousand strong, and colonel monteith of the th bengal infantry, took out eleven hundred men at daybreak. the advance was covered by the guns which had been mounted on the walls, and their shrapnel soon drove the enemy into the open. the infantry pressed forward and scattered them, and the cavalry completed their rout. it was this defeat that so cowed them for a time, that i was able to fetch in grain, sheep, firewood, and other necessaries. i may mention that i took upon myself, as soon as we came in here, the post of commissariat officer. it was not until the end of the month that they again mustered in force sufficient to attack us; they contented themselves with hovering round and keeping up a desultory fire. "on the st of december, however, they gathered in great numbers, and seemed to threaten an attack. colonel dennie commanded this time, and he took out the greater portion of the garrison and a couple of guns. it was noon when he sallied out. abbot's guns commenced the action by pouring a tremendous fire of grape into the thick mass. they fled in wild confusion; the cavalry cut them up terribly, and the infantry overtook and bayoneted many of them. it could scarcely be called a fight. the day was won directly the guns opened fire, and we did not lose a single man. since that time they have not ventured to attack us. "news came day after day of the terrible mess at cabul. the news was kept as far as possible from the troops, so as not to discourage them; but, of course, since brydon came in, the truth of the terrible massacre had to be told. i am happy to say that, although filling them with wrath and indignation, it has in no way abated their spirit. during the six weeks' rest we have had since the battle of the st of december, we have, as you see, really done wonders in the way of fortification, and consider that we are in a position to repulse any attack however formidable." "when do you expect that a relief column will arrive from peshawur?" "that is a grave question which i cannot answer. our last news was that brigadier-general wyld was on the point of advancing, but from the tone in which he wrote he had evidently no great hope of success. his four sepoy regiments had been corrupted by the sikhs, who, having themselves a great repugnance to enter the passes, had endeavoured, and successfully, to inspire the sepoys with the same feeling. the sikhs, who were to co-operate with him, were themselves in a state of open mutiny, and threatened to kill general avitable if he interfered with them. he intended, however, to advance, as the case was so urgent, but with little hope of success. he was without cavalry, and had but two guns on sikh carriages, which would probably break down after a few rounds had been fired. it was the letter of a brave man surrounded with difficulties, but ready to attempt almost the impossible to bring aid to us. i fear, however, that there is little chance of our relief until reinforcements from india reach peshawur." this opinion was justified when, on the th, news was brought that the movement had failed. on the th colonel moseley had started under cover of night with the rd and th native regiments to occupy the fortress of ali musjid, which had been held by a small corps of men of one of the native tribes under mr. mackeson. they had been true to their salt, and had resisted every attack of the afridis. moseley's force arrived there at daybreak, and met with but little opposition on the way. but it was discovered that, owing to some blunder, only fifty supply bullocks had been sent on instead of three hundred and fifty that should have accompanied the force. therefore, instead of having a month's provisions, they had but enough for a few days. brigadier wyld started on the morning of the th to relieve them, but on the preceding day the sikh troops refused to enter the pass and marched back to peshawur. nevertheless, wyld determined to press forward with the two native regiments. as soon, however, as the enemy attacked them the sepoys at the head of the column wavered and opened an aimless fire. in vain the brigadier and the officers endeavoured to persuade them to advance. they would not move forward, nor would the rest of the troops advance to their assistance. the two guns broke down after a round or two, and what little spirit remained among the sepoys evaporated at once, and the column had to fall back. one of the guns was spiked and left behind, the sepoys refusing to make any effort to bring it off. the brigadier, who with several of our officers was wounded, saw that it was impossible to persevere, and the force fell back beyond the pass. moseley could obtain no news, and was unaware of the repulse of the relieving column. although the troops were on half rations supplies were nearly exhausted. the water was bad, and numbers of the sepoys fell ill, and on the rd he determined to evacuate the fortress. two officers volunteered to hold it, but the sepoys would not support them, and the former native garrison had lost heart; so, on the th, the force marched out. the afridis mustered strongly to oppose the retreat. the sepoys, animated now by the hope of safety, fought well. two british officers were killed, most of the baggage lost, and some of the sick and wounded had to be abandoned, but the main body got through safely. such was the news that was brought by a native in our pay, together with a letter from brigadier wyld saying that it would be impossible to renew the attempt until reinforcements of at least one british regiment with some guns arrived. but the news that help was still far distant in no way discouraged the garrison of jellalabad, who redoubled their efforts to strengthen the fortifications and to prepare by their own unaided efforts for the worst. at peshawur wyld's repulse bore the natural consequences. the discontent among the sepoy's increased, many deserted, and expressions of determination never to enter the pass again were common among them. sickness broke out, and when on the th of february general pollock, who had been selected to command the force gathered there, and invested with full authority on all other matters, arrived, he found a thousand men in hospital; a week later the number was increased to eighteen hundred. no better man than pollock could have been chosen. he possessed at once great firmness, kindness of heart, and a manner calculated to inspire confidence. he declared to the central authorities at once that, even with the brigade which had come up with him, to advance up the pass would be to court another defeat. the four sepoy regiments that had been engaged could, in their present state, not be counted on for service, and the force at his disposal was therefore no greater than that which wyld had lost. he set to work in the first place to restore confidence. it was a difficult task. many even among the officers had become affected with the spirit of defection, and did not hesitate to express their opinion that an advance through the khyber pass would involve a repetition of the cabul disaster. the new sepoy regiments were at once visited by emissaries from those of wyld's brigade and from the sikhs, who endeavoured in every way to persuade them also to refuse to enter the pass, and succeeded in the case of the th native regiment, who joined the four other battalions in refusing to advance. on the day after his arrival general pollock visited all the hospitals, enquired into the ailments of the sick, and talked encouragingly to them. then he went to the sepoy regiments, enquired into the cause of their discontent, and exhorted them to return to their duty, and not to bring disgrace upon regiments that had so many times in the past proved their courage and loyalty. his task was a hard and difficult one, but his method of mildness and firmness combined gradually restored their spirits and discipline; and the knowledge that reinforcements were on their way, with a good proportion of european troops, including cavalry and artillery, greatly aided his efforts. still, until these reinforcements arrived, pollock could do nothing but reply to the urgent letters of sale and macgregor by pointing out his inability to move. on the th of february angus was with macgregor on the walls of jellalabad. the men were as usual working hard and steadily, grateful in the thought that their long labour had borne its fruits, and that in a few days they would be able to lay by their picks and shovels, the work that they had been set to do having been accomplished. "another week," captain havelock, who was acting as persian interpreter to macgregor, said to angus, "and the whole work which broadfoot traced out will be finished. in one respect i am sorry that it should be so, for there is nothing like active work for keeping men's spirits up and preventing them from feeling the effects of idleness. i think--" and he stopped abruptly. there was a sudden tremor of the earth and a deep sound like thunder, then they were both thrown off their feet. the walls, the houses, the whole city, swayed and shook. then came the crash of falling houses, wild shouts of alarm and pain; the earth crumbled beneath them, and they rolled down together into the moat. on finding that they were unhurt they scrambled up the slope of earth. a terrible sight presented itself. a third of the buildings in the town had fallen. but this was not the worst. several of the bastions had been destroyed; almost all the parapets were thrown down; several great breaches were made in the wall, one of them eighty feet in length; and the moat had in many places been filled up with the debris of the wall and parapet. the soldiers were extricating themselves or helping their comrades from the earth that had almost overwhelmed them; others were standing gazing with a dazed air at the destruction that had been wrought. "we had better go to head-quarters," havelock said, "and see what has happened there." they made their way with difficulty through the ruins that blocked the streets. the movements of the earth still continued, and they had all they could do to keep their feet. on reaching head-quarters they found to their satisfaction that all was safe. the general and macgregor had both been occupied in writing despatches to peshawur, and had rushed out into the little courtyard of the house. the offices round it fell in ruins at their feet, but the dwelling-house, although it swayed to and fro, did not fall. enquiries were at once set on foot, when it was found that no lives had been lost among the garrison, although two natives had been killed by the fall of their houses. no time was lost. the whole of the garrison were told off into working parties, and in half an hour were diligently at work repairing the wall at the most important points. they worked until late at night, by which time the breaches were scarped, the rubbish all cleared away, and the ditches dug out again, while a parapet of gabions was erected along the great breach. a parapet was erected on the remains of the bastion which flanked the approach to the cabul gate, that had been entirely ruined, a trench had been dug, and a temporary parapet raised on every bastion round the place. never, probably, was so much work accomplished by an equal number of men in the same time. day after day the work was continued, until by the end of the month the parapets were restored, the breaches built up, the rampart increased in thickness, every battery re-established, and the gates entrenched; and yet the troops were in hourly anxiety that their work might be again destroyed, for during the month succeeding the great earthquake fully a hundred shocks were felt. so extraordinary was the vigour with which the repairs had been accomplished, that when akbar khan moved down with his forces early in march and saw the formidable defences, he and his followers were unable to understand it, and declared that the preservation of jellalabad from destruction must have been the result of witchcraft, for no other town or village had escaped. while at work the garrison had been in constant expectation of attack, for akbar's army lay but a few miles from the town. but the success of the two sorties had shown the afghan leader that he had very different foes to deal with from the dispirited force that had been annihilated in the passes. here were men ready to work and to fight, while those at cabul had done neither; and he resolved to attempt to starve them out, hoping for the same success as had attended a similar step at cabul. he kept on, therefore, drawing in more closely, harassing the foraging parties, and having occasional skirmishes with the bodies of cavalry sent out to protect the grass-cutters. on the night of the th the enemy threw up sangars, small defences of earth or stone, at many points round the town, and from behind them opened a brisk fire. there was a report that behind these shelters they were mining towards the walls, and a strong party of infantry and cavalry, with two hundred of broadfoot's sappers, commanded by colonel dennie, were sent out. as they poured out through the gate, akbar advanced with his forces; but the guns on the ramparts received them with a heavy fire, and although they came on several times as if prepared to give battle, they eventually drew back, unable to withstand the storm of shot and shrapnel. the working parties of sappers set to work to destroy the sangars, and in doing so discovered that there was no foundation for the report that the enemy were mining. when the work was done, the troops began to fall back to the town, as ammunition was beginning to run short. on seeing their retirement the afghans again advanced; but on our troops halting and facing them, they at once turned and fled, having lost considerably by our artillery and musketry fire. dennie's force sustained no loss in killed, but broadfoot was wounded, and the loss of his services as engineer was serious. time passed quietly. the whole of the ground had been cleared of trees, houses, and walls for some distance round the town, and the afghans were no longer able to crawl up under shelter and keep up a galling fire on our men. early in april a messenger brought in news that pollock had now received his reinforcements, and would advance in a day or two, the sepoys having recovered their health and spirits. his force had been joined by the th foot, the rd dragoons, nine guns, and the st native cavalry. on the th these started from jumrood. brigadier wyld commanded the advance guard, general m'caskill the rear. two columns of infantry were to scale the height on either side of the pass, major davis in command of that on the right, colonel moseley of that on the left. at three o'clock in the morning they started. the heights on either side and the pass were crowded with the enemy, who were always well informed of the british movements by the natives in the town. they expected that the force would all move along the road, and anticipated an easy success. the two flanking parties moved off so quietly in the dim light of the morning that they were not perceived by the enemy until they began to scale the heights. then a lively combat began, and the afghans learned for the first time that even among their own hills the british could beat them. the difficulties of the ascent were great, but the _moral_ of the sepoys was now completely restored, and they stormed the heights on either side with great gallantry, driving the afghans before them. while this was going on, the main column in the valley had cleared away a formidable barricade that had been erected at the mouth of the pass, and which could not have been destroyed without much loss had the afghans maintained their position on the hills. pollock now advanced, and the afghans, who had assembled in large numbers at the mouth of the pass, bewildered at finding themselves outflanked, fell back, and the column with its great convoy of animals moved forward. the number of draught animals was very large, although the baggage of the advancing force had been cut down to the narrowest dimensions, in order that provisions and ammunition for the garrison at jellalabad might be taken on. the march occupied the greater part of the day. the heat was great, and the troops suffered from thirst; but animated by their success, they thought little of this, and before nightfall bivouacked round ali musjid, whose garrison had evacuated the place when they saw that the day had gone against them. all night long the afghans kept up a fire from among the hills, but did not attempt an attack. the sikhs had joined the main body, as the general, doubtful as to their fidelity, had sent them by another pass. the general's estimate of them was not a mistaken one. they were left to occupy ali musjid and guard the pass, but shortly after the army had moved on they quitted the position and marched away, seizing some of the baggage animals on their way up, and, throwing their loads on the ground, employing them to carry their own baggage. the crushing and altogether unexpected defeat that the tribesmen had suffered had its effect. they had found themselves beaten at their own game and withdrew at once to their fastnesses, and pollock's force marched on without meeting with any serious opposition. chapter xviii the advance on cabul the garrison of jellalabad found themselves pressed for provisions at the end of march, and on the st of april made a gallant sortie, and swept into the town a flock of five hundred sheep and goats. on the th macgregor's spies brought in news from akbar's camp that it was reported there that pollock had been beaten with great loss in the khyber pass, and on the following morning akbar's guns fired a royal salute in honour of the supposed victory. sale, now confident of the fighting powers of his men, determined to make a great effort to break up the blockade; as if pollock had really been defeated it would be some time before relief could come to them, and they could not hope again to make such a capture as that which they had effected on the st. a council of war was held, and action was decided upon, as success would not only free them from all apprehensions of being starved out, but would effect a diversion in favour of pollock. the force was but a small one for the enterprise which they moved out to undertake. the centre column, consisting of the th regiment, mustering five hundred bayonets, was under the command of colonel dennie; the right, consisting of some three hundred and fifty men of the two native regiments and a detachment of sappers, was commanded by captain havelock; the left column was about the same strength, under lieutenant-colonel monteith; the light field battery and a small cavalry force were to support them. they advanced from the city at daylight on the th. akbar khan drew up his force, six thousand strong, before his camp, his right resting on a fort, and his left on the cabul river. havelock's column commenced the fight by attacking the enemy's left, while dennie advanced to the assault of the fort, which was vigorously defended. dennie himself fell mortally wounded by an afghan ball, but his men captured the place in gallant style. a general attack now took place on akbar's camp. the artillery advanced at a gallop, and poured their fire into the afghan centre, the th and colonel monteith's column pierced their right, while havelock drove back their left from the support afforded by the river. the afghans fought sturdily, their musketry keeping up a heavy fire, and large bodies of horse again and again threatened havelock's column, while three guns from a hidden battery opened fire. the struggle, however, was a short one. their cannon were taken, every position held by them was captured, and by seven o'clock they were in full retreat. two cavalry standards were taken, four guns lost by the cabul and gundamuck forces were recaptured, a vast quantity of ordnance stores destroyed, and the whole of the enemy's tents burnt. the loss of the afghans had been heavy, and several chiefs were among the fallen. the loss of the victors was small indeed. colonel dennie and ten sepoys were killed, three officers and some fifty men wounded. a day or two later pollock's force reached jellalabad, and the joy of both parties was great. indeed, no stronger contrast can be found than that between the leading and conduct of the force at cabul and that at jellalabad. the one showed the british leader and the british soldier at their worst, the other the british commander and men at their best. it may be confidently affirmed that had sale been in the place of elphinstone, with full power of action, the fight in the passes would never have taken place, and within three days of the murder of burnes the afghan host would have been a mob of fugitives, and cabul would have been in our hands. the british soldier is always best in the attack. he is ready and eager to fight against any odds, but when kept in a state of inaction, under a commander in whom he has lost all confidence, he speedily deteriorates. happily there are few examples in our military history such as those of cabul and walcheren, where the british soldier has been placed in such a position. while pollock was forcing the khyber pass the reign of shah soojah came to a sudden end. after the departure of the british no hostility was shown towards him by the afghans, and he continued at the bala hissar in the position of nominal sovereign of afghanistan the nawab having willingly resigned the difficult and dangerous post and accepted that of wuzeer. he himself had his troubles. most restless and dangerous of these afghan leaders was aneen-oollah-khan, who had played fast and loose with the british while secretly working against them. he demanded the surrender to him of the hostages. the nawab steadily refused, and as threats of force were used against him, raised a body of three thousand men for their protection. these, however, were corrupted by aneen, but the nawab remained faithful to his trust. on the th of april shah soojah left the bala hissar with his retinue to go down to join akbar khan. an ambush was laid for him by one of the sons of the nawab. these poured in a volley, and shah soojah fell dead, shot through the head. the nawab was filled with horror at the deed, and swore an oath never again to see his son beneath his roof or suffer him to be named in his presence. while jellalabad was being besieged, the situation at candahar had been precarious. ghuznee had been captured by the tribesmen after a gallant defence, and its garrison had been massacred. kelat-i-ghilzye was besieged, and without hope of succour. candahar was surrounded by the insurgent dooranees, but these had been twice defeated by general nott. during one of these expeditions the city was in imminent danger, for the enemy, gradually retiring, drew the sortie-party a considerable distance from the walls, and then at night slipped away and attacked the place. one of the gates was destroyed by fire, and for many hours the issue of the contest was doubtful. at last, however, the assailants were beaten off with very heavy loss. a force marching up to the relief of the town, under general england, being very badly handled, were opposed on their way up from quettah, and fell back and remained there until nott sent a peremptory order for them to advance again. he himself marched to meet them, and on the united force arriving at candahar, the town was placed beyond all risk of capture. nott was preparing to march on cabul, while pollock advanced on jellalabad; but, to the stupefaction and disappointment of all, an order arrived from calcutta for the abandonment of candahar and the return of the force to india. there had been a change of governors. lord ellenborough had succeeded lord auckland, and immediately set to work to overthrow the whole policy of his predecessor. similar orders were sent to pollock. the latter, however, mindful of the honour of his country, and the safety of the hostages and ladies, replied that, being almost without carriage, it would be impossible for him to retire at once, thus gaining time, which he utilized by entering into negotiations with akbar khan for the release of their prisoners. both generals wisely kept the order they had received a secret from the troops, who would have been profoundly disheartened. however, no secret had been made as to the orders issued in calcutta, and the news soon spread all over india, and reached pollock's camp, that the army was to be withdrawn. pollock did his best to throw doubts upon the truth of the reports by marking out a new camp two miles in advance, and arranging with the natives to bring in supplies there, so as to give grounds for a belief that, so far from leaving the town, he was preparing for an advance. in the meantime he had written an urgent letter pointing out the evils and difficulties of an immediate withdrawal, and the immense advantage that would arise by striking a heavy blow before retiring, and so to some extent retrieving the reputation of the british army. the letter had its influence, and the governor wrote: _it would be desirable undoubtedly, before finally quitting afghanistan, that you should have an opportunity of striking a blow at the enemy, and since circumstances seem to compel you to remain there till october, the governor-general earnestly hopes that you will be able to draw the enemy into a position in which you may strike such a blow effectually._ this was good news. every effort was being made to collect carriage cattle in hindostan for the purpose of the withdrawal, and pollock determined to turn these to account. if there was carriage enough to enable him to fall back upon peshawur, there would be carriage enough for him to advance on cabul. in the meantime negotiations were going on for the release of the captives. the married families had, on the day of their arrival at akbar's camp, been placed in a small fort with pottinger, lawrence, and mackenzie. two days later they were taken down to jugduluk, where they found general elphinstone, brigadier shelton, and captain johnson, and thence travelled down to a fort, the property of the father of akbar's wife. the party consisted of nine ladies, twenty officers and fourteen children; seventeen european soldiers, two women and a child were confined in another part of the fort. here they remained three months. two more officers were brought in, and a month after their arrival two other survivors, major griffiths and captain souter, were added to the party. on the day after akbar's defeat they were hastily taken away and carried to tezeen, and thence to a place called zanda, far up in the hills. general elphinstone had been bed-ridden for some weeks, and was left behind at tezeen, where he died. akbar khan sent in his remains to jellalabad. civil war was raging in cabul. shah soojah's second son had succeeded him, but he was altogether without power. some of the chiefs supported him, others opposed; but finally the bala hissar was stormed by akbar, who was now the most powerful chief in afghanistan. pollock was still harassed by letters from lord ellenborough insisting upon his retiring; but public opinion throughout india was so opposed to a course that would bring the deepest disgrace upon the british power, that at last, in august, he wrote to nott saying that he must withdraw his force from afghanistan, but that if he chose he might take the route through ghuznee and cabul. he similarly issued his orders for pollock to retire, but added that "you will be at liberty to first march to cabul to meet nott." both had been preparing for the movement. pollock had sent several expeditions against hostile tribesmen, and had recovered one of the captured guns. on the th of august he left jellalabad with eight thousand troops, and on the rd reached gundamuck. the next day the village was cleared of a strong body of the enemy. while concentrating his troops there and waiting intelligence from nott, the british force remained at gundamuck till the th of september. on the st, futteh jung, who had succeeded his father, rode into camp. akbar khan had stripped him of all power and all his wealth, and imprisoned him in the bala hissar, from which he had now escaped, and with much difficulty made his way to pollock's camp to seek the protection of the british government. on the th the first division of the army, under the command of sale, moved forward; the second division, under general m'caskill, marched on the following day. sale found the hills commanding the roads through the jugduluk pass occupied by large bodies of the enemy, who opened a heavy fire. the guns replied, and the infantry then in three columns dashed up the hills and drove the ghilzyes from them. one strong body had taken refuge at an apparently inaccessible point, but the british storming party scaled the height, and the enemy fled without waiting for the assault at close quarters. thus on the hills where the afghans had massacred elphinstone's troops they were now taught that, if well led, the british soldier could defeat them in a position they had deemed impregnable. at tezeen the second division joined the first. the force halted for a day, and the afghans, believing that this betokened indecision, mustered their forces for a final engagement. akbar had, as he had threatened to do if they advanced, sent off the captives to the bamian pass, with the intention of selling them as slaves to the turkomans. on the th the two armies were face to face. the valley of tezeen was commanded on all sides by lofty hills, and these now swarmed with men. the enemy's horse entered the valley, but the british squadrons charged them, drove them in headlong flight, and cut down many. the infantry climbed the hills on both sides under a terrible fire from the afghan guns. to these they made no reply, well knowing that their muskets were no match for the long firearms of the enemy. as soon, however, as they reached the summit, they fixed bayonets and charged with a mighty cheer. only a few of the enemy stood their ground, and fell, the rest fled. all day firing was kept up, until at last the enemy occupying the highest ridges were, in spite of a sturdy resistance, driven off, fairly beaten on their own ground and in their own style of warfare. our troops fought with extraordinary bravery. they were animated by a desire to wipe out the disgrace that had fallen on our arms, and were maddened by the sight of the numerous skeletons of their comrades in the jugduluk. akbar khan saw that all was up, and fled, while the tribesmen scattered to their homes, and the army marched forward without opposition to cabul. in the meantime, nott had been busy. on the th of may he inflicted a decisive defeat upon the dooranees outside the walls of candahar. on the th of august the army evacuated that city, and on the th arrived at mookoor. up to this point no opposition whatever had been offered. the inhabitants had been friendly, and supplies were obtained without difficulty. but the afghan governor of ghuznee had raised all the country, and had taken up a very strong position near the source of the turnuck. on the th the forces met. the position of the enemy was unknown, as a thick mist covered the country. the cavalry rode forward to reconnoitre, cut up a party of afghan infantry in the plain, and pursuing them hotly came upon hills crowded by the enemy, who opened a heavy fire. they fell back in an orderly manner, when a body of the enemy's horse appeared on the hill above them. a squadron of native cavalry charged them, but were cut up by the fire of a body of afghan foot who had hitherto been hidden. the enemy's horse poured down, and the troopers, already suffering from the infantry fire, turned and fled. the panic spread, and the whole of the cavalry were soon in flight. two british officers had been killed and three wounded, and fifty-six men disabled. nott, on hearing the loss, marched out with his infantry, but on reaching the scene of the fight found that the enemy had retired. on the afternoon of the next day nott, marching forward, came upon a fort held by the enemy. our artillery opened upon it with little effect. the afghan army, some ten thousand strong, had been watching us, and now opened an artillery fire from the heights, and its foot men moved forward to the attack; but as they neared us our infantry charged with a cheer and they broke and fled. two of their guns, and their tents, magazines, and stores were captured. on the th of september nott encamped before ghuznee, and began to prepare for the assault. the enemy, however, were in no humour for fighting; the greater portion of the tribesmen had scattered to their homes after their defeat. the garrison lost heart altogether and evacuated the city, and the governor set off with a few followers for cabul. the next morning the british entered the town without firing a shot. on the following day, however, the governor returned with a large number of the tribesmen who had just arrived, and on the th nott attacked them. a hard battle was fought, but it was indecisive. on the following morning the enemy disappeared; they had received the news of the defeat of akbar at tezeen. the column, however, was again harassed when the troops advanced, but they cleared the way in good style. the tribesmen here had been actively engaged in the cabul insurrection, and twenty-six of their forts were burned as punishment. on the th the army encamped four miles from the city, and learned that pollock had occupied cabul two days previously. angus campbell had taken no part in the operations of that advance. on the th of august news had arrived at gundamuck by a messenger from the moonshee, mohun lal, who had throughout kept the force at jellalabad well supplied with news of what was passing at cabul; he now sent to say that on the previous day akbar had despatched all the captives under an escort of three hundred horse to bamian, and that they were to be taken on to khooloom, and there handed over to the governor. once there, it was certain that they would remain in captivity among the tribes until death released them. as soon as he heard the news angus went to macgregor. "i am going to ask," he said, "if you will allow me to go on an expedition on my own account. i was thinking that it was just possible that the captives might be overtaken. it is probable that they will halt some time at bamian, and certainly we could come up to them there. with so many women and children it will be impossible for the convoy to move fast, and they may stay at bamian until the result of our operations here are known. you have already promised me that the part taken by sadut khan shall be forgiven, seeing that he did his best to persuade akbar to give protection to the retreating army, and also because he showed great kindness to me when i was in his hands. if you can obtain permission from the general i will start at once in disguise for his fort in the mountain. i cannot but think that he will aid me, and i might, with four of his followers, who have come from bamian, and are personally well known to me, succeed in some way in rescuing at least a few of the captives. eldred pottinger, captain boyd, and captain johnson are all dear friends of mine, and i would willingly run any risk in the endeavour to save them. possibly, if we overtake the party, we may in some way cause a delay which would enable any rescue party sent off when you reach cabul to get up in time." "it is a brave offer, campbell, but the enterprise seems to me an almost desperate one. however, i don't think that i should be justified in refusing it, and i am sure that if anyone could succeed, you will do so. when will you start?" "in ten minutes, sir, if you will furnish me with an authority to offer a bribe to the officer in command of their escort." "i will go and see the general at once. he is well aware, from the report that i have made, of the kindness sadut showed you, and of his efforts to save our army. i have no doubt that the chief has fought against us in the last battle, but that was only natural. i feel sure that above all things pollock would embrace any offer that promises the slightest chance of rescuing the hostages, but the risk would be terrible, campbell." "of course there would be risk," angus agreed, "but i do not see how it would be exceptionally great. i have journeyed as an afghan two or three times already without detection, and i could just as well do so again. at any rate, i am willing to undertake the enterprise. it would, of course, be useful for me to take a considerable sum of money to win over the guard; still more useful if the general would authorize me to offer terms that would tempt the cupidity of the commander, as we have always found that the afghans are ready to do almost anything for bribes." "i will take you at once with me to the general. he is well acquainted with the services you rendered pottinger at herat, and have rendered the army ever since it began its march from the indus, and he knows the favourable report that has been sent in by pottinger and burnes." angus had, indeed, been introduced by sir robert sale to general pollock on his arrival at cabul. on reaching his tent they found him for the moment unoccupied. he listened gravely to macgregor's statement of the offer that angus had made. "it is a noble proposal, mr. campbell," he said, in his usual kindly and courteous way, "but the risk seems to me terrible, and should anything happen to you, the service would be deprived of one of its most promising and meritorious officers. at the same time, there seems a fair possibility that you may succeed in rescuing one or more of the captives. of course it would be quite out of the question that any of the ladies could escape. there would be a hot pursuit, and only horsemen well mounted could hope to get off. however, i do not feel justified in refusing any offer that affords a shadow of hope of saving such men as pottinger, and will do all that mr. macgregor suggests to facilitate your operations. you will doubtless pass through cabul, and i will at once write a letter to mohun lal, requesting him to give you authority, in his name as well as mine, for payment to the leader of the prisoners' escort of any sum in reason. at present native opinion is strong that we shall not be able to force the passes, and the name of the moonshee may have greater effect than any promise on my part; but at the same time, until you can get into communication with the captives and learn something of the officer and his disposition, it would be madness to attempt to bribe him. the difficulties of the journey appear to me to be great, but not insuperable. the real difficulty will only begin when you overtake the captives' escort." "i feel that, sir, but i rely greatly upon the men i hope to obtain from sadut. although not of his tribe, they have attached themselves most strongly to him. they are strong, resolute men, and as one of them was a petty chief near bamian, he may be able to gather a few others to aid me. i shall, of course, be very glad to have authority to offer a bribe to the officer in command of the party, but i rely chiefly upon these men and my own efforts, at any rate as far as pottinger is concerned. captains boyd and johnson can hardly leave their families. possibly, by the aid of these men, i may be able to collect a sufficient number of fighting men to make a sudden attack upon the escort, and to carry off all the captives to some hiding-place among the hills, and there keep them until you send on a force to bring them in. of course i must be entirely guided by circumstances, but it is impossible for me to have any fixed plan until i see how matters stand." "i can quite see that, mr. campbell, and that, greatly as you may desire to rescue the whole party, it is eldred pottinger who is the first object of your expedition." "that is so, colonel. he was most kind to me in herat, and it is to him i owe my present position; therefore he is my first object. if i can free him it will be a great step gained towards rescuing the others. i feel sure that he would not think for a moment of leaving his companions to their fate. but his name as the defender of herat is known to every afghan, and he would be able to bring a great influence to bear upon the tribesmen round bamian, whose interests must lie quite as much with herat as with cabul." the general nodded approvingly. "i see that you have thought matters over well. if you will call here again in half an hour the letter for the moonshee shall be ready for you, and a thousand pounds in gold." at the appointed time angus called upon the general, and received the money and letter; then returning to his own tent, he rode out with azim. when fairly away from the camp they dismounted and put on their afghan disguises. they had brought an orderly with them, who took back the clothes they had discarded and angus's sword to macgregor's tent, he having undertaken to have them brought up to cabul with his own baggage. they had no difficulty as to the way, as the path they had followed with sadut had come down close to gundamuck. they had little fear of being interfered with on the road. the afghans would have gathered in the passes, and should they meet any they would only have to say that their village near gundamuck had been burnt by the british, and they were now on their way to join sadut and fight under his orders. although they saw several parties in the distance making their way towards the pass, they did not encounter any within speaking distance, and just at sunset reached sadut's fort. they had passed through the village unnoticed. tribesmen were frequently coming and going, and there was nothing to distinguish them from others. they dismounted in front of the fort. a man was sitting at the top of a ladder, and angus held up his hand to him, and hassan--for it was the man who had twice captured him--at once waved his hand in welcome, and stood up. "you have come willingly this time," he said with a smile, as angus reached him. "of course you wish to see sadut khan. he is within. it is lucky that you have arrived to-day, for to-morrow he sets out." sadut greeted him with pleasure mingled with surprise. "i did not expect to see you here, my friend." "no, i suppose not, chief; but i am on a mission with which i am sure you will sympathize, and in which i hope you will aid me, so far as to spare me hassan and his four men." "what is its nature?" the chief asked. "i know that you would not come and offer me english money to abstain from fighting again." "i should not think of such a thing, sadut. i know that you are a fair and open enemy, and i think the better of you for fighting for your country. i may say that general pollock has been informed of your kindness to me, and that you did your utmost to make akbar keep his word to grant protection to the retiring army, and i can assure you that, in any event, no harm will happen to you or yours. i will tell you what i have come for. do you know that all the hostages, ladies and children, have been sent away by akbar from cabul, that they are to be taken over the bamian pass to khooloom, and handed over to the governor there, and that, doubtless, they will be sold as slaves to the turkomans?" "i had not heard it," sadut said angrily. "it is a disgrace to us. they were delivered up trusting to our word and honour, and it is a foul deed of akbar to harm them in any way after taking his oath for their protection. it is infamous! infamous!" and he walked up and down the room in fierce indignation. "what should we say," he burst out, "if the families of dost mahomed and akbar himself were to be sold by your people as slaves to some barbarous race? could we complain if, when the news of this treatment of the hostages becomes known in india, dost mahomed's family should be treated in a similar way?" then he stopped abruptly. "what is it that you have come to ask of me? the thing is done, and cannot be undone. akbar and i are ill friends now, for i have bearded him in the council and denounced his conduct. certainly i have no influence that could assist you. i am an afghan, and am pledged to join the force that will oppose the march of your troops up the passes, and i am a man of my word. but even were i free to help you, i could be of little assistance. i have here not more than thirty or forty fighting men, and i doubt if even these would obey me on such an enterprise. i might ride to my own fort and summon the momunds, whom i have so far kept quiet; but the enterprise would be a desperate one, we should set all the other tribes against us, and they would not risk destruction merely for the sake of rescuing a few white men and women. their sympathies are all with the tribes round cabul, and they share in their hatred of the infidel invaders. it would be as much as i could do to keep them quiet, and certainly i should fail if i called upon them to embark on such an enterprise." "i have no intention of asking it of you, chief. i am going myself to see what can be done to save my friends, and have come to ask you to allow hassan and his men to go with me. they are from bamian, and at bamian it is likely that the captives will be kept for some time. i should, of course, pay them well for their aid." "you can take them," the chief said at once. "they are good men and faithful to me, and i rely upon them as i could not do on any of my own tribesmen. i will call them in at once." hassan and his four men entered the room a minute later. "hassan," sadut said, "you and your men have proved yourselves true and faithful followers from the day when you left your homes to carry me over the passes, although you all thought that there was no hope of our getting through. you have fought by my side in kohistan; you twice at my orders carried off my friend here. he appreciates the service you did him, and is in sore need of five men upon whom he can rely to the utmost. he has come to ask me to let you go with him. a sore disgrace has fallen upon our nation. akbar khan has sent the men who placed themselves in his hands as hostages, and the women whom he swore to protect, over the hindoo koosh to be sold as slaves to the usbegs. my word has been given to fight against the army of gundamuck if it attempts to ascend the passes, and i at least will keep faith. this british officer is going to attempt to free some of the captives. how he will do so i know not, but my best wishes will go with him. he thinks it likely that the escort of the prisoners will halt for some little time at bamian, and you more than any others might therefore be able to help. i do not order you to go, but i ask you to do so. it is a good work, and concerns the honour of every afghan." "and moreover," angus said, "i will pay a thousand rupees to you, and five hundred to each of your followers. i will hand them over to you at once, and if we are successful i will pay you as much more." the sum was a huge one in their eyes. it would suffice to settle them in comfort for the rest of their lives. hassan looked at his men, and saw by the expression of their faces that they were more than willing to accept the offer. he held out his hand to angus, "we are your servants," he said, "and will serve you truly, and if needs be, lay down our lives for you, not only for the sake of the money you offer us, but because sadut khan has told us that for the honour of the nation these people ought to be released. we have been comrades in danger before, and were nigh dead when you rescued us when buried in the snow. i see not how this enterprise can be carried out; but we will do what you tell us, and men cannot do more. when do we start?" "every hour is of consequence," angus replied. "can you find your way across the mountains in the dark? if so, we will start at once." "i certainly can find the way." "you must all have a meal first," sadut said. "besides, you will need horses. they shall be brought in and got ready for you in an hour. see that the english officer's horses have a good feed, and that his servant eats with you. the food will be ready in half an hour." no time was lost, and in an hour and a half after the arrival of angus at the fort the party set out. fortunately the moon was nearly full, and hassan had so frequently gone down to cabul from the fort that he had no difficulty whatever in following the track. this in many places was so steep that all had to dismount and lead their horses down. however, they reached cabul an hour before sunrise, and all lay down in an empty hut for three or four hours' sleep. then angus, with hassan and three of his men, entered the town, leaving azim and the other man to look after the horses. as there were numbers of tribesmen in the streets, they attracted no attention whatever. proceeding to the house of the moonshee, angus enquired if mohun lal was in. "he is busy. he does not grant audiences till ten o'clock." angus moved away and returned at half-past nine. already five or six persons were waiting to see the moonshee, and by ten the number had considerably increased. it was eleven before angus's turn arrived. the moonshee was alone. angus took out his letter and handed it to him. he knew mohun lal well, having often taken communications to him from burnes. the afghan read the letter, and looked up in surprise. "you are well disguised indeed, sahib," he said, rising, "for, often as i have seen you before, i did not recognize you in the slightest, but thought it was, as usual, an afghan peasant with complaints to make against plunderers. so you have undertaken the dangerous mission of endeavouring to rescue some of the prisoners. truly you english have courage thus to thrust yourself into the midst of enemies, and on such a mission. however, i will do what i can to help you. i do not say that it is altogether hopeless, for i know my man; the commander of the escort is saleh mahomed. he is an adventurer, and has served under many masters. he was at one time a subaltern in one of your native regiments, but deserted with his men to dost mahomed just before the fight at bamian. such a man might be bought over, but not cheaply." "general pollock said he left the sum to be offered to him entirely to you." mohun lal thought for some time, and then said: "i should say that a pension of a thousand rupees a month, and a present of thirty thousand would tempt him as much as a larger sum. it would, i think, be best for you to disguise yourself now as a cashmerian. you know syud moorteza?" "i know him well," angus said; "he helped captain johnson to collect grain from the villages." "it would be as well for you to use his name. as an afghan, saleh might doubt you. altogether, it would be more likely that a man who may be considered a neutral should be employed on such a mission, and the offer to sell goods would make an opening. of course you could take the dress you now wear with you in case of necessity. it would be too dangerous for me to give you a letter, for if saleh, when you opened the subject to him, at once ordered you to be arrested, it would certainly be found on you, and would cost me my life. you will require to take a small escort with you, or you might be robbed at the first place you come to." "i have five men with me," angus replied. "they come from bamian; one of them is a petty chief there, and might, if i find that saleh cannot be approached, persuade or bribe some of the people there to aid." "i fear you would not succeed in that way. saleh had, i believe, two hundred and fifty men with him. i suppose you will start at once?" "our horses are outside the town, and we shall mount as soon as i return to them." "i wish you good fortune. there are many afghans who feel deeply the disgrace akbar has brought upon himself, and upon all of us, by breaking his plighted word." taking leave of the moonshee, angus joined his companions, and after having bought in the bazaar a costume suitable for a trader from cashmere, and two bales of goods from that country, left the city. chapter xix the british captives "why are you going as a cashmerian?" hassan asked. "i thought that you were going in the disguise that you now have on." "i had intended to, hassan; but mohun lal suggested that as a trader i should have more chance of going among the escort than as an afghan, and i see that this would be so. and, moreover, as afghans can enter into fellowship with the men of the escort better than i can, and as you come from bamian, no doubt would arise as to the truth of your story, namely that, having been absent for more than two years from home, you were anxious to get home, and that as this trader had offered you money to serve as his escort it was a good opportunity for you to return." hassan nodded. "that makes a good story of it, certainly." the change of disguise was made, two ponies were purchased to carry the bales of goods and provisions for the journey, and they then started. in buying his goods angus had only purchased two costly shawls, which he intended as a present for saleh, or, if he failed with him, for one of the officers under him. with this exception, the bales were filled with trifles such as might tempt the soldiers, and with stuffs which would, he was sure, be very welcome to the ladies, who must, naturally, be in a sore plight for garments, as what baggage they had started with must have been lost in the passes, and they could have had little opportunity of replenishing their wardrobe during their captivity. they travelled rapidly, halting only for a few hours when it was necessary to give their horses a rest. as the ladies were carried in litters, and there was no reason why they should be hurried on their journey, angus knew that he must be gaining fast upon the captives and their escort, and indeed he reached bamian only a few hours after them. he put up at a little khan, while hassan and his men went off to their village to see the families from whom they had been so long separated. hassan found his wife in undisturbed possession of the little fort, and there was great joy in the village when it was found that he and his men had returned with funds that would enable them to pass the coming winter in comfort, and largely to increase their stock of animals. that evening two or three sheep were killed, and a general feast was held in honour of the return of the chief and his followers. as nothing was talked of in the little town but the arrival of the british captives, angus had no difficulty in learning that these had been lodged in a little fort close to the place. he did not attempt to open his bales of goods, although several of the people came to him to ask him to do so, for so few traders had visited the place since the troubles began, that the stores had long been empty. there had, too, been a good deal of plundering since the british force there had retired. angus was obliged to explain that he had only brought a few trifles with him, as his purpose was to buy turkoman carpets and other goods at khooloom, and that he had sold off almost all the stock he had brought from cashmere at cabul. leaving azim at the khan to see that his goods were not stolen, he strolled out. the place was full of the men of the escort, who showed much discontent on finding that neither fruit nor any other of the little luxuries to which they were accustomed could be bought at bamian. angus had no difficulty in entering into conversation with some of them. he had brought with him a considerable quantity of good tobacco, and when he produced a pouch and invited them to fill their pipes he at once won their good-will. "how quickly have you come from cabul? was there any news when you left there?" "we have travelled fast," he said. "you have had three days' start of us, and i arrived here this afternoon. no, there was no news. they say that the infidels are halting at gundamuck. the chiefs are gathering in the passes with all their forces, but have not yet moved." "i should have thought that they would have had enough of our passes; they will meet with the same fate as those who tried to go down them." "it should be so," angus replied. "who can withstand your people when they are fighting among your own hills? you must have travelled slowly, since we gained three days upon you." "we made very short journeys," the man said. "you see, we were encumbered with these women and children, for whom it must have been rough work, for the nights are already cold. i shall be glad when we get to khooloom and hand them over to the governor there. but i will say for them that they have borne up bravely. i can tell you that we are all disgusted at having to be making this journey with them instead of taking our share of the spoil that will be gathered in the passes." "yes, it must be annoying to brave men to be thus wasting their time when great things are being done, to say nothing of losing their share of the booty to be gathered. have you a good commander?" "yes, we have no cause to grumble on that account. saleh mahomed is a bold soldier and a cheerful fellow, is not unduly harsh, and as long as we keep our arms in good order, and obey his orders, he asks no questions when one of us comes in with a sheep fastened to his saddle. but there has been no chance of getting anything to help out our rations, for the two or three little villages we have passed since we left the valley are for the most part deserted. there are women there, but the men have not yet come down from the hills with the flocks, and none of us have tasted meat since we started. saleh mahomed is a man who has travelled much and seen many things. he was an officer in the english army, but he would not fight against us, and two years ago, when dost mahomed with his army came here, he went over to him with his company of sepoys. he was not a chief, but was a tribesman near the frontier. there are many of them, they say, in the service of the infidels; and he had done well for himself." "i suppose the captive women must be in want of warm clothes. i have not a large stock of goods, but among them are several warm robes, which i would sell cheaply to them, for i wish to clear away my remaining stock, as i intend to buy turkoman carpets at khooloom and balkh; and besides these i have some stuff which doubtless the women here would buy to make garments for the children. think you that saleh would let me traffic with them?" "that i could not say; but if you have anything in your pack that would please him he might perhaps let you do so. you seem a good fellow, if you like i will take you to him to-morrow morning." "thank you for your offer. when i meet you i will have a pound of good tobacco, which i shall beg you to accept." "i will be here. i shall be one of the guards to-night round the fort, but shall be free in the morning." "does saleh mahomed sleep there?" "no, it is a miserable and dirty place. he lodges at the house of the headman there." early in the morning hassan came down to the khan. "now, sahib, you have only to tell us what you want us to do, and you can rely upon us." "for the present there is nothing. i am going to see saleh mahomed this morning, and try to get permission to sell some of my goods to the captives. i may then be able to learn something of his disposition towards them, and how he behaved to them during the journey. it is important that i should know this before giving him the message from the moonshee." "it would be well to do so, master; but from what i hear the moonshee has been negotiating with many of the chiefs, who are willing enough to take his money, but who do not carry out their part of the bargain. however, i have not heard that any of them have denounced him. he is always considered to be the chief agent of the english, but as he spends english gold freely, and as it is well to have some one in cabul through whom negotiations could be entered into with them, no one interferes with him." "the only thing that you can do for the present is to go round among your friends, talk to them about the captives, and say that it is a disgrace that they should be sent as captives among the usbegs after having received promises of protection, and having willingly submitted themselves as hostages. of course you will do it carefully; but if you can create a feeling in their favour, and make them afterwards win over a portion of the escort, something might be done. of course you can say, and truly, that sadut khan, dost mahomed's nephew by marriage, is most indignant at this breach of faith, and that you believe that many other chiefs share his feeling." "i will set about it at once. the tribesmen here have not the same animosity against the english as those at cabul. the english troops when they were here behaved well; they took no man's goods without payment, and the tribesmen got better prices for their sheep and cattle than they had ever got before. they care little who rules at cabul, and it is nothing to them whether it is the barukzyes or a dooranee." the next morning angus met the afghan soldier. "here is the tobacco i promised you; it is good stuff." "if it is like that you gave me yesterday, i shall be very content. now, come with me to saleh; he is a good fellow if you find him in the humour." the officer was alone when they entered. "saleh mahomed," the soldier said, "this is a trader from cashmere, syud moorteza; he will tell you his business. he seems to be a good fellow, and has some excellent tobacco." having thus introduced angus he left the room. "what is it that you want with me?" saleh asked in persian. angus replied in the same language, "i am a trader, my lord, and wish to get rid of some of the wares i am carrying. they are but few, as i am going north to purchase and not to sell. i would willingly rid myself of a part of them. among them are warm dresses and stuffs. i am told that the persons in your charge are but thinly clad, and i doubt not that they would willingly buy these goods of me." the afghan laughed. "they would willingly have them, no doubt; but as to buying, they are altogether without money. those who were in charge of them saw to that before they were handed over to me." "i should not mind that, my lord. i have had dealings with englishmen who have come up to cashmere, and they generally take a store of shawls and other things back with them to india. we always find that they are true to their word, and we take their orders as willingly as gold--more so, indeed, because the shroffs in india take them anywhere, and it saves our having to send money there for the purchase of goods in india. thus, then, if they gave me orders on their people at calcutta or bombay, i would more willingly accept them than gold, which is a dangerous commodity to carry." "but you say that you are going to purchase goods." "that is so, my lord, but i do not carry money to do so. i pay for them with orders upon a merchant at herat to whom i am well-known, and who acts as my agent, and buys for me such goods as i require from persia. i have not come empty-handed to you, my lord. it is right that if you do me the favour of allowing me to trade with your prisoners, you should share in the benefit. i have with me here a cashmere shawl. i do not say that it is worthy of your acceptance, but it is handsome and of the best wool, and will make a warm girdle." saleh was fond of finery. "let me look at it," he said. angus undid the parcel and held the shawl up, and closely watched the afghan as he examined it. he saw that he was pleased with it. however, the chief said, "i say not that it is not a good shawl, but it is not of the best quality. i have been at srinagar." "'tis not of the best, my lord--i would not try to deceive one like yourself--but it is the best i have, and i can hardly hope to make more than its value from these people." "it is worth about two hundred rupees," saleh said. "your lordship is not to be deceived, that is the very sum i gave for it; but it is worth much more here." "you seem to be an honest man," saleh said, throwing the shawl down on the divan from which he had risen. "and in truth i should be well content that the prisoners were better supplied with garments in the cold weather that is setting in. i am ordered to conduct them safely to khooloom, but nought was said against my providing them with such comforts on the way as they could obtain. to-day i am busy; i have to see that the men are well quartered and fed. to-morrow if you come here with your goods i will myself take you to the place where they are confined; but mind that no word is said to them save concerning your merchandise." "what words should i say, my lord? but doubtless one of your men will be present and see that i confine myself to my business." "then come at this hour to-morrow." angus bowed deeply and then left, delighted that he had obtained permission to see the captives. that day the prisoners were taken to another fort, saleh being moved by their complaints of the dirt and want of accommodation in the little fort in which they were crowded. the place was but a little better than the one they had left, but there was somewhat more room. hassan came to angus in the evening. "i have seen many of my friends," he said, "and have spoken as you told me. they are indignant. i told them that dost mahomed and his family, and that of akbar, are honourably treated in india, and are allowed a large income by the government there, and live with every comfort and luxury, and it is a disgrace to our nation that such treatment should be meted out to the officers who are hostages, and the ladies and their families. i do not say that they will be disposed to hazard their own safety by taking any active measures, but if the soldiers were to show any disposition favourable to the captives, they would assuredly take no hostile steps against them." "i have strong hopes that i may succeed with saleh. he has taken a bribe from me to permit me to sell goods to the prisoners, and he may be willing to take a vastly greater one to release them." "my men have been going about among the soldiers, sahib. they are discontented at this journey they have taken, and at the prospect of a still farther one, and if their commander gave them the order to return, they would not, i think, hesitate to obey." "let your men continue at that work, but let them be careful not to appear to be too warmly interested. let them avoid at present all mention of captives, and simply inflame the men's minds by talking of the hardships of their being sent on such a journey when so much booty is likely to be picked up in the passes. it is not likely that if saleh orders them to proceed on their journey they will refuse to do so, but if he learns from his officers that the men would gladly obey him if he ordered them to return, it may help him to decide to accept the offer i have to make him. i shall put off doing so till the last moment, because at any time news may come that pollock and nott are both beating back all opposition and advancing on cabul, and in that case he may see that his interest lies in siding with them rather than with akbar." in the morning angus rode with saleh to the fort, azim following with the pony carrying the bales of goods. two men stood as sentries on the platform on the top of the plain, half a dozen others were posted round it. the officer in charge came out. "have you anything to report, suleiman?" "no, captain, except that the prisoners complain that this place is little better than the last they were confined in." "they are particular, these ladies and gentlemen," saleh said with a laugh. "the place might be better, no doubt, but they will be lucky if they do not find themselves very much worse lodged when they get among the usbegs." "major pottinger was asking, captain, that a few blankets should be given them for the use of the women and children." "we will see about it. however, this trader here has some warm robes to sell, and they may just as well pay for the things themselves as that i should put my hand into my pocket, for my instructions said nothing about buying things of this sort for them; and from the manner in which prince akbar gave me my orders, i should say that the more they suffered the better he would be pleased. however, i am sorry for them, and have given permission to this cashmerian to see them and try to sell his goods to them." the officer looked doubtful. "i do not think there is a rupee among them." "no, but the trader has faith that if they give him notes for his goods, their people will assuredly cash them." "he must be a very confiding fellow," the officer said. "no; by what he says the shroffs of all the large cities in india are always ready to take the notes of english officers, and that he himself has done so in cashmere. "at any rate you can take him up to their apartments, but remain in the room while he bargains with them. i do not mind his carrying on his trade, but see that he in no way communicates with them save in the matter of his business." saleh went up with angus, followed by the officer and azim, who was assisted by the soldiers to carry up the goods. a sentry was sitting before the door at the top of the stairs with his musket across his knee. as saleh came up, he rose and took a key hanging on a nail on the wall beside him and opened the door. "i hear that you are still not content with your lodging, captain johnson," saleh said as he entered. "well, what would you have? these towers are all alike, and do not come up to our ideas of comfort in cabul; and as glass is scarcely known in bamian, no doubt you feel it cold at night." [illustration: angus shows his goods to the prisoners.] "if we had a few blankets to hang across the windows the ladies would not feel it so much, saleh." "that is so; and as i am anxious that they should not, while under my charge, feel greater discomfort than necessary, i have permitted this trader, syud moorteza, to enter. he has, he tells me, some warm robes and other things which he is ready to sell, and as i told him that before you came into my charge all your money had been taken away, he is ready to take your notes upon a banker at calcutta or bombay in payment." captain johnson knew the cashmerian, as he had rendered invaluable assistance in obtaining grain. angus, who was acquainted with him, had the more willingly adopted his name because the man was about his own height and build, and there was even some resemblance in feature. captain johnson therefore looked with interest at the trader, who was standing a little behind saleh. for a moment he seemed puzzled but angus had his hand on his chin and suddenly moved two fingers across his lips and very slightly shook his head. johnson understood the gesture, and replied to saleh: "the man is right; he may be sure that whatever happens to us our friends will see that he is paid for any goods we may buy of him. we will write a letter in persian, which you can read to our friends, saying that this man has trusted us and that our orders are to be honoured." the ladies, who were in the next room, were called in. the afghan commander, who had nothing to do, remained with his officer, being interested in the contents of the trader's bales. azim opened them, and spread the articles out on the floor for inspection. angus was greatly concerned at the appearance of the ladies, to all of whom he was known. his disguise, however, had so completely changed his appearance that none of them recognized him. his face was darkened, his eyebrows and hair had been stained black, and by the assistance of some false hair the latter was arranged in the fashion worn by the man he represented. syud moorteza was of the hindoo religion, and angus had imitated his caste marks on the forehead, which alone greatly altered his appearance. but the ladies scarcely looked at him. their delight at seeing the warm robes and woollen cloths was great indeed. here was a prospect that their sufferings from cold would be alleviated, and that their children could now be warmly clad. among the smaller articles in his bale angus included a good supply of needles and thread, buttons, and other small necessaries. the ladies saw at once that from the soft woolen cloths they would be able to make an abundance of warm clothing for the children. angus expatiated after the manner of a trader on the quality of his goods. holding up a warm robe to captain johnson, he said: "this would suit you, my lord; it will keep you warm in the coldest night." "you have not more than enough for the ladies," captain johnson said. "if there is anything over after they have made their purchases, we shall be glad to take the rest of your cloth. we can wind it round us." "but feel the quality of this robe, my lord," angus urged, with a wink that was understood by the officer, who at once took hold of it. as he did so angus slipped a note, which he had folded to the smallest possible dimensions, into his hands. "yes, it is good material," he said quietly; "but, as i have just said, these must be for the ladies." and he turned away as if unwilling to be tempted, and presently sauntered into the next room. in order to keep up his character angus asked fully five times the proper value for his goods. but the captives had no thought of bargaining; for these goods would be of the greatest comfort to themselves and their children, as coverings for the night, and as wraps during the passage of the passes, for in addition to the clothes and cloth, there were silk mufflers for the neck, and warm jackets lined with astrakhan fur. nor were the needles and thread less prized. their clothes and those of the children were in rags, and they would be most useful for mending, as well as the making of new clothes. some of them almost cried with joy at the thought of the comfort that this would be to their little ones. in a few minutes the greater portion of the contents of the bales was disposed of. "the best way," pottinger said, "will be for lawrence, mackenzie, and myself, as the three political officers, to give this man an order signed by the three of us on our agent at calcutta, and i will write an open letter to accompany it, authorizing any british officer or banker to cash the note when it is presented, and to send it on to my agent. the man has done us an inestimable service, and it will facilitate his getting the money. where are you thinking of cashing this?" he asked. "at herat." "then i will also give you a note to a trader there. he has a shop in the great bazaar, and is a friend of mine. he has relations with business men in india, and will, i am sure, cash it for you at once should you desire cash, or will furnish you in exchange with bills on some merchant in candahar." he then mentioned the trader's name. "that will suit me well," angus said. "i know the man by name, having been myself at herat. he is of good repute, and i am sure that he or any other merchant having dealings in india would gladly cash the order, as it would be far safer to send than money." it was not until the purchases had all been made that captain johnson re-entered the room, came and stood by angus, asking a few questions as to the goods; when the two afghans were looking another way he passed a note into the pretended merchant's hand. presently he said: "but we have no pen and ink to write this order?" "i have them, sahib," angus said, taking an ink-bottle and pen, such as were always carried by traders, from his pocket, together with several sheets of paper. the price of all the goods was added up; then pottinger wrote an order for the amount, which was signed by himself, lawrence, and mackenzie. then johnson took pottinger aside as if to discuss the terms of the letters. "that man is not syud moorteza at all," he said. "don't turn round and look at him. he has given me a note, and i am answering it. who do you think it is?" "i have been a little puzzled, not by his face, but by his voice. i have it now--it is angus campbell." "you have guessed right. he has come up by himself through the passes to try and overtake us. he bears a message from mohun lal to saleh, saying that he shall be given a pension of a thousand rupees a month and a present of thirty thousand if he will hand over the captives to the british general when he reaches cabul. he has asked my opinion as to whether it would be safe to make the proposition to the man, or whether he had better wait until news comes that pollock has defeated akbar in the passes. i have told him that i have already sounded saleh, and that though he passed the matter off, i believe he is open to take a bribe if he hears that nott and pollock are making their way up. he says that if bad news comes--and i think it would then be useless to approach saleh--he will make an attempt with some men he has with him to effect your escape, and also mine, and that of mackenzie and lawrence. boyd, of course, would not leave his wife and family, and it would be impossible to take the women and children with us." "campbell is a splendid fellow!" pottinger said. "he behaved wonderfully well at herat, and i was sure that in time he would make a very fine officer. it is a noble thing, his undertaking such a tremendous risk." the letters were now written and handed to angus. saleh, however, took them from his hands and read them, and then handed them back, after assuring himself that there was nothing written but what had been agreed upon. then he and the officer went downstairs with angus and azim, the latter carrying easily enough the one small bale that sufficed for the goods unsold. "you have made a nice sum out of this," saleh said. "i have had a long journey with my goods," angus replied humbly; "but they were well contented, and paid without bargaining the prices i asked. i feel, my lord, that i am greatly indebted to you for the opportunity. i have not money with me--we traders never carry cash, and i shall have to wait many months before i receive the price of the goods--nevertheless, my lord, i will willingly give you in token of my gratitude another shawl equal to the last; i have brought with me only two. and you can select any goods you like from those remaining. there are many silk things among them, for they only bought such as were needed for wear." saleh was well satisfied, and telling angus that he might call round in the evening with some of the silk embroidered scarfs, he allowed him to return to the camp. two days passed, and then a horseman rode in with the news that akbar had been defeated at tezeen, but would fight another battle, and, as he was being joined by many chiefs, would doubtless overthrow the infidels. the news spread rapidly and caused much excitement in the camp, which was heightened by the fact that the man said that there was a report that ghuznee had been captured by the british force that was marching from candahar. angus went in the evening and requested a private interview with saleh. as johnson had told him in his note, the afghan had already been revolving in his mind whether he could not do better for himself by halting at bamian until he knew how affairs would turn out at cabul. johnson, who had become very intimate with him on the journey, had said casually that the british government would assuredly pay a large sum for the return of the captives. he had taken no notice of the remark at the time, but had thought a good deal of it. he knew that money had been lavishly spent among the chiefs, and it seemed to him that he too might have a share in the golden flood. he was a shrewd man as well as an unscrupulous one. he had three times before deserted his employers when better offers had been made to him, and it seemed to him that he had it now in his power to procure a sum that would make him rich for life. he had been told by his sub-officers that there was a growing disaffection among the men, that many of them openly grumbled at the prospect of the journey to khooloom, and that some of the bamian petty chiefs had been going among them, and, they believed, stirring up a feeling against the journey. he had from the first entertained some suspicion of this cashmerian trader. why should he not have bought a larger store of indian goods to exchange with the turkomans? his doubt as to the best course to pursue had been heightened at the news that he had received that afternoon. what would happen if the british again settled down at cabul? they would doubtless send a force to endeavour to rescue the captives. and although he might be at khooloom before they did so, his situation would then be a most unpleasant one. akbar, as a fugitive, could no longer pay him and his troops; they would, of course, leave him, and he would not dare to return to cabul. he was thinking over these matters when angus was ushered in. the latter had already decided that he would for the present maintain the character that he had assumed. if saleh knew that he was a british officer he would assuredly, if he remained faithful to his charge, arrest him also; but as merely the agent of mohun lal, one of the most influential men in cabul, the afghan would probably allow him to depart unharmed, even if he refused the offered bribe. "i have not come to you this evening to talk of merchandise, saleh mahomed," angus began. "i have come upon a more important matter. as you know, the troops from jellalabad have defeated akbar, and are making their way up through the passes. they will defeat him again if he fights them. the troops from candahar have reached ghuznee, and assuredly there is no force that can arrest their progress to cabul. i have only waited for this to speak openly to you. i am sent here by mohun lal. he authorizes me to promise you, in his name and that of general pollock, a pension of a thousand rupees a month, and a gift of thirty thousand rupees, if you will hold the prisoners here until a british force arrives to carry them back to cabul." the afghan showed no surprise. "i suspected," he said, "all along that you had come here for some other motive than trade. what guarantee does mohun lal offer that these terms shall be fulfilled?" "it would not have been safe for him to have entrusted such a message to paper," angus said, "but he gives you his word." "words are no guarantee," saleh said, "especially the word of a chief." "i would suggest, saleh mahomed, that you have it in your power to obtain a guarantee that even you will acknowledge to be a binding one. you have in your hands three men whose names are known throughout afghanistan and through india as those of men of honour. you have major pottinger, captain lawrence, and mr. mackenzie, all men whose word would be accepted unhesitatingly to whatever promise they might make. they and the other officers would, i am sure, give you a written guarantee that the offer made by mohun lal shall be confirmed and carried out by the government of india." "what should i do with money without employment?" "if you desire employment, i have no doubt that you would be granted, in addition to the money payment, the command of a native regiment raised among the pathans of the lower hills." "i will think the matter over," the afghan said, and with a wave of the hand dismissed angus. but the latter had seen, by the expression of saleh's face when he mentioned the terms, that these were far higher than he had himself ever thought of, and he had no doubt whatever that they would be accepted. the first thing in the morning he received a message from saleh mahomed requesting him to accompany him to the tower. the afghan, beyond the usual salute, was silent during the ride. on dismounting saleh told him to follow him. on entering the prisoners' apartments the officer said: "you are aware that prince akbar's orders are that i am to take you to khooloom. i had certainly intended to do so, but i have received news that leads me to doubt whether he may be in a position to support you if i carry out the orders. yesterday afternoon i heard that he had been defeated at tezeen. he will fight again with a stronger force than before, still the issue is doubtful. i may tell you that the messenger also brought to the fort news that the force from candahar had taken ghuznee." an exclamation of joy broke from the prisoners. "another thing has happened," the afghan went on. "this trader last night informed me that he really came here on a mission from mohun lal. he promises me, in general pollock's name, that if i release you and carry you to cabul i shall be granted a pension of a thousand rupees a month and thirty thousand as a present. i know nothing of general pollock, and have no great faith in mohun lal, but seeing that akbar may be even now a fugitive and your two armies in cabul, if you gentlemen will swear by your god to make good to me what syud moorteza states he is authorized to offer, i will hand you over to your own people." the offer was joyfully accepted. angus was requested by saleh to draw out a bond to that effect in persian, and this was signed by pottinger, lawrence, johnson, and mackenzie. another agreement was then drawn up by johnson, by which all the officers bound themselves to pay as many months' pay and allowances, in accordance with their rank, as should be necessary to carry out the terms of the agreement, thus satisfying saleh that, should the english general refuse to ratify the first agreement, he would receive the money from them. to this all the prisoners and the ladies signed their names, brigadier shelton heading the list; while lady macnaghten and mrs. sturt, who were widows, bound themselves in a codicil to pay such sums as might be demanded from them by major pottinger and captains lawrence and johnson. "you are no longer my prisoner, sahibs," saleh said when the two documents were handed to him, and he on his part had given a bond to perform his share of the conditions. "now, i should like your counsel as to how i had best proceed. i believe that my men will gladly obey me in this matter, because they are discontented at being sent so far away, and i feel sure that a very slight inducement on your part to them will settle the matter. if i could offer them in your name a gratuity of four months' pay when we arrive at cabul, it would settle matters." to this the officers willingly agreed. "i have been thinking over the affair all night," he went on. "which, think you, would be best--to travel straight for cabul when you hear that the british have arrived there, or to wait here? i hear that many of the petty chiefs in the neighbourhood are indignant that akbar khan should have broken all the promises he made, and have treated so badly those who placed themselves under his protection, while at the same time his father, together with his own family, are receiving most honourable treatment in india. doubtless you would rather go straight down to cabul, but we must remember that if defeated, akbar with a very large number of his followers may again fly by this route and make for khooloom, as he and dost mahomed did when the british first marched to cabul. should they meet us on our way down they would assuredly attack us, and their numbers might be so great that we should be overwhelmed. on the other hand, if we stay here we can occupy the largest of these little forts and set to work to strengthen it, and might then resist any force akbar could bring against us until the british troops arrive to our assistance." the officers were silent for a minute, and then pottinger said: "what do you think, brigadier? this is a military matter." "i should say the last proposition is the safest," shelton replied. "we may be sure that the moment pollock reaches cabul he will send off a body of cavalry to rescue us. akbar would have at best only forty-eight hours' start, perhaps not half that, and he would scarcely venture to stop here to undertake a siege. he will certainly have no guns with him, and the three hundred men of our escort, with ten or twelve of us to lead them, could be trusted to withstand any hurried assault he might make upon us." the others all agreed that this would be the safest plan. "very well," saleh said. "i will go now and harangue my men, and in the meantime you can prepare to move. i will select the largest and most defensible of these forts. we will move quietly in there, and then i will summon the bamian chiefs, and proclaim that i have abandoned the cause of akbar, and now with my british allies summon them to invite their men to join me, so that when an english force arrives here they will be free from all molestation, and will receive presents in accordance with the number of men they furnish." so saying he left the room, and the joy of the captives broke out in general congratulations among the men, and tears of joy from the women. pottinger, johnson, and boyd gathered round angus and poured forth their thanks to him. nothing had hitherto been said to the ladies as to the real character of the supposed trader, for it was felt that if this enterprise failed the disappointment would to them be terrible. as soon as they learned who he was and what he had done, they too crowded round, and angus was for a time quite confused with the expressions of gratitude showered upon him. "i see," pottinger said, when the din of voices had quieted down, "that you have not informed saleh mahomed of your real character." "i thought it better not to do so. i really came from mohun lal, and if he thought i had not done so, he might have doubted whether i had any authority to make such a proposal; therefore, i thought it would be well to keep up my present character to the end." "perhaps it is best so," pottinger agreed. "these afghans are always suspicious, and a man who has several times betrayed his employers would be more suspicious than other people. i quite agree with you that it is best you should keep up your present character. i suppose mohun lal really did give you the assurance about the ransom?" "yes, general pollock told me that he would give any sum mohun lal might think it desirable to offer, and that was the figure fixed upon as being high enough to tempt saleh, and yet not excessive for such a service. besides, he thought that he might ask more, in which case i should of course have bargained with him." "it is a sum that would tempt any afghan chief," pottinger said, "and to a mere military adventurer like saleh would appear prodigious. well, we will hear of your adventures afterwards. he may return at any moment, and it might put him out of humour if he found that we were not ready. not, indeed, that there is much to do. even the ladies will be able to pack up their scanty belongings in a few minutes. there would, in fact, be nothing at all to pack had it not been for the things they bought of you. the next room is all in confusion, for every one of them is hard at work making clothes for the children." it was half an hour before saleh mahomed returned. "all is well," he said; "the men did not hesitate for a moment. they are delighted at the prospect of returning to cabul, and declare they will fight till the last if they are attacked. i set them to work at once to clear out the largest of the forts here. the chief, when i told him what it was required for, refused his consent, so i at once turned him out, and have appointed another favourable to us in his place. we will move there at once." the news infused fresh strength into the ladies, several of whom were suffering from sickness, and all from long-continued anxiety and the hardships of the journey; they were able to proceed on foot to the fort. hassan was the first to come in with ten followers to give in his adherence to the new order of things. many others followed the example; and as angus was able to supply money, strong parties were soon at work throwing up entrenchments round the tower. pottinger, convinced that audacity was the best policy, at once issued a proclamation calling upon the people of the town and the chiefs of all the surrounding villages to come in at once and pay their respects, and it was not long before they began to arrive. the next day still larger numbers were set to work, and by evening the earthworks were so advanced that they were in a position to offer a very strong resistance. late that evening a friendly chief brought in the news that general pollock was within a day's march of cabul, that all resistance had ceased, and that akbar had fled no one knew whither. it was immediately decided that a start should be made for cabul on the following morning. it was evident that akbar had not retired by that route--had he done so he would have arrived before the news of his flight--and that therefore the risk of meeting any strong force on the road was very slight. they set out at eight o'clock in the morning. horses had been procured for the whole party; the officers took the children before them, the ladies rode. that night all slept on the rocks within shelter, but at midnight they were awakened by the arrival of a horseman. he brought a letter from sir richmond shakespere, general pollock's military secretary, saying that he was on the point of starting with six hundred native horse for bamian. at daybreak the party were astir again, pressing their horses eagerly, their sufferings all forgotten in the hope of speedily meeting their friends. at noon a cloud of dust was seen to rise from the road far ahead; then some straggling horsemen were made out, and behind them a body of cavalry. it was still possible that this might be a body of the enemy, and preparations were at once made for defence. the drums were beat, a line formed, and muskets loaded. soon, however, it could be made out that an officer riding at the head of the party was in british uniform, and in a few minutes shakespere rode up, followed by his men. the joy of the meeting was almost beyond words. a few days before a hopeless captivity among wild tribesmen seemed to be their certain lot; now they were among friends again. they learned from sir richmond that general sale himself was to set out at the head of a brigade to support the advanced party. the next morning they started again, and on the th met sale's column. that evening they passed near the camp of the candahar force, and the next day rode through cabul on their way to pollock's camp, where their arrival excited unbounded delight, for it had generally been felt that the victories that they had won would be incomplete indeed unless their fellow countrymen and women had been rescued. general pollock thanked angus publicly that evening for the service that he had rendered, and the manner in which he had carried out the perilous scheme he had volunteered to perform, and he received innumerable congratulations from all the officers with whom he had shared in the defence of jellalabad. the army remained but a few days at cabul, for the winter was at hand. it was at first proposed to destroy the bala hissar, but the idea was given up, as it was represented that no ruler of afghanistan would be able to maintain his position unless he had that fortress to rely upon. instead of this the great bazaar, through which macnaghten's body had been carried in triumph, was destroyed, and in spite of the efforts of their officers many of the troops entered the city and punished the treachery of its inhabitants by sacking a considerable portion of it. the united army then marched down the passes and retired to india. pollock's division met with no resistance whatever; that of nott, which followed it, was more than once attacked by large bands of plunderers. the report that general pollock had sent in to the governor-general on the day the captives reached the camp gave full credit to angus for the courage and devotion that he had shown, and stated that had he not succeeded in bringing saleh mahomed over to our side, the latter would probably have reached khooloom with the captives before they could have been overtaken, and in that case they might have been sent far away on the approach of sale's brigade and been lost for ever to their friends. the consequence was that he was at once appointed political officer to one of the rajput states. henceforth his promotion was rapid. six years later he went to england on three years' leave. on the ship on which he sailed were four officers of his acquaintance, some of whom were accompanied by their wives. from several of these he received the most pressing invitations to stay with them at their country houses. these he gladly accepted, for except among military men who had returned home, he was without friends. feeling at a loss for employment after a life of such activity as he had led, he threw up his leave at the end of the year, and took back with him to india a wife, the daughter of a colonel who had sailed with him from india. at the end of another ten years he returned home for good. his pay had been large. he had laid by a considerable sum before he first went home, and this he had placed in the hands of the firm to whom he had sent his money before leaving teheran for herat. it had been well employed by them, and at the age of forty he returned home with a considerable fortune, besides a pension, after twenty-three years of service. he had been reluctant to quit his work, but his wife's health had suffered from the climate. his three children had been sent home to her family, and he now bought a place near her people. at first he felt altogether out of his element, but he gradually fell into the ways of country life, and no longer regretted that his work in india had come to an end. the end. "wherever english is spoken one imagines that mr. henty's name is known. one cannot enter a schoolroom or look at a boy's bookshelf without seeing half-a-dozen of his familiar volumes. mr. henty is no doubt the most successful writer for boys, and the one to whose new volumes they look forward every christmas with most pleasure."--_review of reviews._ a list of books for young people ... by ... g.a. henty g.m. fenn s. baring-gould kirk munroe f. frankfort moore gordon stables robert leighton harry collingwood rosa mulholland alice corkran, etc. published by charles scribner's sons to fifth avenue new york g.a. henty's new stories for - "his books have at once the solidity of history and the charm of romance."--_journal of education._ with roberts to pretoria a story of the boer war. by g.a. henty. with illustrations. $ . net. the boer war gives mr. henty an unexcelled opportunity for a thrilling story of present-day interest which the author could not fail to take advantage of. every boy reader will find this account of the adventures of the young hero most exciting, and, at the same time, a wonderfully accurate description of lord roberts's campaign to pretoria. boys have found history in the dress mr. henty gives it anything but dull, and the present book is no exception to the rule. at the point of the bayonet a story of the british conquest of india. by g.a. henty. illustrated. mo, $ . net. one hundred years ago the rule of the british in india was only partly established. the powerful mahrattas were unsubdued, and with their skill in intrigue, and great military power, they were exceedingly dangerous. the story of "at the point of the bayonet" begins with the attempt to conquer this powerful people. harry lindsay, an infant when his father and mother were killed, was saved by his mahratta ayah, who carried him to her own people, and brought him up as a native. she taught him as best she could, and, having told him his parentage, sent him to bombay to be educated. at sixteen he obtained a commission in the english army, and his knowledge of the mahratta tongue combined with his ability and bravery enabled him to render great service in the mahratta war, and carried him, through many frightful perils by land and sea, to high rank. to herat and cabul a story of the first afghan war. by g. a henty. with illustrations. mo. $ . net. the greatest defeat ever experienced by the british army was that in the mountain passes of afghanistan. angus cameron, the hero of this book, having been captured by the friendly afghans, was compelled to be a witness of the calamity. his whole story is an intensely interesting one, from his boyhood in persia; his employment under the government at herat; through the defense of that town against the persians; to cabul, where he shared in all the events which ended in the awful march through the passes, from which but one man escaped. angus is always at the point of danger, and whether in battle or in hazardous expeditions shows how much a brave youth, full of resources, can do, even with so treacherous a foe. his dangers and adventures are thrilling, and his escapes marvellous. new volumes for - . mr. henty, the most popular writer of books of adventure in england, adds three new volumes to his list this fall--books that will delight thousands of boys on this side who have become his ardent admirers. with buller in natal or, a born leader. by g.a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey. mo, $ . . the breaking out of the boer war compelled chris king, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from johannesburg to the sea coast. they were with many other uitlanders, and all suffered much from the boers. reaching a place of safety for their families, chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. in this service they were with gen. yule at glencoe, then in ladysmith, then with buller. in each place they had many thrilling adventures. they were in great battles, and in lonely fights on the veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the english forces. the story is a most interesting picture of the war in south africa. out with garibaldi a story of the liberation of italy. by g.a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey, r.i. mo, $ . . garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. from the time the hero, a young lad, son of an english father and an italian mother, joins garibaldi's band of , men in the first descent upon sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large neapolitan armies, until the end, when all those armies are beaten, and the two sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. in the irish brigade by g.a. henty. mo, $ . . desmond kennedy is a young irish lad who left ireland to join the irish brigade in the service of louis xiv. of france. in paris he incurred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of absorbing interest. captured in an attempted jacobite invasion of scotland, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. as aide-de-camp to the duke of berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in flanders. transferred to the army in spain, he was nearly assassinated, but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardon and having recovered his estates. the story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. by g.a. henty. "surely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."--_the times._ won by the sword a tale of the thirty years' war. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon, and plans. mo, $ . . the scene of this story is laid in france, during the time of richelieu, of mazarin and anne of austria. the hero, hector campbell, is the orphaned son of a scotch officer in the french army. how he attracted the notice of marshal turenne and of the prince of conde, how he rose to the rank of colonel; how he finally had to leave france, pursued by the deadly hatred of the duc de beaufort--all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest. no surrender the story of the revolt in la vendée. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo, $ . . the revolt of la vendée against the french republic at the time of the revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. leigh stansfield, a young english lad, is drawn into the thickest of the conflict. forming a company of boys as scouts for the vendéan army, he greatly aids the peasants. he rescues his sister from the guillotine, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of la vendée is lost, he escapes to england. a roving commission or, through the black insurrection at hayti. with illustrations by william rainey. mo, $ . . this is one of the most brilliant of mr. henty's books. a story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adventures on land. so it holds the keenest interest until the end. the scene is a new one to mr. henty's readers, being laid at the time of the great revolt of the blacks, by which hayti became independent. toussaint l'overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. at aboukir and acre a story of napoleon's invasion of egypt. with full-page illustrations by william rainey, and plans. mo, $ . . the hero, having saved the life of the son of an arab chief, is taken into the tribe, has a part in the battle of the pyramids and the revolt at cairo. he is an eye-witness of the famous naval battle of aboukir, and later is in the hardest of the defense of acre. by g.a. henty "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."--_sword and trowel._ under wellington's command a tale of the peninsular war. with illustrations by wal paget. mo, $ . . the dashing hero of this book, terence o'connor, was the hero of mr. henty's previous book, "with moore at corunna," to which this is really a sequel. he is still at the head of the "minho" portuguese regiment. being detached on independent and guerilla duty with his regiment, he renders invaluable service in gaining information and in harassing the french. his command, being constantly on the edge of the army, is engaged in frequent skirmishes and some most important battles. both sides the border a tale of hotspur and glendower. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. mo, $ . . this is a brilliant story of the stirring times of the beginning of the wars of the roses, when the scotch, under douglas, and the welsh, under owen glendower, were attacking the english. the hero of the book lived near the scotch border, and saw many a hard fight there. entering the service of lord percy, he was sent to wales, where he was knighted, and where he was captured. being released, he returned home, and shared in the fatal battle of shrewsbury. st. bartholomew's eve a tale of the huguenot wars. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h.j. draper, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, philip fletcher, has a french connection on his mother's side. this induces him to cross the channel in order to take a share in the huguenot wars. naturally he sides with the protestants, distinguishes himself in various battles, and receives rapid promotion for the zeal and daring with which he carries out several secret missions. redskin and cow-boy a tale of the western plains. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of an english lad, who seeks employment as a cow-boy on a cattle ranch. his experiences during a "round-up" present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cow-boy; while the perils of a frontier settlement are vividly set forth in an indian raid. by g.a. henty "no country nor epoch of history is there which mr. henty does not know, and what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly."--_new york times._ with frederick the great a tale of the seven years' war. with full-page illustrations. mo, $ . . the hero of this story while still a youth entered the service of frederick the great, and by a succession of fortunate circumstances and perilous adventures, rose to the rank of colonel. attached to the staff of the king, he rendered distinguished services in many battles, in one of which he saved the king's life. twice captured and imprisoned, he both times escaped from the austrian fortresses. a march on london a story of wat tyler's rising. with full-page illustrations by w.h. margetson. mo, $ . . the story of wat tyler's rebellion is but little known, but the hero of this story passes through that perilous time and takes part in the civil war in flanders which followed soon after. although young he is thrown into many exciting and dangerous adventures, through which he passes with great coolness and much credit. with moore at corunna a story of the peninsular war. with full-page illustrations by wal paget. mo, $ . . terence o'connor is living with his widowed father, captain o'connor of the mayo fusiliers, with the regiment at the time when the peninsular war began. upon the regiment being ordered to spain, terence gets appointed as aid to one of the generals of a division. by his bravery and great usefulness throughout the war, he is rewarded by a commission as colonel in the portuguese army and there rendered great service. on the irrawaddy a story of the first burmese war. with full-page illustrations by w.h. overend. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, having an uncle, a trader on the indian and burmese rivers, goes out to join him. soon after, war is declared by burmah against england and he is drawn into it. he has many experiences and narrow escapes in battles and in scouting. with half-a-dozen men he rescues his cousin who had been taken prisoner, and in the flight they are besieged in an old, ruined temple. by g.a. henty "boys like stirring adventures, and mr. henty is a master of this method of composition."--_new york times._ at agincourt a tale of the white hoods of paris. with full-page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story begins in a grim feudal castle in normandie. the times were troublous, and soon the king compelled lady margaret de villeroy with her children to go to paris as hostages. guy aylmer went with her. paris was turbulent. soon the guild of the butchers, adopting white hoods as their uniform, seized the city, and besieged the house where our hero and his charges lived. after desperate fighting, the white hoods were beaten and our hero and his charges escaped from the city, and from france. with cochrane the dauntless a tale of the exploits of lord cochrane in south american waters. with full-page illustrations by w.h. margetson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story accompanies cochrane as midshipman, and serves in the war between chili and peru. he has many exciting adventures in battles by sea and land, is taken prisoner and condemned to death by the inquisition, but escapes by a long and thrilling flight across south america and down the amazon, piloted by two faithful indians. the tiger of mysore a story of the war with tippoo saib. with full-page illustrations by w.h. margetson, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . dick holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of tippoo saib, goes to india to help him to escape. he joins the army under lord cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign against tippoo. afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of savandroog. the hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. through russian snows a story of napoleon's retreat from moscow. with full-page illustrations by w.h. overend, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, julian wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the french, regains his freedom and joins napoleon's army in the russian campaign. when the terrible retreat begins, julian finds himself in the rear guard of the french army, fighting desperately. ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to england. by g.a. henty "here we have mr. george henty--the boys' own author."--_punch._ a knight of the white cross a tale of the siege of rhodes. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock, and a plan. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . gervaise tresham, the hero of this story, joins the order of the knights of st. john, and proceeds to the stronghold of rhodes. subsequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of moorish corsairs. during one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in tripoli. he succeeds in escaping, and returns to rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. wulf the saxon a story of the norman conquest. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a young thane who wins the favor of earl harold and becomes one of his retinue. when harold becomes king of england wulf assists in the welsh wars, and takes part against the norsemen at the battle of stamford bridge. when william of normandy invades england, wulf is with the english host at hastings, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. beric the briton a story of the roman invasion. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story deals with the invasion of britain by the roman legionaries. beric, who is a boy-chief of a british tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under boadicea; and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in a.d. ) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. ultimately beric is defeated and carried captive to rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. at length he returns to britain, where he becomes ruler of his own people. when london burned a story of the plague and the fire. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the troublous times of the commonwealth. during the great plague and the great fire, cyril was prominent among those who brought help to the panic-stricken inhabitants. by g.a. henty "ask for henty, and see that you get him."--_punch._ the dash for khartoum a tale of the nile expedition. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schönberg and j. nash. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the record of recent british history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue general gordon. for, in the difficulties which the expedition encountered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tragic disappointments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. bonnie prince charlie a tale of fontenoy and culloden. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the adventures of the son of a scotch officer in french service. the boy, brought up by a glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the french coast, reaches paris, and serves with the french army at dettingen. he kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of prince charlie, but finally settles happily in scotland. under drake's flag a tale of the spanish main. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story of the days when england and spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea. the heroes sail as lads with drake in the pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. the historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. with wolfe in canada or, the winning of a continent. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . mr. henty here gives an account of the struggle between britain and france for supremacy in the north american continent. the fall of quebec decided that the anglo-saxon race should predominate in the new world; and that english and american commerce, the english language, and english literature, should spread right round the globe. by g. a henty "mr. henty is one of the best of story-tellers for young people."--_spectator._ by pike and dyke a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by maynard brown, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story traces the adventures of an english boy in the household of william the silent. edward martin, the son of an english sea-captain, enters the service of the prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes through the great sieges of the time. by england's aid or, the freeing of the netherlands ( - ). by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story of two english lads who go to holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting veres." after many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the armada, and escapes, only to fall into the hands of the corsairs. he is successful in getting back to spain, and regains his native country after the capture of cadiz. in the heart of the rockies a story of adventure in colorado. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by g.c. hindley. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, tom wade, goes to seek his uncle in colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger, and he is discovered, after many dangers, out on the plains with some comrades. going in quest of a gold mine, the little band is spied by indians, chased across the bad lands, and overwhelmed by a snow-storm in the mountains. by right of conquest or, with cortez in mexico. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w.s. stacey, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . with the conquest of mexico as the groundwork of his story, mr. henty has interwoven the adventures of an english youth. he is beset by many perils among the natives, but by a ruse he obtains the protection of the spaniards, and after the fall of mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming aztec bride. through the sikh war a tale of the conquest of the punjaub. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by hal hurst, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . percy groves, a spirited english lad, joins his uncle in the punjaub, where the natives are in a state of revolt. percy joins the british force as a volunteer, and takes a distinguished share in the famous battles of the punjaub. by g.a. henty "no living writer of books for boys writes to better purpose than mr. g.a. henty."--_philadelphia press._ true to the old flag a tale of the american war of independence. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a graphic and vigorous story of the american revolution, which paints the scenes with great power, and does full justice to the pluck and determination of the soldiers during the unfortunate struggle. the lion of st. mark a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story of venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. the hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. the lion of the north a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in this story mr. henty gives the history of the first part of the thirty years' war. the issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in germany. the army of the chivalrous king of sweden was largely composed of scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story. in greek waters a story of the grecian war of independence ( - ). by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w.s. stacey, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . deals with the revolt of the greeks in against turkish oppression. mr. beveridge and his son horace fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for greece. they rescue the christians, relieve the captive greeks, and fight the turkish war vessels. with lee in virginia a story of the american civil war. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story of a young virginia planter, who serves under lee and jackson through the most exciting events of the struggle. he has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness bring him safely through all difficulties. by g.a. henty "mr. henty's books never fail to interest boy readers."--_academy._ with clive in india or, the beginnings of an empire. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the period between the landing of clive in india and the close of his career was eventful in the extreme. at its commencement the english were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes; at its close they were masters of bengal and of the greater part of southern india. the author has given a full account of the events of that stirring time, while he combines with his narrative a thrilling tale of daring and adventure. the young carthaginian a story of the times of hannibal. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by c.j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . there is no better field for romance-writers in the whole of history than the momentous struggle between the romans and carthaginians for the empire of the world. mr. henty has had the full advantage of much unexhausted picturesque and impressive material, and has thus been enabled to form a striking historic background to as exciting a story of adventure as the keenest appetite could wish. for the temple a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by s.j. solomon, and a colored map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . mr. henty here weaves into the record of josephus an admirable and attractive story. the troubles in the district of tiberias, the march of the legions, the sieges of jotapata, of gamala, and of jerusalem, form the impressive setting to the figure of the lad who becomes the leader of a guerrilla band of patriots, fights bravely for the temple, and after a brief term of slavery at alexandria, returns to his galilean home. through the fray a story of the luddite riots. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h.m. paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story is laid in yorkshire at the commencement of the present century, when the high price of food induced by the war and the introduction of machinery drove the working-classes to desperation, and caused them to band themselves in that wide-spread organization known as the luddite society. there is an abundance of adventure in the tale, but its chief interest lies in the character of the hero, and the manner in which he is put on trial for his life, but at last comes victorious "through the fray." by g.a. henty "the brightest of all the living writers whose office it is to enchant the boys."--_christian leader._ captain bayley's heir a tale of the gold fields of california. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h.m. paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a considerable property. the former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves england for america. he works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with indians to the californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. in freedom's cause a story of wallace and bruce. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . relates the stirring tale of the scottish war of independence. the hero of the tale fought under both wallace and bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. a jacobite exile being the adventures of a young englishman in the service of charles xii. of sweden. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by paul hardy, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . sir marmaduke carstairs, a jacobite, is the victim of a conspiracy, and he is denounced as a plotter against the life of king william. he flies to sweden, accompanied by his son charlie. this youth joins the foreign legion under charles xii., and takes a distinguished part in several famous campaigns against the russians and poles. condemned as a nihilist a story of escape from siberia. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story is an english boy resident in st. petersburg. through two student friends he becomes innocently involved in various political plots, resulting in his seizure by the russian police and his exile to siberia. he ultimately escapes, and, after many exciting adventures, he reaches norway, and thence home, after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. by g.a. henty "mr. henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."--_scotsman._ in the reign of terror the adventures of a westminster boy. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . harry sandwith, a westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of a french marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to paris at the crisis of the revolution. imprisonment and death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. after hairbreadth escapes they reach nantes. there the girls are condemned to death in the coffinships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy-protector. st. george for england a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . no portion of english history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of edward iii. cressy and poitiers; the destruction of the spanish fleet; the plague of the black death; the jacquerie rising; these are treated by the author in "st. george for england." the hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a london apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the black prince. a chapter of adventures or, through the bombardment of alexandria. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w.h. overend. crown vo, $ . . a coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures the interest of a ship-owner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. in company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at alexandria, in the hands of the revolted egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. held fast for england a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story deals with one of the most memorable sieges in history--the siege of gibraltar in - by the united forces of france and spain. with land forces, fleets, and floating batteries, the combined resources of two great nations, this grim fortress was vainly besieged and bombarded. the hero of the tale, an english lad resident in gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, resource, and tenacity the rock was held for england. by g.a. henty "among writers of stories of adventures for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank."--_academy._ for name and fame or, through afghan passes. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . an interesting story of the last war in afghanistan. the hero, after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the malays, finds his way to calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding to join the army at the afghan passes. he accompanies the force under general roberts to the peiwar kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried to cabul, whence he is transferred to candahar, and takes part in the final defeat of the army of ayoub khan. orange and green a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the record of two typical families--the davenants, who, having come over with strongbow, had allied themselves in feeling to the original inhabitants; and the whitefoots, who had been placed by cromwell over certain domains of the davenants. in the children the spirit of contention has given place to friendship, and though they take opposite sides in the struggle between james and william, their good-will and mutual service are never interrupted, and in the end the davenants come happily to their own again. maori and settler a story of the new zealand war. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearce. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the renshaws emigrate to new zealand during the period of the war with the natives. wilfrid, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the mainstay of the household. he has for his friend mr. atherton, a botanist and naturalist of herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humor. in the adventures among the maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant new zealand valleys. a final reckoning a tale of bush life in australia. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w.b. wollen. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, a young english lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to australia and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. a few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bush-rangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. by g.a. henty "mr. henty's books are welcome visitors in the home circle."--_daily news._ the bravest of the brave or, with peterborough in spain. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h.m. paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . there are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completely fallen into oblivion as those of the earl of peterborough. this is largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory and successes of marlborough. his career as general extended over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare which has never been surpassed. the dragon and the raven or, the days of king alfred. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by c.j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between saxon and dane for supremacy in england, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. the hero, a young saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by king alfred. he is driven from his home, takes to the sea, and resists the danes on their own element, and being pursued by them up the seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of paris. facing death or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . "facing death" is a story with a purpose. it is intended to show that a lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his determination, is sure to succeed. the hero of the story is a typical british boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though "shamefaced" to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of duty. by sheer pluck a tale of the ashanti war. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. his hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompanies the english expedition on their march to coomassie. by g.a. henty "mr. henty might with entire propriety be called the boys' sir walter scott."--_philadelphia press._ the cat of bubastes a story of ancient egypt. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the customs of the egyptian people. amuba, a prince of the rebu nation, is carried with his charioteer jethro into slavery. they become inmates of the house of ameres, the egyptian high-priest, and are happy in his service until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat of bubastes. in an outburst of popular fury ameres is killed, and it rests with jethro and amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son and daughter. one of the th a tale of waterloo. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w.h. overend, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story, ralph conway, has many varied and exciting adventures. he enters the army, and after some rough service in ireland takes part in the waterloo campaign, from which he returns with the loss of an arm, but with a substantial fortune. sturdy and strong or, how george andrews made his way. by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck, carry him, naturally, from poverty to affluence. george andrews is an example of character with nothing to cavil at, and stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life. tales of daring and danger by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cents. containing five stories, varied in scene and character, but all of adventurous interest and telling of youthful heroism under dangerous and trying circumstances on land and on sea. yarns on the beach by g.a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cents. this book should find special favor among boys. the yarns are spun by old sailors, and are admirably calculated to foster a manly spirit. droll doings illustrated by harry b. neilson, with verses by the cockiolly bird. to, decorated boards. $ . . a new, original, and very amusing book of animal pictures in color. by carton moore park a book of birds profusely illustrated with full-page plates, vignettes, cover design, &c., &c. demy to ( inches by inches). $ . . no artist has caught more thoroughly the individualities of the bird world, or has reproduced them with more lifelike vivacity and charm. an alphabet of animals with full-page plates, a large number of vignettes, and cover design by carton moore park. demy to ( inches by inches), $ . . a strikingly artistic alphabet book. mr. park's drawings are marked by extraordinary boldness and vigor of treatment; but they display in addition a rare appreciation of the subtler characteristics of the animal world. of these individual traits mr. park has an intuitive perception, and his pictures may almost be said to live upon the page. bright and original fairy tales the princess of hearts by sheila e. braine. with illustrations by alice b. woodward, and frontispiece in colors. square vo, gilt edges, $ . . go tell the king the sky is falling by sheila e. braine. with illustrations by alice b. woodward. square crown vo, $ . . the little browns by mabel e. wolton. with illustrations by h.m. brock, and a colored frontispiece. square vo, gilt edges, $ . . the little browns are a delightful set of youngsters, more than usually individual and self-reliant. during their parents' absence they extend hospitality to a stranger, under the belief that he is their uncle from australia. the supposed uncle is really a burglar, and by their courage and childish resource they outwit him. _the little browns_ is the work of a true child-lover. by professor a.j. church lords of the world a story of the fall of carthage and corinth. by professor a.j. church. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the scene of this story centres in the destruction of carthage by the romans. the young hero is captured by the romans, but wearing the dress of his twin sister, escapes death. entering the army of carthage he is in the thick of the long conflict and passes through many thrilling adventures. he is present at the final scene, and that awful catastrophe is most vividly told. the story is full of valuable historical details and the interest never flags. two thousand years ago or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a.j. church. with full-page illustrations by adrien marie. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a young roman who has a very chequered career, being now a captive in the hands of spartacus, again an officer on board a vessel detailed for the suppression of the pirates, and anon a captive once more, on a pirate ship. by s. baring-gould grettir the outlaw a story of iceland. by s. baring-gould. with full-page illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a colored map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . no boy will be able to withstand the magic of such scenes as the fight of grettir with twelve bearserks, and the wrestle with karr the old in the chamber of the dead. by f. frankfort moore highways and high seas cyril harley's adventures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story belongs to a period when highways meant post-chaises, coaches, and highwaymen, and when high seas meant privateers and smugglers. under hatches or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by a. forestier. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in rescuing another lad from drowning, ned woodthorpe is taken on board a convict ship. after a series of exciting events the convicts and crew obtain the mastery. ultimately the ship is recaptured and ned and his friends escape from their troubles. capt. f.s. brereton with rifle and bayonet a story of the boer war. with illustrations by wal. paget. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . jack somerten, the hero of _with rifle and bayonet_, is an english boy who chances to be spending a vacation at the home of a school friend in the transvaal just before the outbreak of the boer war. jack is the first uitlander to find actual evidence that the boers are importing arms and ammunition in large quantities, but the boers soon learn that he has discovered their secret and from that time his life is in constant danger. the account of his adventures and escapes during this time and throughout the war makes one of the best war tales of many years. the story gives also the most interesting details of transvaal history, who the boers were, how they came to settle the transvaal, and the government and customs that have arisen among them. in the king's service a tale of cromwell's invasion of ireland. with eight page illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . dick granville is the son of a royalist who is driven from his home in cheshire and takes refuge at castle driscoe, in ireland. when the parliamentary army crosses to ireland young dick granville and his cousin join a body of royalist horse. they take part in the defense of drogheda, only escaping from the slaughter there by a miracle, and afterwards go through a series of thrilling adventures and narrow escapes in which dick displays extraordinary skill and resource. with shield and assegai a tale of the zulu war. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo. $ . . donald stewart, the son of an english missionary in zululand, when at school in england, is wrongfully accused of theft. he runs away, enlists in the british army, and is sent to africa. there he learns that his sister and a friend are in the hands of cetewayo. disguised as a zulu, he rescues the two girls; and after the attack upon ulundi, he hears from a dying officer a confession of the theft of which he was accused. fighting the matabele by j. chalmers. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo. $ . . a stout english bowman being a story of chivalry in the days of henry iii. by edgar pickering. with illustrations. price, $ . . in press-gang days by edgar pickering. with full page illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo. $ . . by robert leighton "mr. leighton's place is in the front rank of writers of boys' books."--_standard._ the golden galleon illustrated, crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this is a story of queen elizabeth's time, just after the defeat of the spanish armada. mr. leighton introduces in his work the great sea-fighters of plymouth town--hawkins, drake, raleigh, and richard grenville. olaf the glorious by robert leighton. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story of olaf, king of norway, opens with his being found living as a bond-slave in esthonia, and follows him through his romantic youth in russia. then come his adventures as a viking, his raids upon the coasts of scotland and england, and his conversion to christianity. he returns to norway as king, and converts his people to the christian faith. wreck of "the golden fleece" the story of a north sea fisher-boy. by robert leighton. with full-page illustrations by frank brangwyn. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a parson's son who is apprenticed on board a lowestoft fishing lugger. the lad suffers many buffets from his shipmates, while the storms and dangers which he braved are set forth with intense power. the thirsty sword a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). by robert leighton. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story tells how roderic macalpin, the sea-rover, came to the isle of bute; how he slew his brother in rothesay castle; how the earl's eldest son was likewise slain; how young kenric now became king of bute, and vowed vengeance against the slayer of his brother and father; and finally, how this vow was kept, when kenric and the murderous sea-rover met at midnight and ended their feud in one last great fight. the pilots of pomona a story of the orkney islands. by robert leighton. with full-page illustrations by john leighton, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . halcro ericson, the hero, happens upon many exciting adventures and hardy experiences, through which he carries himself with quiet courage. the story gives a vivid presentation of life in these far northern islands. by kirk munroe midshipman stuart or, the last cruise of the essex. a tale of the war of . illustrated. mo, $ . in pirate waters a tale of the american navy. illustrated by i.w. taber. mo, $ . . the hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy just at the time of the war with tripoli. his own wild adventures among the turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stirring history of that time. the "white conquerors" series with crockett and bowie or, fighting for the lone star flag. a tale of texas. with full-page illustrations by victor pérard. crown vo, $ . . the story is of the texas revolution in , when american texans under sam houston, bowie, crockett and travis, fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the mexican santa aña. the hero, rex hardin, son of a texan ranchman and graduate of an american military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the alamo, and the final triumph at san jacinto. through swamp and glade a tale of the seminole war. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by v. pérard. crown vo, $ . . coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of philip the chieftain of the seminoles. he grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the indians being driven from the north of florida down to the distant southern wilderness. at war with pontiac or, the totem of the bear. a tale of redcoat and redskin. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo, $ . . a story when the shores of lake erie were held by hostile indians. the hero, donald hester, goes in search of his sister edith, who has been captured by the indians. strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but contrives to escape. in the end all things terminate happily. the white conquerors a tale of toltec and aztec. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . this story deals with the conquest of mexico by cortes and his spaniards, the "white conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where montezuma reigned in splendor. by dr. gordon stables courage true heart a brilliant new story of danger and daring on the sea. by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. illustrated, crown vo, $ . . a naval cadet a story of adventure by sea. by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. illustrated, crown vo, $ . . for life and liberty a story of battle by land and sea by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. with full-page illustrations by sidney paget. mo, $ . . the story of an english boy who runs from home and joins the southern army in the late civil war. his chum enters the navy, and their various adventures are set forth with great vigor and interest. to greenland and the pole a story of adventure in the arctic regions. by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. with full-page illustrations by g.c. hindley, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the author is himself an old arctic voyager, and he deals with deer-hunting in norway, sealing in the arctic seas, bear-stalking on the ice-floes, the hardships of a journey across greenland, and a successful voyage to the back of the north pole. westward with columbus by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story is columbus himself. his career is traced from boyhood onward through the many hazardous enterprises in which he was at various times engaged. the narrative deals chiefly, however, with the great naval venture which resulted in the discovery of the american continent. 'twixt school and college a tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . by harry collingwood the log of a privateersman by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by w. rainey, r.i. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the war between napoleon and the british, many privateers were sent out from england to seize and destroy the french merchant vessels. on one of these george bowen went as second mate. long distance duels at sea, fights at close quarters, fierce boarding attacks, capture and recapture, flight and pursuit, storm and wreck, fire at sea and days without food or water in a small boat on the ocean, are some of the many thrilling experiences our hero passed through. the log of "the flying fish." a story of aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . in this story the aim of the author has been, not only to interest and amuse, but also to stimulate a taste for scientific study. the missing merchantman. by harry collingwood. with full-page pictures by w. h. overend. crown vo, $ . . a fine australian clipper is seized by the crew; the passengers are landed on one deserted island, the captain and a junior officer on another; and the young hero of the story is kept on board to navigate the ship, which the mutineers refit as a private vessel. after many adventures ned succeeded in carrying off the ship, and in picking up the captain and the passengers. the congo rovers a tale of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the scene of this thrilling tale is laid on the west coast of africa among the slavers. the rover's secret a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by w.c. symons. crown vo, $ . . the hero of "the rover's secret," a young officer of the british navy, narrates his peculiar experiences in childhood and his subsequent perils and achievements. the pirate island a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. illustrated by full-page pictures by c.j. staniland and j.r. wells. olivine edges. crown vo, $ . . this story details the adventures of a lad who was found in his infancy on board a wreck, and is adopted by a fisherman. going to sea, he forms one of a party who, after being burned out of their ship, are picked up by a pirate brig and taken to the "pirate island," where they have many thrilling adventures. by george manville fenn "mr. fenn is in the front rank of writers for boys."--_liverpool mercury._ dick o' the fens a romance of the great east swamp. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, $ . . brownsmith's boy with page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . yussuf the guide being the strange story of travels in asia minor. with full page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . the golden magnet a tale of the land of the incas. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . nat the naturalist a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. illustrated by full-page pictures by george browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . quicksilver or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, $ . . devon boys a tale of the north shore. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . mother carey's chicken her voyage to the unknown isle. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . bunyip land the story of a wild journey in new guinea. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . in the king's name or, the cruise of the _kestrel_. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . menhardoc a story of cornish nets and mines. with full-page illustrations by c.j. staniland. crown vo, $ . . patience wins or, war in the works. with full-page illustrations. crown vo. $ . . stories of adventure by sea and land paris at bay a story of the siege and the commune. by herbert hayens. with full-page illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the turkish automaton a tale of the time of catharine the great of russia. by sheila e. braine. with full-page illustrations by william rainey, r.i. crown vo, $ . . a mystery of the pacific by oliphant smeaton. with illustrations by wal paget. mo, olivine edges, $ . . gold, gold, in cariboo a story of adventure in british columbia. by clive phillipps-wolley. with full-page illustrations by g.c. hindley. crown vo, $ . . his first kangaroo an australian story for boys. by arthur ferres. with illustrations by p.b.s. spener. crown vo, $ . . sou'wester and sword by hugh st. leger. with full-page illustrations by hal hurst. crown vo, $ . . with the sea kings a story of the days of lord nelson. by f.h. winder. with full-page illustrations by w.s. stacey. crown vo, $ . . the wigwam and the war-path stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. illustrated by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . "mr. hope's 'wigwam and war-path' is notably good; it gives a very vivid picture of life among the indians."--_spectator._ the seven wise scholars by ascott r. hope. illustrated by gordon browne. square vo, $ . . young travellers' tales by ascott r. hope. with full-page illustrations by h.j. draper. crown vo, $ . . wulfric the weapon thane the story of the danish conquest of east anglia. by charles w. whistler. with illustrations by w.h. margetson. crown vo, $ . . a tale in which is set forth:--how wulfric saved the danish warrior's life; how he fought in the viking ship; how he was accused falsely; how he joined king eadmund, as his weapon-thane; how he fought for the king; and how he won the lady osritha and brought her to his home. tommy the adventurous the story of a brother and sister. by s.e. cartwright. with illustrations. crown vo, $ . . silas verney a tale of the time of charles ii. by edgar pickering. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, $ . . an ocean outlaw a story of adventure in the good ship _margaret_. by hugh st. leger. with page illustrations by wm. rainey, r.i. crown vo, $ . . this is a breezy sea-yarn in which the reader is made acquainted with jimmy ducks, a tiptop sailor-man and a hero at cutlass work; and all his cleverness was needed when he and his messmates came to tackle the ocean outlaw. the loss of john humble what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . hal hungerford or, the strange adventures of a boy emigrant. by j.r. hutchinson. with full-page illustrations by stanley berkeley. crown vo, $ . . "there is no question whatever as to the spirited manner in which the story is told; the death of the mate of the smuggler by the teeth of the dog is especially effective."--_london spectator._ sir walter's ward a tale of the crusades. by william everard. illustrated by walter paget. crown vo, $ . . "a highly fascinating work, dealing with a period which is always suggestive of romance and deeds of daring."--_schoolmaster._ hugh herbert's inheritance by caroline austin. with full-page illustrations by c.t. garland. crown vo, $ . . "a story that teaches patience as well as courage in fighting the battles of life."--_daily chronicle._ jones the mysterious by charles edwardes. with illustrations by harold copping. mo, cts. a bright story of english schoolboy life, with mysterious happenings to the hero, who has a secret and weird "power," bestowed upon him by his east indian bearer. the history of gutta-percha willie the working genius. by george macdonald. with illustrations by arthur hughes. new edition. mo, cts. "hallowe'en" ahoy! or, lost on the crozet islands. by hugh st. leger. with page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . the search for the talisman a tale of labrador. by henry frith. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . famous discoveries by sea and land illustrated. crown vo, $ . . from the clyde to the jordan by hugh callan. with illustrations and a map. crown vo, $ . . jack o'lanthorn a tale of adventure. by henry frith. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . tales of captivity and exile by w.b. fortescue. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . historical stories a thane of wessex being a story of the great viking raids into somerset. by charles w. whistler. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . a prisoner of war a story of the time of napoleon bonaparte. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by robert barnes, a.r.w.s. crown vo, $ . . some books for girls the reign of the princess naska by amelia hutchison stirling. with illustrations by paul hardy. mo, $ . . the whispering winds and the tales that they told. by mary h. debenham. with illustrations by paul hardy. crown vo, $ . . "we wish the winds would tell us stories like these."--_london academy._ things will take a turn by beatrice harraden, author of "ships that pass in the night." illustrated. mo, $ . . it is the story of a sunny-hearted child, rosebud, who assists her grandfather in his dusty, second-hand bookshop. naughty miss bunny her tricks and troubles. by clara mulholland. illustrated. crown vo, cents. "this naughty child is positively delightful."--_land and water._ unlucky a fragment of a girl's life. by caroline austin. illustrated. crown vo, cents. a touching story of an unlucky girl at odds with her stepmother. laugh and learn the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. charmingly illustrated. square vo, $ . . "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning."--_graphic._ adventures in toyland by edith king hall. with colored plates and other illustrations by alice b. woodward. square vo, $ . . the story of what a little girl heard and saw in a toy shop. some books for girls. a newnham friendship by alice stronach. with illustrations by harold copping. crown vo. $ . . in _a newmham friendship_ we have a description of life at newnham college. carol martin, a third-year student, befriends a "fresher," elspeth macleod, a shy, sensitive highland girl, who has worked her way from a board school to college. the enmity of a fellow-student and a mystery about some parodies cloud elspeth's happiness for a time. but the clouds clear. men students play their part in the story, and the closing chapters describe the work of some of the girls as "social settlers" in the east of london. three fair maids or, the burkes of derrymore. by katharine tynan. with illustrations by g.d. hammond. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . a story of irish country life. the three fair maids are the daughters of an impoverished irish lady. their father had been disinherited by his uncle for marrying against his wish. sir jasper's disinheritance obliged them to give up their great house, derrymore, but the family is ultimately reconciled with uncle peter, who makes elizabeth his heiress. queen charlotte's maidens by sarah tytler, author of "girl neighbors." with illustrations by paul hardy. mo. cts. girl neighbors or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with full-page illustrations by c.t. garland. crown vo. $ . . "_girl neighbors_ is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."--_london spectator._ the heiress of courtleroy by anne beale. with page illustrations by t.c.h. castle. crown vo, cloth; elegant, olivine edges. $ . . "miss anne beale relates how the young 'heiress of courtleroy' had such good influence over her uncle as to win him from his intensely selfish ways in regard to his tenants and others."--_london guardian._ some books for girls the lady isobel a story for girls. by eliza f. pollard. with illustrations by w. fulton brown. mo, $ . . a tale of the scottish covenanters. a girl of to-day by ellinor davenport adams. with page illustrations by gertrude demain hammond, r.i. crown vo, $ . . the boys and girls of woodend band themselves together, and that they have plenty of fun is seen in the shopping expedition to purchase stores for their society, and in the successful christmas entertainment. max brenton's fight with joe baker, the bully, shows that their work has its serious side as well. a dreadful mistake by geraldine mockler. with page illustrations by william rainey, r.i. crown vo, $ . . the mistake occurs at the very beginning of the book, gradually rights itself during the course of the story, and at the end is found to be the very best thing that could have happened. a very amusing character is an eccentric aunt. her friend and mine a story of two sisters. by florence coombe. with illustrations by wm. rainey. mo, $ . . the eagle's nest by s.e. cartwright. with illustrations by wm. rainey. mo, $ . . my friend kathleen by jennie chappell. with illustrations by john h. bacon. mo, $ . . a daughter of erin by violet g. finny. with illustrations. price, $ . . under false colors a story from two girls' lives. by sarah doudney. with full-page illustrations by g.g. kilburne. crown vo, $ . . a story which has in it so strong a dramatic element that it will attract readers of all ages and of either sex. by m. corbet-seymour a girl's kingdom illustrated. crown vo, $ . . olive and her story will receive welcome from all girls. dulcie king a story for girls. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . some books for girls by alice corkran down the snow stairs or, from good-night to good-morning. by alice corkran. with character illustrations by gordon browne. square crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius.... all is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the dream appears to be a solid reality. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."--_christian leader._ margery merton's girlhood by alice corkran. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . the experience of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her father, an officer in india, to the care of an elderly aunt residing near paris. joan's adventures at the north pole and elsewhere. by alice corkran. illustrated. crown vo, cts. a beautiful dream-land story. adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be by alice corkran. with full-page pictures in colors. crown vo, cts. by mrs. r.h. read dora; or, a girl without a home. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . nell's school days a story of town and country. by h.p. gethen. with illustrations. price, $ . . violet vereker's vanity by annie e. armstrong. with illustrations by g. d. hammond. crown vo, $ . . three bright girls a story of chance and mischance. by annie e. armstrong. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, $ . . "among many good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one of the very best."--_teachers' aid._ a very odd girl life at the gabled farm. by annie e. armstrong. with full-page illustrations by s.t. dadd. crown vo, $ . . white lilac or, the queen of the may. by amy walton. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . by margaret parker for the sake of a friend a story of school life. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . charles scribner's sons - fifth ave., new york. [illustration: dan, the newsboy.] dan, the newsboy. by horatio alger, jr., _author of "the train boy," "the errand boy," "tony the hero," "tom temple's career," etc., etc._ [illustration: logo] new york: a. l. burt, publisher. copyright, , by a. l. burt. contents. chapter. page. i.--introducing dan ii.--dan at home iii.--gripp's clothing store iv.--an odd couple v.--effecting a loan vi.--more than a match vii.--mr. gripp is worsted viii.--mike rafferty's trick ix.--mike's theft is discovered x.--dan as a detective xi.--dan has another adventure xii.--a mysterious lady xiii.--althea xiv.--a new home xv.--dan becomes a detective xvi.--dan makes a discovery xvii.--talbot's secret xviii.--two knights of the highway xix.--dan as a good samaritan xx.--laying the train xxi.--twelve thousand dollars xxii.--talbot's scheme fails xxiii.--the calm before the storm xxiv.--old jack, the janitor xxv.--the burglary xxvi.--dan learns to dance xxvii.--in the dressing-room xxviii.--dan at the party xxix.--a ne'er do well xxx.--how hartley got a clew xxxi.--althea's abduction xxxii.--donovan's xxxiii.--althea becomes katy donovan xxxiv.--another little game xxxv.--dan disguises himself xxxvi.--dan makes a discovery xxxvii.--dan is discovered xxxviii.--unpleasant quarters xxxix.--dan discomfits the donovans xl.--hartley surprised xli.--dan is adopted xlii.--conclusion dan, the newsboy. chapter i. introducing dan. "_evening telegram!_ only one left. going for two cents, and worth double the money. buy one, sir?" attracted by the business-like tone of the newsboy, a gentleman paused as he was ascending the steps of the astor house, and said, with a smile: "you seem to appreciate the _telegram_, my boy. any important news this afternoon?" "buy the paper, and you'll see," said the boy, shrewdly. "i see--you don't care to part with the news for nothing. well, here are your two cents." "thank you, sir." still the gentleman lingered, his eyes fixed upon the keen, pleasant face of the boy. "how many papers have you sold to-day, my boy?" he asked. "thirty-six, sir." "were they all _telegrams_?" "no; i sell all the papers. i ain't partial. i'm just as willing to make money on the _mail_, or _commercial_, or _evening post_, as the _telegram_." "i see you have an eye to business. how long have you dealt in papers?" "three years, sir." "how old are you?" "fifteen." "what did you do before you sold papers?" a shadow rested on the boy's bright face. "i didn't have to work then, sir," he said. "my father was alive, and he was well off. we lived in a nice house up town, and i went to a private school. but all at once father failed, and soon afterward he died, and then everything was changed. i don't like to think about it, sir." the gentleman's interest was strongly excited. "it is a sad story," he said. "is your mother living?" "yes, sir. the worst of it is, that i don't make enough to support us both, and she has to work, too." "what does she do?" "she makes vests for a man on chatham street." "i hope she is well paid." "that she is not. he only allows her twenty cents apiece." "that is a mere pittance. she can't earn much at that rate." "no, sir; she has to work hard to make one vest a day." "the man can't have a conscience," said the gentleman, indignantly. "it is starvation wages." "so it is, sir, but he pretends that he pays more than the work is worth. oh, he's a mean fellow," pursued the boy, his face expressive of the scorn and disgust which he felt. "what is your name, my boy?" "dan, sir--dan mordaunt." "i hope, dan, you make more money than your mother does." "oh, yes, sir. sometimes i make a dollar a day, but i don't average that. i wish i could make enough so that mother wouldn't have to work." "i see you are a good son. i like to hear you speak in such terms of your mother." "if i didn't," said dan, impetuously, "i should deserve to be kicked. she's a good mother, sir." "i have no doubt of it. it must be hard for her to be so reduced after once living liberally. how happened it that your father failed?" the boy's pleasant face assumed a stern expression. "on account of a rascal, sir. his book-keeper ran off, carrying with him thirty thousand dollars. father couldn't meet his bills, and so he failed. it broke his heart, and he didn't live six months after it." "have you ever heard of this book-keeper since?" "no, sir, not a word. i wish i could. i should like to see him dragged to prison, for he killed my father, and made my mother work for a living." "i can't blame you, dan, for feeling as you do. besides, it has altered your prospects." "i don't care for myself, sir. i can forget that. but i can't forgive the injury he has done my poor father and mother." "have you any idea what became of the defaulter?" "we think that he went to europe, just at first, but probably he returned when he thought all was safe." "he may have gone out west." "i shouldn't wonder, sir." "i live in the west myself--in chicago." "that's a lively city, isn't it, sir?" "we think so out there. well, my lad, i must go into the hotel now." "excuse me for detaining you, sir," said dan, politely. "you haven't detained me; you have interested me. i hope to see you again." "thank you, sir." "where do you generally stand?" "just here, sir. a good many people pass here, and i find it a good stand." "then i shall see you again, as i propose to remain in new york for a day or two. shall you have the morning papers?" "yes, sir; all of them." "then i will patronize you to-morrow morning. good-day." "good-day, sir." "he's a gentleman," said dan to himself, emphatically. "it isn't every one that feels an interest in a poor newsboy. well, i may as well be going home. it's lonely for mother staying by herself all day. let me see; what shall i take her? oh, here are some pears. she's very fond of pears." dan inquired the price of pears at a street stand, and finally selected one for three cents. "better take two for five cents," said the fruit merchant. "i can't afford it," said dan. "times are hard, and i have to look after the pennies. i wouldn't buy any at all if it wasn't for my mother." "better take another for yourself," urged the huckster. dan shook his head. "can't afford it," he said. "i must get along without the luxuries. bread and butter is good enough for me." looking up, dan met the glance of a boy who was passing--a tall, slender, supercilious-looking boy, who turned his head away scornfully as he met dan's glance. "i know him," said dan to himself. "i ought to know tom carver. we used to sit together at school. but that was when father was rich. he won't notice me now. well, i don't want him to," proceeded dan, coloring indignantly. "he thinks himself above me, but he needn't. his father failed, too, but he went on living just the same. people say he cheated his creditors. my poor father gave up all he had, and sank into poverty." this was what passed through dan's mind. the other boy--tom carver--had recognized dan, but did not choose to show it. "i wonder whether dan mordaunt expected me to notice him," he said to himself. "i used to go to school with him, but now that he is a low newsboy i can't stoop to speak to him. what would my fashionable friends say?" tom carver twirled his delicate cane and walked on complacently, feeling no pity for the schoolfellow with whom he used to be so intimate. he was intensely selfish--a more exceptional thing with boys than men. it sometimes happens that a boy who passes for good-hearted changes into a selfish man; but tom required no change to become that. his heart was a very small one, and beat only for himself. dan walked on, and finally paused before a large tenement-house. he went in at the main entrance, and ascended two flights of stairs. he opened a door, and found himself in the presence of the mother whom he so dearly loved. chapter ii. dan at home. while dan was strong, sturdy, and the picture of health, his mother was evidently an invalid. she was pale, thin, and of delicate appearance. she was sitting in a cane-seated rocking-chair, which dan had bought second-hand on one of his flush days at a small place on the bowery. she looked up with a glad smile when dan entered. "i am so glad to see you, my dear boy," she said. "have you been lonely, mother?" asked dan, kissing her affectionately. "yes, dan, it is lonely sitting here hour after hour without you, but i have my work to think of." "i wish you didn't have to work, mother," said dan. "you are not strong enough. i ought to earn enough to support us both." "don't trouble yourself about that, my dear boy. i should feel more lonely if i had nothing to do." "but you work all the time. i don't like to have you do that." in truth the mother was very tired, and her feeble fingers were cramped with the stitch, stitch, stitch in endless repetition, but she put on a cheerful countenance. "well, dan, i'll stop now that you are at home. you want some supper." "let me get it, mother." "no, dan, it will be a relief to me to stir around a little, as i have been sitting so long." "oh, i nearly forgot, mother--here's a nice pear i bought for you." "it does look nice," said mrs. mordaunt. "i don't feel hungry, but i can eat that. but where is yours, dan?" "oh, i've eaten mine," answered dan, hastily. it was not true, but god will forgive such falsehoods. "you'd better eat half of this." "no; i'll be----flummuxed if i do," said dan, pausing a little for an unobjectionable word. mrs. mordaunt set the little table for two. on it she spread a neat cloth, and laid the plain supper--a plate of bread, ditto of butter, and a few slices of cold meat. soon the tea was steeped, and mother and son sat down for the evening meal. "i say, mother, this is a jolly supper," said dan. "i get awfully hungry by supper-time." "you are a growing boy, dan. i am glad you have an appetite." "but you eat next to nothing, mother," said dan, uneasily. "i am _not_ a growing boy," said mrs. mordaunt, smiling. "i shall relish my supper to-night on account of the pear you brought me." "well, i'm glad i thought of it," said dan, heartily. "pears ain't solid enough for me; i want something hearty to give me strength." "of course you do, dan. you have to work hard." "i work hard, mother! why, i have the easiest time going. all i do is to walk about the streets, or stand in front of the astor house and ask people to buy my papers. oh, by the way, who do you think i saw to-day?" "any of our old friends?" asked mrs. mordaunt. "any of our old friends! i should say not," answered dan, disdainfully. "it was tom carver." "was it he? he used to sit next you in school, didn't he?" "yes, for six months. tom and i were chums." "did he say whether his family was well?" "what are you thinking of, mother? do you suppose tom carver would notice me, now that i am a poor newsboy?" "why shouldn't he?" demanded the mother, her pale face flushing. "why shouldn't he notice my boy?" "because he doesn't choose to," answered dan, with a short laugh. "didn't you know it was disgraceful to be poor?" "thank heaven, it isn't that!" ejaculated mrs. mordaunt. "well, it might as well be. tom thinks me beneath his notice now. you should have seen him turn his head to the other side as he walked by, twirling his light cane." "did you speak to him, dan?" "what do you take me for, mother? do you think i'd speak to a fellow that doesn't want to know me?" "i think you are proud, my boy." "well, mother, i guess you're right. i'm too proud to force myself upon the notice of tom carver, or any other purse-proud sneak." dan spoke with a tinge of bitterness, and it was evident that he felt tom's slight more than he was willing to acknowledge. "it's the way of the world, dan," said his mother, sighing. "not one of all my friends, or those whom i accounted such, in my prosperous days, has come to see us, or shown any interest in our fate." "they can stay away. we can do without them," said dan, sturdily. "we must; but it would be pleasant to see some of the old faces," said his mother, plaintively. "there is no one in this house that is company for me." "no, mother; you are an educated and refined lady, and they are poor and ignorant." "they are very good people, some of them. there is mrs. burke on the next floor. she was in this afternoon, and asked if she couldn't do something for me. she thought i looked poorly, she said." "she's a brick, mother!" "my dear dan, you do use such extraordinary language sometimes. you didn't talk so when we lived on madison avenue." "no, mother, but i associate with a different class now. i can't help catching the phrases i hear all the time. but don't mind, mother; i mean no harm. i never swear--that is, almost never. i did catch myself at it the other day, when another newsboy stole half a dozen of my papers." "don't forget that you are a gentleman, dan." "i won't if i can help it, mother, though i don't believe anybody else would suspect it. i must take good care not to look into the looking-glass, or i might be under the impression that i was a street-boy instead of a gentleman." "clothes don't make the gentleman, dan. i want you to behave and feel like a gentleman, even if your clothes are poor and patched." "i understand you, mother, and i shall try to follow your advice. i have never done any mean thing yet that i can remember, and i don't intend to." "i am sure of that, my dear boy." "don't be too sure of anything, mother. i have plenty of bad examples before me." "but you won't be guided by them?" "i'll try not." "did you succeed well in your sales to-day, dan?" "pretty well. i made ninety-six cents." "i wish i could earn as much," said mrs. mordaunt, sighing. "i can only earn twenty cents a day." "you _earn_ as much as i do, mother, but you don't get it. you see, there's a difference in earning and being paid. old gripp is a mean skinflint. i should like to force one of his twenty-cent vests down his miserly throat." "don't use such violent language, dan. perhaps he pays me all he can afford." "perhaps he does, but i wouldn't bet high on it. he is making a fortune out of those who sew for him. there are some men that have no conscience. i hope some time you will be free from him." "i hope so, too, dan, but i am thankful to earn something. i don't want all the burden of our maintenance to fall on you." "don't call it a burden, mother. there's nothing i enjoy so much as working for you. why, it's fun!" "it can't be fun on rainy, disagreeable days, dan." "it wouldn't be fun for you, mother, but you're not a boy." "i am so sorry that you can't keep on with your education, dan. you were getting on so well at school." it was a thought that had often come to dan, but he wouldn't own it, for he did not wish to add to his mother's sadness. "oh, well, mother," he said, "something may turn up for us, so we won't look down in the mouth." "i have got my bundled work ready, dan, if you can carry it round to mr. gripp's to-night." "yes, mother, i'll carry it. how many vests are there?" "there are six. that amounts to a dollar and twenty cents. i hope he'll pay you to-night, for our rent comes due to-morrow." "so it does!" ejaculated dan, seriously. "i never thought of it. shall we have enough to pay it? you've got my money, you know." "we shall be a dollar short." "even if old gripp pays for the vests?" "yes." dan whistled--a whistle of dismay and anxiety, for he well knew that the landlord was a hard man. chapter iii. gripp's clothing store. nathan gripp's clothing store was located about a quarter of a mile from the city hall, on chatham street. not many customers from fifth avenue owned him as their tailor, and he had no reputation up town. his prices were undeniably low, though his clothes were dear enough in the end. his patrons were in general from the rural districts, or city residents of easy tastes and limited means. the interior of the store was ill-lighted, and looked like a dark cavern. but nearly half the stock was displayed at the door, or on the sidewalk, mr. gripp himself, or his leading salesman, standing in the door-way with keen, black eyes, trying to select from the moving crowds possible customers. on the whole gripp was making money. he sold his clothes cheap, but they cost him little. he paid the lowest prices for work, and whenever told that his wages would not keep body and soul together, he simply remarked: "that's nothing to me, my good woman. if you don't like the pay, leave the work for somebody else." but unfortunately those who worked for mr. gripp could not afford to leave the work for somebody else. half wages were better than none, and they patiently kept on wearing out their strength that nathan might wax rich, and live in good style up town. mr. gripp himself was standing in the door-way when dan, with the bundle of vests under his arm, stopped in front of the store. mr. gripp was a little doubtful whether our hero wished to become a customer, but a glance at the bundle dispelled his uncertainty, and revealed the nature of his errand. "i've brought home half a dozen vests," said dan. "who from?" asked gripp, abruptly, for he never lavished any of the suavity, which was a valuable part of his stock in trade, on his work people. "mrs. mordaunt." "take them into the store. here, samuel, take the boy's bundle, and see if the work is well done." it was on the tip of dan's tongue to resent the doubt which these words implied, but he prudently remained silent. the clerk, a callow youth, with long tow-colored locks, made sleek with bear's grease, stopped picking his teeth, and motioned to dan to come forward. "here, young feller," he said, "hand over your bundle." "there it is, young feller!" retorted dan. the clerk surveyed the boy with a look of disapproval in his fishy eyes. "no impudence, young feller!" he said. "where's the impudence?" demanded dan. "i don't see it." "didn't you call me a young feller?" "you've called me one twice, but i ain't at all particular. i'd just as lief call you an old feller," said dan, affably. "look here, young chap, i don't like your manners," said the clerk, with an irritating consciousness that he was getting the worst of the verbal encounter. "i'm sorry for that," answered dan, "because they're the best i've got." "did you make these vests yourself?" asked the salesman, with a feeble attempt at humor. "yes," was dan's unexpected rejoinder. "that's the way i amuse my leisure hours." "humph!" muttered the tallow-faced young man, "i'll take a look at them." he opened the bundle, and examined the vests with an evident desire to find something wrong. he couldn't find any defect, but that didn't prevent his saying: "they ain't over-well made." "well, they won't be over-well paid," retorted dan. "so we're even." "i don't know if we ought to pay for them at all." "honesty is the best policy, young feller," said dan. "no more of your impudence!" said the clerk, sharply. "wait here a minute till i speak to mr. gripp." he kept dan before the counter, and approached the proprietor. "well, what is it, samuel?" asked mr. gripp, stroking his jet-black whiskers. "are the vests all right?" "pretty well, sir, but the boy is impudent." "ha! how is that?" "he keeps calling me 'young feller.'" "anything more?" "he don't seem to have any respect for me--or you," he added, shrewdly. nathan gripp frowned. he cared very little about his clerk, but he resented any want of respect to himself. he felt that the balance at his bankers was large enough to insure him a high degree of consideration from his work-people at least. "how many vests are there?" he asked. "half a dozen." "and the boy wants his pay, i suppose." "he hasn't asked for it, but he will. they always do." "tell him we only pay when a full dozen are finished and brought in. we'll credit him, or his mother, with these." "that'll pay them off," thought the astute clothing merchant. samuel received this order with inward satisfaction, and went back smiling. "well, young feller," said he, "it's all right. the vests ain't over-well done, but we'll keep 'em. now you can go." but dan did not move. "it seems to me you've forgotten something," he said. "what's that?" "you haven't paid me for the work." "it's all right. we'll pay when the next half dozen are brought in. will you take 'em now?" dan was disagreeably surprised. this was entirely out of the usual course, and he knew very well that the delay would be a great inconvenience. "we've always been paid when we brought in work," he said. "we've changed our rule," said the clerk, nonchalantly. "we only pay when a full dozen are brought in." "what difference does it make to you? we need the money, and can't wait." "it's my orders, young feller. it's what mr. gripp just told me." "then i'll speak to him," said dan, promptly. "just as you like." dan approached the proprietor of the establishment. "mr. gripp," said he, "i've just brought in half a dozen vests, but your clerk here won't pay me for them." "you will get your pay, young man, when you bring in another half dozen." "but, mr. gripp, we need the money. we haven't got a big bank account. our rent is due to-morrow." "is it, indeed? i don't see how that concerns me." "will you pay me to-night as a favor?" pleaded dan, humbling himself for his mother's sake. "i can't break over my rule," said nathan gripp. "besides, samuel says the work isn't very well done." "then he lies!" exclaimed dan, provoked. "do you hear that, mr. gripp?" ejaculated the angry samuel, his tallowy complexion putting on a faint flush. "didn't i tell you he was impudent?" nathan gripp's small black eyes snapped viciously. "boy," said he, "leave my store directly. how dare you address me in such a way, you young tramp?" "i'm no more a tramp than yourself," retorted dan, now thoroughly angry. "samuel, come here, and put out this boy!" exclaimed nathan, too dignified to attempt the task himself. samuel advanced, nothing loth, his fishy eyes gleaming with pleasure. "get out, you vagabond!" he exclaimed, in the tone of authority. "you're a couple of swindlers!" exclaimed dan. "you won't pay for honest work." "out with him, samuel!" ordered gripp. samuel seized dan by the shoulder, and attempted to obey orders, but our hero doubled him up with a blow from his fist, and the luckless clerk, faint and gasping, staggered and nearly fell. dan stepped out on the sidewalk, and raising his hat, said, with mock politeness, "good-morning, gentlemen!" and walked away, leaving gripp and his assistant speechless with anger. [illustration: "you're a couple of swindlers!" exclaimed dan. "you won't pay for honest work." page .] chapter iv. an odd couple. when dan's excitement was over, he felt that he had won a barren victory. he had certainly been badly treated, and was justified in yielding to his natural indignation; but for all that he had acted unwisely. nathan gripp had not refused payment, he had only postponed it, and as he had the decided advantage, which money always has when pitted against labor, it would have been well to have been conciliatory. now gripp would undoubtedly annoy him with further delay, and refuse to give mrs. mordaunt any further work. "i suppose i've acted like a fool," said dan to himself, with compunction. "my spunk is always getting the better of me, and i am afraid poor mother will have to suffer. well, there's no use crying for spilt milk; i must see what i can do to mend matters." while these thoughts were passing through dan's mind he found himself passing the clothing establishment of jackson & co., who were special rivals of mr. gripp. "perhaps i can get some work for mother here," thought dan. "i'll try, at any rate." he entered, and looking about him, attracted the attention of a clerk. "do you want something in our line to-day?" asked the clerk, pleasantly. "yes, i do," said dan, "if you're giving things away; but as i've got a note of ten thousand dollars to meet to-morrow, i can't pay anything out." "your credit ought to be good," said the salesman, smiling, "but we don't trust." "all right," said dan; "i may as well proceed to business. my mother makes vests for amusement. can you give her any work?" "i will speak to mr. jackson. one of our hands is sick, and if your mother understands how to do the work, we may be able to give her some." the young man went to the rear of the store, and returned with the proprietor. "has your mother any experience?" asked the proprietor, a big man, with sandy whiskers. he was an englishman, as any one might see, and a decided improvement on nathan gripp, whom he cordially hated. "yes, sir; she has been making vests for the last two years." "for whom has she been working?" "for nathan gripp." "humph! has gripp discharged her?" "no, sir; she has discharged him." mr. jackson laughed, and nodded to his salesman. he rather enjoyed this allusion to his rival. "then she didn't like gripp?" "no, sir. he paid her starvation wages and made her wait for the money. he's a mean fellow." "i don't admire him much myself," said the englishman. "how much now did he pay for vest-making?" "twenty cents apiece." "we don't pay much more ourselves. there is so much competition that we have to sell low." "mother would rather make for you at eighteen cents than for gripp for twenty," said dan. mr. jackson was pleased, but he said, by way of drawing out dan: "how do you know but i am a mean skinflint, too?" "you don't look like one," said the boy. mr. jackson smiled graciously. "joseph," said he, "have we any vests ready for making?" "yes, sir. we have some bundles of half a dozen each." "take this boy's name and address and give him one. my boy, we will pay your mother twenty-five cents each, but we expect good work." "you will be satisfied, sir," said dan, confidently, and he left the store in excellent spirits. "it's turned out right, after all," thought he; "but i am afraid we shall miss the money old gripp owed mother. i don't know how we are going to pay the rent to-morrow. we shall be over two dollars short unless something turns up." dan carried the bundle of work home, and told his mother what had happened. she was pleased with the increase of pay, but that was in the future. it would be a week before she could collect any pay from jackson & co., and the landlord would not wait. "i wish i could think of some way of raising money," said dan, putting his face between his hands and looking thoughtful. "if you only had some jewels, mother, that we could raise money on now, we would be all right." "i have nothing but my wedding-ring," said mrs. mordaunt, sadly. "you must keep that, mother. don't part with that unless you are obliged to." "i would rather not, dan, but if there is no other way----" "there must be another way. i will find another way. just don't think of it any more, mother. when does the landlord come?" "generally between twelve and one." "then we shall have all the forenoon to forage round in. it's only two dollars and a half we want. i ought to be able to raise two dollars and a half." "that is a great deal of money to us now, dan." "i wonder whether shorty wouldn't lend it to me?" said dan, reflectively. "who is shorty, my son?" "he is a little hump-backed dwarf that keeps a cigar stand down on broadway, not far from trinity church. he has a good trade, and doesn't waste his money. yes, i will ask shorty." "i hope he will be willing to grant your request, dan." "i hope so, too. he's a good-natured fellow, shorty is, and he'll do it, if he can. i'll see him the first thing to-morrow morning." somewhat cheered by dan's confident tone, mrs. mordaunt went to sleep as early as usual, forgetting the trouble possibly in store. the next morning, before selling his papers, dan went round to shorty's stand. "good-morning, dan," said the dwarf, in a singularly melodious voice. "good-morning, shorty. i thought i'd find you here." "yes, i begin business early." "i am going to ask a favor of you," said dan, abruptly. "what is it, dan?" "our rent's due to-day, and we are two dollars and a half short. i can make the fifty cents before noon. can you lend me two dollars till i am able to pay it?" to dan's dismay shorty shook his head. "i wish i could, dan, but there's something in the way." "if you're afraid i won't pay you back, you needn't think of that. i never went back on a fellow that lent me money yet." "i am not afraid of trusting you, dan, but i haven't got the money." "i understand," said dan, coldly, for he suspected this to be a subterfuge. "no, you don't understand," said shorty, eagerly. "you think what i say is a sham, but you wouldn't if you knew all." "if i knew all," repeated dan, surprised. "yes, i shall have to tell you. i didn't mean to, but i don't want you to misunderstand me. the fact is, dan," shorty added, sheepishly, "i've got more than myself to provide for now." "what? you don't mean to say?" ejaculated dan. "i was married yesterday, dan," said the cigar dealer, almost apologetically, "and i've been buying furniture, and the fact is, i haven't got a cent to spare." "of course you haven't," said dan. "i never dreamed of this. is your wife--about your size?" "no, dan, she's rather tall. there she is, crossing the street. do you see her?" dan looked, and saw a tall woman, of twenty-five or thereabouts, approaching the cigar stand. she was very plain, with a large mouth and a long, aquiline nose. "that's my wife," said the cigar dealer, regarding his tall partner with evident pride. "julia, my dear, this is my friend, dan mordaunt." "glad to see any friend of my husband," said the lady, in a deep, hoarse voice, which might have been mistaken for a man's. "he must come and see us." "so i will, thank you," answered dan, surveying the female grenadier with a wondering glance. "we live at no. -- varick street, dan, and i shall be very glad to see you any evening." "by gracious!" said dan to himself, "that's the queerest match i ever heard of. she might take shorty up in her arms and carry him off. i don't think he'll beat her very often," and dan smiled at the thought. the morning wore away, and at eleven o'clock dan had earned forty cents. he began to get discouraged. there didn't seem to be much prospect of raising the rent before twelve o'clock. chapter v. effecting a loan. as dan stood on the sidewalk with his bundle of papers, and only forty cents toward the two dollars and a half required for the rent, he felt like many a business man who has a note to meet and not enough money on hand to pay it. indeed, he was worse off, for generally business men have friends who can help them with a temporary loan, but dan's friends were quite as poor as himself. one, however, dick stanton, a mere boy, had the reputation of being more saving than his companions. it was known that he had an account in the bowery savings bank, and among the street boys he was considered wealthy. "perhaps i can borrow two dollars of him," thought dan, as dick passed him on his way to canal street. "i say, dick," said dan, "stop a minute. i want to speak to you." "go ahead, dan." "i want you to lend me two dollars. our rent is due, and i can raise it all but that." dick shook his head, and was about to speak, when dan said hurriedly, for he felt that it was his last chance: "you needn't be afraid of me, dick; i'll pay you sure, and give you more interest, too, than you get in the bank." "i haven't got any money in the bank, dan." "you had last week," said dan, suspiciously. "so i had, but i haven't now." "you don't want to lend--that's what's the matter." "you are mistaken, dan. i'm not a bit afraid of lending to you, but i have lent my money already." "who to?" asked dan, ungrammatically, falling into a mistake made by plenty of greater age and better experience than himself. "of course it isn't any of my business," he added, "if you don't want to tell." "i don't mind telling you, dan. i've lent it to my aunt. she's got two children, and a hard time to get along. perhaps i shall never see it again, but i couldn't refuse her." "of course you couldn't," said dan, heartily. "you've done right, and you won't be sorry for it. i wish i knew some way of making two dollars before twelve o'clock." "are you in urgent need of two dollars, my boy?" asked a pleasant voice. dan turned, and met the face of the stranger introduced in the first chapter. "yes, sir," he answered. "i want it the worst way." "have you been extravagant and run up bills, dan?" "no, sir; the only bill we have is the rent, and that comes due this noon." "how much is it?" "six dollars, sir." "i thought you said you wanted to borrow _two_ dollars." "i've got four dollars toward it, sir." "do you often fall behind when rent day comes, dan?" "no, sir; this is the first time in two years." "how do you account for it? has business been duller than usual during the last month?" "yes, sir, i think it has. there hasn't been as much news in the papers, and my sales have fallen off. there's another thing, too." "what is that?" "mother has a dollar and twenty cents due her, and she can't collect it." "is it for making vests?" "yes, sir. mr. gripp won't pay till she has made a full dozen." "that seems inconsiderate." "oh, he's a mean fellow." "i've a great mind to buy the debt of you." "i wish you would, sir," said dan, eagerly. "that would leave only sixty cents short, for i shall make ten cents more before twelve o'clock, it's likely." "it is only half-past eleven. to put you quite at ease, i mean to lend you five dollars, and help you collect your mother's bill." "you are very kind, sir," said dan, surprised and grateful; "but i don't need so much." "you may get short again when i am not here to assist you." "are you not afraid i shall never pay you, sir?" "that thought won't keep me awake nights," said the gentleman, laughing. "you sha'n't lose anything by me, sir; i promise you that," said dan, earnestly. "then come into the hotel with me, and we will arrange the matter in a business-like way." "all right, sir." dan followed his new friend into the astor house, and up stairs into a pleasant bedroom, which in its comfortable apartments reminded dan of the days before his father's failure. "i wish i could live so again," he thought. "i don't like a tenement-house." mr. grant--for this was his name--took writing materials from his valise, and seated himself at a table. "i am going to draw up a note for you to sign," he said. "i probably understand better than you the necessary form." "thank you, sir." his pen ran rapidly over the paper, and in a minute or two he handed dan the following form of acknowledgment: "new york, sept. , --. "for value received i promise to pay to alexander grant five dollars on demand with interest." "now," said mr. grant, "put your name at the bottom." dan did so. "i added 'with interest,' but only as a form; i shall require none." "i would rather pay it, sir." "that may be as you please. how much will six per cent. interest make it amount to in a year?" "five dollars and thirty cents," answered dan, promptly. "good! i see you have not forgotten what you learned in school." "i have ciphered through cube root," said dan, with some pride. "i am not sure whether i remember that now, but i could do any sum in square root." "it is a pity you could not have remained in school." "i should like to; but it's no use crying for spilt milk." "as long as you didn't spill it yourself," added mr. grant. "no, sir; it was not my fault that i had to leave school." mr. grant folded up the note and carefully deposited it in his wallet. "the next thing is to hand you the money," he said. "shall i give you a five-dollar bill, or small bills?" "small bills, sir, if it is just as convenient." mr. grant placed in dan's hands two two-dollar bills and a one. "one thing more," he said. "give me an order on mr. gripp for the money due your mother. it is as well to have it in your own handwriting. i won't tell you how to write it. see if you can find a way." dan wrote an order, which mr. grant pronounced satisfactory. "on the whole," said he, "i believe i will take you with me when i call upon mr. gripp. can you call here at three o'clock this afternoon?" "yes, sir." "that is settled, then. we will see whether mr. gripp will be any more polite to me than he was to you." "he will be surprised to see me in your company," said dan, laughing. "it is a good thing to surprise the enemy, dan. a surprise often leads to victory. when does your landlord call for his rent?" "between twelve and one." "then i won't detain you longer. remember your appointment at three." "i won't forget it, sir." "well, i'm in luck!" said dan to himself, as he emerged into the street. "who would have thought that a stranger would lend me so large a sum? he's a trump, and no mistake. now, if i could only sell the four papers i have left before twelve o'clock. i don't want to get stuck on them." fortune was not tired of favoring dan. in ten minutes he had sold his papers, and turned his steps toward the humble home where his mother was awaiting, not without anxiety, the visit of an unamiable landlord. chapter vi. more than a match. mrs. mordaunt looked up anxiously as dan entered the room. she had little expectation that he had been able in one morning to make up the large deficiency in the sum reserved for the rent, but there was a possibility, and she clung to that. dan thought of postponing the relation of his good news, but when he saw his mother's anxious face, he felt that it would be cruel. so when she said, "well, dan?" he nodded his head cheerfully. "i've got it, mother," he said. "thank god for all his goodness!" ejaculated mrs. mordaunt, fervently. "you see he hasn't forgotten us," said dan, gleefully. "no, my boy, it is a rebuke to my momentary want of faith. how could you raise so large a sum? surely you did not earn it in one forenoon?" "you're right there, mother. i'm not smart enough to earn two dollars before twelve o'clock." "but you've got the money, dan?" "look at this, mother," and dan displayed the bills. "where did you get them, dan?" asked his mother, astonished. "i borrowed them." "i didn't know we had a friend left, able or willing to lend us that sum." "i borrowed them of alexander grant, of st. louis, and gave my note for them," answered dan, in a tone of some importance. "alexander grant, of st. louis! i don't remember that name." "he's a new friend of mine, mother. i haven't known him over twenty-four hours. as the old friends have treated us so badly, i'm goin' in for new ones." "you quite mystify me, dan. tell me all about it." dan did so. "he's very kind to a stranger, dan. heaven will reward him, i am sure." "i hope it will, mother. i wish i was a rich man. i should enjoy helping those who needed it. if i ever get rich--though it doesn't look much like it now--i will do all the good i can. i wonder rich men don't do it oftener." "it springs from thoughtlessness sometimes, dan." "and from selfishness pretty often," added dan, whose views of human nature were considerably less favorable than they had been in his more prosperous days. "a good many men are like tom carver, as he is now and will be when he is grown up." "perhaps there are more good and generous men than we suppose, dan," urged his mother, who liked to think well of her fellow-beings. "like mr. gripp and our landlord, for instance. by the way, i hear mr. grab's steps on the stairs. i want to deal with him. just you step into the bedroom, mother." mrs. mordaunt had no desire to meet mr. grab, but she was a little afraid of dan's impetuous temper. "you will treat him respectfully, won't you, dan?" she urged, as she turned to go into the adjoining room. dan's eyes danced with fun. "i'll treat him with all the respect he deserves, mother," he answered. mrs. mordaunt looked a little doubtful, for she understood dan, but did not say more, for mr. grab was already knocking at the door. "don't come out, whatever you hear, mother," said dan, in a low voice. "i'll come out all right, though i shall tantalize him a little at first." the knock was repeated. "come in!" dan called out, in a loud, clear tone. the door opened, and a thin, undersized man, with bushy red hair and the look of a cross mastiff, entered the room. before his entrance dan had seated himself in the plain wooden rocking-chair with his feet on a cricket. he looked quite easy and unconcerned. "how are you, grab?" he said, in a friendly manner. "you might call me _mr._ grab," returned the landlord, angrily. "i've no objection, i'm sure, mr. grab," said dan. "how is your health? you're looking very yellow. got the jaundice?" "i am perfectly well, and i am not yellow at all. do you mean to insult me?" demanded grab, irritated. "i wouldn't do that for a cent, mr. grab. i am glad you feel well, though you ain't looking so. it's very friendly of you to come round to see me and mother." "where is your mother?" snapped mr. grab. "she is engaged just now, and won't have the pleasure of seeing you." "but i _must_ see her." "must! you are quite mistaken. you can't see her. you can see me." "i've seen more of you than i want to already," said grab. "that isn't talking like a friend, mr. grab," said dan, "when i'm so glad to see you. perhaps you have come on business." "of course i have come on business, and you know very well what that business is, you young monkey." "thank you, mr. grab, you are very complimentary. it isn't about the rent, is it?" "of course it is!" snapped the landlord. "oh, dear, how could i have forgotten that it was rent-day," said dan, with well-feigned confusion. mr. grab's brow grew dark. he concluded that he wasn't going to collect the rent, and that always chafed him. "it's your business to know when rent-day comes," he said, bringing down his fist with such emphasis on the table that he hurt his knuckles, to dan's secret delight. "please don't break the table, grab," said dan. "oh, blast the table!" said grab, surveying his red knuckles. "we haven't got any blasting powder, and i don't think it would be a very interesting experiment. it might blow you up, for you are nearest to it." "have done with this trifling, boy," said the landlord. "i am afraid you got out of the wrong end of the bed this morning, mr. grab. you should control yourself." "look here, boy," said the landlord, savagely, "do you know what i am tempted to do?" "no, what is it?" asked dan, indifferently. "i am strongly tempted to chastise you for your impudence." dan looked critically at the small, thin form, and secretly decided that mr. grab would find it difficult to carry out his threat. "oh, how you frighten me!" he said. "i don't believe i shall sleep any to-night." mr. grab made a motion to pound on the table again, but he looked at his red knuckles and wisely forbore. "i can't waste any more time," he said. "you must pay your rent, or turn out. i want six dollars." "won't it do, mr. grab, if we pay you next week?" "no, it won't. the rent must be paid to-day, or out you go." "why doesn't dan pay him?" thought mrs. mordaunt, uneasily. "really, he ought not to tease the poor man so. he has such a bad temper, he might hurt dan." "mr. gripp is owing mother for work. as soon as he pays her, i will call round at your office and pay you." "it won't do," said grab. "i won't let you stay here another night, and i mean to have security for my money, too." so saying, the landlord seized the bundle of vests which lay on the table beside him. this aroused dan to action. he sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger. "put down that bundle, mr. grab!" he exclaimed. "then pay me my rent," said the landlord, recoiling a little. "put down that bundle before you say another word about rent. it isn't my mother's or mine. you have no business with it." "what do you mean, boy, by your impudence?" demanded the landlord, a little uneasily. "i mean that if you take that bundle from the room, i shall put you in charge of the nearest policeman on a charge of stealing." "that is nonsense," said grab; but he looked nervous, and laid down the bundle. "all right, grab," said dan. "now, as i don't want any more of your company, i'll pay the rent, if you'll give me a receipt." "have you got the money?" asked grab, astonished. "of course i have. i never told you i hadn't." "you made me think so." "it isn't my business what you think. there, that is settled, and now, mr. grab, i have the honor of wishing you good-evening. i hope you won't hurt your knuckles again." mr. grab left the room, inwardly wishing that he could wring dan's neck. "oh, dan, how could you?" asked his mother, reproachfully, as she re-entered the room. "he deserves it all," said dan. "didn't he turn out the poor donovans on a cold day last winter? i have no pity for him." "he may turn us out." "not as long as we pay the rent." chapter vii. mr. gripp is worsted. punctually at three o'clock dan knocked at the door of mr. grant's room in the astor house. that gentleman looked at his watch as he admitted our hero. "you are punctual to the minute," he said. "your watch keeps excellent time." "i'll tell you why," answered dan, smiling. "i always keep it at tiffany's. i don't dare to carry it for fear it will get out of order." "you ought to have a watch," said mr. grant. "that will come in time." "i hope so," said dan. "then i could be sure to keep my business appointments. now i have to depend on the city hall clock. i'd rather look at it than carry it round." "well, dan, do you think mr. gripp is prepared to receive us?" "he'll be glad to see you. he'll think you are going to buy some clothes. i don't think he'll be very happy to see me." "he must see us both, or neither. has he any good clothes?" "yes, sir--good enough for me. i don't think you would like to patronize his establishment." "by the way, dan, you have given me an order for money, and i have not handed you the equivalent." "you may not get the money, sir." "i will make the effort at any rate. by the way, dan, that coat of yours is getting shabby." "it is the best i have, sir. boys in my business don't have to dress much." "that gives me an idea. please hand me my hat, and we will start." the two left the astor house together. one or two of dan's associates whom they encountered on the way, were surprised to see him walking on terms of apparent friendly companionship with a well-to-do stranger, but decided that dan was probably acting as his guide. they found mr. gripp standing as usual in the door-way of his shop watching for customers. he did not at first observe dan, but his attention was drawn to mr. grant. "walk in, sir," he said, obsequiously. "you will find what you want here. styles fashionable, and as for prices--we defy competition." alexander grant paused, and looked critically about him. he understood very well the sort of establishment he was about to enter, and would not have thought of doing so but in dan's interests. he stepped over the threshold, and dan was about to follow, when the eagle eye of mr. gripp recognized our hero. "clear out, you young rascal!" he exclaimed. "don't you come round here any more." dan did not answer, for he knew mr. grant would do so for him. mr. grant turned back, and said, quietly: "to whom are you speaking, sir?" "i beg your pardon, sir--it's that boy." "then, sir, you will oblige me by stopping at once. that boy is in my company and under my protection." nathan gripp stared as if transfixed. "do you know him, sir?" he asked. "yes, sir." "you are mistaken in him, sir. he's an artful young rascal. he was here yesterday, and acted outrageously. he assaulted my clerk and insulted me." "i have nothing to do with that. he is in my company, and if i enter the store he will." "oh, of course, if he's with you he can come in. samuel, show the gentleman what he wants." dan smiled, and nothing but a sense of his own interest prevented mr. gripp from objecting to his entrance. "what will i show you, sir?" asked the callow young man named samuel, glaring at dan in vivid remembrance of the blow which had doubled him up. "have you any coats and vests that will fit this young gentleman?" "young gentleman!" repeated samuel, mechanically, glancing at dan in silent hatred. "that means me, samuel," said dan, mischievously. "samuel is an old friend of mine, mr. grant." "i think we can fit him," said samuel, by no means relishing the task of waiting upon his young opponent. "take off your coat, young feller." "don't be too familiar, samuel. you may call me mr. mordaunt," said dan. "i'll be ---- if i do," muttered the young man. dan took off his coat, and tried on the one submitted to his inspection. he afterward tried on the vest, and they proved to be a good fit. "do they suit you, dan?" asked mr. grant. "yes, sir, they fit as well as if they had been made for me." "what is the price of these articles, young man?" asked mr. grant. "twelve dollars," answered samuel. "he'll take eight," suggested dan, in a low voice. mr. grant knew well enough the ways of chatham street merchants to appreciate the suggestion. "that is too high," he said, quietly. samuel, who was trained to read customers, after a glance at mr. grant's face, prepared to reduce the price. "we might say eleven," he said, meditatively. "shall i put them up?" "not at that price." "you don't want us to give 'em away?" said samuel, in the tone of one whose reasonable demands had been objected to. "there is no fear of that, i apprehend," returned mr. grant, dryly. "i've no objection, i'm sure," remarked dan, on his own account. "i'd make a few remarks to you, young feller, if you were alone," he read in the eyes of the indignant salesman, and dan enjoyed the restraint which he knew samuel was putting upon himself. "you are still asking too much," said the customer. "what'll you give, sir?" asked samuel, diplomatically. "eight dollars." "eight dollars! why the cloth cost more than that!" protested samuel. "the work didn't cost you much, i presume." "we pay the highest prices for work in this establishment, sir," said samuel, hastily. he forgot that dan knew better. "so they do, mr. grant," said dan. "they pay twenty cents apiece for making vests." "we pay more than that to our best hands," said samuel. "you told me you never paid more," retorted dan. mr. grant interrupted this discussion. "young man," said he, "i will give you eight dollars for the clothes." "say nine, sir." "not a cent more." as the regular price was eight dollars--when they couldn't get any more--samuel felt authorized to conclude the bargain without consulting mr. gripp. "shall i do up the clothes?" he asked. "no," said dan, "i'll wear 'em. you may put up my old ones." samuel felt it derogatory to his dignity to obey the orders of our hero, but there was no alternative. the bundle was placed in dan's hands. "now write me a receipt for the price," said mr. grant. this was done. mr. grant counted out six dollars and eighty cents. "i have an order upon you for the balance," he said. "i don't understand," ejaculated samuel. "your principal owes my young friend, or his mother, one dollar and twenty cents for work. this you will receive as part of the price." "i must see mr. gripp," said samuel. mr. gripp came forward frowning. "we can't take the order, sir," he said. "the boy's money is not yet due." "isn't the work done and delivered?" "yes, sir; but it is our rule not to pay till a whole dozen is delivered." "then it is a rule which you must break," said mr. grant, firmly. "we can't." "then i refuse to take the suit." nathan gripp did not like to lose the sale on the one hand, or abdicate his position on the other. "tell your mother," he said to dan, "that when she has finished another half-dozen vests i will pay her the whole." he reflected that the stranger would be gone, and dan would be in his power. "thank you," said dan, "but mother's agreed to work for jackson. he pays better." "then you'll have to wait for your pay," said mr. gripp, sharply. "don't you care to sell this suit?" asked mr. grant, quickly. "yes, sir, but under the circumstances we must ask all cash." "you won't get it, sir." "then i don't think we care to sell," said gripp, allowing his anger to overcome his interest. "very good. i think, dan, we can find quite as good a bargain at jackson's. mr. gripp, do i understand that you decline to pay this bill?" "i will pay when the other half-dozen vests are made," said gripp, stubbornly. "i have nothing to do with that. the bill is mine, and it is with me you have to deal. the boy has nothing to do with it." "is that so?" asked gripp, in surprise. "it is. you may take your choice. settle the bill now, or i shall immediately put it in a lawyer's hands, who will know how to compel you to pay it." a determined will carries the day. "take this gentleman's money, samuel," said gripp, in a tone of annoyance. there was no further trouble. dan walked out of the store better dressed than he had been since the days of his prosperity. "how can i thank you, mr. grant?" he said, gratefully. "by continuing to care for your mother, my lad. you are lucky to have a mother living. mine is dead, god bless her! now, my lad, what do you think of my success in collecting bills?" "you were too many for old gripp, sir. he won't sleep to-night." "he doesn't deserve to, for he grows rich by defrauding the poor who work for him." opposite the city hall park dan and his friend separated. "i shall not see you again, my boy," said mr. grant, "for i take the evening train. if you ever come to st. louis, find me out." "i will, sir." "that's a good man," said dan, as he wended his way homeward. "if there were more such, it would be good for poor people like mother and me. if i ever get rich, i mean to help along those that need it." chapter viii. mike rafferty's trick. dan carefully husbanded the money which mr. grant had lent him, and the result was that for two months he was comparatively easy in his circumstances. his mother earned five cents more daily, on account of the higher price she received for work, and though this was a trifle, it was by no means to be despised where the family income was so small as in the case of the mordaunts. still dan was not satisfied. "mother," said he, "i suppose i ought to be contented with earning enough to pay our expenses, but i should like to be saving something." "yes, dan, it would be pleasant. but we ought to be thankful for what we are now receiving." "but, mother, suppose i should fall sick? what should we do then?" mrs. mordaunt shuddered. "don't mention such a thing, dan," she said. "the very idea terrifies me." "but it might happen, for all that." "don't you feel well, dan? is anything the matter with you?" asked mrs. mordaunt, anxiously. "don't be frightened, mother," answered dan, laughing. "i'm as strong as a horse, and can eat almost as much. still, you know, we would feel safer to have a little money in the savings-bank." "there isn't much chance of that, dan, unless we earn more than we do now." "you are right there. well, i suppose there is no use thinking of it. by the way, mother, you've got enough money on hand to pay the rent to-morrow, haven't you?" "yes, dan, and a dollar over." "that's good." the door of the room was partly open, and the last part of the conversation was heard by mike rafferty, the son of the tenant who occupied the room just over the mordaunts. he was a ne'er-do-well, who had passed more than one term of imprisonment at blackwell's island. his mother was an honest, hard-working washerwoman, who toiled early and late to support herself and her three children. mike might have given her such assistance that she could have lived quite comfortably, for her own earnings were by no means inconsiderable. her wash-tub paid her much more than mrs. mordaunts needle could possibly win, and she averaged a dollar a day where her more refined neighbor made but twenty-five cents. but mike, instead of helping, was an additional burden. he got his meals regularly at home, but contributed scarcely a dollar a month to the common expenses. he was a selfish rowdy, who was likely to belong permanently to the shiftless and dangerous classes of society. mike had from time to time made approaches to intimacy with dan, who was nearly two years younger, but dan despised him for his selfishly burdening his mother with his support, and didn't encourage him. naturally, mike hated dan, and pronounced him "stuck up" and proud, though our hero associated familiarly with more than one boy ranking no higher in the social scale than mike rafferty. only the day before, mike, finding himself out of funds, encountering dan on the stairs, asked for the loan of a quarter. "i have no money to spare," answered dan. "you've got money, dan; i saw you take out some a minute ago." "yes, i've got the money, but i won't lend it." "you're a mane skinflint," said mike, provoked. "why am i?" "because you've got the money, and you won't lend it." "what do you want to do with it?" "i want to go to the old bowery to-night, if you must know." "if you wanted it for your mother i might have lent it to you, though i need all i can earn for my own mother." "it's for my mother i want it, thin," said mike. "i guess i won't go to the theater to-night." "that's too thin. your mother would never see the color of it." "won't you lend me, thin?" "no, i can't. if you want money, why don't you earn it, as i do?" "i ain't lucky." "it isn't luck. if you go to work and sell papers or black boots, you will be able to help your mother and pay your way to the theater yourself." "kape your advice to yourself," said mike, sullenly. "i don't want it." "you'd rather have my money," said dan, good-humoredly. "i'll never see that. you're too mane." "all right. i'll be _mane_, then." "i'd like to put a head on you," muttered mike. "i've got one already. i don't need another," said dan. "oh, you think you're mighty smart wid your jokes," said mike. dan smiled and walked off, leaving mike more his enemy than ever. this was the boy who overheard mrs. mordaunt say that she had more than the rent already saved up. mike's cupidity was excited. he knew that it must amount to several dollars, and this he felt would keep him in cigarettes and pay for evenings at the theater for several days. "i wish i had it," he said to himself. "i wonder where the ould woman kapes it." the more mike thought of it the more he coveted this money, and he set to work contriving means to get possession of it. finally he arranged upon a plan. about three o'clock in the afternoon he knocked at mrs. mordaunt's door. she answered the knock in person. "mike rafferty!" she said, in surprise. "won't you come in?" "oh, no; i can't. it's bad news i bring you about dan." "what is it? tell me quick, in heaven's name!" she exclaimed, her heart giving a great bound. "he's been run over, ma'am, by a hoss, in front of the astor house, and they took him into the drug store at the corner. he wants you to go right over." "is he--badly hurt?" asked the agonized mother. "i guess he's broke his leg," said mike. in two minutes mrs. mordaunt, trembling with apprehension, her faltering limbs almost refusing to bear her weight, was on her way to the astor house. as mike had calculated, she did not stop to lock the door. the young scape-grace entered the deserted room, rummaged about till he found the scanty hoard reserved for the landlord, and then went off whistling. "now i'll have a bully time," he said to himself. "didn't i fool the ould woman good?" chapter ix. mike's theft is discovered. dan was standing in front of the astor house, talking to a boy acquaintance, when his mother tottered up to him in a state of great nervous agitation. "why, mother, what's the matter?" asked dan, in surprise. "what brings you out this afternoon?" "oh, dan!" she gasped, "are you hurt?" dan opened his eyes in wonder. it occurred to him that his mother must have lost her mind. "hurt!" he repeated. "yes; they told me you were run over, and had your leg broken." "my leg broken! who told you so?" "mike rafferty." "then i wish i had him here," said dan, indignantly; "i'd let him know whether my leg is broken or not. you bet i would!" "haven't you been run over, then?" "not that i know of, and i guess it couldn't be done without my knowing it." "i am so glad, so relieved!" sighed mrs. mordaunt. "i don't know how i got here, i was so agitated." "when did mike rafferty tell you this cock-and-bull story, mother?" asked dan. "only a few minutes ago. he said you had been taken into a drug store, and wanted me to come right over." "it's a mean trick he played on you, mother," said dan, indignantly. "i don't see what made him do it." "nor i," said mrs. mordaunt. "he must have meant it as a joke." "a pretty poor joke. i'll get even with him for that." "i don't mind it now, dan, since i have you safe. i am ready to forgive him. he didn't know how much he was distressing me." "then he ought to have known. you may forgive him if you want to; i sha'n't." "i will go home now, dan. i feel a good deal happier than i did when i was hurrying over here." "i will go with you, mother. i have sold my papers, and sha'n't work any more this afternoon. where did you leave mike? i hope i can come across him soon." "i left him at the door of our room." "did you lock the door when you came away, mother?" asked dan. "no; i believe not." "then let us go home at once. some one might get in." "there isn't much to take, dan," said mrs. mordaunt, with a faint smile. "there is our rent money, mother." "i didn't think of that." "we shall be in a pretty pickle if that is lost." "you don't think mike would take it do you, dan?" "i think he would if he knew where to find it." "i wish i had brought it with me," said mrs. mordaunt, in a tone of anxiety. "don't fret, mother; i guess it's all right." "perhaps you had better go home at once without waiting for me, dan. you can go quicker." "all right; i'll do it. where is the money?" "in my pocket-book, in the drawer of the work-table." "are the drawers locked?" "no." "then hereafter you'd better lock them. well, i'll be off, and will meet you at the room." dan was not long in reaching his humble home. the more he thought of it, the more he distrusted mike, and feared that he might have had a sinister design in the deception he had practiced upon his mother. to lose the rent money would be a serious matter. mr. grab hated him, he knew full well, and would show no mercy, while in the short time remaining it would be quite impossible to make up the necessary sum. dan sprang up the stairs, several at a bound, and made his way at once to the little work-table. he pulled the drawer open without ceremony, and in feverish haste rummaged about until, to his great joy, he found the pocket-book. his heart gave a joyous bound. "it's all right, after all," he said. "mike isn't so bad as i thought him." he opened the pocket-book, and his countenance fell. there was a twenty-five cent scrip in one of the compartments, and that was all. "he's stolen the money, after all," he said, his heart sinking. "what are we going to do now?" he waited till his mother reached home. she looked inquiringly at him. one glance told her what had happened. "is it gone, dan?" she gasped. "that is all that is left," answered dan, holding up the scrip. "mike could not be wicked enough to take it." "couldn't he, though? you don't know him as i do, mother. he's a mean thief, and he sent you off to have a clear field. i wish you had locked the door." "i couldn't think of that, or anything else, dan, when i thought you were hurt." "that's why he told you." "what can we do, dan? mr. grab will be angry when he finds we can't pay him." "i will try to find mike; and if i do, i will get the money if i can. that's the first thing." dan went up stairs at once, and knocked at mrs. rafferty's door. she came to the door, her arms dripping with suds, for she had been washing. "is it you, dan?" she said. "and how is your mother to-day?" "is mike in?" asked dan, abruptly, too impatient to answer the question. "no; he went out quarter of an hour ago." "did he tell you where he was going, mrs. rafferty?" "yes, he did. he said he was going over to brooklyn to see if he could get a job, shure. did you want him?" "yes, i did, mrs. rafferty. i'm sorry to tell you that mike has played a bad trick on my mother." "oh, whirra, whirra, what a bye he is!" wailed mrs. rafferty. "he's always up to something bad. sorra bit of worruk he does, and i at the wash-tub all day long." "he's a bad son to you, mrs. rafferty." "so he is, dan, dear. i wish he was like you. and what kind of trick has he played on your good mother?" "he told her that i had been run over and broken my leg. of course she went out to find me, thinking it was all true, and while she was away he took the money from her pocket-book." some mothers would have questioned this statement, but mrs. rafferty knew to her cost that mike was capable of stealing, having been implicated in thefts on several occasions. "was it much, dan?" she asked. "six or seven dollars. i can't say just how much." "oh, what a bad bye! i don't know what to do wid him, shure." "it was the money we were to pay our rent with to-morrow," continued dan. "it is a very serious matter." "i wish i could make it up to you, dan, dear. it's a shame it is." "you are an honest woman, mrs. rafferty, but you ought not to make it up. i wish i could find mike. do you think he has really gone to brooklyn." "shure, i don't know. he said so." "he might have done it as a blind, just to put me on the wrong scent." "so he might, shure." "well, mrs. rafferty, i can't stop any longer. i'll try to find him." he went down stairs and told his mother what he had discovered or failed to discover. "don't wait supper for me, mother," he said. "i'm going in search of mike." "you won't fight with him, dan?" said mrs. mordaunt, anxiously. "i can't promise, mother. i will only agree to be prudent. i am not going to submit to the loss without trying to get the money back, you may be sure of that." so dan went down stairs, considerably perplexed in mind. mike was sure to keep out of the way for a time at least, anticipating that dan would be upon his track. while our hero was searching for him, he would have plenty of opportunities of spending the money of which he had obtained unlawful possession. to punish him without regaining the contents of the lost pocket-book would be an empty triumph. in the street below dan espied terence quinn, an acquaintance of mike. "how are you, terence?" he said. "have you seen anything of mike?" "i saw him only a few minutes ago." "where did he go?" "i don't know." "i want to see him on business." "i'll tell you where he'll be this evening." "where?" "he's going to the old bowery, and i'm goin' wid him." "does he treat?" "yes." "where did he get the money?" "he didn't tell me," said terence. "he's taken the rent money. i'm sure of it now," said dan to himself. "i wish i knew where to find him." chapter x. dan as a detective. dan quickly decided that if mike had been going to brooklyn, he would not have announced it under the circumstances. "he meant to send me there on a wild-goose chase," he reflected. "i am not quite so green as he takes me to be." dan could not decide as easily where mike had gone. hood says in his poem of "the lost heir," "a boy as is lost in london streets is like a needle in a bundle of hay." a hunt for a boy in the streets of new york is about equally hopeless. but dan did not despair. "i'll just stroll round a little," he said to himself. "maybe i'll find him." dan bent his steps toward the courtlandt-street ferry. "perhaps mike has gone to jersey city," he said to himself. "anyway, i'll go over there." it was not an expensive journey. six cents would defray dan's expenses both ways, and he was willing to incur this expense. he meant to look about him, as something might turn up by which he could turn an honest penny. something did turn up. near him in the cabin of the ferry-boat sat a gentleman of middle age, who seemed overloaded with baggage. he had two heavy carpet-bags, a satchel, and a bundle, at which he looked from time to time with a nervous and uncomfortable glance. when the boat touched shore he tried to gather his various pieces of luggage, but with indifferent success. noticing his look of perplexity, dan approached him, and said, respectfully: "can't i assist you, sir?" "i wish you would, my boy," said the gentleman, relieved. "all right, sir. i'll take one of the carpet-bags and the satchel, if you like." "thank you; that will do nicely." so the two left the boat together. "where are you going, sir?" asked dan. "do you know the wharf of the cunard steamers?" asked the gentleman. "yes, sir." "is it far off?" "not more than five or six minutes' walk," answered dan. "can you help me as far as that with my luggage?" "yes, sir." "i will make it worth your while, and you will be doing me a great favor besides. i was brought down to the ferry, but the rascally hackman demanded five dollars more to carry me across and land me at the cunard pier. he thought i would have to submit to this imposition, but i was so indignant that i tried to handle all my luggage myself. i don't know how i should have managed without you." "i won't charge you so much, sir," said dan, smiling. "it isn't for the money i cared so much as for the imposition. i would rather pay you ten dollars than the hackman five." "be careful, sir," said dan, smiling, "or i may take advantage of your liberal offer." the gentleman smiled in turn. "you don't look like a boy that would take advantage of a traveler." "you can't judge from appearances, sir. i have been robbed of six dollars to-day, and i might try to make it up that way." "you have been robbed! how?" dan briefly related the circumstances. "was it all the money your mother had?" "yes, sir." "how did you happen to be coming across the ferry?" "i thought mike might be here somewhere." by this time they were in sight of the cunard wharf. "were you ever on a cunard steamer?" asked the gentleman. "no, sir." "help me on board with my luggage, and i will show you about." "i thought the steamers generally left in the morning," said dan. "so they do; but to-day the tide did not serve till later." dan helped mr. stevens down below with his luggage, and assisted him in storing them in his stateroom. he surveyed with interest the cabin, the deck, the dining-saloon, and the various arrangements. "well," said the gentleman, smiling, "how do you like it?" "first-rate, sir." "do you think you would like to be going with me?" "yes, sir, but for my mother." "of course, it won't do to desert her; otherwise i might be tempted to make you an offer. i am sure you would be very useful to me." "i should like it very much, if mother did not need me." dan went up stairs with mr. stevens, and remained till visitors were warned that it was time to go ashore. "i must go, sir," he said. mr. stevens drew a five-dollar bill from his vest pocket and handed it to dan. "i haven't any change, sir," said dan. "none is required," said the gentleman, smiling. "do you really mean to give me five dollars, sir?" "that is what the hackman wanted to charge me." "but it was too much." "it was too much for him; it is not too much for you, if i am willing to give it to you." "you are very kind, sir," said dan, almost doubting the reality of his good fortune. "it will prove that i spoke truly when i said i didn't care for the amount of money, only for the imposition. i am really very glad to give it to you. good-by, my boy." he offered his hand. dan shook it heartily, and, wishing him a pleasant voyage, descended the gangplank. "that is almost as much as mike robbed me of," he said to himself. "how lucky i came over to jersey city! now, if i could only get back part of the money mike robbed me of, i should be the better off for his mean trick." dan did not immediately return to new york. he had been so fortunate that he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon as he liked. he walked on for ten minutes, mike being temporarily out of his mind, when his attention was suddenly drawn to him. just in front of him he saw mike himself swaggering along, with a ten-cent cigar in his mouth, and both hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. he was strolling along in fancied security, not dreaming of the near presence of the boy whom he had so meanly robbed. dan's eyes sparkled when he recognized his enemy, and hastening his pace, he put his hand on mike's shoulder. mike turned quickly, and his countenance changed when he saw dan. "has he found it out?" suggested his guilty conscience. "anyway, he can't prove anything. i'll bluff him off." "hallo, dan!" he said, in affected cordiality. "what brings you over here?" "what brings _you_ over here, mike?" asked dan, significantly. "i'm looking for a job," said mike. "you look like it," retorted dan, "with both hands in your pockets and a cigar in your mouth! times seem to be good with you. how much did that cigar cost?" "i don't know," answered mike, with unblushing falsehood. "a man gave it to me for holdin' his hoss." mike was never at a loss for a plausible lie. "i thought you bought it." "i haven't got any money." "did they let you over the ferry free, then?" "oh, i had money enough for that." "i guess you have got more." "no, i haven't. ten cents was all i had." "then how are you going to take terence quinn to the theater to-night?" asked dan. even mike's brazen effrontery was hardly prepared to meet this unexpected question. "what do you mane?" he stammered. "terence told me you had invited him." "then he lies!" said mike, his self-assurance returning. "he invited me." "look here, mike rafferty," said dan, out of patience; "that won't go down! terence told the truth. i know where you got the money you were going to treat him with." "where, then?" "from my mother's pocket-book." "it's a lie!" blustered mike. "it's the truth, and if you don't hand over what's left without making any more trouble, i'll have you arrested." "you can't. we're in jersey----" "i shall have you arrested as soon as you get home." "i didn't take the money," said mike, sullenly. "you did, and you know it," said dan, firmly. "give me what you have left, and i'll make no trouble about it. if you don't, you're booked for another term at the island." mike tried to save his ill-gotten gains, but dan was persistent, and finally extracted from him four dollars and a half. the rest mike pretended he had spent. he was sly enough, however, to have saved enough to take him to the old bowery. on the whole, dan was satisfied, considering the five dollars he had received on the cunard steamer, but he could not forbear giving mike a farewell shot. "how did it happen, mike, that you took the jersey ferry to brooklyn?" mike did not deign a reply. "that is my first appearance as a detective," thought dan. "it seems to pay." chapter xi. dan has another adventure. it was only five o'clock when dan, returning from jersey city, found himself again in front of the astor house. "shall i buy any evening papers?" dan asked himself. "no, i won't. i've made enough to satisfy me for one day." dan stood at the corner of vesey street, glancing at the hurrying crowds. he rather enjoyed his temporary freedom from business cares. he had made a good day's work, the morrow's rent was provided for, and he felt like a gentleman of leisure. all at once his attention was drawn to a low sob. it proceeded from a little flower-girl of ten years, who usually stood near the hotel. "what's the matter, fanny?" asked dan, calling her by her name, for the little flower-girl was one of his acquaintances. "haven't you sold as many bouquets as usual?" "yes," said fanny, pausing in her sobs, "i've sold more." "then what's the matter? has any one been teasing you?" "no, but a young man passed a bad half-dollar on me." "let me see it." dan inspected the piece. he did not need to ring it, for it was dull in appearance and unmistakably bad. "when did you take it?" "just now. a young man came up and bought a five-cent bouquet, and gave me this to change." "didn't you see that it was bad?" "i didn't look at it till afterward. then it was too late." "so you gave him forty-five cents in good money, fanny?" "yes," said the little girl, again beginning to sob. "how many bouquets had you sold?" "seven." "then you have less money than when you began?" "yes, dan." "do you think the fellow knew the piece was bad?" "yes, for he hurried away." "which way did he go?" "down broadway." "maybe he was going to jersey city." "no, i saw him turn down fulton street." "then he was going to brooklyn. how did he look?" "he was short and had red hair." "how was he dressed?" "he had on a gray suit." "how long ago did this happen?" "about five minutes." "give me the bad piece, and i'll go after him. stay here till i come back." dan seized the money, and proceeded toward fulton ferry at a half run. "i hope he won't have taken the boat," he said to himself. "if he has i shall lose him." dan nearly overthrew an apple woman's stand not far from the ferry, but did not stop to apologize. he ran into a fat gentleman who looked daggers at him, but kept on. breathless he paid his ferriage, and just succeeded in catching a boat as it was leaving the new york pier. thus far he had not seen the young man of whom he was in search. "he may be on board the boat. i'll go forward," said dan to himself. he walked through the ladies' cabin, and stepped out on the forward deck. the boat was crowded, for it was at the time when men who live in brooklyn, but are employed in new york, are returning to their homes. dan looked about him for a time without success, but all at once his eyes lighted up. just across the deck, near the door of the gentlemen's cabin, stood a young man with red hair, holding a small bouquet in his hand. his face was freckled, his eyes small, and he looked capable of meanness. of course appearances are often deceptive, but not unfrequently a man's character can be read upon his face. "that's the fellow that cheated poor fanny, i'll bet a hat," dan decided within himself. "he looks like it." he immediately crossed to the other side of the deck. the red-headed young man was talking to another young man of about the same age. "where did you get that bouquet, sanderson?" asked the latter. "bought it of a little girl in front of the astor house," answered sanderson. "that settles it," thought dan. he waited to hear what would come next. "i suppose it is meant for some young lady," suggested the other. "maybe it is," answered sanderson, with a grin. dan thought it was about time to come to business. he touched the red-haired young man on the arm. sanderson looked round. "well, boy, what is it?" he asked. "you bought that bouquet of a girl near the astor house," said dan. "what if i did?" asked sanderson, uneasily, for he had a suspicion of what was coming. "you gave her a bogus half-dollar in payment," continued dan. "do you mean to insult me?" blustered sanderson. "be off with you." "i am sorry i cannot accommodate you," said dan, "but i want you to give me a good piece for this first." "i never saw that half-dollar before," said sanderson. "i gave her good money." "perhaps you can prove that before the court," said dan. "what do you mean?" demanded sanderson, uneasily. "i mean that you have passed counterfeit money, and unless you give me a good piece for it i will give you in charge as soon as we reach the pier," said dan, firmly. sanderson looked about him, and saw that the boy's charge was believed. soon his friend looked disgusted. dan followed up his attack. "fanny is a poor girl," he said. "i found her crying over her loss, for it was more than all the money she had taken to-day." "are you her friend?" asked sanderson, sneering. "yes, i am," said dan, stoutly. "this is a put-up job between you two," said sanderson. "gentlemen," said dan, turning and appealing to the passengers near him, "this young man has passed a bad fifty-cent piece on a poor flower-girl. shall he make it good?" "yes, yes!" exclaimed half a dozen, and several cried "shame!" with looks of scorn and disgust directed toward the young man with red hair. "i don't believe a word of it," he ejaculated, in a rage. "i gave the girl a quarter." "too thin!" said several. "but i'll give you the money to get rid of you," and he threw a half-dollar at dan with a look very far from amiable. "thank you, sir; here's your money," said dan. though sanderson had disclaimed all knowledge of the bogus half-dollar, he took it and put it carefully in his pocket. "keep it to pay your washerwoman with," said a jeering voice. it was a young fellow in the garb of a workman who spoke. the boat touched the pier, and sanderson was only too glad to hurry away from the unfriendly crowd. "you're a smart boy!" cried a keen-looking businessman, addressing dan. "how did you discover that this fellow was the one that passed the coin." "fanny described him to me." "then you hadn't seen him before?" "no, sir." "what are you doing for a living?" "selling papers, sir." "you are fit for something better. come and see me to-morrow." he placed in dan's hands a card bearing the firm's name barton & rogers, commission merchants, no. -- pearl street. "my name is rogers," he continued. "inquire for me." "thank you, sir." dan was so pleased at having recovered fanny's money that he gave little thought to this last incident, though it was destined to exert an important influence on his fortunes. he took the same boat back to new york, and hurried to the astor house. little fanny, the flower-girl, with a sad look upon her face, was still standing in her wonted place. "i've got your money back, fanny," said dan. "oh, have you?" exclaimed fanny, joyfully. "yes; i made the fellow give it up." "oh, how kind you are, dan!" there was a listener to what passed between the two children. a tall lady, standing at the corner of the street, regarded them attentively. she was evidently revolving some plan in her head. as dan was about turning away, she placed her hand on his arm. "young man," she said, "i want to speak to you." "all right, ma'am," said dan, surprised. chapter xii. a mysterious lady. dan thought it probable that the lady who accosted him might wish to send him on an errand, and his surprise vanished. she was tall, slender, and grave in appearance. she was probably not over thirty-five. her first words renewed dan's surprise. "have you a mother living?" "yes, ma'am." "a father?" "no, ma'am." "are you an only child, or have you brothers and sisters?" "there is only one of me," answered dan, humorously. "i suppose you are poor?" "if i were not, i would not sell papers for a living." "probably you live in a poor place?" "yes," answered dan, beginning to be tired of satisfying what might be only curiosity on the part of the lady. she noticed at once the change in his manner. "i am not making these inquiries out of curiosity," she said, quickly. "i have an object in what i ask." this naturally surprised dan the more. "all right, ma'am," he said; "i am ready to answer." "are you at leisure for an hour or two?" asked the lady. dan hesitated. "i suppose mother will be worried if i don't come home to supper," he said, hesitating. "can't you send her a message not to expect you? does this little girl know where you live?" "yes," answered fanny, readily. to her the lady turned. "little girl," she said, "go at once and tell this boy's mother that he will not be home till nine o'clock. say he is called away by business." "yes, ma'am." "this will pay you for your trouble." the little girl's eyes sparkled with joy as the lady placed fifty cents in her hand. "thank you. how glad mother will be!" she said. as for dan, he was puzzled to conjecture what the lady could want of him. what would justify such a handsome compensation to fanny merely to explain his absence to his mother? "now," said the lady, "if you will hail the next stage we will go up town." they had not long to wait. soon they were rattling over the pavements through thronged broadway. it was two years since dan had been in a broadway stage. he could not afford to pay ten cents for a ride, but when it was absolutely necessary rode in a horse-car for half price. dan looked about him to see if he knew any one in the stage. nearly opposite sat his former schoolmate, tom carver, with a young lady at his side. their glances met, and dan saw tom's lip curl with scorn. of course he did not betray any mark of recognition. "i like riding in a broadway stage," he heard the young lady say. "there is more to see as you go along. besides, the company is more select." "not always," said tom, with a significant glance at dan. dan felt indignant, but was too proud to show it. "the price excludes the lower classes from using the stage," said the young lady. "it ought to, but i have seen a newsboy in a stage." "how can they afford to pay ten cents for riding?" "i give it up," said tom, shrugging his shoulders. the lady who was with dan noticed the direction of tom carver's look. "do you know that boy?" she asked. "yes," answered dan, "i used to know him." "why don't you know him now?" "because my father lost his property." "i see," said the lady. "it is the way of the world. don't mind it." "i don't," said dan, promptly, returning tom carver's stare. tom could not help hearing this conversation, and learned for the first time that dan and the handsomely dressed lady beside him were in company. "what can they have to do with each other?" he asked himself, curiously. "she can't be a relation--she is too handsomely dressed." at this moment the young lady beside him dropped her handkerchief. before tom could stoop to pick it up dan had handed it to her with a polite bow. "thank you," said the young lady, with a pleasant smile. "you needn't have troubled yourself," said tom carver, irritated. "this young lady is under _my_ charge." "it is no trouble, i assure you," answered dan. "he is very polite," said the young lady, in a low voice, "and very good-looking, too," she added, with a second look at dan. "he is only a common newsboy," said tom, not relishing julia grey's tribute to a boy he disliked. "i can't help what he is," said the young lady, independently; "he looks like a gentleman." dan could not help catching the drift of their conversation, and his face flushed with pleasure, for julia was a very pretty girl, but not being addressed to him, he could not take notice of it otherwise. "he lives at the five points somewhere," muttered tom. the young lady seemed rather amused at tom's discomposure, and only smiled in reply. the stage kept on till it reached madison square. "will you pull the strap opposite the fifth avenue hotel?" said the lady, addressing dan. dan did so. he got out first, and helped his companion out. "follow me into the hotel," she said. dan did so. "what is your name?" asked the lady, as they ascended the stairs. "dan mordaunt." "i needn't ask if you have a good mother?" she proceeded. "one of the best," said dan, promptly. "you look like a well-bred boy, and i infer that your mother is a lady. come into the parlor. i wish to speak to you on business." dan followed her, wondering, and she signed to him to take a seat on the sofa beside her. "you have already told me that you have no sister," she began. "no, ma'am." "do you think your mother would enjoy the society of a little girl?" "i think she would." "i have a little girl under my charge--my niece--from whom, for reasons unnecessary to state, i am obliged to part for a time. do you think your mother would be willing to take charge of her? of course i would make it worth her while." "i am sure she would like it," said dan, for he saw at a glance that this would be a very desirable arrangement for them. "then you feel authorized to accept the charge in your mother's name?" "i do." "the little girl is five years old. your mother would be willing to teach her until such time as she may be old enough to go to school?" "oh, yes, ma'am." "i think little girls are best off at home until the age of seven or eight." "there is one objection," said dan. "what is that?" asked the lady, quickly. "we live in a poor room and a poor neighborhood." "that objection can be obviated. i shall pay you enough to enable you to take better rooms." dan heard this with satisfaction. "i may as well be explicit," said the lady. "i propose to pay fifty dollars a month for my ward's board, including, of course, your mothers care." "fifty dollars a month!" repeated dan, astonished. "if you consider that sufficient." "i am afraid it won't be worth it," said dan, frankly. "if althea is well cared for, as i am sure she will be, i shall have no fear of that. let me add that i shall allow your mother ten dollars per month extra for the child's clothing--say sixty dollars in all. for the present that will probably be enough." "oh, yes, i should think so," said dan. "when do you want her to come to us?" "now. you will take her back with you." "to-night?" asked dan, startled. "yes, to-night. i must leave new york early to-morrow. in fact, i leave the city by an early train." "she would have to come to our poor lodgings," said dan, hesitatingly. "one night there won't matter. to-morrow you can secure rooms up town." "yes, ma'am, i will. our month expires to-morrow." "now," said the lady, rising, "since the matter is settled, come up stairs with me, and i will show you the child." dan followed the lady up stairs, feeling as if he were in a dream, but a very pleasant one. chapter xiii. althea. as the lady entered the room a little girl, with an expression of joy, ran from the window from which she had been looking, and took her hand. "i'm so glad you've got home, auntie," she said. "i got tired of being alone." "i staid away longer than i intended, althea," said the lady. "i was afraid you would feel lonely." "i was _very_ lonely. i wanted to go out into the hall and play with a little girl that lives in the next room, but i thought you wouldn't find me." "i am glad you did not. i have brought you a playfellow, althea." this drew the little girl's attention to dan. unlike most girls of her age, she was not bashful. "what is his name?" she asked. "dan." "what a funny name! are you going to live with us, dan?" "you are coming to live with me," said dan, smiling. "will you be my brother?" "yes." "and will you play with me?" "sometimes." "i think i shall like you. you are nice-looking," said althea, in a matter-of-fact tone. dan blushed. he found the compliment agreeable, though it came from a little girl. "so are you, althea," he said. "i don't think i am," said althea. "i've black hair, and my skin is dark. you have nice brown hair, and are whiter than i am." "some like dark people best," suggested dan. "i don't. i asked auntie to buy me a big cake of soap to wash the brown off, but it wouldn't come." dan smiled. he thought the bright, vivacious little face, with the brilliant dark eyes, pretty, though althea did not. "you will like to live with dan, my dear?" said her aunt, inquiringly. "yes, if you come, too." "but i can't." "why, not, auntie?" "i have got to go away--on business." althea looked disappointed. "i don't want you to go away, auntie," she said. "dan and i can't live alone." "dan has a mother, who will be very good to you." "will she take care of me?" asked althea, brightening up. "yes, althea." "is she nice?" "yes." "then she will be my mother?" "yes; you can call her mother." "and you will come to see me some time, auntie?" "yes, my dear." "then i will go with dan;" and the little girl placed her hand confidingly in that of our hero. dan thought it would be pleasant for him to have a little sister, and he knew that it would brighten his mother's existence. "shall we go now, madam?" asked dan, turning to the lady. "not just yet. come here, dan." dan followed her to the window. she drew from her pocket a wallet containing a considerable sum of money. "i will hand you two months' payment in advance," she said, "and afterward i will remit you monthly, or direct you where to call for money. two months at fifty dollars will amount to one hundred, and twenty more for althea's dress will make it up to a hundred and twenty. have you a pocket-book?" "yes, ma'am." "are you careful of money?" "whenever i have any to be careful about," answered dan. "i hope you will be comfortably provided from this time. there is a little trunk of althea's clothes in the trunk-room below. i will write you an order for it, but you may as well wait till you have moved before carrying it away. it will save you trouble." "yes, ma'am." "have you had any supper?" "no, ma'am." "then you shall go into supper with althea and myself." "what! here, at the fifth avenue hotel?" asked dan. "certainly." "i'm afraid i don't look fit." "you look well enough. at any rate, it's nobody's business. we may as well go down now." there was nothing to say, so dan followed the mysterious lady into the supper-room, althea clinging to his hand. he felt awkward as he took his seat. suppose some one should recognize him as the newsboy who usually stood in front of the astor house! some one did recognize him. the young lady whom tom carver was escorting boarded at the fifth avenue hotel, and had alighted at the same time with our hero, though he did not observe it. tom had been invited to supper, and, with julia and her father, was seated at a neighboring table when dan entered. tom could hardly credit his eyes when he saw dan entering the supper-room, with the little girl clinging to his hand. "well, i'll be blowed!" he ejaculated, forgetting his manners in his surprise. "what did you remark?" asked julia, rather amused. "i beg your pardon, but i was so astonished. there is that newsboy coming into supper!" "where?" "there." "what a pretty little girl is with him!" "that's so. who can she be?" "you must be mistaken about your friend being a newsboy." "he is no friend of mine." "your acquaintance, then; though he is nice enough looking to be a friend. are you sure he is a newsboy?" "certain. i saw him selling papers yesterday in front of the astor house." "his business must be good, or he would not board at the fifth avenue hotel." "of whom are you speaking, julia?" asked her father. "of that boy at the next table, pa." "that boy! why, that's my young friend of the ferry-boat. tom, have the kindness to ask him to come here a moment and speak to me." much surprised, and considerably against his will, tom rose and walked over to where dan was sitting. "look here," said he; "come over to the next table, will you?" "what for?" asked dan. "there's a gentleman wants to speak to you." dan looked over and he recognized mr. rogers, of the firm of barton & rogers, who had asked him to call at his place of business on pearl street. "good-evening, mr. rogers," he said, politely. "good-evening, my boy. do you board here?" "not as a rule," answered dan, smiling. "my business don't allow it. i am dining here with some friends." "what's your name?" "daniel mordaunt. everybody calls me dan." "then, dan, let me make you acquainted with my daughter, julia." dan bowed and smiled. "i think you were sitting opposite me in the stage, mr. mordaunt," said julia. "yes, miss rogers." "you were polite enough to hand me my handkerchief when i awkwardly dropped it." "oh, don't mention it." "i hope to meet you again." "thank you." "what a pretty girl she is!" thought dan. "dan, this young gentleman is thomas carver. you must be nearly of an age. you ought to know each other." "i have known mr. carver a long time," said dan, smiling. "indeed!" said mr. rogers, surprised. "we used to sit together at school." "you didn't tell me that, tom," said julia rogers, turning to tom. "no," said tom, embarrassed; "it is a good while ago." "i won't detain you any longer from your friends," said mr. rogers, politely. "i shall see you at the office in the morning." dan bowed and withdrew. "where did you meet him, papa?" asked julia. her father told the story of dan's exploit on the ferry-boat. "he is a very smart boy," he said. "i shall probably take him into my employ." "i hope you will, papa. he is a very gentlemanly boy." all this was very disagreeable to tom carver, but he did not venture to say all that he felt, being somewhat in awe of mr. rogers. "they are making a great fuss over a common newsboy," he muttered to himself. after supper, dan prepared to take althea home with him. she felt so well acquainted already that she made no objection, but, hand-in-hand, left the hotel with dan. he halted a broadway stage, and they got in. "are you carrying me to where you live, dan?" asked the little girl. "yes, althea." "will your mother be glad to see me?" "yes, she will be very glad. she wants a little girl to keep her company." "then i'm glad i'm going." chapter xiv. a new home. mrs. mordaunt was apprised by fanny that dan had gone up town with a lady, and therefore was not alarmed when he did not return home at the usual time. she hoped he would clear fifty cents, but had no idea to what extent their fortunes would be advanced by dan's evening's work. "i will save dan some supper," she said to herself. "he will be hungry." so, mother-like, she supped economically herself, on a cup of tea and some dry bread, and bought a bit of steak for dan's supper, for she thought he would be very hungry at so late an hour. it was nearly half-past eight when she heard dan's well known step on the stairs. she opened the door to welcome him, but the cheerful welcome upon her lips died away in surprise when she saw his companion. "who is this, dan?" she asked. "she is going to be my little sister, mother," said dan, gayly. "will you be my mother?" said althea, releasing dan's hand, and putting her own confidingly in that of mrs. mordaunt. "yes, my dear," said the widow, her heart quite won by the little girl's innocent confidence, and she bent over and kissed her. "what does it all mean, dan?" she asked, in bewilderment. "it means that althea is to board with us, and be company for you. i have agreed with her aunt that you will take her." "but does her aunt know that we live in such a poor place?" asked his mother in a tone of hesitation. "yes, mother, but that makes no difference, as we shall move up town to-morrow." "i am sure you have acted for the best, dan, but it seems so strange." "will it seem strange to receive fifty dollars a month for althea's board?" asked dan. "fifty dollars a month!" repeated the widow, incredulously. "that's the figure, mother. i didn't suppose we ought to charge more." "more, dan! why, it is a fortune!" "i don't know. that depends on althea's appetite. are you a great eater, althea?" "sometimes i am," said the little girl, naively. "never mind, i guess there will be enough." "i nearly forgot, dan. you will want some supper. i didn't know there would be two, but i will go cut and buy some more meat, if you can wait." "i have had supper, mother, or dinner rather. i dined with althea and her aunt at the fifth avenue hotel." here was another surprise. "has althea been stopping there, dan?" "yes, mother." "then how can she stay even one night in this poor place?" "i will ask her. althea, do you mind stopping here just one night? we will go to a better place to-morrow." "no, dan, i don't care." "there, mother, i told you so, althea is a brick." "what a funny boy you are, dan! how can i be a brick? a brick is red and ugly, and i am not." "no, althea, you are not ugly, but your cheeks are red." "they don't look like a brick, dan." "no, they don't. i take it all back." "i had got your supper all ready, dan," said his mother, regretfully. "then eat it yourself, mother." "i have had my supper." "you didn't have any meat, i'll warrant. now, like a good mother, sit down and eat the steak." assured that dan had supped well, mrs. mordaunt didn't resist his advice. dan looked on, and saw with pleasure that his mother relished the meat. "we will be able to live better hereafter, mother," he said. "there won't be any stinting. fifty dollars will go a good ways, and then, besides, there will be my earnings. i forgot to tell you, mother, that i have probably got a place." "our good fortune is coming all at once, dan," said mrs. mordaunt, cheerfully. "so it seems, mother. i think it has come to stay, too." "i feel so tired," said althea, at this point. "can i go to bed?" "certainly, my dear child. you can go at once." in twenty minutes the little girl was in a sound sleep. dan was not sorry, for he wanted to tell his mother about the days adventures, and he could do so more freely without any one to listen. "so, mother," he concluded, "we are going to turn over a new leaf. we can't go back to our old style of living just yet, but we can get out of this tenement-house, and live in a respectable neighborhood." "god has been good to us, dan. we ought to feel grateful to him." "i know it, mother, but somehow i don't think of that as quick as you. who do you think i saw in the supper-room at the fifth avenue? who but tom carver. he was wonderfully puzzled to know how i happened to be there. he told the party he was with that i was a common newsboy." "he is a very mean boy," said mrs. mordaunt, indignantly. "after being so intimate with you too." "never mind, mother. he can't do me any harm, and i don't care for his friendship. the time may come when i can meet him on even terms." "you can now, dan." "i mean in a worldly way. i shall work along, and if i get rich i sha'n't be the first rich man that has risen from the ranks." "god grant you success, my son!" early the next morning dan started out in search of a new home. he and his mother decided that they would like to live somewhere near union square, as that would be a pleasant afternoon resort for their young boarder. "will you go with me, mother?" he asked. "no, dan, i have not time this morning. besides you know what will suit us." "very well, mother; i will do my best." dan crossed broadway, and took a horse-car up town. in west sixteenth street his attention was drawn to the notice, "furnished rooms to let," upon a good-looking brick house. he rang the bell, and asked to see the lady of the house. a stout, matronly looking woman, with a pleasant face, answered the servant's call. "i called to inquire for rooms," said dan. "for yourself?" asked mrs. brown. "for my mother, and sister, and myself." "i have a large back room on the third floor, and a small room on the fourth floor." "may i see them?" "come up stairs, sir." first dan went into the large room. it was neatly carpeted and furnished, and had a cheerful outlook. "this will do for mother and althea," he said. "will you look at the little room?" "yes, ma'am, but i am sure that will suit. it is for me, and i am not particular. but there's one thing that may trouble us." "what is that?" "where can mother prepare our meals? she can't cook in the bedroom." "i will give her the privilege of using my kitchen. i don't care to take boarders, as it would be too much care, but your mother is welcome to use my kitchen stove." "won't it interfere with you?" "leave that to your mother and myself," said mrs. brown, with a pleasant smile. "we can make some satisfactory arrangement." "how much do you want for your rooms?" asked dan. "will you be permanent?" "we will be permanent, if suited." "of course; that is all i ask. will four dollars a week suit you?" "we will pay it," said dan, quite relieved, for he feared he should have to pay more. "can we move in to-day?" "any time, sir." "thank you." "i generally ask a week's rent in advance," said mrs. brown, "but in your case i won't insist upon it." "oh, it is perfectly convenient," said dan, and he drew out his pocket-book containing the money--over a hundred dollars--which althea's aunt had given him. mrs. brown's respect for dan was considerably increased by this display of wealth, and she congratulated herself on securing such substantial lodgers. this business accomplished dan went down town, and informed his mother of the arrangement he had made. before night mrs. mordaunt, althea, and he were installed in their new home, much to the regret of mrs. rafferty, who regretted losing so good a neighbor. before this, however, dan sought the counting-room of barton & rogers. chapter xv. dan becomes a detective. barton & rogers evidently did business in a large way. they occupied an imposing-looking building of five stories, the greater part being used to store goods. dan entered and looked around him. a spare, dark-complexioned man of about thirty-five, with a pen behind his ear, was issuing orders to a couple of workmen. dan approached him. "is mr. rogers in?" he asked. "no, he is not," said the dark man, curtly. "will he be in soon?" "i don't know." "you might be more civil," thought our hero. he stood his ground, feeling authorized to do so because he had come by appointment. observing this, the book-keeper turned and said, sharply: "didn't you hear? i said mr. rogers was out." "i heard you," said dan, quietly. "then why do you remain? do you doubt my word?" "not at all, sir; but mr. rogers asked me to call this morning. i can wait." "you can tell me your business." "thank you, but i don't think that would do." the book-keeper eyed him sharply, and his face lighted up with a sudden discovery. "i know you now," he said. "you sell papers in front of the astor house, don't you?" "that has been my business." "i thought so; i have bought papers of you." "thank you for your patronage." "what can you want of mr. rogers?" "mr. rogers wants me, i suppose, or he would not have asked me to call," returned dan. "you are a cool hand." "not always," said dan, with a smile. "some hot days i am far from cool." "i suppose mr. rogers wishes you to supply him with an evening paper?" "perhaps he does," returned dan, with a smile. "confound the fellow! i can't make anything of him. when did you see mr. rogers last?" "in the supper-room of the fifth avenue hotel." "how happened you to be there?" demanded talbot, the book-keeper, in surprise. "i was taking supper," said dan, rather enjoying the others surprise, "and mr. rogers saw me from another table." "humph! do you often take supper at the fifth avenue hotel?" "not often." "selling papers must be very profitable." "i'm willing to change places with you." just then mr. rogers entered the warehouse. "ah! you are here before me, dan," he remarked, pleasantly. "have you been here long?" "no, sir; only about five minutes." "i must keep you waiting a few minutes longer while i look at my letters. the letters have arrived, have they not, mr. talbot?" "yes, sir." "amuse yourself as you like while you are waiting, dan," said the merchant. mr. talbot, the book-keeper, followed the merchant into the counting-room, and dan was left alone. he looked about him with interest, thinking it probable that this was to be his future business home. it would certainly be a piece of good fortune to become attached to so large and important a house, and he felt in very good spirits, though he foresaw that mr. talbot would not make it very pleasant for him. but with his employer on his side he need not be alarmed. fifteen minutes passed, and mr. rogers emerged from the counting-room. "i have to go out a few minutes," he said to dan. "come with me, and we can talk on the way." "certainly, sir." mr. talbot followed the two with a frown upon his brow. "how on earth has that boy managed to get round mr. rogers?" he asked himself. "i hope he won't be foolish enough to take him in here." talbot had a nephew whom he was anxious to get into the business, and dan's engagement would interfere with his little plan. this partly accounts for his brusque reception of dan on his first arrival. "well, how do you like our place of business, dan?" asked mr. rogers. "very much, sir." "would you rather sell papers or take employment with me?" "i should like very much to be in your employ, sir." "how much did you earn as a newsboy?" "when i was lucky i made a dollar a day." "then i ought to give you six dollars a week." "i will come for less, sir." "i will pay you what i said. it is more than boys generally get at the start, but i am willing to pay a good sum to a boy who suits me." "i will try to suit you, sir." "do you know why i take you into my employ?" "out of kindness, sir." "i feel kindly disposed to you, dan, but that is not my chief reason." dan was puzzled, and waited to hear more. "my attention was drawn to you on the ferry-boat. i observed your detection of the mean scamp who cheated a poor flower-girl by offering her bad money, and i inferred that you were sharp and keen." "i hope i am, sir." "that is the sort of boy i want just now. did you observe mr. talbot, my book-keeper?" "yes, sir." "what did you think of him?" dan smiled. "i don't think he admires me much," he answered. "he wanted to clear me out before you came in." "did he?" "yes; he recognized me as a newsboy." "i understand his reception of you. he has a nephew whom he wishes me to engage. he is jealous of all possible rivals." "perhaps his nephew would suit you better, sir," said dan, modestly. "are you willing to resign in his favor?" "i prefer to leave that to you, sir." "you can do so safely. the nephew is a disagreeable boy, who would not suit me at all. he thinks more of dress than of duty, and, if i read him aright, is lazy and incompetent. nevertheless, mr. talbot has spoken to me about taking him." "perhaps he doesn't know his nephew's faults." "he knows them well enough, but is desirous of promoting his interests. he won't look upon you very favorably when he learns that i have engaged you." "if you are satisfied, i won't care for that." "well spoken, my lad. and now for a few words in confidence," and mr. rogers lowered his voice. "our business is a large one, and the sums of money handled are necessarily large. three months since i ascertained that somewhere in my establishment there was a leak. we are losing money in some unexplained way. i believe that some one in whom i repose confidence is betraying me." dan listened in earnest attention. "do you suspect any one, sir?" he asked. "i suspect mr. talbot," he said, in the same low voice. dan started in surprise. "it seems strange, perhaps, that i should speak so confidentially to you--a mere boy--but i am impressed with the idea that you can help me." "if i can, sir, i will," said dan, earnestly. "i don't doubt it. my first injunction is to say no word, even to your nearest relations, of what i have told you." "i won't, sir." "next, keep a watch over mr. talbot. i want to know what are his habits, whether he uses money freely, with whom he associates. can you, without betraying to him that he is watched, find out some information for me on these points?" "i will try, sir." "if you secure any information, never communicate it to me in the office. either come to my house, or write me there." "yes, sir." "you understand that i am employing you in a detective capacity, and that your time will partly be taken up out of business hours. i intend to pay you extra, according to results. is that satisfactory?" "perfectly so, mr. rogers, but i am afraid you will be disappointed in me." "i will take my risk of that." "have you any directions to give me, sir, as to how to go to work?" "no; i am nothing of a detective myself. i leave that to you. i might, of course, employ a professional detective, but talbot is sharp, and he would suspect. you he will not suspect. he won't dream of my employing a boy. that is all i have to say for the present. when can you come to work?" "i can come to-morrow morning. to-day we are going to move." "to-morrow let it be, then. good-morning, dan." mr. rogers shook hands with our hero, and walked away. "i am afraid i have a hard job on my hands," thought dan, "but i will do my best." chapter xvi. dan makes a discovery. dan's mother was much pleased with her new quarters. the large room, occupied by althea and herself, was bright and cheerful, and well furnished. besides the ordinary chamber furniture, there was a comfortable arm-chair and a lounge. mrs. mordaunt felt that she would not be ashamed now to receive a visit from some of her former friends. she had anticipated some trouble about the preparation of meals, but mrs. brown made a proposition which wonderfully removed all difficulties. "mrs. mordaunt," she said, "your family is about the same as mine. i have a son who is employed in a newspaper office down town, and you have two young children. now, suppose we club together, and each pay half of the table supplies. then one day you can superintend the cooking--you will only have to direct my servant maggie--and the next day i will do it. then, every other day, each of us will be a lady of leisure, and not have to go into the kitchen at all. what do you say?" "the arrangement will be so much to my advantage that i can say only one thing--i accept with thanks. but won't you be doing more than your share? you will be furnishing the fuel, and pay maggie's wages." "i should have to do that at any rate. the plan is perfectly satisfactory to me, if it suits you." mrs. mordaunt found that the expense was not beyond her means. her income for the care of althea was fifty dollars a month, and dan paid her four dollars a week out of his wages, reserving the balance as a fund to purchase clothes. she went herself to market and selected articles for the table, and, for the first time since her husband's failure, found herself in easy circumstances. there was no need now to make vests at starvation prices. she had thought of continuing, but dan insisted upon her giving it up entirely. "if you want to sew, mother," he said, "you can make some of althea's clothes, and pay yourself out of the ten dollars a month allowed for her clothes." this was sensible and proper, and mrs. mordaunt decided to follow dan's advice. she lost no time in obtaining books for the little girl, and commencing her education. althea knew her letters, but nothing more. she was bright and eager to learn, and gained rapidly under her new teacher. naturally, dan and his mother were curious as to althea's early history, but from the little girl they obtained little information. "do you remember your mother, althea?" asked dan, one evening. "yes," said the little girl. "when did you see her last?" "not long ago. only a little while before you brought me here." "your mother isn't dead, is she?" "no; but she's gone away." "why did she go away?" "she is sick. that's what auntie told me. poor mamma cried very much when she went away. she kissed me, and called me her darling." "do you know where she went?" "no; i don't know." "perhaps her lungs are affected, and she has gone to a warmer climate," suggested mrs. mordaunt. "she may have gone to florida, or even to italy." "where is your father?" asked dan, turning to althea. "father is a bad man," said the child, positively. "he made mamma cry. he went away a good while ago." "and didn't he come back?" "he came back once, and then mamma cried again. i think he wanted mamma to give him some money." dan and his mother talked over the little girl's revelations, and thought they had obtained a clew to the mystery in which the child's history was involved. althea's mother might have married a man of bad habits, who wanted to get possession of her fortune, and rendered a separation necessary. ill health might have required her to leave home and shift the care of the little girl upon strangers. it seemed rather odd that she should have been handed over to utter strangers, but there might have been reasons of which they knew nothing. "we won't trouble ourselves about it," said dan. "it's good luck for us, even if it was bad luck for althea's mother. i like the idea of having a little sister." althea's last name was not known to her new protector. when dan inquired, he was told that she could pass by his name, so althea mordaunt she became. both dan and his mother had feared that she might become homesick, but the fear seemed groundless. she was of a happy disposition, and almost immediately began to call mrs. mordaunt mother. "i call you mother," she said, "but i have a mamma besides; but she has gone away." "you must not forget your mamma, my dear," said the widow. "no, i won't. she will come back some day; she said she would." "and i will take care of you till she does, althea." "yes," said the child, nodding. "i am glad i came to you, for now i have a brother dan." "and i have a little sister," said dan. while dan was away, and now he was away after supper regularly, althea was a great deal of company for mrs. mordaunt. in the pleasant afternoons she took the little girl out to walk, frequently to union square park, where she made acquaintance with other little girls, and had a merry time, while her new mother sat on one of the benches. one day a dark-complexioned gentleman, who had been looking earnestly at althea, addressed mrs. mordaunt. "that is a fine little girl of yours, madam," he said. "thank you," said mrs. mordaunt. "she does not resemble you much," he said, inquiringly. "no; there is very little resemblance," answered mrs. mordaunt, quietly, feeling that she must be on her guard. "probably she resembles her father?" again essayed the stranger. mrs. mordaunt did not reply, and the stranger thought she was offended. "i beg your pardon," he said, "but she resembles a friend of mine, and that called my attention to her." mrs. mordaunt bowed, but thought it wisest not to protract the conversation. she feared that the inquirer might be a friend of the father, and hostile to the true interests of the child. for a week to come she did not again bring althea to the park, but walked with her in a different direction. when, after a week, she returned to the square, the stranger had disappeared. at all events, he was not to be seen. we pass now to dan and his interests. mr. talbot heard of his engagement with anything but satisfaction. he even ventured to remonstrate with mr. rogers. "do you know that this boy whom you have engaged is a common newsboy?" he asked. "i have bought a paper more than once of him, in front of the astor house." "so have i," answered mr. rogers, quietly. "then you know all about him?" "yes." "it is none of my business, but i think you could easily get a better boy. there is my nephew----" "your nephew would not suit me, mr. talbot." the book-keeper bit his lip. "won't you give him a trial?" he asked. "i have engaged dan." "if dan should prove unsatisfactory, would you try my nephew?" "perhaps so." it was an incautious concession, for it was an inducement to the book-keeper to get dan into trouble. it was dan's duty to go to the post-office, sometimes to go on errands, and to make himself generally useful about the warehouses. as we know, however, he had other duties of a more important character, of which mr. talbot knew nothing. the first discovery dan made was made through the book-keeper's carelessness. mr. rogers was absent in philadelphia, when talbot received a note which evidently disturbed him. dan saw him knitting his brows, and looking moody. finally he hastily wrote a note, and called dan. "take that to -- wall street," he said, "and don't loiter on the way." the note was directed to jones & robinson. on reaching the address, dan found that jones & robinson were stock brokers. jones read the note. "you come from mr. talbot?" he asked. "yes, sir." "tell him we will carry the stocks for him a week longer, but can't exceed that time." "perhaps you had better write him a note," suggested dan, "as he may not like to have me know his business." "very well." so dan carried back the note. "i believe i have made a discovery," he said to himself. "mr. talbot is speculating in wall street. i wonder if he speculates with his own money or the firm's?" his face, however, betrayed nothing as he handed the note to the book-keeper, and the latter, after a searching glance, decided that there was nothing to fear in that quarter. chapter xvii. talbot's secret. some light may be thrown upon mr. talbot's operations, if the reader will accompany him to a brownstone house on lexington avenue, on the evening of the day when dan was sent to the office of the wall street brokers. mr. talbot ascended the steps, not with the elastic step of a man with whom the world is prospering, but with the slow step of a man who is burdened with care. "is miss conway at home?" he inquired of the servant who answered the bell. "yes, sir." "will you tell her i should like to speak with her?" "yes, sir." talbot walked in with the air of one who was familiar with the house, and entering a small front room, took a seat. the furniture was plain, and the general appearance was that of a boarding-house. talbot seemed immersed in thought, and only raised his eyes from the carpet when he heard the entrance of a young lady. his face lighted up, and he rose eagerly. "my dear virginia," he said, "it seems a long time since i saw you." "it is only four days," returned the young lady, coolly. "four days without seeing you is an eternity." the young lady smiled. it was easy to see that talbot was in love, and she was not. "a very pretty compliment," she said. "well, have you any news?" "not good news," said he, soberly. she shrugged her shoulders, and looked disappointed. before going further, it may be as well to describe briefly the young lady who had so enthralled the book-keeper. she had the advantage of youth, a complexion clear red and white, and decidedly pretty features. if there was a defect, it was the expression of her eyes. there was nothing soft or winning in her glance. she seemed, and was, of a cold, calculating, unsympathetic nature. she was intensely selfish, and was resolved only to marry a man who could gratify her taste for finery and luxurious living. she was the niece of mrs. sinclair, who kept the boarding-house, and though living in dependence upon her aunt, did nothing to relieve her from the care and drudgery incidental to her business. "it's too provoking," she said, pouting. "so it is, virginia;" and talbot tried to take her hand, but she quietly withdrew it. "you told me that you would have plenty of money by this time, mr. talbot." "i expected it, but a man can't foresee the fluctuations of wall street. i am afraid i shall meet with a loss." "i don't believe you are as smart as sam eustis--he's engaged to my cousin. he made ten thousand dollars last month on lake shore." "it's the fools that blunder into luck," said talbot, irritated. "then you'd better turn fool; it seems to pay," said virginia, rather sharply. "no need of that--i'm fool enough already," said talbot, bitterly. "oh, well, if you've only come here to make yourself disagreeable, i'm sure you'd better stay away," said the young lady, tossing her head. "i came here expecting sympathy and encouragement," said talbot. "instead, you receive me with taunts and coldness." "you are unreasonable, mr. talbot," said virginia. "i will be cheerful and pleasant when you bring me agreeable news." "oh, virginia!" exclaimed talbot, impulsively. "why will you require impossibilities of me? take me as i am. i have an income of two thousand dollars a year. we can live comfortably on that, and be happy in a snug little home." "snug little home!" repeated the young lady, scornfully. "thank you; i'd rather not. i know just what that means. it means that i am to be a household drudge, afraid to spend an extra sixpence--perhaps obliged to take lodgers, like my aunt." "not so bad as that, virginia." "it would come to that in time." "i am sure you cannot love me when you so coolly give me up for money." "i haven't given you up, but i want you to get money." "would to heaven i could!" "you could if you were in earnest." "do you doubt that?" "where there's a will, there's a way, mr. talbot. if you really care so much for me, you will try to support me as i want to live." "tell me, in a word, what you want." "well," said virginia, slowly, "i want to go to europe for my honey-moon. i've heard so much of paris, i know i should like it ever so much. then i want to live _respectably_ when i get back." "what do you call living respectably?" asked talbot. "well, we must have a nice little house to ourselves, and i think, just at first, i could get along with three servants; and i should want to go to the opera, and the theater, and to concerts." "you have not been accustomed to live in that way, virginia." "no; and that's why i have made up my mind not to marry unless my husband can gratify me." "suppose this is impossible?" "impossible for you!" said miss conway, significantly. "you mean you will look elsewhere?" said talbot, hastily. "yes, i think so," said virginia, coolly. "and you would desert me for a richer suitor?" he demanded, quickly. "of course i would rather marry you--you know that," said virginia, with perfect self-possession; "but if you can't meet my conditions, perhaps it is better that we should part." "you are cruel--heartless!" exclaimed talbot, angrily. "no; only sensible," she returned, calmly. "i don't mean to marry you and be unhappy all my life; and i can't be happy living in the stuffy way my aunt does. we should both be sorry for such a marriage when it was too late." "i will take the risk, virginia," said talbot, fixing his eyes with passionate love on the cold-hearted girl. "but i will not," said virginia, decidedly. "i am sure you needn't take it to heart, mr. talbot. why don't you exert yourself and win a fortune, as other people do? i am sure plenty of money is made in wall street." "and lost." "not if you are smart. come now, smooth your face, and tell me you will try," she said, coaxingly. "yes, virginia, i will try," he answered, his face clearing. "and if i try----" "you will succeed," she said, smiling. "well, i hope i may." "and now don't let us talk about disagreeable things. do you know, sir, it is a week since you took me to any place of amusement? and here i have been moping at home every evening with my aunt, who is terribly tiresome, poor old soul!" "i would rather spend the evening here with you, virginia, than go to any place of amusement." "then i can't agree with you. one gets tired of spooning." "i don't--if you call by that name being in the company of one you love." "you would, if you had as little variety as i have." "tell me one thing, virginia--you love me, don't you?" asked talbot, in whose mind sometimes there rose an unpleasant suspicion that his love was not returned. "why, of course i do, you foolish man," she said, carelessly. "and now, where are you going to take me?" "where do you want to go, my darling?" "to the italian opera. to-morrow they play 'the huguenots.'" "i thought you didn't care for music, virginia?" "i don't go for that. i want to go because it's fashionable, and i want to be seen. so, be a good boy, and get some nice seats for to-morrow evening." "very well, my darling." "and you'll try to get rich, for my sake?" "yes, virginia. how rich must i be?" "as soon as you can tell me you have ten thousand dollars, and will spend half of it on a trip to europe, i will marry you." "is that a bargain?" "yes." "then i hope to tell you so soon." "the sooner the better." when talbot left the house it was with the determination to secure the sum required by any means, however objectionable. his great love had made him reckless. virginia conway followed his retreating form with her cool, calculating glance. "poor man! he is awfully in love!" she said to herself. "i'll give him two months to raise the money, and if he fails, i think i can captivate mr. cross, though he's horrid." mr. cross was a middle-aged grocer, a widower, without children, and reputed moderately wealthy. when mr. talbot had entered the house, dan was not far off. later, he saw him at the window with virginia. "i suppose that's his young lady," thought dan. "all right! i guess he's safe for this evening." chapter xviii. two knights of the highway. stocks took an upward turn, so that talbot's brokers were willing to carry them for him longer without an increase of margin. the market looked so uncertain, however, that he decided to sell, though he only made himself whole. to escape loss hardly satisfied him, when it was so essential to make money. he was deeply in love with virginia conway, but there was no hope of obtaining her consent to a marriage unless he could raise money enough to gratify her desires. how should he do it? he was returning to his boarding-house at a late hour one night, when, in an unfrequented street, two figures advanced upon him from the darkness, and, while one seized him by the throat, the other rifled his pockets. talbot was not a coward, and having only a few dollars in his pocket-book, while his watch, luckily, was under repair at tiffany's, he submitted quietly to the examination. the pocket-book was opened and its contents eagerly scanned. an exclamation of disgust mingled with profanity followed. "only five dollars, mike!" muttered one of the ruffians. "why don't you carry money, like a gentleman?" demanded the man called mike. "ain't you ashamed to carry such a lean wallet as that there?" "really, gentlemen, if i had expected to meet you, i would have provided myself better," said talbot, not without a gleam of humor. "he's chaffing us bill," said mike. "you'd better not, if you know what's best for yourself," growled bill. "where's your ticker?" "my watch is at tiffany's." "that's too thin." "it's the truth. you ought to have waited till next week, when i'd have had it for you." "you're a cool customer." "why not?" "we might hurt you." "you have already. don't squeeze my throat so next time." "have you any jewelry about you?" "only a pair of sleeve buttons." "gold?" "yes; but they are small, and not worth much." "you've took us in reg'lar! a gent like you ought to have diamond studs, or a pin, or something of value." "i know it, and i'm sorry i haven't, for your sakes." "no chaffing!" said bill, with an ominous growl. "don't be afraid. i look upon you as gentlemen, and treat you accordingly. in fact, i'm glad i've met with you." "why?" asked mike, suspiciously. "i may be able to put something in your way." "are you on the square?" asked bill, rather surprised. "yes." "what is it?" "i can't tell you in the street. is there any quiet place, where we shall not be disturbed or overheard?" the men looked at each other in doubt. "this may be a plant," said mike, suspiciously. "on my honor, it isn't." "if it is," growled bill, "you'd better make your will." "i know the risk, and am not afraid. in short, i have a job for you." the men consulted, and finally were led to put confidence in talbot. "is there money in it?" asked mike. "two hundred dollars apiece." "we'll hear what you have to say. bill, let's go to your room." "is it far away?" asked talbot. "no." "lead on, then." the three made their way to a dilapidated building on houston street, and ascended to the fourth floor. bill kicked open the door of a room with his foot and strode in. a thin, wretched-looking woman sat in a wooden chair, holding a young child. "is it you, bill?" she asked. "yes, it's me!" growled her husband. "just clear out into the other room. me and these gentlemen have business together." she meekly obeyed the command of her lord, glancing curiously at talbot as she went out. mike she knew only too well, as one of her husband's evil companions. the door was closed, but the wife bent her ear to the keyhole and listened attentively. suspecting nothing, the conspirators spoke in louder tones than they were aware of, so that she obtained a pretty clear idea of what was being planned. "now go ahead," said bill, throwing himself on the chair his wife had vacated. "what's your game?" "can you open a safe?" asked talbot. "we might, 'specially if we knowed the combination." "perhaps i can manage that." "where is it?" talbot gave the name of his employer and the number of his store. "what have you got to do with it?" "i'm the book-keeper." "you are? what are you going to make out of it?" "leave that to me. i'll guarantee that you'll find four hundred dollars there to pay you for your trouble." "that isn't enough. the risk is too great." "it is only one night's work." "if we're caught, it'll be sing sing for seven years." "that's true. how much do you require, gentlemen?" the men consulted. "we might do it for five hundred apiece," said bill. there was a little discussion, but finally this was acceded to. various details were discussed, and the men separated. "i'm goin' your way," said mike. "i'll show you the way out." "all right, thank you, but we'd better separate at the street door." "why? are you too fine a gentleman to be seen with the likes of me?" demanded mike, feeling insulted. "not at all, my friend; but if we were seen together by any of the police, who know me as book-keeper, it would excite suspicion later." "you're right. your head's level. you're sure you're on the square?" "yes, my friend. i shouldn't dare to tamper with men like you and bill. you might find a way to get even with me." "that's so, stranger. i guess we can trust you." "you may be sure of that." "more crime!" said the miserable wife to herself, as she heard through the keyhole the details of the plan. "bill is getting worse and worse every day. where will it all end?" "here, nancy, get me something to eat," said bill, when his visitors had departed. "yes, bill, i will get you all there is." the wife brought out from a small closet a slice of bread and a segment of cheese. "pah!" said the burly ruffian, turning up his nose. "what are you giving us?" "it's all i've got, bill." "where's the meat, i say?" "there is none." "you and your brat have eaten it!" said he, irritably. "god help us, bill! we have had no meat for a week." "that's a lie! i can't eat such trash as that. do you mean to starve me?" "i can't make food, bill. if you will give money, i will provide better. i can't do anything without money." "whining, are you?" said the brute, furiously. "i'll teach you to complain of me. take that, and that!" and he struck the woman two brutal blows with his fist. one, glancing, struck the child, who began to cry. this further irritated bill, who, seizing his wife by the shoulders, thrust her out on the landing. "there, stay there with the cursed brat!" he growled. "i mean to have one quiet night." the wretched wife crept down stairs, and out into the street, scarcely knowing what she did. she was not wholly destitute of spirit, and though she might have forgiven personal injury, felt incensed by the treatment of her innocent child. "my poor baby!" she said, pitifully, "must you suffer because your father is a brute? may heaven avenge our wrongs! sooner or later it will." she sat down on some steps near by; the air was chilly, and she shivered with the cold, but she tried to shelter her babe as well as she could. she attracted the attention of a boy who was walking slowly by. it was dan, who had at a distance witnessed talbot's encounter with the burglars, and his subsequent friendly companionship with them, and was trying to ascertain the character of the place which he visited. "what's the matter with you?" asked dan, in a tone of sympathy. [illustration: "what's the matter with you?" asked dan, in a tone of sympathy. page ] "my husband has thrust me out of doors with my poor baby." "he must be a nice husband. do you want a lodging?" "i have no money." "i can let you have enough for that. there's a cheap hotel near by. i'll take you to it, and pay for your lodging, and pay for it in advance." "heaven bless you! you are indeed a friend." "take my arm." supported by dan, the poor woman rose and walked to an humble tavern not far away. "she may know something about talbot's visit. i'll question her," thought dan. chapter xix. dan as a good samaritan. "what made your husband treat you so badly?" asked dan. "rum!" answered the woman. "rum has been sinking him lower and lower, and it's easy to see the end." "what will be the end?" "the prison--perhaps the gallows." "you are taking too dark a view of your husband," said dan, soothingly. "he won't go as far as that." the woman shook her head. "i know him only too well," she said. "this very evening he has been planning a burglary." dan started, and a sudden suspicion entered his mind. "did you hear him doing it?" he asked. "yes." "do you know where it is?" he asked, eagerly. "yes; it is a store on pearl street." dan felt that he was on the track of a discovery. he was likely to be repaid at last for the hours he had spent in detective service. "who put him up to it?" he asked, fixing his eyes intently on the woman. "i don't know his name; he is a well-dressed man. i think he is in the store." "was it a man who came to your rooms this evening?" "yes." "is this the way he looked?" here dan gave a rapid description of talbot. "that is the man. do you know him?" "yes, i know him. he is the book-keeper of the firm." "he is a bad man. he is to pay a thousand dollars for the job. bill is to have half of it." "bill, i suppose, is your husband?" "yes." dan looked thoughtful. here was a most important discovery. he must consider what to do. by this time they had reached a small public-house, of humble exterior, but likely to afford his companion better accommodations than she had at home. "come in," said dan. the woman followed him, with the child in her arms. a stout german, who appeared to be the proprietor of the establishment, was sitting in an arm-chair, smoking a pipe. he scanned the party phlegmatically. "what you wants?" he asked. "can you give this lady a room?" asked dan. "is she your vife?" asked the german, with a broad grin. "no; she is an acquaintance of mine. her husband has driven her out of his house in a fit of drunkenness. can she sleep here?" "has she got any money?" asked the dutchman, shrewdly. "i will pay for her lodging." "that's all right. she shall stay here." "what will you charge?" "fifty cents a night for the lodging." "here it is." "will the lady go up now?" asked the landlord, upon whom the silver half-dollar produced a visible impression. "yes," said the woman; "my poor baby is tired." "you had better stay here two nights," said dan. "don't let your husband know where you are just yet. here is money to pay for another night's lodging, and enough to buy food besides." "god bless you, boy!" she said, gratefully. "but for you i should have had to stay out all night." "oh, no; some one would have taken you in." "you don't know this neighborhood; the policeman would have found me, and taken me to the station-house. for myself i care little; but my poor babe, who is worse than fatherless----" and she burst into tears. "keep up your courage, madam. brighter days may be in store," said dan, cheerfully. "i will come and see you day after to-morrow," said dan. "good-night." our hero must not be awarded too great credit for his generosity. he knew that mr. rogers would willingly defray all expenses connected with the discovery, and that the money he had advanced to his unfortunate companion would be repaid. had it been otherwise, however, his generous heart would have prompted him to relieve the woman's suffering. chapter xx. laying the train. very early the next morning dan rang the bell at mr. rogers' residence. "can i see mr. rogers?" he asked. "the master won't be up for an hour," said the servant. "tell him dan wishes to see him on business of importance." the girl shrugged her shoulders. "i don't think he'll see you. he was up late last night," she said. "never mind. let him know i am here." "it's very important you make yourself," said susan, crossly. "i _am_ a person of great importance," said dan, smiling. "mr. rogers will see me, you'll find." two minutes later susan descended the stairs a little bewildered. "you're to walk into the parlor," she said. "master'll be down directly." dan did not have long to wait. mr. rogers came down stairs almost directly in dressing-gown and slippers. "well, dan, what is it?" he asked. "the store is to be broken open to-night and the safe robbed!" said dan. "good heavens! by whom?" "by two men living in houston street--at least, one lives there." "have you any more to tell?" "yes, sir; they are employed by mr. talbot." mr. rogers started. "are you sure of this?" he asked. "quite sure." "how did you find out?" "partly by accident, sir." "go on. tell me all." dan rehearsed the story, already familiar to our readers, combining with it some further information he had drawn from the woman. "i didn't think talbot capable of this," said mr. rogers. "he has been in our employ for ten years. i don't like to think of his treachery, but, unhappily, there is no reason to doubt it. now, dan, what is your advice?" "i am afraid my advice wouldn't be worth much, mr. rogers," said dan, modestly. "i am not sure of that. i am indebted to you for this important discovery. you are keen and ready-witted. i won't promise to follow your advice, but i should like to hear it." "then, sir, i will ask you a question. do you want to prevent the robbery, or to catch the men in the act?" "i wish to catch the burglars in the act." "then, sir, can you stay away from the store to-day?" "why?" "your looks might betray your suspicions." "there is something in that. but how can i take measures to guard against loss?" "you can act through me, sir. is there much money in the safe?" "no; but talbot is authorized to sign checks. he will draw money if i am not at the store." "will he place it in the safe?" "probably." "then let him do so. he is to tell the burglars the combination. he will get it from the janitor." "the scoundrel!" "i will see the janitor, and ask him to give the book-keeper the wrong word." "what else?" "i will secretly notify the police, whom he will admit and hide till the time comes." "that is well planned." "then," continued dan, flushing with excitement, "we'll wait till the burglars come, and let them begin work on the safe. while they are at work, we will nab them." "you say we." "yes, sir; i want to be there." "there may be danger." "i'll risk it, sir." "dan, you are a brave boy." "i don't know about that, sir. but if anything is going on to-night, i want to be in it." "you shall, but be prudent. i don't want you to be hurt." "thank you, sir. if mr. talbot sends me with a large check to the bank, what shall i do?" "take it." "he may make off with the money during the day." "i will set another detective to watch him, and have him arrested in that event." "this is going to be an exciting day," said dan to himself, as he set out for the store. chapter xxi. twelve thousand dollars. as dan entered the store he noticed that talbot looked excited and nervous. ordinarily the book-keeper would have reprimanded him sharply for his late arrival, but he was not disposed to be strict this morning. "i'm a little late this morning, mr. talbot," said dan. "oh, well, you can be excused for once," said talbot. he wished to disarm suspicion by extra good humor. besides, he intended to send dan to the bank presently for a heavy sum, and thought it best to be on friendly terms with him. about ten o'clock a messenger entered the store with a note from mr. rogers to the book-keeper. it was to this effect: "i am feeling rather out of sorts this morning, and shall not come to the store. should you desire to consult me on any subject, send a messenger to my house." talbot read this note with great satisfaction. the only obstacle to carrying out his plans was the apprehended presence and vigilance of his employer. now he had a clear field. about one o'clock he called dan into the office. "here, dan," he said, "i want you to go to the bank at once." "yes, sir." "here is a check for twelve thousand dollars--rather a heavy amount--and you must be very careful not to lose any of it, or to let any one see that you have so much with you. do you understand?" "yes, sir. in what denominations shall i get the money?" "you may get one hundred dollars in fives and tens, and the remainder in large bills." "all right, sir." "he means to make a big haul," said dan to himself, as he left the store. "i hope our plans won't miscarry. i wouldn't like mr. rogers to lose so large a sum." as dan left the store a man of middle size, who was lounging against a lamp-post, eyed him sharply. as dan was turning the corner of the street he left his post, and, walking rapidly, overtook him. "where are you going?" he asked. "what is that to you?" demanded dan. "you are in the employ of barton & rogers, are you not?" "yes, sir." "is your name dan?" "yes, sir." "i am a detective, on watch here by order of mr. rogers. now will you answer my question?" "certainly. i am going to the bank." "to draw money?" "yes, sir." "how much?" "twelve thousand dollars." "whew! that is a big sum. who sent you?" "mr. talbot." "he is the book-keeper, is he not?" "yes, sir." "i will walk along with you. there is no need of watching till you bring back the money. where do you think talbot will put the money?" "in the safe, i think, sir." "i am not sure of that. i believe he will retain the greater part on his own person. if the men who are to rob the safe got hold of all the money they would be likely to keep it, and not limit themselves to the sum he agrees to pay them." "i suppose you are right, sir. what, then, are we to do?" asked dan, perplexed. "i shall take care to keep talbot in view. he doesn't propose to run away. he means to have it understood that all this money has been taken by the burglars, whereas but a tithe of the sum will be deposited in the safe." dan nodded assent. he was convinced that the detective was right. still he was anxious. "it seems to me there is a risk of losing the money," he said. the detective smiled. "don't be afraid," he said, confidentially. "talbot won't leave the city. i will take care of that." his words inspired confidence, and dan entered the bank without misgivings. the check was so large that the bank officials scrutinized it carefully. there was no doubt about its being correct, however. "how will you have it?" was asked. dan answered as he had been directed. "be very careful, young man," said the disbursing clerk. "you've got too much to lose." "all right, sir." dan deposited one roll of bills in the left inside pocket of his coat, and the balance in the right pocket, and then buttoned up the coat. "i'm a boy of fortune for a short time," he said to himself. "i hope the time will come when i shall have as much money of my own." dan observed that the detective followed him at a little distance, and it gave him a feeling of security. some one might have seen the large sum of money paid him, and instances had been known where boys in such circumstances had suddenly been set upon in the open street at midday and robbed. he felt that he had a friend near at hand who would interfere in such a case. "what time is it, boy?" asked an ill-looking man, suddenly accosting him. "half-past one." "look at your watch." "i don't carry one," said dan, eying the questioner suspiciously. "nor i. i have been very unfortunate. can't you give me a quarter to buy me some dinner?" "ask some one else; i'm in a hurry," said dan, coldly. the man went away muttering. "i'm not as green as you take me for," said dan to himself. he thought his danger was over, but he was mistaken. suddenly a large man, with red hair and beard, emerging from dan knew not where, laid his hand on his shoulder. dan turned in surprise. "boy," said he, in a fierce undertone, "give me that money you have in your coat-pocket, or i will brain you." "you forget we are in the public street," said dan. "no, i don't." "you would be arrested." "and you would be--stunned, perhaps killed!" hissed the man. "look here, boy, i am a desperate man. i know how much money you have with you. give me half, and go." dan looked out of the corner of his eye, to see the detective close at hand. this gave him courage, for he recognized that the villain was only speaking the truth, and he did not wish to run any unnecessary risk. he gave a nod, which brought the detective nearer, and then slipped to one side, calling: "stop thief!" the ruffian made a dash for him, his face distorted with rage, but his arm was grasped as by an iron vise. "not so fast, jack benton!" exclaimed the detective, and he signaled to a policeman. "you are up to your old tricks again, as i expected." "who are you?" demanded jack, angrily. "a detective." "the devil!" ejaculated the foiled burglar. "i have taken nothing," he added, sullenly. "that isn't your fault. i heard you threatening the boy, unless he gave up the money in his possession. take him away, officer. i will appear against him." "thank you, sir," said dan, gratefully. "all right. go on as quickly as possible. i will keep you in view." all this took a little time. talbot, whose conscience was uneasy, and with good cause, awaited dan's arrival very anxiously. "what made you so long?" he asked. "a man tried to rob me." "did he succeed?" asked talbot, quickly. "no; he was recognized by a policeman, who arrested him as he was on the point of attacking me." talbot asked no further questions, considerably to dan's relief, for he did not wish to mention the detective if it could be avoided. the book-keeper contented himself with saying, in a preoccupied tone, as he received the money: "you can't be too careful when you have much money about you. i am almost sorry i sent for this money," he proceeded. "i don't think i shall need to use it to-day." "shall i take it back to the bank, sir?" asked dan. "no; i shall put it in the safe over night. i don't care to risk you or the money again to-day." "that's a blind," thought dan. "he won't put it in the safe." chapter xxii. talbot's scheme fails. talbot went into the office where he was alone. but the partition walls were of glass, and dan managed to put himself in a position where he could see all that passed within. the book-keeper opened the package of bills, and divided them into two parcels. one he replaced in the original paper and labeled it "$ , ." the other he put into another paper, and put into his own pocket. dan saw it all, but could not distinguish the denominations of the bills assigned to the different packages. he had no doubt, however, that the smaller bills were placed in the package intended to be deposited in the safe, so that, though of apparently equal value, it really contained only about one-tenth of the money drawn from the bank. talbot was not conscious of observation. indeed, he was not observed, except by dan, whose business it was to watch him. the division being made, he opened the safe and placed the package therein. "not quite smart enough, mr. talbot," thought dan. "you will need more watching." he was anxious to communicate his discovery to the detective outside, but for some time had no opportunity. about an hour later he was sent out on an errand. he looked about him in a guarded manner till he attracted the attention of the outside detective. the latter, in answer to a slight nod, approached him carelessly. "well," he asked, "have you any news?" "yes," answered dan. "mr. talbot has divided the money into two packages, and one of them he has put into his own pocket." "what has he done with the other?" "put it into the safe." "as i expected. he means to appropriate the greater part to his own use." "is there anything more for me to do?" asked dan. "i don't know. keep your eyes open. does the book-keeper suspect that he is watched?" "i am sure that he doesn't." "that is well." "i am afraid he will get away with the money," said dan, anxiously. "i am not. do you know whether there's any woman in the case?" "he visits a young lady on lexington avenue." "do you know the number?" "no." "that is important. it is probably on her account that he wishes to become suddenly rich." this supposition was a correct one, as we know. it did not, however, argue unusual shrewdness on the part of the detective, since no motive is more common in such cases. dan returned to the office promptly, and nothing of importance occurred during the remainder of the day. when mr. talbot was preparing to leave, he called in the janitor. "you may lock the safe," he said. "very well, sir." "by the way, you may use the word 'hartford' for the combination." "very well, sir." "be particularly careful, as the safe contains a package of money--twelve thousand dollars." "wouldn't it have been better to deposit it in the bank, mr. talbot?" "yes, but it was not till the bank closed that i decided not to use it to-day. however, it is secure in the safe," he added, carelessly. "i have no doubt of that, mr. talbot." mr. talbot put on his coat and departed. in turning a street corner, he brushed against a rough-looking man who was leaning against a lamp-post. "i beg your pardon," said the book-keeper, politely. "what did you say?" growled bill. "hartford," said talbot, in a low tone. "all right, sir. if you apologize it's all correct." "they've got the word," said talbot to himself. "now the responsibility rests with them. now i will go and see virginia." his face flushed, and his eyes lighted up with joy, as he uttered her name. he was deeply in love, and he felt that at last he was in a position to win the consent of the object of his passion. he knew, or, rather, he suspected her to be coldly selfish, but he was infatuated. it was enough that he had fulfilled the conditions imposed upon him. in a few days he would be on his way to europe with the lady of his love. matters were so arranged that the loss of the twelve thousand dollars would be credited to the burglars. he would escape suspicion. if his european journey should excite a shadow of suspicion, nothing could be proved, and he could represent that he had been lucky in stock speculations, as even now he intended to represent to miss conway. he was not afraid that she would be deeply shocked by his method of obtaining money, but he felt that it would be better not to trust her with a secret, which, if divulged, would compromise his safety. "is miss conway at home?" he inquired. yes, miss conway was at home, and she soon entered the room, smiling upon him inquiringly. "well," she said, "have you any news to tell me?" "virginia, are you ready to fulfill your promise?" asked talbot, eagerly. "what promise?" "you know, surely." "i make so many promises, you know," she said, fencing. "your promise to marry me." "but there were conditions to that." "suppose that the conditions are fulfilled, virginia?" "do you really mean so?" she asked, betraying strong interest now. "have you been lucky in stocks?" "i took your advice, virginia. i dared everything, and i have succeeded." "as you might have done before, had you listened to me. how much did you make?" "ten thousand dollars--the amount you required." the girl's eyes sparkled. "and you will take me to europe?" she said. "we will make the grand tour?" "as soon as you please." "then you deserve a reward." she stooped and pressed a kiss lightly upon his cheek. it was a mercenary kiss, but he was so much in love that he felt repaid for the wrong and wickedness he had done. it would not always be so, even if he should never be detected, but for the moment he was happy. "now let us form our plans," he said. "will you marry me to-morrow evening?" "but that gives me no time." "you need no time. we will call on a clergyman, quietly, to-morrow evening, and in fifteen minutes we shall be man and wife. on saturday a steamer leaves for europe. we will start then." "oh, that will be nice. i can hardly believe that i shall so soon realize the dreams of years. i want to go to paris first." "anywhere you please. your wish shall be my law." "how can you be spared from your business?" asked virginia, after a pause. "i will plead ill health--anything. there will be no difficulty about that." "shall i tell my aunt?" "no; not till you are almost ready to start." "why not?" "it is better that there should be no gossip about it. besides, your aunt would probably be scandalized by our hasty marriage, and insist upon delay. that's something we should neither of us be willing to consent to." "no, for it would interfere with our european trip." "you consent, then, to my plans?" "yes; i will give you your own way this time," said virginia, smiling. "and you will insist on having your own way ever after?" "of course," she said; "isn't that right?" "i am afraid i must consent, at any rate; but, since you are to rule, you must not be a tyrant, my darling." talbot agreed to stay to dinner; indeed, it had been his intention from the first. he remained till the city clocks struck eleven, and then took leave of miss conway at the door. he set out for his boarding-place, his mind filled with thoughts of his coming happiness, when a hand was laid on his arm. he wheeled suddenly, and his glance fell on a quiet man--the detective. "what's wanted?" he asked, not dreaming of the truth. "you must come with me, mr. talbot," was the reply. "you are suspected of robbing the firm that employs you." "this is absurd nonsense!" exclaimed talbot, putting on a bold face, though his heart sank within him. "i hope so; but you must accompany me, and submit to a search. if my suspicions are unfounded, i will apologize." "hands off, fellow! i believe you intend to rob me. i will give you into custody." the detective put a whistle to his mouth, and his summons brought a policeman. "take this man into custody," he said. "this is an outrage!" exclaimed talbot; but he was very pale. "you will be searched at the station-house, mr. talbot," said the detective. "i hope nothing will be found to criminate you. if not, you shall go free." talbot, with a swift motion, drew something from his pocket, and hurled it into the darkness. but he was observed. the detective darted after it, and brought it back. "this is what i wanted," he said. "policeman, you will bear witness that it was in mr. talbot's possession. i fear we shall have to detain you a considerable time, sir." talbot did not utter a word. fate had turned against him, and he was sullen and desperate. "how did they suspect?" he asked himself; but no answer suggested itself. chapter xxiii. the calm before the storm. in the house on houston street, bill wasted little regret on the absence of his wife and child. neither did he trouble himself to speculate as to where she had gone. "i'm better without her," he said to his confederate, mike. "she's always a-whinin' and complainin', nance is. it makes me sick to see her. if i speak a rough word to her, and it stands to reason a chap can't always be soft-spoken, she begins to cry. i like to see a woman have some spirit, i do." "they may have too much," said mike, shrugging his shoulders. "my missus ain't much like yours. she don't cry, she don't. if i speak rough to her, she ups with something and flings it at my head. that's her style." "and what do you do?" asked bill, in some curiosity. "oh, i just leave her to get over it; that's the best way." "is it?" said bill, grimly. "why, you're not half a man, you ain't. do you want to know what i'd do if a woman raised her hand against me?" "well, what would you do?" "i'd beat her till she couldn't see!" said bill, fiercely; and he looked as if he was quite capable of it. "i don't know," said mike. "you haven't got a wife like mine." "i just wish i had. i'd tame her." "she ain't easy to tame." "just you take me round there some time, mike. if she has a tantrum, turn her over to me." mike did not answer. he was not as great a ruffian as bill, and the proposal did not strike him favorably. his wife was certainly a virago, and though strong above the average, he was her superior in physical strength, but something hindered him from using it to subdue her. so he was often overmatched by the shrill-voiced vixen, who knew very well that he would not proceed to extremities. had she been bill's wife, she would have had to yield, or there would have been bloodshed. "i say, bill," said mike, suddenly, "how much did your wife hear of our plans last night?" "nothing." "she might." "if she had she would not dare to say a word," said bill, carelessly. "you don't know. women like to use their tongues." "she knows i'd kill her if she betrayed me," said bill. "there ain't no use considerin' that." "well, i'm glad you think so. it would be awkward if the police got wind of it." "they won't." "what do you think of that chap that's puttin' us up to it?" "i don't like him, but i like his money." "five hundred dollars a-piece ain't much for the risk we run." "we'll have more." "how?" "if we don't find more in the safe, we'll bleed him when all's over. he'll be in our power." "well, bill, you know best. you've got a better head nor me." "and a stouter heart, man. you're always afeared of something." it was true that bill was the leading spirit. he was reckless and desperate, while mike was apt to count the cost, and dwell upon the danger incurred. they had been associated more than once in unlawful undertakings; and though both had served a short term of imprisonment, they had in general escaped scot-free. it was bill who hung round the store, and who received from talbot at the close of the afternoon the "combination," which was to make the opening of the safe comparatively easy. "it's a good thing to have a friend inside," he said to his confederate. "our money is as good as made." "there'll be the janitor to dispose of," suggested mike. "leave him to me. i'll knock him on the head." "don't kill him if you can help it, bill. murder has an ugly look, and they'll look out twice as sharp for a murderer as for a burglar. besides, swingin' ain't pleasant." "never you mind. i'll only stun him a little. he can wake up when we're gone, but we'll tie him so he can't give the alarm." "how cool you take things, bill!" "do i? well, it's my business. you just leave everything to me. obey orders, and i'll bring you out all right." so the day passed, and darkness came on. it was the calm before the storm. chapter xxiv. old jack, the janitor. the janitor, or watchman, was a sturdy old man, who in early life had been a sailor. some accident had made him lame, and this incapacitated him for his early vocation. it had not, however, impaired his physical strength, which was very great, and mr. rogers was glad to employ him in his present capacity. of his fidelity there was no question. when jack green--jack was the name he generally went by--heard of the contemplated burglary, he was excited and pleased. it was becoming rather tame to him to watch night after night without interruption, and he fancied he should like a little scrimmage. he even wanted to withstand the burglars single-handed. "what's the use of callin' in the police?" he urged. "it's only two men, and old jack is a match for two." "you're a strong man, jack," said dan, "but one of the burglars is as strong as you are. i have seen him, you know. he's broad-shouldered and big-chested." "i ain't afraid of him," said jack, defiantly. "perhaps not, but there's another man, too. you couldn't overcome both." "i don't know about that." but jack finally yielded, though reluctantly, and three policemen were admitted about eight o'clock, and carefully secreted, to act when necessary. jack pleaded for the privilege of meeting the burglars first, and the privilege was granted, partly in order that they might be taken in the act. old jack was instructed how to act, and though it was a part not wholly in accordance with his fearless spirit, he finally agreed to do as he was told. it is not necessary to explain how the burglars effected their entrance. this was effected about twelve o'clock, and by the light of a dark-lantern bill and mike advanced cautiously toward the safe. at this point old jack made his appearance, putting on an air of alarm and dismay. "who are you?" he demanded, in a tone which he partially succeeded in making tremulous. bill took up the reply. "are you the janitor?" he asked. "yes, gentlemen. what do you want?" "keep quiet, and we will do you no harm. we want you to open the safe." "i can't do that, gentlemen. i can't betray my trust." "all right; i'll do it myself. give us the key. what's the combination?" "hartford." bill glanced at mike significantly. the word agreed with the information they had received from talbot. it served to convince them that the janitor had indeed succumbed, and could be relied upon. there was no suspicion in the mind of either that there was any one else in the establishment, and they felt moderately secure from interruption. "here, old fellow, hold the lantern while we go to work. just behave yourself, and we'll give you ten dollars--shall we, mike?" "yes," answered mike; "i'm agreed." "it'll look as if i was helpin' to rob my master," objected jack. "oh, never mind about that; he won't know it. when all is over we'll tie you up, so that it will look as if you couldn't help yourself. what do you say?" jack felt like making a violent assault upon the man who was offering him a bribe, but he controlled his impulse, and answered: "i'm a poor man, and ten dollars will come handy." "all right," said bill, convinced by this time that jack's fidelity was very cheaply purchased. he plumed himself on his success in converting the janitor into an ally, and felt that the way was clear before him. "mike, give the lantern to this old man, and come here and help me." old jack took the lantern, laughing in his sleeve at the ease with which he had gulled the burglars, while they kneeled before the safe. it was then that, looking over his shoulder, he noticed the stealthy approach of the policemen, accompanied by dan. he could content himself no longer. setting down the lantern, he sprang upon the back of bill as he was crouching before him, exclaiming: "now, you villain, i have you!" chapter xxv. the burglary. the attack was so sudden and unexpected that bill, powerful as he was, was prostrated, and for an instant interposed no resistance. but this was not for long. "you'll repent this, you old idiot!" he hissed between his closed teeth, and, in spite of old jack's efforts to keep him down, he forced his way up. at the same moment mike, who had been momentarily dazed by the sudden attack, seized the janitor, and, between them both, old jack's life was likely to be of a very brief tenure. but here the reinforcements appeared, and changed the aspect of the battle. one burly policeman seized bill by the collar, while mike was taken in hand by another, and their heavy clubs fell with merciless force on the heads of the two captives. in the new surprise jack found himself a free man, and, holding up the lantern, cried, exultingly: "if i am an old idiot, i've got the better of you, you scoundrels! you'll open the safe, will you?" bill looked about him doggedly. it was hard for him to give in, but the fight was too unequal. "mike," said he, "this is a plant. i wish i had that cursed book-keeper here; he led us into this." "is it mr. talbot you mean?" asked the janitor. "yes," answered bill; "he put us up to this. curse him!" "no need to curse him," said jack, dryly; "he meant you to succeed." "didn't he tell you we were coming to-night?" "not he." "how did you find it out, then?" asked bill, quickly. "not through him. he was watched, for we suspected him. what did he promise you?" "five hundred dollars apiece." "was that all?" "it wasn't enough; but we should have got more out of him." "before you go away with your prisoners," said jack to the policeman, "i wish to open the safe before you, to see if i am right in my suspicions. mr. talbot drew over ten thousand dollars from the bank to-day, and led us to think that he deposited it in the safe. i wish to ascertain, in the presence of witnesses, how much he placed there, and how much he carried away." "go ahead," said the oldest policeman. the janitor proceeded to open the safe. "did we have the right combination?" asked bill. "no." "that cursed book-keeper deceived us, then." "you are mistaken. he was himself deceived. i gave him the wrong word." "curse you, then!" said bill, savagely. "suit yourself, mr. burglar," said old jack, indifferently. "there's an old saying, 'curses, like chickens, still come home to roost.' your cursing won't hurt me any." "if my curses don't my fists may!" retorted bill, with a malignant look. "you won't have a chance to carry out your threats for some years to come, if you get your deserts," said jack, by no means terrified. "i've only done my duty, and i'm ready to do it again whenever needed." by this time the safe was open; all present saw the envelope of money labeled "$ , ." the two burglars saw the prize which was to have rewarded their efforts and risk with a tantalizing sense of defeat. they had been so near success, only to be foiled at last, and consigned to a jail for a term of years. "curse the luck!" muttered bill, bitterly, and in his heart mike said amen. "gentlemen, i will count this money before you," said the janitor, as he opened the parcel. the count was quickly accomplished. it resulted, as my readers already know, in the discovery that, in place of twelve thousand, the parcel contained but one thousand dollars. "eleven thousand dollars short!" said jack. "gentlemen, will you take notice of this? of course it is clear where the rest is gone--talbot carried it away with him." "where is he?" inquired one of the policemen. "he ought to be pursued." "by this time he is in custody," said jack. "look here, old man, who engineered this thing?" demanded bill. "come here, dan," said jack, summoning our hero, who modestly stood in the background. "mr. burglar, this boy is entitled to the credit of defeating you. we should have known nothing of your intentions but for dan, the detective." "he!" said bill, scornfully. "why, i could crush him with one hand." "force is a good thing, but brains are better," said jack. "dan here has got a better head-piece than any of us." "you've done yourself credit, boy," said the chief policeman. "when i have a difficult case i'll send for you." "you are giving me more credit than i deserve," said dan, modestly. "if i ever get out of jail, i'll remember you," said bill, scowling. "i wouldn't have minded so much if it had been a man, but to be laid by the heels by a boy like you--that's enough to make me sick." "you've said enough, my man," said the policeman who had him in charge. "come along, will you?" the two prisoners, escorted by their captors, made their unwilling way to the station-house. they were duly tried, and were sentenced to a ten years' term of imprisonment. as for talbot, he tried to have it believed that he took the money found on him because he distrusted the honesty of the janitor; but this statement fell to the ground before dan's testimony and that of bill's wife. he, too, received a heavy sentence, and it was felt that he only got his just deserts. * * * * * * * on the morning after the events recorded above, mr. rogers called dan into the counting-room. "dan," he said, "i wish to express to you my personal obligations for the admirable manner in which you have managed the affair of this burglary." "thank you, sir," said dan. "i am convinced that but for you i should have lost twelve thousand dollars. it would not have ruined me, to be sure, but it would have been a heavy loss." "such a loss as that would have ruined me," said dan, smiling. "so i should suppose," assented his employer. "i predict, however, that the time will come when you can stand such a loss, and have something left." "i hope so, sir." "as there must always be a beginning, suppose you begin with that." mr. rogers had turned to his desk and written a check, which he handed to dan. this was the way it read: no. . park national bank. pay to dan mordaunt or order one thousand dollars. ($ , .) barton & rogers. dan took the check, supposing it might be for twenty dollars or so. when he saw the amount, he started in excitement and incredulity. "one thousand dollars!" he repeated, in bewilderment. "yes," said mr. rogers, smiling. "it is a large sum for a boy like you, dan. i hope you will invest it wisely." "but, sir, you don't mean all this for me?" said dan. "indeed i do. it is less than ten per cent on the money you have saved for us." "how can i thank you for your kindness, sir?" said dan, gratefully. "by continuing to serve us faithfully. by the way, what wages do we pay you?" "six dollars a week." "it is too little. from this time you will draw ten dollars." "you have made me rich, mr. rogers," said dan, gratefully. "it is a little better than selling papers in front of the astor house, isn't it, dan?" "a good deal, sir." "i hope you will continue to prosper. now, dan, let me give you two pieces of advice." "i wish you would, sir." "first, put this money in a good savings-bank, and don't draw upon it unless you are obliged to. let it be a nest-egg." "i mean to do that, sir." "and next, spend a part of your earnings in improving your education. you have already had unusual advantages for a boy of your age, but you should still be learning. it may help you, in a business point of view, to understand book-keeping." "i will learn it, sir." dan not only did this, but resumed the study of both french and german, of which he had some elementary knowledge, and advanced rapidly in all. chapter xxvi. dan learns to dance. several months passed without any incidents worth recording. punctually every month dan received a remittance of sixty dollars through a foreign banker, whose office was near wall street. of this sum it may be remembered that ten dollars were to be appropriated to althea's dress. of the little girl it may be said she was very happy in her new home. she formed a strong attachment for mrs. mordaunt, whom she called mamma, while she always looked forward with delight to dan's return at night. mrs. mordaunt was very happy in the child's companionship, and found the task of teaching her very congenial. but for the little girl she would have had many lonely hours, since dan was absent all day on business. "i don't know what i shall do, althea, when you go to school," she said one day. "i don't want to go to school. let me stay at home with you, mamma." "for the present i can teach you, my dear, but the time will come when for your own good it will be better to go to school. i cannot teach you as well as the teachers you will find there." "you know ever so much, mamma. don't you know everything?" mrs. mordaunt smiled. "compared with you, my dear, i seem to know a great deal, but there are others who know much more." althea was too young as yet, however, to attend school, and the happy home life continued. mrs. mordaunt and dan often wondered how long their mysterious ward was to remain with them. had she a mother living? if so, how could that mother voluntarily forego her child's society? these were questions they sometimes asked themselves, but no answer suggested itself. they were content to have them remain unanswered, so long as althea might remain with them. the increase of dan's income, and the large sum he had on interest, would have enabled them to live comfortably even without the provision made for their young ward. as it was they could do better. dan felt himself justified in indulging in a little extravagance. "mother," said he, one evening, "i am thinking of taking a course of lessons in dancing." "what has put that into your head, dan?" "julia rogers is to have a birthday party in two or three months, and i think from a hint her father dropped to-day i shall have an invitation. i shall feel awkward if i don't know how to dance. besides----" here dan hesitated. "well, dan, what besides?" "tom carver will be sure to be there, and if i don't dance, or if i am awkward, he will be sure to sneer at me." "will that make you feel bad, dan?" "not exactly, but i don't want to appear at disadvantage when he is around. if i have been a newsboy, i want to show that i can take the part of gentleman as well as he." "does the ability to dance make a gentleman, dan?" "no, mother, but i should feel awkward without it. i don't want to be a wall-flower. what do you say to my plan, mother?" "carry it out by all means, dan. there is no reason why you shouldn't hold up your head with any of them," and mrs. mordaunt's eyes rested with pride on the handsome face and manly expression of her son. "you are a little prejudiced in my favor, mother," said dan, smiling. "if i were as awkward as a cat in a strange garret, you wouldn't see it." "i am not quite blind, dan." dan accordingly decided to take lessons in dancing. he selected a fashionable teacher, although the price was high, for he thought it might secure him desirable acquaintances, purchased a handsome suit of clothes, and soon became very much interested in the lessons. he had a quick ear, a good figure, and a natural grace of movement, which soon made him noticeable in the class, and he was quite in demand among the young ladies as a partner. he was no less a favorite socially, being agreeable as well as good-looking. "mr. mordaunt," said the professor, "i wish all my scholars did me as much credit as you do. you dance beautifully." "thank you, sir," said dan, modestly, but he felt gratified. by the time the invitation came dan had no fears as to acquitting himself creditably. "i hope tom carver will be there," he said to his mother, as he was dressing for the party. chapter xxvii. in the dressing-room. mr. rogers lived in a handsome brown-stone-front house up town. as dan approached, he saw the entire house brilliantly lighted. he passed beneath a canopy, over carpeted steps, to the front door, and rang the bell. the door was opened by a stylish-looking colored man, whose grand air showed that he felt the importance and dignity of his position. as dan passed in he said: "gentlemen's dressing-room third floor back." with a single glance through the open door at the lighted parlors, where several guests were already assembled, dan followed directions, and went up stairs. entering the dressing-room, he saw a boy carefully arranging his hair before the glass. "that's my friend, tom carver," said dan to himself. tom was so busily engaged at his toilet that he didn't at once look at the new guest. when he had leisure to look up, he seemed surprised, and remarked, superciliously: "i didn't expect to see _you_ here." "why not?" demanded dan, who understood his meaning. "are you engaged to look after this room? if so, just brush me." "with all my heart, if you'll brush me," answered dan, partly offended and partly amused. "what do you mean?" demanded tom, haughtily. "just what i say. one good turn deserves another." "our positions are rather different, i think." "how so? you are a guest of miss rogers, and so am i." "you don't mean to say that you are going down into the parlor?" "why not?" "a boy who sells papers in front of the astor house is not a suitable guest at a fashionable party." "that is not your affair," said dan, coldly. "but it is not true that i sell papers anywhere." "oh, i forgot. you're a shop-boy now. you used to sell papers, though." "and i will again, if necessary," answered dan, as he took tom's place in front of the glass and began to arrange his toilet. then, for the first time, tom took notice that dan was dressed as well as himself, in a style with which the most captious critic could not find fault. tom was both surprised and disappointed. he would have liked to see dan in awkward, ill-fitting, or shabby clothes. it seemed to him that an ex-newsboy had no right to dress so well, and he was greatly puzzled to understand how he could afford it. "where did you borrow those clothes?" he asked, impudently. "where did you borrow yours?" retorted dan. "don't be saucy." "you set me the example." "it is not remarkable that i should be well dressed. i can afford it." "so can i," answered dan, laconically. "do you mean to say that you bought that suit and paid for it?" "i do." "it must have taken all your money." "you are very kind to take so much interest in me. it may relieve your mind to see this." dan took a roll of bills from his pocket, and displayed them to the astonished tom. "i don't see where you got so much money," said tom, mystified. "i've got more in the bank," said dan. "i mention it to you that you needn't feel bad about my extravagance in buying a party suit." "i wouldn't have come to this party if i had been you," said tom, changing his tone. "why not?" "you'll be so awkward, you know. you don't know any one except miss rogers, who, of course, invited you out of pity, not expecting you would accept." "did she tell you so?" asked dan, smiling. "no, but it stands to reason." "you forget i know you," said dan, smiling again. "i beg you won't presume upon our former slight acquaintance," said tom, hastily. "i shall be so busily occupied that i really can't give you any attention." "then i must shift for myself, i suppose," said dan, good-humoredly. "shall we go down?" "go first, if you like," said tom, superciliously. "i will follow directly." "he doesn't want to go down with me," thought dan. "perhaps i shall surprise him a little;" and he made his way down stairs. chapter xxviii. dan at the party. as dan entered the parlors he saw the young lady in whose honor the party was given only a few feet distant. he advanced with perfect ease, and paid his respects. "i am very glad to see you here this evening, mr. mordaunt," said julia, cordially. "what a handsome boy he is!" she thought. "i had no idea he would look so well." mentally she pronounced him the handsomest young gentleman present. "take your partners for a quadrille, young gentlemen," announced the master of ceremonies. "are you engaged, miss rogers?" asked dan. "not as yet," answered the young lady, smiling. "then may i have the honor?" "certainly." so it happened that as tom carver entered the room, he beheld, to his intense surprise and disgust, dan leading the young hostess to her place in the quadrille. "what a cheek that fellow has!" said tom to himself. "i suppose he never attempted to dance in his life. it will be fun to watch his awkwardness. i am very much surprised that julia should condescend to dance with him--a common newsboy." at first tom thought he wouldn't dance, but mrs. rogers approaching said: "tom, there's jane sheldon. she has no partner." accordingly tom found himself leading up a little girl of eight. there was no place except in the quadrille in which dan and julia rogers were to dance. tom found himself one of the "sides." "good-evening, julia," he said, catching the eye of miss rogers. "good-evening, tom. you are late." "i am too late to be your partner." "yes, but you see i am not left a wall-flower," said the young lady, smiling. "mr. mordaunt kindly relieved me of that apprehension." "you are fortunate," said tom, sneering. "i leave my partner to thank you for that compliment," said julia, determined not to gratify tom by appearing to understand the sneer. "there's no occasion," said tom, rudely. "i am glad of it," said dan, "for i am so unused to compliments that i am afraid i should answer awkwardly." "i can very well believe that," returned tom, significantly. julia did not smile. she looked offended rather for she felt that rudeness to her partner reflected upon herself. but here the music struck up, and the quadrille began. "now for awkwardness," said tom to himself, and he watched dan closely. but, to his surprise, nothing could be neater or better modulated than dan's movements. instead of hopping about, as tom thought he would, he was thoroughly graceful. "where could the fellow have learned to dance?" he asked himself, in disappointment. julia was gratified; for, to tell the truth, she too had not been altogether without misgivings on the subject of dan's dancing, and, being herself an excellent dancer, she would have found it a little disagreeable if dan had proved awkward. the quadrille proceeded, and tom was chagrined that the newsboy, as he mentally termed dan, had proved a better dancer than himself. "oh, well, it's easy to dance in a quadrille," he said to himself, by way of consolation. "he won't venture on any of the round dances." but as dan was leading julia to her seat he asked her hand in the next polka, and was graciously accepted. he then bowed and left her, knowing that he ought not to monopolize the young hostess. although tom had told dan not to expect any attentions from him, he was led by curiosity to accost our hero. "it seems that newsboys dance," said he. "does it?" asked dan, indifferently. "but it was not in very good taste for you to engage miss rogers for the first dance." "why not?" "it was making yourself too prominent." "somebody had to be prominent, or miss rogers would have been left to dance by herself." "there are others who would have made more suitable partners for her." "yourself, for instance." "yes." "i am sorry to have stood in your way." "oh, you needn't mind. i shall have plenty of opportunities of dancing with her, and you won't. i suppose she took pity on you, as you know no other young lady here." just then a pretty girl, beautifully dressed, approached dan. "good-evening, mr. mordaunt," she said, offering her hand with a beaming smile. "good-evening, miss carroll," said dan. "are you engaged for the galop?" miss carroll shook her head. "then will you give me the pleasure?" in a minute dan was whirling round the room with the young lady, greatly to tom's amazement, for edith carroll was from a family of high social standing, living on murray hill. "how in the duse does dan mordaunt know that girl?" tom asked himself, with a frown. "they spoke as if they were acquainted." to tom's further disappointment dan danced as gracefully in the galop as in the quadrille. when the galop was over, dan promenaded with another young lady, whose acquaintance he had made at dancing-school, and altogether seemed as much at his ease as if he had been attending parties all his life. tom managed to obtain edith carroll as a partner. "i didn't know you were acquainted with dan mordaunt," he said. "oh, yes, i know him very well. doesn't he dance charmingly?" "humph!" said tom, not very well pleased. "i thought him rather awkward." "how can you say so, mr. carver? why i think he dances _beautifully_, and so do all the girls." "how do the girls know how he dances?" "why he goes to our dancing-school. the professor says he is his best pupil. we all like to dance with him." "that's fortunate for him," said tom, with a sneer. "perhaps he may become a dancing-master in time." "he would make a good one, but i don't think he's very likely to do that." "it would be a good thing for him. he is poor, you know." "no, i don't. i am sure he dresses well. he is as well-dressed as any young gentleman here." this was true, and tom resented it. he felt that dan had no right to dress well. "he ought not to spend so much money on dress when he has his mother to support," he said, provoked. "it seems to me you take a great deal of interest in mr. mordaunt," said the young beauty, pointedly. "oh, no; he can do as he likes for all me, but, of course, when a boy in his position dresses as if he were rich one can't help noticing it." "i am sure he can't be very poor, or he could not attend dodworth's dancing-school. at any rate i like to dance with him, and i don't care whether he's poor or rich." presently tom saw dan dancing the polka with julia rogers, and with the same grace that he had exhibited in the other dances. he felt jealous, for he fancied himself a favorite with julia, because their families being intimate, he saw a good deal of her. on the whole tom was not enjoying the party. he did succeed, however, in obtaining the privilege of escorting julia to supper. just in front of him was dan, escorting a young lady from fifth avenue. "mr. mordaunt appears to be enjoying himself," said julia rogers. "yes, he has plenty of cheek," muttered tom. "excuse me, tom, but do you think such expressions suitable for such an occasion as this?" "i am sorry you don't like it, but i never saw a more forward or presuming fellow than this dan mordaunt." "i beg you to keep your opinion to yourself," said julia rogers, with dignity. "i find he is a great favorite with all the young ladies here. i had no idea he knew so many of them." tom gave it up. it seemed to him that all the girls were infatuated with a common newsboy, while his vanity was hurt by finding himself quite distanced in the race. about twelve o'clock the two boys met in the dressing-room. "you seemed to enjoy yourself," said tom, coldly. "yes, thanks to your kind attentions," answered dan, with a smile. "it is pleasant to meet old friends, you know. by the way, i suppose we shall meet at miss carroll's party." "are _you_ to be invited?" asked tom, in astonishment. "so the young lady tells me," answered dan, smiling. "i suppose _you'll_ be giving a fashionable party next," said tom, with a sneer. "consider yourself invited if i do. good-night, and pleasant dreams." but dan's dreams were by no means sweet that night. when he reached home, it was to hear of a great and startling misfortune. chapter xxix. a ne'er do well. at half-past twelve dan ascended the stairs to his mother's room. he had promised to come in and tell her how he had enjoyed himself at the party. he was in excellent spirits on account of the flattering attentions he had received. it was in this frame of mind that he opened the door. what was his surprise, even consternation, when his mother advanced to meet him with tearful eyes and an expression of distress. "oh, dan, i am so glad you have got home!" she ejaculated. "what is the matter, mother? are you sick?" asked dan. "i am quite well, dan; but althea----" and mrs. mordaunt burst into tears. "what has happened to althea? is she sick?" asked dan, alarmed. "we have lost her, dan." "lost her! you don't mean she is----" he couldn't finish the sentence, but his mother divined what he meant. "not dead, thank god!" she said, "but she has disappeared--she has been stolen." "you don't mean it, mother!" exclaimed dan, startled and grieved. "tell me about it." mrs. mordaunt told what she knew, but that related only to the particulars of the abduction. we are in a position to tell the reader more, but it will be necessary to go back for a month, and transfer the scene to another continent. in a spacious and handsomely furnished apartment at the west end of london sat the lady who had placed althea in charge of the mordaunts. she was deep in thought, and that not of an agreeable nature. "i fear," she said to herself, "that trouble awaits me. john hartley, whom i supposed to be in california, is certainly in london. i cannot be mistaken in his face, and i certainly saw him in hyde park to-day. did he see me? i don't know, but i fear he did. if so, he will not long delay in making his appearance. then i shall be persecuted, but i must be firm. he shall not learn through me where althea is. he is her father, it is true, but he has forfeited all claim to her guardianship. a confirmed gambler and drunkard, he would soon waste her fortune, bequeathed her by her poor mother. he can have no possible claim to it; for, apart from his having had no hand in leaving it to her, he was divorced from my poor sister before her death." at this point there was a knock at the door of the room. "come in," said the lady. there entered a young servant-maid, who courtesied, and said: "mrs. vernon, there is a gentleman who wishes to see you." "can it be hartley?" thought the lady, with quick suspicion. "did he give his name?" she asked. "yes, mum; he said his name was bancroft." "bancroft! i know no one of that name," mused the lady. "well, margaret, you may show him up, and you may remain in the anteroom within call." her eyes were fixed upon the door with natural curiosity, when her visitor entered. instantly her face flushed, and her eyes sparkled with anger. "john hartley!" she exclaimed. the visitor smiled mockingly. "i see you know me, harriet vernon," he said. "it is some time since we met, is it not? i am charmed, i am sure, to see my sister-in-law looking so well." he sank into a chair without waiting for an invitation. "when did you change your name to bancroft?" demanded the lady, abruptly. "oh," he said, showing his teeth, "that was a little ruse. i feared you would have no welcome for john hartley, notwithstanding our near relationship, and i was forced to sail under false colors." "it was quite in character," said mrs. vernon, coldly; "you were always false. but you need not claim relationship. the slender tie that connected us was broken when my sister obtained a divorce from you." "you think so, my lady," said the visitor, dropping his tone of mocking badinage, and regarding her in a menacing manner, "but you were never more mistaken. you may flatter yourself that you are rid of me, but you flatter yourself in vain." "do you come here to threaten me, john hartley?" "i come here to ask for my child. where is althea?" "where you cannot get at her," answered mrs. vernon, coldly. "don't think to put me off in that way," he said, fiercely. "i will know where she is." "don't think to terrify me, john hartley," said the lady, contemptuously. "i am not so easily alarmed as your poor wife." hartley looked at her as if he would have assaulted her had he dared, but she knew very well that he did not dare. he was a bully, but he was a coward. "you refuse, then, to tell me what you have done with my child?" he demanded, at length. "i do." "take care, madam! a father has some rights, and the law will not permit his child to be kept from him." "does your anxiety to see althea arise from parental affection?" she asked, in a sarcastic tone. "never mind what it springs from. i have a right to the custody of my child." "i suppose you have a right to waste her fortune also at the gaming-table." "i have a right to act as my child's guardian," he retorted. "a fine guardian you would make!" she said, contemptuously. "why should i not?" he asked, sulkily. "why should you not, john hartley? do i need to answer the question? you ill-treated and abused her mother. you wasted half her fortune. fortunately, she escaped from you before it was all gone. but you shortened her life, and she did not long survive the separation. it was her last request that i should care for her child--that i should, above all, keep her out of your clutches. i made that promise, and i mean to keep it." "you poisoned my wife's mind against me," he said. "but for your cursed interference we should never have separated." "you are right, perhaps, in your last statement. i certainly did urge my sister to leave you. i obtained her consent to the application for a divorce, but as to poisoning her mind against you, there was no need of that. by your conduct and your treatment you destroyed her love and forfeited her respect, and she saw the propriety of the course which i recommended." "i didn't come here to be lectured. you can spare your invectives, harriet vernon. what is past is past. i was not a model husband, perhaps, but i was as good as the average." "if that is the case, heaven help the woman who marries!" "or the man that marries a woman like you!" "you are welcome to your opinion of me. i am entirely indifferent to your good or bad opinion. have you any more to say?" "any more to say! i have hardly begun. is my daughter althea with you?" "i don't recognize your right to question me on this subject, but i will answer you. she is not with me." "is she in london?" "i will even answer that question. she is not in london." "is she in england?" "that i will not tell you. you have learned enough." john hartley did not answer immediately. he appeared to be occupied with some thought. when he spoke it was in a more conciliatory tone. "i don't doubt that she is in good hands," he said. "i am sure you will treat her kindly. perhaps you are a better guardian than i. i am willing to leave her in your hands, but i ought to have some compensation." "what do you mean?" "althea has a hundred thousand dollars, yielding at least five thousand dollars income. probably her expenses are little more than one-tenth of this sum. while my child is rich i am poor. give me half her income--say three thousand dollars annually--and i will give you and her no further trouble." "i thought that was the object of your visit," said mrs. vernon, coldly. "i was right in giving you no credit for parental affection. in regard to your proposition, i cannot entertain it. you had one half of my sister's fortune, and you spent it. you have no further claim on her money." "is this your final answer?" he demanded, angrily. "it is." "then i swear to you that i will be even with you. i will find the child, and when i do you shall never see her again." mrs. vernon rang the bell. margaret entered. "margaret," she said, coldly, "will you show this gentleman out?" john hartley rose and bowed ironically. "you are certainly very polite, harriet vernon," he said. "you are bold, too, for you are defying me, and that is dangerous. you had better reconsider your determination, before it is too late." "it will never be too late; i can at any time buy you off," she said, contemptuously. "all you want is money." "we shall see," he hissed, eying her malignantly. "margaret," said mrs. vernon, when her visitor had been shown out, "never admit that person again; i am always out to him." "yes, mum," said the girl. "i wonder who 'twas," she thought, curiously. chapter xxx. how hartley got a clew. john hartley, when a young man, had wooed and won althea's mother. julia belmont was a beautiful and accomplished girl, an heiress in her own right, and might have made her choice among at least a dozen suitors. that she should have accepted the hand of john hartley, a banker's clerk, reputed "fast," was surprising, but a woman's taste in such a case is often hard to explain or justify. her sister--now mrs. vernon--strenuously objected to the match, and by so doing gained the hatred of her future brother-in-law. opposition proved ineffectual, and julia belmont became mrs. hartley. her fortune amounted to two hundred thousand dollars. the trustee and her sister succeeded in obtaining her consent that half of this sum should be settled on herself, and her issue, should she have any. this proved to be a wise precaution. john hartley resigned his position immediately after marriage, and declined to enter upon any business. "why should i?" he said. "julia and i have enough to live upon. if i am out of business i can devote myself more entirely to her." this reasoning satisfied his young wife, and for a time all went well. but hartley joined a fashionable club, formed a taste for gambling, indulged in copious libations, not unfrequently staggering home drunk, to the acute sorrow of his wife, and then excesses soon led to ill-treatment. the money, which he could spend in a few years, melted away, and he tried to gain possession of the remainder of his wife's property. but, meanwhile, althea was born, and a consideration for her child's welfare strengthened the wife in her firm refusal to accede to this unreasonable demand. "you shall have the income, john," she said--"i will keep none back; but the principal must be kept for althea." "you care more for the brat than you do for me," he muttered. "i care for you both," she answered. "you know how the money would go, john. we should all be left destitute." "that meddling sister of yours has put you up to this," he said, angrily. "there was no need of that. it is right, and i have decided for myself." "your first duty is to your husband." "i feel that in refusing i am doing my duty by you." "it is a strange way--to oppose your husband's wishes. women ought never to be trusted with money--they don't know how to take care of it." "you are not the person to say this, john. in five years you have wasted one hundred thousand dollars." "it was bad luck in investments," he replied. "i am afraid you are right. investing money at the gaming-table is not very profitable." "do you mean to insult me, madam?" exclaimed hartley, furiously. "i am only telling the sad truth, john." he forgot himself and struck her. she withdrew, flushed and indignant, for she had spirit enough to resent this outrage, and he left the house in a furious rage. when hartley found that there was no hope of carrying his point, all restraint seemed removed. he plunged into worse excesses, and his treatment became so bad that mrs. hartley consented to institute proceedings for divorce. it was granted, and the child was given to her. hartley disappeared for a time. when he returned his wife had died of pneumonia, and her sister--mrs. vernon, now a widow--had assumed the care of althea. an attempt to gain possession of the child induced her to find another guardian for the child. this was the way althea had come into the family of our young hero. thus much, that the reader may understand the position of affairs, and follow intelligently the future course of the story. when john hartley left the presence of his sister-in-law, he muttered maledictions upon her. "i'll have the child yet, if only to spite her," he muttered, between his teeth. "i won't allow a jade to stand between me and my own flesh and blood. i must think of some plan to circumvent her." this was not easy. he had absolutely no clew, and little money to assist him in his quest. but fortune, which does not always favor the brave, but often helps the undeserving, came unexpectedly to his help. at an american banker's he ran across an old acquaintance--one who had belonged to the same club as himself in years past. "what are you doing here, hartley?" he asked. "not much. luck is against me." "sorry to hear it. by the way, i was reminded of you not long since." "how is that?" "i saw your child in union square, in new york." "are you sure of it?" asked hartley, eagerly. "are you sure it was my child?" "of course; i used to see it often, you know. she is a bright little thing." "do you know where she lives?" asked hartley. "did you follow her?" "don't _you_ know where she lives?" "no; her aunt is keeping the child from me. i am very anxious to find her." "that accounts for it. she was with a middle-aged lady, who evidently was suspicious of me, for she did not bring out the child but once more, and was clearly anxious when i took notice of her." "she was acting according to instructions, no doubt." "very probably." "i wish you had learned more." "so do i. why do they keep _you_ away from her?" "because she has money, and they wish to keep it in their hands," said hartley, plausibly. "the aunt is a very mercenary woman. she is living here in london, doubtless on my little girl's fortune." john hartley knew that this was not true, for mrs. vernon was a rich woman; but it suited his purpose to say so, and the statement was believed by his acquaintance. "this is bad treatment, hartley," he said, in a tone of sympathy. "isn't it?" "what are you going to do about it?" "try to find out where the child is placed, and get possession of her." "i wish you success." this information john hartley felt to be of value. it narrowed his search, and made success much less difficult. in order to obtain more definite information, he lay in wait for mrs. vernon's servant. margaret at first repulsed him, but a sovereign judiciously slipped into her hand convinced her that hartley was quite the gentleman, and he had no difficulty, by the promise of a future douceur, in obtaining her co-operation. "what is it you want, sir?" she asked. "if it's no harm you mean my missus----" "certainly not, but she is keeping my child from me. you can understand a father's wish to see his child, my dear girl." "indeed, i think it's cruel to keep her from you, sir." "then look over your mistress' papers and try to obtain the street and number where she is boarding in new york. i have a right to know that." "of course you have, sir," said the girl, readily. so it came about that the girl obtained dan's address, and communicated it to john hartley. as soon as possible afterward hartley sailed for new york. "i'll secure the child," he said to himself, exultingly, "and then my sweet sister-in-law must pay roundly for her if she wants her back." all which attested the devoted love of john hartley for his child. chapter xxxi. althea's abduction. arrived in new york, john hartley lost no time in ascertaining where dan and his mother lived. in order the better to watch without incurring suspicion, he engaged by the week a room in a house opposite, which, luckily for his purpose, happened to be for rent. it was a front window, and furnished him with a post of observation from which he could see who went in and out of the house opposite. hartley soon learned that it would not be so easy as he had anticipated to gain possession of the little girl. she never went out alone, but always accompanied either by dan or his mother. hartley was disappointed. if, now, althea were attending school, there would be an opportunity to kidnap her. as it was, he was at his wits' end. at last, however, opportunity favored him. on the evening of the party mrs. mordaunt chanced to need some small article necessary to the work upon which she was engaged. she might indeed wait until the next day, but she was repairing a vest of dan's, which he would need to wear in the morning, and she did not like to disappoint him. "my child," she said, "i find i must go out a little while." "what for, mamma?" "i want to buy some braid to bind dan's vest. he will want to wear it in the morning." "may i go with you, mamma?" "no, my child. you can be reading your picture-book till i come back. i won't be long." so mrs. mordaunt put on her street dress, and left the house in the direction of eighth avenue, where there was a cheap store at which she often traded. no sooner did hartley see her leave the house, as he could readily do, for the night was light, than he hurried to union square, scarcely five minutes distant, and hailed a cab-driver. "do you want a job, my man?" he asked. "yes, sir." "can you hold your tongue?" "yes, sir, if necessary." "it is necessary." "there is nothing wrong, sir, i hope." "certainly not. my child has been kidnapped during my absence in europe. with your help i mean to recover her." "all right, sir." "she is in the custody of some designing persons, who keep possession of her on account of a fortune which she is to inherit. she does not know me to be her father, we have been so long separated; but i feel anxious to take her away from her treacherous guardians." "you are right, sir. i've got a little girl of my own, and i understand your feelings. where shall we go?" hartley gave the proper address. fifteen minutes afterward the cab drew up before mrs. brown's door, and hartley, springing from it, rang the bell. it so happened that mrs. brown was out, and a servant answered the bell. she looked inquiringly at the visitor. "a lady lives here with a little girl," he said, quickly. "yes, sir; mrs. mordaunt." "precisely; and the little girl is named althea." "you are right, sir." "mrs. mordaunt has been run over by a street-car, and been carried into my house. she wishes the little girl to come at once to her." "is she much hurt?" asked nancy, anxiously. "i am afraid her leg is broken; but i can't wait. will you bring the little girl down at once?" "oh, yes, sir. i'll lose no time." nancy went up stairs two steps at a time, and broke into mrs. mordaunt's room breathless. "put on your hat at once, miss althea," she said. "what for?" asked the child, in surprise. "your ma has sent for you." "but she said she was coming right back." "she's hurt, and she can't come, and she has sent for you. don't cry, my dear." "but how shall i know where to go, nancy?" "there's a kind gentleman at the door with a carriage. your ma has been taken to his home." the little girl began to cry once more. "oh! i'm afraid mamma's been killed," she said. "no, she hasn't, or how could she send for you?" this argument tended to reassure althea, and she put on her little shawl and hat, and hurried down stairs. hartley was waiting for her impatiently, fearing that mrs. mordaunt would come back sooner than was anticipated, and so interfere with the fulfillment of his plans. "is mamma very much hurt?" asked althea, anxiously. "so she calls this woman mamma," said hartley to himself. "not very badly, but she cannot come home to-night. get into the carriage, and i will tell you about it as we are riding to her." he hurried the little girl into the carriage, and taking a seat beside her, ordered the cabman to drive on. he had before directed him to drive to the south ferry. "how did mamma get hurt?" asked the child. "she was crossing the street," said hartley, "when she got in the way of a carriage and was thrown down and run over." the child began to cry. "oh, she will die!" she exclaimed, sobbing. "no, she will not die. the carriage was not a heavy one, luckily, and she is only badly bruised. she will be all right in a few days." john hartley was a trifle inconsistent in his stories, having told the servant that mrs. mordaunt had been run over by a street-car; but in truth he had forgotten the details of his first narrative, and had modified it in the second telling. however, nancy had failed to tell the child precisely how mrs. mordaunt had been hurt, and she was not old enough to be suspicious. "where is mamma?" was the little girl's next question. "she is at my house." "where is your house?" "not far from here," answered hartley, evasively. "then i shall soon see mamma." "is she your mamma?" asked hartley. "no, not my own mamma, but i call her so. i love her dearly." "where is your own mamma?" "she is dead." "do you remember her?" "a little." "have you a papa?" "my papa is a very bad man. he treated poor mamma very badly." "who told you this?" demanded hartley, frowning. "was it mrs. mordaunt?" "no; it was auntie." "i thought this was some of harriet vernon's work," said hartley to himself. "it seems like my amiable sister-in-law. she might have been in better business than poisoning my child's mind against me." "who else lives with you?" he asked, partly out of curiosity, but mainly to occupy the child's mind, so that she might not be fully conscious of the lapse of time. "my brother dan." "how old is dan?" "i don't know. he is a good deal bigger than me." "do you like dan?" "oh, yes; dan is a nice boy. he buys me candy. he has gone to a party to-night." "has he?" "and he won't be home till late. he told mamma so." "i am glad of that," thought hartley. "it is the better for my purpose." "dan is a smart boy. he earns lots of money." "what does he do?" "i don't know. he goes down town every morning, and he doesn't come home till supper time." hartley managed to continue his inquiries about dan, but at last althea became restless. "are we most there?" she asked. "yes, we are almost there." "i don't see how mamma could have gone so far." john hartley looked out. "i see how it is," he said. "the cab-driver lost the way, and that has delayed us." this satisfied the child for a time. meanwhile they reached the south ferry, and hartley began to consider in what way he could explain their crossing the water. chapter xxxii. donovan's. after a moment's thought hartley took a flask from his pocket, into which he had dropped a sleeping potion, and offered it to the child. "drink, my dear," he said; "it will do you good." it was a sweet wine and pleasant to the taste. althea drank considerable. "what is it? it tastes good," she said. "it is a cordial," answered hartley. "i like it. i will ask mamma to get some. how long is it? are we most there?" "almost." "i feel very sleepy," said althea, drowsily, the potion having already begun to attack her. "lean back and shut your eyes. i will tell you when we have arrived." the innocent and unsuspecting child did as she was directed. her little head nodded. she struggled against the increasing drowsiness, but in vain. in five minutes she was fast asleep. "there will be no further trouble," thought hartley. "when she wakes up it will be morning. my plan has been a complete success." it might have been supposed that some instinct of parental affection would have made it disagreeable to this man to kidnap his own child by such means, but john hartley had never been troubled with a heart or natural affections. he was supremely selfish, and surveyed the sleeping child as coolly and indifferently as if he had never before set eyes upon her. two miles and a half beyond the south ferry, in a thinly settled outlying district of brooklyn, stood a three-story brick house, shabby and neglected in appearance, bearing upon a sign over the door the name donovan's wines and liquors. it was the nightly resort of a set of rough and lawless men, many of them thieves and social outlaws, who drank and smoked as they sat at small tables in the sand-strewn bar-room. hugh donovan himself had served a term at sing sing for burglary, and was suspected to be indirectly interested in the ventures of others engaged in similar offenses, though he managed to avoid arrest. john hartley ordered the hackman to stop. he sprang from the carriage, and unceremoniously entered the bar-room. donovan, a short, thickset man with reddish whiskers, a beard of a week's growth, and but one serviceable eye, sat in a wooden arm-chair, smoking a clay pipe. there were two other men in the room, and a newsboy sat dozing on a settee. donovan looked up, and his face assumed a look of surprise as he met the glance of the visitor, whom he appeared to know. "where did you come from, mr. hartley?" he asked, taking the pipe from his mouth. "hist! come out here," said hartley. donovan obeyed directions. "is your wife at home, hugh?" asked hartley. "yes, mr. hartley. she's up stairs." "i have a job for her and for you." "what is it now?" "i have a child in that carriage. i want her taken care of for a few days or weeks." "shure, the old woman isn't a very good protector for a gal. she's drunk half the time." "i can't help it. there are reasons--imperative reasons--why the girl should be concealed for a time, and i can think of no other place than this." "who is the girl?" "it is my own child." donovan whistled. "i see you are surprised. i have little time for explanation, but i may tell you that she has been kept from me by my enemies, who wanted to get hold of her money." "has she got money?" asked donovan, with curiosity. "she will have, sometime. she is her mother's heiress." "did the old lady leave it all away from you, then? shure, it's hard." "of course it is. the least i can expect is to be made guardian of my own child. but we are wasting time. is there no way of getting up stairs except by passing through the bar-room?" "yes, mr. hartley, we can go up the back way. just take the child and follow me." hartley did so. at the rear of the house was a stair-way, up which he clambered, bearing the sleeping child in his arms. donovan pushed the door open, and disclosed a dirty room, with his better-half--a tall, gaunt woman--reclining in a rocking-chair, evidently partially under the influence of liquor, as might be guessed from a black bottle on a wooden table near by. she stared in astonishment at her husband's companions. "shure, hugh, who is it you're bringin' here?" "it's a child, old woman, that you're to have the care of." "divil a bit do i want a child to worrit me." "you'll be well paid, mrs. donovan," said john hartley. "will i get the money, or hugh?" asked the celtic lady. "you shall have half, bridget," said her husband. "will you shwar it?" asked the lady, cautiously. "yes, i'll swear it." "and how much will it be?" "i will pay ten dollars a week--half to you, and half to your husband," said hartley. "here's a week's pay in advance," and he took out two five-dollar bills, one of which was eagerly clutched by mrs. donovan. "i'll take care of her," said she, readily. "what's her name?" "althea." "shure that's a quare name. i niver heard the like." "you needn't call her that. you can call her any name you like," said hartley, indifferently. "perhaps you had better call her katy, as there may be a hue and cry after her, and that may divert suspicion." "how old is the crathur?" "five or six--i forget which. where shall i put her?" "put her in here," said mrs. donovan, and she opened the door of a small room, in which was a single untidy bed. "she won't wake up till morning. i gave her a sleeping potion--otherwise she might have made a fuss, for she doesn't know me to be her father." "shure ye knew what to do." "now, mrs. donovan, i depend upon your keeping her safe. it will not do to let her escape, for she might find her way back to the people from whom i have taken her." "i'll see to that, mr. hartley," said donovan. "say nothing about me in connection with the matter, donovan. i will communicate with you from time to time. if the police are put on the track, i depend on your sending her away to some other place of security." "all right, sir." "and now good-night. i shall go back to new york at once. i must leave you to pacify her as well as you can when she awakes. she is sure to make a fuss." "i'll trate her like my own child," said mrs. donovan. had hartley been a devoted father, this assurance from the coarse, red-faced woman would have been satisfactory, but he cared only for the child as a means of replenishing his pockets, and gave himself no trouble. the hackman was still waiting at the door. "it's a queer place to leave a child," thought he, as his experienced eye took in the features of the place. "it appears to be a liquor saloon. the gentleman can't be very particular. however, it is none of my business. i suppose it is all right." "driver, i am ready," said hartley. "i'll go back with you." "all right, sir." "go over fulton ferry, and leave me at your stand in union square." the ride was a long one. hartley threw himself back on the seat, and gave himself up to pleasant self-congratulation. "i think this will bring harriet vernon to terms," he said. "she will find that she can't stand between me and my child. if she will make it worth my while, she shall have the child back, but i propose to see that my interests are secured." the next morning hartley stepped into an up-town hotel, and wrote a letter to his sister-in-law in london, demanding that four thousand dollars be sent him yearly, in quarterly payments, in consideration of which he agreed to give up the child, and abstain from further molestation. chapter xxxiii. althea becomes katy donovan. the sleeping potion which had been administered to althea kept her in sound sleep till eight o'clock the next morning. when her eyes opened, and she became conscious of her surroundings, she looked about her in surprise. then she sat up in bed and gazed wildly at the torn wall paper and dirty and shabby furniture. "where am i?" she asked herself, in alarm. "mamma, mamma!" the door opened, and the red and inflamed face of mrs. hugh donovan peered in. "what is it yer want?" she asked. "i want mamma," answered the child, still more frightened. "shure i'm your ma, child." "no, you are not," said althea. "i never saw you before." "didn't you, now? maybe you've forgotten. i sent you away to board, but you've come home to live with your ma." "you are telling stories. you are a bad woman," returned the child, ready to cry. "it's a purty thing for a child to tell her ma she's lyin'." "you're not my ma. you're an ugly woman. my ma hasn't got a red face." "hear till her now!" exclaimed mrs. donovan, indignantly. "don't you go on talkin' that way, but get right up, or you sha'n't have any breakfast." "oh, send me back to my mother and dan!" implored althea. "dress yourself, and i'll see about it," said mrs. donovan. althea looked for her clothes, but could not find them. in their place she found a faded calico dress and some ragged undergarments, which had once belonged to a daughter of mrs. donovan, now at service. "those clothes are not mine," said althea. "shure they are. what are yer talkin' about?" "i had a pretty pink dress and a nice new skirt. oh, where are they?" "shure you're dramin'. these was the clothes you took off last night," said mrs. donovan, with unblushing falsehood. "i won't put this dress on," said the child, indignantly. "then you'll have to lay abed all day, and won't get nothing to eat," said the woman. "maybe you'll like that now." "what is your name?" asked althea. "shure you're a quare child to ask your own mother's name. i'm mrs. donovan, and you're my katy." "i am not katy. my name is althea." "that's a quare name intirely. who put it into your head. i'm afraid you're gone crazy, katy." althea was bewildered. was it possible that she could be katy donovan, and that this red-faced woman was her mother? she began to doubt her own identity. she could not remember this woman, but was it possible that there was any connection between them? "are we in new york?" she asked, timidly. "no, we are in brooklyn." "i used to live in new york with mamma mordaunt." "well, you're livin' in brooklyn now with mamma donovan." "i never saw you before." "shure i shouldn't have sent you away from me to have you come home and deny your own mother." "will you let me go to new york and see mamma mordaunt?" asked althea, after a pause. "if you're a good girl, perhaps i will. now get up, and i'll give you some breakfast." with a shudder of dislike althea arrayed herself in the dirty garments of the real katy donovan, and looked at her image in the cracked mirror with a disgust which she could not repress. hartley had suggested that her own garments should be taken away in order to make her escape less feasible. she opened the door, and entered the room in which mrs. donovan had set the table for breakfast. as she came in at one door, hugh donovan entered at another. "come here, little gal," he said, with a grin. althea looked at him with real terror. certainly hugh donovan was not a man to attract a child. althea at once thought of an ogre whom dan had described to her in a fairy story, and half fancied that she was in the power of such a creature. "i don't want to," said the child, trembling. "go to your father, katy," said mrs. donovan. "he won't hurt you." this her father! althea shuddered at the idea, and she gazed as if fascinated at his one eye. "yes, come to your pa," said donovan, jeeringly. "i like little gals--'specially when they're my own." "i am not your child!" said althea, alarmed. "yes, you be, and don't you deny it. come and give your father a kiss." the little girl began to cry in nervous terror, and donovan laughed, thinking it a good joke. "well, it'll do after breakfast," he said. "sit up, child, and we'll see what the ould woman has got for us." mrs. donovan did not excel as a cook, but althea managed to eat a little bread and butter, for neither of which articles the lady of the house was responsible. when the meal was over she said: "now, will you take me back to new york?" "you are not going back at all," said hugh. "you are our little girl, and you are going to live with us." althea looked from one to the other in terror. was it possible they could be in earnest? she was forced to believe it, and was overwhelmed at the prospect. she burst into a tempest of sobs. men are less tolerant of tears than women. hugh donovan's face darkened, and his anger was kindled. "stop that howlin' now!" he said. althea continued to cry hysterically. "stop it now, if you know what's best for yourself!" althea was terrified, but she could not at once control her emotion. "old woman, get the whip!" said hugh, hoarsely. from a drawer mrs. donovan drew out a riding whip. her husband took it, and brandished it menacingly. "do you see that, now?" he said. "yes," said althea, trembling, stopping short, as if fascinated. "then you'll feel it if you don't stop your howlin'." althea gazed at him horror-stricken. "i thought you'd come to your senses," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "kape her safe, old woman, till she knows how to behave." in silent misery the little girl sat down and watched mrs. donovan as she cleared away the table, and washed the dishes. it was dull and hopeless work for her. she thought sorrowfully of mrs. mordaunt and dan, and wished she could be with them again. should she never, never see them? the thought so saddened her that she burst into a low moan, which at once drew the attention of mrs. donovan. "are you at it again?" she said. "i can't help it," moaned althea. "ye can't, can't ye? see here, now," and the woman displayed the whip with which her husband had threatened the child. "i'll give ye something to cry for." "oh, don't--don't beat me!" entreated althea. "then kape quiet!" "may i go out into the street?" asked the little girl. "ye want to run away," said mrs. donovan, suspiciously. "no, i don't. i mean i won't unless you let me." "i won't trust ye." "must i stay here all the time?" asked althea, with her little heart sinking at the thought. "no, katy, you may go wid me when i go to the market," answered mrs. donovan. "shure, if you'll be a good gal, i'll give you all the pleasure i can." althea waited half an hour, and then was provided with a ragged sun-bonnet, with which, concealing her sad face, she emerged from the house, and walked to a small market, where mrs. donovan obtained her supplies for dinner. troubled as she was, althea looked about her with a child's curiosity on her way through the strange streets. it served to divert her from her sorrow. "who's that little girl, mrs. donovan?" asked an acquaintance. "shure it's my little katy," said the woman, with a significant wink which prevented further questioning. althea wished to deny this, but she did not dare to. she had become afraid of her new guardians. oh, if she could only see dan! she felt sure that he would take her away from these wicked people, but how was dan to know where she was. the poor child's lips quivered, and she could hardly refrain from crying. chapter xxxiv. another little game. it was so late when dan heard of althea's disappearance that he felt it necessary to wait till morning before taking any steps toward her recovery. "i'll find her, mother," he said, confidently. "do not lie awake thinking of her, for it won't do any good." "how can i help it, dan? i didn't know how much i loved the dear child till i lost her." "you have not lost her, mother." "i am not so hopeful as you, dan. i fear that i shall never see her again." "i am sure we shall. now, mother, i am going to bed, but i shall be up bright and early in the morning, and then to work." "you won't have any time, dan. you must go to the store." "i shall take a week's vacation. i will write a note to mr. rogers, telling him my reasons, and he will be sure not to object. if althea is to be found, i will find her within a week." dan's confidence gave mrs. mordaunt some courage, but she could not feel as sanguine of success as dan. in the morning dan sought out nancy, and took down her account of how the little girl had been spirited away. "so she went away in a carriage, nancy?" "yes, master dan." "can you tell me what sort of a looking man it was that took her away?" "shure i couldn't. i was struck dumb, you see, wid hearing how your mother broke her leg, and i didn't think to look at him sharp." "you can tell if he was an old man or a young one." "he was naythur. he was betwixt and betwane." "very tall or very short?" "naythur. he was jist middlin'." "well, that's something. now, what kind of a carriage was it?" "jist a hack like them at the square." "you wouldn't remember the driver?" "no; shure they all look alike to me." dan made more inquiries, but elicited nothing further that was likely to be of service to him. after a little reflection he decided to go to union square and interview some of the drivers waiting for passengers there. he did so, but the driver who had actually been employed by hartley was absent, and he learned nothing. one driver, however, remembered carrying a gentleman and child to a house on twenty-seventh street, between eighth and ninth avenues. dan thought the clew of sufficient importance to be followed up. his courage rose when, on inquiring at the house mentioned, he learned that a child had actually been brought there. "may i see the child, madam?" he asked. "if you like," answered the lady, in surprise. she appeared in a short time with a boy of about althea's age. dan's countenance fell. "it is a little girl i am inquiring after," he said. "then why didn't you say so?" demanded the woman, sharply. "you would have saved me some trouble." "i beg your pardon, madam." "i begin to think i am not as good a detective as i thought," said dan to himself. "i am on a false scent, that is sure." so dan returned to union square. when he had been asking questions of the cab-drivers he had not been unobserved. john hartley, who knew dan by sight, laughed in his sleeve as he noted our hero's inquiries. "you may be a smart boy, my lad," he said to himself, "but i don't think you'll find the child. i have a great mind to give you a hint." he approached dan, and observed, in a friendly way: "are you in search of your little sister?" "yes, sir," returned dan, eagerly. "can you tell me anything about her?" "i am not sure, but possibly i may. i occupy a room directly opposite the house in which you board." "did you see althea carried away?" asked dan, eagerly. "yes; i was sitting at my window when i saw a hack stop at your door. the door-bell was rung by a man who descended from the hack, and shortly afterward your sister came out, and was put into the carriage." "what was the man's appearance, sir? the servant could not tell me." "so much the better," thought hartley, with satisfaction. "he was a little taller than myself, i should say," he answered, "and i believe his hair was brown"--hartley's was black. "i am sorry i can't remember more particularly." "that is something. thank you, sir. i wish i knew where the cab went." "i think i can tell you that. i came down into the street before the cab drove away, and i heard the gentleman referred to say, in a low voice, 'drive to harlem.'" "thank you, sir," said dan, gratefully. "that puts me on the right track. i shall know where to search now." "i wish i could tell you more," said hartley, with a queer smile. "thank you, sir." "if you find your little sister, i should be glad if you would let me know," continued hartley, chuckling inwardly. "i will, sir, if you will let me know your name and address." "my name is john franklin, and i live in the house directly opposite yours, no. --." "all right, sir; i will note it down." john hartley looked after dan with a smile. "my dear young friend," he said to himself, "it goes to my heart to deceive you, you are so innocent and confiding. i wish you much joy of your search in harlem. i think it will be some time before i receive intelligence of your success. still i will keep my room here, and look after you a little. i am really afraid your business will suffer while you are wandering about." john hartley had already written to london, and he was prepared to wait three weeks or more for an answer to his proposition. meanwhile he had one source of uneasiness. his funds were getting low, and unless harriet vernon responded favorably to his proposal, he was liable to be seriously embarrassed. he had on previous similar occasions had recourse to the gaming-table, but fortune did not always decide in his favor. he did not dare to hazard the small sum he had on hand, lest want of success should imperil the bold scheme for obtaining an income at his child's expense. at this critical point in his fortunes he fell in with a western adventurer, who, by a sort of freemasonry, recognizing hartley's want of character, cautiously sounded him as to becoming a partner in a hazardous but probably profitable enterprise. it was to procure some genuine certificates of stock in a western railway for a small number of shares, say five or ten, and raise them ingeniously to fifty and a hundred, and then pledge them as collateral in wall street for a corresponding sum of money. john hartley, if an honest man, would have indignantly declined the overtures; but he was not endowed with roman virtue. he made a cautious investigation to ascertain how great was the danger of detection, and how well the enterprise would pay. the answer to the second question was so satisfactory that he made up his mind to run the necessary risk. blake and he came to a definite understanding, and matters were put in train. certificates were readily obtained, and by the help of a skillful accomplice, who did the work for a specified sum, were ingeniously raised tenfold. then blake, assuming the dress and manners of a thriving business man from syracuse, negotiated a loan, pledging the raised certificate as collateral. the private banker put it away among his securities without a doubt or suspicion, and blake and hartley divided a thousand dollars between them. john hartley was very much elated by his success. the pecuniary assistance came just in the nick of time, when his purse was very low. "it's a good thing to have more than one string to your bow," he thought. "not but that my little game in getting hold of the child is likely to pay well. harriet vernon will find that i have the whip-hand of her. she must come to my terms, sooner or later." at that very moment harriet vernon was embarking at liverpool on a cunard steamer. she had received the letter of her brother-in-law, and decided to answer it in person. chapter xxxv. dan disguises himself. for several days dan strolled about harlem, using his eyes to good advantage. as a pretext he carried with him a few morning papers for sale. armed with these he entered shops and saloons without exciting surprise or suspicion. but he discovered not a trace of the lost girl. one day, as he was riding home in the third avenue cars, there flashed upon his mind a conviction that he was on a wrong scent. "is it probable that the man who carried away althea would give the right direction so that it could be overheard by a third party? no; it was probably meant as a blind, and i have been just fool enough to fall into the trap." so dan's eyes were partially opened. before the day was over they were wholly opened. he met john hartley on broadway toward the close of the afternoon. "well, have you heard anything of your sister?" he asked, with an appearance of interest. "not yet," answered dan. "that's a pity. do you go up to harlem every day?" "yes." "keep on, you will find her in time." after they parted, dan, happening to look back, detected a mocking glance in the face of his questioner, and a new discovery flashed upon him. hartley was making a fool of him. he had sent him to harlem, purposely misleading him. "what can be his object?" thought dan. "can he have had anything to do with the abduction of althea?" this was a question which he could not satisfactorily answer, but he resolved to watch hartley, and follow him wherever he went, in the hope of obtaining some clew. of course he must assume some disguise, as hartley must not recognize him. finally dan decided upon this plan. he hired a room on east fourth street for a week, and then sought an italian boy to whom he had occasionally given a few pennies, and with some difficulty (for giovanni knew but little english, and he no italian) proposed that the italian should teach him to sing and play "viva garibaldi." dan could play a little on the violin, and soon qualified himself for his new business. at a second-hand shop on chatham street he picked up a suit of tattered velvet, obtained a liquid with which to stain his skin to a dark brown, and then started out as an italian street musician. his masquerade suit he kept in his room at east fourth street, changing therefrom his street dress morning and evening. when in full masquerade he for the first time sang and played, giovanni clapped his hands with delight. "will i do, giovanni?" asked dan. "yes, you do very well. you look like my brother." "all right." giovanni was puzzled to understand why dan took so much pains to enter upon a hard and unprofitable profession, but dan did not enlighten him as to his motive. he thought it most prudent to keep his secret, even from his mother. one day he met her on the sidewalk, and began to sing "viva garibaldi." mrs. mordaunt listened without a suspicion that it was her own son, and gave him two pennies, which he acknowledged by a low bow, and "grazia, signora." "poor boy! do you earn much money?" she asked. "i no understand english," said dan. "i hope his padrone does not beat him," said mrs. mordaunt to herself. "i hear these poor boys are much abused. i wonder if i can make him understand? have you a padrone?" she asked. "si, signora, padrone," answered dan. "does he beat you?" "i no understand." "it is no use; he doesn't understand english. here is some more money for you," and she handed him a five-cent coin. "its a wise mother that knows her own child," thought dan. "hallo! there's hartley. i'll follow him." hartley boarded a university place car, and dan jumped on also. "i wonder where he's going?" thought our hero. italian boys so seldom ride that the conductor eyed dan with some suspicion. "five cents," he demanded. dan produced the money. "i thought you might be expecting to ride for nothing," said the conductor. "seems to me you're flush for an italian fiddler." "no understand english," said dan. "and i don't understand your lingo." a charitable lady inside the car chanced to see dan, and it occurred to her that she would do him a service. "can you sing, my boy?" she asked. "i sing a little," answered dan. "if the conductor doesn't object, you may sing while we are on our way. here's ten cents for you." dan bowed and took the money. "you can sing and play," said the conductor, good-naturedly. dan was not at all desirous of doing this, for hartley sat only three feet from him, and he feared he might recognize him, but it would not be in character to refuse, so he began, and sang his one air, playing an accompaniment. several of the passengers handed him small coins, among them hartley. "how well he sings!" said the charitable lady. "i can't agree with you, ma'am," said hartley. "i would rather give him money to stop." "his voice strikes me as very rich, and the italian is such a beautiful language." hartley shrugged his shoulders. "i have heard a good deal better performers even among the street boys," said hartley. "so have i," said dan to himself. "he doesn't suspect me; i am glad of that." hartley remained in the car till it reached the astor house, and so, of course, did dan. in fact, hartley was on his way to brooklyn to pay another installment to the guardians of the little girl whom he had carried off. dan, therefore, was in luck. hartley kept on his way to fulton ferry, dan following at a prudent distance. had hartley looked back, he would have suspected nothing, for he had not penetrated dan's disguise, and would therefore have been quite at a loss to understand any connection between the street musician and himself. they both boarded the same ferry-boat, and landed in brooklyn together. at this moment hartley turned round, and his glance fell upon dan. "hallo! you here?" he said, with surprise. "si, signor," answered dan, bowing deferentially. "what brings you to brooklyn?" "i sing, i play," said our hero. "and you do both abominably." "i no understand english," said dan. "it is lucky you don't, or you might not like my compliment." "shall i sing 'viva garibaldi?'" asked our hero, innocently. "no--good heavens, no! i've had enough of your squeaking. here, take this money, and don't sing." "si, signor," answered dan, assuming a look of bewilderment. hartley prepared to board a car, which was not yet ready to start. dan rapidly decided that it would not do for him to follow hartley any farther. it would certainly arouse his suspicions. but must he abandon the pursuit? that would not do either. looking about him, his eye fell on a bright-looking newsboy of about twelve. "do you want to make some money, johnny?" he asked. the boy surveyed him with astonishment. "did you speak to me, garibaldi?" he asked, jocosely. "yes, but i am no italian," said dan, rapidly. "i am on the track of that man, but he suspects me. i will give you a dollar if you will jump on the car and find out where he goes." "where's the dollar?" asked the boy, cautiously. "here. pay your expenses out of it, and i will pay you back when you report to me." "where will i find you?" "here. i will stay till you come back." "it's a bargain." "hurry; the car is starting." the newsboy ran, jumped on the car, and it moved on. "it is the best thing i could do," thought dan. "i hope the boy is sharp, and won't lose sight of him. i feel sure that he had something to do with carrying off poor little althea." for two hours dan lingered near the ferry, playing occasionally by way of filling up the time. it seemed to be a good location, for he received from fifty to sixty cents from passers-by. "when hard times come," thought dan, "i shall know what to do. i will become an italian street singer." after two hours the newsboy jumped off an incoming car, and approached dan. "did you find out where he went?" asked dan, eagerly. "yes," answered the boy. chapter xxxvi. dan makes a discovery. dan's eyes sparkled with joy at the success of his plan. "now tell me," he said, drawing the newsboy aside to a place where they would not be overheard. "first give me my car fare." "all right. here's a quarter. never mind the change." "you've made a fortun' by fiddling, you have," said the newsboy, in surprise. "i am not a fiddler. i am a detective." the newsboy whistled. "you're a young one." "never mind that. go ahead with your story." the newsboy described his following hartley to donovan's. hartley went in, and he directly afterward. "what sort of a place is it?" asked dan. "it's a saloon." "perhaps he only went in for a drink," suggested dan, uneasily. "no, he didn't call for nothing to drink. i saw him take out some money and give to the man and the woman." "what man and what woman?" "they was the donovans." "how long did you stay?" "ten minutes. i axed old donovan to buy a paper, and he wouldn't. then i sat down for a minute, makin' believe i was tired. they looked at me, but i didn't appear to be noticin' 'em, and they let me stay." "did you see anything of a little girl?" asked dan, eagerly. "yes, there was a little gal came in. the woman called her katy." dan's spirits sank. it was mrs. donovan's daughter, he feared, not the child he was seeking. "how did she look? how old was she?" "about five or six years old." he added a description of the little girl which quite revived dan's hopes, for it answered in every respect to althea. "did you hear the little girl say anything?" "yes, she told her mother she wanted to see dan." dan's eyes glistened. it was althea, after all. "it's all right," he said. "you needn't tell me any more. you're a trump." "have you found out what you want to know?" "yes. have you anything to do for the next two hours?" "no." "then i'll pay you another dollar to go to the place with me. i think i could find it myself, but i can't take any chances. and don't say a word about what you have seen." "i won't. is this little gal your sister?" "she is my adopted sister, and she has been stolen from us." "then i'd be willing to help you for nothing. i've got a little sister about her size. if anybody stole her, i'd mash him!" "come along, then." the two boys boarded a car, and in forty minutes got out. "that's the place," said the newsboy, pointing out donovan's, only a few rods away. "all right. you'd better leave me now, or you may be remembered, and that would lead them to suspect me. here's your money, and thank you." "i hope you'll find your sister." "thank you. if i do, it'll be through your help." dan did not at once enter donovan's. he stopped in the street, and began to sing "viva garibaldi." two or three boys gathered about him, and finally a couple of men. one of them handed him a three-cent piece. "grazio, signor," said dan, pulling off his hat. "what part of italy do you come from?" asked one of the men. "si, signor, i come from italy," answered dan, not considering it prudent to understand too well. "oh, he don't understand you. come along." "his hair doesn't look like that of most italians." "pooh! i'd know him for an italian boy anywhere." at this moment the door of the saloon opened, and dan, putting his violin under his arm, entered. chapter xxxvii. dan is discovered. donovan had two customers. one was an irishman, the other a german. both had evidently drank more than was good for them. dan looked in vain for althea. mrs. donovan had taken her up stairs. "well, boy, what do you want?" asked donovan, rather roughly. "will you have yer musique?" asked dan, uncertain whether he was talking as an italian boy might be expected to. "no; i don't want to hear any fiddle-scraping." "shure, let him play a little, mister donovan," said the irishman. "just as you like," said donovan, carelessly, "only i have no money for him." "faith, thin, i have. here boy, play something." dan struck up his one tune--viva garibaldi--but the irishman did not seem to care for that. "oh, bother ould garibaldi!" he said. "can't you play something else?" "i wish i could," thought dan. "suppose i compose something." accordingly he tried to play an air popular enough at the time, but made bad work of it. "stop him! stop him!" exclaimed the german, who had a better musical ear than the irishman. "here, lend me your fiddle, boy." he took the violin, and in spite of his inebriety, managed to play a german air upon it. "shure you bate the boy at his own trade," said the irishman. "you must be dhry. what'll you have now?" the german indicated his preference, and the irishman called for whisky. "what'll you have, johnny?" he asked, addressing dan. "i no drink," answered our hero, shaking his head. "shure you're an italian wonder, and it's barnum ought to hire you." "i no understand english," said dan. "then you're a haythen," said pat moriarty. he gulped down the whisky, and finding it more convenient to sit than to stand, fell back upon a settee. "i wish althea would come in," thought dan. at that moment a heavy fall was heard in the room overhead, and a child's shrill scream directly afterward. "something's happened to my wife," muttered donovan. "she's drunk again." he hurried up stairs, and the german followed. this gave dan an excuse for running up, too. mrs. donovan had been drinking more copiously than usual. while in this condition she imprudently got upon a chair to reach a pitcher from an upper shelf. her footing was uncertain, and she fell over, pitcher in hand, the chair sharing in the downfall. when her husband entered the room she was lying flat on her back, grasping the handle of the pitcher, her eyes closed, and her breathing stertorious. althea, alarmed, stood over her, crying and screaming. "the old woman's taken too much," said donovan. "get up, you divil!" he shouted, leaning over his matrimonial partner. "ain't you ashamed of yourself, now?" mrs. donovan opened her eyes, and stared at him vacantly. "where am i?" she inquired. "on your back, you old fool, where you deserve to be." "it's the whisky," murmured the fallen lady. "of course it is. why can't you drink dacent like me? shure it's a purty example you're settin' to the child. ain't you ashamed to lie here in a hape before them gintlemen?" this called althea's attention to the german and dan. in spite of dan's disguise, she recognized him with a cry of joy. "oh, dan! have you come to take me away?" she exclaimed, dashing past donovan, and clasping her arms round the supposed italian. [illustration: "oh, dan! have you come to take me away?" althea exclaimed.] "hillo! what's up?" exclaimed donovan, looking at the two in surprise. "oh, it's my brother dan," exclaimed althea. "you'll take me away, won't you, dan? how funny you look! where did you get your fiddle?" "so that's your game, my young chicken, is it?" demanded donovan, seizing our hero roughly by the shoulder. then pulling off dan's hat, he added: "you're no more italian than i am." dan saw that it would be useless to keep up the deceit any longer. he looked donovan full in the face, and said, firmly: "you are right, mr. donovan, i have come here for my sister." chapter xxxviii. unpleasant quarters. donovan's red face turned fairly purple with rage. "well, i'll be blowed!" he said, adding an oath or two. "you're a bold little pup! you dare to insult me! why, i could crush you with my little finger." "i have not insulted you," said dan. "i have only come for my sister." "i don't know anything about your sister. so you can go about your business." "that little girl is my adopted sister," said dan, pointing to althea. "ask her if she doesn't know me." "that is my daughter, katy donovan," said the saloon keeper. "no, i am not," said althea, beginning to cry. "i want to go away with my brother dan." "shut up, you little jade!" said donovan, roughly. "mrs. donovan," (by this time she was on her feet, looking on in a dazed sort of way), "is not this our little katy?" "shure it is," she answered. "you see, young man, you're mistaken. you can leave," and donovan waved his hand triumphantly. "that's too thin, mrs. donovan!" said dan, provoked. "that don't go down. i can bring plenty of proof that althea was until a week since living with my mother." "that for your proof!" said donovan, contemptuously snapping his fingers. "i know who stole her, and who brought her to this house," continued dan. donovan started. the boy knew more than he had expected. "the same man has been here to-day," added dan. "you lie!" retorted donovan, but he looked uneasy. "you know that i tell the truth. how much does he pay you for taking care of the girl?" "enough of this!" roared the saloon keeper. "i can't waste my time talkin' wid you. will you clear out now?" "no, i won't, unless althea goes with me," said dan, firmly. "you won't, then! we'll see about that," and donovan, making a rush, seized dan in his arms, and carried him down stairs, despite our hero's resistance. "i'll tache you to come here insultin' your betters!" he exclaimed. dan struggled to get away, but though a strong boy, he was not a match for a powerful man, and could not effect his deliverance. the irishman already referred to was still upon the settee. "what's up, donovan?" he asked, as the saloon-keeper appeared with his burden. "what's the lad been doin'?" "what's he been doin', is it? he's been insultin' me to my face--that's what the donovans won't stand. open the trap-door, barney." "what for?" "don't trouble me wid your questions, but do as i tell you. you shall know afterward." not quite willingly, but reluctant to offend donovan, who gave him credit for the drinks, barney raised a trap-door leading to the cellar below. there was a ladder for the convenience of those wishing to ascend and descend, but donovan was not disposed to use much ceremony with the boy who had offended him. he dropped him through the opening, dan by good luck falling on his feet. "that's the best place for you, you young meddler!" he said. "you'll find it mighty comfortable, and i wish you much joy. i won't charge you no rint, and that's an object in these hard times--eh, barney?" "to be sure it is," said barney; "but all the same, donovan, i'd rather pay rint up stairs, if i had my choice!" "he hasn't the choice," said donovan triumphantly. "good-by to you!" and he let the trap fall. "what's it all about now, donovan?" asked barney. "he wanted to shtale my katy," said donovan. "what, right before your face?" asked barney, puzzled. "yes, shure! what'll you take to drink?" asked donovan, not caring to go into particulars. barney indicated his choice with alacrity, and, after drinking, was hardly in a condition to pursue his inquiries. chapter xxxix. dan discomfits the donovans. dan found himself at first bewildered and confused by his sudden descent into the cellar. as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he was able to get an idea of his surroundings. it was a common cellar with an earthen floor. ranged along one side was a row of kegs, some containing whisky, others empty. besides, there were a few boxes and odds and ends which had been placed here to get them out of the way. "not a very cheerful-looking place," thought dan, "though i do get it rent free." he sat down on a box, and began to consider his position. was there any way of escape? the walls were solid, and although there was a narrow window, consisting of a row of single panes, it was at the top of the cellar, and not easily accessible. he might indeed reach it by the ladder, but he would have to break the glass and crawl through, a mode of escape likely to be attended by personal risk. "no, that won't do," thought dan. "at any rate, i won't try it till other things fail." meanwhile donovan, in the bar-room above, was in high good humor. he felt that he had done a sharp thing, and more than once chuckled as he thought of his prisoner below. indeed he could not forbear, after about half an hour, lifting the trap and calling down stairs: "hallo, there!" "hallo!" said dan, coolly. "what are you doin'?" "sitting on a box." "how do you like it?" chuckled donovan. "come down and see." "you're an impudent jackanapes!" retorted donovan, wrathfully. "you'll get enough of it before you're through." "so will you," answered dan, boldly. "i'll take the risk," chuckled donovan. "do you know what you remind me of?" "suppose you tell me." "you're like a rat in a trap." "not exactly," answered dan, as a bright thought dawned upon him. "why not?" "because a rat can do no harm, and i can." it occurred to donovan that dan might have some matches in his pocket, and was momentarily alarmed at the thought that our hero might set the house on fire. "have you matches with you?" he asked. "no," answered dan. "if you had," said the saloon-keeper, relieved, "it would do you no good to set a fire. you would only burn yourself up." "i don't mean to set the house on fire," said dan, composedly. "then you may do your worst. you can't scare me." "can't i?" returned dan, rising from his seat on the box. "what are you going to do?" asked donovan, following with his glance the boy's motion. "i'll tell you," said dan. "i'm going to take the spigot out of them whisky-kegs, and let the whisky run out on the floor." "don't you do it!" exclaimed the saloon-keeper, now thoroughly frightened. "then let me up." "i won't." "all right. you must take the consequences." as he spoke dan dextrously pulled the spigot from a keg, and donovan, to his dismay, heard the precious liquid--precious in his eyes--pouring out upon the floor. with an exertion he raised the trap-door, hastily descended the ladder, and rushed to the keg to replace the spigot. meanwhile dan ran up the ladder, pulled it after him, and made his late jailer a captive. "put down the ladder, you young rascal!" roared donovan, when, turning from his work, he saw how the tables had been turned. "it wouldn't be convenient just yet," answered dan, coolly. he shut the trap-door, hastily lugged the ladder to the rear of the house (unobserved, for there were no customers present), then dashed up stairs and beckoned to althea to follow him. there was no obstacle, for mrs. donovan was stupefied by liquor. putting on her things, the little girl hastily and gladly obeyed. as they passed through the saloon, donovan's execrations and shouts were heard proceeding from the cellar. "what's that, dan?" asked althea, trembling. "never you mind, althea," said dan. "i'll tell you later." the two children hurried to the nearest horse-car, which luckily came up at the moment, and jumped on board. dan looked back with a smile at the saloon, saying to himself: "i rather think, mr. donovan, you've found your match this time. i hope you'll enjoy the cellar as much as i did." in about an hour and a half dan, holding althea by the hand, triumphantly led her into his mother's presence. "i've brought her back, mother," he said. "oh, my dear, dear little girl!" exclaimed mrs. mordaunt, joyfully. "i thought i should never, never see you again. how did you find her, dan?" but we will not wait to hear a twice-told tale. rather let us return to donovan, where the unhappy proprietor is still a captive in his own cellar. here he remained till his cries attracted the attention of a wondering customer, who finally lifted the trap-door. "what are you doin' down there?" he asked, amazed. "put down the ladder and let me up first of all." "i don't see any ladder." "look round, then. i suppose the cursed boy has hidden it." it was a considerable time before the ladder was found. then the saloon-keeper emerged from his prison in a very bad humor. "how did you get shut up there?" asked his liberator. "what business is it of yours?" demanded donovan, irritably. "i wish i had left you there," said the customer, with justifiable indignation. "this is your gratitude for my trouble, is it?" "excuse me, but i'm so mad with that cursed boy. what'll you take? it's my treat." "come, that's talking," said the placated customer. "what boy do you mean?" "wait a minute," said donovan, a sudden fear possessing him. he rushed up stairs and looked for althea. his wife was lying on the floor, breathing heavily, but the little girl was gone. "the boy's got her! what a cursed fool i have been!" exclaimed donovan, sinking into a chair. then, in a blind fury with the wife who didn't prevent the little girl's recapture, he seized a pail of water and emptied it over the face of the prostrate woman. mrs. donovan came to, and berated her husband furiously. "serves you right, you jade!" said the affectionate husband. he went down stairs feeling better. he had had revenge on somebody. it was certainly an unlucky day for the donovans. chapter xl. hartley surprised. after calling at donovan's, on the day when dan recovered althea, john hartley crossed the courtlandt street ferry, and took a train to philadelphia with blake, his accomplice in the forged certificates. the two confederates had raised some pennsylvania railway certificates, which they proposed to put on the philadelphia market. they spent several days in the quaker city, and thus hartley heard nothing of the child's escape. donovan did not see fit to inform him, as this would stop the weekly remittance for the child's board, and, moreover, draw hartley's indignation down upon his head. one day, in a copy of the _new york herald_, which he purchased at the news-stand in the continental hotel, hartley observed the arrival of harriet vernon at the fifth avenue hotel. "i thought she would come," he said to himself, with a smile. "i have her in my power at last. she must submit to my terms, or lose sight of the child altogether." "blake," he said, aloud, "i must take the first train to new york." "why, what's up, partner?" asked blake, in surprise. "anything gone wrong?" "on the contrary, i see a chance of making a good haul." "how?" "not in our line. it's some private business of my own." "all right. i wish you success. when will you return?" "that i can't exactly say. i will write or telegraph you." in the evening of the same day mrs. vernon sat in her room at the fifth avenue hotel. a servant brought up a card bearing the name of john hartley. "he is prompt," she said to herself, with a smile. "probably he has not heard of althea's escape from the den to which he carried her. i will humor him, in that case, and draw him out." "i will see the gentleman in the parlor," she said. five minutes later she entered the ladies' parlor. hartley rose to receive her with a smile of conscious power, which told harriet vernon that he was ignorant of the miscarriage of his plans. "i heard of your _unexpected_ arrival, mrs. vernon," he commenced, "and have called to pay my respects." "your motive is appreciated, john hartley," she said, coldly. "i expected to see you." "that's pleasant," he said, mockingly. "may i beg to apologize for constraining you to cross the atlantic?" "don't apologize; you have merely acted out your nature." "probably that is not meant to be complimentary. however, it can't be helped." "i suppose you have something to say to me, john hartley," said mrs. vernon, seating herself. "pray proceed." "you are quite right. i wrote you that i had ferreted out your cunningly devised place of concealment for my daughter." "you did." he looked at her a little puzzled. she seemed very cool and composed, whereas he expected she would be angry and disturbed. "we may as well come to business at once," he said. "if you wish to recover the charge of your ward, you must accede to my terms." "state them." "they are expressed in my letter to you. you must agree to pay me a thousand dollars each quarter." "it strikes me you are exorbitant in your demands." "i don't think so. at any rate, the money won't come out of you. it will come from my daughter's income." "so you would rob your daughter, john hartley?" "rob my daughter!" he exclaimed, angrily. "she will have enough left. is she to live in luxury, and with thousands to spare, while i, her only living parent, wander penniless and homeless about the world." "i might sympathize with you, if i did not know how you have misused the gifts of fortune, and embittered the existence of my poor sister. as it is, it only disgusts me." "i don't want you sympathy, harriet vernon," he said, roughly. "i want four thousand dollars a year." "suppose i decline to let you have it?" "then you must take the consequences," he said, quickly. "what are to be the consequences?" she asked, quietly. "that you and althea will be forever separated. she shall never see you again." he looked at her intently to see the effect of his threat. harriet vernon was as cool and imperturbable as ever. "have you been in new york for a week past?" she asked, as he thought, irrelevantly. "why do you ask?" "i have a reason." "no, i have not." "so i thought." "why did you think so?" "because you don't appear to know what has happened." "what has happened?" he asked, uneasily. "mr. donovan can tell you. as for me, i bid you good-evening." a wild fear took possession of him. "what do you mean?" he demanded, hurriedly. "i mean, john hartley, that you are not as shrewd as you imagine. i mean that a boy has foiled you; and while you were doubtless laughing at his simplicity, he has proved more than a match for you. you have no claim upon me, and i must decline your disinterested proposal." she left the room, leaving him crest-fallen and stupefied. "has donovan betrayed me?" he muttered. "i will soon find out." he started for brooklyn immediately, and toward eleven o'clock entered the saloon at donovan's. "where is the child?" he demanded, sternly. the rubicund host turned pale. "she's gone," he cried, "but i couldn't help it, mr. hartley. on my honor, i couldn't." "how did it happen? tell me at once." the story was told, donovan ending by invoking curses upon the boy who had played such a trick upon him. "you're a fool!" said hartley, roughly. "i am ashamed of you, for allowing a boy to get the best of you." "that boy's a fox," said donovan. "he's a match for the old one, he is. i'd like to break his neck for him." "it's not too late. i may get hold of the girl again," mused hartley, as he rose to go. "if i do, i won't put her in charge of such a dunderhead." he left donovan's and returned to new york, but he had hardly left the fulton ferry-boat when he was tapped on the shoulder by an officer. "i want you," he said. "what for?" asked hartley, nervously. "a little financial irregularity, as they call it in wall street. you may know something about some raised railroad certificates!" "confusion!" muttered hartley. "luck is dead against me." chapter xli. dan is adopted. the morning papers contained an account of john hartley's arrest, and the crime with which he was charged. harriet vernon read it at the breakfast-table with an interest which may be imagined. "i don't like to rejoice in any man's misfortune," she said to herself, "but now i can have a few years of peace. my precious brother-in-law will doubtless pass the next few years in enforced seclusion, and i can have a settled home." directly after breakfast, she set out for the humble home of her niece. she found all at home, for dan was not to go back to business till monday. "well, my good friend," she said, "i have news for you." "good news, i hope," said dan. "yes, good news. henceforth i can have althea with me. the obstacle that separated us is removed." mrs. mordaunt's countenance fell, and dan looked sober. it was plain that althea was to be taken from them, and they had learned to love her. "i am very glad," faltered mrs. mordaunt. "you don't look glad," returned mrs. vernon. "you see we don't like to part with althea," explained dan, who understood his mother's feelings. "who said you were to part with the child?" asked mrs. vernon, bluntly. "i thought you meant to take her from us." "oh, i see. your mistake is a natural one, for i have not told you my plans. i mean to take a house up town, install mrs. mordaunt as my housekeeper and friend, and adopt this young man (indicating dan), provided he has no objection." "how kind you are, mrs. vernon," ejaculated mrs. mordaunt. "no, i am selfish. i have plenty of money, and no one to care for, or to care for me. i have taken a fancy to you all, and i am quite sure that we can all live happily together. althea is my niece, and you, dan, may call me aunt, too, if you like. is it a bargain?" dan offered her his hand in a frank, cordial way, which she liked. "so it is settled, then," she said, in a pleased voice. "i ought to warn you," she added, "that i have the reputation of being ill-tempered. you may get tired of living with me." "we'll take the risk," said dan, smiling. mrs. vernon, whose habit it was to act promptly, engaged a house on madison avenue, furnished it without regard to expense, and in less than a fortnight, installed her friends in it. then she had a talk with dan about his plans. "do you wish to remain in your place," she asked, "or would you like to obtain a better education first?" "to obtain an education," said dan, promptly. "then give notice to your employer of your intention." dan did so. mrs. vernon in a second interview informed him that besides defraying his school expenses, she should give him an allowance of fifty dollars a month for his own personal needs. "may i give a part of it to my mother?" asked dan. "no." his countenance fell, but mrs. vernon smiled. "you don't ask why i refuse," she said. "i suppose you have a good reason," said dan, dubiously. "my reason is that i shall pay your mother double this sum. unless she is very extravagant it ought to be enough to defray her expenses." "how liberal you are, mrs. vernon!" exclaimed dan, in fresh astonishment. "mrs. vernon!" "aunt harriet, i mean." "that is better." all these important changes in the position of the mordaunts were unknown to their old friends, who, since their loss of property, had given them the cold shoulder. one day tom carver, in passing the house, saw dan coming down the steps quite as handsomely dressed as himself. his surprise and curiosity were aroused. "are you running errands?" he asked. "no. what makes you think so?" returned dan, smiling. "i didn't know what else could carry you to such a house." "oh, that's easily explained," said dan. "i live here." "you live there!" ejaculated tom. "yes." "oh, i see. you are in the employ of the family." "not exactly," said dan. "i have nothing to do." "does your mother live there?" "yes." "you don't mean to say she boards there?" "we are living with my aunt." "is your aunt rich?" asked tom, in a more deferential tone. "i believe she is. at any rate she gives me a handsome allowance." "you don't say so! how much does she give you?" "fifty dollars a month." "and you don't have anything to do?" "only to study. i am going back to school." "what a lucky fellow!" exclaimed tom, enviously. "why, my father only allows me three dollars a week." "i could get along on that. i don't need as much as my aunt allows me." "i say, dan," said tom, in the most friendly terms, "i'm awfully hard up. could you lend me five dollars?" "yes," said dan, secretly amused with the change in tom's manner. "you always were a good fellow!" said tom, linking his arm in dan's. "i'm very glad you're rich again. you must come to see me often." "thank you," said dan, smiling, "but i'm afraid you have forgotten something." "what do you mean?" "you know i used to be a newsboy in front of the astor house." "that don't matter." "and you might not care to associate with a newsboy." "well, you are all right now," said tom, magnanimously. "you didn't always think so, tom." "i always thought you were a gentleman, dan. i am coming to see you soon. you must introduce me to your aunt." "i suppose it's the way of the world," thought dan. "it is lucky that there are some true friends who stick by us through thick and thin." mrs. mordaunt had an experience similar to dan's. her old acquaintances, who, during her poverty never seemed to recognize her when they met, gradually awoke to the consciousness of her continued existence, and left cards. she received them politely, but rated their professions of friendship at their true value. they had not been "friends in need," and she could not count them "friends indeed." chapter xlii. conclusion. six years rolled by, bringing with them many changes. the little family on madison avenue kept together. mrs. vernon was never happier than now. she had a hearty love for young people, and enjoyed the growth and development of her niece althea, and dan, whom she called her nephew and loved no less. dan is now a young man. he completed his preparation for college, and graduated with high honors. he is no less frank, handsome, and self-reliant than when as a boy he sold papers in front of the astor house for his mother's support. he looks forward to a business life, and has accepted an invitation to go abroad to buy goods in london and paris for his old firm. he was, in fact, preparing to go when a mysterious letter was put in his hands. it ran thus: "mr. daniel mordaunt:--i shall take it as a great favor if you will come to the st. nicholas hotel this evening, and inquire for me. i am sick, or i would not trouble you. do not fail. i have to speak to you on a matter of great importance. "john davis." "john davis!" repeated dan. "i don't know of any one of that name. do you, mother?" "i cannot think of any one," said mrs. mordaunt. "i hope you won't go, dan," she added, anxiously; "it may be a trap laid by a wicked and designing man." "you forget that i am not a boy any longer, mother," said dan, smiling. "i think i can defend myself, even if mr. davis is a wicked and designing person." nevertheless mrs. mordaunt saw dan depart with anxiety. to her he was still a boy, though in the eyes of others an athletic young man. on inquiring for mr. davis at the hotel, dan was ushered into a room on the third floor. seated in an arm-chair was an elderly man, weak and wasted, apparently in the last stages of consumption. he eyed dan eagerly. "you are daniel mordaunt?" he asked. "yes, sir." "son of lawrence mordaunt?" "yes. did you know my father?" the old man sighed. "it would have been well if he had not known me, for i did him a great wrong." "you!--john davis!" said dan, trying to connect the name with his father. "that is not my real name. you see before you robert hunting, once your father's book-keeper." dan's handsome face darkened, and he said, bitterly: "you killed my father!" "heaven help me, i fear i did!" sighed davis--to call him by his later name. "the money of which you robbed him caused him to fail, and failure led to his death." "i have accused myself of this crime oftentimes," moaned davis. "don't think that the money brought happiness, for it did not." "where have you been all these years?" "first, i went to europe. there i remained a year. from europe i went to brazil, and engaged in business in rio janeiro. a year since i found my health failing, and have come back to new york to die. but before i die i want to make what reparation i can." "you cannot call my father back to me," said dan, sadly. "no; but i can restore the money that i stole. that is the right word--stole. i hope you and your mother have not suffered?" "we saw some hard times, but for years we have lived in comfort." "i am glad of that. will you bring a lawyer to me to-morrow evening? i want to make restitution. then i shall die easier." "you might keep every dollar if you would bring my father back." "would that i could! i must do what i can." the next evening davis transferred to dan and his mother property amounting to fifty thousand dollars, in payment of what he had taken, with interest, and in less than a month later he died, dan taking upon himself the charge of the funeral. his trip to europe was deferred, and having now capital to contribute, he was taken as junior partner into the firm where he had once filled the position of office-boy. tom carver is down in the world. his father had failed disastrously, and tom is glad to accept a minor clerkship from the boy at whom he once sneered. julia rogers has never lost her preference for dan. it is whispered that they are engaged, or likely soon to be, and dan's assiduous attentions to the young lady make the report a plausible one. john hartley was sentenced to a term of years in prison. harriet vernon dreaded the day of his release, being well convinced that he would seize the earliest opportunity to renew his persecutions. she had about made up her mind to buy him off, when she received intelligence that he was carried off by fever, barely a month before the end of his term. it was a sad end of a bad life, but she could not regret him. althea was saved the knowledge of her father's worthlessness. she was led to believe that he had died when she was a little girl. and now the curtain must fall. dan, the young detective, has entered upon a career of influence and prosperity. the hardships of his earlier years contributed to strengthen his character, and give him that self-reliance of which the sons of rich men so often stand in need. a similar experience might have benefited tom carver, whose lofty anticipations have been succeeded by a very humble reality. let those boys who are now passing through the discipline of poverty and privation, take courage and emulate the example of "dan, the detective." the end. a. l. burt's publications for young people by popular writers, - - reade street, new york. +bonnie prince charlie+: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . the adventures of the son of a scotch officer in french service. the boy, brought up by a glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the french coast, reaches paris, and serves with the french army at dettingen. he kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of prince charlie, but finally settles happily in scotland. "ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'quentin durward.' the lad's journey across france, and his hairbreadth escapes, make up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. for freshness of treatment and variety of incident mr. henty has surpassed himself."--_spectator._ +with clive in india+; or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . the period between the landing of clive as a young writer in india and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. at its commencement the english were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes. at its close they were masters of bengal and of the greater part of southern india. the author has given a full and accurate account of the events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interest to the volume. "he has taken a period of indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume."--_scotsman._ +the lion of the north+: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john sch�nberg. mo, cloth, price $ . . in this story mr. henty gives the history of the first part of the thirty years' war. the issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in germany. the army of the chivalrous king of sweden was largely composed of scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story. "the tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited."--_times._ +the dragon and the raven+; or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. mo, cloth, price $ . . in this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between saxon and dane for supremacy in england, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. the hero, a young saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by king alfred. he is driven from his home, takes to the sea and resists the danes on their own element, and being pursued by them up the seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of paris. "treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader."--_athenæum._ +the young carthaginian+: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. mo, cloth, price $ . . boys reading the history of the punic wars have seldom a keen appreciation of the merits of the contest. that it was at first a struggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of carthage, that hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he defeated the romans at trebia, lake trasimenus, and cannæ, and all but took rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their knowledge. to let them know more about this momentous struggle for the empire of the world mr. henty has written this story, which not only gives in graphic style a brilliant description of a most interesting period of history, but is a tale of exciting adventure sure to secure the interest of the reader. "well constructed and vividly told. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."--_saturday review._ +in freedom's cause+: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . in this story the author relates the stirring tale of the scottish war of independence. the extraordinary valor and personal prowess of wallace and bruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry, and indeed at one time wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. the researches of modern historians have shown, however, that he was a living, breathing man--and a valiant champion. the hero of the tale fought under both wallace and bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. "it is written in the author's best style. full of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one side."--_the schoolmaster._ +with lee in virginia+: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . the story of a young virginian planter, who, after bravely proving his sympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less courage and enthusiasm under lee and jackson through the most exciting events of the struggle. he has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness and, in two cases, the devotion of a black servant and of a runaway slave whom he had assisted, bring him safely through all difficulties. "one of the best stories for lads which mr. henty has yet written. the picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story."--_standard._ +by england's aid+; or, the freeing of the netherlands ( - ). by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, and maps. mo, cloth, price $ . . the story of two english lads who go to holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting veres." after many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the armada, and escapes only to fall into the hands of the corsairs. he is successful in getting back to spain under the protection of a wealthy merchant, and regains his native country after the capture of cadiz. "it is an admirable book for youngsters. it overflows with stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of the scene are finely reproduced. the illustrations add to its attractiveness."--_boston gazette._ +by right of conquest+; or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. s. stacey, and two maps. mo, cloth, price $ . . the conquest of mexico by a small band of resolute men under the magnificent leadership of cortez is always rightly ranked among the most romantic and daring exploits in history. with this as the groundwork of his story mr. henty has interwoven the adventures of an english youth, roger hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship swan, which had sailed from a devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the spaniards in the new world. he is beset by many perils among the natives, but is saved by his own judgment and strength, and by the devotion of an aztec princess. at last by a ruse he obtains the protection of the spaniards, and after the fall of mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming aztec bride. "'by right of conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that mr. henty has yet published."--_academy._ +in the reign of terror+: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. sch�nberg. mo, cloth, price $ . . harry sandwith, a westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of a french marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to paris at the crisis of the revolution. imprisonment and death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. after hairbreadth escapes they reach nantes. there the girls are condemned to death in the coffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy protector. "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict.... the story is one of mr. henty's best."--_saturday review._ +with wolfe in canada+; or, the winning of a continent. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . in the present volume mr. henty gives an account of the struggle between britain and france for supremacy in the north american continent. on the issue of this war depended not only the destinies of north america, but to a large extent those of the mother countries themselves. the fall of quebec decided that the anglo-saxon race should predominate in the new world; that britain, and not france, should take the lead among the nations of europe; and that english and american commerce, the english language, and english literature, should spread right round the globe. "it is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and field."--_illustrated london news._ +true to the old flag+: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . in this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who took part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which american and british soldiers have been engaged did they behave with greater courage and good conduct. the historical portion of the book being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins on the shores of lake huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven with the general narrative and carried through the book. "does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against american emancipation. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawkeye and chingachgook."--_the times._ +the lion of st. mark+: a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . a story of venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. the hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. he contributes largely to the victories of the venetians at porto d'anzo and chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the daughter of one of the chief men of venice. "every boy should read 'the lion of st. mark.' mr. henty has never produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious."--_saturday review._ +a final reckoning+: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. b. wollen. mo, cloth, price $ . . the hero, a young english lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. a few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. "mr. henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully constructed, or a better written story than this."--_spectator._ +under drake's flag+: a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . a story of the days when england and spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea. the heroes sail as lads with drake in the pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. the historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. "a book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, one would think, to turn his hair gray."--_harper's monthly magazine._ +by sheer pluck+: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. his hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompanies the english expedition on their march to coomassie. "mr. henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'by sheer pluck' will be eagerly read."--_athenæum._ +by pike and dyke+: a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by maynard brown, and maps. mo, cloth, price $ . . in this story mr. henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of an english boy in the household of the ablest man of his age--william the silent. edward martin, the son of an english sea-captain, enters the service of the prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes through the great sieges of the time. he ultimately settles down as sir edward martin. "boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students in spite of themselves."--_st. james' gazette._ +st. george for england+: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . no portion of english history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of edward iii. cressy and poitiers; the destruction of the spanish fleet; the plague of the black death; the jacquerie rising; these are treated by the author in "st. george for england." the hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a london apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the black prince. "mr. henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labors of sir walter scott in the land of fiction."--_the standard._ +captain kidd's gold+: the true story of an adventurous sailor boy. by james franklin fitts. mo, cloth, price $ . . there is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. a vision arises before his eyes of swarthy portuguese and spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes--sinister-looking fellows who once on a time haunted the spanish main, sneaking out from some hidden creek in their long, low schooner, of picaroonish rake and sheer, to attack an unsuspecting trading craft. there were many famous sea rovers in their day, but none more celebrated than capt. kidd. perhaps the most fascinating tale of all is mr. fitts' true story of an adventurous american boy, who receives from his dying father an ancient bit of vellum, which the latter obtained in a curious way. the document bears obscure directions purporting to locate a certain island in the bahama group, and a considerable treasure buried there by two of kidd's crew. the hero of this book, paul jones garry, is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water new england ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. +captain bayley's heir+: a tale of the gold fields of california. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. mo, cloth, price $ . . a frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a considerable property. the former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves england for america. he works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with indians to the californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. "mr. henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of john holl, the westminster dustman, dickens himself could hardly have excelled."--_christian leader._ +for name and fame+; or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . an interesting story of the last war in afghanistan. the hero, after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the malays, finds his way to calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding to join the army at the afghan passes. he accompanies the force under general roberts to the peiwar kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried to cabul, whence he is transferred to candahar, and takes part in the final defeat of the army of ayoub khan. "the best feature of the book--apart from the interest of its scenes of adventure--is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the afghan people."--_daily news._ +captured by apes+: the wonderful adventures of a young animal trainer. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, $ . . the scene of this tale is laid on an island in the malay archipelago. philip garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of new york, sets sail for eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. the vessel is wrecked off the coast of borneo and young garland, the sole survivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. the lad discovers that the ruling spirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic and vicious baboon, whom he identifies as goliah, an animal at one time in his possession and with whose instruction he had been especially diligent. the brute recognizes him, and with a kind of malignant satisfaction puts his former master through the same course of training he had himself experienced with a faithfulness of detail which shows how astonishing is monkey recollection. very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapes death. mr. prentice has certainly worked a new vein on juvenile fiction, and the ability with which he handles a difficult subject stamps him as a writer of undoubted skill. +the bravest of the brave+; or, with peterborough in spain. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. mo, cloth, price $ . . there are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completely fallen into oblivion as those of the earl of peterborough. this is largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory and successes of marlborough. his career as general extended over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare which has never been surpassed. "mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth. lads will read 'the bravest of the brave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."--_daily telegraph._ +the cat of bubastes+: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations. mo, cloth, price $ . . a story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the customs of the egyptian people. amuba, a prince of the rebu nation, is carried with his charioteer jethro into slavery. they become inmates of the house of ameres, the egyptian high-priest, and are happy in his service until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat of bubastes. in an outburst of popular fury ameres is killed, and it rests with jethro and amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son and daughter. "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated."--_saturday review._ +with washington at monmouth+: a story of three philadelphia boys. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . three philadelphia boys, seth graydon "whose mother conducted a boarding-house which was patronized by the british officers;" enoch ball, "son of that mrs. ball whose dancing school was situated on letitia street," and little jacob, son of "chris, the baker," serve as the principal characters. the story is laid during the winter when lord howe held possession of the city, and the lads aid the cause by assisting the american spies who make regular and frequent visits from valley forge. one reads here of home-life in the captive city when bread was scarce among the people of the lower classes, and a reckless prodigality shown by the british officers, who passed the winter in feasting and merry-making while the members of the patriot army but a few miles away were suffering from both cold and hunger. the story abounds with pictures of colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of washington's soldiers which are given show that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. +for the temple+: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by s. j. solomon. mo, cloth, price $ . . mr. henty here weaves into the record of josephus an admirable and attractive story. the troubles in the district of tiberias, the march of the legions, the sieges of jotapata, of gamala, and of jerusalem, form the impressive and carefully studied historic setting to the figure of the lad who passes from the vineyard to the service of josephus, becomes the leader of a guerrilla band of patriots, fights bravely for the temple, and after a brief term of slavery at alexandria, returns to his galilean home with the favor of titus. "mr. henty's graphic prose pictures of the hopeless jewish resistance to roman sway add another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world."--_graphic._ +facing death+; or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . "facing death" is a story with a purpose. it is intended to show that a lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his determination, is sure to succeed. the hero of the story is a typical british boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though "shamefaced" to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of duty. "the tale is well written and well illustrated and there is much reality in the characters. if any father, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend."--_standard._ +tom temple's career.+ by horatio alger. mo, cloth, price $ . . tom temple, a bright, self-reliant lad, by the death of his father becomes a boarder at the home of nathan middleton, a penurious insurance agent. though well paid for keeping the boy, nathan and his wife endeavor to bring master tom in line with their parsimonious habits. the lad ingeniously evades their efforts and revolutionizes the household. as tom is heir to $ , , he is regarded as a person of some importance until by an unfortunate combination of circumstances his fortune shrinks to a few hundreds. he leaves plympton village to seek work in new york, whence he undertakes an important mission to california, around which center the most exciting incidents of his young career. some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. the tale is written in mr. alger's most fascinating style, and is bound to please the very large class of boys who regard this popular author as a prime favorite. +maori and settler+: a story of the new zealand war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. mo, cloth, price $ . . the renshaws emigrate to new zealand during the period of the war with the natives. wilfrid, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the mainstay of the household. he has for his friend mr. atherton, a botanist and naturalist of herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humor. in the adventures among the maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant new zealand valleys. "brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and vivid pictures of colonial life."--_schoolmaster._ +julian mortimer+: a brave boy's struggle for home and fortune. by harry castlemon. mo, cloth, price $ . . here is a story that will warm every boy's heart. there is mystery enough to keep any lad's imagination wound up to the highest pitch. the scene of the story lies west of the mississippi river, in the days when emigrants made their perilous way across the great plains to the land of gold. one of the startling features of the book is the attack upon the wagon train by a large party of indians. our hero is a lad of uncommon nerve and pluck, a brave young american in every sense of the word. he enlists and holds the reader's sympathy from the outset. surrounded by an unknown and constant peril, and assisted by the unswerving fidelity of a stalwart trapper, a real rough diamond, our hero achieves the most happy results. harry castlemon has written many entertaining stories for boys, and it would seem almost superfluous to say anything in his praise, for the youth of america regard him as a favorite author. "+carrots+:" just a little boy. by mrs. molesworth. with illustrations by walter crane. mo, cloth, price cents. "one of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to meet with for some time. carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very fond of."--_examiner._ "a genuine children's book; we've seen 'em seize it, and read it greedily. children are first-rate critics, and thoroughly appreciate walter crane's illustrations."--_punch._ +mopsa the fairy.+ by jean ingelow. with eight page illustrations. mo, cloth, price cents. "mrs. ingelow is, to our mind, the most charming of all living writers for children, and 'mopsa' alone ought to give her a kind of pre-emptive right to the love and gratitude of our young folks. it requires genius to conceive a purely imaginary work which must of necessity deal with the supernatural, without running into a mere riot of fantastic absurdity; but genius miss ingelow has and the story of 'jack' is as careless and joyous, but as delicate, as a picture of childhood."--_eclectic._ +a jaunt through java+: the story of a journey to the sacred mountain. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, price $ . . the central interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of two cousins, hermon and eustace hadley, on their trip across the island of java, from samarang to the sacred mountain. in a land where the royal bengal tiger runs at large; where the rhinoceros and other fierce beasts are to be met with at unexpected moments; it is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. hermon not only distinguishes himself by killing a full-grown tiger at short range, but meets with the most startling adventure of the journey. there is much in this narrative to instruct as well as entertain the reader, and so deftly has mr. ellis used his material that there is not a dull page in the book. the two heroes are brave, manly young fellows, bubbling over with boyish independence. they cope with the many difficulties that arise during the trip in a fearless way that is bound to win the admiration of every lad who is so fortunate as to read their adventures. +wrecked on spider island+; or, how ned rogers found the treasure. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . a "down-east" plucky lad who ships as cabin boy, not from love of adventure, but because it is the only course remaining by which he can gain a livelihood. while in his bunk, seasick, ned rogers hears the captain and mate discussing their plans for the willful wreck of the brig in order to gain the insurance. once it is known he is in possession of the secret the captain maroons him on spider island, explaining to the crew that the boy is afflicted with leprosy. while thus involuntarily playing the part of a crusoe, ned discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and overhauling the timbers for the purpose of gathering material with which to build a hut finds a considerable amount of treasure. raising the wreck; a voyage to havana under sail; shipping there a crew and running for savannah; the attempt of the crew to seize the little craft after learning of the treasure on board, and, as a matter of course, the successful ending of the journey, all serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire. +geoff and jim+: a story of school life. by ismay thorn. illustrated by a. g. walker. mo, cloth, price cents. "this is a prettily told story of the life spent by two motherless bairns at a small preparatory school. both geoff and jim are very lovable characters, only jim is the more so; and the scrapes he gets into and the trials he endures will no doubt, interest a large circle of young readers."--_church times._ "this is a capital children's story, the characters well portrayed, and the book tastefully bound and well illustrated."--_schoolmaster._ "the story can be heartily recommended as a present for boys."--_standard._ +the castaways+; or, on the florida reefs, by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . this tale smacks of the salt sea. it is just the kind of story that the majority of boys yearn for. from the moment that the sea queen dispenses with the services of the tug in lower new york bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward, and feel her rise to the snow-capped waves which her sharp bow cuts into twin streaks of foam. off marquesas keys she floats in a dead calm. ben clark, the hero of the story, and jake, the cook, spy a turtle asleep upon the glassy surface of the water. they determine to capture him, and take a boat for that purpose, and just as they succeed in catching him a thick fog cuts them off from the vessel, and then their troubles begin. they take refuge on board a drifting hulk, a storm arises and they are cast ashore upon a low sandy key. their adventures from this point cannot fail to charm the reader. as a writer for young people mr. otis is a prime favorite. his style is captivating, and never for a moment does he allow the interest to flag. in "the castaways" he is at his best. +tom thatcher's fortune.+ by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . like all of mr. alger's heroes, tom thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. he supports his mother and sister on meager wages earned as a shoe-pegger in john simpson's factory. the story begins with tom's discharge from the factory, because mr. simpson felt annoyed with the lad for interrogating him too closely about his missing father. a few days afterward tom learns that which induces him to start overland for california with the view of probing the family mystery. he meets with many adventures. ultimately he returns to his native village, bringing consternation to the soul of john simpson, who only escapes the consequences of his villainy by making full restitution to the man whose friendship he had betrayed. the story is told in that entertaining way which has made mr. alger's name a household word in so many homes. +birdie+: a tale of child life. by h. l. childe-pemberton. illustrated by h. w. rainey. mo, cloth, price cents. "the story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it that makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of children at play which charmed his earlier years."--_new york express._ +popular fairy tales.+ by the brothers grimm. profusely illustrated, mo, cloth, price $ . . "from first to last, almost without exception, these stories are delightful."--_athenæum._ +with lafayette at yorktown+: a story of how two boys joined the continental army. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . the two boys are from portsmouth, n. h., and are introduced in august, , when on the point of leaving home to enlist in col. scammell's regiment, then stationed near new york city. their method of traveling is on horseback, and the author has given an interesting account of what was expected from boys in the colonial days. the lads, after no slight amount of adventure, are sent as messengers--not soldiers--into the south to find the troops under lafayette. once with that youthful general they are given employment as spies, and enter the british camp, bringing away valuable information. the pictures of camp-life are carefully drawn, and the portrayal of lafayette's character is thoroughly well done. the story is wholesome in tone, as are all of mr. otis' works. there is no lack of exciting incident which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with, and while the reader is following the adventures of ben jaffreys and ned allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain in his memory long after that which he has memorized from text-books has been forgotten. +lost in the cañon+: sam willett's adventures on the great colorado. by alfred r. calhoun. mo, cloth, price $ . . this story hinges on a fortune left to sam willett, the hero, and the fact that it will pass to a disreputable relative if the lad dies before he shall have reached his majority. the vigilance committee of hurley's gulch arrest sam's father and an associate for the crime of murder. their lives depend on the production of the receipt given for money paid. this is in sam's possession at the camp on the other side of the cañon. a messenger is dispatched to get it. he reaches the lad in the midst of a fearful storm which floods the cañon. his father's peril urges sam to action. a raft is built on which the boy and his friends essay to cross the torrent. they fail to do so, and a desperate trip down the stream ensues. how the party finally escape from the horrors of their situation and sam reaches hurley's gulch in the very nick of time, is described in a graphic style that stamps mr. calhoun as a master of his art. +jack+: a topsy turvy story. by c. m. crawley-boevey. with upward of thirty illustrations by h. j. a. miles. mo, cloth, price cents. "the illustrations deserve particular mention, as they add largely to the interest of this amusing volume for children. jack falls asleep with his mind full of the subject of the fishpond, and is very much surprised presently to find himself an inhabitant of waterworld, where he goes though wonderful and edifying adventures. a handsome and pleasant book."--_literary world._ +search for the silver city+: a tale of adventure in yucatan. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . two american lads, teddy wright and neal emery, embark on the steam yacht day dream for a short summer cruise to the tropics. homeward bound the yacht is destroyed by fire. all hands take to the boats, but during the night the boat is cast upon the coast of yucatan. they come across a young american named cummings, who entertains them with the story of the wonderful silver city of the chan santa cruz indians. cummings proposes with the aid of a faithful indian ally to brave the perils of the swamp and carry off a number of the golden images from the temples. pursued with relentless vigor for days their situation is desperate. at last their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. mr. otis has built his story on an historical foundation. it is so full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with the novelty and realism of the narrative. +frank fowler, the cash boy.+ by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . thrown upon his own resources frank fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for himself and his foster-sister grace. going to new york he obtains a situation as cash boy in a dry goods store. he renders a service to a wealthy old gentleman named wharton, who takes a fancy to the lad. frank, after losing his place as cash boy, is enticed by an enemy to a lonesome part of new jersey and held a prisoner. this move recoils upon the plotter, for it leads to a clue that enables the lad to establish his real identity. mr. alger's stories are not only unusually interesting, but they convey a useful lesson of pluck and manly independence. +budd boyd's triumph+; or, the boy firm of fox island. by william p. chipman. mo, cloth, price $ . . the scene of this story is laid on the upper part of narragansett bay, and the leading incidents have a strong salt-water flavor. owing to the conviction of his father for forgery and theft, budd boyd is compelled to leave his home and strike out for himself. chance brings budd in contact with judd floyd. the two boys, being ambitious and clear sighted, form a partnership to catch and sell fish. the scheme is successfully launched, but the unexpected appearance on the scene of thomas bagsley, the man whom budd believes guilty of the crimes attributed to his father, leads to several disagreeable complications that nearly caused the lad's ruin. his pluck and good sense, however, carry him through his troubles. in following the career of the boy firm of boyd & floyd, the youthful reader will find a useful lesson--that industry and perseverance are bound to lead to ultimate success. +the errand boy+; or, how phil brent won success. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . the career of "the errand boy" embraces the city adventures of a smart country lad who at an early age was abandoned by his father. philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper named brent. the death of mrs. brent paved the way for the hero's subsequent troubles. accident introduces him to the notice of a retired merchant in new york, who not only secures him the situation of errand boy but thereafter stands as his friend. an unexpected turn of fortune's wheel, however, brings philip and his father together. in "the errand boy" philip brent is possessed of the same sterling qualities so conspicuous in all of the previous creations of this delightful writer for our youth. +the slate picker+: the story of a boy's life in the coal mines. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, price $ . . this is a story of a boy's life in the coal mines of pennsylvania. there are many thrilling situations, notably that of ben burton's leap into the "lion's mouth"--the yawning shute in the breakers--to escape a beating at the hands of the savage spilkins, the overseer. gracie gordon is a little angel in rags, terence o'dowd is a manly, sympathetic lad, and enoch evans, the miner-poet, is a big-hearted, honest fellow, a true friend to all whose burdens seem too heavy for them to bear. ben burton, the hero, had a hard road to travel, but by grit and energy he advanced step by step until he found himself called upon to fill the position of chief engineer of the kohinoor coal company. +a runaway brig+; or, an accidental cruise. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . "a runaway brig" is a sea tale, pure and simple, and that's where it strikes a boy's fancy. the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with harry vandyne, walter morse, jim libby and that old shell-back, bob brace, on the brig bonita, which lands on one of the bahama keys. finally three strangers steal the craft, leaving the rightful owners to shift for themselves aboard a broken-down tug. the boys discover a mysterious document which enables them to find a buried treasure, then a storm comes on and the tug is stranded. at last a yacht comes in sight and the party with the treasure is taken off the lonely key. the most exacting youth is sure to be fascinated with this entertaining story. +fairy tales and stories.+ by hans christian andersen. profusely illustrated, mo, cloth, price $ . . "if i were asked to select a child's library i should name these three volumes 'english,' 'celtic,' and 'indian fairy tales,' with grimm and hans andersen's fairy tales."--_independent._ +the island treasure+; or, harry darrel's fortune. by frank h. converse. mo, cloth, price $ . . harry darrel, an orphan, having received a nautical training on a school-ship, is bent on going to sea with a boyish acquaintance named dan plunket. a runaway horse changes his prospects. harry saves dr. gregg from drowning and the doctor presents his preserver with a bit of property known as gregg's island, and makes the lad sailing-master of his sloop yacht. a piratical hoard is supposed to be hidden somewhere on the island. after much search and many thwarted plans, at last dan discovers the treasure and is the means of finding harry's father. mr. converse's stories possess a charm of their own which is appreciated by lads who delight in good healthy tales that smack of salt water. +the boy explorers+: the adventures of two boys in alaska. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, price $ . . two boys, raymond and spencer manning, travel from san francisco to alaska to join their father in search of their uncle, who, it is believed, was captured and detained by the inhabitants of a place called the "heart of alaska." on their arrival at sitka the boys with an indian guide set off across the mountains. the trip is fraught with perils that test the lads' courage to the utmost. reaching the yukon river they build a raft and float down the stream, entering the mysterious river, from which they barely escape with their lives, only to be captured by natives of the heart of alaska. all through their exciting adventures the lads demonstrate what can be accomplished by pluck and resolution, and their experience makes one of the most interesting tales ever written. +the treasure finders+: a boy's adventures in nicaragua. by james otis. mo, cloth, price $ . . roy and dean coloney, with their guide tongla, leave their father's indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. the boys eagerly explore the dismantled temples of an extinct race and discover three golden images cunningly hidden away. they escape with the greatest difficulty; by taking advantage of a festive gathering they seize a canoe and fly down the river. eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. mr. otis is the prince of story tellers, for he handles his material with consummate skill. we doubt if he has ever written a more entertaining story than "the treasure finders." +household fairy tales.+ by the brothers grimm. profusely illustrated, mo, cloth, price $ . . "as a collection of fairy tales to delight children of all ages this work ranks second to none."--_daily graphic._ +dan the newsboy.+ by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . the reader is introduced to dan mordaunt and his mother living in a poor tenement, and the lad is pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of new york. a little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the mordaunts. at the same time the lad obtains a position in a wholesale house. he soon demonstrates how valuable he is to the firm by detecting the bookkeeper in a bold attempt to rob his employers. the child is kidnaped and dan tracks the child to the house where she it hidden, and rescues her. the wealthy aunt of the little heiress is so delighted with dan's courage and many good qualities that she adopts him as her heir, and the conclusion of the book leaves the hero on the high road to every earthly desire. +tony the hero+: a brave boy's adventure with a tramp. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of rudolph rugg, a thorough rascal, shiftless and lazy, spending his time tramping about the country. after much abuse tony runs away and gets a job as stable boy in a country hotel. tony is heir to a large estate in england, and certain persons find it necessary to produce proof of the lad's death. rudolph for a consideration hunts up tony and throws him down a deep well. of course tony escapes from the fate provided for him, and by a brave act makes a rich friend, with whom he goes to england, where he secures his rights and is prosperous. the fact that mr. alger is the author of this entertaining book will at once recommend it to all juvenile readers. +a young hero+; or, fighting to win. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, price $ . . this story tells how a valuable solid silver service was stolen from the misses perkinpine, two very old and simple minded ladies. fred sheldon, the hero of this story and a friend of the old ladies, undertakes to discover the thieves and have them arrested. after much time spent in detective work, he succeeds in discovering the silver plate and winning the reward for its restoration. during the narrative a circus comes to town and a thrilling account of the escape of the lion from its cage, with its recapture, is told in mr. ellis' most fascinating style. every boy will be glad to read this delightful book. +the days of bruce+: a story from scottish history. by grace aguilar. illustrated, mo, cloth, price $ . . "there is a delightful freshness, sincerity and vivacity about all of grace aguilar's stories which cannot fail to win the interest and admiration of every lover of good reading."--_boston beacon._ +tom the bootblack+; or, the road to success. by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . a bright, enterprising lad was tom the bootblack. he was not at all ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better himself. his guardian, old jacob morton, died, leaving him a small sum of money and a written confession that tom, instead of being of humble origin, was the son and heir of a deceased western merchant, and had been defrauded out of his just rights by an unscrupulous uncle. the lad started for cincinnati to look up his heritage. but three years passed away before he obtained his first clue. mr. grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. the plan failed, and gilbert grey, once tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable fortune. this is one of mr. alger's best stories. +captured by zulus+: a story of trapping in africa. by harry prentice. mo, cloth, price $ . . this story details the adventures of two lads, dick elsworth and bob harvey, in the wilds of south africa, for the purpose of obtaining a supply of zoological curiosities. by stratagem the zulus capture dick and bob and take them to their principal kraal or village. the lads escape death by digging their way out of the prison hut by night. they are pursued, and after a rough experience the boys eventually rejoin the expedition and take part in several wild animal hunts. the zulus finally give up pursuit and the expedition arrives at the coast without further trouble. mr. prentice has a delightful method of blending fact with fiction. he tells exactly how wild-beast collectors secure specimens on their native stamping grounds, and these descriptions make very entertaining reading. +tom the ready+; or, up from the lowest. by randolph hill. mo, cloth, price $ . . this is a dramatic narrative of the unaided rise of a fearless, ambitious boy from the lowest round of fortune's ladder--the gate of the poorhouse--to wealth and the governorship of his native state. thomas seacomb begins life with a purpose. while yet a schoolboy he conceives and presents to the world the germ of the overland express co. at the very outset of his career jealousy and craft seek to blast his promising future. later he sets out to obtain a charter for a railroad line in connection with the express business. now he realizes what it is to match himself against capital. yet he wins and the railroad is built. only an uncommon nature like tom's could successfully oppose such a combine. how he manages to win the battle is told by mr. hill in a masterful way that thrills the reader and holds his attention and sympathy to the end. +roy gilbert's search+: a tale of the great lakes. by wm. p. chipman. mo, cloth, price $ . . a deep mystery hangs over the parentage of roy gilbert. he arranges with two schoolmates to make a tour of the great lakes on a steam launch. the three boys leave erie on the launch and visit many points of interest on the lakes. soon afterward the lad is conspicuous in the rescue of an elderly gentleman and a lady from a sinking yacht. later on the cruise of the launch is brought to a disastrous termination and the boys narrowly escape with their lives. the hero is a manly, self-reliant boy, whose adventures will be followed with interest. +the young scout+; the story of a west point lieutenant. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, price $ . . the crafty apache chief geronimo but a few years ago was the most terrible scourge of the southwest border. the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the incidents of geronimo's last raid. the hero is lieutenant james decker, a recent graduate of west point. ambitious to distinguish himself so as to win well-deserved promotion, the young man takes many a desperate chance against the enemy and on more than one occasion narrowly escapes with his life. the story naturally abounds in thrilling situations, and being historically correct, it is reasonable to believe it will find great favor with the boys. in our opinion mr. ellis is the best writer of indian stories now before the public. +adrift in the wilds+: the adventures of two shipwrecked boys. by edward s. ellis. mo, cloth, price, $ . . elwood brandon and howard lawrence, cousins and schoolmates, accompanied by a lively irishman called o'rooney, are en route for san francisco. off the coast of california the steamer takes fire. the two boys and their companion reach the shore with several of the passengers. while o'rooney and the lads are absent inspecting the neighborhood o'rooney has an exciting experience and young brandon becomes separated from his party. he is captured by hostile indians, but is rescued by an indian whom the lads had assisted. this is a very entertaining narrative of southern california in the days immediately preceding the construction of the pacific railroads. mr. ellis seems to be particularly happy in this line of fiction, and the present story is fully as entertaining as anything he has ever written. +the red fairy book.+ edited by andrew lang. profusely illustrated, mo, cloth, price $ . . "a gift-book that will charm any child, and all older folk who have been fortunate enough to retain their taste for the old nursery stories."--_literary world._ +the boy cruisers+; or, paddling in florida. by st. george rathborne. mo, cloth, price, $ . . boys who like an admixture of sport and adventure will find this book just to their taste. we promise them that they will not go to sleep over the rattling experiences of andrew george and roland carter, who start on a canoe trip along the gulf coast, from key west to tampa, florida. their first adventure is with a pair of rascals who steal their boats. next they run into a gale in the gulf and have a lively experience while it lasts. after that they have a lively time with alligators and divers varieties of the finny tribe. andrew gets into trouble with a band of seminole indians and gets away without having his scalp raised. after this there is no lack of fun till they reach their destination. that mr. rathborne knows just how to interest the boys is apparent at a glance, and lads who are in search of a rare treat will do well to read this entertaining story. +guy harris+: the runaway. by harry castlemon. mo, cloth, price $ . . guy harris lived in a small city on the shore of one of the great lakes. his head became filled with quixotic notions of going west to hunt grizzlies, in fact, indians. he is persuaded to go to sea, and gets a glimpse of the rough side of life in a sailor's boarding house. he ships on a vessel and for five months leads a hard life. he deserts his ship at san francisco and starts out to become a backwoodsman, but rough experiences soon cure him of all desire to be a hunter. at st. louis he becomes a clerk and for a time he yields to the temptations of a great city. the book will not only interest boys generally on account of its graphic style, but will put many facts before their eyes in a new light. this is one of castlemon's most attractive stories. +the train boy.+ by horatio alger, jr. mo, cloth, price $ . . paul palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother and sister by selling books and papers on one of the trains running between chicago and milwaukee. he detects a young man named luke denton in the act of picking the pocket of a young lady, and also incurs the enmity of his brother stephen, a worthless fellow. luke and stephen plot to ruin paul, but their plans are frustrated. in a railway accident many passengers are killed, but paul is fortunate enough to assist a chicago merchant, who out of gratitude takes him into his employ. paul is sent to manage a mine in custer city and executes his commission with tact and judgment and is well started on the road to business prominence. this is one of mr. alger's most attractive stories and is sure to please all readers. [illustration: cover art] wolf ear the indian a story of the great uprising of - by edward s. ellis author of "captured by indians," "a hunt on snow shoes," "the mountain star," etc. etc. with four full-page illustrations by alfred pearse seventeenth thousand cassell and company, limited london, new york, toronto and melbourne all rights reserved contents chapter i. "the bullet had passed startlingly near him" chapter ii. "he's up to some mischief, i'll warrant" chapter iii. "there are fifty hostiles" chapter iv. "we are enemies" chapter v. "what will be their next step?" chapter vi. "ay, where were they?" chapter vii. "it came like one of them kansan cyclones" chapter viii. "the bucks were coming up alarmingly fast" chapter ix. "he has made his last scout" chapter x. "oh, there is wolf ear?" chapter xi. "i'm off! good-bye!" chapter xii. what happened to wolf ear list of illustrations "i'm off! good-bye!" . . . _frontispiece_ "the figure of a sioux buck" "hurrah!" "oh, there is wolf ear!" [transcriber's note: the first three illustrations were missing from the source book.] wolf ear the indian chapter i. "the bullet had passed startlingly near him." before relating to my young friends the incidents which follow, i think a few words of explanation will help them. perhaps some of you share the general mistake that the american indians are dying out. this is not the fact. there are to-day more red men in the united states than ever before. in number, they exceed a quarter of a million, and though they do not increase as fast as the whites, still they are increasing. it is true that a great many tribes have disappeared, while others that were once numerous and powerful have dwindled to a few hundreds; but on the other hand, tribes that were hardly known a century ago now include thousands. the many wars between the united states and the indians have been caused, almost without exception, by gross injustice towards the red men. they have been wronged in every way, until in their rage they turned against their oppressors. the sad fact at such times is that the ones who have used them so ill generally escape harm, while the innocent suffer. the indian reasons that it is the white race that has wronged him, so he does them all the injury he can, without caring whether the one whom he slays has had a hand in his own persecution. the indian, like all savages, is very superstitious. he loves to think over the time, hundreds of years ago, when the red men roamed over the whole continent from ocean to ocean. he dreams of those days, and believes they will again return--that the pale faces will be driven into the sea, and the vast land become the hunting ground of the indians. some years ago this strange faith took a wonderfully strong hold upon those people. the belief spread that a messiah was coming in the spring of , who would destroy the pale faces and give all the country back to the red men. they began holding wild dances, at which the dancers took hold of hands and leaped and shouted and circled round and round until they dropped to the ground, senseless and almost dead. these "ghost dances," as they were called, were carried on to please the new messiah. when the dancers recovered, they told strange stories of having visited the other world. all who listened believed them. the craze spread like wildfire, and before the government understood what was going on, the indians were making ready for war. they were well armed, eager to attack the whites. the principal tribe was the dakota or sioux, the most powerful on the american continent. the leading chief or medicine man was sitting bull. he was a bad man who had made trouble for more than twenty years. he could not endure the white men, and, when not actively engaged against them, was thinking out some scheme of evil. as soon as the new messiah craze broke out, he turned it to account. he sent his friends among the tribes and urged them to unite in a general war against the whites. the officers and soldiers were very patient, and did their best to soothe the red men, but matters grew worse and worse. trouble was sure to come if sitting bull were allowed to keep up his mischievous work. so it was decided to arrest him. in the attempt several people were killed, among them sitting bull himself. danger still threatened, and many believed that it would require a great battle to subdue the indians. now, if you will look at your map of the united states, you will notice that the missouri river runs across the middle of the new state of south dakota. on the southern boundary of the state, a large tract of land, reaching one-third of the way westward to wyoming, and with the white river forming in a general way the northern boundary, makes what is known as an indian reservation. there are many of these in the west. they belong to the indians, and the government has an agency at each, to see that no white people intrude. the indians are forbidden to leave these reservations without obtaining permission, and at the agencies they receive the annuities or supplies paid to them by the united states government for the lands elsewhere which they have given up. half of the reservation directly west of the missouri is the rosebud agency, and the other half the pine ridge agency. it was at the latter that the grave trouble threatened. when the discontent was so general, the danger extended hundreds of miles north and west. that section is thinly settled, and the pioneers were in great peril. most of them hurried to the nearest forts for safety, while others waited, hoping the cloud would soon pass by. if your map of south dakota is a complete one, it will show you a small stream to the westward of pine ridge, named raccoon creek, a tributary of cherry creek, itself a branch of the big cheyenne river. at the time of the troubles, the kingsland family, consisting of hugh, a man in middle life, his wife molly, his daughter edith, eight years old, and his son brinton, a little more than double her age, were living on raccoon creek. the family had emigrated thither three years before from kansas, and all would have gone well in their new home, but for the illness of mr. kingsland. something in the climate disagreed with him, though the rest of the family throve. he was first brought low with chills and fever, which after several months' obstinate fight finally left him weak and dispirited. then, when he was fairly recovered, the slipping of an axe in his hands so wounded his foot that he was laid up for fully two months more. it looked as if ill-fortune was to follow him so long at least as he stayed in south dakota, for sickness, accident, and misfortune succeeded each other, until he would have despaired but for those around him. his wife was well fitted to be the helpmate of a pioneer, for she was hopeful, industrious, strong, and brave. she carefully nursed him, making light of their afflictions, and declaring that all would soon come right, and that prosperity would prove the sweeter from having been deferred so long. edith, bright-eyed, pretty, affectionate and loving, was the comfort of those hours which otherwise would have been intolerably dismal, when confined in his small humble home. he read to and taught her, told her delightful fairy stories, listened to her innocent prattle and exchanged the sweetest of confidences. sometimes hugh kingsland wondered after all whether he was not the most fortunate individual in the world in being thus blessed in his family relations. and there was another from whom the meed of praise must not be withheld. that was brinton, now close upon seventeen years of age. the ill-fortune to which we have alluded made him in one sense the virtual head of the family. he was strong, cheerful, and resembled his mother in his hopeful disposition. the difficulties in which his father was continually involved brought out the real manhood of his nature. he looked after the cattle and live stock, galloped across the plains to hermosa, fairburn, rapid city, and other points for supplies or on other business, or, fording the big cheyenne, white, and smaller streams, crossed the reservation to pine ridge. the youth was indispensable, and did his work so well, that the father, in his occasional moments of rallying, remarked that he thought of continuing to play the sick man, since it was proved that he was of no account. "i hope you will soon become well," said the red-cheeked lad one evening, as the group gathered around the fire; "but stay here in the house as long as you wish, for mother and edith and i can get along without your help." "yes, husband; don't fret over that. only become well, and until you do so, be assured that everything is going along as it should." "i have never had a doubt of that; but, ah me," he added with a sigh, "this is tiresome after all, especially when it begins to look as though i shall never be well again." "for my part," said edith very earnestly, "i don't want you to get well, and i am praying that you will not." "why, edith!" exclaimed the mother reproachfully, while her brother did not know whether to laugh or be shocked at the odd expression. as for the father, he laughed more heartily than he had done for weeks. edith looked wonderingly in their faces, and felt that some explanation was due to them. "i mean to say--that is i don't mean anything bad, but if papa gets well enough to ride out to look after the cattle, and is working all day, why, i won't have anyone to tell me stories and read to me and do so many funny things." "your explanation is satisfactory," said her father, smiling. "i shall have to stay in the house for some weeks--that is certain, and perhaps longer." "oh, i am _so_ glad!" but with the first clapping of the chubby hands, edith realised that she was doing wrong again, and she added in a gentler voice-- "if papa feels bad when he is ill then i am sorry for him, and will pray every night and morning that he may get well." it was winter time, and the kingslands in their humble home could not be ignorant of the alarming state of affairs around them. they had been urged to come into the agency while it was safe to do so, for the revolt among the indians was spreading, and there was no saying when escape would be cut off. the family had considered the question with the seriousness due to so important a matter. naturally, they were reluctant to abandon their home now, for it would be virtually throwing away everything they owned in the world; but when it became a question of life and death, there could be no hesitation. on the very night, however, that the decision to remove to the agency was made, sergeant victor parkhurst, who was out on a scout, with a squad of men from pine ridge, called at their home and stated his belief that no trouble would occur. he said it would be better if the family were at pine ridge, and he offered to escort them thither. but, he added, that in mr. kingsland's feeble condition it would be as well for him to stay where he was, since he must run great risk by exposure in the depth of winter. the next caller at the cabin was nicholas jackson, who had been a scout under general crook, and was now serving general miles in the same capacity at pine ridge. he brought news of sitting bull's death, and assured the pioneer that every day spent by him and his family away from the agency increased their peril. "you shouldn't delay your start a single hour," was his remark, as he vaulted upon his pony and skurried away. before deciding the all-important question, it was agreed that brinton should gallop down to the reservation and learn the real situation. it was a long ride to pine ridge, and involved the crossing of the cheyenne, white, and several smaller streams, but the youth was confident he could penetrate far enough to ascertain the truth and get back by sunset. if it were necessary to go all the way to the agency, this was impossible, for the days were at their shortest, but he must penetrate that far to find out what he wished to know. when brinton flung himself into the saddle of jack, his tough and intelligent pony, just as it was beginning to grow light in the east, after his hasty breakfast and "good-bye," he was sure he would be caught in a snow-storm before his return. the dull heavy sky, and the peculiar penetrating chilliness, left no doubt on that point. but with his usual pluck, he chirruped to his pony, lightly jerked his bridle rein, and the gallant animal was off at a swinging pace, which he was able to maintain for hours without fatigue. he was heading south-east, over the faintly marked trail, with which the youth was familiar and which was so well known to the animal himself that he needed no guidance. two hours later, the young horseman reached the border line of custer and washington counties, that is between the county of his own home and the reservation. this was made by the big cheyenne river, which had to be crossed before pine ridge was reached. brinton reined up his horse and sat for some minutes, looking down on the stream, in which huge pieces of ice were floating, though it was not frozen over. "that isn't very inviting, jack," he said, "but the ford is shallow and it's no use waiting." he was in the act of starting his pony down the bank, when on the heavy chilly air sounded a dull explosive crack. a nipping of his coat sleeve showed that the bullet had passed startlingly near him. he turned his head like a flash, and saw, not more than a hundred feet distant, the figure of a sioux buck or young warrior bareback on his horse, which was standing motionless, while his rider made ready to let fly with another shot from his winchester rifle. chapter ii. "he's up to some mischief, i'll warrant." the instant brinton kingsland looked around and saw the indian on his pony, a short distance away, with his rifle at his shoulder and about to fire a second time, he brought his own winchester to a level and aimed at the one who had attempted thus treacherously to shoot him in the back. the indian was no older than himself, sitting firmly on the bare back of his horse, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, and several stained eagle feathers protruding from his hair, as black and coarse as that of his pony's tail. his dark eyes glittered as they glanced along the barrel of his rifle, and he aimed straight at the breast of the youth, who instead of flinging himself over the side of his horse in the attempt to dodge the deadly missile, sat bolt upright and aimed in turn at the miscreant, who, as if stirred by the same scorn of personal danger, remained firmly in his seat. it all depended on who should fire first, and that which we have related took place, as may be said, in the twinkling of an eye. but with the weapons poised, the eyes of the two glancing along the barrels and the fingers on the triggers, neither gun was discharged. brinton was on the point of firing, when the indian abruptly lowered his winchester, with the exclamation-- "hoof! brinton!" the white youth had recognised the other at the same instant when another moment would have been too late. he, too, dropped the stock of his gun from his shoulder and called out with a surprised expression-- "wolf ear!" the indian touched his pony with his heel, and the animal moved forward briskly, until the riders faced each other within arm's length. "how do you do?" asked the ogalalla, extending his hand, which brinton took with a smile, and the reproving remark-- "i did not expect such a welcome from you, wolf ear." "i did not know it was you, good friend brinton." "and suppose you did not; are you the sort of warrior that shoots another in the back?" the broad face, with its high cheek bones, coppery skin, low forehead and roman nose, changed from the pleasant smile which gave a glimpse of the even white teeth, to a scowl, that told the ugly feelings that had been stirred by the questioning remark of the white youth. "your people have become my enemies: they have killed sitting bull, black bird, catch-the-bear, little assiniboine, spotted horse bull, brave thunder, and my friend, crow foot, who was the favourite son of sitting bull. he was as a brother to me." "and your people have killed bull head, shave head, little eagle, afraid-of-soldiers, hawk man, and others of their own race, who were wise enough to remain friends of our people. i know of that fight when they set out to arrest sitting bull." "they had no right to arrest him," said wolf ear, with a flash of his black eyes; "he was in his own tepee (or tent), and harming no one." "he was doing more harm to his own people as well as ours, than all the other malcontents together. he was the plotter of mischief; he encouraged this nonsense about the ghost dances and the coming messiah, and was doing all he could to bring about a great war between my people and yours. his death is the best fortune that could come to the indians." "it was murder," said wolf ear sullenly, and then, before the other could frame a reply, his swarthy face lightened up. "but you and i, brinton, are friends; i shot at you because i thought you were someone else; it would have grieved my heart had i done you harm; i am glad i did not; i offer you my hand." young kingsland could not refuse the proffer, though he was far from feeling comfortable, despite his narrow escape a moment before. "i thought you were a civilised indian, wolf ear," he added, as he relinquished the grasp, and the two once more looked in each other's countenances; "you told me so when i last saw you." wolf ear, the ogalalla, was sent to carlisle, when only eight years old. unusually bright, he had made good progress, and won the golden opinions of his teachers by his gentle, studious deportment, and affection for those that had been kind to him. he spoke english as well as the whites, and was a fine scholar. he went back to his people, when sixteen years old, and did what he could to win them from their savagery and barbarism. he and brinton kingsland met while hunting at the base of the black hills, and became great friends. the young ogalalla visited the white youth at his home on raccoon creek, where he was kindly treated by the kingslands, and formed a deep affection for little edith. but nothing had been seen of wolf ear for several months. the home of his people was some distance away, but that should not have prevented him from visiting his white friends, who often wondered why he did not show himself among them. rather curiously, brinton was thinking of his dusky comrade at the moment he was roused by the shot which nipped his coat sleeve. it was natural that he should be disappointed, and impatient to find that this bright indian youth, who had lived for several years among civilised people, was carried away by the wave of excitement that was sweeping across the country. he knew that his twin brother and his father were still savages, and it was easy to find excuse for them, but not for wolf ear. "you believe in the coming of one to save your people--why should not we place faith in the coming of our messiah?" was the pertinent question of wolf ear. "what is this revelation?" asked brinton, who had heard many conflicting accounts of the strange craze, and felt a natural desire for an authoritative statement. "the messiah once descended to save the white race, but they rejected and put him to death. in turn he rejects them, and will come in the spring, when the grass is about two inches high, and save his red children and destroy his white ones. he has enjoined upon all of us who believe in him to wear a certain dress and to practise the ghost dance, as often and as long as we possibly can, as a proof of our faith. if any of us die from exhaustion, while performing this ceremony, we will be taken direct to the messiah, where we shall meet those who have died, and whence we will come back to tell the living what we have seen and heard. when the messiah comes in the spring, a new earth will be created, covering the present world, burying all the whites and those red men that have not joined in the dance. the messiah will again bring with him the departed of our own people, and the earth shall once more be as our forefathers knew it, except there shall be no more death." brinton kingsland listened, amazed as this expression fell from the lips of one who had often lamented the superstition of his own race. that he believed the words he uttered was proven by his earnestness of manner and the glow of his countenance. the white youth restrained his impulse to ridicule the strange faith, for that assuredly would have given offence to the fanatic, who had the right to believe whatever he chose. "well, wolf ear, i can only say i am sorry that you should have been carried away by this error----" "by what right do you call it error?" interrupted the other with a flash of his eyes. "we will not discuss it. it will do no good, and is likely to do harm. i need not be told that you belong to the hostiles, and, if trouble comes, will fight against the whites." "yes, you are right," calmly replied the ogalalla, compressing his thin lips and nodding his head a single time. "your father and brother, whom i have never seen, would shoot me and my folk if they had the chance." "yes, and so would my mother: she is a warrior too." "but suppose you and i or my father meet, or you have the chance to harm my mother and little sister, edith?" "wolf ear can never raise his hand against them, no matter what harm they may seek to do him. i do not have to tell you that you and i will always be friends, whatever may come." this assurance would have had more weight with young kingsland could he have felt certain that wolf ear was truthful in declaring that he did not suspect his identity at the moment of firing at him. "i believe he meant to take my life," was his thought, "and still meant to do so, when he raised his winchester a second time, but as we looked into each other's face, he weakened. his people are treacherous, and this pretence of goodwill will not last, or, if it be genuine for the present, it will soon change." brinton said-- "you know where we live, wolf ear; i have set out to ride to the reservation to learn whether it is safe to stay where we are: what is your judgment in the matter?" an indefinable expression passed over the broad face before him. the ogalalla sat gracefully on his horse, even though he had no saddle. a bit was in the pony's mouth, the single rein looping around the neck and resting at the base of the mane, just in front of the rider, who allowed it to lie there, while the two hands idly held the rifle across the back of the animal and his own thighs. "you stayed too long," said he; "you should have left two weeks ago; _it is too late now_." "but you know my father is not well, wolf ear," replied brinton, with a sickening dread in his heart. "what has that to do with this?" "we did not wish to expose him to the severe weather, as we must in the ride to the agency." "is he better and stronger now?" "there is little improvement in his condition. he has been ailing a long time, as you know." "then you have gained nothing and will lose all by your delay." brinton had no further wish to discuss the ghost dance and the coming of the new messiah with the young ogalalla. all his thoughts were of those dear ones, miles away, whose dreadful peril he now fully comprehended for the first time. he saw the mistake that had been made by the delay, and a faintness came over him at the declaration of wolf ear that this delay was fatal. his horse was facing the north-west, the direction of his home. there was no call for longer tarrying. "good-bye," he said, giving the indian a military salute; "i hope we shall meet ha more pleasant circumstances, when you shall see, wolf ear, the mistake you are making." trained in the ways of the white people, the dusky youth raised his hand to his forehead, and sat motionless on his horse, without speaking, as his friend dashed across the plain, over the trail which he had followed to the banks of the big cheyenne. it was not yet noon, and brinton was hopeful of reaching home long before the day drew to a close. the chilliness of the air continued, and a few feathery flakes of snow drifted horizontally on the wind or were whirled about the head of the young horseman. he glanced up at the leaden sky and noted that the temperature was falling. "like enough we shall have one of those blizzards, when the horses and cattle freeze to death under shelter and we can only huddle and shiver around the fire and wait for the tempest to pass. it will be the death of us all, if we start for the agency and are caught in one of the blizzards, but death awaits us if we stay. ah me, what will become of father, ill and weak as he is?" the words of wolf ear made the youth more circumspect and alert than when riding away from his home. he continually glanced ahead, on his right and left and to the rear. the first look in the last direction showed him the young ogalalla sitting like a statue on his pony and gazing after him. some minutes later, when brinton turned his head again, he saw him riding at a rapid pace towards the north, or rather a little west of north, so that the course of the two slightly diverged. "he's up to some mischief, i'll warrant," was brinton's conclusion, "and he already recalls his profession of friendship for me. halloa! i don't like the look of _that_." in the precise direction pursued by the ogalalla, which was toward rapid creek, a tributary of the big cheyenne, he discerned several indian horsemen. they were riding close, and were so mingled together that it was impossible to tell their number. they seemed to be about half a dozen, and were advancing as if to meet wolf ear, who must have descried them before brinton. "they will soon unite, and when they do he will be the fiercest warrior among them. i wonder----" he held his breath a moment, and then only whisper-- "i wonder if they have not already visited our home?" chapter iii. "there are fifty hostiles." to the westward the black hills thrust their vast rugged summits against the wintry sky; to the south, a spur of the same mountains put out toward the frontier town of buffalo gap; to the north-east wound the big cheyenne, on its way to the missouri, and marking through a part of its course the southern boundary of the cheyenne reservation, while creek, stream, and river crossed the rolling plain that intervened, and over all stretched the sunless sky, from which the snow-flakes were eddying and whirling to the frozen earth below. but brinton kingsland had no eye for any of these things, upon which he had looked many a time and oft. his thoughts were with those loved ones in the humble cabin, still miles away, toward the towering mountains, while his immediate anxiety was about the hostiles that had appeared in his front and were now circling to the northward as if to meet wolf ear, the young ogalalla, who was galloping in the face of the biting gale and rapidly drawing toward them. brinton's expectation that they would lose no time in coming together was not precisely fulfilled, for while the horsemen were yet a long way off, they swerved sharply, as though they identified the youth for the first time. "they intend to give me some attention," was his thought, "without waiting for wolf ear to join them. they know that i belong to the white race, and that is enough." the youth did not feel any special alarm for himself, for he was confident that jack was as fleet-footed as any of the animals bestrode by the hostiles, and would leave them behind in a fair race. he noticed that the ogalalla was mounted on a superior beast, but he did not believe he could outspeed jack. but it would never do to meet those half-dozen horsemen that had faced toward him, and were approaching at the same swinging gallop. brinton diverged more to the left, thus leaving the trail, and they also changed their course, as if to head him off. "if it is to be a race, i am throwing away my chances by helping to shorten the distance between us." the fugitive now headed directly away from the horsemen, so that both parties were pursuing the same line. the youth looked back, at the moment that several blue puffs of smoke showed over the backs of the horses. the thudding reports came through the chilly air, and a peculiar whistling sound overhead left no doubt that the hostiles, great as was the separating space, had fired at the fugitive, who turned to take a look at wolf ear. that individual discharged his gun the next moment. brinton heard nothing of the bullet, but smiled grimly-- "he has changed his mind soon, but they have got to come closer before they hurt me. he is no great marksman anyway, or he would not have missed me a little while ago." it was singular that it did not occur to young kingsland that it was possible the ogalalla had not fired at him at all. not even when the horsemen checked their pursuit, and reining up their animals awaited the coming of the buck, who was riding like a hurricane, could he bring himself to think of wolf ear except as a bitter enemy, who for some subtle purpose of his own had declared a temporary truce. "i suppose they think i shall be along this way again pretty soon, and they can afford to wait till i run into their trap," was the conclusion of brinton, who headed his pony once more toward his home, and put him to his best paces. "come, jack, there's no time to throw away; hard work is before you, and you must struggle as never before." the snowfall which seemed for ever impending did not come. the few scattering flakes still circled and eddied through the air, as if reluctant to touch the earth, but no perceptible increase appeared in their number. the nipping air seemed to have become too cold to permit a snow-storm. brinton had set out fully prepared for such change of temperature. he wore a thick woollen cap, whose flaps were drawn down to his ears, while they were more than met by the heavy coat collar that was turned up, the garment itself being closely buttoned around his body. his rifle rested across the pommel of his saddle in front, and his gloved hands scarcely ever touched the rein which lay loose on his pony's neck. he was a capital horseman, and, with the understanding between him and his intelligent beast, could have got along without any bit at all. strapped behind him was a substantial lunch, and his keen appetite would have made it enjoyable, but he did not disturb it. it could wait until he learned the truth about the folk at home, which he was now rapidly drawing near. over a swell in the prairie, across a small creek, whose icy waters hardly came above jack's fetlocks, up a second rise, and then brinton kingsland uttered an exclamation of amazement and sharply checked his animal. "my gracious! what is the meaning of that?" over another swell, and only a few hundred yards away, two other horses rode to view, coming directly toward him. each sustained a heavily muffled figure, and they were moving at a rapid walk. suspecting their identity, he waited a minute, and then started his horse forward again. a few paces, and despite the arctic temperature, he raised his cap from his head and called out-- "hurrah! thank heaven, you are alive, and have started for the agency." his father sat on one horse, swathed in heavy clothing, and a blanket which the faithful wife had fastened around his emaciated and weak form, while she, with edith in front, and both also protected against the severe weather, were on the other animal. he had a rifle across his saddle front, like the son, and they had brought with them nothing but a small amount of food, barely enough to last them until they could reach the agency, provided there was no unexpected delay on the road. the discovery that they were alive and secure for the time, though the shadow of a great peril was over all, so delighted the son that he could not repress the shout of joy, as he rode forward and greeted them, little more than their eyes and noses showing through the thick coverings. "what made you leave before i got back?" was the first inquiry of brinton, after a few congratulatory words. "we concluded it was high time to do so," replied the father, showing more vigour in his voice than the son expected. "how did you find it out?" "a half-dozen hostiles fired several times at the house, and then, as if they feared they were not strong enough to capture us and burn the cabin, rode off for help." "they are hardly out of sight now; they gave me half a dozen shots, and i had a short chase with them. but you are off the trail." "and so are you," said his father. "which is a mighty good thing for us both. you had to abandon everything?" "of course; i have no doubt though," added the father grimly, "that the indians will look after the live stock for us." "whom do you suppose i saw?" asked brinton, turning to his mother and sister. "a big bear?" ventured edith from the depths of her wrappings. "no; he was an old friend of yours--wolf ear, who used to come to our house and have such good times with you." the excited child flung her arms about in the effort to free herself of the encumbering wrappings. "oh, where is he? why didn't he come with you? didn't he want to see me? i am so sorry; isn't he with you?" and she peered around, as if she suspected the young ogalalla was hiding behind the saddle of her brother. brinton smiled, and then gravely shook his head. he said, addressing his parents more than the little one-- "i was never more astonished than to find that wolf ear, despite the training he has had at carlisle, has joined the hostiles, and is now an enemy of those who were such good friends of his." the youth did not think it wise to tell, in the presence of his sister, the particulars of their first meeting. "you grieve me more than i can express," replied the father; "are you sure you are not mistaken?" "not when he told me so himself." "but you must have met as friends." "he said he would not harm any one of us, if the fortunes of war should give him the chance; but he declares himself the enemy of all others of our race. he has a twin brother, and he and his father and mother, as wolf ear coolly told me, would be pleased to scalp us. i have no more faith in _him_ than in _them_. we parted as friends, but he has joined that very party which fired on you, and will go back to the house with them." "and finding us gone, what then?" "he will lead them on our trail and be among the foremost to shoot us down, every one of us." "i don't believe it!" called edith from her wraps, which her mother had put around her again; "i like wolf ear and want to see him." brinton did not think it worth while to discuss the matter with his sister, for a far more important matter pressed upon them. "it won't do to follow the trail," remarked the father, "since they will be on the look-out for us. we will bear to the south, so as to strike the cheyenne further up stream." "we may not be able to ford it." "we can follow it down till we find a place. it may be frozen over nearer its source. the agency is so far off that we shall have to go into camp before we can get half-way there." "how do you feel, father?" abruptly asked his son, glancing keenly at him. "are you strong enough to stand this hard ride?" "i am much stronger than you would suppose; you know a crisis like this will rouse any man, even if he is a good deal more unwell than i am." "i am glad to hear you talk that way, but you will be tried hard before we reach pine ridge." "give yourself no uneasiness about me; the only thing we are to think about is how we shall get to the agency without meeting with the hostiles, who seem to be roaming everywhere." while they sat talking, at the base of the swell, on the summit of which the parents had first appeared, all partook of lunch, for it was not likely they would have a more favourable opportunity before the coming of night. it was decided to bear still more to the south, with a view of avoiding the party that was at no great distance. indeed, less than half an hour had passed since they vanished from the view of the youth, who believed they were waiting in the vicinity of the trail for his return, and would attack the whites the moment they discovered them. the halt lasted little more than a quarter of an hour, when they resumed their journey toward the agency, which they hoped, rather than expected, to reach by the morrow's set of sun. the mother was without any weapon, though she was quite skilful in the use of a rifle. her husband said that if he found himself compelled to yield to weakness, he would turn over his winchester to her, believing as he did that she was sure to give a good account of herself. they were plentifully supplied with cartridges, but the reader does not need to be reminded of their almost helpless situation. kingsland, despite his brave efforts to keep up, was unable to ride his pony at full speed for any length of time, while the wife, burdened with the care of edith, could not expect to do much better. if the company were attacked by any party of hostiles, however slight in numbers, deplorable consequences were almost certain. their hope would be in finding some sort of shelter which might be turned to account as a screen or barricade. but their only safety, it may be said, lay in avoiding the indians altogether, and it was to that task that brinton, as the strongest one of the party, addressed himself with all the energy and skill of his nature. the course was up and down continually, though none of the swells in the prairie was of much height. the youth rode slightly in advance and never made his way to the top of one of the slight elevations without a quicker throbbing of the heart and a misgiving which made the situation of the most trying nature. it was the dread of the hostiles, with whom wolf ear had joined himself, that led him to make a longer bend to the south than even his father had contemplated. true, as he well knew, they were not the sole indians to be dreaded, but they were the only ones of whom he had positive knowledge. others were likely to be encountered at any time, and it may be said that as they drew nearer the agency, the peril increased. a half-dozen miles from where the family had been reunited, they approached a higher elevation than any that had yet been crossed. brinton asked the rest to halt at the base, while he dismounted and carefully went to the top on foot. it was well he took this precaution, for his friends, who were watching his crouching figure as he cautiously went up the incline, saw him abruptly halt and peer over the ridge, in a way which showed he had perceived something. he remained but a minute, when he hurried back, pale and excited. "there are fifty hostiles!" he exclaimed in an undertone, "and they are only a little way off!" chapter iv. "we abe enemies." brinton kingsland, after peering over the crest of the elevation for a few brief moments, turned and hastily descended to where his pony awaited him. without touching his bridle, he spoke, and the obedient animal followed him, while the parents and little sister anxiously listened to the report of what he learned. "it's the very party of indians that we have been trying to get away from," added the youth to his first explanation; "there are seven of them, and wolf ear is among them." "is he?" eagerly asked edith, from her wrappings on the saddle in front of her mother "oh, let me see him! tell him i am here." "keep quiet! don't speak," said her father sternly. "wolf ear is with bad indians, and is a bad indian himself" the child would have protested, but for the manner of her father. he could be firm when he chose, and she knew better than to disobey him but she pouted just a little, as she nestled down by her mother, who shared to some extent her faith in the ogalalla who had spent so many hours under their roof. "what are they doing?" asked mr. kingsland of his son. "they act queerly; the party are drawn up together, and looking off in the direction of the trail to the agency, over which they expect us to pass." "they are on the watch for us, of course; how far away do you judge the trail to be?" "several miles; it seems odd to me that they should ride so far south, instead of staying nearer to it." "it is plain enough to me; they fear that if we caught sight of them, as we should be sure to do, we would hurry back to the house, where they should have less chance against us. by keeping hidden, so that we could not discover our danger until too far away from home, they could ride in behind us and cut off our escape in that direction. but how are we to escape them?" "we passed an arroya a little way back: let us take to that, and there isn't a minute to lose." the youth hastily climbed into the saddle, and turned the nose of jack about, so that he went back directly over his own hoof-prints. a little distance, and they struck a narrow valley-like depression, which wound further to the south than the course they were pursuing at the moment of the startling interruption. he entered this at once, the others directly at his heels, the animals walking fast, but with a silence that made one suspect they understood the danger that threatened all. the arroya, as it is termed in some parts of the country, was a straight passage, resembling a gully, between banks a dozen feet in height. it looked as if it had been washed out years before, by some violent rush of waters, which soon ran itself dry, leaving the abrupt banks, facing each other, at varying distances of from ten to fifty feet. in some places these banks of clay were perpendicular, so that a horse, once within the gorge, could not leave it at many points, while in others, the dirt had tumbled in to an extent which made it easy for him to climb out. the course of the arroya was devious, and there was no saying when it would terminate by rising to the level of the prairie. at most, it could be but a temporary refuge for the fugitives. the thought occurred to both father and son that the indians must soon discover this refuge, which would be welcome to them and their animals while the piercing blast was sweeping across the prairie. the eddying snow had almost ceased, but the wind blew fitfully, and whenever it touched the face or bare hand, it was like a needle of ice. the american indian is one of the toughest of creatures, but he does not disdain shelter for himself and beast from the merciless blizzard, or driving tempest. many of those gathered about pine ridge, during the critical days in ' -' , found protection in the pockets of earth in the gullies, where they peered out like wild animals on the alert for a chance to spring at the blue-coated sentinel, without risk to themselves. if the arroya should hold its general course southward for several miles, the little party might successfully escape the hostiles, who intruded between them and the agency. the afternoon was wearing away, and the night would be moonless and starless. our friends hoped, if they escaped until then, to lessen greatly the distance between them and pine ridge. a quarter or a third of a mile through the winding gully, and brinton drew rein, and waited until his parents rode up beside him. "i wonder what has become of them?" was his inquiring remark. "what does it matter," asked his mother in turn, "so long as we cannot see them? we must be a good way from them now." "i wish i could think so, but i can't feel easy while riding in this blind fashion. there may be greater danger in front than we have left behind." "what do you propose to do?" asked the father. "take a look round and learn, if i can, how things are going." without explaining further, the youth swung himself down once more from the saddle, and hurried to the edge of the arroya on his left. there was a spot so sloping that after a little work, with the dirt crumbling under his feet, he reached the level above, and was able to peer over a great deal of the surrounding prairie without exposing himself. the result ought to have been gratifying, but it was hardly that. north, south, east, and west the youth bent his keen vision, but not a sign of the dreaded hostiles was to be seen. they were as invisible as though they had never been. had the distance travelled by the fugitives since their fright been twice or thrice as great, this must have been the best of omens, but the space was not far, and it was almost self-evident that the band was still in the neighbourhood. but where? that was the question on the lips of father and son as they discussed the situation, and in the minds of both trembled the same answer: the hostiles were in the arroya itself, behind the fugitives. "they have ridden down the bank," said the parent, "to shelter their ponies from the icy blast, and are there now." "will they suspect that we have been this way?" inquired the mother. "they cannot fail to notice the hoof-prints we have left," replied her husband, "and that will tell the story as plainly as if they sat on the bank as we rode by." the alarming declaration caused the wife to cast a terrified glance behind her, as if she expected to see the ferocious redskins burst into view with crack of rifle and ear-splitting shriek. in the circumstances, there was manifestly but one thing to do--push on with no more delay than was inevitable. the ground at the bottom of the arroya was comparatively level, and the horses dropped into an easy swinging gallop, which lasted but a few minutes, when mr. kingsland called in a faint voice, as he brought his animal down to a walk-- "hold on, brinton!" "what is the matter?" asked the son, looking at him in dismay. "i can't stand it; i am not as strong as i thought." he reeled in his saddle, and the startled son reached out to prevent his falling. "forgive me, father; i forgot your illness." "there--there--i am all right," he murmured, putting his hand to his face, in the effort to master his weakness. his wife was also at his side, anxious and alarmed. "hugh, i fear you have undertaken more than you can do," she said, laying her hand affectionately on his arm, and peering into as much of his face as was visible through the thick wrappings. he made no reply, and it was plain that he was nearly fainting. there was nothing his friends could do for him, except to help him out of the saddle, and they were about to propose that, when a slight but alarming accident took place. the winchester, resting across the saddle-bow and hitherto grasped in the mittened hands of the man, slipped from his relaxed fingers and fell to the earth. the lock struck in such a way that a chamber was discharged, the bullet burying itself in the bank which brinton had climbed only a few minutes before. the sharp explosion roused edith, who was sinking into a doze, and imparted to the man himself such a shock that his growing faintness gave instant place to renewed strength. he straightened up and said-- "gracious! that's too bad; _they_ must have heard it." "we can't tell about that; are you stronger?" "yes; let's push on; we must lose no time." brinton longed to force the animals into a gallop, but dared not, after what had just taken place. but they were pushed to a rapid walk, which was kept up some ten or fifteen minutes, when came another sudden halt, for the good reason that they had reached the end of the arroya. that singular formation, after winding about for a long distance, rose to the level of the prairie, and disappeared. to proceed further must be done by exposure to any hostiles in the neighbourhood. brinton stopped and looked inquiringly at his father. "as near as i can judge," said the latter, "we are close to the big cheyenne; we ought to cross that early this evening and keep on to the white, which should be reached by daylight; then the ride is not far to pine ridge." "night is near; we will wait awhile; the rest will do you good, and i will take a look over our own trail." leaving his friends to themselves, brinton headed back and struck jack into a moderate gallop through the arroya. he was uneasy over that accident with his father's winchester. if heard by the keen-eared hostiles they would start an investigation, which could have but one result. "they must have heard it," was his belief, "and if so, they knew where it came from. it won't take them long to learn its meaning--halloa! what's the matter, jack?" more than once, the sagacity of his animal had warned the youth of the approach of danger. the pony dropped into a walk so quickly that the rider was thrown slightly forward in the saddle. then the animal pricked up his ears, took a few more stops and halted. "that means something," thought brinton, bringing his rifle round to the front and making ready to use it on the instant if needed. he softly drew the mitten from his right hand. the gully turned sharply to the left, just ahead, and he knew that jack had scented danger. but, if so, minute after minute passed and it did not appear. the youth became perplexed, and was in sore doubt whether to push on a little further or turn back. he gently twitched the rein and touched his heels against the ribs of his pony. he advanced a couple of paces, and stopped as abruptly as before, his head still up, his ears erect, while the snuffing nostrils showed that he was wiser than his rider. "i'll be hanged if i don't learn the meaning of this," muttered brinton kingsland, who, with less discretion than he generally showed, swung himself out of the saddle and moved stealthily forward, with the resolution to learn the cause of jack's alarm. and he learned it soon enough. he had barely time to pass part way round the curve in the arroya, which was unusually winding at that portion, when he came face to face with an indian horseman. the animal of the latter, quite as sagacious as jack's, had detected the presence of a stranger beyond the turn, and halted until the latter revealed himself, or his master decided upon the line to pursue. brinton's great blunder was in moving so impatiently through the gully that he was revealed too soon to draw back. thus it was that it may be said he almost precipitated himself upon the buck before he saw him. it would be hard to describe brinton's emotions when on the first startled glance at the solitary indian he recognised him as wolf ear, whom he had encountered but a little while before. the indian looked fixedly at him, and something like a smile lit up his broad coppery face. "thus we meet, brinton," he said in his low voice; "will you come forward and shake hands?" "why should i shake hands?" asked the youth, thoroughly distrustful of the ogalalla; "we are enemies." "that is for you to decide," was the cool remark of the indian youth. he made as if to ride away, when brinton interposed. "your actions do not agree with your words." "and why not?" "after parting from me, you rode away and joined my enemies." to the amazement of the youth, the young ogalalla without a word wheeled about and galloped out of sight up the arroya. chapter v. "what will be their next step?" brinton kingsland was in the saddle again on the instant, and his pony dashed down the arroya at full speed. "wolf ear has hurried back to tell the rest that he has seen us, and they will be here in a few minutes," was the belief that lent wings to his speed. it was a comparatively short ride to where his friends awaited him. a minute sufficed for them to learn the alarming tidings. "it won't do to delay another second; come on!" the next moment the two horses followed the youth out of the gully upon the plain. "can you stand it, father?" he asked, holding his pony back and looking inquiringly at him. "yes, my son; don't think of me," was the brave response, as the parent struck his animal into a gallop. the mother was a capital horsewoman, and little edith, who was now fully awake, once more accommodated herself to her position, so as to save all embarrassment so far as she was concerned. child-like, she wanted to ask innumerable questions, but she was intelligent enough to understand that silence was expected of her, and she held her peace, wondering, perplexed, and frightened. the wintry afternoon was wearing to a close. the sky maintained its heavy leaden hue, the wind blew fitfully and was of piercing keenness, and the occasional snow-flakes, whirling about the heads of the fugitives, were more like hailstones than the soft downy particles which had appeared earlier in the afternoon. the view was shortened in the gathering gloom, and the anxious eyes glancing around the different points of the compass, and especially to the rear, failed to reveal the dreaded horsemen from whom they were fleeing. the hope of the little party lay in keeping beyond sight of their enemies until night. with no moon and stars to guide them, the hostiles could not keep their trail, which our friends were sure to make as winding as possible. as the night approached, their hopes increased. darkness was closing in when they reached the bank of the big cheyenne, and, for the first time since leaving the arroya, they drew rein. "this is better than i dared expect," said the father in high spirits, and seemingly strengthened by his sharp ride through the cutting cold; "i can hardly understand it." "i suspect that wolf ear made a blunder." "in what way?" "he did not think we should leave the gully before night; he went back and told the rest. they dared not attack us where we had some show to defend ourselves; they will not discover our flight until it is too late." while there seemed reason in this belief, it did not fully satisfy the father. it was not in keeping with the subtlety of the american indian that they should allow a party of whites to ride directly away from them, when they were at their mercy. any one of the hostiles, by climbing the side of the arroya, was sure to see the little company of fugitives emerge therefrom, and it was inconceivable that they should not take that simple precaution. "there is something beyond all this which has not yet appeared," he said; "neither wolf ear nor his companions are fools." the river swept by in the gathering darkness at their feet. the current was not swift, but pieces of ice lay against the shores, and floated past in the middle of the stream. the opposite bank could hardly be seen in the gloom. "must we cross that?" asked mrs. kingsland, as the horses halted on the margin of the icy waters. "yes," replied her husband, "and twenty miles further we must cross the white, to say nothing of smaller streams, which may be as deep and more difficult. pine ridge lies fifty miles away, and there's no going round any of the water." "it will be the death of us to swim our horses," she said with a shudder; "we shall freeze to death." "that is not to be thought of," brinton hastened to explain; "while the cheyenne has many deep places at this season, there are others where a horse can wade across without wetting one's stirrups." "but how are we to know such fords?" "by trying, and there's no better place than this; wait till i make the attempt." with commendable promptness he urged jack forward, and the animal, understanding what was required of him, stepped among the pieces of ice along the bank. he slipped on one, and edith uttered a cry of alarm. "look out, brint! you will fall into the water." "don't fret about me," he called back. a few reassuring words to his pony, who hesitated and sniffed, as if about to draw back, and he continued his cautious advance into the stream, the others anxiously watching his progress. should the water prove deep enough to force the steed to swim, it would never do, for that would necessitate the saturation of the garments of all, which meant freezing to death. as long as the ponies maintained a sure footing, even though the water crept well up their sides, the riders could guard themselves against the dreaded wetting. brinton, therefore, ventured into the stream with the utmost care, his animal feeling every step of the way. ten steps from the bank, and the water touched brinton's stirrups. he withdrew his feet and held them out of reach. he was so excellent a horseman that, by the pressure of his knees, he sat almost as firmly in the saddle as if with the support for his feet. "be careful, jack; slowly--slowly--slowly!" jack was sniffing, with his neck outstretched and his nose almost on the surface of the water, the breath issued like steam through his thin silken nostrils, and he paid no heed to a triangular piece of jagged ice which struck his hind legs with a sharp thrust, and then swung clear. he knew his duty, and was doing his "level best." the rider turned his head and looked back. the forms of his parents on their motionless horses were dim, and growing more indistinct in the approaching night. seeing him turn his head, his father called something in a guarded undertone, which the son did not catch, but, believing it was simply a request for him to be careful, he replied, "all right," and went on with the work in hand. several steps further and the water had not perceptibly deepened. brinton, indeed, was inclined to think it had slightly shallowed. "we are pretty near the middle, and it begins to look as if i had struck the right spot after all halloa! what's up now?" jack had stopped, just as he did in the arroya, and with the same appearance of alarm. "can it be that you have scented a deep place in front and want to save me from a bath?" brinton kingsland checked the light question on his lips, for at the moment of uttering it his own vision answered the query in a manner that fairly lifted his cap from his head. a horseman was advancing through the water from the other side of the cheyenne. he was several rods away, but near enough for the youth to recognise him as an indian warrior. he had entered the icy stream, as if to meet the other, who in the same glance that identified him dimly discerned more horsemen on the bank beyond. as in the former instance, jack had discovered the peril before his master and halted, not through fear of a chilling bath, but because of a tenfold greater danger stealing upon them. it looked as if the hostiles, from whom they were fleeing, had come towards the river from beyond, and were again between them and safety. if so, the question might well be asked what was meant by this extraordinary behaviour of the red men? why did they not conceal themselves until the fugitives rode directly into their arms? why take this risk of sending one of their number to meet an enemy in mid-stream, where, despite whatever advantage the savage possessed, he could not help yielding a portion of it to his foe? but it was a moment for action and not for conjecture and speculation. in the same moment that brinton recognised the horseman immediately in his front as a foe, he observed that his pony had also halted and the rider was in the act of bringing his weapon to his shoulder. the mitten was snatched from the youth's right hand and thrust in the pocket of his coat. he had no time to slip the other off, nor was it necessary, since that only supported the rifle. he hastily brought his winchester to a level, and, knowing that everything depended upon who was the quicker, he took instant aim at the centre of the dark figure and let fly. with a wild cry the indian rolled from his pony, and disappeared in the dark waters. his animal, with a snort of alarm, whirled about and dashed to shore, sending the spray flying in all directions. "quick, jack! back with you!" brinton flung himself on the neck of his pony, who seemed to spin about on his hind feet as he galloped furiously through the water for the shore he had just left. nothing but this precaution and the deepening gloom saved the daring youth from death. it required a few precious seconds for the hostiles on the other bank to comprehend what had taken place, and when they began firing the form of the horse and his rider were fast vanishing from sight. but the bullets were whistling perilously near his friends, who did not quite comprehend what had taken place. "move further down the bank!" called brinton in a guarded undertone; "quick! don't stop to ask why, but do as i say!" the parents obeyed, and a minute or two was sufficient to take them out of range. "follow them, jack, and move lively!" the pony obeyed, and he too passed beyond danger for the time. the darkness was too deep for the persons on either bank to discern the others across the stream. the hostiles kept up their firing, in a blind way, hoping that some of their shots might reach the fugitives. brinton had lain down on the shore, so as to decrease the danger of being struck by any of the stray bullets. he could tell where the others were by the flash of their guns, but deemed it best not to fire for the present, through fear of betraying his own position. the dropping shots continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly stopped. it was impossible to tell in the gloom what his enemies were doing, but he suspected the truth: they were preparing to ford the river, with a view of bringing the combatants to close quarters. peering intently into the night, he made out the faint outline of a horseman feeling his way across, and did not doubt that others were close behind him. this must be a particularly favourable ford, else the hostiles would try some other, if they knew of any in the immediate vicinity. it was necessary to check this advance, if he expected to save the dear ones with him. the moment, therefore, he made sure of the object approaching, he sighted as best he could and blazed away, instantly shifting his own position, to escape the return shot which he knew would be quick in coming. it was well he did so, for the flash and report of several rifles and the whistling of the bullets told of the peril escaped by a very narrow chance. there was no reason to believe that his own shot had been fatal, for there was no outcry, nor did the listening ear detect any splash in the water, such as marked his first essays when in mid-stream; but he had accomplished that which he sought--he had checked the advance, which otherwise must have been fatal to him and his companions. the form of the horseman disappeared in the gloom. he had returned to the shore whence he came, and it was safe to conclude that he would not soon repeat the attempt. "what will be their next step?" was the question that presented itself to the young defender of the ford. it was not to be expected that they would try to cross in the face of the certain reception that awaited them. "they know more of the cheyenne than we do," brinton kingsland thought, "and must be aware of some place where they can reach this side without danger. if they do succeed in coming over, there will be trouble." he dared not wait long, for nothing was to be gained, while he ran the risk of losing everything. only the sound of the rushing water, the crunching of the ice, reached his ear. rising to his feet and peering into the gloom, he could discern nothing of his foes. "there's no need of my staying here," he decided, starting along the stream in quest of his parents. when he had passed a hundred yards without seeing them, he was astonished. another hundred, and still they were invisible, and the cautious signals he made remained unanswered. chapter vi. "ay, where were they?" by the unaccountable disappearance of his parents and the horses, brinton was left in a state rather of perplexity than alarm. the time was so brief since they left him, that he could not understand how they had gone far, nor why they did not answer the guarded calls he made. he noticed that when in obedience to his urgent entreaties the couple rode away, followed by his own pony, they went down stream, that is, in the direction of the current. surely they could not have passed any distance, and he believed they heard his voice when, making a funnel with his mittened hands, he pronounced the words-- "father! mother! where are you?" if they did not reply, it was because of the danger involved in doing so. it was incautious on his part to shout, even in a suppressed voice, at such a time. the bank on his left was a little higher than his head, and so sloping that the horses could climb out with little effort; but, as will be recalled, the night was unusually dark, and he might pass over the plainest trail without knowing it. he ran some distance further, keeping close to the water, but still failed to find them. "they have climbed out of the bed of the stream; something unexpected has occurred, or they would not leave me in this manner." he felt his way to the bank, and easily placed himself upon the level ground above. there he strove to pierce the gloom, but nothing rewarded the effort. "well, i'll be hanged!" he muttered, "if this isn't the greatest surprise i ever knew. it looks as if the ground had opened and swallowed them." in the northern sky the heavy gloom was relieved by a faint glow, which at first he took for the aurora borealis, but a few minutes' scrutiny convinced him that it was the light of some burning building, the dwelling evidently of some ranchman, whose family had probably paid with their lives the penalty of tarrying too long. "a few hours more, and father, mother, and edith would have shared the same fate. it may still be theirs to do so." the sound of a whinny from behind caused him to turn his head. he could see nothing, but he was sure that it was one of his father's ponies that thus made known his presence. it would have been the height of imprudence, however, had he acted upon such a belief, after what had so recently occurred, and when a safe and certain test was at his command. he emitted a low tremulous whistle of such a musical tone that it reached a goodly distance in spite of the gale. "that can be heard further than the neigh, and, if it finds the ear of jack, no one can restrain him from coming to me." but though the call was repeated there was no response. the alarming conclusion was unavoidable: the sound had been made by an indian pony near at hand. aware that his own situation, despite the darkness, was perilous, the youth sat down on the frosty earth, near the edge of the bank, until he could gain some idea of his bearings. within the next ten seconds the whinny was repeated, and this time seemingly within a dozen feet, but below the bank, and consequently between him and the water. he knew what it meant: the hostiles had crossed the stream lower down, and were ascending it in the search for the fugitives. but for the fact that one of their ponies showed a strange lack of training, the youth would have run right into them. it might be that the reckless horse was a captured one! they were so close, however, that brinton did not dare to flee, especially as he did not know in which direction safety lay. he lay flat on the earth, with his head just above the edge of the bank, so that had there been any light he could have seen what was going on below. it is rare that a night is totally devoid of the least ray of illumination. brinton, therefore, could never believe he was mistaken when, peering down into the gloom, he fancied he discerned the shadowy outlines of a horseman move slowly in front of him, like the figure of the magic lantern. it melted in the gloom, and then came another and another, until he counted six. the sounds of the hoofs on the hard ground removed the doubt which otherwise he might have felt. "the same party," was his thought; "one is missing, and, if i am not mistaken, i had something to do with his disappearance." a different noise came to his ears. one of the bucks was making his pony climb the bank where the slope was abrupt. the labour was hard, but after a strenuous effort he stood on the earth above. he was followed by the others in indian file, the ascent taking but a few minutes. the disturbing feature about this business was that the whole party had climbed the bank within a dozen feet of where brinton was lying, and they halted when so near that he was half afraid some of the horses might step on him. had there been any light in the sky he would have felt they were trifling with him, as a cat plays with a mouse. but, if the hostiles could not see or detect his presence, their horses were sure to discover that a stranger was near. "it's too bad!" thought brinton, who, believing that his own people were safe, was able to give more thought to himself; "it looks as if there's no getting rid of them. i think this is a good time for me to leave." for a single moment he was certain he was discovered. one of the warriors uttered an exclamation, and a slight sound showed that he had dropped from his horse to the ground. the youth was on the point of rolling over the edge of the bank and taking to his heels, in the hope that the darkness would allow him to escape, when, to his dismay, a tiny point of light flashed out of the gloom. one of the hostiles had dismounted to light a cigarette, placing himself so that his horse's body kept off the wind. brinton's position gave him a good view of the operation. the savage drew the match along a portion of his blanket. the youth saw the slight streak of light and heard the tiny sharp explosion followed by the bursting into flame. the buck shielded it with his curving hands, which were raised to meet the stooping head, as it bent forward with the cigarette between the lips. the glare of the diminutive flame gave a peculiar tint to the fingers, which caused them to glow as if with heat. then the reflection showed the arched nose, the broad face, the serpent-like eyes, and a few straggling hairs on the upper lip, with a glimpse of the dangling locks, thrown forward by the stoop of the head. the glimpse was momentary, but it was clear enough for brinton to recognise the young indian as wolf ear, who he knew was fond of cigarette smoking, that being one of the habits he had acquired among civilised folk. "i am sorry it wasn't _you_ i shot from his horse in mid-stream," was the resentful reflection of him who had once been a devoted friend of the ogalalla. the cigarette being lighted, the buck vaulted upon the back of his pony, where he could be seen by the fiery tip in the dense darkness. brinton wondered why the group of horsemen remained where they were, instead of riding away. that, like many other actions of theirs, was incomprehensible to him. but while he lay flat on the ground, debating what he should next do, if indeed he could do anything, he was frightened by the discovery that gradually but surely the figures of the indians and their ponies were coming into view. the explanation was that the sky, which had been overcast all day and a portion of the night, was slightly clearing--not to any extent, but enough to increase the peril of his own situation to an alarming extent. "it won't do to stay here any longer; i wonder why they have not discovered me before; they will do it in five minutes, if i remain." his position was an awkward one for the movement necessary, but he had no choice, and he began stealthily working himself to the edge of the bank, with the purpose of letting himself noiselessly over to where he would be concealed from sight. all might have gone well had he not forgotten a simple thing. the edge of the bank gave under his weight, and he slid downwards, as if taking a plunge into the river, with the dirt rattling after him. the noise, slight as it was, was certain to attract the notice of the indians, a few feet away. brinton knew this, and he did not wait to see the results. with the nimbleness of a cat, he turned at the moment of striking the bottom of the low cliff, and bounding to his feet, ran along below the bank at his utmost speed. had he continued his flight, quick disaster must have followed; but with a thoughtfulness and self-possession hardly to be expected, he abruptly stopped after running a hundred feet and again threw himself on his face, at the bottom of the bank, and as close to its base as it was possible for him to lie. he knew that he could reach this point before the hostiles would comprehend what had taken place, and consequently before they would attempt to pursue him. since he had no chance against their fleet ponies, he would have been speedily run down had he continued his flight down the river bed, for he heard the sound of their hoofs as they dashed after him. the pursuers were cunning. their ears had told them the course he had taken. several forced their animals down the bank, to prevent his turning back over his own trail, while the others galloped close to the edge above, all the party taking the same direction. thus it would seem that but one desperate hope remained to him, which was to dash into the river and struggle to the other side. but the splash would betray him. the water was probably deep enough to force him to swim. with the thermometer below zero, and encumbered by his clothing, he must perish with cold, if he did not drown. where then was the hope of eluding the hostiles, who were clinging so persistently to his track? there was none excepting in the trick to which he had resorted, and brinton knew it. he was no more than fairly nestled in his hiding-place, when the clatter of hoofs showed that one of the horsemen was almost upon him. he could only hug the base of the bank, and pray for the danger to pass. it did pass, but it was sure speedily to return. it was this belief which led the youth to resort to another artifice, that would have done credit to an experienced ranger of the plains. instead of turning about and running upstream under the bank, he waited until the horsemen above had also passed, and were invisible in the gloom. then he hastily clambered up the slight bluff, rattling down the dirt again in a way that sent a shiver through him. had they been as near as before, they must have certainly discovered him; but if the noise or the crumbling dirt reached the ears of any, they supposed it was caused by some of their companions, for no effort at investigation was made. upon solid ground once more, brinton sped straight out over the plain, and directly away from the river, until he dared to pause, look around and listen. he saw and heard nothing to renew his fear. "can it be that i have shaken them off at last?" he asked himself; "it begins to look like it. where under heaven can the folk be? i hope they have pushed toward the agency, and nothing will happen to them." now it was that he detected something, so faint and indistinct that at first he could not identify it; but, while he wondered and listened, it resolved itself into the sounds of a horse's hoofs. they were not such as are made by an animal galloping or trotting, but by walking. furthermore, he heard but the one series of footfalls. a sudden impulse led brinton to repeat the whistle which he had vainly emitted some time before, when groping along the bank of the big cheyenne. instantly a faint neigh answered, and a pony assumed shape in the darkness as he approached on a joyous trot. "my own jack!" exclaimed the overjoyed youth, flinging his arms about the neck of his favourite and kissing his silken nose; "heaven be thanked that you are restored to me at last. but where are the folk?" ay, where were they? chapter vii. "it came like one of them kansan cyclones." as he was on the point of giving up all hope of ever seeing him again, brinton kingsland was naturally overjoyed at meeting his favourite pony. the situation of the young man would have proved a sad one, had he been compelled to wander over the prairie on foot, for he would have been liable to encounter hostiles at any moment. with the coming of daylight, he could hardly expect to avoid detection by some of the numerous bands galloping hither and thither, ready to pounce upon any defenceless settlers, or to cut off the squads of scouts and soldiers whenever there was a chance of doing so with little peril to themselves. and jack showed as much delight as his master. he thrust his nose forward, and whinnied softly in response to the endearments of brinton. doubtless he had been searching for him for some time. "i tell you, old boy, there are only three persons whom i would rather see just now than you; i won't mention their names, for you know them as well as i do. where are they? surely they can't be far off." an examination of the horse disclosed that his saddle and bridle were intact, thus proving that he had not been in the hands of any enemies, who indeed would not have allowed him to stray off in this fashion. brinton placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself astride of the intelligent beast, who capered with pleasure at feeling his master once more in the saddle. now that such good fortune had come to the youth, he grew anxious about the dear ones from whom he had been so strangely separated. there was something in the way in which they had drifted apart that perplexed him. the interval in which it occurred was so brief that he could not believe they were far asunder. the arrival of jack strengthened this belief, and now that he was in the saddle again, he peered around in the gloom, half expecting their forms to take shape and come forward to greet him. the partial clearing of the sky continued. no snow-flakes drifted against him, but the moaning wind was as biting and frigid as ever. the straining gaze, however, could see nothing of horse or person, though he clung to the belief that they were not far away. but with that conviction came the other of the nearness of the dreaded red men. he had left them on the bank of the big cheyenne, which was not distant; and, failing to find him there, it was natural for them to suspect the trick by which he had escaped. but nothing was to be done by sitting motionless on his horse. he ventured to pronounce the name of his father, and then his mother, increasing the loudness of the tone to an imprudent degree. this was done repeatedly, but no answering call was borne back to him. sound could not travel far against the wind on such a blustery night, and they might be within a hundred yards without his being able to hear them or they to hear him. he had absolutely no guide or clue, and despair began to creep into his heart. he asked himself what the result was to be if the aimless wandering should continue through the night. with the rise of the sun, pine ridge would be still a good day's ride away, and it was too much to hope that they would be permitted to gallop unchallenged through the reservation. "jack," said he, addressing his pony in the odd familiar way to which he was accustomed, "i can do nothing; you will have to help us out. so now show what you can do." whether the sagacious animal understood what was asked of him can only be conjectured, but he acted as if he did. he threw up his head, sniffed the air, pricked his ears, and started off at an easy swinging gallop. brinton's heart rose with hope. "he must know where he came from; a horse can teach the best hunter at such a time, and jack understands what he is doing." the pony cantered but a comparatively short way, when he dropped to a rapid walk, which grew slower every moment. it was interesting to see him turn his head and look from side to side, for all the world as if searching for something which he was surprised he did not find. "you must be near the spot," said his master; "don't make any mistake now, my boy." he came to a standstill, still turning his head from side to side, as if examining every point in sight. there could be no doubt that he was disappointed, as naturally was his rider also. "i know this is the spot where you left them to join me, but they are gone. i can do nothing: everything depends on you, jack, and you must not fail me." he resumed his deliberate walk, which was continued for only a short distance. when he halted finally, his actions said as plainly as words-- "i give it up! i've done my best, and, like you, am at my wits' end." for a second time brinton pronounced the names of the loved ones, and while doing so, jack took three or four additional steps, then halted, threw up his head, snorted, and trembled. these signs were unmistakable: he had discovered something. his master urged him forward. he obeyed to the extent of a couple of steps, and then refused to go further. not only that, but he shied to the left, and trembled more than before. brinton soothed him, and then leaned over the saddle and looked into the gloom; and, as he did so, he almost fell from his seat, because of the shock and faintness from what he saw. the first glance told him that _something_ was stretched on the frozen earth but a short distance away. further scrutiny revealed that it was a man, lying motionless at full length. "it is father!" was the thought of the son, who was out of the saddle in a twinkling, and running forward. it was not the body of hugh kingsland, but of a stranger. he had been a powerful man, who had made a brave fight, and had only yielded to superior numbers. brinton did not attempt any examination in the darkness, for there was no need to do so. he uttered a prayer for the unfortunate one, and for those whom he must have left behind him, and added-- "thank heaven, it is not father! but who can say how soon he, too, shall not be thus cut down with mother and little edith?" he remembered that although this tragedy had taken place so near him, and within the last hour or two, he had heard no reports of guns nor any sounds of conflict. that, however, was accounted for by the direction of the wind, as already explained. really nothing seemed left for him to do. he had done everything in his power to find his friends and failed. as long as night continued the faculty of vision was useless to him. "well, jack," he said despairingly, "do as you choose; i am helpless." as if in sympathy with his young master, the pony moved off on a slow walk, which he continued until, by some means, which brinton hardly understood, he clambered down into a gully, similar to the arroya in which they had taken shelter that afternoon. in doing this, it is probable that the animal was guided by that instinct which prompts his kind to seek shelter from the severity of the weather, for the refuge was a welcome one to the rider as well as himself. on the way thither and after arriving there, brinton signalled and called repeatedly to his parents. the continued failure to bring a reply led him to decide that nothing more could be done before morning. he flung himself off his pony, and made ready to remain where he was until then. the gully was narrow, and the banks at the point where he drew rein were high enough to shut out the gale. food for himself and horse was out of the question, and neither was suffering for want of it. the big cheyenne had given to them all the water they wanted; and physically, therefore, nothing in their condition was specially unpleasant. it would have been a great comfort to have had a fire by which to nestle down, but two causes rendered this impossible: no material was within reach, and, if there had been, he would not have dared to kindle it. jack's saddle was removed, and, in obedience to the command of his master, he lay down on the flinty earth, while brinton disposed himself so as to receive a part of the warmth of his body. thus, with the help of his own thick clothing, his situation was more comfortable than would be supposed. despite his worry and anxiety, he soon fell asleep, and did not open his eyes again until the grey light of the wintry morning was stealing through the gully. he was chilled and cramped by his exposure, but leaping to his feet, he soon restored his benumbed circulation. jack, seeing his master astir, sprang up, and looked at him as if to announce that he was ready for any work that was before them. "well, my boy, we shall have to go without our breakfast, but you and i can stand that, i reckon, for this thing must end before we are many hours older----" "well, i'll be shot!" the exclamation was uttered by a horseman, who at that moment rode into sight in the gully and checked his animal only a couple of rods distant, adding-- "i didn't expect to meet you here, brint; where are the rest of the folk?" "that's what i would like to know; i am worried to death, nick; can't you help us?" "i'll do anything i can, my lad, but what is it?" the newcomer was nicholas jackson, serving as a scout for general miles. it will be remembered that it was he who stopped at the home of the kingslands a short time before and warned them of their danger. had his advice been heeded, they would not have been in such sore straits at this time. brinton quickly told of his strange experience of the night before and his perplexity as to what he should do. "i don't think anything has happened to them," was the reassuring response of jackson, "for the darkness was in their favour. they are hiding somewhere in these gullies, just as you did, and dare not show themselves." "but how are we to find them?" "there's only one way i know of--look for them." "what are you doing here, nick?" "we learned at wounded knee that a company with supplies was to come from rapid city, and i have been sent out on a scout; an escort is coming to bring them into camp. you have heard of the battle at wounded knee creek, i suppose?" "not a word." the old scout compressed his lips and shook his head. "i have been in a good many scrimmages under generals crook and miles, but that was the hottest half-hour i ever spent." "how was it, nick?" "you know that the hostiles have been gathering in the bad lands ever since this trouble began. we have them pretty well surrounded, but there must be a big fight before we wind up this serious business. two days before christmas word reached us that three thousand indians, including six hundred bucks, were there. you can understand how much relief it was, therefore, to learn that big foot, with a lot of sitting bull's fugitives on cherry creek reservation, had surrendered to colonel sumner. "that was all well enough, but while conducting the band of two hundred to the missouri, the next day, the whole lot escaped and hurried south to join kicking bear and the rest of the hostiles. _then_ the trouble began. "four days later little bat, one of our indian scouts, discovered big foot and his band eight miles north of major whiteside's camp on wounded knee creek, and four troops of the seventh cavalry started for them, with me among 'em. "as the hostiles spied us they formed a long battle line, all with guns and knives, the knives being in their cartridge belts outside their blankets. "i tell you, brint, things looked squally. we could see the gleam of their black eyes, and the way they scowled and glared at us showed that nothing would suit 'em better than to drive their knives to the hilts into every one of us. "but major whiteside meant business. he drew us up, too, in battle line. just then big foot was seen coming forward on foot. the major dropped down from his saddle and went forward to meet him. "'me ill,' said big foot, 'me want peace--my people want peace----' "the major was impatient. "'i won't talk or parley with you,' he broke in; 'it is surrender or fight; i await your answer.' "'we surrender--we done so before, but could not find you,' said big foot. "i had my eye on the chief, who just then turned and motioned with his arm to his own battle line. they seemed to be looking for the signal, 'cause the white flag was shown at once. we rode forward quick like and surrounded them, and a courier was sent off post haste for four troops of the seventh, and leftenant taylor's scouts to help guard and disarm the party. they arrived the same day. big foot had one hundred and fifty warriors fully armed, with two hundred and fifty squaws and many children. despite the surrender, we all knowed trouble was coming, and it was not long before it came, like one of them kansan cyclones." chapter viii. "the bucks were coming up alarmingly fast." "when general forsyth arrived," continued the scout, in his description of the battle of wounded knee creek, "he ordered the male indians to come for a talk. they come out, scowling and sullen, and gathered in a half-circle in front of big foot's tent. the chief was inside, ill with pneumonia. "the general told them they must surrender their arms in groups of twenty. by this time they were thoroughly enraged, but most of our boys thought they were so cowed they would obey without much trouble. i didn't like their looks, and told jenkins at my side to hold himself ready, for i believed them fellows meant mischief, and a fight was sure. "'i guess not,' he answered; 'they're obeying orders.' "the first score slunk back without a word. we waited a long while, and by-and-by they came out agin, and how many guns do you 'spose they brought with 'em. just two miserable pieces, worth so much old iron. "the major was impatient because of the delay, and, when he saw this, he too was angry. he turned and talked a few minutes with general forsyth, both speaking so low that i couldn't catch what they said, though i seen the general was as angry as the major, but he kept cool. you see, the major was managing the business, but he made sure that everything was done as general forsyth wanted. "the cavalry was now ordered to dismount, and they done so, forming a square about fifty feet back and closed in, standing within a half-dozen yards of the indians that was in the centre. "it was plain that the latter didn't mean to obey orders, though they pretended to. accordingly a body of cavalry was sent to make the search themselves. when they came out, which they did in a few minutes, they brought sixty good rifles with 'em. that was doing the business up in style; but the general and the major didn't intend there should be any half-way work about it. the soldiers were directed to search the bucks themselves, for there was no doubt that all of 'em had their guns hid under their blankets. "the sioux stood scowling, ugly and savage. when about a dozen had been searched and their rifles brought out, they couldn't stand it. they were furious. like a flash, the rest of 'em whipped out their guns from under their blankets and let fly at us. it was so sudden that before we knew what it meant, a hundred guns had been fired, and the reports sounded like one volley. "it was all done in a twinkling. there we were, close enough almost to touch the redskins, and the flash of their rifles was right in our faces. i remember that i was looking into the muzzle of one of 'em, when the gun went off, and i felt the bullet nip my ear; but others weren't so fortunate, and the poor boys dropped as though so many thunderbolts had fallen among 'em. "it didn't take us long, howsumever, to get in _our_ work. "i can tell you," added scout jackson, "there were lively times for twenty minutes or half an hour. during the battle we stood off some distance when firing at each other, but it was like you and me standing near enough almost to shake hands, and blazing away. them redskins fought hard. it was bang, bang, with the soldiers dropping all around, and no saying when your own turn was to come. "but the hostiles got the worst of it. some of 'em, seeing how it was going, broke through our lines and dashed for the hills to the south-west. we followed 'em, and the fighting kept up as bad as ever, though the shots wasn't so rapid. we lost about thirty, and more than that wounded, and of them some are likely to die." "where were the squaws and children during the fight?" asked brinton. an expression of scorn passed over the face of the scout as he made answer-- "where was they? fighting like so many wild cats. you'll be told that we chased and shot down women and children. there's no question that a big lot of 'em was killed, and how was it to be helped? them squaws was dressed so much like the bucks that you couldn't be certain which was which. from the way they fought, you might have believed each one was ten bucks rolled into one. "but of course we cleaned 'em out, for that's what the seventh always does, when it undertakes that sort of thing; from what i've told you, you'll know there was hot work for a time. a youngster about like yourself had charge of a hotchkiss gun. and the way he handled that all through the fight made us feel like cheering, even when we didn't dare to stop shooting long enough to do so. "when the sioux fled, this youngster dragged his gun from the knoll where he had been stationed. leftenant hawthorne was at his side, and the fighting had become skirmishing on the crests of the ravines, where big foot's band had taken refuge. the bullets were singing and whistling through the air, but that boy wheeled his hotchkiss to the mouth of the gulch, where the firing was the heaviest. the minute he done that, he and the men attached to the gun become the targets of the indians, who was determined to shoot 'em down. the bullets splintered the wheels of the gun, and sent the dirt flying right and left and in the air. a ball struck leftenant hawthorne's watch, glanced off, and wounded him; but the youngster pushed the gun forward and shelled the pockets in the ravines. "that boy kept it up, pushing steadily on and sending the shells wherever they could do the most harm. when the battle was over, he was found wounded, leaning against the shattered wheel of his gun, too weak to stand erect. big foot was among the killed." brinton kingsland was so interested in the story of his companion, who was too modest to dwell upon his own exploits, that he forgot for a few minutes his own situation and the absence of his friends. with only a brief comment on what had been told him, he said, starting up-- "but, nick, of what have i been thinking? here the morning is fully come, and i have not learned anything of father, mother, and edith. how could i forget them so long?" "it was my fault more than yours," replied jackson; "there's nothing to be made by staying here; let's ride out of the gully and look around; i've had a bite, and have something left over; will you have it?" "not just now," replied brinton, as he rode side by side with him out of the depression where he had spent the night. reaching the higher ground, they looked over the surrounding country. the youth gave his chief attention to the rear--that is, in the direction of the big cheyenne, for he believed that wolf ear and the other hostiles were not far off. but, if so, they were not in sight. the scout, however, had discovered something in front, and at a considerable distance, which interested him. shading his eyes with one hand, he gazed intently toward the north. "by gracious!" he exclaimed, "i believe that's them." "where?" eagerly asked his companion. "i don't mean your folk, but that waggon train with supplies from rapid city." brinton's heart sank, for his hopes had been high; but he found some consolation, after all, in the declaration of the scout. a mile away, across the prairie, a party seemed to be preparing to leave camp. at that distance it was impossible to identify them, but jackson was positive that they were the train in search of which he had left the camp at wounded knee. brinton's hope was that his parents were with them. it would have been hard for him to explain just why his hope was so strong in this respect, but it seemed reasonable to suspect that the light of the camp had attracted their notice during the darkness, and that they had gone thither, after finding it impossible to rejoin him. the real, but slight, ground on which he based this fancy was that his pony jack had been found while he, his owner, was travelling in a direct line from the big cheyenne toward the camp. since the animal must have kept company for a time with the other two, the kingslands had continued the same course, and might have descried the twinkle of the camp fire. "i myself would have seen it, had i not ridden the other way and gone into the gully, where i couldn't detect anything a dozen feet away." "yes, i'm almost sure it's them," added jackson, after further studying the camp; "let's find out." the proposition suited brinton, and the two headed their ponies toward the camp. although at the moment of starting there was no danger in sight, and the supply train did not seem to have been disturbed, nicholas jackson was too experienced to forget every precaution, and while he studied the scene in front, he kept glancing toward the other parts of the compass. and it was well he did so, for a few hundred yards only were passed when he said in a low voice, in which no excitement could be noted-- "it looks as if them bucks would like to j'in our company." brinton glanced back, and saw the half-dozen hostiles with whom he had had his stirring experiences the night before dashing towards them from the direction of the cheyenne. there was no need to engage them in a fight: indeed, it would have been the height of imprudence to do so. jackson and brinton were well mounted, and they instantly struck their horses into a run. the indians shouted on perceiving that they were discovered, and they also urged on their animals. several shots were fired, but the distance was too great to do execution. the race had continued but a little while when it became apparent that the pursuers were gaining, jackson's horse was doing his best, but brinton's was not. he could draw away from the indian ponies, but his rider held him back to keep the scout company. the chase could not last long, for the camp was comparatively near at hand, but the bucks were coming up alarmingly fast. "there's no use of both of us being overhauled," said jackson; "ride ahead and save yourself." "but i can't desert you." "faugh! don't be foolish; you can't help me, and you're sure to be shot if you stay; off with you!" "but what will become of you?" "that's nothing to you; it looks as if i must bid you good-bye; billberry has gone lame, but i'll make the best fight i can, and if i go down, some of 'em have got to go with me." brinton was much perplexed what to do, but he knew that the question of life and death must be decided within the next few seconds. chapter ix. "he has made his last scout." the perplexing question was settled by brinton kingsland's pony taking his bit in his mouth and speeding towards the camp of the supply train, as if driven by a hurricane. the youth could not but feel conscience-smitten at this apparent desertion of a comrade in dire extremity, but there was no help for it. besides, jackson was right when he urged brinton to lose no time in saving himself, since it was out of his power to help the imperilled scout. the pursuing hostiles had now approached near enough to make their shots effective. the whistling bullets warned brinton of his danger, so he threw himself forward on the neck of his pony, who rushed ahead with arrowy swiftness. the clatter of hoofs made young kingsland glance to his left: there was billberry, the scout's steed, with neck outstretched, going madly on. he had been touched by one of the flying bullets, and in his panic forgot the weak leg that already had delayed him to a fatal extent. his desperate burst of speed brought him alongside of jack, whose rider, to his amazement, saw him shoot ahead at a pace which none of his kind could surpass, and none there could equal. but his bridle-reins and stirrup-straps were flying in the gale caused by his own tremendous swiftness. brave nick jackson had been shot from the back, and was fighting his last fight. brinton kingsland tugged at the rein of jack, and shouted a savage command in the same breath, the pony would not stop, but, slackening his speed, described a circle, which brought him round with his head toward the pursuers. pierced by one of the balls of the bucks, the scout fell from his saddle, but, recovering himself with wonderful dexterity, turned about, and with levelled winchester bravely faced his foes. the shots were rapid on both sides, and those of jackson did much execution. but his fate was sealed from the first, and none knew it better than he. "i can't stand that!" muttered young kingsland, the moment he succeeded in facing jack the other way; "i have already played the coward, though, heaven knows, i couldn't help it." something of his daring seemed to tingle in the veins of his pony; for, now that he was urged to return, he headed straight for the group of combatants, and shot forward at full speed. meanwhile the members of the supply train were not idle. they had descried the coming of two horsemen from afar, and were quick to recognise them as friends. had there been any doubt, it vanished at sight of the pursuing indians behind them. three were in the saddle in an instant, and scurrying away to the relief of the solitary man fighting for his life. brinton was not aware they were at his heels. he mistook the sound of their horses' hoofs for that of jackson's animal, who, he supposed, had turned, and was rushing into the heart of the peril, as his kind will do when forced out of a burning building. the first warning the youth received of the true state of affairs was when the approaching horsemen fired from behind him at the group crowding around and pressing the scout so sorely. but the hostiles were quicker than he to see their peril. they wheeled hastily, and, flinging themselves over the necks of their ponies, skurried in the direction of the cheyenne. it is the custom of the american indians to carry off their dead and wounded. the latter probably looked after themselves in this instance, but in their haste the two that had fallen by the hand of nick jackson were left stretched on the ground. an extraordinary incident now took place. in the furious struggle one of the hostiles had become dismounted. disregarding the fate of his companions, or probably seeing that the brave scout had become so weakened that the peril no longer existed, he leaped from the back of his pony and dashed forward to give the white man his finishing-stroke. before he could do this, the relief party were so close that he did not dare to tarry. he turned to remount his pony, but the animal had become panic-stricken in the flurry--it may have been that he was struck by a bullet--and was galloping off, as if for his own life. furthermore, he made straight for the camp of the supply train, so that his capture was impossible. but there were two other animals that had lost their riders, and, if he could secure one of these, he might yet save himself. they, however, were galloping among the others riding for life toward the big cheyenne. the bucks, with less chivalry than the youth had shown in similar circumstances, gave no heed to the peril of their dismounted comrade, but sped across the prairie at the utmost speed of which they were capable. among them was possibly one who, seeing that the whites, instead of keeping up the pursuit, had halted around the fallen scout, gave a little thought to their comrade. this friend would not turn back himself, nor did any of the others do so, but with the palm of his hand the former smote one of the riderless ponies across the eyes and shouted a command in his ear. the horse checked himself with a cry of pain, reared, shook his head, and then, dropping out of the group running close together, wheeled and trotted toward the dismounted indian. the latter gave a thrilling exhibition of running. he saw that his only hope lay in reaching one of the ponies of his comrades that had basely deserted him, since to undertake to recapture his own animal must take him into the camp of his enemies. he therefore exerted himself to the utmost to overtake the party before the whites could overtake him. had there been none interested besides the three members of the supply train, all would have gone well with the buck, for, as we have said, they gathered around the fallen scout and gave their whole attention to him. but there was another, who resolved that this miscreant should pay for his unpardonable barbarity to a brave and fallen enemy. that one was brinton kingsland. quick to grasp the situation, after finding himself too late to help poor jackson, he noted the solitary indian, and believing him to be the one who had laid the scout low (though if he had not struck the actual blow, he was equally guilty), he compressed his lips and muttered-- "i'll teach you a lesson, you assassin!" the redskin, as he ran, grasped his winchester in his right hand in a trailing position. the heavy blanket was secured at the throat by some fastening that held it in place. the lower portion streamed out over his back, as did his long black hair, in the wind created by his own fleetness, while his leggings doubled and twinkled so fast that they resembled the spokes of a swiftly-revolving wheel he was, indeed, running with astonishing speed. "now, jack, do your best! there isn't any time to lose, and you are not going to let a miserable redskin outspeed you." the pony flung up his head, snuffed the air, stretched out his neck, and away he went with arrowy swiftness. he knew what was wanted of him, and was not the one to shirk his duty. it was at this juncture that the fugitive, going like a whirlwind, turned his head for an instant and glanced back brinton was watching him, and saw the scowling face glaring like a wild beast through the thicket of flying hair. "great heavens! it's wolf ear!" during these exciting minutes the youth had forgotten about the young ogalalla, until this glimpse of the well-remembered features told him the startling truth. the shock caused him involuntarily to tighten the rein of jack, and the animal, obedient as he generally was, instantly slackened his pace. but the hesitation was for a few seconds only. brinton felt that he ought not to have been surprised after the events of the preceding day and night. "he deserves death more than any of the rest, for his knowledge has been greater than theirs, and his excuse is less. i'll run him down and make him prisoner." again he spoke sharply to jack and twitched the rein. the noble animal stretched away with the same graceful swiftness he had shown from the first. but the ogalalla was cunning. he had seen the indian pony as it withdrew from the rest and came trotting toward him in a bewildered way, as though not quite understanding what it meant; but if the animal was perplexed, wolf ear was not. he read the meaning aright, and saw that one desperate chance remained. if he could hurl himself upon the back of that same steed before the white youth overhauled him, the prospect was good for his ultimate escape. brinton comprehended everything as vividly as he, and did not spare jack. he aimed to interpose himself between wolf ear and his pony, and thus prevent their meeting. every nerve and muscle was strained to accomplish that end. young kingsland was already close enough to shoot down the fugitive, and he felt he deserved to be laid low, but, as we have shown, such was not his purpose. an indefinable dislike to slay a foe, even though ferocious and guilty, prevented his firing the shot that would speedily have ended it all. the rest of the hostiles had disappeared over a swell of the plain and were out of reach. why did not wolf ear, when he saw he could not reach his pony in time, halt and bring his gun to bear on his fierce pursuer? he did. the cunning fellow, almost within reach of the pony, and at the moment when his heart was beating high with hope, saw everything frustrated by the action of the animal. the sight of a person coming toward him at such terrific speed, even though belonging to the race to which he was accustomed, was too disturbing to be accepted with serenity. he raised his head as he came to a halt, surveyed the bounding figure, and then, with a snort of affright, wheeled and trotted toward the river. his speed was much less than that of the ogalalla, but of necessity it compelled the latter to run farther than he would have done had the beast remained stationary, and it was just that brief interval of enforced stay on the ground that told the ogalalla the white youth must reach him before he could overtake the pony. "surrender, wolf ear!" called brinton; "you can't help yourself." evidently wolf ear held a different opinion, for he wheeled like lightning, and levelled his rifle with the reply-- "that's the way _i_ surrender! do you surrender!" the action was so sudden that brinton could not forestall him. he was fairly caught. it was, however, far from brinton's thoughts to yield to this startling command. he flung himself over the other side of the saddle, so as to offer as little of his body as possible to the aim of the miscreant. he was certain he would fire and shoot down his horse, if not himself. he waited with an intensity of emotion which cannot be described. one minute, two minutes passed, but no report came. then brinton heard the suspicious clatter of a horse's hoofs, and peeped over the spine of jack. he was in time to see wolf ear galloping off on the hack of the pony. with inimitable dexterity he had secured the animal during the brief interval at his command, and was now going like the wind over the prairie, after his departed comrades. the ogalalla, however, was not too far away to shout back a taunt and the words-- "wise young man, my gun was not loaded, but it served me as well." then he whisked over the elevation and vanished. there was no help for it, and the chagrined brinton wheeled and galloped toward the group whom he had left some distance behind on the prairie. they were riding slowly to the camp, supporting a form between them. dreading the truth, brinton held back until the others reached the camp. then he rode forward and asked-- "was nick badly hurt?" "he is dead; he did not speak after we reached him. he was a brave fellow, but he has made his last scout." brinton sighed, for he respected and loved the man who had thus died for his country. but another question was on his lips. he looked around the camp, and his heart sank at his failure to see any of the loved ones whom he was so hopeful of finding there. in a trembling voice he put the query. the answer was what he dreaded: they had neither seen nor did they know anything of them. chapter x "oh, there is wolf ear!" it will be remembered that when brinton kingsland dropped to the ground in the gathering darkness to check the crossing of the big cheyenne by the sioux, whose leader had met him in mid-stream, he called in an undertone to his parents to hasten out of the range of the flying bullets; he repeated the command to his pony jack, who obediently trotted after them. the father and mother, at this time, had no more thought of separating themselves for any distance from their brave son than he had; but two causes brought about the singular accident already referred to. the excited words of brinton and the reports of the guns led the couple to think the danger more imminent than it was. as a consequence, they rode farther than was necessary, but still not to a point that ought to have caused any difficulty in their coming together when prudent to do so. mr. kingsland's pony travelled faster than that of his wife, thus placing him a few yards in advance. the gloom had not yet become deep enough to prevent their seeing each other; but at a moment when the wife was about to ask her husband to stop, she was surprised to see him turn to the left, his pony struggling up the bank to the level ground above. "why do you do that, hugh?" she called in a guarded voice, but at once following him. he did not answer, but narrowly missed falling out of the saddle. his animal continued moving away from the river-bank, and presently struck into an easy gallop, which rapidly increased the distance from the stream. mrs. kingsland now suspected the meaning of the strange action, and urged her pony beside that of her husband, which was going so fast that she was obliged to travel farther than she supposed before coming up with him. then, laying hold of the bridle, she brought her husband's pony to a halt. "what is the matter, hugh?" she asked; "are you ill?" "gracious! what have i been doing?" he exclaimed, in turn bewildered, and looking about in the darkness. "why, you have been trying to run away from us," said edith, with a laugh, believing the whole thing to be a joke on her father's part. "you have come a good way from the riverbank," replied the disturbed wife; "i tried to check you, but could not." "i understand it now," said he, passing his hand across his forehead, in the effort to collect his thoughts. "just after we started a faintness seized me, and i knew nothing until this minute. i don't understand why i did not fell out of the saddle." "i saw you reel, and you must have come near doing so. how do you feel now?" "much better. strange that i should have been attacked in that manner; but i am sure it will not occur again. what will brinton think?" "i have heard the report of guns, but all is quiet now." "i feel little alarm, for they will not dare to cross while he is guarding the ford." "is he not in danger?" "no; he is lying on the ground, and they cannot see him; he will hold them at bay as long as he wishes." "but they may come over at some other point and get behind him." "i did not think of that," said the husband more thoughtfully; "but i am sure he will not stay any longer than he ought. it won't do for us to go back, for, if the indians do cross the river, we shall be in their path. it may be well to go part of the way over our own track, so as to make it easier for him to find us. come on, and make no noise." "but you are not taking the right course," protested his wife: "you should turn more to the left." "i feel almost sure you are wrong; but you have had your senses about you all the time, which is more than i have had, and i bow to your decision." "but, mother, you are not right," interposed edith, now fully awake; "you should go that way"; and she indicated a route widely different from that of either--so different, indeed, that her mother could not accept it. "no, dear, you are wrong," she calmly replied. "i will lead." and yet there is reason to believe the child was nearer right than either, and had her suggestion been adopted, much of what followed might have been averted. while they were riding, as they believed, in the direction of the big cheyenne, mr. kingsland noticed that the pony of his son was not with them. his wife said that he did not come up the river-bank, and was probably waiting for brinton to go to him. it will thus be seen that the youth was wrong in his supposition about the movements of jack. by-and-by the time came when mrs. kingsland saw she had committed a sad blunder, and, instead of approaching the river, had gone still farther from it; they could hear nothing of its flow, and were lost on the prairie. husband and wife now debated what was best to do. it was found that when each, including edith, named the supposed direction to the stream, they were as widely apart as before. "the wisest course is to stop trying to find the river," remarked the husband, "for every effort only takes us farther away; we might as well go into camp right here." "and freeze to death." "no; we will ride round until we find some shelter from this cutting wind, and then make ourselves as comfortable as we can until morning. do you see that light away to the south?" that which the ranchman observed was the glow already referred to as attracting the notice of brinton. the latter saw it in its true direction--that is, in the northern horizon, from which the bewilderment of his parents will be evident. in the hope of finding their way to the river the couple acted upon what might be considered a compromise. it is not necessary to say that every yard thus traversed increased the space between them and the youth who, at that moment, was groping blindly in quest of them. the wanderings of the stray ones, however, were fortunately not long continued, when the ponies of their own accord descended a depression in the prairie. it was not deep or well protected, and was not reached until after they had passed over several elevations, but they accepted the shelter thankfully, and dismounted. the three were cramped from their long constraint, and edith ran around and here and there for some minutes before she was willing to be tucked away for the night. their abundant clothing enabled them to get along much better than might be supposed; the little one lay between father and mother, the ponies being allowed to stay by themselves. as in the case of brinton, the long wintry night passed without disturbance or incident. with the coming of daylight mr. kingsland roused himself. seeing his wife and child were still sleeping, he did not awake them, and took the best survey he could of their surroundings. the weather was still intensely cold and the sky overcast. a look at his watch showed it was near eight o'clock when he clambered out of the depression and looked about him. the first discovery to cause surprise was the shelter that they had enjoyed during the night. instead of being a ravine, like that where brinton had slept, this was a rough irregular excavation, some forty or fifty feet in diameter. the sides sloped gently, the whole appearance being that of an immense hole left by some great explosion of gunpowder, to which a providential chance had guided their horses. the husband saw no sign of any living being besides those with him, nor could he form any surmise as to the course to be taken to effect a meeting with his son. "what will brinton think? after doing so bravely the work i ought to have done, we left him in the lurch. we are as much lost to each other as if in the depths of an african jungle with miles intervening. i can't help feeling that the top of that ridge yonder would give me a view that would disclose something important." he debated with himself whether it was prudent to walk thither and obtain the coveted survey. it was little more than a hundred yards distant, and it did not seem that any harm could come to the loved ones whom he would leave but a few minutes. "i must manage to get my bearings in some way before i can do anything. the sun seems to be off yonder behind the clouds, but really it appears to me as if it were in the wrong place!" he ended the doubt by striding to the elevation, rifle in hand. since his faintness of the night before, he felt better and stronger than he had for weeks, and this fact doubtless had much to do with the feeling of self-confidence which now nerved him. reaching the crest of the ridge or swell in the prairie, kingsland was disappointed. the same kind of view confronted him on every hand, and he experienced a repetition of that sensation which often comes to one in his situation: if he could only pass to the top of the next elevation, he would obtain the view he wanted. but hugh kingsland was too wise to yield to the prompting. one precious member of his family was already gone he knew not where, and he would incur no risk of its being further broken up. he was roused from his meditations in the most startling manner conceivable, the cause being a rifle-shot, undoubtedly aimed at himself. on the summit of the ridge at which he was gazing, and almost at the very point, two indian bucks suddenly walked up from the other side in plain sight. while they were still ascending, and when only their heads and waists showed, one of them brought his rifle to his shoulder and tried his skill on the white man across the valley-like depression. mr. kingsland did not tarry long enough to reply, but hurried back to the hollow where he had left his wife and child. they had awakened, but were not alarmed at his absence, the wife suspecting the cause. she had brought out what was left of the lunch, and she and edith were calmly eating when he reappeared, his looks and manner showing that he had made some terrifying discovery. he quickly explained what had taken place, adding-- "i am in doubt whether to mount the ponies and start to flee, or to stay where we are and try to fight them off." "you saw only two, and they were on foot." "but they are sure to have ponies near, and more than likely more of the hostiles are within call." "let us stay here until something is learned," said the wife, showing admirable coolness and courage. whether or not this was the wiser course remains to be seen, but it was followed. mr. kingsland crept to near the top of the hollow, and lying extended at full length against the sloping bank, peered over, with his rifle ready to fire at the first appearance of danger. his position was such that he could detect the approach of anyone from that side, while his wife guarded the other in a similar manner. the ponies having been quieted, edith was cautioned to remain near them, and to avoid exposing herself to any stray shots that might be fired. as long as she kept at the bottom of the hollow with the animals, she and they were safe. a full hour passed without the least sign of the hostiles. a less experienced person might have accepted this evidence that the danger had passed them by; but when a second hour had worn away with the same quietness everywhere, the husband and wife still maintained their watchfulness. the forenoon was half gone before this vigilance was rewarded. mrs. kingsland called to her husband that there was something suspicious in front of her; and pausing only long enough to make sure that nothing of the kind was immediately before him, he slipped down the hollow and up the opposite slope to her side. "where is it?" he asked in an undertone. "just over that first swell, and a little to the left." "i see him; keep down out of sight!" he placed the muzzle of his repeating winchester over the side of the hollow, took careful aim at the rough head that had risen a few inches above the slight swell in the prairie, and let fly. the aim was a perfect one, as was shown by the instant disappearance of the crown and the cry, which from behind the elevation sounded as if much farther off. instantly three or four replies came from other points along the swell, and the bullets chipped the dirt about the face of kingsland, who ducked his head out of range. knowing, however, how much depended on his concealing his weakness from the hostiles, he fired four shots quickly, without special aim, and with no expectation of accomplishing anything except that named. "if i can make them think there are half a dozen rifles here on the watch, they will be careful about attacking. but they mustn't know how weak we are." "i don't admit that we are so weak in this hollow and with that repeating gun, and you feeling so strong and well." at this juncture a cry was heard from edith. she had forgotten the command of her father, and crept up the opposite slope. "oh, there is wolf ear!" and before anyone could interpose she sprang up the bank and ran toward the ridge where her father had first seen the two hostiles. the horrified parents at the same moment saw three other indians dash toward the innocent child, who never dreamed of her awful peril. [illustration: "'oh, there is wolf-ear!'"] chapter xi. "i'm off; good-bye!" though his brave companion had fallen almost at his side, brinton kingsland had reached the camp of the supply train without receiving so much as a scratch. he mourned him, for he was a worthy man; but he was heart-broken at his failure to gain tidings of his loved parents and little sister. he did not know what to do, and could only fear the worst. when he had told his story to his new friends, none of them were able to offer any encouragement or hope. the supply train consisted of a dozen waggons, in charge of sixteen teamsters. as a matter of course, all were armed, and had come thus far without trouble. they were making ready to resume their journey to wounded knee when the affray already described took place. this caused an hour's delay, and now, when about to start again, the signs of danger became so threatening, they held back for consultation. the indians whom they had driven from the prostrate form of scout jackson reappeared on the crest of the hill over which they had skurried, and it was noticed that their number was increased to fully a dozen. while the teamsters were watching them another band came into sight, in the opposite direction. to the dismay of the spectators, this party was more numerous than the first. not only that, but both bands advanced at a slow trot, and met at a point a couple of hundred yards distant, and in a place over which the train would have to pass if it pushed on toward the camp at wounded knee. "boys," said captain wadsworth, who was in charge of the train, "there's going to be a fight." "we ought to be able to keep them off," replied one of his men. "so we shall if no more appear; but the sioux are as thick as berries, and by-and-by we shall have a hundred or more of them popping away at us. we may as well get ready for what's certain to come." "jackson said something to me," observed brinton, "about an escort having been sent out from wounded knee to bring you in." "they can't come any too soon," responded the captain, who fully comprehended the peril; "but i'm afraid they will be too late. those indians don't let the grass grow under their feet." the leader did not content himself with talking, but began to prepare for the attack, which might come at any moment. the waggons were drawn up in a circle, in the middle of which were placed the horses. bags of grain, boxes and bundles, were piled on the ground underneath the waggons. these served as an additional protection for the animals, and screened the men, when kneeling behind and firing at their assailants. the hostiles were quick to detect what was going on, and did not allow the work to be completed without interference. they began circling back and forth, riding entirely around the camp and discharging their guns at it. the exhibition of horsemanship was a fine one; but they kept at such a distance that their shots did little damage. in some way, one got through the entrenchments, as they might be called, and slightly wounded a horse in the shoulder. he made more fuss than if it had gone through his head, rearing, snorting, and plunging, and throwing the rest into a panic, which would have ended in a stampede, had they not been guarded with unusual care. the teamsters did not accept these unwelcome attentions meekly, but fired at their circling assailants; the cause named, however, prevented much success. it looked as if one or two of the shots inflicted damage, but not to the extent of disabling any pony or his rider. standing at the rear of one of the waggons, where he could see everything that was going on, captain wadsworth watched the exciting incidents. at his elbow was brinton kingsland, who did not think it worth while to try his hand with his winchester, though the others were continually cracking around him. "what is to be feared," said the captain, "is that the hostiles will soon increase to such an extent that they will overwhelm us." "how many do you think are out there now?" inquired brinton. "i should say between twenty and thirty--that is, there were a few minutes ago, but there are five or six less now." "what is the meaning of that?" the leader turned his bronzed face toward the youth and smiled significantly. "don't you catch on? they have sent after reinforcements: a slight number now means a big number pretty soon." "have you noticed those bucks on the top of the ridge yonder?" captain wadsworth looked in the direction named. three indians had dismounted, and were standing close together, or rather two of them were, while the third seemed to be stooping and busy with something on the ground. "how long have they been there?" asked the leader. "they rode up the slope within the last five minutes. they were off their ponies before they stopped. i can't guess what they are doing." "i don't know; but we shall soon learn." although the cracking of rifles continued, and the teamsters, kneeling behind the fortifications, were doing their utmost to pick off some of the dusky riders, who in turn sent in their dropping shots, captain wadsworth gave them little heed. the position of himself and brinton was exposed, and, had their assailants come closer, they would not have dared to maintain it; but with the combatants so widely separated, it cannot be said they were in much real danger. the three indians in whom our friends were so much interested just then were beyond and apart from the others. their horses were cropping the few blades of withered grass that had survived the winter's tempests; but not one was a dozen yards from his master, all of whom were so grouped together that their movements could not be identified. rather curiously there was not a spy-glass among the teamsters. such an article would have been valuable just then; but they had to depend upon their unaided vision. the captain and brinton, however, agreed that two of the bucks were bent over and busy with something on the ground, while the third, standing on the crest of the ridge, appeared to be awaiting the action of his companions before carrying out some plan he had in mind. "look!" whispered the youth; "isn't that smoke?" the captain was silent a moment before answering-- "yes; the indian is like the chinaman: he can start a fire where you and i couldn't kindle a spark. i believe they will make a bundle of water-soaked leaves crackle and burn like tinder wood. those fellows have got some of the dried grass together and have managed to touch it off. you understand what _that_ means, of course?" "i cannot say that i do." "it is a signal fire." "kindled for what purpose?" "to call all the other hostiles in sight here, to take a hand in the fun of massacring us and plundering our train. such a signal can be seen a long way and will do all that is intended. look at it now!" from between the two, who now rose from their stooping posture, a thin finger of vapour arose, going straight upward as if it were a shadowy arrow aimed at the clouds. "one of the bucks is waving his blanket," observed brinton; "he must mean something by that. i suppose he is fanning the blaze to keep it from going out." "no; look at that thin line of smoke; don't you see something peculiar?" "ah! i notice it now." the vapour showed a striking change of appearance; instead of climbing in a straight line, it now waved gracefully from side to side. it was something which never can occur unless with the help of some person. "that is the signal," said captain wadsworth; "it can be seen for miles in all directions, and every indian eye that catches sight of it will read its meaning as plainly as our soldiers do the looking-glass signals. it's a bad thing for us." the captain was an old campaigner, and knew what he was talking about; his impressive manner was not lost upon brinton kingsland. "how far are we from wounded knee?" he asked. "anywhere from a dozen to twenty miles; it depends on the course we take--that is," he added, with a shake of his head, "whether we ever take any course at all." "i cannot recall just what jackson said about an escort from that camp, but i think he told me such an escort had been sent." the captain shook his head. "you must be mistaken; for, if that were the case, why did he ride out here alone? was it not more likely that he came to learn whether we needed protection? and if that is so, they will wait for his return and report before sending out the escort which is the only thing that can save us." this view was so reasonable that brinton could not combat it. "i see one chance," ventured the youth, after a moment's silence, during which he watched the actions of the signal corps on the ridge. the officer turned wonderingly toward him. "i shall be glad to hear what it is." "if a messenger can get through to wounded knee with word of your extremity, they will send you help without delay." "true; but how can such a thing succeed? if it were night it might be done; but in what possible way can a horseman dash through the lines when the bucks would see him start, and they have us surrounded?" "it will be taking big risks, but i would like to try it." captain wadsworth, who had been leaning against the hind wheel of one of the waggons, with his arms folded, abruptly straightened up and stared at the youth, as if uncertain whether he had heard him aright; then he repeated-- "_you_ would like to try it, did you say?" "yes, sir; and i believe i can get through." the officer looked off toward the ridge and shook his head. "don't think of such a thing; we must stay here and fight it out, and trust to providence to open the way, if any is to be opened." but brinton was in earnest, and his eagerness was increased by the discouraging manner of the captain. "i understand your feelings, and i am not blind to what is in the path of the one who attempts to do what i have proposed; but, captain, bear two things in mind: there isn't a fleeter horse in the whole west than my jack. when i gave him rein he pulled away from those indians as though their animals were walking. so all i have to secure is a fair start." "exactly," replied the leader with a grim smile, "and therein you sum up the whole business. all that you need to succeed is to succeed. but what is the other point you wish me to hold in mind?" "the fair start can be secured." "how?" "pretend to ride out against the hostiles. they will gather in front of the threatened point; i will be on the watch, and, when the way opens, will scoot for wounded knee." brinton saw that captain wadsworth was interested. once more he came to the erect position, and looking kindly in his face, said-- "your plan has something in it." the heart of the youth leaped with hope. "i am sure of it; but there's not a minute to lose." this was self-evident, and the captain, having made up his mind, passed among his men and hurriedly explained what he had decided to do. it was for eight or ten of them to mount their horses and move cautiously toward the ridge, as if with the intention of attacking the little signal party there and stamping out their tiny fire. this would cause a concentration (or, more properly, it was hoped that it would) of the hostiles on that side of the camp, of which brinton kingsland would take advantage by dashing out on the other side and riding at full speed to wounded knee. it was the only thing that offered hope, and, therefore, was eagerly accepted by all. the firing was so scattered that no fear was felt in moving about within the circle of waggons, for, as we have shown, captain wadsworth and brinton had been exposed all the time without harm. the sioux kept so far away that it was evident they were waiting for the arrival of reinforcements before making a real attack. the preparations on the part of the teamsters had hardly begun when brinton, who had led his pony forth and stood ready to leap into the saddle, called out-- "you needn't do it! here's my chance!" the majority of the indians were near the ridge at that moment, but some of them were quite a distance off, and, in fact, alarmingly close to the opposite side of the camp. the impatient youth was confident that he could dash through the opening before they could stop him. "it won't do!" protested captain wadsworth; "don't try it! wait till we get them nearer the ridge they will cut you off----" "i'm off! good-bye!" brinton kingsland was in the saddle, and shot out from among the waggons like a thunderbolt. chapter xii. what happened to wolf ear. good fortune attended the daring attempt of brinton kingsland. by a providential occurrence, most of the hostiles were on the side of the supply camp, in the direction of the ridge from whose crest the signal smoke was ascending, when the youth, dexterously guiding his pony through the waggons that surrounded him, quickly cleared himself of all obstacles. "now, jack, old boy, do your best! never was there greater need of it." the intelligent creature thrust his nose forward, and was off like a shot. he knew what was wanted, and nobly responded to the call upon his fleetness. the teamsters forgot all about the indians, and fixed their gaze upon the youth. he was fully a hundred yards from camp before the sioux comprehended what was done. then, when they saw the messenger dashing over the plain, fully a dozen of the best mounted were after him in a flash, discharging several of their guns at the moment of starting. brinton was seen to thunder up the incline of the first swell, sitting firmly in his saddle, and instantly disappeared over the crest. a minute later, the foremost two of the pursuers skimmed up the same incline, just as the lad shot into sight on the summit of the next elevation, instantly whisking out of view over that, while his superb horse continued his arrowy flight toward wounded knee. then the excited and hopeful teamsters could see no more, and all but the foremost two of the pursuers gave up the chase and came straggling back to join their comrades in the attack on the camp. they knew that the result of that flight of the messenger would be to bring help, and, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be before it could arrive. and so the attack on the camp was begun at once, and with a fierceness that speedily brought a crisis. meanwhile, brinton kingsland was going with undiminished speed over the prairie, skimming up the inclines and down the slopes at a break-neck pace, with every nerve of his splendid steed strained to the highest. the rider heard the dull report of the rifles that were fired at him, but the distance was too great to cause alarm, and he did not even hear the singing of the bullets, so wide went they of the mark; but the glance cast over his shoulder showed that he had only two pursuers to fear. it was easy to compare their speed with his, and less than a half-mile was passed, when all doubt vanished. they had been thrown a hundred paces to the rear and were losing ground every minute. at the instant of shooting up one of the slopes and disappearing over the crest, brinton snatched off his cap and swung it over his head, with a joyous shout. "hurrah, jack! they're not in it with you; you can take it more easily now." nevertheless, the speed of the pony was maintained for a brief while, until it became certain that his two pursuers had given up the attempt to overtake him, and had gone to wreak their fury on the imperilled teamsters before help could reach them. then brinton made jack drop to a pace which he could continue for hours without fatigue. the youth knew the course to follow to reach the camp at wounded knee creek, and he calculated that he could readily cover the ground in the course of an hour or so. he was too sensible, however, to imagine that an open and uninterrupted course lay before him. at that time, as the reader well knows, the country in the neighbourhood of the bad lands, the reservations and the space between, was overrun with hostiles, as eager as so many jungle tigers to slay settlers, small squads of soldiers, and all white people whom it was safe to attack. he was liable to encounter some of these bands at any moment, and only by continual vigilance could he avoid running into the cunningly laid traps which proved fatal to scores of others. now that the burst of excitement was over, and he was riding at a less killing pace, his thoughts went back to the loved ones from whom he had been so strangely separated. his heart became as lead as he reflected that they could hardly have escaped, considering the condition of his father, from the environing perils which covered miles of territory in every direction. "if i only knew where they were, if alive, i would guide this escort from wounded knee to their help----" what was that? surely he heard the report of guns from some point in advance. jack pricked his ears and increased his pace. "it can have but one meaning," muttered brinton, with a throbbing heart; "someone is in peril: can it be _they_?" he reined up his pony and stood still on the crest of the first elevation he reached, after the ominous sounds fell on his ears. at that moment he descried coming over another ridge, a furlong away, a troop of thirty or forty cavalry, riding at a gallop toward him. "that's the escort from wounded knee," was his instant conclusion; "i was right when i told captain wadsworth that nick jackson said the escort was on the way, though i wasn't certain of it." but evidently the firing had not come from the cavalry. it was from some point between, and, instead of being directly in front, as it first seemed, was off to the right, where he observed a depression, with several dismounted indians crouching around it. "great heavens! it's father fighting them off," he gasped; "he is in that hollow and they have attacked him!" he struck his heels against the ribs of jack, fiercely jerked the bridle-rein, and shouted to him to run at his best straight for the spot. but the approaching cavalry had descried the same thing, and were nearer the hollow than was the youth. they turned the heads of the horses and struck off at full speed. the assailing indians, too, had discovered their danger and were seen skurrying for their ponies, waiting near. the obedient animals turned until their masters sprang upon their backs, when they dashed off at full speed, with a single exception. one of them, forgetful of his danger or determined upon revenge, even at the cost of his life, was observed to have something in his arms as he held his ground. "it is edith that he is about to slay; maybe he has already killed her! o heaven!" the brother groaned, "is it too late to save her?" jack was tearing over the ground at a killing pace, but he could not reach them in time. he could carry his rider there in time to shoot down the indian, but not soon enough to prevent his burying his knife in the innocent heart. but there was a wonderful sharpshooter among the cavalry. he saw the awful peril, and throwing his horse on his haunches, brought his gun to his shoulder. during the instant it was at a level, hugh kingsland dashed out of the hollow, bare-headed, and, with hair streaming, ran toward the indian and his little girl. one pace behind him sped his wife; she was seen to make quick, earnest gestures to the approaching horsemen, and they thought it an appeal to them not to lose a second if they would save her child. at that instant the sharpshooter pressed the trigger of his weapon; the indian dropped the little one, threw up his arms in an aimless way, staggered back and sank to the ground. the next minute the troop thundered up, brinton almost among them. "are you hurt, my darling edith?" he called, leaping out of the saddle, catching her in his arms, pressing her to his heart and kissing her; "speak! did he hurt you?" the child was bewildered by the great confusion, and, without answering her brother, looked him affrightedly in the face. "why, brint, is that you?" "yes, yes; heaven be praised, you are not harmed! oh, how can i be thankful enough? and you, father and mother! what a blessed sight!" the mother gave him one grateful glance and then knelt by the fallen indian, just as edith, slipping from the grasp of her brother, ran to the prostrate figure and bent over it, asking in a voice of inexpressible tenderness-- "what is the matter, wolf ear?" the young ogalalla lay on his back, but at the moment the child spoke he managed, by a great effort, to raise his head and rest it on his hand. he had not spoken, but now, fixing his dark eyes on edith, said in a faint voice-- "wolf ear is hurt!" the troopers sat silent on their horses, looking down on the strange scene. hugh kingsland, with no trace of his illness, stood back a few paces with folded arms, gazing at the moving sight and trying in vain to restrain his emotions. his wife placed her arm under the head of the ogalalla, and, resting it on her knee, smoothed the black hair from his forehead, murmuring words of sympathy; edith covered her face with her hands, and sobbed with a breaking heart. brinton was affected at the sight of his former friend, but he could not help saying-- "mother, we can all pity him, but he was our enemy; and had he not been shot at that moment edith would not be living now." "you are wrong, my son," she replied gently. "wolf ear came forward to save edith." "what are you saying?" "he was with the party that attacked us; he did what he could to restrain them; he could not do so, and he ran forward to join and help us defend ourselves against them. edith saw him first and hurried out to meet him; he caught her up, and, when his companions would have harmed her, he would not let them touch her. he shouted to us to have no fear, that he was our friend. at that moment the soldiers came in sight and the other indians made off. wolf ear knew we were saved, and so he stood still, with edith's arms around his neck. i saw one of the soldiers aiming at them with his gun; husband and i ran out to shield him. i shouted and motioned to the soldier not to shoot, but he did not understand me, and--this is the sad result of the dreadful mistake." wolf ear fixed his eyes upon the wondering brinton, who, walking forward and stooping down, asked in a choking voice-- "is all this true, wolf ear?" "the words of your mother are true." "but what meant your course toward me yesterday? i cannot reconcile that with what i have just heard." "we parted friends, though i told you i was the enemy of the rest of your race. from the time we separated i have done all i could to find your people and save them before it was too late. until now, i have not met you." "you forget; we met in the gorge last night, and only this morning, when you sought the life of nick jackson, i chased you over the ridge in the effort to make you prisoner." a smile overspread the dark face, and the head swayed a single time to one side. "brinton, you are mistaken; the ogalalla whom you met, as you say, in the gully, and whom you sought to make prisoner, was not i--he was my twin brother, young bear; our mother can hardly tell us apart, and i taught him to speak english as well as i." "oh, what have i done!" wailed brinton, breaking down utterly, and covering his face with his hands. "i never dreamed of this; can you forgive this dreadful mistake?" "yes," said wolf ear faintly, "i forgive you; i forgive the soldier who shot me, for he did it to save _her_ life." he wearily closed his eyes, but opened them again when he felt the chubby arms of edith clasped round his neck, and her lips pressed against his. "oh, wolf ear!" she sobbed, in tones that brought tears to more than one eye among the bronzed troopers, "do not die! i love you, next to brint and papa and mamma----" among the silent troopers touched by the scene was the sharpshooter who had brought wolf ear low. he was a brave, rugged soldier, but, like most men, had a tender heart. he had not spoken for some minutes, and his eyes were moist as he swung his foot from his stirrup and over the haunch of his horse to the ground. "jim budworth don't often make a miss," he said in a broken voice, "and i didn't miss this fellow; but then i didn't aim to kill him, and i don't believe i did. i know a little about surgery myself--so let me take a look at wolf ear, as you call him." wondering at the words of the sharpshooter, and hardly daring to hope he was right, all watched him as he made what may be called a medical examination of the sufferer. the bullet had struck him in the side, and evidently had inflicted the wound intended. "injins are tough," remarked budworth, "and this one is as tough as the rest. he isn't going to die. here, wolf ear, try this." as he spoke, the trooper held a flask of spirits to the lips of the young indian and forced him to swallow some of it. it produced an immediate effect; and, to the astonishment of everyone, wolf ear assumed a sitting position and looked round with a smile. "i feel better--much better, thank you," he said, with a grateful look at budworth. "of course you do. it was a narrow chance for you, no mistake; but all you want is careful nursing, and i reckon mrs. kingsland here will be glad to give it you." "indeed i will," said the delighted woman; "there is nothing that i will not do for wolf ear. can it be possible that he is going to get well after all?" "of course it is; i know all about injins." "oh, i am so glad!" exclaimed the happy edith, throwing her arms again about his neck. "easy now, easy now," said budworth; "don't go to rolling and tumbling him about until he gets a little stronger. after that you can handle him as you choose." wolf ear rallied with amazing quickness, and showed all the heroism of his race, when he was helped upon his horse and the party moved back to the supply camp, where the teamsters had succeeded in driving off the hostiles. the indian was given an easy, comfortable couch in one of the waggons, and some hours later the party arrived at wounded knee. there the sufferer received the best of medical attention, and was soon able to move about with scarcely any pain or trouble. his recovery was rapid; and to-day only a slight scar remains to tell how nearly he met death in his efforts to save his friends from the warriors of his own race. and within the following few weeks the threatening cloud that had overspread the western sky, behind which the blood-red lightning gleamed and played, dissolved, and gave place to the sweet sunshine of peace, which, let us pray, may continue for ever. printed by cassell and company, limited, la belle sauvage. london, e.c. , winged arrow's medicine _or_ the massacre at fort phil kearney by harry castlemon _author of "the first capture" "gun boat series," etc., etc._ _illustrated_ by w. h. fry akron, ohio _the saalfield publishing company_ new york chicago [illustration: "steady, there!" he shouted. "right front into line! revolvers! give them the best you've got!"] copyright, by the saalfield publishing co. contents chapter i. page the second lieutenant chapter ii. an invitation chapter iii. winged arrow chapter iv. the medicine chapter v. the reprimand chapter vi. the bundle of sage brush chapter vii. "good-by, cyrus" chapter viii. in the hands of the sioux chapter ix. the medicine works wonders chapter x. guy is astonished chapter xi. in the signal tower chapter xii. what guy saw chapter xiii. colonel carrington is depressed chapter xiv. in the sioux camp chapter xv. what winged arrow saw chapter xvi. after the massacre chapter xvii. re-enforcements arrive chapter xviii. a prisoner at last chapter xix. conclusion chapter i. the second lieutenant guy preston was a young and beardless boy fresh from "the point." he was now attached to the --th cavalry and was one of three hundred men who had been ordered to that faraway country to assist in building the fort, which was named after the lamented hero, phil kearney. he had left the fort a short time before, and was out after prairie chickens, being armed with a double-barreled shotgun. the brace of birds which was tied to the pommel of his saddle proved that he was something of an adept at shooting on the wing. he was dressed in the uniform of the cavalry service, with a pair of straps on his shoulders that were decidedly the worse for wear, and his horse, a kentucky thoroughbred, which, although seemingly impatient to exhibit the mettle that was in him, was obedient to the rein and stopped or went ahead when his owner commanded him. "there do not seem to be many chickens here, tom, and so i think we will go back to the fort," said guy, raising himself in his stirrups and casting impatient glances on all sides of him. "we were told to stay within sight of the fortifications, but that last prairie chicken was too much for me. it made me disobey orders. there does not seem to be any sioux here either, and i don't see why they cannot let us alone. we could see plenty of fun in hunting if that miserable red cloud was out of the way." guy preston was not the only one who wished that same thing of red cloud. his regiment had been stationed, in the first place, at fort robinson in nebraska, which was the central point from which operations against the hostiles were organized. and what had caused this red cloud to go on the warpath? it was simply because the united states government had determined to open a road to montana by way of powder river. the way the road was laid out made it necessary that it should pass through the favorite hunting ground of the sioux indians, and some of them were fiercely opposed to it. the authorities made treaties with the hereditary chiefs by whom the right of way was granted, but the dissatisfaction that arose on account of it was so great that it led to an open rupture. red cloud was not an hereditary chief; that is, he was not a chief of any sort. he belonged to "the rank and file" of the band, but he was ambitious to become something better. the uneasiness among the indians gave him a glorious chance. he denounced the treaties and their makers, and declared war to the knife against every white man who came over that road or ventured into that country. there are always some discontented ones among the indians, men who cannot rest easy unless they are on the warpath, and crowds of these warriors flocked to his standard. the sioux nation was the most powerful of any tribe on this continent. they were rich in everything that goes to make up an indian's idea of wealth,--ponies, furs, and weapons; and, more than all, the countless numbers of buffalo that roamed through the powder river country made them independent of the whites. they numbered , in all, and could put , warriors in the field. the hereditary chiefs very soon found themselves deserted and powerless when red cloud raised his standard, and in some instances were only too glad to preserve their control over their bands by acknowledging the new chief as their master. finding himself at the head of so strong a force, red cloud took to the warpath at once, and a long, tedious war ensued, during which he made a great reputation. avoiding any serious engagement, he so harassed all trains and expeditions sent against him that the few troops then in his country could scarcely be said to hold even the ground they actually stood upon. several forts were established, but they protected only what was inside their palisades. a load of wood for fuel could not be cut outside without a conflict, and it finally culminated in the terrible tragedy which it is the purpose of this story to reveal,--for this is a true tale, and we tell it just as it happened. at last the commanding officer at fort robinson became out of all patience and determined to bring the sioux to close quarters; so he sent colonel carrington on a long campaign with a force strong enough to follow the sioux wherever they went, destroying their villages and reducing them to submission. the colonel was also instructed to build a strong post upon the powder or tongue rivers and operate against them from there. the fort was built at last and named after one of the bravest generals who gave up his life during our civil war; but it was only after long months of toil and hardship. red cloud's warriors followed him all the way, stealing such stock as strayed away from the camp and cutting off small bodies of men that were sent out any distance from the main body. guy preston was there and saw how the hostiles operated, and we will venture the assertion that more than once he thought of home, and, if the truth must be told, he did not blame the indians for fighting. the lands which they were forced to give up were their home, and they were about to surrender their only means of subsistence. the buffalo comprised all they had. it furnished them with food and raiment, coverings for their beds and the tepees in which they lived. the whites did not kill what they wanted for use, but wantonly slaughtered thousands simply to make a "record." all the scum of civilization fled to the frontier, and bills and dicks whose reputations were not of the best swaggered about the streets of canvas cities during the winter and roamed the plains during the summer to shoot buffalo. these people did not know or did not care what the buffalo meant to the indian. it meant that when they were gone, the indian would starve to death. no matter what treaties our government made with the indians, it had no effect upon the reckless whites. they encouraged the slaughter of the game. future historians will have to record that all our western indian wars were brought about by the acts of irresponsible and disreputable characters who usurped all the best hunting lands and attacked every band of indians they saw, whether friendly or hostile, sioux or pawnees. red cloud was a man of great foresight, although born in a humble position. he saw that the government could not or would not keep their treaties and forbid these adventurers from trespassing on their hunting grounds, and forthwith, relying upon his assumed popularity, which came to him the moment he declared war on the whites, he called a convention of all the sioux and allied tribes. when that convention met he rehearsed their wrongs and it was decided that they would do what any brave people would do under the same circumstances--fight the whites as long as possible. as i said, a long war was the result; so when colonel carrington entrenched himself behind the stockade of fort phil kearney, he shut himself off from the civilized world. he was there, and the indians resolved that he should stay there. even his most experienced and bravest scouts could not get through to take dispatches to his superiors. they found indians all around them, and they were seen and driven back. the wily chief located his village at no great distance away, and established a code of signals by which he could be informed at any time just what the soldiers were doing in the fort. every wood train that went out was attacked, and a strong force was necessary for their protection. in spite of all the precautions they could use, between fifteen and twenty soldiers were killed during the months of november and december. but red cloud was by no means satisfied with what he had done. he wanted to get rid of the whites entirely, but he had not taken measures to do it; so he called another convention to meet in his village some time in december. then he broached his program. after repeating that the buffalo would all be killed, which was the worst thing that could happen to a plain indian, he said: "we must take this fort. if we once whip these soldiers and burn their palisade, the government will not send out any more." all the other chiefs believed that, and they decided upon a stratagem which will appear as our story progresses. guy preston, as well as all the younger officers in the fort, was not very well pleased to be shut up inside those log walls with no chance to make themselves famous by fighting the indians, and, worse than all, he could look over the stockade at almost any time of the day and see the prairie chickens flitting about as if there were not a hostile sioux within a hundred miles of them. "what is the reason the colonel will not let one of us go out and knock over a few of them for dinner?" he said to a sentry one day while he stood by his side watching them. "i don't see a single sioux in sight." "no, sir," replied the sentry. "but they are there, sure enough. every little tuft of grass hides one." "but why don't they show themselves?" "they do when they can make anything by it. have you forgotten mike and tony?" the sentry called the names of two plainsmen,--experienced scouts they were too,--who had attempted to leave the fort only a few nights before with some papers that the colonel wished particularly to send to his superior officer. they had been gone about three hours, but when they returned they looked as though they had been through three or four wars. they barely escaped and that was all; and tony carried with him the mark of an arrow which came near ending his career then and there. "but this is daytime," said guy. "i don't see what harm there can be in riding around over the prairie in plain sight of the post. i believe i will ask the colonel to let me try it on." "very good, sir," replied the sentry. "but he won't let you go." the lieutenant did not catch all this reply, but hurried away to find the commanding officer. he sent in his name by the orderly and presently entered the room to which young officers of his rank seldom went unless to receive orders or listen to a reprimand. the colonel was in his shirt sleeves and pacing back and forth, and now and then he took one of his hands out of his pockets to run it impatiently through his hair. he seemed to have forgotten that he was a soldier and commander of the fort besides, for he was so impatient at being shut up without remedy that he could scarcely control himself. he stopped and turned toward mr. preston with something like a frown upon his face. "well, what is it now?" he inquired. "do you know where the indians are?" "no, sir, and i don't believe there is one within two miles of the fort," answered the lieutenant. the colonel walked to his table, picked up his eyeglasses and put them on. he wanted to look at the officer who could give such an opinion as this. "i should like permission to ride out on the prairie a little way and shoot some of those prairie chickens which are so thick out there," said mr. preston. "i saw some within twenty yards of the post." the colonel stared hard at mr. preston and then drew up the nearest chair and sat down. at first he opened his mouth as if to give a very emphatic reply to this strange request, but on second thought he shouted:-- "orderly, tell the adjutant i want to see him." chapter ii. an invitation guy preston was sorely perplexed by this order. he was not aware that he had done anything to be reported to the adjutant, and besides that officer was not a member of his company. he had not been invited to sit down as was generally the case with officers who came there to see the colonel on business, but stood twirling his cap in his hand; and every time he raised his eyes to the colonel's face he saw that the officer was still regarding him behind his eyeglasses as if he meant to look him through. "are you aware that the sioux are very hostile, and have you any idea what they will do if they capture you?" said the colonel, breaking the silence at last. "but they will not capture me, sir," answered guy. "i shall go on horseback, and the indian pony does not live which can beat tom." "i don't suppose that a bullet or an arrow could stretch your tom out dead while you were running away from them?" said the colonel. "yes, sir, i suppose they can do that, but they would not take me alive, all the same." guy finished the sentence by putting his hand into his hip pocket and drawing forth a derringer which he showed to the colonel. "humph!" said the officer. "you would shoot yourself before you would be taken prisoner? well, i don't know but that is the right thing to do." at this moment the first lieutenant who acted as adjutant came into the room. he listened with surprise when his officer made him acquainted with the request that guy preston had brought in to him, adding:-- "you have your report for this quarter all made out?" the adjutant replied that he had. "well, i shall want you to make out an entry in your 'remarks' in regard to lieutenant preston," said the colonel. "you will simply say: 'requested permission to go out in the face of the sioux for the purpose of shooting some sage hens. granted. he was shot down and killed by the sioux in plain view of the fort.' you may go," he continued, walking up and taking preston by the hand. "i never expect to see you again." "th--thank you, sir," replied the lieutenant, who was confounded by the way his request was granted. "i will surely be back in the course of an hour or two." when guy had left the room, the colonel's face relaxed, and filling up his pipe he settled himself for a smoke. "i do not think he will go," said the adjutant with a laugh. "i know i would not stir a peg after i had received such a permission as that." "keep an eye on him," said the colonel, "and if you see him mount his horse, just step up and tell him not to go out of sight of the fort. i do not blame these boys for getting impatient, i want to do something myself, but i don't know what it is." "halloo, preston, where are you going now?" exclaimed one of his roommates, as he entered his apartment and began to overhaul his hunting rig. "a shotgun! you are not going outside!" "the colonel told me to go," answered preston. "he called them sage hens, but i believe they are prairie chickens." "and you are going outside to shoot them, and the sioux all around you?" cried the young officer, throwing down his book and raising himself to a sitting posture on his bunk. "guy, you are crazy." "i guess that is what the colonel seemed to think; but he told me to go, and said he never expected to meet me again. he is going to bluff me, but he will find that i am not that sort." guy then went on to tell perkins how the request was received and the way it was granted, to all of which he listened in amazement. as soon as he began to get it through his head, he implored his roommate to let the permission go by default; the colonel did not expect him to go; he knew how perilous the undertaking was, and he hoped, by drawing it in its true colors, to make preston see it also; but preston did not see it in that way. "he did not go at it right," said he. "he took the very course to make me go out there. if he is going to find out how brave i am, he will certainly find it out." "you are a fool," declared perkins hotly. "i never expect to see you again either. when i shake you by the hand at the gate it will be the last time until i see you brought in for good." guy preston began to see at last that he was about to do something at which many a better man and braver than he ever dared be would hesitate. it might be that "every little tuft of grass concealed a sioux warrior," and an arrow or a bullet sped when he was not looking for it would put an end to his redoubtable thoroughbred and leave him at the mercy of the indians who had beleaguered the fort; but he had his loaded derringer in his pocket, and he was sure that with it he could escape the barbarities they would inflict upon him. he took his double barrel out of its case, and bade perkins good-by; but that worthy did not notice him at all. he got up and accompanied preston to the stables, saw him saddle his horse and lead him to the gate. he found the adjutant there waiting to pass the orders the colonel had last given him, and he seemed more surprised than ever to learn that the young officer was still bent on going outside; but he said, as if he were giving ordinary instructions to one who had a simple duty to perform:-- "do you see those hills about a mile and a half off? well, keep inside of them. if you go over them, we shall give you up. look out for an ambuscade." "now will you bid me good-by, perkins?" said guy, extending his hand. "oh, you need not be so particular about giving it a brotherly clasp. i will see you again in two or three hours, and i shall have a lot of prairie chickens to show you. good-by everybody." "i am really surprised at the colonel," said perkins, as he stood by the adjutant's side and watched his comrade as he galloped away. "he should have refused him point-blank." "the colonel is sorry enough for it now when it is too late," said the officer. "he supposed, of course, when the boy found out how much danger there was in his undertaking that he would give it up; but i knew he was taking the wrong course. good-by preston. by gracious, he has one prairie chicken already!" yes; the very first chicken that his horse frightened up was filled full of no. shot, and preston had something for his dinner. the adjutant could not wait to see any more. he had business to attend to somewhere inside, so he went off and perkins sat there on the ground for an hour and kept watch of his companion as he wandered to and fro on the prairie in search of another chicken. at last one got up before him, but the shooter seemed to have lost his skill. the double barrel spoke twice in quick succession, but the chicken kept on and in a moment more flew over the ridge out of sight. at least that was what perkins thought he had done, the distance being so great that he could not see the chicken at all; but he judged from guy's actions that that was the way he had gone. after waiting long enough to reload his gun, he put spurs to his horse and presently he too was out of sight. "good-by guy preston," said perkins, with a sigh; "you are the best fellow that ever lived, and now the sioux have got you sure. you should have had better sense than to disobey the adjutant's orders." perkins was in a very gloomy frame of mind as he took his way through the gate and finally brought up before the adjutant's door. a voice from the inside bade him enter, and the lieutenant knew as soon as he looked at him that he had some news to communicate. "guy preston has gone, sir," said he. "over the ridge?" replied the officer, starting up in his chair. "yes, sir. the second chicken he shot at went that way, or at least i thought so, and guy followed after him." the adjutant said no more. guy was a favorite with all the officers and men, and the idea of him losing his life through a disobedience of orders was distressing. he shoved a sheet of paper which he had been examining to one side, got up and walked to a window and looked out at the sentry who stood in front of the gate; and perkins, taking this as a gentle hint that conversation was no longer desirable, put on his hat and retreated through the door. guy preston was a persevering hunter, and when he reached the top of the swell he saw the chicken just settling in the grass about one hundred yards away. this time there was no mistake about it. the game "lay well to cover," and when the horse was almost ready to step upon him he arose and sought safety in flight; but he laid too long. when the shotgun spoke again he came down, and guy had another chicken. for half an hour longer he rode about behind the swell, and finally he aroused himself and began to look around him. he was surprised to see that he had broken orders by at least a mile or more. "come on, tom, and we will go back in a hurry," said he, pulling the horse's head around. "there were more chickens out here when i looked over the palisade at them, and where are they now? get up, tom, and we'll--" something happened just then to call guy back to earth, and made him think a little more of the sioux than he did a few moments previous. it was the sight of a solitary warrior sitting on his horse about half a mile away, and what struck guy as something strange was, he did not seem at all afraid of being observed by anybody. guy drew up his horse and looked at him. he could see that the indian brave was dressed in war costume, but the distance was so great, not having a glass with him, that he could not make out whether he was a chieftain or not. the warrior seemed to be equally interested in him, for after looking at guy for a minute or two, he put his horse in motion and came down the swell toward him. "i don't believe i care for a closer acquaintance," said the young officer, gathering up the reins and leaning forward in the saddle, still keeping his eyes fixed upon the approaching savage. "if you want a race, come on. it is lucky for you that i haven't my winchester in my hands. i would take that war bonnet of yours into the fort with me as a trophy." but somehow guy did not put his horse into rapid motion as he had expected to do. the indian, when he saw that guy was getting ready to flee, stopped his own horse, and, as if to assure him that his intentions were pacific, held his rifle above his head at arm's length. this done he swung himself to the ground and laid the weapon at full length in the grass. then he unbuckled his belt, which he also showed to guy, and laid it beside the rifle. the next belt he took off was the one containing his knife, which he also placed with the others, and having completely disarmed himself, he placed one hand upon his horse's withers, gracefully leaped into the saddle, and once more rode toward guy. "i believe he wants to communicate," thought guy, not knowing whether or not to accept his invitation. "sioux, thy name is treachery; and that fellow's motions show me that he is as active as a cat. there," he added, seeing that the savage stopped his horse and sat regarding guy intently, "he is waiting to see what i am going to do. i believe i will try him on." guy preston's actions must by this time have satisfied the reader that he was a boy who could not easily be frightened. his coming out on the prairie to shoot chickens must have convinced one of that fact. without hesitating a moment he proceeded to disarm himself the same as the savage had done, but all he had to do was to lay down his shotgun and take off the belt containing his cartridges. his loaded derringer he kept in his hip pocket. "now come on," said he, as he again mounted his horse. "he may have some weapons about him, but if he has i have my derringer." chapter iii. winged arrow guy often said that he did not see why it was that he and the savage should advance to meet each other in that cool and collected manner. if the indian had friends who were concealed behind the swells and he was simply trying to get him further away from the fort so that they could surround and capture him, he saw no signs to indicate it. he never looked behind him at all. he came on as though he had no suspicion, and guy, not to be outdone by his savage confederate, came on in the same way. he had a great curiosity to see a real live indian in his war paint, but as he drew nearer he discovered that there were no signs of paint about this indian. it was a whiter face than people of his tribe usually boast of, and guy thought that he was smiling in a good-natured sort of way. a few steps more and he was aware of it; and furthermore he discovered that his savage friend, if that was the name to be applied to him, was a boy but little older than himself. as soon as he approached within speaking distance he raised his hand to his bonnet with a military flourish and said, in perfect english:-- "how do you do, sir?" guy raised his hand to his cap, but he could not say anything in reply. the idea of being spoken to in such a manner was enough to upset him completely. he had been wondering how he would communicate with the savage and running over in his mind the various signs he had learned from the guides, signs which he could use whenever he met an indian who did not understand his language; but to be addressed in finished english was rather more than he had bargained for. the indian evidently enjoyed his perplexity, for after looking at him a moment or two he inquired:-- "do you not think you are running a great risk in coming out here to shoot those little birds, while there are sioux all around you ready to take your scalp?" "who are you?" said guy, getting the better of his astonishment at last. "i am winged arrow, at your service," replied the indian. "yes; but i don't know any more about you than i did before," returned guy. "you are not an indian?" "a full-blooded one," was the response; and the savage proved that he had been among the soldiers just long enough to learn their ways, for he lifted his right leg and placed it across the horn of his saddle. "perhaps my english bothers you." "well, yes; i confess that that has something to do with it," said guy, growing more at his ease. "where have you been to learn so much?" "i have been at carlisle. i was a student there for eight years." "oh," said guy, his astonishment being immensely relieved. "but you did not stay there long enough to wash the red out of you." "it would take more than eight years to do that. i learned the white man's ways, but i could not forget that i was an indian. what do you fellows want out here anyway? the prairie is broad, and why could you not build a road somewhere else?" having got over his astonishment, guy turned to make a note of the savage and his accoutrements. this was the first indian he had ever seen close at hand, but as far as he had read or seen at a distance his trappings were all of the savage order. his moccasins, leggings, and hunting shirt, as well as the gaudily ornamented bonnet which he wore upon his head, were all of some squaw's handiwork. there was only one thing about him that looked any way civilized,--his hair was cut short in regular school-boy fashion. his face would have been a study if guy had had the opportunity to give it a good looking-over. it was a noble face, and one that could hardly be expected to be found among men or boys of his tribe. how such a face as that should become distorted by passion was something guy could not understand. the indian certainly had no weapons about him. if he had, they kept company with guy's derringer--safely out of sight. from the indian,--or winged arrow, he called himself,--guy turned his attention to his horse; for a horse was something he greatly admired. it was a small horse of sorrel color, but there was a look about him which drew his attention and which he greatly delighted in. the animal stood peaceable enough, but his head was erect, his eyes flashed continually as he glanced around the horizon, and he snuffed as often as he turned toward the fort, as if he felt the presence of an enemy there. guy was satisfied at last to turn his attention to winged arrow and hear what else he had to say. "this land belongs to congress," began guy. "i beg your pardon, sir, but congress never had a right or never will have a right to own one foot of this ground," said the indian, speaking with some animation. "it belongs to us, and we are bound to defend it." "did we not make a treaty with some of your big men to have the right of way through this country?" said guy. "but why did you not take the sense of the nation on it? red cloud is a 'big man,' and he is decidedly opposed to it. you have taken one reservation after another from us and the indian has nothing left. we propose to do as any brave people would do--fight for this country as long as there is a man left. this home is all we have, and we will not give it up until we are whipped. this is the sixth time you have made us promises, and not one of them has been fulfilled." guy preston could not say anything in reply, for he knew that winged arrow told him the truth. the indian then went on to tell of some of those treaties and the way the white man had broken faith with them; and he repeated them as though he were reading from a book. he had the words of spotted tail, a chief of the brule indians, almost by heart. he said that word came from the great father that the white men wanted to "borrow" the right of way from the indians, and that the promises so made would last fifty years; but it was not true. the next treaty they made was with general sherman, and they were told that the promises would last for twenty-five years; but it also was not true. the general said that the indian should have all the land from the white river to the missouri, cattle, oxen, and wagons to haul logs with, and that they should have $ as an annuity; but it was false. the white man never came with the goods in his hand to let the indian see how much he was going to get for the land he was told to give up, for then their hearts would be glad; but they got the land and forgot all their promises. winged arrow's heart was in the matter and for an hour he kept talking, while guy could only sit still and listen. "but it seems to me that you are making a big mistake," said he at last, when he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgewise. "what do you want to kill the soldiers for? they are not to blame because somebody has broken faith with you." "i know that very well," said the indian, straightening himself up on his horse and raising his hand above his head. "but don't you know that the soldiers are the bulwarks of civilization? the settlers would not come here if it were not for the soldiers. the most of us know that we are going to be whipped in the long run." "you do know it? then what have you those clothes on for?" "because i am bound to go down with the rest. i would not give a cent to live here on this prairie unless we could live as we were before." guy did not know what reply to make to this. he thought it would be a long time before winged arrow and others like him could live as they used to do before the whites came in. there was the buffalo. there was a time when the land all around them was fairly black with the countless throngs, but they had all been slaughtered by the hands of the buffalo hunters, either for their hides or just to make a "record," and no power on earth could bring those throngs back again. winged arrow should have seen that, so guy reasoned with himself, and he did not hesitate to tell him so. "the buffalo are gone, or rather are going as fast as they can, and you have to give up hunting them and follow the white man's road hereafter," said he earnestly. "that will never be," said winged arrow; and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "there was a time when we thought we could kill all the white men and then the buffalo would increase; but those of us who have been to the nation's capital know that the thing is just impossible. when the buffalo goes the indian will go. we are doomed." guy preston had been pretty well aware of that fact for a long time, but this was the first intimation he had ever had of it from an indian. winged arrow seemed to realize it, and his voice grew husky and faint whenever he spoke of it. "ah! those were happy days," said he, looking out over the prairie, as if in the distance he could see the vision he was conjuring up. "of course i don't remember it, for i was not born then; but i have heard my father tell of it, and i can almost see the things as they happened then. the people obeyed the chief, hunted the buffalo, and were happy." "yes"; said guy. "you were happy when you were on the warpath. you indians were always fighting." "of course. that was fate. the weaker had to give way to the stronger, and that is just what we are doing now. the indian believes that there are two spirits that rule mortal man, the good spirit and the bad. the good spirit is all the time working for us. he brings us everything that makes man happy. he brings us good weather, plenty of game, and success over our enemies. the bad spirit is just the reverse. he brings sickness, drives away the game, and makes us miserable in every way he knows how. he has for a time taken advantage of the good spirit, and that is just what he is doing for us now. some day the good spirit will turn around and get the advantage of him, but that will be long after my day." "what do you think will happen then?" asked guy, who was much interested in what the indian said to him. "when that happens you will see a glorious day for the sioux indians," said winged arrow, growing animated. "the whites will be driven away from this country forever, i don't know just how it will be done, but it will surely happen; the buffalo will come back, and the sioux will be monarch of all he surveys." "i will not live to see that day," said guy. "neither will i; but it is going to take place as sure as the world stands. but i didn't come out here to teach you my religion. you are methodist or episcopalian, and probably you will die that way. i came out to warn you." "to warn me?" echoed guy. "what about?" "that there is going to be a massacre here in a few days, and i want you to keep out of it." "you just bet that i will keep out of it, if i can; but if i should be ordered to be in it--then what?" "why, then, there is no help for you. i shall do the same; but you may rest assured that i shall not shoot close to any palefaces. i saw a good many whites while i was gone, and i can't bear to think of seeing them come to their death." "come to their death? is it going to happen out here on the plains?" for the first time winged arrow straightened around on his horse and looked behind him. there was something so stealthy in his movements that guy almost involuntarily slipped his right hand to his hip pocket and laid hold of his derringer. chapter iv. the medicine guy preston turned and looked in the same direction in which the indian was gazing, but could not see anything to confirm his suspicions. the prairie, as far as he could see it, did not appear as though there was a person on it, but guy knew better than that. he knew that there was a sioux warrior within easy reach of him, perhaps at that very minute a rifle was aimed at him or his horse, and that nothing saved him but the presence of winged arrow. his face grew a shade paler and his hand trembled as he clutched his derringer, but his determination was there all the same. "if i go you will have to go first," said he to himself. "on that i am resolved." "i see you are armed," said the indian, turning quickly about and seeing guy with his right hand behind him. "that shows that i have more faith in you than you have in me. well, i don't know that i blame you. you fellows with your books and your speakers have somehow got hold of the idea that an indian has no gratitude, but i have proved the contrary by coming out here to warn you." "you are a queer sort of an indian anyhow," said guy, taking his hand from his hip pocket. "you ought to be a white man." "i am white in some respects; but with all the lessons i learned at carlisle, they did not make me forget that i was to the manner born. this country is mine, and those who think as i do will, when we lose it, see the last of winged arrow." "did you know that this massacre was coming before you came here?" said guy, who wanted to learn as much as he could about the savages on the plains and in the school. "if you did, i don't see why your teachers did not warn the authorities." for a reply winged arrow took hold of a little bag which he carried in front of him, lifted the cover and thrust his hand into it. presently he brought out a folded paper, and after he was certain that he had what he wanted, he passed it over to guy. "that was the letter i received inviting me to come home," said he. "what do you make out of it?" guy took the letter, but he could not see any writing on it. on the extreme left was an arrow furnished with wings, and a little further to the right was a hand with the forefinger extended as if beckoning to the arrow to hasten his coming. on the right, and a little below this beckoning hand, was an indian tepee with a buffalo grazing beside it. although the drawing was evidently done by an unpracticed hand, it was so plain that anybody could tell what it was. with the aid of a few colored pencils, which the drawer had begged or borrowed from the officers of the fort, he had made the characters of different tints, so that they resembled nature in a wonderful degree. some distance lower down and plainly a different picture was a bow and a quiver of arrows which another hand was extending toward winged arrow, and further back of it was a riderless horse with his mane and tail flying in the wind. "my father drew all that, and it is just as plain to me as daylight," said the indian, who was closely watching the young officer's face. "there is something red descending from that hand," said guy. "what is it intended to represent?" "that tells about the massacre that is coming, and he wants me here to take part in it," replied winged arrow. "and are you going to do it?" "i shall probably be in it, but the bullet from my rifle will not kill any paleface," said the savage. "that much indian has been washed out of me. i can't do it." "bully for you," said guy, riding his horse up closer to winged arrow and thrusting out his hand to him. "i bet you--" "you must not shake hands with me," exclaimed the indian, drawing back. "there are too many on the watch." "do you pretend to say that there are some indians watching me now?" exclaimed guy. "certainly there are. you have been within reach of two ever since you came over that ridge." "then i must go back," said the young officer, who cast anxious glances on all sides of him. "what is the reason they didn't shoot me down or make a prisoner of me? say! what's your name? you must have had some cognomen besides your indian name to designate you by when at school." "my name is john turner, and the boys called me winged arrow because i was so fleet in running foot races. i called myself after the janitor of the school. he was always good to indians, believed that we have been abused, and said if he were president he would not have permitted things to go on in this way. if he were here now we would do our best to capture him, and after we got him we would send him out of the country." "but what was your object in selecting me to warn me of the massacre? there are plenty of others who, just like myself, do not believe in this business." "and any one of them would have done just as well. from the day on which you left fort robinson in nebraska--" "have you followed us all the way from there?" asked guy, in surprise. the indian nodded his head. "why, i should have thought you would have attacked us before this time." "there were too many of you. an indian does not like to be killed any better than a white man. ever since you left that fort i have been watching you--you see i could always tell you by the horse you rode--and i decided that if i could catch you out alone i would tell you of the massacre that is surely coming." "when is it coming off?" "it will be when we get some of you where you cannot defend yourselves. we will kill fifty or a hundred of you soldiers, and then we will do what we please with the fort." "well, by george! when you attempt that, i hope you will get whipped for your pains." guy was angry now, and he said just what he thought. "american soldiers are not the men to give way before a handful of savages," he continued. "a handful of savages! how many do you suppose there are watching you night and day?" asked winged arrow; and his eyes flashed and he clenched his hands nervously together. "well, i suppose you have a great many; but it will take more men than you can raise to whip us out. i presume you have a thousand." "say three thousand and you will hit it. and there are more coming in every day. now i will tell you what is a fact: you have never seen an indian war yet." "i know that. i have never seen any." "after you have seen one you will never want to see another. a battlefield is something awful to look at." "i have seen the soldiers that you indians killed and mutilated since we have been here, and i guess i know something about them. when you have killed a man, why don't you let him alone?" "if i tell you, you would not believe it,--because it is a part of our religious ceremony. the little scrimmages you saw are nothing to the scene presented by a regular battlefield. are you going now? well, i will trouble you for that letter." guy had unconsciously held fast to the letter which winged arrow had given him, intending to keep it as a souvenir of his meeting with the young savage; but he was so angry at some things that had been said that he had forgotten all about it. he accordingly returned the letter saying as he did so:-- "i wish you would let me keep that document to remind me of you. if i tell what i have seen and heard out here the officers will all laugh at me and say i dreamed it all. i want it too to bear in mind that the first indian i ever talked with warned me to look out for that massacre which you say is surely coming." "well, take it along," said the indian, after thinking a moment. "it is of no use to me, and it may be the means of saving your life." "what do you mean by that?" "you will excuse me if i do not say any more. perhaps you will see that an indian has some gratitude after all." guy preston wanted very much to hear more about that letter saving his life, but winged arrow put his horse in motion and rode toward the top of the swell behind which the fort lay. guy wanted to tell him that he had better go back, but the savage rode on with his eyes fastened upon the horn of his saddle, apparently very much occupied with his own thoughts. finally he stopped and looked inquiringly at guy. "are you not going to pick up your shotgun?" he asked. "yes; when i come to it," said guy. "you would not make a good hand to live on the plains," replied winged arrow, with a grin; "here it is." the young officer looked, and there were his gun and birds just as he left them. he did not forget to thank winged arrow for calling his attention to them, and said, as he jumped off and secured his gun:-- "i am afraid to have you go any further toward the fort. we have some guns trained on this ridge. i know they are accurate, for i helped to train them myself." "i will stop when i have gone far enough," said winged arrow. "do you see that little tuft of grass up there on the hill? there is an indian in there." "by george! and i rode within twenty feet of that tuft of grass when i came down," stammered guy, "what had i better do?" "keep right ahead and say nothing about it. he will not disturb you. now i guess i have gone far enough, and i will say good-by. remember what i have told you about that massacre. keep that letter about your uniform wherever you go. i must not shake hands with you." guy preston was just as eager now to get over on the other side of the ridge as his horse was to carry him there. tom snorted loudly as the tainted air fell upon his nostrils, and even showed a desire to go toward the fort at the top of his speed, but the strong curb held him. guy had heard one of the guides say that his horse could smell an indian further than he could see him, and that when camping alone he always felt perfectly easy until his steed began to show signs of alarm, and at that moment he thought it best to seek safety in flight; and guy did not dispute the story. he said good-by with some uneasiness, gathered his reins firmly in his hands and cast anxious glances toward the tuft of grass, but nothing in the shape of a savage could he see. finally the flag came in sight and a few seconds afterward the log palisades, and then guy felt safe. he loosened up on the curb, and in an instant the horse responded to it. the young officer told himself that he had never traveled so swiftly on horseback before. he approached the gate at a rapid run, returned the sentry's salute of welcome, and presently dismounted in front of the colonel's quarters. he drew a long breath of relief, for he was safe for the time being. chapter v. the reprimand "what luck have you had?" said perkins, who had stood by the sentry when guy dashed by and now came up to see how much game he had secured during his wild ride. "say! the officer of the guard is just waiting to give you fits. you know the orders are that you must not gallop into the fort unless there is something after you. why, where have you been?" he added, now for the first time noticing how white the young officer's face was. "did you see any sioux?" "perk, i never was so glad to get inside of a stockade before," replied guy, handing his gun to his friend, removing his cap and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "yes, sir; i have seen a sioux indian and i was closer to him than i cared to be." "did he shoot at you?" "no, but he said something to me." "what did he say?" "he told me to look out for the massacre that is coming in a few days." "aw! get out!" exclaimed perkins. "it is very likely that a sioux would tell you that, isn't it now? go and dream something else." at this moment an orderly stepped up and, after saluting, informed guy that the officer of the day wanted to see him right away. guy handed his reins to perkins and started to obey. "wait until i receive my reprimand and then i will tell you all about it," said he. "i am telling you the truth. i met him just on the other side of that hill." guy followed the orderly to the quarters of the officer of the day and found that gentleman there alone. his face wore a fierce frown as he turned about in his chair and confronted the young officer. "i have got back, sir," said guy, raising his hand to his cap. "so i perceive," responded captain kendall. "you have disobeyed orders twice since you have been gone." "i know it, sir, and i am willing to take the scolding which i deserve for the first one, but if you knew all the circumstances you would not reprimand me for the second. i couldn't help it, sir. my horse got away from me." the young officer's air, taken in connection with his pale face, made his superior think there was something back of it, so he crossed his legs, settled down in his chair and requested him to go on, and state what the horse had seen to frighten him. guy hardly knew how to begin, for he was satisfied that he could not make the officer believe it. "i followed two of those birds, but the second one got away from me and flew over the ridge, sir," said guy. "we are well aware of that fact," said the officer of the day. "that was the time when you should have faced about and returned to the fort." "i know it, sir, and i confess to my weakness there; but what kept me so long was an interview i had with a sioux warrior on the other side of the ridge." the officer of the day began to prick up his ears when he heard this. he straightened up a little in his chair and simply nodded his head as if to tell guy that he could go on. and guy went on. he related the whole of his interview with winged arrow without interruption from the officer, and when he got through he showed him the letter which the young savage had given him. he explained the crimson drops which were represented as falling from the hand that was beckoning to winged arrow to come home. "that tells of the massacre that is to come, sir," said he. "they have shot twenty of our men since we have been here at the fort, but winged arrow says this represents more than that." "why, they must be going to kill us all off," said the officer. "it certainly looks that way, sir, and he says if i see one battlefield i will never want to see another." "and he gave it to you to save your life?" continued the captain. "that is what he told me, sir. he told me to keep it about my uniform wherever i went." "perhaps the colonel had better see this," said the captain, after a moment's pause. "but i shall have to come down on you hard to pay you for going over the other side of the ridge." "i know it, sir. i ought to have come back then." "well, the next time the colonel trusts you, be sure and obey all orders to the very letter. now we will go and see what he has to say about it." guy felt better than he did when he came into that room a little while ago. captain kendall was noted for "coming down hard" on both officers and men who did not obey the law, and so far guy was all right; but how was he going to fare when he saw the colonel? he followed the officer as he walked toward the office, and looked all around to see if he could find perkins or some of his roommates who would see him on the way there. he saw perkins, still holding fast to his horse, and when the officer of the day was not looking toward him, he pulled off his hat and took hold of his hair as if to show guy that he was now about to get a reprimand for going over the ridge. the officer sent in his name by the orderly and found the colonel pacing back and forth as he had seen him on a previous occasion. he faced about, took one hand from behind him, and pointed it at guy. "what do you mean, sir, by coming into the fort as if all the sioux were close at your heels?" said he. "colonel, if you will permit me, i should be glad to explain that thing," said captain kendall; "here is a letter that tells all about it." "sit down, captain, and that boy can stand there until i get ready to talk to him," said the colonel. "where did you find this letter, sir?" captain kendall made answer for him, and it was not long before the frown on his face vanished and a troubled expression came to take its place. "the next time we send out a party for wood is when the massacre is going to take place," said he, when the captain had explained everything. "we must be on the lookout for that. have you told this boy what you think of him for going over the other side of the ridge?" "yes, sir. i have told him all about it." "then you may go." guy preston was in no hurry to go just then, for there was winged arrow's letter which the colonel did not show any signs of returning to him. he sat with his eyes fastened upon it, and then guy looked at the officer of the day. the latter gave him a wink as if to say that it was all right, the orderly opened the door for him, and guy went out. perkins still kept charge of the horse, and guy went toward him. it was against the law for an officer to hire or appoint an enlisted man to act as his groom, and so every officer had to take charge of his horse himself. but the thing was done in spite of orders and is done yet. most men are not backward in regard to earning a quarter for rubbing down a horse in time for dress parade, and many a coin which the officers earn slips into their pockets. they do this when there is no officer about. the minute the officer of the day or guard appears upon the scene, they grab the brush and the officer finds them at work grooming their horses. perkins would have stayed there until he was gray headed, for guy had told him just enough of his adventures to want to make him hear more, and he knew that he would have to come there after his horse. he had gathered the rest of his roommates about him, and they were all impatient for guy's appearance. "here he comes now," exclaimed arthur brigham, one of the four who were fresh from "the point." "now we will make him confess that he is making that story all up out of his own head." "you will not make me go back on a single word that i have said," said guy, taking his reins and gun from perkins's hand. "come in with me until i rub down my horse and i will tell you all about it." "but, guy, did you really see an indian and converse with him?" asked another. "i did, as sure as you're a foot high. he was a splendid-looking fellow, and talked english better than i did." "oh, get out," said arthur. "what chance had he to learn english?" "he says he has been to school for eight years. he knows all the treaties by heart." "oh, well, that accounts for it. how was he dressed?" while guy was leading his horse toward the stable, he was plied with such questions as these, and he hardly knew it when the soldier who now and then acted as his groom, took the reins from his hand, led the horse to his place, and removed the saddle and bridle from him. guy leaned upon his gun while all the rest of the boys, except perkins, crowded about him to hear some more of his story. perkins remained near the door to keep an eye on the parade ground. he did not intend to let the officer of the day catch a soldier grooming guy's horse. "begin at the beginning and tell us all about it," said arthur. "you say he was a smart chap?" "the smartest i ever saw wrapped up in the hide of an indian," said guy; "he saluted me as if he had been in the army all his life, and the language with which he addressed me fairly took my breath away. i didn't know what to say to him in reply." "look out, boys," said perkins in a whisper; "here comes kendall." the boys vanished as if by magic. guy peeled off his coat, took the brush from the hands of the soldier, and, striking up a whistle, proceeded to rub down his horse; the others went, some to examine their bridles and some to give their nags a good looking-over, and not another word was said. captain kendall came in and walked the whole length of the stable without any remark and then went out; but the moment he disappeared the soldier took the brush, and the young officers gathered about guy again. not a word was said about the joke they had played upon captain kendall. such scenes were an every-day occurrence. "what was in that letter he gave you?" asked perkins. "that letter won't do me much good," replied guy, with a discontented look; "the colonel's got it and i guess he means to keep it." "not if it is going to save your life," said one of his roommates. "but how is it going to do that? i must first fall into the hands of the sioux, and i don't want to do that, i bet you. i have not forgotten those men that they killed." "i will tell you what let's do," said perkins. "let's go and see cyrus. he will know whether or not there is anything to it." this the boys decided to do; and when the soldier had finished grooming the horse, they came out and turned their steps toward the guide's headquarters. chapter vi. the bundle of sage brush "by the way," said lieutenant perkins, before they had gone many steps on their road, "who is this young fellow, winged arrow, or whatever you call him, anyway? was he richly dressed?" "i don't see what his clothes had to do with that," said arthur. "of course he was richly dressed, if it took the last cent he had. an indian will put all he has on his back, even if his stomach goes empty." "this fellow didn't, i tell you," said guy. "the most i could see of his uniform was buckskin; and it was fixed up in a way that must have taken some squaw a year or more to turn it out so neatly. i saw his pants, or a portion of them that was not covered up by his leggings, and they were the costliest kind of broadcloth; much better than those we wear,--we mounted lieutenants who draw $ a year." "i wonder if his father is rich," said perkins. "there!" exclaimed guy. "i knew there was something i had forgotten. i never thought to ask him who his father was." "you made a mistake there," said arthur. "he must be a man of some note in the tribe, or his son would not be allowed to meet an enemy on the lines. you say that there were sioux watching you all the time?" "yes, and he showed me the hiding place of one of them; but you might as well look for a needle in a haystack as to try to make him out. my horse smelled him, however, and that was the reason he ran away with me." the boys had by this time reached the guide's headquarters, and there they found the man of whom they were in search sitting on an empty cracker box, smoking his pipe. we ought rather to have said "the boy," for cyrus was about their own age. no one knew what his other name was, whether cyrus was his given or surname, and, as he did not volunteer the information, no one cared to ask him. he had been born on the plains, for no one could have learned so much unless he had been; and the boys had told one another confidentially that there was a story back of it. he was talkative enough whenever he was approached on any other subject, but the moment they tried to pry into his parentage cyrus closed his mouth and would say nothing more. he was very friendly with all the young officers, accepted the cigars and tobacco which they offered him, and gave them "points" when they went out on a scout after indians; but who his father was was a question he would not answer. he was taller than any boy in the party, and the muscles on his arms were something to wonder at. "halloo!" said he, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling up for a fresh smoke, "guy got a reprimand. i can see it plainly enough. why didn't you obey the adjutant's orders, and come in when your game flew off over the ridge?" "well, there is once that you are mistaken," said guy. "i told the officer of the day just why i did not come back, and he said that the next time the colonel trusted me i was to do just as i was told." "kendall is the officer of the day, is he not?" replied cyrus. "that is the first time i ever knew of him letting a young officer off so easily. you must have seen something over there." "yes, i did; and i want to know if you ever heard of, or have seen something, i don't care what it was, which was given to a white man that would save his life if he were to fall into the hands of the sioux?" "i certainly have," replied cyrus. "what was it?" asked all the boys at once. "have you found such a thing?" "no; but i had something given to me. it was a letter which winged arrow's father had written to him to come home." "where is the letter?" "the colonel's got it and i don't know whether he means to give it up or not. i tell you it put him on nettles too. it tells of a massacre that is to come off very shortly. the colonel says that the next time we go out after a load of wood we have got to look out." "i know pretty nearly all the sioux that there are in that camp, but i never heard of winged arrow before," said cyrus. "what sort of a looking chap was he? tell me all about the history of that letter, and then i will tell you some more." once more guy began and told his story, and cyrus seemed to take it all as a matter of course, for he never expressed surprise at anything the young officer told him. when guy had finished his tale, cyrus lighted his pipe and sat with his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully at the floor. "so it seems that we young officers have got some friends in the camp of the sioux all unbeknown to us," said guy, after waiting for cyrus to say something. "they don't want us all killed off." "well, that stands to reason," said cyrus. "this winged arrow has been under instruction of white people all the time for eight years, as you say, and he doesn't want to see any of your kind hurt. that letter will save the life of anybody who falls into the hands of the sioux." "do you know that to be a fact?" asked arthur, who, like all the rest of the party, was greatly astonished. "yes, sir; i know it is so," said cyrus, emphatically. "mine was saved once by a simple bunch of sage brush which i had in one of my pockets." "oh, go on and tell us all about it," chorused the boys, looking around for some place to sit down. "i don't see what there could have been in a lot of sage brush to save your life." "it is not a long story, so you need not get ready for an all night's entertainment," returned cyrus. "you know i have always been kind of friendly toward the indians; whether sioux or pawnee, it made no sort of difference to me, for i live a good deal like them myself. about two years ago we had some war on with the sioux, about some land, of course, and i was off scouting by myself to see what i could find. i was not attached to any post then. one day i was within hearing of a tremendous fight that came off between our fellows and the sioux, but i did not go near the battlefield until it was all over. the next day i went up and found that our men had been victorious. the dead and wounded indians were buried where they had fallen, and our own people had disappeared. they had been carried away by our fellows so that the reds could not dig them up and mutilate them. "i was just about mounting my horse to go on again, when i heard a groan coming from a thicket close at my side, mingled with the cries in the sioux tongue of 'water! water!' i tell you i did not feel safe in going up to find out what the matter was, for the indians, even though they are wounded unto death, have a way of keeping a weapon in their hands ready to be the death of any one who comes near them; but finally i made out to see the man, and there was not anything in the shape of a revolver or knife near him. he was shot through both hips, but had managed to drag himself out of sight there in the thicket where he had lain undisturbed by our forces when they were burying the dead. when i came up to him he held out his hands piteously and begged for water. he saw that i was supplied, for he had his eyes on my canteen, and although somebody might call me a fool for doing it, i took it off and gave it to him. he was a human being and somehow i could not bear to knock him in the head. he seemed greatly surprised at that, and grateful too; and after a little while i began a conversation with him. he told me that he had been shot out there on the plains, but had dragged himself to those bushes without a weapon of any kind, and that nothing remained for him but to lie there and die. of course i could not do anything for him, for he was shot in such a way that he could not sit upright on a horse. i left him the little grub i had and promised that if i could find any one to send after him, i would do it; but that was all in my one eye. i supposed when i left him it would be the last of him. "just as i was about to get on my horse and ride away from him, he thrust his hand into his medicine sack and drew out something wrapped up in buckskin, which he held toward me. i said nothing, but took it, and when i was a little way off i unrolled the thing, and found that i had a handful of sage grass. my first impulse was to drop it, for i did not believe that it would be of any use to me; but in time i happened to remember that such things had served prisoners in some way or another and saved their lives." "why, how would it do that?" said arthur. "i do not know," replied cyrus, "whether it is a sign from one indian to another, or some medicine which they think will protect anybody who has it,--it is beyond me quite. it did not protect this indian; for if it had, the white man's bullet that shot him through the hips would have been turned away and never hit him at all. well, i took it, put it in one of my pockets, and started on the trail of our forces, intending to overtake them as soon as i could, when the first thing i knew i ran plump into a squad of about twenty warriors; or, rather, they ran into me, for they came over a hill and surrounded me before i could think twice. 'well' said i, 'you are gone up this time. it is no use trying to get away, but some of these savages will go before you do.' so i cut loose with my rifle--" "do you mean to say that you shot while the indians were all around you?" exclaimed guy in astonishment. "certainly," replied cyrus. "i supposed that if i was caught alive, there could be only one case for me, and that was to be tortured, so i determined to do what damage i could before i went. i got two of the warriors, and i did not make any mistake about it either, and then somebody shot my horse through the head and i came to the ground. before i could say 'general jackson' i was disarmed and my hands tied behind my back. i was done for at last." the boys waited impatiently for cyrus to go on with his story, but he leaned his elbows on his knees and took a few long pulls at his pipe. at length guy began to grow indignant. "well, it seems as though the indians left a great deal of you, if they did burn you to death," said he. "didn't they leave enough of you to finish your tale?" cyrus laughed heartily. "i was just going over in my mind the way things happened there during the next few minutes," said he, when he had sobered down. "they all began shouting at once, and i knew by the noise they made that we were safe from our boys, and that i had nobody to rescue me. some began shouting out one thing and some another, but i knew from what they said that they were in favor of disposing of me at once, because they did not think it safe to take me to their village. they put a lariat around my neck, jumped on their horses and started for a little grove of willows about five miles off; and although i was a pretty fair runner, i was completely whipped by the time we got there. i tried my level best to make them listen to me, but i might as well have shouted against the roar of niagara. when we got to the willows i could not say a word. they untied my hands and while some proceeded to cut the fuel with which they were about to torture me, the others peeled off my clothes; and they went into every pocket to see what i had that was worth stealing. presently one of them took up my pants which had my pipe, tobacco, and money in them, and the first thing he drew out was that roll of buckskin which contained the sage brush that the wounded indian had given me. the grunt he gave when he unrolled it was enough to bring all the indians about him. the shouting instantly ceased. they examined the sage brush, turned it on all sides to see if there was anything more with it, and at last looked at me. "'have you fellows got so that you can listen to a white man at last?' said i, 'i know where i got that, and who gave it to me. if you will go with me i will show him to you.' "they could understand me well enough when they were not shouting so as to drown my words. one of them, who spoke a little better english than the rest, ordered me to tell my story; but i told him that i could speak his own language better than he could, and so spoke to him in his own dialect. when i got through they wanted to hold a consultation and they drew off several feet, this time leaving me untied. when they came back they allowed me to put on my clothes and told me to lead them to their wounded comrade. if i had been a tenderfoot then i should have been in a fix, for the prairie on all sides looked the same; but there were certain little landmarks which i remembered, and in process of time i brought them to the bush which concealed the man of whom i was in search. one would have thought from the anxiety they showed to meet the man, that there would have been a big jubilee over finding him; but they did not act so at all. they simply exchanged a few words with him and then came back to me. my horse, weapons, and every thing i had lost by them was restored, all except my sage brush, which i wanted more than i did anything else. then they told me i could go; and i lost no time in getting out of there. that letter of yours, lieutenant, might do the same thing for any one who happened to have it about him; and for that reason i would like to see it. don't you think the colonel would give it up if you asked him?" cyrus, who had allowed his pipe to go out while he was talking, struck a match on the floor and turned toward guy for an answer. chapter vii. "good-by cyrus" "and do you really believe that that bit of sage brush, which anyone could have picked up on the prairie, was the means of saving your life?" inquired guy, when cyrus ceased speaking. "or it may have been the water and food you gave him," said arthur. "almost anybody would have been grateful for that." "no, it was the sage brush," said cyrus earnestly. "the indians carried it with them when they went to the wounded man and showed it to him before they told me that i could go. he exchanged a few words with them in tones so low that i could not overhear them, and after that they came to their decision regarding me. i say it was the sage brush and nothing else." "guy," said one of his roommates, "you must get that letter. cyrus wants to see it." "it is not that so much as i want it to help me in something i am going to do to-night," said cyrus. "i don't want you boys to say anything about it, but i am going to try to get those dispatches to fort robinson as soon as it becomes dark." the young officers were really surprised now. here was a boy who was about to take the same chances that two of their most trusted scouts had attempted only a short time before, and he knew that he was going to fall into the hands of the sioux before he got through. for a minute or two no one spoke. they looked at cyrus and then at one another, and finally shook their heads as if the matter was too deep for them to understand. "i am going to try it to-night," said cyrus, and for the first time in their lives the boys saw him put on a determined look, which revealed more of the boy's character than they had ever dreamed of. cyrus had pluck in him; there were no two ways about that. "if i fail, as a good many better men than i have, who have tried it, it will be the last you will ever see of me." "but, cyrus, how do you know that the letter will prove an advantage to you?" asked guy. "you seem to be depending upon something that none of us ever supposed that a sioux had; i mean gratitude." "oh, i know the way your speakers and writers of books have ventilated their opinions on that subject, but i will tell you that gratitude is a thing that indians have as well as white men," said cyrus, getting upon his feet and pacing the floor. "you call an indian a savage, and say that everybody who falls into his hands is booked for davy's locker sure enough; but some of them have hearts. if the colonel would let me, i would not be afraid to take guy's letter and go into the sioux camp this very minute." "well, you have more faith in them than i have," said guy, astonished by the proposition, "you go into the sioux camp to-night and we will never hear any more stories from you; you can bet on that." "somebody has to take the risk, and since the colonel has been to me, i can't well refuse. we shall all be massacred if we stay here, and if some one has got to die in order to save the rest, it might as well be myself as anybody. guy, will you get the letter for me?" "certainly," said the officer, who had never heard cyrus speak in such a tone of voice before. "it is my letter and i must have it." "don't say anything to him about what i have told you," said cyrus. "i am disobeying orders by telling you, and you must keep my secret." after the boys had all promised to be careful, guy preston came out and turned toward the colonel's quarters. he heard the invitation in the commandant's voice, "tell him to come in," and guy entered and found the officer pacing up and down his narrow room as he had seen him twice before. indeed he did not appear to have anything else to do. he wanted to find some way of getting out of the predicament he was in, and he hoped by walking the floor that something would occur to him. "sit down, mr. preston," said he. "thank you, sir, but i don't want to stop long," was the reply. "i gave you a letter which winged arrow gave to me, and you have not returned it. the young savage wanted me to keep that letter in my uniform wherever i went, thinking it might be of service to me if i were captured." "why, you don't expect to fall into the power of the sioux, do you?" said the colonel with a smile. "no, sir, i don't expect to, but there is no telling what may happen." "i thought i would send that in making out my report," said the officer. "if you don't mind, that is what i will do with it." guy was astonished and greatly alarmed when he heard this. aside from the protection which the letter might afford him, there was cyrus who was particularly anxious to have it, in view of the perilous undertaking which the passing of the hours was rapidly bringing toward him. cyrus was a favorite with all the officers and men, and he must have the letter if there were any way to bring it about. he did not believe in such things, but cyrus did, and he thought that the mention of his name would help matters a little. "i have been talking to cyrus about it, and he wants to see it," said he, at a venture. "oh, cyrus," exclaimed the colonel, rising to his feet and going to his desk, "that puts a different look on the affair. i suppose that when he is done with the letter that you will bring it back." "yes, sir; when he is done with it," replied guy, extending his hand for the document. the colonel evidently did not notice the emphasis he placed upon the verb, for if he had he would have asked him to explain. he handed out the letter, and, after thanking him for it, guy put on his cap and left the room. "i said when he was done with it i would return it," said he to himself, as he ran across the parade ground, "that will be after the letter has served his purpose. i hope it will assist him in getting out of the hands of those rascally sioux, if he is unfortunate enough to fall into them; but i don't know. i would rather see our regiment drawn up with sabers in their hands than to believe in this thing." cyrus was in the quarters alone. the young officers having thought of various duties they had yet to perform, had gone away to attend to them. he received the letter with a smile and gave it a good looking-over. "it was drawn by an indian," he remarked, as he folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. "now when you are all through with that, you must give it back to the colonel," said guy, "i have promised him that. but it seems to me that you are relying on a poor prop." "you probably get your notions of indians from some books that you have read," replied cyrus. "i never have heard of a war yet in which some prisoner, either white man or savage, did not owe his life to some such thing as this. you never see anything about it in print, because the majority of people they capture are not high enough up to believe in such foolish ideas. they don't believe that because a thing is senseless and can't speak, that it will be of any benefit to them; but you ask some men, who have been out here on the prairie all their lives and have associated with indians more than they have with the whites, what they think of these things. they will tell you that there is more faith to be put in them than in a regiment of soldiers." guy was amazed to hear cyrus talk in this way. he grew animated and talked like some one who had been through all the books at school, and, furthermore, his words carried weight with them. guy was encouraged. he hoped that cyrus would get through in safety with his dispatches, or, failing that, the letter would take him through the hostile ranks of the sioux and bring him unharmed back to them. "you talk as though you were not going through," said he, not knowing what else to say. "well, those two men who tried it the other night were well up in all that relates to the indians and the prairie on which they live, and if they did not get through there is a small chance for me. now i want to lie down and take a little sleep, and when the orderly comes he will know where to find me." "i may not see you again and so i will bid you good-by," said guy, who felt that he was parting from an older brother. he thrust out his hand, and cyrus took it and clasped it warmly. not another word was said. the officer put on his hat and left the quarters. "don't i wish that i had half the pluck that that man has?" said he to himself. "if that were all, he would hoodwink the savages in some way; but they are too many for him. good-by cyrus. i will never see you again." it was a long night to guy preston and his two companions who were with him--two of them were on duty and they did not see much of them--and when the next day came it was harder than ever, for they were obliged to pretend ignorance of cyrus's whereabouts. when he got up guy passed the time until breakfast in attending to such duties as were before him, and then he drew a bee line for the guide's headquarters. he wanted to see if anybody there knew anything of cyrus. "you tell where cyrus is," said tony, who was taking his after-breakfast smoke. "when i went to bed he lay right there; but when i got up this morning his bunk was empty." "it is my opinion that he has gone off with the dispatches that we failed to get through with the night we tried it," said mike, who was tony's partner on that unsuccessful expedition. "good land! he can't get through," exclaimed tony. "i tell you, lieutenant, the sioux are thicker than blackberries in a new england pasture out there. whichever way we turned we saw something to drive us back. the kurn knows mighty well that we would have gone on if we had seen the ghost of a chance to get through, because all the men here are in the same fix that we are; but what are you going to do when every tuft of grass you look at turns out to be an enemy?" "could you see the sioux?" asked guy. "no; but our horses smelled them, and that was enough for us. whenever they stopped and looked before them with cocked ears and snorted, we went back and tried some other way; but it was the same all around the camp. but i am mighty sorry to lose cyrus. he was the best fellow in camp." "certain. if he isn't captured, the sioux will drive him back. there's one thing that i have got against him," said the other scout. "he has left his horse behind him. if i had had anything to do with his going away, i should have told him to be sure and take that pony." until very recently guy did not believe that a white man's horse could scent an indian further than he could see him, but he did believe it now. his experience with his excited horse the morning before had confirmed the story. "a white man's horse won't go up to an indian that is lying in the grass," continued the scout. "he will turn out and go some other way; and an indian's pony acts just the same way with a white man. the horses enter into the spirit of the matter and hate a foe as heartily as their riders do." guy had heard all he wanted to hear about cyrus's disappearance, and returned to his room to get ready for guard mount, for he was to go on duty then. not one of his roommates could tell him a single thing he had not learned already. no one knew when cyrus went away, and the only thing for them to do was to wait patiently for two or three days, or until they could hear from cyrus direct. guy was glad to have some duties to perform, because they kept him on the move and he did not have as much time to think as he did when left to himself. at twelve o'clock his relief came on and, after eating his dinner, guy went into his room and laid down to get a wink of sleep to prepare him for the mid-watch which came on at six o'clock; but it seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was aroused by the long roll and the hurrying of feet outside his quarters. to get up, pull on his boots, seize his coat with one hand and his sword with the other was done in less time than we take to write it, and guy rushed out to find his company rapidly falling in on the parade ground. perkins came up at the same instant, and met guy with some encouraging words. "the massacre has come and in much less time than winged arrow thought it would," said he. "now where is your letter?" guy did not have time to answer, for the sharp voice of the colonel was heard ordering them to their stations. when guy got up on the palisade and took his position in readiness to defend the gun which was pointed toward a distant swell, he had opportunity to look about him. "all ready with that gun?" asked the officer in command. "all ready, sir," replied the captain of the piece, squinting along the gun to make sure that it covered the hill. "i can knock the last one of that group if i can get orders to fire now, sir." guy looked toward the swell and saw a party of half a dozen warriors there, all of whom were mounted save one. he had just time to note this fact when he saw the dismounted man start down the swell toward the fort, while the others of the group disappeared behind the hill. the man was plainly a prisoner and had been liberated. guy's heart seemed to beat loudly as he drew nearer to the officer who commanded the gun and said, in a scarcely audible whisper:-- "is that cyrus, sir?" the man who had a glass removed it from his eyes long enough to stare blankly at guy, and then, as if getting something through his head, he leveled the glass once more and said, while he caught a momentary glimpse of the figure:-- "by george! i believe you are right." chapter viii. in the hands of the sioux the excuse that cyrus made, that he wanted to lie down and get a wink of sleep before the colonel's orderly came to find him, was merely a pretense to get rid of the officer, and nothing else. when guy went out he lay down on his bunk, but he did not stay there more than five minutes. no one came in to bother him, and cyrus, thinking that as good a time to reach the colonel's quarters without attracting the attention of anybody, got up and, by keeping close to the palisades and behind the out-buildings, drew up at last before one of the windows of the commanding officer's room. it really was not a window at all, but an opening left in the logs and covered with a piece of muslin so as to admit the light. he listened, but could hear nothing but the steady tramp of the colonel as he paced back and forth in his room. then he raised his hand and with his knuckles gave a peculiar rap on the casement. a moment afterward the corner of the piece of muslin was drawn aside and the colonel's face appeared. "i am here," said cyrus. "i want those dispatches that you have ready for me." "come in," said the commanding officer, and with a few moves he drew the tacks which confined the window and made a hole large enough for cyrus to squeeze his broad shoulders through. "have you a needle and thread?" asked cyrus. "yes, everything is all handy. you sit down here in my bedroom, and if any of the officers come in to see me they will be none the wiser for it." cyrus seated himself in one of the spots which the colonel pointed out to him--it was not a chair, however, but an empty box which had once contained canned beef--and pulled off his buckskin jacket, while the colonel went into the next room and presently returned with the dispatches for which the boy was about to run so much risk. it was a very small package, but there was a great deal written on it. it conveyed to the commanding general the information that the colonel had succeeded in building fort phil kearney, but instead of using it as a basis for movements against the hostile indians, the sioux had shut him up in it, hoping that when their ammunition and provisions gave out, they could make a raid and destroy every man there was in the fort. his condition was perilous in the extreme. every wagon train that he sent out for fuel was protected by a large force, and if the sioux were smart enough to cut off one of those forces, or get between them and the fort, thus dividing his men, the annihilation of all of them would be a matter of hours and not of days. he begged earnestly for re-enforcements of five hundred men, and he could do nothing until such force arrived. "i wish the general could be here for about five minutes and see just how we are situated," said the colonel, as he placed the dispatch on the table by the side of cyrus. "he would learn better than to send out such a small body of troops as mine to confront the whole tribe of sioux indians. cyrus, i hope you will get through with that dispatch." "kurn, if any living man can accomplish it, i can," said the scout. "now, have you got the other dispatch ready?" "yes, but i don't place any faith in that. if you are caught the savages will strip you--" "and this dispatch will be the only one they will find. our fellows fooled the rebels more than once by carrying concealed papers--" "but rebels and indians are two different things. to be honest, i do not think that you will be able to get through; but if you do, talk to that general as you would to a father. you can tell him more in regard to our situation here than i could write in a week." "i will do my best, kurn, but you must not place any dependence on me. tony and his partner have tried it and failed, and that leaves but a small chance for me." cyrus, having pulled a knife from his pocket, was busy with his buckskin shirt which he had drawn off, cutting away the inside lining to make a receptacle for the dispatches about which the colonel was so anxious. it was close up under his arm, so that when the shirt was on and cyrus stood at his ease, no one would have supposed that there was anything hidden away there. the opening for them being made, cyrus folded the dispatches into a smaller compass than they were before, and having placed them therein proceeded with his needle and thread to sew up the opening again, just as it was before. this being done, he was ready for the second dispatch, which was really a "bogus dispatch" and was intended solely for the indians to read. the colonel knew that there were some savages in that party who could read english, and he knew, too, that this bogus dispatch, if the other could be concealed, would have an alarming effect upon them. it was the idea of cyrus, and the colonel had reluctantly agreed to it. it was very different from the dispatch that had been concealed in the scout's hunting shirt, and said that the general's letter had been received, that the re-enforcement of one thousand men would be amply sufficient to break up the sioux camp, and that when they arrived he would be ready to assume the offensive. "i don't suppose red cloud will believe that, even if it is read to him," said the colonel. "the general's letter has been received. pshaw! there is not a man living who can get through those lines and reach me with a dispatch from him." "so long as they don't know that, we don't care what they believe," said cyrus, pulling off his moccasin and stowing the dispatch away inside of it. "if it will only throw his camp into confusion that is all we ask for. well, kurn, good-by. remember, i will do my best." "good-by, cyrus," replied the colonel, extending his hand. "you have been faithful and just to me while you were here, and i shall depend upon you." "don't do that, kurn; don't do that," said cyrus, earnestly. "i will do my best, and that is all anybody can do." cyrus pressed the colonel's hand for a moment, then turned toward the window and in another instant was gone. he made his way to his quarters without seeing anybody, threw himself upon his bunk, and in a little while was fast asleep. his comrades came in and aroused him when it was time to go to supper, but cyrus did not want any. he kept his bunk until his roommates were all in bed and fast asleep, and the sentries on duty had proclaimed "twelve o'clock and all's well!" when he began to bestir himself. his first duty was to satisfy himself that all the scouts were in dreamland, and when this had been done he took his rifle, put on his hat, and noiselessly left his quarters. the next thing was to pass the sentries; but a man who could pass within five feet of a slumbering sioux was not to be deterred by passing a white sentry on his post. to climb the logs and drop down on the other side was an event that was easy enough for cyrus to accomplish, and in a few minutes the tramp of the sentries was left out of hearing. why was it that the colonel was so anxious to have him leave the fort without being seen by anybody? to tell the truth, everybody in the fort was becoming discouraged. three weeks had now elapsed since the erection of the palisades, and during that time the sioux had completely surrounded them and shut them in as tight as though they had "been bottled up." a person was at liberty to go anywhere within a mile of the fort, because certain guns which had been accurately trained covered every foot of the space; but over the hills it was as much as a man's life was worth to venture. guy preston was the only one, when searching for his birds, who had disobeyed that order; but it was a miracle that he had been allowed to come back. the signal tower, which stood at the distance of half a mile from the fort, was manned every morning by four men who went out there to keep watch of the indians; but every time that group was ready to go out, it took a company of men to protect them. that was before red cloud had made his new order, that the only way to get rid of the whites was to kill all the men and burn the palisades, and this order was in force at the time cyrus left the post. by drawing his warriors off in the daytime, red cloud was tempting the colonel to send out a train for fuel, and when that was done the massacre was to begin. the colonel was determined to get dispatches through by some means, but he did not want to let the men know that another person had tried it and failed. it would not be long, he thought, before the men would think that it was utterly impossible to get through the sioux lines, and so would give it up, stay there, and be massacred. he knew better than any other man did the danger that they were in, and it was no wonder that he felt downhearted. the fort being left out of sight and hearing, cyrus threw himself on all fours and made his way toward piney creek, a little stream on the banks of which the post was located. he intended to get as far as possible below the encircling bands of sioux before daylight, then arise to his feet and go toward his destination as fast as he could. this was a new way of leaving the lines behind him, the other scouts preferring to strike out over the prairie and try their chances in that way; but it seems that the sioux were alive to this movement also. the stream was not large or deep enough for him to descend its current, otherwise he would have sought a log somewhere and attempted to swim by them; but as it was he was compelled to wade sometimes in the water and at other times to flounder through bushes so thick that the darkness could almost be felt, and he did not cover more than a mile an hour. every few feet he would stop and listen until his acute senses told him that the way was clear, and then he would struggle on again. but red cloud, the head chief of the ogallala sioux who were making war because they were determined that the road should not pass through their country, was an old campaigner and not to be beaten by any such trick as this. he withdrew his warriors in the daytime so as to tempt the colonel to send out a train to get fuel, but knowing that the train could not come out at night, he sent his men in closer, being equally determined that no scout should get out to carry the news of their condition to other quarters. consequently cyrus had not progressed more than a mile or two when he heard a smothered exclamation in front of him, and before he could sink down where he was and get his weapon into a condition for use, he found himself in the clutches of a sioux warrior, upon whom he had almost stepped. of course cyrus resisted, but it was all in vain. another sioux joined in the fracas, another and another came up to assist, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the scout was thrown prostrate on the ground, his weapon twisted out of his grasp, and his hands bound behind his back. it was all done quietly, and one standing at a distance of twenty feet away would not have known that there was anything going on. why did cyrus not take out his letter when the sioux caught him? because his hands were bound, and he knew that those who had him prisoner were not the ones who had any authority in the band. in spite of what he had said to the contrary, cyrus was not a little alarmed when he found himself powerless in the hands of the sioux; but it was useless to resist the savages, lest he should feel the prod of a knife in his flesh, and when they put a rope around his neck and started off with him, cyrus went along with them as quietly as if he had formed one of the party. it was four miles to red cloud's village, and cyrus could not see anything on the way to remind him where he was. the indians knew the course, and when they brought him into their town he was surprised at what he saw there. he had never seen so large a multitude of savages as was gathered there under red cloud. there were several camp fires scattered about among the lodges, none of which were wholly extinguished, and, aided by the light that they threw out, cyrus could see nothing but tepees on all sides of him. he was conducted at once to a lodge a little apart from the others; one brave threw up a flap of it which served as a door and cyrus was thrust in. it was all dark in there, and cyrus hesitated about stepping around for fear that he should tread upon some of the inmates, when one of his captors came in and seized him by the shoulder. "sit down," said he fiercely. here was one indian who could talk english, and the hope arose in the captive's breast that perhaps he could learn something from him. "where shall i sit down?" said he. "are there any persons here asleep?" the answer was not given in words, although cyrus wished it had been. the indian seized him by the neck and in a moment more he was laid out prostrate on the ground. "sit down where you are," said the savage, more fiercely than before. cyrus did not say anything more just then, but straightened up as soon as he could and looked around to see what the indian was going to do. by the aid of a camp fire whose light streamed in through the flap of the door that was now open, he could observe the movements of his enemy quite distinctly. he saw him pull his blankets about his shoulders and take a seat beside the door with his rifle across his knees. cyrus drew a short breath of relief for he had nothing more to fear from him until daylight. that tepee was to be his prison, and the savage was to be his watcher as long as the darkness continued. chapter ix. the medicine works wonders cyrus was a captive now. there was no mistake about that. the only thing he could do was to lie down and wait as patiently as he could until daylight came. the rope with which he was bound was very painful to him, but cyrus knew it would be worse than useless to ask his sentry to loosen it. the savages knew too much for that. they had had some bitter experience with the trappers of the mountains in granting them the free use of their hands, and they did not mean to be caught that way any more. it must have been about two o'clock when cyrus was captured, and he thought he had never known the time to pass so slowly as did the hours that intervened before the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east; for they told him that something was to be done with him very speedily. during those hours he was often compelled to change his position on account of his bonds, but the savage never once changed his. if he had been a marble man he could not have sat more motionless; but all the time his eyes were fastened upon his captive as if he meant that not a sign from him should escape his notice. finally the flap of the door was drawn further aside, and an indian's face appeared. he wanted to see whom they had captured, but he said not a word to cyrus or his watcher. presently other faces appeared, until cyrus thought that the whole camp of the sioux was astir. daylight came on apace, and then cyrus began to take some note of the things in the lodge in which he was confined, and found to his surprise that he was in no danger of stepping on slumbering inmates. with the exception of himself and the sentinel who was keeping watch over him, the tepee was as empty as it was when it was put up. it was probably intended as a sort of prison for anybody who might be captured by the sioux, but up to this time cyrus had the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only one who had seen the inside of it. "and if i could have my way i am the last one who will see how it looks," said cyrus to himself. "no doubt they expected to capture a good many more. somehow i don't feel as safe by having guy preston's letter about me as i did by having that scrap of sage brush that the indian gave me. well, if it doesn't effect my release it surely would not effect guy's, if he were here in my place." it must have been nine o'clock before anyone came near him again, and all the while he was in agony through his bonds which seemed to hurt him more the longer he was tied up with them. but they could not make him forget his stomach, which was clamoring loudly for something nourishing. he had not eaten anything since dinner the day before, and even a hard-tack he thought would prove very acceptable. while he was thinking about it, two indians came to the door of the tepee, and they came in a hurry as though they were after something. they exchanged a few words with his sentry--they were spoken so low that cyrus did not fully comprehend them--and then one of them seized cyrus by the collar and dragged him to his feet. the first thing he did was to untie the prisoner's bonds; and when cyrus felt his arms at liberty he stretched them out with an exclamation which testified to the delight he felt. "if i just had you two here alone, how quick i would end you up," said he, to himself. "i will bet you could not catch me in a fair race. they are going to take my clothes also," he added, when one of the indians proceeded to take off his hunting shirt. "does that mean that i am to get ready for the stake?" it certainly looked that way, but cyrus never uttered a word out loud. he submitted to the disrobing as quietly as he could, and even assisted them when something about his clothes bothered them; and in two minutes more he was stripped clean. but he noticed two things, filled as he was with other matters, and standing in fear of the torture which seemed to be not far distant: the savages, when they came into possession of his various articles of wardrobe, were careful to look into all the pockets. not one escaped their vigilance. his pipe, his knife, and tobacco, and various other trinkets, which men have about them, were quickly taken by his captors, until finally a grunt from one of them announced the finding of winged arrow's letter,--the one he had received from his father. the grunt speedily brought his sentry to his feet, and he leaned over the shoulders of the others and stared hard at the drawings. not a word was said to cyrus as to how he came by the papers, but they exchanged several incoherent expressions, which no doubt were perfectly understood among themselves, but which were greek to the captive. at last they seemed to have come to an agreement regarding something, for one of them started off at a keen run, while the other went on examining his clothes. when he pulled off one of the moccasins the bogus dispatch dropped out. "now you have something that will do your heart good," muttered cyrus. "why don't you run off with that? they have left my clothes here on the ground--" but cyrus was a little too hasty in coming to this conclusion. the finding of the bogus dispatch, of course, created another series of grunts, which ended a good deal as the first one did. the other captor seized the paper and disappeared with it, but before he went he gathered up the clothes and carried them away also. that was too much for cyrus, and he sat down on the ground and thought about it, while the sentry returned to his seat by the door. half an hour passed, during which cyrus's mind was in a state of confusion. this treatment was very different from any he had received while a prisoner in the hands of the indians, and he had been one four times when nothing but the stake seemed to be waiting for him. twice was he rescued by soldiers; a third time he was saved by an old squaw who somehow got it into her head that cyrus resembled her son who had been killed by the whites; and the fourth time that bunch of sage brush brought about his release. now it was that letter of winged arrow; and he confessed that his chances were slim indeed. it is true that he was very young in years to be the hero of all these adventures, but those among the mountain men with whom he was best acquainted declared that he had been in skirmishes enough to fill out three or four books. like the medicine man among the different tribes, who runs all sorts of risks to make his followers believe that he has found the proper "thing" at last which will turn all the white man's bullets away from him, cyrus took every risk in time of war that anybody could take and live. he was foremost in all the indian fights and was one of colonel carrington's favorite scouts. when everyone else failed he called upon cyrus, and cyrus had never been found wanting. all men who live among the indians soon fall into their ways, and every one of them believed that cyrus had discovered some "medicine" that brought him safely out of any danger he might get into. at the end of half an hour, another faint step was heard outside the tepee, the flap was thrown further open and this time winged arrow appeared. cyrus recognized him on the instant from the description that guy preston had given him, and the first thought that passed through his mind was that he had never seen a finer-looking indian. his face wore a scowl which did not in any way add to his appearance, and he did not pay any attention to his keeper at all. in his hands he carried all of cyrus's clothing which he threw toward the prisoner with the muttered exclamation:-- "i suppose these things belong to you. put them on." cyrus was fully as surprised as guy preston to hear himself addressed in perfect english by an indian in his war clothing, but he lost no time in obeying instructions. when he came to his hunting shirt he carelessly grasped it under the right arm, and a thrill shot through him when he felt the dispatch there as he had left it. the bogus dispatch, the one that was intended for the indians to read, was gone. "now you look more like yourself," said winged arrow, as he turned about and beckoned to some one behind him, "i guess something to eat would not do you any harm, would it?" an indian girl came into the tepee and laid cyrus's breakfast before him on the ground, and quickly went out again. winged arrow calmly seated himself on the ground. cyrus did the same, and while he was busy with the viands which winged arrow had provided for him, he kept one eye fixed upon the young indian as if he hoped to see something in his face which would give him a faint glimpse of what the future had in store for him; but winged arrow's features were as unmoved as if he had no secret to communicate. the provisions did not trouble him much, for it was not as hearty a breakfast as some he had eaten at the fort, although the grub there was getting scarce since the sioux had shut them in from all the world--a joint of beef which had once been warmed, but was now cold, a chunk of indian bread which had doubtless been cut out of some "parfleche" repository and a cup of cold water formed the substance of his breakfast. but it was better than nothing, and finally it had all disappeared except the bones. "now i am ready for anything you have to propose," said cyrus. "what do you fellows intend to do with me?" "you belong to me and so i am going to set you free," said winged arrow, as if he were talking of something that did not interest cyrus in the least. "it was the worst thing i ever heard of, getting you free, for our people have all something against you." "i don't see how they make that out," replied cyrus, feeling in his pockets for his pipe. "you can't point to a single thing that ever i did that injured you in the least. i have let more than one chance go by that i have had of sending your people to the happy hunting grounds, and have let them get off scot-free when i might have had a scalp to take with me as well as not." "but something is always happening to take you away from us," said winged arrow, "and what do you suppose it was that saved your life this time?" "was it that letter that you gave to guy preston?" the young savage took the letter out of his bosom and gave it to cyrus, who took it and stowed it away in one of his pockets. "now that letter can answer one more purpose," said winged arrow. "any man who is captured after that will lose his life." "how do you make that out?" "i promised my father," began winged arrow. "by the way, who is your father?" said cyrus. "he must be a man of considerable standing in the tribe or else you would not be permitted to meet a man between the lines, or to hold a chat with me now." "he is a medicine man," replied the young indian. "if there is a fight here you will see him in the foremost ranks. he has a medicine which he believes will render him impervious to the white man's bullets. you do not believe in such things, do you?" "yes, i do," said cyrus, earnestly. "one of your people gave me such medicine, which afterward saved my life." "what was it?" asked winged arrow, becoming interested. "a handful of sage brush wrapped up in a piece of buckskin. i don't see why you fellows can't have some medicine of that kind as well as some others. what did you promise your father?" "that i would join him and help fight for the lands which the whites are trying to cheat us out of, provided he would give me the choice of saving two white men who might chance to fall into our hands. i had an eye on that black horse which that lieutenant rides--what did you say his name was?" "guy preston; and he is just the best white fellow that ever lived." "i am not saying anything about that. i had an eye on him ever since you left fort robinson, and yesterday i chanced to meet him outside the lines. i told him that the letter would save his life, but now he has gone and given it up to you. i kept my promise, although i had a hard time of it. if that letter comes into our camp on another man, it will save his life too; but that is all." "don't you think you are in big business to help the indians to clean out the whites?" said cyrus, who did not know what else to say. "you must have seen guy preston down there at the fort, and he told you all i had to say on that point," replied winged arrow with a scowl. "of course i shall help the indians clean out the whites. this is our country; no one else has any claim upon it, and we are bound to wipe them out or die with weapons in our hands. say," said the indian, almost in a whisper, "i read your bogus dispatch, but the other is safe where it belongs." "what other?" asked cyrus, startled in spite of himself. "the one you have got in your hunting shirt. i put my hand on it, but did not dare take it out. if i had, and had read it to red cloud, that letter would not have saved you." "what did that bogus dispatch do?" inquired cyrus, drawing a long breath of relief. the savages had had the genuine dispatch in their hands and it had been saved to him through winged arrow, who had so much at stake. he had never heard anything like it before, and his admiration for the young indian was almost unbounded. he believed now more firmly than he had before that there were some traits in the savage character with which the white men were entirely unacquainted. "it did not do much," replied winged arrow. "red cloud sent off a band of scouts to see if the dispatch told the truth, but he did not believe that any living man could have gotten through our cloud of warriors with news to the fort. i repeat that i did not dare take out that other dispatch, for that told the truth; and you would have been tied out to the stake now." "well, i am glad it is no worse," said cyrus. "you may fall into the hands of some of our people some day----" "well, when i do it will be when i am dead," returned winged arrow emphatically. "you can't help me then. but here come the braves to take you back to the fort. give guy my kindest regards and tell him to keep that letter about his own person. it will save one more and that is all." a party of warriors rode up at this moment, one of them carrying cyrus's winchester which he gave into his hands. he stopped for a moment to shake hands with winged arrow, but the latter stood with his hands behind him, which cyrus took as a sign that no hand shaking was to be allowed; so he touched his hat to the young savage, and, following the motions of one of the indians, started off toward the fort. not a thing was said to him during their long walk until they arrived at the top of the swell, from which they could see the palisades. one glance was enough to show him that the vigilant soldiers were on the watch. he saw a commotion in the fort, occasioned by the men hurrying to their quarters, which was a gentle hint to the savages that they had come close enough. "there are your friends," said one who had evidently talked english to him the night before, "go home." cyrus renewed his efforts at hand shaking, but the indians turned their horses and retreated behind the hill. chapter x. guy is astonished "yes, sir," said the officer who had the glass, taking one look at the sioux who speedily retreated out of sight behind the swell, and a longer look at the liberated captive who came toward the fort at rapid strides, swinging his cap around his head as he came; "that is cyrus, if i ever saw him. he fell into the hands of the savages, and for some reason best known to themselves they have turned him loose." if it were certain that it is possible for a boy to become amazed and delighted at the same instant, guy preston experienced both those emotions. while guy was wondering how this state of affairs could be brought about, the officer of the guard suddenly appeared upon the platform and was saluted by the officer in command of the gun. "the colonel says you have a better view of that man, whoever he is, than he has, and he begs to know what you make of him," said captain kendall. "is it cyrus?" "yes, sir, it is cyrus," replied the second lieutenant. "take the glass and look for yourself." captain kendall's observation was not a long one. he leveled the glass for a minute, and then handed it back. "guy," said he, forgetting that he was an officer and speaking to his subordinate, "your letter has worked wonders." "do you really think my letter had anything to do with that?" inquired guy, so excited that he could hardly stand still. "know it? of course it did. it was the only thing he had in his possession that kept him clear of being staked out." the officer of the guard went back to the colonel who had sent him to make inquiries, and guy leaned upon the palisades and watched cyrus as he came toward the fort. as soon as he found out that he had attracted the attention of the soldiers, cyrus put on his cap, took one look behind him to see what had become of the sioux, and broke into a run. he had strange things to communicate and he was in haste to unbosom himself. the officer of the day admitted him at the gate, shook hands with him, and then, in obedience to some request that cyrus made of him, conducted him to the colonel. a few moments afterward the order came for the soldiers to march down to the parade ground and break ranks, and this left guy at liberty to finish his nap from which he had been so violently aroused; but guy had no intention of doing anything of the kind. when he broke ranks he hurried away to hunt his roommates, and found that they were on the same mission as he was. "i say," whispered perkins, "i believe your letter had something to do with cyrus being among us safe and sound." "so do i," said guy. "now how was it brought about? has anybody seen cyrus to speak to him since he came back?" nobody had, and we will take the liberty of going with him when he was led to where the colonel stood. to say that colonel carrington was delighted to see him once more would be putting it very mildly. the commanding officer had almost as much affection for him as he would have had if cyrus had been a younger brother, and it showed itself in the heartiness with which he grasped the scout's hand. "well, cyrus, you ran plump into their hands, did you not?" said he. "just as fair as a man could," returned cyrus. "if they had been waiting for me down by the creek in the bushes, they could not have bounced me quicker. it is impossible for a man to get through those lines without being caught." then in a lower tone he added: "i have got your dispatch all right." "did they read the bogus one?" asked the colonel. "they did, but it did not disturb red cloud any. you said in that dispatch, 'your letter of a certain date has been received.' that gave you away, for the savages knew that no man could go through their lines with news for you from the other side of the world. they simply sent out scouts to see if your expedition was coming, and that was all they did do." "do you think they are going to attack us to-day?" "no, sir. they are going to wait for that train that is to bring you fuel, and then you are going to catch it." "and that will come to-morrow," said the colonel, walking up and down. "our wood is nearly out and we must have some. captain brown, break ranks and let the men go to their quarters. cyrus, come with me." the colonel went off toward his room followed by his scout, and when they were once inside of it, the commanding officer threw off his hat and paced back and forth as if he did not know what to do with himself, while cyrus took a seat on the nearest cracker box pulled out his knife, and proceeded to bring the real dispatch to light,--for be it known that the frontiersmen who were employed by the government as scouts did not hold themselves subject to military law the same as soldiers did. a captain or even the major would have thought twice before taking off his coat in the colonel's quarters without being asked, but cyrus did not wait for any invitation. "there is your dispatch, kurn," said cyrus, as he brought out the document. "and i will tell you what is a fact: the time for you to send it will be after the massacre occurs." "but my goodness! i cannot think of that thing without shuddering," exclaimed the colonel. "must i send men, who have been with me so long through thick and thin, out to be massacred by those thievish sioux? i won't do it, and that's all there is about it." "then we will starve and freeze to death for the want of a little pluck on your part," said cyrus. "we've got to have wood." "how did that winged arrow manage to get you off on this letter?" said the colonel, who wanted time to think the matter over. "i don't know. he was probably around when my clothes were examined, and red cloud told him that he could do as he pleased. that letter will save just one more person; and after that it is of no account." after a little time the colonel cooled down so that cyrus could begin and tell him his story from beginning to end. he never once interrupted him until he got through, and then he dismissed cyrus with the remark that he would send for him after a while. there were a good many points to think over and he wanted a little time to himself. but there was one thing about it, he said: if anybody was going out there to fall a victim to those sioux, he would be one of the party. "of course we shall all be sorry for that," said cyrus. "the massacre has not taken place yet. they may make the attack in such a way that they will be nicely whipped." when cyrus went out on the parade ground, he was besieged by officers who had been awaiting his appearance and who wanted to know all about the matter. of course guy preston and his chums were there, but they were obliged to keep in the background until their superior officers had heard all there was to tell. when cyrus had finished with them he started toward his quarters and the boys followed him; but all they learned in addition to what he had already told was in regard to what he thought of winged arrow. "it is just as guy said yesterday," said he, kicking off his moccasins and throwing himself down upon his bunk, "winged arrow has no business to be a sioux. he knows too much to be associated with that race of people; but the more he learns about the way those folks of his are being swindled by the government, the more he determines to stick to them." "did you see red cloud while you were a prisoner among them?" asked perkins. "i did not see anybody," replied cyrus. "they kept themselves to themselves, and all they had to do was to bring me out and release me. i tell you, boys, we are going to see some fun right here, and the colonel says it will begin to-morrow." "the massacre?" asked all the boys at once. "yes, sir. we must have some wood, and about the time that the train and its escort get ready to march out, you will hear the war whoop." "well, let it come," said perkins. "they will find that american soldiers are not the men to run just because they hear a whoop. we enlisted to fight, and now we are going to see what sort of a beginning we can make at it." the other boys did not say anything, but the expression on their faces said that they were ready for anything the sioux had to spring upon them. cyrus's move toward his bunk was a hint that he had not got all the sleep he should have had, and after asking a few more unimportant questions, they left the quarters, guy going toward his room to finish his nap and the others to attend to various duties about the fort. but slumber was a thing that guy could not court just then. he was too busily thinking. he heard everything that passed outside his room, and when the orderly softly entered and told him that "supper was on," he got up without having closed his eyes. the watch from six o'clock until midnight was a long and tedious one to guy, though he, of course, had the officer of the day to talk to. guy was thinking of what winged arrow told him--that if he ever saw one indian battlefield he never would want to see another--and every chance he got he asked mr. kendall about it. "you could not have been in the war of the rebellion, for that happened when you were a child," said mr. kendall; "but i saw seven of them, and i tell you they were all i wanted to see. the men were not mutilated, of course, but there was no need of that. i don't want to talk about it." "but did they never make an attack on our folks on a dark night like this, sir?" asked guy. "oh, yes; the darker the better. but you need not fear an indian's coming near us on a night like this. it is so dark that i can not even see a star; and if you were in their camp now you would find them all in their tepees fast asleep. when the moon rises or the day is just breaking, you will want to keep a bright lookout for them. that is the time they make the assault." "why is that, sir? when it is dark you can't see how many of them there are." "i know that; but every one you kill will go to the happy hunting grounds in a way that he won't like. he goes there in just the condition that he leaves this life. if it is dark, he will have to grope around through all eternity in darkness, no hunting for him and no scalping forays to show how much of a man he was in the days gone by. but if he is killed in broad daylight in the full possession of all his faculties, he will be just that way in the happy hunting grounds. he will be full of strength and vigor, and that is the kind of life he can live forever. he never grows old. go out that way and see what is the matter with those horses. they act as though they were alarmed about something." "the indian carries his religion with him even to death," said guy to himself, as he went out to the horses with his heart in his mouth to find out what had disturbed them. "and i suppose that every man he scalps is there to be his slave. i would look pretty being the slave of a sneaking sioux warrior, would i not?" although guy did not like the idea of being so far from camp to find out what was the matter with the horses, he did his duty faithfully, and by questioning some of the sentries who were there to watch them, found out that there was nothing the trouble, only some of the horses were uneasy, and by continually lying down and getting up had communicated their restlessness to others. with this report he returned to captain kendall, who was perfectly satisfied with it. the hours flew away and at last his relief came on; and guy, feeling the need of sleep, went to his room and tumbled into his bunk without removing his clothes. he went to breakfast, and when he entered the room he saw in an instant that something had happened to throw a gloom over the officers, some of whom were pale and all devoted themselves to the beans and hard-tack without paying attention to anybody else. there was not any of that joking and laughing, not any of the "sells" which some of the young officers were so prone to give out during the meal hour, but each one seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts. there was something about them that affected guy more than he liked, and he too became somewhat gloomy. "what's up?" said he in a whisper, nudging perkins, as he took a seat beside him. "anybody killed?" "no, but there will be some that way before the day is over," said perkins, in the same cautious whisper. there were ranking captains there at the table and the youngsters had to be careful what they said in their hearing. "where's your letter?" "by george! do you have to go out?" said guy, in dismay. "there is a train about to go out for fuel and our company is ordered to be in readiness to aid them if they get into trouble," said perkins. "forty men are to go with the train, and if they get more than they can attend to, we have to go out." "i may want that letter myself," answered guy, drawing a long breath when he thought of the number of sioux that could be brought against them. "cyrus has it, and i did not think to ask him for it yesterday." "oh, you are all right. you won't have to go." "why, how is that? did you not say the whole company--" "yes, but that does not include you. you are to command the signal tower and keep watch of us." guy's first impulse was to settle back in his chair and give vent to his satisfaction by drawing another long breath of relief; and his next was a fit of anger that he should be selected to command the signal tower out of reach of danger, while his whole company, perkins included, should be ordered to hold themselves ready to march to their aid if the sioux proved too strong for them. "it is the meanest thing i ever heard of," exclaimed guy, speaking in his ordinary tone of voice before he thought, "i will see the colonel and have him put somebody else in the signal tower." "no, i guess i would not bother the colonel if i were in your place" said captain kendall, with a smile. "the colonel does not want to be troubled by anybody. you will get the sharp edge of the old man's tongue, if you speak to him." "but just see here, captain," began guy. "i heard all about it when you were asleep," continued the captain. "you can thank your lucky stars that you are not going out there to be killed by the sioux indians." the tone in which the captain uttered these words made it clear to the young officer's comprehension that he did not want any more such talk around that table, and none of the other officers liked it either. the colonel was supreme there, and an order once issued by him was to be taken as final. he devoted himself to his food, but he kept up a terrific thinking all the while. of course, there was an even chance that the sioux would be whipped if they made their attack upon the soldiers, and that was another thing that worried guy. if they were whipped he wanted a hand in it; but he could not assist them any, if he were confined in that tower to pass signals. "do you think you can get that letter?" asked perkins, when he had given the officers a little time to forget guy's interruption. "if it is to save one more prisoner, it may stand me well in hand." "i will try it as soon as i get through breakfast," said guy. "i don't know why he should want to keep it now. i wish captain kendall had not said what he had. i would have had the colonel change that order sure." "well, you had better take his advice and thank your lucky stars that you are well out of the scrape." "will you change places with me?" asked guy, a bright idea striking him, "you go to that signal tower--" "not by a great sight, i won't," said perkins hastily. "if the other boys are going to fight, i am going to fight too. you will see me coming back covered with glory and three or four scalps in my hand." guy did not want much breakfast. he got through with what he had on his plate, asked to be excused, and left the table. chapter xi in the signal tower "yes, i heard all about it while you were asleep, as captain kendall told you. the men have not yet been informed of the part they have to perform, but i know that they are all ready." thus spoke cyrus the scout when guy preston came rushing into his quarters to tell him what colonel carrington was going to do with the troops under his command. as he uttered the words, he leaned his cracker box against the jamb of a window and looked at guy as if to ask him what he thought about it. "if he is my colonel i say that he was guilty of doing a mean thing," said guy, spitefully. "there i was fast asleep, and he never told me a thing about it." "of course he didn't. a colonel, whose right it is to command a thousand men, does not generally look to a second lieutenant for advice. we must have wood, and that is the only way to get it." "i don't expect him to look to me for advice; but when he is going to send my whole regiment away from me, it is high time he was telling me of it." cyrus laughed, but made no reply. "he knew all the time that i wanted a hand in the first fight the regiment got into, because he has often heard me say so; and then to go and send them off into the presence of the sioux--i think he should have said something to me about it." "you do your duty faithfully as second lieutenant, and when the time comes for you to get in a fight, you'll go. the colonel will not keep you back. you will be safe up there in the signal tower--" "and suppose the sioux get whipped?" "it is your regiment and you will share in the glory; but if the sioux are too many for them, and the last one of them gets wiped out, why you will be safe." "i see that i can't get any sympathy from you," said guy in a doleful tone; whereat cyrus laughed louder than ever. "i thought when i came here and told you of it, you would feel for me; but you are as bad as the rest. what have you done with that letter i gave you?" "do you mean winged arrow's letter? the colonel's got it." "honor bright?" said guy, who wondered if cyrus were not fooling him. "he does not want that letter now." "he has got it anyway. look here, guy, i will tell you something else, if you will not speak about it. i am going to try it again." "are you going out in the face of the sioux after the narrow escape you had?" exclaimed guy, almost paralyzed by the information. "that letter is going to save one more prisoner, but it may not save you a second time." "i am going to try it; or, rather, i am going to see if i can't get through their numbers without being caught. such things have been done, and i don't see why they cannot be done again." "but what are you going to do this time? if the sioux were on the watch before, they will be doubly so now." "not much after that fight comes off. that will throw the sioux crazy, and that will be the time to try it, if at all." "no matter whether we whip them or not?" "that won't make any difference. if they fail, they will have their mourning to go through with, and by the time they get through with that i shall have passed through and be well on my way to fort robinson." "well, cyrus, i bade you good-by once before when i never thought to see you again, but i guess you are gone now," said guy, advancing and extending his hand, "and you had better bid me good-by too." "oh, you will be safe in that signal tower," said cyrus, who did not see the use of so much feeling on guy's part. "if the sioux wanted to capture that tower, they could have taken it long ago. good-by, but remember that i will see you again." "then perkins cannot have the letter if you want it," said guy. "i think he had better not. the colonel thinks i ought to have it, and he will give it to me before i start." guy went to his room and there he found his roommates sitting around doing nothing. they had their weapons close at hand, but made no move to put them on until they got orders. "well, boys, there will not be so many of us here to-night," said guy, breaking in upon the silence. "some of us will leave this room for the last time." "you will be all right and tight," said arthur, "and if we whip the sioux you will wish you had been along." "do any of you want to change places with me?" asked guy, for he was not at all pleased with the arrangement. "i will ask the colonel----" "you need not ask him anything on my account," said arthur quickly. "i would not go up in that signal tower for all the money there is in the world. our boys are going to fight, and i am going to fight too. there. that lets you out. good-by." "the colonel desires to see you, sir," said an orderly, stepping up and saluting. guy jumped up, put on his weapons, and turned to take leave of his roommates, all of whom came forward to shake him by the hand, but he did not see a sign of wavering on the part of any of them. their faces were white, but there was a determined look about their features which showed that they fully comprehended the danger of their situation and were ready to take the consequences. "good morning, mr. preston," said the colonel, when he entered the quarters and found him alone there with colonel fetterman. "i have put you in command of the signal tower to-day." "so i have understood, sir," said guy. "but don't you think----" "i have thought the matter all over and i have resolved upon my course," replied the commanding officer, turning almost fiercely upon guy. "i want to see if you understand the signals." "yes, sir; i know them by heart," returned guy, who saw that it would be of no use to ask the colonel to change that order. "very well. you are to keep a close watch on the party that goes out to protect the wagons, and you will be careful to make the same signals to them that i shall make to you." "very good, sir. i understand." "then my business with you is done. i see that the squad is getting ready," said the colonel, as the blast of a bugle echoed through the fort. "you will find three men out there, with rations, and you will stand watch while you are there. that's all." guy made all haste to get out of the room, for he did not want to be within reach of the colonel's frown any longer than he could help, and furthermore he was anxious to see what preparations had been made for the party that was to go after the wood. the whole fort was in commotion, but everything was done in regular order. those of the soldiers who had nothing to do were standing in little groups and watching their comrades whom they never expected to see again; forty men were filing through the gate, mounted on their horses and forming on the parade ground under command of captain kendall; three men, who were evidently waiting for somebody, were there on foot with their haversacks slung over their shoulders; and the yells outside the stockade announced that the teamsters were busily hitching up their mules. guy saw all this at a glance, and then bent his steps toward the three men who were standing there waiting for orders. "here's your party, mr. preston," said the adjutant. "you will go out and relieve the men in the signal tower. i suppose the colonel gave you orders before you left?" "yes, sir, what little he had to give," answered guy. "i have never been in the tower before, but i think i know what is required of me." the adjutant bowed and went away, and guy, whose men were standing at parade rest, had nothing to do but to wait until the escort was ready to march. it was quickly done, and when he saw the captain mount his horse and turn to salute the colonel, guy ordered his men through the gate to catch one of the wagons on which he intended to get a ride out to the signal tower. when the captain went by with his company, he returned guy's salute and responded, "thank you," to his expressions of good luck and a safe return to the fort with the wagon train. "i am afraid, sir, that it won't be such good luck with him after all," said one of his men as the captain rode on. "it does not seem as though there were any sioux around here, does it, sir?" "no," replied guy. "if that red cloud were only out of the way, what a fine country this would be to live in. such splendid hunting as there is to be had here i never saw before. you can see prairie chickens every day from the fort." there was no danger to be feared until they got to the signal tower, but none of the men seemed to enjoy the trip, because they knew that the sioux were watching them from every hilltop within range of their vision. the captain again saluted when they reached the tower, and guy and his men jumped off the wagon to be admitted by the second lieutenant who was in command there. "halloo, guy," said he, and he was glad to see that his relief had come. "now you can have the fun of sitting here for twenty-four hours, with nothing but the swells to look at. say," he added in a lower tone, "who was that officer who went out hunting day before yesterday? i see he had a sioux to show him the way back. if i didn't see you here safe and sound i should think it was you. his horse resembled yours." "well, sir, it was i, and no mistake," said guy. "that sioux came to warn me to keep out of the way of an approaching massacre which i think is going to happen now in less than two hours." "aw! get out," exclaimed the second lieutenant, throwing back his head and laughing immoderately. "that sioux was a friend of yours, was he not?" "i have not time to explain matters to you now, for you had better go inside the fort as soon as you can. he gave me a letter--" "aw! get out," said the lieutenant again. "you have been listening to some of cyrus's stories, and he has made you believe that you have some sort of medicine that will protect you from their bullets. come on, all my men, and we will go to the fort while you are thinking about it. it may be that we will find some sioux who will give us a letter--" guy and his men were all inside the tower by this time, and they closed the heavy door and bolted it, thus shutting off what else the officer was going to say in regard to that letter. they heard his laugh ringing on the outside, and through the loopholes saw him march away toward the fort. "did that sioux really give you a letter, sir?" asked one of his men, as they climbed the rude stairway to reach the top. "who was that letter directed to?" "i have not time to go into all the particulars now," said guy, as he leaned on the walls on the top of the tower and looked after the wagon train and its escort. "you will hear all about it when you get back to the fort. is that flag all ready? lay aside your guns, but have them handy, and keep a close watch on that train." as guy had never been in the tower before, he looked around him with no little curiosity. the ridge leading from the fort to where good timber was to be found was in plain sight, and every move the wagon train made could be distinctly seen. the fort stood considerably lower than this tower, but there were several mountain howitzers in the fort which had been trained on this ridge. the gunners, however, could not shell the ravines on each side of it with any accuracy, and guy saw at once, with a soldier's eye, that about a mile beyond them was a splendid place for an ambush. his heart fell when he noticed it, but he did not say anything to his men about it. "the sioux have got the better of us or i shall miss my guess," said guy, hauling his binoculars from its case and settling himself on a log which had been cut off sufficient to serve for a seat. "if they make their attack from one of those ravines, we cannot see it until we are right on to it, and they will clean us out as sure as shooting." having observed the train and seen that it was all right so far, guy began an examination of the tower to see what chances he had for making a successful resistance in case he were assaulted. he was more than satisfied with it. the tower was built of green logs which could not be set on fire by the hostiles at any reasonable distance, and was well supplied with loopholes, so that a company of determined men could hold their own until assistance could reach them from the fort. while he was thus engaged one of his men called his attention to a faint sound which he heard coming from the further end of the ridge. "it sounded to me like a war whoop, sir," said he. "it could not be that. yes, sir, that is what it is." in an instant guy preston was on his feet with his glass pointed toward the wagon train, and saw something that he hoped he never would see again--a hundred indians, all well mounted and armed, were making a charge on the wagon train's escort. where they came from was a mystery, but they were there, and the faint yells which struck his ears now and then showed that they were out there for no good purpose. "where's that flag," he exclaimed, "give it to me, quick!" in less time than it takes to tell it, guy had grasped the emblem and was waving to the watching sentries on the palisades what was going on a mile from them, but which was shut out from their view by the ridge:-- "about one hundred indians going to attack the train." then he threw the flag down and waited with all the fortitude he could command for some response to the signal. a moment afterward it came. one of the mountain howitzers belched forth its contents, the shell whizzed by so close to them that it seemed as if they could touch it, and exploded in the air right in line for the sioux, but a good way above them. another and another followed, but their firing was entirely too wild to do any damage. guy was on nettles. "they will never hit the indians at that rate," he exclaimed. "why don't they shoot lower?" all the shells which came from the howitzers followed the same course, and then guy, forgetting that he was an inferior and in no condition to offer advice, seized the flag again and signaled once more to the fort. "you are firing entirely too high. shoot closer to the ground." whatever the commanding officer thought of his advice guy never knew, but he thought it a good plan to follow these instructions. the next shell came lower and the next one lower yet, and then guy raised the flag once more. "that is all right. you stand a chance of hitting them now." "oh, don't i wish that i was down there with my winchester!" said guy, so excited that he could scarcely stand still. "by the way, do any of you see winged arrow?" "don't know him, sir," said all the men at once. "that is so; you did not see him, did you? this fellow wears a buckskin shirt and rides a small sorrel horse----" "every fellow down there is stripped to the waist," said one. "and they all ride small sorrel horses," said another. "well, i guess he is there," said guy under his breath. "i hope he will come off scot-free. but he said that the sioux could raise three thousand men. this doesn't look like it." "there is something going on in the fort, sir," said one of the men after a little pause. "it looks to me as if they were going to send out re-enforcements." these words brought guy back to earth again. if the colonel was about to send men to help the escort, he must send his own company. the young officer went off into a state of excitement again. chapter xii. what guy saw guy preston turned with his glass to his eyes again. there was something going on in the fort--it was so far away that he could not hear the words of command, but he knew that horses were going in and that the men were running about as if they were getting ready for something. presently the column appeared--a hundred men, who seemed to be intent on going to the rescue, for they had hardly time to clear the gate before they broke into a trot and then into a gallop. a little nearer and guy recognized the faces of his old company, perkins, arthur brigham, all his roommates, as well as several of the rank and file. colonel fetterman was in command, and though guy thought he looked rather white, he heard the order "gallop" which rang in his ears the same as of old. did they know that they were going to their death? if they did there was not one of the hundred men who seemed to realize it. "oh, oh!" shouted guy, prancing about in his excitement until he came near missing his steps and going back through the trapdoor with more haste than he had come up a few minutes before. "all my company are there, every one of them, and i am to stay here cooped up like a rat in a trap! why did not the colonel remember this? they will come back flushed with victory and i will have had no hand in it!" "do you see any men in company d there, sir?" asked the sergeant, who stood close at guy's elbow. "look for yourself," replied the young officer, handing his glass over to the man. "i don't know all the men in company d." the sergeant took the glass, and one look was enough to satisfy him. he gave it back without saying a word. "i guess you are in the same boat with me," said guy, once more leveling the glass to take a nearer view of the approaching re-enforcements. "they will get all the glory of this fight. i see captain brown and three or four 'old timers' who are going out with them, and we are bound to whip; but it seems hard to me to stay here and do nothing!" as the horsemen tore by, guy preston raised his cap and swung it lustily around his head, and there were a dozen men, among whom were perkins and arthur, who returned the salute. a moment afterward the support was gone, and guy, with a long breath which seemed to say that there was no help for it, settled down to watch them and keep a close view of their movements. nor were they obliged to wait long. the indians seemed surprised at the approach of so large a re-enforcement to support the train, and at once became confused and started to retreat; and that was enough for the supporting column. guy saw colonel fetterman turn in his saddle and swing his sword above his head, and in an instant more a yell came to his ears and his men turned down the ridge. "bully for our side of the house!" yelled guy preston, once more swinging his cap around his head. "it shows what you can do, mr. sioux, when you get some men to oppose you." "they are retreating, sir?" asked the sergeant. "of course they are. they cannot stand against anything like their own number." while guy stood with the flag in his hand, and wondering whether or not he ought to signal colonel fetterman's movement to the fort, something surprising happened down there at the foot of the ridge. where there were a dozen indians before, there were two dozen now and more still coming. they were coming from one of those ravines that ran back from the left of the fort. these two dozen indians were promptly joined by two dozen more, and before guy could think twice, the plain was fairly covered with them. "my goodness! what is the meaning of that?" said he. "they have run into an ambuscade, sir," said the sergeant. the young officer was so astonished at what he saw, that he never once thought of the flag he held in his hand. it was done so quickly that it appeared like a dream. while he looked more indians came out. they made their appearance in a large body too, and, dividing right and left as they approached the column, soon surrounded it entirely, and nothing but frantic and yelling sioux could be seen from the tower. "my goodness!" he repeated, his face turning as white as the flag he held in his hand. "i must signal that, but i don't know what to say." his men, one and all, offered some advice, but the signal guy sent was something like this:-- "large bodies of indians in the ravine at the foot of the hill. they have attacked the re-enforcements." almost immediately there came an answer from the fort:-- "signal for them not to leave the ridge." "what good will it do to signal to them now?" cried guy, stamping about on the tower and making no effort at all to brush the tears from his eyes. "i can't see the column at all,--nothing but indians!" but guy was a good soldier, and he made all haste to signal the post commander's orders to colonel fetterman: "don't leave the ridge," "don't leave the ridge," but that was all the good it did. none of colonel fetterman's men saw the signal, or if they did, they were too busy to reply to it. guy watched them for a minute or two through eyes which were blinded with tears, but could not see that the indians were retreating in any way. on the contrary, he seemed to grow almost frantic when he saw the white men falling back. the indians were gaining ground at every step. "this beats me," said he, leaning one hand on the sergeant's shoulder and burying his face on the top of it, "we are whipped! the massacre's come!" "they might send some re-enforcements from the fort, sir," suggested the sergeant, who was also crying like a schoolboy. "they have another hundred men that they can spare for colonel fetterman." "that's so," said guy, as he caught up the flag again; and he lost no time in sending the state of affairs to the commanding officer. "the troops are retreating. fetterman needs re-enforcements. they cannot come too soon." "there, now, i have done my duty," moaned guy, seating himself on the block of wood again, "i must stay right here now and see our men whipped." but guy did not sit there long. the noise of the fight came plainly to his ears, and every exultant yell of a sioux, that now and then rose loud and clear above the tumult, was almost as bad as torture to himself. again and again he signaled to the fort, "our men are being overpowered. fetterman needs re-enforcements," but no response came. they could see the men standing idly by leaning on their guns, but no attempt was made to send support to them. "i almost wish that colonel carrington were out there," said guy, for the sense of responsibility that rested upon him was almost too great for him to bear. "have i done what i could, sergeant? i would go myself, if he would let me!" the men all joined in with the sergeant in assuring him that no officer, situated as he was up there in the picket tower, could have done more than guy did to stop the massacre, and he was forced to be satisfied with this. he sat there and watched, but was powerless to do anything. now and then signals came from the fort, "how goes the battle now?" and guy's answer was always the same: "the indians are whipping our men completely out. fetterman needs re-enforcements"; but that was the last of it. in much less than half an hour it was all over. then he sprang up and caught the flag again: "all killed. field covered by more than one thousand sioux." guy felt while sending this signal, as if he had signed his own death warrant. he tossed the flag upon the floor, seated himself on his block of wood again and covered his face with his hands. perkins, arthur brigham--o lord, they were all gone! he thought of the many acts of kindness which the boys had lavished upon him, and his feelings were too great for utterance. sobs which he could not repress shook his frame all over. "there is something else that wants signaling too," said the sergeant. "the wood train is coming." guy jumped to his feet, and looked out over the field again. there was nothing but sioux in sight, and they were running as if anxious to get away from the leaden hail that was rained upon them. guy seized the flag and this went to the fort:-- "wood train coming, having beaten off assailants." as guy turned to look at the wagon train, he saw to his immense relief the long line of ladened wagons at the foot of the ridge. as it passed the battlefield guy, repeating the signal made from the fort, warned it not to attack, and it did not. a frightened lot of teamsters and soldiers went by him after a while, but where was guy's salute this time? he did not make any, but stood leaning on the top of the tower and silently regarded them as they went by. "it is all over," he said, mournfully. "i said this morning that there would not be so many of us left in our room to-night, and this proves it. i am alone and have not even a squad of men to command." leaving one of his men to watch the fort so as to be ready to answer any signals that might come, guy turned his attention to the battlefield; and now that the smoke had cleared away they saw the sioux in pursuit of plunder--clothes, arms, and valuables, anything that could add to their wealth. occasionally a faint yell would come up to their ears, faint and far off, but still plainly audible:-- "come down here, you pickets. we have whipped some of you, and are able to whip the rest." having now a respectable force at his command, colonel carrington sent one hundred and ten men to the battlefield with orders not to leave the ridge unless they felt strong enough to attack. the howitzers went with them, and the wagons by this time being emptied of their fuel, went along also to bring in the dead; for it was rightly supposed that the sioux did not leave any wounded behind them. guy saw them pass by, and set himself to observe their movements. there were but few indians left upon the field and these fled upon the approach of the troops, and so opportunity was had to find out the cause of the defeat. it was just as winged arrow had told guy: if he saw one battlefield, he never would want to see another. the dead were all stripped, and the positions of most of them led to the belief that they were killed while trying to escape. the horses' heads pointed toward the fort. the soldiers lying near the base of the ridge appeared to have met their death as they were fleeing from the field, having seen that their re-enforcements would amount to just nothing at all. there were some few, but not very many, mutilations among the bodies, and so the soldiers recognized every one of the slain. guy did not learn this until late that evening, when all the bodies were brought in by wagons, and then he saw his roommates cold in death. every one of them wore a happy smile upon his face, as if he knew his fate and was ready to give up his life in the service of his country. "there is somebody coming out from the fort, sir," said the sergeant, breaking in upon guy's reverie. two horsemen were coming at a rapid lope, and guy's glass showed him that they were the lieutenant whom he had relieved in command of the tower and an after rider, who was probably a cavalryman, to hold his horse. guy went down to the door to receive them, and when he opened it amos billings, that was the lieutenant's name, must have been surprised at his greeting, although he himself was not far from shedding tears over the thing he could not prevent. "the commanding officer said i had better come and let you hear something of that massacre," said amos. "i tell you, guy, it is awful!" "oh, my dear fellow!" exclaimed guy, throwing his arms around amos's neck and burying his tear-stained face on his shoulder. "what are they going to do to me?" "to you?" repeated the lieutenant. "why, nothing. guy, don't take on this way. you were ordered up here in the tower and you stayed here. did you not answer all the signals?" "yes; and i made some i ought not to have made. fetterman never asked for help. i saw that the sioux were too many for him, and so i asked for re-enforcements." "well, what of that? i guess he needed them bad enough. now let us sit down here on the steps and i will tell you as much as i know about it." chapter xiii. colonel carrington is depressed "i would like a chance to kick that winged arrow, or whatever else he calls himself," said colonel carrington, as he returned captain kendall's salute and saw him mount his horse and lead his forty men through the gate to escort the teamsters to their post of duty. "he had no business to give guy preston that letter. he has thrown the whole garrison into a panic. every man believes that a massacre is coming, and, to tell the honest truth, i really begin to believe it myself." "well," said colonel fetterman, as he walked with the commanding officer to a prominent place on the palisades from which they could keep watch of the train and its escort, "i don't see but that the latter has done some good after all. it has returned your best scout to you when everybody thought he was a doomed man." "that's so," replied the colonel, after thinking the matter over. "perhaps in that respect it has been of some use after all; and i am going to try it again." colonel fetterman was somewhat surprised, but said nothing in answer to this proposition. the commanding officer had things his own way out there on the prairie, and it was not for him to offer any amendments until he was asked to give them. "if the sioux pitch into us, as i really believe they will, they will hold a big jubilee in their camp to-night, no matter whether they whip us or not. that will be the time for me to get a letter through; don't you think so?" "yes, sir, that will be the time, if any," said colonel fetterman, thinking of what cyrus would have to go through with before he could get the letter safe into the hands of their superior officer who could grant the re-enforcements for which they asked. "are you going to try the letter on again?" "i am, and cyrus is waiting to see how the fight comes out before he makes the start. now we must keep that train in sight as long as we can," said the colonel, pulling his binoculars from its case. "the trouble is that we cannot see them after they get into a fight." "we shall have to depend upon the picket tower after they have disappeared from our view," said colonel fetterman. "my command has been informed and is all ready to start." "i hope i shall not have to send you out," said the colonel honestly. "they are all good men in that escort, and i think they ought to come through." the commanding officer seated himself and awaited the issue of events with his feelings worked up to the highest point at which they could go and not drive him wholly frantic. he knew that some of his men were going to their death, but he had expected that. not one wagon train had ever gone out from that fort after fuel but it had always come back and reported that the sioux had fired into them, and that so many were dead and so many wounded. but there was one thing that he always thought of with satisfaction: the train always brought their dead and wounded back with them. they left none of them for the indians to maltreat after they had gone. the two officers saw the train when it reached the signal tower, and the men who had been on watch there for twenty-four hours were relieved by lieutenant preston and his squad. five minutes more and the wagons were out of sight. "there now," said the colonel. "half an hour more will tell the story." "yes, and i might as well get ready to move when i get your orders," said colonel fetterman. "you are bound to give them and i know it." "let us hope not, colonel; let us hope not. it seems as though i ought to have more men than i can muster to send out there. it is like sending a boy to mill." the officers relapsed into silence and sat with their glasses to their eyes watching the signal tower. it came in a good deal less than half an hour. it seemed to them that the wagon train had scarcely got out of sight before the white flag, with a star in the middle of it, began to wave frantically from the top of the picket tower: "about one hundred indians going to attack the train." "all ready with that gun down there?" shouted the colonel, jumping to his feet. "all ready, sir," was the response. "fire!" was the next order; and a five-second shell flew over the tower and away to the further end of the ridge. "all ready with that other gun? fire!" the guns on that side of the fort were fired in quick succession, and when the smoke cleared away the flag was seen flying again from the top of the tower: "you are firing entirely too high. shoot closer to the ground." "depress those guns a couple of points and fire away," said the colonel. "that boy is keeping a close watch of the way the shells are going. i wish he had a gun up there so that he could try his own hand at it." the guns spoke again, and this time the answer that came back was encouraging. "that is all right. you stand a chance of hitting them now." "one would think that boy was a commanding officer," said the colonel. "i hope we have the right range of them now." this is all that was said in regard to guy preston's orders which came all unasked. he saw that the shells were flying all too wild, and did not hesitate to say so. guy would have felt a great deal better if he had known just what was thought of it. "shall i go now sir?" asked colonel fetterman. "yes, i guess you had better," said colonel carrington sadly. "a hundred indians is most too many for those forty men to handle. remember, george, i depend entirely upon you. i will bid you good-by now. i will see you start from here." the two officers shook one another by the hand, and that was the last time they ever met. colonel carrington did not want to go down to see him off. fetterman was a brave man and an indian fighter, but somehow the colonel did not feel right about letting him go. fetterman became all activity at once. he sprang down from the platform upon which he was standing, shouting: "fall in, my men!" and disappeared in his room. when he came out he had his sword and revolver, and mounting his horse, which was ready for him by this time, he rode up and down in front of his men, who were rapidly forming in line, and urged them all to make haste. "there are a hundred indians out there and we are going for them," he shouted, swinging his sword around his head. "they will stand just long enough to see us getting ready for a charge, and then they will run. you are not afraid of a hundred indians, are you?" "not by a great sight, sir," said the sergeant, who was riding down the other side of the line pushing the men into their places. "get in there, men, and be lively about it. lead on, sir. we are ready to face five hundred, if you say so." "all ready, sir," said colonel fetterman, riding up to the palisades where he had left his commanding officer. "go on," was the response. he raised his hand and waved it in the air, but could say no more. colonel fetterman wheeled his horse, gave the commands, "fours right. forward march!" and rode through the gate and turned toward the picket tower; and colonel carrington could only settle back in his camp chair and wait to see what events were going to bring forth. "something tells me that i will never see those men again," said he, turning to major powell, who at that moment stepped upon the platform and took a stand beside his colonel. "i have shaken hands with colonel fetterman for the last time." "oh, colonel, i would not talk in that way," said the major. "fetterman is an old indian fighter, and it will take more than one hundred sioux to clean him out." "but a hundred warriors are not all they can bring into a fight," said the colonel. "if cyrus tells the truth, there must be a larger village than we are aware of situated behind those swells." "well, suppose there are a thousand of them; fetterman can easily beat them off until he can come within range of the fort. he has taken captain brown, tony, and mike, and three or four old indian fighters with him, and they are bound to come out with flying colors." the colonel said no more, but watched the re-enforcements. he saw them break into a trot and then into a gallop, and very shortly they disappeared over the swells. "i am a little afraid of an ambush down where they are," said the colonel, after a few moments pause. "if fetterman runs into it, we are gone." "but fetterman will not run into it. he has too much at stake for that." major powell's words were intended to be encouraging, and in almost any other case they would have been so; but this time they did not have any effect upon the colonel. he was disheartened before he sent him off to face that unknown danger, and now that he was out of sight and almost within sight of it, he felt more distress than ever he did before. "why don't they signal to me?" he exclaimed, when he had watched the top of the tower in vain for a sign of the white flag. "i want to know what is going on there." "probably there has nothing happened yet," said the major. "if the indians are retreating----" the major suddenly paused, for at that moment the flag came into view from the top of the tower. he paused to read the signal it conveyed and as he spelled it slowly out that there were large bodies of indians who were assaulting the re-enforcements, the colonel jumped to his feet and seized the flag that lay near him. "i think you said that fetterman would not run into an ambush, if there was one formed for him," said he angrily. "he is in it now." then went up the signal from the fort: "tell them not to leave the ridge," but it was a signal that came too late to be of any use. colonel fetterman and all his men were so busy at that time charging down upon the enemy, that no one thought of looking for signals in their rear. but guy saw and understood and did his best to turn the column to a place of safety, but the waving of his flag was time and strength wasted. with a yell, which guy had often helped raise when the troops were drilling on the parade ground, and which the men now gave in order to let the sioux know they were coming to save the wagon train, they charged down the ridge and into the ambush. it was too late to do anything then, and colonel carrington leaned back in his camp chair and looked at powell. not another word was said by either of them, and pretty soon there came another signal from the tower: "fetterman needs re-enforcements." "it will take the last hundred men i have, and the fort with every one in it will be at their mercy," said the colonel. "you will have to go with them. go down and call the men together----" "colonel, with your permission i will protest against sending them any help," said the major. "the colonel may be retreating, but he is retreating toward the ridge where he knows he will be comparatively safe. i tell you that man can't be whipped." "well, we will wait and see," said the colonel. "i hope he has men enough with him to resist them, but i am afraid. i think i should have sent more." "and if you had, you would certainly have left the fort at the mercy of the thievish sioux. you have done the best you could. leave fetterman alone. he is going to come out all right." if major powell believed this, he was certainly doomed to be disappointed. colonel fetterman was whipped almost at the start, and there was no one to lend him a helping hand. in response to the signals "how goes the battle?" the reply was the same as it had always been, "he needs re-enforcements," and then colonel carrington got up and paced the platform in agony. the help was repeatedly called for and several times the colonel was on the point of exerting his authority as post commander and sending the re-enforcements that colonel fetterman so much needed; but each time the calm voice of major powell was raised in protest, and the commander thought it best to wait a little longer and see how the fight was coming out. "it seems to me that fetterman has been allowed all the time he wanted to get back to the ridge and hold the sioux at bay," he often said. "do you not think so, major?" it was almost half an hour since the signal had been made that the sioux were attacking the re-enforcements, and something should have been done in that time; but the next signal that was made fairly took his breath away: "all killed. field covered with more than a thousand sioux." "oh, heavens and earth!" groaned colonel carrington. "i wish i had died before i had seen that signal." major powell turned away to hide the tears that streamed from his eyes, and could not say a word in reply. he had protested against the sending out of help, and he would do it again under the same circumstances; but at what cost? fully a third of the men that composed the garrison had been sacrificed, and surely that was better than to send out another hundred to share the same fate. colonel carrington buried his face in his hands, and it did not seem to him that he could ever look up again; while major powell, after subduing the first violence of his grief, raised his eyes to watch the tower again and saw another signal waving to them. "the wagon train is coming, having beaten off its assailants," said he. "if we can save that much, we will do well." this aroused the colonel, who caught up the flag and signaled to them not to attack, but to make all haste into the fort. "if they get back safe it will give me a hundred and ten men to send out to that battlefield," said he, after thinking a moment. "you will have to go with them. don't leave the ridge until you see that you are sufficiently strong to hold them at bay." "but you want me to go to the battlefield," said the major. "but don't go into that ambush whatever you do. steer clear of that. bring the bodies of all the men you can find with you." then the colonel relapsed into his melancholy mood again, and major powell knew that he had to do everything that was necessary for getting the relief party under way, and he lost no time in doing it either. while he was thus engaged, the gate flew open and the wagon train, well loaded with fuel, came in with a rush. a more frightened set than the teamsters were it would have been hard to find, and even the old soldiers, who had passed through more than one indian fight, were heard to draw a long breath of relief as they came into line. "oh, major, it was just awful!" said the lieutenant, who was the first to salute him. "fetterman has gone up," said captain kendall; and there were traces of tears on his face that he was not ashamed of. "i never saw so many sioux before. where's the colonel?" "up there on the platform," said the major. "go up and report to him. and, mind you, don't say anything to him that will make him feel worse than he does now, for he is completely prostrated." "but i shall have to tell him the truth, or i might as well stay away from him," protested the captain. "it was nothing that he could help, but we are just a hundred men short." the major, who did not want to hear any more about the fight until he saw the battlefield, waved his hand toward the colonel, and the captain dismounted and went to report the disaster of which the post commander knew almost as much as he did. "it is not necessary for you to say anything, captain," said he. "the signals from the tower have kept me posted. are they all gone? is there not one left?" "not one, colonel," said captain kendall. "from where i stood on the ridge, i could not see anything but sioux." "they were retreating?" said the colonel. "toward the ridge where they would be safe; but they didn't any of them live to get there. they were wiped out completely." "you lost some men, i suppose." "we lost seven, and were glad to get off with that. shall i break ranks, sir?" "yes; and then come up and talk to me. i feel as though i were going crazy. i have sent out some men to go to that battlefield. do you think they can go there without another fight?" "perhaps so, sir. we killed any number of them, and perhaps they have got all they want of fighting." the captain went down and said something to his men before he broke ranks, and it made them feel a great deal better for what they had done; but there was one thing that they never could blot from their minds. there was that battlefield, a mile long and half a mile wide, of which they had a plain view as they passed along the ridge, covered by the bodies of men whom they would never shake by the hand again, and the memory of it would disturb their sleep for many a night afterward. while this was going on and the colonel sat listening to his speech, amos billings, the officer who guy preston had relieved in command of the tower, came up to the commander and saluted him. "what is it, billings?" said he. "i can't ask you to sit down, for there is no place." "i don't want to stop, sir," he replied. "there are our boys alone in that tower--" "and you want to go out and inform them that they are not forgotten by the garrison, do you? well, go on. take a cavalryman with you to hold your horse. tell guy that i would have answered his signal for re-enforcements, but major powell told me that i ought not to. guy did his duty up to the handle." this was what billings wanted to tell guy, while they were sitting there on the steps that led to the top of the tower. chapter xiv. in the sioux camp at a late hour in the evening, or rather at an early hour in the morning of the day that preceded the battle of fort phil kearney, all was silent and still in red cloud's camp, which was located a few miles from the stockade. the indians had kept up their dancing and shouting until almost ready to drop with fatigue, pluming themselves on victories won in bygone days, and panting for new scalps to be added to those already gained, by the utter annihilation of the soldiers of the fort. at last they went into their tepees to dream of the triumph which red cloud promised them should be theirs before many suns had passed away. the wiping away of the fort and the utter cleaning out of all the power of the whites, was looked upon as a certain thing by the sioux, and all they waited for was an opportunity to use the power which they were thought to possess. and why should not the whites be cleaned out? they had come into that country without an invitation, were spreading themselves all through it, and now they proposed to build a road through their best hunting ground, which meant the thinning out of the buffalo--their only means of subsistence. all they asked of the whites was to go away and let them alone; but it seemed that the more land the whites had, the more they wanted. no place was safe for the indian. his limits were growing smaller and smaller every day, and very soon he would find that he had no land he could call his own. something must be done if they thought to lay their bones among their fathers', and the only way to do it was to declare battle and go upon the warpath. this was what the sioux tribe and some of the cheyennes had proposed to do. when indians are settled in their winter camp, and so far away from enemies of every description that there is no danger of being assaulted by them, it is the noisiest place that can be found on earth. their days are passed in loitering around the fire, but the evenings are given over to pleasure. it is then that the dancers and story-tellers are in their element, and the noise of the tom-tom drowns all other sounds, except the whooping and yelling. it had been so in this camp until the day that the renegade chiefs, as red cloud called them, had signed a lease for that road; but the moment that happened, the winter camp had been changed into a war camp, and all the men in it were bent upon obtaining scalps and plunder. then the social dancers and story-tellers were out of place, and no performance of any kind was indulged in except the scalp dance. the scalps were old, they had done duty over and over again, but that did not hinder them from being brought out whenever a warrior deemed it necessary. it happened so on this night, and the braves, having grown weary of telling what they meant to do when the soldiers came out to fight them, had passed into their lodges and gone to sleep. the only two who did not care for slumber were a couple of youthful braves who sat on the ground outside of a tepee, talking over events which might occur at any moment; and what seemed strange, these indians talked in whispers and in the english language and seemed to understand one another very readily. they had been so long unused to the sioux language that they conversed in a foreign tongue as eagerly as white boys. it will be enough to say that one of them was winged arrow, and the other was a classmate of his, who had been to carlisle with him. it was plain that, although they were indians born and bred, they did not at all like the way that things were going. obeying their fathers, they promptly left school and came home to join in the indian outbreak, which they were assured was to be the final struggle to retain their lands and game as their fathers bequeathed it to them; and now that they were here to help "clean out" the whites and restore everything to the indians as it was years ago, the only thing they saw toward accomplishing that object was the destruction of a little fort, garrisoned by three hundred men, which alone stood in their way. of course it was easy enough to capture the fort, but what should be the next move on their part? indians don't like to be killed any better than white men, and that something would happen before that fort was taken was easy enough to be seen. it will be observed too, that in their brief conversation which took place before they went to their tepees, the indians did not address each other by the names that the tribes had given them. one was john turner and the other was reuben robinson--the names by which they had been known at carlisle. one was named after the janitor, as we have said, and the other was called after the gardener, a white man who thought the indians were just about perfect. the boys called each other jack and rube, and to have heard them talk, any one who could not see them would have thought they were white boys sure enough. "say, rube, you know that this thing don't look right to me," said john turner (winged arrow), who sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fastened on the ground, "here we have come all these miles to help the indians in a hopeless war. i don't care a cent whether i come out of it or not." "that is just the way i think, jack," replied rube. "we have lived among the white people for almost eight years, and yet we must turn around and kill them. i tell you i shall think of the old gardener every time i pull on them. that lieutenant of yours is all right, because you gave him that letter. i wish i could find somebody to assist in the same way." "i had to take my chances. i was roaming around just to see what the soldiers were doing, and i ran onto this fellow when i least expected it. he is a brave boy too, and i hope he will stay in the fort." so it seemed that reuben had some "medicine" which he wanted to give to a soldier, under the impression that it would save the soldier's life should he chance to be wounded and fall into the hands of the sioux. the boys had made this up between them while they were on the cars coming to their home. each one had the letter their fathers had sent them, and they resolved that those letters should be their "medicine"--that if either of them were found upon a dead soldier he would be safe from mutilation; and if upon a wounded man, he should be taken and treated in their rude way until he was well, and then be released and free to return to his friends. it was as little as they could do to pay the white men for all the kindness they had received at their hands while attending school. this was proposed to john turner's father, then a prominent medicine man in the tribe, and after some hesitation he agreed to it. "you are bound to whip the whites anyway," said john, in arguing the case with him. "oh, yes, we are bound to whip them," said the medicine man. "well, then, what difference will it make by saving one or two lives? let the letters save two lives, one a civilian and the other a soldier, and when that is done we will turn upon the whites and stay by you as long as one of them is left alive." the medicine man finally agreed to this and it was so published in the village; and although some of the warriors looked daggers at them and said that any white man who fell into their hands should be punished to the full extent of indian law, we have seen that winged arrow's letter once served its purpose. "those people must have wood pretty soon or they will freeze and starve to death," said reuben. "are you going out when the time comes?" "i must. i must make the indians believe that i am with them heart and soul. but there is one thing about it, rube: i shall think that every soldier has some medicine about him, and not any of them will fall by my bullets." "that is the way i shall do also. i really wish that this matter could be settled without a war. but every time we get a reservation fixed out to suit us, you will see some white man that wants some of it. why can't they go away and let us alone?" "that is not the white man's way of doing business. he wants to raise cattle, or he wants to dig for gold, or he wants some place to put his family, and the first thing we know he has the whole country. if red cloud should fail in his movement, and it looks to me now as though he were going to, it will be all up with us. you and i belong to a doomed race. the indian will not survive the buffalo, and when he goes it is good-by to us." "i am afraid that is so," said reuben, getting upon his feet, "and i cannot find it in my heart to fight those white people either. all we have we owe to them. i remember what hard work i had to write a composition in english. do you remember it?" "i believe i do, and with what labor i tried to put my words in english, so that some one would not laugh at me. i shall always remember john turner for that. he stood by me and helped me whenever i failed, and that is one thing that makes me as good an english scholar as i am to-day." reuben had evidently no more to say on the subject. following an indian's way, he turned and left john without uttering another word and went into his tepee, while john sat there on the ground occupied with his own thoughts. the hours flew by and yet he sat there without moving, and when at last the streaks of dawn appeared in the east he saw three indians silently leave their lodges and take their way out over the prairie. these were the lookouts who had been appointed the night before to go and watch the soldiers and see that none of them left the fort. on the summit of the nearest swell one of them sat down, drew his blanket over his head and the other two kept on out of sight. "those poor fellows do not know that every move they make is known here in camp," said winged arrow, slowly rising to an upright position. "as long as they stay there inside their stockade, they are all right; but the moment they organize a train to come out and get wood, that will be the last of some of them." winged arrow, as we shall continue to call him, did not forget one practice he had learned among the whites, and that was to wash his hands and face. he always felt better for that, and he could not imagine why the indians neglected it. this done, a pocket comb which he drew from some receptacle about him was brought into play, and before the medicine man appeared at his door, winged arrow was ready for anything that was to be done. one who had seen the medicine man as he appeared before winged arrow at that moment would have wondered at his claiming that man for his father. winged arrow was an ideal indian. his frank and open face, always destitute of paint, was one which could not be seen without a desire to take two looks at it, and he was tall and as athletic as if he had been to a training school all his life; but the man who opened the door of his tepee and stepped out was exactly his reverse in these respects. he was tall, as the majority of indians were, but he was bent almost half over, as if he were suffering from that indian complaint, rheumatism, and his face, that had been daubed with paint the night before, was fearful to look upon. but for all that, he seemed to think a good deal of winged arrow, and his commands went far and were studiously obeyed by all the members of the tribe. giving winged arrow his letter as medicine was proof of his popularity with the tribe. a grunt by way of greeting was all that passed between them. the medicine man kept on his way, and winged arrow went into the tepee to get his breakfast. the indians are very different from white men in regard to their meals, each one breaking his fast whenever he feels the craving of his appetite. a pot, generally filled with meat and water, is placed on one side of the tepee, accompanied, if the man of the house be tolerably well off in the world, by a package of parfleche, which contains the indian bread. if the bread is not there, the meat will do as well. a pile of ashes in the middle of the lodge tells where the meat is put to boil, and whenever an indian is hungry he rakes together the buffalo chips, starts a blaze and puts on the pot; and when he gets too hungry to stand it any longer, he attacks the meat and eats until he is satisfied. winged arrow had all this to do himself, for it was too early for the women to be astir. as he sat waiting for his breakfast to be cooked, his thoughts wandered away to the school at carlisle, and he wondered how many teachers there would have been willing to join him in his repast. "there is not one," soliloquized the young savage. "every one of them would turn up his nose at such a breakfast as this. and yet i am here to fight just for keeping my people in this position. oh, why did not the whites stay in their own country?" the smoke of the fire began to penetrate the tepee, until it was so thick as to be unbearable to any but an indian. winged arrow waited until the meat was done and then, drawing his knife, proceeded to make as good a breakfast as he could out of boiled beef. chapter xv. what winged arrow saw winged arrow had not been at his breakfast long before he was startled by a noise and confusion in the camp outside. any little bustle is enough to excite a feeling of alarm in an indian, and coming as it did upon the quiet that reigned among the lodges, winged arrow was on his feet and out of his tepee in an instant. he turned toward the man on the highest point of the swell who had sat there with his blanket around him, and saw that he was on his feet and waving that blanket furiously aloft to attract the attention of the people in the village. he was repeating the signals that the other indians had made to him--that there was something going on in the fort. there could be but one explanation of his signals: the soldiers were starting a wagon train and were coming out to get wood. as he was about to turn into his tepee again, he met reuben hurrying up. "do you see that?" said he. "yes, i see it," replied winged arrow. "now remember that every soldier in that squad has some medicine with him that our bullets cannot penetrate. when you come back, you don't want to say to yourself: 'there is one fellow that i have wiped out.'" the boys went into their tepee only to re-appear again almost immediately. a spectator would have had to look more than once before recognizing them. they were stripped from the waist up, had bonnets on their heads, and nothing in their hands but their rifles. neither of them carried a knife, for they did not believe in mutilating bodies that fell into their hands. each carried a belt of cartridges which was slung around his waist. while they were going to get their horses, they heard a whoop at the lower end of the village, and the next moment red cloud dashed by, mounted on a snow-white pony, stripped to the waist, as all his men were, and hideously painted, "making the picture the very incarnation of exultant war." "come, come," he cried in his native tongue, "come to the ambush and then to victory." red cloud was right in his element now. he was war all over. he slung his rifle, his only weapon, around his head with frantic gestures and yelled so loudly that he drowned every other shout that was sent up by his triumphant warriors; for the sioux looked upon their victory as certain. he was a man who would have been picked out of all that throng as a leader. he was not an hereditary chieftain, as we have explained, but his chance had come for raising the war cry over those chiefs who had signed the lease for that road. it just suited the turbulent element of his tribe, and those who did not believe in his way could just step aside and leave them the glory. but that did not suit the old chiefs who were anxious to retain their authority, and they soon found that they must acknowledge red cloud as their master, or be left alone with nobody to obey their orders. and thus it happened that some chiefs, some even who were friendly to the whites, joined his standard and were as fierce for battle as red cloud. it did not take red cloud's yells long to raise the fighting men of his tribe, and when he saw so many men at his disposal, he turned and led the way across the open prairie toward the fort. there were a thousand of them all armed to the teeth. all were silent and not a shout was uttered, however much they might have felt inclined to let the soldiers know that they were coming. some were engaged in tying feathers and ribbons in their horses' manes and tails; others put on their bonnets; and still others were busy in anointing themselves with oil and grease to make them more agile in their movements. the women gathered upon the outskirts of the village and sent up wails over the prospective death of husbands and lovers, who were going forth to battle. on reaching the ravine out of sight of the fort, the very place where colonel carrington was afraid that an ambush might be formed for his troops, the most of the warriors rushed into it, while the others were sent off to annoy the cutters who were by this time at work upon the wood pile. the rest stayed in the ravine, out of sight, to be ready to assault the re-enforcements when they came up. this was the time when guy preston sent his first signal to the fort and it resulted in colonel fetterman and his hundred men coming out to help the wood cutters. we may say before we go further, that colonel carrington did not believe that there was so large a village as his scouts had reported to him. red cloud had been so sly about his movements, making his attacks with smaller bodies of men on purpose to draw the soldiers out, and the colonel thought that with a hundred men, all experienced indian fighters, he would be able to hold his own with them; and that was just where he made his mistake. when the braves drew up in the ravine, winged arrow and reuben were with them. they clutched their rifles with a firm hold, as if they were impatient to be in action, and all the while winged arrow was wondering if that fellow to whom he gave his letter were there as an escort to the wood cutters, or had he taken the young savage's advice and remained in the fort. red cloud's orders to the warriors who went to attack the wood cutters were not to make a good fight, but to hang around and worry the cutters so that they could not do their work. winged arrow heard them yelling as they galloped up and down in obedience to these orders, and he knew, too, when the troops charged them, and when they were retreating. it kept on in this way for half an hour; then the indian who had been sent to maintain a close watch on the fort and tell them when to look for the re-enforcements, came down the hill in great haste, swinging his blanket around his head as he came. the re-enforcements had come, a whole cloud of them were flocking out of the fort, and soon they would be close onto them. now all was excitement in the ravine, and the braves leaned forward and grasped their weapons, but not a yell was uttered. colonel fetterman and his troops came on; the savages heard their charging shout, and the body of warriors who for the last half hour had kept up a bogus attack on the wood cutters, evidently surprised at so large a force coming out, retreated into the ambuscade. that was what the sioux were waiting for. "come to victory!" shouted red cloud. what happened next winged arrow could not have told; it was the first fight he had ever been in, and it was his resolve that he would never be in another. the sioux divided right and left as they went out; he heard the rattle of firearms and saw the smoke fill the air, and all the while he was circling around close at the heels of a big warrior who was shouting as if he were going wild, and his rifle spoke as often as he could push in the cartridges. he did not know where the bullets went and he did not care. he aimed high, and was certain that he did not hit anybody. at the end of half an hour it was all over. a succession of whoops and yells from one section of the battlefield told him that the fighting was done, and he drew rein upon his wearied horse and waited until the smoke had cleared away, so he could see what the warriors had done. of the men who came out with colonel fetterman, not one remained. the field, as far as he could see it from the smoke that settled over it, was covered with men in blue uniforms and horses which were killed while doing their utmost to take their riders to a place of safety. winged arrow took no part in searching for plunder which commenced immediately. he rode over the field, taking care that his horse did not step upon any of the dead men, looking in vain for guy preston, for of course he did not know that guy, securely sheltered by the picket tower, had seen almost as much of the fight as he had himself. at last the wood cutters train came up the hill bound for the fort. red cloud was entirely satisfied with what he had done, or the braves did not want to face the leaden bullets in the soldiers' rifles, for they did not make any serious attempt to capture the wagons. he lost a few men in charges he made upon it, and then allowed it to go on in peace. winged arrow saw before he had surveyed the whole battlefield that the sioux had not escaped unharmed. although the braves moved at a headlong gallop, trusting to their speed to escape any balls that might be sent after them, some of them went into that fight for the last time. here and there, scattered about among the blue coats, was a sioux warrior, with all his war paint yet upon him, whose medicine had not been strong enough to keep off some soldier's bullets, and he was taken up and carried to the village, in order to save the scalp upon his head. if that were removed, his relatives would not go to the trouble of burying him. "do you find that fellow here?" asked reuben, riding up at this moment. "no; he is in the fort," said winged arrow. "i think that letter did him some good." the two friends stayed by each other while the plundering was going on, and their hearts grew sick when they saw the mutilations which some of the warriors practiced upon the dead bodies of the soldiers. at length the lookout (for the indians always have them when they are engaged in a massacre), told them that still another squad of re-enforcements was leaving the fort, a large squad it was too, fully equal to the one they had whipped, and in an instant all was confusion again. the indians were getting ready to retreat, and as soon as major powell's troops appeared above the summit of the swell upon which stood the picket tower, they took a few shots at him by way of farewell, and speedily went out of sight. not a single prisoner had been taken by the indians. to quote from one of the chiefs, who afterward told the story to one of our soldiers, "the sioux were too mad." they killed every one they came to, hoping that the whites would get weary of trying to open the road and that they would abandon the fort in disgust. and this was the way that john turner and reuben robinson behaved in every fight in which they were engaged. they always made two of the attacking party, and whooped and yelled as loud as anybody, and always took their chances of death with the others; but every bullet they fired went wild, and they never had to say when they returned to camp, "there was one fellow that i wiped out." they could not forget the kindness and favors they had experienced at the hands of the whites. while the troops under major powell had passed the picket tower and were hesitating whether or not to go down to the battlefield and run the risk of bringing off the dead, guy and amos were seated on the steps, while the latter's arm was thrown around him protectingly, and amos was relating the story of the massacre. "you have seen more of it than i did, for you were up here where you had a good view," said amos. "but the colonel thought i had better come and tell you that the fort was keeping watch over you." "i am grateful to know that," said guy between his sobs. "i did the best i could." "of course you did, and the colonel appreciates it; but the only thing you are sorry for is that you asked for help when nobody told you to. don't let that worry you. the colonel will not say a word to you about it." "if you please, sir," said the soldier, who had been left on the top of the tower to watch major powell's movements, "the major has left the ridge." guy and amos jumped to their feet and went up to the top, and a signal to that effect was at once sent to the fort. no answer came in response to it, and the young officers became aware that it was all right. for two hours they turned their glasses first toward the swells to see that the sioux did not come back to assault them, and then toward the soldiers who were tenderly gathering up the dead, but nothing occurred that was worthy of note. all the soldiers obtained were a hundred dead bodies, but not a single thing in the way of arms or ammunition. everything had gone with the retreating sioux. they came along on their way to the fort after a while, and seeing that guy was watching them with interest, major powell sent an officer to communicate with him. "all are gone," said he, returning guy's salute. "did you see it?" "i saw some of it," said guy with a shudder. "i don't want to speak of it. i suppose i am the only officer left in our company." "it looks that way to me. you don't want to go to sleep at all to-night, for the sioux may be down on you." when the officer moved away, amos decided that he would go back to the fort also, and thus guy was left alone with his three soldiers for company. he sat down on his block with his head resting on his hands, and in that way he remained almost all night. chapter xvi. after the massacre the night that followed the massacre was passed by those who took part in it in a very different manner. the dead had all been brought in and were laid out in three several rooms until the time of their burial, covered by all the flags that the fort could raise, and sentries were keeping guard over them. colonel carrington had been in once to see them, but the sight was almost too much for him. he left hastily bathed in tears, and everybody who had business with him that night took note of the fact that he was a very different man from what he had seemed to be before he ordered out the re-enforcements. he continually said to major powell, who stayed with him almost all night:-- "i don't care one cent what the authorities say to me. if some of them had been here, they would have done just the same as i did. but sending out all these men who have obeyed my every order for so long a time is what grieves me. i wish i had been out there with them." in the sioux camp there was a big pow-wow held by those who had been in the massacre, if we except winged arrow and his friend. they sat a little apart from the others and watched the scalp dance, but took no part in it. their feelings went out to the mourners who were gathered in their lodges and were sending up loud wails of grief over the sons and brothers whose medicine had not been strong enough to protect them from the bullets of the doomed soldiers. winged arrow and reuben said not a word to each other, and when they grew tired of watching the scalp dance, they went to bed; but slumber was something that would not come at call. all night long the yells and whoops of the triumphant indians rang in their ears, but they were not thinking of them. "all this amounts to nothing," was what winged arrow kept saying to himself. "they are making a big noise over the death of one hundred soldiers, but they do not take into consideration the thirty-six millions that are to come after them. where they kill one now, ten will spring up to take their place. as soon as this gets to washington, the enemy will send re-enforcements here that the sioux never dreamed of. we are doomed; i can see that plainly enough." to go back to the fort again--there was cyrus, the scout, lying on his bunk, sadly shaken up by this day's work. he glanced at the empty cracker boxes on which tony and mike had sat the evening before. they were laid out with the others, and to-morrow would see them covered by the earth over which they had often trod full of health and strength. how long would it be before such would be his fate? but cyrus did not stop to think of that. his companions had fallen by the sioux, and there was nothing for him to do but to avenge them. from that day cyrus resolved that no sioux should cross his trail and live to tell of it. no matter what treaties the government entered into with them, there would be always one who did not sign it. "cyrus, the colonel wants to see you," said an orderly, breaking in on his meditations. "that's me," said cyrus, getting up and putting on his moccasins, which he had thrown off on lying down. "if anybody asks you to-morrow where cyrus is, tell him that you don't know. i will either get those dispatches through, or i will be in the same boat with tony and mike." "are you going to try them again?" asked the orderly. "yes, sir. and i am going through with them. do you understand?" cyrus followed the orderly, who led the way to the colonel's quarters and found him in his shirt sleeves pacing up and down his narrow room. he could not be easy unless he was in motion, and even then he would stop occasionally, take his hands from his pockets and rumple up his hair as though he did not know what he was doing with himself. major powell was there, seated on a camp chair, with his head resting on his hands. the major could not get over the massacre. every time he tried to talk about it, he was obliged to stop, for his sobs broke his utterance. "sit down, cyrus," said the colonel in a husky voice. "are you all ready to start now?" "as ready as i ever shall be, kurn," replied cyrus. "but i don't want to sit down." "then there are your dispatches. i don't need to tell you----" "you don't need to tell me anything, kurn. i know just what you want to say. those dispatches shall go through, or you will never see cyrus again. tony and mike are killed, and i don't see that there is anything left for me." "be careful that you don't get yourself into trouble, while you are avenging them," said the major, lifting his head for a moment from his hands. "we cannot afford to spare you." "i shall take good care of myself, major. whenever you hear that i am gone, you may know that two indians have gone with me." cyrus took the papers that the colonel handed him and proceeded to look them over. the first one he came to was winged arrow's letter. this one he laid on the table. the next one was the "bogus dispatch," and this one he placed by the side of the first. the third was the dispatch which the colonel was so anxious to have go through, and that he put into his pocket. "cyrus, you mean to see the commanding officer of fort robinson before you see us again, don't you?" said the colonel, who had watched the scout's movements. "you don't mean to fall into the hands of the sioux again." "no, sir, i don't. i will leave that first paper here and i will trouble you to place it in the hands of the owner when he comes. this war is not yet over." the post commander seated himself in the nearest chair, while the major raised his head and looked hard at cyrus. "do you think we are going to have another massacre?" was the question that arose to the lips of both of them. "i don't know about that; but you know that the sioux won't be satisfied with one killing. if guy happens to fall into their hands, he will need something to bring him out. good-by, i may not see you again, but you may bet your bottom dollar that i will get through, if i am alive." the scout seized the colonel's hand, and the length of time he held fast to it was all the evidence that anybody needed to show him the consideration in which he held him. the colonel told him that he was his only hope, but cyrus shook his head and did not say anything in reply. the major could not say anything. he arose and shook him hastily by the hand, and then seated himself on his chair as before, and rested his head on his extended palms. another moment and the scout was gone. "this will kill me and i know it," said the colonel, resuming his walk about the room. "i don't wish any harm to befall those superior in power to myself, but i wish that general could be down here for about five minutes and feel the responsibility that rests upon me. he would send some help without any asking." that was a long night to the two officers commanding the fort, for neither of them thought of going to bed. the colonel paced the room, and the major sat with his head resting on his hands. it was longer still to the lonely watcher on the picket tower, who kept close view of the prairie surrounding him, lest the sioux should slip up and try to add to the number of victims by taking a sly shot at him or his men when they did not think there was any one around. he had appealed to his men time and time again to know if he did his full duty when posted there to pass the signals, but their assurance that his conduct could not be blamed and that any other officer placed in the same position would do the same, did not fully satisfy him. he had been up there while a hundred men were massacred almost within reach of him, and had not done a thing to prevent it. the two young officers, for whom he cherished an affection of which some brothers might have been proud were gone and why should he be left? "why did not one of them change places with me?" he kept constantly repeating to himself. "i would have gone readily, and now i would have been beyond the reach of the colonel's reprimand or his frown. but there are the folks at home. what would they have said about it?" daylight came at last, and once more guy leveled his binoculars on the prairie, but no signs of the sioux could be seen. then he looked at the fort, and saw preparations for guard mount going on, and that a company was ready to keep guard over them while his relief was coming out to the tower. it came at last and a sorry-looking lot of men they were. they had seen the bodies laid out in the store rooms, and they could not get over it. in reply to guy's hurried questioning, the lieutenant said:-- "you would have thought, if you could have seen the smiles that were on perkins's and brigham's faces, that they had furloughs to go home and see the friends from whom they have been so long separated. they didn't act scared a bit. but i tell you, it is just awful. captain brown and a few old timers must have killed themselves, for they were not mutilated in the least. the other officers were all scalped." "did the colonel have anything to say about my signaling?" asked guy. it was all he could do to ask this question, but he managed to get it out at last. "not a word. you did the best you could, and that is all anybody can do. you have nothing to do but to look out for the sioux, i suppose?" "and keep a watch on the fort for signals," added guy. "i hope your stay up here will be more pleasant than mine has been. fall in, men, and we will go down to the fort." the adjutant and the officer of the day met him when he came in and reported, and after saying "very good, sir," continued in a solemn tone:-- "you saw more of that fight than we did. it is awful, is it not? the colonel wants to see you." "he wants to know why i made some signals, i suppose," said guy. "what signals?" "why, i told him that fetterman needed help, when that signal was not made to me at all." "oh, that is all right. the colonel will not say anything about that. you saw what a fix he was in." guy found the colonel as we have seen him before, and the major still sitting in his camp chair. they had been out to breakfast to drink a cup of coffee, and that was all. "sit down, preston," said the colonel, waving his hand toward a chair. "you saw it all, did you not?" "the smoke would not let me see a great deal of it, sir," said guy. "i want to say that i have got back and that i repeated every one of your signals that i saw." "and some you did not see," put in the colonel. "however, that was all right. i am not going to find any fault with you for that. sit down. now begin at the beginning and tell me all that you saw." it did not take guy long to do that, for, as he dwelt upon it, the scenes of the massacre came so vividly to his mind that he did not want to speak of them at all. the officers listened, the colonel now and then making some marks on a piece of paper which he drew toward him. he took guy's recital down as a part of the report he was going to make out for his superior officer. when guy was through they asked him some questions in regard to the massacre which he did not see on account of the smoke, and then told him that he could go. guy went, feeling a great deal better than he did while he was making those signals from the tower. he went in alone to view the officers and men who had fallen in the massacre of the day before, and what he saw there is beyond our power to describe. perkins and brigham were not scalped, and the smiles he saw on their faces reminded him of the one arthur wore when he told guy that he was not to ask the colonel for anything on his part,--he was bound to go with his company and take part in the fight, and the first fight he got into was the last. guy did not look any further. tears blinded his eyes and he came out and went into the mess room. but he could not stay there long either. the vacant chairs called to mind those who were gone, and he finally turned into his own room, where he tumbled into bed with his face toward the wall. "they are all gone, and there's no telling how soon i may be in their place," he moaned. filled with such thoughts as these he soon fell asleep. chapter xvii. re-enforcements arrive for a week after the massacre, guy preston and all the other officers and men of the fort acted as if they were in a dream. the orders were given in a low tone of voice, the men responded to them with a silent touch of their caps, for every one seemed to think that it would not be long before they would be laid out awaiting burial, or be doomed to a worse fate in the sioux camp. guy was there during the burial of the men--he was one of twenty soldiers who fired the shots over their graves--and then he braced up, dashed the tears from his eyes, and tried to do his duty as he did before. he had ten men who had been detailed for various other duties when the company was ordered out, and he was the sole officer in command of them. guy was not long in missing his old friend cyrus, whose fate no one knew. did he get through in safety with his dispatches, or was he captured by the sioux who had taken revenge upon him for the braves they had lost during the massacre? one morning, just after guy had come off duty during the night, the colonel sent for him, but it was not to reprimand him. he saw that as soon as he got into his room. the colonel had a paper in his hand which he handed to guy. "there is your medicine," said he. "cyrus wanted me to give it to you under the impression that you might some day fall into the power of those thievish rascals outside." "why--why did not cyrus take it with him, sir?" stammered guy. "no; he said the war was not yet over, and you might some day need it. you do not intend to be a prisoner in the hands of those fellows, do you?" "no, sir," said guy hastily. "they kill everybody who falls a captive to them. and what is the reason cyrus would not take it with him, sir? i am afraid he----" "well, go on," said the colonel, after waiting a moment or two for guy to say what he was afraid of, "do you think he has been captured?" "i think he would have been safer, if he had taken this letter with him, sir," replied the young officer. "yes; but you know it has saved one civilian and the next must be a soldier." "that is so, sir. i will put it right there among the little money i have left, and i hope it may do me some good, if i chance to fall into their power. don't you think it is about time to hear from cyrus, sir?" "i do; but if he has met with the usual luck that some of our scouts do, it may be another week before we get news of him." the colonel picked up some papers which were lying near him on the desk, thus intimating that their interview was at an end; but there was one more question that guy wanted to have answered before he left. "do you think he has got through in safety, sir?" said he. "that is hard to tell," replied the colonel slowly. "cyrus is a brave man, and if he fails i don't know what we shall do. that's all, guy." "cyrus has failed," said guy to himself, as he put on his cap and left the room, "i could see that by the way the colonel looked. by george! i wonder what will be the next move the sioux will make? well, if worse comes to worst i will have to go. i wish i could see my mother once before my time comes." guy stopped after he passed the orderly and dashed some tears from his eyes. he was the commander of a company now, and it would look very unseemly for him to be found that way by any of his men. he took his way to his room, that room which he occupied all by himself now, and then the tears came forth afresh, until guy began to be ashamed of his conduct. he rolled over and tried to catch the slumber he so much needed, but when the orderly came to call him to dinner he was wide awake. but the colonel was wrong in his predictions. three days passed and then a horseman was seen rapidly approaching the fort. the sentry called the corporal of the guard, and that officer did not stay beside him for more than a moment when he shouted:-- "there comes cyrus!" guy was off duty then, and he lost no time in climbing up beside the sentry. the horseman was still so far away that they could not see his face, but the way he waved his hat around his head and used it to urge his horse to greater speed proclaimed who the newcomer was. the colonel was out by that time, and guy turned to him with a face that was beaming over with pleasure. "it is cyrus, sure enough, sir!" he exclaimed, "re-enforcements are not far off." in a quarter of an hour the horseman, mounted on a nag that was almost tired out, dashed through all the men assembled at the gate, and presently was shaking hands with everybody that could get around him. it was the scout sure enough, and judging by the grin that was on his face he was glad to get back. "halloo, guy," he shouted. "i haven't time to speak to you all now, only to grasp your hands and say that i am overjoyed to see you all above ground. help is coming. where's the colonel?" so cyrus got through, after all. the story he told after he had reported to the colonel did not amount to much in passing through his hands. he had not seen a hostile indian from the time he left fort phil kearney until his journey was safely accomplished. the pow-wow the sioux held on the night of the massacre "threw them all crazy," as cyrus had predicted, and there was not one to dispute his attempt to reach fort robinson. "the general was awful uneasy about us, because he did not hear anything," said the scout, in conclusion, "and he was on the point of sending three hundred men to see about it; and i tell you he packed them off in a hurry as soon as i got there." "bully for the three hundred men," said guy. "are they coming now behind you?" "yes, sir. they are coming as fast as they can. we have got men enough now to get that village out of there and make them take to the hills where they belong. well, guy, the sioux have not scalped you yet. have you been out after any more sage hens?" "no, sir, and i don't think i shall go any more until we get the sioux out of there. cyrus, you must have had a terrible time of it." "oh, nothing to speak of. i went out on purpose to get to fort robinson, and i went. i wonder if you have anything to eat in the house? we have been in such haste to get here that we did not stop to cook any breakfast." guy took cyrus under his charge and conducted him into the mess room, intending to hear more of his story when he got him by himself; but before he could ask him to go on with it, a cheering arose out by the gate and cyrus was left to finish his breakfast alone. there they were, three hundred infantrymen, who were moving with weary steps as if it was all they could do to drag one foot after the other--for they had made a forced march since they left fort robinson--but the way the garrison greeted them showed them that their trouble was over. colonel smith was there, vigorously shaking hands with colonel carrington, and when the two were through welcoming each other, they went into the commander's headquarters. the troops assembled on the parade ground, and when they had broken ranks, guy speedily hunted up the second lieutenants, one of whom he found to his astonishment to be an old schoolmate of his. they had been at west point together, had graduated at the same time, one being ordered to the cavalry and the other to the infantry. it took some little time for guy to recognize fred bolton in this muddy, travel-stained boy, but when he saw the smile that beamed upon his face, and his extended hand, the old schoolboy came back to him, and catching fred around the waist he fairly raised him from the ground. "fred, old boy, how are you?" he exclaimed, as he swung him around once or twice before he put him on the ground again. "say," replied fred, gently untangling himself from guy's detaining hands. "have you an apple about you?" "an apple?" echoed guy, not understanding the question. "or peanuts; anything that will do to eat. i am so hungry that i can smell the bacon in the storehouse clear out here." "why, come in," said guy. "the sioux have kept us on pretty short rations, but i guess i can give you bacon enough to satisfy you." guy was introduced to the other second lieutenants as they were going to the mess room, and the first thing the boys asked him about was the massacre. "did they whoop and yell as the storybooks tell about?" said one of the newcomers. "tell us all about it, please. we have never seen an indian fight and we want to know what is in store for us." "don't ask me about it," said guy. "but you must have seen some of it, and we should like to know how it looked," insisted fred. "what is the reason you were not in it? was not your company ordered out?" guy saw that there was no chance for him to plead ignorance, and while the boys were waiting for their bacon and hard-tack he went into the particulars of the fight, getting through with them as soon as he possibly could. the second lieutenants must have seen how badly he felt about it, and did not ask him any more questions; but when he came to tell of winged arrow's medicine, they looked incredulous. they were too polite to interrupt him, but exchanged significant glances with one another as if to ask what their companions thought about it. "i don't ask you to believe my word, but here is the evidence," said guy, producing his pocketbook. "that letter has saved the life of one scout, and if i fall into their hands while i have that letter about me, i shall expect that it will save my own." of course there was much to talk about and a good deal of time taken to tell it, for the supports were not expected to go on duty that day. they were given time to rest after their long, fatiguing march, and they made the most of it. at dress parade the men appeared in fine order, and then they received notice of what they were to do on the following day. their force was strong enough now to assume the offensive, and to-morrow morning a battalion of three hundred men would start out to break up that sioux village and, as cyrus had said, "drive them into the hills where they belonged." colonel smith was to be in charge of the troops, with major powell second in command. there was one thing that made guy grow an inch taller when the order was read: his small company of men were not to be left out after all. there were a hundred cavalry to go with the troops, to serve as eyes for them, and guy and his company were to make part of them. "i hope the colonel will lead us across that battlefield," said fred, as they returned to their quarters. "oh, he will," said guy. "but we will not see anything--nothing but the spot where brave men offered up their lives to try and 'pacify' those sioux. we will see the signal tower too. i hope that when you go there to take charge of it, you will see a better time than i did." "well, wait until a history of this thing gets to washington, and we will see help coming out here enough to annihilate those sioux. the general was sorely put out about it, and he sent a dispatch that will make those fellows open their eyes." morning came at length, and with it came the men who were to compose the expedition, forming on the parade ground in view of all the officers. there was one thing about it that guy always disliked to see, and that was their ammunition and provision train. before the troops could go into a fight with the indians, they would be obliged to take care of that train, because when that was lost, everything they had was lost. the hostiles would make an attack upon that train first, paying no attention to the other men, and if they could stampede that, their-success was assured. the indians did not believe in taking any train with them. all the ammunition and food they needed during their raids were carried on their horses, and if they were worsted in the fight they got out of the way with wonderful celerity and their ammunition and food went with them. fred and the other newcomers who had arrived with the re-enforcements the day before gazed with interest at the picket tower, saw that the soldiers who had come to relieve them took the place of the men who had stayed there all night, and then went on to the battlefield. as guy had said they found nothing there, not even a bayonet with which the soldiers had endeavored to defend themselves, for the sioux had searched the field thoroughly and everything had disappeared. "here's where captain brown and three others defended themselves," said major powell, drawing colonel smith's attention to a place in the rocks where the grass was all trampled down and empty cartridge shells were scattered all about. "they must have made sure play for some of those fiends who came at them. captain brown killed himself right here." it was a gloomy place, the battlefield that but a short time before had resounded with the war cry of the fierce sioux and the rattle of carbines from the soldiers, and guy was glad when they left it behind. something kept telling him that he was going to see trouble before he came back, but he banished all such thoughts and had no place for them. his work lay in the expedition before him, and to that he gave the whole of his attention. in a short time the memory of the scene through which he had passed left him, and he was ready to join in with what the others had to propose, so long as it did not attract the attention of their commanding officer, major powell. so it is with soldiers the world over. a disastrous battle, during which so many of their old friends, perhaps their own tentmates, have gone to their long home, will depress their spirits for a time, and they welcome anything, no matter how trivial it is, that will draw their thoughts away to other matters and make them soldiers as they were before. in due time they reached the site whereon the sioux village had stood while they were engaged in the massacre, and where everything denoted that they had abandoned it with the utmost haste. plunder of every sort which goes to make up the wealth of the indian was scattered about, and beside the lodge poles, for the tents were gone, were the remains of half a dozen indian ponies that had been sacrificed to go with their owners to the happy hunting grounds. "i don't understand the meaning of that," said fred bolton. "did they kill their ponies on purpose?" "certainly," said guy. "the indian ponies have spirits as well as their masters; and when one is killed and his scalp not removed----" "do their scalps have anything to do with it?" "of course they do. if you scalp an indian, his body becomes so much carrion which is not worthy of a burial; but if his friends can save the indian without letting him fall into our hands, he is given all the rites that an indian can think of. these ponies will go with him to the spirit land, and if we had time to hunt up the places where the owners are buried, we would find there their rifles, matches, scalping knives, and every other thing they need to go right to work." guy had many things to tell the newcomers, and during the two weeks that the expedition was out he had plenty of time around his camp fire at night to tell them all he knew about the hostile indians. what he did not know the guides took up, and if the new men did not learn something about the sioux before they got through, it was their own fault. they generally told some funny stories, but a wink from guy told how much of them they had better believe. chapter xviii. a prisoner at last "so this is scouting for indians, is it?" exclaimed fred, when the bugle blew one morning and guy began buckling on his sword. "we have been out two weeks, and during that time we have not seen one single indian, nor the sign of one. i thought they would be all around us. that is the way they act in storybooks." "we are not dealing with storybooks now, but with solid flesh-and-blood sioux," said guy, who was making all haste to answer the bugle call. "we have seen signs enough, even if we have not seen indians. we have followed their trail for a week, and that is as much as i want to see." "but why don't we follow them up and whip them? all we have to do is to go back there in the 'bad lands,' and there we would find them." before we go any further we should like to inquire if you have any idea of how these "bad lands" look. we have often heard that hostile indians find refuge there when badly pressed by the troops, but how do they appear and in what shape are they? you have often seen a clay field after a long and hot drought in summer, how it is seamed over with innumerable cracks, perfectly perpendicular, leaving miniature chasms between. this, magnified by a thousand, are the "bad lands" of the northwest. they are immense patches of clay soil, baked by the long and intense drought of that climate into chasms four or five feet wide and perhaps twenty feet deep, absolutely impassable for wagons, quagmires in the early spring, and a labyrinth of deep gullies in summer. the hostiles know every one of these ravines, where it leads to and the springs of water that are to be found on the banks of it, and the troops that are sent after them do not. once fairly inside the "bad lands," the indians disappear and leave no trace behind. "we do not want to be whipped badly enough to go into those 'bad lands,'" said guy, with a laugh. "the moment colonel smith saw where the trail led to, he said that we were not strong enough to go in there after them, and when he said that, he hit me right on top of the head. i don't want to go in there either. i am perfectly willing to go back to the fort, without seeing any of them. you don't know how an ambush looks. i have seen one of them from a distance, and i don't want to see another." "well, good-by, if you call that going," said fred, as guy swung himself upon his horse. "keep your eyes open, and don't let any sioux come down on us." guy fell in beside his company, waved his hand as a farewell signal to fred, and rode out with the cavalrymen to act as eyes for the infantry, who were guarding the train. these marched along pretty nearly as they pleased, giving no thought to danger, for they knew that the cavalry, who skirted their flanks at a distance of three or four miles, would see the sioux long before they could and easily warn them, so that they could get into line of battle. presently the bugle sounded again, and that was a call for fred. in a few minutes the entire expedition was under way, bound for the fort, without having seen a warrior since they had been out. "they are all in the 'bad lands,'" said colonel smith, who felt somewhat crestfallen over his bad luck. "i really wish that i had about four times as many men as i have with me. i would follow them into their retreats and drive them out." that was the way that more than one man felt in regard to the disappearing sioux, and many a soldier clutched his piece with a firmer grip and cast his eyes toward the hills on which he had last seen the cavalry, in the hope that they would come over the swells in haste with the report that the sioux were not far behind them. that would give him a chance to knock over one or two to pay them for the number they had killed during the massacre at the fort. that was something the soldiers could not get out of their minds. they had already made it up among them that "remember fort phil kearney" should be their battle cry the next time they went into action. and the opportunity came for them much sooner than they had expected. they had marched until pretty near twelve o'clock and the commanders were holding a consultation about what they had better do for dinner, whether to halt the column at the top of the nearest swell and have dinner there, or go on until four o'clock and then have dinner and supper together, when suddenly, and without the least warning, they heard the rattle of carbines behind the nearest hill on the right. a squad of cavalry, numbering perhaps twenty men or more, had discovered the sioux. they had seen the squad more than half an hour before, and they were going along as if everything were all right. "indians! indians!" burst from a score of throats. "remember fort phil kearney!" chimed in some others. "that is guy's squad, as sure as you live," exclaimed fred, and his face turned a little pale as he drew his sword from its scabbard. "i guess guy knows how it is to see an ambush close by." "major powell, take two hundred men and hurry to help that cavalry," shouted colonel smith. "the others are to guard the wagons. lieutenant bowen, we will keep right ahead at the rate we were going. close up, everybody." these orders were obeyed almost as soon as they were issued. by the time the one hundred men had closed up about the wagons, major powell had brought his men together, and moving at double quick they ran toward the hill which separated them from the view of the hostiles. fred's company was with major powell, and although the color had not come back to his face, he did his duty as though they were going out for drill. "close up, men. don't lag behind," was the way in which he urged them to keep up their formation, although before he was half way to the swell he was "winded," and would have been glad to sit down for a rest. there were other things besides the rattle of carbines to which the men had to listen. before they had gone many steps a whole chorus of loud and fiendish yells came plainly to their ears, and caused the hearts of some of the soldiers to beat a trifle faster. a moment afterward the remnant of the squad of cavalry they had come out to help suddenly appeared at the top of the hill. fred took one look at it and the fears which he had before experienced came back to him with redoubled force. "only six men left," said he to himself. "they numbered twenty at first. what has become of the balance?" a few steps more and the whole matter was revealed to him. of course there were orders to be obeyed, such as "aim! right oblique, fire!" and their bullets whistled over fifteen or more sioux who, lying flat upon their horses' backs, were rapidly leaving the field; but in spite of them all, fred had time to look about him and to see, if he could, what had become of his friend, guy preston. "by gracious!" exclaimed one man. "they have some prisoners with them." "where, where?" stammered fred. "don't you see those feet hanging out over the side of that horse that is just going over the hill?" replied the soldier. "there's another and another. my fingers are all thumbs, and i don't see why i cannot load my gun. shoot those men. they are taking some captives away with them." the soldiers were keenly alive to the fate of their prisoners, and more than one bullet was aimed for the warriors who had them on their horses; but they all flew wild, and before the men could load their guns again the last of the sioux had disappeared. it was merely a bold dash. the sioux had intended to wipe out a squad of cavalry and had succeeded. the other squads of cavalry were sent off as fast as they came, until there were nearly a hundred in pursuit of the sioux; but all to no avail. they got a few shots at them, and that was all. meanwhile the infantry had broken ranks and spread themselves over this new battlefield of the sioux--to succor the wounded, if there were any, and to bury the dead. the first proved unnecessary because there was not a wounded man on the field; the indians had made sure work of them. fred was hunting for guy. he was not among those who retreated to the top of the swell, so he must be among the dead or else-- "it is awful to think of," murmured fred, who was almost afraid to go any further, for fear that his prediction might come out true. "i declare, there is his horse. shot through the head. but where is guy?" tom, the horse which guy had told the colonel could beat any indian pony that ever lived, had met his end at last, but his rider was gone. his saddlebags were there, but everything in the way of weapons had disappeared. guy had been carried away by the sioux, when they retreated. while fred stood wondering what was to be his fate, one of the soldiers who had been at the fort at the time of the massacre stepped up and touched his cap to him. "did you know cyrus, sir?" said he. "cyrus?" repeated fred. "what was his other name?" "he hasn't any that i know of, sir," replied the soldier. "i just wanted to tell you that he is among the dead." fred accompanied the soldier to the spot where cyrus lay, but he took one look at him before he turned away. he did not want to see any more of a battlefield, and he would have been glad, if he had never seen it at all. cyrus lay as he had fallen from his horse, with a scowl of hatred upon his features, and the mark upon his shirt just above his heart told how he had given up his life. "why don't we fall in and go away from here?" said fred impatiently. "i wish i were back at the fort." "this isn't anything to what the old battlefield was, sir. with mr. preston gone and cyrus done up for good, it seems as though we have lost everything worth living for." and where was guy preston during all this time? he fell in with his men in response to the call and rode away on the right to keep watch for the sioux. their squad of twenty men was led by a first lieutenant, a bold fighter, but rather inexperienced, so far as indian tactics were concerned. but cyrus was with him, and if the lieutenant followed his advice, it was likely that he would keep out of trouble. until twelve o'clock they saw nothing but the prairie on each side of them; they thought that they were alone, but cyrus thought he knew a little better than that. "you can't always tell about these thievish rascals that we are after," said he, as he rode forward with the officer. "now there is a place that is the best kind for an ambush. when you come to a deep gully like that, you want to do one of two things: either keep out of the way of it entirely, or go a mile or two above the opening and cross there." "why, if there were any sioux in there, they would get out," said the lieutenant. "of course, and that is what you want. if the indians were in there, they would be right in the mouth of the gully; and they are too sharp to let you get behind them. they would dig out." this advice was all right, if the lieutenant had seen fit to follow it; but he chose to do as he pleased about keeping away from the ravines. three or four of them were passed in this way and still he saw no sioux; and finally he began to think that cyrus was talking merely because he had nothing else to do. of course this made cyrus very angry, and he fell back until he could speak to guy. "that lieutenant knows more than anybody else on the job," said he, "but you will see some fun before long." "i suppose that he thinks the hostiles are all in the 'bad lands,'" replied guy. "they would not come out just to follow us up, would they?" "the only safe indian is a dead indian. of course they would come out even for the sake of shooting at us. there! what did i tell you? we are gone up." while cyrus was talking in this way the squad happened to cross one of those ravines that opened into the prairie along which they were traveling, and seemed to be deserted like the rest; but in an instant it became alive with sioux. they did not yell when they made their charge as they almost always did, for they did not want the men who were behind the swells to know anything about their attack until they were through with it, but came out silently and swiftly and opened fire upon the soldiers before they knew it. it seemed as if half the men and horses went down at the first volley. the lieutenant was greatly surprised, but he was still untouched, and prepared to do his duty as any soldier should. "steady, there!" he shouted. "right front into line! revolvers! give them the best you've got!" the next moment the officer raised his hands above his head and fell from his horse, but the rest of the soldiers heard his command and obeyed it. when guy was fairly turned toward the indians he was thunderstruck, for there seemed to be no end to them. he had just time to draw his revolver and fire twice, when he felt himself pitched headlong on the prairie. tom would never get frightened and run away with him again. guy was stunned, so forcibly had he struck the ground, and before he could get his wits about him or make a move to draw that loaded derringer he carried in his hip pocket, he felt himself seized by the collar and lifted bodily from the ground. to be sure he struggled and made an effort to get hold of his saber which hung from his wrist, but of what use was it while he was taken at every disadvantage? ere he was aware of it, he had been thrown across a mustang in front of a stalwart rider, his feet swaying from one side of the horse and his head bobbing up and down on the other, and was being carried rapidly away. he was helpless. the warrior held him by the throat with one hand and with the other hand he lifted his rifle and shook it at the soldiers, while he raised a shout of defiance at them. the soldiers saw guy as he was carried away in this manner, and more than one bullet sped toward the brave that had captured him; but in their excitement the soldiers all shot wild. guy was a prisoner now, and his medicine that had been given to him by winged arrow was the only thing that could avail him. was that medicine strong enough to help him? chapter xix. conclusion it seemed to guy preston that the rider who held him in position on his mustang would break his body in two before his horse had taken many more of his frantic leaps. you will remember that the only place he touched the horse was on the small of his back, with his head dangling on one side of it and his feet on the other; but it seemed to be all one to the warrior, who shook his rifle and shouted at the soldiers as if he were in high glee. he struggled to the best of his ability, and when at last it seemed to him that he would grow wild over the agony he was in, everything grew blank to him, and from that time he was as helpless as a dead boy. he knew nothing of the efforts the cavalry had made to rescue him; and when his captor wanted to stop to breathe his horse, he threw the boy to the ground as if he had been a bag of corn. the motion seemed to revive guy. he struck on his feet, made three or four efforts to recover himself, and then sank down, regardless of his fate. the warriors had all stopped to rest their horses, for they believed that the pursuit was over. the spot where they paused was in one of the ravines that led to the "bad lands," and while one or two of their number remained on the hills to note the movements of their pursuers, the others gathered around their prisoners and went into ecstasies over them. "hoopla!" said one who seemed to have a little smattering of english. "nice time the squaws have to-night. take um scalp and burn um." these words aroused guy and he sat up on the ground. he thought of winged arrow's medicine, and put his hand into his pocket to see if he could find it; but the indians, believing that he was looking for a weapon, rushed upon him and stretched him again upon the earth, while one drew his scalping knife and yelled as if he were going to use it. he seized guy by the hair and passed his knife around it, and when he arose to his feet he had a handful of it, which he shook in the boy's face. guy's heart seemed to stop beating. were his captors going to scalp him alive? he put his hand to his head and found, greatly to his relief, that although his hair was gone, his skin was there as usual. a roar of laughter was the result, and when it was ended one of the braves said:-- "brave boy. to-night stake him out on ground. then take scalp sure enough." it was something to know that they were going to take him to the village before they began torturing him, and guy at once became more at his ease and began to look around among his captors to see if winged arrow was there. he did not see him, and he concluded that he would let his letter go until he could see him or find some means to send it to him. what was the reason he had not asked him his name in indian when he met him there on the plains? that would have reached him sure, and he resolved to try it in english. perhaps the indians knew enough of that tongue to recognize it. the sioux were sitting down in a circle and some of them were getting out their pipes to indulge in a smoke. "do any of you know english?" he asked at a venture. "oh, yes, me know it," said one of the indians, tapping his breast with his hand. "me know english a heap." "then perhaps you know winged arrow," said guy. "he is my friend." guy did not see what there was in this to excite the laughter of the indians, but it raised it sure enough, and his captors began passing some remarks about him in their native tongue which made them laugh louder than ever. guy gave it up in despair, and settled back on the ground again. the indians either could not or would not understand what he was trying to get at, and it was useless to try them further. his mind was so busy with his own affairs that he had not thought to see if there were other prisoners in the party, but now he found that there were two--one a member of his own company, who had evidently been worse treated than guy was, for he lay upon the ground as motionless as if he were dead. guy got up and went to him. he could not bear to see one of his own kind used as bad as he was without saying something to him. "oh, sir, we are gone up now," said the soldier, in a faint voice. "my back is broken." "i guess i know about how you feel, for my back is feeling the same way," replied guy. "brace up, and never say die. when we get to their village, i will see what i can do toward effecting our release." "oh, if you could do that, you would win my everlasting gratitude. i can't bear to be tied up and burned, just because i happen to wear the blue. have you a drink of water about you, sir?" water was something that guy did not have, and he began to feel as though he would like a drink himself. he approached the indians, who were now sitting on the ground engaged in the formality of smoking, and holding his right hand as if he were grasping a cup, carried it to his mouth and turned it up as if drinking from it. he knew this much of the signs that cyrus had taught him. one of the sioux immediately said something in his own tongue and pointed down the gully, and then went on with his smoking. "there is not any water here," said guy, returning to the soldier. "we must wait until we reach the village. now brace up, and don't let these people see that you are afraid of them. if you do they will torment you in every way that they can think of." when guy went to speak a word of encouragement to the other prisoner, he cast his eyes around among the horses that were standing a little distance away, and saw that there were five of them that belonged to the government. there were thirty of the indian ponies, and twenty-eight savages sitting in that circle on that ground; and by counting the two who had been sent out as look-outs, it proved to his satisfaction that the sioux made that attack upon the cavalry and came off without losing a man. no wonder that they felt jolly over it. guy spoke such words to the other captive as he thought would serve to encourage him in the ordeal which he knew was coming, and by that time the lookouts came in from the hills and the indians all got up in readiness to resume their march to the village. but before they went they determined to examine the pockets of their captives and see what they could find that was worth stealing. in obedience to a sign from one of his captors, guy got up and the indian thrust his brawny arm into his pants. his pocketbook was the first thing he pulled out. the small amount of money that guy had was looked at and thrown aside, the indian not knowing what the bills were. the next thing was winged arrow's medicine; and when the savage unfolded that and looked at it, he uttered a grunt which brought all his companions to his side. guy's heart beat against his ribs with a sound like a trip hammer, for he knew that something was going to happen now. first one indian examined it and then another, all uttered grunts indicative of surprise or indignation, he couldn't tell which, and another savage, the same one who had gone through the motions of scalping him before and was ready to do it again, for he held his knife in his hand, quietly put it in his belt and made no move toward guy. the indians now became excited and wanted to get to their village as soon as possible. the talking and laughing suddenly ceased. the horses were brought up and at a sign guy and one prisoner mounted; and when it came to the captive who was too weak to help himself, he was not jerked and hauled around as he was before, but an indian lifted him in his arms and put him on the horse as tenderly as if he had been an infant. there was something in winged arrow's medicine after all, and when he saw how prompt the savages were to obey it, it made the chills creep all over him. "no one need ever tell me again that the sioux are nothing but savages, and have no hearts at all in them," muttered guy, as he fell in with the others and rode down the ravine. "but that paper is not through yet. if it pass red cloud and the other big chiefs at the village, i shall really begin to believe there is something in indian medicine." the ride now was a very intricate one, and guy marveled greatly when he saw the indian who was leading turn first into one gully and then into another, and never seem to be at a loss which way to go. if a body of troops ever got in there with indians all around them, their destruction was certain. the next thing was the village which came into view. a sudden turning of one of the gullies, when everything seemed to be deserted, and there were the tepees scattered along both banks of a little stream which came murmuring down from the hills. that was too much for one of guy's companions in trouble. he dismounted from his horse, stretched himself out at full length beside that stream and drank as if he had not seen any water for a month. guy's fear and anxiety increased now, for he longed to see winged arrow, to tell him what had been done with his medicine and to ask him if there were the least grounds for hope for any prisoner besides himself. somehow he could not get it out of his mind that his men had seen the prairie for the last time, but that was too dreadful to think of. the indians along the stream took but little notice of the party as they rode through the village, with the exception of one who gazed at them as if there were something on his mind. this one fell in behind and walked along with them until they came to a lodge which he entered without ceremony. it was reuben who was hunting for winged arrow. there was something about guy's shoulder straps which attracted his attention, and he wanted to see his friend before it was too late. the lodge he entered was the one winged arrow occupied, and he found that person just getting ready to go out. "he has come," said reuben. "so i have heard, and i am going to see about it," said winged arrow. "i wonder if he has that letter with him." reuben shook his head. he did not know what had passed between the indians and their captives on the way up. "it will be hard enough for me to help him, even if he has it with him," continued winged arrow. "but if he has forgotten it, it is all up with him." the young braves hastily left the lodge and followed along after the party until they came up with them standing in front of the chief's tepee. one glance at the boy who wore the shoulder straps and winged arrow saw that he was the same one he had once met on the prairie. guy saw and recognized him at the same moment, and something like a smile of confidence lit up his face. "i am sorry to see you here," said winged arrow; and his face assumed a gloomy expression. "and i am sorry to be here," said guy. "now we will see if your medicine amounts to anything. there are three prisoners here----" winged arrow turned his head away and raised his hand, as if motioning for guy to stop. "if i can get you out safe, you must be satisfied," said he. "i had hard work to get that other man free, and i don't know whether i shall make it with you or not." guy lost all his confidence from hearing winged arrow talk this way, and he began to think that his own escape, which had seemed so bright when winged arrow first came there, was not so sure after all. he watched his friend go into the chief's tepee, and from what he had read he knew that no one had a right to do that, and in about five minutes he came out again; but his face was still gloomy. "get off that horse and come with me," was what he said to guy. the boy lost no time in obeying him. he saw that his first object must be to get out of sight of the sioux, and he soon saw the necessity for that, for savage glances were cast upon him as he passed along, and he remained close at winged arrow's heels, while he led the way toward his father's lodge. once inside, he breathed more freely, although he was ushered right into the midst of the medicine man's family. he did not have time to see who was there, but followed his guide to a remote corner of the tepee and seated himself on a pile of blankets pointed out to him. "now whatever happens, don't open your head," said winged arrow. "don't say one word to me. if you go out of here without me, you are gone." the death angel never came so close to guy preston as he did then. he felt in his hip pocket for the loaded derringer he had taken pains to keep about him, but remembered that it had fallen out during that wild ride after he was captured, and now nothing remained for him but that letter. he noticed that winged arrow did not go any further than the entrance of the lodge. he took his rifle with the air of one who would use it if he found it necessary, and seated himself just inside the flap door and watched everybody that came in or went out. it looked as though winged arrow was going to fight to retain possession of him. he listened, but could hear no signs of what had been done with the captives outside. they had been taken away, and guy told himself that he had seen them for the last time. it was pretty nearly night when these events happened, and if the hours were long to guy they must have been doubly so to winged arrow, who never changed his position after he seated himself. the sioux came in and cooked their meals as they wanted them, but nobody offered guy a morsel. in fact he did not want anything, for he was so completely wrapped up in thoughts of escape. at length the door was raised and a bundle of something was thrust into winged arrow's hands. he took it immediately and came over to guy. "put these on," said he, in a hurried whisper. "be quick." just then someone outside set up a rapid beating on the tom-tom, and guy thought that it was the signal for something of which he did not like to think; but it was a notice that the social dances, which were now in vogue, were about to commence. the fate of the captives had not yet been decided upon. with nervous haste guy unfolded the bundle and found an indian blanket, a pair of leggings, and moccasins. he looked at winged arrow and saw that he was standing erect and had enveloped himself in another blanket, so that nothing but his face could be seen. guy was quick to follow his motions, and when the change had been effected no one could have told which of the two was the indian and which the white boy. the other sioux sitting around in the tepee made no remark regarding the change, and, feeling greatly encouraged, guy walked over to his friend and followed him outside into the darkness. "keep still," was what winged arrow whispered to him. "do just as i do." the tepees were all deserted by the indians, their owners having gone to the further end of the village to engage in the dance, and no one saw them as they passed. a little further on and somebody with a horse loomed through the darkness. he kept on ahead of them, not a word was exchanged between the two, and it was evident that he was in the plot, if that was what winged arrow's movement proved to be. for two hours they walked, and then the prairie came into view. then the horseman stopped and winged arrow and guy went up beside him. "there, sir, you are free," said the young indian. "don't stop to talk, but get on and do your best. don't you be caught again." it did not seem to guy preston that he could leave his friend without making some acknowledgment. he did not "stop to talk," but he thrust out his hand which winged arrow took and shook warmly. "which way?" said he. "that way," replied the indian, pointing straight over the prairie. it occurred to guy to ask winged arrow what he and his friend were going to do when it became known among the sioux that one of their captives had slipped through their hands, but before he could form the question he was standing there alone. the indians had vanished in the darkness. to jump upon his horse and start him in the direction he had been told to go was done in less time than we have taken to tell it. have you ever seen the prairie? if so you can have some idea of what guy had to go through. it was the same thing over and over again. every little hill he mounted when daylight came revealed nothing but a lonely waste with not a living thing in sight. and so it was during the whole of that day until the light faded away and darkness began to settle down on the plain. then guy thought he saw a horseman on a distant swell. he stopped and looked at him, but the horseman, if such it were, did not move. "is it a sioux or a white man?" said guy to himself. "i can't be worse off than i am now, and so i will go and see who it is." for the first time he put his horse in a lope, keeping his eye on the object and waiting to see what he was going to do. at length another object appeared by the side of the first, and something that hung down by his horse attracted the attention of guy, and led him to swing his blanket around his head. it was a cavalry saber, and showed guy that he was among friends. we cannot stop to tell how guy preston was received by the men who had long ago made up their minds that they had seen the last of him. the expedition had stopped to bury their dead and had just gone into camp. guy said that the two prisoners who were captured at the same time he was were in the hands of the sioux yet, and he could not tell what was to become of them, and neither did he know what would be done with winged arrow and his friend for assisting one captive to escape. when he reached the fort, colonel carrington listened in surprise to the story of his release, and declared his belief that there was something in winged arrow's medicine after all. he moved back to nebraska in the early spring, after fort phil kearney had been demolished. his superiors blamed him for colonel fetterman's defeat. they did him an injustice, for it was red cloud's ability and strength that won the day. the end ralph marlowe a tale of the buckeye state by dr. james ball naylor author of "the sign of the prophet" "there is an atmosphere about the story of ralph marlowe--the picturesque atmosphere of quiet, rustic southeastern ohio, and there is an equal measure of delicious humor and delicate pathos about it also. _get this novel and read it--the time will be well spent._" --_north american, philadelphia._ "dr. naylor has constructed a very readable story. he has been remarkably successful in transferring to the canvas of fiction ohio farmers and village folk, and the story is worthy to take its place beside the best of those written in recent years which take as their particular task the picturing of life in rural districts." _american monthly reviews of reviews._ handsomely bound in bright red cloth, gold lettered, emblematic cover design in white and gold, mo. $ . the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio _the braden books_ far past the frontier _by_ james a. braden the sub-title "two boy pioneers" indicates the nature of this story--that it has to do with the days when the ohio valley and the northwest country were sparsely settled. such a topic is an unfailing fund of interest to boys, especially when involving a couple of stalwart young men who leave the east to make their fortunes and to incur untold dangers. "strong, vigorous, healthy, manly."--_seattle times._ connecticut boys in the western reserve _by_ james a. braden the author once more sends his heroes toward the setting sun. "in all the glowing enthusiasm of youth, the youngsters seek their fortunes in the great, fertile wilderness of northern ohio, and eventually achieve fair success, though their progress is hindered and sometimes halted by adventures innumerable. it is a lively, wholesome tale, never dull, and absorbing in interest for boys who love the fabled life of the frontier."--_chicago tribune._ the trail _of_ the seneca _by_ james a. braden in which we follow the romantic careers of john jerome and return kingdom a little farther. these two self-reliant boys are living peaceably in their cabin on the cuyahoga when an indian warrior is found dead in the woods nearby. the seneca accuses john of witchcraft. this means death at the stake if he is captured. they decide that the seneca's charge is made to shield himself, and set out to prove it. mad anthony, then on the ohio, comes to their aid, but all their efforts prove futile and the lone cabin is found in ashes on their return. captives three _by_ james a. braden a tale of frontier life, and how three children--two boys and a girl--attempt to reach the settlements in a canoe, but are captured by the indians. a common enough occurrence in the days of our great-grandfathers has been woven into a thrilling story. bound in cloth, each handsomely illustrated, cloth, postpaid +$ . + _the saalfield publishing co._ akron, ohio _fiction for girls_ betty, the scribe _by_ lilian turner _drawings by_ katharine hayward greenland betty is a brilliant, talented, impulsive seventeen-year-old girl, who is suddenly required to fill her mother's place at the head of a household, with a literary, impractical father to manage. betty writes, too, and every time she mounts her pegasus disaster follows for home duties are neglected. learning of one of these lapses, her elder sister comes home. betty storms and refuses to share the honors until she remembers that this means long hours free to devote to her beloved pen. she finally moves to the city to begin her career in earnest, and then--well, then comes the story. "miss turner is miss alcott's true successor. the same healthy, spirited tone is visible which boys and girls recognized in little men and little women."--_the bookman._ cloth, mo, illustrated, cts. elizabeth hobart at exeter hall _by_ jean k. baird _illustrated by_ r. g. vosburgh +a spirited story of every-day boarding-school life that girls like to read. full of good times and girlish fun.+ elizabeth enters the school and loses no time in becoming one of the leading spirits. she entertains at a midnight spread, which is recklessly conducted under the very nose of the preceptress, who is "scalped" in order to be harmless, for every one knows she would never venture out minus her front hair; she champions an ostracized student; and leads in a daring plan to put to rout the seniors' program for class day. cloth, mo, illustrated, cts. books sent postpaid on receipt of price. _the saalfield publishing co._, akron, ohio _the_ billy whiskers series by frances trego montgomery billy whiskers--frolicsome, mischief-making, adventure-loving billy whiskers--is the friend of every boy and girl the country over, and the things that happen to this wonderful goat and his numerous animal friends make the best sort of reading for them. as one reviewer aptly puts it, these stories are "just full of fun and good times," for mrs. montgomery, the author of them, has the happy faculty of knowing what the small boy and his sister like in the way of fiction. titles billy whiskers billy whiskers' kids billy whiskers, jr. billy whiskers' travels billy whiskers at the circus billy whiskers at the fair billy whiskers' friends billy whiskers, jr. and his chums billy whiskers' grandchildren billy whiskers' vacation billy whiskers kidnapped billy whiskers' twins billy whiskers in an aeroplane billy whiskers in town billy whiskers in panama each volume a quarto, bound in boards, cover and six full page drawings in colors, postpaid price +$ . + +the saalfield publishing co.+, akron, ohio _mary a. byrne's books_ the fairy chaser "telling of two boys who go into the vegetable and flower-raising business instead of humdrum commercial pursuits. the characters and situations are realistic." --_philadelphia telegraph_ little dame trot one of the most pleasing of juveniles, made pathetic by the strength with which the author pictures the central figure, a little girl made miserable by her mother's strict adherence to a pet "method" of training. the little woman in the spout "this pleasing story may have been developed from real life, from real children, so true a picture does it portray of girlish life and sports." --_grand rapids herald_ roy and rosyrocks a glowing christmas tale, fresh and natural in situations, that will interest both boys and girls. it tells how two poor children anticipate the joys of the holiday, and how heartily they enter into doing their part, to make the day merry for themselves and others. +each of the above bound in cloth illustrated, mo,+ +$. + peggy-alone the chronicles of the happy-go-luckys, a crowd of girls who did not depend upon riches for good times. this club was very stretchible as to membership, so they elected peggy-alone from pity of her loneliness. freed from governess, nurse and solicitous mother, she has the jolliest summer of her life. +cloth, mo, illustrated by anna b. craig,+ +$. + _books sent prepaid on receipt of price_ _the saalfield publishing co._ akron, ohio